Blessed

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★ ── LE SEXE, JE VEUX DIRE !

what happens when you give the hyung line an aphrodisiac 。 。 。?

꒰୨୧ ꒱ pairing。stray kids hyung line x fem!reader genre。 pure smut , pwp warnings。 aphrodisiacs , sex while intoxicated , breeding kink , primal play , vaginal fingering , oral (m. rec) , deepthroat , unprotected sex , creampies , masturbation (m. rec) , phone sex , diy porn , sex while filming

a/n ⸝⸝ requested skz version of my txt drabble! i’m lowkey not a big fan of this… but here it is anyway lol. [ 1. 0k words ] ⸝⸝ [ m. list ]

𝔅ANGCHAN

chris is completely sure the aphrodisiac candies you purchased wouldn't do a thing, just a silly marketing gimmick printed all over the foil packaging he turned over in his hands. but you had gotten them as a surprise, and the last thing he wants to do is hurt your feelings– so he casts aside his doubts and eats his share with a smile, ready to put on his best show of pretending to be affected. he wouldn't even be really acting, since you can get him going no matter what... yet to his complete shock reduced to a mess within minutes, panting and squirming above you, his hips canting up to press the swell of his clothed cock against the curve of your ass. his control slips when you grind back against him, pussy drunk and unable to think of anything other than fuck, claim, breed as he flips you over and mounts you like an animal. he’s definitely having you get more of these.

𝔐INHO

minho’s immediate response to you showing him the chocolates was to scold you for wasting money on worthless placebos. there was no way you believed that they would actually do anything, right? but he eats them with you anyway, because you’re very persuasive when you’re pouting. he’ll tell you they did nothing for him at all, as he’s knuckle deep in your pussy, your hot little mouth swallowing his cock to the hilt. he didn’t feel a thing, as he’s lining up his weeping tip to your entrance. he’s completely unaffected, watching with dark hazy eyes as his thick cum leaks out of your hole. those stupid chocolates had nothing to do with how he fucked you until the sun came up. and you let him believe it, because it gives you an excuse to try it again.

𝓒HANGBIN

changbin always finds some way to derail your plans… you had hidden some aphrodisiac chocolates your had bought in hopes of surprising him with them later, but you were never the best at hiding things— your boyfriend finds them within the first day. mistaking them for regular candy, he eats them without a thought; and hours later he calls you desperately from the studio, hiding in the bathroom with his pants around his knees as he fists his aching cock. the lewd wet sounds echo against the tile and harmonize with his pretty low moans, all filtering directly into the phone’s speaker and making your pussy throb. “i need you so bad,” he whimpers, his hand speeding up, “need your pussy so bad…” detailing in a needy groan every nasty little thing he planned to do to you once he got home, the growl in his voice enough to make your legs shake. you hated to ruin the mood, but you just had to know; “binnie, did you eat those chocolates in the pantry?” “um… maybe?”

𝓗YUNJIN

the candies were his idea, actually— he figured they were a perfect addition to the films he liked to make. you couldn’t even call them sex tapes, with how careful and artistic hyunjin was in filming them… but he loved to film often, and was always coming up with new ways to keep things new and exciting. sharing candies between kisses on camera, hands wandering as you lay tangled together on the hotel bed. the both of you growing hotter and needier as time went on, gentle caresses turning into rough manhandling, tugging at each other’s clothes til you were both bare in eachother’s arms. hyunjin looks straight into the camera with a smirk as he flips you over onto your hands and knees, your face buried in the pillow to muffle your scream when he slides his thick long cock into your wet pussy with one firm thrust. he reaches over to pick the camera up off of it’s tripod, angles it down so it gets a clear view of your asscheeks bouncing against his abs from the force of his thrusts, his big hand pressing down on your arched back as his cock splits your creamy cunt open. neither of you last as long as usual, deeply affected by the aphrodisiac and desperate for release— he makes sure to get the best possible angle of him pulling out and cumming on your ass, pearly white ropes of cum decorating your flushed skin like a painting. you’re his favorite work of art, and he just can’t get enough of showing it off.

What do you MEAN their hair stylist made Lix’s bun into a BOW

greed | by design chapter three

pairing: hyunjin x reader ; chan x reader | wc: 30k | genre: adult romance | warnings: heavy angst ; mutual pining/sexual tension ; dark ideation ; age gap ; hurt/comfort ; adult and sexual content. reader discretion is advised. this series contains heavy themes that could be upsetting to some. if you're concerned it might be an issue for you, please read the detailed list of warnings. this work is for adult audiences.

Hyunjin, unhurried, handsome, so tangible and so close, raised his hand then, bringing it near your face, gently pressing his index finger onto your cheek to collect a raindrop. His touch lit a wildfire inside of you that no deluge could put out. “It’s raining,” he said, his deep, expressive gaze fixated on the drop he had stolen from you, but not for long because he looked into your eyes then. “It’s okay,” he added with a smile, offering you his hand. “Come with me.”

Greed is, perhaps, among the most complicated concepts of the human psyche, mostly because it can take so many forms that one is often completely unaware it has woven itself into their heart. It camouflages itself as something else—sometimes, even, as something noble, like concern. 

One time, when you were nine years old, some girls in your class started some sort of unofficial hopscotch tournament. The prizes were nothing more than pretty rocks found on the beach or cheap chapsticks that were supposed to smell and taste like fruit but smelled and tasted like anything but fruit. There was also a fake, dollar store pearl necklace. A small dalmatian plush toy. An old Tamagotchi. Stuff like that. Everyone brought something from home. 

Long story short—you were very good at hopscotch. You quickly climbed your way to one of the two finalist spots in the tournament, but unfortunately twisted your ankle at the end of recess. It was nothing. It didn’t even hurt by the end of the day. 

The next day, though, the girls prevented you from participating in the tournament because they didn’t want you to get hurt. Insisting did nothing. Part of you knew these girls didn’t want to get in trouble because exchanging items like that was not allowed at school, and if you got hurt for real, you’d need to see the nurse and it would risk exposing the whole thing.

Part of you knew you were better than them at hopscotch. You didn’t even want any of their trinkets. Well, maybe except for the Tamagotchi. But still. You just wanted to play and make new friends. Back then, your father often told you that Christopher was a good boy but that you should hang out with girls more instead of spending your weekends looking for frogs under rocks with him.

You were too young to understand the entirety of the situation then. It was only later that you were able to see it as a whole. You were only nine years old but your father was witnessing you growing older and approaching that frightening moment in a young girl’s life—puberty. And maybe he figured it wouldn’t be long before Christopher would drag you into the forest for purposes other than frog hunting and he didn’t like that. 

The girls had been children, just like you were. Maybe Monica wanted Lexi’s plastic diamond ring. Maybe Stef wanted, badly, the little Sailor Moon figurine you brought to add to the prize list. If she had asked you would have given it to her. 

But asking. Asking was one of the most difficult things anyone had to do in the course of their life. Because it exposed them. It bared them, displaying their want, their desire, displaying what they lacked. What was missing from them. It showed the world how greedy they were, and there was real shame in that—unwarranted, but it was still there, and very real. So of course Stef wasn’t going to just ask for it. In this world, we all strive to look like we don’t care. About anything. Ever. It’s easier to live this way, to hide ourselves under several layers of nonchalance—because it makes sure we don’t have to make ourselves vulnerable to others.

Greed took so many forms. Envy and jealousy were symptoms of greed, manifestations of it. So was longing, or selfishness. You had reached a point in your life where you wondered if all those words, all those emotions, perhaps, were just synonyms. Maybe they all meant the same thing. 

You were not above it. You had been greedy, too. You couldn’t tell for sure but maybe you had always known you would never be good enough for Chris, yet you had let him love you nonetheless. You let him kiss you, then you let him confess his love and let it grow into something so big, so rooted into him that some parts of himself became parts of you and vice versa. Then you let him marry you. And then you let him put a baby inside you. 

You had been greedy when, all those years before, you had let Liam fuck you just because you wanted to feel something. Anything. Just because you thought it would be your only opportunity in life to feel desired and wanted, as shallow as it might have been. You had been greedy when you found out you were pregnant and that your first thought had been that you, for sure, could not keep this baby because it was going to wreck your entire life. 

Judith was your punishment for it all. Not her, but her loss, which was just as heavy and tangible. The jealousy you had felt when Chris would hang out with girls. How selfish it had been to let Liam touch you and then fuck you even though you did not want him. Because maybe you did it to see if it would get a reaction out of Chris. 

It felt as though you could not be that anymore—greedy. Because it required some stamina. It demanded some life, some… something. Anything. And you had been stripped of all of it. You remembered the last greed that haunted you for a long time, and perhaps the ghost of it still did. 

You wouldn’t have been able to tell this to anybody, but you had been greedy to let Chris stay. To hope that he would love you again. And you were ashamed. It had been greedy at first and now it was just… cowardly. Which might just have been another version of greed anyway. 

It took too many forms to compile them all, which, you felt, made it the most insidious feeling of them all.

Insidious because you had genuinely believed all this time that you had gotten rid of it. That your heart was dead and would remain dead and that it meant you would never taste the sweetly bitter taste of greed on your tongue. It was true, it was an honest thought, but you had never believed it made you a better person than anybody else. It just made you an empty person.

And then one day, everything changed.

The morning after your conversation with Hyunjin, you went to sit outside to watch the sunrise. You refilled your water bottle and closed the shop, walking the short climb uphill for a better, unobstructed view. Most days, you did not mind the trees. If anything you found it quite beautiful. The way light filtered through them, reflected in hundreds of echoes of luminescence, scattered on the grounds or structures, caressing them, changing them. 

But that morning you were craving for something different. Something had changed within you and you weren’t sure what it was, you just knew it required action to make it real, to make it official. 

Maybe you had known all along. That aloneness might have been forced upon you—that you had been made alone and lonely and miserable, but that you would need to do something about it to test the bars of this prison, to challenge them. Not escape them, per se, because you did not believe you would ever not be alone. But, it turned out, no matter how unattainable you were, no matter how broken, somebody had visited that prison. And you were still alone, sure. But a different kind of it. 

So you walked. The sky was a dull gray when you set out, making your way on the dirt road leading to the gate and the main road. There was nothing else in the area—nothing that could be seen anyway. Just a forest and a road and the sound of the river flowing downhill. On some days, the iodine breeze, coming from the shore, made it all the way here, blending with the other scents. The evergreens, the decaying pine needles on the ground, the damp riverbank. Together, they became something else. Still very much distinct—nobody could mistake the smell of the ocean for the smell of trees—yet changed by one another. 

It gave you something to think about.

That day was one of those days. Saltiness permeated in the air along with the rest of it. The morning dew on the grass, rendering it cold and slippery. The trees releasing their pollen. Flowers growing in patches at random places. You walked unhurriedly, knowing you had plenty of time, listening to the forest waking up around you. Finches and chickadees flew over you, crossing the narrow dirt road to get from one tree to another, searching for food or a mate or perhaps both. As you progressed, the trees became more sparse, allowing you to see the river.

It was wide here, and the water was always calm in that spot, making it look like a lake. You had seen it all your life and yet it fascinated you still to this day. Once, when you were little, you had gathered all your courage to ask your parents why they called it a river when it didn’t look like one. Your mother explained that it was a river and just that. That day, your mother found an old school book of hers. You wouldn’t have been more than five or six years old, small enough that every aspect of the world seemed grand to you. It was your mother who taught you that lakes became rivers—that they were the same body of water. She used the poetic approach with you, adding that rivers, even the smallest ones, would ultimately spill into the sea and that it meant everything was somehow connected. She said the place where the river curved and became wide and calm was not really a lake, just a river taking a break before continuing its journey to the estuary and the ocean. 

You thought of your mother that morning when you slowed down to take in the sight of the river taking a break, becoming something else while remaining exactly what it was—a river. Just that. 

You heard the common loons before you saw them. Stretching your neck as you walked uphill, trying to see anything as the dawn was still shy and the world still quite dark. Dark but not opaque like night—dim but see-through. Gossamer. Your mother had taught you that word when she showed you her mother’s wedding veil, made of delicate tulle and lace. Your mother had taught you many things but she wasn’t done schooling you when she died. 

You wish she were still alive because things were weighing on your heart that only a mother would be able to untangle. She would have been the only person to truly understand how it felt when Judith died. And all that it entailed. 

The common loon’s haunting call filled the air, loud and quiet at once, occupying as much space outside as it did inside you. You kept walking, knowing their voices would follow you. When you reached the top of the hill, you went to sit past the trees, on one of the big flat rocks that had been put on the edge of the river to stop people from descending into it. It was enticing after all, this place where the river rested before it became something stronger, but it was treacherous as the undercurrents were quite strong here. 

But the ducks did not mind the undercurrents this morning. You watched them as the sun slowly rose on the horizon, breaking through the forest on the other side of the river. It was a pair. Two adults and their two chicks. It had been your father who told you that common loons mated for life, which meant the same pair would reunite in their chosen place to nest, mate, and raise their young. And when the time to migrate would come, they would go their separate ways more often than not but still reunite come spring.

Since that day, you had nothing but admiration for them. How much faith did one need to have to leave the partner you had known all your life and the place where you had raised maybe dozens of chicks, only to hope that you would see them again when winter ended? 

But what happens if one gets lost? you had asked your father. And he told you that common loons would only pair with another if their mate passed away. Last year, your father attended a high school reunion. Long story short, he reconnected with an old friend—Marcy. Marcy and he had briefly dated when they were teens, and it looked like she would have been down to relive the experience. You understood that he did not want to betray your mother, but sometimes, you feared for him, because he could not move on. 

You reminded him of the common loons one day, thinking it was a solid argument as to why he should call Marcy back. And then you were faced with a truth so ugly and so terrible that you had buried it somewhere deep within you—you had discovered the difference between could not move on and would not move on. Your father would not move on. By choice. Maybe, like you, he refused to let greed permeate him, and chose misery instead. 

The ducks swam gently on the water, the parents feeding their chicks with whatever they found under the surface. You wondered if they were the same two common loons that you had seen for the past several years. Or if one had been lost and the other had moved on. If it were the case, you wondered if they remembered their old mate. If they missed them. 

You wished your mother were here. Right now. Sitting next to you, watching the ducks and the sun as it rose in the sky. 

You would tell her about Hyunjin. 

You would tell her about his paintings. About the kindness with which he treated you—you, a complete stranger. You would tell her he didn’t feel like a stranger the way other people did. Others were strangers in the sense that there was distance between you and them, and perhaps even a wall of sorts. Hyunjin was a stranger but it was not a wall that separated the two of you—it was a door. And he had opened it last night, politely but decidedly. 

You would tell your mother you had never spoken with someone as direct and as honest as him, and that it made you want to be more like him. Because you liked being treated like that. You would tell her he did not hesitate to make space for you, to share weed and liquor with you. You would tell her about the charcoal sketches he showed you.

There was no one else in the world you could possibly tell these things. That you had forgotten what happiness felt like the way expats forget their home country—they remember it like one remembers a movie instead of their past. 

You would tell your mother that Hyunjin was the closest thing to a genuine memory of happiness that you had felt since that awful day when they put your daughter’s dead body in your arms. 

You would tell your mother that you did not want to let him be more than that. That it had already been too much. That each smile was a betrayal to Judith. 

Every flutter of your heart was a betrayal to Chris. 

It could not be stopped—something about last night’s encounter had reignited your heart. And you felt it this morning. It seemed like a frequency emanated from it, steady, echoing the sun rays or perhaps bird song. 

Greed.

Complicated. Intricate. Unavoidable. 

You wanted it all. You wanted to respect your daughter’s memory. Also, you wanted to respect your marriage to Christopher because you had loved him all your life. Also, you wanted to feel something other than the crushing weight on your heart—in other words, you wanted to let Hyunjin soothe some of that pain, let him hold some of that burden for you. 

But you couldn’t have it all, could you? 

You stared at the horizon before you, making sure to notice the beauty in it. But all that you could see was the way Hyunjin looked a lot like the place where a river could come to rest before it started again, only to become something stronger. Grander. 

You had never been one to believe in fate before—there had been no need for it in your life. Not really. 

It had been so long since anything made sense. Harmony had ceased to exist the moment Judith’s heart failed. 

But before her, there had been a painting for which you developed a liking, a fascination. The fascination extended to its creator. The painting depicted loss—the same loss that would be forced upon you years after you discovered it. Maybe you loved it even more after. You certainly understood it better. Unfortunately. 

It had not been a comfort, not really—Loss, the painting, was more like an anchor to you. Something that you could look at and remember that you were not dreaming. That even though it felt like it, you were not trapped in a nightmare. You needed to be reminded of that sometimes, or else you started to hope you would wake up soon. 

Out of all the camping grounds in the world, it was at yours that Naro’s direct descendant ended up. And the colors of Hyunjin’s soul were familiar to you—so was the damage in it. 

And so, it made sense. Somehow. That it was all related. For so long, the pieces of the puzzle had been floating in chaos. And now, one by one, they were finding their place within one another, showing you little by little the illustration their whole would become. 

And you did not know what it would become. 

But today, for the first time in a long while, you wondered what it would all amount to. With genuine curiosity. Today, you wanted to see what the pieces of the puzzle might reveal—if they revealed anything in the first place. Chances were that the image would be abstract or blurred or maybe something terrible. 

However, you still wanted to know. And if that wasn’t the manifestation of whatever changes had occurred within you, then what was it?

You left the shop in Allie’s hands after staying with her a little longer than you needed to, but the cause was noble—you helped her set everything up for the opening, and then you stayed even as the first clients came by. It was almost always the same kind of clients who were here this early into the day. You had the smokers who wanted to make sure they wouldn’t run out of cigarettes with their coffee. You had those who would go fishing and needed bait. You had parents who absolutely needed milk or juice for the kids. Then you had what you called the true vacationers—they were up at sunrise just because. For no other reason than they might as well stay up if they got awoken by a bird nearby or something. They had no worries at all, and often felt like taking a little walk around—they stopped at the shop to get a coffee or a bottle of water, or just to have a conversation with another human being. 

Allie was just the right person to work the mornings. A widow in her 50s, she applied for the job last year, admitting that she craved human connection and wanted an opportunity to find it in a place like Riverside Campground. Neither you nor Chris had any hesitation in hiring her. 

“I think you’re all good here,” you told Allie after doing a last checkup of the self-serve coffee machines. 

“You go sleep now, stop making excuses not to,” Allie retorted with a playful smile. The smile faded a little and her eyes took an inquisitive look. “Are you alright?” 

The tone with which she asked the question shook you, as though you knew it meant much more than just how are you.

“Yes I’m alright, what is it?” you responded with that rehearsed voice and that rehearsed smile that you hated so much.

From behind the cash register, Allie tilted her head slightly, observing you. A group of four, all of them in fishing gear, was approaching. You could hear their voices through the windows. They sounded excited. 

“Nothing,” Allie replied. Then she immediately added, “I don’t know, you seem a little different.”

Part of you wanted to run away from this place—and this conversation—as quickly as possible. You were not the kind of person who talked about these things, certainly not with your employees. Not because you didn’t like them but precisely because you did. You wanted to pretend that you were whole. You didn’t want them to know they worked for a wreck of a human being. Out of concern for them. Out of shame and guilt. Out of greed, perhaps. 

The few seconds it took for you to come up with an appropriate and believable response were more than enough for Allie to understand that whatever you were about to say would not be the truth.

“I’m not used to working overnight,” you said anyway. A lame attempt, but an attempt nonetheless. 

“That’s not really what I meant,” she told you. “I meant different in a less melancholic way.”

You stood near the coffee machines, your eyes fixated on the woman behind the counter, frozen in shock. Panic took over you—you had never told Allie about Judith, not directly. But the older employees, or your father, or Christopher’s parents, would sometimes talk about it, and word usually got around. The team was very sensible about this and never really brought it up. Allie had talked to you about it last year. Because she was a mom, too, and only a mother would understand this loss. She said you reminded her a little bit of her daughter. She hugged you that day, but never talked about it again.

Case in point—Allie knew about it all. She knew about the gaping wound in your chest. 

Today, right now, Allie had become the first witness of your betrayal to your daughter. And you did not know what to do about it. 

“It’s a good thing,” Allie added, her smile returning to her lips. She shook her head and pushed a strand of graying hair behind her ear. “Remember what I told you last fall?” 

Yes, you remembered. It was something that had been told to you before, in passing, in less direct words. It happened last year on the last day of the season—much like opening day, the camping ground organized a big party to end the season. Bonfires, music, barbecue, drinks of all kinds. Allie wasn’t even scheduled that day but she came anyway and sat with you by a bonfire while you were making for her your famous ‘fire apple’, which was an apple coated in butter and brown sugar, slow-roasted over flames. Few words had been said, except Allie had told you, “You’re allowed to be happy, you know?” And when that hadn’t gotten her a response, she added, “Or at least, you’re allowed to be something other than sad.” 

You did not think it was true. The others didn’t know. They didn’t know about what had happened when you were seventeen. The baby that you had been too scared to keep. So it made sense that they couldn’t comprehend the entire situation—they simply did not know that you had failed so many times. That life was punishing you for what you had done. For the thoughts you had. The doubts you had—how you had not been sure that you wanted to have a baby with Chris.

That you had wanted to want it. 

There were no doubts, however, about the very real love you had for your unborn daughter. From the moment you knew she existed within you. That love became unconditional. That love became an integral part of you. But maybe none of it mattered, not if you had been secretly wishing that it would take a long time for you to become pregnant.

Was there a word for wishful thinking, but in a negative context? 

Just a manifestation of your deepest, darkest thoughts, perhaps? 

Whatever it had been. It was all your fault. 

“I remember,” you told Allie with a nod. “I’ll try to keep that in mind.” You didn’t really mean that and you could only hope she hadn’t noticed. “Have a nice day, Allie.” 

And she wished you a good day in return, urging you, again, to go home and sleep. 

You grabbed your things and made your way toward the employee parking lot where you immediately saw that Chris’ truck was there already. You sat behind the wheel of your car, pondering over Minho’s breakfast offer. He sounded like he meant it when he invited you, and the truth was you kind of wanted to go. But another, worse truth was also lingering in your chest—you needed time to process all those thoughts crowding your mind. 

You needed time to get used to the bitter, unpleasant taste of shame on your tongue, and no amount of bacon or orange juice would help with that. How much time? It was hard to tell, and maybe you’d never actually get used to it. Maybe you’d just be forced to live with it. The same way the rest had been thrown at you against your will. 

The same way aloneness was forced upon you.

You dreamt.

The dream was fuzzy, neither good nor bad. A nightmare but not really. It was hard to call a dream a nightmare when it was just a copy of your life. It would be like admitting to something terrible, something that should remain secret, unspoken. 

But you dreamt of a city you didn’t know, a metropolis, walking in its crowded streets, everything around you a blur. In this dream, you were making your way to the cemetery where Judith had been buried, only, you were lost. And you couldn’t at all figure out where to go. You asked faceless passersby for directions but they did not see you, or pretended not to. Only, you were not scared. You were unhappy and upset but this was no different than your usual. 

I want to see my baby, you kept telling these strangers. Tell me where to go, please.

But they said nothing at all, and somewhere in your heart, you knew it was because there was nothing to see in the place where your daughter’s name was engraved onto a pretty crescent moon-shaped tombstone. No amount of tears that you would cry into the soil that covered Judith would ever bring her back, nor would it change anything. 

In this dream, you kept walking in the city you did not know, stopping in front of a building, a shop of sorts, with a large window at the front. There was something displayed in the window—a painting, almost as large as the glass that separated you from the canvas. This painting did not exist in reality yet you recognized it as a self-portrait. It showed a young man sitting in front of an easel, painting a lake. His face was mostly hidden behind his dark brown hair. Black but not quite. You stared at the painting for a long time. It seemed like the lake inside of it was almost too lifelike, as though the man was bringing it into existence just so he could drown in it.

And then you woke up.

The house was quiet. Quiet in a way a house was quiet nowadays—so not really. The steady humming of appliances in the kitchen did very little to cover the noises coming from outside. Cars. Their engines, the tires on the pavement. It was a small street and there weren’t too many cars passing by, but when there were, you heard them. 

Your neighbors too. You heard them. On the left of your house was an empty lot but on the right was a couple in their 70s. Lovely people. They had a few children who were no longer children because they had children themselves. Many parties and barbecues occurred over the summers with everyone in this beautiful family reunited. They weren’t too loud and it’s not like the parties went on until impossible hours. Truth be told, you were so busy during the summer that it didn’t bother you. 

It’s just that you heard them. Cassie and John, and the cars, and the children on their bicycles. And while you were aware that hearing anything at all was a privilege and should not be taken for granted, you couldn’t help but wish that you didn’t, sometimes. 

This—all of this—just reminded you that life went on for everyone else except you. You were stuck somewhere in the past or perhaps in many places. In a mall in the next city over. In a hospital room. And yet nowhere at all. Maybe somewhere under the river, buried, forgotten. 

You rolled into your bed, lying on your side, facing the space where Christopher should be. Would have been if you were anything other than… this. You touched it. The mattress, the sheets. You pressed your face onto his pillow, inhaling his scent. It was just strong enough that you knew for sure he had slept here last night, sometime before you came home. At least he had been alone, because your pillow smelled like you and not like Summer. 

It was with your head on your husband’s pillow that you remembered your dream. You rarely dreamt and when you did, the memory of it didn’t usually follow you into the real world. But it did today, images from it lingering behind your eyelids, playing like scenes out of a silent movie. A city. You, just walking. A man and a lake. A shop.

You opened your eyes again, realizing that you were having an idea. A dangerous one. Frankly, a stupid idea. And you really shouldn’t listen to it. You should forget that dream and the reasons it haunted your mind, but instead you pushed yourself up and made your way to the bathroom for a shower, telling yourself that whatever was occurring in your head was more like being colonized by thoughts rather than having them sprout within your mind. You took your time, more than you ought to. You shampooed your hair twice. You conditioned it mindfully. You washed your body carefully, the way you would if you loved it. Pretending that you loved it and that it was not a graveyard. You rinsed everything off. You applied lotion. 

It didn’t take a lot of time before the smell of coffee invaded the first floor—you let the coffee machine brew your cup while you returned upstairs to put some clothes on, scrolling your phone to find an address. You had been to that shop before but it was a few towns over and you just wanted to make sure. 

It was greedy. What you were about to do. It looked like a generous thing—to an outsider and perhaps even to yourself if you were less self-aware, it would appear as an act of kindness. And it was. But it was so many other things too—things too frightening to even think about. 

So instead of thinking about them, you put on some comfortable clothes, poured your coffee in your favorite travel mug—it had a funny frog on it—and left your home only to get in your car and drive away. The whole time, you wondered what it meant. That you were going where you were going and doing what you were about to do. You wondered if it was as significant as it seemed to be to you. 

You wondered why your heart was fighting so damn hard to stay alive—to keep beating, to keep feeling, when you had wished for the exact opposite for so long. All this time you thought you had some semblance of control over it all. You thought you had some anchor somewhere, something keeping you where you needed to be, which was to say, as far away from happiness as you could be. 

But that day, you drove the hour it took to get to a small art supplies store, run by a lady who liked to visit the camping every other year or so. It was so tiny it was difficult to imagine the shop could hold much and yet you knew that any artist could find what they wanted here, and more. It was a sunny day but the shop was cool because the lady installed air conditioning two years back. 

She recognized you from behind the counter, calling you by your first name, which she remembered, and offering you a kind smile. The wall behind her was covered in shelves that were covered in so many things. Canvases. Paintbrushes. Archival grade glue. Wax, pencils, ink. 

You had no control over the smile you offered her in return. 

“What can I do for you today, young lady?” She always called you that but you did not feel young anymore. “Are you planning another art workshop for the camping ground?” 

You always planned an art workshop at the camping ground, most often for kids, but sometimes one for teens and adults, too. But there was rarely much of a crowd on those, as though grown-ups were too intimidated, whereas children felt no pressure to perform. They came, they spread colors on a canvas and they were content with just that. It was more complicated for adults. They thought they had to be good. They thought they had to know how to paint. But nobody in the world needed to be good at what they did for the first time. Or for the hundredth time. The truth that adults seem to forget, intentionally or not, is that you can keep trying and doing things even if you suck at them. 

“Yes, but that’s not why I’m here today,” you replied, scanning the wall behind her and then the other shelves around you, searching for what you were looking for. “I would like to buy your best, fanciest watercolor paints, please. And aquarelle paper and brushes obviously. The whole kit someone of high skill would need to paint.” 

Those words released a tangible taste on your tongue. Something sweet. It reminded you of honey with the way it coated the inside of your mouth and went down your throat as you attempted to swallow it down. It didn’t get stuck in your throat. It just existed within you. 

You had never really been good at any of it. Making friends, talking to people. Being happy. 

Healing. 

But it didn’t mean you should stop trying even though you sucked at it, right?

It was mid-afternoon by the time you made it back home. You would have been expected over at Riverside some time ago but you also knew that nobody would actually care enough to text you, not unless the campground was short-staffed. Or on fire. And you had been extra careful, checking the schedules twice, making sure that nobody had called off. 

You weren’t Chris, so it meant they wouldn’t notice you weren’t there unless somebody needed something specific from you. Or if they couldn’t find Chris, for one reason or another. 

There was something comforting in that. Invisibility. It felt like your own little superpower—to have the ability to disappear from people’s minds. You left no trace where you went. You were polite and kind and understanding, and yet so forgettable. You were not fun or special the way Christopher was. Christopher stayed in people’s minds long after he had parted from them.

You, on the other hand, did not. 

Which is why you drove back home instead of going straight to Riverside Campground as you initially planned. The thought had occurred to you about halfway through the ride—that Hyunjin had probably forgotten you. 

Nothing about you was substantial enough to leave any mark on people. While it could be comforting, it was not an easy thing to accept and it would have been a lie to say you were one hundred percent okay with it, but you were also aware of the situation and knew better than to keep any sort of hope. Like the hope that you existed somewhere in Hyunjin’s mind even today, several hours after your private moment with him.

What a humbling experience it was. Because you couldn’t get him out of your mind. You thought of his paintings and the way he used color or the way light hit some of his pieces, giving life to them through his agile impasto technique, adding depth with the shadows it left behind. And that made you wonder if there could be beauty buried somewhere within you, should you be seen under the right kind of light. That led you to wonder what kind of light would ever be the right one for such a miracle to happen. 

So you went home, unnoticed, leaving the brown paper bag containing the art supplies on the kitchen table and immediately making your way upstairs. You had showered earlier but you needed to be under the water again, perhaps to wash away some of the things lingering within your skull. You shouldn’t even be thinking of him at all. Hyunjin. It was cool that he was related to Naro but it was another thing to remember fondly the way his lips moved when he spoke. The exact shape of them as he said certain words, like alone, or love. Or when he said your name.

You shouldn’t be remembering the words he said to you because he must have said them to be kind after you forced your secret upon him. When he said that your soul had many colors in it, or that he hoped he would see you again for drinks.

You shouldn’t be remembering the way it felt when he hugged you, holding you in his arms for a brief instant. He was strong but he held you delicately, almost like he was afraid to break you. Couldn’t he see that you were beyond that already? Crushed? Destroyed?

Distracted would have been another good word to describe you as you returned to your bedroom, wrapped in a towel, to find some clothes. You asked the smart speaker for information on the weather to help you figure out your outfit and settled for a sundress, as the day would get warmer around the sunset, and cooler overnight. 

You got dressed. The whole time, you wondered if perhaps you ought to use wrapping paper for the art supplies, or maybe just slap a colorful bow on the bag. But then it would seem like a gift and not just an apology for not keeping the right kind of paint at the general store. However, it really was a gift, because no fucking camping ground sold high-end art supplies at their shop. They were lucky if they had a shop at all. Nobody in their right mind should have expected to find such art supplies in the same shop where they bought live worms for fishing trips. Or tarps. Or toys to play in the sand.

It was just a way for you to say thank you. Something had changed within you thanks to him, and because he had forgotten you didn’t mean you shouldn’t be grateful. He had shown you an exclusive sketch by Naro himself, and that alone meant more than he could even realize. 

You were thinking of Hyunjin’s hands as you went down the staircase, remembering it from videos seen online where he was painting, and it was all that you could see—his hand, the paintbrush he held, and the canvas on which he applied colors. He held the brush in a very particular way. His fingers were long and graceful, and his brushstrokes were just as elegant, perfectly balanced. Strong when they needed to be and delicate when it was required. The videos he posted were pretty short but you could watch him for hours, truly. There was something fascinating about the way he painted. As though he painted like one danced, or played the violin. Like it was his soul the paintbrush was spreading onto the canvas, not paint.

But you shouldn’t be thinking about any of that. At least not in the way you were. 

Which is why you almost collapsed from shock when you heard a voice coming from the kitchen.

“What’s that?” 

Chris. 

Your first reflex was to look through the front window to verify that you weren’t hallucinating. You gulped when you saw that his pick-up truck was indeed parked right next to yours. He must have come in when you were in the shower.

After taking a deep breath, you made your way to the kitchen only to find Chris holding the paper bag and inspecting its contents. Your heart dropped before it entered a frenzied race—your pulse quickened so much you could feel it through your ribcage. In fact, you feared he would hear it from where he stood.

You figured it wouldn’t feel much different if he had caught you straight-up cheating. With a cock in your mouth and all.

It was difficult to read Chris, today especially. You had no idea why he was here as it was past his lunch break and he usually avoided you unless he really couldn’t. His shoulders and neck were stiff as though he was nervous and it made you wonder if something had gone wrong back at the campground. 

Then Chris proceeded to grab one of the items from the bag to look at it under the light spilling from the nearest window. A slight frown appeared on his already tense face. “You picked up painting?” He looked at you in a way that hinted he was trying to be nice about it, but after knowing each other for so long—and after many lost games of Pictionary—he knew you did not have the capacity to sketch even the simplest of objects. 

You ran your tongue on your lips. Your mouth was very dry all of a sudden, enough that it felt a little like your trachea was closing in on itself. You cleared your throat to rid yourself of the lump getting stuck in it, which was shame-shaped. 

The mere fact that you wanted to lie to Chris about this excessively minor event said a lot about the entire situation. In this instant, a vast sadness overcame you. As though you were realizing something that had been under your nose all this time. Only, your brain wasn’t letting you access the entirety of the revelation. 

All that you knew was that despite how seemingly inconsequential this was—meeting Hyunjin—it had shifted things within you, things you previously thought were cemented to your bones.

You inhaled deeply, bracing yourself so you could be brave and not lie to your husband. Because there was nothing to lie about. “It’s for Hyunjin. He traveled with art supplies and the airport lost his bag.”

A cloud passed in Christopher’s eyes but it was only temporary. You saw it but you pretended you didn’t—for your own sake. For his, too. It was barely anything anyway. The kind of cloud that covers the sky momentarily one afternoon and you wonder if it’s going to ruin your day or not, and in the end the blue returns and it doesn’t rain. And you realize there was never even a risk of precipitation.

Maybe, deep down, you were hoping Chris would be angry. Upset. Jealous. Because at least that would mean he still cared. That would mean there was still something to be upset about. After all, you were upset when you saw Summer wearing his hoodie. But he stood there in the kitchen with sunlight caressing his handsome face, on which an expression that was neither anger nor jealousy or even disappointment had appeared. 

“He paints?” Chris said, his voice steady and low, but clear as day. 

“He’s the guy who asked for watercolors yesterday, remember? Jeongin wanted to know if we sold any,” you reminded him, causing Chris to nod before he returned the tube of Phthalo Green to the paper bag.

“I remember.” He stretched his neck—Chris seemed less nervous, or maybe more of something else. It was difficult to tell. “That’s really nice of you.”

The worst part of knowing Chris had fallen out of love for you was that he was still your best friend. He was still the guy you grew up with, the one who would take you frog hunting, the person with whom you shared the most memories. But it was as though that best friend was buried underneath layers of dead soil and you no longer had access to him. Or maybe you did, only you didn’t know which tool to use for the excavation. Today, Christopher looked more than ever like an archeological miracle. Something perfectly preserved, but no longer active. Just remains. The skeleton of what once was. 

You couldn’t help it—you shared your enthusiasm with him anyway. It was greedy. Maybe you just wanted to get a reaction out of him. Something. Anything. “You know, Naro?”

Another nod. 

“Well, they’re related,” you explained. “Naro is his great-great-grandfather or something.” 

A strange smile painted itself on Christopher’s lips, this place that was once so, so familiar to you. “Wow,” was all he said, with a sigh he tried to conceal. 

Every second without a burst of anger was like another blade in your heart. 

“What a coincidence,” you chose to say. You did not know what to say, but you knew you had to say more. You knew it had to be you—it always had to be you. Who soothed the awkwardness of conversations. It was your ball and chain, your burden, your duty. “Are things okay at Riverside? I wouldn’t have expected you at this time of the day.” 

Chris went to the fridge to pour himself a glass of pineapple juice. You could tell it was out of nervousness—he needed to be moving because it was easier than standing there and looking you in the eyes. You couldn’t blame him. 

“Everything’s fine with the campground,” he replied, and he sounded a bit more like Chris then. He drank his juice and put the glass in the dishwasher, turning to you. “I came to see you.”

Your heart jumped but you immediately caught it, making sure to give it a good kick as a warning. Christopher was more than your husband—your lives had been intertwined for as long as you could remember. There was a plethora of reasons why he would have wanted to see you and the scenario in which he suddenly loved you again was the least possible of them all. 

Your words got lost somewhere between your brain and your lips, falling back into your throat as that lump that was still stuck there made breathing difficult. You gulped, staring at Chris as he made his way back to you, closer than he had been, studying you. “I worry about you,” he said under his breath. “When’s the last time you had a real meal?” 

This wasn’t new. There were times when you figured Chris possibly felt guilty about not loving you anymore so he overcompensated in other ways. You hated those thoughts. You hated that they lingered in your brain, no matter how hard you tried to push them away. You wouldn’t want him to know you felt that way. It was so ugly, so awful. 

“Did you eat breakfast?” he insisted. 

“I had coffee,” you recalled, realizing you couldn’t answer his first question. 

“You don’t look well. Sit down.” Gently, Chris nudged you towards the nearest chair. “Your dad called me. He’s worried, too.” With this, he proceeded to grab food from the fridge. By the look of it, he was making you a turkey sandwich. 

“Ah, I understand your surprise visit now,” you sighed. Honest to god, you did not mean for it to come out as caustic as it did. You really were an awful wife. When the hell was he going to divorce you, for fuck’s sake?

“I’m not here just because of him,” Christopher went on, carefully spreading spicy mayo on your favorite bread. “I’m here because I know you lied to Jake. I spoke to him. I don’t care that you lied to Jake to take the night shift,” he added, turning to you. “I just wish you didn’t feel like you had to lie to me about something as insignificant as that.” 

You felt so small then, in your sunlit kitchen, sitting with your hands on your knees. You felt small and stupid and ridiculous, even. Of course. 

“There would have been a time you would have just told me,” he kept going, still making that fucking sandwich. “So it made me worry.” 

Your fingernails sank into the skin of your thighs. You looked through the window—from your point of view, all you could see was the sky and the trees in the backyard, which were beautiful. You liked this house. You wished it had been a happy one. 

“I just wanted to be outside,” you admitted, and it was true. 

“I know.” And you knew he knew. He knew that you liked spending nights outside to put your thoughts back in order, or as close to orderly as they could be anyway. “You didn’t have to lie to me, you know?” His voice was soft but firm at the same time. “You never do.”

You buried your face into your hands. Chris was right. You fought the tears as best you could because you didn’t want him to see you like that. Next thing you knew, gentle fingers were wrapping themselves around your wrists, pulling your hands away. He was right there. Chris. He had lowered himself to look you in the eyes, and he didn’t do that often these days. You loved him in that moment, or maybe you loved the memory of what he used to be.

You did your best to memorize it all. The shape of his lips. The color of his eyes when the sun spilled into his irises. His scent. The feeling of his fingers on your skin. You didn’t want to forget any of it, no matter how painful. You never wanted to forget what it had felt like to be loved by him.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your vision blurring. 

“Don’t.” A frown appeared between his brow, and he thumbed a stray tear away as it rolled down your cheek. “Just tell me if I need to call Dr. Carroll.” 

The therapist you saw from time to time, no more than once a year, mostly to appease your father. You had nothing against him. Dr. Carroll was an excellent psychotherapist, it’s just that it was a waste of time for you. Nothing would ever fix you. Nothing.

You flinched, understanding the implications of what Chris was saying.

“I’m not going to kill myself if that’s what you’re thinking.” 

It was him who recoiled this time—Chris physically pulled back a few inches, letting go of you. He hated it. He couldn’t stand it when you said those words out loud, but after having them haunt your mind for so long, you were familiar with them. Chris seemed to believe life was sacred. You believed that too, once. Maybe. Happiness had never found you easily but maybe you used to think something like that at least when Judith lived inside you. 

Any parent would tell you the same—if they lost their child, they wouldn’t want to keep going. Simple as that. 

But you went on. For some reason. And now you were here in this kitchen, with your husband staring at you like you were a horror movie, and maybe you were. 

“Don’t say that.” Chris stood, returning to his sandwich-making duties. “You know I hate it when you say that.” 

In some ways, you envied him. His sorrow was undeniable but presented itself so differently than yours. It was as though Chris had this urgency to live, and to live fully. Like doing otherwise would be a dishonor to Judith. You felt the complete opposite of that. It’s not that you wanted to die—it’s just that you didn’t know how to exist in a way that didn’t fill you with shame, so you were stuck somewhere between two worlds. 

“I know. I’m sorry,” you mumbled as Chris slid a plate in front of you. You stared at the sandwich like you had never seen a sandwich before, or like you had seen a million. 

“It’s alright.” Chris put his hand on your head and ruffled your hair a little. Gently. Kindly. Almost like he still loved you. “I’ll call your dad to tell him you’re fine.” The smell of his cologne blended with the scent of the outdoors that clung to him. He had been around someone who mowed a lawn and you knew what that meant. “I have maintenance tonight but wanna have dinner at Marlene’s tomorrow? Some of the staff will be going to celebrate the season.” 

He did that sometimes. When he pitied you. Or maybe it was for other, more complicated reasons. It didn’t matter—you fell for it almost every time. 

“Sure, why not?” You did love Marlene’s cooking, and it was always comforting at the campground restaurant. It had been renovated since but it reminded you of your childhood nonetheless—bonus if Chris was present. 

Chris nodded and proceeded to put the ingredients back into the fridge. He took his time but you knew it was just because he wanted to make sure you were actually eating the sandwich. It was good. He had used all the things you liked. You ate it while staring at the sky and sometimes at him.

But he got a text from Jeongin—there was a problem back at the campground, something minor about an electric panel. So Chris left. He wished you a good rest of your day and said, “I’ll see you later,” and he left. And the paper bag with watercolors was still on the table and he hadn’t been angry about it, or jealous, and you wish he had been. 

How greedy of you. 

You ate your sandwich in the empty, quiet house. And then you put the plate in the dishwasher and headed out, driving the short ride to Riverside Campground while listening to the local radio station. It wasn’t particularly good but it was distracting enough that while it played, your brain wasn’t full of stuff. You knew it was effective as soon as you turned the engine off because the noise in your mind came back.

One might have believed you were a religious woman if they could hear your thoughts as you walked through the camping ground, holding this paper bag. They were closer to prayer than to rational thinking.

I hope he won’t be there. I hope Minho also won’t be there. But deeper, quieter—I mean, I’d like to see Hyunjin again. I hope I don’t see Chris around. I hope he cancels dinner tomorrow so I don’t have to pretend to be alright around him. I hope I see him tonight. Maybe I should call Dad and ask him to come for dinner at Marlene’s, too. And then, when the familiar sound of an electric lawn trimmer echoed from one side of the campground, you decided to go the other way, even though it would add twenty minutes to your walk. I don’t really feel like seeing Summer today. Chris will probably be with her. I don’t hate her. I wish I hated her. I wish I was her friend. I wish Chris had been angry at me.

It all came down to the same thing—the thoughts were expressed with different words but they held a similar hidden meaning, which was that you wished you were somebody else. Or rather that you weren’t you. Maybe life would be less complicated if you weren’t… that. If you weren’t a woman selfish enough to secretly want her husband to be jealous because she bought art supplies for a handsome young man while secretly wishing this aforementioned handsome young man somehow remembered her at all. The same way she remembered him. Which is to say, a way that involved her lips and maybe her hair, and the way her body felt against his.

How greedy of you. 

Before you knew it, you were walking on the path leading to the RV shared by Hyunjin and Minho. It was mid-afternoon on a bright sunny day and regardless of your abstract, prayer-like thoughts, you really didn’t imagine anyone would be there. Realistically speaking. You figured you’d leave the bag somewhere near the door, hidden from view, and go back. Maybe you’d go hang out at the shop or at the park office. Most people spent the day doing all sorts of outdoor activities before coming back to rest in the evenings. 

Needless to say, you found yourself a little puzzled when you saw that Minho was standing outside the RV. Though a part of your brain reminded you that people were free to do whatever the hell they wanted to do with their time, you still found it strange. You allowed yourself to observe him as you walked, slowing down your pace. He was taking things from larger containers to put them in a fancy backpack. There was a radio playing at a low volume somewhere inside the RV, the sound of it spilling from the open windows. 

That didn’t stop him from hearing you as you approached. To be fair, this was the quietest part of the entire campsite. “We missed you at breakfast,” was all he said at first.

You were far away enough that you thought you misheard him. Surely you must have misheard him. “Excuse me?” You picked up a pace, finding yourself curious and eager to see where this conversation was going. 

“Buh-reak-fast,” Minho repeated, exaggerating his pronunciation. “I made food for you!” 

He looked up from his task then, studying you from where you stood, which was a few feet away. He put the backpack down, leaning against the RV, adopting a comfortable, nonchalant posture, which invited a conversation. 

You took a step closer, a frown appearing over your eyes as they danced around the perimeter as though they were looking for something. Or someone. And maybe they were. But you didn’t want to be looking for anything so you focused on the man before you, only no words came to your mind and even less on your tongue. 

His inquisitive expression turned a shade darker as his eyes squinted. “You didn’t think I meant it when I gave you the invite, did you?”

You gulped, wondering if you were an open book for just about anybody who came across you. “I mean—” But nothing else came, so you pressed your lips together, your heart beating erratically. 

“Hyunjin was right I guess,” Minho sighed. “He said you wouldn’t come because you probably thought I was just being polite,” he added as an explanation. “He said you guys spent some time together last night.” 

“He told you that?” But really you meant, Hyunjin talked about me? And it was stupid. Naive.

“He tends to be right about people. Annoys the shit out of me,” Minho sighed. “For future reference, when I say something, it’s because I mean it, not because I’m trying to be nice.” 

You nodded, giving yourself a few seconds to evade his gaze and let your cheeks cool off. “Noted.” 

As you came closer, it became evident that Minho was gathering fishing gear. He took a few instants to secure everything and zip up the backpack. 

“I’m sorry,” you said, and you meant it. “I worked all night and then… It’s true that I wasn’t sure if I should come or not.” 

Minho offered you a gentle smile, motioning you to sit down. “Do you want lemonade? A beer?”

“No, but thank you so much though.” You realized you spoke the words before really thinking them over. You were just used to staying away from people, especially strangers. “I just came here to drop this.” You gave the paper bag a little shake. “Is Hyunjin here?” 

“He’s around.” Minho scanned the area, twisting his neck. “He said he was gonna walk by the river. Is that for him?”

“Just a little something.” You could leave it right here. Only you didn’t. “I’ll try to find him. Thank you,” you added with a smile that you almost meant. 

You followed the same path you had last night when you unexpectedly smelled weed—you went over the short fence and landed on the soft grass, the feeling of it familiar underneath the soles of your sandals. Today, the air smelled like the first few days of summer, when the trees and plants were still a little shy but undeniably alive. You remembered feeling like this, once. 

Around you, the river was just as alive too, flowing urgently and sparkling under the bright sun. You held onto the handle of the bag as you walked cautiously, still wondering what the hell you were doing here. And also, what the hell you would tell Hyunjin.

Your train of thought came to a stop abruptly when you heard his voice. It came to you faintly at first, as though it was carried by the wind. But you kept going, reaching the spot where you could see the space where you and Hyunjin had been last night.

He was there today again, sitting on the big boulder, his phone to his ear and a closed sketchbook with a few pencils on his lap. He wore knee-length jean shorts and a loose, white tee. You wondered if Hyunjin’s beauty ever didn’t look effortless. 

The silence lasted long enough that you thought the call had ended, but then he spoke again, in Korean. You didn’t understand what he was saying but you caught the tone of it, the shakiness of his voice. You felt it somewhere within you like an echo, like you had heard it before but on your own lips. 

He said a word then—Dara—and you knew it wasn’t a word. You knew it was a name. He spoke it with pain and with love, and it seemed like you understood the sorrow you had seen in the man’s brown eyes. 

Dara. 

Who was she? A lover, obviously. Only a lover would evoke such deep emotion in someone, and you could hear that in his voice. Was she his girlfriend? Ex-girlfriend? Future girlfriend? 

And then it hit you—it was violent enough that you had to retreat and hold onto the fence behind you, hiding to make sure Hyunjin wouldn’t see you after you let out a faint gasp. 

Resentment. The painting. The two lovers, bound together by pain and tragedy. And all of the other paintings about love that you had seen on Hyunjin’s page, like the one whose background was a deep Alizarin Crimson, only the background spilled over the two subjects who were kissing, turning them red, too. Hyunjin’s perspective on love was soul-stirring, sentimental, painful. Only somebody who went through true heartbreak would feel this way—or be able to recognize it in others. 

The greedy, ugly part of you wished Hyunjin’s heart didn’t belong so ardently to this Dara so that he would fall in love with you someday. Or maybe not fall in love with you—maybe just… whatever it was that people did these days. You weren’t exactly sure what it was. It seemed like everybody was in some sort of situationship with someone they met on an app. The others were waiting for their crush to get out of the situationship they were in. It wasn’t that you wanted Hyunjin to love you—it wasn’t even that you wanted Hyunjin to desire you. Well, it would be nice if he did, but he looked like a young god so there was no chance this would ever happen. 

It’s just that he had seen you.

For the first time in a long, long time, you had let him see parts of you that you hadn’t let anybody else see, and he hadn’t pushed you away. He had told you that your souls had colors in it. He had shown you kindness. And then he held you in his arms, even just for that brief instant.

Once a year, sometimes twice but rarely, you went out of town to some shitty bar just because. You sat there at the counter and at some point into the night, when all the pretty girls had disappeared, a man would buy you a drink. You let him buy you the drink and it never went any further. At most you thanked him, but you rarely even did that. It was just some sort of reminder that maybe, just maybe, someone would want you again. Someday. If you weren’t with Chris anymore. 

Last night, stupidly, had felt like the equivalent of that, but better—like Hyunjin had bought you a drink after seeing all of your wounds and deciding he didn’t mind them all that much maybe.

But he said her name again on the phone. Dara. She must be beautiful. Surely, she was. Surely, his whole entire heart belonged to her, with the way he painted love so raw and powerful, and red, and real. 

You did the only thing that made sense then—you turned around and walked back, cursing yourself for being like this. A traitor to your husband and your dead daughter. You went over the fence and walked the path back to the RV. Minho was still there, scrolling his phone and sitting on a camping chair. 

“He wasn’t there? I mean he’s a good swimmer but I hope he didn’t fall in the river,” he started jokingly but he was serious. 

“He’s on the phone,” you replied, putting the paper bag on the steps near the RV door. “It seemed important, so I’ll just leave this here.” 

“Oh.” Minho frowned as he was thinking things over. “Want me to give him a message then?”

“Not really, it’s pretty straightforward.” You took a deep breath. For courage. The air still smelled like the world should be beautiful. 

“Another time for breakfast then, miss boss?”

“Another time,” you said as you walked away, the sun burning your eyes and your skin. Things were simpler at night. Emotions were simpler to conceal. You hoped Minho didn’t read your face accurately because you weren’t proud of the things going on in your mind. It had been a mistake to come here—to let your heart off its leash. The kind of mistake it was almost impossible to unmake.

The day after, you kept yourself busy with things around the campsite. Phone calls to contractors for last-minute repairs and then overseeing those repairs, sometimes with Chris, sometimes not. You spent a lot of time at the park office doing paperwork because it kept your mind off things while making you feel productive. And the office was air-conditioned, which was a great incentive. You sat at the counter and chatted with Jake and with the clients he welcomed in. You stopped by the shop too, to make sure everything was stocked up. 

You called your father. Well, your father called you first but you were with one of the contractors and couldn’t take the call, so technically you called your father back. He said Chris invited him for dinner tonight but he wasn’t sure he could make it because your aunt had broken her wrist and he had told her he would help her out. It’s fine Dad, you assured him. You were too busy here at Riverside to go visit your aunt after her bad fall and you were glad to know her brother would be there for her. 

It was only well into adulthood that you had wondered what it was like to have a sibling—you had never needed one before because you grew up with Christopher. He was a part of your family and you a part of his. You sort of wished you had a sister now, someone who would be able to advise you on the situation you were in. Which wasn’t even a situation, you reminded yourself. It was more like a string of situation after situation, a whirlpool of events that you found yourself stuck in and you couldn’t get out of. 

The sun was beginning to descend onto the horizon when people started telling the group chat they were headed to Marlene’s. You took care of closing up the park office while Jake headed out, taking your time. Chris’ mom stopped on her way to the shop to say hello—she would take care of the general shop while the staff had dinner. You had the feeling that she had offered just so you didn’t have an excuse not to go. And you knew that people did that with good intentions so you didn’t resent them for it, not really. You just wished they let you decide what was good for you and what wasn’t. 

Still, you made your way to the campsite restaurant. It was maybe your favorite time of the day, when the sun was low enough that its light shone a pretty shade of amber, filtering through tree branches, illuminating the world with warm incandescence. It was the sort of lighting you always looked for when visiting a museum and viewing paintings—you liked to see it recreated on canvases. Renoir had been particularly good at this, although today his paintings carried a commercial reputation, often disdained by art lovers over the world. You could understand that his style—saccharine and bright and saturated—was not for everybody, but you never understood those who claimed he was not a talented painter. In any case. He painted light just the way you liked to see it. 

Sometimes you liked to imagine how people would paint the moments you were in. Like right now. This sunset, this path you were walking on, the people around you. Tired parents and tired children, exerted after a day spent at the pool or the waterpark. Young couples coming back from a hike, older couples taking a leisurely walk after dinner before heading to their RV for an early night in. You had grown up in this place and you had seen more people in it than you could ever remember, but all of them were beautiful in their own way, and all of them, you felt like, would be the perfect subjects for a Renoir-like painting. With the remnants of sunlight caressing their hair or their cheekbones or their lips.

A lot of people were already at the restaurant when you got in. A few campsite patrons, of course, but most of them were done with dinner at this hour, leaving enough space for the staff. You ignored the four tables occupied by them at first, crossing the dining room to say hi to the kitchen staff, asking if they would join you, too. You got a few yeses and a few noes, but Marlene thanked you sincerely for the offer, mentioning that Chris had offered the same. Of course he had. Chris would never, ever leave anybody behind. 

You went to sit with the others, choosing the empty seat next to Allie’s. You were surprised to see her as she rarely participated in such events. She asked about your day as you got settled in, pretending not to notice that Chris was at the other side of the four tables brought together, sitting with Summer, her father, as well as Jake and Jaime, who he got along with. 

“Hey boss,” Jeongin said with his usual brightness. 

“Hey,” you responded, doing your best to make your smile believable, but by now you were pretty sure you were rather good at it. 

“I wanted to say thank you for the other night.” His cheeks turned pink, which you found adorable. “It was fun.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Though, if you don’t ask Lucy out by the end of this summer, I’ll run out of patience.” 

The pink on the young man’s cheeks became a little darker and he hid behind his glass of soda for a few seconds, taking a large sip from it. “I—I—” he stammered, searching for his words. 

Your smile became genuine then. It reminded you of the first few weeks with Chris when you still couldn’t believe he had been in love with you for all these years and yet at the same time you couldn’t believe you hadn’t seen it before, because it was so obvious.

“I’m just joking of course,” you added softly. “But she’s a nice girl, isn’t she?”

“She is, boss.” Jeongin nodded. He smiled, looking at the table while he ran his thumb over a scratch on the wooden surface. “I just figured, you know. It might be weird with her dad and stuff.” 

Christopher had told you the same thing once. You couldn’t help but feel immense empathy for Jeongin—you squeezed his hand in yours, inviting him to look you in the eyes. You had known him for a while now and you did believe to have a good relationship with him. He was among your most trusted employees, and you knew he looked up to Chris a lot. 

“You’re a good man,” you told him, keeping your voice low so as not to be heard by anyone other than Allie and Jeongin. “If my daughter were to date someone like you, I would be happy.” 

Jeongin froze in his seat as the weight of your words reached him. Allie put a comforting hand on your shoulder, perhaps sensing that you needed it. Jeongin knew. About you. About Chris. About the rift between you two. Maybe he didn’t know the extent of it but he knew enough to understand how difficult it had been for you to say the words my daughter out loud and you could see the gratitude in his eyes. 

“Thank you, boss,” he said under his breath. “Let me get you a drink—” 

“No, no it’s fine.” You shook your head. “Dinner’s on me anyway. On us,” you added, a little louder, looking at Chris. “Right?” 

“Of course,” Chris replied without hesitation. “I’m starving, shall we order?”

A few people got up to the counter to give their orders while a few others stayed back as they figured out what they wanted. Jeongin kept looking over his shoulder, glancing at you, almost like he was worried.

“That was a kind thing for you to say,” Allie told you. “He likes you guys a lot.”

“We like him too. I meant what I said.”

Allie sighed faintly, her hand returning to your shoulder for a quick squeeze. “You seem a little better than the other morning,” she pointed out. 

You remembered the river and the common loons and the sunrise, and your heart as it was being reignited. 

“Didn’t you say I looked less melancholic the other morning?” you questioned, using Allie’s exact words.

“Yes. But you also looked like you felt bad about it,” she explained. Allie was very direct—something she said had come after losing her husband, as she had been a very reserved and closed-off person who kept her opinions to herself before. “Would you like to come by for coffee sometime? We could have a chat, just you and I. Away from here.”

It sounded like a good idea in theory. You knew that you needed it. You knew that you couldn’t possibly make sense of all these thoughts spinning in your mind on your own. You’d need someone else, with an outsider’s perspective, to guide you through them. 

You also knew, essentially, what she would tell you. What anybody would tell you. Because you knew what you would tell a friend of yours in that situation.

Some things you just weren’t ready to hear.

You were picking at a dinner you weren’t particularly hungry for, listening to the lively conversations around you and letting them make you feel alive when you heard the bell of the restaurant door ringing. At first, you didn’t even look up—you only did so when you noticed that Christopher’s voice quieted down. So naturally, you glanced at him to see if something was wrong, maybe expecting him to be looking deep into Summer’s eyes with a loving gaze. But he was looking in the direction of the door, where two men stood, speaking in low voices in a foreign language. 

Tonight, Hyunjin’s hair was in a low bun that rested on the nape of his neck. He wore loose, comfortable clothes—a T-shirt and shorts. Minho wore a similar outfit. The two of them had a rugged look to them that you hadn’t necessarily seen before, hinting that they had spent the better part of the day outside. 

Your heart did a stupid little jump in your chest as you watched them scan the room, looking for the best seats. When Hyunjin finally turned to you and caught sight of you, his expression changed. It softened and yet became unreadable, the way a lake would freeze in the winter months, its surface becoming smooth and solid, yet you knew there was much going on underneath.

Minho waved at you and it took you a few seconds to wave back. Hyunjin offered you a smile that you weren’t sure what it meant but you also smiled back, clearing your throat as they walked away, invited to order their food by a Marlene who was eager to give good service to her clients. And to go home for the night as soon as possible. 

“You know these gentlemen?” Allie asked, trying to sound as innocent as she could and failing miserably. “I don’t think I’ve seen them before this year, but one of them came by the shop to buy worms this morning.” 

So they did go fishing after all. 

You cleared your throat again, unable to resist a glance at the other side of the table where Chris was as invested in his conversation as he had been earlier, now sitting with Jeongin and Summer and discussing a TV series they all particularly enjoyed. He did glance back at you, just half a second. Just through the corner of his eye—it was so imperceptible that you might have made it up, just like you wanted him to be jealous yesterday.

You took all the time in the world to bite into your pizza and carefully chew it. 

“I mean they’re clients,” you replied, taking a large sip of soda to chase it down.

“As are hundreds of people on this campground and not all of them say hello to you,” Allie pointed out. “They’re quite handsome, aren’t they?”

You choked on your soda—badly enough that it prompted Hyunjin, who was ordering his food, to look in your direction. You pretended you didn’t see him. 

“We had a chat, yes,” you told Allie. You knew better than to lie to her. And why would you lie? It’s not like there was anything to lie about anyway. “One of them is related to my favorite painter. What a coincidence, right?”

“It’s so cute how you love art. You should go back to Paris,” Allie said with a firm nod. It was one of the first things you ever told her when you met Allie. How you had loved visiting all of the museums in Paris when you traveled there for your honeymoon. Chris had preferred the vineyards in the south of France, but it had been a lovely time. Maybe the happiest you had ever been.

“This place isn’t gonna run itself,” you pointed out. “And I’m not going to put it all on Christopher’s shoulders,” you added when you saw that Allie was about to talk back.

She made a face that showed how she understood what you meant and returned to her food. You ate too, silently, only speaking when directly spoken to, glancing at the other side of the dining room where Hyunjin and Minho were having dinner. You thought that maybe once or twice, you caught them glancing back but it had to be a coincidence—or rather, your group were the only other people in the diner by now and some were quite loud at times, and, of course, it would cause someone to look this way. Right? 

It lasted a while—no more than fifteen minutes. You sat there, wondering whether you should get up and go talk to them. To Minho, but to Hyunjin, too. Wondering what you would say to him anyway. Wondering if you were upset that he hadn’t come talk to you after you bought him painting supplies. But you couldn’t possibly be upset about this, could you? What kind of person would that make you? 

Jeongin left first—he was off duty tonight and you knew he needed the rest. Allie left right after him since she’d need to be up early to open the shop tomorrow morning. It allowed you to also gather your things and walk away—leaving in the middle, neither the first nor the last, would ensure some sort of camouflage. It would leave you unnoticed. It would not raise questions. 

So you gathered your things and brought your plates back into the kitchen yourself to rinse them yourself but Marlene basically threw you out, claiming you were wearing the wrong attire to be on this side of the counter, but really you knew she just wanted you to take it easy. You still took a few instants to inquire about her walk-in inventory, making sure she wasn’t going to run out of anything—it seemed like the campground was especially full this week. 

The dining room was almost empty when you went back. Chris, Summer, and Jake were the only three people left.

Hyunjin and Minho were gone, their table empty and clean. 

“Everyone wanted me to say bye and goodnight,” Chris told you. “We’re getting beers with the kitchen staff,” he added, waving his beer bottle at you. You knew he would only drink one because Chris was on duty for the night. 

“I’ll head home, Dad said he’d call me to update me about Martha.” 

“I hope your aunt’s gonna be alright,” Summer blurted out. She rarely spoke to you these days and you knew why. You understood why. She wanted to fuck your husband and she was actually mature and kind enough to feel bad about it. “She’s so sweet.” 

“She is sweet but she’s also stubborn as fuck, so she’ll be just fine,” you retorted, finding it surprisingly easy to act like a human being around her. Maybe it was out of despair. “You guys have a nice night—”

You walked out of the diner as you spoke and surprise muted the last syllable of your sentence. The door fell closed behind you, the familiar bell ringing with it as you found yourself outside again. The sun had disappeared behind the horizon but its light lingered as it did in the summer, unrelenting and unrelentingly beautiful. The highest point of the sky had turned a dull gray, but everything below was a lovely gradient of lavender, blue, and golden shades. 

In any case.

Hyunjin was waiting for you, leaning against the trunk of a larch tree. 

The reason you knew he was waiting for you is because he straightened up as soon as you exited Marlene’s diner, putting his phone in the pocket of his shorts. Something inside you made you glance around and look for Minho, but he was nowhere to be seen. 

“Hey,” Hyunjin started. A smile as enigmatic as the sunset sky hung on his graceful lips. “Are you going somewhere? I mean—do you have like a minute or two for me?” 

You realized you had frozen in place when you saw him walk towards you and it prompted you to move, too. As though you wanted to put some distance between you and the diner. Or rather, the people in it. 

“Y—Yeah, no, uh, no, I’m not really going anywhere,” you managed, blinking slowly as you stopped in your tracks once you stood in front of Hyunjin. It was as though you had forgotten how tall he was and how broad his shoulders were. Like he wasn’t quite the same person from a distance as opposed to just a few inches away from you.

“Cool, thanks.” His teeth sank into his bottom lip for just a few seconds as he averted his gaze, quickly taking a posture that hinted he was looking for a place to sit down. 

He located a bench on the other side of the larch tree, which faced the river. It was a quiet little spot and you often saw people sitting on this bench, eating ice cream cones and chatting while looking at the water in front of them. He invited you to join him there with one motion of his long arm and you followed him with a glance for the diner over your shoulder. 

“Did you have a nice dinner?” you asked, impatient to break the ice. Your heart was beating fast in your chest, your pulse shallow, rendering your breath a little short. “Seems like you guys spent the day outside.” 

Hyunjin nodded, his smile returning to his lips. “Min wanted to go fishing and he made me go with him.”

“You mean he physically dragged you to the boat and threw you on it?” you asked playfully, tilting your head to the side. 

“Exactly like that. It was more like a kidnapping,” Hyunjin added in the same humorous tone. There was a pause then, maybe to allow both of you to get used to one another and to the quietness of the world. “Dinner was excellent, yes,” he said finally. “You too?”

“I wasn’t too hungry,” you admitted. “But I never didn’t enjoy a meal at Marlene’s.” 

“I bet I’ll say the same by the end of the summer.” Hyunjin sat more comfortably on the bench, laying his arm on the backrest. 

You gave him a nod and a non-committal hum as a response, unsure where to go from there. You enjoyed the momentary silence between you two, noticing the little details about him. The way he was fidgeting with the zipper of his backpack, the gracefulness of his fingers. The honey color of his skin, now sunkissed after a day outside. The wind in the stray strands of his hair. You had never seen anyone like Hyunjin before, and it made you wonder if you would ever see someone like him after.

“How was fishing?” you inquired, but it turned out that Hyunjin spoke at the exact same time as you.

“I wanted to say thank you,” he said simultaneously. “Oh,” he added in the awkwardness of the moment.

“Oh,” you added also, your cheeks turning warm despite the ambient air turning cool. 

Another silence fell upon the two of you. You sat there on the bench, facing the river with your two hands on your knees and your heart in your throat. In that moment, you remembered the time you got so sick Chris had to drive you to urgent care. It was a few years back. It was the first winter after losing Judith. You hadn’t known at first that you were ill. You were fatigued, you had headaches—nothing out of the ordinary for you. It escalated a little and you needed medical care before you realized it. But you really hadn’t known. 

It wasn’t about being in denial. You weren’t in denial that something was happening to you right now. That you felt some kind of way about the man sitting next to you on this bench. You just couldn’t pinpoint what it was—you had known nothing but grief and sorrow for so long that you didn’t think you could recognize anything that wasn’t it. You didn’t think there was space in your heart for anything that wasn’t it. 

“Uh…” Hyunjin started again, cautious, carefully unzipping the front pocket of his backpack. “Yeah, so. I’ll just say it. I wanted to say thank you for what you did for me.”

That caught you off guard. “What I did for you?” 

“You brought me paint tubes and paper and brushes and all that stuff,” he said, speaking very slowly as though you were suffering from amnesia and he needed to remind you of these things. “You bought these things for me. They were all brand new.” 

“Oh, it’s nothing.”

“It’s nothing?” He cocked his head to the side.

“Well you asked for them at the shop didn’t you?” you retorted. “You’re a painter. A really good one at that. Obviously you need paint.” 

Hyunjin stared at you for a few seconds, his gaze lingering in unusual places like your hair or the straps of your sundress, or the diner behind you. 

“But I know they don’t sell stuff like that in Stormhaven because we looked for it before we asked for it here at the shop,” Hyunjin explained, still in this slow, very teacher-like tone. “So you went somewhere else.”

“Yes,” you replied in the same voice, wondering if he took you for an idiot and if you should be offended, but something in his eyes told you that you shouldn’t. “I know a great art store a couple of towns over and—”

He interrupted you. “How long did it take you to get there?” 

“What?” What kind of conversation was that even?

“How long did you drive to get to that art supplies shop? Because I checked online for art stores in the immediate area and there aren’t any,” Hyunjin insisted, waving his phone to emphasize his point.

You blinked slowly. It seemed like so many steps on his part just for a few tubes of paint. At least that’s what your brain was telling you, reminding you that nothing meant anything, that life was just a series of events that were or weren’t interconnected.

“I don’t know,” you managed with a shrug. “An hour maybe.”

“An hour and then another hour to come back,” Hyunjin repeated, more like a statement than a question. “You did all of that just for me, a stranger. So why are you saying it’s nothing? It’s really not nothing to me.” 

He seemed a little upset. Like you had just dismissed him in some way.

You blinked again and it was like you were seeing him for the first time. Like you were seeing everything else for the first time, too.

Because you had been just about to lie to him. Which is what you would have done normally. You would have said that you had an appointment in that area and that you were going anyway. You would have said that you were meeting a friend who lived over there for coffee and had gone shopping with her and thought, Well, why not? Why shouldn’t I buy a few supplies? as you walked past them. It was like second nature to you—you didn’t even think about it. It just happened the same way breathing did.

As though you didn’t want people to know you had gone out of your way for them. Not Hyunjin, but not Chris either, not even your father. It had been the same with your mom too, and so many others. What an awful thing. As though you were ashamed of how much you loved other people, how deeply you cared about them.

Because your lies weren’t inherently evil didn’t make you any less of a liar. And you hated liars. You hated lies and deception and anything that wasn’t the truth. What did that mean about yourself?

How many other parts of yourself had you concealed? How much of your soul was buried deep enough that nobody—not even yourself—would ever find it? 

Hyunjin relaxed all of a sudden—his shoulders turned limp. “Sorry,” he said under his breath. “I didn’t mean to sound angry.” 

You must have had a strange expression on your face for his entire demeanor to switch like that. You gulped. 

“You were right to be,” you admitted, suddenly feeling very small and very stupid. You were realizing something important about yourself and it seemed like you ought to be alone during this moment. “You’re not nothing.” You paused then, just to take a deep breath. To give yourself a little courage. “I wanted you to have what you needed so that you could paint. I like your work, or what I’ve seen of it,” you explained slowly, your gaze fixated on the slow-moving water before you. “And I had a good time the other night. When we sat by the river.” 

“I had a good time too.” Finally, after playing with it for minutes, Hyunjin unzipped the front pocket of his backpack. “It’s just. Kindness isn’t nothing.” He was speaking at a low volume—low enough that you could barely hear him. But you could hear him, and you listened. “There are many people who make me feel like I’m not worth it, but you drove all this way to get me paint and it means a lot to me. So I made a little something for you.”

With that, Hyunjin pulled something out of his backpack. You recognized it immediately as the aquarelle paper pad you bought for him—at that sight, your heart picked up a pace again. He opened the notepad, flipping through the first few pages on which you caught a glance of some sketches. There wasn’t much color on them, but it was quite the opposite for the page he stopped at.

Carefully, he tore that page off the pad and handed it to you. “There. Just a little something to say thank you.” 

You took the sheet from him, your gaze going from his face to his painting and back to him as though you couldn’t believe it. And yet you were now holding a painting that Hyunjin had made. The paper felt heavier than it should have in your hand. You studied it, trying to take in the sight of it all at once, but you couldn’t stop noticing the tiniest details. The night sky and its lifelike colors. It wasn’t just any night sky—it was yours. It was the one over your head night after night. With the stars and a few hazy clouds adding some purple to the inky dark blue. The moon could be seen behind the clouds, hiding and yet visible. Beautiful nonetheless.

The painting depicted a river also but not just any river—this river, the river you saw and heard and smelled every day. You recognized it. You recognized the riverbank and the intricate curves of it, you recognized exactly where this was. But there was so much to see. The delicate reflections of the light spilling from the windows of the cabins in the distance, on the other side of the water. The stars and how bright they shone. The tall grass and the reeds just shadows in the night but recognizable anyway. 

The evergreens. One in the foreground, one you couldn’t see entirely. Just some branches. The rest could be imagined. You knew because you knew which tree it was. It was a black spruce and whip-poor-wills liked to rest on its lower branches to sing their nocturnal song. The rest of the forest was more of a blur in the background as it was in real life—just like the mountains on the other side of the river.

To Hyunjin, it was just a painting depicting a corner where he had spent some time one evening, but to you, it meant so much more. This was the exact spot where you came across him the other night and had that long conversation with him. It was the first time you admitted to someone—of your own volition, not because they had heard something from somebody else—about the darkness that resided within you. The sorrow that lingered. That night was the first time you had allowed someone to really see you since you lost Judith. 

And you had never really expected it to happen. As in, you never thought you’d actually let someone see you in a vulnerable state again, but you just assumed that if you did, they wouldn’t stay around for long. It was just too heavy. You were just too heavy, like a fire sucking the air out of a room, suffocating everybody inside.

And yet Hyunjin was here tonight with gentleness in his eyes and paint on aquarelle paper. 

“Oh wow,” you managed after a while, your throat tight. You stared up at him. “Hyunjin, it’s… it’s so nice of you, that’s…” For some reason, at that moment you remembered his portfolio and his Insta page and realized you were holding an artwork of great value in your hands. “It’s beautiful. It looks just like it, too. That place.” 

“I painted it from memory,” he explained. “It was my view that night, while we talked.” He hesitated, his eyes going from the sheet in your hand to the notepad he held. “I painted another one too.” 

Intrigued, you watched as he opened the pad once again, going through pages until he found what he was looking for. His cheeks had turned the color of summer cherries when he handed it to you. 

Your entire body, it seemed, caught on fire when you grabbed it. 

To put it simply, Hyunjin had painted you. 

It was another painting depicting a scene from that other night, with the same dark blue and purple sky, but in this one, the moon was out, and its light was illuminating the woman sitting on the grass. She sat elegantly, in a way you did not think you had sat, with her body slightly tilting at the back, resting on her two hands, her face turned towards the sky as though she was bathing in the moonlight. A couple of mini liquor bottles rested next to her, as well as a walkie-talkie. 

It was you, except it couldn’t be you, because you weren’t this beautiful. Your hair floated in the night like a siren’s would in the sea, or something like it, the light of the moon reflecting on it in Hyunjin’s expert brush strokes. You knew this must have been difficult to blend in watercolors and yet it looked seamless. Likelike. 

No, not lifelike. Enhanced. Because you did not look like this. The curves of your body did not look pleasant like that, or appealing. Your posture was not the one of a demigoddess, and your lips did not have the color of a ripe peach. It was not like looking into a mirror, it felt more like staring at a stranger. The expression on your face was blurry due to the hazy aspects of watercolor but it was enough to see that it was complex. Deep. As though your sadness had beauty in it. 

You sat there, staring at both pieces of art, speechless. 

“I wanted to remember that night. And you,” you heard Hyunjin say. And he was very much there, right there, yet his voice came from another world. 

There were so many words crowding your throat and shoving each other, racing to be the first to spill from your lips, that it took you several more seconds before you were able to speak at all. 

“I don’t know what to say,” you admitted under your breath, your voice weak and quivering. 

“You don’t need to say anything,” Hyunjin pointed out, taking the notepad back from you. He didn’t seem upset. 

“No, it’s just—” You began, stopping mid-sentence with a frown, your gaze following movement on the other side of the river. A bird. It was narrow here, and you recognized a member of the thrush family. Your mother would have known which, but you didn’t. “You painted me so pretty. And—” You paused again, searching for the bird in the dense forest but the day was darkening fast. “It’s just that. That night—it—it meant a lot for me. I never really talk about Judith. I don’t want people to know about her. But I wanted you to know about her. Does that make sense?”

Hyunjin, who was putting his notepad back into his bag, came to a stop slowly, staring at you. Really staring at you. Not really like he was seeing you for the first time, rather like he was visiting a museum for the second time to see an exhibit there and understand it better. 

“It makes perfect sense,” he replied softly. “I understand because I felt the same.”

“Like you wanted me to know about that girl?” 

He nodded, zipping his backpack and leaving it on the ground, clearing his throat. “Dara. Yeah.” 

Dara. So you were right about that name, about her. About the woman you thought was in his art, painted crimson and vermillion. 

But you were a woman in one of his paintings too, now. And you did not know what to do about this. 

“You’re so nice, and kind, and—” You paused, sighing. “I don’t understand how this could have happened to you.” And truly, you did not. She didn’t want to love me back, he had said. What kind of person could that woman be to refuse someone like him?

But if you were to be fully honest with yourself—almost in an ugly, gruesome way. Weren’t you building a cage around your own heart ever since you laid eyes on Hyunjin? Not even willing to admit to yourself that he was handsome? That his scent, blended with the smell of the outdoors, made prickles appear on your skin? That his sunkissed skin was inviting? That you wanted to run your fingers through his silky hair? Weren’t you pretending that you hadn’t felt anything when he helped you over the fence, just holding your arm, or even worse, when he hugged you? When he pressed you against his chest, embracing you? Weren’t you pretending that you didn’t feel it between your legs when his warm breath tickled your neck? Weren’t you pretending that it didn’t overwhelm you that he painted for you?

That he painted you? That he painted the texture of your skin, the curves of your body, and the way your shirt hugged your breasts?

“Things just happen, we’re not really meant to understand them I think,” Hyunjin wisely pointed out. “It’s also in our nature to try and understand them, though.”

“You’re right,” you conceded. “Trying to find meaning in them.” 

Hyunjin nodded faintly. You both allowed silence to creep in between you two as the night covered the sky lazily. Frogs were beginning their night song here and there, some close, some farther. The sky was neither blue nor dark—the lavender gray had taken over it for now, before nightfall would spill over the world. You used the last remnants of light to look at the painting Hyunjin gifted you once again. 

“This means a lot to me,” you murmured. “It’s just so…”

“I’m glad you like it,” Hyunjin responded, looking around, perhaps searching for the frog that was singing nearby. 

The other painting was stuck in your mind the way one was blinded by the sun if they looked at it for too long. No matter where you looked—even if you closed your eyes, it was still there, engraved in your retina.

This—all of this—was too much. The feelings you didn’t want in your chest. The images haunting your eyes and your mind and your heart and your cunt, even. And somehow it wasn’t enough, as though your dormant heart demanded more even. 

“You didn’t sign it,” you pointed out, realizing Hyunjin’s signature didn’t appear on the other side of the page either. 

Hyunjin gave you an appraising look and you waited while he was coming up with an answer. You had seen his portfolio and his social media profiles. You had seen his art. He used to sign each of his paintings with his initials—a simple but efficient HHJ in the bottom right corner of the canvas. And then at one point, he just stopped. It was around the time when he started incorporating more reds into his art.

“I could make an exception for you,” he said finally, retrieving a pen from his backpack. It was attached to what might have been a journal, or maybe it was a simple notebook. 

“You don’t have to,” you assured. But he had already taken the sheet from you and was using the back of the notebook as a temporary table on which he lay his painting to apply his signature on the bottom right corner.

You looked for red in the painting. It was in the purple of the sky and in the warmth of the light coming from the cabins across the river. You remembered the other painting and the colors he had used to paint you. Your skin. Your lips. 

He signed Hyunjin, just that, and gave it back to you. 

“I’ll cherish this all my life,” you said, and you knew it was true. Hell, it felt wrong to hold it just like that. You wanted to go home right now and store it carefully, somewhere safe.

But you also wanted to stay right here. 

“Did you have dessert?” Hyunjin blurted out all of a sudden. 

The question surprised you—you turned to him as though he had spoken to you in a foreign language. 

“Did you have dessert with your dinner?” he asked, motioning at the diner behind you. The lights had been turned on inside, illuminating his sunkissed face, highlighting the details of it. The curves of his lips and those of his nose. The softness in his eyes. “Could I buy you an ice cream?” 

For a second, then two, three, four, and five, you stared at him and he stared at you. It was not so much that you were reading him—perhaps you were trying to see your own reflection in his irises, as though you would understand his viewpoint. His eyes were the color of earth. Of rich soil on a rainy day. His eyes were the color of the bark of an oak tree dampened by dew on a late spring morning. 

If you weren’t greedy, maybe, you’d go home and forget all about tonight.

“No, you can’t buy me an ice cream,” you replied, suppressing a mischievous smile. 

Taken aback, Hyunjin sat straight on the bench. “Oh—it’s fine, I—”

“Friends don’t pay for ice cream here,” you interrupted him. “It’s always free. I’ll just… maybe I’ll go back to my car, I don’t want to damage this—” you added, showing him the precious painting you were still holding. 

“I’ll take care of it.” Hyunjin was putting the notebook and pen back into his bag. He slipped the painting between two pages of his notepad, freeing you of it. “I’ll give it back after we eat.” 

“You better,” you teased, standing up, followed by Hyunjin. “Bet that thing will be worth thousands in a few years.” 

“I doubt that,” Hyunjin responded, hesitant, walking by your side and hiding behind his hair but you could see that he was blushing. “It’s just a tiny thing that I painted in the middle of a lake when Minho wasn’t having me rowing the boat.” 

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Didn’t Monet buy a whole boat so he could go on the Seine and paint from the water? Your argument is therefore invalid.” 

Hyunjin found absolutely nothing to say—he stared at you, dumbfounded, speechless. 

“I just find it interesting that you’d do this—paint this, I mean, and give it to me—and act like it’s nothing,” you said with a shrug. “When not ten minutes ago, it was you who were scolding me for exactly the same thing? How did you word it already?” You pretended to think about it, only, you would never forget his words. “Kindness isn’t nothing.”

Hyunjin sighed and rolled his eyes as though he was exasperated, but his smile said otherwise. He raised his hands like one would raise a white flag. “You’re right. You’re right. You got me there.” 

“I was just joking anyway,” you reassured him. “I don’t care what it’s going to be worth in ten or twenty years. I won’t sell it.” 

You had made it to the small ice cream shop located right next to Marlene’s diner. The owner, who was a good friend of your father’s, was putting the chairs away for the night. You liked Frankie—he was like an uncle to you. He had been there for your father when your mom had passed. He had tried to be there for you when you had lost Judith, but you had not let him. You had not let anybody help you then, not even Chris. 

“Frankie, did you turn off the machines?” you asked Frankie, grabbing a couple of the colorful folding chairs and bringing them to the tiny shed where he kept them. 

“You know I did not, Squishy.” He always called you like that. “And you know that even if I had, I’d turn them back on for you.” 

You turned to Hyunjin, who had put his backpack on the steps leading to the ice cream parlor and was helping out with the chairs, without being asked, as though it was the most natural thing in the world. 

Kindness isn’t nothing. 

“Frankie has been spoiling me since my early days,” you explained. 

“Well, it was hard not to,” Frankie confessed, running a hand in his gray hair. It was all gray now—you could have sworn that just last summer, there was still brown in there. He seemed more tired than usual. “Those two kids kept coming to beg for ice cream. Sometimes, kids are so cute, you know? You just can’t say no.” 

You and Chris. Chris and you. You used to be inseparable—all of your summers and weekends spent together, exploring the camping ground, always discovering more of its secrets. And regularly bargaining your way to an ice cream cone. 

“Sounds like sometimes you just can’t say no even when they’re all grown up,” Hyunjin added with a wink for Frankie. “Give me those,” he added for you, taking the two folded chairs you had just picked up. “I got this, Mr. Frankie, if you don’t mind.” 

“Oh, thank you, son. That’s very kind.” He turned to you. “That’s a nice guy right there.”  

The man gave Hyunjin a gentle squeeze on his shoulder and returned behind the counter of his ice cream parlor, disappearing momentarily while he was washing his hands. Frankie and his wife had struggled for a long time to have a child—they had given up when their daughter, Lucy, had decided to show up. Their miracle, they called her. They were a little older than other parents when they had her but they were amazing parents anyway. Maybe better, wiser parents too. Lucy was the girl that Jeongin was so desperately crushing on, too. It was a lovely family. 

“It’s fine I said,” Hyunjin insisted when you grabbed another chair. “I’ll do it, okay?”

You stood in front of him—it was dark now, or at least the lights from the ice cream shop made the rest of the world seem like the night—and you blinked, just staring at him. 

“I can do it though. I help Frankie or other people around the campground often,” you replied. 

“Are you going to fight me every time I’m being nice to you?” Hyunjin grabbed the remaining four chairs and brought them over to the shed, carefully piling them over one another. “I know you can do it. You’re wearing a nice dress, I didn’t want you to get dirt on it.” 

You looked down, smoothing the fabric of your humble off-white, yellowish sundress, pulling it down as though you could cover your knees with it, suddenly overly aware of your body inside of it and the way some of its curves might make it look. It was a little tight around the cleavage area too. The floral pattern of it—little roses, printed in a rustic style—had looked cute when you bought it. It seemed so stupid now.

“Oh.” You cleared your throat. “Of course. Thanks.” 

You went to fetch the padlock from Frankie and locked the shed closed. The old man offered both of you to come in and wash up—it was significantly cooler inside too, which was nice, despite how cramped the ice cream parlor was. In the end, you ordered your usual, which intrigued Hyunjin so much that he ordered the same thing. 

You liked Frankie’s frozen yogurt but anybody in their right mind knew that ice cream was obviously superior—and since you owned this damn camping ground, why should you settle? You had come up with the ultimate order, which was: in a cup, half a frozen yogurt of a fruity flavor of your desire. Tonight, it was strawberry. Then, the other half was vanilla ice cream—and Frankie made his soft-serve with real cream and real vanilla, so it was insanely good. Topped with fresh fruit—in this case, local strawberries and raspberries because Frankie had some—and when you wanted the experience to be as good or better than sex, the cup was sprinkled with just a little bit of salted pistachios. 

A few minutes later, Hyunjin and you were walking away, back in the direction where you had come from, holding your ice creams in your hands after saying goodbye to Frankie.

“Oh my god—” Hyunjin quickly put a second, then a third spoonful of your delicious creation in his already rather full mouth. “Tish ish sho foking ghood!” 

“I keep telling people that they should not disregard frozen yogurt but should also not settle for it, you know? People think compromises are a bad thing, but they can be so enlightening.” 

To be fair, Frankie’s products were excessively tasty, which largely helped. Still, there was something endearing in watching Hyunjin eat his ice cream, complimenting each aspect of it like it was the first time he had eaten it at all. 

“You’re a genius. You could be a millionaire if you sold this in tubs,” Hyunjin retorted. His face, illuminated again now that you two were walking in the light spilling from Marlene’s diner, was serious. 

You shook your head, giggling. “You’re adorable—” You cut your sentence short, although you didn’t even know what else there was to say. This was all getting too familiar. Was it weird that you said that? Maybe. Definitely. Warmth spread at the nape of your neck and you quickly shoved a spoonful of ice cream in your mouth to cool off.

“No, it’s just, it’s really good,” he insisted, waving the frozen yogurt/ice cream cup at you, walking again, and you followed him. 

The bench was empty and the two of you returned there, sitting to enjoy your dessert. In silence for the first few minutes. You tried to listen to the conversations that you could hear from the diner but it was too fuzzy to make sense of any of the words, and your heartbeat was too loud in your ears. 

Your gaze landed on Hyunjin’s backpack. Somewhere in there was the painting he made for you. And there was also the painting he made of you. You wondered if he also painted Dara, today, while on the boat. 

You wondered what he was telling her the other day when he was on the phone with her.

“When I bought the paints and stuff for you,” you started before you could think this over, “I wanted to give them to you. I mean, in person.” 

Hyunjin looked up from his precious ice cream, staring into your eyes, but saying nothing. 

“I went to your RV,” you went on. “Minho was disappointed I didn’t make it to breakfast,” you added, recalling that moment. “I—uh—I went to give you the bag. He said you were by the river. But you were on the phone, and it seemed important. I didn’t want to bother you, so I left it with him.” 

Maybe he knew that this was some sort of invitation to speak—Hyunjin nodded slowly, faintly, more for himself than for you, and ate more of his ice cream quietly as the sounds of the night took over the forest. 

“Do you remember what I told you the other night?” Hyunjin began, looking up at the sky. There weren’t too many stars yet—it was too early for that. 

Not only did you remember, but you had thought about it enough that you figured you had put many pieces of the puzzle in their place. But you weren’t going to tell him that. “I remember. It was about Dara?” 

Hyunjin took a deep but shaky breath. He forced more ice cream into his mouth. “Yes. I was talking to her.” 

You didn’t pretend to be surprised. “Is she somebody you work with? Do you have to talk to her often?” After all, you had to work with Christopher every day, didn’t you? Maybe it would hurt a little less if you didn’t.

“I don’t work with her, I guess,” Hyunjin explained. “It’s more like… our studios are next door.” He sighed. “We see each other every day. We collaborate on projects all the time. She’s my friend.” 

You almost dropped your cup of ice cream, managing to steady your grip on it at the last second. You found yourself completely unsettled by Hyunjin’s revelation. You hadn’t really expected that. Well, you expected something, sure, since he was talking to her on the phone. But not this. Not like this. Not she’s my friend in the present tense.

“And you’re able to be her friend after what happened between you two?” you asked softly, suddenly concerned for Hyunjin’s well-being, even though you weren’t sure what had happened exactly.

“I was her friend before I fell in love with her. It’s hard to explain.” Hyunjin left his half-eaten dessert on the ground next to the bench, sitting with his knees pressed to his chest. 

You gave him the space he needed, aware that you had probably pushed a little too hard. It was none of your business anyway, was it? And yet. 

You had told him so little about Judith and it had opened a whole new dimension for you. A part of you really, really wanted to do the same for Hyunjin. If you could somehow manage such a feat.

“I don’t want to insist,” you told him. “But if you want to talk to someone—I can be that someone. I want to be. I know it’s difficult to talk.”

“It’s not difficult with you. I like talking with you,” Hyunjin replied. You couldn’t see his mouth as it was hidden behind his knees. “I just… I don’t even know where to start. And it’s not like I haven’t told the story before. I have. I went to therapy because of it.”

“Didn’t it help?” you questioned, trying to focus on the latter part of his sentence and not the first, so as not to melt into a puddle.

He shrugged. “Yes. No. I went for months and talked about Dara plenty, but all that my therapist would focus on was me. He said the reason I wasn’t getting over her was because I had other, deeper issues we needed to address. I didn’t like that.”

You thought about it for a second and it appeared to you clear as day. “You didn’t like that because he made it—your sadness—not about Dara anymore?”

Hyunjin inhaled sharply, apparently surprised by your response. He pressed his mouth onto his thighs, closing his eyes, disappearing behind his hair momentarily. When he spoke again, his voice was muffled, almost strained.

“It felt like it was all I had left of our love. The pain. The longing. And he wanted to take it away from me by making it about other things. So I stopped going.” 

It was instantaneous—your throat shut tight and your eyes tingled with tears that you fought to hold back. It hurt to hear him say those words. It hurt for him and it hurt for you. 

Because what else was left of your love story with Chris if not for that? The pain? Were you holding onto that pain because it was all that you had? Even if it was going to kill you? 

You discarded your ice cream, leaving it in the pebbled soil at your feet, reaching a trembling hand towards Hyunjin. You had no idea what the fuck you were going to do with that hand. You wanted it in his hair, caressing it, tucking a strand of it behind his ear to reveal his deep and soulful gaze. You wanted to cup his cheek and caress his silky skin. Something was calling you to him—something inside of you that you did not know how to control. 

But, gently, you rested your hand on his back. He jumped—just a little recoil because he was surprised—but leaned into your touch, moving closer to you until your entire arm was around his back. Each inch of your skin that touched him was immediately ignited and hyperaware, awake in the night. 

“Minho was pissed,” Hyunjin went on, sniffling. You couldn’t see whether he was crying or not and maybe it was for the best. It might just break you if you saw tears on his almost too-handsome face. “Because he was the one who got me to see his psychiatrist. He was worried about me.” 

“That’s because he cares about you though,” you pointed out. 

“I know. But he doesn’t understand,” Hyunjin mumbled, playing with one of his shoelaces, keeping his hand busy. “He thinks I shouldn’t be friends with her anymore. He suggested that I should cut ties with Dara completely during the trip. To see how it feels.” 

You would know a thing or two about not letting go. 

You took a deep breath, unsure of what you should say next. Perhaps it was best not to say anything. Maybe—no, definitely—the best, most reasonable option for you right now would be to come up with some comforting words for Hyunjin and call it a night. Tell him to get some rest, that sleep would do him good. Then drive home, and go to bed, too.

But Marlene kept liquor in the walk-in cooler. Away from prying eyes—only a few privileged individuals knew where it was, and you were among them.

“Do you want a drink?” you heard yourself say, barely audible enough to be heard over the steady sound of the river. “I know a place.”

At this, Hyunjin reappeared from behind his knees, staring at you with damp eyes. “A drink?” 

“I owe you one after all, but we don’t have to.”

“You really don’t owe me anything.” And yet. Gradually, Hyunjin returned to a more normal sitting position. He wiped the corner of his eye with the back of his hand. “But I could use a drink. It was a long day.” 

A smile sneaked its way onto your lips. It was a gift sent from that thing that you could not control within you, hidden in some secret corner. You gathered the mostly melted ice creams and discarded them in appropriate bins and guided Hyunjin back near the diner, explaining how Marlene liked to keep a good bottle of Hennessy or a fancy scotch around for dire situations.

“A woman of refined taste, this Marlene,” Hyunjin commented. It felt good to see him smiling again. “You never know when you need to get wasted.”

“Indeed.” It seemed wise to avoid the dining room and the staff—in other words, Chris—and go through the back door. “It’ll just be a minute, okay?”

“Take your time. I’ll text Minho to let him know I haven’t been kidnapped.” With that, Hyunjin pulled his phone out of his pocket and walked away, aimlessly, typing on the screen of his device. 

You used your master key to enter the kitchen directly. From here, the conversation was loud and clear, and you heard Jake, Marlene, and Stacy discuss one of the new hiking trails that had been opened in the state park right next door. Jake was very interested in it and was telling the two women about an upcoming one-day trip to the park with Christopher, Jeongin, Summer, and a few more people. It seemed to you like it had been planned just now, right after you had left. 

You stood in the dark and quiet kitchen, knowing you did not need to hear any more of this and yet waiting. Maybe you wanted to hear the excitement in Christopher’s voice, but all that you heard was Summer asking Frankie—who had apparently joined them—if he thought Lucy would want to come too. Maybe Chris had already left for the staff house, where he usually stayed. To keep an eye on things from a little closer, but mostly so he could avoid you more easily. It just gave him a good excuse not to stay in the same house as you too often.

You gathered all of the courage you had—which wasn’t all that much—and made your way to the dining room, standing in the door frame, eyeing the scene before letting anyone see you. He wasn’t there. Chris. You cleared your throat softly and it was Stacy who saw you first, and Marlene second, followed by the others. You couldn’t read the expression on Summer’s face, but you wished you could. It would make it a lot easier for you.

“Sorry to interrupt—” you started, stammering through your words a little. “Marlene, I just wanted to know if I could borrow some sugar?” It was the code you had come up with for the liquor she kept.

The corner of Marlene’s lips curved into a lopsided smile. “Sure thing, honey. You know where it is. Take as much as you need, but be careful not to overdo it. You’ll get diabetes” 

“I’ll be careful,” you promised. “Can I grab the fancy one? I’ll get you a replacement.” Jake also knew about the Hennessy—he suppressed a chuckle by swallowing a generous amount of beer. 

“Make yourself at home,” Marlene insisted with a wink. 

You thanked her and did your best to wish everyone a good evening as warmly as you could, but it was always about not overdoing it. It was hard to tell when you did. When Frankie inquired Did your friend like the ice cream? You assured him that he very much did, of course. Thank you so much Frankie, and make sure to call if you need anything. 

The Hennessy was exactly where it was supposed to be—on the highest shelf in the walk-in cooler, hidden in a small crate that once contained bell peppers. Marlene just put more stuff on top and nobody paid it any mind. You shoved the bottle in a tote bag you found in Marlene’s office. The whole thing took less than two minutes and you exited as quickly as you entered, relieved to put as much distance as you could between you and this place. For some reason.

The sounds of the night had increased in volume again—there were more frogs now, and among them was the loudest and your favorite—the gray treefrog, whose thrill-like breeding call was eerily similar to a bird’s voice. They were hard to spot, and you had seen those frogs just a handful of times in your life, but you enjoyed their musical display, which was also how you could tell that summer had definitely begun. 

It did not stop you from hearing Hyunjin’s voice. At first, you thought he was still on the phone. But then you heard the bell from the main entrance to the diner, and more voices. Most importantly, Christopher’s.

“Ah, boss! There you are,” Jake said. “We were starting to wonder if you ghosted us or something.”

“Sorry for keeping you,” Hyunjin immediately interjected. “I should go anyway—” He didn’t finish his sentence. Instead, he let it float somewhere in the air, allowing the frogs and the owls to fill the silence.

“Oh no, I shouldn’t be keeping you from going back home and resting after your long day! It was nice meeting you.” You could almost hear Chris shake Hyunjin’s hand. “Careful on your way back, yeah? I know some parts of the pedestrian paths aren’t great over the RV sites, but we’ll get to fixing them in the upcoming weeks.”

Hyunjin coughed nervously. “Sure, yeah, yeah, thanks, Christopher. Goodnight!” Two things became simultaneously obvious to you.

That Hyunjin had told Chris he was going home instead of telling him that he was going to hang out and have drinks with you.

And also that Hyunjin was a terrible, terrible liar. 

The warmth that Hyunjin seemed to constantly elicit in you came back ferociously, spreading from your chest to your belly like an oil tanker spilled into an ocean, making the air in your lungs hot and thick. But sweet, too. There was nothing to hide and Hyunjin could and probably should have told him where he was going, and with whom. 

You remembered the painting. Not the one he gave you—the other one. The one that gave you chills, that made you press your thighs together. It was stupid because his heart belonged to another. It was stupid because you were married and because you were broken. You were the kind of broken that wasn’t even worth taking to the repair shop. You were the kind of broken that nothing could be done for, or with, or about. 

You did not like the part of you that was greedy—that part was urging you to make yourself seen, to make sure that Chris would know you would be with Hyunjin. But what would you even gain? Because even if he felt the same thing you felt when he was with Summer, would it make a difference? You weren’t even jealous. Not anymore. You weren’t jealous because Summer was prettier and younger than you. It had taken you a while but you had even stopped being jealous of how happy she made Chris. Some days, you really just wanted to beg him to please just fuck her and put an end to your misery already. 

That would be too ugly of you. Chris didn’t need that. Not after what he had gone through. 

So you stayed put, listening as the main group walked away. At this hour, the camping ground was mostly quiet and empty—on the first days of the season, especially the sunny ones, people hurriedly did as many outdoor activities as they could, meaning that by this hour most of them were probably sound asleep. 

Hyunjin quietly reappeared after turning the corner of the building, his backpack on his shoulders and his hair secured in a tighter bun. He seemed ready for an adventure, but he stopped and stood there, facing you, and you stood with your back pressed to the wooden wall behind you, staring into the man’s eyes, which were as beautiful as the night around you. You didn’t tell him, you almost said.  

But you didn’t tell him. 

So that made two of you.

Hyunjin motioned at the tote bag whose handles rested on your shoulder. “You got the stuff?” 

You nodded. “Let’s go.” You wasted no time, regretting your choice of footwear and overall fashion decisions as you made your way towards one of the unpaved paths that circled the camping ground.

Most of these were surrounded by more densely wooded areas or tree lines. Chris wouldn’t need it because he knew all the trails by heart, but you used your phone to light up the ground just to make sure neither of you would trip over something. There wasn’t much conversation while you walked, except for when Hyunjin cursed under his breath because a mosquito got him. Two seconds later, you heard the zipper of his backpack and then the vigorous spraying of bug repellent, its strong and potent scent reaching you. 

“Is your blood tasty, Mr. Hyunjin?” you asked, looking over your shoulder, suppressing a smile as Hyunjin was shoving the bug spray back in his bag. 

“I’m a Michelin-starred restaurant,” he replied, scoffing, visibly displeased. “Minho said he liked having me on the boat because I attract mosquitoes and it’s good for fish. He called me live bait all day.” 

Your own laughter took you by surprise—it spilled into the night as clear as the moonlight, echoing in the silence. You couldn’t remember the last time you had actually laughed like this, a true laugh. A laugh that didn’t come at a price, that didn’t need to be exchanged for something else, tears, excuses, or even shame.

Just a laugh because something was funny.

The silence that followed it was heavy and you realized it was so because you had stopped in your tracks. Hyunjin, who was close behind you, had also stopped. You were just stunned by this new feeling in your chest but Hyunjin seemed to believe there was another, bigger problem.

“Everything alright? Did you see something? Are there bears out here? Wolves?” 

“Bears?” You turned to him. “Wolves?”

He seemed a little nervous. “Yeah?” 

“Of course there are bears, but now’s not the worst of the season,” you replied as though it was evident, meaning for it to be reassuring. Only Hyunjin did not seem relieved to hear that at all. “They only really bother humans when they get ready to hibernate. There are no wolves in Maine though,” you added, certain this would comfort him.

Hyunjin’s uneasiness was visible even in the dark. You bit your lip, savoring the mild pleasure you got from the sight of him, but quickly went to put an end to his fears. “You can worry about the mosquitoes more than you should worry about bears,” you concluded. “I haven’t seen one on these premises in two years.”

That did it—Hyunjin gulped thickly but gave you a resolute nod before the two of you resumed your walk. The world fell quiet again, the way nature was silent, which was to say, not at all. Exactly the way you liked it. 

“Where are you taking me?” Hyunjin inquired after a few minutes, trying to see through the tree line and recognize your location in the campground. 

“Not too far from here,” you assured. “There’s this nice little place by the river and—” Your sentence was cut in the middle when you felt something cool and wet and tiny on your shoulder. 

Worried once again, Hyunjin squinted, turning his phone light on too. “What is it?” 

“Ah, shit—” you mumbled, locking eyes with him, unsure whether you should laugh or not. Another raindrop fell on your arm, quickly followed by another on your leg as you remembered the weather forecast on the radio earlier, which your brain had conveniently made you forget. 

A raindrop landed on Hyunjin’s lip and you followed it with your gaze the same way a sinner begs for holy water. More rain fell on your cheeks and you stood as Hyunjin watched it roll on your skin like tears would. A slight frown had appeared on his face, as though he was taking a few seconds to process what he was seeing. 

Hyunjin, unhurried, handsome, so tangible and so close, raised his hand then, bringing it near your face, gently pressing his index finger onto your cheek to collect a raindrop. His touch lit a wildfire inside of you that no deluge could put out. “It’s raining,” he said, his deep, expressive gaze fixated on the drop he had stolen from you, but not for long because he looked into your eyes then. “It’s okay,” he added with a smile, offering you his hand. “Come with me.” 

He was a stranger. 

But he shared the blood of your favorite painter, the one who created your favorite painting in the whole world. It was your favorite long before you knew it was a prophecy, or perhaps an omen. Maybe you should have known. You should have opened your eyes before instead of being so rational all the time and taking everything at face value. 

Maybe you should have realized long ago that life has a voice and that it uses it to speak to us. Some call it fate or destiny. Some call it God. You weren’t sure what you called it, or what you thought it was. You just knew that it had been there the whole time, like a thread weaving the events of your life together. Everything that had ever happened to you had led you to this. 

Hyunjin was a stranger. 

But you knew about the cracks in his heart, and he knew about the void in yours. Somewhere in the distance, thunder rolled in the sky, and you felt it in your chest, no matter how far the storm was. 

You took Hyunjin’s hand. His skin was smooth and warm, like honey left in the sun for too long. He squeezed your hand a little, leaning in closer to you so he could be heard over the rain, which was gaining in intensity. 

“Where are we exactly? If we want to get to the RV? Is it far?” he asked, pulling away to see your reaction. 

You were shocked by everything that had happened in the last thirty seconds and by Hyunjin’s sweet warm breath that tickled your skin. It took you longer than it should have to give him a response. “No, not too much,” you managed, your voice higher than usual. “If we follow this path, the RV site is at the end of the road on the right.” 

“Alright, let’s go.” Taking the lead, Hyunjin started again, illuminating the path like he had never feared bears would maul him. One might believe he thought that rain was lethal to you or something, with how determined he was. 

The more it rained, the faster you walked, and the tighter Hyunjin held onto you. Or maybe it was you who held onto him, you couldn’t say. You passed the opening that led to the little spot by the river that you liked, promising yourself to visit it soon. Also trying to focus on anything but what was happening. You had to buy milk, and maybe eggs too. You’d definitely need fabric softener. Yeah, you would have to go to the grocery store tomorrow. You’d also go see your father, but there would undoubtedly be a lot of things to do on the campground, as was always the case after a good rainfall. 

Hyunjin caught you just in time when you slipped in the mud—by then, you were completely soaked. He saved you from a nasty fall. After that, you made sure to look where you were going and to stop thinking about everything and anything. 

But then that meant the other thoughts didn’t stop.

What the fuck am I doing here? What am I doing? Where am I going? Why am I running in the rain with a guy I barely know who's… how many years younger than me exactly? Seven, eight years? More? More, I think. What the fuck are people going to say? Is my dress see-through now? Oh god I think so. Fuck. I should have worn the dark one instead. My hair probably looks like shit too. But who cares? Who cares what I look like? It’s not like he’s taking me back to his RV because he’s trying to get into my pants. And even if he was—WHICH HE IS NOT BY THE WAY! EVEN IF HE PAINTED ME. HE’S JUST AN ARTIST—I’m married. I’m married to a man who does not love me anymore but I’m married anyway. I’m married to a man who I know doesn’t want to be with me anymore but refuses to divorce me out of respect for me and our relationship and maybe out of respect for our daughter too. What the fuck am I doing here? How did I get here? 

It just kept going until you reached the motorhome shared by Hyunjin and Minho. It was completely dark inside, and while you were in a hurry to get out of the very cold rain, you became self-conscious.

“I don’t want to wake him up,” you told Hyunjin as he was searching his pocket for the key.

“Don’t worry. If it’s raining, he’s outside sleeping in a tent,” Hyunjin replied with a shrug. His hair had come undone and was completely drenched. “He likes the sound of the rain.” 

He unlocked the door and let you in first—knowing this RV well after having done a maintenance run on it, you turned on the kitchenette lights on your left, leaving enough space for Hyunjin to come in and close the door behind him while you were getting rid of your mud-soaked sandals.

As soon as the door was closed, the rain became a muffled noise, distant, barely real. Out of breath, you leaned on the counter to catch your air—it had been a long time since you ran for that long, especially in those conditions. You looked to your left to make sure that Hyunjin was fine, but as soon as your eyes met his, the two of you froze. 

It was eerily quiet here. The RV was huge—it was meant to accommodate up to four people very comfortably and six if they wanted to squeeze in there a little. Yet he was right there. Hyunjin. He smelled like bug spray and petrichor and mud and strawberries. His hair was pure chaos—wet, messy, all over the place—but it took nothing away from his effortless beauty. Your heart skipped a few beats. It was because of all the running and not because his shirt was sticking to him like a second skin, exposing a lean and toned body, hinting at enough muscle to make you avert your gaze and blush. 

“I forgot it was supposed to rain, but in my defense, they said it would be later into the night,” you said to diffuse whatever weight was falling from your chest to your stomach. It did not work—the feeling lingered. And descended even lower.

Hyunjin was silent. He had removed his backpack and left it in a safe corner and was staring at anywhere except you. A little—or very—self-consciously, you did your best to smooth out your hair. 

“I’ll take this,” Hyunjin said all of a sudden, reaching for the tote bag on your shoulder and handing you a dry towel in exchange. There was one hanging around his neck already. “Uh…” He cleared his throat, his eyes dancing once again, struggling to stay fixated on yours. For one second, maybe two, but no more, he looked at you below the neck. “Maybe you’d want a warm shower? And clothes?” 

You took the towel from him, blushing violently. It felt as though your brain couldn’t even function properly. You, also, struggled to look him in the eyes. Did you absolutely want a shower right now? No. But did you want to be alone for like five minutes?

Yes. 

“O—Okay, well, I’ll wash up, y—yeah,” you managed, stammering your way through your sentence. “Thanks.” You gulped, wrapping your arms around yourself. “I don’t think you’ll have clothes for me.” He was just so lean. And long. 

“I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t,” Hyunjin retorted as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

He guided you towards the bathroom and you followed him, eyes to the floor, thanking him again, reminding him you knew how everything worked when he tried to explain the shower functions. The bathroom was tiny but fully equipped—this RV unit was the campground’s last big purchase and its most luxurious. To think that Minho had rented it for the entire season… 

“I’ll leave clothes here by the door,” Hyunjin told you. “The towels are in the cabinet, help yourself. There are a few combs in there too, for your hair.” 

You barely gave him an answer as you had just come face to face with the mirror. Your hair was not the problem. The problem wasn’t even the dark circles under your eyes from your sleepless nights, or your chapped lips from biting at them too much. 

The problem was your soaked dress and how it stuck to your skin and how it had turned see-through for the most part and that you could see your black lace bra underneath. You buried your face into your hands, properly humiliated. Rookie move. This was what you got for hanging out with a guy who looked like a young god, no less. Hyunjin was the kind of person who just couldn’t have a fashion faux pas—everything would always look good on him. For instance, his wet T-shirt made him look like he was straight out of an alluring magazine ad for some fancy fragrance.

And here you were with your stupid fucking off-white dress with a black bra underneath because you forgot to do your laundry and it was all that you had. The dress stuck to your curves in a way that made you look like anything but a magazine ad. As you stared into that mirror, you could see nothing of the woman Hyunjin had painted in watercolors. She was a version of you that didn’t exist.

You turned on the shower, angrily at first, swallowing back tears and shame and planning the perfect escape. You would tell Hyunjin thank you so, so much for the shower and the dry clothes but you couldn’t stay. You had to go right now. He’d probably want to walk you back and you’d have to be firm and insist and say no. He was just a very, very nice guy. You had no reason to be associated with him whatsoever. He probably just pitied you because of what you told him that other night, about Judith. 

Yes. That was it. 

So you toweled yourself dry and found a dry pair of gray sweatshorts by the door, along with a loose tank top and a zip-up hoodie. Hyunjin had even provided you with a bag for any clothing items you wished to discard.

I’m really sorry, I had a phone call and I have to go, you rehearsed in your head as you were getting dressed. To your surprise, the sweatshorts fit comfortably. Thank you so much for everything, I’ll make sure to get the clothes back to you tomorrow. Oh no, no it’s perfectly fine, you stay right here. I insist. I—

Your mind went blank the moment you put on the tank top. The fabric was soft, the shirt was nice and high-quality. But most importantly, it smelled like Hyunjin. Like roses dipped in golden sunsets. Like spice-infused oud. Like smoke, like amber. It made you freeze in place, inhaling a lot more air than you needed, or should. It was a little tighter in certain places but it felt more like a hug than anything else.

Hyunjin’s voice brought you back to reality like tripping over a goddamn canyon. “Is everything alright?”

You cleared your throat. “Yes, yes, it’s all good—thank you, I’m fine, I—” One glance at the mirror confirmed that you probably should have put on your very wet bra underneath the tank top but instead you chose to wrap yourself in the hoodie, which was even softer than the shirt and smelled even more like Hyunjin, almost as though he had worn it at least once without washing it. 

I need to get out of here. Fuck. 

You pulled the door open and your plans completely fell through. 

Hyunjin was busy getting the back room ready. It was normally the master bedroom but you could tell from his and Minho’s setup that they used it as some sort of living room and instead slept in the bunk beds. He was placing pillows onto it and the bottle of Hennessy was on the shelf behind the bed/couch, with two glasses nearby, waiting for you. 

“There you are,” he said with a smile when he caught sight of you. “Are you comfortable with the clothes? I have more. We can hang your dress to dry in the kitchen if you want but I don’t think it’ll dry anytime soon…” 

“It’s all very comfortable.” Nothing about the way Hyunjin spoke to you made you feel self-conscious about yourself and the way you looked. He really just wanted to make sure the clothes were comfy. His question had nothing to do with the size of the clothes. “Don’t worry about the dress, I’ll wash it at home.” 

“I’ll shower too, but I insist that you make yourself at home. Fridge, food, anything,” he told you for the second time. “There are books by my bed if you want, and the TV remote is here.” He handed it to you. “I’ll be right back.”

Not two minutes ago, you were planning your escape. And now you found yourself sitting on this makeshift couch with a TV remote in your hand, facing a black screen because you hadn’t turned it on, listening to the sounds of the running shower coming from the tiny bathroom a few feet away. Hyunjin had cracked open a window by the couch and you also heard the thunder, realizing that it was noticeably closer than it had been before. You listened to the rain as it fell onto what you were certain was Minho’s tent. 

For an instant, just a few seconds, you were transported back to your childhood. To that one summer night Chris tried to get you to go camping with him in his backyard and you wanted nothing to do with that. It’ll rain! It’ll be so cool, come on! And of course you went. And of course you stayed for about ten minutes before both Chris and you decided it was best to sleep indoors because the wind was scary. 

You sighed—but first, you took a deep breath, inhaling more of Hyunjin’s scent, and it seemed to evaporate most of your brain functions. Except for the one that was responsible for making you notice that the stitching of the crotch on the sweatshorts was pressing at certain places. In certain ways. In certain pleasant ways. 

I’m so sorry Hyunjin, but while you were showering, I had a phone call and I’m gonna have to go. But thank you so much and thank you so much for the painting too. It’s just that it’s my father and I don’t want to leave him alone. Over the years, you had become such a good liar. So good that, often, you yourself couldn’t even tell whether you were telling the truth or not. So this wouldn’t be a problem. You just needed to—

It seemed you had remained lost in your thoughts for longer than you believed because Hyunjin reappeared, sporting shorts and a long-sleeved gray tee. He was squeezing his hair dry with the towel, but little drops of water had stained the shirt around the collar. There was something incredibly soft about him at that moment—maybe it was just the warm lighting or the dewy aspect of his post-shower skin. 

In any case.

You didn’t go anywhere.

“There’s a phone charger to your left,” he said, motioning towards the cord in question. “I—Uh—I mean, I suppose… people would be looking for you and wondering if you’re okay.” 

You blinked, staring at him like you had never seen him before. Everything just felt so different—only yesterday, that statement would have elicited a deep sadness from you, no doubt. It was still there, you could feel it. It’s not like it had disappeared overnight. But there were so many other things alongside it that it was drowning.

You scoffed, shaking your head, still connecting your phone to the cord. “Nobody is looking for me, Hyunjin. It’s fine.” 

He stood near the not-couch, visibly uncomfortable. You could almost feel his eyes drilling a hole into your ring finger. You weren’t stupid. You knew exactly what—or rather, who—this conversation was about. 

“He’s not going to wander the campground and desperately search for me all night if that’s what you’re wondering,” you murmured. “This isn’t the kind of relationship we have anymore.” Fully sober? I dropped that lore fully sober? Really? “Hey, let’s have drinks, yeah?” 

“I bet he will want to know where you are,” Hyunjin insisted, dimming the lights before making his way to the liquor and unscrewing the bottle open. “That’s just why I wanted you to know you could charge your phone. Here.” He handed you a glass that was a little too full of liquor but you gladly took it from him. 

You could have told my husband where I was going and yet you did not. But the thoughts remained on your tongue and you swallowed them like a bitter pill, chasing them with the cognac. 

“Don’t try to deflect,” you said, squinting, waving an accusing finger at Hyunjin as he was sitting down next to you. “We agreed to pause our earlier conversation and continue it with drinks someplace else. The conversation was about you,” you added. “So let’s resume.”

Hyunjin’s response was instantaneous—save for the exaggerated scoff he let out before. “Sorry, but I’ll remind you that the only thing I agreed to was drinks!” 

You turned to him, falsely offended, eyebrows raised, and exactly one second passed before the two of you burst out laughing. You had to press a hand over your lips to muffle the sound and make sure not to wake Minho who, after all, was sleeping right next to the window. 

The laughter died out, blending with the thunder. You drank more, letting the liquor smooth out the parts of you that were too sharp. It warmed up your throat nicely. It made you wonder how it would feel to be kissed passionately. With purpose, with lust. You had forgotten those feelings, but drinking the fancy cognac reminded you of tasting yourself on lips that uttered your name fondly.

Hyunjin cleared his throat, coughing faintly after emptying his glass a little too quickly. “Seriously though. There’s nothing to say.” 

“I doubt that.” You hesitated, staring at the bottom of your glass, swirling the rest of the cognac in it. “You know, when I went to give you the paints and stuff? I heard that you were on the phone. I get now that it was with her, and you sounded… agitated. Upset.” You finished your cognac for good measure, keeping the empty glass in your hand just to have something to hold onto while Hyunjin’s gaze was on the black TV screen in front of him. “I don’t know the situation and I don’t want to say that Minho’s right, but if it’s a recurring thing. That your friendship with Dara makes you sad and upset. Maybe keeping a little distance between you two wouldn’t be a bad thing.” 

The silence was deafening, louder than the thunder outside. You regretted your words instantly, wondering if they had been spoken out of greed. Greed, after all, often comes disguised as something noble, like concern. Maybe you just wanted less of Hyunjin’s attention on Dara. Maybe you were the most selfish person you knew, and everything you had ever done had been calculated to benefit from it in some way. 

You knew it couldn’t possibly be true. You knew reality was more nuanced than this. And yet, the whispers in your head were relentless. It was that same greed that had launched the chain of events causing the death of your daughter, so maybe you should have learned your lesson by now. 

“I only meant—” you started, but Hyunjin shook his head, raising his hand.

“I know what you meant,” he cut you off. “The reason I was upset is stupid. And inconsiderate. Selfish. It’s not her fault.”

“I know a thing or two about selfishness.” You made yourself a little more comfortable with your back leaning on the wall near the window so that you would face Hyunjin. He was half lying on the makeshift couch, propped on several pillows. “I don’t think you’re inconsiderate. You’re the opposite of inconsiderate.” 

“Something really cool happened to her. I should have been happy for her, right? Well, I was. I am happy for her. But my first reaction was to be offended that she told me nothing about the project before. It’s not the first time she does something without me. Obviously. I don’t expect her to do everything with me or to tell me all about every single one of her projects. But this… it feels different.”

He grabbed the cognac and poured himself more, glancing at your glass inquisitively. You handed it to him so he could refill it. It had been a while since you had more than just a beer or a glass of wine to drink—you’d need to stop after this one.

“She submitted a few paintings to an art gallery. They gave her a few spots to expose,” Hyunjin explained. “Which is so cool. And I’m so happy for her.” He took two sips of liquor. “She never told me about any of this. I was still in Seoul when she had the idea behind the series of paintings. I was still in the studio next to hers when she painted them. I was still right there when she submitted them. But I learned about it when I saw a reel about it in her Stories.” 

His voice was muted. His voice was more like the ghost of a voice—there was something terribly heartbreaking to it. It made you want to hold him in your arms. Because you understood. You knew what it felt like to lose that closeness with somebody that was once your everything. You start to realize you’ve made a mistake—you start to realize you put too much of your own heart into theirs. You also realize it was inevitable, but that you can’t get those parts of your soul back. 

“I’d say you’re entitled to being upset,” you murmured, tilting your head to the side. It caused a dizzy spell for which the cognac was definitely to blame, so you closed your eyes for a few seconds. It gave you some time to think things over. It also gave you some time to realize that you were feeling the effects of the liquor in you. “Did you guys fight?”

“No, not really. I didn’t want her to know I was upset. But these situations have been happening more and more between us. It’s difficult.” He stared through the tinted window behind you, maybe looking at the lightning strikes in the distance. “When I have ideas like these. I just tell her. You know? I like telling her about my stuff. And when she tells me about hers.” 

For an instant, you imagined that you were Hyunjin and that Dara was Christopher—it all became obvious then. Clear as day. You may not know their story entirely and it may be different from yours, but at the end of the day, it was all the same. It was always the same. In most relationships, at a given time, there would be someone who loved the other more. It was like an old balance scale trying to find equilibrium except it never did. It never really would. It wasn’t supposed to. Love wasn’t supposed to be equal anyway.

But for Hyunjin, that love was getting tiresome. Because he kept holding the weight of it while simultaneously adding more load onto it to make it substantial. To make it something. You had done that for a while too, with Chris. It was like adding logs into a fireplace while letting the flames lick you and burn you, over and over. Trying so hard just so he would still love you. Just so he would love you again. All that love going nowhere. Lost, forever. 

Except Hyunjin was also a lot like Christopher, and so you understood Dara’s perspective, or at least you thought you did. Chris, wherever he went, was loved. He was noticed. Remembered. He was somebody. 

You were not.

“Hyunjin,” you started carefully, hoping you wouldn’t offend him. “Maybe she just needs to do something on her own. To prove to herself that she can do it. You know?”

“She knows she can. She’s a better painter than I am, she doesn’t even deny it,” Hyunjin insisted. “I feel so weird inside. I think it’s working. What she’s doing.”

“What is she doing?” you asked, putting your empty glass on the shelf, deciding it would remain empty because your skin was warm and your thoughts fuzzy. 

“She’s keeping me away. Emotionally I mean,” Hyunjin explained. He finished his drink and put his glass next to yours before laying down again, on his back this time. 

He stretched a little, exposing a sliver of skin between his shorts and his shirt and shivers went down your spine. You decided to keep your eyes closed but it was too late—you couldn’t unsee what you had seen. And you were under the influence enough to wonder what it would feel like to kiss Hyunjin there. Or maybe just brush your fingers on his skin, feeling his toned body under your touch. Or under you.

“It’s kind of a vicious circle,” he went on, completely oblivious to the commotion he had caused within you. “What happened between Dara and me affected me deeply. I never told her it was what made me so distressed, but I wonder if she knew, maybe. I sought comfort from her anyway. I felt alone. I still do. Even when I’m surrounded by crowds I feel so alone, so empty. Then I realized that I needed the comfort to come from her, or else it didn’t soothe me. Then I realized she wouldn’t give it to me anymore.” 

“Maybe she doesn’t give it because she knows you’re hiding feelings from her?” you suggested, but every new revelation by Hyunjin just hurt more and more. You swallowed back your tears, remembering those entire days when Chris used to ignore you—for his own sake—making you miserable in the process, only for you to need him to kiss you goodnight and hold you as you fell asleep. 

“I don’t think I’m hiding anything. I don’t think I can hide anything. I’m not very good at lying.” 

You couldn’t help letting out a faint laugh, no matter how out of place it was. You controlled it as best you could, biting into your lower lip and focusing on the conversation, but Hyunjin raised his head, staring at you with curiosity. “Did I say something funny?” 

It had been a very long time since you had consumed this much hard liquor, especially in such a short amount of time. “No, no—sorry, I just,” you stammered. “It’s—it’s true. You’re not a very good liar. I heard you speak to Chris earlier and… yeah. Sorry.” 

Hyunjin’s head returned to the pillows at the speed of light. He didn’t pretend not to understand what you were referring to. “I know it’s going to sound crazy, but I felt like he was questioning me. He asked me where I had spent the day, so I said fishing. He asked if I had painted anything. And where I was headed for the night. And I froze. It’s dumb.”

You put your hand in the narrow crack of the window just to feel the wind and the rain on your fingers for a few seconds. “Like I said. You’re not a very good liar.” 

Hyunjin clicked his tongue softly but it was not with annoyance. He took a deep breath, facing you again. “Well, what did you tell him?”

“Nothing at all.” The difference between Hyunjin and you was that you, on the other hand, were an excellent liar. You were just tired of pretending, and the facade collapsed once in a while. “It wouldn’t make a difference. I told you—we don’t have that kind of relationship anymore.”

“It might be a language barrier but I don’t know what you mean by that.” Hyunjin was only being polite because his English was excellent.

Nobody in the entire world knew the state of your marriage. You thought your father had his doubts—your in-laws probably did as well. Same with some of the Riverside employees and your friends in common. But your acting was convincing enough, you thought, that it told a solid story. 

Nobody expected a couple to remain the same amount of strong after what you two went through anyway, or just through the passage of time. So it just made sense. The honeymoon phase was over, so it was totally, completely, one hundred percent normal that Christopher spent most of his nights at the campground staff house and most of his days with a woman who was by far more fun and livelier and prettier than you. A woman who was still whole. 

A heavy fatigue took over you. It was sudden but not surprising—you found yourself lying down on the makeshift couch, letting the faint breeze cool you down. “You’re changing the subject again,” you mumbled.

“And you’re dodging.” 

“What do you want me to say?” No one knew. You weren’t sure that anybody was supposed to know, no matter how tempting it was to spill your sorrows.

There was a short silence followed by the sound of brushing fabric—you felt Hyunjin’s weight next to you as he moved and jumped a little when you opened your eyes to find him a lot closer than he had been seconds before. 

He gulped thickly. “I know what they say about couples who lose a—” Something made him stop there. Something that wasn’t greed. You just felt it in your bones that it wasn’t.

Your heart tightened in your chest. Like every time it was mentioned, you relived it in a few seconds. All of it. From the pregnancy test to the moment they put Judith’s dead body in your arms because they thought you should hold her anyway. For grief purposes. And everything after. And everything before, too.

“A baby,” you said for him, and it surprised you that you said it. “We lost a baby. Stillbirth. I knew something was wrong before we made it to the hospital but I was hoping it could be fixed somehow. That they would save her. I didn’t even want them to save me if it came to that.” You rolled on your side to face Hyunjin. “It still doesn’t quite feel real, sometimes.” 

The rain was still pattering on the tent outside the motorhome and on the tree leaves. On the roof. All over the night. That sound used to comfort you. Other things used to comfort you. But your mother was dead, and everything else reminded you of what you had lost. 

Except for the man lying on the bed next to you. Because it was a bed. Even though they sort of used it as a couch, it was still a mattress. A bed. You hadn’t even been in the same bed as Chris in months. Maybe it was because he was a new element in your life but Hyunjin wasn’t a grim reminder. 

He brought no somber recollections. His eyes were soft. And kind. He stared at you with them like you meant something to him even though that sounded impossible. His gaze was hazy with cognac and an entire day spent in the sun and sometimes it lingered over you in places that made your heart flutter. 

Maybe you felt safe with Hyunjin because he was broken, too. It didn’t need to be any more complicated than that. 

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, resting his hand between your faces. “I don’t think you ever get over that.”

“You don’t.” There was no point in denying it. “And it’s all my fault. I killed her.” You must have been drunker than you thought because you never thought you’d say those words out loud. 

Seeing that Hyunjin was staring at you with a confused expression on his face, you went on. Your voice was weak, hushed. He came closer to hear you better, his scent entering your lungs and colonizing you.

No more dodging.

“I had an abortion when I was seventeen. I let a boy touch me for the wrong reasons,” you explained, your voice shaking with cries, tears threatening to spill from your eyes. “It never felt right to have the abortion but I was too scared to keep it. And then, later, when I was married…” You closed your eyes, a trembling breath escaping your lips. “Christopher was ready to have a baby right now but I wasn’t sure. I wanted to want it. And wanting to want something isn’t the same as just wanting it. It isn’t genuine desire. It jinxed it. I cursed it. Chris resents me, and he resents himself for resenting me. It was so hard on him. That’s why we don’t spend nights together anymore.”

Hyunjin inhaled sharply, ready to interrupt you, but you didn’t let him.

“I loved her immediately. Judith. When I found out I was pregnant, no matter how terrified I was and how unsure I had been seconds before. I can’t even explain it. It was the happiest I ever felt. I loved my body so much because it had a baby inside it. I loved Chris so much because he gave me a baby. I loved my parents for giving me life. I loved everything. And her—I loved this little thing inside of me unconditionally from the moment I knew it was there. Words can’t even describe it.”

“It’s not your fault. You talk like you were punished by higher forces for hesitating to have a baby. Fuck—be honest with me right now. Do you actually, literally believe that this all happened to you because you had an abortion when you were seventeen? Seventeen?”

You hid your face in a pillow. Or perhaps it was just to muffle the sound of your cries. Nobody else knew. You had told no one. 

“Let’s think for one instant that, somehow, what we feel does influence the things that happen to us,” Hyunjin offered. “Look at me, please.” When you didn’t move, he repeated it in an even softer voice. “Please. Look at me.” 

You flinched when he touched you but it was not out of fear or aversion, it was just that you weren’t used to tenderness. And there was a lot of it in the way he tucked a strand of your damp hair behind your ear before he gently nudged your head. “Please,” he said again. 

You wiped your face before you faced him. But you faced him. No one else knew. About Chris. About Judith. About the crazy thoughts in your head, which weighed so heavy on your heart.

You were here tonight. With him, this man that you barely knew and who barely knew you. Who knew you better than anybody else. And it was out of greed that you were. Out of despair.

“Even if it were the case,” he went on, his voice so full of compassion it stopped your tears on the spot. “I’m sure that your other, brighter feelings and thoughts outweighed the bad ones and would have prevented that tragedy.” 

Your response was instantaneous. “You don’t know that.”

“I know you enough to know you’re not a bad person. What happened isn’t on you. I’m sure you would be a great mom. And if you were my wife, I sure as fuck would give a damn where you spend the night.”

The conflicted feelings within you were starting to pile up dangerously, but whatever that last sentence had unleashed caused the wildest reaction—it made the tears reappear. It made your heart stop in your chest, and then it started again only it was way too fast this time. Uncontrollable, unsteady. You might just be having a heart attack. A wave of warmth was spilling onto you like a high tide, starting from the nape of your neck and reaching all the way to your fingertips, your belly, the small of your back, and your thighs. Between your thighs. You had no way to know for sure but you thought—and it was pathetic—that you were wet. 

It was hard to pinpoint what had done it. If it was just the proximity with Hyunjin or his alluring scent, or the few seconds where you caught a glimpse of his toned stomach earlier. Or when he hinted at your abilities at motherhood just now and uttered the words my wife while talking about you. It had been too long since anybody had given the semblance of a fuck about you. 

You closed your eyes again. To calm down.

The silence that followed was lengthy and not a true silence anyway. The rain was still falling and the storm was getting closer. Just like your father taught you, you counted the seconds between the lightning flashes and the thunder that ensued, dividing the result by 5 to get an approximation of the distance of the storm. It was near but it would probably not pass right over Riverside. It was difficult to concentrate on the numbers anyway because you kept being distracted by Hyunjin’s breathing. It was deep and soothing and comforting the way the wind was comforting when you were in the safety of a warm, secure home.

“Do you still love him? Christopher?” he asked out of nowhere. The storm was about two miles away to the East. 

“I grew up with him. Here, in Stormhaven, at Riverside. He’s my best friend.” You thought that was obvious enough, but just in case, you added, “I’ll always love him. Like you’ll always love Dara.”

“It’s not the same thing.” 

“It’s not the same thing but it is,” you retorted. “Different friendship, different situation, same result. Am I wrong?” 

He didn’t give you an answer but you heard him shake his head negatively. “Well, does he love you?”

“Does Dara love you?”

“We’re not talking about me.” 

“We were very much talking about you, by the way.” The storm was one mile away. “It’s the same for him. He grew up with me. He’ll always love me somehow. But he’s miserable with me. He wants to fuck Summer.”

“Summer?” Then, immediately. “Ah, that girl, I bet.”

“The one he was sitting with at the diner, yes,” you explained. “I don’t blame him. She’s a great person. Like, honestly. They make a great pair. And have you seen her? She’s hot as hell.”

“The one who was wearing his hoodie the other night. I remember,” Hyunjin said in a dry, irritated tone. 

You chuckled, managing to open your eyes despite your head spinning a little more than you’d want it to. “Why are you mad?”

Hyunjin stared at you blankly. “I’m not mad.”

“You’re the worst liar I’ve ever seen. Why are you mad?”

He rolled his eyes, tsking you. “Why was she wearing his hoodie? And why was he sitting with her tonight and not with you?”

“I’m literally wearing your clothes right now. And sitting with you. Horizontally. On a bed.”

“It’s a couch,” Hyunjin pointed out, motioning at the TV. “Doesn’t he realize that he’s holding you back? If he loved you—truly loved you, like a best friend would—he would let you go. A woman like you should be happy.” 

The storm was here. Not here here as in it did not hover the sky directly above you but it was too close for you to count the seconds between the flashes and the thunder, which vibrated within the walls of the motorhome. 

“This is a two-way thing.” You were so tired that you weren’t exactly sure any of this was happening. Maybe you were asleep. Maybe you had gone home directly after dinner and this was all a dream. Some fucked up dream. “I’m not letting him go either.”

“Why not?” Hyunjin touched you again. Your wrist this time, then your hand, squeezing it. You pressed your thighs together as blood rushed between your legs again. Stupid. Ridiculous. It was time you brought back your faithful vibrator from its retirement—this was nothing more than a physical reaction to a lack of something. “I’m not telling you to dump him,” he added. “But either you guys need to make it work or just let it go. You’re hurting yourselves. Are you sure he hasn’t fucked her already? That girl?” 

“I’m sure. He would never.” He might have done what you were doing right now though. He might have spent a night with her. On a couch. Just in her presence. If it were the case, you hoped it had made him very happy. “I don’t know how to let go. I never did that before. You’d be upset if someone told you to let go of Dara, wouldn’t you?” 

“Yes. It’s not the same thing. We’re not married. She doesn’t want to love me. Do you think that Christopher wants to love you?”

There it was.

It all came down to that one question, didn’t it? All of it. All this time you knew what you were supposed to do but you didn’t do it because it scared you. Because you didn’t know what would happen to Riverside Campground. Because you didn’t know what you would do without it—because of course you’d let Chris have it in the divorce. 

You didn’t know who you were without him by your side. He had been there the whole time. Hunting frogs as children. Sneaking out as teens and smoking weed and pretending not to like each other. Adults doing their best. 

Here’s a truth so ugly no one ever wants to admit it to be real—you can do your best your whole life and it doesn’t mean it’ll work out. You can try your hardest and it doesn’t mean anything will come of it. You can love someone with your whole entire soul and it doesn’t mean you’ll be with them in the end. 

And it’s just like that.

Your silence, perhaps, was the loudest response you could have given. Hyunjin squeezed your hand a little tighter before he let go of it but it was only so he could grab a lightweight but soft blanket. “Get some sleep,” he whispered as he lay the blanket over you. 

Stay, you almost told him. But it felt like a dream. You thought you were dreaming because nothing felt the same as it used to. When you were searching for those anchor points within you, you knew they were there. The sorrow, the grief. But you couldn’t see them, the way you couldn’t see people’s faces or the corners of a room sometimes in a dream.

But you could say it now—the reason why you didn’t want to let go. You were afraid to let go of it because grief, truly, was all you had left of Judith. You didn’t have any memories with her except for the few months she was in your belly. She kicked at you from within. You’d sing her lullabies. She had the hiccups sometimes, usually in the middle of the night. This, your grief, and the silence in the delivery room when they pulled her out of you, was all you had of Judith. 

In your dream, Hyunjin said, I’m here. The rain was tapping steadily on the roof still and it lulled you into a deeper sleep, a barren, quiet one, the kind of sleep where the world stopped existing for an instant. 

You only woke once during the night, barely. 

The storm had faded, cooling the air—you felt the breeze from the window on your face and expected to feel cold, only you didn’t. You realized that there were two additional blankets over you. 

You opened your eyes. Barely. 

It was dark but you saw him anyway, Hyunjin, asleep on the other side of the bed. You remembered the common loons. You remembered the place where the river came to a rest, slowing down just for a moment, only to gain momentum again. And depth. And strength. Maybe the strength was never really gone even if you didn’t see it. It was just dormant.

Aloneness had been forced upon you long ago but maybe, just maybe, you didn’t need to drown in it.

You fell asleep again, and your sleep was dreamless and peaceful. 

... to be continued.

↬ ✉️ Hello everyone! It's been a while, hasn't it?

I hope everyone has been doing okay 🤍

I didn't think this chapter would ever see the light of day. Actually, there was a long moment during which I thought I might or probably would never write again. It's very frightening when you realize that your own melancholy has drowned the fire inside you—but I suppose there was a spark somewhere. I did what I could with the chapter—if maybe you felt like it was different, or lackluster, I am sorry. Keep in mind that it is a battlefield, and it's quite bloody. I fought to keep writing. I want to keep writing. Writing is all that I have and all that I am.

Thank you to those who have waited for me. Thank you to those who wait for the other stories too. I'm so sorry I'm like that. I wish I were like the other writers and would post often. You guys are the best readers and I want to give you more. Thank you so much for being with me. Some of you have been there for years—this is special to me. I'm grateful, so grateful. No matter what happens to me or the fire inside me, please know that I'll never forget you, and your kindness, and your love.

Thank you so much, and thank you for keeping me around. Now, you guys better take care of yourselves, and eat your meals okay? All three of them!

PS: I will be answering the asks in my inbox today & tomorrow 🤍 sorry for the delay.

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Left on Read

── .✦ content warning : SMUT! MDI!!! fem!reader; kinda angst; mild burnout; miscommunication; light argument; explicit sex;

✮⋆˙ pairing: idol seungmin × fem!reader

✮⋆˙ word count: 2,1k

✮⋆˙ synopsis: “He shuts you out. You show up anyway. Tension snaps, words cut, and then it's just hands, mouths, desperation — because silence never kept you from choosing him.”

✮⋆˙ A/N: heyy!! I personally didn't like this one – cause I hate writing short ones – I just wanted to post something so the blog doesn't ""die"". if you have some requests or thoughts you want to share, please feel free to send me a message and lmk what you think. don't forget to like and reblog it!! xox ૮ ․ ․ ྀིა

The lights in the apartment clock flashed 00:42 AM. I sat curled up on the couch, my phone screen glowing in my palm as I stared at the latest message I had sent him.

No response. Again. I had already double-checked if the messages were delivered. They were.

I sighed and typed another one, shorter this time.

[00:42 AM] Y/N: Are you still at the studio?

[00:56 AM] Y/N: Seungmin?

[01:09 AM] Y/N: Do you at least ate?

Still nothing.

My lips pressed into a thin line. I tapped on Chan’s name instead and sent a quick text:

[01:14 AM] Y/N → Chan: Is Seungmin still at the company?

The reply came almost instantly.

[01:14 AM] Chan: Yup. Still in the recording booth.

[01:15 AM] Chan: He’s arguing with himself about how his vocals suck.

[01:15 AM] Chan: You should probably come take him home before he erases the whole track.

My jaw tightened, fingers clenching around the phone. This wasn’t the first time. I tossed a hoodie over my tank top, grabbed my keys, and headed out.

The city passed like a blur outside the window as I drove, hands tight on the steering wheel, jaw clenched. Maybe this was insane. Maybe he just needed space. Maybe I was overreacting. But I knew him. And if there was one thing Seungmin was good at, it was pretending he was fine when he wasn’t.

The building was mostly empty at that hour, the distant hum of ventilation systems the only sound as I made my way through the halls. When I reached the studio, the door was slightly ajar, a soft trail of Seungmin’s voice leaking through.

Chan was in the producer’s chair, arms folded, head leaning back like he was halfway to sleep. He turned when he heard the door creak. His eyebrows rose. “Wow. He really pushed you, huh?”

I dropped my bag onto the couch with more force than necessary. “He’s not answering me. Again.”

Chan shrugged with a tired smile. “He’s locked in perfectionist mode. Keeps saying his tone sounds wrong. I’ve told him to stop at least four times. He argued. I gave up.”

I crossed my arms. “Is he eating?”

“No. He’s eating self-hatred and... vocal fry.” That earned a half-smirk from me.

Chan stood, slinging his jacket over one shoulder. “He might listen to you, though. I mean... if the pissed-off girlfriend look doesn’t make him flinch, I don’t know what will.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Coward.”

“Correct.” he said, grinning as he walked to the door. “Good luck. Don’t destroy any equipment.”

When the door clicked shut behind him, I finally turned to the booth. Seungmin was inside, headphones on, replaying the same take, muttering under his breath as he adjusted the mic. He hadn’t noticed me yet. I moved closer to the glass, arms folded.

Eventually, he turned—and froze. Our eyes locked. He blinked, surprised, pulling off his headphones. I didn’t wait for an invitation. I opened the booth door and stepped in.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, voice rough. Seungmin blinked, pulling the headphones off. “It’s late.”

“Yeah. No shit.” I stepped further in. “Did you plan on ignoring me until morning or…?”

He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “I didn’t mean to. I’ve just been working—”

“You always say that.” My voice cracked, just barely. “I get it, Min. You love what you do. But I’m not just some… background character in your day.”

A beat passed.

“I just... needed to get this right.” he muttered.

“You’ve been doing this for days. Skipping meals. Coming home after I’ve fallen asleep. Acting like I don’t exist.” His jaw clenched. “You think I’m mad because you’re working? I’m mad because you won’t let me in.” He didn’t answer. “You don’t have to carry everything by yourself, Seungmin. Not when I’m right here.”

He exhaled slowly, voice strained. “I didn’t want to worry you.”

“Yeah well, too late for that.”

He looked at me, finally meeting my eyes. And for a second, he looked smaller. Tired. Vulnerable. “I’m sorry.” he said. “For shutting you out. For making you feel like you don’t matter. You do. More than anything.”

I softened, stepping closer. “I’m sorry too. For making you think you can’t fall apart in front of me.”

He opened his mouth like he wanted to say something more, but the words didn’t come.

“Let me hear it.” I said. He hesitated, then pressed play. The recording played softly in the background. His voice filled the booth—raw, imperfect, beautiful. I didn’t look at the monitor. I watched him. When it ended, silence hung between us.

“You sound like you mean every word.” I said. “It's good. Better even.”

He let out a shaky laugh. “You always say that.”

I reached up, brushing her fingers against his cheek. “Because it's always true. That’s the curse of caring too much.”

He leaned into my touch without thinking.

“I missed you.” I whispered.

“I’ve been here.”

“Not really.”

He looked at me again — really looked this time — and everything about him softened.

“I’m sorry.” he said quietly. “For not replying. I didn’t mean to make you feel like I wasn’t listening.”

I stepped forward, my voice lower now. “Sorry if I made you feel like you’re never doing enough. That’s not what I think. That’s never what I think.” The tension in his shoulders. The tired edge in his voice. I leaned in, closing the space between us slowly, giving him time to stop me. He didn’t.

Our lips met — slow and deliberate, like we were savoring something we weren’t sure we’d be allowed to taste again. There was nothing rushed about it. It was all breath and longing and the echo of weeks spent in silence. His mouth moved against mine like a silent apology, and I kissed him back like I wanted to undo every minute of distance with nothing but my lips.

The way he touched me wasn’t hungry at first —it was careful. Like I was glass. Like he was afraid I’d shatter and disappear. His hands rested at my waist before sliding up, tentative, brushing under the hem of my hoodie. The heat of his palms made my skin jump, and I gasped into his mouth when his thumbs grazed my ribs.

I pulled him closer, fingers threading into his hair, nails scratching lightly against his scalp. His soft groan vibrated through me. It was the kind of sound you only make when something feels too good to be real.

And it did feel unreal.

The studio was quiet, lit only by the soft glow from the control board. The world outside didn’t exist anymore. Just me, him, and the months of tension unraveling with every brush of skin.

He broke the kiss first, breathing hard. “You should go home.” he whispered — but his arms tightened around me like he couldn’t bear the thought of letting go.

“Not happening.” I murmured, my lips ghosting across his jaw. “You don’t get to shut down and pretend I don’t exist just because you’re scared.”

His eyes fluttered shut, like he was fighting something heavy inside him. “I’ve been so fucking lost lately.”

“Then let me find you.” I pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it somewhere behind us. My hands moved automatically, relearning him—his collarbones, the heat of his chest, the slight tremble in his stomach when my fingers dragged down his abs. His breathing hitched.

“You’re shaking.” I said quietly.

“I haven’t touched you in weeks.” he replied, voice wrecked. “I’ve been thinking about this every damn night.”

My hoodie was next. He peeled it off slowly, reverently, like each inch of skin he uncovered was sacred. When he kissed my shoulder — just below my collarbone — I felt my knees weaken. Then he looked up, eyes dark, lips parted. “I don’t remember how to take it slow.”

“You don’t have to.”

I pressed my body to his, grinding slowly against the bulge in his jeans. He cursed under his breath, gripping my hips hard enough to bruise. When he kissed me again, it was messy and breathless. No more restraint — just weeks of built-up tension crashing into us like a wave.

He backed me toward the padded bench, lips never leaving mine, hands everywhere — waist, hips, the underside of my breasts. He pushed me down gently, then stood between my legs, looking down at me like I was some beautiful secret he didn’t know how to deserve.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.” he whispered, almost angry with himself for not saying it sooner.

He kissed his way down my body—hot, open-mouthed kisses on my chest, my stomach, the insides of my thighs. When he pulled my underwear down with his teeth, I thought I might combust right there.

He looked up at me from between my legs, eyes smoldering. “Let me taste you.”

I barely had time to nod before his tongue slid over me — slow, firm, deliberate. My hips bucked involuntarily, and he moaned into me like the taste alone was enough to undo him.

His tongue worked me open with practiced ease— lapping, teasing, circling my clit just right before sliding two fingers inside me. I gripped the edge of the bench, gasping, back arching as he pushed deeper, curling his fingers until I saw stars.

“Seungmin—fuck—don’t stop—”

“I’m not going anywhere.” he growled against me. “You’re shaking so pretty for me.”

And I was — legs trembling, breath ragged, vision blurring. He kept going, steady and relentless, until my orgasm hit me hard. I cried out, fingers tangled in his hair, thighs clamping around him as I came with a force that made the world tilt sideways.

He didn’t stop until I was panting, sensitive, trying to push him away with shaky hands.

Then he stood, wiping his mouth, looking thoroughly wrecked — and incredibly proud.

“My turn.” I said, breathless.

I pulled him down by the waistband of his jeans, undoing the button with slow, teasing fingers. His cock sprang free, thick and flushed, and when I wrapped my hand around him, he hissed through his teeth.

“You’re killing me.”

“You like it.”

“Too much.”

I stroked him slowly, dragging my thumb over the head, watching his jaw clench and his eyes flutter shut. When he looked down at me, his control was visibly cracking. “Turn around.”

I blinked. “What?”

“Bench.” he said, voice low and dangerous. “Hands on the bench. I need you.”

The words made heat pool in my stomach. I did as he said—bent over the bench, back arched, looking over my shoulder at him.

He lined himself up behind me, running the head of his cock through my folds. “You’re dripping,” he muttered. “Fuck. You feel ready?”

“Don’t make me beg.”

He slid in slowly — inch by inch until he was fully seated inside me. We both groaned. My hands clenched the edge of the bench as he pulled out halfway, then slammed back in, making the whole booth shake.

“I missed you.” he rasped against my ear.

“Shut up and keep fucking me.”

He obeyed, thrusts hard and deep, filling me completely. The sound of skin on skin, his breath in my ear, the ragged moans he tried to hold back—it was too much. And not enough.

I pushed back against him, meeting every thrust, panting his name between gasps. One of his hands slid under me, fingers finding my clit again. I jolted. “Oh my god — Seungmin — ”

“Come again for me, baby,” he growled. “I want to feel you fall apart.”

And I did. Harder than before. My vision went white, body clenching around him, drawing him deeper. He cursed loudly, fucking me through it, and moments later, he stilled — burying himself deep as he came with a broken gasp, his chest pressed to my back.

We stayed like that for a long time, breathing in sync, sweat cooling on our skin. He kissed my shoulder again, softer this time. More tender than desperate.

“You okay?” he whispered.

I nodded, twisting just enough to see him. “That was... good.”

He pulled me into his arms, tucking me against his chest like he couldn’t stand the thought of space between us. We stayed like that, still tangled, breathing each other in.

Eventually, I smiled. “I guess I really did have to come get you.”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “Yeah. Please keep doing that.”

I kissed him again, softer this time, and in the quiet hum of the booth, it felt like the rest of the world could wait.

cops and robbers — kim seungmin

trope: kim seungmin x reader | strangers-to-lovers ; use of profanity ; mentions of a one night stand once ; he’s a fuckboy basically summary: fuckboy kim seungmin takes interest in the quiet, photography major who lives just across his dorm. wc: 3.8k words

The first time Kim Seungmin sees you, you have a camera strapped around your neck.

You’re just across his dorm room, hands fiddling on the buttons of your DSLR and eyes shifting where you can get your eyes on, looking.

Probably for something that can be added to your portfolio, he thinks. Not that he cares.

It isn’t all that hard to spot him either. Seungmin is easy to find, with a cigarette lit between his fingers and the smell of smoke vexing your senses. His entire body is leant on the wall, eyebrow slit and all to truly sell the fuckboy character.

You lock eyes when you finally find the source of smoke, and you think for a second to tell him to stop. It’s not what you do. Instead, you shift your attention.

It’s never a good idea to be within distance of boys like him anyway. There are other things to think about, things much more important. Like what you’ll have for dinner, the old pair of shoes you need to replace, your final portfolio.

Sighing, you look down at your camera.

You hope the low ISO 200 can capture whatever the fuck you want to take a photo of tonight—long shutter speeds, white balance on auto, manual mode. You’d be fucked if you didn’t have these settings memorized.

Different for day. Different for night. It’s a hassle, but it’s a hassle you keep up with if you want to graduate.

“You know, it isn’t safe for pretty girls like you to be out this late.”

Raspy. It comes from just behind you, and you have half a mind to turn to face the threat when you’re greeted face to face with a smirking Kim Seungmin. He sounds kitschy, looks kitchsy and it seems like he knows it as well.

You roll your eyes. “I think I’ll be fine.”

He stares at you for a minute.

“Whatever you say, princess.” The bass of his voice is a little terrifying, but not enough for you to shuffle away.

He would’ve been more if you weren’t hellbent on the idea of finishing your portfolio for the semester. Nothing scares you more than a failing class.

Not even Seungmin.

He doesn’t seem to mind your lack of chalant. He doesn’t really care. The boy has never been the type to stick his nose in other people’s business, talking to others only when necessary. Being annoyingly chatty was reserved for his friends.

In hindsight, starting a conversation with you should’ve been the first outlier he noticed on his sudden shift of behavior. But he doesn’t. Instead, he shrugs his shoulders and separates himself from you.

He was only out for a smoke anyway.

+

The next time he sees you is after his one-night-stand-gone-wrong.

It’s still at night, just a week later. And you look exactly like the way you were, camera in your hand and an unbothered look on your face.

Though, when you hear footsteps echoing from just a short distance and spot a speeding figure coming from his room, your face twists in disdain.

You were only out to practice a certain exposure you want to perfect. Not to bear witness to whatever the fuck happens in Seungmin’s dorms.

When he locks eyes with you for the second time that week, you pretend not to notice anything.

“You again?”

He’s shameless. A bit of his overgrown sideburns are sticking to his skin, shirt lazily thrown on, and sweat still glistening on his forehead. You don’t want to think of the connotations of what your observations could possibly mean.

You simply look at him, the way his face morphs in recognition and the way his neck cranes just a little. He looks like he’s in his element, sweat and fucked-out eyes and furrowed eyebrows.

You’re the exact opposite, picking at the buttons of your camera with sleep-riddled eyes and air struck hair.

Sighing, you push yourself off your unflattering position on the ground, brushing off the rubble that might’ve stuck on your pants from sitting there for so long.

You slip back into your dorm room without uttering a single response to the boy.

+

He sees you everywhere after that.

And truthfully, it was starting to get annoying. Especially when the boys started catching on to his staring.

While Changbin was narrating stories of nights Seungmin couldn’t care for the details of, he finds himself scanning the student hall.

He thinks he doesn’t know the reason why, or at least not until he finds you eating with some other girl.

Your eyes are intently glued to the screen of your camera. He wonders what photos could litter the memory of your SD card.

Before he can even shift his attention back to whatever the fuck was happening back with his friends, he’s caught red-handed. Shit-eating grins surround the table, a few howls here and there, and shoves that Seungmin could've gone without.

“Is she your next target, Seungmin?”

He wants to vomit at the word choice.

“Target?” He scoffs. You weren’t a target. “She isn’t even my type.”

Kim Seungmin brushes off their noise, canceling out the ill-intentions they’ve made up for him. He just sits there, unperturbed by everything until his friends finish eating.

He looks at you one last time before leaving. It’s hard not to.

It doesn’t save him from further teasing.

+

“You’re a photography major?”

You’re caught off guard by the sudden voice behind you.

It seems Seungmin has made a habit of surprising you when you least expect to see him.

“...I am.”

You finally reply after letting the question hang in the air for a few seconds longer than necessary. He doesn’t care, only cares that you responded to him.

“You don’t talk much, do you?”

Is he only capable of asking you questions?

“We’re not friends.” You deadpan. His lips pull into a smile.

“I’m just curious why you have a camera with you all the time. Loosen up.”

He doesn’t say anything after that, just lets the silence hang there. He knows he can tick you off even more, but he doesn’t find himself wanting to. He simply walks back to the dorms with you.

When he walks too fast, he stalls—for just enough time for you to catch up with him.

You fail to notice the way he shifts his position, always standing by the busy side of the road.

+

“Are you smoking again?”

It’s the first time you initiate conversation, and he snaps out of the trance he’d been in. He was outside again, similar to when he’d first met you. And you were still you, with your camera, and the way you lift it to fit your eye through the viewfinder.

“Why? Are you starting to care about me, princess?” There’s that same smirk evident, and it seems he took your question as invitation to stand next to where you are.

You want to stomp on his face.

“‘M just asking. I really couldn’t care less.”

You can smell the smoke off of him, warranting you to take a full step away. You’ve always hated its scent, and the second-hand smoke exposure.

In turn, Seungmin runs a hand through his hair. It’s shorter, looks like he got it trimmed recently. When you put your camera away in favor of leaving the site of crime, the boy attempts to stop you.

“Leaving already?”

“It isn’t exactly part of my tuition fee to talk to people like you.”

You sound harsh, and it’s an odd feeling to suddenly feel offended about a simple phrase he’s heard multiple times before.

People like you.

What the hell was that even supposed to mean?

“Spare me a few more minutes, angel.”

You don’t bother arguing any further. Besides, you still needed a few more practice photos of where you were looking. You lift your camera back up to peek through its viewfinder, and you can only hope the noise of your photos is enough to drown him out.

“What are you doing out here so late, anyway? Didn’t I tell you it wasn’t safe?”

“I also remember telling you I’ll be fine.” You grumble, snapping a shot. He moves closer to you when you open your mouth to continue talking. “Practicing helps ease the feeling of dread, like I’d be less likely to fail if I did.”

Seungmin notices the calluses on your hands, rough with hard work, and then his eyes trail to your side profile. The light exposure from the moon makes you look prettier than you already do.

Wait, what?

The boy has never stared at someone’s hands and drawn a conclusion before, never taken the time to admire and talk to someone he wasn’t planning on screwing over either.

There’s a first for everything.

“Smoking helps.”

You snort at his sudden comment. Too much time has passed by for him to suddenly butt back into the conversation. The timing makes you laugh a little.

His heart races at the sound.

“Are there thoughts when you feel dread?” He asks, albeit a little silent, in case you didn’t want to talk about it.

You contemplate whether you should talk about it. It’s an unlikely conversation to have with an unlikely person like Kim Seungmin.

Against your better judgement, you answer.

“I don’t know. It just feels like… it feels like my heart is palpitating. I feel scared for some reason. I guess I just really don’t want to fail. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah. It does.”

“You also feel dread?” You ask.

He hums in response. “All the time. Sometimes I’m not sure if the decisions I’m making are the right ones.”

It makes him sound so human to be able to empathize. You hate to admit you’re surprised.

“Just do what feels right in your heart.”

“How am I supposed to know?”

“You’ll know.” You mumble.

The few minutes you’ve spared him has run out. “Goodbye now, Seungmin.”

“You know who I am?”

“Everybody knows who you are. You and your friends.” You wave him off, finally shutting off your camera and putting the lens hood back. “Bye.”

You’re dismissive, and it’s something that would usually annoy Seungmin because he’s the dismissive one in his friend group.

The sudden challenge should anger him, but it doesn’t. What is it about you, and your playing hard to get, and your dismissiveness that has his attention so much?

He’s usually the one being chased, never chasing.

He’s usually the one being told things, never initiating. Never telling.

You’ve definitely done something to him, but he doesn’t want to think about it.

He really doesn’t want to think about it.

+

It happened without warning.

You only remember how angry Seungmin was. Everything else was a little blurry.

You don’t even know who threw the first punch. Shapes and shadows just seemed to move around you until a fight broke out.

The victim was from the Engineering department, though you don’t find the word victim befitting for someone like him. You don’t even know his name, just that he has a history for picking on people.

And it seemed today, you had fallen prey. You guess it just wasn’t your lucky day.

Though, if you think of the situation in whole, he definitely had worse luck than you.

Seungmin was locked and loaded behind gritted teeth and white knuckles when he threw a punch. And he was unforgiving with his hits.

“Seungmin, stop it.” Your voice comes out in a desperate plea, and as if a switch, he pulls himself off of the nameless Engineering boy.

“Fucking asshole.” Seungmin spits at him.

He surprises you with how cold he can speak. While you’ve always known that boys like him were a little more asshole-coded, you didn’t think he had it in his moral compass to defend you after having only shared not more than four conversations.

“Why would you do that? Seungmin, what the hell?”

You’re exasperated as you peel him away from the crime scene. He’d suffered a few blows you’re sure would bruise later, and his knuckles were bloody from his displays of violence earlier.

He’s speed walking ahead of you, doesn’t think he can look at you.

“Why didn’t you stand up for yourself? He had your camera.” His voice was significantly louder than it had been during your earlier conversations. You think it might be the first time he’s raised his voice at you.

His features, however, deeply contrast with the upset dripping from his voice. His face softens ridiculously fast when he turns back to look at you. And while his intentions send a soft nudge on your heart, you’re still upset at the predicament he’d willingly and intentionally put himself into.

“I didn’t need you to start a fight.” You sigh, tugging him by his arm after he’d stopped walking to direct his line of sight at you.

You continue the fleet-footed walk back to your dorm, dragging him with you.

“A thank you would be appreciated.” He grumbles from behind you, but makes no move to free his arm from your grip. Seungmin simply lets you drag him away.

“Stay there.” You sit him down just in front of your door before slipping into your little room. It takes no longer than two minutes before you’re back outside.

He’s still right where you left him. The only difference is he’s looking at you as if he’d been waiting for you to come out.

You make a move to crouch next to him.

There’s a first aid kit sitting between the two of you, a tub of water, among other things.

“How could you be so reckless?” You offer no warning when you take his hands, soaking them under the water and carefully washing the site of injury.

When you’re sure it’s clean, you turn to look at him. “You barely even know me, and you’re getting into fights.”

You’re clearly stressed, packing ice into a thin cloth while lecturing him under one breath. He doesn’t argue with you. Instead, he hyper fixates on the way you hold his hand—resting it on your thigh, applying light pressure on his bruise.

Your hand is warm, almost too warm against his. And he notices the same callouses he did that night you caught him smoking again. Yours with hard work, his with stubborn lament.

The action makes his face flush an embarrassing color. You don’t seem to notice. You’re too preoccupied being upset to even look him in the face.

“You better not do this again.”

In truth, Seungmin had probably suffered much worse than bruised knuckles. This, in comparison to all the previous fights he’d gotten himself into, was nothing. But it feels more significant than the rest.

His heart folds at how you’re taking care of him.

It was a curiously intimate thing for you to attempt to reduce the swelling with your makeshift cold compress. There’s an unidentifiable feeling in his heart he still doesn’t want to think about, but he knows there’s a subtle change in the air that he needs to address.

“He could’ve smashed years of your hard work.” He suddenly breaks the silence.

It triggers you to glance up, and you lock eyes with Seungmin once more. It looks like he’s rethinking whether he should continue talking.

Against his better judgment, he does. “He had your camera, and all I could think about was how devastated you would feel if he’d broken it.”

You blink a couple of times at his sudden confession. Moreso because he’d been observant enough to know the significance of that single piece of item. And maybe because he was looking at you a certain way.

He does that sometimes.

You don’t really know what to say to him, so you shift your focus back on his wounds. And when you’re sure there wasn’t any more damage, you let him go. “I’m done. You can go.”

A silence falls between you both before the boy climbs back on his feet while holding the cold compress you’d handed him. He takes a few tentative steps away.

“And Seungmin?”

He suddenly turns back at the interjection of your voice, looking at you with that same look from earlier, like you should know he’d do it again for you. It’s almost fond. And Seungmin hovers there, waiting.

You take the brief moment where his attention is on you to finally say the words that’d been brewing in your throat.

“Thank you.”

You’re trying so hard to keep your voice monotone. He’s trying so hard not to smile.

+

Seungmin’s been in front of you for almost ten minutes now.

It’d been almost a week since he’d gotten into a fight, and he has the gall to suddenly appear in front of you. In the student center during dinner, of all places.

“Hi.” It’s his fourth time uttering those words now, but it seems your attention is still on whatever the fuck poison they were serving for dinner.

“Talk to me. Hi.” He persists.

(“He likes her, for sure.” Hyunjin laughs from a few tables away.

There’s amusement in Chan’s eyes.

“Yeah, he definitely does.” The eldest smiles to himself.)

His attempts are fruitless. You are still drinking your soup, and he is still vying for your attention.

“You’re ignoring me.” Seungmin pouts. He actually pouts. “Are you still upset I started a fight?”

You don’t respond. If you were honest with yourself, you don’t know why you’re ignoring him either. Was it because you’d felt the slightest nudge in your feelings the last time you saw each other?

“Pretty girl.”

You stall before asking. “How’s your knuckles?”

He smiles. “Better. Will you stop ignoring me now?”

“I wasn’t ignoring you.”

“If you want me to apologize, I won’t. I don’t feel regret for doing what I did. I’d rather his face smashed than your camera.”

There’s that nudge again. You didn’t want him to apologize either. A few days of mulling it over and the news of quiet in the Engineering department since his fight with Seungmin tells you enough that the benefits had outweighed the risks.

No more stories of students being taunted for doing absolutely nothing.

The boy in front of you clears his throat, trying to get your attention. “But, I’m willing to do anything else for you to stop ignoring me, or apologize for anything else.”

An idea flashes in your head.

“I know how you can make it up to me.” You say in lieu of a real response.

+

When you’d asked him for a favor, he’d gotten a little excited.

He’d thought it was somewhere along the lines of a date, like that crap he sees in movies. He didn’t think he’d have to model for a few shots in your portfolio.

“New piercing?” You ask, gesturing at your own lips to try and mirror the spot he’d gotten it. It’s silver and shiny, and definitely adds to the fuckboy appeal.

You shudder, you know your own parents would never agree to you doing the same.

“Like it?” Seungmin has the audacity to smirk, flaunting the silver on his lower lip. You simply roll your eyes.

(Though, the few seconds you spare to stare at it is enough judgment for him.

You lift your camera back up. “Alright. Just do whatever for now. Actually, maybe a hand in your pocket—yeah. That’s perfect.”

He does whatever the hell he can think of. And while most would’ve been embarrassed by now, he couldn’t find it in himself to care. If it meant you’d stop ignoring him, he’d do this a million times over.

“Stay in that position.”

“Hmm, I like it when you’re being bossy.”

“Shut up.” You snap a shot, looking at the screen of your camera and smiling in contentment. You don’t give him the time to rest before you’re lifting it back up to eye-level.

And it goes on like that for a while. You use him to study lighting, and angles, and shadows, and forms.

Though, it’s a little difficult when he looks so damn attractive in everything. You might have a biased model. You’re afraid if you were to shoot him in shitty lighting, it would still turn out good.

“Alright.” You switch off your camera after flicking through the numerous shots you’d taken. “I think I’m done.”

“So, you’ll stop ignoring me now?”

He looks at you with everything so potently him when he’s with you.

“Uhuh.” You hum, letting your DSLR drop around your neck. He smiles victoriously.

None of you turn to leave.

You lament in the night air just a little longer, and Seungmin spends the time staring at you.

You suddenly turn to him. His gaze is a little too invasive not to notice. “What?”

“Just thinking.”

“About?”

“You.” There’s something about the way he says it that makes you look away. You could swear you saw a tint of red on the tip of his ears.

“Among other girls, I presume.”

He exhales. “No. Just you.”

“Resident fuckboy Kim Seungmin thinking about just one girl?”

“Fuck you.” Though, there’s no spit in the way he says it. His heart warms at the thought of you feeling comfortable enough to joke around with him now, despite you still coining him a fuckboy. He supposes that one’s on him for years of tainted reputation.

Your half laugh at being cursed echoes in his mind, lingering more there than in the air.

“You’re acting strange tonight, Seungmin.”

“You make me act strange.” His voice softens even though he’s essentially putting the blame on you for the way he was acting. And he says it in a way that makes you think he’s waiting for you to say something, or to at least understand the intentions behind his words.

You don’t know how to respond though. He sounds a little too serious to just merely be fucking around with you, like you’ve heard he does.

“The boys are saying I’m getting soft.” Seungmin doesn’t sound like he’s waiting for your response, so you let him continue talking. “Ever since that first night I met you. What the fuck did you do to me?”

He meets your eyes.

“Will you say something?”

You attempt to flat out your nerves at how he’s baring himself vulnerable in front of you all of a sudden. You would be lying if you said you hadn’t grown fond of the boy after his multiple attempts at getting your attention, but you’d also be lying if you said you didn’t think it was just another one of his ploys to get into your pants.

“How do I know you’re not lying?”

“I’m acting like a damn puppy following you around everywhere. And I let you boss me around for pictures when I could be drinking with my friends right now.” He’s still eye-to-eye with you, and it’s scary the way honestly spills from his.

“Then go drink with your friends then. ‘M not forcing you to be here.”

You’re so fucking stubborn, and he tries to search for your eyes but you aren’t looking at him anymore. Yours are downcast somewhere, on the ground, on anywhere but his eyes.

“Look at me.” You don’t know why, but you instantly do. Maybe it was in the way he said it, almost desperate. “I don’t want to drink with my friends. I want to be here with you. Because I like you.”

You crack a slow smile at his words, and at the way he’s stripped himself in genuine softness in front of you. It wasn’t everyday you’d see Kim Seungmin like this.

“So don’t think I’d lie to you about that.” He’s pouting again, and you tease him for it.

You get on your toes, get a good look on his face and the pout that adorns it. “Are you upset I thought you were lying?”

“Fuck off. I’m just—” He can’t help but laugh, pushing you away from him lest he wants to suffer the consequences of kissing you without your permission. He wants you to like him back, and if he has to do it slowly, so be it.

“Just give me a chance.” Almost pleading.

You press your tongue against the inside of your cheek. “Okay.”

“I understand if you—” He suddenly pauses. “Okay?”

“Okay.”

He stares at your lips, at the way it forms around the word, and he’s puzzled at how hot his face feels because he’s never been flustered like this. And he thinks his cheeks will start to burn if he doesn’t stop smiling. But he just can’t bring himself to stop, not when you’ve willingly given him a chance.

On your own autonomy.

“You won’t regret it.”

You don’t think you will.

✧ Still Yours | H. Jisung

♡ Pairing: Han Jisung × Chubby!Reader

✧ Word Count: 12,208 words | Reading Time: 45-ish mins

900+ Followers Special ♡

✦ Trope: Second Chance Romance | Ex-Classmates to Lovers | Slow Burn | Popular Jock x Bullied Girl | Non-Idol AU

✧ Warnings: Bullying (verbal abuse, fat-shaming), mentions of physical abuse, toxic family, emotional trauma, drinking, mild suggestiveness, language, angst with comfort, NO PROOF READING WAS DONE

♡ Synopsis: Back in high school, she was the chubby outcast—bullied, bruised, and abandoned—while Han Jisung was the untouchable jock who broke hearts and ignored them all… except hers. When life pulled them apart after a brutal misunderstanding, she vowed never to look back. Now, eight years later, she's a successful engineer—independent and guarded. But when fate throws them back together in the most unexpected boardroom, Jisung sees a second chance. And this time, he’s not letting go without a fight. ♡

✦ Author’s Note: For the ones who loved in silence and healed in shadows. This one’s for you. You are seen, and you are enough. ⋆彡

You were a walking paradox, a vibrant ember struggling to glow beneath a thick layer of societal soot. Chubby, they called you, their voices often laced with a disdain that never seemed to dull, each syllable a tiny pinprick against your already tender skin.

Yet, the softness of your frame held a surprising resilience, your cheeks often flushed with a healthy color that belied their cruel pronouncements, a testament to a spirit that refused to be entirely extinguished. Kindness flowed through you like an unseen current, a gentle offering of smiles even to the very faces that contorted with mockery at your approach, a quiet rebellion against the negativity that surrounded you.

And your mind? It was a sharp, agile thing, devouring knowledge with an insatiable hunger, your intelligence a quiet fire that burned brightly in the hushed corners of the library, a stark contrast to the dim view others seemed to have of you. You found solace in the intricate logic of mathematics, the sprawling narratives of classic literature, worlds where your physical form held no bearing on your worth.

But despite these inherent strengths, an invisible weight clung to you, a suffocating shroud woven from the stinging barbs of your classmates. "Hey, look, it's the walking sofa!" someone would bellow down the hallway, their friends erupting in laughter that felt like a physical shove, each jeer chipping away at the fragile foundation of your self-esteem.

"Bet she uses a GPS to find her own feet," another would sneer, their words echoing the insidious voice of self-doubt that sometimes whispered in your own head, a constant reminder of your perceived inadequacy. You learned to flinch inwardly, to brace yourself for the inevitable sting, to become as small and unobtrusive as possible, a shadow trying desperately to blend into the background noise of the school, your gaze fixed on the worn linoleum floor.

Your world had fractured years ago, the sharp edges never quite fitting back together after the sudden, gaping loss of your father. He had been your anchor, a warm, comforting presence whose booming laughter still echoed faintly in the quiet corners of your memory, a phantom sound that sometimes brought a bittersweet ache to your chest.

Now, he was a faded photograph on your bedside table, a silent observer of your increasingly solitary existence, a bittersweet reminder of a love that felt both impossibly distant and achingly present. Your mother, lost in her own labyrinth of grief, eventually found a fragile sort of peace in the arms of another man.

His arrival brought a polite, almost sterile atmosphere to your home, a subtle distance that grew between you and the woman who had once been your sun and moon. "He's a good man," she'd said once, her voice flat, devoid of the warmth you remembered, her eyes focused on some distant point. "He'll take care of us." But 'us' never truly included you in the same way anymore; you felt like a tolerated guest in a life that had moved on without you.

The real chill, however, the bone-deep, relentless cold, emanated from your aunt. After your mother's remarriage, you were sent to live with her, a woman whose lips seemed permanently pursed in disapproval, whose voice was a constant, low hum of criticism that eroded your spirit.

Her house was a place where joy seemed to wither and die, where every corner held the unspoken accusation of your inadequacy. "Are you going back for seconds?" she'd snap, her eyes narrowing with suspicion as you reached for another small portion of dinner. "Honestly, child, have you no self-control?

You'll never find a nice boy looking like that. You'll be alone forever." Meals were silent, tense affairs, punctuated only by the clinking of silverware and her pointed sighs. Chores were endless, thankless, and any small spark of happiness you managed to ignite was quickly doused by her sharp tongue and colder-than-ice gaze.

"Don't slouch," she'd bark across the living room, her voice like the crack of a whip. "Sit up straight. You look like a sack of potatoes. Honestly, the way you carry yourself…" Your home life became a toxic swamp of neglect and emotional abuse, a secret shame you carried like a lead weight in your stomach, a burden that made your steps heavy and your spirit weary.

"Honestly," she'd mutter under her breath as you did the dishes, the clatter of plates a poor substitute for conversation, "your mother always said you were a clumsy one. Just like her."

Across the bustling, often chaotic landscape of your high school moved Han Jisung. He was a figure carved from a different kind of coldness – a detached, almost arrogant aura that seemed to ripple outwards, creating a respectful distance.

A star athlete, his movements on the basketball court fluid and mesmerizing, he was the undisputed object of countless girls' affections. Their whispered yearnings followed him down the hallways like a persistent, hopeful breeze. "Did you see the way Jisung looked at me during practice?" you'd overhear one girl sigh to her friend, her voice dreamy.

"I swear, he totally wants to ask me to the homecoming dance." Yet, he remained aloof, a polite but firm "I'm not interested" the standard response to any lingering glances or hesitant advances. "Sorry," he'd say, his voice cool but not unkind, his gaze already drifting away, "I'm just really focused on the upcoming tournament. Got to keep my head in the game."

His eyes, sharp and intelligent, often held a distant amusement, a subtle disdain for the petty dramas and hormonal surges that defined the high school experience. "Honestly," he once said to his friend, a slight smirk playing on his lips as a group of girls giggled nearby, their attention clearly fixed on him, "they're all so… transparent." He was a world away from your own, a dazzling supernova you never dared to gaze at directly, knowing you were a mere speck of dust in his radiant orbit.

Yet, unbeknownst to you, in those fleeting moments between classes, or during the forced proximity of shared assemblies, his gaze would sometimes flick towards you. It wasn't a look of mockery or pity, but something… else. A quiet, almost clinical observation.

He noticed the way your shoulders would instinctively hunch when a group of popular kids approached, their laughter echoing in the confined space, the barely perceptible flinch in your eyes when the school bell shrieked through the corridors, the determined set of your jaw as you navigated the crowded lunchroom, your tray held like a fragile shield against the judging eyes.

He saw the way your fingers, often ink-stained from hours spent lost in the pages of a book, your refuge from the harsh realities of your life, would nervously twist the hem of your oversized sweater. Once, during a particularly brutal round of hallway taunts aimed your way, the words like sharp stones thrown with intent, he had paused, his usual easy stride faltering for a split second before he continued on, his expression unreadable, a flicker of something unidentifiable in his dark eyes.

One particularly bleak, rain-swept afternoon, the meager grocery money, carefully counted out and clutched in your sweaty palm, the lifeline that would hopefully stave off your aunt's wrath for another week, was snatched from you just outside the familiar fluorescent glow of the convenience store.

A gaggle of giggling, impeccably dressed girls, their faces bright with a casual cruelty that chilled you to the bone, had surrounded you like a pack of predators. "Well, well, well, look what we have here," the ringleader had sneered, her perfectly manicured nails reaching for your trembling hand.

"Going on a little snack run, tubby? Maybe stocking up for winter hibernation?" "Leave me alone," you managed to whisper, your voice barely audible above the drumming rain, your heart pounding a frantic rhythm against your ribs.

"Oh, are you going to cry?" another one taunted, her eyes glinting with malicious amusement. "Maybe a few tears will wash away some of that… extra baggage." "What's this, enough for a diet soda?" the first girl said, snatching the crumpled bills from your grasp.

"Maybe you should try skipping a few meals, fatty," another added, their laughter echoing the hollowness that had become a constant companion in your stomach. "Yeah," a third chimed in, her voice dripping with false concern, "think of it as us doing you a favor. Helping you reach your… goals."

"Just give it back," you pleaded, tears welling in your eyes, blurring their cruel faces. "It's all I have. My aunt…" They just laughed harder, their cruelty a sharp, physical pain. "Too slow," the ringleader said, tucking the money into her designer bag with a smug smile. "Maybe next time you'll learn to run faster. Or maybe just stay home."

Fear, cold and sharp as shards of glass, pierced through you, rendering your legs heavy and unresponsive. Home, usually a place of quiet dread, now loomed like a monstrous shadow in the downpour. Without the groceries, without the flimsy excuse of running an errand, the prospect of facing your aunt's wrath was unbearable.

"Where have you been?" she'd likely snap, her eyes narrowing with suspicion, her voice laced with impatience. "And where are the groceries I asked for? Don't tell me you've dawdled again." You could already hear the accusations, the bitter recriminations, the inevitable lecture about your worthlessness.

You found yourself huddled beneath the inadequate shelter of a dusty shop awning, the relentless rain plastering strands of hair to your forehead, tears blurring your vision as they mingled with the raindrops tracing paths down your cheeks. "Great," you muttered to yourself, the despair a heavy weight in your chest.

"Just great. Now what?" You were stranded, caught in the cruel intersection of teenage malice and a desolate home life, with nowhere safe to turn. "What am I going to do?" you whispered into the storm, the question a pathetic plea carried away by the wind.

Then, through the grey curtain of rain, a figure emerged. Tall and lean, with the unmistakable swagger of the school's star athlete, Han Jisung paused beside you. His expensive black umbrella, large enough to shelter two, dripped steadily at the edges, a stark contrast to the cheap, flimsy one you usually carried.

He didn't say a word, didn't offer a platitude or a condescending remark. He simply extended the umbrella towards you, the silent gesture a stark contrast to the cacophony of cruel words you had just endured. For a fleeting moment, your fingers brushed against his as you hesitantly took the offered shelter, a surprising jolt of warmth in the pervasive cold.

He turned and walked away, disappearing back into the downpour as quickly and silently as he had appeared. "Hey," you called out after him, a confused question forming on your lips, a desperate need to understand his unexpected kindness, but he was already gone, swallowed by the rain.

Confused, a strange cocktail of gratitude and bewilderment churning within you, you watched his retreating figure. Why would he do that? you wondered, clutching the smooth handle of the umbrella, its expensive fabric a stark contrast to your own worn coat.

Just as you began to think it had been a fleeting act of detached charity, a moment of pity from someone who existed in a completely different stratosphere, he reappeared. This time, he held a small, clear plastic bag clutched in his hand. He stopped directly in front of you.

"Here," he said, his voice surprisingly quiet, almost a murmur, his gaze flicking around as if he didn't want to be seen. He wordlessly pressed the bag into your hand. Inside, nestled against the damp plastic, were crisp twenty-dollar bills.

His expression was unreadable, his dark eyes flickered over your face briefly, a fleeting acknowledgment of your distress. He simply nodded, a curt, almost imperceptible movement of his head. "Take it," he added, his gaze direct for a fleeting second, a hint of something unreadable in their depths. And then he turned and walked away again, melting back into the rainy afternoon, leaving you standing beneath his expensive umbrella, the unexpected kindness a heavy, almost unbelievable weight in your hand.

Your lips parted in stunned silence, a soft, disbelieving "thank you" escaping into the drumming rain, a whisper lost in the downpour. The twenty dollars felt like more than just money; it felt like a lifeline, a tiny, unexpected crack of light in the overwhelming darkness.

"Thank you," you repeated, a little louder this time, clutching the bag tightly, even though he was already gone. The warmth of the unexpected gesture spread through the chill of the rain, a small seed of hope planted in the barren landscape of your day. You wondered, just for a moment, if maybe, just maybe, you weren't entirely invisible after all.

The sleek, black umbrella, a stark contrast to the cheap, floral one you usually carried, became an unspoken, tangible link between your vastly different orbits. It stood sentinel in your locker, a silent testament to an act of unexpected kindness that replayed in your mind like a recurring dream.

The twenty dollars, carefully and sparingly used to replenish your stolen grocery money, felt like more than just currency; it was a symbol of a hand reaching out in the darkness, a small spark of hope in the overwhelming gloom. A hesitant "thank you" the next day in the crowded hallway, your voice barely a rustle of sound, was met with a curt nod from Jisung, his usual guarded expression firmly in place, his gaze already sweeping over the bustling student body. But something had subtly shifted, a nearly imperceptible crack in the icy façade he usually presented to the world.

It began with shared study sessions in the hushed sanctuary of the library. He never explicitly invited you, never uttered a direct request. Instead, he would simply appear at your usual corner table, a formidable stack of advanced calculus textbooks and meticulously organized notes in hand.

You, initially wary of his continued presence, found a surprising, almost unsettling comfort in his focused silence. He possessed an unexpected patience when you wrestled with a particularly convoluted equation, explaining complex concepts with a quiet clarity that your often-impatient teachers lacked.

"Think of it like this," he'd say, his brow furrowed in concentration as he sketched diagrams on scrap paper, his voice a low murmur that barely disturbed the quiet hum of the library. You, in turn, would sometimes help him navigate the labyrinthine prose of English literature, your insightful interpretations of symbolism and theme offering a perspective he, with his more analytical mind, hadn't considered.

"That's… actually a really interesting way to look at it," he'd admit, a flicker of genuine intellectual curiosity in his dark eyes. These sessions were mostly silent, punctuated by the rustling of turning pages and the soft scratching of pens against paper, but a fragile, unspoken camaraderie began to bloom in the shared pursuit of knowledge, a quiet understanding passing between you over highlighted passages and solved problems.

Then came the late-night texts, the glow of your phone screen illuminating your face in the darkness of your small room. It started with a simple, utilitarian "Need help with the assignment?" from his number, a question that sent a jolt of surprised apprehension through you.

Hesitantly, you replied with a terse "Maybe," and soon, short, academic queries about formulas and literary devices morphed into slightly longer exchanges about favorite books (his surprisingly leaning towards classic sci-fi, yours towards poignant coming-of-age stories), obscure indie music, and even, occasionally, fleeting, carefully worded glimpses into the mundane details of your respective days.

His texts were often clipped, punctuated by emojis that seemed oddly out of character for the school's notoriously aloof jock – a surprisingly expressive thumbs-up, a thoughtful pondering face – but there was a consistency to them, a quiet checking-in that you found yourself looking forward to, a small beacon in the often-lonely expanse of your evenings.

He stumbled upon your deep-seated passion for retro video games during one of your brief study breaks in the library, when you were idly scrolling through an old emulator on your battered phone, a nostalgic smile softening your features as pixelated spaceships whizzed across the screen.

To your surprise, a flicker of recognition crossed his usually impassive face. "That's 'Galactic Gladiators', right?" he'd asked, leaning closer, a genuine spark of interest momentarily eclipsing his usual reserve. "My older brother used to be obsessed with that game. I remember watching him play for hours."

This shared, unexpected connection, a bridge built on 8-bit nostalgia, led to clandestine gaming sessions at his sprawling, modern home on weekends. His house, with its sleek furniture and panoramic city views, was a stark, almost intimidating contrast to your cramped, perpetually shadowed one, but in the dimly lit, surprisingly comfortable game room, surrounded by the hypnotic glow of multiple screens and the cheerful cacophony of digital sound effects, you found a strange, unexpected sense of belonging.

He was surprisingly competitive, his fingers flying across the controller with practiced ease, but never condescending, and your laughter, a sound you rarely heard yourself make, would sometimes bubble up and fill the room, a light, joyful sound that felt foreign yet wonderfully liberating. "Nice move!" he'd grudgingly admit after you executed a particularly skillful maneuver, a rare smile gracing his lips.

Throughout these increasingly frequent interactions, Jisung remained a keen, almost unnervingly perceptive, silent observer. He noticed the almost imperceptible tremor in your hands when someone raised their voice, even in a casual classroom discussion.

He saw the fleeting shadow of anxiety that flickered in your eyes when he accidentally brushed your arm in the crowded hallway. He learned your instinctive aversion to sudden loud noises, the way your gaze would dart nervously towards any raised hand in a classroom, as if anticipating a blow.

He pieced together the fragmented clues of your unspoken traumas, the subtle anxieties that clung to you like a second skin, an invisible weight you carried in the slump of your shoulders. He never pried, never asked directly about your strained home life or the cruelties you endured within the school's social hierarchy, but his awareness grew, a quiet understanding that seemed to settle in his dark eyes whenever he looked at you, a silent acknowledgment of the battles you fought unseen.

One particularly unpleasant afternoon, as you were walking home from school, clutching your backpack straps tightly, a group of boisterous guys from the basketball team, emboldened by their perceived social superiority, started making crude, insensitive remarks.

"Hey, look, it's Beauty and the Beast!" one of them jeered, his voice dripping with a nasty sarcasm that made your stomach clench. "Guess who's Beauty?" another one chimed in, eliciting a round of snickers. You froze, your face flushing crimson with shame, your instinct to disappear into the nearest crack in the sidewalk overwhelming.

Before you could shrink away and endure their taunts in silence, Jisung, who had been walking a few discreet steps behind you, his presence unnoticed until that moment, moved with a sudden, terrifying speed. He closed the distance between them in a heartbeat, grabbing the loudest offender by the collar of his expensive sports jacket, his knuckles white with barely suppressed fury.

"Shut your fucking mouth," Jisung growled, his usual cool, detached demeanor replaced by a raw, furious intensity you had never witnessed before, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. The other guys, initially amused, backed away, their laughter dying in their throats, surprised and intimidated by his violent outburst. Jisung shoved the guy away, his eyes blazing with a protective anger.

"Don't you ever talk about her like that again. Do you understand me?" The guy, visibly shaken and surprised by the ferocity of Jisung's reaction, mumbled a hasty apology and hurried away with his equally stunned friends. Jisung turned to you, his chest heaving slightly, his expression softening infinitesimally, a hint of genuine concern in his dark eyes.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice low and surprisingly gentle. You could only nod mutely, your breath caught in your throat, the unexpected, fierce defense leaving you both shaken and strangely… protected, a warmth spreading through the cold knot of shame in your chest.

But the incident, as such things often do in the hothouse environment of high school, had significant repercussions. Whispers followed Jisung down the hallways now, laced with a different, more salacious kind of speculation. "Did you see him go after her like that?" someone murmured, their eyes wide with gossip.

"He's totally obsessed with that… chubby girl. What does he even see in her?" The rumors spread like wildfire, fueled by the public display of Jisung's anger and your continued, albeit still somewhat hesitant, proximity. "Jisung's into fatties," one particularly cruel comment, delivered with a deliberate, cutting edge, reached his ears in the crowded cafeteria during lunch.

The words, meant to be a public humiliation aimed at both of you, hit a raw nerve, igniting a fury within him that you had only glimpsed before. In a flash, Jisung was on his feet, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles were bone-white.

He strode purposefully towards the group of guys who had been snickering, his eyes dark with a barely controlled rage. He grabbed the one who had spoken by the front of his shirt and slammed him against a nearby table, sending trays clattering and food scattering across the linoleum floor.

"Listen here, you piece of shit," Jisung snarled, his voice dangerously low but carrying through the stunned silence of the suddenly hushed cafeteria. "She isn't fat. She is chubby, and being chubby isn't inherently bad. She looks absolutely beautiful.

There is a fundamental difference between ignorance and deliberate malice. Educate yourself, you fucker." He punctuated his furious words with a sharp, brutal punch to the guy's jaw before his stunned friends could react and pull him away. The cafeteria buzzed with shocked whispers and a newfound, albeit grudging and often resentful, respect for Jisung's fierce, albeit violent, defense of you.

The rumors, however, persisted, twisting the narrative into something you increasingly dreaded. "Rich brat Jisung dating the school outcast," they whispered, their voices laced with a mixture of disbelief and disdain. "Probably just a phase. He'll get bored of her eventually and go back to the pretty, skinny girls."

These whispers, amplified by the dramatic incident in the cafeteria, inevitably reached the venomous ears of your aunt. The subtle shift in Jisung's behavior, the undeniable attention he was now paying you, confirmed her worst, most cynical suspicions.

"So," she hissed one evening as you were silently washing dishes after a particularly grueling day at school and an even more grueling dinner with her, her eyes narrowed with a predatory suspicion, "that rich boy has his claws in you now, hasn't he?" You flinched at the venom in her tone, the familiar sting of her judgment.

"He's just… a friend, Aunt," you mumbled, trying to keep your voice steady despite the tremor that ran through you. Her hand shot out with surprising speed, catching you across the face, the sharp crack echoing in the small, cramped kitchen. The physical pain was a familiar ache, but the accusation that followed cut far deeper. "Don't lie to me, you little gold digger!" she spat, her grip tightening on your arm like a vise.

"I knew it. I always knew you were after something. Trying to latch onto his money, aren't you? Just like your good-for-nothing mother!" Her words were like a toxic poison, seeping into the fragile sense of hope that had begun to tentatively bloom within you, twisting the unexpected kindness into something ugly and manipulative. The physical pain was nothing compared to the crushing weight of her accusations, her bitter, distorted perception of your burgeoning connection with Jisung.

The relentless rumors, your aunt's brutal abuse and her vile accusations, the gnawing fear of what others were saying about Jisung because of his association with you – it all became an unbearable weight, crushing the fragile shoots of hope that had dared to emerge.

The unexpected bridge you had started to build with Jisung felt like it was crumbling beneath your feet, the whispers and judgments like relentless waves eroding the foundation. In a desperate, self-preservationist attempt to protect yourself, to retreat back into the familiar, albeit agonizing, solitude, you made a drastic, heart-wrenching decision.

With trembling fingers, tears blurring your vision, you blocked Jisung's number on your old phone, severing the digital lifeline that had offered a sliver of connection. You deleted your text conversations, erasing the late-night exchanges that had brought you a fleeting sense of belonging, the digital echoes of his unexpected kindness now too painful to bear.

You started avoiding the library during your usual study times, the quiet corners now feeling like painful, empty reminders of his focused presence. When he tried to approach you in the crowded hallways, his usual aloofness replaced with a bewildered concern, his brow furrowed with worry and a silent question in his dark eyes, you would turn away, your heart aching with a silent scream of despair trapped in your throat, your gaze fixed resolutely on the opposite wall.

The umbrellas and game nights became distant, bittersweet memories, shrouded in a self-imposed silence, a shield you erected to protect your already battered heart from a world that seemed determined to misunderstand and hurt you.

The fragile connection, barely formed, snapped under the immense weight of fear, misunderstanding, and the crushing reality of your own deeply ingrained insecurities, leaving you alone again in the echoing silence of your own making, the black umbrella a stark, painful reminder of what could have been.

--

Eight years. An epoch in the fleeting landscape of youth, a span long enough for the seasons to cycle countless times, painting the world in vibrant hues of spring and summer, then stripping it bare with the stark beauty of autumn and winter.

Enough time for fledgling cities to evolve into sprawling, gleaming metropolises of steel and glass, their skylines perpetually reaching for the heavens, monuments to human ambition and progress.

And certainly enough time for the tentative bud of a high school connection, once so fragile and fraught with misunderstanding, to wither into a distant, almost dreamlike memory, its sharp edges softened by the relentless passage of time, its significance fading into the hazy recesses of the past, like a forgotten melody played on a broken instrument, its notes barely audible.

You were no longer the shrinking, self-conscious teenager haunted by the cruel whispers that echoed in the crowded hallways and the oppressive silence of a toxic home, a ghost in your own life. You had painstakingly, meticulously built a new life for yourself, brick by emotional brick, each one laid with the mortar of hard work, unwavering determination, and a fierce, almost defiant independence that had blossomed in the fertile ground of necessity, a shield against the vulnerabilities of the past.

The late nights spent poring over textbooks, the quiet dedication to mastering complex algorithms and intricate lines of code, the relentless pursuit of knowledge in the digital realm, had finally translated into a thriving career as a successful IT engineer in your early twenties.

You commanded respect in boardrooms, your innovative solutions were sought after by colleagues and superiors alike, and your code was elegant, efficient, a testament to the sharp, analytical mind that had always been your secret strength, a weapon against the insecurities that once threatened to consume you.

Your personal life, however, remained a carefully constructed fortress, its walls high and its gates firmly locked, guarded by years of ingrained caution and a deep-seated wariness of vulnerability. You lived alone in a sleek, minimalist apartment perched high above the city's relentless pulse, a sanctuary of your own making where silence was a welcome companion and your personal space was your own inviolable domain, a stark contrast to the chaotic, unpredictable environment of your adolescence. The panoramic city views from your floor-to-ceiling windows served as a constant reminder of how far you had come, a testament to your resilience.

Close friends were a concept that felt foreign, almost unnecessary, a potential source of pain you had learned to avoid, the risk of emotional entanglement outweighing the promise of genuine connection. The scars of the past ran deep, invisible but persistent, leaving you emotionally guarded, wary of any hint of intimacy, and proficient at maintaining a polite, professional distance from everyone you encountered. Trust was a precious currency you hoarded carefully, rarely spending it, its value inflated by the painful lessons etched into the fabric of your youth, lessons you had no intention of repeating.

One crisp autumn afternoon, the air carrying the melancholic scent of fallen leaves swirling in the city's canyons and the sharp, invigorating promise of a coming winter, you were hurrying down a busy downtown street during your lunch break. A mental checklist of errands – dry cleaning, a quick stop at the independent bookstore you frequented for its comforting smell of old paper and ink, and perhaps a decent cup of artisanal coffee from that new place around the corner – ran through your mind with the precision of a well-written algorithm, each task prioritized and scheduled.

Lost in the intricate logic of a particularly challenging debugging task you'd been wrestling with all morning, your mind still tracing the elusive error in the cascading lines of code, a phantom bug that seemed to shift and evade your every attempt to squash it, you rounded a sharp corner near a bustling, trendy coffee shop and collided with someone.

The unexpected impact sent a jolt through you and your sleek, state-of-the-art smartphone skittering across the textured pavement, its screen momentarily flashing a distorted image of your focused concentration before going dark, a small tragedy in your otherwise meticulously managed day.

"Oh, excuse me! I am so incredibly sorry," you murmured automatically, bending down to retrieve your device, your initial annoyance momentarily overshadowed by the awkwardness of the unexpected physical contact and the immediate fear of a cracked screen, a costly inconvenience in your otherwise meticulously ordered life.

As you straightened up, your eyes traveled upwards, drawn to the man you had bumped into. He was taller now, the lean frame of his youth filled out with a more mature breadth across his shoulders, the boyish angularity of his face softened by the passage of time into a subtly handsome countenance, etched with the faintest lines of experience around his eyes, lines that hinted at late nights and weighty decisions, a roadmap of the years that had passed.

Wire-framed glasses, a sophisticated touch you wouldn't have pictured on the often casually dressed teenager you remembered, perched on the bridge of his nose, framing intelligent, familiar eyes that widened almost imperceptibly in surprise, a fleeting flicker of recognition dancing within their depths, a spark that ignited a dormant ember within you, sending a surprising warmth through the chill autumn air.

His once meticulously styled, almost severe haircut now fell in a deliberately messy wave across his forehead, giving him a more approachable, less rigidly perfect appearance, a hint of artistic disarray that somehow softened the sharp edges of his undeniable success.

He wore an impeccably tailored wool coat, the dark charcoal fabric hinting at considerable expense and understated power, and held a steaming paper cup in one hand, the rich, dark aroma of freshly brewed, high-end espresso wafting in the cool air, a scent that somehow felt both vaguely familiar and entirely new, a marker of his evolved world.

A jolt of recognition, sharp and unexpected, shot through you, followed by a disorienting wave of a peculiar, almost unsettling familiarity that tugged at the frayed edges of your carefully constructed present, pulling you back to a time you had consciously tried to bury beneath layers of achievement and self-reliance. It couldn't be… could it possibly be? Han Jisung.

Older, undeniably more polished, radiating an aura of quiet confidence and understated power you hadn't witnessed in his teenage years, but the intense gaze that locked with yours, the almost imperceptible quirk of his lips as he registered your presence, was undeniably him.

Your immediate instinct was to disappear, to melt back into the anonymity of the lunchtime crowd, to pretend you hadn't seen him, hadn't felt that disconcerting flicker of recognition that sent a shiver down your spine, a ghost of a past you thought you had outrun finally catching up.

You offered a quick, generic "So sorry," and began to sidestep him, your mind racing, trying to reconcile the aloof, often sharp-edged teenager you remembered with the sophisticated, almost enigmatic man standing before you, a man who exuded an air of quiet authority and effortless charm.

"[Your Name]?" His voice, deeper now, a smooth baritone that resonated in a way the adolescent timbre never had, cutting through the surrounding cacophony of city noise like a familiar melody played on a new instrument, a familiar cadence that pulled at the frayed edges of a long-dormant memory. He said your full name, the way he used to all those years ago during those stolen, quiet moments in the library, a sound that sent a faint, unexpected tremor through you, a vibration that stirred something long dormant within your carefully guarded heart.

You froze, your carefully constructed composure momentarily faltering, the practiced indifference you wore like armor cracking under the unexpected weight of the encounter. You reluctantly met his gaze, a knot of unease tightening in your stomach, a strange mix of apprehension and a hesitant flicker of something akin to… curiosity? "Jisung?" you replied, the name feeling foreign and yet strangely resonant on your tongue after so many years of deliberate disuse, a whisper from a life you thought you had left behind.

A hesitant, almost shy smile touched his lips, a far cry from the cool detachment and occasional sardonic smirk you remembered from high school. "It's been a while," he said, his eyes studying you with an intensity that made you feel strangely exposed, as if he could see past the carefully constructed walls you had built around yourself, peering into the guarded spaces you rarely allowed anyone to glimpse. "You look… well. Successful."

Before you could formulate a polite refusal or an awkward attempt at small talk about the unpredictable autumn weather or the latest traffic snarl that had plagued your morning commute, he gestured vaguely towards the curb with his free hand. "My car's just around the corner. I'm actually heading in your general direction, I think, towards the financial district. Let me give you a ride back to your office. Save you the walk."

Suspicion, a familiar and unwelcome companion, immediately flared within you, its icy tendrils wrapping around your apprehension. Why? After all this time, after the abrupt and painful way your fragile connection had ended, leaving you feeling abandoned and misunderstood? What could he possibly want after eight long years of silence, years you had spent meticulously rebuilding your life without him, brick by painstaking brick?

You hesitated, weighing the awkwardness of accepting his unexpected offer against the even greater awkwardness of a prolonged conversation on a busy street, the risk of dredging up memories you had worked so diligently to bury beneath layers of professional success and emotional detachment.

There was a strange pull, however, an undeniable flicker of curiosity that you couldn't entirely ignore, a nagging question about the man he had become, the path his life had taken in the years since you last saw him. Against your better judgment, a small, almost imperceptible nod escaped you. "Okay," you said, your voice betraying a hint of your inner turmoil, the single word hanging in the air between you, heavy with unspoken history.

He led you not to a typical, anonymous sedan, but to a breathtakingly beautiful Pagani, its sleek, aerodynamic lines a testament to both artistry and engineering prowess, its low, guttural growl a subtle promise of immense power that vibrated through the very pavement beneath your feet.

The car turned heads as you approached, its presence a silent statement of wealth and refined taste, a world away from the battered jalopies that cluttered the high school parking lot of your memory. The passenger door swung open with a soft, almost theatrical whir, revealing luxurious leather seats that enveloped you in their rich embrace as you hesitantly settled inside, the scent of supple leather and something subtly, intoxicatingly expensive filling your senses, a stark contrast to the worn fabric of your old school backpack and the faint scent of your aunt's harsh cleaning supplies that still sometimes clung to your clothes.

The drive was short, punctuated by a strained, polite conversation about the unseasonably warm autumn weather and the general state of the city's ever-congested traffic, the mundane topics a flimsy shield against the unspoken questions that hung heavy in the air between you.

As he smoothly pulled up to your modern office building, its glass façade reflecting the crisp blue sky and the bustling energy of the city, a monument to your hard-won success, he mentioned the name of his investment firm, a brief, almost casual remark dropped into the otherwise stilted conversation as if discussing the morning's headlines. "Stratagem Capital," he said as you reached for the cool, brushed metal of the door handle, your fingers hesitating for a fraction of a second, a sudden premonition settling in your stomach.

"We're actually scheduled to have a rather important meeting with your company next week. Regarding a potential significant investment opportunity."

A sudden, chilling realization washed over you, cold and sharp as glacial ice, stealing your breath and sending a tremor of disbelief through you. "Stratagem Capital?" you repeated, your voice barely a whisper, the name echoing in the sudden silence of the car, a sound that resonated with an unexpected, almost ominous significance.

Your company, a promising tech startup you had poured your heart and soul into for the past few years, a testament to your resilience and your brilliance, had been working tirelessly for months, preparing meticulously crafted presentations, crunching complex financial projections that represented your team's collective hopes and dreams, pouring every ounce of energy and fragile optimism into securing a crucial investment that could catapult your small firm to the next level, finally allowing your innovative ideas to truly take flight and disrupt the industry.

The lead investor's name had been circulated amongst the senior staff, a prominent and highly respected figure in the tech industry, a name that carried significant weight, but in the whirlwind of deadlines and preparations, you hadn't paid it much attention beyond the professional implications, the potential for growth and validation.

You looked at Jisung, really looked at him, the tailored coat that spoke of power, the air of quiet confidence that radiated from him, the casual mention of multi-million dollar investments as if it were everyday conversation. The aloof, sometimes volatile jock of your past had metamorphosed into a powerful, influential man, a titan in the very industry you were striving to conquer.

And he was the investor. The key to your company's future, the man whose decision could make or break everything you had worked so hard to achieve, the man who now held your professional destiny in his hands. The unexpected, almost cruelly ironic twist hung in the air between you, thick with unspoken history, unresolved emotions, and the immense weight of a potentially very complicated, and possibly very high-stakes, future.

The past and the present had collided with a force that left you reeling, the comfortable distance you had cultivated shattered by the unexpected reappearance of a ghost from your past, a ghost who now held the keys to your future.

--

The meeting with Stratagem Capital the following week proceeded with an almost unnerving smoothness. You, as the lead engineer on the project, presented your team's innovative work with a calm professionalism that belied the turmoil churning within you. You fielded questions with clarity and precision, your deep understanding of the technology shining through.

Jisung, seated at the head of the table, listened intently, his gaze steady and focused, occasionally interjecting with insightful queries that demonstrated a genuine interest in your company's vision. There was a detached air to his professionalism, a stark contrast to the unexpected ride you had shared, making it almost seem like that encounter had been a figment of your imagination.

Yet, the occasional flicker of something familiar in his eyes, a brief, almost imperceptible softening of his expression when your gazes met, hinted at the complicated history that lay beneath the surface.

Weeks drifted by in a strange state of limbo. The investment from Stratagem Capital was still under consideration, a looming decision that hung over your company like a delicate balance. In the meantime, you found yourself running into Jisung with surprising frequency.

A silent acknowledgment in the building lobby, a shared elevator ride where neither of you spoke, the air thick with unspoken words and the weight of the past. Occasionally, their paths would cross outside the office, and he would offer you a ride home, a proposition you initially met with hesitant suspicion.

The first few times, the drives were stiff and awkward. Polite inquiries about work and the city filled the silence, careful conversations that skirted around the eight years of absence and the abrupt end of your high school connection.

You remained guarded, observing him with a cautious eye, trying to decipher his intentions. Was this mere politeness, a byproduct of your professional entanglement? Or was there something more beneath the surface?

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, a fragile sense of familiarity began to seep back into your interactions. The silences during the car rides became less strained, occasionally punctuated by a shared observation about a news report or a wry comment about the city's unpredictable traffic.

You found yourself, on a couple of particularly late nights at the office, accepting his offer of a ride without the initial surge of suspicion. There was a strange comfort in the shared journey, a sense of unexpected ease that surprised you.

Unbeknownst to you, Jisung had been meticulously piecing together the fragments of the past, recalling details from your brief time in high school. He remembered your quiet enthusiasm for a particular indie game, the way your eyes lit up when discussing a certain author, and, most surprisingly, he remembered your birthday.

A date that had somehow lodged itself in the recesses of his memory, a small, insignificant detail from a lifetime ago. As your birthday approached, he found himself making plans, a quiet dinner at a restaurant with a discreet, elegant ambiance, the perfect setting to finally ask you out, to see if the fragile connection rekindled by chance could blossom into something more.

Then, one afternoon, as you were leaving the office, he saw you standing outside, laughing with a male coworker. Your head was thrown back, your face radiant with genuine amusement, a carefree expression he hadn't witnessed on you in all the years he had known you, even in your brief moments of joy in high school.

A sharp, unexpected pang of jealousy, unfamiliar and unwelcome, clenched in his chest. The easy camaraderie you shared with this colleague, the effortless joy in your expression, stirred something possessive within him, a feeling he hadn't anticipated.

That evening, as you were packing up your things, preparing for the quiet solitude of your apartment, Jisung was waiting for you in the lobby. Instead of his usual quiet offer of a ride, he stood near the reception desk, his presence drawing the attention of several of your colleagues who were also leaving for the day.

He waited until your eyes met his across the bustling space, and then, his voice carrying with a newfound confidence that echoed through the lobby, he addressed you publicly. "Ms. [Your Last Name]," he said, a hint of a smile playing on his lips, his gaze holding yours. "Would you do me the honor of having dinner with me tomorrow night?"

All eyes in the lobby turned to you, a mixture of curiosity and speculation in their gazes. Caught completely off guard by the public invitation, a blush creeping up your neck, you felt a wave of awkwardness wash over you. The memories of the high school rumors, the sting of your aunt's accusations, flashed through your mind.

Yet, there was also a strange pull, a reluctant curiosity to see where this unexpected turn of events might lead. Under the scrutiny of your colleagues, their hushed whispers filling the sudden silence, you managed a hesitant, "Yes, Mr. Han. I would." The agreement felt both inevitable and incredibly awkward, a step back into a past you had tried so hard to leave behind, under the watchful eyes of your present.

-

A nervous energy, a fluttering anticipation you hadn't permitted yourself to feel in years, stirred within the carefully guarded chambers of your heart as you prepared for the unexpected dinner. You stood before your closet, a meticulously curated collection of professional attire in understated hues that spoke of competence and control, and sought something that felt both comfortable and hinted at the special occasion, a subtle rebellion against your usual reserved style, a quiet acknowledgment of the significance of the evening.

Your gaze finally settled on a cherry red top, a vibrant splash of color that always seemed to inject a bit of defiant joy into your spirit, a bold statement against the muted tones that often mirrored your inner landscape. You paired it with a denim skort, a touch of casual familiarity amidst the potential formality of the evening, a grounding element that reminded you of the woman you were beneath the polished exterior you presented to the world.

To elevate the look, you chose a pair of sleek cherry red heels, adding a confident lift to your stride and a subtle statement of intent, a silent assertion of your own worth. Finally, you adorned yourself with delicate gold jewelry – a slender necklace that rested at your collarbone, catching the light with a subtle shimmer that drew attention to the graceful curve of your neck, and elegant stud earrings that framed your face with a touch of understated grace, adding a hint of warmth to your otherwise cool demeanor.

The reflection staring back was a woman you had painstakingly built, piece by painstaking piece, strong and independent, a far cry from the invisible, shrinking girl of your past, a testament to your resilience and unwavering spirit.

A sharp, insistent knock echoed through the quiet of your apartment, a sound that both quickened your pulse and filled you with a sense of nervous anticipation. Taking a deep breath, a silent promise to yourself to simply relax and enjoy the evening, regardless of where it might lead, you opened the door to find Jisung standing there.

The black satin shirt he wore accentuated the broad expanse of his shoulders, the fabric catching the soft hallway light with a subtle, almost liquid sheen that hinted at a quiet luxury. The wire-framed glasses added an unexpected intellectual air to his already handsome features, making his sharp, intelligent eyes seem even more thoughtful and perceptive, and you couldn't help but notice how undeniably fine he looked, a refined elegance that was both familiar, a ghost of the intense, sometimes volatile boy you once knew, and entirely new, a testament to the years that had sculpted him into this composed, intriguing man.

The ride to the restaurant was initially filled with a nervous tension, a subtle undercurrent of awkwardness that mirrored your earlier encounters, the silence punctuated by the gentle hum of the Pagani's engine.

Polite conversation filled the gaps, careful inquiries about the day's events and the surprisingly mild autumn weather, neither of you quite venturing into the deeper, more turbulent waters of your shared history or the uncertain territory of the present.

You found yourself stealing glances at him, trying to reconcile the composed man beside you, radiating an air of quiet confidence, with the memory of the intense, sometimes volatile teenager who had defended you in the crowded school cafeteria.

The restaurant was perched on a rooftop, offering a breathtaking panorama of the city lights twinkling below like a million scattered diamonds on a velvet cloth. The ambiance was sophisticated and intimate, soft jazz music drifting through the air, the murmur of hushed conversations a gentle hum that created a sense of secluded elegance, a world away from the noisy chaos of your high school days.

The initial awkwardness during dinner slowly began to dissipate as the conversation drifted towards lighter topics – shared observations about the dazzling city skyline, a brief, surprisingly engaging discussion about a thought-provoking documentary you had both recently watched, revealing unexpected common interests that bridged the years.

Then, as the dessert arrived, a delicate chocolate torte adorned with a single, flickering candle, casting a warm glow on his face, Jisung's eyes met yours with a soft intensity that made your heart skip a beat. "Happy birthday, [Your Name]," he said, his voice a low, warm murmur that sent an unexpected shiver down your spine, a simple acknowledgment that held a weight of unspoken understanding.

He then presented you with a small, exquisitely wrapped box, the paper a deep, rich burgundy tied with a silver ribbon, the weight of it surprisingly substantial in your hand. Inside, nestled in soft, black velvet, was a heavy crystal perfume bottle, its facets catching the candlelight.

You lifted it, your breath catching in your throat. The delicate, floral and slightly musky scent that wafted upwards was instantly, achingly familiar, a nostalgic echo of your high school days, a fragrance you hadn't encountered in years, a scent that held within it the ghost of a younger, more vulnerable you.

And then you saw it – your name, [Your Name], elegantly and intricately carved into the smooth, cool glass of the bottle, a personal touch that resonated with a profound intimacy. A wave of emotion washed over you, a poignant mix of profound surprise and an unexpected tenderness that resonated deep within your carefully guarded heart.

He remembered. He remembered the small, seemingly insignificant detail of your favorite scent from a lifetime ago, a scent that evoked bittersweet memories of a time when simple pleasures held a greater significance, a time before the weight of the world had settled so heavily on your shoulders.

Tears welled in your eyes as you looked at him, a raw vulnerability exposed that you rarely allowed anyone to witness, a crack in the carefully constructed facade of your independence.

"Jisung," you began, your voice trembling slightly, the carefully constructed walls around your heart momentarily crumbling under the weight of his unexpected thoughtfulness and the poignant memories the perfume evoked. "This is… this is incredibly thoughtful. More than I could have ever expected. Thank you."

You paused, gathering your courage to voice the deeper turmoil that had plagued you for so long, the insecurities that still whispered in the quiet corners of your mind. "But… I need to be honest with you. I… I don't love myself. Not really. Not in the way someone should. And if I don't love myself, how can I possibly let anyone else truly love me? I'm… I'm afraid of that. Afraid of being hurt again, afraid of not being enough."

The confession hung in the air between you, heavy with years of unspoken pain, ingrained insecurity, and the deep-seated fear of repeating the hurts of the past, a truth you had carried like a secret burden.

He reached across the table, his larger hand gently covering yours, his touch warm and grounding, a silent reassurance that transcended words.

His gaze was earnest, unwavering, filled with a quiet understanding that surprised you with its depth, a knowing look that seemed to see past your carefully constructed defenses. "Then I'll wait," he said softly, his thumb gently stroking the back of your hand, his eyes conveying a patience you hadn't anticipated, a steadfastness that offered a glimmer of hope.

"I'll wait until you do, [Your Name]. Because I know, deep down, the incredible woman you are, the strength and resilience you possess. And I believe you'll see it too, eventually. And when you do, whenever that may be, I'll still be here." His words were a balm to your wounded spirit, an unexpected promise of unwavering support and a profound belief in you that resonated deep within your heart, planting a tiny seed of hope in the barren landscape of your self-doubt, a fragile promise of a future you hadn't dared to imagine.

--

The rooftop dinner, bathed in the soft glow of city lights and punctuated by the raw vulnerability you had dared to share, marked a subtle but significant shift in the long, unspoken narrative between you and Jisung. The confession, the hesitant unveiling of your deepest insecurities, hung in the air not as a source of awkwardness or a point of retreat, but as a fragile, newly forged bridge spanning the chasm of years and misunderstandings.

In the weeks that followed, slow, deliberate progress began, like the tentative unfurling of a tightly closed bloom. A simple goodnight text evolved into a brief, thoughtful exchange the next day. A casual inquiry about the challenges of your workday led to a late-night phone call, the comfortable silence that occasionally fell between you gradually replacing the nervous tension and unspoken anxieties of the past.

He didn't push, didn't make demands or issue expectations. He simply offered his quiet, unwavering presence, a steady anchor in the sometimes-turbulent waters of your emotions, a silent reassurance that he wasn't going anywhere.

He would text a simple "How was your day?" or share an interesting article he thought you might find engaging, a small gesture that spoke volumes about his attentiveness. Occasionally, he would suggest a late-night study session, the pretense of academic pursuit now a comfortable backdrop for shared interests – a complex documentary that sparked a fascinating debate, a classic novel you had always intended to read but never found the time for, its pages becoming a shared landscape of discovery.

Slowly, tentatively, you began to lower the carefully constructed walls around your heart, brick by painstaking brick. You found a surprising comfort in his quiet understanding, the way he listened without judgment, his responses thoughtful and genuine, reflecting a depth of empathy you hadn't encountered before.

He learned your rhythms, the days you needed space to navigate the lingering shadows of your past, the evenings you might welcome a gentle distraction, a shared meal, or a quiet conversation. He even started suggesting you cook together at his spacious, modern apartment, his sleek kitchen a stark and welcoming contrast to the cramped, often tense atmosphere of the kitchen of your childhood.

These evenings were filled with a comfortable domesticity, the shared task of preparing a meal, the rhythmic chopping of vegetables, the simmering of sauces, becoming a silent language of growing intimacy and trust.

A year spun by, marked by the subtle shifts in the seasons and the more profound shifts within yourself. Jisung's unwavering patience and quiet, steadfast support had become an integral and comforting presence in your life, a constant source of gentle encouragement.

You found yourself laughing more freely, the sound echoing in your apartment without the familiar tinge of self-consciousness. Your steps felt lighter, your shoulders less burdened. The sharp edges of your emotional guardedness began to soften, replaced by a tentative sense of self-acceptance, a growing understanding of your own inherent worth.

You started looking at your reflection with a kinder, more forgiving eye, the critical voice within slowly quieting its relentless judgment. While the journey to fully loving yourself was an ongoing process, a path you were still navigating, you were undeniably more confident, more emotionally stable, the foundations of your well-being feeling stronger and more resilient than they ever had before.

Then, finally, came the day of the project launch, the culmination of months of intense work, sleepless nights, and unwavering dedication, the very project upon which Stratagem Capital's significant investment hinged. The atmosphere in the office was electric with a palpable mixture of nervous anticipation and focused energy, the air thick with the unspoken hopes and fears of your entire team.

You, as the lead engineer and the driving force behind the innovation, presented the final product with a quiet confidence that belied the subtle tremor of excitement within you, your voice steady and clear as you navigated the intricate technical details, your passion for the project shining through.

Everything went smoothly, the system performing flawlessly, its elegant functionality and groundbreaking capabilities impressing the stakeholders. A collective sigh of relief and a wave of triumphant exhaustion washed over your team as the launch was officially declared a resounding success, a testament to your collective hard work and vision.

That evening, a simple text message from Jisung arrived on your phone, the familiar name on the screen sending a warmth spreading through you: "Stratagem party tonight. Nexus. Consider it a celebration of a job well done."

It was a casual invitation, understated in its wording, but the underlying warmth and a hint of personal invitation were unmistakable, a quiet acknowledgment of your shared journey and your individual triumph. Hesitantly, a sense of nervous excitement fluttering in your stomach, you decided to go.

-

The invitation to Nexus arrived with a subtly possessive addendum from Jisung, delivered via a late-night text that vibrated with an unspoken intimacy: "Wear black. It suits you, highlights the fire in your eyes, and makes those cherry lips look like they're begging for a taste."

Trusting his quiet confidence and the undeniably suggestive compliment, you chose a sleek black dress. Its simple elegance skimmed your curves like a whispered promise, a silent statement of newfound comfort and a daring hint of burgeoning sensuality in your own skin.

The fabric flowed around you like liquid night, a stark contrast to the vibrant, almost defiant red of your birthday dinner, yet equally, if not more, captivating, a subtle promise of the woman you were slowly, deliberately unleashing.

At the club, "Nexus," Jisung's sleek and exclusive domain, the celebratory atmosphere was thick with the intoxicating blend of pulsating music, unrestrained laughter, and the expensive, heady aroma of designer perfume and celebratory spirits.

Your colleagues, flushed with the heady success of the project launch, their usual professional reserve dissolving with each shared bottle of champagne, were in high spirits, their inhibitions lowered to a dangerous degree. You found yourself drawn into their revelry, the offered glasses of the effervescent liquid, each accompanied by increasingly suggestive toasts to your team's brilliance and your own pivotal role, proving utterly irresistible in the face of their insistent camaraderie and playful shoves.

Your notoriously low tolerance for alcohol, a delicate secret you rarely shared, meant the celebratory drinks went to your head with thrilling speed, the edges of the room beginning to soften and sway, the bass of the music vibrating deep within your core, a physical manifestation of the delicious unraveling of your carefully controlled senses, igniting a reckless, intoxicating warmth that spread through your veins.

Soon, a giddy laughter, a sound that had been long suppressed beneath layers of self-consciousness and ingrained caution, bubbled up from within you, a lightness you hadn't experienced with such uninhibited abandon in years.

Encouraged by your tipsy colleagues, their cheers and suggestive winks egging you on, you found yourself on the dance floor, moving with a fluid, uninhibited grace that surprised even yourself, a joyous, almost primal release of pent-up tension and newfound confidence.

Through the shimmering haze of alcohol and flashing lights, your gaze locked with Jisung's across the crowded room.

He was watching you from the edge of the dance floor, leaning against a polished chrome pillar, a soft, almost possessive smile playing on his lips, his gaze dark, intense, and utterly unwavering, a silent observer who seemed to find a quiet amusement and a palpable, smoldering desire in your uncharacteristic abandon.

His eyes held a dark, knowing gleam that sent a shiver of raw anticipation dancing down your spine.

A sudden, deliciously wicked impulse, fueled by the alcohol's intoxicating loosening grip on your inhibitions and a burgeoning, undeniable, almost desperate affection for the man who watched you with such quiet intensity, overtook you with a thrilling recklessness.

With a playful shout that was almost a husky invitation, you weaved through the dancing crowd, a black-clad siren navigating the throng with an unexpected agility, reached Jisung, and, with a boldness that made your own heart pound, yanked him down by the collar of his dark, subtly shimmering silk shirt.

Your cherry-red lips crashed onto his in a kiss that was anything but demure, a rush of giddy affection, uninhibited desire, and a playful, teasing exploration of the boundaries that had long separated you. Your hands tangled in the soft fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer until your bodies were pressed together, the kiss a heady mix of champagne-fueled impulsiveness and a genuine longing that had been slowly simmering beneath the surface for months, now boiling over.

You nipped playfully at his lower lip before deepening the kiss, your tongue darting out to tease his, a silent, brazen dare in your slightly inebriated state that made his breath hitch and a low groan rumble in his chest.

You punctuated the bold move by gently biting down on his lower lip, a playful yet possessive gesture, before tugging lightly, drawing a surprised, yet undeniably pleased, sound from him.

He recoiled slightly, a flicker of surprise widening his dark eyes before a gentle, yet firm, hand cupped your cheek, stilling your impulsive actions, his thumb stroking the soft skin beneath your ear with a tender possessiveness that sent a delicious thrill spiraling through you.

"Hey," he murmured, his voice a low rumble against your swollen lips, a note of amused concern and a definite, husky undercurrent of arousal lacing his tone.

"Easy there, Ms. Y/L/N. Those cherry lips are getting a little… demanding, and you're swaying like a particularly lovely willow tree in a strong breeze. Though, I must admit," his gaze dropped to your lips, a dark heat flickering in his eyes, a predatory gleam that made your pulse quicken, "it's a rather… persuasive argument."

He carefully, yet reluctantly, disentangled himself, his arm remaining possessively around your waist, his touch a steady anchor in your suddenly unsteady world.

Gently but firmly, he steered you away from the pulsating crowd, his concern evident in his steady, unwavering gaze, though a hint of reluctant longing and a definite spark of desire still lingered in their depths.

He helped you into the cool, luxurious embrace of his Pagani, the soft leather a welcome contrast to the sudden heat that flushed your skin.

The ride back to your apartment was quiet, punctuated only by your occasional giggles and his soft, reassuring murmurs, his hand resting lightly on your thigh, his fingers occasionally flexing as if fighting a fierce internal battle against the urge to explore further.

As you fumbled with your door, the city lights blurring through the alcohol-induced haze, Jisung patiently guided your unsteady hand to the keypad.

You punched in the code '14092000', the familiar sequence a jumbled mess in your slightly inebriated mind, the numbers swimming before your eyes. Then, as the lock clicked open, the realization hit you with the force of a sudden downpour, a wave of unexpected warmth flooding through the alcoholic haze.

The numbers… they were his birthday. A small, intimate detail he had entrusted to you, a silent gesture of trust that spoke volumes about the depth of his feelings and the quiet intimacy you now shared, a secret language whispered in digits that now felt like a key to something much deeper.

Once inside your apartment, the lingering effects of the alcohol made you clumsy and endearingly unsteady, your movements a little too dramatic, your laughter a little too loud, each step a playful sway that threatened to send you tumbling.

As Jisung guided you towards your bedroom, his hand a firm, reassuring presence on your back, a wave of affection, amplified by the alcohol and the heady emotions of the evening, washed over you with an almost overwhelming intensity.

You turned to him, your movements slightly exaggerated, a playful glint in your eyes that hinted at mischief and a burgeoning, almost desperate desire. Reaching out, you tugged gently on his hand, pulling him down onto the edge of your bed with a soft giggle that bordered on a husky sigh.

You then proceeded to crawl onto the mattress, straddling his lap, your black dress riding up your thighs with a scandalous disregard for propriety, snuggling on top of him, your head resting comfortably against his chest, the steady, reassuring beat of his heart a comforting rhythm beneath your ear.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, your fingers tangling in the soft strands of his hair, pulling him closer until your lips were mere inches apart, your breath mingling. "Jisung," you mumbled, your words slightly slurred but filled with a genuine warmth that radiated through you, "I think… no, I know… I love you. You're… you're so good to me. And you smell absolutely intoxicating," you added with a tipsy giggle, nuzzling closer and pressing a lingering, deliberately provocative kiss to the sensitive skin of his neck, your cherry-red lips leaving a faint, fleeting imprint.

You then repeated the playful bite on his lower lip, tugging gently and watching his eyes darken with a mixture of amusement and something far more primal.

A soft chuckle rumbled deep in his chest, vibrating against your ear, a sound filled with a tender amusement and a palpable, tightly leashed desire that made his muscles tense beneath you. He gently stroked your hair, his fingers tangling in the soft strands, his voice a heart-fluttering whisper against your temple, filled with a tender amusement and a quiet longing that mirrored your own, tinged with a hint of reluctant control.

"And I, [Your Name]," he murmured, his breath warm against your skin, his arms tightening around your waist for a fleeting, possessive moment before relaxing, his gaze dark and intense as he looked down at you, his eyes lingering on your parted lips, then drifting down to where your hips subtly pressed against his.

"Am willing to wait until those beautiful, slightly tipsy words hold the same crystal clarity as the stars we saw painting the night sky. But darling," his voice dropped to a husky whisper that sent a shiver down your spine, his fingers tracing the line of your jaw with a feather-light touch that hinted at a barely suppressed hunger, "the waiting is becoming… an exquisite form of torture, especially with those tempting little nibbles."

He held you close, a silent battle raging within him, resisting the undeniable pull of the moment, respecting the vulnerability of your inebriated state, his own desire held firmly in check by a deeper, more profound affection and a gentlemanly restraint that spoke volumes about the depth of his character, even as his body betrayed a different, urgent story.

-- Next Morning

Sunlight stabbed at your eyelids, a brutal assault after the night's champagne-fueled escapades. A dull throb hammered behind your eyes, each pulse echoing the questionable decisions of the previous evening. You groaned, turning your face into the pillow, the lingering scent of expensive cologne a faint, comforting anchor in the sea of your queasy stomach. Slowly, reluctantly, you pried your eyes open, the unfamiliar surroundings of your bedroom coming into focus.

Then, the tantalizing aroma of sizzling bacon and something sweet, like pancakes, wafted from the kitchen, cutting through the fog of your hangover. You pushed yourself up, the black dress from the night before a crumpled heap on the floor. Padding barefoot towards the source of the enticing smell, you found Jisung standing at your stove, effortlessly flipping pancakes, a comfortable domesticity radiating from him that made your heart do a little flip of its own, despite your pounding head.

He turned as you entered, a knowing smirk playing on his lips, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Morning, sleepyhead," he greeted, his voice a low, teasing drawl. "Slept well? You were quite… enthusiastic last night. Though, I must say," he leaned against the counter, crossing his arms, his gaze lingering on your slightly disheveled state, "you have a surprising stamina for someone who claims a low tolerance. You seemed to enjoy our… deep and slow… activities. And if I recall correctly, there were some rather insistent requests for… more."

Panic flared in your chest, hot and sharp. Had you? The memories of last night were fragmented, a blurry montage of laughter, flashing lights, and a reckless boldness you barely recognized. Your cheeks flushed crimson. "We… we didn't… have… sex?" you stammered, your voice thick with sleep and dawning horror.

His smirk widened, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Relax, agassi," he chuckled, the sound warm and reassuring. "Just teasing. Though your attempts to straddle me were… memorable. And your whispered demands were… certainly noted. I got you safely tucked in. All innocent, I assure you. Mostly."

Relief washed over you in a dizzying wave, leaving you slightly breathless and acutely aware of the lingering heat in your cheeks. He moved towards you, his hands reaching out to frame your face, his thumbs gently stroking your temples. "Though," he murmured, his gaze dropping to your lips, a familiar heat returning to his eyes, "that kiss in the club… and those little nibbles… those were definitely real. And rather… persuasive. You seemed to have a particular fondness for my lower lip."

Your brow furrowed, a wave of mortification washing over you. "I… I don't really remember…" you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper, your cheeks burning hotter.

He closed the distance between you, his gaze intense. He reached out, gently taking your hand, and walked you backwards until your spine met the cool surface of the wall. He placed a hand on either side of your head, effectively pinning you, a playful dominance in his stance. Leaning in close, his breath ghosting over your lips, he teased, "Those kisses were quite something, my tipsy darling. And those little bites… rather… possessive. Should I show you how you did it?"

To his surprise, instead of a denial, a hesitant nod escaped you, a flicker of curiosity overriding your embarrassment.

His eyes darkened, a spark of something primal igniting within them. He lowered his head, his lips brushing against yours, a tantalizing prelude. Then, you surged forward, your hands tangling in his hair, your mouth crashing onto his with a desperate, sober longing. This kiss was different, grounded in a clarity that the previous night lacked, a heartfelt confession in every touch. When you finally broke apart, your breath catching in your throat, you looked into his eyes, the hangover momentarily forgotten. "Jisung," you said, your voice clear and steady, the words carrying the weight of a year of quiet understanding and burgeoning love. "I do love you. I really do."

His gaze softened, a profound tenderness replacing the teasing glint. Without a word, he swept you off your feet, your legs wrapping instinctively around his waist, and carried you to the kitchen counter, gently placing you on the cool surface amidst the tantalizing aroma of breakfast. His lips found yours again, this time with a fierce tenderness, a claiming kiss that spoke of shared desire and a love that had been patiently waiting. Hands explored, soft moans escaped your lips, the scent of bacon and pancakes mingling with the raw heat of your bodies. Finally, breathless and flushed, you broke apart, foreheads touching.

Han's voice, a low, husky whisper against your ear, sent a shiver down your spine. "I love you more, my love."

-- The End

i drink your blood and i eat your skin | part seven.

pairing: vampire! hwang hyunjin x f!reader

warnings: angst

masterlist

playlist

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It was another day and as more time passed by, spending it only in your room, the more the boredom creeped up on you. Even the books you took with you from the library started to get boring, words on pages blending together and creating just a bunch of nonsense. The delicious food turned as bland as your world. The known unpleasant feelings started to show and not even the beautiful house could not keep you away from embracing them. You haven’t seen Hyunjin after the dinner and in some way it bothered you. Loneliness, feeling you knew all too well, quickly joined the party and now it felt way stronger, even deeper. You didn’t even realized that his presence was effecting you in some way…

More like his absence. You however knew better than let your intrusive thoughts win. It is so wrong to want his attention, him. It was so wrong that it felt good…right. You don’t know if he truly was a bad person, maybe it’s just your own head playing tricks on you. Or maybe it was just instinct, maybe it was keeping you safe from him. He is a predator and you were his chosen type of prey after all. He told you that he wouldn’t hurt you but you both know that in some way or another he already did. You weren’t in the wrong to think like this.

You are just careful around him, because you still fear him in some way. Even if you get to know him, will you ever not be afraid? You knew what power he holds and that scares you. He could snap your neck by a blink of an eye.

But…wasn’t that also so exciting?

Hyunjin is so strong, a creature created from the darkness. A vampire that walks with an aura so menacing but also so alluring. It makes you want to have just a little taste of it and before you would know it, you would be already drowning in it. And it would taste even better because his deepest desire.

You really should sort out your feelings. You wished for Mia right now. You missed her, even if it were just days but being ripped away from her like that — you didn’t like it. You choose to stay, you have to remember that.

As you were gazing through the closed windows, you wondered if you could go there. You needed some fresh air and the slightly open window in the bathroom wasn’t enough anymore. After you went to the library the door to your bedroom was mysteriously left unlocked, maybe he knows that you won’t try to run away again. For one you are sure that you wouldn’t be able to, even if you tried your hardest and second of all you don’t really want to….but maybe a walk outside wouldn’t hurt anyone.

To your surprise you found a long, warm coat for you in the closet and also some boots. Every time you had opened it, you always found new things for you. It was endless and you couldn’t help yourself from going over the multiple boxes of shoes. He really does have a taste but being alive for God knows how long, it should come naturally.

It felt wrong going out of your room like this or was it just in your head? You weren’t really a prisoner but still everyone was so careful around — with you. You weren’t that sure which way lead to the back of this place but you were definitely familiar with which way was the main entrance. You calmly made your way to the big staircase and you momentarily stopped, gripping the railing with your hand. You glance into the dark hallway just few steps away from you, you haven’t been there before. There is still so much for you to explore but your lungs really call for the fresh air you promised yourself.

As you made your way down, you noticed that you weren’t alone at all to your surprise. The house looked like it was finally waking up. Two guards were standing at each side of the main door, dressed neatly, bodies pin straight and eyes hard, it made a lump form in your throat. Maybe it’s not going to be so easy.

They didn’t spare you a glance first, even if you now stood right in front of them and you were a little thankful for that. You clear your throat, clasping your hands before you. “Ehm — hello, may I go outside?” Even by clearing your throat, you still sounded like a hurt kitten. ‘Even my voice is not on your side.’

Finally they take a glance at you briefly, before giving each other looks that you couldn’t quite place. You stood there for a while, swinging on your feet slightly. The one on your right with fair hair and looking a little older than you sighed. You weren’t so sure about his age, after all you feel like this house only reeks of the undead but this man didn’t look like it. He doesn’t have the aura around him, the different eyes or anything. He looked like you, human. His company however didn’t. He was more like your age, tall and skinny with dark curly hair and light eyes which for a second reminded you of him. This was interesting. Were there many like you here?

The older man step out, unblocking the view of the door. “I will accompany you, miss.” He said. At that excitement pumped through your veins, finally feeling some kind of relievement in these past days.

You shake your hand, waving him of, making your way to the door. “You don’t have to.”

Before you could wrap your hand around the handle, he put his hand on it, again blocking the entry with his body. You look up at him at that. “I will accompany you, miss.” He said slowly, not that sternly but letting you know that you didn’t have a choice.

“Okay.” You replied. The prices you have to pay to just get a whiff of fresh air…

The other man step aside as well, probably to not get hit with a stream of light that might shine through the now open door. You are curious about what is and what is not true about these creatures but you can tell for sure that they did not like the sun. It wasn’t that sunny outside however but you could smell the warm spring peaking around the color. The sky was still grey, maybe it was because of where you are, middle of the woods and cut from any other people that weren’t residents of this house. But is it really a house? It looked like a mansion, mixed with cathedral, you couldn’t quite place it. At least you now had time to fully analyze it.

The man walked few feet behind you and you find yourself not minding it that much, maybe because he was like you. Did he knew about who — what he was working for or was he compelled? That question ran through your head while you walk around the building, however you didn’t ask. It was none of your business but you hope that they did not keep him, like a alive blood bag…

Tracing your fingers over one of the statues, you wondered again where this marvelous place was located or more like where you were right now. You remind yourself that they had the power to do everything and more, you almost scoffed how easy it must be for them to live. The nicer weather even made the bushes bloom, you remembered that they were empty just days ago but now red roses peaked out from them.

You touched one of the roses softly, it wouldn’t propably hurt anyone to pick one up but you still glance back at your company that watched you silently the whole time. “Can I have one?” He raised his eyebrow, looking confused to why you would ask permission for that but still nodded nevertheless.

You snap the stem then, careful not to cut your finger because that definitely wouldn’t end well if you did. Twirling it between your fingers, you decided to go around, to the direction where you would look out of your window. Just as you wanted to cut the corner you suddenly appeared somewhere else.

The smell hit your nose, just as well the noises of the animals in the stables. Your mouth opened slightly. The stables were right at the edge of the mansion, so there was no way for you to ever guess to be meet with horses. You thought that vampires enjoyed more of dead company than anything. Glancing back momentarily at the guard, seeing that he doesn’t have anything against you to you going there, you pick the end of your long coat and step inside.

The heads of the horses peak out at you and you immediately went to pet each and every one of them, still careful because there wasn’t certitude that they would like you but to your surprise they did. The second your hand touch the soft skin of their neck, it seemed that almost a heavy weight has been lifted from your shoulders. Petting an animal really does help with nerves. As you passed through them, giving them each enough pets for them and for you to be satisfied, you came across a one horse that had its back to you. It probably could sense your presence, turning to finally walk up to you and have a look and you gasp softly at the beautiful white color and the black spot at it’s back.

Your lips after so long lift softly at the corners as it leaned into your open hand. You really don’t want to pick and choose favorites but this one surely speak out to you and it definitely liked you the most so far out of everyone. The stables were big, bigger than you expected, this place sure has it’s secrets and surprises.

A loud noise startled you, hand jumping away from the neighing horse to whip your head to the direction. There at one of the stalls stood a man, leaning on the wood, looking you over and you wondered if he’s been there the whole time. Your body stiffened at his dark eyes and matching black hair.

“H-Hello.” You greeted, unsure, looking back your company that to your surprise kept his distance, standing at the entrance to the stables. Looking back to meet the eyes of the lean, tall man, you don’t receive any answer. He looked like one of those statues in the gardens, the aura and his unraising chest giving you the answer about who — what this man truly is.

The horse you were just petting nudge the back of your head, making you jump before your focus was back on the still silent vampire who was still sizing you up. You cleared your throat, straightening your back, suddenly feeling insecure under his gaze. “I am–“ Before you could finish introducing yourself he beat you to it.

“I know who you are.” He said.

“Oh…”

A small smirk appears on his face at your response. “My brother can’t shut his mouth about you.”

‘Really’ You thought. You weren’t so sure what to say to that so you kept quiet. The silence however made you feel uncomfortable, turning around to continue at your petting of the horse. As you do that you could feel him getting closer, you couldn’t hear his footsteps but the burning stare at the back of your head gave him away. You turned back to him, his gaze hard but not looking so unwelcoming, maybe it was just his natural expression and also he was much closer to you that you thought. Basically right next to you

“I’m sorry for asking this but…” You begin. “–are you all…following me?” The question was answered by silence, his face unmoving. “I feel like you are…”

He hummed almost like in thought, his own attention falling to the animal before you two. “Just keeping an eye on you, like everyone.” The vampire answered. ‘What does he mean by everyone?’ Your eyes briefly flicker to the guard.

“Hyunjin likes his sleep…” He continued, making you snap out of your thoughts to look at him as he nodded his head to the direction of the horse. “You ride?”

You shook your head widely, still slightly stuck at his statement. “Oh n-no, but I for sure always wanted to try.” You careased the soft skin of the horse, smiling at it’s noises of contentment.

The vampire watch you in silence, petting the happy animal. The news of your existence shocked everyone, it was such a crazy theory that even he didn’t know what to think. He, like everyone else didn’t want to give Hyunjin the satisfaction that maybe he was right about you. The fact that this animal, your so called soulmate’s untenable horse let you pet him so freely was for sure a little significant. All eight of them had their own look at you at some point, peaking from behind corners in curiosity. Their brother was so mesmerized by you that they just had to have a look themselves. They however didn’t expect you to be like this — look like this. Such a beautiful soul but also so sad, wide eyed like you finally opened your eyes after years of living. Walking amongst the living but so close to the dead. Still you looked and smelled so sweet, like a flower, maybe you were just tormented, lost soul like them. Maybe you are more enchanting than you think…

The black haired man startles you as he suddenly opened the gate to let the horse out. “What are doing?” You asked in wonder. The question only made him roll his eyes in annoyance. He was only doing this for him. Maybe if you saw kindest in others, you could finally start seeing it in him.

You watched the vampire as he put the saddle on the horse. “We are going for a ride.” He stated casually, making you choke on your spit. Because of the gate now being open you could fully see how magnificent this animal is and it made you nervous to even approach it now.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

He again rolls his eyes. If this bordered him so much, why was he even doing it then? Your body froze slightly as he suddenly made his way up to you, so quickly that you didn’t even have time to react. One second you were on the ground and now you were being picked up by your waist like you weighed nothing. A small gasp leaves you. “Wait! Wait, I don’t even know your name…”

“Seungmin.” He answered simply, while helping you up on the horse’s back and if you weren’t so focused on balancing yourself you would’ve seen the small amused smile.

The vampire walked with you in his arms, before helping you to get fully seated. “Wait! Aren’t you not supposed to be able to go outside.” You stated, clutching the leather of the saddle tightly as the animal moves under your weight.

A sigh, almost like a laugh comes through his nose at your words. “I appreciate your concern but however the sun can’t harm me from here.” You opened your mouth in realization.

You were know seated on the horse, body so rigid that now you were the one looking like a statue. The vampire still had his arms stretched out, like you were going to fall at any second into them but you were basically frozen at your spot. The animal moved a little, making you grip the saddle even tighter.

“Do you want to go down?” Your company asked softly. You didn’t say anything because you simply didn’t know the answer but as seconds passed by you started to not mind your position. Maybe the whiplash from how quickly you were put so high up was wearing out. “Or do you fancy a walk around the castle?”

Your head snapped to his direction. “Can I?” You asked softly.

“What do you think.”

You sighed through your nose, body not so tense anymore. “I would love to.” You really would.

His lips formed into a small smirk and not because of your words but from the annoyed sigh coming from inside the house that only he was able to hear. His hand then wrapped around the reins, making the horse move from it’s spot, you immediately tensing up again. But after some few steps as you walked your way to the direction of the guard who you almost forgot about, you found the hang of it.

“Accompany her, make sure she doesn’t get hurt on my brother’s behalf and sanity.” Said Seungmin and you couldn’t miss the difference of the tone of his voice nor the way he looked into the man’s eyes.

The guard nodded, blinking away rapidly and grabbing the reins to the horse. “Yes, sir.”

Seungmin turned to you, even if you had the higher ground, you couldn’t possible share the same authority as him. “For my well being I won’t be the one to give you the tour.” ‘Oh? So direct sunlight was the enemy.’ Your eyes then fell on the two man again.

“Just around the forest.”

“Yes, sir.”

You felt a little bad for this unknown man but there was nothing to do. You simply don’t have the power to even have a say about who or who not should be compelled. The way Seungmin now was looking at you, made you think that he could read your thoughts. This intense glare probably came with every vampire though.

You smiled briefly at him. “Thank you, Seungmin.”

He waved you off, looking into the distance. “I did this for myself because I can’t tolerate my brother’s whining any longer.”

“Huh…” You frowned because you couldn’t imagine him doing that, eyes traveling back again at the vampire who stood under you.

“You made a choice to stay.” He stated. “So at least try to enjoy it and stop your own whining.”

“Excuse me?” Flies out your mouth because had nothing other than that to say at the moment but he just ignored your question, turning around to make his way back inside, exactly as the sun appear on the exact spot he stood second ago.

“Goodbye miss Y/N.”

‘Vampires are going to be the death of you.’

────

It was a cold night, so cold that even Hyunjin shivered. Though was it really the breeze, coming from behind the closed door that made goosebumps appear on his skin, perhaps it was the unsettling feeling bubbling inside his chest, ready to burst at any moment. He stood behind the closed door to your bedroom, silently getting over the words inside his head. His thoughts were so loud that he didn’t even have time to listen. Hyunjin listened to the sound of your beating heart every second, since you’ve been here, even the many walls separating you apart couldn’t safe you from his ears. The thumbing soothes his soul, like a lullaby but now the sound makes his ears ring. The sound…so close yet so far.

He wanted you to know that yours made his own beat again. There’s no way for him to express his emotions throughout words. He tried plenty of different ways to show his devotion to you but you dodged every one like a bullet. Did you even know that every second without you made him mad? It made his skin crawl, itching, burning and fangs hurting and wanting nothing more than to pierce the soft skin of your neck and make you his. Hyunjin wanted to mark you so bad that he had to bite his own lips to ease the temptation, while imagining they were yours instead.

The vampire didn’t want to say this but your rejections were so confusing to him. He knew how and what he could evoke in humans, he was the creature that trilled on the seduction and the pleasure after all. You however didn’t return it. Or did you? He would like to say that he could see in the depths of the soul that people try so desperately to keep hidden and you weren’t really good at hiding your it. Your eyes gave you away every time he would look into them. The desire, the desperation they held, the wanting and longing to be finally seen. ‘Why won’t you let me in, Y/N?’ Let him in and he promises to ravish every corner of your heart, every piece of your untouched skin and lips…

Hyunjin has to contain himself a little but how when you were the reason and also the answer to his suffering and redemption?

He finally found the courage to knock on the door. The sound echoed through the old mansion, like the creaking wood under his feet and yet he didn’t hear anything from the other side. He waited a little bit for an answer but every moment made suffering even worse. Hyunjin knew you were in there…so he let himself in. He hopes you won’t be angry with him.

His eyes traveled over the room. From the unmade bed, to the multiple books on one of the nightstands. They stopped at the open window to the balcony, the very reason of the cold seeping inside the room. The strong wind made the heavy curtains float but the smell of your sweet scent didn’t immediately hit his nose, like he expected. Sense of panic washed over him, making him take quick steps to the balcony. ‘Have you ran away, jumping from the balcony and running for freedom through the forest? What if you were injured?’

Just as quickly as the panic had reached him, it flew away through the wind as a gasp ringed in the air. He turned around, coming face to face with your shocked expression and he had to slightly sigh in relief, taking in the smell of your skin.

One moment you were enjoying your bath in silence, washing away the smell of the animal you spent your whole day with and then there was a vampire standing inside your bedroom. You didn’t expect him to visit you at all and definitely not so soon after the horrible dinner and also not so late but what seemed like late to you was the beginning of the day for him. Your white nightgown gave you little to no coverage, wrapping your arm around your chest, the man following your action before quickly everting them. “May I ask what are you doing here unannounced?” You spoke up, eyes glancing at how the moonlight casted shadows on his face.

Hyunjin look up at your words, glancing over your figure so quickly that you didn’t even catch it. He had to licked his lips to ease the thirst. ‘God what she’s doing to me?’

“I did.” He said. “I knocked but you didn’t answer.”

“Alright.” You said, nodding not really sure what to say to that. You again watched each other in silence for a while. These moments were making you unsure if they made you uncomfortable or…comfortable. His presence doesn’t brother you that much anymore but you still haven’t got used to it.

Pressing your lips together, you walked to your bed, passing by him shifty. He had to take a deep breath as the wind blew your hair away from your neck. You knew exactly what he was doing as there was no need for him to breathe at all, however you tried to ignore it. You climbed into the bed, taking the duvet closer to your chest. It created a small imaginary distance from him, shielding you from his glaring eyes but you knew that if he wanted to he would tear it apart together with you.

You gave him a look of wonder because for what was he exactly here for? The expression made the vampire snapped out of whatever trance he was in. “I came here to talk to you.” Hyunjin answered simply.

You frown. “To talk to me?” You quoted. “About what?”

He gave a weird look, almost like in thought, before he sighed. “Anything…” He walked up at you, stopping just at the end of the bed. “I just want your company.” Hyunjin almost sounded desperate and how he towered over you, it reminded you of something.

How he looked at you that night and how he made you feel. You knew that it was just your imagination, a dream and it didn’t particularly ended well for you but the way he made almost everything look so appealing…His sultry voice and his eyes, lips, hands — your eyes flicker to his rings, wrapped around his long fingers.

Looking up from the dark color of the duvet, you could see that he had moved a little closer to you with just a moment of your inattention. He leaned his weight on the column of the bed’s canopy, just where your legs were. “Minho said you enjoy reading.”

“Yes.” You said carefully. How can you be surprised?

He hummed at your answer, warmness spreading inside his chest because you shared something in common — and of course he couldn’t forget about love for animals…

Glancing momentarily at the one book on the nightstand, he could see bookmark peaking out from it. “What book did you picked?”

Biting your lip, you also look at the book before placing your hands in your lap, playing with your fingers. “Would it be bad if I said Dracula?”

Hyunjin laughs, genuine smile on his lips and you couldn’t help yourself but marveling over it. “Interesting, I wonder why the sudden interest in vampires.” There was still the same smile on his face, though now teasing you.

You were so taken back by his reaction that your own lips started to tug at the corners. “Hey, don’t laugh.” You tsked, eyebrows furrowed. “It’s more interesting to why you even have this book in your library.”

“Certainly.” He nodded, still amused.

A sudden big gush of cold air flew from the still open balcony inside the room. It made goosebumps appear on your skin and just as quickly as your reaction to the sudden cold appeared on your body, the man before you took action upon seeing it. “Are you cold? I will close it.” Hyunjin didn’t even give you time to answer, walking to the windows to close it.

Your hungry eyes stared at his back and even from here you could see the muscles underneath the tight shirt. If only he knew that the shiver weren’t only from the cold. The vampire turn around slowly after closing the balcony, looking right at your laying figure. There was so much to say but nether of you knew where to start.

But you however had enough of this killing silence, feeling the way your heart skipped a beat after glancing at him. “I’m sorry but I was just going to bed and —“

“I understand.” He didn’t even look angry nor sad with your words, not like at the dinner. “I will talk to you some other time…”

You nodded again, still being slightly tongue tied. Again watching him walk away from you made you feel empty. Why were there so many mixed feelings? You really don’t know what you want from him…maybe the truth.

Just as walked pass your bed you stopped him with your hand raised. “Wait!” He immediately turned around, almost like waiting for you to say that. “Can I ask you something?” The man in question kept quiet, giving you room to speak.

You also went quiet, basking in the silence. The only noises being the wind banging on the closed windows and you could even hear the frequent dripping of water coming from the bathroom. To your surprise he still kept quiet and unknowingly to you also enjoying this moment. Maybe it was just because he could look at your figure so freely as you were to occupied with your thoughts. You always have to be the one to destroy every pleasant moments like these…

“That night if those men didn’t appear what would you truly do…I know that you already answered but—“

“I am failing to understand…”

Oh, but he did. He knew exactly what you were talking about.

“You were watching me before, syzing me up…” God, what are you doing, you two were doing so good and now you are messing it all up…

Your mouth was open still, both of you waiting for the million dollar question. But you couldn’t immediately form it, the glare he was giving you made you scared to even think about it. He was giving you a warning look but you still said it anyway.

“Were you going to drink my blood?”

A sneer falls over his features and you wondered how this same face could even form a smile minutes ago. “Why are you asking such question?” He tried to warn you to not go further but the damage was already done. Why can’t you leave things in the past? Was it because you were human that you couldn’t let go so easily?

You watch how his knuckles turned white around the column and you were afraid that he might crush it into pieces. What if that was your throat instead? “I just want to know…did you really have no intention of drinking from me?” You can’t be in the wrong for asking this…

“I can’t answer that.” Whispered Hyunjin, head hanging low and praying that you would just let this go for his and your own sake.

“Yes, you can.” You declared slowly, duvet falling over your body as you sit up to get closer to him. Was he shaking?

“No…”

Your scoff rings inside the room next, head shaking at his stubbornness. You both know the answer already but you needed to hear it to be sure. Maybe it could finally make you hate him…He on the other hand had a really hard time to contain himself. You don’t even know that you were playing with fire right now. Someone so afraid yet blindly teasing the snake with a bare foot at the same time.

“Just tell me damn it! Would you had killed me if they didn’t showed up?”

“No! I was just—“

“Just what?” The question comes out sharper than you intended.

Finally Hyunjin look at you. Long hair covered his eyes, shielding the vibrant color dancing in them. The silence now didn’t sound the same as before. It was exactly the silence before a storm. You suddenly realized what you had done but it was too late now. You completely turned him around. The way he looked right now, perfectly mirrored the way he had looked at you the very first night you met. “You’re—your blood.” He pulled his hand away from the column and even in the darkness you could see the dents in it from his fingers. “I’ve never smelled someone so delicious as you before.” Closing his eyes, a sigh dangerously close to a growl left him. “And you were just in the perfect position — all alone and oh so mesmerized.” Opening his eyes again, he listened to your loudly beating heart. “If they didn’t come…if you wouldn’t scream for help.” He stopped himself from going further, you both know that this confession was all you needed. “I didn’t kill you after that because I have never felt so bad about my victim before…and also seeing you in such pain — I couldn’t possibly continue it.”

Your face crunched up, his raw words bringing out the mentioned pain to the surface but you decided to stay strong for a little longer. “So you would’ve just killed your soulmate or whatever you call this and you wouldn’t even know.”

Next, so quickly that you even had time to blink, he was on you. From the end of the bed, he suddenly appeared before you. His body covered yours and you couldn’t do anything but look into his wild eyes. He was so so close, you could feel his breath fanning over your lips as he spoke up. “Be quiet.” He growled, his red eyes glaring into yours and after a long time you felt like fainting from fear again. Was this how his victims felt? Your chest that raised with your every breath touched briefly his but you were too afraid to move away.

“You’re not listening, I said vampires can sense the bond easily. So I apologize that your fucking warm fresh—“ His tongue trailed over his bottom lip slightly, glancing at the noticeable vein on your neck. “— pulsing blood pumping inside you is in the way, hypnotizing me so much that I wouldn’t even mind sucking every last drop.” He tilts his head at you. “You wouldn’t even mind…would you, Y/N?” His teasing tone was gone just as soon as it appeared and because of his words you didn’t even feel the hand bruising the skin of your leg.

The tears in your eyes couldn’t be contained anymore. “Sorry for not letting go of the past so easily, sorry for not forgetting that I met my so called soulmate the night I was almost raped and then killed by — you…” Spitting out the word, a pathetic whimper comes out next from you and not because of your crying but by the immense pain in your leg. His left hand gripped your right thigh so hard, that you couldn’t even find the will to fix the skirt of your nightgown that was now bunched up at your waist.

Something in him broke at your tears. What do he do? ‘What have I done’, you thought. The irises around his pupils cleared, face falling into shock. You have never seen such a raw emotion from him before. His now blue eyes glance at his hand. He never meant to bring you pain by his touch but the way your skin spilled over his fingers from how much he gripped it, made him sick to his stomach. He withdrew his hand, like you’ve been the one to burn him and when you sob out in relief he thought he will die again just by that godawful noise.

Both of you could see the obvious handprint on your skin, making you grasp the skirt of your nightgown, letting it fall over your exposed legs. “Get out…” You whispered, his eyes as wide as yours. “Get out!” Screaming the words at him, made Hyunjin almost fall to his feet before you and he had no other choice but to follow your orders.

‘What have I done?’, you thought again, swallowing your sobs. Maybe you really don’t deserve to be loved…

──────────────────────

author’s note:

for my lovey right here: @hanonlymeuu

STRANGE DREAMS !

CHARACTERS ! incubus/demon!hyunjin, reader

GENRE ! horror, smut [minors dni]

WORDS ! 7.8k [more or less]

SYNOPSIS ! sometimes, you meet a strange man in your dreams. this is one of those times.

THIS FIC CONTAINS ! edible-fueled writing. horror [gore—body horror: descriptions of blood and mutilated bodies. frightening figures and situations. description of drowning. nightmares and sleep paralysis. demons, and thus], references to biblical lore [christianity] and small references to milton's paradise lost [if you squint], and smut [dubcon—sexual manipulation and sex pollen, sorta. d/s dynamics—predator versus prey. possession/corruption. vaginal and anal sex. pussy and face slapping. teasing. fingering. spit. squirting. face fucking. degradation. strength kink sorta. sex with a demon—in demon form. monster cock. lots of cum]

⚠️ if you’re sensitive to gore, be advised before reading. i tried to be tame and brief with descriptions, and although i consider it to be light gore, i understand everyone has their limits. so proceed with caution.

💌 posting this earlier than originally planned cuz why not!! got the idea for this fic a year ago after an edible. it’s very weird n self indulgent but i’m glad i finally finished it !! i hope someone enjoys it <3 i always appreciate feedback !!

You’re certain that it’s the sky you’re gazing into—though, you’re unsure because your vision is unclear, a milky haze clouding your pupils—but the longer you look at it, the more it spins and distorts, bringing on nausea that rises in waves from the pit of your stomach to the top of your head. The nausea brings on a discomfort; dryness in your mouth and a straining in your eyes, and because of that, you’re left with no choice but to close your eyes and let your other senses take over. Darkness surrounds you, and it feels like you have risen into the sky, despite grass being beneath you, and it’s soft, comfortable; almost like you could sink deeper into it before reaching the hard, frigid dirt. You grab the blades of grass with a tight fist, tugging on it, but still unwilling to pull it out as if you would cause harm. Then, the grass all around you becomes apparent—alive—moving against your skin in a response back to you. It tickles all over, building the realization that you lay naked in the grass, though unwilling to get up or cover yourself; lost within the pure contentment of the situation. 

There is a wave that sways over you—hot, heavy, and harsh, yet not too overbearing in its nature. You don’t know why, but there’s a sense of familiarity about when you are. It’s as if you’ve been here before, a distant memory that both chills and warms you. 

Along with the burbling sound of water pouring into itself, the smell of water whisks in the cool breeze—slightly sweet, green and alluring; whistling your name, calling out for you to come over. The whispering is intriguing, full of temptation but slightly melancholic; no words need be said, yet you understand the language of the waters. The whispers are loud, blaring; not in the sense of volume, but by how jarring it is—unlike anything you’ve heard and yet, it’s something you feel so acquainted with, like a long-time friend. The water cries, begging for you to bathe within it or drink from it and promises a sweet taste that could be comparable to honey and lemons. 

When you open your eyes again, everything is clear. The plants around you are breathing, communicating through the whistles of the wind; and just like the water, the plants cry out as well. Though, the cries of the flowers and trees are far different from the cries of the water. The cries of the water nearby sing a great harmony of promise and belief, whereas, the cries of the many trees screech of terror and agitation. They warn of what horrors can be witnessed here, of what great dangers are lurking within them. A sweet song of catastrophe. The flowers, however,—with captivating colors unlike anything you’ve ever seen, yet familiar; like the names of them are on the tip of your tongue, begging to be acknowledged and praised—cry differently. It’s a murmur most comparable to the feeling of silk against your hands, but also the feeling of goosebumps after a close encounter with something you shouldn’t have crossed paths with. A comfortable discomfort. 

You look around, fully taking in the picture of what presents itself around you. There are butterflies varying in size and species—they sing as well, something similar to a war cry; morbid and haunting, though still beautiful and in great faith. Dragonflies buzz around, securing their place and status within the area. So much life here—at peace in this paradise. There’s some kind of haze or mist in the air, silent and still, tranquil. The sun is bright, blazing hot and practically piercing, yet despite the warmth, the air is slightly cool. The sight of your surroundings further cements your previous feelings of familiarity. Yet it also uncovers sheer discomfort. Yes, the area is familiar, but there’s something unsettling and distinctly different about it. A discomfort layering in the air, horribly beautiful and homely, but pandemonium is lurking, lurched and hidden within the shadows of this seeming paradise. 

You roll over in the grass—laying on your stomach and lifting your head to see beyond what you could before. Not too far from your current position is a waterfall, continuing its whispers. The spring below is surrounded by unusual pink flowers and huge rocks covered in thick, green and yellow moss. Before you can process it, you’re on your feet and moving towards the spring. Once there, you kneel, gazing at your reflection in the waters. It’s almost too much to process but it’s you. It is you and yet it’s like the face you wear does not belong to you. Uncanny and off putting. 

Movement. On your left, deep in the periphery of the spring. Your eyes shift, tracking whatever chooses to present itself. A swan. Elegant and pristine. It cranes its neck, beak pointing towards you in acknowledgment. You make full eye contact, and a chill runs up your spine causing your hair to stand on edge. An inflamed feeling of danger sparks within you, and before you have time to fight or run as far away as possible—“There you are!” 

The voice comes from your right, but when you look in that direction, there’s nothing there.  “So this is where you ran off to.”

The physical energy of the presence behind you is familiar, but strikingly overwhelming—it crawls up your skin like sharp nails, giving you goosebumps—you don’t need to turn around to recognize it. It’s Him. You’re unsure of what he is, exactly, but sometimes you meet him in your dreams. Though deep down you know that his existence and connection to you reaches well beyond the odd worlds of your dream realm. When he touches you, your surroundings change. The waterfall that you were once at is yards away, tiny in perspective. Despite having not moved an inch, it seems that every time you blink, you’re further and further into the woods; trees surrounding you and most certain to bury any noises emitted within their leaves.

The rustling of the tree leaves sounds like a screech, almost like sharp nails against a chalkboard—sinking deep and clashing, scraping out the porcelain enamel. The sound alone affects your brain, echoing in your mind, blaring enough to make you hold your hand against your head. The sound stops once he presses his hand against your cheek—so cold it feels like burning fire, almost scalding enough to melt off your skin; but you do not flinch, nor do you back away, frozen in place. The feeling of his skin against yours evokes an emotional aching so deep, you can feel it festering in the pit of your stomach, spreading to your organs and seeping into your veins—and somehow there is comfort in that. 

He’s speaking, and while you’re unable to make out the words he is saying, you can tell that his voice is soft, pillowy like a cloud. Honey-laced words dipping from his tongue as if he’s trying to convince or ask something of you. You avert your gaze, unsure of if you actually want to meet his eyes. 

His presence scares you just as much as it calms you. Intriguing, and homely but also frightening and domineering despite simply just standing there. Something about his demeanor feels off, or distorted, at the very least, as if he’s not actually in front of you. As if he was a result of your imagination instead of directly in your eyes view. He’s real, a hand against your skin, almost close enough for you to feel his breath lightly against your skin; and at the very least, he knows you. You know him, too, you think; of course, you’ve seen him in your dreams, but you’re inclined to believe you know him from somewhere else. 

“Where are we?” You ask him, avoiding eye contact, shaking away from the contact his hand makes with you. Jarringly, it doesn’t feel like you said anything at all. Your mouth was moving and the words presented themselves in your mind and yet you can’t hear a single thing you’re saying. The familiar fire within your throat when you speak is no longer there. 

“The Garden. It’s perfect here, isn’t it?” He gives you a small smile, seemingly understanding your indistinct confusion. Then, as he speaks up again, his voice drips with something resembling woe. “You and I used to live here a long time ago. I visit every so often, dip my legs into that spring back there, and then I reminisce on how pure life was back then before…” 

You think he’s talking again, but once again, you’re unable to hear him. You’re too busy lost in his face. The urge to press your lips against his gets stronger as you’re next to him. Then you realize he’s naked as well, and your entire body gets warmer. There’s a budding ache inside you that’s all too familiar, growing at a rapid pace. It’s almost like your body is on fire as a result of being within his presence. Hormones floating, hair standing on edge, your more sensual and raw instincts ready to unveil and latch onto him at any time. Head hurting the longer you’re in his presence until it all just stops. 

Everything stops. The trees are no longer rustling, birds no longer humming. There’s no splashing of the waterfall nor whistling in the wind. Just pure silence. The silence is uncomfortable, and causes you to stand still in your tracks like a deer, scared that if you make any sudden moves a predator might attack within the blink of an eye; jumping on you and tearing you apart in a bloody mess of flesh and organs flying everywhere, painting the fallen deep green leaves a perfect contrast of crimson. 

“Run,” He says. There’s nothing in his voice; no emotion nor a slight hint at what he’s thinking. But the word echoes in your mind, and sends a chill down your spine, causing the hairs on the back of your neck to stand on edge in either curiosity or total blood curdling fear. 

“What do you mean?”

“You need to run,” His voice drops lower. “And don’t get caught.”

So you turn your heels and you run, not willing to ask him twice. Unsure of the direction you’re going in, but the further you seem to travel, the more that discomfort begins to settle in the pit of your stomach. You pick up the pace—one foot in front of the other, careful not to trip over yourself—but a small part of you isn’t sure if the danger that you’re sensing is real or just a part of a sick and twisted game. Instead of running away from the source of your terror, it seems as though you’re running towards it, no matter the direction you run. Twigs and leaves snapping and crunching beneath your feet, but it causes you no pain. In fact, the only thing you can feel in the moment is the thumping of your heart and every single milliliter of blood marching through your vessels.

You admittedly don’t make it too far before you’re cowering, ducking against a large tree. Heart racing with such speed that you’re almost positive it would break free of your ribcage, piercing its way out of your chest. The tree, however, as quickly as you found it, is no longer a place of solace, as you hear a long, loud, and deep growl to your left. The deep guttural sound echoing, slicing through the trees like machetes. You’ve got to move, but you fear that if you do, whatever it is that made that sound, might attack, ripping you to shreds before you’ve even got a chance to exhale. There’s a roar once again, this time uncomfortably closer to your hiding place. You stand still, and the surrounding area of the forest is suddenly extremely silent. No rustle of leaves or echoes of birds, but a loud silence accompanied by a buzzing noise; like a horde of flies marching their way towards you. 

“Hyunjin,” You call out. The name slips from your mouth with ease, as if you’ve been calling him by that name all along. In the blink of an eye, just as you exhale his name, your surroundings change; suddenly submerged in water. 

You emerge from the cold water, barely having time to register your surroundings before you’re being forced back into the water; claw-like hands scraping into your scalp, sharp and heavy against your skull. It’s hard to make your way above the water because of the forceful weight and before you know it, attempting to hold your breath is useless due to the water infiltrating your lungs. You’re flailing and thrashing around, arms lifting—hands curling into a claws, attempting to grab onto something, only to slash through the water—and legs kicking mindlessly, trying to escape what is uncertain; heart rate accelerating as panic fully sets in. This seems to go on for nearly fifteen minutes, being edged by death over and over; blacking out then awakening time and time again. Vision blocked by the salty darkness of the water, ensuring to agitate you with fright, unsure of when it’s all going to end.

Abruptly, you’re dragged upwards by your hair, back falling harshly against rock, helping you cough up the water in your throat. It feels like it takes minutes for you to learn how to breathe again, attempting to do that and calm down enough to assess your surroundings. You’re coughing so much you think you might cough up an intestine, throat burning with each assault, chest sinking and expanding and then sinking again. It takes many moments of coming back to yourself that you notice that there is no rough hand against your scalp. Alarmed, moving around frantically, backing up toward the closest stone wall. Scanning the area, there’s no human nor animal, nor creature of any nature in sight. Not even a single insect. Not even Hyunjin.

You lean over, though not too far in case history repeats itself, to peer into the water; there isn’t even a single fish, as far as you can tell, the waters quickly descending into a vast, black pit of the unknown. Overhead, the sky that was once shining brightly now dimming rather quickly, accompanied by dark, angry clouds. The winds pick up, swirling atop of the trees, emitting a drawn out whistle comparable to wind chimes; of which you can surprisingly hear over splashing and sputtering of the nearby waterfall. Large roars of thunder stomping in, but no lightning accompanies it. You begin to curl into yourself, attempting to shield yourself from whatever is out there, nature or otherwise.

You close your eyes for five simple seconds, and when you open them, Hyunjin is right next to you. He doesn’t notice you’re awake at first until you shift, catching his attention. He turns to you and you avert your eyes from him. He’s talking but it’s all inaudible, unimportant. Something about his presence in this moment is unsettling. Slightly off from the initially odd behavior he’d be exhibiting. You just nod to his words. “Found you like this about an hour ago. You shook so hard until you stopped and fell asleep.” 

Hyunjin holds out a hand for you, which you’re hesitant to grab, but the next thing you know, you’re standing slowly; legs shaking as you attempt to regain strength. You hold onto his arm for extra support, slightly struggling in your steps as he leads you, hand in hand, towards a small cave hidden behind the pour of the waterfall. It’s hardly a hike, but Hyunjin makes sure you get to the other size carefully. “The rocks are slippery. You’ve had a few accidents here before.”

A lot of Hyunjin’s words are vague. Referrals to past events involving the two of you, all of which you cannot remember. There’s a feeling that you’ve been here before, but you’re unable to prove it, or make those connections other than your gut feeling and Hyunjin’s comments. 

You’re hesitant to walk into the cave, the inside being pitch black. Hyunjin walks in before you, completely fearless, as if there is no potential danger. At the snap of a finger, there’s suddenly a fire going on within the cave. From you place you can see how the fire illuminates Hyunjin’s figure just a bit, and as you walk closer—finding a bit more comfort now that you can see, and because you know Hyunjin is there waiting for you, willing to guide you into and protect you from the unknown—you admire how the flames of the fire accentuates Hyunjin’s facial features. He was made by God, sculpted from the finest clay and molded into an individual with otherworldly beauty. Hyunjin holds a torch-like stick, fire blazing at the tip of it, used as momentary safety. “I know somewhere we can go.”

He then points into the deep darkness of the cave. You don’t want to go deeper into the cave. Right where you stand is just fine, and most importantly, it’s safe. Hyunjin reads the hesitant look that’s displayed on your face, but he urges you. “You’ve got me, there’s nothing to be afraid of.” 

And his smile, as beautiful and perfect as it is, seemed crooked, faked for just a moment. He holds out his hand, and without even thinking about it, you take his hand in yours as if you had no choice despite the unease boiling inside of you. His smile curves up again and he turns his head, now guiding you down the cold, dark cave. 

The entire time you’re walking, there’s nothing. Hyunjin doesn’t speak and neither do you. The walls on either side all appear the same, dirt colored and oddly smooth, with not even a small crater to make a difference. No matter how long you walk, nor how far, the dark pit continues into nothingness, an upsetting kind of emptiness. Despite Hyunjin being next to you, despite holding his hand, he’s like a stone wall. He makes no effort to speak, nor to even acknowledge you in the slightest despite leading you somewhere, it’s like you’re nothing but a mere bug, nothing to stress about or keep entertained. You feel nothing but loneliness at the pit of your stomach; the only things keeping you company are the thumping of your feet against the ground and the flickering of the flame Hyunjin holds. 

It’s a long time of walking before you realize that this cave is actually a tunnel. The tiny white dot of light grows bigger and bigger with every step taken. It feels like forever until you and Hyunjin reach the end of the tunnel. When you do, you’re happy to see light again. The sky now bright and blue, prohibiting any angry clouds of heavy rain. Air fresh and inviting, free of any worry and apprehension. Whatever doubts or dreadful feelings once felt before are now completely an afterthought. 

“C’mon let’s go.” Hyunjin discards the torch, dragging you with him by your hand, grip tight against you. 

He leads you over to a flower field where flowers ranging in color, size, and species reside. The field is colorful, bright and happy, like a source of glee. Inviting you over by whisper—maybe it’s a honey-filled hum—so sweet and kind. The deeper you walk into the flower field, you notice how enticing the air smells—sweet like a pastry, yet fresh like petrichor. The longer you and Hyunjin walk, hand and hand, the more at ease and loose you feel, almost drunk, mouth welling up with excess saliva. The two of you eventually reach a point to rest, laying on the grass, no words exchanged between you two. Simply just basking in the sun, deeply breathing in the fragrance of the nature that surrounds you. 

There’s a passage of time before you start to feel it; an itch that’s tempting you to scratch; a sudden burst in fire. A fire that begins at the pit of your stomach and continues to your core, flaring; spreading further throughout your body in static-like jolts. Your breaths change from relaxed and soft, quiet, to heavy and noticeable; and suddenly the atmosphere feels hotter, small beads of sweat collecting against your forehead. You shift, rubbing your thighs in effort to satiate your sudden cravings, wanting to grind your hips up in search of friction. Growing more desperate and needy by the second. 

This is when you look towards Hyunjin, rolling onto your stomach, head resting in your hands as you gaze up at his sitting form; and you actually notice him. You notice his nakedness, every single inch of him on display. He’s like a god, with his honey-like skin that glows and glistens in the sunlight. Toned and defined arm and thigh muscles that flex with nearly every movement he makes. He was meant to be admired, made to be worshiped—having men and women alike kneeling at his feet and imploring him to fuck and defile them. If only you knew how much he agrees. These thoughts almost embarrass you, yet they feel so natural. And your eyes drip lower to admire Hyunjin’s more intimate parts. Cock hanging low, thick, and you’re not too sure if he’s hard or not but he’s big. Mouth watering as you admire his dick: the natural curve to it, how there’s three thick, prominent veins that disperse along his shaft (at least from what you can see at this angle) that are pulsing, just begging for your tongue to roll over them. 

You’re pulled away from your fantasy when Hyunjin clears his throat. With an eyebrow raised and a glimmer in his eye, he gives a small smile to you, softly, “You need something from me?”

“Maybe,” You wink at him. You sit up to face him, hand making contact with his knee, fingertips trailing up and down his thigh in a teasing matter. You get a little closer to him, skin against skin, eyes fixated on his cock as your fingertips dance against his inner thigh.

That’s when Hyunjin kisses you, lips soft and plump; and when he presses them against your lips you feel like you're in heaven. At first, your lips barely touch, meeting in small pecks, sweet kisses that eventually deepen into something desperate. The kisses are open mouthed, wet and sloppy, Hyunjin’s tongue makes its way into your mouth naturally, exploring inside of you. The kiss only breaks a few times; when you place your hands flat against Hyunjin’s chest, pushing away slightly just to get air. Each time the kiss breaks, Hyunjin smiles with a small chuckle, licking his lips before leaning in again, forehead pressed to yours. 

You break the kiss once more, now focusing more on Hyunjin’s cock. Spitting onto your hand and wrapping it around his shaft, squeezing lightly. Tight fist working up and down Hyunjin’s length, biting your lip when you feel him twitch within your hand. He bites his lip, holding back a moan. Hyunjin stops you before you get too deep into it, instead choosing to take the lead. 

Hyunjin plants another kiss to your lips before kissing down your neck, trying his best to take his time to really savor you, but he soon grows impatient. Pushing you down flat against the grass. Quick, wet kisses in several places down your body before he plants one last kiss right above where he really wants to be. There, he wastes no time getting to work, tongue slithering out almost snake-like to lick against your cunt. He really takes in the first taste of his meal, wetness sitting against his tongue, practically melting in his mouth, he moans. He dives in once again, lips and tongue against your cunt, licking and sucking and moaning; fully savoring you. 

“Taste so fucking good,” He breathes once to come up for air, not that he actually needs it. Continuing to lap at your cunt, lips kissing and sucking at your clit, moaning into your heat. Hands coming to your thighs to grip, fingernails piercing, spreading you open wider for him. 

You grind against his face, hands instinctively going to his hair, fingers tangling within it and pulling with eagerness. Hyunjin groans into you at the slight sting of you pulling at his hair. Tongue not letting up against your clit, following your cunt with every movement you make, not letting you get a break from the feeling of him against you. His mouth domes around your clit, sucking you in, teeth lightly grazing against your bud, momentarily making your back arch. Mid arch, Hyunjin slips two fingers into you. Slight sting as he stretches you out, long digits buried to the knuckles inside of you upon initial thrust. 

Soon planting open mouthed kisses against your cunt, fingers working their way in and out of you at an obnoxious pace, curling naturally. Between Hyunjin’s tongue and fingers, in combination with his lips planting kisses against your cunt in between sloppy licks, it’s all too overwhelming. Cunt clenching around his fingers, pulling them in to beg for more, which Hyunjin promptly gives. Fingers fucking into you faster, his other palm pressing down directly against your pelvis. 

It’s all too much, but you don’t want it to stop. The feeling of your impending orgasm has you shaking, practically vibrating, unable to brace yourself for it. Tears pooling down the side of your face as you moan out for him. The tips of his fingers repeatedly hit the soft, gushy spot deep inside of you, biting his lip as he watches your face contort. Body stiffening within his hold, unallowed to thrash around, only able to take what he’s giving you. Though unable to completely relax into it, fighting off the feeling of eventual bliss. 

Hyunjin lets out a breathy moan at your defiance. Thumb massaging your clit, slowly but surely dragging you further off the edge. Hyunjin finally gets you to relax into his touch, into the feeling of temptation fully engulfing your soul. That’s when it takes over. Your vision blurs, almost going black, mouth agape as you let out cracked moans. Chest getting hot, tightening as you cum, releasing all stress and tension, absolutely melting into this state that makes you feel like you’re floating. Yet your body is only laid out in the grass, legs spread wide for him, as your cunt spills all over his fingers, wetness squirting all over Hyunjin’s forearm and thighs. Tongue desperately trying to lap up whatever he can as his fingers slip away from your cunt. The palm of his hand coming down against your sore cunt once, making you moan out and close your thighs, back arching, pain stinging in the best possible way that leaves you aching for more. Not fully satisfied. 

Hyunjin is kneeling over you now, a large hand around his cock. Angry red tip all pretty and glossed with precum that dares to fall onto your skin like delicious raindrops. His cock twitches in his hand, blood rushing, pulsing in the veins that decorate his shaft. It all just makes you think about finally having his cock in you. The burning of the stretch, the feel of him reaching places that haven’t been accessed before, not to mention the feeling of his warm cum filling you up, ounce by ounce. 

When Hyunjin pushes into you, you nearly lose your breath, caught in a long inhale. He’s nice enough to push into you slowly, but it’s only because he wants to savor the feeling (though, Hyunjin fully intends to use you however he wants for as long as he pleases). His cock is thick, stretches you beyond anything you’ve experienced before; though instead of being painful, your body is laced, wrapped in pleasure, and the sensation of thrill rushes through your veins. You spread your legs further apart, welcoming more of Hyunijn, hoping that he pushes into you deeper; overcome with desire and want. 

“So fucking wet,” Hyunjin pins his cock deeper into you, pulling out quickly, teasingly. “Need more of me?”

You nod frantically, bottom lip slipping away from the clutches of your teeth. When you look up at Hyunjin, his eyes are fixated on your cunt. Tongue peeking out of his mouth, swirling over his bottom lip, beads of sweat dripping down his forehead and into his eyebrow. He’s concentrated, breathing so heavily that he almost begins emitting an inhumane growl, but he dials it back quickly. Instead of pushing all of his length inside of you, Hyunjin pulls out completely, tapping the head of his dick against your cunt, sliding his cock from left to right against your clit. You watch as he does this, listening to the pornographic sound of your wetness, cunt clenching around nothing, just begging to finally be filled. 

“Please…” You find yourself begging. Eyebrows strung together as you rock your hips up and down, trying to catch Hyunjin’s cock only for him to move away, preventing you from chasing your pleasure. His hand comes down harsh against your cunt in succession, serving as a warning. 

“So cockhungry, can’t you be patient?” Hyunjin continues his tease, repeated light slaps against your cunt with his dick. His cock is replaced by his hand, two fingers dragging down from your clit to your slit, thrusting them into you quickly. Two fingers are replaced by three, and three, by four. He moves quickly, tips of his fingers curled and hitting exactly where you need them. He fucks your moans out of you, reveling in the way that your cries spill out just like the wetness of your cunt, and he’s barely doing anything but fingering you. And you’re this fucked up, melting into his fingers, giving him nearly everything he wants. “Always so pathetic and slutty.”

Agreements slip from your mouth, just in hopes that he’ll give you what you need if you’re good for him. Hyunjin just laughs at you, you’re certainly the cutest plaything he’s had—he knows he’s got to take his time with you. Almost wanting to slip his thumb inside of you as well, Hyunjin decides against it, continuing to fuck you with four of his fingers, still unrelenting in his pace. You, however, are lost for words; taking every ounce of what Hyunjin is giving you. A burning sensation rising in the pit of your stomach, hips rising from the ground, but Hyunjin never stops. Even when you’re leaking all over him, thighs shaking and threatening to close around his arm, he doesn’t stop fucking his fingers into you; not until he’s sure he’s got every ounce from you. Cum dripping down his arm as he takes and takes from you, forcing you to squirt all over him and yourself once again. Sliding his fingers out of you with yet another slap against your cunt.

His hand is around his cock again—wet with your cum, smearing it all over his cock—squeezing at its base as he brings his tip to your entrance. But he teases again, merely slapping his cock against your cunt. You arch into him, grinding your hips against his cock but Hyunjin makes no notice of you and your antics. Eventually getting bored, pulling his cock away from you. 

“Kneel,” He speaks curtly, standing. However, you do not move fast enough for his liking. “Don’t make me have to do it for you.” 

He does anyway. Grabbing you by the hair, dragging you up and forcing you onto your knees, skin grinding into the grass, sure to have bruises on them. Hyunjin’s hand stays in your hair, tugging as his free hand wraps around his cock. He yanks your head to the side, proceeding to slap his cock against your cheek, precum oozing from the tip. 

“Open.” He says, and you promptly follow his instructions. “Looks like I’ve got a smart one.” 

Hyunjin spits into your mouth, globs of saliva coating your tongue. His cock closely follows, dipping the tip in and out of your mouth quickly. He shifts, though, choosing to slide his entire length into your mouth, lips closing around him; but Hyunjin doesn’t allow it. Cock sliding out of your mouth, resulting in Hyunjin slapping you on the cheek with it again; saliva and cum sticking to your cheek. “Keep your mouth open wide.”

You adjust for him, just wanting to be able to take him and satisfy his cravings. He slides his cock back into your mouth, fully, giving minimum time to adjust to neither his speed nor his size. Mouth stretched to capacity, jaws aching and burning but Hyunjin is completely relishing in all the gagging and choking you do. You’re getting dizzier the longer his dick is in your mouth, tip kissing, nearly ramming, the back of your throat due to Hyunjin’s pacing. You feel like you’re on fire but yet you’re still able to relax into it. It isn’t long before you start moaning around his cock, absentmindedly rocking your hips back and forth whenever you taste a hint of the salty sweet substance. Hyunjin then pulls out, saliva spilling all over your chin and connecting in tiny stings to his cock. Smacking your cheek with his cock another three times, erupting in a full belly laugh, smiling at the way you’re just a completed fucked out mess, barely registering a thing he’s doing or saying to you. 

“Look at that,” Hyunjin releases you from his clutches. He pushes you back by your shoulder, making you catch yourself from falling back with the palms of your hands. When you look down, you’re completely soaked, wetness dripping down your thighs and onto the ground, pooling messily onto a leaf, spilling off of its edges and soaking into the dirt beneath it. “Fucking filthy little mess you’ve made. Cunt just begging to be fucked, huh?” 

The question is rhetorical but you still nod; even going as far as to whine a little bit, hips moving seemingly without your control. Hyunjin takes pleasure in this small action, kneeling down to your level. He licks his fingers, noting that he doesn’t need to at all, and swipes them over your clit, one, two times before his ring and middle finger are sliding into your cunt. Fingertips meeting the exact place you need them each time he slides them into you. You’re clenching around his fingers now, and Hyunjin licks his lips, pulling away from you.

“Turn around.” You obey, turning on your hands and knees, swinging your ass in the air. He continues with his teasing, and at this point you’re nearly sobbing, wondering if he’ll ever actually give you what you want. Pathetic chants and whines spilling from your mouth as you push your ass against Hyunjin, unable to control yourself; thinking with your cunt instead of your brain. 

Hyunjin spits down onto you, and you can feel the glob of spit slide down from your asshole to your cunt, tickling its way down your clit. Hyunjin, though, slides the head of his cock from your clit, upwards, collecting his spit and your wetness in the process. He teases the tip at the rim of your tight hole, teasing at it. But when you push your ass towards Hyunjin, he pulls away, tsk-ing in the process. 

“Silly little play thing,” Hyunjin gives a cold, almost threatening laugh. “I think I need to teach you a lesson on patience, hm?” 

The threat has you pleading with him, repeated apologies dancing off your tongue, ultimately not acknowledged. Hyunjin loves to hear the sounds of your begs and pleads, but ultimately, the words you say do not matter to him—it all means nothing. Hyunjin marches at the beat of his own drum, and in situations like this, when he’s got a perfect piece of flesh like you beneath him, everything that he says, goes. And right now, he’s perfectly fine with teasing you over and over and over again. 

Slapping his cock against your cunt once, twice, Hyunjin slightly pushes the head of his cock against the rim of your ass. He continues applying pressure, fixated on stretching out the perfectly puckered hole. You whine at the feeling, slowly inching away from it, but Hyunjin holds your hips still. Pushing and pushing, slowly, until finally he slides the head of his cock into your tight hole. Hyunjin moans out at how your hole tightens around him, welcoming him inside. He does nothing, just stays like that, moaning and ignoring your pleas for him to do something. It’s not until you feel the side of his hand brush up against you cunt that you realize Hyunjin has got a hand around his shaft, getting himself off while the tip of his cock is in your ass and you’ve got nothing to do except for lay there and accept it, with your ass in the air and your face against dirt. 

His moans increase as he fucks his hand around his cock faster; and if it werent for his other hand holding you in place, you’d at least try to fuck back on him through the stretch of the pain. As Hyunjin exhales, letting out a deep groan of a moan, you feel the rush of warm liquid shooting into you. You moan in response as Hyunjin makes a mess of you with his cum, filling you up, trying to keep it all inside until he pulls out and it all, inevitably, leaks out of your hole, pooling around your cunt. 

Hyunjin wastes no time, cock sliding into your cunt with ease due to your wetness and his cum; but the stretch is intense, more than you initially expected. You tighten up a bit, resisting, though you want to relax. You can’t hold your arch perfectly any longer but that’s the least of your worries—the only thing on your mind being cock. Hyunjin slides another inch into you. Maybe it’s because of all the teasing, or the fact that you’ve already cum twice, but he’s not even halfway inside of you and it feels like he’s reached the depths of your soul already. His hand reaches around, fingers coming in contact with your clit in hopes of helping you ease up. 

“Created just for me,” Hyunjin breathes out, voice rough with possession. “Made just for me. Only me.” 

He continues with his ownership of you, voice dipping deeper as his words become mostly obscenities. You don’t hear it. Or perhaps you can’t hear it. Maybe you don’t want to hear the vile things he’s saying. You’re overtaken, caught up by the intense, high pitch ringing that is worming its way through your ear canal, planting and fertilizing clashing waves of static all around your brain. 

His hand wraps around your neck. It feels nothing like the soft, once heavenly hands that had been massaging all over your skin. These hands are rough, calloused and rigid palms that venture into freakishly long, boney fingers; with nails like claws that pierce into the side of your neck right behind your ear. Your eyes remain closed, fearing that if you open them that you’ll see something you shouldn’t, something that your mind would be unable to comprehend visually. A feeling of spiritual discomfort crawls up your back, causing you to arch, shivering at the same moment Hyunjin works his cock deeper into you, stretching you further; mentally and physically—of which he insists on doing, wanting to bend you to his will and break you beyond anything you’ve experienced. 

Hyunjin pulls you back to him, hips unrelenting. Teeth, sharp like razors, piercing down into the flesh of your shoulders; nearly enough for blood to start trickling down your skin, but that does not occur. His teeth, however, do leave indents in your skin; that, if he’s lucky enough, will be permanent. His lips meet your ear next, a brief kiss planted to the lobe before whispering in a rather gruff voice, unlike that of his usual. “Inferior to me. Mine to claim.” 

When he cums there’s an immense amount of it, sticky and warm. Hyunjin makes sure to be fully buried inside of you, cock seemingly swelling in size as he forces you to take all his cum inside. Hyunjin is selfish, not waiting a single moment, and barely pulling out before he begins to thrust back in. Cum coats his cock, almost daring to drip onto the ground in raindrop-like shapes. He refuses to allow that, however, fucking all of his cum back into you. His thighs, which originally felt like the silkiest, softest flesh, now coarse and dry—except for the sticky cum running down them, connecting in slightly thick, white lines against your thighs—and fuzzy; thick. “Mine to possess.”

You slowly come to realize that Hyunjin has taken a different shape completely. No longer possessing the body of a man, he has turned into some kind of beast, something inhuman. He’s grown abnormally in size and you can tell because he’s holding you up as he fucks you, toes barely scraping the dirt. 

And as filthy and as frightening as it is, the line between fear and arousal is a very thin, blurry line. It leads you to come crashing down, partially due to the overstimulation, cunt spasming around Hyunjin’s cock, sucking in all his cum. You’re elated, completely delighted, mind elsewhere as you experience your high with Hyunjin fucking you through it. Hardly registering anything other than the feeling of Hyunjin’s cock stretching you out and the warmth of his cum—a sticky mess that’s leaking out both of your holes and staining your thighs. 

When you come to, you’re laying on Hyunjin’s chest. It’s still daylight out, the sun beaming as bright as ever, nearly blinding when you open your eyes. It takes a few moments to shake away the pure, drowsy euphoria you’re feeling, completely ravished by bliss; almost hypnotized. You prop your head up to look at Hyunjin, and the moment you do, it’s like there are trumpets sounding off all around you. You have a realization—no, a revelation—that things aren’t as they seem as you peer up at the brown-haired man. As queasiness makes a home in the pit of your stomach, all within two mere seconds, the wind picks up; howling in the distance, bustling within the branches of trees. 

“This is a dream, isn’t it?” For what might be the first time, your eyes meet his.

What words can be used to describe what you saw when you looked into the eyes of that thing? Petrifying? Nauseating? Surreal? It makes you want to close your eyes, however, when you do, the images you’ve seen seem as though they’ve been permanently printed against the black of your eyelids. Perhaps you can attempt to run away—and hide, praying to God that you’re not stalked and caught—but your muscles don’t respond to the neurons being sent by your brain. Perhaps you can find a way out of this dream, but your physical body seemingly refuses to acknowledge the call to wake up; only processing the utter fright in the images it created. The only thing you can do is stare into Hyunjin’s eyes, continuing to receive visions of which you hope you’ll be able to forget. 

His irises are a deep pool of black, displaying a particular flavor not only of loneliness but utter wickedness. The longer you stare into Hyunjin’s eyes the longer you are disillusioned, fully snatched away from all delusion of this former fairytale. Vision clouded by a thick, murky fog; fully spotlighting the shocks of visions you see in his eyes. 

A beast, creature unlike anything you’ve ever seen or imagined. The face of a man only oddly elongated with empty eye sockets and horns—covered in blood that only makes a mop of its fine hair—curled up into two spikes atop his head. A smile so wide it’s like it was carved in with a razor blade and charred, blackened and blood stained fangs hanging from its mouth. Its body, with its abnormally long limbs, is completely drenched in blood, dripping in pools all around the entity. Pieces of what you can only assume is a human—or even worse, you—discarded and littered around it without much thought or care. 

Flesh. Human meat. Limbs and bones and the insides—intestines, livers and hearts and muscle—all around you as this vision becomes reality; suddenly finding yourself within one meter of this monstrosity. The pool of blood coming up to your ankles, rising steadily. Pieces and pieces of the now deceased all around you, entirely mangled and minced. The creature holds pieces of meat within its claws, sharp nails piercing into the gray flesh, bits of meat stuck between its teeth as it tears into its victim. 

It is feeding. 

The situation becomes all the more frightening when the creature raises its head towards you. Despite it being eyeless, you know that you’re making eye contact, getting lost within the empty abyss that seems to be staring into the corners of your spirit. It’s wide smile never fading as it lurches, sprinting towards you faster than the blink of an eye. 

The transition from the dream world to the waking world is surreal, almost jarring. Especially since when you awaken, you’re paralyzed, body stiff with static crawling all over your skin. The darkness of your bedroom surrounds you, both familiar and completely unknown. You attempt to move around a little, opening and closing your eyes multiple times, attempting to raise at least a finger; though falling short of progress to escape this feeling, left to stare straight up at your ceiling. 

Then there’s the boom. A loud, static-like noise; deep as if something really heavy had dropped—but you’re unsure if it’s coming from the dark corner on your right or elsewhere within your home. A thing that simultaneously occurred and did not happen. The speed at which fear rises within you is faster than the speed of light. Heart racing as the physical manifestation of dread drops to the bottom of your stomach—fear making its home in the back of your throat, tightening as your swallow, seemingly making it difficult to breathe. It consumes you, a heavy burden, too insufferable to support, unable to put up a fair fight against it. 

Don’t Look. 

Curiosity gets the best of you. You shift your eyes to the right and in the far corner of the bedroom is a space that’s significantly darker than anything else in the room; like a void. Perhaps it’s because the light from your plug-in air freshener doesn’t reach that area of the room. And perhaps you’re tired and still reeling from that strange dream, but you swear you see movement as you glance over. You want to look away, you have to look away, but curiosity sinks its claws into you. Hypnotizing and you're paralyzed with fear of what could happen. Then, the darkness in the corner grows, getting larger as if whatever it is has been expanding, standing up to greet you. 

Then it disperses. Leaving you alone, shaking and sweating in the cold, unwelcoming darkness of your room, finally able to move and process things. 

© PLANETDREAM 2023