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Youngjae was pissed.
Especially when she was finally lost in the music at the club, body moving on instinct, and then without warning, an arm slipped around her waist. Warm and possessive.
The sound of uneven breathing hit her ear first, followed by a familiar scent. Dohoon’s perfume. Expensive, sharp, with something sweet underneath that Youngjae had started noticing on her clothes, her jacket, even on the couch back home. Her dancing stopped cold. The fun drained out of her in one second.
Now she just stood there, a dead weight settling on her shoulder. Dohoon’s head, heavy and warm, nuzzling against the curve of her neck like she had every right to be there. It made Youngjae frown.
Annoyed, she tried to step out of the hold.
A soft, wounded whine followed. Youngjae turned and found Dohoon there, lips pouting, eyes glassy and tipsy. Her makeup was perfect even after hours, especially her sharp liner, flushed cheeks, hair clipped up in that effortless way that still made her look like she walked off a photoshoot.
“Stop acting like this, Dohoon.”
Dohoon didn’t listen. She looked like a sad puppy who’d been told no.
“Please come—”
“Stop.” Youngjae pulled back again, firmer this time. “Stop being such an asshole.”
Even tipsy, Dohoon blinked like she’d been slapped. “What do you mean?” Her words were soft, dragging.
Youngjae laughed, bitter. “Stop pretending you don’t know.”
Dohoon tilted her head, genuinely lost. “What the hell?”
What the hell, she said?!
Jihoon and her were clearly figuring each other out. And yet every time Dohoon drank, she did this; clung to Youngjae, of all people. Jihoon’s roommate.
Wasn’t that cruel? Wasn’t that shameless?
The second Dohoon’s fingers brushed her arm, Youngjae jerked away. She turned to leave.
But Dohoon caught her wrist. Held on. “Jihoon might see this,” Youngjae hissed.
“Then let her,” Dohoon mumbled. Her voice dropped, frustrated. “Can you just… give up on Jihoon?”
Youngjae raised an eyebrow. “Giving up… on what?!”
Dohoon exhaled, long and heavy. Her face was red, whether from alcohol or something else. Her grip tightened, not painful, just desperate. “On liking Jihoon. She likes someone else. It’s pointless, Youngjae. You’re chasing someone who isn’t looking back.”
Youngjae must’ve looked stupid.
“Wait… didn’t Jihoon like you?”
“Huh?” Dohoon stared at her like she’d grown two heads. “What kind of joke is that?”
Youngjae pressed her lips together. Her mind was racing, trying to rewind every moment, every glance.
“Are you serious?” Dohoon gaped. “You thought Jihoon liked me?”
“I thought you two liked each other.”
Dohoon laughed, disbelieving, a little broken. “Are you dumb or something?! I’ve clearly been into you.”
Youngjae froze.
That sentence had never crossed her mind. Not once. Not even in the quiet moments at 2AM when she couldn’t sleep.
She’d always thought Jihoon was the one. Her roommate. Her safe place. So when Dohoon started orbiting them, Youngjae assumed it was for Jihoon’s sake.
It never occurred to her that the person Dohoon wanted was—
“Have you really not known this whole time?” Dohoon’s voice went quiet. Her fingers slid from Youngjae’s wrist to her shoulder, brushing over the thin strap of her top with a touch so light it raised goosebumps.
It wasn’t that Youngjae didn’t like Dohoon. Who wouldn’t?
God, Dohoon was unfair. The leather jacket hugging her frame, the tight top underneath that caught the club lights, the mini skirt and tall boots that made her legs look endless. Her hair was pinned up messily but it only made her look more expensive. She carried herself like she knew exactly how beautiful she was. And she was.
But Youngjae? She was the quiet one. Jeans and oversized shirts. The girl who kept to corners and watched instead of being watched.
Could someone like Dohoon really want her?
Youngjae wanted to pull away. She really did.
But Dohoon’s eyes wouldn’t let her. Dark, heavy-lidded, and devastatingly honest. Like they’d been keeping a secret and were finally tired of it. Like they were daring Youngjae to understand. And she had no excuse left to look away.
So she stayed. Breath shallow. As Dohoon closed the space between them. One step. Then another. Until their bodies nearly touched and the air between them went hot.
And then Dohoon folded into her.
Dohoon’s hair fell warm against Youngjae’s shoulder, soft and smelling faintly of vanilla and smoke. Her nose traced the line of Youngjae’s neck, breathing her in slowly, reverently, like she’d been craving this for months. Her arms locked around Youngjae’s waist and it fit. It fit so perfectly it was almost unfair. Like Dohoon had been practicing this in her head.
“God, I’ve always loved the way you smell, Youngjae,” Dohoon whispered into her skin. Her voice was low, rough from dancing and something deeper. It vibrated against Youngjae’s throat and lit her up from the inside out. “You’re the only one who smells this devastating.”
The words scorched Youngjae’s cheeks.
The club was still loud around them. Bass thumping. Lights strobing. But inside Dohoon’s arms, it was just them. The weight of Dohoon leaning into her, the careful way her fingers traced small circles on Youngjae’s back, the faint tremble in her hold that said she was nervous too.
It was terrifying. And addictive.
This time, Youngjae didn’t push her away. Because for the first time, she understood. Kim Dohoon had wanted her all along.
And a strange, new feeling was blooming in Youngjae’s chest. It was something warm, dangerous, and she refused to name.