❝ TROPHY WIFE ❞ — Yandere!uzui Tengen/wives + You're His First Wife
❝ TROPHY WIFE ❞ — yandere!uzui tengen/wives + you're his first wife
SYNOPSIS: suppose you're uzui tengen's very first wife, the one that slipped through the cracks of your unwanted arranged marriage with him. along with your disappearance went his heart, and now you must bear the consequences of a man who loves his wife far beyond her understanding—so much so that he would kill for her, die for her, and do anything to make her stay. — navi.
WORD COUNT: 5.7k
NOTES: mdni! (cw: non-con) this is an arranged/forced marriage au. it's meant to be one-sided. it took me quite literally forever to finish this lol ,,
PAIRING: yandere!uzui tengen x wife!reader
CHARACTERS: uzui tengen (19-23), reader (18-22), suma (19), makio (20), hinatsuru (21)
I. TO BE WED
imagine being uzui tengen's very first wife.
your hand in marriage was promised to him by your parents, who owned a tax-collecting business that was often the target of hostility from the impoverished people of your hometown. tengen routinely passed through your village on demon slayer business, so your parents could always rest assured knowing he would take care of the violent stragglers that sometimes loitered outside.
ironically being poor themselves, they had little to offer the hashira as payment for his noble duties; well, that "little" didn't exclude you of course, their only daughter who's failed to find a husband far past the age of when other girls were normally wed. you're still young, fertile, and moderately attractive, but your strong disinterest in potential suitors often drove any chances of a wealthy marriage away.
however, after being introduced to tengen, the man you'll be forced to marry out of obligation, you begin to regret being so stubborn after all.
admittedly, tengen found you to be pretty plain at first. you're poor so you can't exactly dress flashy, and you come from a no-name family with little legacy. your parents swore up and down on your domestic efficiency—hardworking, great cook, a tame disposition—and, well, at least you're kind of cute, too. tengen is intrigued by your potential the most.
your parents force you to do whatever you can to get close to him. the truth is, though, you don't really have to do anything with the way he seeks you out himself. he often shows up at your door asking for you, and your parents have no qualms about dragging you out of your room to make you go out with him.
he takes you to the nicer parts of town and pays for dinner or buys you flowers and little trinkets from the shop vendors that line the streets. it doesn't help that the elderly people running the stands egg you on, saying things like "what a lovely young couple" or "your children would be so beautiful!" tengen simply smiles with ease, accepting their praise as if it's second nature. you get rather embarrassed by his shameless indulgence.
there's small talk but you find it incredibly stifling. tengen does a majority of the dialoguing but most of the time your dates get interrupted by his kasugai crow, who squawks at him whenever a demon shows up nearby. he always looks annoyed and promises to make it up to you, leaning down to pat your head like you're his pet dog or something. you hate it and him too, probably.
"i'll be back before you know it, darling," his smile is charming but not to you. "you'll stay right here for me, won't you?"
regardless of your somewhat obvious hesitance to accept his advances, tengen gets attached to you like it was meant to be. the idea of having a pretty little housewife for him to come home to after his draining missions becomes increasingly attractive, and the more time he spends with you, the more he sees the appeal of your being. it must be a miracle that no man has taken you as his wife yet; surely you were saving yourself for a man like him.
unfortunately, though, you don't want to marry tengen.
an arranged marriage? it's simply not the kind of life you envision for yourself. you aren't willing to bet the rest of your days on a man whom you have a slim chance of falling in love with, all for the sake of financial security. but what else can you do? your parents already made it very clear they would disown you if you refuse, and tengen is pressuring you to your death with his sweet words and annoyingly thoughtful presents. you're stuck.
eventually, the incessant nagging from your parents and weeks of endless courting from tengen sway you so sooner. you fold like a cheap hand fan and succumb to your fate, to a future you knew from the very beginning that you would come to despise.
he's the only suitor you have at this point. it's not like you have a choice. and the one choice you do have just so happens to be him, a man who is the nearest thing to a perfect match as you're ever gonna get. you should be happy. thankful. he'll give you the world if you just give him a chance.
at least, that's what he told you.
II. THE SOUND HASHIRA
your parents are so happy to send you off.
they're completely honored that their letdown of an only daughter is finally getting married—to a well-known and wealthy shinobi at that. it's the only time they've shown any pride in you, yet it really only leaves a bitter taste in your mouth.
after your brief introduction to the head of tengen's clan, everything moves so quickly. just a couple weeks later, you're already signing a marriage contract in which you and tengen become official newlyweds. and before you know it, you're packing what little belongings you have to your name and moving in with him, begrudgingly and regretfully so.
the day you arrive, he shows you around his overwhelmingly gigantic residence; the courtyard full of cherry blossoms and koi ponds, the huge kitchen, and the bedroom where he'll eventually fully claim you. there's lots of other rooms too, but they're either empty or reserved for his weapons and training gear. he tries to hide it but he's obviously so over the moon that you're his wife now. he doesn't even notice your misery through his elated delusion of love.
in hindsight, you didn't realize how difficult it can be to share a space with someone you hardly know. you find everything awkward but tengen doesn't, like always. to him, you're so obedient and polite— such a good girl. you take whatever he gives you; kisses, hugs, subtle gropes here and there, and all of his sweet compliments and gifts. you don't argue with him or raise your voice, you fret over his injuries and make his favorite foods. you're observant, collected, and mature.
he didn't have a type before he met you—you're all he can ask for in a woman, really.
tengen is unexpectedly romantic. he constantly boasts about his strength and fighting skills in order to impress you, and he never stops mouthing off about how he'll prioritize you over himself. he puts consistent effort in getting to know you: what you like, don't like, your favorite color, and any other inkling of your personality that he can manage to wrestle out of you. he seems to have gotten the impression that you're shy or something.
flowers are a constant and you're spoiled with fancy, expensive kimonos and jewelry. had you married tengen under literally any other circumstance, you'd find his advances on you endearing but, unfortunately, he just comes off as clingy and unbearable. any woman would die to be in your place yet you can't even find it in you to want to be in your own place.
what do you think of him, though? well, he's handsome, you'll give him that. you don't deny the appeal of his good looks and flashy, fitted clothing. he's strong, established, and knows what he wants. despite your obvious distaste towards his gifts and grandiose personality, it's not to say you're ungrateful that the man you're stuck with is exceedingly well-off and capable of protecting you. you can't say he's a bad guy.
however, he's a moron.
he fell for you fast. a couple months have already passed since coming to live in his residence. tengen requests to have picnics whenever you go with him to visit his siblings' graves on his off days. of course you have no reason to refuse; as much as you dislike him, you're not heartless. they're important days, so you swallow your pride and pack a bento spread you know he'll like.
tengen will confide in you about the memories of his late siblings, his parents, and his life before becoming a hashira. it's a depressing and heavy weight to shoulder, but you still play your role of the loving, supportive wife with your lingering touches and comforting words. you use these outings as opportunities to gain his trust by being vulnerable.
except, this time, the effect you seem to have on tengen is magnified to the point of no return.
he pulls you into his lap and you're suddenly flush against his rock hard chest, trapped in a suffocating hug. you don't know what prompted his sudden affection; perhaps it was the warm atmosphere you crafted or the intimacy of the moment, but the way tengen holds you so close is telling. he's about to say something you've been dreading since the day you met him.
"i love you." tengen confesses, nuzzling his face into your neck and sighing as if he'd just released the weight of the world off of his shoulders.
you knew it. it's the first time he's ever said it to you and you'll never forget the wave of nausea that hit you as you glanced up to see him staring back at you expectantly. your heart is pumping out of your chest and your face is flustered—not because you're flattered but because you're ashamed. you feel his hands squeeze your shoulders, almost like a warning, and his grip begins to feel claustrophobic after your prolonged silence.
you have no choice but to reciprocate.
"...I love you too." your voice is quiet, hesitant, and tengen gently teases you about being shy when you refuse to look at him anymore. he's not right but it's true that lying invokes shame.
he almost seems overwhelmed by your response, as if he hadn't just nonverbally threatened it out of you. you don't dare to sneak even a glance at him. he tightens his embrace around you and goes back to burying his face abashedly into your neck, mumbling sweet words against your skin. his body wraps around you like a vice, trapping you in the prison that is his dreadful existence.
you decide, in that very moment, that there was nothing in the world you wanted to do more than run away.
III. A DIRE MISTAKE
one fateful day, you catch wind of the news that tengen is being assigned on a mission quite far away, somewhere down in the southwest.
you're so lucked out that you thought it was a trap at first—a ploy to catch you in your undying desire to leave your husband for good. but when the day of departure arrives and tengen peppers your face with last minute kisses, you know for sure that there's no chance he's caught on to your resentment towards him, nor the plan of escape you've been devising all along.
your eyes are teary when tengen releases you from the last of his spine-crushing hugs and he cooes at your cute crying face. honestly, you're tearing up out of joy because your one and only chance to escape has literally fallen into your lap in a pleated handbasket, but you'll let him believe otherwise. you at least owe him the courtesy.
you already know you don't stand a chance against tengen, at least physically. he can overpower you like nothing and he's so tall that he towers over you, constantly caging you between those muscled arms of his. there's almost nothing you could do against a man like him—well, unless you count poisoning, but you were above murder when it came to getting what you wanted.
as soon as tengen passes through the looming gates of the residence and disappears down the winding road, you scramble to gather a few belongings before making your way out through the back. there's a twinge of fear that grips your gut but you press on, determined to put as much space between you and that wretched place you were expected to call home.
the moment you escaped, you flipped your identity. chopped your hair off, powdered your face in white make-up, and wore headscarves wherever you went. you fled as far as your feet would take you, only stopping to rest in a small village when your aching body could take you no further. you hardly spoke to anyone and left nothing behind that could possibly be traced back to you or be used to pursue you.
it's obvious you can't go back to your parents; they hated you when you lived with them, and they'd hate you more if you returned. they'd sell you out to tengen in two seconds flat, then ruthlessly shame you for running away from a marriage you wanted no part in. the only option left for you is to create a new life for yourself somewhere far, far away.
and that's exactly what you do. you find a little town on the outskirts of the red light district, where business is booming and it's easy to disguise yourself beneath the constant foot traffic. you go undercover as a seamstress, working in a homely tailor shop under the supervision of the owners, who are a kind older couple that are quick to regard of you as one of their own.
time marches on and the jarring memories of tengen do as well. you makes friends with the regulars that come by the store often. you've learned the valuable trade of mending clothing and sewing traditional patterns. you've even developed a crush on one of the men that come by often to repair his work uniform.
your life is finally the way you've always wanted it to be.
meanwhile, tengen copes—barely. days pass. weeks. months. you're still yet to be found, even with the help of all the hashira and the shinobi of his clan. it's as if you disappeared off the face of the planet. he's completely devastated. did you run away because he was gone for so long? were you feeling neglected? did you just want his attention? surely you wouldn't just up and leave when he'd been so loving; he truly couldn't think of anything that would prompt such an extreme reaction.
as expected, he doesn't come up with a justification for your disappearance. how could he? you could be dead by now with the amount of demon uprisings that have been happening lately. or you could even be halfway across the world right now, laughing at how easily you had fooled him. eventually, his sadness melts into anger. you may be gone now, but it won't be for long.
wherever you are, he'll find you.
IV. 'TIL DEATH DO HIM PART
in the following years, tengen's next three wives are chosen specifically by the head of his clan.
and, in the head of the clan's words: "the sound hashira's decision-making must be incredibly poor if he chose a wife who would dare flee from him." the statement only fans the flames of his growing wrath for you.
however, his new wives—suma, makio, and hinatsuru—are all beautiful and talented kunoichi who admire him to their very cores. as ungrateful as it sounds, there isn't a day where tengen wishes one of them were you. they've worked so hard to try and fill the gaping hole in his existence that was left by you, but it hasn't really been working. he needs you.
they're kind, caring, nurturing and most of all, strong. they've trained all their lives to be kunoichi. he knows he shouldn't complain but they just don't cook like you, look like you... aren't you. of course he loves them, but he could never forget the way his heart shattered the day he returned home to find you nowhere in sight. your disappearance left him in utter shambles. did you ever think about that when you left? you're so unbelievably selfish—is that the kind of woman you turned out to be?
his wives constantly question his lovesick behavior. tengen never hides anything from them; in fact, he'll sometimes go on long, borderline maniacal rambles about "the wife who got away." to suma, makio, and hinatsuru, you're an enigma that's broken the heart of their husband, and they're not sure what it was about you that makes him act this way. jealousy sparks—if there's a way to get you back to make tengen happy, they would do it, but maybe you're better off gone after all.
and it's not like tengen didn't search for you. oh no, he looked everywhere within reason. his duties as a hashira kept him chained to his missions near the demon slayers' headquarters, but that never stopped him from interrogating people when he got the chance. any woman that looked even remotely similar to you was sure to be stopped in the middle of the street for further investigation.
master kagaya is exceedingly understanding of the situation, and he bears obvious concern for his beloved sound hashira. while he's sympathetic of the loss of his wife—it's no matter to be taken lightly, of course—tengen must first be loyal to his occupation as a hashira, and that means going on missions in spite of his mourning.
and his newest missions leads him to the red light district.
so tengen goes. he knows his place when it comes to master kagaya, so he has no reason or authority to deny orders. regardless, it's a harrowing and tedious task. drunk concubines practically throw themselves into tengen's arms as he strolls past the many underground sex clubs that line the filthy streets. he has zero interest in any of the debauchery that goes on here, and he especially feels nothing when shoving them away from him with excessive force.
he scours the area for anyplace that looks decent enough to step foot in, as well as a place where he won't get immediately harassed by ran through harlots. turning down a quieter side street where some storefronts have been shuttered, he happens upon a small seamstress shop sandwiched between two restaurants that look as if they've closed early for the evening.
shrugging, tengen wearily thinks it's as good of a place as any to begin his intel gathering on the upper moons' whereabouts. he saunters towards the front entrance and a young woman dressed in traditional geisha wear passes him on the sparsely populated road, her wooden sandals clacking against the ground. he can't help but think her hair looked similar to yours and his heart twists painfully in his chest.
tengen seems to be constantly haunted by the thought of you, forming an obsession in his mind that won't go away until he has you back. until he knows your safe, with him, just like you were meant to be. until he sees you.
no, literally, tengen sees you, right in front of him.
through the window of the upscale seamstress shop, he sees you conversing with a man at the front counter, laughing heartily at a joke he must have made. tengen quickly crouches beneath the display window to spy on you, his heart pounding out of his chest at the events that are currently unfolding. he must be mistaken.
he peeks above the lip of the window to catch a glance and, sure enough, it is you. you're alive and well, almost glowing beneath the low, intimate lighting inside the shop.
he finally found you! he can't believe it. the grin that's stretching across his face is so broad. he'd recognize your face anywhere, even if it's caked in geisha makeup and your hair elaborately styled. you’re beautiful and he’s captivated by your beauty just as he was the day that he met you.
he's so unbelievably ecstatic with the way his hands are clamming up, his feet shuffling in the dirt and...
what?
creeping over the ledge of the display window once again, tengen's eyes immediately grow dark. there's a man there. talking to you. his wife.
in the midst of your conversation, your eyes absently float over to the window. it's there that your gaze clashes with his, and a blood-curdling look of terror overtakes your features. is that… tengen?
there's a shift in the air. what happens next, tengen doesn't recall, but when he comes to there's blood on his hands and your hair is bundled up in his fist as he drags you past the threshold the of the shop’s entrance. he looks over his shoulder and on the floor, spread eagle, lies the man without his head. the scene is gruesome.
he killed him.
tengen looks down at you with a solemn gaze. for some reason, he doesn't even care. the emotions running through him are almost too much to bear. do you know how much your disappearance has destroyed him? do you know how much he's suffered because of you? do you even care?
he doesn't understand why you're crying. it seems like you were happy enough to whore around with other men in his absence. the thought drives him to the brink of insanity. how much longer do you plan on humiliating him?
there's too much to be said. tengen's mouth is agape and he's so upset at you that he can't find the right words to express himself. instead, he collapses to the floor beside you and embraces you in his longing arms. he smells your hair and feels how your body shrinks against his—it's all exactly how it used to be. it's exactly as he remembered, as he dreamed of.
and now, as tengen scoops you up into his arms to take you back home, another dream of his will be fulfilled tonight. he knows exactly what kind of punishment is befit for you.
V. A JUST PUNISHMENT — (NSFW: NON-CON)
"tengen-sama! you're ba-"
a woman with colored bangs and a ponytail attempts to greet tengen as he enters, but she's cut off by not only the expression on his face but also the strange, disheveled woman he's hauling behind him.
he drags you across the cold, laminated wood floors into the bedroom by your hair and peels the delicate, silken layers of your yukata back, exposing soft flesh and ample curves. tengen is so starved of your touch—of your voice, your scent, you. he'll make you pay for what you put him through. he'll make you stay this time.
you can't even fight back. you're so afraid of what's going to happen that your body refuses to move, to speak. and even if you could, there was no way you would win against a hashira, of all people.
tengen starts by pushing you to your knees. when his hands begin the hasty work of undoing the belt of his kimono, you already know where this is going and it makes your stomach churn in volatile sickness. he eagerly slides his under pants down and from the top of its elastic band springs his semi-hard cock, which nearly hits you in the face. you gasp at the sheer size of it; that is not gonna fit inside of you.
"don't look at me like that, [name]. clearly i was too lenient with you back then. i should've disciplined you..." he trails off as he stares into your pleading eyes. he smiles but, in it, is no mercy.
"c'mon, baby. you'll be a good girl and open your mouth for me, won't you?"
you refuse. no, you wouldn't even dream of it. you've never done anything sexual with a man before and you certainly aren't going to wi—
tengen suddenly reaches down and grabs ahold of your now tangled hair with one of his large hands. it takes barely any pressure before your mouth is pried open by the force of his fingers alone, and his now engorged cock head is being stuffed into your warm, unyielding mouth.
you can only let out a choked cry at the vile intrusion.
"that's it, baby, good girl.." he praises, stroking your head with his thumb as he slowly inches his pulsing cock down your throat.
your screams are completely muffled. tengen begins to pick up the pace, letting your drool be the lubricant that allows his giant dick to slide in and out of your tight throat. it hurts so bad that you try to bite down and free yourself from this act of vulgarity, but tengen doesn't allow it. he instead tugs your head back by the grip he has on your hair, forces his cock all the way in, and holds you there until you decide to behave yourself.
you can hardly breath. lewd, wet noises fill the room as tengen gags you almost to the point of unconsciousness. the vibrations from your screaming must have been making him feel good, though, because it takes just a few minutes before he's shuddering in orgasm as he bottoms out and cums, which you have no choice but to swallow.
he pulls out of your mouth and you're mortified, but even more so when you see how he's still hard. his cock is covered in a thick layer of your saliva and his cum drips onto your exposed chest in globs that make you cringe in disgust. you think you're going to throw up.
and you almost do, if it weren't for tengen picking you up from under your arms and tossing you onto the plush bedding. your legs are forced open and tengen slides his twitching cock against your pussy, slowly and teasingly. you begin to fight against him but he easily pins you down long enough to push his fat cock head into your tight pussy.
tengen pounds you into the plush cushion of the futon all night long. you've given up struggling and crying, only mewling in pain as the brutish man stretches your virgin pussy wide. he ruthlessly kneads your breasts with his calloused palms and overstimulates your clit with his fingers until you cream and squirt repeatedly all over his dick. you can do nothing but lay there as he roughly moves your body into various positions and fills your womb with his seed—there's no way you won't be pregnant after this.
all the pent up rage that tengen was forced to weather after your disappearance is released in that very room. he sounds like a crazy man with the way he lapses in and out of fits of rage where he's cursing at you with his hands around your throat, then slipping into pleasure induced "i love you's" as he dumps yet another load of cum deep inside of you.
"h-how does it feel, my love?" he groans, reaching over to caress your flushed face. "mm, you sound so cute making those noises. lemme hear you scream, darling."
and oh, you sure do scream. for him to stop, to get off of you. that you've had enough. that you hate him. over and over again you scream, you cry, and you struggle, but it does you no good. he only seems to thrust faster the more you beg. is he getting off to your desperation? he must be by the way his cock pulses at any form of physical resistance from you.
you thought it would never end. he's almost insatiable. your tears have long dried up—for the most part, anyway—but the skin on your face feels raw from tengen "lovingly" wiping all your tears and snot away while simultaneously pounding a you-shaped hole into the futon. you feel disgusting. you don't even have the strength to make a sound when he spanks you for the hundredth time, moaning heatedly about how you've been such a bad, bad girl.
when it seems like he's finally spent, he doesn't pull out. instead, he collapses on top of you with his cock still twitching inside your sloppy, ruined cunt while drawing you in for an unreciprocated kiss. he whispers praises in your ear and gently strokes your face, cooing at how much you're trembling against his much larger form.
"i should've done this a long time ago. maybe you wouldn't have left if i dumped my kids into you sooner."
eventually, his softened cock slips out of you and a gush of warmth runs down your legs; you can already feel a soreness settling in your pelvis. tengen sighs contentedly at the sopping squelch that sounds when you snap your legs shut in order to roll as far away from him as possible. he roughly wraps a muscled arm around your waist and pulls you back towards him as soon as he sees your attempt to create distance.
"i missed you so much, darling," tengen mumbles against your skin breathily, offering a soft smile. "did you enjoy your welcome back?"
he's making fun of you. you refuse to even look at him. it's to be expected, really, he can't imagine how bad it must feel to think you actually got away from him as you lay in his arms once again, right where you belong. you need to learn your place; no wife of his will disrespect him like you did ever again. if you have to be an example of that, then so be it—youput this on yourself, after all.
leaving you with a final kiss, he gets up, wraps a towel around his waist, and goes to let his other wives into the room to help clean you up (they've been waiting patiently ever since you showed up, curious about the woman who supposedly "stole tengen's heart," as he put it). you're still naked and exposed with tengen's cum leaking down your thighs but you don't even have the mental capacity to care anymore. all three of the girls look shocked at the state you're in, but they don't comment and rush to get you in the bath.
they're all very pretty, of course. when you emerge from your haze of disorientation, you're left reeling at the fact that tengen had amassed three whole wives in light of your absence. well, not that you have any right to be surprised considering your short lived emotional affair. you're still in mourning over what had happened to him.
regardless of your fragile state, the three women swarm you with questions that prod at your past: who you are, where you're from, and how you met tengen. you don't even have half the mind to reply. you can only stare at your tear-stricken reflection in the soapy water, ready to burst into tears yet again at the horrible predicament you've found yourself in.
what can you do now? sit around and get bred by tengen? rot away in this dreadful house for the rest of your life? the other wives seem to catch onto your unresponsiveness after a couple dozen of their questions go ignored, so they sit quietly and gently wash you clean. they look genuinely worried for you—not that their pity will undo the damage that's already been done.
makio will scrub your back and grumble about how jealous she is while suma and hinatsuru fret over the small bruises that are now beginning to form around your hips from tengen's manhandling. suma washes your hair next, commenting on how beautiful it is, while the other two move onto rinsing the soap from your body. they wrap you up in a fluffy towel when it's over, and a shiver wracks your spine when their hands guide you to another room, down the hall, with a clean bed ready for you to rest in.
you don't really know who they are but since they're dressed like kunoichi, it's obvious that they don't share the same mindset you do, or were forced to be wed to tengen like you were. you can't ask them to help you escape from this hell, not a chance.
even as you lay in the criminally comfortable futon with new silken pajamas, a cup of cold water at your side, and a warm blanket, sleep doesn't find you.
and with tengen around, you're certain it never will.
VI. A HAPPY EVER AFTER (EXTRA)
a few months later, your pregnancy symptoms are in full swing.
tengen is as protective as ever and the other wives have already grown attached to you despite your bitter and unforgiving attitude towards them. you learn quickly that they're all very... obsessive, constantly hovering over you and going to overbearing extremes to make sure you don't do anything that would physically strain yourself in any way.
hinatsuru and makio follow at your heels like guard dogs while suma takes charge of most of the cooking and cleaning. she keeps the peace most of the time and holds makio back when she's attempting to murder hinatsuru over something childish. you're never in the mood to talk to them, however, and they often try to bribe you with your favorite sweets (which is intel that they've gathered from tengen) in order to get you to participate in their activities.
unluckily for you, tengen had decided to completely retire from being a hashira following a particularily harrowing encounter with an upper moon demon (even after you tried to subtly guilt trip him into not doing so). he insisted that you and the baby were "more important." you know that it'd be difficult to escape with the other wives around but to add tengen on top of that makes it surely impossible.
every morning, the dreadful man himself meets the four of you in the kitchen and will beam proudly at the sight of his adorable little harem. he goes down the line and gives affection to each of his wives individually, in the way they prefer, and saves you for last as you're his "greatest prize," or whatever he said. you're just completely exhausted and you resent them all from the deepest depths of your heart. the least you can do is make it obvious.
tengen finds your rebellion adorable. everything about you is and even moreso now than when you left him all those years ago. he'll grab you by the jaw and force you into a quick one-sided kiss, pulling away with that fond smile of his. his fingers ghost over your swelling tummy but his very touch makes you feel so awfully sick. you'll roughly push him away and he's so out of his mind that he attributes your justified anger and moodiness to your "pregnancy hormones." regardless, he's happy. it's you who's going to bear his child. it's you who first said you loved him too. as long as you live, you're bound to him as his wife. nothing can come between a man and the woman he loves; uzui tengen certainly made sure of that, didn't he?
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heeseung's head aches more than ever, and for every second that he stares at the minimalist silver pendant sitting still between your collarbones, it's thin silver chain hugging your neck ever so softly, it aches even more.
and now it's the time for his heart. he physically cringes out of guilt when he watches you retract your hand away from his. he just wants to hold your hand in his, wants to embrace the soft warmth that once felt like home, that cosy and cordial sensation that gave him butterflies.
but now that is long gone.
it started with heeseung really. from your shoulders missing the embrace of his arm to his cheeks missing your tickling, feathery kiss. neither of you know when this started; an invisible wall growing between you two, and all you can do is sit and watch, letting the wall increase the distance you've already built in between you both.
“you should focus on the movie instead”, your tone is boring, maybe even annoyed. or maybe none, heeseung simply doesn't know. he can't concentrate on whatever's playing in front of him, his eyes are fixed on your necklace, sending such visuals to his brain out of which he can only think of scenarios that hammers his heart even more.
the pendants’ a heart. it's a fucking heart.
“yeah, i am”, heeseung lies, again. just like the way he lied to you three months ago saying he would definitely attend your birthday party albeit his rough basketball practice.
you searched for your boyfriend's compelling face for hours that evening. waited for him the whole night, an hour passed by, then two, then three. every face in your apartment left and the one that should've been there by your side on the couch, holding you in his arms and kissing you all over, was not there. lee heeseung indeed broke his promise that day, along with a piece of you.
“really? what just happened right now then?”, you yawn, munching on the caramel popcorn, a flavour you didn't really like. but heeseung is unable to answer your question right now, he doesn't find enough words to formulate a sentence and explain why he didn't really know what was going on in the movie. his eyes just mindlessly read over the subtitles at the bottom of the screen not really getting the context behind it, there are more vital thoughts in the back of his head, eating him alive in this moment.
heeseung mentally curses himself for instances that took place months ago. instances which once broke your heart, you cried over it, burying your face in the pillow and then eventually forgetting about it. instances that heeseung never cared enough to think about twice before going to bed, or use to reflect on his actions or even think about it.
but suddenly heeseung wishes he could go back in time and return to your birthday party that evening, he wishes he was not that casual to flirt with your best friend in front of you, he wishes he hadn't caused those meaningless arguments with you, he wishes he'd never told you that his ex was better. heeseung wishes he was a better boyfriend for you.
“this one new?”, and heeseung's eyes are back on the necklace you were wearing, it's dainty silver heart infuriating him even more and he can't find the reason why. why the fuck can't he recognize the necklace?
“this one?”, you very well know which one he means when you point at the silver necklace on your neck, or else why will you be sitting with your cardigan pushed all the way down to your collarbones? “you gave it to me, don't you remember?”, you smile.
“not really”, heeseung trails off, a smile from you felt odd after days of cold shoulder from you. it doesn't feel genuine though, so he returns another fake smile hoping you wouldn't notice, “maybe i forgot.”
heeseung can never forget, never ever when it comes to you. he might have been the worst boyfriend ever but he's dying for your touch right now, maybe playing hard to get in your own relationship got him? he can't bet on being ‘good boyfriend’ all over again, he knows he fucked up. but he can bet on one thing though.
he swears and he swears to god and all his 23 years of life, he has never bought that necklace for you.
‘cause why the fuck would it have a ‘J’ engraved on it?
© bywons, 2024. do not copy, translate or upload any of my works without my permission.
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𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒 – 𝟐
𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐎: 𝐬𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐟𝐥𝐚𝐤𝐞
⤥ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫
⤥ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬!𝐀𝐔
⤥ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: 𝐀 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐚𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐯𝐞, 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐞𝐬. 𝐀 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐧 𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐲'𝐬 𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐤.
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(A/N: i hope you guys enjoyed this and are getting a little bit of a better understanding just..how much those two hate each other's guts 👀 thank you sm for everything i love and appreciate you all sm!🩷 feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!!!☁️🫧)
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devoted f.toji
pairings: fushiguro toji x fem! reader
cw: angst, divorce, mentions of bullying, death, mentions of abuse, starvation, bruises (megumi got into a fight), timeskip, not proofread
a/n: an alternative angst ending. enjoy :)
would everything be different if toji did not sign the divorce papers 7 years ago? everything would but everyone knew that it was already too late for that.
happy ending | alternate angst ending
"i'm back, my love." toji muttered as he wiped his hand on a certain graveyard showing a certain name as he placed white roses above it. today marked the death anniversary of toji's wife, megumi's mother. he didn't brought megumi with him though. he went alone.
"megumi's turning 6." he mumbled as if someone was around to listen to him. "i couldn't do it alone. before. i-" toji paused, gathering the courage to spill out the words he didn't want to utter. "i almost sold megumi.." he said as he sucked in a breath.
"i'm sorry i couldn't visit you for the past weeks." toji caressed the name with his thumb. he recalled the day he didn't leave the grave, even if it rained, he stayed there.
"i miss you." toji muttered. "so much." he added. "i don't know if i am doing things right." doing things right? but what exactly?
"i couldn't stop thinking of you in her." he mumbled as he balled his fist. "ahh, i'm so stupid."
toji leaned his back on the tombstone as he looked at the grass.
would you forgive him if he said the truth? that up until now, he still couldn't move on with his deceased wife.
he didn't even noticed the time as toji stood up from the ground, the sky turning dark when he came home.
-
"where have you been, toji?" you worriedly asked as you approached him but he stopped you by your shoulders. "i'm sorry about what i said last night." you said as you lowered your head. "i didn't mean to involve her again."
"can we talk about something?" he asked, dismissing your apologies as he looked at you.
"uh, sure?" you asked, chills running down your spine at the unfamiliar tone of his voice. it was— sad?
he sat from the couch as you followed.
"(name). you know that i love you right?" he said and you couldn't help but be nervous as you weakly nod. he loves you? you didn't know. "forgive me, (name)." he said as he intertwined his hands together. "because after all this time, i realized that—" he paused as he looked at you. and he just hoped he didn't. "i still couldn't move on." he mumbled, enough for you to hear it.
you gulped the lump in your throat as you sat beside him, placing a comforting hand on his back.
"it's okay and— i know." you said as you forced a smile.
"i'll let you go if you want." he said, but do you really want to?
"mh, maybe it's for the best, right?" you said as hummed.
"i'm sorry."
"don't be." you said as you stood up from the couch. "it'll be fine." if it is for your happiness. then it'll be. "well, i guess we'll push through the divorce?" you said.
it was a harsh decision. you both knew that, but maybe it was really for the best.
"you can come visit megumi. i'm sure he'll be glad to see you." he said as he smiled lightly.
"that would be good." you said, returning his smile.
-
was it really the right choice?
toji was vulnerable that night he came home. he didn't know if he really did made the right choice. now he had to deal with megumi's tantrums as they watch you leave.
"mama!" megumi cried as toji held him by his shoulders, restraining him from following you as you walked out of your home.
"mama will visit, 'gumi." you said as you waved him a goodbye.
"mama, don't leave please!" megumi yelled, trying to remove his father grip but it was useless. "mama!" he cried.
was it a coincidence that it started to rain heavily too? maybe the universe was crying with you.
megumi was already turning 13, but ever since you left, not a single day you payed him a visit. he barely remember your face, your voice as you lull him to sleep, you cookings. he missed it. he had to learn cooking at a very young age because you weren't around anymore.
at his age, he finally understood what happened to his father and his step-mother. it was a marriage where there was no love in it.
he was fooled by the people he loved the most.
megumi became distant to his father, and he believes you were a liar for promising that you'll visit him. he waited, and waited until he couldn't anymore.
everyone lied to him. his father did, you did and he thinks he couldn't just forgive you, not until you'll show yourself again.
-
toji was restless on their living room. megumi is still wasn't home. it was around 9pm in the clock when he heard a knock on the door, and once he opened it, instead of seeing his grumpy son, he was met with.. your youngest sister.
"toji zenin?" she asked as toji frowned.
"toji fushiguro." he corrected.
"well that's still the same. can i go inside?" she asked and toji hesitantly let her inside.
-
"here." your sister said, handing him a paper bag.
"what's this?" toji's asked with a raised eyebrow as he took the paper on his hand.
"my sister's belongings. you can keep it."
"why?"
"she wanted your son to have it. she said it's a gift from the birthdays she missed."
"why don't she give it herself?"
"could a dead person do that?" sarcasm was evident on your sisters voice when she said those words. "she—" your sister paused as she cleared her throat. "—died of heart failure." she continued.
he doesn't know what to say, not when your sister was on the verge of tears but she concealed it with a heavy sigh.
after several minutes, your sister took toji silence as the sign to go out but before she could leave the house she faced him again.
"i hope my sister's been good to your family." she said with now a sad tone, only to be met with a younger version of toji who was frozen at the door, band aids decorating his bruised face. she bowed at megumi and walked past him.
-
megumi took out all of the things inside the paper bag. there was a book with a dried purple rose in it, a polaroid, a picture frame of you and him when he was still in elementary and a two knitted scarfs with his and toji's name embroidered on it.
megumi failed to notice a certain birthday card on it. not until it flew down on the ground.
'happy birthday my 'gumi.'
it said on the front page.
"happy birthday megumi! i'm sorry i missed a lot of your birthdays. knowing you, you hate mama now, don't you? i'm sorry i couldn't keep my promise to visit. mama's been busy with a lot lot of things but don't worry, mama will visit you as soon as she can! i love you my baby."
love,
mama <3
-
toji heared loud footsteps from the stairs as he caught the scarf megumi just threw at him before it could hit his face.
"are you happy now?" megumi said as he clutched the dark blue knitted scarf on his hand, identical to ones he threw at his father a minute ago. "mama's dead now!" megumi exclaimed.
"this is all your fault." megumi said, his voice breaking as he clutched the scarf close to his chest. "if only.. if only you stopped mama from leaving."
and toji could only stay quiet, taking his son's anger all by himself.
-
"abused, isolated and was left starved. they didn't feed her for days until her body gave up." the police said.
"i thought she died from heart failure?"
"no. they kept her death a secret and it's been 2 years since mr. fushiguro, how did you found out about this case?"
"(name)'s my ex-wife. i only found out when her sister visited."
"i see. well that's understandable knowing that her death was kept from the public. but worry not, her parents was already in jail. that's the only information i could give you, mister."
-
"what did you want to talk about?" your sister said as she leaned her back on a wall.
"you lied, you said she died from a heart failure."
"that's what she wanted me to tell you." she sighed, placing her hands inside her pocket. both was quiet, none wanted to start speaking but both has a lot to say.
"i was very close to my sister and it hurts me to see her defend you from our parents." she said as she continues. "she suddenly came home saying that you wanted a divorce and our parents got mad. she was treated like a maid in our home. i couldn't do anything. i wanted to help her but she didn't want me to be in danger."
"my parents were furious because your family removed all of the connections they had together with my family and they blame my sister for it. did you found out?" your sister asked.
"found out what?"
"the only reason my parents asked your family to marry my sister was because of your company's money." toji kept quiet and your sister took this as the chance to continue. "my sister didn't want it but suddenly, she told me she was excited for the marriage. she told me that you were the boy she was looking for." she smiled as she recalled that day. "i don't think my sister agreed to marry you because of your company's money. my sister genuinely loved you, mr. zenin."
that was your parent's plan all along? he didn't even knew it because he thinks your sister was right, you really did loved him genuinely.
"i don't blame you for it, mr. zenin. but i just hoped that you didn't let my sister go home that night. maybe her fate would be different, maybe.. she's still alive until now. i didn't even know she was suffering from a heart disease." she said, muttering the last sentence as she chuckled bitterly.
"why didn't she reach out at me?" toji said, mainly asking himself.
"that's what i told her but my sister doesn't want to force herself to someone who threw her away." that sure hit a vein on his heart because in reality, he did threw you away.
"where was she buried?" toji asked.
"you wouldn't find it. she was cremated and i don't know where my parents took her ashes. maybe they even threw it somewhere."
-
toji went home with an aching body as he fell down on the couch.
your parents was already sent at the jail 3 months ago already. your sister was brave enough to tell the police after 2 years of your death.
he didn't know how many hours has it been as he went to his room, walking past his son's room but his instinct tells that something was wrong so he went to open the door of megumi's room, only to see shattered glasses everywhere, his study table and chair was destroyed, his computer also, as he find his son laying on the bed, with a scarf around him. the scarf you made him.
"megumi." toji called as he slightly shake his son and megumi jolted awake as he pushed his father.
"what are you doing here?" megumi rasped. "leave." he said, pointing at the door.
"i got a call from your school. you were bullying someone. is that true?"
"why does it matter to you?"
"megumi—"
"dad, i said leave."
"i'm sorry, son." toji said as he placed his palm on megumi's head, only for megumi to push it away. "papa— dad will take all the blame."
"you should." megumi said but his voice betrayed him. "i hate you."
"i know, i hate myself too." toji said as megumi looked up at him. "i regret everything 'gumi."
"stop calling me that, i'm not a kid anymore."
"yeah, sorry." toji said as he stood up from megumi's bed as he made his way at the door of his room.
" 'say sorry to your papa.' that's what would mama tell me if she's here right now." megumi said.
toji sighed as he finally opened the door.
"i'm sorry. i was just mad. i'm sorry, i didn't mean it. i don't blame you." megumi said but toji was already outside of his room as he closed the door.
he didn't deserve his son's apologies, he even deserved to be blamed because in the first place, all of this could've been prevented if he did not signed the divorce 7 years ago.
"what should i do, (name)?" he asked as if you were around as he fall on the ground as he leaned on the wall.
what should he do to make his son trust him again, he wanted to have the closure he had with his son when you were still living with them.
toji doesn't know what to do at this point, and instead of thinking about his first wife, he just hoped that you were beside him right now, telling him the things he should and shouldn't so megumi wouldn't hate him like how it was now.
he just hoped that you were beside him..
taglist: @xllizs
“She doesn’t want you” NIKI??????
📱┆ WEVERSE : SUS EDiTiON ( 1 ) ִ࣪𖤐
概括. ENHYPEN weverse posts that made ENGENES do a double take. 笔记. new sus moments since scandals, headlines mentioned them hehe 🤭
GET WELL SOON , P.SH !
﹙ 🍁 ﹚ ぃ ──── I KNOW IT'S MY FAULT, BUT I WANNA MAKE IT BETTER!
PAIRING: racer ! sunghoon × orphan ! afab reader.
SYNOPSIS: You’ve always considered yourself a good person—kind, forgiving, and patient. But Sunghoon tested every bit of that. One reckless, drunken drive was all it took for him to flip your life upside down, leaving you temporarily confined to a wheelchair. The inconvenience was more than just physical; it was a wound to your pride and independence. Sunghoon, however, refused to walk away from his mistake. Guilt-ridden and determined to make amends, he became a constant presence in your life—covering your medical bills, offering you emotional support, and sticking around even when you wished he wouldn’t.
WORD COUNT: 19.2K
FEAT: WONYOUNG from IVE, JAY from ENHYPEN, HANNI from NEWJEANS, + some ocs
MENTIONS OF CRIME & ACCIDENT, OVERALL FLUFF & CRACK !
MORE LIKE THIS? || MASTERLIST?
TAGLIST: @chexnluv @moonpri @wensurr @jiyeons-closet @isa942572 @jkslvsnella @woniefull @aleeza444 @capri-cuntz @vi-ri @hotteokisms @flwwon @shhth @lialaiakalaiiaia (the ones in bold couldn't be tagged)
AS YOU LAY IN THE HOSPITAL BED, the sterile scent of antiseptic in the air, your gaze drifted to the bouquet of white roses on the table beside you. A scoff slipped from your lips before you could stop it, a bitter reminder of why you were even here.
This was all his fault. Park Sunghoon.
For a second, you tried to maintain your calm, the nice person part of you struggling to hold on, but that guy—he tested all of it.
“Throw them away, please?” you asked, your voice clipped as you turned to the nurse adjusting your IV.
Before she could respond, an infuriatingly familiar voice cut through the room, smooth yet utterly exasperating. “You don't like white?”
You didn’t even need to look to know it was him. The sudden rush of irritation heated your cheeks as you whipped your head towards the door. And there he was. Park Sunghoon. Strolling in casually, hands tucked into the pockets of his expensive designer coat, as if he hadn’t ruined your entire week.
“Yeah, I don’t,” you shot back, your glare burning through him. The forced smile on your face was saccharine, dripping with the very clear message that he was definitely not welcome.
He raised an eyebrow, unfazed. Of course, he had the audacity to smirk—like always. "Sadly," he drawled, clearly enjoying himself, “you gotta keep them.”
Without invitation, he sauntered over to the side of your bed, his presence filling the room, as if his wealth and arrogance alone could smother the oxygen. You watched him with narrowed eyes, arms crossed over your chest in defiance.
“Just leave me alone, you rich jerk,” you spat, unable to hold back the venom in your tone. Your fists clenched beneath the thin hospital sheets, a reminder that you couldn’t even storm out of here like you wanted to. You were stuck—and it was all because of him.
His face faltered for a split second, the cockiness slipping ever so slightly as your words hit him. But like clockwork, he masked it, that composed, arrogant look sliding back into place.
It should’ve been satisfying to see the momentary flash of guilt cross his features, but it wasn’t enough. Not when your life had been flipped upside down, not when you were confined to this bed because of his mistake.
BUT HOW DID ALL OF THIS HAPPEN?
Well…
FLASHBACK!
Your eyes were stinging from the tears, and you clumsily wiped them away with the back of your hand. You weren’t exactly drunk—maybe two shots deep after an agonizingly stressful day—but it was enough to make your head spin. Why did it all have to be so sad?
Sniffling, you stumbled down the empty street, your shoes scuffing the pavement as you sobbed quietly into the night. The darkness felt overwhelming, like it was swallowing you whole, and even though your tears blurred your vision, you knew where you were heading—or at least you thought you did.
It wasn’t until you heard the loud, abrupt honk of a motorbike that you even realized you were standing in the middle of the street. You barely had time to turn your head towards the blinding lights before—BAM!
The impact wasn’t as hard as it could’ve been, but it was enough. The bike, thankfully, had slowed down, but not nearly enough to stop it from hitting you. Pain shot through your leg as you collapsed onto the cold, hard ground, the breath knocked out of your lungs.
You groaned loudly, clutching your leg, wincing at the sharp sting that radiated through your body. Meanwhile, the rider, who had also fallen, was busy steadying himself, dusting off his helmet as if he wasn’t the reason your entire life had just flashed before your eyes.
“THE HELL?!” you screamed, your voice cracking as you tried to shift your weight but immediately regretted it. The sharp pain in your leg intensified, forcing you back down onto the concrete. You gritted your teeth, tears stinging your eyes once again as you glared up at him.
The guy finally looked your way, lifting his visor to reveal his face. "Ma’am, are you okay?" he asked, his voice eerily calm, as if he hadn’t just crashed his motorcycle into you. Like it was some minor inconvenience to him.
Your blood boiled. “Okay???" you spat out, your voice a mix of disbelief and fury. "I’m literally bleeding! Are you dumb?!”
The guy blinked, clearly taken aback by your outburst, but remained calm. Too calm. “Alright, alright, just calm down,” he muttered, crouching down next to you, but that only made you angrier.
"Calm down?” you snapped, clenching your fists as the pain and the frustration built up inside of you. “Say that when you’re the one lying here, bleeding out!"
He flinched at your words but didn’t reply. Instead, he reached into his pocket, fumbling for his phone to call an ambulance. Meanwhile, you were still seething, glancing down at your leg where the blood was now slowly trickling down your thigh, staining your jeans. The sight of it made you dizzy, your head swimming with pain and exhaustion.
You could barely keep your eyes open, but you still had enough energy to notice him—freaking fixing his bike. He had the nerve to set it upright on its stand, making sure it was okay before coming back to check on you.
"If you even think about making this a hit and run," you rasped, your voice hoarse from both pain and anger, “I’ll haunt your entire family line.”
The guy stopped, visibly gulping as he knelt down beside you once again, clearly panicking now. "No, no, that’s not—look, the ambulance is coming, okay? Just… try to stay with me.”
Your vision blurred, your breath coming in shallow gasps as the world began to tilt. The last thing you remembered before everything went black was him leaning over, actually cleaning the blood off your thigh with his sleeve, his face a mask of panic and guilt. You didn’t know what was worse—the excruciating pain or the fact that you now hated him with every fiber of your being. Park Sunghoon.
And just like that, you passed out, your hatred for him searing into the darkness of your mind as you slipped into unconsciousness.
AND WHAT EXACTLY HAPPENED AFTER THAT?
You may wonder, but well...
Turns out, the guy—Park Sunghoon—was not just any calm, overly collected motorcyclist who’d crashed into you that night. No, he was the son of a wealthy man, one of those who didn’t have to face consequences because money speaks louder than the truth. And apparently, money really does talk, especially when you’re up against a system rigged to work in favor of the rich.
Even though Sunghoon had confessed to being at fault—had told the police it was his mistake—the tests showed otherwise. Your blood test, which revealed traces of alcohol, was enough to tip the scales in his favor. You weren’t even drunk, for heaven's sake—two shots hardly counted—but that didn’t matter. The system had already labeled you as the reckless one. Your claims of innocence? Brushed off, like dust from his expensive jacket.
It was humiliating. The police barely questioned Sunghoon. His parents swooped in like hawks, ensuring their precious son wouldn’t be held accountable for such a trivial incident, and just like that, there was no investigation, no justice. Just a quick sweep under the rug, and you were left to fester in your anger, helpless against the machine that protected people like him.
Being an orphan only made things worse. You had no guardian, no family to back you up or fight for you. Your best friend, Wonyoung, was the only one who came to your side. She tried covering your hospital bills—she had offered, insisted even—but you couldn’t let her. She needed the money more than you did, and you weren’t about to burden her with your mess. But you couldn't deny her when she showed up every day with packed lunches, smuggling in home-cooked meals like they were contraband.
On one particular afternoon, you sat in the hospital bed, poking at the warm rice she had lovingly packed in a small bento box. Wonyoung sat across from you, her eyes burning with the same hatred you felt. She stabbed at her own food, her anger simmering with every bite.
“I still can’t believe him,” she muttered, barely able to contain her frustration. “How does he get to walk away from this like it’s nothing?”
You let out a humorless chuckle, shaking your head as you swallowed a bite of food. “Because he’s rich. Rich guys don’t face consequences, apparently.”
She nodded, her lips pressed into a thin line. “I hate him. I hate him so much.”
You sighed, your gaze falling to your bandaged leg. It throbbed, a constant reminder of everything that had happened. “Join the club,” you muttered. “He hasn’t even tried to take responsibility. Not once.”
Wonyoung scoffed, glancing over at the sterile hospital room, the fluorescent lights casting a harsh glow over everything. “How does he sleep at night? Like, seriously?”
You thought about that too. How did Park Sunghoon sleep at night? Probably on some ridiculously expensive mattress in his mansion, far away from the mess he’d left you in. You clenched your fists around the edge of your blanket, biting back the urge to cry. Not again. You were so tired of crying, of feeling powerless, of being at the mercy of someone else’s mistakes.
AND AS THE DAYS PASSED, the gnawing anxiety of being kicked out of the hospital clung to you like a dark cloud. Let's be honest—you had no money. The minute the hospital caught wind of that, you were sure they’d toss you out on the curb without a second thought. It wasn’t like you had any guardian to bail you out, no family waiting in the wings to cover the mounting costs. You were an orphan—alone, except for your best friend Wonyoung, who had already done more than she needed to.
Sitting up slightly in your bed, you glanced at the nurse as she came in to check your vitals. She seemed nice—too nice—and it was exactly that thread of hope you grasped at as you hesitantly asked, “So... when do I pay the hospital bill?”
You knew the question was pointless, knew the answer would sink like lead in your gut, but you had to ask. Maybe, just maybe, a miracle would happen.
The nurse adjusted the IV drip, giving you a small smile as she jotted something down on her clipboard. “Someone already paid for you.”
Your jaw didn’t drop—not even a little—because let’s be honest, you knew who had covered it. Sunghoon’s parents. Of course they did. Anything to wipe their son’s record clean, to make sure no trace of this incident marred the reputation of their precious heir. Rich people.
“Right.” You muttered, sinking back into the pillows, staring at the plain white ceiling. It was always the same. Pay, forget, move on. No justice, just convenient cover-ups.
The nurse, oblivious to the tension building inside you, walked out of the room. You sighed heavily, closing your eyes, hoping—praying—that it wasn’t Sunghoon or one of his parents waiting for you outside. But your luck? Yeah, it never worked in your favor.
“Enjoying your stay here?” His voice was as smooth as silk, and when you opened your eyes, there he was, Park Sunghoon, standing in the doorway with that charming smile of his. It was the kind of smile that could have melted hearts—not yours, though. Not now, not when he was the reason you were lying here, stuck in this bed, smelling nothing but disinfectant and medicine.
“Yeah, it’s great,” you bit out, rolling your eyes. “A dream vacation. Smell of medicine, broken bones, IV drips—just paradise.”
Sunghoon chuckled softly, like he wasn’t standing in front of you after nearly ruining your life. You could have thrown the flower pot sitting by your bed at him—would have if the nurse hadn’t spoken up at that exact moment.
“She has a fracture in her leg and some soft tissue damage, but with rehabilitation, she should recover in twelve to eighteen weeks,” the nurse said, looking at Sunghoon like he actually cared about your prognosis.
“Alright. I get it,” he muttered, nodding as if he was taking mental notes, and you wondered why. Why was he still here? Why did he even care? He had already done his job, hadn’t he? Paid the bills, covered the mess—so why was he still hanging around?
The nurse excused herself, flashing what you swore was a knowing smile before she left the room. “Okay, then, enjoy your time with your girlfriend,” she said as she slipped out the door.
Girlfriend?! You nearly choked on your own breath. Girlfriend?? Really?! Your eyes shot to Sunghoon, demanding an explanation as you sat up straighter, the hospital blanket clenched in your fists.
“Explain,” you hissed, glaring at him with all the hatred you could muster. Your leg ached with the movement, but you ignored it, your whole body brimming with frustration.
He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “Well... my dad wouldn’t let me get involved after the accident. But I wanted to take responsibility, and the only way I could stay connected to this without the media getting involved was to pretend you were my girlfriend. That way, it looks like I’m just... you know, paying your bills because I care.”
“Because you care?” You scoffed, your voice dripping with venom. “As expected. Rich people like you don’t actually care—you just want to clean up the mess and move on. Get the media off your back. Don’t worry about me though, Sunghoon. Just stay away from me, because if you keep hanging around, I swear, I will go insane.”
You grabbed the flower pot with one hand, aiming it directly at his face. Your knuckles whitened from the grip, the tension boiling over.
“Whoa, whoa!” Sunghoon raised his hands defensively, stepping back with a sheepish smile that only infuriated you more. “Calm down. I’m going, I’m going.”
He slipped out of the room with a smile that seemed too nonchalant, like none of this was serious to him. He disappeared into the hallway, leaving you to stew in your anger.
You let out a long string of curses under your breath, tossing the flower pot back onto the bedside table with a huff. Your head fell back against the pillow, and you closed your eyes, groaning in frustration.
Why did this guy have to be so infuriating? Every time you thought about him, your blood boiled, and now you were stuck in this mess with him as the person supposedly “taking care” of you. What a joke.
You clutched the blanket tighter, trying to shake off the overwhelming mix of emotions—anger, frustration, and the suffocating feeling of helplessness.
THE NEXT DAY?
SUNGHOON WAS BACK AGAIN.
You groaned inwardly, watching him from the corner of your eye as he quietly settled into the chair beside your hospital bed. He didn't speak, just sat there, his eyes glued to you. What the hell was his deal? You were already too tired to deal with the fact that this guy, who had already caused enough trouble in your life, was now making himself a permanent fixture in your hospital room.
“Can you just go away?” you murmured, voice low and raspy, refusing to look at him directly. It was irritating enough that he was here—you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of eye contact.
He shifted in his seat, leaning forward slightly as if he were genuinely invested in whatever non-existent conversation you were about to have. “I just... I just wanted to apologize,” he started, his tone softer than you expected. “Look, I never wanted this to happen. I didn’t mean for you to get hurt, didn’t want you to get this fracture—”
“Don’t bother me with your false apologies,” you cut him off, your voice sharp as your eyes narrowed in on him. There was no way you were going to sit here and let him play the nice guy when he was the reason you were stuck in this bed. As far as you were concerned, his words were as hollow as his concern.
Sunghoon flinched at your dismissal, but his face quickly returned to that neutral, unreadable expression he always wore. Without missing a beat, he pulled out a small, elegant container from his side, opened it up, and began arranging a steaming bowl of ramen. The fragrant aroma hit your nose almost instantly—rich broth, a soft-boiled egg on the side, and a hint of spice. His personal chef’s touch, no doubt. How typical.
“Here.” He pushed the bowl towards you, chopsticks in hand, offering it like it was some grand gesture of peace.
You stared at it, the smell tempting your empty stomach. But hell no were you going to eat anything he gave you. Not after everything. It felt like taking pity food, and you weren’t about to give him the satisfaction of thinking he’d done something nice.
“I don’t want to eat this,” you refused coldly, crossing your arms over your chest and turning your head away as if the sight of it disgusted you.
Sunghoon blinked, clearly taken aback by your blunt rejection. The chopsticks hovered mid-air, the ramen dangling precariously off the ends. “Then... what are you gonna eat?” His tone wasn’t mocking, just confused—like he couldn’t fathom why anyone would refuse gourmet ramen made by a personal chef.
You bit back a sigh, feeling the frustration bubbling under your skin. “The hospital food,” you replied flatly, knowing full well you had no intention of eating it. Who in their right mind actually wanted hospital food? But you weren’t going to let him win. Even if it meant enduring that tasteless mush, you would.
“Suit yourself.” He shrugged, completely unfazed, and with the same calm indifference, he took a bite of the ramen himself. Leaning back in his chair, he made himself comfortable, savoring each bite like he had all the time in the world. The room was suddenly filled with the sound of his quiet chewing, and your irritation spiked.
“What the hell?” you muttered, glaring at him as he continued to eat in silence.
He glanced at you, the corner of his lips twitching as if he found this whole situation amusing. “You said you didn’t want it. So, I’m eating it.” His tone was maddeningly casual, as if the fact that you were lying there in a hospital bed while he enjoyed a meal meant absolutely nothing to him.
“I—” You started, but your words stuck in your throat. Was he doing this on purpose? You glared at him, eyes narrowing, your frustration palpable. Without thinking, you grabbed the nearest pillow and hurled it at him with all the strength you could muster.
It hit him square in the chest, the force of it barely making him flinch, but it was enough to get his attention.
“Just eat somewhere else!” you snapped, your voice raising a bit louder than you intended. “Not near me. You’re making me feel nauseous,” you added, feigning an exaggerated gag as you pressed your hand to your stomach, though in truth, your frustration was more mental than physical.
Sunghoon paused, chopsticks halfway to his mouth, his gaze flickering over to you. For a split second, you saw something in his eyes—something like amusement, or maybe even disbelief. But then, just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by his usual blank, indifferent expression.
“Alright, alright,” he muttered, pushing his chair back a few inches as if to placate you. He continued eating though, leaning further back, seemingly unbothered by your outburst.
You watched him in silence, your hands clenching the hospital blanket in frustration. How could someone be so infuriating? Every fiber of your being screamed to tell him off, to shout at him for being so... so... indifferent.
But deep down, you knew you couldn’t push him too far. As much as you hated it, this guy and his filthy rich family were the ones footing your hospital bills. Without them, you’d be in deep trouble, maybe even kicked out by now. You needed to be civil—just civil enough—to keep this uncomfortable arrangement going. But that didn’t mean you had to like it.
As Sunghoon continued eating, you couldn’t stop your mind from wandering. Your job. What the hell were you supposed to tell your workplace? They were going to fire you for taking such a long break, weren’t they? You were already behind on rent, behind on everything. And now, because of him, you were going to lose the only shred of stability you had left.
You glanced at him again, annoyance bubbling up inside you. This was all his fault.
Every second he stayed here, pretending to be remorseful, pretending to care—it only fueled your hatred more.
After finishing up his food, Sunghoon finally stood up from the chair, and for a blissful second, you thought he was about to leave. Peace, at last.
But no. You watched in dismay as he turned toward the door, only to return moments later with another steaming bowl of food—something undoubtedly made by his annoyingly talented personal chef again. Your stomach growled involuntarily at the sight of it, but you weren’t about to give him the satisfaction of knowing you wanted it.
Just as you were about to shoot him a glare, the nurse caring for you entered the room, pushing a small tray cart with the dreaded hospital food on it. Great. She offered a brief, polite smile as she placed the tray on your bedside table. The food looked even worse today—if that was even possible—bland and unappetizing, the kind of meal that probably hadn’t seen salt or seasoning in years.
“Here you go, sweetie. Make sure you eat something,” the nurse said warmly before quickly leaving the room, clearly unaware of the ongoing battle of wills between you and Sunghoon.
As soon as the door clicked shut, you looked over at him. He was watching you, his elbow lazily perched on the arm of the chair, his hand supporting his chin. A slow, amused smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. That damn smirk. The one that made you want to throw something at him—if it weren’t for your fractured leg keeping you bedridden.
“Thank you,” you muttered halfheartedly, reluctantly picking up the plastic spoon that came with the hospital food. You took a bite of the mushy, tasteless concoction, and immediately regretted it. It was like eating wet cardboard. You fought hard not to gag, your throat tightening as the flavorless blob slid down.
Sunghoon chuckled quietly from across the room, his eyes never leaving you. “I thought you wanted hospital food?” he teased, leaning forward just a little as if to get a better look at your suffering.
You made a face, a sickened grimace pulling at your lips as soon as the nurse was out of sight. The taste was vile. And worse yet, Sunghoon seemed to be thoroughly enjoying watching you struggle.
“Well?” he asked, raising an eyebrow, his smirk widening. He knew you didn’t want the hospital food. He knew, and that only seemed to make this entire situation even more entertaining for him.
Your pride was the only thing stopping you from throwing the tray out the window and devouring the meal he brought, but your body was betraying you. Your stomach growled again, loud enough for Sunghoon to hear. He chuckled, clearly amused by your stubbornness.
Before you could protest, he moved closer, balancing the bowl of ramen on his knee as he picked up his chopsticks. With an exaggerated nonchalance, he twirled some noodles around the chopsticks and brought them to your lips.
“Here,” he said, voice soft but teasing. “Just try it.”
You stared at the chopsticks hovering in front of you, your resolve weakening. The savory scent of the ramen was intoxicating, and before you knew it, your body betrayed you once again. You leaned forward and took a bite, unable to resist the warm, perfectly seasoned noodles. The difference in taste was almost enough to make you groan in relief.
Sunghoon’s smirk deepened as he watched you chew, his eyes glinting with amusement. “That’s a good girl,” he murmured, the words rolling off his tongue with a teasing lilt.
Your eyes snapped up to meet his, and you glared at him through a mouthful of ramen. “Don’t call me that,” you muttered, voice muffled as you chewed.
“Why not?” He tilted his head slightly, his lips quirking up in playful curiosity. “You don’t like being called a good girl?”
“It’s cringe,” you replied shortly, swallowing the bite. “Just... feed me, dude.”
He raised an eyebrow at the casual “dude” and let out a soft snort of laughter. “Don’t ‘dude’ me,” he shot back, his tone playfully offended. He twirled more noodles around the chopsticks and held them up for you again.
You glared at him but leaned in for another bite, chewing slowly, savoring the flavor. Dammit, the ramen was good. Stupid rich kids and their personal chefs.
“Why can’t you be nice to me for just one second?” he asked, his voice light but with an edge of genuine curiosity.
You scoffed, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “Maybe because you literally got my leg fractured.”
He let out a low sigh, his face softening as he leaned back in the chair, one hand resting lazily on his thigh while the other still held the chopsticks. “That was a mistake.”
“A mistake that cost me my life,” you shot back, your voice laced with bitter sarcasm. You gestured to your leg, propped up awkwardly with a cast. “I can’t work. I’m stuck here. All because of you.”
He winced slightly, but it was brief, his calm expression returning just as quickly. “Yeah, but I’m paying for your bills and feeding you gourmet food. I think that counts for something.”
“Oh, wow. Thanks. I guess I’m supposed to be grateful that you’re throwing your money at the problem you caused,” you said, sarcasm dripping from every word.
He leaned in again, closer this time, his face just inches from yours as he held up the chopsticks with a piece of soft-boiled egg. “You need protein to recover,” he said with mock seriousness, as if that somehow excused everything.
You gave him a long, unimpressed stare but opened your mouth reluctantly, letting him feed you the egg. It was delicious, of course.
Your bickering continued, the tension between you palpable—part frustration, part something you didn’t want to examine too closely. As much as you hated to admit it, there was something almost... comfortable in this strange back-and-forth. Even if he was insufferable. Even if he had ruined your life. There was something about the way he teased you, the way he looked at you with that annoying smirk, that was... unsettling in a way you couldn’t quite describe.
“Next time,” you muttered between bites, “just don’t call me a good girl.”
Sunghoon grinned, eyes glinting with amusement. “We’ll see.”
A WEEK HAD PASSED,
AND SOMEHOW, THIS GUY,
PARK SUNGHOON—
Had become an inescapable shadow in your life. He was always around, lingering like a ghost in the corner of your hospital room, and frankly, it was getting on your nerves. You’d half expected him to get bored and move on, but no, he was persistent. Today was no exception, as he casually strolled in, dressed far too well for someone who supposedly had nothing better to do.
As if the universe wanted to test you even more, you suddenly realized you needed to use the bathroom. Perfect. With a fractured leg and several other annoying injuries, it wasn’t exactly a simple task to just get up and go.
Your eyes flickered over to Sunghoon, who, as usual, was making himself comfortable in the chair beside your bed, scrolling through his phone like he had all the time in the world. How does he not have work? you wondered. But then again, he was rich. He probably was the boss—no one to yell at him for skipping out.
An idea popped into your head, one so devious it made you almost grin. If you were stuck in this hell because of him, then he was going to suffer for it, too.
“I need to use the washroom,” you said, your voice dripping with forced sweetness. You shot him a smile so sugary it could give someone a cavity.
He looked up from his phone, raising a single eyebrow, his expression both confused and slightly suspicious. “And why are you telling me this?” His tone was casual, but you could tell he was wondering what you were up to.
You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. Did he really not get it?
“Well,” you said, shrugging your shoulders nonchalantly, “because you’re going to help me get there.”
Sunghoon’s face twisted into an expression of disbelief, the confusion deepening as he stared at you. His brows furrowed, and he glanced from you to your cast, clearly trying to make sense of the situation. “Can’t you just call the nurse?” he asked, his voice filled with exasperation.
You shrugged again, acting as though the answer was obvious. “The nurse is probably busy with other patients. You’re here, so... help me.”
For a moment, Sunghoon just stared at you, realizing that this was your revenge—your small, petty way of getting back at him. You could see the gears turning in his head as he weighed his options, but ultimately, he sighed, knowing full well this was his fault. He couldn’t say no. Not this time.
He stood up from his chair, slipping his phone into his pocket, and walked over to you. “Fine,” he grumbled under his breath, though there was a subtle trace of amusement in his voice. “Let’s get this over with.”
You smirked, raising your arms toward him in a silent, exaggerated demand for help. He gave you a look—one that said he knew exactly what you were doing—but he bent down anyway, carefully placing his arm around your back to help you sit up.
His movements were surprisingly gentle as he shifted you, mindful of your injuries. For a moment, you almost forgot you were supposed to hate him, but the memory of your fractured leg came rushing back as you awkwardly stood, balancing on your good leg while he held you up.
“You’ve done this before, right?” you teased, leaning a bit more heavily on him than necessary.
He rolled his eyes but didn’t answer, his grip tightening around your waist as he helped you off the bed. “Just don’t fall on me,” he muttered, his voice laced with mild frustration.
You let out a small, fake gasp. “Are you afraid of a little contact, Sunghoon?” you asked, your tone dripping with mock innocence.
His jaw clenched slightly, but he ignored your jab, shifting his weight to better support you as he guided you toward the bathroom. “Gosh, why can’t you just call the nurse like a normal person?” he groaned, sounding far more exasperated now that he was actually having to deal with you.
“Because,” you said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, “this is your fault. You got me into this mess, and now you get to deal with it.”
He sighed again, clearly trying his hardest not to snap back at you. You could practically hear the patience draining out of him as he helped you into the bathroom, your body leaning heavily on his arm as you hobbled on one leg. His other hand hovered near your cast, careful not to jostle it.
Once you were inside the small bathroom, he slowly backed out, giving you space but not before shooting you a deadpan look. “You good?”
You smirked, biting back a laugh. “I’ll let you know when I’m done.”
Sunghoon closed the door behind him with a soft click, but not before calling through the wood, “Just yell when you’re finished, Your Highness.”
Leaning against the bathroom sink, you couldn’t help but smile in satisfaction. Revenge tasted sweet, even if it was petty. You knew Sunghoon didn’t want to be here, playing nurse, but it felt good to trouble him—just a little.
You took your time, prolonging your stay in the bathroom for as long as possible, savoring the knowledge that Sunghoon was waiting outside. Maybe it was childish, but it made you feel a bit better, if only for a moment.
As you lingered in the bathroom, relishing in your small, mischievous victory, Sunghoon's voice rang out from the other side of the door, his tone laced with irritation.
“You done?” he called out, his voice slightly muffled through the door.
You smirked, leaning your head back against the cool tile of the bathroom wall, debating whether to prolong this little game. But fate, it seemed, had other plans for you. In your attempt to stand up properly, your balance wavered. Your injured leg buckled slightly, causing you to slip, creating a loud thud that echoed off the walls.
“Oh God?! Did you break your leg again?” Sunghoon’s voice immediately shifted from annoyance to a surprising edge of concern. You could hear the door handle jiggle as he attempted to open it.
In a panic, you yelled back before he could barge in. “Don’t even try! I haven’t pulled my pants up!” Your voice wobbled between panic and embarrassment, heat rising to your cheeks despite yourself.
There was a brief pause, followed by a mixture of relief and exasperation in his tone. “Seriously?”
You could practically feel his embarrassment from behind the door as he rubbed the back of his neck, caught between wanting to help and this awkward situation. “Then pull them up!” he said, as though that solved everything. The sheer audacity of his tone made your eye twitch.
“Listen, boy,” you snapped, your voice dripping with sarcasm and frustration. “If I could pull them up, don’t you think I’d be able to walk out? I’m literally stuck on the floor. And it’s disgusting down here!”
His groan was audible through the door, no doubt paired with him running a hand over his face in disbelief. “Are you serious right now?” he muttered, more to himself than to you.
The back-and-forth bickering continued for what felt like forever, with you calling out orders and him grumbling on the other side of the door. After what seemed like an eternity, you finally gave up trying to maintain any shred of dignity in this situation.
“Okay, I pulled them up! Now, help me get out of here,” you finally yelled, exhausted from the struggle.
Sunghoon let out a deep, exaggerated sigh of relief, one that almost made you want to smack him if it weren’t for your current predicament. “Phew, finally.” You could practically hear him rolling his eyes.
The door opened, and Sunghoon stepped inside with a mix of irritation and amusement. He bent down to help you, slipping his arm around your waist once more, lifting you up with practiced ease. You let out a small huff as he guided your weight against him, his warm hand steadying you as your body adjusted to standing again.
Without another word, you wobbled toward the sink, more than ready to return to the bed, but you couldn’t just ignore the fact that your hands were still dirty. Sunghoon kept his arm around you as you leaned over the sink to wash your hands, his eyes narrowing as he observed what you were doing.
"You..." he started, trailing off, his eyes slowly widening in horror. “You haven’t washed your hands yet, have you?”
You glanced up at him through the mirror, raising an eyebrow. “Obviously not. I fell, genius,” you muttered, as though this was the most obvious thing in the world.
Sunghoon’s face instantly paled, his eyes darting from his hands to yours, his expression shifting from shock to absolute disgust. He immediately let go of you, stepping back like you’d just told him you had the plague.
“You did NOT just touch me with unwashed hands,” he said, his voice a mix of horror and disgust as he dramatically recoiled. His hand hovered in the air, shaking slightly, before he rushed to the other side of the sink, furiously scrubbing his hands with soap, as though he were trying to rid himself of every possible germ.
Watching him panic was somehow immensely satisfying, a smug grin curling your lips as you watched him suffer in disgust. “Eww, eww, eww!” he muttered to himself as he scrubbed, his face twisted in revulsion.
“Serves you right,” you quipped, leaning back against the wall, watching him frantically rinse his hands as though his life depended on it.
“You’re disgusting,” he shot back, glaring at you through the mirror, but the corner of his mouth twitched as though he were trying hard not to smile.
"Don’t act like I planned to fall, Sunghoon,” you retorted, crossing your arms as you continued to lean on him for support, your smirk never faltering. “But seeing you in pain—this... disgust—I gotta admit, it feels kinda good.”
He shot you a look, half exasperated and half amused, running a hand through his hair. “You’re something else,” he muttered, shaking his head as he helped you back toward the bed.
As much as you wanted to hate him, there was something oddly... endearing about his reaction. The tension between the two of you simmered beneath the surface, a strange mix of frustration, amusement, and something else you refused to acknowledge.
“I know,” you said, smirking as you let him help you lie down on the bed again. “I’m the best kind of trouble.”
Sunghoon scoffed, rolling his eyes, but there was a flicker of something in his gaze—something that made the air between you shift. For a moment, the banter fell silent, replaced by an unspoken tension. You both looked away at the same time, the quiet hum of the hospital room filling the space where your words had been.
It wasn’t hatred, not anymore—not exactly. It was something far more complicated than that.
AGAIN,
The next week went by in a haze of frustration, playful revenge, and shared irritations. What had started as your deep-seated hatred for Sunghoon for causing your fractured leg evolved into something less easy to define. It became a bizarre game of you tormenting him with every small inconvenience, while he reluctantly dealt with the trouble, almost as if he believed he deserved it. You had no idea why he kept coming back, why he hadn't just left you to the hospital staff—yet here he was. Every day. Helping you.
And today? Today, you were bored out of your mind, sick of the sterile walls of your hospital room and the bland hospital gown clinging uncomfortably to your skin. The thought of sitting in that stiff bed for another minute was unbearable. Naturally, you decided Sunghoon should suffer the consequences of your boredom too. After all, he was the reason you were here in the first place.
“Take me out for a walk,” you’d said earlier, putting on your best guilt-trip face. “It’s the weekend, you have time. I’ve been stuck here for days.”
Sunghoon, standing at the foot of your bed with an exasperated sigh, had rubbed his temples as if debating whether to throw you into the wheelchair himself or just walk out. But he didn't. With a reluctant grunt and a muttered “Fine, whatever,” he agreed, grabbing the wheelchair from the corner and helping you into it.
Now, as he pushed you down the hospital hallway, your eyes gleamed with mischief. Your fractured leg was propped up awkwardly, wrapped in thick layers of bandages, and your body was still healing, but you were reveling in making him work for it.
"The garden!" you demanded, pointing outside through the glass doors like a queen giving orders to her servant.
Sunghoon, visibly tired from both the physical effort and the mental strain of dealing with you, gave a long-suffering sigh. “You enjoy this,” he muttered, his voice barely hiding the annoyance beneath. It wasn’t a question. He knew you were having way too much fun making his life difficult.
You didn’t answer him. Instead, you leaned back in the wheelchair with a smug grin, watching the trees and flowers of the hospital garden come into view. The warm sunlight kissed your skin, a far cry from the cold hospital walls. This, oddly enough, felt freeing. And it was even better knowing Sunghoon was stuck with you through it. He owed you, after all.
As you rolled along the garden’s paths, you caught sight of something from the corner of your eye—flashes. The unmistakable click of cameras. Paparazzi.
Your smile widened. You remembered the lies Sunghoon had told the nurse—how he had casually, with that infuriating confidence, claimed you were his girlfriend to save face. He was wealthy, privileged, and undoubtedly terrified of the media catching wind of the real story—that he was the one who crashed into you and got you in this mess.
A WICKED IDEA BLOOMED IN YOUR MIND.
Without warning, you let out a loud, exaggerated sob, your shoulders shaking dramatically as you hid your face in your hands. The sound echoed across the garden, loud enough that even the photographers several feet away perked up, their lenses immediately focusing on you.
Sunghoon immediately froze, halting the wheelchair in confusion. “What are you doing?” he asked, his brow furrowing as he moved to your side, kneeling down beside you. His eyes darted around, realizing the attention you were drawing.
But you didn’t stop. You cried even louder, your voice cracking as you spoke, “It’s because of you! You ruined me! You ruined my life!” Your words were over the top, a dramatic sob story for the cameras.
Sunghoon’s eyes went wide with panic, his expression a mix of horror and disbelief as the realization hit him like a ton of bricks. He glanced over at the paparazzi, whose cameras were now flashing like crazy, capturing every tear, every quiver of your voice. “You’re kidding, right?” His voice was low, trying to keep his cool but clearly rattled.
You shot him a look through tear-filled eyes that could have won you an Oscar for Best Actress. “I can’t believe you did this to me,” you sobbed again, clutching your leg for dramatic effect. “All because you weren’t paying attention!”
He leaned in closer, his voice barely above a whisper as he desperately tried to contain the situation. “Please, don’t do this,” he pleaded, his eyes darting nervously between you and the flashing cameras.
But you weren’t done. Oh no. You were just getting started. “I should’ve never trusted you!” you wailed, loud enough for the photographers to pick up every word.
Sunghoon’s jaw clenched, panic flooding his features as the paparazzi moved closer, their cameras capturing every second of your breakdown. He looked desperate, and it was almost... satisfying. Watching him squirm under the weight of his own lies felt like sweet revenge.
You were just about to spill the whole truth—about how he’d been the one to hit you with his motorbike, how he’d been pretending you were his girlfriend to save his reputation—when Sunghoon, clearly sensing what you were about to do, suddenly placed his hand firmly over your mouth, silencing you in an instant.
Your eyes widened in shock as his palm pressed against your lips. Without saying a word, he grabbed the wheelchair handles with his other hand and started pushing you back toward the hospital entrance, ignoring the flurry of camera flashes now going wild as the paparazzi captured the scene.
You muffled against his hand, glaring at him furiously as he practically ran down the hospital pathway, steering you out of sight from the media frenzy.
He didn’t stop until you were back inside the hospital, away from prying eyes. When he finally removed his hand from your mouth, you gasped, shooting him a withering glare.
“What the hell, Sunghoon?!” you yelled, still breathless from the intensity of it all.
He turned to face you, his expression a mixture of frustration and something you couldn’t quite place. “What the hell? Are you insane?! You were going to ruin me out there!”
“I should ruin you!” you shot back, crossing your arms as best as you could in the wheelchair. “You deserve it!”
His face softened for just a split second, a flicker of something unreadable passing through his eyes. “Yeah, maybe I do,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “But don’t think for a second I’m going to let you drag me down that easily.”
You stared at him, caught off guard by the sudden tension between you—something beyond the irritation, beyond the bickering. Something you weren’t quite ready to acknowledge.
He turned away, gripping the wheelchair handles once more as he moved you back toward your room in silence. And as much as you hated him, you couldn’t help but feel something else too.
As Sunghoon pushed your wheelchair back into the hospital, you couldn’t help but notice the other patients scattered throughout the halls. Most were older, their faces worn with the kind of wisdom you only get from enduring the passage of time. You saw them glance your way, eyes lighting up with admiration, clearly assuming that you and Sunghoon were some kind of tragic but loving couple, destined to overcome hardship together.
Ha. As if.
There wasn’t a drop of love here. The very thought made you internally cringe. If only they knew the truth—that Sunghoon was the reason you were in this wheelchair in the first place. That this whole ‘boyfriend-girlfriend’ facade was just a cover-up for his recklessness. But, no. To them, he was probably some knight in shining armor, dutifully pushing his beloved around the hospital.
You caught a glimpse of an elderly woman giving you a soft smile, and you had to suppress the urge to roll your eyes. This wasn’t a fairytale romance—it was a mess. A tangled, ridiculous mess.
Sunghoon finally maneuvered you back into your hospital room, the wheels of the chair squeaking as he parked it beside your bed. He bent down, his fingers curling around the handles of the wheelchair as if ready to help you out. For a brief second, you could see the faint lines of stress etched into his face, the way his jaw was clenched just a little too tightly.
Before he could do anything, though, his phone buzzed. He glanced down at the screen, eyebrows knitting together in a frown. He hesitated, clearly debating whether or not to answer, but eventually muttered, “I’ll just take this real quick.”
He stepped away, answering the call with a curt, “Yeah?” His voice was low, tense. As the conversation unfolded, you heard snippets of his replies: “I know better,” and “I’m an adult,” followed by a string of sighs. You couldn’t hear the other person on the line, but you could guess. It was probably one of his parents, likely lecturing him for spending so much time around you. After all, why would the rich, polished Sunghoon waste his precious time with some girl he’d accidentally injured?
But the truth was, Sunghoon couldn’t just up and leave you. Oh no. The media was already onto you both, snapping pictures every time you were in public together. If he suddenly disappeared now, they’d think he was the kind of guy who bailed on his girlfriend just because she got injured. His reputation would plummet faster than you’d hit the ground earlier.
Still, was it the truth? That Sunghoon didn’t want to be around you?
The reality was more complicated. You couldn’t even imagine calling him a friend, let alone anything more. This was a weird, temporary arrangement—nothing else.
“I’ll be back,” Sunghoon muttered under his breath, still distracted by his phone. Without a second glance in your direction, he hurried out of the room, his footsteps echoing down the hallway as he disappeared.
Wait. What?
You blinked, staring at the empty space where he had been just moments ago. Did he seriously just walk out without helping you get back into bed? Your mouth fell open in disbelief.
“Are you kidding me?” you whispered to the empty room.
You waited, expecting him to come back any minute now, to walk in with that same frustrated expression and a sarcastic apology on his lips. Five minutes passed. Then ten. Fifteen. Nothing.
An entire hour dragged by, and still—no Sunghoon. The nurse was nowhere to be found either, probably off on her rounds, leaving you completely and utterly alone.
The frustration boiled inside you. There was no way you were going to stay trapped in this wheelchair any longer. It wasn’t comfortable, and the bed—despite being stiff and unwelcoming—looked like heaven compared to the cold seat you were stuck in.
Taking a deep breath, you decided to do it yourself.
Carefully, you placed your hands on the armrests, trying to hoist yourself up. Your fractured leg protested immediately, the dull ache turning into a sharp pain, but you ignored it. You couldn’t afford to fall, not now. You just had to get onto the bed.
One step. Then another.
You winced as your good leg took the brunt of your weight, wobbling unsteadily. It was like trying to walk a tightrope while holding a stack of plates. Your body swayed, arms trembling as you gripped the bed frame for support. Almost there. You could feel the edge of the mattress pressing against your fingertips.
And then—your foot slipped.
With a sickening thud, you fell face-first into the mattress, your body collapsing awkwardly against the bed frame. Pain shot through your leg as you let out a sharp gasp.
“Damn it!” you cursed under your breath, your voice muffled by the bedspread. “Sunghoon, this is all your fault!”
You lay there for a moment, too stunned and too furious to move. How could he just leave you like that? The idiot was probably off taking some important call while you were stuck in this miserable situation. Your hatred for him simmered again, bubbling to the surface like boiling water ready to spill over.
With a groan, you tried to push yourself up, your muscles straining as you fought to get into a proper position on the bed. Your face burned with embarrassment and anger. All you could think about was how Sunghoon was going to get an earful when—if—he ever came back.
But, despite the frustration, there was something else gnawing at the edges of your thoughts. Something you didn’t want to acknowledge. Something about the way his expression had softened just before he left, like he wasn’t entirely indifferent to you. Like there was something there, beneath all the sarcastic quips and exasperated sighs.
No. You shook your head, refusing to entertain the idea. This wasn’t some cliché hospital romance where the guy who ruined your life suddenly became your savior. Sunghoon wasn’t some misunderstood prince charming. He was just... Sunghoon. Annoying, frustrating, and absolutely the last person you wanted to deal with.
Still, as you lay there, face buried in the hospital bed, you couldn’t help but feel that gnawing frustration twisting into something else. Something far more complicated.
THE NEXT DAY PASSED IN A HAZE.
And the day after that.
And another day.
Each one crawled by, dragging itself through hours that felt like days. But Sunghoon didn’t return. Not a text, not a call, not even a shadow of his presence outside your hospital room. You didn’t want to admit it, but his absence gnawed at you. Was he sick? Had something happened? Why the hell were you even wondering about it?
You shouldn’t care.
You didn’t care.
In fact, you should be overjoyed if he had caught some miserable flu. Or—better yet—if he had gotten into trouble of his own for once. You’d be happy. Relieved, even.
Right?
Except, you weren’t. Something unsettling tugged at the back of your mind. Maybe it was guilt, maybe it was the fact that he hadn’t said a word before disappearing. But the more you tried to push the thought away, the more it latched onto you.
And then the door to your hospital room creaked open, a slow twist of the knob announcing a presence you hadn’t expected.
In walked a woman.
Her aura screamed wealth, a kind of quiet, effortless opulence that you recognized instantly—the tailored coat, the way her silk scarf draped perfectly over her shoulders, and most notably, her glasses. You had never seen anyone wear glasses that looked like they cost more than your entire hospital stay.
She didn’t spare you much of a glance at first, too busy taking off her glasses with a dismissive flick of her wrist. But as soon as her eyes met yours, you felt the air shift. Her gaze was sharp, calculating, and instantly made you sit up straighter in bed, pressing your back against the headboard.
Was this Sunghoon’s mother?
The question popped into your mind, but the answer came without you having to ask. Her next words confirmed everything.
“So, you’re that girl,” she said, her voice clipped as her eyes flickered over you. It wasn’t even a question, more of a statement. You were that girl—the one her son had dragged into this mess. You shifted uncomfortably under her gaze, but somehow managed to muster some sarcasm.
“Yeah, the girl your son fractured the leg of,” you shot back, the words leaving your mouth with a little too much venom. But, realizing this was probably not the time for jokes, you cleared your throat.
The woman didn’t look amused. Instead, she merely hummed, clearly not interested in exchanging pleasantries.
“I’m here to talk,” she said flatly, ignoring your tone entirely. Her eyes, sharp as ever, stayed fixed on you, not even bothering with an introduction. You could hear some faint commotion outside the room, likely the nurses eavesdropping, curious about the sudden appearance of such an elegant woman.
“Okay…” you replied, scratching the back of your neck nervously, your mind already racing. What could she possibly want?
Without a hint of hesitation, Sunghoon’s mother stepped closer to your bed, pulling something out of her bag—a cheque. She laid it on your blanket-covered lap with a kind of quiet authority that made it clear this wasn’t a negotiation.
“Take this,” she said, her voice calm but firm. “And leave my son.”
You blinked, staring at the cheque in disbelief. Was this really happening? It felt like a scene ripped straight out of a cheesy drama. Your mouth opened to respond, but before you could, she continued, her tone icy and business-like.
“If the media says anything, tell them the two of you broke up because of something you did.”
The words hit you like a slap. So this was it, huh? A payoff. A quick exit plan for the inconvenience you had become. Without thinking, you picked up the cheque. Shamelessly, even. You weren’t going to pretend like you weren’t curious. Your eyes widened slightly as you glanced at the amount.
It was a lot.
Enough to cover an expensive surgery. Heck, enough to completely change your life—your face, your identity. Maybe even start fresh. Your heart raced for a moment, but then a sneaky idea popped into your head. Maybe you could push this a little further.
“I can’t take this,” you muttered, putting on your best ‘reluctant’ act. You hoped it came off as genuine, like you were too noble to accept a bribe. You glanced up at her from under your lashes, waiting to see her reaction.
For a split second, her eyes narrowed, and then—without a word—she reached into her bag again, pulling out another cheque. This one was double the amount of the first.
Your internal grin nearly split your face in two.
“I’ll take it,” you replied immediately, the words leaving your mouth faster than you could process them. You grabbed the second cheque, abandoning any pretense of hesitation. This was too good to pass up. Who cared about Sunghoon? You weren’t even his girlfriend. You didn’t owe him anything, and this was way too much money to let go.
Sunghoon’s mother arched a brow, a small smirk curling at the corner of her lips. “You’re smart,” she said, her voice dripping with a patronizing kind of approval. Before you could even react, she patted your head like you were some kind of obedient puppy. The gesture made your skin crawl, but you forced yourself to stay still, biting back the urge to snap at her.
With that, she turned and strode out of the room, her heels clicking against the tiled floor in a rhythm that oozed confidence and control. You watched her leave, the door closing with a soft click behind her.
For a moment, the room was silent, save for the distant chatter outside the door. You glanced down at the cheques in your hands, the weight of them sinking in.
You couldn’t help but laugh under your breath. This was it. After years of living in that godforsaken orphanage, of scraping by, of enduring the endless bullying—you were finally getting a break.
Who knew a fractured leg could be this profitable? If this was what came from one little accident, maybe getting hit again wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.
At least you knew one thing for sure: money beats boys. Every time.
YOU EXPECTED TO NEVER SEE SUNGHOON EVER AGAIN. In fact, you had made peace with it—or, at least, you thought you had. But that didn’t stop the daily ritual that had developed between you, Wonyoung, and Hanni.
They sat on either side of your hospital bed, a swirl of indignation and venom, bitching relentlessly about the guy who had caused all of this—Sunghoon.
At least you had your friends. They were here, taking time out of their lives to be by your side, and if that wasn’t love, you didn’t know what was. Wonyoung sat perched on the edge of the hospital bed, her legs crossed with effortless grace, while Hanni lounged at the foot of your bed, absently stroking your hair like you were a cat. They had barely paused for breath since they’d walked into the room, diving headfirst into their favorite topic: how much they despised Sunghoon.
"I mean, the guy just fractures your leg and disappears without so much as a note?" Wonyoung scoffed, her voice dripping with disbelief as she flung her arms in the air like she wanted to strangle him. She shot you a look that said how could you have possibly put up with this idiot?
“And let’s not forget,” Hanni added, leaning forward conspiratorially as if Sunghoon might somehow hear them through the walls, “he’s probably just out there living his little rich boy life while you’re stuck in here, waiting for your leg to heal.”
She shook her head in disgust, fingers still lightly grazing your scalp. “Rich bastards are always like this,” she muttered under her breath, giving you a soft pat like she was reassuring you that you weren’t alone in your suffering.
You could feel a smirk tugging at the corner of your lips, watching the two of them fuel each other’s fire. Neither of them had actually met Sunghoon, but they hated him with the burning passion of a thousand suns, and honestly, it was kind of hilarious to watch.
“I know, right? Like, how dare he?” Wonyoung continued, practically vibrating with indignation. “Does he think just because he’s rich and pretty, he can just act like that and not have any consequences?”
Her eyes narrowed, lips pulling into a thin line, as she mimicked slapping someone in the air. “If I ever see him, I swear to god I’m going to knock some sense into that stupid, spoiled—”
“Oh, please,” Hanni interrupted with a snort. “If you ever saw him, you'd probably get distracted by how disgustingly handsome he is and forget all about punching him.”
Wonyoung blinked at her, feigning innocence. “Me? Never. I’m immune to pretty boys.”
“Sure.” Hanni teased, rolling her eyes. “Tell that to your last crush.”
You couldn’t help but laugh softly at their bickering, the sound surprising you. It was strange how comforting their presence was, even though all they seemed to do was rip into Sunghoon. Not that you minded, of course. They were right—he deserved it. Completely.
…Right?
You listened as they went back and forth, each taking turns trashing him for his ghosting act. The more they bitched, the more venomous their words became, but somewhere deep down, you couldn’t help but feel a small, annoying tug of… something else.
Sure, you hated Sunghoon. You absolutely detested him. He had caused this whole mess, fractured your leg, and then vanished into thin air without so much as a “Sorry, hope you’re doing okay.” The guy didn’t even have the decency to send flowers. Who does that?
But… still. A part of you—a very, very tiny part—missed him. Even though he was infuriating. Even though he’d probably caused you more stress than anyone else in your life. You couldn’t shake the strange pang of absence, the way the hospital room felt oddly emptier without him awkwardly hovering around like your personal nurse. Maybe it was the fact that, for a few fleeting moments, you’d been able to annoy the hell out of him and enjoy watching him fumble over basic hospital tasks. There was a twisted kind of satisfaction in making a guy like him—a spoiled, oblivious rich boy—take care of you.
But more than that, you missed having someone to direct your frustration at. As much as you enjoyed watching Wonyoung and Hanni tear him to shreds on your behalf, it wasn’t quite the same.
“Seriously, though,” Hanni said, dragging you out of your thoughts, “I bet he’s out at some fancy restaurant right now, eating caviar or whatever rich people eat, without a single thought about you.”
Wonyoung huffed, leaning back on her elbows. “Probably. You know, I bet he’s never even eaten instant ramen. Can you imagine?”
You snorted. “Yeah, because the moment he tastes anything less than five-star cuisine, his delicate palate might collapse.”
Wonyoung laughed, but then her expression grew more serious. “It’s just messed up, though. He leaves you here to rot, and for what? Did he even like you?”
You shrugged, trying to keep your tone light. “Who knows? I think I was just a… distraction for him.”
“That’s even worse,” Hanni said, crossing her arms. “Honestly, you should’ve asked for more when his mom came by with that cheque. They owe you a hell of a lot more than just money after all this.”
Wonyoung’s eyes widened. “Wait, his mom came here? And gave you money?”
“Oh, right. I forgot to mention that part,” you said, suppressing a grin as you leaned back against your pillow. “Yeah, his mom basically bribed me to stay away from him. Two cheques, actually.”
Hanni’s jaw dropped. “You’re kidding.”
“Wish I was,” you replied, the grin breaking free. “Apparently, I was such a nuisance that she wanted to pay me off to disappear from Sunghoon’s life for good.”
Wonyoung let out a low whistle. “Damn. You should’ve held out for a third cheque.”
“Honestly,” Hanni added, shaking her head in disbelief. “Rich people are something else.”
You laughed, a bit more genuinely this time, as they continued to bitch about Sunghoon and his high-society family. But despite the humor and the camaraderie, there was still that nagging feeling. That tiny, irritating itch in the back of your mind.
You didn’t miss him—not exactly. But maybe, just maybe, you missed the chaos that came with him. And, unfortunately, chaos had a way of finding its way back.
You just didn’t know it yet.
“Woah, I didn’t expect you to bad bitch about me the second I disappear,” came a familiar voice from the doorway, smooth and dripping with sarcasm. You didn’t even have to turn your head to know who it was. The all-too-familiar dramatic hurt expression was already imprinted in your mind—the same one Sunghoon wore whenever he wanted to be the center of attention, which was, frankly, all the time.
You snapped your head in his direction, and there he was—leaning casually against the doorframe, arms crossed as if he hadn't just walked in unannounced, with that smug smirk plastered on his ridiculously perfect face. His brows were raised in mock disbelief, his lips twisted into an amused pout, as if he'd caught you red-handed in the act of a crime. How dare you talk about me when I’m not here? his expression screamed. But it wasn’t just that. No. Sunghoon looked… annoyingly good.
The worst part? He knew it.
Hanni and Wonyoung, who had been enthusiastically leading the charge in your anti-Sunghoon crusade just moments ago, froze mid-rant, their jaws practically hitting the floor. The air thickened with awkward tension, the kind that made your stomach do a weird flip. You glanced at your friends, fully expecting them to keep up the bitching. Surely, they wouldn’t back down now—not after all the trash-talking they’d just unleashed on his name, right? But when you turned to look at them, all you saw were wide eyes and flushed cheeks.
Wait a minute. Were they… shy?
Hanni was the first to break. Her voice, usually sharp and unfiltered, faltered as she stared at Sunghoon like he had descended from the heavens. “Were we talking about him?” she whispered under her breath, as if you hadn’t just spent the last ten minutes cursing his existence. She blinked, clearly taken aback by his presence. So handsome, so— you could practically hear her thoughts scrambling for coherence.
Wonyoung, on the other hand, was shamelessly gawking. Gone was the fire-breathing dragon ready to rip Sunghoon to shreds. Instead, she was wide-eyed, as if she’d never seen a human so beautiful in her life. “Uh…” She trailed off, her brain short-circuiting under his gaze. So much for being immune to pretty boys.
You huffed, rolling your eyes at their sudden change of demeanor. Traitors.
Before you could say anything, Sunghoon took a leisurely step into the room, his presence practically swallowing the space whole. “Your mom told me to stay away from you,” you muttered under your breath, glaring at him in the hopes that it would somehow send him running for the hills. As if mentioning his mother would magically undo his annoying existence. “And by the way,” you added, “I’m not giving that money back. No way.”
Sunghoon’s smirk only widened, the infuriating bastard. “Well, yeah,” he said nonchalantly, as if discussing the weather, “she told you to stay away from me, but I’m still allowed to stay close to you. You’re not the one initiating this.” He shrugged, as if his logic was sound and you were the one being difficult.
You stared at him, dumbfounded. What? You actually had to tilt your head back to process that nonsense. Was he serious? You blinked, glanced up at the ceiling as if the answer to his ridiculous statement might be written up there, and then back at him.
He wasn’t joking.
You were about to retort—about to remind him just how absurd that sounded—when you glanced at your two supposed best friends, expecting them to jump in and tear him a new one. But instead, they were still sitting there, suddenly very preoccupied with… being shy? Their gazes darted anywhere but at Sunghoon, as if he was some untouchable, otherworldly figure they couldn’t dare criticize anymore.
You scoffed under your breath. Unbelievable.
“Well…” You tried to gather your thoughts, but before you could finish, Hanni shifted beside you—by accident, of course—and her elbow brushed against your injured leg. Pain shot through your body, and you winced, sucking in a sharp breath. “Ow!”
Immediately, Sunghoon was at your side, crossing the room in a flash, his expression now serious as he kneeled beside you, his hands hovering over your injured leg. “Are you okay? Let me see.”
Your instinct was to push him away—to tell him to back off and leave you alone. The last thing you needed was him fussing over you like he actually cared. But you were injured, and Sunghoon had the upper hand—literally. His fingers gently pressed against your leg, checking to see if you were in pain, and despite your best efforts, you couldn’t stop him. You tried to shove him off, but he was stronger, and your body wasn’t exactly in fighting shape.
“Stop—” you muttered, but your voice was weak. And, truthfully, despite how much you hated him, you let him check because… well, he was good at it. Annoyingly good.
Hanni, meanwhile, had the audacity to mutter under her breath, “Should’ve brought popcorn. This is hella interesting.” She shot you a guilty look, clearly aware that she’d caused the whole thing by bumping into your leg, but that didn’t stop her from thoroughly enjoying the drama unfolding right before her eyes.
Wonyoung, who had somehow recovered from her stunned silence, leaned back and muttered, “Right.” She was watching the whole scene play out like she was stuck in the middle of some romantic comedy, her eyes darting between you and Sunghoon like she was waiting for the inevitable kiss scene.
“Weren’t you two on the #hatehim team?” you hissed, glaring at both of them as Sunghoon finally pulled back, satisfied that your leg wasn’t worse off than before.
Wonyoung blinked innocently, already gathering her things. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yeah,” Hanni added with a shrug, standing up and brushing imaginary dust off her jeans. “We’re just, uh… neutral parties.”
Before you could even comprehend what was happening, they both stood, gathered their bags, and exchanged quick looks like they had just silently agreed on something. In unison, they made their way to the door, Wonyoung gesturing for Hanni to follow her like they were in some secret mission.
“Wait—are you leaving?!” you called after them, your voice laced with disbelief.
Hanni flashed you an apologetic smile, but her feet didn’t stop moving. “We’ll see you later! Good luck!”
With that, the two of them excused themselves, slipping out of the room like nothing had happened, leaving you alone with Sunghoon. You blinked after them, incredulous. They had changed their minds way too fast. How the hell did that even happen? Just ten minutes ago, they had been ripping Sunghoon apart, and now? Now they were acting like he was some kind of romantic hero who had fallen from the stars to sweep you off your feet.
You sighed, sinking back against your pillow.
But even as you stared at the door, trying to figure out how your two best friends had suddenly betrayed you, the nagging worry crept back into your mind. The cheques. You couldn’t help but glance at Sunghoon out of the corner of your eye, wondering if he would tell his mom about this little reunion. You would kill him if the money got taken back.
And just like that, Sunghoon was once again at the center of your frustrations—always, always causing trouble.
THE FACT THAT THE SUNGHOON — the only son of Park Corporation—had re-entered your life wasn’t exactly a secret, nor did it stay hidden from the one person who mattered most: his mother. There was no way she’d let this slide. And just as you predicted, not long after Sunghoon's unexpected return, his mother showed up at your hospital room door once again, this time with backup.
And by backup, you meant Sunghoon's older cousin brother, Jay. A man whose only crime, as far as you could tell, was being related to the Park family. If Sunghoon was infuriating, Jay seemed like he’d rather be anywhere else but here. His discomfort radiated off him like a bad cologne—too strong, and kind of pitiful. His eyes darted nervously around the room, like he was scared to make eye contact with you. Honestly, you weren’t even sure if he knew why he was there.
Mrs. Park nudged him sharply, her manicured nails digging into his arm. “Tell her,” she hissed, clearly fed up with his lack of initiative.
Jay, however, looked more like he was preparing for a high school speech than an intimidating favor-demanding confrontation. He rubbed the back of his neck, looked down at his palm, probably reciting some mental script he had prepared on the way here, and cleared his throat awkwardly.
“Uh… so…”
You raised an eyebrow. Was this really happening? The Park Corporation sent this guy? This was their best shot at trying to intimidate you? First, Sunghoon barges into your life like a hurricane, and now his cousin shows up, looking like he’s one deep breath away from fainting. Honestly, you felt bad for Mrs. Park. How did she expect these two to run a massive conglomerate? You stifled a laugh, pity almost bubbling up in your chest.
Before Jay could stumble through another word, though, the door burst open, and in walked the person you least wanted to see. Of course. Of course Sunghoon had perfect timing. He always seemed to show up when things were about to get interesting, like some messed-up alarm system that detected whenever you were about to make some extra cash off his family’s dramatics. You barely blinked before he was standing there, arms crossed, leaning against the doorframe as if he hadn’t just barged in.
“Jay,” Sunghoon muttered, his tone heavy with disappointment, “You too?”
Jay immediately straightened up, as if trying to salvage what little pride he had left. “Your mom asked me to. Trust me, I didn’t want to do this.” He stepped back, throwing his hands up as though he were surrendering to the inevitable.
Sunghoon’s mother, however, had zero patience for this nonsense. She let out a dramatic sigh, pressing a hand to her temple as if dealing with two grown men acting like toddlers was giving her a migraine. “What else could I do when my son is wasting his time on this?” She waved a hand in your direction, as though you were an unpleasant distraction from Sunghoon’s otherwise charmed life. Her voice dripped with irritation, as though you were personally responsible for ruining her perfectly laid plans.
You paused mid-bite, glancing at her with an amused smirk. She had brought her son’s cousin to what? Scare you? Threaten you into backing off? You leaned back against the pillows on your hospital bed, casually spearing another piece of the expensive meal Sunghoon had brought you earlier. A luxurious spread, by the way. How thoughtful. You chewed slowly, savoring both the food and the unfolding chaos in front of you. It was like watching a soap opera, but better, because it was real. And because you were the center of it.
Sunghoon ran a hand through his hair, visibly annoyed by his mother’s theatrics. “This again? Seriously, Mom?” His gaze flickered toward Jay, who was doing his best to blend into the wallpaper. “You got Jay involved in this?”
“He didn’t have a choice,” Mrs. Park snapped, crossing her arms over her chest. She stood in the middle of the room, clearly expecting to command the entire situation with her presence alone. “I can’t just stand by while you throw away your future on—” She glanced at you with disdain, the kind only a Park could muster. “This girl.”
You snorted, taking another bite of food. “This girl is sitting right here, you know.”
Sunghoon’s eyes flicked to you, briefly softening in what might have been sympathy—or maybe annoyance. Hard to tell. Either way, he turned back to his mother, exasperation bleeding into his voice. “I’m not ‘throwing away’ anything. You’re making a big deal out of nothing.”
His mother wasn’t having it. “You’ve been running around for days, ignoring your responsibilities for this… this situation!” She gestured dramatically toward you as if you were some scandalous tabloid headline.
You set down your fork and raised an eyebrow. “It’s cute that you think you can still control him.”
Sunghoon gave you a look that screamed you’re not helping.
Mrs. Park glared at her son, then at you, her lips pressing into a thin line. “This isn’t about control,” she said icily, her voice sharp enough to cut glass. “It’s about ensuring you don’t ruin your life over some impulsive decision.”
Jay, meanwhile, looked like he wanted to melt into the floor. He kept glancing between the three of you, clearly regretting every single decision that led him here. He took a step back, slowly edging toward the door, clearly hoping no one would notice him escaping.
“Oh, no you don’t,” you said, your voice teasing but firm, “You’re part of this mess now, Jay.”
His eyes widened in mild panic. “I—I don’t—”
But before he could defend himself, Sunghoon’s mother cut in, “Jay, tell her.” She prodded him again, practically pushing him into the spotlight.
Jay rubbed the back of his neck, eyes darting around the room like he was looking for an exit. “Uh, look, I… I don’t really want to do this, but…” He paused, throwing an apologetic look your way, “Can you just… maybe think about backing off? Just… consider it? For me?” His voice was pleading, clearly not cut out for this whole intimidation thing.
Sunghoon groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose as if this entire situation was giving him a migraine. “This is ridiculous.”
“Is it?” His mother snapped. “You’re wasting your time. There are other priorities for someone in your position.”
Sunghoon’s patience was clearly wearing thin, his jaw tightening as he responded. “You keep saying that. But you’re not listening to me.”
You couldn’t help but laugh, low and quiet, as you continued to enjoy the spectacle. The three of them—Sunghoon, his mom, and Jay—bickering like some dysfunctional family sitcom, while you sat back, fully immersed in your gourmet meal.
“This is better than TV,” you muttered to yourself, watching as they tried to one-up each other.
Mrs. Park shot you a death glare, but you just smiled back innocently, because really, what was she going to do? Take your meal away?
Sunghoon’s gaze flicked toward you again, and for a moment, there was a hint of something softer in his expression. Frustration, maybe. Or something that bordered on concern. He opened his mouth to say something, but Jay, finally finding his courage, jumped in again.
“You know,” Jay said, sounding more desperate than threatening, “this would all be easier if we just… moved on. You know?”
Sunghoon raised an eyebrow, looking unimpressed. “Easier for who?”
Jay hesitated, clearly realizing he was in over his head. His shoulders slumped, clearly realizing that he wasn’t getting out of this alive—figuratively, at least. His eyes darted back and forth between you and Sunghoon, probably weighing whether it was safer to keep talking or to just bolt. He ended up choosing the safer route: silence.
Sunghoon, on the other hand, was far from done. His gaze sharpened as he turned toward his mother, who was glaring at him with the ferocity only a woman scorned by her own son could muster.
“I’m serious, Mom,” Sunghoon said, voice tense but controlled. “You can’t keep barging into my life like this. It’s not going to work.”
Mrs. Park scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. “I barged into your life? Are you kidding me, Sunghoon? You’re the one who keeps throwing everything away for… for her,” she spat, pointing an accusing finger in your direction.
You almost choked on your food but managed to swallow it down, raising your hands in mock surrender. “Whoa, hey. Don’t drag me into this. I’m just eating.”
Sunghoon’s gaze flicked back to you for a moment, his expression softening. It was brief, but there was something almost apologetic in his eyes before he looked back at his mother.
“Whatever you think is going on here, it’s not what you think,” Sunghoon said, his voice taut with frustration. “I’m not ‘throwing anything away.’”
Mrs. Park’s jaw tightened, her nostrils flaring as she crossed her arms over her chest. “You’re wasting your time, Sunghoon. You should be focusing on the company, your future, not this… whatever this is.”
She waved a dismissive hand in your direction, and you couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. You weren’t exactly a fan of being treated like some pesky side project Sunghoon needed to get rid of, but the whole situation was too ridiculous to take seriously.
“So, what,” you said, leaning back in your bed, eyes flicking between the three of them, “You’re all here to—what? Threaten me? Make me back off? Because I gotta be honest, this isn’t working.” You gestured toward Jay, who looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole, and Mrs. Park, who was glaring daggers at you.
Sunghoon’s mother took a step forward, her eyes narrowing dangerously. “I’m not here to play games with you, girl. I’m here to ensure my son’s future. You’re nothing but a distraction.”
“Ouch,” you muttered, feigning hurt. “You really know how to make someone feel special.”
Sunghoon rolled his eyes, running a hand through his hair, clearly exasperated with the whole ordeal. “Mom, you’re not helping. Just… stop, okay?”
“Helping?” Mrs. Park echoed incredulously, as though the very idea was laughable. “You think I’m not helping by trying to save your future from her?”
You were starting to get a little irritated, even if the whole situation was more laughable than threatening. “Look, I don’t know what fantasy land you’re living in, but Sunghoon is the one who came to me. Not the other way around. If you’re so worried about his future, maybe start with him.”
Sunghoon gave you a look that said please stop fanning the flames, but you were past caring at this point. You’d had enough of this woman coming into your life and treating you like you were some common gold-digger. She didn’t know the half of it.
His mother, however, seemed immune to reason. She shot her son a glare. “You’re throwing your life away, Sunghoon. I raised you better than this.”
And finally, something in Sunghoon snapped. His usually calm demeanor cracked as he stepped forward, his voice low and sharp. “No, what you did was control my entire life. And guess what? I’m done. I’m not a kid anymore, and I don’t need you micromanaging every decision I make.”
His mother’s eyes widened in shock, clearly not expecting this outburst. Even Jay looked taken aback, his mouth opening slightly in surprise.
You raised an eyebrow, leaning back and crossing your arms over your chest. This was getting good.
“Sunghoon—”
“No, Mom. Stop,” Sunghoon cut her off, his voice unwavering. “You’re not doing this because you care about me. You’re doing this because you care about your image. About the company’s image.”
His mother recoiled as though she’d been slapped, her perfectly manicured nails curling into fists at her sides. “How dare you—”
“How dare I?” Sunghoon laughed bitterly. “You’ve been treating me like a business deal my whole life, Mom. This isn’t about me. It’s about you.”
The room fell silent, the tension so thick you could practically feel it pressing down on your chest. Sunghoon’s mother stood frozen in place, her face a mixture of fury and shock.
Jay, sensing the growing hostility, started inching toward the door again, but before he could make his grand escape, Mrs. Park turned to him, her voice cutting through the silence like a blade. “Jay, we’re leaving.”
Jay practically tripped over his own feet in his eagerness to comply. He glanced at you briefly—an apologetic look that almost said sorry for the drama—before scurrying out of the room behind his aunt.
Mrs. Park paused in the doorway, turning to throw one last glare in your direction. “This isn’t over.”
You raised an eyebrow, nonchalantly taking another bite of your meal. “Looking forward to round two.”
She glared, and with a sharp turn, she stormed out, slamming the door behind her. The sound echoed through the room, leaving behind a silence that felt heavier than the bickering that had just taken place.
For a moment, neither you nor Sunghoon spoke. He stood there, still reeling from the argument, his jaw clenched, shoulders tense. You swallowed the last bite of your meal, wiping your mouth with a napkin as you glanced up at him.
“Well,” you said, breaking the silence with a wry smile, “that was fun.”
Sunghoon didn’t respond at first, his eyes focused on the floor, as if trying to gather his thoughts. Finally, he let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his hair again. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, his voice low.
You tilted your head, watching him carefully. “For what?”
“For all of… this,” he said, gesturing vaguely toward the door where his mother and cousin had exited. “I didn’t think it would get this bad.”
You shrugged, leaning back against the pillows. “I’m used to it. Your mom’s not exactly my biggest fan.”
“That’s putting it mildly,” Sunghoon muttered, the corner of his mouth twitching into a small, humorless smile.
A beat of silence passed between you, the tension slowly dissolving now that the storm had passed. But there was still something unspoken lingering in the air, something that felt heavier than the drama with his mother.
You glanced up at him, meeting his eyes. “So… what now?”
Sunghoon hesitated, his gaze softening as he looked at you. For the first time, there was no sarcasm, no playful banter. Just the weight of everything unsaid between the two of you.
“I don’t know,” he admitted quietly, his voice raw. “But I do know one thing.”
You raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he said, his tone firm, his eyes locked on yours. “No matter what she says. No matter what anyone says.”
Your heart skipped a beat at the intensity in his voice, but you kept your expression neutral, not wanting to give anything away. “That sounds like a lot of trouble for nothing.”
Sunghoon stood by the edge of your hospital bed, arms crossed over his chest, his tall frame casting a long shadow over the room as the dim light from the ceiling flickered slightly. His gaze was a mix of disbelief and frustration, but there was an edge of something softer, something unreadable, as if he wasn’t quite sure whether to laugh or get defensive at your latest jab.
"Anyways, aren't you the heir?" You muttered, the words slipping out casually as you fiddled with the blanket, your tone attempting to sound neutral. But deep down, you knew exactly what you were doing. Trying to reason with Mrs. Park—despite her endless insults—wasn’t out of some newfound respect for her. No, this was a survival tactic. Sunghoon might equal trouble, but his mother? She was the gateway to all those fat cheques. You knew better than to entirely burn that bridge, even if it was hanging by a thread.
Sunghoon raised a brow at you, clearly not expecting the sudden change in direction. "You think she's worried about me?" he scoffed, almost incredulous.
You shrugged nonchalantly, refusing to meet his gaze for too long. "I just think… maybe she's concerned about your future," you muttered, your words laced with an attempt to seem logical, though your true motive lay elsewhere. You tugged the hospital blanket tighter around your legs, which still ached from the accident. A small price to pay for someone like him smashing into you.
He leaned against the wall, his stance casual but his expression anything but. "Future?" Sunghoon repeated, almost bitterly. He huffed before muttering under his breath, "I'm a racer."
You nearly choked on your own breath at that. A racer. The very notion of it was absurd, especially given how he ended up here with you in the hospital in the first place.
"No wonder she's worried." The words slipped out before you could stop them, your voice barely audible, but loud enough for him to catch. You glanced at him through the corner of your eye, noticing how his expression morphed from mild irritation to downright disbelief.
“What do you mean, ‘no wonder she’s worried’?” He demanded, straightening up, arms uncrossing as he took a step closer to you, like you’d just accused him of being some criminal mastermind.
You didn’t even try to stifle the small smirk tugging at the corners of your lips. "Come on, Sunghoon. Let’s be real for a second. You're not exactly... the best driver." You gestured lazily towards your leg, which was propped up in a cast. “Even on a motorbike, you managed to get my leg broken.”
He let out a deep sigh, frustration evident in the way he rolled his eyes, muttering, “Shut up,” under his breath, though the edges of his lips twitched upwards for a second. He hated that you had a point. But there was no real venom in his words, just mild annoyance, the kind that came from knowing someone had you cornered.
He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his gaze drifting from you to the small bouquet of flowers on the side table, then back to you. His posture screamed discomfort, as if he wasn’t used to being in such close proximity to his own vulnerability. After a long pause, he finally asked the question you’d been dodging for a while now, his voice dipping into something almost concerned. “But why were you drunk, though? I mean, they found alcohol in your tests that day."
Your breath hitched for a moment, but you quickly waved it off, eyes flicking away to avoid his gaze. "I just had a bad day, okay?" The words came out a little too quickly, a little too defensive, and you knew it wasn’t the full story. But the last thing you wanted was to dive into your own mess, especially not with him.
Sunghoon didn’t push further, his gaze softening slightly, but he wasn't one to leave a conversation dangling for too long. “Why were you speeding, though?” You shot back, raising an eyebrow in return. If he was going to dig into your mess, you had every right to poke at his.
The corner of his mouth twitched nervously as he chuckled, his usual bravado faltering for a split second. You knew something was up. Sunghoon never got nervous. Not like this.
"Well..." he started, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly, his eyes darting away from you, unable to maintain eye contact for too long.
“Well?" You pressed, folding your arms across your chest as you waited for whatever ridiculous excuse he had to offer.
Sunghoon let out a small, almost embarrassed laugh. "My dad saw me riding," he muttered. "So I was kinda in a hurry."
For a second, you just stared at him, blinking in disbelief. "That’s it?" you asked, your voice tinged with disbelief. "Your dad saw you riding, and that made you speed? You didn't even bother to stop when you crashed into me?”
He fidgeted slightly, clearly uncomfortable under your scrutinizing gaze, but he shrugged helplessly. "I didn’t see you, okay? I was too busy trying to avoid him."
You couldn't help but roll your eyes, sinking back into your pillows with a sigh. “That's it? And here I thought you were doing drug deals or something.”
The sarcasm in your voice was unmistakable, though you couldn't help but laugh at how ridiculous this whole situation had turned out to be. For someone who was supposedly the heir to a powerful corporation, Sunghoon had a way of complicating the most straightforward situations.
He blinked at you in disbelief, the tips of his ears turning red. "What? Drug dealing? Really?" he muttered, crossing his arms again as he leaned against the bed frame, clearly not impressed by your comment. But his reaction only made you grin wider.
You shrugged, a smirk tugging at your lips. “I mean, with how secretive you’ve been acting, who could blame me for assuming the worst?”
Sunghoon huffed, shaking his head in mild exasperation, though the ghost of a smile lingered on his face. "Trust me, my life is complicated enough without any of that.”
“Complicated, huh?” you echoed, your gaze drifting toward him. His posture had relaxed slightly, but there was still an air of frustration hanging between the two of you. You could tell there was more to the story, more that he wasn’t saying.
But you weren’t one to push, not when you had your own secrets buried deep.
You let the conversation die down after that, the room filled with a quiet sort of tension that wasn’t entirely uncomfortable. Sunghoon stayed by your side, despite everything, leaning against the frame of your bed as his eyes softened, watching you finish your meal with quiet focus. And for a moment, the tension between you eased, like the storm had passed, leaving behind a fragile calm.
But even in the silence, you couldn’t help but notice the small gestures—the way his fingers absentmindedly drummed against the bedpost, the way his gaze lingered a little too long on you when he thought you weren’t paying attention. There was something between you two, a line that neither of you wanted to cross, yet both kept flirting with.
And for the first time, the thought of it didn't scare you.
THE NEXT MORNING,
Sunlight filtered through the blinds, casting a soft glow across the sterile white walls of the hospital room. The monotonous hum of the machines, the occasional beep from the heart monitor, and the muted footsteps of nurses outside became the background symphony of your stay. You blinked your eyes open slowly, your body stiff from yet another restless night, and as your vision adjusted, the familiar dull ache in your leg grounded you back into the reality you’d been living for the past few days.
BUT TODAY, SOMETHING WAS DIFFERENT.
As you shifted slightly, careful not to agitate the cast on your leg, your gaze fell to the chair beside your bed. There he was—Park Sunghoon, slouched in the chair with his head resting against the armrest, his mouth slightly parted as soft, steady breaths escaped his lips. His long legs were sprawled out in front of him, one arm draped lazily across his stomach while the other rested close to yours, mere inches from the side of your bed. The sight was enough to make your breath hitch.
He’d stayed. Again.
For days, he had made this hospital room his second home, despite the biting remarks and the cold distance that had defined your relationship thus far. As if it was some kind of duty he couldn’t escape, some obligation he had to fulfill for the sake of his reputation or his family. At least, that’s what you convinced yourself. There’s no way he actually cares.
Still, you couldn’t help but wonder, especially in moments like this, when his face was stripped of its usual bravado, his guard completely down. He looked… peaceful. Innocent, even.
“If I didn’t know you were doing this for your reputation,” you murmured softly, barely above a whisper, “I would’ve thought you loved me.”
The words hung in the air, heavy and laced with something unspoken, something you weren’t quite ready to confront. You didn’t mean for him to hear it—he was asleep, after all—but there was a strange comfort in voicing the thought aloud, even if only to yourself.
You found yourself leaning a little closer, the distance between your bed and the chair barely enough to separate you two. Your fingers moved almost of their own accord, hesitating at first, before gently tracing the sharp line of his jaw. His skin was warm under your touch, soft despite the cold exterior he often portrayed. Your heart gave a nervous flutter as your finger ghosted over the delicate curve of his cheek, down to the bridge of his nose, and finally stopping at his lips.
Your breath caught as you stared at them—soft, slightly parted, and so close. There was something about this moment that felt dangerously intimate, a line you weren’t sure you should be crossing. But before you could pull away, his fingers wrapped around your wrist, warm and firm, halting your retreat.
Your heart stilled, the world suddenly reduced to the quiet space between the two of you. Sunghoon's eyes fluttered open slowly, his lashes casting faint shadows across his cheeks. He blinked once, twice, before his sleepy gaze focused on you, still hazy with the remnants of sleep. His grip on your wrist tightened ever so slightly, but not enough to hurt—just enough to keep you from escaping.
“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice low and raspy from sleep, the kind of voice that sent shivers down your spine. His words hung in the air, thick with confusion but also curiosity, as if he wasn’t entirely sure whether to be offended or amused.
Your mind scrambled for an explanation, anything to diffuse the tension suddenly filling the room. "There was a mosquito," you blurted out, your voice barely steady, attempting to sound casual as you tugged on your wrist, but he didn’t let go.
His brow arched in suspicion, though there was a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "A mosquito… on my lips?” he questioned, the incredulity in his tone barely masked by amusement. He pushed himself up from the chair, his hand still holding yours, and in a fluid motion, he was leaning over the side of the bed, closer—much closer—than he had any right to be.
The proximity was suffocating. You could feel his breath fan across your face, warm and steady, each exhale sending a fresh wave of heat across your skin. His dark eyes, still half-lidded with sleep, were locked onto yours, and for a split second, you forgot how to breathe. The space between you was so small, so intimate, you could practically hear the rapid beat of your own heart pounding in your ears.
Your face flushed crimson, the heat crawling up your neck as if you’d been caught doing something far worse than tracing his face. You swallowed hard, every nerve in your body suddenly on high alert, every muscle tensing under his intense gaze. "There… was something in my eye," you stammered, quickly averting your gaze as you finally pulled your hand away from his grip, your fingers trembling slightly as they found refuge behind your palms. You could feel the burn of embarrassment creeping up, your hands covering your face as if that could somehow hide the fact that you were blushing furiously.
Sunghoon, on the other hand, seemed entirely unfazed by your flustered state. He stood there for a moment longer, watching you with a mix of amusement and something deeper, something unreadable. He straightened up, stretching his arms above his head lazily, as if the moment that just passed was nothing more than a casual conversation.
But you knew better. There was something unspoken between you two, something that neither of you were ready to admit, but it lingered in the air, thick and undeniable.
"Something in your eye, huh?" he murmured, a teasing lilt to his voice as he glanced down at you, his lips curving into a small, knowing smile. He reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from your forehead with a casual familiarity that sent another wave of heat rushing to your cheeks.
You peeked through your fingers, still hiding most of your face as you mumbled, "Shut up."
He chuckled softly, the sound low and warm, and for a moment, the tension in the air eased, replaced by something lighter, something teasing but… comfortable.
But even as he turned away, walking towards the window to stretch his legs, the ghost of his touch still lingered on your skin, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe—just maybe—there was more to Sunghoon’s presence by your side than just reputation.
The clock on the wall ticked steadily as the midday sun spilled golden light into the hospital room, brightening the sterile white space that had become your temporary home. You sat on the edge of the bed, the nurse’s soft, encouraging voice still echoing in your ears after she had just removed your cast. The air felt electric with anticipation; you could finally walk again!
Sunghoon hovered by your side, his expression a mix of curiosity and concern, his brows furrowing slightly as he studied you. “Are you ready for this?” he asked, a teasing lilt in his voice, but the seriousness behind it was unmistakable. You nodded enthusiastically, your heart racing with excitement. It felt like a monumental moment—like the first step of many to reclaiming your independence.
With the adrenaline coursing through you, you stood up, a determined grin stretching across your face. But as you took your first step, everything shifted dramatically. Your foot wobbled, and before you knew it, you were tumbling forward, hitting the floor with a thud that echoed around the room.
“Ugh!” you groaned, your cheeks burning with embarrassment as you lay there, staring up at the fluorescent lights.
Sunghoon rushed forward, worry etched across his features, but before he could say anything, Wonyoung and Hanni burst into laughter, their giggles ringing like chimes through the room.
“Oh my god! Did you really just fall?” Hanni wheezed, nearly doubling over as she struggled to regain her composure.
“Looks like someone needs a little more practice!” Wonyoung added, her laughter infectious as she bent down to help you up, her hands extending towards you.
You couldn’t help but laugh a little at yourself as they pulled you back to your feet. “Thanks, guys,” you mumbled, trying to hide your flushed cheeks.
As they waved goodbye, still chuckling, Sunghoon remained behind, a bemused expression on his face. “That was quite the entrance,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned against the wall, a playful glint in his eye.
“Shut up,” you retorted, trying to brush off your embarrassment as you plopped back onto the bed, sulking a little. “I’m still getting used to this.”
“Come on, you can’t let a little tumble discourage you!” Sunghoon grinned, stepping closer with a theatrical flourish. “I, Park Sunghoon, will be your walking coach! Let’s do this!” He mimicked a sports announcer, waving his arms as if hyping up a crowd. “And by the end of this session, you will be the champion of walking!”
You rolled your eyes, suppressing a smile. “I don’t need a coach. I just need to not fall again.”
“Too late for that! You’ve already set the bar pretty low,” he teased, a playful smirk dancing across his lips. He leaned in closer, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “But don’t worry; I’ll help you reach new heights, or at least keep you from faceplanting again.”
With that, he extended his hand towards you, a gesture of encouragement. You hesitated for a moment, your heart fluttering as you met his gaze, but the absurdity of the situation was too much to resist. Taking a deep breath, you grasped his hand, feeling the warmth of his skin against yours.
“Okay, Mr. Walking Coach. Show me the way,” you said, trying to sound more confident than you felt.
He positioned himself next to you, his grip firm yet gentle. “First lesson: Keep your center of gravity low. Think like a ninja! Light on your feet!”
You couldn’t help but snort at his ridiculousness, the tension of your earlier fall dissipating as you stood next to him. “Ninja? Really? You think I’m going to be stealthy when I can barely stand?”
“Exactly! You’re going to be a stealthy ninja who, like a graceful gazelle, glides across the floor!” he exclaimed, his arms gesturing dramatically as he took a step back to give you space.
With his comedic antics distracting you from your nerves, you took a tentative step forward, wobbling a bit but managing to keep your balance. “See? Look at me! I’m practically a gazelle!” you proclaimed with mock bravado, your voice tinged with sarcasm.
“Gorgeous! Absolutely majestic!” Sunghoon exclaimed, feigning applause as you took another step. “But you know, a gazelle might want to avoid falling on its face. You should really work on that.”
You shot him a glare, but a smile broke through your facade. “You’re such an idiot.”
“That’s why I’m here!” he laughed, inching closer again, still holding your hand to steady you. “Now, let’s go for round two. This time, no falling!”
With a deep breath, you focused on your balance, your heart racing not just from the thrill of standing but from the way his warm hand felt enveloping yours. You took another step, then another, Sunghoon’s encouraging words ringing in your ears, his steady presence anchoring you.
But with every shaky movement, reality set in. You were acutely aware of the gulf between the two of you—the wealth and expectations that surrounded his life, the disparity that loomed like a shadow over this moment of laughter and lightness. He was an heir, bound for greatness, while you felt like a mere accident in his world.
“Just a few more steps,” he encouraged, a slight frown creasing his forehead as he sensed your hesitation. “You’re doing great!”
With his support, you managed to make a few shaky strides, laughter bubbling up with each unsteady movement. “Maybe I’ll actually be able to walk out of here after all,” you joked, feeling lighter with each step.
“See? I told you! You’re going to be my ninja walking prodigy!” he laughed, his eyes bright with excitement.
But as the moment drew on, a bittersweet realization sank in. Once you were well enough to leave, his part in your story would fade into the background like a forgotten dream. You could already picture it—a world where he resumed his life, his responsibilities, leaving you behind like a chapter closed.
Yet here you were, the two of you intertwined in this moment, laughing and learning how to walk again, and for a fleeting second, you wished it could last just a little bit longer.
THE DAY HAD FINALLY COME,
THE ONE YOU DREADED MORE THAN ANYTHING.
Weeks had passed, and despite all the mental notes you made to remind yourself that this was temporary, you couldn’t shake the attachment you’d developed to Sunghoon. Maybe it was the routine, maybe it was the fact that he had been there every step of the way while you healed, or maybe, it was something else entirely—something more dangerous.
You watched from a distance as Sunghoon handled your final hospital bill. The cold sterility of the hospital didn’t bother you as much as the thought of walking out of it without him by your side. He paid the fees like he had promised from the start, his sleek credit card effortlessly handling the expenses that you knew would have financially crippled you otherwise.
You tried to convince yourself that this attachment, this gnawing feeling of loss before he even left, was simply because you had spent too much time with him. After all, you practically lived together for months. But even telling yourself that over and over again didn’t stop the sting behind your eyes, the prickling of tears that threatened to spill.
You took a deep breath and wiped them away quickly, just as you saw him walking towards you, his tall figure cutting through the hospital corridor with ease. His face was calm as usual, though his eyes held a quietness that made your chest tighten. You forced a smile, the same one you always gave him, but this time, it carried a weight of sadness you couldn’t shake.
At least Mrs. Park wasn’t here. You couldn’t imagine how much worse you’d feel with her scrutinizing every little move, every interaction, like she was tallying it up in some invisible ledger. But in this quiet space, where it was just you and Sunghoon, you started to believe that maybe… just maybe, he was worth more than the money she flaunted, more than the reputation you helped him protect.
He smiled back at you, but even that felt distant, as if the finality of this moment weighed on him too. His hand rested casually on your shoulder, the same way it had for the past few weeks, a gesture of familiarity that was once just for show in front of others, but now… now it felt different.
As you walked out of the hospital together, the flashing of cameras and the swarm of paparazzi waiting outside hit you like a tidal wave. They were here, of course they were. The media had been all over this—your fake relationship, the story of his girlfriend who nursed him back to health after an accident. None of them knew the truth. None of them knew that the only reason you were here was because of a fractured leg caused by that same accident. It had all been to protect him from public backlash, to clean up his image, to shield him from the criticism that would have followed.
But now, as his hand lingered on your shoulder longer than necessary, as he guided you through the crowd, you couldn’t help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t fake at all. Not anymore.
The car ride back was filled with a silence that felt almost suffocating. You stared out of the window, watching the city blur by, your heart heavy with the realization that this was it. Your leg had healed, the bills were paid, and now Sunghoon was going to disappear from your life just as quickly as he had entered it.
You sighed, the sadness in your chest growing. This was it. The end of whatever this was, of whatever you had convinced yourself wasn’t real.
The car came to a stop at a quiet street, far from the prying eyes of the paparazzi. It wasn’t your home, not really—just the rented apartment you could barely afford. But it was where you were headed, and it was the place where Sunghoon would say goodbye.
You couldn’t stop the sigh that escaped your lips, filled with an aching sadness that even you couldn’t fully comprehend. It felt almost comedic, like the setup for some bad joke. The rich boy, the poor girl, the fake relationship—they always ended like this, right?
“You seem to not enjoy getting better,” Sunghoon’s voice broke the silence, his words light, almost teasing, but you could hear the undercurrent of something more.
You let out a short, bitter laugh, not even bothering to hide your emotions anymore. What was the point? “How could I enjoy it when it meant you would go away?” The words slipped out, raw and unfiltered, before you had a chance to stop them.
He didn’t respond right away. Instead, his hands tightened slightly on the steering wheel, his knuckles whitening as he pulled the car over to the side of the road. The soft hum of the engine faded into the background as he turned to face you, his expression unreadable. His eyes searched yours, as if trying to understand the weight of your words.
And then, in one swift movement, he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear. “I’ll always be there,” he whispered, his voice low, sending a shiver down your spine. “Wherever you are, in bad shape or sick, I’ll be there.”
“Why?” You barely recognized your own voice, so soft, so vulnerable, as if you were afraid of the answer.
His lips were so close now, his breath fanning across your skin, the space between you shrinking to almost nothing. He paused, giving you a chance to pull away, but when you didn’t, when you stayed frozen in place, his lips brushed against yours. It was barely a kiss, just the softest touch, like a promise not yet fully spoken.
He pulled back just enough to whisper against your lips, “Even when you get sick, I’ll be there. Waiting for you… to get well soon.”
His words were like a balm to your aching heart, but also a dagger to the fear you’d been holding inside. You felt a wave of emotions crash over you—relief, confusion, frustration, but above all, hope.
And just like that, everything between you shifted.
© senascoop | tumblr
Match
Summary: Starting a relationship with with the girl he hated was a terrible idea.
Warnings: NSFW, smut, enemies to lovers, meandom!sunghoon, brat!reader, humiliation, degradation, swearing, Powerplay? Reader says no but means yes?
Word count: 11.3k I think 🤔
A/N: @stinkoscope you are not allowed to give me any more ideas 😤
Being an idol was lonely.
This was something that Park Sunghoon had learned the hard way. Yes, he had his fellow members, but the attention and companionship that he craved was something that six other men could never provide for him. Sure, he had millions of fans, girls that would die to get close to him. But they only knew his persona. The pretty smile and introverted charm, played up to entice young girls to swoon over him. The bulging biceps and blade sharp jawline crafted purely to increase album sales. The world knew Park Sunghoon, but they didn't know just Sunghoon.
He was lonely.
He was lonely, and longing for a connection deeper than the brief brushes with the opposite sex that he was used to. But he was still Sunghoon. Which meant that despite his loneliness, he was also awfully shy and introverted. He was exceptionally bad at flirting, and pitiful when it came to holding a conversation with a pretty girl. In fact, Sunghoon couldn't hold a conversation with any girl.
Except for his self-proclaimed nemesis.
Sunghoon thought she was evil personified. Standing at almost five foot two, he could never wrap his head around how her short frame could contain so much malice. He had met her after striking an amazing brand deal with an extremely influential company. He recalled how excited he had been to sign contracts with the company.
He had taken extra care that one fateful day to sculpt every strand of hair on his head, to make sure there wasn't a speck of lint on his neat clothes. The CEO had been running just a tad late, leaving Sunghoon to sit at the long rectangular meeting table, drumming his fingers lightly against the dark mahogany wood. He was actually quite comfortable being all alone, when the giant door swung open. If Sunghoon was being honest, he didn't actually see her at first. Rather, he didn't see her face at first. Instead, he saw two giant pitchers of iced americano coffee, clearly too heavy for the tiny person holding them.
She teetered in what Sunghoon guessed were probably six inch heels, her pretty french tipped toes peeking out. He almost had no control over his eyes as they raked up her body, his long legs crossing at the ankle as he took her in. Two smooth, molten brown legs, thick thighs and hips that were struggling against the tightness of her short skirt. It was making him salivate a bit, thinking of how nice it'd be to stuff his face between those pretty thighs. He was quite taken by the way her waist dipped in, leading up to what may have been the prettiest pair of tits that he had ever had the chance to ogle at. Her face was just as pretty. Full, glossy lips, the kind that made him fantasize. About feeling them against his own, feeling them puckered against the sensitive spots on his neck, watching them suckle and shine prettily as she slobbered and gagged on his dickhead grinding into the back of her throat. A cute little button nose, that he'd enjoy kissing affectionately as he rearranged her guts, or maybe it'd tickle his tummy and he'd gently pinch it shut just a bit when he forced her mouth down to the base of his thick cock. Big round eyes, shiny, and innocent, and doll like. He wanted to watch those pretty chocolate eyes water and roll back in her head as her cunt locked around his dick. Sunghoon blushed at the tent forming in his pants, embarrassment overtaking him at the dirty thoughts playing in his head.
She had her phone between her shoulder and ear, huffing lightly at whomever was on the other end.
"Yes, I'm setting up for it right now. Where are you?" She clearly wasn't paying attention to where she was going.
Because she tripped over Sunghoon's foot in those ridiculously high heels, dumping one of the two gallons of coffee all over him. She squealed, whether in surprise at seeing him or because she tripped and spilled her coffee, Sunghoon wasn't sure but he was immediately annoyed that he found the sound cute.
"Oh my goodness, I'm so sorry! I didn't see yo-"
"Clearly. Do you always go around not paying attention to anything around you?" Sunghoon was usually much better at keeping his cool, but she had totally ruined all of the work he had put into looking nice today. His white button down was soaked, his formerly perfect hair dripping all over the floor.
"Well. Who sits with their legs stretched all the way out like that? You were bound to trip someone." She was also usually much better at keeping her cool, but there was something about this gorgeous man that was already grating her nerves.
"Oh, so this is my fault? Maybe you wouldn't be so fucking clumsy if you weren't waking around in those dumbass stilts." He snapped.
"These 'dumbass stilts' cost more than your entire fucking life, you-"
"Do you know who you're talking to? If I were you, I'd shut the fuck up. Before you piss me off and get yourself fired."
"Fired?" She sounded like she had never even heard of the word.
"Fuck you." With that, she tossed the remaining pitcher on him as well.
"What the fu-"
He was cut off by the CEO entering the room. She automatically wiped the cocky grin off her face, not daring to say another word.
"What's the matter?" Sunghoon asked smugly, ringing the ice cold liquid out of his ruined shirt.
"Afraid of getting in trouble with the boss? I hope he fires you for your incompetence and lack of brain cells." He hissed. And as smug as Sunghoon was feeling, she seemed to be much smugger.
"What happened here?" The CEO inquired.
"I tripped and spilled a little coffee on him." She shrugged.
"Good grief. You'll have to forgive my granddaughter, Sunghoon. She can be a bit clumsy." Sunghoon's jaw physically dropped.
"Granddaughter?" He gasped. He made the mistake of looking at her, and it almost felt like she was telepathically telling him;
"That's right, bitch. Have fun getting me fired."
From that day onward, she made Sunghoon's life hell. His once glorious partnership was now more like torture. He hoped to just ignore her, to feign politness whenever he had to and keep to himself. It might've worked had she not been assigned to work with him throughout the entire partnership. Even though he figured it'd be best to apologize and squash any ill feelings between them, he couldn't force himself to do it. Not when she'd stick her cute little nose in the air whenever he was around. Not when she'd smile and bat her pretty eyelashes at other men, but cross her arms over her gorgeous breasts and tell him to kiss her ass. Sunghoon was just as bad. He was all smiles while the CEO was present, but as soon as he was gone, Sunghoon was telling her to go fuck herself and flipping her off.
Of course she'd be the only woman he had the nerve to talk to.
And that's what led him to talking to a matchmaker, specializing in discreet celebrity relationships, provided by Hybe. She was an older woman with stern eyes but a warm smile.
His palms were sweating, fingers tapping nervously at his thighs as he answered all of her questions about what he was looking for in a potential partner.
He felt the blood drain from his face as she began questioning his sexual preferences.
"If you don't want to tell me, it's fine. I'm not going to make you. But the more details you give me, the more accurate your match will be. And believe me, honey, I've been in this business for quite some time. I've heard it all, and I've heard it from every idol you can imagine. No need to be embarrassed."
Hearing this only made him feel slightly better. She shook her head and removed her glasses, an amused smile on her face as if she was reasoning with a kid about something trivial.
"It's OK, Sunghoon. I promise this stays between me and you. The only other person who'll know about any of this will be whomever you match with and set a date up with. And they'll only know because their preferences will be compatible with yours, ok? So don't be shy. I'll ask the question again. Do you prefer a woman who is dominant, submissive, or either?" This conversation was making him feel like he was going to faint from embarrassment.
"Submissive." He replied quietly. 'Though I am quite fond of brats,' He thought to himself.
"Ok. And what are some things that you'd consider turn ons?" If she noticed the way he gulped at her question, she didn't make it obvious.
"I like brats." He blurted. And from there he couldn't stop the word vomit. He told her everything. Every kink, every fantasy he had, he let it all out. Before he knew it, he was red in the face, hard in his jeans and desperate to fuck. He fiddled with his long fingers as he listened to her typing away at her keyboard, eyes squinting as she read over the information in her database.
"That can't be right." She mumbled, sliding her chrome frames back onto her face before typing frantically again.
"Hmm.....it is right. Guess there's a first time for everything. Well," The matchmaker started. "Good news and bad news. Which do you want first?" Sunghoon braced himself for both.
Typical.
"I'll take the bad news first."
"You've only got one match. There's only one woman in my entire system who is a similar age, has similar interests, and the same sexual preferences as you. So if things don't work out with her, then I won't say there's no hope for you, but I can't help you." She folded her hands together, watching him visibly deflate over the rim of her glasses.
"And the good news?"
"In order for this program to consider two people a match, you have to score at least 50% compatible in three different categories. Interest, personality type, and sexual preferences. Between those three categories, most of the time the people I put together are around 55 to 60% compatible. The highest score I've ever paired were 70% compatible, and they ended up happily married with children." Sunghoon huffed irritably. He was not in the mood for stories.
"Ok, but what does that have to do with me?"
"The one girl that you're compatible with...She's a 97% match for you."
Sunghoon was at a loss for words.
"97%?!"
"Yup. 97%. That's a new record for me in my matching career, it's quite exciting don't you think?" She glanced up from gazing at a chip in her manicure when he remained silent. She had to force a giggle down at the expression on his face.
"I can see you're in shock, hun. So this is what I'll do: Here is.... her contact information. I want you to get in touch with her. Now, don't go getting all shy and bashful on me. You can do it. Just remember, you're her almost perfect match. She's looking for all of the same things you are."
Sunghoon's arms felt like jelly as he gripped the piece of paper with her information on it. He listened through cotton filled ears as she told him her name, snorting as it just so happened to be the name of his literal enemy. Before she could say much else, he got a call saying that his car had arrived to take him back to his dorm. He stood almost robotically, thanking her and bowing politely before leaving her office. His brain felt too full on the elevator ride down to the car, but the cool, smooth leather seats helped him to relax. He glanced again at the contact information on the paper. He figured he may as well call whoever this girl was now because once he was back at the dorm, privacy would be a thing of the past. He typed the number in, gnawing at his lip as it rang once, twice before someone picked up.
"What the fuck do you want, Sunghoon?" Sunghoon felt every drop of blood drain from his face, and a deep pit open up in his stomach. Without thinking, he hung the phone up.
No.
Please. Anyone but her.
Sunghoon probably scared his poor driver half to death with the frustrated holler he let out. Of all people, of all three point eight billion women on this planet, his least favorite one of all was his match. He ran a frustrated hand through his hair, tossing the phone to the side in anger.
Sunghoon was going to be alone forever.
He pouted childishly at the thought. But then the matchmakers words began to play back in his mind. A 97% match. He only matched with her because she had the same interests. Because their personalities would supposedly mesh well together if they could ever stop arguing. She apparently liked a lot of the same things as he did.
She apparently had the same kinks as he did.
His eyes grew wide with that realization, his dick twitching in interest. He quickly dismissed the thought as the car pulled up to his dorm building. He breathed a sigh of relief. He needed advice. He sprinted to the elevator, impatiently jabbing the button. He shifted anxiously from foot to foot as the elevator slowly crawled to his floor, bursting out of the doors before they were even all the way open. Before he knew it, he was slamming his front door shut behind him, kicking his shoes off and yelling for his friends. He found them in the kitchen eating, curious eyes watching him as he huffed breathlessly.
"So," Jungwon drawled slowly, crater-like dimples flexing as he smirked almost knowingly. "How'd it go with the matchmaker?"
As Sunghoon told them his story, he swore he could've punched each and every one of them for laughing at his misfortune.
"It's not funny, you dickheads! What am I supposed to fucking do? We hate each other!" He whined. Jay had to wipe the tears from his eyes before offering his advice.
"Sunghoon. Haven't you ever watched one of those ridiculously cheesy romance movies where the two main characters think they hate each other, but really they're in love? Because those two emotions, love and hate, are so strong that some people, some really dense, really fucking dumb people, get them confused." Jay mused.
"...So what you're saying is that I'm the main character. Because that's all I heard." He tried to hind behind his smirk, but he was inwardly having a panic attack.
"No, he's saying call her, stupid. I don't know about anybody else, but if someone told me that somewhere out there was a chick that had a personality, interests, and sexual preferences that matched mine almost perfectly, nothing could stop me from seeing her. Like nothing. So pull your head out of your ass and text her." Jake made it sound so easy.
So Sunghoon called her. Except he may've pressed *67 first to block his name from showing up on her caller ID. And he might've deepened his voice just a bit so she wouldn't recognize it was him. And he found it was much easier to set up a date with her the following night, by lying and telling her his name was Parker. Which was almost true in his opinion. His last name, Park and Parker are basically the same thing, right? As the minutes ticked by, he only got more nervous. He had to get dressed for the date three times as he couldn't stop his nervous sweating. He gave himself a final once over in the mirror, admiring the way the expensive yet simple outfit, just a black button down and slacks, clung to his lean, toned frame just right.
'Shit.' He thought to himself. 'I'd fuck me.'
With that boost of confidence, he was snagging the pretty bouquet of flowers off of his bed, bidding his friends farewell and making his way down to his waiting car. He was hit with a refreshing burst of cool air from the AC as he climbed into the back of the van. He fiddled with his watch and bracelets as he contemplated how he'd go about this entire ordeal.
Starting a relationship with a lie was a bad idea. Starting a relationship with the girl he hated with a lie was a terrible idea.
He groaned to himself, almost in disbelief at the situation he had gotten himself into. There was nothing he could do at this point except tell the truth and attempt to mend their already strained relationship. He figured she'd probably yell. Maybe toss another drink at him. He kind of deserved it for lying, honestly. His thoughts were cut off by the driver alerting him that they had arrived, albeit a bit late because the street had been blocked to deter any persistent paparazzi. Because of the nature of their potentially budding relationship, the entire restaurant had been rented out for their privacy, and his car would stay outside the door of the restaurant waiting for him to finish his date. The street seemed unusually empty as Sunghoon stepped out, spotting a lone person sitting at a candlelit table inside.
He watched her through the window of the restaurant, feeling like his brain had hiccuped and cleared out most of his nervousness. She was glowing in the soft candlelight, the reflection of the flames dancing across her melanated skin. She had gotten all dolled up just for him. Straightened her jet-black locks, so they cascaded down her back like ocean waves at midnight. She'd put on that pretty gloss that made his tip twitch with the need to feel the back of her throat. Sunghoon had to count backwards from ten to calm himself down. Flowers in tow, he pushed open the heavy oak door, silently cursing the tiny jingling bell. She looked up from gazing at the menu in front of her, a skinny glass of wine swirling in her hand.
"You're late, Mr. Park." She crooned, siren eyes drinking in every inch of his body.
Sunghoon's dick was more than halfway hard in his slacks.
"Are you just going to stand there gawking at me?" She leaned forward just a bit, giving him a birds eye view of the delectable cleavage spilling from her corseted top.
"Or are you going to join me?" She purred, and Sunghoon almost barked.
He crossed the room in long, confident strides, opting to sit directly across from her so he could enjoy the view.
"You knew it was me?"
"How dumb do you think I am, Sunghoon? You do know that once we matched, I got a phone call from the matchmaker, right? She called me to let me know that someone would probably be getting in touch with me about a date. And then you called, and as soon as you heard my voice you hung up... And twenty minutes later somebody named "Parker", who sounded eerily similar to you called from a blocked number asking me out on a date."
"...What gave me away, though?"
"Everything, Sunghoon! You're such an idiot." She rolled her eyes. He couldn't help but to admire her profile as she gazed out the window, arms crossed in a display of dissatisfaction.
"I got these for you." He mumbled into the thick silence, awkwardly thrusting out the expensive bouquet. Her eyes softened just a little at the sight.
They were lilies. Her favorite.
"They're really pretty, Sunghoon. Thank you." Sunghoon swore he felt a bolt of lightning shoot through him when she reached for the flowers, and her fingers brushed against his.
"So.... who saw this coming?"
"Not me." She answered quickly.
"Yeah, I never would've guessed we had anything in common. But apparently, we're 97% compatible. I don't even really believe it, to be honest." Sunghoon shrugged.
"I know. How could I have anything in common with a pretentious prick like you?" Even as she was spewing such a mean insult, her long nails were still softly caressing the flowers that Sunghoon had brought her.
"I'm pretentious? Fuck you. There's no way I could've matched so high with such a spoiled little princess." He scoffed.
So much for being civil.
"Shut up, Sunghoon. I don't even know why I'm here. Why either one of us is here. We both know we hate each other, and despite whatever stupid score we got, the two of us would never work out. So I'd appreciate it if you kept your mouth shut for the next five minutes so I can finish this glass of wine in peace and leave." She tucked a long dark stand of hair behind her ear, revealing an adorable tiny tattoo shaped like a miniscule ice skate.
"Do you skate?" Sunghoon blurted.
"What?"
"I- your tattoo. It's an ice skate." He pointed to her ear.
"Oh. Yeah, I used to, when I was a teenager. Why?"
"I used to skate when I was a teenager, too. I was pretty good."
"Good for you.... Didn't I tell you to stop talking to me?" She sassed, a perfectly arched brow raising.
"Listen. Outside of work, I don't take orders from you, sweetheart. Besides... we both know you'd prefer to be the one getting bossed around." The sight of her flustering made the entire night worth it in Sunghoon's eyes. She bit her lip, holding in her retort much to Sunghoon's delight.
"Did you think I forgot about that little part? You're my almost perfect match in every way, aren't you? So if I had to guess... I'd say you're probably a bad little brat who enjoys getting put in her place, huh? A submissive little doll that wants to be treated rough, spanked and edged, and overstimulated. I bet it burns you up knowing that I can give you exactly what you need, doesn't it?" Now that he had figured out how to unnerve her, he'd never quit.
Sunghoon didn't miss the way the pupils in her big eyes dilated, the way her chest was beginning to heave with deeper breaths. She wasn't loving the way his eyes darkened as he stood up, circling her chair as he looked at her. Like she was prey and he was the predator. He came to a halt behind her, teasingly leaning down into her space, his arms firm against the table on either side of her, caging her in from behind.
"Don't fucking talk to me like that." She warned, shakily. Sunghoon was having too much fun, finally gaining the upper hand over her.
"Or what? What're you gonna do, little girl? Hmm?" Her dilated eyes went glossy at the nickname.
"What's wrong, pretty? Are you embarrassed that I know your dirty little secrets? Poor spoiled brat. I wonder what your granddad would think if he knew. If he knew his precious granddaughter was actually a perverted slut that gets off on being used and degraded." His right hand boldly gripped her jaw, turning her head towards him fast enough to make her choke on a gasp.
"Sunghoon-"
"Daddy. You can call me 'Daddy', baby."
"Who's the perv now?" Sunghoon was more than attracted to that spark of defiance in her eyes.
"You're just as bad. You get off on torturing pretty girls and making them call you 'Daddy'. You want me to fight back. To act up. So you can discipline me, degrade me, dominate me, because it makes your puny little dick hard, you pathetic loser." His response was a chuckle.
"You really are my perfect match."
Sunghoon threw a ₩50000 note on the table to cover the cost of her single glass of wine before gripping her hand tightly in his.
"Let's go."
"Let's go where? We're not fucking, Sunghoon."
"Stop acting like a snobby bitch. I know you want it. Your pathetic little cunt is probably leaking out past your panties for me. So be a good girl and come the fuck on."
"No." Even though her tone sounded resolute, her eyes were begging him to take control.
So he did.
He swiftly grabbed the back of her neck, pulling her body into his chest. The squeal she let out ended up getting swallowed between their lips as Sunghoon gently brought them together. With her pressed so close to him, he could feel her heart racing with excitement at the feeling of his warm tongue slowly lapping at her bottom lip. She melted into him, plump lips separating to feel his wet tongue roll sensually over hers. He fucked her pretty glossy lips with his tongue, thrusting it into the recesses of her throat and listening to her breath hitch in ecstasy. He pulled away slowly, teasingly brushing his lips against hers again and again until she was whining.
"If you're a good girl, I'll give you more kisses. On your pretty lips... your pretty tits... and your pretty pussy. You want that, don't you, Doll?
"Maybe......" She confessed in a tiny voice.
"Come on, sweetheart. Admit it. You want to fuck me. Don't you?"
"You can kiss my ass, Sunghoon."
"...Get in the car, you fucking brat."
She didn't put up too much more of a fight as he dragged her out the door and into the back of the black escalade waiting for them.
"Where to sir?" His driver asked politely, and Sunghoon felt a grinch like grin take over his face as she gave him her address.
"I don't know what you're smiling for, Sunghoon. I gave him my address so I could go home. Alone." She just couldn't help bursting his bubble.
Gripping her by the back of her neck was slowly becoming Sunghoon's favorite thing, a desperate whimper escaping her as he pulled her into yet another searing kiss. The back of the van filled with the sounds of their lips smacking together and swapping spit. Sunghoon took hold of her hand and placed it on his straining bulge, eyes falling shut in pleasure. She immediately responded, gripping and stroking his length in a way that had his head falling back on his shoulders. His eyes shot back open at the feeling of her taking her hand away.
"Did I say you could stop?"
"No, but I- the partition. I was just going to close the window so your driver can't see or hear you moaning like a bitch anymore." She whispered.
"Leave the partition open. I want him to listen to you slut your pretty little throat out for me in the back of his car like the dirty fucking whore that you are." If she wasn't leaking out all over the place before, she certainly was now.
"Or maybe I should let him hear you cum all over my fingers. Let him hear your pretty moans for me, hmm?" He whispered in her ear, his warm breath sending a shiver down her spine.
"Are you dense? I told you already. We aren't fucking." The breathless lilt in her voice was giving her away.
"We'll see, brat. Clearly, you need some dick. Maybe you'll be less of a bitch after a good fuck."
She didn't trust herself to respond, instead crossing her arms and scooting as far away from him as she could get. Sunghoon was having none of it, not only scooting closer to her but gripping a thick thigh in his big hand as well. She tried to keep her gaze cast toward the window, attempting to appear unfazed. But as his hand slowly reached closer and closer to her heat, she finally broke, her fiery irises meeting his own. She tried to stop his wrist from inching up any higher, clamping her thighs together stubbornly.
"Don't."
"What's the matter, baby? Don't want me to feel how wet I'm making you?"
"I swear, if you touch me...." Her pulse was racing in excitement, her body all worked up over just a few simple touches.
"What?" He challenged. "You mean if I do this?"
He pried her thighs open with his left hand, his right making its way up to feel the wet heat radiating from her core. Sunghoon felt his pride swell ten fold at the feeling of her sopping wet panties.
He also felt her tiny palm swiftly connect with the side of his face. He gasped softly, eyes closing as the warmth from her smacking him lit a fire inside of him. The heat causing his length to begin to gently throb, an ache forming in the pit of his stomach. His lust heavy lids opened just enough for her to see the desire swirling in them.
"You're in a shitload of trouble now, brat."
She hated him. She hated him. So why couldn't she remember ever feeling this excited before in her entire life? Her thoughts were interrupted by the driver alerting them of their arrival.
Sunghoon was outside of the car, opening her door before she had a chance to blink. She took the hand he offered her, thanking the driver as she stepped out gracefully. She started towards the big iron front doors of her enormous house, glancing over her shoulder at Sunghoon.
"I felt how wet you were in the car. You plan on taking care of that all by your lonesome?" He called out to her in a soft voice. He could see her hesitate just a bit, her keys shaking as she turned them in the lock.
"I know how you feel about me. How we feel about each other. But you need me right now. Let me make you feel good, baby?"
He didn't wait for her response, boldly letting his driver know that he could leave. He stood, watching as she crossed the threshold of those giant doors, leaving them open behind her. Sunghoon didn't need any more of an invitation, jogging up the front steps and entering her dark foyer. By the time he had shut the door behind him, she was gone, leaving him to take in the breathtaking sight of her house alone. She really was a spoiled little brat living in luxury.
"Brat? Where'd you go, darling?" He could hear a muffled giggle from somewhere in the house.
"Oh? Are we playing a game? Come out, come out wherever you are...." He grinned in amusement, flipping on a light here and there to aid in his search.
"In here," She answered. Sunghoon found her in the kitchen, stirring up a drink in her hand.
"Somaek. For you." His favorite. How did she know? As he sipped his drink, he couldn't help but notice how much shorter she was without those insane heels she was always wearing.
"You're short as hell."
"Shut up. I'm not short. You're just freakishly tall."
"No," Just to piss her off, he rested his elbow on the top of her head casually. "You're definitely short." She swatted his arm away with a huff.
"I don't think I've ever seen you without those ridiculous heels on. It's kind of cute how tiny you are. I could pick you up and manhandle you any way I want to. Like this." His big hands encompassed her waist, easily lifting her up to sit on top of her massive island. He kept his grip around her waist as he leaned into her ear.
"Or I could bend you over the counter and fuck you dumb if I wanted to. You'd like that, wouldn't you?" He kissed her ear gently, lips journeying down to place soft kisses into the crook of her neck.
"I don't th-think so." He pulled back to look her deep in her eyes.
"Oh, Honey. I know so."
He took his time connecting their lips this time, teasing her with soft pecks until she was squirming against the counter, his button down balled up in her fists. He relented when he felt her legs wrap around his waist impatiently, pulling him in as close as he could get. With her legs around his waist, his cock settled right against her core, the short skirt of her dress riding up to reveal a sticky dark stain on her panties. He began gently grinding into her wetness, nipping her lip as she started to grind back against him.
"Sunghoon." She sighed, a squeak escaping her lips as he dug his slender fingers into her waist.
"What's my name?" He warned.
"Park Sunghoon." She tittered defiantly.
"You'll learn, baby. Even if it takes me all night to teach you. You'll learn....." He yanked her off of the counter, pushing her to her knees on the cold marble floor. She watched with doe eyes as he unbuckled his belt, tossing it aside before unbuttoning and unzipping his slacks.
"That my name...." He pushed his slacks and boxers down just enough for his hard length to spring free. He was big. Much bigger than she had been expecting. Long and fat, with three juicy veins bulging enticingly. His pink tip was already coated in precum, leaking profusely in anticipation. At the sight of his dick, her mouth began to water, mind hyperfixating on the need to feel and taste him in her mouth.
"... is Daddy."
He gave her no time to mentally prepare herself, gripping a handful of her thick locks in one hand as the other held her jaw open. He felt warm breath hit the tip of his dick before her full lips were closing around his head and suckling slowly. He let out a hot, drawn out moan at the feeling, fucking his thick head in and out of her lips. She hummed back in approval, the vibration sending a harsh shiver down his spine. He used his grip on her hair to pull her deeper onto his cock, panting as she made it almost halfway before gagging harshly.
"Gagging already? I'm not even halfway in yet. What was it you said back at the restaurant? Something about me having a puny dick? Does it still feel puny now?" He teased, pushing just far enough to make her gag again. She gurbled around his length, making him laugh menacingly.
"Didn't your parent ever teach you not to talk with your mouth full?"
She gagged again as he thrust just a little too deep down her throat, tears filling her eyes and rolling down her cheeks. He pinched her nose shut, pushing in as deep as she'd let him, only letting her breathe when he saw her eyes start to roll back a bit.
"Look at you. You put up such a fight, but now you're gagging and sucking my dick like a whore. You've probably been soaking your panties since the day we met, dreaming about this."
Sunghoon was quite taken with the sight in front of him. Her mascara left streaks of black running down her face, her lips slick with spit and precum.
"I want you to suck me in as deep as you can. Wanna feel how good your throat game is."
She held on to his hips, head nuzzling closer to him as she took his length down her throat. When the warm tip of her nose met his groin, she swallowed, making his eyes nearly cross at the feeling of her contracting around his length.
"Good girl." He moaned, unable to stop himself from rutting into her face. He could feel the drag of her uvula over the rim of his dick, causing him to shudder. His head fell back onto his shoulders, hips picking up speed as he fucked her face. She continued to gag harshly around him, pulling off of his length as she coughed and gasped for air.
"Still think my dick is puny?" He taunted, looking down his nose at her as she attempted a normal breathing pattern. She felt herself growing impossibly wetter as he slowly unbuttoned his shirt, tossing it aside and allowing her to ogle at his defined abs and pecs.
"Teeny tiny. Itty bitty dick." She rasped, voice hoarse from his girthy length pulverizing her throat.
"If it's so tiny, then come deep throat me again."
She obliged, completely unprepared for the way Sunghoon trapped her head between the counter and his hips, pistoning away into her mouth. She sputtered around his length, attempting to suck and swallow in rhythm with his thrusting. She was already embarrassed at the mess of wetness that he was going to discover between her thighs, her slickness dripping more profusely at the sound of his grunts and moans.
"Are you gonna be a good brat for me? And swallow up every drop of cum I give you? Hmm?" He grunted.
She nodded, the feeling of her head bobbing up and down, making his balls tighten with the need to cum.
"You want it? I'll give it to you if you want it in your mouth, baby. Give you this big fucking load right down your nasty slut throat. Fill your tummy with my nut." His voice cracked and slurred, clearly on the cusp of orgasm.
"Mhmmmm." She moaned, the vibration of her voice combined with the wet spongey texture of the back of her throat sending him over the edge.
He tugged her forward a final time, a gruff cry escaping him as he painted the inside of her mouth white with his cum. She could feel every pulse, every ache, every throb as he spilled in her mouth, shaking from his climax. She took every last drop just as he had asked of her, enjoying the feeling of his warm, gooey cum filling every available nook and cranny in her mouth. He pulled her off of his length with a pop, tugging her to her feet as he tried to come down from his high.
"Bed-bedroom?" He stuttered, still dazed. She grasped his hand, leading him out of the kitchen and up the stairs to what he presumed was her room. It was over the top, dramatic and expensive and definitely her.
"Turn around." She turned, holding her hair up as he slid the zipper to her dress down slowly. It hit the ground with a soft thud, the material pooling around her ankles. He was pleasantly surprised to see she was wearing only a skimpy pair of panties. His lips connected with the crook of her neck once again, his rough hands coming around her body to squeeze and kneed at her tits. He pinched at her sensitive nipples, grinning at the helpless little yelp she let out. He walked her forward towards the bed, never once disconnecting his lips from her neck as he viciously tore her panties.
"Hey! Those were expensive, dickwad!" The room rang with the sound of his palm meeting her ass.
"Dickwad? Is that what you're supposed to call me?" Her brain turned into mush as his hand crept around her front and rubbed over the folds of her cunt. She leaned her head back on his shoulder, straining to meet his eyes. His dim, lusty eyes stoked the fire blazing in the pit of her stomach.
"N-no?"
"What are you supposed to call me, brat?" His fingers dipped between her folds, rolling lightly over her clit.
"Daddy." She moaned, attempting to rock her hips into his palm.
"That's right, little girl. Daddy. That wasn't so hard, was it?"
"I fucking h-hate you."
Maybe Sunghoon should've gone to seek psychiatric help instead of romantic help. Because surely there was something wrong with his brain for finding her disdain for him so sexy.
"You hate me?" Every hair on her body was standing at attention at the noticeably deeper octave in his voice. He pushed her onto the bed roughly, drinking in the sight of her splayed across the sheets, his for the taking. He pushed her legs wide open, eyes locked with hers as her warm thighs emanated a soothing warmth to the sides of his face.
"You let me in your house, though. You got on your knees and let me fuck your pretty little face. You swallowed every drop of my cum like a dick drunk whore. You hate me.... but your little pussy is so wet for me. Tell me how you hate me again, brat."
"I-fuck!" Her sentence was cut off at the feeling of Sunghoon's pretty lips ghosting over clit.
"Go on. I'm listening." He taunted, waiting for her to speak.
"I hate-shit!" He lightly sucked her swollen bud into his mouth, milking it between his pink lips. She squirmed beneath him, shivering as he sucked deeper against her clit before letting go with an audacious pop. The eye contact was beginning to be to intense for her, her lids falling shut as he lapped at the wetness spilling from her.
"So fucking wet. Is this all because of me? I knew you wanted me." He laughed quietly.
"It's not funny, you a-asshole! You're ma-making me so fucking s-sensitive." She moaned, breath catching in her throat as he began kissing all over her quivering bud.
"Damn. For such a bitter woman, your pussy tastes so fucking sweet."
"Shut. The fuck. Up." She gasped, hips stuttering beneath his face.
"I don't think I will. You're so fucking pretty, all wet and sensitive and needy for me. I can't wait to fuck you, brat. Can't wait to feel your pretty little cunt milking my dick."
She was slowly becoming wetter and wetter from the sight in front of her. Of Sunghoon grinding his stiffening dick into her silk sheets, rough hands gripping her waist. His face buried between her thighs, brows creased in concentration as he tongued at the hood of her clit. Sharp eyes, switching between watching her every move and fluttering shut in appreciation of the sweet taste on his tongue. She whimpered as she tentatively ran her fingers through his locks, gripping his roots in a tight fist. The feeling of her fingers in his hair caused him to look up, a moan escaping his throat at her hardened nipples and tiny cries.
"That feels so fucking good." She breathed, her thighs tremoring in anticipation. Her jaw dropped in disbelief as Sunghoon's smirking face dipped even lower, sloppily licking over her tight asshole.
"Sunghoon!" She gasped in shock.
"I'm not buying your little prude act, sweetheart. Not when you're dripping all over the place. Feel good?" She covered her face and nodded shyly, and Sunghoon thought he could've died from how cute the sight was.
"I like playing with your cute little asshole, baby. Maybe one day you'll let me fuck it?" He goaded.
"Your ti-tiny dick wouldn't last thirty se-seconds in my ass." She moaned.
"Weren't you just choking and gagging a minute ago?"
He doubled down in his efforts, sucking harshly against her clit, eager to be inside of her. The sound of her loud cries and ragged, breathless whining was music to his ears. She was babbling out nonsense, empty minded as she unconciously locked her legs around his head, rutting desperately into his mouth.
"Close! Wanna cum so bad. Please, please, please?" She begged, back arching deeply off the bed as her body began to shake.
"Cum in Daddy's mouth, slut."
She hummed a satisfied moan before flooding his mouth with her juices. He watched her from below, dick getting impossibly harder as her eyes went hazy with pleasure, plump lips separating to release the prettiest cries he had ever heard. She tugged the hell out of his roots, forcing his tongue against her clit as she shamelessly ground her wet slit into his mouth. He took it all in stride, sucking and licking wherever he could as she slowly came back down. She pushed his head away with a whine as he kept kissing all over her sensitive clit. He crawled up her body, leaving blooming hickeys here and there as she attempted to catch her breath. When he reached her lips, she was surprised at the tenderness he kissed her with, her stomach erupting in butterflies.
"Was it good, baby?" He mumbled against her lips.
"So good, Daddy." She sighed back, wrapping her short legs around his waist. He groaned at the feeling of his dick nuzzling through her wetness, her sticky lips coating his shaft in her cum. He buried his head into the crook of her neck, low whines escaping him as he began grinding into her slit.
"Fuck. 'M gonna fuck you so good. Have this pretty pussy gushing for me all night long." He whispered, nipping roughly at her ear.
"You're all talk." She just didn't know when to quit.
"Yeah? Let's see if I'm all talk, or if you spend the rest of tonight screaming and cumming on my dick." She felt him reach down, lining his tip up with her still sensitive entrance. He pulled back to look into her eyes, beyond pleased to see the same urgency reflecting back.
He pushed his wide head against the tight hole of her entrance, a choked whimper getting caught in his throat as his tip stretched her little opening. Her brows furrowed, lips falling open in a loud whine as his head sunk in, already feeling full and close and too fucking good. Sunghoon's low chuckle filled the room as her eyes rolled back in her head, and her cunt locked tight around his tip. She jerked beneath him, cumming at just the feeling of his head sinking into her.
"Cumming already? I knew you needed some dick. What a fucking slut." He plunged deeper, despite her quivering walls, getting just about halfway in when she came to.
"Fuck, wait! Wait! Feels too fucking good!" She squealed, pushing at his chest.
He ignored her senseless begging, pushing the rest of his length in to the hilt, causing tears of pleasurable overstimulation to spring to her eyes.
"Oh.......fuck." Her lust drunken eyes lazily connected with his intense gaze, and for a minute, Sunghoon thought he was falling in love.
"You ok, pretty?" At some point, she had broken out into a sweat, her once straight locks starting to turn back into coils.
"Big." She whimpered.
"Big? I thought you said my dick was tiny." He grinned meanly.
"So. Big." He gave a tiny thrust at that, reeling at how tight she was gripping him.
"Shit. Try to relax, brat. You're gripping me so fucking tight."
"I'm, I....s-sorry, Daddy." She stuttered, gripping his shoulder in her little hands.
"It's OK, babydoll. Just relax."
She did her best to do just that. But the way he was looking at her, the feeling of his hard dick inside of her was making her cunt cream and quiver and tighten in arousal. Sunghoon could feel it all, and he was becoming so impatient. He leaned down to kiss her lightly, resting his lips against hers as he rocked into her heat. And once he started, he found it so addicting that he couldn't stop, his own brain growing foggy as sticky slaps echoed around in her room. He could hear the wet puddle of her cunt squelching and oozing against his groin, could feel her slick making a mess all over him, wetness dripping down his balls. It was all making him feel so dirty.
"Fuck," He grunted. "Wet. So fucking wet."
Her nails were digging into his back now, engraving him with long welps and scratches that only aided in his arousal. She was well and truly dick drunk, tears rolling down her face as he fucked her. She panted hotly, allowing Sunghoon to spit into her open mouth. She swallowed his spit with a moan before opening her mouth and begging for more.
97% Compatible, Sunghoon's ass.
Sunghoon didn't think she could possibly get any more perfect for him if she tried.
"You're pussy is so fucking tight and wet. I thought you hated me, brat. Why's your cunt so wet if you hate me, baby?"
"Stop.....t-teasing!" She cried, tears of arousal and humiliation springing to her eyes.
He was antagonizing her. Teasing and bullying her in a way that shouldn't have made her feel like she was going to cum again, her walls strangling his length in preparation. Sunghoon wasn't dumb. He could feel the way she gushed and tightened around him as he teased her, a depraved grin spreading across his face.
"Are you gonna fucking cum again, brat? Go ahead, slut. I know you want to. Be my good little brat, and let me feel this tight little pussy cream all over my dick."
She covered her face shyly again, in direct contradiction to the way her hips were bucking in ecstasy. Sunghoon brought his thumb down to rub harsh circles into her aching clit, moaning at the feeling of her going over the edge. She bit her lip in an attempt to suppress a cry as she came again on his dick. Sunghoon watched her tight little cunt quiver around his dick, a creamy white ring of her juices dripping from the base of his cock. He thrusted shallowly, just enough to work her through her orgasm.
"Good girl."
"Fuck...off."
"You should be thanking me right now. For putting up with your bratty ass and giving you exactly what you need. You've probably never been fucked this good." He laughed cockily.
"You should be thanking me. Your goofy ass couldn't even talk to another woman. You're lucky I'm fucking you."
"Whatever." He scoffed, knowing she was right. The victorious smirk on her face pissed him off, though. It made him pull out of her heat, flipping her over to rest on her stomach. He stuffed a pillow beneath her hips, straddling her thighs from behind.
"You know what, brat? You're gonna learn some fucking manners today. When I tell you to say thank you, you say fucking thank you. I was gonna go easy on you tonight. But that bad ass mouth got you in trouble."
"What're you gonna do, Daddy? Spank me?" She asked sarcastically.
She was somehow still taken off guard when he did just that. He watched in a love stricken trance as her fat little ass jiggled and rippled under the force of his palm.
"Behave."
He spread the soft cheeks of her ass open, grinning as she hid her face in the sheets in embarrassment. Without much warning, he was sliding back into her tight hole, picking up a rather brutal pace. Because of the pillow he had stuffed beneath her hips, he was fucking into her at the perfect angle to decimate her g-spot. She was immediately seeing stars, biting into the sheets beneath her.
"Sung...Sunghoon! Fuck!"
"Yeah? Am I hitting my brat's special spot?"
"Fuck, yes!"
"You like that, pretty? That shit feels so fucking good, doesn't it?"
"Yes! Please! Daddy! Feels s'fucking good!" She was drooling into the sheets below her, the rhythmic sound of Sunghoon's hips meeting her ass filling the room.
"I know it does, baby. Can my good girl say thank you now?"
"Thank you!" She squealed, unwilling to risk him stopping.
"That's all you had to do from the start, Princess." She ignored him in favor of focusing on the way his head was crushing her g-spot. The feeling was foreign to her, and the sudden realization of needing to pee startled her.
"Sunghooooon. S...top. I have t-to-"
"Stop? Why would I stop when you're seconds away from squirting?" Even as he was speaking, he slowed his pace down to a crawl, fucking into her with harsh, slow thrusts.
"Please," She whimpered, turning her head so that she could see his eyes. The sight of her red, watery orbs, disheveled locks, and spit slick lips was making his heart palpitate. "Help me, Daddy."
"Oh, now you need Daddy's help?" He asked condescendingly. "Weren't you just telling me to fuck off?"
"Please," She begged. "Please, Daddy?" She didn't even know what she was begging for.
But Sunghoon seemed to understand perfectly, getting a firm hold of her hips as he increased his pace. It was once again all too much for her. Her mouth opened in a silent scream as she gushed and squirted all over her sheets. She shook and trembled and gasped, her thighs wet from her orgasm. She was thankful when his harsh thrusts slowed to a halt, allowing her to regain her barings. And as good as it felt, she almost wished it didn't happen as Sunghoon's big head inflated even more.
"I bet no one else has ever made you feel this good. I bet I'm the only man to ever make you squirt and drool and scream like that. Aren't I?" She wished she could smack the stupid smug look off of his face.
"How have you not cum yet?" He let her flip over onto her back beneath him, dragging him down to rest his body on top of hers.
"I have amazing stamina." He mumbled, pressing a kiss to her lips.
"Obviously. I definitely didn't think you'd be able to last this long without succumbing to the awesome power of my pussy." The feeling of him laughing against her lips made her feel warm inside.
"Trust me, brat. I'm not going to be able to resist too much longer."
She hummed back in response, tangling her hands in his hair and kissing him passionately. If you asked Sunghoon, he'd never admit it, but the feeling of her tugging gently at his roots, her tongue sensually massaging his own, was making him feel weak in the knees. She reach between them, taking his still wet cock in her hand and jerking it slowly. She felt his smooth lips weaken against hers, his body turning into putty as she stroked him.
"Fuck." He hissed.
"You like that, Hoon?" His tip twitch against her fingers at the nickname.
"Mhmm." He moaned, head rolling back as he lazily rutted into her hands.
"Fuck, baby. Your little hands feel so good stroking my cock." He grunted.
"Mmm. I bet you've been dreaming of this. Arguing with me during the day and touching yourself at night while you think about me. It's kind of pathetic, honestly."
"Shut the fuck up." He gasped.
"You know, all night, you've been teasing me about wanting you. But I know you want me just as bad, don't you? You say you hate me too, but you've been dying to cum inside of me, haven't you?" His eyes rolled as she gripped him a little tighter, stroked him a little faster.
"Yes! Fuck!"
"Then do it, Sunghoon."
He didn't waste another second, hooking her thick thighs over his shoulders and bottoming out in a single thrust. He was shivering, shaking in anticipation as he clumsily fucked her.
"Fuck, so good." He sighed, turning his head to leave hickeys all over her thighs.
"Pussy is so fucking good, Dollface. So fucking good. Just for me, huh? So fucking good, I want to keep it all for myself, baby." He kissed her hungrily, hips picking up speed.
He gently caressed the side of her face, holding her jaw as he stared into her eyes with just a bit too much adoration.
"You want me all for yourself? What are you in love or something? You're so obsessed with me." She scoffed, feigning disgust.
"I should've fucking gagged you."
Her giggle was turning into his favorite sound. Especially when it turned into a whimper, her tiny fingers grasping his wrist. He watched through clouded eyes as she turned her head to kiss the palm that was caressing her face, her lips puckering against all five fingertips. She leaned her cheek back into his palm with a sigh, locking eyes with him again. She stared into his glassy, shiny brown orbs, entranced by the thick mist of lust reflecting back at her.
"Your eyes are so fucking pretty, Sunghoon." He gasped at the unexpected compliment.
"Pretty?"
"Mhmm. So pretty when you look at me like that. I think I can cum again, looking into those pretty eyes. All fucked out and dazed." Sunghoon felt a blush creeping across his cheeks.
"Are you blushing? After everything we've said and done, you're blushing because I said you have pretty eyes?"
"I really should've gagged you."
Sunghoon decided he was done talking. His balls were absolutely aching in need, his dick twitching with desire. He pushed her knees against her chest, swearing loudly at how much tighter she felt like this. She seemed to share his same sentiment, crying out at the change in position.
"Keep fucking me just like that, Hoon. I'm close again."
"Again? Your dick starved little cunt is so fucking greedy. How many times have you cum for me tonight, slut?"
"It's not my fault! It's your stupid p-perfect dick."
"Well I'm gonna make you cum again all over this perfect dick, brat." He wiggled a hand between her clenched thighs to toy with her clit. At the feeling of his long fingers slipping through her slick and sliding against her clit, pinching and flicking it she felt her umpteenth climax of the night approach.
"I think...'m gonna cum...agai-." She was practically drooling and milking his dick for all it was worth before she could finish her sentence.
If the sight of her trembling in his arms wasn't enough for him, the feeling of her pussy sucking and swallowing him was more than enough to finish him off.
He groaned, attempting to warn her. To let her know he was cumming. To ask if it was still okay for him to cum inside. But the part of his brain that was responsible for speaking had clearly been shut off, a series of grunts and whines into her ear replacing his words. In fact, most of his thoughts had been reduced to nothing, the need to cum taking over completely.
Sunghoon felt so hot. So overwhelmingly hot. And so fucking close. What had started as a warm glow in the pit of his stomach had turned into a raging fire, threatening to consume every inch of him. He was dizzy, lightheaded with pleasure as he rutted shakily into her.
"Fuck, making me feel so good. Pussy is making me feel....so fucking good." He whispered airily. He smashed his lips against hers in a sloppy kiss, pulling back only to watch the string of their combined saliva drip between their lips.
The room was slightly spinning, his weak arms collapsing to rest on his elbows as he neared his demise. She was so fucking pretty, totally destroyed by him. At some point in the night her mascara had created streaks of black down her face, her lips slick with his spit. Her hair was a wild mess of dark curls and coils, her neatly straightened locks a distant memory.
"P...pretty." He slurred.
There was a woozy feeling bubbling in his stomach, an orgasm so strong he was almost unsure whether he was ready or not to experience it. That woozy feeling grew in his stomach, more and more, until he could feel himself right there on the edge. He hung there in a pleasurable limbo, stretching it out as long as he could stand. A drunken whimper filled the air as he felt himself slowly tip over.
His orgasm wrecked him.
For all of the teasing and taunting he had done throughout the night, antagonizing her for falling apart on his dick, it came back at him tenfold. His eyes rolled back in his head, toes curling as a helpless scream reverberated off of the walls. He couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't force his hips to fuck through it, pitiful sobs escaping him as his swollen head twitched and began to spew into her warm wet cavern. He moaned, and cried, and screamed her name, his pretty fucked out face contorting in bliss. She showed no mercy, clenching harshly around him and laughing evilly at his bliss filled state.
"Who's screaming now, Sunghoon?"
"Oh!....... Shit!" He dazed breathlessly.
He was rendered almost completely speechless, shuddering in her hold. He knew somewhere in his subconscious that she was teasing him, but the euphoria he felt as his dick continued to pulsate and twitch and pump her full stopped him from caring. He was filled with tremors, his big frame shuddering pathetically as he fell limp on top of her. Sunghoon moaned weakly as his cock let out a final few weak spurts inside of her.
"Fuck....I....fuck, I can't feel my legs." He panted, eliciting a full bodied laugh from the woman lying beneath him. She tugged at his hair until his head was sitting up enough so she could kiss him. She felt him twitch inside of her when she nipped at his bottom lips.
"Was it good, Daddy?"
"Too fucking good, Dollface. I'm afraid I might just have to keep your annoying ass."
"You'll have to keep me? You'll be lucky if I ever go out with you again. We hate each other, Sunghoon."
And for some reason, when she said it this time, it felt different. It made him uneasy. But he pushed it down in favor of cuddling into her warm, bare chest and drifting to sleep.
As time went on, however, it only got harder for him to keep pushing that uneasiness down. Despite what she had said, they had become nearly inseparable since that night. She had quickly become Sunghoon's favorite person, whether she wanted to admit it or not. He played it casual whenever he was with her, but everyone; his friends, his family, hell, even his boss knew.
Sunghoon was totally smitten.
They could see it in his love struck, puppy eyes whenever he mentioned her. In the way he'd put so much time and effort into getting himself ready to go see her. In the way he'd purchase little gifts for her, expensive little gifts, just to see a smile on her pretty face.
Soon, Sunghoon could no longer go more than a day or two without basking in her presence. Some times they were engaging in some light banter, arguing over something ridiculous, resulting in them fucking on the nearest surface. And other nights they spent in a comfortable silence as flakes of snow littered the outside world, his head in her lap as she stroked her fingers through his overgrown bangs, lulling him to sleep.
Sunghoon was more than smitten.
But she, on the other hand, was much more reserved. Whenever he'd get a bit too close, his eyes just a bit too starry, his touch a bit too possessive, she'd shut down. Sunghoon had no clue why or if he had done something wrong. It all came to a head when he'd been rushing to get over to her house and had mistakenly grabbed a gold chain that belonged to Jake instead of his own. It wouldn't have been a problem, had the necklace not been engraved with the name of Jake's girlfriend.
She was kissing on Sunghoon's neck, his large hands rubbing on her thigh when he felt her suddenly freeze.
"Who the fuck is this?" She spit venomously, tugging at the chain around his neck.
"Huh?" He asked dumbly.
"You're in my fucking house, letting me kiss all over you with another girl's name around your neck?" She pushed him away, storming into the kitchen, attempting to put as much distance between them as possible. It was only when Sunghoon glanced down and read the tag around his neck that he understood.
"Wait, let me explain, baby-"
"Don't you fucking baby me! Actually, just forget it. We're not together, so you don't owe me any kind of loyalty. I think you should leave now."
"What? No, I'm not leaving. Just calm down, Doll. Let me explain."
"I really don't even want to hear it, to be honest."
"There's no one else, Pretty. This necklace isn't even mine, I was rushing out of the house so I could come see you, and I must have grabbed it by mistake."
"You're telling me this for what reason?" She stubbornly crossed her arms.
"Because you're upset. Or surprised maybe at the thought of me being capable of talking to a girl that isn't you." He took the stupid necklace off, chucking it irritably onto the counter.
"I think it'd be more surprising that you actually found someone that can stand being in the same room as you for more than thirty seconds."
Sunghoon lowered his head, nipping lightly at his bottom lip.
"Uncalled for."
"Sorry."
"Why do you get so testy at the thought of me with another woman, huh?" He already knew the answer, but he'd grown tired of chasing after her with little to no results.
"I don't. I have no clue what you're talking about." He followed her as she hastily left the room once again.
"You most certainly do. Why do you get so jealous and upset when you know.....I'm your's. We may not officially be together. But l'm your's, baby. You know that already."
"You are not mine."
"I am."
"Sunghoon, we hate each oth-"
"No, we don't! We don't hate each other. At all. We haven't for the last six months. For the last six months that we've spent in each other's beds, meeting each other's family, practically living together. We haven't hated each other for a long time, sweetheart. So what's your next excuse?"
"We can't just go from hating each other to...not hating each other just like that. It doesn't work like that in real life, Sunghoon."
"It did for us."
"Just forget it. Whether she's your girlfriend or not really doesn't have anything to do with me."
"How could you say that?! When you know how I feel about you. How you feel about me! You can't continue to just bury your head in the sand and ignore the fact that we've fallen in love." The pain in his eyes was tearing her apart.
"Don't say that!"
"Why?!"
"Because l'm scared!"
A heavy silenced hung in the room for what seemed like hours before she broke it.
"I'm scared, Sunghoon. What if this doesn't work and I lose the guy that I care so much about and my best friend all at the same time?"
"It's okay to be afraid. But ignoring what's happening between us is not going to help. It won't be perfect all of the time. We're gonna get mad at each other. Argue, just like we're doing right now. I'll probably make you want to tear your hair out sometimes. But I promise you, l'm gonna love you through every single second of it. You'll never lose me. Ever. But you have to start by trusting me, love. Do you think you can do that? Am I worth the risk to you?" She was nodding her head before he could finish speaking, burying her teary eyes in his chest.
"I love you." It was the first time she had heard the words from him, and it only made her cry harder.
"I love you, too," She sniffled. He wiped her eyes lovingly, shaking his head as more tears replaced the ones he wiped away.
"You're such a crybaby." He kissed the top of her head, rocking her back and forth as she whined in embarrassment.
"I'm not a crybaby." She sniffed, looking up at him with watery red eyes.
"You are. But that's ok. You're my crybaby."
As he tucked her head back into his chest, he silently thanked the matchmaker for setting them up. Even though she was a brat. And annoying. And she got on his nerves sometimes. But he really, really did love her. He could see his future with her. Marriage with her. Babies with her.
His 97% 100% match.
A/N: girl. No this is not edited, and no it's not gon kill you. If you see something....ignore it?
Oh and @baekbeaut (I think it was you) here's your tag 🫶🏾
MEET ME IN MONTE CARLO. — jake sim. (teaser)
SYNOPSIS. As a Formula 1 driver, being competitive is just in Ferrari driver Jake Sim's blood. Perhaps Jake cares about winning too much though, because during his conquest for the world title, he loses you. It isn't until 2 years later when you show up at the Monaco Grand Prix with his main rival, Red Bull driver Park Sunghoon, when Jake finds himself determined to not only fight for the championship, but also to fight for you.
GENRE. fluff, angst, exes to enemies (one-sided ish) to lovers
PAIRING. formula 1 driver! jake x fem! reader
WARNINGS. none in the teaser. in the fic, cursing, mentions of car crashes and accidents
ESTIMATED RELEASE DATE. late march, early april
WORD COUNT. 20k ish, teaser is 883 words
AUTHOR'S NOTE. well... this will be my second to last fic for the meantime! i'm excited to drop this one. i've been working on it for quite a while now. here's a formula 1 fic starring our very own jake sim :) i hope you enjoy this little teaser, and the taglist is open so just pop in an ask if you'd like to be tagged when i post this <3
TAGLIST IS OPEN, send in an ask if you’d like to be added!
You were the first person that Jake Sim ever loved. You were there at his first Formula 1 race, you were there at his first race win, and you were there for his first world title win. A series of firsts.
But, Jake Sim has first breakup on the list as well.
He always regrets how things ended between you two – it was messy, it was awful, and it left him crying at 3 in the morning in his apartment.
Jake isn’t certain about many things in his life. But what Jake is 100% certain of, is that the breakup was all his fault.
You had screamed at him, and he knew that he deserved it. You were slowly slipping away from his grasp, and Jake allowed that to happen as he chased another world title so desperately. So desperately to the point that he would end up neglecting you.
Forgotten dates, forgotten anniversaries, and forgotten birthdays. Text messages would be left unread for days when he was in some other unfamiliar city, as you walked to your lectures with a heavy heart and the stream of his race playing in the back of your phone as you waited for a response. You wore red every time he had a race, for Ferrari, for him, even as your relationship was crumbling.
“I’m sorry,” he had choked out. “It is difficult.”
You looked at him with bloodshot eyes and shaking fists. “It is. And you’re chasing your dreams, but… I can’t be with you if it’s like this. The past few months have been like we weren’t even dating in the first place.”
Jake gulps. “I know. I’m sorry.”
“I want to try,” you had said with an exasperated sigh, and Jake knows that you’re tired. He’s going at maximum speed, and you’re left trailing behind him. He’s so far ahead, and you know you’ve lost all hope of catching up. But you say those words anyway. “Please tell me you’ll try.”
Jake doesn’t say a word. Because he knows that he won’t be able to. He wants to say yes, so badly. He wants to hug you, he wants to kiss you, and he wants to commit. Just as he commits to his races, to the championship, to Ferrari.
But he can’t. Not a single word leaves his lips, and his silence is enough of an answer for you. “Oh,” you say, and Jake doesn’t miss the way your voice quivers, and your lower lip trembles. You’re dressed in red, Ferrari’s colour – his colour. “Okay.”
“I’m sorry.” he told you.
“It’s important to you.” you pressed your lips together in a thin line. “I understand.”
You say that, but Jake knows that you don’t. He knows nobody would ever be able to understand choosing to win over choosing someone you love. But Jake is committed to racing. He is committed to win.
Yet, he’s not committed to you. The one who’s been with him through thick and thin, the one who’d catch red-eye flights to find him in some unfamiliar city to watch him win, the one who’d go through hell and back for him if it meant that he’d be happy.
He can’t do the same for you, and he hates that.
“I’m sorry,” he repeated, and you simply shook your head. You don’t have anything more to say to him, so you quietly pack your things. “I’m sorry.”
Before you opened the door to leave, you took one last look at Jake. “I hope you figure out whatever’s going on in your life.” You don’t say anything more, and that is the last time Jake Sim ever sees you again.
He doesn’t know what you’re doing either, because you’d deleted your Instagram account, starting a new one where none of his fans could keep up to date with you. The only way he knows how you’re doing is updates from Heeseung's girlfriend Yoona, who goes on trips with you often. He sees his fans constantly wondering if you’re doing well, and Jake finds it funny how he’s got the same exact question.
He drowns himself further in training, in racing, in wanting to become the best after the split. He wins, he wins, and he wins again – and that feeling of euphoria when he stands on the podium never leaves. It fills him with a joy like no other, and it reminds Jake why he does this. He wants to win. He wants to be the best – no, he is the best.
Winning means the world to Jake Sim. Racing is in his blood – he does it to hear the crowds scream his name, he does it to lift that trophy on the top step of the podium, and he does it to feel the overwhelming pride in his chest when he crosses that chequered flag first.
But he’s been so focused on winning, and he’s lost his everything.
His everything is the girl who went to his first race. His everything is the girl who would tire herself by studying during the day, and catching long flights to the cities where he’d race in to support him.
And his everything had left him 2 years ago in his apartment in Monte Carlo, Monaco, with teary eyes and a red dress.
이희승 STRAWBERRIES & CIGARETTES
📄⸝⸝ heeseung needed a little sweetness in his life. (he needed you.) ❪ ꕤ ❫ pairing. bad boy!lhs x f!reader ʬʬʬ───includes. slightly suggestive, but ends with fluff, smoking, heeseung is down bad for you . . . LIBRARY ?!
YOU were two steps away from the top of the rooftop staircase when you saw him standing with his back towards the view, his eyes on you, while he lit a cigarette between his lips. A trail of smoke to fill the space between you, connecting you like an invisible string. The smell of tobacco hit you fast as you took the next few steps forward. You came to a stop a few feet away from him, as if you had walked into an invisible wall.
Lee Heeseung started. You stared back. How many times have you met like this now? It felt like too much of a coincidence that you would both be on the rooftop at the same time. And yet, you didn’t find yourself minding it too much—you didn’t mind him too much. Your friends told you to stay away. They told you he was no good. But as he stood before you now—the notorious bad boy, the lone wolf—you couldn’t hear anything other than the sound of your own thrumming heart.
Your fingers subconsciously tightened around the stick of strawberry lollipop in your hand. You followed the way his chest rose with a breath, before falling as a puff of smoke was blown from his lips. You didn’t see the way his eyes drifted down your body from where he stood, taking in the way your glossy lips shone under the sun like a piece of candied fruit.
“That can’t be good for you,” you said, tilting your head ever so slightly. And almost immediately—like he were searching for water in the desert—his eyes drifted to the way your hair shifted to reveal the nape of your neck, the innocent act corrupted by the thoughts that ran through his mind. He thought about what it would be like to have you bear your neck to him like that, to let him cover the skin in hungry kisses in attempt to taste the sweetness of the scent you carried around like an aphrodisiac.
“Does it matter?” he asked, lowering his voice just the slightest, as if trying to play the part of a big bad wolf scaring you away. A word of caution before he got the urge to devour you whole. Run away little bunny, it seemed to say. I don’t play nice.
“It can’t be that good, can it?” You asked innocently. “Why don’t you have something that tastes better?”
Heeseung’s breath was caught in his throat. And if he had filled his lungs with smoke from his cigarette, he might have coughed it all out at the wording of your question. You didn’t mean it in that way—he knew that, because you were just too good. You grew flustered whenever he so much as caught you looking in his direction, you wouldn’t be able to flirt without burning brighter than the strawberries that you always smelled like.
But god, all he wanted to do was ask if you were going to offer yourself up as an alternative. Because even if he never got to taste the flavour of the gloss on your lips, he knew it would be the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted. Just one taste, he wanted to ask of you. And damn did he hate himself for letting his thoughts run wild by something so innocent.
“Yeah?” he whispered, breathless. “Like what?”
Your lips jutted into a cute little pout, and he couldn’t tear his eyes away from them. He didn’t even take notice of the way your looked at the lollipop in your hand. It took only a few seconds before you knew what to do. You skipped your way over to the boy, until you were standing right in front of you. Now, you were closer than ever before, and Heeseung was looking down at you as if you were an angel sent from heaven, because how else was someone so bright, so pretty, up close?
“Here.” You held out the lollipop in front of his starstruck eyes. “You can have it.”
When he didn’t respond, you took his calloused hand into yours—and he let you, like some puppy trained to give their paw when asked. You held onto it, before placing the unopened treat onto his palm, and closing his fingers over it. He stared at you like an idiot, the hand holding his cigarette falling to his side as he remained fixated on the feeling of your hand holding his.
His eyes flickered to your face, only to find that you were avoiding his gaze. Your chewed on your lip, before lowering your head, allowing your hair to fall over your face. He opened his mouth to ask what was wrong, only to be silenced... with a kiss.
He almost fell over in shock at the feeling of your soft lips on his parted ones, an explosion of strawberry bursting across the tip of his tongue, tasting just as sweet as he imagined. Your soft curves were pressed against his toned body, and he barely had the strength to keep his arms from wrapping around you and pulling you to him until the only barrier left between you were your clothes. Instead, he let his hands cup your face, as if he were cradling the entire world in his palms.
Heeseung leaned into your kiss as if you were a siren leading him to drown in the depths of the ocean, and all he wanted was to stay in this moment forever, to lose himself in your kiss rather than another cigarette. But before he could, you were pulling away. He looked into your eyes, his hands shaking as gasping breath left his lips. “That wasn't what I was expecting. But I'm not complaining.”
You giggled. Fuck, you were so cute. "Well that was only a one time thing.”
Damn it. “So, what do I do to make it permanent?”
You bit your lip, and it gave him half the mind to lean over and bite it himself. But then you glanced at him, a cheeky glint in your eye, and wave of warmth rushed up into his chest.
“Try not to smoke so much, okay?”
Heeseung didn’t get a chance to speak before you were scrambling off like a scared little animal with their tail between their legs. He watched your form as it disappeared, too late say anything before you were gone from his sight. But as he listened to the sound of your hurried footsteps and grow farther away, he couldn’t help but laugh.
He looked at the lollipop, then at the cigarette. With a breathy chuckle, he dropped the latter, extinguishing the flame with the heel of his shoe. Staring up at the sun, he unwrapped the lollipop, before bringing it to his lips. Your face flashed through his mind, and he found himself unable to contain the smile that found its way onto his features.
It tasted sweet.
© chaconnenha ( ALL RIGHTS RESERVED )
Paranoid | CS55 (Patreon)
read the full piece here
― Pairing: situationship!carlos x merc!admin!reader (with a sprinkle of reader x lewis) ― Warning: curse words; family issues (it is mentioned that the reader was abandoned by her father), jealousy, slightly toxic!cs55, mentions of cheating, mentions of the Louis to Ferrari deal. angsty, jealousy, toxic dynamic; fem!reader (she/her); 1k8 words. ― Summary: Carlos always got what he wanted. He was handsome and smart. Someone else's life never seemed better, and Carlos never saw himself as a jealous person, until Lewis got the seat and the girl.
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preview
If you asked Carlos Sainz if he was a jealous person he would deny it.
Just like if you asked Yn if she would ever get involved with someone from her line of work she would answer negatively.
But as it happens, fate likes to play with people, and it decided to play them two.
...
She was friendly, but there was a clear line drawn between them.
To Yn in those lines, the sentence “never dare to get involved with a coworker” loomed.
Carlos would find any excuse to get to the Merc garage unnoticed and “accidentally” bump into Yn and he was so set on at least making his feelings known that Yn couldn’t run anymore. For some reason, he always knew when she was around, and he got her number from a McLaren mechanic who just so happened to be her friend. She got tired, mainly because she was just as attracted to him but she refused to break down that wall, to step over the line she drew around herself ever since she started to understand the world.
...
“YOU’RE PARANOID!” She screamed when Carlos hinted that she was having an affair. “You know damn well my reluctance to get involved with coworkers, and even so, I’m your girlfriend, I wouldn’t cheat on you! Don’t you trust me?!”
Carlos walked around the living room running his hands on his dark hair messing with the strands and even getting some from the roots with the force he was pulling them.
“I do trust you, I just don’t trust him!”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
He grunted, finally coming to a stop a few feet from her, “You can’t blame me, you keep working overtime when it comes to him, he texts you outside of working hours and…”
────── ⋆🪩 VOICEMAIL: Hi! I hope you guys liked this lil sneak peek! Make sure to like and reblog if you did *mwah* as usual a shout out to my coffee emoji anon for proofreading this <3
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blank canvas — park sunghoon.
↪ one - run your hands over me.
↪ mlist.
— when black and white sorrows loom on your life park sunghoon - a man with a cruel heart and destructive hands manages to color your days with splashes of rainbow. at least at first.
wc: 17k
'They say there are two types of people in this world. The type to have big dreams, ambition. Ego so high up enough to touch the clouds but they lack potential. They think of themselves higher than they actually are. Then there's the second type of people. The ones with potential to rule the world. Get anything they can but they lack the desire, the drive–'
You feel a tap on your shoulder purloining your attention away from the broadcast reverberating through your ears, you take one of your earbuds out. Facing the person who just touched you. It’s an old lady, with thinning gray and a freight of years upon years accumulating in the wrinkles gracing her face.
“Oh my!” she speaks with as much enthusiasm as age in her face “you’re absolutely beautiful sweetheart!” adulation flow from between her lips as easy as the droplets of rain falling from the sky, it has your cheeks marring in red with embarrassment.
“Thank you.” you reply, tone laced with transparent diffidence, enough for her palm to cup your cheek in mystifying warmth. It’s in the heat radiating off her hand, in contrast with the freezing weather.
Adoration colors her gaze as if you were truly the most appealing looking person she had to pleasure to witness in a while, and you could only duck your head in bashfulness. Burying it in the heat of your scarf as she coos over you.
"Ah!" The old lady speaks up, eyes widening as she brings her palm to her lips as if she just remembered what she came here to say in the first place "I think you missed the last bus already." A frown climbs its way up over features, taking over the redness adorning your cheeks and the tip of your nose as you check your phone for the time.
4:35 pm
31st December
"It's not even 6 yet." You mutter. More to yourself but she catches it "I guess they're cutting them short because of the rain." You make a sound of comprehension. Eyes fliting to the graying skies, it has been raining heavily for the last two hours and you have been so immersed in your broadcast, you only realize now that you’ve been waiting at the bus ride for close to thirty minutes. The old lady leaves you with a smile sent your way, doused in affability akin to the truant sun. As you put your earbuds back on, you suck in a deep breath.
Inculcating yourself for what’s about to come, using your bag as leverage to shield yourself from the rain, you hold it above your head as you start running out of the bus stop.
'– But you know? There is a third type of people. That is hidden. Vaguely, we know of them. We know they exist but we're hardly aware of them. Even though they're the most destructive. Those type of people that take everything they want in sight, it doesn’t matter if they worked hard for it. If they had potential, if they thought lowly or highly of themselves. They consume everything they get their hands on. Even humans–'
You huff with overflowing exasperation, turning off the dumb podcast and shoving your phone in your pocket. Your attempts at being productive and listening to something that could feed your soul have failed miserably by now. More so it doesn't seem like you'll be able to get to work in this kind of weather. You blame it on the fact that you don’t own a tv - Or truthfully you own one. It's an old rusty thing that you stole from your grandma's house before moving. It barely works so how were you supposed to know such cruel weather was waiting to unfold?
Or at least those are the excuses you feed your brain as you stumble in the closest building that comes to view, droplets of water trickle down the side of your face as you look around. Turns out bags does little to zero coverage from rain.
With another look around, you realize you had walked into an old museum, with the rain remaining unforgiving with the way it pours you decide to take a stroll around the neglected building. Barely hanging on by the few devoted people who probably deemed this place cozy enough to call it comfort. pausing for no longer than a minute on some of the gold and silver artifacts probably turned in by struggling artists. There’s a layer of dust collecting on some of the pieces, albeit your lack of understanding for art - the closest you’ve been to art was when in elementary school, drawing with crayons and showing it to your parents. Seeking praises, you never actually got- the sight of abandonment sheathing this place throws you into commiseration for it.
You would have believed this museum was forsaken if not for the employee chewing his gum in the corner and scrolling through his phone mindlessly.
You amble your way through a couple of paintings, pausing by a few to scour through your brain for your own elucidation that is probably nowhere near what it means. You linger by one that seems to seize your fascination for longer than the preceding ones.
Your eyes flicked across it, it was a painting of a woman’s naked body that’s facing away, with deeper and lighter hues of flesh, her face was ablaze with shades of flames. For a quaint reason it stirs a sense of disturbance within you. holding your gaze captive in an unsettling matter yet you can’t pinpoint why.
"It's beautiful, isn't it?" An audible gasp slips past your lips, snapping you out of a daze and has you jolting in surprise.
Your eyes shift, flitting to whoever spoke to you and in mere moments you’re rendered mute. Every single word flees your mind leaving it blank. As you behold the embodiment of the snow on a human’s skin, the darkness of the night in his hair every single piece of art in this building dims in comparison.
You marvel at a beauty that feels so implausible to belong to a mortal.
“I wouldn’t know.” You clear your throat.
The stranger – clad in everything black from head to toe with faultlessly styled hair only tilts his head at you, something parallel to curiosity flourishes in his eyes, taking a few steps to close the distance between you two.
“How come?” His voice is low, like the feeling of a cool breeze dawdling past you amidst summer. His words dripping with softness, akin to the scent invading your space. Something heady and sweet yet you can’t seem to put your finger on what does he exactly smell like.
“I don’t understand art enough to appraisal it.” You reply, your eyes shifting back to the painting.
“Who says you need to understand art to form an opinion on it?” He asks and you swallow around nothing, eyes fleeting to his- they’re almost as dark as his hair- for a second only to find him already staring at you. The right side of your face burns with his intensity.
“I just think it’s a little ridiculous for someone ignorant like me to say anything about someone’s hard work.”
“But we all view things differently, no? We all have our different version of the world. It doesn’t take away from anyone’s hard work.” He responds and surely it is more than enough for you to consider his words, finding candour in them. You eye the painting meticulously.
“I think it’s sad.” You say after a while, slicing into the thick silence and from the corner of your eye, you see him turning to face the piece of art as well.
“Why do you think so?”
“It almost as if your thoughts are too overbearing to the point where they take over you. and then before you realize it you lost sight of yourself.”
An eerie silence fills the space between you, it stretches long enough to have you growing unnerved. You wonder if your thoughts are comical to voice. Maybe you just embarrassed yourself in front of the prettiest man you’ve ever laid eyes on. Stealing a glance at him only to find his gaze already set on you yet again, the same sense of disturbance crawls over you once again, your heart starts beating rapidly.
“That’s interesting.”
“You don’t think it’s stupid?” You breathe out and his brows raise slightly upwards in what seems to be astonishment, it is the first display of emotions he unveils.
“Your words? Not at all.”
“Even though you found it beautiful and yet I can’t seem to find the same beauty in it?”
There’s a pause in the space between you two, his eyes prance over your features, and you fall into the same confusing haze as to why your heart starts picking up speed, as if tranced you cannot seem to look away from him. Your cheeks glow pink under the deliberation of his stare.
“We all have different versions of the world. It’s only fair we find beauty in contradictory aspects.”
You fail to find words to push out, stumbling into another silence. You find enough blame to place on the way he makes you feel, somehow you don’t feel the apprehensiveness that usually comes upon meeting strangers for the first time, instead it feels like finally stumbling upon a piece of paper you have lost track of a long time ago.
It’s uncanny, you and his harrowing glances that cut through you as if he knows the contents of your mind, as if he sees you.
“Do you think you’re beautiful?” he asks and you almost scoff at how ludicrous his question is, looking at him only to realize the seriousness clinging to his features. Pushing you further into confusion.
“I’m not sure what I think.” You say, softly. and his lips tilt upwards with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
“How peculiar.” You don’t get to ask him what he means before he’s speaking again “You’re prettier than any of the paintings hanged on these walls.”
Your breath catches in your throat, your heart beats as if a hundred birds are trapped inside and they’re dying to be set free. Woven with unfathomable desolation.
You have always lacked resilience, a few words of adulation are more than enough to have you melting, there’s ample room in your heart to take claim over the sweet words, for your eyes to soften.
Yet you deem yourself demented with groundless thoughts provoked by him.
Your encounter with the man lingers in your head yet more than anything his eyes stay with you the longest.
They looked so empty.
"Good evening sweetheart." the sweet tone of none other than Yang Taeyeon rings in your ears and through the small store with familiarity, forcing a smile upon your face that was inundated with fatigue mere moments ago.
A mother with two children who has been coming to this small store ever since you could remember. A week doesn't pass without her stopping by. Sometimes to buy bandages for her acholic husband who loves getting into fights. Other times she's buying necessities with the little money she could keep from her three jobs. Her life is another sorrowful story that’s twined into the streets of this neighborhood.
"Hello, how are you doing today?" you ask, tone gentle and polite as you help her empty her basket.
"I'm good darling. How have you been? You're looking a little pale." She responds, eyes etched with worry as they rack over your face.
Worry. It’s an emotion you’re so accustomed to getting by now. However, with her It's more than just petty wrapped with worry. She’s the third person to have told you today and your smile only ceases to flatter for a moment.
Truth is sleep hasn’t found home in you for a couple of days now. It’s a proclaimed miracle If you manage to get three hours of sleep that isn’t disturbed by unsettling nightmares. You’d like to blame that damned painting. It only started after your visit to that shitty museum.
You start scanning her things from canned beans to random bags of chips that are probably for her kids, you try to make it quick guessing she's probably rushing somewhere after this. It's how she always is.
"Yes, I've been very we–" you’re cut off by her worn out hand circling your wrist stopping your movement and when you look at her, questioning. She wears a deeper distressed expression.
"Oh my. You have grown so weak. Have you been eating, at all?" This time your smile crumbles, and you don’t react fast enough to keep it.
"I am very healthy don't worry. Exams season just ended so perhaps that's why." You reply with practiced excuses flying your mouth, you hope it’s big enough of a barrier for her not to notice the trembling of your lips.
Freeing your hand gently from her grip and resuming your work, you hope she doesn’t notice the pitiable fragility of a human that still coats you, your words are always colored in loneliness and an imbecilic need for someone to ask, to care. You miss the way her eyes linger on you in exactly that.
"You can have this." She tells you after you helped her put all her groceries into bags. Extending her hand out to you with a homemade sandwich in it. A warm smile sent your way is enough to have you vacillating.
Wondering how she manages to stay as warm as summer despite the number of betrayals she has been through, pain cladding every atom of her being and yet she manages to still be so kind. Alongside your perplexity, an odious feeling of envy blooms within you.
How lucky her children are. To have such a warm-hearted mother.
"I'm fine," you wave your hand dismissively "Please do not worry yourself-" you don’t even get to finish before Taeyeon is shoving the sandwich into your palms. Refusing to take no as answer.
"Thank you for everything, sweetheart." With another warm smile, she packs her four bags of groceries and leaves.
Perhaps you’ve had a rough week, the walls of your apartment have added a magnitude weight to your already dreadful despondency, as you stare down at the sandwich in your hands an uncanny urge clamber over you. To get out of here. To quit this stupid job, quit school. You were never lucky, but if you could get away, somewhere far away or maybe not even that far.
Maybe you could stop by the sea and cry your eyes out for a while. Spill your agony to the waves and abandon all your burdens into the unknown.
And maybe then just then you could be reborn as a different person. Was it a foolish yearning to have? To be someone else, someone who’s not this being seared with indelible scars?
Your questions, as always, stay unanswered as you pack the sandwich away and continue going through the dreadful hours of your shift.
It's when the clocks hit 10:30 pm that your stomach starts rumbling in hunger. A light humming noise fills the store as you plopped your sandwich into the microwave. Your fingers drumming against the counter as you look out the glass. Your eyes dance across the empty streets. It’s usually super slow at this time of the night, the store empty of customers and darkness fills the neighborhood. Streetlights flickering on and off, remaining brushed aside, not worthy enough to be fixed.
On
Off
On
Off
On.
A figure materializes on the sidewalk, as if they emerged from utter nothingness or magically brought forth from darkness, blending in with the night clad in black from head to toe. The drumming of your hand pauses, you can barely see anything from the distance, yet a daunting emotion slithers down your spine, evoking a shiver from you as if the person is looking straight at you.
You wait, brows furrowing together as unspecified anxiety manifests within you, working at a small convince store in one of the most impoverished neighborhoods in the city have made you tolerant of such disquiet. So, waiting for danger to unravel is more of a habit now. It’s only natural that you linger with unwavering gaze on the figure, with hope for them to do anything and help deny the looming thoughts that they're looking at you.
Beep Beep Beep!
Your body jolts in surprise, hand shooting to your heart in panic to calm the increasing speed, you turn to face the microwave.
'I'm imagining things' you keep repeating to yourself.
The sandwich is still semi cold, so you start the microwave again giving it another ten more seconds.
The figure across the street has not moved an inch when you turn to face them once again. Telling yourself you’re being paranoid. That the enervation of the week is probably catching up to you, alongside your cruel nightmares, it’s added fuel to your anxiety. So, you try to ignore it, trying your best to act normally. Chewing on your sandwich once it’s done, forcing your eyes to focus on the screen small tv hung up in the corner, trying to find your interest in the news despite your mind protesting.
in a somber irony the news are talking about two gruesome crimes that the police believe are linked together, with anarchic deliberation you manage to catch a couple of things that are being said, something about dismembering body parts. With a swallow you turn the tv off with too much of a force.
Instinctively your eyes travel back to the sidewalk, the light flickers on to life and the figure is still there. A chill has the hairs on your arms arising, somehow the panic in you is amplified sending your fingers into a tremble. Your eyes flit to the clock hang on the wall for a second, it’s five more minutes until your shift ends and this person won’t move.
You grow agitated, chewing on your nails as you look back at the figure. And you watch, from a distance as they slowly raise their hand, your heart hammers against your chest, crippling anxiety taking over you when the person holds their palm up and then, they wave. Tilting their head to the side.
“What the fuck?” you mutter, legs shaking with actual fear at the realization that you were not imagining things. They were looking at you all along and now they’re fucking waving at you.
Oh my god they’re waving at you.
Amidst your raising perturbation, you grasp that you need to do something. You don’t feel safe and calling the police is the first option that comes to mind but what would you even say? There’s a weird person waving at me from across the street? And knowing the time that they would take to come to such a disreputable neighborhood? You’d be dead by then.
Maybe you should call someone. One of your friends? Someone can come and pick you up. But what if they take too long? The what ifs are almost endless as they come to your mind like crashing waves. You’re fully panicked now, chewing on your nails ferociously.
You look back at the figure, gaze hardened into a glare despite your petrified state. In your mind it might be enough to scare them away. A big truck passes by, beeping its horn and blocking your vision from the sidewalk. You wait for it to pass, as soon as the street comes back in view it's empty. The figure is nowhere to be seen. It's like they disappeared with the truck or with the wind. You blink multiple times, as if your mind had started playing tricks on you and yet the streets remains empty.
What the fuck
With shaky legs you grab the bat the store owner had placed for you -just in case things got rough one day- he had told you.
You walk out of the store, crossing the street with a jog, right to where the person was standing. The streetlight flickers for a split second on and off. Only enough for you to notice the small pool of liquid on the ground but it's too dark to tell exactly what it is. You squat down, placing the bat next to your feet. With furrowed brows your curiosity drives you to touch it with your finger. Bringing it to your nose, you grimace at the strong smell of metal.
A whirlwind of images flashes in your mind at an agonizingly familiar scent.
The light flickers back on and your eyes widen. Your stomach starts turning and turning in nausea, you feel the sandwich you just had come up. Bringing your palm right upon your mouth with a wrinkled nose, you attempt to push the feeling away. But your body shakes violently and you’re about to throw up.
It was blood.
You are panting, tears cling to your eyelashes in plaintive attempts to keep pieces of you together. As if you’re gonna end up falling apart if just one slips. You’re leaning your head against the wall, the cold bathroom floor makes your body shake, or perhaps it's because you just threw up violently not even two minutes ago. Your stomach aches in horrible pain, throat dry.
You take a deep breath, closing your eyes and trying to simmer down your shaking. before reaching in your pocket for your phone. Scrolling through your contacts you stop at the name you were looking for. Immediately pressing the call button, you wait.
"yn?" His voice comes like waves of comfort washing over your body. For a mere moment, you’re okay. Breath’s steadier, they flow through your body easier now.
"Jaeyun," your voice is groggy, a giveaway of your distress that you cannot be witnessed with. Clearing your throat, you attempt to speak again "Can you p-please pick me up? I just finished work-"
you hear shuffling on other line, the sound of sheets being tossed like he's getting out of bed and culpability stirs within you. Knowing he was probably sleeping, and your call had woken him up.
"Are you okay?" He asks, voice heavy with sleep and you suck a deep breath in. contemplating on how to exactly answer him. Jaeyun was one of the few people you never seem to hide from. The truth spills from your mouth involuntarily.
"I'm okay," you attempt to reassure him "B-but please can you pick me up?" you ask, tone low with heedless reluctance.
You hear more shuffling on the other line, the sound of Jaeyun getting dressed and your heart is cradled with warmth at his unyielding care. With no questions directed at the obvious shakiness in your voice.
“I’m on the way yn, alright?” your tears come back faster than you anticipated, it has you biting on your quivering lower lip “alright? Need to hear you say it yn.” he asks again, and you nod your head ceaselessly.
“Okay.”
As soon as Jaeyun hangs up, you pull your knees to your chest and bury your head in them. Your shoulders hang heavy, as if the freight of the world’s anguishes deliquesces upon your flesh, encumbers them. Your stomach is constricting with pain and the same sickening nausea is building again. You can still smell the blood in your nose, as if you’re drenched in maroon.
The scent always sends you back to the same place, a reoccurring purgatory, where you’re sitting with your head in your knees just like right now. You’re covered in bruises and blood and the very same irritable nausea is evident there too. You’re too feeble, covered in mistakes and the indignation of your parents. Their arguing is a dull noise in the background, tear streaks are an eternal trace upon your cheeks.
You’re reprimanding yourself because you need to patch yourself up, you need to grow up. stop being such a spoiled kid. Just like how your mother always told you. And you try to listen. To obey, you try so hard to be good, you want to be good.
But the smell of metal is unbearable. As if it’s seared on your being, as if it’s a layer of your skin and no matter how many times you wash up, it’s burned into you.
You feel the cut on your knee bleeding, the liquid trickling down your leg.
Blue
Violet
Red
It’s all an interchangeable loop that you cannot seem to break free from, a curse that has been set on you the day you took your first breath in. torment runs through your veins and you’re nothing but a slave with an open chest. Accepting your fate is the only way. It’s in the way it all makes itself known to you, the option of running away, breaking free slips further away with your multiplying tears. It’s in the violent shudders wracking your body as you empty your stomach for the second time.
You sit on the floor of your parents’ dirty old bathroom floor, crying with crippling affliction and bleeding out with declaration of their callousness.
Nothing has seemed to change. Life always finds a way to cackle sardonically at you. You’re an adult now. Nowhere near your parents so how come you keep feeling like you never stepped foot outside that bathroom? How come every waking moment is haunted by the ghosts of your past. They’re vicious, with claws around your throat. The poison had long seeped in.
You cannot escape.
"Yn!" With that familiar voice you’re snapped back to your reality.
You look at the floor beneath you. And it’s dirty- disgusting really but it’s not your parents’ bathroom floor. There are no loud voices or shouting and yelling. There's just the sound of the sink running and It's just you.
You’re not hurt. You’re not a kid.
You make an attempt to stand up. Your body is still feeling a little weak and sluggish. Using the wall to support your weight, you take small steps towards the sink and close the running water. You hear footsteps growing closer and closer. But at this moment in time, you are not panicked. Instead, relief washes over you when the door opens and it's Jaeyun.
With eyes colored in concern he pulls you into his chest, wrapping his arms around you.
“yn,” he breathes out and you hug him back.
"I'm okay, Jae." You assure despite how your words flow out weak and choppy. Jaeyun squeezes you in his arms tighter.
Almost like you’ve been lost for years, and you’re finally found. You feel the same in a way.
When he pulls back his palms cradle your face gently, eyes darting over your figure in a rapid search for visible wounds and when he doesn’t find any, his brows furrow in confusion. You wonder what kind of panic you caused him.
"What happened?” he asks.
"Nothing." You answer, averting your eyes. afraid they will betray your wounds, display that your scars remain on your soul rather than your body.
Jaeyun doesn’t pressure you or ask you for anything further. With a tender smile he nods, because he always knows.
He helps you out the bathroom, hand on your waist in all too similar sentiment. And as he helps you collect your stuff, even closes the store for you, you find yourself being lulled into a comfort that only radiates from him. A too striking familiar of a scene as he helps you into his car, helping you put your seatbelt on with gentle touches, tender glances at your face.
It's all too sweet, a too striking familiar scene of what you guys once had. When you were his and he belonged to you. The world had stilled for a short while. The loop of agony paused, tricking you into a joy that was never meant to last. Because everything that ever belonged to you was only meant to fall apart, you were never foreordained to be a survivor.
You collapse each time, left behind to pick up the fragments of you. Always abandoned.
The drive to your apartment is silent, albeit Jaeyun glances being thrown at you occasionally, you keep yours stuck on the window. Watching as the world passes you by.
"We're here." he declares, coming to a stop in front of your apartment complex. You let out a breath.
"Thank you." you reply, looking at him with a forced practiced smile.
His eyebrows furrow and your smile only stretches wider, futile tries to hide.
"Are you sure you’re okay?" He asks with concern laced in his voice that you turn a blind eye to. You’re starting to feel choked up with the storm of emotions you went through tonight and right now you want nothing but to go inside your apartment, maybe have a good cry then sleep it all away.
"Yes."
You watch with confusion as he turns off the car and unbuckles his seatbelt, inching closer to you. Inadvertently you lean back, your back hits the door and when his hand finds your thigh, he squeezes, your body trembles with a slight jump.
“Sorry.” He mummers awkwardly, taking his hand off.
"It's okay. I'm just shaking because it's probably cold outside." You say softly. And his eyes find yours with evident brittle emotions swimming in them.
"yn." He calls for you like he used to. With a voice as sweet as honey and deeper than oceans. You’re taken aback to when there was a sparkle between you, before he burned you with it.
Your eyes fall shut and this time his hand finds your cheek with a caress, you let him. Your heart doesn’t skip beats the same way it used to, in an ironic way it’s only a reminder of the ashes left between you two. You feel his breath hit your face, and when you open your eyes, he’s so close, your melancholy is tempting you to give in.
"What are you doing?" you whisper, shaking your head. He ignores you, his other hand sneaking to your waist and you attempt to back away even more in the cramped space.
"We can't do this Jaeyun." You stop him with a hand to his chest, his heartbeat reverberates against your palm.
"Why not? I still want you." His confidence makes you waver. The ache in your chest tells you it will only ever be soothed by the touch of his lips, yet you find yourself unable to give in, avoiding his gaze as your eyes fall upon your lap. An unwieldy silence swirls in the air yet again. He takes it as sign to back off, his hands leaving your body alongside his warmth.
"Why did you call me?" He asks after a while "Why did you call me out of all the people you know?" You know exactly which answer he's looking for and if you were somewhere else. Somewhere where you felt like you could belong to him. Like he could heal all the wounds you believed he would maybe you would have been able to give it to him.
"Because you're the only one who knows about my panic attacks."
He lets out a sound of disbelief, his face crumbling with disillusionment. And when he falls back in his seat with nothing to say, you unbuckle your seat and get out of the car.
"Thank you and goodnight." you say closing the door hoping he had heard you and the wind did not steal your words.
12:45am 7th of January
your phone stared back at you in full brightness. In contrast with the dim lights flashing across your features. Purple, dark green and blue.
There's a light buzz in your system, evoked by the few glasses of alcohol you had been sipping on throughout the night. A thin layer of sweat covers your forehead despite how cold it is outside. The remaining liquor in your cup is tempting you.
Sunoo’s head is on your shoulder, adding unwanted weight to your body "He’s not eben hat hot, ight?" his words slur together, meshing into somewhat a coherent sentence that he whines out. You follow his gaze that of course lands on none other than Minji, her body swaying to the music with some guy that you recognize from one of your classes. Her arms circle his neck, a huge smile on her face the darker her eyes get with overflowing lust.
Even from this distance you could see it all. Sunoo clings to you further, leg thrown over your lap, almost engulfing your body entirely. His breath reeks of cheap vodka when another whine escapes him.
"yn, 'm hotter yea?"
You hastily drink the very little liquor left in your cup.
"You're so much hotter babe." Sunoo hums happily at your answer, closing his eyes as he nuzzles his face into your neck.
You could only exhale loudly, starting to feel a little choked up with this proximity. You’re not drunk enough to be dealing with this cat and mouse game Sunoo and Minji like to play. you haven’t been present enough mentally this semester to see it all unfold. you just know that somewhere between the first and the second week Heeseung had found you during lunch, mouth agape as he whispered in disbelief;
"Did you know Sunoo and Minji fucked?"
All hell broke loose since that day. Sunoo who's hopelessly in love and Minji who won't commit or be tied down by anyone. It's a classic tale really, a chess game that you had participated in before. It isn't hard to tell who's gonna win, there's no competition here. You just wish Sunoo would realize that too.
"You okay?" Heeseung all but yells at you, loud enough to hear him over the roaring music as he plops down on the couch next to you. His hand brushes your fringe out your face and away from your sweaty forehead.
"Uh huh," Heeseung isn't looking at you though, eyes glued to the awkward girl standing by the stairs. Fidgeting with the red cup between her hands, looking around in what seem to be anxiety. She looks innocent, a lost look in her eyes that gives away the fact that she's a freshman.
She's Heeseung's favorite type of preys.
"Good, good." He says absentmindedly, tongue darting out to wet his lips as his eyes rake over the girl's body. His hand travels from your hair to the back of your neck, squeezing.
You roll your eyes, already knowing what’s about to come, witnessed the words tumble out his lips repeatedly.
"I'm gonna go get some ass, yn" He decides loudly. Taking what's left from Sunno’s drink and chugs it down. He then gets up, rolling his shoulders and with confident strides makes his way to the girl. You watch as Heeseung puts on his usual charming smile, all warm and inviting. A blush dark enough to be seen by you on the girl's cheek as they start chatting.
You grow a little miffed. Feeling like you’ve been ditched by all your friends and left to deal with a very drunk Sunoo. This was definitely not what you had in mind when you agreed to come to this party. You untangle yourself from Sunoo with force, the older all but whines refusing to let go.
“I’m just gonna go get a drink,” you tell him and he only whines in response, not a word was probably registered.
You stumble, feet almost interlocking but you manage to stand straight. Your own blushed cheeks are evidence of your tipsiness. Not drunkenness. You’re not there yet. You feel like you’re swimming through a sea of people as you push between them, your knit white sweater gets stuck in someone's bracelet. A string of apologies spills from your mouth. It’s the only few mishaps that manage to unfold before your night passes by with you drowning yourself in liquor.
It's only a few hours later that feels closer to years have passed by. You find yourself in one of the few open rundown 7/11 with Heeseung and a sobered-up Sunoo slurping spicy noodles. Your mind a little less cloudless, limbs aching as you stand up.
“I’m gonna get some air.” You tell your friends, stretching your arms above your head. Sunoo only makes a noise of acknowledgement with his mouth full.
“Don’t walk too far.” Heeseung tells you, eyes lingering on the back of your head as you wave your hand at him.
The frigid air hits you square in the face as you pull your jacket around you tighter, wrapping your arms around yourself in search of warmth. the cheap fabric fails to provide such.
Keeping Heeseung’s words in mind, you don’t walk too far from the store, finding a bench close by that you settle upon with a sigh. Closing your eyes and breathing in fresh air. Your head grows a tad clearer. A comforting buzz settles in your being instead and despite the dull ache in your body, you feel okay.
“What’s a pretty thing like you doing out here all alone?” your eyes fall open, flitting to the source of the voice. It’s a middle-aged man so clearly high off his mind. A familiar sight in these streets.
You ignore him, too used to such situations.
“Didn’t your parents tell you it’s rude to ignore people?” When he speaks this time you glare at him, a scowl taking place upon your face.
“Fuck off old man.” You spit, tone imbued with indignation despite the tremble manifesting in your clenched fingers, nails digging into the insides of your palms.
“Watch your mouth bitch.” The man all but grunts, taking a step towards you, you brace yourself to run, your muscles growing rigid. Your palms are growing sweaty.
Just as the man takes another step towards you, you feel a presence behind you, the man’s eyes darting elsewhere.
“She told you to fuck off. Are you fucking deaf?” the voice is overfamiliar. Velvety smooth as it rings in your ears, evoking beats from your heart this time not out of perturbation. It’s something closer to exhilaration.
The man grumbles, a frown on his aged-up face as he glares at you then turns around and walks the other way. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Your shoulders going lax as you turn your head, a familiar face of a stranger comes into view.
White as snow, dark as night and that same dizzying scent. heady and sweet.
It’s the same face that has haunted your mind longer than you’d ever admit, taking space you weren’t aware you’re willing to give. His eyes are hardened into a glare, glued to the back of the man’s head until he’s far enough to not be seen that they flit to you.
Just like the first time you saw him he’s clad in everything black, yet this time instead of formal attire it’s a hoodie and black jeans. Clear glasses on his face yet he remains prettier than any magnificent piece of art you had the pleasure to witness.
The way his gaze palliates instantly has your chest tightening, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip as a wind passes you by, somehow drowning you deeper into his intoxicating aroma.
“Are you okay?” His tone is so much softer, tender compared to the way he spoke mere seconds ago.
“Y-Yes. Thank you.” your words come out ignominiously scattered, tinted by your clear nerves that you cover up with a flimsy excuse, alcohol.
“You shouldn’t be alone this late at night. It’s dangerous, pretty girl.” He reprimands genially and your face burns, at the endearment, at his tone and more than anything at the tilt of his lip. A charming smile taking place onto his face, in contrary to how he was willing to shoot the man with his eyes not even minutes ago.
“I’m not alone. I’m waiting for my friends.” You lie, for unidentified incentives that you don’t even want to think about. It’s all deemed worthy when he tilts his head at you with a hum. A glint in his eyes and you’re overtaken by peculiar emotions. Rushing through you all the same as your last meeting.
“Shall I wait with you then?” he says, walking till he’s next to you, and you try hard not to stare at him, but it is reckoned unfeasible when he is so implausibly gorgeous.
You will enough strength to not to think about the way his necklace dangles when he leans down to take a seat next to you. Try hard not to imagine the same way his necklace would dangle over you if he was on top of you.
A space you hate remains between you two and you berate yourself, no amount of tipsiness should allow you to be this way.
“Don’t you remember me?” you ask. His eyes prance over your features in what seems to be attempts to recall where he had seen you before. You wither just a bit in disappointment, a strange hope in you dwindles ever so slightly.
Was it too ambitious of you to hope to take space in his mind as well?
“Ah! We met at the museum. Didn’t we?” his brows rise in recognition.
“We did.” You nod, chuckling nervously as you push strands of your hair behind your ears. You miss the way his eyes darken at your apparent shyness.
Above you the sky darkens just the same, collecting gray clouds as if to match his soul.
“It would be absolutely mad of me not to remember such a pretty face.” The words tumble out his lips so deftly, yet they remain brimming with intensity, and they manage to tinge your cheeks a darker shade of pink, a deplorable exhibit of your heartstrings being played with so effortlessly.
"Do you always flirt with people like this?" you ask, a playful smile tilting your lips upwards.
"I'm glad my attempts at flirting are being acknowledged," he replies, the same playfulness dances around his face and when his eyes dip to your lips for a moment before they’re flitting back to your eyes, it is enough to have your breath hitching.
There's a moment of silence that falls over you, it isn't necessarily awkward, yet the tension encloses itself around your neck, embraces you with a threat of bad decisions. At this moment, they don’t look bad enough.
The short silence is interrupted when you shiver, the cold remains cruel against your cheap clothing.
“Are you cold?” he asks, seeming to notice it all.
“A bit.” You admit, burying your hands in- between your thighs in search of warmth. He eyes your action carefully, and then he moves to take off his hoodie, left only in his turtleneck.
Extending it to you.
“Oh you don’t have to-“you attempt to refuse, shaking your head but he doesn’t let you finish, throwing the fabric onto your lap.
“Wear it.” Perhaps it’s the way his tone is so authoritative it has you crumbling quickly, not fighting back as you put it on, his scent engulfs you and your body rises in temperature instantaneously
“Are you perhaps afraid to look at me?" he asks when you keep your eyes on your tangled fingers, his tone is taunting, an underline of mockery prevails there.
A challenge presents itself to you and you swallow it up, head snapping to look at him with faux confidence clambering over your being. He smirks, somehow managing to remain doused in otherworldly beauty and something akin to victory ceases his eyes.
You wonder how it is possible to have such absurd desires like wishing you’re a mere emotion fortunate enough to flow within him. You must be going insane with loneliness.
"Why would I be?" your eyebrow raises, a plaintive venture to take the lead in whatever dance you’re having.
Something manages to coexist in the middle of all the loneliness meshing with your bones. A feeling akin to curiosity, excitement. A feeling that seems dangerous, a fire that will surely inundate you the longer you stay here.
Eyes midnight black, half lidded, stare back at you. Refusing to back down.
“Your eyes are prettier when they’re looking at me.” your confidence leaves, shattered as soon as it comes, the tips of your ears turning red and the flattery waters your heart so facilely. Your heart hammers against your chest, as if begging to be let out and you almost want to do just that.
At the realization that you lost so quickly you wish to throw up your heart, welcoming your defeat with open arms.
“If you’re gonna keep flirting with me, at least tell me your name.” You mumble, loud enough for your words not to be stolen by the wind and he chuckles.
“Are you interested in me?”
“Stop please.” You whine, bringing your palms to your cheeks. You’re so hot you could melt right on this seat.
“I’m only teasing, darling.”
“Well stop teasing me.” his eyes grow fond at the pout taking place on your face, you seem to be unaware of how utterly adorable you are.
“How about this,” he turns his body towards you, arms crossed on his chest, and you try your hardest not to stare” I have a little game for you if you manage to solve it then I’ll tell you, my name.” he suggests and you contemplate on what to say, yet you find yourself nodding.
“Give me your arm.” He whispers, inching closer to you and you do as he says, embarrassingly fast as if you were desperate to please, desperate for a glimpse of a smile from a stranger as you extend your arm towards him.
His touch is delicate as his fingers inch the sleeves of your (his) hoodie upwards, it has goosebumps erupting on your skin, setting your body ablaze and your breaths grow labored when his eyes catch yours, pulling you into him with a vigorous force
“I’m gonna write something on your arm and you have to guess it, simple yeah?” his voice is low as if he’s afraid to break whatever hue the both of you have fallen into and your lips separate with a familiar softness “okay.” You whisper back, the quirk of his lips, ever so slightly has a whimper bubbling at the back of your throat.
His nimble fingers feel cold against your skin, keeping his eyes fixated on your face as his fingers irritatingly, deliberately trace syllables upon your arm.
“Can you tell me what I just wrote?” You blink at him, realizing you have paid no attention whatsoever, instead all you did was stare at him, wandering in your own thoughts that are evoked by him.
“Sorry,” you clear your throat, attempting to pull yourself together “do it again.” You tell him and his lips twitch upwards in a way that slightly piques you. his fingers start tracing letters upon the skin of your arms again and this time, you pay your utmost attention to every move, every brush of his fingers.
“I can?” you answer when he pauses with a question in his gaze.
“Yes, good.” He resumes moving his fingers.
“I can, see?”
“Mhm.” You furrow your brows, seeming to have lost track and he’s lenient enough to do it again.
Your mouth shaping around the words fleeing to your mind, his stare stays affixed on your lips. A foreboding glint manifests in his stare, till yours widen, overtaken by brief triumph.
“I can see you! That’s what you wrote. I can see you.” you exclaim, excitedly. A gleam enough to blind anyone with your smile that has him chuckling and shaking his head.
“Hold on, I’m not done yet.”
“Oh,” you settle down with pink cheeks, embarrassed.
As his fingers move against your skin anew, akin to strokes of a paintbrush inundated with iciness, a benevolence lingers at the tips of his fingers. It’s competent at eliciting a shiver to run down your spine, your heart pulsating.
I
Can
See
Your
Just as he’s tracing what you assume to be the last word on your arm, the sky blights your little bubble, breaking through it with force as droplets of water hit your face. You look up at the sky as it starts to rain and his stays on your face.
As if feeling his stare slowly you find him, and then just like the first time you saw him he captures you in place. A hue of vulnerability and a sense of endearment colors his gaze. Just like the dewdrops of rain it grazes the surface of your heart prominently.
Inchmeal, he pulls the hood of the garment over your head, sheltering you from the rain and you hold your breath, waiting, anticipating for something as ardent as the feelings splashing across his face.
“Yn!” you hear Heeseung’s voice call for you from behind “Come on! Let’s go home.”
In a mere second, his eyes dart behind you before they’re back on you, he smiles, irreconcilable with how grim the sky looks above you.
Heady and sweet.
“Go.” He tells you, voice low and perhaps it was the tilt of his lips that has you obligating with a silent nod.
Your friends are not sober enough to ask you who you were with, and you colored with shades of red, attraction.
It is a veil against the questions that should be alarming like why a man with a such an expensive watch around his wrist lurking around this side of the city.
With a hand on your hip, eyes filled with flames of irritation you glare at an unconscious Heeseung sprawled on your couch. With a snore loud enough for you to grow deaf. Evidence of last night’s chaos lies on the ground. Empty bags of chips and empty beer cans.
You had awakened with a slight ache forming in the temples of your head, a myriad of visions conquering your mind, mainly of your mystifying encounter with the handsome stranger.
With a shake of your head, you take a seat on the small coffee table that's facing your worn-out couch. Your eyes stilling on your friend's peaceful sleeping face, too peaceful. delivering a hard jab to his side, the latter barely feels it, only groaning in response. You huff, reaching for his cheek and pinching, hard. And that seems to do the job because Heeseung’s eyes shoot open, slapping your hand away with enormous potency.
"Ow! what the hell?" He whines, rubbing his now reddening cheek.
"Had to wake you up somehow." You say with a shrug, getting up and walking to your kitchen, another overly dramatic whine of his has you rolling your eyes.
"You're fucked in the head, you know that?"
"Yeah, yeah" you sip on your water, Heeseung shuffles from behind you, yawning as he leans his head on your shoulder, his body almost engulfing yours with his weight, arms wrapping around your waist in search for warmth, the morning weather remains frigid, sweeping in through the thin walls of your apartment.
“You’re heavy Hee and your breath stinks.” You sigh and he hums, making no effort to move away.
“Last night was interesting.” He says into your neck.
“Was it?”
“Who was that guy you were with?” your hand stills around the glass, had not expected such question.
“You saw us?” you retort, tilting your head to look at him.
“I did.” His arm loosens from around your waist to dawdle past you to brew some coffee, in search for some needed energy “so who was he? Mr. glasses?” he leans his elbow on the counter, facing you with a scrutinizing gaze.
You busy your fingers with toying with the plate of grapes in front of you, an awkward avoidance drapes over you.
“Just some guy.” You shrug.
“Didn’t take you as the type to chill in the middle of the night with just some guy.”
“I don’t know him Heeseung. We met once at some museum, and I just randomly saw him again last night.”
He keeps quiet, pursuing his lips. Seemingly not awake enough to register anything that meaningful. At his speech impediment, you take your glass with you, and settle upon your couch with a sigh, relaxing into the cushions. Heeseung follows you shortly after, his own cup of coffee in his hands.
“Jaeyun has been blowing up my phone.” He starts, sitting way too closely next to you.
“So?”
“He said you guys almost kissed in his car the other night.”
"I don't even understand why he's telling you all this shit." You mummer with an exhale, running your hands through your hair warily.
"He's just venting you know he has no one." You know he’s right, but it doesn’t lessen how hard the strings of irritation are pulling at you.
"Stop telling me about it then."
"Okay someone's in a bitch mood." Heeseung grumbles, hands up in surrender.
His eyes shift to your face, seeming to notice the bags under your eyes, the fatigue pasting itself to you almost invariably these days, wordlessly he pulls you into him, arms around your shoulders and you go easily, his touches, as gentle and warm as ever.
“I hope you’re being careful, angel.”
You keep quiet, eyes zeroed in on his cup of coffee.
You are walking home from work.
The sun has set too early, and the streets are sinisterly empty. The lights flicker;
on
off
on
off
you’re feeling cold, you can barely feel the tips of your fingers and It's oddly windy, you’re clad in nothing, but a tank top and your mind is hazy. You can’t seem to recall where your jacket is. Did you leave it at home, or did you end up leaving it at the store? You wield yourself to remember yet nothing.
You pass by a clock that's arbitrarily tossed upon the cracked ground of the street, for an unspecified reason you go and pick it up. It’s pointing at 11, slowly turning to 12 and before you could blink the clock wire starts moving inhumanly fast, turning and you grow dizzy. Throwing it back on the ground as you bring your palm to your temples with a groan.
The clock disappears as soon as it touches the pavement.
I need to go home.
Your head is now pounding, legs wobbly as you stumble on the sidewalk. Your vison blurry and your chest tightens with insignificant trepidation.
I need to go home
I need to go home
I need to go home
You hear footsteps behind you and your chest tightens even more, breathing grows to be a harder task and you’re panting, terror nestles its way into you uninvited and hastily. You don’t need to look behind you to feel alarmed, instead your weak legs attempt to pick up speed, a futile way to flee from whatever danger lingering behind. abruptly pain spreads across the bottom of your feet as if you’re running on endless needles, it’s unbearable and you’re struggling to breathe, panting loudly yet no air seems to make its way into your throat. As if steel is lodged in the middle.
The footsteps grow closer and closer to you, agonizingly taunting, you can’t move when you feel a presence behind you, feel their breath hit the back of your neck and with one swift move, you feel a hand circle your wrist, its grip unrelenting and your body grows frail, unable to fight back.
You look down at the hand holding onto you and all you see is red blood. Dripping everywhere, down your wrist staining you. Your mouth opens with a scream but it’s silent, no sound can be heard.
With a frightened expression and widened gaze, you look up at the guy, with an unrecognizable face, he’s doused in blackness. It flings your soul into a substantial pool of horrific panic. You try to break free, your fingers twisting but to no avail. His grip is too strong, your own body too weak to fight back. You try to scream again, yelling to be let go and yet just the same it’s silent.
Your free hand touches your face only to realize your mouth has been sewn shut.
Suddenly the sky above you color with grey clouds and it starts to rain drops of crimson.
The scent of metallic invades your nostrils, you taste it on your tongue and your known nausea builds alarmingly swiftly. You only register your tears spilling out your eyes when the guy tackles you to the ground. His body is akin to a block of metal on top of you.
He starts to cackle at you, you can feel your heart beating its way out of your chest, loud and painful. You’re terrified, covered in blood and incapable of catching your breath.
There’s a knife in his hand, as his laughter gets louder and louder ringing in your ears, the blade cuts through your chest. He craves out your heart and you lie there, watching as he brings it to his mouth with a smile so wide and chews on it.
You can’t move, you can’t speak, you have no one to help you.
You wake up with a gasp, eyes lined with tears and shaking with tremors of terror running through your limbs. You look around and your panic subsides with an exhale, realizing you’re on your bed, in your room.
A wave of relief washes over you, like splashed cold water. It was just a bad dream. A really bad dream. Unwittingly your palm sprawls over your chest, right where your heart is and another exhale escapes you, it’s beating and it’s still here.
You’re okay, everything is okay.
Checking your phone, you scroll the seemingly monotonous messages from your friends. You had finished classes early and decided to go back home and nap before your planned study session with them. Your body has been feeling weak these few past days. Ever since your encounter with the pretty stranger, surely staying under the rain that late at night wasn’t the smartest decision. Despite it being short-lived it was more than enough for your frail body to fall apart with a sore throat and a runny nose. A flu lurks around the corner, and you know it’s coming.
Your eyes flit to the now washed hoodie you hung on the door of your closet, a constant reminder that whatever you felt was real. A hope etched onto the fabric for another chance, to see him.
You get ready in a haze, mind a little numb and limbs dragging with a dire ache. Heeseung ends up picking you up and he keeps rambling the whole ride about a new video game he needs to buy. You keep quiet, looking out the window, although your nap you still feel weary, head buzzing with recollection of the nightmare you had. You had an inkling that it was about the figure you saw outside your work a couple of weeks ago.
Although you’re accustomed to being surrounded by fret you never knew yourself to be this paranoid. You can't decide if you’re being way too anxious about such a minuscule matter, or you aren’t giving it enough magnitude.
You meet Sunoo and Minji outside the library, a small and cute one just around the corner from a cafe that you used to work at. Although it’s closed now.
The owner – who was a kind old man – had decided to close it after three years because he couldn't handle the terrible loss of his son and moved back to his hometown. You never knew the exact details of the incident.
The tension swirling in the air is hefty enough for you to feel it, somehow adding heaviness to your shoulders as your eyes dart between the two. Unresolved conversation hangs between them and it’s evident enough in the way there’s a frown plastered on Minji’s face. An avoidance in Sunoo’s gaze.
"Should we go for karaoke after?" Heeseung suggests as soon as you step foot inside, with an arm around your shoulder he brings you closer to him. It’s a salient striving to lighten the mood.
It earns him a glare from Minji who seems to have little to zero tolerance loitering in her.
“We have no time for bullshit. We came here to finish this stupid project.” She huffs and Heeseung holds his hands up in surrender.
“Damn okay. Chill.” He mummers and you chuckle, adjusting the falling strap of your tote bag.
On the contrary, Sunoo’s expression turns sour, his brows knitting together and his words fall like bombs that have been on edge, waiting to find a chance to be let loose “He obviously meant when we’re finished with our work.” He grumbles, voice laced with evident venom, Heeseung agrees with a nod.
"And you seriously think we're gonna have time to do anything? The due date is literally tomorrow." Minji retorts with an equal amount of venom tinting her tone.
You sigh at the glare the librarian throws your group, noticing the disturbance your discussion has caused across the stillness of the place “Can you guys cut it out and start actually doing your work?” the three of them look at you in union, nothing is said back at you and with a pleased nod you take a seat at one of the nearest tables. Your friends follow silently, unpacking their stuff, immersed in their work.
"yn," Heeseung calls. Brushing his shoulder against yours. His eyes are wide in a plea and a pout on his lips.
"What?" you ask with imitated disgust.
"Can you help me with this?" his pout intensifies as he points at the part he's confused about, batting his lashes at you and you bite back a smile as you lean over, bangs falling over your eyes and inattentive to the way Heeseung’s expression melts into an unfamiliar tenderness, gaze serious.
The question was related to personality psychology. You and he had decided to enroll in the course together. Thinking it would be easier if you had someone with you. It slipped your mind that one; Heeseung is an idiot at everything except for math and two; your attention span has been all over the place lately. Dozing off in almost every class.
"Sorry you're gonna need to help yourself because I don't understand it either." You say, patting his shoulder.
Heeseung looks away promptly leaving you with no answer and despite your perplexity at his behavior you don’t dwell on it. Putting your earbuds in and taking out your own notes to start studying.
A couple of hours have passed, Minji and Sunoo are much more mitigated, the air flows lighter and you can’t help the smile that disperses across your face at the sight of them working closely together. You stretch your arm above your head with an exhale, feeling your back muscles relax.
Leaning your chin on the palm of your hand, you look out the window. catching sight of the rain outside. Taking out your earbuds, the sound of raindrops hitting the window reverberates throughout the tranquil silence disseminating the place. It stirs a welcomed alleviation within you. Days of overworking yourself alongside the lack of sleep catches up to you, fatigue sears itself onto your being and you lie your head on the table. Eyes pasted on the dewdrops trailing down the window leisurely.
Minji's and Sunoo hushed conversation starts to feel like white noise. You fall into a distance lullaby and right at this mere moment you feel like you could relax for the first time in a while. A feeling so foreign you’re almost too afraid to settle in.
As your eyes grow heavier with sleep, you notice a familiar figure pass by in front of the window. Impossible to forfeit, amongst the crowd and the countless umbrellas there’s just no way for you to miss him. Not when he’s been haunting your mind for stretching hours. Not when your head hits the pillow and the only plaguing your thoughts are the words he traced upon your skin, as if tattooed by flames you cannot seem to relinquish.
You shoot up from your chair, your tiredness long obliterated as your eyes frantically follow him. The conversation of your friends dies down, their focus shifting on you with concern etched onto their features
"Are you okay?" Sunoo asks, his eyes shifting to where you’re looking.
"Yn?" Heeseung calls out to you.
But you’re impotent. Your attention stolen and you’re incapable of registering a word that’s being said to you.
"Sorry guys, I’ll be right back." You speak in a hurry, shoving your phone deep into your pocket and quickly storming out of the library. The rain is unforgiving as it dawns on your being, drenching you and earning you a few disdainful looks from the people passing by.
You don’t recognize yourself, you’re not usually like this. And you try to grasp meaning of your behavior, yet you’re empty handed, filled with a baffling urge for a glimpse of this man who’s nothing but a stranger to you. Perhaps it was the wind of grotesque emotions flinging through the air every time you two spoke, his few words have stuck in your mind like a record that won’t stop playing and no matter how many times you listen, you’re still scuffling to find elucidation.
Perhaps you were just edging yourself into deliration.
"What am I doing." You mumble to yourself as you’re about to go inside, you notice him at the end of the crossroad.
You stand still for three full seconds.
On the first one your brain chastises you, stridently yelling at you why do you care over and over again.
On the second one you shift onto rationality telling yourself to go back inside the library and continue the life you’re so used to. Where no weird guys you’re fascinated with exist and you act like a different version of yourself.
On the third one you start sprinting because the man takes a right turn, and you need to catch up. Water splashes under your feet as you gather whatever robustness is left in your body.
You don’t give room for yourself to abide on any raising questions in your head, like what would you possibly say to him if you caught up to him? You have no idea how you could explain this peculiar urge to see him again? Was this behavior odd enough for you to be deemed a stalker?
The space between you two grows smaller, your shorter legs remain lacking for you to fully catch up when he takes a turn to his right, you follow right after with a panting chest. Your feet come to a stop as the sight of an empty alleyway comes into view. Your brain racing with confusion that clampers over your face just the same. You attempt to look further yet only bags of trash greet you. The wetness of the rain mixing in with it makes the scent horrendous.
"Are you following me?" You jolt in surprise; a discernible gasp tumbles out your lips.
You swivel around, coming face to face with your desired target who stays as breathtaking as ever. Shrouded in black formalwear and hair styled to perfection, his glasses hang at the tip of his nose, His hand holding onto an umbrella while the other is buried in his pocket.
He’s a striking image of an ardent artist’s majestic creation, diabolically ethereal, nothing less. You in contrast, a ball of predicament, hair wet and a heaving chest.
"I wasn't." You answer shortly, an idiotic attempt to grasp control over the situation.
If the raise of his brow is anything to go by, he doesn’t buy it and you cannot blame him.
"Oh really?" he muses, taking a few steps towards you, a smirk curling at the end of his lips and you hold your breath in guilt.
He tilts his umbrella to you, harboring you from the rain.
He looks down at you, eyes dark and it is enough to set your cheeks ablaze, a blush mortifyingly potent enough to travel all the way to your ears. Your heart skips beat almost appallingly, loud enough you grow fearful he might be able to hear it. It sends you into enough panic to forget about how uncomfortable your clothes feel, sticking to your body.
“You shouldn’t be out without an umbrella when it’s raining this hard.” He reprimands, tone gentle.
“I know.” Sweat beads start cumulating at your forehead, albeit the frigid weather, your body growing hot.
“Where are you heading? I’ll take you.” he asks, tilting his head at you, a smile just as tender as the one that colors his voice, and you shake your head at him in disregard.
“Or would you like to admit now that you were following me?”
“I-I wasn’t following you!” you sputter, nowhere near convincing.
“I’m only teasing, darling.” He chuckles, a sound so strangely compelling, an urge crawls over you, so foolish like saving the sound between the palms of your hands alongside his sweet endearment.
“Aren’t you scared, to be here with me alone?” he deliberately asks, voice lowered.
“y-you don’t seem dangerous. Besides you saved me from that old man last time so.” You trail off, bunglingly and he hums, gauging the way you almost curl into yourself with precious diffidence.
Your eyes darts to his momentarily, holding you captive with manacles coaxed with deviant cravings, it tastes like candied impulses you wish to give into, it feels like addictive fire upon your skin ignited by his gaze.
Your body is overwhelmingly hot so that exhaling grows to be a harder task.
"We seem to always meet when it's raining." You whisper, traversing through the silence.
"I guess so." He hums, keeping his eyes on you “were you keeping track of our meetings?” He follows with a question, you dare with collected vigor not to look away despite the way your cheek burns so profoundly it feels excruciating.
“It’s hard not to.” You admit.
“How come?”
You chew on your lower lip, brain turning to putty, just like melting ice cubes under the vehemence of his stare. You aren’t feeling well, gravely trying to come up with a tolerable fib to spill. Yet the wheels in your head feel like they have turned rusty, unable to turn quick enough. The blink of your eye takes longer to unfold.
“they’re fascinating to say the least.” You settle with the truth.
“Mm. are they or do you find me fascinating?”
“Do you always ask random strangers this many questions?” you huff out, you’re growing dizzy, your knees unsteady.
“Do you always follow strangers into alleyways?”
“No.” you answer, airily.
He takes a few steps towards you, closing the already very small distance separating you. Tentatively he brings his hand up to your face, with the back of his fingers he caresses your forehead so delicately, your eyelids fall shut, missing the way his eyebrow shoot up in surprise.
“You’re very warm. Are you alright?” his words fall upon your ears laboriously, like they echo within your being, and it takes longer than necessary for you to find meaning in them.
“’m okay.” You murmur, absentmindedly stumbling forward and resting your forehead against his shoulder, his body aids in providing comfort you didn’t realize you needed.
“I don’t think so darling. Are you friends near?” he asks, and you shake your head, his arm wrapping around your shoulders vigilantly. It spreads a pleasant buzz throughout your body,
You’re so tired you want to go to sleep.
“I’m gonna take you to my house. Okay? We need to take care of you, it seems you’re running a fever.” you think you answer, or maybe you nod your head. You aren’t very sure.
All you know is that you felt indisputable comfort in a sustained amount of time.
When you awake, you’re met with a foreign ceiling. It’s painted with spatters of colors atop one another. Dominated by three shades black, white and red. They expand into bigger arbitrarily sketches you’re not sentient enough to understand just yet. It’s very well done, inherently distinctive that you can tell it’s painted by the hands of whoever is residing here.
You sit up with a groan, twined with the throb of your forming headache. Pressing your thumbs into your temples, it is not even close pressure for the pain to subside. Blinking, your eyes take a swift look around the room you’re in. The space larger than your entire apartment.
You don’t get to linger in how much money this man has before you hear the door clicking open.
"Oh, you're awake?" He asks, Looking fresh out of the shower, with slightly damp hair and barefaced.
His black clothes are now replaced with a white button-up dress shirt and black formal pants. You slightly raise your eyebrows at the choice of clothes. His hair leaves droplets of water on his shirt leaving some spots transparent.
"Did I pass out?" you ask, voice just a tad groggy, your eyes following him as he turns his back to you, fetching something from the coffee table that you didn’t even notice.
Just how big is this room?
“No. you just fell asleep.” He answers, turning to face you with a cigarette dangling from his lips, unlit while a lighter curls between the fingers of his other hand. The twitch of his lips is enough evidence of how comical he finds this to be.
“Oh.” You trail off, face burning.
As he walks to you, the intensity in his gaze remains as suffocating as flower petals blooming in the middle of your throat, you don’t allow yourself to breath as his slender fingers graze your forehead, your fists curling onto the sheets.
“Your fever has gone down. Thankfully.” He says, voice muffled by the stick between his lips.
His black hair drips water on your bare thighs causing you to shiver. It's cold. At the realization you look down at your lap, noting you’re not wearing any pants, clad in an unfamiliar sweatshirt.
“D-did you change my clothes?” you stammer, your cheeks falling into a darker shade.
“I couldn’t put you to bed with soaked clothes. Could I?”
“Well y-yeah.”
“I’m just teasing, darling.” He starts, his eyes skimming across your blushing face with relish “My maid changed your clothes for you. I’m a gentleman after all I wouldn’t undress you without your consent.”
“Gosh this is so fucking embarrassing. I’m sorry.” You whine, covering your face with your palms in hopes to somehow dissipate into air, or let this be another stupid nightmare of yours.
“Which is, the fact that you fell asleep on me or that you talked in your sleep about how handsome you think my face is?”
“Oh my god!” you exclaim, horrified at the information, you curl into yourself further. The way he chuckles so lightheartedly doesn’t make it any less humiliating.
"Would you like some food?" he asks, his finger brushing across your arm causing goosebumps to arise.
“No.” you groan “I wanna go home or maybe throw myself out the window.”
“Now you’re hurting me.” you peak at him through your fingers, expecting a teasing smirk to be displaying yet you’re met with an odd solemnity.
"I made some soup for you-" He pauses to light his cigarette, taking a deep inhale and puffing out the smoke. You watch with unalloyed attention as he throws the lighter on the table next to the bed mindlessly.
There’s an anomalous elegancy that coats his every move, enough to have you enchanted.
"So, you should really have some." He finishes, dark eyes finding yours with unfaltering assertiveness that has you silently nodding.
You cannot give voice to your emotions, not when he’s an embodiment of everything beauty gets the pleasure to breathe into. It’s an unyielding attraction, one that you cannot seem to scrimmage against, ideally you bare your neck, waiting to feel his teeth on your throat.
At your approval, he sends you a gentle smile, like a soothing wave of comfort descending upon your body that has been drowning in exhaustion. It’s ill-fitted, compared to his dusky room, or the cigarette slotted between his lips.
“I’ll go get it for you.” he tells you and you give him another nod,
With his absence, you fetch the opportunity with vigor, taking it upon yourself to snoop around. You start by examining the lighter he threw on the bedside table, the shiny exterior had managed to capture your attention. Brushing your fingers over the leather case, it’s not hard to tell even such a small item is expensive.
You notice an initial is engraved at the bottom, trailing the two letters with the tip of your index finger 'PSH'.
Putting the lighter back on the dresser, you stand up feeling slightly better, your legs gathering more strength compared to earlier. You turn your attention to the countless papers sprawled on the floor, collected in a pile as if they hold no importance anymore. Picking a few up, you go through them with inquisitive eyes. They all seem like first drafts of sketches, clearly unfinished. Few with a face etched onto them, void of any clear features, another is just a pair of eyes. While a different one is just an outline of a body, for some odd reason they all feel familiar. Like you have seen them somewhere or like you should know who they belong to.
It has an unsettling feeling nestling its way into you, the same one you felt back at the museum. Drifting your eyes to the corner of the page, the autograph there catches your eyes.
"Park Sunghoon." you read out loud. You check the other papers and surely every single one of them is signed with the same name. you don’t get to dwell on the discovery before you hear the door clicking open once again.
Placing the papers back in their original place, you face the door. He steals a glance at you, your gaze locking for a mere second before he’s walking over to the small coffee table, sitting in the middle of his room paired with a sofa that looks more expensive than anything you’ve ever owned.
"Come here." He tells you, setting the tray he was holding down, and you follow quietly. Sitting down next to him with a good, measured gap between you.
He eyes you but doesn’t comment on it.
"Help yourself." He says pointing to the bowl of soup with a tilt of his head, his fingers curling around one of the cups that seem to be holding coffee.
You only nod, scooting closer to the table as the delicious smell invades your nostrils, evoking your hunger to raise and the realization that you haven’t eaten anything all day.
“Good?” he asks after you take a sip, eyes fond.
“Really good. Thank you.” you answer with a smile, diving in for some more.
"Have some green tea." Sunghoon suggests and you nod. Setting the bowl down on the tray. You reach for the cup. Your eyes immediately dart to the label of the tea, and you recognize it as one of the more expensive brands. They don't even sell it where you work.
Amidst your sip, you look at him only to find him already watching you. Resting his chin in the palm of his hand, his eyes follow your every move with a slackened expression. With tinted cheeks you avert your attention to the huge window next to you, taking note that the rain has stopped completely. Although it's still cloudy outside.
You should head home soon before it starts raining again.
"So why were you following me?" Sunghoon asks, slicing into the congested tension. You don’t expect it, resulting in you choking on a sip, your face turning red in color as you fall into a fit of coughs.
Sunghoon’s emotions grow into amusement as if you weren’t on the verge of death.
"I wasn't following you." you state, clearing your throat.
“What were you doing then?"
“I was at the library with my friends,” you start, eyes lolling everywhere and he only hums, patience seeming unlimited “I saw you passing by, and I wanted to tell you that I figured out what you wrote on my arm that night.”
"So, you went out into the rain without an umbrella?” he puffs out a chuckle and you’re starting to feel a tad bit annoyed. Like you’re a source of entertainment to him.
“It was stupid. I’m so dumb for doing that I get it.” You huff, overwhelmed with discomfiture.
“It made me happy.”
“What?”
“Knowing I wasn’t the only one still thinking about you.”
“You think about me?” you ask, eyes flitting to his, they stay unwavering.
“I do.” There’s no way for you to prove it, but you know it’s the truth he speaks, woven with that same unfeigned smile.
Your silence stretches, as you ponder upon all the contingencies staring back at you. You can’t find anything worrisome and perhaps that’s why it worries you, you cannot be worthy of anything this gentle.
“You told me you figured out what I wrote on your arm?” he asks, pulling you out of your thoughts and you brighten with excitement, inching closer to him unwittingly, he leans into it. His arms stretching behind you.
“I did!”
“Mhm, go on. Tell me.”
“I can see your fears.” You answer, eyes dancing between his with overflowing delirium. Evoking a smile from him.
Your chest warms at the sight.
“Close enough.” He tells you and it’s enough for your excitement to melt right off you, replaced with a pout and a knot between your brows.
“I got it wrong?”
“It’s a T, not an F.”
“I can see your tears?” you ask, tilting your head in a too endearing of a manner.
“Yeah.” he answers softly.
“Does it have any special meaning behind it?” He shrugs at your question, leaving it unanswered as he stands up wordlessly, walking to his bedside table, he leans down to open a drawer and fetch something you can’t see.
You let your eyes wander, trailing over his slim figure, keeping yourself in check is almost deemed unobtainable. Not when you fall breathless as you’re pushed into the same space as him. He’s stunningly virtuoso as he’s surrounded by pieces of his own art, scattered around the floor, hung around the walls of his bedroom. Like it took decades to sculpt this man. Not a single flaw to be seen.
"Are you gonna tell me your name?" you ask when he turns to face you, a sketchbook between his hands and you’ve managed to stitch yourself woefully just in time.
“Although you got it wrong,” he sits himself back on the sofa right next to you, charm imbued into his grin “it’s Sunghoon. Park Sunghoon.” The name rolls off his tongue so fluidly, far from how it sounded in your head when you read it. The fact that you already knew is a hushed secret within the walls of your brain.
“What’s yours?” He opens his sketchbook, skimming through ones you don’t get enough time to steal glances at.
“yn,” you answer.
“Pretty name.” He doesn’t give enough time for his words to penetrate your mind, instead they hang over you like their own cloud replenishing with their own shades of emotions.
He inches closer to you, tilting your chin towards him with his thumb and index finger. You’re so taken back you don’t even get to inhale, cheeks glowing pink and body going rigid. His eyes skimming over your features, scrutinizing you as if you’re one of his paintings.
"W-what?" You stutter out.
His fingers loosen, abandoning the warmth of your skin, your fingers itch with a foolish urge, one like stopping him. An imprudent entreaty climbs up your throat, one like telling him you miss his touch the moment it’s gone.
“You have freckles.” he says, settling into an empty page and picking up a pencil that had been lying randomly on the table.
“They’re very faint. Nobody ever notices them.” You reply, dumbfounded.
“I can see them very clearly.” There’s a deeper meaning underlying his words, one that you cannot seem to comprehend "you’re bewitching. It has me questioning if you’re real." He continues, unceremoniously.
You find fiendish in his kind words, it’s as if your heart isn't swelling up in your chest. Inflating so beyond your control it feels like it might explode any minute. You exhort yourself not to be swooned so effortlessly. You shouldn't be taken away by so little yet flattering words like a weak branch swayed away by a fleeting wind.
You tell yourself you have been here before, you cannot stumble into the same mistakes over and over again, even if it grows harder by the minutes. The cravings of your heart screams grow louder when he looks at you, his hand pausing for a mere minute as if he’s taken back just the same. The softening of your gaze, an exposure of all your hidden fragility.
"I feel the same way about you," your words escape you without much thought, unconcealed.
You stare at each other for what almost feels like a decennary. Years of people dying, souls being reborn. And you’re still here, as if frozen in time and whatever colors the air between you two is enough to pump life into you for that long. It’s counted minutes, fewer seconds for you hold your breath and longer for you to blink.
Sunghoon doesn't reply, only hums as he goes back to drawing. Skilled fingers moving across the paper.
But you feel it, in the darkening of his eyes. The sharpening of his gaze. The tightening of his hold on the pencil. It's all so subdued but evident. A shift in the space between you, the tension amplifying, tethered with feverish intensity. You catch yourself breathing in deeper gulps of air. Wrapping an arm around your body, you look around. A failed attempt to calm your nerves.
"Are you uncomfortable?" Sunghoon asks, scrutinizing your movement.
"A little." You admit and he tsks, in what seems to be disapprobation, it has your arms tightening around yourself. An urge to please arises.
"You can ask me anything you want, if that will help." He suggests.
"Do you always draw strangers out of the blue?" you tease, striving for the air between you to be lighter.
It earns you a chuckle from him, a shake of his head that has you entranced. You never knew there were this many shapes of beauty and you did not know they could all exist in one person, in the tone of his voice, in the fluttering of his lashes, the sharpness of his jaw and even in between the strands of his hair.
"Only the pretty ones." He jokes back and you blush with a scuttling gaze, denying your heart.
"How old are you?" you inquire, attempting to start normal conversation.
"How old do you think I am?" He asks. Looking at you sideways with a tilt of his eyebrow that has you melting like butter. Squirming in your seat.
“Aren’t you supposed to be answering my questions?”
"I'm 28." He answers and you cannot hide the surprise taking place upon your face, not when he didn’t look a day over the age of 23.
“You’re young, aren’t you?” He asks, at your silence.
“I’m not that young.” Your tone comes out defensive, it has his lip twitching upwards in merriment “I turned 21 last month.” You continue and he only hums back.
You feel it again, the abrupt stopping of time for you, yet the ticking of the clock on the wall echoes resoundingly throughout the room. It is not enough to drown your heartbeat ringing in your ears. Not enough to conceal the allure swimming in his eyes when they dance between your eyes and then down at your lips.
You find yourself inching closer, you’re indistinguishable being pulled in by your heartstrings, with flames surging between you two, intertwined with lethal attraction and obscure intensity. The idea of burning alive does not sound all that bad right now. The space in the middle of you closes by inches, his breath reeking of cigarettes and coffee, the smell of his shampoo are all distinguishable.
He doesn’t move, like he’s waiting for you to make the first move, and you’re kneeling into it, with eyes turning hazy and labored breaths.
As your lips are about to touch, a striking sound cuts through, the ringing of a phone catches you both off guard. You wait for Sunghoon to get up, but he remains still, not moving a muscle, the twitch of his brows are the only giveaway of his annoyance.
"It's yours." He whispers, you’re confused for a minute but as the haze of enticement evaporates, you recognize the ringtone of your phone, spot it buzzing on the bed.
“Oh.” You stand up awkwardly, with stiffness in your bones you dawdle past him to grab your phone.
There are endless notifications of messages from Minji and Sunoo, a couple of missed calls from Heeseung. You cuss at yourself, had totally forgotten there are people waiting for you outside of whatever bubble you have stumbled into with Sunghoon. Who stays on the sofa with his back to you, seeming too busy admiring his own sketch of you.
You sway on your feet, with swaying thoughts, questions as foolish as the tint of red upon your cheeks. Is he admiring it because it’s you or is it an egotistical cherish?
Disappointment builds inside you at the thought.
"I should head home." You say, pocketing your phone.
"My driver will take you back." he replies, turning to look at you from the couch and you avert your eyes. Focusing on ripped up sketch on the ground.
It's disheartening to think about how something he probably cherishes so deeply is torn to shreds.
"There's no need. You have done more than enough."
"You're still tired. He'll take you." There’s an edge to his tone that kills the possibility of a clinch. It is not unkind in any way, in fact it’s implicitly sweet.
“I’m sorry and thank you for everything.”
“No need for apologizes, darling.”
You linger by the door, an evident nervousness coating the way your fingers are entangling and with the same meaninglessly endless tolerance inked into him, he waits for you just as well.
“I’m sorry for stealing your clothes again.” You say, an impish smile tilting your lips upwards as you point at the pair of sweats covering your legs.
The same one disperses across his lips, as he tips his head back at you, his arms crossing upon his chest and almost shamelessly his eyes trail over your body, loitering by your chest, it ignites a blazing fire right down to your core. Ardour -as cunning as you know it to be- coaxes it all. A master of temptation and the both of you toy with it religiously.
“They look better on you anyways.”
You are disentitled to silence, his words messing up the atoms of your being there’s no way for you to think straight. So you don’t ask how can you give them back, and instead you’re out of his space with a racing heart, wrapped in a deluge of his scent and an unendurable moisture between your legs. Your cheeks marring red with disgrace.
colored with shades of a duskier red, your attraction deepens, coexists with drops of lust.
The different atmosphere between your apartment and the place you were in kills your spirit. You were never really a thriver for luxury. You didn't grow up rich or poor. You had very basic living circumstances. In every aspect.
Although your living conditions were much better than now.
Is what you think as you greet the old lady that's dragging her drunken son into her apartment. Her face flushes with embarrassment every time. Even though you never comment on it nor mention it the next day. This happens every Sunday. Sometimes the timing is different, either it's too early in the night or far too late. But it's always Sunday and you always manage to witness it every time.
You unlocked the door to your small place and darkness welcomes you, killing your spirit a little more. Twist the knife in.
"Look who decided to finally show up." You almost jump ten feet into the air, eyes widening in shock at the sight of Heeseung sitting, crossed arms on your couch.
Like a fucking creep.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" you genuinely wonder, settling down upon the steps to take off your shoes. They have been feeling uncomfortable the whole ride, an itch you wish to scratch away. You hear Heeseung’s footsteps behind you.
"Where the hell were you? I was so worried you just disappeared."
"Okay dad." You roll your eyes, untying your shoelaces.
"I'm serious yn, that was fucked up. You just walked out without telling us anything."
He's right. And you know he’s right, an apology hangs at the tip of your tongue but in the same moment you reach into your shoe to feel a rough crumpled up piece of paper. With furrowed brows, you pull it out. Heeseung’s scolding continues yet your focus is displaced, you peel it open and everything around you feels like it stops moving for a second. The wheels in your brain coming to a halt at the digits staring back at you. 10 to be exact with PSH signed at the corner.
He gave you, his number.
Something in you blooms, like splashes of color on a blank canvas, manifesting to life with a smile against your will.
"Yn." Heeseung calls, and you shake yourself out of your thoughts, shoving the piece of paper into the pockets of your sweatpants.
"Yeah?"
"You okay? You have been off lately." His hands are on your shoulder, squeezing.
“I’m okay.” You assure, standing up to face him with a smile. This time it’s not enough to subdue the concern lingering in his eyes.
“What happened today?”
You knew the question was coming, and you knew hiding the truth from Heeseung is something you never succeed in, but you still feel yourself growing slightly nervous perhaps due to the irrational actions that you, yourself are embarrassed of.
Taking out the piece of paper from the confines of your pocket, you hand it to him. He raises his eyebrow in confusion but takes it from you, nonetheless. His eyes dart rapidly between the paper and you
"I'm confused?"
"Mr. glasses." recognition fills his expression as he looks at the paper once more.
"PSH? That's him?" You nod "His number?" you nod once again.
"I was at his apartment earlier- well more like penthouse but yeah." you explain, playing with your fingers.
"Right." He says slowly, evidently still befuddled with the amount of information you’re daunting on him out of nowhere, you cannot find blame to fling at him not when you also cannot fathom what's going on with you recently.
"It's why I disappeared earlier - which I'm so sorry about. that was shitty of me. I just saw him and I-i-" you trail off, failing to find proper delineation to your actions.
"Hey." He ceases your rambling, “It’s okay. I'm not upset with you." He assures and you nod silently, yet with a glance at him it was apparent that he still has words in his mouth, if his pursed lips and twitch of brows anything to go by.
“Just say it.”
"You want fun Hee or logical Hee?"
“Oh god there's two." You wince and his pursed lips turn into a forced smile, one that he wears whenever he finds nothing to say at your usual discomfiture.
"Logic. Go on." You signal with your hand for him to speak, with defeat dousing your face.
"Okay." his eyes lock with yours seeming to be collecting his words "I can see you're enamored with this guy-"
"I'm not."
"You're into him-"
"No." you interrupt him once again and he tilts his head at you with that same look.
"you're not into him?” he asks, with a deadpan expression.
"I'm not that either." You mumble with a pout.
"Okay. whatever." he pulls you closer to him, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ears with benign touches, you grow weak at the nice gesture.
"I just don't think it's a good time for you to be involved with anyone romantically." You keep quiet "You and Jae ended a couple months ago. Your dad passed away recently. You're grieving-"
"I'm not sad about Jaeyun." You tsk, his gaze softens, clouded with disquiet.
"You're grieving your dad, yn."
You always envied Heeseung. You never told him that. But you did ever since you were kids running around his backyard and he’d cry if he fell, complain if he’s hurt. You envied how he knew exactly how he felt. How he was never confused. He knew how to figure out his emotions, knew how to wear them proudly and what labels to stamp on them. Scratch that, he knew what to call yours.
Grief? you? you never know what you’re feeling. All you know is either black or white. Sometimes it's too dark. Your vision cannot see past your feet and other times it's the lightest white a human could ever experience, it’s blinding. Yet your black lasts months upon months. While your white usually feels like evanescent heaven, floating by with a blink, not enough for you to settle in, for your hands to clutch into anything.
Your blacks remain prevailing with counterfeit whites.
You chew on the inside of your cheek; your chest grows overwhelmed with the whirlwinds of emotions unraveling inside of you. you tell yourself you don’t want to shed tears – that you have no reason for agony to descend upon your cheeks. Yet pain spills into the cracks of your heart with familiarity, running down the same interchangeable patterns with a searing ache.
Your tears are persistent, filling your eyes with ineluctable force it makes you angry, feeding into your confusion. You can’t tell if you’re angry or sad anymore. You disentangle yourself from Heeseung’s embrace, turning your back to him as you melt upon the stairs of your doorway. Despicable tears fall from your eyes, silently colored with agony.
Heeseung wraps his arms around you once again, stubborn in being your comfort “I’m sorry.” He whispers, running his hands through your hair with tenderness that only flings you further into vexation.
“I can never forgive him.” Your words spill like an explosion of choked sobs, one that’s invoked by his hands traveling to your back with soothing swipes “It’s okay.” He tells and you could only shake your head with a heaving chest “now he's gone, and he never even apologized!" He pulls you further into his chest, a silly wish to take your pain for his "He's gone and it's so unfair because I have to deal with this."
"It's okay."
"I can never forgive him now." Your body is shaking violently with tormented weeping, a kind of heartbreak that cannot be caused by anything other than a parent.
"I wanted to." Your eyes flit to his and he can only nod at you with faith, his own eyes sparkling with unshed water "now I can't."
As you bury your face into his chest, his hold only grows tighter around you, with cravings to pacify your storms. You don’t know how much time passes by with you curled into his arms. It’s only when your sobs have died down, your breathing has settled and your tears have dried that he speaks;
"Angel?" he calls, carefully and you hum back an answer,
"What happened?" He asks, "You never told me what he did." Your mind goes blank, not finding enough words to explain. A strange numbness replaces the ache in your chest.
“Do you wanna make hot chocolate and watch shameless?” you ask, tipping your head back to look at him.
“Of course.” He smiles, standing up and offering his hand to you, a warmth envelope your body as you take it.
As Heeseung makes it to the kitchen before you, you linger by the stairs, eyes glued to the piece of paper that had ended up on the floor, picking it up, you brush your fingers over the initials.
"Come on! I'm not making yours!" Heeseung yells from the kitchen.
"Coming." You reply, tearing the paper into two and throwing it in the trash bin.
Your blacks remain prevailing with counterfeit whites.
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