Chapter 7: Reclamation

Haeun slipped quietly into the dorm just after midnight, the hum of the city muffling her footsteps. The lights were dim, but not dark enough. A lamp burned low in the living room, its yellow glow casting long and twisted shadows across the room.

And there he was.

Jihoon sat slouched on the worn sofa, his face shadowed but his presence ominous. He didn’t look at her at first, only fiddled with the edge of his phone, spinning it slowly in his hands. Haeun froze by the doorway, her duffel bag slipping from her shoulder with a faint thud. She wanted to turn around, to flee to her room before he could look up and catch her, but he spoke before she could move.

“You’re back,” he said, his voice clipped and quiet. The kind of quiet that hid a darker edge.

She ignored him and turned toward the staircase, her hand curling around the strap of her bag, but in that moment it felt like an insurmountable deadweight.

“Haeun,” Jihoon said. This time, his voice was sharper, a command.

She paused, her back stiffening.

“Come here.”

The words were not a request. She glanced over her shoulder, meeting his eyes for the first time, and something about the way he looked at her—like he was inspecting her, as if searching for something invisible—made her chest tighten. For a moment, she considered defying him, considered walking straight to her room and slamming the door behind her. But the heat in his gaze held her there, pinned like a moth on a needle. Against her better judgment, against the flicker of anger rising in her throat, she walked toward him. Her legs felt like they moved of their own volition, as though her compliance was not hers to give.

She stopped before him, her hands hanging limply at her sides.

“What do you want?” she asked, her voice quiet but steady.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his dark hair falling slightly over his forehead.

“How was your weekend?” he asked, his tone sharp, almost mocking.

Haeun frowned. “You said you didn’t want to know when we’re together.” She said it softly, but the words were pointed, an accusation slipped beneath the surface.

Something in Jihoon’s face flickered, his jaw tightening. He laughed then, low and humorless.

"And you said you would love me equally if I were to give this a chance. So why didn't you reply my texts the entire time?"

Her frown deepened. She had wanted to focus on her Joonie, prevent any awkward moment should his name pop up on her phone while they were together, and so she had temporarily turned off notifications from Jihoon after she left the dorms.

But their time together was so magical, so precious that she had in truth completely forgotten about the man before her.

She didn't say any of that aloud, of course. Instead, she simply said, “I was busy.” It was a half-truth, and they both knew it.

Jihoon's expression darkened, his eyes narrowing slightly. His hands shot out, his fingers wrapping around her wrists and yanking her forward with a suddenness that made her gasp. She stumbled, falling onto his lap, her head pressed painfully tight against the sofa as her legs splayed out wide over his. She could not move, his elbow holding her down by her neck, his hand pulling at the hem of her skirt.

“Jihoon, stop,” she protested, struggling against his weight, but he didn’t release her.

“Shut up,” he snapped, his voice low, almost guttural. She felt his fingers pull her panties aside, felt them enter her dryly, the sharp pain making her cry out. He did not relent, pumping his fingers into her hard and fast.

"Did you come back with him still inside you? Did he mock me while he pumped his cum in you, Haeun?"

Haeun bit her lip, her breath hitching with each thrust of his fingers.

"Do you know how I felt, when I spent the whole day thinking about how you must be fucking him, while you tossed me aside like a joke? Did you think about what you were doing to me?"

She whimpered, the pain and discomfort building in her core as he continued to violate her. His fingers were relentless, delving deeper, stretching her wider with each movement.

"No, you didn't, because you only think about what's convenient for you!"

Tears welled in her eyes as she struggled beneath him. "Jihoon, please stop," she gasped out between sobs. "You're hurting me."

He grunted in response, his grip on her tightening even further. "Good." He pushed his fingers into her even deeper, curling them inside her until she felt like she couldn't breathe.

"Jihoon, enough!" She cried louder, her legs flailing as she tried to free herself. "I said stop!"

He finally did, pulling his fingers from her with a wet squelch, and Haeun collapsed against the couch, her body shaking with relief. She could feel the slickness between her legs, the evidence of her involuntary arousal mingling with the pain he had inflicted. It was humiliating.

She did not have time to process it, for his hand found her neck once more, dragging her up, pulling her with him towards the bathroom.

“What are you—”

“Come on,” he said roughly, flipping the light switch, the harsh white glow reflecting off the sterile tiles, and turning to face her.

“What is this?” she demanded, her voice rising now.

Jihoon’s gaze swept over her—her rumpled dress, her flushed cheeks, the faint remnants of his rival’s presence still clinging to her like perfume. His eyes narrowed, and his lip curled slightly.

“You’re dirty,” he said.

The words hung in the air like a slap. Haeun stared at him, stunned into silence. Something hot and indignant boiled in her chest—a protest, an argument, something to tell him that he had no right to judge her, that what she did outside of him wasn’t his to claim—but the words wouldn’t come.

“Get in the shower,” Jihoon ordered.

“No.”

“Get in the shower, Haeun,” he growled, his tone brooking no argument. His hand moved to the knobs of the faucet, turning the water on with a loud hiss. The steam rose quickly, clouding the small space. She opened her mouth to argue again, but something in his expression silenced her. His anger wasn’t just anger; it was something more complicated, something she couldn’t quite place. She hated how it made her falter.

“Fine,” she muttered.

She felt his eyes on her as she undressed, the heat of his gaze prickling over her skin, and she hated how a part of her wanted him to look. What is wrong with you? she thought bitterly. She stepped into the shower, the water scalding against her skin, but she didn’t adjust it. She let it sting, let it strip away the lingering warmth of the weekend.

"Wash your dirty cunt," he growled at her, "Take his cum out of you."

She scrubbed at her skin furiously, trying to ignore the way the water stung, trying to ignore the way his eyes burned into her. When she was clean, she turned back to him, defiance written across her face. But he was already grabbing for her again, pulling her out of the shower and pushing her against the cold tiled wall.

“No,” she said, trying to push him away, but he held her there. His eyes were wild, his breath coming in short, angry bursts.

“Jihoon,” she tried again, pushing harder, her hands flat against his chest, but it was like pushing against stone.

His eyes met hers, and for a moment, they were both perfectly still, the steam from the shower swirling around them. She could feel his heartbeat pounding in his chest, feel the tension in every muscle.

“Don’t do this,” she whispered, but her hands had fallen from his chest. Something inside her shifted—a surrender, maybe, or something darker.

He took it as permission.

When he entered her, it hurt—she wasn’t ready, wasn’t aroused enough—but he didn’t stop. His fingers dug into her hips, his body pinning her against the cold tiles. The pain morphed into something else, something that made her fingers claw at his back, that made her gasp out his name.

And when he moved inside her, she felt every inch of him, every hard thrust of his hips, every angry thought he felt throughout the weekend. It wasn’t gentle, wasn’t sweet—it was raw and primal and full of anger. But somehow, it fit.

Her head fell back against the tiles, her eyes squeezed shut, trying to block out everything but the sensation of him, but it only heightened her senses. She could smell the soap from the shower, the heaty, musky scent of him; she could taste the sweat on her lips and the salt in her tears; she could hear the slap of skin against skin and the raggedness of his breath in her ear. He thrust into her, caring little for her pleasure, using her as a tool to coax the cum out of his cock.

When she came, it was like a wave crashing against the shore—violent and unstoppable. She felt him follow soon after, his body stiffening, his fingers pressing bruises into her skin. He came inside her, pulling her out of the water so that it would not wash his essence away. His seed leaked out onto the bathroom floor as he pulled out, a testament to his claim on her.

He pulled away from her then, his breathing heavy and ragged. Haeun stayed there, against the wall, trying to catch her own breath. Her body ached, both from pleasure and pain.

“Haeun,” he said, reaching out to brush a strand of wet hair from her face, “I love you.”

She looked at him then, really looked, and saw something in his eyes that she hadn’t seen before—a desperation, a fear. It tugged at her heart, made her chest tighten. She leaned into his touch slightly, but said nothing.

He nodded, understanding, and stepped back, letting her be. She watched as he left the bathroom, closing the door softly behind him. She stood there for a long time, the water still beating down against the tiles, before turning it off and stepping out onto the mat. She dried herself slowly, ignoring the bruises and marks he’d left on her skin, and dressed in silence.

When she emerged from the bathroom, Jihoon was nowhere to be seen. She climbed the stairs quietly, her heart still heavy, her head still spinning. She reached her room and shut the door behind her, leaning against it for a moment, taking a deep breath. She felt drained—physically, emotionally.

She climbed into bed without turning on the light, curling up under the covers, the sheets cold and unwelcoming. As she closed her eyes, she tried to push away the memory of Jihoon's touch, of his anger, of his love. But they clung to her like shadows, refusing to let her go even as she fell into an uneasy sleep.