Maeumi & Me - Ch 28 : A Mess

maeumi & me - ch 28 : a mess

a/n : next chapter will be a written one. i feel like there's been too many of those lately and idk if you guys like/enjoy them or what but it's imperative to plot progression :(

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» synopsis : maeumi, your maltese pup, has been a huge part of your life ever since you first adopted him a few years ago. but little did you imagine that getting accepted into your dream university would mean having to leave him behind. heartbroken, you whine and lament to your friends about how unfair the situation is. whilst half-heartedly looking up foster homes maeumi could temporarily stay in, you're surprised when yang jungwon - a former schoolmate you'd hardly ever spoken to before - offers to take him in.

» pairing : yang jungwon x gn! reader

» genre : college au, social media au, pet parents au, fluff, strangers (kind of?) to friends to lovers, humour, a lil bit of angst

» warnings : swearing, jokes about death/suicide (kms/kys etc), mentions of pet injury

disclaimer : this is purely a work of fiction made for entertainment purposes only!

tag list : open [comment or send an ask to be added <3] @hiqhkey @i-yeseo @harperwasstaken1 @tomorrowbymoa-together @eloelooo @yjwluvr @rshmra @cholexc

✶ THINKING ABOUT. . . ft. lhs

g fluff w drinking ( he's drunk again ) wc 1.3k note for my darl @isoobie, all my hee works are for her anyway

heeseung doesn't have a high alcohol tolerance.

in fact, he doesn't have any— maybe a little bit— but mostly no, and yet still, he doesn't refuse whenever someone offers him a drink. you've been over this many times, telling him that drinking is not comparable to singing and continuing to drink probably won't improve his tolerance, though your effort is of no avail.

because if it were, you wouldn't have been standing inside a restaurant-bar at eleven pm, watching jay and jake trying to get a hold of an almost-passed-out heeseung, who, for some reason, smiles the moment you enter his currently blurry field of vision.

“we're sorry you had to come here this late again,” jake shoots you an apologetic smile, throwing one of heeseung's arms over his shoulder, making sure he doesn't fall because of the lack of sense of balance as jay was at the counter, making payments. “you know how he is, just wouldn't let us drive him back,”

which is another reason why you want him to stop drinking.

the first one being him wanting to only go back with you when he’s drunk out of his mind, pleading to you with the most irresistible pout to let him stay over at your place— it once dragged the two of you into a scandal. it’s worse since he refuses to let anyone else drive him back when he’s drunk off limits, only wanting you to pick him up even if it’s only to drop him at the dorms.

while being your best friend makes him one of your top priorities, it absolutely doesn't mean he can call you at the most ungodly hours and have you pick him up after heavy drinking sessions. and even if he does, he can at least try to be a little decent and cooperate instead of saying that you're the one who's drunk and he will drive you back to your place and even look after you for the rest of the night.

“heeseung, i don't think i'm the one who needs supervision today,” a sigh escapes your lips as you and the boys manage to get him in the back seat of your car.

“i will look after you so, don't worry,” his replies are followed by soft giggles.

then it goes quiet.

you steal a glance at him through the front-view mirror. heeseung is busy basking in the city noise and street lights. cold winds brush past the rosy dust on his cheeks, strands of purple hair dancing in the wind that make him look angelic, his ocean deep eyes telling a story of a million stars under the crescent moon, as if they're communicating in a language so foreign for the humankind to comprehend.

these are the moments when you realise that one could ask why you like heeseung, and you could give a thousand reasons why you're actually in love with him.

“we’re having another comeback,” he speaks above the blaring horns of vehicles. he’s telling you that for the ninth time— six times sober, three drunk, including this one.

“is that why you drank so much? to celebrate?” your chuckle resonates with a hint of sarcasm, words keeping up with him although, your mind is busy focusing on driving as you filter through the traffic. on other days, the roads would've been tamer, a little emptier. though, the weekends are not.

heeseung exhales heavily. “maybe,”

and it gets quiet once again.

you can hear him say a few things here and there, giggling about something amidst himself, his words too quiet to be coherent to your ears. you don’t quite remember when you and him got so close, to the point where he started calling you for help in every minor inconvenience instead of his brother. you were just a neighbour he bumped into around the dorms, voluntarily and willingly, and now you’re his best friend in just ten months.

“are you still thinking about the comeback?” the question leaves your mouth the moment you park in front of his dorms, holding the door open for him to get out of the car. “can i get a spoiler, or do you still remember the company guidelines even when you’re drunk?”

heeseung and you have been on opposite tracks ever since the day you met, and it doesn't even have to do with your zodiacs and personality— you can’t sing to save your life, while he earns off music— and, you don't know how you both got to a point where he's the person you trust blindly and you're the one he seeks for in the dead of the nights. it's something that comforts you while reminding you how you both have completely different worlds. perhaps, it's in the habits and insecurities that follow, or the simple realisation that heeseung is a star while you're just a planet revolving around.

there's a line between him and you that's stopping you from entering his world, and vice-versa.

“heeseung,” you call him again, putting an extra emphasis to get his head out of whatever comeback related thoughts he’s having, grabbing his arm to get him out of the car.

“i'm thinking about something else,” you scrunch up your nose when he speaks while practically reeking off alcohol. “i'm thinking about you,”

that’s not the first.

and then, he settles his eyes on you, one arm around your waist for support, fixating his gaze on you for a better look as if he has never seen you before. heeseung leans against your car, spending the next five minutes staring at you as you stare back at him with the same interest, or perhaps more, before he breaks into a soft giggle. “you're cute,”

that’s a first.

you don't want to overthink and assume a completely different meaning of his words, changing the trajectory of your relationship— which is actually what you want but, not this way— you decide to play along. “well, i believe i'm more than just cute for being the one to pick you up whenever you're wasted—”

“and pretty,” another first, and then follows a step that he takes towards you. “you're beautiful, smart and cute and. . .and did i tell you that you’re beautiful? i don't know what i'm saying,” a hiccup, his hand brushes against yours, it’s not an accident. he caresses your hand, looking at you with a flushed face and speaking with soft giggles, “i think i'm in love with you,”

“i think, you don't know what you're saying,” you interject with a chuckle, trying to put up a normal front while in reality, you're losing sense of everything because heeseung is confessing to you; and, it's both an honour and a shame because he is intoxicated at the moment.

“i don't,” he exhales.

heeseung falls quiet once again. there's dejection on his face along with hints of desperation to voice his exact feelings, to make sure you understand how he feels about you, and you know his words couldn't be clearer, but he is drunk. you know better than trusting saccharine words laced with the smell of alcohol, although you would've already kissed him if you were braver and he was sober.

“but i really love you,” he says again, chanting the same words to you as if those three words are the only thing that make sense right now. "we’re having a comeback,"

and heeseung also has a habit of talking pointlessly, repeating the same things over and over again when he’s drunk. another step towards, his hands brush against yours before he links his index finger with yours. you almost give in, almost, finding it hard to control yourself through the close proximity between him and you. you find yourself getting drunk on the alcohol in the breathe, or the way his lips are barely centimetres away from yours.

“i love you,” he repeats again, and you’re frozen in your stance, and he has no plans of backing out, you’re expecting him to bring up the comeback again, but he just presses his lips against yours before pulling back. “so please remind me if i forget any of this tomorrow,”

and then his lips are back on yours. 

---

Support for Palestine should be unconditional by the way. Stop looking for the ways they're just like you (ex: gay, trans, neurodivergent, etc) and support them for the sole reason that theyre literally facing a genocide right now. This is what solidarity is.

Reckless Convictions

Copyright Ⓒ 2023 by Moonjxsung

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner. Doing so will result in a legal takedown per the Digital Millennium Copyright Act and is subject to legal action.

Pairing: Han Jisung x fem reader

W/c: 31.5K

Warnings: masturbation, perversion, use of pet names, breast/nipple play, clitoral stimulation, unprotected sex, dry humping, trespassing, sex in a semi-public place (no one is around), mention of cheating

Synopsis: Your senior year of college takes a strange turn when you develop a relationship with your professor.

18+. Mdni!

•

The first time you come across a coda in a piece of music, you are to ignore it. You may only jump to it once you’ve begun from the da segno symbol, and played through until reaching the written indication to return to the coda.

If we've passed the coda once, let this be our sign.

Come back to me.

•

Upon entering your senior year of college, the news is broken that the old lecture hall on the east side of campus is officially on its last leg as a functioning location for classes. You’re made aware of this through an email from the school’s president, detailing the intricate plans to demolish it entirely and build a new gymnasium in its place. And for the most part, the students are happy about this fact, whispering excitedly amongst themselves as they traverse the grand cherry wood flooring and picture all of the new sporting equipment this facility will soon house. They speak of the bright painted walls that will represent the school’s colors like every other new modern replacement for the old-fashioned buildings- cobalt blue and white, resembling that of a dentist’s office on most days. And they make sure to voice their very robust distaste for the spiral staircase that leads to the second floor of the lecture hall, the stairs always announcing the late arrival of students with the deafening creak of wood and a tarnished banister.

Yet as you hoist your bag further up your shoulder and follow a trail of students into the lecture hall for your first day back at classes, you can’t help but feel sorry for the old place, always having loved the courses you took here. A philosophy course one semester, where the ancient feel of the building only made stories of Greek myths more vivid as they graced your imagination. A writing course the semester after that, where your professor could hardly be bothered to properly read your essays, despite the attention to detail you gave to them. And now this course- the only remaining course with afternoon availability, something about the history of classical music.

One glance around the room tells you all you have to know about this course- it's full of students who couldn’t care less about courses pertaining to music, especially not general education ones for mindless credits. You reckon all of the students here would rather have landed art analysis, or even some form of a writing course, yet instead they’ll be stuck learning about Bach and Mozart for the next few months. Of course you’re not bothered by it, being a music major yourself, but it’s painfully evident in the way that they keep their faces glued to their cell phones and blow bubbles of gum as you wait for the arrival of the professor. The rows of chairs are fuller than you’d anticipated, groups of friends chatting amongst themselves, while those sitting alone are busy on their laptops or with headphones blasting muffled music.

You settle on a spot in the middle, away from most of the students already acquainted with each other, and cross your legs as you wait in silence. While the others groan about their courses and inquire about their remaining credits, you take in the sight of the lecture hall- it’s just as massive as you remember it from last semester, the ceiling housing patterned medallions and hanging pendant lamps that give a dim glow to the room. The seats are just as uncomfortable as you remember them, too, folding suede brown chairs that jerk violently if you move a little too much, and at the very bottom is a crescent-shaped desk and a tall podium reserved for the professor. It’s a little old, sure. And it smells like mothballs on most days- but it’s a shame to tear down someplace so historical like this.

Your course is set to start at three, and at almost five minutes past the mark, the students are visibly confused by the absence of a professor. You can hear them murmuring and speculating about canceled courses or retired professors, and it’s then that you realize you’re not even sure who the professor is. So you reach into your bag, pulling out your schedule for the one class you have today, and printed in bold black text to the right of the course name is the professor’s name.

Mr. Han, it reads, and you scan the name over a few times before shoving the paper back into your bag. You conclude he sounds like an older man, probably a little irritable toward students who couldn’t care less about music history. And he’s probably late to most of his classes like he is today, not bothering to be punctual for a group of students who will grow to despise him mere weeks into the semester.

A little past the ten minute mark, some students have begun to pack their belongings, ready to depart from the confines of the lecture hall and go inquire about why there’s no professor assigned to this course, maybe even beg for a switch of classes. And then, as though he can sense they’re making attempts at an escape, a man you can only assume to be the professor shoves past the double doors, a leather laptop case slung over his shoulder, making his way to the desk in rushed motions.

“Sorry, sorry,” he calls out, hoisting his bag over the desk and motioning for students to take their seats again.

“I apologize,” he reiterates, sighing deeply, hands tucked in his pockets as he glances around the room. It’s then that you notice he’s drenched, stringy black strands of his hair falling into his face, droplets of water speckled on the thin wireframe glasses that sit on his sharp nose.

And your second observation- he’s not old. In fact, he’s nothing close to the likes of the average professor- he’s attractive. Not just attractive- he’s alluring, captivating, like a model cut out from the thin pages of an editorial magazine. He’s tall, with a slim frame that contrasts his broad shoulders and sculpted biceps that protrude through the sleeves of his collared button up shirt. The white fabric clings around his broad chest so erotically, patches of dark gray rainwater conveniently providing you a better view, and his shirt is tucked into a tight pair of khaki slacks, hugging his toned thighs and leaving little to the imagination. He’s not even dressed provocatively, you mentally remark to yourself. He just looks like that.

All of this so perfectly complementing his flawlessly sculpted face, an angular jawline that clenches as he speaks, and plump pink lips that pull back to expose a pearly white and perfectly straight set of teeth. His pronounced nose bridge is made more attractive with his geeky pair of glasses, and those eyes- big and brown, framed by thick black eyelashes that flutter as he pulls off his glasses and wipes the lenses with the cuff of his sleeve.

“Lots of traffic when it rains,” he says sheepishly, pinching the frame of his glasses with two fingers and setting them so delicately back on his face. “It won’t happen again.”

And then he pulls his hands out of his pockets, leaning against the podium at the front of the room and taking a good look at the array of students.

“Welcome,” he announces, giving a small nod before continuing to speak. “My name is Professor Han. I’ll be your instructor for the duration of this course.”

He pulls back from the podium, shuffling through the leather bag on his desk and pulling out a stack of papers. The first student to the left is handed the stack, instructed to pass them to the back of the crowd as he explains it’s your course syllabus.

“Pretty much everything you need to know is listed here,” he says a little louder, as the room teems with echoing chatter. “I accept late work up to a week after it’s due, with a point subtracted every day it’s late. If you’re going to be later than 15 minutes, please don’t show at all. The stairs are too loud. Food and drinks are permitted, just don’t make a mess. And do whatever you want with phones and laptops, just shut off the sound.”

He paces back and forth as he speaks, his wet shoes squeaking along the tiled flooring as he does. He wears canvas sneakers with his fancy teaching attire, and he pulls them off remarkably well.

“A little bit about me,” he then says, and you perk up at his words, intrigued by just everything about his presence. “Been teaching here for about five years now, since I finished grad school. I love music, and I love music theory, so you’ll hear me talk about it a lot in between historical lectures. I teach three classes in total, all pertaining to music history, and in my free time, you can usually find me doing something related to music. Any questions?”

The class falls silent as his gaze scans the room, his curious eyes falling over the rows of seated figures who in reality, desperately want to ask him questions, but they’re also painfully shy in his presence. He gives a little nod as he takes note of their blank stares- and then his gaze falls momentarily over yours- staring directly into your paralyzed figure, almost as though he’s challenging you to ask him something, anything. But you don’t- you just remain seated, staring back at him, hoping the glowing blush on the tips of your ears doesn’t pick up under the dim lighting of the room.

“Okay,” says Professor Han, clasping his hands together and gesturing to the board behind him now. “Let’s see if I can figure out how to use this projector this time around.”

*

Lucky for you this semester, your schedule is sparse throughout the week, just a total of three classes on varying days. Which means you have ample free time to laze around your dorm when you’re not attending courses. Students make the most of their senior year, scoping out parties and sneaking out late at night to catch a movie or a quick bite- and you would join them, if you had people to join.

It’s not that you failed to make friends in the duration of your college career- in fact, you made solid efforts to befriend most of the people you came across, sometimes even allowing yourself to be dragged to a party and entertain mindless frat boys. But none of them stuck around, and you quickly realized they were much further from the simplicities you actually enjoy about college. Like the coffee shop on the second story of the student union, where the barista always adds a little too much caramel to your lattes. Or the windowed seat at the very back of the 8th story in the library, where when it rains, you can watch lines of people rush to their classes with hands over their heads and desperately clutching their umbrellas. Even your dorm room is a preferred spot for you, where you often find joy in curling up under your covers and getting lost in a good book. And although you’ve grown to love being alone, it’s a little jarring some nights, like the following Friday in your first week when almost everybody is out at a party, and the return to your dorm room is pitch quiet as you walk down the carpeted hallways. As you swing your door open, you gasp at the sight of your roommate, who’s not usually occupying her side of the room- not unless she needs something.

“Oh,” says Mina, as she places a stack of folded clothing into a large duffle bag and zips it up. “I didn’t know you’d be here today.”

You chuckle softly at her remark- of course you’d be here today. And the day after that, and the day after that… you’re always here. It’s Mina who seldom graces you with her presence, usually too busy at her boyfriend’s dorm or out with a group of friends.

“I’m here,” you say sheepishly, assuming your spot on the edge of your bed. Mina says nothing, raising her eyebrows a little and nodding, and you can tell she’s thinking about what a pathetic life you must lead.

You and Mina have never quite gotten along- not for reasons much more complicated than disagreements regarding her cleaning style or her boyfriend coming over unannounced. You’re simply from two separate worlds, and it’ll remain that way for the next few months until you graduate.

“I’m going to my boyfriend’s,” Mina announces unsurprisingly, hoisting the duffel bag over her shoulder. “I’ll see you on Monday.”

“Okay,” you say to her finally. “Have fun with Lucas. I’ll see you on Monday.”

She seems to roll her eyes as she makes her way out the door, not so much as a goodbye from her. And when the dorm is all to yourself again, you reach for the book on your shelf, one you’ve gotten halfway through since yesterday’s time spent alone, and curl up under the covers, the sound of gentle rain tapping on the window behind you.

By the time Monday rolls around, you’ve almost forgotten entirely who your course professors are.

It’s always taken you a few months to get situated with their lecture styles, and on occasion, even their names- but this semester in particular feels so unimportant. It’s your final one, after all, and while students talk excitedly about plans for the future and their graduation parties, the only thing you’re looking forward to is the physical degree you’ll get to leave here with.

Mondays are for your intermedia course, led by a professor who dismisses the class early almost every chance he gets. Wednesdays, you have another writing course, and you have to stop yourself from dozing off while students review their essays dissecting music theory during critique sessions. And Thursdays are spent in the old little lecture hall on the east side of campus with Professor Han. You’ve forgotten about him by the time your first official class with him rolls around, and you mentally scold yourself for dressing so casual in his presence when you remember how attractive he is.

When he saunters in, much earlier this time around, the students cease their chatter, and all eyes are on his handsome figure as he makes his way to the podium. He wears fitted slacks again, a knit sweater tucked into the belt that hugs his thin waist, and a collared white button down is visible at the neckline. His jet black hair is styled neatly out of his face to reveal his chiseled features, and his wireframe glasses are absent this time around, emphasizing the big brown eyes that peer back at his students.

“Good afternoon,” he says to the class, and they utter mumbled replies back at him.

“I hope you all had a good weekend,” he then remarks, pulling his laptop out of his bag plugging in a series of wires to set up the projector. The class remains quiet at this, not a single word from any of the students as they sip coffees and navigate their own laptops in hushed motions. Professor Han looks up at the class as his fingers hover over the mouse of his keyboard, his lips pulling into a grin, eyes forming little crescents as he lets out a soft chuckle.

“Come on guys,” he says dramatically. “Why are you so silent? You’re killing me.”

It’s the first time the classroom fills with laughter, and Professor Han seems to relax a little as he takes in the sight of smiling faces. He’s not quite sure he’ll ever get used to the silence that falls over college lectures, especially in the awkward first few weeks, when students are too scared to even look him straight in the eyes. And what Professor Han never quite grasps is that the students aren’t afraid of him- they’re intrigued by him, just the way that you are.

The girls wear full faces of makeup to a single 3pm lecture in hopes that he’ll take special notice of them, and the boys almost seem to mirror his dapper choices of clothing, trying their hand at knit crewnecks and slacks with canvas sneakers. Anybody who knows him concludes he’s just about one of the coolest professors around, yet he’s too consumed by his passion for music and theories of composers to take notice of anybody’s fascination for him.

And aside from that fact, he’s a professional at his job, only here for the purpose of lecturing and distributing course materials. He doesn’t make friends with other professors on campus, he doesn’t traverse these buildings when he doesn’t have to be here. And he certainly doesn’t care to know any of his students beyond the space of these four walls.

The projector starts up with a low hum, and a slideshow is promptly shone onto the wall across from you, a painting of some historical figure accompanying the title slide.

“I want to preface this lecture by saying that this particular composer is often deemed one of the greatest of his time, which is true for the Baroque period, and untrue in comparison to some of the other greats.”

There are stifled laughs from around the room as he makes his way to the screen at the top of the wall. As he transitions to a speech about the Baroque period, he reaches up to pull on the little string that dangles from the center, and your eyes can’t help but observe his lean figure as he does. The hem of his sweater is untucked from his slacks momentarily, revealing the small waist he flaunts beneath such a broad chest, and one hand reaches down promptly to cover himself again. It feels so wrong losing your focus from the lecture like this, your mind wandering places you know it shouldn’t be. Yet as he speaks, you can’t help but imagine what the rest of his chest must look like underneath the oversized knit that swallows his sculpted figure. Your eyes graze briefly over his navy slacks, ones that hug him so generously, and down to the stylish canvas sneakers he wears, the same ones he wore last time. They squeak along the tiled floor as he paces, hands gesturing passionately as he recounts the history of Johann Sebastian Bach, who you’ve only just realized this lecture is about.

“Not only was he a composer, but he was an organist, a harpsichordist and a violinist,” he explains, clicking the little remote in his hand and proceeding to the next slide. “He was a prolific part of the Baroque period, and he’s well-known today for some of his most famous instrumental and choral pieces.”

He paces the room confidently as he speaks, head down most of the time as he details accounts of Bach’s life, seemingly having memorized most of it.

“Does anybody happen to know any of his orchestral music? There’s one in particular he’s very famous for.”

The class falls silent again as Professor Han scans the room, pausing from clicking through slides as he awaits an answer. Nobody says anything, and all that fills the air are the sounds of keyboard clicking as they do their best to mindlessly copy his words. Without a second to properly think it over, and before you can even begin to doubt yourself, your hand is shot straight into the air, heart racing as his eyes fall to your seated figure, and then he gestures toward you, a small smile on his face.

“Yes!” he says enthusiastically. “Go ahead.”

“Brandenburg Concertos?” You voice quietly, a slight tremble in your voice as you speak. You’re not sure you’ve ever done adequate research on Bach- let alone any classical composer. But you are familiar with German history, and the Baroque period and the grand titles of symphonic pieces are still ingrained into your memory from years of piano lessons.

“That’s correct,” he replies, an amused breath escaping his lips as he speaks. His gaze lingers on yours for a second- just a brief second, not enough for the students to imply anything.

And Professor Han is admittedly fascinated by you himself, the question always marking the course as his first official question of the semester. One he’s never gotten the right answer to until now. In fact- one he’s never even had a student take a stab at answering until now. He’s well aware that no normal college student is going to have the Brandenburg Concertos in the back of their mind like the rest of the frivolous knowledge that dwells there, but perhaps he’s finally been assigned a student who gives the slightest shit about this course and its materials.

“Sorry- what was your name?” Professor Han then asks, the corner of his lip pulling into a half-smile before he proceeds with his lecture.

Students in front of you crane their necks to get a good look at you, and the peers on either side of you glance at the single sheet of notebook paper on your desk, scribbled with sparse notes in dark blue pen.

“Y/n,” you finally respond, your voice coming out more timid than you’d hoped it to. You feel microscopic with all eyes on you like this, quietly praying he’ll proceed with the lecture so that you can go back to admiring him from afar and in the comfortable silence of your thoughts.

“Y/n,” he repeats, giving a small nod, and then he finally transitions to the next slide.

Professor Han might not care to be on campus when he doesn’t have to- but that certainly doesn’t mean he’s generous about early dismissal when it comes to his courses. The analog clock above the doorway counts down the seconds before he finally dismisses his students- and even then, he’s not averse to keeping students a few minutes past to wrap up his lectures, either. While it’s a trait most students despise during their classes, not a single student utters a word of dismay when he requests just five minutes more of their time, their eyes still fixated on his pacing figure as he rushes through the remainder of his slides. He has a way of encapsulating a whole room when he speaks of ancient composers, like he’s meant to be up on a podium recounting Bach’s concertos. And the students soak up every last second they get to be in his presence, a sort of melancholia present in the room when they finally file out the door for the afternoon and back to their dorms.

When you find yourself lingering in the classroom a bit longer than the other students, completing the futile task of shifting around papers in your bag, Professor Han seems to take notice, glancing at you over the screen of his laptop and observing the way you shuffle about in the now silent room.

“Brandenburg Concertos, huh?” He calls out to you, and your gaze falls to him, where he’s seated at his desk, the familiar wireframe glasses now sitting upon the bridge of his nose.

“Yeah,” you respond, a little unsure of how to entertain the conversation without coming off as painfully awkward as you truly are.

Professor Han chuckles a little, and then he glances back to his laptop, typing something as he continues speaking.

“Nobody’s ever gotten that one right. In my five whole years of teaching.”

“Really?” You reply, thoroughly surprised nobody’s heard of the most famous orchestral pieces by one of the most significant composers.

“Nope,” he says plainly, shaking his head to affirm his answer. “Are you secretly a composer or something?”

It’s your turn to chuckle lightly, approaching his desk with your bag slung over your shoulder as you shake your head.

“Just years of piano,” you say to him.

“Piano? Very tricky instrument, it’s good to pick up when you’re still young.”

“I’ve been playing competitively for ten years,” you explain to him, heartbeat quickening a little as he lowers the screen of his laptop to make eye contact again.

“Wow,” he breathes out, thoroughly impressed by the fact. “I might have you teach a lecture or two, then.”

You chuckle in unison with him, shrugging as he pushes his glasses a little further up on his face.

“Convince them to put a piano in here and I’ll think about it,” you say to him. “I need a few course materials.”

“Deal,” he replies, narrowing his eyes a little as his lips pull into a smile, flashing you his perfect set of teeth. He glances around the room momentarily, and just as you think the conversation’s over, he sighs deeply, pushing back his laptop screen once more and continuing to type.

“Pity they’re tearing it down, though. A piano would have been a nice addition.”

It’s your turn to glance around the room, craning your neck up toward the tall medallion ceilings and elegantly crested walls. The room looks even more beautiful at this hour, rows upon rows of vacant brown chairs folded neatly back into their place, beams of afternoon sunlight streaming through the long glass windows on either side of the room.

“It is a shame,” you echo, grazing your fingertips along the smooth wooden finish of his desk. He seems to be lost in thought as he stares at his computer screen for a brief second, eyes glazed over as he remains silent. There’s not a sound in the room as he pauses his typing- no students remain in the hallways, no one taking notes in the stillness of the lecture hall. Just you and your professor, in silent thought about the unfortunate fate of the grand lecture hall.

“Maybe next year I’ll be teaching in a gymnasium,” he says finally, shooting you a sad smile and shrugging.

And then he winks at you- nothing romantic behind the gesture, just a brief blink of his left eye as he lets his gaze fall to yours.

And for the second time in the confines of this grand lecture hall, you pray the dim lighting doesn’t reveal the growing blush across your cheeks.

*

As the weeks pass, Professor Han’s lectures are stuck in your head like the piano melodies you’re so acquainted with. Beethoven Fidelio. Le nozze di Figaro. Adagio Cantabile.

The titles of famous composer pieces circle your mind like they’re suggestions by him, to you. And you like to think they are, when he’s slipping comments into his lectures about which pieces are his favorites, which are the most evocative and which ones he’s listened to the most.

The other students sit absentmindedly as he lectures, hearing the words he utters and writing notes like they’re translating his musical language to one they can comprehend. But they’re not listening to him- you’re certain they’ll never understand it the way that you do.

“Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake was my first piano recital piece,” you’d told him once after class. And the way his face lit up when you did, indulging you in a long list of reasons why he deems Tchaikovsky his favorite composer of the Romantic period.

“Only a genius could have produced 1812 Overture,” he said to you excitedly, throwing his head back in disbelief and slouching back in his swivel desk chair as he collected his thoughts.

“That’s the one he used real artillery as background noise in, right?” You had responded, a bright smile on your face as you spoke the common language only the two of you seemed to understand.

“And church bells!” He had responded excitedly, clasping his hands together as he recalled the booming melody.

And then he had played it for you- despite the two of you already knowing the piece very well. His slender fingers hovering over the keyboard of his laptop, searching for the overture he’s listened to almost daily in the duration of his career as a professor.

As a quiet stillness fell over the lecture hall following the departure of the last few students, the speakers echoed with the booming instrumentals of Tchaikovsky’s 1812 Overture- the entire four minutes of the song. You watched in fascination as Professor Han gestured at his all favorite parts, waving his hand in the air to mirror the harsh eighth and sixteenth notes that span the intricate melody. Excited chuckles escaping his lips as the familiar sound of cannons could be heard in the background, followed by the lull of harmonious church bells.

It was then that he turned the music down a few notches, explaining how he helped teach this piece back when he still worked as a musical director. You recall the fleeting sadness that seemed to overtake him, his smile faltering a little as he seemed to think back to his time there. And when asked why he didn’t teach anymore, he had simply shrugged, failing to give you any sort of explanation for it. He just kept his gaze on his desk for a moment, snapping out of it seconds later, turning the volume up again and waving his hands in composing gestures as the song reached its end.

It was also the first time you recall feeling a little sorry for him, carefully observing the way these talks of music and composers seem to bring out a sort of sadness from within him. The dichotomy of him against the overtures he’s so drawn to- their booming crescendo notes and tempos noted allegro con brio, and yet when the lecture hall is empty and he’s all alone, he carries himself like a somber melody, beaming only with the mention of music and then shrinking like a diminuendo set of notes, dying down until a silence falls over the two of you again.

Some several weeks in, you’re certain the fascination is no longer rooted in lust, but simply a desire to speak this mutual language of music with him, the only time either of you ever really feel heard.

*

If someone were to tell you that you’d ever find interest between the pages of a course-assigned college textbook, you would have taken them for a complete liar. And yet you can’t help but find yourself engrossed in the textbook for this course, the thick red book taking complete precedence over the stack of unfinished books on your nightstand.

Weekends are spent flipping through the pages of quotes by famous composers, stories detailing their fast-paced lives and detailing all of their greatest accolades. You carefully study the music sheets, too, reading between the staff lines the same way you scan the plain text of the chapters. It comes to you easily, translating quarter notes to melodies you hum to yourself, reading key signatures like novel dedications.

And the book ignites a sort of spark in you again, reminding you of the days you still spend in front of the monochrome keys for hours, memorizing pieces and adding in your own annotations along the treble and bass.

So when Mina comes home one afternoon, desperate to borrow your textbook, you’re admittedly vexed by the request, reluctantly reaching into your bag to retrieve it for her.

“I didn’t know you had this course,” you say to her, wiping fingerprints off the matte cover and carefully handing it to her.

“Yeah, it’s the worst,” she says, making no effort to avoid transferring new fingerprints onto the cover as she stuffs it into her bag. “But the professor’s hot.”

And her mention of him is somehow vexing to you- of course she only sees the young, attractive professor he is, and not the sheer brilliance behind his lectures. Of course she doesn’t care to understand his background, his favorite historical pieces or take notice of the way he lightens up at the mention of his old days as a musical director. She’s just like the other students in your class- hearing him, but not really listening.

“Professor Han?” You inquire, knowing very well he’s the only professor who teaches that particular course.

“Yeah,” she says, reaching into her duffle bag and shuffling around for something. “Pretty sure he’s the only reason people still show up to that stupid class. I wonder if he goes for younger girls.”

She chuckles as she pulls out a tube of lipstick, uncapping it and reapplying the dark red tint to her pouty lips.

“I’m going to my boyfriend’s,” she then says to you, tucking the tube of lipstick back into her bag and pivoting to face you. “I can have your book back by Monday.”

“Could you have it back by early morning?” You say to her, voice almost cracking as you plead so desperately. “I really need it back before my quiz.”

You’ve already practically memorized the chapter you’re being quizzed on, but you’re always well-prepared for quizzes and tests in Professor Han’s course, reviewing the textbook a thousand times to earn the highest grade possible. You’d be ashamed to score any less than remarkable on his tests, feeling a need to prove to him that his course is something you take just as seriously as he does.

“I guess,” she says furrowing her brows a little at your desperation. “I’ll try to have my boyfriend drop it off before my class or something.”

“Tell Lucas it’s important,” you relay to her, as she keeps her gaze on yours. “I really need to pass this quiz.”

“I said I’ll try,” she emphasizes, making her way to the dorm with the same pink duffel bag slung over her shoulder.

And then she’s gone again, not so much as a wave goodbye as you’re left alone for the weekend.

*

By the time Monday rolls around, Mina is nowhere to be seen. She does this sometimes, spending entire weeks at her boyfriend’s apartment and ditching a long list of her classes.

Except along with the absence of your roommate, comes the absence of your textbook.

Lucas never shows on Monday to return your textbook, and Mina is completely MIA when you try to call or text. So by Thursday, you have no choice but to attempt your quiz without having read the textbook chapter a millionth time.

“Welcome, welcome,” Professor Han calls out as students take their seats. “Put your phones away and get out a pen or a pencil. We’ll start the quiz in a few minutes.”

You occupy the seat at the very front, where you always do now, and wait patiently as he digs around his bag for the stack of quizzes.

“This quiz covers all of chapter 7,” he says, passing along the stack of papers and instructing students to distribute them across the room. “You have 30 minutes from now. If you have questions, please raise your hand and I’ll come to you. Other than that, good luck.”

And the room falls silent as he makes his way back to his desk, the etching sound of pencils scribbling on paper as students begin their quizzes. You swallow nervously, scrawling your name across the top of the paper, and then let your gaze fall to the first question.

Name one the symphonic pieces Ludwig van Beethoven was famous for.

Your lips pull into a knowing smile as you pencil in a response with ease- Symphony No. 5, the same one you discoursed with Professor Han about just last week.

What time period defined Classical antiquity?

Between the 8th century BC and the 5th century AD, you write down quickly, moving on to the next question.

From his desk across from you, Professor Han glances over the screen of his laptop at your slouched figure, observing how you pencil in responses quicker than any of the other students, without even taking a moment to think over the answers. He smiles to himself a little, amused at the clear indication of the only music major in here, a clear liking for this subject the way he has, unlike the students rushing through his course for credits. His eyes fall back onto his laptop screen where he begins to work on an email, and yet before he can continue, you’re sauntering over to his desk with your quiz in hand.

“You’re finished already?” He inquires, lowering the top of his laptop to meet your gaze.

“Yes,” you say simply, sliding him the sheet of paper and giving him a little nod.

He grasps your quiz between his calloused fingers, and just like you assured him, every line is complete with a clear response in pencil.

“I can grade it right now since you’re the only one finished,” he asks, a challenging expression on his face as you stand confidently across him.

“Sure,” you say, gesturing to the paper as he retrieves a red pen from his bag.

You watch with bated breath as he scans the first question with the tip of his uncapped pen, giving a small nod as he then moves on to the next. The second question is the same, Professor Han looking it over and moving on to review the third now. Your heart beats wildly in your chest as he reviews your answers, despite being confident you’ve gotten at least the majority of them correct. Your gaze averts his seated figure as strands of his hair fall into his face, head hanging over your little sheet of paper as he checks and then double checks your responses.

“Yeah,” Professor Han finally says, sitting up straight once more and fidgeting with the red pen he neglected to even make use of. “It’s all right.”

He looks up at you with a curious expression, a kind of twinkle in the big eyes that are magnified by his geeky looking glasses. And his lips quiver with the intention to say something to you, but he can’t quite find the words. He’s simply taken aback by your skill, never having seen somebody share this similar level of knowledge regarding music history as he does. He wishes you would stay and discourse all your favorite pieces with him the way you normally do after his lectures, but the rest of the class remains quietly scribbling down their own answers, probably most of them incorrect like they usually are, and he can’t possibly request your presence for much longer in an unassuming fashion.

“You can leave early,” he whispers so as not to disturb the other test-takers, giving you a small nod as he slides the quiz into his bag.

“Really?”

“Yeah. That’s all I had planned for today. Just read chapters 8 and 9 for next class.”

You begin to pivot on your heel, excited to depart from class a little bit earlier today and hopefully catch up on other course work, despite this being your favorite class. But his words make you stop in your place, turning to face him once again and shrugging sheepishly.

“Professor, I…don’t have my textbook,” you say awkwardly, fiddling with the sleeve of your sweater as you speak. “My roommate borrowed it last Friday and I haven’t been able to get a hold of her. If there’s a PDF you know of, or maybe a library rental-”

He doesn’t let you finish before he’s reaching into his bag again, pulling out his own textbook and sliding it across the desk to you.

“Take mine with you,” he says confidently, giving you a thin-lipped smile. “Just remember to bring it back next week.”

“Are you sure?” You question, taking the thick book from his grasp and flipping it over to examine the cover. It looks a little different than yours, a varying colored font on the cover and much yellower, older pages, but it’s the exact same book as the one you’ve familiarized yourself with so well already.

“Positive. I think you’ll enjoy the next two chapters, too. Lots of piano stuff.”

He grins as he finishes, flashing you his signature toothy smile, and you feel your heart flutter at the fact that he’s even remembered you play the piano.

“I’ll tell you what I think,” you reply, tucking the book under your arm and smiling back at him. You hope that nobody behind you suspects why you’ve been standing at his desk for just a little too long, but you’re entranced by his presence in the silence of the room, wishing so badly you could stay and ask him about all of his favorite pieces like you normally do after class is dismissed. But you can’t be sure if they’ve taken notice, and you make your departure, anyway, giving Professor Han a small wave as you finally make your way out of the class and to the hallway.

Inside the lecture hall, Professor Han observes the remainder of the students working on their quizzes, not missing the way they visibly struggle to comprehend some of the questions or make guesses to material they should definitely know by now. And it’s a familiar sight to him, seeing his students disregard the course entirely and drag their feet just enough to pass the course.

You seem to be the only exception, though, thoroughly understanding and even enjoying the course material. And try as he might to brush off the thought of you, he can’t seem to, fascinated by the way you not only hear him, but listen to him, making his role on campus feel a little less futile- something he hasn’t felt in a long, long time.

His brows are furrowed as he works on his laptop, the room teeming with the scribbling noises of doubtful penciled-in answers by students on their quizzes and the subsequent erasing because they simply don’t know. But you know- you always know. Like the passing moments after class in which you indulge him in a fact about your journey as a music major, and he’ll often gift you with tales from his days as a prestigious symphonic director.

And you always send him off with a benevolent wave, tucking your hair behind your ear and sauntering out so gracefully, your short skirt flowing with your purposeful strides back to your dorm room.

Not that he’s taken notice of you, of course. Not that he sometimes prays you’ll be the last one out the room so that he can try to impress you with a fact about his musical knowledge or earn little anecdotes about your life he pieces together. That would be entirely inappropriate considering he’s a professor and you’re his student- and no fleeting amount of finally feeling listened to could change that fact.

Conversely, is he wrong to admit to himself that he’s fascinated by your musical knowledge? That the silence of the room is more unnerving when you’ve already gone home for the day?

Furthermore, that he doesn’t feel like such a loser when you beam at his stories and press him for more details about his musical career? Of course he can’t admit it to himself, because that would be entirely inappropriate- he’s a professor, and you’re just a student. But as he remains in front of his laptop, his eyes scanning the room at the students who are lost in thought- or lack of, rather, there’s only one empty seat in the front row. A seat typically occupied by your graceful presence, where you do your best to avoid making heavy eye contact, too, tucking strands of hair behind your ear and smiling at all his jokes. And inappropriate as it may be to admit it, he misses you when you’re not around- musical conversations, the sight of your delicate figure seated and paying attention to him and only him. Learning, listening.

*

The library is empty that same weekend, the gentle tap of rain on the window closest to you making for a peaceful ambiance as you settle on the velvet cushions of the vacant sofa. In your possession, a warm cup of coffee, as well as Professor Han’s textbook, held tightly in your grasp as you navigate to the inside cover.

Mr. Han, the inside hard cover reads, written neatly along the bolded black line. You smile to yourself, grazing the tips of your fingers along the black sharpie, imagining how he’d looked when he first penned it in. Probably the same way he does now, his big eyes blinking as he cocked his head in concentration and grasped the pen between his slender fingers.

You wonder briefly how old his book is- it appears much older than yours, the pages thin and worn like it’s something he’s utilized for a good while. Your fingers skim the smooth stack of pages before thumbing to the inside, landing on chapter 8 as he requested for this week’s reading assignment. And you smile as you do, taking careful note of the state of his book pages.

Surrounding the small black text, in disarray and almost indistinguishable in loopy blue penmanship, are his annotations, carefully analyzing the sentences as though he’s studied them a million times.

“Written at just five years old!” One sentence reads, underlining a sentence describing Mozart’s Minuet in G major. You can’t help but chuckle softly to yourself, fascinated at the fact that he annotates with the exact same level of enthusiasm he speaks of these pieces.

Another annotation specifies how Mozart’s music was tuned to 432 hertz, a frequency commonly associated with instilling a sense of peace and calmness within one’s body. And as you continue reading the bolded text of the chapter, his annotations provide a clearer image into the history of the composers, detailing minuscule facts about their lives and their music. They aren’t facts mentioned in the book, but rather ones he seemed to know based off memory alone, and you’re impressed he’s able to retain such a vast collection of information pertaining to the subjects. Some excerpts are simply marked with a “wow!” Or a series of exclamation points, and you find yourself endeared to how much of a clear liking he’s taken to the work of a textbook chapter.

As you skim a paragraph explaining the intricate work of Piano Sonata no. 12, his familiar blue annotation catches your eye again, except this time, it feels as though it transcends the page and speaks to you.

“Listen to this one,” it reads, underlined twice in blue pen. And for a moment, the thought overtakes you that he may be telling you to listen to it.

The sentence looks so intentional, almost begging for you to give into the simple request. The implication of underlining it not once, but twice, knowing he’s the only one reading this book. Except maybe he had intended to lend it to you, so that you might take the suggestion and listen to it like he had when he annotated it.

So without another second wasted on analyzing his intentions, you pull out your phone, popping in your earbuds and selecting Mozart’s Piano Sonata no.12 from a list of classical pieces. The piece is almost 20 minutes long, a fact which you find comfort in, knowing you get to think about Professor Han for the entirety of the 20 minutes you’re listening to his suggestion.

The notes begin short and vibrant, melting into one another with such fluidity and color. You shut your eyes to the flowing melody, letting yourself melt with the harmony and become one with Professor Han’s recommendation. And 30 seconds in, there’s a shift, from the joyful tune to a more rushed one, notes transitioning to staccato touches along the keyboard and picking up in pace. Like a gentle stride to a fast-paced sprint, similar to many of the tunes you lose yourself in completely while performing.

Then back to a gentler tune again, the pace slowing down once more and moving again in gentle strides. And just as you think it’s died down, the tune assumes both tempos- fast and then slow again, from a relaxed stroll to a purposeful sprint, in the direction of resolution and with every intention of taking your emotions for a wild ride in the process.

You scan the text again as you listen, indulging yourself in the complex history of Mozart’s experience writing the soulful piece, one he was presumed to have written in either Munich or whilst visiting Vienna. And you read Professor Han’s annotations in the process, heartbeat quickening as you allow yourself to imagine they’re all for you.

“This part is the best,” he annotates, referring to the melancholy movement that begins at nearly seven minutes in. It’s much slower, assuming a minor key and with little resolution at the end of every measure. Dragged-out half notes make up the majority of the piece which bewitches you, your mind racing with thoughts of Professor Han and his little inscriptions jotted down just for you.

The piece sounds a little like him- robust and enchanting, but with something more behind it all. Perhaps a story that’s dying to get out, a history he keeps tucked away in the back of his mind or even a secret he harbors. You think back to the way he gets when he speaks of his favorite pieces and his favorite composers- undoubtedly full of life and glowing with passion. And yet when questioned about his time directing, he’s quick to pull back again, shifting back into the professional composure he wears everyday, simply there to lecture from his memories alone and assign textbook pages as homework.

You’re not sure you’ve ever met somebody who mirrors your passion for music so well- like the two of you speak a language nobody else seems to comprehend. Even his annotations must look like gibberish to the masses, who probably wouldn’t bother to tune into Mozart’s Sonata no. 12 for the sole purpose of understanding him through it. Your alphabet transcends the English language- perhaps the two of you speak only in treble and bass, utilizing the eight notes available to you on a pin-straight staff and yet producing hundreds of thoughts in the process.

Ones that yearn to know him beyond the confines of a classroom, to understand who he was before all of this, before he was stuck in the old hall to the east of campus and made to preach to students who couldn’t give less of a shit about it all.

But you do- you always do.

And as the third movement begins at the 12-minute mark, the sounds of distressing melodies and ill-paced harmonies flooding your ears, you grasp a red pen in hand, leaning over his textbook and inscribing similar annotations to his.

“I love this one,” you scribble alongside his words, smiling to yourself as you converse on the thin pages of his old textbook. It doesn’t cross your mind once that your annotations will exist on the pages for eternity- in fact, you hope they do. You hope his message is received on the pages as much as they are by every inch of your yearning soul, that the bright red pen you wield contrasts so clearly against his blue marks and provides reciprocation to all of this passion.

“The third movement is my favorite,” you then note, scribbling something about the melody in juxtaposition to the evocative choice of tempo. And your annotations continue, and continue, all through the page, as though the book is yours and not something entirely borrowed.

The final paragraph is concluded by him with a simple sentence- one that critiques the lack of resolution.

“Discoordinate, fading notes,” it reads. “Feels like it’s missing something.”

And a bold decision it is, to make a record of Mozart having possibly forgotten something. But music is only reflective of your own emotions- perhaps it’s not Mozart forgetting something, but rather Professor Han feeling as though something’s missing. To you, the piece ends here- discoordinate fading notes that serve as the resolution. To Professor Han, there’s still something beyond those final few eighth notes, like the song isn’t reaching its full potential.

Beside his comment, one last penned-in annotation, one that you observe for a good while, reading it once, twice, and three times over as he practically offers a suggestion to Mozart himself.

“Coda?” It reads simply.

A coda- somewhat of an epilogue in music. It’s ignored the first time around- not really regarded by the musician until the da segno- to which a musician then plays until the indication to jump to the coda. And the coda serves as a resolution to the entire piece, typically a sonata, concluding with triumphant notes and the complete opposite of fading discoordination like Professor Han is so averse to.

You bring your red pen down to his comment, hovering the ballpoint tip over the paper for a moment, before making your final annotation along his pages.

A circle, with a cross in the center- a coda, a musical epilogue, an offer for resolution.

*

“Here’s your textbook,” Mina says casually when she finally returns that week, tossing it beside you on the bed and averting your gaze.

“Thanks,” you reply, entirely failing to confront her about having returned it a week later than you’d originally requested.

“I shouldn’t have even borrowed it,” she says with a frustrated huff. “I failed his stupid quiz.”

“Chapter 7?” You question, unsurprised by the admission to you.

“Yeah,” she replies, hoisting herself over her duvet and spreading her arms out behind her. “I don’t know a single person who’s passing that useless class.”

She keeps her gaze on the wall for a moment, and then she glances at you briefly, her expression unreadable as she speaks.

“Can’t believe I also have to waste my time at the stupid extra credit thing this week,” she announces, huffing as she concludes her speech.

You continue working on your laptop, not yet meeting her gaze as she rants, her legs dangling carelessly over the edge of the bed.

“What extra credit thing?”

Mina turns to look at you again, furrowing her brows together, almost in disbelief at your words.

“The extra credit thing Professor Han emailed about? There’s an exhibit at the art museum nearby for famous dead composers or something. If you turn in a ticket for proof you attended, you get like, 10 whole points or something.”

You stop typing on your laptop momentarily, glancing over the top of your screen to meet her gaze at last, a small smile tugging at your lips.

“This week?”

“Yeah,” she says, frowning slightly as you turn back to the computer. “You didn’t get the email about it?”

“I guess I didn’t,” you say to her, beginning to look up the event online. “I’ve been so busy.”

In reality, Professor Han’s email missed your inbox because you weren’t invited, consistently boasting an A in his class all semester. The extra credit is only intended for students like Mina, who are well on the route to failing his course without some form of extra credit. But to you, the event won’t serve as extra credit- it’s just an excuse to catch a glimpse of Professor Han again, maybe gain more insight into his favorite pieces and converse with him beyond the four walls of the lecture hall.

The rain is still coming down in sheets by the time your next lecture with Professor Han rolls around, the class much emptier than usual, most students opting to remain in the comfort of their dorm rooms. Professor Han produces a thought-provoking lecture on Mozart this time, conveying many of the works you read about in his textbook. And when his lecture concludes, he leans back against the podium, thanking all students who did attend today, an unspoken race against the clock unfolding as the two of you stall and wait for the rest of the students to clear out.

When the class is finally empty, he beckons for you with two fingers, remaining slouched against the podium and crossing his muscular arms out in front of him.

“I have your book,” you say to him, reaching into the bag slung around your shoulder.

He accepts it from your grasp, glancing at it briefly, before setting it down on his desk and folding his arms again. You want him to open it, to read your annotations and feel heard like the purpose your little scribbles are intended for. But he doesn’t- he just leaves it there, keeping his gaze on yours and remaining silent for a minute.

“What did you think of chapters 8 and 9?” He asks finally.

“Good stuff,” you say, giving him a shy nod. “I was familiar with a lot of it, but definitely still some new pieces I hadn’t heard of. I’ll try to get around to them when I can.”

Professor Han nods, and then you watch as he sprawls his hands out behind him, leaning back against the podium still and crossing his legs at the ankles.

“There’s an exhibit at the museum across the street later tonight,” he says, voice trembling a little as he speaks.

He’s not sure why he’s even bringing it up- maybe because he’s trying to keep the conversation course-related. It’s definitely not because he wants you to be there- a reckless way of thinking indeed.

“I know,” you say to him with a knowing smile. “I was wondering where my invite was for the extra credit.”

A breathy chuckle escapes his toothy grin as he holds his gaze on yours.

“You have a perfect score,” he replies in a low voice. “The extra credit is for people who are failing my class.”

“It can’t also be for art enthusiasts?” You retort, a teasing smile tugging at your lips. “Maybe I want to tour the dead composers gallery, too.”

Professor Han wants to entertain this- so, so badly. He wants to drop the professional act and flirt with you like you’re so clearly doing to him- but he can’t. You’re just a student, and it would be wrong to toy with the imbalance of power he holds over you. Still, there’s no reason you can’t also show to the exhibition, as a student who simply wants to partake in a walkthrough of the subject at hand. He can’t prohibit you from going, after all.

“I can’t give you any more credit,” Professor Han says with another breathy chuckle, cocking his head to look at you a little better. Your eyes sparkle as they stare back at him, a giddy smile plastered on your face and your hair tucked behind your ears between laughter as you meet his gaze again.

“But I can’t stop you from going, either.”

At this, he pivots on his heels, turning around to reach into the leather bag by his laptop. You watch curiously as he pulls out a small piece of paper, handing it to you and saying absolutely nothing.

But one glance at it tells you exactly what it is- a ticket to the exhibition, one that’s already been paid for. You remember Mina telling you she had purchased her ticket already, meaning this one was purchased for you- by Professor Han.

“Really?” You question with wide eyes, examining the ticket and then looking back at him with an excited smile.

“I didn’t ask you to come,” Professor Han reiterates. “You asked for extra credit. And you bought that ticket yourself.”

At this, he cocks his head a little, and then he shoots you a wink the same way he did once before. Only this time, your heartbeat quickens at his actions, ones that seem to desperately seek out attention from you and even make attempts at getting closer to you.

“I wanted extra credit,” you repeat to him finally, shooting him a wink, too. “And I bought this ticket myself.”

*

The so-called “dead composer’s gallery” has been an extra credit assignment of Professor Han’s for all five years he’s been teaching. It’s hosted in the art museum right by campus, the same few paintings of composers he lectures about making the rotation every fall to tell stories of their lives and flaunt the work they produced. Students don’t typically care for it, showing up to walk the duration of the gallery in a rush, flashing their ticket to Professor Han and collecting an easy ten points so as not to repeat his class.

He’s aware of the fact that they don’t read a single one of the bronze plaques that detail the names of the composers, or that they audibly insult the paintings, despite Professor Han being within earshot of them in the quiet space that houses the art. But for him, it’s simply a way to avoid teaching the same set of students a second time. One semester of watching them drag their feet is enough, he’s always thought to himself.

Professor Han has walked the exhibit a plethora of times, thus he usually shows in a simple sweater and some jeans, and the students marvel at the sight of him dressed so casually unlike at his lectures. And despite the exhibit being no different than the last few years, he feels compelled to dress up for this visit, admiring his efforts in the mirror as he adjusts the collar of his white button-down and centers his tie.

Of course, deep down, he’ll never admit he’s dressed up for you tonight, his mind racing with the unprofessional thoughts that you might show up just for him. He’s usually a mere spectator at these exhibits, silently assuming a spot in the corner of the room as the students make their rounds and eye him nervously. He emphasizes the notion that asking questions is encouraged, or that the students are free to chat with him about their favorite paintings and apply them to his lectures. Yet they never do- they just pace the marble floors at an expeditious pace and send him off with the wave of their ticket, not a single painting having resonated with them in the process. Some of them even groan, or verbally complain about the task, as though Professor Han’s forced them here tonight, and not the near-failing grade so many of them are stuck with. As though he’s not doing them a favor by offering extra credit for such an easy task, and an enjoyable one at that- or at least to him.

Wet sneakers squeak along the marbled floors as the students make their rushed rounds, many of them accompanying groups of friends as they stifle laughter at the art and then make their departure with the flash of a ticket in Professor Han’s direction. He remains in the corner of the large gallery room, one hand shoved in the pocket of his black slacks, the other grasping a folded pamphlet as he skims the artist names and waits for students to approach, should they require his attention. Yet it’s a futile task, having been at the event for nearly two hours now as the students come and go.

Admittedly, and with all the profound guilt weighing deep in his chest, Professor Han can’t think about anything except for you, desperately scanning the halls and glancing at the doorway for the familiar sight of you sauntering in, a beaming smile on your face and purpose in every stride. The exhibit is near closing by this point, just a handful of students remaining as he glances around the room and watches them rush to finish touring the display.

And embarrassingly enough, he counts down the seconds on the silver wrist watch he wears, hoping maybe you’re just running late by chance.

As the little hands on his watch tick in seconds, and you’re still nowhere to be seen, the thought suddenly overtakes him that this is all so stupid. What is he thinking, waiting around for a student like this- one he teaches, and one he’s tried his best to avoid having non-platonic thoughts about? It's silly. Not to mention- wildly inappropriate.

As Professor Han gathers his canvas bag hoisted over a nearby bench, and sends the last handful of students off with a polite bow, a quick turn of the corner confirms his first theory.

“Hi,” you say to Professor Han, bowing to him and tucking a wet strand of hair out of your face. “Sorry, I was running a bit late. Lots of rain outside.”

Professor Han can’t help but hold your gaze momentarily, enchanted by the sight of you, despite coming to the conclusion that this is wrong. If it’s wrong, he’ll have to sort out the logistics some other time- because you standing in front of him like this, dressed much more elegantly than he’s ever seen you, a smile on your face and already glancing around at the gallery at the works of art- everything about this feels right.

“Hi,” he says back, a nervous exhale escaping his lips as he does. He silently prays you can’t tell that he’s been waiting around for this all evening, longing to see you just once tonight and maybe talk about musical composers the way he’s been dreaming of.

“Vivaldi?” You question, brushing your way past him to the giant painting across from you, depicting the famous composer in a red robe clutching his signature violin. “I’m assuming, by the violin.”

“Yeah,” Professor Han says, turning to face the painting, too. “Kind of a scary dude, isn’t he?”

Professor Han realizes you’re the first student to make a single comment about one of the paintings here- a fact he’s well endeared by, and simultaneously completely unsurprised by.

“Debatable,” you respond. “For his portfolio alone, sure. But if we’re talking looks, I think Brahms might win this one.”

Your eyes shift to the left of Vivaldi’s at the cold stare of Johannes Brahms, a long white beard and a sharp mustache framing his glaring eyes. Professor Han laughs lightly, and then he takes note of the way you cock your head at the bronze plaque, reading a detailed little account of Brahms and scanning the art as you do.

“Brahms wasn’t scary,” he finally says with a shrug of his shoulders. “He was actually really lonely.”

“Yeah?” You question back, observing the way he stares up at the painting.

“Yeah,” he affirms. “There was a long-standing rumor that he had a crush on pianist Clara Schumann- of course she was already married. Some think Clara may have cheated and secretly reciprocated feelings for Brahms, too- but regardless, he died alone.”

The space is quiet between you both, a sort of melancholia falling over you two as you piece together the story in your mind. You can’t help but imagine how lonely it must have been for Brahms, keeping his love for Clara a complete secret in the presence of her spouse. A love so strong and so unmoving that he chose to die alone rather than find a woman that served as replacement for the love he felt for Clara.

Your mind paints images of Brahms and Clara together, his gaze fixed on hers and so helplessly in love while she was wed to another man all along.

“That’s tragic,” you say finally, feeling a pit form in your chest. “What a lonely life it must’ve been.”

Professor Han seems to take note of your change in tone, perking up a little as he chimes in again.

“He still had his music,” he says to you. “And a very successful career.”

And your head cocks again at Brahms’ face across from you, a stoic expression in his eyes and his thin-lipped pout- almost as though he was hiding part of himself from the masses all along.

“But he didn’t have the one thing he wanted,” you finish telling him.

Professor Han says nothing, giving a small bow to the painting with his arms tucked behind his back. He searches for the words to say, ones that might comfort you in this pity you take on him. But he can’t, feeling as though you may be right.

Brahms had music, a successful career composing everything from Wiegenlied to Symphonies 1 and 3, a long list of credits and enough fortune to travel the world when he wasn’t producing excellency. But he never had Clara Schumann- a tragic unrequited love he took with him to the grave. Could the tender touches and kindred soul of a lover ever be replaced by half and eighth notes on a staff? By the wave of a baton in a sea of brass and wooden reeds? Was he happy, simultaneously getting everything he wanted and nothing he dreamed of?

Johannes Brahms never had Clara Schumann. And conversely, perhaps Professor Han will never get close to what he wants, either.

The dead composer’s gallery quickly proves to be a lot more tragic than you’d anticipated. The paintings are beautiful- grand golden crested frames that house detailed depictions of famous composers, wearing powdered wigs and fancy dress robes. And every stride to the next work of art is accompanied by Professor Han’s tragic, detailed account of their love lives.

“Tchaikovsky was gay during a time when it was highly illegal,” Professor Han explains. “He had a long list of gay lovers with whom he’d write romantic letters to, and he came under heavy scrutiny when it was made public- especially since he was already of a low social class.”

“Must’ve been terrifying,” you tell him, narrowing your eyes at the intense stare of his painted portrait. “What did he do?”

Professor Han is quiet for a moment, glancing over at you and parting his lips as though he’s going to say something. But he simply remains silent, staring back up at the painting and swallowing nervously.

It’s only when you glance over at him, raising your eyebrows a little in the direction of his looming figure and almost gesturing for him to continue, that he reluctantly provides an answer to your question.

“He married a student,” Professor Han says quietly.

And he understands very well what the implications are here, producing stories of instructors being romantically involved with their students, when he’s here with a student himself.

Here with you, the very same student he’s been waiting on all evening. The student he’s enjoying telling stories of composers and their romantic involvements to, and the same student he’ll find any excuse to spend more time with once the dead composers gallery is already closed for the night.

“They didn’t last, of course,” Professor Han then continues. “It was impulsive, and they were severely incompatible. Not to mention his heart already belonged to another.”

It’s your turn to get quiet, simply nodding at his words and piecing together tidbits of Tchaikovsky’s tragic romance.

“Professor,” you say to him suddenly, turning to face him with a small smile on your face. “How do you know so much about the romantic histories of famous composers, anyway? Is this part of your lecture style?”

Professor Han chuckles lightly in response, his eyes forming little crescents as his lips pull back into a big grin. He looks much happier here like this, compared to the way he carries himself during his teaching- more laid back, comfortable, even.

“I think you have to understand where they fell short in romance,” he says, maintaining the same warm smile on his face. “It’s where most of the passion, and pain alike, stemmed from in their pieces. The sheer intensity of some of the orchestral or symphonic pieces, they’re…” his voice trails off momentarily, observing a painting of Mozart on the wall in front of the two of you, whose story he hasn’t even indulged you in yet as the museum staff prepare to close for the evening. He tilts his head to one side, pondering his words briefly and giving a little nod before continuing.

“They’re all crafted from yearning in one way or another.”

*

The evening rainfall is torrential outside, the sidewalks almost empty as people seek shelter in the safety of their cars and apartments. Once you’ve both exited the museum, Professor Han remains under the concrete roof that spans the entrance, looking out at the glistening pavement roads that reflect with red and green traffic lighting.

“Are you parked on the street?” He asks hesitantly, his hands shoved in the pocket of his slacks as he awaits your reply.

“I walked here,” you say to him, a light chuckle escaping your lips. “My dorm’s just a few blocks away.”

His eyes widen at the admission, thinking back to where his car is parked, just around the corner in the museum’s designated parking garage. He debates offering you a ride, but he knows it’d be in his best interest to avoid being alone in a car with the one woman he so dangerously can’t stop thinking about.

“Do you need a ride?” He then asks, the words leaving his lips before he can even stop himself. It’s like he’s overtaken by another version of himself- one who can’t cease this little chase you’re indulging him in, too.

“I don’t want to burden you,” you respond, a sheepish smile on your face as you try to veil the fact that you’re elated he’s even offered.

One more chance to make things right- and yet there’s no discernible boundary between what feels right, and what is right.

“It’s not a burden,” he affirms. “It’s not safe to walk home in this rain.”

Your gaze meets his, a sort of triumphant smile pulling on your lips as he cocks his head in the direction of the parking garage. There’s no distinctive plan either of you have in mind, but you’re also drawn to each other, admittedly wanting nothing more than to find little excuses to put off your departure for the evening.

He begins in the direction of the garage without even waiting for verbal confirmation, and yet he doesn’t have to, because you’re already trailing alongside him like it’s been your plan all this time. You maintain a giddy smile on your face as you both brave the rain together beyond the concrete ceiling of the museum entrance, tucking your necks into your shoulders and laughing as the rain drenches your clothes completely, strands of hair falling into your face and dribbling rainwater down your glowing cheeks.

“It’s just past here!” he calls out over the deafening sounds of rainfall, squinting his eyes amidst the drops of water that weigh on his eyelashes and making out the faint outline of his car in the dimly lit parking garage.

You trail behind him as he gestures for you to follow, also catching a glimpse of his parked car in the garage, seemingly the only remaining one at this hour.

Professor Han opens the passenger door for you, stringy pieces of hair falling into his face as he gestures for you to get in. And you do without hesitation, smoothing down your skirt and occupying the sleek black leather seat. When the door is shut, there’s a brief silence that falls over you as he makes his way around to the driver’s side, and you catch a glimpse of yourself in the rearview mirror. Your makeup is a little smeared from the rain, wet hair slicked down and your clothes clinging to your figure with dampened spots. But for the first time in a long while, you look happy, finally making use of your time beyond the walls of your dorm room.

Professor Han slides into his seat at last, the door shutting promptly beside him, and he runs his slender fingers through the slick black strands of hair that fall into his face. You watch him curiously, heart racing at the sight of him so close to you, your bodies almost touching if not for the center console that so conveniently separates your yearning bodies. Drops of rainwater find purchase on his bent knees, further dampening his slacks as he wrings out his jet black hair over them. And he chuckles as he does, a little embarrassed he looks so disheveled in your presence.

When he hears you reciprocate with a gentle laugh, he turns to look at you, and it’s then that he realizes how dangerously close he is to you.

From this proximity, he can make out the spheres of rainwater that collect on your blushed cheeks, every last speck of mascara that collects under your eyelashes and flutters as you blink curiously at him. He can distinguish the lipstick you’ve strategically worn just for him, one that almost mirrors the natural pink shade of his pouty lips. He can feel the clear tension that bubbles over the center console as you lean in just a little, not enough to graze his mouth over yours, but certainly enough to feel the sharp breath that escapes his lips as he leans in, too.

And just as your eyes begin to shut, with every intention to kiss him right then and there, the sound of distant rainfall lessening as your rapid heartbeat fills your ears, he pulls back again.

“Sorry,” Professor Han remarks quietly, resting his hands on the steering wheel and shaking his head as though he's physically ridding himself of the urge to kiss you.

Your eyes open again, met with his trembling brown pupils that fixate on the dashboard in front of you both. And then he starts the car without another word, not yet backing out as he sits with his thoughts for a moment.

You desperately want to think he was going to kiss you, too, but you feel painfully stupid for being turned away like this in his car. Maybe it’s not how you’ve been reading into- maybe this is strictly a teacher-student relationship the way it’s supposed to be.

“Do you want to go back to your dorm?” He asks amidst the silence, not meeting your gaze. He’s scared he’ll get the urge to kiss you again, or that you might clock how nervous he is to be here with you.

You’re quiet for a moment, a little angry with things as you ponder the question. He’s not quite telling you to go home- but he isn’t asking you to stay, either. He’s just putting the ball in your court- both a safe, and a risky play at hand.

“No,” you voice finally.

He just nods at your response, clicking his tongue once and waiting for you to say something else. But you don’t- instead, you wait for him to say something else, too.

“Do you want to get out of the rain?” He then asks in a quiet voice, not specifying where that may imply. And although he doesn’t, you nod in agreement, meeting his gaze briefly as he reciprocates with an affirmative nod of his own.

*

Professor Han may have physically refuted the notion that kissing you in his car was anywhere near appropriate- and yet at this hour, the only place he can think to seek shelter from the rain with you is his apartment.

His apartment is nothing special at first glance, just your typical run-of-the-mill unit on the third floor of his building, but at a closer inspection, everything is exactly what you’d expect it to be.

Music sheets scattered along tables and couches, scribbled hastily with notes and annotations, much like his textbook was. A studio piano against the wall of his living room, the leather-seated bench that accompanies it stacked high with music theory books and more sheet music. The walls are decorated with rows of photographs, ones that you wish you could derive answers from, much like the dead composers gallery.

“Sorry for the mess,” he says sheepishly, peeling off his coat and draping it over the back of a chair.

Your arms are folded behind your back as you traverse the wooden floors as though this place is a museum, too. You relish in the sight of every decorative item, every sheet of music and every placement of his old-looking furniture, like it might give you more insight into exactly who Professor Han is. It’s just like he is- classic, enchanting, captivating.

“What are all these?” You ask him, pointing to a wall with a neat collage of photos.

At a closer inspection, you realize many of them include him, presumably from several years ago. He’s blonde in one of them, wearing a black pinstriped suit and a stylish pair of silver earrings. Another one shows him with midnight blue hair, the cool-toned hue contrasting rather beautifully against his tanned skin. His hair is still black in many of them, but he looks younger, dressed casually with a big smile plastered on his face.

And the most fascinating quality in all of them- he looks important. Like he’s a notable figure among the other subjects, usually standing in front of a podium or a music stand, sometimes with a baton grasped between his hands and raised in motion.

“Are these from your directing days?” You then ask, knowing the answer already.

It feels a little wrong to be seeing the photographs, almost as though they’re not supposed to be visible to just a student of his. They’re a glimpse into another life he’s lived- one you’re too late to be a part of. And more importantly, one he hasn’t seemed to be interested in talking about. You remember the times he’d brush off the mention of directing, change the subject or even just respond with an absent shrug. And yet standing in front of the proof it happened, you can’t help but probe for answers, feeling as though they might provide insight into who exactly he is underneath this pensive mask he wears.

“Those are from my directing days,” he confirms with a sad smile, making his way over to you and staring up at the wall. He examines one in which he’s in the middle of composing, stick held high in the air and a concentrated expression on his chiseled face.

“You look really cool,” you tell him, and he laughs lightly in response.

“Thank you,” he replies politely. “I always felt cool.”

You begin to tell him that he’s still cool, the way he captivates a whole room with lectures about famous composers and music theory he just knows offhandedly now. But you quickly get quiet again, not wanting to overstep any boundaries.

When you turn to face him again, you’re well aware of how close he is to you, droplets of rain still gliding down the bridge of his nose and onto the damp collar of his dress shirt. You also notice he’s wearing his glasses again, which remain the only dry part of his attire.

He seems to take notice of the heightened proximity for the second time today, too, making his way over to the couch and sitting on the edge of the velvet green cushions. But his gaze still remains fixed on yours, admiring the way you peer at his space.

“Professor, can I ask you something?” You say to him, approaching him cautiously, yet keeping a comfortable distance from him.

“Anything,” Professor Han replies, swallowing nervously and resting the palms of his hands flat on his knees. His long legs are draped over the edge of the couch, bent at the knees and spread so that he’s comfortably resting against the back of the cushion.

“You didn’t tell me about Mozart,” you say to him, twiddling your fingers in front of you. “What was Mozart’s love life like?”

Professor Han thinks it over momentarily, his eyes darting to the ceiling as he recalls Mozart’s romantic involvements. And it doesn’t take long, because it’s another tale he knows very well already.

“Well he lived with a family during his time in Vienna,” he explains. “They had a daughter named Constanze, who he took a particular liking to.”

You nod at his words, approaching him a little more now and observing the way he tenses a little, yet also noticing he makes zero effort to move away.

“His father didn’t approve,” Professor Han continues, eyeing the gentle sway of your skirt as you near him. “And yet when Mozart moved out, they maintained a relationship in secret.”

“A secret relationship?” You echo, and he nods affirmatively. “And then what happened?”

“Well,” he begins, dropping his hands to his sides as you stand right in front of him now. “Mozart wrote Constanze’s disapproving father a very famous letter. And they later married.”

“A letter?” You question. “Do you recall what was in the letter?”

You eye him from above, your thighs practically grazing his kneecaps as he remains seated in front of you.

And then in a painfully slow movement, all the while reminding yourself not to rush it, your hands find his, intertwining your fingers together and allowing you to pull yourself even closer to him, effectively slotting yourself between his knees. Professor Han’s breath hitches in his throat as you do, his heart racing wildly in his chest, pulsing reminders grazing his conscience that this is wrong. Yet juxtaposed against your delicate touches on his skin, and your curious eyes awaiting a resolution to his story, he can’t help himself.

“The letter?” He asks nervously, and you nod at him.

“Yeah. Do you remember it, by chance?”

Of course he remembers it- he could recite it in his sleep if he wanted to, every last word and emotion ingrained so deep within his soul as though its memorization was some requirement to work in a music-related field. But he hesitates to utter the words, knowing that if he does, they serve as permission for this- all of this, to indulge himself in all his reckless convictions right here with you.

“You don’t have to,” you say to him shyly, loosening your grasp on his fingers.

And you refer to both the utterance of Mozart’s letter, as well as the actions you know are bound to unfold if he does.

“No, I…” he interrupts, a sharp breath leaving his lips as he speaks. “I want to.”

A small smile tugs at your lips, tightening your grasp around his fingers once more, and then you wait for him to begin.

Professor Han takes a deep breath, some form of a prayer or maybe a beg for absolute forgiveness to a higher power racing his mind before he speaks again. And then, with all the weighing guilt in his heart, he begins to voice the letter back to you.

“I must make you better acquainted with the character of my dear Constanze,” he begins, finally allowing you to pull yourself onto his lap and steady yourself with two hands on his strong forearms.

“Keep talking,” you say to him, reaching out to tuck a strand of wet hair out of his face.

“Her whole beauty consists of two little black eyes and a pretty figure,” he continues, swallowing nervously at every tender touch you produce against his skin. His hands rest on the curves of your waist, delicately grazing up and down as you watch him curiously. Your legs bend to straddle him, skirt flowing over his black dress slacks and draping over the fabric of his crotch, where he can feel himself growing unbearably hard for you.

“Mhm,” you say, two hands now grazing the fabric of his silk black tie and loosening the knot at the collar.

“She likes to be neatly and cleanly dressed, but not smartly; and most things that a woman needs, she is able to make for herself.”

At this point, Professor Han’s tie is completely undone, your nimble fingers now undoing the buttons of his shirt and grazing fingertips along the exposed strip of his chest to you.

He pauses momentarily, eyes fluttering briskly as he relishes in the sensation of your skin against his. And then in one swift motion, your hands tug the fabric of his tie toward you, grazing your open mouth over his and pressing a short, chaste kiss to his pink lips.

He waits for more, but you don’t indulge him just yet, pulling away to stare into the swirling galaxies he houses in his big eyes.

And before he can finish reading the letter, you’re speaking again, putting out the same words he completely intended to produce.

“I love her, and she loves me with all her heart,” you say to him, finishing Mozart’s signature letter for him. “Tell me whether I could wish for a better wife.”

Professor Han says nothing, his eyes widened with shock for a moment as you toy with the fabric of his tie. He wasn’t expecting you to know the tale, let alone echo the letter back to him- one he’s had memorized for most of his life.

“Mozart’s letter to Constanze’s father,” you voice with a small shrug. “It’s always been one of my favorites.”

And Professor Han can’t take it anymore, finally allowing himself to pull you in by the small of your back, desperately gripping his fingers against the fabric of your shirt and locking his lips with yours once again. His kisses are purposeful, and needy, but he’s still gentle with you, guiding you further down the length of his legs until you’re sat right over his crotch. The two of you say nothing in between kisses for a good while, remaining like that and exchanging gasped breaths into each other’s mouths as his hands explore every inch of your still-clothed body. Your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him into you and arching your back into his touches. And when his hands graze the length of your skirt, tenderly stroking up the skin on your inner thighs, you chuckle lightly into his mouth, well amused by the actions as though you haven’t wanted it all this time, too.

“Is this okay?” He says nervously, pulling away momentarily to scan your expression.

“It’s more than okay,” you say to him, toying with his tie again. “I’ve wanted to do this so badly.”

Professor Han chuckles lightly, not wanting to admit he’s been thinking about it, too. Maybe externally you’ve already taken note of the way he stares at you as he speaks during lectures, or the way he eyes your short skirts when you assume your seat in his classroom. But you don’t know the nights he spends alone in his apartment, desperately fucking his fist to the thought of you bent over the podium in his lecture hall and filling the space with your erotic moans. Or the way he’s had to divert your gaze in class sometimes, lest he accidentally flaunts a hard-on for the whole class to see, because he knows his mind will run someplace it shouldn’t be.

He’s completely ridden with guilt, his sleep schedule almost nonexistent as he spends hours after he’s already tucked himself into bed, praying the universe won’t punish him for thinking about a student like this.

But he can’t help it- not when you saunter into his classroom so confidently every week, speaking of composers with the same level of admiration he shares, earning the highest grade possible and taking a genuine interest in his life. He’s almost angry at the reality of it, questioning constantly why you hadn't crossed paths before he became a teacher.

“Where were you during my college days?” Professor Han says out loud, a sort of disappointment evident on his face as he speaks. “I wish I’d known you earlier.”

You chuckle in response, one hand tangling in the back of his hair as you rub in gentle massaging motions.

“What’s wrong with right now?” You retort, trailing one finger over his plump lips.

“What’s wrong is that I’m your professor,” he emphasizes, scoffing lightly. “Everything about it is wrong.”

“I’m an adult,” you respond, pulling him in by his collar to work kisses down the column of his neck. “And I want this.”

“Yeah, but…” he begins, the guilt weighing heavily on him all over again.

“You don’t want this?” You then ask, pushing yourself off him briefly and holding eye contact with him. He looks as nervous as he always does when he’s near you, his eyes wide with fear and his timid movements conveying a clear reluctance to reciprocate the affection.

“I do want this,” he mutters sheepishly, knowing it’s also not in his best interest to lie to the woman he’s been leading on for several months now.

“I can leave,” you say to him finally, acknowledging how scared he sounds at the prospect of being here with you. “I won’t tell a single soul. It’ll be like it never happened.”

And Professor Han’s eyebrows arch up in an almost pleading motion, not verbally conveying anything, and yet telling you all that you need to know in the process.

Without saying anything back to him, you reach down to pinch the bridge of his wireframe glasses between your index finger and thumb. His glasses are fogged up, resting almost crookedly on his face when you pull them off, snapping the frame shut between your teeth and setting them on the couch beside you. You can hear Professor Han’s breath hitch in the back of his throat, nervously awaiting your next move and practically shifting total control over to you, who wastes no time reattaching your lips to his and humming into his mouth. He looks completely helpless under you like this, beads of sweat forming on his temples, indistinguishable against the rain droplets that still grace his attire. When you pull away, you examine his chest again briefly- the very same one you couldn’t seem to look away from on your first day of classes. His broad pectorals jut out against the thin white fabric of his button-down shirt, almost completely see-through all drenched in rainwater. And two buttons reveal his sharp clavicles to you, but you’re still just as eager to see the rest of him.

So in slow movements, you graze your hands down lower, snaking off his tie and discarding it alongside him with his glasses. Your nimble fingers work his buttons now, undoing them one by one, pulling open the hem of his shirt so that his chest is visible to you, and when the very last one is undone, you practically tear open both sides of his shirt, allowing the fabric to drape down over the couch and slouch off of his shoulders.

His waist is a sight to marvel at, delicate yet still muscular, made even more erotic in contrast with his broadened shoulders that span much wider than his hips. And your lips quickly find every curve of his chest, pressing a trail of kisses along his clavicles, up to the crook of his neck, down where his nipples protrude and along his shoulders, which tense up beneath your touch.

“Fuck,” he breathes, shutting his eyes in blissful pleasure as your kisses turn a little harsher, pulling his flesh between your teeth and sucking small bruises onto the raised goosebumps that grace every inch of him. You can feel him shift beneath you, trying his best to keep his now swollen cock at a distance from you, as though the act might be less incriminating if you can’t feel his physical yearning for you. And yet it’s enough for you to take notice, scooting closer to him with a smile on your face as you meet his lips once more.

When he feels you squeeze your thighs around his still-clothed cock just once, enough for the friction to emit a bead of precum from under his slacks, his hands find your waist again, tugging lightly at the fabric to signal you to remove it.

“Can I take this off?” he asks in a low voice, his eyes now hooded with lust, lips parted at the sight of your body practically grinding onto his.

You don’t reply, simply crossing two arms over your torso and pulling your shirt off over your head. It’s discarded along with the pile of other things, and then before he has to ask, your bra joins it beside him, too.

Professor Han feels as though he might finish right here at the sight of your breasts on display for him, your hardened nipples protruding generously with arousal and practically begging for his touch. He feels his mouth water with saliva, desperate to take you in his mouth, but somehow even with you straddling him like this, he’s too scared to make a move.

“Professor,” you say to him quietly.

“Hm?” He responds.

You say nothing back to him, blinking innocently down at him and waiting for him to act upon his urges. You know what it is that he wants so badly- and you want it, too. But you want it to feel as mutual as the yearning has, for some confirmation neither of you are manipulating the other into this. His eyes don’t leave your breasts, examining the way your chest rises and falls with every heavy breath as you wait for him. And then he meets your gaze again, a sharp breath escaping his lips as he does.

“Jisung,” he says, now chuckling lightly. His hands snake up your sides, rising higher, and higher, until they’re resting on the mounds of your breasts, not yet making contact with your hardened nipples.

“What?” You hum in response, a small smile on your lips as he watches you carefully.

“That’s my name,” he now says, leaning in to capture your lips in a kiss again. As he does, his hands move lower, until his slender fingers are sprawled out over your nipples. He doesn’t stop kissing you, moving his hands in gentle kneading motions over your breasts as his kisses turn more eager.

“You don’t have to call me professor,” he says in between kisses, hands now reaching around to pull you in closer, gripping your ass just as tenderly the way he did your breasts and desperately grazing your smooth flesh against his calloused fingers . “Just call me Jisung.”

As you smile into the kiss, he flips up your skirt, looping one finger into the hem of your panties and toying with it as he adjusts himself below you. He tugs at your panties just an inch, now transitioning his movements to find the buckle of his pants, metal clinking between your bodies as he unfastens it and snakes it out beside him.

You pull your own panties off as he unbuttons his slacks, awkwardly parting from you momentarily to rid himself of the still-drenched fabric. And then all that remains are his boxers, his erection pitching a tent against the constricting fabric as he resumes his kisses.

“Jisung,” you breathe into his mouth, earning a toothy grin from him against your parted lips. “I love it. I love your name.”

“You’re welcome to say it whenever you want,” he says back, running his hands along the small of your back.

“Just me?” You ask teasingly, tangling two hands in his ebony hair.

“Just you,” he emphasizes, grazing his fingers along your inner thighs. “Just like you’re the only one who scores a perfect on everything she does,” he continues, the pads of his fingers attaching to your clit.

“Just like you’re the only student I’d bring back here in the first place.”

Jisung’s fingers begin slow, circular motions on your bundle of nerves, earning a gasp from you as he dips once into your entrance to gather your wetness and spread it around again.

His mouth accumulates with a needy wad of drool, cock growing even harder at the sight of your eyebrows arched for him as you grind into the pads of his fingers and push him even harder against your flesh.

“Do you think about me often?” You ask him between labored breaths, tilting his chin up to meet your gaze. His eyes are wide with lust and curiosity alike, peering back at you so innocently, with every intention to pleasure you.

“I do,” he affirms, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips.

“What do you think about?” You now ask him, scooting even closer and allowing your chests to make contact as you wrap your arms around him.

“Those short little skirts you wear just for me,” he replies, smiling as he speaks. “They drive me insane.”

“That’s on purpose, you tell him, grazing your nails along the back of his neck. “What else?”

“Your stories of piano,” he then says, surprising you with his response. “It’s so sexy how talented you are.”

“Really?” You ask him, chuckling lightly as he kisses you once again. He nods affirmatively, dipping two fingers into your entrance with ease, just past your glistening folds, but not yet moving them inside of you.

And then he grows quiet for a moment, meeting your gaze with a serious expression, before he begins to pump his fingers slowly in and out of you as he speaks again.

“I touched myself to your book annotations,” he tells you, this time a smile absent from his chiseled face.

“My book annotations,” you repeat, and he cocks his head to look at you.

“All for me,” he continues, filling the ache between your legs with the gentle thrust of his fingers. “Were you trying to get my attention?”

“Depends,” you reply, clutching his shoulders and moving down the length of his fingers a little further.

“On what?”

“On whether yours were for me,” you say to him finally, clenching down around his digits.

He moves his thumb to stimulate your clit as he fucks you, earning a breathy moan as you struggle to speak now.

“Tell me what it was like,” you say to him breathlessly. “Describe it to me.”

“It was earlier today- just before the gallery,” he explains, cocking his head as your lips part in pleasure. “I never annotate in red. I knew instantly that it was you. Your handwriting- your words,” he continues. “I wasn’t expecting it- I’d hoped maybe you penned in a phone number or something.”

You chuckle lightly as he speaks, taking note of the way his fingers pick up the pace inside of you.

“You would’ve loved that, huh?” You retort. And his fingers now move inside of you in a ‘come hither’ motion as he resumes his actions.

“I would’ve loved that,” he groans. “Too bad all I had was your handwriting, and the thought of you in that skirt you wore today. And ten minutes alone with my right hand, praying you’d actually show up tonight.”

Jisung can’t cease his perverted confessions once they begin escaping his wet lips. In complete contrast to his reluctance earlier, his fingers now thrusting in and out of your sopping pussy with such force, spilling every little detail about how much he’s thought about you these past few months.

“God, I love your body,” he breathes against you, craning his neck to take your breast in his mouth. His mouth latches around your erect nipple, tongue swirling in circular motions as he hums helplessly. And you let out a fervent moan at the sensation, not missing the way his fingers prod into your squelching entrance, your thighs trembling as you near your finish.

“Jisung,” you gasp, tangling a hand in his hair and tugging him gently off of you. A string of drool connects his wet lips to your flesh as he meets your gaze, labored breaths grazing your skin, desperate to taste you again.

“What is it?” He coos back.

“I want to finish with you,” you say helplessly. And your hand reaches down between the two of you onto his still-clothed crotch, taking his girth between your hand and giving a light squeeze. He’s wet, as though he’s already finished once for you, and he whimpers powerlessly at the contact.

“Fuck,” he whimpers, shutting his eyes in pleasure at the sensation. “Fuck, touch it again, will you?”

You chuckle lightly in response, looping a finger into the hem of his boxers and tugging down.

“I can do a lot more than just touch you,” you tell him, allowing his fingers to depart from your entrance as you position yourself over him. He watches too as you tug his boxers over his crotch, his eyebrows arching in preemptive arousal as he feels the cool air graze his exposed flesh. And when his cock is finally free, growing erotically against the concave of his abdomen, you can’t help but gasp, completely in awe at the sight.

He’s much bigger than you’d anticipated, a thick girth lined with pink protruding veins and a generous length, his cock almost red at the tip and leaking with precum.

“Fuck,” Jisung says for a third time, feeling another bead drip down his length at the prospect of you watching.

“Is it okay if-”

Jisung doesn’t let you finish your sentence before he’s nodding eagerly, practically begging you to ride him. And you waste no time indulging him in the request, positioning your entrance over him and steadying yourself with two hands on his broad shoulders. He says nothing as he waits, his nails digging into the small of your back as he shuts his eyes, reveling in the sensation of your body so close to his. And then before he can meet your gaze again, you’re sliding down the slick of his length with complete ease, almost bottoming out fully as he opens his eyes again and whimpers loudly.

He’s already pulsating rhythmically inside of you, the tip of his cock kissing your walls as you move even lower, precum mixing with your wetness and producing a light sloshing sound as you begin to move up and down.

His eyes watch your pussy swallow him for a few motions, doing his best to stave off his orgasm as you pant at the sensation. You can feel him all the way in your stomach, filling you up so fully and deeply, labored breaths leaving your lips as his whimpers fill the room. And then you capture him in a wet kiss again, just barely grazing your lips over his as his voice rises in pitch.

“Shit, I can’t,” he whines, gripping your skin a little tighter. “I’m gonna cum so fast.”

“It’s okay,” you emphasize, clenching around his girth and smiling against him. “We have all night.”

The words make him twitch once inside of you, the thought of fucking you a second time making him dizzy with anticipation. Any fleeting thought that this might be a bad idea is completely dissipated from his mind, replaced with unwavering pleasure and his longing to fill you up the way he’s imagined for the better part of the semester now.

“Can I cum inside of you?” He groans, using two hands to move you down his length a little deeper, your clit grinding softly against his abdomen as he bottoms out inside of you. “Jesus, you feel so good.”

You nod in response to him, burying your head in the crook of his neck as he continues to help you, one finger stimulating your clit again as beads of sweat trickle down his forehead.

For a while, no one says anything, the only sounds present between the two of you being the gentle slosh of your juices around his girth and the helpless panting that bridges the gap between your bodies. Your moans and his whimpers are a lot like the discoordinate piano pieces he analyzes so deeply, fading in and out of pace and searching relentlessly for resolution.

And as you crescendo toward your release, you can’t help but take note of how right it feels to be here with him, consuming each other the way you pour yourself into your music, as he does his work. He had asked you earlier where you’d been all his college life- but you know you’re supposed to be together like this now, regardless of his relationship to you. Had he been ten, twenty years your senior, you wouldn’t care- it’s your souls that keep you intertwined like this, the way he sees you for your passions and your interests, beyond just the traditional sense of a student and a teacher. He’s so much more than that- he’s so much more than just a professor.

As Jisung reaches back to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, you feel yourself clench once around his pulsing girth, and then you let go entirely around him, grasping his broad chest as you breathe out his name like a prayer in the duration of your release.

“Jisung,” you moan against him, allowing his first name rather than his professional title to linger between your two listless bodies.

“Y/n,” he groans back, shutting his eyes briefly and arching up his eyebrows. And then as you tremble in exhaustion around him, legs aching from working yourself to your finish, he reaches his finish, too, shooting generous ropes of cum up inside of you and wrapping two arms around you to pull you closer to him.

He remains like that through his finish, his head finding purchase in the valley of your breasts, resting against the chest that rises and falls with deep breaths as his release dribbles down out of you.

And neither of you make any haste movements to get cleaned up just yet, allowing yourselves to remain pressed up against each other, hands tenderly caressing flesh and limbs tangled together.

In the midst of massaging his soft ebony locks, the pads of his fingers clinging tenaciously to your body, you can feel the presence of tears graze your chest, soft sniffles emitting from his flushed face against you. He weeps for you- for his guilt, for yearning, for the confirmation that he’s not better than his filthy conscience after all. And contrastly, because he knows he has all night to do it again, and again, and again.

*

By the morning, your bodies are sore and bruised, sunbeams absent through the giant glass windows of Jisung’s apartment as it continues to rain outside. There’s a chill in the air as thick clouds of fog caress the windows, and not even the layered duvet of Jisung’s bed is enough to warm your still-nude body.

You blink in a state of confusion around you, not realizing where you are momentarily. It’s not until you eye the stacks of music books, loose sheet music and picture frames that you recall last night’s events.

How many times had he fucked you- four, maybe five times? You can’t remember; you do remember he was good at it, switching back and forth between having his way with you, and then submitting to you again, letting you take the reins and ride him until you physically couldn’t anymore. As you sit up in bed, you catch a glimpse of him beside you, his bruised chest visible under the white duvet that drapes lazily over him and covers only his lower half.

He’s still asleep, lips parted innocently and his hair tousled around his chiseled face. He’s also in need of a shave, flaunting a generous patch of stubble on his chin. And you’re not sure he’s ever looked so tantalizing to you before.

When he hears you stirring about, his eyes flutter open, meeting your tired gaze and rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. He begins to say something, but then he gets quiet again, sighing deeply and shutting his eyes once more. You observe as his lips pull back into a sheepish grin, his straight teeth exposed as he chuckles lightly.

“We’re in trouble, aren’t we?” He says with a groan. And you simply shrug in response, lying back down beside him, resting one hand on your pillow as he turns over to face you.

It’s a little more real at this proximity, the fact that you’re in bed alongside your professor. But the point still stands- it doesn’t feel awkward, nor do you regret any part of what unfolded yesterday. It’s like something that was bound to happen- if not last night, it would’ve been a week from now, maybe two weeks- definitely not three considering how long you’ve been thinking about him.

Jisung swallows from across you, his hand tucked under his pillow, too, and he watches as you reach out to trace the mole he flaunts on his cheek. It’s not one you’ve had the pleasure of noticing until now- it’s really not one that can be noticed from the vast distance between a lecture chair and a podium. But beside him in his bed, you take notice of everything- the mole in his cheek, the flutter of his long lashes, the sheer guilt he still wears on his face.

“Come on,” Jisung says from beside you, cocking his head in the direction of his bedroom door. “I’ll make you coffee.”

“The blue hair was a bold choice,” you say to Jisung, gripping a warm mug of coffee in hand as you sit cross-legged on his wooden flooring.

You’re in nothing but one of his t-shirts, your hair still messy from last night’s events and lipstick staining the edge of the white mug he’s provided you with. He’s a little more put together this morning, despite canceling today’s classes, a white woolen cardigan enveloping his figure and gray sweatpants hung loosely around his toned legs.

“I dyed my hair a lot back then,” he says from his spot on the couch, staring up at the photograph you admire.

And for some reason, the utterance of “back then” makes you laugh, the way he speaks as though he’s twenty years older than he is. He’s really just six years beyond you, a gap that most would overlook had he not been a professor. And sure, he already boasts a master’s degree and years of experience, but it’s not as though you’re not on the same path yourself.

“Why did you stop?” You ask, turning to meet his tired gaze.

He sighs momentarily, bringing the mug up to his lips for a sip, and then he shrugs at you.

“It’s not professional,” he says plainly. “I had to look the part.”

You smile at him, shaking your head before responding.

“Not the hair,” you emphasize. “Directing. Why’d you stop directing?”

It’s the first time you’ve asked the question so boldly, despite pondering it for all the time you’ve known him. And his composure turns uncomfortable again, as though the question implies much more than it lets on.

“You don’t have to answer,” you say to him after a brief silence, feeling guilty for having overstepped. But Jisung shakes his head, furrowing his eyebrows before speaking again.

“It was eating me alive,” he explains, his gaze falling to a distant stack of books as he thinks back to his days as a director. “I couldn’t do anything else. I couldn’t focus on anything. I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t sleep- I wanted to be the best. I just wasn’t a very good person.”

You nod at his words- it’s a phenomenon you know very well already, being a music major yourself. The soul-crushing weight of turning everything into a competition, of bypassing your peers and losing loved ones along the way. You’re pretty sure your lack of friends in college can be largely attributed to the same thing.

“Well I think you’re a good person,” you say finally, but his gaze still doesn’t find yours. You can tell there’s more he wants to say- but he remains there, staring into the distance, pondering a lifetime of regret he’ll continue to take with him if he doesn’t at least try to address the hurt.

“I wasn’t,” is all he can say, earning another head shake from you.

“You can’t blame yourself for wanting to be good, Jisung. I’m sure you feel the same thing working as a professor. Besides, that doesn’t mean you can’t-”

“I was a lousy husband,” Jisung finally blurts out, and your eyes snap to his gaze again, finally making contact with his trembling eyes.

“Husband?” You echo, and he swallows nervously.

“I married so young,” Jisung tells you now, folding his legs on the couch in front of him. “I thought it was the right move, fresh out of college with a girl I’d been dating for four years. I had everything- a job, a wife, a sense of stability.”

You’re taken aback by the admission, never once having taken Jisung to be a formerly-married man. He is young, and aside from the sexual tension that’s risen between the two of you, he shows no interest in pursuing another partner.

“The divorce cost me everything,” Jisung says, his eyes glazing over again as he recounts the story. “I was responsible for somebody walking away from what they believed was a lifetime of stability. And she knew it, too, that I was lousy. She told me- her parents told me. I just wanted to be the best at my work. And it cost me everything. So I quit. And I opted for something that wouldn’t drive me crazy anymore.”

Jisung’s heart races wildly in his chest as he speaks, and then he’s hit with the realization that he’s venting to a student of his- one who shouldn’t be occupying his apartment in the first place. One he slept with several times last night- one who he feels oddly safe confiding in. But a student, nonetheless.

“I don’t know why I’m telling you this,” Jisung finally says, furrowing his brows again. “I’m sorry- maybe you should go.”

You remain quiet, still sat on the floor, not even halfway finished with the cup of coffee he’s brewed. And he feels bad again, knowing it’s not fair to be taking his frustration out on you.

“Do you want me to leave?” You ask in a meek voice. Jisung chews the inside of his lip, meeting your gaze with a sorrowful expression. At first he shrugs, like he might indeed want you out of this space he calls home. But then he shakes his head sheepishly, shrinking back into the couch cushions and sighing heavily.

You’re not entirely sure what to say to him, not wanting to overstep any boundaries, but longing to keep him company. He just seems lonely, you can’t help but think to yourself. He’s so ridden with loneliness, and guilt and yearning for more.

“Jisung,” you say to him, setting your mug aside and folding your hands in your lap.

He meets your gaze again, a sort of heavy, exhausted expression on his face.

“Do you really think Mozart’s Sonata no. 12 is missing something?” You then ask him, referring to the annotations from his textbook.

He keeps his gaze set on yours, fascinated you’ve remembered his penned-in opinions on the aforementioned works from class. And then he nods lightly, humming a little in response to you.

“There’s no resolution,” Jisung huffs. “It just fades into nothingness.”

You nod back at him, sitting back on the palms of your hands and cocking your head slightly.

“That's a resolution to some listeners,” you say to him. “Maybe you just desire something beyond those last notes.”

His gaze flickers over your knowing expression, pondering the way you speak of the familiar tune.

“Maybe you ought to seek what a resolution is to you.”

*

“I think Professor Han is fucking somebody,” Mina says to you one day as she gets ready in front of the full-length mirror across from her bed.

“Why do you say that?” You retort with a small chuckle, your interest piqued at her words.

“Haven’t you noticed he cancels class a lot?” She replies, wiping a mascara smudge off from below her left eye. “He runs late all the time now, he just shows up in a t-shirt when he does lecture. And he just seems happier, overall. That’s every indication that he’s getting some action.”

You thumb the pages of your textbook- or rather, Professor Han’s textbook, red pen grasped between your fingers as you finish up an annotation.

An annotation you pen in just for him- responses to his music suggestions, comments about his analyses and flirting between the lines of music notes. The textbook is exchanged back and forth between the two of you, conversing secretly between the thin pages of music theory, producing poetry from a language only the two of you speak- by each other, and for each other.

Sometimes you imagine it the way Mozart and Constanze’s relationship unfolded- secret, but robust, full of passion and yearning for one another.

And when you tell Jisung about it later that week, he practically doubles over in laughter, eyes forming little crescents as the melodious tune of his “ha ha’s” fills the space between the two of you.

“I guess I never realized how presumptuous you students can be,” he says, pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose.

He doesn’t seem worried in the slightest- at least not with this cautious system the two of you have developed to maintain the secrecy. You don’t linger in his classroom when lectures conclude, careful not to make it too obvious that you’re waiting around for him. Instead, you meet him at his apartment, just a few blocks away from campus and void of people who might piece together the reality of the situation, like Mina. It’s convenient that she doesn’t seem to suspect anything regarding why you’re always absent from your shared dorm now, considering she’s always at her boyfriend’s place, anyway. And although Jisung makes a mental promise to himself to stop canceling his evening classes so frequently, he can’t help it.

He’s just as drawn to you as you are to him, finding solace in the way he can finally confide in somebody after so long. Jisung thinks back to the way he handled the divorce so privately, quietly putting in his two weeks notice as a musical director and opting for a career path which didn’t take so much of his time and sanity.

He recalls the majority of his friends and family acknowledging what a lousy husband he’d been, and the feeling of knowing he’d made a colossal mistake agreeing to marry so young when he could hardly grasp what he even wanted further down the line. But to you, he’s just a work in progress- you’re still enchanted by the way his mistakes are rooted in sheer passion for his work. The way he lights up when he speaks of his old days as a director, the alluring poetry he produces for you between the pages of a course-assigned textbook. He’s so much more than his mistakes- he’s so much more than the evident loneliness, and guilt, and yearning he harbors.

And although the physical aspect is but a minuscule factor of the relationship, it’s still undeniably sweeping, as though it’s another language the two of you share in secrecy. Jisung had admitted once that he hadn’t even been with another woman following the divorce- a fact which you now know to be true, the way he fucks with such desperation, as though he’s going to lose you to the same careless mistakes as before. But he also understands that you’re different, and that you don’t apprehend him for any of his former mistakes.

He indulges you in tales of his days directing, one arm slung lazily around your waist as he holds you close and plays old films of the symphonic band in action. And it’s more captivating to watch him get lost in his work, the way his eyes glaze over as he watches himself on screen, the thin black baton waving around in rushed motions as the band plays. He wears elegant suits lined with brass buttons and expensive cufflinks, and the expression on his face when the on-screen symphony turns to him for direction- hundreds of eyes eagerly awaiting his next move, as though he controls them. Pairs of eyes who actually give a shit about the field of work- not just make an appearance for a grade. He grins ear to ear when you pry for more answers, and especially when you conflate the pieces to that of your own, mentally recalling your own piano sheet music. And when you deluge him in compliments, reminding him that he’s remarkable for all that he’s done, and he’s still remarkable- as a professor, and even following his divorce, he can’t help but grow hard at the affection, reveling in the robust support and the love he’s not sure he’s ever felt before you.

He’ll often make love to you right there on the sofa, symphonic pieces still playing faintly on the tv in the background, and he’ll do it again and again to convey the reminder that he’s grateful, and that no one has ever heard him the way that you do.

*

One month into the arrangement, Jisung texts you in a sheer panic, requesting you meet him in the east lecture hall. It’s extremely uncharacteristic of him to make efforts to meet in the one place you could get caught, but still you adhere to his request, throwing on a sweater and rushing out of your vacant dorm to the east side of campus.

The campus buildings are almost haunting at this hour, no more than two, maybe three students in sight under the dim glow of the lamps that line the concrete pathways. The building names are also completely indistinguishable at this hour amidst the sheer darkness, and the only sounds that can be heard are the distant chirp of crickets and the occasional roll of a skateboard. When you arrive at the grand hall, you quickly realize it’s no longer accessible, closed off by rows of fencer wire and shut off entirely from the rest of the school.

“It’s finally done for,” a voice says from beside you, and you know it to be Jisung’s before even turning to face him.

“Already? I thought construction was supposed to begin next semester, though.”

Jisung shakes his head, hands stuffed in his pockets as he exhales deeply.

“I got the email today,” he says in a frustrated tone. “Just some short thing about not delaying the project. They’re moving me to the tiny little hall around the corner.”

You take a moment to think over the hall he speaks of- it might as well be a mobile classroom with how small it is in size, just one narrow hallway that branches off into a line of 3 other rooms. The desks are reminiscent of those from your high school days, and you can’t remember the heating ever having worked during your time passing through, the hall constantly freezing when it rains.

“I didn’t even get a proper send-off,” he reiterates, his gaze not moving from the bright orange temporary fencing. “I would’ve taken a moment to appreciate it one last time.”

You think for a moment, taking a brief moment to glance around you at the eerily empty campus, and then you turn back to Jisung with a small shrug.

“Don’t you still have your keys?”

“Yeah,” he says, scratching the back of his head awkwardly. “But…”

Jisung doesn’t finish his sentence, instead pondering the suggestion as he keeps his gaze on the fencing. He knows it would be reckless, practically breaking into the old lecture hall like this to give it one last look, but he’s also overtaken with frustration and a longing for closure.

“I do have my old keys,” he says suddenly, glancing around the vacant buildings nearby, at the faint silhouettes of shadowy trees and dim streetlamps. You watch curiously as he runs a hand along the tip of the neon orange fence, pushing down to locate where it gives in a little. And just at the very end of it, it does, pulling down much further and lowering just enough so that it’s adequate to climb over. Jisung hoists himself over the fencing, his muscular arms steadying himself as he lifts one leg over the fence, followed by the other, and then grounds himself in the muddy grass on the other side. It's the first time you take notice that he’s in a simple pair of blue jeans, brushing mud off his toned thighs and then meeting your gaze again.

“Come on,” he says to you, nearing the fence again and holding a hand out, beckoning you to follow his lead. You don’t think twice before you’re mirroring his actions, hoisting your frame over the plastic fencing and planting two feet in the mud, Jisung helping you regain your balance with his calloused hands finding purchase on your waist and then interlocking his fingers with yours.

“I hope they haven’t changed the locks yet,” he says, leading you to the familiar grand entrance of the lecture hall. His keys are fished out of the pockets of his jeans, jingling softly as he twists his gold key into the lock, and then with an affirmative thud of the door being pushed open, he smiles to himself, beckoning for you to follow him inside.

The lecture hall is even more eerie than the campus is at this hour, not a single light illuminating the dark wooden floors that span the tower. The moonlit glow through the windows flashes with the gentle wave of trees that almost grazes against the glass panes, and you can’t quite distinguish where the gargantuan ceilings even end in this darkness. Jisung makes his way to the spiral staircase to the right of the room, craning his neck up to get a good view of the room, and then he beckons you again with the wave of his hand.

“They haven’t touched the stairs yet,” he says, beginning up the stairs with one hand cascading along the wooden banister. You follow behind him, the only sound echoing around the hall being the familiar loud creak of the stairs as you make your ascent. And for the first time, it’s a sound you realize you’re going to miss very dearly, never having realized it was something you took for granted all this time. The way these stairs obnoxiously announce your arrival when you’re late to class with a coffee in hand, or how the wooden steps boom in volume when students rush down them in hordes toward their next class. Although you’ll have graduated and moved on by then, the knowledge that everything is going to be different remains a jarring fact.

At the top of the stairs, it’s comforting to see that nothing looks different just yet, the podium still intact and rows of chairs folded neatly in their places. Jisung doesn’t make any move to turn on the lights, careful not to reveal that anyone’s broken into the old building, and he makes his way to the podium, staring out at the sea of vacant chairs that sit untouched amidst the darkness.

“I loved this room,” he says after a moment of silence, his voice laced with regret.

You span the perimeter behind the podium, grazing your hands along the old walls, recalling how many times you’d stared at them beyond Jisung’s pacing figure as he spoke of composers and musical theory.

When you make your way to the podium alongside him, mirroring the way he stares out at the empty seats, he glances at you briefly out of his peripheral vision. Jisung wonders if you can tell that the demolition of this room is so painfully metaphorical for him, like one final indication that he deserves no better than the confines of a dingy little room far away from this one. As though every time he feels he’s that much closer to redeeming himself following a nasty divorce, he’s shut out again, misplaced, suddenly right back to where he was five years ago. Misguided, lost, full of regret and a permanent yearning for resolution- one that never seems to come.

In fact, he’s pretty sure you’re the closest he’s ever gotten to one, when you’re assuring him that there is a life beyond the mistakes he made in his early 20s- that the curse of pondering his place here doesn’t have to define him entirely. And that there’s always still time- to love, to better himself, and to revisit the passion which once drove him mad.

It doesn’t mean it’s going to repeat itself, you had told him once. You could do it differently.

“I don’t think Mozart’s Sonata no. 12 needed a coda,” you say to him, breaking the deafening silence between you two in the vast empty space of the room.

Jisung finally turns to look at you, hands still stuffed in the pockets of his jeans as he replies.

“Why’s that?”

“It doesn’t need to repeat the entire first part,” you explain to him. “That part is emphasized enough. I think the listener should appreciate that it just ends where it ends.”

Jisung thinks over your words for a moment, not entirely sure why you’ve brought up the piece way back from chapter 8 of his lectures. And yet he nods in response, his breath hitching in the back of his throat a little when you turn to face him, too.

“I like that it’s a little unclear,” you finally say to him.

And this time he doesn’t respond- not with words at least, opting to pull you in for a gentle kiss, his hands working their way down the small of your back. His lips feel somber against yours, like he seeks to inhibit his sadness with the tender touch of your lips against his, pushing you back against the wooden podium and spinning you around to work kisses down your neck.

There are no words spoken between the two of you, just the vibration of small moans echoing from your lips as he sucks a hickey into your flesh, even though he knows he shouldn’t mark you. And yet he does, a physical reminder that you belong to him, and hopefully one to convey the notion that you’re the closest thing he’s ever gotten to resolution.

Jisung’s hands work your blouse open, his jeans pressing into you from behind, already rock-hard for you as his hands tug off your shirt. And he giggles against your flesh when you gasp at the cold air that grazes your skin.

“Jisung,” you say to him, your hands gripping the wood of the podium. “We probably shouldn’t do this here.”

It’s he who brushes off the lewd act, consoling you with the unzip of his jeans, his bulge pressing into your thigh as he continues to work kisses down your neck.

“We won’t get caught, baby,” he says as his fingers rub circles over your clothed core under the thin fabric of your skirt. “I promise.”

And then it’s you tugging your own panties down, allowing him full access to your wet cunt as the palm of his hand works you in rhythmic back and forth motions. He doesn’t even need to touch you- not when you’re already dripping for him. And yet he remains like that for several minutes, breathing heavily into the shell of your ear as your moans echo around the dark lecture hall, his cock only growing harder against you with every touch.

It’s undoubtedly arousing for him to look out at the classroom he’s lectured in for so many years, one he usually associates with nervous test-takers and monotonous speeches- and to watch the very same space be filled with your gasps of pleasure. His eyes scan over the very seat you occupy every week, recalling the times he’s fantasized about exactly this- touching you the way he knows you deserve to be touched and making you his in the forbidden confines of a classroom. Without so much as a word, his boxers are pulled down too, positioning you in front of him and allowing his fingers to wrap around the base of his leaky cock. He strokes himself just once, eyes shutting at the sensation of his tip brushing against your warm flesh. And then he prods into your entrance, tapping ever so gently as his other hand intertwines with yours.

You take him with complete ease, the way you always do when he’s fucking you this sweetly, giving his hand a gentle squeeze as indication to speed up his movements. But he doesn’t- he just maintains a steady pace inside of you, his hips smacking lightly against yours as he resumes wet kisses along your shoulder.

A million thoughts graze his mind as he fucks you- like the fading notes of Mozart’s Sonata no. 12, and how evidently his annotations referencing a coda have resonated with you. Or the tales of Mozart and Constanze’s secret love, of Johannes Brahms and Clara Schumann and a lifetime of unrequited romance that never quite got its closure. Jisung thinks about the nights you two spend in his apartment, watching reruns of him directing symphonies, or mornings when he cancels class because all he can do is lie entangled with you and bask in the love you two share in the privacy of his home.

His mind also goes back to the divorce, a constant pain he carries with him, remembering all the ways he let other people down in efforts to focus on his career and his love of music. Nights he stayed out far too long annotating sheets of music, knowing very well that his wife was waiting up for him. Anniversaries he forgot, birthdays he failed to prioritize because music always came first. And consequently, begging his ex-wife to stay, knowing very well she had already made up her mind- that he was a lousy person, far too consumed by his career and incapable of loving the way she had.

Jisung’s movements pick up in pace as he thinks about the future of this old building- soon demolished into a pile of dust, the old walls crumbling despite the years of history pent up inside of it. Tests failed and lectures given, days he spent funneling that same passion into something entirely new, because directing was never the same once he understood what a neglectful husband he’d been. The walls to be painted blinding shades of cobalt blue and white, like a fucking dentist’s office, and not an inch of the building to suggest it had ever housed an appreciation for music, simply replaced by a basketball court and cold metal bleachers.

He also thinks about you, and how you made the semester far more tolerable, your beaming smile and your curiosity about not only music, but him, serving as a beacon of hope that perhaps this wasn’t all in vain. And your comforting words helping him understand that perhaps this isn’t what he wants after all, that this chapter of life may very well crumble along with this old building. Maybe this is the end, like resilient music notes approaching the finale of a symphonic piece- and he can either allow the fading discoordination to mark the finish- or take to the da segno, and start again.

Maybe a coda is sooner than he thinks- maybe resolution is closer than he thinks.

You’re well aware of Jisung’s now rapid movements inside of you, gasping at the sheer size of his swollen cock grazing your walls, your hand tightly gripping his and your mind wandering to where his currently lies.

But you can’t verbalize the curiosity- not when he’s interrupting you to tilt your face to his, planting a wet, open-mouthed kiss on your mouth and breathing desire back into you.

His fingers prod themselves into your mouth as he fucks you, murmuring little pleas to let him watch you taste yourself, his cock inserting in tandem with his fingers as he matches their pace. Your moans are stifled as your tongue swirls his fingers, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you let the pleasure overtake you.

And then he slides his fingers out for a moment, watching strings of saliva drip so erotically down your parted lips as you continue to take his cock obediently.

“I love you,” he says like it’s an epiphany. But it’s not- he reckons he’s known it for a long time now, almost scared at the intensity of his emotions for you. He’s not quite sure he loved his wife like this, and he’s not sure he knew he was even capable of loving again. In fact, Jisung only knows that he truly loved one thing in his lifetime- music. Music, and now you.

“How could I ever ask for a better woman?” He breathes against your skin, goosebumps rising as his words echo Mozart’s letter to Constanze’s father and echo in the vast, empty room.

Your reciprocation is muffled with the re-insertion of his fingers in your mouth as he reaches his finish inside of you, painting your walls with his release, holding you close and stimulating your clit again as he coaxes an orgasm out of you, too. And the finish is nowhere near fading, nor discoordinate, as the echoes of your moans reverberate off the walls and fill the emptiness with your passionate yearning for one another.

Da segno

Returning to the dorms to find Mina in her bed for once is a shock to you- especially considering she’s been speaking of a camping trip with her boyfriend for several weeks now.

At first you check your phone, briefly, thinking maybe you’ve gotten the date wrong. But you haven’t- it’s a Friday evening, the same evening you know she should be on route to her planned trip with Lucas.

She’s propped up in bed, carefully examining something when you make your way past her, eyebrows furrowed and deep in thought.

“Hey Mina,” you say to her cautiously, pulling your sweater up a little higher up on your neck.

She doesn’t reply, eyebrows still furrowed as she keeps her head down. And then she chuckles lightly, still not looking up at you.

“I feel like you’re out more than I am these days,” she says to you, and you can’t quite make out whether she’s being condescending or cordial with you.

“Yeah,” you reply nervously, sitting on the edge of your bed across from her and crossing your arms. “Just been trying to take more walks.”

Mina purses her lips, nodding, and then she exhales sharply before she speaks again.

“Lucas broke up with me,” she explains. But she doesn’t sound sad, or even angry- she simply relays the news with a straight face, not even glancing up to catch your shocked expression.

“He did?” You blurt out, feeling an overwhelming sense of sympathy for her- of course you don’t really care for Mina, but you also know how frequently she’s out with him, how highly she speaks of him and how in love she’s been with him for all the years they’ve been together.

“Yeah,” she reaffirms, sighing as she speaks. “He’d been cheating for several months. I’m over it now- I just thought I might get a head-start on this week's notes.”

You nod at her again, still aware she seems to be repressing something, far too casual for your liking and almost ready to lash out at any given second.

“That’s good,” you tell her, crossing your legs on the bed. “I’m really sorry. Let me know if you need anything-”

“I did find this week’s chapter to be particularly interesting,” she interrupts, slouching further back against the wall by her bed.

It’s your turn to furrow your brows, a little confused by her behavior, especially considering she hardly ever reads assigned textbook chapters.

“Listen to this,” Mina says, and then her lips pull into a wicked grin as she begins down the page, her voice laced with rancor.

“I must make you better acquainted with the character of my dear y/n,” she begins, and your heart all but stops in your chest.

It’s then that you notice the textbook in her grasp, the familiar old font and the yellowing of the pages- Professor Han’s textbook, the same one riddled with erotic poetry between the lines of music theory.

“Mina, please-” you begin, voice cracking, a futile task as she raises her voice and continues speaking.

“Her whole beauty consists of two sparkling eyes and a delicate figure,” she reads. “She likes to watch me direct symphonies, and she knows music theory like the back of her hand.”

Your heart races in your chest, mind swirling with fearful thoughts as she voices the familiar love letter back to you. Professor Han’s most recent addition to the textbook, derived from Mozart’s letter to Constanze’s father, and a written account of Jisung’s affection for you. A letter you’ve read over and over since he produced it, and the same one you so carelessly left lying open on your dorm bed in a rush to go see him at the lecture hall.

“She likes to hear the stories of famous composers and their romances, and she lets me make love to her as though she belongs to me,” Mina reads, her voice growing even louder as you now approach her. Your hands reach desperately for the book, which she holds away from your reach as she now stands up on her bed, her feet digging into the mattress as she steadies herself with one hand on the wall.

“Please, stop,” you beg, to no avail, as she then concludes the letter.

“Most things that a student neglects, she excels in. I love her and she loves me with all her being- tell me whether I could ask for a better woman.”

The room falls painfully quiet as she finishes, thumbing through the pages with a soft rustling sound.

“That’s just one,” she says, maintaining the same wicked expression on her face. “The book is full of them.”

And then she shuts the book, examining the cover, meeting your gaze as she assumes her position back down on the mattress and crosses her legs.

“This is the professor’s textbook, right? That’s why it looks a little different. I had wondered, when I first snatched it from your stuff.”

You stay quiet, your gaze falling to the floor as tears brim your eyes. You want to fight back, but in reality, the book serves as admission itself- there’s no denying it’s a letter from him, to you. It’s incriminating by his loopy cursive handwriting, the book she’s seen him wield so many times in the classroom during lectures and the way he speaks of making love to you.

“You’re fucking Professor Han?” She finally says aloud, and the words sting, although you’ve been expecting them.

“It’s not like that-”

“That’s why you’re doing so well in his class? While the rest of us bust our asses studying for his stupid quizzes? What do you even do, suck him off when nobody’s looking? How big is he?”

“Stop!” You exclaim, the tears now cascading down your flushed cheeks and gathering on your trembling chin.

Mina says nothing as she wears the same stupid smirk on her face, and then she tosses the book to you, which you grasp in your shaky hands. You hold it close to you, wishing so badly you could undo whatever it is she’s seen in the book, but you know that it’s far too late- the book is no longer a sacred little thing between you and Jisung.

“What do you want?” You say to her quietly, sniffling as you tuck the book under your duvet.

“What do I want?” She echoes.

“Yes,” you huff frustratedly. “Anything. Just please don’t tell the dean about this- or anyone, for that matter. I promise to do whatever it is that you ask, especially since-”

Your rambling comes to a sudden halt when Mina begins laughing, her hands clutching her stomach as she does, almost doubling over on the bed and kicking her feet with enthusiasm.

“Do you think I’m gonna blackmail you, or something?” She questions between laughter, meeting your gaze with tears in her eyes as she continues giggling between words.

“I always knew you were weird,” she remarks. “Not like, ‘fuck a professor’ weird. But it is weird that you think I’m gonna blackmail you.”

You don’t say anything to Mina, sitting on your bed again and sprawling one hand out to rest atop the book, which remains hidden under the duvet.

“You mean… you… won’t tell?”

“I’m impressed,” Mina replies, now lying on her side and propping her head up in her hand. “He is the hottest professor on campus. But no, I’m not going to tell anyone. Contrary to your belief, I really don’t care to ruin either of your lives. I have more important things to worry about.”

You sigh a heavy breath, relieved that Mina’s taken the high road and chosen to ignore the situation altogether. But you can’t cease the heavy weight it bears within you, one that fears not for your future, but for Professor Han’s. You know the majority wouldn’t believe it, the tale that this was a mutual thing between the two of you, that he’s just a pained divorcee, and you’re a lonely college student. To the masses, it would look like complete manipulation, Professor Han requiring a sexual relationship from you for an A in his course, and keeping the discrete flirting alive within the pages of his textbook. It’s more irresponsible on his end than it is yours- and although you both know it’s wrong, it still feels different. It still feels as though it’s rooted in yearning.

“I still need a textbook,” Mina says, breaking the silence between you two. “Like, for this week’s chapters.”

“Oh, right,” you say to her quietly, reaching inside your school bag for the correct book. You toss it to her without another word, observing the way she flips to the page she was on, and resumes reading as though nothing happened.

But her voice still replays in your head, reading aloud the sacred letter Professor Han produced for you within his textbook, one that never should have graced anybody else’s eyesight except your own.

And the tears resume as you watch her, a heavy guilt present as the words play in your mind again, and again, and again.

*

Jisung’s apartment doesn’t feel the way it normally does later that week- not when you’re first sauntering in with meek steps, being flooded by a barrage of questions about why you’ve skipped class for two weeks. And especially not when you finally recount the incident to Jisung, tears flooding your eyes and cascading down the deep gray bags that hammock under your lashes. The nights have been sleepless for all fourteen days, tossing and turning on your mattress about whether Mina is actually going to keep her promise about not telling. And she appears to, failing to acknowledge it whenever she’s in your presence, visibly still coping with the aftermath of her breakup. She simply comes and goes in casual strides, sometimes still borrowing your textbook from you and returning it far later than you care for, but it really doesn’t matter by this point. You’ve stopped reading the textbook entirely, coming to terms with the fact that you’ll have to rely on your own knowledge to pass any of the assignments distributed. And Jisung knows something is wrong when he finally does see you after two weeks, dressed loosely in a pair of sweatpants, your face flushed with tears and averting his gaze.

“You’re going to be so mad at me,” you emphasize to him, shielding the tears that fall from your trembling eyes with one hand, as he crouches on the floor in front of you and gives your hand a little squeeze.

And he’s adamant that nothing could make him hate you- that whatever it is you’re facing can be worked through, and that he’s going to stand by you regardless. Yet when you recount the incident to him, explaining the way Mina had read through his written confessions of sleeping with you and expressing his love for you, Jisung falls completely silent- a reaction which is somehow more scary to you than vexed words.

“Are you sure she knows it’s mine?” He asks, pulling away to stand in front of you. He feels much taller when he’s towering over you like this, pacing frantically along the wooden floorboards and chewing on the inside of his lip nervously.

“I’m sure,” you reply quietly. “She must’ve been reading it the entire time I was out. It has your name in it and everything.”

Jisung is quiet again, thinking over your words, and then he places his hands on his hips as he speaks again.

“Did she say anything else?” He inquires.

“She said that she wouldn’t tell anybody. As far as I know, she hasn’t. I just feel-”

“I’m never going to get it now,” he then says, running his hands through his hair nervously and glancing around the room.

“Get what?”

“Jesus,” he says, almost chuckling in disbelief. “I spent all this time interviewing, and if this gets out it could ruin everything.”

“Interviewing?” You echo meekly.

“Just when I thought I had it all again. I was so close to being back. Getting out of this shitty job and making a name for myself again.”

Jisung assumes a spot in one of the chairs across from you, burying his head in his hands and remaining silent. You want to ask him to clarify what he means by interviewing, but you’re also scared of him when he’s like this, knowing he’s reverting back to the version of himself who puts music above everything.

“You couldn’t just make something up?” Jisung then asks, scoffing lightly as he finally meets your gaze.

“What?”

“You couldn’t just fucking lie? Why on earth would you admit to it?”

“Lie?” You repeat to him with a shaky voice. “What did you want me to say?”

“Say I wasn’t interested in you,” Jisung retorts. “Say you were writing the letters to yourself. You’re putting my entire career at risk because you couldn’t be bothered to put my book away?”

You’re taken aback momentarily by Jisung’s words, hardly making sense of them at first. There’s no way he could be blaming you for this- not when he’s just as guilty as you are. In fact, Professor Han may be more guilty, acting upon his urges when he knows the power imbalance he wields over you- you’re just a student of his, nowhere near the status he upholds at this school. But as he continues prodding you for questions about why you hadn’t just lied, or made a bullshit excuse, or something, the message is conveyed loud and clear. He’s blaming you entirely for being found out.

“This is about directing,” you say when the realization hits you, almost laughing at the sheer absurdity of it.

“Of course it’s about directing,” he retorts, throwing his hands in the air and scoffing loudly. “I worked my ass off interviewing for one of the most prestigious roles a few hours out of here, I got an offer just yesterday, and now this is going to ruin everything. When they hear about the little fling I had, and they assume I coerced you into it, when you know damn well you led me on. And it’s going to be my divorce all over again.”

A silence falls over the room as you take in his words. You suddenly feel microscopic in his presence as the betrayal sets in, and for the first time since the arrangement, the discomfort of this being a student-teacher relationship washes over you.

“It’s not going to get out,” you say to him softly. “Mina hasn’t told anybody, and I’ll make sure it stays that way.”

Jisung gives a small nod at your words, and then he slides his hands into the pocket of his jeans.

“I hate that you don’t realize when you’re doing the same thing all over again,” you then say to him, averting his stern gaze.

“What are you talking about?”

“Why are we even doing this?” You continue, scoffing lightly. “Is this some sick way of reenacting the same mistakes you did before, and hoping for a different outcome? Now your directing days are just within reach again, and you’re doing the same thing, making your shortcoming’s everybody else’s fault except your own. I think you’re more afraid of not being able to relive your glory days than of losing anybody you love.”

“That’s not what this is, and you know that,” Jisung retorts. “You know how I feel about you.”

“Just admit that I’m a distraction because you miss your old life,” you continue, a little calmer now. “It’s the first time your career felt like it once did when you were directing, and in love, and I’m just some good fuck who takes genuine interest in your stories.”

“That’s not what I’m-”

“Do you ever imagine I’m her?” You ask him, meeting his concerned gaze. “When you’re fucking me in your bedroom? Do you ever imagine I’m your ex-wife waiting up for you the way she used to? Pretend you’re still a director and that you finally have everything you want?”

“That’s enough,” Jisung voices, and you shake your head at him.

“You might have been infatuated over some fleeting moment, seeing the face of your ex-wife whenever you looked at me. But I really, truly loved you. And she was right- you are a lousy person. You just can’t seem to understand when your interests take precedence over your emotions.”

Jisung is silent as his lip quivers in response, experiencing all over again what he did on the night his ex-wife left him. He’d always feared it would come back to haunt him- but not like this. Not through repeating the same mistakes all over again- just as he thought he finally found closure.

Like a musical piece with triumphant notes approaching an end, suddenly directing him right back to the symbol forcing repetition. It’s dizzying, and it’s painful, and he’s sure that a conclusion is far from his reach now.

Without another word, you pivot on your heel, gathering your bag and making your way toward his front door again.

“Y/n, please wait,” Jisung calls out, but he can’t find the words to clear his name of your accusations. Instead he remains quiet when you turn to face him, his shoulders sagging in a defeated manner as you shrug in his direction.

“I really think you ought to find what resolution means to you,” you say to him finally. “Repetition isn’t always it.”

*

The dingy old hallway within the radius of the old east lecture hall is indeed just as undesirable as you remembered it- it’s freezing cold when it rains outside, the students struggle to traverse the narrow hall as they brush against each other in passing and the classroom is nowhere near as enchanting as the grand room of the old hall. Made much worse are the stripes of cobalt blue and a blinding shade of white, which line every wall in the building, almost distracting as lectures are conveyed from the front of the room. The students maintain their same positioning as the lecture is given, typing on their laptops, the clicking sounds of keyboards much louder now at this close proximity of all the chairs to each other. And you don’t write down a single thing, staring at the stripes of blue and white on the walls, following their trail from one side of the room until they reach the hinges of the door, and then repeating the process over and over again.

Professor Han’s departure comes as a surprise to many, the students murmuring amongst themselves as they theorize what could cause such a sudden leave. He fought with the dean and quit. He has a terminal illness. He’s sleeping with a student.

Of course some of them come close to the truth, but they’ll never know for sure- not unless they’re one of the two people on campus who do know.

Mina makes an attempt to ask you about it at first, fiddling awkwardly with the pages of your textbook as she inquires about the status of your relationship. She proceeds to ask if you’d known he was leaving, but not before tears are streaming down your face, your words coming out between hiccupped sobs. And all that she’s able to coax out of you is the verbal confirmation that yes, you knew he was leaving, and no, nobody else found out about the arrangement.

Professor Han’s replacement is a shameful excuse for a lecturer, an older man who only knows as much as the textbook explains, and nothing beyond the printed text. He goes so far as to actively discourage questions, expressing his distaste for “wasting time”, yet the students are well aware it’s because he simply doesn’t have the answers they seek. Your classmates don’t care of course, their grades cushioned by the generous 20 points, instead of 10, which Professor Han opted to distribute for the dead composer’s gallery walkthrough as one final parting gift. And aside from one last email thanking the class for their participation in the duration of the few months he taught it, Professor Han promptly makes his departure from your life, too. Not so much as a thank you, an apology or even a love letter the way you know he once would have written, had he not been so consumed by a yearning for his old life. Just like his ex-wife, you’re shut out by him, made to feel as though reciprocated affection is somehow a selfish request. And maybe it is when it comes to Professor Han- maybe he’s truly just incapable of loving without the limitations of his work. Like the famous composers you learn of, he’s a genius in so many ways- just not in romance. And certainly not in learning from his mistakes.

On occasion, you write to him again, tearing out pages from old chapters in your textbook and scribbling along the vacant margins.

“The old lecture hall’s finally been torn down- all that remains are gray dust and pieces of the old stair banister. They’ve already built up part of the new gymnasium. If I look out the new classroom window, I can see them sampling paint swatches- all shades of blue and white, of course. The students miss you- the boys still dress like you, and the girls don’t even look up from their laptops when your replacement speaks. There’s nothing to look at, of course- not when you’re absent.

We finally reached Constanze’s short chapter in the textbook- chapter 14. Did you know she remarried after Mozart? There was no animosity between the two until his death- she spoke so highly of him until the end. We credit Constanze for many of his posthumous works. Ones that never would have seen the light of day without the respect she paid to him.

I think highly of you, too- I know you don’t know it, but I think back to your old videos, when you’d wave around that black baton of yours and lead symphonies. I understand the fear you harbored in letting all of that go.

You’re the most stubborn person I’ve ever met. I wish you hadn’t told me that you were falling in love, and I hope you’re doing terrible-”

Your red pen is set down promptly as you allow yourself to catch your breath, ceasing this unproductive flow of consciousness you spill onto the pages of your textbook. Many nights end this way, your thoughts poured out and then repressed once more, no method of delivering them to him, regardless. And although you want to reconnect with him, you have no way of actually doing so, even his apartment now vacant as he assumes his new role as a director a few hours out of town. It’s a jarring fact, coming to terms with the notion that you’re likely never going to see him again. But you know it’s his way of resolution- repeating the same process as before, hoping for a different outcome.

*

“You’re starting the tempo change too slow,” Jisung says with a heavy sigh, setting his baton down on the music stand and waving his hand. “Pick up from measure three, on your own this time. I’ll be back in five.”

The room fills with the discoordinate overlap of instruments practicing, woodwinds rotating their reeds and brass players emptying spit valves. Jisung makes his way past the double doors, shielding his eyes from the almost blinding rays of sunlight that glare down over the music hall at this hour. And then he leans against the same brick wall he always does when he’s this mentally exhausted, shutting his eyes momentarily and exhaling.

He’s directing again, conducting symphonic pieces he’s only ever dreamed of. His hair is two shades lighter than it was when he was teaching, his closet is filled to the brim with elegant blazers and he’s compiled a generous collection of gold and silver cufflinks the way he once used to. But something feels different- and it’s felt that way for months now.

Sometimes Jisung can’t recall if symphonies were always this arduous to lead. He’s almost certain he’s verbally noted the painfully slow tempo change to them about a trillion times, and yet every time the metronome is turned on, guiding them with the obnoxious repetitive click at 80 beats per minute, they’re too slow.

Slow enough for his mind to wander elsewhere- like whether they’ll ever have the chance to rehearse the final few bars of this piece. Or questioning if they actually respect him here, as a director, and not just as a replacement for a metronome when he’s not yelling at them.

And occasionally, as much as he hates to admit it, the thoughts involve you. His pride’s too far gone to admit he ruined things, and his ego would never let him find you and convey some form of an apology- especially not after begging someone to stay once long ago, to no avail. But his mind wanders to the image of you in the audience, observing him keenly with the same beaming smile on your face and a genuine interest in whatever it is he’s doing- whether it be conducting grand symphonies, lecturing facts he’s memorized like the back of his hand or even just recounting old tales alongside you.

In the pocket of his blazer lies the same pathetic scrap of paper he just can’t seem to let go of- and as he glances at the inching second hand on his wristwatch, he pulls it out again, carefully undoing it from its folded state and scanning the contents. Page 256 from his textbook, detailing Mozart’s Sonata no. 12, complete with his scribbled annotations, and yours, so perfectly complementing all of his remarks.

“Coda?” He had written along the margins- a little addition that stuck with you all that time. Every time you were tangled in his embrace, listening to stories of his days as a director, Jisung pressing little kisses to your forehead, you’d inquire about his need for a musical epilogue. One that you didn’t believe was necessary within the piece, feeling as though the repetition equated redundancy in this case. “I think the listener should just appreciate that it ends where it ends,” you’d told him once, a statement he disagreed with at the time, but one he finds himself thinking over a lot these days.

Perhaps you were so certain about the finale of Mozart’s Sonata no. 12 because you could appreciate every other measure of the piece. The triumphant swell of the crescendos that mark the introduction, the changes within tempo and the distinctly separate movements that complement each other with such force. Measures that Jisung seemed to neglect, always searching for something beyond the eight notes that make up the piece in its entirety. But maybe you were right all along, that sometimes a listener should simply appreciate where a piece ends- that there doesn’t need to be any form of repetition, or even the need for a coda. Maybe those fading, discoordinate notes are enough- maybe that’s a coda in itself.

The double doors swing open as Jisung takes careful note of the symbol you also tagged at the bottom of the page, an oval with a cross through the center, a coda- an offer for resolution.

“Jisung?” Somebody asks, and he glances up to catch the gaze of who he remembers to be a third chair woodwind player.

“We practiced measure three again,” he says cautiously. “Could you… have a listen one more time?”

Jisung sighs, tucking the folded piece of paper back into his blazer and glancing beyond the student through the double doors. The music hall is dark inside, despite it being the middle of the day, the navy blue carpeting and the tinted windows completely obscuring the beauty of the world beyond the four walls. And then he looks the other direction, at the clear blue skies and the bustling roads, where the people don’t look back the way he’s done for so long.

“Sir?” The student asks again, twiddling his fingers together in front of his collared shirt.

“Not now. I’m leaving early today,” Jisung says, buttoning his blazer closed and giving the student a small nod. “Practice measure three until it’s perfected for next time.”

And then he begins toward his car, taking purposeful strides with a plan he hasn’t even conjured up yet, only knowing he has to keep looking forward if he wants any sort of resolution to all of this.

“And for god’s sake,” Jisung then calls out suddenly, stopping in his tracks to convey the message clearly.

“Get the tempo right, next time, will you? I’m tired of hearing the same thing over and over again.”

Coda

The evening of some important date in December is marked by the particularly frosty air, your dorm window fogged up with a sheet of ice and the halls much too cold to traverse without generous layers of clothing.

The remaining students here walk up and down the length of the hallways with cardboard boxes balanced in their arms, talking excitedly amongst themselves about plans for graduation parties and post-college life. And you can’t seem to part with the comfortable atmosphere of your dorm bed, neglecting your own stack of boxes as Mina makes her way in and out of the shared dorm room you’ve gotten so accustomed to.

“Are you using that box?” She asks, loudly sealing one with packing tape and setting it on top of another.

“No,” you say plainly. “It’s all yours.”

She takes careful notice of the way you remain draped over the bed, eyes glued to the ceiling as you think back to the last of your college days. A formal graduation in a week, which you’ve already opted out of. A series of parties even Mina tried to drag you to, every invitation promptly declined. And a prestigious internship in the city waiting for you come springtime, where you’ll be right back to appreciating the intricacies of music theory and piano.

Everything should feel as though it’s falling into place- and yet it doesn’t. It feels different- and it’s felt different for months now.

In a perfect world, you reckon you’d be elated to make your departure from these dorms, and anticipate the new life that awaits you after these four years of dedication. But you can’t help but feel as though something is missing from all of this- something well beyond your reach.

You think back to Brahms and Clara Schumann a lot these days, and the passionate, yet unrequited love that he took to the grave with him. He never got close to what he wanted- he had music, and a career so successful he was deemed one of the best composers who ever lived. And yet much of his life’s work was still rooted in unadulterated yearning, because he never had Clara Schumann. You want so badly to place your own musical accomplishments over your yearning, and yet you can’t. Not when the yearning had quickly transitioned to unrequited love the same way it did for Brahms, and it’s been that way since Jisung left.

You also think of Mozart and Constanze, and how he fought for everything to be with her, despite the hardships they faced. And you want to scream at Jisung when you recall Mozart’s letter to her father, one that’s now been tainted by his poetic words to you along the margins of his course textbook.

“Y/n, you’re never going to finish packing today at this rate,” Mina remarks, occupying a spot next to you on the bed. “Do you need help or something?”

“I’m good,” you say to her, meeting her gaze as she looms over you.

She remains quiet for a moment, examining your expression, and then she folds her hands in her lap politely.

“You know,” she begins. “You’re the smartest musician I’ve ever met. It’s a little weird how much you know sometimes.”

“Thanks,” you retort with a small chuckle.

“And I don’t think messing around with anybody got you where you are today. You did that yourself.”

You meet her gaze finally, not speaking as she shrugs softly. You’re a little surprised at the kind tone she assumes, wondering briefly if there’s some sort of catch to her words.

“Just… give yourself what you deserve,” she finishes. “Whether that means going back, or looking forward. But don’t settle for less than you really want. I did, for so long. And I’ll be the first to tell you it’s not worth it.”

You swallow as you nod at her words, knowing who she refers to without the utterance of a name. And then you furrow your brows as you press her for one more thing.

“Mina,” you say to her. “Why didn’t you tell anybody? What did you get out of keeping my dirty secret?”

She chuckles softly, throwing her head back and shrugging before speaking again.

“Those annotations,” she begins. “They’re not just some dirty little secret. That’s… a sort of thing I’ve never seen at that proximity. They way you speak to each other, it’s like some language the rest of us would never understand. At first, I thought I was skimming too far ahead in the textbook or something. Of course, maybe it also had something to do with the 10 extra points he gave us before leaving.”

You laugh lightly at the same time she does, and then her expression grows serious again as she picks at a loose thread on the duvet.

“It just kinda sounded like you two were in love,” she finishes. “I wouldn’t get in the way of that.”

You hold her gaze for a moment as she stands up again, brushing off her jeans and hoisting another box into her arms.

“Anyways,” she continues. “I’m out of here. Good luck in the city, and-”

“Mina,” you interrupt her, sitting up to look at her properly.

She blinks a few times, surprised you’re sitting up in bed for the first time today, and holds your gaze over the sealed top of her cardboard box.

“Thank you. I’m sorry I didn’t say it enough.”

Mina smiles, her pink glossed lips pulling into a kind grin, and there’s no remaining tension between the two of you for possibly the first time since you’ve lived together.

“You’re welcome,” she replies, accompanied by a gentle nod. “Oh- and you might want to check out the new part of the gymnasium they finished constructing today. I think they followed your advice and finally put a piano in there.”

And then she’s off again, shooting you a small wink before she saunters out of your dorm, this time for good.

*

The chill of the December air is unforgiving at the early hours of the morning like this, the campus nearly empty as students depart from the place they’ve called home for four years, their college years packed up into cardboard boxes and sealed away at last.

You still have a lot of packing to finish yourself, a new chapter in the city awaiting you while you traverse the concrete village one last time. And although these halls have housed some of your most stressful memories, staying up late studying for exams and rushing to make it to class on time, you’re going to miss every part of it. Like the coffee shop on the second story of the student union, where the barista always adds a little too much caramel to your lattes. Or the windowed seat at the very back of the 8th story in the library, where when it rains, you can watch lines of people rush to their classes with hands over their heads and desperately clutching their umbrellas.

And of course, the grant east lecture hall- one you’ve already missed for the better part of the semester following its demolition. As you round the corner, you can make out the new gymnasium that’s already partially erected in its place. It’s another blinding shade of white, like the rest of the buildings are, closed off to the public and still lined with the same bright orange temporary plastic fencing as before. At where is supposed to become the entrance at some point in time, a rectangular cutout in the concrete slab of a wall, nothing but a thin plastic tarp prohibiting entry. And though you know that you really shouldn’t, you can’t help yourself, hoisting your legs over the orange fencing to the other side, your feet planting into the grass lining with a gentle thud.

There’s nobody around at this hour to watch you sneak into the new gymnasium- and realistically, what form of punishment can they even issue, anyway? Expel you?

The tarp sways with the gentle caress of a December breeze, like an invitation to come wander the new space which once housed years of history, now structured for basketball games and college rallies alike. And with one last look around, only to ensure nobody’s watching you partake in the prohibited act, you sneak your way past the orange fencing, kicking the tarp aside to gain entry, and then taping it back into place behind you.

It looks like a gymnasium- and it smells like a gymnasium. Gone are the overpowering scent of mothballs that once graced the music hall’s staircase, replaced instead by the woody notes of sawdust and fresh paint. The walls are white, true to the rest of the school’s buildings, and along the walls which are finished, the signature cobalt blue stripe. At this proximity, it’s almost humorous to bask in the putrid colors you’re grateful you’ll never have to stare at again.

As you take in your surroundings, you remember Mina’s words from earlier, recalling a new piano they placed here, and you scan the room from left to right- only there’s nothing. No piano- not even a dingy keyboard like the one in the old practice room. Why would a piano be here, anyway? In a gymnasium meant for sports and jock gatherings? Could it be Mina’s way of sending you off with one final bout of animosity?

You’re doubtful- that isn’t Mina. You know her way of comforting you earlier was rooted in the good intentions she’s always had. Which still begs the question- why did she send you here?

As you begin toward the other side of the gymnasium, a gentle rustle from the tarp startles you, the blue masking tape being lifted piece by piece and moved aside for another person to gain entry.

Construction workers, you think to yourself. It’s going to be awkward getting out of this one. And as you approach the cutout in the concrete wall again, ready to conjure up some form of an explanation, another person does make entry, crouching so as not to bump his head, as he stumbles inside and regains his balance.

His hair is two shades lighter than the last time you saw him. He still wears the same dorky wireframe glasses as before. And he looks elegant, in a white button down and black blazer, the same canvas sneakers he used to love double-knotted at the laces and complementing his black slim-fitting slacks.

“What are you doing here?” Is all you can say to him as he approaches, his hands shoved in his pockets and a leather bag slung over his shoulder.

“Mina practically chased me when I was leaving,” he says, gesturing to the empty space around you both. “Said I had to come see some new piano they put in here.”

He glances around the room, eyebrows furrowed in a confused manner, and then he turns to face you.

“Where is it?”

“There is no piano,” you say to him, crossing your arms frustratedly. “She told me the same thing.”

Jisung begins to say something, and then he stops, giving a small nod as he averts your cold stare.

His thumb toys with a loose thread inside the pocket of his slacks, and then he meets your gaze again, strands of brown hair falling into the shy expression he wears on his face.

“Graduated, huh? How’s it feel?”

“Fine,” you reply in a reluctant tone. “I leave today.”

“Where are you headed?” Jisung asks, swallowing nervously.

“Landed an internship in the city,” you tell him. “It’s close by. Just some piano thing.”

Jisung’s lips pull into a grin, chuckling lightly as he nods in response. “I always knew you’d land something good.”

You remain quiet, looking around the gymnasium once again, and then you turn to him with some hesitation.

“What are you doing here?”

Jisung sighs deeply, looking around the gymnasium, too, before speaking.

“I had an interview. Quit my directing gig.”

His words take you aback momentarily, a million questions racing through your mind about why he’s no longer directing and why he’d be interviewing here of all places.

“You interviewed here?”

“Wasn’t so much of an interview as it was a conversation,” he retorts. “They even had my old badge. I really need to get that updated considering my hair’s not technically black anymore-”

“Why would you interview here?” You emphasize to him again. “You hated it here. I thought you wanted some fancy directing thing.”

Jisung is quiet again, digging the heel of his canvas sneaker into the thick layer of sawdust that lines the floor. He knows that his ego is far too big, and he’s still consumed with an overwhelming amount of selfish pride. But he also knows that he’s not going to find any form of resolution without breaking this vicious cycle of repeating his mistakes, especially when a resolution is finally within reach.

“Look, I fucked up, okay?” Jisung finally says, taking you by complete surprise.

“The minute I started there again, I knew that wasn’t my calling anymore. Maybe it was back when I was still young, and all starry-eyed for the stupid baton and the fancy suits.”

He turns to face you at this point, taking a step toward you and almost physically demanding you reciprocate the eye contact.

“But you were right- that chapter of my life is finished now. And yeah, maybe the students don’t pay attention when I stand up there and lecture. And sure, I’m just going to be some lousy assistant college band director out here. But finding you- and the way you’d listen to me, and the way you never judged me for my shortcomings, even though I was a shitty husband once, and a shitty professor and an even shittier boyfriend to you- you made me realize it was finally time to let go.”

Jisung can’t seem to cease his emotional speech once he begins, frantically gesturing as he continues speaking. He feels like a different person entirely in this vulnerable form- like the Jisung you knew when he was first breaking his walls down around you. And the Jisung you know when he isn’t putting his dreams of a past life before the people he loves.

“… and then I couldn’t stop thinking about Brahms and Clara, and how he died without ever having told her how he felt. Or Tchaikovsky who had to hide who he loved- and then Mozart! God, that stupid letter- she remarried, you know that? Did you ever get to that chapter? Of course you did, before I could tell you, at least.”

Jisung paces the floor in rushed motions as he speaks, his wet sneakers squeaking obnoxiously along the gym floor as the words escape his lips. You don’t try to speak for a little while, carefully soaking in what you assume to be an apology. And then he stops in his tracks, eyebrows arching into a pleading expression as he towers over you.

“Music isn’t the same without you,” he finishes. “None of this is.”

You lock your gaze with Jisung’s, his big brown eyes almost trembling as he awaits a reply. And simultaneously, you do your best not to let your guard down too quickly.

“Is this how it unfolded back then, too?” You ask calmly. “When you begged somebody to stay after the first time you made this mistake?”

Jisung’s lips part to say something, but then he’s quiet again, waiting for you to continue, praying for something better than this.

“I think you’re a genius,” you continue. “I think you’re remarkable, and talented, and loving you comes so easily. But you make it hard when you do the same thing to everybody you’ve ever loved.”

“You’re the first woman I’ve ever loved,” Jisung blurts promptly, and a deafening silence falls over the room. He hesitates to continue at this point, fearing as though he’s going to scare you off, but he’s also never verbalized it to you despite thinking about it every waking second of the day, and he’s determined not to form new mistakes he could risk repeating.

“I let it happen back then because music was the only thing I loved,” he explains. “It was a shitty thing, and for so long I struggled to move on because I was still lost in the only thing I ever loved. And then you came along; I don’t need to direct when I have you. I’ll be a teacher- hell, I’ll be a fucking janitor if that’s what you want. You were my sign to move on from repeating the same fucking thing all over again- you are my end.”

Jisung breathes heavily as he finishes, gauging the shocked expression in your trembling eyes. He waits for you to say something, and then without averting your gaze, he reaches into the pocket of his jacket, pulling out a folded piece of paper and handing it to you.

You unfold it slowly, already knowing it by the familiar yellowing color and small printed font- page 256 of his course-assigned textbook, detailing Mozart’s Sonata no. 12, complete with all your annotations alongside his. Only his are no longer visible- they’re crossed out, completely scribbled over in black pen, concealing his call for any form of repetition within the piece. All that remains at the bottom of the page, in the same red pen you first marked in, is a single oval with a cross through it- a coda.

Your gaze meets his after examining the page briefly, surprised he’s kept it after all this time. And then he sags his shoulders a little, gesturing to the page still in your grasp.

“I passed my sign once,” he says sheepishly. “Just please come back to me.”

Jisung doesn’t wait for you to respond this time, instead cupping your cheeks gently with his hands and pulling you in for a passionate kiss, which you don’t hesitate to reciprocate, letting your hands wrap around the back of his neck to pull him even closer to you. His lips work against yours eagerly, but still tenderly, breathing all of his desire back into you and confirming the notion that this is all he’s ever really yearned for.

He smiles into the kiss against you, grazing his thumbs up to wipe stray tears that cascade along your cheeks, and then with one more chaste kiss to your lips, he pulls away once more, chuckling lightly.

“Can we just start over?” He asks you innocently. “No repetition, no secrecy. Just start anew.”

You chuckle lightly at his proposal, nodding in his embrace, and then he pulls away entirely to hold a hand out to you.

“Han Jisung,” he says. “I’m an assistant director for the college band.”

“Y/n,” you respond with a smile, shaking his hand firmly.

“So lovely to meet you- can I interest you in a tour of the gymnasium I work in?”

He throws an arm over your shoulder, beginning down the length of the vast space and gesturing to the walls beside you.

“This is where I yell at students to fix their tempos,” Jisung explains, giving your shoulder a little squeeze as you chuckle in response to him.

“And this is where I tell stories about famous composers and their love lives. Tell me, y/n- do you know the tale of Mozart and Constanze?” He then asks with a smile.

“I can’t say I do,” you play along, earning an exaggerated gasp from him.

“Well then I’d love to tell you all about it. How do you feel about art galleries? There’s one not far from here…”

And Jisung’s hand drops to yours, intertwining your fingers together as he lets himself start anew, alongside who he now knows to have been a sign for him this entire time- a coda, an epilogue, an offer for resolution.

---

lee heeseung - the brother's best friend trope

"what if he comes home early?" "then we're fucked, but at least we'll be fucked together."

summary : keeping your crush on heeseung a secret from heeseung was hard, but keeping it a secret from sunghoon was even harder. what do you do when you accidentally fall in love with your older brothers best friend?

you sneak around behind his back of course.

word count : 29,000 (how did i do that lol)

includes : severe angst, fluff and smut

read the other volumes?

PART 2 HERE

🤎

taglist : @srirachibi @ryu-naa @blank-velvet @hoonstrology @person-standing @yuakagi @moasworld @rein-deer-stuffs @ily-cuz-i @lix-freckle3 @leeis @turnipsandflowerss @hoewithnojams @liliansun @melaninjhs @sunshine-skz @andromedawillburryyou (sorry if i forgot anyone, please reblog!!!)

being park sunghoon's little sister was difficult.

it was difficult already to have an older brother that annoys you every five seconds, but it was even more difficult because he just had to have hot friends.

hot friends that sunghoon made sure knew that you were completely off-limits.

when sunghoon entered high school, he was immediately somehow made popular and quickly made a small friend group with the other popular boys in his grade; jay park and jake shim. another boy, who was a year older than sunghoon also hung out with them quite frequently; lee heeseung.

though you were only a year younger than sunghoon, he treated you like you were five years old. your friends thought that it was sweet that sunghoon was so protective of you- but you thought the complete opposite about it. since he treated you like a baby- that meant his friends treated you like a baby.

sunghoon's friends knew that if he ever caught them even glancing at you for more than a mere second, they would get reprimanded by sunghoon in an instant. sometimes they even thought that sunghoon was a little too protective of you, but then again sunghoon knows how his friends think and how they treat girls. he doesn't want you to get heartbroken like the thousand other girls they have played.

the first time you ever saw lee heeseung was when you were just starting year 8 at your school. sunghoon had brought home heeseung one day after school so they could play some video games together. heeseung was in year 10 at the time, and he was just starting to grow into his features. that didn't stop you from almost physically drooling over him when he first stepped foot into your kitchen.

you remember your mother introducing herself to heeseung, smiling at him and welcoming them into your home, but what she said exactly is all a blur because you were so in shock about how and why this hot guy was friends with your brother.

"that's y/n, but you don't have to talk to her she's pretty annoying." sunghoon's voice got you out of your drooling session. sunghoon pointed his thumb over his shoulder at you before going into the fridge to get him and heeseung a drink before they head up to his room.

"hi, y/n." heeseung said softly with a smile as he stood at the table beside you, waiting for your brother.

"hi." you forced yourself to say, surprising yourself when it came out in a normal tone.

"okay, my room's this way, i'll show you my games and we can play whatever one you want." sunghoon shrugged, leading heeseung up the stairs. "oh and y/n," sunghoon stopped and called to you from the middle of the staircase, making heeseung turn back around to look at you, "don't bug us, seriously, i mean it."

"wha- i won't!" your jaw dropped out of embarrassment and ridicule, "why would i wanna go into your musty room anyways." you rolled your eyes, turning your body away so they wouldn't see the flash of pink on your cheeks from the humiliation.

"shut up, it is not musty." sunghoon grumbled, turning again to head upstairs, you heard a soft chuckle from heeseung as he also turned around and followed your brother up the stairs.

after that day, you saw heeseung at your house a couple of times per month, along with jay and jake. they quickly turned into regular guests at your house, walking into your residence without even knocking by the end of the school year. your parents had started acting like they had just randomly gained three extra sons.

at first, whenever you were around jay or jake, you could sense that they were a bit reluctant to talk to you. you figured that it was just because you were younger than them. there would be times when jay and you would be cracking jokes in the living room whilst he waited for your brother to finish getting ready, and as soon as he heard sunghoon come down the stairs, jay would back away from you and act as if he didn't know anything about you.

jake didn't really care if sunghoon saw him smile at you, or even just acknowledge your presence. though, you could tell sunghoon got a bit annoyed when he saw jake interacting with you. still, jake would never be caught dead being alone in a room with you, just in case, sunghoon decided to end their friendship then and there because of it.

heeseung, on the other hand, the one that was the most introverted out of all of them, did not care about sunghoon's stupid over-protectiveness of you. heeseung always made sure to say hi to you, to open the door for you when you all started walking to high school together. he didn't care about what sunghoon said or thought because heeseung knew how much sunghoon trusted and adored him. sure, it was annoying seeing his best friend talking to his little sister, but not as annoying as seeing jay or jake talk to her.

sunghoon and his friends loved to party.

usually, the party would happen at your house since your parents frequently liked to go away on weekends- whether it was work-related or if they just needed a little getaway.

during your first year in high school, sunghoon and his friends were having another notorious party at your house. sunghoon had forbidden you to come downstairs and join the party.

you argued with him for hours, but eventually gave up when he didn't seem to be budging.

for hours that night, you heard the music blasting downstairs, along with other teenagers laughing and seemingly having the time of their lives. you so badly wanted to go downstairs and join them.

you lay awake in your dark bedroom, the only light in the room from the moon that shone through your white curtains. every now and then you would hear someone in the hallway, either laughing or whispering until they eventually found a room to crash in.

you mentally apologized to your parents for leaving their bedroom door unlocked.

you think you were just about to fall asleep to the heavy bass downstairs until your phone vibrated on your bedside table beside you.

heeseung 🤎 : are you awake?

you immediately sat up in your bed, sleep leaving you and now being replaced with adrenaline.

why was lee heeseung wondering if you were awake at this late hour?

you scoffed at the thought, probably checking to see if you were up past your bedtime.

you : yeah i am

there was a quick reply from him.

heeseung 🤎 : can i come see you?

you : sure

you started brushing down your hair, hoping that it didn't look too crazy from your head grazing your pillow. your blanket is wrapped around your chest as you wait for him. unsure of what to expect from him.

when ten minutes go by with no sign of him, you sigh and lay back down again, thinking that he's forgotten about you, wouldn't be the first time, you mentally deadpanned, cringing at the memory.

a few months ago, heeseung was staying the night at your house like he usually does. only this time, sunghoon was away with your parents at your aunt's house for her birthday. you had stayed behind because you weren't feeling well and didn't want to get the rest of your family sick. your parents thought that it would be okay to leave you there for the weekend, as heeseung could help watch over you.

it was late at night, probably around the same time that it is now, and you hear heeseung laughing downstairs. you figured that maybe he was watching a tv show or scrolling on his phone.

until you heard a girl's voice.

you remember feeling like all the hairs on your body stood up at once as you took in what was probably happening downstairs. you weren't sure what to do.

you heard heeseung and the girl come upstairs and walk past your bedroom, into his- into the guest- bedroom. you remember closing your eyes and trying to imagine that this wasn't happening. the guy that you liked wasn't about to have sex with a girl in the room beside yours! no, of course not!

that thought worked for maybe five minutes until you heard the soft rocking of the bed against the wall across the room from you.

"shit," you whispered to yourself, your hands coming up to cover your face as you tried to accept your reality.

low grunts and high moans were being heard in the house now. every now and then you could hear the girl whimper out heeseung's name. you tried to not pay attention to it, but the more you listened the more insight you got on what heeseung was like in bed.

your thighs clamped together as you continued to listen. you felt so dirty but your panties were getting soaked at the thought of sweaty heeseung leaning over you and pounding into you just as hard as he was pounding into the girl in the other room.

her moans were getting louder and louder and you figured she was getting close to her climax- the climax that heeseung was giving her.

if you tried really hard, you could tune out her moans and hear heeseung's grunts, you could tell that he was whispering something to her every now and then, with the way his grunts would stop and her loud whines would answer him.

the bed stopped rocking, and their moans and grunts came to a stop. and your house returned to the silence that it once was. you strained your ears to try to hear something, but there was nothing. you figured that they had passed out right after they finished.

you tried to stop, but your fingers danced their way down to your panties, needing to get off because of lee heeseung once again. you had only ever imagined him in a sexual way, but now you had some fuel for your fantasies.

the next morning, you woke up to the sound of the front door opening and closing. quickly remembering the events of the night before, you ran to your window and sneakily looked outside to see who had left.

heeseung was standing outside on the front step in only grey sweatpants as he hugged the girl goodbye.

you didn't know exactly who the girl was, but you knew that she was in your grade. she was really pretty, you had heard some other boys in your classes talk about her before. she was slim and popular and you knew that she was on the dance team at school. there was no wonder as to why heeseung would want to have sex with her. she was borderline perfect.

they pulled away from their hug and she started walking down the street to leave, heeseung came back inside.

you quietly ran into the bathroom before heeseung came back upstairs. you left your bedroom door opened to indicate that you were no longer in there.

you took a long sigh as you looked at yourself in the mirror. you looked exhausted and stressed, something so much different than the way the pretty girl looked in the morning. you felt your pounding headache come back at all the thoughts that occurred the night before.

when you reopened the bathroom door, heeseung was standing at the top of the stairs, a look of surprise and shock on his face as he looked at you. at least he was wearing a sweater now, you didn't know how you were supposed to talk to him while he was shirtless.

"oh! y/n! hi!" heeseung greeted, scratching the back of his neck, "sorry, i, uh, forgot you were home this weekend too, how are you feeling?" he smiled at you, taking in your appearance.

suddenly feeling self-conscious and awkward, you wrapped your sweater closed around you, "I'm feeling a bit better." you shrugged at him, trying to keep cool as if you didn't just hear him fuck the living shit out of a girl last night - and then got off on it after!

"that's good!" heeseung nodded, and a beat of silence passes through you two, "sorry, if i was loud last night, i didn't mean to keep you up if i did."

"no you weren't!" you let out quickly, heeseung put a small smile on your face, "i mean uh, i didn't hear anything, i took some cold medicine and passed out until this morning."

"oh, okay. that's probably why you feel better now."

"yeah! exactly! so uh, I'm just, gonna go back to bed for a little while longer, i guess." you pointed at your bedroom door behind him.

"oh, you don't wanna watch a movie or anything? i was thinking we could watch one of sunghoon's movies that he forbids you to watch, don't worry, i wouldn't tell him." heeseung smiled at you.

"uh, maybe not today. i just want to sleep the rest of this cold off." you nodded, looking down at the carpet.

"aw, okay. i hope you feel better, y/n!" heeseung patted you on the back sincerely.

"Thanks." you got out quickly, making a dart for your bedroom, wanting to get away from his touch even if it was something so platonic. you sighed out of relief as you closed your bedroom door, thank god he didn't hear you that night.

but now, as the party downstairs continued and your heart was racing with anxiety while your mind was racing with thoughts of heeseung, you couldn't help but feel hurt with the fact that he had forgotten you again. why would he even text you in the first place?

suddenly your bedroom door slowly opened, the music getting louder for a second as a figure slipped quietly before shutting it again. you sat up as heeseung turned to look at you.

"'m sorry, were you sleeping?" heeseung whispered out to you as he approached your bed. you were sure if he got closer to you, he would be able to hear how fast and loud your heart was beating. you tried to speak out but all you could think was lee heeseung is in my bedroom, so you shook your head no.

heeseung bent over your bed, allowing a small scent of alcohol to wash around your room. he was drunk.

"i wish sunghoon would let you join our parties." heeseung slurred, his hands holding his upper body up on your bed.

"why?" you asked, amused at heeseung's drunk confession.

"because i wanna hang out with you."

your heart raced faster, trying to piece words together to reply to him.

"sunghoon treats you like a little girl just because you're his little sister but i know you're not so little. you're a grown teenager now."

your heart swelled now, happy that finally, finally, someone didn't see you as a baby. you were glad that that person was heeseung.

"thank you," you whispered back quietly, trying to hold your giant smile in from his words. you heard him deeply chuckle in response. "why'd you wanna come to talk to me anyway?"

"because i wanted to see you, i always have fun with you."

"mm," you nodded, playing with your blanket out of nervousness, "i have fun with you, too." heeseung smiled at that.

"you look pretty in the moonlight."

your eyes widened at his compliment, unsure of what to say. heeseung's deep chuckle broke the silence between you, "fuck, i think i drank too much, sunghoon would kill me if he knew i was in here."

"no, it's okay." you shook your head, gaining some confidence to look at him as he stood up straight again.

heeseung scoffed, "sunghoon would most definitely not think it was okay."

"who cares what hoon thinks? you said so yourself, i'm not a little girl. i can talk to whoever i want."

you see heeseung bite his lip in your dark room, he stares at you intently as if he's contemplating what to do before he snaps out of it. he turns his head away from you and brushes his bangs out of his face.

"fuck, i should go. i'll see you tomorrow, or at school now, i guess." heeseung smiled, "it's cool seeing you in the hallways now." you smiled down at your blanket again, not wanting heeseung to see your blush.

"see you at school, hee."

heeseung smiled once he was back in the hallway, happy to hear his nickname slip off of your tongue so easily.

heeseung never came into your bedroom ever again after then, and never mentioned the incident. you wondered if he even remembered talking to you that night since he was so intoxicated. if your little interaction affected him you'd never know, but it did increase your attraction to him.

summer breaks at your house were always fun since your family had a pool. the parties were more fun in the summer than you'd know since you never got to go to them, but you heard around school that everyone liked your pool.

you liked when just the regular boys would come over; jake, jay, and of course heeseung, when sunghoon would let you hang out with him and his friends for once.

you were sitting on one of the chairs by the pool, reading a book that you weren't really interested in but you were so bored. the four boys were splashing around in the pool, having fun. you were in your own world until cold, wet hands came and picked you up from your chair, making you drop your book at the action.

"sunghoon! no!" you cried out while laughing, your older brother picking you up over his shoulder and making a straight bee-line to the pool. "no!" you laughed mid-air as he threw you into the pool.

when you resurfaced you put a teasing scowl on your face as you looked up at your brother who still stood at the edge of the pool, bent over from laughing. "sunghoon, no!" he mocked your voice.

"shut up!" you whined, pushing your now wet hair back away from your face so it looked a bit cleaner.

"now you're gonna play chicken fight with us, right y/n?" jake smiled at you from across the pool.

"hell no!" you shook your head, you've seen them play chicken fight before and they were ruthless.

"just play one game y/n! we'll put you up against jake so you can win!" jay laughed, shoving jake beside him.

"what the hell is that supposed to mean? jake gasped looking offended.

"come man, you know you suck at chicken fight." sunghoon said, getting back into the pool.

"come on y/n, you can be on my team." heeseung said from beside you, you weren't sure how he got there, but his perfect smile and sun-tanned skin easily persuaded you to cave in and play one game with them.

"okay." you agreed, and next thing you know you're being lifted out of the water and onto heeseung's shoulders. you laugh as you try to balance yourself on top of him. his warm hands wrapping around your thighs to help you.

"you good?" heeseung asked you, trying to look up at you above him.

"yeah! we better win!" you cheered out.

"as if," jake responded, him now sitting on top of jay's shoulders, "we're gonna win so don't even try y/n!"

heeseung and jay started moving closer to each other with you and jake on their shoulders. your hands were pushed out in front of you, ready to defend yourself against jake.

"come here, jakey." you teased out to him, showing him that you're ready.

"you're gonna get it, y/n, i mean it!" jake called out, his hands pushing against yours already.

it took a few pushes and pulls, but luckily, heeseung is really good at balancing you and himself against jay and jake's efforts.

with one final push to jake's forearms, he goes falling back into the water, taking jay with him.

"god, jake! did you have to trap my head in between your legs?" jay sputtered as he came out from the water.

"Sorry! i was stressed!" jake replied sheepishly.

"woohoo! good game y/n!" heeseung cheered, setting. you down into the water and high fiving you.

"i told you we'd win!" you pointed your finger at jake who only pouted in response, making everyone else laugh at him. you felt immense pride in your and heeseung's teamwork, wishing that you could be on heeseung's team all the time now.

later on, when you got out of the pool, ready to go back inside, you could feel someone's eyes on you. sunghoon had gone inside to get a drink, leaving only you and his three friends.

out of the corner of your eye, you could see that it was jay staring at you. his lip tucked in between his teeth as he stared at your legs. feeling suddenly naked under his and probably the other two's eyes, you went to grab your towel to find that it was already gone. fucking sunghoon. he probably didn't realize that he took your towel, but god what a wrong time to mistake it.

"here, y/n." heeseung said from beside you suddenly, "you can use mine." you look down and see that he's giving you his towel to wrap around your body.

"uh, thanks hee, i'll get sunghoon to bring out another one for you." you smiled, trying to quickly wrap it around your body so it was out of view for others to see. it's not like you cared if anyone looked, but you were so socially anxious around hot boys that it made you want to cover up before they could stare at you further.

"no problem." heeseung smiled, moving aside so you could go inside. you stayed by the screen door for a second once you were in, letting go of the breath you were apparently holding in.

"c'mon, man, sunghoon could've been right there!" you heard heeseung's voice grunt out suddenly.

"i know i know! i can't help it! did you see her?' jay's voice carried out, desperation evident in his voice.

"fuck, jay, we can't be talking about this, you know she's off-limits." heeseung replied with frustration.

off-limits.

it rang through your head over and over again and you hated it. you hated sunghoon for treating you like a baby. you hated him for having such hot friends. you hated him for ruining your chances with lee heeseung. if you ever had any. it seemed like you could get any one of their attention besides heeseungs.

and that was something you would make sure would change.

when heeseung graduated high school the next year, it was a sad day for everyone, including your parents. you tried to hide your sadness at the thought of not seeing heeseung around as much since he was to go to college in the capital city, a few hours away from your hometown.

heeseung would no longer be caught raiding your fridge for food at 3am, no longer seen sitting on the bottom step waiting for sunghoon to finish getting ready, and no longer heard laughing about something stupid in the living room.

but of course, you couldn't tell anyone about how upset you were about heeseung leaving. sunghoon would absolutely kill you if he heard that you had a crush on his best friend. plus, you knew that all heeseung ever saw you as was his best friend's annoying little sister.

since your parents were basically losing their non-biological son to college, they decided to have a huge dinner on the night after graduation. the night before, sunghoon, jay, jake, and heeseung had all gone to a graduation party and returned back to your house completely wasted at 5am. when your parents and you woke up the next day, you weren't even sure where the boys were until they all wandered down the stairs at dinner time. they all looked absolutely hungover that it made you chuckle when sunghoon sat down beside you.

"shut it, y/n." sunghoon grumbled to you, shoving your shoulder as he waited or your parents to start bringing the dinner to the table.

"i didn't say anything, hoon." you teased, playing with your fork as you avoided eye contact with your older brother.

"you didn't have to, i can see what you're thinking on that stupid face of yours." sunghoon rolled his eyes.

"god, you're so-" you started but was cut off by your mother bringing in the large chicken she had spent the past two days on making.

"okay!" she interrupted with a smile, obviously trying to avoid the both of you fighting. "here's the chicken! everyone starts to dig in!"

immediately all the boys began taking pieces of chicken and other side foods and putting them on their plates. your mother looked pleased with everyone hungrily taking the food and enjoying themselves with the taste. your father was even eating with a smile on his face.

"so y/n," jay smirked at you from across the table, "how's intak?" he tried to hide his smirk by taking a bite of his food.

"who the damn hell is, intak?" sunghoon grumbled, looking at you with a face of disgust.

"hwang intak." jay responded with a quirk of his eyebrows.

"sunghoon, do you have to use such language?" your mother tsked at your brother before turning to you, "i'm sure he's a nice boy, right y/n?"

"first of all, none of your business sunghoon, and how do you know about intak? NOT like there's much to know anyway." you pointed your fork at jay.

"jungwon." jay shrugged at you casually, "he told me he heard that intak has a crush on youu." jay teased you.

fucking jungwon. jungwon was a year younger than you and somehow became friends with your brother and his friends. jungwon was known for starting or spreading drama. and you hated him. he was always spying on you and trying to suck up to your brother.

"ouuuu." jake added to your teasing.

"and so what if he does?" you tried to fight back during your teasing, feeling embarrassed in front of them. your eyes glanced towards heeseung quickly, expecting to see him with the same teasing smile that jay and jake adorned.

though instead, he wore a deep frown, and a look of worry was spread across his eyes, his fork loosely dragging around his food on the plate.

"if he has a crush on you, he's dead," sunghoon stated from beside you, stabbing his chicken with his fork harshly before plopping the piece in his mouth.

"my goodness, sunghoon! don't speak like that!" your mother tsked your brother again with a gasp at his words, "i think it's sweet that he has a crush on y/n." your mother smiled at you.

"it's whatever." you shrugged, turning your head away from everyone at the table, suddenly feeling self conscious at heeseung's reaction.

"do you not like him back, sweetie?" your mother asked you, watching your demeanor change.

the truth is that you thought intak was cute, and he was sweet and kind to you. you tried to like him back at first, but you just couldn't find yourself liking him more than a friend. your friends thought that you were insane to not like a boy like intak back, but you couldn't help it- your heart was already in the depths with someone else even if you couldn't act upon it.

"not really," you mumbled back as an answer.

"good." sunghoon exaggertaly nodded at you.

"shut up, hoon." you rolled your eyes at him with a small smile, your eyes glancing at heeseung once again, this time his shoulders seemed perkier as his eyes met yours. a smirk on his pretty lips at you before digging into his food once again.

-

the last satuday night before heeseung had to leave for college in early september, the boys had all decided to throw a party at your house as one final goodbye to their highschool days with heeseung. your parents went to your grandparents house for the weekend for a visit, leaving you, sunghoon and the rest of his friends alone in the house with enough time to party. sunghoon had begged his parents to force you to go with them to your grandparents house, but your parents said that it would be fine if you stayed, just so you could see heeseung for the last time, too.

sunghoon had even tried to get you to sleepover at one of your friends house for the night, "seriously y/n just go anywhere! i don't care where just somewhere far from here!" he groaned as he followed you to your bedroom, leaning on your door frame as he watched you sit down at your desk.

"i said no! i want to stay here! why can't i stay in my own house?" you responded, sitting back in your chair to look at your annoyed brother.

"because! its a senior welcome and goodbye party! no one wants your junior ass hanging around!"

"well i won't be the only junior there!"

"what do you mean?"

"i invited sunoo over for a sleepover." you smiled, crossing your arms over your chest.

"oh god!" sunghoon groaned, "fine you can stay! but you can't come downstairs!"

"hm, do you know what? i think i should tell mom about the party, i'm sure she'd want to be here to greet everyone."

"you wouldn't dare."

"you wanna bet?"

"god, you're the worst." sunghoon shook his head, grabbing the handle of your door and closing it after himself, leaving you alone with the feeling of success growing in your chest.

-

sunoo rang your home's doorbell at 8pm sharp, an hour before the party was set to officially begin. excitement filled you as you thought about the fun night ahead of you for your best friend and you.

"i'll get it!" you yelled from upstairs, rushing down the hall from your bedroom, down the stairs to the front door. you swung the door open and revealed sunoo smiling to show that he was just as excited as you were. his pink hair was styled neatly you noticed as he wrapped you up in a hug.

"hi!" he exclaimed, excitedly rocking you back and forth in the embrace. "tonight's gonna be so much fun!"

"i know!" you responded, pulling away from him so he could enter your home, closing the door after him.

"what. the fuck. are you wearing." you heard sunghoon state from behind you, you sighed and turned around to face your older brother. the look of disappointment and annoyance on his face made you want to curl up in a ball from embarrassment and punch him in the face at the same time.

behind sunghoon you heard a surprised "oop" from jake as he saw your outfit and immediately turned him and jay around to avoid sunghoon getting angry at them for looking at his sister.

though, beside sunghoon stood heeseung looking as attractive as ever with his eyes wide open in shock as he scanned your body. you noticed him gulp hard as his eyes seemed to not be able to leave your bare thighs. heeseung finally snapped out of his daze when you spoke back to sunghoon.

"what does it look like i'm wearing? it's a dress." you rolled your eyes, your arms coming across your chest, pushing your breasts together, making heeseung bite his lip at the sight in front of him.

"THAT'S a DRESS?" sunghoon exclaimed, pointing at your outfit before walking up to you and shaking his head, "no. no. no. you are not wearing that. go upstairs and change or you're not allowed to leave your room all night and i mean it." his words made sunoo pout from beside you, making sunghoon glance at him briefly with annoyance.

"what are you? my fucking dad? i can wear what i want, sunghoon." you argued, standing up to your brother.

"y/n i don't care what you want, just go fucking change." sunghoon's voice dropped to show that he was more serious than ever. your shoulders drooped in a sign of defeat to once again, your brother.

"you're the worst," you mumbled to him, turning away from him to go back to your bedroom, sunoo smiling awkwardly at him before he followed you.

at the top of the stairs, you glanced back down and met heeseung's eyes, quickly smiling at him with a knowing smile before you were out of each other's sight. it took heeseung a moment to realize you were smiling at him, shaking his head softly with a smirk as he turned away from the stairs and followed the rest of the boys to the kitchen again. he hoped to god no one noticed the effect you had on him.

-

"did you see heeseung eye fucking you!" sunoo practically yelled once you two were in your bedroom.

"shh!" you hurriedly shushed him, both of you straining to listen for any yelling but all seemed quiet downstairs, "imagine what sunghoon would've done if he heard you!" you laughed, "and yes i saw him!"

"oh my god, y/n! he was so close to just taking you right then and there i was about to just leave the room to make it easier for him!"

"shut up!" you hit sunoo's shoulder, "you're crazy!"

"i am not!" sunoo fell back onto your bed with a final laugh. "what are you gonna do about it?"

"what do you mean?" you asked him, going through your closet to find another outfit that would be deemed "sunghoon approved".

"i mean, now that we know that lee heeseung has the hots for you, what's the plan for getting him into bed with you?" sunoo shrugged casually as if he was pointing out the obvious.

"ohhh riight," you replied sarcastically, "cause as if that is ever gonna happen." you pulled out a long-sleeved, dark blue dress and held it up to your body, looking at yourself in the mirror quickly before turning around to show sunoo it.

"why wouldn't it happen?" sunoo whined, "who cares about your brother, i'm sure heeseung doesn't since he couldn't force himself to look away from you! and yes! wear that dress." you laughed at sunoo before turning back to the mirror to examine yourself.

"don't let me get my hopes up sunoo," you sighed, "he's my brother's best friend, not in a million years would we get to be together."

-

by 10pm, your house was filled with intoxicated teenagers, all trying to fulfill their final senior in high school moments, or hang out with their now college freshmen friends for a final time.

you had lost sight of sunghoon or any of his friends an hour ago, all of them getting lost in the moment of the party with their other friends. though, you still knew that everyone at the party knew who you were- park sunghoon's sister- and that you were totally and strictly off-limits. you rationalized that that was why no one was talking to you or sunoo, but it was also probably because you two were the youngest ones there and were deemed as 'losers' at school.

there was always a different thought that came to mind when someone thought of park sunghoon and then park y/n.

park sunghoon : popular, talented, hot- a guy that uses girls for sex just like all his friends.

and then park y/n : park sunghoon's geeky little sister that wasn't allowed to leave her house after 6pm.

"hey, cheer up," sunoo tried to reassure you, "don't let your asshole brother ruin tonight for you."

you smiled at your friend, greatful for him, "i know, i know. he just pisses me off so much."

"then drink," sunoo said, pushing your hand that held your cup towards your mouth, "and let it go so we can have fun!"

"fine," you stated, tipping your cup all the way back, finishing the full cup. you winced at the strong taste of liquor, making you and sunoo laugh before going and getting another.

it wasn't long before the alcohol started helping you relax a b it and forget about your reputation, wanting to just let go and have fun. you had lost sunoo in the crowd in your house a while ago, both of you getting sucked into different dancing crowds. you couldn't force yourself to care, too focused on dancing and listening to the loud music.

everyone around you was too focused on having their own fun time to pay attention to you and others. you didn't recognize anyone around you. it felt great to let go for once and not worry about others. it felt you fit in normally for once and weren't marginalized from the kids in your generation.

"you look like you're having fun." a male's voice said into your ear from behind you. you quietly gasped at the sudden voice, thanking the music for being loud enough for the boy behind you to hear it. you turn your head so you could glance at who it was.

you immediately recognized him as choi beomgyu, one of the boys that had just graduated with heeseung. you've seen him around a bunch of times at school, he was friends with your brother and they hung out a lot.

choi beomgyu was known for being an extremely good guitar player, he made a lot of girls fall for him it. when you were in year 9, a couple of girls in your year made a list of all the attractive 2001's in your school, and you remember beomgyu being second on the list- right after heeseung.

beomgyu was also known for having a thing for girls younger than him. of course he'd never go for a freshman while he was a senior, but tons of girls in your grade were played by him this year. you'd always hear about it in passing in the halls or in class. all the girls he'd talk to were pretty and outgoing, always on the cheer team or the dance team where they could show their extravertedness.

so you were shocked that the choi beomgyu would pay attention to you at a party. the shy, introverted, and babied y/n.

"i am." you replied to beomgyu, looking him in the eyes without turning your body towards him. leaving his crotch to grind on your ass. his hands held onto your waist as he urged you to keep dancing like you were before without him.

"i see," beomgyu nodded before leaning further into your ear, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear, "do you think you could have fun with me, too?" the closeness and warmth of beomgyu were suddenly so vivid that you felt like you were drunk and high at the same time. your head becomes cloudy with thoughts of what will happen tonight and how much fun you could have especially if choi beomgyu was around.

"dance with me a little longer and you'll find out," you whispered back to him with a tone of teasing in your voice. beomgyu obviously liked your answer by the deep chuckle that escaped his lips and the grip on your waist tightened as if to say you're his for the night now.

dancing with beomgyu gave you so much confidence that it made you wish everyone could see you now- park sunghoon's baby sister is grinding with choi beomgyu. you wonder what they would all think if they saw it. you wonder what heeseung would think.

at the thought of heeseung you opened your eyes and were visibly shocked when they were met with heeseungs from across the living room. the world no longer felt like it was just you and beomgyu, but as if it was you and heeseung and beomgyu was just a major side character that ruined things for the mains.

heeseung was sitting in the armchair that faced you. the armchair where he'd sit with sunghoon and play video games with him, the arm chair where you'd do your homework and ask sunghoon for help but ultimately get helped by heeseung- the arm chair where heeseung had sat so many times before that always made you think how easy it would be to just sit on his lap and make out until you could no longer breathe.

heeseung's legs were stretched out manspreading and covered in his black ripped jeans. in his hand, he held a red solo cup as he tried to stay in the conversation with his friend on one side and a girl on his other side. the girl was very obviously trying to get the attention of heeseung- and maybe she was actually getting it before he saw you dancing with his friend across the room.

at first, heeseung told himself that he's watching you swivel your hips so fucking beautifully against beomgyu to make sure neither of the two of you went any further. he was looking out for you! he was making sure beomgyu wasn't going to be pummeled to death by sunghoon after tonight and that you wouldn't be ejected from society because sunghoon wouldn't trust you after.

but the more and more heeseung watched, the more and more he couldn't help the jealousy growing in his chest as he watched the way beomgyu would whisper into your ear, the way you would put your hand over beomgyu's hand on your waist- the fucking way you were making yourself and beomgyu feel so good by the grinding of your hips that makes him wish that it was him behind you and not the stupid bastard choi beomgyu.

heeseung knew that the pretty girl beside him, minjeong, wanted his dick. he knew that as soon as he said the word she would follow him up to the guest bedroom that more like his bedroom since he's been at this house practically every day since he was 15. he had planned to hold off on her until the end of the night, but you had put a fat hold on those plans the second he saw you.

every part in heeseung knew that he shouldn't be thinking about you this way. he knew that if sunghoon ever found out that he'd be dead in a millisecond. he tried to avoid those thoughts of you by listening to jeongin talk beside him- he tried to keep up the conversation with jeongin- he tried to keep minjeong interested in him but all that would come up in his head was that you were grinding against beomgyu when it should be him there instead.

when you opened your eyes and were met with heeseung. he could sense the worry rush through your body from across the room. he could see how blown out your pupils were from a mix of shock and all the alcohol you had been drinking tonight.

when heeseung just continued to watch you with beomgyu, you decided to put on a show not only for beomgyu, but for heeseung as well. and quickly, the excitement for tonight with beomgyu turned into the excitement for tonight with heeseung.

you tilted your head back to lay on beomgyu's shoulder, pushing your chest out and ass more into beomgyu's crotch. you could feel beomgyu get harder every minute you've been dancing together.

"oh fuck." beomgyu groaned out quietly, his eyes directed right at your tits that were in his view now. your soft skin visible to anyone that would see.

heeseung smirked at you once he realized what you were up to. you didn't break eye contact with him as you gritted your hips against beomgyu harder, your panties becoming soaked now that you were imagining what heeseung would do to you. you imagined that heeseung was behind you instead of beomgyu.

the moment between you and heeseung was ruined when beomgyu offered for you to go to the bathroom with him to "continue our fun in a more private area.". it was like you were brought back to reality and not some future imagination that you once thought you were in. you still your dancing on beomgyuy and turned away from your brother's best friend. "hm?" beomgyu urged you for an answer, putting his forehead to yours as you stared into each other's eyes, pure lust was set in his as he scanned your face.

fuck.

"i-, um," you tried to answer, but your words all meshed into one, unaware of how you should answer him.

"i think it's time for you to leave, y/n." a voice answered for you, causing you and beomgyu to pull apart.

heeseung stood right in front of you two with an expression you weren't able to read but made you try to sober up quickly.

"oh, hey heeseung!" beomgyu smiled once he saw who it was, "how are you, my man?" beomgyu and heeseung dapped each other up warmly.

"eh, i'm good," heeseung shrugged, "it was nice to see you, but i gotta get y/n to bed." you scoffed beside beomgyu at heeseung's words not believing what you were hearing.

"oh? for real?" beomgyu asked confusedly, looking between you and heeseung. you couldn't bear to look up at any of them because you could feel the heat go to your cheeks from embarrassment yet again- only this time it wasn't because of your brother- it was because of his best friend.

"yeah, man, sunghoon's looking for her." you physically cringed at your brother's name.

"oh?" beomgyu said with a confused tone, "OH!" he said again a second later, obviously realizing who you were, "oh shit." beomgyu stepped away from you. "look, - i didn't-"

"hey, it's okay, it'll stay between you and me and i'm sure y/n won't tell sunghoonie, right?" heeseung patted beomgyu's shoulder as he looked at you.

all you could do was shake your head no, still not being able to look at the two older boys from humiliation.

"great! well uh, see you around, i guess," beomgyu said to no one in particular before walking back and getting lost in the crowd.

"c'mon." heeseung stated suddenly, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and guiding you through the crowd of people towards the stairs to the second floor.

heeseung's so familiar scent put your mind in a haze, a different haze than the drunk one it was previously in. the music downstairs was somewhat quieter upstairs, quiet enough for heeseung to hear how loud your heart was pounding in your chest.

when you got to your bedroom in the hall heeseung backed away from you slightly and stared at you, the same unreadable expression plastered on his face. the atmosphere between you two felt awkward to the point where you felt like you couldn't breathe.

"why were you with beomgyu?" heeseung broke the silence with a disgusted and disappointed face.

you scoffed, feeling as if you were talking to your father yet again, "who cares who i was talking to? i can do what i want."

"i care!" heeseung said, walking closer to you so your back was up against the wall. "what would've happened if sunghoon saw the two of you like that?"

"i don't care about what sunghoon would've done! i'm my own person i can make my own decisions!"

heeseung sighed at your statement, his eyebrows coming together as his fingers pressed against the crease in his forehead, "fuck y/n," he shook his head before looking at you, "i know that. just- did it have to be beomgyu?"

"jesus, then who do you deem acceptable for me?" you stood up straight, looking heeseung in his eyes now, both of you carrying serious expressions. please say you, please say you, you mentally begged heeseung.

heeseung slowly leaned his face towards yours, his scent intoxicating you more. his face was so close to yours that you could see all his freckles and blemishes. you could hear his quiet, heavy breathing that indicated he was just as nervous as you were. you stared in the eyes of each other, neither one of you moving as if the other was daring the other one to move first.

heeseung's hand came up and you thought he was going to rest it on your cheek, but it rested on the wall behind your head, trapping you in. and just when you thought you were going to get all your senses filled by heeseung, he pushed off the wall so he was farther away from you now. you felt cold when he stood a meter in front of you, not even glancing at you as he put his hand on his waist and the other wiped his jaw to show that he was stressed.

"we can't, y/n." heeseung whispered, barely audible over the music and the cheers from downstairs.

"and why not?" you asked, pushing yourself off of your closed, bedroom door and taking a few steps ahead, your body only a centimeter away from heeseung's.

"you know why." heeseung glanced at you as you stood in front of him now.

you rolled your eyes in frustration now at his response, a huff coming out of your mouth, "no. i don't. so why don't you say it."

a beat of silence went between you two again before he said outloud, "because you're my best friend's little sister. that's so-..."

"so what?" you urged him to finish his sentence.

"so... ugh, there just shouldn't be an attraction here!" you could see heeseung was getting just as frustrated as you were, though his words dug into your heart a little. heeseung and you knew how sensitive you were, you could both feel the drop in the atmosphere because of the hurt that was now playing on your heart strings.

you back away from heeseung while looking down at the ground, digging your shoe into your carpeted floor, "so then, what now?"

heeseung looked up at you with a melancholic look on his face that told you what he was going to say next wouldn't be good, "we- you have a good night. everyone will be leaving soon anyway and i'll find sunoo and send him up here, too."

both of you could barely look at one another; there were too many emotions in the air to control at the moment; anger, frustration, lust. heeseung was caught up in his mind until he heard a soft sniffle coming from you. he shot his head up and he felt a rush of guilt wash over him at your weakened figure.

"y/n-" he started, reaching out towards you.

"you have a good night, heeseung." you cut him off, turning and walking into your bedroom, closing the door quickly behind you. all of your emotions hit you at once and you felt so weak. you were frustrated with sunghoon, upset that your night didn't go as planned, and sad that you were rejected by heeseung and wouldn't see him for a long time. you felt like your whole life changed drastically in a span of one night and it became overwhelming.

heeseung slowly went back downstairs, upset and confused about what he had done tonight. he gathered up jake and jay and told them to kick everyone out. he asked them where sunghoon had gone but they hadn't seen him for a while.

when people started leaving, it made it easier for heeseung to find sunoo.

"hey, y/n's in her room already." heeseung reached out and tapped sunoo on the shoulder so he would turn around.

"already?" sunoo slurred his short question. it was so obvious that sunoo was wasted which made heeseung chuckle a bit.

"yeah, do you need help getting to her room or are you okay?"

"i'll be okay, heeseungie." sunoo smiled his usual eye smile, pinched heeseung's cheek, and walked towards the stairs, holding tightly onto the railing. heeseung felt his cheeks blush at sunoo's sudden nickname for him, but brushed it off and went to look for sunghoon.

five minutes later and he found him on the floor of the upstairs bathroom.

"sunghoon, what the hell?" heeseung exclaimed loudly, rushing to his friend's side. sunghoon only grumbled in response. "did you throw up?" sunghoon nodded with his eyes barely opened. "how many times?" sunghoon held up three fingers. "jesus."

heeseung got his best friend all cleaned up and then tucked him into bed with the help of jake and jay. he heard giggling coming from your bedroom and figured that sunoo had made you feel better from the last time he had seen you.

jake and jay fell asleep on the couches downstairs, too drunk and exhausted to make their way back to their houses. and then finally heeseung lay down in his second bedroom. the one that was referred to as the guest bedroom, but the guest that occupied it was not even a guest of this house anymore.

as soon as heeseung's head hit the guest's pillow, his phone went off from a notification on instagram.

[hee.heesung] k.minjexng : sent an image.

heeseung sighed when he opened the dm from the girl he was talking with earlier, realizing that she was definitely upset he disappeared from her.

the image was a picture of her pale legs and a man's head of hair in between them.

k.minjexng : this is what you missed out on 😘

heeseung rolled his eyes and exited instagram, instead he opened his messages app, his thumb circling around his previous messages with you.

-

when you woke up in the morning, sunoo was snoring beside you softly. his pink hair was sprawled out on your white pillowcase and a soft smile was stuck on his face while he slept. it was evident that he had a fun night last night.

unlike you.

your phone held a bunch of notifications from the night, but not one of them was from heeseung. disappointment sunk into your chest farther, making it feel heavy.

sunoo had made you feel better before you went to bed, but it was still upsetting that your crush of three years had flat out rejected you.

when sunoo had finally woken up about an hour later, his headache was killing him. you went downstairs to get him some advil, and was surprised to see that the house was ordinarily clean.

"good morning, sweetie!" your mom called out to you from the island. you were shocked that your parents were home this early, as well as that sunghoon, jake, and jay was awake as well. "you just missed heeseung." your mom pouted, the statement making your chest feel heavier.

"what?" you asked her, hoping that you misunderstood her.

"yeah, he leaves for college in an hour." sunghoon mumbled, it was obvious that your brother was upset that he was losing his best friend because of the way life goes.

"Oh." you said, trying to hide the sadness you were feeling, wishing you had woken up earlier.

"it's okay, kids, he'll be back for winter break." your dad spoke, feeling the tense atmosphere in the kitchen now. even jake and jay were upset that heeseung was leaving them.

"yeah, you're right, it's just weird to think that there's only going to be three of us now." jay nodded, taking a bite of his cereal.

they all continued to converse but you couldn't even hear what they were saying. your thoughts took over so much room in your head now that you could barely be focused. you managed to get sunoo some medicine and make your way back up to your room without another word from you or your family.

you felt like you were just about to accept the fact that you and heeseung are 1000% never being together when your phone got a text.

from : heeseung 🤎

i'm sorry for last night. i hope you have a good year at school though

and btw i liked the first dress more

a smile crept onto your face at his last text, and the butterfly of hope flew around your stomach once again.

the fall season quickly came and left, and your junior year of high school was already halfway over when christmas break began.

you hadn't heard from heeseung directly since you had last seen him at the end of the summer party that your brother threw. you never texted him, in fear of making it awkward between you two.

though you haven't spoken to heeseung, sunghoon has. they are still best friends even though they live hours apart in different parts of the country. sunghoon was definitely looking forward to heeseung's return during their winter break, and secretly you were too.

the only person who knew about your little crush and interaction with heeseung was sunoo, who constantly tried to persuade you to text heeseung. of course, you never did.

"so are you excited?" sunoo asked, his scarf muffling his voice as you walked home from school with him.

"for what?" you asked, shoving your hands deep into your pockets to try to keep them warm from the winter breeze. the snow crunched under your feet with each step the two of you took. your large jackets rustled with each step.

"for heeseung to come home, you idiot!" sunoo yelled out, hopefully, no one else had turned onto the street with you that you knew.

"well i mean, yes but no," you responded in a normal tone.

"maybe he forgot about the last time you saw him!" sunoo tried to make you feel better about the rejected and crying moment you last had with heeseung, "the last thing he texted you about was your dress! maybe all he remembers is how hot you looked!"

"yeah, before sunghoon made me change!" you shoved sunoo, trying to force yourself to feel a bit happier that heeseung was returning.

"you looked hot in the other outfit, too!" sunoo shoved you back, "but seriously y/n, it's gonna fun! he'll probably just act around you like he usually does."

"like i'm sunghoon's baby sister and that i barely exist?" you deadpanned rolling your eyes at the thought of your older brother again.

"exactly!"

-

walking into your home alone after sunoo turned down his own street was walking into a different atmosphere than you expected. sunghoon was sitting on the couch with an annoyed look on his face, while your mother was beside him rubbing his back and your father was standing by the tv trying to support his son from afar.

"uh, hey guys?" you announced yourself awkwardly, not sure of what you had just walked into.

"hi, sweetie." your mom forced a smile.

"is everything okay?" you asked the three of them.

"yeah! heeseung's not coming." sunghoon mumbled a response without looking away from the wall in front of him.

"what? why?" you asked, your heart racing with disappointment and fear. was he not coming because of you? did he think it would be too uncomfortable to be in the same room with you again?

"because he thinks it'd be too stressful on his grades, so he wants to stay to study more." sunghoon grunted before standing up, "i'm going to my room." your parents and you watched your older brother storm up the stairs into his bedroom. he was obviously upset that he still wouldn't be seeing his best friend after months.

"are you okay about it?" your mother asked, worried for you as well.

"what? yeah, i'm fine. why would i care if heeseung came home or not?" you asked quickly, hoping that they weren't onto you about having a crush on heeseung.

"oh, i thought you were close with him too, no? he was over all the time before he went to college." your mother replied with a look of confusion on her face about the speed of your response.

"eh, well, i still have jake and jay and my real brother, right?" you forced a laugh out, hoping that it wasn't obvious you were trying to hide something.

"yeah, right." your parents nodded, shrugging before heading to the kitchen together to prepare dinner.

you let out a sigh of relief once they left the room with no further questions, but that didn't relieve the anxiety of heeseung not returning. as you head back to your room you do figure that it would be weird without having heeseung around for winter break. it was almost tradition to have him and the other boys sleeping over for two weeks straight. you wonder what they would do this break? would it just be the three of them?

before you push open your door something inside of you stops and glances over at sunghoon's closed door. you ponder about what he's feeling inside. he's never been good with showing his emotions, not even to your parents. when he got hurt as a little boy he would hide it until your parents would notice blood seeping through his pants from falling off his bike and scraping his entire leg right open. he still insisted he was fine when they took him to the doctors and said he needed stitches.

you sighed and walked over to his bedroom, hesitating once before knocking on his door.

"what?" you heard him grunt out.

"can i come in?" you called out to him.

a beat of silence passed and you thought he was just ignoring you at this point, "sure."

you pushed open his door to find him sitting on his bed in the dark, only the screen of his tv was on and it was on mute. "what is it? i'm tired." you fought the urge to roll your eyes at him blaming his sadness on fatigue. you walked over to his bed and sat down beside him.

"you know i think you're a good older brother, right? you've always looked out for me, and made sure i was safe. you spent your christmas allowance on me when we were younger so you could buy me a present."

sunghoon left his window open a crack, making his room a bit chilly as the sound of someone's car starting outside ruins the silence between you two. you knew that sunghoon always wanted to take care of you, and now you feel like it's your turn to take care of him. though, you feel nothing like your older brother.

in his senior year, you never thought that you would have to take care of your older brother in a way that he takes care of his little sister. but you never know what sunghoon is going through. he keeps things to himself when he gets to the point where he feels like breaking down he stays silent. the only person he's ever trusted was heeseung.

"you always seem so happy when you're with your friends, truly, and i swear i've never seen so many people stop what they were doing just to listen to someone speak- but you do that to people."

you use to be jealous of sunghoon about it. how did he get to be so popular while you were just the school's runt? how did he get to have girls falling at his feet and guys begging to be his friend? you loved sunoo, but sometimes you wished that you had a friend group to hang out with other than sunoo and sunghoon's friends that weren't allowed to even look at you.

"and you know i worry about you at the same time. i know how introverted you are and how hard you try to be so outgoing at school so people will still like you. that's so much stress on a person mentally. and still, at home, i try to be a good sister for you but i feel like i'm no good at that, so i'm glad you've found a brother within heeseung. so i'm sorry that heeseung isn't coming back for winter break, that must really fucking hurt, hoon. but i love you, and i'm trying to be a good sister now, and i want to change our sibling relationship for the better."

you don't realize that you've started crying until sunghoon wraps his arm around you and pulls you into his side. that's when you notice he's started crying too. you think at that moment that you've never seen your brother cry before. you've never shared this much of a brother-sister moment before. it feels like the two of you are just little kids again, trying to figure out this world before the world figures it out for you instead. an expression of relief washes over sunghoon's face as you both take in the peaceful silence between you too.

when sunghoon speaks it's quiet, but you know he means it with his whole body and soul, "i wouldn't trade having you as a little sister for the world. heeseung's my friend, never my sibling."

-

after winter break, your relationship with sunghoon seemed to change drastically, and for the better. he no longer had this over-protectiveness of you. it was like you had aged from 5 years old to 17 years old in a week.

this winter break was definitely the weirdest one, but the best one. sunghoon invited you to hang out with jay, jake, and him, even allowing for sunoo to join, too. you all played video games, made gingerbread houses, and freaked out your parents by how strangely you two were getting along.

you heard sunghoon running around your house at 7am on the first day of summer break- the morning after sunghoon had graduated from high school. you groaned and threw your pillow over your head, mentally punching your brother for waking you up so early for no reason.

you were just about to drift off to sleep again when your bedroom door slammed open, "y/n!" sunghoon yelled excitedly.

you groaned in response, sleep still fogging up your mind and body.

"y/n! wake up!" sunghoon jumped on your bed, shaking your body awake.

"what?" you sat up finally, looking at your brother with anger. "what is it?"

"heeseung's coming home today!" sunghoon grabbed onto your shoulders, shaking you with excitement.

"oh my god!" you yelled back, a smile on your face.

"we're picking him up in an hour, wake up!"

'i'm awake now, okay!?"

sunghoon shook you once last time and jumped off your bed with a ginormous smile on his face, "wooooo!" sunghoon cheered as he ran out of your room.

the excitement you felt about heeseung's return quickly faded when you started to actually realize what it would mean to see heeseung again. it's been 10 months since you had seen him in person. 10 months since you had almost (maybe?) kissed in your hallway, meters away from your drunk brother.

you felt a sudden feeling of stress begin to bubble up in your chest at the fact that standing in front of heeseung again. a lot can change in 10 months, and you wonder if that included his feelings towards you...

throughout the school year, you had noticed that over time, there would be a day or two that would go by that you wouldn't think about heeseung, your heart would ache at the sudden realization that you had forgotten about him for a second. but when sunghoon would mention his name later, or show you a picture that heeseung had sent him of himself, the familiar feeling of the attraction you had for heeseung would come swirling back at you.

there were days when your finger would hover over heeseung's contact name on your phone, contemplating whether or not you should text him or not. what would you say though? what would he think? "oh god, my best friend's little sister is obsessed with me?". at that thought, you would instantly put your phone away, trying to distract yourself from the thoughts of heeseung again.

you basically spent the whole early morning getting your appearance to look as best as it could for heeseung's return. you wanted to look good for heeseung. you think it's the longest time you've spent on your appearance all school year.

when you heard the familiar tires of your car pull up in the front of your house, your heart froze. you weren't mentally prepared to see heeseung.

"y/n! they're here!" your mother called you from downstairs.

on shaky legs you made your way downstairs, standing on the last stair as you watched your mother swing up the front door to reveal your dad and sunghoon laughing, carrying a bag in each hand.

"heeseung! honey!" your mother yelled excitedly, you could see her hands fly up and around someone's shoulders, but your vision was blocked by your family. "god, how was the flight? how are you?"

"i'm good! it was good!" a light chuckle spoke, it had been a while since you had heard heeseung's voice- it sounded the same yet different at the same time.

your family finally moved out of the way for heeseung to enter your house once again. you took in a breath as you locked eyes with him standing in your front doorway.

he was still the heeseung that you remembered him as, but he seemed broader and stronger, and his black hair was dyed a blueish green colour that fell so prettily against his skin. his rosy lips held the smirk that you've always known as he takes in your appearance as well.

you look more mature now, more confident in your own skin and he wonders what happened to you in the past 10 months that finally allowed for you to come out of your shell. you look more pretty than heeseung remembers and it's making him weak in the knees as he continues to stare at you until he speaks, "hi, y/n."

"hi." you force yourself to reply. the scene being so coincidentally like the first time you two had met, but this time you're older and you're both aware of your forbidden feelings towards one another.

"are you hungry? come you should sit and eat!" your mother put her hand on his back, ushering him into your house.

"yeah, i'm a bbit hungry!" heeseung laughed, "but i can't stay for too long today! i need to visit my mom later on today."

"oh of course heeseungie! she must've missed you terribly!"

"yeah, something like that." heeseung replied, sitting down at his usual chair at the table, sunghoon and you following him and sitting in your spots: sunghoon sat across from you with heeseung on his left while heeseung was on your right at the very end of the table, across from your father.

"bro, it's been too long." sunghoon sat back in his chair, smiling at heeseung. this has been the most that you've seen your brother smile since heeseung left the last august. it made you happy that sunghoon seemed to be out of the little slump that he's been in.

"i know! i'm glad that you're coming with me this year!" heeseung shoved sunghoon's shoulder.

sunghoon had gotten accepted into the same university as heeseung along with jake. jay had chosen to go to a university abroad in the united states so he could live with his father again.

"it's gonna be so much fun!" heeseung laughed.

"so i guess you're liking university then, son." your father spoke from across the table.

"yeah, it's been great!" heeseung smiled. suddenly, you felt a foot graze across your own. you figured one of the boys had done it by accident, but the foot came back and started to slowly drag its way up your calve and down. you gulped and looked over a heeseung, who only spared you a sneaky glance as he continued to talk to your dad, "i got pretty good grades this year so i'm happy."

"that's great, honey!" your mother chimed in, bringing in a plate of sandwiches for you all to eat.

your mother placed a plate in front of you, you forced a smile at her in return, trying to not focus on heeseung's foot playing with your leg.

"are you okay, y/n?" your mother asked you as she sat down beside your dad.

"hm? yeah! of course!" you replied, grabbing a sandwich quickly and placing it on your plate. almost dropping it when heeseung's hand plopped down on your thigh underneath the table. you looked up at him in shock, he placed his body so it looked like he was leaning his hand on his chair underneath him, and took a bite of his sandwich with his other.

you felt the eyes of everyone on you turn away at your response, opting to be more interested in the freshly-back-in-town-heeseung.

"so do you like your roommate?" your mother continued the conversation with heeseung. his fingers slowly started to move up and down your thigh, dangerously close to your core. you tried to focus on eating your sandwich but he was making it so difficult to focus on anything other than his warm fingers.

"yeah, he was cool, but i'm hoping to move in with hoon and jake next year." heeseung shrugged, managing to keep his cool so perfectly.

"do you have a girlfriend, yet?" your mother continued to ask, making sunghoon snort and look at his friend. the question also made your ears perk up, ready for his answer as his fingers continued to do small circles on the inside of your thigh.

"nah, not yet." heeseung shook his head with a sheep smile. a sigh of relief almost escaped your lips, but you covered it by taking a bite of your sandwich.

"hey, do you know who's also back in town for the summer?" sunghoon asked heeseung.

"who?"

"minjeong." sunghoon spoke, quirking his eyebrows up as he said her name.

you hadn't thought about kim minjeong since the goodbye party last year. you remembered then that she was practically climbing on top of heeseung before he pulled you away from beomgyu. you felt a cold shrill go down your spine at the memory.

"ah, who's this minjeong?" your father asked heeseung with a teasing grin.

"ah, nobody." heeseung shook his head, his fingers coming to halt on your thigh as he glanced at your unreadable expression at the mention of another girl's name.

"what do you mean 'nobody'?" sunghoon laughed out, "she's some girl that's had the hots for heeseung since his sophomore year! you literally called her hot like last month!"

at that you pushed away heesueng's hand under the table, feeling disgusted by his touch suddenly. you tried to go back to casually eating your sandwich, but it felt like your stomach was doing twirls and spins. the cold shiver down your spine turned into embarrassment that you'd let yourself be so easy towards heeseung- just like every other girl he usually gets with. you don't know why you thought that you'd be someone different too lee heeseung.

you saw heeseung glance at you from the corner of your eye, but you didn't dare look at him.

"bro, she's whatever, i'm not into her like that." heeseung shrugged, but you knew that he was just trying to downplay it so you weren't mad at him.

"hm, i see." your mother gave a knowing look and stood up from her spot, taking hers and your father's empty plate, "anyways, me and your dad need to go visit your aunt this weekend since she's trying to sell the house, so it'll just be you guys, i'm sorry hee, but we'll be around more next week!"

"Ah that's okay, don't worry!" heeseung replied calmly, seemingly not phased by you being upset with him. when your parents left the room, sunghoon and heeseung gave each other a look. a look that you've seen multiple times throughout the years : party time.

they were obviously planning to throw a big 'start of summer' party this weekend while your parents are away. and this time- you knew that sunghoon wouldn't make a big deal out of you being there as well. though you weren't even sure if you wanted to go- as you knew heeseung would be there. as of right now, you wanted nothing to do with him.

you knew that you and heeseung weren't together, but the idea of him talking about another girl he's obviously attracted to while touching you under the table made you sick. you didn't want to be just some other girl to him.

"are you gonna invite minjeong, heeseungie?" sunghoon smiled teasingly, her name making you almost throw up. the thought of her being in your house- the thought of her and heeseung fucking in the room right next door to yours. god- you couldn't bear it.

"hey, are you okay?" sunghoon asked you, making you snap your eyes open to look at him. "you've barely even eaten your sandwich." you glanced at heeseung again, before nodding your head.

"yeah, i'm just not that hungry right now," you stood up, taking your plate with you, "i'm just gonna go back to bed, see you guys."

"okay." sunghoon nodded, pulling out his phone to most likely start sending invitations to the party this weekend. as you started to return back to your bedroom, you felt heeseung's eyes at the back of your head as you went up the stairs, but you forced yourself not to look at him. disgust still filling your mind.

-

you've been pretty good at avoiding heeseung all week.

telling your parents that you weren't feeling good so you wouldn't have to join the rest of your family and heeseung at the dinner table to eat. basically just camping out in your bedroom for four days until friday night, after your parents had left for the weekend and sunghoon and heeseung's party had started up.

you guess you've also been pretty good at making heeseung mad all week by the way he was glaring at you from across the living room right now.

the red dress you wore matched the anger that boiling u inside of him as he watched you scamper around the party with hwang intak. heeseung usually wouldn't mind seeing you wearing something so sexy, but the fact that he wasn't allowed to touch you meanwhile intak seemed to have no problem doing so.

heeseung knew that things between you and your brother had calmed down- sunghoon had let go of his protective-brother facade and you had grown into a girl that was so confident it made all the other girls in the place look something close to nothing. but he didn't think that would mean you would be wearing a tight dress wrapped under some guy's arm right in front of him. it made him almost want over protective sunghoon to make a return.

"oh my god, heeseungie!" a high pitch shrill pulled heeseung out of his thoughts about you and back into the harsh reality. "how have you been, i missed you so much!" minjeong was wrapping her arms tight around his neck as he pulled him down into a hug. instinctively, his free hand that wasn't holding his cup wrapped loosely around her tiny waist.

"hey! i've been good," heeseung replied, trying to force a smile on his face as he looked at minjeong. it was hard to say that she wasn't a pretty girl- because she certainly was- but her beauty was no match to yours. there was hardly any resemblance between the two of you and maybe that's why heeseung would never find himself in a bed with minjeong.

heeseung glanced towards the direction where he last saw you, and smirked to himself when he saw you staring at the scene going on between him and minjeong. you had been ignoring him and advoiding him all week, but this is what got your attention finally. he was just about to think that you were truly over him, but now with the way he could see the jealousy growing so green in your eyes he knew that his feelings were still atleast somewhat requited.

"ah! i'm so glad you're here! i've been wanting to see you!" minjeong pulled away from him, but still wrapping her tiny hand around his upper arm.

heeseung smirked down at her, "yeah?" he used a teasing tone with her, hoping that you would be trying to listen in. knowing you though, you most definetly were.

anyone could hear minjeong's obnoxious shrill so it was hard not to notice when she came running up to heeseung. you felt your blood run cold as you watched the two embrace each other.

"hey, are you okay?" intak whispered to you, feeling your change in aura suddenly beside him.

"hm? yeah i'm fine." you responded, looking at the black haired boy for a second before glancing back at heeseung and minjeong.

"are you sure? do you want another drink?"

"yeah! okay!" you responded, handing him your red cup.

"okay, i'll be right back!" intak smiled, shoulder shoving you gently before he left you alone.

you tried to not make it obvious that you were staring at heeseung and minjeong but it was so hard not to. it was unfair that the two of them could be affectionate towards one another in public meanwhile you and heeseung couldn't be together, period.

the way minjeong was clinging onto him to protectively, as if she was telling every other girl at the party that heeseung was hers- at least for tonight he was- was something that you'd only ever dreamt of doing with him. you wanted to show him off at a party, show everyone that you were together and that you were his and he was yours.

heeseung was paying so much attention to minjeong, focusing only on her as he answered her questions, making her laugh her annoying laugh. hurt and anger was growing inside of you, you wanted to scream.

"here you go." a red cup came into your view again. you looked up at intak, his easy going smile calmed you.

"thanks." you replied, taking the full cup from him and leaning back against the wall again.

"are you sure you're okay, y/n?" intak asked you once again, leaning his shoulder on the wall beside you.

"yeah, i'm good, just needed another drink!" you reassured him.

the past year, you and intak have gotten quite close. though you shot him down last summer, you still turned out to be great friends. but you still got the feeling that intak had some feelings towards you. his constant staring, and overly-kind gestures were a dead give away but you never did any actions towards him that would give him hope. you were friends- and that was it. until you got the idea to make heeseung just as mad as you were.

if you had to watch him get climbed on by the girl who defintely wanted to fuck him- and who he apparently thought was so hot, then he could watch you have somre fun with your friend.

you turned so your shoulder was against the wall, your front facing intak's, "are you having fun?" you asked him, titling your head to the side as you looked up at him.

"yeah, i am," intak took a sip of his drink, "are you?"

"mm, i am, but only because you're here." you smiled, biting your lip. you noticed the way intak gulped, before trying to laugh your statement off casually. you glanced over at heeseung and minjeong, who had moved over to sit on the lawson chair your family had in the living room. you almost threw up when you saw that she was sitting on his lap. when you glanced up heeseung, you didn't expect to meet his eyes.

there was a tone of amusmant and arrogance in his eyes as he looked at you, as if he was saying, "how's that?" you internally huffed at him, which was probably evident on your face as a smile spread across his lips.

minjeong put her hand on his shoulder, grabbing his attention away from you as she spoke to him.

"y/n?" intak asked, you forgot that he was standing there.

"yeah?"

"i asked if you wanted to go outside."

"oh, uh, i-"

"look, what's wrong? you seem distant and you're acting weird." intak sighed, standing up straight in front of you.

"nothing's wrong! i'm fine!" you urged him to believe you. his hand suddenly came up and was placed on your forehead, checking to see if you had a fever. you glanced at heeseung, who had an eyebrow raised at you.

you put your hand on top of intak's, looking up at him through your eyelashes, "do i feel okay?"

"y-yeah, i think so." intak stuttered, shocked at your tone of voice, he pulled his hand away from you, trying to ignore the warmth that is sent through his body.

part of you felt bad because you were obviously just playing intak, but it would only be for tonight. you cared about him as a friend and you wouldn't go any further than a little flurting with him.

you moved closer to intak, so that your bodies were only a mere centimere apart, you could still see heeseung and minjeong's bodies over intak's shoulder. "i think i just want to stay in here, i like listening to the music." you nodded to intak.

"oh, okay." intak whispered out, not being able to take his eyes off of you. he's trying to rememeber if he's even been this close to you before. your perfume that he's become so familiar with is literally surrounding him because you're so close to one another. your pretty eyes seem so clear as you look up at him. he's trying so hard to keep his cool around you.

heeseung can hear minjeong speaking, but he doesn't know or to be honest, care, about what exactly she is saying. you're basically standing ontop of intak and he can most likely see right down your dress from his angle. minjeong brings heeseung back to her when she wraps her arm around his neck behind him, leaning closer to him now. heeseung smiles at her, and wraps his free arm around her back, basically cuddling her into his side as he looks at you.

you tsk lowly, watching the two of them pretend to be a couple while you know heeseung is only thinking about you right now. it hurts that he's touching another girl right in front of you, it seems to be pushing you farther and farther away from him, but the both of you can't give up so easily. both too stubborn to let the other one win. you don't know where this sudden 'game' of jealousy came from but you were determined to win.

you grab intak's free arm and put it on your waist, letting his fingers grab a hold of your side. through the thin layer of your dress you can feel his warmth. intak stumbles a second before gripping onto you tighter, shocked at how bold you are being with him. his inner monologue is fighting between either you're just really drunk or you're finally realizing that you have feelings for him.

heeseung takes a deep breath out of anger as he watches intak enjoy holding on to you, any guy in their right mind would kill to be intak right now.

throughout your high school days, it was so obvious that every guy in your school thought you were hot, but of course, sunghoon would kill anyone that tried to hit on you. heeseung always wondered if you knew just how attractive you were. there had been so many conversations that he's overheard about what the guys in your school would do to you if they ever got the chance. if they ever got permission from sunghoon.

why did sunghoon have to let go of his protective stance when he went to college? he couldn't have done it sooner so maybe he would get a chance himself?

heeseung almost laughs at the thought, as if sunghoon would let you date his best friend.

"are you tired, heeseungie?" minjeong purrs into his ear.

"hm?"

"you seem tired, do you want to go lay down?" he turns to look at the girl who's basically crawling on top of him and forces a smile.

"maybe in a bit, yeah?"

"Okay." she whispers into his ear. he feels her breath against his skin. on any other occasion he's sure he would've taken her up to his room by now, but he had no desire to pull anyone else except for you upstairs with him.

with minjeong leaning against his neck so closely, heeseung makes perfect eye contact with you. you tilt your head as a sign of confusion as you watch minjeong pucker her lips, leaning her face into heeseung's neck now.

and all at once, she's kissing slowly onto his skin, wanting to mark him as hers.

you and heeseung take a deep breath at once.

now, you weren't feeling well.

heeseung's eyes never left yours as minjeong made her way down his neck. you felt a heat wave go down your body as you pushed away from intak suddenly.

"do you know what?" you said, passing your cup to intak who was greatly confused, "i really am not feeling good, i'm just going to go to bed, i'll text you tomorrow, tak."

"oh? do you want me to walk you to your room or-" intak asked, concern painted on his face.

"no!" you got out quickly, "just, can you make sure sunoo gets home okay? if you ever see him around."

"yeah for sure." intak nodded, moving so that you could leave, "i hope you feel better, y/n."

"thanks." you mumbled, putting your head down as you made an escape to your bedroom. you felt tears prickle at your eyes. you were so hurt and embarrassed you just wanted to get away from everyone before anyone saw you cry- especially if sunghoon found out you were crying.

you didn't even glance at heeseung as you walked past the sitting area and towards the stairs. you couldn't bear to see him and minjeong anymore- it was all too much. you didn't think he'd actually fuck another girl in your house with you there.

so now, you're alone in your bedroom with thoughts of heeseung replaying in your mind, while he's in the room beside you, legs tangled with another girl.

-

you didn't leave your room all saturday.

sunghoon knocked around noon hour, and you told him you were hungover, making him leave you alone to sleep all day.

you were far from hungover.

you were heartbroken.

you and heeseung weren't a couple, so you shouldn't be this upset. but you couldn't help but feel disappointed. all your hopes were just crushed within the span of 20 minutes last night right in front of you with a girl that was obviously perfect for heeseung.

any girl that wasn't sunghoon's sister seemed to be perfect for him.

when your parents came home sunday night, you were forced out of your room so you could all eat dinner together.

you weren't sure if everyone else could tell how awkward it was between you and heeseung, but the tension was so thick you felt like you were being smothered.

"so, did you guys do anything fun this weekend?" your mother asked the three of you.

"nah, not really, just watched movies and played video games." sunghoon shrugged, smirking at heeseung.

"oh i see, y/n? did you do anything?"

"i hung out with sunoo and intak, that's about it." you saw heeseung tense at the mention of intak, forcing yourself to not roll your eyes at him.

"ah, so just the usual stuff happened around here, then i see." your father joked, eating his meal.

"yeah, pretty much." heeseung nodded at him from across the table.

you felt like dinner was going on much longer than it usually does. you were waiting for the right time to excuse yourself back to your room but the time seemed to never come. your parents were explaining how their weekend went at your aunt's. sunghoon and heeseung were talking about university. you kept quiet the entire time until they were all finished and tired.

your parents went to bed early that night, tired from the weekend's long work. you heard sunghoon and heeseung watching a movie downstairs in the living while you sat awake in your bedroom, scrolling through social media aimlessly.

over time you heard less and less of heeseung and sunghoon's voices being carried up the stairs and wondered if they had gone to bed. you open your bedroom door and head to the bathroom, seeing the flashing lights of the tv on downstairs still, and the quiet voices coming from it.

heeseung hears someone in the bathroom from his guest bedroom as he starts to change for bed. he figures maybe sunghoon woke up and is going to his bed after falling asleep on the couch.

when you walk out of the bathroom you don't really expect to see heeseung standing there, staring at you solemnly. you see him open his mouth to speak but you start to make a beeline straight to your bedroom.

"no, y/n!" heeseung whisper shouts, putting his hand out to stop you. you sigh but stop and look at him, "i'm sorry."

you scoff and start to walk again, this time his hand meets your upper arm, stopping you in place.

"y/n, seriously i'm sorry. i- i didn't know she'd do that- that she'd kiss me." heeseung keeps his voice low, afraid that sunghoon or your parents would wake up and hear your conversation.

"you don't need to be sorry, hee. it's not like we're together or anything." you forcefully smiled, trying to end the conversation before you burst out in tears in front of him. "you can fuck who you want."

"i didn't fuck her y/n."

your breath hitched at his statement, "w-well i'm sorry to hear that." you tried to turn away from him.

"y/n, would you stop acting like this?" heeseung grunted lowly, "i didn't want to fuck her anyways. i- i don't like her like that."

"acting like what? i'm being myself." you defended yourself, trying to make him believe the false facade you were putting on. you didn't want him to know just how much he had hurt you.

"no, you're not," heeseung shook his head in frustration, "i-i'm sorry y/n, it was the only way i could get your attention, you were ignoring me!"

you scoffed at his explanation, "i think i simple fucking text would've sufficed."

"a text?" heeseung laughed dryly, "what was i supposed to say to you over text? hey stop ignoring me and get away from the stupid asshole intak?"

"he is not a stupid asshole, are you kidding me? and you could've texted me at least once throughout the school year!" you pushed a hand through your hair out of frustration, "look we can't talk right now, i don't want to wake anyone up."

a beat of silence went through the air as heeseung took in your words, "well why didn't you text me?" he spoke softer, barely audible in the quiet hallway.

"because you're away in the capital city in university. you're busy and i didn't want to bother you like all the other girls you use."

heeseung's eyes softened at your statement.

"you could've fucking texted me y/n. i'd never think of you like any of the other girls i've screwed around with because you are nothing like them." heeseung took a step closer to you, "you are so much more."

you shook your head and looked down at your clammy hands.

"what is it, y/n?"

"it's just- last time i saw you you were pushing me away and saying we can't be together and- and now you're like saying the opposite."

heeseung moved closer to you now, making you look up at him in the dark, "god," he said almost out of breath, "why did you have to be related to sunghoon?"

a small smile cracked onto your face, "why did you have to be sunghoon's best friend?"

you can see heeseung smile down at you, his face slowly getting closer to yours. you see his tongue dart across his bottom lip as he scans your entire face. his hand comes up and brushes your nestled hair out of your face. it's so quiet as your faces inch closer and closer, both of you forgetting about the consequences of your being together.

it's so quiet that when the faint sound of the tv turns off you pull apart immediately in shock. rustling from downstairs getting closer to the stairs makes you both freak out and stumble away from each other in the hall.

a tired-looking sunghoon appears at the top of the stairwell. his black hair all tangled up, indicating that he had just woken up. he looks at the two of you in confusion. "hey, guys? what's going on?"

"uh, nothing. i'm just going to bed now, saying bye to y/n, you know." heeseung shrugged casually. sunghoon looked over at you, and you just nodded, unable to speak with the amount of adrenaline and fear rushing through your body.

"uh, ok, i'm going to bed up here now, that couch fucken killed my neck." sunghoon lazily chuckled, "night," he spoke and turned to go to his bedroom.

"night." heeseung and you replied to your brother, a sigh of relief coming from the both of you as his door closed after him.

you looked at heeseung, standing in front of his bedroom with an unreadable expression on his. "have a good sleep, y/n."

"yeah, you too."

heeseung and you both went into your separate bedrooms, wishing that there wasn't a wall in between you as your thoughts raced about each other.

-- -- -- -- -- -- --

the next week started with heeseung and you creating some sort of tension with one another- it was awkward but full of need and lust that neither one of you could act out on.

the amount of lust that had built up between you two was no joke.

there were so many times when heeseung just wanted to wrap his arms around your waist and whisper all the dirty things he wanted to do to you in your ear.

and if it wasn't for sunghoon being around all the time you would've jumped heeseung's bones by now.

your parents were both at work, while sunghoon and heeseung had gone over to jake's house for the day. the house would finally be silent and you could be alone with your thoughts for a minute. of course, all your thoughts went straight to heeseung- and how his body would look on top of you- how he would fuck you.

you tried to put it off as much as you could, but when your hand started to trail its way down your core and slip so easily into your shorts and panties there was no way you could pull it back out.

you slowly started to rub your clit in small, slow circles. imagining that heeseung was doing it instead. it felt so good, but you knew that heeseung could make it feel even better.

you imagined heeseung whispering dirty things in your ear like the way he's been whispering all week to you when sunghoon was just around the corner. you imagine his warmth on top of you as he tries to get you to climax all over his fingers. he would tell you just how much of a good girl you were being for him.

your other hand slid up and started to massage your breast through your tight tank top. your thumb and forefinger squeezed your nipple in between them, adding pleasure to your core. your fingers started going at a faster pace, chasing after the climax that you so desired.

heeseung had left jake's house early, wanting to go to bed early tonight because he planned on spending time with his actual family tomorrow, needing him to wake up early.

he didn't think he was necessarily being quiet when he walked into your house, not even aware that you were even still home.

"heeseung." he heard your voice from down the hall, you sounded whiny and out of breath, concern retching onto his face at the thought that you were possibly hurt.

your bedroom door was open by the smallest amount, just enough for heeseung to look in and see you layed out on top of your bed. your hair was flayed out against your pillow, your eyes were closed and your mouth was slightly open in a blissed-out way.

heeseung's own mouth dropped open once he scanned down your body and saw what you were doing under your little shorts.

heeseung was having an internal conflict with himself : you're sunghoon's little fucking sister! but you're y/n and my god you're hot. he was about to turn and leave until his name left your mouth again, signaling that he wasn't hearing things beforehand.

your fingers were rubbing your little clit at the thought of him.

"fuck." heeseung let out, in awe of how cute and sexy you looked at the same time with the strap of your tank top slipping off of your shoulder.

you immediately sat up, ripping your hand out of your pants at the sound of someone outside your door. you had thought had closed it all the way!

your cheeks flushed red once you met eyes with heeseung. internal dread took over you as you grabbed a pillow from behind you and tried to cover your body more from his eyesight.

heeseung's mouth opened and closed as he tried to find some words to say.

"heeseung~!" sunghoon singsonged as he entered his house.

fear-filled both you and heeseung more as heerseung's hand scrambled out and pulled the doorknob of your bedroom closed before rushing down the stairs, fixing his jeans so sunghoon wouldn't see his (hopefully not) obvious boner.

"hey, man!" heeseung greeted his younger friend at the bottom stair, "thought you'd stay at jake's for a bit longer, no?"

"nah, i wanted to eat dinner here tonight." sunghoon replied, taking off his shoes, "is y/n home?"

"uh, i'm not sure, if she is i haven't seen her, i kinda just got here."

"ah, ok." sunghoon nodded, "do you wanna play some fifa until my parents get home?"

'"yeah for sure! i just have to get in the shower first, okay?" heeseung replied, pointing his thumb over his shoulder.

"okay, but hurry! i want at least one game before they're home!"

"okay okay!" heeseung laughed, turning around and quickly running into the bathroom. he shut the door and locked it before anyone else could come in.

"fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck." heeseung mumbled to himself, looking down at his crotch. thank god sunghoon wasn't looking at him while he was downstairs.

heeseung quickly turned on the shower and got undressed. his pale body uncovering itself and releasing his boner. he cursed his past self for putting on jeans this morning. the tightness of them was suffocating and he basically ripped them off.

god, heeseung felt so guilty for masturbating in the shower. he felt like he was fourteen years old again and just starting puberty. but he felt even more guilty that he was masturbating to the thought of his best friend's little sister.

he had tried so hard to get rid of his feelings for you- because there was just o way that the two of you could work anything out between you two without ruining things with sunghoon for the both of you.

but after 10 months of not seeing you or talking to you, it had just seemed to make his feelings for you stronger. you were so much more mature now, you had finally finished growing into your body, and your voice had toned down a pitch that made him almost melt every time you spoke.

your breasts were perkier, and your clothes were tighter, god he wonders what the guys at your school must think of you now.

he'd be so quick to brag to any of them that he was the one that you thought of when you got yourself off. lee heeseung was the one that park sunghoon's little sister thought of.

though, to heeseung, you were so much more to him than sunghoon's little sister, though, in reality, he knew that you'd have to stay that way. no matter how many times he's thought about- or almost kissed you, you were off-limits. and sunghoon has made that very clear.

still, he couldn't get his mind away from your little whines and your fingers rubbing your clit. his hand got faster and faster as he got himself off in the shower- in your shower.

heeseung thought of fucking you so that you would whine his name out loud so breathlessly again. he thought about how tight your pussy must be- how he'd be the first one to fuck you properly. he wanted to get you to come undone on his cock- for you to scream out his name then as you cling onto him for dear life as your climax hit you.

"god." heeseung whined out quietly, thanking the shower for sounding out his volume. he couldn't hold it any longer, letting his release go, squirting his cum all over his hand and shower wall. his red tip pulsating as he put his forehead on the shower wall beside him.

"fuck." he let out a frustrated sigh, what has he done to himself?

it had been two weeks into your summer vacation with heeseung back to living in your house. it would be the last summer where sunghoon would be living with you for good since he was leaving with heeseung in late august.

you hadn't spoken or even seen heeseung since he caught you masturbating the other day. sunghoon and he had been out with their other friends.

that's good for you though. you didn't know how you could face heeseung after the scene of you that he had seen. you prayed that maybe he'd hit his head and forget about it, but you knew that the chances of that were very slim.

since it was summer break, your sleeping schedule was out of control. you'd stay up until the early hours of the morning and not wake up until dinner time.

your stomach growled as you lay in bed, watching a tv series that you had found online. you glanced up at the time; 3:28 am. you groaned but decided that you should get up and get a little night snack.

at this hour, your house was either blasting with music or as quiet as mouse- depending on whether or not your parents were home. tonight, it was quiet. you could see the flash of the tv on downstairs, but it was obviously muted with no sound coming out of it. you checked and saw that all bedroom doors were closed in the hall- making you wonder who was downstairs at this hour. though, they were probably passed out on the couch.

you quietly made your way down the stairs, walking past the living room and seeing an empty room, thanking the gods that heeseung wasn't there.

the cold kitchen tiles made you thankful that you had socks on as you opened the fridge door, preparing to get some leftovers from the dinner that your mother had made hours ago. you were trying so hard to be quiet, not wanting to wake up anyone upstairs.

"can i have some?" a voice said from behind you, making you jump and cover your mouth with your hand, preventing you from screaming out loud.

heeseung stood in the doorway of the kitchen, wearing a white shirt and his usual grey sweatpants that he normally slept in.

"uh. yeah sure," you replied, turning away from him to avoid eye contact. how was he able to act so normal around you?

"great." heeseung said, you could hear him behind you shuffle to sit down at the small island in your kitchen. "what're you doing awake at this hour?"

"i slept all day today, so i'm wide awake now," you spoke softly, trying not to die out of embarrassment right on the spot. you focused on putting some of your mother's food on a plate for you and heeseung.

"ah, i see." heeseung acknowledged, his fist holding his head up as he looked at you. all you could feel were his eyes on your back. you wished you could have worn something other than your shorts and a tank top. "i like your shorts." you felt the hairs on your body go up at heeseung's compliment as if he was reading your mind. these were the exact shorts you were wearing the other day when he caught you getting off to him.

you cleared your throat as you turned to him with your plates in hand, "uh, thanks." you practically whispered, too afraid to use your voice fully.

heeseung took his plate from you, "thank you for the food." he smiled up at you, his hand covering your own as you transferred the plate from one another. instantly you felt your fingers weaken as his fingers covered your own. they were so long and dainty, so much prettier than your own. "and i'm sorry about the other day, i thought you would've heard me come in."

your eyes widened at his 'apology', humiliation filled you as you turned and looked at him again, a cocky smirk was evident on his face.

"i-i," you started but you had no idea what to say, you wanted to run and hide upstairs in your bedroom for the next month and a half and never come out.

"do you always think of me when you do that?" you could hear small laughter in his tone with his question.

"heeseung." you stated, no hint of laughter in your own, only pure seriousness and humiliation. "i don't think of you, like that. ever." you lied, you can't remember the last time you didn't think about him when your fingers were playing with your pussy.

"c'mon y/n. i heard you moan my name." heeseung shook his head with a knowing look. "at first i thought i was hearing things, but with the way that you couldn't just stop staring at my fingers just now, i don't think i was just hearing things." you cursed yourself for moaning his name so idiotically loud last time you got off.

heeseung took a step towards you again, so now you're bodies were almost touching as he looked down at you. he towered over you when he stood. "plus, you're such a bad liar y/n, you only ever call me 'heeseung' when you're hiding something." suddenly you were thrown back into all the memories that you were hiding something when he spoke to you. did you really only use his full name when you were trying to keep something hidden? how did he know you so well?

"so? do you always think of me when you get yourself off, y/n?" heeseung repeated himself, a cocky smirk on his face as he watched you try to avoid eye contact. when you could only offer a meek nod and a shy smile, a big smile spread across heeseung's pretty lips. "how about i give you something to think about next time you need to cum?" you looked up at him in shock at his words, not expecting him to speak to you like this. this was something that you only ever imagined he say to you. "can i touch you y/n?" he bent his head down so he could look right into your eyes. you nodded in response. "yeah?" he wanted to confirm.

"yes. hee, please touch me." heeseung's body pushed you up against the kitchen wall behind you suddenly. his warm-core meeting your own as his scent filled your senses. you turned your head to the side and could see directly out of the kitchen doorway the stairs and part of the living room. if anyone came down they could totally see you and heeseung,.

"relax, y/n, sunghoonie passed out hours ago and you know how heavy your parents sleep, we'll be fine." heeseung whispered into your ear, sensing your worry.

"okay." you whispered out to him, relaxing into his touch. you thought he was going to kiss you when his face got close to yours, but he turned down and started to kiss down your neck. you moved your head to the side so he could have better access to finding your sweet spot. you bucked your hips into him when he found it. making him smile against your neck as he continued to kiss there. "you can't leave marks, hee." you reminded him, making him grunt out at the realization.

"you're sure i can touch you, y/n?" heeseung pulled away once more, hoping to not ruin things between the two of you and your brother.

"please, hee, i wanna feel you." heeseung smiled at your response kissing your forehead before running his hands down your sides and began playing with the hem of your shorts. your faces were close together as you both looked down at his dainty fingers slipping into your shorts. it surprised him when he realized you weren't wearing any panties.

his fingers were instantly met with your wetness, spreading your juices around and coating your fingers. if it was anyone else besides heeseung you were sure that you'd be embarrassed, but you couldn't help it now. this was something that you had thought about for years, and now it was finally happening.

heeseung slipped one finger into your core, making you close your eyes at the impact at first, ready to feel more of him. he kissed your shoulder as he slowly worked his one finger in and out of you, warming you up.

his thumb started to circle your engorged clit, making you buck your hips up at the tension. you could feel him smile against your skin at your actions. no matter what situation you were in, heeseung would always find you cute.

when heeseung adds another finger inside of you, he slowly starts to curl his fingers inside, trying to find your sensitive spot. you have to bite back your moan when he finds it, your grip tightening on his shoulder, letting him know. heeseung's pace slowly starts to speed up as he watches your face curl up in pleasure.

"god princess, you don't understand how long i've wanted to feel you like this," he whispers out to you, your shampoo filling his senses as he leans his face into your head, pressing soft kisses against you, an action that was so different compared to the speed he was going at on your core.

his confession sent butterflies to your stomach and your heart, you could only shake your head as a response to him, looking him in the eyes.

"do you not know how many guys would fucking kill to see you like this, y/n? why do you think sunghoon is so protective of you? do you know how many times he's had to deal with sleazy guys talking about what they'd do to you if they had the chance? and god it pisses me off when i have to hear it, too."

"w-why does it piss you off, hee?" you whimper out to him, the pressure on your clit growing as his actions continue. heeseung swears his cock grows harder at the way you say his nickname.

"because no guy deserves to see you like this, to feel you like this, to get you to come undone on their fingers like this. except for me right y/n? you're just for me, yeah?"

"yes, hee, o-only for you."

heeseung bends his head into your neck again, kissing everyone as a sign of appreciation for being such a good girl for him. you're always such a good girl.

he feels your hole clench around his fingers as he speeds up his actions. "are you gonna come for me y/n?" you nodded weakly as a response, your lower stomach becoming tight as you feel heeseung all around you, wishing that it wouldn't stop ever.

"come on, y/n. i wanna feel you come all over my fingers." heeseung whispers into your ear, biting gently on the tip of it.

"i'm- i, coming." you moaned out, wrapping your hand around heeseung's wrist as he speeds up even faster.

at once, your climax hits you hard, your eyes shutting close at the pleasure heeseung gave you. heeseung slowed down his pace when you were calming down, kissing your forehead gently before he pulled out, not wanting to overstimulate you.

he put his fingers in between you two so you could see. his fingers were wet and glistening from your juices. he slipped his fingers into his mouth, humming around them.

"hee." you meekly whispered out, your hand coming onto hold his wrist, embarrassed that he was tasting you so feverishly.

"what?" heeseung put his fingers away from you with a laugh, "you taste good."

"hee," you whine, a smile of your own coming onto your face through humiliation.

"you're so cute." heeseung confessed yet again, backing away from you so you could straighten out against the wall.

the kitchen fell into the same silence that filled the rest of the house. you were still basking in the fact that lee heeseung just fingered you into the kitchen. it was seriously a dream come true.

"so, i guess i'll you go eat now." heeseung said casually, looking at your untouched plate of food on the island.

"yeah, okay. i'll see you tomorrow, right?"

"yeah if you don't sleep all day again." heeseung teased you, passing you your plate of food.

"whatever." you rolled your eyes with a smile, backing out of the kitchen and heading back to your bedroom up the stairs. at the top you turned around and saw heeseung leaning onto the kitchen doorway, his arms crossed across his chest, a smirk on his face as he watched you smile back at him and disappear out of sight.

you left a feeling in his chest that he couldn't explain, but he didn't want to get rid of it.

-- -- -- -- -- -- --

the morning, you woke up with tiredness still filling your body. you definitely should sleep more, but you wanted to see what heeseung and your brother were doing.

opening your bedroom door, you heard your family's chatter downstairs. you hurriedly skipped downstairs and into the kitchen where they were all sat. your eyes fell immediately onto heeseung, who definitely looked like he needed more sleep as well.

"we'll only be gone three days!" sunghoon said, patting your mom on the shoulder as she raised an eyebrow at him.

"okay, you boys better have fun and be safe ok?" your mother responded, rolling her eyes when heeseung and sunghoon high-fived each other across the table.

"what's going on?" you asked from the doorway, glancing at the spot where heeseung had fingered just mere hours before. your family and heeseung turned and looked at you.

"the boys and we are going to jay's cabin for the weekend." sunghoon teasingly smiled, "and NO you cannot come." you saw heeseung smile down at the table behind sunghoon.

"i wouldn't want to be trapped in the middle of the woods with you guys anyways." you rolled your eyes, grabbing some water from the fridge.

"yeah right, i knew you were gonna ask as soon as i finished the sentence, y/n." sunghoon nudged you teasingly.

"whatever hoonie, i hope you guys have fun." you leaned back against the counter.

"god i hope you guys stay safe, seriously." your mother desperate, your father wrapping his arm around her while winking at the boys.

you were a little upset that you wouldn't be able to see heeseung for a couple of days, after just being so intimate with him. but it's not like you guys were together! no, he just fingered you, that's all. and called you cute. and told you that he gets pissed when other guys talk about you. okay fuck, maybe you were gonna miss him a lot for the next three days.

"let's go pack, hee." sunghoon grabbed heeseung's shoulder, taking him away from the table and back upstairs. heeseung barely looked at you as he left, making your chest feel empty. of course, he probably just didn't want sunghoon to think there was anything going on between you two.

you sat down at the island in your kitchen and started scrolling through social media while your mother prepared breakfast for everyone. you almost dropped your phone in your water when you just so happened to press minjeong's snapchat story.

it was a selfie of her and her friends in their bikini tops : so excited for this weekend! see you guys soon! @ heeseung @ sunghoon @ jay @ jake.

the sinking feeling returned to your stomach as you stared at the four girls that would be going on the trip with them. you already knew what minjeong looked like very well, but in this picture, she looked extra pretty. she was the complete opposite of what you looked like, and she was heeseung's age, making her more mature than you.

heeseung would definitely be into more mature girls. they were sexy and experienced and knew what they wanted. you were younger and cute. that's what he called you. cute. the once compliment now added to the sinking feeling in your stomach. maybe that's why heeseung wasn't looking at you this morning. you were sunghoon's baby sister, so cute and easy to forget. now he gets to spend three days with sexy minjeong, who's already tried to get into heeseung's pants before. maybe she succeeded when they were away at university, who knows?

fuck. now you really didn't want heeseung to go.

you stayed put in your bedroom for the rest of the morning, even when you heard sunghoon and heeseung leaving. you watched them jump into jake's jeep when he and jay pulled up to pick them up. their bags were thrown into the truck before jumping into the backseat. when they drove away you thought for sure your stomach had gone with them it felt so low and empty.

heeseung 🤎 : i'll see you sunday :)

your phone buzzed when he texted you.

you stared at his message for a while, not sure if you should answer or not. by the time you stopped contemplating if you should reply or not, it had been hours and you decided to just leave it. it's not his fault that there are so many sexy girls that would kill to have him on top of them, but still, you wanted him to just be yours.

you avoided going onto snapchat for the first day while they were away. you couldn't deal with seeing them all have fun without. and god forbid you to see any of the girls and heeseung being a little too close.

you had to deal with heeseung bringing girls to your house, making out with them in front of you, or talking about fucking some girl from your school for years. so now, when you've finally had your chance with heeseung, you didn't know how you could ever go back to pretending that what he was saying wasn't bothering you.

sunoo came over saturday night, hoping to cheer you up a little.

"heeseung did what to you in your kitchen?" sunoo gasped loudly, making you cover his mouth in fear that your parents would hear and put two and two together about what he was talking about.

"shh god! do you always have to be so loud! you tsked at your best friend.

"i'm sorry! but i mean, this is something that we've only ever joked about for years!"

"that's what im saying!" you nodded to him, glad that it wasn't just you that was shocked.

"god, was it good?"

"really good." you raised your eyebrows, making the both of you laugh.

"so now what? are you guys finally gonna date?"

"of course not! are you kidding me?" you lay back on your bed, thinking about how that could never happen in a million years. not when heeseung is so important to sunghoon.

"why not? i'm sure sunghoon wouldn't kill his best friend?" sunoo lay down beside you on his stomach so he could face you.

"i'm sure he would." you nodded sarcastically, "heeseung is the only person that sunghoon's ever 100 percent trusted. how would he feel if that person went and started dating me?! his little sister?!" you exclaimed, your hands shaking out in the air.

"god, you need a drink." sunoo laughed.

"fuck, yeah i do."

sunoo and you drank quietly in your room until it was approaching 10pm. you were both upset, and drunk and you couldn't stop thinking about heeseung.

"i cannot believe he's with that minjeong girl right now!" you slurred, trying to apply some lip gloss in your mirror as sunoo lay on your bed.

"i heard that she slept with that yeonjun guy before he graduated." sunoo nodded, looking at you through your mirror's reflection.

"choi yeonjun?!" you gasped in shock. he was only the school's hottest it boy for years. even when you were in elementary school you heard about his beauty. "my god, this minjeong is living the dream." you continued to stare at yourself in the mirror with a frown. "i wish i was as sexy as her. guys seem to only like the sexy girls, i swear."

"you're sexy, y/n!" sunoo cheered, coming up behind you and squeezing your cheeks.

"god, sunoo." you pushed his hands off of your face, "i am definitely not sexy when you squeeze my face like that." making both of you laugh.

"i say, you get all dressed up and send a sexy pic to heeseung, i'm sure that'll make him realize just how sexy you are, he'll want to come home right away!" sunoo planted the idea in your head, allowing for you to contemplate it. if you hadn't been drinking for five hours already, you're sure that you would've been totally against the idea. but you were so intoxicated, and jealous of minjeong and missing heeseung that you agreed to the idea immediately.

sunoo and you tore through your closet for a while, trying to figure out what to wear for the picture.

"what about this?" sunoo pulled out a black-lined, mesh bralette from the back of your closet. "i think this is sexy."

"that is too sexy and i think i'll be too weird if i wear that." you gasped. you had only worn it once underneath your clothes and you felt uncomfortable all day. but maybe that was a good thing. you should get out of your cute comfortableness and into something more sexy and mature.

"what? no! heeseung will love this, y/n. when has he ever seen you in something like this?" sunoo asked, which made you think about it. all he ever really saw you in was your school uniform and your pajamas. you never really tried to go all out when you were in your own home.

"fine, give me the thing i'll go put it on." you snatched the mesh fabric out of sunoo's hand, a devilish grin on sunoo's face as he cheered you on.

-

pulling the bralette over your head and down your body seemed to be the only easy part of this 'mission'. staring at yourself in the mirror while wearing it was hard to get used to. you had never worn such a thing so carelessly before.

sunoo gasped when you walked back into your bedroom with the bralette on.

"my god y/n, you really are sexy!" he jumped up, shaking your shoulders, making you feel a little better about your appearance.

trying to take a sexy selfie was definitely the hardest thing you've had to do in your life up to this point. sunoo was trying to teach you tips on how to find a good selfie angle that would broadcast to heeseung that you are done being cute- you're sexy now.

"now, put the camera higher up!" sunoo instructed, following right after. "yeah like that! now only put one side of your face in it! - and make sure your chest is in it still!"

*click*

"well, let's see it." sunoo said, pushing so he sat beside you as you pressed the picture. both of you gasping as it appeared on the screen.

"sexy," you said in unison, high-fiving each other.

you stood up and put your sweater back on over your body, wanting to cover up as soon as possible again, "god and now i'm scared to send it to him." you told sunoo nervously.

"what? why? it's a good picture!"

"yeah, it's a good picture but it's heeseung and it's me," you explained to your pink haired friend.

"i don't understand. don't you want to do this? i thought you liked him."

"i do! but i don't know. what if he doesn't like it?"

"y/n, trust me, he'll love it. here come sit, let's press send together."

you sat close to sunoo, opening up heeseung's and your messages, his unanswered text from the day before still there.

"okay, ready?" sunoo asked you, holding your phone with you.

"ready."

"three, two, one." you both press send at the same time with your thumbs.

"ahhhh! what did we just do?" you stood up, fear coursing through you.

"i don't know! you just sent lee heeseung a sexy picture!" sunoo stood up after you, feared for you.

"why did we do that?!"

"i don't know!"

"i need a drink!" you gasped, searching around your room for the liquor bottle that sunoo had brought over.

-

heeseung wanted to go home as soon as they got to the cabin yesterday.

he didn't know what was wrong with him.

usually, this was his type of scene: a party, four hot chicks, and his three best friends. what else could he ask for? he laughed at himself as he thought this.

y/n. that's what else he could ask for.

he'd trade all the hot chicks in the world if it meant that he could have you all to himself.

heeseung remembers the first time he saw park sunghoon. it was the first day of his year 10 and he saw a short year 9 wandering lost around the hallways. heeseung remembers thinking, 'hey give that kid some height and a good fashion sense and he wouldn't be that embarrassing to hang around with.". heeseung laughs at the memory.

heeseung and sunghoon clicked almost instantly when heeseung introduced himself in the hallway. they were both driven and had goals, and they really liked to fucking party. sunghoon introduced heeseung to jay and jake later that day at lunch, and that's how their little friend group had started. the 02z and their 'grandpa'.

"i told you not to call me that, jake!" heeseung shoved jake's shoulder in the cafeteria.

"i know i know! i'm sorry, grandpa- i mean heeseung! heeseung!!" jake screeched in shock, making the jay and sunghoon laugh at jake's slip up. "i really didn't mean to call you it that time!"

"yeah, whatever." heeseung rolled his eyes, trying to hide his smile as he continued to eat his ramen for lunch.

he remembers when park sunghoon first invited him to his house. he was so honored that someone was giving him a chance to get out of his own house.

heeseung never really got along with the rest of his family. he loved them, and they loved him, but they all had the same morals and values in life that were opposite of heeseungs. it was difficult to get through a conversation with them about anything. that's why he was so happy when sunghoon invited him over- it meant that he could stay somewhere away from his family.

he remembers the first time that he saw you. you were sitting at the island in your kitchen. sunghoon was introducing him to his mother, but heeseung could barely take his eyes off of you.

he knew that sunghoon had a little sister, but he didn't know that she'd be so cute. you were sitting there eating the dinner that your mom had made you, your black hair that matched sunghoon's was thrown up in a messy ponytail and your knee was pressed against the counter from the position you sat in the chair.

heeseung remembers the way that you tried to avoid eye contact with him as you blushed when you two made eye contact. the mole on your nose bridge matched sunghoon's, but it looked so much more appealing on you than it did your brother. he remembers your quiet little 'hi' that you spoke out, making heeseung smile at the memory.

when sunghoon pulled him away from his family, he remembers wishing for an excuse to go back downstairs so that he could see you again, but no ideas really came to his head.

the next day at school, heeseung asked jay and jake about you.

"god, don't even mention her when sunghoon's around." jay shook his head, taking a bite out of his food.

"what? why?" heeseung asked curiously.

"has sunghoon not had the 'stay away from my sister or i'll rip your balls off personally' convo with you?" jake asked him from across the table.

"no? what the hell is that?" heeseung asked, surprised when jay and jake made a knowing look at each other.

"trust me, you'll get it some day." jay poionted his fork at heeseung.

"basically, sunghoon is just really protective over y/n. he tells everyone that if they even stare at her for longer than five seconds he'll kill them. so yeah, don't even try to mess around with park y/n." jake explained to the older boy, who could only nod in response. heeseung mentally kicked you out of his brain that day, wishing to never think of you again while he was friends with sunghoon.

but it was so hard not to think about you when he saw you every day. and every day you seemed to get more and more attractive to him. the sarcasm that you used with your brother, the care that used with your friends and parents, the natural beauty that you gave off in the morning when you just woke up. it was all too much for heeseung to be able to ignore.

so heeseung waited, and waited, and waited for the day that sunghoon would have the 'stay away from my sister or i'll rip your balls off personally' convo with him.

but the day never came.

heeseung had heard sunghoon have the conversation with practically everyone that he had ever interacted with- except for heeseung. it made heeseung nervous. so nervous.

he waiting for the day that he'd let it slip that he thinks sunghoon's little sister is the hottest fucking thing he's ever seen and would mess up his years-long friendship with his best friend- but it never happened. sunghoon had so much trust in heeseung that anything about you and heeseung together never really bothered sunghoon.

heeseung wondered if it was maybe because he was older than sunghoon. he was more mature and responsible. but that didn't explain why sunghoon had held lee jeno by the collar when he heard that jeno wanted to 'fuck park y/n from behind' since jeno was a year older than heeseung himself.

he didn't know exactly what it was with himself that sunghoon had trusted so much. sunghoon has personally seen how heeseung has treated some of the girls in the school. he has heard heeseung explain all the dirty things he wants to do to certain girls that they all find hot. but still, he's the only boy that sunghoon trusts around his 'baby' sister.

when he graduated last year and almost kissed you in the hall, he knew that he was in some dangerous territory. he wished then that sunghoon would have had the 'stay away from my sister or i'll rip your balls off personally' convo with him because there was nothing stopping him from taking you right then and there. it pained him to come to his senses and pull away from you. how could he be such a terrible friend to his best friend?

heeseung thought that his feelings would go away over his first year at university. there were so many new, hot girls around! new hot girls that he wouldn't have time to think about you he'd be so busy with them. but that only worked for the first month.

no girls could compare to you, not even the ones he knew had some good pussy; like minjeong. he had heard so many stories about kim minjeong (choi yeonjun even fucked her!) but he couldn't bear to hook up with her when all he could see was your face and hear your laughter.

when he returned home three weeks ago, he didn't expect you to have matured too much. sure you were still cute but he couldn't even look at you without thinking of all the nasty things he would do to you. 'thank god sunghoon can't read minds' he remembers thinking when he stepped into the door and saw you standing there on the steps.

ever since he's been back he's had a hard time holding himself back from you. before all he had to do was think of his friendship with your brother, but now, he felt like that meant almost nothing to him if it meant that he could be with you.

heeseung felt guilty after fingering you in your kitchen. the home where a family welcomes him with big arms when his own family doesn't. under the same roof where his best friend lies asleep, trusting him with his life. just for what? for him to use you like all the other girls he's used before? it's not like you could ever be together. it was a one-time thing and that's it and now he's probably hurt you since you didn't even answer his text yesterday.

his mind was just full of park y/n that it was pooling out the sides of his ears.

his phone vibrating shook him out of his thoughts of you for a millisecond, before bringing him right back in.

park y/n <3 : Slide to view image.

heeseung instantly opened his phone to see what you had sent him. thinking that it was probably some stupid meme, or had some sort of inside joke that would be between the two of you.

god was he wrong.

he abruptly put his phone to his chest, in fear that any of the seven other people (including your brother!!!!!) would see. they all seemed to be in their own worlds as he sat in front of the small campfire they had built. sunghoon had one of minjeong's friends on his lap, so he totally wasn't interested in anything that anyone else was doing.

heeseung put his phone's brightness on low as he pressed the picture you had sent him. never in his life did he think you'd send him such a picture or wear such a revealing top.

the more he looked at your picture, the more he could feel his cock grow hard in his pants. your tits were basically on full display for him as the black mesh bralette you were wearing hid almost nothing. the way you were biting your red-tinted lip drove him crazy. your pretty hair swiveled down your exposed shoulder- the shoulder where he had kissed you so soft before that it had made you whine out so needily for him.

"fuck." heeseung mumbled out, trying to hide his boner.

"what's wrong heeseungie, are you okay?" minjeong suddenly appeared beside him, making him lock his phone immediately.

"what? yeah! i'm fine!" heeseung said with a forced cheery voice.

"hm," minjeong pouted, sitting on the chair's handle beside him, "you haven't been yourself since we've gotten here, are you sure you're okay?"

yeah! i'm fine! i have a boner bc of sunghoon's little sister and SUNGHOON IS SITTING RIGHT OVER THERE! heeseung mentally screamed at the clueless girl beside him.

"yeah, i'm good." heeseung nodded, pulling his sweater done more to cover his bulge.

"how about you come up to my room with me? maybe i could make you feel great!" minjeong winked at him.

and if heeseung was his past self. the self that didn't know what your pussy tasted like, that didn't know you liked to be called princess when you're getting off, that didn't know just how much you liked him back- then sure, he'd follow kim minjeong up to her temporary room and fuck her. he'd fuck her so that he'd forget about not being able to ever be with his best friend's sister. but he was just not that heeseung anymore.

uh, i don'-" heeseung was about to decline when someone from across their small little outdoor kickback had answered practically for him.

"yeah, heeseung, why don't you go have fun upstairs? you really haven't been yourself." sunghoon spoke to him, the girl on his lips smiling at minjeong with a knowing look that made heeseung want to scream.

but of course, sunghoon could see that heeseung hadn't been himself this weekend. sunghoon could see that heeseung was anything other than practically in love with his little sister.

"come on heeseungie~!" minjeong whined out, grabbing a hold of his hand.

"okay." heeseung had to force out, smiling at the girl. he remembers thinking about how pretty minjeong was last year. he remembers how all the guys in the school used to drool over her. he'd kill to get inside minjeong just based on how pretty she was. but now, as he's looking up at her from his seat, and the campfire is lighting up her small face, he can't help but think about how average-looking she is. she is no longer the girl that belonged in magazines, or the girl that looks like she could be a princess- she's just okay.

and heeseung thinks that every girl from now will just be 'okay' looking since he's seen how beautiful you are.

minjeong drags him up to her room in the cabin, a small but cozy room and pushes him onto her bed. fuck, i still have a boner and it's NOT from this girl fuck, is all that heeseung can think.

"look, minjeong-" heeseung starts, but is interrupted by her sitting on his lap. her lips start kissing up to his neck, glad to finally have lee heeseung underneath her.

"minjeong." heeseung states, his hands resting on her skin so she can't move closer.

"hm?" she whimpers out to him, too entranced with trying to make him feel good.

"i can't do this... with you." heeseung finishes, and the once pretty girl pulls away from him and looks at him with confusion.

"well what do you mean, heeseungie?" she asks, her nickname for him rolls off her tongue so easily and he hates it. heeseung gently pushes her off of him so that she sits beside him on the bed. "what are you doing?"

"we can't have sex, minjeong."

minjeong scoffs at heeseung, "are you being serious?" she asks, her once the cute tone of her voice drops drastically. "we've been screwing around for how long now? and you're just telling me now that you're uninterested?"

"yeah, pretty much. and i'm sorry."

"oh shut the fuck up." minjeong stands up now, fixing her shirt so it's back in place. her outburst takes heeseung aback as he looks up at her. "i've wanted you since we were in year 10, lee heeseung. and now that i've almost finally got you, i just can't? what is it? seriously? why can't you just want me back?"

heeseung stares at minjeong with an unreadable expression. he has no idea how to respond to such a confession from a girl who's never thought anything about it besides that maybe at one time she was hot.

"hm?" minjeong urges him when he doesn't answer.

"i just... don't like you, like that- i'm sorry! i am! but-"

"you're so pathetic, heeseung. and i mean it. you go around fucking every other girl around here, so many girls that you can't even remember if you've fucked them already or not, and you just can't settle down for one girl? why can't you just be with me? are you really that much of a douchebag?"

heeseung starts to smile at how wrong her statement is about him.

"you think it's funny do you? that you can break so many girls' hearts?" minjeong scoffs at him, crossing her arms across her chest.

"no, that's not the funny part." heeseung shakes his head and looks straight into minjeong's eyes, "the funny part is that i can settle down for one girl. i already have the girl that i can settle down with- but we can't be together. and that's why we can't have sex minjeong, because i love her and it's too painful now to be with anyone but her."

minjeong's eyes soften at his explanation, her arms becoming loose and hanging at her sides as she stares at heeseung. she feels tears well up in her eyes as she realizes that the boy she truly wants has fallen in love with someone else right in front of her.

"well, whoever the girl is, she's one lucky son of a bitch." minjeong states and then takes a deep breath, backing up and opening her bedroom door for heeseung to leave, now counting down the seconds for when she can leave this cabin tomorrow.

-

"fuck sunoo, he read it and hasn't responded." you groan, sitting down on the edge of your bed, your heart beating out of your chest at the word read, "i really fucked it up didn't i?"

"no! you didn't! he's probably just masturbating to it because he couldn't handle your sexiness." sunoo reassured you, coming to rest his head on your stressed shoulder.

"or sunghoon saw it and he's not shoving heeseung's dead body into the lake."

"right, or that." sunoo pointed out sarcastically, making you smile a little bit. "he's probably just drunk and fell asleep. they're coming back tomorrow so you can talk about it then, right?"

"yeah, i guess." you shrugged, laying down in frustration, "ugh, what have i done?"

-- -- -- -- -- -- --

you dreaded the sound of your brother's voice echoing through the house on the late sunday afternoon, the day after you sent lee heeseung a 'sexy selfie'.

"we're home~!" sunghoon called out, cheers from your parents downstairs were heard then. you made your way out of your bedroom and down the stairs to greet your brother and his best friend. your heart was pounding as you saw heeseung's dark green hair in the front hall.

"how was it you guys?" your mother asked, hugging them as they came through the door, your dad was helping move their bags to the side.

"it was fun! jay got so sunburnt he can hardly move!" sunghoon laughed out loud, making heeseung smile.

"oh no," your mother frowned, obviously not finding it as funny as they did. "you guys must be hungry! dinner is ready now so come and eat, you can put away your stuff later! you come down now too, y/n!" your mother pointed you out in your 'hiding' spot in the middle of the staircase. sunghoon and heeseung turned at the mention of your name. sunghoon is backing up to the staircase with his knees bent for you to get on his back.

you climbed on and pulled his hair as a joke, "hey! watch it!" sunghoon grunted out at you, a teasing smile on his face. "one of us has got to have some good hair and it's obviously not gonna be you so you have to protect this one."

"shut up! oh my god!" you laughed out, holding onto his shoulders as he carried you through the house to the table. you rested your cheek on his back and glanced at heeseung, who held a soft smile on his face as he watched you and your brother interact somewhat lovingly.

"so, what did you do at the cabin?" your father asked once you were all sat down in your usual spots.

"eh, just swam and hung around, listened to some music, the usual stuff i guess but in a different location." sunghoon shrugged, winking at heeseung. the wink sent a heavy feeling into your stomach again- a feeling that you're starting to get used to at this point since it happens so much. "i am really tired though." sunghoon suddenly yawned into his plate.

"well that's because it was the first fresh air you've gotten in the past five years- all you do is play video games inside." you teased your brother. "ow!" you yelped, feeling the harsh jab of his foot in your calf.

"Seriously, you guys? will you ever get along properly?" your mother asked, exhaustion showed on her face, "how do you deal with it, heeseung?"

heeseung smiled awkwardly now that all the attention was on him, "i have no idea." he deadpanned, making you all laugh around the table.

-

since sunghoon was so tired from this weekend, he went to bed early, along with your parents who had to prepare for a week full of work starting tomorrow.

so basically your house was silent by 10pm as you lay awake in your bed once again.

heeseung 🤎 : are you awake?

you got flashbacks from when he had texted you this before years ago, you wondered if he was having the same memory as he sent it.

you : yes

heeseung 🤎 : can i come to ur room?

you : my door's open

you sat up in your bed waiting for him, unlike the last time he asked to come into your room late at night, it only took him a minute for him to quietly slip into your bedroom.

"hi," he spoke out softly to you as he stood beside your bed, he seemed to be shy as he stood in front of you now.

"do you wanna lay down?" you asked him, figuring that he was just as tired as sunghoon was from being away all weekend.

"if you don't mind." heeseung agreed to it, you removed the corner of your blanket so he could lay down underneath it as an answer.

so now you and lee heeseung were laying together in your bed. both of your hearts were racing as you thought about what to say.

"i uh," heeseung spoke finally, "i liked the picture you sent."

"you did?"

heeseung turned his head to look at you, you were just as pretty in the moonlight as he remembered, "of course i did." his answer made you smile so big, that you felt like you had to hide it. "why wouldn't i have liked it?"

"i don't know," you shrugged, embarrassed at the real reason. heeseung turned so that he was on his side now, his head on your pillow, smelling your shampoo.

"you must know, so just tell me." he urged you gently.

"i'm not- i'm not very sexy, so i wanted to be sexy for you," you confessed with a blush on your pale cheeks.

"y/n," heeseung called you after a minute of silence, his fingers wrapping around your chin so you could look at him, "i think you're sexy all the time. no matter what you do. you don't have to try to be sexy for me when you already are."

"you think i'm sexy?"

"mhm," heeseung nodded against your sheets, you wondered if when he left would his own shampoo be mixed in with yours now, "i think you're cute too, a beautiful, funny, sarcastic, smart, caring. i mean the list could go on about how many great things i find you."

your heart immediately swelled at heeseung's words, this is all that you ever wanted to hear from him and now it's happening. instead of answering, you pushed your lips against his. so you were finally kissing.

instantly, as if it was a habit that's been built up over years, heeseung tangles his fingers into your hair, pulling you closer to him to deepen the kiss. it was a sloppy but meaningful kiss, filled with words that neither of you could speak out loud to each other.

heeseung pulled away when both of you were out of breath, "Fuck, y/n." he stared at you with such adoration on his face. you brushed against his grey sweatpants as you tried to pull the blanket over him more, feeling the soft stir of his dick twitch at your movement.

"are you?-" you didn't know how to exactly say what you were thinking but heeseung got it and nodded, a shy smile on his face.

"i'm sorry, i told you that you were sexy."

you grabbed his face in your hands and pressed his lips to yours again in a more feverish way. a way that both of you have been thinking about since you first saw each other.

"i want you heeseung." you whispered to him - to only him.

"yeah?" heeseung asked, pulling your lips onto his again.

"yeah, i want you to be my first." heeseung pulled away far from you then in shock.

"you're first?" heeseung repeated, "you mean, last time- that was the first time you've ever been, you know, finger-?"

"no! that wasn't the first, i mean it was the first time i guy's made me cum, but i now i mean, first as in, sex. full-on sex," you mumbled, feeling slightly embarrassed.

"oh my god okay, you scared me for a second, jesus." heeseung put a hand over his heart to calm it down. "being fingered really sloppily in a kitchen does not sound like a good first fingering my god."

"yeah, well at least you made me cum." you smiled at him, kissing his cute lips once again.

"i don't want to hurt you though, princess." heeseung pulled away, ;"it always hurts the first time, no?"

"i know you'll be gentle, hee, i trust you." his heart thumped at his chest at your words- now both park siblings trusted him too much,.

"okay, okay." heeseung nodded, kissing you deeply again. you felt his hands sneak over your body going underneath your tank top and pulling it up over your head. even in the dark moonlight, he could see how pretty your breasts were.

"shit, even prettier than how i imagined." heeseung spoke out, his hands coming up to squeeze your hardened nipples, making you whine out.

"sensitive still," you spoke softly, no one's touched like this before, especially no one that you've wanted this long to before.

heeseung felt his cock twitch in his sweatpants again at your words. you were going to kill him. you were going to fucking kill him with how hot you are.

"fuck." heeseung shook his head, wrapping his hands around your waist now and moving so that you sat on top of him, right on his bulge that was aching for you.

"i want your top off, too." you whined, your hands roaming over his chest, tugging his shirt off of his head, making him laugh at how cute you're being. you flung his shirt onto the floor once it was over his head. his tan skin still glowing in the moonlight. you had seen heeseung shirtless countless times around your house, in pictures, or in your pool, but never in a situation like this. he was always pretty, but he was beautiful while laying underneath you. all his pretty freckles and scars, free for your eyes only in a time like this.

"beautiful," you spoke your mind, bending down and kissing down his chest until you were above his sweatpant waistband.

"y/n," heeseung moaned out once your hand brushed over his cock.

"i wanna suck you off, hee." heeseung eyes rolled to the back of his head at your words. he's been sucked off so many times before, but he knows that none of them will ever live up to how you will do it.

"next time, princess, okay? i just wanna focus on you now."

you pouted, but let him slip off those fucking shorts he loves seeing you in so much. your bare core open for him to see. "so cute." he admired as his soft hands grazed around your bare body for him to see. his cock was dripping at the thought that he's the only one and will always be the only one to see you like this.

your hands slipped underneath heeseung's sweatpants, your hands encircling his hard cock and pulling it out for you to see. your thighs twitched as it came into eye contact, your pussy leaking onto his sweatpants at how pretty it looked. it matched the rest of him perfectly. Its red tip look painful for how hard it was, and precum was flowing out everywhere for how turned on he was.

your hands jerked him off gently, spreading his precum around so it would fit in your tiny hole. you stood up on your knees, ready for him to finally enter you when he grabbed your wrist.

"wait!" heeseung whispered and shouted at you, "Are you wet enough?" he asked, suddenly his hand slipped between your legs, making you almost cry out from the sudden pleasure. his fingers easily slipped inside of your hole, finding your sensitive spot effortlessly now. when he figured that you were ready for him, he lets you carry on, holding onto his dick and ready to enter you.

slowly but surely you pushed his cock inside of you, his hands ran up and down your sides, encouraging you that you were doing well. you tried to keep your walls unclenched as he eased more inside of you. when you couldn't take any more of him, you put your hands on his chest and sat still for a moment, trying to calm all your nerves and the pain that shot through your core.

heeseung had to physically hold himself back from bucking up into you or moving at all. he was pushing his hips away from you, toward the bed so he wouldn't make you hurt further.

"you're doing so well, princess, feel so good around me already." heeseung moaned out to you, his finger slipping towards your clit and circling it, making you have to bite down on his shoulder to keep you quiet.

"fuck, hee, i really don't know if i can be quiet with you inside of me." you admitted, the feeling of his cock so much.

"i know baby, me neither, but we're gonna have to be unless you want your family to find us." heeseung replied, his fingers still playing with your clit as he waited for you to move. at his words he felt you clench around his cock tightly, making him bite his lip from pleasure, "do you like the thought of people walking in on us? at least then people would know how much we care about each other, yeah?"

you nodded as you started to your hips up and down on his cock, it was already hitting all the perfect spots inside of you.

"god, hee i might cum." you moaned out quietly into his ear.

"already?" heeseung mocked but was also pretty shocked. his fingers sped up around your clit, wanted to feel how tight your walls would clench around him when you came.

your orgasm hit you hard as you continued to move your hips on his cock, rocking your clit into his fingers. your mouth formed a quiet 'O' as your orgasm hit its peak before fading away. "so pretty, my princess." heeseung kissed your forehead, "so pretty when you come undone on my cock."

"you just feel so good." you groaned, grinding your clit down on his pelvis now, feeling his cock twitch inside of you as he watched you get yourself off on him.

heeseung was still holding back from coming as he watched you work yourself up again, using him as a toy. you were seriously the hottest thing he's ever seen and the only thing that was preventing him from coming right then and there was the idea of getting you to come again before him.

your pussy was so wet that if anyone walked past your door they could hear it squelch from the impact of you bouncing up and down on heeseung's cock.

"fuck hee!" you moaned out, leaning down to bite on his shoulder to keep yourself quiet. another orgasm came from you as heeseung played with your clit once again, sending you over the edge.

"shit y/n, you feel so tight around me. i can fucking feel you come on me." heeseung groaned, his eyes rolling back to his head again as he held himself back from coming inside of you. you stopped your movements as your second orgasm subsided, needing a breather for coming so hard twice so quick.

"are you good, princess?" heeseung whispered to you, kissing your head as you calmed down.

"yeah, so good." you slurred back to him, feeling drunk off the pleasure that his cock was giving you, you've never felt so good in your entire life.

"can you come again for me? just once more, i'm so close." heeseung asked you, his hips grinding in slow circles underneath you.

"y-yeah, only if you fuck me now."

"i got you, princess." heeseung nodded, before gently flipping you over so that he was on top of you, his cock not slipping out of you once.

the two of you were silent as heeseung slowly pounded into you, taking his time with you as if this would be the first and last time he's gotten you like this.

he;'s taken his time to remember how you feel, how you look, and how you sound when you're so fucked out for him. it's surely only what dreams are made out of.

heeseung gives you a few more hard thrusts until his cum was filling you up, a moan of your own escaping at the feeling, a smaller orgasm taking over your body as you both still against each other, taking in the moment of pleasure between you two.

you feel heeseung's cum gush out of you as he pulls his limp dick out of you now, careful not to touch your sensitive clit.

"mm, heeseung." you called his full name, catching his full attention now, "i wanna taste you this time."

"you're gonna get me hard again, fuck." heeseung shook his head at you, gently pushing his fingers between your slit, making your hips buck up at the sensation. his cum was on his two fingers as he brought them to your mouth.

you happily sucked them into your mouth, tasting his sweet cum as if it was the last thing you'd ever taste. "y/n." he moaned out as he watched you slurp every drop from his fingers. "i really am gonna need a blowjob from you." he admitted, feeling his cock twitch at the sight of you.

"next time." you smiled up at him, an innocent smile during something that is the complete opposite.

to say that you and heeseung felt guilty for hiding your relationship from sunghoon and your parents was an understatement- you were both practically ripping your hair out from the stress and anxiety of them finding out and sunghoon killing his best friend and your boyfriend.

you : what the fuck am i gonna do sunoo? i can't keep hiding it for much longer, they leave next week for uni.

sunoo ❤️ : you're gonna have to tell your brother, y/n! heeseung's his best friend! he trusts him! im sure he won't be that mad!! maybe, hopefully, haha

you : fuck, we're gonna have too. ugh!! im fucking scared.

sunoo❤️: you can do it!!!! i love you!!!!

"hey sunoo, get off you're phone and come play a game with us!" riki called out to his older friend, who distracted him from texting you about your problem.

"give me a second!" sunoo called back to him.

"who're you texting, sunoo?" jungwon teased him, his eyebrows raising up and down.

"as if you'd like to know." sunoo rolled his eyes at his younger friend who always seemed to be in everyone's business except for his own.

"sunoo! come on~!" riki whined, wanting so badly for someone to play ping pong with him.

"fine, i'm coming," sunoo huffed, standing up and tossing his phone on the couch. sunoo had thought that he was turned off his phone, but was too distracted by riki to really pay attention.

as jungwon still sat on the couch, he couldn't help but glance over at sunoo's opened messages, his eyes going wide by reading the latest ones with you.

"holy shit." jungwon whispered, throwing sunoo's phone back onto the couch before he came back.

as the final weekend of sunghoon living with you before he went to university came, it was almost tradition that he throws a party in honor of going away. your town's infamous party boy and his friends would be leaving to party somewhere else. what would your town do without them?

almost everyone in sunghoon's grade and your own was filling in your house. it was the biggest party that they've ever thrown in all four years of high school. even the '01 liners that graduated last year had come to see heeseung and send sunghoon off for university.

unlike last year's going away party, you were actually allowed to come to this once thanks to sunghoon's less strict protectiveness of you.

of course, heeseung and you couldn't be seen beside each other, but you were both planning on telling sunghoon the big news tomorrow. you both weren't sure of how he would react. hopefully, he'd be happy though since he and heeseung have already put a down payment on the apartment that they're going to be sharing for the year.

as midnight approached, a loud clinking sound captured everyone's attention and the loud music turned off.

"excuse me everyone!" a loud voice boomed, getting everyone to be quiet. there stood hwang intak on your coffee table in the living room. you haven't heard from intak since the beginning of the summer, you figured that he was just busy or that he found a new friendgroup to hang around with. he was holding a fork up to a beer bottle, "as i'm sure everyone is so sad to see the '02's leave this year, i have some happy news that i'm sure. everyone would love to hear!" intak started, everyone in your house nodded and made sounds of agreement, "i'm sure the one and only park sunghoon will love to hear this one especially,"

you stopped smiling at the mention of your brother's name, glancing at him and then heeseung from across the room. heeseung was looking uncertain as well.

"it has been brought to my attention, that park y/n is fucking her brother's best friend!" intak smiled, a gasp going through the room and your blood ran cold as you made eye contact with your very furious brother from across the room. "isn't that right, heeseung?" everyone in the room turned and looked at heeseung who was standing right beside sunghoon like he normally does. heeseung immediately put his hands up in defense as your brother pushed his chest against his, a betrayed look on his face. you couldn't hear what exactly was being said from all the whispering going around you, but it ended up with sunghoon pushing heeseung onto the chair behind him and then pushing everyone else out of the way to storm up to his room.

"okay! i think that's about it for tonight. everyone has a good school year and get the fuck out!" jay stood up on your coffee table now, pushing intak out of the way.

a pleased-looking intak came up to you right after.

"intak, why would you do that?" you asked him, tears welling up in your eyes from humiliation and fear of what's going to happen to you and heeseung and your brother.

"you know i've liked you since the day i met you park y/n. and what do you do? you turn me down, treat me like just a friend in front of everyone and then go and use me at some party- never to speak to me again?" intak explained to you, you shook your head no, trying to find some words to speak, "no! don't y/n. i thought it was weird when you were suddenly all up on me at the first party of the summer, and i knew you were acting weird all night! i saw you looking at heeseung too! i just never put two and two together until jungwon told me that you've been fucking him behind everyone's back!"

"intak! it's not like that! i'm sorry! what i did was wrong and i'm truly sorry! but you didn't have to go and do that! you just ruined my own relationship with my brother!" you cried out to him, your hands shaking at your sides.

"yeah? well maybe you should've thought about that before you went whoring around with your brother's best friend." intak spat in your face.

"would you shut the fuck up?" a voice came from behind him, making both of you jump. there stood an even more angry sunghoon as he listened to what intak had to say about you. "you are some little fucking pathetic rat. you have no idea what the fuck you're talking about do you? you just say whatever comes to mind and don't care about the coincidences, don't you?" sunghoon pushed intak up against the wall beside you.

"sunghoon!" you tried to reach out to him, only to have your hand pulled away from behind you, jake was holding you back. "no jake! let go of me." you struggled.

"bro, what? i'm trying to do you a favor? your best friend is the rat! he went behind your back and fucked your sister!" intak managed to get out through fear.

sunghoon faked a laugh, "if you talk about my sister fucking someone one more time, i'm going to rip your balls off personally." sunghoon threatened the younger boy.

"there it is." jay pointed out from beside you.

"yep." jake quickly agreed, glancing at him briefly before returning back to sunghoon and itak.

"bro i'm sorry." intak started but was cut off.

"don't call me bro, okay bro?" sunghoon mocked intak, pulling the collar of his shirt up as he stared right into his eyes, "if you talk about my sister, or any of my friends again, i will make sure to come back to town and hurt you, really bad. got it?"

"yes, i got it. i'm sorry." intak shook his head quickly, wanting to get away from your brother as soon as he could. sunghoon backed away from the wall, letting intak run out of your house, slamming the door after him. jake let you go once it seemed like sunghoon wasn't in fighting mode anymore.

"sunghoon." you cried out softly.

"don't y/n." he replied, sitting down on the living chair with his head in his hands.

"sunghoonie, i'm sorry." heeseung stated, still standing on the other side of the living room from you all.

you heard sunghoon sigh as he listened to his best friend, "i mean like, for how long has it been happening?" sunghoon looked up at you two, his head turning from the left to the right.

"not long." heeseung said quickly.

"we were planning on telling you, we swear!" you added on, "we were waiting for a good time!"

"did you guys know?" sunghoon glanced at jake and jay behind you.

"nope!" jake said quickly.

"no idea, man!" jay agreed.

"sunghoonie," heeseung took a step closer to his best friend, "they had no idea, it was just me and y/n." sunghoon nodded, sitting back in the chair, trying to take it all in. "i love her, hoon. i mean it." sunghoon looked up at his best friend in shock. jay and jake gasped from behind you. jake nudged you, a look of shock on his face, making you shrug in response.

"do you love him?" sunghoon asked you suddenly.

"yes, a lot." you smiled at heeseung softly, love only fills your mind when you think of him.

sunghoon scoffs, "i mean, how blind am i? my own best friend and my sister fall in love and i don't even notice?"

"we're sorry sunghoon, we didn't want to make you upset. but i've loved her for a long time now, i've just always tried to push the feeling away because i care so much about you, you're my best friend sunghoon, i don't want to lose you. i can't stand to lose you and her." heeseung confessed, holding onto sunghoon's shoulder now.

sunghoon sighed before glancing up at you, "and you're happy?"

"so happy, hoon." you nodded, your hands coming together to show how happy you are.

"Okay." sunghoon nodded.

"okay?" you all said in unison out of confusion.

"yes okay, it's something i can get used to if you're both happy. and it's not something i can stop if you both love each other, right?" sunghoon said, a small smile on his face when he spoke now.

"oh my god! thank you sunghoon! thank you!" you cried out, jumping up and down before running to heeseung who hugged you so tight. squeals left your mouth as the dreading feeling in your stomach finally surpassed after weeks of it being there. heeseung pulled you into a kiss, showing how happy he was as well.

"okay!" sunghoon yelled, "it's gonna take some time to get used to that." sunghoon said, looking away from you guys, "but i'm sure i'll be okay."

"i love you sunghoon, so much! really!" you pulled away from heeseung and pulled your brother up from his chair, pulling him into his own hug.

"i love you too, y./n, you're always gonna be my little sister, right?" he teased, pushing your hair around.

"of course!" you smiled and pulled away from him.

"you're always gonna be my best friend, right?" heeseung spoke from behind you, a soft smile of hopefulness on his face.

"c'mon man, of course, i will be!" sunghoon smiled, opening his arms for heeseung to hug him as well.

"awww!" jay and jake gushed from behind you all, rushing and hugging their friends into one big group hug.

when they all pulled apart, it felt like everything was right between everyone. every friendship and relationship in the room seemed healed over with love.

"bro, i can't believe you're dating park sunghoon's little sister." jake said to heeseung, shock still settling in.

"shut it, jake!" you all said in unison again, laughing before hugging everyone again.

"you guys are so mean!" jake cried out, still hugging you guys tightly as if it would be the last time.

heeseung winked at you from over sunghoon's shoulder, making you smile up at him, unafraid of what everyone would think now knowing that you and heeseung are in love.

"what do you think your parents are gonna say?" heeseung asked you all.

"god heeseung, you know that they love you." sunghoon rolled his eyes at his best friend, making you and heeseung smile at each other, knowing that finally you could be together after all.

it's truly all that you ever wanted, and now you have it.

you couldn't be happier with your older brother's best friend.

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@ taeghi, 2022. do not repost or reuse in anyway.

PLEASE REBLOG IF YOU ENJOY, AS LIKES MAKE IT HARD FOR WORK TO BE SPREAD AND ENJOYED BY OTHERS :)

stay safe everyone :)

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ADVANTAGES

in which…

on jay’s live, fans point out a stuffed animal on his bed, one that seems to be the other piece to your notorious missing pair. as imaginary pieces start to connect for fans, the viewers beg for some kind of interaction. and though you and jay have never met before, why not use this situation to your advantage?

warnings : picture of wine, profanity, dating rumours

like bluejay.

☆

back masterlist next

yenqa > IDK WHAT TO SAY

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