TRACKING THE WIP!

DON’T WANT TO BREAK UP AGAIN - L.HS

( A PART OF THE ETERNAL SUNSHINE SERIES.)

IN WHICH..

Caught in a complex situationship with Heeseung, doubts about his feelings plagued you. The fluctuation between closeness and distance left you bewildered. Summoning courage, you confronted him, anxious about his sincerity. As you questioned his intentions, anticipation filled you. Would he end things or commit? With bated breath, you awaited his response, longing for closure in this tangled relationship. Time stood still as you hoped for clarity, unsure of what the future held with Heeseung.

PAIRING & CATEGORIES

toxic situationship! heeseung x situationship gn reader, situationship to strangers, second chance, (somewhat) impossible love, angst, one-shot

CAUTION

mentions of a toxic relationship, heeseung is toxic asf, crying, cheating, manipulation

THIS DOES NOT REPRESENT HEESEUNG IN REAL LIFE. THIS IS PURE FICTION.

STAR’S DAIRY

i swear this was supposed to be a happy ending

TAGLIST

@cholexc @yyawnjun @rosas-in-the-garden @allforhee @ilovejungwonandhaechan @ifuckedheeseung @jooniesbears-blog @niki-the-genius

HEADPHONES PLAYING..

don’t wanna break up again by ariana grande

AS YOUR TEARS CONTINUE TO FLOW DOWN YOUR CHEEKS, the sound of a blasting soccer game on the TV, being watched by Heessung, fills the room. The cheers and shouts from the players and fans contrast sharply with the quiet sobs escaping your lips.

For weeks, tears have stained your cheeks as you've endured heartache. Despite the anguish you've faced, Heeseung remains indifferent to your suffering. His lack of empathy cuts deep as he chooses to ignore your pain, opting instead to revel in the frivolity of parties and fun.

It's a cruel reminder of how little he values your emotions, further deepening the wound of rejection. As you continue to cry in silence, his absence speaks volumes, echoing the emptiness in your heart.

Feeling fed up and frustrated, you forcefully close the door behind you, determined to finally address his intention with you. The overwhelming emotions swirling inside you push you to take action and confront him. The weight of the tension between you both hangs heavy in the air, spurring you forward with a sense of urgency. As you make your way towards him, your heart races with anticipation and apprehension. The need to speak your truth and seek resolution fuels your every step.

As you guide Heeseung to sit down, you position yourself in front of him and fold your arms across your chest. Your gaze is steady and unwavering, conveying your seriousness and determination. Heeseung meets your eyes, his expression a mix of curiosity and apprehension. You take a deep breath, steeling yourself for what is to come. The silence stretches between you, thick with unspoken words. Finally, you speak, the words measured and deliberate, as you begin the difficult conversation that lies ahead.

“Do you love me Heeseung?”

The living room is enveloped in a heavy silence, as if time itself has come to a standstill. Heeseung's eyes meet yours, filled with uncertainty and hesitation

As Heeseung remains silent, you swiftly grab your purse and exit the room. A heavy emptiness settles in your heart as you make your way out the door.

As you were about to depart, Heeseung's gentle touch on your wrist stopped you in your tracks. His pleading eyes silently begged you to stay, to reconsider. The raw emotion in his gaze tugged at your heartstrings, making it difficult to turn away. You could feel the weight of his unspoken words hanging in the air, heavy with longing and desperation.

In that moment, time seemed to stand still as you struggled with conflicting emotions. A part of you wanted to stay, to comfort him, while another part reminded you of the reasons you needed to leave. It was a bittersweet moment of indecision.

“I do y/n.”

As you turn to face him, he reaches out and gently grabs your cheeks, pulling you closer to him. The warmth of his touch sends a shiver down your spine as he leans in to kiss you with a passion that takes your breath away. His lips meet yours in a rush of desire, igniting a fire within you that burns brightly. The world around you fades away as you lose yourself in the intensity of the moment.

As time continued to tick away, you discovered yourself snuggled up on the cozy couch, watching Heeseung peacefully asleep. His rhythmic breathing filled the room with a sense of tranquility, as you couldn't help but admire his serene expression.

As you were captivated by his handsome features, a sudden notification interrupted the moment, causing confusion to cloud your thoughts. The sound of the notification chimed through the room, drawing your attention away from the enchanting sight before you. You couldn't help but wonder who could be reaching out to him at that moment, disrupting the tranquility of the moment.

- princess ❤️

Baby I miss you :(( when are you gonna leave that boring y/n

As your body trembles, you rise from the couch, gathering your belongings while tears once again cascade down your cheeks. The overwhelming emotions that flood your being threaten to consume you as you struggle to maintain composure.

Each item you pack represents a memory, a piece of your heart that you must now take with you as you move forward. The weight of the past bears down on you, making it difficult to breathe as you confront the reality of leaving behind what once was. With a heavy heart,

The harsh truth crashes over you like a wave, as you walk out of your shared apartment and stared at Heeseung for the last time. The weight of unanswered questions and unspoken words hangs heavy in the air, leaving a bitter taste in your mouth. You can't help but wonder how your once loving "relationship" could have been. The realization hits you like a ton of bricks, shattering any illusions you have about the future. As you turn away and walk out the door, you can't help but feel pathetic.

As the bitterness lingered on your tongue, tears streamed down your face uncontrollably. With a heavy heart, you made your way to the door, each step feeling like a weight upon your soul. The taste of disappointment and sadness filled your mouth, leaving a bitter aftertaste. The sobs that escaped your lips were a symphony of pain and sorrow, echoing through the empty hallways. With each sob, your chest tightened, making it hard to breathe. And yet, despite the overwhelming emotions, you found the strength to walk out the door, leaving behind a trail of tears and heartache.

But at least you finally learned your lesson. That you could never change Heeseung for the better.

Heeseung will never change.

►DANCING WITH THE DEVIL #004: FINALE [Sunghoon.]

Parts ‣ #001 | ‣ #002 | ‣ #003 | ‣ #004: Prelude | ‣ #004: Finale

Abstract: Eight years have passed since you betrayed Park Sunghoon, leaving his fate shrouded in uncertainty. You thought you'd left that world behind, but the serial killings in the capital city —which bore a haunting resemblance to that in your past—pulled you right back into the shadows you once escaped. What began as a quest to prove your worth soon unraveled into something far more sinister: a labyrinthine network of power, deceit, and danger hidden beneath a veneer of opulence.Now, amidst the grandeur of a castle steeped in blood-soaked tradition, you find yourself, once again, entangled with Sunghoon—a ghost from your past whose motives remain as inscrutable as ever. The stakes are now higher, the games deadlier, and survival feels like chasing a mirage. As you navigate a web of twisted rituals and deadly alliances, the tension between you and Sunghoon ignites once again.But this time, the game is different. With whispers of betrayal and lingering wounds threatening to consume you both, you must decide if trust is a risk worth taking—because in doing so, you are not just exposing the truths they've hidden, but also the feelings you’ve fought so hard to suppress and bury.

Parts ‣ #001 | ‣ #002 | ‣ #003 | ‣ #004: Prelude | ‣ #004: Finale

Genre: vampire!sunghoon | horror | thriller | fantasy | romance (or is it? 😋)||| wc: ~13.2k

Featuring: Anton from Riize. [ PSA! ] There's also a Jaeyun here -- this is actually Enhypen Jake lol. Soz, no one fits the role that Jaeyun has in here better than Dark Blood Jake so I plead you guys to just go along and imagine that the Jake in Part 1-3 and Jaeyun in this Part are two different people ((who happen to look alike)) HAHAH

Warnings: blood; violence; injuries (some are self-inflicted); suggestiveness (some are forced); mentions of crimes (missing persons, murder, serial killings); manipulation; toxicity; trauma.

A/N: because Part 4 is too long, I had to split it into two parts and this is the 2nd part, the Finale. So if you're new to Part 4, please start with the Prelude first if you haven't :>

— xi

The gates groaned open, their rusted hinges echoing like a death knell through the oppressive stillness. Beyond them, the maze stretched into darkness, its towering hedges jagged and irregular, as if the structure itself had grown wild and angry over centuries. You stood among the others at the entrance, the flickering torchlight casting distorted shadows across their pale faces. Fear lingered in the air, clinging like smoke.

The host’s voice rang out, its unnerving cheer slicing through the tension. “Thirty minutes!” he announced. “That’s the grace period you’ve earned, dear victors. Thirty minutes to navigate the maze and claim your freedom. Once the thirty minutes is up, your claimants will descend and should you get captured then your fate is sealed in blood and eternity."

The sharp crack of a gunshot shattered the night, and chaos erupted. Humans surged forward like a desperate tide, plunging into the maze’s gaping maw.

It didn’t take long for the maze to reveal its true nature.

Branches lunged like claws, snagging at clothes and tearing through skin. You flinched as a woman ahead of you stumbled, her sleeve caught and shredded. Blood welled from her arm, the crimson stark against her pale skin. A man further ahead tripped, his cry piercing as a hidden root twisted around his ankle, sending him sprawling. His hand scraped against a jagged stone, a deep gash splitting his palm.

“It’s a... trap,” you muttered under your breath, the pieces clicking into place. Every twisted path seemed designed to injure, every branch poised to tear flesh. Every movement, every stumble left behind the scent of blood, marking them like a beacon. The maze wasn’t a challenge; it was a slaughterhouse, designed to render them helpless before the hunt even began.

You glanced back toward the castle, your breath catching as you spotted the vampires in the Grand Hall beyond the glass-paneled windows. Warm light spilled out, casting golden reflections on the darkened grounds. They lounged at long tables, wine glasses glinting in their hands as they laughed and gestured. It wasn’t chaos to them; it was entertainment. A grotesque theater of blood and desperation, framed perfectly for their amusement.

Resolve hardened in your chest. You weren’t going to play their game.

Turning sharply, you broke away from the panicked crowd and ran back toward the castle. The thought struck you with chilling clarity as your feet pounded against the ground: the staff had been dismissed, the mortals were in the maze. The castle wasn’t just the safest place to escape the hunt—it was the perfect trap as inside those walls, only vampires remained.

There was no way you would let the maze tear you apart piece by piece. If they wanted a game, you’d give them one on your own terms. And so with bold and calculated steps, you headed back, but instead of the Grand Hall where vampires lounged with glasses of wine in hand, reveling in their twisted theater of blood and desperation, you headed deeper—to the cellar you’d stumbled upon yesterday while frantically searching for a first-aid kit after finding Sunghoon bloodied at the foot of your bed.

Back then, you hadn’t paid much attention—your mind consumed with stopping the bleeding. But the sight had lingered: towering racks of bottles and colossal barrels stacked like monoliths. Most importantly, you recalled how the cellar was situated directly beneath the Grand Hall—a precarious foundation for a room already weathered by centuries. Its position alone made it a powder keg waiting for a spark.

Now, as you descended the spiral staircase once more, your steps were deliberate, your breaths steady. The cellar stretched before you, even larger than you’d remembered. Rows of barrels lined the space, their labels faded but still legible in the dim light: port, sherry, even brandy. The air was thick, carrying the faint tang of aged wine and the sharper bite of spirits—a volatile combination.

You moved quickly, tipping barrels one by one. Thick liquid gushed out, pooling across the stone floor in a growing lake. As the pungent scent of wine filled the air, an idea struck you: a trail. The fire couldn’t stay confined to the cellar—it needed to climb, to reach the vampires in their gilded cage above.

Grabbing an uncorked bottle from the shelves, you dipped it into the pooling wine and began creating a path. The liquid splashed as you worked, leaving a continuous, glistening line up the stairs and toward the hall’s entrance. When the first bottle ran dry, you spotted a smaller cask labeled lamp oil. Without hesitation, you tipped it into the mix, thickening the trail. Your hands moved with precision, painting a path meant to spark chaos.

At the top of the staircase, you paused, heart pounding. The torchlight flickered in your grip as you surveyed your work. The lake of wine and spirits in the cellar. The trail snaking upward. The puddle pooling at the hall’s threshold. It wasn’t perfect, but it would do. You recalled overhearing a maid speaking about the Grand Hall—its ancient foundations riddled with cracks and shored up by makeshift supports. If any place in the castle would collapse under fire, it was here.

But, as your surveyed the trail you'd left, you knew it wasn’t enough. You needed chaos. You needed to bait them. You need to cover all the loopholes. Maximise the impact.

So you swiftly reached for the dagger concealed in your garter belt, your eyes darting for a spot to make the sacrifice. Your forearm. Without hesitation, you pressed the blade against your skin, slicing deeper than ever before—this time, you needed more. A sharp sting shot through you, making your breath hitch, but you didn’t falter. Blood welled instantly, warm and vivid, tracing the edge of the wound like liquid fire. With hurried yet deliberate steps, you smeared your blood on the walls leading down to the cellar.

All your near-death interactions with vampires teaches you one important thing: they do not think when it comes to fresh blood when desperation hits.They are creatures of impulse and in the desperation stoked by an inferno—yet another exploitable weakness—the smoke and heat would confuse their senses, leaving the scent of fresh blood as their only compass. Thus, just like how the maze was meant to draw blood—you’d turned their weapon against them, your blood would lead them straight to the hottest part of the castle.  

Once you decided blood had strategically been spread enough in certain key locations, you wrapped a torn fabric from your gown tightly—trying to staunch the bleeding before you set your plan in motion.

Your torch flickered ominously, its light casting jagged shadows across the stone walls. It was time.

Crouching low, you ignited the flammable trail at the midpoint of the staircase. Immediately, flames surged to life, spreading upward and downward with terrifying speed. The fire roared as it consumed the path you’d created, its glow painting the narrow corridor in hues of gold and crimson.

You didn’t wait to see the inferno take hold. Spinning on your heel, you darted into a nearby passage—a maid’s shortcut you had overheard during your time wandering the castle. The narrow corridor was damp, the air thick with mildew, but it offered a chance to slip past the chaos you’d unleashed.

When you emerged, the familiar Eastern end of the Corridors of Treachery loomed before you, its twisting halls stretching endlessly into shadow. But this time, you didn’t falter. One last thing, you thought, your steps confident and resolute as you opened a door—the Library.

This was your next target.

The blaze below would cripple them, but the knowledge contained in this room—the ancient texts, the records of their lineage and power—it needed to be destroyed. If the castle was to fall, their legacy must, too, for every words here were like poison, waiting to be unleashed by the next power-hungry bloodsucker.

Your steps were steady as you made your way to the shelves, already knowing where to go. The Obsidian Testament waited for you in its usual place, its ominous presence untouched even amidst the growing chaos. The moonlight spilled through the tall windows, catching the hidden coat of arms engraved on its cover—a silent reminder of Sunghoon’s bloodline, regal and intricate, yet tainted by the weight of its history.

Without hesitation, you lit the edge of the book, watching as the flames began their ravenous work. The coat of arms—so proud, so immovable—gradually crumbled under the heat. You hurled it onto a growing pile of texts, the fire spreading hungrily across the brittle pages.

Let it all burn.

“I knew it was you—" a voice pierced through the sound of crackling flames and the ominous groan of weakening wood.

Jaeyun.

He strode forward with a deliberate, menacing pace, his hand sweeping back his golden hair in a single, frustrated motion. The movement exposed his sharp, angular features. Gone was the mischievous grin that had once softened him, replaced by a cold, predatory expression that turned his beauty into something terrifying.

“I was going to grant you an escape and this—" he roared, “is how you repay me?!”

“As if,” you spat scornfully, “I saw the layout of the maze the other day from the tower–it’s a labyrinth, all towering hedges and twisting paths. No flowers, no statues, no space for anything but confusion. So the moment you told me of statues as the hint for escape, I knew you were trying to bait me."

He scoffed, dragging his sword behind him, the blade scraping against the ground with a grating hiss. The nearby flames cast flickering shadows across his face, making his sneer all the more menacing, “I get it now. You chose me exactly because you needed me here. If you had chosen Sunghoon, you knew I’d left the castle and gone after you–"

You stepped back instinctively, his sneer slowly twisting, faltering into a grimace that betrayed the quiet fury simmering beneath the surface. “You chose me,” he continued, each word dripping with venom, “to trick him. To let him escape this carnage you’ve been planning.”

He didn’t flinch as burnt books tumbled from the crumbling shelves, landing in smouldering heaps around him. His grimace deepened, a bitter edge curling his lips. “How disgustingly cliché.”

“You read too much fairytales.” you hissed, your voice cutting through the crackling of the flames. “I chose you because I knew what a narcissistic, overconfident, manipulative prick you are. I knew you’d let your guard down the moment your name is picked and that is all I needed to take this whole place down. To take the rot down.”

The taunt landed like a strike, and Jaeyun lunged. His speed was startling, and before you could react, your back slammed against a nearby wall. The impact forced the breath from your lungs, your body pinned as his eyes—blazing with a fury to match the fire—bore into yours.

Fuck, you thought, the heat pressing against your skin, the air growing heavier with smoke. At this rate, even you might not escape the fire.

But you’d banked on this. Vampires were slaves to their emotions when pushed to the brink. Jaeyun could have fled. He could have saved himself. Instead, here he was, his rage blinding him to the inferno that threatened to consume them both.

“I can still reap you now,” he snarled, his fangs elongating to their full, menacing length. “You’d be my 100th you know. Two cycles of reaping, countless bodies left in my wake, and still standing. Do you think your little bonfire will end me? Pray harder.”

His hand tightened around your throat, pressing you harder against the wall. The pressure wasn’t just threatening—it was exactly what you needed. His body leaned closer, his focus narrowed to you and his fury. This was the calculated risk you’d taken: baiting him to lose control, to get close enough for you to finish this. And he had proven you right.

You could have fled, but you hadn’t. You’d gambled on his inability to walk away from the stage you’d set ablaze. Jaeyun, the cunning puppeteer, wouldn’t let his masterpiece burn without trying to stop it. His pride wouldn’t allow it. And now, blinded by anger, he failed to notice the flames inching closer, the smoke curling around his form.

“Big talk,” you rasped, your voice steady beneath his crushing grip. “And yet… you’ve already lost.”

His eyes narrowed, a flicker of confusion cutting through the storm of rage. For a split second, his body tensed—but then his gaze dropped.

There, plunged deep into his abdomen, was your dagger. The blade caught the firelight, its hilt adorned with a small charm bearing Sunghoon’s crest. The ruby glinted wickedly, its light reflecting the chaos of the flames around you.

Jaeyun’s grip faltered, his hand loosening slightly as blood, dark and thick, bloomed through his shirt, and you didn’t hesitate. Summoning every ounce of strength you had left, you shoved him off, wrenching the blade free as you bolted out of the library. The flames roared louder now, licking hungrily at the walls, their heat pressing against your back.

But you didn’t make it far. A force barrelled into you, slamming you to the ground with a weight that knocked the air from your lungs.

“Fucking get off me—” you gasped, twisting under his grip.

Jaeyun was on top of you, pinning you with an iron hold. His nails had elongated into claws, sharp and gleaming in the firelight. He pressed them against your neck, just enough to draw thin lines of blood.

“Look at you—squirming like a wounded rabbit. How adorable,” he murmured, his voice soft but dripping with cruel amusement. His weight crushed you against the stone floor, unforgiving and cold beneath you. He forced your head to an unnatural angle, his claws digging deeper, anchoring you helplessly in place.

"Haven't you heard? struggling makes the blood sweeter," he drawled, his head dipping into the crook of your neck, his breathing hot and heavy, "so go ahead—struggle all you want, you are just sweetening my feast."

His tongue dragged across the cut he’d made, slow and deliberate, a mocking gesture that sent a shiver of revulsion down your spine. “Ah,” he exhaled sharply, shuddering in such a revolting way, “there it is—so much sweeter when you fight.” The words dripped from his lips like venom, each syllable a mockery of your helplessness. He lingered, the softness of his lips a deliberate contrast to the sharp sting of his claws. It was as if he was deliberately prolonging the act to rattle you—to cut where it hurts the most: your autonomy and dignity.

“Do you think he tasted you like this?” he whispered, his lips brushing the edge of the wound in deliberate malice and intimacy, relishing in your revulsion and savouring the power he held over you and every flicker of your discomfort. “Or is this my privilege alone?”

He chuckled low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your skin. “I wonder…” he murmured, his voice curling with mock tenderness, “does he know how much sweeter you become when you squirm?” His claws pressed harder, the sharp sting blossoming into pain, his next words cutting deeper than his nails ever could. “Or is that just for me too?”

The sharpness of his teeth grazed your neck, far too close, far too sharp—sharper than you remembered Sunghoon’s ever being. Your breath hitched, panic clawing at the edges of your mind, the firelight around you seeming to flicker with your racing pulse. You squeezed your eyes shut, bracing for the inevitable—

But then instead of pain. You felt the weight lifted.

A rush of air and heat overwhelmed you as Jaeyun was torn away. Your body trembled, the world tilting for a moment. When you clambered back to your feet, you saw them—two figures clashing across the corridor, their movements a blur amidst glowing embers and smoke-choked air.

Sunghoon and Jaeyun.

The firelight cast jagged shadows across the walls, illuminating the ferocity of their battle.

Sunghoon’s strikes were calculated, but desperation bled into each swing of his blade—precise yet strained. His strength, though formidable, seemed frayed at the edges, each swing costing him more than the last. As he stepped closer to the firelight, you saw it clearly: the cuts marring his face and the dark smudges of ash clinging to his disheveled clothing. He must’ve faced other vampires on his way here, you thought.

In contrast, Jaeyun moved with unnerving ease, his blows quick and unrelenting, each one a chilling display of power. The oppressive heat and smoke clawed at the air, suffocating and disorienting, but Jaeyun seemed untouched—his strength unfaltering, a cruel testament to the reaping cycles that had forged him into something far beyond human, even vampiric.

“You came just in time, Romeo.” Jaeyun sneered, sidestepping a blow with maddening grace. "Did you see how perfectly she fits in my hand?" he taunted as he swung his blade, forcing Sunghoon back, "ah—and her taste. Her warm skin. The way she shivered. You know, if you hadn't interrupted, I’d have heard her make that sound again. You know the one—soft, breathless, perfect."

It was revolting to hear him say those filthy words but at that moment your dignity took a backseat for all you could think of was Sunghoon. As if Jaeyun knew exactly how to play with someone's mind, Sunghoon’s strikes came faster, heavier—but clumsier. Fury bled into every swing, the precision of his usual attacks dulled by anger. Then their swords met with a thunderous crash, the force sending sparks flying as both pressed forward, neither giving ground. Sunghoon’s chest heaved, his labored breaths a stark contrast to Jaeyun’s unnerving composure, his taunting smirk growing wider.

Jaeyun continued, his voice dripping with cruel amusement, “but I guess you wouldn’t know, would you? She has never let you touch her like that, has she?” His grin sharpened, his next words a venomous whisper. “Not the way she let me, at least.”

Sunghoon charged again, his blows landing harder than before, but Jaeyun danced out of reach, his blade glinting in the firelight, "—because she will never accept you the way you are Sunghoon," his voice was laced with mock pity, "you're just another bloodthirsty beast."

Then, with a sudden shift, Jaeyun lunged, forcing Sunghoon back with a flurry of heavy strikes. “You should’ve stopped pretending to be noble and reaped her,” he hissed, his blows driving Sunghoon toward the corner. “That’s the only way you’ll ever have her.” His grin twisted into something darker as he leaned closer, delivering the final barb. “And maybe—just maybe—it would’ve brought back the strength you used to have because this…” Jaeyun’s blade pressed closer, his eyes gleaming with disdain. “—is just pathetic.”

You swallowed thickly for the odds doesn't seem to stack up for Sunghoon. Your body reacted instinctively to go after him, but his gaze stopped you cold. The sharp jerk of his head said it all: Run.

But you couldn’t.

Then their blades clashed again, the sharp ring echoing through the suffocating heat. Sunghoon’s strikes, though deliberate, were slower now, his movements burdened by the corner he’d been forced into. The stone wall pressed against his back, leaving him little room to manoeuver. Yet even there, with Jaeyun bearing down on him, his defiance burned brighter.

“You can amass all the power and influence you want,” Sunghoon said through gritted teeth, his blade locking with Jaeyun’s in a deadly stalemate. His voice was low but cutting, his eyes blazing with quiet fury. “But you’ll never be able to claim something you’ve never had the right to.”

"The blood you take," Sunghoon shoved him back with a surge of strength, their blades separating with a hiss of steel, "won't make yours anymore purer. It just taints you irreparably."

Jaeyun froze for the briefest moment as if the words had landed exactly where they were meant to. The smirk on his lips faltered, not gone but strained, like a mask beginning to crack.

"That is probably why," Sunghoon continued, his strikes growing sharper, each one cutting closer, "my very existence riles you so isn't it? even when I've never made any moves to challenge your house of cards?"

Jaeyun’s movements lost some of their calculated ease, his strikes heavier but less precise, each blow betraying his frustration. The tables had turned and now it was Jaeyun’s turn to be riled up, his composure unraveling with every word.

Sensing the shift, Sunghoon adjusted his stance, lowering his weight in anticipation. Jaeyun lunged, his overconfidence driving him forward—but Sunghoon was ready. With a blur of motion, he pivoted sharply, driving his shoulder into Jaeyun’s chest with brutal force. The impact sent Jaeyun sprawling backward, skidding across the debris-strewn floor until he collided with a broken pillar.

Sunghoon didn’t hesitate. Before Jaeyun could recover, he closed the distance with unrelenting precision, dropping to one knee and driving his blade into Jaeyun’s exposed abdomen. The force of the strike pinned Jaeyun to the ground, his body jerking under the weight of the blow. Blood bloomed instantly, dark and thick, pooling across the cracked stone beneath them. Jaeyun hissed, his hands clawing at the blade embedded in his torso. For a moment, it seemed as though Sunghoon had won. You held your breath, hope flickering to life.

Then, Jaeyun’s lips curled into a bloodied smirk. “You're nowhere enough,” he rasped, his voice laced with venom, “—of a challenge Sunghoon.”

It was only then you noticed it—Jaeyun’s own blade, slick with Sunghoon’s blood, had been driven deep into his flank. You hadn’t seen the strike. Neither had Sunghoon. But there it was, protruding cruelly through his abdomen, crimson spreading across his shirt like spilled ink.

“Sunghoon!” The name tore from your lips, sharp and raw. You stepped forward instinctively, but before you could reach him, the ceiling above groaned ominously. A massive chunk of debris collapsed, slamming into the ground between you and them.

The impact sent you stumbling back, coughing as a thick cloud of smoke and dust billowed around you. “No—” you rasped, your voice cracking as you strained to see through the haze.

Sunghoon gritted his teeth, his knuckles tightening on his blade, though he didn’t withdraw. Nor did he stagger nor falter. Instead, he shifted his weight forward, his strength bearing down on the blade, every ounce of effort ensuring Jaeyun couldn’t push him off.

“You sure about that?” Sunghoon rasped, his voice hoarse and strained.

Jaeyun’s smirk twisted into confusion as his eyes darted down. Horror dawned as he saw Sunghoon’s blood streaming from his wound, dripping steadily onto the gaping injury in Jaeyun’s abdomen—the wound you had inflicted earlier. The reaction was instantaneous. Frost-like patterns spreading outward from the contact point, jagged and unrelenting, crystallising his torso and limbs, locking him in place. His claws scrambled at the stone floor, scraping against it in desperation as his body stiffened. His voice cracked, teetering on the edge of panic. “No-no—you—“

You recalled an excerpt from The Annals of Kings—a fleeting detail about how the blood of a Pureblood, though inert on the skin of another vampire, becomes lethal toxin when mingled with another’s wounds—an alchemical reaction born of their cursed lineage. And therein lay the tragedy: the blood they so revered—the symbol of their purity, power, and immortality—was also their undoing. The very essence that granted them supremacy over all others carried the seeds of their destruction, a cruel paradox embedded in their existence.

You realized then what Sunghoon had allowed Jaeyun to do. He hadn’t just been defending himself; he had turned his own wound into a weapon. Sunghoon had weaponized the very thing their kind held sacred, knowing it would be Jaeyun’s end—even as it left him vulnerable to his own impending collapse. In heaving, ragged breaths, Sunghoon rasped, “I only finished what she started—". His eyes met yours for a fleeting moment the weight of his gaze—the unspoken truth behind his sacrifice—struck you harder than any blow.

Jaeyun regurgitated, his body stiffening as the crystal consumed him entirely, his face locked in a mask of rage and terror. A sharp crack echoed through the hall as his crystalline form splintered, into ashen dust, swirling briefly in the fiery glow before dissipating into the suffocating smoke, vanishing as though he had never existed.

Sunghoon staggered back from the remains, his breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps. His hands moved to the blade embedded in his flank, his fingers trembling as he gripped the hilt. With a sharp, agonized groan, he wrenched it free, the sound of metal against flesh almost drowned out by the crackling flames around him.

The moment the blade left his body, blood poured from the wound in thick, unrelenting streams. His face, already pale, lost what little colour it had left, the crimson staining his hands stark against his ashen skin. He swayed, his frame lurching unsteadily as though the weight of the air itself had become too much to bear.

And then he pitched forward, catching himself on trembling hands before he collapsed entirely. Blood dripped from his wound in heavy rivulets as his body sagged against the stone floor. For a moment, he seemed almost unrecognizable—so human in his fragility, so far from the invulnerable figure you had known.

You should have ran away then.

The exit was there, your path to freedom blazing clearly through the smoke and flames. You could have escaped—left behind the horrors that had haunted you, the chaos that had led you to this moment.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you ran toward him. Through the flames and falling debris, through the suffocating heat, you reached him. His weight sagged heavily against you as you tried to pull him upright, your arms straining with the effort.

His face was pale, slick with sweat, and streaked with soot. Blood continued to pour freely from his wound, dark and thick, in a way that was achingly human. His eyes, so often guarded and unreadable, now lay bare—soft and raw, stripped of all pretense.

“You’re stupid!” you choked out, your voice trembling as you pressed your hands against his wound, desperate to staunch the bleeding. “Why did you come back to the castle?”

“You’re the stupid one,” he rasped, a faint, ghostly smirk tugging at his cracked lips. “Why haven’t you run? I stalled long enough for you—”

“Shut up,” you snapped, panic lacing your words as you struggled to lift him again. His body was limp, heavier than you could manage alone, and he slumped back to his knees, his breathing shallow and laboured, each breath a fight.

He was worse off than the last time you’d patched him up—far worse—and the realization sent a jolt of fear through you. At this rate, neither of you would escape the flames. You’d both burn together in this crumbling castle.

“Perhaps,” he murmured, his voice barely audible now, “we’ve bantered long enough.”

His body pitched forward, and you caught him instinctively. His weight collapsed into your arms, his head coming to rest weakly in the nook of your shoulder. You felt the faint brush of his lips against your skin—soft, fleeting, and entirely unlike the possessive ferocity you’d known from him. His hand trembled as it moved to your back, curling with a weak insistence, a stark contrast to the vice-like grip he had on you just hours ago.

“I’m letting you go now, y/n,” he whispered, his words a quiet confession, laced with both sorrow and resolve. “This is the only way I could ever let you go.”

Your breath hitched. You knew what he meant, and you didn’t want that. Perhaps you never did.

“No,” you said, your voice trembling but firm, the weight of your conviction cutting through the chaos around you. Tears welled in your eyes, but they didn’t fall. Not yet.

Your hands moved with purpose, tearing the makeshift bandage from your arm. Blood pooled from the cut, rich and red, but you didn’t hesitate. “Take my blood, Sunghoon,” you demanded, thrusting your arm toward him. “Quickly. You need it—”

He shook his head weakly, his breaths shallow and uneven. “y/n, go,” he rasped, his voice barely audible above the roar of the flames. “We’re running out of time.”

“Damn it, Sunghoon!” you barked, desperation breaking through the cracks in your resolve. “You don’t get to tell me what to do—not now, not like this!”

His eyes, already losing focus, flickered with something—protest, perhaps, or regret. But you didn’t give him the chance. Before he could stop you, you brought your arm to your lips, the sharp metallic tang of blood filling your mouth. Without hesitation, you grabbed him by the collar and pulled him close, crushing your lips to his.

The transfer was immediate. You felt his body stiffen, his hand twitching weakly against your back in surprise. When you pulled away, his lips were stained crimson, his gaze dazed, unfocused.

“Is that enough?” you asked, your voice trembling. “it’s not right? take more.” You leaned closer, your breathing uneven as you tilted your head to the side. “Take it from my neck. That works best for you, doesn’t it?”

“y/n, stop—” he croaked, his voice fractured.

For a moment, you froze, your gaze locking onto his. The sight of him—so pale, so vulnerable, teetering on the edge of collapse—was unbearable, it was twisting your heart painfully. Frustration burned through you, hot and unrelenting.

“You’re making this hard,” you muttered under your breath, your voice shaking.

Before he could utter another word, you shifted upwards, wrapping your arms tightly over his shoulder, steadying him and angling yourself so that his face was close enough to your neck. “Bite me,” you whispered, your voice thick with both resolve and something far more raw. “I’ll let you.”

The hand he already had on your back shifted, his fingers curling faintly into the fabric of your gown, but it wasn’t a grip of possession, but one of desperation—as though he was afraid you might disappear if he didn’t hold on tight. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, his other hand began to move. Trembling, hesitant, it brushed against your shoulder, its path uncertain, as though he feared you might flinch or pull away.

The roughness of his palm met the curve of your neck, his touch both gentle and weighted. His fingers curled there, delicate yet unyielding, cradling the nape of your neck as though it was something fragile, irreplaceable. Each movement was deliberate, almost reverent, as if he was memorizing the feel of your skin beneath his hand.

It wasn’t the possessive grip you’d known before. This was something far more tender, far more devastating. It was as though his very existence hung by a thread, and you were the only thing keeping him from unraveling completely.

“y/n. You don't understand. I’ve lost too much blood,” he murmured, his lips brushing featherlight against your neck. “I wouldn’t be able to stop—”

“I trust you,” you interrupted, your voice trembling but unyielding as you held him tighter. “I trust you, Sunghoon. I trust that you’ll take just enough to survive.”

His hold on you tightened as if trying to ground himself in the weight of your words. I trust you—the words hung between you, fragile yet immense. It was the very words he needed to hear all along; the very words you’ve fought so desperately not to feel, much less say.

Then, slowly, he pulled back just enough to look at you, his dark eyes searching yours for something—reassurance, resolve. The firelight danced across his face, highlighting the shadows of exhaustion etched into his features. The vulnerability in his gaze was a blade cutting both ways, and you knew it would haunt you long after this moment passed.

“I trust you,” you repeated softly, your voice unwavering this time.

Above you, debris crashed to the floor, the flames roaring louder. The heat was suffocating, the air thick with smoke, but you didn’t move. Neither did he. Time was slipping away, but in this moment, it felt as though the world had narrowed to just the two of you.

His expression twisted, as though your words had broken something in him. Pain flickered across his face—not just physical, but something deeper, something that had been buried for far too long. His hand, trembling now, reached up to brush a strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers lingered there, gentle and deliberate, as if committing the feel of you to memory. Then his hand shifted, cradling the side of your neck. His thumb grazed your skin, reverent, unhurried, as though this was both a goodbye and a plea to stay.

“We’re always at odds, aren’t we?” he murmured softly, "I asked you to run but you stayed. I asked you to save yourself, but you're trying to save me instead."

You grinned bitterly, “always.”

For a moment, his gaze lingered, searching yours, before he dipped his head into the crook of your neck. His breath was warm against your skin, almost hesitant. Then the sharp prickle of pain came—a fleeting sting as his fangs broke your skin—but it was eclipsed by the strange, disarming lull that followed.

His grip on you tightened, his body pressing closer, desperate and unyielding. You could feel the urgency in every movement, the hunger in every pull of his lips against your skin. It was overwhelming, the pull of his fangs relentless, like he was drawing not just blood but something far deeper—something he couldn’t bear to lose.

You should have been terrified. You should have fought back.

But you didn’t. You couldn’t.

Even as your vision blurred, as the edges of the world dissolved into the inferno raging around you, one truth anchored you to him:

You trusted him.

— xii

You woke with a jolt, a sharp gasp tearing through your chest as sterile, artificial air filled your lungs. The glaring white walls seemed to close in around you, their starkness more oppressive than calming. Fluorescent lights hummed faintly above, casting an antiseptic glow that made the space feel detached, clinical—eerily devoid of life.

Your gaze darted frantically across the room, your pulse racing with every detail that didn’t belong. There was no warmth here, no trace of familiarity. Just the suffocating stillness pressing down on you, as though the air itself had weight. For a terrifying moment, it felt like a void, a purgatory for fractured souls. Perhaps you were dead. After everything—the chaos, the blood, the flames—was this where it all ended?

A tremor passed through you, the memory of his voice, his face, flashing like a spark in the darkness. The desperation in his eyes. The warmth of his hand against yours, the fragile connection you clung to even as the world burned around you.

“Sunghoon?” The name slipped from your lips before you could stop it, trembling with hope and fear. It wasn’t just a question; it was a plea, a tether you threw into the void, praying it would hold. The sound of it shattered the oppressive silence, leaving a raw ache in its wake.

You swung your legs over the edge of the bed, and pain flared like lightning through your body. Every nerve screamed in protest—your ribs, your limbs, even the faintest breath. “Sunghoon?” you called again, louder this time, the desperation cracking through your voice.

You forced yourself upright, your bare feet meeting the icy bite of the tile floor. Your legs wobbled beneath you, your strength slipping like sand through your fingers. The IV pole clattered to the ground as you collapsed, clutching the bedframe in a desperate bid for balance.

The sound shattered the room’s oppressive quiet and almost immediately the door swung open with a sharp creak. Your heart leapt, relief surging through your veins. “Sungho—”

But it wasn’t him.

“y/n!” Anton’s voice cut through the tension as he hurried to your side, his face etched with concern. He dropped to his knees beside you, steadying your trembling frame. “What are you doing? You’re still too weak. Lie back down!”

“Anton,” you rasped, your hands gripping his shirt tightly. “Where’s Sunghoon?”

“Sunghoo—?” He frowned, confused, before realization dawned. “Ah, Mr. Park? y/n, he left weeks ago. Don’t you remember? He was called back to his headquarters. Some urgent matters in Prague.”

You shook your head vehemently, your grip on him tightening. “No, that’s not right. He was with me. He—”

“y/n,” Anton said gently but firmly, helping you back onto the bed. “you’ve been unconscious for 2 weeks—your mind is probably still foggy especially given all you had to endure. Don’t you remember? We held a farewell lunch for him? You were there, muttering spiteful things under your breath when he delivered his farewell speech.”

You froze, staring at him in disbelief. “We didn’t,” you whispered hoarsely. “He was—” The words died in your throat. You clung to the fragments of memory that felt more like splinters now. “What about the people then? and the- the castle?”

Anton’s sat beside you, voice gentle, “the castle is gone, razed to the ground. Some people were found scattered across the compound, but all of them had hazy memories—smoke inhalation and trauma-induced amnesia, according to the doctors. No signs of foul play though. Just a gas leak in an old building. The fire spread too fast.”

“How about casualties?” you asked, your mind flashing to the vampires that should be stuck in the hall.

Anton shook his head. “None. Just scattered jewelry and strange clothing pieces found in the halls—probably left behind by looters after the fire started. Authorities have investigated it thoroughly though and nothing indicates foul play. Even the castle’s owner isn’t pressing charges or requesting further inquiry.”

“But Sungh- someone – someone must have been with me,” you pressed on, the words stumbling out.

“y/n,” Anton repeated, his voice more serious now, “no one was. You were alone in the glasshouse. The only one unconscious, in fact. They theorised, given the proximity, you must have spent a lot of time inside compared to others which is why you were unconscious. But point is—investigations had been done and foul play is ruled out. Everyone is safe.”

“Every..." you echoed, “—no. I think there were some who didn’t— do you have a list? the guests? the survivo—" your words faltered as your head spun, a sharp pang cutting through the fog of your thoughts. You groaned, swaying unsteadily. Anton was quick to catch you, steadying your trembling form as he guided you to lean back against the bed.

"y/n, stop—" he said, his tone full of concern. "Look, you've been unconscious for almost 2 weeks. You're not in the right state of mind yet. Let me get the doctor first, okay? don’t move.”

You barely registered his words as you stared up at the sterile ceiling, your mind racing with fragmented memories. Sunghoon. The flames. The battle. His bloodied body against yours. The way he’d looked at you in those final moments—his eyes full of something unspoken, something that clung to you even now.

Instinctively, your hand rose to your neck, brushing against the skin there—and froze. Faint but undeniable, you felt it: a mark. His bite mark.

Your breath hitched as the weight of it sank in. It was the confirmation you needed. That he was real. That your memories weren’t muddled or fabricated. That he had been there.

For a moment, a spark of relief lit in your chest. He’d been there. You hadn’t imagined him. The connection you clung to wasn’t some fever dream born of smoke and fear.

But as your fingers lingered over the faint indentations, that spark dimmed, flickering under the weight of a new truth.

Anton had said you’d been unconscious for two weeks. Two weeks. Two weeks is a long time for someone like him to stay away. Too long.

Suddenly, the silence felt unbearable—crushing in its emptiness, each second a reminder of all the truths his absence could mean. Each one as cruel as the next.

— xiii

A month had passed, and unlike before—when you could sense Sunghoon in the shadows, catch the faintest trace of his cologne lingering in the air, or swear you felt his touch as you brushed past strangers—he was utterly, completely gone.

His absence was deafening.

So you buried yourself in work, to drown out the silence that followed you everywhere and to lock the memories away. Perhaps if you don’t think about it, the ache would dull. Even better, fade entirely.  

Until one night.

You were reaching for something from the shelves in your bedroom when your elbow knocked a box off the shelf. It crashed to the floor with a hollow thud, its contents spilling out in an unceremonious heap. You froze, your pulse quickening as you recognized it—the box of belongings you’d had with you when they took you to the hospital. You’d refused to unpack it then, shoving it out of sight to avoid reopening wounds that hadn’t even begun to heal. The castle. The flames. Him.

But it had been a month. Surely, someone like you would have moved on by now.

“It’s just clothes,” you muttered to yourself, crouching to gather the scattered items. Your fingers brushed against the fabric of the dress you’d worn that night. It felt foreign and familiar all at once, its torn edges and scorched seams tangible remnants of that nightmare. As you bunched it up, you winced and drop the dress, a sharp sting prickling your fingertip.

“Ouch,” you muttered, seeing it draw blood. “What kind of dress would be this sha-"

It was a brooch.

No, not just any brooch. It was a brooch bearing his crest. Sunghoon’s crest.

The ruby gleamed faintly, tarnished by smoke and fire, but still unmistakable. Regal. Intricate. For a moment, you froze, your breath catching in your throat. It lay nestled in the folds of the dress, as if it had always been waiting for you to find it. Tentatively, your fingers closed around it, and as you pulled it free, the weight of it settled in your palm like a stone.

Your breath hitched as the dam burst. Memories flooded in—his voice, his touch, the way he’d looked at you in those final moments. The way he’d fought for you. The way he’d bled for you. The way he’d let you go.

The way he was gone.

Your chest tightened painfully as you stared at the brooch, its sharp edges pressing into your palm. This was all that remained. The only proof that he had existed, that any of it had been real.

The thought clawed at you, unrelenting, as a darker possibility crept into your mind. Vampires left no trace when they perished—no ashes, no remains. If he was gone, truly gone, you might never know. And that terrified you. In fact it terrified and pained you even more than if he was gone simply because he had walked away.

Your grip on the crest tightened, the sharp edges digging into your skin, grounding you in a pain that couldn’t compare to the ache tearing through your chest. You closed your eyes, clutching it to your heart, as though holding it closer might somehow bridge the impossible distance between you and him.

You closed your eyes, whispering his name into the stillness of the room, hoping—praying—that somehow, somewhere, he could hear you.

But the room offered no answer.

Only silence. Only absence.

And the ache—deep and unrelenting—remained.

(( just kidding 🤡 ))

Five years had passed.

Sunghoon never re-eappeared in your life.

You have by then made peace with the fact that perhaps he was never coming back. Perhaps he was gone. Forever.

Memories of him didn’t sting as sharply as they once did. The ache was still there, faint and distant, like a hole you cannot fill but it’s at least not a gaping hole anymore.

By then you could even convince yourself that perhaps, you have really gotten over him.

But then you’d be an outright liar.

Because you still wore his crest as a pendant, hidden beneath your shirt—a weight you carried, not just on your chest but deep within you. It was a quiet reminder, a silent wall you couldn’t breach.

And while memories of him no longer brought tears to your eyes, dreams of those nights—the chaos, the fire, the way his blood soaked through your hands—still jolted you awake, your face damp with tears you didn't remember shedding. They were the only testament to how deeply, how irreparably, the experience and memories had scarred you.

So you did what you did best: buried yourself in work. You numbed the ache, dulled the thoughts that haunted you, and clawed your way to higher pinnacles of success, reaching farther than you’d ever imagined. Even now, halfway across the world in Venice, Italy, you weren’t here for leisure—you were here for work.

It wasn’t until your final evening that Anton managed to drag you to the Carnevale di Venezia. “You need to live more,” he said, practically shoving you into the car. Begrudgingly, you agreed.

But the moment you stepped out of the car, you were greeted by men and women in elaborate period gowns and Venetian masks—and your stomach twisted.

The sight wasn’t just familiar—it was identical. Hauntingly so. To that of five years ago.

Sickening memories long buried clawed their way back to the surface—the blood, the shadows, the terror. It didn’t carry the ache it once had, but it brought something far worse: a creeping fear that wormed its way beneath your calm exterior, unraveling the composure you’d worked so hard to rebuild.

You swallowed hard, legs heavy, but Anton was too enamoured with the festivities to notice. He grabbed your wrist, pulling you through the crowd like an overexcited child.

When he stopped in front of an antique shop selling ornate masks and extravagant dresses, you could feel the air thinning. The shopkeeper offered you a delicate mask to try on, but as Anton reached toward your face to put one on, your body reacted faster than your mind did. Your hand shot up, gripping his wrist in an iron hold, your fingers digging into his skin, as if you were trying to fend him off. As if he was attacking you.

“y/n—” he froze, his voice laced with shock, his playful grin vanishing. His gaze flickered to your trembling hand, then back to your face, his concern deepening.

Your heart pounded, the masks and laughter around you blurring into dark suffocating shadows. For a moment, you weren’t in Venice. You were back there—in the castle, in the nightmare. You blinked rapidly, forcing yourself to breathe, “sorry,” you stammered, dropping his wrist as though it burned you, “I—uh—the breakfast I had this morning—it’s not sitting right.”

Anton rubbed his wrist, his brows furrowed in confusion and concern. “y/n, are you okay?”

You forced a smile, though it felt like it might crack under the weight of your panic. “I’m fine,” you said quickly, waving him off. “Just... go ahead and try something on. I’ll stick with you—just not with all this.” You gestured vaguely at the masks, hoping he wouldn’t press further.

Anton sighed, his concern still visible. “Fine. Promise me you'll stop brooding and actually try to have some fun after?”

“What are you? Five?” you teased halfheartedly, shoving him playfully toward a nearby fitting room to change.

When he emerged from the fitting room, the sheer absurdity of his appearance—a frock too large, a mask so elaborate it drowned his features—pulled a reluctant laugh from you. For a fleeting moment, the tension in your chest eased and you let yourself be dragged along as Anton paraded through the festivities, snapping pictures and weaving through the crowd with unabashed joy.

But then, a procession swept through.

Figures in hooded cloaks and plague doctor masks glided past, their movements deliberate and haunting. The crowd murmured in awe, parting to let them pass, but you froze. The sight slammed into you like a blow, the memories rising unbidden—shadows in corridors, masks that promised death, the chase that had nearly taken everything from you.

“Anton,” you called, your voice tight, panic edging in. “Let’s move on—”

But he was gone.

“Anton?” Your voice cracked as you turned in place, your eyes darting through the sea of masked strangers. The crowd swelled, pressing against you, their laughter sharp and hollow, the music twisting into a dissonant wail. “Anton!” you shouted, louder now, desperation threading through your words.

No response.

The world spun, the faces around you blurring into grotesque shapes. Each mask seemed to leer at you, each figure a spectre of the past. Your breaths came shallow and rapid, the air thick, suffocating.

You stumbled, muttering apologies to strangers who didn’t respond, their masked faces a wall of indifference.

Then suddenly ahead, you caught sight of a figure perched on a raised platform, dressed in elaborate silks that shimmered in the flickering light. But it wasn’t the outfit that made your stomach drop—it was the mask.

A jester mask.

The painted grin stretched unnaturally wide, its hollow eyes glinting as though they could see through you. Bells dangled from the cap, their faint chime cutting through the distant hum of laughter. The figure moved with a deliberate slowness, their head tilting at an unnatural angle as they raised their hand. A thorny rose appeared in their grasp, the gesture painfully deliberate, as though meant just for you.

And then, with a flick of their wrist, the rose ignited, flames curling up the stem until it disintegrated into ash. The sharp smell of burning filled the air, suffocating and bitter, clawing at your senses. The fire, the laughter, the castle, Jaeyun—it all came rushing back, vivid and unrelenting. You spun on your heel, desperate to escape, only to collide with someone else.

A man in a Bauta mask loomed over you, his breath audible through the thin slits. His towering frame bent closer, murmuring something low and indistinct. But you didn’t hear him. Couldn’t. The panic clawed at your chest, your vision tunneling as you shoved past him and broke into the crowd again.

The masks blurred together, grotesque and faceless, shadows from a nightmare that wouldn’t end. You moved blindly, each step unsteady, until—

You saw him.

An uncovered face, sharp and unmistakable in a sea of obscured ones.

The air seemed to leave your lungs. The noise of the carnival faded, the crowd melting into a haze of color and motion.

No mask. No cloak. Just him.

But it couldn’t be, you told yourself. It had to be a hallucination, your mind playing cruel tricks, dredging him up from memories you’d buried too deep. Then suddenly the crowd surged again, jostling you sideways. Your feet stumbled against the uneven pavement, your balance slipping.

You braced for the fall, but strong arms caught you.

“I’m sorry—” you began, your voice trembling as you tried to gather yourself. But then your gaze drop, and the words died in your throat. Right in your line of sight, pinned to the lapel of his suit, was a ruby crest, gleaming faintly under the dim, flickering light.

The very crest you wore as a pendant, tucked close to your heart like a secret you refused to let go of.

Your breath hitched, the roar of your pulse drowning out the world, the air turning electric as the ache in your chest returned with a vengeance. The carnival around you dissolved into nothingness, leaving only the man before you.

Your trembling eyes trailed upward, hesitation clawing at you with every inch. Fear mingled with hope, disbelief warred with yearning. And then you saw him.

Sunghoon.

It was really him. The sharp lines of his jaw, the darkness of his eyes, the way his presence seemed to draw the air from your lungs. He wasn’t wearing a mask, just like you. Amidst a sea of hidden faces, he stood barefaced, unapologetically himself.

Time seemed to still. Your heart clenched painfully as the flood of emotions you’d spent five years suppressing surged forward, overwhelming you.

You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move.

His gaze was still so intense and all-consuming, yet it no longer had the same sharpness as it did before. It no longer aimed to paralyze you or probe the depths of your mind. Instead, it carried a softness, an ache, as though trying to express all the things that words had failed to capture. And just like that, in the silence, in the circle of each other's arms, the years of separation unraveled in the space between you. Every unspoken word, every lingering ache, every memory you’d fought to bury rose to the surface, raw and undeniable, contained in that one look.

Your lips parted, but no sound came. You weren’t even sure what you wanted to say. His name? An accusation? A plea?

Yet, as if avoidance and defensiveness were hardwired into you when it came to him, you started to pull yourself away—but, as always, he anticipated it and before you could even take a step back, his grip on you tightened.

“y/n, don’t,” he said, his grip strong yet his voice soft, almost pleading.

The sound of your name on his lips shattered something inside you. You swallowed hard, your pulse hammering in your ears. “You left,” you whispered, barely able to hear your own voice. “You never came back. I—” you stammered, “—I even thought you might have died.”

“I’m here now,” he murmured, his voice steady but laced with something heavier—guilt, perhaps, or regret. “I never wanted to leave you y/n. But I had to.”

You stiffened, the heat rising in your chest overtaking the trembling in your hands. “You had to?” the bitterness in your voice surprised even you. “That’s what you’re going with? You had to vanish, leave me with nothing but questions—nothing but ghosts—and then reappear like you’ve done nothing wrong? like some noble martyr?”

His jaw tightened, but he didn’t look away. “You think it was easy for me? That leaving you behind was some choice I wanted to make?”

“Then why?” your voice cracked, the words sharper than you intended. “Why did you leave? You could have left a trace, a sign, let me know that—” you caught yourself, shaking your head as your hands balled into fists, “—no. You know what, it doesn't matter anymore. You should have continued to stay away. I was doing just fine. Finally doing just fine and yet here you are. Must have been fun staying in the shadows and trailing me around—seeing me lose my mind in the past 5 years then coming back just when I've finally gotten over you?!"

The accusation lingered, heavy in the space between you.

But even as you spoke, the weight of your own words pressed against you. Wasn’t this exactly what you wanted—to see him again? To demand an answer for the questions that had haunted you in the dead of night? And yet, now that he was here, standing in front of you, the anger felt hollow. A shield, yes, but one that barely held back the ache threatening to flood through the cracks.

You glanced at his face, searching for something—anything—that would reignite the rage you clung to so desperately. But his eyes, dark and steady, reflected none of the sharp arrogance you once associated with him. Instead, they were quiet. Soft. Aching.

Damn him. Damn him for looking at you like that, as if you meant something to him. As if he was hurting just as much as it had hurt you.

His grip on your wrist loosened, but he didn’t let go, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin. “y/n I had no choice," he said softly, his voice steady despite the tremor beneath it. “The fire may have purged the deviants who deserved punishments but it sent shockwaves through my world. If I’d stayed, I would have brought danger to your door..." he sighed, "so I stayed away. And continued staying away especially after seeing you finally able to smile and laugh so freely over the recent years—as if you could finally breathe. I realised then that perhaps this was the sacrifice I needed to make, the debt I owed you—your peace."

His voice dropped, quieter now, as though the memory itself was unbearable. “But then tonight…” his hand flexed at his side, his grip on your wrist tightening briefly. “I saw the terror and dread suddenly return to your face—the very expressions I swore I’d never let you feel again." He paused, his jaw tightening as his gaze flickered to meet yours, “—and before I even knew what I was doing, it all broke. Every reason I had to stay away dissipated and all I wanted—all I want—is to protect you. To take it all away.”

He took a step closer, the space between you shrinking. His voice softened, steady but raw. “And when our eyes met. I thought there was something there—some sort of softness. For once, you didn't look at me with the usual armor in your eyes…" he faltered, his throat tightening, “—and that stripped away the last vestiges of my resolve; every lie I told myself. I realised then, I was never meant to be a saint nor be selfless. Not with you."

You froze, his vulnerability hitting you harder than it should have. But the simmering anger, the years of buried hurt, clawed its way back to the surface. “You’re always so good at that you know—vanishing, making me go nearly insane with guilt, and then coming back just when I thought I’d finally gotten over you.” You swallowed hard, the bitterness in your voice sharpening. “Exactly like 13 years ago, after I poisoned you.”

He stilled, his gaze flickering with something unreadable—regret, pain, guilt. But you didn’t give him a chance to speak.

"Back then, you should have come back, hunted me down and killed me—" you hissed, your voice trembling with suppressed emotion. "We'd have nipped it in the bud. Save ourselves. But instead, you dragged it on for so long. Perhaps this was your way of ruining me—from the inside out. The first time through guilt. The second time through loss."

He swallowed thickly, his mouth parting as though to sigh, but the sound never came. His jaw tensed, and when he finally spoke, his voice carried the weight of a confession dragged from the depths of him. "y/n. I stayed away the first time because I was afraid."

His gaze flickered down for a moment, as if grounding himself, before rising to meet yours again. "After you poisoned me, I was afraid that if I saw you again..." he paused, his jaw tightening as though the words physically hurt to say. "—I wouldn’t want to kill you. That instead—like some pathetic moth drawn to the flame, or worse, like a stupid dog that doesn’t see the cruelty of its master—I’d come running to you. I’d embrace you."

The words hung between you, the implication of every words filling the space—a confession that tore through you even as it laid him bare. That was when you realised, perhaps, just like how you've avoided him to prevent anything from growing between you, Sunghoon's scathing and predatory words were perhaps his way of masking his devotion—a way to convince himself that it was all simply powerplay and primal desires. And you take that bait too literally as it all fitted with your own defense mechanism—the logic and rationality that you always employ to stop yourself from becoming vulnerable. But knowing the truth didn’t soften the ache. If anything, it sharpened it—because it meant you had been fighting the same battle, just on opposite sides. Both of you circling the same truth but never daring to claim it.

"Then maybe all this proves is that we're never meant to be. Like fire feeding fire, we burn each other alive, pretending it's warmth, until there's nothing left of us but smoke and ruin," you said, your voice hollow but steady, as if the words had been carved out of you.

“Then let me be the ruin,” he closed the remaining distance between you, his presence towering but his movements slow, as though afraid to startle you. "Let it burn me down to nothing. Let it hollow me out, scorch every part of me. But don’t ask me to extinguish it—not when it’s the only thing keeping me alive."

"You've lived for so long," you murmured, your voice heavy with exhaustion. "you, of all people, should know better that being self-destructive like this doesn't ensure happiness."

“It’s exactly because I’ve lived for so long,” he said, his voice low and weighted with a quiet sorrow, “that I know ruin is the only thing that stays, where nothing else lasts.”

The silence that followed was thick, not suffocating but heavy, like something unspoken had finally settled between you. When he drew closer, you didn't back away this time. When his hand cupped your cheek—warm, steady, and lingering—you didn’t pull away either. It wasn’t forgiveness, and it wasn’t surrender. But for now, it was enough for it conveyed more than words ever could.

Two years had passed since you were reunited with Sunghoon. Seven years since the fire. And fifteen years, in total, since you met him—the man who had brought chaos, danger, and frustration into your life than you thought possible.

If someone had told you then that he would become a near-permanent fixture in your life—and your apartment—you might have laughed. Or rolled your eyes.

Or poisoned him again.

“Fuck,” you nearly dropped your groceries as you stepped into your apartment to find him lounging on the couch like he owned the place, dressed in pajama bottoms and a black robe. Its opening, casually loose and just revealing enough to hint at his chest, made the sight far too leisurely for your liking. In fact, he looked so at ease, so disgustingly domestic, like he belonged—but the sight only made his presence feel more invasive. “Why are you always here? Go back to your penthouse. It’s way bigger.”

“But there’s no you,” he said, far too smoothly, suddenly reappearing beside you. Before you could protest, he took the groceries from your hands, unpacking them into the fridge and shelves with alarming familiarity.

Perhaps it wasn’t alarming anymore. He’d been doing this for months—showing up whenever he had a moment to spare from whatever duties occupied a vampire’s time. He even bought the unit next to yours, offering excuses to drop by that were as ridiculous as they were transparent: needing eggs, faulty lighting, lost keys. All nonsense, of course, since he didn’t need nourishment, had no reason to fear the dark and can teleport just fine if he wanted to.

“Right, what’s your excuse tonight?” you asked, flopping onto the couch.

“The a/c is broken,” he replied smoothly.

“You used that excuse two weeks ago Sunghoon.”

“Did I?” he mused, unbothered. “Well, this time it’s the sprinklers. Got set off when I was trying to sear my steak. Now the place is flooded. Disgusting, really.”

You scoffed. “Sunghoon, cut the crap. What do you want from me?”

“Nothing. I just want to be with you,” he quipped with a shrug. “You always rejected my offer to ask you to move in with me—penthouse, townhouse, heck even the manor near that hiking spot you like—so here I am. Playing househusband. Or maid, depending on the day.”

“Right,” you said, raising a brow, “you definitely need to stop lounging around in that robe. It’s too casual. People might think you’re my husband or something.”

He grinned, the corner of his mouth tilting upward in that infuriating way. “That’s the goal.”

“You know normal humans and vampires can’t co-exist in that way right?”

“We’re anything but normal y/n,” he replied smoothly, making his way to the living room and plopping down to your left. His elbow propped lazily on the headrest, his posture screaming nonchalance, as if daring you to challenge him. “We can do whatever we please. Or however you please.”

You furrowed your brows, annoyed. If his teasing back then had been a game of one-upmanship—an endless, borderline competitive battle of wits—now it had shifted into something more dangerous. Flirtatious, deliberate, and entirely designed to fluster you. A different ball game—one you weren’t used to playing.

Leaning back, you crossed your arms. “Well, bad news. It’s time for me to do normal stuff and settle down, and the guy earlier—”

“Right, the one you had a date with—“ he cut in, “—or rather the one you were forced to meet up with—“

“—is the best candidate so far,” you continued, rolling your eyes at his interruption. You were used to it by now—used to him knowing too much about your life, like an ever-present fly on the wall, “—he is mature, understanding, and not clingy.”

“Sounds exactly like me but a pale imitiation because come on, I am way good looking in a way no human can replicate and most importantly,” his hand found your jaw, tilting your face toward him. His voice dropped, low and steady. “Only I understand you and your complexity y/n and only you understand mine. We are made for each other—we’re too dysfunctional for others, but perfect for each other. No one else could survive us.”

“Then what if one day I feel so suffocated and poison you again?” you shot back.

“I’ll let you,” he said quietly, his lips curving in a subtle, almost resigned way as his eyes bore into yours. This could have been lighthearted and playful but those voice and those gaze were anything but. “I've told you this before: I’ll let you ruin me in the end as long as you’ll have me.”

“Don’t you ever feel that you’ve given too much and I’ve not given enough—" you retorted. It wasn’t meant to hurt him. You just wanted to come clean with him.

“Oh, I know that very much. Better than anyone in fact—” he murmured, his fingers brushing your collar before slipping beneath it, catching the chain that lay hidden against your skin. “And this—” he lifted it gently, his thumb grazing the crest you wore as a pendant with a reverence that only he could feel, “—you wearing this—it says more than you ever could.”

“Don’t get any ideas,” you muttered, smacking his hand off. “Your crest has been very useful—it keeps other biters at bay.”

Then suddenly, his hand moved before you could react, sliding to the curve of your right waist with a deliberate slowness that sent a shiver racing up your spine. His fingers pressed lightly into your side, tracing the curve of your body as though memorizing the path. The motion was unhurried, grounding you in place while leaving no question of his intent. Then, he shifted closer, bracing one knee on the cushion beside you before the other followed suit in one fluid motion. The couch dipped under his weight, trapping you effortlessly. His hand found the headrest behind you, his presence closing in until all you could feel was him—the heat radiating from his body, the cadence of his breath, the way his fingers lingered just a second too long before trailing upward along your side.

“Then use me like you use the crest—” he murmured, his voice dipping to something quieter, almost reverent. His lips hovered inches from yours, his breath mingling with yours as his hand trailed up the curve of your spine, the warmth of his touch seeping into your skin, “—you know I’m completely at your mercy.”

“For someone who should be wise beyond his years, you don’t seem to learn your lesson,” you managed to say back, raising a hand to his chest in a feeble attempt to stop him.

The tension thickened, swallowing the space entirely as his right hand slid up the nape of your neck, warm and deliberate, sending a sharp jolt through your senses. Without warning, he tilted your head back sharply, making you look up at him in a strained way as he towered over you, his dark eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made the air around you feel heavier. "I never learn my lesson when it comes to you," he murmured as his face dipped closer. His voice was steady almost reverent—but the weight of control behind it was unmistakable.

His eyes moved slowly, tracing a path from your eyes to your lips, his Adam’s apple bobbing sharply, the motion betraying the thin thread of restraint he clung to. It was as though swallowing was the only thing keeping him tethered, holding back something far more dangerous than words. When his gaze returned to yours, it was darker, sharper, and filled with a hunger barely leashed, “—and I don’t want to. Ever.”

His words hung in the air for only a moment before his lips crashed against yours. The kiss was anything but gentle—it was a brutal collision of yearning, years of pent-up emotions, frustration, and something far darker that had simmered between you for far too long. The force of his kiss drove you backward, your head pressing into the unyielding headrest as he claimed your lips. The angle left you no choice but to tilt your head farther in a strained way, a soft gasp escaping you—one he seized without hesitation, deepening the kiss, consuming you entirely.

He tasted of power and desire, a heady combination that made your head spin. Then, with a sharp, sudden motion, he pulled you towards him with startling strength, pressing your bodies together with a searing intensity—making you feel every inch of him: the hard, unyielding planes of his chest, the muscular ridges of his abdomen, even the tension in his body, the coiled power, the barely leashed restraint. His hand, splayed over your back, was like a steel band around your waist, forcing your body to arch unnaturally backwards as his kiss pursued you, driving you farther back, lips growing more demanding and insistent by the second.

Your body gradually grew pliant under his domineering, possessive, hold–overwhelmed by the ferocity and sheer possessiveness of his every kiss and touch. There was literally no room to think, no space to resist—not that you wanted to. He overwhelmed every sense, each touch unraveling the walls you’d so carefully built. You told yourself it was only physical, that the fire consuming you was nothing but desire. But deep down, you knew better. You weren’t just losing control—you were giving it to him.

Your hands flew to his biceps, clinging for balance, your fingers digging into his tense muscles for support, feeling the power and strength that lay beneath. His muscles flexed under your touch, a silent warning of the raw, untamed masculinity that simmered just below his skin. As you struggled to draw in air, your lips parted unwittingly, and Sunghoon was quick to take advantage. Before you could even gasp for breath, his thumb pressed down on your chin, forcing your lips apart, his tongue already breaching past to plunder your mouth with a fierce and primal intensity that left you breathless.

Emboldened, Sunghoon's hand slithered up your back like a serpent claiming its prey, his large hand nearly covering the entire width of your back. Then with a fluid motion, without breaking the kiss at all, he lifted you with surprising ease, his arm muscles flexing in a display of raw power and dominance, as he manoeuvered you sideways before forcefully pushing you down onto the cushions with controlled strength—enough to knock the air out of your lungs but not enough to suffocate. Yet.

The couch groaned under the weight of your entangled bodies, sinking further as Sunghoon hovered over you, his powerful legs bracketing your hips, his muscular frame dwarfing yours. He pushed you deeper into the cushions, his body a solid, warm weight pressing you down, his lips never breaking contact with yours, his kiss relentless. He angled your head to his liking, his free hand exploring your body with a gentle dominance, fingers tracing the curve of your waist, down to the swell of your hips, a teasing caress that made your heart race. It was as if he was trying to etch every curve into memory.

Finally he pulled back, but only so slightly to grant you reprieve from his lips, for his weight still anchored him firmly against you as he straddled your hips, creating a tantalizing gap between your bodies. His gaze had completely shifted then—smouldering in a way that authoritatively pinned you in place without having to physically restrain you. "This is your chance," he said, his voice gravelly with restrained desire, as he tore the robe from his shoulders with an impatient motion, letting it fall in a forgotten heap on the floor. Bare from the waist up, his muscular frame seemed even more commanding, each ridge of muscle sharp and unyielding without the confines of clothing.

This wasn’t the first time you’d seen his bare torso, but tonight, his physique felt too imposing—as if every ridge of muscle was sculpted exactly to intimidate and conquer. The air around him seemed to hum with power while the intensity of his gaze stole words right from your throat. He continued, "you can resist, push me away, or even slap me, but once I begin, I won't be able to stop".

You swallowed thickly, the weight of his piercing gaze pressing down on you, making you feel small beneath him. It wasn’t just his physical presence—towering, commanding—that made your breath hitch. It was the intensity in his eyes, the way they seemed to strip you bare, leaving no room for pretense or armor. You hated that he could do this to you, hated more that you couldn’t look away. You couldn’t lie to yourself: he was indeed intimidating at the moment. But was it fear that made your pulse race, or something darker, something you weren’t ready to name?

You could push him away, the words lingered in your mind like an invitation. But the truth was, you’d had a thousand chances to stop him before things went too far. And yet, here you were, under him. Because as much as you hated his power over you, you had already decided to let it in.

You propped yourself up on your elbows, the loose cardigan slipping from your shoulders, exposing your bare skin to his ravenous gaze. Sunghoon’s eyes darkened like a brewing storm, his chest rising and falling in sync with your own ragged breaths. Your lips still tingled from the searing kiss, the memory of his touch a constant reminder that you hadn’t stopped him. That you hadn’t wanted to.

"I wouldn’t have let you get this far if I wasn’t sure, Sungh—" you panted out, but before you could finish, he surged forward, recapturing your lips with a fierce and almost punishing force. The kiss was a tempest, a chaotic collision of passion and need, pulling you under and leaving you breathless, weightless, and utterly undone.

As his mouth consumed yours, his hands moved with purpose and urgency, stripping away your cardigan with a deft touch. The cool air against your skin was a stark contrast to the heat of his body, making you acutely aware of every inch of him. His other hand slipped under your shirt, his fingers tracing the curvature of your spine with a deliberate languor that made your breath hitch. Your body arched into his touch, your restraint crumbling under the weight of his passion. He responded by pressing you deeper into the plush couch, his body a heavy, welcome weight, pinning you beneath him, a captive to his desire.

The soft cushions molded to your form, offering a sensual contrast to the hard planes of his chest against your soft skin. "Sunghoon—" you gasped, struggling for air and begging him to slow down, but he showed no mercy. Instead, his lips descended upon yours with even greater ferocity, turning the kiss hungrier, messier and wetter as his mouth and tongue move with a frenzied passion that bordered on brutal, as if he was trying to consume you whole and leave nothing but ashes in his wake—the ferocity of which was mirrored by the rhythm of his hips as he ground against you, a tantalizing preview of what was to come.

You knew you were treading uncharted territories—felt it in the way his hands gripped you, relentless and commanding with a possessiveness that bordered on primal—every movement daring you to stop him and knowing you wouldn’t. But then again, this had always been the dynamic between you two: a dance on the knife’s edge—a battle masquerading as a game, where neither truly won. Every step only pulled you deeper into the other's orbit, not for the comfort peace or safety, but for the chaos only the other could create.

But somewhere along the way, the chaos had shifted. It was no longer about fighting against each other, about destruction for the sake of it. Instead, it had become something far more dangerous: a harmony within the chaos.

You had learned to move in sync, not because you sought peace, but because you understood each other too well. The storm hadn’t disappeared—it never would—but now, you weathered it together. No one else could bear the weight of your detachment—the walls you built, the silence you carried—but him. And no one else could bear his chaos—the storm within him, the fire that never died—the way you did.

You weren’t drawn to each other just for the fire, but because you were each other’s constant. You were his unshakable anchor: the force that rooted him in a reality he couldn’t manipulate, teaching him that respect—not domination—was the foundation of something enduring and real. And he was your constant storm: a chaotic force that blows through your carefully constructed walls, showing you that stability isn't always the answer. You let him destabilize your certainty; he lets you unravel his control.

You two were a mess and yet you two never sought to change nor fix the other. Because within one another was the only place where everything made sense, even as the world burned around you. It wasn’t peace, nor was it safety—but it was home. And it was inevitable, as it always had been.

A/N: DONE. DUSTED. GONE. PHEW. Now I can pack peacefully for my flight tomorrow. This is farthest and the most committed I've ever been in writing so please, show me some appreciation by leaving feedback. This is possibly my last writing after all. Also! just wanted to shed some light into the ending: I've created two very complex, messy as hell, multi-layered, characters who went through hell and back with a knife ((or fangs)) on each other's throat for most of the time, so you can’t expect a Hallmark-esque ending with elopement, three kids, and a cozy life baking sourdough in a quaint cottage deep in the woods. After everything they’ve been through—betrayals, obsession, bloodshed, and vulnerability—it would feel unrealistic to wrap their relationship in a neat bow. There’s too much baggage to simply ignore, and I am honoring those journey, their personality and their arcs by opting for such an ending in the epilogue. One that is unapologetically and messily theirs.

Taglist: @axartia | @my5colours | @elinushka-ka | @nowjillsandwich | @leaderwon | @moniqueovermoney | @ashrocker123 | @seungkwan-s | @hydroyaksha | @ikayyyyyy | @capri-cuntz| @asyleums | @lovialy | @nikikookie | @lunateez | @reithecat | @hocestmundi | @shuichi-sama (( tagging those who have explicitly wanted to be tagged eheh apologies if I missed some out :( ))

In another universe

synopsis ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 You swore the next time you saw Sunghoon you would cuss him out and turn a cold shoulder. But when he suddenly appears at your apartment door one night, drunk and desperate, you find yourself faltering

now playing ▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||| 0:10 difficult - gracie abrams, anaheim -niki, hope ur okay - olivia rodrigo

warnings ˎˊ˗ cursing, crying, fighting, kissing, mentions of hoon being emotionally unavailable, mentions of breaking up, heavyyyy angst, mentions of alcohol, mentions of being drunk, mentions of children, open ending, use of the word masochist once, pet names

genre ⭑.ᐟ hurt to ??

pairings: non-idol ex!sunghoon x female reader

wc ᵎᵎ 1.28k

thoughts frm yuya 💭 fun fact this was actually based off a convo i had with my ex!!!!!! 😁😁😁 so! hit kinda close to home guys! anyways angst is actually so fun to write i won't even lie...

You had just finished taking a shower when you heard a few gentle and quiet knocks coming from your door, barely audible but loud enough for you to hear them. Hand still intertwined in your wet hair in an attempt to dry it, you peered out the peephole to check who was disturbing you at this hour. 

Fuck. 

Out of all the people you didn’t want to see, Park Sunghoon was at the top of that list. Yet there he stood, eyes heavy and lidded, hair a mess, and gaze averted on the floor, yet you could tell his eyes were plagued with desperation. And even though you so badly wanted to ignore him standing out there hopelessly, a small part of you wouldn’t be able to forgive yourself if you had done that. 

Keeping the door ajar you squeezed your head between the gap, his eyes immediately darted to your own. Fuck, you shouldn’t have done this. You knew you shouldn’t have done this because the moment his eyes met yours you felt the all-so-familiar sense of longing overcoming your soul, the sense of longing you’d been trying to fight off for 6 months; all for it to come crashing down on you again. Well, there goes half a year's worth of healing. 

“Sunghoon? What are you doing here?” 

“YN, I uh- I didn’t think you’d open up…” shit. His breath reeked of alcohol, of course, the only time he’d come to see you would be when he was drunk. 

“Are you drunk Sunghoon?” your words lingered with bitterness as they left your tongue 

“Just- just a bit…can I come in?” his eyes were still pleading, and that accompanied by the shaking of his voice would’ve been enough to break you. But you refused to let him do that again. 

“Sunghoon you’re drunk you really should just go home-” your hands fumbled at the doorknob as you tried to gently shut the door, but Sunghoon was quicker than you it seemed. 

“Please,” his hand reaching towards your own, “I’ll be good.” fuck. 

You hated how easily you faltered under his words, his gaze, his touch. You hated it so badly, yet you allowed yourself to do so every. single. time.

Begrudgingly you opened the door fully to let him drunkenly stumble in, collapsing at the end of your bed. A scene all too familiar that haunted you in your sleep. You swore you would never let Sunghoon back into your life, that the next time you saw him you would spit insults in his face and stand your ground, yet with one touch of the wrist the defences you raised for yourself seemed to be built upon sand. 

Seating yourself at the edge of your bed you allowed yourself to gingerly run your fingers through his hair, you missed this. However, that was all the more reason why you shouldn’t be doing this. Shouldn’t be allowing yourself to hurt again, just at the expense of a few fleeting moments of serenity. 

“Why are you here drunk Sunghoon?” 

“I,” he propped himself up, allowing him to stare into your glossy eyes, “I don’t really know. I got kinda drunk and- fuck I couldn’t stop thinking about you love.”

Love, fuck you hated how naturally it rolled off his tongue. “Don’t call me that.” 

“Sorry…” he mumbled hazily, “Don’t you miss it though?”

You did. “No.”

“Well I do, I miss you YN. I miss all of this, your hugs, your voice, your touch, your anger. Fuck, I miss being scolded by you after drinking actually, it’s weird right, maybe I’m a masochist.” he said with a small grin

“Hoonie come on-” Hoonie, you didn’t even mean to say it yet the words seemed to come out of you like it was an instinct. 

“I missed that too,” he cut in as his hand slowly drew circles around your knuckles, “Shit YN I missed you so much” his eyes slowly started to well up with tears, a few threatening to drip down. You hated how your heart still held a soft spot for him, but you hated seeing him cry even more. 

“Hoon don’t cry.” your hands reached over to cup his face, fuck if this was all so wrong why did it feel so right. Like your hand belonged there. 

“YN- fuck,” now he really was crying “I really do love you.”

Do, present tense. “Just because you loved me doesn’t mean I felt loved by you” 

The memories you tried so hard to repress suddenly flooded all back to you, the arguments, the sleepless nights, the cold glares. The reason you broke up in the first place. You tried your hardest to forget that night, the shouts between you two that filled up your apartment, the way his words pierced through your heart like a spear, the way he walked out so easily. All to just walk back into your heart like he owned the place. Fuck he did own your heart though, he never stopped owning it. 

“I’m sorry YN. I’m so so sorry, I should’ve been better. I can be better. Please, I’ll love you the way you’re meant to be loved. I won’t shut you out anymore, fuck I never should’ve. I just- please, I can’t keep living without you. I haven’t been living without you-” he was practically sobbing now. “Please YN, I mean it.”

You wiped away the tears running down his cheeks, seeming to not notice how your eyes were stinging with tears as well. “Hoonie I miss you too but, we can’t keep hurting each other like this. We aren’t good for each other” 

“We were good YN. It was so so good, I just fucked it up. Please give me a chance, I can be better.” 

Your brain told you to block out his words; and deny everything that was coming out of his mouth, but your heart seemed to overpower those commands. “It wasn’t just you Hoonie, I could’ve been better too-” 

“No you were perfect.” he blurted out cutting you off, “I never stopped loving you. Can’t we just, start over?” desperation was an understatement to describe him, god he was a pleading mess. 

You could practically hear your own heart-shattering. “I never stopped loving you either Hoonie. But you’re drunk right now, let’s just talk about this in the morning ‘kay?” 

“Okay but, can I please sleep here?” 

No, he shouldn’t. “Sure hoon”

Sunghoon made his way to the top of your bed, arm reaching out signalling you to come over. A signal you regretfully accepted. You nested yourself between his arms, breathing in his cologne while his chin rested on the top of your head. You hated this, fuck you hated how natural this felt. You hated how easily you could melt into his touch, his words, his scent. You hated how badly you loved it. 

“I love you, my YN” his breath slightly hitched before placing a gentle kiss on your forehead. 

You tried ignoring the lump in your throat but it was no use, the next words that came out of your mouth were swallowed with sniffles and quiet sobs “I love you too hoonie”

Maybe in another universe, you two could’ve talked everything out. Maybe you two could have reconciled and lived happily together again. Maybe the 4 years of dating didn’t disappear in one night. Maybe you two could’ve gotten married like he said. Maybe you lived in a nice 2-bedroom house in the countryside, dogs running around the yard whilst you both basked in the sunlight. Maybe you would have actually had the child you fantasised about. 

Maybe, just maybe, Sunghoon would’ve been there when you woke up the next morning.

perm taglist! (send an ask to be added) @floweryang @cupidhoons @msauthor

I just know the heeseung one will HURT

MUSE OF PARADISE

❛ you were the sunshine in a season of rain. . . ❜

WHERE. EDEN Labels is the cream of the crop for entertainment companies, and you are their next rising star. But life in the spotlight isn't always bright, and among the cheers and applause, you hear tales of broken dreams and shattered hopes. Still, if you can bring happiness to even one more person, you'll be satisfied. You just didn't realise how much your presence could change the people you meet along your journey to the top.

OR ───your legacy is that you loved, and were loved in return.

PAIRINGS. en- hyung line x (f)idol!reader ( ft. songwriter!heeseung, actor!jake, model!sunghoon, bodyguard!jay )

GENRE & TROPES. written series, romance, slice of life, grumpy x sunshine, fake dating, "she fell first, he fell harder", "touch her and you die", etc...

WARNINGS. discussion of mature themes, suggestive content (no smut) smoking, alochol & drugs, sasaengs/stalkers, beauty standards, body dysmorphia, more tba...

NOTES. the stories are self-contained and don't require you to read the other parts to understand them. the yn of each story is essentially the same person, but at different stages of your life, meaning that there is no overlap of timelines. the stories are in order of when they take place in your career, beginning from debut, to when you're more established as an idol. but that also means that at some point, you would have broken up with the main lead of previous parts, so if you want to imagine the yn's being different, that's up to you; it doesn't effect the rest of the stories dramatically in any way. <3

SWAN SONG.

❲ 🦢 ❳───WHERE. a washed up songwriter meets a bright new singer who shows him what it means to fall in love again . . . READ HERE ?! ꣹ ( ESTIMATED RELEASE; MAY '24 ) ◜

Lee Heeseung, a young songwriter, has lost his spark for music after a messy breakup with his former lover – his muse, the singer who all his songs were dedicated to. But in order to retire and leave the industry, he must fulfil the requirements of his contract and produce one final song for the company. It is no easy task: for a year, he has been surrounded by unfinished lyrics and notes. The last thing he expected was for you – the one who would be singing his new song – to fill in the empty spaces in both his music and his heart.

MAPLE TREE.

❲ 🍁 ❳───WHERE. a jaded bodyguard has his heart melted by his newest charge . . . READ HERE ?! ꣹ ◜

Park Jongseong had met his fair share of stars, each more flawed than the last. Between divas and playboys, he has heard and seen more than a bodyguard should. But if it's taught him anything, it's that fame has a way of changing people for the worst. When a stalker incident two weeks after your debut leads to the company hiring him for your protection, he assumes that you'll be just like the rest. But upon meeting you, all he can think about is your pure smile and your golden heart... And all of a sudden, he wants to protect you for as long as he can.

CRYSTAL LAKE.

❲ ❄️ ❳───WHERE. a model who is forced to keep up a persona finds someone who sees right through him . . . READ HERE ?! ꣹ ◜

Park Sunghoon was the new hot issue of modelling. Detached, dismissive, and distant, the media's Park Sunghoon (the so-called 'Ice Prince') was the dream of every girl who wanted to be the one to melt his cold heart. That was the image imparted upon by his company, and one he had done a good job of upholding. When he is given the opportunity to play a role in the new music video for a singer, he doesn't let his guard down once. But somehow, you find yourself chipping away at his mask, bit by bit, until he stands before you completely himself.

POISON APPLE.

❲ 🍎 ❳───WHERE. a playboy actor dates a singer for publicity and ends up crossing the line of real and fake . . . READ HERE ?! ꣹ ◜

Jake Sim was the sweetheart of the acting scene – charming, handsome, and a man with a golden heart. But little did his fans know that he was also the main character of the nightlife scene. He had a different girl on his arm every night, and when he wasn’t on the set, he was in a club. After a scandal threatens to sink his reputation, the company looks for a way to keep his image afloat by distracting the public… by making him do the one thing he can't: commit. And you – being the sweetheart of the idol industry – are the perfect candidate for the job.

© chaconnenha ( ALL RIGHTS RESERVED )

𝒥ust a bet﹕hyung line

𝑒nhypen x fem!reader ︎︎⚹︎ cw: angst, no fluff (yet), reader is mostly viewed as a loser and nerd, lowercase intended, kinda went overboard with hoon's, reader gets called a bitch once, not proofread!

sypnosis﹕after a few months of dating, you find out you were just a bet.

part two (tba!)

★ LEE HEESEUNG (wc 0.3k)

you and lee heeseung has been dating for a total of five months, and throughout those months you can confidently say that you were the happiest. he was the perfect boyfriend, his family loved you and so did yours.

today, heeseung promised he would take you on a date after his basketball practice despite your protests on how he should be resting instead. you wouldn't have agreed if it weren't for the fact that he had shot you with his pleading big doe eyes that never fails to make you agree on whatever he asks for. 

so here you were, making your way towards the gymnasium with your bag hanging on your left shoulder. the lack of dribbling and smacking basketball noise from behind the closed doors told you that their practice was done.

entering quietly out of habit, you were about to approach your boyfriend when you overheard his teammates talking to him.

"don't tell me you're still with her?" asked one of boys, an amused smile on his face. heeseung only raised a brow.

"what? you won the bet, you can dump her now. you're ruining our image you know? plus she's a total nerd and loser, you're much better with someone like yunhee." and with only just a few words, you felt your world crashing down.

right, who would date someone like you? you always found it weird, that heeseung just approached you one day in your biology class with the cheekiest smile on his face. the fact that he wouldn't leave you alone until you've agreed to go on a date with him. it all made sense now, why the popular basketball captain suddenly gained interest on the school's "biggest nerd."

"speaking of.." another guy spoke, nodding towards you with a cheeky smile. heeseung turned around only to be met with your glassy eyes.

you didn't move, wanting to hear him defend you. wanting to tell his teammates that you weren't a bet and he actually liked you throughout the months you two have been dating.

his silence said everything and with that you turned away and ran out of the gym.

"shit." he muttered, running after you.

★ PARK JONGSEONG (wc 0.3k)

"i'll pick you up later, okay?" your boyfriend of almost a year said softly through the phone. you've been dating jay since the first week of your first year in uni, others found your relationship weird. maybe because back in high school, jay never and refused to even spare you a glance. he was an asshole who looked at you as if you were the epitome of disgusting.

but the past is in the past now, right?

"okay baby, see you." you reply and put your phone down on your table, knowing that he's usually the one who ends the call.

you go back to the papers scattered on your table. the silence in your room was disturbed by sudden noises in your phone, turning to look, you see that jay hasn't ended the call.

picking your phone up with a smile, you were about to call out for him but a voice stopped you.

"i can't believe you've gone this far dude." you recognized the slightly muffled voice, it was a friend of jongseong's.

"what do you mean?" your boyfriend grumbled. the audio was muffled, you figured he was moving and the phone was in his pocket.

"you're still dating her!" the voice exclaimed, as if amused. "seriously, i didn't think you'd take that bet seriously. fine you win, i'll clean your car for a month. but you've gotta cut it out, you're starting to disgust me." the boy laughed.

before you could hear what your boyfriend would say, you ended the call. your hand was trembling and tears were falling from your eyes unconsciously.

were all those months just a joke to him? were your feelings really worth a free car wash for just a month? were you that unworthy?

jay was an asshole back in high school, you thought he changed. turns out he didn't, you felt like a fool for falling for his antics.

★ SIM JAEYUN (wc 0.3k)

if someone would be asked who you were, they'd all say the same thing. a loner, pathetic loser, and a nobody with a pretty face.

because what was a pretty face if you had no friends and a social life?

you almost believed you would die alone, you were too socially awkward to make friends. so when sim jaeyun, the transferee, approached you with a warm smile and a hand outstretched for a shake, you were beyond shocked.

your relationship went from being block mates, friends, then next thing you knew you two were dating. at first you were reluctant to enter a relationship, scared that it would ruin your friendship, but he insisted you both tried. that was three months ago.

you didn't have any friends, but atleast you had jake.

jake who smiles at you as if you had carved the stars in your hands. jake who would never forget to bring your coffee every morning. he was everything you ever needed. he was it for you, you only hoped he felt the same towards you.

walking through the hallway of the school, you stopped infront of your locker only to be met with a sticky note on it.

HOW LONG CAN JAKE LAST WITH LOSER L/N?

A WEEK : 卌 - 卌 - 卌 - 卌 - III

FIVE MONTHS : 卌 - I

A YEAR : II

Furrowing your brows, you stare at the note as your breathing grew heavy. It was obvious that the paper was old, it had folds and it was only stuck on your locker with a washi tape.

"what are you doing l/n? go on, cast your vote." a mocking voice said from beside you followed by a bunch of laughter. "personally, i thought he'd last a day. i guess i'll vote for five months then." then the hand went and tallied on the five months category.

"what's going on here?" upon hearing your boyfriend's voice, you fled away immediately, not wanting to face him. everytime something good happens in your life, it's always ripped away from you. jake was just like them, you were just a toy for their own entertainment.

★ PARK SUNGHOON (wc 0.5k)

"i'm sorry baby, i really am busy with practice tomorrow." your boyfriend, sunghoon, says in genuine sorry. it was the fifth time you have asked him to meet your parents, who also by the way was so desperate to meet the boy you've been dating for seven months now.

every time you ask him, he's always busy. either with practice, a project, a family matter, or whatever excuse he can come up with. but you always brush it off, knowing he means well and he really is busy as he's an athlete student.

"i'll meet them next week, okay? i promise." that's also the same thing he says everytime too, and once again, you only nod in response.

you and sunghoon met in a physics class. he was clutching his head with a frown on his face as he desperately tried to understand what the professor was going on about.

you remember clearly the way he approached you in the library, a physics book on his left hand as his right scratched his nape. "can.. i noticed- uh, can you help me with this topic?"

that was where your relationship started. you tutored him and helped him improve his grade. when he got an A on the finals, he kissed you on the lips in glee. he was taken aback by his own actions but nevertheless asked you out after.

"i love you," he whispers, pressing a kiss on your temple. "let me get something from my room." you hum in response as he takes his arm that was previously wrapped around you before going up to his room.

you can't help but notice the way his phone was blowing up from beside you.

you weren't the type to snoop around other people's phones, especially your boyfriend. it just felt wrong, you trusted him fully. but the way it kept ringing with text notifications, you just couldn't help it.

looking back to the stairs, you note he isn't back and there was still rummaging noises from his room.

taking his phone, you enter his passcode and read the messages from one of his group chats.

JONGSU

lol don't tell me she asked again.. em ba rrah sing

DAEHYUN

hahah when is she gonna take a hint?? 💀

JOON

you gonna blame her? hoon's been at it for months lmao

DAEHYUN

i actually can't believe he went that far, wasn't it only supposed to be for a month? 🗿

JONGSU

a week actually, but ig that bitch y/n was so easy. yk hoon likes to get his ego fed 💀💀

putting the phone down, you exhaled in disbelief. you took your bag from the floor and threw it over your shoulder and went to the door of his apartment to put your shoes back on.

"baby?" sunghoon emerged from the stairs, looking at you curiously. "you're going already?" he asked, extending an arm towards you but you slapped it away. the tears on your eyes shocking him.

"hey, hey what's wrong?" he tried again but his hand was yet again slapped away.

"i don't want to see you ever again." was the last words you uttered to him (shakily) before leaving his apartment.

★ IN BETWEEN | PARK SUNGHOON SMAU

part one: he made it clear he don’t want you

Park Sunghoon never really understood why Lee Heeseung was so overprotective of you.

Ever since the three of you entered high school, he was acting like your dad, making it clear that you were not allowed to date Sunghoon or any of his friends for that matter.

“You took Heeseung off your spam?” Jake whispers, eyes widening. “Hey man—you know I’m bad at secrets!”

“Well just shut up!” Sunghoon clasps a hand over Jake’s mouth when Heeseung approaches behind them, eyebrows furrowed.

“What are you doing?” He asks, watching as Sunghoon quickly places his hand down.

“Nothing.” Sunghoon wipes his palm on his uniform, eyes hinting annoyance. “You know my business professor is such a bitch? Apparently he asked the counselor to switch me to a different course because I do nothing, now I’m stuck with physiology, and I don’t even know what that is!” He pulls out a cigarette, searching his pants for a lighter as he balances it between his lips.

“This stuff is garbage,” Heeseung clicks his tongue, clearly disgusted with Sunghoon’s smoking habits. He takes the cigarette from the younger boy’s mouth, who’s eyes widen in shock as he watches Lee Heeseung squish it with his shoe.

“Hey! I just bought that pack asshole.”

“You’ll thank me later.” Heeseung sighs as he looks up at the sky. “Y/N takes physiology you know, maybe she can help.”

“Y/N and I don’t even talk,” Sunghoon scoffs, frowning as he looks at the smushed cigarette on the floor. “Plus, your sister’s off limits, remember our freshman year of high school talk?”

“Yeah yeah.” Heeseung waves Sunghoon off. “She still is—but I’d think she’d be a good influence on you acadmeic wise. C’mon Hoon, you’re a sophomore in college not high school. You cant keep fooling around anymore. Is this about Kyunghu breaking up with you? You know she wasn’t good for you.”

Sunghoon purses his lips in annoyance. “It’s not about her. And trust me, I know. I’m trying, you know.”

“Could’ve fooled me.” Heeseung shrugs, and Jake eyes his two best friends, finding the intense moment too awkward for his own liking.

“Cmon guys, let’s go eat something! Lighten the mood.” Jake swings his arms around both boys’ shoulders. “How about Korean BBQ? Heard there’s a new place down the block.”

And just like that, the conversation about you between Sunghoon and Heeseung seemed to diminish into thin air

masterlist | next

author’s note. first chapter done 😽😽 jake n hueningkai lwk my favorite characters rn LAWL they’re very silly.

synopsis. While you were busy crushing on Sunghoon throughout high school, he had always viewed you as Lee Heeseung’s annoying little sister, especially since the three of you grew up together. That all changes when you end up going to the same university together and wound up being partners in one of your courses. Although Lee Heeseung has made it clear Sunghoon wouldn’t make a good boyfriend, you can’t help but be tempted by him, especially when he was begging you to tutor him with the prettiest look on his face.

taglist ( open ! ) @deobitifull @sagsters @namdeyuoi @leep0ems @srjlvr @en-happiness @curlytxe

Yall forgot how messy nico is 💀

"nico doesn't want lando and oscar to go what he and lewis went through" nico got on live tv and asked lando what he thought of oscar taking points off him. if anything i think nico wants a televised landoscar brawl a la 2018 youtuber fight

Tumblr is my biggest opp im convinced, it hates me 😓

DIAAAA!! What do you think of an alternative ending, where Mila and Hwang Sejun ends up together and the members can’t do anything abt it?? And Mila and Sejun r genuinely in love?? Ngl I find Sejun n Mila cute tgt 😭😭

ngl this had me tempted lol like idk why sejun ended up just stealing the spotlight but understandable 👹 anyway!! don’t know for sure if i will do it, but i do have a deleted scene here for any sejunxmila fans out there ✨✨

ılı. 𝒩ow Playing . . . OLDER , Isabel larosa

────────𝗺𝗶𝗹𝗮 𝗮𝗹𝘄𝗮𝘆𝘀 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝗮 𝗺𝗮𝗻. 𝓯𝓽. hwang sejun 𝔁 mila bai ( 𝖮𝖭𝖤 𝖮𝖥 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖦𝖨𝖱𝖫𝖲 alt end. )

“You know, you could just move in with me.”

Mila was half awake at midnight, wearing nothing but one of Sejun’s dress shirts, and definitely not prepared for his proposition.

“It would save you the time of sneaking out and back into your dorms again,” he continued, brushing away a strand of hair from her face. “And it means I get to see you like this even more.”

Mila felt almost guilty that she even considered the offer. She loved her members too much to be away from them—but maybe that was the perfect reason she could offer to justify why it was a good idea. Seeing her thoughtful expression, Sejun smiled. He kissed her forehead gently (as if he didn’t leave hand-shaped bruises on her hips, or a trail of purple love bites on every inch of her skin the night before). 

“You’re getting soft,” Mila pointed out. He had always been somewhat gentle with her—when they weren’t in bed, anyways. But after two months of sneaking around beneath the noses of Dispatch and, in Mila’s case, her fellow members, she supposed that maybe he had grown a fondness for her after all.

“How can I not? Do you know how adorable you are?” he whispered, pecking her on the lips. A boyish grin made its way onto his face when she wrinkled her nose. Anyone would instantly forget that he was, in fact, seven years her senior and a notorious sex icon in the acting industry, whose name was involved in more scandal headlines than all of Enhypen combined. “My cute bunny.”

“Well, this bunny has to go hopping home,” Mila said with a petulant tone.

Sejun quirked an eyebrow. “Leaving already?” He caressed her thighs, stroking the soft skin with his thumb. “Why don’t you stay a little longer, hm? I’ll drive you home later.”

Mila didn’t know if that was a good idea. She had already been here longer than she intended, and if she let him have his way, she would be stumbling into the Enhypen dorms by the time everyone else was awake. But then, what did it matter if she did?

Sejun immediately knew when she had given in. “Good girl.”

Mila blamed her childhood, for the lack of praises from her absent father who left with barely a goodbye, for the way she easily succumbed to the praises of a man who would ruin her further than she already was. But, what could she say? He always knew how to get the best out of her.

Enjoy ur break dia and take care of yourself okay? 😓

hey guys imma take a break from the blog for a bit so don’t panic if I disappear! idk when I’ll be back, but until then, stay safe and remember that i love you guys loads 💖

Im so inlove with hwang sejun oml.

ONE OF THE GIRLS

📄 ◜ if mila and the boys never confessed their feelings to each other earlier.

ʬʬʬ. 2023 ( AU ) pairing. poly!ot7엔하 x (f)oc!member (ft. male!oc) req. enha seeing mila with someone who isn’t them cw. sexual themes (non-explicit), alcohol, unhealthy coping mechanisms, miscommunication/misunderstandings

BACK to LIBRARY ?! wc. 9.3k notes. i'm sorry for the rushed ending but it was difficult to end it in a way that wasn't yknow sad and it was getting too long TT [ extra. bonus scene for hwang sejun found here ]

MILA WAS SEVENTEEN WHEN SHE FIRST FELL IN LOVE. She was too young to know what it was, too inexperienced to do anything about it, but if there was anything she was certain of, it was that the warmth that filled her chest and the fluttering of her heart when she so much as looked at them could never be anything less than pure longing.

She was twenty when she finally realised she already knew what love was. And that was a problem. Because, you see, falling in love was normal; falling in love with seven men at the same time, however, was anything but.

Why do you do this to yourself? She thought miserably as she opened yet another compilation full of analysis on the interactions between her and her members – or rather, between her and the boys, specifically.

She recognised the clip playing on her phone. It was during an EN-O’Clock episode and featured the group laughing and having fun together as they played games arranged by the directors. It would seem like a harmless and wholesome moment shared by the group, if it weren’t for the fact that upon slowing it down and zooming in, one would be able to spot the exact moment where Heeseung raised his hand to pat the top of her head – only for his smile to suddenly dropped as he retreated, covering up his momentary slip-up by reaching to fix the hair of Riki who stood on Mila’s other side.

Then there was the painfully awkward moment during a livestream, where Mila was in the middle of Jake and Jay, laughing at something that Sunoo said. Jake was reading comments – trying to, anyway – when he suddenly froze, as if caught in the trance.

He stared at his phone in silence, missing the question that Kiara had asked the members. It was at that moment when Mila turned to look at him, silently questioning his distracted state, her leg brushing against his in the process. But the moment she did so, Jake flinched, as if caught doing something he shouldn’t have. He immediately shut his phone off, before moving his legs closer together so that their thighs were no longer touching.

It hurt. It hurt seeing just how hesitant they were around her, how cautious they were to avoid anything that could be read as intimate. Even more so when it got to the point where fans were taking notice of how distant they were compared to when they showered her with attention and affection during the early days of their career.

Mila shut her phone down, slamming it down next to her empty glass. “I’ll have one more,” she called out to the bartender across the bar, watching as he filled her glass to the top. In the dim lighting of the private bar, hidden away from the public eye, Mila closed her eyes and tilted her head back, letting the burn of the alcohol as it trickled down her throat. 

She hated vodka, but it was the only thing strong enough to force down the bitterness of her lingering regrets. Mila slammed the empty glass back down onto the bench. I should have never said anything.

“You had something to tell me?”

Kiara had pulled Mila aside to their shared bedroom, a look of concern on the older woman’s face as she took in the fidgety gaze of Mila who stood before her. She only ever fiddled with her sleeves like that when she was nervous. By now, Kiara could read her like a book — and that made Mila feel both seen and exposed.

Mila swallowed nervously. She knew she could tell Kiara anything, and that the older female would never hold it against her. She played a role that Mila’s own mother had sometimes failed to do as she was growing up — the role of the confidant and counsel. Mila knew she could trust her with anything.

So why was she hesitating now?

Mila bit her lip. “I realised lately that I’ve been feeling… well I kind of have romantic feelings. But the thing is… “Well, my feelings aren’t really conventional. I’m scared that they’re going to make the others feel…”

Uncomfortable. Bothered. Disgusted.

“Well, okay, that’s fine. We can talk through it. You said that you like someone?” Kiara made a gesture with her hands. “That’s fine. I know that you don’t have much experience in this stuff, but that’s why I tell you I’m here if you need an ear. So what’s wrong?”

Mila took in a deep breath. “Well that’s just the thing— it’s not a ‘someone… it’s ‘someones,’ as in plural.” 

Kiara was stunned into silence, her lips parting into a soundless gasp.

Mila lowered her head. “I like— Actually… ‘love’ might be the better word for it; I somehow fell in love. And I know it’s… weird— but I can’t help it. No matter what I do, whenever I try and focus on just one of them at a time, it’s like the others find a way to make themselves known.”

“All of them?”

It didn’t take long for Kiara to guess who had stolen Mila’s heart. For three years she had noticed a dynamic growing between Mila and the boys that differed from that between the seven of them and Kiara. But she never could have expected this outcome. (And yet, at the same time, it all made sense.)

Mila nodded. “Eung… I love them all…”

Kiara opened her mouth to say something but was interrupted by the sound of something by the door that sounded like something being knocked over and hitting the floor. The two women exchanged glances at each other, before the elder hurriedly rushed to the door. Kiara threw it open. There, standing on the other side, were the men in question… all seven of them.

And judging by the looks on their faces, they had heard everything.

“Not a good night tonight?”

Mila raised her head from the cool surface of the bar, eyes lifting towards a familiar face. His handsome features were done justice by the sensual lighting of the bar, the shadows casted in such a way that his sharp contours of his face became all the more prominent. The sultry smile on his lips would have had the knees of any woman buckling under their weight. His silk black shirt was unbuttoned to give a sneak peek of his toned chest, tantalising like the honey which the colour of his skin resembled.

Mila sighed as she straightened in her seat. She moved her handbag from the chair next to her, wordlessly allowing the man to take a seat on it. “Was it that obvious?”

He chuckled, shaking his head in fond exasperation. He hummed deeply. Long and slender fingers all too familiar to Mila reached out to her, brushing strands from her face. She felt the cool touch of silver rings around his fingers as his hand cupped her cheek, raising her head to look him in the eye.

“You can’t hide anything in those pretty eyes of yours, doll,” he replied. He smirked as his thumb brushed against her lip. “I know you better than anyone here.”

And wasn’t that the truth?

It was difficult to believe that there could be someone out there who knew so much about her within the span of two months. Among her own group members, she struggled to open up to them about basic feelings until a year after their debut — even those such as Sunghoon, Heeseung and Jay, who she knew years before I-Land. Normally, she was a lot more guarded around strangers.

But Hwang Sejun was no ordinary stranger.

Mila didn’t mean to seek him out, to cross the line with him. But the night they met was the same night Mila had her heart broken — and just like now, she was looking for a way to forget. That was why she didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away when his lips came down to hers in a teasing brush of a kiss.

Mila lowered her head from where she sat on the couch, surrounded by her group members. 

“Is it true?” Jay whispered almost inaudibly as he sat on a chair at the kitchen table, watching the young woman with an unreadable look in his eyes. “What you said to Noona not long ago… Did you really mean it?”

Mila nodded. Heeseung sighed as he clasped his hands together, the dim lighting of the living room casting a show over his troubled expression.

And why wouldn’t he be? Mila didn’t know what he was thinking, but if the girl she had practically treated as a younger sister all these years took every act of kindness to be something more than platonic and even go as far as to profess her love for them, her world would tilt off axis too. Not to mention the fact that his six other members—friends—were on the list, too.

It was stupid of Mila to hope that there may be a chance for her to get a happy ending, with not one, but seven men. Maybe, a dark part of her whispered, maybe those ‘haters’ of hers were right after all. She could see the label plastering itself across her forehead: ‘Whore.’ In capital red letters.

“This isn’t something that will change our dynamic, will it?” their leader asked, after a painfully long silence. “It’s too sudden… I think we need to take a break to think for ourselves before we move forward with anything.”

It was the logical thing to do. Mila agreed. So did the others. But it felt like she was struggling more than they would—because, really, she cared more for them than they ever would. And as she found herself vsitting alone in the Hybe building, refusing to step foot before any of her members out of sheer embarrassment, that was when he found her.

The first time Mila met him, Sejun had crouched down in front of her, tilting his head at her puffy eyes and tear-stained cheeks. 

“Not a good night tonight?”

Mila could feel the way Sejun’s eyes trailed the column of her throat, felt the way his long fingers brushed against the skin as if wanting to wrap them around her throat like he had done however many nights ago. Mila looked up at him, eyes glassy and lips parted. 

“What are you going to do about it?” she asked quietly, leaning towards him.

Sejun let out a breathy chuckle. “I’ll make it better.”

And he would. He always did.

Sejun was no good for her. He went through women almost as fast as he smoked cigarettes; he partied hard, and fucked even harder. He couldn’t be vulnerable, couldn’t be gentle, couldn’t love Mila the way wanted to be loved… He was exactly the type of man she was always warned to stay away from.

But he was here. And even if it wasn’t any coincidence that he was always here when she wanted to be held, she fell into his arms anyway.

Sejun moved his hand to the back of her neck, pressing his lips against her hairline in a soft kiss. “Come on, princess,” he mumbled against her skin, and Mila tried not to think of the fact that Sunghoon used to call her the exact same thing. “Let’s get you out of here.”

Mila didn’t protest, following the older man as he led her by the wrist.

(As the saying went: if you want to get over someone, get under someone else.)

“Won’t your members be worried if you’re out this late?” Sejun tilted his head as he sat down next to the crying girl. “It’s not exactly safe for a pretty girl like you to be alone. There could be bad men around who will want to take advantage of you.”

Mila sniffled, hugging her knees closer to her chest. She looked like a corner animal, hiding away from a prowling tiger, eyes looking warily at the man beside her. She knew of him—how could she not? He was the man every woman wanted to be with, and every man wanted to be. But she had only encountered him once before. She was walking around with Heeseung in the Hybe building when they bumped into Sejun, the older man greeting Heeseung familiarly. 

‘Ah, Heeseung-ah, long time no see!’ he said with a smirk, crossing his arms over his chest. ‘Yah… Look at you, all grown up. Last time I saw you, was…. What? Before I-Land? You’ve gotten tall!’

Heeseung bowed to him and forced a smile. ‘Thank you, sunbae. It’s nice to see you,’

‘Aye, what’s with that tone? You should just call me hyung, like you used to.’ Sejun chuckled and clapped the younger man on the shoulder, eyes glinting with amusement when the younger eyed the hand with an unreadable look. But then Sejun’s eyes drifted over to Mila, who hid behind Heeseung, fingers grasping at his sleeve, and wide doe eyes peering over his shoulders curiously. ‘Oh– this must be your dongsaeng, right? Mila? I hear a lot about you.’ He leaned down to Mila’s height and smiled. ‘You’re even cuter in real life… like a bunny.’

Heeseung suddenly stiffened up, before stepping in front of Mila protectively, a stony look on his face. ‘Sorry, sunbae, but we have somewhere to be. Hope you have a good day.’ Heeseung gave a half-hearted nod of his head before quickly ushering Mila way with an arm around her shoulder. When they were out of earshot, he leaned down to whisper into her ear, ‘Be careful of him,’ he had told her. ‘If he comes up to you when you’re alone, let me or the others know, okay?’

Mila looked over her shoulder towards the actor one more time, to see him watching them leave, a sly smile on his face, his hands in the pockets of his pants. He shot her a wink, and Mila hastily looked away. As the good dongsaeng she was, eager to please, she had nodded obediently, not even questioning Heeseung’s warnings. It was just him being protective, she concluded. And she didn’t have any plans of disobeying him in the past.

But… he wasn’t here right now, was he? And she didn’t think she wanted to call him after what happened earlier tonight.

“What about you?” Mila asked. “Are you one of those bad men you mentioned?”

Sejun let out a hearty laugh, not offended in the slightest from Mila’s accusation. “Is that what your ‘Heeseungie-oppa’ told you?”

Mila almost shook her head, almost admitted that, no, he hadn’t told her anything of the sort—hadn’t even mentioned him ever since they first bumped into each other. But she didn’t get the chance before Sejun was leaning down so his face was only a few centimetres away from hers. A wolfish smile crossed his face.

“That’s right. So you should be careful, little bunny. Or else, I might gobble you up.’

Sejun playfully gnashed his teeth in a biting motion, causing Mila to blink at him dumbfoundedly. Seeing her expression, he laughed. And all of a sudden, Mila wasn’t so sad anymore. She was curious, instead. She wanted to know more about this man who she had been told to stay away from.

There was no need to fear playing with fire when she was already burnt.

Ignoring his feelings was the hardest thing that Sunoo could ever be asked to do. He was an idol, playing a part was what they did. But it was difficult to keep up the act when he had to watch the woman he loved grow further and further away.

“You look nice.”

Sunoo snapped out of his thoughts to see Riki standing against the doorframe to the bathroom, his arms across his chest. As he walked closer, he realised why. The younger male was watching as Mila applied makeup in the mirror, wearing her favourite black and white dress from Dior with a pearl choker. She smiled at Riki through the reflection, a soft thank you escaping her glossy lips. 

“What’s the occasion?” Riki tilted his head, long locks falling over his forehead before he pushed them back. “Are you going out?”

Mila hummed. “Just to see a friend.”

“He’s right. You look pretty.” Mila smiled. Sunoo looked her up and down, foxy eyes gleaming with interest. “But you usually don’t go anywhere fancy with the girls…”

Mila and her friends were the type to enjoy cute cafes and shopping dates at the mall, just anything that gave them a sense of normalcy. They were too carefree to be interested in anything to do with high society or flaunting wealth, yet Mila stood here looking ready to walk the red carpet.

“It’s a different friend,” Mila replied. “We’re meeting at the company and then going to dinner at a new Italian restaurant.”

“Oh.” Sunoo nodded. “Do we know them?”

Mila cleared her throat. “Um, well, kind of? You know of them, but you haven’t met…”

Sunoo and Riki nodded in understanding. So it was another idol, then? Shrugging his shoulders, Riki leaned off from the doorframe, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. “Are you done yet? I wanted to go for a walk, so I’ll drop you off along the way.”

“Ooh, I’ll come too!” Sunoo said. “I need to go by the convenience store anyway.”

Mila blinked. “You don’t have to.’

Sunoo frowned. It wasn’t like Mila said that she didn’t want them to go with her, but he couldn’t help but feel a sense of nostalgia. He remembered when they first debuted, and the three of them had formed a bond stronger than steel. They were the golden trio, the three msuketeers; the sun, stars, and moon…

That was why it was so easy to nice that the three of them had drifted apart. They used to watch and mock popular dramas together and hide under the blankets of Mila’s bed while hiding snacks that they brought without the manager’s permission. But now it was like a wall was between them, one that Sunoo and Riki couldn’t climb, because Mila had refused to even give them a ladder.

And what was worse was that Sunoo couldn’t even complain about it. Because he was part of the reason it happened.

Jay paced in the living room, where the seven male members had gathered following the events of Mila’s unwilling confession. They sat there in silence, unable to say anything after they had rejected her, and she left the dorms in need of space. 

“So are we just going to ignore what happened?” Riki asked. “Mila just admitted that she liked all of us. Doesn’t that mean anything?”

Heeseung sighed. “Riki-yah, not now please.”

“Then when?” Sunoo crossed his arms over his chest. “Isn’t now the perfect time?”

Sunoo couldn’t remember the first time he realised his feelings for Mila. It just felt so natural, that it didn’t even strike him as a surprise. And somehow, the same feeling applied when he learnt that his other members felt the same way towards her.

It felt like Mila was the only one who didn’t realise the true extent of their feelings for her. The way they would do anything and everything in the world if he asked, not because she was their precious co-member, or because they felt obligated by duty to coddle her since she was the youngest female  of the group, but because they loved her wholeheartedly and wanted nothing more than to the the ones to cherish and protect her.

But the love that they had for each other was strong as well. They were friends, who had survived through the highs and lows of I-land together and continue to grow closer after they debuted. They weren’t the type to fall into competition or conflict with each other if they knew it would hurt the other, whether it was for Mila or anyone else.

They were willing to put aside all their feelings for the sake of the group. They were willing to hold their own remorse if the day ever came where Mila would develop feelings for one of them. But they never would have expected this outcome.

“It was too sudden,” Jungwon said grimly. “We never planned this, and it wouldn’t be good to jump into something without being sure.”

“What would we even do?” Sunghoon asked. “Even though she feels the same way, what happens next? We can’t all date her.”

Jake licked his lips in thought. “Can’t we? It’s not like it’s not a new thing. If we’re okay with it, it can’t be considered cheating. So why not give it a shot?”

“You mean a polyamorous relationship?” Jay took a seat next to Sunghoon, who bit the inside of his cheek at the thought. “No shame or whatever, I know it’s something that exists…. But there’s seven of us. And I know some of us aren’t really the type to ‘share.’”

Jay didn’t mention it, but he himself was included. He knew Sunghoon and Jungwon were as well. They were too jealous, too possessive to even entertain the thought. Even now, fans would pick up all the instances where the three of them would grow tense whenever one of their own members got too close and comfortable with Mila—much less any male idol that wasn’t part of the group.

If that was how they were now, they couldn’t even imagine how they would make Jake’s suggestion work. 

“No,” Heeseung refused strongly. He would do anything just to be able to call Mila his. But the risk involved with this was too right. “If we decide after getting together that it’s not going to work, we’d just hurt Mila by giving her hopes and crushing them again. We can’t.”

Sunoo laughed humorlessly. “I’m not sure if you noticed, hyung, but she is already hurt as it is.”

Heeseung froze, his posture rigid.

The room was silent.

There was nothing they wanted more than to be able for in out of here and comfort her, because after what happened tonight, they had already broken a promise that they had made to the closer thing she had to an older brother in her life— her older cousin, who they met once when he flew over from China as soon as the borders opened. The one who had been the only strong male figure in her life after her parents divorced and her grandfather passed away.

‘I’ve seen how you look at her,’ he had said. ‘And to be honest, I don’t know what to feel about it… But I can tell you really care about her. So I’m trusting her to you. I won’t give you the shovel talk or anything, because she’s old enough to make her own decisions. Just, whatever happens… Don’t make her cry.’

“This is for the best,” Heeseung said, clenching his fist. “This way, no one gets hurt worse than they already are.”

Heeseung was wrong, Riki thought as he stood in the company lobby with Sunoo and Mila. Because after finding out the reason Mila had been so reluctant to let him and Sunoo accompany her, there was nothing that hurt more than this.

They were three steps into the lobby of the company, before Mila was turning to them with a smile. “Well, there is my stop. You guys can head off now and do what you need to do. My friend should be here soon.”

Riki frowned. “We should at least wait with you until they’re here.”

“It’s not good to be alone, even if it’s in the company building,” Sunoo agreed. “There’s still weird people who can get in here and go after you when you don’t expect it.”

Mila opened her mouth to protest. But before she could, someone else cut in before her. “They’re right, you know.”

Mila froze at the voice. Riki and Sunoo looked confused at the new arrival, but bowed in respect for their senior. “Hello, sunbaenim.”

Riki recognised his face from a few dramas that he had watched with Mila and Sunoo, but this was the first time seeing him in real life.

Hwang Sejun laughed, putting his hands into the pockets of his pants, his Bulgari watch flashing under the light of the lobby. “No need to be formal. Any friend of Mila’s is a friend of mine.” 

Riki and Sunoo turned to Mila, the latter mouthing to her in disbelief. ‘You friend is Hwang Sejun?’

“It’s finally nice to meet you,” Sejun said with a charming grin. “Mila’s told me all about you.”

Mila frowned, nudging Sejun in the ribs. The things she told him about her members were all in drunk rambles, where she spilled her heart to the older man about her hopeless feelings. To his credit, he hadn’t shamed her in the slightest, instead comforting her by mentioning he too had been in a similar position once. (She doubted it was the same type of ‘love’ Mila felt, but she gave him the benefit of the doubt—just as she always did, for the sole fact that he was willing to help her in the only way he knew how.)

“Did she?” Sunoo asked, narrowing his eyes as Sejun’s hand found its way onto Mila’s waist. “She never mentioned anything about you, though.”

“Aww, didn’t you mention me to your members, doll? But we have such a special relationship.”

Mila swatted the man’s hand as he attempted to pinch her cheek. “Don’t say that. They’ll misunderstand.”

Riki bit the inside of his cheek, a pit forming in his gut at the tone and the nickname that Sejun used. He kept his glare on the older male, subconsciously standing to his full height. The two of them were eye to eye. But while Riki was tense, Sejun was relaxed, not the slightest bit intimidated by the younger male. 

“What relationship?” Riki asked.

Sejun laughed. “I think Mila should be the one to tell you. Isn’t that right, baby?”

Sunoo took a sharp breath at the endearment, and Mila instantly panicked.

“Don’t listen to him, he’s just joking around. We’re just friends, right, oppa?” Mila forced a smile as she looked at her members. Riki and Sunoo weren’t ready to finish the conversation, but Mila seemed like she wanted nothing more than to end it. So she was grabbing Sejun’s arm in hers (her members’ eyes flickered to the way she held it, like she would usually—or rather, used to—hold theirs) before dragging him away. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

“Wait,” Riki tried to go after the two, but was held back by Sunoo.

“Don’t,” Sunoo said. But his eyes narrowed as he watched Mila drag the man away, not missing the way he quickly leant down to kiss her on the cheek when they turned the corner.

Right, Riki thought, as he watched them with clenched fists.

He wasn’t her boyfriend, and he wasn’t even her senior. He was just another friend to her, who had no right to feel jealous—because he had a chance and missed it.

Mila froze at the door of the dorms, her hand lingering on the door knob. What did she even say? She didn’t think she could be any more humiliated tonight, but coming back to the dorms after rushing out in tears was the second most embarrassing token that could have happened.

She could only hope that the others weren’t still awake yet. But that hope immediately dwindled as soon  as the door opened, revealing Heeseung on the other side.

Mila should have known he would wait up for her. But she wished he hadn’t, because it only reminded her of why he loved him so much.

“You’re back?” Heeseung said, his voice fragile.

Mila simply hung her head and brushed past the older man as he held the door open, not wanting to let him see the tear streaks on her face. She clenched her fists, pulling on her sleeve as she shuffled awkwardly into the silent dorms.

“Everyone else is asleep,” Heeseung said.

“Okay.” Mila sniffled. “I’ll head to bed now.”

“Wait.”

Mila froze at the sound of Heeseung’s voice.

“About tonight…” Heeseung took a step forward, but then stopped, as if he were scared of getting too close. At that moment, all Mila could think about was if she just ruined her friendship with her members because she couldn’t keep her feelings to herself.

Heeseung clenched his hand into his fist when Mila turned to face him. All he wanted to do was to work up to her and bring her to his chest. To tell her how much he loved her, to let her know he wanted nothing more than to be hers. But he couldn’t.

“Sorry,” Mila whispered, her eyes stinging with unshed tears. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“It’s not that—” Heesejng had to physically hold himself back from running to her, to tell her that hearing her feelings for him made him the happiest man alive. “It’s just… we can’t love you the way you deserve.”

They weren’t prepared to face the challenges of loving her together.

Mila nodded. “I understand. And I—I really am sorry… I—” Mila let out a shaky breath. “I’m sorry. I’ll just go to bed now. Good night.”

Heeseung felt his heart shatter as Mila turned and walked away from him, shutting herself in her room. The sound of Kiara’s voice was barely heard from the room, and Heeseung was grateful that she was there to comfort Mila when he couldn’t.

In the other rooms, where the five remaining members were still awake, wide awake as they listened to Mila's muffled sobs through the silence of their once vibrant home.

Sunoo sniffled, unable to sleep when his other half was hurting. 

“It shouldn’t have to be this way,” he said.

But what else could they do? 

“You’re late.”

Mila almost jumped out of her skin when she walked into the Enhypen dorms at four o’clock in the morning, to see one Park Jongseong sitting on the couch, his arms folded across his chest and his eyes red from what Mila would assume was lack of sleep. She paused in the middle of taking off her shoes, looking like a child who got caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

Mila should have expected that this would happen. Jay was always the first one to wake up in the morning aside from Kiara; and it was just her rotten luck that he got up earlier than usual. Or maybe, not a coincidence at all. (She briefly  wondered if Sunoo and Riki had reported her meeting with Sejun, after all, and he had been waiting for her to get home from her outing, like the overprotective member he was.)

There was a moment of silence where the two of them continued to stare at each other, a silent question lingering in the air. Where were you?

“I was out with a friend.”

“Until two in the morning?” Jay asked tensely.

Mila pursed her lips. There really was no way she could explain this in a way that would calm the older man’s temper. He was one of the most patient with Mila, and rarely ever raised his voice at her. So people would be surprised to hear that he was second to Kiara when it came to scolding her, like he was now.

(She tried to push down the feeling in her gut that always appeared whenever he was upset with her, because she wanted nothing more than to be the reason he smiled instead.)

“Do you have any idea how worried we were when we saw that you weren’t here?” he continued. “And that you weren’t answering your calls?”

Shit. Mila hadn’t even thought to check her phone, since she had gotten used to being gone unnoticed. She reached for it, opening it to see a number of missed calls from several familiar contacts. And it was then when she realised what Jay said. She furrowed her brows. We?

At that moment, Jungwon walked out of the bathroom, causing Mila to hold her breath. He was wearing his hood over his head and didn’t say anything as he walked towards where she and Jay were. But the look on his face spoke volumes. “I was the one who woke up Jay-hyung,” he said, biting the inside of his cheeks. “I woke up in the middle of the night to get a drink and noticed your light was still on inside your room. So I went to see if you were okay… but then I noticed you weren’t there.”

Mila bit her lip. She had always been so careful, but one mistake was all it took to get caught. “That’s right. Okay. I left without saying anything, and I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you and got you worried. But I just wanted to get out of the dorms for a while.”

“And you couldn’t do that during the day?” Jungwon asked.

“Kiara-unnie goes out during the night as well,” Mila replied. “I don’t see why this is different.”

“Kiara-noona is different because at least we know she’s with people who will take care of her if anything happens. But we don’t know where you were, or who you were with.” Mila opened her mouth to speak, but Jay cut her off. “And don’t use one of your friends as an excuse. We called them too. None of them knew where you were either.”

“Well… I have plenty of friends you don’t know about.” Mila straightened her stance. “And I trust him, so there is no reason for you to worry. Thanks for looking out for me, really, but I’m a grown woman, I don’t need you to do that anymore.”

Jay and Jungwon had flinched slightly, as if those words in particular struck a chord within them. And maybe it did, because Mila had meant to say, ‘I don’t need your overprotectiveness,’ it was dangerously close to sounding like, ‘I don’t need you.’

And she didn’t at the time how much that hurt for them to hear.

Jay stood from his seat as Mila tried to walk away, posture stiff.  “Wait—‘him?’”

Mila almost cursed for having accidentally let that slip, only to rebuke her own thoughts. Why did it matter, if she were with a man or a woman, or how long they spent out together?

“That’s right.”

“You can’t just say that and expect us to be okay,” Jay muttered quietly.

“And why not? What’s it to you, if I was with a man, a friend, or a lover?“

There was a sharp inhale from Jay at the last word. A small part of Mila hoped that he would tell her that she didn’t need to find someone else to fill the void left by him and the others. That he was more than happy to take his rightful place in her heart, and allow her to enter his. And she didn’t know, but he felt the same way.

Because I love you, he wanted to say. And I could love you just as much as he could and more.

But he didn’t say a word. He simply clenched his fists, his shoulders tense.

“That’s right. It doesn’t matter. It shouldn't matter. Because we’re friends, and nothing more.”

Mila wasn’t going to stay as the girl with the one sided love—she refused to. She wasn’t going to put everything on hold for a slight chance that the ones she loved might be able to love her back. If this was what it took to move on, then that was what she would do.

Mila started to walk away, but a hand on her wrist stopped her leaving.

She looked up at the owner. “Yang Jungwon—”

“Was it Hwang Sejun?”

Mila felt all the air in her lungs rush out at the sound of Jungwon’s voice. His dark eyes bore into her, and she suddenly was reminded of the fact that he was no longer the young lovesick puppy that would follow her around when they were trainees.

She looked at Jay, and didn’t see any traces of confusion. So Riki and Sunoo told the others about earlier today, after all. 

“Right. Sunoo and Ni-Ki told Jungwon, and he told me. But the others still don’t know,” Jay said. “We thought we’d ask you first, to see if it was true.”

“Can he treat you better than we can?” Jungwon asked, snapping Mila out of her thoughts with the weight of his question.

Mila’s throat tightened. No, she wanted to say. No man on Earth could ever treat me better than you do. And no matter who came after me, I would still choose you. But she didn’t want to lay her heart bare to anyone again; she didn’t want to get hurt.

So she lied.

“Yes.” A flash of emotion reflected in Jungwon’s eyes. His fingers loosened their grasp, and Mila shook his hand off. “He can. So next time I’m gone, don’t worry about me. He’ll be able to take care of me just fine if anything happens.” She forced a smile. “And you can forget about what happened with my feelings. I know it put you in a difficult position…. So I promise to get rid of them.”

She didn’t stay to see their reaction, no matter how curious she was. In the end, she knew it was better this way: if they thought she had moved on, maybe they wouldn’t avoid her any more. Maybe, they could all go back to normal.

“Wait, Mila.”

Jay rushed after Mila as she walked towards the door of the dorms with the intention to leave. But something held him back. An invisible string tugging him backwards.

When Mila opened the door, Sejun was standing on the other side, holding up a familiar bag.

Mila froze. Jay and Jungwon were silent. Sejun looked between the three of them, before raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, sorry,” he said. “Did I interrupt something?”

There was once a time when Mila felt like there was no other place she could call home, except wherever it was her members were. But she would be blind not to notice that the home she had been building from the last few years wasn’t crumbling down.

When did she first start to feel so out of place in the one place she thought she truly belonged?

“Good job on today’s filming!” 

After bowing to the staff and giving her appreciation for their hard work, Mila found herself standing on the sidelines as she watched her male members interact with the woman in the midst—someone who wasn’t her or Kiara.

They were in the middle of shooting the concept trailer for their new comeback, and rather than using one of the female members as an actress for Sooha, the company hired someone else instead. She was a petty model under the company label, the same age as Mila. And perhaps that was why it stung so much when she watched them fawn over her like they used to do to her.

“Do you need help?” Sunghoon asked.

He held a hand out to the actress as she needed to stand from the snowy blanket that she sunk into when she fell over. The girl smiled charmingly, taking his hand like a princess would do to her prince. It left a bitter taste in Mila’s mouth. Because she recalled when she used to be called their princess, instead.

The actress suddenly slipped, causing the others to act fast. They all held out their hand on reflex to stop her from hurting herself, with Jake’s leaning on her back to help her stabilise her balance.

“Woah,” he laughed, “be careful.”

Mila couldn’t remember the last time they were so carefree around her. It felt like they were constantly drawing a line—one so thick they couldn’t even smile at her before they stepped back.

But there she was, watching them laugh with another girl without a care in the world.

“Come on,” Kiara said, breaking her out of her thoughts. “The director wants us.”

Mila frowned. It took her too long to rip her eyes from the sight, but even when she did, she could still see their wide smiles like they were tattooed in her head—smiles no longer aimed towards her.

“What do you usually do when you’re sad?” Mila asked Sejun that night. “Or when something really shitfy happens to you at work?”

Sejun hummed thoughtfully. “I drink… or I fuck. One or the other—sometimes even both.”

Mila scoffed. But even so, she found herself looking at the older man with a glint of curiosity. “Does it work?”

Sejun shrugged. “Sometimes.”

Mila asked again. “Would it work for me?”

Jake hated waking up early in the morning. But if there was one thing he hated more, it was the sight of the stranger standing in the middle of the living room—a man who he had never met before, but who Mila was very familiar with.

“Who are you?” he asked.

Mila looked at him, and he felt his heart squeeze when she bit her lip and looked away, tugging at the stranger’s sleeve. It was just another reminder that he was no longer someone she looked to when she wanted to smile. A reminder that they no longer had those ‘friendly’ dates where he would take her out to dinner, and she would peck him on the cheek as thanks.

“He was just leaving.” Mila pulled on the man’s sleeve again. “Thanks for dropping off my bag. You can go now.”

Jake narrowed his eyes in suspicion. Why would he have her bag?

“Why so quick to make me leave? I haven’t even introduced myself yet.” The man smiled, and Jake had to admit he was good-looking—which was yet another reason why he felt a prick of envy, and a tiny bit of insecurity. “I’m Hwang Sejun, nice to meet you.”

The man held out a hand to shake Jake’s. For a second, he felt that this ‘Sejun’ looked incredibly familiar. And that was when it hit—he was an actor in one of the dramas Mila had shown him a preview of, back before they got into this weird state of limbo.

Jake took his hand. “I’m Jake.”

Sejun smirked. “I know.”

Mila’s eyes flickered to Sejun and sighed. “Really, now’s not a good time. It’s way too early, and I want to get some sleep.”

“Right.” Sejun smiled at Mila charmingly. “I kept you up pretty late last night, didn’t I?”

Jake’s hand subconsciously tightened around Sejun’s hand. What was that supposed to mean? 

It wasn’t that Jake was innocent or naive. He had his fair share of girlfriends and kisses, and a few nights where he woke up hot and bothered. He also knew of the reputation that Sejun had. And it bothered him more than it should—-especially when he wasn’t even her boyfriend.

“Thanks for dropping off our Mila’s things, but it’s not a good time for us.” Jay sounded very calm, unlike what he was probably feeling inside. “Do you mind dropping by at another time?”

Or not at all, went unsaid.

“Ah, sorry. I just thought I should meet you guys first.” Sejun smirked at the way Jungwon bit the inside of his cheek. He pried his hand from Jake’s tightening grip, before shaking his hand nonchalantly. He faced Jungwon. “You’re the leader, right? Ah… but I should probably introduce myself to your oldest first. Where’s Heeseung?”

Mila glared, and Jake felt a tiny bit of satisfaction. “Heeseungie-oppa is asleep. Don’t bother him.”

Sejun didn’t get to speak when a new voice entered the conversation. 

“Why do you want to know?” Sunghoon walked into the living room, arms crossed over his chest as he sized up the new face in their dorms. “And what are you doing inside our home?”

Riki and Sunoo—likely having heard the commotion—followed closely after Sunghoon. Jake noticed a light of recognition, and wondered if they knew what the relationships between Mila and Sejun was.

To his credit, Sejun didn’t seem at all intimidated by the five men around him. “Well, I figured I should get along with you guys, considering my relationship with ‘your’  Mila.”

‘Your Mila.’ It sounded like a taunt, and from the cocky tilt of his lips, Sejun definitely meant it as one. Jake would admit that it got to him, too, because it wasn’t true. Mila wasn’t his—wasn’t any of theirs—and neither were they hers.

And nothing scared him more than the fact that he could lose her forever.

The room was tense. Sunghoon squared his shoulders as he glared at the older. “What do you mean by that?” His eyes then fell on Mila, who looked like she would rather be anywhere but here.

“What's he to you?”

Mila looked annoyed, her usually gentle features fixed in a scowl. “None of your business.”

Sunghoon obviously didn’t like her answer, considering the way he tensed his jaw, fist clenching and unclenching in his nervous tick. But Mila couldn’t care less.

Who was he—who were they—to demand who Sejun was to her? Who were they to seem so affronted by the fact that she could possibly be in a relationship with another man? They made it clear already that they didn’t intend to return her feelings, and that even a friendship with her was hard to maintain with the way they avoided all contact with her like she had the plague.

Mila was getting sick of all this male ego and testosterone. Sejun didn’t help her with his smug expression and his arm over her shoulder.

“Ah,” he said. “Well, it looks like you have something to sort out between you… So I’m just going to go ahead and leave.” He smiled down at Mila. “See you later, okay, princess?”

Sunghoon glared as Sejun leaned down to peck her cheek. Mila rolled her eyes, shrugging off his arm from her shoulder. It was just like him to try and rile up the others for his own entertainment. And she would have given him a firm rebuke if it weren’t for the fact that she was upset with them too.

“We won’t see you out,” Sunoo said.

Sejun laughed. “Thought so.”

Mila didn’t wait for the door to shut before she was already marching to her room, ignoring the way Sunghoon followed hot on her heels until he slipped between her and the door, barring her entry.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Mila asked with a shaky voice.

Sunghoon could go on and on about what was wrong with him. It drove him crazy every day that he wasn’t able to hold her the way he wanted to, that he couldn’t wake up to his face as she lay in his arms; or that he wasn’t able to kiss her until both their lips were swollen, that he wasn’t able to whisper ‘I love you’s into her ears before they fell asleep at night…

The thought that someone else might be able to do those things–to shower her with affection and attention–was enough to send him over the brink of sanity. Loving her seemed to be the only thing that was right; but he still managed to mess that up because he couldn’t stand the fact that he wasn’t the only one in her heart.

He couldn’t say that, though. He couldn’t express everything he felt so simply. So all he could manage to say was, “Do you love him?”

Mila had enough. God, she hated that she was so emotional. But this was just too unfair.

It was fine that they didn’t love her; it was fine that they couldn’t accept her feelings for them. But why did they have to act so jealous? It frustrated her. Because it made her heart hope that there was a chance that they could feel the same way for her that she did.

But that couldn’t be true. It just couldn’t. Or they wouldn’t be here to begin with.

“You– seriously what is wrong with all of you…?” Mila took in a deep breath, before turning to the rest of the men, who were still in the living room. She let go. “No, I don’t love him. And no, he’s not my boyfriend.” Relief crossed their faces, but she wasn’t done with them yet. “He’s just someone I’ve been sleeping with whenever I feel alone or miserable, because I couldn’t get over my stupid feelings for you!”

Mila heard a small gasp, but she didn’t know who it was from. Her eyes were too blurry with tears to see.

“Do you have any idea how crappy it feels? All I want to do is forget about my feelings so that we can all go back to how we were—but all you do is give me mixed signals that mess with my head!”

Mila swallowed the lump in her throat.

“Why are you acting like it hurts all of a sudden if I’m with someone else? You have no idea what it’s like to love someone who doesn’t even look your way. You have no idea what I feel whenever you ignore me, but smile at other girls like everything is okay. And—and I’m sick of chasing after you like some lovesick idiot because I can’t move on because—”

Mila never got to finish what she was saying, because the next thing she knew, she was being spun around, and Sunghoon’s hands found their way onto her cheeks, before pressing his lips firmly against hers. Her eyes widened at the feeling of his desperate kiss, her ability to breathe complete stolen from her. But a swarm of butterflies erupted in her stomach, flying their way into the chambers of her chest, where they settled among her widely racing heart.

Her legs grew weak, and she almost fell to her knees as Sunghoon pulled back, his dark eyes gazing into hers. 

“What are you doing?” she whispered.

“Something I should have done a long time ago,” Sunghoon replied.

“But you—” Mila swallowed. “You don’t… I thought you didn’t…”

The dorm was quiet. And for a second, it felt like no one had the words to say. But right then, all of a sudden, they heard the voice of the eldest coming from down the hallway. Mila looked at Heeseung, whose eyes held a mixture of longing and regret as he walked up to Mila.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “This was my fault.” He looked at the others. “I said we shouldn’t get too close to you, because we didn’t want you to get hurt… and because we didn’t even know what to do with our own feelings.”

Mila shook her head, clearly still dazed from the kiss. “No. That’s not… I don’t need you to apologise. I just—I just needed to vent.” She wiped her cheeks and sniffled, stepping away from Sunghoon. “I don’t– I’m going to my room. I don’t know what’s happening, or why you’re telling me this all of a sudden, so...”

“No.” Sunoo stepped forward. “Don’t go yet. Just… hear us out for a second.”

Mila looked reluctant, so Heeseung continued. “The thing is, we do love you. More than you know. But it wasn’t until you confessed that we were actually realising that there was a chance that we could actually be with you.”

Mila let out a shaky breath. “That can’t be…”

“It’s true.” Jungwon was the one to speak. “We actually talked about it when you left the room that night… We were trying to decide what to do—because all of us liked you for a while now, but none of us expected that you would like all seven of us back.”

Mila couldn’t believe what she was hearing right now. She had gone for so long wondering what it would take to get them to love her in return, or for her to fall out of love with them. She had gone so long wallowing in her own self-pity and doubt, that she didn’t even know the extent of what was happening within the hearts of the others.

She assumed she had rightfully been rejected because they had seen her more of a sister than a lover, or because they were disturbed by the fact that she could love more than one person at a time. It didn’t occur to her that there might be something more behind it.

Her throat felt dry, and she couldn’t find words to say.

“We agreed that we would all lay off and let you choose,” Jay said. “But then we found out how you felt, and then we all disagreed about what to do next. So…”

“So I said that we would just lay off entirely, so that no one would get hurt.” Heeseung looked down at Mila’s wide eyes. “But it hurt–a lot. It hurt because we finally knew that we had a chance… and we decided not to take it.”

“So why now?” Mila asked breathily. “Why not tell me this earlier?”

“That was partially my fault,” Jay said.

“And mine.” Mila turned around to face Sunghoon, whose face had softened considerably—with that same look in his eyes he would always have around her, before everything went up in flames.

“We had a chance to save all of us the trouble, and to just court you together–as a group.”

Mila let in a sharp breath at the thought, an annoying flutter of both hope and wonder filling her chest. Was that even possible? She had thought about it, had dreamt of it many times… But it was different hearing it said aloud.

“But some of us were a bit selfish and didn’t want to go through with it. Until we realised that it would be better to do that, than to see you with someone else.” 

Jake rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s really selfish, we know.”

Mila shook her head. “I know about being selfish… but you guys never were. Before… what happened, there wasn’t anything you didn’t do to make me happy, and I–I got jealous even at the thought of you doing the same to someone else.”

Mila didn’t see the way their eyes softened when she admitted it, because they would know all about the sort of longing and pining that came from seeing the person they loved drift further from them. 

“You’re not selfish,” she whispered. “I was—am the selfish one. Because I could never just love one of you… It was always all or nothing for me. And I don’t blame you for not feeling comfortable with the idea, because you deserve someone who will treat you like you’re the only one for them, just like you deserve.”

“Don’t say that.” Riki frowned, reaching up to wipe the stray tear that ran down her cheek.

“Please tell me that this is not a dream.” Mila’s eyes shone as they looked up at his. “I don’t want to wake up if it is.”

The boys laughed.

“It’s not a dream, byeol-ah.” Sunoo squeezed her hand beside her. “We’re telling you the truth. We really do love you. And we’re sorry for not saying it sooner.”

“But if you’d let us,” Jungwon continued, “we really want to try and make it work.”

There was a look of understanding between the seven of them, and Mila didn’t know if there was even a second left for her to doubt. But there were so many things she would have to handle: her relationship with Sejun, the idea of having seven boyfriends, the reaction from others… And she was unsure of how she would deal with them when the time came—if she agreed to what they were asking.

All she knew was that she wanted to be theirs. Maybe, just maybe, they could make it work.

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