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Chapter Text

Jisung.

When I opened the door, Changbin was already halfway through, theatrically holding the mirror like it weighed more than it did. Blanket-wrapped. Familiar. Maybe a little cursed.

“I brought you your problem,” he said. “And by problem, I mean responsibility. And by responsibility, I mean Vesper.”

“I know. I agreed to this,” I said, stepping back to let him in. “You don’t have to sound like you’re dropping off a feral child.”

He dropped the mirror onto my kitchen table with a dull thunk. “You think that now. Wait until he starts redecorating your life choices.”

“He already tried,” I said. “Told me my throw pillows probably had ‘the aesthetic tension of a tax audit.’”

“Mm. That sounds like him.” Changbin peeled back a corner of the blanket. A glimmer of polished glass peeked through. “He’s been quiet since I covered him. I think the sulking will last until you apologize for the blanket.”

“I’m not apologizing to a mirror.”

“Then be prepared for passive-aggressive glitter.”

Hyunjin appeared a moment later, holding two bags. One with bubble tea, the other suspiciously rattly. He nodded at the mirror. 

“Is he still pouting?”

“He’s in his feelings,” Changbin said. “Apparently a fleece ‘suffocates his creative aura.’”

“Yeah, I figured.” Hyunjin set the tea down on the counter and held up the second bag. “I raided the party supply aisle on the way over. Just in case.”

Changbin raised an eyebrow. “What’s in it?”

“Plastic pearls. A new boa. Possibly a tiara. I wasn’t taking chances.”

I blinked. “You brought a bribe for the mirror.”

Hyunjin shrugged. “I’ve lived with less reasonable divas.” Hyunjin replied, sliding the tea onto my counter. “You know the rules, right?”

“No alcohol within reach,” I recited. “No leaving him facedown. No ugly lighting. No covering him with ‘aesthetic violence.’”

Changbin pointed at me like I’d just passed a test. “And if he starts reciting poetry while you’re trying to jerk off, just ride it out. It only lasts a minute.”

“That hate that it’s disturbingly specific.”

“You’ll hate it more when it happens.” He gave the mirror a parting pat. “Good luck, baby boy. We believe in you. Kind of.”

“I’m right here,” I said.

“We know,” Hyunjin said, already heading for the door. “He was talking to Vesper.”

They didn’t linger. Just tossed off half a dozen warnings on the way out; Don’t let him near candles, don’t show him TikTok, don’t ever ask him about the ficus named Bean. And for the love of your questionable sanity, don’t ever leave credit cards out on the table. 

Then it was quiet. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that felt… staged.

I stared at the mirror, arms crossed, already regretting every life choice that led me to this point. A sentient slab of glass with opinions and glitter was my best shot at… what, exactly? Personal growth? Sexual reawakening? Not dying alone?

Sure. Why not.

Maybe next I’d start consulting my houseplants.

Still, I didn’t walk away. Didn’t laugh it off or call it a phase. I just stood there, hoping for something ridiculous. For magic. For answers. For someone to tell me I wasn’t broken just because I wanted things no one ever seemed to want from me.

The blanket rustled. Just a little.

I took a long sip of my tea and sat in front of it, elbows on the table. “Okay,” I muttered. “Let’s get this over with.”

I pulled the blanket back.

The mirror gleamed. For about two seconds. Then a faint puff of glitter hissed out of the upper left corner and the entire surface went dim.

“I’m sulking,” came the muffled, wounded voice.

“Oh come on.”

“You let them smother me in couch fleece and lint and pretend I wasn’t there. I was manhandled. Disrespected. Ignored for hours.”

“I didn’t…”

“Changbin threw a bag of frozen peas on my lap. Do you know how many decades it’s been since anyone put frozen food on my person?”

“You don’t even have a lap.”

“Spiritual lap, my ignorant little muffin. Have some respect.”

I exhaled slowly, dragged a dining chair over, and sat down across from him.

“Alright,” I said. “Let me make it up to you.”

I reached for the nearby bag, pulled out a strand of fake pearls and carefully draped it over the corner of his frame.

He paused.

“Go on…”

I grabbed the bottle of soju still sitting out from the night before and flicked a few drops onto the base.

The mirror shimmered. Then sparkled. Then flashed so brightly I had to squint.

In the glass, Vesper reassembled himself with the flair of a magician emerging from smoke. Cheekbones sharpened. Lashes exaggerated. Robes made of light. His expression pure delight and barely restrained judgment.

“Well,” he said, voice rich with delight. “All is forgiven. And you’ve passed the first test. Style points for the pearls.”

“You have tests?”

“My pitiable prince,” he said smoothly, “Vesperian d’Glorieux at your service. Here to offer first aid in your endeavors of love, lust, and possible kink-discoveries.”

I squinted. “Did you just call me a pitiful?”

“I call them like I see them.”

“You’re a mirror.”

He tsked. “How limited your thinking is. I am not a mirror. I am IN the mirror. Or any mirror in the vicinity, really. Though I haven’t had the time to inspect the building yet. Consider this my settling-in period.”

He smoothed the air around him like someone adjusting a very expensive coat. “When I do explore, I’ll return with scandal, obviously. But until then…”

His gaze sharpened.

“What’s your story, sweetheart?”

I blinked. “You want the full tragic backstory right now?”

“I want a summary. I’ll demand details later.”

Then he turned, locked eyes with me, and raised one dramatic brow.

“Now,” he purred. “Tell me. What is your story? Who wounded you? Who do we need to hex, emotionally speaking?”

I hesitated. Then scratched the back of my neck. “It’s… a long story.”

“I have eternity.”

I sighed. “Fine. Uh. I had a boyfriend. For a long time. Two years.”

Vesper blinked once. “Continue.”

“We lived together. We barely had sex. He always had excuses. Work. Headaches. Stress. And I…” I swallowed. “I didn’t push. I thought… maybe his sex drive was just low. That it was okay. That he still loved me.”

Vesper didn’t interrupt. Just watched. Listening.

“And then I found out he was cheating. With Kang Yeonho. Kang. The Accountant. The man has the personality of a leaf blower.”

Vesper gasped faintly, hand to his heart. “A leaf blower?! You poor thing.”

“I moved out,” I said quickly, like that made me brave. “Took the bed. His shoelaces. The lightbulbs.”

“Good boy.”

“And now I’m…” I glanced at the mirror. “…here.”

Vesper gave a solemn nod. “Then your story begins today. A fresh start. A reinvention. A restoration of dignity, drama, and possibly your orgasm count.”

I choked. “Please don’t talk about my orgasm count.”

He gave a tiny smirk. “We’ll talk about it eventually.”

Vesper’s voice softened, but only slightly. “You poor, underfucked thing.”

I snorted. “That’s one way to put it.”

“Well.” He straightened, energy returning full force. “That ends now.”

“What does?”

He grinned. “Your era of self-denial and bad sex. We are going to fix your romantic trajectory with a combination of courage, glitter, and minor social coercion.”

“That sounds dangerous.”

“Everything worth doing is.”

Vesper gave a theatrical sigh, then flicked an invisible speck of dust from his reflection. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for someone like you. Young. Moldable. Emotionally demolished, but with cheekbones. Felix and Changbin were promising, but you… darling, you’re a wreckage. A masterpiece of ruin.”

“Oh god,” I muttered.

“I’m serious. You are a rough-cut gem in dire need of polish and a little unapologetic sparkle. We’re going to turn this heartbreak into a rebrand.”

“I don’t want a rebrand. I want…”

“What? Closure? Ew.”

“Peace?”

“Boring.”

“Someone who doesn’t cheat on me with an accountant?”

“See, that’s the spirit,” he chirped. “You want desire. You want to be wanted. Held down a little. Lifted up a lot.”

I blinked. “You’ve never even asked me what I’m into.”

“Oh, we’ll get there. But first… I need to scope the terrain.” His tone dipped into hushed conspiracy. “I haven’t had the pleasure of investigating this neighborhood’s romantic potential yet. Give me a few hours.”

“You’re going mirror-hopping?”

“I prefer strategic reconnaissance. Back in a flash.”

With a glittery shimmer and a self-satisfied hum, he vanished from the glass.

Three hours later, just as I was starting to wonder if he’d gotten distracted by a bathroom selfie light or a hot personal trainer’s full-length mirror, he returned, glitter puff first, smugness second.

“I have a plan.”

“Oh no.”

“Oh yes,” he purred. “my sweet little post-breakup disaster, we’re going to put you out into the world again. One small step at a time. You’ll learn how to flirt, how to take up space, how to be a confident little minx who knows he deserves better than budget furniture, emotional starvation, and a man who files tax returns for fun.”

I choked on a laugh. “You’re deranged.”

“I’m invested,” he corrected. “And you should feel honored. One of my previous protégés was a ficus named Bean.”

“You mentored a plant?”

“He was dreadfully dramatic. Honestly, I think you two would’ve gotten along.”

He leaned forward in the mirror, eyes glinting with purpose.

“Tomorrow morning, you’re going to your first class.”

I narrowed my eyes. “What kind of class?”

He paused, lips curling.

“Painting.”

I blinked. “Like… with brushes?”

“No,” he said dryly. “With interpretive body oil. Yes with brushes. I found a community center nearby that caters to the seasoned crowd. They’re accepting walk-ins. Be charming.”

“Seasoned crowd?”

“They’ll love you. They’ll feed you sweets and tell you you’re precious. Trust the process.”

I dragged a hand over my face. “Why do I feel like I’ve been recruited into some glittery cult.”

“Because you have,” he said proudly. “Now go lay out your most flattering outfit. I expect minx-level charisma by tomorrow.”

“This still feels like entrapment,” I muttered, clutching my tote bag like a shield on a perfectly unspoiled Saturday morning.

From the mirror propped on my kitchen table, Vesper practically purred. “It’s called exposure therapy, darling. Now go. Bloom. Be adored.”

“You signed me up without asking.”

“I guided you. Strongly. You’re welcome.”

“You used my real name.”

“Well I couldn’t very well sign you up as ‘Sexually Repressed Goblin Boy,’ now could I?”

I glared at him. He sparkled in response.

I nearly turned around twice on the way to the community center. Stopped once in front of a bench and debated faking a twisted ankle. But I didn’t. I made it. I even smiled at the receptionist, who told me the art room was “just down the hall, first door on the right, and don’t be shy, they’ve already started.”

I pushed open the door and stepped inside. The scent of paint and lavender hung in the air. A dozen aunties turned in near-unison. Their eyes lit up like it was Christmas morning and I was the grand prize at bingo night. They all looked older than my mother. All wearing aprons with floral motifs. One had a wide-brimmed sunhat on indoors. Another was swirling tea in a porcelain cup like she was casting spells with it.

“Goodness gracious, aren’t you just the sweetest thing,” one of them said, already waving me over. Another reached for a thermos. “Have you had breakfast, son?”

“Ohhh, you must be Vesper’s boy!” said the one nearest the window. “Come in, come in, we’ve been waiting.”

“I’m… uh… Jisung,” I said weakly.

“What a lovely name,” said another. “Sit next to me. We saved you a seat.”

They made space. Offered cookies. One of them squeezed my wrist with surprising strength and said, “I always said artists were the most kissable.” I blushed and pretended it hadn’t been the best compliment I’d received in a month.

We painted for two hours.

I’d expected awkward silence. Maybe some passive-aggressive whispering or long lectures about technique. Instead, they giggled. They told me about their cats and their dead husbands and their favorite books about murder.

By the end of the session, I had three compliments on my jawline, two business cards, and a folded recipe for kimchi pancakes tucked into my tote.

My painting wasn’t even good. But they loved it. Told me it felt honest. One of them said it reminded her of her first apartment. I didn’t know what to say, so I just laughed, quiet and stunned, and looked down at my shoes.

I left the painting class glowing. Not just metaphorically. I had glitter on my sleeve from Auntie Sunhwa’s scarf and maybe a dab of pastel on my temple. My cheeks hurt from smiling.

They’d hugged me like I was their own grandchild. Pressed oranges into my hands.

One of them showed me a photo of her grandson and asked if I was seeing anyone. When I said no, she clicked her tongue and offered to “manifest someone with good bone structure and tolerable manners.”

“You need someone who’ll adore you,” one of them said, soft and sure. “Someone who sees how good you are.”

Even though I tried, I honestly couldn’t remember the last time anyone said that to me without a joke attached.

Back home, I dropped my bag on the floor, peeled off my jacket, and stared down the mirror.

Vesper was already glittering.

“Well?” he asked, smug enough to fill the room twice over.

I didn’t answer. Just set the folded pancake recipe on the table and muttered, “Shut up.”

“You’re welcome,” he cooed.

I changed into sweats and went to stare into the fridge.

Half a tub of gochujang. Three eggs. A very suspicious cucumber.

I shut the door and leaned on it with a sigh. Maybe I’d earned a reward. Something warm. Something comfortable and safe.

“Lunch?” Vesper prompted, sweetly nosy.

“I’m going out.”

“Ooh, are we flirting with the grocer today?”

“I’m buying spring onions.”

“You can do both.”

I ignored him, grabbed my keys, and left before he could start singing again.

Maybe it was the endorphins from being fussed over by women who smelled like fabric softener and hand lotion. Maybe it was the way someone had said “you’d make such a handsome husband” while squeezing my arm. Either way, I floated all the way to the store with the aunties’ voices still echoing in my head.

“You have a sweet touch,” one had said.

“Such delicate lines,” another chimed in. “You must be good with your hands.”

I nearly tripped over the curb smiling.

The lights of the store were bright and everything looked a little shinier than usual. I grabbed a basket and hummed as I walked. Spring onions. Soy sauce. A few chili flakes. Maybe even that overpriced ginger tea I liked but never let myself buy. I had a recipe to try and a smug mirror to impress. My life, today at least, didn’t feel like a disaster.

Then I turned into aisle seven.

And the temperature dropped.

Tan coat. Stiff collar. Hair still perfect like he just stepped out of a salon. 

He stood by the rice section. Facing away. Talking to someone taller, broader, dressed in charcoal grey.

I knew that face too.

Kang Yeonho.

My stomach twisted before I even understood why.

I should have turned away. Instead, like some pathetic extra in my own disaster film, I trailed after them on silent feet, ducking behind shelves and display racks until I stood frozen on the other side of the aisle from them. Hidden behind a precarious tower of ramen boxes and seaweed snack bundles. Close enough to hear.

I told myself I’d only listen for a second.

“I swear, it was like living with a child,” my ex said. “Mess everywhere. Blankets in the living room. Little socks in the hallway. I had to ask him daily to do the dishes. Honestly, it was exhausting.”

Kang murmured something. I didn’t catch it.

“He couldn’t go two hours without showing me some song he wrote about a sunset or a dream or a fucking stray cat.” My ex laughed. “Like, congratulations, you have feelings. So do most adults. Grow up.”

My chest tightened.

“And don’t even get me started on the clinginess. The guy couldn’t sleep without touching me. Kept pulling me in like a damn koala every night. I used to lie awake sweating and praying for death.”

Kang chuckled.

I stood still, fingers locked around the edge of the metal shelf. I couldn’t feel my legs.

“Every moment of my life was narrated,” he continued. “Jisung this, Jisung that. Listen to what I made. That’s not music, that’s delusion.”

It was like he was trying to shatter every part of me at once.

“He’d ask me if I loved him while we were eating cereal, like some needy high school freshman. Couldn’t let anything just be. Had to overanalyze every look, every silence. It got… unbearable.”

I pressed my hand to my chest.

“He thought he was being cute in bed too. You know the type; big eyes, soft moans, begging to be kissed. But it was all so fake. Performed. Like he thought he was starring in some rom-com porn hybrid. Honestly, it was awkward.”

Something cracked in my throat. I swallowed it.

“He wanted to try toys at one point. I told him I wasn’t interested, and he still left a box of them on the nightstand like some kind of… invitation. It was embarrassing.”

That never happened like that. That wasn’t how it went.

I tried.

I tried so hard.

He kept saying he wasn’t in the mood. That he was tired. That I was sweet, but he just didn’t feel like it. So I backed off. Told myself it was okay. Told myself love wasn’t about sex.

And now he was standing in the frozen aisle of my grocery store, telling Kang Yeonho I was some desperate sex-obsessed child who couldn’t read a room.

“I should’ve left earlier,” he said, voice light and easy. “I mean, fuck, I lasted two years. He should be grateful.”

I blinked fast.

I’d told the others it didn’t hurt that much. That I was fine. That it was good riddance. But here I was. Crying in a grocery store. Alone. Behind a wall of dried ramen.

The stuff in my cart blurred. The music was still playing. Something about love. Or maybe heartbreak. I couldn’t hear it anymore.

I pressed my face to the cool shelf edge and let one slow, hot tear run down my cheek before I wiped it away with the sleeve of my stupid coat.

God, I wanted to disappear.

I didn’t remember letting go of the cart, but it sat there half full, blocking the aisle, while I walked away without looking back.

My coat felt too hot. The air too thin. My ears were still ringing. Every word echoed like a knife dragged across the inside of my skull.

Grow up. An embarrassment. Should be grateful.

I couldn’t breathe right. Couldn’t swallow. I needed something to drown it out.

Not a walk. Not a phone call. Not one of Vesper’s glittery pep talks.

I needed silence. Or noise. Or something stronger than either.

The door of the grocery store opened automatically as I stepped through. I didn’t pretend I had another plan. My feet knew where to go… until they didn’t.

I turned left. Then right. Crossed at a red light. Passed three cafés without looking inside. The world kept going. I kept moving.

His voice was still in my head. Cold. Offhand. Like I was something he’d flicked off his sleeve.

Two years. Two fucking years.

All that time thinking I was loved. Safe. That I mattered. I thought we were building something. I thought he chose me.

I’d been a placeholder. A joke he told behind my back. Something small he kept around until he could trade up.

Every memory turned in on itself. Every touch, every word, every soft thing. I didn’t know what was real anymore. If anything had ever been real. If I’d just made it all up because I wanted so badly to be wanted.

He hated me. While I smiled at him. While I held his hand. While I told him things I’d never told anyone.

I thought I was home.

He thought I was pathetic.

And I had no idea. None. I thought we were happy. I thought… God, I thought he loved me.

I couldn’t stop replaying it. The way he said it. Like it was obvious. Like I should have known. Like I was the idiot for ever believing I mattered.

I’d loved him with everything I had. He’d let me. He’d watched me give and give and still thought I was too much. Not enough. A fucking embarrassment.

And now I had to live with that.

With all of it.

With the truth that it wasn’t a breakup. It was a joke I didn’t know I was in. A slow kind of cruelty stretched out over two years, and I’d called it love.

There was a bench. I sat. I didn’t notice how long I’d been there until the concrete cooled under my feet and the sunlight dimmed.

Everything felt obvious now. Humiliatingly obvious. Every word he ever said, every look, every sigh. Of course it added up. I just hadn’t been smart enough to see it.

Not careful enough. Not good enough. Not anything enough.

I’d let it happen. I’d let him hate me to my face and called it love. Let him lie and smiled through it. Let him get bored and still begged to stay.

Who does that.

Who’s that fucking stupid.

My jaw hurt. My head pulsed. I couldn’t stop thinking. I couldn’t stop hearing it. Over and over. The things he said. The way he said them. Like I was something pathetic. Something sticky he couldn’t shake off.

Like he’d waited two years just to finally say it out loud.

The sun dipped lower. The bench stayed hard beneath me.

The bar wasn’t far. Three blocks down. One left. Past the corner noodle place and the 24-hour nail salon with the neon stars.

It sat squat between a laundromat and a tattoo shop, humming with old songs and low light.

I walked straight inside like the air might not follow me if I moved fast enough.

The bar wasn’t fancy but the lights were soft, the music low, and the stool didn’t wobble.

I didn’t need fancy. I needed quiet. A place to sit while my heart stopped stinging.

“I’ll take… something strong,” I told the bartender. “Something that feels like deleting your browser history and your ex’s contact info at the same time.”

He snorted. “That bad, huh?” He was already reaching for the bottle. “You want the one with bite, or the one that pretends to be gentle first?”

He already knew how I liked it. He’d poured for me before. For all of us, actually. Birthdays. Breakups. That one night Seungmin tried to explain crypto until someone cut the power.

The first drink burned a little. The second didn’t. The third made my teeth tingle, which felt almost like joy. Close enough.

I talked.

To the bartender. To myself. To the air.

“You know what the worst part is?” I said, swirling the last inch of my glass. “He told Kang I was bad in bed. That I was ‘like filing taxes.’ Who says that? Who compares sex to taxes?”

I paused. “Well. Actually. That’s kind of poetic. Cold. Awkward. Obligatory. Once a year. I guess he had a point.”

The bartender made a soft noise. I couldn’t tell if it was sympathy or pity.

I plowed on anyway.

“I bought that bed, you know? Our bed. So when I moved out, I took it. Left him with the floor. And the couch cushions. May his back suffer as mine did.”

I nodded solemnly.

“Also, I stole his shoelaces.”

The bartender blinked. “You what?”

“Every single pair. Sneakers. Dress shoes. Boots. Poof. No more laces. I wanted him to fall on his smug fucking face.”

He chuckled then, reluctantly. I grinned.

“And the lightbulbs,” I added. “Every single one. He kept the apartment, but I took the glow. He can let Kang’s pale ass light up the dark and think about what he’s done.”

I laughed. Then I stopped laughing.

“He said I was clingy,” I mumbled. “Too eager. Too cute to be sexy. Like a pet. Something you pat on the head, not take to bed.”

The words stuck to my tongue like lint.

“He told Kang I begged for it. That I made sex awkward. That I whined.”

I blinked hard. The room wobbled just a little.

“But I tried, okay? I wanted to make it work. He just didn’t want me. And I thought maybe that’s just how he is. Maybe his sex drive is low. That’s a thing, right? That’s normal. People have different rhythms. You don’t pressure someone.”

I wrapped my hand around my fourth drink like it might hold me back together.

“He said I was childish. That I looked like someone who’d cry during foreplay. That he didn’t know how to tell me it wasn’t working without breaking me.”

My voice got quieter. “Like I’m so fucking breakable.”

Silence.

The bartender gave me a gentler look now. Maybe it was concern. Maybe he just wanted to close the tab and send me home.

“Bathroom’s down the hall,” he offered. “If you wanna splash water on your face.”

I nodded. Slowly. Carefully. Like any sudden movement might tip me over.

I slid off the stool, legs uncertain, and started toward the back.

The mirror over the sink was a little fogged. Someone had made an attempt to wipe it clean with a paper towel. My reflection stared back, hazy and pink-eyed.

“Is it true?” I whispered.

I looked at myself. The soft cheeks. The sleepy expression. The sweater that made me look younger than I felt.

“Is this why no one wants to fuck me?” I asked the mirror. “Because I’m cute instead of hot? Because I feel too much? Because I don’t know when to stop hoping?”

The silence didn’t offer answers.

I sat on the edge of the sink and let the world drift sideways for a while.

Eventually, I stood up. Washed my hands. Didn’t recognize the guy in the mirror anymore, which somehow made things easier.

I’d been sitting on the sink for… long enough.

I pushed open the bathroom door. The light inside snapped off behind me, leaving the corridor in its usual haze, half-lit, streaked with shadows. The floor was sticky in places and stained in ways I didn’t want to examine up close.

My legs wobbled but carried me forward.

A man leaned against the wall just past the entrance to the bar, framed like he was the tragic hero of a mediocre love story. Tall. Crisp shirt. Smile like wet glass, slick and reflective, nothing behind it.

“There you are,” he said, as if we’d made plans.

I squinted at him.

He stepped forward slowly as if to cage me in before I bolted. “You looked like you needed a friend earlier. I figured I’d wait.”

“I was… washing my hands,” I said. Which wasn’t really the point, but it was all I could think of.

“Of course,” he said, with a little laugh. “Gotta be clean, right?”

He touched my arm. Too familiar. Too easy.

“You’re cute. All flushed and soft around the eyes. Anyone ever tell you that?”

I blinked. My mouth worked, but no words made it out.

He leaned in, just close enough that I could smell cologne that was trying too hard. “Let me take care of you tonight. I’ll be nice. Promise.”

His fingers slid down my forearm. Not hard. Not aggressive. But uninvited.

“Come on. Just a little ride.” His voice dropped. “You’ll feel better after. I’m great at helping people forget.”

I couldn’t quite catch what felt wrong. Just that something floated on the edge of off. And then he smiled again. Reassuring. Like he was offering comfort. Warmth. Escape.

I followed him outside.

The air was cold. Street noise everywhere. A cab was already idling at the curb, engine purring. He reached for the door handle.

The cab door hadn’t even opened all the way when Minho’s voice cut through the noise.

“Get your fucking hands off him.”

The stranger turned, eyebrows raised like he was being inconvenienced. “Excuse me?”

Minho didn’t repeat himself. Just moved forward, slow and dangerous, like a man who didn’t need to yell to make a threat stick. “You don’t touch someone who’s too drunk to make the good kind of bad decisions.”

I blinked, the words swimming through me like warm water. Good kind of bad… I liked that…

“Relax,” the stranger drawled, hands lifting like he was innocent. “I wasn’t gonna hurt him. He was into it.”

“He’s not into you.” Minho didn’t even blink. “Now walk away.”

The stranger scoffed. “Fucking saints. You think he’s gonna remember who you even are tomorrow?”

He slid into the taxi and shut the door before Minho could answer.

Minho let out a breath through his nose, short and sharp, then turned to me. “Come on.”

I didn’t move. What had just happened?

“The bartender called,” he said. “Said you were wasted. Said you were alone and might need a friend.”

His hand caught my arm, not rough, but definitely leaving no doubt as to who was in charge now. “Let’s go.”

I stumbled a little as he guided me toward his car, legs jelly, heart rattling in my chest.

Minho didn’t talk. He didn’t even look at me. Not once. Just kept walking, grip steady, eyes fixed ahead like I wasn’t even there.

I kept waiting for him to say something. Yell. Snap. Anything. But he didn’t. His silence said more than words could’ve. Cold. Flat. Final.

He shoved me into the passenger seat and slammed the door so hard the whole frame rattled.

The car was too quiet.

The blur of streetlights smeared across the windshield. I couldn’t look at him, so I stared down at my hands instead. My fingers were sticky from the bar. I wiped them on my jeans.

Minho exhaled through his nose, sharp and hard, like the anger had finally snapped something inside him.

“What the fuck, Jisung.”

It wasn’t a question. It was an explosion.

“You could barely stand. You were slurring your words, you couldn’t walk straight, and you still thought it was a good idea to go home with some random asshole who was obviously lying about being drunk?”

My stomach twisted. I tried to speak, but he cut me off before I even formed a word.

“Do you ever stop to think?” he snapped, voice louder now. “Do you ever consider what might happen if someone takes advantage of how trusting you are?”

I hunched into myself, forehead near my knees. “I didn’t know…”

“No, you didn’t think. You didn’t notice he was sober because you were too busy trying to punish yourself.”

I squeezed my eyes shut. My throat felt swollen.

“That guy was hunting. He saw you slumped over the bar like low-hanging fruit and waited.”

“Stop.” I whispered. My voice cracked.

But he didn’t.

“You think your ex broke your heart?” Minho laughed, humorless. “You don’t even realize what could’ve happened tonight. What I stopped from happening.”

“I didn’t ask you to,” I said, voice shaking, brittle.

“No,” he growled, “but someone had to.”

I gasped, tried to suck in air. “I just wanted to stop feeling.”

“Feeling what?” he barked.

The word ripped open the hurt and my face crumpled.

“He said I was,” I sobbed. “He said I’m boring. That I’m… forgettable. That no one would ever want someone like me. He said I made him feel dead inside.

Minho’s hands slammed against the steering wheel. “Fucking hell, Sungie.”

“I tried,” I whimpered. “I tried to make it work. He didn’t even want me and I didn’t know. For years. And now he’s with him, and they’re laughing about how pathetic I am in the aisles of a goddamn grocery store… ”

The words broke apart in my throat. I was sobbing, gasping between each syllable, snot and spit and everything awful. “I know I’m a fucking mess. I know.”

Minho pulled over so hard the tires screeched against the curb. The car rocked as he threw it into park.

Then silence again. Only the sound of me, trying to breathe through the breakdown.

Minho.

The car idled quietly beneath us, headlights beaming down the dark road. Beside me, Jisung was falling apart. He’d stopped talking after that last outburst and just sat there, shaking, breath hitching like he couldn’t get enough air.

I could hear everything. The wet, uneven sniffling. The sleeve of his jacket dragging across his nose. The guttural little sound he made trying to hold it in, like even crying was something he thought he had to apologize for.

I turned off the ignition. The engine clicked as it cooled. Jisung kept crying beside me, breath stuttering, shoulders trembling hard enough to shake the seat.

It wasn’t quiet. Just him, falling apart next to me, and me not knowing how to hold any of it together.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered eventually. His voice was small and unsteady. “I didn’t mean to… I just…”

He broke off, and it sounded like it hurt.

I reached over and touched his arm.

“I shouldn’t have grabbed you like that,” I said. “Or slammed the door. That wasn’t about you.”

He didn’t answer, but he didn’t flinch either.

“I was scared,” I said. “You looked at me like you didn’t know who I was. Like you weren’t even here. And then you just… went with him.”

My throat tightened. I pressed my fingers just slightly against his sleeve, not enough to hurt. Just enough to keep the connection.

“The fear turned into anger,” I admitted. “But I shouldn’t have thrown it at you. I’m sorry.”

I looked over. His face was raw, eyes swollen, cheeks blotchy, lips trembling like he couldn’t get a full breath in. He looked like someone who’d never been taught how to shield himself and had paid the price for it.

“You’re not fucking worthless,” I said. My voice came out too rough, but I meant it. “So stop acting like you are.”

He froze. Then wiped his eyes again, sniffling harder.

”I don’t do it on purpose.”

I didn’t answer right away. Just leaned back and let the words hang between us, sharp and too true, while I tried not to let it show how much it pissed me off that someone had made him feel that way.

I reached behind my seat and grabbed the bottle of water I kept back there. I held it out without looking at him.

“Drink before you puke in my car.”

He twisted the cap and drank, hands still unsteady. Bit by bit, his breathing settled.

“You scared the shit out of me,” I said, voice low. “Don’t do that again.”

A shaky breath escaped him. “Yeah,” he whispered. “Okay.”

We drove to his place.

The tension had drained out and Jisung leaned against the window, water bottle clutched in both hands. His eyes barely moved, tracking the blur of passing headlights without really seeing them.

At his building, I parked and got out. Walked around to his side and opened the door. He didn’t say anything. Just unbuckled and got out, slow and unsteady, like every step had to be remembered before he took it.

He swayed a little on the stairs. I nudged his shoulder to keep him upright. He didn’t resist, just stayed where I’d nudged him, breathing hard.

At the top, he stopped in front of the door, listing slightly to one side.

“I’ve got it,” he mumbled, already reaching for the keypad.

He leaned in to punch it with more determination than coordination. I kept a grip on his jacket to make sure he didn’t tip over.

The lock beeped, and I pushed the door open with one hand while keeping the other wrapped around his arm. He slumped into me as we stepped inside, heavy and unsteady, mumbling something I couldn’t make out. 

He nearly tripped on the entrance rug, but I caught him before he lost his balance completely and led him to the bed. He tried to talk on the way. It was something about how ramen should qualify for health insurance. Sure. Right after emotional support vodka and regret-based cardio.

When I urged him to sit, he eyed me for a second, then dropped his gaze like even that was too much effort

I got his shoes off, then pushed gently at his shoulder. “Lie down.”

He blinked at me, confused, but didn’t resist. Just flopped back on the mattress like a puppet with the strings cut.

I pulled the blanket up and over him, tucking it around his sides. He looked so small like this.

In the kitchen, I filled a glass with water, found a bucket under the sink, rinsed it out, just in case and carried both back to the bedroom. Set them on the floor, within reach.

It could’ve gone really fucking wrong tonight.

If I’d been even five minutes later… if that guy had gotten him in the cab… if Jisung had passed out in some stranger’s apartment and never woken up right…

My stomach turned.

That bastard wasn’t drunk. He was playing it. Watching Jisung like he was already his. The way he touched him had been too confident, too casually intimate, like he’d done it before and gotten away with it.

I knew that type. Opportunistic. Patient. Waiting for someone too out of it to fight back.

I should’ve hit him.

I stood slowly, jaw tight, watching the soft rise and fall of his chest under the blanket. He’d laugh about this tomorrow. Or pretend to. But it sat wrong in me. 

He needed to be more careful. Or maybe… maybe someone else needed to be careful for him.

He was already half-asleep. Eyes closed, breathing shallow, mouth slightly open. I didn’t like leaving him like this. But I told myself that I wasn’t going to hover.

I stayed just long enough to make sure he was still breathing steady. Then I closed the door behind me and left.

Chapter Text

Jisung.

I woke up sideways on the bed, tangled in a blanket I didn’t remember pulling up. My mouth tasted like punishment. My eyes felt swollen. There was a bucket on the floor beside me and a half full glass of water. 

Right. Last night.

I groaned and rolled onto my back. The ceiling blurred in and out. Or maybe that was just me. Shame stirred somewhere in the back of my skull, slow and sour, blooming through the hangover haze. I pressed the heels of my hands to my eyes until stars sparked behind my lids.

It could’ve gone so badly.

I sat up slow. My head thudded in time with my pulse. Minho had gotten me home. Gotten me inside. Taken off my shoes, maybe. Left the bucket. Didn’t stay.

Of course he didn’t.

I dragged a hand through my hair and stood, one limb at a time. My whole body ached. Each step toward the kitchen came with resistance. Like my body hadn’t agreed to movement and was still deciding whether it should.

Vesper didn’t say anything when I passed the mirror. He was awake. Glittering faintly. Watching.

I ignored him and drank the other half glass of water before I could taste it. Leaned against the counter. Let the silence sit there a while. Then I looked up.

“Well,” I rasped, “congratulations. You officially have the most pathetic roommate in the building.”

Vesper arched a perfectly nonexistent brow. “Darling. I’ve been bound to mirrors in royal courts, opera houses, and one very haunted speakeasy. You are hardly the most pathetic man I’ve had to babysit.”

I blinked at him.

“Top ten, perhaps,” he added.

I flipped him off with one hand and set the glass down.

“I saw him yesterday,” I said. “At the grocery store. He was with Kang.”

Vesper didn’t move.

“They didn’t notice me. But I heard him.” My voice cracked. “He wasn’t telling stories. He was lying. Just… casually. Like it was nothing.”

I pressed my palm to the counter.

“Stuff I never said. Things that never happened. He laughed like he was proud of it. Like making me into a joke made him feel bigger.”

My chest hurt. I hated how much it still did.

I looked down at my hands.

“He looked so fucking comfortable, saying all that. Like I deserved it.”

Vesper stayed quiet. Eyes steady.

I rubbed at the corner of my mouth. “He called me boring. Said I was bad in bed.” I huffed out a breath. “But how would he even know? He barely touched me. I spent so fucking long telling myself that was fine. That maybe he just wasn’t like that. That it didn’t mean he didn’t care.”

I didn’t realize I’d tensed every muscle until my shoulders started to shake. “What if he’s right? What if I’m just not… enough?”

Vesper’s voice was soft. “Would you like me to curse him with a mysterious seasonal rash and a permanent stain on every white shirt he owns?”

“Please.” I laughed. “Do your worst. Keep him healthy but SO incredibly inconvenienced.”

“He’ll lose every second sock. His favorite pen will leak. The elevator will just miss him. Every. Time.”

I let my forehead rest against the cabinet door. “Can you make his pillows go weird? Like… warm and lumpy. But only just enough to ruin sleep.”

“Evil. Petty. Beautiful.” Vesper sparkled faintly. “Consider it done.”

I nodded. My voice came out almost as a whisper. “I don’t actually want him to suffer. I just… I want him to not matter to me anymore.”

Vesper said nothing at first. Just watched from the mirror, quiet and careful, like measuring how much I had left to give.

“We’ll make sure it doesn’t,” he said after a moment, voice determined.

I traced a circle on the counter with one fingertip. Watched the condensation collect around my beer can.

Eventually, I stood. Reached for the kettle. Measured out the tea. Something mundane to hold on to.

The water clicked off. I poured it, leaned on the counter, and stared out the window. Eyes open, but not really seeing.

Vesper declared it a day of “emotional realignment and exfoliation.” He tried to tempt me with skin serums and affirmations. I pretended I hadn’t heard him.

At some point, I showered and got dressed. Not because I had plans, just because sitting around in yesterday’s clothes made everything feel worse.

I texted Chan. Asked if he was free.

He replied twenty minutes later: “Stuck in the studio all day. Client check-ins. Wanna join me?”

I stared at the screen for a long time. Typed “yeah” and didn’t send it. Put the phone down.

I thought about going for a walk. Didn’t. Thought about painting. Didn’t.

In the end, I grabbed my laptop, threw on a coat, and drove in. The studio was empty, fluorescent, and too bright for my eyes. Chan was already there, hunched over the mixing board in Studio B, headphones askew, tapping a pen against his lip.

He looked up when I walked in. “You came.”

“You asked.”

I dropped my bag in the corner and moved to plug in my laptop. Felix sat cross-legged near the window, sketchbook balanced on one knee, his pencil moving in slow, deliberate strokes. A cup of tea steamed beside him. He nodded a greeting and I saw the corner of his mouth pull into a smile.

Chan went back to the playback, expression unreadable. The track looped in soft, even intervals clean, steady layers built over a piano foundation I barely remembered recording. His fingers moved without hesitation. He adjusted levels, marked sections, paused and rewound and looped again. Focused like nothing else existed.

Felix angled his sketchpad toward the light and kept drawing, every line precise, like he’d forgotten the rest of the room existed. He guided the pencil in slow, steady strokes, pausing now and then to blend or tilt the sketchbook for perspective. His focus didn’t flicker. He just kept working, absorbed like the rest of the room had fallen away.

It always got to me, a little. The way he could disappear like that and lock in. It was as if something in him calmed the second he started to create. I never understood how he made it look so easy. Or why watching him always made me feel a little more calm too.

I opened the comp file for Jin Ah’s vocals. Started cleaning up the harmonies, nudging phrases, isolating breath. The rhythm built slowly between us. It was soft, familiar, quiet in a way that didn’t press on anything raw in me. 

We stayed like that for a while. Just the three of us. The loop from Chan’s board. The scratch of pencil on paper. Nothing loud. Nothing harsh.

Eventually, Felix stretched with a quiet groan and stood. “All right, I think it’s time we take a break and actually eat something.”

Chan didn’t look up. “You two go ahead.”

Felix walked to his bag, pulled out three stacked containers, and placed them down. “You’re not skipping again. I brought enough for all of us. No excuses this time.”

Chan blinked. “Wait, you brought food for everyone?”

“Yes,” Felix said firmly. “Because I’ve seen what happens when you’re left to your own devices. It’s terrifying.”

I snorted. “I’ve seen it too. It’s not that great.”

Felix handed me one and sat down again with his own. “Come on. Eat before I start making speeches about nutrition and basic self-preservation.”

Chan finally pulled off his headphones and reached for his container. “You’re very determined today.”

Felix gave him a flat look. “I watched you live on vending machine crackers for three days. You’ve lost your right to object.”

Chan opened the lid and blinked down. “Is this… kimchi jjigae?”

“There’s some banchan in the little tub too,” Felix said, passing it over. “Don’t say I never take care of you.”

Chan muttered something under his breath but grabbed a spoon without hesitation.

I opened mine and took a bite of rice, still warm, a little crisp where it met the container. Soft egg, just enough soy and spice to make my eyes sting for a second. It was real food. Way better than the protein bar sitting forgotten in my bag.

A few bites in, Chan looked over. “Are you okay?”

“More or less,” I said, wiping my fingers on a napkin. “Didn’t feel like staying home today.”

He nodded once, didn’t press. Just went back to eating.

Felix, though, gave me a longer look. “Too quiet, maybe?”

“Maybe,” I said. “Or maybe I just didn’t want to think too hard about anything.”

He considered that and gave a small nod. “Well. We’re pretty good at filling up your head with nonsense when it’s needed.”

I smiled. “You’re definitely good at something.”

“We’re tragically underappreciated, that’s what we are,” he said, nudging Chan with his elbow. “Say something kind before I riot.”

Chan glanced at him, then at me. “He’s reliable with harmonies.”

Felix groaned. “Come on. That’s the best you can do?”

Chan sighed. “He also keeps calm when everything goes sideways.”

“That’s better,” Felix said, satisfied. “I’ll accept that for now.”

I laughed quietly and took another bite. The food settled warm in my stomach. The light through the blinds had gone soft, gold slipping into the room in long, quiet streaks.

Chan picked up his notepad again but didn’t write. He sat still for a few seconds, breathing easier than usual.

Felix grabbed his pencil, turned the page, and started sketching again.

I leaned back, stared at my screen without seeing it, then adjusted a few settings just to have something to do.

We stayed like that until the sky turned gold.

I didn’t go straight home. Drove a few extra blocks, looped around the park, let the music play too long after I parked. It wasn’t on purpose, exactly. Just… hard to call the day finished.

I dropped my keys on the counter and grabbed a beer from the fridge. Didn’t even bother closing the door before I cracked it open and leaned back against the sink.

The cold didn’t reach anything that mattered.

“I still feel wrong,” I said.

Vesper’s mirror caught the edge of a light beam like he’d been waiting. His expression was unreadable, but his tone came easy.

“Well,” he said. “You didn’t exactly do anything fun.”

“I worked,” I muttered. “Helped Chan. Talked to people. Ate.”

“And?”

I took one more sip. “Didn’t help.”

“Because you didn’t stop long enough to feel anything,” he said, like it was obvious. “You stayed busy. That’s not the same as feeling better.”

“I didn’t want to sit here all day.”

“And now you’re here anyway,” he said, not unkindly. “Still sad. Still hoping it’ll go away if you keep moving fast enough.”

I glanced over. He looked composed. Calm. Like someone who’d seen this trick a hundred times and already knew how it ended.

“I just wanted it to be less,” I said. “Even for a few hours.”

“I know.”

“I didn’t want to think.”

“Then don’t,” he said, a little brighter now. “Think later. For now, we do something stupid.”

I frowned. “Define stupid.”

Vesper’s eyes lit up. “We’re playing a game.”

I frowned. “I don’t want to play a game.”

“You need to.” His voice was light, but the look he gave me was very nearly fond. “You’ve been brooding long enough to make the furniture uncomfortable. It’s time. You need a push.”

“I’m not drunk enough for this.”

I covered my face with one hand. “God.”

“You’ll feel better afterward,” he said, gentler now. “I promise. Even if it’s just because you said something out loud and it didn’t kill you.”

I hesitated.

Then dropped my hand with a sigh. “Fine. But if we’re doing this… I’m gonna need more beer.” 

I got up before I could change my mind, crossed to the fridge, and came back with two. One for me. One for Vesper.

I opened his and set it beside his frame. 

Vesper perked up instantly. “Now we’re talking. And obviously… we’ll need glitter.”

“I swear to god…”

“Just a touch.”

“Vesper.”

“Oh hush, slutty prince. Drink your beer.”

Vesper tipped his imaginary crown. “Now then. Let’s begin.”

I blinked, slow and suspicious. “Begin what?”

“The game, obviously.”

“God.”

“Truth or truth.”

I stared at him. “Don’t you mean…”

“No.” He narrowed his eyes. “There is no dare. I don’t trust you not to injure yourself or develop another crush on a man with poor emotional hygiene.”

“That’s not… okay. Fair.”

He tilted his head, pleased. “Normal rules apply. Refuse to answer and you drink. Lie, and I will know.”

I sagged lower in my chair. “You always know.”

“Of course I do.” He brightened. “Now, I’ll go first.”

His posture shifted and he seemed taller somehow, smug as hell, eyes glittering like he was about to commit a crime.

“When,” he purred, “did you first realize you liked being bossed around?”

I coughed. “Jesus.”

“Wrong deity. Answer the question.”

“I… what even counts? That’s not a simple…”

“No stalling.”

I squinted at him, then took a long sip before mumbling, “Does grade school count?”

He clapped. “Delightful. Elaborate.”

“There was this girl,” I said, trying not to grin. “She used to make me carry her bag. Called me assistant.”

“Did you enjoy being called assistant?”

I winced. “I brought her snacks.”

Vesper howled. “Oh, you were doomed from the start.”

I aimed a finger at him. “Your turn.”

“Darling, I have no shame.”

“Rules are rules.”

He fluttered his lashes. “Very well. Ask me anything.”

I tipped my beer at him. “Who was your first love?”

His whole frame changed. Softer. Not sad, exactly. Just old.

“A poet,” he said finally. “No money. No manners. Too many teeth.”

I blinked. “Too many…”

“He smiled like a hyena in love,” Vesper sighed. “Wrote me sonnets on butcher paper.”

“Did you love him?”

“I wanted to marry him and bury him in the same week.”

I nearly choked on my drink. “That… yeah. That’s not surprising.”

Vesper sat up straighter again, recovering fast. “My turn. Do you want to be praised or ruined more?”

My mouth opened. Then closed again.

I looked at my drink. Then at him.

Then took a long pull.

“Coward,” he said, delighted.

“You said I could drink.”

“I did. But I also enjoy watching you suffer.”

He leaned forward, smug. “Name something you’d let Minho do to you that you wouldn’t admit in daylight.”

I didn’t even hesitate. Just reached for the can and drank again, eyes wide and unblinking.

Vesper’s laughter actually made the mirror ripple.

“Charming,” he said, fanning himself. “Your turn.”

I squinted at him. “What’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever licked?”

He didn’t miss a beat. “Marie Antoinette’s perfume bottle.”

“Why.”

“She dared me. I had to prove my courage. Also, I was drunk on champagne and personal grandeur.”

I shook my head. “You terrify me.”

“As you should.”

He leaned closer. “Would you rather have sex in a bounce house or during a live weather broadcast?”

I groaned. “What kind of… how is that even a choice?”

“Your reputation is at stake.”

I pressed my forehead to the can. “Bounce house. Less wind.”

“Scandalous.”

I dragged my eyes up again. “If someone were to name a cocktail after you, what would be in it?”

He grinned like I’d handed him a spotlight. “Absinthe, heartbreak, pomegranate, and edible glitter. Served with a dagger and a love note.”

I slapped the table. “I hate how fast that came to you.”

“I’ve had centuries to prepare.”

His eyes glittered. “What’s the dumbest thing you’ve ever cried about?”

I groaned. “There was this commercial. For dish soap. The sponge looked lonely.”

Vesper screeched.

“Stop it,” I said, blushing. “It was sad.”

“You need therapy.”

“You’re my therapy.”

“Oh god,” he muttered. “Don’t tell people that.”

I hiccupped into my drink. “Too late.”

We kept going. Vesper asked me to rank the top three fictional characters I’d let choke me. I asked if he’d ever cursed someone because they wore shoes he hated. (Yes. Once for crocs. Twice for patent leather.) He asked if I’d ever had a sex dream about a cartoon character. I refused to answer.

He took a victory sip.

By the time we hit round eleven, I couldn’t feel my face. Everything was hot; my cheeks, my ears, my whole damn soul. I’d found a glitter glue stick somewhere and was pointing it at him like a wand, demanding he address me as Jisung the Chaotic, Glitterborn and Hungover-to-Be.

He cackled. Full chest. Then flickered his reflection into some version of himself wearing a powdered wig and a brocade coat, gave an actual fucking bow, and announced, “Presenting the right dishonourable Baroness Slutsworthy,” in an accent that was either French aristocracy or brain damage.

I bowed so hard I nearly fell off the chair. “You wish you were this sluttish.”

“Oh, I don’t wish,” he said primly, one jeweled hand raised to his chest. “I manifest.”

I started giggling and couldn’t stop. There’s were tears. Possibly snot. He told me I looked radiant.

I called him a bitch.

We both drank.

I grinned into the foam of my beer. “I think I’m gonna regret this tomorrow.”

“Absolutely,” Vesper beamed. “But isn’t it fun?”

I didn’t remember falling asleep.

One second, there’d been warmth in my chest and glitter in the air. Vesper had been ranting about royal orgies and gold-trimmed paddles. I’d been nodding along, eyes unable to focus, laughing at my own slurred declarations of filth and fantasy.

And now… morning.

Light pressed in from the window. My neck ached. Something sharp poked under my cheek.

I lifted my head with a groan.

There were pipe cleaners tangled in my hair. My hand was stuck to the table with a dried smear of glitter glue. And one of the beer cans beside me had tipped, leaking a warm puddle that soaked into the back of my sleeve.

The rest of the table looked like a kindergarten explosion. Sequins, beads, stickers, scissors. Two uncapped glue sticks. A highlighter. A single false eyelash.

And Vesper.

He looked… magnificent.

Feathers fanned out from the top of his frame like a deranged crown. Plastic gemstones traced the corners of his glass in swooping, questionably symmetrical swirls. Someone, me, definitely me, had added a pair of googly eyes just above the clumsily drawn gilded filigree.

I sat there, mouth open, staring at the glittering disaster I’d apparently unleashed.

Vesper preened in the light, unbothered. “You gave me a makeover,” he said primly.

I blinked.

“I feel radiant.”

I scrubbed at my face with the heel of my hand. “I need water. Or a new brain.”

“You need breakfast,” Vesper said. “And perhaps a standing ovation.”

I groaned into the table.

“You confessed your fantasies, my love. You claimed your filthy little heart. You even called me pretty. It was a landmark night.”

“I also gave you tits made of pom-poms.”

“I’ll stand by them.”

I lifted my head again, squinting at him. “Are those… macaroni noodles?”

“A nod to my baroque period.”

I reached for a can, found it empty, and flopped back in my chair with a long exhale.

My throat felt sore. My head throbbed. My heart… hummed.

Vesper glinted at me, regal and ridiculous. “You, my darling prince, are finally becoming interesting.”

I grunted and closed my eyes. “God help us all.”

My skull felt split open by sparkles and regret.

The light was cruel. My tongue had the texture of glue. Which… wasn’t great, considering I’d apparently fallen asleep at the kitchen table surrounded by actual glue, glitter, and an empty beer can with something written on it in sharpie.

There was also a post-it stuck to my arm.

I blinked at the neon square, eyes narrowing.

1. I am allowed to want big dicks

2. People with big dicks WILL want me back

3. I am a beautiful mermaid

4. Trust the process

“…What the hell.”

Vesper gleamed smugly in his corner, frame now adorned with rhinestones, feather trim, and what looked like a googly eye over one edge.

“Is that my handwriting?”

“You were very passionate about the mermaid part,” he said primly. “You nearly cried.”

I rubbed my temples. “I don’t remember crying.”

“You also don’t remember declaring you wanted to be destroyed by a man whose forearms could snap a belt and make you say thank you. But alas. Memory is a fickle thing.”

I stared at the post-it. Then at him.

“You’re not serious.”

“I am deadly serious,” Vesper declared. “Now stick that to the fridge, where all sacred texts belong.”

I opened my mouth to argue. Then closed it again. Because honestly? He wasn’t wrong.

I peeled the post-it from my arm and shuffled over, slapped it onto the fridge door, and muttered, “This never leaves this apartment.”

“Of course not,” Vesper agreed. “I would never embarrass you.”

He glittered smugly.

“…Unless it’s funny.”

I stood there, staring at the fridge, feeling like id forgotten something. My brain fuzzed out and useless. I rubbed at my face. Reached for the aspirin. Started to turn away…

And stopped.

“Oh my god.”

Vesper arched a brow. “Divine revelation?”

“It’s fucking Monday.”

He lit up in unholy glee.  “You have to go to work!”

I groaned. “I’m going to show up smelling like glue and questionable choices.”

He looked smug. “So nothing new, then.”

“Remind me why I talk to you.”

“Because I’m beautiful and you love me. Now go, darling. Rule your domain.”

Chapter Text

Jisung. 

I was hunched over the console, half-listening to the playback in my left ear, when Chan leaned in and tapped the fader I hadn’t noticed I was riding too high. “What happened?” he asked.

“Vesper happened,” I muttered, easing it down. “And his damn glitter.”

He nodded and went back to scribbling in his notebook.

Changbin wandered in a second later with two coffees and a squint. He handed one to Chan, flopped into the chair behind me, and kicked my foot. “You look like less sad roadkill today. Progress?”

I snorted. “Apparently I’ve graduated to the letting go phase. You know, rage, resentment, drinking on a Sunday evening. It’s refreshing.”

Changbin grinned, nodding solemnly. “The best phase. That’s when the breakthroughs happen.”

I leaned back in my chair, stretching my arms above my head. “Vesper’s been surprisingly helpful. Like, emotionally. Which is a sentence I never thought I’d say about a.. person in a mirror.”

Chan didn’t even look up from his notes. “He’s surprisingly helpful about everything. Until he starts singing sea shanties mid-orgasm.”

“That was one time,” Changbin muttered.

I blinked. “Wait. What?”

“Don’t ask.” He took a long sip of his coffee, then gestured at me. “What’s he done now?”

“He made me write a post-it manifesto while drunk,” I said. “I woke up to glitter in my mouth and a craft glue crime scene. But he’s right about some stuff. I think. I just… I don’t know what I’m doing yet.”

Changbin tilted his head. “You don’t need to. You just need to keep doing something. Even if that’s screaming into the void while Vesper critiques your posture.”

“He does do that,” I mock-grumbled.

“Classic Vesper,” Chan said without missing a beat.

“Oh, right,” I said, lifting my head. “Vesper signed me up for an art class at the community center.”

Chan looked up from his notes. “You? In a structured activity with strangers?”

“I know. Growth.”

Changbin tilted his head. “What kind of art?”

“Painting. Still lifes, messy abstracts, whatever I’ll get away with. But the real highlight is the Aunties.”

“The what now?”

“The older ladies who basically run the class. Total chaos. One brings pastries. One wanted to marry me off to her grandson who’s ‘very good with animals.’”

Changbin burst out laughing. “Please bring Felix next time.”

I blinked. “Actually… that’s genius.”

“He’s all big eyes and polite bows. They’ll adore him.”

“Exactly. Maybe they’ll focus on his cheeks instead of mine.”

Chan muttered, “They’ll probably knit him a scarf and name their bridge club after him.”

Later that day, while the others argued over EQ levels and track layering, I slipped my phone out and sent a couple of quick texts.

me 🐹: wanna come to art class with me Saturday?

me 🐹: community center vibes. old ladies. lots of pastries. potential cheek pinching.

It only took a few seconds.

felix 🎨: OMG YES

felix 🎨: please

felix 🎨: I’m so bored I nearly alphabetized my spice rack again

felix 🎨: art and old ladies sound perfect

felix 🎨: also. pastries.

I smiled and tucked the phone away. He hadn’t found a job yet. Every place he’d looked wanted degrees or five years of experience to serve coffee and I could tell it was starting to get to him. He’d never say it outright, but the optimism in his messages lately felt a little too forced.

It would be fun. And the Aunties were going to lose their minds.

Saturday rolled around and Felix was almost bouncing beside me on the way into the community center, cheeks bright with excitement.

“They’re really called the Aunties?” he asked, adjusting the strap of his bag like he was walking into a gallery opening instead of a room with folding chairs and mismatched mugs.

“They’ll call you darling before you finish your first sentence. Brace yourself.”

He grinned like that sounded perfect.

Inside, the class was already in full gossip mode. Yarn bags, thermoses, trays of cookies, and that one suspicious bottle of “apple juice” cluttered the long table. Half the ladies were arguing over who brought the flakiest pajeon, the other half whispering over something clearly juicier.

“Oh, there he is!” one of them called, waving me over. “And you brought a guest! My, my…”

“Ladies,” I said, with the dignity of a man used to being assessed like ripe produce. “This is Felix.”

They descended like a flock. Compliments, questions, and cheek pinches flew at him in rapid succession. Felix handled it with glowing grace, smiling so sweetly I thought someone might actually cry. One kissed his hand. Another slipped him a crochet coaster “for luck.”

“He’s beautiful,” one whispered not-so-quietly to her neighbor.

“I know,” I grinned.

A staff member from the center stepped in a moment later, clapping her hands gently to get everyone’s attention.

“I just wanted to let you all know that unfortunately, we haven’t found a replacement instructor yet. So today’s session is self-led. You’re welcome to stay and paint, but unless we find someone soon, we might have to cancel the class entirely.”

A chorus of distressed murmurs broke out.

“Cancel?”

“But I’ve already started my magnolia series!”

“Where are we supposed to gossip now?”

“I need this for my sanity, Soon-ja.”

Felix squeezed my wrist under the table.

“It’s fine,” I whispered. “They’ll riot politely.”

Pastries were passed. Gossip resumed. Someone brought up an elopement scandal that had apparently started at the pickle stand three years ago. Felix, all the while, settled quietly into the rhythm of the room.

He pulled out his sketchbook. Asked someone about their brush technique. Gently corrected another’s shading, murmuring something encouraging. It was subtle at first. No big declarations. Just soft-voiced suggestions and kind praise.

Then one of the them, auntie Choi, I think, looked at her canvas and sighed. “Felix, dear, how would you make this look less like a potato and more like a baby’s face?”

He crouched beside her, pointing things out like he’d been doing it for years. And before I knew it, half the room was watching him. Taking notes. Asking questions. He never once made it about himself. He just… helped.

By the time the staff member returned with fresh coffee, the room had turned reverent.

One of the other aunties pointed an accusatory finger. “Him. Hire him.”

Felix blinked, mid-demonstration. “Me?”

“Yes, you!” another cried. “You clearly know what you’re doing, and I’ll be damned if this class dies just because the last girl ran off with her massage therapist!”

The poor staff member looked overwhelmed but intrigued. “Actually… would you be willing to teach an elementary art class too? On Thursdays? We’ve been looking for someone patient and… well, you seem to be doing great here.”

He looked at me. Then at the hopeful faces around him. I could almost see the decision click into place.

Then back to the frazzled employee.

“The pay is terrible,” she warned.

Felix smiled so brightly it almost knocked me over.

“I’d love to.”

We left the community center with paint on our fingers and smiles still tugging at our cheeks. The aunties had hugged Felix half to death before letting him go, and I was pretty sure one of them slipped him a crocheted mushroom keychain as a parting gift.

“Boba?” Felix asked, his voice light with leftover excitement.

I didn’t even pretend to think it over. “Obviously.”

They stopped at a little corner place Felix claimed had the best mango-strawberry slush in Seoul. I got lychee with lemon popping pearls. Cold, sweet, exactly what I didn’t know I’d been craving. We sat on the curb outside, drinks in hand, sun warming their shoulders.

“I can’t wait to tell Chan,” Felix said, practically levitating with excitement. “He’s gonna be so proud.”

“Yeah?” I took another sip. “Think he’ll cry real tears?”

Felix grinned. “He might. He gets weirdly emotional when I do anything remotely self-affirming.”

I snorted. “To be fair, you just agreed to mold the creative minds of the next generation. I think that’s worth a couple of tears.”

Felix nudged me with his elbow. “I get to paint with kids and aunties and not feel useless. That’s… big.”

“It is,” I said, then smiled. “And you’re gonna be really fucking good at it.”

We fell into a soft silence. Just the rhythm of slurping straws, people-watching, traffic flowing by.

“You were perfect for that,” I said after a while. “I mean, you actually like painting. And people. That helps.”

Felix gave a small laugh, cheeks a little pink. “I really do. They were so sweet.”

“They adored you.” I nudged his cup against Felix’s with a grin. “Honestly, I was just trying to avoid more cheek pinches. But you… you made their whole day.”

Felix ducked his head slightly but didn’t stop smiling. “Mine too.”

We finished our drinks with sticky fingers and sun-warmed skin. For the first time in a while I didn’t feel like a broken wheel in my own life.

Later that evening, I lay stretched out on the couch, the fan whispering in the corner, my phone slipping slowly down my chest. My legs were sore from sitting too long on the hard folding chairs at the community center, and I still had a smudge of purple paint on my wrist I hadn’t noticed until now.

It had been a good day. The aunties had pressed snacks into my hands and fussed over my hair. Felix had glowed under their attention, but so had I. It had been a haven of pastries and zero-shame matchmaking schemes.

I scrolled lazily through the group chat. Jeongin’s meme from earlier, something about a frog in thigh-highs and emotional damage, made me bark out a laugh.

I opened the App Store without thinking. Just looking for something mindless. A game, maybe. Something dumb to tap at while ignoring the inside of my own head. Scrolled down the list of recommendations, and there it was. A dating app. Front and center, like the algorithm had been spying on my worst impulses.

I told myself that I didn’t need it. I wasn’t looking for anything serious.

But something still itched under my skin.

Not like loneliness exactly. But som kind of  wondering if this, these pockets of joy, like the one today had been, was all there’d ever be for me.

I wanted someone to look at me and see more than a jokester. Someone to want me. And not just because I was funny or useful or safe to be around.

So I tapped the icon.

And downloaded the app.

Setting up the profile felt like signing a weird emotional contract with myself. Like, okay loser, I guess we’re doing this now.

I picked a picture where I looked… normal. Not hot, not too filtered, just me. Grinning mid-laugh with a bubble tea in one hand and what might’ve been a smear of glitter on my cheek. Blame Vesper for that one.

And then I had to fill out a bio.

I tried being cool. Really. I typed “laid-back guy looking for fun and maybe more,” then deleted it so fast my thumb cramped. That wasn’t me.

What came out instead was:

“Artist-adjacent chaos dumpling with a soft spot for ramen, frogs, and emotional safety.

Not great at dating, but trying anyway.

Swipe if you’re into overthinking, spontaneous dance breaks, and someone who’ll remember your favorite snack without asking twice.”

I stared at it. Cringed a little. Left it anyway. If someone was gonna like me, they might as well know what they were getting into.

I set my filters tight. No more than three years younger or older. I wasn’t looking to be anyone’s experiment or anyone’s babysitter. Just someone in the same part of life, give or take a little chaos.

Then I started swiping.

A parade of faces, some blurry, some way too close, some alarmingly hot. A few bios made me laugh. One made me feel slightly threatened by the amount of gym-related emojis.

I swiped left. And again. Then paused.

One profile stood out. Cute. Soft-looking. Big eyes. He had a cat in one picture and a paint-stained apron in another.

I swiped right before I could overthink it.

Then set the phone down like it might explode.

I flopped backward onto the bed, phone on my chest, and picked at a loose thread on my shirt, feeling like an idiot. I’d actually downloaded it. Like that would somehow fix anything. Like an app could make me feel wanted.

Vesper’s glow sparked to life from the corner of the room. “Darling,” he purred. “You’ve been very quiet for the last three minutes. Either you’re dead or emotionally spiraling. Which is it?”

I groaned. “Neither. Mostly.” I tilted my head toward him. “I downloaded a dating app.”

He gasped like I’d just confessed to murder. “Scandal! Intrigue! Tragedy! Did you use the picture with the frog hat?”

“No. I went respectable. Ish.” I sat up and scrubbed a hand down my face. “I even made a real bio. You’d be proud. Or horrified. Probably both.”

“Oh, I am both. Eternally. What did you write? Tell me immediately.”

I recited it, and he glittered so hard I thought I might have a seizure.

“Artist-adjacent chaos dumpling? Emotional safety? Jisung, my brave little toaster oven of desire, that is the most authentically deranged thing you’ve ever done. I adore it.”

“Thanks, I think.”

“You’ll attract only the best. Or at least the weirdest. Which, frankly, is the same thing.”

I smiled a little, warmth catching in my chest. “Also…” I stretched my arms above my head. “Felix got a job.”

“Oh?” Vesper preened. “Let me guess. Professional cherub? Angel consultant? Sparkle technician?”

“Close, but no,” I said, already smiling. “Community center arts teacher.”

Vesper went still. Then his light flared like someone had thrown glitter into a bonfire. “YES. Paint-splattered prince of beauty and joy. I knew he had it in him. I told you he had that nurturing, brush-wielding power.”

“He really did great today. The ladies loved him.”

“I shall knit them all sashes of gratitude.”

“You don’t have hands.”

“I’ll find some.”

I laughed, really laughed, then leaned back into the couch with my eyes closed.

Maybe today was a win. Maybe two.

My phone dinged.

I glanced down, expecting a group chat or spam, but there it was; You’ve got a new match.

The name read Nam Seojin. The profile picture showed a guy with messy hair, a book in his lap, and a grin that didn’t look filtered or posed. Age twenty-four. Close enough. His bio said he liked horror movies, strong coffee, and being warm.

I snorted. “Same.”

Before I could overthink it, I sent a wave emoji. It felt safer than words.

He replied two minutes later.

👋 hey there. I like your bio.

I blinked. I had written it in five minutes of half-baked honesty:

Thanks, I typed back. Yours made me feel like a housecat in winter. I mean that as a compliment.

Best compliment I’ve ever gotten, honestly.

He was funny. Quick with jokes but not too much. Always replied with something that made me smile. I didn’t know him, not really, but the conversation felt easy. Easier than I expected. He didn’t flirt aggressively or ask anything creepy. Just small stories, little check-ins. What I painted. What he read. What we liked on our ramen.

By the end of the second day, we were sending stupid photos of our coffee mugs with increasingly dramatic captions.

By the fourth, I was checking the app every few hours.

By the sixth, I flopped onto my bed with a dramatic grunt.

“I matched with someone,” I told Vesper.

He pulsed gently. “Do tell.”

“His name’s Seojin. He likes books. And socks. And putting too much garlic in his food.”

“Mm. Sexy.”

“And he matched with me, V. Which proves one of two things: either I’m not a total mess, or he’s into fixer-uppers.”

Vesper practically vibrated with glee. “Darling, I am delighted. A romance! A stranger with potential! Shall I cast a foretelling spell?”

“No,” I groaned. “Also that’s not a thing.”

He shimmered, smug. “You keep saying that, and yet…”

Later that night, my phone buzzed again.

Seojin: Want to grab coffee sometime next week?

I stared at the message, heart doing something weird in my chest.

Then I typed:

Sure. I’d like that.

I watched the little “read” text appear and let myself hope, just a little.

The café was warm, all hissing milk steam and clinking mugs. I sat across from Seojin at a two-seater by the window, trying not to overthink my posture. First dates were always awkward, right?

“So,” I said, keeping things light, “you look younger than your profile pic.”

Seojin grinned. “I get that a lot.”

We talked about art and horror movies, how warm the weather had gotten. I felt myself relax inch by inch. Nothing flirty or weird. Just a decent conversation with a cute guy who I’d like to get to know better.

Exactly thirteen minutes in, the door burst open.

“Seojin!”

A woman’s voice cracked across the café, shrill with fury. I blinked, confused. Then her purse smacked my shoulder.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing with my son?!”

I reeled back. “I… what?!”

“He’s nineteen! A high schooler!” she shrieked, swinging again.

Seojin’s face drained of color. “Mom…”

“Don’t you mom me! You said he was a friend from college! What kind of grown man meets schoolboys in broad daylight?!” She rounded on me again, eyes wild. “What kind of predator are you?!”

“I didn’t know,” I stammered, staggering to my feet. “He said he was twenty-three… he said he was in college…”

“Do you even know what school he goes to?!” she shouted. “You’re disgusting! Good thing I followed him the second he left the house. Someone call the police!”

People were already filming. Staff rushed over. I was shaking, heart thudding in my throat, coffee spilled down my jeans. I looked at Seojin for help. He just stared at the floor.

The room smelled like cheap cleaning spray and stale coffee. The fluorescent light above the desk buzzed faintly, loud enough to scrape at my nerves. I sat with both hands curled tight in my lap, trying not to look like I was shrinking even though that was all my body wanted to do. Shrink. Vanish. Collapse into the floor.

Across from me sat Seojin. Next to him, his mother and father. She looked smug. He looked furious. The officer behind the desk tapped at a keyboard with slow, one-finger punches, occasionally glancing up like he didn’t know what to make of me yet.

“I don’t care what he claims he thought,” the father said. His voice was sharp, nasal, each syllable shaped to humiliate. “My son is nineteen. A high school student. And this… man… took him out for coffee under false pretenses.”

I opened my mouth. Closed it again. My skin burned.

“I didn’t know. He told me he was twenty-four…”

“You expect us to believe that?” Seojin’s father snarled. 

The officer raised a brow, neutral on the surface, but I saw the way his gaze slid sideways. “You never asked for ID?”

“Who does that on a dating app?” I said, then instantly regretted it. I sounded defensive. Stupid.

The mother let out a soft scoff and crossed her arms. “You’re a grown man. Don’t pretend you didn’t know what you were doing.”

The officer wasn’t hostile, but his expression had turned into something doubtful. Apprehensive. Like he wasn’t sure who to believe yet. Like my presence here meant guilt by default.

“This wasn’t a formal report,” the officer said, glancing down at the notes he’d taken. “You agreed to come down voluntarily, so let’s keep this civil.”

“Civil?” the mother snapped. “He took our son on a date to do his knows what. Look at him. Does he look twenty-four to you?”

Jisung’s stomach churned. He didn’t look. Couldn’t. His voice scraped the back of his throat. “He said he was in college. Twenty-four. I believed him.”

The father folded his arms. “That’s what predators always say.”

“I didn’t do anything wrong.” Jisung’s voice cracked. “We were just talking. We didn’t even finish our coffee.”

“And what were you planning to do after, huh?” The mother leaned forward. “Take him home? Into your bed?”

The officer raised a hand. “Please. Let him speak.” He turned to me again, not unkind, but firm. “Did he ever mention being in high school?”

“No! He said he liked horror movies and garlic and… and he made jokes about work stress!”

“You didn’t think to ask?”

“He lied!” My voice broke entirely, and I pressed my hands to my face, breathing in the cold sting of humiliation. “He told me what I wanted to hear. I didn’t know.”

The officer exhaled slowly. “We’ll make a note of that.”

No one had said the word charge yet. No cuffs. No cold cell. But the heavy gaze of every eye in the room, the twist of shame in my gut, the voice in my head whispering I should have known. It felt like punishment already.

“I didn’t do anything,” I whispered.

“Is this your usual type?” the officer asked, flipping a page on his notepad. “Younger men?”

My stomach churned. “No, I… he matched with me, he said he was twenty-four, I just wanted…”

“What?” the mother snapped. “What exactly did you want from him?”

I wanted to scream. Instead, I sat there, hands shaking under the desk. “Just coffee. Conversation. I didn’t know he was in school. He never said anything.”

“He hasn’t even graduated yet,” she said sharply, as if that was evidence of something. “And instead of studying, he was lured out by some online predator!”

“I am not a predator.” I whispered. “I didn’t lure anyone. I just… he talked to me. I thought he was nice.” 

The father leaned forward, eyes narrowed with cold fury. “Are you lonely, Mr. Han? Is that it? Looking for affection from someone too young to see through your intentions?”

I stared down at my knees. My ears rang. My mouth tasted sour. I had nothing left to say. I’d said it all already and none of it mattered. No one believed me. The officer didn’t believe me. This was what my ex used to warn me about. What happens when people see too much want in you. What happens when you reach for something that was never meant to be yours.

I didn’t hear the door open. Only when the officer looked up and said, “Ah, you must be the emergency contact,” did I raise my head.

Minho stepped into the room like everything was already his to handle. Calm. Dressed in black. His eyes flicked from the officer to me to the family across the table.

He looked good. Too good. All that quiet certainty, like he didn’t just walk in. He walked in knowing how this would end. That kind of confidence turned my brain to static.

“Lee Minho,” he said smoothly. “I got a call. What happened?”

The officer gestured toward me without much ceremony. “Mr. Han brought a younger man out on a date. The family’s claiming he misrepresented himself. Their son is nineteen, but they’re under the impression that Mr. Han knowingly pursued someone they consider vulnerable.”

Minho blinked once. Then again.

Slowly, he turned his head and looked at the boy.

“You’re nineteen,” he said.

Seojin nodded, pale.

“You met Jisung online. Matched with him. Chatted with him for over a week. Flirted, sent selfies, picked a time and place for the date. Right?”

Seojin shifted uncomfortably. “Yeah…”

Minho looked at the parents next. “And you barged into a café, screamed at my friend, accused him of being a predator, called the police, dragged him through a public scene, and now you’re sitting here… acting like he’s the one who did something wrong?”

The mother opened her mouth, but Minho didn’t wait.

“Let me be very clear. Your son is legally an adult. He lied about his age on a dating app, initiated contact, and agreed to meet. And when that decision didn’t suit you, instead of talking to him like responsible parents, you went for the public humiliation of a man you know nothing about.”

“Excuse me!”

“No. You don’t get to speak now. Not after what you’ve done.” His voice was razor-sharp, every syllable cutting deeper. “Your son lied,” Minho said, voice quiet. “And you defended him.”

He didn’t shout. He didn’t even look angry. Just… certain. Like the facts were already settled.

“You didn’t ask why he lied. You didn’t ask what he was thinking. You just stepped in and tried to bury the damage.”

He looked at the boy, then back at the parents, measured, unimpressed.

“If that’s how you handle problems, don’t act surprised when he keeps making them. If the lesson he learns is that you’ll cover for him, no matter who he hurts…”

Minho’s gaze cooled further.

“You’re not helping him. You’re raising someone who’ll make messes and expect other people to fix them.”

The father stood, face dark. “You are insulting us!”

“I don’t need to,” Minho said coolly. “You’ve already made yourselves look like fools. You want to pretend your son’s never lied to you? That’s fine. But don’t do it at the expense of someone who did nothing but believe the story he was told.”

The room went still.

Seojin stared at his hands. His parents stood up. Not a word of apology. Not even a backward glance. They walked out with stiff shoulders and tight mouths, leaving behind only the echo of their judgment.

The officer sighed. “We’ll close the report. No further action.”

I stood on unsteady legs. My throat felt raw. My palms were damp. I didn’t even look at Minho until we were outside.

He opened the car door for me.

I got in, silence pressing thick between us.

It wasn’t until the engine started that he spoke again.

“If I have to rescue you one more time, I swear… I’ll collar you just to keep you safe.”

I laughed. Just once. It sounded weird in my throat. But I didn’t hurt as much anymore. 

Minho took me home and walked me all the way to my door. Up three flights. No parting joke. No smug comment.

He never came up. Never lingered longer than he had to.

I wondered why he did that.

“So… that was a fiasco. Not on your part, my sweet.”

Vesper’s voice floated from the mirror, gentle for once. Still dramatic, he couldn’t help that, but gentle.

I was already sprawled on the floor in front of him, back against the foot of my bed, knees bent and arms slack at my sides. My sleeves had damp spots from where I’d wiped my face earlier. The room smelled faintly of Minho’s cologne, he’d hugged me tight before leaving, and the faintest hint of garlic from the leftover tteokbokki I hadn’t touched.

“I deleted the app,” I said.

Vesper sparkled faintly. “A wise choice.”

“I’m done. I mean it. No more dating. No more meeting strangers who lie about being in college and almost get me arrested.”

“You were nearly collared, darling,” he said, faux wistful. “That’s at least something to write home about.”

I let out a miserable little laugh and dropped my head back against the edge of the bed. “He really said that.”

“Romantic,” Vesper drawled. “If you’re into that.”

“Well, I’m into not getting slapped in cafés and accused of seducing younger boys.” I sighed. “So you can cross that right off my imaginary kink list.”

There was a pause, then a faint shimmer of glitter floated out from the edge of the frame. Vesper’s version of a sympathetic hug.

I rubbed my eyes with the back of my hand. “Do I give off ‘twink-hunting deviant’ or was that just today’s vibe?”

Vesper pulsed faintly. “Maybe don’t lead with that on your next profile.”

“I’ll just list my hobbies as ramen, mild humiliation, and public ruin.”

“Throw in loving trips to the police station and glitter glue and I’d swipe.”

“Of course you would.”

I let my head thunk back against the edge of the bed. “I matched with one guy. One. And ended up as the cautionary tale of someone’s church group.”

Vesper glittered in silence. Possibly in judgment. Possibly in solidarity.

Finally, he said, “Shall I prepare a post-breakdown ritual? I could summon a bubble bath. Or a revenge haircut. Or set something small and satisfying on fire.”

I snorted. “Just let me wallow a bit. Then maybe ramen.”

“Done. And then back to fabulous. We rise again, my love.”

“I’m not fabulous.”

“You are a storm in thrift store sneakers, and I adore you.”

That made me laugh. A little.

I stayed on the floor, legs stretched flat.

“I didn’t hate it,” I said, voice low.

Vesper didn’t respond right away. I glanced toward the mirror.

“The collar thing,” I added. “When Minho said it. That he might as well put one on me.”

Vesper’s frame glowed faintly. “That would hardly make you unique.”

“No, I know. I just…” I exhaled. “I’ve never told anyone that before. That it didn’t sound awful.”

His light didn’t flicker, didn’t judge. Just waited.

“It’s not about… anything kinky,” I said quickly. “It’s not about wanting to be used. It’s just… I like the idea of being someone’s. Not owned like an object. Just… kept. Chosen.”

Vesper’s voice dropped. “Safe.”

“Yeah.” My throat felt tight. “Safe and wanted. Like there’s a place where I fit and I don’t have to keep proving why I deserve to be there.”

He shimmered quietly, like he understood without needing to say it.

“I still wonder if I am wrong for wanting that,” I whispered.

“You aren’t,” he said softly.

I closed my eyes, let the words sink in.

He went on, quieter now. “You’re allowed to want to belong. To someone kind. Someone who knows how to hold on to what’s important to them. That’s not shameful. That’s human.”

I bit the inside of my cheek. “I don’t want a fantasy. I just want… something real. Something that sees me. All of me.”

“And you will have that,” Vesper said. “Because you’re finally starting to believe that you deserve it.”

I nodded into the quiet.

Vesper sighed, dramatically fond. “You’d look good in a collar.”

I blinked. “What?”

“Don’t play dumb. Slim neck, tragic eyes, all that repressed need. You’d be irresistible. Especially with a little bell. So Minho can hear you coming and prepare accordingly.”

“You should not be allowed to talk.”

“He’d probably keep treats in his pocket.”

“Stop.”

“Too late. I’ve mentally added a tag that says Property of Minho, do not feed after midnight.”

Chapter Text

Jisung.

I didn’t bring it up again. Not with Vesper. Not even in passing. The fear of being ridiculed was still going a little too strong. 

But it stuck with me.

Minho’s joke echoed louder the longer I tried to forget it. If I have to rescue you one more time, I might as well put a collar on you.

He’d said it so easily. Tossed it off the way you’d mutter about bad weather or spilled coffee. But something about the words snagged.

A collar.

Owned.

Safe, maybe. Claimed.

My stomach flipped every time I thought about it. And then I resented myself for thinking about it. Because who thought about that?

I waited until late. The apartment was dark except for the blinking router. Vesper’s frame stayed dim. No glitter. No commentary. He’d gone to spy on the neighbors again. Said it kept his mind sharp and his gossip sharper. Claimed it was his civic duty to monitor suspicious couples and poorly trained poodles. 

I opened my laptop and hesitated, fingertips idle over the keyboard.

Then, fast:

“Is it wrong to want to be submissive?”

“Feeling ashamed of kinks”

“Wanting to belong to someone normal?”

I clicked. Scanned. Kept the volume low, in case any video autoplayed. I read personal posts, expert blogs, comments buried in anonymity. Most of it was surface-level. Some of it was garbage. But one thread stopped me cold.

You’re not broken for wanting to surrender.

You’re not weird for wanting structure, affection, permission.

You’re not wrong. You’re just waiting for someone safe enough to let go. 

I stared at the screen until the words blurred. Then I closed the tab and just sat there, breathing.

This wasn’t about making someone else happy anymore. It wasn’t about proving I could be whatever my ex had wanted and still failed to be.

This was mine.

I closed the laptop and sat there in the dark.

It came back in pieces. Not the worst night. Not the worst words. Just… one of many.

It had been almost two weeks since we’d touched each other. I’d tried to bring it up once, softly, and he’d waved it off, said he was tired, busy, not in the mood. It was always something.

So I stopped asking.

But that night, we were both home. He was scrolling through his phone in bed, light from the screen flickering across his face. I was next to him, pretending to read.

My stomach twisted the whole time, trying to find the right words. I thought maybe if I made it fun, framed it like something playful instead of… desperate.

I swallowed and glanced at him. “Hey. Have you ever thought about… I don’t know. Trying something different?”

He didn’t look up. “Different how?”

I picked at the corner of my blanket. “Like, I don’t know. If you wanted to… maybe tie me up? Just lightly. Or blindfolds. Stuff like that.”

He snorted without even lifting his eyes from the screen. “Since when are you into that kind of thing?”

“I’m not… it’s not that I’m into it, I just thought…” My voice shrank. “Maybe you’d want to, if things were more exciting.”

He finally looked at me. The contempt written on his face clear as day. “So it’s my fault now that we’re not fucking?”

“No, I didn’t mean…”

He set the phone down and gave a short laugh. “Honestly, Jisung. You’re really out here pitching kink like a last-ditch effort. What, you think I’ll want you more if you beg for a leash?”

My throat burned. “I wasn’t begging.”

He slanted a look at me. “You kind of were.”

I tried to explain. “I just thought… if I tried harder, maybe you’d…”

He rolled his eyes. “You really think this is the way to fix things? Throwing sex tricks at me like I’m supposed to be impressed?”

“I’m not trying to fix anything. I just want to feel close again. With you.”

He let out a quiet sigh, like I’d said something childish. “You always want too much. You need too much. Sex, affection, constant validation… it’s exhausting.”

I flinched.

He looked at me like he pitied me. “You don’t need someone who’ll tie you up. You need a therapist.”

I didn’t say anything else. Just nodded, even though it made me feel sick. I rolled away from him and stared at the wall.

Eventually, he picked up his phone again.

I lay there in our shared bed, quiet, still aching to be touched… and wanting to disappear entirely.

Spilled water could lead to many things.

I was wiping down the table when I knocked over a glass of water, and it ran off the edge like it couldn’t get away fast enough. I muttered, grabbed a dish towel, crouched to mop up the mess… but then just sat there on the floor, knees tucked under me, staring at nothing.

I didn’t want to stand up.

Didn’t want to finish cleaning.

Didn’t want to do anything except sit with the hollow ache in my chest, even if I had no idea what caused it.

There was a notebook on the counter. I didn’t remember leaving it there, but it must’ve been from last week. Some abandoned to-do list or sketch idea. I dried my hands and pulled it toward me, flipping past pages filled with little doodles and random notes in ballpoint pen.

A blank page.

I wasn’t exactly planning anything, but the words still came.

 - I think I want to be touched like I’m wanted.

It looked messier than I expected. Tilted. A little too big.

I lowered the pen, stared at it. My heart beat faster, like I’d done something risky.

I waited for the shame to crawl in and make itself at home. But nothing came. Just silence.

So I kept writing.

- I want someone to take control because they care. Not because they’re trying to win. Not because they think it’s owed to them. Just… because they want to make me feel good.

My throat closed. My eyes burned. I didn’t stop.

- I want to let go and not be afraid of what happens when I do.

- I want to be told I’m good. Not just during. After. Always.

I sat very still. Even the pen seemed unsure of where to rest.

Another page. New heading:

things I want

- kissing with hands in my hair

- being pinned down (not rough, just…immobilized)

- someone watching my reactions like they’re important 

- being praised when I do something right

- a hand on my chest, steadying me

- someone asking what I want before they take it

A drop hit the page.

Then another.

I didn’t remember starting to cry.

I wiped at my cheek with my sleeve, but more came. Quiet, aching tears that felt less like sadness and more like grief.

I grieved every time I’d stayed quiet. Every time I’d apologized for needing anything. Every time I’d changed what I wanted just to feel wanted.

The page blurred. I turned another, writing even slower this time:

- I want someone who doesn’t see this as too much. Or too weird. Or too hard to deal with.

- I want someone who doesn’t laugh when I ask to be kissed.

- I want to stop being ashamed of wanting.

My chest rose in a shaky breath. I shut the notebook, held it against my sternum like it might disappear if I let go too soon.

The days kept moving. I showed up at work. Texted back when people messaged. Ate ramen on the floor with the window cracked open. From the outside, nothing looked different.

But every night, when I climbed the last creaking stair to my rooftop studio and dropped my keys on the only table I owned, it was there. That tug. That yearning to understand what had been missing.

I kicked off my shoes, changed into sweats, and sat on the bed with the laptop in my lap.

I opened the browser.

Not the same hesitant searches as last time. This was intentional.

“Touch starvation during a relationship.”

“Why do I feel gross for wanting to be held during sex.”

“What is normal sexual intimacy.”

The answers came to me slowly. Buried under clickbait or trapped in forum posts five years old, but they were there. People like me. People who’d been told no so many times, they stopped asking. Stories about silence. About shame. About learning how to ask again.

It made something swell in my chest.

I kept reading. Followed threads until I landed on one titled “Gentle but filthy: a guide to sex that’s soft, slow, and absolutely ruins you.” I clicked.

It was paragraphs long. Detailed. Not porn, no pictures, but somehow more intimate than anything I’d seen before. It talked about eye contact and trust. About being taken care of, not just taken. It made my heart pound in a way that had nothing to do with fear.

The laptop sat warm against my thighs, the only light in the room. I leaned closer and kept scrolling.

I wasn’t sure what I was looking for. Just… more. Something that made it feel less far away. Less out of reach.

Eventually, I ended up on a site I’d bookmarked days ago but hadn’t dared revisit. This time, I didn’t hesitate. Vibrators, plugs, lube, sleeves. Everything sorted by comfort level. No pushy language. No shock factor.

I read every review. Every warning and soft reassurance. When I found a beginner plug that looked small and smooth and not terrifying, I clicked add to cart. Then a bottle of lube. A stroker with five stars. It felt surreal.

Like I was buying things for someone I wanted to become.

I stared at the order confirmation for a while. Then shut the laptop and tossed it onto the pillow beside me.

I lay back and slid my hand lower.

In my head, they grabbed my hips and spun me around, shoved me up against a door. Jeans yanked down. One hand pressed firm against my lower back, the other closing around my throat, not choking, just holding. Holding me in place.

Their breath hit my neck, hot and uneven. A grunt as they rocked in behind me. Teeth dragging across my jaw.

Their cock slid between my cheeks, slow and thick. Their grip bruised. Hips grinding in close, voice low and rough.

“You’re already shaking.”

“God, look at you.”

I stroked slower, matching their rhythm. The press of their chest. Their hand slipping under my shirt, dragging up my skin. A moan spilled out behind me, muffled against my shoulder.

“You feel unreal.”

“I’d fuck you until you couldn’t stand.”

My hand moved faster. Thighs shaking. Their teeth sank into my neck, just enough to sting. They groaned again… raw, desperate.

“Don’t stop.”

“I want to feel you break.”

Everything pulled in. Pleasure tore through me, hard and fast. My hips jerked once, twice.

I lay there after, chest rising quick. Come cooling on my stomach.

The voice still echoed in my head.

Like my body hadn’t realized they weren’t real.

Work was slow again. The intern we’d picked up two weeks ago, Daehyun, was eager but green, so I ended up talking him through most of the backend system twice. I didn’t mind. It helped me organize my own thoughts when I explained something out loud. Besides, I remembered how it felt to be dropped into a workplace and expected to just… know things. Nobody ever taught me. I was just expected to figure it out, act normal, blend in.

I’d hated that feeling. The constant second-guessing. The fear that I was doing it wrong and nobody would correct me until I’d already made a mess of something.

So I tried to be different. Patient. Clear. I even made a cheat sheet for him with the file paths and passwords he’d need, printed it on neon green paper so he couldn’t lose it. He looked at me like I’d handed him the holy grail. Said thank you three separate times before I even left the break room.

That night, I sat on my floor, dinner forgotten halfway through. The plastic container of rice had gone cold beside me, one chopstick still wedged under the lid. I wasn’t hungry anymore. Or maybe I was, but for something that couldn’t come out of a takeout box.

The window was open. I liked it that way, even when the wind tugged papers loose from the counter or let in someone’s cigarette smoke from the alley below. It made me feel less trapped. Less alone.

I couldn’t stop thinking about Daehyun.

He’d been anxious, nearly deleting an entire data sheet because he didn’t realize the template wasn’t auto-saving. His face had crumpled when I gently pointed it out. Like he’d expected me to be mad. Like he’d already been punished for smaller mistakes before.

I stayed calm. Sat next to him. Walked through the restore function step by step until the file came back up and he exhaled so hard it almost made me dizzy.

That kind of fear… it stayed in your body. The kind that told you you were always one mistake away from being too much, too needy, too wrong.

I knew that fear too well.

Maybe that was why I’d taken the time to explain things in a way I wished someone had explained to me.

Maybe that was why, hours later, the thought kept pulling at me: What if I could have that kind of guidance too?

I stared at the boxes I hadn’t opened. The toys I’d ordered. I’d researched the hell out of them. I’d read reviews, double-checked safety guides, compared prices, watched unboxing videos, but when they arrived, I’d just… put them on the shelf. Neatly stacked. Untouched.

It wasn’t fear of using them. Not exactly.

It was more like… I didn’t know how.

Not the logistics. The meaning.

What did it mean to try this? Alone? Was I doing it to prove something? To reclaim something? Or just to feel something good for once?

A thought began circling my mind.

It followed me through small, quiet moments. Closing my laptop, pouring tea, staring out at the crooked skyline from my window. Who could I talk to?

Not in theory. Not an anonymous thread or a Vesper monologue. An actual person. Someone who wouldn’t laugh or judge or, worse, pity me.

I didn’t need someone to sleep with. I didn’t want a relationship. I just wanted someone who knew things. Who could tell me what was okay. What might feel good. What any of this meant.

One afternoon at work, I found myself explaining something to Jaehyun. I’d said it five different ways, trying to make the tools make sense, where to save files, how to structure project folders, why we used color codes. He was polite and grateful, but mostly he looked terrified. I cracked a joke to put him at ease, and finally he smiled. The tension in his shoulders eased. I knew that look. Knew that relief.

And then it hit me.

That’s what I wanted.

Someone to walk me through it. Someone patient. Who could look me in the eye and still be kind after I fumbled a step.

The idea burrowed deep and stayed.

For days it just… brewed. What kind of person would be willing to do something like that? What kind of person would I even want to show that much of me to?

Saturday

My morning coffee scalded the roof of my mouth. I swore, wiped milk splashes off the counter, and texted Felix a dumb meme before heading out. The air smelled like rain again, and halfway to the community center, my socks were damp from puddle spray. It didn’t bother me.

Tuesday

The thought came back while I was sorting color tags in the backend system. The idea of someone showing me. What things were supposed to feel like. How bodies worked when they weren’t tense or embarrassed. How to say yes in a way that felt powerful… not like permission, but like claiming something.

Thursday

The idea refused to leave. It sat beside me in the car on my way to work. It followed me into the tiny kitchen at home where I made fried rice with leftover vegetables, soy sauce and roasted sesame oil. I caught myself wondering again. Who would even agree to that? Who wouldn’t look at me like I was broken?

Anonymous didn’t feel right. I didn’t want a stranger. I wanted steadiness. Familiar hands. Someone I already trusted with my soft parts. Someone patient enough to hold them and not squeeze.

Vesper came to mind first, obviously. But mirrors couldn’t exactly lead you through touch.

So I made a mental list. Who I could ask. Who felt… safe.

And I pictured Minho.

Friday

His name came back to me while I was reorganizing the back shelf near the art supplies.

Minho.

Calm. Serious. Attentive in a way that made your stomach flip. The kind of person who said what he meant and meant what he said. I knew almost everything about him and I knew how I felt when he looked at me. I knew how steady he made me feel, even when I was falling apart.

The thought of asking him made my heart stutter.

Would he help me?

Would he think I was pathetic?

Later when I sat on my floor at home with a pen and a wrinkled page from my sketchbook, I wrote four words before I could stop myself:

someone I trust: Minho.

I stared at it until my eyes stung. Then I folded it into quarters and slid it beneath my mattress.

Still, I reached for the sketchbook and tore out another page. 

The first page was a disaster. I started a dozen times and tore each attempt out, crumpling the paper with hands that wouldn’t stop shaking. I couldn’t seem to get past the first few lines. Every version sounded too desperate or too stiff. Too dramatic. Too vague. Too me.

But I kept going.

Eventually, the words came out almost right.

Minho,

I don’t know how to say this out loud, so I’m just going to write it.

I think something’s wrong with me.

Not in the funny, self-deprecating way I usually joke about. Really wrong. I don’t think I’m built like everyone else. Somewhere along the way, something twisted inside me and never untwisted. And now I can’t tell what’s normal or healthy or allowed. I don’t even know what I want… only that I want to stop feeling broken every time I try.

I don’t think I can be fixed. I’m not asking for that. I just want to understand. To learn how things are supposed to feel when they aren’t warped by shame or fear or silence.

I want to be touched without bracing for the disappointment that usually comes after.

I’ve been trying, I really have. Reading, watching, journaling… but it’s like standing outside a window looking in. Everyone else seems to know the language. I don’t even know the alphabet.

And when I think about who could help me; who I’d actually feel safe asking, your name is the only one that stays. Not because I think you’ll say yes. Just because I trust you. You don’t treat me like I’m fragile and you’ve never made me feel worthless either. That’s rare.

So I’m asking. If you could… teach me. Just enough to not be afraid of myself. If anyone could make me feel safe, I think it’s you.”To not feel disgusting when I want something. I won’t ask for more than that.

I know this might ruin everything. If it does, I’m sorry. But not moving forward was starting to hurt more than the risk.

I won’t bring it up again if you don’t want to. You don’t even have to respond. Just… please don’t hate me for asking.

Jisung

I read it over twice, breathing like I’d just run uphill.

The letter stayed in my bag for almost 2 weeks.

I carried it with me everywhere like a secret mission I didn’t know how to complete. It was folded three times, tucked into an envelope with no name on the outside. I nearly threw it out four different mornings. I moved it to a drawer once, then panicked and put it back. I kept waiting for the right moment, as if such a thing could even exist.

What if I gave it to him and he laughed? Or worse; what if he didn’t?

I rehearsed the hand-off a hundred ways in my head. Casual, joking, apologetic. No version sounded right. Each time I pictured his face reading the words I’d written, I felt like I might pass out.

The letter said too much and not enough. It said I was broken in ways I couldn’t fix. That I’d tried to be normal. That I’d read articles and watched videos and said yes when I didn’t want to, just to feel something. That I wasn’t even sure what I needed help with, only that I needed it from someone who wouldn’t make me feel worse than I already did.

I hadn’t signed it with love. Just my name. A quiet plea folded into the lines of my name.

By the second week, I was starting to unravel.

Everything Minho said to me felt like a test. Every time he looked at me, I wondered if he already knew. If he could feel it in my bag. I flinched when he asked me to grab lunch, then badgered myself for flinching. I told Vesper I was tired. Told myself I was a coward.

On Thursday night, we packed up late. The others had already gone. Rain tapped the office windows and pooled on the street outside. Minho was zipping up his jacket when I finally stood, heart thudding, palms slick.

“Hey…” My voice cracked. I cleared my throat and tried again. “Hey, Minho?”

He turned. His face was soft, eyebrows lifting in that familiar, neutral curiosity.

I held out the envelope. My fingers trembled so hard I had to grip it with both hands. “Can you… I mean… please don’t hate me.”

The moment drew out to painful awkwardness.

He didn’t ask what it was.

He just took it, gaze flicking between the letter and my face like he knew better than to open it in front of me.

I bolted.

Didn’t wait for a reaction. Didn’t look back. Just tore out of the building and ran through the rain, feet slapping hard against the pavement. My clothes stuck to me, soaked and heavy. Water blurred my vision. I fumbled my keys twice before I got the door open and threw myself into the car, heart pounding.

I started the engine. Pulled out. Drove.

Everything after that smeared. Traffic lights, windshield wipers, the glow of someone else’s brake lights. It all blurred together. I couldn’t have said how long it took or which streets I took. Only that the rain kept coming. My hands gripped the wheel too tight. My stomach lurched at every stop.

Then I was home. Somehow.

The stairs blurred under me. My door. My floor. My bathroom.

I barely made it to the bathroom before I threw up.

The tears came right after. Ugly ones. I dropped to my knees and hunched over the toilet bowl, arms wrapped around my stomach, trying to hold myself in one piece.

“Sweetheart?” Vesper’s voice rang out from the living room, unusually gentle. “Was that vomiting? Are we dying?”

I gripped the toilet rim a moment longer before flushing, then pulled myself to the sink. My hands trembled as I rinsed my mouth, but it didn’t help. My throat still burned. My chest still hurt.

“I’m fine.”

“You are a terrible liar, and I love you, but your ‘fine’ just made the wallpaper peel. What did you do?”

I sank down against the tub, hoodie sleeves pulled over my hands. “I gave Minho something.”

Vesper’s frame creaked faintly, the sound he made when turning his attention somewhere sharp. “You gave Minho something and then immediately turned yourself inside out. What on earth could you possibly have given him? A cursed ring? A love letter? Your only pair of clean underwear?”

I pressed the heel of my hand to my eyes. “A request.”

The room went still.

“What kind of request?” he asked, quiet now. Not teasing. Not pushy. Just waiting.

I swallowed, hard. “I asked him if he’d teach me.”

A pause.

“In the bedroom,” I added, voice cracking on the last syllable. “To… to help me figure out what I like. What I even want. What it’s supposed to feel like.”

The silence that followed was weightless.

Then Vesper exhaled, all at once. “My baby...”

“I wrote it in a letter,” I mumbled. “I couldn’t say it. I meant to throw it out. I nearly did, ten times. But then today, at work, right before we left, he looked at me… and I panicked and shoved it at him.”

“And now you’re convinced the world is ending.”

I buried my face in my arms. “He’s going to think I’m disgusting.”

“He is going to think you’re brave,” Vesper said, voice firmer now. “He is going to read it and understand that someone he cares about is trying very hard to reclaim something precious. He’s not the kind of man who mocks someone for asking to be treated like a human being.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Oh, sweetheart. I do.”

Minho.

He handed me the letter like it was burning him. Just pressed it into my hand and mumbled, “Please don’t hate me.” Then he turned and ran. No pause, no glance back, just gone before I could even blink.

I stood there, stunned. The envelope was soft, barely creased. No name, no markings. I slid it into my bag without thinking and made some vague excuse to the others about having an errand. I don’t even remember what I said.

The air outside was thick and damp. I drove home in silence.

Once I got in, I went through the motions. Shoes off, coat over the back of the chair. Showered, mostly to rinse the weight of the day off me. The steam didn’t help much. Neither did the water pounding between my shoulder blades. My head was lou.

I warmed up leftovers, sat on the couch with the container balanced on my thigh, and finally opened the envelope. I was halfway through chewing a piece of chicken when I read the first line that really hit… and I almost choked.

I swallowed hard, read it again. Then again. My fork lowered onto the cushion beside me without me realizing.

By the second page, my chest ached. Not from what he was asking, though that was enough to knock the wind out of me, but from the way he said it. The way he laid himself bare. Like he truly believed he couldn’t be fixed. Like this was a plea from someone already bracing for rejection. Like he expected me to laugh or pity him or disappear.

I set the letter down on the coffee table, rubbed both hands over my face, and stared at the ceiling.

Fuck.

I stared at the page. Folded, creased, full of sentences that clung to me like wet fabric.

This wasn’t a stranger asking for help. It was Jisung.

The friend who ate extra spicy tteokbokki just to prove a point. Who snorted when he laughed too hard. Who knew exactly when to call bullshit and when to sit quietly with you while you fell apart.

I’d held him during panic attacks. Talked him down after family calls. I’d seen the worst days and stayed anyway.

The idea of touching him, of guiding him, teaching him, watching him learn how to ask for what he wanted…

It wasn’t repulsive.

That was the problem.

The thought didn’t feel foreign. It felt dangerous.

Because Jisung trusted me. Trusted me enough to put all of this on paper. Enough to believe I might be gentle with something so breakable.

And I didn’t know if I could take that trust into my hands and not crush it.

I set the letter down. Pressed a palm to my chest, right at the spot where the tightness had begun.

Am I even the right person for this?

What if I mess it up?

What if I give him exactly what he thinks he wants, and it turns out I ruin the only part of him that’s still healing?

I sank back into the couch, eyes on the ceiling, then let them drift shut. Flashes from the last week flickered behind my eyelids.

The way he’d looked at me sometimes, started to speak, then backed down. How skittish he got anytime I stood too close. The weird, tentative questions. How careful he’d been, like he was circling something he couldn’t name. I’d noticed. Of course I had. I just… hadn’t expected this.

What the hell was I supposed to do?

Was I even the right person for this? He said he trusted me. Said I made him feel safe. But this kind of thing… guidance, sex, learning what you need when everything in you thinks you don’t deserve to want? It wasn’t simple. And if I got it wrong, I could hurt him.

Could I take responsibility for that?

Could I take him apart gently enough that he didn’t crumble?

I had no idea what to say. Not yet. So I didn’t text. I didn’t call. I just sat there, food going cold, letter lying open. A confession I hadn’t earned. Yet.

And I kept seeing his eyes. How terrified he looked. How brave he’d been anyway.

That alone undid me more than anything in the letter.

I carried the letter with me through the apartment.

Left it on the kitchen counter while rinsing my plate and putting away the leftovers. Took it with me again when I went to sort laundry, half a basket of darks, two socks missing their match, shirt sleeves still faintly smelling of Jisung’s fabric softener. Stupid how much I noticed that.

I turned the washing machine on. Let it hum. Tried not to think.

By the time I opened my laptop, I’d already read the opening line of the letter three more times. A contract needed reviewing, something from that nightmare client with all the vague terms and last-minute demands, but none of the words on the screen were sinking in.

I read the same paragraph four times. Checked my phone. Closed the tab.

And picked the letter back up.

I sat in the quiet, light from the screen casting a soft halo across the cluttered coffee table, and read every word again.

Not just the request. Not just the confession. All of it.

The way Jisung apologized for existing. For wanting. For needing something real.

I gripped the paper harder.

I’d always known the ex was a piece of shit. But this?

Teaching Jisung to see himself as disgusting. Making him flinch at the idea of being wanted. Breaking him in ways that made Jisung believe he couldn’t be fixed?

It wasn’t just cruel. It was theft.

That asshole had stolen the softest, bravest parts of someone I cared about. Left him ashamed of the parts that made him human.

I looked around the room like I could throw something, but nothing felt breakable enough. So I just sat there, breathing heavy, jaw tight, fingers curled around the edge of the page.

“I don’t know how to say this out loud.”

No. Of course he didn’t. Because he’d been taught that no one would listen.

I leaned back against the couch, letter still in hand, and exhaled slow.

I wasn’t angry about the request. Not really. I was angry at the way it had to be made. Quietly. Fearfully. On a scrap of paper instead of from Jisung’s own mouth.

I read the last few lines again.

“…because if anyone could make me feel safe, I think it’s you.”

And now I had to figure out what the fuck to do with that.

Jisung.

Friday morning slammed into me like a feedback screech.

I’d barely slept. My stomach was churning and sour, mouth dry no matter how much water I drank. The not-knowing sat in my gut like a stone.

Hadn’t texted. Hadn’t even looked at me.

I showered in silence, dressed in clothes I couldn’t feel, and drove to the studio under a sky that looked just as queasy as I felt. The clouds hung dark and swollen with warning. I kept my hands at ten and two, trying to focus. Tried to make it through the day without throwing up on someone’s soundboard.

Inside, the usual chaos buzzed. Someone was testing drum loops in Studio B. Someone else was laying down rough vocals in the booth down the hall. There was always noise, always motion, always something being built or broken or balanced. Normally, I liked it. The overlapping rhythms, the hiss of headphones slipping off, the way Jeongin hummed every time he passed a mic.

Today, it all grated.

I tried to throw myself into editing and cleaning up a vocal track for one of our clients, but I couldn’t focus. I stared at the waveform for five minutes before I realized I hadn’t even pressed play. My hands shook on the mouse. I rewound the same bar over and over and still couldn’t tell if it sounded too wet or just raw.

At some point, I knocked over my iced coffee. It spilled across the desk, barely missing the audio interface. I lunged for a rag and cursed under my breath, heart jackhammering.

Around noon, I fled the control room. Sat outside in the side corridor where the walls were covered with old tour posters and the air smelled like dust and gaffer tape. I picked at the threads on my jeans and listened to the muffled beat leaking through the walls.

Minho passed by once. I looked up just in time to see the curve of his shoulder, the profile of his jaw. He didn’t glance my way. Kept walking like I wasn’t even there.

My throat closed.

I spent the rest of the day pinging between overthinking and outright despair. Tried to take notes in a production meeting and ended up doodling static. Tried to smile at Felix when he dropped by with coffee for the team and ended up nearly crying when he asked, “Are you okay?”

No. I was not okay. I had given one of my closest friends a letter begging him to teach me how to feel worthy of touch, and now I was unraveling in real time while he acted like nothing happened.

The second the day ended, I bolted. Again. Left before anyone could ask me to stay late or join them for drinks. I didn’t even say goodbye.

Outside, the sky had given in.

Rain came hard and cold, soaking through my jacket and jeans before I made it to the next block. I kept walking. No umbrella. No music. Just me and the wet slap of shoes against pavement, the sound of tires on slick roads, and the slow churn of humiliation in my gut.

I was such an idiot.

Should’ve burned the letter the second I wrote it. Should’ve known someone like Minho would never want to touch someone like me. I’d ruined it. The friendship, the studio vibe, everything. The others would find out eventually. Minho wouldn’t be cruel about it, but someone would slip. And then what?

By the time I reached the intersection, I was shaking. My hands were numb and I just stood there shivering, skin raw with self-loathing.

A horn honked behind me.

I turned, blinking against the headlights.

Minho’s car.

The passenger window slid down with a hum.

His voice cut through the rain, rough and unmistakable. “Get the fuck in the car.”

I stood there, every nerve on edge, water running down my neck.

He leaned closer, eyes locked on mine. Steady. Serious. Jaw set.

“Now, Jisung.”

Chapter Text

Minho.

The drive was quiet. Not tense, exactly. Just… suspended. I kept my eyes on the road. Wipers slicing steady lines across the windshield, city lights smeared against the wet glass. Jisung sat hunched in the passenger seat, soaked from head to toe. He hadn’t even bothered to shake the rain from his sleeves. His shoulders had a slight tremble, and he was chewing at his cheek with that quiet, self-punishing focus he got when anxious.

I wanted to say something. Reassure him, joke, yell, reach over and squeeze his hand. Anything to ease the coil of panic wrapped around his body like it was the only thing holding him upright. But nothing I could say in the car would’ve been right.

So I just said, “You’re coming to my place.”

His head jerked slightly. He nodded without a word, eyes fixed on the dashboard.

By the time we pulled into the small lot behind my building, the rain had slowed. I cut the engine, then waited a second before getting out. Jisung followed, trailing just behind me as we took the stairs two at a time, wet shoes squeaking on concrete.

I unlocked my door, stepped inside, and held it open. He paused, just long enough that I turned to look. His eyes were huge, rimmed in red. He kept his arms drawn in, rigid with the effort of not falling apart.

“I’m not mad,” I said, before he could say anything. “But this needed to be a face-to-face conversation. I couldn’t do that at work. 

I exhaled. “I should’ve said it sooner. I didn’t mean to leave you guessing all day.”

He gave a small nod and stepped past me. The door clicked shut behind him.

“You’re soaked,” I said, already turning toward the bedroom. “Go shower. Get warm. There’s towels under the sink. I’ll grab dry clothes for you.”

He nodded and headed down the hall, socks squelching wet against the floor.

I grabbed a t-shirt and a pair of shorts from the closet, brought them to the bathroom and knocked once, knuckles light on the wood.

“I’m leaving clothes out here.”

Back in the living room, I sat down, elbows braced on my knees. My focus was already splintering.

Lining up the words in my head didn’t help. Breathing slow didn’t either. My chest stayed tense. He was here. He was trying. And I needed to get this right.

The water shut off.

I straightened. Waited for the sound of the door. For the next moment to start.

He came in a minute later, towel-drying his hair, limbs kind of jittery with nervous energy.

He hesitated, then perched at the far end, spine straight like he was preparing for a trial.

I turned to look at him.

“I read it,” I said. “More than once.”

His throat bobbed. He stared at the towel in his lap.

Leaning forward I said “Look, I don’t know everything your ex did or said. But I knew he was a piece of shit. I didn’t know he made you feel…”

The sentence trailed off. Anger swelled just thinking about it. Jisung, who was loud and hilarious and bright. Jisung, who saw worth in everyone and somehow couldn’t do the same for himself.

He made a funny little huff. “Vesper already cursed him,” he said, voice hoarse.

That made me smile… just a little. “Good.”

“Before I agree to anything, we need to talk. Expectations. Comfort levels. All of it.”

His ears turned pink. Then his neck. He looked like he was about to melt into the couch cushions.

“I… I don’t know where to start.”

“That’s alright.” I sat back again, deliberately relaxing my posture. “Let’s start with what you’re curious about. Then we’ll work our way to boundaries. You don’t need all the answers tonight.”

Keeping my tone level I said “We can start simple. Talk to me about your experience.”

He flinched like the words had bitten him, but to his credit, didn’t look away. His hands stayed clutched together, fingers twisting in the towel like he didn’t know what else to hold onto.

“I’ve only ever been with my ex,” he said softly.

I already knew that, but the way he said it was important. There was shame tucked into the tone of his voice, quiet and bone-deep.

He kept going, voice brittle. “He liked it simple. Lights off. Quiet. Fast. When we were still… when we were still having sex.”

My jaw clenched. I didn’t interrupt.

“I thought that was normal,” he said. “It didn’t feel like much, but I figured maybe I was the problem. Like maybe I wasn’t attractive enough or good enough, or maybe I just didn’t get it the way other people do.”

A tiny laugh escaped him, harsh and painful. “You hear people talk about sex like it’s this amazing, connecting thing. I kept waiting to feel that part.”

Fuck. I wanted to reach across the space between us and grab his hands, hold him still, tell him he was never the problem.

But I didn’t. Not yet.

“I tried,” he said again. “Tried to spice things up. Read stuff. Brought it up. He’d just… shut me down. Told me I was being weird. That I should stop thinking so much.”

“You were trying to meet him in the middle,” I said. “He didn’t even bother taking a step toward you.”

Jisung’s eyes flicked up to mine. Then back down.

“I thought maybe if I could just make myself more interesting… if I changed… then he’d want me again.”

I inhaled slowly, steadying myself before I spoke. “And none of that is what sex is supposed to feel like.”

“I know,” he whispered. “I mean, I think I know. That’s part of why I wrote to you.”

I nodded. “Alright. We can build from that. You’re curious. You want to learn. But you’re not sure what’s possible, because your first experiences weren’t actually for you.”

He looked like he might cry. But he held the tears back and nodded, eyes red.

I kept my voice gentle. “Just so you know where I stand. No relationship, no kissing. I’m here to help you explore, nothing more… unless we both decide differently.

“I can do that,” he said quickly. “I’m not looking for anything else. I just… I trust you.”

Those three words knocked the air out of me more than anything else he’d said.

“Then let’s talk about comfort. What feels okay, what doesn’t. We can go slow, figure it out together.”

He hesitated, then shook his head. “I don’t even know what all the options are.”

“That’s okay. We’ll take it slow. One step at a time. You get to say yes or no to everything. Nothing happens unless you ask for it.”

He nodded again, swallowing thickly.

I nodded slowly. “Okay. What about being touched? Over clothes, or under? Does that feel too much right now?”

Jisung’s gaze flickered to mine, then dropped. “I think… maybe under. If it’s slow.”

I kept my voice steady. “Hands only?”

He nodded, almost too fast, then steadied himself. “Yeah. Hands.”

“That’s okay. We’ll take it slow. One step at a time. You get to say yes or no to everything. Nothing happens unless you ask for it.”

He nodded again, swallowing thickly.

“I’m thinking next step, is that we focus on just two things: pleasure and consent. No full sex. Just a chance for you to feel what it’s like when someone listens. When you’re wanted, guided, and safe.”

He blinked at me like the idea itself was too much. “And… if I get uncomfortable or don’t want to keep going?”

“You say stop, and we stop. No questions. No guilt.”

He finally unfolded his arms and laid the towel on his lap. “Okay.”

“Are you sure?”

“I want that. I want… to try.”

I exhaled slowly and , giving him time to choose.

“Then we’ll begin when you’re ready,” I said. “You lead the way.”

With comical timing his stomach growled loud enough to make us both pause.

I raised an eyebrow. “Was that your stomach or a small demon escaping?”

Jisung gave a mortified laugh and folded the towel tighter. “Sorry. I forgot to eat.”

Well, lucky for you, I meal prep like my sanity depends on it.” I stood, rolling my shoulders before heading to the kitchen. “You think about what feels right to start with. Whenever you’re ready. I’ll feed the beast in the meantime.

He didn’t answer, but I heard the couch creak as he sat up straighter.

I opened the fridge and pulled out two containers. Chicken stir-fry and brown rice. It was nothing special, but hearty and warm. I heated them up one by one and served him first, watching the way his fingers cradled the bowl.

We ate at the small table by the window. Quiet chopstick clinks and awkward glances. He didn’t look up much.

“You can ask me stuff, you know,” I said, voice even. “That’s part of how this going to work.”

His hand paused with the food halfway to his mouth. Then he slowly lowered it and met my eyes. 

He cleared his throat once. Then again. His voice came out soft. “Can I ask a question that’s… kind of personal?”

“Yeah. That’s what this is for.”

He nudged a grain of rice across the bowl. “What do you… like? In bed, I mean.”

His ears turned bright red. He didn’t look at me. Just kept his gaze trained on the bowl as if he hoped it might open and swallow him whole.

“What I like in bed? How many details do you want?” 

He went quiet for a moment. “Not, like… pornographic. But…” His fingers twisted in his lap. “Enough to picture it. I think I want that. To understand what gets you there.”

The way he said it, too open, too honest, threw me.

“Alright. You want details?”

He gave a small nod. Just once.

“I like focus. Being in it. Watching someone come undone because of what I’m doing. Feeling every reaction. I like teasing. Hands. Sweat. I like taking my time until they’re begging, and I really like hearing it.”

I paused, felt the heat rising in my own throat. “But I like being touched too,” I went on. “I like a mouth on my neck, hands down my stomach, someone grinding on me while they kiss me so hard I lose track of everything else. I like being pushed back, having someone ride my thigh until they fall apart. I like being wanted so much they can’t stop themselves.”

His mouth parted just slightly. Like he hadn’t expected that much.

I smiled faintly. “You asked.”

I gave him a moment. Waited to see if there was more.

He scraped around the bowl, lips twitching like he was working up to something else. “Is there… stuff you won’t do?”

“A few things, yeah. I don’t like humiliation. I don’t want to break someone down. I want them to feel held together, even if they’re coming apart.”

His shoulders eased slightly, just enough that I saw the relief in him.

I added, “Also not a fan of water sports or food stuff. Or blood. Or anyone calling me Daddy unless they’re doing it to be a little shit.”

That got a small huff of laughter. The tension didn’t vanish, but it cracked a little.

“Okay,” he said again, voice steadier now.

“What about you?” I asked. “Are there things you’re curious about? Not for tonight, maybe not even for us. Just in general.”

His shoulders tensed slightly, then eased.

“I looked stuff up,” he said, voice soft.

His hands stayed folded tight in his lap. “I think I might want to try… being held down. Not in a scary way, just… not having to decide anything. Being told what to do. Being told that what I’m doing feels good.”

Blood thudded in my ears. It didn’t take much to imagine it. His naked skin, warm and willing under my palms, his inhale stuttering when fingers found the right spot. That quiet, needy voice again, asking for more. I’d give it to him… touch, heat, praise whispered straight to his skin. Tell him how good he was, how perfect he looked begging me to allow him to come.

Fuck… this wasn’t supposed to be about me. It was him. All him and I’d better not mess it up.

I faked a cough to hide a sigh that sounded suspiciously like a moan.

“You’re allowed to like what you like, Jisung. And you’re allowed to figure it out piece by piece.”

He nodded, eyes dropping back to his bowl.

I smiled. “But before we do anything at all, I just… need to know I won’t cross a line. You’re still figuring this out. And I don’t ever want to push you past things you’re not ready for. So if anything feels too much, too fast, too weird, you say it. I stop. Immediately. No questions.”

His looked up at me. Not alarmed, but puzzled.

“I want you to pick a safe word. Not because we’re doing anything kinky or intense,” I said, keeping my tone soft.

He nodded again, slower now. Taking it seriously.

“You’re gonna laugh,” he said finally.

“Won’t even smile.”

He shot me a skeptical look, like he knew damn well I might. But he sighed and wiped his palms on his thighs.

“Ficus.”

I blinked.

“Ficus works,” I said. “It’s clear. Can’t be misheard. You won’t confuse it in the middle of something.”

His eyes flicked up, scanning my face like he still expected a joke. But it didn’t come. His shoulders eased a little. Still flushed. But calmer now. Less braced for pain.

I stood, picked up our empty bowls to bring them to the kitchen.

What got to me was the way he offered all of it. His body, his trust, his want, his inexperience… the parts of himself that should’ve been guarded after everything he’d been through. But he brought them to me with both hands open.

As if  he believed this could be good. 

As if he believed I could be.

Once the dishes were rinsed and stacked, I dried my hands and glanced over at him.

“Come with me,” I said quietly.

His eyes followed me as I turned toward the living room.

The couch was the kind you could drown in. Wide enough to lie across, deep enough to lose change forever. I sank into the corner and looked up at him.

“Your choice,” I said, patting the cushions. “Next to me… or in front of me.”

He hesitated. Bit his bottom lip and shifted his weight like the decision was a test he didn’t want to fail. His fingers fidgeted at the hem of his tshirt.

I reached up, caught his wrist gently, and gave a single tug.

He landed between my legs, slow and uncertain, sat stiff as a board for a moment, like his body hadn’t caught up with his brain. But then he exhaled and leaned into me with careful hesitation. I adjusted my position to meet him. Stayed there. Showed him I wasn’t going anywhere.

“There,” I told him. “You can come closer if you want.”

I set my hands on his arms and gave a slow squeeze. Warm skin under my palms. The muscles beneath weren’t fully relaxed, still holding the last of that careful caution.

“You’ve had some time to think,” I said carefully, trying not to let my want shine through. “Do you know if you want to try something tonight? Or…” My thumbs brushed along his underarms. “Is this already enough? Either answer is fine.”

His shoulders jerked. Then a sound escaped him, small and uneven, like he hadn’t meant to let it out.

“Can you hold me?”

Just that.

I closed my eyes for half a second.

Something tore open inside me. Deeper than before. It wasn’t just what he said… it was how he said it. That fragility in his voice, all raw effort, stripped of anything he could’ve used to protect himself. He wasn’t asking to be touched. Or claimed. Or wanted. He just wanted to be held. Like he didn’t know if that was allowed. Like no one had ever wanted to.

Every ounce of hurt packed into those four words got straight under my skin. What the hell had been done to him, to make a simple request sound like a confession?

I opened my eyes, found the back of his head just beneath my chin, and wrapped my arms around him slowly, afraid that anything faster would spook him. 

“Yeah,” I breathed, resting my cheek against his hair. “Yeah, I can.”

A single warm drop, landed on my arm.

He didn’t try to wipe it. He just sat there, small in my arms.

I tightened my arms and pressed a silent kiss to his hair.

His shoulders rose with a shaky inhale. He sat there for a long time, tucked into me. Then, very softly, he asked, “Minho…”

“What do you need, Sungie? Tell me and I’ll do it,” 

There was a pause. A flicker of something between us.

“I want to kiss you,” I admitted, lips close to his skin. “Tell me if I can.”

He stilled… then nodded. I felt it where his hair brushed my cheek, slight and shaky.

I pressed a kiss to the side of his neck. A promise made through touch.

He gasped.

Barely enough to notice. But it was there, an opening. Closeness offered without a word.

I kissed the same spot again, slower this time. Lips lingering. Ending it with the faintest sweep of my tongue, just enough for him to feel it. Easy to pull back if his body stiffened.

He whimpered. And it shot straight through me. His fingers twitched against my arm like he didn’t know where to put the feeling.

He seemed to hesitate. Then squared his shoulders like he had made up his mind to say something.

“Can you…” he whispered, voice so soft I almost missed it, “can you touch me a little?”

My lips were still against his skin. I nodded once.

“Yeah. Of course I can.”

My heart pounded. I knew he wasn’t asking for pleasure. He was asking for escape. For comfort with a pulse. For the kind of touch that didn’t demand anything from him but still made him feel wanted.

I kept one arm around his middle. Moved the other slowly up his arm. He was still shaking a little. My hand slid over his shoulder, then up along the side of his neck. The muscle there stayed tight, holding tension he hadn’t let go of yet.

I tracked every shift in his breath. Glided my fingertips across his collarbones, down the center of his chest and further down. By the time I reached his waist, his pulse was beating faster. His hands were still in his lap and his upper body pushed back into mine like he needed the contact more than air.

I caught his wrists. Lifted them. Guided his arms around my neck.

“Hold on to me,” I said. “You don’t have to do anything else.”

I slid my hands under his shirt. Warm skin under my palms.

He was letting me. Letting me.

I moved slow, giving him time to feel it. My fingers swept up toward his chest, reading every muscle twitch he didn’t seem to notice.

When I reached his nipples, I ran my thumbs over them, gentle at first, then circling.

He gasped. A desperate sound, caught between surprise and need. His back arched, chasing it without meaning to. I rolled each one slowly between my fingers.

His hips jerked forward.

Fuck. It lit me up. Not just want. Worship. I wanted to keep him like this. Surrendering in my hands. No room left for doubt.

I whispered against his cheek. “Did that feel good?”

I gave each nipple another pull, a little firmer now. He whimpered. Fuck, it was so goddamn hot I had to shut my eyes for a second.

“God, you’re responsive,” I almost moaned. “That’s hot, Sungie. The way you move for me…”

My voice dropped. “You want more? I’ll give it to you. As much as you need.”

He held himself completely still and I could feel the tension climbing back in, wrapping around his shoulders.

I brought my hands down to his waist and stroked my fingers gently across the strip of skin I’d found there.

A shiver rolled through him.

“I love the sounds you make, Sungie. Please tell me you want more. I want to hear you say it.” I begged for a second, not recognizing the tone of my own voice.

A broken “more… please.” slipped out of him.

I kissed the side of his neck, right over the frantic beat of his pulse. Open-mouthed. Slow. Tracing my tongue on the warm skin there, tasting the salt of nerves and the sweetness underneath. I lingered there, just long enough to make sure he felt every part of it. 

His whole body reacted to it, arching back.

He moaned.

Not loud, but there was no mistaking it. A sound pulled up from someplace inside..

Swallowing hard I moved one hand to his thigh. The other moved lower until it reached the waistband of his shorts.

When he gasped and pushed forward, I slipped my fingertips beneath. Slowly. Exploring inch by inch. 

Another kiss behind his ear, before whispering, “You’re doing so well, Sungie.”

I gripped the waistband and gave it a gentle push. It resisted for a moment. Then Jisung lifted his hips, dazed and quiet, and helped me slide his shorts down over his thighs.

He was already hard. I hadn’t expected that but he was. And fuck if that didn’t stir up more than I was ready for. 

I wasn’t about to rush touching him, so I rested my hand on his hip while I watched his shoulders rise and fall, too fast, too shallow. He tipped his head forward, hiding his face.

“Hey…” I brought my palm up to the side of his neck. “Look at me.”

He didn’t. But he nodded. Barely.

His body was tense with the embarrassment

“You can want this,” I told him. “You don’t need to hide.”

He let out a shaky sigh and leaned back against me a little more.

“You feel incredible like this,” I whispered, meaning every word. “I want to show you how good I can make it for you.”

His arms stayed around my neck, but his hands gripped tighter—fingers pressing into the back of it like he didn’t know how else to hold on. Every breath he took was louder now, uneven, caught between pleasure and disbelief.

I reached for the drawer. Kept one arm snug around him while I opened it, found the lube by feel. I got some on my fingers and warmed it quick between my hands before reaching for him.

He twitched when I wrapped my hand around him. A sharp inhale, like even that much was too much. I waited. Let him feel it. My grip adjusted slightly, firmer, but careful.

He exhaled. Pressed into it.

I stroked once, slow from base to tip, watching the way his thighs tensed. He began thrusting into my fist, hesitant at first, then bolder. I didn’t rush him. Just gave him rhythm to follow.

His body told me everything. The way his legs fell open just a little more. The way he gasped when my thumb dragged over the head. The soft, needy sound that escaped him when I kissed his neck again, my tongue dragging hot against his skin, teeth scraping with a little more bite this time, because the way he sounded made it impossible to hold back

“You’re doing so well,” I whispered against his jaw, voice barely above silence. “Feels good?”

He gave a frantic little nod, words gone, only sound left.

I adjusted my grip and started a firmer stroke, enough to make his moves stutter. His head fell back onto my shoulder, lips parted, cheeks flushed. I nuzzled the line of his jaw just to feel the way he shivered.

“You can let go when you need to, Sungie,” I said softly, my hand working him with slow, dragging care. “No rush. Just feel.”

His hands tightened on my neck, anchoring him there like he never wanted it to stop.

“I’ve got you,” I said, softer still. “I want every sound. Every bit of it. Give it to me.”

Frantic syllables spilled out without rhythm or meaning. My name, maybe. A plea. A curse. He was shuddering in front of me, straining for more with every shallow thrust of his hips.

I eased the pace of my hand, still stroking him but slower now, tighter. Controlled.

“Shh…” I whispered, my mouth at the shell of his ear. “You’re close. I can feel it.”

I slid my other hand down, past his cock, until I found the soft skin underneath. I cradled him there, dragged a touch over his balls, pressed behind them to make him twitch.

“Fuck… Minho…” His voice cracked, thin with need.

I kept my rhythm, slow and deliberate. One hand stroking his cock, the other rolling and working the delicate skin below. His thighs were shaking now. Every part of him overheated and strung too tight.

He couldn’t keep still. Couldn’t stop the way his hips chased sensation.

“You’re safe,” I murmured against his skin. “Come for me. Good boy.”

He did. He came with his whole body, hips bucking once, twice into my hand. The noise he made was raw, like a sob that never made it out clean.

I kept my grip steady, easing the motion as the last waves passed through him. His chest rose in uneven bursts. Warmth spilled over my knuckles, wet and messy.

There was no going back from this. Whatever the hell we’d been before, this changed it. Jisung falling apart in my arms, trusting me with that softness, that surrender… it rewired me. Deepened everything I already felt. I needed to give him more. To keep showing him he was safe here. Wanted. Chosen. As many times as it took.

All of the sudden his muscles tensed up again, but not from pleasure this time. He tensed like he wanted to pull away, his hands fisting in the fabric of his borrowed t-shirt. Then he started to squirm, a quiet whimper catching behind his teeth.

He ducked his head, hiding his face behind a curtain of hair.

“Hey,” I whispered, dragging slow circles with my thumb over his side. “You came so beautifully, Sungie. That was incredible.”

I reached for the throw blanket on the back of the couch, draped it gently over his lap, and wrapped both arms around him. 

“We’ll clean up in a bit,” I said, “Right now I want to hold you.”

I waited until the flush on his skin faded, until the tension in his shoulders eased. My arms were still around him, loose and warm, and he was finally calm.

I kept my voice low. “How do you feel?”

He hesitated, then exhaled slowly. “Floaty,” he said, so quietly I barely caught it. “Warm.”

“Good floaty?” I nudged, thumb brushing a slow arc along the curve of his forearm.

He nodded. “Yeah.”

His arms dropped from around my neck. Then he nestled closer, cheek against my shoulder, breath deepening. The last of his tension faded out of him.

I kept holding him. One hand at his back. The other settled across his shoulders. No words passed between us.

When he was steady again, I asked, “Can you tell me how that was? I want to make sure you’re okay.”

He didn’t answer right away.

Then… “It was good.”

His voice was quiet.

A breath.

“Really good.”

Another pause, like the words were still coming together.

“I didn’t know it could feel like that… without anything hurting after.”

What the fuck had he just said?

Without anything hurting.

That was the part that stuck? Not the pleasure. Not the trust. Just the absence of pain. That’s what stood out enough to say out loud.

My stomach turned. Rage flared so fast I had to lock my jaw.

What the fuck had that asshole done to him?

If I ever saw him again, if I ever got him alone… 

No. I wouldn’t be reasonable. I wouldn’t hold back. It wouldn’t be justice, it’d be violence. And I’d live just fine with that.

I tightened my arms around him, just a little. Not enough to startle him. Just enough to feel that he was real. Still here. Still breathing against me.

“Jisung,” I said quietly. “That’s how it should always feel.”

He didn’t answer. Just breathed, soft and shaky, like he was still sorting through what had just happened.

I didn’t rush him. Just held him there.

“You deserve this,” I said, close to his ear. “Touch that doesn’t hurt. Wanting something and getting to have it.” I paused. Swallowed down the rest of what I wanted to say. “You don’t have to unlearn it all tonight. But I’ll be here while you do.”

His head stayed tucked in, the quiet rhythm of his breathing matched mine.

After a while, I shifted slightly, not enough to disturb him, just enough to glance at the clock over his shoulder.

“We should probably get you home before you fall asleep on me,” I said gently. “Are you alright to head out? You can stay, if you want. The guest room’s made up.”

He went still for half a second. Then pulled back just enough to meet my eyes.

“I think… I want to go home.” His voice was quiet. Careful. “Just to… be in my own space. For a bit.”

Another nod. This one slower. He exhaled against my chest, and finally eased back just enough to sit up.

I stood and held out my hand. He took it.

He adjusted the borrowed clothes, careful with each movement. Still a little flushed. Hair messy. But he looked… okay. 

We grabbed our things in quiet, shoes pulled on by the door. I flicked off the lights, locked the door behind us, and we headed down the stairs side by side.

Before I started the engine, I glanced over. “You’ll call me if you feel weird later, yeah?”

His eyes found mine. “Yeah.”

“You did good tonight,” I said, just loud enough for him to hear it over the rain starting up again outside.

A small smile. “Thanks, Minho.”

I reached out, gave his knee a brief squeeze, then turned the key in the ignition.

Chapter Text

Jisung.

Minho drove in silence, one hand resting on the gear shift like always, eyes steady on the road.

I couldn’t stop smiling.

Tonight had been… more than I ever expected. More than I thought I deserved.

The orgasm alone… fuck. Better than anything my ex had ever given me. And not because it was showier or louder or more impressive. It was mine. All mine. Not a rushed mess after he’d finally found the right rhythm by accident. Not something I’d had to fake or overthink or apologize for wanting. Minho had wanted to touch me. He’d listened. Every breath, every unspoken plea for more, he was there.

I felt warm in places I hadn’t known could feel warm.

When he dropped me off, I thanked him with a small smile that felt ridiculously shy for someone who’d just come all over his couch. He only nudged my arm and told me to text if I needed anything. Then he was gone.

I climbed the stairs to my studio still buzzing. I hadn’t really come down yet.

Vesper was waiting.

Perched in his usual spot on the table, frame polished to an unreasonable shine, glitter smudged across the top corners like a halo gone rogue. His surface flickered with warmth and a faint residual pink shimmer from whatever drama he’d binged today.

“Oho,” he crooned, voice syrup-sweet and knowing. “Someone looks positively defiled.”

I snorted, locking the door behind me. “Not defiled.”

“Fine. Thoroughly ravished by respectful intent. Gods, your aura’s glowing. It’s practically scandalous.” He purred. “Do sit. I’ve been positively vibrating with news.”

I kicked off my shoes, tossed my wet clothes on the back of a chair, and padded over to the tiny kitchenette. “News first. Snack second.”

“I’ll allow it,” Vesper said, as if he had a choice. “Let’s see… someone in 2B tried to flambé a can of beans. Fire department came and everything. You missed the spectacle. There were abs.”

I nearly choked on my water. “What?”

“I said abs, darling. Hardworking men in uniforms, glistening with…”

“Okay, got it.” I waved a hand and reached for the soggy tuna-rice balls that had camped out in the fridge for 2 days. 

Vesper sparkled, smug. “And apparently, someone in 3F had what I can only describe as Olympic-level intercourse last night. Full Cirque du Soleil. I may have witnessed a shoulder stand.” 

“Wow...?”

“Oh please, you’re one to talk. You came home radiant. Do you know how rare that is for you? I haven’t even reached the highlight. Felix dropped by.”

I blinked. “He what?”

“Dropped off a painting. Said it was ‘for when you’re ready to see yourself as someone worth loving.’ Left it under the window. Honestly, the emotional intelligence of that boy is criminal.”

I stood still for a second, empty chopsticks dangling from my fingers.

“…Thanks,” I said softly.

“For what, darling?”

I smiled toward the mirror. “For waiting up.”

“Always.”

The only sound heard in my tiny living space, was the whir of the fridge and the tick of my wall clock. I brought the rice balls to the table, but didn’t sit yet. My eyes were focused on the wrapped bundle leaning against the wall.

The painting Felix had dropped off.

I wiped my hands on a tea towel and crouched beside it, fingers finding the tape holding the brown paper shut. It peeled back with a crinkle, and then…

I forgot how to breathe.

It was me.

Painted in luminous tones that made it hard to look away. My skin was brush strokes of warm gold. My eyes… glowing, almost alive? My hair swept back in soft strands, cheeks blushing as if I’d just been kissed or caught running through a dream.

I looked… magical.

Holy shit.

My throat felt weird now.

I stood up, took one step back, then another, until I bumped into the edge of the table. “Oh god,” I whispered. “That’s me?”

“You,” Vesper confirmed, quietly for once.

The clock said it was nearly midnight, but I pulled out my phone anyway and hit Felix’s name.

It rang twice before he picked up. “Hello?”

I could hear Chan’s voice in the background, saying something about tea and sound waves.

“Hey,” I said, smiling. “I just got home.”

“Oh! Did you see it?”

“I… yeah. Felix, it’s… thank you. It’s so beautiful it almost doesn’t look like me.”

He made an exasperated little huff. “Of course it looks like you, silly.”

I swallowed, staring at the glowing face on canvas that somehow resembled mine even if it didn’t match any mirror I’d ever looked in. “It really doesn’t.”

“It really does.”

I sat down, phone still pressed to my ear. “Hey, um… are you free in the morning? I was thinking breakfast. Before painting class. My treat?”

Felix hummed. “I could be convinced.”

“Please?”

A little laugh. “Okay, okay. Text me when.”

I let out a breath. “Thanks, Lixie.”

“Sweet dreams, Sungie.”

The call ended, but the warmth stayed.

I looked at the painting one more time, then left it leaning by the table where I could see it. The rice balls were a bit dry by now. I didn’t care. I sat and ate anyway, Felix’s version of me watching over from across the room.

Maybe I’d keep it there for a while.

We found a little café near the community center. A tiny spot with mismatched chairs and a menu that hadn’t changed since the nineties. He waved to the woman behind the counter, then ordered a black sesame latte and something involving eggs. I stuck to iced Americano and toast.

By the time we sat down, his cheeks were already pink with gossip energy.

“So?” he asked, resting his chin in his hands. “Are you going to tell me, or do I have to dig it up like buried treasure with no map?”

I had a bite of toast and chewed theatrically slow.

Felix narrowed his eyes. “Rude.”

“I’m building suspense,” I said, brushing crumbs from my lip. “Like a real storyteller.”

He rolled his eyes. “Well then, bard, tell me how it feels to have a secret.”

I blinked. “What?”

“You look different. Like… brighter. Airier.”

I hesitated. Then exhaled. “Okay. Please keep this between us.”

He held up three fingers in a sloppy scout’s honor. “Obviously.”

I glanced down at my coffee, then back up at him. “It’s just… after the breakup, I’ve been feeling sort of scrambled. Like I didn’t know how to be a person anymore.”

Felix’s expression softened, but he stayed quiet.

“I kept thinking maybe it was just me being dramatic, but lately I’ve been realizing that what I had with him wasn’t normal. The way he talked to me. The way I always felt like I had to watch myself. I didn’t even notice until it was gone.” I swallowed. “It wasn’t good. And I think… I think I was trying so hard to make it work, I forgot to notice how much it was breaking me.”

Felix’s voice was quiet. “Breaking you how?”

I swallowed. “Like… I never knew what version of me he was going to like that day. I’d say something stupid and he’d go cold for hours. Or he’d joke about stuff that hurt and if I said anything, I was ‘too sensitive.’ I used to think I was lucky he even wanted me. I didn’t notice how much that was… costing me.”

He reached across the table and wrapped his fingers around mine. His grip was gentle, but his voice wasn’t. “I’m so sorry you thought that you had to go through that alone. If something like that ever happens again, please tell me. Or tell someone. Don’t go around thinking you’re a burden when you’re in pain.”

Pressure started building behind my eyes, so I just nodded once and tried to keep myself from falling apart.

“Do you need to talk about it? Or maybe just not be alone? You can come to our place after class. Chan will be home, but I can ask him to go to the studio if you need it to be just the two of us. You know he wouldn’t mind.”

“Okay.”

I thought about it for a second. The reality of everything I hadn’t let myself admit until recently.

“I think that’s why I asked Minho,” I said quietly. “Because I needed… something to compare it to. Some kind of proof that it wasn’t supposed to feel like that.”

Felix stayed still, listening.

“I didn’t know what safe even looked like,” I added. “I still don’t. I just knew I’d never had it.”

I glanced at him. “So I asked him to guide me. With… stuff I’ve never tried before.”

“Guide you how?”

I hesitated. “Physically. Intimately. I wanted to know what it’s supposed to feel like. When it’s safe. And last night… he did.”

His jaw dropped. Then rose again, turning into a grin. “Was it good?”

I took a sip of my drink and tried not to die of embarrassment. “Out of this world. I came so hard I had cum on my nose.”

Felix choked on his latte.

“Don’t laugh,” I muttered.

“I’m not…” He wheezed, covering his mouth. “I’m impressed. That’s range.”

I kicked him under the table, but my face was burning from smiling so hard. He popped a piece of egg into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully.

“Okay but… how are you? Really.”

I shrugged one shoulder. “Weirdly… okay. Still processing. But okay.”

And not pretending this time. That felt new. 

He nodded, then tilted his head. “Why Minho?” 

The answer came easy. “Because he’s the only person I trust completely.”

Felix’s mouth opened in fake betrayal. “Wow. Wow. Not even a polite no-thank-you to your sweet, flexible, emotionally literate friend Felix?”

I snorted into my coffee. “You’d cry if I moaned.”

Felix raised an eyebrow. “Depends how good the moan is. If you go all breathy and dramatic, I might start clapping.”

“Clapping?”

He shrugged. “In awe. Respect. Maybe mild horror.”

We both cracked up, shaking the tiny table between us. Felix held his cup while I wiped tears of laughter from my cheeks, trying not to spill anything.

“By the way,” he said, “the Thursday kids drew aliens this week. I told them they could give them as many eyes as they wanted. One girl gave hers a third eye that cries glitter tears. I think Vesper would adopt her on sight.”

“He’d frame her drawing in Swarovski.”

“I’m this close to letting him visit during class one day. Let him do dramatic readings from the safety rules poster.”

I laughed into my cup. “Please tell me that it’s the one with the stick figure tripping over the glue stick.”

“The very same. He’d narrate it like a Shakespearean death scene.”

He pointed his fork at me. “You’re buying me a pastry after this. That’s the price of gossip.”

“And a more than fair price it is.”

He ate the last bite of his eggs and wiped his fingers on a napkin, still watching me with that weirdly pleased smile of his. The fact that he knew, that I wasn’t pretending to be fine for once, that I could say I came so hard it hit my nose and he’d just cackle and tell me about aliens and glitter… it was hard to put the relief into words. It felt like maybe it wasn’t as shameful as I had imagined. 

The art room was alive with auntie gossip by the time we walked in. A few of them glanced up, then did double takes.

One of the them near the back lit up like we were long-lost grandkids.

“Well, look who’s in a good mood today,” she called out. “You bring the sunshine with you this time?”

I blinked. “Me?”

She winked. “You weren’t smiling last week. This is an improvement.”

“Are you eating enough?”

“Are you sleeping enough dear?”

“I saw your shoulders droop last week, don’t deny it.”

I let them fuss while I sat. It was so much easier to breathe in here than it has been last week.

Felix was at the front of the room, laying out reference prints and fighting a stack of sketch pads. He gave me a little wave, before launching into his opening notes for the day.

“He’s a good one,” auntie Choi whispered, nodding toward Felix. “You tell him we appreciate how patient he is with us. Never hurries, never judges.”

“He likes it here,” I said softly.

She smiled. “And we like you here. So… are you dating yet?”

My head jerked. “What?”

A few of them leaned in from nearby tables, clearly afraid of missing out on news of my personal life.

“You’re so cute,” one said. “We’ve been taking bets.”

“Only small ones,” another cut in, eyes twinkling.

I tried to keep my poker face on. “I’m not dating. But… I’m talking to someone.”

It slipped out before I could stop it. Not technically a lie, but not the truth either.

One of them slapped the table. “See? I told you something was going on.”

“You did not,” another snorted. “Last week he looked like he hadn’t slept in days.”

“Well, I said he had that look. Eventually.”

I hid behind my water cup and glanced toward Felix, who was pretending very hard not to listen while rearranging pencils. His shoulders were shaking.

“Well,” one auntie said with a decisive nod. “I hope he’s worthy. And if he’s not, you tell us. We know people.”

“Dangerous people,” another offered cheerfully.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said, trying not to choke on my water.

Felix glanced up, eyes dancing, and gave me a thumbs up behind their backs.

The rest of class went by in a blur of chatter and sketching and someone trying to glue sequins to a pencil case. By the time we packed up, my brain felt crowded, but in a good way. 

I dropped my bag just inside the door and stood there a second longer than necessary. It was just past 4 pm and both too early for dinner and too late to nap.

I crashed face first onto the bed. The perfect impression of a starfish.

“You’re quiet,” I said out loud. “That’s suspicious.”

A sniff came from the mirror’s corner. “I’m observing. Reflecting. Being supportive.”

I lifted my head just enough to glance his way. “Is that a new thing?”

“Hush.” he sniffed. “So… did you tell him about Minho?”

“Felix?” I sighed, rubbing the side of my neck. “Yeah. Over breakfast. He asked why him, and I said… because he’s the only person I trust completely.”

“Oh, my brave little petunia,” Vesper cooed. “What did he say?”

“That he was fake-offended I didn’t ask him.”

“I am the more glamorous choice.”

I snorted. “Sure. Next time I need someone to bedazzle my trauma.”

“Please. You do need that. But go on.”

I closed my eyes and thought about what to say. “He just listened. You know, in the way only he can. Then we went to class.”

Vesper hummed. “And how was that?”

“Familiar,” I said. “Good. The aunties were amazing. They were all over Felix like they usually are, and as they always do, they asked if I was finally dating someone.”

“And you said?”

“I said I was talking to someone.” I paused. “Which isn’t a complete lie.”

Vesper inhaled, delicate and theatrical. “Talking. Is that what we’re calling it, when a certain brooding producer feeds you and ruins your posture?”

I laughed. “They were just happy for me. Said I deserved someone handsome.”

Vesper tsk’ed. “Understatement of the year.”

“They invited me for lunch,” I said. “Felix and Chan. We sat on their floor and talked while we ate. For almost a couple of hours I forgot I was a walking nervous breakdown.”

Vesper didn’t say anything for a moment. Then, softly, “That’s good, darling. That’s very good.”

I pulled a cushion to my chest. “I didn’t tell them more about my ex. I don’t know if I’m ready for more people to know.”

“You’ll know when the time is right,” he said. “And if you change your mind, I’ll still be here. Looking fabulous. Judging gently.”

“Thanks.”

Vesper sighed dramatically. “Now go shower. You smell like paint, pork belly, and the kind of feelings that need steam.”

I hauled myself off the bed. “You’re so nurturing.”

“It’s what I do.”

Later that evening I sat cross-legged at the table, laptop open and a banana beside me. I had forgotten it the moment I’d typed ‘beginner gay intimacy checklist’ into the search bar. Thirty-seven tabs later, I was still going. Still taking notes.

My notebook lay open, page smudged from the side of my hand dragging across the ink. I’d written out a whole column titled “Stuff I Want to Try,” and then immediately crossed out half of it because it looked ridiculous in writing.

I glanced at the list again. Touching. Guiding. Watching someone watch me. My stomach flipped at the thought, but it didn’t stop my pen from moving.

Hands. Mouth. Tongue. Lube. I hesitated, chewing on the cap of the pen.

Then, quietly under my breath: “Penetration.”

I stared at the word. Wrote it again further down. Added a question mark.

“Vesper?” 

A faint shimmer stirred across the glass.

“Yes?” he replied, drawled like he was bored and halfway through a glass of imaginary wine.

“Is penetration supposed to… not hurt?”

There was a sputter from the corner. A brief poof and a fine glitter-dust settled over the table like sugar. Vesper’s voice, when it came, was positively scandalized.

“Darling,” he said, adjusting his reflection as if primping a ruffled collar, “that is a question better posed to your new… instructor.”

“Vespeeer,” I groaned, ducking my head in embarrassment.

“Oh hush, my wanton little rosebud. Yes, I know the answer. Of course I do. But wouldn’t it be infinitely more delicious to let Minho show you? Step by magnificent, trembling step?”

“Stop saying those things.”

“I live to say things,” he said, positively gleaming. “But very well. Since you asked, genuinely, I might add, no, it’s not supposed to hurt. Not with proper prep, the right headspace, and someone who knows what they’re doing. Which, fortunately, you seem to have acquired.”

I blinked. “You mean Minho?”

“Unless there’s another strong-jawed disciplinarian lurking in your laundry hamper, then yes, I mean Minho.” He flicked lint off his lower left corner. “With him? You’ll be spoiled.”

I looked down at my list, a blush climbing high on my cheeks. I added a small, shaky star next to the word.

Vesper hummed, soft now. “Write it down if you must. But you won’t understand it fully until it’s felt. And I do mean felt.”

I covered my face with both hands.

Vesper laughed. Gently this time.

I stared at my notebook, then at my phone. My legs bounced, a nervous rhythm I couldn’t stop.

I was actually going to send this.

Jisung [5:26 PM] I was googling… and I asked Vesper if penetration is supposed to not hurt. And he said I should ask you…

I sent it. Then immediately wanted to flush my phone down the toilet.

It buzzed less than ten seconds later.

Minho [5:26 PM] He would say that.

Minho [5:27 PM] But yeah. You’re asking the right person.

Minho [5:27 PM] It’s not supposed to hurt. Not when someone takes their time with you.

I blinked. My mouth was suddenly a little dry.

Minho [5:28 PM] If it hurts, they rushed it. Didn’t prep you enough. Didn’t listen. Didn’t care.

Minho [5:28 PM] When I finally take you there, it won’t hurt. You’ll feel full. Stretched. A little overwhelmed maybe. But not pain. Not unless you want it.

I gripped the edge of my laptop.

Jisung [5:29 PM] So my ex just…

I didn’t finish it. Couldn’t.

Three dots blinked. Paused. Blinked again.

Minho [5:30 PM] He was a careless asshole.

Minho [5:30 PM] You deserve to know what it feels like when someone’s focused on you. Every sound. Every reaction. Every time you gasp and come undone.

Jisung [5:31 PM] Okay. I think I want that.

There was a moment’s pause.

Minho [5:32 PM] Then start thinking about how you want it. Because when you’re ready, I’m going have you wrung out and begging. And you’ll thank me for every second.

My hips rolled once before I could stop them.

Fuck. What the hell was that…

I shoved a hand between my thighs, not thinking, just needing pressure, something, anything. I was hard. 

All he’d done was text me.

I wanted him so badly it scared me.

Jisung [5:33 PM] when?

Ten minutes crawled by. My phone stayed dark, every second lasting longer than it should. I stared at the last message as my stomach twisted with nerves. Maybe I’d said too much. Maybe I shouldn’t have asked.

Minho [5:35 PM] Tonight. I’ll pick you up at eight. We’ll go at your pace. You’ll tell me what you’re ready for… and I’ll be right there with you.

I couldn’t sit still.

Every time I picked up my phone, I ended up putting it back down without unlocking the screen. I opened the fridge. Closed it again. Walked three circles around the coffee table and stood staring mindlessly at the bookshelf.

What was I going to ask him to do?

Can you act like you want me? Can you hold my face and say I’m not disgusting? Can you do anything you want and please just make it feel good?

He was going to think I was broken in ways that weren’t even fun to fix.

I hauled myself to the bathroom and took off my clothes. The water was a little too warm, but the sting kept my mind from wandering off. I stood there under the spray for what felt like hours, palms pressed against the tiles, steam billowing up the mirror.

What was I going to ask for?

I dried off and changed into soft sweats and a dark grey t-shirt that didn’t look clingy. I checked the fit in the mirror, changed into a black one instead, then changed back. I almost asked Vesper for advice but didn’t trust him not to explode into glitter and yell “TAKE THE GRAY ONE, IT MATCHES YOUR LONGING!” so I kept quiet.

I sat down on the edge of the bed. Got up again. Sat down on the floor instead.

The clock on the wall said 7:41. I stared at it until it ticked to 7:42. Then 7:43. I couldn’t sit still. The nerves, the want, and this tiny, stubborn hope that maybe I wasn’t completely broken after all. My heart was an unexpected mess. Apparently it had decided to captain this ship, full steam ahead. Fuck…

7:50.

I smoothed my shirt. Pressed my hands to my cheeks. I could feel the heat in them. Just thinking about tonight had turned my whole body into a storm.

7:58.

I stopped pacing and waited at the door.

For him.

My phone buzzed.

Minho [8:01 PM] I’m here.

I grabbed my bag and jogged downstairs.

Minho’s car was right where I expected, pulled up along the curb under the weak glow of the streetlamp. He sat behind the wheel, window down halfway, one hand resting casually on the frame.

I slowed down as I reached the sidewalk.

It wasn’t hesitation exactly. It was… the awareness that this wasn’t just another ride. This was something I’d asked for. But now that I was here, it took more effort to move forward.

Minho turned his head.

“Do you want to get in?” he asked, voice calm. “If you’ve changed your mind, it’s okay.”

My fingers tightened on my bag strap. The car, the street, the patience in his tone… it all made my pulse tick a little faster.

Then I nodded, pulled the door open, and got in.

I buckled in with fingers that weren’t quite shaking, but close.

Minho glanced over once we’d pulled away from the curb, his voice quiet but clear.

“Did you have time to think about what you want to try tonight? Or do you just want to talk?”

I had thought about it. Way too much. The words tangled in the back of my head. I didn’t want to say them out loud, but they were crowding up the space. I remembered what I wrote in the notebook earlier. 

Can you act like you want me? 

Can you hold my face and say I’m not disgusting? 

Can you do anything you want and please just make it feel good?

I didn’t mean to speak them. I really didn’t. But they slipped out as I kept my eyes on the road ahead.

Minho didn’t say a word. He just flipped the turn signal on and pulled the car towards the curb. I didn’t know if he was going to tell me I’d crossed a line or that he couldn’t help me after all.

But then he clicked off his seatbelt and leaned across the space between us. He brought both hands to my face. His palms were warm. Gentle.

His thumb moved across my cheek as my eyes burned.

“You’re not disgusting,” he said. “There’s nothing wrong with you.”

I wanted to believe it. I wanted it so badly I could taste it, hot and bitter at the back of my mouth.

“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it,” he added. Then, after a second, “You don’t have to believe it yet. I’ll keep saying it until you do.”

He squeezed my face before letting go and pulled back just enough to put the car in gear. 

The drive to his place passed mostly in silence. Nerves and hope tangling together.

He parked the car, engine cutting off with a soft tick. We just sat there for a moment. 

“There’s stuff I want to try,” I said. “But… I don’t know how to say it.”

Minho nodded once. “You don’t have to. Not with words. You can write it down if you want. Just send me a text or whatever you’re comfortable with.”

He opened his door and got out, like he knew I’d follow.

I grabbed my bag and climbed out into the warm evening air. The ground felt solid and surreal under my feet.

We got to the short path leading to his door. I stared at the back of his head and my heart stuttered. Then I pulled out my phone.

I didn’t hesitate. Not this time. I copied the list I had put in my notes and sent it to him.

Jisung to Minho: [shared note]

Minho. 

I punched the code, unlocked the door and heard a ping from my pocket. I took a few steps inside and opened the message. Read the subject line.

The list unspooled down my screen in neat lines.

At first, it was tender. Requests soaked in vulnerability. Wanting to be kissed, touched gently, praised.

But then it changed.

It got more... specific. He wanted to be pinned down. Edged. Teased until he couldn’t think straight. He wanted to be told what to do.

I took another deep breath, stared at the screen, and tried to force my body to act calm. Normal.

He was waiting behind me and he was probably wondering if he’d gone too far.

I turned around.

He stood just inside the door, hands gripping the strap of his bag again, biting at the inside of his cheek.

““You really want that? To be good for me. Let me take control.” I ran my knuckles along his jaw. “Fuck, that’s hot.”

He sucked in a breath.

“Are you okay?” I asked. “Because I need to know where you’re at.”

Sensing that he wasn’t ready to answer the question, I headed for the kitchen.

Behind me, I heard the soft tread of Jisung’s steps. Hesitant. But following. He nodded when I glanced back, still nervously clutching his bag.

I opened a cabinet and grabbed two glasses. “That list…” I started, pausing to look at him. “Very brave.”

He looked at me, surprised.

“You did good,” I said. “I mean that.”

I filled the glasses with cold water and reached for the snacks I’d set aside earlier.

“No pressure,” I said. “We go at your pace. Whatever feels right.”

He lingered near the counter.

“Here,” I continued, nudging the tray closer. “Keep your mouth busy while you think.”

He reached for a slice of mango, bit down with an unfocused look in his eyes.

We sat together. He picked at a cracker, ran a finger around the rim of his glass. He looked calm but I could see the way his breath went shallow every time our eyes met. I could see the blush of shyness on his cheeks.

After a few quiet minutes, I asked, “Is there anything on the list that you’re more curious about than the rest?”

He shook his head, then hesitated… and shrugged, small and uncertain, like the words wouldn’t come yet.

“There’s something I’ve been thinking about,” I said, watching the way his fingers stilled on the glass. “Something I’d like to do for you, if you will let me.”

His eyes lifted, cautious but open.

“I like giving head,” I said plainly. “A lot. It’s one of my favorite ways to get someone out of their head and into their body. Every reaction right there in my hands. And I want to give you that.”

His mouth parted like he meant to answer, but no sound came. He looked overwhelmed with the want that was clearly rising in him.

I gave him a second, then leaned in a little.

“It’s not just the way you take it. It’s how responsive you are. Every sound, every twitch, every time your breath catches, I get to feel all of it. I get to give you everything you need, exactly how you need it.”

His eyes dropped, but he was listening.

I waited and tried to gauge his reaction.

“Do you want that?” I asked.

“I’ve never… had that before,” he said. “I’m kind of nervous.”

God, he was honest. Always so fucking brave, even when he didn’t see it.

“That’s okay,” I murmured, leaning in just a little. “Being nervous makes sense. But there’s no pressure. You’re not performing. You don’t owe me anything. This is for you. If you want it.”

His throat worked on a swallow. Then he nodded.

“I need your words, Sungie.”

He looked up, cheeks flushed, and whispered, “Yes… I want that.”

I reached for his hands, lacing our fingers together as I stood.

“Come with me.”

I guided him to my bedroom and at the edge of the bed I let go of his hand and stepped back. Not far, just enough to give him the choice. 

My voice was a hell of a lot calmer than my pulse when I asked  “Can I take your pants off?”

He looked up at me, eyes nervous, but not backing away.

He nodded.

“I still need your words.”

His throat worked around the word before it came out, breathless and shaky. “Yes.”

I eased his pants down with gentle hands, watching for any hesitation. When the pants hit the floor, I guided him to sit on the edge of the bed.

He perched there like he didn’t know how he got there. Fidgeted with the hem of his shirt and looked anywhere but at me.

I stayed close, kneeling just enough to meet his gaze.

“Do you doubt that I want this?” I asked softly.

His cheeks flamed deeper. He didn’t answer.

I reached for his hands and brought them to my thighs, then tilted my hips, just enough to make the truth visible. My voice dropped.

“Look at me. Really look. Do you still think I don’t want this?”

His eyes flicked downward. His breath caught.

That was all the answer I needed.

I guided him to the center of the bed, eased him back against the pillows and climbed in after him. I braced my hands above his hips and looked into his eyes.

“I want to taste you,” I said. “All of you. On my tongue.”

His lips parted. No sound, just a shaky breath. I bent down and kissed the corner of his mouth. Not the lips. Not yet. That line was still there. Just barely.

Jisung.

His mouth on my skin made me forget how to breathe. Lips trailing, open and wet, like he was tasting every inch. Every time he licked lower, I twitched so hard my spine jerked off the bed.

When he hit my collarbone. I gasped out loud. Couldn’t stop it. My hips jumped. My eyes blurred. Too hot. Too much. Too fast.

Then his tongue flicked over my nipple.

“Fuck…” My voice cracked straight through. I grabbed at the sheets. My back lifted like it was trying to escape the sensation. He stayed there. Didn’t let up. Licked again, then sucked. I couldn’t bite the sounds down.

“Yeah,” he murmured, dragging his lips across my chest. Tongue flicking again. Then sealing over me, sucking hard enough I thought I’d pass out.

“Oh… fuck.”

His mouth kept moving. Down. Kissing the center of my stomach. I arched into it, trembling so bad it felt like I was going to shake apart.

Then his hand wrapped around my cock and I choked. I was dripping and so fucking hard it made me dizzy. His hand stroked once and I whimpered.

“God, you’re perfect like this,” he said, voice dark. “Already this worked up for me…”

Then his mouth dropped.

The second his lips closed around the head, I lost it. Hot. Wet. Tight. His tongue underneath and I made a noise I’d never heard from myself before. My vision went white for half a second. I couldn’t pretend I wasn’t about to come from nothing.

“Minho…”

He moaned.

Around me.

I almost passed out.

He sucked me in again. Deeper. Tongue moving like he was starving for it. Every flick made my stomach twist harder. His eyes were locked on me. Focused.

He moaned again.

I almost came. My whole body clenched. Thighs tight. Stomach in knots.

“Minho,” I gasped, half-sobbing. “I…fuck…I can’t…”

He barely lifted off. “Yes, you can. You’re doing so good for me. Let me have you a little longer.”

Then his mouth sank back down on me.

The sound I made didn’t sound like me. It ripped through me, left me raw. My hips bucked. Shame clawed up the back of my throat, but then his hand… his hand came up, pressed warm against my stomach, held me there.

“You sound so good, baby.”

He didn’t stop. Didn’t pull off all the way. Just said it right against me before sealing back over me like he couldn’t stand the distance.

I couldn’t stop shaking. Couldn’t stop moaning. Everything about the way he touched me made me burn. The suction. His tongue. The way he didn’t just swallow me, he worshipped me. My thighs wouldn’t stop shaking. My hands fumbled for the sheets like they could hold me together.

“Minho…” The sound barely held together. All breath and need.

He moaned again.

My hands flew to him. I didn’t think. Just reached. He caught one wrist. Then the other. Brought them to his head. Pressed them down like he wanted me to hold on.

And then… fuck… his other hand slid lower.

Past my stomach. Past the base of my cock.

He groaned. Filthy. Leaving me in no doubt that he liked it. That it turned him on.

“God, you sound so fucking pretty,” he whispered.

My fingers locked in his hair. Every breath came fast.

He teased behind my balls. Just once.

I whined. “Minho…”

He hummed in answer. Hummed with my cock still in his mouth. It lit up my spine.

“Oh my god… oh my god…”

“Doing so well for me,” he said. “You feel that? How good you’re doing?”

I nodded so fast it blurred. “Feels so good… fuck… didn’t know it could…”

His fingers moved lower.

My whole chest seized. “Minho… Minho, wait…”

He stilled at once. 

But I didn’t want him to stop. “Please… please don’t stop… please…”

“Can I?”

His voice. So soft. So fucking careful.

“Yes. Yes, you… fuck… please…”

“Good boy.”

Then he pressed in.

Just barely.

Both hands tangled in his hair and I didn’t notice that was pulling hard. I needed his mouth. Needed him everywhere.

His finger pushed deeper, stretching me open like he knew I could take more. Every stroke grip his hair a little harder.

“Fuck, I’m gonna come…” Minho’s voice was hoarse, “Don’t stop… fuck, don’t let go of me…”

I couldn’t. My grip only tightened in his hair, both hands fisted at the root, holding him there like I’d drown without him.

“Jisung… fuck, I’m coming…” He groaned so loud it shook through me, deep and filthy. His whole body rocked into it. “God, yes… you make me feel so good… so fucking good… baby, you don’t even know…”

His mouth didn’t stop. His tongue was still working me while his voice came apart against my skin. Every noise punched heat through me. Every word sinking deeper than anything else had ever reached.

He had come against the sheets with his mouth full of me. And I couldn’t look away.

“Fuck… oh yes… Minho…”

“Look at you,” he breathed, mouth still wrapped around me. “You’re taking it so well for me. Letting me in like this… You have no idea how beautiful you are.”

He moved again, tongue tracing, lips sealing tight and I sobbed. His finger hit something that made my hips buck up into his mouth, and I started shaking so hard I couldn’t keep my legs still. Too much. Too intense now.

“Minho… please… I can’t…” My voice cracked. “I don’t know what to do…”

He groaned… and it vibrated through my whole body.

“You don’t have to do anything,” he said. “Just feel it.”

He didn’t fucking stop.

One hand stroked my cock while his mouth kept sucking. His finger pressed deeper.

My spine kicked off the bed. Vision scattered to nothing. The world narrowed to suction and heat and pressure.

“Please…” I didn’t know what I meant. Didn’t know what I wanted. Just more.

Minho moaned. Filthy. Possessive. His finger stroked deeper, harder. Right on that spot.

“I can’t… I can’t… “

“You can,” he rasped. “You’re right there, baby. Let go. Let me feel it.”

I screamed. My cock throbbed between his lips and the orgasm rolled through me so fast I didn’t know I was coming until it was already pouring out of me. I clenched down around his fingers, helpless.

Every thrash. Every moan. Every fucked-out breath, I gave it to him.

Finally… he slowed down.

His finger slipped out. His eased off. I collapsed, chest heaving, eyes fluttering. My heart beat so hard I could hear it. My skin felt too thin to contain my body.

Minho stayed right there between my legs, staring at me.

“God, baby…” His voice came out rough. “You came so fucking well for me.”

I couldn’t speak or move.

“You can do it again.”

His hand landed on my hip. Solid. Hot. I felt it everywhere.

“I don’t think I can.”

“You’re not done yet, Sungie… Not even close.”

I whimpered. My cock jumped. As if it hadn’t heard me come under a minute ago.

His hands turned me. Face-down, head to the side, arms slack. I felt used and wanted all at once.

I heard the drawer. A cap clicked. Then his finger was in me again.

“Look at you,” he said. “Already so open. So fucking hot like this.”

My legs parted on instinct.

He slid one more in and I gasped. My hips moved without thinking, chasing it.

“That’s it,” he whispered, voice thick. “I’m going to make this feel so good for you.”

I whined.

Minho groaned. “Do you want it?”

I nodded. Or tried. I couldn’t feel my limbs.

“I know you do. So fucking greedy for it.”

Three fingers.

I almost came from that alone.

It burned, just for a second, but the stretch lit me up. I clawed at the pillow. I pushed back, needing it deeper.

Minho snarled. “Look at you. Fucking yourself on my fingers.”

His fingers pounded into me. Controlled. Brutal. Every movement made me buck so hard my knees slipped. I couldn’t get enough.

“Minho… please… I can’t”

“You can,” he growled. “And you will.”

He didn’t stop. Just kept hitting the spot that made me lose my mind.

I screamed into the pillow. Raw. Ragged. Shaking all over.

“Louder,” he said, voice feral. “Let the whole fucking world know who’s making you feel this good.” 

And then, right in the middle of my back… he kissed me.

Soft. Tender.

It pushed me over and as I came another feeling snuck up on me. Unpleasant and overwhelming. 

I blinked and my eyes burned. Tears.

Just a few at first. I thought I could breathe through it. Thought I could stay quiet but a sob clawed its way out of me before I could stop it. I buried my face deeper into the pillow, tried to muffle it, but it kept coming.

“Sungie…”

The mattress dipped behind me. Minho’s hand landed at my waist, barely there, then smoothed up to my back.

Another sob clawed its way out before I could stop it. I buried my face deeper in the pillow, trying to stay quiet, but it kept coming. My chest hurt. My throat burned. I couldn’t get a full breath.

I felt him lay down behind me, hands settling on my waist.

“…what’s wrong?” he asked.

I couldn’t answer. Not yet. The feelings in my chest were too big. Everything was too big.

This wasn’t just a comedown. It was everything.

All this… for me?

He had said yes. Just like that. When I asked. He hadn’t laughed. Hadn’t looked confused or disgusted. He’d said yes because he’d wanted to. 

And then he touched me like this. Read me like this. Listened to every sound I made, watched every shudder of my body. He handled me with such care I couldn’t understand it. It was like he had studied me just to make me feel good.

We weren’t dating. He didn’t have to do any of this.

He just… wanted me to feel good.

How? How the fuck was this the first time someone this close to me had treated me so good?

How was it not normal to be touched like this?

I cried into his pillow. Loud, heaving sobs that left my throat raw.

“I let him… I fucking let him…” The words came out between gasps. I couldn’t stop them. “I let him treat me like that…”

Minho didn’t try to quiet me. He just held on tighter understanding that I needed to fall apart all the way. One hand on the back of my head, his fingers threading into my hair. The other around my waist, keeping me close.

“He was abusive, Jisung.”

My entire body went numb.

I sucked in a breath like I’d been drowning without realizing. I blinked hard, chest rising in stuttered gasps. The tears didn’t stop. They poured harder, if anything, because hearing it said aloud made it real in a way I hadn’t let myself believe before.

Minho didn’t stop there.

“He hurt you. He knew he was hurting you. That’s what it was. That’s abuse. I don’t care what he said it was, or how he tried to explain it away.”

I’d spent so long wondering if I was exaggerating. If I was remembering things wrong. If maybe I had deserved it.

But Minho’s voice, so sure, so matter-of-fact, left no room for doubt.

“He made me think it was my fault,” I whispered. “Like I was needy… or too much. Like I should’ve just been grateful he stayed.”

I felt his breath against my temple. “You never had to earn being treated like a person,” he said quietly. “He didn’t  love you Jisung. He controlled you. It was pure cruelty.”

I turned around to lean my head on his shoulder, crying so hard my ribs hurt.

“I fucking hate him for what he did to you.”

He looked at me, his eyes searching mine like he needed to be sure I was still with him. “You didn’t deserve any of that, Sungie. Not a single second.”

All this time I’d been wondering what was wrong with me. Why I couldn’t make it work. Why I wasn’t enough.

But the truth was simpler.

He didn’t want to care.

He never did.

Minho… Minho wasn’t mine. He wasn’t my boyfriend. He didn’t owe me any of this. But he’d given me more in one night than someone I used to love ever had.

And it broke me all over again.

“He fucking did it on purpose,” I choked out. “He wanted to see me hurting. And I let him…”

Minho held me for the longest time. Rocked me until the tears subsided and breathing became easier again. 

His thumb grazed over my knuckles and he asked, “Do you need to talk about what we did tonight?”

“It was…” I started. My throat felt raw. “I don’t know how to say it.”

He didn’t interrupt. He just brushed his thumb lightly across my side.

I turned my face into his neck, half embarrassed by how much I still felt. “You didn’t… I mean, that was just your mouth and fingers.”

Minho huffed a quiet laugh. “Just?”

I let out a shaky breath, somewhere between a laugh and a groan. “Okay. Not just. It was… insane. I didn’t know I could come like that.”

“You did so well,” he said. Calmly. He wasn’t trying to flatter me.

I exhaled again, softer this time. “I’m really glad I asked.”

I looked up at him. “Minho?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you take me home?”

He blinked once, then nodded. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I promise. Nothing’s wrong. I just… need to process this by myself. If that’s okay.”

“Of course it is,” he said gently, already reaching for his clothes. “Come on.”

When we pulled up outside my building, Minho turned off the engine and glanced at me. “I’ll walk you to your door.”

I hesitated, then nodded.

The streetlights cast a low, golden blur over the pavement as we climbed the steps. At the top, I turned to him.

“Thank you,” I said. “For being so good to me.”

His eyes were soft. He stepped in close, one hand rising to the back of my head. And then he pressed a kiss to my forehead.

It was almost nothing. Barely there.

“Goodnight, Sungie,” he said.

“Goodnight.”

I slipped inside, closed the door behind me, leaned against the wood and let out a big breath.

Even though I’d been the one to ask him to take me home… I already missed the warmth of his arms around me.

The second I stepped in front of the mirror, Vesper lit up like a cursed chandelier.

“YOU’RE HOME,” he gasped, scandalized and delighted. “And not limping? Color me floored. Or wait… was there limping and you just freshened up like the shy little minx you are?”

I blinked. My mouth opened.

“Oh no no no,” Vesper cut in. “Don’t you dare stand there and pretend you didn’t just get emotionally raw-dogged and eaten like a five-course dessert. Talk, brave little dumpling. Talk fast. Did he praise you properly? On a scale from one to religious experience, how were the thighs?”

“Vesper…”

“NO! I HAVE WAITED ALL NIGHT. You left me alone with nothing but reruns of that tacky telenovela I’m not even supposed to like but I DO, and I was forced to imagine every depraved thing he might do to you, and now you appear, all glowy and ravished, and you’re trying to play coy?”

I groaned and dropped onto the nearest chair, face in hands.

Vesper’s surface sparkled. “You’re glowing. There’s an aura. You look like you just saw a god and he told you your ass was holy.”

I wheezed.

“Did he? Tell you things? Use words? My sweet flower of sexual reawakening, did you take control of your destiny and moan his name like an offering?”

“Stop it,” I mumbled through my fingers.

“Try to silence me again, and I’ll glitter-bomb your rice,” he warned, entirely unfazed. “Now. Give me the play-by-play or I will start rhyming erotic haiku about Minho’s lips. And believe me, I have material.”

I peeked through my fingers. “They were really good lips.”

Vesper let out a wail.

“That’s it. I’m getting glue. I’m crafting a shrine. There will be paper hearts, Jisung. There will be tassels!”

He shimmered violently. “I am SO proud of you. You brave, brave little dumpling. Look at you, setting boundaries, asking for things, coming home with bedhead and truth in your soul.”

“I think I’ve broken my brain,” I admitted.

“Yes,” he nodded. “And it’s gorgeous.”

Vesper went suspiciously quiet the next second.

His surface flickered once. Twice. Then he narrowed his silver-edged gaze at me. “You’re not entirely blissed out.”

I tried to look innocent.

He gasped. “There’s doubt on that sweet little face. Oh no. Oh no no no. What happened? Did he say something weird about his socks? Did he insist on ironing his shirt before ravishing you?”

“No!” I pulled a throw pillow into my lap and hugged it. “It’s nothing like that. He was… perfect.”

“Then what is this energy? You’re giving me the aura of someone who left heaven of his own volition.”

“I had a breakdown right in his arms, Vesper. Totally conducive to romance, right?”

Vesper stilled. “Oh darling… tell Noona Vesper what happened.”

I hesitated. 

“Well… after… you know… it hit me like a freight train in slow motion that my ex let his gay identity crisis be my burden, and for so long I just… let him.”

Vesper didn’t shimmer. Didn’t tease. Just said, quietly, “That wasn’t your fault.”

His reflection leaned in, voice like vengeance draped in velvet. “You were not put on this earth to be someone’s emotional landfill. He dumped it all on you and called it love, and that, my sweet dumpling, is cruelty dressed up as confusion.”

I swallowed. “Minho held me through it.”

Vesper blinked.

“I mean… he really held me. I think I cried on him for… ten years. And he…” I hugged the pillow tighter. “He didn’t freak out.”

It came out easily. “And now I feel happy and embarrassed at the same time. Like… yay, breakthrough. And it happened while naked.”

Vesper tilted his head. “Darling. Emotional maturity and talented lips? You hit the jackpot.”

I dropped my chin to the pillow. “I didn’t really want to leave. I wanted to stay. But if I’d stayed, I wouldn’t have known where the line was anymore. And I… needed time to breathe. To figure out if what I’m feeling is just gratitude or something bigger.”

“Oooooh.”

“He walked me to the door and kissed my forehead, Vesper.”

Vesper wailed.

“HE KISSED YOUR FOREHEAD? Oh, baby boy, you are ruined. That’s it. You’re halfway in already. Next thing I know, he’ll be packing you bento lunches with little love notes in them, and you’ll be calling each other embarrassing pet names that make me want to throw myself off the table.”

I smiled, just a little. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

“It means you’re doomed. Mark my words, those two big thighs of his are going to wrap around your soul and cradle it.”

I buried my face in the pillow again. “Don’t bet on it.”

Vesper went very still.

Then he shimmered.

“Oooh! What a marvelous idea! Let’s bet! I hereby wager that you, Han Jisung, will be making sweet, filthy, emotional love to that man before the year is over. And when I win, and I will, you shall volunteer your humble hands to ghostwrite my memoirs. With full creative flair and at least two dramatic epilogues.”

I looked up slowly. “And if I win?”

His eyes sparkled.

“You may choose the frame for my next mirror housing. And name the ficus I’m planning to adopt.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Wait a second. Naming the ficus and choosing your next frame? That’s still your prize. I want something that’s actually mine if I win.”

Vesper reared back, positively scandalized. “How dare you accuse me of such blatant self-interest. In this house? In this sacred pact of magical intimacy and emotional healing?”

“You’re literally trying to trick me into ghostwriting your memoirs,” I said flatly.

“And you should feel honored!”

I grinned. “You’re impossible.”

Vesper gave a regal sniff. “And you, my brave little dumpling, are delightfully sassy when freshly railed. It’s a good look for you.”

“Thanks, V.”

His edges glimmered with affection. “It suits you, you know. This… confidence. This teasing sparkle in your eyes. You’re taking control. Choosing. It’s delicious.”

“I’m still scared.”

“You should be. He does have those thighs that could destroy civilizations and a mouth made for worship. But you, my dear, are already a legend.”

For a moment I was able to laugh and the complicated mess that was my feelings wasn’t as unbearable as it had been earlier. 

I should’ve gotten up to shower, but I couldn’t make myself wash off the traces of him and the bed was right there. So I crawled into it. 

From the coffee table came a horrified gasp.

“You’re going to bed without telling me what his sheets felt like! Were they high thread count? Were they scented?!”

I groaned into the pillow. “They were soft. Clean. Smelled like him.”

A glittery pop fizzed in the corner.

“You are the most infuriatingly vague narrator I have ever been blessed to mentor.”

I peeked over the top of the bookshelf. “You’re on a coffee table.”

“I am everywhere, darling.”

I snorted and flopped to my side. “Night, Vesper.”

A softer fizz of shimmer floated up like fireflies.

“Goodnight, my brave little dumpling. Sleep well… and may tomorrow bring more thighs.”

I buried my face in the pillow.

What a day.

Chapter Text

Jisung.

I should have been cleaning. Or journaling. Or doing literally anything productive.

Instead, I was lying on my stomach, legs kicking absentmindedly off the side of the bed, tapping and re-tapping the backspace key on my phone.

The List was open again.

Line 4: “I want to know what it feels like when someone uses their mouth just to make me feel good.”

I stared at it. Smiled a little. Then deleted it.

Re-typed it.

Added a little star.

Deleted the star.

Then deleted the whole line.

“You’re being dramatic,” I muttered at myself.

“Oh, please,” Vesper gasped from his perch on the coffee table. “You had a symphonic crescendo of self-discovery less than twenty-four hours ago. If you weren’t being dramatic, I’d be offended.”

He was facing the screen, engrossed in a baking competition. Today’s theme: Birthday cakes.

A contestant was aggressively piping chocolate ganache into a sugar-dusted spiral. I could hear Vesper sniffling.

“Are you okay over there?” I asked.

A tremble rattled the mirror frame. “It’s just… she’s using candied violets. That’s so personal to me.”

I didn’t ask.

Instead, I blinked at the cake and then back at him. “Hey… when is your birthday?”

The noise that came out of him wasn’t human.

It sounded like the long lost child of a kazoo and a donkey.

“Jisung,” he choked. “Jisung. No one but Felix has ever asked me that.”

“Really?”

A sparkle hit my cheek. I swatted it away.

“Never. Not in all of my 263 years alive. 

A fresh rain of glitter burst from the top of the mirror, fine and silvery pink.

“I mean, if it’s coming up, we should do something. Cake, candles, something stupid and sweet…”

“YESSSS.” He wailed it. “We must have a theme. We must have mood lighting. We must invite Felix because he will understand… and everyone else too!. Oh, and we must start planning immediately.”

I blinked again. “Wait. So it’s coming up?”

Vesper made a hiccuping sound somewhere between joy and hysteria. “The day my human form was given to this earth. The beginning of my life’s mission to be glorious. In three weeks.”

He flared briefly gold. Then fuchsia before sobbing again.

I let him.

A sugar spiral collapsed on the screen. Someone screamed in French.

I tucked my phone under my pillow. The List could wait.

But cake planning?

That apparently couldn’t.

I sat there for another minute, letting the sound of ganache and emotional instability fill the room. Then I grabbed my phone again, opened the group chat, and typed:

me: Emergency brunch. I pick the place. No questions.

Changbin: Why does that sound like a threat.

Felix: Does it involve sequins or crying? Just so I know how to dress.

Chan: Are you okay?

Seungmin: He’s fine. This is chaos-coded.

I didn’t answer. Just dropped the time, the address, and one final message:

me: Iced lattes. Mason jars. Buckle up.

I had picked the loudest, most chaotic café I could think of, that still served iced lattes in mason jars. The kind of place where the booths were cracked just enough to be charming, the walls were lined with vintage posters, and the music always seemed one notch too high. Perfect cover for a secret mission.

Felix arrived first, practically bouncing with curiosity, hair tucked under a pastel cap and a suspicious amount of glitter on his cheeks for a Sunday.

“You didn’t say what this was about,” he said, sliding in beside me. “Are we planning a heist? A murder? Is it Minho’s birthday? Please say it’s Minho’s birthday. I have questions about his birth chart.”

“It’s better,” I said, grinning.

The others trickled in fast, Changbin with that I-just-came-from-the-gym glow, Jeongin practicing yo-yo tricks like he wasn’t in public, Hyunjin in sunglasses indoors, because of course he was. Seungmin and Chan arrived together, deep in some debate about whether or not pickles belonged on burgers.

Minho showed up last, raising an eyebrow as he took the only seat left… across from me. I tried not to read into it.

Once everyone had drinks and food and a general air of chaotic comfort settled over the table, I cleared my throat.

“I’ve gathered you all here today for a matter of dire importance,” I said reverently.

Felix gasped and clutched his chest. “It is a heist.”

“No,” I said, “it’s more serious than that. Vesper’s birthday is in three weeks.”

That got me a round of confused looks. Seungmin squinted. “Wait, what? Does he… celebrate birthdays?”

“Well,” I said. “He doesn’t celebrate the day he was bound to the mirror. He calls it a tragedy, actually. But this is different. This is the day his human form was given to this earth, his words, not mine. His true birthday. His divine debut.”

Hyunjin snorted. “Of course he’d say that.”

“And he thinks we’ll get him a cake and be done with it,” I said. “Which means we have one chance to pull off something so dramatic, so glorious, so over-the-top he might actually explode.”

“So… a normal Tuesday?” Jeongin deadpanned.

“Exactly!”

I pulled out a tiny notepad labeled OPERATION CHAOS in pink gel pen. “Here’s the plan.”

Felix’s eyes lit up. “Oh goody. There’s a plan.”

“Obviously. I’m in charge of the cake. Also decorations, party flow, overall vibe management, and emotional manipulation.”

Minho looked over the rim of his glass. “Emotional manipulation?”

“To keep him from finding out,” I said. “I’m very good at secrets now so shut up.”

“Didn’t say anything,” he muttered.

I tapped my pen against the page. “Changbin. Glitter logistics. Vesper will expect glitter. I want safe glitter, edible glitter, floating glitter. Whatever you can get.”

Changbin nodded solemnly. “I know a guy.”

“Jeongin. Piñata.”

His eyes gleamed. “I want to build it myself.”

“Perfect. Fill it with things that’ll horrify him.”

“Condoms and raisins.”

“Gorgeous,” I said.

“Felix. Mood boards. Colors. I want maximalism. I want it to look like a unicorn threw up on my terrace. Nothing is over the top.”

“Already started,” Felix said, pulling out his phone and flipping through a collection titled Apocalypse Party Realness.

“Seungmin and Chan, food. I don’t care what it is as long as it can be eaten.”

Chan raised a hand. “Are we including alcohol?”

“No,” I said. “Hyunjin and Jeongin, you’re on drinks. Nothing too wild, just something fizzy and pretty and possibly themed.”

“Done,” Hyunjin said. “I want dry ice.”

“You’re going to make the building explode,” Seungmin said.

“I want drama,” Hyunjin replied.

I looked around the table and exhaled slowly, the gesture of ridiculousness somehow already making me feel better. “The party will be on my terrace. Sunset, string lights, glitter in the wind. It has to be magical.”

Felix clapped.

“Vesper cannot know. This has to be a surprise. We want full dramatic gasp. We want tears. We want a performance.”

“Jisung,” Chan said, “nothing about this group is subtle.”

“Which is exactly why we’ll succeed,” I said brightly, flipping the notebook closed. “We don’t have to hide who we are. We just have to confuse him long enough to pull off the glitterbomb of the century.”

Felix clinked his glass to mine.

“Operation Chaos is a go.”

The group chat was renamed Operation: V-Day within twenty minutes of leaving the café.

Minho had tried to rename it “Project Distraction” three times, but Felix kept changing it back and adding more heart emojis.

I lived with my phone in hand now. Messages were coming in faster than I could open them.

Felix: Do we want tassels or streamers or both? Or tasseled streamers??

Changbin: I just glitter-bombed my bathroom by accident.

Jeongin: Should I make the piñata shaped like Marie Antoinette?

Seungmin: Sounds terrifying

Jeongin: So yes?

When I wasn’t answering messages or plotting the logistics of glitter in humid weather, I was pretending I wasn’t doing any of it.

Which was harder than it sounded.

Vesper had begun pouting.

At first, it was just small comments.

“Oh, my dumpling is so busy lately,” he sniffed one night as I tried to sneak past with six rolls of gold cellophane hidden inside my jacket. “Too busy for mirror chats. Too busy for mirror compliments. Too busy for me…”

He flared bright purple the next morning when I claimed I had errands.

“Where are you going?” Vesper called after me. “Why do you need that much iridescence??”

“Tax reasons!” I yelled and sprinted out the door to meet with Felix at the flea market, where he was already elbow-deep in discount sequin bins.

Luckily, everything was hidden offsite. Chan and Felix’s apartment held the lighting equipment, backup snacks, mood boards, food sketches, and a box labeled DANGER with Jeongin’s test piñata inside.

He had showed up three nights in a row with prototype updates.

The third time, he came wielding a real baseball bat.

“It has to survive,” he said, eyes gleaming with menace.

Minho, who had come over to drop off an extra extension cord for the rooftop lights, saw the bat and immediately left again. 

He returned twenty minutes later with knee pads and a helmet.

“Someone has to make sure none of us end up in the ER,” he said.

For a moment he had looked like he wanted to eat me alive, but he disappeared before I could ask him about it.

A couple of days later I was deep into a Pinterest black hole about balloon garlands when Vesper interrupted.

“Darling,” he said with narrowed eyes. “Why were there cake toppers on your laptop screen shaped like…” He paused. “Are those meant to be… anatomical?”

“No reason!” I blurted.

He stared at me.

I stared at the coffee table and tried to act like I hadn’t just hastily closed three tabs from my Obscene Party Ideas for Grown-Ups board.

There was a faint glitter pop in the air. Vesper’s mood was veering stormy.

It was only a matter of time before he cracked.

But… watching everyone throw themselves into the chaos with such dedication made me deliriously happy and I told my self it was worth a few snippy comments from Vesper.

If we pulled this off, if we really surprised him, it was going to be spectacular.

Now all we had to do was survive the next two weeks.

And Jeongin’s piñata bat.

Vesper.

I am not an unreasonable sort of person.

A touch dramatic, yes. Who wouldn’t be, trapped in reflective purgatory and burdened with celestial charm? But I am a patient being. A forgiving soul. I require very little: attention, admiration, and perhaps the occasional glitter bath.

But lately?

Neglect. Utter and complete neglect.

Another puff of pouty teal glitter floated from my frame in a slow cloud of celestial doom. The coffee table wobbled faintly beneath me, as if in agreement. My only real companion tonight. A wooden accomplice to abandonment.

Jisung was at the sink, rinsing his mug like a responsible adult while his mirror-bound familiar was left to suffer in the dim light of a single IKEA lamp.

“He used to talk to me,” I declared, loud enough to echo faintly off the bare wall behind the bed. “Now it’s errands and whispers and mysterious disappearances. No ‘Vesper, you look radiant tonight.’ No ‘Vesper, how are your facets feeling?’ Not even a dusting!”

I shifted inside the mirror frame, glancing toward the little table by the kitchenette. Crumbs. Paper scraps. A suspicious lack of anything shiny.

My entire view had been the same for days: the bed, one houseplant I suspected was plastic, and a bookshelf that served only as a divider between my torment and his mattress.

“I, who have lifted his spirits, whispered secrets of empowerment, encouraged his debauchery… am now a background prop.”

He looked over.

I struck a pose. Dramatic slouch, one hand over my heart, glitter pooling behind me like a sorrowful fog.

He grinned.

Grinned!!

“Goodnight, Vesper,” he said, as if he hadn’t just knifed me with a thousand betrayals and left me to rot beside his notebook of admirable filth.

“Goodnight,” I replied icily. “May your dreams be dull and your accessories go mismatched forevermore.”

He lay down on the mattress with that infuriating air of calm satisfaction, a cozy sigh and a tug of the blanket.

A silent tear of iridescent glitter slid down the glass.

“Fine. I shall spend my birthday draped in existential tragedy. Alone. Abandoned. Unacknowledged. Like a sequin in a sock drawer.”

A breeze from the window caught a loose receipt and it fluttered to the floor. Even the trash had more freedom than me.

I sighed louder. More glitter.

“…I still want cake.”

Jisung.

The party was less than a week away and I needed a break from planning and sneaking around. Minho had texted earlier in the afternoon and it could not have been better timed.

Minho: do you want to come over tonight? no pressure.

I said yes before I thought too hard about it.

He made dinner. I brought drinks. We ate in the kitchen and pretended to care about the weather.

It was kind of awkward… or I was. I didn’t know how to navigate our new kind of friendship. Minho didn’t seem to have those kind of struggles. He was just… the same unflappable Minho as always.

Now we were sprawled across his couch with a documentary playing. It was something about wolves and snow and mating patterns, which felt ironic in ways I wasn’t ready to unpack. The narrator spoke in that soothing, careful way that made everything sound infinitely wise.

Minho’s leg was warm against mine. His arm draped along the back of the couch and his fingers skimmed my shoulder every now and then.

It would have been easy to stay like that. But I didn’t come here to be at ease. I hadn’t stopped thinking about that night, what he gave me, what I felt, and somewhere between the documentary and the sound of his breathing, I had an idea.

I didn’t want to keep being the one who got carried. I wanted to give back.

Not because of some twisted idea that I owed it to him but because I wanted to. Because part of me craved it, being his good boy, on my own terms.

I pulled my knees up slightly, twisting the edge of my shirt between nervous fingers.

He hadn’t touched me tonight. Not like that. There was no expectations for anything sexual to happen. Maybe that’s what made it easier to want this so badly. To let myself wonder how he tasted, how he looked when he gave in. I wanted to hear his sounds this time.

I could have let the night stay normal. But I didn’t want to.

Not anymore.

I turned to him slowly.

“Would it be okay if I… tried going down on you?”

His eyebrows shot up in surprise as he looked at me. He didn’t answer right away, just blinked slowly.

“What did you just say?” 

I swallowed. My heart pounded with nerves but I didn’t look away. “Like… to you. Oral. But only if… only if you’ll be honest with me?”

Minho turned towards me, adjusting his arm so it rested across the back of the couch again. “Honest how?”

“Just…” I wet my lips. “I want to know if I’m doing it right. If I’m good at it. Or if I suck… which, I mean, yeah, that’s the goal, I guess, but…” I cut myself off with a quiet groan. “You know what I mean.”

He huffed in amusement but didn’t tease. His eyes stayed on mine.

“Jisung,” he said quietly. “You don’t have to do anything. Not to repay me. Not to prove anything.”

“I know. It’s not that.”  I tugged at my shirt again. 

“Then tell me what it is.”

I hesitated, then let the words fall out.

“I’ve been thinking about it. Since that night. Not just what you did, but… how it felt.” 

A smile ghosted across his lips. He didn’t interrupt.

I pushed on. “I want to understand that better. How it feels to give without obligation or without fear of being laughed at or…” I shook my head. “I don’t want to be scared of it anymore. I want to want this. I do want this.”

Minho was quiet. He sat forward just enough to rest his forearm on his thigh. “So it’s for you, too?”

I nodded. “Yeah. I just… I want you to let me try, and tell me what works. What doesn’t.”

He reached out and touched my knee in a gesture meant to be comforting. “Then yeah,” he said. “You can try. And I’ll be honest.”

A breath I didn’t know I’d been holding rushed out all at once. I nodded again, slower this time.

Minho’s hand stayed where it was. “But if anything feels off, if you change your mind, you stop. I don’t care how far we’ve gotten or how turned on I am. Your needs come first.

I felt heat under my skin, a slow spreading pulse that was more than just nerves.

“Okay,” I said quietly. “Deal.”

Faking a confidence I absolutely did not have, I took control by standing up and reaching for his hand. His living room felt too big for my intentions. I wanted the smaller confines of his bedroom.

I stopped just inside the doorway and watched him as he leaned against the edge of the bed. His arms were loose at his sides, his gaze soft and expectant.

I stepped forward.

This time, I didn’t want to be guided. I wanted to do something for him. I wanted to see him, taste him, learn him in a way that would be mine.

His brow lifted as I moved closer, something unreadable flickering in his expression. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” My voice cracked a little and I cleared my throat. “I want to.”

“Do you want to undress me?” he asked. Calm as ever. “Or should I?”

I sat down on the bed. My hands were resting on my thighs, very aware of my sweaty palms. “You,” I said, glancing up at him. “I… I want to watch.”

He reached for the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head.

My breath snagged in my throat.

He was so… solid. So fucking gorgeous. Broad shoulders, lean waist, skin warm and golden in the light. My gaze caught on his chest, the lines of his abdomen, the subtle trail of hair vanishing below the waistband of his shorts.

He pushed those down too, revealing briefs stretched tight over the shape of him, thick and straining against the fabric. His cock pulsed as the elastic slid down over it.

And then he was there… naked… right in front of me.

I looked up.

“Can I…” I swallowed. “Can I touch you?”

He answered with a groan. “Oh god yes… please touch me.”

My heart hammered so hard I thought it might tear out of my body. My fingers shook like they had a mind of their own. I wanted to do this right. I wanted to be good enough, but every nerve screamed with doubt. I swallowed the lump in my throat, tried to steady my breath. 

I reached out, fingertips barely touching his skin at first. Moving slow, I traced the lines of his shoulders, the ridges of his collar bones, further down...

I circled one nipple with my thumb and he moaned. The sound itself pushed me forward. I leaned in, lips barely touching the other nipple before I sucked hard, flicking my tongue over the sensitive skin. He shivered, breath uneven, fingers clutching my arms.

My hands slid down, following the curve of his waist. His muscles flexed under my palms. I wrapped my fingers around him, opened my mouth and took him deep in one single movement.

“Fuck, Jisung,” Minho growled. “You feel so good. Keep going.”

His hands tangled in my hair, pulling me closer. I lost myself in the taste of him, desperate for his praise, aching to be enough.

I pushed harder, took him deeper. Every sound he made fed the fire inside me. His movements grew frantic, wild, hips jerking against my mouth, and a rough groan filled the room. 

In this moment I was his, begging him to use me without words.

This wasn’t just touch. This was worship. This was everything.

I pulled back a little to catch my breath.

“Lie down,” I said. “Please.”

He backed up without a word, climbed onto the bed, and dropped down onto the pillows.

I sat between his legs, and took a moment just to look before leaning in again.

His breath caught. “Fuck,” he hissed.

I pulled back then sank down again, slower. I teased the pulsing vein on the underside of his cock with my tongue, adjusting to the rhythm of it. I didn’t rush. I needed to feel where his breath caught, what made him react. What made him loose control. I had to get it right.

“God yes, like that,” he groaned.

My fingers tightened. I let up just as I felt his breath stutter, licked the head slowly, then eased him deep again and moaned around him, caught off guard by the sound he made in response.

“Holy fuck, baby,” he choked out. “That mouth… your mouth is unreal.”

I had wanted the praise and now that I had it, I didn’t know how to do with the way it made me want to hide and disappear into the bed. I kept my head down and focused on the way he felt. I could do this. I could give him this.

I found a pace, long strokes, then short ones, drawing it out on purpose. Feeling him throb against my tongue. Making him hear the filthy wet sounds. The mess.

“Don’t you fucking dare stop,” he whispered, voice cracking. “So good, Sungie… fuck, you’re so fucking good at this.”

I tried to let myself believe it. Just for a second.

He reached down, fingers grazing my cheek. Light and tentative. My skin tingled at the contact.

“You’re making me lose my mind…”

I glanced up at him, unsure if I could keep eye contact, but craving it anyway. His eyes were fixed on me like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. I closed my lips around his cock and and sucked him in.

His head tipped back, arm flung across his face.

“You’re gonna kill me,” he moaned. “You’re gonna fucking kill me with that mouth. God, Jisung… please…”

I let him move a little. Let him fuck my mouth because I wanted to know what that felt like when I wanted someone, him, to do it. His cock pushed deeper, and I had to fight the reflex, but I breathed through it. Focused. Stayed with him.

I stroked the base with one hand, sloppy now, wet with spit and slid my lips down again, My free hand smoothed over his stomach, memorizing every flinch, every clench. He was close. I could tell. His voice cracked.

“Such a filthy boy for me. Fuck…just like that… don’t stop. You’re perfect.”

I pulled back, circled the tip with my tongue, kissed it slow before taking him back into my mouth with a deep moan.

He whimpered. Minho whimpered because of me…

I moaned again, louder, needing him to feel it.

That was all it took.

His stomach clenched and then he was coming, gasping like the air had been punched from his lungs.

“Shit… fuck… yes,” he groaned, voice wrecked, spilling hot across my tongue.

I swallowed what I could. Held him through it until the aftershocks settled. His body sank back limp on the bed like he’d been hollowed out.

I wiped my mouth. Swallowed again. My hands were trembling a little.

His eyes stayed on me. Focused in a way they had never been before. It was unnerving.

I wanted to believe I’d done well. That the sounds he had made, the way his body reacted, the way he came so hard into my mouth he forgot how to breathe… meant something good.

But the voice in the back of my mind… the cold voice of that bastard… was already whispering.

Too messy. Too much. Too desperate.

I wanted to ask if it was good. I couldn’t bring myself to.

So I waited instead. Quiet. Heart thudding against my ribs like it was bracing for a different answer.

His hand was still in my hair. Resting there like he hadn’t noticed he hadn’t let go. I kept my eyes on his thigh, on the way it jumped once more before stilling completely.

Then he exhaled. A long, drawn out sound. 

“You’re gonna kill me,” he muttered.

His voice was raw.

I risked a glance up.

He looked… ravished. Pink flushed across his neck and his lashes stuck together at the corners. He blinked down at me as if he was seeing something he didn’t know how to handle.

His thumb grazed my cheek. Just barely. Then it moved to run along the edge of my jaw, like he didn’t want to stop touching me, but hadn’t decided if he was going to stop or not.

Fear squeezed the air from my lungs.

He pushed up onto one elbow. Then he rolled his shoulder, settling into a seated position, hand still tangled in my hair.

He tugged gently, pulling me up. I followed the pressure and sat back on my knees, blinking fast, throat knotting with the question I couldn’t ask. The one that had been gnawing at me since I swallowed down the last pulse of his release.

He cupped my face in both hands.

“Hey,” he said, softer now. “Don’t go silent on me. Tell me what’s in your head.”

He tilted his head.

“Did you think I didn’t like it?” he asked, incredulous.

I couldn’t answer.

Minho’s brow knit. “Sungie, that was…” He stopped, shook his head. “I’m trying not to scare you with how much I liked it.”

My mouth fell open.

“Yeah,” he said. “That good. Why would you think otherwise?”

The words clawed their way up before I could stop them.

“Because I’m a mess.”

Minho stilled. Then, slowly, he moved closer until our foreheads touched.

“You can be messy with me,” he said. “As much as you want.”

He moved back a little to look at me properly, eyes dark and shining.

“Hell… if that’s what your mess looks like, I’m gonna start scheduling it.” His lips twitched. “Twice a day. Minimum.”

My breath caught, then stumbled out on a laugh. “Guess I better ask Chan and Felix which storage closets at the studio lock properly.”

“You’re trouble.”

“Efficient trouble,” I said, grinning now. “I’ll even bring a schedule.”

He was still smiling when his gaze dropped to my mouth.

Just for a second.

I felt it. Like he’d touched me there without moving at all.

I looked away. Told myself it was nothing. A flicker. A coincidence. Maybe he was still catching his breath.

It didn’t matter.

We didn’t kiss on the mouth. That was one of our rules. No kissing. No romance. No pretending this was more than it was.

Even if my heart had started doing stupid things, tripping over itself when he looked at me.

Minho.

I was still catching my breath when reached for him without thinking. He looked vulnerable, lips shiny and swollen.

I pulled him to my lap, held him close.

“Come here,” I murmured, already guiding us both down again.

He didn’t resist. His body followed mine easily, fitting into the space beside me as I lay back, one arm around his waist, the other folding behind his head. He tensed at first, just a flicker, but he relaxed when I didn’t let go.

My pulse was still going strong. Not from the orgasm. From him. From everything he gave me, every sound he made, every shiver that had passed through his body while he worked me over as if my pleasure had been the sole focus of his existence. 

I ran my hand slowly over his side, fingertips trailing under the hem of his shirt.

That’s when I felt it.

He was still hard. I had been so lost in my own body, that I hadn’t noticed his need. 

I moved to see him better. His lashes were dropping, breath even, but not relaxed. His limbs were tight with restraint, thighs pulled in, like he was trying to make himself small.

I let my hand pause on his stomach.

“You didn’t come.”

He shook his head once, quick. “It was for you, not me. I don’t need to come.”

I tipped his chin gently, made him look at me.

“You wanted to,” I said. Not a question.

“I wanted you.”

Hearing him want me stirred hope and doubt I hadn’t expected. Part of me wanted to go back and keep things simple. But I was caught in the moment.

I slid my hand down until I cupped him through his pants.

“Let me,” I said. “Not because I owe you. I don’t play that game.”

He blinked up at me, stunned quiet.

I turned my head and grazed my lips along the shell of his ear.

“I want to. Let me take care of you.”

He breathed out a shaky little “okay.”

My fingers fumbled as I pulled at his clothes, taking them off one at a time. He kept his eyes on me while I stripped him. He didn’t pull back or close off. He let me see everything.

And fuck, I wanted to see him. All of him.

The need to be closer was growing. Not skin, not heat, but him. I needed him under me, around me. Not in a way I could put a label on… but in a way that felt instinctive, urgent, bone-deep.

I grabbed the lube without breaking eye contact, popped the cap and coated my fingers. Jisung’s breath stuttered, and his hips lifted just a little when I reached for him. He was so fucking pretty like this.

When I wrapped my hand around him I could feel him trembling at the first stroke. His eyelids fluttered shut.

I wasn’t doing this halfway.

“Look at me,” I said.

He blinked back into focus.

“That’s it,” I murmured keeping a firm grip. “I want to see you like this.”

It didn’t take long. 

His body tensed as the first wave of his orgasm crashed through him. His hips jerked, breath breaking into ragged gasps that filled the room with filthy and desperate sounds.

I held him as he lost control.

“That’s it. Fuck, you’re mine now.”

I hadn’t meant to say it like that, but I did. And fuck it if I didn’t mean it. If he heard me… then good. He was mine now. He had been mine since he let me touch him like that for the first time, since every broken breath he gave me, every shiver and moan. That moment was ours, no take backs. No mistakes.

His eyes had flicked away, and for a moment, I thought he might say something. Instead, he hummed and breathed out, slower this time. Shoulders slack. His fingers loosening against my side.

I looked down.

One more breath flowed from him in a sleepy sigh, and then nothing. He’d given in to it.

Fucking hell.

He looked so soft like this. Peaceful. And I’d seen him a mess before, seen what he sounded like with my name in his mouth, but this was… I only knew it was there. Tethering me to him in a way I hadn’t seen coming.

I should have moved. Should have told him to get up, get dressed, go home if I wanted to hold him to our agreement. Instead, I stayed there. Felt him breathe against me.

My hand swept over the slope of his spine, light as I could manage. He didn’t stir.

It was fine. Just sleep. That’s all it was.

Except my heart fluttered in a way it hadn’t in a long time. Wait… when the fuck did I ever use the word flutter? Damn Jisung. What were you doing to me?

I looked at his mouth again, relaxed and warm against my skin and I wondered… what if I kissed him?

Just once, I shut my eyes and forced the thought away. We didn’t do that. I didn’t do that. This wasn’t supposed to feel like anything. I had told myself it didn’t. And still, I held him.

A long minute passed. I bent down and kissed the top of his hair, soft, barely there. It was the closest I’d let myself get tonight.

My mind started turning, digging back to how I got here.

Life had taught me early to hold back, to keep my feelings locked away where they couldn’t break me. Stillness became my armor, the one thing I could always count on. 

I was in college when I found them, my mismatched group of lovable chaos goblins, who had stuck to me like burrs. They never asked me to change or tear down my walls. They let me be myself, even when I had nothing to say. They became the first safe zone I had known… and I had failed to be his in return.

That’s why I hated that I hadn’t seen how bad it really was for him. I had noticed that asshole’s condescending attitude, his gaslighting, the way he treated Jisung like he was sub-human. But I didn’t see the full damage. I had missed the signs that meant everything was falling apart for him.

Maybe it was some kind of savior complex. Maybe it was guilt for not doing more, for not stepping in sooner. Whatever it was, all I knew was that Jisung was hurting, and I hadn’t stopped it. I hadn’t protected him the way I was supposed to.

I should have burned shit down to keep him safe.

And now he had given his entire self over to me… That kind of responsibility was heavy.

There were feelings… They had crept in from the first time he sighed under my hands. Like a damn puzzle piece falling into place. Great! Now I was spouting romantic nonsense like a lovesick teenager. I couldn’t seem to help it. Because now there was more.

Now there was the physical part and I couldn’t explain why it had changed everything, but it had.

From the moment he surrendered to me my feelings had been more.

I was falling in love with him…

Chapter Text

Minho.

He was still asleep, face tucked against my arm. Hair a mess.

I watched him for a minute, then sat up.

He stirred at the movement. Blinking slow, then rubbing his face against the pillow like he wasn’t ready to let go of the warmth.

“Mm… what time is it?”

“Early,” I said. “You can stay.”

He blinked again. Then nodded.

I got up, grabbed underwear from the dresser, and tossed on a T-shirt from the floor. My eyes kept drifting back. To the way the sheet clung to his hips. To the faint pink across his chest and neck.

I should’ve looked away.

Instead, I reached down and fixed the blanket over his shoulder. My knuckles grazed his collarbone. He looked up at me.

For a second, neither of us moved.

His lips parted like he might say something. Then closed again.

I cleared my throat. “I’ll make coffee.”

He hummed, eyes still on mine.

I turned, headed for the kitchen, telling myself it was just another morning.

Even if I knew better.

Jisung.

We didn’t talk about the night before. He poured two mugs, passed one to me without looking at me, and leaned against the counter like nothing had happened. Like I hadn’t woken up with the scent of his skin right in my face.

I drank slowly, pretending the mug was the most interesting thing in the room. He didn’t ask me to leave. Just handed me a towel and said, “Shower’s yours,” like we hadn’t crossed any lines at all.

We weren’t anything. I knew that. But asking might get me rejection. And I wasn’t ready to hear no.

By the time I got home, my phone was losing its mind.

Thirty-one unread messages. One GIF of a raccoon in a tiara. No context.

The group chat, Operation Sparkle Disaster, had been renamed again. This time it was:

THE UNHOLY BIRTHDAY DRAGSTRAVAGANZA 

I sighed and scrolled up.

Felix: Hello, my beautiful disaster queens. Who’s got the glitter situation under control?

Changbin: I HAVE THE GLITTER

Hyunjin: Can we make the drinks blue? Like a sparkly blue?

Jeongin: No one talk to me I’m in a rage spiral over this piñata. ITS NECK KEEPS FALLING OFF

Felix: Give that piñata a little love. Maybe a sparkly scarf? 💖

Chan: We’ve got the food. Paper plates located. Snack table is go

Seungmin: I’m making themed meatballs

Jeongin: Piñata now contains: condoms, raisins, glitter and one emotional support kazoo

Minho: If someone knocks over Vespers’s gift before Jisung sees it, I’m committing arson

Felix: You’re so violent

Hyunjin: Can I bring the tequila??

Jeongin: You already did. It’s in my freezer. I labeled it “science.”

Felix: Ahem. May I kindly remind everyone that chaos managed well is still chaos. Who’s handling the vibes?

Felix: Jisung, we’re on the brink here. Save us from the madness.

Changbin: we were never sane.

Jisung: Just woke up. Give me ten minutes and a glue gun.

Felix: Deep breaths, Sungie! We’ll keep Vesper blissfully clueless.

I rubbed at my eyes, stared at the absolute storm on my screen, and laughed. Right. I had a paper crown to finish and a party to keep secret from a centuries-old drama queen.

The night before his birthday, Vesper lay in wait when I got home from work.

Literally.

He sighed like a Victorian widow greeting her fate.

“Oh. So now I’m wanted.”

“I brought snacks,” I said, holding up a bulging shopping bag.

He sniffed at me. 

“I suppose no one remembers,” he said, voice already warbling into performance mode. “Not that I expected much. I’ll just… shimmer alone in the dark.”

“Ves.”

“Alone. In a mirror. Bound by injustice. 263 birthdays, and not one burst of confetti.”

“I thought you were 237.”

“I was alive for those first 26 years before the mirror incident, you little ageist.”

“Are we being a bit being dramatic now?”

“I AM dramatic.”

I rubbed my hands over my face. “Please don’t mope.”

He sniffed. “It’s not moping. It’s withering.”

I glanced at my phone, half-tempted to text the group for backup, and found a message already waiting.

Felix: STAND STRONG, SUNGIE! YOU TELL THAT GLITTER GOBLIN NOTHING!!! WE LOVE HIM BUT HE MUST SUFFER

I tucked the phone away before Vesper could catch a glimpse. He was monologuing about the history of forgotten deities and missed opportunities for velvet capes.

“I’m going to sleep,” I said, throwing a blanket over the mirror with only a little guilt.

“You’ll miss me when I’m gone!” he called from underneath it.

“You’re not going anywhere!”

A dramatic hmph followed me to bed.

By late morning, my place looked like a party store had exploded in a rainbow.

We moved everything to the rooftop, carting up bags of streamers, folding tables, themed mocktail pitchers, and Jeongin’s piñata, which still had one eye detached from the last test run. Felix glued the eye back on.

“Better,” he said. “Now it has vision and glamour.”

I talked Minho into picking up the cake and when he got back, he was guarding it like a hawk. 

Seungmin and Chan sorted the food into bowls and plates. Hyunjin added dry ice to the punch bowl. Jeongin hung the piñata with unsettling reverence. Changbin sprinkled the floor with glitter and then swept it again because it “wasn’t floating right.” Felix ironed Vesper’s custom boa with the intensity of someone preparing sacred vestments.

The playlist was cued. The crown was in its box, waiting on the table, sparkling in anticipation.

In the corner stood Vesper’s gift wrapped in a sheet with a velvet ribbon; A full-length cherrywood mirror, dark and shining. Dragonflies were carved mid-flight along the sides, peacock feathers fanned at each corner. The kind of craftsmanship from a late Victorian parlor: elegant, excessive, and just haunted enough for him.

This was the mirror Vesper had wanted for a long time, his throne, finally worthy of his drama and grandeur. Far beyond the plain tabletop mirror he usually lived in. We’d spent two weeks tracking it down. Everyone chipped in.

It was stupid how proud I was. Stupid how nervous.

Stupid how much I wanted him to feel loved.

Even if he was a semi-emotionally unstable, immortal being trapped inside a mirror.

Especially because of that.

The rooftop was glowing, lanterns and fairy lights tangled across the railing, paper pom-poms drifting in the breeze. Glitter hung thick enough to choke a damn seagull. Everyone was ready. All that was left was Vesper.

I carried the covered mirror out, my heart hammering louder with every step.

“Sorry I’ve been kind of…” I swallowed, breath catching. “Not distant. Just busy. But you’re gonna forgive me in five seconds.”

Inside the mirror, Vesper was silent. I didn’t blame him. I’d dodged him all day like a guilty raccoon.

I set him down on the center table, fingers clutching the edge of the blanket.

“Okay,” I said, barely a breath. “Here goes.”

I yanked the cover off in one sweep.

“SURPRISE!” we all shouted.

Vesper shrieked.

A pitch-perfect, glass-rattling shriek that would’ve shattered a chandelier in another century.

“I… I…” His voice broke.

Tears slid down his face.

“I knew it,” he gasped. “I knew you couldn’t resist me forever.”

I grinned so hard it hurt. “Happy birthday, Vesper.”

“MY DARLINGS!” His voice boomed. “My flawless, filthy-minded, astonishing little mortals!”

Felix dabbed at his eyes with a sequined sleeve. “You deserve it, diva.”

Chan caught my eye and gave the signal. Hyunjin dimmed the overhead lights.

Minho helped me lift the shape, still shrouded in a sheet, from the corner. Together we carried it forward.

Vesper’s reflection caught the movement. “What’s this?” he purred. “An offering?”

I said nothing. I turned the gift slowly toward him. The velvet ribbon caught the light as the sheet slipped free.

Vesper didn’t say a word.

His reflection froze. No sparkle. No pose. Just eyes wide and lips parted.

Seconds ticked by.

Then…

“Oh,” he breathed. “Oh, you diabolical cherubs.”

He clutched his chest. “You brought me a body.”

Felix giggled. “A mirror for your body.”

“I see myself,” Vesper gasped. “In full. In form. In fantasy.” He shimmered fiercely, then flowed in liquid silver stream across the polished surface, slipping effortlessly from the old mirror to his new cherrywood throne.

“It’s magnificent. I am magnificent. This is the most sensual object I’ve ever been trapped inside of, and I once spent a week in Marie Antoinette’s old hand mirror.”

I laughed. “It’s yours, Ves. Happy birthday.”

He turned his gaze to face the whole party, settled into his throne. “My vantage is impeccable. My cheekbones have never looked so imperial.”

Jeongin then stepped forward, bat in one hand, blindfold in the other, twirling the bat like a gladiator ready for war. Vesper’s eyes narrowed, dripping with wicked amusement.

“Oh, darling. I never expected such expert woodwork from you. Such finesse. Such power. Truly, you handle that bat with more skill than most men handle their, well… you know.”

Jeongin smirked, holding the bat higher. “It’s piñata time, Your Majesty.”

Jeongin dropped to one knee with a grin.

Vesper threw back his head and laughed, sparkling. “Champion of Big Wood, you shall be, my glorious menace!”

Jeongin’s smirk grew wider as he straightened up, ready to take on the piñata with all the flair it deserved.

A line formed behind him; Minho, Hyunjin, Changbin, Chan and me all waiting our turn. On Jeongin’s fourth swing, the piñata exploded in glorious chaos.

Condoms and raisins flew everywhere. The lone kazoo dropped and was immediately snatched up by Seungmin. 

He lifted it slowly, like a sword drawn from legend.

Then, deadpan, he raised it to his lips and blasted a single honk that echoed off the rooftop walls.

Everyone cheered.

Vesper clutched the edges of his new mirror “The music of the gods…!”

Jeongin tried to wrestle it away.

“You had the bat,” Seungmin said, backing up like a gremlin. “I have the horn.”

Felix screamed laughing. Chan looked perplexed.

The kazoo blared again and cheers filled the air as Jeongin stood triumphant, bat resting on his shoulder.

Vesper shimmered, hand over his chest. “Breaker of Beasts! Wielder of Surprising Dexterity!”

Jeongin bowed his head. “In service of my liege, Vesper the Magnificent.”

Felix crowned him with the crooked paper crown, just slightly off-kilter.

Vesper sniffled, overwhelmed. “This… this is what immortality is for.”

Everyone moved toward the table, pulling out chairs and settling in. Seungmin and Jeongin began arguing over a piece of shrimp. Their chopsticks clashed. Jeongin made a noise of betrayal.

“You said you didn’t want it.”

“I lied. That’s what families are built on.”

Felix choked on his drink. “Wow. Someone’s already acting like brothers and your parents’ wedding is still months away.”

Seungmin didn’t miss a beat. “Such a wonderful thing, to gain a brother at our age.” He could almost keep a straight face.

Jeongin swatted his arm with a napkin. “We’re not actually related yet, you freak.”

Changbin leaned in, grinning like a man with a plan. “But it’s just so poetic, right? Two young men, brought together by fate, by paperwork, by…”

“If you say forbidden love, I’m walking into traffic,” Jeongin warned.

“Forbidden,” I whispered dramatically.

“Doomed,” Felix added.

“Passion,” Minho said around a bite of curry.

Jeongin groaned and slumped over the table. “You’re all the worst people I know.”

Seungmin sipped his soda, unbothered that this involved him at all. “We’ll be announcing the imaginary engagement after dessert.”

I leaned toward Minho. “How much to get them matching ‘Just Step Bros’ shirts for the wedding?”

“I’d pay double if we could get Vesper to officiate.”

His left hand slid up my thigh under the table, fingers lazy and shameless. “I want to touch you.” he whispered “Is this okay?”

My heart kicked up a little as I blinked and nodded.

“Okay. Yeah, it’s fine.”

My hands stayed still, but I wanted to move, wanted to reach for him. I spread my legs just a little, hoping that it said what I couldn’t.

His eyes flicked down for a moment, then back up, searching mine, making sure he read my silent yes right.

His hand moved again, firmer this time, sliding along my thigh, tracing lines that made it harder to focus on our surroundings.

Across from us, Jeongin was still blushing from the latest round of teasing. Seungmin looked smug.

“I’m just saying,” Changbin said, waving his chopsticks for emphasis, “if you two ever do get married, someone’s gotta catch the bouquet.”

“Oh god,” Jeongin groaned. “Please don’t say it like that.”

Seungmin smirked. “I’m voting we make Minho or Jisung stand in the line. Better them than Joo Ran.”

“Ugh, Joo Ran,” Felix said, eyes wide. “She’s the one who tried to sit on your lap at Chuseok, right?”

“Twice.”

“Then yes. Absolutely. One of them has to catch it. Save us all.”

“Hold that thought!” Changbin yelled as he ran inside. “Gotta go…” 

He returned minutes later, wiping his hands on a napkin, grinning.

“You,” he announced, pointing at me with way too much excitement, “Lord Post-it.”

I blinked. “What did I do?”

He slapped a neon yellow square onto the table like he was presenting evidence in court. “Care to explain this?”

“Oh no.” I lunged. Too slow.

Changbin already had it in hand again, holding it aloft like a proclamation scroll. “Number one: I am allowed to want big dicks.”

He flourished his free hand like he was conducting a symphony.

“Number two: People with big dicks will want me back.”

Felix nodded. “As they should.”

“Number three: I am a beautiful mermaid.”

Jeongin snorted into his drink but didn’t say anything.

“And number four…” Changbin was practically vibrating, “trust the process.”

I dropped my face into my hands. “I forgot it was still on the fridge.”

“You forgot?” Seungmin blinked. “You just left that up like a motivational shrine?”

Minho didn’t look up. “It’s been there for weeks.”

“You said nothing?” I hissed at him.

He shrugged. “I liked watching you manifest.”

Changbin slumped over the table, still grinning. “I’m framing it. Maybe a mug. No, a stationery set.”

“Please do,” Vesper called from the mirror. “I’ll hold your hand.”

“I was drunk!” I groaned. “It doesn’t count.”

“Sharpie,” Changbin said, holding up the post-it. “That’s forever ink.”

“Vesper made me do it. It was a glitter and trauma night!”

Felix nodded knowingly. “We’ve all had those.”

Jeongin inspected the post-it more closely. “You wrote it twice? And underlined it? Damn. Horny with intention.”

“I was manifesting,” I muttered. “Trying to… believe in my own hotness. And I wouldn’t actually mind a big dick, but that’s not the point…”

Silence.

“Don’t worry,” Changbin said brightly. “The manifesto lives on.”

“It’s retired,” I shot back. “Decommissioned. Not legally binding.”

Seungmin tapped the post-it. “And yet.”

“Don’t,” I warned.

Felix leaned in like he couldn’t help himself. “The process.”

Jeongin looked delighted. “Minho can be process!”

Minho kept chewing.

I stared at him. “Say something.”

He finally glanced up. “You spelled mermaid wrong.”

Vesper gasped. “He’s perfect. Horrible. I love him.”

Under the table, Minho’s hand found my thigh and squeezed. 

I inhaled and turned to glare at him.

He knew exactly what he was doing.

Jeongin set down his glass, squinted at us across the table, and said, “Okay, but for real. How long do you think it’ll take you two to get together? If Seungmin and I are getting married, you’ll be the only singles left. We all already know it’s only a matter of time before you finally do something about it.”

Changbin slammed his chopsticks on the table, grinning like he just dropped the truth bomb. “Come on, you two! We’ve all been waiting for this to happen forever. It’s about time you stopped pretending it’s not obvious.”

My chopsticks froze halfway to my mouth. Minho blinked once, then went back to his rice.

Even Seungmin didn’t look surprised. “Define ‘get together.’ Emotionally? Physically? Publicly?”

“Oh my god,” I muttered.

“Emotionally, obviously,” Jeongin said. “Or whatever they think passes for emotional communication.”

“Three years,” Seungmin declared. “If we’re lucky.”

“Two months,” Changbin countered. 

I tried to become one with my chair. “What is happening right now.”

“Six months,” Jeongin said thoughtfully. “That gives them time to flail around a little. Maybe make some mistakes. Cry about it.”

“You’re all giving them way too much credit,” Seungmin deadpanned. “They’re too emotionally oblivious.”

“I am not oblivious,” I snapped.

“Right, sure,” Changbin grinned. “So what’s Minho’s favorite part of your face?”

I opened my mouth.

Paused.

Closed it again.

“Exactly,” Seungmin said, pleased with himself.

Minho didn’t even blink. “His nose.”

They all turned.

Minho leaned back in his chair like he hadn’t just detonated the conversation. “He scrunches it when he’s thinking too hard. Or when he’s lying about whether something’s too spicy.”

My mouth dropped open. “That’s not…”

He pointed with his chopsticks. “You’re doing it right now.”

I slapped a hand over my face while the others howled.

“Seven weeks,” Changbin said suddenly. “That’s my final answer. Something happens, they kiss, one of them panics, the other confesses, boom, new couple.”

“Four months,” said Jeongin. “Because the universe has a sick sense of humor.”

Minho chewed calmly. Didn’t weigh in.

Then all eyes turned to Felix.

He looked up, wide-eyed. “Oh, I’m not betting.”

“Why not?” Jeongin asked.

“I’m just… really bad at guessing these things.” He gave a helpless shrug. “Always wrong. Can’t read people.”

I stared at him. He didn’t give anything away.

Changbin glanced sideways at Chan. “Hey, what about you? You got a timeline, or are you just silently judging us all?”

Chan looked up from his drink. “I’m not silent,” he said with a crooked smile. “They’ll figure it out when they figure it out. No point trying to guess when.”

Changbin drummed his fingers on the table. “Alright, we’ll keep a shared note with everyone’s bets.“

“I’ll still take boba if someone wants to lose on my behalf,” Felix said sweetly.

Seungmin narrowed his eyes. “We should set rules. Does it count when they know, or when we know? Because those can be very different timelines.”

“Group confirmation,” Changbin said. “We all have to agree it’s real.”

“Are you hearing this?” I whispered to Minho.

He sipped his drink. “It’s a little insulting.”

“A little?”

“They think it’ll take me three years.”

“Yeah,” I said, “that was actually kind of generous.”

Minho leaned back in his chair, watching them all argue over us like we were side characters in someone else’s drama.

Felix met my eyes across the table. Innocent smile. Total betrayal.

I was going to kill him.

After I kissed him on the cheek and bought him a smoothie.

Jeongin poked at his empty glass. “Okay, but what does the winner get?”

Changbin lit up. “Instagram takeover.”

“Of what?” Seungmin asked, suspicious.

“One story post per loser. Anything they want. Twenty-four hours minimum.”

Chan looked surprised. “That’s cruel.”

“It gets worse,” Seungmin said, already scrolling through his photo album. “I still have that video of Changbin passed out on the bench after the company outing last year. He’s snoring like a chainsaw with a boa wrapped around his neck like a funeral wreath.”

Changbin looked deeply betrayed. “You said you wouldn’t show anyone!”

“I won’t. Unless I win.”

Hyunjin perked up. “Wait, so it doesn’t have to be new pictures? Because I’ve got the one of Jeongin sleeping on the bathroom floor at Changbin’s place, curled up next to the tub because drunk Jisung screamed his tractor was a one-seater.”

Jeongin groaned. “There were imaginary geese. I didn’t want to die.”

Chan looked up from his drink. “Do tractors even have sidecars?”

I nodded solemnly. “They do in our hearts.”

Laughter rolled across the table until Minho, calm as ever, tipped his head and asked, “Why only twenty-four hours?”

Everything stopped.

Changbin blinked. “I’m sorry?”

Minho looked at him. “The Instagram post. Why only keep it up for a day?”

Jeongin’s mouth opened. Closed. “Are you suggesting… permanent grid posts?”

Hyunjin gasped. “You maniac.”

“Suddenly I’m no longer participating,” Seungmin muttered.

Felix grinned. “Too late. He’s playing chess. You’re over there stacking peas.”

Changbin narrowed his eyes. “You’re not even in the betting pool.”

“I don’t need to be,” Minho said, calm as anything. “I’m just improving the punishment.”

Jeongin held up a hand. “Are we seriously talking about grid posts now? Permanent? That’s cruel and unusual.”

“I think it’s beautiful,” Hyunjin said. “Poetic justice.”

Seungmin arched an eyebrow. “You just want an excuse to post that cursed bathroom photo.”

Jeongin pointed his chopsticks. “If I go down, I’m dragging everyone with me. No one’s safe.”

Felix looked gleeful. “That’s the spirit.”

“I’m going to write a haiku for each of you,” Jeongin continued. “And caption the posts with them. Hope you like emotional devastation in seventeen syllables.”

Changbin groaned. “We were joking.”

“Were we?” Hyunjin asked. “Because I’ve already picked a filter.”

Minho tilted his head toward me, eyes gleaming. “One week’s still too soft. Should’ve made it a month.”

I laughed. “You just want a gallery of chaos.”

Seungmin sighed like a man resigned to his fate. “We’re going to need burner accounts.”

Jeongin grinned. “Too late. I’ve already drafted my caption.”

Resigned groans rippled around the table as phones were checked, pockets patted, and quiet deals began forming about who would or wouldn’t choose vengeance.

Seungmin sighed like he’d just been handed a prison sentence. “Fine. But I’m picking the filter. I refuse to be humiliated and poorly color-graded.”

“I want full access,” Hyunjin said, already scheming. “Grid. Reels. Stories. Highlights. All of it.” 

“You’re drunk on power,” Jeongin muttered.

“Because I can.”

The rest of the night blurred in the best way.

We all ate too much. Drank too much. At some point, the non alcoholic punch bowl was mysteriously replaced with a cluster of green bottles, and Jeongin appeared beside them looking suspiciously angelic.

Felix squinted. “Where did you get that?”

“No idea what you mean.”

Hyunjin narrowed his eyes. “Sneaky Innie. Seems like our baby is growing up.”

Changbin challenged Chan to a drinking contest and lost spectacularly. Felix tried to climb onto the folding table to teach us a dance he learned from the aunties. He was immediately tackled by Seungmin, who didn’t stop apologizing even as he dragged him down.

Vesper, lounging in his new mirror like a crowned deity, tried twice to recruit Jeongin as his royal consort.

Jeongin grinned, cake smushed on his chin. “Consort? As long as you’re spoiling me rotten, I’m in. I want all the glam, no rules, and maybe a little drama on the side.”

Vesper threw his head back and laughed. “Spoil you rotten? Darling, I’m your sugar deity. Glam, chaos, and a dash of scandal; that’s the royal decree!”

I ended up on the far side of the terrace, cross-legged beside Felix , a paper plate balanced on my knees. My cheeks were warm. My stomach was full. My brain was mostly pudding and soju.

Minho was standing nearby, arms crossed, watching the chaos unfold with a faint smile. He hadn’t drifted far from me all night.

“Here,” Felix said, handing me a cup behind me. “Peach soda. Hydrate.”

I took it automatically.

“By the way,” he said quietly, “you’re not imagining it.”

I blinked at him. “What?”

“Minho’s been watching you. Really watching. Not just polite, ‘I’m standing nearby’ watching.”

“Is that… good?”

He shrugged. “Depends if you want him to be or not.”

“Maybe?”

When I looked at Minho, his eyes were already on me, and I could almost convince myself the glint of want in them wasn’t make-believe.

Felix smiled. “Yeah. Definitely not imagining it.”

My heart was a fucking mess.

Minho.

The party kept rolling, but my eyes stayed glued to Jisung.

His skin caught the flickering lanterns, warm and alive. I watched the way his tired smile cracked open for a moment. He looked small and exhausted. 

Everyone else spun around in their noise, chasing jokes and throwing pieces of themselves into the chaos. But I was caught, tethered to him. Holding back had been my armor all night. I told myself to be patient, to move slow, to not scare him away. 

The truth was that I wanted him. Not just a little, not just sometimes, but completely. The fire inside me was unrelenting, and I didn’t want to hide it.

A high-pitched drunken warble interrupted my inner monologue. Loud, filthy, and typically Vesper.

🎶“There’s a stable lad hiding ‘neath plain disguise,

In secret shadows, he’s a wild surprise.

And the knight who’s got hands he can’t control,

Grabs hold tight, won’t ever let go.”🎶

Every word dripped with scandal and sin, shouted with unashamed delight. He spun the song like a riot, tearing through every verse with wicked glee, 

Felix had fallen asleep, head resting against Chan’s leg and Chan pulled out his phone, quietly calling a ride. “Time to go home angel.” Felix replied something incoherent but didn’t resist when Chan hoisted him into his arms and carried him down to the waiting car. 

Seungmin stood, stretching, kazoo still in hand. He tooted a flurry of discordant notes as he walked to the stairs.

Hyunjin groaned. “Do that again and I’m snapping its neck.”

Seungmin didn’t even pause. Just kept walking. Tooting louder.

Changbin and Hyunjin helped clean up, and then they left too.

The night was coming to a close.

He avoided my eyes as he shuffled around, grabbing at scraps and twisted streamers, clearly trying to keep busy with little things that easily could wait until tomorrow..  

I stepped up behind him. My hands caught his arms, stopping the fumbling. His fingers twitched but didn’t pull away.

I kissed the skin above his shoulder wanting him to feel me there.

“Can I stay?” I whispered.

“Okay.”

Vesper chose that exact moment to declare his inebriated intentions like the true diva he was. “My throne must breathe the night air. It will greet dawn as a rightful sovereign.”

Jisung shot him a cutting look and told him in no uncertain terms that noise would mean blanket time. Vesper hummed instead and asked to be faced east. 

We took turns washing away the sticky heat of the night, the glitter dust, the noise. My hands trembled under the water, heart hammering with the things I hadn’t said yet.

We lay face to face. His gaze flicked to my mouth, then back up to mine again. That silent look, tore through every thread of restraint I had left.

I couldn’t hold back.

I lifted my hand, fingers trembling as I cupped his jaw. His skin was warm under my palm, the feeling sinking into me. My throat tightened but I swallowed and whispered, “Please, Jisung… I want to kiss you. Will you let me?”

He moved his mouth towards mine and my lips parted, breath speeding up. His lips touched mine, soft at first, careful. My pulse thudded loud in my ears, every nerve alert. I opened my mouth a little, and his lips followed, moving slow and searching. Our tongues tangled, light and shy, as if trying to figure each other out.

I closed the gap between us, my chest flush against his, chasing the heat, erasing the space. I bit his lower lip to claim, to tease. It drew a low groan from deep inside him, a sound I swallowed without hesitation.

His tongue slid over mine and I let the rush pull me deeper, let go of everything I’d been holding back. His hands gripped my shirt, pulling me even closer like I was the only thing keeping him steady in the dark.

Every silent wish I’d buried, every night spent craving this, poured out in the kiss, in every touch, every breath. When he eventually pulled away, gasping, his eyes locked onto mine, raw, open, exposed.

I looked for the smallest sign he wanted more but his eyes stayed wide, still holding back. 

“I want more. But only when you want it.”

We stayed close, faces inches apart, breathing in the space between us. I laid my hand flat on his chest, feeling the beat steady there. I whispered, “Sleep.”

He nodded, eyes heavy but still watching me. I slid my fingers through his hair and kissed the top of his head.

I woke before the sun.

The room was pale with early light, shadows soft along the floor, the air cool against the back of my neck. Jisung lay beside me, still asleep. His breath slow. His face relaxed.

He was facing me. One hand tucked under the pillow, the other folded loose against his chest. His hair was a little flattened on one side, sticking up at the crown. There was a smudge of glitter along his jaw from the party.

For a moment, I just stared.

I used to tell myself I didn’t want relationships. That I couldn’t afford to. Whatever it was that kept pulling me toward him, it had to be physical. Just that. Curiosity. Craving. Something I could control.

But there was nothing controlled about what I felt, watching him sleep like that. Bent slightly toward me, mouth slack, fingers knotted in the edge of the pillowcase like he was still holding on to something in a dream.

He looked peaceful. I kept my eyes on him, trying to hold onto the moment before it slipped.

And I realized… he had trusted me.

I could lie to myself about a lot of things. I’d gotten good at it. But not this.

He wasn’t just warm skin and flushed cheeks and filthy, breathless sounds. He wasn’t just the body I’d wanted beneath mine or the voice in my ear saying please like it would ruin him.

He was a thousand small choices. Every look he gave me that he thought I wouldn’t notice. Every time he said something wild just to see if I’d laugh. Every time he showed up. 

And he’d given himself to me… fully. Willingly.

Handed over every nerve, every insecurity, every unsure breath and shaky question. And somehow, he’d made it feel like I was worthy of that. Like I was someone he could lean on.

And I had tried to keep it about the arrangement. About the exploration. About the way he looked at me when I touched him just right.

But the truth was, I’d been swept off my feet the first time he surrendered to me without fear. The first time he told me he wanted this. The first time he let me see what he was still ashamed to want, and trusted me not to flinch.

He’d climbed in quietly, clumsily, unrelenting. Slipped into the cracks I didn’t think were still open.

And now… I couldn’t remember why I’d ever wanted to hold him at a distance.

I reached out and swept a strand of hair off his forehead.

His lashes fluttered and he opened his eyes.

He blinked at me, still heavy with sleep. Confused. Then… not.

Everything inside me folded in on itself.

I didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

Just stayed there, watching him watching me.

He looked at me like he knew. Like he felt it too. Not just the moment, but the whole slow, quiet falling that had been building between us.

I leaned closer.

Close enough that I could taste his breath. Close enough to ask without asking.

And kissed him.

His lips met mine like they’d been waiting. Warm. Soft. Willing. He kissed me back with a slow, aching tenderness.

I kissed him again. My hand found the back of his neck, gripping him softly, my thumb wandering over his skin, locking me into the moment.

He sighed into my mouth, breath warm, body soft against mine, and I could feel him leaning in. Letting it happen.

Then he moved

He climbed in closer, leg sliding over mine, chest pressing to my side. His fingers gripped the fabric of my shirt.

And my whole body lit up.

Heat spread through my ribs, down my spine. He was everywhere, all skin and warmth and trust.

I held him tighter, arm locked around his waist.

He fit against me like I’d been made for this. Like I’d been waiting for him to do exactly this, crawl in, take up space, give in completely.

My heart was pounding.

I kissed him again. Slower. Firmer. My eyes squeezed shut like it would help me make sense of it.

It didn’t.

I was overwhelmed. Wrecked. Stupid with how much I wanted him like this.

I felt his cock against my hip. Hard. Undeniable.

Tension rolled through my gut.

Because I knew what that kind of need felt like when it came from the wrong place. I’d lived through enough mistakes to know better. I wasn’t going to take from him. Not when he was too sleepy to know what he was giving.

But his mouth kept chasing mine.

No hesitation. No shyness now. His kisses were bolder, tongue sliding deeper, lips parting wider, breath stuttering warm against my face. He pulled me closer, arm locked tight around my shoulders.

Then he kissed me again, harder this time. His teeth caught my lower lip.

I gasped.

And that sound… drew a soft moan from him. His hips didn’t move, but I felt him shudder. Felt his fingers tighten. Felt the way his whole body leaned into mine like he couldn’t help it.

Fuck.

My control, already threadbare, threatened to give out entirely.

Everything in me wanted to flip him onto his back and devour him. To fuck him into the mattress and give him exactly what his body was asking for.

But I held on. Barely.

My breath was ragged. My pulse a hammer in my throat.

He kissed me again, and I felt it all the way to my damn knees.

I wasn’t going to last.

He kissed me deeper. Fully awake now, and not hiding any of it.

There was no hesitation in the way he moved. No sleep-fuzzed softness left in him. Just want. 

My hand was still resting at his back, holding him against me. 

His own hand slid down, found mine and tugged, guiding me lower. Down past the dip of his spine, past his lower back.

Then he slid my hand beneath the waistband of his briefs.

The fabric was soft, warm with his body heat. My fingers stilled there, barely inside.

And then he let go.

Just left my hand there, tucked inside that thin barrier, trusting I’d know what to do.

He exhaled softly. Pressed his forehead to mine.

Everything in me braced.

My heart kicked like I was about to step off a ledge. My whole body went tight with the pressure of holding still.

Because this… this wasn’t just about sex. Not anymore. Maybe it never had been.

He was offering himself to me. Freely. Without fear. Without performance. Not demanding, just trusting.

I swallowed hard. Let my palm inch lower.

His ass was firm. The curve of it fitting too perfectly into my hand. 

He sighed into me. His body stayed relaxed, but I could feel the tension just under his skin… his restraint, his need. Every muscle waiting for my answer.

And I gave it.

He gasped into my mouth when my hand moved lower. I slowed and he froze. Because of what this could turn into. The way his muscles tensed said more than his face. He was waiting for rejection. Not hoping, just expecting it. Like he’d already decided I wouldn’t want him after this.

But no, baby, this wasn’t that moment. I whispered right against his lips “This isn’t no. I need something first.” 

His eyes flicked open, searching for whatever I was offering. I kissed him once before rolling him onto his back and following after, dragging the covers with us as I moved.

He looked up at me, chest rising fast. Without a word, I slid down the bed and peeled his briefs off. God, he was everything I wanted.

I didn’t wait. I wrapped my lips around the head of his cock and sucked it straight into my mouth, thick and hot against my tongue, already slick from the tip. 

He gasped… high, shocked. He hadn’t expected me to do that and his cock twitched as I took him deeper.

His hand flew to the back of my head, fingers fisting in my hair, pulling, holding on while I worked him deeper into my mouth, inch by inch, until I felt him against the back of my throat.

My spit was everywhere, running down his cock, wetting my mouth and chin. The head hit the back of my throat and my eyes blurred.

I swallowed and held him there, jaw straining, tongue pressed down and trapped under the full length of his cock. I wanted every inch. I wanted to gag on it.

He whimpered. Fucking whimpered. His thighs were trembling under my hands. He tried to lift his hip, wanting me to move, but I held him down and swallowed hard.

His cock throbbed against my tongue. I pulled off with a wet gasp and ran the flat of my tongue slow up the underside, collecting spit and precum, then sucked the head back into my mouth with a loud slurp that made him groan my name.

He was close. I could feel it in the way his abs flexed under my palm. He kept whispering fuck, fuck like he was warning me. 

I moaned around him again, loud and deep, and swirled my tongue under the crown before taking him back down, one more time.

I wanted to taste everything.

It didn’t take long before he broke apart, coming with a jerk, fingers pulling tight in my hair. I tasted cum, hot and bitter, flooding my mouth.

I let it spill into my hand, then slid it back down between his legs, feeling his breath catch as my fingers slipped behind his balls and lower.

I parted his cheeks with one hand.

“Look at you. So ready for me.”

His eyes stayed locked on me, drinking everything in. 

I kissed him again as I moved my hand to where he needed it, circling my fingers until he whined with impatience. 

I pushed one finger inside him, slow and careful, and his hips rolled forward, mouth opening wider beneath mine.

The kiss changed then, turning urgent and desperate, messy in a way that threatened to undo me. His hands were everywhere now, clutching at my shoulders, pulling me closer as I slid another finger in beside the first.

“You’re not being used baby,” I said against his mouth. “You’re being wanted. I want this to feel good for you. I want you to know it’s yours to want.”

He was so warm. Tight but yielding enough to take it. I kissed him through it all, tongues tangling while my fingers moved inside him.

“Tell me if anything hurts,” I whispered. “Or if it’s too much. I’ll stop. I’ll wait. But I want to give you everything… how it should’ve felt. How it should feel.”

By the time three fingers slipped inside, my body shook with the effort to hold back the hunger tearing through me.

“Your ass,” I whispered, barely able to breathe. “I’ve never seen anything more beautiful. Getting to touch you here… fuck, it’s the hottest thing I’ve ever felt.”

Jisung.

I broke the kiss, leaned my forehead to his, panting. He waited, watching me.

I wasn’t afraid anymore. Not of wanting too much. Not of saying it out loud.

The words were in my mouth. I didn’t have to soften them. Not with him.

“Fuck me. Now.”

“Tell me you mean it.”

“I do mean it. I’m ready.”

He kissed my cheek, my jaw, the corner of my mouth.

When he pulled his fingers out I almost sobbed, feeling empty and disappointed for half a second… until I remembered what came next.

My entire body tensed up out of habit, fearing it was about to go wrong again… like this would hurt the way it always had. 

I didn’t want him to stop. I just didn’t know how to believe it would be okay. Not unless I tried.

With his hand he guided his cock into place, right against my hole.

Then he pushed in.

So fucking slow.

And it felt… 

“Oh… fuck…”

It tore out of me, more sob than moan, from somewhere I didn’t know could feel like this. No burn. No pain. Just stretch and pressure and the thick push of his cock inside me, and the relief… oh god, the fucking relief of it not hurting.

It didn’t make sense. I kept waiting for the sting, the tearing, the part where I’d have to bite my tongue just to take it. But there was none. Only pressure and fullness. Only him. And when I finally realized it wasn’t going to hurt… 

I broke.

I started crying. Full-on. Shaking all over, mouth open and…  useless, the sounds coming out helpless. It was too much. Too intense. Too good.

He stilled. Started to pull back. “What’s wrong?”

I clawed at his back, desperate. “No… no, please… don’t stop, it’s good, it’s so good… fuck, please just keep going…”

He kissed my temple. Just once. Then rocked forward again, even slower this time. I choked on a gasp.

“That’s it…” His voice was low, quiet, all heat. “Let me in. Let me have you.”

He fucked me with a rhythm so controlled it nearly killed me, pulling back until just the head stayed in, then sinking all the way in again, dragging it out like he wanted me ruined from the inside out. I felt everything. Every inch. Every stretch. Every wet sound between us, slick and obscene.

“You feel that?” he murmured, breath warm against my cheek. “You’re dripping down my cock. I haven’t even fucked you properly yet and you’re already making a mess.”

My whole body was shaking. I moaned, twitching under him, not holding in a single fucking sound. His cock slid over that place inside me that made me cry out loud, nails sinking into his shoulders.

“There,” he said. He did it again. “Right there… yeah, that’s the one. The spot that makes you fall apart.”

He fucked into it. Over and over. Not hard. Just precise. Perfect.

“You’re taking me so well,” he whispered, almost reverent. “You were made for this. Fuck, look at you.”

I couldn’t. I couldn’t even think. Couldn’t speak.

“You keep trying to pull me back in. It’s like your body already decided I belong here.”

“Oh my god…”

“You want it harder?” His voice dropped further. “You want me deeper?”

I nodded, gasping. “Please… just do it…”

He kissed me again, then fucked me deeper. Rougher. His hips smacked into mine, his cock driving in with force now, every thrust stealing what little was left of my control.

“You’re so tight,” he groaned. “Wrapped around me like this… fuck, baby, I could stay buried in you all night.”

I whined into his neck. My cock was trapped between us, leaking without a single touch, and I kept grinding up into him, chasing that edge

“Are you close?” he asked. “Come for me. I want to feel you break while I’m inside you.”

I didn’t even have time to warn him.

I screamed into his neck, came so hard it stole the air from my lungs. Hot, thick release spilled between our stomachs in pulses. My legs kicked, my back arched, and I sobbed through it, overwhelmed, clinging like it was the only way to survive.

“Oh fuck… oh my god… Minho…”

“That’s it,” he gasped, fucking me through it. “Such a good boy when you let go. So fucking perfect like this.”

He started pounding into me now. Brutal. Desperate. His grip bruising my hips. Sweat dripped from his neck onto my chest. His thrusts turned feral, messier with every second. I could feel how close he was.

“You want me to fill you up?” he growled, voice almost unrecognizable. “Want me to come inside this perfect fucking ass?”

“Yes…fuck…yes, please…”

And the sound he made, guttural, ragged, almost a roar, shook through my chest as he spilled inside me, cock jerking deep, deeper, hips locked to mine like he couldn’t let go.

I clung to him. Dizzy. Raw. Still full.

He groaned against my neck and cursed, fucking into me one more time, deep and slow, before his rhythm faltered.

He stayed inside, breathing hard against my skin.

Then he moved carefully, guiding us onto our sides.

His arms stayed around me, holding me tight like he didn’t want to let go.

His voice was soft against my temple. “You don’t have to say anything. I just want you to know… this meant a lot to me. You were incredible. All of you.” He paused. “I’m proud of you, baby.”

I swallowed, cheeks suddenly warm.

“Baby?”

“Yeah,” he whispered. “Baby.”

He pulled me in closer, hands splayed across my back.

“I like when you call me that.”

He kissed me again, softly. I smiled into the kiss, then cuddled close with a happy sigh