Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Took you long enough,” Sunoo huffed, nudging Jungwon with his elbow as the latter plopped down at their lunch table.

Jungwon let out a tired sigh, tired of people, tired of his classes, tired in general. (Thankfully, in his favor, it's Friday.) His tray clattered a little too loudly against the table. “Lunch looks so unappetizing today…” he muttered, poking at the lukewarm mashed potatoes with a plastic spork like they personally offended him.

“Is this even food?”

“At this point, I think they re-serve all the food people throw out..”

Jungwon chuckled softly but didn’t respond, his gaze drifting across the crowded cafeteria. He wasn’t really in the mood to eat, talk, or exist, honestly.

And then he saw him.

The boy.

He entered like he owned the building—red hair catching the blinding fluorescent lights just right. He strolled casually toward a small group of guys at a table near the windows, his friends probably, hands shoved deep into his pockets. Shoulders relaxed, His baby blue dress shirt clung slightly to his lithe frame, the fabric a little wrinkled, the school’s uniform tie hanging loosely around his neck.

Jungwon blinked.

Pretty. That’s the first word that came to mind. Pretty lips. Pretty eyes. Pretty silver piercings, helix complimenting his ears perfectly, bangs fell just above his lashes, swaying ever so slightly when he turned his head to laugh at something one of his friends said. Not to mention his perfect pearly teeth?

Jungwon’s spoon stopped mid-stir. He didn’t even realize he was staring until Sunoo followed his line of sight.

“Oh?” Sunoo whispered, eyes wide. “Do you know him?”

Jungwon’s brain had short-circuited. “N...No.”

He wanted to though..

But he was too nervous to even move.

Even though he didn’t know the guy’s name, didn’t know his grade, his class, or even his voice—Jungwon already knew one thing for certain.

He was completely fucked over.

"So, what the hell was that? Love at first sight??" Sunoo draws out the first word, tackling Jungwon’s back like an overexcited cat.

The sudden weight makes Jungwon stumble a step forward, his grip tightening on the three heavy textbooks tucked under his right arm. His canvas bag, already threatening to slide off his left shoulder, slips dangerously low. He doesn’t have time for this. Third class of the day, and he’s already exhausted.

“Jesus, Sunoo,” Jungwon mutters, barely above a whisper. “Could you maybe not tackle me in the middle of campus?"

But Sunoo only grins wider, arms still draped around his shoulders, completely unbothered. His bleach-blond hair is catching the sunlight like a halo. 

“You’re not getting off the hook that easy,” Sunoo chirps, tone way too enthusiastic for someone with zero stake in this situation. “You stared at that guy like he was the last strawberry latte on earth.”

Jungwon groans under his breath. He’s trying very hard not to replay the moment in his head again, but the red-haired boy from the lunch is still stuck there like gum on the bottom of his shoe. That soft smile, the way his his body shook when he giggled. His piercings glinting in the light. Cliché as hell, and yet… here he was, heart still racing two hours later.

“I didn’t stare,” Jungwon grumbles. “I looked. Briefly.”

“Mhm. Briefly, like, thirty uninterrupted seconds.”

Jungwon tries to shake him off. “Get off me.”

Sunoo finally releases him with a dramatic sigh, clutching his imaginary pearls. “Fine, be like that. No appreciation for your matchmaker-slash-wingman.”

“I didn’t ask for one,” Jungwon mutters, picking up the pace as they approach the lecture hall. His shoulders sag just a bit more.

Sunoo jogs beside him, hands now stuffed into his jacket pockets, still grinning like he knows everyone's secrets. “So, are you ever gonna talk to him? Or are you gonna keep making intense eye contact with him from ten feet away until you graduate?”

If you can even call it eye contact. 

“I—” Jungwon hesitates, taking in a deep breath, blinking against the harsh noon light. “I don’t know.”

He stops outside the door to his class, feet dragging a little. The hallway buzzes around them, filled with chatter and the distant hum of fluorescent lights.

“I really need to go,” he adds quietly, already bracing for the crowd of students he’ll have to awkwardly squeeze past if he’s even a second late.

Sunoo watches him for a second, then softens. “Sorry, I’m just messing with you. Good luck, Wonnie.” He reaches up to pat his head, then blows a kiss and waves before skipping off down the hallway.

Jungwon watches him go, exasperated but not ungrateful. Sunoo’s absolutely ridiculous—but he’s also really sweet. And honestly, he’s the only person who’s made an effort since orientation week.

God, he’s sickening, Jungwon thinks, adjusting his grip on his books and sighing as he reaches for the classroom door. He’s lucky he’s, like… the only friend I have.

School is over for the day, and Jungwon would rather melt into the pavement than take responsibility for his own body and walk himself off campus—but he does it anyway, dragging his feet like each step is an affront to gravity.

His backpack feels heavier than usual, even though it's nearly empty. Probably just guilt weighing him down for existing in a world where eye contact is expected and strangers talk to you like it's normal. He checks his phone. 6:04 PM. Sunoo's probably already home by now. Internships ended at around 5, and Sunoo never stays later than he has to. Smart. 

Left alone with no one to stick beside himself, Jungwon makes the decision to walk to the nearby cafe just outside campus. He’s not particularly hungry, but he thinks he can manage a muffin. Something light.. And maybe a strawberry latte.

By the time he gets to the cafe entrance, the sky's washed in that dull orange color that makes everything feel a little too sentimental. He sharply inhales, then pushes open the door, the bell chiming far too loudly for his comfort.

He steps inside.

Warm air, a faint smell of coffee, slow R&B music playing overhead, and—

A flash of red catches his eye behind the counter. A familiar smile. Red hair and silver piercings that pull his breath up into his throat before he can think to stop it.

Do I… know him? Or them?

He hesitates near the door like someone who's forgotten their purpose. He can’t be sure, but that face—it’s like one he’s seen before. The boy at lunch. The red-haired boy Sunoo wouldn't stop bugging him about. No..

Heeseung.

That's what the name tag says, pinned neatly to the apron worn by the red-haired boy. Heeseung. The name fits too well. Like calling something beautiful and it already knowing that it is.

Jungwon shakes himself out of it and scurries over to the menu board, pretending to study it even though he already knows what he wants. Strawberry latte. Blueberry muffin. The usual. Familiar. Safe. Not unlike the boy behind the counter, unfortunately.

The line is mercifully short. Just two people ahead of him. He watches them order and move to sit, then—too quickly—his turn comes.

He steps forward. His brain goes completely, violently blank.

Heeseung looks up, smile ready, like this is the easiest thing in the world.

“Hi! What can I get for you?”

Jungwon’s mouth dries up immediately. “J-just a strawberry latte and a b-blueberry muffin,” he stammers, his voice tripping over itself on the way out. Oh my God, Kill me. Just do it. Burn me right here in front of the pastry case.

Heeseung doesn’t blink. Doesn’t tease. Just smiles gently, grabbing a cup. “What’s the name for the order?”

“Jungwon…” he mutters. Barely audible. He stares at the counter like it might open up and swallow him whole.

But Heeseung hears. He hums, like it’s a nice name, and scribbles it down in neat letters on the side of the cup. Jungwon watches, mortified, as if the name on that paper cup is praying on his downfall. Heeseung starts tapping away at the register in front of the two of them. 

“That’ll be 8,000 won.”

He fumbles through his wallet, fingers trembling just slightly as he taps his card, bows automatically, and hurries off to the nearest empty seat like a man escaping warfare.

He winces, curling in on himself as he slides into the corner booth, forehead gently knocking the table.

“Fuck my life,” he complains quietly, to no one.

The bell rings again as another customer walks in, but Jungwon doesn't lift his head. His ears are still ringing from the sound of Heeseung’s voice—the way he said Jungwon like it was something sweet, not something clumsy and sweaty and full of burning regret.

He should’ve just gone home and made ramyeon.

Chapter Text

The walk back to the dorm is uneventful, save for the mental rerun of his humiliation at the cafe playing in Jungwon’s head like a cursed Instagram Reel. Every time he remembers his own voice failing while trying to speak, his spine folds in on itself like a shitty lawn chair.

He gets home and lets out a sigh that sounds a little too dramatic for someone who just had a muffin and socialized for about fifteen seconds.

Kicking his shoes off by the door, Jungwon heads straight for his desk. His dorm room is decently sized, shared with one disaster of a human being—who, oddly enough, is nowhere to be seen.

He shrugs, assuming Ni-ki is off being tall, mysterious—to some for sure, but definitely not Jungwon—and 80% legs somewhere.

The desk is absolute chaos. A tragic combination of class notes, snack wrappers, and a stress ball that he’s definitely bitten once. Maybe twice. He doesn’t remember.

He organizes his notes with the precision of someone trying to forget everything they'd ever done. Color-coded folders. Highlighters by shade. Sticky notes aligned somewhat perfectly. Somewhere between smoothing out a crumbled worksheet and restacking his books by subject, Jungwon finally remembers:

“Oh. Right. Ni-ki actually exists.”

As if summoned by the power of (child) neglect, a loud thump echoes from the hallway—something crashing into a door. Or through it. Jungwon flinches but makes no move to investigate. That’s probably fine.

Instead, he heads to the bathroom.

The water in the shower is warm and comforting. He lathers shampoo into his brown hair, massaging it in until it glistens like something you'd see in a beauty commercial. It’s nice, having this moment of silence.

Until—unfortunately—Heeseung’s face floats into his mind. That pretty smile. That hair the color of strawberries. The way he said “Jungwon” like it meant something.

Jungwon groans, banging his head lightly against the tiled wall.

“I talked to him for ten seconds,” he mumbles to the faucet like it owes him answers.

Still, he can’t help it. The thought of Heeseung is like a sweet aftertaste that refuses to go away.

He finishes up, dries his hair, and drags himself into bed, wrapping himself under all his blankets. He tries not to think about red hair. He tries to focus on sleep. But his brain has other plans.

They’re at the same cafe.

But it’s sunny inside—too sunny. Warm light beams down through the windows, casting golden halos over everything, shining perfectly on Heeseung's face. There’s no one else around. It’s quiet. Intimate.

Heeseung’s sitting across from him, laughing softly. Jungwon doesn’t know what he said to make him laugh, but he must’ve been funny. Or charming. Or both. Dream logic.

Heeseung leans forward, his hand brushing against Jungwon’s.

“Is this okay?” he asks.

Jungwon nods dumbly, his heart trying to beat out of his chest and sprint into the street (and possibly get run over).

Then—suddenly, effortlessly—Heeseung kisses him. Soft and sure and impossibly warm.

And Jungwon—

Wakes up at 4:02 AM like he’s been personally attacked by Cupid himself. In a cold sweat. Staring at the ceiling like it just told him his credit card declined at therapy. Which he might as well sign up for because of this red-haired fucker.

He sits up. Blinks. Breathes.

“What the hell,” he rasps.

His face is red. His chest feels tight. He’s not sure if he just fell in love or had a medical emergency in his sleep.

He gets up, dragging himself to the bathroom to wash his face in silence. Then he gets dressed, going about his morning routine as if nothing happened—though his hands are shaking when he makes his coffee and he stares into the cup like it’s going to offer him emotional clarity.

By 6:30, he’s dressed, packed, and sitting on the edge of his bed looking like he just survived a Slasher movie.

Ni-ki finally appears, rubbing sleep from his eyes, hoodie half on, his hair sticking out in five different directions like a cartoon character who just got struck by lightning.

He tilts his head and blinks at Jungwon.

“…Why do you look like that?”

Jungwon turns, sipping his lukewarm coffee. “I slept.”

Ni-ki stares. “You look like sleep tried to murder you.”

“I’m fine,” Jungwon says with the most strained smile Ni-ki thinks he's ever seen.

“You’re dressed. At 6:30. On a Monday.” He deadpans.

“I’m just being productive.”

Ni-ki squints. “Did someone just die?”

“No?”

“…Are you dead?”

Jungwon finishes his coffee, stands, and pats Ni-ki gently on the arm like a tired, overworked dad would. “Have a good morning, Ni-ki.”

Then walks out.

Ni-ki watches him go, blinking slowly. “What the fuck did I miss.”

Jungwon's first class went fine, like usual. 

The professor drones on, the room buzzing faintly with scribbled pens and half-hearted coughs. Jungwon stays focused—sort of. His pen moves when it’s supposed to, his notes stay neat and orderly, and he’s keeping up. But none of it sticks.

It’s muscle memory now, these early classes. Routine. Repetitive. Predictable.

He doesn’t feel present in it. Not fully. There’s a subtle weight behind his eyes, the kind that comes from running on too little sleep and too many thoughts that loop in silence. His mind drifts in the quiet parts of the lecture, chewing on old conversations, hypothetical ones, things that haven’t even happened.

Heeseung’s name is written somewhere between the margins of his thoughts. And it stays there.

And then—of course—here comes Sunoo.

Sharp, bright, and dramatically horrified as soon as he sees him.

“Oh my god, what happened to your face? You look like you haven’t slept in a year. Are you sick? Are you dying?”

“I’m—fine,” Jungwon mutters, half-wincing. Ni-ki had asked him the same thing earlier. Does he really look that bad?

Sunoo leans in, squinting, “Did you cry?”

“No—!”

“Did someone make you cry?”

“No!”

“Did you cry over that dude?”

Jungwon opens his mouth, then closes it. There’s a beat of silence before he exhales through his nose.

“...Alright.”

Sunoo gasps so loud it turns heads.

“Oh my god, did you talk to him?”

“I’m not talking about this.”

“That’s not a no!”

Sunoo doesn’t push the question further. He just reaches into his massive tote bag and pulls out a carton of strawberry milk.

Jungwon blinks at him, brows drawing together. “...Why do you carry this.”

“For moments like this,” Sunoo replies proudly, pressing it into his hands. “Drink it. You look ill.”

Jungwon does, mostly because he knows Sunoo will bug him for the rest of the day if he doesn’t. But the milk is cold, and the sweetness cuts through the morning fog in his chest. He won’t say it out loud, but it helps. A little.

They walk together down the hallway, Sunoo’s arm linked with his.

Sunoo’s lecture doesn’t start for another thirty minutes, so he insists on walking Jungwon to his next class.

“You need emotional supervision,” he says. “And also I look cute today and want to be seen.”

Jungwon lets him. It’s easier than arguing. And honestly, Sunoo does look cute—glossed lips, school uniform styled in his own way, perfectly coordinated accessories.

Sunoo once told him he had the energy of an “overworked, exhausted mother of five,” and Jungwon hadn’t even argued with that. What was the point? He wasn't totally wrong.

His morning classes end faster than expected. He’s attentive, efficient, always at least a page ahead of the syllabus. It’s what he’s good at. He studies quickly, picks things up fast, and doesn’t linger on questions once he’s solved them.

But even as his pen moves across the page, his thoughts aren't staying still.

There’s a rhythm to his day, but it feels thin now—fragile. Every other moment, his mind circles back to a face. A voice.

Heeseung’s voice.

The way it had shaped his name. Soft, Familiar, even when it shouldn’t have been.

Jungwon shoves the thought down as he packs up. His chest feels a little tight, like he forgot to exhale somewhere in the middle of class.

He takes his lunch out to the courtyard. The sun’s high now. The breeze is cool and faintly sweet with the smell of early summer—cut grass, distant flowers, the sharp warmth of pavement.

He just wants to find a quiet table.

But he barely takes two steps before he sees him.

Heeseung.

Sitting under a tree near the corner of the courtyard, laptop on his knee, chopsticks in one hand as he eats convenience store ramyeon.

The light hits his hair just right—red and gold—and everything about him looks... unbothered. Comfortable in a way Jungwon never is. Even his slouch looks intentional.

Jungwon stops.

Just stops walking altogether.

His thoughts hiccup mid-step and suddenly he’s just standing there, staring like an idiot, mouth parting slightly as his brain fails to reroute.

The sounds around him—the rustling trees, the conversations, footsteps—blur into the background. All he hears is the pulse in his ears.

His fingers curl a little tighter around his lunch container.

His mouth is dry.

There’s nothing extraordinary about the moment—Heeseung’s just there, eating and scrolling through something—but it feels like everything.

What would it feel like to sit beside him?
Would he smile at me? Would he even remember my face?

Heeseung is real and close and still so out of reach. Jungwon doesn’t even know him—not really—and yet something in him aches with the possibility of maybe.

A voice cuts in beside him.

Familiar. Distant.

“Why are you standing like that?”

Jungwon doesn’t even need to look. He knows it's Ni-ki.

“Did your brain short-circuit?” Ni-ki adds, stepping around him. “Oh wait. Never mind. I see it now.”

Jungwon says nothing. He doesn’t have the mental energy to explain whatever this is.

Ni-ki glances at Heeseung, then back at Jungwon.

“Is that the guy?”

Jungwon’s gaze flicks back to Heeseung—just for a second.

“Yeah.”

Ni-ki lets out a low whistle. “I don't blame you. He’s... wow. You gonna talk to him?”

Jungwon stays quiet.

His throat feels tight. His chest, tighter.

Heeseung shifts, brushing his hair back as he reads something on the screen. Jungwon watches the movement like it means something. Like it’s something he should memorize.

I don’t even know him properly.

The idea of Heeseung is already lodged somewhere too deep to pull out. The thought of him lingers in everything now—he wishes he could just forget him and his existence. But he doesn’t really want to.

“You look like you’re going to pass out,” Ni-ki mutters, not in a mean way, just a tad bit worried.

Jungwon doesn’t respond.

He barely notices when Ni-ki sits beside him, their knees bumping under the table. The real world feels far away while his eyes stay trained on the boy across the grass, who still hasn’t looked his way.

And then, he does.

Heeseung looks up.

Their eyes meet.

Just for a second.

.

But it’s enough.

Jungwon turns away, swallowing back the rush in his throat. His heartbeat’s louder than it should be.

“Fuck,” he whispers, he wants to shrivel up and die right now.

Ni-ki glances at him, sharp but calm. “You okay?”

Jungwon lies.

“Yeah.”

But he’s not. Not really.

Because Heeseung’s smile hasn’t left his memory since the day he saw him.

And now it’s the only thing that feels real at all.

Chapter Text

It's Tuesday. Jungwon’s hoodie is pulled up over his head, his backpack slung on one shoulder like he barely had the energy to lift it. He’s not tired from lack of sleep (though he hasn’t been sleeping well). It’s emotional exhaustion. The kind that sits on your chest all day and makes everything feel just slightly too loud.

Heeseung hasn’t done anything to him. That’s what makes this worse.

Heeseung didn’t say something cruel, didn’t laugh behind his back, didn’t even reject him.

He just smiled. Said Jungwon’s name in a soft voice. Wrote it on a cup.

And that alone has ruined Jungwon’s week.

Because now, every time he sees red hair in a crowd, his heart flinches. 

You’re pathetic, he tells himself, walking faster between classes, pulling his hoodie strings tighter. You’re literally hiding from a barista.

And yet, when he glances toward the cafe windows, just to check, he still looks for him.

Heeseung isn’t even there.

It doesn’t make him feel better.

Wednesday doesn’t roll by—it body-checks Jungwon in the hallway and keeps walking. He sees Heeseung again, this time across the campus lawn.

He’s sitting on the wide cement steps near the music building, legs stretched out, crossed at his feet, head tipped back like he’s sunbathing. There’s someone beside him—some girl from upperclass lit. Long black hair, nice posture, laughing at something Heeseung says.

Jungwon stops walking.

He watches for maybe three seconds too long, his lunchbox clutched awkwardly in his hand.

Heeseung is smiling again. That same relaxed grin, dimple showing.

The girl nudges his arm. He doesn’t pull away.

Jungwon’s throat goes dry.

It shouldn’t matter. He doesn’t know him. There’s nothing between them, not really.

And yet something ugly and heavy settles in his chest, like he’s just swallowed a rock.

He forces himself to keep walking, ducking his head so they don’t see him. He doesn’t even realize he’s holding his breath until he rounds the corner and exhales all at once.

Sunoo finds him in the library later, sitting at a table with his books open but untouched.

“You’ve been weird again,” he says, arms crossed.

“I’m fine,” Jungwon replies, voice flat.

“Are you mad at someone? Is someone mad at you? Do I need to fight someone?”

“No.”

“Is this about him?”

Jungwon doesn’t answer.

He doesn’t know how to say, I’m jealous of a girl I don’t know over a boy I don’t know just because he looked happy and I wasn’t the reason why.

So instead, he shakes his head. “Drop it, Sunoo.”

Sunoo stares at him a moment longer before sighing and sliding a chocolate bar across the table.

“Eat it before you make yourself sick with feelings.”

It rains Thursday morning. Not enough for umbrellas—just enough to make everything feel slightly miserable.

Jungwon’s hair is damp, sticking to his forehead. His backpack strap digs into his shoulder, and there’s a faint headache pressing behind his eyes.

He thinks he’ll make it through the day without incident. He’s already mapped out his routes between buildings to avoid the cafe. He even plans to eat lunch in a stairwell, where no one will bother him.

But fate doesn’t care about his planning.

He passes through the east corridor after class—just once—and glances through the open double doors toward the cafe patio.

Heeseung’s there.

Not just working.

He’s off-duty, leaning against a table with his apron tucked into his back pocket, sleeves pushed up, laughing with some guy Jungwon vaguely recognizes from the soccer club. He swears his name is along the lines of.. John? Jake? Jaeyun? Something like that.. The guy leans in, says something close to his ear, pressing into his side.

Heeseung laughs.

Jungwon feels the jealousy hit fast. Hot. Bitter. Unreasonable.

It’s the worst version of himself that surfaces—quiet, bitter, and possessive over something that was never his. He tells himself it doesn’t matter, that he shouldn’t care, that he’s making a fool of himself by even watching—

But his feet don’t move.

Heeseung is all soft lines and casual touches, twirling a plastic stirrer between his fingers, leaning slightly toward the guy’s voice like he’s letting him in.

And Jungwon—

Jungwon wants to be the one he leans toward.

He grips the strap of his backpack so tightly his knuckles go pale, then finally turns away.

He doesn't go to class that afternoon.

He sits alone in his dorm room, textbook open but unread, and stares at the page until the lines blur together.

His phone stays dark. His chest stays heavy.

He thinks about deleting Heeseung’s face from his head. Every detail. Every imagined conversation.

But the moment he closes his eyes, there it is again.

The cafe. The red hair. The stupid sweet smile.

Fuck his life.

Fortunately, it's Friday though Jungwon wakes up with that feeling in his chest again. Restlessness.

Something between dread and hope.

He hasn’t been back to the cafe since like, last week. It’s not like he’s avoiding it—it’s just that he knows Heeseung works there, and even though every part of him wants to see that red hair behind the counter again, it makes his skin buzz with discomfort and anxiety. He doesn’t know what to do with this vulnerability. It makes him feel small. Exposed.

But still... Friday feels different. A little lighter.

So he walks.

Hands in his jacket pockets. Shoulders tight.

The cafe bell chimes as he pushes the door open.

And of course.

Heeseung is there.

Behind the counter in a black apron, sleeves rolled up, red hair slightly messy from the warm humidity inside. He looks up—and smiles.

Not a customer service smile. Not a polite smile.

A him smile.

Jungwon forgets how to breathe for a second.

He walks up, eyes flicking toward the menu even though he already knows what he wants.

Heeseung leans on the counter just a little, voice gentle. “Hi,” he says. “What can I get you?”

Jungwon’s throat tightens. “Just a s-strawberry latte,” he mutters, “p-please.” Dimple protruding as he looks down at his shoes.

Heeseung nods, already reaching for a cup and a marker.

He didn't ask for Jungwon’s name. Jungwon looks up, expecting something..

Instead, he starts writing on the side of the cup with slow, neat strokes, and Jungwon reads it upside down.

Jungwon.

“Yes, Jungwon... I remember.”

Jungwon freezes.

His ears burn, face flushing so fast it’s embarrassing. He fumbles for his wallet, hands shaking slightly as he taps to pay. He bows quickly, mutters something that isn’t exactly a thank-you, and rushes to his usual corner seat without looking back.

He sinks into the chair and stares at the wood of the table like it’s the only stable thing left on Earth.

His heart doesn’t slow down. If anything, it gets worse.

Then—footsteps.

He doesn’t look up until a cup is placed in front of him.

Strawberry latte. His name written in curved black ink.

And just beneath it—a phone number.

Next to it, a small drawn heart.

Jungwon blinks.

His gaze lifts slowly, and Heeseung’s standing there, one hand absently playing with the hair at the nape of his neck, smiling softly. Eyes holding his, unwavering.

“Hope you text me,” Heeseung says casually. Like it’s nothing. Jungwon's vision blurs.

He swears he's dreaming. 

Then Heeseung turns and walks away, that same proud little grin tugging at the edge of his mouth.

Jungwon just stares at the cup.

He doesn’t touch it.

He can’t.

His brain goes blank, then too full.

Heeseung remembered him.
He wrote his name like he’d been waiting to.

And now—he wants Jungwon to text him.

Jungwon swallows hard.

Curls his fingers around the cup like it might ground him.

And lets himself blush, deep and helpless, in the corner of the cafe.

Chapter Text

Heeseung knew Jungwon would come in on Friday.

He didn't have proof. Nothing to bet on. But he felt it, somehow—like the air had been softer all afternoon. Something subtle but certain. He felt it when he tied his apron, when he swept the counter, when he glanced at the door each time the bell chimed.

Then Jungwon walked in.

Small, quiet, pulling his hoodie sleeves over his hands, like he hoped no one would see him. Like the universe hadn’t been tilting toward him all week.

Heeseung didn’t smile right away. He felt it first. That warmth blooming in his chest like a secret.

Then he grinned.

He kept his tone gentle. "Hi. What can I get you?"

Jungwon didn’t look him in the eye, voice barely above a whisper. “Just a strawberry latte, p-please.”

God, he’s cute.

Heeseung wrote his name on the cup without asking—he wasn’t going to pretend not to know it. Jungwon’s name had been replaying in his mind like a broken record since the first time he said it out loud.

"Yes, Jungwon... I remember."

The way Jungwon froze? Blushed to his ears? Adorable.

Heeseung watched him stumble off to the corner seat like he was escaping a warzone. He couldn’t help the grin that tugged at his mouth. He was whipped. Completely and shamelessly.

So yeah. He wrote his number on the cup.

And a heart on top of that.

And when he placed it in front of him, he leaned in just a little closer than necessary. Not to be a tease (well… maybe a little), but mostly because he wanted to see those wide eyes again. The ones that looked at him like he was more than just an acquaintance.

8:34 PM
His phone buzzed.

Unknown Number

hello? this is junfwon

jungwon*

from uni.. the cafe..

i think you wrote your number on my latte, i hope you weren't joking.

Heeseung smiled. Full-blown, nose-scrunching smile.

Heeseung Lee

!Oh, Hello Jungwon

.I was hoping you'd text me soon

.I did write my number on your latte. It was not a joke, I promise

Jungwon

oh ok

cool, just checking

you looked a little too confident and that scared me 

Heeseung chuckled, forehead falling against his pillow.

Heeseung Lee

.I assure you, my confidence is very fake. Please don't be scared though, I don't bite

.You’re extremely cute when you panic

Jungwon

shut up i'm done texting you

you can't just say that????/

Heeseung Lee

.And yet you’re still texting me

.I’m flattered

He couldn't stop grinning. His roommate, Jay, was trying to sleep across the room and Heeseung kept making ugly laughing noises into his blanket. Every reply from Jungwon was like a tiny dopamine hit straight to the heart.

They texted about everything and nothing.

Jungwon was hilarious, ranting about professors, how difficult his chem class is, how Sunoo thinks Jungwon’s lactose intolerance is “psychological.”

Heeseung replied in full sentences. Polite but always playful. Dropping little hits on how he finds Jungwon adorable.

And Jungwon kept going.

Jungwon

i’m usually not this talkative nor annoying

probably?

but im usually not this annoying to cute boys

wait

ignor that last line

unless u dont wantto ignore it

in which case, pretend i saif it with confidence

Heeseung Lee

.Noted

.For the record, I like when you’re annoying, It adds to the charm

.And I think you’re very adorable—whether or not you believe it yet

Jungwon didn’t reply for six minutes after that. Heeseung stared at the screen, unsure if he pushed too far.

Jungwon

ok stop

please stop

actually don’t

actually maybe stop for like 3 minutes so i can breathe

Heeseung Lee

.I’ll give you five minutes

.Use them wisely, Wonnie

It's now 1 in the morning, They have been texting since they both got home

Jungwon

u make it hard to sleep

in the bad way but also the good way

idk what that means but i hope you got what i was saying

Heeseung Lee

.I understood perfectly

.Sleep soon, Jungwon. You’ll hate me in the morning if you don’t

Jungwon

i think it’d be physically impossible for me to hate you

but yeah ok

gnight

Heeseung Lee

.Goodnight, Won

.Sweet dreams

Heeseung put his phone on his nightstand and stared at the ceiling, heart pounding gently like he’d just run a marathon but in the softest way possible.

Jungwon texted him. Jungwon panicked. Jungwon called him cute.

And for the first time in a while, Heeseung fell asleep smiling.

Chapter Text

The path through the park is quiet except for the sound of gravel crunching under their shoes and birds whistling through the trees. Sunlight filters down in soft strokes, warm but not too bright.

Jungwon walks in the middle. His best friend, Sunoo and his roommate, Ni-ki, strolling not too far behind him.

Hands tucked deep into his jeans pockets. Small smile curling at his lips.

His face looks… soft. Not tired or drawn the way it had all week. The shadows under his eyes have faded, his skin looks clearer, and his shoulders are lighter—not weighed down by invisible stress or daydreams.

Sunoo is not having it.

“Okay. Okay. No offense, but what is happening with your face?”

Jungwon blinks. “My face?”

“You look like you had the best sleep of your life. Like you got tucked in by angels. Like Dr. Jart+ sponsored your dreams.”

Ni-ki squints. “Did you… meditate or something?”

Jungwon shrugs. “No.”

Sunoo narrows his eyes. “Then what did you do?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re lying,” Ni-ki says flatly.

“I’m not,” Jungwon mutters, turning away, the tips of his ears already betraying him.

“You’re so lying,” Sunoo adds, practically spinning around to look him head-on. “You looked miserable three days in a row and now you look like you just got proposed to by the love of your life.”

Ni-ki snorts.

“I’m just not tired,” Jungwon says.

“Liar,” they say in unison.

But before they can keep going, a voice interrupts.

Jungwon freezes.

A tap on the shoulder.

He turns.

Heeseung.

“Hey.” He says in a breathy way, like he just ran a mile. 

Standing there in the filtered sunlight like he belongs to it.

Hair soft and perfectly messy, framing his face like an afterthought. His piercings are different today—small gold hoops, and a matching helix, studs that catch the light, He’s layered again, warm neutrals and soft textures. A dull red-orange pair of corduroy pants, worn-in brown shoes, a plain long-sleeve under a graphic tee that reads “BURIED ALIVE!” in bold black ink. And somehow, it all works. Too well. Like a dream Jungwon accidentally walked into.

Heeseung giggles. The sound bubbles out of him like it couldn’t be helped.

There’s a bag slung over his shoulder, and in his hand, a cold, canned iced Americano. A pink post-it is stuck to its side.

Neat handwriting.

I know you like your usual strawberry latte, but they don't serve those canned at the convenience store..

By the way, You look pretty today (nonsense, you always do).

Heeseung holds it out like it’s nothing.

Like it doesn’t wreck Jungwon from the inside out.

His voice is so soft when he speaks again, you’d think he was talking to himself.

“Hi Jungwon… I missed you.”

Jungwon stares. Stares at the coffee, then at Heeseung, then back to the coffee. His brain short-circuits.

“Wha—what are you doing here?” he manages, stunned.

Heeseung shrugs, smile crooked. “You didn’t respond to my text,” he says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “So I figured I’d find you in person.” He leans in slightly, a glint of mischief in his voice now. “You stick out like a sore thumb in my eyes. It was easy.”

He giggles again. A little breathier than last time.

Sunoo and Ni-ki are statues beside Jungwon—frozen, eyes wide, mouths half-open.

Ni-ki bumps into Sunoo’s shoulder without taking his eyes off the scene in front of them.

Sunoo glances at him.

They both nod.

They know.

Heeseung steps forward, ruffling Jungwon’s hair gently, fingers brushing just long enough to make him flinch.

Jungwon flushes all the way to his ears—eyes wide, frozen—but he doesn’t move. In fact… he leans into it for a split second before Heeseung pulls away.

And when he does, Jungwon immediately looks like he regrets it.

“I’ll be working at the cafe today,” Heeseung says, tucking his hands into his pockets, a little lopsided smirk tugging at his lips. “If you wanna see me.”

And then—a wink.

He turns on his heel and strolls away, sunlight trailing him like a spotlight.

Jungwon doesn’t breathe until he disappears around the corner.

The iced coffee is still in his hand. Cold. Real. The post-it shaking just slightly from the wind. His eyes flicker to the note again, then to the horizon, and face fighting a smile.

Sunoo breaks the silence.

“I am going to kill you if you don't tell me,” he says. “What the hell was that. What was that!”

Ni-ki’s still staring after Heeseung. “He winked. Who does that?”

Jungwon doesn’t answer. He’s holding the coffee like it’s the most important thing in the world.

Sunoo grabs him by the sleeve. “You’re going,” he says. “To the café. You have to.”

Ni-ki leans in. “You better text him first this time.”

Jungwon swallows, the blush still not gone.

And for once, he doesn’t argue.

Chapter Text

The cafe is decently quiet when they enter, golden light streaming through the windows. The espresso machine hums softly in the background.

Jungwon slides into the booth, his back straight like he’s sitting for a formal interview instead of coffee with friends.

Sunoo sits across from him, chin resting on his palm. Ni-ki settles next to Sunoo with his hood up and earbuds halfway in, like he’s not interested—but the slight smirk on his face says otherwise.

“You’re looking around again,” Sunoo says gently.

“I’m just… taking in the layout,” Jungwon mutters.

“It’s the same layout as last week,” Ni-ki deadpans.

Jungwon glares at the table.

Heeseung is nowhere in sight. Yet.

But the tension is already in his shoulders, like his body’s bracing for impact.

When the staff door swings open, Jungwon doesn’t need to look to know who it is. He can feel it. Like a change in the air pressure.

Heeseung walks in, beige sleeves now rolled, apron slightly crooked, like he didn’t have time to fix it before coming out. His hair is the same as earlier. Slightly more messy. Still infuriatingly perfect.

His eyes scan the room, then land on Jungwon.

And stay there with a smirk adorning his face.

Jungwon freezes mid-sip of water. His hand pauses, cup halfway to his mouth.

Sunoo watches the silent interaction, then sighs with a soft, knowing smile. “I’ll be honest. I kind of want to leave just so you two can stop pretending this isn’t a whole thing.”

“I’m not—,” Jungwon says, a little too fast.

Ni-ki chuckles under his breath. “Bro, you just tried to drink your straw upside down.”

Jungwon looks down.

Sunoo leans back in the booth, far less aggressive than usual, but still clearly enjoying the moment. “It’s cute,” he says lightly. “The way you look like you’re about to pass out every time he blinks at you.”

Jungwon tries to roll his eyes but it doesn't quite land—his expression is too soft.

Heeseung disappears into the back.

A second later, Jungwon’s phone buzzes.

He hesitates.

Then checks it.

[heeseung]:

You always sit at the same table.

What if I wanted to surprise you from behind one day?

Jungwon’s mouth opens slightly. He stares at the screen. Sunoo notices the blush rising on his cheeks instantly.

“You got a message, huh?” Sunoo asks, casual.

Jungwon doesn’t look up.

Another buzz.

[heeseung]:

Also, you look frustratingly cute today.

You’re lucky I’m on shift or I’d be over there doing something stupid.

Jungwon exhales sharply through his nose. His ears are glowing.

He sets his phone down very deliberately, screen facing down, and picks up his glass of water like nothing happened.

“Nothing important,” he says, voice off by about 20 degrees.

And then—while the others are distracted—he flips the phone back over. Unlocks it with a shaky thumb.

He hesitates only for a second.

Then types:

[jungwon]:

maybe dont do something stupid. in frontof them.

i might like it... too much.

who said tjat

He stares at it. Eyes wide. Face on fire.

Then he hits send.

The moment the message is delivered, he slams the phone down, face-down again, and takes the biggest sip of water known to mankind.

Sunoo blinks. “...Did you just text back?”

Jungwon shrugs like it’s nothing. “I mean… yeah. So?”

Ni-ki stares at him. Squints, then continues talking about nothing with Sunoo.

Tray in hand. Three drinks. One is clearly Jungwon’s. There’s a foam heart on top, obviously intentional.

He walks over to the table, cool as ever.

“Hey,” Heeseung says, setting the drinks down. His eyes linger on Jungwon. “Glad you came.”

Jungwon makes a noise that might have been “hi,” but it’s more of a squeak.

Heeseung leans just a little closer. “Still not texting me first, huh?”

“I—I was going to,” Jungwon says, voice barely audible.

Heeseung tilts his head. “I’ll believe it when it happens.”

Jungwon almost chokes on air.

Heeseung leaves, smiling to himself.

Sunoo stares at Jungwon like he’s a live soap opera. “Are you okay? Blink twice if you’ve short-circuited.”

Ni-ki sips his drink and says, “He’s gone. You can breathe now.”

And then starts laughing again, practically obturating his air flow this time, barely covering it with his hand.

Jungwon hides his face behind his hands, burning from a mix of embarrassment and desperation.

Sunoo and Ni-ki end up leaving without Jungwon, relying on him to talk to Heeseung himself. 

The cafe is now quiet, evening settling in.

Heeseung had smiled at him when he saw Jungwon waiting at the counter. 

Not the casual, polite kind either. The kind that lingered. Like he meant it. Like he was holding something behind it and daring Jungwon to reach for it.

He’d leaned in. Touched his wrist when handing over the drink. Called him “Wonnie” so softly it made his stomach flip.

He’d laughed at things that weren’t even funny. Brushed past too close.

And Jungwon had flushed. Of course he had. Smiled like an idiot and walked back to his booth to grab his bag before pushing through the double doors with his heart screaming and legs made of jelly.

Heeseung waved when he left.

“See you tomorrow?”

Chapter Text

Sunday morning is quiet.

Too quiet.

Not peaceful-quiet. Not the kind that feels like relief.

It’s the kind that settles in your chest and just... sits there. Heavy and hollow.

Jungwon hasn’t left his bed.

His room is dim, curtains pulled halfway shut, laptop open but paused on some lecture he’s already forgotten. His pillow’s still warm from how long he’s been curled into it.

His phone is on his chest.

Face-up.

Blank screen.

Silent.

No new texts.

No stupid threats. No shameless flirting. No “Did you get home safe?” or “I miss you,” or “Good morning!” Just… nothing.

Jungwon stares at the ceiling.

He tries to trace the lines in the plaster. Count them. Memorize them. Anything to keep his brain from going back there.

To Saturday.

To him.

Jungwon rolls over in bed, pressing the pillow over his face.

Why the hell had he smiled back? Why did he always?

He doesn’t know what any of it means. None of it makes sense. Heeseung is two years older. Confident. Sharp around the edges but soft where it counts. Probably smarter too. He flirts like it’s breathing—easy, effortless, endless.

And maybe that’s the problem.

Maybe it’s not just with Jungwon.

Maybe it never was.

What if he’s just fun to tease?

What if he’s just the awkward freshman with the obvious crush who’s too easy not to notice?

What if Heeseung knows?

What if this is all just a game?

What if—God—what if Jungwon is nothing to him?

Just a regular. A name. A passing amusement in between study breaks and shifts and real people Heeseung actually texts when he’s off the clock and out of class.

Jungwon buries his face deeper into the pillow.

His chest tightens.

He hates this.
He hates how badly he wants Heeseung to care.
How much he replays the small things like they mean something.
How stupid he feels for hoping.

Because if he’s wrong—
If he misread this—
If Heeseung’s just being nice—

Then Jungwon’s already embarrassed himself beyond repair.

He unlocks his phone.

Scrolls.

Finds the chat. Stares at the last message he sent—a quiet, flushed little thing from yesterday that Heeseung left on read.

It wasn't anything wild. Just a joke. A soft one. A try. A little vulnerability Jungwon let slip through the cracks.

He deletes it.

Then stares at the screen again.

His finger hovers.

And then—like ripping off a bandage—he does it.

He blocks Heeseung.

No warning. No explanation.

He puts the phone down slowly, like if he moves too fast, he’ll shatter.

And then he lays back, eyes open, chest hollow.

It’s easier this way.

If he cuts it off himself, he doesn’t have to wait around to find out he was never wanted in the first place.

He doesn’t go to the café that afternoon. He doesn't even go near campus.

Not on Monday.
Nor Tuesday.

Heeseung’s probably not even noticed.

And maybe that’s the answer Jungwon was afraid of all along.

Chapter Text

The week passes in silence.

Heeseung doesn’t text.

Jungwon doesn’t unblock him.

The cafe stays unvisited.

Sunoo and Ni-ki notice.

But they don’t push.

Sunoo just watches him with worried eyes when Jungwon picks at his lunch.

Ni-ki cracks a joke here and there—dry humor, oddly well-timed—but even he stops when Jungwon goes quiet instead of rolling his eyes like he usually would.

Classes blur by in a haze. Everything tastes like battery acid and sounds like static.

Jungwon avoids walking past the cafe. He changes routes. Leaves campus early. Lingers in the library longer than necessary just to dodge any possible run-in.

Still, Heeseung shows up in his thoughts like clockwork.

Like caffeine in his bloodstream. Like a song that won't leave his head.

That smile. That stupid foam heart. That soft “Wonnie” he says like it’s a secret.

Jungwon misses him so badly it aches.

But the fear—that unbearable, raw vulnerability—is worse.

So he does nothing.

Friday arrives heavy with grey clouds.

Jungwon tells himself he’ll clear his head with a walk. Just a few laps around the campus trail before sunset. Air in his lungs. Movement in his legs. Something to ground him.

He’s halfway across the park bridge when it starts.

A drizzle.

Then a pour.

Like the sky held back all week just to unleash it now.

Jungwon stands frozen under the weak cover of a tree, then makes a run for it—only to realize too late: no umbrella. Not even a hood.

His hoodie clings to him within seconds. His socks are squishing in his shoes. The rain is cold.

He slows near the bridge’s arch, deciding to stay underneath until the storm eases up. His breath comes out in shaky huffs, hair sticking to his forehead, head bowed.

Then—

“J-Jungwon?”

His heart stops.

He doesn’t turn around right away. He doesn’t have to.

The voice is etched into him. Too familiar to ignore.

Footsteps. Quick.

And then Heeseung is there, panting slightly, rain dripping from his whole body.

“Are you serious—what are you doing out here?” he says, reaching into his bag with frantic hands. Jungwon wishes he could speak, he could say the exact same for Heeseung.

He pulls out a black umbrella and immediately pops it open—hovering it above Jungwon. Not over himself.

“You’re gonna get sick,” he mumbles, shifting closer. Eyebrows pinched together in genuine worry.

Jungwon blinks slowly, like his brain is catching up. Heeseung is close. Too close. He smells like rain and cotton candy and everything Jungwon tried to forget.

Heeseung finally glances at him. Really looks.

And then his expression cracks.

“You blocked me,” he says. Quiet. Raw.

Jungwon’s throat tightens.

“I waited all week. Every day. I thought maybe you were busy—then I thought maybe you were just being shy. But then I saw the block, Jungwon. You—you didn’t even tell me why.”

Jungwon still doesn’t say anything. His hands are shaking slightly.

Heeseung exhales harshly. “Was I doing too much? Was I freaking you out? You could’ve just told me. You didn’t have to disappear.”

The rain is still falling in thick sheets around them. 

“I kept looking for you,” Heeseung adds, voice trembling now. “Every day. I waited. I checked that damn booth every time I came out of the back room. I kept hoping—thinking—maybe I’d said something wrong, but if I could just talk to you—”

“I thought I was just a game,” Jungwon finally blurts, voice hoarse. “That I was just some freshman you liked messing with.”

Heeseung freezes.

Jungwon’s eyes sting—more from emotion than rain now. “I thought maybe I was something to keep you entertained until you got bored. I thought—God, I didn’t know what I was to you, and I was scared to ask.”

Heeseung’s eyes are wide. Rain trails down his cheek like it’s a tear.

“You weren’t a game,” he says, shaking his head. “You are not a game. You’re—”

His voice breaks.

“I’m crazy about you, Jungwon,” he says, almost angrily. “I kept re-reading everything. Every message. Every smile. I thought I’d finally found someone who got me excited to get up in the morning. Someone who made everything feel worth it. And then you vanished, and I—”

Jungwon steps back, overwhelmed.

The umbrella wobbles slightly in Heeseung’s grip.

“I wanted to protect it,” Jungwon says, tears now mixing with the downpour. “I wanted it to be real. So badly. But I couldn’t—if it wasn’t—if you were just being nice—”

Heeseung lets go of the umbrella.

It drops with a dull thud, hitting the pavement and rolling to the side, forgotten.

Rain hits both of them freely now. Jungwon’s breath catches.

Then—

Heeseung steps forward. Jungwon doesn’t even think. He lunges.

And then they’re kissing.. 

It's all teeth and tongue—desperate, soaked, trembling. Hands in hair, on cheeks, holding each other like they’ll fall apart otherwise.

Heeseung grabs Jungwon’s face, fingers trembling slightly as he digs them into his cheeks, as he pulls him closer, deeper. Like he needs more. Like he’s afraid it’ll vanish again if he doesn’t hold tight enough.

And Jungwon lets it happen.

Lets himself have this.

Because he doesn’t know what came over him. But it’s worth it.

Because it’s real.

Chapter Text

“Fuck… I need you so bad…” Heeseung pants, his voice rough and breathless as he pulls away, chest heaving. Maybe it was from the kiss—hot and dizzying, the kind that sucked the air out of his lungs. Or maybe it was from the sprint across campus, the adrenaline, or the raw hunger simmering under his skin. Maybe it was all of it. All of it crashing into him at once.

Jungwon blinks rapidly, lips still tingling from where Heeseung had claimed them so suddenly. His voice stumbles out, low and unsure, “H—Heeseung, what do y—”

“—Like right now,” Heeseung cuts in sharply, voice tight and needy.

There’s no room for confusion. His fingers wrap around Jungwon’s wrist, tugging with a desperation that contradicts the usual smooth, flirty confidence he wears like a second skin. “Let’s go. My dorm,” he spits out, quick, rough. Not a question—an instruction. An ache.

Jungwon is dazed. Still trying to catch up, still hearing the echo of that kiss like a drumbeat behind his ears. He doesn’t resist, feet moving on instinct as Heeseung pulls him through the courtyard, weaving past the late-night stragglers with flushed cheeks and a fire in his chest he doesn’t understand yet.

Heeseung’s not looking back—he doesn’t need to. His grip is firm, fingers curled tight like he’s afraid Jungwon might disappear if he lets go.

They reach the dorm in what feels like seconds, breath fogging in the cool air, hearts beating way too fast. Heeseung fumbles with the keycard, curses under his breath, then finally yanks the door open with a clack before dragging Jungwon in like he’s drowning and this is the only place he can breathe.

Heeseung’s back hits the door with a quiet thud, but he doesn’t flinch—his lips part in anticipation, his half-lidded eyes begging for more. Jungwon hovers, his breath shaky, gaze locked on the older boy's flushed cheeks and kiss-swollen mouth.

"You're not gonna stop now, are you?" Heeseung taunts softly, head tilted back, voice smug—but his fingers twitch where they rest at his sides, not touching. Not unless Jungwon makes him.

Jungwon swallows hard. His fingers, still warm from the contact at Heeseung's waist, curl slightly. He's flustered, still blinking like he’s waking up in someone else’s body. “I-I don’t… know what I’m doing,” he mumbles. Did he really just say that out loud?

"But you’re doing just fine," Heeseung breathes out, the corners of his lips curling. “You’re driving me insane.”

That flickers something in Jungwon. And a realization that Heeseung’s eyes are searching his for what’s next—not leading, not teasing anymore. Waiting.

Jungwon straightens a little, scanning the latter, lips brushing over Heeseung’s again—firmer now, less tentative. He doesn’t ask permission when he tangles their fingers together and presses them into the door behind Heeseung’s head.

Heeseung whimpers, his cocky expression faltering. “You’re not as sweet as you look, huh?”

“And you talk too much,” Jungwon mutters against his mouth, surprising himself more than anything.

Heeseung groans like that was the exact answer he wanted, body arching toward Jungwon, melting into his hold. The tension twists tighter between them, hot and fragile, and Jungwon finally stops overthinking. For once.

“Ung—Fuck, I’ve been dreaming about this since forever ago.” Heeseung moans against Jungwon’s lips.

Jungwon leans in at the words, lips brushing Heeseung’s ear this time. “Bed-” he says quietly, a little too confident, a little too fast.

“Please..”

Heeseung nods like he doesn’t need to be told twice.

Heeseung stumbles backward until the backs of his legs hit the mattress. Jungwon’s hand is still curled in the front of his collar, and he doesn’t let go—just keeps pushing until Heeseung falls back completely against the bed with a gasp.

There’s a moment where Heeseung blinks up at him, expecting hesitation.

It doesn’t come.

Jungwon climbs over him, slow but heavy, eyes darker than Heeseung’s ever seen. His hand lands on Heeseung’s chest and stays there, fingers splayed. There’s nothing unsure in the way he settles—knees bracketing Heeseung’s thighs, lips parted like he’s already tasted this a hundred times in his head.

“You’re quiet,” Jungwon says, voice low, almost taunting.

Heeseung lets out a breathy laugh—half disbelief, half something else. “I didn’t think you’d be like… this.”

Jungwon tilts his head, leaning down until his mouth is ghosting over Heeseung’s neck, not kissing—just there. “Like what?”

“So... cocky.”

Jungwon chuckles, and it’s deep—muffled by Heeseung’s skin. “And I wonder whose fault that is.”

And before Heeseung can come up with some witty response, Jungwon’s lips find his throat—slow, deliberate, like he’s mapping the pulse there with precision. His hands slide under Heeseung’s shirt, not rushed, just warm and confident, Heeseung arches into the touch and whimpers before he can think better of it.

“You like this, don’t you?” Jungwon whispers against his neck.

Heeseung nods without shame, head tilted back, eyes fluttering. 

Jungwon sits up just enough to look down at him properly. Heeseung’s cheeks and neck are flushed, his breathing uneven, hair tousled and Jungwon’s stomach flips at the sight. There’s something intoxicating about seeing the boy who always had the upper hand now struggling to keep it together.

“You were so smug earlier,” Jungwon says, voice slick with amusement. “Where’d that go, huh?”

Heeseung lets out a sound—half laugh, half groan—and grips the sheets under him like they’re his last anchor. “Shut up.”

Jungwon leans in close, brushing their noses together. “Then stop looking at me like you want more.”

Heeseung’s fingers twitch again, like he wants to grab hold of something—anything—but Jungwon doesn’t give him the chance. He kisses him hard, stealing the breath right from his lungs, and when he pulls away, Heeseung’s eyes are glazed over, lips red and parted.

“You’re gonna ruin me,” He mumbles, voice hoarse now.

“Mhm, Good,” Jungwon smirks, biting gently at Heeseung’s bottom lip before whispering, “You deserve it.”

Heeseung’s head falls back onto the pillow with a choked moan, and all he can do is nod, gripping Jungwon’s shoulders like he’ll fall apart if he lets go.

Jungwon just stays where he is, straddling Heeseung with a calmness that feels almost cruel. His hands trail up Heeseung’s sides, fingers spread wide, tracing the boy’s figure under his shirt—like he’s studying him. Not rushed. Not fumbling. Just feeling.

And Heeseung’s reacting to every touch like he’s being lit on fire—jaw tight, eyes fluttering, chest lifting into every pass of Jungwon’s hands like his body can’t help itself.

“You’re shaking,” Jungwon notes, voice low, like he’s amused.

Heeseung opens his mouth to fire something back—but nothing comes out. He just stares up at him, lips parted, breath stuck somewhere in his throat.

That’s when Jungwon really smiles. It’s not the shy, nervous curve he wore earlier. It’s slow. Self-assured.

“You always act like you’ve got control,” he murmurs, leaning down until his lips ghost along Heeseung’s jaw. “But look at you.”

Heeseung lets out a sound—frustrated, aroused, completely lost—and fists his hands in Jungwon’s rain soaked shirt, like pulling him closer might help him breathe again.

But Jungwon just moves lower, pressing a line of warm, open-mouthed kisses across his collarbone. Just to rile him up even more.

“Jungwon—” Heeseung breathes, voice cracking, and that’s all it takes for Jungwon to push the shirt up even higher, palms skimming over ribs and lean muscle.

Heeseung bites his lip so hard it goes white.

Jungwon leans up just enough to tug the shirt up and over Heeseung’s head, tossing it aside carelessly. And for a second, he just looks—taking in the flushed skin, the pink mark blooming under Heeseung’s collarbone, the way his chest rises and falls like he’s been running.

“You’re pretty like this,” Jungwon mutters, thumb dragging slowly along Heeseung’s side.

Heeseung groans and turns his face away, half-laughing, half-mortified. “You’re gonna kill me.”

Jungwon laughs, soft but smug. “I haven’t even started.”

And then he moves, shifting down to press his body fully against Heeseung’s—skin to skin, heat against heat. One hand braces next to Heeseung’s head, the other resting low on his waist, fingers dangerously close to the edge of his jeans.

“Still with me?” Jungwon whispers against his ear.

Heeseung nods, barely. “You’re annoying.”

“You like it.”

Heeseung doesn’t argue.

He can’t.

His whole body trembles, wired with want, and Jungwon just watches him with that maddening calm—like he’s already won. Like Heeseung’s right where he wants him.

Heeseung suddenly arches up again, hips desperate for friction, but Jungwon presses him down by the waist—firm and unrelenting. That little scoff escapes Jungwon’s lips, followed by a disappointed shake of his head.

“Acht,” he clicks his tongue, eyes narrowing just slightly. “Not yet, baby.”

That word—baby—shoots straight through Heeseung like lightning. His breath catches. His grip on Jungwon’s damp shirt tightens, but his body goes soft under the weight of that tone.

Heeseung bites his lip hard, trying not to whimper.

Jungwon leans back in slowly, reeling him in with lips barely brushing over Heeseung’s—teasing him, coaxing him into that fire instead of feeding it.

Heeseung can’t take it.

He surges up again, trying to reclaim even

some control, crashing their mouths together with a hungry noise. But Jungwon doesn't back down—instead, he deepens the kiss with a low, amused groan, grabbing Heeseung’s jaw to guide the pace, the rhythm, like he’s reminding him who's in charge.

And Heeseung melts into it—completely.

Jungwon’s free hand slides up his bare chest, fingers splaying like he's feeling for something just under the skin. When he brushes a particularly sensitive spot, Heeseung gasps—a breathy, involuntary sound that leaves him breathless.

Jungwon grins. “Sensitive, huh”. Like he knows.

Heeseung lets out a choked noise in response—halfway between a moan and a whimper—and Jungwon likes it. His movements shift—hands firmer, lips hungrier. He gives in to the tension, letting his mouth trail down Heeseung’s chest, leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses that make the older boy squirm.

Heeseung's head tips back, eyes shut tight, breath stuttering out in broken sounds. Like he’s incapable of speaking.

“Hah—Won,” he pants, but it’s not even a plea anymore—it’s reverence. His hands claw at the bedsheets, muscles twitching with every slow, deliberate touch.

Jungwon’s mouth hovers by his ear, voice nothing but a husk. “Thought you liked to talk.”

Heeseung just moans—deep.

Jungwon finally lets his hands roam lower, where he’s needed him the most. And Heeseung’s back arches so hard he nearly lifts off the bed, a guttural noise slipping out of him, wrecked and needy.

“Oh, yeah?” Jungwon whispers, biting down gently on Heeseung’s collarbone. “You sound so much better like this.”

“All for me.”

And Heeseung can only nod—barely—eyes glassy, breath shallow, lips parted and trembling. Words are gone. Thought is gone. All that’s left is Jungwon. Jungwon, Jungwon, Jungwon.

“Ngh, F-fuck—Jungwon, p-please.” Heeseung manages to whine out.

“Please what, hm?.. What, baby? Too much?”Jungwon asks, his voice low and rasping right next to him. “Or just right?”

Heeseung’s answer is a half-sob, all throat and air. “J-Just—don’t stop,” he begs, barely audible.

Jungwon hums, pleased. He presses in closer, their hips flush, his hands bold as they squeeze Heeseung’s waist—claiming.

“You’re burning up,” he mutters, mouth brushing the shell of Heeseung’s ear.

Heeseung lets out a shaky laugh that dies almost instantly in his throat when Jungwon’s hands squeeze him again again.

“Tell me who’s got you like this.”

And that does it.

Heeseung gasps, arching hard, the breath knocked clean from his lungs. “You—Jungwon, it’s you—only you—”

Jungwon smiles—slow and sharp—dipping his head to coat the column of Heeseung’s neck in more marks, mouthing over each empty spot until the older boy’s body just gives up beneath him. Legs trembling, bare chest rising like he’s been running a marathon.

His voice is gone.

Just panting now, soft broken noises between kisses, twitching under Jungwon’s touch.

Completely undone.

And Jungwon—so quiet, so careful all the time—has never felt more sure of himself. Of this.

He leans in again, voice barely a whisper now, lips brushing Heeseung’s jaw. “You sound beautiful when you fall apart for me.”

“J-Jungwon, please—Hah. I n-need—“ Heeseung pants between mindless blabbering.

"What do you need, baby? Use your words"

"Touch me. I can’t take it a-any fur—further"

Jungwon listens. He doesn't tease. For now. His hands slide up and find Heeseung's waistband, fingertips grazing bare skin, but it's enough to make the older boy jolt.

Heeseung's hands shoot out, grabbing Jungwon's wrist.

"Jungwon," he whines, his voice rough, face flushed and embarrassed.

“You asked, I’m delivering.” Jungwon says like he’s pointing out the obvious.

“But,” Heeseung tries to protest.

Heeseung lets his head fall back against the pillows in defeat, chest heaving. He lets out a weak, shaky breath.

Jungwon’s hands move again, more confident, fingers dragging under the waistband, thumbs tracing the V of his hips, and Heeseung can't seem to keep his body still.

"You're driving me crazy," Jungwon mutters, like the confession slips out on its own.

"Y-You too," Heeseung breathes, nodding dumbly. “Fuck. I didn’t realize you were like this,” he says again, like he’s just now realizing he stepped into something he wasn’t ready for.

Jungwon smirks a little, his hands sliding under Heeseung's pants, tugging them down a few inches. Just enough to tease. To taunt.

Jungwon palms Heeseung’s inner thigh

with his free hand, and Heeseung makes a sound like it hurts, fingers tightening around the sheets under him, stretching his upper body up towards the headboard.

"Tell me what you want," Jungwon murmurs, his voice smooth.

Heeseung's breathing is so loud it fills the room.

"You," he says. Looking away, like if looking at the situation below will kill him.

"Me what?"

"Inside."

Jungwon raises his eyebrows, not expecting such a straightforward response. Then he leans up again, His hand wraps around the base of his cock from inside his pants, and Heeseung makes a sound—halfway between a sob and a gasp.

"I thought you could take it, baby." Jungwon teases, his voice low, mouth pressed against Heeseung's neck.

“You think you can? Hm?” He whispers, almost taunting.

Heeseung just nods, a tiny, desperate motion.

Jungwon kisses him again, his mouth moving slower, savoring every little reaction. Heeseung's whines when Jungwon's thumb grazes the slit.

He then pulls back just enough to look him in the eye, his thumb rubbing back and forth on Heeseung’s tip, making Heeseung shudder.

“Use your words,” he murmurs, eyes dark. “I want to hear you say it.”

Heeseung’s lips part, but the only thing that comes out is a broken breath. He’s trembling now, hips twitching up like he’s chasing something just out of reach.

“I-I can,” he finally manages, voice thin and wrecked. “I want to.”

Jungwon smiles—slow, knowing—and shifts his hand lower, dragging the pad of his fingers down, featherlight.

“Good,” he whispers, “then take it.”

The morning light is soft, creeping in through the curtains like it knows something it shouldn’t. Jungwon stirs, the sheets cool against his skin, the weight of sleep still clinging to his limbs. For a moment, there’s quiet. Warmth. Stillness.

But the other side of Heeseung's bed is cold.

His eyes open slowly.

Empty.

Jungwon sits up, the blanket falling to his waist. His heart picks up speed in that muted way it does when something feels off but hasn’t quite landed yet. Heeseung’s clothes are gone from the floor. The faint scent of cologne still lingers in the air—familiar and sharp—but there’s no sign of him. Not in the bedroom. Not in the hall. Not even in the kitchen.

Heeseung is gone.

And Jungwon is still here.

In his dorm.

Alone.

He tries not to panic, tries to swallow the way his stomach twists in on itself, sick and tight. Maybe Heeseung just went out for something. Maybe he had work. A schedule. Something unavoidable. Something that didn’t require words, apparently.

Still, it feels wrong.

Last night had felt like more. It was more, wasn't it?

But now, in the gray haze of morning, all Jungwon has is silence.

He dresses slowly, folding each piece of himself back together, layer by layer. He doesn't touch anything he shouldn’t, doesn’t leave anything behind. When he steps into his shoes by the front door, he pauses, like maybe—maybe—Heeseung will walk through that door and say something. Anything.

He doesn’t.

Jungwon lets himself out.

The walk home is long, by choice. The bus stop is only two blocks away, but he keeps moving past it, head bowed, hands shoved deep in his pockets. His phone stays untouched. No calls. No texts. Just the vague sound of traffic and the weight of his own heartbeat in his ears.

What did it mean?

Heeseung had whined below him like he meant it. Had kissed him like he was drowning in him. Had mumbled things in the dark that Jungwon had believed.

Was he really just a one-night stand?

Or did Heeseung regret it?

The thought tightens like a fist in his chest. He wants to be mad—is mad—but mostly he’s just confused. Hurt. The kind of hurt that simmers, low and slow, without knowing where to go.

By the time he gets back to his dorm, the sun is higher, casting everything in a pale, indifferent gold. He closes the door behind him, leans against it, and lets out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding since he left.

The silence here feels different.

Safer, maybe.

But colder too.

He doesn’t know what happens next.

He doesn't want to.

And he hates that Heeseung took the power to decide away from him.

Chapter Text

Jungwon doesn't even bother changing out of last night's clothes.

He kicks off his shoes, shrugs off his jacket, and climbs into bed like the world outside no longer exists. The sheets are cold, but he burrows under them anyway, face pressed into the pillow. The faint smell of Heeseung still clings to his hoodie—it makes his stomach twist.

He closes his eyes, but all he sees is last night.

Heeseung's hands in his hair.

Heeseung's voice, low and breathless.

Heeseung, looking at him like he really meant it.

And now? Nothing.

He doesn't remember the walk home clearly—just the numbness, the way his limbs moved on autopilot, how each step felt heavier than the last. His body aches now, like it's finally catching up. But more than that, it's the ache in his chest that won’t let him breathe right. Like something is lodged there. Something unspoken.

He rolls onto his side and finally picks up his phone.

It's 1:34 PM. No texts. No missed calls. No name lighting up his screen. He stares at it until his eyes burn.

Then he opens the group chat with Sunoo and Ni-ki.

jungwon: what do you do when someone makes you feel like everything meant something

jungwon: and then it just doesn’t

jungwon: like maybe it never did

There’s a pause. 

sunoo !! : oh my god what happened?

riki: who did what i'll genuinely kill them

sunoo !! : seriously, tell us

sunoo !! : do you wanna call??

jungwon: no

jungwon: just answer my question

They both reply in seconds

sunoo !! : be honest. ask him what it meant to him. don't sit in this alone

riki: or drop him. if he can’t communicate after that, he’s not worth your time

sunoo !! : i'm here for you always wonnie, you know that

sunoo !! : we both are

He reads their messages over and over.

He nods. Like he agrees.

But he doesn’t reply.

He doesn’t text Heeseung.

He doesn’t move.

The sunlight creeps across the floor and eventually fades, leaving his dorm in a dull blue haze. Still, he stays curled up, wrapped in blankets that don't feel warm. His mind spins with every glance, every shared laugh, every stupid little moment he thought mattered. Had he imagined it all? Was he just someone convenient, someone to use to ease the loneliness? 

A replacement. A mistake. A regret.

By the time night falls, he's cried quietly, face turned to the wall, his pillow damp beneath him. The kind of crying that doesn’t need sobs to make it hurt—just the slow, steady leak of everything he’s tried not to feel.

He feels stupid. So fucking stupid.

He presses the side button on his phone, just to check one last time.

Still nothing.

Heeseung’s name doesn’t light up his screen.

And maybe that says everything.

The clock on his phone blinks 3:12 AM in cold, white digits.

Jungwon wakes up with a sharp inhale, like he’s surfaced from drowning. His head is pounding, and his throat feels raw—maybe from the crying, or maybe from the silence that’s been echoing in his skull since yesterday. His sheets are tangled around him, sweat clinging to the back of his neck despite the fan humming quietly in the corner.

Four hours. That’s all he managed.

His jaw tightens as he sits up, eyes adjusting to the dim light spilling through the blinds. It’s too quiet. Too still. Like the whole world is holding its breath, waiting for him to fall apart again.

But this time, he doesn’t want to fall apart.

He wants to scream, cry, something along the lines of that.

He throws the blanket off, shoving it to the floor. His feet hit the cold ground and he runs both hands through his hair, tugging at the roots like it’ll pull the thoughts out too.

“Fuck.”

It comes out low, hoarse. The word feels too small for what’s building in his chest—pressure and heat and frustration that won’t sit still anymore.

He gets up, pacing the small dorm room like it’s too small to contain the storm inside him.

What the hell was he doing?

Spending weeks—months, even—falling for someone who couldn’t even text him back? Who could touch him like he meant everything and then vanish like it was nothing? Who made him feel safe just long enough to tear that safety out from under him?

He clenches his fists, teeth grinding together, cheeks sucked in.

“You made me soft, Heeseung.”

The name tastes bitter now. Heavy. Sharp.

He hates it.

He hates that he let someone in just enough to see him scared. Needy. Wanting. He hates that he trusted Heeseung with that version of himself—quiet and vulnerable and fucking hopeful.

“You don’t get to do that,” he mutters to the empty room. “You don’t get to leave after all that.”

He feels betrayed.

Worse—he feels stupid.

All this time, he could’ve been doing anything else. Focusing on school, pursuing something, on the future he’s supposed to be building. But no. He let himself spiral over a boy who gave him half-truths in the dark and then disappeared before the sun came entirely up.

He swipes his phone off the desk, opens their last conversation, and stares at it. No new messages. No explanation. Just silence.

Jungwon’s thumb hovers over the screen—wants to type something brutal. Wants to call him out. Wants to say you don’t get to walk away from this like I meant nothing.

But he doesn’t. Not yet.

Instead, he locks the phone and throws it across the bed.

He doesn’t know if Heeseung is gone for good, or just being cowardly, or confused, or whatever excuse he’ll come up with if he ever resurfaces.

He’s not going to waste his time begging for something that hurts. Not if it's just gonna end up like this every time. 

Chapter Text

When Jungwon wakes again, the light leaking through the blinds is softer, more forgiving, but he feels anything but.

His head is heavy. His body, heavier. It’s the kind of sleep that doesn’t heal—just delays. He blinks through the bleariness, eyes sticky, heart dull. Like everything inside him has been wrung out and left to dry in the cold.

The clock reads 10:48 AM

Not early. Not late. Just late enough to feel like the day is already slipping away.

He sits up slowly, shoulders hunched, the room quiet save for the faint creak of his bed springs. His mouth is dry. His chest aches in that low, familiar way.

Dragging his feet across the floor, he stumbles into the bathroom. The light overhead flickers on, too bright, and he squints at his own reflection.

He looks like hell.

Hair flat on one side, stuck up on the other. Dark circles under his eyes. A distant, tired expression that doesn’t look like him anymore. He exhales slowly, lips parting just enough to puff a strand of hair off his forehead.

Then he turns the tap.

Water drips steadily, echoing louder than it should. He cups his hands beneath it and splashes his face, over and over, like it might wash away the weight in his chest. He reaches for the cleanser, working through the motions of skincare, because it’s something to do. Something to make him feel like he still has control over something.

By the time he’s back in his room, he’s dressed—something clean, neutral, unassuming. Not too casual. Not too put-together.

Presentable.

He folds the blanket. Tidies his desk. Opens the blinds. Sweeps his floor.8

And then he opens his phone.

12:38 PM

He swallows. Hard.

He’s probably working. Jungwon knows Heeseung’s schedule without having to think. The cafe’s open weekends, and Heeseung always takes the morning shifts.

But still, he taps open the contact. He hesitates for a split second—and then starts typing.

jungwon: i don’t know what you’re doing but i can’t do this silence thing

jungwon: if you didn’t mean it, just say that.

jungwon: you don’t get to leave me hanging like this

jungwon: it’s cruel

jungwon: i trusted you

jungwon: I really thought you

jungwon: forget it.

His thumbs keep going, unfiltered, heart pressing fast against his ribs.

jungwon: i feel stupid.

jungwon: you could’ve just said it was nothing.

jungwon: was it really just nothing?

jungwon: am i nothing?

jungwon: am i ANYTHING to you???

He stares at the messages piling up. No response.

The hollow space inside him expands.

An hour passes. Maybe more. He doesn’t even realize it until the sun shifts across the floor and he notices the shadow of his phone in the corner of his eye.

The texts glare up at him like open wounds.

Too much. Too raw.

He deletes them.

One by one. Gone.

And then, without thinking—without second-guessing—he types again.

i’m going to the cafe. be there.

He hits send.

No explanation. No begging.

He tosses the phone on his bed, stands, and grabs his keys.

If Heeseung won’t give him answers, he’s going to go find them himself.

The cafe is quiet. The kind of quiet that makes every little noise seem louder than it should be—the soft hiss of the espresso machine, the low hum of the fridge, the gentle clink of spoons against ceramic.

Heeseung stands behind the counter, wiping down the surface for the third time in the last ten minutes. Not because it’s dirty. He just needs something to do.

He saw the texts, of course he did.

The long string of them from Jungwon, sent all at once like a dam breaking. He’d stared at the screen for too long, unread messages stacking on top of each other. His fingers had hovered above the keyboard, thoughts spiraling, but before he could think of what to say—if he even deserved to say anything—Jungwon deleted them.

Gone.

Every last one.

He didn’t respond. He didn’t know how.

He didn’t see the last message.

So when the door suddenly slams open, bell chiming violently against the frame, Heeseung jolts like he’s been shot.

Jungwon steps in, wind in his hair, eyes hard. His face is unreadable, but his energy is undeniable. Heeseung’s breath catches in his throat.

He doesn’t move.

Jungwon’s eyes land on him immediately.

“Are you the only one here?” he asks, voice sharp.

Heeseung blinks. Nods slowly. His throat is dry. “Yeah…?”

“Close the shop.”

Heeseung’s brows furrow, caught off guard. “Huh? What do you—?”

“Close the shop. Turn the sign over. Something.”

There’s no room for argument in Jungwon’s voice. It’s not loud, but it’s firm. Tired. Frustrated. Full of some emotion Heeseung can’t quite name yet, but it wraps around him tight.

Without another word, Heeseung sets the rag down, walks over to the front, and flips the sign to CLOSED, the bell giving one last reluctant chime. He locks the door. The two customers had left nearly an hour ago. No one's going to care.

When he turns around, Jungwon is still standing in the same spot. A tense, unmoving shape in the center of the room.

Then, without warning, he moves—quick, direct—and grabs Heeseung by the wrist.

Heeseung freezes.

His whole body goes stiff, heart leaping straight into his throat as Jungwon pulls him toward a corner booth.

The contact burns. His wrist, his ears, his face—everything goes hot.

Not just embarrassment.

Not just confusion.

Something deeper.

Something that makes his stomach twist and his knees feel shaky.

He doesn’t resist.

He lets himself be dragged to the booth, lets himself be seated like Jungwon is the one in control now, because… maybe he is. Heeseung gave that up when he let silence take the place of answers.

Jungwon sits across from him, but doesn’t speak right away.

Heeseung can barely meet his eyes.

The tension is suffocating, like the air is thick with everything unspoken.

Heeseung swallows hard. His voice comes out quieter than he means.

“…You came.”

But what he means is: You’re here. You still care. And I don’t know if I deserve it.

Jungwon’s voice slices clean through the stillness. Ignoring Heeseung.

“Why did you leave?”

Firm. Demanding. Not angry exactly—but tired. Heavy. Frayed at the edges, like he’s been carrying this question all night, all morning, and it’s been rotting inside him.

Heeseung doesn’t answer right away.

His mouth parts slightly, breath caught in his throat—but nothing comes out. He stares at the table between them, eyes fixed on a scratch in the wood, like maybe he can disappear into it.

Jungwon doesn’t wait.

“Why would you leave on a night like that?” he continues, voice breaking just slightly now. “Alone? In your own dorm??”

Heeseung winces.

Jungwon leans in, not letting up.

“Was I nothing to you? Was the sex bad? Did I do something? Or was it you?”

Every word is a blow Heeseung deserves. And it’s not the volume—it’s the rawness. The pain buried in each syllable. The desperation beneath the control.

“Please. Just tell me.”

There’s a plea in his voice now. Soft and cracking. It unravels something inside Heeseung. 

He finally lifts his eyes.

Jungwon’s expression is unreadable. Not angry. Not even disappointed. Just... tired. Like he’s been clawing through his own head for hours and found no answers except these questions.

Heeseung opens his mouth. Tries. Fails. Then tries again.

“…It wasn’t you.”

His voice is quiet. Shaky.

“It was never you.”

He looks down again, hating how weak he sounds. But there’s no hiding now.

“I left because I freaked out. Because it felt real. Too real. And I didn’t know what to do with that.”

He breathes in, shaky.

“You weren’t bad. You were—fuck, you were everything. And that scared the shit out of me.”

He forces himself to look up again. His eyes are glassy. Honest.

“I didn’t leave because I didn’t care. I left because I cared so much I didn’t know how to stay.”

Heeseung’s throat tightens, and his next words come out raw.

“I thought you didn’t need me as much as I needed you.”

He looks at Jungwon, really looks at him—and it’s like seeing every version of him at once. The one who looked at him like he mattered. The one he kissed in the dark like he could stay there forever.

The one he walked away from.

“I… I didn’t mean to do whatever I did that morning,” Heeseung says, voice cracking now. “And I’m sorry it had to happen in my dorm. That it happened like that. I-I don’t know what happened. I panicked. It was like… the second the sun came up, all I could hear was this voice in my head saying, you’re going to ruin this. You’re going to ruin him.”

He presses his palm flat to the table like he needs to feel something to stay grounded.

“I’m so sorry, Jungwon.”

His voice falls to a whisper, just barely above the silence between them.

“I’m sorry for making you feel like you were nothing. You weren’t. You aren’t.”

He swallows hard. His eyes sting, and he doesn’t try to stop it anymore.

“I need you.”

The words shake as they come out.

“I need you.”

And it’s not a confession meant to be romantic or dramatic—it’s just the truth, plain and terrifying. Heeseung says it like he’s admitting it to himself for the first time. Like saying it out loud makes it more real.

He wipes at his face quickly with the back of his hand, embarrassed.

His breath shakes out of him, like the weight of every unsent text, every avoided call, every second of regret has finally caught up with him.

Heeseung looks across the table, cheeks red, heart in his hands.

“Please… say something.”

Chapter Text

“You can take the bed,” Jungwon says, already heading toward the couch.

Heeseung blinks, caught off guard. “What are you talking about?! This is your house. Just sleep in your bed.”

Jungwon stops, turning with an arched brow. “Where will you be sleeping then?”

Heeseung shifts on his feet, like it’s obvious. “Uhh… the couch?”

Jungwon flatly denies. “Then no. Sleep in my bed.”

“…But you’re sleeping in your bed…” Heeseung mumbles, fidgeting like he’s been caught doing something wrong.

“Exactly,” Jungwon says with a shrug, tone even. “Let’s just sleep together. Not the end of the world.”

There’s a beat of silence, then Heeseung’s face flushes all the way to the tips of his ears. “Oh. ‘Mkay…”

Later that night, they lie on top Jungwon’s sheets, the dorm dim and quiet around them. After a bit of shy shifting and half-whispered jokes, they find themselves closer—lips brushing, then properly kissing, (after Heeseung initiates) hands tentative and warm.

It builds slowly, soft kisses become deep and heated, until Jungwon pulls back with a soft exhale.

“Baby,” Jungwon breathes

“We can’t do anything tonight…,” he murmurs against Heeseung’s mouth, thumb brushing gently across his cheek. “I’m sorry. We’ve got classes tomorrow.”

Heeseung whines in protest, arms tightening around Jungwon like that’ll change his mind. But after a moment, he sighs and lets his head fall onto Jungwon’s chest. They settle in, barely whispering their goodnights after washing up and brushing their teeth—a quiet sort of comfort humming between them as sleep takes over.

Heeseung blinks awake to soft light filtering through the curtains. He’s warm—too warm—and when he shifts, he realizes why: Jungwon’s practically draped over him, one leg hooked around his, an arm slung lazily across his waist.

“Morning,” Heeseung says groggily, voice still thick with sleep.

Jungwon just lets out a low, incoherent groan.

Heeseung snorts, then shakes his shoulder gently. “Hey, we gotta go to class.”

“What… time is it…” Jungwon mutters into the pillow.

Heeseung glances at the clock. “Almost 8.”

That does it. “Oh shit.” Jungwon bolts upright, hair sticking up in every direction. Heeseung can’t help but laugh as Jungwon stumbles out of bed, flailing for his uniform.

They scramble through their morning routine—quick teeth brushing, rushed outfits, and bags. At the school gates open, they split off with a quiet, slightly flustered wave, the memory of the night before still buzzing quietly under their skin.

Chapter Text

Heeseung slumps lower in his seat, letting his head fall back against the wall with a dull thud. The professor’s voice drones at the front of the room, monotone, scribbling equations that look like a headache. Heeseung doesn’t even bother pretending to take notes anymore—his notebook, blank.

God, I hate this class.

He slips his phone out of his pocket, careful to keep it hidden behind the desk. He’s seated in the back row and the professor is too deep in explaining some irrelevant theorem to notice.

He opens his messages and types quickly.

Heeseung:

Won

Jungwon

I miss you .. :(

He doesn’t expect a reply. Jungwon’s usually disciplined about staying focused during class—but to his surprise, his phone buzzes just a moment later.

Jungwon:

hee im in class

arent you also in class?

Heeseung huffs softly, barely suppressing a smile as he types again.

Heeseung:

Yes.. I might just skip, I’m in math.

Jungwon:

oh right

i miss you more hun

if im being honest, i miss your pretty lips

miss your pretty pussy

Heeseung blinks at the last messages, heart jumping in his chest. His breathing now uneven. His fingers hover over the keyboard.

Heeseung:

Won, you can’t just say that..

But he’s feeling feral now, chin tucked down, cheeks heating as he sinks further into his chair as he throbs.

Jungwon:

wet now, huh?

Heeseung’s breath leaves him at that point. He’s most definitely soaked.

Heeseung:

Fuck

Wonnie..

His thumb hovers like he wants to keep texting—like he needs more—but the professor’s voice suddenly cuts through louder than before.

“Mr. Lee,” the professor calls out, and Heeseung jerks upright, nearly dropping his phone.

He mutters an apology and shoves his phone under his thigh, pulse racing—not from fear of getting caught, but from those stupid messages that are now echoing in his head.

i miss your pretty lips…

miss your pretty pussy….

wet now, huh?…

Heeseung covers his face with one hand and just groans. Fuck his life and this stupid boy.