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Chapter Text

Minjeong hated these kinds of parties—too loud and crowded.

But for Yizhuo, she showed up. She always would.

The rooftop venue pulsed with neon and champagne laughter, designer heels clicking against glass floors. Seoul’s skyline glittered through the tinted windows. Music thrummed like a second heartbeat.

And in the center of it all—her.

Yu Jimin.

Minjeong didn’t know her name yet. But it was impossible not to notice her.

The lights caught on flawless curves and the gleam of her thigh-high boots, braced on either side of a barstool. Long raven-dark hair cascading down her back, sleek and glossy, perfectly framing her body even more. Her head tipped back, exposing her throat as she downed tequila shots like they were water.

The crowd roared around her.

“Chug! Chug! Chug!”

The bartender passed her another.

She winked, cocky and wicked, then tossed it back in one fluid motion.

The room erupted again.

Minjeong didn’t move. Just watched.

There was something dangerous about the woman, like a silent pull that Minjeong couldn’t name. She commanded attention like she was born for it. Confidence rolled off her in waves, the kind that flirted with arrogance and made it look good. Like she knew every single person wanted her—and loved it.

At some point, Minjeong swore Jimin felt her stare.

The other woman’s eyes flicked toward the shadows, toward her, but the low light only revealed a silhouette—just long enough before Minjeong turned and disappeared into the crowd.

She weaved between strangers, plucked a glass of whiskey off a passing tray, and slipped into a quieter corner of the rooftop—anywhere the music wasn’t pounding directly in her skull.

Still, the woman’s smile had branded itself onto the back of her mind.

Minjeong took a slow sip, swirling the whiskey lazily in her hand, legs crossed, back pressed to the cool marble of a column.

God, she wanted to ruin someone like that.

Someone so loud, so wanted. She liked impossible women—the kind others begged for. It was a challenge. A thrill. And Minjeong thrived on both. She liked seeing them fall apart under her. Loved the way they broke when she had them trembling, knuckles-deep, whispering her name like a prayer.

Would she scream too?

Would she beg for me to stop or beg for more?

The thought made Minjeong smirk into her drink.

Then, someone slammed into her side.

“Now why did I know I’d find you here?” Yizhuo shouted, grinning, her voice barely audible over the bass.

Minjeong blinked, snapping out of her spiral. “Congrats on the engagement!” She raised her glass in salute.

“Thanks for coming. I know this isn’t really your thing.” Yizhuo gestured at the chaos around them.

“Where’s the to-be-wifey?” Minjeong leaned closer to speak into her ear.

“Probably grinding on the bridesmaids. You should be too!” Yizhuo laughed.

“No way.” Minjeong shook her head.

“Come on. You’ve got one night left before you fly back to Canada. Let loose.” Yizhuo tugged playfully at her wrist.

“Exactly—I have a flight.” Minjeong tried to pull away, but Yizhuo tugged again, even harder this time.

“You’re flying private. Don’t act like you have to catch a red-eye.” She grabbed Minjeong’s other wrist with a grin. “Have a one-night stand or something. Just… have fun.” She batted her lashes dramatically.

Minjeong groaned. But resisting Yizhuo was never her strong suit.

When she pulled again, Minjeong let herself be dragged, and Yizhuo let out a delighted squeal.

They returned to the bar. The crowd had thinned, and the girl was gone.

Yizhuo slapped the counter and passed her a shot. “You’re gonna need this.”

Minjeong downed it. The liquor slid warm down her throat.

Another appeared.

Then another.

The bartender kept them coming until Minjeong’s cheeks were flushed and the music seemed to pulse inside her bones.

The buzz hit all at once.

Her vision swam slightly—and that’s when she saw her again.

Jimin.

On the dance floor. Moving like sin.

Minjeong’s gaze locked onto her. Her stare turned sharp, hungry—like she was undressing her right there under the lights. And somehow, Jimin felt it.

The woman’s dance slowed. Her gaze met Minjeong’s, sultry and challenging, and then without a word, she started walking toward her.

She didn’t speak.

She just extended a hand.

Minjeong took it.

And suddenly, they were dancing. Minjeong’s back flush against Jimin’s front, their bodies swaying like they were made to fit.

It was sexy.

It was hot.

Jimin’s hands roamed over her hips, her waist, her sides—and Minjeong leaned into the touch like she’d been waiting for it all night.

The alcohol warmed her blood, her body buzzing where Jimin touched her. It wasn’t enough. Not even close.

When she finally turned to face her, lips parted and eyes heavy—

Jimin didn’t hesitate. She kissed her.

Hard.

Tequila still lingered addictively on her lips. Her kiss was desperate—like she wanted to taste every corner of Minjeong’s mouth, like she was starving for it.

Minjeong deepened the kiss, one hand cradling Jimin’s jaw, the other gripping her waist. She took control without hesitation, parting Jimin’s lips wider with her own and swallowing the gasp that escaped her. Her tongue swept slow, deliberate, like she was tasting something she planned to savor.

And then, Minjeong’s lips left Jimin’s mouth and found her throat.

She trailed kisses down the soft curve of her neck, open-mouthed and hungry, tongue flicking the edge of a pulse point before sucking just hard enough to leave a mark. Jimin moaned softly, tipping her head back, offering more.

Minjeong didn’t care anymore who saw.

Didn’t care that they were still on the dance floor.

She was too far gone—too drunk, too turned on.

If it were up to her, she’d take Jimin right here, let everyone see her spread out and moaning. Show them who really had the woman they all wanted wrapped around her fingers.

Control.

Command.

Minjeong thrived in it.

And Jimin—Jimin melted under her touch. Hands explored boldly, fingers skating over Minjeong’s hips, the slope of her back, her sides. Minjeong reciprocated with just as much hunger, her hands roaming the curve of Jimin’s ass, pulling her closer until there was no space left between them.

Then, suddenly, Jimin pulled back.

Not far—just enough to catch her breath, lips kiss-bruised and glistening. Her pupils were blown wide, eyes heavy with lust, but there was a spark of something else too.

Amusement.

Thrill.

She purred, her voice low and sultry, “God, you want me so bad.”

She tilted her head, smirking. She loves this.

Jimin lived for attention—the way people watched her, the way their stares clung to her body, how they reached for her like she was something untouchable.

But Minjeong’s touch wasn’t admiration—it was possession.

Every move she made screamed want, claim, mine—and it was making Jimin dizzy.

She leaned in, voice brushing against Minjeong’s ear.

“Come home with me.”

.

.

The ride back was as loud as the girl who owned the car.

Jimin’s red Lamborghini screamed down Seoul’s streets, top rolled back like an open invitation to stare. The engine growled, the city lights streaking past them in a blur of color and heat. It was flashy, bold, too much—exactly just like her.

Jimin’s hand never stayed still. She let it wander, fingers brushing up Minjeong’s thigh, then higher. And higher.

Minjeong parted her legs slightly, giving her more room.

Jimin’s breath hitched. Her nails grazed soft skin, slow and teasing.

Minjeong let her have it. Let her feel the heat.

Because she wanted her to know—how wet she already was, how ready.

Jimin licked her lips, eyes flicking to Minjeong’s face, feral.

.

.

Jimin’s apartment sat at the top of a luxury building—glass, steel, and obscene wealth. The kind of place that whispered exclusivity and screamed power.

The second the door clicked shut behind them, Minjeong grabbed her.

She slammed Jimin back into the wall and kissed her again, harder this time, as if she’d been starving and finally let herself feed.

Jimin moaned into her mouth.

Minjeong didn’t stop. Her fingers slipped back at the edge of Jimin’s top—a single zipper trailing down her back. She found it and tugged it in one smooth pull.

Fabric slowly peeled away from Jimin’s body like a present unwrapped. She gasped when the cool air hit her skin.

Jimin’s hands were on her too—sliding under Minjeong’s shirt, fingers popping each buttons with quick, practiced ease.

Then—

Minjeong broke the kiss.

Voice low.

Rough.

A command.

“Bedroom.”

Jimin grinned.

No teasing this time. She took Minjeong’s hand, laced their fingers, and led her down the hall.

She pushed open a door with one hand and stepped inside, her bare back catching the soft bedroom lights.

But before she could even turn fully around—

Minjeong shoved her back.

Jimin landed on the bed with a surprised laugh, heat blazing in her eyes.

Minjeong didn’t speak. She just unbuttoned the last of her shirt, sliding it off one arm, then the other. She let it fall to the floor.

Jimin followed suit. Her top slipped off and her skirt pooled around her feet.

Minjeong reached down, unbuckled her belt, and pulled it free in one quick snap.

She held it in one hand.

“Hands.”

Her tone was low. Firm.

Expecting to be obeyed.

Jimin’s breath caught.

She hesitated for a single beat—but then brought her wrists together, knuckles touching, an offering without resistance.

A smirk ghosted Minjeong’s lips.

She looped the belt around Jimin’s wrists, pulled it tight. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to hold.

Just enough to make Jimin’s eyes flutter shut.

Curious. Aroused.

Exactly how Minjeong wanted her.

Minjeong slowly let Jimin fall back, her hands, still bound by the belt—pressed gently above her head into the pillows. She kept them there, pinned with one hand, as her eyes roamed downward.

She drank her in. From the faint blush blooming across her cheeks to the curve of her waist, down to the legs still parted just enough in invitation.

“You’re beautiful,” Minjeong murmured, voice low, thick with hunger. “But I can make you look even prettier.”

Then she leaned in and kissed her.

It was deep, consuming, one that left no room for breath or thought.

All tongue and want, laced with the taste of sin and something heady, something sweet. Minjeong bit softly at Jimin’s bottom lip, pulling, teasing. Taking.

Her other hand let go of the belt, but Jimin didn’t move. She stayed there, wrists bound, body open, eyes heavy-lidded with trust and want.

Minjeong’s lips began their descent. Trailing down Jimin’s jaw to the soft dip beneath her ear. She licked up, slow, then bit down—not hard, just enough to make the woman twitch.

She felt the sharp inhale against her shoulder, the shiver.

She moved lower, mouth finding the hollow of Jimin’s collarbone, where she sucked until color bloomed beneath her lips.

When she pulled back, she admired her work. Flushed skin, lips parted, wrists still offered above her, and that mark—deep, blooming, hers.

A quiet brand of possession.

Minjeong pressed a kiss to the mark, gentler than the rest.

Jimin's breath caught.

Then her hands slid lower, finding the clasp behind Jimin’s back with practiced ease.

A flick. A release.

The black lace slipped free, caught by the belt binding her wrists. Minjeong watched as Jimin arched up, offering more, eyes fluttering shut when Minjeong’s palms slid up her breast to cup her.

One hand—firm, grounding.

The other—her mouth.

Minjeong’s lips closed over her, tongue flicking, circling, then biting just enough to draw another sound from Jimin’s throat.

She kept her gaze locked upward, watching every reaction. The slight hitch in breath. The soft curse. The arch of her back. It made Minjeong smile against her.

Jimin moaned, her whole body writhing, caught in a haze of pleasure and ache. She was unraveling, slowly, beautifully.

Minjeong shifted lower, kissing her way down until she reached her hips. She grabbed Jimin’s thighs, pulled them over her shoulders, and began to trail her lips along the inside.

Slow. Teasing. Barely touching.

“Don’t be a tease,” Jimin whispered, breathless, looking down at her through lashes heavy with want.

Minjeong glanced up, a smirk tugging at her lips as she drew a single, slick line of her tongue too close to where Jimin wanted her most.

“Needy.”

Her voice was a purr. But she obliged.

Fingers curled into the waistband of her last remaining piece of clothing, and with one smooth pull, Minjeong stripped her bare.

Jimin laid beneath her now—undone and exposed.

Minjeong lowered herself between Jimin’s thighs again, the heat of her breath brushing intimately close, just shy of contact.

And there it was, evidence of want, glistening in the dim light, slick and aching for touch.

Minjeong paused, jaw tight, eyes fixed on it with dark hunger. A low growl rumbled from her chest, involuntary, guttural.

She could devour her. She would.

Then came the sound she loved most.

“Please,”

Jimin whispered, desperate.

And that was it. That was the word. Like a switch.

Minjeong hummed, delighted. She didn’t even pretend to mask her thrill.

“What’s that? I didn’t quite hear you.” Her voice was sweet yet her eyes, feral.

Jimin’s hips lifted again, seeking friction. “Please.”

Minjeong tilted her head. “Please what?”

“Please… fuck me.” It was half a plea, half a gasp. Her wrists still bound, her eyes glossy, lips swollen from kisses, her whole body arched up to offer itself.

Minjeong chuckled softly—low and cruel and loving. “How do you want me?”

“Fingers.”

God.

Minjeong’s own pulse throbbed between her thighs. She was unraveling just watching Jimin like this—elegant and desperate all at once, a goddess begging beneath her.

She raised her hand, brought two fingers to Jimin’s lips. The other woman didn’t hesitate. She opened her mouth and took them in.

Minjeong pressed them deeper, and Jimin—ever so obedient—closed her lips around them, sucked slow and deep, tongue swirling, eyes full of lust never leaving hers.

“Stop.”

Jimin stilled. Then, slowly, she pulled back—releasing her with a soft pop that made Minjeong bite back a groan.

Without delay, Minjeong brought the same two fingers down and slid them in—deep, deliberate, slow enough to draw a gasp.

Jimin moaned, her back arching like a bow. “Fuck—”

Minjeong started a rhythm—smooth, controlled. Her thumb moved in slow circles just above, matching the cadence of her fingers. Wet sounds filled the room, raw and obscene.

She leaned in close, lips brushing Jimin’s ear.

“So wet for me.” A kiss on the cheek. Then her mouth returned to her neck, kissing and biting, tongue heavy with heat.

Her free hand traveled upward again—finding the swell of Jimin’s chest, her fingers teasing, flicking, pinching.

Jimin trembled beneath her. Her body was burning at every touch—writhing under Minjeong’s command, caught between the rough rhythm below and the attention above.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” The curses slipped out like prayer. “You’re so good.”

Minjeong smiled into her skin. The praise lit her up. She pressed harder, fingers moving faster, relentless. Her hand soaked with it—slick, sweet, addictive.

Jimin was close. Minjeong could feel it in every tremor, every twitch, every sound escaping her lips.

And then she stopped.

She pulled her fingers out with a slick sound. Her mouth left her neck. Her touch disappeared.

“No—” Jimin whimpered. Her bound wrists tugged against the belt. “Please. I’m so close.”

Minjeong brought her fingers to her lips. Wet, shining. She sucked them into her mouth and closed her eyes, savoring.

The taste—divine. Sweet and heavenly. Her mouth watered around it. She pulled back with a pop and exhaled shakily.

Then she sank lower again. Her face now between Jimin’s thighs. Her voice low, commanding.

“Cum in my mouth.”

And then she began.

Her tongue moved, slow at first, then faster, deeper. She wrapped her arms around Jimin’s thighs, holding her still—though Jimin tried to move, tried to grind, chased every flick of Minjeong’s tongue with a needy thrust of her hips.

The sounds she made were music—moans and gasps, trembling whimpers that echoed off the marble and glass.

Minjeong devoured her like she’d been starved. Her lips locked around her, tongue working mercilessly. She could stay here forever—pressed between Jimin’s thighs, surrounded by her scent, her taste, her sounds.

And Jimin shattered.

Her release came fast and hard—body tensing, then breaking apart under Minjeong’s mouth. She moaned—long, loud, guttural—and Minjeong held her through it. Drank every bit of her. Didn’t stop until the tremors slowed.

Didn’t stop even then.

Only when Jimin whimpered from overstimulation did Minjeong finally lift her head, lips wet, eyes dark, face glowing with satisfaction.

She crawled back up, hovering over Jimin—lips brushing hers but not quite kissing.

“Told you I’d make you prettier.”

Jimin chuckled, breath still shaky, chest rising and falling beneath the flushed heat of her climax.

Her eyes flicked downward, half-lidded, lazy and hungry all at once. Minjeong was still clothed from the waist down, her bra snug against her chest.

Jimin licked her lips. “Your turn,” she murmured, voice rough with the aftermath of pleasure. “I’d strip you myself but—” she gave a tug of her restrained wrists, still looped neatly with Minjeong’s belt above her head, “I’m a little tied up.”

Minjeong’s smirk was slow and wicked. She leaned down and captured Jimin’s mouth in a deep kiss. Their mouths met in heat and hunger, Minjeong's tongue parting Jimin's lips, letting her taste herself on Minjeong’s tongue. It was dizzying.

Their kiss broke with a soft, wet pull, and Minjeong gave her lips one final teasing lick, then whispered against them, “Enjoy the show.”

She stood, graceful even in the afterglow, and Jimin’s breath caught again.

Minjeong’s fingers went to the button of her pants, slow, deliberate. She slid it open and then the zipper followed, each sound sharp in the silence between them. Her hands moved with a dancer’s poise, thumbs slipping beneath the waistband, easing the fabric down over her hips.

Jimin watched. Eyes devouring her. Her arousal was already building again—rising fast and hungry.

Minjeong stepped out of her pants, lifting one foot and then the other, her movements unhurried. Then her hands found the strap of her bra. One side slipped down, exposing the swell of her flushed chest. Then the other. She unclasped it with a flick behind her back and let it fall.

Jimin swallowed hard.

Last, Minjeong hooked her fingers under her underwear, the fabric darkened with arousal. It clung for a moment, threads of wetness stretching with the fabric as she pulled it down. Jimin bit her bottom lip, trying to contain the growing ache inside her.

She was perfect. All of her. And the way she stood there—unapologetic, gleaming, in total control—nearly broke Jimin in half.

Minjeong climbed back onto the bed and straddled Jimin slowly, knees on either side of her, then rose just slightly—lifting herself over Jimin’s face.

“Eat me.”

The words were molten.

Jimin didn’t need to be told twice. She tilted her chin up, mouth parting in silent invitation.

And Minjeong lowered herself.

She gasped when she felt it—Jimin’s mouth warm, open, tongue already moving with perfect, practiced greed. Minjeong was so wet that her slickness spilled down Jimin’s chin, dripping down her cheeks, and still Jimin took more.

Minjeong gripped the headboard for balance, her eyes fluttering shut, hips grinding down in slow, tight circles. Jimin matched her rhythm, tongue eager, relentless. Every movement made Minjeong moan—sharp, breathy, helpless despite how much control she always held.

She arched forward, eyes snapping open. Her hand reached for Jimin’s bound wrists and unfastened the belt with a single, fluid motion.

That was all Jimin needed. Freedom.

Her hands flew up, seizing Minjeong’s waist with strength, wanting. She pulled her down harder, holding her there, guiding her rhythm—urging her to ride. To grind. To lose herself.

And Minjeong did.

Her moans spilled freely now, louder, messier. Her thighs trembled, body tightening as she moved faster, chasing her own release. The slick sound of her moving over Jimin’s mouth was impossibly lewd—and perfect.

“Fuck—”

Curses coming out as gasp. Minjeong’s nails dug into Jimin’s shoulders for balance, hips stuttering, breath ragged.

And then she broke.

She came hard—her whole body shaking, thighs quivering around Jimin’s face, head thrown back, a cry escaping her lips as she fell apart.

But Jimin didn’t stop.

She licked her through it, mouth hot and eager, swallowing everything Minjeong gave. Her grip on her waist stayed firm—gentle, but firm—until Minjeong twitched, too sensitive now.

She reached down and gently pushed Jimin’s head back, just enough. Jimin pulled away with one last kiss, pressing her lips softly to Minjeong’s center, reverent, lingering.

Minjeong stood, slow and breathless, legs trembling.

Her skin glowed—marked by sweat and lust and the kind of satisfaction that curled in the chest long after the high faded.

She dropped beside Jimin with a huff, arm brushing hers, their bodies tangled in the mess they made. Her heart still stuttered in her chest. She’d had sex before—casual, fast, rough—but nothing like this. No one had ever known her body like this. As if Jimin didn’t just read her... she anticipated her. Knew when to lick, when to suck, when to press just the right spot before Minjeong even realized she was aching for it.

Jimin turned her head lazily, propping herself up with her left elbow. Her right hand swept her raven-dark hair back from her face—still slick, glowing. Her cheeks and chin were painted with cum, glistening in the low bedroom light. With the back of her hand, she wiped across her cheek, then—like a cat—slowly licked the rest off her skin, tongue curling delicately.

"You taste so good," she coaxed, voice husky with satisfaction and something darker.

Minjeong laughed, breathless. She pushed herself up with one arm, leaning close, dragging her tongue along Jimin’s cheek, catching a stray line of cum that hadn’t been cleaned. She licked her lips slowly, savoring the taste.

“You taste better,” Minjeong hummed, lips curling into a soft, sinful grin.

They stared at each other—naked, flushed, sweat-slicked.

Jimin reached up and cupped Minjeong’s jaw, thumb stroking her cheek. She kissed her, slow and deep. Intimate. Like she was afraid of ruining something fragile. Like she wanted to taste more, but also... hold back.

And Minjeong kissed her back.

Their mouths moved together in a rhythm that wasn’t rushed, but too tender for strangers. They both felt it—the line they were toeing. This wasn’t supposed to feel like that. This was a hookup, nothing more. And yet…

They broke the kiss at the same time.

Breathing hard. Faces inches apart.

Lust still burning in their eyes.

And then Jimin growled—low, like she refused to let this night be over.

Not yet.

She shifted. Lifted Minjeong’s right leg and rested it on her shoulder. Her hips followed, slow and deliberate, lowering herself until they touched again—wetness against wetness, heat meeting heat.

Minjeong didn’t move. She almost forgot to breathe. Her hand found Jimin’s ankle, fingers curling gently around it as Jimin settled on top of her. Skin on skin. Slick and sensitive.

The first grind was slow. A slide. Their swollen flesh catching and gliding against each other, so wet the sound of it was unmistakable—obscene and intimate all at once. Louder than either of them expected.

Jimin gasped. Minjeong moaned, head tipping back.

Their hips began to move together, instinctive. Matching pace. Finding a rhythm that was more desperate than before. Less controlled. The air thickened with the sound of it—their slick bodies, their hitched breaths, the occasional choked-out curse as pleasure snuck up sharp and fast.

Jimin rocked harder, eyes locked on Minjeong’s as her breath caught.

“If I could cum inside you, I would’ve already,” Jimin panted. It wasn’t a taunt—it was a confession. Raw. Honest.

Minjeong’s breath hitched, eyes blazing. A wicked grin bloomed on her lips.

“Yeah?” she whispered. “You wanna fill me up, baby?”

“Fill you up. Mess up your insides,” Jimin hissed. Her eyes were wild now, pupils blown wide. “Wanna keep you leaking for days.”

Minjeong shuddered at the words. She wasn’t supposed to like this. But god—something about it unlocked her. Her back arched, her nails digging into the sheets. It was too much, too honest, too filthy in the best way. Like they were peeling themselves open for each other with every moan.

“Do it,” she whispered back. “Fuck it into me.”

Whatever filters they had left—gone.

Jimin moved faster. Grinding frantically now. The rhythm rough, primal, their slick folds clashing again and again, sending wave after wave of overstimulation that only made them needier.

Minjeong bucked up, chasing every grind, rolling her hips back in perfect sync. Their moans pitched higher, broken and breathless, lost in the mess of their bodies and the heat of the room.

They broke together—voices spilling out into the room, not words, just sound.

Jimin collapsed on top of Minjeong, her body twitching, legs still spasming. Her breath came in short, ragged gasps. She shook in Minjeong’s arms.

Minjeong held her. Slow strokes down her back. Her fingers soft, soothing.

Their bodies stayed tangled. Skin stuck with sweat and cum.

And still, when they looked at each other, they knew…

It wasn’t over.

Not even close.

They came again.

Then again.

And again.

Minjeong couldn’t remember the last time she begged. But she did tonight—half-drunk on orgasm, body slick and bruised from pleasure. They ruined the sheets under them, soaked them, the smell of sex heavy in the air. The bed creaked with every shift, every whimper, every moan.

They took turns—fingers, mouths, desperate hands pulling, pressing, filling.

One of them always on top.

Always hungry.

When Minjeong passed out, Jimin was between her thighs, tongue working slow circles, fingers curling deep. And when Jimin collapsed next, Minjeong was inside her, whispering filth into her ear as her hand moved with maddening rhythm.

Only then—utterly spent, bodies twitching with the last echoes of pleasure—did they fall asleep.

Tangled. Breathless. Sated.

Minjeong woke first.

Her body still a delicate ache between soreness and satisfaction. Every stretch of her limbs sent a hum through her nerves. It made her exhale, deep and heavy, as if her body itself didn’t want to move—wanting to stay suspended in the afterglow just a bit longer.

Last night had been shadows and strobe lights—dim hallways and hurried hands. They hadn't turned on the lights when they stumbled into the room, too distracted and hungry. Minjeong hadn’t gotten a clear look at the girl beyond lips and curves and the sharp burn of want.

But now?

Now, she saw her.

Soft early light filtered through the curtains, laying gently across the goddess in the sheets.

Long black hair spilled over the pillow, slightly tangled from their hours of ruin. Her lashes fanned out across sculpted cheeks, face serene and unguarded. Her nose was fine and straight, her lips—Minjeong remembered the taste of them—just parted in sleep. Her skin was flawless, warm-toned and glowing even in slumber.

It almost hurt to look at her.

Minjeong reached out, delicately, brushing a few strands away from her face, tucking them behind her ear. Her fingers lingered there, her breath catching in her throat. Up close, she was unreal. Ethereal.

She looked divine even now.

And Minjeong realized… she didn’t even know her name.

She hadn’t asked.

They both didn’t asked.

It might’ve been for the best. No names meant no mess. No threads to tie her back. The girl was here in Seoul. Minjeong had a plane to catch, a family legacy to return to. Her real life was 6,000 miles away in Canada—cold, composed, predictable.

This wasn’t supposed to mean anything.

Still, she didn’t want to leave just like this. Not completely.

So, for her own peace of mind—for something selfish for once and small—Minjeong leaned down and pressed a kiss to the girl’s forehead. Long. Lingering. A silent thank you stitched in the softness of her lips. A kiss like a whispered secret. A love note meant for no one but her.

It pained her to pull back. Her eyes remained closed for a beat too long.

No attachments, she told herself.

This girl, this night—it was never supposed to last.

She got dressed in silence. Her body was still tender, the marks of last night etched into her muscles. She gathered her heels, her clutch, and slipped out the door with one final glance back.

The soft click of the door behind her sounded far too final.

In the back of the Uber, Minjeong sank into the seat, arms folded across her chest. The city blurred as they passed, her mind was already somewhere else.

The room. The warmth of tangled legs. The desperate, needy cries that girl made when Minjeong had—

Minjeong bit her lip hard. Pressed her thighs together.

She closed her eyes and tried to suppress the images flashing through her like a greatest hits reel.

Her on top. The girl begging for more. Hands clawing at her back. The shake in her thighs. The sound of her voice breaking when she came.

God.

Her voice.

She slammed her head back to the seats to ground herself.

Then, she pulled out her phone, typing lazily.

M: I slept with someone.

She locked the screen before she could regret it.

The phone rang almost instantly.

Yizhuo.

Minjeong sighed and answered.

“WHO?!” Yizhuo screeched from the other end.

Minjeong yanked the phone away from her ear. “Jesus—don’t be loud, I’m still buzzed.”

“I will be loud until you tell me who it is you slept with,” Yizhuo insisted, still yelling.

Minjeong groaned, rubbing her temple. “I don’t know.”

“…You don’t know?” Yizhuo deadpanned.

“I didn’t get her name.” Minjeong sighed.

A pause. “You didn’t even ask before you left?!”

“She was kinda…” Minjeong hesitated. “..still sleeping when I left.”

Another gasp. “You didn’t even say goodbye?! Minjeong, have some decency! What does she look like—Giselle or I might know her.”

Minjeong sighed again. “Gorgeous. Long black hair.”

Yizhuo snorted. “There were dozens of girls at that party with long black hair. That’s the weakest description I’ve ever heard—babe, come here.”

From the phone, “Yes, babe?” Giselle’s voice drifted in.

“We’re trying to figure out who Minjeong slept with, but her description sucks. Minjeong, you’re on speaker. Help us out here.” Yizhuo chimed in.

“Ugh,” Minjeong groaned, pressing her forehead against the window. “Okay. She had this long black hair, amazing body—like, tiny waist, insane legs. She was wearing a black top with a zipper, a skirt, high boots.”

“Oh.” Giselle’s tone shifted. For a second, Minjeong’s heart fluttered in anticipation.

“You’re right, babe,” Giselle said, deadpan. “She sucks at describing.”

Minjeong grunted. “Unbelievable.”

“Come on, dig deeper,” Giselle urged. “What else? Her face, maybe?”

Minjeong shut her eyes, searching for that final image from this morning. The one carved into her memory.

“She’s…” Minjeong swallowed. “She’s stupidly beautiful. Small face, perfect bone structure. Pale smooth skin. Big eyes. Feline looking. Long lashes. Plush lips. On her lower right chin she has a mole—”

“A mole on her lower right chin…” Giselle hummed. Then a beat. “AH!”

Minjeong nearly dropped her phone at the sudden screech. “What?”

“It’s Jimin!”

The name echoed—Jimin.

“You slept with—Oh.” Giselle suddenly paused.

Minjeong narrowed her eyes, “Why Oh? Why’d you say it like that?”

“Wait, which one is Jimin again?” Yizhuo chimed in.

“She’s super hot. Bit bossy sometimes. You didn’t like her, remember? Thought I liked her,” Giselle replied, distracted, as if trying to put together a memory puzzle.

“Oh my god.” Realization hit Yizhuo like a truck. “Minjeong, you slept with a goddess!”

“I know! I was there!” Minjeong shouted back, hand flying to her forehead.

“How did you not get her name?” Giselle asked, genuinely scandalized. “Should I ask her if I can give you her number?”

Minjeong groaned, slumping back against the car seat. “Don’t remind me. And no. I’m leaving the country. I don’t need anything to hold me back.”

“Wait—that’s today?” Giselle asked.

Minjeong nodded to herself, eyes heavy with exhaustion. “Yeah. And I don’t need a distraction. I’m meeting the daughter of that stupid company later and I need to destroy her.”

Both Giselle and Yizhuo burst into laughter.

“Damn, what company is this? Maybe I can help you burn them to the ground,” Yizhuo joked.

“It’s some firm with strong Seoul ties, which is how I ended up here too. But their main office’s in Canada. My dad wants me and her to talk about the merge, but that means it’s either me or her leading things down the line. So I need to make sure I’m the one on top—uh… it’s called Yu Corp.”

A pause. Heavy silence.

Giselle’s voice turned careful. “Wait. Did you say Yu Corp?”

“Yes? Why?”

“Will… Karina be there?” Giselle asked slowly.

Minjeong blinked. “I think so. Wait, do you know her?”

Another beat of silence.

“They’re good people,” Giselle said eventually. “If your companies merge, you’ll be unstoppable.”

“Yeah, well, I still need to ruin this Karina chick.” Minjeong scoffed.

Silence again.

“You go ruin her, bestie!” Yizhuo cheered

“I mean… I think you might like her,” Giselle added, a little too casual.

Minjeong exhaled through her nose. “We’ll see.”

They both wished her a safe flight and said their goodbyes.

The call ended with a final click, but the name remained.

Jimin.

After a grueling fourteen-hour flight back to Canada, it was still only midday.

No rest for Minjeong. The moment she stepped off the plane, she was ushered straight into a sleek company vehicle waiting outside.

She tried to steal bits of rest on the ride—eyes closed, head tilted back—but her mind refused to settle. Instead, she thumbed through the documents her secretary had handed her mid-flight, highlighting key figures, projected merger values, risk reports. She forced the data into her tired brain.

The car finally slowed to a stop.

Yu Corp towered above her, polished black glass reflecting the skyline, trimmed with soft gold accents that shimmered in the daylight.

Inside, the lobby was cavernous and bright, marble floors pristine, receptionists dressed sharper than some CEOs she’d met.

A well-dressed assistant led her through wide hallways to a private meeting room, its glass walls dimmed for privacy, the long conference table gleaming under the recessed lighting.

“Ms. Yu will be with you shortly,” the assistant said, before retreating with a polite bow.

Minjeong sat.

She waited only a few minutes but it felt like an eternity.

Her limbs were heavy, the dull throb of exhaustion pressing down on her shoulders, the weight of the past sleepless night and the long flight refusing to fade.

She just wanted to get this over with and go home.

The door clicked open behind her.

She turned in her chair—

Finally, she thought.

Until her breath caught in her throat.

Standing in the doorway wasn’t just anyone.

It was her.

But not quite the same girl from last night.

Gone was the loud, reckless presence of the woman who had sung her praises between her thighs. That girl had been wild—mouth slick with alcohol, voice slurred with laughter and filth.

The woman standing before her now was cold elegance.

Dressed in an all-black tailored suit. Her blazer curved perfectly at the waist, sharp at the shoulders, paired with a matching strapless top that revealed just enough of her collarbones to draw the eye.

And Minjeong saw it—a faint mark she had left behind. Covered carefully with makeup. Invisible to anyone else.

But she knew it was there.

She didn’t beg for attention this time.

She commanded it.

And yet, despite the transformation, there was no mistaking her.

This was the same girl Minjeong had held down just hours ago—the one who had cursed between kisses, who arched and whimpered beneath her like she was unraveling.

It didn’t feel possible.

It didn’t feel real.

The woman stepped forward, composed and cool.

“Yu Jimin,” she said, extending a hand.

Minjeong rose slowly, heart thundering like it wanted to burst through her ribs.

“Kim Minjeong,” she replied, wrapping her fingers around Jimin’s.

Their hands stayed locked a second too long.

An ironic twist of fate.

The girl stood before her again—polished, poised, and terrifyingly unreadable.

Only now, she had a name.

And Minjeong had no idea what the hell to do with it.

Chapter Text

Yu Corp specialized in engineering.

Kim Holdings led in architecture.

Like Giselle once said, if the two merged, they would no longer need a third party to handle their projects—they’d be unstoppable.

Karina—or rather, Jimin reached out and took the stack of documents from her secretary’s hands without looking.

“Thank you,” Jimin murmured, almost to herself.

The younger woman bowed and slipped out of the room.

Then she turned and walked toward the head of the conference table, her heels echoing sharply in the room.

Minjeong hadn’t moved. She stood frozen, still trying to bridge the impossible gap between the girl from last night and the woman in front of her now.

Jimin sat with effortless poise, legs crossing in a fluid motion, blazer falling just right. She aligned the documents with neat precision, her gestures deliberate, mechanical. Then she looked up.

“Please,” she said, her voice cool, “have a seat.”

Minjeong stepped forward and lowered herself into the chair beside her. It took effort to keep her expression unreadable.

“I thought your name was Karina,” she said, careful not to let anything slip—no bite, no softness. Just level curiosity.

“My English name is Karina.”

Jimin didn’t flinch. “My real name is Jimin.”

Her tone was clipped, emotionless. But when she lifted her eyes, Minjeong saw the truth—those same wide feline eyes from the night before, only now… now they were hollow.

Distant. Hardened by something unspoken.

“Our parents are pushing for a merger,” Jimin said, tapping her black manicured nail against the folder. “I’ve compiled a list of our current assets. These pages outline the benefits your company would receive if the merger proceeds.”

Minjeong didn’t respond.

She couldn’t—not with her mind clawing through fragments of last night, trying to bury the sound of Jimin’s voice gasping against her skin.

So many thoughts screamed for air—

What are you doing here?

I’m sorry I left without a word.

In my defense, I never thought I’d see you again…Not here.

Instead, she turned to the papers.

Her eyes scanned each page with practiced focus, though she felt Jimin’s gaze heavy on her skin. Not just a glance—no, this was slow, deliberate. Studying her.

She could feel it.

The heat of it.

Jimin was watching her face… then lower.

Minjeong’s outfit didn’t help.

A tailored black blazer-dress, cinched perfectly at the waist with a gold-buckled belt, the fabric hugging her figure like it was made for her alone. Underneath, a high-neck top added contrast—modest, but not enough to hide the way the dress parted just slightly at her thighs.

Her legs were bare, pale against the dark fabric, crossed with casual elegance.

Jimin’s eyes lingered there.

Just a second too long—

Right between her thighs, where the slit revealed just enough to feel intentional.

Minjeong didn’t move.

She turned the page, calm and unreadable.

But she felt it. The tension stretching between them, taut and electric.

“I see. Can you send over a copy of these documents? I want to run the numbers with our board,” Minjeong said, her tone crisp and impersonal.

When she turned to look at Jimin, the woman was still staring—her gaze fixed on Minjeong’s crossed legs, head tilted slightly like she was studying a painting.

She didn’t flinch.

Didn’t pretend.

Didn’t look away, even now that Minjeong had caught her in the act.

Then, slowly, deliberately, Jimin raised her gaze.

Their eyes met.

A beat passed.

Then another.

“I’ll have my secretary forward them as soon as possible,” Jimin said, cold.

Minjeong was the one who broke eye contact. She reached into her bag and pulled out a sleek black folder—the documents she’d prepared en route.

“This is what we offer as well,” she said, extending it across the table.

Jimin reached out. Her fingers brushed Minjeong’s—intentional, fleeting.

Minjeong didn’t flinch. But her spine stiffened slightly. Jimin’s touch lingered like static.

Still unreadable, Jimin opened the folder and began to scan its contents. Her brows didn’t move, didn’t twitch. Not even when she turned a page.

“You can keep those documents for your copy,” Minjeong offered, slipping back into her practiced executive tone.

“Noted,” Jimin replied flatly.

She closed the folder, hands folding neatly atop it. “I’ll bring this up with our board.”

A pause.

“On paper, this makes sense. Yu Corp handles structural engineering, materials, and logistics. Kim Holdings specializes in architecture, design, and urban planning.”

Minjeong nodded. “Which means we wouldn’t need to contract third parties for most of the pipeline. Timeline would tighten. Costs would drop.”

“And client portfolios would diversify,” Jimin added. “Kim Holdings brings in more municipal projects. We have deeper ties with private developers and overseas contractors.”

“Streamlined project control,” Minjeong said. “Fewer hands in the pot.”

“Higher profit margins.”

“Cleaner execution.”

The rhythm between them was seamless—effortless, even—but there was no warmth in the exchange. Only calculation. Cold precision.

And underneath it, something darker. Quieter. Neither of them dared acknowledge it.

Jimin tapped the folder once, then let her hand rest again.

“Of course, merger talks like these take time.”

Minjeong’s eyes flicked down, unbidden, catching the movement.

Each tap of her fingers against the folder now was precise. Measured.

Those hands. Those fingers.

The same ones that had clawed down her back. Skimmed up her sides like they already knew every curve. Touched her with confidence—slow, deliberate. Expert. Like Jimin had known her in another life.

Minjeong swallowed, forcing the memory back down to wherever it had come from.

“We’re not in a rush,” she said, her voice steady despite the sudden tightness in her throat.

“But you don’t like wasting time either.” Jimin’s voice was low. Huskier now. “Do you?”

Minjeong’s jaw tensed, just slightly. “Depends on who I’m speaking to.”

A flicker passed through Jimin’s eyes. Something unreadable.

Then she stood and extended her hand.

Minjeong saw the echo—Jimin offering the same hand at the bar, her eyes daring, lips curved just enough to be dangerous.

“Then I’ll be looking forward to it,” Jimin said. A hint of flirtation, even now.

Minjeong took her hand the same way she had that night.

Fingers curled. Heat exchanged. Magnetic.

Neither let go right away.

“I’ll be looking forward to it as well,” Minjeong replied.

But she was the one to release first.

She had to. She wouldn’t let herself be swayed. Not again.

Jimin reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone. “Can I get your number? In case anything comes up. It’s more efficient if I can contact you directly.”

Minjeong hesitated only for a second before taking the phone and typing in her number. She handed it back.

Jimin immediately pressed call.

Minjeong’s phone buzzed.

Jimin ended the call and met her eyes. “Thank you for your time.”

She walked over and opened the door for Minjeong.

Minjeong looked at her for a moment too long.

“No,” she whispered, just quiet enough that only she could hear the real weight behind it. “Thank you.”

She walked out.

Jimin didn’t follow.

Minjeong glanced back once.

Jimin was already seated again, flipping open the documents Minjeong had left behind. Unreadable. Composed. Like nothing had happened.

Minjeong shook herself free and walked toward the elevator.

Her heart was pounding with every step. One hand clutched the strap of her bag. In the other, her phone. Jimin’s number, still unsaved.

She stared at the screen.

Little by little, the girl who lived for control was starting to lose it.

She sighed deeply.

Ding.

The elevator opened.

She hesitated.

Then, before she could fully process it—her feet moved. Back down the hall. Back toward the conference room. The hallway felt longer than before. Her heels no longer steady.

When she reached the door, she froze.

Inside, Jimin was on the phone, her back turned, looking out the tall window. Her frame was straight. Poised. Tailored pants hugging her waist. Her stance was infuriatingly perfect.

Minjeong’s eyes dragged down her spine. Her waist. The curve of her hips. Every detail still burned into memory.

Her hand reached for the door—and stopped.

Another hesitation.

But still, she opened it. Just a sliver.

And Jimin’s voice cut through.

"So you knew she was coming and didn’t even bother giving me a heads-up about it?"

Minjeong froze.

Jimin’s voice was still quiet, clipped. Cold.

There was a pause.

"Stop laughing. This isn’t funny. She’s the daughter of Kim Holdings."

Authoritative. Sharp.

“No. It’s not. We slept together,”

Jimin said flatly.

Minjeong’s breath caught.

“You know?” Jimin exhaled. A low, disbelieving hum.

“Don’t be absurd,” Jimin snapped.

“You know I don’t mix pleasure with business.”

Minjeong’s grip on the door tightened.

“That was just a mistake from my part,” Jimin added, colder now.

“I should’ve done my research. If I knew who she was, I would’ve never slept with her.”

It hit.

Harder than it should have.

Minjeong stood there, frozen.

She had come back to apologize. To explain why she left.

Instead—

She exhaled through her nose. Quietly closed the door.

Walked back to the elevator. This time, she didn’t hesitate when it opened.

Inside, she stared down at Jimin’s number still glowing on her screen.

Her thumb hovered.

Then she tapped

Add Contact.

Typed one word.

Bitch.

Save.

The entire way back, Minjeong's mind began to settle—not calm, not peaceful, but still. Like the surface of a frozen lake.

She wasn’t upset.

It was something colder than that.

Colder than betrayal.

Colder than regret.

Jimin’s words looped in her head, flat and clinical.

“If I knew who she was, I would've never slept with her.”

She looked down at her phone and stared at Jimin’s contact name.

She considered blocking the number—but no, that would be unprofessional.

Deleting the contact? Too soft.

Her face was unreadable in the reflection of the car window. But behind her eyes, something dangerous had shifted.

Jimin had made her feel small for a second.

One second.

Minjeong wasn’t going to let her have another.

Then her phone buzzed in her hand.

Yizhuo.

Her jaw clenched.

Minjeong hesitated—but it’s Yizhuo, of course she answered.

She didn’t speak.

All she heard was Yizhuo’s laughter, distant and muffled through the line—soft giggles, like she was already in on some joke.

Minjeong exhaled sharply, loud enough to carry through the speaker.

“So,” Yizhuo drawled, teasing, “how’s Jimin? Or I guess they call her Karina there.”

Minjeong could hear the grin in her voice.

“You and Giselle knew,” she said flatly.

“Not at first. We did figure it out after you mentioned meeting Karina at Yu Corp.” Yizhuo laughed again, unbothered.

“Yizhuo!” Minjeong groaned, dropping her head back against the seat, voice dry and playful. “You’re enjoying this way too much, aren’t you?”

“It’s a fun turn of events,” Yizhuo replied, smug.

“I’m delighted that my pain is causing you amusement,” Minjeong muttered sarcastically.

Another round of giggles. “It’s like you two are soulmates or something.”

Minjeong scoffed. “I don’t believe in that crap. And she’s my enemy.”

There was a brief pause on the line. A shift in the tone.

“Can I ask something personal?” Yizhuo asked, curiosity creeping in.

Minjeong hummed in response, staring blankly at the passing skyline.

“Was she good in bed?” Yizhuo asked bluntly.

Minjeong didn’t flinch. “Why are you asking?”

“Just curious,” Yizhuo said, as if it were the most casual thing in the world. “Because now you can actually take her out on a date.”

Another pause.

Minjeong’s voice came out colder than she expected, almost automatic.

“I don’t mix pleasure with business.”

There was something jagged beneath her next words. “She was just a mistake.”

Yizhuo only hummed. “Well, you can tell me all the details when I get back.”

“You’re not staying in Seoul?”

“We were just here to visit Giselle’s family,” Yizhuo said. “Originally just a quick trip. Then she proposed. One thing led to another, and we had that party.”

“I’ll see you when you get back then,” Minjeong said, settling back into her seat. “Safe flight.”

“Thanks, bitch. See ya.”

The call ended with a soft click.

And the silence that followed was absolute.

Minjeong sat still, the weight of the city pressing against the windows, the low hum of the engine steady beneath her feet.

Her mind should’ve been a storm—rage, confusion, maybe even hurt.

But it wasn’t.

It was clear.

Icy clear.

“If I knew who she was, I would’ve never slept with her.”

Good.

That makes two of us.

She blinked once, slowly, as the sharp edges of her thoughts aligned into focus.

I’ll be sure to let her know exactly who I am.

Just beyond the city limits, where the skyline faded into pine-covered ridges and the roads turned narrow and quiet, the company vehicle turned into a discreet private lane—hidden between dense evergreens and a gate with no name.

Isolated. Quiet. Private.

Exactly like how Minjeong liked it.

Her house appeared at the end of the long stone path, revealed slowly through the trees like a secret. Sharp-lined and low to the ground, the home was a deliberate blend of Japanese architecture and modern luxury—dark wood, wide eaves, concrete softened by earth tones.

The first thing you’d see, before even the front door—was the pool.

Long, rectangular, and unnervingly still, the swimming pool stretched across the front courtyard like a moat made of glass. A single slab of stone bisected the water, leading to the front steps—no railings, no safety net. Just clean geometry and precision.

It wasn’t just aesthetic.

It was intentional.

She had designed every inch of it herself after all.

An architect with a need for control.

She stepped out of the vehicle, heel to stone, her figure reflected on the pool’s surface as she crossed the slab path.

Inside, the home exhaled into her—dimly lit hallways, warm wood, paper-paneled doors. No staff. No movement. Only space, order, and her.

Her bedroom welcomed her like a ritual. She stripped down to her undergarments and sank into the bed, mind still wired despite the exhaustion.

She reached for her phone and typed out the message to her secretary.

Set up a board meeting tomorrow. I have Yu Corp’s assets on the table.

— M.

The reply came quickly, crisp and professional.

I've booked the meeting.

And welcome back, Ms. Kim.

Later that night, moonlight dripped in through the slats of her window. Cool air stirred the edges of her sheets.

Minjeong rose, robe loose around her frame, and made her way to the kitchen. She didn’t turn on any lights. Her movement was instinct. The steps, the fridge, the stove—all muscle memory.

She moved in silence, preparing a simple bowl of soba and miso, garnished with scallions.

A small comfort.

Then she brought the food to her room, opened her laptop, and began preparing for tomorrow’s board meeting.

Then—

Buzz.

Her phone lit up on the desk.

[Bitch]

Minjeong sighed through her nose and opened the text any ways.

“

I brought the acquisition documents to my board. They’re aligned with our vision.

I suggest we meet tomorrow to begin drafting the joint terms of incorporation.

We need to define board structure, equity split, and executive roles.

10 a.m. My office.

— J.

”

Minjeong’s fingers hovered briefly over her phone before she typed back.

“

I’ll be meeting with my board tomorrow morning.

Once the board is dealt with, I’ll see you at 3 p.m.

— M.

”

She hit send. Leaned back. Cold. Controlled.

Let Jimin wait this time.

The next day.

Minjeong walked into the boardroom with her usual grace—shoulders square, expression cool, hair pinned into clinical precision. Her heels didn’t click against the polished floors. They struck.

Her presentation was concise. Strategic. Ruthless.

She laid out Yu Corp’s position and the potential for long-term synergy. But only after showing where their weaknesses would be without her company’s support.

A balance sheet here. A projection there.

A knowing glance that said this merger will happen—with or without your comfort.

The board, all suited and silver-haired, didn’t stand a chance. She anticipated their concerns before they could voice them. Redirected the conversation like a current bending around her fingertips.

They agreed.

Unanimously.

And Minjeong made it look easy.

As the directors filtered out one by one, murmuring to each other about margins and growth potential, Minjeong pulled out her phone and texted—

“Acquisitions have been approved. I’m on my way.”

The reply came seconds later.

“Perfect. My secretary will bring you to my office.”

Minjeong stepped out of the elevator to the top floor. The secretary—prim, efficient, nametag reading “Yeji”—offered her a tight smile.

“Ms. Yu is expecting you. This way.”

They walked past silent offices, minimalist decor, and too-clean air.

[Jimin’s office.]

Yeji opened the door and Minjeong stepped inside.

Everything was black, white, or grey.

The marble floors. The matte-black shelves, spotless.

A long glass desk with a perfectly centered monitor. Not a single pen out of place. Not a single file misaligned. Even the chair looked unreasonably symmetrical.

To the left, a low modern couch in charcoal, with a small circular table beside it. The tall windows were frosted at the base, with blinds drawn halfway for privacy.

Everything screamed precision. Power. Distance.

Minjeong muttered under her breath as she made her way to the couch, voice dry

“It’s really like she’s a different person.”

She crossed her legs, exhaled softly, and let her fingers rest against the armrest like she owned the place.

Click.

The door opened again.

And in walked Jimin.

A tailored black coat draped over her shoulders. Beneath it, a sleek, form-fitting vest hugged her torso over a crisp white button-up, the tie at her collar striped and loose in just the right way. Slim black slacks accentuated her long legs, and the silver details—on her cuffs, her belt, even the minimal pin on her lapel.

Glasses rested low on the bridge of her nose.

Lips painted with a cruel shade of red.

She looked unfair.

All eyes still followed her—people still wanted her.

But now, they were afraid to get too close.

Afraid to speak. Afraid to exist in her space.

She was quiet now. Sharper.

More dangerous.

"Minjeong," she said, voice a low velvet tease. "Thank you for waiting."

She stepped forward, unhurried, and slipped the coat off in one smooth motion, revealing the sharp angles of her vest. She let the coat slide off her arm onto the couch, like it was beneath her to care where it landed.

Then she removed her glasses.

Her fingers moved slowly, deliberately, like every motion was meant to be watched. She folded them, slipped them into her pocket, and tilted her head back—exposing the line of her neck, the smooth pulse at her throat, the danger.

Minjeong’s eyes followed her with instinctive precision.

She clenched her jaw. Not because she was flustered.

Because this—whatever this was—felt like a game.

A trap meant to loosen her grip.

And Minjeong did not loosen.

Jimin didn’t sit behind the desk. She joined her on the other end of the couch, legs crossed, posture regal.

“I reviewed the initial equity proposal you submitted,” Jimin began, voice velvet. “I’m amenable to the 55–45 split, assuming Yu Corp retains brand independence under the merged umbrella.”

“Brand independence is fine,” Minjeong replied smoothly. “But executive authority will fall under a unified board. I’ll need veto rights over any expansion plans that affect architecture and real estate development.”

Jimin arched a brow, amused. “Control issues?”

Minjeong didn’t blink. “Just strategic foresight.”

Silence. Then a low chuckle from Jimin, slow and deliberate.

She tilted her head.

“Control does suit you.”

Then she stood. She moved slowly, precise, deliberate. Every step measured.

Minjeong didn’t move.

When Jimin finally reached her, she braced one hand on the armrest of the couch, just inches from Minjeong’s thigh. The other slipped into her pocket with casual ease. She leaned in—not too close, just enough to tilt the balance.

Minjeong smelled the faintest trace of Jimin’s perfume—clean, sharp, and far too distracting.

“Don’t you agree?” Jimin asked, voice low and husky, her breath brushing against Minjeong’s cheek like a dare.

Her gaze flicked to Minjeong’s lips for half a second before returning to her eyes.

“If we’re going to merge,” Jimin continued, still smooth as velvet, “we’ll need complete synergy. No friction. No mixed signals.”

Minjeong raised a brow. “That’s rich, coming from you.”

Jimin chuckled under her breath, but her posture didn’t shift.

“And yet, here we are,” she said, fingers flexing slightly against the couch’s armrest, the fabric creaking beneath her palm. “Negotiating the terms of our union.”

Her voice dipped at union, like it meant something else. Like she knew exactly what she was doing.

Minjeong inhaled slowly through her nose, her eyes sharp. “I’ll accept the synergy clause under one condition—any decision involving land acquisition gets my explicit approval.”

“Of course.” Jimin’s lips curved. “You do like to claim territory.”

Her hand slipped from the armrest then, fingers dragging slowly along the edge as she pulled away, circling back to her desk—but she didn’t sit.

“So let’s get the terms in writing,” Jimin said as she pockets her other hand. “I want our partnership to be… very clear.”

Minjeong stood, slow and calm.

“Crystal,” she said, walking toward the desk. Their eye contact never broke.

The silence between them was electric—charged and simmering, pulsing with everything they didn’t say.

It wasn’t just a merger.

It was war. And seduction.

And neither of them wanted to lose.

It was already late but they still haven’t finished. The shift in their dynamic was obvious.

Not because they argued—they didn’t. In fact, they worked with quiet precision. Every point met with a counterpoint, every clause debated with efficiency. They were both too sharp, too exact, to waste time.

But sometimes, sharp edges don’t quite fit.

Jimin leaned back in her chair, gaze lingering on the scattered drafts between them. “We’re not making progress tonight,” she said, tone clipped but not cold. “It’s all circling back.”

Minjeong nodded, calm. “We’re efficient, but not inspired.”

A beat passed.

“Postpone?” Jimin asked.

Minjeong stacked the final set of documents into a neat pile. “Agreed.”

They rose in tandem. Jimin moved to tidy the workspace, lining up the pens, closing folders, straightening what little was out of place. Minjeong gathered her personal items—tablet, notebook, phone.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

“Sounds good,” Minjeong said without looking back, already turning toward the hallway.

She walked with purpose. No hesitation in her stride as she made her way to the elevator.

Behind her, Jimin followed.

They stood side by side in silence, waiting. The faint hum of the building’s systems was the only sound.

Ding.

The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime. Both women stepped in.

They moved to opposite corners of the lift, backs to the walls, a diagonal of unspoken tension stretching between them.

Minjeong crossed one leg over the other, her profile sharp beneath the fluorescent lights. Composed.

Jimin, too, was still. Her hands rested in her pockets, the cut of her suit precise, her posture relaxed—but only at first glance.

She was looking at Minjeong.

Not subtly.

Her gaze swept down slowly, unapologetically—to the curve of Minjeong’s crossed thigh. A beat too long. A flick of her eyes back up. Then to Minjeong’s lips. Then back to her eyes.

Minjeong didn’t flinch. She didn’t blink.

But the corners of her mouth twitched ever so slightly.

Ding.

The elevator opened on the ground floor.

Jimin stepped out first. Quick. Like she wanted to break free from something.

Minjeong waited half a second before exiting, already smug.

She saw the control she still had over the girl.

Outside, the cold night air brushed against her skin like a warning. She exhaled and checked her phone. The company car was already waiting by the curb. Headlights on. Engine low and steady.

She got in without a word, the door shutting behind her with a quiet finality.

Tomorrow, the negotiations would continue.

But tonight, she will enjoy this victory.

She looked away.

The second day was terrible.

The conversation drifted toward who would take the CEO title if they moved forward with the merger—and that small flame lit a bomb.

What started as a calm exchange quickly unraveled into a volley of sharp suggestions and subtle jabs. Neither raised their voice. They didn’t need to. The tension did all the talking.

They passed ideas like chess pieces—each move deliberate, each counter laced with defiance.

“We can’t have both of us as acting CEO,” Minjeong said, her voice steady.

Jimin looked up from her side of the table. “Then we alternate. Like joint custody.”

Minjeong narrowed her eyes. “This isn’t a timeshare.”

“Neither of us would answer well to the other as a subordinate,” Jimin countered. “You’re too meticulous. I’m too reactive. We’d kill each other.”

Minjeong didn’t deny it. She just turned back to the screen. “We split the title. CEO and President.”

Jimin tilted her head, “President is symbolic. A decorative role.”

They were building the same house from different blueprints—arguing over which beam to pull without bringing the whole thing down.

They decided to change the topic.

Something simple, foundation, board structure.

Yet somehow, that made things worse.

Every name suggested came with its own problems. Family loyalties. Strategic allies. Hidden agendas.

“I’ll concede one if you concede one,” Minjeong offered.

Jimin tilted her head, smirking. “You first.”

“No.”

“Thought so.”

They still weren’t making progress. Or so they thought...

Because every hour or so, Minjeong noticed something.

Small gestures. Unintentional—or so they seemed.

A light tap on Jimin’s wrist to highlight a clause, and suddenly she folded on a point she’d been defending all morning.

Minjeong logged it.

Later, a brush of fingers while adjusting the tablet screen. Jimin blinked—then agreed to split the equity 60–40 instead of her preferred 55–45.

Minjeong logged that too.

By evening, the air between them had shifted. Not warm, but no longer frostbitten.

They weren’t done. Not even close. But they’d stopped pulling in opposite directions.

“We should write down what worked,” Jimin said, massaging her temple. “The few decisions we didn’t sabotage.”

Minjeong clicked her pen and glanced up.

“I’ve been writing it all down.”

For the third day, Minjeong came armed.

Yesterday, she’d taken notes.

Touch her wrist? Win a clause.

Lean in too close? Shift a stubborn stance.

A brush of fingers?

An inch more thigh?

Leverage.

She walked into Jimin’s office like a scalpel—all polish, precision, and predatory intent.

Her blouse was buttoned just shy of decent. Her skirt shorter than regulation. Black lace clung to her legs as she crossed them, a little too slow, deliberate.

Every move was calculated.

Every glance calibrated.

Jimin looked up—and paused.

A flicker of recognition, then something darker.

But she said nothing. Just gestured to the seat across from her.

Documents were reviewed. Terms debated.

And Minjeong... moved.

She leaned in as she spoke, voice calm, finger tapping just a breath away from Jimin’s hand.

She passed her a file, their fingers grazing.

Shifted in her chair, letting her knee bump Jimin’s—not hard enough to startle. Just enough to be noticed.

She watched Jimin react in the subtlest ways;

A missed word.

A flick of the tongue across her lip.

A tighter grip on the pen.

It was working.

“Joint oversight over infrastructure,” Jimin said, blinking slower than usual. “You draft the final proposal.”

Minjeong nodded. “And you handle external comms. Global rollout.”

Jimin paused for a fraction too long before agreeing.

.

.

By lunch, the desk was scattered with notes and half-empty coffee cups—and the tension between them had thickened. No longer ice. Not fire either. Something in-between. A magnetic push and pull.

Minjeong stretched slightly, back arching, fingers brushing her own collarbone like she wasn’t thinking about it.

She was.

Of course she was.

Jimin cleared her throat.

“You hungry?” she asked, already reaching for the intercom.

Minjeong made sure to stare at Jimin’s lips before lifting her gaze back up to meet hers.

“Starving,” she said with a subtle smirk. “But food will do.”

Jimin exhaled a short, amused breath.

“Yeji,” she said over the intercom. “Can you order me something from McDonald’s?”

Minjeong stared at her. “McDonald’s?” she echoed, voice flat with judgment.

“I want cheeseburgers and fries. If that doesn’t fit your taste,” Jimin said, with maddening politeness, “you’re welcome to order something else.”

Minjeong sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose before giving in. “I’ll have a cheeseburger too. Coke. And a McFlurry.”

A slow, smug smile curved Jimin’s lips.

“Make that two McFlurries, Yeji,” she said into the intercom, gaze never leaving Minjeong. “Thanks.”

Click.

.

.

They ate with papers between them. Fries next to footnotes. Declarations between bites.

Minjeong made sure to savor her McFlurry—spoon dragging slow against her tongue, then slipping between her lips. Teasing perfectly wrapped in vanilla.

She didn’t even glance up.

But she felt Jimin watching.

So she did it again.

And again.

Minjeong saw the way Jimin swallowed.

She was winning.

But two can play that game…

The final clause was now tentatively approved.

“No arguments here,” Minjeong muttered, rubbing her neck. Her fingers pressed into the muscle where tension had knotted itself without her noticing.

Jimin stood slowly, rounding the desk in fluid steps.

“May I?” she asked, pausing behind Minjeong, hands outstretched in invitation—an offer.

Minjeong glanced over her shoulder, eyes narrowing slightly. “If it hurts, I’m cutting Yu Corp’s shares.”

Jimin chuckled. “Duly noted.”

She reached forward, fingers brushing the lapels of Minjeong’s blazer, pulling them back and down her arms just enough for access. Her hands, warm and firm, began at Minjeong’s shoulders—pressing, kneading, coaxing the tension loose.

Minjeong’s eyes fluttered shut. Her lips parted, but she didn’t let a sound slip. She tilted her head back just slightly—just enough.

Jimin’s fingers traveled up her neck, thumbs pressing gently behind her ears, then down again with agonizing patience. Shoulder, neck, upper back. Over the silk of her shirt and the exposed base of her throat. She moved to her biceps next, strong fingers curling just shy of possessive.

“You’re so tense,” Jimin murmured, low. “You really should loosen up.”

Minjeong didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

And then Jimin’s hands drifted. Down her neck. Grazing the collarbone. Just the faintest touch—but electric.

Minjeong’s head tilted again. Offering more.

The second she realized it, her eyes flew open. She reached back and yanked Jimin’s tie. Hard.

Jimin stumbled slightly, their faces now just inches apart.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Minjeong asked, voice like ice.

Jimin’s eyes glittered. “You’re not the only one who plays games, Minjeong.”

Minjeong didn’t let go. Her fingers twisted tighter in the fabric. “This isn’t a game.”

“Then define it,” Jimin shot back. “Or are you just going to keep pretending your touches don’t mean anything?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Minjeong feigned innocence and let go of the tie.

“We’re done for tonight,” she said, rising from her chair. She crossed to the desk and began gathering her things with robotic precision.

Jimin laughed softly, adjusting her tie as she circled around, slamming her hands on the desk—boxing Minjeong in.

“Don’t be coy now,” she said, voice low near Minjeong’s ear. “You’re too smart not to know exactly what you were doing.”

Minjeong’s jaw tightened. “Let’s not mix pleasure with business.”

“Debatable.” Jimin grinned and leaned in closer. “What if it’s purely just pleasure? No emotional entanglements, no interference with work.”

Minjeong scoffed. After all that talk, here was Jimin offering pleasure on the table.

“Is this how you do your deals?” she asked, raising a brow.

“No,” Jimin answered firmly. “I don’t entangle myself with people I work with.”

She paused.

“But I can make an exception for you.”

Minjeong didn’t respond right away.

She looked at her—beautiful, infuriating Jimin—and considered it.

It was purely just pleasure, as she said. Nothing emotional. No strings. And Minjeong couldn’t deny the truth that, however irritating Jimin was, she was still the best Minjeong had ever had. Objectively speaking, she was stunning. Intelligent. Discreet. Calculated.

Choosing someone like her? Smart.

No risk of feelings. Jimin was disciplined enough to keep her mouth shut. Powerful enough to ensure secrecy. She had just as much to lose.

Tempting.

Minjeong’s lips parted—slow, deliberate.

“Define the arrangement.”

“Purely physical,” Jimin said.

“No strings?” Minjeong raised a brow.

Jimin smiled faintly. “None. It’ll be consensual. Every time. If both parties want it, they can have it. How they want it. Both can walk away without explanation.”

“Mutual agreement,” Minjeong confirmed. “No pressure. Boundaries respected.”

“Always.” Jimin nodded.

“Clause on physical intimacy such as kissing?”

“Permitted.” Minjeong didn’t hesitate.

“I don’t see why we should deprive ourselves.”

Jimin exhaled a soft laugh that made Minjeong’s pulse flicker.

“Location?”

A faint smile slowly curves on Minjeong’s lips.

“Private spaces only. No risk of exposure. No cameras, no leaks.”

“If the space is secure and mutually agreed—then it’s viable.”

Jimin raises a brow, a challenge.

Minjeong paused for a moment, considering carefully.

“Accepted. Toys?”

Jimin didn’t miss a beat, she smirked into it. “Encouraged. Anal?”

“No.” Minjeong replied firmly.

“Same,” Jimin said with a little chuckle. “Glad we’re aligned.”

“I want control,” Minjeong demanded.

“Then you shall have it.” Jimin smiled this time, slow and maddening. “But I intend to have my fun too.”

“Approved,” Minjeong said, breath barely hitching. “It’d be boring if you didn’t fight back.”

“Safeword?” Jimin asked. Her fingers slowly starts to curl around Minjeong’s.

“Red.”

“Red it is.” Jimin pushed one knee forward, sliding between Minjeong’s legs beneath the desk. Her eyes didn’t leave hers.

“Any additional clauses?”

“One.” Minjeong inhaled sharply, the air thick between them. “I want it in writing. I don’t need this getting messy.”

Jimin’s breath faltered slightly, chest rising and falling with more urgency now.

“Can it wait until tomorrow? I’ll draft a proposal and have it to you by morning.”

Minjeong stared at her lips—slightly parted, breath humid and uneven. Her pulse thudded in her throat.

“It can wait,” she said quietly.

“But can you?”

Jimin shook her head.

“No.”

Her hand flew to the back of Minjeong’s neck, fingers threading into her hair, pulling her closer to kiss her. The heat of it was instant, consuming. She kissed like she’d been starving all day. Like she'd waited for this exact permission to fall apart.

Minjeong parted her lips willingly, letting Jimin pour all of it into her.

Desire. Frustration. Longing.

Her own hands found Jimin’s waist, grounding her, encouraging her. She didn’t just accept it—she commanded it. Smiling into the kiss when she felt Jimin tremble.

Then Jimin broke the kiss, only to drop to her jaw, then her neck—lips desperate, open, teeth grazing skin like she was seconds away from losing control again. Her breath burned. Her lips, wet and insistent, marked a trail down Minjeong’s throat.

Jimin’s knee slid deeper between Minjeong’s thighs.

And Minjeong moved with it. Grinding up. Deliberate. Confident.

The friction struck hot, perfect. Their rhythm matched instantly, bodies rocking together in sync. Jimin groaned against her collarbone. Minjeong finally let out a soft moan.

Jimin smiled against her skin—then kissed her harder, almost punishingly so.

Her hand slid around Minjeong’s waist, steadying her, then guided her movements to go faster. Minjeong obliged, riding her thigh with purpose now, her breath catching with every roll of her hips.

But Minjeong wanted more.

She pulled back, eyes sharp, pupils blown. One hand gripped Jimin’s necktie and tugged. Like a leash.

Jimin gasped, stumbling forward as Minjeong led them to the couch.

She pushed Jimin down—straddling her knee again, already grinding.

Jimin wasted no time. Her fingers started flicking the buttons of Minjeong’s shirt, only to the middle, while her mouth returned to hers—soft, wet, relentless. Their rhythm never broke.

“You’ve been very distracting,” Jimin murmured between kisses, her voice low, reverent.

Minjeong chuckled, breathless. “Yeah?”

Jimin hummed. “Did you wore this skirt to provoke me?”

“I wanted to make an impression.”

“Well,” Jimin said, lips ghosting her jaw, “you did.”

Minjeong leaned back slightly. “That massage—you were trying to provoke me too, weren’t you?”

“A little.” Jimin’s smile was lazy, proud. “Wanted to see your reaction.”

Minjeong rolled her hips a little slower. Teasing. “You like the attention, don’t you?”

“I do.” Jimin didn’t even try to deny it.

Minjeong laughed.

And it did something to Jimin.

That cold, unreadable girl—laughing with flushed cheeks and blown pupils.

Soft. Sweaty. Smiling like she was having the time of her life.

Jimin’s control snapped.

She grabbed Minjeong by the waist and lifted her with startling ease, tossing her flat on the couch.

Minjeong’s breath hitched, arms instinctively looping around Jimin’s shoulders.

Jimin didn’t pause. Her hands slid down, unzipping Minjeong’s skirt and slipping her fingers in—slow, certain.

Soaked.

She froze for a split second. Eyes widening.

“You’re drenched,” she breathed. Amused. A little awed.

Fully, completely turned on.

Minjeong didn’t miss a beat. “Are you just going to talk, or are you going to fuck me?”

Bratty.

Dangerous.

Jimin’s eyes darkened. “Be prepared to take me, then.”

She started with a rhythm that knocked the air out of Minjeong’s lungs—pulling out, slamming back in.

Pumping over and over.

Maddening.

Merciless.

Minjeong arched back, gasping, her head lolling as her eyes rolled up.

“You like control?” Jimin growled against her ear. “Then take it. Ride my hand.”

Minjeong grit her teeth, one hand braced on the couch, the other tangled in Jimin’s collar. But she did it. She moved—grinding down with trembling precision.

 “Fuck,” she whispered, head falling back. “Fuck—”

Jimin leaned in closer, biting her ear, then kissing her temple—featherlight. Tender.

Hard below, soft above.

Minjeong chanted curse after curse, riding the edge. “So good,” she gasped.

“So fucking good—”

And then she came.

Hard.

Her whole body shook, arms tightening around Jimin, pulling her close as she chased it, mouth open and raw from the pleasure. Her moans spilled freely now.

Jimin slowly pulled her fingers out.

They were glistening, coated in slick.

The scent of Minjeong clung thick in the air—intoxicating.

She stared at her hand for a breath.

Minjeong, flushed and breathless, watched as Jimin dragged her hand lower.

Watched as she spread her legs and slipped her fingers in.

Watched as she fucked herself—wet from Minjeong—without breaking eye contact.

“I need you inside me,” Jimin whispered, voice hoarse, needy.

Minjeong leaned in. Close enough to kiss. But didn’t.

Just hovered.

“Harder,” she commanded.

So Jimin did. Her head tilted back slightly, lips parting in a moan.

“Faster.”

She obeyed again, hips stuttering as her fingers worked her faster, deeper, lost in it.

Minjeong reached out, cupping Jimin’s trembling hand with her own, matching Jimin’s rhythm, still watching with that maddening calm.

“You’re that eager?” she murmured, voice velvet and razor. “Can’t even wait for me to fuck you myself?”

Jimin couldn’t answer with words. She only nodded, frantic and flushed, mouth open with breathless gasps. Her fingers moved faster, desperate, but her eyes never left Minjeong’s.

“Does it feel good?” Minjeong cooed, cruel in her affection. “Fucking yourself with my cum?”

“Y-yes,” Jimin choked out, voice wrecked, raw.

“Yes,” she repeated again, almost a cry now. Her brows furrowed, sweat dripping from her temple.

Minjeong leaned forward, lips ghosting her jaw. “You want me that badly, huh?”

“Yes. Yes. Need you,” Jimin whimpered, her voice coming apart in her throat. Her eyes were wide, vulnerable—begging.

And Minjeong… God, Minjeong loved it.

Every bit of desperation made her want to ruin her more.

Her hand was drenched now too, slick coating her fingers from where she held Jimin’s.

She pulled Jimin’s hand away, slow, deliberate.

Then replaced it with her own.

Middle and ring finger. Deep. Precise.

The wet sound was immediate, obscene—echoing through the room as Minjeong started a fast, brutal rhythm. Jimin's head fell back with a sob, legs twitching around her.

Minjeong watched her fall apart—this cold, sharp-tongued girl now trembling, wrecked, perfectly ruined under her touch. That smirk returned.

“Minjeong… you’re so—fuck—so good.”

And there it was.

The first time she called out to her—not cold, no flirty taunt or challenge in her voice.

Just Minjeong. Said like a prayer. Like surrender.

She kept saying it.

“Minjeong—Minjeong—fuck—”

Each repetition pushed her closer. And Minjeong felt something stir in her chest at the sound. Something primal. Possessive.

Her rhythm quickened. She slammed her fingers into her harder, deeper, matching the frantic rise in Jimin’s moans. Her other hand gripped Jimin’s waist, anchoring her, holding her down as she fucked her.

Jimin’s grip on the couch tightened as she shatters.

Her body arched. Back bowed. Toes curled. Mouth open as her orgasm tore through her—raw, loud, helpless.

But Minjeong didn’t stop.

She didn’t want to.

Couldn’t.

Something in her had snapped—the power, the sound of her name on Jimin’s tongue, the sight of her unraveling. She wanted more.

Wanted to keep Jimin open, raw, trembling under her.

So she kept going.

Harder.

Faster.

Deeper.

The sounds were obscene.

Wet. Loud.

The kind that echoed off the walls—slick and rhythmic, filthy.

The couch. Her fingers. Everything was soaked. 

“Minjeong—!” Jimin cried again, legs shaking violently, hips jerking. “Too much—fuck—please—”

Minjeong didn’t listen.

Her eyes locked on her, hand still relentless.

“You can take it,” she growled, lips brushing Jimin’s temple.

She slammed in again. And again.

“One more. Give me one more.”

And Jimin tried. Her body didn’t know how to stop. Didn’t want to. She clung to Minjeong, fingernails digging into her back, panting, gasping, desperate for relief.

Minjeong’s fingers found the perfect rhythm again—pulling her straight into the next wave.

And Jimin came again—violently, sobbing through it, clawing hard enough to leave marks.

Still, Minjeong didn’t stop.

Didn’t let her go.

Not until Jimin collapsed completely—drenched and broken open beneath her.

Only then did she slow. Breathing heavy. Eyes still wild.

"Good girl." Her voice dropped low.

She kissed her cheek—soft, almost sweet.

“You break so pretty for me.”

Jimin trembled, lips parted, chest heaving—but her eyes… never lost their hunger.

Minjeong had undone her. But not tamed.

She was still above Jimin, smug, composed.

“You really look good like this,” she murmured.

“Wrecked.”

She leaned in to press a kiss to Jimin’s jaw but Jimin caught her.

A firm hand around Minjeong’s chin.

The other trailing, slow, up her thigh.

“You look proud of yourself,” Jimin murmured, voice hoarse but steady.

“Overconfident.” She paused. “Let me fix that.”

Minjeong didn’t flinch. Still a brat.

“You can try.”

Jimin chuckled—low, dangerous. She slowly pushed Minjeong back onto the couch, now towering over her. Strands of dark hair falling loose around her flushed face, lips swollen, eyes gleaming with something predatory.

Her hand returned to Minjeong’s jaw, holding it firm.

Minjeong only smiled into it. She had waited for this. For someone who could match her.

Someone who would submit to her—yet also surprise her. Kept her on edge. Take everything she gave and still come back for more.

And right now, that someone was straddling her hips with dark intent in her eyes.

Jimin leaned down and kissed her—open, deep, consuming—like she wanted to savor every inch of Minjeong’s mouth. Her tongue slid past parted lips, slow and claiming, pulling a low sound from Minjeong’s throat.

Then she broke away, trailing kisses down. One hand cradled Minjeong’s jaw. The other was already at her blouse again, fingers flicking each button with precision.

When the last one gave way, Jimin sat back. She loosened her tie with a slow, deliberate pull, eyes never leaving Minjeong.

Then she smirked.

“Minjeong,” she said, her voice low and wicked, “did you know your other senses heighten when you lose one?”

Minjeong’s lips curled. A familiar game. Dangerous territory. But she welcomed it.

She propped herself up slightly, leaning closer, gaze steady—daring.

“I know.”

Then she closed her eyes—an offering. Not because she had to. Because she wanted Jimin to know she wasn’t afraid.

Jimin laughed softly, delighted. No hesitation, no resistance—just raw, open defiance.

Minjeong never made it easy. But that’s what made breaking her so rewarding.

She slipped the tie around Minjeong’s head and gently blindfolded her.

Minjeong’s thighs pressed tighter. Not just from Jimin’s touch now, but the weight of anticipation. The scent of Jimin. The memory of her mouth. Her arousal built in slow, devastating waves, soaking into the lace between her legs.

Then Jimin’s mouth was back on her—kissing randomly, teasingly. Her shoulders. Her collarbone. Her chest. Back to her neck. Each press of lips blurred between suck, bite, and lick, shifted between soft and brutal. Unpredictable. Electric.

“Did you wear these for me?” Jimin asked, her finger tracing the intricate lace of the stockings at Minjeong’s thigh.

“No,” Minjeong lied—blatant, breathless.

Jimin chuckled, almost purring.

“Liar.”

She kissed the inside of her knee.

Then higher.

And higher again.

Until Minjeong’s thighs trembled from holding still.

By the time her mouth reached the lace at Minjeong’s upper thigh, Minjeong was already panting, her fingers curling into the couch, her body tense and eager.

Jimin hooked her fingers into her skirt and underwear, and Minjeong lifted her hips—silent permission. A shared rhythm.

Then came the first slick lick up her inner thigh.

Long. Hot. Possessive. 

Minjeong’s mouth fell open.

No sound came out—just a shaky breath that caught in her throat.

“God, you’re so fucking sexy like this,” Jimin breathed.

And then her tongue found Minjeong’s center.

Slow.

Teasing.

Torturing.

Minjeong’s mind went blank. She moaned—loud. Her back arched before she could stop it. She hated how honest her body was, how fast she unraveled under that tongue.

She wasn't ready. And Jimin knew it.

Knew her too well.

Knew how to ruin her with a single flick. How to drag her open with slow, merciless licks. Every stroke deliberate. Every cruel pause calculated to make her squirm. Every calculated suck over her clit peeled her apart layer by layer.

Minjeong bit down on her knuckles. Her other hand tangled in Jimin’s hair, not guiding—clinging.

But Jimin was patient. Precise. Addictive.

Minjeong was losing ground. Her hips kept jerking. Moans kept slipping out—unguarded, unfiltered.

And then—fingers. Two. Slow. Deep.

Curling inside her.

Minjeong’s entire body spasmed, wet and eager and completely at Jimin’s mercy.

“Come for me,” Jimin whispered, voice low.

“I want to feel it. All of it.”

Minjeong shattered—wild, loud, ruined—arching so hard she nearly slipped off the couch. Her body shook with the force of it, legs trembling violently.

Still, Jimin didn’t stop.

She licked her through it, slow and unrelenting. Her fingers never pulled out, drawing out every aftershock like she was addicted to the way Minjeong broke for her.

Her eyes never left Minjeong’s face, like she was memorizing every twitch, every gasp.

Minjeong whimpered, body twitching with oversensitivity.

“Jimin—” she gasped, almost a sob.

Only then did Jimin slow down.

Jimin crawled back up slowly. Her face flushed, her lips wet, her grin dangerous.

Minjeong was still panting. Drenched in sweat. Her throat raw from the moans she couldn’t hold back.

Jimin untied the blindfold.

Minjeong’s eyes fluttered open, dazed, still burning with want. Still drunk on pleasure.

Jimin leaned in. Their noses brushed.

“Still want to be in control?” she whispered under her breath.

And Minjeong, still panting, still ruined, smiled back like she hadn’t lost anything at all.

Because they both knew—

This night was far from over.

Chapter Text

By the time their hunger had finally been quieted—skin flushed, breaths uneven, the air thick with the aftermath—it was already past midnight.

The room was dim now, lit only by the amber glow of Jimin’s desk lamp. Clothes had been mostly redressed, though the air still clung to the warmth of what had unfolded across the office couch.

Jimin leaned back against the armrest, hair slightly tousled, watching Minjeong button up the last of her shirt with practiced ease.

“You have a ride home?” she asked, voice low, casual.

Minjeong didn’t look up. “I’ll call an Uber.”

Jimin sat forward, forearms resting loosely on her knees. “Let me drive you.”

Minjeong finally glanced at her, one brow raised. “What’s your angle?”

Jimin scoffed, reaching for her blazer. “There’s no angle. I’m just feeling generous.”

“Or sentimental,” Minjeong said, tone cool and teasing.

Jimin shot her a look, amused. “Can’t I just be a gentlewoman for once? Consider it a thank-you… for your time.”

Minjeong’s lips curved, faint but there. “How noble.”

Still, she didn’t decline.

.

.

The drive back was quiet.

Minjeong sat with her elbow resting against the window, fingers curled loosely in her lap. She didn’t speak. Didn’t shift in her seat. Just watched the streets blur past, her expression unreadable. Still, something about her felt calm.

Jimin, hands steady on the wheel, kept her eyes ahead. Mostly.

But every time the light turned red, her gaze drifted—brief, stolen glances cast in the silence. Not quite intentional. Not quite avoidable. Like her mind was trying to memorize Minjeong’s profile before it vanished.

The curve of her jaw. The way the city lights caught in the strands of her hair. The distance in her silence.

Neither of them filled the quiet. And somehow, that felt understood.

When the car finally slowed in front of Minjeong’s home, she unbuckled her seatbelt with a soft click and opened the door. One foot touched the pavement before she turned slightly, eyes meeting Jimin’s in the half-dark.

“Thanks for the ride,” she said, voice low.

Jimin offered a faint smile—nothing cocky, nothing teasing. Just soft. Quiet.

“See you tomorrow?”

Minjeong didn’t say anything. Just nodded once, a low hum in her throat before she stepped out and closed the door behind her.

Jimin waited until she disappeared inside before driving off.

And even then, her hands gripped the wheel a little tighter than before.

Minjeong stepped into her room with the lights off, only the moon spilling faint silver across the floorboards. She peeled off her clothes slowly—unhurried, methodical—like she was still moving through the remnants of something that hadn’t fully left her system.

She reached for a fresh pair of undergarments, slipping them on with a quiet breath. Then she caught sight of herself in the mirror.

Her skin, pale in the low light, bore the trace of Jimin’s mouth—soft bite marks, faint and deliberate, scattered along the dip of her waist, the inside of her thigh, the underside of her ribs. Placed with intent. Hidden in places no one else would see.

Minjeong’s fingers ghosted over one near her hipbone, touch light. The memory flickered behind her eyes—Jimin’s lips, warm and unrelenting. Her voice, low and teasing.

A quiet exhale left her lips. Then—just barely—a smile.

Small. Crooked.

She turned from the mirror and slipped beneath the sheets, letting the silence of the room settle around her.

The elevator chimed open as Minjeong stepped into the top floor, the heels of her shoes striking a steady rhythm against the polished concrete. The office was quiet, the kind of calm that existed before the buzz of the day kicked in.

Just how she liked it.

Her space was untouched. The scent of lavender still lingered from yesterday’s diffuser. Everything as she left it—immaculate. In control.

She shrugged off her coat, draping it over the back of her chair before sitting down and waking her monitor with a tap. She combed through emails with surgical focus, replying where necessary, flagging inconsistencies with a slight furrow.

Order. Predictability. Control. It steadied her.

A knock sounded—brief, polite.

Her secretary, Ryujin, stepped in—tablet in hand, posture neat, grin tugging at her lips. “Good morning, Ms. Kim.”

She scanned her superior’s expression for a beat, then added with a mock-serious tone, “You're glowing today.”

Minjeong didn’t look up. She just kept tapping through her dashboard. But her voice carried its usual cool precision—laced with faint amusement. “Are you implying I looked terrible before?”

Ryujin blinked, pretending to consider it. “Not terrible. Just… not post-coital radiant.”

Minjeong finally looked at her, one brow raised. “Careful. That borders on insubordination.”

Ryujin grinned wider, unbothered, but inclined her head in mock-bow. “Duly noted, Director. Should I postpone the rest of your morning meetings? If you’re seeing Ms. Yu again, I can clear your schedule.”

Minjeong paused, eyes still on the monitor.

“No need,” she said. “It won’t take long.”

Ryujin nodded. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

Then she slipped out, closing the door behind her.

The moment Minjeong stepped into Jimin’s office, something shifted.

She’d been here countless times before—crossed legs on that couch, sharp remarks across the desk—but now the room felt altered. The air was thicker. The memory of hands, mouths and breathless sounds soaked into the corners.

The cushions on the couch had been replaced. Naturally.

After the mess they made, it was probably a necessity.

Minjeong said nothing. She stepped in further, gaze cool as it swept across the room.

Jimin entered a moment later, perfectly composed in an all-black suit. Her expression was neutral again—cool, detached, all business. In her hand was a set of documents and a black envelope, sealed in glossy wax with a bold, crimson J stamped in the center.

She placed the envelope on the glass table without a word, beside a stack of merger paperwork. Her fingers lingered on the edge for half a second too long, then she sat.

Not a mention of last night. Not a glance toward the couch. Just numbers, strategies, timelines.

And yet—

Every time Minjeong leaned forward to point something out, her scent seemed to catch in the air—faintly sweet. Jimin tried not to inhale too deeply. Tried not to remember how it felt pressed against her.

The space between them felt narrower than usual, despite the wide desk. Every clipped agreement, every aligned clause, only tightened the thread stretched thin between them.

It should’ve unnerved them.

At the very least, it should’ve raised suspicion.

Instead, it felt like foreplay.

Each glance lingered too long. Each brush of fingers over paper, each mirrored smirk at a shared conclusion—it all cracked with something unspoken. And neither of them flinched.

For once, they weren’t arguing.

They were in sync.

And that—more than any tension before—was what made it dangerous.

.

.

Within hours, the final draft of the merger terms was complete. Just two signatures away from total upheaval.

Minjeong stood first, calm and efficient as always, gathering her notes into a clean stack.

“I’ll arrange a board session with my executives,” she said, not quite meeting Jimin’s gaze.

Jimin leaned back, deliberately slow, her eyes never leaving Minjeong’s form.

“Same here,” she replied. “If we’re going to do this—” her voice dropped half a register, “—we present it together. Unified front.”

Minjeong’s eyes finally lifted to meet hers. Steady.

A beat passed, longer than it should’ve been for something so procedural.

“Of course,” she said, then turned toward the door, heels quiet on the floor.

But Jimin wasn’t finished. She slid the black envelope across the desk.

“Read it carefully,” she said, her tone pure professionalism—except for the edge underneath it. “Give me your thoughts.”

Minjeong paused, gaze falling to the envelope.

“This is our contract.” Jimin added.

Minjeong didn’t sit. Didn’t speak.

Instead, she broke the seal right there in front of her.

Not rushed. Not hesitant. Just deliberate, knowing exactly what she was about to read.

She unfolded the document and scanned it, her expression unreadable—but Jimin saw the subtle rise and fall of her chest. Saw the tension in her throat as her eyes flicked down each line.

Every clause they’d spoken was there. Physical only. No emotional entanglements. Mutual consent. Locations to be agreed upon. Encouragement of toys. No anal penetration or play. Legal recourse if either party breached confidentiality.

But one line did catch her attention, just for half a second.

‘Should either party develop romantic or emotional feelings for the other, this Agreement shall be rendered null and void, as such feelings would constitute a direct conflict with the intended purpose of this arrangement.’

Her expression didn’t change, but something under her skin did. A flicker. Barely perceptible. Even to herself.

She kept reading.

Her mouth twitched—almost—but didn’t quite smile when she read

‘Kim Minjeong will retain primary control during encounters.’

Then—

‘Yu Jimin retains the right to resist, challenge, or provoke within boundaries previously agreed upon.’

A challenge.

Minjeong almost smiled—but didn’t.

Her fingers tightened slightly on the paper as her eyes landed on

‘In the interest of mutual health, both parties are required to disclose any sexual activity with third parties during the duration of this Agreement.

Her lips parted slightly.

Interesting.

She could feel the heat of the words without needing to say them. Feel the weight of what Jimin was asking of her—not just physical exclusivity, but knowledge. Ownership. A territorial claim dressed up in legalese.

Still, she said nothing.

Finally, she looked up—slowly.

Her gaze was steady, unreadable, lifting from the final line.

No emotion. No commentary. Just a hand reaching for the fountain pen on Jimin’s desk.

Her script was clean, fluid. She signed the last page, then flipped and signed the second copy.

Jimin blinked. "You… signed both already?"

Minjeong slid one across the desk.

“I did.”

Jimin tilted her head, searching her expression. “You’re not going to ask for revisions? No comments? No clarifications?”

Minjeong smoothed the sleeve of her blazer, eyes glancing at the clock on the wall like she had somewhere better to be.

“I trust you not to include anything reckless. We’re both too smart for that.”

Jimin’s lips curved, half surprised, half amused. “That’s a lot of faith in a woman you’ve known less than a week.”

Minjeong’s voice didn’t waver. “No. That’s business sense.”

She took her copy, tucked it neatly into her bag, and pulled it onto her shoulder.

“If there’s nothing else,” she said, already moving for the door, “I’ll be heading back to my office.”

Jimin blinked. She wasn’t expecting this kind of detachment. Or efficiency. Or... to be left standing there holding a signed paperwork like a glorified assistant.

She cleared her throat and—without thinking—called out,

“Actually—wait.”

Minjeong paused, hand on the doorknob, but didn’t turn. “Yes?”

Jimin scrambled for an excuse—but when she spoke, her voice was smooth, controlled, and just amused enough to sound like she’d planned this all along.

“I cleared my afternoon,” she said, casually stepping around the desk. “Didn’t know if we’d be buried in merger paperwork till midnight like last time. Figured I’d keep the rest of the day open—just in case.”

Minjeong still didn’t turn around. Just waited.

Jimin continued, tone light but composed. “Since we’re wrapped earlier than expected, I thought I might stop by your office. Only if you’re amenable, of course.”

That made Minjeong glance over her shoulder.

Jimin met her gaze, a slight tilt to her head. “It would be good to get a sense of the team. If this merger moves forward, your staff becomes ours. And I like to know who I’ll be working with.”

Minjeong turned fully this time, expression unreadable. “You want to come observe Kim Holdings.”

Jimin smiled—just enough to suggest mischief, without losing professionalism. “Call it... familiarization. A courtesy visit, if you will. I’ll stay close, won’t disrupt anything.”

Minjeong considered her for a moment, then said, “Fine. You’ll work beside me while you’re there. No roaming around unsupervised.”

“Of course,” Jimin said, dipping her head with exaggerated politeness. “Wouldn’t want to cause a stir.”

Minjeong’s gaze sharpened. “Your presence might intimidate the staff. Especially without notice.”

“You think I’m intimidating?” Jimin said, tone innocent but clearly teasing. Then she let the smirk come through. “Or just distracting?”

Minjeong didn’t take the bait. “Either way, you’ll stay in my line of sight.”

Jimin chuckled quietly, the sound low and effortless. “I’ll consider myself honored.”

She reached for her coat and slipped it on in one smooth motion. “My car’s downstairs. Allow me to offer a ride—for efficiency, of course.”

Minjeong gave a single nod and stepped outside.

Jimin reached for the remaining contract, the one Minjeong had signed for her, and slipped it smoothly into a matte black envelope. As the flap sealed, a grin tugged at the corner of her lips. Not subtle. Not modest. Full, smug satisfaction.

She held the envelope for a moment, just looking at it.

No revisions. No hesitation.

Then she turned and followed Minjeong out the door—expression wiped clean by the time she caught up, all business again. But behind her professional stride, the echo of that grin still lingered.

The elevator dinged, and as the doors parted, Minjeong stepped out first.

Immediately, she heard it—the shift in air, the subtle hush of conversation softening into murmurs, followed by a low swell of chatter behind her. She didn’t need to turn to know the source. Jimin walked a step behind, hands in her pockets, calm, poised, with that quiet magnetism she never bothered to hide.

Minjeong heard the whispers. Felt the stares. But she didn’t flinch. Didn’t so much as look back.

Because she already knew exactly how distracting Jimin could be.

She led them into her office. Once inside, she set her bag down and crossed to her desk without missing a beat. The glass wall behind her offered a sweeping view of the city, but Minjeong’s attention went straight to her monitor.

She spoke without looking up. “I need to clear out my backlog first. Everything from Seoul to now has been merger-focused. I’ve been neglecting my actual job.”

Jimin didn’t answer. Didn’t sit.

She just leaned lightly against the windowsill, her arms crossed, eyes roaming the office—and then, eventually, settling on Minjeong.

Watching her.

The tension wasn’t loud—but it was there. In the silence between keystrokes. In the way Minjeong’s brows furrowed slightly at something on her screen, in the way Jimin’s gaze lingered at her throat a beat too long.

The soft knock on the door broke it.

“Come in,” Minjeong said.

Ryujin paused as she stepped in, eyes flicking briefly to Jimin before returning to Minjeong.

“I wasn’t aware we had guests.”

Minjeong glanced up. “Ryujin, this is Yu Jimin. You’ve probably seen the press. Jimin, this is Shin Ryujin—my executive associate. She runs this place when I’m not here.”

Ryujin nodded politely. “Pleasure. You’re… taller in person.”

Jimin raised a brow, a smirk playing on her lips. “I get that a lot.”

Minjeong gave a soft huff, the corner of her mouth twitching. “What is it, Ryujin?”

“Oh, right.” Ryujin flicked her tablet. “Couple of things need your greenlight before EOD. Also, if you ignore Legal’s third reminder about the staffing contract revisions, I think Rachel might actually cry.”

“When has Rachel not cried.” Minjeong muttered.

“Forward them. I’ll deal with it.”

“And,” Ryujin added, her tone playful but dry, “I told PR you were in a very important meeting. Which I guess wasn’t a lie.”

Minjeong cracked a quiet laugh—small, but rare. “Thanks.”

“Nice meeting you.” Ryujin nodded once at Jimin and backed out.

Before leaving, she added, “Try not to break her concentration. She bites.”

The door clicked shut.

Silence returned.

Jimin tilted her head, arms still folded. “You laugh with her.”

Minjeong didn’t look away from her monitor. “She’s like that with everyone.”

Jimin hummed. “She’s sharp.”

“She’s the only one who’s ever kept up with me,” Minjeong said, typing as she spoke. “Doesn’t look like much at first glance, but she’s brutal when she needs to be.”

Jimin was still watching her. But something in her expression shifted—not jealousy, not quite—but something quieter.

“You trust her.” She paused. A faint smile forming on her lips.

“That’s rare for you.”

Minjeong’s hands paused briefly above her keyboard.

“Yeah,” she said simply, then kept typing.

Jimin hadn’t moved from the leather guest chair. Her arms were folded, one leg crossed over the other, gaze resting on Minjeong like she was a puzzle she hadn’t quite solved yet.

Eventually, without looking up, Minjeong spoke. “You should probably head back to your office.”

Jimin lifted a brow. “Kicking me out already?”

“I won’t be able to give you a tour today,” Minjeong replied flatly, scrolling through a document. “You heard what Ryujin said. I’ve got a mountain of due diligence.”

“You’re tense.” Jimin leaned forward, elbows on her knees. “A client giving you trouble or is it something else?”

Minjeong finally looked at her, only for a beat. “Just a franchise deal we’ve been trying to close. Mid-sized restaurant chain called Kakeru. They’re planning a global expansion and want Kim Holdings to facilitate it.”

Jimin tilted her head. “That sounds promising.”

“It would be—if they had anything solid,” Minjeong said. Her tone was clipped but controlled. “Most of their valuation is tied up in liquid assets. No real long-term holdings. No proven international strategy. If it fails, we eat the loss. We bankroll the dream, and we take the fall.”

“And you don’t like betting on dreams,” Jimin said, smiling faintly.

“I like data,” Minjeong replied. “I like performance history. Tangible evidence.”

Jimin hummed, almost amused. “See, I’ve actually heard about them. Quiet, but making real noise. They’re considered a hidden gem in the industry. A rising star.”

“That’s nice,” Minjeong said dryly, “but gossip doesn’t build portfolios.”

Jimin leaned back again, that playful glint still in her eyes. “Maybe not. But faith does. Sometimes you have to trust your instincts—and your partners.”

Minjeong looked at her like she’d just suggested they invest in astrology. “I’m not going to approve a deal based on vibes and potential. I know what I’m doing.”

“I didn’t say you didn’t,” Jimin said, voice still light but a note sharper now. “I’m saying you’re too afraid of the intangibles to see the upside. This isn’t just risk—it’s opportunity.”

“And I’m telling you,” Minjeong snapped, eyes finally locking onto Jimin’s, “I don’t care how much buzz a brand has. If I sign off on a bad investment, that’s not just bad optics. That’s time wasted. That’s jobs. That’s partners. That’s our credibility.”

A quiet beat followed. Tension thick as steel.

Then Minjeong exhaled, slow and controlled. Her gaze dropped back to the screen. “You really should leave.”

Jimin’s brow twitched. Her smile, once casual, vanished—replaced with something cooler. More cutting.

“Gladly,” she said.

She stood, grabbed her coat from the back of the chair, and slung her bag over her shoulder with a single smooth motion.

The soft thud of her heels echoed through the room as she made her way to the door.

She didn’t slam it. But it shut a little louder than it needed to.

The office was quiet again.

Minjeong finished processing the remaining projects that needed her approval. Her eyes lingered on the leather chair where Jimin had been sitting earlier, before she pulled Kakeru’s file back onto her screen.

Numbers. Liquid assets. Projected margins. Risk.

Her brows twitched as she stared at the spreadsheet. Her fingertips tapped once, twice, against the desk. Nothing had changed, objectively. But Jimin’s voice still echoed louder than the rest of the data.

‘Sometimes you have to trust your instincts’

She scoffed under her breath and grabbed her phone.

‘Emergency only’

The line clicked once, then twice—before a bright, chipper voice answered on the third ring.

“Well well. To what do I owe the pleasure of being graced by the Ice Princess herself?”

Minjeong didn’t flinch. “I have a job for you, Ellie.”

A pause.

Then a rustle of papers. “You sound tense. How serious are we talking?”

“I need eyes on a brand called Kakeru. Fast. I’m meeting the owner in three hours. I want a full read on the business and market potential. I need data in two.”

A beat of silence. Then a low, amused hum.

“I can do it in one.”

The line clicked dead before Minjeong could say another word.

She stared at the phone for a second, then exhaled and turned back to her screen. The cursor blinked, still waiting for her decision. And somehow, the numbers looked less like a dead end now—and more like a coin mid-air, suspended between risk and reward.

.

.

Exactly fifty-two minutes later, Minjeong’s phone buzzed.

She answered immediately.

“Talk.”

Ellie didn’t bother with a greeting. “You weren’t kidding, this brand’s moving like wildfire underground. Niche food blogs, small celeb endorsements, location trends. The metrics aren’t mainstream yet, but they’re gaining traction fast.”

Minjeong’s eyes narrowed, scanning the last financial line again. “You’re saying it’s a good investment?”

“I’m saying,” Ellie replied, crisp, “it’s not a guaranteed hit. But it’s close. Really close. They don’t have enough hard data to catch the attention of major firms yet, but their foot traffic and conversion rates are better than most mid-tier chains.”

Minjeong leaned back slightly in her chair. “In numbers.”

A light rustle of paper on Ellie’s end. Then, “If I had to give it a number—ninety-seven percent probability it turns a profit within the first fiscal year, assuming you anchor their global launch through Kim Holdings.”

Minjeong exhaled slowly. “Three percent margin of failure.”

“That’s business,” Ellie said, almost too casually. “No such thing as zero risk. But this one? You’d be ahead of the curve.”

Minjeong went quiet.

There was a brief pause before Ellie added, a little softer, “You don’t usually ask for second opinions. You good?”

Minjeong didn’t answer. She only muttered a soft “Thanks,” and ended the call.

Her phone lowered back onto the desk with a quiet thud.

Three percent.

Her gaze fell back to the screen—at the bold, blinking cursor at the bottom of the unsigned approval line.

Jimin’s words returned, irritatingly clear.

‘Sometimes you have to trust your instincts.’

Minjeong exhaled and muttered under her breath, “She’s so annoying.”

Like it would somehow quiet the echo of Jimin’s words.

She then sat there in the silence of her office, arms folded lightly, staring at the projected report like it had suddenly turned into something she couldn’t calculate. Something she could only decide.

Her fingers hovered over the mouse.

Then clicked.

Approved.

Jimin sat behind her desk, posture straight, eyes fixed on the glowing screen in front of her. The silence in the office was filled with rhythmic typing of her fingers against the keys—measured, relentless. Controlled.

A gentle knock tapped against the glass door.

Yeji stepped in with a hand on the knob, tilting her head.

“You’re still here?”

Jimin didn’t look up. “Am I not allowed to work overtime anymore?”

“Just checking.” Yeji smirked faintly but didn’t push. “You do have a visitor, though.”

Jimin paused. That got her attention.

Yeji added, “Ms. Kim.”

The typing stopped.

Jimin’s eyes lifted, calm but alert. “Let her in.”

Yeji lingered for a beat. “I’m heading out after this. Everyone else already left. Should I lock up?”

“Yes,” Jimin said smoothly. “I’ll relock once she’s gone.”

Yeji gave a knowing nod before slipping out.

Moments later, Minjeong walked in.

Jimin didn’t move. Neither did Minjeong.

Not at first.

They just watched each other across the room, the silence suspended and thick.

Jimin’s fingers stilled over the keyboard for a moment, then she resumed typing, slower now. Like she could feel Minjeong too. Like the air had shifted.

Minjeong’s eyes didn’t leave her.

She felt it again—that quiet thread between them. The pull. Not loud, not visible. But impossible to ignore. She crossed the room without a word.

Jimin kept her eyes on the screen.

“I met with the owner of Kakeru earlier,” Minjeong said, voice quiet but crisp. “Sweet old man. His son, too.”

Jimin’s hands froze.

Minjeong continued, “I approved the deal.”

Jimin blinked. “I thought it was a risk you weren’t willing to take.”

Minjeong stopped next to her chair. “It wasn’t.”

Her gaze rested on Jimin, cool and steady. “But you seemed so certain. I want to know why.”

Jimin shut her laptop with a soft click and turned to face her fully, legs parted, unbothered. A quiet challenge.

“Sometimes you just see something,” she said, meeting Minjeong’s gaze, “and you know it’s worth the risk.”

“Is that all?” Minjeong asked, voice softer now. “Instinct?”

Jimin tilted her head, legs spreading slightly around her. “Instinct. Intuition. Gut feeling.”

Minjeong’s eyes flicked downward, then back to hers. She stepped in until there was nowhere left to go.

“I don’t trust things I can’t measure,” she said. “I need numbers. Proof. Otherwise it’s not real.”

Jimin’s presence shifted—lazy, magnetic confidence that never needed permission.

“I know,” she murmured, voice low and sure.

Slowly, she reached for Minjeong’s wrist. Her grip was firm, deliberate. And when she pulled her down, Minjeong followed without resistance—straddling onto Jimin’s lap with practiced control. Her knees bracketed Jimin’s hips. Her skirt slid higher, grazing the edge of Jimin’s thigh.

“You didn’t know the outcome that night we met,” Jimin said, voice velvet-dark. “So tell me—why did you sleep with me, when you knew nothing about me?”

Minjeong looked at her, eyes flat, unreadable. “You were… beautiful.”

Jimin blinked, then smiled—lazy and slow, dangerous. “You think I’m pretty?”

Minjeong tilted her head, indifferent. “Would there have been any other reason?”

A low laugh left Jimin’s throat, breath hot between them. “Cold,” she murmured, “But fair.”

Her fingers brushed up Minjeong’s arm, barely grazing. It wasn’t a caress. It was a reading—like her skin told a story she couldn’t look away from.

“It’s like that. Sometimes you see something... or someone,” Jimin murmured, “and it pulls you in.”

Her hand slid from Minjeong’s shoulder to her collarbone. Then to her throat. Her fingers rested there for a beat too long, before her thumb rose and lifted Minjeong’s chin.

“I took a risk that night,” she said, velvet-smooth. “Because I had a feeling I’d enjoy myself.”

Her thumb dragged slowly across Minjeong’s bottom lip.

“I took a risk on that contract,” she said, low and steady. “Because I knew it was worth it.”

Heat surged between them.

“How about you?” Jimin leaned in, voice husky, eyes glinting. “I think it’s about time you start trusting your instincts.”

Minjeong didn’t blink. Didn’t flinch.

Instead, her tongue slipped out, slow and deliberate, wetting Jimin’s thumb. Then her lips wrapped around it with no hesitation. No warmth. Just control.

She sucked once—deep, unhurried. Holding eye contact like it was a challenge. Like she wanted Jimin to break first.

Jimin didn’t. But her breathing hitched.

When Minjeong finally let her thumb go, she didn’t do it gently. She released it like it meant nothing. Just a quiet dismissal, like she could’ve kept going…or not.

Then, with surgical calm, she grabbed Jimin’s hand and took two of her fingers into her mouth.

Deeper.

Her breath flared against Jimin’s palm as she sucked, tongue curling, her gaze still steady—sultry. Like she was the one testing Jimin now.

A soft sound escaped Jimin’s throat. Her jaw clenched. Her thighs tensed beneath Minjeong’s weight.

Then—Minjeong sucked harder. Her tongue flicked between her fingers.

It was precise. Calculated. Cruel.

Jimin let out a quiet breath. She slid her fingers out and curled them behind Minjeong’s neck, pulling her in.

Their mouths collided—hard, consuming.

Minjeong kissed like she was declaring war.

Nothing soft. Nothing forgiving.

Jimin melted against her. Groaned into her mouth. But Minjeong never lost pace. She slid one hand down Jimin’s chest, dragging her fingers across her shirt, her touch deliberate and knowing.

And just when Jimin felt like she might give in—might dissolve into this completely—Minjeong pulled away.

One breath.

Two.

Then she stood.

Jimin’s breath caught at the sudden absence of Minjeong’s touch, her eyes dragging up her body like it physically ached.

Minjeong smoothed her skirt.

“I presume you don’t work weekends,” she said coolly.

Jimin’s voice came low, rough. “No.”

“Plans?”

Jimin raised a brow. “None. Why?”

“Good.” Minjeong turned halfway, eyes over her shoulder. “We’re going back to my place.”

Jimin straightened. “Your place?”

Minjeong faced her again, unbothered.

“It’s more comfortable doing it there,” she said. Then, with the barest lift of a brow, “Unless you prefer replacing your cushions every week?”

The ride was silent at first.

Minjeong slid into the passenger seat like she owned the car, legs crossed, arms folded, face unreadable.

Jimin didn’t speak. She just started the engine, jaw tight, knuckles pale against the wheel.

The city moved around them—silent and distant.

Minjeong’s eyes flicked sideways. “You’re quiet.”

Jimin exhaled through her nose, a short laugh. “Trying to focus. Some of us need to… concentrate, if we don’t want to crash and die.”

Minjeong tilted her head, amused. Then, a low hum, “That would be… inconvenient.”

Jimin’s knuckles flexed once on the wheel. “You’re enjoying this.”

Minjeong didn’t deny it. She uncrossed her legs slowly, the hem of her skirt riding higher with the movement. One hand slid casually to her own thigh, fingers tracing idle circles.

She didn’t look at Jimin. Just stared ahead, her tone clinical, “Your reaction time seems impaired.”

Jimin glanced at her. She shouldn’t have.

Her gaze caught on the curve of Minjeong’s inner thigh. The lace of her stockings. The subtle motion of her fingers—so slow, so deliberate.

Her breath hitched.

Minjeong turned her head just enough for Jimin to catch the edge of a smirk. “Focus, Jimin.”

“I am,” Jimin muttered, shifting in her seat. “I’m laser-focused.”

“Are you?” Minjeong leaned in, her voice a low murmur. “Because you’re going ten kilometers under the speed limit.”

Jimin’s hand twitched on the gearstick. “I’m trying not to get arrested for reckless driving.”

Minjeong’s fingers slid higher.

Not enough to be blatant. Just enough to be noticed.

She kept her voice calm, detached. “You seem tense.”

Jimin didn’t answer. Her jaw was clenched tight. Her eyes fixed on the road like it was the only thing keeping her sane.

Minjeong turned slightly, her voice a whisper now. “You said I should trust my instincts.”

She paused. “I’m starting to think you regret that.”

Jimin let out a shaky laugh. “I don’t regret anything.” But her voice was hoarse, strained at the edges.

Minjeong leaned back in her seat, perfectly poised. She drew her hand back to her lap, as if it had all been in Jimin’s head. “Good,” she said softly. “Then keep driving.”

They pulled up to her house ten minutes later, and in that time, Jimin didn’t say a word. She sat there, engine idling, both hands gripping the wheel like it was the only thing grounding her.

Minjeong opened her door and stepped out without waiting.

Didn’t look back. Didn’t even ask Jimin to come with her.

Jimin followed, pulse still hammering as she locked the car behind her.

.

.

The moment the door shut behind them, Jimin’s hands were on Minjeong’s waist—firm, possessive.

Minjeong felt the heat of her grip, the sharp intake of breath that betrayed Jimin’s control. Her teasing had clearly landed deeper than she let on.

Jimin’s mouth moved toward hers, hungry and claiming.

But Minjeong’s finger slipped between Jimin’s lips before the kiss could close—cool and deliberate, a barrier and a command all at once.

“Not yet,” Minjeong said, voice low and edged with something dark and dangerous.

Jimin’s eyes burned, frustrated but entranced.

Minjeong’s grip tightened on Jimin’s wrist, her touch firm, unyielding.

“Come,” she commanded, turning on her heel and pulling Jimin down the hallway.

The guest room door barely creaked as they stepped inside. Minjeong didn’t bother flicking on the light.

Without hesitation, she flopped back onto the bed, eyes gleaming like a predator’s.

“Strip.”

She ordered, voice cold and exact.

Jimin’s fingers trembled just a little as she reached up and loosened her tie, slow and precise, like she wanted Minjeong to watch every second of it. She let it slide from her neck.

Minjeong’s gaze stayed sharp, tracking it like prey in motion. Her pulse ticked higher. That tie, once wrapped around Jimin’s throat, now lay discarded—useless, on the floor. The thought alone made her thighs press together.

Then came the blazer. Jimin slipped it off her shoulders with a fluid roll, letting it fall behind her.

Minjeong’s breath stuttered. Her fingers curled into the sheets.

She looked so obedient like this. So fucking willing. And yet so composed, teasing in her surrender. That balance—it did something to Minjeong. Lit a fuse low in her stomach.

But she didn’t reach for her.

Not yet.

The buttons came next. One by one. Each click echoed louder than the last. The shirt peeled open to reveal skin—smooth, pale, maddeningly soft.

Minjeong’s tongue darted out against her own bottom lip. Her jaw flexed. She wanted to taste. She wanted to pin Jimin down and mark every inch. But the power was in the wait, and fuck—Jimin was handing it to her willingly.

And then the bra. Black lace, delicate and faintly sheer, slipped off her arms and onto the sheets.

Minjeong’s chest rose with a quiet, sharp inhale. Her mouth watered. Her eyes devoured her—breasts rising with each breath, the shadows of moonlight sliding over collarbones and curves. She’d undressed others before—told people to strip without thought. But no one had ever made her feel this reckless just by standing there. No one had ever made her this feral.

Still, she held back.

Then Jimin reached for her belt.

Minjeong’s eyes dropped, locked in. Her breathing stalled. The soft click as Jimin unfastened it was louder than thunder in the silence.

Jimin’s slacks slid down her hips, slow, deliberate, pooling around her ankles. She stepped out of them, calm, unhurried.

Minjeong’s throat worked as she swallowed. Her core throbbed.

And then—finally—Jimin eased down her last layer. Silk. Dark, damp at the center. She hooked her thumbs in the sides and drew them down. Thin, slick threads clung stubbornly to the fabric, catching the light as they stretched.

Minjeong’s fingers flexed again into the sheets, hard. Her breath came through her nose, controlled but heavy.

There she was. Bare. Silent. Still.

And she didn’t cover herself. She stood there, fully exposed, completely unguarded—offering.

For her.

“Lie down. Beside me,” Minjeong said, her tone absolute.

Jimin obeyed, the cool sheets rising beneath her as she sank down.

Minjeong’s voice dropped, every word a thread pulling them closer.

“Stay still. Watch me.”

She sat up slowly, then stood beside the bed. Her fingers moved to the button of her shirt, unfastening it with clinical precision. The fabric parting to reveal pale skin, the slope of her collarbone, the curve of her chest. The shirt fell open, then off her shoulders in one smooth motion. Her eyes stayed locked on Jimin’s the entire time.

Jimin shifted on the bed, eyes wide, devouring her.

Minjeong moved closer, eyes fixed on Jimin’s flushed face. Then, without a word, she reached down and began to peel her skirt down her hips—slowly, deliberately, like she wanted to make sure Jimin saw everything. The fabric clung for a second before falling past her thighs and pooling at her feet.

She stepped out of it with quiet grace, letting her hands trail lightly along her own legs as she did. Not for herself—for Jimin. To let her look. To let her ache.

She rolled down one stocking, then the other, taking her time with each. Her motions unhurried, cruel in their elegance. She was taunting her. Showing her exactly what she wanted but keeping it just out of reach.

And Jimin—bare beside her, eyes dark and wide—watched with reverence, with lust, with something close to awe.

Minjeong’s mouth curved just slightly. Not quite a smile. A warning.

She wanted Jimin to wait for her. To burn for her.

Her black undergarments—minimal, tailored, silken—slipped down, letting them fall with no shame.

Jimin’s gaze dragged over her, hunger simmering just beneath the surface.

“I kept thinking I remembered every inch of you,” she said, voice rough. “But memory doesn’t do you justice.”

Minjeong only raised an eyebrow, pleased.

Then climbed back onto the bed and leaned in close. Her lips ghosted against Jimin’s ear.

“You’ll stay like that,” she said, voice low, controlled. “Until I say otherwise.”

Jimin didn’t move. But the curve of her lips deepened. A smirk. Dangerous.

“Yes, ma’am,” she murmured, voice dipped in velvet and heat.

Minjeong’s lashes fluttered once. Not at the title. At the way Jimin said it—taunting and reverent all at once. Like she was enjoying the game far too much.

Minjeong leaned in slowly, her breath brushing Jimin’s collarbone but never touching. Her hand slid, cold and possessive, down Jimin’s torso, stopping just above her hip.

“I’ll have my fun,” she whispered against her skin. “Then you can have yours.”

Jimin's fingers twitched against the sheets, muscles visibly restraining the urge to flip the script. But she stayed still, head tilted, throat exposed. Offering herself—but never without defiance.

Minjeong’s lips ghosted lower, down Jimin’s chest, past her ribs. She didn’t kiss. She didn’t lick. She simply hovered—close enough to feel her heat, close enough to let Jimin ache.

She circled one nipple with a single finger, painfully slow. Then pinched—hard.

Jimin gasped, jaw tight, but didn’t move.

Minjeong’s eyes met hers again. Smoldering. Commanding.

“Good girl.”

Something dark flickered across Jimin’s face. A flash of heat. Want. Possession.

Minjeong trailed her hand between Jimin’s thighs, knuckles grazing. She felt the slick heat radiating there and let out a breath of satisfaction.

“Already?” she murmured. “You’re that wet just from watching me?”

Jimin’s voice was rough. “You think you’re not a sight, Minjeong?”

Minjeong said nothing. Just smirked, cold and dangerous. Her fingers dipped lower but didn’t enter. She dragged them along the edge—taunting, precise. Then pulled away completely.

A low sound rumbled from Jimin’s throat. Not quite a whine. Not quite a growl.

“You said you’d have your fun,” she reminded her, eyes narrowing, hips twitching forward. “This doesn’t look like fun.”

Minjeong tilted her head, amused.

“It is for me,” she replied simply.

And before Jimin could speak again, Minjeong finally moved—swift and sure. She shifted atop Jimin, thighs straddling her waist, pinning her down. Her hair fell like a curtain, casting shadows over her face.

Her hand curled around both of Jimin’s wrists, pressing them into the mattress above her head.

“You don’t get to rush me,” Minjeong whispered, lips brushing her jaw. “You gave me control. You’ll feel what that means.”

Jimin’s breathing hitched.

Minjeong leaned down, her mouth finally closing around Jimin’s nipple—hot, wet, and ruthless. She sucked hard, then bit. Just enough to make Jimin jolt.

Her fingers tightened on her wrists.

“Still want to challenge me?” Minjeong asked, voice smooth and low, words vibrating against her skin.

Jimin’s voice broke on a moan. “Every second.”

Minjeong smiled. Dark. Triumphant.

“Good,” she breathed. “It’s more fun that way.”

She released Jimin’s wrists but only to let her hands roam—palming, gripping, learning the map of her body with calculated reverence. She slid down between Jimin’s thighs, eyes locked on her the entire way.

Then—slowly, cruelly—her mouth worked in a merciless rhythm, tongue circling Jimin’s clit without giving her enough.

Not deep enough.

Not fast enough.

Just enough to keep her shaking.

Minjeong's fingers moved in tandem—two deep, curling just right, just wrong, just short of the spot that would let Jimin fall apart.

Jimin’s breath broke against the air in ragged moans. Her thighs clenched around Minjeong’s shoulders, desperate for pressure.

For something. For release.

“Fuck—Minjeong—” she gasped, hips trying to roll, to chase it. But Minjeong only pulled back slightly, just enough for the cool air to kiss where her tongue had been.

“Still too loud,” Minjeong murmured against her, voice low, wet, dangerous.

She flattened her tongue and licked a long, deliberate stripe, then stopped again. Her fingers stilled inside her.

Jimin let out a strangled noise. Frustration. Pleasure. Hunger.

Her hands reached for Minjeong’s hair.

Minjeong caught one wrist and pressed it back into the bed with a single hand.

“Don't get greedy,” she said calmly. “Not until I say so.”

Jimin’s voice was wrecked, eyes wild. “You’re going to kill me.”

Minjeong smirked. Cold. Wicked.

“You’ll die pretty.”

Then she dove back in. Tongue flicking. Sucking. Circling. Her fingers pressed in deep this time—deeper, harder—angled cruelly.

Jimin cried out, legs shaking, her stomach trembling beneath the waves of pressure Minjeong built up and withheld.

Over and over, Minjeong edged her. Dragged her to the brink, watched her hover there, and pulled her back with maddening control.

Every time Jimin gasped, Minjeong just tightened her hold. Pinned her harder. Licked slower. Fingers curling and retreating before they could send her over.

Jimin’s voice broke.

“Please—”

Minjeong stilled.

That word.

Soft. Breathless. Threadbare from the begging underneath it.

Jimin’s voice trembled. Her body did too—arched and desperate, slick with sweat and everything Minjeong had pulled out of her.

Minjeong looked up.

Jimin’s eyes were wide, glassy. Her mouth parted like she was afraid the word would slip again, like it had already betrayed her once. Her legs trembled where they spread, her fingers curled into the sheets, knuckles white with restraint.

“Please,” she whispered again. “Let me cum.”

Minjeong couldn’t deny her. But it wasn’t mercy.

It wasn’t even control. It was hunger.

This—watching Jimin unravel, bare and begging, stripped of everything but want—always ignited something violent and tender in her. Every time. Ruinous. Beautiful. Addictive.

She leaned in, voice low, almost gentle.

“You want to finish?”

Jimin nodded, frantic. She didn’t speak this time. She didn’t have to. The desperation in her eyes was a language Minjeong understood too well.

Minjeong’s gaze dropped between her legs, to the soaked, swollen heat she’d been teasing for too long.

She kissed her clit once. A warning.

Then again. A promise.

Then sucked—hard. Deep. Unforgiving.

Jimin cried out like it broke her.

Minjeong didn’t stop. She pushed two fingers inside, curling them as she fucked into her with unrelenting rhythm. Ruthless. Precise. She wanted to watch it happen—wanted to see the exact second Jimin lost herself.

And then she felt it—Jimin’s hand, desperate and instinctual, reaching for Minjeong’s head. Her fingers curled in her hair, not to stop her, not to push her closer—just to hold her there. To feel that it was real.

The room filled with sound. Slick, wet, obscene. Jimin’s moans curled up like smoke, catching in her throat, pushed past her lips in gasping, shattered pleas.

Minjeong’s head bobbed, mouth flicking against her clit with the same vicious rhythm, never faltering.

Jimin’s eyes opened. And locked to the sight.

Minjeong looked up at her through her lashes, all hunger and devotion, and Jimin stared like she needed to memorize it—needed to burn this image of Minjeong between her thighs into her memory forever.

But the pleasure was cruel. Her body betrayed her.

Jimin’s eyes fluttered shut. Her head tipped back. Her lips parted in a soundless gasp as the euphoria rose like a wave too big to ride.

And then—she broke.

Her back arched. A sob tore through her as she came, thighs clenching around Minjeong like she never wanted to let her go. Her body trembled, seized, surrendered.

“Minjeong— Minjeong—”

She moaned her name like it was the only thing she had left.

Minjeong watched every second. Eyes dark, chin wet, heart thudding painfully in her chest.

She looked divine. Ruined and radiant. And all hers.

Only when Jimin finally slumped back onto the sheets, breath heaving, did Minjeong ease away. Her lips glistened. She leaned in and kissed the corner of Jimin’s mouth—soft, almost tender.

Then she pulled back, gaze lingering.

Jimin’s eyes were still closed, lashes damp, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of her lips—spent and still stunning even in the aftermath.

Minjeong stared. All she wanted now, all she ached for, was to be undone by her.

So she leaned in again, whispered low against her skin.

“Your turn.”

Jimin stilled. Then a low laugh rumbled from her throat. Not soft. Not sweet. Dark and velvet.

She rolled over slowly, turning to face Minjeong with eyes still glazed and wild.

“Is that so?” she breathed, lips brushing Minjeong’s jaw.

Minjeong didn’t blink. She just met Jimin’s gaze with that maddening calm.

Smirking. Watching her like a predator indulging a weaker animal.

Jimin straddled her hips in one smooth movement, slow and unhurried.

“I wouldn’t smile if I were you,” she said, voice husky.

“The only reason I was on my best behavior was because you said I could have my fun next.”

Minjeong raised a brow, unbothered. Smirk deepening. “Then what are you waiting for?”

Jimin’s eyes darkened.

“I’m going to use you until I’m satisfied.”

She didn’t wait for permission.

Her mouth crashed into Minjeong’s—hot, hungry, devouring. She kissed like she was claiming her, tasting the arrogance from her lips, dragging her nails down Minjeong’s chest until she heard her breath catch.

And it did catch.

Not because she was losing control—but because she wanted Jimin to think she had it.

That alone made Jimin growl, low and dangerous.

“Oh no,” she whispered against her lips, fingers already pushing Minjeong’s thighs apart.

“Don’t give me that look.”

Minjeong’s smirk curved lazily. “What look?”

“The one that says you’re still in charge.”

Jimin didn’t wait for a response. Her fingers slipped between Minjeong’s legs, two immediately sliding into soaked heat. Minjeong gasped, her eyes fluttering shut for just a second.

Just long enough for Jimin to lean down and murmur against her neck, “That one.”

She moved deliberately—pressing deeper, curling. Finding rhythm and intent, stroking her just right, pushing her open.

Minjeong let out a breath. Not a moan. Not yet.

Jimin’s mouth trailed down her collarbone, hot and slow, until her lips wrapped around a nipple, tongue flicking, sucking, biting.

Minjeong hissed.

Still controlled.

Still composed.

“You’re so wet for me,” Jimin murmured, fingers slick, driving deeper. “All that control and you're soaked.”

Minjeong opened her eyes and looked at her—dark, unreadable. “I never said I wasn’t enjoying myself.”

Jimin’s smirk broke into a grin. She moved faster, harder, dragging her thumb over Minjeong’s clit.

And Minjeong’s breath shattered.

It was small. Subtle.

But Jimin heard it. Felt it. The way Minjeong’s hips lifted into her touch like instinct, not command.

“You feel that?” Jimin whispered, biting down on her shoulder, kissing it after. “That’s mine now.”

Minjeong didn’t answer. Just arched—barely—her thighs trembling.

Jimin took her time. Drawing sounds from her like she was composing music. Listening. Adjusting. Making Minjeong’s breath stutter and hips buck and composure slip.

“You’re going to cum on my fingers,” Jimin said, biting her lip, eyes wild. “And then again on my tongue. And again after that.”

Minjeong smirked, even now.

“We’ll see.”

“Oh baby,” Jimin whispered, licking into her neck. “You’re not in charge anymore.”

She slid lower.

Minjeong’s breath trembled as she felt Jimin’s mouth devour her.

A moan escaped this time.

Low. Sharp. Real.

But even as her back arched, even as her fingers gripped the sheets, Minjeong smiled. Because Jimin was working so hard. And that, in itself, was control.

Jimin’s tongue was relentless. Devouring. Every flick, every press against Minjeong’s clit was practiced sin. And yet—Minjeong held her breath, spine tight, thighs trembling, but her voice came out cool.

“I’m not cumming.”

It was almost a whisper. But not a plea.

A decision.

Jimin growled against her, mouth slick and aching. Her fingers never stopped moving, curling just right inside her. But Minjeong’s voice stayed calm, clipped, almost cruel.

“Not yet.”

Jimin pulled back just enough to look up at her, lips wet, face flushed. “Your mouth says that,” she breathed, “but your body’s honest.”

Minjeong met her gaze, smirk twitching at the corner of her mouth. 

“You’re trying so hard,” she murmured, breath ragged, “but I decide when.”

Jimin’s grin cracked open, hungry.

“We’ll see.”

And she dove back in.

Tongue flicking, dragging, circling. Fingers pressing harder, deeper. She worked Minjeong like she was addicted to the sound of her catching her breath—like every twitch of her hips was worship.

Still, Minjeong gritted her teeth. Her nails clawed at the sheets. Her thighs tightened around Jimin’s head.

But then—Jimin moaned into her.

And something snapped.

The sound—the vibration—the relentless rhythm finally pulled it from her. Her back arched, hips grinding into Jimin’s mouth, and a sharp, broken cry tore from her lips as she came—hard.

On Jimin’s fingers. Just as promised.

But Jimin wasn’t done.

Minjeong barely had time to breathe before Jimin was back between her thighs, spreading it further, tongue replacing her fingers—lapping, sucking, claiming. The second orgasm hit faster. More brutal. Minjeong’s legs trembled, hands in Jimin’s hair, moaning through gritted teeth.

And again—Jimin didn’t stop.

She flipped them, guided Minjeong over her lap. Hands firm, she positioned her, and Minjeong sank down with a slow exhale, her walls clenched around Jimin’s fingers as she started riding—slow, grinding, filthy.

“You’re so good like this,” Jimin breathed, voice ragged, watching the control unravel in real time. “So wet. So close.”

Minjeong didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

Her nails dug into Jimin’s chest. Her thighs flexed as she rode harder, faster—chasing.

And Jimin let her. Let her take control, let her get lost in the pleasure, moaning up at her as Minjeong’s third climax hit—sharp, gasping, her whole body shaking as she came again.

Jimin wrapped her arms around her. Held her. But there was more—Minjeong wasn’t done.

She pushed Jimin back into the bed, her own breath wild now, eyes dark and burning.

Jimin blinked, dazed. “You got three—”

But Minjeong straddled her again.

“Not enough.”

Jimin opened her mouth to tease—but Minjeong rolled her hips, dragged herself over her thigh, already soaked, already sensitive.

“Fuck—Jimin—"

Minjeong rode her. Ground against her like she needed it, chasing the next high with brutal precision.

Then Jimin’s grip tightened. She pulled Minjeong up, higher, dragged her forward, guiding her right where she wanted her—where she needed her.

Minjeong gasped when their slick heat met—bodies pressed.

Jimin didn’t wait. She ground up into her, the friction instant and brutal, and Minjeong responded in kind. Their thighs tangled, soaked and sliding, breath ragged, moving together in a rhythm that built and built until it was nothing but instinct. Every sound was breathless. Every thrust, desperate.

Minjeong moaned into her shoulder. Jimin cursed under her breath.

They rutted against each other, wild and frantic, desperate to feel everything. Skin flushed. Muscles shaking. It was filthy and perfect.

Minjeong’s fourth orgasm ripped through her—wet, raw, shuddering violently. A sharp cry muffled against Jimin’s throat.

And Jimin, already close, pushed up into her harder—hips rocking, breath broken—until she shattered beneath her too.

Afterward, Minjeong collapsed on top of her, breath heaving.

Jimin laughed—wrecked, voice hoarse.

“You’re insatiable,” she whispered into her hair.

But Minjeong didn’t move. Didn’t roll off.

She kissed the corner of Jimin’s mouth. Then, with a smirk that still tasted like hunger, she whispered,

“I said you could have your fun.”

Jimin huffed a laugh, too undone to argue.

“And?” she rasped.

Minjeong brushed her lips along her cheek, voice low, smug.

“I never said I’d stop having mine.”

She stayed draped over Jimin for another long breath, her skin flushed, cheek pressed to hers, chest still heaving.

Then slowly, deliberately, she pushed herself up—back straightening, hair falling over one shoulder as she settled onto Jimin’s stomach.

Bare. Composed. Watching.

Her fingers began tracing slow circles across Jimin’s chest, lazy, taunting.

“You said,” Minjeong murmured, tilting her head, “you were going to use me until you were satisfied.”

Jimin blinked up at her, dazed.

Minjeong smiled—sharp, wicked. “So?”

Jimin swallowed. Her voice was wrecked, hoarse from moaning. “No.”

Minjeong’s brow arched. “No?”

“I’m not satisfied,” Jimin said, more firmly this time. Her hands rested lightly on Minjeong’s hips, thumbs stroking skin.

Minjeong’s gaze flickered, something sharp twisting behind her eyes.

Jimin leaned up, brushing a kiss along her jaw.

“It was good,” she murmured, voice low, sincere. “So fucking good.”

Her hands squeezed Minjeong’s waist, grounding her.

“But no,” she whispered, lips brushing skin. “I’m not satisfied. Not even close.”

Minjeong’s eyes gleamed. A hint of a smile pulled at her lips—dangerously pleased. Thrilled that Jimin still wanted more.

She leaned down, lips ghosting over Jimin’s cheek. A breath away from cruel. From reverent. Pausing just long enough to let the hush between them stretch.

Then, softly—almost like a reward—

“Pity.”

She sat back up, calm and composed, smug and unbothered. Like her thighs hadn’t just been shaking.

Jimin exhaled hard through her nose, like she was trying to regain balance. Her eyes burned into Minjeong’s.

“You have a strap?” she asked.

The question hit like a spark to kindling—instant heat, no warning.

Minjeong blinked once, lips twitching. “Yes.”

Jimin’s eyes darkened instantly.

Minjeong raised a brow. “But I don’t let people use it on me.”

That made Jimin laugh—low, rough, entirely delighted. “Of course you don’t.”

Minjeong’s expression remained unreadable.

Jimin leaned up slightly, mouth brushing her collarbone.

She whispered, “Then use it on me.”

Minjeong didn’t respond.

Just slid off her lap without a word, her footsteps light as she padded out of the room—naked, cold, in control.

Jimin stayed back, breath caught in her throat. Her hand lifted and she bit the back of her knuckles, eyes still locked on the empty doorway.

She didn’t need to ask. She already knew.

Minjeong had used it on others before.

That much was obvious—the way she moved, the way she kept control even when falling apart, like her body remembered what it was like to fuck someone until they begged.

And the thought of that?

Of Minjeong fucking someone else the way she just fucked her—no, worse, with even more control, more precision, more power—made something bitter curl hot and low in Jimin’s chest.

She stared at the door like she could drag her back with just a look.

It wasn’t just jealousy. It was deeper. Rougher.

Minjeong wasn’t hers. Not really.

But she wanted to be the only one who got to see her like that—lips parted, voice cool even when her thighs trembled. She wanted to be the only one Minjeong wrecked like that, the only one who could touch the calm and find something feral underneath.

The image of someone else gasping under Minjeong, digging their nails into her back, calling her name—

Jimin shut her eyes.

It fucking stung.

She let out a long, shaky breath, pressing her fist harder to her mouth.

She didn’t want to care. She didn’t even know when she started.

But she knew one thing.

If Minjeong was going to use the strap on her—now—then Jimin was going to make damn sure Minjeong never wanted to fuck anyone else again.

She stayed in the bed, eyes still fixed on the door even after Minjeong disappeared behind it. Her hand slid down, slow, deliberate. Fingers circled her clit once—twice. Just to test.

She hissed.

Still sensitive. Still swollen from the last round.

But fuck, she was soaked. Ache blooming deep in her belly. She didn’t want to wait.

She closed her eyes. Let her head fall back against the pillows. Let the echo of Minjeong’s moan flicker in her mind—low, guttural, ruined. She still wanted to hear it. Needed to drag it out of her.

Fingers slipped between her folds, spreading slick heat. She teased herself with soft, slow circles—then faster, wetter, until her breath broke in soft, strained gasps.

The room filled with the sound of her fingers working herself open. Sticky, messy, desperate.

And then—

From down the hall, Minjeong heard it.

The soft, wet slush of fingers against soaked skin. The quiet curses. Jimin’s low moan as she rubbed harder, chasing the friction. That breathy fuck when she slowed just to feel how wet she was.

Minjeong smirked.

No one else ever made her feel like this. Like she was actually having fun.

She’d dominated people before. Of course. Some of them fought back—tried to claw power back with teeth and hips and bravado. But it never really thrilled her.

They didn’t last. None of them were worth it.

But Jimin—

Jimin was.

Minjeong stepped back into the room, quiet. Controlled. The strap already buckled, jet-black and gleaming, curved perfectly against her hips.

Jimin didn’t open her eyes at first.

Not until she heard the click of the harness lock settle into place.

Her lashes fluttered up.

And there she was—Minjeong—walking toward her like a vision out of sin.

Jimin’s hand stopped. Her chest heaved.

Then—wordless—she used two fingers to part herself. Glinting wet under the soft light. Needy. Open. Waiting.

Minjeong crawled onto the bed, slow and sure. She grabbed the base of the strap and dragged it through Jimin’s soaked folds, letting it glisten with her slick.

Jimin’s breath caught.

Minjeong kissed her jaw, gentle.

“I’ll make you satisfied,” she whispered against her skin. “I’ll keep fucking you until you are. Until you’re begging me to stop.”

And then she pushed in.

Jimin arched with a sharp cry—hips lifting, arms thrown back. Minjeong filled her in one smooth thrust, deep, slow, cruelly steady.

God.

Seeing Jimin like this—laid out, moaning, trembling around her—

It made Minjeong wish she could cum inside her. Fill her up until she was overflowing. Until Jimin felt who she belonged to, deep inside her belly.

She wished she could feel her walls. The way Jimin’s insides would cling if she said the right words.

So she tried.

Minjeong leaned down, breath hot against Jimin’s ear as she thrust deeper.

“You’re so fucking tight,” she whispered. “You take me like you were made for it.”

Jimin gasped.

Minjeong rolled her hips harder. “You like being fucked like this? Like a toy I own?”

A moan. Louder this time.

“You were aching for it,” Minjeong growled. “Touching yourself, so wet, so fucking desperate. All for me.”

Jimin cursed—hands clawing at Minjeong’s back.

“Say it,” Minjeong hissed. “Tell me who made you this wet.”

“You—fuck—Minjeong—you—”

The strap slammed into her. Hard. Relentless. Every thrust deeper. Sharper.

Minjeong couldn’t stop now. She chased that sound—Jimin’s breath catching, her legs shaking, her voice high and wrecked when Minjeong hit the right spot.

“Yes,” Jimin sobbed. “There—fuck, right there—don’t stop—please—”

Minjeong’s jaw clenched. Her own arousal dripping behind the strap, slick and hot between her thighs.

“Such a good girl,” she muttered. “You take it so well. Fuck—look at you—”

Jimin came hard.

Her whole body spasmed, back arched, mouth open in a silent scream. She trembled beneath Minjeong, hands fisting the sheets, thighs clenched tight around her hips.

Minjeong slowed, pulled back just a little—

But Jimin sat up.

“No,” she breathed. “More.”

Minjeong barely had time to register it before Jimin straddled her again—wet, fucked out, but still greedy.

She rolled her hips, grinding down onto the strap. Minjeong thrust up into her, finding rhythm again. A perfect, obscene cadence—Jimin riding, Minjeong thrusting, both of them chasing it.

Jimin came again.

Louder. Harsher. Her head thrown back, hair a mess, face flushed and glowing with sweat and release.

And Minjeong just watched.

Watched her fall apart, watched her lose every ounce of composure. Watched her break and come back together and break again.

It made her soaked. Her own arousal slipping behind the strap, wetting the base, mixing with Jimin’s in messy, filthy streaks.

She couldn’t take it anymore.

Minjeong pushed Jimin back into the bed. Grabbed her thighs and bent them back, folding her in half. Deep angle. No mercy.

Then she slammed into her.

Jimin cried out—sharp, desperate, her hands scrambling for grip. Her eyes rolled back as Minjeong fucked into her harder, deeper, brutal in rhythm but still precise. Still aiming for every gasp. Every moan. Every broken yes she could pull from her.

Minjeong leaned down, voice low, feral.

“You feel that?”

Jimin sobbed.

“That’s me. Only me. And I’m not stopping until you beg me to.”

But Jimin didn’t.

She held it in—her voice, her surrender—fighting for every second, even as her body trembled from the force of it.

Minjeong kept going. Deeper. Harder. She slammed into her, chasing every twitch in Jimin’s legs, every cry that slipped despite her effort to stay silent.

And still—nothing.

No plea. No stop. Just soaked sheets and bruised hips and Minjeong’s breath coming out in ragged curses as Jimin clenched tighter around her, thighs shaking violently.

She came again. And then again. Until her whole body seized with it, until the pleasure blurred at the edges and pulled her under. Until her body gave out, consciousness slipping with it.

She collapsed into the mattress, arms limp, lips parted in a quiet, breathless moan. Her skin flushed, her body twitching softly beneath Minjeong’s hold.

But Minjeong didn’t stop. Not right away.

She was still inside her, slow now, steady—like her body refused to stop moving, like her hips had forgotten how to be still. She chased one last reaction, one more tremble, even in Jimin’s sleep.

And when Jimin stirred again, eyes fluttering open—

Minjeong was still there. Still on top of her. Still working her.

Another orgasm rolled through her like a wave.

Jimin whimpered, legs jerking, breath hitching in her throat. Her fingers gripped Minjeong’s forearm.

Finally—finally—Minjeong slowed.

Let her weight drop, forehead pressing to Jimin’s shoulder, trying to breathe again.

But Jimin was already reaching down, fingers brushing over the buckle of the strap. She unlocked it with a quiet click.

Minjeong blinked at her, dazed.

“I said we wouldn’t stop until you begged me to,” she murmured.

Jimin tilted her head, eyes dark and low-lidded.

“Who says we’re stopping?” she whispered.

She slid her hands down Minjeong’s stomach. Slowly pushed her back, coaxing her onto the bed, soft and sure, like this wasn’t over. Like it would never be over.

She pressed a kiss to Minjeong’s mouth. Slow. Tired. Hungry in a different way.

They were both wrecked. Spent.

Sleep tugging at the corners of their minds.

But neither of them moved to stop. Neither of them let go.

Because it felt like if they did—

They’d lose something.

Like this moment would vanish the second they broke contact. Like they would.

So they didn’t.

They stayed wrapped around each other, kissing slower now. Softer. More tender than two people who’d just signed a contract with no space for emotion had any right to be.

But neither of them mentioned it.

Not the way Jimin held Minjeong like she couldn’t bear to let her go.

Not the way Minjeong kissed her like she was memorizing her mouth.

They didn’t speak it. Didn’t name it.

But they both felt it.

That quiet shift.

The line they’d crossed.

This was more than a contract.

More than games. More than power plays or sex or teasing control.

It was ownership.

It was need.

And even if neither of them said it—they both knew.

Minjeong woke to warmth. Heavy, slick, and unmoving.

Jimin was sprawled on top of her. Completely bare. Completely wrecked. Their bodies were still coated with the thick aftermath of the night before, clinging in places like sweat, like ownership.

Minjeong blinked. Groggy.

Then smiled—slow, quiet, unguarded.

This goddess was draped over her. And for once, Minjeong didn’t feel cold waking up next to someone. She didn’t feel distant or done. She didn’t even remember falling asleep.

All she remembered was Jimin’s lips.

The whisper of something against her ear. Something she hadn’t caught. Something that still made her chest ache when she tried to recall it.

Minjeong’s hand moved lazily, fingertips tracing slow, aimless circles over Jimin’s shoulder blades. Skin soft. Warm. Familiar.

And then she realized—

She was smiling.

Grinning, even.

Like a complete fool.

Because Jimin looked like this—like a dream, like destruction, like everything Minjeong had tried so hard not to want—and Minjeong couldn’t stop staring.

Smitten.

She scowled, trying to frown it away. Sharpen her thoughts. Collect herself.

But then Jimin stirred.

A soft murmur slipped from her lips as she nuzzled closer, burying her face in Minjeong’s neck with a tiny exhale of content.

And just like that—

Another smile.

Minjeong cursed under her breath.

Stop it, Kim Minjeong.

She tried to glare at the ceiling. Tried to shake the warmth out of her chest like it was something she could control.

Annoyed. Confused. Entirely not herself.

Slowly, she eased Jimin off of her. Careful not to wake her.

Jimin shifted in her sleep, brows twitching, arms wrapping around the nearest thing—Minjeong’s pillow. Minjeong hesitated. Then rolled another one over and placed it into Jimin’s grasp.

She clutched it instinctively. Nuzzled it. A soft, happy sound escaped from her throat.

Minjeong stared.

“Cute,” a thought slipped, uninvited.

Her eyes widened at herself.

“No,” she muttered. She shook her head like she could physically knock the sentiment out. She swung her legs off the bed, grabbed the silk robe hanging by the door.

She paused.

Then glanced back.

After a beat, she grabbed a second robe, folded it neatly, and placed it at the foot of the bed—within reach.

She lingered a second longer, eyes drifting over Jimin’s sleeping form.

Then she turned and left, feet silent as she made her way down to the kitchen.

But the smile still threatened her lips. And nothing—not the cold floor, not the robe, not even her self-control—could quite erase it.

Minjeong moved through the kitchen on muscle memory. The kettle clicked on. She pulled a pan from the rack, set it on the stove, and opened the fridge. Eggs. Bacon. A loaf of bread. Her hands worked with practiced efficiency, but her thoughts were still tangled in warmth and messy dark hair and the feel of lips pressed to her neck.

The sizzle of bacon filled the silence.

She dropped two slices of bread into the toaster, cracked eggs into the pan, and tried not to think too hard. About the girl still asleep upstairs. Or the fact that she hadn’t wanted her to leave.

Footsteps padded against the tile.

Minjeong looked up—and nearly forgot how to breathe.

Jimin stood at the threshold. Bare legs, tousled hair, wearing nothing but the robe Minjeong had left for her. It hung off her frame like sin made tangible. She blinked, still sleep-drunk, then smiled.

Soft.

“Good morning,” she said.

Minjeong swallowed. “Good morning.”

A smile slipped out before she could stop it. She turned back to the stove, pretending to focus on the bacon, even though the heat behind her was somehow worse than the pan.

She didn’t have to look to know Jimin was approaching. She could feel her. Could sense her. And then— 

Too close.

Jimin was behind her, chin nearly brushing her shoulder, breath warm on her neck as she peeked over.

“What are you cooking?” she murmured.

“Bacon,” Minjeong replied, dry—too dry. Her voice caught at the end. “How do you like your eggs?”

Jimin hummed. Rested her chin fully on Minjeong’s shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Sunny side?”

Minjeong stared at her for a beat too long. Her mouth parted, then closed. She turned back to the pan.

She couldn’t do this. Couldn’t think with her pressed up like that. Couldn’t breathe.

The kettle clicked.

“I’ll get that,” Jimin offered, finally peeling herself away.

Minjeong exhaled like she’d been holding it in for hours.

“Where do you keep your cups?” Jimin asked, already lifting the kettle.

“There,” Minjeong pointed to the cabinet. “Spoons are in the left drawer.”

Jimin hummed again, cheerful, easy. She moved around the kitchen like she belonged there, like this wasn’t the first morning.

“How do you take your coffee?”

“Two cream. One sugar.” Minjeong cracked an egg into the pan.

They fell into it like instinct. The rhythm. The movements. One cooking, one making coffee. No tension, no calculation. Just presence. Just the soft, ordinary hum of a morning shared.

They ate in silence. No awkwardness. Just warmth settling between them.

Halfway through the meal, Jimin leaned back in her chair. “I’ll clean.”

“You don’t have to,” Minjeong said, reaching for her mug.

“I want to.” Jimin grinned. “Just let me play some music?”

Minjeong pulled her phone from the counter. “What do you want to hear?”

“Anything’s fine,” Jimin said, already gathering plates.

Minjeong swiped through her library, then pressed play.

The opening chords of Airplane by f(x) floated through the kitchen.

Jimin froze. Whipped around with wide eyes.

“No way.”

Minjeong looked up, confused. “What? Why?”

“I love them,” Jimin said, already bouncing on her toes, hips swaying. “This song—ugh.”

She started to sing along, rinsing dishes and dropping them into the sink like it was second nature.

Minjeong chuckled, then—quietly—sang a line under her breath.

Jimin turned, caught her, and grinned so wide Minjeong had to look away.

Minjeong leaned on the counter, chin resting in her palm, eyes half-lidded as she watched Jimin dance and clean, lips mouthing lyrics, hair bouncing with each little sway. A dream. A sunbeam in her kitchen.

And Minjeong couldn’t help it.

She smiled.

It felt instinctive. Effortless.

Like breathing.

Wanting her.

Letting her in.

Chapter Text

The final plate settled into the rack with a soft clink. Jimin’s hands lingered in the warm water a moment longer before she turned off the tap. She reached for the towel by the sink, drying her fingers slowly. The music from the living room played low, but even that felt like too much in the quiet that had settled over the kitchen.

Minjeong was still there. Still watching.

Leaning against the counter, arms folded, expression unreadable—except for her eyes. They lingered, holding something she didn’t say. Something she couldn’t name.

Jimin met her gaze and didn’t look away. The quiet wrapped around them, gentle and charged.

Neither of them spoke.

This was the part where it should end. It was the weekend. No meetings. No merger discussion. No reason to still be standing here in Minjeong’s house, let alone in her kitchen.

They weren’t friends. They weren’t anything. Not really.

Jimin felt the weight of that truth. The air between them thick, like a string pulled too tight. Her throat worked around the silence. She tried to sound light. Tried to pretend she didn’t feel the shift beneath her skin.

“Well,” she said, like a joke. “I should probably head out.”

Minjeong blinked.

Then, too quickly—like the words escaped before she could think—“Do you want to take a bath before you leave?”

Jimin paused. Head tilted. Her mouth curled, slow and knowing.

“Together?”

Minjeong blinked, as if realizing what she’d just offered. Her spine stiffened. “Do you want to take a bath,” she corrected, sharp emphasis on the word. “As in. Alone.”

“Ah. If I wanted to take a bath.” Jimin’s grin widened. “Alone.”

Minjeong rolled her eyes and pushed off the counter, walking ahead without another word. Jimin followed, the air pulling behind them like gravity.

The bathroom was ridiculous. Cream limestone walls. A glass-enclosed rainfall shower. A sunken tub beneath a skylight that glowed against the marble floor.

Minjeong opened a cabinet and pulled out a fresh set of towels. Turned and held them out with both hands.

Their fingers brushed as Jimin took them. But she didn’t move away.

She placed the towels to the counter beside her, gaze flicking up to Minjeong again.

Neither of them moved. Not right away.

Minjeong spoke first. Her voice was soft, composed. Almost distant.

“I’ll be in the guest room if you need anything.”

She turned like she meant to leave.

But Jimin’s hand found her wrist.

Minjeong froze mid-step.

Jimin didn’t say anything. She just pulled, gently, until Minjeong was close enough for the breath between them to overlap. Her hands slid inside Minjeong’s robe, fingers brushing against bare skin at her waist—tentative at first. Then firmer. Like grounding herself.

Minjeong’s heartbeat stuttered against her chest.

“What are you doing?” she whispered, barely audible.

Jimin looked at her, and for once, she didn’t have a comeback. No smirk. No charm. Her brows pulled slightly together, as if she was still searching for the answer even as she breathed it.

“I don’t know.”

And she didn’t. There was no thought in her head anymore.

Just the warmth of Minjeong’s skin under her hands.

Just the way Minjeong was looking at her like she didn’t want to move either.

Like maybe if they stood still long enough, it wouldn’t have to end.

Jimin leaned in. She didn’t kiss her. Didn’t even really touch her. She slowly just let her lips ghost along Minjeong’s jaw, then lower—along her neck, the hollow of her shoulder. Barely there. Almost reverent.

Her eyes traced every inch, like she needed to remember. Like she couldn’t help it.

She stopped only when her forehead came to rest against Minjeong’s shoulder, her breath shaky against her skin.

Minjeong inhaled sharply. Her own scent was there. Still clinging to Jimin.

“You smell like me,” she murmured.

Jimin laughed, quiet and close. The sound barely rose above a breath. Her grip loosened—like she was going to step back.

But Minjeong caught her. Hands wrapping around Jimin’s wrists, pulling them back into place. Back where they’d been. She leaned into her, head resting just at the dip of Jimin’s robe—against the bare skin of her chest.

Jimin’s breath stilled.

“What about you?” she whispered, “What are you doing?”

Minjeong didn’t move. Didn’t look up.

“I don’t know either.”

Jimin exhaled and rested her chin atop Minjeong’s head. Her arms pulled tighter, subtle but certain. Like maybe holding her harder would stop the seconds from moving forward.

They stayed like that. Breathing the same air. Held in something fragile and terrifying and real.

Minjeong’s heartbeat roared now. Wild. Unrelenting.

And then—like it all became too much too fast—she pushed, gently. Just enough.

Jimin stepped back. Immediate. Like something snapped clean between them.

Minjeong blinked. Drew a slow breath. Then said, dry but soft, “You stink.”

Jimin’s gaze dropped to where Minjeong’s hand had touched her chest. Then back up.

Minjeong gave her a small, knowing smile. “Go take your bath already.”

Jimin stared for a beat too long.

Then her smirk returned. Slow. Lethal.

She reached for the tie at her waist, fingers deliberately unhurried.

“Fine. I’ll take a bath.” She turned just slightly, just enough for Minjeong to catch the angle of her grin over her shoulder.

“You’re welcome to join me.”

Minjeong exhaled, measured. Eyes narrowed. “No.”

She smirked—controlled, bratty, infuriating—and turned on her heel.

“Absolutely not.”

The guest room is bathed in the soft glow of the afternoon sun, casting gentle shadows across the disheveled bed. Minjeong stands at the edge of the room, her gaze sweeping over the tangled sheets and scattered clothes.

She reaches down, collecting her and Jimin's clothes, folding them meticulously, almost ritualistically, placing them in a neat stack on the corner of the bed. Her fingers linger on the fabric, the scent of Jimin's perfume still clinging faintly to it.

A smirk tugs at the corner of her lips as she surveys the chaos they'd made—the sheets are rumpled and damped, the pillows askew, a quiet testament to something that should've been meaningless. Should've been.

With a sigh, Minjeong sinks onto the mattress, the bed dipping under her weight. Her eyes find the pillow Jimin had clutched earlier, and without thinking, she pulls it close, burying her face into its softness.

The scent is unmistakably Jimin—warm, familiar, intoxicating. Minjeong's heart pounds in response, a rhythm echoing the turmoil within her. She clutches the pillow tighter, seeking solace in its embrace.

Time slows. Her mind drifts. She finds herself replaying the kiss they'd shared, the way Jimin had held her like she didn’t want to let go.

Minjeong runs her thumb along her bottom lip. Her breath hitches. The warmth blooming in her chest is both comforting and deeply unsettling.

She doesn’t like this.

It’s unfamiliar.

Minjeong thrives things she can bend and plan and predict. Emotions don’t fall into that category. By nature, they’re volatile—irrational. She’s spent her entire life keeping them at arm’s length, knowing just how easily they can undo everything.

It’s one of the reasons she’s never bothered with relationships. Not because she couldn’t. But because she didn’t want to lose that steady, ruthless clarity she’s always relied on. Hookups are fun. Fleeting. But relationships? They come with complications. Compromise. Another person’s chaos bleeding into her perfectly designed world.

And yet here she is, curled into the remnants of someone else’s scent, her own heart rebelling against her logic.

She exhales, slow and careful. Like trying not to wake something she can’t name.

From down the hallway, the sound of soft footsteps carries closer. Then, Jimin’s voice, light and casual, “So, Minjeong—”

Before the door even opens, Minjeong tosses the pillow aside, hurriedly. She straightens her spine, expression cooling just as Jimin enters the room, towel in hand, still drying her hair, wrapped in the robe Minjeong had given her.

Jimin doesn’t notice the shift. She keeps talking.

“—what’s behind the black door?”

Minjeong raises a brow, composed again. “Why would you think it’s special?”

Jimin shrugs, playful. “All the other doors are white. That one’s black. It stands out. Figured it must mean something.”

Minjeong hums. “Nosy.”

Jimin grins. “Perceptive.”

Minjeong actually smiles at that. “That too.”

There’s a beat.

“Is that your sex dungeon?” Jimin asks, eyes twinkling.

“Yes,” Minjeong says, completely deadpan.

Jimin blinks. Her grin falters.

Minjeong’s eyes glint. “You have to earn it though.”

Jimin’s smirk returns, sharp and slow as she peels open the robe just slightly at the collarbone, enough to tease.

Minjeong’s gaze drops, then flicks up again. Expression unreadable.

Jimin pauses. “I’m just getting dressed. Relax.”

Minjeong rolls her eyes, turning her face away—but her mouth quirks, ever so slightly.

Jimin got dressed in silence. She didn’t speak, but Minjeong felt every glance—those subtle flickers in her peripheral vision, heavy with questions neither of them dared to ask out loud.

Minjeong stayed fixed on her phone, scrolling through nothing in particular. Headlines she didn’t read. Emails she didn’t open. Anything to distract from the faint rustle of fabric, from the presence dressing herself only feet away.

She pretended not to notice.

But when she glanced up—just for a second—Jimin was already looking.

Their eyes met but Jimin looked away first.

When Jimin turned toward the mirror and began adjusting her tie, Minjeong saw it—the shift. The softness in Jimin’s features faded, replaced by something sharper. The teasing glint in her eyes settled into cool poise. Yu Corp’s Director had returned.

Minjeong stood.

Without a word, she crossed the space between them. Jimin didn’t move as Minjeong lifted her hands to the tie, fingers brushing the collar as she tightened it—just slightly too tight.

Jimin’s smirk was immediate, crooked and knowing.

Minjeong held her gaze as her fingers trailed slowly down the center of Jimin’s chest. Then she turned without a word, walking toward the door.

Jimin stayed back for a beat, exhaling softly as her eyes landed on the tangled bed behind them—on everything that couldn’t be undone.

.

.

Minjeong leaned into the couch beside the door, arms crossed as she waited.

Jimin reached for the handle. Opened it. Then paused.

She glanced over her shoulder, eyes catching Minjeong's.

“This isn’t in the contract, but—” she said, her voice softer now—playful, but edged with something quieter.

Minjeong didn’t reply.

Jimin stepped closer, just enough that her presence brushed against Minjeong’s space.

She leaned in.

The kiss to her cheek was gentle. Barely a whisper. But it landed like it meant something.

Minjeong’s eyes closed before she could stop herself.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

Then Jimin pulled back, lips still curved faintly.

“See you, Director Kim.”

And she left.

Minjeong stood frozen, the ghost of warmth still pressed to her skin.

Through the glass of her living room window, she saw Jimin settle into the car—hands on the wheel, not moving.

Minutes passed like that.

Stillness.

Then finally, the car pulled away.

Only then did she exhale.

Minjeong’s heart kicked once. Then again.

She pressed a hand to her chest, fingers curling into the fabric like she could hold herself steady.

Then she turned away heading back toward her bedroom.

They didn’t speak after that.

Naturally. Because why would they?

The weekend ended like nothing happened.

Minjeong walked through the revolving doors of Kim Holdings, heels clicking in sharp rhythm. Her face was as unreadable as always. In control again. Or close enough.

“Good morning, Ms. Kim,” Ryujin greeted, falling into step beside her. “Your inbox has been cleared, and the deck for the Kakeru proposal’s been finalized. I’ve scheduled the board meeting for three this afternoon.”

Minjeong nodded, flipping through the tablet Ryujin handed her.

Ryujin glanced over. “Should I notify Ms. Yu about the meeting?”

“I’ll do it,” Minjeong said. Too fast.

Ryujin blinked.

There was the briefest pause.

Minjeong cleared her throat, slipping seamlessly back into her usual rhythm. “I need to run a few points by her before the board meets.”

Ryujin nodded, clearly choosing not to question it.

.

.

In her office, Minjeong picked up her phone. Swiped to her contacts.

[Bitch]

Minjeong had forgotten that was still Jimin’s name in her phone.

She stared at it. A breath left her in a near-silent exhale—half sigh, half laugh. Her thumb hovered for a beat, then she pressed Edit.

Typed Yu Jimin.

Hit Save.

Then tapped Call.

It only rang once.

“Yu Corp.,” came Jimin’s voice—smooth, professional, not a single note out of place. “Yu Jimin speaking.”

Minjeong leaned back in her chair, fingers tapping lightly against the armrest.

“The board meeting is at three,” she said evenly. “Come by my office at noon. We’ll run through the presentation together before it starts.”

A pause.

“Twelve. I’ll be there.”

Click.

A knock at the door.

Minjeong didn’t look up from her screen. “Come in.”

Ryujin stepped inside, tablet in hand. “Ms. Yu is here.”

Minjeong nodded once. “Let her in.”

The door opened wider, and Jimin walked through.

Black blazer, perfectly tailored. Crisp white shirt beneath, buttoned clean to the collar. Slim black tie, straight. Not a wrinkle in sight. Her hair was pulled into a high ponytail—tight, sleek, not a strand out of place. Glasses with a razor-thin frame caught the light when she moved.

She looked lethal. Beautifully precise.

Minjeong lifted her gaze—and wanted her.

Not because Jimin looked dangerous like this. But because Minjeong knew exactly what lay beneath it. Knew the sound Jimin made when control slipped from her hands. Knew how easily she could take it again. And now she was standing there—flawless, unreadable—and all Minjeong could think about was undoing her.

Jimin’s gaze—so calm, so level—shifted. Barely. But Minjeong saw it. A flicker. The kind of softness only she was allowed to see.

Ryujin bowed quietly and excused herself, the door clicking shut behind her.

Jimin crossed the room with unhurried steps. Set her laptop down on the table. Unzipped her bag and began pulling out the merger documents in silence. Efficient.

Minjeong sat still, fingers laced, posture straight. Pretending she wasn’t already imagining how fast she could get that tie off. Pretending she didn’t want to press Jimin up against the glass and ruin her all over again.

But she stayed composed. She always did.

Minjeong knew how to want without acting on it. How to file desire into the back of her mind and revisit it later—properly, thoroughly—when time allowed. Jimin might’ve made it harder than usual, walking in like this.

Still, Minjeong didn’t flinch. She could wait.

Jimin sat across from her. Flipped open her folder. Didn’t look up.

They worked in tandem, quietly efficient. Documents were updated, points aligned, any last-minute notes exchanged without tension. Seamless.

Business, as usual.

Until Jimin stopped typing.

“We never settled the leadership clause,” she said, voice low but clear.

Minjeong looked up, brows faintly raised.

Jimin held her gaze. “Who's going to lead once the merger finalizes?”

Minjeong didn’t answer right away. The silence stretched—not hostile, just thoughtful.

“I’ve been thinking about it.” Jimin continued, steadier now. “We could go the obvious route. One of us steps up. The other steps down.”

She let the weight of that hang before she added, softer this time—more certain.

“Or we go Co-CEOs.”

Minjeong’s brow lifted. Her tone was flat, unreadable. “You think that wouldn’t be a disaster?”

Jimin actually smiled. Small, wry. “Oh, it will be. We’ll fight over everything.”

She began counting off on her fingers. “Board decisions. Timelines. Budget allocation. Office layouts. Who gets the better parking spot.”

Minjeong almost—almost—smiled.

But Jimin’s voice dropped again, more sincere. “Thing is, I don’t want anyone else beside me at the top. I hate sharing power—giving up control. Always have. But with you…”

She trailed off for a beat, choosing her next words carefully.

“You don’t just argue for control. You argue with evidence and make decisions based on data. You show your math. I respect that.”

Her gaze held steady. “But if you think there’s a better setup—something that won’t end with us imploding—I’ll listen. I’ll follow your lead.”

She hesitated, then added, a little quieter—

“But if I had it my way, I'd want it to be you and me. Together.”

Minjeong didn’t look up right away.

When she did, her voice was steady. Measured. “I don’t like sharing power either.”

She spoke like it was a fact, not a confession.

“Control isn’t just comfort. It’s structure. It’s how things don’t fall apart. I’ve always believed if I want something done right, I do it myself.”

She tapped her pen once against the desk, a quiet punctuation.

“But you’re not careless. You know what you’re doing. I’ve seen how you’ve handled Yu Corp. There was an incident at your company three years ago. Your restructuring of your Vancouver division should’ve failed. But it didn’t. You caught the bleed early. You pivoted faster than anyone expected. I was...impressed.”

Her tone never shifted from professional, but something about the words landed heavier—like she meant them more than she wanted to admit.

“I still want to be the one running things,” she added. “Because that’s what I know. It’s what I’ve always done. And frankly, I’m good at it.”

She paused. Not long, just long enough to mean something.

“But I know this matters to you too. What it’s cost you to bring it this far. And I know you won’t let it fail.”

Her eyes met Jimin’s across the table.

“I don’t see myself doing this with anyone else as well.”

Then, almost flatly, “You’re right. We’ll argue.”

Her mouth twitched—barely.

“Co-CEO sounds like a terrible idea. We’ll fight about everything. Decision rights. Messaging. Marketing tone. Whether or not we should share the same office—”

A breath. Quiet. Dry.

“But...let’s do it.”

Jimin leaned back slightly, the corner of her mouth tugging up. “I don’t mind sharing an office with you, you know.”

Minjeong raised an eyebrow.

“I could use a little inspiration while I’m working.” Jimin’s smirk deepened—subtle, slow, familiar. That flicker of charm sneaking through her professional surface.

Minjeong scoffed. “You’ll just distract me.”

Jimin grinned, all too pleased. “So you do find me distracting.”

Minjeong didn’t dignify that with a response—just shook her head, lips twitching. “Just loud.”

“Loud?” Jimin laughed. “Wow. Should we talk about your passive-aggressive typing when you're annoyed?”

Minjeong sighed, eyeing her like she was trying not to smile. “And where exactly do you plan to set up the shared office?”

Jimin glanced around casually. “Why not here?”

Minjeong stared. “Here?”

Jimin blinked, then mimicked Minjeong’s flat tone. “‘Here?’ Yes, here.”

“This is my office.”

“And?” Jimin looked around again, hands already lifting like she was framing a shot. “It’s spacious. That corner’s perfect for my desk. Right where your drafting table is.”

Minjeong stood beside her, arms crossed. “I need that drafting table. It’s where I work.”

“It’s where you draft things, yes, yes, I know,” Jimin waved dismissively. “But you have a drawing tablet. AutoCAD. Most things are digital now anyway. You really don’t need the table.”

“You really are trying to hijack my space.” Minjeong shot her a sharp look. “We can’t just shove you in there.”

“You’re the architect. Organizing spaces to fit a certain location is your whole thing.” Jimin gestured grandly. “So fit me in.”

Minjeong huffed, half-laughing. “You’re unbelievable.”

Jimin didn’t miss the way her voice warmed. “And you’re sentimental. What even is this cabinet?” She pointed to a sleek glass display by the wall. “It’s not doing anything.”

“It’s for aesthetic purposes,” Minjeong said, like it was obvious.

“Aesthetic,” Jimin echoed, mock-scandalized. “Right. The elusive concept you architects love to throw around whenever there’s an impractical piece of furniture in the way.”

Minjeong let out a quiet laugh now, full and genuine. “Says the engineer who thinks form follows function like it’s religion.”

“Because it is,” Jimin shot back. “But I’m willing to convert for the right...roommate.”

Minjeong rolled her eyes, but her smile lingered. “Roommate, huh?”

“Co-CEO. Co-occupant. It’s all the same.”

“You’re lucky I didn’t rescind the offer the moment you suggested removing my table.”

“And you’re lucky I’m charming,” Jimin said brightly.

Minjeong turned toward her, mock-thoughtful. “Jury’s still out on that.”

Jimin gasped, clutching her chest. “Director Kim. You wound me.”

Minjeong just smiled—small, quiet, real. “Don’t tempt me, Director Yu.”

They both laughed.

The office didn’t feel like a battlefield anymore. Just... a space. One they might actually learn to share.

Jimin’s gaze wandered—curious, sharp as always—toward the wall behind Minjeong’s desk.

There, nearly hidden, was a door. Seamless with the paneling. Only the faint outline of a frame and a discreet handle gave it away.

She tilted her head, curious.

“Is that a door?” She took a step closer. “What’s behind it?”

Minjeong followed her line of sight. “Supply closet. Print room.”

Jimin arched a brow. “You have a supply closet and print room behind your office?”

“For efficiency,” Minjeong said, already moving. “If I need something, I don’t have to walk halfway across the floor to get it.”

Jimin followed her through the door. It clicked shut behind them.

Inside, it was quiet. Too quiet.

The kind of quiet that came all at once—like the world had been muted the second the door closed.

The room was spacious. Lights came on automatically—dim, deliberate.

On the right—an enormous, state-of-the-art printer, humming faintly as it slept in standby. On the left, rows of perfectly arranged supplies. Pens, markers, rulers, tracing paper. Everything slotted neatly into labeled compartments. The air carried a faint scent of ink and metal.

Minjeong moved with ease, brushing her fingers over the edges of a T-square. “Everything I need is here. If I’m working late and I need to print something, I don’t have to wait. If I want to focus, I can shut the door, and nobody sees me. Nobody interrupts.”

Jimin turned toward her slowly. “No one sees in?”

Minjeong nodded. “It’s enclosed. Soundproofed so I can draft in peace.”

A breath passed between them—quiet, unspoken.

Dangerous.

Jimin tilted her head, a smile tugging at her mouth. “That’s a very…tempting detail.”

Minjeong met her gaze and exhaled, slow. Like she already knew where this would go if she didn’t stop it now.

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” Jimin’s voice dipped low as she stepped forward.

Minjeong watched her—still, cautious. “I know that look.”

Jimin pouted, feigning innocence. “What look?”

Minjeong didn’t respond. Didn’t need to.

Jimin smiled—slow, deliberate—and moved closer. Close enough for heat to pass between them.

Minjeong didn’t move back. Didn’t move forward, either.

But her breathing had changed.

“That.” she said, quietly. “Like you want to test me.”

“I don’t test,” Jimin murmured, fingers curling into hers. “I...suggest.”

Minjeong hated how warm her voice was. How easy it was to fall into it.

She just looked at her, weighing which side of herself to listen to.

The part of her that knew this was reckless.

Or the part that didn’t care.

Not when Jimin was this close. Not when she wanted this just as much.

Jimin leaned in—just close enough for her breath to brush Minjeong’s ear.

“And may I suggest we use this room to its full potential?”

Her voice was low. Teasing. Too close.

She drew back with practiced slowness and glanced at her watch. “We’ve got an hour before the board meeting. What do you want to do until then?”

Minjeong didn’t move. Not right away.

Her pulse had long since stopped obeying logic. Her thoughts weren’t quiet, but they were focused—tightly wound around something that refused to fade.

This is a bad idea.

This is a terrible idea.

And yet—

Her gaze drifted to Jimin. The set of her mouth. The patience in her stance. She hadn’t touched her again. Wasn’t pushing. Wasn’t begging.

She was just there.

And somehow, that made it worse.

Because Minjeong could feel it now—the thrum of tension sitting just beneath her ribs. A want she’d folded neatly into a corner of herself all day. Now unraveling.

Still, she didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

Just stood in it.

This wasn’t surrender. Not yet.

This was the edge.

She turned toward the door without a word.

Behind her, Jimin let out a breath—quiet. Expecting her to leave.

Then—

Click.

Minjeong locked it.

She turned back slowly. Her face gave nothing away, but her eyes… her eyes were different now. Steady. Decided.

“You have thirty minutes.”

Jimin’s brows lifted—pleasantly stunned. “Will that be enough for you?”

Minjeong stepped forward. Close enough to touch. She didn’t hesitate as she looped her arms around Jimin’s neck, her voice low against her ear.

“We can negotiate to forty-five.”

Jimin’s hands found her waist—firm, grounding. Her breath hitched, but her grin came easy.

“It’s a good thing I’m good with deadlines.”

And then—finally—Minjeong kissed her.

Jimin’s lips barely left Minjeong’s when her hands slipped lower, fingertips brushing the backs of her thighs.

Effortlessly, she lifted her.

Minjeong’s legs wrapped around her instinctively, a small gasp escaping before she could stop it. Her arms looped tighter around Jimin’s shoulders, breath shallow as Jimin carried her across the room like she weighed nothing.

The edge of the counter caught behind her thighs—cool, solid—just as Jimin set her down.

But she didn’t pull away. Didn’t give Minjeong space to collect herself.

Instead, she dipped lower, mouth pressing softly against the hollow of Minjeong’s throat. A reverent kind of kiss. Slow. Burning.

Her hands traced the edge of Minjeong’s skirt—fingers brushing skin, trailing up along the inside of her thigh.

Minjeong bit her lip, stifling a moan.

Jimin’s mouth followed the curve of her jaw, down the line of her neck, pausing with a breath before her teeth sank in—not hard, but enough to make Minjeong’s breath hitch again.

Then a murmur, warm against her skin,

“This is officially my favorite room in Kim Holdings.”

Minjeong didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

She was already too far gone—tilting her head slightly, giving Jimin more space without saying a word.

The rest unraveled in stolen sound and quiet urgency.

Somewhere between the press of skin and the edge of the counter, forty-five minutes passed.

Sharp exhales softened. Tension spilled. And the silence held it all—uninterrupted.

By the time they stepped back into the main office, the silence had reset. The air crisp again, clothes straightened, hair smoothed, nothing out of place.

All control restored.

Almost.

Jimin paused just before they reached the table, narrowing her eyes.

“Oh—” she said, brushing her thumb against the side of Minjeong’s neck. “You’ve still got my lipstick on you.”

Minjeong blinked. Glanced down. Then chuckled, soft and rare.

“Wear something that doesn’t smudge next time.”

The silence that followed was small—but sharp.

Minjeong registered it at the same time Jimin did.

Next time…

Jimin didn’t say anything at first. Just smiled. 

Slow. Knowing.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Neither of them lingered on it—but they didn’t look away, either.

Then the moment passed.

They turned. Gathered their merger documents, laptops in hand.

And walked to the boardroom like nothing had happened at all.

The boardroom was silent.

Not because they weren’t paying attention—but because nobody dared interrupt.

Minjeong had always been an intimidating presence. Cold. Efficient. The kind who could tear apart a quarterly report with a single raised brow.

But now there were two of her.

Not exactly.

Jimin wasn’t cold. She smiled more. Spoke in a tone that almost felt warm.

But her precision was unnerving.

She’d tilt her head, soften her voice, and answer a difficult question in a way that made you feel like you were the one being unreasonable for asking it.

It was disarming. Then quietly terrifying.

Together, they didn’t just command the room—they ran it.

Minjeong laid out the integration structure with clipped clarity. Jimin followed with brand positioning and internal synergy initiatives like she’d been in Kim Holdings for years.

They traded off like a well-rehearsed performance. One cut, one charmed. One closed the gap, the other made you forget it was ever there. No interruptions. No side chatter. No weak points.

And none of the usual tension that marked their previous meetings.

They weren’t fighting each other anymore.

Now it felt like they were fighting for something. On the same side.

And the board—men and women who’d built their careers on finding fault—just nodded along.

Pleased.

Impressed.

Even a little relieved.

One of the directors, the oldest on the panel, finally spoke. “We’ll still need legal to finalize the structure, and this won’t be in effect until next quarter at the earliest... but I think I speak for all of us when I say this is the cleanest presentation we’ve seen on a merger in years.”

Another chimed in, flipping through the pitch deck. “Kakeru especially—you’ve struck gold with that one. The numbers are almost too good to be true.”

Minjeong didn’t hesitate. “That was Jimin.”

Jimin glanced at her.

Minjeong didn’t look back. Just continued. “She recognized the potential before any of us did.”

The board smiled.

“Then perhaps it’s only fitting,” one of them said, “that the two of you oversee Kakeru’s global launch as your first joint project.”

Another nodded. “It’ll give both of you a chance to define the brand together before we roll it out at scale.”

Jimin leaned back in her chair, still smiling. “Sounds like fun.”

Minjeong didn’t smile. But she didn’t object either.

“There’s one more operational update.”

The board looked up.

“For the sake of efficiency during the transition, Jimin and I will be sharing an office space for the quarter. It’ll streamline communication and keep oversight centralized during Kakeru’s preliminary phase.”

There was a pause. A few murmurs of approval. One nod from the director closest to legal.

But Jimin—her eyes widened.

Not theatrically. Just enough to betray a flicker of surprise.

Then, a smile. One of the rare ones. The kind that didn’t flirt or scheme. Just softened.

She glanced at Minjeong. “Thank you. To the board, and to Minjeong—for the trust.”

Chairs shifted. Documents slid into briefcases. One by one, the directors stood, trickling out with parting nods and quiet praise.

Eventually, the room thinned to just the two of them.

Jimin stood slowly, gathering her tablet, tapping it shut. “Sharing your office—” Her voice was still polished, still public—but the corner of her mouth curved. “Didn’t know you were such a team player.”

Minjeong didn’t look up as she closed her own folder. “Don't make me regret it. Figured I’d also spare my team from a very loud new member.”

Jimin let out a soft laugh. “So generous.”

Minjeong finally glanced at her, the faintest trace of amusement in her eyes. “I can always veto it, if that’s what you want”

“Tempting,” Jimin drawled. “But I think it’d be a bad look if we started fighting on our first official day.”

Minjeong hummed as she slipped her pen into her blazer pocket. “Fine. I’ll wait a few days before kicking you out.”

They exchanged a look.

Both smiled.

Not broad. Not smug. Just enough.

Minjeong walked toward the glass doors, then paused. Glanced over her shoulder.

“Come on,” she said. “You still haven’t seen the executive floor. I owe you a tour.”

Jimin’s grin widened, more herself now. “Lead the way, boss.”

And she followed.

The executive floor was quiet as Minjeong led Jimin through, heels clicking in steady rhythm. She didn’t say much. Just offered clipped introductions as they passed each division.

“This is Legal. Finance is just around the corner. Strategy’s on the far end.”

Jimin matched her pace easily, a soft hum of acknowledgment on her lips—until they entered the open-concept bullpen.

People looked up.

Then straightened.

Minjeong didn’t need to say a word. Everyone already knew who Jimin was.

But she introduced her anyway. “This is Jimin Yu. She’ll be working out of our floor for the next quarter as we oversee the Kakeru expansion.”

There were murmured hellos. Nods. Some glances held a beat too long.

Jimin didn’t just smile—she beamed.

“Good afternoon,” she said, tone smooth, warm, polished in her effortless way. “Thank you for having me.”

They started with the leads.

Handshakes.

Introductions.

Her fingers wrapped lightly around theirs—firm, steady, but never stiff. Her gaze held a second too long. Her compliments sounded objective, but landed like suggestions.

Each line delivered in that low, deliberate tone that could’ve been casual. Could’ve been something else. And somehow, it worked every time.

Minjeong watched the ripple Jimin left in her wake. The way people leaned in, smiled back too fast. The way one junior associate laughed before Jimin even finished her sentence, her hand brushing Jimin’s sleeve like she hadn’t meant to.

Minjeong’s brow twitched.

Another handshake. Another flustered smile. A lingering glance.

Jimin was still cold in that effortless way—precise, observant, quiet—but her words slid beneath people’s guard like silk. Unintentional, maybe. But effective.

And they all responded.

Not just with politeness. With interest.

One of the analysts—Minjeong couldn’t even remember her name—blushed outright when Jimin complimented her layout deck.

Minjeong looked away.

When they finally returned to the office, Jimin was practically glowing.

“This is nice,” she said, stepping in and unbuttoning her blazer with one hand. “Feels good. I could get used to coming in here every day.”

Minjeong didn’t answer.

Jimin glanced at her, undeterred. “I just need to wrap things on my end. Talk to my team. Shouldn’t take more than two days. When can I move in?”

Minjeong’s voice was colder than before. Still polite, but a touch more mechanical. “I’ll have to adjust the layout. One day to restructure. Desk delivery the next.”

Jimin’s smile dipped for half a second.

Minjeong turned to her desk, reaching for her tablet. “That should give you enough time to handle your transition.”

Quiet.

“Perfect,” Jimin said, voice bright again. “Two days it is.”

Minjeong didn’t look at her.

But Jimin lingered by the door anyway. Watching her. The shift hadn’t gone unnoticed. She just wasn’t calling it out. Not yet.

“See you in two, Director Kim.”

Minjeong hummed. Brief. Noncommittal.

The office was silent.

Just the faint hum of the city outside and the glow of Minjeong’s desk lamp cutting through the dark. It was almost midnight, but she hadn’t noticed—not really.

Her tablet was propped against a mountain of files. Two monitors open. A notepad full of scribbled sketches beside her, her pen tapping faintly as she measured spacing.

Two desks. One angled toward the door. The other across the room but within view. Separate—intentional. Close enough to speak, far enough to breathe.

She’d moved things around herself. Directed facilities with a level of detail she rarely exercised outside of company takeovers. Lighting, cable access, airflow. She’d even had the rug replaced.

All of it meant to make the space functional.

Neutral.

Safe.

She sat back, eyed it one last time, and hit send.

--

Jimin,

Attached is the new layout for our office.

The design is optimized for independent workflow, minimal disruption, and clear delineation of personal space.

Should you have concerns… I don’t care.

This will be the plan.

Regards,

Minjeong

--

Her phone lit up not even a full minute later.

Incoming Call:

Yu Jimin

Minjeong hesitated.

Then answered.

“Director Yu.”

“That’s not fair,” Jimin said immediately, her voice bright and teasing. “You get to design our office and I don’t even get a say?”

Minjeong reclined slightly in her chair. “I planned for everything. Two desks, storage, separate access points. You’d just get in the way.”

“I would enhance the space,” Jimin argued, mock-offended. “All this talk about aesthetics, and look how soulless you made it. Add some warmth back. Maybe a plant. A couch. Mood lighting.”

“It’s not a hotel room.”

“It’s not a funeral either.”

Minjeong huffed—close to a laugh.

Jimin caught it. “You’re smiling.”

“I’m not.”

“You are. I can hear it.”

Minjeong rolled her eyes, but the edge in her posture softened. The pen tapping stopped.

“You laughed earlier,” Jimin said, quieter now. “Just now. There you go again.”

A pause.

“That suits you more.”

Minjeong didn’t answer right away. She stared out the window, the city lights blurring into silver.

Then, simply,

“Good night, Jimin.”

A breath, then Jimin’s voice again—gentler this time.

“Good night, Minjeong.”

Click.

Jimin moved in like she had always belonged there.

No adjustment period. No awkward settling in.

Within hours, she had charmed the front desk, told Ryujin her preferred coffee order, and managed to program her own playlist into the office speaker system—volume always low, barely noticeable, but always hers.

She claimed her desk with an effortless sort of elegance. Two Montblanc pens. A sleek black notebook. And a small blue ceramic dinosaur paperweight.

She smiled as she set it down gently, like it was the most precious thing in the world.

Minjeong stared at the dinosaur for a full minute the first time she saw it.

Then turned away without a word.

They worked.

They worked well—too well. Which meant they argued constantly.

They couldn’t agree on anything.

Not the timeline for Kakeru’s rollout, not the city sequence, not the brand voice, not even the restaurant’s ambient music.

It was war behind frosted glass. Low voices. Clenched jaws.

“I said the Toronto flagship should open after the Seoul launch. Not with it,” Minjeong snapped one afternoon, flipping through the proposal Jimin had annotated.

Jimin leaned against the edge of her desk, one brow arched. “And I said it builds better buzz if we open simultaneously. East meets West, synergy, romance, global impact—”

“Romance?” Minjeong’s eyes flicked up. Flat. “It’s a restaurant.”

Jimin didn’t blink. “Exactly.”

Minjeong’s pen snapped. She stood abruptly. “I’m grabbing more stock paper.”

At first, it was just to breathe.

To be alone with the heat that clung to her skin after every exchange. To regain control. To make sure her hands weren’t trembling from nothing but Jimin’s voice at the back of her neck—or her perfume, threading into the air between them.

But Jimin always followed.

Always.

And she never knocked. The supply closet door shut with a soft, deliberate click behind her.

Minjeong didn’t even turn around before muttering, “This isn’t what I meant—”

“Then what is it?” Jimin’s voice behind her—low, near a whisper, daring her to turn.

And it would snap—just like that.

Mouths colliding. Hands yanking at belts, buttons, silk and skin. Minjeong shoved Jimin back into the door, teeth scraping her lip. Jimin hissed, grabbed her by the hips, and spun them, now pinning Minjeong against the shelves.

“I should kick you out of that office,” Minjeong whispered, breath ragged.

“You’d come crawling by Monday.” Jimin dropped to her knees without warning. Devouring her without mercy.

“You’re so—” Minjeong bit back a moan, jaw tight. “—annoying.”

“And you’re soaked.” Jimin smirked against her thigh.

Minjeong pushed her head closer.

No matter what they do, it was never soft.

Always messy.

Always urgent.

Noises swallowed. Moans buried in throats. Fingers bruising thighs, lips, wrists.

Minjeong hated how much she needed it.

Jimin loathed how much she loved it.

But they broke together every time—just to pretend nothing happened the moment the door reopened.

Blouses tucked back in. Hair finger-combed. Faces unreadable.

It became a cycle.

Argue.

Fuck.

Repeat.

A terrible habit—violent, addictive, intimate in all the worst ways. And neither of them even pretended to stop.

But weekends?

Weekends were unbearable.

Because on weekends, they didn’t reach out. No texts. No calls. Not even a stray email.

It was a game now. A silent contest.

Who needed the other less. Who would fold first. Who missed first.

Neither ever gave in.

And it fucking burned.

So when Minjeong’s phone rang on a quiet Saturday morning, she didn’t expect it.

Yizhuo

She stared at the name. Then answered.

“Hey,” Yizhuo said, warm and easy. “We just landed back in Canada. Giselle and I were wondering if you’re free for dinner tomorrow night?”

Minjeong leaned back into the couch, her voice careful.

“Yeah,” she said. “I can do that.”

The restaurant was quiet. Dimly lit. Private in the way that expensive places often were—privacy as part of the bill.

Yizhuo greeted her first, rising from her seat with an easy smile and a short wave.

“There you are.”

Minjeong nodded once, letting herself be led toward the table. Her coat was slipped from her shoulders by a waiting server, and then she was seated—across from Giselle, beside Yizhuo, the table already set with wine glasses and crisp white napkins folded with the kind of precision Minjeong approved of.

“How was the flight?” she asked out of habit, reaching for her water.

Giselle sighed dramatically. “Long. The pilot had to wait for the crew to sober up before we could take off.”

Minjeong’s brow lifted.

“They were celebrating something,” Yizhuo added, amused. “We never found out what.”

“They said it was a ‘personal milestone,’” Giselle echoed, then sipped her wine. “The champagne they offered us tasted like guilt.”

Just as Minjeong settled back into her seat, napkin folded across her lap, the server appeared again.

Only this time—behind him—Jimin.

Minjeong looked up.

And for a beat, she forgot how to breathe.

Casual Jimin was rare.

A dark denim jacket over a white linen shirt. Loose slacks. Minimal makeup. Her hair loose, brushing the tops of her shoulders, catching the amber light as she walked forward with a confused frown.

Just Jimin.

Not Director Yu.

Minjeong hated how stunning she was like this.

Jimin’s eyes landed on her, and something shifted. Her brows drew together.

“What is she doing here?” Her voice was sharp. Directed at Giselle.

Giselle exhaled. “Sit first. We’ll explain.”

Jimin didn’t move at first. But after a moment, she slid into the open seat in front of Minjeong, her jaw tight.

Minjeong said nothing. Her eyes didn’t move.

Yizhuo leaned forward, elbows on the table. “We’ve been talking,” she began, “and we realized that if we’re going to start this new chapter together… we want to build something from the ground up.”

“A home,” Giselle added. “One that fits us. Designed for us. Every inch of it.”

Jimin’s gaze remained cold, unreadable.

“So,” Yizhuo said, smile teasing, “who better to design it than the best architect and the best engineer in the country?”

There was a pause.

Then Jimin tilted her head slightly, tone icy. “And you thought tricking us into the same dinner was the way to go?”

Giselle grinned. “We thought you two would hear us out.”

Jimin glanced at Minjeong. “You want to do it?”

Minjeong held her stare. “If it’s Yizhuo asking,” she said, voice even, “I’ll do it.”

Something shifted again. A fraction softer now. The tension settled—enough for the server to return with wine.

Minjeong barely looked up as the glass was set beside her hand. “You’ll want an open floor plan,” she said, fingers tracing the rim. “South-facing windows for light. Minimal partitions to keep it feeling clean.”

Jimin nodded. “And heated concrete flooring if you're set on that much glass. Winters are brutal.”

Yizhuo leaned in, visibly excited. “Exactly! And I don’t want it feeling like a cabin. I want clean lines. Industrial, but not cold.”

“You’re saying you want warmth without clutter,” Minjeong said.

“Good acoustics, too,” Jimin added. “So it doesn’t echo with that much open space.”

They spoke over each other. Then seamlessly circled back. It was fluid. Practiced, almost. Not in a rehearsed way—but the way two people moved when they were used to reading each other.

It wasn’t forced.

It wasn’t even conscious.

It just was.

Jimin glanced at Minjeong once, her brow lifting slightly—just enough to acknowledge the strange ease passing between them.

Minjeong didn’t smile. But she didn’t look away either.

“You’re going to want polished concrete for the kitchen if you’re entertaining a lot,” Jimin said, turning to Giselle now. “Stains less. Easier to clean.”

Minjeong lifted her glass. “And built-in cabinetry. Minimal overheads. Keep everything flush.”

“Hidden fridge?” Jimin offered.

“Integrated dishwasher.”

They said it at the same time.

Giselle blinked at them.

Then laughed. “Okay, that was freaky.”

“Sorry,” Jimin said. But she didn’t sound sorry.

Minjeong’s lips quirked—barely. “We’ve seen your kitchens.”

“It shows,” Yizhuo grinned.

Their glasses clinked softly. The conversation slid into something warmer. Lighter. As if whatever ice had been there before was slowly thawing in the heat of shared purpose.

It wasn’t until dessert that Giselle leaned back, wine glass in hand, and grinned.

“You know, you two should just date already.”

The fork froze halfway to Minjeong’s mouth.

Jimin stilled too.

Yizhuo choked softly on her drink.

Minjeong set her fork down with care. Her walls snapped into place so fast it hurt.

She didn’t look at anyone. Not Jimin. Not even Yizhuo.

Date?

The word curled around her ribcage like a threat.

She didn’t date. She didn’t do relationships. Not when they made her feel like this—like she couldn’t control the way her stomach flipped at a single glance, a single laugh. Not when the idea came with chaos, with feeling.

Dating Jimin?

And yet…

Something inside her cracked, just slightly.

Because it was Jimin.

And it didn’t sound that absurd—not in the way it used to.

Which made it worse.

Far worse.

Because Jimin felt it, too.

She saw the shift the moment Giselle said it—that flicker in Minjeong’s expression, too fast and too raw. Her shoulders tensed. Her mouth tightened at the corners.

But Jimin knew her tells. She always did. Especially the ones Minjeong tried to hide.

And for a second, she thought—maybe.

But no.

It wasn’t longing in Minjeong's eyes.

It was fear. Alarm. Discomfort.

Like the very idea of them was something Minjeong couldn’t stomach. Something she’d already rejected before the sentence finished landing.

And Jimin felt it. Hard.

Because to Minjeong, love wasn’t just vulnerability. It was surrender.

And control was everything to her. The sharp edge she clung to in every conversation, every look, every breath. 

And Jimin knew—Minjeong would never give that up.

Not even for her.

Jimin wasn’t stupid. Dense, maybe, when it came to people who made her feel too much—but not stupid.

She wrote the contract. No feelings allowed. That was her clause. Her escape hatch. The rule that kept it from breaking her.

Because if one of them fell—if one of them wanted more—everything would fall apart.

So whatever she was feeling, whatever she was swallowing every time Minjeong looked at her like she wanted her and hated it—

She buried it deeper.

Because losing what they had was worse than pretending none of it was real.

Because she couldn’t bear the thought of losing Minjeong again.

So she smiled. Tilted her glass.

Let the words slip free, sharper than she meant.

“Oh, please,” Jimin said, smirking now, eyes on her wine glass. “I would never date Minjeong.”

The words landed too easily. Too sharp.

Minjeong blinked once. Slowly.

Then reached for her glass again. Her fingers steady. Her voice cool.

“Of course not.”

.

.

The rest of the evening soured.

Minjeong barely spoke.

She sat straighter. Answered when prompted. Laughed once—tight, practiced, hollow. The walls she’d carefully rebuilt stayed locked, her gaze colder now, her voice distant.

Jimin didn’t push.

She didn’t joke again. Didn’t flirt. The sparkle that usually sat so easily behind her eyes had dulled. She barely touched her food. Her hand curled loosely around her wine glass, untouched since the toast.

The awkwardness clung to the table like fog. Yizhuo tried—asked a question about design specs, made a comment about the weather. Giselle laughed too loudly at something no one found funny.

But it was too late. Something had cracked open, and no one knew how to close it.

They all knew it wouldn’t be fixed.

By the time the check came, Minjeong had already reached for her bag.

“I’ll just get an Uber.”

It came out quiet. Clipped.

She didn’t look at Jimin when she said it.

Jimin blinked—almost like she hadn’t realized she’d already stood. “I’ll drive you.”

The words landed before she could stop them. Reflexive. Thoughtless.

Minjeong paused.

Yizhuo glanced between them, then gently added, “It’s been raining a lot lately. Just take the ride.”

And because it was Yizhuo—

Minjeong did.

.

.

The ride back was silent.

Painfully so.

The kind of silence that pressed against the windows, filling the space between them. Every streetlamp cast a flicker of gold over the leather interior, catching the tightness in Minjeong’s jaw. The way Jimin’s hands gripped the steering wheel, her knuckles pale.

Neither spoke.

They both kept their eyes forward.

But the question still echoed between them.

You two should just date already.

Why would they?

They irritated each other. Clashed at every turn. Argued like it was a sport.

Jimin was chaos. Minjeong was control. They were set to become partners, but as Co-CEOs. Not this—whatever this was.

The silence stretched longer.

Each bump of the road sent another excuse through their heads. Another reason why it would never work. Why it shouldn’t even be considered. Why it would ruin everything.

But none of it helped.

Because the question had been asked.

And now it was stuck in their throats.

When they reached Minjeong’s house, the engine hummed to a stop.

Minjeong unbuckled her seatbelt with slow precision. Her hand reached for the door—then paused. Her voice came quiet. Flat. Almost like an afterthought.

“Thanks.”

It wasn’t warm.

It wasn’t kind.

Jimin didn’t respond.

Didn’t look at her.

Just hummed. Barely audible.

The door shut softly behind Minjeong.

Jimin stayed.

The thunder rolled in the distance, low and far away. The kind of warning that came before rain. But she didn’t start the car. She didn’t drive off.

She just sat there.

Hands in her lap. Eyes forward. Breathing shallow.

The weight of Giselle’s words coiled tighter in her chest. And slowly—reluctantly—Jimin turned her head. Looked toward the front door.

Just to make sure Minjeong made it in.

Just to make sure she wasn’t caught in the storm.

Inside, Minjeong stood still in the dark. Her coat still on. Her fingers still curled from where they’d brushed the door handle.

Then—softly—she stepped to the side.

Peeking through the edge of the curtain.

Just barely.

Jimin’s car was still there.

She hadn’t moved.

She was looking. Not at the door exactly—but in its direction. As if waiting. As if wondering.

Minjeong’s breath caught.

Her brows furrowed, tight. Her heart thundered harder than the sky outside. Loud in her ears. Loud in her chest. Loud in a way she didn’t know how to silence.

She exhaled—finally.

Like she hadn’t let herself breathe until now.

Monday.

Jimin showed up like nothing happened.

Bright smile. Careless swagger. Her voice smooth with mischief again.

Like muscle memory.

Because if she could just be herself—if she could keep it playful, teasing, light—maybe things would fall back into place.

They didn’t.

Minjeong was cold. Arctic.

Before, there was always something. A quip. A sigh. Raised brows. Arguments over the smallest things.

Jimin would say something dumb. Minjeong would roll her eyes. Pretend not to smile. Sometimes fail.

It used to be sharp. Alive.

Now—nothing.

Just the quiet click of keys. Two people typing like strangers across the room.

Jimin glanced at her.

Tried.

“So, about Kakeru. You want to move the demo up or—?”

Minjeong didn’t look away from her screen.

Her voice, flat. “Do whatever you want.”

That was worse than silence.

She stood a minute later. Quiet steps toward the supply room. Not a glance back.

Jimin followed by instinct. Stopped at the locked door.

She didn’t press on.

The days passed.

Tuesday.

Wednesday.

Thursday.

The rain came and went. So did the silence.

Each time Minjeong disappeared behind that door, Jimin would follow.

And each time—locked.

No response. No invitation.

By Friday, it was routine.

Predictable.

Painful.

Minjeong was inside the supply room when Ryujin knocked gently.

Jimin didn’t look up. “Come in.”

Ryujin stepped in with a file tucked under her arm. “She’s still in her new office?”

Jimin nodded.

Ryujin didn’t need more. “Alright. Just let her know I stopped by.”

She left without waiting.

Jimin looked toward the door again and exhaled.

She muttered, almost to herself, “I hate that room.”

.

.

It was late by the time Minjeong emerged.

The supply room door opened with its usual quiet click.

She stepped out, sharp and unreadable.

Jimin was still there.

Still waiting.

Minjeong didn’t pause. Didn’t acknowledge her presence.

The silence had grown roots. Had weight.

Jimin stood slowly. “What’s going on.”

Minjeong didn’t look at her. “Nothing.”

“That’s not—”

“I said nothing’s wrong.”

Not sharp. Not angry. Just final.

Jimin swallowed. “Let me at least drive you home. It’s supposed to rain.”

“No need. Company car’s outside.”

Jimin exhaled, jaw tight. “Is this about Kakeru?”

Minjeong stopped in the hallway.

Then—without turning—“Go home, Jimin. It’s late.”

She walked off.

Jimin’s hands gripped the edge of the desk. Fingers curled so tight her knuckles ached.

She wasn’t letting this go.

Not like this.

.

.

Minjeong sat quietly in the back of the company car, watching the dark sky across the window.

Thunder rolled low in the sky—distant, steady, like a warning drumbeat.

She exhaled.

The driver glanced in the mirror.

“Director... I think we’re being followed.”

She looked.

Headlights. Too close. Too familiar.

Jimin’s hands on the wheel, knuckles pale under the flash of lightning.

Minjeong’s voice was quiet.

“Ignore her.”

The car stopped.

Minjeong stepped out, heels crunching lightly against the pavement. The company car didn’t linger—pulled forward and away, taillights bleeding red into the street.

Behind her, another door slammed. Hard. Sharp.

Jimin’s car.

Minjeong didn’t turn. She already knew. She just exhaled—quiet, tired.

“Minjeong,” Jimin’s voice cut through the rain-damp air. “Talk to me. Something. Anything.”

Minjeong finally turned her head, slow and cold. “You followed me home for that?”

“Yes.” Jimin’s tone didn’t waver. “Because I don’t get it. I don’t get why you’re like this.”

Thunder rumbled behind the clouds. Minjeong looked up to it, expression unreadable. Her voice came out low.

“Just… go home, Jimin. I’m tired already.”

Jimin stepped closer. Her voice strained now, stubborn. “Not until you tell me what’s going on. I’ll stay here. I’ll wait.”

Minjeong’s jaw clenched.

She hated this. Hated how Jimin could just say things like that, could follow her, demand something from her, stand there like she had the right.

Jimin was chaos. Unfiltered. Relentless.

And Minjeong—Minjeong couldn’t breathe with that kind of chaos pressing in.

“Fine,” she snapped. “Do whatever you want. Leave. Stay. I don’t care.”

She turned and walked off, heels sharp against the path, not looking back once.

.

.

Inside, the silence returned.

She let it ache. She moved through the kitchen in silence, flicked on the light, turned on music that didn’t stick. Nothing helped.

Rain tapped against the windows, faint at first.

She glanced over—watched the droplets start to trail down the glass, slow and inevitable.

“Good,” she muttered. “That’ll drive her away.”

Still, her chest felt tight.

She busied herself—unwrapping vegetables, setting water to boil, slicing too quickly, too cleanly.

The silence clung to her skin.

Then—her phone lit up on the counter. A call.

Yizhuo.

She answered it instantly.

“Yiz—”

But it wasn’t her voice.

“Minjeong, it’s me.” Giselle’s voice came through, soft and concerned. “Sorry to call you this late.”

Minjeong frowned. “Why are you calling?”

“I was trying to get a hold of Jimin. I needed her opinion on the house—something about the soil and foundation. But I can’t reach her. I called home, but none of the staff has seen her. They said she never came back.”

Minjeong’s stomach dropped.

She didn’t respond. Just moved.

Phone still in hand, she rushed toward the front of the house, pulled the curtains back, eyes scanning—

And there.

There she was.

Jimin.

Still outside.

Kneeling in the middle of her yard.

Soaked. Drenched to the bone. Her hair flattened to her face, her clothes clinging like a second skin. Lips pale, shoulders trembling from the cold, hands resting on her thighs like she’d been there for hours. Like she wasn’t planning to move until she was told.

Minjeong’s breath caught.

“I know where she is,” she said into the phone, barely audible.

“I’ll call you back.”

Click.

She stood there, frozen behind the window, watching the girl who wouldn’t leave. Who kept promises even when no one asked her to.

Thunder cracked in the distance.

Minjeong’s fingers tightened around the curtain. Her heart pounded so loud it drowned out everything else.

And outside, Jimin didn’t look up. Didn’t move.

Just stayed there—

Waiting.

Why is she still there?

The thought ran wild through Minjeong’s mind as her fingers curled around the doorknob. Her body moved before she could stop it—door flung open, rain hitting her skin like pinpricks. Her breath caught in her throat.

She stepped into the downpour. No umbrella. No shoes. Just the rain swallowing her whole as she stormed toward her. Her heart thundered louder than the sky.

She stopped a few feet away, chest rising with fury she couldn’t place.

“Are you fucking out of your mind?”

Her voice came sharp—too raw to be called cold, too cracked to be called concerned.

Jimin lifted her head slowly.

Water clung to her lashes, her lips were nearly blue. Her eyes were dark, unreadable, hollow in a way Minjeong hadn’t seen before.

She didn’t speak. Didn’t need to. The answer was written all over her—

Yes. Maybe. 

Just looked at Minjeong like this was the only thing that made sense anymore.

Minjeong’s voice cracked on the edges, her frustration rising like a tide.

“Why are you still here?”

Jimin’s voice came out hoarse, almost breaking. “I don’t know what I did. But if you’re mad, just tell me. Yell. Scream. Say something. Just... please—” Her voice broke again. “Don’t shut me out.”

Minjeong exhaled harshly. She dragged a hand through her drenched hair, fingers trembling.

“You’re so fucking dumb,” she whispered, more to herself than to Jimin.

And then she stepped forward, reached down, and grabbed Jimin’s wrist—not hard, but firm. She pulled her up without asking. Her grip didn’t loosen.

Jimin followed. No protest. No words. Just the soft sound of her soaked shoes trailing after Minjeong’s.

Inside, Minjeong kicked the door shut. The sound echoed like a gunshot.

She didn’t speak as she walked her straight to the bathroom. Tension wrapped around her spine like steel. Every motion was sharp, efficient, angry.

She opened a cabinet, pulled out two thick towels, tossed them onto the counter with a loud thud.

“Take a bath,” she said, voice tight. “You’ll freeze.”

She turned, kept moving. “I’ll leave dry clothes in the guest room. They’ll be too big. Deal with it.”

Jimin just stood there, dripping onto the floor. Her arms hung limp at her sides. Her jaw trembled, but she wasn’t crying.

Doesn’t even look like she could.

There was nothing left to wring out of her except this—this hollow ache, this cracked stillness.

She nodded once.

Minjeong didn’t look back. She couldn’t.

Because if she did—

She wasn’t sure she’d survive what she’d see on Jimin’s face.

And if she let herself feel anything more, she wouldn’t be able to pretend this didn’t break her too.

Minjeong stepped out of her bathroom, hair damp, clothed in her own softness for once—a cotton tee and drawstring pants. The house was quiet, save for the sound of rain tapping glass and the slow, heavy rhythm of her own heart.

She carried a glass of water toward the guest room. The door wasn’t closed. Just slightly ajar.

Inside, Jimin lay on top of the sheets, curled slightly, the oversized sweater swallowing her frame. Her breath came out in labored hitches, shallow and warm. She didn’t even turn when Minjeong approached.

Didn’t have the strength to.

Minjeong stepped inside. Quiet.

Jimin shifted at the sound, eyelids fluttering half-open, voice gravelled. But a smile—soft, almost apologetic—touched her lips.

“…Minjeong.”

Minjeong exhaled slowly. “Stop talking,” she murmured, sitting beside her. “Drink this first.”

Jimin sat up with effort, her body moving sluggishly. Her head bowed, one hand bracing against the mattress as the other took the water. Her fingers trembled.

“Thank you,” she said, and still, her tone tried for lightness—tried to be that version of herself Minjeong used to banter with. A glimmer of charm through the weakness.

Minjeong didn’t answer. She was staring.

Jimin’s skin was flushed. Her lips had lost color, but her cheeks burned. Her breath still unsteady.

Minjeong reached out and pressed the back of her hand to Jimin’s forehead.

Too warm. 

Jimin’s eyes fluttered shut under her touch. “What’s my diagnosis, Doctor Kim?” she mumbled, trying to smile.

Minjeong stood sharply. “I’ll get you some medicine.”

She turned to go, but Jimin’s hand caught her wrist—gentle, but firm.

Needing.

Minjeong paused. Her fingers gently curled around Jimin’s in return. 

Her voice softened, barely. “I’ll be quick.”

Jimin gave a faint nod, and let go.

When Minjeong returned, Jimin had sunk deeper into the bed, sweat clinging to her, breath growing thinner by the second. The flush on her face had deepened. Minjeong knelt beside her, towels in one hand, medicine in the other.

“Hey,” she whispered, touching Jimin’s shoulder. “You need to take this.”

Jimin stirred.

Minjeong lifted her upright and guided her against her own chest, bracing her carefully as she tipped the pills to her lips and held the water glass steady.

Jimin blinked slowly. Her head lolled slightly before she accepted the pill and swallowed it with Minjeong’s help.

Minjeong wiped her face with the cool towel, sweeping the sweat from her brow, brushing her damp hair away. Her hand lingered there, thumb gently grazing her temple.

“For someone so smart,” she whispered, “how could you be this dumb?”

A breath of laughter escaped Jimin—broken, hoarse. Her hand lifted, slow and uncertain, searching. She found Minjeong’s pressed to her forehead and traced her thumb over the back of it. Light. Like memorizing her by touch.

“I don’t know,” she breathed.

The silence settled between them again. Thick with what couldn’t be said.

Minjeong held her close, Jimin’s head tucked into the curve of her shoulder, limbs heavy with fever. Her skin burned hot through the sweater.

Jimin’s thumb never stopped moving. Just soft, rhythmic circles against Minjeong’s hand.

A shiver passed through her.

Minjeong reached for the blanket, pulled it over both of them. “Is that better?”

Jimin didn’t answer immediately. Her hand slipped lower, fingers ghosting over Minjeong’s wrist, then her palm, until their hands met again

“No,” she whispered, barely audible. “Touch me.”

Minjeong stared.

Jimin turned toward her, half-lidded. “I’m cold,” she said, voice rough, raw. “Make me warm. I need you.”

Minjeong scoffed, but her voice came out breathier than she wanted. “You’re delirious.”

“I know what I want,” Jimin said. She took Minjeong’s hand—fingers curling behind her wrist—and guided it slowly, slowly down her own stomach, beneath the hem of the sweater.

“Please.”

The word hit something low in Minjeong. Like always.

She should’ve stopped. Should’ve said no.

But her body moved before her mind did.

Her fingers moved on instinct—testing, exploring. Jimin’s breath hitched. A tiny sound that broke the quiet. Minjeong touched her the way she remembered Jimin loved. Deep. Slow. Intimate.

Jimin’s hips twitched toward her. Her moan was low, trembling—like she wasn’t just unraveling from touch, but from the safety of being held while it happened.

Minjeong leaned in, her forehead pressing against Jimin’s temple. Their bodies warm under the blanket, the rain still falling outside. The only sounds now were breath and want.

Jimin was unraveling in her hands. Her back arched, body quaking with every curl of Minjeong’s fingers. The fever made her hypersensitive—every touch like heat against ice. She came fast, too fast—her body locking up in a wave of heat, a cry torn from her throat and buried in Minjeong’s shoulder, fingers clawing at her side as if afraid to let go.

Then silence.

Sleep began to pull at her, slow and heavy.

Minjeong shifted carefully, pulling Jimin against her again, letting her head rest over her heart. The wet towel slid from her hand. She didn’t care. Her arms wrapped around her on instinct. Protective. Possessive.

She listened to the stutter of Jimin’s breathing begin to even out, softening into sleep.

She looked down at her.

So undone. So warm and flushed and honest.

She told herself it was nothing. Just comfort. Just a fevered body needing warmth.

She should’ve let go. 

Should've.

Instead, she held her like something that might break—or worse, like something she didn’t want to let go. 

Jimin was curled into her like she belonged there.

And Minjeong hated how right that felt.

She couldn't look away.

Her voice, when it finally came, was a whisper against the dark.

“…What are you doing to me, Yu Jimin?”

Chapter Text

Behind Jimin’s closed eyes, a memory began to resurface. Everything was softer. Warmer. The edges hazy. She remembered tall windows. Red carpet. And a whole lot of grown-ups.

She’d been left to sit in the corner of the room, feet dangling off the couch, her blue dinosaur plushie tucked tightly in her arms.

Then—footsteps.

Three sets.

Her father’s voice came first. Warm. Confident.

“Jimin-ah,” he said. “Come here for a second.”

She hopped off the couch without question, dino still in hand.

A tall man stood beside her father. And peeking out from behind his leg was a girl.

Tiny. Pale. Wide-eyed.

The man gave her a gentle nudge. “Minjeong, say hi.”

The girl’s eyes darted toward Jimin—then down. Then back to the floor again.

“I don’t want to,” she said, quiet but stubborn.

The dads chuckled.

“She’s just a little shy,” the man explained.

Jimin blinked at the girl. She was hiding again.

She looked like she wanted to disappear.

Jimin clutched her dinosaur tighter for a second, then stepped forward. She didn’t say anything, didn’t really know what to say—but she stopped just in front of the girl and stretched out her arms, offering the plushie.

Minjeong peeked out again. Her eyes landed on the dinosaur, and her mouth parted slightly.

Slowly—very slowly—she stepped forward.

“It’s my friend,” Jimin said, her voice small but sure. “You can say hi to him, too.”

Minjeong’s hand hovered near it, cautious but curious. Her voice was barely a whisper.

“He looks so cool.”

Jimin’s face lit up. “RIGHT?!”

Minjeong nodded, then reached for it. “I want it.”

Jimin blinked. Pulled back instinctively.

“No, it’s mine.”

Minjeong frowned. “Give it.”

Jimin frowned back, hugging it tighter. “No.”

Minjeong crossed her arms, then pouted. “Please.”

Jimin huffed. Looked at her dino. Then at the girl.

She was still scowling, but there was something else in her eyes too—like she didn’t know how to want something without demanding it. Like the word please had already taken everything out of her.

So Jimin stared. Then exhaled.

“If it’ll make you happy too…” she said, arms stretching out again, “Here. Have it.”

Minjeong looked at her for a second. Quiet. Then reached out and took it, slow like it might disappear. And when she held it close to her chest, her frown faded. Just a little.

And somehow, that was enough.

Jimin smiled.

She didn’t know why it mattered so much.

Just that it did.

Even back then.

Another memory faded in. One from a few years back.

“Come in.”

Jimin stepped into her father’s office, heels quiet against the marble. The room still smelled like his cologne and old paper—sharp, clean, a little suffocating.

He looked up from his desk and smiled.

“There she is. Sit, Jimin-ah.”

She sat. Crossed her legs. Waited.

“I had dinner with an old friend last night,” he began, swirling the whiskey in his glass. “You wouldn’t remember him—he moved back to Seoul years ago. But we stayed in touch. He’s the founder of Kim Holdings. Architecture firm.”

Jimin raised a brow. “Okay…”

He chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “He established his company here. Left his daughter in charge. You and her actually played one summer together. Always fighting, always inseparable. No matter how loud the arguments got, you refused to be apart.”

She blinked. “I don’t remember that.”

“I figured.” His smile turned fond, a little sad. “You were what—five? Maybe six? But I remember. You two were chaos. Pretended to marry each other and proceed to ‘divorce’ each other on the same day.”

She huffed a small laugh but said nothing.

Her father’s tone shifted—gentler, steadier.

“My friend’s heading back to Seoul for a bit, but we’re planning a merger. Kim Holdings and Yu Corp.”

That’s when her body stilled.

“What?!”

He didn’t stop. “It’s a good match. Their firm is sharp, clean, highly profitable. The daughter’s stepped in as Director now. Brilliant girl. Her father’s proud. Just like I am of you.”

But Jimin had stopped listening. The words merger, Director, and daughter echoed louder than anything else.

“You can’t be serious,” she said. “Yu Corp is fine. I’ve taken care of it. I’ve built everything—”

Her father raised a hand. Calm, unshaken.

“And I’m proud of you for that.”

“I don’t need anyone else,” Jimin pushed. “No offense to your friend or his daughter, but I’ve sacrificed too much for this company to share it with someone who hasn’t bled for it like I have.”

Silence.

He didn’t argue right away. Just looked at her the way he always did—like he already knew what she would say before she said it.

“I’m getting old,” he said quietly. “And I built this for you. Everything. Not so you’d fight tooth and nail to protect it, but so you wouldn’t have to.”

Her mouth pressed into a line.

“It gets lonely at the top,” he continued. “I only survive because I have your mom with me. Seeing as you seem to despise men to their very core and no woman’s ever been good enough for you to date—”

He paused, choosing his next words carefully.

“If I’m leaving you to deal with the wolves, I’d rather you have someone with you. My old friend and I got to talking, and his daughter’s the same way. Doesn’t really seem to plan on getting married either. So we both figured... maybe the two of you would hit it off again. Maybe you’ll run the company together.”

Jimin was still stuck on the word share.

“Though she’s not like you,” her father added. “Quiet. Keeps away from the press. Doesn’t like her name or face out there. But you’re not exactly screaming your name to the media either—at least, not your real one.”

His tone turned teasing. “Karina, right? The mysterious Director who shows up in headlines but never in person?”

She didn’t respond. Her mind had already gone somewhere else—flashing red.

Director.

Merger.

Rival.

“Give her a chance,” her father said, watching her carefully. “That’s all I’m asking.”

Jimin forced a smile. Tight. Measured.

“I’ll think about it.”

He nodded once. “Good. That’ll be all.”

She stood. Straightened her blazer. And walked out with her chest tight, stomach twisted—not from nerves, but from instinct.

This wasn’t collaboration.

This was competition.

And she’d never liked losing.

As Jimin opened her eyes, she faintly remembered a girl—and giving her plushie away.

She groaned, caught somewhere between wondering if it had been a dream or a memory. She blinked once. Then again. Realizing the heat of a body tucked close to her, the steady rhythm of someone else’s breathing. She shifted slightly and registered it wasn’t just closeness.

She was being held.

Minjeong’s arm was curled tight around her middle, gentle and unmoving. The other was caught between the bed and Jimin’s back, like she’d fallen asleep mid-watch and never bothered adjusting.

Jimin didn’t move.

Just stared.

Minjeong was still asleep—face close, breath warm against Jimin’s skin. Her brows had relaxed in sleep, the usual tension in her gone.

Jimin swallowed.

And remembered.

Last night. The fever. The touch. The aching want.

The way her body had burned, and how Minjeong had stayed anyway. How she’d begged—and how Minjeong just let her and held her closer.

Mortified, Jimin turned her face away.

She was never like this. Never desperate. Never needy.

Except with Minjeong.

And just as her thoughts started to spiral, she felt a shift beside her. A breath pulled deeper. Muscles tensed—just slightly.

Minjeong was waking.

On instinct, Jimin shut her eyes.

She didn’t want to see the look on Minjeong’s face. Not yet. Not after the mess she made of herself last night.

She kept her breathing even. Relaxed her face. Pretended.

Minjeong stilled.

She blinked slowly at the light seeping in from the curtains. She felt the weight beside her first. Then the curve of Jimin’s waist under her palm. Her other arm was numb—completely—crushed awkwardly between mattress and Jimin’s back, but she didn’t move.

She just looked.

Jimin’s face was soft in sleep. Lips parted slightly. A faint furrow in her brow, even now.

Minjeong didn’t know what to do with the ache in her chest. The one that had started last night and hadn’t gone away.

She’d told herself it was nothing.

Fever-induced intimacy.

Guilt.

Instinct.

But that didn’t explain why her thumb brushed slowly over Jimin’s skin. Or why her fingers tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear like it mattered.

She didn’t think.

She just leaned in and pressed a kiss to Jimin’s forehead—gentle. Barely there.

An apology. A quiet absolution. She was forgiving her for something even she didn’t fully understand.

And the moment her lips lifted, Jimin’s eyes fluttered open.

Minjeong froze.

Their eyes met—close, too close.

Jimin didn’t say anything. Just looked up at her, lids still heavy with sleep.

Caught, Minjeong blinked once. Then looked away. Slowly loosened her hold, arm retreating like nothing had happened.

Like none of it meant anything.

Jimin didn’t stop her.

But she didn’t look away either.

She just lay there. Letting the warmth linger.

Letting the silence stretch.

They didn’t move much after that.

Minjeong’s arm had retreated slightly, but it still rested along Jimin’s waist.

There was more space between them now—but only just.

Enough to breathe. Enough to pretend. Not enough to forget.

Minjeong shifted subtly, stealing a glance—only to find Jimin still looking at her. Eyes dark. Unreadable. A faint flush blooming under her cheekbones.

Minjeong’s breath caught.

She turned toward her fully now, slow, like she didn’t even notice she was doing it. The sheets rustled faintly between them. Her gaze trailed over Jimin’s expression, searching.

Jimin’s blush deepened.

Minjeong frowned.

“You’re red again,” she murmured, leaning in a fraction. Her hand lifted before she could stop it, settling lightly against Jimin’s forehead. “Do you still have a fever?”

Jimin blinked, then smiled—lopsided and soft. “Might.”

Minjeong pressed her palm a little firmer. Cool skin met warm.

“But you’re not hot,” she said. “Not even warm.”

Jimin blinked. “Could be internal.”

Minjeong raised a brow.

Jimin went on, “It’s a type where you can’t really tell. But it’s there.”

Minjeong exhaled, “I’ll make breakfast. You should eat and take your medicine.”

But when she started to move, Jimin’s grip tightened.

She didn’t speak right away.

Then, softly—almost too soft to register—she mumbled,

“Just… stay.”

Minjeong paused.

Jimin just held her gaze, something unguarded flickering across her face before she buried it again in a half-smile. “For a bit.”

Minjeong didn’t lie back down. Not yet. But she wasn’t leaving either.

“I still feel cold.”

Jimin nestled deeper into the crook of her arm, voice muffled. “Might need this more than meds right now… for my fever.”

It was a bad lie. Obvious.

Minjeong saw right through it.

But somehow, she let herself believe it anyway. That maybe Jimin needed this. Needed her. And maybe staying—for a little—was the right thing to do.

So she stayed.

She exhaled through her nose, trying to disguise the way her body had already relaxed into Jimin’s. She shifted slightly, only to pull the blanket higher around them.

“If I catch whatever it is that you have, I’m docking your salary.”

Jimin blinked, then grinned—slow, bright, unrepentant. “You mean I get paid for this?”

“You should be fined,” Minjeong countered, arms already tightening around her. “Babysitting wasn’t in the contract.”

Jimin snorted and snuggled closer, looping her arms around Minjeong’s waist.

“Oh? Are we calling each other baby now?”

Minjeong scoffed lightly.

“Actually, babysitting a real child might’ve been easier.”

Jimin tilted her head, fluttering her eyelashes. “Want me to revert to five?”

“No.” Minjeong said flatly. “Worse idea.”

Jimin let out a low chuckle. “You would’ve loved me back then. I was so adorable.”

Minjeong glanced at her with a faint smirk. “Debatable.”

“I’ll prove it,” Jimin said, eyes gleaming. “I’ll dig up my baby photos. You’ll fall for me. Completely.”

Minjeong didn’t answer right away. Just looked at her. Eyes soft, unreadable.

Then—quietly—

“…I won’t.”

But her mouth betrayed her. A slight curve. Barely visible. The kind of smile that tried to hide and failed.

And Jimin saw it. But she didn’t push it. Didn’t gloat.

Just leaned in again, head resting under Minjeong’s chin like it belonged there.

They settled. Bodies fitting together like they’d done it a thousand times.

Like this wasn’t reckless. Like the line between comfort and danger hadn’t already disappeared.

The silence returned, but it felt different now. Warmer. Charged.

Jimin tilted her face up, eyes half-lidded.

“I apologize… for last night. For whatever I did, you can punish me for it.”

Minjeong met her gaze. Unblinking.

When she spoke, her voice was a whisper—smooth, cold, certain.

“I will.”

Jimin’s breath caught.

Minjeong leaned in, her mouth grazing Jimin’s ear now. Fingers trailing lightly down the curve of her spine.

“When your fever’s gone,” she whispered, voice cold, “—I’ll show you what punishment feels like.”

Jimin’s fingers curled against Minjeong’s side. A soft inhale. Then a shiver, barely restrained.

She didn’t speak. Not yet.

Because her fever wasn’t the reason she felt like she was burning anymore.

Then—slowly—she smiled. Not her usual grin. Something smaller. Warmer.

“Guess I better get better fast, then.”

Minjeong huffed—almost a laugh. It escaped before she could stop it.

Of course she’d say that.

Of course she’d twist the warning into a dare.

She always did.

Minjeong shook her head faintly. “It’s not a reward.”

Her fingers slipped behind Jimin’s neck—light, certain—and she leaned in until their foreheads nearly brushed.

Her voice dropped again.

“You want a real reward, Jimin?”

Jimin didn’t breathe.

Minjeong’s thumb traced her jaw, slow.

“Get better. Then we’ll see if you can handle it.”

Jimin didn’t answer. Just swallowed—hard—and leaned into her touch.

But then, after a beat, she shifted—resting her forehead gently against Minjeong’s for a breath longer before pulling back with a soft hum.

“…Okay,” she whispered, voice still a little rough. “I think I’m ready for breakfast now.”

Minjeong raised an eyebrow. “That fast?”

Jimin reached out and took Minjeong’s hand, fingers curling around her wrist with zero hesitation as she tried to tug her upright.

“I need to take my medicine.”

“You’re suddenly very responsible,” Minjeong muttered, letting herself be pulled.

“Wouldn’t want my doctor to get mad at me again,” Jimin said, grinning.

Minjeong tilted her head. “You don’t look sick anymore.”

“I am,” Jimin insisted, coughing dramatically into her shoulder, then peeking up at Minjeong through her lashes. “It’s just… internal.”

Minjeong gave her a flat look. “Internal.”

Jimin nodded, dead serious. “Very dangerous. Critical.”

Minjeong looked down at their joined fingers. Didn’t let go.

“…Come on,” she said, finally standing, her tone dry but soft. “Let’s get you something to eat before your internal fever gets worse.”

Jimin followed, smug and unhurried.

She technically wasn’t lying. Her body still ached in strange, lingering ways. But she didn’t mention it.

Not when Minjeong held her hand like that.

Not when the house felt this warm. This quiet. This close.

The kitchen smelled like butter and something warm and sweet.

Jimin leaned against the counter, chin resting on her palm, watching as Minjeong measured out flour with precise, almost militant focus. Her sleeves were rolled neatly to her elbows, and she moved with that same practiced efficiency she used in boardrooms—except now she was doing it with a mixing bowl in hand instead of quarterly reports.

“You know,” Jimin drawled, “you’re really hot when you’re like this.”

Minjeong didn’t look up. “I told you to stir. Not stare.”

“I am stirring,” Jimin said, grinning. “Stirred by how unfairly attractive you are when you're bossy.”

Minjeong shot her a look. “Jimin.”

“Minjeong,” Jimin mimicked back, eyes gleaming.

Minjeong exhaled through her nose, grabbed the whisk, and practically shoved it into Jimin’s hand. “Mix that. Gently. If you get batter on my counter, I swear—”

“Relax,” Jimin said, taking the bowl. “You act like I’m a menace.”

“You are.”

Minjeong turned back to the stove and poured batter into the pan. The sizzle filled the air.

Jimin grinned, stirring way too enthusiastically now, just to be annoying.

Minjeong looked back and exhaled. “God help me.”

Still, they fell into a rhythm anyway. Jimin passed her the next batch of batter while Minjeong flipped the pancake with a clean, practiced flick of the wrist. Their hands brushed once. Then again. Neither of them said anything about it.

“You’re really good at this,” Jimin muttered, watching the pancake rise. “Like... scary good.”

Minjeong glanced over. “Pancakes are formulaic. You follow the steps, it turns out fine.”

“You ever think maybe not everything needs to be formulaic?”

“I like consistency.”

“Right,” Jimin said. “Spoken like a true robot.”

Minjeong nudged her with her hip.

Jimin bumped her right back.

They were standing too close now—arms brushing, shoulders pressed. Neither moved away.

Minjeong scooped one onto a plate and Jimin immediately reached for a piece.

Minjeong swatted her hand. “Touch it again and I’ll flip the next one onto your face.”

Jimin laughed, genuinely, and didn’t try again.

“Is this what it’s like?” She murmured, lips tugging up. “Waking up and making pancakes with your—”

“Don’t say it.”

“—rival,” she finished, smirking.

Minjeong narrowed her eyes. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet here we are,” Jimin said, eyes softening as she looked at Minjeong. “Making pancakes.”

Minjeong didn’t respond right away. She just flipped the final pancake, set it neatly on a plate, and slid it in front of Jimin.

“Eat.”

Jimin grinned and grabbed a fork. “Yes, ma’am.”

She took a bite and made an exaggerated sound of approval.

Minjeong turned away before she smiled too obviously.

But Jimin saw it.

And somehow, that smile—quiet, fleeting, real—tasted even better than the pancakes.

Minjeong opened the fridge and pulled out a can of whipped cream.

Jimin’s eyes lit up the moment she saw it.

“Ooh—whipped cream,” she drawled, voice dipping into delighted wonder like a child seeing snow for the first time. “You’ve been holding out on me.”

Minjeong gave her a glance, the edge of her mouth curving. “Didn’t know it was that serious.”

“It’s extremely serious,” Jimin said, practically bouncing as she reached across the table for the can. “I love sweet things.”

“I see that,” Minjeong murmured, watching the way Jimin’s fingers wrapped around the canister, her grin wide and untamed.

They ate in an easy, pleasant rhythm after that. Laughter undercutting bites. Silence where it felt safe. Jimin kept dolloping generous swirls of cream onto her pancakes, humming in satisfaction each time.

Minjeong pretended not to watch, but she did—her gaze dipping every now and then just to catch the stupid joy on Jimin’s face.

Near the end, Jimin gave the can a shake. Nothing came out.

She frowned. Shook it again. Only air.

“Nooo,” she whispered dramatically. Then, ever the menace, she tipped the can directly over her face, opened her mouth, and started squeezing again.

“Don’t do that,” Minjeong warned, reaching halfway across the table. “It’ll—”

The can sputtered once—then exploded in a sharp pshhhk. Whipped cream splattered across Jimin’s cheek, her nose, a bit of her chin.

“—do that,” Minjeong finished flatly.

Jimin blinked.

Then burst out laughing.

“I just like whipped cream,” she said, licking a bit from the corner of her lips.

“It’s sweet.”

Minjeong stared at her for a beat. Seeing Jimin like this—with that pure, stupid delight—stirred low in her chest. Heat curling in slow, inevitable coils. The kind that didn’t make sense. The kind that made too much sense.

Jimin didn’t wipe it off. Just sat there, grinning, cheeks flushed from laughter.

Minjeong leaned forward. Wordless.

She reached out, thumb grazing under Jimin’s cheek—slow, deliberate. Then, with the softest drag of her tongue, she licked a small streak of cream from Jimin’s skin.

It was warm. Silky.

Sweet.

Minjeong pulled back just slightly, voice lower. “You’re right. It does taste good.”

Jimin’s eyes darkened. She swallowed, “Are you sure?” she asked, playful but breathless.

“Might need to taste it again… Just to be sure.”

Minjeong’s breath caught.

She leaned back in, slower this time. Jimin tilted forward to meet her. But instead of her cheek, their mouths met—quiet, inevitable.

The kiss was soft at first.

Then, slowly, deeper. More intimate than either of them probably meant it to be.

As if they’d both been waiting for a reason to stop pretending.

Minjeong was the one who pulled back, eventually. Barely. Her lips curved.

“You still have cream all over your face,” she said, voice amused, a little rough. She dragged her thumb gently along Jimin’s lower lip.

“You’re sticky.”

Jimin chuckled, looking dazed but pleased. “Yeah,” she murmured. “I probably need a bath.”

Jimin stepped into the bathroom first.

Minjeong lingered in the doorway.

The air was still warm from the earlier steam, the lights humming low above the mirror. Jimin moved with a quiet sort of purpose, crossing to the cabinet Minjeong had used before. She pulled out two fresh towels and folded them over her arm with care, placing them neatly on the counter.

Neither of them spoke.

The last time they were in this room, voices had been raised. Minjeong’s jaw was clenched. Jimin was fevered and trembling, asking herself about emotions she barely understood. The echo of that still lingered in the tiles. Still hung between them.

Jimin looked over her shoulder, catching Minjeong’s gaze.

“The last time I was here…” she started quietly, her voice carrying the weight of that memory.

Minjeong stiffened.

Jimin saw it—and shifted. “I asked if you wanted to take a bath with me.”

Her lips curled, lightening the tone.

“You told me—what was it again? ‘Absolutely not.’” She even lowered her voice to mimic Minjeong’s deadpan delivery.

Minjeong blinked. Then—surprisingly—laughed. Soft and sudden.

It caught Jimin off guard too, enough to pull a smile from her. “So is that still a hard no?”

Minjeong didn’t answer. She looked at her for a second longer, then averted her eyes.

“Just take your bath, Jimin.”

“But it’d be fun,” Jimin said lightly, teasing now, reaching to turn on the tap. “You know. Sharing. Warm water. Bonding.”

Minjeong raised an eyebrow. “You’ll just end up touching me.”

Jimin gasped, hand on her chest like she’d been wounded. “I would not.”

“That’s exactly what you’d do,” Minjeong said flatly.

Jimin narrowed her eyes, fake-offended. “Wow. Is that really what you think of me?”

“Yes.” Minjeong replied, deadpan.

Jimin pouted. “Then I don’t want to take a bath with you anymore.”

Minjeong was already turning, heading toward the door when she smiled.

“Good.”

Jimin waited until she disappeared down the hall before she started undressing, humming to herself as she stepped into the shower. The water hit her skin in warm waves, and she let her head tilt back, fingers running through her hair.

She glanced at the slightly ajar door and smiled.

There was something about knowing Minjeong was just down the hall, something steadying about it.

Jimin turned away, arms stretching up as the water streamed over her shoulders—when she heard it. The creak of the door opening again.

Her breath caught.

She turned slowly.

Minjeong stood just inside the bathroom, eyes unreadable. Then, without a word, she pulled her sweater over her head. Fingers moved deliberately, the sound of fabric brushing skin the only thing filling the quiet. She stepped closer to the shower, expression unreadable as her fingers went to the string of her pants.

“If I hear one word from you,” she said, cool and measured, “I’m leaving.”

Jimin said nothing.

Just smiled.

And stepped back, making space for her.

Minjeong stepped in.

And the silence between them said everything else.

.

.

The water had settled around them, warm and silent.

Jimin stood facing the tile wall, her hair wet and clinging to her back, steam curling up around her shoulders. For once, she didn’t say anything. Just stood there—quiet. Unmoving.

Minjeong reached for the soap.

“I’ll wash your back,” she said simply.

Jimin didn’t respond. She just nodded once, slowly, and shifted forward half a step.

Minjeong lathered the soap in her hands. The motions were clinical at first—distant. Just her fingers trailing over the lines of Jimin’s shoulder blades, gentle and steady. But the silence made everything louder—the soft drip of water, the way Jimin exhaled when Minjeong’s hand passed lower, slower.

Minjeong swallowed.

Focus.

She swept the suds along Jimin’s back, between the curve of her spine, around the dip of her waist. Her fingers slipped without resistance, too practiced, too calm—but then Jimin shivered. Just slightly.

Minjeong paused. Her hands stilled.

“You cold?” she asked, though she already knew the answer.

Jimin shook her head, her voice low. “No.”

Minjeong’s eyes dropped to the way the droplets beaded down the back of Jimin’s neck, how her skin flushed beneath the heat. Her hands moved again—up, then slowly back down, grazing lower now. The backs of her knuckles brushed the top curve of Jimin’s hip.

Jimin leaned into her touch without a word.

Minjeong let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding.

Then—lower still.

Her fingers circled around, brushing the side of Jimin’s waist. A pause. A slow, deliberate drift inward, until her hands were no longer on her back, but gliding to the front.

Testing.

Teasing.

Jimin’s head tilted back, her wet hair brushing Minjeong’s collarbone as she leaned into her, spine arching into the curve of Minjeong’s body.

“And you said I’d be the one touching you,” Jimin murmured, voice velvet-soft, laced with a smirk she didn’t bother hiding.

Minjeong exhaled against her temple. “I thought you’d shut up unless you wanted me to leave.”

Jimin turned her head slightly, eyes dark as they met hers. “You won’t.”

Before Minjeong could even respond, Jimin twisted in her arms, slow and fluid, pressing their bodies fully together.

Then—her mouth.

Hot.

Intentional.

Kissing her like she knew exactly what it would do.

Minjeong didn’t pull away.

Didn’t even try.

Her hands slipped to Jimin’s waist, gripping tighter, then lower, drawing her in until their hips met and breath tangled. She kissed her back harder, firmer, water slicking their skin, steam cloaking everything but the heat between them.

Jimin moaned softly into her mouth. Her hands found Minjeong’s shoulders first—gripping, anchoring herself as she let the kiss take her. She opened to it, let it deepen, let Minjeong’s tongue stroke into her mouth like it had every right to be there. And it did. Minjeong kissed like she knew she did.

Her fingers traveled up Jimin’s back, then tangled into her wet hair, pulling just enough to tilt her head back—exposing her neck, her mouth, her gasp.

Then—Minjeong kissed lower.

The corner of Jimin’s mouth.

Her jaw.

Her throat.

Each kiss was slow. Purposeful. Not rushed, not rough—thorough. She took her time like she was memorizing every curve of Jimin’s skin with her mouth.

Jimin breathed out shakily, her lashes fluttering, body trembling faintly under the weight of Minjeong’s attention. She leaned in, desperate for more contact, her chest brushing Minjeong’s, soft peaks catching briefly in the slide of steam-slick skin.

Their mouths met again.

Slower this time—deeper. A press, then a pull. A taste, then another. Jimin whimpered softly into it, and Minjeong didn’t let up. Her mouth moved with control, guiding the kiss, building it, drawing it out with maddening precision. Jimin followed every shift, like she couldn’t help herself.

Minjeong’s hand came up again, cradling the side of her face as she kissed her. Her thumb stroked along the wet curve of Jimin’s cheekbone, gentle, possessive. The kind of touch that said, you’re mine right now—even if neither of them said it.

Jimin’s knees weakened. She braced herself with one hand on Minjeong’s hip, the other splayed across her lower back, fingers gripping, grounding. But it didn’t stop her from kissing back with equal hunger. Her teeth grazed Minjeong’s bottom lip. Her tongue flicked in retaliation.

Minjeong answered by sliding a thigh between Jimin’s legs.

Jimin gasped into her mouth.

They didn’t speak.

Just breathed each other in—kiss after kiss, melting deeper, closer. Their bodies molded together, slippery and bare, water sliding down their backs in long, lazy trails. Jimin’s hand found the nape of Minjeong’s neck, pulling her impossibly closer, and Minjeong let her—but she never gave up control of the kiss.

She moved like she was leading a rhythm only she could hear. Like she knew exactly when to slow it down and exactly when to pull Jimin back in again, stealing her breath each time.

Jimin let her.

Every sigh, every shift of her hips, every tremble of her fingers as they skated up Minjeong’s spine—it was all surrender. Not helpless. Willing.

By the time they broke apart, lips red and wet, foreheads pressed together, both of them were breathing hard.

Neither moved.

Neither spoke.

The air between them hummed with something heavier than just heat.

Minjeong didn’t speak. But her eyes looked like she wanted to.

So instead, she just kept her hand cupped around Jimin’s face, thumb tracing her cheekbone again like she couldn’t stop touching her—even now.

And Jimin didn’t stop her.

By the time they stepped out of the bathroom, the steam had faded and so had the heat under their skin—at least on the surface. Now dressed, hair damp but clothes clean, they moved slower. Calmer.

Jimin’s steps faltered near the front door.

Her coat was still there. Her clothes from last night too, hanging limply on the nearby rack, still damp from rain and fevered sweat.

She made a soft face at them. “Charming.”

Minjeong, behind her, didn’t move to help. Just stood a few paces back, arms crossed loosely. “You’ll catch another cold in that.”

Jimin glanced over her shoulder, voice low. “Then you get to take care of me again.”

“Once was enough.” Minjeong glanced past her, toward the rack. “Behave and I’ll let you stay until they dry.”

It wasn’t really a suggestion. It was concerned masked.

Jimin turned the rest of the way around, leaning back on the wall near the door. “And what would I wear in the meantime, hmm?”

Minjeong didn’t miss a beat. “You’re wearing my clothes now.”

Jimin looked down at the oversized sweater and loose shorts she had borrowed. She pulled at the hem of the sleeve with a teasing pout. “So I am.”

Neither said what hovered between them—wanting, waiting. The silence stretched, soft and full.

Jimin let the silence stretch, then smiled softly. “Well then. While my clothes dry... we might as well look at Giselle and Yizhuo’s house plans. Productive way to waste the morning.”

Minjeong nodded. “But first, you should let Giselle know you’re alive.”

“Oh right.” Jimin reached for her phone. “She texted me, like, five times.”

She typed something quickly, something casual. Then a beat later, her phone lit up with a call. She smirked at the name.

Minjeong watched her, arms still folded, shoulder leaning against the frame of the hallway.

Jimin answered with a breezy, “Hey Aeri. Yeah, I didn’t go home.”

She then turned to Minjeong and spoke softly, “I’m…with a very special girl.”

Minjeong’s breath caught—but she hid it in a glance toward the window. She turned her face away, but not before Jimin saw the corners of her mouth twitch upward.

Jimin bit back a grin.

“Mhm. I’m fine. No, not dying. Not yet at least. I’ll send my location next time, okay?” She laughed. “Anyway, send me the info about the lot you two are looking at. I’ll go over it with Minjeong.”

Minjeong’s stare didn’t waver.

Jimin met her gaze and winked.

After the call ended, Minjeong pushed off the frame, walking past her toward the living room. “Special girl, huh?”

Jimin followed with a shrug. “You didn’t hear the tone I said it in. Could’ve been sarcastic.”

Minjeong didn’t even look up from where she was picking up her tablet. “Didn’t sound sarcastic.”

Jimin grinned, flopping onto the couch beside her. “Totally was.”

Minjeong rolled her eyes passing the tablet to Jimin.

Jimin tapped through the plans Giselle sent, zooming in, adjusting, flipping through design mockups like she actually cared.

She glanced over at Minjeong once. Their knees brushed—just barely.

Ideas flowed naturally between them—Minjeong precise and quiet, Jimin tossing out thoughts with casual ease. She suggested a skylight here, a reading nook there. Minjeong countered with budget notes, timelines, practical tweaks.

They fell into that old rhythm—seamless, comfortable. Like breathing.

No words needed to say what both knew, here, how they fit.

Minjeong glanced at the clock and frowned. “It’s already late.”

Jimin looked up from the plans, blinking at the time. “Huh.”

“We should probably eat dinner,” Minjeong said, stretching her neck to one side. “I’m hungry.”

“You’re always hungry,” Jimin murmured, lips quirking.

Minjeong shot her a flat look.

Jimin grinned, leaning back. “What are you thinking? Cooking?”

“No,” Minjeong said immediately, pulling her phone from the table. “I don’t feel like it.”

“Didn’t think you would,” Jimin said easily. Then, “Let’s order from Kakeru.”

Minjeong paused halfway to unlocking her phone.

Jimin raised a brow. “Would be nice for you to try the food you’re investing in.”

A beat. Then a soft, conceding hum. “Japanese sounds good.”

She walked back, sat down beside her—closer than before—and opened the ordering app. The quiet between them filled in naturally.

Minjeong tilted the screen toward her. “What do you want?”

Jimin’s gaze shifted between the menu and the faint slope of Minjeong’s shoulder brushing hers. She hummed, “What are you getting?”

Minjeong scrolled, expression unreadable. “Sushi? Katsudon sounds good too.”

Jimin smiled softly. “I’ll get the katsudon, and you can pick your sushi. Then we’ll just share.”

Minjeong slowly looked up at her, brows knitting. “Share the food?”

Jimin raised her brows, “Are you eating it all?”

A faint sound—half laugh, half breath—left Minjeong’s nose. She leaned in slightly, brushing against Jimin’s arm as she tapped in the order.

“Sharing it is.”

The warmth of Minjeong’s body lingered even after she leaned back against the couch, still next to her, knees brushing. Jimin turned her attention back to the house plan, fingers tracing an invisible path across the screen.

“Would you live in a place like this?” she asked casually, eyes still on the design.

Minjeong took a moment before answering. “I’d shrink the kitchen,” she said, not looking at her. “Dining too.”

Jimin glanced at her.

“I don’t need the space,” Minjeong continued. “Not like Giselle and Yizhuo. They’d throw a party every day if they could.”

Jimin let out a quiet laugh. “True.”

Minjeong’s tone softened, more thoughtful. “You’ve seen this house. Should be obvious it’s a little too much for me.”

Jimin looked around. The clean lines. The curated minimalism. Cold, yes—but not lifeless.

After a beat, she said, quietly, “You do have a beautiful home.”

Minjeong didn’t move. But something in her seemed to settle, like the compliment had sunk deeper than she expected.

“…Thank you.”

It came out quieter than usual. Unarmored.

Jimin didn’t say anything after that. She just sat there, letting the silence stretch out between them, familiar and soft.

.

.

The doorbell rang not long after. Minjeong stood to get it without a word, footsteps quiet against the floor. Jimin watched her go, something about the way she moved—unhurried, at ease—tightened her chest a little.

When she came back, the scent of soy, sesame, and warmth followed.

They sat cross-legged on the rug, plates and containers spread out between them. Minjeong poured soy sauce into two dishes and passed one over without looking.

Jimin dipped a piece of salmon, then added wasabi to Minjeong’s without asking. Minjeong arched a brow at her, but didn’t complain. She just picked it up and ate in one bite.

“Good?” Jimin asked, leaning her chin on her palm.

Minjeong nodded, chewing. “He’s consistent.”

“High praise,” Jimin smirked.

They kept eating, shoulders bumping every so often, the silence low and warm. Chopsticks clicked softly against ceramic. The TV played in the background, volume low, more for atmosphere than attention. The light in the room had dimmed naturally with the setting sun, casting everything in a kind of muted hush.

Jimin glanced at the clock and sat back with a sigh. “It’s almost ten.”

Minjeong wipes her fingers on a napkin, glancing at the window.

“It’s too late to send you out again.”

Jimin tilts her head, amused. “Is that concern I hear?”

Minjeong stands, stacking the empty containers.

“I’m not getting blamed for kicking out someone still recovering,” she mutters.

She headed toward the kitchen and paused—just a beat—before glancing over to Jimin. She spoke more softly this time.

“Guest room’s still made. Just stay there ‘til morning.”

Jimin rolled up her sleeves and followed her, helping clean.

“I’ll take it,” she said, soft but certain.

They moved in sync as they tidied. No more bickering. Just silence, quiet and warm.

.

.

When they reached the guest room, Minjeong turned to leave—but paused when she heard Jimin’s voice behind her.

“Thank you,” Jimin said softly. “For taking care of me.”

Minjeong stilled.

She didn’t turn around, not at first. “You’re going to be part of my company,” she said after a beat, trying to keep her voice even. “And I look after my crew.”

Jimin smiled faintly. “Still,” she said, stepping closer. “If there’s anything I can do to repay you. Just so I don’t owe you anything.”

Minjeong turned then, their eyes meeting. Her voice was quiet. “Just get better.”

Jimin’s expression shifted.

“That’s all I ask,” Minjeong added.

“I’ll get better soon. After all, I have an excellent doctor who takes care of me.” Jimin’s mouth quirked. “A very hot one too.”

Minjeong exhaled, rolling her eyes. “Here we go.”

“You really can’t take a compliment, can you.”

“Did your fever cooked your brain?”

Jimin stepped even closer, fingers interlacing with Minjeong’s—testing. “Possibly.”

Minjeong gave a quiet huff of laughter, but her eyes flicked to Jimin’s mouth before she could stop herself.

Jimin saw it.

Their breaths tangled. Neither moved—but something between them pulled taut. Like gravity, quiet but impossible to ignore.

Minjeong’s gaze dropped again. Lingering this time.

And then—slowly, inevitably—they leaned in.

The kiss wasn’t rushed. It didn’t need to be. It was drawn out, exploratory, like they were learning each other all over again. Minjeong’s hand cupped Jimin’s jaw. Jimin’s fingers found her waist, holding her close.

When Jimin pulled back slightly, her eyes were bright with mischief.

“See?” she whispered. “My doctor takes very good care of me.”

Minjeong didn’t laugh. Her eyes had darkened, her breathing shallow.

“You talk too much,” she said—and kissed her again.

This one was deeper. Hungrier.

Jimin smirked into it, then lifted Minjeong easily, drawing a startled breath from her. She carried them to the bed, setting Minjeong down on her lap.

Their mouths met again, slower now but no less intense. Minjeong’s hands gripped Jimin’s shirt. Jimin’s arms wrapped around her like she had no intention of letting go.

They kissed like they had time. Like there was nothing left to hide.

Jimin was the first to shift, just barely pulling back—only to press a kiss to the corner of Minjeong’s mouth. Then another, lower, brushing her jawline. Her lips trailed to the space beneath Minjeong’s ear, then down, warm and deliberate.

Minjeong’s breathing hitched. She didn’t say a word. Just tilted her head back, exposing the pale line of her neck, giving Jimin more to taste. More to take.

Jimin kissed her throat. Reverent. Then lower—shoulder, collarbone—each touch slow, almost careful. Her hand slid up Minjeong’s back, steady as her mouth followed the curve of her skin, teeth grazing lightly.

Minjeong exhaled shakily, hands curling in the fabric of Jimin’s shirt.

Jimin moved back up, her lips brushing beneath Minjeong’s jaw, then her cheek, then her mouth again—this time deeper. Needier.

Minjeong met her with equal heat, her fingers threading into Jimin’s hair like she couldn’t hold her close enough.

Jimin’s kisses deepened, losing their softness—growing more urgent, more desperate. The hunger that had been simmering beneath her skin all week finally broke free, spilling into every touch, every press of her mouth against Minjeong’s.

She kissed her like she needed her. Like she couldn’t get enough.

Minjeong kissed her back just as fiercely. Her legs tightening around Jimin’s hips, pulling her closer, grounding herself in the warmth and weight of her.

Their mouths moved in sync, raw and unrestrained, the air between them turning hotter, heavier. Hands explored—gripping, anchoring. Jimin’s fingers curled at the base of Minjeong’s spine as she pushed in deeper, chasing something she couldn’t name.

Minjeong gasped into her mouth. A quiet, hitched sound that barely escaped before she had to tear herself away, lips parting as she caught her breath. Her chest rose and fell fast. Her head fell back slightly, throat exposed, and her heart was pounding so loudly it echoed in her ears.

She didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to.

Because the heat in her body wasn’t just from Jimin.

She felt it in herself too—that same kind of want. Sharp and dizzying. That pull to dominate, to mark, to make Jimin hers in a way that went deeper than skin.

Jimin watched her.

Her lips were parted, red and swollen. Her breathing ragged. Her eyes, dark with lust, scanning Minjeong’s face like she wanted to memorize every detail of her unraveling.

But she didn’t push. She saw the flicker of restraint in Minjeong’s pause. The brief falter in her breath.

So she stayed still.

Minjeong’s forehead met hers. Their noses brushed. Both of them quiet. Still catching their breath.

Jimin’s gaze softened. Her fingers loosened their grip. Something about the silence between them made it feel like everything slowed—like she was seeing Minjeong differently now. Or maybe just more clearly. Like the weight of her in her arms wasn’t something she could pretend to brush off anymore.

She didn’t know what it was.

Only that she didn’t want to lose her.

Jimin slid her arms tighter around Minjeong’s waist and pressed her face into her neck, holding her close. Breathing her in.

Minjeong didn’t flinch. She didn’t pull away. She just… let her.

One hand cradled the back of Jimin’s head, the other curled lightly at her back.

They stayed like that for a while. Warmth settled into her bones. The kind that pulled at her muscles, slow and heavy.

A yawn caught in her throat before she could stop it. She tried to fight it back. Failed.

“Did you just—” Jimin blinked, then pulled back with a look of offense so exaggerated it was almost comical. “Did I bore you?”

Minjeong quickly covered her mouth, eyes narrowed in embarrassment, but she couldn’t hide the giggle that escaped.

Jimin stared at her.

Then laughed—soft and low. She hadn’t heard Minjeong sound like that before.

Unguarded. Barely awake.

“You’re cute when you’re like this,” she muttered, not quite meaning to say it out loud.

Minjeong didn’t respond. She just let her head rest against Jimin’s shoulder, arms wrapping lazily around her. The sleepy grin still ghosted her lips.

“It’s because someone decided to get sick and keep me up all night,” she mumbled, voice muffled against Jimin’s neck.

Jimin smiled. Her own tone softer now. “Well, she apologized. And she said thank you already.”

Minjeong hummed, her eyes fluttering.

“She’d better not have gotten me sick too.”

“If you do…” Jimin whispered, “…she’ll take care of you.”

The words hung there longer than either of them expected.

Minjeong’s breath caught slightly. Something about hearing it—she’ll take care of you—stirred the wrong part of her chest. Or maybe the right one.

She didn’t like how it felt. How her body wanted to believe it. Wanted to hold onto it.

Not from Jimin.

Not when she’d made it so clear there were no strings between them. Not when she said she would never even date her.

So Minjeong deflected, voice quieter now, slipping under the warmth.

“I don’t need that girl to take care of me. I don’t want her to.”

Jimin’s smile returned, even gentler now. “Why? Do you not like her?”

Minjeong was barely awake, but she still managed to nod. Her words slurred by sleep.

“I don’t,” she whispered. “I hate her. I really hate her.”

Her arms tightened slightly. Her voice softened to almost nothing.

And then—silence.

Jimin held her closer and whispered back. “I hate you too… so much.”

Minjeong didn’t answer.

Her eyes were closed. Her breathing even. She’d fallen asleep on Jimin’s shoulder, arms still loosely looped around her neck.

Jimin looked at her for a long moment. Then stood, adjusting her hold, and carried her gently to the bed tucking them both beneath the blanket.

Minjeong curled into her.

Quiet. Trusting.

Jimin didn’t say anything else.

Just let the silence wrap around them, as gentle and binding as the arms they’d wrapped around each other.

Minjeong stirred faintly in her sleep. Her brow creased for a moment, then smoothed again, her breath warming the space between Jimin’s collarbone and neck.

Jimin lay still beneath her.

Awake.

Hardly breathing.

Everything inside her pulled in different directions—guilt and want, fear and something that was beginning to feel a lot like grief.

She shouldn’t have stayed this long. Because now it was all starting to feel too real.

Minjeong was here.

Soft. Asleep. Wrapped around her.

Jimin slowly pressed her lips to Minjeong’s hair.

“I really hope you don’t hate me that way,” she whispered.

A pause.

Her fingers tighten slightly around Minjeong’s waist.

“Because you’re gonna hate me even more for what I’m about to do.”

Chapter Text

The morning light filtered through the sheer curtains, pale and quiet, brushing over the bed in muted gold. Minjeong stirred beneath the blanket, lashes fluttering before her eyes slowly opened.

It took a moment for her to register where she was. The weight of a blanket. The heat behind her back. The faint scent that was far too intoxicating.

Jimin.

Arms looped around her waist, spooning her. Breathing steady against the curve of her shoulder. One leg tangled with hers. A lock of dark hair splayed over her collarbone.

Minjeong blinked again, slower this time. The kind of slow that came from peace.

Comfort.

She could feel Jimin’s breath on her skin. Warm. Even. She hadn’t meant to fall asleep like that.

And yet, something in her chest… didn’t mind it. She turned slightly. Just enough to see her.

Jimin was still asleep. Lips parted slightly, brow soft. The sharpness she usually wore was completely gone—left behind in some dream Minjeong didn’t want to disturb.

Minjeong’s gaze dropped to her mouth. Then to the shape of her shoulder under the blanket. Her collarbone. The bare skin peeking just above the fabric. She remembered how Jimin had felt in her arms last night. How her hands had gripped. How her mouth had tasted.

Need pulled at her again. Quiet. Gentle. But unmistakable.

She didn’t even realize she was brushing a thumb along Jimin’s wrist, or leaning in just a little closer.

The movement must’ve been enough.

Jimin stirred.

Her brows knit first, like she wasn’t ready to wake yet. Then she shifted—pressing closer, arms tightening around Minjeong’s waist.

Her eyes opened.

Heavy-lidded. Sleepy. Beautiful.

They locked eyes.

Neither spoke at first.

Then—

“You’re staring,” Jimin rasped, voice rough from sleep.

“You drool,” Minjeong whispered back, but her mouth curled faintly.

Jimin smiled, slow and crooked. “No, I do not.”

Minjeong didn’t answer with words. She leaned in instead, her breath brushing Jimin’s cheek as their noses grazed.

Jimin’s hand slid up her side, fingers splaying over her ribs. The touch was reverent, unhurried, weighted with want.

Minjeong felt it bloom low in her stomach.

“I dreamt of you,” Jimin murmured. She gently kissed Minjeong’s shoulder, then rested her chin there.

Minjeong’s voice was soft. “Was it a good dream?”

Jimin’s smile deepened. “It didn’t feel like enough.”

Minjeong’s breath hitched.

Jimin leaned forward, her lips grazing the shell of Minjeong’s ear. “I wanted more.”

It wasn’t a tease. Or a flirtation.

It was truth.

Minjeong felt it—the ache from last night coiling tight in her again. And now that Jimin was in front of her again—warm and bare and watching her with that look in her eyes—her restraint was unraveling all over again.

She turned fully. Leaned in.

Their mouths met—slow at first, soft and languid like the morning light, tasting each other without urgency.

Jimin pulled her closer. Her fingers gripped Minjeong’s waist like she needed to hold on.

Minjeong moved instinctively, shifting to straddle her—bodies flush, mouths moving faster, hungrier.

Jimin’s hands were at her thighs. Sliding up.

Minjeong kissed her deeper, her breath catching as Jimin’s fingers brushed skin.

She broke the kiss first—just for a breath. Her forehead pressed against Jimin’s, noses still touching.

“Last night—,” Minjeong whispered.

Jimin’s fingers stilled at Minjeong’s hips.

“—we didn’t finish,” she said softly.

Minjeong looked down at her. Her eyes were heavy, but steady. Jimin could read it there—what they’d both wanted, what they’d both pulled back from.

Jimin reached forward, just the edge of her fingers brushing the hem of Minjeong’s sweatshirt, asking.

Minjeong didn’t say a word. She only nodded, once.

And Jimin’s breath hitched—hands rising to either side, slowly sliding beneath the fabric. Her palms met warm skin, guiding the sweatshirt up and over.

Minjeong lifted her arms, helping her out of it. The cotton hit the floor.

Jimin leaned in—mouth hot now, hungry. She pressed kisses to Minjeong’s chest, her collarbone. Lips parted, tongue tracing the curve of skin, teeth grazing just enough to make Minjeong gasp.

She sucked a mark beneath her throat—open-mouthed, desperate. Her hands found the clasp of Minjeong’s bra, undoing it with a practiced flick.

Minjeong let the straps fall off her shoulders. Jimin pulled it down and tossed it aside.

Then she sat up, lifting her own shirt over her head, hair tumbling as the fabric hit the floor. Her bra followed. Fast. Careless.

Their bodies met again, bare and burning.

Minjeong exhaled sharply.

Skin against skin—hot and flushed—Jimin slid her hands down Minjeong’s back, nails dragging lightly. Grounding her. Anchoring her.

She kissed her again. Not rushed—but aching. Like she’d been starving.

Minjeong moaned into her mouth, thighs tightening around her waist, holding her there.

Jimin groaned. Pulled her closer, like it still wasn’t enough.

Her mouth trailed down, kissing across her chest, then lower, lips brushing the swell of a breast before closing around it.

Minjeong arched, a sharp breath catching in her throat.

Jimin moaned at the sound. She took her time—licking, sucking, her tongue circling over a peak already tight. One hand teased the other, fingers rolling and tugging until Minjeong gasped again.

Minjeong’s hands threaded through her hair, gripping tight when the pleasure hit too hard.

“Jimin,” she whispered. A warning—but her voice broke around it.

Jimin only groaned in response, switching sides with a slow drag of her mouth, her free hand sliding along Minjeong’s bare waist, dipping lower.

She kissed back up her chest, her throat, her jaw. Their mouths met again.

Minjeong kissed her like she needed it to survive. Teeth and tongue and breath. Her hands slid over Jimin’s back, pressing them closer.

She could feel her—sweat-slick, trembling slightly, chest pressed hard to hers with every breath.

But it still wasn’t enough.

Minjeong pulled back and pushed Jimin down.

She started to grind on her, slow at first. Needing the friction.

Jimin’s lips parted, surprised—but she didn’t resist. Just looked up at her, eyes dark, hands settling on Minjeong’s thighs.

Minjeong leaned down. Never breaking her rhythm.

She kissed her again. Slower this time. Deep. Letting it linger, letting it burn.

Then she pulled back just enough to look down at her, hands trailing down Jimin’s stomach, hooking into the waistband of her shorts.

Jimin bit her bottom lip, her chest rising and falling quickly.

Minjeong peeled them off.

Jimin lifted her hips to help—eyes never leaving hers.

Minjeong leaned back down, one hand splayed over Jimin’s thigh, her lips brushing just under her ear.

“I missed this,” she whispered, voice low, rough.

Jimin whimpered, hips twitching toward her.

“Then take it,” she breathed. “All of me.”

So Minjeong did.

She slid lower, kissing down Jimin’s body again, slower now, letting her lips taste every inch—down her chest, over her stomach, between her hips.

Jimin was already trembling, her hands fisting the sheets as her back arched up.

When Minjeong’s mouth finally found her, Jimin gasped—sharp and broken.

Her fingers tangled into Minjeong’s hair, holding her close, thighs shaking as Minjeong licked her slowly. Deeply. Rhythmically. She moaned into her, the sound vibrating through Jimin’s core.

Jimin cried out, a high, breathless sound as her hips bucked against Minjeong’s mouth.

“God—Minjeong—don’t stop,” she begged, eyes squeezing shut, already so close.

Minjeong didn’t. She only gripped tighter, held her steady, kept her there and gave her everything.

Jimin came with a cry, back arching, breath shuddering, everything tightening around her until she couldn’t think, couldn’t speak.

Minjeong kissed her through it, slow and reverent now, letting Jimin ride it out until her body softened beneath her.

She crawled back up, lips brushing along Jimin’s flushed skin, settling over her again.

Jimin’s chest heaved as she blinked up at her—still dazed, still wrecked.

“You—” Jimin whispered, voice hoarse, eyes flickering to Minjeong’s mouth. “You still have your pants on.”

Minjeong’s smirk was slow, dangerous. “Do something about it, then.”

Jimin didn’t move right away.

She just lay there, chest rising and falling fast, eyes locked on Minjeong. The flushed cheeks, the heavy-lidded stare, the curve of her mouth still damp with her.

Then, slowly, she sat up—shoulders rolling back, eyes glinting as she moved toward Minjeong with predatory calm.

“You ignored me for a week,” she murmured, voice husky. Her fingers traced lightly over Minjeong’s waistband. “A whole week of silence.”

Minjeong’s breath caught as Jimin leaned in, mouthing at her jaw, down her throat.

“And you expect me to just do what you want?”

Minjeong smirked, breathless. “You will.”

Jimin let out a soft laugh, dark and close. “Arrogant.”

But there was no venom in it. Just heat. Just hunger. And something deeper.

She bit her neck. Not gently. Not cruelly either—just enough to make Minjeong feel it. Just enough to make her gasp and arch.

Her hands slid around her waist, teasing over skin just above the hem of Minjeong’s pants. She leaned closer, their mouths barely touching.

“Take them off,” she whispered.

Minjeong arched a brow. “Say please.”

Jimin’s breath caught—just slightly.

Then she laughed again, low and warm. “And if I don’t?”

Minjeong didn’t answer. She only smirked, rolling her hips forward—slow and deliberate—making Jimin groan under her breath.

“Fuck.”

She reached down, hands finally tugging at the string of Minjeong’s pants.

She didn’t just peel them off. She dragged them down over her hips, kissing along every inch of exposed skin—her hipbone, her thighs, the sharp line where her stomach dipped in.

Minjeong trembled above her, fingers tightening in the sheets.

Once the pants hit the floor, Jimin leaned back and looked at her—really looked.

Minjeong was bare now. Legs spread slightly, breath shallow, skin flushed and already slick with sweat.

And Jimin had never seen anything more dangerous. Or more beautiful.

She reached up, tracing a single finger up the inside of Minjeong’s thigh.

“You’re dripping,” she whispered. “Did you get off just from tasting me?”

Minjeong’s jaw tensed.

“I didn’t finish,” she said, voice tight.

Jimin’s grin turned sharp. “You will.”

She pulled her in again, kissing her hard this time—less reverent, more raw. Her tongue pushed in.

Minjeong moaned into her mouth, body already aching, grinding down against her thigh instinctively.

Jimin groaned, grabbing her ass with both hands, guiding her grind, letting her ride it out.

“You’re so fucking wet,” she breathed. “You’re going to ruin me.”

Minjeong’s hands gripped her shoulders. “That’s the point.”

Jimin only grinned.

Then she flipped her.

Minjeong landed on her back with a gasp, legs still spread, hair wild across the pillow. Jimin climbed over her, kissed down her body again—this time faster, messier, all teeth and tongue and breathless want.

When she reached between Minjeong’s thighs again, she didn’t tease.

She licked once—long and deep—and Minjeong’s entire body jolted.

“Jimin—” she gasped, hips bucking up.

Jimin gripped her thighs, pinned her down. “You’re going to cum for me,” she murmured, voice low, lips brushing against slick skin. “And then I’m going to fuck you again. I’ll make it so you can’t go a day without craving me.”

Minjeong whimpered, thighs shaking already.

Then Jimin devoured her.

She sucked her clit with focused, relentless precision, tongue flicking fast and tight, her fingers gripping hard into Minjeong’s thighs as she kept her in place. She moaned into her, loud and filthy, and the vibration made Minjeong sob.

Minjeong’s hand flew to her hair, tugging, grounding herself.

“I’m—” she gasped, “Jimin—I’m gonna—”

“Come,” Jimin growled. “Come for me.”

And Minjeong did.

She shattered.

Loud. Raw. Head thrown back, back arching off the bed, every muscle in her body going tight as the orgasm ripped through her. She cried out Jimin’s name again and again, voice hoarse, like she needed her to hear it.

Jimin didn’t stop. She fucked her through it with her mouth, licking up everything she gave her until Minjeong’s body went limp, twitching slightly from the overstimulation.

Then—finally—Jimin pulled back, her lips glossy, face flushed, eyes burning.

She crawled back up, settling between Minjeong’s legs, mouth hovering just over hers.

“More?” she whispered.

Minjeong—wrecked, flushed, panting—nodded.

“Yes.”

Jimin didn’t hesitate. She reached between them, fingers sliding down—slick, easy—and pushed in.

Minjeong gasped, hips jerking up as two fingers filled her in one smooth thrust.

“Fuck,” she hissed, nails dragging down Jimin’s back.

Jimin groaned.

“God, you’re tight,” she whispered. “Did you touch yourself this week?”

Minjeong’s lips parted. She shook her head once.

“No.”

Jimin slowed her thrusts, lips grazing the edge of Minjeong’s jaw.

“Did you needed me to do it?”

Minjeong let out a shaky breath—but her eyes glinted. She tilted her chin, teeth catching her bottom lip in a mock-thoughtful bite.

Then she smirked. Bratty. Deliberate.

“No.”

She said it like a dare.

Jimin’s grin turned feral. She leaned in, pressing a kiss to Minjeong’s cheek, voice dropping to a murmur beside her ear.

“I love it when you lie to me.”

Her fingers picked up pace, pumping harder now, deeper, curling in just the right way that had Minjeong gasping again, gripping Jimin’s back from the sudden pleasure.

“Fuck,” Minjeong hissed.

“Jimin—”

“That’s it, baby. Let me make it up to you.”

Jimin fucked her like she meant it. Fingers moving steady, purposeful, her thumb circling Minjeong’s clit with perfect rhythm. Her mouth was at her neck again, biting, sucking, kissing her through every moan.

Minjeong clung to her, shaking.

“Look at me,” Jimin whispered.

Minjeong opened her eyes. Met her gaze.

Jimin kissed her—deep and slow, even as her fingers picked up speed, even as the pressure built again.

Minjeong broke the kiss with a sob. Her thighs were already shaking. Her moans had gone breathless, scattered.

“Jimin—fuck—so good.”

“You gonna come?” Jimin cooed. “You going to fall apart for me after a whole week of pretending you didn’t need me?”

Minjeong’s head fell back. Her mouth opened, but the words didn’t come. Just breath.

And Jimin growled softly, lips brushing her ear.

“Good girl,” She breathed.

“Show me how much you missed me.”

Minjeong fell apart again—shaking, gasping, her legs wrapped tight around Jimin’s waist as she pulsed around her fingers, crying out until she couldn’t make another sound.

But Jimin didn’t stop.

She kissed her through it, murmuring praise against her skin, even as Minjeong twitched under her. She slowed only slightly—just enough for the aftershocks to roll through without mercy.

“Jimin—” Minjeong gasped. “Wait—”

“You can take it.”

“Just—”

Jimin kissed her hard, stealing the protest from her mouth. Her fingers dragged out slow, wet and aching.

Then she kissed down her stomach, her thighs, her hips—biting gently, sucking marks that bloomed pink and flushed.

When her mouth finally replaced her fingers, Minjeong nearly sobbed.

She grabbed Jimin’s shoulders, tried to push her back. “Jimin—”

Jimin looked up at her, mouth already slick, eyes black.

“One more.”

And then she went back in.

Her tongue licked through her folds, slow and sinfully deep. She moaned into her like she was hungry, like Minjeong was hers. She didn’t rush. She just tasted. Every inch. Every flick. Every moan it pulled out.

Minjeong’s thighs clamped around her head. She was shaking. Crying out. Begging.

But Jimin didn’t stop until she made her come again.

Louder.

Wrecked.

“Jimin—” Minjeong screamed, clutching at her like she needed to hold onto something real.

And only then did Jimin crawl back up.

Her mouth hovered just over Minjeong’s ear.

“I love making you come.”

Then she kissed her—deep and soft and real.

Neither of them pulled away. Not yet.

Minjeong lay still, chest rising slowly beneath the rumpled sheets. She traced a lazy finger along Jimin’s bicep, feeling the slight tremor beneath her skin.

The room was warm with leftover heat—skin, breath, the ghost of everything they’d just done. She could still feel Jimin’s fingers on her. Her mouth. The way she’d whispered. The way she’d looked at her like—

Minjeong exhaled.

She didn’t want to give it shape. Not yet.

Jimin was lying beside her, one arm thrown loosely over her eyes, hair messy against the pillow. For once, she was quiet. Still. No teasing. No smirking commentary.

Just the sound of her breathing. And the quiet space between them.

Minjeong’s body hummed. Sated, yes—but something else lingered underneath. A weight behind her ribs. She didn’t know what to call it. It wasn’t discomfort. It wasn’t want, exactly.

She just leaned her head a little heavier against Jimin, inhaling the scent that was now so intimately her own.

Warm. Fated. Dangerous.

This quiet, shared space felt… right. Alarming, perhaps, on how right it felt.

A pause. Then—

“Hungry?” Jimin’s voice was soft. Almost unsure.

Minjeong turned to look at her.

She could’ve answered plainly. Could’ve brushed it off, rolled away, pretended she didn’t feel the strange tenderness curling low in her stomach.

Instead, her lips curled—slow, fond, a little mocking.

“Starving.”

Jimin peeked out from under her arm, lips quirking into a smile.

It was shy. Almost sheepish.

And for some reason, that look—so unlike Jimin’s usual bravado—hit harder than anything they’d done this morning. Like maybe she wasn’t the only one feeling off-balance.

Jimin sat up with a stretch, grabbing Minjeong’s sweatshirt from the floor. “Come on,” she said, not quite meeting Minjeong’s eyes. “I’m taking you to Denny’s.”

Minjeong raised an eyebrow. “Denny’s?”

Jimin nodded, halfway into the sweatshirt. “Yeah. Get dressed. There’s one five minutes from here. My treat.”

Minjeong studied her.

There was something gentler about her now. Like the edges had softened, just slightly. Like maybe she was thinking too hard, too.

But Minjeong didn’t press.

She stood, pulling on the other sweatshirt—realizing Jimin had taken hers instead of the one she'd worn last night. Jimin’s scent still clung faintly to the collar.

Jimin’s eyes flicked over, then quickly away.

Minjeong saw the way her mouth twitched. The way she busied herself pretending not to look.

She walked past her, slow, deliberate.

Just before reaching the door, she glanced back.

“You’re driving,” she said.

Jimin nodded. “Obviously.”

But she was still watching her. Eyes soft. Almost like she wanted to say something else.

Minjeong didn’t ask what.

She turned the knob.

And ignored the strange little ache blooming in her chest.

The drive to Denny’s was quiet at first. The streets were still slick from the early morning dew, headlights casting long reflections on the pavement. Minjeong leaned her temple against the window, eyes half-lidded in post-orgasmic haze.

Then the piano chords started.

She turned her head.

Jimin reached over and cranked the volume, grinning like she knew exactly what she was doing.

Minjeong sighed. She knew what was coming before it even started.

She shook her head.

Jimin launched into the lyrics instantly. Loud. Off-key on purpose. Her head bobbed dramatically with each beat.

“Making my way downtown, walking fast, faces pass and I’m homebound—”

Minjeong closed her eyes. “God.”

But the corners of her mouth twitched.

Jimin doubled down. She leaned into the theatrics, voice pitching higher, shoulders bouncing with every syllable.

“Staring blankly ahead, just making my way—making a way—through the croooowd—”

Minjeong muttered, mostly to herself, “Will I die if I just jump out?”

Jimin turned to her, still singing—but this time her voice softened.

“And I need you… and I miss you…”

It caught Minjeong off guard. Just for a second, she looked at her.

Jimin was already watching. But the moment their eyes met, she looked away—quickly, like she hadn’t meant to be caught.

Then she laughed it off, grinning again as she tapped the beat on the steering wheel.

Her voice lifted back into its exaggerated crescendo.

“And now I wonder…”

She pointed at Minjeong like a challenge. “I know you wanna sing along.”

Minjeong rolled her eyes. “Don’t start.”

“Come on,” Jimin drawled. “I know you want to.”

And then—without thinking—

“Do you think time—would pass me by?” Minjeong sang. Low. Flat. Ironic.

Jimin whooped. “Yes! There we go.”

“’Cause you know I’d walk a thousand miles—” She belted.

“If I could just—see you—” Minjeong sang louder now, falling into rhythm.

“Tonight!” they both shouted, laughing into the next verse.

Minjeong shook her head, grinning despite herself.

Jimin was still singing—one hand on the wheel, the other pounding an invisible piano against her thigh. She looked ridiculous. Joyful. Free.

And Minjeong—God help her—loved seeing her like this.

No games. No masks. Just Jimin. Loud and off-key and unapologetically herself.

Minjeong leaned back in her seat, letting herself laugh. Letting the music carry her the rest of the way.

Not thinking about what it meant. Not yet.

Just this. Just now.

And Jimin beside her—singing like no one else in the world mattered.

The fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead, cutting through the soft clatter of dishes and the low hum of early morning chatter. The Denny’s was nearly empty, save for a couple of regulars nursing their mugs.

A waitress hovered beside their booth, pen and pad in hand, polite but distant.

Jimin leaned forward, her chin propped lazily on her hand as she looked at Minjeong. “What do you want?”

Minjeong blinked at the menu, barely skimming it. “Grand Slam. Sunny-side eggs. Bacon extra crispy. No sausage.”

Jimin grinned. “Okay. Two of those, please.”

The waitress nodded and walked off.

Moments later, two mugs clinked against the table. Coffee followed, poured in silence before the waitress moved away again.

Without missing a beat, Jimin pulled a sugar packet from the holder, tore it open, and reached for two creamers.

She stirred gently, slid the cup across the table.

Minjeong didn’t say anything. Just wrapped her hands around the mug and brought it to her lips. Her smile was small. Barely there. But it stayed.

Jimin saw it.

She smiled, too.

Minjeong set the cup down. “Why do you like places like this?” Her tone was dry, but not unkind.

Jimin leaned back. “Places like what?”

Minjeong glanced around. “Denny’s. McDonald’s. Tim Hortons donuts.”

“Hey,” Jimin pointed at her. “Not just Tim Hortons donuts.”

Minjeong arched a brow. “Alright. Krispy Kreme too.”

Jimin laughed. “Okay, so it’s kind of a thing. My dad used to take me to places like this all the time. Random diners. Strip mall noodle houses. I didn’t get it back then. I used to ask why we never ate at real restaurants.”

She looked down at her hands for a second. Then back up, gentler this time.

“But when I got older, I started having all these meetings. Fancy places. Tasting menus. Stuff with foams and microgreens. And somewhere in between the sixth course and pretending to care about a wine pairing, I realized…” She shrugged. “I missed this.”

Minjeong’s lips twitched. “The mediocre food?”

Jimin chuckled. “The chaos.”

Minjeong tilted her head, eyes narrowing in that way she did when she was actually listening.

“Think about it,” Jimin said. “Places like this? Nothing’s curated. No pretense. It’s messy. Kids cry. People fight. Toast gets burned. But it’s real. It makes you feel something. That unpredictability—” she paused, “—I think we need it. Otherwise, life just...calcifies.”

“Chaos as a necessity,” Minjeong murmured.

“Exactly.” Jimin grinned. “You can’t grow if you’re never off balance.”

Minjeong stirred her coffee slowly. “Maybe,” she said after a pause. Her voice was quiet. Careful. “Maybe I’ll allow a little chaos.”

Jimin’s grin faltered—just slightly.

Their eyes met.

That silence between them stretched, pulled taut with something unnamed.

Minjeong’s fingers tapped once against the ceramic.

Jimin leaned forward. Her voice dropped, low and teasing. “You mean me?”

Minjeong held her gaze. “So you agree you’re chaotic?”

Jimin didn’t respond. Instead she just grinned.

They stayed silent for a while.

Another beat. Too long. Too heavy.

And then—

The clatter of plates.

“Two Grand Slams,” the waitress said, sliding the plates down in front of them. “Anything else for you two?”

Minjeong exhaled through her nose, barely shaking her head. Jimin looked up, smile already back in place.

“No, we’re good. Thanks.”

The waitress walked off.

Minjeong picked up her fork. “Eggs are overcooked.”

Jimin held her gaze on Minjeong. “Yeah. It’s perfect.”

.

.

Minjeong sipped her coffee slowly, fingers curled around the mug. Across from her, Jimin pushed her plate slightly forward, leaning back with a soft groan.

“We should bring Giselle and Yizhuo here some time. Let them eat regular human food,” Jimin said grinning.

Minjeong tilted her head. “Yizhuo would literally kill you if there’s a kid crying on the next booth.”

Jimin chuckled. “Her wanting to kill me is just normal though.”

Minjeong let out a quiet laugh into her mug. “Does she still dislike you?”

Jimin feigned a gasp. “Minjeong. She never disliked me. She just… strongly disapproved of my entire existence.”

She chuckled low. “It didn’t help that Giselle was always dragging me everywhere back then. And Yizhuo had a thing for her, even before she admitted it.”

Minjeong set her mug down. “She had always mentioned a girl that seemed like they were flirting with Giselle. I can’t believe that was you.”

Jimin rolled her eyes. “I wasn’t flirting with her.”

A long pause.

Minjeong arched a brow. “You flirt with everyone.”

Jimin scoffed. “Not everyone.”

Minjeong’s lips curved slightly. “You do.”

Jimin narrowed her eyes, brows knitting. “I don’t.”

“You try to,” Minjeong said, calm, precise.

Jimin scowled playfully. “If I’m flirting, I make it obvious.”

Minjeong looked at her. Just looked. Unmoved. Slightly amused.

Jimin’s confidence faltered for a beat. She sat a little straighter, brushing her fingers through her hair with a smirk she hoped looked easy. “You’d know if I was flirting with you.”

Minjeong didn’t blink. “Would I?”

Jimin leaned forward. Her voice dropped half an octave. “You would. I’d be charming. Witty. Maybe even a little shy.”

Minjeong’s smile deepened. “Sounds like you suck at flirting.”

Jimin’s mouth fell open. “I do not—”

“You really do.” Minjeong took a sip of her coffee, eyes gleaming with barely disguised mirth.

Jimin huffed, sinking into her seat like a pouting child.

“You think you can do better?”

A beat.

Minjeong slowly reached for her fork. Scooped up a bite of pancake. Her posture stayed effortless, like she wasn’t trying at all.

Just watching her. Calm. Cool.

She hovered the fork in front of Jimin.

Then, softly—low enough to hum under Jimin’s skin—

“Open.”

The air shifted.

Jimin blinked, suddenly sitting straighter without meaning to.

There was no teasing smirk on Minjeong’s face.

No laugh waiting behind her eyes.

Just quiet control, radiating off her like heat.

Jimin opened her mouth, slow and unsure.

Minjeong fed her the bite, calm and steady, dark eyes never faltering their gaze.

Jimin chewed in silence.

Swallowed.

Minjeong tilted her head, lips curling ever so faintly.

“Does that work?”

Jimin stayed quiet for a beat longer than necessary. Her voice dropped.

“That wasn’t flirting.”

Minjeong leaned back, her expression unreadable but her eyes sharp. Her voice was almost a purr. “No. But I know it made your heart race.”

Jimin looked away.

It had.

Fuck, it really had.

And she had nothing. No comeback. No effortless charm to fall back on. Just warmth rising to her cheeks as she stared at her plate, trying—and failing—to hide her reaction.

Minjeong noticed.

And that surprised her too. How much she liked it. How much she liked this—Jimin, flustered and quiet for once. Not because she’d been shut down, but because something had gotten under her skin and stayed there.

She didn’t say anything about it. But her smile lingered just a moment longer.

Jimin didn’t look back up. The corners of her mouth curved—just slightly.

Like maybe, for once, she didn’t mind being wrong.

The ride back wasn’t quiet.

They were singing.

Off-key, half-laughing through the lyrics, trading lines without looking at each other.

Minjeong didn’t know who started the harmonizing, but Jimin was definitely the one belting the chorus with her whole chest.

Minjeong hummed along—quiet, but not holding back.

It was easy. Uncomplicated.

Jimin slowed as they turned onto Minjeong’s street, fingers still drumming on the steering wheel.

“I’ll give your sweater back tomorrow,” she said, tossing a quick glance sideways.

Minjeong didn’t turn her head. Just shifted in her seat slightly, arms crossed over.

“Keep it. It doesn’t fit me anymore.”

Jimin smiled.

They pulled into the driveway.

The car went quiet again—music trailing off with a low fade. Neither of them moved right away.

Minjeong unclasped her seatbelt slowly, but her hand stayed on it.

She looked at Jimin. Something in her face softer now. Unreadable, but real.

“…Thank you.”

Jimin turned to her, caught off guard by how sincere it sounded.

Minjeong looked away. “For the meal.” She added quickly.

Jimin smiled. “Anytime.”

Minjeong reached for the door, but not before leaning in—just enough to close the space.

A quick kiss on Jimin’s cheek.

“See you, Director Yu,” she murmured.

And before Jimin could process it—before she could think of something charming or clever—Minjeong had already stepped out of the car and closed the door behind her.

She just sat there, frozen. Then exhaled, slow and steady.

Her fingers touched her cheek like she was checking if the warmth was still there.

“…See you,” she whispered. Voice softer now.

“Minjeong.”

She didn’t start the car until Minjeong was safely through the door.

Inside, Minjeong leaned against the door for a long moment.

Eyes shut. Hands clutching the fabric of her sweater like it could hold her together.

Her heart wouldn’t stop pounding.

The office was quiet. Nobody else had arrived except Minjeong.

She was typing, reviewing a spreadsheet that didn’t really need this much scrutiny—then the door opened. She didn’t look up right away.

A takeaway coffee cup slid gently into her periphery.

Her fingers stilled.

She turned toward it.

Written with a black marker in a quick, casual handwriting, all too familiar.

For not kicking me out :)

Minjeong’s mouth curved—small, involuntary.

She reached for the cup, tapping the lid lightly with her nail before lifting it to her lips.

“Good morning, Director Yu,” she said finally, voice cool but not cold.

Jimin, across the room now, didn’t look over right away. She was hanging her coat with her usual precision, straightening the sleeves. But Minjeong caught the flicker of a smile at the corner of her mouth.

“Morning, Director Kim,” Jimin replied smoothly.

She turned.

The all-white suit looked dangerous on her. Cut to her frame perfectly. Crisp. Immaculate. Paired with the high ponytail, it should have looked too much for a morning meeting—but it didn’t. It just looked like her. Effortless and sharp and impossible to ignore.

Minjeong took another sip of her coffee and turned back to her screen.

Work resumed.

Emails were answered. Reports reviewed. The only sounds were fingers tapping keys, pages turning, the occasional click of a pen or shuffle of a chair. But beneath it, something simmered.

Minjeong looked up.

Jimin was already looking.

They locked eyes.

Jimin dropped her gaze to Minjeong’s lips—slow, deliberate—before turning back to her monitor like nothing happened.

Minjeong’s pulse ticked once in her throat.

A few minutes later, Jimin looked up again.

Minjeong caught her this time.

“Focus, Director Yu,” she said softly. Not a scold. A warning. A dare.

Jimin’s lips parted in surprise before curving up into a slow smirk.

“You first.”

Minjeong leaned back slightly in her chair. “I am focused.”

“On me?” Jimin asked, voice low, teasing—just enough to press.

Minjeong didn’t blink. “You wish.”

Jimin tilted her head, feigning innocence. "Here I thought I was distracting you."

Minjeong looked back to her screen, clicking something just to keep her hands busy. “You’re being loud.”

“I haven’t even said anything.”

“Exactly.”

Jimin laughed—quiet, but unfiltered.

Minjeong stole another glance. This time she let her gaze linger a second longer.

There it was again—that feeling. Like something had shifted permanently. The way Jimin’s lips curved, how the sun caught on her lashes, the faint sheen on her collarbone where the white of her blouse opened just slightly too low—

Minjeong looked away first this time.

Jimin noticed.

But she didn’t say anything. She just smiled to herself, fingers drumming along the armrest of her chair, as the silence stretched between them like silk.

The air between them was heavy now. Thicker than it had any right to be.

Another glance.

Another beat of silence.

Minjeong’s fingers stilled over her keyboard.

Jimin stood up from her chair, adjusted the cuff of her white blazer, and spoke without looking at Minjeong.

“Printer’s jammed again. I’ll check on it.”

It was a routine excuse—calm, measured, just another task in a normal workday.

Minjeong didn’t respond. Just watched, the supply door swinging gently behind her.

She lasted all of fifteen seconds.

Then she stood, smoothed her blouse, and followed.

When Minjeong entered the print room, she already knew what she’d find.

Jimin was leaning back against the counter, arms folded, gaze already waiting on her.

Minjeong shut the door, locking it with a soft click.

“I thought you needed to check on the printer,” she said, voice smooth—but the air had already shifted.

Jimin tilted her head, just a little. Her smile was subtle. Unbothered.

“I do,” she murmured. “But for now I need something else.”

Minjeong took a step forward. Then another.

Jimin didn’t move.

Minjeong reached for Jimin’s tie—slim, white silk like the rest of her immaculate suit—and tugged her forward by it.

Their mouths met in silence.

It was deliberate. Intimate.

Jimin’s hands moved to Minjeong’s waist automatically, like they always knew where to go. But Minjeong stayed in control—pressing her in, deepening the kiss with an edge that made Jimin’s breath catch. She tilted her head back, just slightly, giving in to the pull.

Still poised. Still cool. But only just.

Jimin smiled against her lips. “You’ve been staring all day.”

“So have you,” Minjeong whispered back.

Another kiss—slower. Jimin’s fingers curled at her back, nails dragging lightly over the fabric. Needing something. Anything.

Minjeong pulled back just enough to look at her.

“You’re always so composed at work,” she said quietly.

“I am always composed,” Jimin said. Her voice faltered as Minjeong traced a thumb down her jaw. “You’re the problem.”

Minjeong smirked. “Am I?”

She pressed her thigh between Jimin’s legs—not enough to push, just enough to make her feel it.

Jimin swallowed.

Their eyes locked.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” Jimin said.

Minjeong shook her head, voice barely audible. “Don’t you dare.”

She kissed her again, hand threading into her hair, the other pressed firmly against her lower back. Her control was quiet, seamless, like gravity.

Jimin leaned into it like it was instinct.

And maybe it was.

When they finally parted, foreheads pressed together, breath shared in silence, Jimin still hadn’t caught hers.

“I was right,” she whispered. “Printer’s still broken.”

Minjeong gave her a soft, almost smug glance. “Guess you’ll have to come back here tomorrow.”

Jimin laughed under her breath, dazed.

Minjeong kissed her one last time—light, brief, possessive.

Then she turned, unlocked the door, and slipped out without another word.

Jimin stayed for a beat, head tilted back against the cabinet.

Then she smiled.

And followed.

.

.

It became a rhythm.

A glance over a monitor. A subtle nod. A fake sigh.

“I have to draft something,” Minjeong would say, already halfway to the door.

Jimin would wait for a bit, then follow.

Sometimes it was Jimin saying something like—

“I printed the layout for Kakeru’s Seoul division.”

“Show it to me,” Minjeong would reply, already following her.

Quiet steps. Locked doors.

It wasn’t always words. Sometimes it was just a text under the desk, with a phone screen barely glowing.

Print room.

Inside that little space, time bent. Warped. Became touch and breath and whispered curses against skin.

It was hands on hips. On necks. Teeth catching on lower lips.

It was Minjeong pressed against the cabinet, fingers tangled in Jimin’s suit jacket, panting into her mouth as Jimin kissed her like she was starving.

Or Jimin, pinned to the wall—lips swollen from the last meeting, blouse rumpled as Minjeong’s hand slid beneath it, under her bra, teasing but firm.

Sometimes it was Jimin saying her name—quiet, wrecked—when Minjeong rolled her hips once, slow and hard, and then again.

Sometimes it was the opposite. Jimin biting down on Minjeong’s shoulder to stifle a moan, Minjeong’s skirt hitched around her waist, her fingers digging into Jimin’s back, eyes fluttering shut when Jimin’s mouth trailed lower.

It was never gentle.

But it was never careless.

They always straightened each other up after. Adjusted collars. Smoothed out lipstick. Never said anything once they left. Pretended.

One late night, Jimin dangled the keys between her fingers.

“You need a ride?” she asked, casually. Too casually.

Minjeong looked up from her laptop. “I can get an Uber.”

Jimin stepped closer. “Consider it an executive safety escort. Perks of being Co-CEO.”

There was something almost earnest under the smirk.

Minjeong didn’t push it.

She looked back at her screen, then shut the laptop closed with a soft click.

“…Fine.”

She didn’t say anything else.

And neither did Jimin.

But when they stepped into the elevator, shoulder to shoulder, Jimin’s fingers brushed Minjeong’s for just a second.

Minjeong didn’t pull away.

She let it linger. Just this once.

Jimin glanced down—just briefly.

Then, slow and deliberate, she let her index finger trace behind Minjeong’s hand, a light graze over skin she already knew too well.

Minjeong’s gaze flicked away—somewhere up and to the side—but she didn’t move.

Jimin’s finger hooked gently with hers. A subtle anchor. Her thumb began brushing the back of Minjeong’s hand in soft, barely-there strokes.

Minjeong’s jaw tightened. Her body didn’t shift—but her fingers curled.

The smallest pressure.

A quiet, unspoken answer.

Her grip tightened around Jimin’s.

And for a moment, neither of them breathed.

It started with a meeting outside the city.

A quick overnight trip. Just the two of them.

Client drinks ran late. Too many glasses of wine. Not enough cabs.

“Just crash at my place,” Minjeong said, arms crossed.

Jimin did.

That Monday, Jimin was already in the driveway, two coffees in the cup holder and engine running.

Minjeong opened the door and blinked at her.

“Efficiency. We’re late for the exec call.” Jimin said casually.

And somehow, that made sense.

Every excuse they had always made sense.

For each other at least.

They didn’t even remember when it started to become a routine.

Maybe it was the second time. Or the fifth.

Maybe it was the moment Minjeong stopped asking for the company car.

“Shared transport optimizes coordination,” Jimin had offered once, completely straight-faced.

Minjeong nodded. “Makes it easier to approve contracts on the drive in.”

They both pretended that was why.

No one questioned it.

Fridays bled into Saturdays.

“We have to submit this proposal by Monday.” Jimin leaned back into her chair.

Or—

“We need to plan out next week’s timeline.” Minjeong whispered, leaning from behind Jimin.

They didn’t talk about it. And somehow they always ended up at Minjeong’s place.

They worked… sometimes.

No, not really.

Mostly they kissed.

Then fucked.

On the couch.

Against the hallway wall.

Sometimes not even making it to the guestroom before Jimin was on her knees, or Minjeong was pushing her flat on the kitchen counter, biting her name into Jimin’s throat just because she could.

They didn’t talk about that either.

And somehow, that made it easier to keep doing it.

Excuses piled easily. Proposals to review. Client dinners to debrief. A quarterly to prep.

But weekends never ended with spreadsheets.

They ended in sweat. In skin. In tangled sheets and open mouths and the sound of Minjeong’s breath hitching when Jimin was moaning against her ribs.

They used the contract as an excuse now too. Physical needs.

But it wasn’t really about that anymore. It was about the time. About staying longer. Finding new reasons to be there. To not leave.

And so they kept at it.

Kept building a rhythm out of lies they’d both agreed not to question.

The call connected.

Minjeong didn’t speak at first.

She just lay there, eyes fixed on the ceiling, the darkness of her bedroom folding in around her. The only sound was her breath—and the soft, almost too careful voice on the other end.

“Hey.”

Minjeong’s voice was soft. “Hi.”

A pause.

Then Jimin’s voice, warm and low—

“Did I… leave my charger at your place?”

Minjeong let the silence stretch, lips parting slightly.

“No,” she said, quiet. “I saw you pack it. You put it in your bag right before you left.”

A beat.

“Did I?” Jimin asked, playful—but barely. Like she wasn’t trying very hard to sound convincing.

Minjeong exhaled through her nose.

“Did you check your bag again?”

Jimin didn’t answer.

Minjeong’s voice dropped.

“You probably just missed it.”

Silence. Then—

“…Yeah.” Jimin's voice softened, cracked open slightly. “I probably just miss it.”

The words landed heavier than either of them expected.

Minjeong didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Her throat was tight, breath caught halfway between knowing and feeling too much.

On the other end, Jimin inhaled.

“I shouldn’t have gone home.”

Minjeong’s hand curled around her sheets. She blinked at the ceiling, heart crawling up the back of her throat.

“I would’ve been in bed with you right now,” Jimin said, barely above a whisper. “We’d be under the same blanket. Maybe not even touching yet, but I’d be close enough to feel your breath.”

Minjeong stayed quiet. Her silence was an answer.

Jimin continued, her voice rougher now.

“You’d probably be lying down like this too. Flat on your back. Staring at the ceiling.”

A soft, almost pained laugh.

“I’d roll over. Say something stupid. Maybe kiss your shoulder. You’d pretend you’re annoyed.”

Minjeong’s lips parted, but nothing came out.

“I wouldn’t stop though,” Jimin breathed. “I’d keep touching you until you let me. Until you pulled me closer. Until your hands were on me.”

Minjeong’s pulse was a steady roar now. She could feel it in her throat, her chest, her wrists.

She shut her eyes. Her fingers gripped the sheets. She could almost feel it—Jimin’s mouth near her neck, the weight of her body pressing in, the heat between them.

“God,” Jimin whispered. “I can almost feel you. Right now. I—”

She exhaled into the line, slower this time. Heavier. “—I need you.”

Minjeong finally spoke, her voice low, thick, and steady like heat.

“Touch yourself for me, Jimin.”

A command disguised as care.

She opened her eyes again, staring at the ceiling, pulse rising with each second that passed. She imagined Jimin now—laying alone in her room, sheets tangled around her, skin flushed with something more than warmth. Her voice dropped.

“Do it like I would.”

Jimin didn’t answer right away.

But her breath faltered—barely audible over the line, but enough.

Minjeong’s gaze dropped to the edge of her duvet, fingers twitching against the fabric. Her voice, when it came, was calm. Measured. Dangerous.

“Take off your shorts.”

Silence.

Then the softest rustle. The whisper of cotton sliding down skin.

Minjeong’s eyes shut briefly.

“Now your top.”

Another breath. Another shift. A faint exhale, shaky at the end.

“Are you bare for me now?” Minjeong asked quietly, eyes still closed.

“Yes,” Jimin whispered, almost too soft to hear.

Minjeong hummed, low and pleased. Her tone cooled into command.

“Lie back.”

A pause. Then the sound of Jimin shifting again—her breath deepening, the bare creak of her mattress.

Minjeong's voice dropped.

“Touch yourself.”

Another breath—broken this time.

“Slow,” Minjeong added, already picturing her. “I want you aching. I want you thinking about how I’d be touching you if I were there. Would you like that?”

“Yes,” Jimin gasped. Her voice sounded wrecked already, barely holding herself together.

Minjeong smiled faintly, eyes still shut as her mind played it all out.

“Spread your legs.”

A shuddered inhale through the line.

“I want your fingers where I’d be,” Minjeong said softly. “Slide in slow. Hold it. Don’t move yet.”

She heard the muffled sound of breath held too long. She imagined Jimin now—eyes fluttering shut, back barely arching into her own hand, biting back the sound she wanted Minjeong to hear.

“Move,” Minjeong said, voice edged now.

Another broken sound escaped the line—choked off quickly. Jimin was trying to be quiet. Obedient.

Minjeong’s voice softened—dangerously so.

“Good girl.”

Jimin whimpered.

Minjeong exhaled slowly, as if she could feel it too. Her hand stayed at her side—she wouldn’t touch herself, not yet.

She tilted her head, her voice low and cold again. “I can tell. You’re already close, aren’t you?”

A strained inhale.

“…Yes,” Jimin choked out.

Minjeong smirked to herself.

“Hold it.”

A sound of protest—soft, involuntary.

“You don’t come until I say. Or I’ll make sure the next time I touch you, you’re begging for hours before I even think of letting you finish.”

“Minjeong—”

“Not a sound,” Minjeong cut in, sharper now. “You’re mine right now. Do you understand?”

Silence.

Then—

“…Yes.”

Minjeong’s smile deepened, wicked and satisfied.

“You’ll come when I tell you. And when you do,” she added, her voice dipping again, “you’ll say my name.”

Jimin didn’t answer. Just a ragged exhale, full of want and tension.

Minjeong sat back against her pillows, hand finally drifting up her own thigh.

Then it trailed higher—slow, deliberate.

She didn’t rush. She just listened.

“You can move again. But you can’t come yet.”

The sound of Jimin’s breath over the line was ragged now, uneven. There was a quiet desperation in it, like she was holding back more than just her release. Like she was trying to hold onto Minjeong’s voice like it was the only thing keeping her grounded.

And maybe it was.

Minjeong pressed her fingers against herself. Slick already.

She bit down a sound.

“I can hear how wet you are,” she murmured. Her thumb circled lazily, just enough to tease, just enough to make her hips shift against the sheets. “You’re just imagining it’s me and you’re this wet.”

A stuttered moan from the other end.

Minjeong’s breath hitched.

“I’d be so much rougher,” she said, voice low and steady. “You wouldn’t be moving at your own pace. You wouldn’t be able to.”

Jimin made a sound—half whimper, half plea.

Minjeong’s eyes fluttered closed again. Her fingers dipped lower. Deeper. She gasped—quiet, controlled.

“Tell me how much you need me,” she whispered.

“I need you Minjeong. All of you.” Jimin’s voice was wrecked.

“I need your hands on me, your mouth on me, your voice in my ear telling me what to do.”

Minjeong’s breath hitched.

Jimin swallowed, desperate. “I need you inside me so deep I forget my own name. I need you to ruin me so I only remember yours.”

Minjeong’s breath faltered. She picked up the pace slightly, the wet sound of her own arousal echoing faintly in the room.

She swallowed a groan.

“I’d fuck you so deep you’d forget everything else—just me, just this.”

“Yes—Minjeong—break me. Use me. Make me yours.” Jimin cried out, her voice wrecked and breathless, like the words were being dragged straight from the core of her.

That was it.

Minjeong's head fell back against the pillow, her hips lifting into her own hand now, chasing the pressure she’d been holding off all night.

“Faster,” she ordered, her voice trembling now too. “Touch yourself harder. Like I would. Don’t hold back.”

She heard it.

The way Jimin broke.

The way she moaned—loud now, unrestrained, breath catching on every syllable of Minjeong’s name like it was the only thing she could say.

Minjeong’s voice dropped to a whisper, hoarse and shaking. “You sound so pretty like this.”

Another moan. Another breathless call of her name.

“I’m close,” Jimin gasped.

Minjeong’s fingers moved faster. Her thighs tensed. Her whole body was burning now, undone just by the sound of Jimin unraveling in the dark.

She didn’t answer right away.

She just listened—chest rising and falling fast—

“Come,” she said, low and certain. “Come with me.”

Jimin shattered.

Minjeong could hear it—every breath, every broken sob, the way her name was dragged out like a confession. And it undid her.

She followed right after.

Her body clenched, her fingers pushed harder, and the sound of Jimin coming undone pulled her over the edge.

She gasped—quiet but guttural—into the night.

And then—

Silence.

Nothing but the sound of two women trying to catch their breath on either end of the line.

Long moments passed.

Neither of them spoke.

Minjeong let her hand fall to the side, her breath still shaky.

Jimin was the first to whisper, voice cracked and soft.

“…Minjeong.”

Minjeong swallowed. “Yeah?”

“I miss you.”

Minjeong closed her eyes.

“I know,” she whispered.

The line stayed silent for a beat longer, both of them still breathless, lingering.

Then—

“Can I… crash at your place again tomorrow?”

Minjeong exhaled. The ache still pulsed low in her stomach.

“Sure,” she said softly. “Sounds good.”

Jimin’s breath hitched, but her voice stayed light. “Okay. See you tomorrow, then, Minjeong.”

A pause.

Minjeong didn’t want to hang up.

But she nodded anyway. “Yeah. Goodnight.”

The line clicked.

Silence swallowed the room.

But Minjeong’s breathing hadn’t evened out.

Her chest still rose and fell fast, heartbeat pounding against her ribs, louder than anything else.

She let her head fall back, eyes fluttering shut.

And then—slowly—her hand slipped back down.

This time, she didn’t stop herself.

She wanted to feel.

She wanted her.

She pushed her fingers back inside—wet and ready, the phantom of Jimin’s voice still echoing in her ears.

‘I miss you.’

And when she moaned, she didn’t hold it back.

“Jimin.”

It left her like a prayer.

Raw.

Her hips arched off the bed, her other hand gripping the sheets.

“Jimin,” she gasped again. Over and over, like saying her name could summon her. Like if she wanted hard enough, maybe she'd feel Jimin’s mouth instead of her own hand. Maybe she'd taste her on her tongue again.

But it wasn’t the same.

Her touch was practiced, familiar—but not Jimin’s.

Her fingers moved faster. Sloppier. Chasing that sharp ache she could no longer ignore.

She pictured the way Jimin had sounded on the phone. The way she moaned. The way she said Minjeong’s name like it was sacred.

“Fuck—Jimin—”

She came again, crying out into the dark. Her body tensed, then crumbled—body bowing, breath shattering. Her fingers never stopped moving, not until the tension snapped and flooded through her in waves, spilling over with everything she’d kept caged in for too long.

Minjeong lay still for a while after.

She looked down.

Her fingers were slick. Coated. Her thighs trembled faintly.

And still, Jimin’s name was on her lips.

She swallowed hard.

Then—barely audible—

“I miss you too.”

The next morning, Minjeong wasn’t expecting the doorbell.