Chapter 1 — How I Ended Up Sleeping With My Friend's Girlfriend
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author's imagination. All characters are adults aged 18 or over.
David first saw her during a drinking session with friends in his second year of university.
She was from a different department, and the moment he laid eyes on her, two thoughts flashed through his mind: Wow, she's really beautiful. Damn, she's so fucking hot. He swallowed those thoughts deep inside, not daring to voice them.
Since they were all around the same age, they quickly got along. Back then, David was still young—immature, really. Whenever he stood in front of girls who were stunningly gorgeous—the kind people call "stunner"—he'd freeze up, unable to speak properly. So that night, he did nothing more than get her name and phone number before heading home.
After that, he spent his days staring at her KakaoTalk profile picture, and every night he'd fall asleep dreaming of surreal, impossible encounters with her—dreams he could never turn into reality. Slowly, he thought he was forgetting her.
Then he heard the news from his friend: he was dating her.
David didn't have the courage or the confidence to make a move on his friend's girlfriend. All he could do was watch, silently envious.
His friend Michael lived alone, and David often visited his place to play PlayStation. One ordinary day after class, he went over as usual. They were deep into a game when something caught his eye—a woman's bra lying carelessly on the floor.
Just then, Michael said he was stepping out to buy cigarettes. David realized instantly whose it was.
He knew it was wrong. He shouldn't do it. But before he could stop himself, he was drawn to it, wondering where her other things might be. He hated himself for it, ashamed of his own actions.
About three months passed. Then one day, Michael excitedly told David he was going to introduce him to some of his close friends—because she would be there.
He was thrilled. He'd get to see her again.
They met at a café. She looked different from the girl he remembered at that drunken gathering—still beautiful, but now with an air of intelligence. He thought to himself, She could've been a celebrity and no one would've been surprised. His interest in her was no longer just curiosity. It had turned into raw, undeniable desire.
Michael had no idea how deeply David was drawn to his girlfriend.
But what could he do? Nothing. He was just a loser who stared from afar, thinking of her in private.
Then, completely out of nowhere, an opportunity fell into his lap.
It was summer, and a group of them decided to go to Haeundae Beach. By sheer coincidence, they ran into her and her group of friends at a convenience store.
She might not have recognized him at first, but when he greeted her, she smiled and remembered immediately.
He wanted to stay with her, but he wasn't alone—his friends were with him. He exchanged pleasantries, asked how she was doing, and prepared to leave.
Then she said it:
"If your friends are free, why don't you all come hang out with us?"
He couldn't believe it. He was over the moon.
Of course, he brought everyone—including Michael, her boyfriend, and the rest of his circle.
They spread out a mat on the sand, eight of them sitting together, drinking soju under the salty sea breeze. Strangely, the alcohol didn't make him drunk at all.
They played drinking games, laughed, flirted. Couples were already pairing off, arms wrapped around each other, lost in their own worlds.
Then she turned to him and said, "I need to use the bathroom. Come with me?"
They walked side by side along the beach. He could feel the jealous stares of other guys burning into his back.
She said public restrooms were dirty and wanted to use one inside a building, so they walked a bit farther, talking all the way.
The weather was perfect—neither hot nor cold. The soju had warmed his body, and having her next to him made him feel incredible.
For that moment, he wasn't thinking about anything beyond this moment. He just wanted to keep talking to her like this forever.
Then, suddenly, she did something unexpected.
On their way back to the group, she linked her arm through his and started playfully touching him. It was lighthearted, accompanied by laughter—just teasing, he thought.
But something inside him snapped.
He might never get this chance. Might as well try.
He turned serious and said, "I really want to spend time with you tonight. Let's send the others ahead. Meet up alone."
She froze for a second, then smiled and said, "If we're going, let's go now. I'm dying of boredom."
She accepted. Just like that.
He quietly texted one of his friends:
"Going to a motel with xx. Handle things here."
And just like that, they left together.
The moment they stepped into the elevator, he felt his heart race.
It wasn't just excitement. It was a tangled mix of emotions—guilt, excitement, disbelief.
If he sleeps with her, how will he ever face his friend again? Should he break up with him first? Should he ask her to date him after this?
On the outside, he smiled, cheerful and carefree. Inside, his mind was chaos.
When they got to the room, he told her, "I'll shower first. Just relax for a bit."
He went in, and even then, he was overthinking: Should he come out in a robe? Or just naked?
In the end, he walked out wearing only his underwear.
She said she'd shower too, and went in fully clothed.
For the first time, the sound of water hitting skin through the shower curtain sounded unbearably intimate.
He lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, repeating in his head: Make it count. He might never get this chance again.
Then she came out.
Completely naked.
"Ahhh, so refreshing!" she said, slipping into bed beside him.
They started talking—about everything, anything—except the one heavy topic: that she was his friend's girlfriend.
He didn't want to ruin the mood, so he didn't bring it up.
As they talked, she reached down, took him in her hand, and teased, "Wow, it's this big? Doesn't it hurt?"
"It's because of you," he said. "It's been like this the whole time. It does hurt."
And with that, he pulled her close, kissed her, and started touching her.
She was already ready—so ready the sheets were damp. He gently stroked her with his fingers, then guided her hand to his mouth.
She blushed and whispered, "Turn off the light."
He did.
In the dark, he started touching her intimately.
It was unlike anything he'd ever felt. He touched and tasted hungrily.
Her moans grew louder. She leaned down, kissed him deeply, then pushed him onto his back and started touching him.
Had his friend taught her this? She touched him, then teased him with her tongue—almost touching, then pulling away.
He lifted his legs, exposing himself fully, silently begging her to continue.
She did.
Then she crawled back up, kissed him deeply, and looked at him with such tenderness he nearly lost it.
They started being intimate. He touched her, and she let out a deep moan—but didn't pull away.
They made love passionately, until they both collapsed, drunk and exhausted.
His earlier vow—to make the most of the night—was forgotten in an instant.
The next morning, he woke up to find her already showered.
"Let's go get hangover soup," he said.
She shook her head. "We should go. My friends are waiting. Sorry… let's eat together next time."
And with that, she quickly dressed and left the room.
Inside, he thought: Maybe it's better this way. Just a one-night thing. No strings.
But that evening, a KakaoTalk message came through:
"I got home safe. Did you make it back okay?"
Of course, he replied.
And just like that, they started talking again.
Every day at school, he saw his friend's face.
Guilt gnawed at him. He told her he needed to talk—seriously.
"I really like you," he said. "But my friend… I don't want to be the asshole who ruins everything for everyone. What should I do?"
She looked down, then said, "I liked you from the very first time I saw you."
"You gave me your number, but you never texted. I thought you didn't like me."
"Then I started hanging out with your friend—just casually at first. But we got close, and it turned into a relationship."
"If it weren't for him… I'd make you mine. But I don't know what to do either."
He chose his friend.
Yes, what he'd done was betrayal. But he wasn't just anyone—he was someone he'd studied with late into the night, someone who'd helped him through tough times.
So he cut off contact with her.
After that, she'd call him sometimes—drunk, late at night.
They'd talk about meeting up "when they had time," but the conversations grew shorter, the distance wider.
Eventually, they drifted apart completely.
Later, he heard they broke up. After that, he didn't hear anything about her for a long time.
Then one day, he saw her on his friend's Instagram.
She was running a clothing shopping mall online.
Still beautiful.
Just… beautiful.