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If Jungwon had to rank the top ten worst ideas of his life, stepping foot inside Lee Heeseung’s house during any kind of celebration would shoot straight to number one. Maybe even take number two and three for good measure.
The bass was so loud the front door was rattling, neon lights were practically bleeding through the windows, and from the second floor balcony someone was already screaming like it was the final act of a horror movie. A pool glowed menacingly out back, like it was just waiting to claim its first victim of the night, and inside—well. Inside was chaos. Pure, unfiltered chaos.
“Never in my life,” Jake said, squinting as the three of them squeezed their way through a hallway that smelled like perfume, pizza, and questionable life decisions, “have I wished harder for a hot, famous boyfriend who can throw me parties like this. Sunoo is literally living the dream.”
“Yeah, imagine just dating Heeseung,” Ni-ki added, side-eyeing the giant neon sign that literally spelled out SUNOO DAY across the living room wall. “Dude probably rented a lighting crew just to spell your name in LED. That’s peak romance.”
Jungwon shoved his hands deeper into his jacket pockets, doing his best not to look like the most reluctant person in the room. “This isn’t fun.”
“No,” Jake shot back immediately, pointing at him like he’d just cracked the Da Vinci code. “You don’t get it. Sunoo didn’t even have to plan this. Heeseung probably made a whole mood board, hired a DJ, rented lights, and still Sunoo just gets to show up looking pretty and claim it.”
Ni-ki nodded sagely, like Jake had just dropped wisdom worth engraving on a plaque. “That’s it. If my future boyfriend doesn’t let me use their pool house for my birthday, I don’t want it.”
“GUYSSSSS!”
Enter: Kim Sunoo, star of the night, human glitter bomb, and currently sprinting at them like a Disney princess reunited with long-lost family. He was glowing. No, literally glowing—his shirt caught the party lights in a way that made him look like he’d been personally sprinkled with pixie dust.
“You actually came!” Sunoo shrieked, eyes wide, grin wider. He spread his arms like he was about to hug all three at once.
Jake, not missing a beat, raised a brow. “Excuse me? Were you expecting us not to? We’re your best friends. What are we, chopped liver? Are we not invited?”
“Yeah, that’s rude,” Ni-ki said around a mouthful of chips he’d somehow already acquired. “Who else was gonna keep this place fun if not us?”
Sunoo gasped, clutching his chest like they’d all just personally stabbed him. “Well, duh! Jungwon—” he pointed at him like an accusation, “—never comes to parties. Not even the ones Heeseung throws! I was literally preparing myself, mentally and spiritually, for his absence tonight. But oh my GOD, Jungwon, you actually love me. You came.”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” Jungwon muttered, but Jake clapped him on the back so hard he stumbled.
“He missed you,” Jake announced proudly. “He was begging. Practically crying on the way here.”
“Yup.” Ni-ki shoved another chip in his mouth. “And he dressed up too.”
“I did not—”
“Shhh.” Jake pressed a finger dramatically to Jungwon’s lips. “Don’t ruin the moment.”
Sunoo squealed like they’d just handed him a winning lottery ticket. “Anyway! Now that you’re here, it’s perfect.”
“And also, I prepared games!”
Jake whooped like he’d just been told there was free pizza, Ni-ki fist-pumped with his bag of chips, and Jungwon blinked slowly, very slowly, like he was processing the possibility of jumping into the pool fully clothed just to escape whatever fresh chaos this was about to be.
“Oh no,” he muttered. But Sunoo’s grin only widened.
“Oh YES,” Sunoo corrected, practically vibrating in place. “And you’re all playing. No excuses.”
“Wait, what kind of games?” Ni-ki asked through a mouthful of crumbs, which sprayed out in every possible direction like confetti.
“Fun ones!” Sunoo sang, already twirling around to head further inside. “Follow me!”
And before Jungwon could protest, Sunoo had latched onto his wrist like a human glitter-coated leash. Jake and Ni-ki trailed behind like obedient puppies, leaving Jungwon to be dragged through the human pinball machine that was Lee Heeseung’s living room.
It was worse up close. So much worse.
The bass thumped in his chest like a second heartbeat, lights strobed so violently Jungwon was starting to wonder if he’d walk away with permanent vision problems, and the air was thick with a mix of perfume, cologne, chlorine from the pool, and someone’s attempt at baking cookies gone very, very wrong.
Couples were pressed up against walls like they were auditioning for a teen drama, some guy in the corner was clearly attempting a TikTok dance and failing spectacularly, and the snack table had already been pillaged within an inch of its life. Jungwon caught sight of a poor bowl of cheese puffs that had been absolutely annihilated, crumbs raining down like orange snow on the carpet.
“This is hell,” Jungwon muttered under his breath.
“Hell with free food and drinks,” Ni-ki countered, still chewing happily.
“Hell but fun,” Jake added, eyes darting around like he was cataloguing future gossip material.
Sunoo, of course, was in his element. He waved at every single person they passed like he was a celebrity on a red carpet. People waved back. Some shouted “happy birthday!” Others just squealed because apparently, Sunoo existing was enough to warrant applause.
“See, Jungwon?” Sunoo said brightly over his shoulder, still dragging him through the sea of people. “This isn’t so bad, right? You’re having fun.”
Jungwon deadpanned, “I literally want to die.”
Sunoo ignored him, naturally, and pulled them toward the stairs. “Upstairs! Come on! It’s way better up here.”
The second floor was… quieter. Not quiet, but quieter. Instead of wall-to-wall chaos, there were clusters of people lounging on plush sofas, chatting or scrolling on their phones, or peering over the balcony to watch the madness below. The lighting was dimmer, moodier, less “club rave” and more “VIP lounge.”
And there—like the crown jewel of the whole night—was Lee Heeseung himself.
He was sitting on one of the couches like he owned the place (which, well, he technically did), effortlessly cool with an arm slung casually over the backrest, a red cup in hand. People surrounded him, laughing at whatever he said, because of course they did. Heeseung was that guy. Tall, charming, the type everyone either wanted to date or be, or maybe both. The kind of guy who could sneeze and someone would call it attractive.
And beside him, curled comfortably into his side like he’d been built to fit there, was Sunoo’s throne. Sunoo dropped Jungwon’s wrist just long enough to fling himself onto the couch next to Heeseung, grinning like the cat who got the cream.
“Babe!” Sunoo chirped, grabbing Heeseung’s free hand. “They came!”
Heeseung looked up, smiled that slow, devastatingly famous smile, and nodded at Jungwon, Jake, and Ni-ki like they were guests of honor instead of three gremlins Sunoo dragged upstairs. “Nice. Glad you guys made it.”
Jake practically preened under the attention. Ni-ki stuffed another chip in his mouth. Jungwon just stared. Because honestly? Watching Sunoo sparkle next to Heeseung was like watching two completely different types of star power collide into one blinding spectacle.
Sunoo leaned dramatically against Heeseung’s shoulder, shooting the three of them a look. “See? I told you. Best boyfriend ever. Party king extraordinaire. Ugh, I’m so lucky.”
Jake rolled his eyes so hard it was a miracle he didn’t sprain something. “Never in my life have I been more jealous. Sunoo, you’re living the actual dream.”
“Don’t I know it,” Sunoo said smugly, stealing a sip from Heeseung’s cup like it was his own.
Meanwhile, Jungwon slumped into the nearest sofa, rubbing his temples as the music from below pounded faintly through the floorboards. This was it. He was officially trapped in the Sunoo-Heeseung Show. And apparently, there were games involved.
He had a bad feeling about this.
The first game had been flip cup, and Jungwon had watched it from a safe distance, hands shoved into his hoodie pocket while the rest of the party shrieked around the long wooden table. It was ridiculous, honestly—the way people screamed at the sight of a plastic cup toppling over, the way entire teams collapsed into each other’s arms like they’d just won an Olympic medal for flipping something upside down. There was beer spilled everywhere, soaking the floor and someone’s shoes.
Ni-ki had been red-faced from laughing at that, Jake nearly doubled over, and Jungwon had just shaken his head like, you people are insane. Still, there was something weirdly mesmerizing about watching everyone get so into it, like chaos concentrated in a single spot. He could appreciate it—from afar.
Jungwon hated parties. He really did. But Sunoo’s voice had been merciless all week, a nonstop stream of: if you love me, you’ll come, if you’re really my best friend, you’ll at least show up, if you ever ditch my birthday again, we’re breaking up platonically forever. And here he was. He wasn’t drinking, wasn’t playing, wasn’t doing much of anything except standing near the back doors with Ni-ki and Jake, laughing when they laughed and rolling his eyes when they pointed something out, but still, he was here. That counted for something.
Oh well. He thought.
He thought that would be it for him. He’d do his best friend duty by showing up, he’d clap and cheer politely at Sunoo’s over-the-top games, and then he’d slink back to his corner until it was time to call a cab home. That was the plan.
But then Sunoo spotted him. Of course Sunoo spotted him. Sunoo, glitter pressed into his temples, hair perfectly styled even though the humidity should’ve ruined it by now, bouncing across the patio like he was born to be the ringmaster of this circus. He clapped his hands and shouted over the music, “Okay! Next game!” and everyone cheered like he’d just announced free cash. Jungwon was already dreading it.
“Musical Shots!” Sunoo sang out, dragging the syllables, milking the suspense like a true showman. “You know the rules! Circle, music, grab fast— one without gets eliminated!”
“And oh! Another advice. Be careful with your cups.”
Groans, cheers, someone wolf-whistled. People swarmed like bees toward the indoor living room, where a low coffee table was already lined with neat rows of shot glasses, each one filled with a questionable rainbow of liquids—some glowing red, some suspiciously green, one ominously opaque white. There were way too many to be safe.
Jungwon was content watching the crowd funnel inside until Sunoo’s hand latched around his wrist.
“Oh no,” Jungwon said immediately, digging his heels in, but Sunoo was deceptively strong for his size and was already tugging.
“Oh yes,” Sunoo chirped. “You, mister I-hate-parties, mister I-never-show-up, mister I’m-too-good-for-fun—get in the circle. It’s my birthday.”
“Sunoo,” Jungwon hissed, trying to resist without making a scene. “I don’t play.”
“Don’t ruin this for me,” Sunoo cut in dramatically, like Jungwon had just threatened to burn his cake. “One game. Just one. If you lose, that’s your fault, not mine.”
Ni-ki cackled. Jake added fuel to the fire with a yell of, “Go on, Jungwon! Do it for the birthday boy!” and then others nearby picked up the chant: “Do it! Do it! Do it!”
Jungwon wanted the ground to open up and swallow him. But he also didn’t want to be the guy who killed Sunoo’s glitter-covered joy. With a resigned sigh, he let himself get dragged into the circle. “Fine. But if I die, you’re explaining it to my mom.”
The music was already starting up again, something obnoxiously bass-heavy, and Jungwon stood in the circle shoulder to shoulder with strangers and not-strangers, watching the shot glasses blur in his vision as they spun around the table like a glittering carousel. Sunoo gave a dramatic flourish of his hand, like a conductor beginning a symphony, and the game began.
The first round was chaos. The music cut off mid-beat, and suddenly it was a stampede of hands diving for glass, liquid sloshing onto the table, someone screaming in victory as they knocked back theirs. Two poor souls were left staring at empty spaces, and the roar of the crowd around them was merciless. They were booed, teased, shoved toward the “punishment corner” with dramatic flair.
Jungwon exhaled. Okay. That wasn’t so bad. He’d just be fast. That’s all.
Second round. The music pounded, laughter ricocheted off the walls, someone elbowed Jungwon lightly and winked like this was the Olympics. The music cut again and again, chaos. Jungwon managed to snag one this time, glass nearly slipping from his fingers, liquid stinging down his throat before he even knew what it was. Sour, sweet, burning. He coughed through it, eyes watering.
Third round. Louder. Faster. Someone actually tackled their neighbor trying to snatch the last glass. The room was boiling with energy, Sunoo clapping wildly on the sidelines, Heeseung leaning against the staircase rail on the second floor looking half-amused, half-exasperated like a tolerant dad.
Round after round. Shot after shot. Jungwon’s head was buzzing now, the music vibrating inside his skull. He didn’t even know how many glasses he’d had, just that the circle was shrinking, players getting eliminated one by one.
The air was sticky, charged. Every cut of the music sent adrenaline spiking through Jungwon’s veins, every grab for a glass was a split-second gamble. He was dimly aware of Sunoo screaming encouragement, of Jake howling with laughter every time someone fumbled.
The final round of Musical Shots was not just loud — it was catastrophic. The living room didn’t look like a living room anymore; it looked like a disaster site. Chips were crushed into the carpet like confetti, someone’s shoe was floating in the pool outside, and half the shot glasses had migrated to the floor, forgotten casualties of war. The crowd pressed tight around the table like it was the championship game, people stomping on furniture, the bass from the speakers rattling the windows.
And somehow — unbelievably — Jungwon had clawed his way to the end.
It was down to three players: him, Niki, and one other guy Jungwon vaguely recognized but didn’t care enough about to place. Some face from Heeseung’s circle, tall, annoyingly composed, nameless in Jungwon’s brain. None of that mattered, because Jungwon’s eyes were locked on the two cups left sitting on the table like they were treasure chests at the end of a quest.
Two cups. Three people.
The music blasted again, Sunoo DJ-ing with a gleeful grin, volume way too high. The cups clinked against the wooden surface as they slid from hand to hand, bodies swaying with the tension. Everyone was leaning forward, shouting, clapping, banging on the table as if they could will the outcome into existence.
“PASS IT! PASS IT!”
“JUNGWON, FASTER!”
“NIKI’S CHEATING AGAIN—STOP STARING AT THE CUP!”
Jungwon’s palms were sweating, his heart racing like he was running a marathon instead of playing a stupid drinking game. The cup slid into his hands, he shoved it over to Heeseung’s friend, the beat pulsing in the background, everyone practically vibrating with the tension.
And then the music cut.
Everything collapsed into chaos.
Niki dove first, body practically sprawling over the table like it was a crime scene. Jungwon lunged the opposite way, nearly taking out the chip bowl with his elbow, his hand closing around cold glass. Victory. His lungs felt like they’d burst, adrenaline surging as he clutched the cup with both hands like it was solid gold.
Niki had one. Jungwon had the other.
Which meant Heeseung’s friend had nothing. Eliminated.
The room detonated.
“OUTTTT!”
“ELIMINATEDDDDD!”
“BYEEEEEE!”
The upperclassman groaned like a man who had just lost the lottery, throwing his head back so dramatically his hair nearly brushed the back of the couch. The final cup had slipped out of his fingers, stolen right under his nose, and the defeat hit him like a physical blow. He slumped in place, both hands dragging down his face in an exaggerated display of despair.
Meanwhile, Jungwon sat frozen with his own glass clutched to his chest like a precious relic. His hands were trembling so hard the liquid inside rippled dangerously close to the edge. He could feel his heartbeat in his ears, a pounding bass that almost matched the muffled music still thumping from the speakers in the background. Around him, the crowd erupted, a cacophony of cheers, groans, and whistles bouncing off the walls.
“CHAMPION OF THE ROUND, BABY!” Jake hollered from across the circle, spilling half his drink as he slapped Ni-ki’s shoulder hard enough to make him choke.
Jungwon, chest heaving like he had just escaped a battlefield, forced himself to raise his cup in shaky triumph. He managed a crooked grin, the kind that screamed I nearly died but I lived, and pumped his fist weakly.
But.
A tiny wedge of white peeking from the underside of his cup, like the edge of a receipt stuck to the bottom of a shoe.
His victory smile froze. The world tilted.
Slowly, as if reaching for a live grenade, Jungwon turned the cup, squinting. And sure enough, there was something taped there. Paper.
“What the hell is this?” His voice cracked, too high, too suspicious.
The change in the room was instant. The cheers dulled into curious murmurs. Heads turned like flowers tracking the sun. Someone at the back even stood on their toes, trying to peek. The music kept thumping faintly, but it felt muted, swallowed by the sudden swell of attention.
Jungwon’s pulse stuttered. With painstaking caution, he pinched the paper with two fingers and peeled it away. It came off in one clean motion, the sound of the tape tearing making his stomach sink. His friends leaned closer, breaths held, anticipation crackling in the air.
His screech cracked through the air. “WHAT THE FUCK?!”
Jake, quicker than lightning, lunged forward and snatched it from him. He held it up squinting at the words and then doubled over, cackling so hard he nearly collapsed. “CONGRATULATIONS! YOU JUST PICKED THE POISON CUP!”
The scream that ripped through the house could’ve shaken the roof.
People shrieked, some falling backward into each other, spilling drinks on the carpet. Ni-ki was rolling, legs kicking. Heeseung clapped once, then again, then smacked his thigh so hard the echo bounced off the walls.
“The POISON CUP?!” Ni-ki choked out, tears in his eyes. “WHAT EVEN IS THAT?!”
“EXCUSE ME?!” Jungwon barked, hands flailing. “WHAT DO YOU MEAN POISON CUP?!”
And then—like the villain finally stepping onto stage—Sunoo leapt up from his seat, practically vibrating with joy. His clapping was so fast it sounded like applause at a concert. His grin split his face, eyes glowing like he’d been waiting his whole life for this.
“SECRET RULE!” he yelled over the noise, bouncing on his toes. “I was waiting for someone to see it!”
The crowd shrieked louder, some booing, others clapping their hands like maniacs. Half the room shouted “GENIUS!” while the other half screamed “YOU MENACE!”
“What is this?” Jungwon pointed at him like he was on trial.
“Like the Joker! Hello? Every game has a twist.” Sunoo shouted gleefully. “I made it! MY SPECIAL ROUND. HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME, BABES!”
The betrayal hit like a slap. People screams, laughed, collapsed into each other. Jungwon grabbed his head with both hands and let out a strangled scream. “YOU’RE ACTUALLY INSANE. WHO EVEN DOES THIS? WHO BOOBY-TRAPS A CUP?!”
“Me!” Sunoo chirped, absolutely glowing.
The laughter doubled, the energy bouncing around the room like electricity. Ni-ki was screaming into the floor. Jake was still recording, his phone shaking as he wheezed. Even Heeseung was slapping the couch, gasping for breath.
Jungwon, voice hoarse, read the rest of the cursed slip aloud. “You have chosen the POISON CUP! A cursed relic planted by the Birthday King himself.”
“Your punishment: You will be locked in a room for 30 whole minutes with the player eliminated in this round.
Don’t worry, a room has already been prepared for your suffering (and entertainment!). Have fun. Or don’t. That’s the point.”
The chants began.
“LOCK HIM UP! LOCK HIM UP!”
“PUNISHMENT! PUNISHMENT!”
Jungwon stomped his foot like a toddler, shaking the slip in the air. It’s funny. Out of nine perfectly ordinary cups and seven whole rounds of frantic scrambling, wild screaming, and sheer dumb luck, Jungwon had somehow managed to be the chosen idiot who landed the one cursed glass in the entire game. Statistically, it was tragic. Comedically, it was flawless.
The eliminated player had stepped forward now. He was quiet, hands shoved in his pockets, an awkward half-smile tugging at his lips. Jungwon finally looked up at him, breath catching.
Sharp jaw. Familiar face. He’d seen him somewhere before—maybe walking with Heeseung after practice, maybe just in passing in the halls.
Jungwon’s face went white. “Just give me real poison, goddammit!”
The laughter that followed could have carried the roof clean off.
Jungwon had tried. God, he had tried. He’d bargained, negotiated, even begged with his most pitiful, wide-eyed expression but Sunoo, who had seen every trick in the book after hosting an endless parade of parties with Heeseung, was immune. Completely unfazed. For Sunoo, this wasn’t history in the making or a catastrophic humiliation of his best friend; this was just another night. Just another party game. Just another punishment to laugh at until his stomach hurt.
And that was how Jungwon found himself standing inside a quiet bedroom, the echo of the door clicking shut behind him somehow louder than all the chaos outside.
The bedroom wasn’t even that bad, technically. Probably a guestroom, tucked away on the first floor, far enough from the pool to have a thin veil of peace but close enough that the chaos outside bled through. The muffled boom of music rattled faintly through the floorboards. Laughter carried across the hallway like echoes in a cave. Sometimes the screams of “MAKE IT AN HOUR!” from the partygoers outside floated in, still merciless even with a door between them.
Thirty minutes. That was the sentence Sunoo had decreed with his evil little smile.
Jungwon told himself thirty minutes was nothing. Thirty minutes was a nap, a bus ride, the time it took Ni-ki to argue with a vending machine. Thirty minutes was manageable. Nothing bad could happen in thirty minutes… right?
He exhaled, turned around and nearly jumped.
Jungwon, caught off guard, managed only the world’s most awkward nod, his shoulders stiff.
The guy was already seated, calm as if the world hadn’t just shoved them into a punishment chamber together. He was in the corner, perched casually on one of the wooden chairs like it was his rightful throne, legs stretched out, shoulders loose. And when Jungwon looked at him, he smiled. A soft, easy smile, like this was just the start of a friendly chat and not a punishment Jungwon had been violently tricked into.
“Jay,” the guy said, his voice even and warm.
Jungwon blinked. His throat felt dry, so his answer came out clipped, almost reluctant. “Jungwon.”
The boy—Jay, apparently—grinned wider at the curt reply but didn’t comment. Instead, he asked, “Is this your first time at Heeseung’s party?”
The question was casual, but Jungwon still felt his shoulders tense. He shifted, eyes dropping for a second before he answered, “I went to one before.”
Jay nodded like that explained everything. “That’s why you kinda feel new,” he said, tone light, observational. “You don’t like parties?”
Jungwon tilted his head, lips quirking humorlessly. “You can say that. It’s really not my thing.”
Jay laughed at that, an actual laugh, warm and unbothered, filling the room enough to momentarily drown out the thudding bass from outside. It was the kind of laugh that made it hard to stay stiff around him. “I guess you’re going home after this, then?” he asked, leaning back more comfortably in his chair.
Jungwon chuckled under his breath, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah. Probably.”
For a moment, the room went quiet. Not awkwardly quiet, but not entirely comfortable either. Just still. The hum of the air conditioner filled the silence, mingling with the muffled echoes of cheers and the occasional splash from the pool outside. Jungwon found his eyes tracing the lines of the guestroom—the plain curtains, the folded blanket at the edge of the bed, the faint scratch on the wooden desk—anything to keep himself from staring too long at the boy across from him.
Then Jay’s voice broke the silence. “Do you ride bikes?”
Jungwon blinked, his head snapping toward him with an incredulous squint. “What kind?”
Jay stood up smoothly, shoving his hands into his pockets as he walked a few steps closer to the window. “Big bikes,” he said, turning his head just enough to flash a smile.
Jungwon shook his head slowly, brow furrowing. “I’ve never tried.”
Jay’s grin deepened as he pushed the curtain aside and slid the window open. The sound of the party outside swelled instantly, a gust of cooler night air slipping in. He leaned against the wall beside it and tilted his chin toward the view. From there, the back of the pool house stretched out—dimly lit, quiet compared to the chaos out front—and further down, the small lot where a row of vehicles was parked, one of them sleek and unmistakably his.
Jay’s voice was laced with a sort of mischievous pride. “Wanna leave and have your first bike ride?”
Jungwon blinked at him, dumbfounded, before letting out a scoff that curved into a reluctant smile. “You also wanna leave the party?”
Jay crossed his arms, leaning casually against the wall by the window like he had all the time in the world. “Well, Sunghoon was already dead drunk before you guys even arrived,” he said matter-of-factly. “And Heeseung will probably be locked up with Sunoo later. So, what’s the point of staying if I’ll just be alone too?”
Jungwon’s lips twitched, fighting another smile as he finally stood up from the bed. He rubbed his palms together nervously, his mind racing even as he forced a casual tone. “We don’t have our phones, though.”
Jay’s answer came effortlessly, like he’d already thought it through. “Then let’s do something better than having our phones.”
Jungwon shook his head, half in disbelief, half in amusement, a laugh slipping out despite himself. He looked at Jay, really looked this time—the self-assured posture, the teasing glint in his eyes, the way he seemed perfectly at ease offering an escape to a stranger he barely knew.
Jay raised his brows, holding his hand out toward the window like a gentleman making an offer. “Shall we?”
The air felt charged in that moment, buzzing with the thrill of something reckless.
And then, with a roll of his eyes but a smile tugging stubbornly at his lips, Jungwon walked over. Jay held the window open for him, patient and steady, like he had all the time in the world to see if Jungwon would take the leap.
Honestly, if someone had told Jungwon at the start of the night that he’d end up locked in a guestroom with a stranger, a nameless face in his head, only to be invited on a motorcycle ride minutes later, he would’ve laughed them off. He would’ve said impossible, ridiculous, not his style.
Yet here he was. Heart racing, amusement curling in his chest, staring at a boy who was holding the window open like it was a doorway to something bigger.
With a soft sigh and a reluctant grin tugging at his mouth, Jungwon stepped forward. Maybe thirty minutes wasn’t just “manageable” after all. Maybe it was more than enough time for a runaway escape, a stupid little detour from the version of the night he had imagined for himself.
It’s funny. Here he was, about to climb out of a window with a stranger whose name he had learned less than five minutes ago. A stranger with a smile that made the idea of throwing away the rest of the night feel almost reasonable.
The parking lot behind Heeseung’s house was dimly lit, the glow from the pool lights barely reaching this far. The faint thump of music was still audible, but muffled now, like the party was happening in another universe. Out here, everything was quieter, calmer—the kind of space where laughter dissolved into crickets and the night air actually had room to breathe.
Jay’s bike stood out immediately. Black, sleek, gleaming faintly under the single streetlamp that buzzed above it. It wasn’t just transportation; it looked like the kind of machine that demanded attention. Jungwon paused in front of it, staring, his brain supplying about six different excuses to back out. But Jay was already moving.
With practiced ease, Jay crouched beside the bike, popped open the rear box, and pulled out a helmet. “Here,” he said, holding it out like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Jungwon blinked at it. “You just keep a spare helmet in there?”
“Always.” Jay’s smile was easy, casual. “Never know when someone’s gonna need a ride.”
Jungwon snorted, though his fingers fumbled slightly as he took the helmet. “That’s either really thoughtful or really cocky.”
“Both,” Jay said without missing a beat.
Jungwon rolled his eyes but couldn’t suppress the way his lips twitched. He turned the helmet over in his hands, stalling, unsure of how to even put it on without looking like an idiot. Jay noticed—of course he did—and without hesitation, stepped closer.
“Here, let me,” Jay murmured, taking the helmet back gently. Jungwon froze, heat creeping up his neck as Jay lifted it carefully, guiding it down over his head. The world narrowed for a moment—the soft brush of fingers near his temple, the faint scent of cologne mixed with motor oil, the way Jay adjusted the strap under his chin like it was second nature.
“There,” Jay said, patting the side of the helmet lightly, his grin flashing in the dim light. “Fits fine.”
Jungwon muttered something unintelligible—thanks, probably—and looked anywhere but at him. His reflection caught faintly in the bike’s chrome, helmet too big on his head, and he wanted the ground to swallow him whole.
Jay swung a leg over the bike with fluid confidence, settling onto the seat like he belonged there. He glanced back, jerking his chin toward the space behind him. “Well? You coming or not?”
Jungwon hesitated, heart hammering. This was insane. This was reckless. This was the kind of thing he always swore he would never do. And yet—he found himself climbing on, awkward at first, his hands hovering uncertainly before finally resting on Jay’s shoulders.
“Hold tighter,” Jay said, amusement in his voice.
Reluctantly—so reluctantly—Jungwon slid his arms around Jay’s waist. The leather of Jay’s jacket was cool under his palms, solid and steady. His pulse, meanwhile, was anything but steady.
Then the engine roared to life. The vibration buzzed up through the seat, rattling Jungwon’s bones, drowning out the muffled party behind them. Jay revved once, twice, and then they were moving out of the parking lot, past the pool house, onto the dark road that stretched away from the party like an open invitation.
Wind whipped at them instantly. Cold, sharp, alive. Jungwon’s breath caught as the night blurred past—the streetlights flickering overhead, the trees bending like shadows on either side. He tightened his grip unconsciously, heart climbing into his throat as the bike leaned smoothly into the road, engine humming beneath them like some kind of living beast.
It was terrifying. It was exhilarating. It was nothing like the safety of crowded rooms or the predictable hum of background noise. For the first time that night, maybe for the first time in a long while, Jungwon felt the sharp edge of freedom.
And honestly? It felt like exactly the kind of trouble he didn’t know he needed.
First Stop: If I Had Money
By the time the bike purred to a stop in front of a 24-hour convenience store, Jungwon’s arms were stiff from holding on too tightly and his hair a little messier from the rush of wind. The fluorescent lights of the store hummed against the dark night, the sliding glass doors fogged faintly from the air conditioning inside. Jay kicked the stand down, pulled off his helmet, and tossed Jungwon a grin that carried the confidence of someone who thought this detour was genius.
Jungwon, on the other hand, stared at the glowing signage above the store and then back at Jay with a deadpan look. He lifted a brow pointedly at the bright green “OPEN 24 HOURS” sign. “Your grand idea is… snacks?”
Jay laughed as if he hadn’t just been caught in the most anticlimactic reveal ever. He hopped off the bike, brushing imaginary dust off his jeans. “Trust me. You’ll see.”
But as soon as they walked toward the door, Jungwon’s brain caught up to the one critical issue. He stopped short, blinking. “Wait. We don’t have money.”
The two of them froze at the threshold like they’d just hit an invisible wall. Jungwon blinked at Jay, waiting for him to admit he hadn’t thought this through. Jay blinked back, lips pressed into a thin line of stubbornness.
Then Jungwon broke first, bursting into a half-scoff, half-laugh. “You’re unbelievable. First you say, ‘Let’s do something better than having our phones,’ and now we’re about to loiter in a convenience store like high school kids with nothing in their wallets.”
Jay’s grin returned full force, unbothered.“We are about to use our imaginations.”
Jungwon shook his head, sighing so loudly it bordered dramatic, but the corners of his lips betrayed him, tugging upward. “Imagination doesn’t buy me food.”
They pushed inside anyway. The glass door whooshed open, a bell chiming overhead, and the blast of cold air wrapped around them like a hug. The smell of instant ramen and microwaved foods lingered faintly in the air. Jungwon stuffed his hands into his pockets as Jay wandered in like he owned the place, immediately taking a left into the snacks aisle.
“Alright,” Jay declared, sweeping his hand over the shelves like a salesman. “Game time. If you had money, what would you buy first?”
Jungwon’s eyes flicked to the shelves lined with chips, then back to Jay, who was already crouching down dramatically in front of a stack of sour cream flavored ones. He bit back a smile. “Water.”
Jay whipped his head around, scandalized. “Water? Out of all this—” he gestured to the rows of neon chip bags, the towers of chocolate, the jars of imported cookies—“you choose water? That’s—” he stood back up, clutching his chest theatrically—“that’s the most boring answer I’ve ever heard.”
“I’d rather stay hydrated than die of salt poisoning,” Jungwon shot back, but the way his lips curved made it clear he was enjoying the argument.
Jay tsked, already moving on. “Wrong answer. Correct one is this.” He plucked a family-sized bag of barbecue chips and held it up beside Jungwon’s head like he was measuring it against him. “See? Perfect. Just your size.”
Jungwon swatted his hand away, snickering under his breath. “What am I supposed to do with a bag that big?”
“I don’t know. Use it as a pillow,” Jay said, totally serious, and Jungwon broke into real laughter this time, soft, stifled behind his hand because the store was quiet and the only other sound was the buzzing refrigerators in the back.
They drifted toward the candy aisle next, shoulders brushing accidentally now and then as they moved in the narrow space. Jay picked up a lollipop and twirled it between his fingers. “If I had money,” he said thoughtfully, “I’d get you one of these. Classic. Sweet.”
Jungwon rolled his eyes so hard it almost hurt, but there was a faint pink creeping up his ears. “If I had money,” he retorted, grabbing a random sour candy pack, “I’d buy you this. Just so you shut up for five seconds.”
Jay’s smile widened like Jungwon had handed him a compliment instead of an insult. “Aw, you’d spend imaginary money on me? That’s cute.”
“Shut up.”
They made their way down another aisle, still playing the game. Jay announced he’d buy every instant noodle cup on the shelf and build a fortress out of them; Jungwon countered that he’d just buy the microwave to cook them in, which earned him another dramatic gasp from Jay. The longer they went on, the sillier their answers got, laughter slipping out between the hushed aisles, echoing faintly under the store’s fluorescent hum.
It wasn’t until they slowed near the cashier’s counter that they realized they weren’t alone. An elderly woman with graying hair and a shopping basket on her arm had been watching them with warm amusement. She leaned slightly on her cane, eyes crinkled in a smile that made Jungwon freeze mid-sentence.
“You boys,” she said softly, her voice raspy with age but laced with affection, “are so cute. Laughing like that with nothing to buy.”
Jungwon blinked, his face heating instantly as if he’d been caught doing something wrong. Jay, of course, only grinned wider, unashamed.
The woman tilted her head, her smile kind. “Do you want anything? I can buy it for you.”
Jungwon opened his mouth, ready to politely decline, but Jay was faster. He clasped his hands together dramatically, bowing slightly. “That’s very sweet of you, ma’am, but we’re just… enjoying window shopping.”
The woman chuckled, clearly charmed. “Ah, young people. Always making fun out of nothing. Don’t lose that, hmm?”
Jungwon ducked his head, a small, embarrassed smile tugging at his lips, and mumbled, “Yes, ma’am.”
When she shuffled away toward the refrigerators, Jungwon shot Jay a look, half incredulous, half mortified. Jay only mouthed, she said I’m cute.
And Jungwon, against his better judgment, had to press his lips together to hide the laugh bubbling up again.
Second Stop: Higher, Higher.
The park wasn’t much of a park—more like a tiny strip of land squeezed between two quiet streets, half-swallowed by trees and dim yellow lamplight. The kind of place kids probably ran to after school to burn the last of their energy, with one rusty slide, a monkey bar that looked older than both of them combined, and two swings dangling loosely like they’d been forgotten by time. The chains creaked when the breeze pushed them, as if the playground itself had something to say.
Jungwon slowed to a stop at the entrance, squinting at the scene with the most skeptical face. “You can’t be serious.”
Jay, already walking ahead like he owned the place, just threw a grin over his shoulder. “Why not?” He gestured broadly at the empty playground. “It’s perfect. Who doesn’t love swings?”
“I’m twenty,” Jungwon deadpanned, hands buried in his pockets. “I think I’m past the legal age limit for slides and seesaws.”
“Legal age limit?” Jay barked out a laugh, stepping onto the gravel path that crunched beneath his boots. “It’s a playground, not a bar. Nobody’s gonna card you for sitting on a swing.”
Jungwon rolled his eyes but followed anyway, his sneakers dragging lightly through the dirt. “You look way too excited for this.”
Jay didn’t even bother denying it. By the time Jungwon caught up, Jay was already plopping down onto one of the swings, the chain rattling, his grin boyish and a little reckless. He patted the empty swing beside him. “Come on. Don’t make me look like a loser swinging alone.”
“I think you’re doing fine,” Jungwon muttered, though his lips betrayed him with the faintest twitch of amusement. Still, after a moment’s hesitation—and maybe because the night had already gotten ridiculous enough—he sat down. The seat was colder than he expected, the chain biting slightly against his palms as he gripped it.
Jay immediately kicked off the ground, rocking back and forth. “Race?”
“Race what?”
“Who can go higher?”
Jungwon gave him a flat stare. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Scared?”
That did it. Jungwon clicked his tongue, pushed off hard, and soon the two of them were rising in uneven arcs, the chains squeaking louder and louder with every swing. Their laughter mixed with the creaks, echoing through the still night like kids playing hooky from sleep.
“Don’t fall and embarrass yourself,” Jay teased, leaning back in his swing as if the higher angle didn’t scare him at all.
“Don’t project,” Jungwon shot back, pumping his legs harder. “If you break your neck, I’m not carrying you home.”
Jay tipped his head, smirk widening. “You sound concerned. Cute.”
Jungwon groaned, throwing his head back in mock suffering. “Why am I even here?”
“Because you lost a drinking game,” Jay reminded him cheerfully.
The swings clattered as they reached their peaks, the ground falling away beneath them, almost like they could fly. Jungwon found himself grinning despite everything, wind cutting cool against his face. It felt stupid. It felt freeing.
And then Jay asked casually, as if this was the most natural setting in the world for an interrogation. “So. What do you study?”
Jungwon squinted at him. “Why do you sound like a survey form?”
“Answer the question, stranger.”
“Forestry,” Jungwon admitted, kicking at the air. “Your turn.”
Jay grinned. “International Relations.”
“That explains the confidence.”
“Confidence?”
“Arrogance,” Jungwon corrected, grinning sideways.
Jay laughed, the sound sharp and bright. “Okay, fair. How old are you?”
“I said twenty.”
“Ah, so I’m older. I win.”
“Win what? Being closer to death?”
Jay almost tipped himself off the swing with how hard he laughed. He steadied himself, shaking his head. “Okay, okay. Full name.”
“Why? Gonna report me to the playground police?”
“Maybe. Answer.”
“Yang Jungwon.”
Jay’s swing slowed a little as he looked over, like he was trying the name on his tongue. “Jungwon…” He nodded, satisfied. “Park Jongseong. But you can just call me Jay.”
Jungwon snorted. “You sound like a CEO’s son or something.”
“Maybe I am,” Jay shot back without missing a beat.
They fell into a rhythm—swing, laugh, question, answer, repeat. Why don’t I see you at school? Oh, maybe because our buildings are on opposite sides of campus. Do you like dogs or cats? Dogs, obviously, cats are too smug. Favorite food? Tteokbokki. Hobby? Sleeping. Ideal weekend? Sleeping longer. Every answer was laced with little jokes, each tease pulling another smile, another laugh, until it felt like the swings weren’t the only things keeping them suspended in the air.
Eventually, Jungwon slowed his swing, dragging his shoes against the dirt to stop. His chest rose and fell quickly, not from exhaustion but from laughing too much. He tilted his head back, looking at the stars peeking faintly between the streetlights. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”
“Doing what?” Jay asked, still swaying gently beside him.
“Spending the night in a playground with some guy I just met.”
Jay’s grin softened, less teasing now. “And? Is it that bad?”
Jungwon glanced sideways at him, lips curving despite himself. “Not really.”
The chains jingled quietly as the swings rocked in the silence that followed, filled instead with the distant hum of cars, the muffled bass of music still bleeding from the party, and the sound of their breaths slowly syncing.
For the (not) first time that night, Jungwon thought: maybe thirty minutes in a locked room wasn’t the worst punishment after all.
The party had reached that dangerous, giddy hour where the music was just a touch too loud, the pool was a mess of floating plastic cups, and somebody’s shirt (no one knew whose) was hanging from the railing like a trophy.
Sunoo, flushed with victory from masterminding the “Poison Cup” twist, pranced dramatically through the crowd, a plastic tiara crooked on his head courtesy of one of his more enthusiastic guests. “Alright, people!” he announced like a king returning from war. “The punishment timer has ended! Time to unleash our star-crossed victims from the dungeon!”
The crowd roared, half-drunk, half-curious. Some of them had literally been counting down, perched by the pool like this was the main event. Heeseung, lounging with a drink in hand and watching Sunoo with adoration, called out, “Go get your prisoners, babe!”
Sunoo flipped his imaginary cape and strutted toward the guest room on the first floor, followers trailing behind him. Phones were out, cameras ready—the reveal was going to be glorious. He could practically taste the chaos already, imagining Jungwon’s grumpy face next to Jay’s smug one.
He flung the door open with all the drama of a Broadway curtain call. “TA-DAAA! YOUR THIRTY MINUTES ARE—”
He froze. The room was empty.
The bed was untouched, the chairs politely still where they were, the aircon humming innocently like it hadn’t just hosted the juiciest punishment of the night.
For a long, pregnant beat, the hallway behind him was silent.
“What the fuck.”
That was Jake’s voice, high-pitched, stunned, somewhere between awe and betrayal.
Sunoo blinked into the emptiness. “Wait. Waitwaitwait. What the actual… where the fuck are they?!” He rushed inside, as if maybe they were hiding under the bed. No dice. He whipped the curtains open, just moonlight and a faint breeze sneaking in from a window slightly ajar.
“Oh my god,” Ni-ki gasped from the doorway, swaying dangerously with a red Solo cup still in hand. His eyes were wide as saucers, face pale with drunken horror. “They got abducted.”
The hallway erupted.
“By who?!”
“By WHAT, you mean!”
“ALIENS!” Ni-ki cried, voice cracking. He pointed a shaky finger at the open window like it was irrefutable evidence. “They were TAKEN. Jungwon’s gone. Beamed up. Like—” He mimed an abduction ray, wobbling so hard Jake had to grab his arm. “SHOOP! Straight into the mothership!”
Jake groaned, clutching his forehead but clearly trying not to laugh. “You idiot, he wasn’t abducted by aliens. He was abducted by Jay!”
“JAY IS AN ALIEN?!” Sunghoon shrieked, close to tears.
Half the hallway dissolved into uncontrollable laughter. People were collapsing against the walls, phones shaking as they recorded the scene. Someone yelled, “SUNOO YOU LOST THEM?!”
Sunoo spun around, tiara slipping further down his head, eyes wild. “DON’T LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT—THIS HAS NEVER HAPPENED BEFORE!”
Heeseung arrived at that exact moment, trying and failing to hold back his grin. He wrapped an arm around Sunoo’s shoulders like the most indulgent boyfriend alive. “Baby, you literally locked two people in a room together. How did they Houdini their way out?”
Sunoo flailed, pointing dramatically at the open window. “HOW THE HELL AM I SUPPOSED TO KNOW THEY’D ESCAPE LIKE PRISON BREAK?!”
“They ditched the punishment,” Jake said flatly, still trying to wrangle Ni-ki, who was now muttering about calling NASA. “Jungwon ditched your punishment.”
Sunoo gasped like he’d just been personally stabbed. “Betrayal.”
Ni-ki sniffled loudly. “He’s gone forever. He’s never coming back. We’ll just—” hiccup. “We’ll just remember him as he was. A beautiful boy who hated parties.”
Jake smacked the back of Ni-ki’s head.
The crowd was howling now, voices blending into chants and jeers, “THEY RAN AWAYYY!”
And through it all, Sunoo stood in the middle of the chaos, expression stuck somewhere between fury, disbelief, and grudging amusement. He groaned into his palms. “I swear to god, if they come back married I’m killing them both.”
The laughter doubled, echoing down the halls of Heeseung’s too-big house. Outside, the music kept thumping, the pool kept splashing, and upstairs someone started yelling about a missing pizza box. But the story of the night had already been written:
Jungwon didn’t just lose the Poison Cup.
He escaped it.
And Sunoo was never, ever living this down.
Stop Three: Meeting Under The Cross
They had left the playground reluctantly, feet dragging as if they could stretch the moment by sheer force. But the swings creaked one last time and the cold metal bars finally lost their novelty. Truthfully, the park had gotten too noisy anyway—a group had arrived with beers, laughter competing with each other. It was the wrong kind of noise, too loud, breaking the bubble Jay and Jungwon had somehow managed to slip into.
So Jay had tilted his head down the road and muttered, “C’mon. I know somewhere better.”
And without really thinking, Jungwon had followed.
Now the two of them found themselves sitting on the wide steps of a neighborhood church, the kind with cream-painted walls and a neon-blue cross glowing faintly above the roofline. It wasn’t locked; the doors stood half-open, welcoming even at this hour. But they didn’t go inside. They stayed outside, perched shoulder to shoulder on the cool stone, watching the faint flicker of candlelight from the little shrine tucked at the corner of the courtyard.
The street was quieter here, tucked away from the rush of cars and the chaotic park crowd. A stray dog trotted past, tail wagging lazily before disappearing into the night. The silence felt heavier but not suffocating—it was the kind that made their voices sound more important, like every word they said would linger in the air longer than it should.
Jungwon leaned back on his hands, eyes flicking up to the cross like it had answers. “You really have a weird idea of fun.” His tone was mocking but soft, a little curious.
Jay only grinned, stretching his legs out. “It’s my idea of quiet. Big difference.”
There was a pause, filled by the buzz of a moth batting itself against the lamppost. Then Jay tipped his head toward him. “Okay, next round of questions.”
Jungwon groaned, scrunching his nose. “Oh my god, again? Are you, like, addicted to small talk?”
“It’s not small talk if it’s good,” Jay argued, eyes gleaming in the half-light. “If you could eat one food for the rest of your life, what would it be?”
Jungwon scoffed. “Really? That’s your first question? You sound like a BuzzFeed quiz.”
“Answer it, coward.”
“Fine. Kimbap.” Jungwon didn’t even hesitate.
Jay raised an eyebrow. “Respectable.”
“What about you?”
“Easy. Chicken.” He tapped his chest dramatically. “Man’s best friend.”
“That’s a dog.”
“Same thing. Both taste good.”
“Ew! What’s wrong with you!?” Jungwon shoved him lightly in the shoulder, but he was laughing now, the kind of laugh that slipped out before he could catch it.
Jay grinned at the reaction, then leaned back. “Okay, What’s your biggest fear?”
Jungwon blinked. “That escalated fast.”
“I told you, I don’t waste questions.”
The younger boy stared out at the street, lips pursing. “Not living up to expectations. Like, being ordinary. Forgettable.”
The answer hung there, rawer than he probably intended. Jungwon shifted uncomfortably, regretting it immediately. “Yours?”
Jay didn’t even look at him. His voice came low, matter-of-fact. “Losing people. The kind that matters.” Then he smirked again, ruining the moment. “Also, cockroaches. But, you know. Equal scale.”
Jungwon burst out laughing, clutching his knees. “You’re so… God, you ruin everything.”
“Thank you, I try.”
Eventually the teasing dulled into quieter tones. For a while, they didn’t talk. The silence wasn’t awkward, it was a strange, comfortable hush that pressed close but didn’t choke.
Their breaths fogged faintly in the cool air, and for the first time all night, neither of them seemed in a rush to fill the silence.
Then Jay spoke, his voice unhurried, “Okay. If you could know something from the future right now—and use it—you know, like cheat codes for life, what would you want to know?”
The question hung there for a while, heavier than any of their playground dares. Jungwon exhaled slowly, tugging at the hem of his shirt. “That’s kind of a scary question.”
“Yeah, that’s the point,” Jay said, chin propped on his hand. “No pressure.”
Jungwon tilted his head, thinking. His voice came softer this time. “I’d want to know if I ever get out of this town. If I actually end up where I want to be. Because sometimes it feels like I’m stuck in a loop. Same faces, same places I don’t even want to go to.”
The honesty sat between them, making the night feel thicker somehow. “What’s yours?” Jungwon asked.
Jay smirked, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’d want to know if I made the right choices with people. Like, do I still have the same friends? Did I lose someone important along the way? Did I waste my time on people who didn’t matter?”
His tone was lighter than the heaviness of what he was saying, as if he were deliberately wrapping the truth in casualness. But Jungwon caught it—the faint edge of sincerity under the act.
He considered him for a moment, then said quietly, “That’s not as shallow as you make it sound.”
Jay chuckled, brushing the tip of his shoe against the step. “Don’t tell anyone. Ruins my reputation.”
“Okay. Different angle. Do you think people are naturally good or naturally selfish?”
Jungwon blinked, caught off guard. He tilted his head, thinking. “Selfish. Most of the time. But not because they want to hurt people. Just survival. Protecting themselves. Sometimes that protection spills over and hurts others without meaning to.”
Jay hummed, impressed. “That’s… deeper than I expected.”
“Don’t act like you didn’t ask the question.”
“I know, I know.” He grinned, then leaned back on his hands. “Personally? I think people are selfish too, but in a way that’s negotiable. Like, if someone makes them feel safe enough, they’ll stop guarding themselves and suddenly they’re capable of things you wouldn’t expect. Kindness. Loyalty. Maybe even love.”
The word “love” lingered in the air longer than either of them wanted. Jungwon shifted slightly, looking away.
“Have you ever had that?” Jungwon asked, surprising himself. “Someone who made you feel safe enough?”
Jay’s smile faltered for the first time, his gaze drifting toward the dark street. “Not really. Not yet.”
“What do you think makes someone unforgettable?”
Jungwon answered slowly, choosing his words. “Not grand gestures. Not someone being the loudest in the room or the most perfect. I think it’s the people who make you feel seen, even in the smallest ways. Like they notice you when others don’t.”
Jay tilted his head, genuinely curious now. “So basically, someone who remembers you exist.”
“That’s the simplest way of saying it, yeah.”
Jay thought about that for a long moment before replying. “For me, unforgettable people are the ones who change the way I think. Even if they don’t stay forever, they leave something behind that you can’t shake off. A phrase. A memory. An image. And suddenly, you’re different.”
Jungwon looked at him then, caught by the way Jay wasn’t joking anymore, the way his eyes softened when he let his words settle.
He let the silence sit this time, not rushing to answer, not making a joke to deflect. Just absorbing it, like he was finally starting to see the layers behind the teasing grin.
The street was mostly silent by then. It was almost easy to forget they were just two strangers who’d met by chance in the middle of a ridiculous punishment. Almost easy to pretend they belonged here, tucked in the shadows of a church at two in the morning, trading thoughts like secrets no one else was supposed to hear.
And then the spell shattered.
A sharp bark ripped through the stillness. Jungwon’s head snapped up just in time to see two scruffy dogs barreling out from the side alley. One was small but vicious, a wiry mutt with its teeth bared; the other was larger, heavier, its low growl vibrating through the night like a warning siren. In the span of a heartbeat, they collided, snarling and snapping at each other, paws scuffling against the pavement so loud it echoed.
Jungwon nearly jumped out of his skin. “What the fuck!”
Jay was already half-laughing, half-ready to move, his hand gripping Jungwon’s sleeve instinctively as the smaller dog lunged. “Okay. Okay, I think that’s our cue.”
The fight grew louder—sharp, ugly sounds of claws and teeth—and even though the dogs weren’t aimed at them, the unpredictability of it made the air feel tense. Jungwon stood quickly, brushing at the back of his pants, pulse racing. “Yeah, no, I’m not about to get rabies at two a.m. This is not how my night ends.”
Jay stood too, calm but alert, his hand still hovering close as if ready to pull him back again. He glanced once more at the growling mess in front of the church, then shook his head with a crooked grin. “Guess even the universe is telling us to move along.”
Stop Four: On Top Of The City
The ride from the church to wherever Jay was leading them felt quieter than the others had been. Not that the streets themselves were quieter—they were the same empty roads littered with stray wrappers, the occasional cars parked under a flickering lamp post, and the hum of tired engines heading somewhere far away but Jay wasn’t talking as much this time. His usual running commentary, his half-jokes over his shoulder, his “hold tighter, unless you want to fly off”, all of it had softened into silence, like he had finally given the night permission to breathe.
Jungwon didn’t mind. The silence, paired with the low, rhythmic growl of the bike’s engine, was almost soothing. He sat with his hands steady on Jay’s shoulders this time instead of gripping tightly around his waist, his head tilted just slightly to catch the wind.
The night air slapped cool and fresh against his face, carrying with it the faint smell of trees, maybe grass, maybe even the ocean from some unseen distance. It didn’t matter where Jay was taking them. Somehow, Jungwon already knew it would be worth it.
When the road sloped upward, he realized. The climb was gradual at first, the kind you barely noticed, until the bike hummed higher and higher and the air turned colder, sharper. Jungwon’s ears popped once, and Jay shifted gears like he’d done this road a hundred times before. And then, with the smooth suddenness of a curtain lifting, the world below unfolded into view.
City lights. Dozens, hundreds, spilling out like spilled glitter over black velvet. They stretched into the horizon, pulsing faintly with life even at three in the morning. Buildings clustered in the distance, some still awake with neon signs; roads traced thin glowing veins across the sprawl; somewhere, the faint red blink of a radio tower stabbed into the sky. And above all of it, the stars—dim, competing, but still there.
Jay parked near the railing of a flyover that doubled as a lookout, the kind of place teenagers probably sneaked to for late-night cigarettes or stolen kisses. He killed the engine, and with the sudden quiet, the hum in Jungwon’s ears lingered like a phantom.
Neither of them spoke at first. They just… looked. The wind up here was harsher, tugging at Jungwon’s hair and slipping into his sleeves. He hugged his elbows but didn’t complain. There was something sacred in the silence, in the way the city breathed beneath them like a living thing.
Jay was the first to move, taking off his helmet and running a hand through his already-messy hair. He leaned against the railing like he belonged there, posture loose, eyes narrowed just a little from the wind. “Not bad, right?” he asked casually, as though he hadn’t just delivered a cinematic view straight out of a movie.
Jungwon snorted softly but didn’t look away from the skyline. “It’s… fine.”
“Fine?” Jay scoffed, feigning offense. “This is prime overlooking material, rookie. People write love songs about views like this.”
Jungwon finally allowed himself a small smile. “I didn’t say I didn’t like it.” He turned slightly, enough that Jay could see the faint gratitude in his face, softened by the glow of a lone streetlight above them. “Thanks, by the way. For the ride. For this.”
Jay tilted his head, catching the sincerity, and for once, he didn’t cover it up with a joke. Just a simple, “You’re welcome.”
The wind whipped between them again. Jungwon tapped his foot against the pavement, thinking. Then, in that hesitant, half-teasing tone he used when he wasn’t sure if he was joking or not, he said, “Next time, though… you should plan better.”
Jay’s brow shot up. He turned his head fully this time, eyes sharpening in amusement. “Next time, huh?”
The corners of Jungwon’s mouth betrayed him first, tugging upward. He tried to shrug it off, but his voice came out softer than intended. “This is fun.”
Jay let the words hang in the air for a second before he caught them, rolled them around in his grin, and lobbed them back. “More fun than parties?”
That one earned him an immediate answer. Jungwon’s eyes flicked back to the city, his voice firm, almost cutting. “Exactly.”
Jay laughed—not loud, not mocking, but a warm, startled sound, like he’d just been handed a gift he didn’t expect. His smile lingered, catching in the corner of his mouth as he looked out at the city with him. “Then I guess I did something right tonight.”
And for a moment, standing shoulder to shoulder in the biting wind with the whole world glittering beneath them, it didn’t matter that they’d only met hours ago. It didn’t matter that Jungwon had walked into Sunoo’s party expecting boredom and chaos, and had somehow ended up here instead—with a stranger on a bike, sharing a view that felt like theirs alone.
Then Jay’s voice cut through the night, soft but certain.
“Yang Jungwon.”
The name carried heavier than Jungwon expected, almost as if Jay wasn’t just saying it but tasting it, letting it linger. Jungwon turned, caught off guard by the sudden seriousness, his lips parting as if to answer but no words quite arriving.
Jay was looking at him. Really looking—eyes steady, jaw tight, none of the earlier teasing in his expression. For the first time that night, Jungwon felt his heartbeat stumble, quicken, as if it realized before he did where this was going.
“Hmm?” Jungwon asked quietly, half-uneasy, half-curious.
Jay inhaled, the sound barely audible over the breeze. His voice came low, almost careful, but it still struck with the same boldness that had defined him all evening.
“What would you do… if I kissed you right now?”
The question landed heavy between them. Jungwon froze. His mind was blank for a second, and yet his body seemed to understand the weight before his thoughts could catch up. He didn’t move away. He didn’t laugh it off. He just stared—at Jay’s earnest eyes, at the way his lips pressed together after speaking like he was afraid of what answer might come.
Seconds stretched. Neither of them broke the gaze. Jungwon felt warmth creep up his neck, his chest tightening with something unnamed, something unplanned. His mouth opened, closed, then opened again, his voice betraying him with a soft tremor.
“Then I’ll… kiss you ba—”
Jay leaned forward, closing the distance with a suddenness that was both shocking and inevitable. Their lips met, still and tentative at first, as if testing whether this was real, whether the world would allow it. Jungwon’s breath hitched, eyes fluttering shut, his hands clenching slightly against the railing at his sides.
Then Jay moved, slow but sure, molding into the kiss with a gentleness that contradicted his earlier boldness. Jungwon responded almost instinctively, leaning in, tilting just enough to deepen it, until the hesitation bled into something more fluid, more certain.
The city lights blurred behind Jungwon’s closed lids, the cold air forgotten against the warmth pressed to his lips. Time loosened, stretching, until all that mattered was the quiet push and pull—the soft parting, the tender return, the way Jay’s hand lifted as if to touch Jungwon’s cheek but paused, hovering close like he was holding back.
Jungwon’s lips curved faintly against Jay’s. A tiny, breathless laugh almost escaped him, but it dissolved back into the kiss, softer now, slower, like they were savoring the unlikeliness of it all—two strangers who had met only hours ago, now tangled in something that felt too big to belong to one night.
When they finally pulled back, it wasn’t far. Just enough to breathe, their foreheads almost touching, their breaths mingling in the cool night.
Jay’s eyes searched his, softened now in a way that almost startled Jungwon, as though the teasing stranger he had followed here had been peeled back to something raw and unguarded. A low murmur slipped from Jay, laced with awe and quiet disbelief—an admission that it was almost absurd, the way two strangers could meet in a single night and find themselves pressed together like this, suspended above the city as if the world below had ceased to matter.
Jay chuckled under his breath, but it was gentler this time. He tilted his head, brushing his nose slightly against Jungwon’s in a fleeting, unintentional gesture. “Not a bad first night, huh?”
Jungwon exhaled, his chest loosening with something between a laugh and a sigh. He shook his head, gaze flicking from the lights below back to Jay. “Not bad at all.”
And then, before the silence could stretch again, Jungwon leaned in, closing the small gap this time—pressing his lips back to Jay’s, softer, slower, almost shy, but carrying the quiet confirmation that he didn’t regret a single second.
By the time they slipped back into Heeseung’s house, the night had already surrendered itself to dawn. The sky outside was pale, the first brush of sunlight sneaking through half-drawn curtains, and the once-roaring party had dulled into a mess of scattered bottles, tangled blankets, and bodies sprawled wherever gravity had claimed them. It was five in the morning, the hour when exhaustion finally overpowered adrenaline, and the house itself seemed to hum with the strange silence that follows chaos.
Jungwon and Jay stepped inside like fugitives returning to the scene of the crime, shoes in hand, shoulders brushing as if their secret adventure wasn’t still clinging to them like the wind in their hair. They moved carefully, each step deliberate, avoiding the creak of floorboards and the crunch of empty cans. A couple of guys lay knocked out on the living room rug, limbs thrown wide, someone’s phone glowing faintly with forgotten music. Another was curled up in an armchair like it was a cocoon.
The bedrooms were all closed, doors heavy with the promise of snoring bodies inside. Jungwon glanced around, half-expecting to see his bag, his jacket, his phone, anything that might anchor him back to the ordinary but they were nowhere to be found.
Jay chuckled under his breath, a low sound that made Jungwon flick him a look, and Jay whispered, “Bet Sunoo has it.”
Resigned, the two drifted toward one of the empty couches near the far end of the room, an island in the wreckage. Jungwon slumped down first, exhaling a laugh that felt more like surrender, his body finally realizing how heavy the night had been. Jay followed a beat later, dropping beside him with a dramatic sigh, like even sitting was another joke at the expense of their aching legs.
“Not bad for a punishment,” Jay muttered, tossing his head back against the cushion, eyes glinting with leftover mischief. Jungwon huffed, nudging his knee against Jay’s. “Next time bring a wallet.”
After a while, Jungwon let his head fall onto Jay’s shoulder, almost without thought. It was a small movement, quiet and tired, but Jay stilled at the weight, blinking down at the crown of his head.
“You’re comfortable,” Jungwon muttered, half-embarrassed, half-asleep.
Jay’s lips tugged into a slow smile. He tilted his head until his temple rested gently against Jungwon’s hair. “Good. Stay there, then.”
Jungwon hummed, something like contentment rumbling in his chest. His voice was quieter this time, softer than the hum of the aircon. “Thanks.”
“You,” Jay said, tone dipping into something gentler now, “are better company than you think.”
For a second, Jungwon didn’t know what to do with that. His chest tightened, his throat thick with something unnameable, and all he could manage was a quiet, “You’re not so bad yourself.”
Little by little, their bodies leaned closer, fatigue doing what neither of them would admit out loud. Jay shifted slightly, turning the angle until his temple rested against Jungwon’s hair. The couch creaked with their combined weight, but neither noticed.
Outside, the city yawned awake. Inside, the wreckage of the party lay still. Opposite to the loud, reckless ride they’d shared only hours before, their runaway ended in quiet—two boys, shoulder to shoulder, head to head, sinking into sleep as though the couch itself had been waiting just for them.
When the house began to stir again, when voices groaned awake and footsteps shuffled across the sticky floor, someone eventually noticed. Then another. And another.
But no one said a word.
They just saw the two of them there, slumped together in peaceful surrender, the night’s mysteries tucked into the curve of their leaning shoulders.
Whatever had happened between the moment the bedroom door had closed and this morning where they now slept—it was theirs alone.
No one stirred to interrupt. No one whispered questions or pointed fingers. Whatever story had bloomed in the hours between night and morning lived only in the press of Jungwon’s temple against Jay’s shoulder, in the way Jay’s head tilted protectively toward his, in the easy, unthinking closeness of two strangers who were strangers no longer.
It’s funny how the best nights weren’t the ones planned down to the last detail, but the ones stumbled into by accident. Sometimes the greatest stories came from punishments, from poison cups, from windows that led not to trouble but to freedom.
In the end, it hadn’t been punishment at all.
It had been the perfect escape plan.