It all started the night you confessed—2 AM, outside your dorm, when the whole campus felt asleep except for the two of you. You hadn’t planned on saying anything, but the words slipped out anyway, clumsy and honest. Heeseung froze, staring at you like he wasn’t sure he heard you right. And then you kissed him—quick, shaky, desperate—and that was all it took for him to fall apart.

You told him you didn’t want a relationship. He told you he didn’t either. Maybe that was true, or maybe it was the only thing that made what happened next feel less dangerous.

From that moment on, you and Heeseung slipped into something unspoken but undeniably real. Not dating, not strangers, not exactly friends. Just two people who kept finding their way back to each other’s beds, each other’s arms, each other’s lips—no matter how many times you both swore it was the last.

You kept it secret at first, mostly because he still had a girlfriend. It wasn’t supposed to mean anything. It was supposed to be physical, reckless, forgettable. But it never was.

When he broke up with her, everything cracked open. Suddenly he didn’t care if people saw him walking you to class, or if he showed up to your dorm at midnight with that look—the one that always meant trouble. He didn’t hide how comfortable he was around you, how naturally he leaned into your space, how you were always his first choice when he was bored, stressed, restless… or craving you.

People on campus called you two “best friends,” and for a long time that title worked. But best friends don’t kiss until they can’t breathe. Best friends don’t sneak into each other’s rooms at 3 AM. Best friends don’t whisper each other’s names the way he whispers yours.

You told yourselves it was just a friends-with-benefits thing—simple, casual, no strings. But nothing about it has ever been simple.

What began as one impulsive kiss turned into two, then ten, then a habit neither of you could shake. Nights with him became routine; his hoodie ended up draped over your desk chair; your lip gloss smudged across his jaw more often than not. Heeseung touched you like he knew your body better than his own. You touched him like you were afraid to stop.

Today felt like every other chaotic day on your schedule—cramped, rushed, and drowning in assignments that never seemed to end. You’d barely seen Heeseung at all, the two of you passing each other like ghosts between classes. Still, he’d found time to text you, complaining dramatically about how badly he wanted to leave his lecture and come find you instead.

By the time evening rolled around, you were in your room, slipping into a dress and fixing your makeup in the mirror. There was a frat party happening a few floors down in another dorm, and even though you weren’t exactly in the mood for crowds, you’d promised Heeseung you’d go with him. A promise was a promise—especially to him—so here you were, getting ready.

You were just finishing the last touch of lip gloss when a knock echoed through your room. You didn’t even have to ask who it was. You stood, smoothing out your dress before opening the door.

Heeseung was leaning against the frame, hair slightly messy from rushing over, breath uneven like he’d practically run upstairs. But the moment he saw you, every part of him went still. His eyes swept over your outfit, your legs, your makeup—slow, deliberate, like he didn’t even realize he was doing it.

And the look he gave you wasn’t friendly. Not even close.

“You’re staring,” you point out, raising a brow.

Heeseung just chuckles under his breath as he steps inside, closing the door behind him. “Can you blame me?” he says, eyes still trailing over you. “You look too good not to stare at.”

Before you can reply, his hand slides around your waist, pulling you closer until your bodies brush. He dips his head, nuzzling into the curve of your neck, his breath warm against your skin.

“We’ve got some time before the party,” he murmurs, lips ghosting over your jaw. “But… you might have to redo your makeup afterward.”