(Y/N) POV:

"You could've said you weren't making it back to hyung's... do you know how hard it is to wrestle back a drunk hyung on a rampage?"

"What?"

"He suddenly decided in the middle of the night that he was so sure you hadn't left the club so he had to go back and check... do you know how fucking hard it is drunk-wrestling with a guy whose got a lot more strength than you can tell?"

My lips twitch.

"I messaged!"

And I had. Somewhere between the blur of the taxi ride to the dorms I remember typing out the text twice. Once to Koo. Once to Hobi.

"A drunk hyung isn't in the frame of mind to read texts!" indignant as he scowls down at me, a grimace of distaste as he processes the scattered clothes and the very lack thereof of them underneath as I stretch and twist. Leisurely sinking into them. Feel a hard yank at my bared leg, a yelp when it jostles me.

"That's disgusting. Go shower and put clothes on. Sleeping in dirty sheets." The words hissed with a sharp, crackling scowl, mouth hard as he stares unimpressed.

"I had a long night."

"Gross... nothing excuses poor bed manners! Get into the shower gremlin."

"Way to make a feel girl feel special first thing." I croak, voice slightly hoarse, groaning at the tightening grip of his hand at my ankle. A reminder that he won't let up.

"If you wanted the pillow talk or the blind flattery that your face first thing doesn't look like my worst nightmare then maybe you should be training Park." Snorting as he gives my calf a pinch, lips curling smug at the yelp and the way my leg kicks out but his hand grips too easily.

"I'm your worst nightmare? That's not very nice Koo—I thought I was your dream at least." I mumble into the pillows before twisting round to lie onto my back. Too content and comfortable to get up despite the impatience in his eyes glimmer with.

"Oh trust me (Y/N) nothing here is dreamlike. Come on—get up!"

"Kooooo it's too early to be roleplaying playing Spartan and damsel in distress... though if you keep it up, I will very much be in distress if you make me get up."

"You big baby!" shock in his voice as he huffs, an incredulous sound.

"And there's no roleplaying... if you're awake enough to—"

"No no I'm asleep, I'm asleep." I burrow back into the sheets, wrenching them overhead, twisting to hide from the shadow of his looming figure growing closer, eyes clenching shut even though I can sense him leaning down, can sense his presence even from under the blanket, can feel the baited half-second of anticipation before he mercilessly drags the blanket down and off my face.

"Heartless!" I complain, twisting away from him.

But in the next instant the pillow under my head is yanked away.

"Koo!"

"(Y/N)!" he echoes back with a pitchiness that makes my eyes clench shut, flinching away from the shrillness of the sound and twisting to burrow back into the sheets. To somehow physically meld with the mattress and the blanket I try yank up but a tight grip refuses to relent at until suddenly—cold air makes my skin pebble, a startled yelp and the duvet suddenly being shoved up from where it's slid low down my back, arm covering my front.

Scowling as I shuffle upright.

"Nothing you haven't seen before." Pillow tossed abruptly at my face, blowing at the hair in front of my face, fingers brushing it back as I flop back onto the pillows, adjusting them back round.

"Would it have killed you to put on a shirt before falling asleep?"

"I was too warm."

A distaste flashing across his features, eyes settling heavy on my face.

Thinned lips.

And then a wavering deep breath.

"I'll run you a bath."

I sink back contentedly, stretching my legs out as I twist back into the sheets, curling into them once more.

"Thanks Koo." Muffled into the pillow.

The sound of retreating steps and the sound of water being run.

The beds in the dorms aren't massively big. But last night it'd felt neither big nor small. Had felt cosy in the press of a body to my own, bodies shifting and subconsciously stirring and adjusting in the night.

And right now the bed feels neither grown nor shrunk in size and yet the stretch of space where my fingers brush against the sheets, nor empty of the person that'd stumbled and tripped out of it tugs a loose smile to my face.

It was odd. To share a bed, to share my bed overnight with someone who was decisively not Koo. To share the space with someone who on a good day we barely got along without some dig at one another, some way to find a way to get under each other's skin. These days getting under each other's skin was nothing but foreplay to getting under each other's skin. To getting his body over mine, under mine, melded to mine.

Typing out a text before I can second-guess it.

"Quit the fantasising and go have a bath." Words snapping me out of the brief drift of thought, turning to see Koo's exited the bathrooms, towelling his arms off.

The faint trace of suds being wiped away.

The quiet sloshing that somewhere in the back of my mind I'd registered being placed to damp forearms.

"Gonna wait for me?"

"Hobi hyung's waiting for us to get brunch."

Eyes sweeping over my room before he toes at the discarded dress.

Eyes rolling with resigned exasperation, gaze drifting heavenwards.

"You're an angel Koo."

"Don't I just know it?" he grumbles under his breath, turning to rifle around the drawers—shirt tossed at me to tug on before I clamber out of bed, slowly shuffling towards the bathroom, the curling waft of steam brushing against me as I push the door open.

"Scalding!"

A quiet grumble from past the bathroom.

Already aware that the wisps of heat rising off the bath and suds are just the right temperature—veering off on just pass bearably hot for Koo and just perfect for me. Shirt slipping off as I sink into the bath with a low relieved groan.

The heat of the water immediately sluicing off the exhaustion and remnants of last night's club off my skin. Eyes skimming over the mottled reds and purples at the slope of my shoulder and the tops of my breasts, knowing that they trail down well lower.

It's odd... to share a space and feel neither discomforted by it nor used to it. Nor willing nor unwilling to offer up the space when Jimin had done it a few times himself. Something different in letting the same scene, the same scenario play out for me.

A body fumbling out of bed, sheets twisting abruptly, blankets shifting from where I'd been curled under them. The dip and rise of the mattress and quiet hissed curses that make my eyes blink open. Watching muscles ripple and shift, the drag of leather up and over thick muscled thighs, ringed hands yanking at fabric. Stretching out across the bed as I watch him fumble to dress, a different haste and urgency in the motions unlike when I'd left his dorm room. Relishing in the sight of his body, in the way he twists to face me, watch the way his eyes darken. Flash and dilate slightly. Watch and enjoy the visceral tangible reaction of attraction briefly distract him. Knowing full well his gaze tracks my body.

And then warm sheets, empty room and a space that's still full and almost crowded. Burrowing back into the faint lingering remnants of Jimin. Into the space that had been taken up by another body pressed close to my own. That had curled up beside mine, melding crevices and corners and lines and curves together.

Odd.

It's a new kind of odd. Not odd bad just odd peculiar. Unusual. Unused to.

And it's once I've dredged myself up and out of the bath, showered and rinsed off the suds and towelled off that I end up doing something odd peculiar.

Fingers typing out a second message.

❄️: Almost felt like we wasted the lighting in the club bathroom.

🏒: If all it takes is a cheap coloured light bulb to get your legs around me—done.

❄️: What if I want to be between your legs?

🏒: Invitation's there.

The next message doesn't come until later, a strangled choked sound as I inhale the mouthful of food I'd been eating. A spluttering coughing fit as I gulp down water, eyes blurring despite the hand rubbing at my back briskly.

Staring hard at the photo that's come through.

Blinking rapidly.

The angle the photo's taken at from higher up, phone angled down towards his lap. The sprawled invite of legs spread wide across the bench, loose sweatpants doing nothing to hide the definition of his thighs nor his bulge, nor the way his hand dangles lazily from his thigh. The definition of his veins prominent.

And then the short video that buzzes through what feels like seconds later. Not realising how long I've been staring at it.

Hand dragging over his bulge before his weight shifts, his legs spread wider as he slouches. Hand settling on the bench beside him.

And then it ends.

"You okay—stop sexting at the table!" concerned voice turning disbelieving and pitched. My body twisting to face him and shoving the phone out of sight. Hastily locking the screen.

"I'm not!" cheeks flaming and lungs burning for air as I look at Hobi.

Watch the laughter and disbelief etched clear on his face as he points an accusing finger towards my phone.

"You so were! Or do you just casually get dick pics?" on the other side of the table Kook splutters, a strangled sound of choked laughter.

"It is not a dick pic!" I hiss in incredulous disbelief, staring at the mirth glittering in Hobi's eyes, the heart-shaped grin stretched wide with tease.

Kook's cheeks turn ruddy from his wheezed cackles, face scrunched up with laughter. It tugs Hobi's grin wider and the scowl on my face deeper. Cheeks flaming as I shove my phone into my pocket. Feel it burn a brand through the fabric. Feel its weight and the image it carries feel like a flare. Mind branded with the sight of sprawled thighs manspread in invite.

Swallowing thickly.

"Progressed to the sexting stage?" Kook teases, eyes glittering with amusement as he stares at me from over the food. Grinning wide when my cheeks burn hotter, lips twisting as I glare, stabbing hard at the food I shovel into my mouth in lieu of answering.

"I have never—" I start defensively.

"Why not?" Hobi shrugs, grinning at me, elbow nudging at my side with a conspirator's wink. Eyes gleaming with mischief.

"—what?" blinking at him.

"Why not? Is he more into you? He seems more into you."

"We're just fucking."

"Exclusively." Kook interjects.

"We're just fucking."

"Must be a good lay if you can ditch the club for it."

"...I wasn't going to fuck in the bathroom." No matter how good the lighting had been.

"So she took him back to her dorm room instead~" Kook lilts.

The intensity and curiosity grows noticeably stronger in Hobi's gaze, body twisting so he's facing me, the weight of his trailing gaze felt against skin. Turning slowly to confront it.

Shooting Kook a betrayed look. A shit-eating scrunched grin returned unrepentantly.

"So it's not as casual as you've been saying sneaky." Fingers poking me in the ribs, watching me squirm and try to shift to avoid the prodding touch.

"It is casual."

"But you're exclusive."

"It's safer that way. It's convenient."

"For who? Cos no strings attached sex means you wouldn't be relying on the next moment he's free for a quickie—"

"It's easier Hobi cos he'll get me off. And that's guaranteed."

"Isn't that a given?" lips pursed and eyes flashing with confusion.

My hand pats his arm consolingly, tone depreciating.

"If every guy knew how to use what he had then it would be a given. Most guys just get off and go."

"So sometimes—"

From over the table, Kook lets out a suffering sigh. Having heard in far too much detail of sexcapades—including the failed ones. Especially the failed ones sometimes.

"Sometimes you get jerks who don't give a fuck. And we're just something they've used to get off."

The look of amusement and curiosity morphs into disgust and hard scathing contempt, hardens the lines of his face and his features with scowling distaste.

"Your partner's pleasure is everything." Words said with such certainty and a matter-of-factly tone that it doesn't even contest an argument for him.

My chest swells with pride even as my mouth curls up, melting from its scowl to nudge at his side and half-tilt to him to press a kiss to his cheek.

"And that's why Hobi despite our insane physical chemistry and friendship we could never." I sigh.

Tilting towards the arm that wraps loose around my waist.

Disarming grin directed at me.

"Because we'd be the power couple?"

I hum in agreement.

"That and if I hadn't been friends with you for years then there's no way I wouldn't have brought a dancer into my bed."

"Which you have." Kook adds.

"Which I have." I admit.

"Their stamina's insane." He nods in agreement, mulling the thought over as he continues to eat, cheeks puffing up and filling. Nodding musingly.

"I know we're not talking about me directly, but I feel targeted."

My eyes light up.

"Now don't get me started on those dancer's hips—"

[......]

"Heading to practice?" I ask as we head back towards the dorms.

"Got one in the evening."

"Can I join?"

"Didn't get enough of dancing with me last night?" a lazy grin. Warm and inviting. Open with welcome before he even says it.

"Never~ besides... could always work with my rhythm."

"Without me?" arm slung over my shoulder, force and weighted enough to purposely drag me down, to shoulder his weight until I straighten. Grinning at me.

"If you can keep up."

His steps falling back behind me, an abrupt swiped motion of arms wrapping around me and twisting sharply, a sharp squeal that morphs into a laugh, his voice nearly lost in it.

"I can't keep up? Sure about that?" easily switching from twirling me around to a quick toss before he catches me in his arms, eyes alight with challenge and an effortlessness in the motions that I don't register them, bodies seamless in the movement. Trusting him inherently.

Whisking me around and sidestepping Hobi, who watches on with fondness, trusting Koo but still hovering close enough that at most he's an arm reach away as he weaves around us, hand squeezing my calf.

"I'm sure Coach wouldn't mind two extra dancers."

"We come as a duo package."

"You can practice some of your duet pieces. Want me to book out a dance practice room?"

"Yes please~" words in unison.

[......]

There's something different about practicing dance moves that are in their very nature meant to be sensual and seductive. Something different about practicing those same moves with someone who I don't share an iota of physical attraction to but yet someone who knows my body like the back of his hand. Someone whose body in turn I know arguably better than my own.

There's something different about practicing displaying raw physical chemistry with someone who there's no attraction to and yet our bodies couldn't be more in sync, every single motion we take couldn't be more in gravitational orbit of each other.

"Drag your hand down slower and—dip, twist, toss." I call out, our eyes tracking the slow measured movement of his hand from over my ribs down my front to grip at my hip. The slowness of the movement entirely at odds with the quick tugged twisting motion that wrenches my eye contact with the mirror away as my body's turned to Kook's. Body falling into a sharp curve back as my back bends under the sprawl of his palm. Eyes meeting each other's for a few moments before the brush of fingertips silently signal to me to bring a leg up, stretched upwards, hands gripping me to twist me overhead. Moving to grip me steadily, a swift turn of motion before he tosses me upwards. Airborne. And then not. Caught by his hands before my limbs twist to spiral out of the hold and spin away from him.

It's different to practice the moves on solid ground, feet trying to mimic the swiftness of how quickly, how easily our steps would move on ice. Calculating that distance as I whirl away from him.

The quick fluidity of his body falling into tempo with my own, each gripped motion betraying desperation, betraying urgency and hurriedness, a roughness around the edges that melt into smooth motions.

"Head angled to mine and we both twist and sink towards the ground." Kook murmurs, breath hot against skin, head tilting to mine in return, eyes trained on the curve of my neck as his head lowers, his hands around the lows of my waist and back. My own at his chest and around his back. A twisting fervent urgency and need that we both try capture as our bodies spiral and twist downwards, melting towards the ground with one another. Curling closer and closer until our limbs and bodies intertwine.

Jagged breaths hot against each other's skin, feeling the slickness of his sweat against my throat, the dampness of his hair as we both still. Feeling the rise and fall of his chest under my touch, rapid and uneven and then the curl of his mouth against skin.

Triumphant and giddy.

A brief kiss pressed to my throat before his head straightens.

Glittering thrilled eyes looking at me.

"We nailed that sequence." He crows with delight.

Hand cupping my cheek, feeling each other's uneven breaths shudder against one another as he sinks back. Body slumping to his readily. The loose weight of his hand at my back keeping the two of us tucked together.

Fingers skimming my cheek to brush away flyaway strands that plaster to my cheek and neck and temple.

Smoothening it back from my face.

"We did it!" I echo, breathless and cheering.

"It only took us—"

"Hours... days... who cares? We did it!" I cheer louder, breath wavering as I slump down over him, feel that elation bubble and fizz in my veins.

"I knew we'd get it!"

"It feels—" I begin.

"Rough around the edges but that'll change when we continue to work on the whole routine. And when we harness the feelings properly." He brushes off with an easy confidence.

Clothes already clinging to skin, made discomforting by the way sweat plasters them there. Fuses them to our bodies. Sweat trickling down skin and into the moulded stretch of fabric, dipping underneath.

But I couldn't care less.

"Guess we couldn't stay away even on our days off."

His grin is infectious and stretched wide. A conspirator grin that shares in the unashamed delight and giddiness. Eyes alive and skin buzzing with adrenaline.

"It's why we make a good pair... I know you're down at batshit hours to practice with me." body slumping back with a relieved drawn-out groan that ripples through me, slumping over him. Limbs messily entangled and sprawled over his.

"Coach is going to love it." I enthuse.

"I love it." scrunched toothy grin and shining eyes.

A sense of achievement pulsing through my body, adrenaline making every inch tingle and spark, pulse hammering in my throat and skin buzzing.

A sense of achievement that pulses through my body. Adrenaline that makes every inch of skin tingle and spark, buzz with elation and triumph. Pulse hammering loudly against my ribs, feeling Kook's heartbeat echo in rapid response.

Step by step. Bit by bit.

Fragments of the routine slowly being learnt. Practiced. Perfected.

Sequenced moves that are beginning to feel natural. Comfortable. Fluid.

Bodies slumped together but despite the slowly settling in consciousness of how worn down hours of practice has made us, how gross and sweaty we are but too content and lazy to move... above it all is this overarching sense of accomplishment that curls our smiles wider.

Bit by bit.

Step by step.

To prepare to advance further this competitive season. To win this season.

[......]

It's later do I get to reply to Jimin's image.

A flash of heat coiling in my gut at the sight of it.

Eyes lingering on it as if it hasn't played itself over and over, viscerally branded across the inside of my eyes, flashing across consciousness.

Hand sweeping over condensation, clearing the mirror.

Fingers toying with the phone for a fraction of a few moments before pausing the music to open the chat.

Lips curling with amusement at the new unread messages already waiting.

🏒: No response?

And then a while later.

🏒: I don't know... if radio silence is good or bad...

🏒: Too busy to get to the phone? 👀

🏒: You could always call me~ 😏

🏒: ...I feel used...

And then a few minutes after that.

🏒: Enjoy~ 😉

As if he'd surrendered to the idea, amused on his own end that the silence had meant I was too busy getting off. Twitching smile stifled as I open the camera, angle it towards the mirror, hand clutching at the towel. Letting it dip lower.

❄️: Thought I'd return the favour.

Phone set aside as I dress.

Hearing the phone buzz.

Letting it sit there.

Even though the sound of it lingers after it's gone. Even though the sight of the phone tugs my curiosity, actively resisting it.

And when I do his response makes the heat of the shower, the heat suffused to my skin flare for a different reason entirely.

🏒: Where was my invite?

❄️: Closed doors this time

🏒: Shame~

🏒: Next time? 👀

❄️: That eager to get me hot and bothered?

🏒: Doll you won't even know half of it 🥵

---------------------------

"You know what I really hate?" fingers sinking into his hair and tugging harshly. Curving his head back and forcing his throat to arch, lips pressing sharp kisses to skin, breaths ragged against the column of his neck. Mouthing along the quickened pulse. Teeth scraping against skin.

"Apart from being bested every single time?" words lilted, drawn out with a rough cadence, an unevenness that betrays the sharp arousal that punctuates each rock of his hips pushing further into me, pleasure splintering in sparks and bursts through my body. Pushing my hips back to meet each thrust. Hand steadying myself against the bed, against sheets that have already been clenched tight between my fingers.

"Oh Park~ don't worry a guy can dream." Patting his cheek consolingly before my breath hitches, sharpens at the next grinding roll of his hips, weight pressing me down, pinning me down to the mattress.

A rough laugh exhaled against skin. The sting of teeth. The leisurely brush of his tongue over a mark he sucks into skin.

"What do you hate doll?"

"Hate that now that I've invited you back I'm stupidly considering it again."

His eyes sharpen with interest, heady with arousal as he looks at me, tousled hair falling forward, fingers skimming over it to rake back before my fingers skim through to curl against his nape. Lips hovering close enough but denying him.

Lips quirking in a loose smile, a keened sound rippling past them. Eyes fluttering shut but not before the darkened intensity of his stare scours through me.

Before his lips press a stinging kiss, all tongue and teeth, against the low of my throat.

"And what's wrong with that?"

"I don't want to look at that bed and—"

"Remember fucking on it? Because too bad. If I suffer, you suffer." Words rasped out with faded restraint, nothing but pure need dragging the cadence of his voice lower. Heavier against my skin. Hand dragging down my side to grip at my waist.

"Doesn't sound like you're a good sport."

"Oh doll I'm all about sharing the experience."

------------------------------

"You not going to shower?"

"I'm going to stay for a bit."

There's a question in Kook's eyes as he tilts his head, flushed and sweating as he dabs at his skin with the back of his hand.

Breathing heavy.

"But our slot's over."

"I won't be long."

A flicker of understanding and a grin that tugs at his face before he rolls his eyes at me, twisting to skate off the ice.

"Get back to the dorms before curfew. I don't want to do another wakeup call."

"You won't~"

"I mean it—partner or not, if you're late and Coach catches you you'll be stuck running laps."

"I know, I know—"

"I'll catch you later twirly." Grinning before he turns to leave, a swift quickness as he clambers off, the steady muffled steps of skating guards against the steps before he's slipping out of sight.

The rink etched with patterns and sequences we've traced onto the ice time and time again over the past training slot. Practicing lifts and separate sequences to get a feel for what move fits best for the next segment of our routine.

An endless endeavour whose marks are left behind on the ice now.

In the same process that you warm up before practice, the cooling down process is slower and unrushed. Languid circles around the rink without rush or urgency, without finesse or choreographed moves intertwined into it. No fancy jumps and twists, nothing but slowly circling the rink over and over, easing down from the constant gogogogogo of the practice session. Letting my heartbeat decelerate and calm.

But that same calming pulse betrayingly kicks up a pace when the slide of blades cutting through the ice seamlessly and a lofty lilted voice carries over.

"Doesn't seem too strenuous~ now where were you in Ice Skating 101 basics?"

"I don't know when you had to take that class Park but us skaters learn at a very young age." Body twisting around, two paces quicker than I'd been skating to skirt around the hockey player whose approached, lips curving up at the flash of wry amusement that glitters in his eyes.

"I learnt early."

"Sometimes being early isn't a good thing~"

"You won't find me rushing." A glimmer of something sharper entering the lilt of his voice, turning the upturned slow smirk across his lips into something heady.

It's too easy to play a game we've practiced. It's too easy to fall into a lull of thinking you're winning the game that we both know and twist the rules of.

And it's too easy to not be lured into that fall sense of security of having the upper hand as I skate around him, watching his dark eyes trace the patterns my skates leave behind for him to find.

"And like always~ not in a rush to leave the rink... it's booked."

"I know—" the words, the admission of knowing spills out before I can reign in those two words, and they spark a gleam in his stare.

"You know? So you stayed... why?"

Something weighted and gauging and toying with the few beats of silence that follows.

"Wondered if I could manage to keep the rink after all."

"Shame~"

"You're late to practice but you're early here?" my words drawn out.

And unexpected, though welcomed, is the different flash of intensity that brews with a sudden swiftness in his gaze.

At odds with the low drawl of his words as he in turns skates closer.

My own stilled by the weight of his gaze.

Feel his fingers skim against my hip as he rounds me from behind, feel him everywhere and nowhere, swift circles that are disorienting with the words that his lips brush close enough that I feel their heat against my skin before the cool air brushes it away.

Wipes its trace away.

"Like someone who took their sweet time in replying to messages but quick to try even the odds?"

"Try? Why? Didn't like it? Lesson learnt... I won't send more then—"

"I never said that."

"You never said otherwise."

Eyes sharp with a contemplating intensity, head tilting as he appraises me as if to try gauge what I'm thinking, trying to disentangle whatever messy entangled thoughts had been left behind when my photo had left an open-endedness to the conversation. An admittance that half of the thoughts Jimin had were secrets not yet divulged, fantasies not yet spilled.

It had made a coil of anticipatory heat spark under my skin. And I feel a flash of it now.

"Do you want to know what I think about doll?"

"Do tell~"

"Sometimes there's nothing I want than to wipe that smirk off your face—whether that's besting you or whether—" tilting close enough, hand reaching out. The slow drag of his thumb against my bottom lip lingering even after his touch slips away, even as he rounds me to skate backwards. Drifting himself out of immediate reach or retaliation. Crooked grin on full lips.

"Whether what Park?"

"Oh I think you know." Words teasing. Lilted. A neat skimming swept motion before he stills to grab his hockey stick and a bag of equipment. Slinging it easily over his body, the strap across his chest. Eyes lingering briefly on the breadth of his chest, the way the uniform's padding only emphasises it and yet under it I know the layers to cling to his muscles.

And his silence is his evasion. But it's also his play.

Sneaky and silent and slow until the last moment when he strikes.

So two can play at the same ploy. Two can play the same move.

It's the one who executes it better that wins.

So if he can play at evading direct answers, I can play with drawing them out, whatever way I have to.

Eyes full of glimmering expectation that I will ask, I will want him to say the words I already know brew between us.

I've seen that same stare sharpen, felt his thumb brush against my lips before bruising them with his own or before my mouth's sunk around him.

I know.

And his eyes show that he knows too.

Neither of us first to admit that touches and weighted stares alone do so much to inner restraint.

"I know that you had a problem to deal with after that photo I sent you."

Carnal hunger darkens his irises.

Glancing down to see the way his fingers have reflexively tightened around his hockey stick, the brief falter of his skates before he continues to move. Setting out his obstacles to practice turns and skating around and through.

"I also know that maybe your hand wasn't enough was it Park? Not enough now that you have an outlet."

Reading the tension and building tightness in the set clench of his jaw, the sharpened slant of his gaze and the way his teeth drag across his bottom lip. Choosing and savouring the words before he answers.

"So the next time I have a problem—"

"You've got my number. I can always guide and give instructions if you're not capable of it yourself."

No longer interested in waiting around, in seeing how his training might play out.

Relishing and revelling in the visceral look of aroused want that sets heavy. That parts his mouth to speak—

"But I'll let you practice alone for now. Call me if it doesn't work out~"

----------------------

🏒: I don't think you're right

❄️: Lies

🏒: You're not right...

🏒: BUT

❄️: Here comes the truth~

🏒: If I wanted to call...

❄️: Why? Got a little problem you can't take care of yourself?

🏒: Size hasn't ever been a problem has it doll~

❄️: Talk about being cocky

🏒: If I remember right it's all you can talk about... why else would we keep this going

❄️: ...touché Park. Someone's got a big head~

🏒: And someone's got a big mouth if what you were offering were empty words

❄️: You seem to have a love-hate relationship with my mouth...

❄️: Starting to sound a bit obsessed Park

🏒: With your mouth? I've heard of worse things to obsess over

❄️: I feel flattered. Honestly

🏒: Right now I want your mouth

My stomach dips. Twists and lurches with a sudden flash of warmth. Pooling under my skin.

The messages come late enough that I've already settled into bed, shifting slightly at the insinuation that dangles within reach for me to take. To accept and let it take the direction it's suggesting towards.

❄️: Where?

A photo buzzes through.

Where the first one he'd sent the other day had been insinuating of the bulge underneath his sweats, there's nothing left to imagination.

Hand loosely curled around himself. Legs angled open wide and the lower half of his abdomen. Sharp v-line of his hips and tensed muscles.

The photo I send back is nothing like his own.

Yet the one-worded response is all the satisfaction and validation that photo needs.

Fuck.

Parted lips in a half-grin.

Face out of sight save for it.

❄️: Obsessed. Called it.

And then...

❄️: What else do you want?

❄️: Where would you want me?

🏒: Between my legs

🏒: On the bed

🏒: Reverse

Oh.

❄️: Don't like the sight of my face?

🏒: Maybe I'm thinking of a different view

🏒: Besides I'm not selfish

❄️: Not selfish

❄️: Or just turned on by the thought of me bent over for you?

The next message isn't typed. It's a brief audio. Each second torturously infinite. Each second making the heat under my skin suffuse with want, making my body shift under the covers.

Voice weighted with a hoarseness that briefly I ache to feel pressed against skin.

"I'm not selfish because fuck if that doesn't do things to me. And fuck if I don't want to put my mouth on you."

Thighs clenching together, skin feeling like livewire at the raw carnality in his voice. In the way his voice dips lower.

Pressing the call button is a willingness as much as it is an impulse. Phone ringing for all but a few beats before his voice spills out the speaker.

"Doll."

"You can't send one message like that and not expect me to want you to see it through with your voice."

"I can do you one better doll."

Accepting the video call is a private admission to myself...that maybe...maybe the surrender to the very person who got under my skin was an addiction to the one who set it alight.

And the sight of him is a match to dry crackling, immediately lit up in flames and engulfed whole.

Watch as the view of the camera shifts and teeters, phone being adjusted before he sets it up at the foot of his bed. Boxers tugged back up but the sight of his hard-on still visible. Prominent.

The angle it gives dries up the words in my mouth.

"I'm all about an equal playing field doll. So me being the only one so undressed seems unfair... don't you think?"

JIMIN POV:

"Didn't think you'd be brave enough to call."

"Don't act like you didn't want me to. That this wasn't how you imagined it."

My eyes skim over the camera, taking in the sight of her sinking back against the pillows, the sight still unfamiliar save for a flash of recognition. I hadn't been too focused on the surroundings.

And even now my eyes settle on the loose curl of her mouth.

Taunting and a sharp playful edge to it. Quirked upwards.

"Why? Where's that smart mouth Park? Didn't fantasise about this? Didn't want to see me?"

And her words drag those same buried fantasies to the forefront, eyes raking over her, feeling the distance and barrier of the phone screen, wanting to see her unravel and wanting to be the one to do it to her.

"I did. It's too late to—" ask you to come over. To come over. Isn't it? Because one thing would lead to another, and I didn't know how many more times I could see (Y/N) in my sheets after we were done and see her body stretch languidly and then curl slightly as she slept. I didn't know what to do with the feelings, foreign and uncertain, twist and coil their way around me when I saw her sleeping beside me, felt the warmth of her body and was lulled to sleep by it.

"But not too late to want me?" a saccharine sugariness that drips from the curled smirk of her mouth, the slight way her lips part in a quiet laugh, head tilted as she holds the phone out in front of her.

Those damned lips. That damned mouth.

Knowing full well how her smirk tasted against my mouth, how it felt to feel the taunting press of her lips trailing over my skin, how it'd felt to feel her mouth stretched around me and sinking down around me, tongue curling against me.

My hand didn't compensate for it. Didn't equate to the same twisting coil of pleasure and sharp release that (Y/N) gave me.

And I hated it.

Hated that because of her, my pleasure wasn't my own, wasn't as satisfying when it was alone.

"Not late at all." Voice pinched slightly, watching as her eyes narrow with a dangerous glimmer.

Voice low and soft and dangerous.

"Admiring the view?" a peek of tongue wetting her bottom lip, a slight motion my eyes track.

"Only gonna show me your face?"

"Thought you wanted my mouth." A coil of heat stirs the low of my gut. Makes all the blood rush southwards.

The brush of her hair against her cheek, shadowed eyes briefly obscured before her smile sharpens.

"Besides what else would you rather see?"

"Put your phone at the end of your bed." Voice level. Leaning back against the headboards as I watch the camera shift and dip, watch her push back the covers to shuffle forward.

Eyes dragging over the view the tilt of her body provides, eyes skimming over the loose cami, soft curves bared to my sight.

The view I realise with a hot pulsing sear of arousal is how she'd look if I was behind her, body angled slight, hips pushed back, swirling arousal that chokes out a strangled sound that she catches. Eyes flickering up and the slow realisation that dawns. Predatory and relishing.

"Can't decide what part you want to see?"

Instead my voice trembles. Rasps unevenly.

"I'm not wearing a shirt."

She leans back on her knees, sinking back.

"I suppose you're not." She muses, words slow, fingers skimming over the strap of her cami, plucked loosely and she lets it fall.

Lets it slip off her shoulder.

Eyes tracking with a honed-in want.

"Want it off?"

"Yes." Word grit tight.

Her fingers skim loosely, lazy down her front with a leisurely indulgence that's denied in reality, but allowed here to see, to be tormented by.

Toying with the hem before she relents her torture, tugging it up and overhead. The ripple of motion of the loose fabric being discarded, the stretched curved lines of her torso and the taut swells of her chest as it tangles briefly in unbound hair and is tossed aside.

Staring at me with unwavering confidence and darkened lust brewing in her eyes as she looks at me, posture demanding every shred of attention and focus. Eyes dragging over supple curves and the silhouette of her torso, tracing it in a way my hand itches to, curling against the sheets instead.

"Done. You weren't wearing boxers in the photo. Feeling shy now Park?"

My hips rise up slightly, hands dragging them down and off.

Leaning back. Hand brushing against my length in a rough drag to ease the ache at the sight of her.

Body so viscerally responding to hers.

"Done. Now your turn."

The sight of scrappy lace being dragged down curved thighs, dangling off one ankle and then discarded. The angle (Y/N) sits at giving clear sight of her thighs pressed together, hand settled in such a way it hides her centre.

The tightness I feel in my gut, feel that heat sink lower as she stares at me in wait.

An anticipatory wait in her eyes as she looks at me, watches me, waits for me to make the first move.

"Lean back doll." Words shuddered out as my hand curls around myself, a loose fist my hips buck up into when she shoots me a tilted grin and acquiesces.

"You're not one for taking it slow Park." (Y/N) muses, the observation wry on her tongue, quirked even as she settles back.

"I'm not there—fuck..."

"What would you do first?"

"Get my hands on you. On your legs... your thighs..." words laced with a groan, eyes dragging over them, watch as she angles her legs open, shifting slightly. A glimpse of her core.

Heat swirling low...lower.

Fingers tightening.

"Just your hands?"

"My mouth. Want my hands on your thighs and my tongue fucking you"

The arousal in her eyes grows. Voice a honeyed heaviness that my hand follows the pace to. Slow rutting touches.

"The question is Park—would you ever fuck me till I cried?"

My head tilts back, a sharper thrust of my hips at the image it paints liberally in my mind. Taints every other thought and reason and twists it into sharp lust.

"You're asking if I'd want to wreck you? Fuck if I had all the time in the world to do all the things I wanted to you."

Drinking in the way her legs shift, the way her fingers curl and flex, gripping at the sheets. Want in her stare. The way her throat bobs.

"Does it turn you on doll? Show me how much it turns you on."

Stance adjusting, fingers surer as they loosen from the sheets to trail across her thigh, the faint touch as torturous and anticipatory for her as it is for me to see. See her fingers dip low to ghost along her core, circle and trail across her centre, a fluttering shaky sound from her lips. Thighs spreading wider unconsciously as she chases the featherlight torture of her own touch. A keened sound when her fingers find her nub.

My hand mirrors her own.

A slow dragged torture and glide of fingers against my length, slickened by arousal, bucking my hips up to rut into my own fist as I watch her.

"Fuck yourself on your fingers and—"

"And ride them better than anything you've offered?" a hazy glint in her eyes, lazy smirk as her fingers circle her entrance, teeth sinking down into her bottom lip harsh—reddened flesh that my teeth ache to tug between them instead when her finger sinks in. Her other hand toying at a nipple, pleasure making her eyes flutter, fingers working it to a peak, a self-tormenting pleasure she inflicts—that I long to feel, to chase, to heighten.

Tracking the sight of her finger, and then another, sinking into her core, the way her back arches, body pushing off and away from the pillows, thighs clenching around her hand and falling open with a twisted arch to fuck herself on her fingers.

Watch with a torturous want, aching to replace her fingers with my own as she inhales sharply, watching them quicken, the taut arch of her torso as her head falls back, fingers crooking and a shuddered moan spilling out as her body stiffens and her legs tremble. Fingers stilling at the intensity of the pleasure building, my hand curling in a tightened fist. Feeling the peak of pleasure begin to build, staved off at the sight of her. A sharp curse and sharper exhale of breath.

"Move." Word rippled out with a heavy roughness before her fingers curl and sink in, hips rocking desperately down into her touch, her other hand snaking down her front, over her heaving torso, down over the clench of her muscles before trailing down to brush hard circles onto her nub. Merciless pleasure that she reaches with rippled moan, eyes hazed and lidded as her fingers slow but continues to prolong the peak she's reached. That with lidded gaze she beckons from me.

"Your turn." Words shuddered with uneven breaths, cursing low, a rasped heavy doll on my tongue as I spill over my hand, working myself through it, a release that feels unending. Drawn out. Fingers and abdomen stained with it.

My lips stretch into a satiated grin, feel it curl across my lips slowly. Watching her body slump back as her fingers ease out, slickness on them visible.

Mouth parting slightly as I catch my breath.

"Feel good doll? Felt full?"

Watching the flash of ire in her eyes, the same way I'd read it in her body, hips chasing a pleasure from a deepness that her fingers couldn't satisfy.

Because if I was thoroughly fucked, thoroughly ruined on the idea, on her... then so would she.

"Fuck you Park."

"Isn't that what you got off on? That it's better when it's more than just fingers—mine or yours."

"I don't know—my fingers get the job done."

"Too quickly no? Is that cos you were that turned on knowing I was watching or because you imagined it was me?" words drawn out, feeling the unevenness of the rise and fall of my chest, head cocked as I trace the way her body slowly unwinds and loosens. Tracing the slumped slope of her body. Cheeks flushed with pleasure.

"It's cos I know my body better. You've still got plenty to learn Park."

My eyes sharpen at the challenged issued in the mocked breathless lilt of her voice.

"You're right."

Her eyes brighten. Lips tugging upwards—

"I still need to learn what you look like when you've been fucked until you cry."

[......]

My eyes rake over her figure slumping against her pillows. Trace the silhouette of her body with a want to do with the slow drag of my hands against her skin. Her eyes fluttering in lazy slow blinks as she returns the gaze, her smile deepening from its lazy satiated smile. A look that's all playful fire toying with whatever twisted idea flits through her mind. Reaching out to draw the phone back into my grip.

Watch her breathing slowly settle and her cheeks flushed with pleasure as she slowly straightens, every line and dip and curve of her body unravelled with the pleasure pulsing through her body. Felt so tangibly through the camera that it's aftershocks still jolt through my own.

Watch her trace my body with a rakish intensity that threatens to coil another stirring of heat, the camera shifting as she twists to reach out for it, settled on her front, curves flush to the sheets, the dip of her back and the curve of her ass visible from the way she shifts across the bed. Thumb hovering over the low of her phone. Eyes flitting up.

The surprise that'd been there morphing back into its lazy trailing stare.

"Next time Park—"

"Already expecting it doll?"

Her eyes sharpen.

Spark with fire.

"Next time I wouldn't mind seeing if that cockiness and confidence is in your texts. Next time let's see if your words have any power Park."

The burning rile of challenge sears through my veins.

"You're not doing anything for yourself doll. All I'm hearing is you want to get off to texts I send you—is that what it is~ want to use them rather than admit you want me more than you'd like to believe."

"Your ego's insufferable. Over-inflated."

"I guess that means you're the one who's into that. You don't want someone to sweet-talk you in missionary."

The heat in her cheeks seems to flush with ire and the fire in her eyes seems to grow hotter, glower as her lips twist into a provoking smirk.

"Oh trust me if it was missionary and sweet-talk it wouldn't be someone who's face and voice I can't stand for too long."

A lazy gleaming mischief in her stare that makes my gaze narrow.

"There's better candidates for that."

And then the call's cut, her face disappearing from my screen abruptly. A twisting glowering feeling that crawls up my throat.

Staring hard at the screen.

"Like fuck there are."

-------------------------

"Checking out the skaters?" a lazy grin tugging on Jackson's face as he nudges his shoulder against mine, snapping my eyes away from checking out specifically what one figure skater looked like stretching.

Eyes catching the caught-out expression, the brief look of surprise before it's schooled into nonchalance.

Laughter easy.

"Chill Jimin~ I don't blame you... some of them are really easy on the eyes."

"Like who?" Bambam asks, leaning in with an interested gleam—sharp and raking over the cluster of skaters.

"The petite one." One of the sub's is quick to interject.

"The one with all the curves." Yugyeom adds, eyes scanning over them with a narrowed intensity.

"I thought figure skaters were meant to be a type you know—" the grating voice makes my skin rankle and tighten, feel stretched tight... itchy with irritation that the voice triggers.

"Thin and slender." He elaborates with a lazy shrug. My head turns to look at him, disbelief and disgust at the blasé way he says it. Something that crawls under my skin at the tone and the way Lee looks at them—picking them out.

"You say that, but you don't want someone flat—the girl next to Jeon now she's—" Bambam grins, the sight making my spine stiffen at the sharp grin on his face. All calculating and curious.

My eyes flit back.

Watching (Y/N) circle around Jungkook, laughing at something he says. A crawling feeling of disgust towards the lazy way Bambam's eyes skim over her. Twisting around with a bitten back snarl, words stuck in my throat.

Because what is she to me? What do I say? Keep your eyes off cos she's fucking me?

And it's not something that's been unnoticed, it's not something I haven't realised before. But it's something I realise that despite the bad blood between figure skaters and hockey players—the guys aren't unashamed to appreciate the view of people they'd do anything to skate clean off the ice.

Because the figure skaters wear the most form-fitted clothes during practice. Both the girls and the guys.

And seeing (Y/N) and realising it's not just me admiring and checking out the sight of the sports-bra and leggings, the hoodie hanging open as she stretches her arms up. The expanse of skin that apparently not just my eyes had lingered over...

"Alright team—gossip time's over." Words firm and hard, cutting clean through our conversation and cleaving whatever comment that had been about to be made into two.

Joon skates forward, nothing in his expression that tells me whether he's heard the conversation or whether he's drawing the team to attention. A sizeable mass of figures that turn towards the radiating authority as he skates to the front. Substitutes and benched players alike all turning alongside. Everything about us in sharp contrast to the fitted kits and practice-wear the figure skaters wear to the padded uniforms every guy is kitted out with.

Jungkook comes to stand by Joon's side, matching and rivalling him in size and height though Joon's uniform adds to give him an imposing bulk next to the skin-tight workout gear.

"We're doing a friendly imitation of a hockey game today." Jungkook begins, a lightness that gives away just how unserious his attitude towards it is, despite the way our team straightens—a collective hum of voices and eagerness, a flash of competitiveness as they size up the other time. Unbidden, my eyes search out (Y/N) only to find her stare already trained on me—a smug grin that widens as she drags her gaze up and then down.

"But—" Joon begins.

A twisting sense of dismay ripples through me.

"But we're mixing it up." Coach Choi looks as pleased as most of the team feel, a scathing edge to his stare as he glowers at the prospect.

"We're mixing up the teams to play in rounds. And the teams won't be figure skaters versus hockey players—the team's will be mixed up of both sides. You'll be playing alongside each other."

Jungkook looks unfazed.

And something about it makes that competitive edge only harden. Eager to rattle them.

To win.

"What's the point of mixing up teams when it's clear that the hockey players don't know how to work in a team other than... their own?" a voice from one of the male figure skaters, a scathing contempt and disdain as he spares a glance and with a curled hollowness to his mouth turns to look towards Joon and Coach Choi.

The dismissiveness in his tone twists something that just relishes in knowing that when we do play and beat them it'll all be worth it. That they'd be a crutch to the teams they'd be allocated to.

But it's an answer that their Coach gives, quiet reprimand in her eyes as she looks towards her student. Even as the curled smile on her lips gives nothing but a sinking sense of foreboding, reading the way Coach Choi's posture only stiffens, the set frown on his face deepening with disagreement.

"Because they'll have to learn to, whether or not they like it. Because the main positions of centre and offense will be given to the figure skaters. The defence line will be hockey players."

My stomach lurches.

The laughter and goading mirth in (Y/N)'s eyes only intensifies.

Head subtly tilting as she nods towards my uniform.

An unspoken warning that she's coming after it, after me, after my position.

And a similar gleam in Jungkook's eyes as they turn to appraise the captain beside him. Grinned amusement etched there clear as day.

The uproar and dissent grows louder from my team, Bambam and Yugyeom's voices prominent, scathing sharpness at the prospect of handing over their roles, momentarily, to the figure skaters.

"Boys." Coach Choi all but barks. A silence falls. Commanding it.

"We'll play along with the idea. It's new but I know my boys are more than capable of adapting to whatever role they're assigned. Think of it as a training exercise of understanding each other's positions and playing outside your comfort zones."

"Coach Choi you should really encourage your boys to be more eager sports. There's a danger in leniency. Some thing that my students aren't encouraged to fall back on."

It might've been a decision largely influenced by Coach Seo's part to encourage cohesion amongst the two teams, the two sports that shared the same training space but it's clear that it comes with a limit. A no-nonsense stare as she looks at our Coach, daring him to continue to push back.

And it might be without words. But Coach Seo strikes me more and more as someone you don't want to be on the wrong side of. An impenetrable line of defence for her team, her students. A shield that stares down any jab or snide remark Coach Choi might've made.

Uncaring that when she calls him out and taunts him—she's questioning his capability as a Coach.

Some part of me wonders whether she truly considers him an equal or contender worthy of her time even.

"We get to choose the teams?" Jackson asks.

An indolent shrug. An easier smile.

Warming again.

"I'll allow it~ three from each sport to form teams of six."

"Disperse."

[......]

"Are you sure you want to play centre?" the bite in Lee's voice is also tinged with a cloying bitterness. Because he was also a centre, but even though he was a sub—he couldn't play on centre position in today's practice.

"Are you sure you want to keep testing my patience?" (Y/N) bites back, words cold and hard as she glares at Lee—unfazed by build or height or to her the complete stranger calling into question her team's capability. Hands more forceful and harsh in securing the padded kit across Jungkook's frame, hand smoothening down the lettered C with a possessiveness that makes a flicker of hot-white anger flit through me. My letter, my position. Yet her hand drags down possessive and confidently across Jungkook's chest. I know it's not my jersey, I know it's a spare—but seeing the propriety of her hand moving across his chest with a position that I own, I play makes a coil of visceral heat and want twist and bolt through me.

The padded uniform and jersey stretched across his chest makes him seem bulkier. Shoulder pads set across and adding to his broad frame.

Something about seeing a uniform I'm used to wearing on someone who doesn't even play ice hockey nor know the ins and outs of it makes an ugly feeling of resentment well.

Jungkook doesn't know what it takes to earn that centre position and keep it.

And for a brief fraction, I understand Lee's resentment towards me. Only briefly.

And I can read it loud and clear in the harsh glower as he looks at (Y/N).

"Your captain's never played and you're putting him centre?"

"Sorry—I don't think I've seen you before. Did you join the team—are you visiting?" a scathing tone that silences his words, that harshens the glower in his eyes.

"I play centre." A hissed pride there. Wounded pride rearing its head.

(Y/N)'s eyes drag to me. Eyes full of unspoken words that are so easily read. Big baby her stare seems to taunt.

"I've only ever heard Park boast about being centre. And as insufferable as you hockey players are—I'd remember if there were two cocky boys playing the same position."

This time the glower flashes across my face.

An amused glint entering her eyes as she notes it. Grin widening.

Patting Jungkook's chest.

"Our captain's our ace isn't he Min-Seok?" head tilting towards the other male figure skater, watching him nod with an easy brash grin.

Hand squeezing Jungkook's shoulder.

"He'll play centre well." Eyes almost trying to rile Lee's wounded pride to rear itself as an angry brash player not in control of reigning back his emotions.

"Lee you know we can't play centre—so just suck it up. You and Jimin are playing main defence. I'll be in goal." Namjoon sighs, silencing the words on Lee's lips before they can be uttered.

Resigned at having to constantly reign Lee's volatile temperament back.

Frankly I didn't know why he was still here.

He wasn't a good fit for a university-led route into competitions if he didn't do well under more guidance and supported help towards his career.

Lee wanted to strike out on his own.

That was the exact opposite of what it meant to enrol through a uni to reach a national level of recognition.

And it's clear—the quiet flicker of eyes exchanging glances that the figure skaters share, that makes a coil of shame burn brief under my skin... that they don't think too high of Lee either.

"We'll be offence." And there's a cunning abrasiveness in her eyes, a sharp jaggedness that's all too promising and all too wicked. As if she'll carry through that role and by extension in guarding centre—her captain, with the best of her abilities.

As if she won't mind playing dirty for it.

"The jersey suits you Kook." Hand squeezing his arm as she passes, slowly circling around and settling into position.

And she must sense it—senses my gaze trained on her back, eyes boring into her spine as she turns, a slight inclination of her head as her gaze meets mine. Slow and unrushed. What's the matter Park? She mouths at me.

Lips curling into an amused smirk.

Eyes lingering on my chest where a different lettering marks the temporary position of defenceman.

A glimmer of laughter in her eyes as if that title's been stripped off me to hand over to her captain.

It's just a practice jersey, it's just a practice jersey.

"The point is can he fill the skates and role he's taken on?" the words spill from my lips, goading and challenging.

A wicked competitiveness that doesn't flash in just (Y/N)'s eyes but stirs to life, wild and strong, in Jungkook's gaze. A glimmered amusement in Min-Seok's expression.

"Bring your A-game Park. Don't want you to drag us down with your—weak defence." Jungkook retorts, eyes flashing with sharp competitiveness.

My shoulders set in response. A stiffness entering my posture as I straighten.

Meeting the challenge in his stare head-on.

"We're playing as a team you know. Whether or not you get along." Namjoon's voice is dry, laced with a laugh, as he appraises us.

Eyes sweeping and scanning.

"You won't get the game straight away—and that's both okay and expected." Joon begins, reading the protest and smoothening it over with a levelness.

"So we'll be your crutches. The aim is to keep the puck from reaching past (Y/N) and Min-Seok to even have to reach the line of defence ideally. But—it won't be like that. We'll keep our defence strong. Jungkook—you need to get the puck into their goal." A tight nod. Eyes scanning the outline being traced onto the ice—the positions and allocated spaces being traced into it with red.

A familiar sight as the teams stand to the side in their huddles.

"And we assist." Min-Seok adds.

"If you can't—we'll cover up your shortcomings." But the words are sneered with such disdain that it briefly makes me falter—head twisting to stare at Lee.

"Are you fucking serious?"

"What? They don't know how to play ice hockey. They're dead weight."

"And this is a shared... practice—" I begin.

"Oh trust me Lee—you're more than dead weight in our led practices. I wouldn't mind benching you from that either."

My lips press tight to quash down the upturn curl of my mouth at the dismissiveness in (Y/N)'s glare as she stares him down.

She has this annoying way of somehow being smaller and looking her nose down and usually it's frustrating, but I silently relish the way she cuts him down to size. Makes something in his gaze turn... dare I say left dumb?

"So!" Jungkook interjects, dispelling the stifled silence that lingers, hand curling around (Y/N) to forcefully drag her back, fingers curled at her waist—briefly squeezing. Dragging her away as if he has to physically put distance between (Y/N) and Lee.

I would too. Lee's a dick.

"So! Ready to play?"

[......]

"What're you glaring for? We're winning!" Joon laughs, eyes staring at me with disbelief, shadowed gaze not hiding the confusion in his look as he twists to look at me, hockey stick dangling loose from my grip. His own posture relaxed and at ease.

"We're not getting to do anything!" I hiss out, glowering as I stare at the figure shooting across the ice, movements somehow both lithe and fast.

"I thought you and Lee were worried about having to do all the leg-work. Why are you complaining now?"

"I never! I didn't know he'd be able to hold his own." I grit out, a twisting feeling of frustration at being stationary for so long, idly circling around the ice but I wasn't getting the chance to play.

"It is against his own figure skaters..."

"But Bambam and Yugyeom are getting to play! And they're still getting to play defence."

"Are you seriously whining?" Joon teases, pushing up the front of his helmet to stare at me, incredulous and lips stretched into a grin.

"I just want to play—they're not even good offence but—" not in the way ice hockey was, not in the way the way that Bambam and Yugyeom were iron-clad wingmen for the team.

"But they're getting the puck away. I don't think I've been this free to stand around and just watch a match."

"Joon!"

"What—I didn't think they'd get it so quick."

"That's not competitive ice hockey."

"The practices aren't meant to be. Coach drives us hard, but the shared practices is about trying to learn each other's sports—incoming from right." Voice suddenly snapping to attention, body straightening as he skates backwards towards the goalpost. Quick and sharp.

My body twists towards the sharp voice, skating hard across the ice, mind snapping to attention as I spot the puck careening towards me, passed between Yugyeom and Bambam in practiced motions I've seen be harnessed over the years.

(Y/N) and Min-Seok quick to skate round them, veering past with a quick glance to one another before steering their skates in harshly to physically block off the other team's defence.

"Park send the puck back!" voice sharp and demanding, grim determination in the set order that her lips bite out.

I don't get to register the sharp command of her voice as anything grating or something that twists inside me, lurching forward to block off the approaching two figures.

They might be playing on an opposite team, but they've been my right and left—I know their moves, I know their plays. I know them.

The sudden change in pace to the game lets my mind slip into sharp awareness of the players, the hard clash of hockey sticks and the familiar rush of adrenaline that finally begins to course through me.

"Taking orders from a prancing girl are you Park?" words goading as Bambam steers closer, words trying to get under my skin, smile sharp and vicious.

"A girl that you couldn't get past till now?" I retort, watching his eyes flash.

"A skater whose team is shoddy as her—there's only so much torture I can watch." Smile glittering with sharpness, puck veering past me as Yugyeom slots in to intercept it.

Trying to skate rings round me and get under my skin. To somehow rankle me.

"I don't know Bambam—I think you couldn't take being bested by a girl. Since when does defence play on whatever role they like?" Twisting in sharp mirrored motion to his own skating, the two of us both skating quick and harsh.

You're too slight to be centre. That notion's been long since skated over, cleaved into countless little parts, lost to the chunks of ice being kicked up, lost to years of harnessing what might've been a slight in other's eyes into one of the strongest assets for myself.

Bambam's taller—and that makes him slower than me. No matter how quick and sharp his movements are they don't cut across the ice as clean as mine do by fractions of a moment.

Cutting in front of him at the last moment, the flat of the hockey stick slamming against the puck and sending it shooting across the ice, lips curling up and stretching. Triumphant.

Watching the two steer harshly round to chase back after the puck.

"Go chase the puck boys!" cheering and laughing after them, watching a flash of a smile sharp and taunting before (Y/N) skates past, puck shot forward with a whooped sound of giddiness.

Laughter welling up.

"I thought you were bored Jimin-ah." A voice calls out from behind me.

Eyes gleaming with an I-told-you-so brimming on the tip of his tongue, uttered mere moments after I give Joon a loose shrug.

The smile on my face morphing into a scowl when the next words he speaks are a tease.

"Maybe I should scout Jeon to join as a centre—he'd work out real good if we trained him up."

Teeth gritting together.

That's my position.

So back off Jungkook.

[......]

"After we trashed your team's unpopular opinion that we can't keep up...I figured I'd be the last person you'd want to see."

"Nah that's Jeon." I shrug off easily, leaning against the railings of the rink. Showered and changed out of practice gear, coming back after lunch—not admitting that there'd been a faint... a faint inkling of curiosity whether she was still practicing... what she was practicing. She'd tugged on the hoodie after practice and cool downs were over.

And she'd also stayed after the rink had cleared out, in conversation with her coaches or maybe I'd have stayed since then.

Eyes skimming over the hoodie she shrugs off now, the rink's coolness not enough after having been practicing—having caught the end of an elegant series of spins as I'd made my way back.

A faint gleam of sweat that makes her skin glow with exertion, the slight tilt of her head as she appraises me standing on the other end of the rink, sans practice gear. Eyes sharp with scrutinising contemplation—wondering what it is I'm doing here. The arch of her throat, collarbones and the dip of her chest glisten with perspiration, cheeks flushed with a vivid rosiness.

And something in my mouth... aches.

I don't truly know either why I'm here. Curiosity. Just—curious. Though that morphs into silent appreciation of just how fitted her workout clothes were. The dip of her waist and the expanse of her stomach visible between the band of her leggings and sports-bra. Tracing the subtle loosening of her posture, reading it in the way her hip cocks to the side, the curve of her leg a slanted, sloped invite.

"Oh and why's that Park? Attention drifting? Or cos Kook's too much to handle? Padding not doing enough to—shield that insufferable hockey ego?"

Though her eyes shows she knows just damn well my attention's been dragged to now.

"He got beginner's luck."

"I'd say it was a lot more than luck if we ended up winning."

"It was a fluke." A sour taste in my mouth at the prospect of accepting that the victory had been because Jungkook and (Y/N)'s synchrony and teamplay had hard-carried against even their own team members. Had left little work for us considering it was a chance for the figure skaters to step forward and lead a sport they'd never played.

"I'm sure winning must be a fluke for you... but when you get to work with the golden ace of the team, when you train with a guy like him—your standards and expectations rise yknow? Winning isn't a fluke. It's earnt."

That sourness in my mouth twists my lips bitterly, thinning as I watch her skate closer.

Hoodie slung over the rink's rail.

This close my eyes drag over the way her own lips curl with triumph and tease. Lofty words sinking in. The proud smugness still lingering in the tilt of her mouth. In that sharp grin.

Her body tilting closer, crowding my space—the rink's barrier seeming to fail to exist with how she invades the space and presses in towards me, neither of us taking a step back to increase the distance that had been there before.

"You're talking to me about earning wins? We earn our positions, but we fight to keep them."

Her eyes sharpen. The same bite in her smile.

"Who doesn't?"

"Are you saying this ice princess? Her coaches' prodigy skater?"

"Don't undersell my worth and what it costs me star centre." Icy fire burning my skin where her scorned words graze, the heat of her breath grazing my jaw.

The words are laced with a sharp tease, eyes piercing and fierce. The push of words against one another laced with a crackling fire that only stirs the heat in her gaze to burn hotter, as if the flush on her skin is from that fiery temper that rears its head. Pushes back to meet me head on. Stares unwavering from one another.

And the same coy brush of flames in her words, honeyed burning beckon as she tilts my jaw up, finger crooking my chin up. Close enough that if she wanted to...if I wanted to—

"Besides if your ego's that bruised then maybe spending time around someone like me isn't what that sore pride needs." Words dripping with faux sympathy, the softness a provoking tease.

My hand darts out to grip her wrist, tugging her closer, the motion tilting her torso to curve forward past the railing.

To stop her from skating away. Hand dragging lower to curve around her forearm.

"Trying to get under my skin doll?"

"Oh I already am~" a proud lilt in her voice.

Eyes flashing with smugness.

"And what's your point in it?"

"Apart from knowing just how easy it is? Why don't you stick around and see how much deeper I can get~"

My eyes drift to her lips.

To the deeper insinuation in them.

"You've said that on your knees before."

"Shame... I've not heard it back yet."

------------------------

"Don't drain yourself... we've got cardio and weight training tomorrow." JB says as he reaches the rink's edge alongside Joon. The two of them stepping off the ice, shaking off the shards and flakes of it that cling to their skates and clothes.

Ruddy and sweating as they tug off their helmets, drawing on skating guards and shuffling aside as I clamber onto the ice. Positions swapped as I toss the guards aside.

Eyeing the set up they've left once they'd seen me approach the front-row seats to monitor the end of their shared practice.

Developing and practicing defence plays and moves together. Sharp minds pitted against one another.

"I'll be a couple of hours max. I need to be able to do the run—the one around campus right?"

"We'll do it on the track ground—loads of teams are starting back up cardio routines now that the next season's starting."

"And nothing against some good old racing is there? Track athletes aside~" JB grins, fingers making quick work of tugging off the practice padding.

An unspoken flash of challenge and personal pride as teams put on the line any time we ran alongside another team also doing cardio. Unprompted, unprovoked... but why not?

"Have you put your name down on the practice slots?"

I nod.

"Good—could do without another petty argument." Eyes staring at me with a tad of reproach though his expression's full of fond exasperation and amusement.

"I'm not the one who—"

"Complains... yeah yeah I know. But if she's besting you on a technicality then just get used to booking slots."

"Wouldn't be a problem if she didn't hog them all."

"Sounds petty."

"It is!" I say vehemently.

"Be petty back." JB suggests with a lazy grin before he ducks down to grab his water. Shrugging loosely at me.

"JB!"

"Gotta play them at their own game. Isn't that what practice taught us Cap?" JB teases before tugging Joon towards the showers with an easy laugh. Waving over his shoulder towards me.

"Have a good practice Jimin-ah!"

"See you hyungs!"

The emptiness of a rink scratched up and scuffed... proof of skates digging into the ice and taking out chunks of it. But the uneven imperfection of it all makes an obstacle I take into stride, the uneven jolts of it a constant reminder that it's not smooth-sailing, free-skating.

Each chunk of ice dug out with force and strength.

Lips twitching when unbeknownst the image of (Y/N) stumbling comes fresh to mind, cheeks splotched with indignation, grumbling curses and brushing the ice off her clothes. Flashing temper softening... receding the slightest fraction when I'd held a hand out, knocked aside with a rough swat but the tension in her shoulders easing out slightly.

"I'm fine."

"I'm sure you are."

"Don't even." Words warning before my lips open.

"Wouldn't dream of it Bambi."

"Park you piece of—"

Laughing as I twist away.

Stumbling on a chunk of ice, body unfaltering as I straighten and skate round the few divots in the rink I can see.

Bambi.

Lips tugging up once again.

[......]

It's as I'm weaving in and out the obstacles, some distanced much closer, some largely spaced out, that I hear a pair of skates gliding across the ice with a soft sound of blades against the rink. Turning towards the sound, body stilling and the glide of the hockey stick and puck pausing.

And the easy languidness of practicing spacing and pace, that lazy calm is washed away when the figure skates forward with a bright grin.

Eyes pinned on the sight. On the figure skating closer. Slow lazy motions of one skate pushing forward and then the other.

The bold C stamped across the front is my position. I don't need to know what's sprawled across the back of a uniform that's mine.

Question is why is she wearing it and how did she get it?

I can't see anything under my jersey as (Y/N) moves forward. Watch as she twirls slowly and purposeful, arms stretched out as she spins, the line of a leg turned up. My eyes narrow onto the sight, on the mischief etched clear on her face.

"Is that my jersey?" knowing full well it is. Not understanding how she'd gotten it, it had been in my locker.

"Suits me doesn't it~?" (Y/N) lilts.

I skate forward towards her, the clatter of the hockey stick against the ice as I move forward quick, the harshness of the motion kicking up ice as I twist towards her, hand curling into the front of the jersey. Hand curling into the material, the C getting wrinkled in the tight fist my hand makes as I grip the jersey.

The jersey's meant to be worn over padding, meant to have extra padded guards strapped on over and around it, the size is to accommodate it.

But with how she looks, how she wears it...

The jersey slopes loose over her shoulders, hanging low. Eyes making a quick sweep of her collarbones, the curve of her arms, the straps peeking out from under unbound hair.

"What're you doing with it?"

"I thought the idea of Jungkook wearing your position got you so... annoyed... I couldn't help wonder what it'd make you feel if I wore it instead."

That flash of possessiveness I'd felt, ugly and vicious when I'd seen her hand drag across a letter that wasn't his is twisted and upturned in the face of her wearing my jersey, my position stamped across her front and back.

The violent searing arousal that tears itself through at the sight of her in my jersey. In the way when I look at her, eyes dragging down her front, lingering over the loose dip of the neck, over the letter across her torso and then lower—all I see is the curve of the low of her thighs and the expanse of her bare legs.

I feel her eyes skim over me, feel her stare, eyes dragging back up slowly to a triumphant smile. The slanted tilt of her mouth upturned into a slight playful smirk.

"And I think maybe you like the thought of me wearing your number, your name~"

Steps slight as she moves to skate backwards, my hand tightening into the jersey, a harsh yank that tugs her forward, fist tightening as her body's forced to tilt forward.

Eyes flashing with surprise and the brief expression of breathlessness that flits across her face.

But the motion drags the jersey lower down across her shoulders, bares more of her skin. Suddenly there's a tightening swirling pit of heat that flares intense and inescapable as I look at her.

I can see the straps underneath but my mind's rooted on the blunt fact that she's wearing my jersey and my mind's stuck on the notion that that's all she's wearing.

I don't answer her because I can't. I can't put into words what it does to me to see her in my jersey. Don't know how to explain how visceral the sharp jolts of heat are, growing to the inferno rapidly growing under my skin.

"You're wearing my jersey. Just my jersey."

Whatever sharp bitterness I'd had is eradicated, wiped away clean by the sight that brands itself across my mind, that sears itself into my consciousness, a tightness in my limbs, splintering restraint as I look at her and imagine her under me in just my jersey.

My fingers tighten.

Drag her closer. A bodily tugged motion that drags the jersey taut across the dipped neckline, eyes raking over the glimpse of cleavage.

Mouth aching to colour the expanse of her collarbones and throat with my tongue. See the bob of her throat, teeth itching to sink into the soft sensitive skin and feel the way she arches against the touch.

"I know you have a thing for public places Park but are you tryna get me undressed here?"

My fingers briefly turn lax and it's all she needs, seizing the moment as she twists away, fingers falling away, the motion sharp and quick, a gnawing vicious need that claws at me at seeing my name and number emblazoned across her back.

It makes want burn through any other conscious thought. All I can think of is skating after her, quickly pushing forward to rush towards her, chasing the figure who looks as if she'd been conjured from pure fantasy and lust. A fantasy I didn't know I had or needed until I saw her and now it's all I can focus on.

Hands seizing her waist, dragging her back, skates knocking against one another as my weight stumbles into her. Hand snaking around her front, one gripping her waist tighter, the other pressing her back into me, feeling the lack of layers underneath the jersey because it's pressed flush to her skin, fingers sinking in harsh.

Feet stumbling off the rink after her, balance turned uneven by the way her body pressed back, eyes alight with mischief and glittering abandon, eyes beckoning with wild desire. Pupils sparked with wild fire.

"What did you expect? Did you like putting on my jersey? Like wearing my name? Like being mine?"

"Why? Selfish are we? Turned on by it?"

A frustrated impatient sound is muffled by the press of our bodies, front to her back, fingers squeezing her waist, hand curling sharp against the dip of her curve.

Head turning slightly, features obscured by the strand of hair that brushes against her cheek. The wicked curl of her mouth tempting and maddening.

"You're a fucking menace." Words grit out sharp against her ear, stumbled motions as she tries to drag herself away. Gripped warning and hands unyielding as I press my hips flush to hers.

"Oh you love it~ you wouldn't want a pushover in bed... that's why you come back more and more... that's why you sent that photo. That's why you want me. Need someone who gets under your skin, I'm that someone you want under you."

"Cocky? Or confident?"

"Both. You're pretty easy to read Park. It's why you frustrate so easily."

"I think that goes both ways." Hands briefly disentangling from around her body, skates clattering against the ground as her body dips, fingers hastily tugging at her laces.

Eyes yanked towards the curve of her hips before she straightens, steps lighter, quicker without the skates against solid ground. Steps slowed as I hastily yank at my own, following the curved figure of her body. All bare legs and loose jersey.

Eyes and thoughts narrowed to her.

Practice forgotten.

(Y/N) consuming my mind instead.

[......]

The jersey is bunched up around her waist, shoved up roughly, hands dragging up from her thighs to her hips to grip her waist.

Hands moulding to her waist, legs locked around my waist as her hand yanks at my top to tug my mouth to hers, grinned mirth melting against the harshness of my mouth pressing harder to hers. Tongue harsh as it thrusts into the forced laxness of her mouth, hand gripping her jaw, fingers gripping hard. Her tongue curls against mine, sweeping through the cavern of my mouth, groan muffled against the parted seam of her lips, swallowed down with an echo of the same carnal pleasure that ripples through her body. That pushes it into a harsh arch, the ripple of the fabric distorting the C still plastered across her chest. Hand dragging from the low of her back to tug her hips to meet each thrust for thrust, forcing her hips down harsher, my own bucking up into her. Legs astride my lap, the metal grate that divides the benches dig harsh into my back.

Mouths parting, chest burning hot as my lips drag to her jaw, press down her throat, hard bruising presses of my lips trailing over the curve of her throat, tasting salt on my tongue, teeth dragging across her pulse—wild and erratic under my tongue, hands gripping my shoulders as she uses me to raise her hips and rock down, the angle feels deeper, feels as if with every thrust that the air is forced from my lungs even as it's her body that arches, hips grinding down against my own, mouth lax with shuddered breaths and swollen-red.

The fabric's tugged lower, the loose fit giving way as my mouth maps its track lower, across the swell of her breasts, teeth sinking in hard enough to elicit a sharp hiss of breath, my name a warning and a pleasured sound wrung from her lips as her fingers thread into my hair. The sting of nails against skin and the bite of pain that morphs into pleasure as she tugs me closer, circling deep grinds of her hips, bodies pressed flush where her legs tremble and she uses my body to gets hers off. Nails dragging against my chest. A pinned press of bodies to one another, wild and wanton pleasure that the two of us chase, every scrap of clothing discarded save for the jersey. Pleasure that winds a tighter noose around me when my eyes take her in, gaze lidded and dark as she looks down at me, fluttering lashes when my tongue brushes over a mark that'll bloom across her skin, looking as fucked out as I feel, shifting on my lap, pushing me deeper into her.

"You look so fucking—"

Good?

A laugh ripples past her lips, strained and yet still it makes a flash of something well up and rise in automatic response to the sound, the next buck of my hips as my hand presses against her back that makes it melt into a moan.

"Careful Park it's beginning to sound like you have a problem."

"And what problem is that?"

"That you're getting addicted to the thought? That it makes you possessive to see me wear your jersey."

Words goading and laced with a sharp waver of breath.

And it makes my skin burn white-hot, blistering with a searing hunger that just looking at her incites.

Remembering that twisting feeling of something deeply satisfied when she'd admitted we were exclusively fucking. That the thought that someone else had gotten to see her like this in the same wild abandon that I did... at the same time as I did... that there might've been someone... that roaring sense of carnal satisfaction that it wasn't true.

But I can't deny it.

"You purposely put it on... just remember that doll... that you chose to wear my name across your skin."

A wild thrumming sharpness in my lungs as she raises her hips up, using my shoulder to grip at, nails digging hard into skin to use as leverage. The slow rise of her body and then the deep sudden way her hips push down in a quick sheathing motion punches the air from both our lungs.

Neither does she deny it.

"Who knew you'd hate the idea of sharing so much~"

"You're wearing my number, my name, my position... of course I'm not fucking sharing princess."

Hand dragging down up from the low of her back, gripping the jersey tight before my fingers reach up to curl against her nape.

A hard yank to drag her forward by the collar of the jersey, dragging her mouth to mine. Teeth harsh against the soft flesh.

Unyielding.

I'm not sharing this sight with anyone.

The thought of it burning a violent heat through my veins, rippling through my body at the thought.

[......]

"You were really obviously fuming when you saw Jungkook in that centre's jersey."

"He's not a centre."

"You were jealous seeing me give him attention with him in that practice jersey." Words lilting as she drags the jersey up and over her head. Letting it crumple on the bench, tossed aside and straightening.

The sports-bra and shorts are no less distracting. Eyes dragging over the bared expanse of her body. All soft curves and yet under them I knew there were muscles... I'd seen the flex of the muscles in her thighs, in her arms, in the tight clench of her stomach when her body strained and twisted under mine. Admittedly... I'd seen the muscles in her body flex and clench as she trained and worked out.

There's a different appreciative intensity that has my eyes raking over her body, watching as she bends down to snag the skates she'd tossed off, drawing them back on.

When I look at her, realising half a beat later what she's doing, a flicker of something both entertained and surprised before it morphs into acknowledgement of her as an athlete.

"Heading right back onto the ice?"

"Awww... did you think I was here just for you? I've got other things to do than just bother you."

"So you admit you're a bother."

Her lips widen into a proud grin.

"Oh I excel at it... like everything else I do... but the rink's for practice. Not getting down and dirty on the ice."

"You don't count this as practice."

"If that's the case want me to rate your performance? Cos a quickie's all well and good but sometimes just need more." blunt as she crouches down to quickly tie up her laces, the movements so practiced, so natural that her eyes never wave from mine for a moment as she grins.

Something in the unwavering confidence and ease that both stirs a competitive edge and also an appreciative sharp bolt of attraction because she might be a frustration, but she wears it well.

"We could do more~ did you have something in mind?"

"Just—why invite me to yours if you don't take advantage of the fact that it's locked doors and there's time on your side."

My lips twitch.

"If you wanted to come over could've just said. Could've messaged. Could've said pretty please."

"No matter how much I want something from you Park—I wouldn't reduce myself to trying to sweet-talk you into it. if I want it, I'll get it out of you whatever whichever way I need to."

"Bold words."

"Don't worry Park—at least I know how to follow through with them."

-------------------------

❄️: Jokes aside Park... would you be up to practicing together?

(Y/N) rarely texts first. And what's rarer still is the question she asks. Practicing... together? When she couldn't stand the thought of sharing the rink...

🏒: Wait wait

🏒: I had to check if pigs were flying.

❄️: ...

❄️: Were they?

🏒: No... what game you playing doll? Since when does the uptight ice princess ask to share the rink? 👀👀

❄️: Everything doesn't need to be a game... I need to give your brain a rest

❄️: Can't work it too hard

My brows rise unimpressed as I stare at her texts. Hearing the laughter through them, knowing full well that there'll be a mocking lilt to her mouth. Not sure what game she's playing...what angle she's going for with this.

And then another buzz of my phone.

Eyes flashing to it.

❄️: That's what the helmets are for...

❄️: To protect whatever's inside... little though it is

🏒: ... 🙄 did you message me to fuck with me?

❄️: I asked.

❄️: Would you practice with me?

❄️: I'm not going to ask a third time.

🏒: Wound your pride too much?

🏒: How did you lower it enough to ask in the first place ice princess?

❄️: Answer. The. Question.

🏒: Why do you want to?

❄️: I want to watch you practice scoring.

🏒: Now who can't keep their eyes off me? 😏😌

❄️: Guilty.

The word dry. Sarcastic.

❄️: ...most days I can't stand your face Park. Take the win.

🏒: Since you've been asking so nicely...

🏒: I'll allow it~

❄️: Soooo generous

🏒: In many ways

Grinning at the pause that follows. Imagining the sharp click of her tongue with frustration.

❄️: Get to Rink B tomorrow at 11.

🏒: Why that time?

❄️: I've got morning training and my afternoon's not for you.

🏒: Bossy aren't you princess?

❄️: In ways you're not ready for.

"What're you grinning like an idiot at?" my fingers lock the screen, quick and sudden. But regardless... unconsciously my hand jerks the phone to the side, head darting up to stare at Yoongi hyung peering at me curiously, holding out a glass.

Straightening up and dislodging Tae's weight off my legs, grumbles as he's forced to straighten up, scowling with no heat in his eyes. Pout more than scowl really.

"Nothing!"

"You know her game's good if he's looking like that. Whoever this mysterious stranger is." Tae grumbles, though his mouth stretches wide, teasing grin, all lopsided boxy.

"I'm not fucking pining for it if that's what you're saying."

"Is he saying that though Jimin-ah?" Yoongi hyung teases, gummy smile twitching at his lips.

"You may have been fucked stupid though is all I'm saying." Tae comments, observing from me from his upside down stare, twisting to make himself more comfortable before a murmur of his name has him sighing and reaching out a hand to curl into Yoongi hyung's shirt and tug himself upright. The resemblance of his words of words I've heard bitten out with a cocky grin is too much and too similar. Startling surprised laughter out of me.

"She can wish."

Lips twitching before he passes over a smoothie glass, fingers tugging at an errant curl.

"Isn't it you bending to it though? To every wish?"

My eyes roll, drawing in a deep gulp of smoothie, but I catch the amused glints in their eyes.

A flash of ire and refusal at their words. At their silent amusement at my expense.

"Whose wishes?"

Unbidden the phone's shoved further out of reach. Peering at Joon over the threshold of the living room. Hair damp and tousled. Towel still slung around his neck as he dries off his hair.

Dimpled smile when he spots a fourth glass waiting on the coffee table.

"Jimin's secret sex-buddy."

"Buddy?"

"Urgh gross don't call her a buddy."

"What! His sex bud... his fuck buddy then... his stranger with benefits... whatever you wanna call it!" Tae splutters exasperatedly.

"Just leave it at casual fling." Joon rolls his eyes, knee nudging against hyung's in silent thanks before he reaches for the smoothie, a blissed sigh of relief at the cold of it when his cheeks are still pink from his shower.

"You're a life saver hyung."

"Nah someone's got to keep you guys alive." Brushing it off, but a soft soft gumminess plays at his lips, reaching for the remote to thumb across options.

Settling for the fact that neither of us are leaving for the night. That there'll be a panicked scramble for practices and individual schedules in the morning.

But that that's tomorrow's problem.

(Y/N) was tomorrow's problem. A menace of a problem.

A problem that's buried under a cushion for now.

Ignoring the twisting lurch of excitement it brings.

Realising a few moments later that the grin is yet to melt off my lips.

(AND SCENE! THERE WERE SOME THINGS I WANTED TO INCLUDE BUT NEVER GOT TO COS I'M TRYING TO BE CONSISTENT WITH CHAPTER SIZES!! BUT I WANTED TO BRING IN THE NEW YEAR WITH SOMETHING SWEET AND LIGHT AND JUUUST SLIGHTLY SPICY WITH OUR FAVOURITE ICE RIVALS! HOPE YOU ENJOY THE CHAPTER AND LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU ALL THINK~ ONWARDS TO MOMENTS THAT CHANGE THEIR DYNAMIC MORE~ Midiiplier THAT SCENE'S )

Borahae! 💜💜💜

PurpleQueenie <3