You stayed there longer than made sense. The metal under your back had gone cold. Your shirt was twisted somewhere halfway to your shoulder blades. Your legs were tangled with hers, your arm dead under the weight of her torso, but you didn’t move.
Karina’s breathing slowly evened out. Every few seconds, her fingers flexed in your hair like she needed to check you were still there.
Eventually your radio crackled to life near your foot. Static, then Rafi’s voice, bored and tinny.
“Wheel check, you alive up there or am I calling your next of kin?”
Karina huffed a quiet laugh into your chest. “That’s your cue, safety boy.”
You groaned. “I hate him.”
“No you don’t,” she said. “You love him almost as much as you love your precious bolts.”
You reached out, groped for the radio, thumbed the button. “Yeah, I’m good,” you said, amazed you sounded almost normal. “Just finishing the checklist.”
“Checklist,” Karina mouthed, amused.
“Copy that,” Rafi said. “We’re closing in twenty. Start wrapping it up.”
The line went dead.
Karina shifted, wincing as the metal dug into her hip. “We should probably attempt to look like we didn’t just desecrate your workplace,” she said.
“Probably,” you agreed. You’d been ignoring the fact that you were technically on the clock. Right now you were fairly sure there was a regulation somewhere about “no intercourse on or near operational machinery.”
She peeled herself off you, shivering as night air hit bare skin. You sat up, hunting blindly for your boxers and jeans. Your hand brushed her thigh and she jumped.
“Cold,” she muttered.
“Sorry.” You found your clothes, pulled them on in clumsy, fumbling movements. Your fingers weren’t working like they belonged to you yet.
Karina found her underwear, then her shorts, then her tank, wiggling into them with a kind of lazy efficiency. Her hair was a mess. There was a smear of your stubble red on her neck where you’d sucked too hard.
You couldn’t stop staring.
She caught you looking and smirked. “Eyes up, Jason.”
You cleared your throat and tried to smooth your hair down.
“Your hair is a lost cause,” she said. “Just own it. It’s very… ‘I’ve been railed behind the Ferris wheel.’”
“Karina.”
“What?” she said innocently.
You glanced down at your shirt. Wrinkled. A button half wrong. Your neck felt strange. You reached up and hissed when your fingers brushed a tender spot.
Karina grinned, too pleased. “That one may or may not be my fault.”
“You gave me a hickey at work,” you said. “Actually multiple crimes have been committed.”
She shrugged, unbothered. “Consider it… branding.”
You wanted to kiss her again so badly it almost hurt, but the adrenaline had started to fade and reality was settling in.
“Okay,” she said, standing, bracing a hand on your shoulder. “Game face time. You go down first. I’ll wait a minute.”
“Why do I go first?” you asked.
“Because you have to actually, you know, do things,” she said. “Close stuff. Pretend to be responsible. If we come down together, Rafi’s head will explode.”
“That might be entertaining,” you said.
“Not as entertaining as him giving you the disappointed dad speech,” she said. “Trust me. Go.”
She leaned in and stole one last, quick kiss, just a press of lips, nothing like what you’d just done and somehow just as dizzying.
“Go,” she repeated against your mouth.
You went.
Your legs felt weird on the ladder, like they were remembering something entirely different from climbing. At the bottom, the boards under your boots seemed too solid. The pier sounded different too—dimmer, muffled, like someone had put a blanket over the world.
Rafi sat on a crate near the control box, scrolling his phone. He looked up and grinned.
“There he is,” he said. “Thought maybe you and the wheel ran off together.”
“Ha,” you said.
He narrowed his eyes, taking in your hair, your half-tucked shirt. His gaze lingered on your neck. One eyebrow climbed, slow and delighted.
“Well, well,” he said. “Somebody had fun at work.”
You resisted the urge to clamp a hand over the mark. “Bolt inspection is thrilling,” you deadpanned.
“Is that what the kids are calling it now?” he said. “Listen, I don’t need the details. Actually, that’s a lie, I do, but I’m not your therapist.”
Karina came down a minute later, careful and steady like she hadn’t just changed your entire life.
She hopped off the last rung and landed lightly. She didn’t look at you. Not directly. Just stood next to you, folding her arms, eyes on the wheel like any other night.
Rafi’s gaze bounced between the two of you like you were a tennis match.
“Subtle,” he said. “Truly. If you ever want to go pro at espionage, don’t.”
“Shut up, Raf,” Karina said, but she was smiling.
He held up both hands. “I’m saying nothing. Absolutely nothing. I am a vault. However…” He pointed a finger at you. “Maybe don’t give Cole and his nerds a free reason to call us unprofessional, yeah?”
You felt your stomach drop. “Right,” you said.
Rafi’s tone softened a hair. “I’m not judging,” he said. “I’m just saying—this place already has one foot on the ‘they don’t take us seriously’ list. Don’t help them.”
“Got it,” you said.
Karina scuffed the toe of her boot on the boards. “You’re such a killjoy,” she said.
“A live killjoy,” Rafi said. “Which is kind of the goal.”
You finished your last checks on autopilot, the pen in your hand moving while your brain replayed Karina’s mouth, that “beginning of everything else” thought you’d had up there like it was someone else’s.
When everything was finally locked, logged, and powered down, you clocked out and stepped off the pier. Karina was waiting by the ramp, arms wrapped around herself against the wind.
Rafi called after you, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” and you flipped him off over your shoulder without turning around.
Karina fell into step beside you, bare feet in the sand now, shoes dangling from her fingers.
For a while, you didn’t say anything. The only sounds were the waves and your own uneven breathing.
Karina broke the silence first. Of course she did.
“So,” she said. “That happened.”
You huffed a laugh. “Yeah. Kind of did.”
“On a scale of one to ten,” she said, “how freaked out are you?”
You thought about it. “Uh… seven? Seven and a half?”
“Cute,” she said. “I’m like… an eight. Maybe a nine. I don’t know how to count anymore.”
You bumped her shoulder lightly. “You could have lied, you know. Said you were chill. Cool. Unbothered.”
“And deprive you of this bonding moment? Never.” She kicked at a piece of driftwood. “You regret it?”
The question came out too casual.
You stopped walking. She did too, half a step ahead. The wind tugged her hair into her face. You reached out without thinking and pushed it back behind her ear.
“No,” you said. “I don’t.”
Her face did a weird thing—relief, surprise, something you couldn’t name.
“Good,” she said. “Me neither.”
You started walking again.
There was another question hanging there, big and obvious. You didn’t want to ask it. You had to.
“What are we?” you said.
She made a face. “Oh god, you went there.”
“You said this wasn’t just sex,” you reminded her. “So… what is it? Are we—” Your tongue tripped on the word. “Dating?”
She was quiet for a second. You braced for her to crack a joke, dodge, say something like labels are for jars.
Instead she said, “I don’t know yet.”
You glanced at her.
She was looking straight ahead, jaw clenched. “I want it to be… something,” she said. “I’m just… trying not to screw it.”
“You’re allowed to not know,” you said.
She let out a breath. “Okay but you need to know something,” she said, looking at you now. “I suck at this. Like, world-class. Gold medal. I panic and push people away and do stupid shit and then blame myself forever.”
“I know,” you said gently.
“No, you don’t.” She shook her head. “You think you do because you’ve seen me drunk and crying a few times, but you don’t know the half of it.”
“Then tell me,” you said.
She stuffed her hands into her pockets, shoulders hunching against the breeze. “Not on the beach,” she said. “Feels too… movie-like. I’d have to start monologuing.”
“You do that anyway,” you said.
She snorted. “Shut up.”
You walked the rest of the way to the house in silence that didn’t feel heavy. Just… full.
At the bottom of the porch steps, she stopped again.
“Okay,” she said. “Ground rules.”
“Ground rules?” you repeated.
“We’re not telling Mom,” she said. “Not yet.”
You nodded slowly. “Okay.”
“And we’re not telling Minjeong,” she added. “Definitely not yet.”
Your stomach did a small uncomfortable twist. “She’s going to figure it out.”
“She’s going to figure out something,” Karina said. “We just… we need to pick our moment. I don’t want her finding out because she walked in on us making out over the jam jars.”
You winced. Fair.
“And you,” she said, poking you in the chest, “are going to tell me if you start feeling weird. Or guilty. Or like this is a mistake. You don’t get to just shut down and go all noble martyr on me.”
“I don’t do that,” you said.
She gave you a look. “Jason, you do nothing but that.”
You opened your mouth to argue. Closed it. “Okay, fine,” you said. “No noble martyrdom. Got it.”
She seemed satisfied with that. She stepped up onto the first stair, bringing her face almost level with yours.
“Goodnight,” she said.
“Night,” you said.
She leaned in and kissed you. Not a repeat of the platform, not a new firestorm. Just a slow, soft press that lasted a few seconds and lit you up anyway.
Then she pulled back, eyes searching your face for something, whatever it was, she found it, because she smiled and turned away.
“You’ve got neck,” she whispered as she slipped past you toward the door.
You slapped a hand over your skin. She laughed, low and delighted, and disappeared inside.
You stood there for a second longer, hand over your throat, grinning like an idiot into the dark.
Then you went in too.
*
You slept like you’d been dropped from the air.
When you woke up, sunlight was already cutting through the curtains in fat stripes. You rolled over, grabbed your phone, squinted at the time.
Almost eleven.
You dragged a hand over your face and sat up. Your body ached in a way that was half work, half something else. Good ache.
On your way to the bathroom, you caught sight of yourself in the hall mirror and winced.
The hickey Karina had left bloomed on the left side of your neck. Not huge, but not subtle. Purple fading to red, shaped like a thumbprint from God.
You leaned closer, poked it. “Awesome,” you muttered.
By the time you made it downstairs, the house was in full motion.
Mrs. Yoo stood at the counter chopping green onions. Minjeong was at the table, laptop open, phone pressed between her shoulder and ear. A spreadsheet of names and numbers filled the screen.
“No, we’re not selling booth space to Cole,” she said into the phone. “Yes, I know he offered. The whole point is local. Yeah. Okay. I’ll put it on the agenda.”
Her eyes flicked up as you came in. They lingered on your neck for a beat. A frown tugged at her brows. Then she looked back at her screen.
“Morning,” you offered.
“Afternoon,” Mrs. Yoo corrected without turning. “You sleep okay?”
“Yeah,” you said, reaching for a mug. “What’s going on?”
“Fair stuff,” Minjeong said, hanging up. “Always fair stuff.”
“Developer stuff,” Mrs. Yoo added. “Always developer stuff.”
“Fun stuff,” Minjeong said, with a kind of exhausted sarcasm.
You poured coffee, trying to angle your body so your neck wasn’t front and center. You could feel Minjeong’s gaze tick over you again like she wanted to ask and decided not to.
“So we’ve got the community action event tomorrow,” she said instead. “Which I know sounds like the most boring thing ever, but we need people. A lot of people. You’re still coming, right?”
“Yeah,” you said. “Just tell me where and when.”
“Green, noon,” she said. “We’re doing signs in the morning at the center if you want to help.”
“I’ll be there,” you said.
Mrs. Yoo slid a plate of eggs and scallion pancakes in front of you. “Eat,” she said. “You look like you lost a fight with a night demon.”
“A flattering way to say ‘you look tired,’” you said.
“Honesty builds character,” she replied.
The back door banged open. Karina wandered in, hair wet, tank top clinging to damp skin. She smelled faintly of ocean and shampoo.
“Guess who went for a refreshing morning swim,” she announced.
“We heard you laughing,” Minjeong said without looking up. “The whole bay heard you laughing.”
Karina poured herself coffee, then slid into the seat next to yours. Her bare knee brushed your thigh under the table. You nearly spilled your drink.
Her eyes flicked to your neck and she covered a smile with her mug.
Minjeong’s gaze ping-ponged between you, catching the micro-second of eye contact, the weird tension, the way you scooted your chair a whole inch away. Her eyes narrowed just a bit.
“Jason,” she said. “Did you cut yourself shaving or…?”
“What?” you said, too fast. You grabbed at your neck like you could hide it with your hand.
Karina coughed, badly disguising a laugh.
Mrs. Yoo glanced over. “Oh,” she said, too casually. “Looks like someone got bit by a mosquito.”
“It’s… yeah,” you said. “Big mosquito.”
“Looks like a hickey,” Minjeong said, in the exact tone someone might say looks like you have a knife in your leg.
Your face went hot. “It’s not—”
Karina cut in. “Maybe he fell on something,” she said. “You know, clumsy Jason. Always falling into… objects.”
You stared at your plate. You could feel Minjeong’s eyes burning holes in the side of your head.
“Uh-huh,” she said. “Very plausible.”
“Minjeong,” Mrs. Yoo said. “Don’t interrogate the boy over breakfast.”
“I’m not interrogating,” she said. “I’m just observing.”
“Well, observe quietly,” Mrs. Yoo said. “Jason, more eggs?”
“Please,” you said, grateful for the distraction.
As soon as you finished eating, Minjeong closed her laptop with a soft snap.
“Jason, can you come with me to the center?” she asked. “I need help carrying boxes.”
You glanced at Karina.
She widened her eyes at you in an exaggerated go motion, like she was pushing you onto a stage.
“Uh, yeah,” you said. “Sure.”
“Good,” Minjeong said. “We leave in ten.”
She disappeared upstairs, probably to grab files and a sweater. Karina leaned over, bumping your shoulder with hers.
“Relax. She doesn’t know.”
“She knows something,” you hissed.
Karina grinned. “She thinks you made out with some random girl behind the cotton candy stand. Honestly, that might be better. Less drama.”
“That’s somehow worse,” you said.
She shrugged, unapologetic. “You’ll be fine. Go be a civic-minded citizen. Help my sister save the world. I’ll be here, doing important things like… taking a nap.”
You gave her a look.
“What?” she said. “I did a swim. I’m exhausted.”
You got the feeling she wanted to say more, but footsteps sounded on the stairs and Minjeong appeared, tote bag over her shoulder, keys in hand.
“Let’s go,” she said. “We’re already late.”
Karina winked at you once, quick and conspiratorial, then hopped up to grab more coffee.
You followed Minjeong out.
**
The community center was a ten-minute walk from the house if you cut through backyards and hopped the fence behind the post office. You’d done that route so many summers you barely had to think about it.
Now, walking a step behind Minjeong, you were very aware of everything.
The way her ponytail swung against her neck. The soft slap of her sandals. The determined pace that said she was already thinking three tasks ahead.
She didn’t talk at first. You matched her silence. You could practically feel the questions vibrating off her.
She made it to the end of the first block before she cracked.
“So,” she said. “Who was she?”
You stared at a telephone pole.
“I’m not stupid, Jason,” she said. “That isn’t a mosquito. And you’re walking like your spine is having a seizure.”
You laughed, startled. “What does that even mean?”
“It means you’re being weird,” she said. “And you’re weird when you’re hiding something. So. Who was she?”
You swallowed. Your brain flashed to Karina on the platform. Her hands, her mouth, the sound she’d made when—
You shut the door on that thought fast.
“It’s not… it’s nobody,” you said. “It was just… it happened.”
“So there was a someone,” she said. “Interesting.”
You glared at her. “Can we not do this?”
“Why?” she asked. “Is she embarrassing?”
“No,” you said. “She’s… not.”
“So you like her,” she said. “Cool.”
You exhaled through your nose. “Why does it matter?”
She stopped walking and turned to face you in the middle of the sidewalk.
“Because,” she said slowly, “you’re my friend. And you are weirdly important to this family. And the last time Karina—”
She cut herself off.
You blinked. “The last time Karina… what?”
Minjeong shook her head like she could rattle whatever she’d almost said out of her ears. “Nothing,” she said too quickly. “Forget it.”
“Kind of hard to forget when you say it like that,” you said.
She sighed, looked up at the sky like it might hand her a script. “It’s not my story to tell,” she said finally. “And if I start, I’ll either say too much or not enough, and both options suck.”
You studied her. The edge in her voice wasn’t gossipy. It was protective. Of Karina, of herself, of the flimsy peace in the house.
“Okay,” you said, because pushing right now would make you exactly the kind of guy you didn’t want to be. “I’ll ask her. When she wants to talk.”
She huffed out a breath. “Good luck with that,” she muttered, but some of the tension left her shoulders. “Come on. Posters aren’t going to draw themselves.”
She turned and started walking again. You followed.
***
The community center looked smaller in daylight, like a kid playing dress-up in government clothes. Red brick, chipped in places. Handmade signs taped in the windows: COMMUNITY ART NIGHT, PLEASE STOP STEALING THE GOOD MARKERS.
Inside, it was chaos. Good chaos.
Tables shoved together, covered in butcher paper. Boxes of paint. Jars of brushes sticking out like bouquets. Kids everywhere—Scout and his friends, a couple of middle-school girls with glitter already on their faces, an older woman you recognized from somewhere carefully drawing block letters with a ruler.
Minjeong stepped into the room and it was like she became a magnet. People turned toward her automatically.
“Min, where do you want the donation jar?” someone called.
“We’re out of red,” a girl complained.
“Do these slogans sound cheesy?” the woman with the ruler asked, holding up a paper that read KEEP OUR PIER OURS and COLE CAN’T STEAL OUR WAVES.
Minjeong dropped her tote on a chair, pushed her hair off her forehead, and answered three questions at once.
“Donation jar by the door, but not where kids can knock it,” she said. “Use pink and a little brown to fake red until we get more. And no on the waves one, it sounds like a bumper sticker from 2009, I’m sorry, Nana Lou.”
Nana Lou cackled. “That’s why I asked you, honey,” she said. “You have that radar.”
Scout spotted you and made a beeline, board tucked under his arm. “Dude,” he said. “You’re here. Grab a brush before Min starts assigning chores.”
“Too late,” Minjeong said, turning to you with a grin. “You’re on backgrounds. Big blocks of color. Nice and neat. Think you can handle it?”
“I have a degree,” you said.
“In what?” she asked. “Straight lines?”
“Maybe,” you said.
She tossed you an oversized T-shirt from a pile. “Put that on,” she said. “We’re not sacrificing your only work shirt to the gods of acrylic.”
You pulled it over your head. Minjeong handed you a roller and pointed to a stack of blank posters against the wall.
You fell into the rhythm quick enough. Dip, roll, drag. Blue, teal, sandy yellow. Scout painted waves that somehow all looked like cartoon hair. A little girl wrote SAVE OUR SUMMER in shaky letters, tongue sticking out.
Every few minutes Minjeong would swoop past, correcting a crooked B, adding a shadow to a letter, answering a question, laughing at a bad pun. Her energy filled the room without feeling like too much.
She stopped by your table at one point, wiping her hands on a rag.
“Those look good,” she said, inspecting your work. “You have a future in protest art.”
“Backup plan if the pier falls into the ocean,” you said.
“That’s what we’re preventing, remember?” she said.
Her eyes flicked to your neck briefly, the hickey peeking over the too-wide collar of the paint shirt. Her mouth twitched, but she didn’t comment this time.
Instead she nudged your elbow. “Hey,” she said quietly, so the kids couldn’t hear. “About earlier—me almost opening my big mouth about Karina and… stuff.”
“Yeah?”
She exhaled. You could see her debate.
“When I said ‘the last time,’” she said, “I meant… I messed up. Not just her.”
You stayed quiet. Paint dripped off your roller in a slow line.
“I thought telling you might make me feel better,” she went on. “But then I realized I was just… trying to stack you on my side. Which is gross. So I stopped.”
“I’m not a block,” you said before you could think better of it.
She looked at you for a beat.
“I know,” she said. “You’re… like something else entirely. The hinge.”
“Human hinge,” you said. “Hot.”
She laughed, the tension breaking. “Shut up and paint,” she said, shoving your roller back into your hand.
You stayed at the center longer than you’d planned. Time there worked differently; it broke into tasks instead of hours.
After posters came tape. Tape came after you discovered there were only three working staplers in the entire building and two of them jammed if you looked at them wrong. You and Minjeong tag-teamed the bulletin boards, her standing on a chair and you handing her signs.
“I feel like a very short dictator,” she said, pressing KEEP THE PIER LOCAL above a faded flyer for yoga.
“You’re terrifying,” you said. “All five foot… what, three?”
“Four,” she said. “Coward.”
When the kids took a snack break, you helped Nana Lou wash brushes in the tiny sink at the back.
“Minjeong’s got us whipped into shape, huh?” Nana Lou said, rinsing a bristle under running water.
“She’s good at this,” you said.
“She always was,” Nana Lou said. “Even when she and Karina were knee-high terrors, Min was the one making lists of what kind of mischief they could get away with.”
You smiled. You could see it. Tiny Minjeong with a clipboard, tiny Karina ignoring it entirely.
“She’s been working herself raw since… well.” Nana Lou shook water off her hands. “Since everything went sideways. Girl thinks she can hold this whole town together if she just stays up late enough.”
“Everything?” you asked carefully. “What do you mean?”
The older woman gave you a sideways look, clearly weighing how much to say.
“That’s not my story either, sugar,” she said finally. “But I’ll tell you this much: Min made a call. Thought she was doing right. Sometimes doing right doesn’t feel like it.”
Your chest went cold for a second. You thought of Minjeong on the sidewalk, cutting herself off.
“A call?” you asked.
Nana Lou shrugged. “Ask her,” she said. “But be gentle. It still sits heavy.”
You dried the last brush in silence.
****
When you and Minjeong finally left, the sun had shifted to late afternoon. Your hands were stained blue around the nails. Her ponytail had paint streaks in it. You both smelled like sweat, tempera, and cheap cookies.
“You hungry?” she asked as you stepped onto the sidewalk.
“Starving,” you said.
“There’s leftover japchae if Karina didn’t annihilate it,” she said. “We can hide some before Scout comes over and inhales the rest.”
You grinned. “Is that morally wrong?”
“Probably,” she said. “Eat fast.”
On the way back, you passed the green where the action event would be. Minjeong slowed, scanning the space like she was already placing bodies there.
“We’ll put the main banner on that side,” she murmured, mostly to herself. “Speakers near the big oak so they can plug into the rec center’s outlet. Kids’ table by the fountain. Less running-off potential.”
“You’ve thought about this,” you said.
She snorted. “I’ve had three weeks and a lot of insomnia,” she said. “It’s either this or start a true-crime podcast.”
You watched her face as she looked over the lawn. Focused, a little grim. But there was hope there too. Stubborn hope.
“You’re good at this,” you said again.
“You keep saying that,” she said.
“Because it’s true,” you said.
She looked at you, really looked, as if checking you for sarcasm. Finding none.
“Thanks,” she said quietly.
At the house, you did end up stealing japchae before Scout could. You and Minjeong ate leaning against the counter while Mrs. Yoo ran through a list of ingredients she still needed for tomorrow—ice, more paper cups, a spare extension cord.
Karina wandered in halfway through your second plate, hair dry now, eyeliner on, phone in hand.
“Wow, look at you two,” she said. “Activism chic.”
“You’re just jealous you missed out on the paint fumes,” you said.
She scrunched her nose. “I was doing my own community outreach,” she said. “Posting to get people there tomorrow.”
Minjeong scoffed. “You put up a thirst trap with a vague caption about ‘big things coming.’”
“And it got eighty-seven likes in an hour,” Karina said. “You’re welcome.”
Mrs. Yoo cut in before they could escalate. “I don’t care how you get them there,” she said. “Just get them there.”
Karina’s eyes flicked between you and Minjeong, lingering a fraction too long on the paint on your arms, the way your shoulders almost touched.
“So,” she said, too light. “You two have fun at the center?”
You felt the question in the back of your neck. You met her gaze for a second, tried to read what was under the joke.
“It was work,” you said. “Min bossed me around. It was terrifying.”
Minjeong rolled her eyes. “He exaggerates.”
Karina smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Well, I’m proud of you,” she said, and you weren’t sure which of you she meant.
Later, in the small chaos of setting the table and chasing Scout out of the kitchen, you caught Karina alone in the hallway, leaning against the wall, scrolling her phone.
“You okay?” you asked.
She glanced up. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Your jaw does this thing when you’re mad,” you said, tapping your own face.
Her hand flew to her chin. “Does not.”
“Does,” you said. “Right now.”
She scowled. Then, reluctantly, smiled. “I’m not mad,” she said. “Just… weird.”
“Weird how?” you pressed.
She shrugged one shoulder. “Seeing you and Min in work mode is… new,” she said. “It’s like walking into a group project you weren’t invited to.”
“You’re invited,” you said. “You literally said you were doing outreach.”
She snorted. “Posting a picture of my legs is not the same as making spreadsheets, Jason.”
“Different strengths,” you said. “Both important.”
She watched you for a beat. “You really believe that, don’t you?”
“Yeah,” you said.
Something in her face softened. “Okay,” she said, bumping her shoulder off the wall. “I’ll try not to be jealous of your poster-painting date.”
“It was not a date,” you said.
“Sure,” she said, already sliding past you toward the dining room.
The house was loud that night. People came by with last-minute donations, with questions, with casseroles “for tomorrow” that somehow got eaten immediately. You and Karina and Minjeong orbited each other—passing plates, trading eye rolls, dodging overly familiar cheek pinches from touchy aunties.
At one point, you found yourself on the porch, alone for the first time in hours. The sky was in that last strip of dark blue before real night. The sea was a soft roar.
The screen door creaked. Minjeong stepped out, cradling a mug of tea.
“Escaping?” you asked.
“Strategic retreat,” she said. “If I hear the word ‘permit’ one more time, I’m going to start committing crimes.”
She sat on the top step, leaving you the swing.
You rocked gently. The chain creaked. You watched her blow on her tea.
“You did good today,” you said.
She snorted. “Tell that to the six people who tried to explain basic zoning laws to me like I’m five.”
“Maybe you should ask them who the pier belonged to before zoning was even a thing,” you said. “See how far back they really remember.”
She smiled to herself. “That’s a good line,” she said. “I’m stealing it for tomorrow.”
“Take the credit,” you said. “I’ll sue later.”
She went quiet, looking out at the dark.
“Hey, Jason?” she said after a minute.
“Yeah?”
“Can I ask you something and you promise not to make it weird?” she asked.
“That depends,” you said. “On how weird the question is.”
She gave you a look over her shoulder. “Serious,” she said.
You sobered. “Okay,” you said. “I promise to try.”
She wrapped both hands around her mug like she needed the heat. “Do you think I’m… overbearing?” she asked. “Like. Too much.”
It threw you a little. Coming from her, the question felt like calling the ocean wet.
“You mean in general?” you stalled.
“In general, sure,” she said. “But also—specifically. With Karina. With Mom. With… this.” She waved her mug toward town. “The pier. The fair. All of it.”
You thought of her at the center, the way people had flocked to her for answers. You thought of the kids’ faces when she’d remembered their names. Of Mrs. Yoo’s shoulders, a little less tight with Minjeong handling emails and signatures and small fires.
“No,” you said. “I think you hold a lot. But you’re not… bossing people for fun.”
She huffed. “You’ve clearly never heard me talk to the bank manager.”
“All I’m saying is, nobody’s chaining you to this,” you said. “You could pass the torch tomorrow and go… I don’t know, teach pottery on a cruise ship.”
She laughed, startled. “God,” she said. “Can you imagine?”
“Yeah,” you said. “You’d have the best attendance and the most organized glaze station in international waters.”
She shook her head, smiling. The smile faded a little.
“I just…” She stared into her mug. “After what happened with Karina, I told myself I wasn’t going to sit on my hands anymore. That if something needed doing, I’d do it. Even if people got mad. Even if I messed up. It felt better than doing nothing and watching everything go sideways.”
Your ears perked. “What happened?” you asked, careful, gentle.
She pressed her lips together. You could see the war in her eyes. To tell. Not tell. Protect. Confess.
“I called,” she said finally. “Once.”
“Called who?” you asked.
“The cops,” she said, in a rush, like it hurt. “At a party. Up near the cliffs. Two summers ago.”
The words sat heavily in the night air.
You shifted on the swing, the chain squeaking. “Why?”
She laughed once, humorless. “Because she texted me,” Minjeong said. “She was drunk and mad at Mom and talking about jumping.” Her lips quivered on the last word. “She didn’t mean it. You know Karina. But I panicked.”
You swallowed. The thought of Karina drunk near those cliffs made your skin crawl.
“I called Mom first,” Minjeong went on. “She was already on her way, but she was twenty minutes out. I kept texting, but Karina stopped answering. So I… called 911. Gave them the location. Told them everything... The whole script.”
She took a shaky breath.
“They got there before Mom did,” she said. “Party got busted. Kids got tickets. One girl had weed on her and her dad lost it. It was a whole thing. And Karina…”
You could see it. Karina bright with booze and adrenaline, cops’ flashlights cutting across the rocks.
“She was furious,” Minjeong said. “She said I humiliated her, that I ruined everything, that I made her look crazy. She swore she’d never tell me anything again if I was just going to… call reinforcements.”
“And you?” you asked quietly.
“I told myself I could live with her hating me as long as she was alive to hate me,” she said. “Which sounds noble and mature, right?”
The words almost hissed.
“But,” she went on, “I know there’s this part of me that liked being the one who made the call. That felt… powerful. Like I’d done what Mom would do. Like I was finally the responsible one instead of the kid tagging along behind Karina’s chaos.”
She set the mug down on the step with a soft clink. Her hands were trembling.
“It worked,” she said. “In a way. I became the one everyone trusted not to screw up. Karina leaned harder into not caring.”
You let that sit. The wind nudged the swing gently, creaking.
“Do you regret it?” you asked. “Calling?”
She stared out into the dark. “Sometimes,” she said. “And also… no. Because the alternative…”
She didn’t finish. She didn’t need to.
You got up from the swing and sat down on the step next to her, your shoulder just barely brushing hers.
“Hey,” you said.
She sniffed, not quite crying yet, eyes glossy. “Don’t,” she warned. “If you’re about to say something nice, I will jump into the ocean to avoid feelings.”
“I’m not,” you said. “I was just going to say… I get it.”
She gave you a watery side-eye. “You do?”
“You made a call,” you said. “It had consequences. Good and bad. You’re allowed to be proud of saving her and also sad you broke something between you. Both can be true.”
She swallowed hard. “You’re annoyingly reasonable, you know that?” she said.
“Occupational hazard,” you said. “I work with bolts and teenagers.”
She laughed, a sound that came out half-choked. Then, before you could overthink it, you lifted your arm and rested it along the back of the step so your hand lay near her far shoulder.
You didn’t pull her in. You just… made the space.
After a heartbeat, she leaned. Just a little. Enough that her shoulder pressed into your side, her head close enough that you could smell mint and paint in her hair.
“Don’t tell Karina I told you,” she said. “She still thinks I see her as this… lost cause I have to manage.”
“Do you?” you asked.
She shook her head into your shoulder. “She terrifies me,” she said. “But she also… amazes me. She’s brave in ways I’m not. I just… wish she’d be brave without standing on the edge of something every time.”
You nodded. “She told me she sucks at this,” you said softly.
“At what?” Minjeong asked.
“Being… close,” you said. “Letting people in without blowing it up.”
Minjeong let out a breath. “At least she knows,” she said.
You sat like that for a while, her weight warm against you, the porch a little bubble of quiet while the house bustled inside.
When the door opened and Karina stepped out, you felt Minjeong straighten so fast your arm almost slipped.
Karina took in the scene—two silhouettes on the steps, one mug, your arm stretched casually behind Minjeong.
Her expression didn’t change much. Just that jaw twitch.
“Mom needs you,” she told Minjeong. “The Baineses are arguing about where their tent goes again and she’s about to murder them with a salt shaker.”
“On it,” Minjeong said, already half-standing, wiping at her eyes quickly with the heel of her hand.
She shot you a quick, almost apologetic look and disappeared inside.
Karina stayed where she was, hands shoved into the pocket of her hoodie.
“That looked cozy,” she said after a beat.
You ran a hand through your hair. “She was upset,” you said. “We were talking about… the cliffs.”
Karina’s mouth pressed into a hard line. “She told you,” she said. Not a question.
“Some of it,” you admitted. “Her version. That she panicked. Called. That she regrets… and also doesn’t.”
Karina stepped farther out onto the porch, the boards creaking under her bare feet.
“She probably made herself sound very noble,” she said.
“She made herself sound human,” you said. “Terrified. Like she was trying to keep you safe.”
Karina’s laugh was sharp. “That’s the thing,” she said. “Everyone keeps saying that. ‘We were just trying to keep you safe, Karina. We were just worried.’ Like I should be grateful they tore my image apart in public instead of in private.”
You winced. “She thought you might jump.”
Karina’s eyes flashed. “I was drunk and mad and texting metaphors,” she snapped. “She knows that. She knows me. Or she did. Calling Mom? Fine. Mom’s allowed to come drag my ass home. Calling the cops? That’s insane. She knew what that would look like. She did it anyway.”
You forced yourself not to flinch. “Would you have listened if she’d called you?” you asked quietly.
Karina opened her mouth. Closed it. Looked away.
“That’s not the point,” she muttered.
“Maybe it is,” you said.
She glared at you. “Don’t take her side,” she said.
“I’m not on a side,” you said. “I’m on… ‘hey, maybe that night screwed you both up in different ways and you’re still suffering from it years later.’”
“Congratulations,” she said coolly. “You’ve diagnosed us. Can I go back to being pissed now?”
You scrubbed a hand over your face. “You’re allowed to be pissed,” you said. “I just… I don’t want you to think she hates you.”
“I know she doesn’t hate me,” Karina said. “She still thinks I’m fixable. Like if she just fills out enough forms and plans enough events and micromanages my life hard enough, I’ll turn into a somewhat drunk version of her.”
“You’re not… that,” you said.
Her laugh this time sounded tired. “Tell that to the town,” she said. “I’m the cautionary tale. ‘Don’t end up like Karina, kids, or your sister will call the cops on your ass.’”
She sank down onto the swing, leaving a gap between you. The chain squeaked.
“I’m not defending what she did,” you said, turning to face her. “I’m just saying… she carries it. And it’s turned her into someone who thinks she has to hold everything up all the time. Including you.”
Karina picked at a splinter on the armrest. “Yeah, well,” she said. “I didn’t ask her to.”
“No,” you said. “You didn’t. That’s kind of the tragedy.”
She paused at that, eyes flicking up to yours. Something in your words seemed to land.
“I don’t want you in the middle,” she said after a moment, quieter. “Between me and her. Between us and Mom. You’re going to get crushed.”
“I’m sturdier than I look,” you said.
She snorted. “You look like a guy who apologizes when someone bumps into him.”
“Sometimes it’s my fault,” you said.
“There you go,” she said, exasperated and fond at once.
She tilted her head back, looking up at the slice of sky.
“You’re staying, right?” she asked suddenly.
The question startled you. “At the house?”
“This summer,” she said. “The pier. All of it. You’re not going to do that thing where you freak out, declare this was a mistake, and apply for an internship in Iowa, right?”
“Iowa?” you repeated. “Why Iowa?”
“It feels far and landlocked,” she said. “Like the opposite of here.”
You thought of the platform. Of her fingers in your hair. Of Minjeong’s head on your shoulder. Of the pier’s boards under your boots, the wheel’s click, the kids’ faces looking up at the rides.
“I’m not going anywhere,” you said.
“Promise?” she asked, and this time her joking tone dropped, leaving something raw.
“Promise,” you said.
She nodded slowly, like she needed to test the word against her ribs.
“Okay,” she said. “Because if you bail now, I’m going to have to become responsible and that sounds exhausting.”
You laughed. “You? Responsible?”
“Don’t make me,” she said. “I’ll cry.”
You bumped the swing lightly with your foot, setting it in motion. She let herself sway with it, hair swishing against her shoulders.
After a while, she nudged your knee with hers. “You working tomorrow night?” she asked.
“Later shift,” you said. “Starts at seven, after the action thing.”
She considered that. “Cool,” she said. “There’s a bonfire on the beach after. I’ll drag you if you’re not dead.”
“Another party?” you said. “Maybe the cops will join us for old times’ sake.”
She made a face. “Too soon,” she said, but there was less bite in it.
“Sorry,” you said.
“Don’t be,” she said. “If they show up, at least this time you’ll be there. You can flash your clipboard at them.”
“That’s not how clipboards work,” you said.
“It is in my fantasy,” she said.
She pushed herself up from the swing and stretched, arms over her head, T-shirt riding up just enough that your brain misfired for a second.
“Get some sleep,” she said. “You have to yell slogans tomorrow and not pass out.”
“You too,” you said.
She hesitated like she might lean in, might kiss you again on the porch, under the porch light, in full view of the world. Then she glanced at the front windows, where shadows moved behind the curtains, and thought better of it.
Instead, she reached out, hooked a finger in the collar of your T-shirt, and pulled you in just long enough to press her mouth to your cheek.
It was quick. It still made your stomach do a weird little flip.
“Goodnight, Jason.”
“Night, Rina,” you said before you could stop yourself.
She made a face. “I said don’t call me that,” she grumbled, but she was smiling as she went inside.
You stayed on the porch a while longer, head full, chest fuller. Somewhere upstairs, two sisters moved through the same old rooms, each convinced she’d ruined the other and had to make up for it.
And you, the human hinge, had just promised both of them, in different ways, that you’d be there for them.
*****
The green looked different with bodies on it.
Banners flapped in the breeze, strung between trees. KEEP OUR PIER OURS. NO COLE TAKEOVER. HANDS OFF OUR SUMMER. Kids ran under them, faces painted, holding paper pinwheels someone had inexplicably decided were on-theme.
The portable speaker crackled as Scout fumbled with the playlist.
“Not the EDM one,” Minjeong called from the makeshift stage. “We’re not at a rave.”
“Then what do you want?” Scout yelled back. “Sad acoustic?”
“Something people over thirty won’t hate,” she said. “Taylor or whatever.”
He put on a middle-of-the-road pop song that made nobody happy and everybody able to ignore it. The perfect choice.
You walked through the crowd with a stack of flyers, trying not to think about how you’d somehow become the guy saying things like “Make sure you sign the petition before you leave.”
“You sound like me,” Minjeong said when you came back to the stage to refill.
“Don’t worry, I’ll never have your spreadsheet skills,” you said.
“Thank God,” she said. “One of me is plenty.”
She wore a simple sundress and sneakers, hair down for once. She’d shoved a pen behind one ear and a highlighter behind the other like some kind of admin warrior.
Karina arrived late, of course.
You spotted her cutting across the grass with a small entourage—Scout, a couple of kids from the pier, and two girls. She wore shorts and a big white button-up knotted at the waist, sunglasses perched on her head, camera around her neck. It should’ve looked try-hard. It didn’t. She looked like she belonged on a poster herself.
“Sorry, sorry,” she said as she reached the stage. “My cabriolet broke down.”
“You don’t have a cabriolet,” Minjeong said.
“It broke down,” Karina repeated. She dropped her bag behind the stage. “Where do you want me?”
“Photos,” Minjeong said. “We need coverage. The town website, socials, everything.”
Karina saluted with two fingers. “On it, boss,” she said.
She moved through the crowd like water, catching angles you would have missed: a kid with his face painted like a shark biting into a hot dog, two older guys arguing amicably near the lemonade stand, Mrs. Yoo handing a cup of tea to Nana Lou.
Every so often, she’d point the lens at you. You’d roll your eyes. She’d snap anyway.
The official part started an hour in.
Minjeong stepped up onto the pallet someone had draped in a sheet to make a “stage.” She adjusted the mic—the rec center’s ancient one, which squealed once in protest—took a breath, and started talking.
She didn’t have notes. You knew because you’d seen her leave them on the kitchen table, then decide she’d rather speak like a person than a press release.
“We’re not here because we hate change,” she said. “We’re here because we love this place.”
You watched people listen. Really listen. You’d seen Minjeong in planning mode. You’d seen her making lists, cleaning up glitter, scolding Scout. You’d never seen her like this—her voice carrying across the lawn, her hand slicing the air, her fear tucked under determination.
“This pier isn’t perfect,” she went on. “It needs repairs. It needs money. But it’s ours. We grew up on those boards. We got splinters and first kisses and summer jobs there. We learned how to be people there. You don’t sell that for a prettier sign.”
You felt something tighten in your throat. You weren’t the only one. Mrs. Yoo wiped her eye. Even Scout stopped messing with his phone.
Karina stood near the front, camera forgotten at her side. Her eyes never left her sister’s face.
“We’re not saying no to help,” Minjeong said. “We’re saying we want a say in what help looks like. We want to fix what’s broken without breaking what works. We want to build something that still feels like home.”
She finished to real applause. Not polite, not perfunctory. Real applause.
You clapped until your hands hurt.
Of course, that was when Cole’s people showed up.
Avery arrived in a crisp shirt, sunglasses, and the kind of smile that said he’d smelled a PR opportunity a mile away. He had two associates with him, including a tall woman with the clipboard you’d seen at the pier.
“Afternoon,” he said, walking up to the stage like he’d been invited. “Hope we’re not interrupting.”
“Yes,” Minjeong said before anyone else could respond. “You are.”
Some people laughed. Some gasped. Mrs. Yoo muttered, “Oh boy,” under her breath.
“We’re just here to listen,” Avery said smoothly. “And maybe answer questions, if folks have them.”
“That’s what Thursday’s meeting is for,” Minjeong said. “This is our turn to talk.”
“Of course,” he said. “And I’d hate to disrupt. But I do think it’s important everyone has all the facts.”
He gestured and clipboard woman stepped forward, already pulling something out of her bag.
Karina moved toward the stage without seeming to. You followed, your muscles in that half-tense state they went into before a ride misbehaved.
“We know the pier holds a special place in your hearts,” Avery said, addressing the crowd now. “We want to honor that while bringing it up to modern safety standards. Some of those rides are… well. Let’s just say they’ve seen better days.”
He smiled like that was a joke. A few people smiled back. More didn’t.
“We have investors ready to put real money into this town,” he went on. “Jobs. Infrastructure. Advertising that could make this a destination, not just a dot on the map.”
“The pier is already a destination,” Minjeong said. “For us.”
“And we love that,” he said. “But don’t you think it could be more?”
A woman from the bakery raised her hand. “What happens to my stall if you buy?” she asked. “My lease?”
Avery smiled at her like a teacher with a stubborn student. “We can’t make guarantees until contracts are finalized,” he said. “But our goal is to keep as many beloved local businesses as possible.”
“And the ones you don’t keep?” someone else called.
“We’re still in the early stages,” he said. “Nothing is set in stone.”
“That’s exactly what I’m worried about,” Minjeong said.
Karina stepped forward then, climbing up onto the edge of the pallet beside her sister. “Can I say something?” she asked Minjeong quietly into the mic.
Minjeong hesitated, then handed it over.
Karina turned to face the crowd. The camera hung forgotten around her neck. Her eyes glittered with something that wasn’t entirely composure.
“You guys know me,” she said, conversational. “I’m Karina. I grew up on that pier. Half of you have pulled me out of trouble on it at some point.”
A few people chuckled. It cut the tension just enough.
“I’m not going to stand here and pretend I care about zoning codes,” she said. “Or revenue projections. That’s Minjeong’s thing.”
She jerked her chin toward her sister, who rolled her eyes; the crowd laughed again.
“What I care about,” Karina said, “is the fact that when I was twelve, I came here after my first real fight with my mom and sat under the wheel for an hour until I didn’t feel like running away anymore. And when I was fifteen and thought everything was falling apart, I walked down those boards at three in the morning and I didn’t fall. The pier held.
“I know I’m not the poster child you want for this,” she went on, pushing through. “I’ve… not exactly been the most responsible Yoo daughter.”
Some laughter. Some sympathetic noises.
“But I know this,” she said. “Once you sell something, you don’t get to decide what it becomes. You can write whatever you want into a contract, but at the end of the day, the person with the deed makes the rules. And I don’t trust some guy who just learned how to say ‘Cove Pier’ yesterday to love it more than the people who built it.”
She handed the mic back to Minjeong and stepped down without looking at Avery.
The applause that followed was louder than before. Avery’s smile slipped two notches. Just two. But you saw it.
He murmured something to clipboard woman. They stayed for a little while longer, talking to a few stall owners on the fringes, then retreated, their polished shoes leaving a footpath through the grass.
When they were gone, the crowd seemed to exhale. Someone turned the music up. Kids dragged their parents to the face paint table. Life resumed.
On stage, Minjeong pulled Karina into a hug that knocked the camera sideways. Karina clung for a second, then pulled back, making a joke you couldn’t hear. You watched both of their faces. Pride. Fear. A mirrored worry they’d both said the wrong thing.
Later, as you were helping take down banners, you felt a tap on your shoulder.
“Hey,” Karina said. “You heard my speech, right?”
“Hard to miss,” you said. “You did great.”
She tilted her head, eyes searching your face. “You mean that?”
“Yeah,” you said. “You sounded… like you.”
“So, unhinged,” she said.
“Honest,” you corrected.
Her mouth curled. “I saw you clapping extra hard,” she said. “Very supportive of you.”
“I clap for good speeches,” you said.
She laughed and nudged you with her hip. “Come find me tonight,” she said, lowering her voice. “Bonfire. South end of the beach. After your shift.”
Your heart did that stupid thing again. “Yeah,” you said. “Okay.”
She winked and went to go untangle a piece of string from around Scout’s ankle.
You felt someone else come up behind you. Minjeong, arms full of folded chairs.
“She was right,” she said. “He hated that.”
“Avery?” you asked.
She nodded, satisfaction sharp in her eyes. “We hit a nerve,” she said. “That’s good. Maybe he’ll stop pretending to be our friend and start being honest about wanting to buy the whole damn shoreline.”
“You both did good,” you said. “Like, scary good.”
She shrugged, but you could tell the compliment landed. “Thanks,” she said. “You were a solid flyer-distributor.”
“I try,” you said.
She hesitated. “Hey, Jason?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for… listening last night,” she said. “About the cliffs. And for not… I don’t know. Looking at me like I’m a monster. Or a saint.”
“You’re neither,” you said. “You’re just… you.”
Her smile was small. “Don’t say that too loudly,” she said. “Karina will steal you for her fan club.”
You thought, briefly, about admitting you were already in it. That you were also, apparently, in hers.
Instead, you said, “There’s enough of me to go around.”
She snorted. “We’ll see,” she said, and walked off with the chairs.
You watched her go, that stupid spark in your chest flaring again.
You told it to calm down.
It did not.
******
Your shift that night felt longer than usual.
The pier buzzed with post-action energy. People argued about the protest in line for the Ferris wheel. Some called it brave. Some called it childish. A guy in a Cole Properties polo glared at your KEEP OUR PIER OURS button until you stared back and he looked away.
Rafi sidled up to you around ten, chewing on a churro.
“You were famous today,” he said.
“I was holding tape,” you said.
“Yeah, and you were standing next to the famous Yoo Sisters when they roasted Cole on a spit,” he said. “Guilt by association.”
“You were here?” you asked.
“Livestream,” he said. “I watched from the maintenance shack with popcorn. Good speeches. Very moving. I cried a little when Min mentioned splinters.”
“Shut up,” you said, but you were smiling.
He sobered. “Seriously, though,” he said. “You know what you’re doing, getting between those two and this pier nonsense?”
“Not even slightly,” you said.
He nodded like that was the answer he expected. “Good,” he said. “It’s more fun that way.”
By the time you clocked out, the sky had turned that deep, star-punched black that only happened after midnight. The Ferris wheel lights were off. The pier looked naked without them.
You followed the curve of the beach south, away from the main drag. Light from the bonfire leaped up ahead, orange against the dark. You could hear them before you saw them. Laughter. Someone playing guitar badly. The low thump of somebody’s speaker, bass turned up too heavy for the tiny Bluetooth.
The fire was big enough to be illegal and small enough that nobody would call it in unless they were bored. A half-circle of people clustered around it on driftwood logs and old blankets. A cooler sat in the sand. The air smelled like smoke, salt, spilled beer.
Karina stood on a log, arms out, talking to a small group like she was telling a ghost story. Her face glowed in the firelight, shadows carving her cheekbones sharp. She saw you and broke into a grin mid-sentence.
“—and then I said, ‘you can’t ground me if I’m already outside,’ which didn’t actually work, but hey, points for effort—hi,” she said, jumping down.
You stepped over a couple making out on a blanket and nearly tripped on a half-buried frisbee.
Karina steadied you with a hand on your chest. Her fingers curled in your T-shirt for a second, like she’d wanted to do that all day.
“You came,” she said. “Ten points.”
“Am I being scored?” you asked.
She shrugged. “You’re always being scored,” she said. “You just don’t always see the scoreboard.”
She handed you a drink. You sniffed it suspiciously.
“It’s just soda,” she said. “Calm down. I need you conscious.”
“For what?”
She smiled slow. “Later,” she said.
You sat together on a washed-up log, a little apart from the main loud cluster. The fire warmed your knees, but the breeze off the water cooled the back of your neck. People’s faces were flickers—here, then gone, replaced by shadows.
Karina tucked her bare feet under her, leaning into your side. You stretched your arm out along the back of the log so it brushed her shoulders. She sighed, like she’d finally found the spot she'd been looking for all day.
For a while, you just talked. Stupid stuff. Pier gossip. The time Scout had tried to ollie off the railing and almost lost a tooth. Rafi’s secret stash of decent coffee hidden behind the generator. The way you used to sneak into the shuttered arcade at thirteen and dare each other to go into the dark back room.
At some point, someone passed around a bag of marshmallows. Karina stuck three on a stick and held them over the flames until they caught fire.
“You’re burning them,” you said.
“That’s the point,” she said. “Charred outside, gooey inside. Like me.”
“You’re not gooey,” you said.
She bumped your ribs with her elbow. “You have no idea,” she said.
You watched her face in profile, eyes reflecting the fire, cheeks flushed. She looked happy. Or something like it.
Then a guy you vaguely recognized from the pier—tall, surfer hair, easy grin—wandered over and plopped down on her other side.
“Rina!” he said. “Speech was sick today.” He held his fist out.
She bumped it. “Thanks, Jun,” she said.
Jun nodded toward the fire. “You’re coming to the after-after, right?” he asked Karina. “We’re thinking cliff jump if the tide’s high enough.”
Karina’s jaw tightened. It was tiny. “I’m good down here,” she said lightly. “I like my bones unbroken.”
“Oh, come on,” he said. “We used to—”
“I said I’m good,” she repeated, sharper.
He held up his hands. “Okay, okay,” he said, backing off. “No cliffs. Respect.”
He turned to you, apparently deciding to spread the invitation.
“You in?” he asked. “We could use a new victim.”
“I’m on duty tomorrow,” you said. “If I show up with a cast, Rafi will murder me.”
Jun laughed, clapped your shoulder, and wandered off.
Karina watched him go, shoulders still tight.
“You okay?” you asked.
She snorted. “Fine,” she said. “Just not in the mood to reenact my worst night.”
“Then don’t,” you said.
She looked at you. “You really think it’s that simple?” she asked.
“No,” you said honestly. “But I think you’re allowed to say no to things that hurt. Even if people think you’re being lame.”
She studied your face for a long second. Whatever she saw there made something in her unclench.
“Come with me,” she said suddenly, pushing off the log.
“Where?” you asked, standing.
She grabbed your hand without answering and tugged you away from the fire, toward the darker stretch of beach where the light faded and the noise softened.
You followed, heart slamming in your chest not from the walk but from the way her fingers wrapped around yours, like a decision. She led you to the base of the old lifeguard tower, long since decommissioned, now just a weathered structure kids sat under when it rained.
She ducked underneath, pulling you with her.
The noise from the party was still there, but muted. The tower planks overhead blocked most of the firelight, leaving you in shadows washed by moon.
Karina dropped your hand only to brace hers on your chest, backing you up gently until your shoulder blades bumped the support beam.
“Before,” she said.
“Before,” you agreed, throat dry.
“You told me you don’t regret it,” she said.
“I don’t,” you said.
Her eyes searched yours. “You still mean that now that you’ve heard the tragic Yoo backstory?” she asked. “Cliffs and cops and everything?”
“Yeah,” you said. “Maybe… more.”
Her breath hitched. “Yeah?” she said.
“Yeah,” you said again, because your vocabulary had apparently shrunk to a single syllable.
She made a small, disbelieving sound, like a laugh and a whimper had collided.
“Good,” she said, and rose onto her toes.
When her mouth found yours this time, it felt different than on the platform. Less frantic, more deliberate. Less adrenaline, more intent.
Her hands slid up into your hair. You cupped her face, thumbs brushing the soft skin in front of her ears. She leaned into your touch like she’d been waiting for it all day.
You thought about Minjeong on the porch. About Karina looking at you like she wanted to believe you. Nothing about tonight was going to make this cleaner.
But you didn’t tell her to stop.
You kissed her instead, answer clear in the way your hands tightened at her waist, in the way you let yourself pull her closer, closer, until there was no space between you at all.
“You’re in deep now, you know that?”
“Yeah,” you said. “I know.”
She leaned in, her lips wrapping around yours once more, coating them in her warmth.
You didn’t say that you’d been thinking about Minjeong too.
But now wasn’t the time to think about that.
You tightened your arm behind Karina’s head and let the waves drown out the part of your brain that liked to list consequences.
Karina broke the kiss. Her hand reached for your fly, then gave your shaft a tight squeeze.
“Making sure we are on the same page,” she said, curling her fingers at the hem of your pants and dragging them down along with the drawers as her eyes met yours. “Are we? On the same page?”
You nodded automatically, hypnotized by Karina’s hungry gaze. “We are,” you muttered.
She stepped in even closer—close enough for you to feel every little ragged breath she took. Her cold, delicate fingers flexed along your dick. They moved back and forth in slow, practiced motions. “You gonna keep staring,” she whispered, her smile turning toothy, “or are you gonna help me get naked?”
That was your cue.
The white button-up was your first victim, ripped apart and dropped onto Karina’s feet. Then you peeled off her black sports bra and her tight shorts. No panties. She kicked her clothes to the side. Whatever happened after tonight was not for her to worry about.
You didn’t have it in you to worry either.
You reached toward her chest, pressed your thumb against her nipple, and felt it harden under your touch. You pinched and twisted them gently, taking in each shaky moan escaping her rosy lips.
“Wait,” she mumbled.
You lifted your head just enough to see if she meant it. She did. Your brow raised. “What, did I do something wrong?”
“Nothing wrong,” she cooed. Her palm traced along your jaw, index finger pausing, soft and deliberate, atop your mouth. “It’s just… I want to take care of you tonight.”
Karina rolled her hips against yours—skin on skin—and you felt her slick heat coating your hard, flushed cock in her juices.
You were panting. Trying to focus. Trying to breathe.
“Jesus—mmmm—” you groaned, but your words got lost as her finger pushed past your lips and into your mouth. You froze. A dirty whimper turned into vibrations and rubbed against her knuckles. Your tongue swirled against the base of her fingers. Fast and frantic. Fuck. Her fingers tasted so good, so sweet, so delicious.
But just as sudden as she pressed in, she pulled away with a loud pop, carefully rubbing the wetness over the bridge of your nose. “Relax. I promise I’ll make you feel so, so good. Tonight will be the best night of your life.”
You couldn’t even reply. Not with her looking at you like that. Your mouth hung open. Nothing useful came out.
Her lips curled into a dangerous smile. “It’s okay,” she said. “No need to say anything.”
Karina took her damp hand and reached for the hem of your shirt, pulling it up and over your head. You were both naked now. Both brushed by the cold breeze. Yet neither was cold.
Her nails grazed your skin, trailing a long crooked line from one shoulder to the other. You flinched. Every touch made it harder to keep your head.
“You idiot,” she said. “I swear to god, if you try to leave after this summer, I’ll kill you.”
And so her mouth started moving. One kiss to the side of your neck. Another kiss to your collarbone. Again and again, lower and lower. Your chest, your stomach, your hips tightened under her mouth.
She stopped once she reached your cock, her knees folding beneath her. Your cock twitched: red, stiff, way past ready. Karina made a low sound in her throat, a mixture of a laugh and a moan. And fuck. That sound turned you on more than anything she could’ve said.
Karina blew a slow breath against your glans. “Someone’s excited, huh?” she purred. “And a lot harder than yesterday.”
“Holy fuck,” you said. “Can you—please—”
“Don’t worry, I’ll put all of this to good use. After all, you’re mine,” she whispered into your skin, kissing your thigh.
Torture, that’s what this was. She plastered kisses along your thighs, so fucking close to where you wanted her, to where you needed her. But never quite there.
Her hand slid back and forth along your shaft, slow and deliberate and cruel. She made sure you were stuck right on the edge. The climax always just a hair’s breadth away, just one step out of your reach. That was where Karina wanted you. And that was where you stood.
A strained noise—more animal than human—slipped from your throat.
Her teeth scraped under your balls. Over and over again until you started leaking and twitching and whimpering. Your whole body tightened, a dam ready to burst. But she stopped. Of course she did.
“Karina—” you groaned.
Karina angled her head upward. “Patience,” she said, commencing her torment once more. “All good things take time. And isn’t this a good thing?”
She moved lower, dragging her mouth over your waist, your stomach, your hips.
“Yes—fuck—Karina—it’s the best thing—”
A crooked, cocky smile flickered on her lips. She closed in. Her face an inch away from the tip of your cock.
“So what do you need to be?”
“Please.”
“Say it.”
“Patient.”
Before you knew it—
Her lips wrapped along your length.
It was hot and wet and sloppy. Karina locked eyes with you, taking in every quiver pulling at your face: the way your jaw tensed, your lips pressed, your eyes fluttered. She looked… proud. Like she knew the only one holding that much power over you was her.
Tight. So damn tight. She was sucking the very life out of your tip, her cheeks hallowing as her mouth coiled around your cock. Your knuckles turned white at your sides, a last-ditch effort to stop yourself from grabbing the back of her head and thrust until either your dick or her throat gave out.
Her eyes flickered for a moment. She paused, then let out a chuckle, firing a ripple of vibrations toward every nerve in your shaft. A breath caught at the back of your throat.
She winked, as if acknowledging your prayer.
Then she dived back in. Her lips pressed against the base of your cock. Her nose pressed against your pelvis. Her throat pressed against your tip. She held you there, spitting and gargling, struggling to swallow your entire length. Her devotion to take care of you seeped through every wrinkle in her throat. For some reason, it all felt different than the last time.
Your body knotted, your whole being focused on one thought. Don’t cum. Hold it in. Whatever you do, don’t cum.
Karina showed some lenience: she pulled back — slow enough a long trail of spit and pre-cum emerged between you two. “God, you taste so fucking good,” she said. “But you’re the star tonight. We wouldn’t want you to cum already, would we?”
The mix of fluids around her mouth told an obscene story.
Sweat started to bead along your forehead. You swallowed the breath caught at the back of your throat. “No—” you said. “We wouldn’t want the ‘star’ out the game yet.”
She rolled her eyes. A sardonic breath pushed past her lips. “Okay,” she laughed. “Don’t get all cocky bastard on me now, I’ve already said I’ll take care of you.”
Her hands grabbed the back of your thighs, nails digging into skin. She leaned back slightly. With a cheeky look in her eyes, she slammed her head over your cock, pushing your back against the support beam, shaking the tower planks overhead.
But the tower could collapse for all you cared.
Your dick was buried so deep inside you could feel her fucking heartbeat through her throat. She held you there, her gaze exploring the way your expression changed; from smug, to surprise, then to awe. Her tongue swirled around your shaft. One, two, three.
Again.
Again.
Again.
“Where did that cocky attitude run off to?” she muttered, muffled by your length at the back of her throat.
You growled. No clever jokes or quips came to mind. In fact, your mind seemed stripped bare—emptied of any and all unnecessary thoughts. The shape and the texture and the warmth of Karina was all that remained.
“God, your throat is so fucking perfect,” you mumbled. “You—you’re so fucking perfect, Karina.”
That broke her rhythm, just a little, just enough for you to notice a faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips. Something in her snapped. The deep, aching desire burning behind her eyes flared with newfound fuel.
Drool streamed down her chin. “Smart mouth,” she muttered through the spit, unable to resist showing off.
Her mouth went to work again, faster and faster. She made your cock appear and disappear into her mouth like a fucking magician, her hand sliding up your thighs and cupping your sensitive balls. Once. Twice. Again. The waves of the ocean and the distant laughs tried to swallow the sound of her face slapping against your skin.
They failed.
“Karina,” you said. “Jesus—fuck—your mouth is fucking heaven.”
She didn’t hear you. Like a hungry snake, her mouth opened wide, gorging down on one of your balls, drowning you in wet messy slurps.
She sucked. Let go. Then flicked her tongue under your balls before restarting the sequence. You bit down and gritted your teeth, trying—without success—to keep some level of sanity. But she was so fucking good. So fucking mean.
“Wait,” you groaned, feeling yourself closer and closer to that edge. “Shit—I’m gonna cum—”
Karina let out a hum—half-moan, half-chuckle as her lips pressed onto your shaft, an attempt at a smirk. You were right where she wanted you. As always. She jerked her head off your cock with a loud pop, strings of spit and pre-cum toppling over her plump, rosy lips.
You panted, air trembling in your chest.
Her eyes stayed on yours as she pulled back, mouth wet, chin slick. She took her time, slow enough to make you watch every second of it.
Then she swallowed.
You stared at her.
She smiled, opened her mouth just enough to show you, then waited.
“God, Karina, you felt so fucking good,” you said shakily. “Wanna fuck your mouth until neither of us can move.”
Karina snickered. “Glad you enjoyed yourself.” She drifted closer, knees tracing through the sand. Her hands grabbed hold of her tits, rolling them against each other. “But wouldn’t it be a pity for this to end with only a mouth fuck?”
You swallowed hard, your gaze glued to her divine set of tits—curving and folding and warping—no more than an inch away from your cock.
“It would,” you mumbled, nodding without thinking. “Such a pity.”
“Such a pity,” she echoed. “Don’t you wanna feel?”
“Feel?”
“Yes, feel. Feel how my perfect fucking tits wrap around your shaft. Feel how they bounce up and down. Feel how they strangle your poor, flushed cock until you beg for more.”
Fuck. You wanted it. You wanted it as much as you wanted to breathe.
“Well?” she asked, still playing with her tits. “We don’t have all night. Do you wanna feel?”
Your mouth opened, but no words came out.
“Yes? Or maybe no? Maybe you’ve had enough of little old me for tonight. Maybe my bouncy, perky tits don’t have any effect on your hard fat cock.”
“…yes,” you finally managed to get the word out.
“Yes? Yes what?” she asked, feigning confusion.
She was so mean tonight. So intent on torturing you. But she was too dirty, too hot, too perfect for you to resist.
Her swollen lips. Her tits. Jesus. Her soft, round, perfect tits; rolling and coiling and waiting to swallow your length.
“I want to feel—God—” you moaned, “—to feel your fucking tits wrapped around my cock.”
As soon as the words left your lips, Karina decided to show mercy. She spat on her tits thrice—rubbed it across—then shoved them forward, pulling your cock in a tight, wet embrace. She ground them together. Up and down. Up and down.
“Shit—fuck—yes—” you cried, fingernails dragging down your palm. “Holy—Karina—don’t—please—”
Karina sped up her strokes, spitting on your engorged cock. Your dick slid faster between her tits, foreskin pulling in every direction but the one you expected, each movement a jolting surprise.
Your toes curled. The night breeze grazed against your moist, sensitive tip, hitting nerves you didn’t know you had.
A groan pushed past your lips, core clenched, hips stuttering. “Karina—slow—fuck—down—” you begged.
Her tits paused at your tip, tightening their grip around your cock. She lowered her lips, gently puckering a kiss to whatever part of the head was not covered by her tits.
Then a pause. A pause that felt like an eternity, yet was no longer than a few seconds.
Finally she continued, blowing a hushed breath over your swollen cock.
“Still there?”
Your eyes squeezed shut. “Barely,” you huffed.
“That’s all I need.”
She swayed from her core, left and right, shoulders following the rhythm. Her tits wrapped tighter around your cock. A soft, cruel, intoxicating dance.
The veins along your length wound tighter with each shake of her breasts. And as if to tell you she wasn’t done yet, her lips sealed around your shaft, her head bobbing—fast and wet— desperately brushing her teeth with your cock.
Beads of sweat spilled between your brows. “God—Karina—fuckfuckfuck—your tits—”
Her eyes flicked up, glinting, mischievous, wild. You knew she felt every twitch, every quake rolling through your body.
You couldn’t even hold your breath anymore. Every inhale came broken, stuttering past parted lips. The slick glide of her breasts along your shaft, the rhythmic suction of her mouth. Every stroke drove you closer to the edge.
Karina could feel it too.
She slowed. Just slightly. Enough to prolong the burn.
“Look at you,” she rasped, pulling back. “So close. So fucking needy. You going to fall apart for me?”
You nodded, frantic.
Karina smirked, her hands pressing her tits tighter. “Then give it to me.”
She dove back down. Fast, unrelenting. Her lips locked around your crown while her tits crushed together, sliding fast and hot and tight. That was it. That was all it took.
Your release hit like a fist to the gut.
Your entire body snapped tight, hips jerking, hands flying to her shoulders as your cock throbbed violently between her tits and inside her mouth. The first pulse shot deep inside her, the rest spilling in thick, hot bursts across her face, her lips, her tits.
She didn’t flinch. Didn’t stop.
Karina swallowed—greedy and graceful—licking you clean, gathering every drop with her mouth and smearing the rest over her chest with a wicked little hum.
When she finally pulled away, your knees nearly gave out. Your cock twitched one last time in the cool air, hypersensitive and spent. Karina leaned back on her heels, glistening and flushed, her chest sticky with spit and cum, her lips swollen, her eyes dark with satisfaction.
“That,” she murmured, dragging a finger through the mess on her tits, then slipping it into her mouth, “is how you take care of someone.”
You stared, utterly wrecked.
Karina stood, stretching like a cat, every movement smug and slow. She pressed her lips to your cheek.
Then she grinned. “Now lie down. I’m not nearly done with you yet.”
You didn’t move at first.
Couldn’t. Not with your legs jelly, your chest heaving, your cock twitching in the aftermath of her brutal worship. Karina just stood there, smug and dripping, her breasts slick and sticky, her thighs glossy with anticipation.
You stayed frozen, stunned by the high of her, until her fingers wrapped gently around your wrist.
“Down.” She tugged you down toward the sand. “Be good. Let me take care of you.”
You let her guide you. Your knees hit the cool surface beneath the tower’s shadow. She crawled over you like she owned every inch, like your body had always been hers, just misplaced temporarily.
Karina straddled your thighs. Slick and warm. Wet enough you could feel her heat even before she sank down. Her hips rolled slowly, not taking you in just yet, just grazing, teasing—her folds sliding lazily against your oversensitive cock.
“Still hard,” she muttered, dragging her lips across your collarbone. “I love that.”
She kissed your chest. Like you were something precious. Like she didn’t just ruin you five minutes ago.
“I’ll ride you,” she said, tongue flicking your nipple. “Slow. Deep. I want to feel every inch.”
Your jaw clenched. You weren’t sure how much longer you could let her keep the reins.
But you tried.
Tried to let her press her hands into your chest, tried to let her rub your cock-head up and down her slick entrance, tried to let her settle in when she began to lower herself.
She was so warm. So wet. So fucking tight.
You sucked in a breath so sharp your ribs ached. “Karina—” you warned.
Her eyes flicked up. Knowing.
“Shhh,” she hushed, bottoming out with a wet, sinful grind. “Let me.”
Let her.
She started to move, slow circles, her walls fluttering around you with every rise and fall. She gasped softly each time you hit the deeper spot. Her hands pinned your shoulders, her chest heaving.
You groaned, low and broken. You weren’t just hard—you were wired, wound so tight your skin felt like it might crack open. You needed to move. To do something. But she kept you down, riding you like she had all the time in the world.
“I said,” she bit your lower lip, “let me.”
And for a second, you did.
Until she clenched down, pulled halfway off, and dropped back slowly.
That was it. The dam snapped.
“No,” you growled.
Karina’s eyes widened a second too late.
You sat up fast, your hands gripping her waist, flipping her beneath you so fast the sand kicked up behind your knees. She yelped—surprised, maybe—but not afraid. She grinned.
“You sure?” she asked, breath catching as you shoved your cock back into her in one hard, punishing thrust.
You didn’t answer.
Didn’t have to.
You were fucking feral now, all restraint gone, her little game flipped on its head. Your hands slid under her thighs, pushed her legs back and open. You drove in again, rough and deep, making her arch and cry out, no more teasing. No more slow. No more control.
“Fuck—Jason—” she gasped.
You weren’t listening.
You were gone—buried in her, chasing something deeper, something she stole from you the second she dropped to her knees. The girl who teased. Who tortured. Who smiled while you begged.
Now she was squirming under you.
You grabbed her wrists, pinned them over her head. Your hips pounded into hers, your cock dragging along every spot that made her twitch and moan. Her tits bounced with every thrust, still streaked in spit and cum, and you watched them hungrily as you took what you needed.
“Not so smug now,” you panted against her throat.
She whimpered.
That made your hips jerk harder.
You let go of her wrists, only to grab her throat. Just enough pressure. Just enough to make her eyes roll back and her pussy clench around you like a vice.
“God—yes—just like that—fuck me,” she cried, nails raking down your back, desperate to hold on.
So you slammed into her.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Her moan broke into a high, guttural gasp, legs trembling around your waist.
You pulled her legs up, over your shoulders, folding her nearly in half. Her body shook beneath you as you thrust deeper than before, angling to hit her g-spot over and over until she screamed.
Her whole body arched, her walls fluttered violently around your cock.
“Jason—fuck—I’m gonna—”
“Come on,” you snarled, slamming into her harder, chasing your own release. “Come for me. Now.”
Her back arched so high she nearly bucked you off. Her pussy clamped around your cock like a fist, convulsing and squeezing you tighter than she ever had before. She said your name again and again, face flushed.
You didn’t last another second.
You buried yourself one final time, cock throbbing, pumping thick streams of cum deep inside her.
You collapsed over her, panting, dizzy, your heart a war drum against her ribs.
Karina wrapped her arms around your neck, still twitching, still moaning, still deliciously full.
“You—” she breathed, “—asshole.”
You laughed weakly against her shoulder. “Still wanna take care of me?”
Her lips curled into a smile against your ear. “Oh, I will. Next time… I’m tying you up.”
You stayed like that. Let her breathing slow. Let her fingertips trail patterns along your ribs.
And still — uninvited — your mind shifted.
Minjeong. Leaning against your shoulder tonight, confiding herself to you. The way her brown eyes looked up at you. The quick flicker in her eyes she tried to hide.
You squeezed your eyes shut. Swallowed.
Don’t. Not now.
This wasn’t a mistake. You didn’t regret Karina. That wasn’t it. But something in your chest tugged. Not bitterness, just… something unresolved.
Karina curled closer. “Your heart’s still racing.”
You forced a smile. “It’ll stop.”
She laughed into your skin. “That’s comforting.”
You didn’t answer. You buried your hand in her hair instead, let the strands slip through your fingers one by one.
She drifted, eventually. Her weight softened, breath even.
You stared past her shoulder, eyes locked on the beams above the tower.
Fuck.
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