There are only two things capable of taking my breath away.

Caviar on spaghetti and a young Leonardo DiCaprio. 

Two things. 

Lee Jeno makes it three. 

I need emergency surgery. My heart rate has entered dangerous territory, and my ribs are on the verge of shattering. 

Jeno is a threat to my organs.

The way his hot breath tickles my face makes my skin buzz and my poor stomach overflow with carnivorous butterflies. His tender fingers caress my cheeks and all I can do is stare at his tempting pink lips as I struggle to breathe. 

A minute. 

Our noses touch for a minute, but it seems like we’ve taken the batteries out of the clocks because time ticks insatiably slowly.

My tongue is a tangled knot and my throat is Sahara dry, my fingers curling around the bed sheets to keep myself grounded.

Jeno, the slick bastard, slips his leg between my knees, his rough jeans scratching the sensitive skin of my inner thighs. He inhales my tiny gasp and a smug smirk adorns his infuriatingly modelesque face.

Rubbing my chin between his pointer and thumb, he drawls. “Breathe, Jang-mi. The body can only go four minutes without oxygen.”

My tongue uncoils and I squeak. “What are you doing?” It comes off more as a whine and Jeno’s chest trembles as he exhales a breathy laugh. 

“You’re so responsive,” he hums, naughty hands traveling down to pinch my waist. I jerk upward and grab his bicep, brows furrowing in half irritation and anticipation.

Jeno places a kiss on my nose bridge, inching his fingers into my pajama shorts. “I wonder what I’ll find if I slip my fingers in here,” he rasps, toying with the hem of my cotton .

My teeth grind. “You’d find me dry. As a desert.”

He raises an eyebrow, an amused glint in his midnight eyes. “Actually, I think I’d find you slick and ready for me.”

“In your dreams,” I let out a tiny scoff, and Jeno ever so slightly tugs on the cotton material. My lips part and his tongue darts out to wet the corner of his mouth. 

Toes curling, I reach my limit. Our eyes are locked and it infuriates me that I’m torn between attacking his lips and satiating my burning curiosity or being rational and pushing him away.

To spare my heart, I make the wise choice.

Placing my palms on his chest, I shove hard. Jeno falls off me and I prop myself up on my elbows, panting.

“What the hell was that?” I snarl and all he does is shove his fingers through his dark hair, chuckling boyishly.

“Don’t glare, Jang-mi, it just makes me want you more.” He unabashedly adjusts the bulge in his pants and I have to pinch myself to force my eyes away. 

“God, you’re going to be the death of me,” I spit, throwing myself off the bed. 

“Where are you going?” Jeno demands, and I growl at him. He meekly scratches the back of his neck. “Okay, fine. I’m sorry. I crossed the line.”

His full lips jut out into a pout. “Forgive me?”

“No,” I immediately snap, grabbing a pair of sweats and a tank top from my open suitcase. “You’re a menace!”

“Jang-mi, c’mon,” Jeno sighs, and I storm into the bathroom.

Slamming the door shut, I hear a smile in his voice as it floats through the wood. “Open the door, Princess.”

“No.”

“Now.” The switch in his tone, from sweet to strict, makes my heart skip a beat. 

“Why?” I wail, burying my burning face in my hands. 

“Open,” Jeno orders and I gingerly unlock the door. 

The moment he steps onto the tiled bathroom floor, he opens his arms invitingly and I scrunch up my face. 

“I hate you,” I declare, yet like magnets, I shamefully tiptoe closer and let him wrap his strong arms around my upper body. 

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, soft lips on my forehead. “Did I scare you?”

Laying my chin on his collarbone, I hang my head back and shake it slightly.

“No?” A smile slithers up his face. “Then why are you growling at me?”

“Because,” I stress. 

Because I’m a big fat liar. I’m not dry like I’d mocked. I’m- frigging wetter than I’ve ever been and it’s not okay!

“Because?” Jeno eggs on, but I know he already knows. 

Sue me, I’m a hormonal 21 one year old who’s been through a four-month dry spell. My body is aching, begging, desperate for relief.

“Oh, get off me,” I snipe, attempting to squirm out of his hold. Confrontation is not my thing.

“Nuh-uh.” Jeno tightens his grip. “Admit it. You liked my hand between your legs.”

I don’t reply. I’m not giving him the satisfaction, but I won’t lie. He won’t believe me even if I do. Instead, I hide my face in his neck and blow a raspberry as Jeno laughs breathily into my ear. 

“Shy?” He asks gently, my hair.

“Embarrassed,” I mumble against his throat, overwhelmed by how he’s crushing me to his chest as if I might disappear into thin air.

I wind my arms around his waist. “Can we take a nap and forget about it when we wake up?” I ask, and Jeno hums. 

“Okay, Princess. If that’s what you want.”

“And say something mean to me,” I demand. Jeno pinches my cheek, crinkling his nose.

“You have a mustache growing on your upper lip,” he jests and I crack a smile. 

“ you,” I giggle, punching his shoulder.

“In your dreams,” Jeno replies with a small grin, and the tension dissipates. 

My soul yearns for the beach the way a newborn baby turtle scampers toward the sea. 

The warm sand between my toes makes me giddy and the melody of crashing waves eases every nerve in my body. 

My favorite beach activity used to be watching the clouds and drawing on wet sand with a stick. Now, my eyes are glued to Jeno and the guys, because it’s such peak entertainment when grown men act like five-year-olds.

They’ve all built sand castles by the shore and are now in a life-or-death competition to see whose structure lasts the longest. 

Haechan is on his knees, using a bucket to protect his wonky sand castle from the incoming waves. Mark built his castle high on a mountain of sand and Renjun was smart enough to carve a moat. As for Jeno, I don’t know whether he’s an innovative genius or a bloody idiot, but he’s laying flat in front of his castle, using his body as a protective barrier. 

He cringes every time a wave splashes against his side and blubbers as water goes up his nose, but grins triumphantly when he peeks up to see his castle still intact. 

“Work smarter, not harder,” was all he said to me when I questioned his strategy. While the guys play their little game and Jeno almost drowns every three seconds, I’m curled up comfy on a sunbed, wrapped in a beach blanket.

I didn’t bother to put on a bathing suit because I don’t intend on getting even a drop of water on my skin. I’m here to relax, bask in the sun, and inhale the salty fresh sea breeze.

It’s 4 pm and the sun is kind enough to not be so harsh. As expected, the area is not crowded with people. There are only a couple of families in the far distance and a handful of loners with dark shades who are napping on the sun beds. 

I fall into the latter, my shades slipping off my nose as I almost doze off to sleep. Even though I slept like a baby during my nap earlier, the beach radiates comfort and is a live ASMR experience that tempts another nap. 

The grogginess evaporates when I feel a presence approach. Peeling off my sunglasses, I watch Jeno (shirtless, yum) walk over with wet hair and the most dangerous creature known to mankind in his arms.  

A child.

A toddler, to be exact, clings to his chest like a live octopus on glass. Jeno walks with a bounce in his step, patting the young boy in a Spider-Man swimsuit on the back.

“You either fished him out of the ocean or kidnapped him from his mother. Which one is it?” I jest and Jeno chuckles, tilting his head back to flash the child his signature eye smile. The kid giggles and cranes his head back to show me his gummy grin.

“Bong, this is Jang-mi. Say hi, kiddo,” Jeno says. 

I wave invitingly. Bong. Peculiar name. Very adorable. 

Bong politely bows his head, laying his chin on Jeno’s shoulder and staring at me with doe eyes. He has dimples, chubby dumpling cheeks, and eyes of wonder. I see the gears turning in his head as he studies me like an artifact.  

“Bong’s mom is over there.” Jeno points to my left and I find a very pregnant woman laying on the sand, sleeping soundly. “She needed a nap so I offered to look after this little one for an hour,” he explains, patting Bong’s head endearingly.

“How kind of you,” I utter, biting back my smile.

Jeno’s eyes are molten as he protectively cradles the three-year-old on his lap, gently brushing strands of his hair off his forehead.

He’s so soft, it makes my chest clench. 

Bong squirms, straining his neck to whisper something into Jeno’s ear. 

Jeno hums and then nods. “Yes, Hyung will get you a popsicle if the ice cream truck comes.”

Bong smacks his pink lips, his curious tiny pupils darting over to me and then back to Jeno. He whispers into his ear once more.

When he pulls back, he clasps his small hands together and a smile eats Jeno’s face. 

Turning to me, he asks. “Bong wants to know if you also want ice cream,” Jeno says and I lean forward, beaming.

“I would love ice cream, Bong. Thank you for asking.” 

Bong looks exceptionally proud of himself when Jeno gives him a high five and praises him for being kind-hearted. Then they’re into their own world, the child propped between Jeno’s spread thighs as they play with the sand. 

I watch them while wearing a permanent smile, hands tucked under my cheek.

Bong has a brilliant mind. For a reason I’m aware of, he’s awfully quiet and only speaks directly into Jeno’s ears. But he’s wildly intelligent for his age.

“Try again,” Jeno encourages, smoothing out the sand and erasing the addition math problem he drew. He writes 18 + 7 on the sand and Bong’s brows furrow as he lifts his hands and counts. 

After a second, he drops his hands and huffs, turning to whisper to Jeno who laughs softly.

“Yes, I know you don’t have enough fingers,” he replies. A pause as Bong continues to whisper. “No, you don’t count your toes.”

Jeno proceeds to teach the three-year-old first-grade-level math and I end up joining them on the ground out of curiosity. 

Bong doesn’t mind my closeness, and I even hear him humming softly to himself as he draws on the sand. Every now and then he glances over at me and points to his doodle. I show him a thumbs up in approval and he pats himself on the back. 

Time flies when you’re in awe, and I barely notice his mother walk over. She showers us with appreciative comments and Bong waves goodbye as he waddles away by her side. 

Staring at their backs, Jeno lets out a longing sigh and falls backward, hands under his head. I lower myself to my elbows and poke him in the ribs. 

“You’re good with kids. I’m pleasantly surprised,” I remark and Jeno smirks.

“Does it make you want to me now?” He drawls and I roll my eyes, punching him in the stomach. Jeno dodges my hostile attack with ease. “Oh c’mon, I know it’s a big turn-on. It’s like how guys have a thing for gamer girls.”

“Fine, that’s a valid point,” I grunt, grabbing Jeno’s arm and straightening it. Laying down, I use his forearm as a personal pillow.

We’re both staring at the afternoon sky.

“Your head is heavy.”

“Shut up.”

“Like a bowling ball.”

“I hate you.”

“How is it so heavy when you don’t have a brain?”

“ you!”

God, I pray, staring at the clouds, this boy is different. He’s different in a good way,