Archive of Our Own

you’re parched. like, crawling through the dessert in search of an oasis type-thirst.

it’s around 1am, friday night (or, saturday morning?) you've been mindlessly scrolling since you hopped into bed, nothing to do tomorrow, no reason to call it quits, all the time to kill.

the darkness of night allowed a coolness to drape itself across your room, but you still had the hum of your overhead fan to comfort you. a thin bedsheet just barely covers your exposed legs (but your feet were tucked in, like the simple action alone would protect you from any threat).

normally, in heat like this, you’d have a cup of water waiting for you on your nightstand (hours old, lukewarm, still full to the brim from when you first poured it). the nightstand is, however, woefully empty — the cup you’d used just last night currently sitting in the kitchen sink, awaiting its well-deserved wash. you groan aloud.

you have a bad habit of completely missing your body’s internal cues. you’ll be alerted to your desire for a drink in the middle of scrolling, tell yourself you’re going to go grab something to fulfill that desire in a bit, and wind up actuallygetting up hours later (quietly wondering why your stomach hurts as much as it does).

you sit up slowly, shucking off your thin sheet. you inch off your oh-so comfy mattress, your phone now tucked safely beneath your pillow.

the only thing illuminating your bedroom was your tv, playing a show you’ve seen enough times for it to be background noise. the corners of your room were dipped in just enough shadow to allow your mind to wander. the closer you got to the door, the more you could make out the shapes of piled clothes and inconveniently placed decor. you touch the rim of your overfilled hamper (which had looked awfully like a crouched human figure from your bed) just to sooth yourself further. you’ve gotta do laundry soon.

your hand wraps around the door knob.

your brain likes to play this sick little joke on you every time you entertain leaving your room at night. your door opens to the hallway, unassuming, an oddly warm site in the morning; your roommate already up, his door left ajar, letting bright sunlight pour out from his room and spill onto the hardwood floor.

you don’t know what’s worse: the stare of the shut doors, or when the one to the bathroom is left open just enough — to invite the possibility, an abyssal maw gaping at you. you know it’s only like that because your dearest roommate forgot to shut it.

you’ve known your roommate for a while now. the first time you saw him was in your gen-ed biology course all the way back in freshman year. he walked in right as the class was supposed to start, your first thought centered around how handsome he was.

you must’ve been staring, because he locked eyes with you and began moving in your direction. petrified, you swiveled to face the whiteboard ahead, immediately regretting how that must’ve looked to him.

you watched him sit besides you from the corner of your eye, shuffling to place his bag on the floor. out of courtesy, and hoping to repair any potential grief, you glanced his way. your head tilted just slightly to meet his eyes, a smile already aimed your way.

fuck, this guy’s tall, was your second thought.

jeong yunho (you soon learned from your professor calling out the roster, later followed by yunho’s more phonetically-accurate introduction directly to you), became your semester-long lab partner by way of proximity. he was easy to talk to, a welcome respite for all the changes that came with entering your first year. he’d wave at you when you passed him in the hall, always side by side with an equally tall friend of his sporting colorful hair.

your partnership led to after-class meetups for group work, which led to exchanging numbers, which led to actually hanging out outside of class. you both ended up dorming together (at his request) in your second year, keeping the tradition of rooming together past graduation, now in an apartment.

your hand wavers. the doorknob gently rattles. the sound makes you freeze.

you suck in your lip, a knee-jerk reaction. you twist the knob further, wincing from how audible it all is, brass bumping against the rosette.

you pull the door into your chest, head curling around it. the hand not glued to the knob rests on the wood, your entire body slipping past the threshold of your doorway by the skin of your gritted teeth.

you peek into the abyss.

the bathroom door makes eye contact with you.

you swipe your leg in front of the motion-activated light your lovely roommate had gotten from his parents’ house, all but crawling past the bedroom door. the dim, pale-yellow light laps at the bottom of the bathroom door. shadows stretch across the ceiling.

you sigh like you’re breaching water.

in a not-so subtle rush you move past the hallway of doors and into the kitchen, somehow managing to shove your feet into your house slippers along the way.

your fingers flick the lightswitch as you wade in the doorway, trying not to glance at every little shadow, every little odd shape.

you welcome the overhead light like a lover.

you move more freely beneath the warm, yellow-ish hue the kitchen’s now bathed in. you take a few moments to stare into the kitchen sink, three of your dishes piled up on one another in the corner, including the infamous cup. it’s your turn to wash the dishes.

you squint harshly at the two extra dishes you're certain weren’t from you.

you roll your eyes — you’re gonna beat his ass in the morning.

your hand wraps around the handle to the refrigerator, staring at the green numbers glowing on the microwave besides it as you pull.

1:13am.

yunho had announced his departure a few hours ago, his usual for a friday night. he’d invited you, like he always did — cheek pressed against your doorframe with a pout on his face. and you had whined about not having enough time to get ready for something like a hangout. 

he scoffed out a laugh, stupid grin plastered across his plush face.

opening the refrigerator invites a cooler, brighter glow. you mindlessly search for a water bottle, not wanting to deal with the ruckus of the ice machine at this hour.

it wasn’t abnormal for yunho to be out this late. when you were with him, you’d both usually come home even later. clubbing, movies, arcades, just fucking around at a playground in the asscrack of night—whatever the group felt like.

if you didn’t tag along, he’d usually text with an update: 

‘leave door unlocked, too drunk 4 keys’

‘can u throw my leftovers in the microwave? b there in a bit’

‘bought u smth :) b home in a bit’

sometimes, if he was too drunk, he’d end up crashing at mingi’s place. but even then, either he, mingi, or whoever else was out with him texted you to let you know.

there was one time, however, they all had blacked out at mingi’s place, without a single text. left you (reasonably) worried until the following morning, where mingi had texted you a picture (through yunho’s phone—he’d lost his own apparently) of yunho’s head cushioned by mingi’s dog’s bed: ‘sorry. drank wayyyyy too much. yunho’s okay tho lol’.

you unbury your head from the fridge, empty-handed. ice machine it is.

the door swings closed, suctioning itself shut, granting you one final blast of cool air. you eye the sink again, debating washing your cup or grabbing a fresh one.

absentmindedly, your eyes drift towards the living room.

the kitchen light is dim, dim enough that it just narrowly reaches the living room. the blub’s a bit old, but neither you or yunho’s changed it since it’s almost the perfect amount of late-night light required to see but also not blind someone freshly woken up.

the combined living room-kitchen area stretches far enough that the tv is nearly swallowed in darkness. it just barely reflects the kitchen light, and you can just about make out your blurry shadow in the mirror of its black screen.

the backs of the cushions take most of the light for themselves, creating shapes for your brain to morph and play with.

from where you stand, one of the cushions mimics the back of someone’s head.

the recognition causes you to stare at it for longer than you want to. just to make sure. to confirm. it’s a cushion. it’s a couch cushion.

you turn away, deciding you actually do not feel that comforted by the dimness of the kitchen light, how willingly it invites the shadows to billow and grow all around you. you’ll have to ask yunho to change it in the morning (because you're sure as hell not doing that).

your hand touches the ribbed knob of the cabinet, eyes not following the motion. suddenly hyperaware that you’re standing directly in front of the deep, unlit hallway. the night light has long since deactivated, leaving you and the abyssal gullet of your apartment to stare at one another. the opening back into the hallway frames the door to yunho’s room like a geometric pattern, like a block fitting into hole specifically made for it.

yunho’s room is open. so wide you can’t see the door.

you freeze. you didn’t remember his door being open when you briskly ran past earlier, then again it’s not like you were particularly focused on the doors on your way to the kitchen (the exact opposite, in fact).

you can’t see the door. the room is so dark you can’t see the open door. vantablack. the kitchen light doesn’t even graze the carpet.

had he left his room open in his haste to leave? wasn’t completely out of the question, but it was uncharacteristic. yunho didn’t think you were untrustworthy or anything, but he normally left it closed when he was out of the house. you did the same. basic unspoken boundaries.

had he been home and you didn’t realize? maybe he was dropped off, left to clamor to his bedroom, and was now sprawled across his bed, passed out and dirtying up the bedsheets with his outside clothes (bar clothes no less). probably didn’t bother shutting the bedroom door, too tired to do so.

would he have remembered to lock the front door?

pushing aside your paranoia, you turn in the direction of the front door, situated between the dual living room-kitchen area. just to be safe. to make sure.

you lock eyes with yunho’s tall frame in the darkness of the living room.

you jump. so hard your hand somehow ends up jerking upwards and you knock into the open cabinet door, only enough to leave a dull ache. you let out an undignified noise, one you immediately try to hide behind an equally loud curse.

“f-fuck—! don’t fucking do that, dude.”

you don’t even look at yunho for a full 5 seconds, busy regaining your composure (and healing your pride). when you look up, he hasn’t moved, still enshrouded.

“hello.”

the greeting comes out flat. there’s an emphasis on the two syllables, like he’s pronouncing the word for the first time.

he’s far enough that you can’t see his mouth moving when he speaks, or what kind of face he’s making, or if he’s holding his breath in an attempt to maintain the prank. that’s probably the point, though. asshole. “you’re fucking hilarious, dude.”

yunho remains standing right where the kitchen light can’t reach. the black turtleneck and pants he’s wearing almost make him blend in, save for his pale face and hands, standing out like painted porcelain on black fabric.

“hello.” he croaks, the inflection shaky, dragging out the syllable — still doing a voice.

“yeah, yeah,” you shoo at him, turning your back. you’d never admit it, but you’re spooked enough to hesitate when you look away. “did mingi drop you off? he didn’t even stop to say hi?”

with yunho present, you feel less on-edge about the volume of the ice machine (even if you’re still annoyed he scared you). you mindlessly fiddle with the cups, trying to further distract yunho from how badly he’d got you. he doesn’t reply, and you don’t really think anything of it. assuming the alcohol’s really kicking in or something, and when you turn back he’s going to be clutching his forehead. that’s what he gets.

you finally select a cup, bracing your weight on the countertop. the back of your palm touches your hip, and you push yourself up on your toes. 

as discreetly as you can, you turn back, still moving to grab your cup.

yunho’s still standing there. you don’t think he’s moved an inch. jerk.

you press further into the countertop, one foot just off the floor.

there’s something to your right.

when you turn to face it, all you see is the hallway.

you face the cabinet again, and it’s back.

something in the corner of your eye, and you think it’s the the door to yunho’s bedroom laughing at you. like a black censor-box in the edge of your vision. long. lithe. dark. it’s presence virtually feels physical. like it’s pressing into your back as you reach.

the longer you try to focus on it, the more you can make out another color. pale white. a darker splotch in the center. red. almost pinkish.

a mouth. wide and gaping.

you turn. it’s still the hallway.

when you face the cabinet it’s closer.

you consider if it’s possible for yunho to still be fucking with you. 

you reach in and grab the first cup that knocks into your knuckles. you glance back at yunho to sate the nagging feeling. he’s still there.

you choke. you don’t mean to. “b— bad news: i think we gotta change the blub now.” your gaze flickers between your steadily filling cup, and the doorway to the void.

yunho doesn’t respond. your grip on the cup falters and you debate throwing it at him.

“yunho, please, we get it. i literally shit my pants when i saw you, you win.”

frustrated, and frankly panicked, you turn.

you lock eyes with yunho’s broad chest.

yunho was always tall, you knew that. you knew since the day you met him. taller than most, taller than you.

but you were never below his chest.

yunho leers over you like a skyscraper, and all you can see is black. the inky black of his turtleneck. the same inky black in his bedroom, all encompassing. the black he casts over your eyes, sucking in all the light from that dim bulb.

you’re staring into his sternum, heartbeat thrumming in your ears, devolving into the droning of mosquitoes. swarming, swallowing you. swallowing bile in your throat. your blood’s pumping so loud you miss the fact that yunho’s chest fails to rise. or fall. or move at all. silent, still, looming, staring.

you trail your eyes up his body, taking way too long to reach his face. you cross over the end of black cloth. the longer you linger, the less you can make out where his skin begins and the fabric ends. you can’t see a single fold in the cotton.

the room is silent, save for the sound of you breathing.

in the corner of your eye, you see his finger twitch.

you attempt to whisper — his name, a plea, a simple sound, anything. it dies in the back of your throat when you make eye contact with him.

deep and dark. inky black. vacuous, but wide. wide with something bordering on hunger. swallowing, all encompassing, consuming. pinks an extra harsh red, embroidering his too-bright-white sclera. his bangs reach just above his eyelid, curling over his eyebrows, making the white of his face impossible to not notice, glaring at you.

you want so badly to look away. look at anything but him. at it. at the thing pretending to be your roommate, wearing his skin like a coat — cold, so cold.

you start to cry, not knowing what else to do, your head dipping down, hiccuping into your shoulder. yunho, the thing boxing you against the kitchen counter flinches, the movement detectable just out of the corner of your eye. you can’t lookat it, you can’t.

it croaks, a strangled sound. soft, testing. you shake harder. "you- you're not f-funny..."

it doesn't respond. it doesn't even blink.

"please," you plead in disbelief, turning away.

you can't even hear it breathing. it's not moving.

“d-did you hurt him?” the words tumble out of you, not thinking, just reacting. a sob wracks your body as you finish, crumbling at the insinuation.

“...hurt him?” it repeats, hushed, like an echo. it inches closer, yunho’s nose grazing the invisible hairs on your cheek. you let out a wet whimper.

“there,” it starts once more, and you vaguely feel a huff of air hit your skin. “be there in a bit.”

you open your eyes.

the creature sniffs at your skin like a dog, nose close to being buried in the crook of your neck. deep, concentrated breaths, like there’s a note of something on your baggy shirt it’s trying to place. two long arms cage you in place, shoulders stopping just above your head, repeating the same thing, intonation wobbly: “in a bit, in a bit.”

the thing cranes further, and you duck on instinct.

it snarls.

“look,” it demands, dipping its body near serpentine to be able to slot it’s head into your pulse, oddly damp hair nuzzled against your own sweating skin. “look at me.”

“wh—,”

as fast as the mood seemed to shift, paper-white hands seize your arms, an ice-cold shock to your system. the thing unhinges yunho’s jaw, and your heart sinks to your feet. you stare into deep fuschia, all wrong, unfamiliar divots and shapes — his teeth unfurl like a snake’s fangs, gradual, making alarm bells ring in your ears. it looks like it could go on forever, impossibly large for it’s mostly human-sized head. you shimmy in its cold hands, barely budging. the fingers feel like they sink deeper into your skin. you wail.

you’re going to die. all because of a stupid fucking glass of water. you’re going to die and this distortion of your roommate, your dear friend’s face is the last thing you’re going to see. 

and your yunho’s going to find your bloodied body. if there’s anything left of you.

you squeeze your eyes shut, fresh tears spilling down your cheeks.

a low rumble thrums deep from the base of the creature’s abdomen, reverberating up and vibrating your own bones.

distant, like an echo, you hear something — a dragged out sound, like the start of a word. it gets louder, and you can only assume that’s because you’re fully engulfed by the maw of this monster.

in a dragged-out voice, unfamiliar, not yunho’s, not any voice that could exist naturally—you catch the word: “kkkkiiissssss.”

your cognitive functions seem to kick back into gear at that very second.

“ki—?! w-wait, wait, wait—!” you scream, cringing into yourself, feeling a string of what you assume is saliva drip onto the crown of your head, “that’s not— this isn’t a kiss—!”

there’s an agonizing 10 seconds that pass before you open your eyes again. it takes those whole 10 seconds to realize you don’t feel the warm breath anymore.

the thing with yunho’s face looks a lot more like yunho now (the facsimile of a human). it bores holes into your skull, and you don’t have to crane your neck to meet its stare: it’s graciously bent uncomfortably to your height, bird-like. blank eyes stare at you with mimicked intention. you cannot detect a thing from them, not even your own reflection. they try and follow the erratic dancing of your own.

just then, you feel something. like a faint exhale against your ankle. then a chill. cold fingers wrapping themselves around the base of your leg — inching up, up, up. crawling like bugs.

when you look down, you don’t find fingers. swirling, black whisps. upon first noticing them, they were faded, like a dark fog. the more you stare, the darker they become; going opaque before your eyes like an octopus shifting colors. misty turns solid in a matter of seconds, a purposeful, pressing weight as they curl up your leg, surprisingly dry, smooth. they stop just below your knee, suddenly drawing your attention to the fact that you're wearing shorts as pajama bottoms.

the word ‘tentacle’ flashes in your mind, and you’re only a teensy bit humiliated by the gasp you have to suck back.

“show me,” the creature says, the loudest you’ve heard it all night, yanking back your attention. it leans in uncomfortablyclose, it’s empty eyes blurring into one horrific shape.

“you mean—kiss?” you yell, in utter disbelief. its whole body perks at the word, head rising like a snake locking onto prey, standing at (what you hope is) its full height. the thing you thought was yunho’s turtleneck (was he even wearing a turtleneck when he left?) break into little scales — puffing out like feathers, his hair doing something similar.

you’re so dehydrated you’re fucking hallucinating. that’s the only way to explain this.

“you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” you mutter under your breath. it echoes mindlessly, a bit louder: “fucking me…”

its hands are still keeping you in place. it doesn’t blink. just endlessly stares. expectant.

does this thing really expect you to—?

a tentacle ghosts across your thigh, your legs pressing together on contact.

fuck. fucking shit.

“okay, fine,” ican’tfuckingbelievei’mdoingthis—, “just one. got it?”

it nods.

this is fucking crazy. i am fucking crazy.

you clear your throat, “can you, like… come closer?”

for a full two seconds, it doesn't move. you cannot even begin to guess what it’s thinking. not that you’d want to know.

it cranes down, and you’re presented with yunho’s face.

you’re just beginning to register the feeling of sweat gathering beneath your arms.

you lean in, eyes closed before you come careening down. it does not follow.

yunho’s cupid’s bow was one of your favorite parts of his face. you’d imagined what it’d feel like against your own lips before. absentmindedly, while he rambled on about his day, while he ate fast food you picked up for the both of you to share. soft, gentle, pleasant.

you shouldn't have been surprised by the coolness of these ones.

a peck is what you granted the thing with yunho’s lips. simple, quick, easy to separate yourself from. your eyes remained shut the entire time.

you wouldn’t be surprised if you caught its disappointed gaze, callous even, judgemental. you wouldn’t even blame it.

you jump when you open them back up.

yunho’s face is a mere inches away from yours, even though you’re positive there was at least a foot of space you had to cross to even plant the kiss in the first place. you have no idea how you didn’t feel its breath on you, but the longer you sit there, scared shitless, the more you realize you can’t feel it breathing at all (does it even have lungs?) it’s vacuous eyes are somehow wider than before, darting across your features like it’s trying to comprehend the slew of tingling, buzzing sensations caused by your shared contact.

yunho’s eyelids flutter. “more.”

you assumed the thing in front of you has had zero contact with humans before. you assume the closest its ever gotten to another living, breathing human was probably when it lurked just out of sight—vents no one ever cared to clean, the dark corners of houses filled with slumbering bodies, unmoving in the backseat of a quiet car. listening, watching, studying. parroting phrases its heard uttered in secret whispers meant only for a single pair of ears; mimicking expressions its only experienced through voyeuristic eyes.

apart of you wonders how much of yunho its seen. did it know the shape of his stomach as he lay vulnerable in bed? did it see the way water cascaded down the slope of his back as he rinsed suds off his body? did it know the constellation of freckles across his bare skin?

did its interest in you have anything to do with its potential intimate knowledge of your roommate?

there’s a faint numbness growing around your tailbone from how hard you’re pressing into the countertop. yunho looms over you once again, this time slowly careening down like a tall concrete building. you could vaguely hear the sound of bricks crackling, grinding against each other. the frostbitten fingers have moved from your shorts to beneath your shirt. a tendril toys with the hair leading down your navel, weaving through it like its a dog’s coat of fur. others tickle up your stomach, climbing threatening fast. you shudder, unabashed, incapable of holding it back.

“more,” yunho’s voice whispers against your skin, with more urgency. distorted, like a scratched record. you try not to think of where it got that from.

you’re vaguely fully aware this thing could probably do whatever it wanted with you and then dump your bloodless carcass in the nearest dumpster without a care. you still are unsure if you’re going to end up finding yunho’s skinned corpse somewhere in the apartment, if this is some mold-spore-induced mirage, or if you’re just having a wicked ass dream. you should probably be thinking of some smart way to kill this handsome-face-stealing motherfucker. of some grand escape plan.

once again, your galaxy brain kicks in.

“l-let’s make a deal,” you squeak, hand darting down to swat at the tentacles nuzzling into the waistband of your underwear.

“i’ll, uh… give you a kiss for every question of mine you answer. got it?” i can’t fucking believe i’m doing this.

the tentacles seem to like that deal—they vibrate against your skin, whole body purring in agreement. the turtleneck-skin-feathers puff out in what you assume is a good sign.

“can we first, just—move?”

yunho’s head turns like an owl—too smooth, unnatural.

you gesture over to the living room, the shadows the least of your worries.

the thing with yunho’s face follows your hand as it moves, having to fully look at the couch to understand your request. it turns back to you, releasing you from the cage of its spidery arms. its eyes do not leave your face as you make your way to the couch, going slow, like its sensitive to sudden movements (and, frankly, you’re not about to take that chance).

you sit, and you see it standing in the kitchen, fully facing you. you’re about to beckon it over, when it begins slitheringover to the living room. there’s no other way to describe the movement—its legs don’t budge, inching over to you like its on wheels. you blink, barely a second of nothingness, and its suddenly sitting in front of you. white, knuckled flesh sits politely atop jet black legs. they hang off the cushions and disappear into the floor like mist.

you forgot how much taller this “yunho” is. 

“where is my roommate? the one you’re copying?”

as soon as the words come out of your mouth, you regret it. they felt blunt, accusatory. dangerous.

yunho’s face goes blank, and you immediately envision this thing chomping down on you. how your spine being severed in one swift bite would feel (would you feel it?).

then, it speaks—stiff, like text-to-speech, in a voice hardly resembling yunho’s: “sorry for the late text. babysat three drunk idiots. be there in a bit. don’t wait up. gn.” it reads out ‘G-N’, nearly robotic, but mouth moving as animatedly as any regular human. you try not to visibly flinch in front of it.

whenever the nightly hangout involved drinking, there was a “schedule” to determine who the designated driver was. you didn’t remember the last time it was yunho, so you assumed this text was sent by him sometime tonight. you chose to believe he was alive, and arriving soon.

you wondered absentmindedly if “yunho” would stick around to introduce itself.

it visibly perked after reciting the message, eyes round, flicking down to your mouth. heat rises to your cheeks, like your high school crush was sitting in front of you. this is so fucked up.

you furrow your brows, “you know, you could, like… also do some of the work.”

it quirks its head.

“i mean, like— meet me halfway,” you start, but it just repeats after you: “halfway.” 

“like lean in w-with me.”

it seems to get it that time, adjusting its body so that it bends in that odd, avian way; swooping downward. you follow, repositioning yourself, scooting closer to it on the couch. your hands fall somewhere on the couch, inches away from its cold body.

you close the gap, eyes closing more gradually this time. you watch it do the same, staring into the curve of yunho's upper lip. you struggle to maintain your composure at the image of your hot roommate leaning in for a kiss.

the initial peck was too brief to gather anything meaningful from. his lips are surprisingly soft, yet bitterly cold. when your eyes finally shut, yunho presses into you. heavy, needy. the tentacles return, crawling with great efficiency, slithering flat against the tops of your thighs before sliding into the legs of your shorts.

“a-ah, wait—,” you stutter, arm jutting to ground yourself in its top, forgetting its lack of real clothing. your fingers slot themselves in the faux-fabric; soft to the touch, parting for you, almost molding itself to you like liquid.

through your gasp, it invites itself into your mouth, tongue laving against your own. it’s hot, a stark difference to the lifeless chill of its exterior layer. it pokes and prods into your mouth with the dexterity and thoroughness of a sterile, latex-clad finger. exploring you, like it’d never felt something like it.

the appendage fills your mouth like rushing water, drowning you. hot breaths fan across your face, heating the parts where both your skin meet. your hands find their way to its chest, not yet pushing (entertaining it, relishing in the unadulterated desire). there is no thumping beneath your sprawled fingers, its chest doesn’t expand. you have no fucking idea how this creature works.

finally getting ahold of yourself, you shove the creature. it pulls back without a care, easy like you hadn’t used all your might just to get it off you. its thick tongue slips out of your mouth like a stray lock of hair, intruding, crude in its sound, in the sensation of it leaving you (empty).

you aren’t looking at him once its retreated. your face is engulfed in flames.

“kiss. kissing. i didn’t say anything about that.” the tentacles haven’t breached further than the space between your skin and shorts.

yunho’s eyes are lidded, trained on your mouth. you furrow your brows.

“how long have you been watching him?”

the thing with yunho’s face seems genuinely taken aback by the question, whole body straightening. it’s your turn to stare, watching its body thin before your eyes: a negative reaction, you assumed.

the thing opens yunho’s mouth, the voice nothing like your roommate’s.

“since you came. to the apartment.”

you should’ve expected something like that. didn’t make it any less shocking, a wave of nausea bubbling in the base of your stomach, the whole room becoming stuffier.

you and yunho had toured the apartment almost a year ago.

your mind flashes through what you remember of that day: completely ordinary, not a single ‘get-the-fuck-out’ vibe the entire tour. the woman selling you the space was friendly, a little older. the previous residents were around your age, moved out because they found some place cheaper, nothing crazy.

you can’t imagine where he could’ve been hiding for a whole year.

“watching. watched him,” the thing with yunho’s face says, a smile in its voice but no smile conveyed on his face. it inches closer. “saw. listened.”

“want. want to feel,” its body rises once more, hovering just above you, “warm.”

you’re so shocked you don’t even lean in at first. it keeps repeating the word, speaking between kisses. eyes lidded, fixated on where your mouths continually meet. it seems to have graciously remembered your earlier comment, however, because its tongue stays inside his mouth.

“warm,” it pants (inexplicable heat), and timidly licks your bottom lip. spoke too soon.

your eyes flicker downwards, caught once more on the curve of yunho’s mouth. its tentacles are pensive, held back, still in your pants. you gulp.

it’s been doing… well, hasn’t it?

“fucking fine. fine,” you repeat the word a few more times for personal reassurance. “don’t fucking— choke me.”

it’s already pushing into your mouth, unblinking.

its tongue laps against your own, tasting it, surveying it. it’s endlessly infatuated with the rivets and bumps along the top, angling its head in an attempt to deepen your connection. your eyes flutter closed, hands still on its chest, nails scraping along the plates.

the tentacles, which had momentarily stopped in their exploration, are revived for the third time tonight. warmth, you hear echoing as they nudge right into the crotch of your underwear, punching a ruined sound out of you and into the thing’s prying maw.

all of the creature pulls back, tentacles and tongue retreating altogether (did you do something wrong?)

yunho looks at you. glances across your flushed face, then downwards. a new target.

you sputter. “h-hold on—!"

“warm,” it says, again, as it instead leads its cold, pale, large hand down, down, down until its pressing directly on your crotch through your shorts. shorts you’re realizing are way too fucking short and thin right about now.

you mewl, collapsing into its chest, hands balled into fists. you rut into its fingers, no other fathomable response, not when its fingers dig into you. you suck your bottom lip between your teeth.

its movements still, and you nearly beg.

yunho’s face dips downwards, gaze still locked onto your wavering one. you feel the all too familiar hot pant against your clothed core, eyes blowing wide.

it corrects itself, flat of its deft tongue pressing into you with intention, voice eerily familiar: “so fucking warm.”

you moan. wholeheartedly, pushing back into the muscle. “in. inside. holy shit—”

he obliges, having stalked enough couples to know to peel your bottoms off of you.

his tongue explores your lower extremities the same way it did the interior of your mouth; prodding with interest, seeking out specific sounds, specific textures, tastes. carefully, joyfully spelunking.

his tongue first works its way as deep as it can, just to see, fulfilling a deep-seated curiosity. once that’s sated, it returns to the opening, lapping at you like a dog drinking water.

in the midst of his grand tour of your insides, you are besides yourself.

you haven’t peered over at the clock, but you’re more than sure it’s way too late for you to be moaning as loud as you are. you fight to keep your voice down, throwing your face to the side, snuffing yourself out in the cushions, biting down on your lip to the point you taste copper, similarly taking fistfuls of yunho’s hair to one part ground yourself and ground him further into your sex.

yunho whines like he’s in pain, coming back up in what you assume is a gasp for air, before tending to the bundle of nerves at the surface; tongue wrapping around it impossibly, savoring the way you yelp. “o-oh my fu—fucking god…!”

“my roomie. my hot fucking roommate, fuck,” yunho mutters into you, like its a secret, just for his ears, like you were never supposed to hear it. pressed into your wetness, the words reverberating against you, making you pant and kick your leg out like you’re in agony.

“please, please, please—!” you don’t even know what you’re begging for. brows high and drawn together. thighs trapping yunho’s head.

just as you feel the dam start to splinter, he relents. you heave like he’d been suffocating you.

yunho’s legs sit on either side of you, caging you in, leering over you—and you let him, gazing up into his empty eyes. doll-like. glassy sheen. imitation of the real thing. you’re laid out on the couch like a flayed rabbit, insides bared. ready for consumption.

paths across your body that you could not see; filled with flowing, oozing liquids. red hot, full of life. pale finger grazing the loudest one, chasing the throb below, the warmth. you might as well have been lying back on an operating table, cold, metal scalpel replacing his digit.

you swallow, staring up at the amalgamation of your roommate. he stares back.

you once again feel that breath against your thighs, growing into thickness that flops itself onto you. it wriggles, and you peer down to watch the tendrils worm along your body with intention. they sit right in the valley of your thighs, just shy of your core.

one decides to touch; strokes right over the seam of you, careful, gentle in a way that forces you to watch.

he’s pried you apart in no time, chasing the heat. it’s initial shape is similar to that of his tongue; thinner at the tip, thickening the longer it goes (tentacle! your brain yells like alarm bells, unhelpful).

the major difference (aside from the fact that it’s pitch black in color) is the fact that it grows, pulses when it does. alien. and you swear he picks the biggest, thickest size to start.

“so warm,” he repeats, as the appendage begins a slow pace, fucking in and out of you. testing the depth, filling you to the brim for maximum contact. “so warm around me.”

your eyes are screwed shut, and all you can hear is yunho. your yunho.

he moans, caught in the back of his throat, suppressed. “sucking me in. tight just for me.”

you swear you hear him curse under his breath.

your back arches off the couch, hiding your open expression in a stray pillow. one of your legs is trapped between his large body and the cushion, bent and attempting to pull as far away from your body as possible, granting him more access.

you feel pressure against the base of your stomach, flat, like a palm. he angles himself, thrusts deep enough that it bulges against his hand. you keen, that very same leg collapsing into his side.

another tendril joins the onslaught, dipping in, side-to-side with the other. they work together, thickening and thinning accordingly. one bottoming out, the other falling back. you feel mind-numbingly stretched, bordering on overflowing.

a gust of air hits your sides, and soon you’re surrounded. hands tickle along your sides, pressing in to feel your ribcage flat against their bony knuckles, to feel the rise and fall of your chest. fingers wrap around your waist, grabbing, touching, prodding.

a distinct, wet sound fills the air. in time with his length hitting pressure points in your body that make your entire being twitch, nerves alight. your body’s wracked with broken sobs, pointless begging further filling the room.

you feel yunho’s breath on your cheek, soon his mouth. puckered, then open; tasting a stray tear.

“good boy. so good for me. all for me.”

you pulse. fluttering around him, completely out of your mind. “yu— yunho…!”

your hands dart upwards, flying to wrap around his neck, to pull him flush to your beating heart. encompass him in your body heat. your fingers dig into his scalp, threading through the wet locks of hair, like clawing through wet earth.

you see him. yunho. feel the damp press of his forehead against yours, eyes shut, concentrating on the sensation of you wrapped around him. consuming him. his hair hangs low in your face, tickling your eyelashes. they flutter shut, and you can’t help but laugh: soft, airy, against his mouth.

he opens his eyes. swirling brown, brimming with warmth, life, love. he gazes at you through his lashes, blinking with the reverence of a worshipper, bowed at your feet. lips curled into a smile. warm. so warm.

time slows all around you just to savor him, your yunho.

he opens his mouth.

“(name).”

your eyes shoot open.

it stares, like it’s been doing, all it knows to do. look. watch. stare. copy. mimic. mirror. replicate. nothing solely its.

vacuous eyes. empty. emotionless. looming. towering. all you can see is black. the inky black of your roommate’s empty bedroom. all encompassing. sucking all the light from the room, filling your whole vision with nothingness.

you cum around his cold tendrils with a shout of your roommate’s name, legs clamping down around the thing with yunho’s face. your claws rake along its back, leaving evidence of their journey for mere seconds, before the plates shift back into place; mimicry of fabric, black abyss.

you go limp, sweat cooling across your body. cold. it remains hovering above you, surveying your heaving body.

the tentacles don’t still in their movement until an entire minute afterward. it slithers out of your insides with a quiet schlick, the thing regarding your remnants with intrigue.

the last thing you see before succumbing to the heaviness sitting atop your bones are yunho’s dead eyes watching you do so.

***

when you come to, you see a flash of color. a dark splotch. red. almost pinkish.

you swing your fist right into your roommate’s unsuspecting face, shrill screaming the entire time. your body flails like a fish out of water, punching the air, punching in the direction of the tall man who is now shushing you like a wailing baby, open hands trying desperately to grab onto the two weapons (your fists) you’re swinging around so violently.

“hu—! hey, hey, hey!” yunho cries, voice way too tender for someone who just got their shit lowkey rocked. “it’s me! it’s yunho! i’m sorry i’m so late, please don’t fucking kill me!”

he manages to grab one of your wrists just as you stop shrieking.

“quick— say something you’ve never said before.”

“wh—?”

you raise your free fist up in a warning.

“uhh…? you’re so smart and clever…?”

you blink, taking a full 10 seconds to comprehend anything, busy taking him in. he’s wearing a plain black shirt, showing off the pale, pinkish skin draped over his collarbones. his hair’s flat, dark and curtaining cheeks dusted a shade of rouge. he’s blinking at you, eyes flitting between your crazed ones and your open mouth.

you decide to hit him anyway.

“dick.”

“is that a request?” yunho laughs, laughs, like something’s funny (how dare he!). like you hadn’t just experienced hell in the hours he’d been gone.

you look around the living room, searching, interrogating every corner with only a hint of panic.

yunho picks at your oversized shirt, currently dangling off your shoulder. “you’re sweating buckets. should i turn up the ac?”

your gaze returns to him. yunho. your yunho. the real thing. living, breathing, flushed pink, fingers still playing with the fabric of your top.

his eyes are dark in the dimly lit room, gold of the kitchen light just barely reflected in the all encompassing umber.

you clamp down on the hand scrutinizing your soaked shirt, thumbing over his veins, skimming the underside just to feel the warmth.

“i’m coming with you next time,” you say, dead serious. “and you’re not leaving my sight.”

“oh, you missed me?” yunho sings, poking into your side with his other hand. you hiss at him, body dipping away like he’d stabbed you.

yes. i was so scared. “um, projecting much?”

yunho laughs, and it lights up the entire room.