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1. Up against a wall
“No, I don’t want to press charges,” he eventually says.
“See I told you !” She exclaims, waving her hands towards him as much as she can with those handcuffs.
“She dropped you off a building, boy.”
Yihyun shrugs and yes, it is definitely a grin he can feel on his lips. He can’t help it though, watching Yoon Saebom glaring at the policeman, still high from the adrenaline that accompanied his fall, still softened by Saebom’s figure, crowned by the high sun, eyes locked with his as he fell.
Maybe he is crazy.
“Got me down, didn’t she ?”
The policeman looks more stunned than he had when she showed up on the roof, sat beside him.
“Take the handcuffs off,” he requests amiably.
After his refusal to press charges, and both policemen and teachers shooing curious students away, Yihyun blurts out :
“I’ll walk you home.”
Saebom raises a very unimpressed eyebrow from where she’s standing beside him -where she has been standing for a while, arms crossed on her chest and glaring at the many students who dare glance at the odd duo they make. After an appraising look he can’t for the life of him decipher, she gives him a curt nod. If he had to pinpoint what he likes most about her Yihyun would say her bluntness. She is not afraid of words, of what they mean, wasn’t afraid to walk on the edge of the building and wasn’t afraid to tell him he was behaving ridiculously.
“You don’t need to,” she says once they’ve already started walking, as an afterthought.
“It’s my fault you couldn’t go home earlier,” he counters with a small smile.
“It is.”
That earns a sharp laugh from him, surprised by how bold she is. Yihyun has always restrained himself, desires and fears alike. He is concerned by what people think of him, is careful to be a good student and a good son and an amiable person in general. But the chains that bind him, social constructs and duties alike, do not seem to have hold of her. He supposes she’s been through enough to shed them indefinitely.
There are many rumours about Yoon Saebom, he remembers, stealing a glance at her. He’s never cared much for rumours.
He can’t quite keep his smile down when he asks :
“Was I such a bother ?”
“It was very dramatic,” she shoots back quick as lightning.
“I wasn’t trying to be.”
“I know.”
It sounds softer, somehow, and maybe it’s because she’s the only one with whom he’s shared his fears and his thoughts about his injury. Before he can linger on that, she’s suddenly grabbing him by the arm and pulling him into a sideway street.
His back hits the brick wall, hard, and then lips are on his. It’s immediately merciless, as are her words, as are her hands clinging at his neck. It takes barely a second before he replies I kind, opening his mouth willingly to let her do as she wills. Soon enough -too soon, he hasn’t even grasped the how and why of it all- her tongue comes into play, teasing his own before her teeth nip at it.
Kisses slide from one into the next, no place to breathe or think or question what they’re doing, or where they’re doing it. Fingers find skin under fabric, nails in hair, chest against chest, respirations laboured and choked sounds aborted.
Saebom leans back after a while, so long all the events of today have flown away in the distance. She looks absolutely enticing, hair ruffled and lips puffed, a pink hue spreading on her ivory skin. Though her posture tries to make her seem unaffected, the loud way she swallows is telling, and makes him even dizzier.
“You said you didn’t wanna date,” he says when he manages to catch his breath, resisting the urge to push back his questions and simply kiss her again.
She doesn’t step away though, doesn’t let the inquiry hang in the air as she answers :
“I don’t.”
“What’s this then ?”
Saebom tilts her head, expression carefully bordering on provocative.
“Do I need a reason ?”
Yihyun honestly thinks about it for a second, before deciding that no, actually, he doesn’t really care.
When he kisses her again, it’s a bit like he fell off the building again, like the hands clawing at his shoulders and neck are pushing him into the emptiness. He bets free falling is a sensation he’ll forever associate with Yoon Saebom from now on.
“Maybe I just want to apologise for pushing you off the building.”
That wakes him right the fuck up. He jerks further away, fingers flexing on her skin harshly in surprise.
“What ? You don’t have to apolo-”
“Fucking hell, Yihyun, do I need to spell it out ? I want to.”
“And I’m the dramatic one,” he mocks, but he’s already tugging her closer to comply.
2. Control in all things
The first game is today.
The game for recruiters to pick the players they’ll make an offer to.
Yihyun kind of wants to climb on the roof again.
So he does.
It’s the furthest thing from smart that he’s doing, climbing awkwardly with his bad knee that he can’t bend, taking the risk of falling down. But he doesn’t have a lot to lose.
Once settled there, he leans back on his hands and looks up right at the sun, until he goes blind with it and has to close his eyes.
Not the first time since his injury, he wishes he cold fade away, just disappear into the distance and not be aware of anything. He supposes what he’s currently doing has to be enough to cut himself from the world, to forget almost all and just feel the sun rays and think that he is not immuable. He is not eternal, and he can maybe hope this blip in the universe will only be a blip in his own life as well.
“Hey ! Jung Yihyun. Yihyuuuun !”
Utterly floored, he bends over the edge of the roof and is met with the sight of Yoon Saebom on the first step of the ladder. She isn’t in her school uniform, which is absolutely logical given school is over, but still manages to take him aback.
“Yoon Saebom ? What-”
“I’m bored !” She exclaims, climbing higher.
He’s so fucking surprised he just lets her climb all the way up, until she drops next to him like this is a normal occurrence. Not like she just climbed on a roof to join him-a second time.
“Were you about to jump ?” She asks, looking unconcerned at the mere idea.
Yihyun snorts.
“No.”
“Do I need to push you again ?”
“Definitely not.”
He can’t seem to tear his eyes away from the side of her face, and really, it’s unfair how captivated he is by her, even as she keeps looking forward. It’s like on the high school roof all over again, the sun hitting her skin, her eyes half-closed, her unbothered attitude. He almost expects her to launch into another explanation of how his future is not dead yet, but he knows she won’t if he doesn’t ask.
And anyway, that’s not the question on the tip of his tongue.
Last time they saw each other, he was pressing her against the wall of the high school bathroom and had her legs wrapped around his hips. Last time he heard her, she was panting in his ear, nails digging into his back. Yihyun hasn’t looked, but he’s pretty sure he still wears the marks of that stolen moment.
Stolen, because he thought this was it.
But here she is, casual as ever in blue jeans and black shirt and white sneakers, sitting beside him shy of a touch. So his question is justified.
“I thought you didn’t want to date.”
“I don’t,” she replies easily, which makes him snort again.
“Alright then,” he yields.
Yihyun leans back on his hands, letting the sun hit his face. The peacefulness of the moment almost makes him forget why he was up there in the first place. Yoon Saebom isn’t close enough to touch, and yet her warmth is more perceptible than the sun’s.
“How long do you have to wear that ?” She suddenly asks with a small tap of her toes to his ankle.
“Depends,” he sighs heavily.
“On ?”
“If I respect the delay they gave me or not.”
“Yah, the more you talk the less respect I have for you.”
“The more you talk the more I wonder why you’re here.”
Unsurprisingly, she doesn’t answer him.
While very aware of her, it’s hard not to let himself drift in that state between consciousness and sleep.
Saebom remains silent.
Eventually, the cold that comes with the afternoon diminishing forces them to climb down the ladder and step inside his own.
As Saebom carelessly toes off her sneakers to reveal a pair of glittery socks, Yihyun realises his parents won’t be here for some time, still, and that they’re alone in an empty house.
In his house.
There’s not much fight he can put on against the memories of her lips opening up beneath his, the anger her kisses conveyed for a while there, nails raking on his nape and body hot and eager against him. Yihyun has to shake his head.
“So, what did you decide to do ?” He asks as if continuing an ongoing conversation, which couldn’t be farther from the truth.
“The police academy, I think. It’d be good for me.”
Yihyun hums, closes the door behind her.
“Jung-Yook is going to be thrilled,” he deadpans, earning a smile.
That reminds him.
“Look at what he sent me,” he chuckles, handing her his phone once he’s open the e-mail he received shortly after the “incident”.
Saebom picks the device between her fingers, barks out a laugh at what is there.
“It is a good picture,” she muses as she narrows her eyes. “The handcuffs make me look tough.”
He chuckles, shaking his head at her antics.
“You don’t need the handcuffs for that.”
“I don’t, do I ?” She muses, zooming in on the picture.
“You don’t need to be a police officer, either.”
“Still, imagine how much tougher I’d look with a gun in my hand,” she teases -or maybe not; is it teasing if it’s the truth ? In any case, the image sends a hot shiver down his spine, and he ignores it very deliberately.
Saebom hands him the phone back, and he notes the low battery as well as the late hour with a frown. How long did they stay on the roof, exactly ?
“Do you have something to drink ?” She asks, already looking around.
Yihyun can honestly say he’s grateful for her boldness, her lack of social politeness. In this state, he can’t be much of a host, and he’s reassured that he doesn’t have to be.
“In the fridge. Take whatever you want,” he tells her, not feeling up to anything right now. “I’m going to charge my phone.”
He climbs the stairs with minimal trouble, though his leg screams against the effort. His parents wanted to move his room downstairs, but he refused instantly.
Once there, he plucks his phone in, and even though he shouldn’t, puts it on silent. He doesn’t need anyone contacting him right now, not when the only person that doesn’t make him feel like the world is slipping from underneath his feet is in his kitchen, probably rummaging through his fridge out of curiosity.
When she comes into the room, he’s laying across his bed, looking at the ceiling. His legs are bent so that only his upper body resides on the sheets.
Saebom mirrors his position on the other side, head immediately shifting to be in his direction. He wonders wether she put her drink down, or if she didn’t find anything she liked.
“That’s not a very captivating ceiling.”
“I’m thinking.”
“About ?”
“Wether or not to kick you out.”
Her huff of laughter blows against his cheek.
“I’d like to see you try.”
If he were to tilt his head, he’d meet her gaze a few inches away. Her lips would be very close.
Yihyun doesn’t move.
“What are you thinking about ?”
“The tryouts,” he admits, the first time he has said it out loud. His parents have avoided the topic at all cost, and he is a bit grateful for it. Saebom is never so delicate.
“Does it hurt ?”
“It just feels like I have lost all control, I guess,” he shrugs awkwardly.
Saebom remains silent for a moment, and then she’s straightening up. Next thing he knows, her legs are bracketing his hips and she’s leaning down on him, hair falling around them so that he can only see her face and there’s no distraction to hang onto as a safe-line.
“You can control this,” she says.
It takes a moment longer than he’d like to get what she means, and when he does it sends a heatwave right to his brain.
Saebom is crowding him down against the mattress, and Yihyun finds that it’s a much different sensation from falling down, or even making out with her against a wall.
It feels safe, it feels grounded, it feels natural.
As natural as his hands holding her hips while he rolls them over, Saebom taking his place on her back with only a soft huff as reaction.
She looks gorgeous under him, soft in deferent ways. Like he could kiss her for hours on end and she wouldn’t get bored of it. He sure wouldn’t.
And yet, he craves something else now, something she offered without an ounce of hesitation. He leans down, lips hovering over hers for a moment, a moment longer when she makes an annoyed sound in the back of her throat, before finally slotting their mouths together. At the same time her arms loop around his shoulders, Yihyun trails his hands down so he can reach her jeans. The button and zipper are a quick affair, and, movements unhindered by her rebuttal or anything else, he tears their mouths apart. After he presses a kiss on her jaw, Yihyun makes quick work of getting to his knees and tugging her right to the edge of the bed. A sharp escapes her in surprise, and then she’s lifting herself up on her elbows. From his place on the floor, Yihyun looks up at her and kind of wants to lose it right here and there.
At the sight he makes, Saebom opens her mouth -to protest or encourage, he’ll never know.
“I’m in control, right ?”
As soon as she nods, he pulls her jeans and underwear all the way down. He doesn’t let himself enjoy the sight of them on his floor in his room, but he does tremendously enjoy the sound she makes as she throws her head back against his sheets the moment he gets his mouth on her. Her nails bury in his strands, not unlike they did in the alley, and just as they did then, they urge him closer.
His knee hurts, but Yihyun pushes through it.
3. Drunk celebration
“I told you.”
He’s already rolling his eyes before she even finishes her shot, slams the empty glass on the table, and points a finger in his face.
“I told you,” she repeats, like he didn’t hear her the last two times, like he didn’t hear her the last five years.
“I get it,” Yihyun still says.
Saebom’s finger remains in his face. Yihyun would be annoyed, really, if she didn’t look so happy. Maybe it’s the alcohol, but her smile hasn’t dwindled all night, and her cheeks are flushed, and her eyes glow in the dark and…
He’s finding it difficult to pinpoint his emotions, is all, but it’s sure as hell not annoyance.
“I told you we’d have life before us. Look at you now, mister detective.”
“Right back at you, SOU agent.”
“We did well, didn’t we ?”
“Yeah. Yeah, we did.”
“We deserve a reward, don’t we ?”
It’s her tone that tips him off, that urges him to look at her.
Yihyun knows Saebom enough by now to recognise that expression; she wants something. She wants something, and there’s no way to know what she’s ready to do to gain it.
“I thought that was what the alcohol was for.”
She rolls her eyes, as if he’s the one being ridiculous. She often does that, even if the situation doesn’t warrant it. He likes it much more than he probably should.
Especially when, without a word of warning, she leans all the way into him. At first, he thinks she’s too drunk and has lost her balance, or something. But when she brushes his lips with her own and her hands grasp at his shirt to pull him in as well, it can’t be anything other than voluntary.
“Saebom…” he starts, stops, doesn’t know what to say.
Doesn’t even know what he wants, to be honest. Well, he wants her, always wants her. And the alcohol is suppressing both of their reservations, so…
Suddenly, her hands let him go. It only lasts a moment.
Before he knows it, impatient fingers are undoing his belt, and Saebom presses her palm against him.
“Can I ?” She whispers against his mouth, lets her tongue poke out to taste his lower lip.
Unsure of his voice, Yihyun nods.
Quick as lightning, her hand has dove inside his boxers and wrapped around him. He almost -almost- laughs, because this is Saebom unbidden, unrestrained, and in a rush. All that comes out is a choked sound, the contact of skin on skin too much too soon, and yet never enough.
Her grip is tight, her thumb eager, her sinful tongue kissing him like a promise.
He pulls away when she tightens her hold, free fingers tracing the dip of his hipbone almost delicately. Only then does a conscious thought make its way through his hazy mind, and his hand is dipping down before even he has truly decided what to do. All he knows is that the lace of her underwear at the tip of his digits is auspicious, and would certainly be more useful not hindering his movements.
Immediately, she stops him by circling his wrist and holding him there. It sends another wave of pure fire, her strength.
“You need a reward,” she pants against him, as if she’s the one getting all the attention, and really, Yihyun isn’t sure he can handle this.
He definitely can’t, he thinks when she presses a heavy, sloppy kiss on the side of his neck and manoeuvres herself down on her knees. Her strength is there, too, in the rapidity of her movements as she urges him to take off his shirt, and once he’s done so, tears his jeans down. Her mouth is there next, wet and warm and incredibly determined, even through the barrier of his underwear.
Yihyun doesn’t know what to do with his hands, doesn’t know how his heart hasn’t given out yet. With a look up at him, Saebom tucks her fingers into the waistband, and as authorisation, he brushes the few strands of hair that have fallen out of her ponytail and into her face.
Next thing he knows, she has taken him into her mouth and lowered as far as she could, uncaring for his desperate gasping and wavering sanity.
His hand fists in her hair, way less gentle than before, but she seems very far from bothered. She makes a sound, one he’s only heard from her years ago, with his head between her thighs and her hands in his hair.
The sinful slide of her mouth paired with the alcohol flowing in his blood make his control completely non-existent. He has no handle on time, none at all, but he is pretty sure he comes embarrassingly fast. Not that embarrassment is anywhere near his list of things to give a shit about right now, not when she’s pulling back with her tongue passing over her lips, not when he’s pulling her up by her hair before he even thinks about it. Not when Saebom is reduced to a moaning mess under his tongue, even as she’s still dressed. And that, that’s an outrage, Yihyun realises.
Maybe he’s more desperate for it when she makes it difficult for him. In any case, her protestations only serve to renew his attempts at getting lower, button and zipper sliding easily through his fingers. Just as he did before, she clings onto his hair for dear life while he gets to work.
Yihyun wakes up the next morning because of a gust of air flying across his chest.
When he difficultly pries his eyes open, brushing a hand over his face to try and wake himself up. The light is the second thing he notices; the first is warm skin, flush against his side. Once it actually registers, and he snaps his head up, Saebom’s gaze greets him good morning, a smile gracing her lips.
“Hey,” he rumbles, still half-asleep despite the unfamiliar sight (well, not that unfamiliar; too often, he has dreamed about this).
“You don’t snore.”
Yihyun huffs, unable to help himself, or the way his hand reaches for her. She doesn’t stop him.
“I told you.”
Saebom hums, sliding closer as his grip curls around her hip. She brushes a few strands away from his forehead. Her skin is a canvas for the sunlight shining through the window, pale ivory becoming golden.
His chest feels full, suddenly, and even as he knows they can’t go on like this, he also knows they don’t have to.
“Hey,” he calls her attention once more.
With a tilt of her head, she frowns slightly in inquiry. He resists smoothing it out.
“Do we need to talk about this ?”
“About ?”
“One is an accident, two is a coincidence. Three is a pattern.”
Saebom is silent for a few seconds, and then she turns teasing eyes towards him, an eyebrow raised.
“Want to make it four ?”
He does not bother to hide the intensity of his gaze, or the meaning of his words, when he asks :
“How about we stop counting ?”
Heart racing, blood pounding, fingers clenching where they rest on her hip, Yihyun awaits her answer anxiously, conscious of what he is asking. She understands, too, and her attention doesn’t waver from him one second, lips parted distractingly.
“Yeah,” she eventually breathes, so quiet he almost misses it. “Yes,” she repeats, surer, more settled, as she leans down to meet his lips. “I’d like that.”