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hyunsungbased · 1 month

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THE "IM NOT EVEN IN THE FANDOM" SENT ME OH MY GOD... ALSO TY IM GLAD YOU ENJOYED!

Isn't it Lovely?

🖤: Hyunjin x Reader | Han Jisung x Reader 🖊️: approx 6.3K 🚨: Hanahaki AU, there is so much trauma and Angst. Major character death. No hopeful ending. Angst- No Comfort. A/N: I am so sorry... Hyune I'm so sorry.. Jisung... I am so sorry.. Reader... I am so sorry...

Play this while you read? | Mood Board | ART

It was starting to get even harder to breathe. Hidden away in your apartment you forced yourself to finish the letters you started. You thought keeping it away from everyone was the best choice but as you sit in the darkness of your room you wish you had told someone. Anyone. You didn’t want to do this alone anymore. The more you wrote the more you cried, the more you wished you had just told one person- so one person would be there with you.

You knew you couldn't tell anyone. You knew exactly what they had done had they known from the beginning. They’d have dragged you straight to a hospital and forcibly removed what slowly, and not so silently killed you. Your phone buzzed beside you and slowly you checked your messages. Jisung. You smile lightly at your phone. Tomorrow, you’d give him the box of letters. He’ll give out each letter. He’ll understand, right?

You sign the card meant for the top of the box addressed to Jisung,

Ji,

Take this box and keep it safe. Please don’t open it, don’t look inside not until next week okay? Don’t ask me questions, just trust me okay? Next week open it, and give everything to the people they’re addressed to. Please.

Thank you Ji, for always being there for me.

One more week. One more and everyone will know. Avoiding letting anyone know was always the best option. You know Jisung would have ripped you right out of the apartment and brought you to a doctor but you couldn’t live like that- having the flowers delicately taken out of you while they knowingly ripped out the feeling of love altogether. It would be no way to live- without the memory or feeling of ever being in love again. You couldn’t handle that- living as a shell of who you once were.

One more week and you wouldn’t be on this earth anymore and everyone around you would be moving on with their lives. They’d have received the letters you had written them- maybe even shed a tear but eventually, they would come to forget you. Changbin would still be happy with Felix, and Seungmin would be attending his lectures and still trying to charm the girl in this English class. Jeongin would be cuddled up with his new girlfriend struggling to figure out what to do for their month anniversary. Chan would still be babying all of them, Minho would still be attempting to adopt new cats Hyunjin- Hyunjin would still be with the girl he had met in his art lecture. He would be happy, and in love as he always dreamed of. No one appreciated love the way he did, the way he saw love in such a beautiful way. The way you knew he would treat her with absolute respect and adoration, she would never need to fear losing him. He wasn’t that kind of guy. Life would simply, go on.

Jisung would be the only one who would probably be more hurt than the rest. Being your best friend for so long. He had grown up with you, he had always been there for you. He was there when you found out you had the gene, the stupid goddamn gene that landed you where you were now. Cursed by your genetics, and betrayed by your heart- Hanahaki had taken over. Jisung always warned you to be careful who you’d fall in love with, he always told you to keep your heart closed off unless you knew for sure they could love you back- you did for the most part. You had your walls up until you met Hwang Hyunjin.

Hwang Hyunjin destroyed the walls you had built to shield your very delicate heart. Hwang Hyunjin was the definition of a dream. Sweet, caring, attentive and the way he viewed the world was so beautiful. Anyone would have fallen for him, everyone did. Not only did he have such a gorgeous personality but he was also so incredibly handsome. Delicate features, and a toned body. He was ethereal, to say the least, a deadly combination of looks and sincerity. How could anyone not have fallen for someone who could easily be mistaken for an angel?

You had first met Hyunjin through Jisung. They had met in college. The music major and the artist. They hadn’t always gotten along but once they realised they had a lot more in common than they had originally thought they became inseparable. The day you met Hyunjin was on his twenty-first birthday. It was cold out, the leftover freezing rain from the winter being poured out upon the earth as he and Jisung ran into your apartment soaked and shaking. You had quickly run to Jisung failing to properly notice the other standing beside him, taking his hands in your own as you tried to warm up the shivering boy.

“Jisung you’re soaked! Oh my god get in the shower before you catch a cold I’ll dry your clothes!” You worried,

“Y/N..” Jisung smiled, his teeth still chattering from the cold. “Y/N This is Hyunjin, he’s-” he lets out a soft sneeze,

“Yes yes the artist Jisung I know- now get in the shower and warm up!” you look to the other boy, Tall, with long dark -wet hair that stuck to his face. His body trembling, “And you!” you say, “You’re next. For now in front of the heater!” you pointed to the small space heater you had set up in the living room where you were originally sitting- reading. Jisung hurries himself to the washroom, and Hyunjin sits quietly on the spot on the floor in front of the heater- his hands up in front of it as he attempts to keep them warm. “You’re shaking” you sigh as you drape your duvet over him.

“T-thanks,” he says softly, “You know, spring shouldn’t be this cold.”

“Well you two shouldn’t be running around in the rain, what were you thinking?” You said at you patter him down-

“Han said we’d have more fun here, apparently Birthdays should be spent with friends and not at home watching dramas” Your eyes widen at the confession,

“Happy birthday.” You smile,

“Thank you-”

“Now, this is going to sound weird but I really don't want you getting sick especially not on your birthday- undress in the bedroom and keep that blanket on you until your turn, I’ll get a head start on drying your clothes.” Hyunjin sits up watching you as you speak. He nods getting up slowly from his spot on the floor and heads into your bedroom. A few minutes later he emerges cocooned in your duvet clutching his clothes. He hands them to you and follows you to the laundry room- you throw them into the wash alongside Jisung's and run them on a light cycle. You were sure Jisung had left clothes somewhere in the guest room the question was where. With Hyunjin trailing you like a lost puppy you wandered into the spare bedroom and riffled through the closet. Surely he had something. You spot the blue gym bag buried deep in the back of the closet, with a light tug you drag it out of its spot and peek inside. Gym shorts, a tank top and a pair of sweats.

“Well it’s not much, and you’re definitely taller than Ji but it’ll have to do until your clothes are clean and dry.” You hand him the bag, he fishes out the sweats and bows politely.

“Thanks, honestly Your blankets are soft and all but uh- It’s weird being under someone's blankets naked and it wasn’t even for a good reason.” He laughs, and your brain freezes at the realization of what he’s saying. Your cheeks heat up at the image of Hyunjin under the blanket- naked for a ‘good reason’ No, no no- don’t think of that.

“Uh, not to interrupt whatever the fuck is going on here but-” Jisung clears his throat at the door, his lower body wrapped in his designated towel, “Mind tossing the bag?” Hyunjin laughs as he holds the blanket closed with one hand and tosses the gym bag towards Jisung who almost manages to drop it as it falls into his hands,

“I’ll uh-” you mutter, “Grab you a towel.”

The rest of yours and Jisung's friends arrive an hour after the whole ordeal alongside a few others you didn’t quite fully know. Jisung sat happily in his shorts and tank while Hyunjin sat in front of the heater in Jisung's sweats.

“Classy Hyune,” a boy you had seen on campus but never spoke to, “Meet a girl and suddenly you’re shirtless.” He smiles as he walks in behind Chan,

“Y/N!” Chan smiles, “Taking care of the children I see”

“Honestly as a single mother of three, you should really be helping out here more Chris.” You laugh,

“Please I’m the one that takes care of Changbin and Felix. Your only responsibility is that one” Chan giggles as he points to Jisung.

“Mom- Dad stop fighting” Felix chimes in, Hyunjin still sat quietly as he watched you interact with your friends. Jeongin swiftly takes his hoodie off and throws it at Hyunjin’s face.

“Put a shirt on you heathen, we’re in the presence of a nice girl who’s helped you not get sick and you thank her by traumatizing her with your bare chest?” the same boy who has mentioned Hyunjin’s outfit- or lack thereof scoffs, “Apologies, he has no manners, I’m Yang Jeongin, unfortunately, i’m friends with the birthday boy so I will be taking responsibility for him” you smile at the boy, he seems sweet. Hyujin throws the sweater on, still carefully watching as everyone talks around him.

“Please. Nice girl? Y/N spends half her time pants-less and the other half shirtless. If you think Hyune’s chest is traumatizing wait till you see her-” You give Seungmin a punch before he finishes his sentence, “SEE WHAT I MEAN? ANYTHING BUT NICE.”

After that day the nine of you began to spend more time together. Hyunjin was often quiet, he enjoyed sitting back and observing the conversation. He’d speak up occasionally but most of the time it felt like he was studying everyone. Jisung had mentioned it for a long time Hyunjin just kept to himself. That was until he had started hanging around Jisung. Hyunjin had introduced him to Jeongin and from there the three of them had begun a small friendship. He mentioned how Hyunjin wasn’t usually this quiet around his friends and that maybe, he just needed to get used to the group.

The more you spent time with the group including Hyunjin and Jeongin the more you got to know them (naturally as one would). You learned of Hyunjin’s love of art- and dance. You learned his favourite colours, foods, and seasons and that his favourite flower was the rose. You learned how he spoke softly around the group but when he spoke to you he was more- himself. He seemed to prefer one-on-one conversations to those with a group. He enjoyed watching everyone yell over each other but never wanted to speak over anyone. Oftentimes times the two of you would spend your time just talking to each other while the others yelled over one another.

You got too close to him, too fast. You just didn’t know that at the time.

He asked about your interests and your dreams, and he listened and responded thoughtfully to questions you’d ask. He’d bring you coffee and ask you to keep him company. You fell fast for him but you were only ever a good friend to him.

“There’s this girl in my class.” Hyunjin sighs, “She’s sweet, cute. Her art is just, wow. She’s so talented, and I- god I feel so stupid Y/N” Your heart drops into your stomach. You lost him, yet he was never yours to lose. He’d always be your friend though right? So why does it feel like your heart just shattered?

“You’re not stupid Jinnie, you admire her- so talk to her.” You smile as you bring the warm cup of coffee you’d been neglecting as you watched Hyunjn paint.

“Should I?” He asks genuinely, and you nod.

“Of course Jinnie,”

The first date went well. Hyunjin came back to you and Jisung absolutely elated. He told the two of you how they had talked all night about art, their interests, and what they wanted to do in the future. He told you two how she had agreed to a second date and he how he hasn’t felt this excited about a girl in a while. He had unintentionally planted the seeds of your demise that night. Neither of you knew yet.

By the third date, he had decided to officially ask her out. She said yes. She’d have been stupid to say no. That was the first time you felt the pain in your chest. You choked in attempts to take a breath, only to land yourself in a coughing fit- something stuck in your throat and you desperately forced the cough to rid yourself of it. You knew, yet what hurt the most was to see it fully. To fully let it sink in as you stared down at the rose petal covered in spit and blood laying on the palm of your hand. You cried for the first time over Hyunjin that night.

Your group of nine had become a group of ten within a few weeks. Hyunjin brought his new girlfriend around quite often. He didn’t sit as close to you anymore, and when the group began to talk over each other he wouldn’t lean in to talk to you about how stupid they were all being. Instead, he whispered into her ear about- you wouldn’t know what. You watched, silently as your heart broke more. You could feel the sting in your chest, not only from the aching of heartbreak but the thorns puncturing your lungs as the roses grew. You excused yourself from the group, quietly heading to the furthest washroom in Chan's house. Heaving as you desperately tried to breathe, coughing up more of those delicate red rose petals. You didn’t think it would happen this fast.

What neither you, nor Hyunjin noticed was the way Jisung watched you. Watched as the light in your eyes died out watching them- watched as you held back tears. He didn’t want to believe it. He didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want to accept it. Maybe the disease hadn’t come? Yes you had the genes for it- but maybe just maybe he was so lucky that you were unaffected by it. You’d have told him if something happened. You’d have told him if you were coughing up petals. You were his best friend and he was yours. He trusted you more than anything to tell him. You would- You would tell him.

Jisung coughed that night. A small, purplish-blue petal forced it’s way up his throat. He stared down at it in horror. You didn’t love him as he did you.

Almost a month later, Hyunjin had come to you asking for a woman's opinion on what to get his girlfriend for their month anniversary. You smiled through it, and the two of you went shopping- sometimes you thought you could pretend this wasn’t happening. That it wasn’t this god-awful disease of unrequited love attacking you. Sometimes you’d pretend you just caught a bad cold, and that Hyunjin was still your Jinnie, your close friend. Someone you’d love as a friend forever, but- reality was never so kind. He’d mention something she’d done that made him happy, or he’d see something she may like and ask you for advice and you’d feel the thorns, the threat of the roots squeezing your lungs until they could no longer garner any oxygen. Excusing yourself to the nearest washroom and barely making it inside before you coughed up more of the rose petals, you found that as the condition worsened, the blood that was once just specks and spots came out in larger quantities as time went on.

You’ve begun to hate roses.

“Oh sweetheart-” an elderly woman whispered as she watched you whimper over the sink, she wiped away the blood from your mouth with a paper towel. “You should have those removed my dear.” You nodded and walked away quietly as she stood and watched you. Pitying you. You made your way back to Hyunjin who stood waiting near the benches just before the washrooms, the elderly woman behind you following along, “Deary-” she called out, but stopped as she eyed down Hyunjin. “That cough is quite heavy, I’d suggest heading home alone- lest the boy catch anything.” She smiles softly. She knows. She extended her hand offering a mask, “Rid yourself of that cough dear, it’ll be best.” was the last thing she said before walking away.

“A-are you sick? What cough? Y/N Should you be resting!? You could have told me!” Hyunjin panics, as he quickly brings a hand to your face to check your temperature “You don’t feel warm, common Let's get you some tea and then home-” He says grabbing your wrist and gently tugging you along.

“I’m fine Hyunjin honestly.” you sigh.

You hid yourself away for a week after that day. Hyunjin and Jisung regularly came to check up on you to make sure you were recovering from your cold well. You lied. Saying you were fine and healthy again, and they both believed you.

Once more you found yourself with the other nine in Chan’s house. Everyone sat around playing cards. Drinking, overall having a good time. You tried hard never to laugh too hard- god forbid you coughed up a flower in front of everyone. When everyone got bored- the group moved from inside to Chan's backyard. Quickly he started up a fire for the night, you watched as the flames rose and danced around the air before dissipating into the night.

“You guys are gross!” Jeongin yells as he runs out of Chan's house, “Someone tell Hyunjin to be less gross.” he complains, the group laughs.

“What did he do now?” You smile- only to regret the question immediately.

“He’s so fucking mushy, can you do all your I love you’s in private and not with the group- like god not everyone wants to see your pda and shit” Jeonging yells, Hyunjin slowly making his way outside with his girlfriend's hand in his- laughing.

“Please Innie, you’ll understand when you’re in love.” He smiles. Thank god for the summer weather- a small gust of wind pushes the smoke from the fire into your face and your coughs are easily excused as getting a lung full of smoke. You excuse yourself to hide away and spit out the soggy petals into the toilet. Cleaning your mouth out and quickly swish mouth wash around in it to avoid the iron scent of blood within it. You slowly make your way outside where everyone was still chatting away.

“You guys hear about Yeonjun?” Seungmin sighs,

“Terrible isn’t it?” Hyunjin’s girlfriend says softly, “Hanahaki. Rare but devastating. I heard he’s having the flowers removed.”

“That’s better than suffering.” Chan sighs, “I mean- what would you guys do if you had the gene and then- you know-”

“I’d have them removed.” Hyunjin’s girlfriend says, “I’d rather lose the memory of the person than to die by suffocation.” you wince at the thought and let out a small cough, and the attention turns to you.

“Sorry, it’s like when you talk about lice and you can’t help but itch-” you mutter, “Talking about Hanaki is particularly uncomfortable for Jisung and I-” you sigh, as the others look to Jisung.

“Yeah uh- we both, have the gene- but there's no guarantee it will happen you know?” he smiles up at you, “I mean neither of us has started coughing up petals and we’ve been in relationships before ya know?”

“Isn’t it like a love thing though, not just a puppy love but like- oh god this is so mushy but like true love?” Minho asks,

“There is no real science behind it-” you say, “You never know who will trigger it- it just happens.”

“What would you two do if it happened, if I may ask-” Felix mutters,

“I wouldn’t remove them.” You sigh, the silence that follows is deafening, the only sound is that of that fire and the slight rustling of the leaves in the summer wind.

“W-why not” Hyunjin stutters, “You’d rather die in love with someone who doesn’t love you back than to live a long life and possibly find someone else?” Hyunjin didn’t mean to sound like he was judging- but it hit hard, it still hurt,

“The thing about removing it Hyune, is that removal affects everyone differently. Some- lose memories of the person they once loved. Everything about them just- poof, gone. Others- they uh-” Jisung tries,

“They’ll never be able to feel love at all ever again.” You finish.

“Oh.” Hyunjin mutters, “Well if either of you ever falls in love with someone that triggers it- tell us. Okay?”

“I wouldn’t keep it from you guys- I��m sure we're fine!” Jisung smiles. What no one knew was that Jisung was suffering. Hiding away just as you were. Neither of you went to the other to tell them what was going on because Jisung would rather suffer than have you pity him for loving you all this time. You had fallen in love and he saw it, and you had survived- unaffected by your cursed genetics. So he would spare you the details, he wouldn’t allow you to witness him- wilting away as he desperately held on to you. Your last memories of him would not be of him coughing up flowers. God forbid you ever found out. He would not allow it.

You could barely move, barely breathe. Your lungs hurt to take in air, the coughing never stopped yet still you pushed- and pushed. You tried so hard to be normal around your friends, but soon enough you couldn’t push anymore. You hid yourself away. Claiming to be busy with work- You ignored calls, and didn’t open the door when people came looking for you. The coughing was so bad and the blood loss made you feel dizzy. Your time was coming. You clicked your phone on and sent a quick message to your friends.

STRAYS

Y/N: Movie night, my place friday @ 6 please I’ve been so shit without y’all

Minho: SHE LIVES! Bet! See you there!

Felix: Im down!

You ignored the rest of the incoming texts. You had a mission, two days to complete it and it required all of your strength. You got up from your bed, dragging your bucket of petals alongside you as you planted yourself in the living room and began to write.

To: Chris.

To: Minho.

To: Changbin.

To: Felix

To: Seungmin

To: Jeongin

To: Jisung

To: Hyunjin

To: Mom & Dad

The last three of your letters being the most important. You needed to take your time with those three.

Jisung had decided to head over early. He was coughing still but not too badly, he felt fine enough to go hang out with you for a bit and help you set up. You had been working so much he was glad to finally see you- he just wanted to be the first one to see you. He made his way up to your door- opting to knock first before letting himself in, but when you didn’t answer he made use of his key and made his way inside. The apartment was quiet and dark. Perhaps you weren’t home yet. He made his way into the living room and sat himself on the couch, taking out his phone to call you. The confusion hit more when he heard your phone buzzing, but there was no effort from you to answer the call.

“Y/N?” Jisung called out, but you didn’t answer. He made his way to your bedroom, knocking on the door softly. Still, nothing. He pushed the door open and immediately his legs gave out. Eyes watering, the cough returning in full force. The screams Jisung let out were heartbreaking. And thats how everyone else found him. Screaming, crying, and coughing up bloodied flower petals. Chan rushed to him instantly, picking him up off the floor in front of your room,

“Han!” Chan called out to him, “Han talk to me what happened?” only then did Chan look up, and see what Jisung was sobbing over. “Felix.” Chan held back his tears as much as he could as he looked to Jisung, “Felix come here and shut the fucking door to her room, shut it- shut it now!” He yelled out, as Felix rushed to the door, Hyunjin let go of his girlfriends hand, making his way slowly to your door but Jisung looked up and glared.

“Get out.” He spat, “Get out!”

“H-Han” Hyunjin said in confusion,

“GET OUT HYUNJIN GET THE FUCK OUT YOU DON’T GET TO SEE HER, YOU DON’T GET TO FUCKING SEE HER” He screamed, attempting to lunge at Hyunjin, “IT’S YOUR FAULT- IT’S YOUR FAULT SHE’S DEAD- IT’S YOUR FAULT!” Jisung was yelling on pure adrenaline, his mind wasn’t processing the words he was saying to his best friend. He needed someone to blame, and Hyunjin just seemed like the best answer.

“FELIX! CLOSE THE DAMN DOOR” Minho yelled out,

“Dead..” Hyunjin looks into your room just as Felix closes the door, the only glimpse of you he got was your hand hanging off the bed. Jisung’s screams were interrupted by more coughing, petals spilling out of his mouth as he clutched his chest, heaving. It took a moment to process but it clicked. You were gone. and Jisung was dying.

“Uh, guys. We uh- we can’t leave her like that.” Seungmin sighs, as tears slowly stream down his face. “I’m going to go call the cops.”

You never got to put the card explaining to Jisung to wait a week before giving out the letters. It lay in your room while the box lay collecting dust in the living room. Where everyone sat waiting for the authorities to arrive. Minho was ultimately the one to hand out the letters to everyone sitting around.

No one read them until they had gone home.

The funeral was nice. Jisung thought there was a terrible irony in the flower arrangement that decorated your casket. To die by roses, only to be buried with them in the end. You’d have hated it. The group hadn’t really seen each other since that day. Some of them had tried checking up on Jisung having learned of his condition but he simply ignored them. He couldn’t bring himself to tell them he’d be meeting the same fate because everyone had the same questions. ‘Who is it Jisung? Maybe if we tell them.’ No one noticed how Jisung loved you.

He stood alongside your family, as guests came and went paying their respects to your family, him as your lifelong best friend included. Chan came up first, said a few words to everyone before he disappeared back into the crowd. Seungmin and Jeonging were next. Minho and Changbin followed after. When Jisung had spotted Hyunjin making his way up slowly to your family he half expected his girlfriend to be following along, but she made no appearance. You never did give his name to your family. You didn’t want them to blame him.

Jisung wanted to blame him, but he knew he couldn’t. Hyunjin just didn’t know. It wasn’t a lack of caring, it was the complete lack of knowledge and Jisung couldn’t blame him for that.

“My name is Hwang Hyunjin,” he said softly, “I’m-” he choked on his words, “I did it to her-” he sobbed, bringing his hands up to cover his face as he hid in shame from your family, “I didn’t know- I swear- If I had-” your mother places a hand on his shoulder, in attempt to comfort him,

“It wasn’t your fault,” was all she could say as Hyunjin sobbed. Jisung excuses himself from your family, motioning for Hyunjin to follow him. The two of them find an empty hallway to talk in.

“Jisung?” Hyunjin sniffles, as he tries to wipe away his tears that seemingly won’t stop.

“I watched her fall in love with you Hyunjin. I watched her love you with everything she had in her.” Jisung coughs, it hurts to cough up the tiny followers you loved so much. Would he be the next to go? Probably. Hyunjin’s eyes grow wide as he watches the dainty petals fall from Jisung’s lips. Tiny blue and purple petals- covered in spit and blood.

Jisung was tired. He was so tired.

“You know she hid it from us all? She died alone Hyune,” He takes a deep breath in, Hyunjin could see the way Jisung struggles to breathe- two people. Two people in his life with the same disease, how could he have been so blind to it?

“I-” Hyunjin stutters, it was his fault. It was all his fault. “I didn’t know- If I had known Jisung- I could have-”

“That’s not how love works Hyunjin and you know it. She didn’t tell you because she didn’t want you to pity her, she didn’t tell you because she didn’t want you to force yourself to love her because she was dying.” Jisung lets out another loud cough. “I’m sorry you know?”

“Sorry?” Hyunjin mutters, “For what? I should be the one apologizing.”

“For saying it was your fault she died-” Jisung sighs, “It wasn’t, I should have noticed but it wasn’t your fault. She hid it for a reason.”

“You know, the worst part is- I can’t win in this situation,” Hyunjin sighs as he leans against the wall, sinking down to the ground. “If I had known she liked me, I’d have asked her out-” Jisung looks to him confused, “I always thought she just saw me as a friend- as someone she was close to- never- as someone she could love like that.” Jisung watches as Hyunjin takes out a crumpled piece of paper out of his coat pocket, “Didn’t know till she wrote it all out and she was gone. Should have seen Jisu’s reaction when she found out.”

“How is she by the way?” Jisung asks,

“Wouldn’t know, we broke up. Couldn’t be with her after I killed someone- She couldn’t handle knowing her friend died because of me either. She liked Y/N a lot. They weren’t that close but she liked her.” Hyunjin shakily hands over the piece of paper to Jisung.

Hyunjin,

Where do I even start? I guess, I start with I’m sorry. Probably should have told everyone sooner. I hope you’re not blaming yourself. If you are- please don’t. Please, please don’t. It’s not your fault. You know, since they told me I had the gene, I was warned. Warned to keep my heart guarded, warned to keep myself safe, not to love just anyone. I don’t regret it you know? I don’t at all. I couldn’t help it. I didn’t expect you to tear down those walls I had so quickly, but still, I don’t regret letting you in.

I guess you probably have a lot of questions huh?

Firstly yes, your shirtlessness when we first met did traumatise me :) kidding. But seriously. I’m sure you have so many questions that I wish I could just answer for you but- they’re a bit complicated. So ill answer the ones I can think of right now,

Does it hurt? Unfortunately. These kinds of flowers are, beautiful. Truly a symbol of love, but also dangerous and-, I can feel them in my lungs. It does hurt but it's bearable.

How long? I think the first time I coughed up a petal was when you first asked out Jisu. How long had I been into you? Well, I’m not sure, to be honest. I think I took a liking to you after we had met, but I definitely knew when we would spend days together in your studio and I’d watch you get lost in your canvass. (I hope you’re still painting, by the way, you’re so talented. Don’t ever stop please.)

Am I scared? Terribly. I wish I told one of you sooner so I don’t have to do this alone- Jinnie I’m terrified.

Why didn’t I tell you? For a lot of reasons but honestly, because you looked so happy with Jisu! Gosh, I hope you two are okay right now- selfish of me to be confessing to you over a letter after I straight up died, but honestly, wholeheartedly I hope the two of you are happy! You deserve to love and be loved. I’ve never met anyone who sees so much beauty in falling in love- who thinks of it in such a fairytale way. You deserve to be happy, so I guess that’s why I didn’t say anything. She loves you, and you her. And knowing that you’re happy makes it easier for me to leave.

Jisung pushes the paper back to Hyunjin, he can’t read anymore.

“You know, she ended it with ‘I love you Jinnie, live happily for me, and love strongly for me’ and I couldn’t even do that for her,” Hyunjin says softly, Jisung could tell he was breaking inside. Jisung could also tell he’d read through that letter like his life depended on it, like it would keep him grounded.

“You have time to live happily Hyune- to love for her. You still have time,” Jisung says,

“What about you-” Hyunjin could feel the tears threatening to breach again, he couldn’t lose another person. Maybe he could help Jisung, maybe he could do something- anything to save him.

“They can’t love me back.” He sighs, “It’s fine.”

“Who is it?” Hyunjin asks, “Maybe we could talk to them or something. We both saw how not saying anything ends, maybe if we just get you to talk to-”

“I can’t Hyunjin,” Jisung says somewhat aggressively, “She can never love me back, it was too late even before-”

“No- Maybe they can! Maybe we can-” Hyunjin panics as he cuts off Jisung, he can’t lose his best friend, he can’t. “We- we can-”

“HYUNJIN SHES DEAD. SHE CAN’T.” Jisung shouts, and it clicks for Hyunjin, “Sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled, you’re scared and hurting. I know you just want to help but-” Jisung choked as he coughed, “There’s no helping this one and I think what hurts the most Hyune- is that loving you killed her faster than loving her is killing me," Jisung sighs,

"What do you mean?"

"I found her in full bloom. She had a rose bush growing inside her, thorns and all" Jisung sighs, “Roses out of her mouth, and chest- You know people romanticize it like it’s some beautiful display, but no one seems to remember how much blood comes with your chest bursting with flowers.” Jisung shutters.

"R-roses.." Hyunjin stutters

"Yeah- fuck I shouldn’t have said that- sorry."

"No- I just- wish I knew sooner." Hyunjin is about to burst, with more tears. He knows what Jisung is saying isn’t to place blame on him, but to help him understand what he was going through- what you went through, he also knew Jisung didn’t always know how to explain his feelings fully- but it didn’t make it hurt any less, it didn’t make him blame himself any less either "What about you then-"

"Forget me not’s. small, but invasive. they spread fast - definitely not as painful as a rose but- still they hurt. I’ll have them removed soon.” Jisung sighs,

“You’re gonna do the surgery?” Hyunjin looks to Jisung, like he has some sort of hope in his eyes, and it kills Jisung inside, but he simply nods.

It was getting harder to breathe as he stared down at the contract. Jisung knew this would be it. Removing them would only lead to him forgetting you. Forgetting how he loved you. Forgetting your smile, your laugh. How when you were happy you’d scrunch your nose. Or when you were upset or sad or had too much on your mind your leg would bounce subtly.

Would Hyunjin had noticed all of these things?

God. Jisung thought to himself. He should have just told you.

He stared down at the contract once more, A violent coughing fit threatened to breach but he knew it wouldn’t ever feel better. The roots were already too far gone, hugging his lungs tight. Every day he could feel the small purple and blue forget-me-nots making their way up his throat threatening to burst out of his chest and mouth in full bloom.

Slowly he rises from his seat.

It’s time.

Jisung never did sign the contract. Opting to go home. Lay down. And hug your sweater and one other thing that reminded him of you.

“You always said you’d follow me to the ends of the earth” You smiled, a gentle one at him as get let out a breath. “Lets go?” and he did, he followed you to the ends of the earth.

Hyunjin couldn’t even scream, something blocked out the screams he so desperately wanted to let out. His heart shattered. He could feel the physical pain of it breaking within his chest.

Hyunjin found Jisung clutching a photo of you and him as kids. On the back, in pen, he had written his last words.

If I have to let you go, I’d rather be dead.

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hyunsungbased · 5 months

Text

Oh yeah. Yeah I cried.

Visions of You in Solitude

Pairing: Hwang Hyunjin x fem reader

W/c: 26.5k

Warnings: erotic painting, mentions of masturbation, sex in a semi-public place (no one is around), breast/nipple play, dry humping, unprotected sex, creampie, oral sex (fem receiving), cum eating, use of pet names, drinking

Synopsis: You were hired to paint him- not fall for him. But intentions quickly shift when Hyunjin finds himself infatuated with you and learns the secrets you harbor.

[this work was based off a request by “🐼” anon - thank you for requesting!]

18+. Mdni!

•

There’s something to be said about the loneliness that comes with being an artist. The repetitive cycle of translating tangibility to canvas or paper in whichever chosen medium. Fleeting muses you draw inspiration from, which quickly become burdensome as you’re faced with them every waking second of your day. Obsession with perfecting your craft, the anxieties that come with criticism of your life’s work and sometimes even succumbing to changing it entirely at the hands of someone else’s advice.

It’s very seldom even your craft at a certain point, only existing to satisfy the visual demands of others and turn a profit when displayed at a show. And it’s certainly not for everyone, not when it’s this lonely and rooted in the discomfort of personal solitude.

From this proximity, the blinding white walls that span the perimeter of the waiting room feel like that of a prison’s- coupled with the glossy laminate flooring and glaring white lights, you feel completely entrapped.

“They’re almost ready for you,” your boss says abruptly as he enters the room and occupies the gray folding chair next to you. “You have everything you need?”

Headcount- your black leather briefcase of oil paints, brushes, charcoal, pencils, paint thinner, old rags and your painting palette.

“The canvas is already set up,” your boss chimes in as if he can read your mind. “And there’s a seat for you. Just relax, and don’t push yourself.”

You take a deep breath, doing your best to follow his advice- but a part of you wants to get up and leave, to run away from all of this. Painting is your passion, it’s your forte and it’s been your life’s work for as long as you can remember. But being commissioned like this, for men much richer than money you’ll ever see, it feels suffocating.

They don’t tell you their names these days, nor the name of whatever organization they’re from. Last month it was an elite group of stock investors, the month before, it was a famous violinist from Japan. And today, it’s a male group, eight members with net worths that look like telephone numbers, or so you’ve been told. And it’s not that you’re intimidated, but you do get self-conscious at the prospect of people watching you while you paint. At some point, it’s like you become the model, their eyes boring into your flesh as you paint long strokes across the canvas and order them to hold still.

“Five minutes,” your boss now says, checking the time on his silver watch and adjusting it so that it sits a little higher up on his wrist.

You wish he wouldn’t count the minutes. You wish he’d stay quiet, allow you to sit with your thoughts and ruminate the day ahead of you. And yet he taps his heel in syncopation with the second hand on the clock above you, the echoing click of both driving you up the wall.

“I need a breather,” you state suddenly, sitting up from your chair and smoothing down your smock. “I need to go outside.”

“Three minutes,” he responds sterly, tapping at the glass lens of his watch and motioning to the door.

You shove your way past the double doors, past the white tiled hallway and just in front of the double doors that lead to freedom again. Two minutes.

It’s like your body is giving out on you involuntarily, your knees buckling as you grip the stair railing and steady your breathing. A quick glance around to ensure no one’s caught you heaving so nervously- and you’re too late. A man saunters down the hallway past you, his hands shoved casually in his pockets as he cocks his head to stare at you, his long black hair falling loosely around his shoulders as he does. He’s tall, and slim, with an elongated torso hugged by an expensive denim coat, his slender legs on display in black slacks and complemented by a sharp pair of boots. You don’t catch a very good look at his face, his figure blurring by as you check your watch, to the second now- you’re supposed to be inside.

You waste no more time jogging down the hallway past the figure and back into the waiting room, where your boss is angrily tapping his heel and scanning the room for you.

“There you are,” he says frustratedly. “No more breaks if you can’t manage your time. They’re waiting for us.”

And with a deep breath, he helps you gather your art supplies, motioning in front of you to the brightly lit room. You take one breath, and then two, as you finally begin into the painting room, eight men already seated and ready for you.

The crowd is nothing like the stock investors, or the violinists you’re used to. They’re rowdy, and loud. They very seldom sit still, cracking jokes amongst themselves and shoving each other off the wooden stools every other minute. You do your best to keep your gaze away from them when you don’t need to look at them, trying to memorize their features in intervals so you can focus on just the canvas in front of you as you paint. But it’s nearly impossible, their melodic voices pressing you for answers and insights into your artist career.

“What’s the hardest painting you’ve ever done?” One asks, his baritone voice sounding almost startling in contrast to his bright appearance.

“There’s lots,” you reply quietly. “I’m not sure I can pick one.”

You give him a small smile, trying to memorize the freckles on his face before turning back to the canvas, hoping you won’t have to glance back over at him for the next minute or so.

“Let’s take five,” your boss says as he enters the room again, two iced coffees balanced in his hands. “Thanks, guys.”

And the men scatter to their break room, where neat trays of food are already set out for them to choose from. As the doors swing closed behind them, you watch them select from a variety of pre-cooked noodles, assorted fruits and vegetables, packs of chips and trays upon trays of desserts. They’re fed as though they’re the ones doing all the painting.

“Coffee,” Q says, setting down a plastic cup in front of you, the straw already conveniently placed for you.

“Thanks, Quinton.”

Your boss, Quinton, or Q, is a brutally honest man when he wants to be, quick to comment on your work and keep you in your place. He runs your calendar like the military, never missing an important appointment and opting you in for every profitable painting session possible. He’s another thing you find suffocating at the worst of times, always somewhere breathing commands down your neck and dragging you to every private event under the sun.

“Let me see,” Q states plainly, gesturing to the canvas with his cup of coffee. You shyly angle the canvas toward him, hoping he won’t scrutinize anything about your pacing- you’re trying to get out of here as quickly as possible, and you silently pray the art doesn’t reflect that sentiment.

But to your surprise, he doesn’t, swiping a few stray eraser shavings off the canvas and giving you a nod.

“Looks good. Remember, we just need the skin tones and facial features. The clothes and all that can be filled in later with our reference pictures.”

You nod in response, taking a generous sip of your coffee, realizing this is probably the worst beverage you could’ve picked to calm your nerves. The caffeine pulsates through you, making your heart flutter even more than it already is, and the bitter taste leaves little to salivate over.

“How much longer, do you think?” You inquire, chewing on the tip of your straw nervously.

“No more than an hour, if you keep up this pace,” Q responds. “I’m going to the bathroom real quick, have everything ready again for when I get back. Don’t make me wait.”

You watch as he gets up from his own wooden stool, placing his cup of coffee where he sits, and exits the room to the corridor once again.

You’re alone in the painting room, the white sheets that line the floors staring back at you with little eyes in the form of paint splotches. From behind the door, you can still hear the eight men shuffling about, laughing loudly and downing their snacks. And you want to leave again, the feeling instilling another sense of foreignness inside of you. Like you don’t belong here, even though you’re the painter. You feel small, cramped, even useless, as you stare down the painted flesh outlines across from you.

A click of the door closing beside you garners your attention, and you look up expecting Q to return and resume the session. But it’s not Q- it’s the same figure from earlier in the hallway, slowly making his way inside and hoisting himself back up on the wooden stool. He keeps his head down as he gets comfortable again, two hands running through his black hair and slicking it back out of his forehead.

And then he looks at you- or stares, rather, two hands resting on the exposed wood in front of him as his legs balance on the wooden beams below. You can feel his eyes burning into your figure, and you do everything in your power to avert his gaze and keep your eyes locked on the canvas in front of you. But he remains like that, staring, for several minutes, until you nervously tilt your head to catch his gaze.

You feel your heart race as you do, catching a glimpse of his flawless features as he furrows his brows in concentration. His silky black hair isn’t the only striking thing about him- he has piercing brown eyes, which narrow with such intensity as he remains seated there, unmoving and confident in his stance. His plump lips contrast beautifully against his chiseled jawline, and his lanky figure makes him look like the contemporary art statues you’re so acquainted with, like he’s formed from wire and positioned to slouch so artistically in his spot.

You say nothing to the man, opting to give him a little nod, before focusing back on the beverage in your hands. And despite his clear fascination with you, he doesn’t reciprocate, instead pulling a cell phone out of his back pocket and preoccupying himself again.

You can’t quite tell if he’s rude, or strange, or even just unaware that his presence is so uncomfortable when he’s choosing to speak through cold stares instead of words. As you watch him through your peripheral vision, you hear the familiar sound of Q’s boots click through the doorway, gesturing rapidly at you and at the canvas.

“Let’s continue,” he orders, clasping his hands together with such purpose. “Where are they?” Q then questions, his eyes darting over the quiet man’s indifferent posture. And the strange man finally gets up from his stool, making his way through the break room door to usher the others inside once again.

They follow like a row of ducks, back to their respective seats, some of them with drinks in hand as they share whispered laughter amongst themselves and make little effort to sit still. You have no trouble picking up right where you left off, the innate talent to mirror figures in front of you coming in handy as you race the clock to complete their flesh-colored outlines.

Most of them converse lightly amongst each other, holding your gaze with a more serious expression when they catch you looking over at them.

Except for the strange man.

He’s relentless in his ways, continuing to stare so impolitely at you, his eyes piercing daggers right through your soul as he cocks his head to the left, and then the right, studying your face as you study all eight of theirs. What his intentions are exactly, you have no clue, simply opting to avert his gaze when you can and keep busy with your painting.

One hour later, the canvas illustrates all eight outlines of flesh and distinctive features, highlighting the beige freckles on one man’s, the toned biceps of another, and all other features that set them apart from each other. True to Q’s reminder, their clothes are traced in outlines, but color is void of their stencils, as you still have to bring the canvas home to complete the finishing touches. When they’re dismissed for the day, the gentlemen are all led by a sculpted man with a big smile who introduces himself as the leader, orchestrating the bows and applause that are held for you.

And as he ushers them out one by one, the strange man who’s been watching you all day is the last to leave, lingering a little bit too long with his hands shoved in his pockets like he wants to say something. He loiters by the canvas for several minutes, but you make no move to angle the painting at him, usually maintaining a certain extent of confidentiality in your work to keep the surprise.

He seems to take the hint, almost nodding indirectly at you and more toward the wall, as he finally saunters out of the room with his hands still in his pockets, his strides painfully slow as he disappears from your sight.

And when you look back to the painting, you cock your head at his outline, trying to gauge whether your art properly captures the sheer sense of unnerve he instills in you with his features alone.

Painting sessions are burdensome. They require a lot of planning ahead of time, stocking up on supplies, scheduling around the hours-long timeframe and of course, the mental preparation of having to be stared at by rich men for several hours.

But perhaps critique sessions are even worse these days.

Your paintings are typically set in stone after the initial outlines, considering there are usually a few important figures who review your work and give you the go ahead to take it home and finish it.

Yet sometimes, you still have people complaining, pointing out unimportant features like the color of their sneakers which aren’t to their liking. It’s normally Q who fights these battles for you, refusing to allow you to make any changes since the payments are made upfront, too. But sometimes, even he caves, ordering you to pull out your briefcase and mix a darker shade of green or add more volume to the subject’s hair.

It’s the worst with investors, who put their audacity at the same level as their incomes. But with boy groups like this, you’re unsure, having never done a painting for a band prior to this one.

The finished canvas is transported in a nylon zip-up bag, held by yourself and Q as you fit it inside the truck and secure it with metal prongs. While the drive there is just an hour long, it feels much longer than the last time you traveled there, perhaps because you’re much more nervous.

And perhaps also, it’s because of the same strange man as last time, who you already know is going to have a mouthful to say. The way he lingered by your work station a little too long, wouldn’t stop staring and even excused himself from his own break early to resume his insufferable task of making you uncomfortable. You reckon it’ll be a comment about his hair, asking for a longer length or more volume. Maybe something about the stage outfit you were presented with and how it doesn’t make his legs look long enough. Or knowing his douchebag tendencies, maybe he won’t hesitate to ask for a fucking bulge in his pants at this point.

When you arrive, Q calls over the building staff to help transport the collosal work of art, while you wait awkwardly on the side with your hands shoved in your pockets. You take a moment to crane your neck and look up at the building, a tall glass monument with blue-tinted windows and cobalt text that displays the company name. It’s just as intimidating as you remembered it, instilling the same unnerving feeling that a hospital might.

When the building staff are finally making their way inside, you follow reluctantly, making yourself as small as possible behind them while they navigate the long blinding corridors. It’s an unusual feeling to be at the top floor of the building that you were just looking up at from the street below, and as you pass the windows that line the hallways, you can make out the rows of cars and people that now resemble ants from this high up. It’s as though you were never down there to begin with, like the world is different from up here, much more secluded and shut-in.

And seeing the pin boards that line the walls, with photos of successful artists and flyers for company events, it very well might be, this haunting building where dreams either go to flourish or decay.

Into the last door on the right, eight chairs lined up for eight artists who definitely seem to have flourished. The building staff set up the canvas at the front of the room, securing it into its wooden easel, and Q occupies himself setting up a recording camera which points directly at the painting and captures all eight chairs in the frame. It’s common protocol for events like these to be filmed, not always for public consumption, but for the staff to archive important commemorative moments in the artist’s name. Once the camera is rolling, Q gives you a thumbs up, gesturing to the staff to permit their exit as you make your way to the front with him.

“Ready?” He asks, clasping his hands together as he eyes the camera nervously. You say nothing in response, giving him a small nod, before taking your spot on the other side of the canvas and folding your hands behind your back.

For a few moments of complete silence, the two of you keep your gazes fixed on the clock that lives on the wall across you, the hands ticking with the passing seconds as you await the arrival of the band. Q turns to say something, seemingly disregarding it as he turns back to the wall and shifts his eyes to the door every few moments.

You wish he wouldn’t be so… anticipatory. You wish he’d just stand there, like a rock, indicating nothing of importance, so that you could put less weight into this and unveil the painting to them without any reservations.

Here’s the painting, you want to say. It took me forever, so don’t criticize it. You guys are shorter than my usual subjects. Except for the weirdo- and he stares too much.

You smile to yourself at the thought of being so candid with them, before an abrupt push of the door startles you, and you instantly straighten your posture at the sounds of boots clicking along the floor, leading the eight men who live on the canvas behind you.

One by one they take their seats, dressed to the nines this time in black slacks and collared button ups. They even flaunt ties, mirroring the businessmen you’re used to painting, and the fancy attire quickly makes you nervous as they fold their hands in their laps and fail to joke around like they did the last time.

“Welcome,” a booming voice says, as other important looking figures stand around the room and eye the covered canvas. “It’s a pleasure to have you here, and we’re eager to see what you’ve come up with.”

Applause fills the room, inclusive of the members of the band, which you finally allow yourself to look at. They sit properly, hands folded in their laps and serious expressions painted on their chiseled faces.

Except for the strange one, again, whose gaze is locked on yours. He cocks an eyebrow curiously, as though you’re the one doing the staring. And you quickly turn your attention back to Q, hoping that disregarding the men will calm your nerves a little.

“… she’s paid particular attention to detail,” Q continues, and you realize you’ve missed half his speech already.

“And we are so excited to hang her work in this renowned building as a commemorative piece for the members. Without further ado, please let’s unveil the artwork.”

As he finishes, two members of the staff tug on the beige cloth, letting it fall to the tiled floor beneath it and expose the giant portrait.

Their faces light up instantly, little “woah’s” filling the room as they rise from their seats to take a better look. They laugh at their own figures, they point out each other's and most of them even pull out their cellphones to snap photos of your art. It’s always a gratifying feeling, having a crowd admire the fruits of your labor this way, especially when you aren’t immediately met with verbal protest against your creative choices.

You take a few steps back to give some room to them, the staff talking amongst themselves and gesturing to the building where you presume they speak about where the painting will live.

“It’s a hit,” Q says, coming around to tap you lightly on the arm. “You should be very proud of yourself.”

“Thanks, Quinton,” you respond. “I’m glad everyone enjoys it.”

And the staff applaud you once more, bowing to you and lining up to shake your hand as they begin to file out of the room again.

The members stick around for a good while, unable to take their eyes off the painting as they point out each other's features and admire their own. And as they begin to leave, several of them thank you personally on the way out, giving you a bow and shaking your hand.

“Thank you, really,” the man you remember being the group leader says to you. “We are so honored to have worked on this with you.”

Another clasps your hand in his, bowing several times before speaking. “Seungmin,” he states his name politely. “Thank you, I think you really did our old group leader justice.”

“Hey!” The leader calls, and you can’t help but laugh a little in response.

The others share similar sentiments, bowing and shaking your hand as they exit, chatting excitedly amongst themselves as they make their way down the hall for their next schedule.

And when you turn to face Q, you’re met with the last member, who folds his arms in front of him coldly and eyes the painting with raised eyebrows.

Like clockwork. He doesn’t like it, he’s going to request a change be made to it and he’s going to berate you in front of your own boss.

“It’s nice,” he chimes in casually from where he’s standing.

“Thanks,” you reply, Q gathering the cover from the floor and zipping it up again.

“Just one thing,” he says now, turning to face you.

“Oh, we normally don’t make changes after-”

“I have a freckle under my eye,” he finishes. “The left eye. You didn’t catch it.”

Your eyes scan the painting, where his chiseled face and long hair stare back at you, a serious expression in his eyes like he wears in person. And then you glance at him standing in front of you again, a small brown mole under his left eye, just like he speaks of.

“Go ahead and add it,” Q says, as he zips up the cover. “That should be on there already.”

And you nod your head at both of them, unzipping your briefcase again to retrieve your paints. He’s watching you like a hawk again, towering over your bent figure as you pull out a thin tube of brown paint and squeeze just a miniscule dollop onto the back of your hand. You retrieve your thinnest paint brush, dipping it into the paint and swiping it across your skin to rid the excess from the fine hairs.

It feels as though you have to paint it with his permission, as you bring the brush to his face and glance over at him for instruction. He gestures to his eye, motioning for you to start, as you bring the brush to his canvas flesh and tap on a tiny, single dot.

He stares at it for a moment, cocking his head as though a brown dot somehow won’t be to his liking. And even Q holds his breath while he waits for a comment from the man. You begin to say something, your lips parting silently, stuck on what to remark as you await his feedback. And then with bated breath, he finally speaks, giving a small nod as he does.

“Good,” he says simply. “It’s me now.”

Q nods at him, nods at you, and then gathers your belongings as you cap the loose tube of paint.

“Do you have a card?” The man asks suddenly, and Q pauses his shuffling about to retrieve one from his coat pocket.

“Here’s her card,” he says, against your silent protests. “She’s available for commission any time. Payments are up front and scheduling is through me only.”

The man nods, thumbing the gold foil cardstock in his slender fingers, and then shoves it into the pocket of his slacks.

“Hyunjin,” he says curtly, reaching his hand out to yours. “I’m the main dancer.”

And you just nod, placing your hand in his reluctantly as you shake once.

“Y/n.”

His hands are cold to the touch, the metal of his rings feeling like blocks of ice in your grasp. He holds it there for a moment, his narrowed eyes shooting daggers into yours, before he finally pulls away and pivots to leave with the rest of the band.

And you can only catch a glimpse of the back of his head when he’s halfway out, before Q turns to speak to you.

“Looks like we may be back very soon,” he remarks, latching your briefcase once more. “I’d hold on to that brown paint if I were you.”

Exactly four days pass before you hear from Hyunjin again. In fact, you’ve all but forgotten about the little run-in, until Q barges into your studio while you add the finishing touches to another client’s piece.

“I have a proposal for you,” Q voices, setting an iced coffee on the table beside you while you dip your paintbrush in a muddy cup of water.

“What is it?”

“Well financially, a massive opportunity. Career-wise, much of the same thing you’re already doing.”

“Businessmen?” You question, working your paintbrush in thin strokes to add hair to the figure on the canvas.

“Band,” he replies simply. “The same band you did last week. Just one member, though.”

And you know instantly who he speaks of, your face contorting into an expression of disgust as you wash your paint in the cup of water once more.

“Hyunjin?” You query.

“That’s him,” he says, snapping his fingers as the name comes back to him. “He’s offering double what we paid last, and just for an individual piece. That’s a massive markup from what we usually charge.”

“I don’t know,” you reply hesitantly. “I’m pretty busy with this, and we-”

“I already said yes,” he states simply.

“You did? What- I thought this was a proposal.”

“Yeah,” he says with a scoff. “A proposal to get your stuff ready. We start tomorrow. And he wants you to bring every color you’ve got.”

“Tomorrow? Don’t we already have a prior commitment?”

“Already moved them out,” Q says, sitting on the chair across from you.

“Look,” he begins, sighing deeply. “I know you’re hesitant about these things. But this is the best move you can do, career-wise. Painting these famous figures is a gold mine for us. One day you could be commissioned to paint royalty, and then we’ll be reaping three times our salary.”

And you sigh, too, knowing very well that he’s right. Being a painter who gets commissioned to commemorate important characters, you know the best thing you can do for yourself is say yes to every opportunity. You’re very seldom able to, which is why you have Q in the first place. But the prospect of spending another day with Hyunjin scares you, and you’re not sure Q would consider it a legitimate concern if you brought it up to him.

“I’ll be there, too,” Q interrupts, almost as though he can read your mind. “It’s just him. One day, max, and then you can pick up your other projects.”

It doesn’t seem like there will be a way out of this one, no matter how much you pray that things will fall through eventually.

“One day,” you echo. “And then I’m tunnel vision on the rest of my projects.”

You can tell Hyunjin’s thought about this very carefully, judging by the way he saunters into the room with purposeful strides and slings a bag off his shoulder.

He’s dressed a little more casually today in a denim jacket and jeans, with layered silver jewelry that contrasts nicely against his jet black hair.

“Like a model headshot, but painted,” he describes his vision to you, gesturing with his hands as he speaks.

“I want it to look really serious. And maybe a cool-toned color palette.”

He’s meticulous with his requests, and you wonder briefly if he dabbles in art, himself.

“Sure, we can do that,” Q responds, jotting down a few points in a small notepad.

You say nothing, letting Q do all the talking, but Hyunjin’s eyes glance over at you briefly like he wants you to acknowledge the request. So you just nod graciously, giving him a thin-lipped smile, and begin to undo your briefcase.

Hyunjin assumes his same spot on one of the wooden stools, dragging it closer to you by its leg and propping it within eye-view of your big canvas. And then he sits on it, or rather slouches, adjusting his gaze to look straight at you and maintain a cold, serious expression.

It’s just as unnerving as you’d remembered it, having this model-looking figure pierce daggers through your soul while you mix your paints- cool-toned ones, at his request, and prepare for the hour-long trek of capturing his essence.

At least you won’t have to talk to him- or so you’d assumed from the last session you completed with him.

“What’s your process like?” He asks, his sultry voice perfectly matching his features.

“Oh,” you remark, mixing a set of paints to mirror his even skin tone. “I don’t know, I just paint what I see.”

He nods, satisfied with your less-than-wordy answer, and then he begins to prod you with more questions.

“What are your favorite art supplies?”

You cock an eyebrow at this, well aware that you have a long list you can indulge him in, but not wanting to share your secrets with this complete stranger.

“I dunno,” you reply softly. “Oil paints, and graphite pencils really.”

Hyunjin nods again, and then he glances at Q, who gives him a thin-lipped smile much like yours, trying his hardest to remain polite with Hyunjin. You know Q is likely frustrated with you for not entertaining this conversation in a more lively manner, especially considering what he paid for this session, but you’re not going to indulge him in anything except painting him- and only for this one session, like you promised Q.

And the rest of the session is uneventful, Hyunjin poking you with questions about your personal favorite paintings or inquiring about a time you messed up on an important piece. All questions which are answered with brief “I don’t know’s” or “there are so many, I can’t choose.”

And although you are trying hard to keep Hyunjin at a distance, nothing seems to faze him, his head nods and little hums serving as indicators of his satisfaction with all of your answers. He doesn’t get pushy, like your other clients often do, and he even presses Q for a few answers as he makes sense of your work.

At just past 5, the session draws to a close, as Hyunjin rises from his stool and announces he has to tend to his evening dance practice.

“It’s nice seeing you again,” Hyunjin says as he approaches you, giving a small bow as Q waits off to the side.

“Thank you,” you voice back, glancing at Q for a push to leave.

And Hyunjin extends a single hand, gesturing for you to place yours in his, as he towers over you with a curious expression.

You reluctantly place your palm in his, letting the cool metal of his rings graze your skin as he clasps his thumbs over your fingers and rubs them in gentle back and forth motions. He doesn’t bring it up for a cordial peck, he doesn’t shake it- he simply caresses your artist hands tenderly, before letting go again and turning to give Q a small bow as well.

“Take care,” Hyunjin says, pivoting to exit the room into the corridor.

And as Q pesters you with orders to clean up your workstation, you examine your own hands, rotating your own fingers around, like they might somehow be changed by his touch.

ON HOLD- The notes under your projects on the big calendar in Q’s office read, written in dark red pen and underlined twice across the pages.

You furrow your brows in confusion, setting your bag down as you enter for the day and ready your art supplies.

“What’s going on?” You ask Q, who’s busy sorting through a stack of invoices.

“Have a seat,” he replies plainly, gesturing to one of the leather chairs that accompany his grand wooden desk. And you do, sitting on the very edge of the chair as you await further instruction from him.

“A gift came for you,” Q says, slinging a large box on the desk in front of you.

You stand up once again, peering inside at the myriad of oil paints, sharpened charcoal pencils, new smocks, palettes and even books about artists and their works. You dig through the supplies, heart racing at the expensive choices, feeling undeserving of all the presents the box contains.

“This is all for me?” You question, baffled at the prospect that anybody could care enough about your career to indulge you in such a fine assortment of goods.

“Read the card,” Q then says, his arms folded in front of him as he nods toward the top of the cardboard box, where a simple yellow envelope is taped to the cover, cursive text scribbled on the front. Hyunjin, it reads.

You undo the seal, pulling out the small card inside, which only contains a short, cold sentence, in contrast to the warm gift.

“For the next few”, it says, not so much as a sign off or even a simple “thanks”.

“Next few?” You repeat, meeting Q’s gaze with a confused expression.

Q sighs, sitting across from you, folding his hands out on the wooden surface where you can see them.

“His manager called this morning,” he begins. “And commissioned us for another one. Except this one has a long set of rules. He wants you to use these supplies, he wants to visit your studio instead of occupy the company building. And he specifically asked me not to accompany you.”

“What?” You exclaim, angered at the sheer audacity he has, and knowing very well that you only agreed to one painting.

“That’s completely against our rules,” you continue. “Did you tell him no?”

And Q gives you a sheepish grin, gesturing to the stack of papers he flipped through earlier. “They’re offering quadruple the pay,” he says sternly. “He’s obsessed with your work.”

“So what?” You argue. “I have a ton of other projects to finish. And I’m not throwing all of that away because some guy wants time alone with the artist.”

“There’s nothing wrong with wanting alone time with an artist,” Q emphasizes.

“This is a huge sacrifice, Quinton. I wish you would’ve run this by me earlier.”

Your eyes meet the calendar above his desk again, counting the number of projects with a big ON HOLD scribbled below them. Q sighs, evidently feeling a little guilty for his own actions, and then pinches his wireframe glasses between his fingers, pulling them off his face and tucking them into the pocket of his blazer.

“I’m willing to give you 10% more than what you already make from these.”

Your gaze snaps to his, a bewildered expression on your face as you process his words.

“What- seriously? Quinton, that’s-”

“His company’s loaded” he says with a shrug. “The guy is so much bigger than I thought he was. People love him.”

And your gaze flickers between the calendar and the big red text, Quinton’s hopeful stare and at the box of new art supplies you’ll be required to work with.

Q doesn’t need to press you for verbal confirmation, knowing that the caress of your fingers over Hyunjin’s name on the envelope serves as answer enough.

Your studio is particularly messy on Wednesdays, housing all of the project paraphernalia from the days prior. Today is no exception, canvases that sit on easels lining the walls and cans of paint thinner spread out on the tarps. You make your best attempt at shoving everything against the wall, creating a clear pathway for Hyunjin to stride into the way he always does. And you set up your canvas prior to his arrival, getting all of your necessary supplies in place to avoid the awkward few moments of setting up while he watches you so intently.

He’s a punctual idol if you’ve ever met one, arriving at 5pm on the dot, expensive-looking sunglasses shielding his eyes from the barely visible sunlight outside, and a black beanie pulled over his head. He looks like he could be a security guard of his own, the all-black attire even more unsettling as he makes his way inside.

There’s a reason you never house clients in your own studio- the reason being it’s small. It’s office-sized, large glass windows on one side of the wall that overlook a sea of greenery that’s now overgrown with all the recent rains. The floor is gray concrete, stained just about everywhere with swatches of paint and charcoal pieces. And the two tabled surfaces that are available are covered in art supplies, the color of the furniture now indistinguishable as they house tubes of paint, brushes and cans of thinner.

“You can put your bag on the chair there,” you say as he walks in, his hands still shoved in his pockets.

He does as told, setting a designer crossbody on the folding chair by one of the tables, and then he stands confidently, observing the room as he awaits further instruction.

He takes long strides around the perimeter of the room, leaning closely into the existing canvases to study your techniques. But he says nothing, remaining much quieter than last time, the only sound coming from his heeled boots as he moves elegantly around the studio.

“I’m ready,” you say, and Hyunjin turns around to face you. He cocks his head slightly, and then he brings one hand up to pull the beanie off his head, letting his brown tresses fall loosely around his handsome face, not requiring much adjustment as they seem to fall in disarray so perfectly. He pulls his sunglasses off as well, folding them between his plump lips before tucking them into the pocket of his jeans as he finally stops to look at you.

He looks as handsome as he always does, his unreal features looking as though he was modeled by a painting and not the other way around. You feel small in front of him, and unimportant, as he approaches you and stops just in front of your much smaller figure.

“How do you want me?” Hyunjin asks, cuffing up the sleeves of his black knit sweater.

“It’s up to you,” you reply to him, giving a small shrug as you speak.

“This one’s your call,” Hyunjin retorts. “I want it from the artist’s vision.”

And you can’t help the blush that creeps up on your cheeks, feeling embarrassingly flustered at the idea of someone caring even slightly about your vision. Everything’s from your client’s vision- the outfits, the poses, even the adjustments they request following the painting’s unveiling. It’s very seldom that you’re able to provide any directions to the standard of your vision, and though it’s unexpected, it’s a little endearing.

“My vision?” You echo, tapping your fingers on your chin.

You glance around the room at the supplies you have on hand, nothing special, but definitely materials you can work with.

Without replying to him, you pull forward one of the folding chairs, setting it down in front of your easel and gesturing to it.

“Could you sit on the top part? Like, on the back of the chair?”

Hyunjin nods, climbing up onto the chair and balancing as he takes a seat on the back part. It’s a little unstable looking, but Hyunjin seems to manage just fine, spreading his legs casually and running his hands through his hair.

“Your hands,” you chime in, taking note of the silver watch he flaunts on his left wrist. “Could you rest them on your knees?”

“Like this?” Hyunjin questions, sprawling his palms out over his kneecaps.

“Not quite,” you reply. “A little more like…”

And then without warning, you take both his hands in yours, positioning his elbows to rest atop his kneecaps so that his hands hang loosely in front of him. He cocks his face up to meet your gaze, the same intense expression he always houses, and you take a step back to admire the position.

“Exactly like that,” you say to him. “Tell me if you get uncomfortable and we’ll take a break.”

Hyunjin shoots a small smile, perhaps more of a smirk at you, as he sits still and watches you begin to paint in long strokes along the canvas. Your movements are fluid and impetuous, but every stroke proves itself more robust than the last, painting a clear outline of Hyunjin’s seated figure as he keeps his eyes on you. And maybe it’s because you’ve chosen his pose this time, or because it’s your third time doing this with Hyunjin, but you don’t feel nearly as uncomfortable anymore, keeping your attention on the painting and disregarding any implications that might derive from his cold stare.

“I wasn’t sure which brand of oil paints you preferred,” Hyunjin says suddenly. “So I bought you three kinds.”

“Oh, yeah,” you reply softly. “Thank you for the gifts. You really didn’t have to.”

“You have a talent,” Hyunjin voices. “I hung the last one up in my own studio.”

“You have a studio?” You question, remembering Q had previously mentioned something about him being an artist.

“I do,” Hyunjin answers. “It’s nothing like this one, just some canvases in the shared dorm we have. But I paint in all my free time. If I wasn’t here right now, I’d probably be painting.”

“That’s interesting,” you reply. “I’d love to see your work someday.

And Hyunjin doesn’t hesitate to pull his phone out, navigating to his camera roll to show you some of his pieces. He flashes you a painting of a bouquet of roses, placed in a glass case atop a table. Another showcases a city street, scribbled cars and people that line the pavement. And a whole gallery of them depict people- couples, in particular, in all sorts of romantic poses. Kissing, hugging, embracing with such passion and force, almost consuming each other with their visible desperation for one another.

“They’re beautiful,” you say, in awe at the technique of his art. You weren’t expecting him to be so good, for someone who doesn’t paint as a full-time career.

“Thank you,” Hyunjin replies, stuffing his phone back into his pocket. “I’ve learned so much from you.”

“Me?” You retort with a small chuckle. “I highly doubt that, your stuff is very unique. But I’m flattered that you’d say that. Thank you.”

Hyunjin keeps his gaze on yours for a moment, cocking his head to the side as though he’s observing your features. He doesn’t say anything, his eyes narrowing and widening again as he takes in the sight of you dabbing a little more olive paint into his complexion. And then he straightens his back, steadying himself on the chair with two hands gripping the sides.

“When was the last time you left this studio?” He inquires with a smug expression. He sounds a little more serious now, and his tone of voice makes your heartbeat race.

“I don’t live here,” you reply plainly. “I leave every day.”

“When was the last time you escaped?” He then clarifies. “When was the last time you weren’t confined here for the purposes of work?”

You furrow your brows, trying your best to keep busy with your task and avert his gaze.

“This is my job,” you say sternly. “I don’t want to escape.”

“I’m a dancer,” Hyunjin states matter-of-factly. “I don’t live in the studio at the building. Sure, the bright lights and the walls of mirrors help with the choreography. But sometimes I dance in my dorm. And sometimes I dance in a big grass field when nobody’s watching.”

You pause your brushstrokes for a moment, finally meeting his gaze as he stares down at you. He raises one eyebrow, waiting for an answer, which you fail to provide him with as he leans forward once again and clasps his hands together.

“You feel trapped here, don’t you?”

And suddenly his words infuriate you, the sheer audacity of him to walk into your studio demanding all these rules from you, like your boundaries can be overlooked if they’re bought. And who is he to pry into your life like this, knowing next to nothing about you except that you’re a painter? It’s blasphemous- offensive, even.

“I’m not trapped,” you say, standing from your stool and backing away from him a little. “I love my job. I can quit whenever I want to, and this is my passion.”

“Who are you when you’re not painting these portraits?” Hyunjin inquires, and your eyebrows contort into a much angrier frown.

“Who are you to imply any of this, anyway? You’re an idol. You’re the one who’s trapped in the confines of a million rules- are you even allowed to be here right now? Who are you when you’re not putting on the mask of a completely different persona?”

You exhale frustratedly as you finish, taking a moment to catch your breath, and trying your best to avoid his gaze. But when you meet his piercing eyes again, he’s smiling, a wicked expression on his face like he’s amused at your lashing.

“I’m glad you asked ,” he says simply.

“What?”

“I’d assumed it was part of your vision, to maybe scratch below the surface of the flesh outlines you paint. I know there’s more than meets the eye to your work. You have this passion about you.”

“Passion?” You reply nervously, now fiddling with the brush still in your grasp.

“Mhm,” Hyunjin responds casually. “Like you want to lash out. Go on, get it off your chest. I won’t mind.”

And you say nothing again, shrinking back into the confines of your wooden stool as you swirl the brush around in the same mug of water and dip it back into a dollop of paint.

“I’m sorry,” you voice to him. “I don’t treat my clients like this. I hope you’ll forgive me.”

Hyunjin’s shoulders sag a little, as though he was waiting for you to keep the chaos alive in this little studio. He just nods, and then he assumes the same position as earlier, his knees spread in front of him and his hands resting comfortably on his knee caps as he slouches forward.

You resume the task of shading in his skin tone, adding highlights to the elevated portions of his face and glancing over at him in intervals to confirm where the light hits him.

“I’ve learned so much from you,” Hyunjin says for the second time tonight, and you’re still unsure what he means by it. “I think we could learn a lot about each other.”

And the studio falls silent for the remainder of the session, as he allows his eyes to bore into your soul while you translate his being onto the canvas in front of you. Or at least the parts that are able to be translated.

Your calendar is blocked off for the remainder of the week for other clients, Hyunjin rescheduling his sessions as he prepares for a performance overseas.

Your heart sinks a little when Q announces the schedule change to you, secretly praying you haven’t completely ruined your artist/client relationship with Hyunjin. He’s definitely a little odd, and he can be pushy when he wants to be. But he’s undeniably more intriguing than the investors you’re used to housing at the studio, telling you stories of his dancing and inquiring about all your favorite techniques every chance he gets.

He’s the first client who’s ever uttered the word “vision” when it came to yours, and not his, and you can’t let go of the value it added to your last session with him. You had yelled at him, ordered him to stop projecting his thoughts onto yours and asking personal questions. But it was the first time you felt alive, somewhat visible to a client as you painted them. His eyes pierce through your soul, every tangible inch of it, and not just the empty shell of who you are when you’re not existing so loudly. And Hyunjin seems like the only catalyst that allows you to exist loudly these days, even Q walking all over you like you’re an extension of his tedious ways.

Although your last conversation didn’t go quite as smoothly as you’d hoped it would, Hyunjin’s words continue to circle your mind relentlessly, your heart trying to make sense of them no matter how hard you try.

“Who are you when you’re not painting these portraits?”

It’s a fair question, and it doesn’t necessarily have to be a discourteous one, either. Maybe he’s genuinely curious about the woman you are when you’re not following Q’s orders. But where has Hyunjin pulled the implication from that you’re anyone except for the person assigned to produce these portraits? You’ve given him no reason to think anything of you besides the well-mannered, focused painter you are. And to imply anything else would also, by extension, imply he knows something about you.

“I’ve learned so much about you,” he had also said to you, twice in the same session. And can one really learn from two, three sessions of watching an artist paint? Sure, if he was more focused on your technique and your mannerisms rather than staring at you so intensely. But he hadn’t seemed to be interested in much else, simply keeping his gaze on yours and asking base-level questions about your artist career.

If anything, you could learn a lot about Hyunjin, who has the whole world at his disposal and walks around this place like he owns it. He speaks of you like he’s trying to study you. He wants to learn from you, despite being the one wielding much more knowledge and wisdom than you could even begin to fathom. True, you don’t escape this studio- and you don’t utilize it without the intention to work. In fact, your work consumes you most days, your personal life just a microscopic dot in the grand scheme of this arrangement.

But Hyunjin seems to think otherwise, his generous gifts and his fascination with returning seeming to imply something else. Like he wants to learn from you, or like he’s convinced he already has.

In apprehension, like he knows you.

“Where are we going?” You query when Hyunjin arrives next, quickly ordering you to gather your supplies and ushering you to the door.

“We’re not painting here today,” he says plainly.

“What? No, Hyunjin I don’t paint anywhere except for-”

“The studio or a company,” he finishes. “That’s the issue. I want to take you somewhere more lively.”

“I can’t be around people,” you respond. “I don’t… it’ll just mess up the whole process.”

“Do you trust me?” Hyunjin asks suddenly, his hand extending out to yours for the briefcase you grasp.

What a simplified question- absolutely not. You don’t trust him, that’s the issue with leaving the studio. You’re still not sure of his career as a whole, you’re not sure why he’s so adamant about breaking all sorts of rules and you don’t know anything beyond his name.

“No,” you reply. “I don’t think I trust you at all, actually.”

And Hyunjin just smiles, stepping forward to take the briefcase from you.

“Good,” he replies, the same amused smile plastered on his face. “That means there’s still a lot I can teach you.”

He watches you slip on your coat, undeniably confused, but in a trance-like state obeying his commands, like your heart won’t let you hear your brain’s protests.

Hyunjin doesn’t drive. He doesn’t need to, having his own personal chauffeur at his beck and call, able to go just about anywhere in the evening during his allotted hours of free time. Ones he normally spends in the studio, watching you paint.

You sit quietly on one side of the fancy black car, your hands folded neatly in your lap and staring at the passing blur of city lights out the window. Hyunjin occupies the other, one of his slender hands resting atop the briefcase in an attempt to steady it whilst the driver makes sharp turns and brakes a little too harshly.

You watch as the city roads turn to one long paved road, surrounded by tall grass and trees. And this path goes on for a while, maybe 20 or 30 minutes, as you remain in comfortable silence. The driver seems to be acquainted with the road, turning every way he needs to, no form of navigation telling where to go, simply having memorized the route. And Hyunjin doesn’t seem tense in the slightest, humming softly to himself as he taps his fingers along the leather surface of the briefcase.

The fork at the end of the road signals the stopping point for the driver, who hits the brakes, but doesn’t turn the car off. The keys remain in the ignition as he comes around to open your door, guiding you out with one hand and bowing graciously to the both of you.

“One hour,” Hyunjin says to him, sliding him a generously folded bill.

The driver nods, occupying his spot in the driver’s seat, and you watch him make a U-turn before driving off down the path again.

The environment is quiet, much quieter than any spot back in the city. It’s nothing except for trees and tall grass that sway with the gentle evening breeze, the sky swallowing up a now orange sun as nighttime begins to over both of you. If you squint, you can even see the mountains from here, some of them lined with little yellow lights, probably vacant buildings or farm workers. And the birds sing their last songs of the day, mellow tunes that harmonize with the growing chirps of crickets.

“It’s pretty here,” you remark to Hyunjin, who stands looking out at the view with his hands tucked in his coat pockets.

He doesn’t reply for a moment, his long hair swaying with the breeze. And then he tilts his head in the direction of the briefcase, nodding once.

“Paint what you see,” he orders.

You nod reluctantly, scrambling to open the briefcase and set up your supplies.

“Do you want to stand there? Or… do you prefer something else?”

He smiles, a little amused at your rushed state, and then he shakes his head.

“Not me,” he clarifies. “The view. Paint what you see.”

You swallow a lump in your throat, stopping your movements and pondering the words for a moment. You haven’t painted a view in god knows how long. Your skills are rusty, your techniques are skewed and the whole concept of it makes you shudder.

“The view?” You question back. You take a moment to look at the view again- there are possibilities everywhere. Green grasses that resemble paint strokes themselves, a deepening blue sky with strokes of blues and blacks, stars like paint splatters and trees with sponge-painted bushels. The art is everywhere, the possibilities are vast and endless with a view like this one.

“The view,” Hyunjin echoes. “Don’t take it too seriously. This isn’t some company's order to paint me. I just want to see the world through your eyes.”

And you nod, once, Hyunjin helping you latch your sketch pad to the easel as you mix a myriad of blues and greens together on your wooden palette.

He flips through your sketch pad for a little while before stepping away, nodding at the pages upon pages of art unlike any of your portraits. When you think he’s going to move, he doesn’t, remaining in the same spot and nodding his head at the works. And you feel a little shy, a little confused at why he’s taken so much interest in the work you complete on the side, work completely unrelated to any of your portraits. When he reaches a blank page, he meets your gaze with a small smile, nodding his head once at you as he finally moves out of the way.

And then you finally begin, hesitantly, as Hyunjin finds a spot in an undisturbed part of the grass, sprawling his long legs out in front of him and pulling out a sketch pad from his own bag. He angles it away from you, beginning to make long, generous lines with his charcoal pencil, peering over at the trees every now and then to gauge their shape. And you remain there, a comfortable silence among both of you, as you both capture the view in your respective visions.

The technique comes back to you instantly, like motion memory, quickly sponging leaves into the trees and pulling the dark sky from its draped position over you to plaster it onto the canvas you work on. Blues, greens, glittering whites for the night stars and fantastic shades of chartreuse and viridian find their homes on the canvas, so carefully placed and mirroring the view you overlook. You emulate the shadows, the waning glints of light, even the sounds seem to live on the picturesque view where time stands still in the confines of four walls.

Hyunjin doesn’t disturb your work flow- in fact, for most of the time you remain there, you cease to remember he’s even working on a sketch of his own, his delicate figure disappearing among the trees as your peripherals shut him out and bring nature to the forefront.

It’s only an hour you’re there, like Hyunjin had promised, before he’s returning to your spot and standing behind you to look over your shoulder.

“Beautiful,” Hyunjin states dramatically. “Beautiful, and spectacular, and shining.”

You chuckle lightly, wiping the brush on your smock and tucking it away in one of the front pockets.

“Will you sign it?” Hyunjin asks, cocking his head a little to try to find where your signature currently sits, but finding nothing.

“Oh, yeah,” you respond, bringing a charcoal pencil to the bottom right and scribbling a quick signature.

He scans the painting once more, tracing a finger over the corner where you’ve added your signature, and then he gives a small nod before meeting your gaze.

“This one’s my favorite,” Hyunjin tells you. “Because it’s entirely your vision.”

“The ones I make of you are my vision, too,” you explain, and Hyunjin shakes his head with a small smile.

“I like how you see the world. Not how you see me. Or anybody else, for that matter.”

And you find yourself blushing again, unsure if his intention is to fluster you with his poetic words, but well aware that he’s having the effect on you regardless.

“Thank you,” you echo politely. “I like this one, too.”

Your gazes remain fixed on each other for a brief moment, the grass now standing still as the night falls over you, stars glittering in the black sky and the crickets singing their nocturnal songs.

For the first time since meeting him, Hyunjin looks less cold at this proximity to you, his entire demeanor exuding softness and comfort as he smiles at you. Maybe it’s the black puffer coat he wears, the collar pulled up to his chin to keep warm from the frigid winter night around you. He wears his glasses, too, these ones a thicker black frame, pushed high up on his face and a little dorky, admittedly. But it’s also because he seems kinder, more warm and welcoming. There’s no existing rush to capture him any which way- in fact, there’s no pressure to capture him at all. And maybe when you’re not translating his model-like appearance onto canvas, you’re able to step back and admire that he’s soft under his hard exterior, he’s so gentle and human.

At first, you debate telling him, a sudden urge inside of you to apologize for your presumptions of him and admit that he’s slowly become your favorite client to be around. Maybe he’s right- maybe you do have a lot you can teach each other. He lives a life of lavishness, entertaining varying aspects of his idol career and serving a role of great importance to those who know him. And he is certainly of importance to your career, being your highest-paying customer and the one you’ve painted the most now. But he plays a role in other parts of your life too, allowing you to try new techniques, entertain your vision, circling your mind with his poetic words and his strategic motions. All lessons which allow you to grow outside the confines of your studio, too.

But you settle on silence, not wanting Hyunjin to think too boldly of you. Maybe he’s like this with everybody he crosses paths with. Choreographers, vocal coaches and painters alike. Maybe he’s simply as fascinating as he looks.

As you study him again, the sound of a car engine interrupts you, and you turn around to find Hyunjin’s driver has returned as promised. You bring a hand up to shield your eyes from the bright headlights that illuminate the whole field, as Hyunjin helps you gather your supplies again, securing the canvas in its case and transporting it into the backseat of the car with the driver’s help.

Hyunjin holds the door for you this time, ushering you inside, and then he comes around to slide into the backseat next to you.

“I think it’s going to rain,” the driver says as he puts the car in reverse.

You crane your neck to look at the sky through the tinted windows, dark blue clouds that loom overhead and seem to make the night even colder.

“I have one more place we need to stop at,” Hyunjin says suddenly, sitting forward to make eye contact with the driver through the mirror.

The driver nods in response, as if the last location is a secret kept between them, as he begins down the dirt path again in silence.

“Ever been here?” Hyunjin questions, as he holds out a hand to guide you up the stairs. The steep concrete stairs lead to a grand crested marble doorway, a bronze statue out in front and dimly lit lamp posts that illuminate the sign overhead.

Museum of Modern Art.

“Once, a long, long time ago,” you respond. “I think I usually steer clear from galleries since I don’t show my work at them.”

Hyunjin chuckles softly, stopping at the front door and meeting the gaze of a security guard, who promptly strides over and opens the door just an inch.

Hyunjin pulls out an ID, and a folded paper of some sort, and you watch as the security examines it briefly before nodding. It’s only then that you realize the museum is closed for the evening, the only person around behind the night security, but of course that rule doesn’t apply to Hyunjin, who can get in just about anywhere with the flash of a smile.

“It’s the only way to visit with no one else around,” Hyunjin says, confirming your theory. “They let me stay as long as I want. Sometimes I draw here.”

You nod at his words, giving a small smile as the security eyes you intensely, and then he opens the door to guide both of you inside. Hyunjin removes his coat, slinging it over a nearby coat hanger, and he flaunts a white knit sweater with his dark jeans, looking cozy in contrast to the dark winter night outside. He holds your sketch pad tucked under one arm, and then he skips excitedly to a room behind a curtain.

“This one’s my favorite!” He exclaims, giggling softly like a child might. “Do you know they’re all made out of recycled materials?”

And you brush the curtain aside, being met with the sculptures he speaks of, neutral-toned figurines that appear to be made of paper mache, all resembling people. Their forms hold each other, mimic ballroom dancing, and even embrace each other in a tender kiss as they stand tall in the center of the room.

You watch as Hyunjin snaps a few photos with his cellphone, craning his neck to view them at a better angle, and then he turns to face you.

“What do you think?” Hyunjin asks.

“They’re beautiful,” you reply. “They kind of remind me of your drawings.”

He shoots you a flustered smile in response, touched that you’ve even remembered what his drawings look like. And then he graciously bows as he ushers to another room.

“I think you’ll like the next one.”

The next room behind another dark curtain is a gallery of paintings, all of them abstract forms of art that experiment with different colors and mediums. You take a while in this room, sauntering down the row of canvases and observing how each one captures something completely different from the others. Some include only cool-toned shades, their strokes much smaller and overall more somber. Some play with warm tones, long generous strokes that capture passion and heat. And some mix both, two stories dancing in harmony on one canvas, contrasting light with shadow and love with regret.

As you cock your head slightly, observing the way the colors are so evocative from this proximity, Hyunjin comes to stand next to you, cocking his head in a similar fashion and taking in the same details that you do. And if someone were to stand behind you, maybe both of you would mirror the painting, too, two hues of life and recluse working in perfect harmony alongside each other.

“Nice, isn’t it?” Hyunjin asks, and you hum in response.

“Yeah. I love these colors.”

Hyunjin nods, giving the painting a last once-over before nodding in the direction of another curtain.

“Come on, I want to show you this last one.”

The last room houses a little bench, where Hyunjin occupies the left side and pats the spot next to him. You take a seat, your hands folded neatly in your lap, as you observe the colossal painting in front of you.

It’s a watercolor painting, one amorphous shape at a far distance, yet at this proximity, the tangible outline of a figure, sat with legs pulled to the chest and crouched in a position evoking such sadness.

The cold blue hues highlight the shadows which define body parts among the pile of limbs, the curve of a breast, the almost indistinguishable outline of a leg, aspects you have to really squint hard to make out. But the colors complement each other so artistically, and the figure in the painting looks so melancholy, so longing for something more than the confines of the canvas she lives on.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” Hyunjin voices, and you nod, swallowing as you remain quiet.

He pauses for a moment, his voice hitching in the back of his throat, before speaking again.

“The artist was a child prodigy,” he begins. “Apparently they painted all their life and then became a sort of recluse into adulthood. No one’s seen a painting from them since. This was their last big project.”

“Interesting,” you remark quietly.

“Yeah,” Hyunjin replies. “And their art is always titled around themes of loneliness and solitude. Every painting kind of feels like a puzzle piece leading up to their disappearance from the art world.”

Hyunjin says nothing as your eyes dart around the room, swallowing nervously as you ponder what to say. And nothing comes to mind, nothing that won’t make you seem crazy, or irate.

And then before you can protest his actions, he flips open your sketch pad he’s kept tucked under his arm all this time, flipping through a few pages until he’s nearly at the end. He stops at one of your paintings, cool aqua hues filling the paper in the same manner as the one hung on the wall.

“It’s you, isn’t it?” Hyunjin finally says, and you realize he’s turned to face you now.

You stand up at this point, smoothing down your blouse and turning away from his gaze.

“Sorry, I have to go-”

You search for an exit, unable to locate one amidst the dark curtains and the dimly lit room. And the only thing you can think to do is walk back the way you entered, beginning back through the abstract painting gallery as Hyunjin follows behind you.

“They’re amazing,” Hyunjin says. “You have a talent. Your paintings were always my favorite-��

“Please, stop,” you interrupt, your heart beating erratically as you make your way past the paper mache sculptures.

“Why did you stop making them?” He asks, now standing still in the entrance, the security guard on high alert as he watches Hyunjin’s stressed demeanor.

“Sorry,” you voice to the security guard, bowing to him. “I have to go, thank you so much.”

And without turning to look at Hyunjin, you push the doors open, making your way out of the museum and onto the concrete steps. It’s raining now, hard, like the driver had predicted, and you march right past his parked car to one of the taxis parked by the curb.

The cab driver takes an address from you, punching it into his navigation system as he begins to drive down the street, and you pray he can’t hear the quiet sniffles coming from you in the backseat.

As he pulls away from the curb, you glance out the window at the museum, where Hyunjin’s now shoving past the door and standing still, his hands dropped at his sides and a hurt expression on his face.

His hair falls damp around his face as he lets the sheets of rain wash over him, his driver exiting the vehicle in a rush to get Hyunjin back into the safety of the car.

But he remains there, unmoving, his hurt gaze fixed on yours, as you turn a corner and fall out of his sight.

And just like the sessions were uneventful before Hyunjin, they’re much more uneventful after him, too.

Putting the sessions on hold for Hyunjin is nothing, his life full of vibrancy and color when he’s not spending an hour or two with you in the evening posing for a painting. It’s time he fills with extra dance practice, vocal training, spending time with his members and even doing art of his own.

But for you, it means returning to a life of mediocrity, requesting stock brokers to angle their big heads in a more appealing manner so you can capture every one of their unsightly features. You’re ogled at by salesmen, disrespected by accountants and not a single one of them could give a shit about your vision.

A part of you wants to call Hyunjin and apologize, to explain that he was out of line in his approach to identify you and catch you so off-guard. But you’re mostly angry at him, for having ruined something so beautiful you took pride in every week. Now he’s gone, the sessions put on pause until further notice and your life forever changed by Hyunjin, though he’ll keep living his life of lavishness despite being the source of all your pain.

“Now that we don’t have Hyunjin on the books after this week, I need you to resume the work on Mr. Lee’s painting. Let’s not lose sight of the ones we started prior to his pieces,” Q says, as he flips through a clipboard of printed schedules.

“This week?” You echo in question. “I thought sessions with Hyunjin were put on hold until further notice.”

“They were,” he responds. “After your last session this week. He’ll be here tomorrow evening. He’s your last client of the day.”

“Tomorrow?” You repeat, pausing your brush strokes as you turn to look at him. “He requested to come in tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” Q replies with furrowed brows. “Why, is there a problem? I already told him yes.”

“No, that’s fine,” you reply, rotating the brush around in your fingers as you think over his words. “Tomorrow works fine.”

Despite the sessions being put on hold, you’ll still have a moment to explain yourself to Hyunjin and make amends. It might not get you exactly where you were before all of this, but the thought of letting Hyunjin part ways thinking you despise him makes your stomach turn. You’ll still get a moment alone with him to rekindle the state of your friendship.

… Or so you thought. When you arrive at the studio the next day for your last session, Q is still there, organizing papers at one of the tables and still dressed in a fancy blazer and tie like he never left from this morning’s session.

“Quinton?” You call, setting your purse down and toying with the hem of your shirt.

“Yes?” He responds, not looking up at you.

“Are you… don’t you normally sit these sessions out?”

“Oh, I forgot to tell you,” he says casually. “I’ll be sitting in on this last one. I know they were put on hold pretty abruptly, and I wanted to be around for your last one.”

You give him a small nod, protesting his actions mentally. You won’t get a minute alone with Hyunjin after all- not with Q watching you like a hawk. You want to scream at him, to tell him he has to leave and that he’ll be permanently disrupting the client-artist relationship you’ve developed with your highest-paying customer if he stays and taints the room with his overwhelming presence. But he largely determines the success of your career, whether you like it or not. And requesting Q’s absence will most certainly point to something more going on between you and Hyunjin.

“Right,” you reply. “That’s fine.”

You wish Quinton wouldn’t be so… mechanical. You wish he could trust that you’ll get the job done, despite any existing tensions between you and Hyunjin. You wish he wouldn’t pretend to care about being present, when in reality you know he just wants to make sure it wasn’t you who screwed something up. And you wish he would leave you alone with Hyunjin to make amends the way you know you need to before you part ways with him.

When the door opens once again, you both turn your heads to look at Hyunjin, who strolls in with casual strides, his hands stuffed in his pockets. His gaze falls on Q, and he furrows his brows together, finally looking at you, with a confused expression on his face.

“Welcome!” Q says obnoxiously. “I’ll be sitting in for this session, I hope you don’t mind.”

Hyunjin shoots him a thin-lipped smile, giving a subtle nod as he slings his bag off.

“Sure,” he replies. “That’s fine.”

He assumes his spot on the same wooden stool, crossing his legs and folding his hands in his lap, and then he turns to meet your gaze.

“How do you want me?” Hyunjin asks. He sounds more somber than the other times he’d asked the same question, his voice trailing off a little as he waits for a reply.

“This is good,” you say, taking your own seat and beginning to work light strokes across the canvas. You start with his jawline, the same chiseled jawline you’ve gotten so used to painting, working a robust angle where the crook of his neck meets his cheeks. Then his eyes, the piercing intensity of them, narrowing involuntarily as he poses with such skill, the same eyes which have graced the covers of magazines and album covers. His lips, plump and rosy, forming a small pout as he remains silent. And the outline of his luscious brown tresses, which fall beautifully around his face and soften the rest of his features.

He looks so enchanting this evening, like he’s straight out of one of the paintings at the museum. And your anger feels almost completely dissipated once he’s in front of you like this, just a pressing urge to be alone with him so you can communicate properly.

“Looking good,” Q says as he comes up behind you, his hands folded behind his back.

Hyunjin’s eyes dart over at Q’s standing figure, glancing over at you again while you paint. You attempt to shoot him an apologetic expression, wanting to tell him it wasn’t your idea to have Q here watching your every move. But you can’t properly convey your emotions to him with Q practically breathing down your neck.

“Beautiful work”, Q chimes in, nodding as you add the color to Hyunjin’s hair.

You can feel yourself getting frustrated with him, wishing so badly you could at least ask him to wait on the other side of the room like he normally does. But he remains there, crowding around you as you work and filling the room with his awkward presence.

“I’ll drag up a chair,” Q says with a small chuckle. “So I don’t have to stand.”

And both you and Hyunjin watch as he pulls up a folding chair, dragging it along the floor in one painfully slow motion, the sound of the legs screeching against the concrete floor as he places it next to you and takes a seat.

Hyunjin’s eyes meet yours again, cocking his head slightly as though he’s asking why you’ve allowed Q to be so overbearing today. But none of this is according to your plans, either.

“Go on,” Q urges. “You don’t have to wait for me.”

You hadn’t even realized you’ve stopped painting, grasping your brush between your fingers as you watch Q adjust in his seat and gesture to the painting.

“I think we should take a break,” Hyunjin says finally. “My leg is cramping a little.”

“Of course,” Q echoes back. “We can take five. There’s a vending machine out by the front door. And the bathrooms are on the right, by the-”

Q can’t even finish his sentence before Hyunjin’s shoving his way past the door, taking long strides away from the studio and waiting outside. He pinches the bridge of his nose in deep annoyance, letting out a deep sigh as he ponders the evening’s events so far.

“I’m going to use the restroom,” you tell Q, setting your brush down and following Hyunjin. “I’ll be right back.”

And you follow his footsteps, pushing on the door to meet him outside, where he stands with one hand on his hip, the other massaging his temples frustratedly.

He looks angry, as you predict he would be, but you approach him anyway, fiddling with your thumbs as he stays quiet for a moment.

“I organized this last session to speak with you,” Hyunjin says in an annoyed tone. “I should’ve known you’d invite him.”

“I didn’t invite him,” you say quickly. “I didn’t even know he’d be here, I swear. He just stayed, and he was insistent on sitting in.”

Hyunjin finally drops his hand at his side, meeting your gaze, a softening expression on his face.

“I didn’t mean to scare you off,” he finally says. “I overstepped my boundaries. I’m just here to pay you for art. Not prod into your personal life.”

“I know,” you say back. “I wanted to explain to you, but…” your voice trails off, remembering this is technically your last session with him. And judging by the way everyone speaks of him, it’ll be near impossible to contact him again after this.

“It seems like I missed my chance,” you finish, referencing Q’s persistence.

Hyunjin glances around for a moment at the overgrown plants that line the studio windows, still damp from the evening rain. It looks like a jungle out here, the plants providing no clear view through the windows and instilling such a peaceful sense of privacy.

“Could you stay a little longer?” Hyunjin questions. “After he leaves. I just want to talk to you before I go.”

You think over his proposal for a moment- Quinton is punctual at leaving right past the hour mark. He never stays longer for hours than he needs to, but he’s no stranger to you utilizing the studio to finish up some of your work after hours.

“Sure,” you say finally. “Just pretend you’ve left after the session and I’ll tell him I need to stay longer. Don’t wait near the parking lot or he’ll see you.”

A somber smile grows on Hyunjin’s face as he nods in response.

“I’m going to call my driver and tell him I’ll be longer than the original session. Meet you back inside.”

And you make your way back into the studio, where Q is busy shuffling through papers at the table.

“Ready?” He asks, already taking strides back to his stool, positioned far too close to your canvas and Hyunjin’s seat.

“Yeah,” you reply, sighing a little as he occupies the seat next to you and glances around the room for Hyunjin.

“He’s taking a phone call,” you explain to Q. “Just give him a minute.”

And Q pushes his glasses further up his nose, humming in response as he observes your painting again.

“You’ve really mastered his features,” he comments, scanning over Hyunjin’s painted outline. “Even his eye mole is already there.”

And you scan the painting too, at the little mole painted just below Hyunjin’s left eye as he requested.

“Yeah,” you reply. “I guess I have.”

You wouldn’t forget it, because everything about him occupies your mind, much like his figure lives on your canvases.

It’s just half an hour more before you’re finished with Hyunjin’s painting. It’s still lacking some detail, like the contours along his face and the buttons of his cardigan. But they’re all details you give yourself time to finish later, before you wrap up your final piece and gift it to Hyunjin.

Q is relentless in his micromanaging for the remainder of the session, making useless comments about your techniques and asking Hyunjin about his own work. Hyunjin’s answers are all short and echo his clear annoyance, desperate to finish the session in order to speak with you privately. But you both remain collected in your manners, graciously conversing with Q and reaching the end of the session.

Q reviews his invoice documents as Hyunjin slings his bag on once more, standing by the door as though he’s ready to leave.

“Payment was finalized today, and your sessions are on hold until your tour is completed.”

“Thank you,” Hyunjin responds, bowing graciously. “It was a pleasure to work with both of you. I’ll be back when we’re done overseas.”

“Don’t hesitate to reach out!” Q calls, as Hyunjin makes his way past the door. He waves Q off with a small smile and then turns the corner until he’s out of sight.

“Well, there goes your best-paying client,” Q remarks with a deep sigh. “We have a lot more to pick back up on. I know Mr. Lee’s paintings are still in progress-”

“Thank you, Quinton,” you voice to him. “We’ll talk scheduling tomorrow. Please just get home safely.”

“You’re not leaving yet?” He queries, already pulling on his canvas bag and hanging his clipboard from a thumbtack on the wall.

“I’m going to finish the details while I still remember them. I’ll only be an hour longer.”

Q shrugs, making his way pivoting on his white canvas sneakers and giving you a small wave.

“Call if you need anything,” he says plainly. “Make sure to lock up.”

“I will,” you echo, craning your neck as you watch him finally exit past the door and jog down the stairs. You can’t see Hyunjin anywhere, but Q doesn’t seem to notice him if he’s still around, starting his car and speeding out of the parking lot.

And not even a full minute passes before Hyunjin makes his way back inside, shaking water off his hands.

“I stood under one of the gutters,” he says in a disgusted tone. His hair is stringy wet with rain water, and he chuckles when you meet his gaze with an amused smile.

“You’ll have to let me paint it like that, someday,” you respond, and he laughs lightly.

You take a seat on the folding chair previously occupied by Q, and Hyunjin assumes his same spot on the wooden stool. For a moment he says nothing, observing your face as you tap your fingers along the metal of the chair below you. There’s not a sound in the room between the two of you, with the exception of a small creak coming from the wooden stool as Hyunjin adjusts his long legs. He runs his hands through his hair nervously, and then he licks his dry lips with his tongue before speaking.

“I have something for you,” Hyunjin says suddenly, his voice echoing around the empty room.

He stands up to pull his bag off the floor, and then he digs around in it for a moment before pulling out his sketchbook. You watch as his slender fingers open the spiral-bound cover, flipping past pages upon pages of sketches and paintings. He flips close to the end, and then he stops, bookmarking the page with his index finger before turning the book to face you.

“I’m sorry if you don’t like it,” he says, keeping the book shut in anticipation. “It’s just something I drew.”

And then with bated breath, he opens the book out to you, adjusting the page in your view to give you a clear sight of its contents. It’s a carefully drawn sketch, of you, standing in front of an easel with a brush in your hand. Painting, like you always do. You recognize the scenery around you as the spot he took you to the other day, the long charcoal streaks perfectly capturing the grass that surrounded you and the tall trees that overlooked the hills. Although it’s a sight familiar to you, it also feels so foreign, seeing yourself through somebody else’s eyes. It feels peculiar to remember people also perceive you while you paint. It makes you feel less unimportant, a little more visible.

“Wow, Hyunjin, this is…”

“Do you like it?” Hyunjin interrupts.

“It’s so lovely. Really. I feel like I don’t deserve this.”

“You do,” he’s quick to respond. “You’ve drawn countless ones of me. And of so many other people. I wanted to gift you one of your own.”

You run your fingers along the thick paper, watching as Hyunjin tears it along its perforation and hands it to you.

“Please, keep it,” he urges.

And you bow once in response, turning to set the drawing along with your bag so you won’t forget it.

“Thank you,” you finally say. “I love it. I’m going to hang it with all my favorite art.”

Hyunjin smiles in response, a breathy chuckle escaping his lips, and then he shoves his hands in his pockets again, leaning against the wooden stool as a silence falls over you both.

For a moment, you ponder what to say to him, wanting to explain the events from the other evening, but unable to verbalize anything amidst your nervousness. Any way you think about it, you fear Hyunjin is going to get mad, especially considering you’d just walked away from him in the face of confrontation. But you also couldn’t help it, his accusation coming so suddenly and so boldly, regardless of it being based on any sliver of truth.

“I’m sorry,” Hyunjin breaks the silence. “I don’t know if I was right or not. But it wasn’t my place to ask you.”

You nod at him, initially planning to divert the topic. But you can’t any further, a growing urge inside of your chest to unveil the truth to him, knowing he’s already pieced this much of it together.

“It is my painting,” you say finally, your voice shaking a little. “I specialized in those ones before portraits. They kind of gained traction when they were first unveiled, and a lot of galleries picked them up. But they drew a lot of criticism, and it became so draining to be the topic of people’s judgment. I think being perceived so heavily just kind of… scared me off. So I shifted to portraits instead, and I no longer do public showings or galleries.”

Hyunjin doesn’t react in a shocked manner, nor does he press you for questions immediately. He just nods, taking in your words, and then he meets your gaze with a concerned expression.

“I learned so much from you,” he explains. “When your paintings were unveiled at the annual art show across the city, I was so mesmerized. They’re why I started painting, too.”

You chuckle lightly, shrugging at him as you slouch back in your seat.

“Yeah, well, I don’t do them anymore.”

You think over your response for a moment, and then you stand up from your seat, too, furrowing your brows together.

“How did you… know it was me?” You question, cocking your head slightly.

“I had a hunch when I first saw your painting techniques. But I also knew it the moment I saw your other paintings in your sketchbook,” he explains. “My favorite painting of the series is printed out and taped to my locker in our dance studio. It just felt like you. I paid attention to your art for years. I was bound to know it when I saw it.”

You nod for the umpteeth time tonight, making sense of his words as you think back to the signature you drew in front of him back in the field.

“I’m sorry I figured it out,” Hyunjin says finally. “I know this was an elaborate plan to remain anonymous and shift your focus to a new form of your work. And your portraits are amazing. But you have a real talent for those older ones. And the whole series just… it changed me.”

“You don’t have to be sorry,” you tell Hyunjin, looking up to meet his gaze at last. “If anyone was going to find out, I’m glad it was you.”

“You are?” Hyunjin questions, and you hum in response.

“As a client, you have this really interesting way of making me feel seen. When I’m around you, It feels a lot more comfortable from the businessmen I’m used to. It’s like…” your voice trails off as you struggle to finish your sentence. “I feel like I did when I was painting my old stuff. I can see the world beyond just portraits for a little bit.”

Hyunjin says nothing, his eyes flickering down to your lips and back at your eyes once more, which are wide with curiosity and passion as you speak. It’s such a sight to see you talk about your art with this level of devotion again, color in your face once more as you attest to your life’s work.

“Tell me,” Hyunjin begins. “Why are all your paintings so lonely?”

You chuckle softly, shrugging up at him.

“I am lonely,” you say simply.

“I’m lonely, too,” Hyunjin remarks.

And your expression turns serious again, your eyes not leaving his intense gaze as he flickers over your parted lips and takes one step closer to you. He’s towering over you at this point, a strand of hair falling into his face as he lets himself lean into you a little more, just barely grazing his lips over yours.

“Can I please kiss you?” Hyunjin asks so politely, his voice coming out in a whisper as he stops himself from pressing his lips to yours while he waits for an answer.

“Yeah” you finally reply in a whisper of your own, almost on your tippy toes to match his towering height.

And then without another second to waste, Hyunjin closes the gap between both of you, leaning down to press his plump lips to yours and embrace you in a tender, desperate kiss.

He tastes like mint, his lips working against yours with no particular rush, yet his mind still running rampant with thoughts of having you as close as possible. It feels so wrong kissing him here, in the studio you strictly use for the purposes of completing your work-related tasks and nothing more. But with Hyunjin’s lips on yours and his slender hands snaking around the small of your back to pull you closer, it also feels so thrilling, instilling a sense of desire deep within you that can only be fulfilled through acting upon the emotions rooted in your innate fascination with Hyunjin’s entire being.

And you feel visible right now, so tangible when Hyunjin’s nimble hands are running down the sides of your waist and sprawling his delicate fingers along your flesh. It’s you kissing him here, not some shell of who you are when you’re capturing the essences of millionaires on canvas. You’re not the scribbled outlines in Hyunjin’s sketches of couples consuming each other with such passion, though you mirror them. It’s you, child prodigy artist turned portrait specialist, and Hyunjin, in all his fame and splendor, who chooses to spend his free time with you in this studio teaching you about yourself the way you learn from him, too.

Hyunjin’s hands move to tug off the fabric of your cardigan, slouching it off your shoulders and letting it fall to the floor, where it piles in disarray among the white tarp that houses loose paints. You’re pretty sure there may still be wet paint on its surface, but you don’t care, your body desperately arching into Hyunjin’s tall frame as his hands cup your cheeks to kiss you even deeper.

You can barely reach him while his frame looms over you, only able to reciprocate his kisses on the tips of your toes as he takes full control of you with his mouth. And Hyunjin seems to take notice of this, intertwining his hands in yours and pulling you down with him as he sits among the tarp and sprawls his legs out in front of him. You bestride his lean figure, balancing yourself on his lap as he adjusts himself on the concrete floor, and you both laugh when you take note of the admittedly uncomfortable positioning. It’s not meant for lovers, this dinky studio and its cold, concrete flooring. But it’s nothing that can’t be overlooked when his lips are back on yours, kissing you breathlessly and tucking strands of hair behind your ears. You can feel him smiling into the kiss, an indication by Hyunjin’s definition that he’s wanted this so badly. And he knew it from the moment you walked into the company building the first time, nervously preparing yourself out in the hallway like you weren’t going to be an absolute pro at your craft the way he now knows you are. He also knew it every time he observed your paintings, both your old ones and the newer ones that capture Hyunjin with such ease, every minute detail that builds up his intense stare only to break him down and soften him, translating this multifaceted version of him only you seem to visualize. And he gains confirmation of it when he’s finally acting upon his urges, your hands snaking around the back of his neck and moving in tandem with his hungry kisses against yours, grasping at his flesh like you’re trying to prove to yourself he’s real, too.

His sweater is the second article of clothing to go, your bodies only separating from one another briefly as you guide the knit fabric off over him and discard it beside you in the tarp. Your hands find his torso reluctantly, running your fingers along his flesh as though asking for his permission. And Hyunjin smiles when you do, placing his hands over yours and pressing down a little firmer for you, so that you can feel every inch of his toned body. He wields the body of a dancer, delicate curves that run along his sculpted obliques and highlight the years of intense training he’s done. His body feels strong underneath you, but he still feels soft, his touches exuding the gentle fondness he possesses for you.

And you’re kissing him again, all while his hands find your tank top and he separates to undress you, pulling it off over your head and tossing it aside. His hands are quick to find your breasts, splaying them over the mounds of your chest and massaging gently as his kisses turn hungrier. You can feel him getting hard underneath you, and you can hear his breath hitching in the back of his throat as he struggles to contain his growing bulge while you straddle him. But you indulge him even further, undoing the clasp of your bra with your own hand as you continue kissing him. Hyunjin doesn’t notice until your hand reaches out to toss your bra aside, a gentle rustle emitting from beside you as it joins the pile of discarded articles of clothing. And he separates to take in the sight of you, raised goosebumps along your bare skin and your nipples aroused for him, the cold air grazing over your chest as you wait for him to resume his touches. Hyunjin gasps a little, leaning forward to take one in his mouth, and then he begins to suck harshly as his tongue swirls around your bud generously and trails saliva along your skin. You moan at the sensation, Hyunjin digging his fingernails into the small of your back and leaving little crescent marks as his sucking resumes harshly, soft moans bubbling from the back of his throat, too, as he stays latched to you. And then he pulls away to give attention to the other one, his teeth grazing the tip of your nipple before sucking again, his eyes shutting as he relishes in the taste of your skin in his mouth. Hyunjin’s hips rock gently against you as he does, chasing the friction of your legs around his crotch as he grows even harder beneath you, desperate for some release. And then he pulls away finally, breathing heavily, his eyes wide with lust and a bead of sweat dripping down his forehead. You bring a thumb to his forehead, swiping the bead off his blushed skin, before cupping your hands around his cheeks and bringing him in for a kiss.

“Please let me fuck you,” Hyunjin says sheepishly against your lips, groaning lightly when he feels you squeeze your thighs once against his crotch.

“You want to?” You ask teasingly, massaging your hands up and down the sides of his neck as he nods eagerly.

“I really, really want to,” Hyunjin responds, shutting his eyes as you squeeze your legs again and pepper his face in kisses, trailing from his forehead, to his cheeks and down his neck. Hyunjin leans back on the palms of his hands in a state of pure bliss, taking in the sensation he’s only dreamt of until now. And when you nibble down on his neck, beginning to suck a small bruise into his skin, he sits up suddenly, his hands finding yours and pushing you away gently.

“Wait,” Hyunjin says. “I can’t… do hickeys. Company’s orders,” he admits, a little defeated, and you nod your head quickly.

“I’m sorry,” you remark. “I totally forgot.”

“It’s okay,” Hyunjin almost cuts you off with a kiss, leaning forward and sitting up on his knees. He guides you down onto the tarp, hoisting himself up over you so that his figure is now hovering over yours, and then his hands find your pants.

“You can do hickeys though,” Hyunjin says in an amused tone, trailing kisses down your neck the same way you did him, and latching his teeth onto your flesh to suck a line of purple bruises. You chuckle underneath him, the sensation tickling a little, but still adding to the generous pool already formed between your legs. And as Hyunjin presses into you with his kisses, you can feel his erection graze your upper thigh, once more seeking the friction of your body for some sense of relief as he longs to feel you around his hardened cock.

“Hyunjin,” you voice as he kisses you, and he hums quietly in response.

“You’re hard,” you remark, your eyes flickering to the tent pitched underneath his jeans.

“Sorry,” he replies, pulling away with a worried expression in his eyes, and you shake your head quickly.

“No, no, it’s fine,” you assure. “I just want to take care of it for you.”

And your hands find your own jeans, pulling them off your legs and tossing them aside. Hyunjin’s eyes skim over your lace panties, the trim almost see through with delicate feminine patterns, and he begins to undo the button of his jeans, too.

He kisses you as he snakes off his own pants, not wanting to separate from you any more as his eagerness grows to be as close to you as possible. And when he’s finally letting his hard cock rub against the fabric of your panties, moaning softly at the sensation, he knows he won’t be able to take it much longer if he doesn’t make love to you right here in the studio.

So his hands work to pull off his boxers, finally freeing his erection against his abdomen and gasping with the cool air grazes the tip of his cock. You slide off your own panties as well, tossing them aside and letting his cock rest against your bare flesh now, his precum painting your clit with his preemptive arousal as he ruts against you. Your flesh is slick with his arousal and yours, the existing lube between both of you allowing your skin to glide upon one another so effortlessly, the same way your lips work against each other. And he continues to push his hardened length against you until he’s halfway inside of you, your cunt taking him with no struggle as he thrusts inside of you now. You adjust to his thick girth easily, his length seemingly never ending as he pushes deeper and deeper into you. And then he gives one particularly hard thrust, bottoming out inside of you and coaxing a fervent moan out of you.

“Is it okay?” Hyunjin asks, wincing at the sensation of your walls hugging his erection.

“So good,” you whine, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. “Feels so good.”

And he begins to move in and out of you at a slow pace, trying his best to stave off the orgasm he’s already close to reaching as he fucks you, filling your cunt entirely with his long cock and bottoming out every time he thrusts himself back in.

And he tries to kiss you, but he can’t, his mouth simply looming over yours in its parted position as he echoes his moans into you and lets his saliva-coated lips graze over you. He looks like the subject of an erotic painting himself, eyebrows arched up so artistically with every thrust, melting into your touch as you run your hands through his hair. His initial dominance over you is quickly shifted to that of submission to your mind and your body, little whines leaving his lips as he lets you consume him whole and mold him between in your touch, like he’s made of clay and you’re the sculptor. His lanky body seems to extend as he sways his hips into yours, little dips from the pads of your fingers embedding into his pale skin. He folds effortlessly above you, the points of his elbows jutting out as he steadies his body over you, like he’s made of wire and positioned to balance over you so perfectly, not very sturdy, and yet bent and snapped just right so that he can remain glued to you. And if you were to climb out of your body and paint this exact moment, all you would see are an indistinguishable, amorphous set of limbs that seem to dissolve into each other like hues of paint on a palette. Two colors swirling around to make one, the two of you like primary colors that create endless possibilities when mixed together like this, offspring of a hundred different shades, painting the darkened studio around you with your yearning for one another.

And as Hyunjin brings a hand to stroke your cheek gently, a smile grows on his breathless lips as he realizes he’s brushed a thick stroke of wet paint along your skin. The indigo stripe contrasts coldly against your flesh, still glistening in its freshness like he’s just begun on a blank canvas.

“It’s paint,” Hyunjin says as you gasp at the cold sensation, smiling too, when he swipes it again with his thumb and flashes it down at you.

And you chuckle lightly below him, taking note of the bright orange streak that lines his neck, just below his adam’s apple. You’re not sure when it got there, or whether it was from you or him, but you run a finger through it too, bringing it to his cheek to rub your thumb lovingly across his face and paint it there, too. And in one swift motion, Hyunjin swipes the palm of his hand along the tarp, coating it in hues of indigo and deep violet and gray, cupping a hand around your breast to coat it in the same wet substance. And you do the same, your hand dipping generously into the myriad of reds and fuchsia paints that live below you, running a hand down his chest and painting a long stripe along his toned torso.

You both laugh, as he picks up his pace again, pushing himself to the hilt inside of you, the paints melting together with your sweat as he fucks you rhythmically again. And like two blank canvases finally being put to use, new colors blossom between the two of your longing bodies, shades of magenta and blue-gray making themselves known across your breasts and his torso. The colors are vibrant and robust, transferring life from the dull tarp of the studio floor onto blank slates of skin. You wish you could step out of your body and capture the colors forever, mix paints together into little jars and name every shade after every feeling Hyunjin’s ever given you. Longing, lust, fear, fascination, infatuation, obsession.

“I think I’m obsessed with you,” Hyunjin breathes into your mouth so desperately. “It’s indescribable, the things you do to me.”

He lets his hands intertwine with yours again, giving them a small squeeze as he fucks you a little faster now and lets his groans shift into small whimpers that escape his lips.

“Please let me cum inside you,” Hyunjin begs, his cock slipping against your cervix with ease as wettened noises of his arousal pooling against yours fill the room. “Please, please, I promise to take care of you, baby. I feel like I belong here.”

He’s a whimpering mess for you now, tears pricking the corners of his eyes as he fucks you and lets his hands explore every inch of your body. You want to cry, too, at the realization again that this all feels so tangible, that he makes you feel so seen when he’s hovering over you, placing open-mouthed kisses onto yours and letting his melodic moans fill your ears. The paint between you serving as proof that he’s touched you so desperately and wholly, creating art together in the confined space of your otherwise dull studio. And you want to feel him cum inside you, too, as a final reminder that you’re visible to him, that you’re no longer a fleeting, anonymous artist when you’re with Hyunjin. That he sees you for exactly you are, he knows your deepest secrets, and yet still he holds you, whispering words of permanence in your ear and letting you mold him like art. He’s an artist on his own, and he’s art at the hands of you, both of which draw you to him in ways you can’t begin to fathom, unlike anything you’ve felt before. And he teaches you that you’re an artist on your own, and art at the hands of a lover, both of which you hadn’t considered before Hyunjin, deeming yourself invisible in your comfortable solitude to the vast world around you. But the two coincide to echo the same sentiment that he teaches you exactly the way he also learns from you.

“Cum inside me,” you breathe desperately, grasping his hands a little tighter as he fucks you at a faster pace now.

“Yeah?” Hyunjin confirms, still staving off his orgasm until your verbal consent is heard.

“Yes,” you respond, wrapping your legs around his waist and making your best attempt to kiss him through his release. And you do, your lips moving against his in labored breaths, as he finally twitches inside of you and paints the inside of your listless body, hues of glazed white arousal filling your aching cunt as he whimpers through his orgasm.

“Fuck,” Hyunjin, breathes, giving a few more thrusts as he slows, his arousal dripping onto the tarp below you as he pulls out. And he rolls over to lie beside you, a mess of paint streaks sprawled out along his skin as his chest rises and falls with slowing breaths. The two of you say nothing for a moment, your eyes glued to a blank canvas housed on an easel in front of you.

It’s an almost blinding shade of white, begging for an ounce of color like the shades that now live on your skin. And through your heavy breaths, you picture the endless possibilities that can fill in the empty spaces above you. Grasslands, trees, oceans, clear waters and a vast, endless blue sky…

There is no overseas schedule Hyunjin has to tend to. You’re already aware of this, Hyunjin explaining to you that he made it up to put the sessions on hold and to keep Q from pressing him with questions.

But he resumes the sessions after a few weeks of putting them on pause, because he can’t seem to stay away from you any longer.

Hyunjin reckons he has a couple dozen of your paintings in his room now, all similar portraits of his face, portraits you capture in your signature formal essence, his face staring straight ahead or off in the distance, complete with the fine details of his long dark hair and the mole under his eye.

Only now that Hyunjin is back, Q is present at nearly every appointment. You’re not sure why things changed, and Q maintains a new stance to Hyunjin that the guidelines are based on adjusted company policies. But Hyunjin will do just about anything to be close to you- even if it means putting up with your obnoxious boss breathing down your neck every minute while you paint him.

The sessions are somehow even more unnerving than they used to be, Hyunjin still making every valiant effort to convey his obsession with you through intense stares and little gestures only the two of you can read. Q is obstinate in his ways, his gaze constantly flickering between you and your paintings to ensure everything is going swimmingly. But Hyunjin wishes so badly he could spend the entirety of these sessions alone with you, getting to break down your walls and see you for the person he knows you are when you’re not doing portraits under Q’s all-seeing eye.

With every passing day, and every passing session, Hyunjin grows a deep hatred for Q, despising the way he watches you work and chimes in to converse with the two of you. And he knows he shouldn’t, aware that Q is just your boss and nothing more. Something you’ve reiterated to him time and time again, but he can’t help it, desperate to have you all to himself every second of the day, a deep-seated longing to protect you from the hurt you’ve been dealt and wanting so badly for you to break free from the monotonous cycle you’ve confined yourself to of painting for anyone except yourself.

You can tell Hyunjin hates Q, judging by the way he doesn’t so much look in his direction when he arrives for his sessions. But you can’t convey the slightest bit of reaction in front of either of them, too scared of the prospect of what would happen to your career if anyone were to find out you’re fucking a client.

You maintain a professional composure around Hyunjin, despite the knowing stares he gives you and the sketches you catch him slipping into your purse when Q isn’t looking. At times he’s not around, you complete your daily tasks, well-mannered and organized to the clients who hire you, shooting them kind smiles and complimenting their black business attire when they show up for the evening. When the days draw to a close, Q is punctual as always, leaving just minutes past your last appointment and taking his work home with him.

And when his sleek black car turns out of the corner of the parking lot, Hyunjin slips inside like a mere shadow on the wall, quick to seduce you all over again and gift you with all of his recent sketches. Some of them are portraits of you, smiling or focused on your work. Some of them are erotic nude shots of you, lying on the tarp of the studio or touching yourself the way he pictures you do when you’re all alone. And some of them include both of you, your bodies tangled desperately into each other and drowning in your yearning and love. Sometimes nude, his hands on yours and fucking you mercilessly. Sometimes fully clothed, his lips on yours and bundled up in winter clothes. But always together, always desperate in your touches and always so tangible. You reckon he’s persuaded you into being fucked you on every surface of the dingy studio by now- against the canvases, on the tarp- several times, on the table Q typically occupies and just about every stool available to the two of you. And while Q is oblivious about why you stay a little longer every night, Hyunjin is both calculated and persuasive in returning so you two can get some time alone, time that always ends with his seed dripping out of your still-aching cunt, bodies entangled somewhere within the studio and covered in fresh swatches of paint.

He may have somewhat of an obsession with you, but life is teeming around the studio when Hyunjin is near, the colors and shapes of your work much more robust and vibrant when he’s striding around the space commenting on all his favorite pieces of yours. And you relish in stories of his days, typically spent at fan events or at dance practices. Having him return feels like having your physical figure return home to you, the world in complete equilibrium when he’s near, much less lonely than the one you’re used to.

“I could watch you do this forever,” Hyunjin remarks, watching you glide a brush along your canvas, filling in the shadows of a figure on the canvas in front of you.

And this one’s not a portrait- it’s a watercolor figure, much like the ones you used to paint back then, the technique coming back to you with ease as you highlight the convexes of a body mirroring yours and add varying hues as highlights.

Per Hyunjin’s request, you paint the figures occasionally, only because he’s repeatedly expressed his fascination at watching you complete the process in a live session. The paintings reminiscent of your old work aren’t for sale, nor are they critiqued by anyone except for yourself. And they’re certainly not done with the knowledge of Q, who would turn irate at you utilizing the studio’s supplies for anything but portraits.

They’re just for his viewing pleasure, a little exchange you indulge him in as he continues to gift you with sketches of his own.

Hyunjin’s arms snake around your waist as you paint, his head resting on your shoulder as he watches you dip your brush into a mug of water and dilute the caramel shade that taints the bristles.

“Will you add a second one?” Hyunjin asks in a curious whisper, his lips grazing your ear as you paint.

“A second one?” You echo.

“Yeah,” Hyunjin says, working a trail of kisses down the shell of your ear. “This one’s you. Will you add me?”

You chuckle lightly, dipping your brush into a warmer shade of brown and swirling it around to gather the color on the fine hairs.

“So they can resemble us,” Hyunjin says, his kisses traveling even lower. “Paint me fucking you the way you like it.”

You chuckle softly again, not missing the way Hyunjin’s hands travel to your skirt, flipping it up to graze his hands along the mound of your upper thigh.

“Hyunjin, I-” you begin to say. But you can’t answer him, shutting your eyes in pleasure as you hear him unzip his jeans behind you and position himself.

“Keep painting,” he says in a sultry whisper, pumping himself lightly behind you as he pulls your panties down.

And you try, bringing your brush to the canvas to add a second figure like he’s requested. But you can hardly make it past the first few strokes before Hyunjin’s sliding into your dripping cunt, letting his hands grip your waist to steady himself as he begins to move.

“Go on,” Hyunjin encourages, as his hips thrust in and away from your trembling figure, your hands trying their very best to keep hold of the little wooden paint brush and fill in his form.

You manage to add a subtle few streaks, beginning the amorphous outline of Hyunjin’s hair, his tall lanky figure towering over yours and taking you with such desperation.

But you don’t get very far before Hyunjin is angling your face to kiss your drooly lips, his hands now finding purchase on your breasts as he continues to fuck you. And all of this is wrong, you know very well. You’re not supposed to be sleeping with a client like this, much less one this powerful, this rich and who wields so much he can hold against you. One slip up and Hyunjin can go tell the world about how you’re the artist who disappeared to sell yourself out to rich men for all their selfish needs. And any option you have to defend yourself would never hold up against his wealthy corporation and all its investors.

But you also can’t help but give into his urges when he’s around, his lips so tantalizing on yours and his cock filling you so fully and completely when he has his way with you.

Maybe it’s not even just about the sex for you- maybe it also has something to do with his stories you live through vicariously, listening to tales of the outside world while you’re trapped in this studio or at the businesses of wealthy men. It’s also the drawings he makes for you, ones you find yourself staring at for hours after he leaves, like proof that he was here and he touched you. The drawings are you in your most tangible form, his hands on yours and his lips on the curves of your neck. It’s like a glimpse into a version of yourself that ceases to exist when he’s absent. And it’s the late hours of the night he spends asking so politely to watch you paint your older work, always so fascinated with the way your mind conjures up varying lonely figures crafted from watercolors and a nylon bristle brush. Older work you hadn’t realized you missed so dearly until you began producing it for Hyunjin again.

But you know that to Hyunjin this is just a exhilarating idea for him, to view your art the same way he carves out a couple hours each week for a museum tour or to sketch in one of his books. He probably finds it more convenient to fuck you here where nobody’s around than to stroke himself in a dorm he shares with three other men. And you can feel it in the way he so desperately pleads you to paint for him or cum for him- that his obsession with you is less about you, and more about the thought of you.

Maybe this is just the result of Hyunjin uncovering a secret nobody else paid close enough attention to connect you to. Or the thrill of you being his favorite artist for years, and realizing you’re finally tangible in front of him, real, and not disappeared like he previously took you for. You reckon it must be the same phenomenon other girls feel toward him, getting intimate with somebody they idolize, desperately cupping his face like it might dissipate if they don’t grasp hard enough. But just the thought of somebody doesn’t imply love. It doesn’t imply a mutual understanding, and it certainly doesn’t imply permanence for either party involved. When he’s gone again, you’ll cease to be real like you already are when he’s not around. And then every vision you have will be rooted in unfaltering solitude once more, your anonymous life resuming again.

“Will you cum for me?” Hyunjin asks, and you snap back to the feeling of his cock twitching in your dripping cunt as he grips your waist. “God, you don’t understand what you do to me.”

You can’t give him an answer before you feel him reaching his release inside of you, shooting thick white ropes of his cum into you and slowing his pace again as he moves your hair away from your face.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, I couldn’t help it,” Hyunjin says sheepishly as he pulls out. “Sit down for me,” he orders between kisses to your neck, trailing down to your shoulder, grazing his hands along your waist and groaning against you.

And he’s already guiding you back to one of the stools, kneeling between your legs and spreading you for him, your glistening cunt on full display for him to taste.

“Want you to cum for me,” Hyunjin whispers, before positioning one of your legs on the wooden dowels of the stool. You can’t verbalize anything to him before his tongue is darting into your entrance, lapping his own release out of you and trailing up to give attention to your swollen clit. He works you in such desperate motions, tongue working your core like a starved animal and eagerly trying to coax an orgasm out of your trembling body. When his arousal is effectively brought out of your tight cunt and painting the tip of his tongue white, he coats your clit in it, giving kitten licks to your bundle of nerves as he hums against your flesh and whispers little pleas for you to let go.

And between your pussy still clenching down around the sheer memory of his cock inside of you mere minutes ago, and his plump lips kissing all over your wettened core, you do let go for him, dribbling cum down the edge of the wooden stool and threading your fingers through his hair as he trails kisses down to your thighs in encouragement.

“So good,” Hyunjin murmurs as he comes up for air, intertwining his fingers in yours as you get cleaned up. You shoot him a little “thank you”, and Hyunjin presses a chaste kiss to the back of your hand as he nods, getting dressed once more and tucking his softened cock back into his boxers.

“Come here,” he states. “I want to ask you something.”

“Should I be concerned?”

“It’s exciting,” Hyunjin retorts.

He guides you to his same wooden stool, where he climbs upon the seat and then takes your hands in his again as you stand in front of him, pressing a small kiss to your palm before speaking.

“You know I care about you, right?” He begins, his eyebrows raised curiously.

“You’ve mentioned it,” you reply.

“And you know I love your art.”

“So you’ve told me,” you say, and Hyunjin brings your hand up to press another kiss to your palm.

“I have a proposal for you,” he then says. “And I just want you to hear me out.”

Your heart sinks at his words, already fearing the worst as you wait for him to elaborate. You pray he hasn’t done anything to reveal your identity, or to make these secret erotic sessions public, knowing you’d both never live a normal life again at either of the instances occurring.

“What is it?” You ask Hyunjin, heart racing in your chest.

He rubs his thumb along the back of your hand soothingly, trying to calm you down before he speaks.

“I privately sponsor the art gallery every year,” he begins. “I put some funding toward a painting of my choice and it allows those artists to have their pieces displayed for the winter show and make connections,” he continues.

“Okay…”

“And I want to sponsor you this year,” Hyunjin finishes, giving your hands a little squeeze.

“Hyunjin, there can't be an installment of your face at the art museum. People will get suspicious.”

“Not my face,” he says reassuringly. “Your art. Like the ones you used to do.”

And you feel your throat dry up at his words, the exact thing you’d feared coming to fruition.

“I can’t,” you’re quick to say.

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t do those paintings anymore. I can paint you, or another person or whoever. But I can’t do one of my old ones.”

“But your old ones are beautiful,” Hyunjin says. “It doesn’t have to be your old series. You can start a new one. Do something entirely different.”

“I don’t want to do something entirely different, Hyunjin. It’s a chapter of my life that’s been closed already. You know I don’t do those anymore.”

Hyunjin maintains his collected composure, his eyes softening as he speaks to you.

“You’re not happy doing portraits. I know you. You have a spark in you when you’re painting for yourself, and people love them. You deserve to be doing what you love.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, letting go of Hyunjin’s grasp and shaking your head. “I’m so grateful for the offer, but I can’t put myself back out there again.”

“You can still be anonymous,” Hyunjin offers. “Some artists I’ve sponsored choose to remain anonymous and only reveal to serious patrons of their art. I can make sure they don’t find out who you are.”

“It’s me and my art I don’t want to be seen,” you emphasize.

Hyunjin doesn’t say anything now, rising from the wooden stool and reaching for the iced coffee he’s placed on the table beside you.

“Okay. I won’t press it any further.”

He swirls the cup of ice around in his hand, and then he hangs his head in defeat.

“Hyunjin, seriously. Thank you for the offer. It’s sweet of you to consider it. But I’m not ready yet.”

He shoves a hand in his pocket and cocks his head slightly.

“Is this because of Quinton?”

“What? Hyunjin, I already told you our relationship is strictly professional-”

“Not romantically,” Hyunjin continues. “You’re like a slave to him. You do everything he tells you to do. He probably doesn’t let you leave this studio.

You’re quiet again, not answering him immediately. No, you don’t stay here at Q’s behest. But it just feels safer to follow his advice. He was just a client when you met him, but he took you under his wing to get you where you are now. He runs all your schedules, he books your appointments for you, he even gives his say on most of your work. He’s the only part of your old life that’s remained the same, despite your transition to portraits, and cutting him off would be stepping into a world completely unbeknownst to you.

“No,” you say finally, but you don’t expand further upon your stance.

“You’re so lonely here,” Hyunjin responds frustratedly. “And yet you follow orders from the same person whose job it is to keep you invisible.”

“Why should I follow your orders?” You retort.

“Because I love you.”

“You don’t love me, Hyunjin,” you reply frustratedly, finally feeling the anger overtake you as you continue your angered speech. “You love the idea of me. You love the idea of escaping your crazy rich life to try and resolve the tortured artist you’re so infatuated with. You love the idea of fulfilling somebody’s life with your presence because it’s all you do for a career. I’m not the person I was when I was doing those paintings- I do portraits now, and I work under somebody who knows what’s best for me. And you’re just a client I’m sleeping with.”

Hyunjin purses his lips, amused you would stoop that low for the purposes of declining his offer. And then he shakes his head as he speaks again.

“You’re right,” he finally says. “I’m just some client you’re sleeping with. I never tried to push you out of this line of work you hate so much, or drew you on every page of my sketch book or made love to you in every square inch of this goddamn studio. I’m not proposing this because I care about you and I want you to do what you love, it’s because I’m just a client you’re sleeping with.”

And he pivots on his heel to exit the studio, taking rushed steps toward the door as tears brim the corners of your eyes.

“Hyunjin, wait,” you call desperately.

“I see you,” Hyunjin says suddenly, turning around to face you. “I see all of you. Your work didn’t just materialize by some anonymous form. You’re a painter, a really talented one, and I don’t want you to feel this all-consuming solitude anymore. I say that because I love you, not just because I’m sleeping with you. If you want to remain invisible to everybody except Quinton, then be my guest. Just know that I tried.”

And without another word, the studio is empty again, the tip of your brush still dripping with the remnants of the warm brown color and every intention to add a second figure to your painting.

You don’t speak with Hyunjin any more that evening. Or the next day. Or perhaps for a whole week following the conversation, for that matter. The reality is that you want to partake in his offer, the thought of it candidly piquing your interest to paint something other than another rich man. And it would be nice to watch your art be displayed for people to see just once, rather than to live on the walls of a company where only people within a certain tax bracket will ever grace your work. But what you reiterated to Hyunjin still stands- you’re scared to venture out into the competitive world of art galleries again. Your old series was a hit, sure, but it was also torn down relentlessly by those who didn’t understand it and those who simplified it down to its medium. And it was a much harder endeavor to make people understand your watercolor forms, unlike the portraits Q advises you continue producing.

But you can’t seem to stop thinking of Hyunjin’s proposal as a whole, understanding very well that his offer is one of the kindest things he could propose to you at this place in your life. He sees you- all of you, and subsequently he knows that you’re unhappy in this monotonous abyss of adding new features to the same faces every day. The way a change for you is determined only by a shift in a client’s pose or even just an addition of their pet- it’s all so repetitive, exactly what art isn’t supposed to be.

Maybe you’re just scared of getting rejected again, or perhaps it’s that you’re scared of finally being seen again, anonymous or not, putting yourself on the map again and being perceived.

“I want a painting,” Hyunjin says as he saunters into the studio one evening, throwing off his bag and dragging a stool to the middle of the room.

“Oh- Hyunjin, pleased to see you again,” Q remarks, bowing and giving you a nervous look.

Hyunjin doesn’t even acknowledge him, keeping a stern gaze locked on yours as if he’s challenging you.

“We have the evening booked today,” Q begins. “But I’m sure we can accommodate something for next week-”

“I need it now,” Hyunjin replies. “I’m willing to pay five times your asking price.”

And you narrow your eyes at Hyunjin, knowing he’s making his best attempt to provoke you and disrupt the work you’re completing per Q’s orders.

“How do you want it?” Q then asks, not hesitating to put aside your entire evening for Hyunjin’s offer.

“I want to be in a suit. And I want to be holding a wad of cash. I want to look like an investor.”

“Interesting,” Q says, his gaze flickering to yours. “She can do it though.”

Q turns to face you, giving you a knowing look as he raises his eyebrows. “I’ll clear your calendar for today and we can stay and work on this piece.”

And Hyunjin looks to you, too, waiting for you to protest, to say something along the lines of a refusal to partake in the outlandish task. But you avert both of their gazes, readying your paint palette and gesturing to one of the stools in front of you.

“Have a seat,” you say plainly, void of any emotion or desire to fulfill the task. And by the way Q hovers over you, void of autonomy, too, Hyunjin concludes.

“How are things at the company?” Q asks Hyunjin, leaning in a little too close to you as you begin painting long strokes on the canvas.

“Fine,” Hyunjin says, not taking his gaze off yours. His eyes are narrowed like he’s challenging you, yet you don’t give him the reaction he searches for.

“You must be busy,” Q remarks, his hands folded behind his back. “It’s been a while since we’ve seen you here.”

“Yeah, and I’m sure you’re running her schedule like the fucking military,” Hyunjin retorts, cocking an eyebrow at him. Q takes a sharp breath, but he doesn’t argue, doing his best to keep in line at your highest-paying client.

“She’s pretty busy,” Q replies reluctantly. “But it’s nothing she can’t handle.”

Hyunjin doesn’t say anything, again waiting for you to chime in, but you still don’t, working on adding details to Hyunjin’s tresses on the canvas.

“This will be my final session,” Hyunjin then says, and your head snaps to meet his gaze.

“Is that so?” Q questions. “Going overseas again?”

“Indefinitely,” Hyunjin replies. “Not overseas, I’ve just no need for the paintings anymore.”

Your lips part as though to ask if he’s serious, but you can’t, not with Q here alongside you.

“I have so many of them now,” Hyunjin remarks, not taking his eyes off you. “It’s been a lovely time with the two of you, but I won’t be returning after this evening. I hope you understand.”

“Please don’t hesitate to reach out if there’s anything we can provide you with,” Q voices. “I hope we’ll remain connected with the peers at your company.”

“Oh, you will,” Hyunjin replies. “I’m sure the investors and the senior managers will love portraits of their own. She’ll have a lifetime of portraits to complete when I’m gone.”

You can feel a pit forming in your stomach, queasy at the thought of carrying on this task of capturing rich businessmen and ceasing your sessions with Hyunjin. He’s unmoving in his attempts to make you revisit your old art. But his begging has also been eye-opening, making you realize just how much you hate this line of work and having Q breathe down your neck.

Hyunjin has a point, you’re unhappy doing portraits. You love the watercolor figures you paint, you love your time with Hyunjin and the feeling of unending curiosity he instills in you. There’s no solitude when he’s around, filling every aspect of your life with such color and vibrancy like the figures you paint. And you learn from him just as much as he learns from you.

But the fear remains, the feeling of hopelessness remains, the perception that Hyunjin is only obsessed with an idea of you and that your career is far gone from the watercolor figures you painted so long ago.

And of course, that you require Q’s uncompromising presence in your life to be even close to successful. He’s the one who transitioned you to a successful career of portraits after your previous line of work fell through. And you’re not sure you can shift to a new focus without him to guide you.

“Hyunjin,” you say suddenly, garnering the attention of both he and Q.

“What is it?” Q replies, as though you’re referring to him. And you wish he wouldn’t be so… disruptive, making you lose your train of thought as Hyunjin waits for your words with bated breath.

“I’ve completed the initial outline,” you settle on saying. “It should be sent over to you in a couple days.”

And he nods, a somber, thin-lipped expression on his face as he understands you’re never going to divert from this path of fear you walk, one you’re forcing yourself to stick to.

“Thank you,” Hyunjin responds, getting up to leave again. “I’ll see you around.”

Private events are seldom actually private for Hyunjin. The interior of the gallery is organized accordingly so that patrons can mingle with their respective artists and all of the prestigious guests invited.

But the exterior is only private up the crowd control stanchions, where beyond it live hordes of people wielding all sorts of fancy cameras and cell phones, snapping photo after photo and analyzing every one of Hyunjin’s movements.

Hyunjin’s attending an art gallery today, the crowds murmur amongst each other, the message echoing all over the city and overshadowing the art itself, which hasn’t even been unveiled yet.

His departure from the black limousine he arrives in is met instantly with deafening screams, the repetitive click of camera shutters and commands for him to angle his face every which way. The people stop to stare at his fitted black suit, the long black hair he sports styled slick out of his face and expensive jewelry he flaunts as a clear indicator that he’s a sponsor of the evening’s show, alongside a long list of other wealthy individuals.

His hands remain tucked in the pockets of his black slacks, giving a gracious bow to the fans before making his way inside to the main event.

And the gallery is significantly more packed than he’s used to, people crowding every square inch of the marbled floors and admiring the intricate pieces of art. The curtains are pulled back neatly so that guests can roam freely among the halls, easels set up in neat rows and canvases mounted on walls to display all the sponsored works of art.

Hyunjin is quick to gravitate to the long white table pushed against the wall by the entrance, set up with generous servings of hors d’oeuvres. And in a bout of nervousness, he’s sampling the cheese platters and the varying flavors of wine, sighing as he swirls a glass of cherry merlot between his slender fingers.

He was supposed to be here sponsoring you tonight, unveiling your paintings for the world to appreciate once again, and so that he’d finally put forth the notion that you’re more than the halls of law offices your portraits exist in.

But that was three weeks ago now- three weeks in which Hyunjin failed to visit you like he’d warned he would. And three weeks in which neither of you reconnected, letting the temporary affair between you dissipate like the sketches he stopped producing of you, like the portraits he finished collecting from you. And like the hope he held onto that maybe you’d come around and entertain a life in which you aren’t so comfortable being invisible and inhibited at the hands of your Q. But that never came around, and although Hyunjin is frustrated with you, he misses you just as much, knowing very well he could spend a lifetime learning from you if only you let him. Now in the gallery he once dragged you to, where he admitted to having learned the secret you hid, he can only pray you know that he sees you for who you are, and not some invisible producer of your static portraits. That a life lived in complete solitude doesn’t have to be the answer to succumbing to your fears, even if it feels more comfortable than the perception and the critiques of others. And that although the idea of you was a lovely one indeed, he loves every part of you, not just the concept of you- and pushing you to grow was his way of making it known.

The gallery hosts are quick to introduce the paintings and their respective sponsors, a variety of them being under anonymous titles and names as they choose to remain hidden, too. But Hyunjin doesn’t wait around to listen to much of it, examining the paintings on his own in between nervous trips to the snack table, where he gets tipsy off a little too much cherry wine. It’s his first time not being a sponsor to a specific painting, instead having opted to donate a large sum to the gallery in his company’s name. But after you declined his invitation to be sponsored, Hyunjin didn’t see it fit to highlight the work of any other painting. It’s you he wants to see up there, proudly showing off your work and making a name for yourself in the industry again the way he knows you secretly want to. And he so badly wishes he could stop by your studio one last time to tell you that he’s not sure he can ever sponsor another painting again if it’s not one of yours. Your art circles his mind relentlessly, as do your words, your heart, your body and your real, tangible presence.

“Nice, isn’t it?” A voice says from beside Hyunjin. He almost jumps, the wine making him a little tired at this point in the evening, not having socialized with many people while he stands in the corner of the room and takes in the sight.

“Quinton?” Hyunjin voices plainly, scowling at his uptight demeanor as he leans against the table beside Hyunjin and crosses his legs.

“So nice to see our former highest-painting client,” Q responds. “And to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I’ve never seen you at one of these,” Hyunjin chimes in. He then looks around the room frantically, thinking maybe you’d accompanied him to the event tonight.

“Don’t bother,” Q says, as he takes a sip of wine. “I’m alone. Just scoping out the competition.”

He’s quiet for a moment, swirling his glass of wine around in his hand before speaking again.

“She never had a portrait at one of these gallery shows. Said they felt too commercial. Of course her old stuff was shown just about everywhere. I think she was just scared.”

“You mean- you knew?” Hyunjin questions.

“Of course I knew. I led her career’s entire rebranding. Of course she didn’t love the portraits, but the money came to us like you wouldn’t believe. And coupled with her fear of these gallery walks and important figures, we had no choice but to compromise. I got her the opportunity to paint people like you. And she did all the work.”

Hyunjin doesn’t say anything for a moment, simply shaking his head and crossing his legs, too.

“She had a lot of people who believed in her art.”

Q shrugs. “She was free to walk whenever she wanted. Her fear kept her controlled, not me. I’m just another businessman for all she cares.”

And Hyunjin gives a small nod, finishing the last of his wine.

“Look, I can’t help but feel like I owe you an apology,” Hyunjin says finally. “I was just a little jealous whenever you were around. Not that there was anything going on, I just mean-”

“You think you’re the first client to have taken a liking to her?” Q interrupts. “I’ve seen it a million times. People want to take advantage and they get obsessed, and they start pulling crazy shit like offering five times the pay for a simple portrait.”

Q looks down to examine his leather shoes, adjusting the glasses that rest on the bridge of his nose. And then he sighs frustratedly before speaking again.

“I would know,” Q then says, doing his best to avert Hyunjin’s gaze. “She’s a tough one to crack. She loves her paintings, and being alone and I don’t think she’d ever give the time of day to a good man. Not even if he followed her to her next endeavor.”

Hyunjin nods at the marbled floor, and then his head snaps in the direction of Q’s somber gaze.

The way he speaks of you, the way he gets a little too close to you for Hyunjin’s liking- Hyunjin finally thinks he understands. It’s not just the fear of being perceived that keeps you from picking up your old life again. It’s the fear of abandoning Q, who so arrogantly feels like he’s owed something for helping get you back on your feet after you shifted your work’s focus.

He’s the only other person who knows your secret, and he holds it over you like it makes him more important than anyone else in your life. He reduces you to a lifetime of following his orders, likely because he’s bitter that he was never the solution to your loneliness. A wealthy businessman himself, it was Q who kept returning for paintings once not long ago, accumulating piles of your work and making every last effort to pursue you. But when he wasn’t successful, he convinced you that you were right about your fears, that it was your best move to take his advice and he’d keep you turning a generous profit as long as you stuck by him. Q was so hopelessly devoted to an idea of you, and when he couldn’t help you overcome your fears, he became the catalyst for your fears, instead.

“You and I are a lot of the same,” Q voices. “Two rich men with dreams just out of our reach. It seems money can’t buy you everything, after all.”

Hyunjin doesn’t say anything, swallowing nervously and looking at Q. And then Q shakes his head as he sets his glass of wine down on the table.

“Only I’ve never seen her willingly paint the same client so many times the way she does with you,” he finishes. “I guess she really liked being seen, after all.”

Q adjusts his glasses once more, and Hyunjin feels his heart sink at Q’s words, suddenly feeling overwhelmingly guilty for not having contacted you again.

“Could you tell her I stopped by?” Hyunjin inquires.

“Me? Oh no,” Q begins. “I can’t get in contact with her. No one can.”

“You- what? What do you mean?”

“Exactly that,” Q responds. “She told me she was done, and she walked out on me with a single watercolor palette and a notepad. She didn’t say anything else.”

“Did she say where she was going?” Hyunjin interrupts to ask, and Q shakes his head.

“She just left, and it’s been almost a month and she’s still MIA. Maybe she’ll come crawling back when she needs another rebranding.”

Hyunjin can feel his heart sinking deeper and deeper with every passing word that leaves Q’s lips.

He’s tried your cell phone- twice since leaving, and you never answered. But he assumed it to be a fleeting argument that would eventually make amends in due time when he could stomach visiting the studio again- not you running away from all of this for good.

“I have to go,” Hyunjin says frantically, chugging the rest of his wine and slamming his glass on the table.

“It was me who found her the first time,” Q says, not taking his eyes off the art across the room.

“What?”

“It was me who chased after her. After she disappeared. Don’t be surprised if she shuts you out when you finally do find her- I think I’ve already scarred her enough with my relentless attempts at persuasion.”

Hyunjin nods nervously, watching as Q cocks his head at the art, still averting Hyunjin’s gaze. And when he finally does turn to look at him, his eyes are glossy with tears, guilt painting every feature on his face.

“Could you just tell her I’m sorry?”

Hyunjin nods, though he makes no verbal promise to relay the message to you.

“Don’t do what I did,” Q emphasizes. “I think you’re the one person who makes her feel like art, herself. Don’t ruin this.”

“I forgot my ID today,” Hyunjin remarks to the security guard in the late hours of the evening. He’s met with a gracious bow, the same security guard opening the door and ushering him inside anyway.

“Don’t worry about it. Take as long as you need.”

The security guards all know Hyunjin very well now, taking note of the way his visits increased tenfold following your departure from the city.

At first he felt as though maybe he was searching for you when he’d come out here, any ounce of proof that you had indeed existed the way he remembered, and hopeful for the confirmation that you moved on to something new.

But as paintings cycled through their respective artists, and exhibits cycled through varying themes, it was a confirmation he never received, never finding a hint of you among the gallery. Thus, Hyunjin drew the hopeful conclusion that you’d escaped to a nicer city, worked on your old paintings again and made a new life for yourself, independently instead of under the overbearing presence of any other man. It’s what he wishes, at least, feeling disheartened every time he remembers you’ve very seldom lived any part of your professional career for yourself only.

The gallery is quiet at this hour, akin to the silent gray evening beyond its walls, and Hyunjin’s shoes squeak along the floors as he makes his way over to the curtains that veil the artwork.

New sculptures, by the same artist who had formed the paper mache ones. These ones are formed from wire and clay, the figures once again embracing each other in tender touches and dances. Hyunjin studies every careful bend and arch, making a mental note to sketch some of them when he gets a chance.

Another room houses a similar spread of modern art from before, these ones all coinciding with the warm lighting that hangs overhead, strokes along the canvases all housing similar warm-toned hues. He knows you’d love this installment and its careful attention to making use of color.

And the last room, the same little room behind a curtain, a small bench in front of a colossal canvas and just barely lit for his eyes to make out the scene.

Hyunjin’s seated before he can even examine the artwork, squinting carefully at the painting to get a better look. He even makes a conscious decision to put on his black frame glasses, making every attempt to get a proper look at the artwork in front of him.

Diluted hues of paint and water dance along the canvas, figured outlines he’s very familiar with, and the essence of solitude radiating from every brush stroke. Only this one isn’t one figure- it’s two, a warm-toned figure and a cool-toned outline holding each other in a tender embrace, their faces indistinguishable, true to the mystery of your work.

And between them, bright hues of paint, yellows, blues, magentas, fantastic mixtures of chartreuse and vermillion, all painted like brush strokes along their yearning bodies and illustrating a profound sense of togetherness, much more robust than the ever-present solitude.

“Visions of you in solitude,” reads the small bronze beneath the canvas.

As he cocks his head to make sense of the painting, he feels the leather of the bench dip beside him, indicating the presence of another patron. And at this hour, he doesn’t need to turn his head to understand who it is.

“There’s two,” Hyunjin says with a small smile, not averting his gaze from the painting.

“It felt incomplete without one.”

“Is that…”

“You?” You question quietly.

He nods in response, eyes scanning the swatches of paint between their bodies. It has to be me, he thinks. It has to be us.

“Maybe it is,” you reply. “I don’t disclose my processes to just about anyone. But you’re welcome to make your assumptions how you see fit.”

Hyunjin gives a breathy chuckle, finally turning to meet your gaze.

You look lighter- happier, as though you have the weight of your fears and reservations off your shoulders for once. Hyunjin can’t help but lean a little closer into you before stopping himself, knowing he can’t come in here to mirror the same thing Q once did long ago.

“You’re doing galleries,” he settles on saying.

“And they scare the hell out of me,” you respond, huffing a little at the end of your sentence. “But, it is nice to be seen again.”

He gives a little nod, and then his mind goes back to Q, who had asked to relay his version of an apology to you. But Hyunjin hesitates to speak of him, not wanting to taint your new art with the mentions of the old businessmen who took advantage of you.

“I’d have kept my distance if I knew how this went down the first time,” Hyunjin explains, hoping you’ll get what he implies. “It wasn’t fair of me to ask you to shift your focus. I just wanted you to be happy.”

You sigh for a moment, scanning the painting across from you, too, before turning to speak to him once more.

“Of all the clients I’ve painted, you were the first to ask about my vision. I think you do see me. And I think it was easier to say you loved an idea of me, because I couldn’t understand why you’d love any other part.”

Hyunjin nods, not taking his eyes off of yours.

“I learn from you the same way you learned from me,” you continue. “And you make me feel so seen. But I’m learning how to do that without needing you, too. Getting comfortable with my loneliness, I don’t think it’s something I was able to practice very much. At least not with…”

Hyunjin nods, not needing to hear Q’s name to know who you speak of.

“I understand,” Hyunjin voices. “And I want you to take all the time that you need. What matters is that you feel fulfilled, and that you’re not being pushed at the hands of somebody else. That’s more than enough for me to love you at a distance.”

And you nod at him, your heart swelling at his words as he turns to look back at the painting once more. The two of you stay there like that for several minutes, observing the way you’ve so carefully captured the togetherness you feel when you’re beside him. Swatches of paints that echo the color he brings into your life, and yet rooted in the solitude you’re still learning to be comfortable with. Visions of him in your own solitude, also creating a version of yourself that will continue to learn from him as much as he learns from you. And still art at the hands of him, both when you’re loving him wholly, and at this comfortable distance from each other.

And by the summer months, he’ll love you at a close proximity when you’re ready again, exchanging passionate embraces behind the curtains at galleries and making love to you in your shared apartment. He’ll continue to draw for you, and remain the biggest fan of the two-piece figures you illustrate with watercolors, capturing the same sense of togetherness and yet unwavering solitude that comes with breaking yourself down to the world around you. And the love will be reciprocated unconditionally by you, who finally feels seen at the hands of somebody who perceives you beyond just a concept.

But for now, he’ll remain right here, at this comfortable distance, allowing himself to learn from you as much as you learn from him. And the love will be undemanding, but it will be real, tangible.

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hyunsungbased · 6 months

Text

Oh I love this so bad

𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐤𝐞 | windows, chapter one

pairing: hyunjin x f!reader | wordcount: 9.7k | genre: romance, strangers to lovers | warnings: brief mention of alzheimer's disease; angst ; mentions of a fictional cult & of cult-related trauma (past events, childhood) ; mentions of a toxic relationship + difficult breakup (past events). Adult content and sexually explicit content ; more warnings under the cut. This work is for adult audiences ; reader discretion is advised. [ Rated: Mature ; Explicit ; Explicit+++ ]

You had always been too much and not enough for this world. You would never fit in it, and that was one tough pill to swallow.

Explicit warnings: mentions of MC's past (unfulfilling) sex life ; mentions of semi-public sex + unprotected sex. Note that this chapter gives a few details about a fictional cult and its unfortunate activities.

You met Hyunjin unexpectedly.

His dance studio was across the street from the coffee shop you worked at. The kind of story told a million times before, and surely to be told even after the end of dance studios and coffee shops.

You got the job after graduating from college, after leaving a toxic work environment, and also after leaving an even more toxic relationship. You moved to another city and saw an ad for a job on the train ride there. You applied and got the job the same day, but you’ve always suspected it was because the owner’s mom was present while he met with you. She became quite fond of you immediately. She pestered her son the whole time he was questioning you about your knowledge of coffee and how to run a cash register. “For the love of God, Changbin—you’re insulting this lovely lady’s intelligence if you think she can’t pour coffee into cups and press keys on a keyboard.”

Of course, the work entailed a lot more than pouring coffee into cups and pressing keys on a keyboard, but you still owed your job to Mrs. Seo, and were very grateful for it. Officially, she was retired. But she was a mother, and so she felt compelled to visit her son’s coffee shop regularly. Changbin had opened it after his grandmother’s passing, using money left by her. As much as it had been difficult to lose her, it had given him the opportunity to turn his life around. To have something that was his.

Changbin could pretend to be annoyed by his mom all he wanted—both you and her knew very well he was genuinely happy to see her come through the glass door. He had named his coffee shop Capella, because his father was fascinated with astronomy. Capella was one of the brightest stars in the sky, but there was a twist—it wasn’t one single celestial body, but a two-star system that appeared as one from Earth, something that Changbin had explained to you the day of your interview.

One of Changbin’s biggest regrets, you came to learn, was that he regretted not delving deeper into his father’s passion—his father suffered from early-onset Alzheimer’s and his condition had worsened dramatically in the past three years. One time, Changbin had talked to you about it, although he didn’t like it, but it was after he had visited his dad at the assisted living facility he stayed at. That day, Changbin had admitted to you that his father couldn’t remember how to use a fork, no matter how hard Changbin had tried to make him hold it and stick the food onto the fork. It just didn’t work. He remembered how to use a spoon, though, Changbin had said. That, he knew.

When he was younger, Changbin sometimes followed his father on nighttime hikes but he spent most of the evening on his phone instead of looking through his father’s telescope. The little attention he had given to those astronomy lessons had earned him a limited knowledge of the night sky. There was so much he had forgotten. There was so much he had never learned—stars, constellations, comets and meteors. Capella, though, he knew.

It was an ordinary coffee shop in a quiet part of the city. There was a bus stop on the opposite corner and sometimes people would grab their coffee before crossing the intersection to make it to their bus. Beyond that were a couple of residential buildings, a corner shop, and a park. When you worked the morning shift, you liked to take a walk around the park afterward, to appreciate some peace and quiet, as a lot of people came into the shop in the morning.

But that didn’t matter, not really—what was most important was the dance school right across the street from the coffee shop. It was a fairly standard building, made of red bricks in a darker shade. The color was a little muted, hinting that the building was older, but it was in good condition. The school’s name was Arabesque, and you liked the pretty sign by the door, with a silhouette on it that was performing the ballet move the school was named after.

It had those tall arch windows on the second floor, where most of the studios were. The first floor was occupied by what you could only assume was the school’s administrative offices, and what you thought was a lecture or a concert hall. You had never actually gone in, although you would have been able to one Thursday a month, when the school hosted open house nights that the public could attend. But you didn’t go for a long time.

Why would you?

You sometimes worked the morning shift but you most often worked in the evenings. Changbin was a morning person whereas you weren’t at all, so it just worked better that way. He had offered you that shift eight months after you started working for him, promising that his mom had nothing to do with it—that he did think you could handle managing the shop while he wasn’t there. And, he had been right.

You liked the evening shift because most of the time, things were quiet. For the most part, you did prep for the next day, and enjoyed making sure that everything would be ready when Changbin opened in the morning. Of course, you served clients in between that, but most of them were students working on their laptops or reading textbooks, and they did not bother you much, except to ask for a second or third cup of coffee. You had your favorites, and you generally liked to offer them some cake too, on the house. It was always a silent agreement so as not to make other patrons jealous or upset. You’d ring the cup of coffee into the register, and say, did you have dessert tonight? Would you like some chocolate cake? And then you’d pretend to type it into the register and just give it to the kids. It worked out too because Changbin insisted on serving freshly baked cake every day. Leftovers were frozen and given away to employees or people in need.

This was what you did in the evenings—you stacked empty cups for the next morning, you cleaned the food display counter and the plates in it and restocked anything that needed restocking. After closing the shop, you stayed for another hour and a half to bake the cakes for the next day. You sanitized every possible surface while they baked, and Changbin would assemble them in the morning. You enjoyed working there, but that last hour and a half was the best part of any day. The door was locked and it was just you in the shop, except for when Changbin was late in his paperwork and he stayed in his tiny office all night to get it done. When it was just you, you liked to play music on the shop’s speakers, or podcasts even. It helped you unwind.

There were always many things in your mind, the sort of thoughts that even your therapist hadn’t been able to loosen up. They stayed anchored to your neural pathways like a winter that refused to end, lingering and leaving the world gray and cold for too long. You often thought about the numerous failures that adorned the journey of your life. You had a complicated relationship with your mother—you knew she loved you and you loved her, but she was your mother and like any mother did, she projected her own fears and failures onto you. One thing about mothers is they never stop carrying you in their bellies—they think they can still attach or remove parts of their daughters even well into adulthood. As though they were saying, I had nine months to make you, but it was not enough.

There were more ghosts in your mind, haunting you day and night. But the worst of them all was Daeshim, and you were ashamed of that. You didn’t like that you still carried all these wounds from him. And they were heavy, but you were so used to them that you didn’t feel them anymore. It usually took an outsider’s perspective to make you realize that something wasn’t quite right. As though someone would look at you for a while and ask, why is your back all bent and crooked like this?

But it was the damage, the wounds. One might believe that a heart and a soul full of holes would be lighter, but they’d be wrong. When you said that to Changbin one night, he talked about black holes, and how they’re the heaviest objects in the universe. You may not know much about astronomy, but you knew that, and you knew that whatever entered a black hole never came out of it, it was just swallowed into darkness, into nothingness, and never seen again. You were becoming your wounds and your wounds were becoming you and you were collapsing under the weight of your own existence.

You met Daeshim in college. A typical story—one of your friends had classes with some of his friends, and you went to a party and he was there. You spent most of the night with your friend until she ditched you to make out with some guy outside. Daeshim took her spot beside you, striking conversation as though he had always known you. You were not as comfortable as he was with strangers, but he was funny. Among his interests, there were many of his that you liked. Now, you’ve come to realize it had always been a one-way road. You were interested in his stuff but he had never cared much for yours.

But he was charming, and sweet. He said that he and his friends were going to try a new bar-restaurant the next night and that you should come too, because apparently that place was very cool. You did go, but it turned out that it was just you and Daeshim. One time, later in your relationship with him, you asked if he had planned it like that so that he could have a date with you, and he said no—his friends had decided to go to a party instead, and he almost went but he wanted to fuck you. He did not fuck you that night at the restaurant because you left early since you had an exam that Monday. But you talked a lot and he kissed you goodbye after exchanging numbers with you.

You probably fell in love somewhere in the first month of dating him. He was your second boyfriend, so you didn’t have a lot of experience regarding that. You had ended things with the first when both of you realized you were better as friends. It felt different with Daeshim. He threw a surprise party for his brother Minjun on his birthday and everybody got very drunk. He ended up fucking you for the first time that night and there was no ceremony to it. He fucked you from behind in his apartment’s tiny bathroom, your elbows sore from being propped on the sink. He told you that he loved you that night after you let him finish inside.

You dated him for two years, during which he asked for a break three times, breaking your heart each time, or perhaps just turning it colder. He grew distant after the first year but when you confronted him about it, he would just say it was because the honeymoon phase of the relationship was over, that it was normal for couples to go through this. But don’t you miss me? You wanted to ask him. Don’t you want to do things with me, don’t you want to hear about my days, or the book I just read? You never did ask him. You really should have, maybe it would have made things more obvious for you. Maybe some part of you didn’t want to know.

You realized things were bad with the hair towel.

You had bought these purple microfiber towels at the mall in the next town over, with him. “I’ll leave them at your place,” you had told Daeshim. You lived in a dorm with six roommates, but he had an apartment because his parents came from money. He never mentioned you moving in. He owned a lot of things, collected many items, and didn’t have a lot of space. Besides, his place wasn’t that far from your place, so it wasn’t like it would make that big of a difference. That’s what he said, at least.

A random day though, you accidentally brought back one of the towels to your apartment. You never bothered taking it back to his place so it just stayed in your towel drawer. Every time you used it, you thought of Daeshim, though.

One day, you began associating Daeshim showing you affection with the use of this towel. Yes, it was the sort of behavior that would make therapy very, very expensive and yes, you were aware of that.

You’d shower, and when you’d use that towel to wring your hair dry and go about your day, something would happen. He would text you a lot on those days, and even call you sexy and, on a few occasions, met you in between classes for a quickie.

You knew better now. You knew that the towel had nothing to do with the love Daeshim had—or rather, didn’t have—for you. You knew that your brain had been starved of love to the point of pavloving itself into believing pretty much anything, including that using a specific purple microfiber towel to dry up your hair would make your boyfriend love you.

You knew, now, that leaving in the middle of a lecture so that your boyfriend could use you as his personal cumdump without even asking if you had an orgasm was nothing short of pathetic. But you loved him, so you endured. One day, you lost the towel and had your first panic attack. It was bad enough that you thought you’d have to go to the hospital. You couldn’t breathe, you couldn’t even think. You eventually found the towel behind the dryer.

Another time, you caught your roommate using the towel. You were close with her and often borrowed each other’s things like this. You couldn’t let it show how upset you were because deep down, you knew it was irrational. But at that moment, you feared that since your friend had used the towel on her hair, Daeshim would fall in love with her and leave you. That night, you cried the hardest you had ever cried. The next day, with red puffy eyes and all, you met Daeshim at his apartment after your class, and you asked him about what he wanted for his future. He said this: Oh, I don’t know, I don’t think about the future. Time is an abstract concept to me.

But if he had asked you the same question, you would have said that you didn’t know exactly what the future held for you, but that you hoped he would be in it, that you would try to be the best girlfriend for him so that he was indeed an integral part of your future. He did not ask you. That night, you had your second panic attack.

It took you several months—and panic attacks—until you broke up with him. You actually still owned that purple microfiber towel, but it was no longer a blessing nor a curse. It was just a purple microfiber towel for your hair.

It haunted you. Not him per se—you hadn’t loved him for a long time before breaking up with him, you just hadn’t realized it yet. But he had left damage behind and it was your burden. You were lonely. You were alone. Your mother begged you to meet people, begged you to go on dates, to go out. Something, anything.

But you couldn’t. Because of the towel. Because of all the ways he hadn’t loved you right. Because of all those times he asked for breaks, probably because he wanted to fuck some girl and not burden himself with the guilt of cheating on you. Because you had known true misery, and despair, because you were intimate with sorrow, and you couldn’t endure any more than you had.

There’s only so much damage a heart can withstand, and yours had reached its limit a while ago. You hadn’t been quite the same since Daeshim—something in you had shattered, and you only lived a half-life. You hadn’t noticed anyone really, not like that.

Until Hyunjin began teaching at the dance school across the street.

You heard about Hyunjin before you saw him.

It was late afternoon just before dinner, and a group of three people entered the coffee shop. They ordered cool drinks—iced tea and iced americanos. You were working with Seungmin that day, and he mixed the teas while you made the coffees. You were a nosy person, but not in a bad way—you didn’t necessarily go out of your way to eavesdrop, but you found comfort in bits and pieces of conversation caught on the go. It was a reminder that the world was alive even if you felt otherwise. You had noticed that these three had come out from the dance school and crossed the narrow road to buy their drinks.

“That new guy is insane,” one of the students said while they waited. He did look disheveled and a little tired, you couldn’t help but notice that. “I’ll be dead at the end of that class for sure.”

“He’s the best though,” another retorted. “He’s like a genius.”

“You know what they say about geniuses though,” the third commented. “They may be great at what they do, it doesn’t mean they’re great at teaching it.”

But they thanked you for the drinks and left the shop just like that, leaving you without the end of the story. You were certain you’d hear more about this new dance teacher though, as students from the school often visited Capella before or after their classes.

In fact, so many clients came from there that you heard a lot of gossip, little pieces of information you’d listen to as you sanitized tables or served drinks. A few months ago, there had been a huge scandal among the students because it had come to be known that the director of the school was in a romantic relationship with one of the teachers, who was in the middle of a divorce. Everybody assumed that this “relationship” might have started out as an affair and was in fact the cause of the teacher’s divorce.

You didn’t know for sure what was the truth, but the director of the school did visit the coffee shop rather often, with his new girlfriend. She was gorgeous, he was handsome, and both of them seemed like decent, good people. Chris and Ri-na. They tipped very generously and were excessively kind to everyone. Both of them had smiles like sunrises. You thought that maybe Chris had just married the wrong person the first time. As in, for a while, you really wanted Daeshim to propose to you. You would have married him. But it wouldn’t have made him the right person for you.

You can’t make someone be your soulmate. You can call them so every day, it doesn’t make it any truer—the word just becomes a lie one tells themselves so that they don’t drown. Something to anchor themselves to. Now you knew better. You knew that if you ever came across your soulmate, you would be able to know, to really know, that it was them. And it was a little scary.

The rest of the day went smoothly, except for the fact that you ran out of cucumber salad before the end of dinner. You made a mental note to prepare a little more for tomorrow, which you did later while Seungmin was at the front serving clients. He left around eight, when the shop was empty, and you wished him a good evening before he left. He was a good employee, hardworking, and rarely at fault. Part-time student, he wanted to work in the movie industry someday. You respected that.

The sun went down earlier than usual because of a thick layer of clouds, and it made you crave for hot chocolate. You made yourself a large cup—with extra marshmallows and some cinnamon—and continued working on all the prep for the next day, serving clients when they came in, and locking the door behind the last one of them after she had been done eating her apple caramel-apple tart.

Capella had two large windows on the front, giving a great view of the street and the surroundings. Sometimes, when it was late, you liked to draw the curtains for some privacy, but you didn’t feel like it tonight, and something caught your eye.

At this hour—almost nine in the evening—Arabesque was closed, and you rarely saw any action coming from it, except when they gave a dance recital or something. But that night, you did.

The lights were on in one of the rooms on the second floor, permeating the air with their golden yellow glow. You had never noticed how warm the lighting was, maybe because you rarely saw it from that room. The school offered night classes once a week, but they weren’t given in that studio.

From your point of view behind the register, you just saw this—the two wide arch-top windows, glowing in the night, sparsely illuminating the bricks around them and the pavement on the street below. You saw parts of the dance studio—off-white walls, adorned with posters for various dance concerts and even movies. You saw a corner of what you could only assume was the large mirror wall at the far end of the room. You saw the big, industrial-style fixtures on the ceiling from which the light trickled.

And you saw him, too.

A man. He seemed tall but it might just have been the angle you were looking from. He was dancing—nothing that ought to have surprised you in a dance studio. His long dark hair was held in a messy bun behind his head, loose brown locks framing his face and the nape of his neck where they had escaped the hair tie. He wore simple clothing—a gray sleeveless shirt and dark sweatpants. And he was just dancing.

Except it wasn’t just dancing.

You had been working here for a while now, and you had seen your fair share of dancing. You liked it, you enjoyed it a lot—sometimes, on clear days, students from the school wanted to enjoy some fresh air and went to the park nearby where they practiced their routines and moves. It almost always ended in a little dance party that put a smile on the people passing by. A few times, some students had recognized you from the coffee shop and had invited you to join, but you always declined. You loved watching people dance, but you couldn’t move to save your life. And it was okay like that.

You had seen a lot of things through those windows, but you had never ever seen something like this.

This man’s body moved with a precision you didn’t think could be achieved by a human being. Yet not a single part of him lacked elegance, and he moved as accurately as he moved gracefully. If he did one sharp motion with an arm, the hand was held in a delicate position, almost daintily, allowed to sway without restrictions, mirroring some other part of him—the other arm, or a leg, perhaps. And yet, none of it seemed random. It was all calculated, and whether this was a rehearsed choreography or something improvised did not change a thing about that.

You stood there in the empty coffee shop, watching. You could almost hear the music he was dancing to, as though he was singing along to the melody using his body instead of his voice. You admired every shift in his body, every move—sharp or flowy, rapid or slow, prominent or subtle. It seemed that every part of his body moved independently and yet he moved in perfect coordination.

He moved with beauty. And he was that, too—beautiful. You saw it from across the street. You saw it through the dance school’s arch-top windows, you saw it through Capella’s wide storefront windows. You felt the warmth from the golden-yellow lights. You felt another kind of warmth from him, too. Like you were watching something sacred, something holy. The kind of feeling one might get when entering an old cathedral or a quiet temple. The kind of feeling one might get when they watch a sunset, or stare at the ocean.

You only came to when the man disappeared from your field of view. You moved through the room, trying to see if you could catch one last glimpse of him to no avail. You lost all hope when, a few moments later, the lights turned off in the dance studio.

You were straight-up dazed when you returned to your food prep, looking at the shredded carrot to make carrot cake as though you had never in your life seen a vegetable. You knew the recipe by heart, but whenever you tried to think about it, all that came to your mind was a body moving like the fire and smoke alike.

Get your shit together. It was just a dance. Part of a dance even, seen from across the street, performed by a complete stranger you had never seen before. A student with high ambitions, no doubt—perhaps he had an audition tomorrow, something important. Maybe he wanted to be selected by a big and important company. He most certainly had the talent for it. You wished him the best of luck in your mind, and returned to your cake. To the best of your ability.

The shredded carrots were drying up in a mesh strainer with a paper towel. You found that if you skipped this step, the cake was too soggy, and who liked soggy carrot cake? You sifted your flour and dry ingredients before cracking the eggs into the stand-mixer that Changbin had bought a few months back. Because his mother urged him to do so, arguing that it would be a lot more practical than a hand mixer. And, truly, it was. The secret was to beat the eggs with the oil and then add the brown sugar—most people would do it the other way around, but you had realized the cake was more airy and soft when you did it like that.

A muffled bang made you look away from the batter that was being mixed gently. You looked around, unable to locate the source of the sound, although it reminded you of when Changbin wanted to come in by the back door and had forgotten his keys so he needed to knock. Except it wasn’t a knock, and it came from the front…

You turned around, making your way toward the counter, and then you saw a person with their hand on the handle of the entrance door, reading the sign showing the opening hours that hung there.

A tall man, with a jacket hastily thrown over a pale gray shirt, his dark hair held in a messy bun. Thin glasses rested on his nose and his face was framed by a few stray strands of hair. It was him. The dancer. The small lamp over the door illuminated him, displaying his delicate traits. Truth be told, you had never seen a face like this.

Your heart skipped a beat when you recognized the man who danced. You watched, frozen in place, as a slight frown stitched itself on his perfect brows and he let go of the handle.

The store was closed. It had been closed for no more than fifteen minutes. And you didn’t know what took over you, but you walked around the counter and hurried to the door to unlock it as the man was walking away.

“Excuse me?” The wind was colder than you had expected, and the air smelled crisp, almost like it was about to snow. Your heart was thumping so fast in your chest that you could swear the whole street would hear it. “Did you want something?”

The man stopped in his tracks, glancing all around him as though he was wondering where the voice came from. He turned around, looking at you with inquisitive eyes, pointing his index finger at his chest. His lips mouthed ‘me?’

Something shook in your chest, turning your legs into jello. It felt—and there was no other way to say it—as though the man’s gaze was heavy. As though it weighed something in the air as it crossed the distance separating you from him. No more than a few feet, as he hadn’t had quite enough time to walk away. Some eyes were more like windows, showing the soul beneath them.

“Did you want something? Coffee?” you repeated, surprised at yourself by the fact that you were able to align even two words. He was very good-looking.

The man hesitated for a couple of seconds, turning his body just slightly toward the coffee shop. “Aren’t you closed?”

You were grateful the breeze could cool off your cheeks because you felt yourself blush harder than you should have under this stranger’s captivating gaze. “Y—Yes, but I have some coffee left…? If you want, I mean, it’s fine—huh—there’s another coffee store if you prefer, two blocks down, past the park and they should close in ten or twenty minutes, it depends, the owner is an older man and he sort of closes whenever he wants, but—huh—yeah…” Once you were done uttering—and stuttering—that mess of a sentence that could surely earn you a Guinness world record for the longest sentence ever fucking said, you gulped thickly, hugging your body to keep your warmth, as the wind was blowing increasingly colder.

He chuckled, nodding politely. “Well if you insist—let’s get you inside, it’s cold out here.” His voice flowed in the night like warm honey melting on buttered toast. He spoke quietly and yet you heard him loud and clear.

You retreated into the shop, holding the door for him to lock him behind him. As he walked past you, his scent caught your nose—something deep, something that could only remind you of the golden-yellow lights from the dance studio he had just left. Almost like he had soaked in the amber glow and it lingered on him. He smelled like smoked roses. Like a summer solstice.

The scent stayed with you and only became stronger as you joined him toward the counter. He obviously possessed a perfect posture and yet he slouched just enough to give him a graceful nonchalance. “Thanks a lot,” he said with a smile.

Unfortunately for you, you happened to be looking at him, directly at him, and this was the closest you had been to him physically so far, allowing you to bask in his beauty. Eyes with sharp lines and a softness to them, velvety lips the color of summer petals. Smooth, sun-kissed skin that made you want to caress his cheek just to know what it would feel like under your touch. There was something about his smile too. It was kind, gentle. He seemed tired.

“No problem,” you retorted, disappearing behind the counter to quickly turn the coffee machine back on. “Coffee?”

“Yes, please.” He stretched his neck a little. He was tall—maybe he could see what you were doing back there. “You sure it’s okay? I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

“I doubt I’ll be in trouble for serving you coffee,” you assured, thinking that Changbin would give just about zero fucks about the whole ordeal, as long as your tasks were completed by tomorrow morning. “Would you like anything else? How do you like your coffee?”

Were you asking too many questions? Were you being weird? He just seemed so cool on top of being this gorgeous that in his presence, you seemed to have forgotten how to be a person.

“Just black,” he responded pleasantly, looking around the room politely and yet with curiosity. “Regular, please—not decaf. If you can.”

One thing about you was that you could make basic conversation even though you were shy and rather introverted. It was more of a defense mechanism than an actual skill—awkward silences were more uncomfortable for you than small talk could ever be. In fact, you never understood the bad rep that small talk got—what had happened to basic courtesy? To showing interest in the other—a stranger or not?

“Long day, huh?” you replied, carefully measuring everything for his cup of coffee and starting the machine.

The stranger with the golden glasses offered you an acknowledging nod. “First day at my new job, too. I didn’t sleep much last night. Or the night before, now that I’m thinking about it…”

You let out a soft giggle, understanding the situation perfectly. You often spent entire nights tossing and turning in your bed, turning the TV on and off, trying everything from meditation to yoga to try and finally fall asleep. But some nights, your brain just wouldn’t stop haunting you. “I reckon you won’t be able to sleep much tonight either if you drink this,” you pointed out, attempting to mirror his lightweight and friendly voice.

“That’s the goal, actually.” You returned to the counter just in time to see him flash a devastatingly charming yet humble smile. “I need to work on some choreography.” He paused there, but not for long. “I work over there,” he added, motioning vaguely toward the large windows on the side that showed the dance school.

Just about a million responses went through your mind then—you almost told him that you already knew that. That you had seen him dancing. That you thought he might just be the best dancer you had ever seen, even though you had just seen a little bit of it by the window, and just for a few moments. But that would have been super weird to say, so you didn’t.

So he worked there—he wasn’t a student then. It made sense. No student who danced like him would need to pay money to attend a dance school. “You’re a dance teacher?”

He lowered his gaze just for a second, not quite uncomfortable, just a bit reserved. “Yes, it was my first day. I moved here only just last week, actually.” The smell of fresh coffee was slowly spreading in the room. “I took over the Creative Dance class.” He adjusted the glasses on his nose before raising his head again.

You thought about it for a second—you had heard those words mentioned in Capella before, but you realized today you had no idea what they meant, not really. “What does that mean?” you asked, curious. “Creative Dancing?”

This made him smile but not in a deprecating way. He seemed excited at the idea of telling you about it. “Yeah, I guess it sounds made up, and it sort of is.” He chuckled, shaking his head. The way his hair moved with him hypnotized you—those loose strands framing his face had suddenly become branches from a willow swayed by the wind, or the wings of a butterfly as it took its first flight after emerging from its chrysalis. “You’d probably immediately understand what I meant if I said Technical Dancing?”

You nodded. “Yes.”

“And technique is super important—it’s the true foundation of dancing. But it’s not my area of expertise—I teach how people can use dancing as a creative channel. For a more visual example, I help dancers learn how to decorate their steps and their routines. I help them express emotions. Through dancing. Does that make sense? It probably doesn’t make any sense, I’m sorry.”

The coffee was ready. “No, no, it made perfect sense!” It made too much sense, actually—but you couldn’t tell him. What you had seen in those windows had changed you forever, it felt like. “You know how to make dancing become art.” This, you couldn’t keep locked in your throat, and the words evaded you.

When they reached him, his smile faltered, but his eyes shone brighter than ever. “What a beautiful way to say it.” You could swear his cheeks had darkened a little, but you were no better—you were probably much, much worse. It felt as though your ears were on fire.

You poured the coffee into a cup, grateful to have a good and valid reason to look away from him. Not that you didn’t want to look at him—if you were given the chance, you would stop time on Earth just so that you could observe him for hours and hours. Just like that. You’d look at him the way those people studied these statues in museums. With intent, with adoration, trying to memorize every little detail of him before time and life started again. “It sounds interesting,” you made yourself say to forget that crazy—as in, slightly deranged—fantasy. “I can see why you’re tired.”

The stranger let out another chuckle. You appreciated that in him—how his laughter, even a small one, punctuated the conversation. “I’m afraid that’s mostly on me. I will be teaching them creative dancing through a routine, right? A routine that I should have created beforehand. Except I’m stubborn, and I figured… Well, I thought it would be best if I met my students before. To make a routine that really suited them, you know?”

“That’s very considerate of you.” You rarely saw that sort of thoughtfulness in people anymore. Or maybe you just didn’t notice it. Or maybe, this man’s eyes were indeed just like windows with a view of his soul. You saw kindness in him. You saw sorrow, too, buried somewhere deep.

You handed the coffee over to him, but immediately raised your hand when you saw the stranger look for his wallet. “Free of charge,” you said with a smile. “I also have some leftover cake if you want—I was just about to freeze it.”

“Oh, no, you literally reopened the place for me,” he insisted, but when he handed you some money, you didn’t take it from him. “Please?”

“Consider it a welcome gift.” You slid the money across the counter, leaving it by his coffee. “Did you eat? I really do have cake over there.”

The man put his money back in his wallet and wrapped his long fingers around his coffee cup. You imagined what it would be like if he touched you right now, his hand still warm from the coffee. He looked you in the eyes, studying you. “Why are you so nice to me? You don’t know me.”

Your heart jumped in your chest as a familiar feeling crept over you, but one that you didn’t want to remember right now. One that had hurt you so deeply it had left an open wound in your soul. All these tears that had stained your pillow. All the nights where you had sobbed until dawn, tortured by this terrible, terrible truth—you were too much. You were not enough. Somehow, you were both at once. Daeshim hated when you double-texted him, but you hated when he left you on Read. Not all the time—you weren’t crazy, you understood that he didn’t owe you his life, that he didn’t owe you everything. And you felt so stupid when you’d pick up your phone and see the Read: 7:04 AM below your stupid fucking little text message. Good morning Dae! Have a nice day, I love you. Are we still having dinner tonight? And he wouldn’t respond until late in the afternoon, not because he was busy, but because he forgot.

And it was alright to forget. And it hadn’t just been the texts, or the towel, or the fact that he wouldn’t make space for you in his apartment, or how he refused to talk about his future—let alone your future with him. It was all of that. It was none of that. It was the fact that he had never loved you for real, he only thought he did. It was the fact that you had always been too much and not enough for him.

You had always been too much and not enough for this world. You would never fit in it, and that was one tough pill to swallow.

“Hey—sorry if I said something—I—I didn’t want to upset you, I—”

The beautiful stranger’s voice brought you back to reality, to the present moment. He pulled you away from your tears-stained pillow and an apartment in which you didn’t even have a drawer dedicated to you. He stared at you, puzzled, concerned, with a frown adorning his brow. You became aware of the fact that your eyes had filled with tears, so you made sure not to blink while they receded. While you tried to breathe normally again.

“No, no, don’t worry—long day for me too.” It was true. You were always more sensitive when you were tired. You were always more prone to remembering the most painful shit, too.

He lowered his gaze while he read your name tag. When he looked at you again, he spoke your name out loud, slowly, carefully, almost like he was tasting something new and exploring the flavors of it in his mouth. “I only meant to say that you are a very kind person, and I’ll take that cake if you insist.”

You knew that he only mentioned the cake to diffuse the tension but you appreciated it. “It’s carrot cake,” you said, swallowing your tears. It seemed like your lungs could allow air into them again. “It’s what I have left. Is that okay?”

He hesitated for a second. Was he allergic to an ingredient? Did he not like it? “I’ll take some, thank you. Am I allowed to pay for it?”

“Not a chance.” You disappeared into the kitchen while you quickly cut him a piece of the cake and put it in a take-out box. You brought it back at the front, carefully using a sticker with Capella’s logo—two stars—on it. It also had a space where you sometimes wrote the client’s name on it, especially if they ordered online.

He stared at the sticker. “Hyunjin,” he said, his voice soft, his voice low. You didn’t move, confused at first. “Hyunjin,” he repeated, a faint smile creeping back onto his lips. His lips, you realized now, were the same color as cherry blossoms. Not the pale ones—the darker ones, with the pigmented flowers. “That’s my name.”

Hyunjin. What a pretty name. It suited him well. You grabbed a marker by the register and carefully wrote his name on the sticker, suddenly very aware of how messy your handwriting was, but he took the cake and you walked him back toward the door.

“Thank you for everything,” he told you while you unlocked the door for him. “It was a pleasure meeting you. Since I’m a caffeine addict, it’s safe to say we’ll see each other often.”

The warmth at the nape of your neck was almost unbearable, so you actually followed him outside for a second. “I’ll be expecting you then.” He stood in front of you, not walking away, holding his coffee in one hand and the cake in the other. “Don’t work too hard.”

“I can’t promise that.” He laughed again, and a little bit of his golden soul spilled from his cherry blossom lips. “Goodnight, and thank you.” He said your name again, but in his mouth it sounded more like a one-word poem than a name.

“Goodnight, Hyunjin.” You said his name and in your mouth it sounded like a prophecy. It rolled on your tongue, warm, heavy. Pleasant. You enjoyed it, the simple act of speaking his name out loud.

That night, you found yourself muttering it to yourself again. While baking the cake. While sweeping the floor. Hyunjin. Hyunjin. What a nice word to say. It tasted sweet. Hyunjin.

He did not go home. He returned to Arabesque, and the golden-yellow light of his dance studio illuminated the street again. He danced and he danced and he danced, but he took more frequent breaks, and you’d even see him drink the coffee or eat a bite from the cake once in a while. You tried to look, but now that he had been here, you had become a little too aware that if you could see him, he could see you, too. It still took you almost twice as long as usual to finish all your tasks, and you were exhausted by the time you managed to leave the shop.

The lights were still on in Hyunjin’s dance studio when you got into your car. And he was still dancing. He was still making art out of his body.

You did go home. You showered, you ate some leftovers while catching up on insignificant stuff on your phone. But you were thinking about him, wondering how someone like him could exist.

You thought about him when you folded your laundry, when you slid underneath your covers to sleep. You tried not to think about him when you parted your legs open to gently caress yourself, your thighs, your pussy. You tried not to think about him when warmth spread between your legs, when your fingers became coated with your slick. You tried not to think about Hyunjin and the way he moved when you pressed your favorite vibrator onto your clit. You tried not to think about his hands when you pushed two fingers into your pussy, fucking yourself slowly.

And when that wasn’t enough—when not thinking about Hyunjin became unbearable—you reached for one of your pillows and rolled on your stomach to rub yourself onto it, trying not to think about the strength with which Hyunjin rolled his hips as he danced. Trying not to think about how it would feel if it were him between your legs instead. Trying not to think about his lips, about the pretty glasses on his pretty nose, about his deep, dark eyes.

You soon felt pleasure take over you and you did not stop it—you dissolved into it, clenching around nothing, your pussy fluttering and staining your pillow with your juices. You came for a long time, muttering inaudibly a name that sounded like a promise.

Hyunjin met you on a Monday night.

It was his first day at his new job in a new city—there had been a lot to unpack, especially after meeting his two Monday groups. The first ones were already part of dance groups or teams and looking to polish their language, hungry for advancement. Hyunjin respected that a lot—so many people achieved a certain goal and sat on it. To Hyunjin, dance—and art—was a neverending quest. How conceited one had to be to believe they didn’t need to improve. Those people, he thought, simply couldn’t improve even if they tried, and perhaps told themselves a lovely story in their minds not to feel guilty about sitting on their asses. To them, that must be better than trying something and failing.

Some people feared failure more than anything in life—but these people, Hyunjin knew, had never tasted true failure. Defeat. These people had never been undone. And for this, he envied them. Hyunjin knew what it was like to be unmade, and to have to rebuild oneself from dust. To make something out of nothing.

The second group, he taught them after school hours. Teenagers hurrying into a bus after their last class to make it to Arabesque in time for their class. Hyunjin had been given a few of those groups, and he held them in his heart—they were preparing for auditions, or had passed a first basic audition and were looking to become trainees. Some of them had started to dance barely a few months ago. And these kids feared failure in a way that others didn’t. In a way that screamed I want to build something out of nothing too. Some people had dreams illuminating their eyes, and Hyunjin was not insensitive to that. He hadn’t held hope in his heart in a long, long time. And for this, he envied them.

He met a lot of people that day. He had only talked to Chris on the phone before so he was glad to finally meet the director in the flesh. His girlfriend had been there too—lovely people, truly. Sunrises incarnate. Hyunjin also met Lee Minho, whose studio was right across from his. Lee Felix was next door, and Jihyo down the hallway. He would be working on Mondays, Tuesdays and Fridays as well as every other weekend to start. It paid well. He got along with all the teachers and employees he had met so far. He was content.

Or at least, he ought to be.

A lot of things happened that day, but it was you he remembered most. How surprised he had been that you’d let him, a complete stranger, into the closed coffee shop. How easy it had been to make conversation with you, even to the point of talking too fast and too much, making things awkward. Hell—he had even almost made you cry…

But he could not get you out of his mind that night, not even as he returned to the studio. The coffee was excellent, not too bitter, just perfect. He thought about your name. He liked it. He thought about your hair, and your perfume. It lingered on you despite having spent the day surrounded by fragrant coffee and sweets. It suited you. It suited your kindness. It suited the soft pink color on your cheeks. Hyunjin danced for a long time that night, working on routines for his classes, but his mind kept wandering back to you. He’d go have a sip of coffee and glance through a window hoping to catch a glimpse of you, and he did. You were baking cakes, sweeping floors, and filling paperwork.

You were beautiful. Your eyes, your smile, the way your hands knew all of the steps to brew and pour coffee. The way your shirt hugged your tits, but he had tried not to stare too much. The gold chain around your neck, delicate, with a simple daisy-shaped pendant. He had wanted to ask you if you liked daisies, if they were your favorite flower. He had wanted to ask you how long you had been working there. He had wanted to ask you about your day, your commute. He had wanted to tell you that he didn’t like carrot cake. He had wanted to tell you that you were beautiful. But he hadn’t. He couldn’t.

Hyunjin hadn’t been brought into this world because of beauty or because of love, so he was never sure how to act around it.

Hyunjin was born from a union based on devotion to false gods. Hyunjin was not born out of love, but out of duty, out of greed. He did not remember much from that period of his life. He was barely three years old when social services got to him and to the other children in the group. They took them one day after a ritual, performed by their biological father on their biological mothers, went wrong. Two women died. Among them was Hyunjin’s mother, but it would be hypocritical of him to say that it affected him. He was too little when it happened.

He did not remember her, or her love—as he grew older, Hyunjin understood that she hadn’t given him much of it. Love. She and the other mothers had kept the kids alive for the sake of their perverted leader, to serve a purpose as insignificant as it was twisted. Apparently, they liked to label it as a religion, a calling.

Others, however, would call it a cult, and they would be right to do so.

For all intents and purposes, Hyunjin felt like all of this was from a past life. He had been put under the protection of foster parents immediately and they had adopted him, given him their name, and they had raised him with tenderness and care. He did remember the day they showed him his bedroom—the walls were painted in a pale blue color and the ceiling was slanted. Three-years-old him was very impressed with the slanted ceiling. He grew up in a loving house, was given every possible opportunity that a child should get—and even more. He loved his parents and they loved him. He had a good life.

But Hyunjin was brought into this world from the deeds of an evil, deviant man. And no amount of therapy had ever been able to cleanse him from that. It was in his DNA, wasn’t it? DNA, genetics—these can’t be absolved. He had spent most of his life just waiting for that side of him to resurface. At the first signs of it, he would deliver himself to a psychiatric institution. And he had told his therapists that. The first time he had done so was when he was twelve years old. He had found, online, information about the cult his biological parents were involved in. He hadn’t been supposed to do that, but he had done it anyway.

The therapist didn’t scold him. She simply answered his questions as well as she could. She was very patient. She assured Hyunjin that because his birth father had mental issues it didn’t automatically mean that he would have them, too. Environmental factors account for a lot, Hyunjin, she had told him. And will, too. I see no foreshadowing of a sociopath in you. Those were big words for a twelve-year-old kid, brutally honest. Another kid that age shouldn’t even know what a sociopath was, but to this day, Hyunjin appreciated his therapist’s honesty.

Hyunjin met you on a Monday night and he wondered what his life would be like if his birth mother hadn’t died, or if he had never decided to be a dancer. He drank the coffee that you made for him, and he even ate the carrot cake.

He had never liked carrot cake before that day.

He had never really noticed someone the way he noticed you and the details of you, like the gentle motion of your chest rising with each breath you took, or the way that one strand of hair kept falling in your face and you pushed it behind your ear. Your laugh, too, was unique, and it made his chest warm.

That night, he danced and he danced and he danced. He drank the coffee and he ate the cake. He only noticed how late it was when he saw that the lights at the coffee shop were closed and that your car was gone from the parking lot. Hyunjin went home. He lived with a roommate for the time being, but Jisung was chill, laid-back, and they got along pretty well. He had found him through an ad online, by complete luck. The price range was perfect, it was close to the dance school, the apartment was spacious and nice. He had decided to take it as a little nudge from life, like something was telling him he wasn’t making the worst decision of his life by quitting his office job to pursue his true passion.

Not that he had a choice, though—when Hyunjin was too long without dancing, his heart started to collapse.

That Monday night, Hyunjin went home and Jisung was already asleep but he had left some food in the fridge for him. He wasn’t hungry because of the cake, but Hyunjin craved a shower more than anything, so he slid under the warm water barely three minutes after getting into the apartment.

His mouth still tasted sweet from the cake. The water was warm like a summer day, and Hyunjin thought about the routine he was mostly done planning.

But he thought about you most. About you, alone in that coffee shop. You with him in that coffee shop. A complete stranger. Someone he had never seen before. So why did it feel like he did know you? Why did it feel like he could go back there tomorrow, sit with you at a table, and tell you all about his childhood? Or about really random stuff like that time when he was sixteen and he fell asleep in class and slept through a whole test, only to wake up five minutes before the bell, leaving him just that short timeframe to answer all the questions. He had gotten an excellent grade that day.

Why did you feel so familiar to him? And why was his cock hard? Why couldn’t he stop thinking about your smooth, pretty lips, your lovely hands with the red fingernails? Your perfume?

Hyunjin despised religious beliefs because they scared him. He also wasn’t particularly good in science, but he had really enjoyed some of his mandatory physics classes because they had offered him different ways in which to perceive the world.

He liked to think of the world and the atoms that made it.

Hyunjin did not believe in much, but he believed that souls were made of atoms, too. And for that reason, he could not shake the feeling that the atoms of his soul had known the atoms of yours in a past life. It was the only explanation for the way he felt.

Hyunjin pressed his forehead against the tile on the wall, sighing as he took himself in his hand, squeezing his hardening cock, watching as he rubbed himself, ashamed. It felt disrespectful, but he was thinking about you as he fucked into his hand, chasing relief, straining and hard and sensitive. He closed his eyes but all he could see was you, your smile, the pink on your cheeks. He could taste the cake on his tongue, but for one second, he imagined that it was your sweetness coating his mouth, and he came in a series of muffled grunts, spilling himself in powerful spurts of cum, watching it disappear down the shower drain.

Hyunjin had never liked carrot cake before that day.

... to be continued.

a/n: Hi everyone! As I mentioned on the series masterlist, this story has been a place for me to go when I need comfort. Maybe it's why it's rather uneventful - I think, sometimes, I need simple thoughts and ideas to rest and yet be creative. I'm still grateful I get to share this one with you, as writing it has been therapeutic in some ways, and some of the inspo behind it comes from a dream I had a long while ago. As always, thank you for your support and your patience regarding my irregular updates, you guys are amazing! I appreciate all the love and interactions. Eat all your meals! x

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hyunsungbased · 6 months

Text

HAND OVER CHAPTER 2 RN BEFORE I THROW A TANTRUM

so this is growing up | h.hj series

part one: the invincible blanket

genre: angst, smut, childhood friends to lovers, slow burn, coworker au

wc: 4.5k

summary: What you call ‘fearless,’ he calls ‘reckless’—but back when you were children, he was the one who taught you how to be brave. Hwang Hyunjin, who filled every one of your childhood memories with excitement and curiosity, is now so different from before. Reuniting by chance after your careers led you down separate paths, you wonder if the Hyunjin you fell in love with when you were younger still exists within the jaded businessman who stands before you. No—you are sure he’s there, and you’re determined to find him again.

masterlist

Storms always scared you. You hated how the rumble reverberated through your body, rattling your bones and making your heart shake. The whirring winds sounded like whispering ghosts—ones that wanted to slip through the cracks of your window to spook you. The crashing rain was so loud that you feared your ceiling would cave in from all the bullets hitting your roof. Storms were the worst.

On stormy nights, you and Hyunjin would take cover underneath a shared blanket, hiding from the flashing lights and booming thunder. It wasn’t just any blanket though, only your grandmother’s hand-sewn quilt was capable of shielding you from the dangers outside. The baby blue squares were stitched with some sort of impenetrable thread, the soft cloth was impervious to all forces. Nothing could hurt you when you were wrapped in your blanket, with Hyunjin huddled close to your side. It was your invincible blanket.

It was nothing more than a flimsy layer of fabric, powerless against a simple pair of scissors, yet it made you feel untouchable. You’d wear it as a cape, dashing across the room during a game of tag, confident that Hyunjin had no chance of catching you when you had it on. Whenever you crossed paths with a grisly spider in your home, you’d duck under the blanket and the pest magically disappeared.

Sometimes, Hyunjin would help you drape the blanket across the chairs in your kitchen. You’d bring a flashlight and he’d bring his sketchbook and you’d spend all night doodling inside of your fortress. You’d share secrets underneath the blanket, ones that you were too afraid to say out loud anywhere else. But under the comfort of your quilt and with Hyunjin’s warm smile putting you at ease, you were able to be brave.

Though, it wasn’t the blanket that made you brave, rather, reckless ignorance. The kind of naivety that all children have before they learn the truth about the world. It was this unawareness that allowed you to face your fears without real thought or contemplation. Your ignorance protected you, but it couldn’t last forever.

With every harsh truth you were taught, the blanket lost more and more of its power. Soon, it was just a blanket, a mere piece of cloth no longer big enough to wrap around your body. Your invincible blanket could not serve you any more. But Hyunjin was still there to help you be brave, to give you courage when you needed it. He was there to hold your hand when you faced challenges, he wrapped you in his arms when you feared for the future.

He was there until he wasn’t. And again, you had to learn how to live without your blanket.

It was scary at first, you’d never faced life on your own before. But the years you spent exploring the world, experiencing every new adventure with Hyunjin had taught you so much. Despite your once innocent vision being clouded by bleak reality, you learned to not be afraid.

You were no longer ignorant, but you chose to remain reckless.

College was a your new playground. Sometimes you’d fall and scrape your knees, but that never stopped you from racing back to the jungle gym. It was fun, it was difficult, you got hurt and you hurt others, it was exhilarating. You tried your first shot of tequila, you suffered your first hangover, you had your first boyfriend and you experienced your second heartbreak.

You had sex for the first time with a boy you loved, only to be tossed aside the moment he laid eyes on someone prettier. Though he took your virginity, your innocence was lost long ago, so you didn’t feel too bad about it. What Hyunjin took from you when he left was far more sacred.

You made new friends and a few enemies. You experienced some of your happiest moments and some of the darkest periods of your life. You loved and loved and loved, even when you received nothing in return. Some called you naive for living so recklessly, but you knew that you weren’t. You were fully aware of the pleasure and pain that came from your choices, and you chose to feel it all, fully.

You’d fall in love a thousand times and have your heart broken a thousand more before you’d limit yourself to who you gave your love to. You’d rather die than live any way other than completely, thoroughly, wholly. Many called you a hopeless romantic, but you liked to think of yourself as a hopeful one. Hopeful to find true love despite the world telling you that your wishes were childish. But little did they know that you had already found it once before. Really, the hope you had saved was all for him.

He was the one who showed you how thrilling life can be, and now that you’ve had a taste, you’d never settle for anything less. Even when it meant undergoing messy breakups and messier rebounds. Even when you found yourself slumped against a light post after a rough night out, mascara smudged over your eyes as you waited for your friend to come pick you up. Even when Hyunjin changed his number without telling you. Even when you missed him so much that it hurt.

Despite all that, you kept going. You kept experiencing every moment and every feeling entirely. In fact, you sought them out. Because you felt your heart beat strongest in moments of pain, reminding you that you’re alive. So even though your innocence had crumbled, your spirit was unbreakable as ever, naive as it might be.

It was this fearless attitude that brought you even more joy than the pain. Against your parents’ concern about pursing a career in the arts, you graduated with a degree in photography. You longed to create beautiful images ever since Hyunjin showed you how to paint, though you were not nearly as skilled as he was with a brush. That didn’t stop you from finding your own talent, however. Every odd job you stumbled upon became your new passion project. You poured your heart into each one, no matter how small or simple the assignment, until eventually, your efforts were recognized.

An offer to work for a big company in the city was the acknowledgement you’d been craving and the reassurance you needed to keep chasing your dream. Your blind passion may have seemed stupid to some, but you didn’t know how else to live.

Still, the thought of leaving home was nerve wracking. Every memory you ever made was here. But as skeptical as they were before, your parents encouraged you to go. They knew what a great opportunity this job would be for your career, and for you. A bird with wings as vast as yours should not remain caged. You belonged out there, where the streets were loud and bustling and the lights never turned off. He would’ve wanted you to go, you thought to yourself. So you went.

On the first day of your new job, you feared it might have been your last. Waking up late left you no time to fix your messy hair and a missed bus set you back even longer. Once you made it to your building, the maze of cubicles inside dissipated any hope you had of finding your office.

Flustered as you wandered the faded halls, you began to realize that your bright clothes didn’t match the dreary aesthetic surrounding you. People in gray suits avoided eye contact as they walked past you with briefcases in their hands. You attempted to grab someone’s attention, anyone who was willing to help you find your way, but their stares remained glued to the floor.

It was four minutes until nine, the orientation meeting with your boss would soon begin. You still had no idea where you were. Picking up the pace, you swiftly peeked through each room you passed, hoping to stumble across your destination. In your rush, you failed to notice a man standing around the corner. Before you could slow your speed, your bodies collided.

His coffee cup fell to the floor, splattering all over the carpet and on your new shoes. Mortified by the situation, you quickly found a box of tissues nearby and crouched to the ground, cleaning as much as you could. From below, you saw the man impatiently tap his foot, huffing with agitation. You mumbled an apology even though his attitude annoyed you, rising to your feet slowly as you dreaded seeing the scowl on his face.

You flinched once he opened his mouth, ready to take whatever criticism was coming your way.

“You really should watch where—“

His voice was cut short when he laid his eyes on you.

“Y/N?”

You opened your eyes at the sound of your name.

“Hyunjin.”

You hadn’t spoken his name in years but the letters formed in your mouth like a prayer you’d recited from memory. Hearing it out loud sent a chill down your spine and you had to blink a few times to make sure that he wasn’t a ghost. You felt like one yourself by the way he stared at you, eyes wide, mouth agape, frozen in shock, haunted by your presence.

Your phone buzzed, alerting you that your meeting was starting now. There was no time to process your reunion. You quickly excused yourself to continue your search, but it was clear you were lost. Hyunjin offered to show you the way.

You followed behind him in burning silence, left to the sound of the thoughts running through your mind. He was taller, leaner. The creases on his suit were precise and crisp. His posture was impossibly straight and his strides were carefully measured. He looked perfect. He looked not himself.

He looked beautiful. That’s one thing that could never change. His eyes were as sharp and his lips as soft as ever. Though, the expression he wore was colder than you ever recalled. He looked like Hyunjin trapped inside the body of a businessman, like an alternate version of himself. You suddenly felt like a stranger.

His hair was still long though. He always fought to keep it that way as a child, throwing fits whenever his mother took him to the salon. He liked his shaggy tresses and they suited him well, even now with his new persona. Wisps of dark hair curled around his neck, giving you just a bit of hope that strands of the boy you knew were still there.

“What do you do now?” You needed to break the deafening silence even if it meant engaging in trivial small talk.

“I’m an accountant.”

You couldn’t believe it. The Hyunjin you knew thought in colors. His mind could never be constrained to numbers.

While you mulled over this information, Hyunjin opened the door to your office, notifying you that your boss would be coming over soon. A tense atmosphere overtakes the room as you stared at one another, preparing to bid goodbye before you even said hello. He lingered at the door long enough for you to gather your courage.

“You never called home.”

He tells you he’s been busy, working hard. Excuses that don’t really mean anything. You ask him a question, trying to get closer to the truth.

“Are you happy?”

He pauses, looking at you with tired eyes.

A knock on the door saved him from having to search for an answer that would satisfy you. You’re disappointed, he can see it. And the pain of letting you down once again was too much for Hyunjin to face right now. He had enough on his plate already.

In walked a woman, graceful enough to be a ballerina and dressed just as elegantly. She looked around your age but her aura made you feel inclined to address her with the respect of an elder. You wondered if she was your boss. It would be quite intimidating to work with her if she were.

You soon learned that she wasn’t your boss. Her true identity would have a far greater impact on your reality. She snaked her arm around Hyunjin’s and smiled at you ever so gently as he introduced her.

“This is Sara, my fiancé.”

The shock was sharp at first, but quickly dulled. Every surprise you learned about Hyunjin was gradually becoming anticipated. You realized that you don’t know much about him at all. After all, you were strangers now.

“I see you’re doing well. I’m glad.” You managed a meager smile.

He nodded, lips shut into a thin line. “It’s good to see you again.”

You curtly bowed your head to both of them and stared at the ground as they walked away.

That nightmare of a first day still didn’t quell the flame of excitement you had for your new job. You were determined to take the bull by the horns and dive head first into this new adventure. There was so much you wanted to learn about your new position, about the city around you. You were excited, despite the fact that the one person you had been longing to see treated you like a complete stranger. You looked forward to going to work every day, even though Hyunjin barely gazed at you whenever you passed by. He must be very busy.

Your boss was kind and easygoing. He frequently came into the office late with clumps of fur all over his sweater and occasional scratches on his arms but his expertise made up for his tardiness. Being a single father to three kittens was difficult, he explained. You enjoyed whenever he’d excitedly show you snapshots of his pets. For a man with such talent in photography, Minho chose very basic subjects.

As casually as he ran the office, he still pushed you to expand your skills. It was during those times when you struggled with new techniques that Minho became quite intimidating. It was out of genuine care that he pushed you, and for that you were grateful. Minho became a boss you respected and cherished. You were relieved to be working for him and not Sara, whom you initially assumed to be your boss, and whom you discovered more about through your chatty coworker, Jisung.

Jisung had only arrived to the office a few months before you, but he already squeezed his way into every social circle in the company. His charming humor and dazzling smile earned him love from many—many who also trusted him with numerous company secrets. While he was adored by a great share of your colleagues, Jisung seemed to like you the most. You had an actual personality that wasn’t just about work, he explained, and the two of you quickly became good friends.

Being Jisung’s friend meant becoming his vault for all the confidential information he collected. He loved to gossip, but he couldn’t just share everything he learned with anyone. That would be a sure fire way to tarnish his credibility. So instead, he dumped it all on you because you knew how to keep you mouth shut.

He told you salacious tales about affairs between company employees, crude words spoken during drunken staff dinners, and even suspected crimes committed by the higher ups. You enjoyed listening to his stories, but took them with a grain of salt. Jisung had a habit of exaggerating the truth for the sake of entertainment. Still, you admitted, it was a lot of fun to hear.

There was only one rumor you were interested in knowing the truth about, and that was the story behind Hyunjin and his fiancé. Jisung explained that Sara was the daughter of the company’s CEO and that she often used her power to get what she wanted. Allegedly, she had sought Hyunjin’s attention the moment he entered the company, configured his work schedule so that he was forced to report to her and used promises of promotions to lure him into a relationship.

This was all hearsay, of course. But the more you heard about her, the scarier she became. Her intimidation could be felt whenever she entered a room, and you noticed how even the most rebellious employees became docile in her presence. She seemed smitten whenever Hyunjin was around though, clutching onto him like he was a prized jewel. You wondered if he loved her.

You wondered many things about Hyunjin. He was so different now. Day after day you passed him by, his brows always furrowed, lips always pressed, focused on work and nothing else. He wasn’t the same spirited boy you knew. This wasn’t the boy who taught you how to climb trees, how to fly kites, how to mix red with blue and a dab of black to create the deepest purple. This wasn’t the boy who taught you constellations, taught you friendship, taught you love.

Where did that boy go? When did he disappear? Your stomach twisted at the thought that he was really gone. But you continued to watch him in hopes of finding any trace of the boy you once knew, searching desperately for your old friend.

Hints of him were still there. The way he’d tap his pen during meetings, fidgeting when they ran for too long because he could never sit still. The jar of candy he kept on the corner of his desk, filled with lemon drops, his favorite, as you remembered. Seeing these faithful habits eased your heart. Though they were buried deep, fragments of the past Hyunjin that you knew still sat under the surface. You wished to excavate them somehow but you lacked the tools.

You settled for observing him from a distance, hoping he was truly where he wanted to be. Besides, you hadn’t spoken in years, you wouldn’t know where to begin. You wouldn’t know what to say. You only knew that you wanted to talk to him so badly.

Opportunities presented themselves here and there. You’d run into him at the coffee machine some days. You only managed a simple “good morning.” Hyunjin greeted you curtly and left without adding any sugar to his drink, even though you knew he hated his coffee bitter.

You finished your work late one night. When you gathered your things to leave, you saw him still typing away at his desk, the only one left in the office. You almost left without saying goodbye, almost accepted your new dynamic of acting as strangers, as if the memories of your past never existed.

But instead you chose to be a little reckless. You wished to reconnect with your friend who seemed to be actively avoiding you, foolish as it was. So you invited him to dinner. He accepted.

You hadn’t planned for him to agree to come, for how awkward the conversation would be—you hadn’t even planned on asking him in the first place. Sometimes your impulsive decisions got you caught up in unpredictable encounters. This one led you to a diner table sat across from Hyunjin, giving you full access to ask him anything you wanted.

You wanted to ask him why he left home, why he left you behind. You wanted to ask if he enjoyed his job, if he still loved painting. You wanted to ask him if he was excited to get married, if he remembers that it was you he first proposed to, all those years ago. You wanted to know if he missed you as much as you missed him. And if he did, why he never called.

You wanted to dive deep into his mind and pull the boy you once knew back to shore. But these waters were uncharted, you’d lose yourself trying to navigate his ocean. You couldn’t ask him a thing.

Still, the bits of small talk you made piled up enough to bring comfort to your soul. He told you that his mother lives in the city with him now, that she mentions you from time to time. You missed her herbal tea and sugar cookies. Hyunjin still kept his paint set, though it’s collected dust. He hopes to use it when he has some free time. Will he ever be free again?

Dinner ended uneventfully. You spoke about many things but nothing quite substantial. It was time to go but you had barely scratched the surface. You couldn’t watch him leave again.

“Remember when we’d skip rocks at the creek?” You asked, hoping to move him in any way.

He said nothing and just nodded.

“I want to do that again. I want to do that tonight.” You looked at him expectantly, hoping he’d give in to the gravitational pull of the stars in your eyes.

“Y/N, the river is on the other side of town.”

The old Hyunjin would’ve grabbed your hand and raced to the riverbank. He wouldn’t have hesitated to take you anywhere you wished to go. He was the convoy of your adventures, the pilot of your flights. You just needed to remind him.

“You’re just scared I’ll throw better than you.”

It was an immature comment, but Hyunjin’s eyes widened at your challenge. If acting childish was what it took to bring the child out of him, then so be it.

“Wait, you’re serious?” The corners of his mouth quirked in disbelief. He stared at you, curious.

You looked back at him with the same daring eyes. A giddy smile creeped onto both your faces and you hopped into the car.

Hyunjin doesn’t understand why he can never say no to you. What compelled him to take up your offer for dinner, to drive to the edge of town just to toss some pebbles—he doesn’t know. But the juvenile impulses he’d suppress all those years came bursting to the surface with a simple sparkle of your eyes.

This wasn’t him. Well, it used to be him, but not any longer, not since he decided to take life more seriously and ditch the childish daydreams. Hyunjin thought he’d never see you again. A part of him died when he accepted that. But to his unawareness, the piece of him that was only unlocked by you was merely dormant in your absence. It only took your word to awaken once more.

You came back into his life at the worst possible time. He was preparing for marriage, for a promotion, and for evolution. Hyunjin had followed all the correct steps to obtain the life he wanted. Yet, you found your way back to him when he hoped to finally forget you—when his heart longed for you the most.

The way his pulse skipped when he locked eyes with you that day made him feel terribly disgusting. How shameful it was for an engaged man to allow himself to feel that way. Impulses aside, Hyunjin was an adult. He could control his actions. He needed to do the right thing and resist whatever hypnosis you had him under. He was failing miserably.

“Told you I throw better than you.” He grinned.

You watch intently as Hyunjin skipped his rock over the surface of the water. His chest heaved from the force he put into the throw, a warm breath escaped his lips like steam from a mug of hot chocolate. His smile was sweet, decadent. He looked youthful. He looked happy.

You laughed as you threw pebbles, working hard to beat his record. You didn’t need to win. Being here with him was enough. You hadn’t appreciated your time with him when you had it. You’d never take it for granted again.

You were two children collecting rocks by the riverbank. Gathering pieces of your youth. It was getting late but the night had just began. You desperately wished for it never to end.

“I bet the view is beautiful up there.” You pointed to a cliff near the water.

“Y/N, you’ll hurt yourself if you go.” Hyunjin cautioned.

You ignored his warning. That wasn’t the true Hyunjin speaking anyway.

Carefully placing your feet, you started to climb the rocks leading up to the overhang. Hyunjin mumbled his disapproval but followed you from below. Your stubbornness was a result of none other than his doing. The unending encouragement he gave you all those years, back when you were too timid to say what you wanted—he didn’t know it would end up tormenting him like this. Now he reaped the consequences of his actions.

You continued your ascent fearlessly, determined to reach the top. You weren’t scared of slipping, not when you knew Hyunjin would catch you before you fell. He always did. And that’s why you trusted him. Having him here with you again made you feel invincible. You hadn’t felt this way in a long time.

Hyunjin hadn’t felt this anxious in years. Why did you insist on torturing him so? Still, for the first time in years, a small part of him was curious. Would the view indeed be beautiful from up there?

Before he could find his answer, he watched as your foot slipped. One step on a loose rock sent your body plunging backwards. You gasped in panic. He caught you before you fell.

Adrenaline surged through your body, making your heart race as you steadied yourself in his arms. Hyunjin’s heart raced too. He hasn’t held you like this in years.

Shaky as you made your descent, he guided you down with your hand in his. You hung your head in shame, prepared to be scolded. Hyunjin didn’t reprimand you. He only asked if you were okay. You could never make him angry.

You wanted to apologize for being careless and thank him for catching you. You wanted to tell him that you were only trying to extend your time together somehow because you had missed him so much. But your heart would not stop pounding. You couldn’t say a thing.

Hyunjin should’ve let go of your hand by now. You were safely back on solid ground. You could stand on your own. He didn’t need to hold it any longer. He kept holding it anyway.

A loud ring broke the silence between you. It was Hyunjin’s phone. He let go of your hand and reached into his pocket. You heard an angry voice coming from the other end of the line. Hyunjin muttered apologies and ended the call.

“It’s late now, I really need to get home.” His expression was sullen.

He walked you to the bus stop and offered to wait with you until it came. You declined, urging that he go sooner.

“I’ll be fine.” You insisted. “She’ll be more upset if you stay later.”

Hyunjin pressed his lips tight and let out a sigh. You were right. Sara was always furious whenever he went out without her. He should be at home, spending time with her, like a good fiancé. It’s a shame that none of their interests seemed to align, but that was just a sacrifice that a good man would make. Hyunjin was a great man.

Seeing how troubled he looked, you shot him a smile.

“I’ll see you at work.”

Hyunjin nodded and smiled back. You watched as his figure disappeared, leaving you alone under the streetlight.

It was November now, the sun sets early and the nights had turned cold. A gust of wind swept by, sending shivers through your body. For the first time in years, you wished for your blanket again.

a/n: ah the setting is quite melancholy, I think the changing seasons are making me crave sadness lol lots of longing between the two but such a difficult predicament they are in D: I hope you guys enjoy this series, I honestly don’t know how this will be received but I hope you’ll like it. (also, special tbibn jisung reference for those who read my last series ☺️)

taglist: @stay-wol @whlfchn @swissgoswish @hyunsungbased @erispancakes @jeonginssa @skz-streamer @maciscominghome @s00buwu @berryberrytan @straydhampir @nhyunn @kwanisms @babrieeee @hyuneyeon @wonwoos-wineparty @felinows @jhstayy @farfromsugafanfic @hwajin @hyunverse @amorogre @mal-lunar-28 @angeldhd @marcillfll @samluvshyunjin @hhwangsmoon @lilinaskzz @shycreationdreamland @hanniessleepyeyes @yourmomscuntis2tighy @cryinginmyroomsposts @hwangshoneycake @rachabreathing @astroodledream @jamlessstars @lilcutieana @fawnpeaks @ladylexis @chartrucewhore @broken-glowsticks @liknws @jjwhorehouse @mellowmentalitydragon @thisisnotjacinta @yubinism @choisoorin @hwangshoneycake @sweetpickledjins @hash2013

taglist OPEN

#PLSPLSPLS #AAAA #MY POOR BOY

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hyunsungbased · 6 months

Text

I ABDUEGDIEV OH

OH DEAR GOD I- HELLO???

pretty when you say it ⵌhyunjin ⵌone-shot ⵌ🔞

pairing: bf!hyunjin x f!reader | wc: 3.8k | genre: smut | warnings: established relationship ; mommy kink with a twist | explicit sexual content. this work is for adult audiences; explicit warnings under the cut | Author compiles major/relevant warnings only. Reader discretion is advised. [ Rated: Mature ; Explicit ; Explicit+++ ]

“We can try if you want.”

nsfw warnings: mention of semi-public sex (past events) ; brief mention of breathplay (past events) ; description of a porn video that the characters watch together ; hyunjin wants to be called mommy (no incestuous undertones) ; mild lactation kink ; unprotected sex.

You loved being in bed with your boyfriend.

You and Hyunjin had been dating for well over a year now and had moved in together some time ago—while it took some getting used to, neither of you regretted that decision. Everything was great with Hyunjin. He was kind and sweet, you two communicated well, he basically looked like Aphrodite’s son, and he was so romantic that you sometimes found yourself wondering if he was even real. There was never a boring day with Hyunjin, and you two loved each other very much.

And the sex.

Hyunjin was a passionate lover. He loved love, he loved to make love to you. To him, it was much like art. He had learned you, your ways, he had learned to recognize your sighs, your moans, he had learned your favorite caresses and the words that made you cum hard. You loved sex with Hyunjin because he looked at you like you were the most beautiful thing in the world. Always. He looked at you like you could do no wrong, and a simple touch from you was enough to send him over the edge—and it was also true the other way around. Before him, you had never felt safe enough with someone to be on top, and to do it confidently. It was a wonderful feeling—pure abandon. It made everything better, more meaningful. You two trusted each other. A deep, genuine trust—something real enough to make your fantasies come true. When you had admitted to Hyunjin that you had always wondered what it was like to have sex in a public bathroom, he had listened very intently…

The next week, while on a date in a lovely restaurant downtown, he had sent you a text while in the bathroom: can you come help me? I’m stuck. Stuck? How could he be stuck?

In the end, he had locked the door behind you, only to kiss you, giggling and blushing hard. “What are you doing, Hyun?” But he had already unzipped your pants and was fondling your ass, nibbling at your neck.

“Isn’t it obvious, babe? I’m going to fuck you in this restaurant bathroom. Don’t be too loud, yeah? Unless you want everyone to know how well you take my cock…”

And he had done just that, bending you over the sink, driving into you and whispering sweet things to you, making you cum so hard your body went limp. You couldn’t tell what exactly was the hottest part of it—the fact that Hyunjin had fucked you so hard in that bathroom you could barely walk after, or the fact that you had to finish dinner fully fucked out with Hyunjin’s cum oozing from you, staining your panties.

Hyunjin was always a bit more shy about his own fantasies, as though he had never really thought about it before—and maybe he hadn’t. You certainly could relate to that. But once in a while, he would drop one on you, and it was always special. Both of you enjoyed watching porn together occasionally, which made opening up a lot easier for him.

You were in bed with him, naked, legs tangled together, your bodies warm, almost feverish. It was actually a difficult task to watch porn with Hyunjin because he was more interested in you than in whatever was happening on your phone. Not that you minded, though.

“What about this one? Wanna look at it?” you questioned, your breath hitching up as Hyunjin pressed his wet lips on your shoulder, his fingers trailing down your side to tickle your thighs.

“Hm-hm baby, whatever you want…” Hyunjin mumbled, his face buried in the crook of your neck, kissing you there, too. He caressed the soft, supple skin of your thighs, pulling you closer to him until he was able to rub his hard cock against you. “I like watching you more. Look at you…”

You chuckled, hiding behind your hand, endeared to no end, yet blushing violently. “Hyunjin…”

“No, I’m serious! Look!” Hyunjin tugged at your wrist, pulling your hand away from your eyes, making you watch as he caressed you all over. “Look at the way your nipples react to me…” With that, he bent down to kiss your breasts, playing with one while his mouth traveled over the other, leaving you covered in goosebumps.

He flicked your hardened nipples, his mouth only leaving your neck when he spoke to you. “I love your body. I love feeling you like this,” he went on, gently pushing your legs open to expose your pussy to him. You were wet, much to his delight. He reached for your soaked folds, playing with you with his fingertips. “I love your pussy…”

You turned your head to kiss your boyfriend, relishing in the sensation of his plush lips devouring yours while he gently fingered you, rubbing his pretty cock on your thigh, smearing precum on you. He was so needy that it made you lightheaded, and you hummed into his mouth when his touches became more insistent, teasing your hole, playing with your slick.

“You’re so wet baby.” Hyunjin pulled away from the kiss, only to lick your juices off his fingers. And watching him do that was better than any porn in the world—the way he did not leave a single drop behind, even licking his lips clean, before swallowing your taste as though his life depended on it. “Please play more videos. I wanna watch you get even more wet.”

With a smile, you brought your phone up again, scrolling through videos. “What about this one?”

Hyunjin read the title, raising an eyebrow with a playful smile. “Watch me suck my best friend’s cock?”

“You choose then!” you complained with a laugh, scrolling slowly so that Hyunjin could read the titles and see the different thumbnails. “You’re so picky, I swear…”

“Ahh baby come on…” Hyunjin whined, but you could hear the smile in his voice despite not seeing his face, since his head was resting on your chest. What you could see, though, was that he had wrapped his long fingers around his cock.

You kissed the back of his head but paid very little attention to the screen, preferring to see the way Hyunjin played with himself, tugging at his cock, stroking it lazily. Hyunjin had a beautiful body. Every part of him was a true masterpiece, but you had a soft spot for his cock, and how pretty it was, especially like this—hard, straining, flushed. Ready for you.

“This one?” Hyunjin started hesitantly. “Wait—never mind…”

You stopped your mindless scrolling, suddenly startled by your boyfriend’s voice. “Wait, which one, baby?” You couldn’t deny that you were largely distracted by the warmth pooling between your legs and the prickles on your skin.

“I just..,” Hyunjin started, pulling away from you. Despite the relative darkness in the room, you noticed that his cheeks had darkened. Your heart melted at the sight of him so shy.

You put your phone down so that you could take Hyunjin’s handsome face in your hand and kiss him. He was hot to the touch, almost feverish. When he kissed you back, he moaned into your mouth, his leg quickly finding its way over yours. His cock became trapped in between him and you, and he used you again to relieve some of the tension by humping your leg with shallow, needy thrusts. He was so hard, it was amazing to feel him there.

“We don’t have to watch anything if you don’t want to,” you assured, keeping one hand cupping Hyunjin’s soft cheek and using the other to pick up your phone so that you could turn it off.

But then you saw what was on the screen. Mommy needs to fuck. The thumbnail didn’t show much—it was just a standard image. A woman on a bed in a disheveled black dress, revealing her heavy, round tits.

You were already warm on the face before, but your whole head was set on fire then. It felt as though an electric shock had gone through your entire body, and some of it was lingering between your legs, making you clench around nothing. Hyunjin was so shy that whenever he opened up about his desires, it made your brain stop functioning.

But this felt especially intimate.

“Baby? What’s going on?” Hyunjin must have sensed the escalation in your mood because he quickly followed your gaze to see the screen. “Oh.”

“Is that the video you wanted to watch?” you asked when you regained the ability to speak. “The mommy video?” You could swear Hyunjin just had the exact same visceral reaction as you—his whole body jerked when you said it. This cock twitched painfully on your leg.

He did not hesitate, his eyes burning with lust. “Yes. This one.” He made himself comfortable again, wrapping his long arms around you, resting his head on your shoulder, and keeping one hand free at all times so that he could touch you wherever he saw fit. “It’s pretty when you say it,” he added, his voice barely more than a breath as he squeezed your breast into his hand. “That word.”

“Which word? Mommy?”

Hyunjin inhaled sharply. “Yes.” He was the one to press play on the video.

You might have been biased because you knew that Hyunjin was into this, but that was one of the hottest things you two had ever watched. The video was simple, no intro, no nothing—standard amateur porn footage depicting a man and a woman having sex. No faces were shown, but the audio was lewd. There were no dialogues but someone had written made-up subtitles and added them to the video.

You listened to the squelching sounds from how wet she was and her deep, real moans. The young man whimpered and hissed as he drove his cock into her soaked pussy, making her round tits bounce with every thrust. It was hard to focus on the subtitles that appeared on the screen. Fuck, take me like that mommy. Take my cock. And the woman would arch her back for him. Fuck me harder, yes, like that, YES!!! You managed to keep your eyes off the screen only one time, and it was to look down at Hyunjin’s cock and watch as he twitched, releasing so much precum that you figured he must be in pain from how badly he strained.

The video was ending soon, you could tell by the way the man fucked her faster, slamming into her forcefully. Mommy, you need to cum for me now. Cum on my cock. He started playing with her clit to ascend her. It did not take long—soon, she was writhing on the mattress, crying out, her cunt throbbing around him, making him cum too. He was still inside when he came. I need to give mommy some babies. The man’s hips bucking as he rode out his high. The video ended just a few seconds after he pulled out, showing the woman’s pussy and how well-fucked it was, full of cum.

You let go of your phone when the screen faded to black, just letting it fall on the pile of your and Hyunjin’s clothes by the bed. It landed with a muffled thump in the quiet room. Hyunjin had not moved from his position on your chest, but you could hear his uneven, shallow breathing.

Could he feel how fast your heart was beating?

Could he smell you? How wet your pussy was?

You moved first, almost involuntarily, reaching for him, your hand caressing his waist, traveling to his navel, to his pretty cock. He gasped when you touched him, but you couldn’t quite grab at him, so you just played with his tip instead.

“Did you like it baby?” you managed, kissing Hyunjin’s shoulder, enjoying the feeling of his lukewarm precum coating your fingertips. “Seems like you did. So hard…”

Hyunjin rolled his hips faintly just to meet the motions of your hand a little more. He propped himself on an elbow, staring at you, but that sight alone was enough to bring you close to climaxing. He looked beautiful like that, with his cheeks flushed, his eyes glazed over, his pretty lips wet and parted open, hair all messy.

“Did you like it?” he whispered, his eyes lingering on your lips while his hand returned between your legs to play with you. You were oozing. He hissed when he felt you, smearing your juices all over your folds, teasing your entrance with his slender fingers, rubbing his thumb on your swollen clit.

You nodded, your words staying stuck in your throat as Hyunjin pushed one of his fingers inside you, massaging your walls, fucking you slowly with it.

He kissed you deeply, letting you fuck yourself on him while the two of you regained a little bit of your senses… but not for long.

You smiled against his lips, giving them a gentle nibble before pulling away. “It’s really hot, you know. We can try if you want.”

Hyunjin swallowed thickly, averting his gaze. You let him look away but kissed his cute nose to remind him of your love. “I do want it,” he admitted in a whisper. “But, like… you know. Could you be the one saying it?”

Your brows stitched together as you struggled, for an instant, to understand what Hyunjin was saying exactly. “Hyunjin, baby, you have to tell me. I just want to make you happy. I love you.” You kissed his nose again, feeling intense warmth emanating from his face. “You want me to say what?”

You felt a twitch in his cock. “Mommy,” he spurted out, his cheeks darkening even more. “While I fuck you.”

If you had felt an electric current earlier, now you were taken over by wildfires, your whole body set ablaze by a lust so deep it almost scared you. In a good way. You knew that Hyunjin was a little kinky—he always came so hard with your hands around his throat, or that one time at Chan’s place during a party where he dragged you upstairs and fucked you on his friend’s bed.

But your handsome man, so shy yet sensual and full of love, wanted this?

It almost made you cum right then and there. You clenched around his finger, and that was all that he needed to know how you felt about it. “Really?” he managed, his movement coming to a stop. “You don’t think it’s weird?”

Weird? Nothing was weird, not with Hyunjin. “It’s not weird. Please fuck me now, I can’t wait. Please. Mommy.” The word tasted good on your tongue, scorching yet sweet.

For just a second, everything was still in the room except for your and Hyunjin’s panting chest and the precum dripping from Hyunjin’s slit and landing onto the mattress.

And then he was on you, kissing you hard, parting your legs so that he could position himself between them. The kiss was hot, steamy. So wet that saliva was soon running down your mouth and chin. Lips devouring lips like there was no tomorrow.

Hyunjin guided his cock to your entrance, coating himself with your slick. “So wet,” he commented in a breath, pressing his forehead against yours. “Be good now, open those legs some more.” With his elbow, he nudged your knee a little, parting you open to give him easy access.

You kept him close, tugging at his hair while you kissed him but not for long—you let your hands travel all over his body, his face, his shoulders, his torso, feeling him underneath your touch. Hot and sweaty and feverish. Hyunjin had one hand on your waist, the other around his cock, which he was rubbing all over your clit now, making you writhe under him. “Please,” you begged, gasping every time the tip of his cock touched you. “Need you now—”

Hyunjin obliged and you almost passed out. He pushed his whole length inside you, filling you immediately, largely helped by the slick oozing from your pussy. You cried out, holding onto him while he gave a few shallow thrusts to stretch you. To make it easier for him to fuck your dripping cunt. “Aaahhh fuck…” he grunted, burying himself deep inside you. “That’s it, like that…”

“Please,” you said again, so full of cock that your eyes were already rolling at the back of your head. Hyunjin was big, taking up all the space inside you.

Hyunjin bit into his lower lip, his fingers sinking into your waist. He rolled his hips, fucking his cock into you, doing it a second time, harder, moaning with you. “My girl.” He punctuated his sentence with one powerful thrust, hitting your deepest point. “Mine. This pussy’s mine.”

“All yours, mommy.” And that was enough to drive him crazy. Hyunjin slammed into you relentlessly, rutting and panting and groaning with every thrust.

“You’re trying to make me cum,” he protested, slowing down a little, burying his face into your neck, sinking his teeth gently into your skin there, but soothing you with kisses soon after. “You want me to blow right now.”

You put his face over yours to kiss his lips, but not before admiring him. His lustful gaze, his flushed cheeks, his hair sticking to his forehead. “I can’t wait to have your load inside me,” you murmured against his lips, trailing your hands down until they reached his ass. You pushed him deeper inside you, fucking yourself onto his hard cock. “I need it. I need it now.”

Hyunjin kissed you, letting you roll him on his back until you were on top. His cock slipped out from your oozing hole, glistening under the faint light filtering through the curtain. The bed was as much of a mess as the both of you, with the sheets all over the place and most pillows fallen down the mattress, and yet there was so much beauty in that moment.

You straddled him, admiring the man underneath you, his chiseled body, the perfect angles of it. The broad shoulders, the inviting waist, the toned abdomen and equally toned arms. If you were to move a little, you would be able to see his strong thighs, but instead you stared at his cock, straining, begging to return where it belonged.

Hyunjin caressed your thighs, your breasts. “I love you,” he said, his voice sweet yet low.

“I love you,” you responded, taking his eager cock into your hand to guide him inside you, your warmth engulfing him whole. Your head fell back when you sank down onto him, taking all of him immediately, sitting on him like that. Where you belonged. “You’re so beautiful, Hyun.”

He blushed at that, giving your ass a gentle squeeze. You moved on him, gently at first, because he was very sensitive, and then a little faster, sliding all across his length in slow, languid rolls of your hips.

“So pretty,” you went on, leaning over him to leave kisses all over his face and shoulders, caressing his chest. His cock throbbed inside you when you insisted on his hardening nipples, and you watched with delight as his skin pricked under your touch.

“I’m c—close,” Hyunjin managed, choking on his words. “Fuck, stop clenching like that…”

But you couldn’t stop. He felt too good inside you, he was too pretty. You kissed his nipples, one after the other, flicking your tongue around them, covering them in spit. You attached your mouth to one while teasing the other with your fingers, sucking gently. This seemed to have a strong effect on Hyunjin whose entire body jerked before tensing up. He was close—you could feel him twitch into your cunt. You could hear it in the way he breathed.

“Just tasting your mommy milk,” you said, switching from one nipple to the other. “So sweet, Hyun,” you added, making out with the nipple, and maybe it was just because of the lust, but you could swear you did taste it. Your mouth was wet enough that it felt like it anyway, as you slurped all over your boyfriend’s chest, riding his cock. “Want to taste it, too?”

You returned to his lips to kiss him, reveling in the sensation of his tongue invading your mouth. “My sweet girl,” Hyunjin praised in between kisses. “But I need to cum, baby.”

You smiled against his lips, adjusting yourself onto him, stopping all movement. “Who needs to cum? Say it, Hyun. Tell me who needs to cum.”

He let out a groan, swallowing thickly. “Me—M—mommy.” He was blushing deeply, his eyelids fluttering.

You rolled your hips, clenching at the pressure of Hyunjin’s cock against your most sensitive areas. Hyunjin’s hands returned to your waist as he pushed himself inside you, meeting your thrusts with his own, fucking against you, chasing his high. “AH, FUCK—” This was almost too much.

“Does that feel good, baby?” Hyunjin panted, fucking you from below, making your tits bounce every time he drove his cock into your creamy hole. “You like that?”

“Yes, yes—ah, ah, ah, fuck—” you moaned, holding onto him, his thighs, his waist, so that you didn’t collapse. “Give me your cum, please, mommy. Need it inside me...”

That drove him insane. You saw his gaze become unfocused. He held you tighter, slamming you onto him, using you like he would use a fleshlight, fucking you frantically. “My good girl… all for you… like that, yes…”

Your skin was heating up all over as you felt your climax approaching dangerously. Every push of Hyunjin’s twitching cock inside you brought you closer to the edge, made you clench tighter around him. The pressure was so intense that you could barely breathe, becoming more limp with every second that passed. “M—mommy,” you managed, knowing Hyunjin was about to cum.

Hyunjin came painfully, arching into you with a loud cry, flooding you. The sight was so erotic that in itself it made you cum—this beautiful man under you, his pulsing cock filling you with his seed. You came with him, slumping on him, fluttering around his cock. “Drain mommy’s balls, give it to me,” Hyunjin instructed as waves of pleasure took over you, blurring your visions. You came hard, giving him aftershocks, coating your boyfriend’s pretty cock with your juices and the creampie he had just given you.

The relief was so strong that you collapsed onto Hyunjin, his spent cock slipping out of your stuffed hole.

He wrapped his arms around you. “Fuck. Baby.” He was out of breath. You lay on his chest, listening to his rapid heartbeat. “I came so hard.”

You could barely keep your eyes open, but managed to chuckle at that. “I know. I’m full of cum right now.” You raised your face to kiss his jaw. “You made me cum hard too, baby.” You kissed him again, on the mouth. “Did I do good? Was it how you wanted?”

“It was even better,” Hyunjin admitted, still blushing, but glowing from his orgasm. “I promise you that mommy will want a round two some time later tonight.”

a/n: Long time no see! Well, hello everyone. I’m still alive and I’m still writing. This was, for lack of a better term, a writing exercise for me, challenging myself to write in a shorter format, etc. I'm aware that it's a very basic, lq fic. So I know it’s quite different from my usual stuff but I figured I could release it in case anybody wanted to check it out! It isn’t much, but I’m also working on other things ^^ Thank you, as always, for the love and kindness you guys give me. I’m very grateful to have the readers I have. You guys take care! 🤍

permanent taglist: @abiaswreck ; @accalus ; @aimeexx ; @b4kuho3 ; @binstitsweat ; @casualtaelyn ; @cb97percent ; @changbinheart ; @chans1aptop ; @chartrucewhore ; @djeniryuu ; @dwaekkiracha ; @fwess ; @hanjingin ; @hwan-g ; @hyuneyeon ; @hyunfruits ; @hyunjinsamdl ; @hyunjinswifeee ; @hyunniethepooh ; @hyunsungbased ; @hyuwunjinie ; @hyyuniverse ; @iam2out ; @imseungminsgf ; @inkybird ; @jollchacho ; @katsukis1wife ; @lilbabiebunni ; @leedunno ; @lotus-dly ; @miraworldsstuff ; @moasworld ; @neosracha ; @revehosh ; @skzfelixlove ; @straydhampir ; @straykids5star ; @suhomylife ; @sunlitwilderness ; @thestarseeker ; @ven-fic-recs ; @yourmercibeaucoupsblog | if you wish to be removed from the permanent taglist, please feel comfortable DMing me, I will ask no questions!

#I’m not okay #I’m so???#I-#I need him ways that would overthrow the patriarchy.#I’m not making sense right now I’m ??

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hyunsungbased · 7 months

Text

Im so soft :(((

the boy is bad news | h.hj smau

bonus - memories of spring break

summary: An aspiring journalist, you are the news editor for The Uni Chronicles; the campus newspaper, popular for delivering breaking news at the drop of a hat and providing detailed articles about the various happenings around your university. You think you’ve covered every story there was to cover before you’re tasked with producing an in-depth editorial on a student whose name is on everyone’s lips—Hwang Hyunjin.

a/n: surprise! just thought I’d add a few cute pics of the crew’s adventures in the mountains, enjoy~

masterlist

Taglist: @mal-lunar-28 @ladylexis @vampcharxter @sisterofsomeone @whlfchnari @imasimplol @writersun @i2lain @astraystayyh @jiimout @hwajin @hyynee @rachabreathing @zoe8stay @abbiestearsricochet @ven-fic-recs @maciscominghome @flowerbin131 @hyunverse @whatthefsposts @carousellights @dorisnumber1fan @hyunsungbased @manj1ro @straydhampir @jungkookies1002 @rindomo @iadorethemskz @silent-jill @feelikecinderella @vixensss @leeyanyanyaaan @broken-glowsticks @bmnyy @fawnpeaks @hyuneyeon @septicrebel @channiesstars @mimi-sierra04 @dreamstarsandskz @cheshireshiya @staurdvst @swissgoswish @ggundeuri @farfromsugafanfic @whats-my-question @bintificreads @iwaplant @yla-aira @midsoulz

#I’ll cry #rereading

294 notes · View notes

hyunsungbased · 8 months

Text

HELP “I’m JeongIN” 😭😭

the boy is bad news | h.hj smau

ch 41 - i’m jeongin

a/n: weehoo! we enter our final final arc now~ the finale to our story will be the spring break trip! next chapter will be written, hope you guys will enjoy it 🫶

masterlist

taglist CLOSED!

#idk why I laughed so hard at that

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hyunsungbased · 8 months

Text

RAAAA

It's a bad idea, right? (03)

*ೃ༄ pairing: han jisung x fem!reader.

*ೃ༄ genre: college!au, brother's best friend & 3racha Jisung (yes he is his own genre lol), y/n is Minho's slightly younger sister, childhood friends to lovers, slow burn, angst, fluff, drama, my attempt at humor.

*ೃ༄ word count: 10k.

*ೃ༄ summary: The Lee siblings' rule was simple: don’t flirt, kiss, sleep, or even dare to think about dating the other sibling’s friends. Pretty straightforward stuff, right? No matter how ridiculous that rule sounds now, both of you respected it religiously for years, being one of the main reasons your relationship remained as strong as it did for so long. But, what happens when your brother decides to break it on a random Friday night, at a frat party, with one of your closest friends? You decide to take revenge, of course. And what better way to do it than with the help of his precious best friend, Han Jisung, whom you’ve been crushing on since forever?

*ೃ༄ warnings: cursing, suggestive themes (these two are very horny for each other), jealousy, sexual tension, mentions of drinking and smoking, marking? (mentioned very briefly), they're partying in this chapter and its pretty wild.

♡. part 01 .♡ , ♡. part 02 .♡

♡. a/n: a long awaited scene happens in this chapter :) enjoy!! please let me know your thoughts about this part, i love reading them all <3

Walking down memory lane, you don’t think you’ve ever been in love. Sure, you love your friends and family but the concept of romantic love is a completely foreign one. Being loved by another, body and soul, with all of your flaws and insecurities has always been something you longed for, just like everybody else.

None of your relationships made you feel like that. Truly accepted and loved so ultimately, you started seeing dating as a waste of time.

At some point, you thought that ‘love’ had finally blessed you with its presence, taking pity on you. Back in high school, when you were barely a teen was the first time the butterflies everyone talks about appeared in your life. They came and went but their wings always flapped wildly around one person only.

Your best friend, Felix.

The thought of being in love with your partner in crime, with Felix who was always so kind and smiled so brightly had your heart doing summersaults every time he as much as glanced in your particular direction. It was exciting but more importantly, a dream come true for a hopeless romantic such as yourself. Felix was the perfect person to name as your ‘first love’.

That’s why, to you, it was a match made in heaven. Who wouldn’t want to grow and flourish alongside their best friend, giving them your first everything and letting love develop naturally over time, strengthening your bond?

But then, as time passed and he chose someone else as his first love, all of your dreams shattered. It wasn’t his fault either, even though that’s what you tried to make yourself believe just to feel better as you cried. You just took too long – too long to realize what you were feeling, too long to make a move and let him know of your feelings. So, ultimately, someone else got there first.

Slow and steady usually wins the race but in this case, it was the opposite. Not only did you lose the race, but you also lost your chance at love.

Then even more time passed, and both of you got with several different people – never the other. You went on dates, kissed a bunch of people and before you knew it, those feelings you held for your best friend just faded away. At first, you thought it would be more tragic than it was, more painful as your love story went untold. But it wasn’t. It went away with the wind, quickly and without much fuss, just like a stray leaf.

That’s when you realized that maybe, just maybe, what you felt for the boy that could brighten up your every gloomy day wasn’t love. Not romantic, at least.

A crush, sure. But nothing as grand as a first love, the dormant butterflies and calm heart could attest to that.

And that epiphany hit you when Han Jisung first kissed you. The feelings the sweet and soft gesture awakened in you were all new, nothing you’ve ever felt before. Not with Felix or with anyone else after. It was like fireworks went off in your heart, exploding in a beautiful display of colours and intense emotions.

Back then, Jisung most likely kissed you out of pity but for you, it meant the world because that was the first time you felt something different. Something nobody has ever made you feel, a feeling you haven’t forgotten until now, as an adult.

It might sound silly to most (especially to your brother) so you kept it to yourself, the kiss being yours and Jisung’s little secret. A secret you thought he’d forgotten about until he boldly brought it up at the arcade, showing you exactly how affected he still was by it. Your heart almost jumped out of your chest then and there, elated by the fact that he still remembered a moment so special to you.

So that’s why, in the hopes of getting the answers you sought for so long, you have to keep pursuing this connection with him. No matter if Minho gets mad, Felix gets upset and stops talking to you or your parents disapprove. You have to find out if the feelings that overwhelm you every time he’s around are love or not.

If you’re in love with him or are just chasing an unobtainable fantasy.

Every time you think about him, there’s this little thought you’ve tried to silence for years lingering at the back of your mind. Has Jisung ever been in love? Has he ever gotten tongue tied in front of someone, palms sweating while his heart pounds in his chest? If so, did he nurture that love or leave it to whither for unknown reasons? Did he write songs upon songs about it? Daydreaming the hours away while he waited to be reunited with that love?

Those questions were eating away at your sanity, especially since you would never get any answers.

Jisung was lucky, for getting the opportunity to love someone with his whole being. But luckier was the person that got to be loved by him, in your eyes at least.

Because you might never get that opportunity.

・❥・・❥・・❥・

“Okay, so which one?”

You ask Jeongin, holding up two different dresses for him to choose from. Looking up from his phone, he inspects each one with great serosity before pointing to the one he likes more.

“The red one really brings out your eyes so let’s go with that.”

You smile, satisfied with his choice before throwing the other dress on the floor carelessly and walking into the connected bathroom to change. Leaving the door slightly ajar, Jeongin can talk comfortably from his seat at the end of your bed.

“I have to ask,” He begins, letting himself fall back on the bed with a contented sigh, “how come I’m the only one here?”

“What do you mean?”

The little red dress is easy to slip into so you’re glad that’s what Jeongin chose, happy it isn’t too uncomfortable or impractical. You’ll need all of your wits for tonight with everything that can happen at a party as crazy as this one, knowing Changbin will totally go overboard with the preparations.

“Where’s Felix? He always comes to help you get ready before any party.”

You stop in your tracks, finally realizing Felix’s absence. It wasn’t that deep; he just chose to go to the party with Hyunjin since they lived together but a part of you thought there was more to the matter at hand.

Shaking your head, you finally emerge from the bathroom while struggling with a pair of earrings. “With Hyunjin. They’re going together.”

By the look on his face, Jeongin shares your opinion on the whole thing, finding it strange. “You know, maybe the world is in fact ending.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes, moving on to secure the other earring. “Whatever. He’s been acting weird lately so him ditching me was expected.”

“Weird how?” He pushes himself up onto his elbows, scanning your outfit.

“Distant.”

That takes him by surprise, brows furrowing in confusion. “Why would Felix distance himself from you? He’s the clingiest person I know!”

You shrug, trying to mask how much the situation actually bothers you. “I don’t know, Jeongin. Maybe he just needs some boy time. Or maybe he’s finally grown tired of me. Who knows?”

Jeongin shakes his head as you walk back into the bathroom to put the finishing touches to your makeup, disagreeing completely.

“We’ve been connected at the hip for years, I knew it had to come to an end at some point.”

“Nonsense.” There’s some shuffling as he presumably stands up. “Felix loves you. There’s no way he wants to change your dynamic.”

Except that’s exactly what he’s been doing for the past few days. You know when your presence isn’t wanted so you’ve also kept your distance, letting him come to you when ready. Even so, there was no denying the emptiness his absence left behind.

But you don’t let Jeongin know that. There’s no point in ruining his mood as well.

Stepping out of the bathroom like nothing happened, you see him now standing in front of your mirror, fixing his hair. You clear your throat and his eyes shoot up, getting his full attention.

“So, how do I look?” You twirl, hands moving down to smooth the invisible creases of the red, sleeveless dress.

A big smile stretches across his face, dimples and all as he nods. “Beautiful.”

Your whole demeanor softens and you cross the room to pull him into a quick hug. “Thanks for getting ready with me, Innie.”

“You’re welcome.” His arms come around your middle and he squeezes once before letting go. You can’t help but think about how different this feels in comparison to Felix’s warm and drawn-out hugs, where he’d giggle while lifting your feet off the ground. “Besides, I couldn’t let you dress yourself and embarrass us, now, could I?”

And the moment is broken. With a huff and the slightest smile, you slap his shoulder and pull away, moving to throw a pillow at his head when he starts laughing. It falls to the ground and he wastes no time in picking it up and throwing it back at you, messing your freshly done hair. That’s when you start chasing him around the room, laughter bouncing off the walls even when you finally catch him and mess his hair in return, ruffling it good.

“Now that we’re party ready,” Jeongin teases as the atmosphere calms down and you both move to sit somewhere in the room and catch your breaths. This time, he chooses your desk chair and you’re the one sitting on the bed, putting on your shoes. “What’s your plan? I need to be filled in if I’m going to help you.”

You raise an eyebrow. “What do we need a plan for? We’re going out to have fun.”

He shakes his head, rolling his eyes in the process. “I’m talking about Jisung. I know you want Minho to catch you two sucking each other’s faces off but what happens after?”

Confusion makes itself clear on your features. “What do you mean?”

“When your little masterplan is done and over with, are you going to confess to him?”

And that’s when a bunch of emotions hit you at the same time, overwhelming all of your senses. Confess…to Jisung? This is something you’ve thought about often, fantasizing and daydreaming to your heart’s content. But this wasn’t a fantasy, it was real life where Jisung’s emotions weren’t marching to the beat of your own drum. The possibility of confessing to him for real has never crossed your mind since Minho basically forbade you to. Could you even do it? Would he even care to hear you out?

Nothing was holding you back now, no weight on your shoulders to keep you bound in the same place, screaming into the void. You were free to do whatever your heart desired.

You always were, but your morals tended to dictate your every move like you were some sort of puppet on a string.

“Y/n?”

His voice helps you snap out of it, and your eyes move to meet his, shoes all forgotten. “Should I?”

He visibly grimaces.

“Well – “

“Wait, what?” You blurt out, surprised. “Why did you make that face? You’ve always encouraged me about my stupid little crush!”

Jeongin isn’t fazed by your outburst but the look on his face shows he at least feels bad about causing it. Shaking his head, he pulls at the ends of his platinum blonde hair with a sigh, looking down.

“I mean, Jisung isn’t really prince charming.”

You really can’t believe your ears right now. “What the fuck are you saying, Jeongin?”

Then, he raises his head and looks at you with such seriousness that almost makes his boyish face unrecognizable. “That he wasn’t named ‘the most passed around man of the year’ for being a fucking gentleman, Y/n.”

Your mouth drops open at his words, jaw on the floor as you try to process whatever the fuck intrusive thought he let to the surface. Jisung was named what exactly?!

Not being able to find any appropriate answer, the only thing you can let out through your disbelief is a simple “Huh?!”

“He stole that title right from under Changbin’s nose.” Jeongin shakes his head, like he can’t believe Jisung’s audacity. “Now not only is he a manwhore, he’s a thief too. Changbin worked hard for that title, Y/n! It was his!”

There’s a moment of silence as your gazes find each other again, blinking like you just learnt to communicate without even speaking from Dori himself before you’re both bursting out into loud laughter. The tension dissipates and you’re back on the same page.

“There’s no way people call him that.” You managed to let out after calming down, already in higher spirits than before.

With the same look on his face, Jeongin shrugs, still grinning. “The fans sure do.”

There’s a pause as you wait for him to elaborate but he doesn’t, choosing to stand up and stretch after you’re both fully calm. Deciding to follow his lead, you quickly put your shoes on and grab your purse, putting the interrogation and your curiosity in the back seat for now.

After a quick inspection of your outfits, checking everything is in place, you’re both ready to leave but before you can get to it, your bedroom door opens and a dark head of hair pops in.

“Uh, hi.” Your brother says awkwardly, the door concealing most of his uncertainty as he pointedly ignores the glare you send his way. “The uber I ordered is here. Do you guys want to come with me since we’re going to the same place?”

You don’t respond, looking away from him defiantly but Jeongin has other plans as he grabs your wrist and begins pulling you along.

“Of course! Lead the way, Minho!”

Your protests fall on deaf ears because minutes later, you’re already in the backseat of the uber, right between Minho and Jeongin who seem to have become best friends overnight since they talk away the whole ride to Changbin’s place. Jeongin just lost his place as your favourite friend, freefalling to the bottom of the list right next to Felix. Seungmin was now your one and only. He would never treat you like this. Maybe…

The ten-minute ride passes in a blink of an eye and suddenly, you’re out of the car and shivering on your way to the front door, the mansion looking as huge as ever even in the distance. The music could be heard from down the street, where the uber left the three of you and the colourful laser lights coming from the backyard made the whole scene resemble an actual concert. From an outsider's perspective, it could look very intimidating but you knew that once inside, the atmosphere would be another. Changbin is nothing if not a great host, making sure everyone feels great in his house.

Despite the size of it all, his parties were an exclusive event – only people personally invited by him could get in. His reputation was on the line after all, he didn’t need strangers all up in his business to spill everything that was going on in his sanctuary on the internet.

3racha were known for loving to party but the public didn’t need to be aware of what was actually going on behind closed doors. Nothing illegal, of course. Just three men making a lot of wild and unwise decisions they usually forgot about by the time morning came.

Halfway up the hill towards the house, a comfortable weight falls on your shoulders and without noticing, you’re not shivering anymore. The culprit is obvious and once you turn to him, one corner of your brother’s mouth is turned upwards but he doesn’t meet your gaze. Even so, the gesture is so characteristically him, and so nice, that you can’t help but nudge his shoulder lovingly to which he responds in kind.

Moments later, you’re greeted at the front door by two big bodyguards who would have been intimidating if it weren’t for the sunglasses they chose to wear at night.

“Name?” One of them asks, holding a clipboard that looked pocket sized in his hands.

As expected, your brother steps forward, shielding both you and Jeongin. “Minho, Y/n and Jeongin.”

You see recognition draw on the man’s face and in the most unexpected turn of events, he smiles down at Minho with familiarity, not even bothering to check the guest list anymore.

“Hi, Min.” His whole demeanour changes, voice soft and inviting causing you and Jeongin to share a perplexed look. This is the second time you attend a Seo Changbin party. How many has your brother been to for such a greeting? “Go right in, Jisung was looking for you.”

He nods and returns the smile as the man steps to the side, allowing the three of you to pass without another word. The big hallway is brightly lit with no partygoer in sight, booming music muffled by the closed doors on each side but still loud enough to feel a headache coming in. Right by the big stairs in the middle, is a man carrying a tray of champagne that approaches instantly.

“Can I offer you a drink?”

The slight shock can be read on both your and Jeongin’s faces but Minho isn’t fazed, used to it like he’s the one actually living here. He shakes his head no, so the man’s gaze moves to you and Jeongin, waiting patiently. Sharing another look, you hesitate for a brief moment before indulging in a glass of champagne from the tray.

After that, he moves back to his place by the stairs.

“Let’s go.” Minho nods in your direction and you follow, not wanting to get separated yet. Now, if Felix was with you, there would be no worry plaguing your mind about getting lost since he would be holding your hand the whole time. But now, he was already inside, having the time of his life without you.

The thought makes your mood drop again, so you take another big gulp of the bubbly drink.

Once the door opens, numerous things hit you all at once. It’s like stepping into a completely new world filled with music, flashing lights and hundreds of people doing whatever their heart desires. Some were on the dance floor, some at the bar (which you had no idea Changbin even had in his house), some making out with their sweethearts in corners of the room while others were playing video games in the far back. It was a mess, like a big bowl of soup with all sorts of people serving as the vegetables while the broth that kept them together was 3racha.

Weird analogy but it’s true – all of these people would never come together if it weren’t for their shared love for Chan, Changbin and Jisung.

You were one of these people. But you loved a member a bit (a lot) more than the others.

It doesn’t take long for Minho to go on his merry way, leaving you and Jeongin alone without even a spare glance in your direction. The two of you are left wandering around until Jeongin spots someone familiar and drags you along to them, visibly happier at the sight.

And you get why instantly when the people that come into view are none other than Seungmin and Felix, sitting on a couch by themselves. Your other friends must have abandoned them as well.

“Finally,” Seungmin rolls his eyes, not really annoyed but still keeping up his usual front, “I texted you both an hour ago. What took you so long?”

Both you and Jeongin pull your phones out at the same time to see ten new messages in the groupchat the four of you shared. Messages neither of you read.

“Traffic.” You shrug, taking a seat next to Felix who immediately smiles and pulls your body into a warm embrace, so uncharacteristic of the way he’s been acting lately. Next to Seungmin, Jeongin mouths an annoying ‘I told you so’ that the others don’t notice, which you pointedly ignore. He makes a face in return but your attention is already stolen by Felix again.

Pulling away, you can smell the alcohol in his breath. It’s faint, mixed with the one of mint but it helps you understand his behavior. “You look beautiful tonight.”

His voice is deeper than usual, but loud enough to be heard over the deafening music. You thank him and he nods happily, taking your now empty glass of champagne and putting it on the table in front among many others. That’s when your eyes start wandering around the room and you notice that Hyunjin, the one Felix ditched you for, is nowhere to be seen.

His arm is still wrapped around your shoulders when you lean closer to bring it up. “Where’s Hyunjin? Didn’t you come together?”

A brief pause, before his head whips around in search of the boy like he just notices his absence. “I think he stepped out for a bit with his girlfriend.”

You nod, choosing to believe him before getting straight to the point, not wanting to prolong it further. “Are you mad at me?”

The moment the question escapes your lips, you see his whole face change and something like panic overtakes him. Without a word, he pulls away and takes both of your hands in his, squeezing tightly.

“What?” his voice is louder now, getting Seungmin and Jeongin’s attention as well. “What are you even talking about? Why would I be mad at you?”

Your overthinking nature causes countless reasons to float around in your mind like your brain and sanity were free real estate by this point. They weren’t logical reasons – as stupid as they come, but after the past week, you started to genuinely consider them as actual possibilities. Maybe the bond you and Felix developed wasn’t the healthiest since you needed to be in each other’s presence at all times to feel complete, to feel alright. Maybe he finally came to this realization and pulled back for both of your sakes, trying to singlehandedly fix your co-dependent selves.

Or maybe, this whole thing had nothing to do with you to begin with.

Still, the sudden change in behaviour really affected you more than you would’ve liked.

“I don’t know. You’re the one that started ignoring me.”

He shakes his head, suddenly much sober than before and now drawing patterns on the back of your hand. “I didn’t ignore you at all, Y/n.”

“Yes, you did.” The stubbornness in your tone gets a faint smile from him, one you don’t notice. “You’ve been distant.”

Felix lets out a sigh, releasing one of your hands to instead reach out and fix your hair. “So, you’ve noticed.”

“Of course, I did!” Now you’re the one whose emotions are running high while he remains calm, listening to you as the roles get reversed. “Are you going to tell me what is up with that or not? What did I do?”

“It’s not your fault, Y/n.” He responds instantly, hoping to put your worries at rest. By now, both Jeongin and Seungmin are well invested in your conversation but have the decency to at least pretend they’re not eavesdropping. “This is all on me.”

You look him straight in the eyes, silently urging him to elaborate. Letting go of you altogether, Felix scoots back, putting some distance between you so he can get comfortable enough to start explaining. A loud party where everyone is drunk and having the time of their lives isn’t the most suitable environment for such a conversation but, you couldn’t keep this in anymore. You needed to talk to Felix before your whole world came crashing down.

A bit dramatic but still holding a gram of truth. You came here for Jisung tonight, but fixing things with your best friend still took priority.

“Jisung talked to me, weeks ago after their performance that night.” He speaks clearly, playing with the ring on his middle finger. “He reminded me of a time when I hurt you and remembering that made me feel like a horrible person all over again.”

You open your mouth to interfere but he cuts you off, shaking his head while his eyes start getting glossy. Seems like the alcohol in his system was heightening his emotions.

“So, yeah. I started distancing myself because I didn’t want to be the reason for your tears ever again.”

That’s when it hits you. There’s only one instance Felix could be talking about so full of emotion, so frail and on the verge of tears.

Without a word, you scoot over and bring his body into a hug, which prompts the boy to let out a startled sob. Your arms tighten around him, and his come to circle your waist as he returns the embrace with all of the love his body carries around daily. All of the love he accumulated over the years for you which is stored in a special place, near and dear to his heart.

The music is loud, annoyingly so, but you still manage to make yourselves understood over it.

“Listen, Lix,” He hums to show you he is in fact listening, still keeping his face hidden in your chest while your hands caress his back tenderly. “We were kids. What happened back then was completely my fault since I never mustered enough courage to tell you about my feelings.”

He mumbles something inaudible before looking up, eyes still glossy with unshed tears and nose slightly pink. “Doesn’t matter. I should have known.”

That gets a laugh out of you and he pouts, not understanding where your amusement came from. “About the crush I wasn’t even 100% aware of? No way you could have.”

Still pouting, he wipes his eyes, smudging some of the pretty makeup he put on for tonight. Without being able to stop yourself, you reach out and pinch one of his cheeks.

“You’re so silly, Lix. Making me lose my mind over something that happened half a decade ago that we’re both over.”

Finally, he laughs, happy and genuine with sparkling eyes. “I’m still sorry, though. I never meant to hurt you.” His smile drops halfway through the sentence, getting stuck in his head again.

What does a person with a tendency to overthink need? A chronic overthinker and sensitive best friend, of course. Two peas in a pod, you and Felix.

“I know.” You nod. “You would never hurt me on purpose, Lix.”

Life seems to come back to his eyes, face regaining its colour as he pulls you into another hug and apologizes again. You don’t mean to get deeper into it, satisfied with how things turned out but he goes on a full explanation about what actually happened back then. He rambles about his first girlfriend again, how he was so excited to finally experience what love meant that he completely shut everyone out to fully focus on her. These are all things you remember that now don’t hurt anymore so you listen, a smile full of fondness adorning your face.

He also tells you how back then, Jisung was the one who made him realize that what he was doing wasn’t okay. But of course, since they were two hormonal teenagers, neither could get their point across nicely so that’s how the fighting started.

This new information startles you. Why did Jisung feel the need to get on Felix’s case about his behaviour towards you? Not once, but twice, almost ten years apart? What is going on in Han Jisung’s head has never been more of a mystery than right now.

And speaking of, as you’re mulling over the matter, you look up and your eyes lock with his beautiful brown ones that seem to call your name wordlessly, making your heart rate speed up alarmingly.

There he was, the man you’ve been wanting to see for days, looking through you like always. It’s scary how even in a room as crowded as this, it still feels like you’re the only two people there when he looks at you. Everyone just disappears and your heart takes over, putting on the rose-coloured glasses that only allow you to see him. And somehow, he seems to be aware of this because he winks and turns around before the smirk on his face can stretch into an actual smile, a silent invitation to join him.

Noticing, Felix stops talking yet his smile still remains. “Go.”

“What?”

Jisung is walking away now while tens of people surround him, trying to get his attention somehow. A usual occurrence only this time, your eyes never leave him, following his every move.

“Go after him.” He laughs, the sound clear and genuine. “We’ll talk later.”

Your gaze finally moves to your best friend who’s all smile and sunshine, the sight making you lean over to give him another hug. “Okay, I’m going. Wish me luck.”

But before he can, Jeongin butts in and exposes his eavesdropping self. “Go get him already! I picked out your outfit for Han Jisung to enjoy so stop wasting your time on Felix!”

Seungmin laughs and you feel your face get warmer, looking down bashfully as Felix’s smile drops and he stands up to give the younger a piece of his mind. All in good fun, of course.

“Also get rid of that stupid jacket!”

The last thing you see when you walk away is Felix messing Jeongin’s hair and treating his face like cookie dough, bickering playfully while Seungmin gives you a thumbs up in encouragement. Oh, yeah, he was definitely your favourite.

Despite your worries, it doesn’t take you long to find Jisung in the sea of people, almost like you were guided by a helping string through all the craziness around. 3racha are sitting together, in a corner of the room that stands out like a sore thumb, surrounded by partygoers as expected. With each on different couches, with their own friends, is even easier to walk right up to the man you dream about constantly. He’s sitting in the middle, with Chan and Changbin on either side of him at their respective LED-lighted coffee tables that are overflowing with drinks and food catered to their liking. Every time you’re hit with such a sight, you remember that these people you have the pleasure of calling your friends are living in a completely different world, very much detached from your boring one.

You and Jisung are part of different worlds. Is that why your brother was so adamant you stay away?

Speaking of your brother, he isn’t among the people who are currently talking Jisung’s ear off. They’re always attached to the hip, where could have he gone off to?

“Are you going to say hi or are you planning on standing there all night, sweetheart?”

You snap out of it to find Jisung and the four people next to him all staring at you, some curious, others annoyed, while the man of the hour is smirking, amused. When your eyes meet, he beckons you over with a single finger, eyes lighting up the dark room once you’re close enough.

Taking another sip of his drink, Jisung sits up straighter. “Guys, this is Y/n.”

They all greet you politely, not wanting to upset him in any way. These weren’t adoring fans but that didn’t mean they didn’t want to remain in his good graces.

“Well, Y/n,” one of them, a girl sitting on his right, is the first to talk. “There aren’t any seats left so…”

Her tone isn’t polite nor friendly, and the glare hidden behind her fake smile rubs you the wrong way. So wrong that without a warning, you move and take a seat right in Jisung’s lap, turning your back to her as your attention is once again captivated by his beautiful face.

“Don’t worry about me.” You purr, voice as sweet as liquorice when Jisung’s wide eyes meet yours. “It looks like Jisung saved the best seat for me, after all.”

You hear her scoff and begin complaining to the guy next to her, but you’re too busy getting lost in his mesmerizing gaze to care, eyes darkening with every breath he takes. Jisung’s arms find your waist instantly, helping you find a more comfortable position like you being on top of him is the most natural thing in the world. As you’re sitting on one of his thighs, the other moves to cage your legs between his and press against you in the sexiest way.

Looking up at you, the glitter under his eyes is the only thing shimmering and bringing light to his contemplative expression, devoid of the usual smirk. Seems like you knocked the cockiness out of him.

Good.

“How is that for a hello?”

Honestly, speaking, you have no idea what possessed you to behave in such a way but the sudden burst of confidence was certainly welcomed. Getting to have the upper hand and make him nervous for once was a win in your book, and a needed break for your poor heart.

Still looking a little dazed, it takes Jisung a moment to react before he snorts and lets his head fall back on the couch. “Ten out of ten.”

You giggle, moving closer to trace his jaw with one of your fingers. The music was quieter here, so having a conversation was easier.

“You’re cute when you’re flustered.”

Jisung shakes his head, closing his eyes for a brief moment and that’s when you notice the tips of his ears turning red, making your giggles louder. “Are you doing all of this because Minho can catch us at any time or?”

“Or?” you urge him to continue, still somehow managing to keep your cool.

“You tell me.” His gaze moves to yours, no traces of amusement or shyness left and the intensity has your confidence shaking a bit.

His whole body relaxes under you, and that’s when you take the opportunity to finally take him in, avoiding his question at the same time. He is wearing a black leather jacket with a black shirt underneath, neck adorned by three silver necklaces you can’t seem to look away from, completed by a pair of black, ripped jeans. His fluffy hair is out of his face, showing his forehead and a part of the dark undercut you loved so much.

As always, Han Jisung looked perfect and butterflies inducing.

A smirk suddenly makes its way on your lips as you begin toying with one of the necklaces, distracted. “Or.”

His brows furrow for a moment, eyes glued on your face before he bursts out laughing, throwing his head back once again and exposing his clean neck. He would look good with a hickey or two. From you, of course.

“God, sweetheart. You’re going to be the death of me.”

The words make you pout, exaggerating for effect and his amusement. “Noo, you’re too sexy to die.”

Jisung lets out a sound that’s a half groan, half laugh, rolling his head away from you at the cringy line, having had enough. You only laugh harder, missing the way his arms tighten around you and bring your body a bit closer.

The party is just a blur around you and him, something outside your little bubble that neither pays attention to, too high on each other to care. Even the friends around him have faded into mere shadows, not important anymore.

“I missed having my own words being spoken back to me. It’s a really humbling experience.”

There’s a sparkle in his eyes as you snort and he chuckles, reaching out to play with a piece of your hair.

“Well, you should have called. Humbling you is my favourite pastime, after all.” You say simply, smiling at him while still playing with his necklaces. “I like this one.” It takes him a moment to realize the change in subject but once he does, his eyes move to the jewellery around your fingers.

He raises an eyebrow. “You do?”

“Sure. It’s pretty.”

Then, his warmth around you disappears as he reaches out to take off the thin, silver chain, placing it in your hands like it didn’t cost him thousands of dollars. Like it isn’t his favourite out of the bunch, the one he never takes off.

“Here, it’s yours.”

Your eyes widen as you look between him and the jewellery in your hands, completely taken aback. “What?”

The corners of his mouth turn upwards in a rare, genuine smile you usually don’t get to see on him while he closes your hand around it. His bigger hand envelops yours and has warmth spreading all over your body, kicking your previous confidence aside to let the butterflies start going wild.

“Do you need help putting it on?” He brushes past your question and confusion.

You still can’t wrap your head around his gesture, searching his gaze for any sort of hesitation. You find none, and that baffles you even more. “Are you serious?”

This time, he actually laughs. “Yes, I am, sweetheart. Now, will you let me help you?”

“Jisung, I can’t – “

“Nonsense.” He shakes his head, gently prying the necklace from your now clammy hand. “Come on, turn around for me, baby.”

You hesitate for several moments, looking at him to make sure he’s completely serious about what he’s saying and not messing with you in any way. Like before, he just smiles and moves your hair on one shoulder as his way of gently coaxing you to give in.

With a shuddering breath, you do, turning your back to him while pretending that the mere thought of his hands on you isn’t making your heart pound loudly in your chest. Like you aren’t going insane with want, needing him to touch you constantly for the fire in you to be kept at bay.

His hands are soft and gentle as he clasps the necklace around your neck, lingering on your nape while his hot breath causes goosebumps to rise all over your skin. When the chain is secured in place, Jisung doesn’t pull away as expected but leans forward to kiss the back of your neck tenderly which has your breath hitching in your throat in surprise.

The feeling of his lips burns on your skin as he places two more along your nape before fixing your hair and wrapping his toned arms around your waist again, hugging you to his chest.

“Beautiful.” He whispers, pecking your cheek as your own hands move to settle over his, desperately searching for something to hold on and keep sane. The position you’re now in is more intimate than before, being able to feel all of him against your back, under you and around you. It was intoxicating, his presence, making you feel dizzy and lightheaded in a way nobody has managed to before.

Does he feel it too? This electrifying feeling and the sparks that ignite between you? He has to, there was no way.

“It’s going to look so hot dangling between our bodies when you’re on top of me, don’t you think, baby?”

That’s the last straw, the thing that finally causes your heart to stop, brain turning into mush right in Han Jisung’s hands. Mustering all of your remaining strength, you turn to face him but he doesn’t budge so your nose bumps into his in the process, faces inches apart.

“When?” You let out with difficulty, breathless and barely able to meet his eyes.

“When.” He confirms, reaching out to touch the silver pendant and graze your chest, the brief touch almost making you jump out of your skin. Jisung knows exactly what he’s doing, the mischievous glint in his big, brown eyes telling you so. “Because I’m going to make it happen.”

If you needed any more confirmation that Jisung was as into you as you were into him, there you have it. Insane, the whole thing was insane and felt unreal. But the chemistry between you was definitely there and not a fragment of your imagination, especially when he leans down to plant quick pecks on the exposed skin of your neck, stopping briefly to suck but not enough to leave a mark.

Your eyes flutter shut as you cling onto him, wrapping your arms around his neck and leaning your head back to give him more space. But you can’t help but wonder if this was the alcohol talking. He looked as sober as one can be at a party, but the drinks in front of him were evidence enough of his intoxication.

He was always good at holding his liquor but that didn’t mean his thought process wasn’t a little fuzzy. Would he have done all of those things he did tonight, sober? Would he even touch you if alcohol wasn’t involved?

These doubts and insecurities cause your head to spin for a completely different reason, already pulling your body under and making you want to hide in a hole. So, when you let out a sigh that indicates how far your thoughts have run off too, no pleasure in sight, Jisung pulls away.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, voice soft with a hint of worry as he searches your gaze for any hint of discomfort he might have caused. If he wasn’t making you feel good, he had no problem stopping.

You shake your head, not looking at him. Not letting him catch even a glimpse of the storm that was currently taking place inside your mind. “Nothing.”

That’s not what he wants to hear, nor does he appreciate being lied to, face dropping. “Y/n – “

“Jisung!” The moment is broken as you both turn around at the new voice, the loud call of his name getting his friends’ attention too. Chan and Changbin are standing there, one more drunk than the other and very, very happy, with a small crowd behind them. “Come on, it’s game time!”

His face lights up at the words, briefly distracted by the activity he seems to enjoy. But the excitement doesn’t linger as he looks back at you, still out of it.

Nodding, one of his hands moves to pet the top of your head gently, soothing your racing mind like he knew exactly what was going on. Jisung could be so attentive when he wanted to; caring for the people around him and always putting their comfort first. A quality of his you thought got lost on the way to stardom.

“Go on, we’ll be right behind you.”

So, they do, the friends around you standing up and following Chan and Changbin in a heartbeat, chanting happily to where the game was going to take place while feeding on each other’s happiness.

Confused, you finally look at him. “Aren’t you going to join them?”

He smiles and everything slows down, your thoughts getting quiet as his lips connect with your forehead softly. “Let’s go together? I promise Changbin can make any game fun.”

How can you say no when he looks at you like you carry the stars in your eyes, like you’re the only one he can see?

Standing up, you offer him your hand and he grasps it gently, taking a moment before starting to drag you after his friends excitedly, resembling a hyperactive puppy let out of his leash.

Game time, in Changbin’s words, turns out to be a simple game of beer pong, one that proves to be more fun than you initially thought. Though, as expected, the loser and the winner get treated as such. The winning team gets the whole hot tub to themselves for a whole hour while the losers are left catering to their every need, granting all of their selfish wishes.

A big crowd gathers around the table to see 3racha play, hyped about joining and getting the prize. It’s crazy and loud and there are too many teams trying out their luck to the point where you almost give up on getting your turn, until Felix, Seungmin, Jeongin and Hyunjin join, all in high spirits. Their excitement rubs off on you and before you know it, you’re all having fun together without any care in the world.

Changbin’s simple game becomes the main attraction of the night when at some point, some guy lays on the table and instead of drinking from the red plastic cups, the loser has to do a shot of tequila off of his exposed chest. It’s wild but you swear you’ve never laughed harder in your life and that’s why, you don’t even mind when you and Seungmin don’t make it to the ‘finals’.

Your moment of glory might’ve been short lived until Chan beat you but at least, you and Seungmin managed to beat both Jeongin and Hyunjin and the unexpected opponents that appeared along the way when Felix and Jisung teamed up. They were a force to be reckoned with, almost ruining your winning streak but, you lived to see another day when Jisung got a little too cocky and lost the ball by throwing it too far. As expected, everyone lost their marbles and disqualified them both causing Felix to see red and jump him in a second. Only this time, their bickering wasn’t full of venom and malice but playfulness.

He still put him in a headlock, because of course, Felix did – violence was always the answer in his head when it came to Jisung. Your best friend was insane.

Anyways, as expected, the game went on for a good while before Chan and his teammate won against Changbin and some other guy, crowning him the loser in his own house which made Jisung laugh for ten minutes straight. Unfortunately for him, one of Chan’s wishes was for Bin to dress up as a maid and Jisung along with everyone else, filmed the whole thing.

A great memory for the grandkids, surely. They’re all going to fall over laughing just like Jisung did, not being able to stand on their own two feet while watching the video of their grandpa parading around in a skimpy, too-tight dress he had lying around.

For some strange reason, your brother was still nowhere to be seen, missing out on the whole game and the craziness that followed. Jisung said he was a pro at beer pong, so his absence was a bit concerning. Whatever Minho is doing, you just hope he’s having fun and being careful.

Who knows, maybe he’s having the time of his life with the fire dancers outside. That seems more like his scene anyway, though you’re sure he was going to regret not seeing Changbin sing Celine Dion with an apron on.

After all that, most of the crowd dissipates and you’re finally left alone with Jisung, the others being too busy drinking, napping on the floor or singing karaoke to pay any attention to whatever you two are doing. You knew Lix and the others certainly were as they were currently trying to sneak past Chan into the enormous hot tub.

By now, you’ve also had more drinks and the alcohol was buzzing in your veins in a very pleasant way, making you giddier and more confident than ever before. Happy, you were happy, and Jisung was beaming from ear to ear at the sight, elated that whatever thoughts were plaguing your beautiful mind were finally put to rest.

“You used to wear more rings.” Is the first thing you blurt out as he cages you between the ping pong table and his sturdy body, one arm around your middle while the other holds a suspicious looking blunt, resting on the wooden surface. That’s all you’ve been thinking about since the game as your eyes inspected every vein, dent and muscle in his very attractive arms. Arms you love to feel around you, holding your body close and secure.

“Oh, yeah,” He nods, taking a drag of the cig and blowing the smoke over your shoulder. “I stopped wearing them a while ago.”

You frown, boldly grabbing his hand to inspect the lone ring on his thumb. “Why?”

Jisung shrugs, not noticing the disappointment on your face. “They get in the way.”

“Of what?” Now you’re even more confused.

The only answer he gives you is a cocky smirk, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively as he licks his lips in the hottest way only he can and your whole face feels like it’s on fire once you realize what he means. Pervert, that’s what he was. To be fair, you did this to yourself by asking but what the fuck kind of reason was that? It wasn’t even a good one since, in your opinion, rings made the whole experience so much more pleasurable. Something about the cold metal moving around inside you always tipped you over the edge embarrassingly quickly.

Without even thinking about it, since all of your common sense seems to fly out the window when Jisung is around, you take off one of your own rings and slide it on his ring finger. Miraculously, it fits perfectly.

“Here.” You let go as he brings the blunt back to his lips, only then looking at the new jewel adorning his beautiful hand. “This will keep all these other girls away. Now they have nothing to get in the way of.”

Usually, you pride yourself in being smart, the smartest in your family. But as Jisung admires the piece quietly, a faint smile on his lips, you start feeling like the biggest moron. Making him wear it on his ring finger? What were you thinking? How much was the alcohol affecting you to pull such a stunt, making it look like you were proposing?

There was jealousy and then there was stupidity and you were currently being both. Stupidly jealous.

To your surprise, his eyes sparkle with something more than amusement. What is he enjoying more? Your sudden possessiveness or your drunken antics?

“Since when have you become so bold, sweetheart?” He asks quietly, pinning you against the furniture and getting right in your face. “Not that I’m complaining.”

A verbal response doesn’t want to leave your lips, so you shrug, too embarrassed and overwhelmed by him, looking down to play with his necklace around your neck. You were both wearing each other’s jewellery now, in a clear show of…something? Affection? Possessiveness? What was it?

You weren’t a couple but you willingly gave away your favourite ring, letting him hold, kiss and mess with your head daily. Maybe this was the love you’ve been dreaming about? Han Jisung, your first love, had a nice ring to it.

You weren’t sure. But what you were sure of was the way he managed to make you feel like the most special person on earth, like the only one that mattered in this room that was filled to the brim with people. This was his party as much as it was Changbin’s but he’s been spending most of his time with you, not playing host at all. That had to mean something, right?

Even as others approached him, Jisung had no problem shrugging them off and going back to make you laugh or your head spin, only seeing you and your beautiful smile he could never get enough of. Not even his best friend, Minho, got him to himself as much as you did tonight, despite him being the one Jisung was looking for at the beginning of the night.

Han Jisung was considered a genius but around you, he had no problem playing the fool.

His free hand from around your waist moves upwards on your body, sending a shiver down your spine and only stopping once it reaches your face, cupping your cheek. “In that case, I should also give you something.” He says, continuing your conversation from before while you try to regain your composure.

Your arms gravitate around his shoulder, leisurely meeting at the back of his head. “You already did.” You nod towards the chain around your neck, patiently reminding him of his previous gesture.

Shaking his head, Jisung brings the blunt back to his lips. “I mean something a bit more special.”

That piques your interest and you move closer, sharing the same breath while looking straight into each other’s eyes with such intensity it has you forgetting where you are for a second. Getting lost in someone else’s eyes has never happened to you until now, the beautiful and warm brown colour transporting you to unexplored realms.

Just like magic, Jisung’s got you under such a powerful spell that you wouldn’t mind staring into his eyes forever.

“Tell me, baby,” he mumbles lowly, changing the subject, inches away from your lips. “you’re the happiest when you’re with me, right?”

His wet lips part as he exhales the smoke in his lungs right over yours, causing goosebumps to appear all over your body, whole being shaking with desire. It’s been weeks and he’s still teasing you, leaning in just to pull away at the last second, playing tug of war with your heart like it was the most entertaining game in the world.

Somehow, things always ended like this with him. No matter how much time passed, or how your last meeting went, an invisible force pulled you together instantly the moment you near one another. You gravitated towards each other so naturally that sometimes, you didn’t even realize it until you were groping, caressing and begging for him to kiss you. To do something, anything.

So, you nod, seeing no point in trying to hide the obvious truth. This causes a small smile to peak through his mask, the one he wears around everyone, eyes full of fondness as he reaches out to gently put some hair behind your ear. You realize now that he’s never looked at you with anything but fondness and affection, brown eyes always so bright and sparkly in your presence. Even in the more intense moments you shared, it was easy to decipher the love in his lust-filled gaze.

Tenderly, as always, his hand moves to the back of your head to bring you closer before taking another drag of his cig while maintaining the same intense eye contact from before. Your heart rate picks up, the anticipation killing you. What was he planning? How will he mess with your head this time? You wait impatiently, trying to keep yourself together until his thumb connects with your bottom lip and coaxes your mouth to open, having half a mind to close again around the digit. But you don’t and the unexpected happens – without breaking eye contact, Jisung exhales all the smoke he inhaled into your mouth in the sexiest way possible. The gesture affects you both because suddenly, the breath you shared goes faint.

Your heart pounds against your ribcage, almost like it’s begging to be left out and you’re sure he can feel it. Especially when he doesn’t give you any more time to process what just happened and finally connects your lips in the most awaited kiss of your life. You gasp against his mouth and he smirks, taking the opportunity to slip his tongue inside and deepen the kiss instantly.

It feels surreal, finally getting to kiss Jisung after so long. A dream come true, sure – but more like a fairy tale that has finally reached its happy ending.

He’s in no rush, movements controlled with great precision to ensure all the teasing and waiting around has been more than worth it. The arm around your waist tightens, pulling you flush against his body so you too can feel how affected he is by the whole thing, how his body burns with desire as the hand on your hair moves lower, settling on the small of your back, dangerously close to your ass.

But you’ve had it with being careful, always waiting around so you move his hand even lower, to rest exactly where he wants it to be. If Jisung is surprised, he does the opposite because the moment he feels your supple flesh on his fingertips, he squeezes shamelessly which causes you to let out a moan.

Pushing you further into the table, you’re almost sitting on the surface as his hand then moves to cup your face and melt into you deliciously. The kiss is wet and passionate, conveying the desperation that accumulated over the years of being denied this. You’re making out now and you swear your whole body feels like it’s resting on a fluffy cloud, far, far away from here with Jisung being the only person allowed to join you in this high.

It's intoxicating, it’s raw and full of emotion – it’s a kiss like no other, something only he can provide.

Pulling away briefly to allow you to catch your breath, his swollen and wet lips find your neck again only this time, he sucks on the skin with the intent of leaving something behind, evidence of his presence. Your vision gets blurry, a breathy moan escaping you as your hand brings him closer like you weren’t already one, as much as you could be still fully clothed.

“Isn’t this so much better than a little necklace?” He mumbles against your skin, soothing the bruise he left gently. Without waiting for you to answer, Jisung gets a hold of your thighs and finally places you on the table, settling between your legs.

Not like you can answer anyway, too dizzy and drunk on the taste of his lips to care to. Your ring on his finger catches your attention as he begins running both of his big hands on the expanse of your body, caressing every curve over the red and tight dress you have to thank Jeongin for choosing as your outfit tonight.

“Beautiful, baby. So fucking beautiful.”

And that’s all it takes for you to pull him back in, connecting your lips and putting the puzzle pieces back together in a sweet and deep kiss. Holding you by the hips now, he’s more than happy to get lost on cloud nine again, eagerness slowly taking over and making his movements more frantic, grinding his crouch against yours sensually.

There’s no doubt in your mind that you would have ended up fucking on this table, in front of everybody if what happened next didn’t sober you up instantly.

“What the actual fuck are you two doing?”

・❥・

♡. taglist: @liknws @scarletbedlam @xhazmania @skzpvol @slut4colinbridgerton @sealovesbts @stickycrusadecollective @byullielle @princelingperfect @realrintaro @ilychee08 @mysweethannie @jetblackbelle @hanjisunginc @whitney190 @emyladia @hanschimpmunk @briqnne @seungminsapuppy @telehan @heeheehoohoohahahihi @lvrgrl-xo @imnotgoodatnature @adestayskz @imsiriuslyreal @dprkbyn @hyunsungbased @dandycharmer @thepeopleintheback @fashominnie @ch4nniebang @possumy @emikisses @skzhoes @drhsthl @baribaaari @highlydestiny @starsandrqindrops @queerpumpkinnn @lilmarkieepooh

#oh my god #PLS #PLS PLS PLS

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hyunsungbased · 8 months

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In honour of one of my favourite tropes. Here’s a tattoo I had done while in NYC for global !