#chungha x reader smut | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lisired · 4 months

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ex marks the spot

pairing: ex!mark x (f) reader

genre/warnings: smut, a pinch of angst, mystery, exes to lovers, (mentions of) characters death, graphic descriptions of violence and murder, alcohol consumption, unprotected sex, oral (m/f)

summary: Two months ago, you and Mark called it quits and haven’t spoken to each other since. As per tradition, your respective friend groups gather each Christmas eve to keep the peace, but this year somebody has a different plan. And the new chick on Mark’s arm isn’t the worst thing to happen.

wc: 19.9k

author’s note: (this is a repost!) nothing like a christmas mystery lol. partly inspired by honey lavender by ieuan. as always, feedback is appreciated!

Distractions, you chanted to yourself, desperate to think about literally anything other than your many problems.

A tall window overlooked the entire city, as far as you were concerned. Nightfall had taken over and the bustling streets were caked in thick clunks of snow. Pressing your fingertips against the glass, you could feel relentless winter.

None of it did anything to soothe the white hot envy scorching its way down your throat. Across the room, there was a blonde girl on Mark’s arm, snuggling against his chest and sucking up all of his warmth.

That should’ve been you, but you would never admit to yourself (or anyone) that you were jealous of her. You had way too much pride for a silly thing like that. Of course, Mark had never brought a girl to one of these events before, and you had an inkling it was solely to make you jealous. You couldn’t let him win.

“This is my friend Jodie,” Mark had introduced the girl hanging on his every word like a lovestruck teenager, but noting how close they kept to each other amongst many other things, it was safe to assume they were more than friends.

Less than lovers, probably, but undeniably more than friends.

Johnny, the man of the hour, came floating your way with the grace of a butterfly and said, “Damn. You could just tell me if you’re hating the party.”

Your eyes flickered. “What?”

“You’re mad. It’s written all over your body language.” Then, he craned his head and whispered in your ear, “Have a drink and relax a little. Don’t let him know he’s getting to you.”

“He’s not getting to me,” you grumbled under your breath, but you knew that it was an obvious lie.

“If he’s not, then Jodie sure is. That’s what he wants. The whole reason he’s sucking her face off by the hearth is because he wants you to see.”

You knew that. Mark always wanted to be seen, to be acknowledged. His whole life was based on making people look at him, to which you were no exception. Your relationship consisted of him doing anything and everything necessary to grab your attention, but in all honesty, it didn’t take a whole lot.

You could never keep your eyes off Mark and he knew it. Wherever he went, he was the most radiant person in the room. He was a Leo to his fucking core.

Getting back in character, you straightened up your stance and threw Johnny a beaming smile. “It’s a wonderful party.”

Johnny grinned. “There she goes,” he said in his regular speaking voice, pleased at your new demeanor.

He was the master of all things body language and human psychology. He had been friends with you long enough to be confident that you’d never want your ex thinking for a second that he had one up on you. At least you knew somebody would always have your back. With Mark and his friends, you couldn’t help but watch it.

“Thanks,” you replied quietly, grateful he’d come get you together. And quickly at that.

“You’re my friend.”

“Mark’s your friend.”

“Yeah, but Mark’s a dickhead.”

You snickered. “Amen to that.”

Johnny was the middleman between you and Mark’s individual friend groups. After an incident dating back all the way to your senior year in high school, your former friend group of nine was split in two. You, Jeno, and Jaehyun on one side, with Mark, Chungha, Haechan, and Yuta on the other.

Johnny, the god of friendly relations that he was, managed to drift between both sides. Matter of fact, these parties of his were the whole reason you even saw the other side of the group every year. If it weren’t for Johnny wanting to maintain the peace, most of you would never be in the same room again for any purpose.

You took a glimpse around the party. It was being held in Johnny’s sumptuous two-floor penthouse this year after the outdoor disaster that was last year's Christmas eve reunion. To say the least, hypothermia had never seemed scarier.

Unsurprisingly, Mark still had his hands and mouth all over Jodie as they stood near the hearth, the fireplace decorated in limestone. Chungha was marveling at Johnny's case of precious stones and cabochon gems. Off to your right, Haechan had his face set in a scowl.

“Haechan looks happy to be here,” you quipped with total sarcasm.

Johnny didn’t even spare Haechan a glance, like he already knew what he’d see if he looked, and chuckled. “Yeah, we got into a tiny argument a few minutes back. He’ll be fine.”

That piqued your curiosity, but you didn’t press. Haechan always went looking for trouble and Johnny stopped it before it could even happen. Of course Haechan disliked that.

The elevator dinged, revealing a fashionably late Jeno. Johnny noticed and glanced at you, saying, “I’ve got to greet our favorite guest. Thanks for coming, by the way.”

You shot him an amused grin. “I came for you, but I’m staying for the margaritas.”

Johnny shook his head and laughed. After asking him to tell Jeno that you said hello, the two of you went your own separate ways.

For a little bit, you went to mingle, but you realized quickly that there weren’t a lot of people you were keen on having a conversation with. Jeno, your best friend, was with Johnny. That left Jaehyun, Johnny’s stepbrother, but you knew he preferred to be left alone.

Mark obviously wasn’t an option. Even if he knew you better than anyone in the room.

In spite of knowing you wouldn’t be there long, you made small talk with Jaehyun for a couple of minutes before he got an apparently urgent text message on his phone and excused himself apologetically.

To where, you had no fucking clue. This was your first time in Johnny’s penthouse regardless of how close you were. You spent very little time in the city and even less at your own home. It was a blessing you hadn’t missed one of these parties yet.

Maybe a curse. To be frank, you didn’t want to be here, but that had almost everything to do with Mark. Bringing Jodie along to an annual reunion for friends was low, even for him. But you kind of wished you had somebody to keep you company like he did.

You exhaled your feelings and pretended that they didn’t bother you. Your mother told you a long time ago that the only person you’d ever be able to depend on was yourself and though she had her own set of parenting complications, it was the best advice she’d ever given you.

Speaking of advice, Johnny’s was starting to appear way too appetizing and you made a beeline for the kitchen, slipping past Yuta who was apparently on the phone. Those infamous mango margaritas were calling your name.

When you entered the hallway, turning around the corner from the dining room, you almost immediately retreated. You almost told Johnny that you couldn’t be here for another minute. But Mark noticed you and it was too late. He would immediately know what was going on and take it as a surrender.

“Look who decided to come,” Mark said sharply, a greeting of his own in some twisted way. “I bet you were hoping to see a fruity cocktail.”

“Yes, and you’re standing in my way,” you spat, gesturing to the cabinets behind you.

Mark furrowed a brow. “You aren’t going to take one that’s already there?”

You looked at him like he had fifteen heads. Those could’ve easily been spiked with any substance. “Mark, half the people in this house hate each other. I love margaritas, but I love my life way more. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

Mark scooted out of your way, though only because he knew the bounds of your survival. It was all that you knew.

You reached around, grabbing ingredients from various places. All the while, Mark stood there, hating how unbothered you were. He was desperate to get a reaction out of you and would go to great lengths to get what he was searching for.

His eyes were fixed to your frame and the green sequin gown hugging it tightly. There was a long slit running down the side that Mark clocked before you turned to face the counter, offering a delicious view of one of your perfect legs. When his eyes lifted from your beautiful curves, he noticed the dress was backless.

Fuck, you were still gorgeous. Worst of all, you were still exactly everything he imagined and wanted. The girl of his dreams.

“I wouldn’t let anyone hurt you,” Mark admitted, staring daggers into your back.

You rooted in place with shock at the blurted confession, hands on a bottle of tequila, wondering if he had any liquor in his system making him a little more blunt than he should’ve been.

Until Mark finished, “Because if anyone’s going to kill you, it’s going to be me.”

The flutter in your chest immediately settled back into exasperation. Mark wasn’t afraid of having an altercation with you and he knew he could get away with it without suspicion. Given the bad blood between your respective friend groups, occasional animosity was to be expected.

Plus it wasn’t like it was still some grave-bound secret. It also wasn’t as if you never saw the glares Haechan threw your way.

You recovered with a roll of your eyes, turning to him and snapping, “How long are you going to hate me?”

“As long as it takes,” Mark growled, parading out of the kitchen before you could get another word in. He wasn’t prepared to argue yet, but he refused to let you have the last word.

You shook your head in contempt. Mark wasn’t just your former lover, but the other half of you, regardless of how corny it sounded. You knew he could hold a grudge until the day he was six feet under. As long as it takes. For what, you had no clue.

Finishing up the cocktail, you cleaned up behind yourself and prepared to head back out to the party, though made a last-minute decision to linger in the kitchen. You were irritated and you weren’t in the mood to socialize or see Mark again until your system had a little liquor.

A few moments afterwards, Jeno bounced into the kitchen eagerly, grinning from ear to ear like he knew that he’d find you here. As if to sell your suspicions, he greeted, “Found you. And it only took eight seconds.”

You chuckled, sipping from your glass. Though you already knew the answer, you humored him, asking, “How’d you find me?”

“Easy. I just followed the tequila.”

“Me and tequila do go way back,” you replied, smiling at the memories. Some good, some… unspeakable. You gestured to your glass. “Want one?”

Jeno shook his head. “No thanks. I’m good.”

You gasped dramatically and joked, “What, are you pregnant?”

“No way. I’m a complete virgin.”

You burst out laughing. “You’re a complete fucking lie.”

Jeno looked like he couldn’t even take himself seriously. Then, he shifted the topic, mentioning, “I saw Mark storm out of here. That also was a hint as to your whereabouts.”

You fought a grimace, deciding nonchalance was key. “We talked for the first time in two months. Since the breakup.”

“How did that go?”

“Take a wild fucking guess,” you mumbled, the memory making you wince and take another generous sip.

Jeno grimaced. “Yeah, he didn’t look too happy. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you assured him, though you weren’t certain. Your heart still raced a little when Mark was close enough. But a familiar pain always followed in its wake.

Jeno gave you a knowing look, but said nothing. Both of you were distracted by the sound of footsteps, noticing Johnny and Jodie cruising down the hallways. From the looks of it, he was giving her a tour. She was giving Johnny heart eyes.

You arched a brow in curiosity, while Jeno appeared amused. To the average outsider, Johnny looked content as ever, but you and Jeno recognized him with dwindling patience.

“This party’s getting interesting,” Jeno commented, eyes darting down the hall with interest.

You nodded in agreement. “It’s already a step up from last year.”

There were painful flashbacks flickering behind Jeno’s eyes. “Damn right. As soon as I stepped into the lobby, all I could feel was warm air.”

You snickered. “Johnny doesn’t repeat mistakes. He hates it.”

“You really know Johnny.”

You noticed that Jeno’s eyes were already on you when you glanced up to look at him. “We dated. You know that.”

“For your mother’s sake,” Jeno replied.

That was true. She was practically begging you to bring a guy home. Not because she was eager to have grandchildren (though the time would come where she’d start pressing you for an heir), but because having an affluent partner would make you look better, which would thus make the company look better.

It was before Mark. The bad blood aside, he wasn’t exactly the type of person your mother approved of you being seen with. Mark was a rapper. Johnny, on the other hand, came from a lineage of prominent wealthy businessmen.

In a weird way, it kind of made sense how the group separated. There was you, whose father was the chairman of an oil company, Jeno, whose father was the chief executive of a private equity investor, and Johnny and Jaehyun, whose mother was an entrepreneur, but Johnny was chosen to take over the business while Jaehyun was stuck with real estate.

Then there were Mark’s friends. Chungha, who was a successful model and influencer. Yuta, a popular soccer player. And Haechan was the product of two fierce attorneys, but he obviously had no intention of following in his parents’ footsteps.

Johnny was everything your mother wanted you to be with and to appease her, you dated him for a few months. And you were grateful. He helped you learn new things about yourself and how you navigated relationships. You were never in love with him, but you’d always love Johnny.

Your heart still wanted Mark. You didn’t know what love was until you fell for Mark.

“Yes. It was strictly business,” you confirmed, thinking nothing of it. This wasn’t news. Jeno knew you well enough.

Jeno nodded in approval. “I’m gonna go take a look around the house. This is my first time coming over.”

At least you weren’t the only one. “Have fun. I’m gonna find some food. I’m hungry.”

Jeno told you that he’d see you later, then dipped. Meanwhile, you went around the corner to the dining room, finding plenty of food and wanting to dig in. You didn’t trust half of the guests here enough to eat unsupervised dishes, but unlike the previous years, you didn’t manage to sneak in a meal beforehand.

Yuta and Haechan ironically didn’t seem to be as wary. They were sitting beside each other, chatting over their food. Out of his friends, Mark was closest with Yuta and Haechan. Their friendship was unwavering and one of the few to stand the test of time. In a way, they were like a trio of brothers.

You subtly took glances at them. Haechan looked more buoyant and cheerful than earlier. Definitely not in the mood to poison anyone’s food. And Yuta, though you weren’t necessarily close anymore, still seemed like the Yuta you used to know. Before the incident ruined you for the worse.

Haechan couldn’t be any more different. He was the same spoiled little brat, you supposed, but he wasn’t shy about his disdain towards you. And the rest of your friends. If it weren’t for the fact that Johnny was just so goddamn likable, you were certain Haechan wouldn’t come.

At least you weren’t on their radar for now. Neither of them seemed to be fazed by your presence. Thank god, you thought to yourself, glimpsing across the dining room. There were mistletoes hanging from here to there. You could hear typical holiday music from down the hall.

It was a good sign at the very least. You were just paranoid and not having Mark to discreetly meet in a bathroom for a quickie forced you to confront the dark essence of these parties. With Mark, the feeling was still there, but at least you could convert it into tension of a sexual nature.

You still remembered what it was like. Betting kisses on how many minutes of alone time you had before the others noticed you were coincidentally both missing. Those sweet nothings you’d whisper in his ear to coax him towards climax quicker.

And they would work. Every fucking time. There was nothing like watching his face immediately tense with pleasure at those words and watching his orgasm consequently wreck through his utter being like a freight train.

You chuckled at the thought. It was too fucking easy, but boy, Mark could fuck.

Your thoughts wondered again. To Mark, and to Jodie. Did he fuck her, or was he merely using her as a pawn in this little game of his?

You wouldn’t be surprised. On top of his exigency for attention and demand for total adoration, Mark was fucking spiteful. He was the pettiest dude you’d ever met and would go to the ends of the earth and back simply to make a point.

A few more glances around the dining area and you decided that there was nothing for you there, returning to the solace of Johnny’s marble kitchen. Thinking about your stupid ex made you lose your appetite.

If you made it back home for Christmas tomorrow, there would be a full-course dinner with your relatives anyways. You used to hope that you’d be able to bring Mark to one of those holiday banquets, though you’d be delusional to think it’d be anything other than a complete fiasco.

Hell, the only lover of yours to survive meeting your mother was Johnny, and that was because you didn’t know a single person who could possibly dislike him at all.

To your surprise, a spine-chilling gunshot rang out somewhere down the hallway, jolting you out of your brief abstraction.

“Fuck!” cried Johnny’s voice, startled. You knew immediately that something was wrong. Johnny, at least on the outside, was never afraid.

Not since that night.

You marched straight for the living room and the echoes of several pairs of hurried footsteps said that everybody was on the same page. Though you could’ve swore the gunshot came from here, when you got to the living room, everyone was there except for Johnny.

No, Jodie wasn’t there either. You would know, because she’d be clinging to Mark’s arm right about now, like a child to their mother’s bosom in a grocery store.

Johnny stumbled out of the lounge with no apparent injuries, but an inscrutable look on his handsome face.

Jaehyun was the first to ask, “What happened?”

“Jodie,” Johnny said emotionlessly, pointing to the lounge. “She’s dead.”

Nobody moved. You instinctively glanced to Mark, wondering what his reaction would be, but his face didn’t move a fucking inch.

“Is that what that gunshot was for?” Yuta pressed.

Johnny shook his head and replied, “No, the gunshot was for me. Somebody tried to shoot me from the overlook upstairs, but missed by an inch. I ran into the lounge for shelter, but found Jodie there instead.”

The bullet in the wall by a lamp was enough proof that Johnny wasn’t lying. One of his guests standing before him now tried to take him out.

There was a familiar unsettling sensation burning through your gut like a gunshot wound to the abdomen. The room devolved into its own breed of silent chaos, but you could tell from everybody’s faces and guarded postures that the same thought was flickering behind your eyelids.

Mark finally expressed a pinch of anger in his tone, stating in confusion, “I only heard one gunshot.”

“That’s because she wasn’t shot,” Johnny replied coolly, running a hand through his hair. “She was butchered.”

Well, that sure didn’t paint a pretty picture. Just the thought of what you’d see if you walked into the lounge made you stiffen. You jotted down a mental note not to go in there unless absolutely necessary.

You glanced up towards the overlook. It was tall and offered the perfect angle of Johnny from where you assumed he was standing, plus there was enough space between the metal bars for a bullet to fly.

To its sides were two different hallways, both functioning as possible escape routes, but everybody got here fairly quickly. Wouldn’t anyone have noticed if someone fired a shot merely seconds before gathering here?

Your arms were folded across your chest and your face was fixed in a line to hide your fear. There was no room for it with this crowd of people. “You didn’t see anyone?”

“I looked up and they were only a sliver.”

Chungha didn’t look too happy. “Shouldn’t we call the police?”

“As if it’s ever that easy with us,” Jeno retorted.

Johnny quickly shot the idea down. “Nobody’s coming in or out of my house until I know who did this. If you want to try me, be my guest.”

You weren’t keen on being cooped up in this house for only god knows how long with people who were as good as strangers (especially now that bodies were dropping), but you didn’t plan on disobeying either, even if Johnny’s threat did little to intimidate you.

Johnny knew you. He knew you deep down. If Mark weren’t there, standing only a couple of feet shy of you, you would confidently say that he knew you better than anyone else in this room. But it was Mark who had seen all your ugly.

Haechan irritably groaned. “Then, what’s the plan, tough guy?”

“Well, we can start with placing you all outside of the scene. What’s your alibi?” Johnny asked.

Haechan didn’t take kindly to being accused, as evident in his tone when he hissed, “I was in the dining area with Yuta, eating. Our plates are still on the table.”

Johnny glanced at Yuta, who subsequently nodded to confirm that it was true. Plus you could still hear their chatter from around the corner when you were in the kitchen. Their alibi was rock-solid.

“I was coming out of the downstairs bathroom when I heard the gunshot,” Jaehyun said, glimpsing around.

Nobody countered him, and Johnny seemed to trust him, all things considered. They may not have shared blood, but they were brothers.

You rubbed your temple. “I was in the kitchen.”

“I was in the den,” Mark claimed, holding his arm. You could see the slightest shift in his carefully constructed demeanor. “I saw Chungha coming from the back of the hall, so it wasn’t her.”

Chungha said nothing. She was warily glaring holes through the skin of everyone around her. Chungha was a sweetheart and never thought badly of you after the split-up, but she refused to let others get too close, and you honestly respected it.

You were the same way. Skeptical of everybody that crossed your path and kept a tight-knit circle of buddies. After what’d you seen and done, there was no such thing as being too safe.

Jeno huffed, “I was just walking around. I would’ve asked Johnny for a tour, but he was a little… preoccupied.”

Jeno didn’t elaborate and nobody asked him to, but you knew exactly what he meant, and you telepathically exchanged the same thought when you made eye contact for the briefest of seconds. It was odd that only seconds prior, Johnny and Jodie were walking together. Now Jodie was dead and somebody tried to shoot Johnny?

“Let’s not waste precious time. It’s obviously Jeno,” Haechan snapped, glare cutting through his enemy like a blade.

Jeno frowned, offended. “Why me?”

Haechan’s face was tense with frustration. “You know why.”

“Stop,” Johnny told them sternly, stopping the action before it could accelerate too quickly to be controlled. “We’re all adults here and we’re going to handle this like adults. If you have proof, by all means, share. If you don’t know for certain, then keep it to yourself.”

Unsatisfied, Jaehyun crossed his arms and asked, “So what now? We just continue on as if there isn’t a killer on the loose?”

“Yep.”

Jaehyun sighed in distress, but he didn’t go against Johnny.

The eight of you separated quickly, scattering about Johnny’s large house. He seemed to be aware that nothing would happen if you all remained together.

Getting everybody alone upped the stakes. The perpetrator would be more tempted to act. And you needed them to make a mistake.

At least for now, you decided to remain on the first floor where you were already familiar with your surroundings. In spite of being the obvious attack zone of the killer, you were comfortable here.

On your way out of the living room, you noticed some of the group assembling into pairs. Unsurprisingly, Johnny and Jaehyun were together. As were Haechan and Chungha. It was a powerful method, but you preferred to be alone. That way there were less distractions.

You also had no reason to view yourself as a target, though that made you ask yourself the glaring question. Why the hell would somebody want to kill Johnny?

Ironically, the purpose of these parties was to maintain the peace. Jodie’s killer obviously had to know that killing Johnny too would’ve been quite the statement to make.

That there was no peace when it came to the eight of you. You were composed only of death and destruction.

You were so deep in your thoughts that you barely noticed Mark walking in front of you until you nearly crashed into him, stumbling and being caught in his open arms. “Whoa there, baby,” Mark said, holding onto you tightly. “You should really be more aware of what’s going on.”

You wrested yourself out of his hold, but in the middle of doing your damnedest to free yourself from him, your fingers accidentally traced a familiar shape in his coat pocket and you stilled in surprise. “You have a gun?”

Mark didn’t try to deny it. “Why would I go anywhere without one, baby?”

“I’m not your ‘baby,’” you hissed, stepping a comfortable distance away from him.

Mark only hummed. His attention was on the long slit in your emerald green dress. For a second, you couldn’t believe he was blatantly checking you out, then he angled himself towards you and drew his hand to your exposed leg.

Your eyes flitted to Mark and when his met yours, a sly little grin spread across his lips. You’d be lying if you said that his hand on your legs didn’t instinctively reactivate carnal feelings inside of you, but you dared not reveal it on your face.

Finally, after a few seconds of scooting up your thigh, Mark found what he was looking for and purred, “Smart girl.” His hand was at your obviously occupied thigh holster, pointing out the fact that you were also armed and dangerous. “I guess this makes us even, huh?”

You didn’t realize you’d sucked in a breath. It was maddening how perfectly he knew your habits, how predictable you were. You threw his hand off and hissed, “Did you try to kill Johnny?”

“No. Did you?”

“No.”

Mark hummed, apparently believing you. Many things could be said about you depending on who you asked, but at least everybody could agree that you weren’t a killer.

You removed his hand from your thigh and straightened your posture. If the two of you had weapons, it was safe to assume that you weren’t the only ones. The gun strapped to your thigh was the only reason you weren’t totally frightened of being alone.

Your eyes were fixed to Mark, studying him. You weren’t fond of the fact that you were met with the same level of attention, as if he was trying to make you falter under his stare. It wouldn’t be that easy.

Breaking the silence, you told him, “I’m sorry about your piece.”

Mark didn’t look too bummed. “Didn’t care about her like that anyway.”

Yeah, that checks out. You rolled your eyes. “You never cared about anything or anyone, except for yourself.”

That response seemed to genuinely surprise Mark. “Is that what you think of me?”

You weren’t prepared to discuss your emotions with Mark and the sober part of you made the executive decision to walk away instead. The liquor had you feeling a little too honest.

Mark, on the other hand, wasn’t done with this conversation. He grabbed your arm and demanded, “Answer me. Is that what you think of me?”

You wrested your arm out of his hold and snapped, “Just walk away, Mark. It’s what you’re good at.”

That’s rich, Mark thought, but rather than argue with you about it, he stormed off. You were unbelievable. After all he did for you, after how deeply he loved you, you seriously thought that he didn’t love you? That hurt more than he cared to admit.

You watched him walk away, bristling. It didn’t matter that he was only doing what you told him to do. He never fought for your love. He always chose himself over you. Why am I surprised?

Irritated, you made a dramatic exit of your own, wanting nothing more to do with Mark for as long as you lived. He just had to be so fucking difficult. If there wasn’t a slaughter party ongoing right now, you’d be tempted to scout for more alcohol.

At least you knew that you were right not to trust anyone. The food wasn’t spiked apparently, but your point still stood. This crowd was unpredictable and you were never truly safe together. There would always be that lingering tension in the air.

You just wish you knew what their intent in killing Jodie and attempting to kill Johnny was. By now, you were so surrounded by death that you hardly blinked, but Jodie didn’t deserve to die. A puppet in Mark’s silly little games or not.

As if you weren’t already totally pissed, Haechan made his way towards you and hissed, “Admit it. You’re behind all this.”

You resisted a groan and replied blandly, “I thought you said Jeno was the killer?”

“The two of you are besties. It’s not far-fetched to say that you’re in this together, all things considered.”

Rather than be offended, you were purely annoyed. You crossed your arms. “Even if that were true, that’s ridiculous. Why would I want to take out Johnny?”

“No, no, no. Johnny was Jeno’s idea. You had your eye on Jodie,” Haechan said like he had it all figured out. “I saw her corpse. The overkill? It was insane. I bet you took one look at her sucking the breath out of Mark and lost your goddamn mind.”

You rolled your eyes. “Oh, please. You’re pulling shit out of your ass, Haechan.”

Like it was all he knew how to do, Haechan kept pushing. “Two different modus operandis usually indicate two different killers.”

“Oh, yeah? Did Daddy teach you that?” you snarled, feeling your blood pressure soaring.

Haechan shot you a venomous glare and replied back very belligerently, “It’s not rocket science. You’re jealous. Plus you already sided with a murderer once. Why wouldn’t you do it again?”

“God, it’s been years,” you groaned, bringing your palm to your forehead. This man was a walking headache. “If you don’t like us, then fine. But that blood is on all of our hands. Pointing blood-stained fingers won’t change that.”

Haechan was practically fuming. Obviously, he didn’t like that.

You had already started to leave, traveling a fair distance away from Haechan, but spun on your heels to give one final retort, “And for the record, Mark having Jodie tag along to make me jealous was a weak move. Tell him to try harder.”

Then, you left. You left and you didn’t look back. It was hit after hit for you, and you just couldn’t seem to catch a fucking break. Haechan literally had no reason to bother you other than to be a nuisance. His parents were lawyers. He was certain that if push came to shove, he’d have nothing to worry about. And neither would the people he cared for.

There was no telling if you would survive the night at this point. If a bullet didn’t take your life, then stress and frustration was a sure-fire way to finish you off.

The important question was who would be anticipating your death?

You wanted to think that you had never been more on edge, though that would’ve been a bold-faced lie. And an insult to your body’s self-preservation effectiveness. You were far from weak and if you were intent on survival, there was nothing or nobody that would stand in your way.

In an attempt to abate the tension, you made a beeline for the in-door elevator. Hopefully before any other unwelcome visitors could try to snake their way into your path.

When the elevator dinged, you were surprised to see Jeno. “Where are you headed?” you asked.

Jeno retorted, “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

You snickered and slipped beside him. Finally somebody whose company didn’t piss you off. “Second floor. Obviously.”

Jeno stepped out of the elevator, but extended his hand to keep the door from closing, scanning the bottom floor for other people. Apparently, there weren’t any, because he finally said, “There’s something weird going on.”

You snorted. “Other than the death and murder? Yeah, probably. Haechan accused us of being killers.”

“No, I mean…,” Jeno trailed, taking a peak across the hallway again. “What if he’s faking it?”

“Who?”

“Johnny.”

You made a face. That wasn’t something you’d even considered and you weren’t exactly convinced now that you had. “Why would he do that?”

Jeno shrugged. “Why do people kill? He was the first one to discover Jodie. And he’s the guy that hosts these parties.”

“Yeah, I think that’s a pretty solid reason to assume he’s not the killer. He’s literally a victim. No offense, but I don’t buy that he killed Jodie then somehow had enough time to make it look like somebody fired a shot at him,” you replied.

“I guess,” Jeno mumbled, quietening. You were about to ask why, but you clocked Jaehyun casually strolling by.

Which meant he wasn’t with Johnny.

Jeno cocked you one final glance and said, “People always look at the guy with his hands dirty. No one ever suspects the guy with his hands behind his back.”

Then, he recouped his hand and disappeared behind the elevator doors. In a time that it took you to blink, he was gone so quickly you could’ve imagined his presence.

And now you were thinking. If Johnny were alone, who knew what he was up to, but in the same vein, that could’ve just made him more vulnerable.

You immediately brushed the thought aside. Johnny? Vulnerable? Pfft. This guy taught you everything you knew about how to survive and it was only thanks to his valor and self-preservation skills that you were even breathing.

The elevator dinged again and this time the doors made a little narrow opening for you to walk through. It was your first time on the second floor of Johnny’s luxurious penthouse and the very first thing you did was monitor the new environment.

Few people apparently. Everything just seemed so normal and there was hardly anything out of place. You could faintly hear the Christmas songs still blasting from the speakers downstairs.

You crept just down the hall, pausing at the overlook. The place where the gunshot was fired. You gripped the rails, scanning the ground below. In the corner of your eye, you noticed Chungha sneaking about, but she was gone just as quickly.

The killer had to have been lithe. These little metal bars were thin and did little to conceal your frame. For Johnny to have barely seen them, you could only liken them to a thief in the night.

The problem was that literally everybody fit that description. There was no person that you could rule out, because you each had the capacity. If not the motive, then the means.

That was why you couldn’t wrap your head around it. Your lone brain couldn’t fathom the devastation plaguing this group and you decided that you wouldn’t even try. With a little breath, you turned and searched for the fitness center.

It wasn’t difficult to find. All you had to do was narrow down your options, taking peeks through windows and quickly discerning that they weren’t your final destination. After some trial and error, you found your way to the massive gym area.

According to the sign, and a conversation you’d overheard earlier during the party (before all hell broke loose), just around the corner was a soccer simulator.

Somebody was already inside when you pushed the door open to enter. You bashfully waved your hand. “Thought I’d find you here.”

Yuta looked surprised to see you, but he only wore it on his face for a split second. “Stalker, much?”

“Nah. I just thought, ‘if I was a famous soccer player, where would I go?’ And this was the first place that came to mind.”

Yuta snickered. “Predictable. That’s a character flaw, I guess.”

A tiny laugh escaped your lips. Honestly, you were just glad that you even felt comfortable enough to joke around with Yuta, even if it was meaningless. Haechan was praying for your downfall and Chungha didn’t socialize with outsiders, but Yuta was thankfully normal.

He didn’t seem to mind your presence either. The large screen glaring at you in a violently blue hue was definitely on, but Yuta’s eyes appeared elsewhere. He finally said, “This gang and parties don’t mix too well, huh?”

“I think not,” you retorted, crossing your arms in amusement. Staying detached from the darkness was the only way you could stay sane. “Somebody always ends up dying at one of them.”

Yuta took a seat in a nearby chair and kicked his feet up on another one beside him pensively. “Sworn enemies with an axe to grind in the same room under the guise of ceasing rivalry one day out of the entire year. I could’ve told you guys how that was gonna end.”

I could’ve, too, you said to yourself, a billion thoughts like a downpour in your head. It was why you never left your house unarmed and hesitated to eat food you didn’t make.

Because you were protecting yourself. Just like everybody else in this house.

“Well, it’s not a shock,” you replied in agreement. “We do enough damage on our own, but together? It’s all we’re capable of.”

Yuta fought a frown. “I feel bad for that Jodie girl. I’m sure you’re aware Mark was definitely using her, but she didn’t deserve to be dragged into our sick hell.”

Those pictures of her slaughtered body were flickering in your head again. It haunted you, and you hadn’t even seen her corpse. “Everybody that comes near us gets burned.”

Yuta’s demeanor shifted noticeably, brooding. “I feel guilty. Yet when Johnny told us she died, all I could think was ‘at least it’s not my fault this time.’ Is that wrong?”

His sudden vulnerability surprised you, considering Yuta wasn’t the type to randomly express his feelings, much less to you. You immediately put your hand on his shoulder in comfort and said, “Doyoung’s death wasn’t your fault. You didn’t know.”

Yuta shrugged. “If I had listened to my parents, if I hadn’t invited you all there, that night wouldn’t have happened. Doyoung wouldn’t be dead. And this friend group might’ve stayed in one piece.”

“Yuta, you should blame that creepy psychopathic weirdo. Not yourself.”

Yuta grimaced, as if the sole mention of that guy flung him back to a place he’d already buried.

And you didn’t blame him. You didn’t even know the guy’s name, but you could describe him vividly. How could you not? The same pale guy in blood-stained overalls appeared in your dreams a little too often.

This little party turned bloodbath wasn’t you and your friends’ first rodeo. Matter of fact, you’d argue that the first round was a tad scarier. You still got flashbacks, so terrified for your life and everybody around you that adrenaline numbed you to the crisp, nipping autumn air.

For his birthday prelude, Yuta invited all of you to his parents’ expensive farmhouse, sitting just on your hometown’s outskirts. It was quiet, remote. No neighbors, which seemed fun in the first half, but as the night progressed, it became a nightmare not having anyone nearby.

A birthday celebration quickly became a fight for survival, and Doyoung lost. He was one of you, still a part of you, locked away inside your heart but never forgotten.

Jeno had accidentally stabbed him with a gardening tool, thinking that he was the killer. Doyoung had come to his hiding spot desperately seeking shelter, but Jeno panickedly made a mistake that cost him his friend’s life and the trust of his others.

That was how the friend group divided. There was the side that would never forgive him for Doyoung’s death, blaming him wholeheartedly. And then there was the side that showed him some grace. You were all frightened out of your minds that night.

Though what Jeno did didn’t matter. You were all complicit in Doyoung’s demise, whether they wanted to admit it or not. The killer made you all finish him off, made you all bury his wounded corpse while it was still fresh.

Your hands were still stained with dirt and blood, burning hotter every time you thought of him.

“I blame Jeno,” Yuta seethed under his breath.

You frowned.

Yuta stood to his feet, unable to stay still. There was too much emotion in him now, pulling him every which way. “Every year I get whiplash from having to mourn my friend’s death anniversary then celebrate my birthday back to back. That’s unforgivable.”

Though you liked Yuta, you weren’t going to let anyone slander your best friend silently. “I understand, but it’s not just Jeno’s fault.”

Yuta chuckled. “If only you knew.”

Your brows furrowed. “What don’t I know?”

“That Jeno’s fucking obsessed with you. Always has been. We don’t hate him because he killed Doyoung. We hate him because we think he killed Doyoung for you.”

Your lips parted soundlessly, flabbergasted.

Yuta read the confusion on your face plain as day and continued, “Think about it, sugar. Doyoung had a crush on you. That was everybody’s business. And it’s Doyoung who Jeno accidentally stabs out of all people?”

You couldn’t say anything. It wasn’t like you hadn’t turned down Jeno’s advances once before, but he was so fucking chill. You could’ve forgotten that it even happened. There wasn’t a single thing in your friendship that felt out of place.

Plus he knew firsthand that you were head over heels for Mark only, even if you didn’t want to be anymore. It was pathetic. Yuta had just told you another guy was willing to go to lethal lengths to keep you away, and yet one of your first thoughts was how painstakingly you loved Mark.

But Mark hated you.

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” you said, the lines between fiction and reality beginning to blur.

Yuta relaxed. He could tell there was a lot going on in your head, because he recognized the conflict akin to the one warring within himself. “It’s dead.”

You appreciated that. Fuck’s sake, Mark and his friends usually liked to push until there was nowhere else to go. And then some. Your thoughts wandered there and you opened your mouth, asking, “Why are you nice to me?”

“I’m not nice to you,” Yuta replied, making you blink. “I just treat you like a regular human being. There’s a difference.”

“Why?”

“Because you haven’t done anything for me not to.”

You shook your head. “Mark wouldn’t agree,” you muttered, rubbing your arms.

Yuta glanced at you. You were letting your guard down around him, something he was certain you probably hadn’t even done with Mark tonight. “Fuck Mark. He’s been lying to himself. And to be frank, I think he’s deluded himself.”

Your eyes were cold when you looked into Yuta’s. “Elaborate.”

“I mean, he wants to convince us and the whole world that he hates you and he’s moved on, but he hasn’t even convinced himself. You were his everything, man. Mark hasn’t been the same since the breakup. I want my friend back.”

I want my lover back. But Mark used to be your friend, too. A healthy blend of friendship and romance that made your love for each other feel depthless.

If only you knew back then that your love would be tested. Would you have still sacrificed every piece of yourself to make him happy if you knew that it still wouldn’t be enough?

“I hope you have a wonderful Christmas tomorrow,” you told Yuta after a long pause, a telltale sign that you were leaving and had no more room for conversation.

“If I make it to tomorrow,” Yuta retorted playfully. “Likewise. Merry Christmas.”

You smiled at him on your way out in a final goodbye. You only wanted one thing for Christmas, and that was to have Mark back in your arms. Where he belonged.

For a good minute, you meandered about the hallways, cautiously monitoring your surroundings to make sure no one was trailing you. You considered heading to the den for refuge, but Mark obviously liked it there, and you’d had enough run-ins for one night.

Instead, you opted for the in-door pool, where obviously nobody was. In front of you stood a long line of water with a set of hot tubs off to the side. It was the perfect place to clear your head without having to constantly check if there was someone out to get you.

Before you could slightly relax, you scanned the room and clocked two exits. If you couldn’t get out of the main exit for whatever reason, there was always the option of the backup door. With that pressure off your shoulders, you took off your heels and sank your feet in the pool.

Dangling your feet in the water, your mind began to race, hopping from one thought to another at a pace too painful for you to keep up with. You hated being this way. Always having to keep an eye out, never fully trusting anybody. Mark was the only person that you could turn your back to and confidently believe you’d be fine.

Once upon a time, he was your safe haven, and now you weren’t sure if you could even trust him anymore. For all you knew, he could’ve been behind all this.

It hurt to think of what you should’ve been, of the happy, oblivious couple you were only months earlier. The couple that didn’t go to bed angry or sleep in different rooms, too stubborn to spend the night beside each other. There was no problem the two of you couldn’t sort out back then.

You started to wonder if Yuta was right about everything he said. First of all, Jeno didn’t kill Doyoung. It wasn’t that quick. He attacked him first, but you all had Doyoung’s blood on your hands. Literally.

You only wished you could’ve seen Yuta’s point of view. Jeno was admittedly happy when you and Mark finally broke up, though you figured it was because he didn’t want to see you suffer, not because he wanted you to be with him instead.

Worst of all, Yuta told you that Mark still wasn’t over you. And you hated it. If you wanted Mark and Mark wanted you, then why weren’t you together?

Then, you remembered. The lack of compatibility that burned your happy home together down to a crisp. Things failed because Mark wanted to conquer. You refused to be taken. What made him feel ignored made you feel free. What made you feel inhibited made him feel secure. When he started to feel unwanted, he pushed you away.

Your love was a slow burn till the end. All of those years of pining for each other turned into you pining away from heartbreak, eating your heart out for a boy you were destined to never have at all.

You hated knowing that you and Mark would’ve never worked out whether you dated or not. Maybe because you knew that if you didn’t have Mark, then you had no one. It simply wasn’t written in the stars.

Mark was the only one who knew your biggest fears. Your motivations. He knew firsthand the irreversible impact Doyoung’s death had on the rest of your life, because you confided only in him about the shame. You weren’t scared of being naked with Mark. He saw the ugliest bits of you and it wasn’t what sent him running.

It was hard to explain to anybody that wasn’t there, but nothing was the same after Doyoung died. Thanks to your parents’ status, you were already used to being careful, but it was nothing like the girl you were after fighting for survival. It was your first time fighting for anything.

Every inch of you was alive and awake, perpetually on fight mode. Mark wasn’t just the sole place where you could exist peacefully; he understood your trauma and loved you with every fiber of his being in spite of it.

That was why you couldn’t be with any other guy. How could you explain those nights when you woke up screaming in terror? Mark didn’t ask questions. He just held you and told you that you were safe in his arms.

If you couldn’t have Mark, then you knew you were meant to die alone.

The sound of a door pushing open made you immediately stand up, preparing to take off without your heels. They would only slow you down anyways. You saw Mark enter and, rather than cool down, your stiff muscles were overloaded with apprehension.

“I have an idea and I’m prepared to argue with you about it,” were the first words to come out of Mark’s mouth, speaking before you could dare to, as if he knew you’d have something to say.

You played it cool, though your heartbeat was harshly thudding in your ears. “What do you want now?”

Mark took your tone in stride. “We should travel in pairs. As they say, safety in numbers.”

Your face tensed in disgust. “And why in the hell would I want to travel with you?”

Mark didn’t skip a beat. “Because if I’m the killer, you’re the only one that stands a chance against me.”

You folded your arms. Mark almost grinned looking at you, but resisted. It was like your favorite pose ever. “I thought you said you didn’t kill Jodie?”

“Technically, I said that I didn’t try to kill Johnny,” Mark answered, a sly smile on his lips. “Do you trust me?”

“I don’t trust anyone anymore,” you replied coolly. Not after you broke it. And me.

“Good. You don’t trust me and I don’t trust you. We don’t have reasons to. But let’s at least be forward with our intentions here,” Mark said, stepping closer. “I intend to survive. And you?”

“I intend to survive as well,” you asserted.

Mark added forthrightly, “And we’ll do anything to live, even if it means killing someone else for our own sake. We’re not strangers to sacrificing other people for our benefit.”

You heaved a breath and groaned impatiently, “So what? This is some truce or something?”

“Or something,” Mark replied with enough uncertainty to make you overwhelmingly suspicious. “We’d just be working together. Who says that you have to trust me?”

You hated that you were seriously considering it, but he was making a pretty decent point. It was stupid to be by yourself. You had to admit it, even as somebody that valued her independence like it was your lifeline.

Mark recognized you in conflict with yourself, even as you tried your hardest to appear neutral. After all those years spent by each other’s side, he guessed it was simply natural. Your bottom lip stuck out, though only slightly. You were giving it your best shot at keeping composed.

You weighed the pros and cons in your head. If you didn’t pair with Mark, you would be more vulnerable, but if you did, it would be increasingly difficult to ignore having to confront the whirlwind of feelings he left you to soak in.

You didn’t want that, but it wasn’t like you wanted to die either. Finally, after a moment of contemplation, you relented. “Fine.”

Satisfied, Mark grinned victoriously. “Two heads are better than one.”

That was what you used to think. It used to be enough to simply look into Mark’s eyes, knowing that he was there. Now you couldn’t stand to be beside him. “Not when they’re bumping into each other,” you grumbled.

Mark cocked a brow. “Then, let’s not make this about us. Let’s focus on survival. That’s our common interest here.”

Obviously, that was easier said than done, but you didn’t argue or complain. This was a rare moment of Mark willing to set your differences aside for a better purpose. At least for now, you intended to behave.

Plus you wanted to see how long the two of you could go before Mark started barking. He looked sweet, but if anybody thought Mark was all sugar and rainbows, they clearly hadn’t met him. This boy was all fire.

And you were air; gentle as a featherlight, ocean breeze, but capable of roaring like a tornado if provoked. Forceful enough to spread his flames out further, but not to blow them out. Mark was untameable. You had that in common.

It sounded corny, but it was the truth. You bettered one another in some ways, but enabled one another in others. Your similarities seemed to work against you, neither of you wanting to set your pride aside.

That was the problem. If you pushed, Mark pushed back harder. If Mark screamed, you screamed back louder. It was like a fucking seesaw that you couldn’t get off of.

Rationally, an important question kept prodding at your ribcage. “How did you even find me?” you asked.

“I had to look everywhere,” Mark said, slight exasperation in his tone. “I knew you wouldn’t be out in the open, so it was just a matter of finding out where you were hiding.”

You nodded. That would have to be a satisfactory response. You weren’t going to press him about it. “Okay, but if we’re going to be a team, we need to try and figure out who’s killing and what’s going on.”

Mark bobbed his head. “Yeah, I know. Have you been seeing anything suspicious lately? I noticed Jaehyun creeping out like he’s got something to hide.”

Your brows furrowed. “Seriously? I did too. When I was talking to Jeno in the elevator. Chungha looked a little suspicious, too.”

Mark obviously didn’t expect that. “You’re kidding. You know how Jaehyun said that he was downstairs when the gun went off?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“I saw Jaehyun coming from down the hall, where I also noticed Chungha come from. She came after him, but it looked timed. Kinda like how we used to leave at different times so nobody would think we were together.”

The mention of those times sent you back, perfectly calculating the ideal time to exit the same room without raising suspicions amongst your friends and foes.

Bidding the thoughts to go away, you quickly recovered, mentioning, “That’s odd. I don’t know if it’s connected, but earlier when I was talking to Jaehyun, he excused himself to go upstairs.”

“Before the gun went off?” Mark asked, skeptical.

You leaned down to fix the strap of your heel, which you’d slipped back on after you realized the intruder was only Mark, discerning that he was no threat. “Yeah, somebody texted him. From the face he was making, it looked urgent. I just assumed one of his relatives messaged him and he went to god knows where upstairs to take a call.”

Mark shook his head in disapproval. Disappointment, maybe. “They’re in cahoots, that’s for sure.”

You pressed, “But why in the hell would Jaehyun and Chungha be working together? They’re not even on the same side.”

“Motives to kill,” Mark sighed, face twisted cutely in thought. It was so stressful pretending that you weren’t attracted to every little thing he did. His eyes widened a little and he said, “Wait.”

“Hm?”

“It’s common knowledge that when Johnny’s mom died, she left him to take over the family business, while Jaehyun got stuck with real estate…,” Mark trailed.

You quickly noticed where this was going and added, “Jaehyun always wanted to be the chief executive. Ever since we were teenagers, it was all he talked about.”

Mark tapped his chin. “I still remember what it was like. I couldn’t tell if he was more depressed about his stepmother dying, or not inheriting her multimillion dollar business.”

“You think he’s still holding that grudge?”

Mark shrugged. “Who knows?”

You subconsciously scratched your forearm. You didn’t realize, but Mark did. It was something you often did when you were anxious, which was basically all of the time. “Chungha’s been paying an awful lot of attention to Johnny’s jewelry case.”

“She likes anything bright and shiny,” Mark responded, thinking nothing of it. “Why? You think she stole something?”

You shrugged your shoulders and replied, “I think anything’s possible, but I don’t think it’s worth killing over. I mean, she’s not just rich. She’s wealthy. She can afford her own diamonds.”

Trying to figure those two out was like attempting to unravel the identity of Jack the Ripper. Jaehyun was composed and Chungha was vigilant. Their guarded natures combined made them both mysterious and lethal.

Mark couldn’t wrap his head around it, either. But he was certain that those two were up to no good. “Well, we’ve got their motives. Let’s try to think of the others.”

“Johnny told me he and Haechan got into an argument before the party. He looked pretty pissed earlier,” you recalled.

“Yeah, I picked up on that, too,” Mark said. When a guy who sent earthquakes wherever he went was agitated, it was impossible for the whole world not to notice.

“Speaking of holding grudges,” you started, gathering any pieces you could find and linking them with each other. “Johnny left Yuta at that shack and because of it he got an injury that almost cost him soccer.”

Mark didn’t seem convinced. “Yeah, but Yuta’s been playing soccer just fine for years now. Plus he told Johnny to leave to find that weapon.”

“The reasoning doesn’t have to make sense to anybody but the killer.”

Mark was silent for a long time, cautiously contemplating. “What about Jeno?”

You were irked at the mention of your best friend, but knew that nobody was totally off the table. Not even yourself. You played innocent. “What about him?”

Mark exhaled a breath, but laughed. “You know, I can’t tell if you’re playing dumb, or if you’ve truly never noticed how much Jeno’s into you. You can’t seriously think him attacking Doyoung was an accident.”

Yuta had already brought you up to speed on the whole jealousy killer Jeno theory between Mark and his pals, which you were none too convinced about. “If Jeno’s the killer, I don’t understand what he’d get out of killing Johnny or Jodie. By your logic, that means you should be dead. Not your girlfriend.”

“Maybe Johnny likes you.”

“Ignoring the ridiculousness of that statement…”

Mark interjected before you could continue, “Is it so ridiculous? You and Johnny dated, and it was your decision to break things off. You were never in love with him, but have you ever considered that maybe Johnny loved you?”

You hadn’t really considered it, you always assumed Johnny knew he was doing you a favor and it was nothing more or less, but that didn’t stop you from snapping, “Jeno knows where I stand with Johnny. That I was never in love with him. Why would he kill a man that isn’t a threat?”

“Did you like Doyoung back?”

“No,” you hissed.

Mark shot, “And you don’t see him walking around here, do you? You said it yourself: the reasoning doesn’t have to make sense to anybody but the killer.”

“I think that says more about the faultiness of your theory than mine.”

Mark opened his mouth to speak, but you didn’t let him get a word in.

You sneered, “And are you seriously going to ignore the fact that Jodie was killed? Carved out like a pumpkin. That sounds like something only somebody with a lot of rage for her would do.”

Mark was losing patience, you could tell from the look on his face. “Are you implying that I killed her?”

“I’m not implying a damn thing. But you were pretty nonchalant over the fact that you got an innocent girl killed,” you replied, definitely insinuating that he was responsible. “Outside of being tainted by your touch, that is.”

“Maybe you did it,” Mark snapped.

You rolled your eyes. This was the second time you’d gotten this accusation today and you weren’t keen on hearing it again, but Mark was already yapping before you could tell him not to bother.

“You couldn’t stand to see me with a girl that wasn’t you,” he said, a turmoil of wildfire dancing in his pupils. “So you got rid of her.”

You threw your head back and grunted, “Oh, fuck’s sake. Get over yourself.”

“Get over me,” Mark hissed. “We’ve been over for months. It was never gonna work, you know? Everything’s sunshine and rainbows during the honeymoon phase.”

“Fuck you,” you seethed, turning away and heading for the door. You didn’t know why you thought he was capable of having a civil conversation with you. So much for not making this about us.

Mark grabbed your arm, glaring at you in disapproval. “I’m sorry, was this too much pressure for you? You couldn’t handle the heat and now you’re walking away again?”

You screamed, “You pushed me away!”

“Because you pushed me first,” Mark yelled, matching your energy. Matter of fact, what you gave, he doubled it and handed it back tenfold. And vice versa.

Running your hands down your face, you wanted to scratch your skin off with your nails. “Dude. What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about all those times you made me feel like you didn’t want me. All those times you left me alone without a reason why. You got so distant on me, baby. Really had me wondering if there was somebody else.”

Somebody else? You couldn’t believe he was serious. Your heart would never want anybody that wasn’t Mark, because she knew he was the only one that could satisfy her.

Your face softened for a fraction of a second. “All I wanted was you.”

“You sure had a funny way of showing it,” Mark grumbled under his breath.

Guilt flickered in your eyes, stinging them to crystals, but you didn’t let them fall. “I needed space. I liked being with you, but not at the expense of losing touch with my soul. I needed room to breathe.”

Mark frowned. “Why didn’t you just say that?”

You asked just as quickly, “Why didn’t you just ask?”

“It felt like a waste of time. I thought you already decided that you didn’t want me. That you were just another girl who underestimated how much attention I need.”

“Wow,” you mumbled quietly. Amused, but angry. “You fight, but for all the wrong reasons.”

Mark’s eyes flitted towards yours. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That you wouldn’t fight for us to stay together, but you’ll shout in my face at literally any other given opportunity.”

Mark reined in his head, running his hands through his hair. “Listen, I’m no good at this relationship stuff.”

“I know.”

That made Mark bristle. It wasn’t just his fault, but you refused to hold yourself accountable. “You’re no expert, either.”

“I know,” you sighed, lips curled into a frown.

Mark’s eyes flickered.

It appeared you were finally realizing how egregiously the two of you had mutually fucked up. “We didn’t talk. And that was okay. Our problems were small enough that after we climbed into bed with each other they were long forgotten. But then they got bigger and we didn’t know what to do, other than what we’d always done.”

Mark scratched the back of his head. “But it didn’t work. The problem was still there.”

Part of the reason why you two never worked through the issue was because you failed to specifically identify the problem. Mark didn’t just want to be loved, he demanded it. And he did it by completely seizing power over your mind, body, and soul.

Your mind in life. Your body in bed. Your soul in everything in between.

You didn’t like to feel dominated in that way. It made you dig into your heels. Letting Mark exercise this assertive power over you, letting him have control over the tiniest piece of you that was left, it felt like a betrayal. To yourself, and to the dead.

Because you were still clinging to that girl. That girl whose hands were clear of blood and didn’t spend hours scrubbing under her nails away a stain that wasn’t really there. The girl who didn’t take that final blow to her friend’s chest and watch the light in his eyes dim until he was gone.

It was cruel and unforgivable, but even with the hurt on Doyoung’s face, there was an understanding twinkle in his eyes. You’d seen it, for a tiny fraction of a second. Or maybe you imagined it so that it would be simpler to live with the crippling guilt.

You were the girl he loved and the last thing he saw. Every anniversary, you swore one of the stars in the sky twinkled brighter.

I didn’t have a choice; it was him, or all of us. What was my other option? Plus he was going to die either way. The police didn’t arrive on scene until dawn. He would have bled to his death if we didn’t finish him off.

Mark knew he was high-maintenance and he knew the toll Doyoung’s death had on you, but he somehow never exactly pieced together how it would impact your relationship. That there would be days where you didn’t want hugs or kisses. You just wanted to be left alone.

Plus Mark was so sympathetic about everything you went through and all of your feelings to the point you assumed he would just know you needed space. Somehow you had mistaken his understandingness for being a mind reader.

And Mark, somewhere along the line, sensed you drifting away, so he discarded you first. Mark didn’t get abandoned. It wasn’t in his nature to stick around when he knew he was on the brink of being cast aside, left high and dry.

He wanted to be loved, but he wanted to love himself. And he was not against hurting himself, because the pain was easier to cope with than if he let somebody else hurt him.

At least he thought it would be.

“We couldn’t just fuck and make up anymore, so we started to argue over petty things, and we never got to the core of the matter,” you said, picturing yourself back in that living room, shouting.

Mark remembered, because it was all he’d been thinking about for months, asking himself what was the final blow in spite of being aware that he was the one who chose to break up. “Pillowtalk was the only time we really discussed our emotions. Remember?”

God, how could you not? This boy would fuck the shit out of you then snuggle you to sleep immediately after, chatting about anything under the sun (or moon) until your eyelids got too heavy and started to flutter closed.

You simply nodded your head, unable to open your mouth. Though you both were being vulnerable, you were afraid of what you might’ve said.

Mark chuckled. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I always had these doubts about you, to be honest. You were too good to be true. Most girls get tired of me after a minute so I never stay too long, but you’ve been in my life since we were kids.”

Your eyes were sad when you glanced into his. “So why did you leave me? Why didn’t you fight?”

Mark’s eyes twinkled with regret as he whispered, “I was scared of being abandoned by the girl I loved. So I dipped. I ran before you could tell me that it was over. It gave me some kind of agency over my heartbreak.”

You laughed in disbelief. This breakup was so dramatic, and for what? “In hindsight, we’re just a pair of fucking idiots,” you said, shaking your head in disapproval. “Imagine if we just talked about this months ago. It could’ve all been so simple.”

Mark hung his head in shame, resting his hand at his nape. It would’ve spared him some pain. And so many tears.

“I’ve spent months thinking that I don’t deserve love because of what I did that night. Because if I can’t have you, Mark, then there’s nobody else out there for me,” you told him, releasing the words you’d been holding back for eons.

Mark blinked, processing. Then, deciding he was short of words, he said, “I’m done talking,” and smashed his lips against yours. You were surprised, but immediately molded your lips into his, feeling his hands instinctively get a hold of your hips.

It had been a lifetime since you’d last felt his touch on your skin and to say you missed it would be an understatement. Your body felt like it was being reawakened, dormant sensations coming back to life again.

Two star-crossed lovers, discreetly meeting each other for one final rendezvous before your individual lives inevitably drove a wedge between your passionate sparks. That, or death. For now, you were content to be in each other’s hold, kissing like it was the last time.

As your bodies swung in each other’s embrace, you noticed Mark’s feet dancing dangerously close to the edge of the pool. “Careful,” you warned, shuffling him out of the way. “Don’t want your flames to get doused.”

Mark snickered. “Please, baby. I have enough fire for the both of us.”

“I know you do. That’s what I love about you.”

Mark’s ears perked up at that. You loved him? You didn’t know how long he had been waiting to hear you say that. And it made him remember what you told him only moments ago before his brain went blank. “I love you. Don’t ever think that you don’t deserve to be loved.”

Your chest filled with warmth, but you purred, “Or else what?”

Leaning into you, Mark nibbled at your ear a little before whispering, “Or else I’ll have to show you how much you mean to me.”

It was difficult to play nonchalant. Your heart was skipping beats now. You wanted Mark desperately and it drove you to the brink of insanity. “Oh, no. I’m so afraid.”

Mark grinned, dragged you away to a padded chaise.

You sat there, your entire body excited, but your brain (at least for now) was still capable of thinking rationally and you asked, “Are we seriously about to fuck in a pool chair?”

“We’ve fucked in worse places and done even worse things,” Mark replied offhandedly, thinking about nothing but getting his hands on those pretty thighs of yours.

You pressed your lips together, aware that you had little to zero grounds for argument. Bathrooms weren’t even anywhere close to the most outlandish location you and Mark had decided would be an apt backdrop for sexual intercourse. Those places were unspeakable.

Mark took your silence as a victory and whispered silkily, “Sit back and relax, baby.”

You giggled. Mark had never left you unsatisfied. A time with this boy’s head between your legs was guaranteed to be a sacrilegiously fulfilling experience.

Mark grabbed your left leg, draping it over the side of the chair so that he wouldn’t have to literally bend over backwards to go down on you, and when he noticed the gun poking out of your thigh holster, he laughed. “With your permission, I wanna take your gun. If it makes you feel better, I’ll set mine aside, too.”

You let him take your gun and disarm the weapon before setting it on a poolside table wedged between the chaise you were currently occupying and another. If this was some ruse to get you unarmed, Mark was simply stupid. He would’ve had way better opportunities moments prior.

But it wasn’t. Mark was tugging your panties down your ankles, something you were certain he wouldn’t bother to do if he had murder on his mind. You usually felt naked when you were bare of a weapon, but something about Mark naturally made you relax.

Your dress rode up above your hips, giving him complete access to your dripping pussy. Just thinking about what he was about to do to you, you swore, breathing became the most difficult chore.

Mark took one fucking glimpse at your glistening pussy and almost howled like a goddamn wolf. Instead, the sound that emerged from the back of his throat was identical, animalistic and ravenous as if he couldn’t wait to dig into a full course.

The comparison wasn’t far off, because as soon as he stopped staring hungrily at you in a way that made you shift, slightly self-conscious, his calloused palms were clasping your thighs tightly and his mouth was flush against your throbbing core.

“Jesus. Fuck,” you moaned, thighs tensing already. And he just started. To be fair, it had been a couple of months since anybody’s hands - or mouth - had touched you there. You had been unable to give yourself to anybody that wasn’t Mark, which you felt like a total fool for when you saw him boo’d up with Jodie.

And yet here you were, still letting him have his way with you, giving him the power to break you down and build you back up as he pleased. Your breaths were quick, your lips parting in a shaky exhale at every pass of his tongue against your glistening folds.

It reminded him of the past couple of years, sneaking around to fuck in the most isolated location you could possibly find. All of those times he mounted you on a fancy bathroom counter to get his head between your thighs, or fucked you there so hard the mirrors clouded.

All Mark knew was sex and destruction, and half of the time, those things came hand in hand. For a minute, he was more than that with you. Until you were gone and he knew he was at least partly to blame. He wanted to prove to you that he was more than your reckless lover.

Though that would have to be put on hold. As of right now, his intentions consisted only of wrecking you.

“God, I missed the way you taste,” Mark grumbled with a mouthful of pussy.

His voice was deep and handsome, and so sexy that you likely could’ve nutted then and there, too aroused to keep a rein on yourself. Mark had that effect on you and the worst part was that he knew it. Sex used to be a game of seduction, teasing each other for hours to see who would break first.

Of course, you folded the better half of the time. Mark had fucking cheat codes. This boy knew your every weakness and used them to his advantage. The hell were you supposed to do when he made you watch recordings of the previous times he’d pleasured you? Not kiss the very ground that he walked on?

Pfft. Yeah, right. Though you never went down without stating in defense, “You cheated!”

Oh, fuck Mark. He just had to be so good with his hands. And a pleaser.

You always got your lick back, though. Mark may have won in the first half, but you knew exactly how to take him down. First, you had to make him think that he’d already won. Then, you had to return the favor, making him swear he saw stars. That was how you kept the balance.

Mark’s tongue was expertly navigating your clit and you wanted to be mad at it, but all you could bring yourself to do was writhe in the gray chaise. Had not his hands been locking your thighs in place, you would’ve snapped them closed in sensitivity. Mark was not to be underestimated. This boy was way stronger than he seemed.

You resigned yourself to the fact that your only option was to lie there and take it all. There was nowhere for you to escape. When it felt too good, it was a telltale warning that Mark would seize control of your whole body, and you were torn between fleeing and letting him have it.

“Don’t try to run away from it, baby,” he whispered knowingly, though he knew you couldn’t resist the temptation of the satisfaction you were promised. “I’ve got you.”

You rolled your hips into his face in a hurried pursuit for relief, desperately wishing you had something to anchor yourself with and lower you back down to earth, but Mark had brought you to a constantly ascending high.

Mark chuckled, because he knew he had your body down to a science. If you thought it couldn’t get anymore dangerously intense than this, you were wrong as hell and had another thing coming. Mark released one of your thighs, gathering your arousal on his sticky fingers, and fucked it right back into you.

You gawked. You almost couldn’t believe he was making a mess out of you like this, but then you remembered that he was Mark fucking Lee. Taking your breath was what he did best. His mouth was still on you, sucking and licking, because you were the closest thing to heaven he would ever know and he couldn’t get enough.

All the while, he thumbed your clit, making a tremble roar through your utter being and your toes clench, tucking into themselves.

“I’m so close,” you whimpered in the tiniest voice.

“I know,” Mark replied, pulling back. “What did you think I was doing all the extra shit for?”

You winced your eyes closed and heaved the thickest breath, attempting to regain control over your body, but to absolutely no avail. That was when you came to terms with your fate. Mark was going to finish you off.

“You know what I want. Let go for me,” Mark whispered darkly. “Do it on my fingers.”

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,” you chanted, feeling something tense in your belly. The pleasure blending with the yearning created a sensation unlike any other. Your whole figure was engulfed in flames, scorching you from head to doe.

It was closing in. You could feel sin’s darkly cloaked hand reeling you in, pulling you closer and closer, and closer to the jagged edge. There was no point in struggling; you were in nature’s grasp now and whatever happened was entirely up to her.

As someone who prided himself on his ability to please, Mark took great delight in pleasuring you and it was no shock that he knew exactly how to coax you towards climax. “Yeah, that’s it, baby. Let it all go. I’ve got you.”

Finally, you started to cum, ecstasy shooting through your body every which way in the form of uncontrollable warmth, making your head feel light and your toes curl. Mark’s encouraging words became static to your ears, your senses totally overpowered, the life leaving your body for all but a split second.

Mark was sporting the slyest of grins, watching you wind back down as if he was marveling at his own handiwork. You should’ve been singing his praises, applauding him for his grand efforts. “There you go. Good fucking girl.”

Sex was one of the most powerful weapons in Mark’s arsenal. He sucked at relationships, but he could only walk away after claiming the best nut of your life.

After a moment or two out of the atmosphere, you came back to the ground, having just stopped tightening around Mark’s digits and shuddering involuntarily. You raised your eyes to meet his own, chest undulating. Gripping the arms of the chair for dear life. “Fuck you. You are the devil.”

Mark snickered, reluctantly recouping his fingers from between your legs. “Oh, yeah, baby. Fuck. I always loved that dirty mouth of yours.”

You rolled your eyes. He must’ve forgotten how good you were at taking back everything he stole from you and giving him damage tenfold in retaliation. Those sets of expletives would be escaping his pretty pink lips any minute now. This was only the beginning of the end.

Throwing your leg back down, you climbed out of the chaise, standing to your feet with a little stumble.

“Whoa there, baby. Be careful,” Mark said, grabbing a hold of your wobbling frame and holding you flush against his chest. “I’d hate it if something bad happened to you.”

God, you were weak in the fucking knees for this man. Literally.

You grabbed Mark by his suit tie and pushed him back first onto the chaise. His eyes went wide in surprise, but he quickly recovered and grinned. “Damn, babe. I like where this is going.”

You chuckled, crawling on top of him and pulling his face into yours. Mark’s hands were below your ribs, holding you in his arms while the two of you made out for what felt like an eternity. In the best way ever.

Mark grunted none too quietly when you felt his tight bulge pressed sharply to your core and mischievously got the clever idea to grind against it. The sound had you throbbing again, desperate to mount his cock then and there, but you were bent on teasing him at your own expense.

The wet smack of your lips meeting only enhanced your arousal further and while you did a significantly better job at keeping composed, Mark was losing his mind by the minute.

His hands dropped from your skin to his pants in an attempt to free his aching cock, but you were quicker, gathering his wrists in your palms and pinning them over his head. “Mm-mm. My turn, baby. Just… sit back and relax,” you mimicked, refusing to let him take the wheel.

Mark let you have your way with him. Frankly, he would let you do whatever you pleased.

You did the honor of unfastening Mark’s pants, pulling them and his underwear down his thighs just enough for his stiff cock to spring to attention. You licked your lips, salivating. The tension in your core got even tighter.

Mark groaned when you pressed your lips to the head of his cock, kissing it tenderly. That understanding, patient guy was nowhere to be found when his dick was involved. Or at least when he wasn’t the giver. Instead, Mark was less than human, a voracious beast that longed to feed.

Your tender kisses became delicate licks, neither of which provided Mark very much relief and you were aware. “Fuck. Baby,” he called out to you, hopeful that you’d quit the games soon. “Do something.”

“Something like… this?” you asked, gripping his hard cock and pumping him in your fist. Then, seconds later, you sucked him into your mouth, making all of the air flee Mark’s lungs.

Mark immediately cursed loudly. His cock hadn’t known this amount of relief since he left you and he wasn’t ashamed to admit it. Little did you know, Mark hadn’t fucked anyone else since you, either. It would’ve felt like cheating, like a betrayal, even though he knew that you were over.

Probably why Jodie had been throwing herself onto Johnny, hoping to get some dick, because the boy that brought her there only wanted to kiss her when you were there.

“Fuck,” Mark groaned like it was the only word he knew. It probably was, all things considered. It wasn’t uncommon for his mind to go blank when your lips were airtight around his cock. His whole body shuddered in sensitivity, having been aroused since he started eating you out.

And you were just sitting there, straddling him like a little devil, doing things to his cock that had him rethinking his whole life. Nobody had ever riled him up like this. Nobody instinctively knew how to get him off this quickly. Nobody, but you.

Mark was looking at you with a certain darkness when he somehow summoned enough willpower to ask, “Don’t finish me yet. Please.”

You came up for air, but obeyed his request. You were well aware that you could finish him both ways, but there was no way of knowing how much time you had left before something inevitably demanded your attention, and you wanted to ride him so badly it made your head spin.

Mark could finally breathe, but he should’ve known that it would’ve been short-lived. You didn’t waste a second to grab his cock and mount him, slowly but certainly sinking down to take it all.

Your wet walls were quick to clamp down on his thick cock, drawing a deep, low swear out of Mark’s lips. Your nails gripped his shoulders for purchase, eyes winced closed, taking a minute to relish in the feeling of being full again contentedly.

“Mark,” you whimpered, feeling yourself throb and tighten. You could’ve cried at the relief, so thrilled to be as close to Mark as your bodies could physically be again, and selfishly still aching for more.

Mark blinked through the haze in his mind that you had single-handedly constructed, thrown back into the mist the second he heard you call out his name. His eyes closed, mind flickering with images of you, recalling all of those times you rode the soul out of his dick.

You were an ethereal seductress, Mark was convinced, deceptively leading him to peril, rendering him helpless at the mercy of your enchanting charms. Your body did unspeakable things to him. With how tight you were around his cock, Mark would follow you to his demise.

Was it fucked up to have sex while people were dying all around you? Yes. But that’s what you and Mark were. Two fucked up kids who never got healing.

You felt healed when you were with each other, stripped to your truest forms, without fear of judgment. Mark taught you how to let go. You taught Mark how to let himself be loved.

At least you made up before you fucked. In your opinion? That was progress.

“Fuck, you ride me so good. I swear, you’re the best I’ve ever had,” Mark said, obsessed with your every motion as you rocked your hips down onto his cock, resuscitating all of those carnal sensations you woke up inside his soul.

The best I’ve ever had. Your mind was spiraling, faint from the heat burning your bodies up a thousand degrees hotter. Your body was built to take him, or at least it felt that way. Like the satisfaction you got from each other could only exist between the two of you.

Again, you grabbed Mark by his tie, pulling him in for another heart-stopping kiss. There was no hesitation. He kissed you back devilishly, getting a hold of your waist tightly, sucking on your tongue without bothering to be clean or slow about it.

You could kiss Mark until the day you died. You never wanted to forget how he tasted in your mouth. How he felt pressed flush against your semi-naked skin, your soft lips. How he looked at you like you were the only woman he’d ever loved, ruined for any other girl.

Mark wanted to complain when you parted from his lips, but suddenly they were on his neck and he sensed a shiver run down his spine, shock and pleasure taking the sound before it dared to leave his mouth. Your teeth grazed his collarbone, finding his pulse and sucking at it.

You watched Mark melt on the spot and giggled. Your friends and his friends were definitely going to clock the bright red marks on his throat, but neither of you could bring yourselves to care. If you wanted to suck and nibble at his neck, then by all means, Mark would let you do whatever you wanted.

Mark’s guttural groans were your greatest vice, making you noticeably throb around him, which thus only yanked a mouth-watering hiss out of his lips. He was looking at you through fluttering eyes, the corners of his vision dark and reeling, watching you ruin him from below.

To be fair, you already ruined him. All those days Mark spent waiting for you, waiting to hold you, were days of complete and total annihilation. Not only the ones after the breakup, but before it. Those days where he only watched you from afar, dwelling on you. Pining for you.

You separated from his neck to say, “God fucking damn. I love your dick. I love the way you feel inside me.”

As if Mark wasn’t already fighting off his looking orgasm. “Yeah?”

“No one will ever feel as good as you. I just wanna keep you close to me like this, Mark. Forever. I don’t want anything to come between us ever again and I won’t let it.”

“Me, too,” Mark wheezed, his breaths barely enough to keep him alive, though he didn’t mind it because he had you. You were on top of him, killing him softly and giving him life all at the same time, and it was more than he could handle.

You could tell from his tone of voice that he was dangling over the edge and was attempting to stave off his impending orgasm, holding himself at bay. Mark didn’t want this to end so soon. You just came back into his life and he wasn’t keen on letting go of those endorphins.

It wasn’t like you were far from release yourself. You couldn’t resist it, not when Mark kept making those sexy fucking sounds and your bodies were exchanging warmth. You couldn’t wait to take him to bed properly, bones tensing with the very desire to do things to him that you sadly couldn’t do here.

Mark felt the same way. He wished your clothes were completely off, but this would have to suffice for now and that was fine. This was enough to kill any man. Your soft sighs as you rolled your perfect hips, your bodies skin to skin, directly absorbing everything you did to each other.

You were too good to be true, as Mark said. He oftentimes thought he was dreaming. It was unbelievable that a girl of your caliber could love him through each of his many flaws and proudly stake her claim to him, and in a way, that was what you were doing now. Telling the whole universe that you were Mark’s and you didn’t give a fuck who saw.

Mark’s eyes tightened closed. You were making short work of him and he was minutes away from coming undone. Maybe seconds.

Taking one look at you Mark was both relieved and shattered out of his goddamn mind. For one, you were obviously also standing at the very threshold of climax, though he could’ve pieced that together from how vigorously you were riding him. To say the least.

But for two, you looked bewitching as hell with your face tensed in pleasure, and it was making the blood rush to Mark’s cock.

“Fuck. Shit. Fuck,” Mark cursed, because they were the only words that would come to his head, other than the occasional, “Jesus Christ.” It was safe to say that you had him right where you wanted him; so far over the edge that there was no returning. No going back.

You moaned his name, preparing to take him there. Mark was already gone. He blew his long blond hair out of his face so that he could take a better look at you, going to town like no other before you.

Mark hoped that you wouldn’t finish him earlier than he needed, that you wouldn’t pull out all of your priceless tricks, but he would’ve been naive to truly believe that you would let him off that easily. No, you wanted to wreck him thoroughly. The same way that he had wrecked you.

At long last it was time to reap what he’d sowed. And you absolutely did not intend to show him any mercy. You wanted to see him at his worst.

Finally, you leaned into Mark’s ear like he feared that you would, whispering in the velvetest voice you could, “Come on, baby. I know that you’re close. Don’t you wanna finish inside me?”

You hit the jackpot. Mark’s brain faltered at the thought of releasing his load inches deep inside of you, imagining the sated noise that you would make when you sensed him empty his balls inside of you. “Fuck.” The temptation burned hotter than before, sending tingles through his limbs.

“I’m gonna cum,” you told Mark in a shockingly level voice, though he could still hear a slight tremble in your tone. “And I want you to cum with me. Please?”

Mark bobbed his head. You were so deep in his head that he would do whatever you wanted, no matter how insane the request. Plus that sweet tone you were using on him was getting under his skin, making his face strain.

You quickened your pace, pulling out all of the stops to get him to finish, knowing he was weak and defenseless against your methods. Mark started to shudder and it became obvious that his fight was over. It was a telltale hint. You were going to get him off.

And then it hit him. It sped into him like a semi-truck on the interstate, a head-on collision that burst into an uncontrollable path of fire, setting him off. Mark cursed in the lowest tone he could make as he finally orgasmed, a steadfast grip on your hips.

His hips bucked up into yours as he rode out his high, releasing every drop of semen into your hot vice-like pussy. You moaned like he knew you would at the sensation, trembling with your second release, nails digging into his shoulders that were (thank fuck) safeguarded by his suit.

After all was said and done, you collapsed onto his chest, panting for breath. Mark took a few blinks to try and clear the misty look out of his eyes. They were dark and soulless, thanks to you. For half a minute, he swore he couldn’t barely see a damn thing.

Neither of you wanted to move for the longest time. You desperately wanted to remain there in Mark’s arms and he was content with just holding you there. Though in favor of looking presentable lest somebody caught you, you forced yourself to come up off his softening cock, grabbing a pool towel to clean up your mess.

Mark stubbornly fixed his clothes, though with the look on his face, all you could liken him to was a heartbroken puppy that nobody wanted to play with. “Dude. It’s already over.”

You checked your phone and chuckled, “Mark, it’s been like an hour.”

Right as you were about to set your phone back down on the poolside table, it vibrated in your hand, your screen flashing brightly. You glanced at it again, noticing a message from Johnny. Living room. Now.

You noticed Mark’s phone had also pinged when you flitted your gaze to him. “Johnny?”

“Yup,” Mark replied, suspicious. “What do you think? Set up?”

You huffed, “A hell of a smart one. Even if it is, we’ve got to go check it out.”

“Yeah, but I just wanna go home with you,” Mark grumbled under his breath.

You frowned, patting his back. This night would be over eventually, whether the daylight came first or Johnny ceasing it brought it on.

Mark stepped back, letting you tug your dress back down. You were wearing your thinking face again so it came to him as no shock when you asked, “Who do you think did it?”

“I don’t know. We’re all capable of the unspeakable.”

“That’s what scares me,” you whispered.

Mark’s lips made a line.

The two of you grabbed your weapons, tucking them back into their hiding spots. After making sure you looked presentable, you and Mark emerged from the pool area, not bothering to look like you weren’t together or you still loathed each other.

You loved Mark and Mark loved you. Why should you hide?

To your misfortune, you and Mark were the last to arrive, which inevitably gathered unwanted attention. Your attention, however, was on the gash on Jeno’s arm, and you came up to him to ask fretfully, “What the hell happened?”

“While you and Mark were obviously busy making babies, somebody attacked Jeno. At least we know it wasn’t you two,” Haechan said, the perfect balance of sweetness and venom in his tone.

Johnny glared, but continued, “That, and I noticed something from my case was missing. My mother’s necklace was stolen.”

You and Mark knowingly glanced at each other. It was you that said, “Well, I’m not saying she did it, but Chungha’s been paying very close attention to your case lately.”

Jeno hissed, “Is that what you’re worried about right now? I need a doctor! Johnny, you can’t possibly think we’re staying here all fucking night so that you can play Benoit Blanc.”

“First of all, I didn’t steal anything. If I wanted something, I would just ask. But your mother’s necklace? Johnny, I’m your friend,” Chungha replied as if it was the most absurd accusation ever.

Johnny hadn’t smiled in so long it was starting to become terrifying. And you honestly couldn’t blame him. First somebody tried to kill him, and now his dead mother’s necklace was stolen? You’d go ballistic, but Johnny was relatively level when he said, “I consider you all my friends. And yet one of you tried to shoot me dead.”

Chunga said nothing. Her lips were in a frown.

“So we’re just going to ignore me?” Jeno asked bitterly.

“It’s a light gash, not a bullet wound. If you don’t get an infection, you will be fine,” Jaehyun told him coolly.

Jeno grumbled something under his breath incoherently.

You patted his back compassionately. There was a lot going on and it was hard to divide your attention between Jeno’s cut and Johnny’s stolen items. “I don’t understand the purpose of this meeting. Awareness? What are we doing to figure out who’s behind all this bullshit?”

Jeno hummed in agreement.

“I don’t understand the purpose of these parties,” Haechan huffed exasperatedly. “Nevermind. Yes, I do. I know exactly why we come together every fucking year. We don’t see each other to ‘keep the peace’ or ‘remember Doyoung.’ We do it to forget. Forget what happened.”

Johnny opened his mouth to say something, but Haechan didn’t let him. And for once, you weren’t complaining.

Haechan glanced at Johnny’s glaring face and said, “Don’t look at me like that, man. We’ve all been thinking it. I’m just the only one with enough courage to admit it. We all committed a sin. Now that we have our fancy public lives, we wanna make sure the truth stays dead and buried.”

You glanced to your feet as Haechan went on this little tangent of his. It was supposed to make you uncomfortable. How could you live comfortably with what you’d done?

"Each of you come here to save your own fucking asses, because if the media finds out that you're killers, it makes Mom and Dad look bad. That's it. That's the purpose," he ranted, ending his tirade bluntly.

Well, he sure didn't beat around the bush. But that was the Haechan that you'd always known, confident and outspoken. To his right, Yuta was standing there, nodding along at everything he said in approval.

Jeno clapped his hands together. "You know what? I can't stand this guy, but round of applause. He's right."

You couldn’t argue even if you’d wanted to. After graduation, the group was indefinitely separated into pieces, but the eight of you agreed to never speak of what happened again. Of course, all of you went on to have successful careers, mostly because of who your parents were.

Mark was the only exception. Your relationship wasn’t only private to your friends, but to the whole world. And for a weird reason. In spite of his affluence, your mother would have a heart attack if she knew you were dating somebody that wasn’t born into his wealth.

Once upon a time, Mark Lee was a regular boy from Toronto. Somebody you vouched for and let into your circle, assuring him your friends weren’t just stuck-up rich kids. And he happened to make a killing doing something he loved.

You wished you could say the same.

Johnny said nothing for a long time, standing there with his hands posed behind his frame, which made you question him. It made you recall what Jeno had told you in that elevator a couple of hours earlier. People always look at the guy with his hands dirty. No one ever suspects the guy with his hands behind his back.

You glanced at the boy you were holding. Jeno noticed, peering back at you, but there was something different about his stare. Like there was something paining him. Then again, he did take a knife to one of his arms.

Your gaze flitted back to Johnny. But how could he be guilty? It would’ve taken an insane amount of self-assurance to think that he’d pull a stunt like this off. And Johnny had plenty, but it wasn’t in his nature. Instinctively, he was a protector. It was this man’s natural instinct to defend what he loved with his life.

Johnny leaving Yuta in that shack to search for a weapon wasn’t the whole tale. He left him there, but the weapon he found was the same one he used to kill your tormentor. This man risked his own life to put an end to the most traumatic night of your lives. Like that, the fight was over.

You narrowed your eyes. Somebody here was guilty. But it wasn’t Johnny.

“You’re all dismissed,” Johnny said after a long pause.

There was something recognizably off in Johnny’s tone, but you didn’t get the chance to ask questions, because Mark tugged you away from Jeno and led you down the hallway for all to see.

“Dude, what the hell?” you screeched.

Mark put his finger on his lips and said, “Somebody sliced up Jeno and I think that same person is framing Chungha.”

“Yeah, that’s what I was thinking,” you huffed, rubbing your head. “I hope it wasn’t Haechan. He’s such a cancer.”

“Actually, he’s a Gemini.”

“That’s not…,” you trailed. “Nevermind. I love you, Mark.”

Mark still wasn’t used to hearing those words leaving your mouth again and instinctively he drew you into him, kissing you against the closest fucking wall with all of the affection within his very bones.

You were so happy that you forgot you were even there. That danger and death were sputtering and crepitating all around you, because none of it seemed to matter when you were with Mark.

“You didn’t tell me you two were back together.”

Jeno’s voice startled you back into brutal reality. You would recognize it anywhere, but the ferocity in it was foreign. And you quickly noticed the gun in his hand.

Mark tensed, but hid you behind him. He went to draw his own weapon, but Jeno threatened, “Any sudden moves and I’ll shoot.”

Your heart was racing. Fear coursed through your veins, but it was washed over by unadulterated anger. You broke out of Mark’s grasp, hissing, “What is this?”

“Baby, don’t,” Mark told you. There was worry in his eyes, but none for himself. All of it was for you.

Jeno laughed, but you could tell that deep down he was bristling. “No, let her. She just doesn’t fucking listen, does she? I told her that you were bad luck, and here she is with her tongue down your throat. You can’t save somebody that doesn’t want to be saved, Mark.”

Mark was irritated, but said nothing. Not with a gun pointed squarely at your chest.

It was overwhelmingly obvious now that Mark and his friends had been right about Jeno, but you hadn��t realized until now, when it was far too late. “You’ve been jealous this whole time?”

“Everybody else noticed that I was in love with you,” Jeno said with total vitriol. “Never you. You’re too busy sulking over Mark to pay me a lick of fucking attention.”

If it weren’t for the weapon glaring you down, you would’ve been tempted to give him a piece of your goddamn mind. The sting of the betrayal sitting in your gut numbed you to most of your fear, but not all of it.

An irrational, heartbroken man that felt entitled to your affection holding a gun? There was no telling what he would decide to do.

Jeno was spiraling and it was obvious. He was at the end of his tether which made him all the more dangerous, because that meant anything was fair game. “You know, I thought I took care of us. I thought that having Doyoung out of the picture would give you no choice but to look at me, but I was wrong. First it was Johnny. Then, it was Mark. It's like I wasn't even an option.”

Fighting back the incoming threat of tears, you shook your head and tried to keep your voice level, “You killed Doyoung so that you could have me?”

Jeno answered smartly, “Nah. That was all you, babe. But I would’ve done it. I would’ve done anything for us.”

Mark wanted to pull you out of harm’s way, but Jeno cocking his gun at him made him still. Never in his life had he felt so helpless. His heart was thudding so violently, twisting in his chest, because the girl he loved was in danger and he couldn’t do a damn thing to help her.

You couldn’t tell if he was addressing you or Mark when he said, “Love is a weakness. You want to, but you don’t want to. Your brain’s telling you this, but your heart’s telling you that. Who do you listen to? What’s good and what’s bad?”

Your head was spinning. Your muscles were tensing with the overpowering urge to attack, as were Mark’s, but you knew Jeno was a threat. You coaxed sweetly, “Jeno, put the gun down. You and I, we’re friends. We can talk this out like we always have.”

That only made Jeno’s rage worse and he snapped, “That right there is your fucking problem. You think I’m stupid. Don’t you know I can tell when you’re lying to me?”

You heaved a breath. If it weren’t for Mark’s body still pressed so closely to yours, you probably would’ve panicked.

Jeno was mercurial in his feelings, switching from resentful to indifferent, to petulant like a newborn child. His voice was wounded as he confessed, “I’ve spent so long wishing that I could have you there with me. And every time it feels like I get close, there’s another guy. I’m back where I started. It’s always one step forward and three steps back with you.”

You shook your head, slipping your fingers through Mark’s. “What’s your endgame then, Jeno? You know I’ll never be yours.”

“I know,” Jeno said, glaring as his eyes dropped to your intertwined hands. “And that’s why if I can’t have you, nobody will.”

There was a loud crackling in the air, so loud your ears started to ring, but you thought it was out of shock.

It was over before it even started. Mark shoved you out of the way, sending you barreling to the ground just in time for the gunshot to miss you, but pierce him through the shoulder.

Jeno wasn’t none too pleased about the bullet missing his ultimate target, but because he’d already gotten started, there was no way that he was stopping anytime soon. The second he raised his hand to fire another bullet, a second shot echoed out behind his frame.

You gasped when Jeno collapsed, a pool of blood peeking out from under him, but you crawled over to the body crouched beside him and shrieked, “Mark!”

Mark was leaning against the wall, taking inhale after exhale. You tried to reserve panic for later, taking off Mark’s coat and applying pressure to the wound. His eyes winced closed and he hissed, “Fuck! That hurts.”

“I know, baby. I know. But we’ve gotta stop the bleeding,” you replied, vision blurring from tears. You hoped to god the bullet missed his nerves.

Jaehyun came rushing over as Johnny looked over Jeno’s body, making certain that he was no longer a threat. He took his gun and said to Jaehyun, “Call emergency services.”

Jaehyun bobbed his head, pulling his phone out of his pocket immediately and calling a number he had on speed dial.

“Keep the pressure on him. I know it doesn’t look that serious in the movies, but a shoulder wound can kill him,” Johnny told you, intent on sitting there until an ambulance arrived.

In the corner of your eye, you noticed him pull a chain from Jeno’s coat and mumble something under his breath.

You briefly lifted one hand off Mark’s shoulder to wipe a tear away. Being with Mark again blinded you, tricking you into thinking that you’d finally be happy solely because you had Mark back, but this burst your bubble. It’d never be over. Days of living in unbroken fear would never stop. The internal warring would never end. It was a constant.

“I hate that sound,” you mumbled under your breath.

Mark’s voice was quiet, but he pressed his other hand to your forearm to let you know he was still there. “What sound?”

An invisible icy breeze crept over your shoulders, making you shudder as you replied, “Gunshots.”

“Then, we’ll go somewhere we’ll never have to hear them again. It’ll be just you and me. Maybe a family, if you want one.”

“I’d like that,” you whispered.

Mark smiled as wide as he could, squeezing your forearm.

“And then what happened?” Maxine asked.

Mark, holding your six-year-old daughter in his lap, answered, “I went to the hospital. Your mommy rode with me in the back of an ambulance.”

Turning the corner to your bedroom with cups of hot cocoa in your hands, you threw your husband a look and asked, “Is it a good idea to be telling our children about this, Mark?”

August swiftly begged, “Wait no. We want to hear the rest of the story about how Dad got his scar. Right, Maxi?”

Maxine bobbed her head. “Mommy, please?”

Mark’s bottom lip protruded, mimicking the cute pouts and puppy eyes of your shared children. “Please, Mama?”

You playfully rolled your eyes at your husband’s behavior, but he and your kids were too damn irresistible. “Oh, what the heck. Okay. Fine. Go on.”

Maxine stood on her father’s thighs, dancing excitedly in celebration. Mark watched her fondly, but kept a close eye to make sure she didn’t fall. August, on the other hand, simply smiled. He’d always been curious about you and his father’s life endeavors.

You passed cups of hot cocoa to your two kids, both of whom gave you a sweet, “Thank you.”

August took a sip and asked, “So, what happened at the hospital?”

“I had to get a surgery on my shoulder,” Mark explained. “When I woke up and I could keep my eyes open for longer than a few minutes at a time, it wasn’t Christmas eve anymore. It was New Years.”

You bobbed your head. “I spent Christmas with your father in that hospital. I was supposed to go home to have dinner with my parents and a bunch of shareholders, but I couldn’t leave his side. Especially not without knowing if he was okay.”

The only time you left was when you literally had no other option. Bathroom breaks or the doctors kindly asking for you to leave. The others occasionally came to give him a visit as well, but as long as Mark was there, that hospital was your new home.

Their company meant a lot back then. It helped not to be too lonely there from time to time. You half expected a huge, ‘I told you so’ or something from all of Mark’s friends, but they were surprisingly sympathetic.

Imagine Mark’s surprise when he woke up for good and you told him that Haechan had even hugged you.

Maxine’s eyes winced closed. “Ow! That’s hot,” she exclaimed, setting her mug on the nightstand.

“Careful, sweetie. You’ll burn yourself,” Mark said, eyes flickering with care.

Your lips curled into a grin. You liked watching Mark sometimes, like you weren’t even there. Here and there, you would peek around the corner after coming home, listening to the sounds of your husband fathering your kids. He was so attentive and patient with them. It meant everything to know your babies were in good hands.

Mark showed Maxine how to blow her hot cocoa and she mimicked his actions with cautious sips, demanding politely in between, “Keep talking. I wanna hear the rest of the story. Please?”

You chuckled. This little girl would follow up the most aggressive demand with a sweet-sounding ‘please?’

“Your mommy had to enlighten me on what happened after I went to the hospital, because I was too out of it to see the mystery unfold in real time,” Mark replied.

You nodded your head. You still remembered sitting there beside that hospital bed, ceaseless beeping fading into background noise after enough hours spent basically alone. You’d told Mark, “He tried to kill Johnny to throw off whatever investigation succeeded the shooting.”

Mark had blinked, processing. Thinking took entirely too much strength hooked to whatever equipment was keeping him alive in that damn hospital. “What about Jodie?”

“Jodie was collateral damage, maybe a surrogate. I was obviously the actual object of his rage. His endgame. It gives me chills, thinking about how he smiled in my face when he knew he wasn’t gonna leave that party till he or I was dead.”

The little flashback made you fight a sigh. People had betrayed you before, but none like that. You banished the thoughts away and kept entertaining your kids. Jeno was gone. In hell somewhere, hopefully.

As you snuggled under the blankets beside your son, he questioned curiously, “Who stabbed Jeno?”

“The medical examiner looked at him. She said the wound was obviously self-inflicted to a trained eye,” you replied with a snicker. At first, you were outraged. Nowadays, all you could do was laugh.

You weren’t even slightly worried about your kids comprehension skills as you regaled them on that ever so wonderful time in your life. Your kids were brilliant. Maybe it was all those books they liked to read, but you could have the most advanced back-and-forth conversation with those two and they would understand every single word. Sometimes it was frightening.

“And to think, he had such a fit over an injury he made himself,” Mark added, shaking his head in astonishment.

The thought made you want to roll your eyes, but another one made you want to burst into laughter. “God, do you remember his face when Jaehyun told him that he’d be fine? I think he and Johnny suspected Jeno was the killer.”

Maxine was beaming from ear to ear. “Uncle Johnny is so cool. Is he still coming over next weekend?”

You bobbed your head. “Yup. He said he has a surprise for you. And before you ask, I’m not telling.”

Maxine pouted. “Please?”

“Nope. Your cute tricks won’t work on me this time. I fortunately value my life and Uncle Johnny will kill me if I tell you,” you replied, crossing your arms.

Maxine sighed sadly. You hated it when she did that. It made you want to give her the entire universe.

Fortunately, Maxine forgot rather quickly, because she whipped around and asked her father, “Daddy, how long did it take you to heal?”

“I was all better the next day,” Mark lied through his teeth.

You deadpanned, “He’s lying. He was in the hospital for a week and it took three months before he was even slightly normal again.”

Then, you moved here. Jaehyun and Chungha came over to help you with interior design. Imagine your shock when you found out the reason they were suspiciously walking around Johnny’s penthouse was because they were sneaking around to kiss and hook up. Apparently, they were taking a page out of your book.

You glanced at the alarm clock on your nightstand. Noticing that it read eleven o’clock, you said enthusiastically, “Alright, kids. Who’s ready to open up their Christmas presents?”

There was a loud chorus of, “Me!” Your kids started to jump up and down on your bed in excitement, nearly crushing your legs, exactly as they had done when they woke you and your husband up a couple of hours ago.

Mark chimed in, “First one there gets to open up their biggest present first.”

Immediately, Maxine and August hopped off your bed, racing each other to the living room as quickly as possible before the other could get there.

You couldn’t help but giggle. Never in a billion years did you imagine having this future with Mark, but you were endlessly grateful. “Merry Christmas, love of my life.”

Mark leaned in to kiss your cheek. “Merry Christmas, baby. I’ve got a little surprise gift for you later.”

“Oh?”

Mark snickered at the mischief on your face. “It’s not what you’re thinking.”

“How do you know what I’m thinking?”

“Because you get that little look on your face,” Mark replied with a sly grin.

You shook your head, but you were still smiling. “Okay. If it’s not that, then what is it?”

“If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise.”

“Okay, fine. Have it your way. I don’t care,” you groaned.

Mark was sporting the biggest smile ever. For what, you had absolutely no clue, until he pulled you for another kiss and confessed, “I’m so glad we made up that one Christmas.”

Your skin came alive against his. Your whole body was filled with bliss and wonder. You laid your head on his chest, feeling his heart race. “Me too, baby.”

#nct smut #nct 127 smut #mark lee smut #mark smut #nct dream smut #mark lee x reader #nct imagines #nct x reader #nct scenarios

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haet-sal · 10 months

Text

A File For Junhui//a Jun x reader

TAGS: Jun x fem!reader, fluff, SMUT included near the end, Seungkwan+Seungcheol features somewhat, a whole meant-to-be sort of love

Synopsis: when concert-pianist-in-training!Jun found your music (before he even found out you went to the same university and in the same major) he wished to himself, damn. I wish somebody loved me like that. But what does he know—all those songs were literally, I mean literally, all about him.

W.c.: 12.2k

Warning: basically bullying and Y/N is really INSECURE about her looks, ONESHOT NO PART 2!!! Jun might feel a little OOC but you should imagine the stage performer!jun, not irl shy jun!!, SMUT+PIV

Excerpt: “These are songs I wrote without lyrics…” you explain slowly. “They all mostly sound the same, please don’t look, it’s embarrassing—oh and that—” you point at the file Jun was reaching for— “that’s my lovesongs folder.”

Oh, wait.

“Um—Wait!”

Jun had opened the file up, and your heart shoots through your chest, beating wildly. You wanted to scream, curse, something, anything, just wish this moment away—

All you could hear was your heartbeat in your ears. Bloody rushing like crazy to your head, in a frenzy.

You named the folder, in your stupid head that thought no one would ever see these: A FILE FOR JUNHUI.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“What does the name mean? 1096? What does it mean?”

“Who cares, Seungkwan? You want the song for your project or not?”

“Yes,” Seungkwan huffed, “I do. But I deserve to know what all the titles mean—your titles are always so cryptic.”

You stare the boy down, eyebrows furrowed. A stronghold against giving away what the title meant. “That’s what artists do. Good artists. Keep asking me questions and I’ll stop lending you my songs for your vocal projects.”

“Jeez, Y/N, I need them,” Seungkwan said in the whiniest, babiest tone you've ever heard. “The feedback’s amazing when I sing original songs.” Feeling like he had to brown-nose a little, he added: “Especially when they’re as good as yours.”

You roll your eyes. “Alright. I’ll email you the full audio file later.”

“Are you really not going to tell me what the title means?”

“It’s…” you sigh. Seungkwan’s two warm brown eyes are watching you intently. He really wants to know, but if he found out... “It’s embarrassing.” You leave him without an answer.

But at this point what about your life wasn’t embarrassing?

Case in point: 1—You didn’t even have to go that far back to see it. Last night your roommates Chungha and Jia went out to the club, or bar, or wherever kids like going these days, and came home each with a man behind her. You met the two in the kitchen, where you were just pouring yourself some warm milk.

In your pajamas.

You came face-to-face with the two girls, and their accompanying men, Chungha wearing a sequinned minidress that probably costs four times your nicest dress and for even less fabric; and your other roommate, Jia, was wearing jeans and a fake ostrich feather top. She looked amazing. They looked amazing.

You were in your pajamas. Which, in hindsight, wasn’t that big of a deal because it was 1 am in the morning, but all you were thinking at that moment was, y/n, you fucking idiot. If you dressed like them, if you went out like them, you could be getting laid right now. You wouldn’t have to cry about being ugly or feel like you’re utterly undesirable or curse your entire existence—if you’d just dressed in sequins and ostrich feathers.

If you knew how to dress. If you knew how to walk. If you knew how to smile. But it didn’t matter now. The two men had the munchies. They tore open a box of cookies you were keeping for yourself, some fell on the floor. Shaky drunken-slash-high hands. The four people stared you down; if they hadn’t maybe you could have told them the cookies were yours. One guy was picking them up and eating them from off the floor. Jia was halfway through screaming something at you. You slowly backed out of the room with your warm milk, and thought more about your situation when you were alone in your room. Maybe if you knew how to dress, if you were interested in the things they were interested in, maybe you’d get along with Jia and Chungha. Maybe you’d be happier. But you were too… you knew the word. You just couldn’t say it. One of many words that had been hurled at you for years. Ugly, unlovable, weird. All those words that applied to you when you were little and didn’t stop applying to you. They swam around in your head and followed you into your dreams.

Case in point: 2—the things you let your roommate do to you every morning.

Picture this scene, every morning: Chungha’s already dressed. Jia’s in the bath, but she’s locked the door so you can’t even get in to brush your teeth. You’re waiting outside the door.

“Jia, can I come in yet?” That’s usually what you open with. Which is usually met with a “mmm!” or “just a minute!”

A minute turns into 3. You’re waiting in your bathrobe, you can’t just go to school like this and she knows it. She’s the reason your first period lecturer hates you so much, but ‘my roommate was hogging the bathroom’ becomes a stupid excuse, and also entirely your own problem.

“Hey, Jia? I really need to shower,” you’ll try again, knocking on the bathroom door. Which usually makes her mad.

“I’m using it, Y/N, don’t be a fucking bitch.” She usually snaps this in such a biting tone.

“Okay, I’m sorry. I just…” you trail on and on. One time, you heard her snicker in there. She was on the phone.

“Yeah, I’m just making her late on purpose. I fucking hate her…”

You’d have thought by college the mean high schoolers would have matured, but Jia was a curse in the flesh. She was never going to give up tormenting the weird kid. It was very unfortunate you had to live with her.

Jia wasn’t all bad, though. She would come out of there, when she needed to get to her classes. Which makes you about 15 minutes late to your first lecture, even when you hurried up in the bathroom with all the time you were given. In conclusion, you were a loser and an embarrassment and you know everyone, including Chungha, was waiting for you to stand up to her, but you just couldn’t. In a way, you kept believing you deserve to be pushed around like that. For being ugly, for being weird. Whatever complex that was.

Case in point: 3—you’re crying writing songs in your room dedicating it all to one person. Wen Junhui, who lived in the pianists’ conservatory, eating and breathing Beethoven for a living and not knowing that you existed, at all.

You thought maybe you liked Jun the way that 12-year-olds made fanpages about BTS, or gave valentine’s gifts to the most popular guy in class, knowing he only dates seniors. He was just simply better than you in every way and you wanted to be a part of that, you thought that if maybe somebody like him loved you, you could start seeing yourself as a person that deserved love.

You’d met him before in person—you weren’t that crazy to develop a crush on someone you’d never talked to before—but like everyone else, the first instant you fell for him was when he played at the concert rehearsal at the conservatory.

You’re an idiot. You fell in love before he even played the piano.

It wasn’t Jun’s turn yet. But he stood to the right of the stage awaiting his turn, really close to the edge—sometimes pushed by the other students backtracking, and almost falling off, to which he reacted by regaining his balance and laughing it off.

A girl was playing Bach or Debussy or something or the other. Jun kept laughing. You felt something not horrible rise to the surface inside of your stomach, like inside of your emotions—and anything not horrible is wonderful to your brain, so you guess that this feeling was wonderful, perhaps even beautiful, something you had never felt before, just looking at the stage lights frame Jun’s face all the right ways: cheekbones bright, the bridge of his nose shiny.

You tell yourself okay, this is stupid, I’m not in love. But you knew if you kept looking at his face it would only take a few more seconds until you really do fall in love, guaranteed, so you averted your eyes, and looked down at his beige-pant-clad legs, and…

And he’s tapping his foot and his shoes are beige, too.

You didn’t even need to raise your eyes back up to his face, to that shy little smile, again. He was tapping his foot. Timing the notes. He was a pianist. That was suddenly so spectacular to you. This boy standing in front of you is a pianist.

So that was the first season of Jun; like fall, you fell. And then winter came and you found your feelings entirely unchanged, but pathetically so, because you were never going to make a move.

You always hoped to run into him sometime somewhere along on campus, but it never happened. But it was okay. You liked imagining that he was real, living his own life—and even if you both weren’t real, just two barbie toys being moved around in a make-shift campus, doll Jun was running his doll hands through doll books and it made you romanticize this universe of lack of autonomy more.

And his doll parts had been everywhere, sadly.

You hear about him kissing some senior at a town club, you see his best friend post stories of them partying. It felt bad, knowing he was so different from you and you couldn’t even change what you were. Which once again brought you back to the main issue: Jia.

It was one of those evenings where she had appointments outside, and you had the apartment to yourself. But you still couldn’t enjoy it, couldn’t just sit on your computer and mix tunes all day long. Jia’s voice nagged you internally, calling you every synonym of ‘loser’ in the book.

And even your songs were definitely written by a loser: ‘I told you I loved you/you made me swear/I’d never say a thing like that again’

You slam your laptop shut. Was all you did make dumb lo-fi music and then stress yourself out? Would it kill you to write an actual song that people actually wanted to hear; make people-pleasing music, instead of making music just to appease your feelings?

Deciding you couldn’t deal with just this anymore, you closed your laptop, and put a hoodie on so you could walk around the town.

Being that the town had both an arts college and a musician’s conservatory, it was impossible to get away from someone who had something to do with it. But the town center, where most students went most nights, was quiet, quaint, and always had street musicians.

A man was playing an accordion by the stream, in front of the lines of restaurants usually populated by kids on campus. The accordion music filled the entire night with its soft melody, and the further away from it you were, the more dreamlike it all seemed. Maybe you were right in coming out. The streetlamps were giving out a yellow light that the water reflected in golden flecks you couldn’t touch. For a long time, you just watched the lights and listened to the music—thinking, maybe you could add an accordion to your music. You’ve never worked with it before, but now you have an idea about it. An accordion behind a verse about Jun’s eyes, maybe coupled with some sax in the background.

Not that the song had to be about Jun’s eyes, you just thought of the first thing that came to mind. Now you feel embarrassed it was the first thing.

For some reason, as you stood by the bridge listening to the accordion, you were reminded of when you first saw him, when you were working with Jeon Wonwoo somewhere in the university. Jun came to pick his roommate up for lunch, when he was just a freshman and no one even knew who he was. Before he played at that Christmas concert and literally everybody in school developed a crush on him.

When you first saw him, you didn’t think he was a pianist. He had just come from practice. He talked to Wonwoo about whatever, and then he looked over at you, and asked if you wanted to go to lunch with them. You froze up on your seat. Pathetically, tears brimmed your eyes and you blinked them away—it was the beginning of living with Jia, where you had been treated so lowly that the smallest kind gesture was enough to make you cry. Jun saw that you got a little sad. He made a joke to cheer you up, with a smile. Instead of laughing or joking back, you averted your eyes at the ground and shook your head.

“I don’t think I’ll go to lunch with you guys, sorry.” You were hungry, but Jia made you feel like you didn’t deserve anything good. You didn’t know what to say, or how to act around Jun and Wonwoo. “You go, Wonwoo,” you said. “I’ll keep the counter for you.” Later you felt dumb for tearing up from the invitation when Jun probably didn’t mean it, he was just offering to be nice. It was stupid.

And then the Christmas concert came, and Jun played a piano solo—a 20th century composer, which you appreciated. It wasn’t the 400th Mozart piece that evening, finally. From the moment he got on stage, girls went wild for him ever since, Wen Junhui with the magic hands. And Jia… your worst enemy fell in love with him, and that was when you realized you were never getting anywhere with Jun. If girls like Jia liked him… what was even the point of trying?

Now, you walk around the campus, past the accordion player and the stream with its bridge and turn the corner to get to the restaurants. You fished in your pockets for money, for the accordion player…

You kind of wanted an ice cream at the parlor near the river, but decided to give it away to the accordion guy. You couldn’t spare another for the ice cream, so you decided to just go back home, get back to your room and tell Seungkwan you went out, since he's always telling you to explore the town. Technically you weren’t lying, you did go around the block.

Just as you were dropping the last of your monthly allowance in front of the (very grateful) accordion player, you felt watched. You turned to the street opposite where there were tables lined up at the front of one of many of the restaurants lining the bridge, and you see Jia, and her date. They’re both watching you.

You couldn’t see the man very well because the lights of the lamppost skipped over him and shined more on Jia, but he was definitely looking at you.

A weird, menacing look flashed through her eyes, and she said something quickly to her date, and while you were working on walking faster away from their table, she called you over.

“Y/N! Hey! Come say hi to Jun, you know him, right?”

Jun?

Jun Jun Jun Jun—

This can’t be happening.

Your legs carried you to their table, your brain must have decided to not be rude—it didn’t really consult with the rest of your body, because your heart was beating out of your chest and you did not want to be there, saying hi to Wen Junhui in your giant black hoodie that made you look like those slug aliens in star wars, and you were going to have to stand next to Jia, in front of Jun, which would definitely make him realize why he didn’t like girls like you that didn’t dress up or even look presentable. He was going to look at Jia and feel so lucky you weren’t the one he was on the date with.

“Hey,” Jia starts. “Jun, this is my roommate. Y/N, this is Jun. He’s training to be a concert pianist.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” he says. Every time you see Jun from afar, you’ve loved that wide-grinned expression of his. You never thought you’d see it this close. You gape at him, wide-eyed, unblinking.

God, his smile is blinding.

Shit. Now you’ve waited too long to say ‘nice to meet you’ back, and it’s weird.

You didn’t want to say ‘nice to meet you’ because you’ve already met… be it a year ago. But now you realize you can’t point that out, because he obviously doesn’t remember you. You swallow.

Jia is cupping her hand over his on the table. You felt a pang in your chest, but just about, a small pain compared to how you were embarrassing yourself right now.

“Uh…” There it is, there’s your go-to phrase. Uh. Uh, uh, uh… “Uh Huh. Right. Good to meet you. I’ll get going…” You realize your hoodie’s not up and your hair is a mess. You were a mess. You pull the hoodie up until it’s covering all the way down your eyes. You look even more like a mess. “Bye!” You step off the restaurant platform, and run into the lamp pole at the side of the restaurant. “Ow!”

Fuck. Jun got up from his seat to help you, but you zap away from his touch like it burned. Now you were getting up and walking away, eyes on the ground like it would kill you to look up at the world. Running into the lamp pole did its damage: you were zigzagging along the pavement. Head down, so it feels like the restaurant and Jia and Jun disappeared behind you and never even happened…

Why did you have to meet Wen Junhui like that? Why did everything have to be this way with Jia? Only when you were halfway home you realized Jia is absolutely aware of your crush on Jun—she's heard you speaking over the phone to Seungkwan, she definitely has heard you talking about him… You realize she called you over to humiliate you, because she knew you would embarrass yourself in front of him. You feel like kicking yourself. Played right into her trap. Stupid, stupid… You felt like if you looked at yourself in the mirror tonight you’d probably cry. You needed to curl under your sheets as soon as possible, and forget about the day…

Back at the restaurant, your roommate cackled. “She’s so weird. It’s a pain living with someone like that.”

Jun frowned. “Was she okay?”

“Oh yeah, of course. It’s just always embarrassing to be in public when your whole existence is a mess.” Jia threw her head back and laughed, shoving a forkful of salad into her mouth. “You know those songs that Boo Seungkwan sings for vocal classes? She wrote them. And she has an album out on band camp—Wildflower Dreams? That’s all her.”

“That’s her?” Jun gawked, mouth open. “Wow…”

“Yeah, but she’s weird.”

“Eccentric musicians are cool.”

“Yeah, but… that’s like, outlandish eccentric. Y/N is pathetic, sad and weird. It’s different. And she’s not a real musician. I mean, can you call a spoken word poem over sad beat music?”

“What—what does she study?”

“Music production—who cares, Jun? I just wanted you to meet my weird roommate. I think we should stop talking about her now.” Jia grabbed Jun’s hand over the table, squeezing it lightly just to bring him back to the conversation. She suddenly had a pang of regret calling you over to the table; now she couldn’t bring him back to the conversation at hand anymore; Jun looked worried about you—she didn’t think he would care, but apparently…

“Jun,” Jia called, “she’s just some weird girl that doesn’t fucking know how to fit in. It’s not a big deal.”

Jun frowned, avoiding his date’s eyes. This was when she realized she really had made a mistake calling you over. “Do you… know what morning classes she has?”

Seungkwan performs 1096 privately to his professors and evaluators, although later all the students want to see the recordings, so the entire productions class was crowded around, you included, although you didn’t like crowds a lot.

Seungkwan pulls you aside as his voice surrounds the class through the lecture hall speakers. “I figured it out,” he told you.

You asked what.

“June.”

“June?”

“Tenth June, 96. 10-96. The only letters left are Jun. J-U-N.”

“You figured it out…” you started to laugh, a little light-hearted since you trusted Seungkwan and knew that he could never betray you with gossip or rumors. “Yes,” you told him. “Yes, Jun…”

Seungkwan raised his eyebrows all dramatically and looked over your shoulder at someone else. “Happy talking,” he says softly, and rejoins the class in the crowd.

“Hey.” Honey-voiced, too light, too airy, just soft and breezy.

Wen Junhui.

You freeze in the spot, and your own music sounds so absolutely grotesque. You had to delete it, start anew. Everything sounds horrible to you. You rip your gaze away from the class for politeness’s sake, and also because you really wanted to know what Jun looked like right now.

“I'm Jun.” As if you didn’t know. “We met the other day, but I just wanted to introduce myself again. Can you tell me your name?”

Um. “It's um - um - Y/N.” After a minute's pause, you add: “L/N.”

“That's cool, to put a face and a name to your music,” Jun gushed, but you started to doubt how genuine his enthusiasm was. Was he playing a joke on you…? What was this, exactly?

“Wanna talk somewhere else? People are coming in for their next lecture.”

So Jun takes you to a sunny little spot outside in the hallway, right in front of the window sill. You lean the side of your body into the wall, just looking up at him, thinking this is a dream.

“You gave away a full note,” Jun says absentmindedly as he started the conversation.

You thought he was talking about a note in music—did you make a mistake? “Huh?”

“The accordion man, back at the restaurant. You gave him a full note—not even a coin. I thought it was cool.” Oh, so he meant note, like money…

“Shit, how long were you guys watching me?!” you blurted nervously, then collected yourself: “uh… I mean, I like supporting those kind of people. Plus, his hands looked so blue and frozen…”

“Jia wasn’t watching you that long,” says Jun. “I was, though. You caught my eye.”

Probably because you’re such a freak, you thought to yourself.

“You know, Y/N, I was wondering… if I could play on one of your songs, if you’re working on a new album? If you don’t want my type of piano on the track, I can always harmonize in the back, I’ve done it for Jihoon’s stuff—”

“Hold up,” you say, pushing him back by the chest a little because he was getting way too close and the only thing you can think of was kissing him right there. “How do you even know I make music?”

“I've listened to all your albums on bandcamp.” You’re shaking your head, frowning. Hold up, what the hell? Jun went on: “I love the whole Daisy album. My favorite is Cherry—”

“That one? But that's so old and only like ninety seconds long,” you interrupt. And it's not even about Jun.

“Yeah!” Jun laughed. “I'll never forgive you for shortening my favorite song like that!” You didn't know why, but he was reaching over to cup his hand over yours, which was just resting on the length of the windowsill. Like the skinship was normal to him or something. You pull back, and he did too, with an apologetic smile.

You must be magnetic or something. His hand kept coming back up to hold yours. With the brush of his skin against yours—soft pianist fingers, but still calloused on some parts of his palm—you guessed from playing the guitar—against the back of your palm. You shudder covertly.

Jun started to hum the song, and you broke into a smile that you had been holding back for too long.

“Mmm, mmm, cherry, my cherry… everywhere the light touches, it shines, wrote you a poem with just two lines…” Shyly, he looked down at his shoes with a sharp breath. “It's such a pretty tune.”

You can’t stop smiling, because when’s the last time anyone’s ever treated you this nicely?

You gulped down saliva that wasn't there, a dry throat. You usually don't get complimented on your work, mainly because you refuse to show anyone, but… now, this was coming from Wen Junhui.

“You give Seungkwan songs to perform, right? I was wondering if you could do that for me?"

“Uh…” You thought of it. You knew you had to accept—or else Jun would disappear from view and you'd never see him again. You wanted to prolong this moment for a long time, for as long as you could get. Jun wasn't the type to care about people like you. You were the background to his stage presence, just a face in the crowd. “Are you free? We can go through my files right now!”

“Yeah, sounds good!” God, how can his adorable accent be so enunciated with just three words?

The walk out to the campus felt more spiritual like anything, like in Spirited Away or Avatar: The Last Airbender when they enter the spirit world—okay, those aren’t real examples, but that’s the closest you can imagine it to be. Because it felt like your feet weren’t touching the ground, and you were sure once you got to the gate, that if you grabbed the handle, your hand would go right through—your heart was beating fast, but in a way that felt numb. There has to be more adrenaline than hemoglobin in your blood right now.

Jun reached over trying to help you open the door outside, and the moment your hands touched, a string of electricity sparked between the two of you. Zap. You both jumped a little. “Oh,” he said, “sorry.” Once you reached a spot under a shady tree he demurely sat and watched you open your files, handing him headphones so he could listen. You pulled out the one you were most proud of: the music that had already been released online already.

Jun quietly looked through the files humming the tunes trying to get a sense of them, moving his fingers along to identify the chords.

“I’ve heard all these,” he says. “Do you have others?”

“But,” you protest, “they’re bad. I mean, not bad necessarily, but raw and unfurnished.”

“You know that’s what makes the songs so good, right?”

You gave in and handed him your other file of note sheets, mindlessly letting him leaf through it. “It’s my songs I wrote back in autumn,” you explained. “I don’t know, I just sort my music through the period of time I was working on, like sometimes 30 or so songs in one file. Like making an album, you know? I mean, I don’t know if I’ll ever really sell whole albums, but…”

“Why can’t you make an album?” Jun asks.

“Well you know, I’m not… some pop star…”

“You could be.”

“No, Jun, I don’t… I don’t look the part.” The air turned awkward as you said that, you saw Jun’s forehead crease in a small frown. Right, right, self-deprecation is generally frowned upon… You swallow, trying to get rid of that moment.

“What’s in there?” Jun asked, pointing towards the other folders. You pull out the one the cursor is on.

“These are songs I wrote without lyrics…” you explain slowly. “They all mostly sound the same, please don’t look, it’s embarrassing—oh and that—” you point at the file Jun was reaching for— “that’s my lovesongs folder.”

Oh, wait.

“Um—Wait!”

Jun had opened the file up, and your heart shoots through your chest, beating wildly. You wanted to scream, curse, something, anything, just wish this moment away—

All you could hear was your heartbeat in your ears. Bloody rushing like crazy to your head, in a frenzy.

You named the folder, in your stupid head that thought no one would ever see these: A FILE FOR JUNHUI.

Fuck.

Now Jun was going through the audios, acting like he didn't see the writing on top of it, but you know it's exactly in his line of sight—you can’t even let yourself live in denial.

This was it, you thought, he's gonna think I’m a weirdo and he'll get a restraining order on me now.

Instead, he just asks:

“Can I play these?”

You lift your eyes up to look at his face, shocked by how… undisturbed he looked. You started to doubt he even saw the name of the folder, but you weren’t dumb—he had to have seen it.

“Y-yeah, sure… any one you want.”

“I've never heard this one before,” Jun says, gliding his finger over the sheet music. “Look into my heart, where flowers have bloomed, a song written about you…” He was reading out the lyrics, before he started humming along to it. You're filled with an emotion that feels like wholesomeness, you grit your teeth to resist it. It feels too good.

“That one's not released yet… I meant to, but um… I don’t know, just haven't gotten around to it.”

You’re tapping your foot on the floor as a way to fight the feeling from overwhelming you, but you can’t stop it, you could just start shouting for joy and embarrassment and everything else in between. You have never been more overloaded with emotions.

“These are great, thanks…” Jun neatly sorted the file back to where it came from, after pulling out the songs he wanted. “Actually, I wanted to ask you this, too—can you give me the audio file for Cherry? Just the rough drafts, if you still have those. It’s my favorite song ever, you know?”

“Oh yeah—sure—” you go through your laptop for it, and then Jun says:

“So, who'd you write it for?”

You freeze up. “Uh, one of my friends' favorite scents is cherries, so…” Online friend. The only people that could stay around you were the ones that couldn't see what a mess you were.

“Oh, shoot,” goes Jun, “I was kinda hoping it's about me.”

You froze up, slowly coming back up to face Jun, cheeks burning like they never had before. Your life was embarrassing, but it has never gotten this bad. “Why… why would it be about you?”

“I don’t know, what do you usually write your songs about?”

“Uh, definitely… definitely not about you.”

“For Junhui,” Jun read out, and you feel yourself cringe—toe-curling, eye-scrunching cringe. “Hmm. Common name.”

You stared down at your shoes for the longest time, trying to will the shame and awkwardness to go away. All the people you could embarrass yourself in front of, and it happened to be global campus crush Jun.

It’s Sunday, and you’re getting your work done for the school day tomorrow, when you hear your roommates leave. Today was one of the days you felt like interacting, so you went: “guys, it’s Monday tomorrow.”

Jia rolled her eyes, while Chungha started to explain that Sunday night was a promotional night, there were conservatory people there, and everything, and sensing their annoyance, you went back into your room.

In the dark of the night, you don’t hear your roommates come in, way past midnight, but you hear Jia’s sobbing.

“Chungha?” you spoke quietly into the kitchen, where light sobs were coming from. Jia lay there, draped over the veranda, howling in embarrassment. All you could hear was “and she’s so old! And ugly! How could he choose to dance with her?”

Chungha spared a glance at you, and merely waved her hands for you to get the fuck out of there—although rude, it was so you didn’t cross paths with the mean girl and make life worse for yourself.

“Come on,” Chungha was telling her, “he’s not even that hot.”

“He’s the hottest guy in school… and… he… has… nice… pianist fingers!” Jia says, speech ruined by tears.

You wondered if you knew the person they were talking about, although if your guesses were right, it probably was. You inched away from the kitchen, closing the door behind you, when the doorbell rang. The two girls probably don’t hear it; you open the door, not even checking through the peephole, despite the fear of assassination, or some creepy guy following the girls back from the club.

It’s Jun. It’s fucking Jun, dark-haired, tall, beautiful, Jia-would-kill-you-if-you-looked-at-him-Jun.

You actually get chills in some type of way as you look at him, and he’s not even looking at you. He’s looking over your shoulder, with a certain sleepy quietness in his eyes that told you he was buzzed. He rests his hand on the door frame coolly, and speaks with cocktail breath, “hi.”

He must be drunk. There’s no way he isn’t. The balancing himself on the door frame looks cool, but it’s also for practical purposes so he doesn’t, like, fall over.

“Jia’s crying,” you say, and realize she’d probably hate that you disclosed that information once it comes out of your mouth. “Shit, don’t tell her I said that. But I don’t think she wants to see you.”

Jun looks at you from the corner of his eyes, head turned a little bit away, and even though you like him you can’t risk setting your cruel roommate off again, not with now possessive she was about him.

He’s not speaking until he does. And that takes a while. Maybe he’s trying to get the right words out while simultaneously trying to not sound drunk. “I’m not here to see her,” he says, “I’m here to see you.”

What?

“So can we talk?” he asks, motioning with a slight nudge of his face to the stairs.

You look back at the apartment, where you could still hear his “girlfriend” crying. Whatever he wants to talk to you about, it can’t be good. He’s probably here to convince you to help him win her back, but you weren’t willing to waste any effort on reviving a relationship WHOSE HALF IS A GUY YOU’RE IN LOVE WITH.

“I…”

Jun says with a raised eyebrow, “you gonna say something?”

“Um, no.” That’s all you can manage. And a nice “I’m not going anywhere with you.” Which is rude at first glance, but that’s the kind of thing you made up your mind to say to him ever since Jia got all possessive about him.

Jun sighed, disappointed, but you started to think he had a side to him that Jia didn’t know—but you did. It was in the childish way he would tap his feet to music, or get excited about meeting the musician behind his favorite songs. It was the way he was passionate about piano, too. You saw things in him, things you wanted to keep to yourself.

“... why?” he spoke. You frowned, asking him to go on—but as quietly as he could, since you didn’t want your roommates to know he came to see you. “Why don’t you ever say hi at school? I know we’re not really friends—I don’t even make that many friends, but… I don’t know, would be nice if you had said hi.”

“Uh.” You couldn’t give him anything. You kept telling yourself you were a loser, that nothing was going to happen between you and Jun, and he likes your music, he was a fan—so that’s all what it was.

“Whatever,” Jun says. “I’m drunk, so I hope I forget about this. I hope when I wake up I still believe you like me somewhat still.” He turned his back to you as he walked away, and you stared after, hoping he’d look back. He didn’t. You left the door open even after he had left the building, wondering what it would have been like if you actually had articulated everything you felt.

“Are you okay?” your senior asks, one hand against the small of your spine—usually you'd be concerned by any skin contact, but you knew Seungcheol could be trusted. You never got a wrong vibe from him.

You nodded absentmindedly.

“Great. Listen,” he says, “I’ve got this big project coming up. And my professor’s evil, like he won’t go easy on the grades unless what I turn in is revolutionary. Plus I’m up against Lee Jihoon for this, so…” You blinked at him, not understanding. “Let’s work on something. Together. I’ll give you my lyrical experience and my senior tips, and you compose like Beethoveen for me.”

“Are you sure I’m the one you want to work with?”

“With your talent?” Seungcheol leans back and grins at you, the biggest grin he’s ever given anyone. “I’d be surprised you’re not always booked and busy like a ex-idol-group-DJ right now.”

You thought about it, just wondering what could ever go through Choi Seungcheol’s mind that he would say that. The senior noticed, too, checking himself for whatever he said.

“Oh. Do you not like the word ‘talent’? Sorry, I meant you honed your skills yours—”

“I don’t really have any skills, though,” you mumbled.

“What are you talking about?! Your indie band was one of the top rising stars of indie pop bandcamp, and the fact that you’re here in music production classes—you’ve got talent and soul, and Wildflower Dreams has a future—”

“Are you a fan?” came a voice from behind you.

You watched the lights in Seungcheol’s eyes change as he averted his eyes to look at who was speaking. “Oh! Jun!”

“I’m a big fan of Y/n,” Jun says. “If that’s what we’re talking about. Mind if I sit?”

You hadn’t spoken to Jun ever since he found your folder of songs on him, and, also, hadn’t called him to include him on your project. You knew he could play guitar beautifully. You knew it would fit your songs. You just… didn’t feel like you deserved him.

“We were just talking about Y/n’s music,” says Seungcheol. “I wanted to include her compositions in the new thing I’m producing.”

Jun froze. You think it’s a look of disdain and betrayal, but you couldn’t be sure. “You’re collabing?” Ah, now you’re sure. It’s definitely betrayal. As Seungcheol affirms, you realized you and the senior were both watching Jun as he went through a face journey, swallowing each word that comes to his mind until he finally settles on: “have a nice time, guys.”

Clearing his throat, Jun leaves your library table, shuffling away.

“We were supposed to collab,” you explained. “Right now. I guess he felt rejected. I should call him.”

“Oh yeah, yeah, clearly… Also he’s in love with you,” Seungcheol puts it flatly. He reached out his packet of snacks for you. “Cookie?”

“He’s not in love with me.”

“He is. You should definitely take a cookie—they’re store-bought, but one day I’ll get make good use of the oven in our dorm and—”

“Why would you say Junhui is in love with me? Twice?” you demanded, keeping your voice down to a whisper since you were in the library. “Like, why would you even—”

“Because he is,” says Seungcheol, “and it’s not even the dry puppy love type of love. He got jealous. He’s passionately in love. Expert’s opinion.”

You scoffed.

“So… will you help me with this grading test, or are you that busy? So busy you won’t even text Wen Junhui back?”

It’s rehearsal night where the conservatory students and the art school students mingle for a concert, and you see Jia looking around the chairs of performers, searching for someone. For you, it’s the opposite–you stare at your feet, hoping no one notices you. Not any seniors coming to congratulate you on your projects, and definitely not Wen Junhui.

The only person you wanted to see was Seungkwan, who was part of the vocal in the choir and waved at you excitedly and smiled whenever you caught his eyes. But other than that…

Jun was the first pianist they’d chosen; there were two. The piano is slanted on stage so everyone could see the musicians, and Jun was just… behind the wooden lid, in and out of side as he rocked to the music.

It was the only time you felt like looking at him, at a place where he couldn’t spot you looking at him or even stare back at you; looking up at someone who will never see you in a sea of other people. This was all you wanted to be for Jun, who shines like the sun on stage, a prodigy, a talent, something way bigger than anything you were.

There’s bouquets being given out to the performers after the show. You loiter; Seungkwan is talking to a whole bunch of your producer colleagues, including Seungcheol and Jihoon, who were the only people you knew. You were alone.

“Jun!” Jia’s voice was shrill as she wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders. “Baby!”

Yikes, did you have to go through and see all this? You look away, pretending to walk away—the night was over anyway, but you were thinking of savoring the walk back to the dorm, while people like Jia had better things to do than retire to bed so early.

But someone tall was striding over to you, in a white suit, so fairytale-prince-esque as he gently turned your shoulders around. “Are you leaving already?!”

He hadn’t meant for his voice to be so loud; he apologized that he was just excited. Jun grinned at you. You wanted to lie, that Seungkwan or someone wanted you, but no one came to get you; you were forgotten to all but one person… unfortunately.

“If you’re not going anywhere,” starts Jun, “do you want to go on a date?”

You saw that he slid a wallet into the inside pocket of his coat; he’d been planning to celebrate after the concert. Was it just meant to be you? Or could it have been just anyone?

“Sure,” you say. “Are your other orchestra friends coming?”

Jun looked confused, almost like he couldn’t articulate that confusion, like a cat with its head tilted. Then he walks over to the orchestra people—”give me one second.”

After going around leaning over everyone’s ears and asking them to join, Jun comes back to you all straightened up, with a certain mischief in his eyes. “Bad luck,” he pronounces, “no one wants to come. Shall we?”

You end up at an ice cream parlor, one of the more popular date rendezvous around the town, and Jun swears everything is on him as he orders a large sundae, which melts more than he could eat.

You thought he’d ask you about school, music, projects, but he’s asking in detail about each of your albums.

“I always thought ‘marriage’ was about death, and like… ego death?” he prodded. “There’s a better word in Mandarin, but I just…”

“That’s too nice,” you tell him. “I can’t believe someone things that deep about my stuff…”

Jun’s sundae cherry looked lonely, and anyway there were two on two mountains of ice creams. He gave you one.

“I’m glad we’re alone, actually, I think I’d be too shy if Seungkwan or someone came along.”

Jun nodded.

“How did you invite them, anyway?” you giggle. “Well, I guess it’s good on your wallet.”

He scoffed. “You wanna know how I invited them?”

As you nodded, Jun’s hand (which you see now was kinda way larger than yours) slid out of sight to tuck your hair behind your ear, and he leaned over, whispering: “I went over, and whispered into each of their ears: ‘the girl I like thinks I want to bring other people on my date, so pretend I’m inviting you and shake your head.’ And then… they all shook their heads. I don’t know what made them do it, though.”

You looked at him, and he didn’t even dare face you this time, looking down at his sundae. His ears were red, which was quite a feat of you; although he had been the one that embarrassed himself.

You didn’t want to draw conclusions. Although everything he did just pointed to one conclusion. Still, you wanted to play dumb—until he straight up looked into your eyes and told you he liked you, full-on, no room for lies and games. Right now you just felt like a dumb girl going along with a devious boy charming you off your feet.

“Um…” you started, and suddenly, the salon bell chimes, and in walks some members of the orchestra, some kids that you knew by name. You wave at them, and they invite you to their table—you looked back at Jun.

“Do you mind if we go talk to them?” you asked softly. You were shocked to see him look a little embarrassed, more severely than before—he looked down at the floor, almost dejected.

“Oh, well, I was thinking if it was just us…” Jun looked into your eyes, and slowly started to stutter with his words, until he came to a stop: “... ah, forget it. Heh… I just… sorry. It’s up to you.”

“Why do you look like that?” you speak softly.

“Why do I look like—I can’t tell what I must look like right now, but it’s just… the face of someone who got turned down by someone they really admire.” He forced a smile. “I’m sorry, of course… you… wouldn’t think of me that way. I just really like your music, and thought you should know. I am down to help you in any way, though, which… you should be able to tell… I’m actually good at playing piano. Just tell me if you need anything.”

He smiles. And you were happy—he’d just affirmed everything you’d ever thought. Of course, like he said, he didn’t like you that way, it was just the music. Maybe it just touched him enough to delude himself into thinking he liked you, but… He didn’t.

You’d been led on by men a lot, so you think you know… But Jun wasn’t like that. Jun was genuine. But you liked the distance, still.

“You’re sick.” Seungkwan and you were working in a free practice room. Well, Seungkwan was working on his vocals, you were amateurly coaching him (because he didn’t dare ask for a professor to help yet). “Look at all these lyrics and all these song titles… You’re obsessed. And it’s not even hopeless, you might actually have a chance.”

You scoff. “He just likes me as an artist.”

“God, that’s what they all say until they elope.”

You slap his wrist with a ruler. “I am not getting eloped!”

“Wait… ‘looking at your eyes/ while I’m reading your pretty texts’... DO YOU TEXT HIM?” The question echoes through the empty room and you gingerly nod, kind of afraid of Seungkwan.

“Call him up,” Seungkwan says. “Right now. I don’t take no’s. Call him up immediately and say you’re down to collab.”

A minute or two of back and forth passed between you and him until you decided to grab your phone. This was what you loved so much about Seungkwan: he makes you step outside your comfort zone.But honestly right now if you embarrassed yourself in front of Jun you’d hate him. A lot.

Jun picked up on the second ring. You had given him your number the day you gave him the music files. He greets you cheerfully, “Ah, I was wondering when you would call.” You just stared at Seungkwan’s excited face, trying to not show any emotion or insight into what was happening. “...Should I not be so cocky?” Jun goes over the phone.

“Um,” you say, “Hey. Jun. I was thinking about what you offered, and, yeah, turns out I could actually have room for acoustics or keyboard in my new tracks…”

“And A BOYFRIEND!” Seungkwan yells out, and you immediately kick him with a swift rubber-toed sneaker.

“What was that? It was really muffled,” Jun says, and you could hear the confusion in his voice.

“Nothing,” you assured, “just… nothing.”

“If we’re going to do this, I’ve got conditions, though. I want to meet you,” Jun says. “I don’t want to work through emails—I want to see the creative process, and I want to work and fuel that process—you still want me on your album, right?”

You realized Jun talked a lot when he was excited, and as he rambled on, you look at Seungkwan to see him holding in his laughter. Ugh, whatever… Jun’s just a friend.

“And when you’re done with everything, you should come see me play. They call me Magic Fingers,” Jun says. It was clear he was saying it to be sexy, and you just sigh, not wanting to give in to the Jun fever.

After you’d said bye, Seungkwan spent the rest of the evening laughing and recalling parts of your conversation. “Magic fingers! Magic fingers—god. You kids keep me young…”

You stayed booked and busy at the end of the semester, working on your own projects while also helping Seungkwan and Seungcheol. With Jun’s tight schedules, you hadn’t been able to get together and do whatever you planned together—which, no, Seungkwan, was not happening. You considered maybe you’d work over the holidays, and plus, Jun had his school concert coming up where he wanted to be in the pianists’ showcase.

To be honest, Jun was the only reason you wanted to go back to posting songs for your own enjoyment on bandcamp again. He was the only reason you actually started believing you had fans. You really thought this day would never come, that someone might give you something to believe in about yourself.

One morning—a weekend, you wake up late and tread into the kitchen just wanting cereal. Instead, you found a well-dressed Junhui sitting there, tapping his fingers on the table, playing some symphony no one else could hear.

You almost fooled yourself into thinking he was there for you, but Jia comes in. Barging in all neon-lipped. “We’re going out, loser, did you just wake up?”

“Brunch,” Jun explained in just a single word, not saying more. As if it embarrassed him—you didn’t know if it’s because he’s talking to you, or if he’s shy about his relationship. You furrowed your eyebrows, unable to control your expression at all—Jia reached for his hand and intertwined it with hers, and you thought about how pretty her hands were, all manicured, fitting into his like that.

“Our moms made us,” Jia says, impossibly gloating so hard her face shined. “Jun’s mom is literally obsessed with us dating—she says our zodiacs are totally compatible."

Jun stood at her side nodding along, although he couldn’t articulate anything.

He didn’t need to. Jia may be bragging, but you knew enough. She was right, you weren’t. Not the right star sign, not the right element, not the right person. You never thought you had a chance, Jun was just your friend—and still, it hurt to have your friend choose your bully over you.

It’s a weekend. The two of them won’t be back until evening. And you, you had nothing to do except sit in your room listening to old lyric-less tunes you made until it maddened you.

So Jun and Jia are dating again, this time for real. You saw the couple kiss right in front of you, which you just stood by and watched so you didn’t look so aloof, but it didn’t matter what you did, Jia was always going to lay into you. She made a crack of a joke at your expense as they left together, and you didn’t know if Jun laughed but you imagined he might have. It’s not like he owes you anything, is it?

It was killing you, and to be honest, Seungcheol was right—you were worth something, at least your music was. And maybe… Junhui just wanted to use you for your talent.

When you check your text history, it’s always just Jun starting the conversations, sending emojis and stickers, acting forward about everything, asking you how your school work was going. You had always kept him at arm’s length, and still he managed to hurt you.

Maybe it was just how having a crush on the most wanted guy at school goes…

You finish 3 songs that day, which was a feat for you, and surprisingly, it’s all the ones you intended to feature Jun on.

Jun wanted to tell you he really missed you when he didn’t get to see you, and also, you did a good job writing the song for Seungcheol’s project. He also wanted to tell you he spent a total of 5 hours per day streaming your old songs on bandcamp, just because he felt like hearing your voice and you weren’t talking to him.

He thought at the end of the semester, well, I should just talk to her, whatever.

He wanted to congratulate you on the song with Seungcheol, anyway. The professor had been proud enough to share it with the students, and so he thought he should also congratulate you. Plus, he felt like no one ever got the song the way he did. What your songs made him feel was special.

He sat down next to you after class was over, just like the first time you talked, and said, “The collaboration with Seungcheol was so good. Everyone loves it.”

“Thanks.”

“I mean, I think I loved it the most out of anybody else ever,” he adds.

You were frowning, so he thought you were challenging him that he didn’t listen to it at all. So he started to hum:

“If I were a wildflower I could grow in the cracks of your front lawn/watch you smile for the girl you love/crush me under the soles of your boots…”

“It’s a love song,” Jun says. “It’s about complete devotion.” he listens to the tune for a few more seconds, before he can look up at you with eyes so full of what you assumed as pity. “The guy you wrote this for is really lucky.”

He doesn’t have a clue.

You snap your laptop closed, not sparing one glance at Jun—which he noticed and saw the hostility. “Yeah, well,” you say, “you wouldn’t have a clue about my devotion.”

Jun was frowning. “What? Did I do something wrong?”

You didn’t reply when he pressed for more from you, and you simply crossed over his lap with your sweatpant-clad legs and walked off on him.

He pulled you back by the arm. “Listen, if you think Seungcheol’s a better musician than me or you like him more than that and you’d rather collab with him, you can just say that. There’s no need to lead me on like you’re—”

“This isn’t about Seungcheol,” you say, “or it’s about Seungcheol for you. But not for me. You can leave, Jun, if that’s all you came here to talk about.”

“F—forget it.” Jun basically threw your shoulder off his grasp like he was shaking you off, although there was a softness to his voice like it was killing him being mean to you. With gritted teeth, you walked faster and faster out of his sight, cursing him. Oh, the things you were going to tell Seungkwan about him…

“We’re gone,” Chungha says with a laugh. “Don’t expect us back.”

“I wasn’t going to…” you mumbled in your usual unsure tone, but with a smile so you didn’t look so sullen.

Chungha smiled back at you, or was about to, when— “Chungha! Let’s fucking go!”

“Alright!” She shot you half a glance, fixed her heels, and trodded out the door.

Sound of their pink heels clinking against the stair tiles. And then the entire building was quiet. All the students in the building had left for that one party.

Not to be pathetic, but you always end up regretting every decision you made.

Why would Jun ever even like you?

You lie on the bed thinking of what Seungcheol told you, the sentence going over your head over and over again until you feel like slapping yourself or taking a ice bath just to get it off your mind.

Yes, Seungcheol had experience in everything: being a boy, being in love, being a boy in love, and yes he could have actual insight, but also, what could he ever know about what Jun feels?

Seungcheol might just be saying it to be nice.

You decided to play one of your songs from that folder, FOR JUNHUI, just to see if the raw audio needed retouches, but halfway through listening to the whole album you realized two things: 1) you had no clue how to fix anything—not even just in your songs, but also in your life—and 2) you were crying.

It didn’t help that your own songs were a representation of your own fucked up, boring, messy life, so you kept listening and crying and listening and crying more. Until you were uglier than you had started.

Somewhere through the night—-maybe 40 minutes after Chungha and Jia had left—the doorbell rang.

You weren’t expecting anybody, but it was also possible that throughout your sadness you had blacked out and ordered a pizza without the present you knowing, so you opened the door.

You never expected to see Jun here. The Wen Junhui of your poetic lyrical metaphorized musings, manifesting himself on your doorstep with tousled hair and a leather jacket.

It’s cold out. That’s the first thing you think. He should have worn a puffer coat. You pull him into the apartment.

“What are you doing here?” you demanded, sounding more fed up than you needed to be.

“Got bored at the party…” Was he slurring? You could understand him well but there was that tint of alcohol in his words.

“Jia isn’t here.”

“I know, I saw her at the party. I…” he laughed, and you see his flushed cheeks—definitely drunk. “I told her I’d bring her some booze and then ditched her. It’s whatever, I’m sure she’ll find some other guy… were you just lying in the dark here?” He reached for the light switch, turning it on. White light against your tear streaks.

Jun looked startled, like the sight shocked the liquor’s effects out of him. He gasped. “Are you crying?” Just when you were about to deny it, he stepped closer—or the closest he could get—and wiped your cheeks with his thumbs, you zap away from him at the speed of light.

“Why would you cry—”

“Jun! You don’t break into my house when no one’s around and proceed to wipe the tears off my face!”

There was a silence, which after a moment he broke with: “Well I didn’t break in, you let me in… But I can go if you want me to.”

“Please do.”

He was frowning. “For real?”

You nodded, taking a pathetic swipe against your cheek to get rid of remaining tear streaks. You really didn’t want to see him right now.

Jun turned to leave, only before he had opened the door completely, he looked over his shoulder. And shuts it. “Have you had dinner?”

“... not hungry,” you say.

“Well you still have to eat something. Let me make you black bean noodles, you know it’s a chinese staple—”

You were pulling at his sleeve before he could reach the kitchen. “You already know this apartment well, huh? From visiting her so much?” your tone was accusatory and you were quiet, but he heard you: there was little else to pay attention to in the cold dead night.

Jun sighed. “Why didn’t you call at all? Even if it wasn’t about music—you know you’re more interesting to me than just your music? I could just listen to you talk all day. Just sit somewhere and talk.”

“That’s…” you start, searching for words, “embarrassing.”

“I’m embarrassing?”

“You don’t want to be seen with me, Jun. It’s going to make everyone think… it’s gonna be embarrassing if someone assumes we’re… together.”

“Maybe I want people to think we’re together,” Jun blurts.

You know he didn’t mean to say it, because there was a red light of alarm in his eyes as he finished saying that.

“Yeah, but… you have Seungcheol sunbae, anyway, and—you like Seungcheol, don’t you?”

“No!”

“But you were working—”

“It’s just that,” you say. “Work.”

Jun sighed. “You know my whole persona is an act, right? I’m performing. I’m being this suave kind of guy that knows a lot about the world, but really, I just really want you to like me.”

“Why…”

“Not even I know that!” His head is in his hands. “I love your music. But you… I like you. Like-like you.”

You roll your eyes. “And you, don’t even know what I’m feeling.”

Jun considers this for a moment, and finally, softly, he asks: “who was that album for?” You lifted your face up to his, just to know what he was thinking. He’s not pulling a poker face, and his eyes were soft. But that big grin was nowhere in sight. “The unfinished songs that you gave me,” he continued, “The title of that folder—I mean, am I seeing things? If everything in that album is what you want to say…”

“It is,” you answered. “Yeah. It’s for you.” You felt like beating yourself up, because it’s so strange. It’s so weirdo freak of you to have written a full album on a guy you’d only ever talked to once, but you always assumed you were doing no harm in just using him as a muse… But now Jun might think different. He’s going to think you’re a stalker, that you—

He’s kissing you. Lips on lips. Tongue on lips.

You weren’t that big of a loser that you’d never been kissed, but you never actually felt this way being kissed before. The kind of kiss that knocks out every single thought from your head. You whimper, a sound from the back of your throat that easily escaped.

Jun pulled away. “Oh. I shouldn’t have—”

“I thought you were dating her,” you say. “I thought—”

“I thought you were dating Seungcheol. It’s… just so stupid… my mother made me go on a date. I was going to call you and explain, but then you just shut me off comple—”

You bring your lips to his again, both hands traveling up to his thick head of hair, and his own hands went to support you at the small of your back, the crop top you were wearing rising up so he could feel the vertebrae on your spine, inch by inch. He’s so close to you.

He asks which of those doors is your room. You grab him by the hand and drag him inside your horrible aspiring-music-producer-vibes room, which is, to say, messy, but he doesn’t mind. He pushes you down on the bed like he owned the entire apartment and kept kissing you, and you could feel his knees between yours, pushing and pushing.

You wanted to feel him, too, but all you could do was not objectify him and simply remove stray strands of hair from his forehead, staring up at him with utmost love. And he takes his patience unbuttoning each button from your blouse, and then pulling your sweatpants off you.

“That song you wrote for Seungcheol,” Jun says, “you don’t need to be under anybody’s feet. All you need to be is here. In my arms.” He kissed your neck, and you’re glad he’s too caught up in the feeling of your body that he doesn’t need an answer from you, but also, he’s right. Being in his arms just felt right. You’ve been daydreaming about him since forever, but you never thought you’d get to touch the thing you’ve been writing songs about. You reach out to touch him, and there he is, warm and real.

“You’re real,” you say between pants. “You’re fucking real.”

You feel his teeth on your breasts and his fingers on your clit.

You’re wet—you don’t know how you could get so wet when you’ve been wasting all the water in you through crying—and so is Jun’s mouth, as he swirls his tongue on your nipple, acting as if he were starving. It’s just body and body, hot, human. You’d never had a kiss you regretted until now.

Jun’s hungry for all of you and it shows. He knees your legs apart as his hands knead the skin of your thighs, and for a second just stares hungrily. You squeeze your eyes shut under his mercy—this whole night belonged to him now.

“Let’s see if you taste like cherries, baby.”

You feel his tongue on your clit and you ball up the covers in your fists, trying not to make any noises in case it scares him off.

“Let me hear you,” Jun panted into your flesh. “Don’t be shy.”

You simply make a mmmph sound, but once his tongue meets the spot in your clit that makes your whole body feel like it’s on fire, you scream. You had never felt this way before.

“Please!” you whimpered. “Fuck, Jun, please.” With every new height and sensation, you press your legs together, as if you wanted it to be over, and you could feel the sides of Jun’s head against your thighs, precious skin against skin.

Just when you thought you might release this burning feeling, which could leave you spasming and shaking, it stops, Jun’s tongue isn’t on you anymore, but his lips are on yours and you can taste yourself. It’s lewd, but you’d always wanted Jun this way. Loving you in the filthiest ways. For a long time you didn’t think he’d even want to talk to you, or touch you… but now he’s touching you like this.

“I wanna make you cum,” Jun says, “but not just with my tongue. I want us together.”

With his mouth attached to your neck and his hands kneading every part of you, you almost didn’t feel him pushing closer to you, crotch against clothed crotch, until you feel him against you, and he pulls away and stares, almost to ask for permission.

You pull him in and you’re crashing into each other, body against body, sweat against sweat. Your cores have met each other, and it’s so warm, a thousand sensations in one stroke of his hips, and you’re both letting go of the breaths you’ve been holding in, panting and moaning. You like his tired-out groans, there’s something so manish about them.

Once you felt you couldn’t keep the pace so regularly this way, you close your eyes and tense up, expecting it to be rough, but Jun brushes the hair out of your eyes, and you blinked. He’s looking down at you sweetly, and, with a soft kiss to your cheek, you feel him inside of you, slowly, unbearably hot and paced, the deepest part of you meeting the highest part of him, and you just mewl under him.

Jun compliments your eyes. Jun compliments your body. He calls every part of you pretty, up until the point where he couldn’t speak anymore because of the pleasure.

“Pretty,” he kept saying, “pretty, pretty…” His lips are on your ear when he releases, and you hear the worst of those moans, it sounds as if he were in pain. Like you put him in that pain, and it feels… good. What was making love but agreeing to hurt each other? You felt tired out and you feel the back of his spine with closed eyes and trailing fingertips… it’s real. It’s all real.

“My cherry,” Jun gasped. He kissed you, in a drunken daze, on the ear. You could feel his breaths and panting. “Everywhere the light touches, it shines...” He touched a spot on your forehead where the moonlight off the windows shone, and it made you feel all beautiful and made of light. Then he kisses your lips.

SMUT ENDS HER

You woke up in his arms. He was staring at you. You recoiled as soon as your eyes met—you weren’t expecting his to be open—and covered up your face with the blanket. “Ugly,” you say.

“Pretty.” He gave you a kiss on your forehead which was left uncovered. With one hand that was supporting your body from the back, he pulled you closer. “Breakfast?”

Just as you were asking that, something loud came from outside the door. “Y/N WE’RE BACK AND I HAVE A HANGOVER SO DON’T YOU DARE PLAY YOUR SHITTY MUSIC OUT LOUD.”

You pulled away from Jun. “Oh my god. Oh my god, I just slept with Jia’s crush—”

“I have a name, you know?” Jun didn’t even get to crack the full joke because you had flung his pants and belt at his face.

“Get dressed!” you hissed. “We have to sneak you out of here.”

“Why can’t we—”

“Jia. Will. Kill. Me.” You tiptoed to the door and peaked out, to find Chungha adminstering eyedrops to a very fatigued C. You glanced back at Jun. “We can’t do this alone. Get dressed, fast.” Without sparing Jun a glance, you waved your hands to get Chungha’s attention, and waved her over, opening the door just slightly ajar enough for Chungha to enter.

“Wait, I’m still changing—”

“Oh my god,” Chungha gasped.

Jun put his finger to his lips, eyes pleading. Extremely vulnerable, being that he’s only half-dressed right now.

You don’t even have a single inhibition in you to think.

Chungha closes the door behind her, treading lightly in your room. You felt relieved she discovered you, because you didn't want to keep this secret. At least now there's someone you could talk to about it…

Because Jun's here right now but you don’t want to count on it. You’re gonna need someone to talk to when he decides he’s more into girls like Jia and never someone like you.

“You were here all night with Wen Junhui?” Chungha hisses at you. “Woah, Y/n.”

You shushed her.

“How did you even manage to score Jun?” Chungha asked, and her tone was at first trying at keeping the whole ordeal clandestine, but slowly her voice raised and raised.

“Chungha!” Jia yelled from outside. “What are you doing in her room?”

“Just—She needs to borrow an outfit!” Chungha turned back at you. “Damn. So. Wen Junhui.”

“We need to sneak him out of here,” you whispered.

“Wait, why?”

“Yeah,” Jun added in, “why?”

“Because—” you say. “Because—Jia—she’ll make my life a living hell if she finds out I stole her dream man.”

You look over at Jun and he’s frowning.

“I’ll distract her,” Chungha volunteered. “No worries, guys. Just sneak him out while her back’s turned to the kitchen.”

Chungha exited the room, and you and Jun stared at each other—or, Jun was staring and you wanted to lose the eye contact.

“You’re afraid of her that much?” Jun asked.

“She’s just—you should go.”

“You must have been really mad at me when I chose her. I didn’t know.”

“You should go, Jun, and you shouldn’t apologize for nothing…”

“If I knew,” Jun says, “that she hurt you then I wouldn’t have…”

“Go,” you say.

“I’ll make this right.” Jun pulled you in so you were looking at his eyes, and they were dark and warm, like coffee. “We’re going to tell her—we’re going to tell everyone. When you’re ready.”

He pulled on the extra coat he had on the previous night, and then stood up. You promised him you’d walk him to the gate, so you did, both slowly inching out the apartment.

On the way down the stairs, Jun kept looking over at you, as if he wanted to say something, but honestly you didn’t know if you could take an honest conversation right now.

You didn’t regret the night, but when you thought more about it, it felt like Jun had just been using you, or was drunk, or just—it wouldn’t make sense that someone like Jun would be into something like you.

“Text me, okay?” Jun says, even though from his point of view you were just one side of your face that had disappeared behind the magnetic door.

He said it so softly and shyly that you felt touched. “I will,” you say. “I will, Jun.”

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