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#nct dream angst
hyuckmov · 8 months
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haechan — settle down (rockstar hyuck) | part 1 of 3
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wc: 22k (!!!!!!!) genre: angst, smut (18+ minors dni), fluff warnings: loss of virginity, very soft sex (hand-holding during sex), lots of kissing, protected sex, haechan fucks...a lot, fingering, oral (f receiving), very faint corruption kink, JEALOUSY, possessiveness (marking, signing on your body), handjob, car sex, cumplay, spit, exhibitionism (!), slight dumbification, slight degradation, titty-sucking etc, sweet aftercare a/n: i worked a lot on this and i really hope u like it.... i really hope it's hot... i hope u like rockstar haechan...please let me know what u think... (fic playlists) | browse the fic tag :)
he's been staring at you all night.
the bass thrums insistent in your chest, overriding your heartbeat, as you cling onto the barrier between the stage and the crowd. lights flash before your eyes, almost blinding you with how fast they blinked, and you can barely make out the faces of the boys onstage as they play their last song of the night. the air is damp, excitement riding high over the crowd in waves of endless screams that never seem to stop. 
and the boy on the far right, fingers moving deftly over the strings of his electric guitar, hasn't taken his eyes off you for the last five minutes. 
a sharp smile tugs at his lips, smokey makeup making his gaze ever more piercing as he looks down at you through his overgrown bangs, hairs at the nape of his neck unruly and wild. the lights throw the features of his face into high contrast, the tattoos curling on his neck and hip screaming for attention, as do the glint of jewelry scattered everywhere on his body. you feel smaller and smaller under his gaze, something lewd about the way he runs his tongue over his lips, eyes practically undressing you. he never seemed to stop moving his body as he played, bouncing on his toes or letting his body lean away from the sound, the music fuelling and becoming one with his movements as if he were a dancer.
as the music crashes and swells towards the end of his solo, his eyes slide over to yours with a practiced precision, as if he had memorized your position in the crowd. swaying his hips from side to side, his eyelids droop just slightly into a half-lidded stare, as he ruts his hips playfully against his guitar. 
the screams of the other fans are deafening, but you can hardly hear it over the rush of your heartbeat in your own ears.
haechan finally looks away, a small smile on his face as he signals to his bandmates towards the song's ending. you feel almost empty as the weight of his attention lifts off of you, pressing yourself up against the railing on tip-toe to try and catch his eye again before sinking down and feeling like an idiot. 
he was just doing fanservice for an audience member, nothing more. you try not to find his actions endearing as he slings his arm around the lead singer, mark, his surprisingly boyish laugh making your heart flutter in your chest as he waves towards his fans one more time. 
people are leaving the venue, the sounds of their excitement getting further and further away, but you stand there, reeling, clutching onto the metal barrier, sure that if you took your hands off it you would fall. finally, glancing up at the stage one last time, you're just about to leave to find your friend, the only reason you were even here, when –
"leaving so soon?" 
the boy is sitting on the stage right in front of you, leaning forward so you can see his face clearly. up close, he's even prettier than before, delicate almost doll-like legs wrapped under ripped skinny jeans, leading up to thick and toned thighs, his slender waist shadowed under his large leather jacket ridden with buckles and straps. without the bright stage lights, you can see the moles on his skin, tracing a dangerous path under the collar of his shirt. 
at your lack of response, he raises his eyebrows. "i asked if you were leaving, princess." 
"i have to find my friend," the words come out rushed. "um…jaemin? your band hired him tonight as the photographer." 
"i remember," he nods. "so…you're not a fan?" 
"no." he nods, silence filling the space between the both of you. you can see him start to formulate a goodbye, his heart-shaped lips parting, but you don't want the conversation to end, you don't want him to stop looking at you. "- but…i really enjoyed your show." 
he looks a little surprised, and a genuine smile spreads sweetly across his face. "why?" he challenges. 
"what?" 
"what did you like about our show?" his eyes glint, and you know he's teasing you. 
"the songs were good," you mumble. 
"yeah?" he licks his lips, a slight hint of nervousness showing on his face as he clears his throat. "who was your favorite member?" 
"huh?" 
"your favorite band member," he repeats, tilting his head to the side. "jeno, he's our drummer, mark's the lead singer, jisung plays bass and i…" he waves his hand absentmindedly towards his guitar, on the stand, still onstage behind him. "i'm haechan," he adds. 
if you wanted to get to know him, it wouldn't hurt to show a little of exactly how much you liked him, would it? "you were my favorite," you admit. "you…you have really good stage presence," you blurt out. 
"stage presence?" 
"yeah. when i'm in the crowd…i can't really pay attention to anything else. and you…" you swallow, heat burning up your cheeks, but the way his eyes were looking at you with curiosity making you finish your thought. "you make the audience feel like they want to please you." the unspoken truth, that you, as part of the audience, wanted to please him, hangs in the air. 
your embarrassment, at saying something so suggestive and raw, is quickly washed away by the smile tugging at the corner of his lip, a smirk that quickly spreads across his face into a grin. you're so mesmerized by it, that you're taken aback by the way he suddenly shifts, hopping down the stage lightly and standing in front of you. 
"princess," he says, softly, placing his hands on the railing next to yours so the sides of your fingers barely brush. "do you want to come to a party?" 
you resist the urge to immediately say yes. "what party?" 
"there's one after every show. jaemin will have been invited, he can take you." the venue has emptied out, even his bandmates have left the stage. and yet, his voice is pitched low as he leans in, body warmth radiating off of him, and you are so close, you can see the smudged eyeliner on his lower lash line, can make out the grey of his colored contact lenses. "you can find me there." 
"but…" you feel lost. "why can't you just take me?" 
"if we show up together, it'll seem a little like we're dating, no?" his voice is quiet, but firm. 
hurt and confusion blossoms in your chest. was it really that serious? keeping your voice as nonchalant as possible, you ask, "would that be so bad? for…for us to date?”
but you know it's the wrong thing to say. 
he exhales slowly, a brief look of pain flitting over his features. he hated doing this, hated reaching the point in conversations where rules and boundaries had to be discussed. nights where he found his girls at the party were the easiest, letting body language and long glances do the talking, as few strings attached as possible. 
but today he couldn't stop looking at you, in the front row, couldn't help sliding his eyes over and checking to see if you were watching him, a pleased thrum burning in his chest every time his gaze found yours. it seemed logical, to spend his time with you tonight. but if he'd known you'd felt like this, he never would have waited onstage. 
"what's your name, princess?" 
"y/n."
"y/n, i'm not making you my girlfriend," he states, bluntly. "i can't, and i don't want to. you can meet me at the party later, but we'll just fuck – nothing else." 
his words make you feel small, his tone harsh compared to his previous meandering way of speaking. even then, the thought of letting him walk away, to never see him again, to end this story on this moment, made you feel worse than anything.  
at the look on your face, he softens slightly. 
"i'm sorry if you thought this was going to be more," he says, quietly. "you don't have to do anything you don't want to." 
"i do," you correct him. frustrated, he sighs, and you rush to clarify. "i'll meet you at the party. just…nothing else." your end off hesitantly, unwilling to echo his crude words.
"are you sure?" you think you see his gaze darken, the tension suddenly heightening as he places one of his large hands over your own. his guitar-calloused fingertips are rough as they slide against the back of your hand, drawing shapes that burn into your skin like tattoos. you nod, but he shakes his head — slowly, sweetly patient. "i need to hear you say it," he murmurs, and the words go straight to your gut. 
"i'm sure." your voice comes out as a whisper, but he doesn't seem to mind. he leans in, and just when you think your lips are going to meet, your mouth parting expectantly, he tilts his head and kisses you softly on your cheek. 
"make sure no one sees you, princess," he murmurs, low in your ear, before straightening up. "don't make me wait too long, hm?" 
"did anyone follow you up here?" 
haechan sits with his legs hanging off the edge of the roof, arms slung over one of the lower rungs of the railing. he doesn't spare you a glance as he takes another drink from his bottle of red wine, knowing that you're hanging onto his every word. 
"no," you reply, voice barely louder than a whisper. you repeat yourself again, louder, hating the way your voice shakes with hesitance. "no, i don't think so." 
he exhales, shrugging off the leather jacket that hangs large over his frame, his shoulderblades moving under his white shirt, veiny arms pushing the bottle to the side as he shifts himself backwards fluidly so he's further away from the ledge, his long legs stretched out. 
"well?" and now he turns to look at you, dark eyes framed with makeup searching for yours, his gaze heavy. the piercing on his eyebrow glints in the moonlight, and when he leans his weight back on his hands, his shirt rides up so that you can see just the hint of a tattoo curling low on his hip. "are you ready?" 
feet unsteady, you shuffle over to him, standing over him as he watches you through hooded eyes. unsure, you start to sit down next to him, but a hand quickly reaches out to touch your knee, dragging his touch up the back of your thigh, the cold scrape of his rings on your skin feeling rough and claiming all at once. his lips part almost mockingly, commanding you without words to stop. 
he flicks his gaze down to his lap, eyes flickering back up to yours. eyebrows raised, as if in a challenge.
slowly, you lower yourself onto his lap, hands hesitantly grasping for his shoulders. his arms come to steady your waist, slipping under your shirt and touching bare skin, feeling the way your body shifts and moves. it's only because your body is pressed up against his, his hands are roaming up and down your thighs, that he notices something which makes him halt his movements, licking his lips. 
"you're shaking," he murmurs, now brushing the hair out of your eyes, tucking a strand behind your ear as he studies you, taking in the way you're all tensed up, the uncomfortable way your legs are folded, goosebumps erupting every time his fingertips brushed your skin, muscles trembling.
you swallow. "i've never done this before," you admit. 
his eyes widen, now removing his hands from you entirely, letting them fall. "you're a virgin?" 
you nod, heart pounding in your chest. he's looking away, his jaw set, his gaze hardened. did he hate that you had no experience? or would he enjoy that? "i can…" the words come out in a jumble, "you can teach me, i want… i want to-" 
"no." with surprising gentleness, he motions for you to move off his lap, and you follow his actions mindlessly, docile under his touch. 
"do you think i won't be good enough?" you ask, hating the way your voice comes out wounded and achy, hating how weak he made you. 
he pauses, tongue poking into the side of his cheek, and you think you can see a flash of something deep in his eyes. 
"y/n…i can't be your first time." 
"but i want –" 
"you need to be with someone who will take care of you." despite his words, his voice is cold, and clear. "i don't do that." he dusts off his jacket, shrugging it back on as he takes another drink from the bottle, eyes closed, unwilling to look at you for another second. "go home, y/n. i'll see you at the next show." 
you don't move. you kneel there, next to him, eyes desperately searching for his. 
"go home, y/n," he repeats, harshly. 
"i want to stay here," you bite back, stubbornly, hurt making your voice brittle. 
"then you'll have to watch me fuck someone else." lazily, he reaches into the pocket of his jacket for his phone, and you can see him scroll through his messages, faces and names blurring as you barely decipher him type out another message. his fingers moving across the keyboard, as the anonymous responder sends a series of heart emojis, eagerness palpable through the screen. he locks his phone, the click sound startling you out of your daze, and he puts his phone down on his lap, the action somehow mocking.
"so?" he's still not looking at you, staring straight ahead into the night. "do you want to watch?" 
and as you make your way down the stairs, shame burning at your neck and tears burning hot down your cheeks, you can swear you feel his eyes follow you all the way down. 
the feeling of embarrassment curdles in your stomach, and leaves a sour taste in your mouth every time you look in the mirror. it's what leads you to skip the next show, making an excuse to jaemin about 'having other plans'. and then the other, and then the other. and then it's been a week, and your friend has finally managed to drag you to one of their after-parties, pushing you through the door with a little too much enthusiasm. he knows something is bothering you, and he wants nothing more than to help take your mind off of it — but he has no idea that the something is currently leaning against the archway leading off into the living room, nursing a bottle of beer in his hands, and brushing his hands around some girl's waist in a way that made you feel sick. 
jaemin introduces you to mark, out on the balcony. mark is sweet, and friendly, a regular boy-next-door who happens to have face gems twinkling next to his eyes and leather pants tight around his thighs. he asks you about college, and work. he talks about the songs he's writing on his guitar. he catches your drink when you almost drop it over the railing, an easy smile on his face when his fingers brush yours passing it back to you, and a shy grin when he reaches out to lace his fingers with yours properly.
"i'm really busy, but i'd love to talk to you more," he says, sincerely, as he takes your phone from your hands to key in his number. he texts himself so his contact is at the top of your messages, making you promise to text him when you get back. he looks at you meaningfully, squeezing your hand before dropping it to go back to his party. 
there's a moment, where you think to follow. 
but then all of it – every touch, every glance, every speck of light you counted reflected in marks' wide eyes, — all of it is wiped clean the moment you hear a familiar low voice.
"trying to get with my friends now, princess?" 
when the light illuminates his silhouette, hurt registers before anything else. 
hickeys bloom across the side of haechan's neck, trailing down to his chest. only a simple mesh top lies underneath his leather jacket, and you can see the shadows of a few more bruises on his torso when his arm shifts, tugging the jacket open just slightly. his hair is a mess, tugged this way and that by desperate hands, and you think there may be a smear of bright pink lipstick at the corner of his lips. you can smell the reek of flowery perfume, cloyingly sweet, all over his clothes, as he leans back against the railing, eyes turned towards the party happening behind the sliding glass doors.
"i thought you said i was your favorite band member," he murmurs, a mock expression of sadness on his face. "mark's nothing like me." 
"why do you care?" you will yourself to sound more confident, letting the hurt dissolve into defiance. 
"i don't." the pout has melted off his face, a burning intensity now in the way he stares at you, making you shift uncomfortably. a moment passes, where he studies your face, eyes flicking across your features almost methodically. "so am i?" 
"what?" 
"am i still your favorite?" his voice is bitter, as if he knows the answer before asking and he doesn't like it. 
"are you seriously asking me that?" 
"princess –"
he's interrupted by a chime from your phone. the both of you glance down at it at the same time, the text and the sender unmistakeable on your otherwise empty lockscreen. 
mark <3 : thanks for talking to me today :) let me know when you get home safe! 
there's a pause. 
"mark has a girlfriend," haechan blurts out, his voice coarse. 
"what?" you look up at him, trying to figure out if this was a joke, but his face is impassive. 
"he cheats on her all the time with girls from his parties. it's his thing." haechan's still looking at your screen even though your phone has turned off, resolutely not meeting your eyes. 
it takes you a moment to gather yourself, every one of mark‘s actions and words suddenly flashing before you like a flipbook, sweet memories crumpling into dust. "are you lying?" you ask, shakily. 
"why would i?" he finishes his beer, veins shifting on the back of his hand as he crushes the empty can, the crunch of metal dissonant against the warm summer night. his next words are just as rough. "whether or not you get with mark means nothing to me. i don't care. i don't even know you." 
his words ring true, as he pushes off from the railing, leaving you alone on the balcony without another word. the abrupt end to the conversation has you turning, eyes following him as he steps back into the party, looking away a little too late as you see him gesture someone over with a flick of his fingers, her long hair covering both their faces when their lips meet. 
jaemin finds you crying on the balcony, but he can't figure out the reason. you delete mark's contact off your phone the moment you get home, and jaemin promises you he's never taking you to any other show or party with the band ever again. 
"there should be an empty room somewhere." the man lets go of your hand, at the foot of the stairs. "can you wait for me inside one? i'll find you in a minute." 
it's only when you're halfway upstairs, when you realise that you're really about to give yourself to a stranger for your first time. 
he has a bright smile, sweet dimples showing each time his lips turn upwards, each time he calls you baby. he's not much older than you, but there's an easy authority in the way he takes your cup from your hands and tells you to stop drinking, getting you glasses of water instead. his body dwarfs yours in size, and when you put your hand on his thigh, you see something shift in his expression that tells you he may not be as gentle as he seems. 
and when you tell him he'll be your first time, his throat bobs as he swallows, eyes dragging up and down your body with a newfound hunger. 
you've never really cared about who you lost your virginity to, not considering it a big occassion or anything to make a fuss over. your mind flits back to two weeks ago, when some boy had cared way more about it than you did. 
"you need to be with someone who will take care of you." 
anger flares in your chest at the thought of it, as you climb up the stairs two steps at a time, and it's just when you're just reaching the first landing, when you suddenly coming to a crashing halt because —
the sound of microphone feedback makes you put your hands over your ears, instinctively, the shrill sound piercing the air. 
a loud bass suddenly starts up, vibrating under your feet. did they hire a live band? the song that booms from downstairs is familiar, and with a jolt, you realise that you know it a little too well. 
that honey-sweet voice, the bitter bite to his words soothed over by the sweetest of tones – drifts up from the speaker, a haunting melody that echoes up the empty staircase, punctuated by a screaming crowd.
as if to further prove it was him, he lets out a laugh at the end of his line, the tone of it dark and sarcastic, the crowd going wild at the sound of it. 
was it a studio recording? it must be, because there was no way this band was downstairs, performing live at this random birthday party, there was no chance…
… except now mark is speaking into the microphone, greeting the audience, asking for the birthday girl. unease stirs in your stomach as you trace your steps back down, a dread that fills you up as the makeshift stage comes back into view, where the DJ had been just a moment ago. 
to where haechan stood, guitar on its stand, eyes already trained on yours, an expression of white hot anger on his face. 
"him? really?" 
you can still feel his touch on your arm, from how he dragged you into the bedroom. 
you're frozen on the steps. 
haechan signals to mark, ignoring the questioning looks from the members and protests from the boy as he steps off the platform, making a beeline for the stairs. his brows are furrowed, his teeth gritted as he glares at you. 
"you wanna go upstairs that bad?" he murmurs. "lead the fucking way, princess." 
he starts towards you, and you take a step back, body colliding with the door. the sound seems to ground him, and he takes a deep breath, trying to calm down, finally turning away to sit on the bed, the space allowing you to relax just slightly.
"i thought," he starts, patiently, swallowing hard. "i thought i told you to find someone to take care of you, for your first time."  
the reminder of his words feels like a stab in your chest. "i thought you didn't care," you shoot back. 
he ignores you. "did you come here with your friends? where's jaemin?" 
what the fuck was wrong with him? "who are you to tell me what to do?" 
his lips part, but no words come out. sighing, he rubs his face with his hands, still trying to calm down. "y/n," he starts again, voice pained. "i don't want to see you get hurt."
"how do you know he would've hurt me?" 
his eyes meet yours. "did you tell him?" he asks, quietly. 
"tell him i was a virgin? yes." anger seeps into your tone, as you glare at him. "he reacted very differently from you." 
"y/n that's not a good thing!" he stands up, his voice raised. "are you that desperate to get fucked?" 
you step back in alarm, tears forming in your eyes. fear, of the situation you almost put yourself in, of the boy in front of you, makes your throat close up, and you can't help the way your body tenses. the cruelness of his words settles in a little too late, an acidic burn in your chest. 
haechan feels the tips of his fingers go numb as you start to cry, guilt flooding his mind in a way he rarely felt. his face crumples, and he does't know what to do when you curl in on yourself, every sound you make feeling like a punch to his ribs.
"i'm sorry," he whispers, reaching for you tentatively. when you don't pull away, his arms circle around you, and he makes sure to leave enough space for you to breathe or break free if you wanted to. "i'm sorry," he repeats again, as you sink into his chest, needing his warmth as much as you hated his presence. 
"take it back," you mumble. "take it back right now."
"i take it back," he says, immediately. "i didn't mean any of it. i'm sorry." 
"you don't get to reject me," you start, voice shaky, "and control who i choose to be with."
he sucks in a breath, gripping onto you a little tighter. "y/n –" 
"it's…it's fucked up," you hiccup, fisting at the fabric of his shirt, crumpling it in your fists in frustration.
"i know," he breathes. "i know." 
his hand comes up to stroke your hair, and you hate how it really does manage to comfort you, your breaths steadying as he pats your back clumsily. when you think you've calmed down enough, you place your hands on his chest, and he backs away instinctively, looking down at his feet. never meeting your eyes.
"i'm tired, haechan," you whisper. "i don't want to play whatever game you're playing." he doesn't respond, so you continue. "you don't want to fuck me, but you don't want anyone else to." 
"i do." his response is so quiet, you barely catch it.
"you want other people to fuck me?" 
"no, i don't." he lifts his head, his expression conflicted. "i…i want to be your first time." 
"what?" 
when he doesn't respond, you sigh, agitated. "haechan, i already told you i don't want to play your games anymore –" 
"not a game," he cuts you off, softly. "i'll take care of you." the gentleness of his voice makes you feel small. it's almost overwhelming, the way he looks into your eyes, without his usual apathy and bitterness. 
"i thought you said you don't do that?" it takes you all your willpower to not give in. 
"i don't," he breathes. "but with you i will." he's starting to think he has no choice – that there's no one else in the world who's going to take care of you the way he knows you need. he doesn't know when he decided to give in, in between watching you place your hand on that man's thigh, and you standing in front of him now. all he knows is that he either had to do this, or make you disappear from his life entirely. 
the words hang in the air. even now, feeling so torn and hurt and tired, your body can't help how much you want him, hyper-attuned to the little details in his appearance: the messy black nail polish scrawled on his nails, smoky eye make-up that makes his gaze all the more intense and devouring. there's a heady smell hanging onto his skin and clothes, rich and indulgent vanilla and musk, filling up your senses with a giddy desire. long legs in a pair of ripped skinny jeans, his thighs stretching out the fabric in a way that almost looked like it hurt. 
"okay," you mumble. his lips part, but you answer him before he has a chance to ask. "please take care of me." your voice is small, yet each word seems to catch fire, incinerating the air between you. 
his tongue darts out, wetting his lip. "yeah?" 
you nod. finally giving in to the pull of your body, you take a step closer, looking up at him through your lashes. 
"i'm sorry…about all of it." he murmurs. "thank you for trusting me, still." 
you can't think of anything to say, so you nod again. it feels like your heart is in your throat. 
he swallows. "do you…you shouldn't…" his eyes dart around the room. "we shouldn't do it here. in…in some strangers bedroom." gently, he touches your arm, looking at you hesitantly. "would you feel comfortable if we did it in your apartment? or i could bring you to my shared apartment with the band…they wouldn't be back yet. but we might have to be quick…"
your head feels like it's spinning. 
at your lack of response, he rambles on, eyes focused on yours, trying to discern your thoughts. "w-what do you think? or…if you really want to get comfortable i don't mind booking a hotel, it's a little last minute but-" he bites his lip. "do you want to meet somewhere else or i could take you in my car? i haven't drank much, i swear, but if you don't trust me-" 
"stop," you blurt out. 
he freezes, the hand grazing your arm dropping to his side, fingers playing with the rips in his jeans. 
"i'm sorry," he says, softly.
"no, i mean…stop asking me questions." you exhale. "i trust you," you repeat, softly. every word of it was true — despite everything, you were still the same person sitting on his lap up on the rooftop. "just…take care of me, however you want." 
he swallows. "you sound…" exhaling, he shakes his head to clear it. "okay. is your apartment empty?" 
"yes," you whisper. "jaemin's away for tonight." 
"i'll drive," he murmurs. and now he takes a step closer to you, until he's all you can see, the room melting away. "but before that…can i kiss you first, princess?" you nod, transfixed by him, as he leans in. 
haechan kisses soft. 
his lips are plush, and soft, taking your bottom lip between his own sweetly. he tilts his head slowly as if he's afraid he'll overwhelm you by moving too fast, his lips parting as he invites you to do the same, his hands going to the back of your head to guide you. a soft sigh escapes the back of his throat when your lips part and he can taste you, and you can taste him — vanilla like how he smells, with the slight bite of alcohol. your hand comes up to touch his round cheeks, surprisingly soft too, and he smiles into this kiss. 
he's the one to break apart from you, with a patience that feels rehearsed. he's taking care of you, as he leans in so your noses brush, your breaths mingling. 
"haechan…" he hums, encouragingly. "i…you know this isn't…my first kiss, right?" 
a pause. "i know," he murmurs. 
"so… so you don't have to be gentle." you squirm slightly as his touch grows heavier, eyes darkening at the implications behind your words. 
he backs away from you, hands pulling you with him as he sits down on the bed. his eyes flick down to his lap as he lowers his gaze, before dragging them painstakingly up to yours again. 
"sit, princess." 
this time, when he feels you tremble against him, your knees caging in his hips as you straddle him, all he does is lean in and kiss you — just as sweet as he did the first time. 
"i'm gentle with you because i want to be," another kiss, his tongue sliding against your bottom lip. "not because i have to." his fingers guide your chin upwards, baring your neck to him as he leans in and leaves a kiss on a spot under your jaw. and then a longer, more lingering kiss. and now he's making his way down your neck, each press of his lips on your skin longer and rougher than the last, and now you're sure he's sucking marks onto your neck, especially when you feel a slight sting of teeth. 
you're shifting against him restlessly, body hardly your own as you fall under his touch. you don't know how long you spend there, in his lap, as he works on your neck, taking breaks to kiss you on the lips, his sighs echoing into the cavern of your mouth as it falls open with need. it's when he sucks lightly on your tongue, almost boyish in the way he backs away with a small smile, when a soft sound escapes your lips. 
"yeah?" he murmurs, leaning in again, letting the tip of his tongue brush against yours gently. "you like that?" 
you nod. 
"you sound so pretty," he breathes, as he slots his lips with yours again, humming against yours as you let out another small whimper. 
"haechan-" you mumble, and he draws away, looking at you expectantly. "i think i'm ready." 
"really?" his hands on your waist give you a light squeeze. "you want me to take you home now?" 
you're still giddy from the heat radiating off his skin, your lips craving his contact again now he's stopped kissing you. you nod, and he smiles, gently guiding you off his lap as he unlocks the door. 
he's gentle the whole way down – as he leads you away from the main staircase so you wouldn't be seen, the crowd still distracted by the band. he cradles you carefully against his side all the way out of the back gates and into his car, and when your breath catches as he leans over to buckle your seatbelt for you, he's gentle even as he presses into you for a spur of the moment kiss, tongue licking into your mouth with more fervor. 
it's not a song that plays in the car as he drives and you try to remember the way to your apartment, but rather it's a low and sultry beat — bluesy harmonies stretched out over pulses. part of you wonders if he played it on purpose, because imagining his voice set against it already had you melting against the leather seats.
it would all be rather sweet – how gentle he's being, the soft way he smiles at you in the dim lights of your lift lobby, the way he holds your hand and lets you lean against him as you head higher and higher, the space around you feeling like a vacuum of trapped adrenaline and lust. 
but there was also no denying the fact that he jolted at the slightest sound, his grip on you tight and slack all at once, the tenderness in his eyes here one second and gone the next. a hurt you could almost taste on your tongue, that you were holding onto something so fragile, and that to him it seemed the worst thing that could happen would be if he were found with you.
but all of it changes, when you're alone in your room. the weight of his attention, that you'd felt even as one person amidst a screaming crowd, seems to intensify tenfold as he lets his jacket slide to the floor, eyes on you. 
he reads the apprehension in your body, the way you hover near your bed, waiting for him to guide you. 
"let me know if it's too much, okay?" he murmurs, as he pulls you in for a hug first, feeling you warm against him as you cling on to his embrace. "you can tell me to stop whenever, and i will." his hands rub circles up your waist, teasing on the silver of skin between your top and your skirt. 
you nod, but he shakes his head – a thumb brushing across your cheek. 
"use your words," he murmurs. "so i know you mean it." 
"okay," you breathe, now guiding him to the bed yourself, curiosity getting the better of you. you had almost forgotten, in the midst of everything, why exactly you went to the party, and the familiar need sparks back to life in you. 
haechan sits down against the headboard, pulling you into his lap, the movement feeling even more natural now. he can see that you're nervous and eager at the same time, hands fumbling with the soft material of his shirt, unsure what to do as you shift around on top of him. 
"can i kiss you?" in the soft lamp light of the room, the sharp-cut edges of his face seem to blur, large doe-eyes looking up at you kindly. it makes you want to lean in, so you do — slotting your lips with his boldly, kissing him the way you wanted from him. it surprises him, the way you press your lips against him harshly, the gentle graze of your teeth against his plush lip. 
he lets out a small laugh, and kisses you back just as fiercely, the atmosphere in the room melting as temperature skyrockets, until it's almost unbearable to be separated from you by layers of fabric. 
"may i-" he mumbles, tugging at the hem of his own shirt, and when your voice chokes out an affirmative, he's quick to yank it over his head, movements rough, exposing beautiful skin, his body warm and solid under your palms as you lean into him. 
your cheeks warm, and he notices – a small smile on his face as his hands cup your cheeks, and he gives you a sweet kiss, abruptly different from the others. suddenly, it's almost too tender, the way he looks up at you with endearment in his eyes, kissing you chastely, and you sink into it a little guiltily, enjoying the innocence of it. 
when you feel your heart reach its boiling point, your own hands go to the hem of your shirt, and you pull it over your head. you don't mean to slow down your movements, not meaning to tease or entice, but the way his eyes darken looking at your body made you wish you did it on purpose. 
"pretty," he praises, head dipping to press a kiss between your collarbones. and another one, lower done, almost reaching your cleavage. the bra you had chosen mindlessly that morning was a thin bralette, and it did little to hide how aroused you were, your nipples poking stiff peaks through the fabric. 
but still, he doesn't make any move to remove it, peppering kisses on your bare chest, over the slope of your breasts, almost slobbering at your skin, lips dewy and wet. his arms are firm around you, meeting each one of your movements and steadying you, helping you rock your hips into him as desire surges in your body. 
"haechan, –" his name had never sounded so breathless falling from your lips.   
"yes, baby?" 
the term of endearment makes you feel smaller in his lap, the only thing making you feel better was the way he was just as heated as you, his breaths coming hard and fast. he wanted everything to be perfect, he never wanted to rush you into anything you weren't comfortable with, his hands staying firm on your lower back. 
you tug at the bralette covering your chest impatiently, the fabric never feeling more uncomfortable on your skin. 
"you want me to take it off?" he asks, head nuzzling into your neck as his fingers wander up your back. you feel it loosen around you, his finger expertly fiddling the clasp open, dragging it down and accidentally brushing against your hard nipples, making you hiss.
"i'll make you feel good," he promises, softly, lowering his head, kissing down the slope of your breasts. he makes eye contact with you, searching your eyes for any form of discomfort.
"be gentle," you murmur, nodding for him to continue. "they feel sensitive." 
"of course," he mumbles, before starting to lightly kitten-lick at your nipple, the feeling all at once new and arousing, making you pulse against him in his lap. he circles his tongue around your areola, being as gentle as possible, opting not to flick at your nipples but rather suck one into his mouth, heart-shaped full lips sinful against your chest. the heat between your legs is overwhelming, as he switches to your other side, his hand coming up to knead your breast, warm palms moving over skin and making you giddy. 
"please," you whimper, as he laps at you. "please, i need you, please –" 
"you have me," he murmurs, one of his hands reaching out for yours blindly, scrabbling against the back of your hand from where it's pressed against his chest, flipping it over and interlocking your fingers. "i'll take care of you. lie down for me?"
he moves you off his lap, guiding you onto your back, propping up pillows you can rest against. the familiar feeling of your bed is only faintly there, your senses filled with the sweet heady smell of haechan, from the perfume and lotion clinging onto his skin, as you watch him remove the numerous rings on his fingers, placing them carefully on your bedside table. 
haechan kisses his way down your body, suckling on your skin, leaving longer, lingering bruises on your hips, finally reaching your thighs as he lowers himself down. he guides your hips up with a heavy hand, sliding a cushion carefully under as he situates himself between your legs. you're so sensitive, that the feeling of his long hair against your skin has your thighs sliding together, squeezing around his head accidentally. 
"you okay?" he murmurs, as he kisses your thighs again, patiently easing your thighs open. 
you suddenly feel shy, knowing he was about to see you so intimately. even when you had agreed to let him take care of you, even as you trusted him completely, you had never imagined seeing him in between your spread legs like this, somewhere you hadn't even explored much yourself. would he be disappointed or disgusted? what if he didn't like what he saw or felt? 
"baby…." he rubs a hand carefully on your thigh, tips of his fingers slipping just under the hem of your skirt. "is this okay? do you want to stop?" 
"i don't want to stop," you admit, and you find that its true. 
haechan looks at you, studying your face. after a moment, he crawls back up your body, brushing the hair out of your eyes before he brushes his lips against yours softly, as if asking for permission. you grant it, lips parting as his warm mouth meets yours, a welcome taste in your mouth that's become familiar. you kiss for a while, his hand finding yours in the mess of sheets and intertwining your fingers, until you feel confident enough to slip your other hand to the zipper of your skirt. 
you tug it off your legs, haechan breaking away from the kiss to help you, moving down your body. 
"i'll take care of you," he whispers, his hand never letting go of yours. "these are so pretty, baby," he whispers, a finger tracing over the lacy pattern on the front of your panties. you've never been more aware of your own arousal seeping out of you, as he places a kiss low on your hip, and then another just on the waistband of your panties, and suddenly, you want nothing more than for them to come off. 
your fingers tug at them impatiently, and he takes hold of your hand, kissing your fingertips lightly. "let me," he murmurs, and you hear something low and raw in his voice, something that maybe wasn't there before. sitting up slightly, he pulls your panties down your legs, assuming his position as quickly as he'd left it once the fabric was out of the way, rearranging your legs so they're spread open for him. 
the tension in the room fills your lungs up like smoke. you barely mumble his name, beg him to do something, before you feel a soft touch against your clit, making your hips jolt and you let out a sharp exhale. 
"let me hear you," he encourages, gently, as he starts to rub circles into your sensitive nub, dipping down to your entrance and spreading your wetness all over your cunt. your hips keep shifting around, so he pulls his arm around to press down into you, keeping you still for him as he slowly pleasures you.
"t-this feels…" you start, lost in your own head. you've touched yourself before, but the sensitivity seemed to be heightened to an exaggerated amount once it was someone else touching you. he looks up at you, face still wickedly beautiful, the gentlest look in his eyes laced with something like desperation.
"can't believe i got so lucky," he murmurs, suckling a kiss close to your heat, high on the soft skin of your thigh. your legs clamp around his head, and it makes him groan, breath heavy against your cunt. "you're pretty everywhere, baby. can't believe i'm the only one." 
the words flood your veins with a dark thrill, the idea of being his, of him taking all your firsts. "hypocrite," you mumble, cutting yourself off with a moan as he applies more pressure to your clit. 
"maybe a little," he admits, shyly, as he dips his head back down and flicks your clit with the tip of his tongue, his fingers sliding down to your entrance instead. 
you cry out at the foreign feeling, the wet muscle of his tongue stroking your clit expertly while his slender finger slips past your entrance. his name, strung along by curses, echoes from your mouth as he teases his finger in and out of your entrance, tongue lying flat and wide as he laps at your clit in a way that made you feel like you were already close. 
stiffening his tongue, his flicks your clit with the tip, humming into you just as he curls his finger against your walls in a come-hither motion. he knows when you cum — back arching as you seemed to chase for stimulation above you, your walls sucking tightly around his finger and kneading it eagerly, making him groan as he imagines the feeling of you tight around his cock. he lets you ride out your orgasm on his face, his nose bumping your clit and eliciting another drawn out whimper, tongue teasing your entrance. 
when your hands push at his head, he backs away easily, once again making his way up your body to check on you, the warmth of his bare chest against yours making you feel safe. 
"good?" he kisses you, tongue moving against yours, inviting you to take a taste. "did you like that, sweetheart?" 
you nod, gasping. "haechan…"
"you did perfect for me, baby." his hands run up and down your sides as he kisses down your neck, enjoying the way your body wraps yourself around him, arms pulling his weight down into you. 
"i still need you," you murmur. the pleasure from before had only satiated you for a little bit, and the feeling of his hard length poking at your thigh was making your head spin with a whole different level of desire, as you grapple for his belt. "please, i've been good-" 
"you're perfect." he comforts you with a kiss. 
he guides your hand away from him gently, unbuckling his belt and letting his pants slide onto the bed as you lie back down on your pillows. tugging his underwear down, you swallow as he squeezes his thick length, the pink tip leaking clear liquid. he watches you watch him spread it on his length, pumping himself slowly, drawing out the pleasure as he moans, a sweet tenor sound that rings lewdly in the air. you watch, mesmerized, as he thrusts his hips forward a few times, stroking himself with a slight twist of his wrist before letting go abruptly, letting his cock slap up against his lower stomach. 
fishing around in the pocket of his discarded jeans, he takes out a condom wrapper, opening it quickly and rolling it onto his cock. you're sure you're making a mess of the sheets, you can feel your arousal and his saliva on your thighs, can feel another gush of wetness seep out of you as he lowers himself over your body and slides his cock against your folds. 
he grinds himself on you, hoping to get you wetter so it may be less painful when he enters you. his fingers find your clit again, this time he rubs it urgently, with just the correct amount of pressure to have you shaking and lifting your hips into him. 
"stop me anytime," he reminds you, as he lines himself up to your fluttering entrance. "you have to relax for me, baby." he pitches his voice lower now, and you can't tell if he's comforting you or if he's slowly being pulled under by lust too. he makes soft shushing noises, nipping at your lips with gentle kisses as you whimper, feeling the bulbous tip of his cock slowly stretch you open, his fingers resuming his movements. the head of his cock still feels shallow inside you, when it suddenly brushes against a sensitive spot, and his fingers on your clit glide just right, making you cum, hard. he feels you clamp down tightly around his tip, and he hisses, eyes squeezed shut. his mind wiped clean for just a second as pleasure thrums through his entire body, an aching pain that makes his mouth hang open.
"'m sorry," you whimper, tears prickling to your eyes as you interpret his expression as annoyance. "i'm so sorry, it just felt so good —" 
"baby…" he looks at you, his face morphing into panic when he sees the tears in your eyes. "don't apologise, please, you have nothing to be sorry for." 
you still look unconvinced, so he reaches for one of your hands, holding it in his and kissing your fingertips. "you are so pretty when you cum," the filthy words sound sacred the way he says them. "and you felt so fucking good around my cock," he murmurs, voice sinking low again.
you begin to relax again, sniffling slightly as you adjust your legs around his waist, feeling him slide a little deeper into you. he coaxes you into taking more of him, kissing you sweetly as he slips in further and further, until finally the both of you are groaning, his body shuddering slightly against yours as he feels your warm gummy walls tight around him. 
"so tight," he groans, cursing again under his breath as he circles his hips, drawing a moan from you as your thighs tense. "how are you so tight?," he panted, tone still teasing despite him trying desperately not to buck his hips into you. "has no one ever fucked you before or something?" 
you don't have it within you to tease back. 
"only you, haechan." the words are reverent, hushed. it strips him of any of his cockiness, his teasing, his boldness — his features softening at the way you look up at him, trying to maintain eye contact even as the ache between your legs drove you insane, not wanting to waste a single moment of this, in case it never happened again. 
"haechan…" your nails rake against his back, drawing him out of his daze. "please fuck me." 
"fuck," he breathes, as he slowly starts to move in you, obsessed with the way the words sound in your voice. his thick length drags against your walls, heavy inside you, the wet sounds of your arousal seeping into the room. you feel full and stretched out, sated by having him so close to you, it feels like you can feel him deep in your gut the way he's thrusting into you, especially when he hikes your legs higher on his waist, drawing a long moan from you as he manages to stimulate a spot inside you that has you seeing stars. 
he changes his pace, now barely pulling himself out of you as he nudges the head of his cock against your sweet spot. licking a long stripe from your neck up to your ear, one hand tangles itself with yours, while the other ghosts over your sensitive nipples. 
"i'm cumming," the words come out rushed as you barely hold onto your senses, cumming harshly for the third time, your body thrown into pleasure as your muscles tense. he succumbs to the feeling of your walls kneading his length and squeezing tight around him, eyes going unfocused and hazy as his lips part, a moan drawn out from his lungs without conscious thought. he's aware of the way your muscles tense as he fucks both of you through your highs, relishing in the sting of your fingernails on his back as he slows down his movements. he draws out both your highs by leaning in and sucking on the mark he'd left behind earlier that evening, letting his moan buzz and fizzle on your skin. 
you feel dazed and tired, arms never letting go of him, legs unwilling to unwrap from his waist as you cling to him. he rolls you both onto your sides, caressing your body sweetly and stroking your hair, mumbling questions and concerns that you can't register, nodding to everything in a blur. the weight of him feels good, his body warm and solid against your back, and once again that feeling of safety, that feeling of complete trust, washes over you. it makes you feel whole even as he pulls out of you with a wince, discarding the condom in the trash by your bedside. 
you cling to him, and he knows you need it — so he doesn't let you go, heavy hands patting your back clumsily, slightly rough and out of rhythm, just like the way your heart beats against your ribcage.
when he feels your arms loosen, relaxing finally after the high of hormones and adrenaline, he slips away quickly to the bathroom, putting on his underwear as he goes. he grabs a towel, turning your tap on to warm water and checking the temperature with his wrist as he washes his hands, his face, cleaning himself up. running the towel under the water and squeezing it dry in the sink. his movements methodical, as he slips out of your room and into the kitchen, looking around for a glass of water. 
he immediately races back the moment he hears a sound from your bedroom, shutting the door behind him just as you sit up, your expression clearing once you see him again. pulling his shirt from where it's discarded on the floor, he slides into bed, kissing you on the cheek. 
he cleans you up with soft strokes, the warm towel soothing on your skin even though he hadn't really been rough. he makes you drink from the glass of water, watching you drain it carefully. finally, slipping his large shirt over your frame, swallowing at the way it envelopes your body, a feeling stirring in his gut that he ignores. 
"y/n? are you with me?" when you don't respond, wide eyes looking up at him, he touches his fingers to your cheek. "baby?" 
each brush of his skin against yours felt like trails of fire, lingering warmth even after he pulls away. every look he gave you through his lashes, the slight pout to his lips when he broke away from a kiss, made you feel like you were caught in a riptide, your pulse out of your control. you wanted to crawl into him and make a home in his chest. you never wanted him to look at you again with his shuttered eyes, to have to dream yourself into the skin of someone else as he touched them. 
you had to tell him. "haechan…haechan i…" you reach for him, and he pulls you into his embrace, shushing you softly. you try to speak again, lips parting, but he envelopes your lips in a gentle kiss, nipping at your mouth each time you part, swallowing all your sounds with the sweep of his tongue. 
"princess…" his voice sounds raw, and coarse. "don't say anything you don't mean." 
"but-" 
"you don't know me." was it regret in his voice, or your wishful thinking? "you don't know me at all. what you're feeling right now…" he touches a hand to your chest, brushing a kiss on your cheek. "it's because of the sex, alright?" 
you shake your head. 
your next words come out slurred, your eyelids starting to droop as sleep begins to tug at your mind, threatening to pull you under. "but…why can't i know you?"  
he takes a deep breath. "i don't want you to."
"but i don't want this to end." 
he holds you tighter against his chest at your words. 
"this?" he questions, quietly. he keeps his voice light, but it still pierces your heart like a shard of glass. "there isn't a 'this' princess. this isn't happening again." 
"why?" 
"i don't want you to get attached." he cradles you even more carefully against him, freckling mellow kisses onto your forehead, the contrast between his words and his actions ringing dissonant in your ears. "besides… why would i spend the night with the same girl twice, hm?"
sleep softens the hurt from the words he's saying. his voice fades slightly, his touch against your skin roaring ever louder in your ears. "you know i won't be here when you wake up, right?" his fingers brush against your forehead lightly, pushing hair away from your eyes. 
you knew. 
but you still cried in the morning all the same — the golden-orange sunrise beautiful and terribly cruel, just like the boy you were perhaps falling in love with. 
you spend the weekend alone. 
you spend the weekend wondering if haechan thought of you at all, after he left. thinking if what he said was real, and it was just adrenaline and lust, then why did your heart ache at the thought of him? at his face on posters outside the small concert venue, inviting you to a show next week? why did you always turn at the slightest hint of his voice? 
you try to forget him. you try to tell yourself he wasn't worth it. but deep down all of it, a part of you still hopes, which is perhaps why you were letting jaemin drag you past the poster of haechan, into the alleyway that led backstage.
"are you sure you need me there?" you pull at jaemin's sleeve, your other hand holding onto his spare camera carefully as he guides you into the venue.  
"i do," he insists, pushing through a set of doors leading to the stage. "mark wants extra photos for their social media page and i can't be doing all of that at once." 
you can hear the boys talking just around one of the curtains, sprawled out onstage, a cacophany of sounds as they absentmindedly plucked at their instruments. you were going to see haechan again. you can't tell if it makes you want to run towards them, or go back home. that familiar sense of hope, the kind you experienced in the crowd that first night, on the balcony, in the bedroom and in the moonlight, fills you up slowly, sweet and light. maybe, if he just saw you again…
"y/n-" jaemin puts a hand on your arm, stopping you gently before you could rush onto stage. 
"yes?" you prompt. 
"i know i dragged you here, but if you're feeling uncomfortable," he starts, and you start to slip away, but he only tightens his grip. "let me finish — if you're feeling uncomfortable, or if any of them are hurting you, let me know okay?" 
you hadn't told him about haechan, something close to shame seeming to rise up and choke you whenever you tried to bring it up. all jaemin knew was that the last two times you had come into contact with the band it had upset you badly, and as your best friend and roommate he never wanted to see you crying on the balcony again. 
"what would you do? beat them up?" 
"i would leave." his serious tone doesn't change, unaffected by your attempt to lighten the mood. 
"but the money –" 
"no job is more important than you being okay," he insists. "i don't want to work for them if they hurt you. okay?" 
"okay." 
even though he looks unconvinced, his grip on your arm loosens and he takes your hand instead, pulling back the curtain with his other. 
you can hear him say something to mark about today's shoot, hear him greet the rest of the members. you guess that mark is rising to greet him, hear something like jisung and jeno standing too, but everything fades to white noise when the sight you're looking at clicks in your mind, the one member of the band who's voice you hadn't heard, who hadn't bothered to turn around at jaemin's arrival.
or rather, the one boy who was too pre-occupied to — considering he had his tongue in a pretty girl's mouth. 
haechan was facing away from you, away from the rest of his bandmates, you could really only see his broad back under his denim jacket, but the careful tilt of his head as he kissed her was all too familiar, as was the movement of his arms around her waist. and when she shifted in his lap, his hands pulling her hips down unto his, you can feel your heartbeat in your ears, a sharp pain searing at your chest in emotions you couldn't pinpoint. 
"fuck, sorry about that –" mark's voice is flustered, and now a tall boy, the bassist, jisung, is stepping in front of you, blocking your view of him. 
"sorry," he echoes, and you're momentarily caught off guard by how deep his voice is - husky and quiet. you blink up at him, fog slowly clearing in your mind, and he smiles shyly. "he doesn't usually do that." 
"who?" 
"um, haechan…" he looks back briefly, and you see haechan helping the girl to her feet, her body crumpled into his like she couldn't bear to be separated from his touch. you feel a wave of second-hand shame again – was that what you had looked like? 
and then jisung turns back to you, towering over you again and blocking everything from view. "he usually only does this after the show, but today…" 
"it's fine," you say, faintly. 
jisung looks at you, carefully. "you're jaemin's friend y/n, right?" 
you nod, half your mind still on what could be going on right now. behind jisung, you see mark pull haechan, now alone, towards a corner of the stage, whispering angrily at him. haechan is slouched lazily, picking at his nails with all the look of someone who couldn't care less about what was going on. 
"i saw you at our last show," jisung continues. "i was going to…i was going…" he breaks off, a little embarrassed, fumbling with his words. "are you sure you're okay?" 
"i'm fine, jisung." you repeat, your voice a little more firm, as you finally look back at him.
he blinks. "you know me?" 
jisung still looked worried, but there was something sweet about the way he shrunk a little under your attention, eyes darting all over your face and around his surroundings, blush tinging his cheeks.
this you were comfortable with – something completely different from the way haechan's eyes always tried to drink you in, or the way your vision would go blurry at the edges when he would stand in front of you. talking with jisung was easy, the confidence that haechan drained from you seeping back and settling in. 
he had meant it, when he said you shouldn't get attached. you just had to learn it before it brought you more hurt you couldn't justify.
"jisung," you emphasise. "of course i know you. you play bass, right?" 
"y-yeah," he stammers, pointing unecessarily at his dark blue bass guitar on its stand. "i don't know, i guess i always thought people didn't really know me even if they knew the band." he fiddles with the hem of his shirt, black hair falling over his eyes. "people usually choose to stand where haechan or mark are." 
"you usually stand on the left?" 
he nods, bashfully, and a smile tugs at your lips. 
"i'll make sure to stand there, later during the show." 
"wow, okay." he pauses for a moment, steeling himself. "how about after?" 
"what do you mean?" 
"would you want to meet…after the show?" he hesitates, voice soft. 
your brow furrows slightly. "do you mean the party?" 
"we don't have to go," he blurts out. "i don't mean…i don't mean like what haechan usually does after the show."  
his name is an unwelcome sting, but the way jisung sneaks glances up at you from where he looks down at his feet makes it a little easier to forget. "then what do you want to do?" 
"w-we can get something to eat." he says it like he just suggested robbing a bank. 
oh. "like a date?" 
mortified, his lips part, and you can tell that he's frantically trying to read your tone, trying to figure out if the idea of it made you uncomfortable, whether you were suggesting because you wanted it. it's so endearing, watching him start his sentences and stop them, the hem of his shirt crumpled and worn out by his nervous fingers. 
eventually, he takes a deep breath, and settles for a question. "d-do you mind if it's a date?" 
did you? 
was there any hope in waiting for haechan, when he had made it so clear that you would never have him again?
jisung is still looking at you like you have all the power in the world to hurt him. 
"i don't mind," you say, softly, feeling a hum of satisfaction in your chest at the way it makes his lips part in blissful surprise. a beat. "do you want it to be…?" 
"yes," he blurts out. "please," he adds, shyly. 
the awkward silence between the two of you feels good, the lightness of it familiar and giddy, like a schoolgirl crush. jisung can't stop smiling, biting his lips slightly as he turns to face mark, who's crossed to the front of the stage to speak to them. 
" — jisung, jaemin will start with your photos first. we'll just be shooting the rehearsal process today, so there's no need to-" he breaks off, brow furrowing. "jisung why are you so red?" 
"i-it's w-warm in here." 
"well you should cool off before jaemin takes your photos." jisung nods, flustered, and he walks offstage with jaemin to prepare. jeno too, strolls away with a wave to mark, leaving him alone at the front of the stage. 
with you. 
mark glances over at you, his eyes darting over your face, trying to read your expression. you can almost hear haechan's voice from that night, the ghost of the hurt still palpable in your bones. but the moment you take a step back, thinking that you should find jaemin and jisung, mark seems to have made up his mind — his face set, he starts to walk over to you, and you find your own footsteps falter.
"um, y/n, can i speak to you for a second?" 
you take a deep breath. "is this about the photos for later?" 
"no…not exactly." he clears his throat. there's a pause, as he seems to pick his words. "y/n, did i do something wrong?" 
you blink at him. "what do you mean?"
"i mean, i know it was a while ago, but i thought we were getting along fine at the party," it feels like he's rehearsed this to some capacity, or perhaps it was just the confidence of being a lead singer. "but then since then every time i saw you…i feel like you've been avoiding me." 
"i haven't been avoiding you." you take a deep breath. "mark, do you have a girlfriend?" 
his eyes widen. "are you…are you asking me out?"
"what?" you balk. "no!" 
"oh." his face falls. "i mean…i just thought…"
"that's just too bad, markie." 
it’s practically deja vu.
haechan stands behind you, his body radiating warmth, and you inhale sharply. surprisingly, he doesn't smell saccharine, the way he always does with the girls he chooses — his skin smells like baby powder and fresh linen. your body is doing that thing again – where you hone in on his presence and the whole world dissolves, and you're hyper attuned to the way his arm hovers near yours, his breath on the back of your neck. anything you were about to say to mark completely lost in your brain. 
exasperated, mark runs his hand through his hair. "haechan…don't be difficult." 
"i'm not." you feel almost numb when his hand touches your elbow, sliding down to hold your hand tight in his grip. "y/n and i have to talk about something." 
"can't it wait?" 
"it's urgent," haechan says, sarcastically, giving you a sharp tug towards him. your feet stumble as haechan starts to walk off, and you turn one last time to see mark standing there, looking a little forlorn, suddenly small under the bright lights of the stage. 
"sorry, –" you mumble out. mark frowns, starting towards you. 
but now haechan really pulls you along, yanking curtains aside and accessing a short flight of stairs. you can feel the intensity of his emotions radiating off him in waves, making it a little hard to breathe as you try to keep up, afraid of what he'll say if your hand slips from his grasp. 
he guides you along a corridor and through a doorway, stepping into the warm light of a dressing room, the door slamming shut behind you as haechan pulls you in. 
you're almost afraid to look at him, but you do anyway. 
he's slightly breathless from the walk down, stooping slightly to lock the door with careful hands. when he straightens and steps towards you, the lights hitting his features, you can see that he's covered up the hickeys on his neck with makeup. something mark made him do, no doubt. 
"haechan -" 
"park jisung? really?" he sneers, backing you into the dressing table. 
 "what?" 
"don't lie to me," he demands. "i saw you." 
"really?" you fold your arms across your chest as he moves in closer, planting both hands on the table on either side of your hips, caging you in. "you looked busy. where did she go, hm? did mark send her away, or did you?" 
haechan rolls his eyes. "that's none of your business." 
"jisung said you don't usually bring girls to the rehearsal," you continue, watching the way his tongue pokes into his cheek in annoyance. "what happened?" 
"you two talked about me?" he demands. "what else did you do? make plans to fuck after the show?" 
"i'm not a virgin anymore," you remind him, your voice laced with a warning. "i thought you only cared about my first time." 
haechan groans. seeing you talk to jisung out of the corner of his eye, seeing your hands brush and his friend's head duck shyly to the side, gave him a weight on his chest which grew heavier each time he took a breath, each time he had to hear one of jisung's small laughs. 
"if you want to have mediocre sex then i couldn't care less," he snaps. "just know that you're going to have to fuck a lot of people before you forget me." 
you can see that you're losing him, the familiar closed-off look coming back to his face, anger dissapating into indifference. 
"what is there to forget?" you ask, hurt and anger making your voice shake. 
haechan is staring at you, his face now so close to yours if you leaned in just slightly your lips would brush. 
"you don't mean that," he says, quietly. 
and just like that, all the fight drains out of you. 
"haechan, jisung just wants to take me out on a date." his features tense, and he bites his lower lip harshly. "would you ever ask me out on a date, haechan?" 
he doesn't respond.
"would you?" 
"i told you," he breathes. "i don't do that." 
"you told me you didn't want to be my first time, and you took it back," you remind him, quietly. 
"that's different." you can't help the disappointment that wells up inside you, and you know he can see it from the way his face falls too. 
"don't look at me like that, princess." he sinks into your touch easily, warmth once again circling your body.  
you don't know if you wished haechan was a liar, or if you wished he wasn't. if he was telling the truth about everything, it would be easier to let go of him, to walk away from someone who could only cause you pain, from someone who played with you over and over again. 
but maybe if he was lying it would all make sense – the way he said he didn't want you and yet kept showing up, the jealousy and the conflict in his voice, all of it would have some sort of plausible reason, one that would mean that maybe he cared for you. 
"i don't want to do this anymore," you mumble, hands placed on his chest. you only push at him lightly, but he backs off all the way to the opposite wall, your words feeling like salt in his wounds. "i can't do this with you, haechan."
"y/n-"
"you have a show soon," you mumble, turning around to look in the mirror. you comb your hair with your fingers, trying to calm yourself down. behind you, haechan's eyes flash with frustration, his jaw clenched and his eyebrows drawn together as he looks up at your reflection. 
"i'm trying to talk to you." 
"are you?" it's a genuine question, and it makes him falter, a response half-formed on his lips. when it's clear he won't finish his thought, you close your eyes. 
"you need to go," you say again, quietly.  
"will you be there?" 
you don’t respond, and he repeats himself, urgently. 
"will you be there? at the show?" 
"i will," you say, hesitantly. 
"i'll see you then." his voice is controlled, and steady. somehow it feels like the calm before the storm. 
but before you can turn around to try to talk to him, persuade him to calm down, ask him what's wrong, he's already left the room, the sound of his heeled boots echoing down the hall. 
"is everything okay?" 
"why are they taking so long?" 
"are they late?" 
unease settles in the pit of your stomach as you stand in the crowd, the voices all around you whispering anxiously. it had been 15 minutes since the show was scheduled to start — but the lights on the stage were dim, and the pre-show playlist had just restarted for the second time. you had situated yourself on the left side of the stage, where jisung usually stood, and you bounced on your toes, hoping that everything was alright backstage so jisung could come out and see that you had kept your promise. 
and then there's a low rumble, as lights finally flood the venue, the crowd sighing with relief as jeno and mark appear – jeno waving at the crowd, his drumsticks in one hand, while mark smiles reassuringly, walking over to the mic and checking that it's at the correct height. he apologizes lightly for the delay, looking to the side of the stage nervously as he murmurs a quick introduction of the band into the mic.
haechan strides onto stage, electric guitar slung around his neck, as the crowd's screams reach an all-time high. he stops abruptly at the left side of the stage, right in front of where you stood, nodding at the crowd and cocking his head from side to side, as if preparing for a fight. he keeps his face level as his eyes find yours, that same burning intensity you felt in the dressing room unwavering as he held your gaze.
and then jisung appears, footsteps faltering where haechan stood, the grip on his bass going slack.
"haechan." jisung's voice is soft, you can barely hear it from where you stand so close to the stage. you can tell that the crowd behind has no clue what's going on, but some fans are looking at each other confusedly, pointing at the two boys, and the position on mark's left where haechan usually stood, now empty. 
"yes?" haechan's not looking at jisung, fingers running phantom chords up and down the fret board. 
"w-why are you standing here?" jisung whispered, embarrassment evident in his tone. "aren't you supposed to be on mark's left?" 
haechan's eyes briefly flick up to yours. "not today." 
distressed, jisung makes a sound. "haechan." guilt fills up your lungs like smoke, making it difficult to breathe, a twist in your chest as jisung looks over at you, lost. 
"run along, jisung," haechan murmurs, softly. "don't want to keep the fans waiting." 
mark, not wanting to draw attention to them, keeps smiling at the crowd, starting to ask them a few questions. jisung only tries a few more times, haechan resolutely ignoring him, before finally accepting defeat, casting his eyes over to you — his gaze wounded and confused, as he walks off with his bass. he assumes haechan's position, and the crowd cheers encouragingly. the boy manages a smile. 
when mark starts to introduce the first song, haechan finally looks up, a faint smile playing on his lips as his eyes lock with yours again. just like the day you met. 
and just like the day you met, you felt yourself fall under his spell, yet again. 
"haechan, i think we —" you gasp out, in between the kisses that haechan is pressing to your lips. 
he gives a non-committal hum, his legs framing your body as he holds you close to his chest. his lips are warm and soft, tasting slightly of cherries, as he opens you up little by little, chaste kisses turning into open-mouthed ones, his tongue darting out and gently licking into your mouth in a way that was intoxicating. 
you grip onto his arm harshly, trying to ground yourself, and he inhales sharply, breaking away. 
"haechan –" you pant. "we should-" 
but then he's kissing you again, smothering your words with his lips and his tongue. his hands rub at your lower back, guiding your movements as you shift against him, his hips grinding upwards almost lazily. 
"jisung, –" you start, but now he gives a groan, rumbling through his chest almost like a roar. slumped back against the car door, he glares at you, touching the corner of his wet mouth with his thumb.
"you did not just fucking say my bandmates name while you're on me." 
"we should apologize to jisung," your words come out in a rush. 
"for?" he catches the look on your face, and rolls his eyes. "fine," he mumbles. "i'll talk to him." leaning up towards you, he starts to pepper kisses down your jaw, sucking a little harder on the mark he had left before. "kiss me?" he mumbles, and you have to stop yourself from caving in. 
"haechan," you press on, as haechan licks boldly at your collarbone. "haechan –"
"keep saying my name," he murmurs, hands roaming up your shirt, teasing over the clasp of your bra. 
"mark, —" 
"fuck." breaking away agian, haechan tips his head back, lips stretched out and puffy as he tongued his cheek. "you want me jealous princess? is that it? because it's fucking working –" 
"haechan, we keep hurting people." you place both hands on his chest, trying to calm him down. 
"what?" 
"today we hurt mark too. although, i don't really know why–" you break off, thinking about how he looked as he tried to follow after you and haechan. how jisung's cheeks burned red as he walked across the stage. "haechan, they're your friends." 
"you wanna hurt jeno too?" he raises his eyebrows, his own hands now mindlessly scraping against yours. "you can lead him on, and then we can fuck while he watches. although he'll probably like that –" 
again, he takes in the way you frown. "fine. sorry. jeez." 
"i don't want to hurt people because of us," you say, softly. 
"well," he exhales. "they're only hurt because they can't have you, princess." he tucks your hair behind your ear from where its come loose. "there's nothing we can do, hm?"
you shake your head. "you're not being fair," you whisper. 
"how so?" his hands slide down. there's something possessive in the drag of his palms, the way he squeezes your waist. 
"you don't call me yours…but you also don't let them near me." your voice is small, but it rings loud in the silence of the car all the same. the streets outside were empty and deserted, and you think you can hear your heart beating in the still air as your palms stay pressed on his firm chest. "haechan…i need you to choose."  
it's a long time before haechan responds. he's tired from the show and all the adrenaline, you can feel it in his slow breathing, in the way his eyes blink slowly up at you like an afterthought. but his eyes are what give it away – his gaze is sharp and calculative as his eyes roam your body, his touches not quite as drowsy as he appears, fingers tingling against skin. 
you wait, your heart in your throat. you wait and you hope. 
his full lips part, his eyes meeting yours. 
"so…this is our last time together?" 
of course that's his choice. the disappointment spreads like cold, an ache deep in your bones. "if that's what you choose." your voice is flimsy. "haechan, —" but nothing leaves your mouth, just a wounded sound. everything rushing up inside you like a waves breaking over the shore, memories flooding your senses. 
the hurt on mark's face. haechan's hands on your skin. the blush that burned at jisung's skin as he watched haechan pull you to his car, his figure growing smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror. haechan's lips against your ear as he held you. 
"shhh," his arms hold you against his chest, smoothing down your spine as he comforts you as if you were a baby, you clinging on tight to him as if he were going to disappear. "it's okay," he murmurs. "we'll just have to make it count, hm?" gently, he guides your face out of his chest, relieved when he realizes that you're not crying yet, at least. kissing your cheek gently, he brushes his thumb against the apples of your cheeks. "are you alright? do you want me to take you home?" 
"s-stop it." you manage to steady your breathing enough to repeat yourself. "stop being gentle with me, haechan. stop leading me on." 
"stop getting hurt," he replies, a little teasing, but his tone aches. 
"kiss me?" 
this time you do, letting him guide your movements, as he pulls you down into his body as if he were trying to pull you all the way through him. 
his kisses are slow and sweet, tilting his head almost shyly, the tip of his nose bumping against yours as he leans up into you. his tongue carefully slides over your bottom lip, before he's nudging your lips apart with his own again, tongue gently moving over yours, pulling away with a small smile when you chase after him, tongue stuck out slightly, chasing the warmth of his mouth. 
"cute," he mumbles, and you pull your shirt up over your head just so he won't see the way your cheeks burn in the dark. 
his movements become a little more urgent as he unclasps your bra, letting it slide to the floor of his car as he surges towards you. his lips begin to suck marks onto your chest, hands now squeezing your soft breasts, mapping your body indulgently. his tongue licks slowly around your right nipple, before giving it a gentle flick with his tongue, your body shifting restlessly against him as it sends a wave of arousal down to your core. he hugs you against him to steady your movements, lapping at your nipples and guiding each roll of your hips down into his. 
your hands find their way into his hair, pulling him away from you. before you can tell him to stop teasing, he's kissed you again — placating. sweet like he knew everything you were about to say, before you even said it. 
you raise your hips as his hands smooth over the pleats of your skirt, before flipping the soft material upwards. you hadn't worn anything special, not having the courage to, but the way he looked at your simple white panties, thumb running carefully over the pink bow in the middle of the waistband, made you feel warm all over. you hurry to pull them off, just to break the moment, but he catches them right before you tug them off your ankle. 
"can i keep these?" his doe-eyes blink up at you. you can see the brown in his irises, almost gold in the light. you nod, and he lets out a laugh, kissing you through his smile as his fingers wander up your thighs. 
he starts with slow circles on your clit, stroking the nub gently, feeling the way your hips shift at the feeling. when he speeds up his motions, fingers teasing along your slit and catching at your entrance a few times, your hips begin to pick up a steady rhythm, rocking into his hand. 
"do you just want to cum like this?" he asks kindly, placing a bit more pressure on the tips of his fingers. he wants to be inside you badly, his erection almost painful from the lack of contact, but he knew that it might do more for him than it did for you.
this was how he wanted you to be taken care of for your first time, for your second time — this is why he didn't want you to slip away from him into rooms with men who wouldn't know what you needed, wouldn't care what you wanted.
or at least — it's what he tells himself to keep him sane. 
"'m close," you mumble, your movements uncoordinated, neediness driving your hips into his hand, pleasure that you didn't quite know how to handle. "feels so empty, haechan, please –" 
he slows down his movements, a hand sliding over your waist to rub at your lower back, eliciting a warm sound from you that radiates into his chest. he slides a finger into your tight entrance, feeling the way you tense around him, slowly slipping the finger in and out, curling against your walls carefully. his thumb comes up to press your clit, and you inhale sharply as the pressure in your abdomen builds. 
"more…" 
"baby, you're doing so well," he praises. freckling careful kisses on your neck to distract you, you feel another finger catch against your entrance, his hand breaking its rhythm to carefully slide in, stretching your hole out even more. with a lewd suck on the base of your neck, he curls both fingers against your walls, a slick finger slipping on your clit, and you feel yourself crash headfirst into your high, thighs clamping around his hand in sensitivity as you moan. he murmurs praises against your ear, kissing your jaw sweetly between each one. 
he removes his hand from your core with a wet sound, and you drop down into his lap, feeling weak at the knees even though you weren't standing. he lets out a groan, feeling your wetness and warmth through his jeans, and he can feel his cock twitch under the fabric. but still, he waits until your breathing evens out, using his cleaner hand to stroke at your sides, humming lightly under his breath, the reassuring sound filling the car. his breaths sync with yours as you come down from your high, and together you let out a shaky exhale. 
"do you mind?" he asks, quietly, hands going to his belt slowly, trying not to startle you. "we don't have to have sex. i just really need to take care of this now…" you nod, flustered, crawling backwards down his legs, and he leans forward to kiss the crown of your hair. against the soft sounds of your breathing, the sound of him unbuckling his belt, letting it drop into the shadows, and the rustle of fabric as he tugged his jeans and underwear down as much as he could, were endlessly arousing. you felt yourself begin to pulse with need again, your thighs squeezing together when he pulls out his cock, thick and heavy against his palm, the tip blushy and leaking. 
he gives himself a tentative stroke, spreading pre-cum over his length before squeezing the base and hissing at the feeling as he tries to stop from cumming too soon. as if in a trance, you reach out towards him, your hand curiously wrapping around his shaft. he groans, low, as you give him a tentative stroke, although the sound is cut off by a high whimper when your fingers rub the head of his cock, silky under your fingertips. 
"baby, you don't have to –" he's cut off by another moan as you squeeze his length, applying more pressure as you stroke. "fuck, jus' like that," he mumbles, weakly, as you twist your wrist a little on a downstroke, palm slippery with pre-cum. after a few more strokes, watching haechan's head loll this way and that, twisting with pleasure, you pay more attention to his tip, thumbing just under it, fingers rubbing his slit. haechan's hips are restless, thrusting into your hand, his body shaking and the muscles on his abdomen clenched tight. you give him a few more strokes, and his whines fill up the car, raspy and sinful in a way that made you crave him even more. 
mimicking his movements, you slide your hand back down to his base and squeeze. he blinks hazily up at you, lips still parted, panting breathlessly. 
"baby…" 
"i need you," your voice feels broken, desire pulsing through each syllable. "please haechan," you add, as he swallows harshly, his cock twitching slightly against the warmth of your hand. 
pulling you towards him, he kisses you again, fingers wandering down to your heat and stroking your folds. "so wet from touching me, baby?" he teases, smiling against your lips as he slips a finger in, and then another, your walls sucking him in easily. he finds your soft spot immediately, your thighs shaking around his hand as you whine. it's a sound embarrassing to your own ears, but it's like music to haechan's ears, as he lets out a low groan. 
"it's too bad it's your last time with me," he murmurs, lightly, as he takes a condom out from the glove compartment, his hands moving swiftly as he tears open the package and rolls it onto his cock. "i would love to record your pretty sounds…" your voice lets out another small whimper, as if proving him right, as he adjusts you on his lap so the head of his cock lines up with your entrance. slowly, you sink down on him, clutching onto his body for support as you feel him fill you up tightly. 
"breathe," he coaxes, letting his own head sink back against the seats, the hazy feeling of you wet and warm around him intensifying as you take all of him inside you. he continues on, trying to distract you by peppering gentle kisses all over your cheeks. "would you like to hear your voice in a song, sweetheart? all the girls in the crowd wondering who's pretty voice is on the track, wondering who's making her feel this good…" he hisses, when he feels you pulse around him. "you want that?" 
your lips part, stuttering out jumbles of half-sentences, yes-es and nos. "'m just teasing, baby," he coos, as he thrusts his hips upwards experimentally, bouncing you on his lap. you lean into his body, feeling muscle firm under your palms as you raise your hips and grind against him, sensitivity making your thighs shake as the movement stimulates your clit. 
responding to your need, his arm loops around your waist while his fingers wander towards your clit, stroking and rubbing it expertly as he continues to thrust up into you, the car jolting with his movements. his strong thighs tense as he moves, barely pulling out before stuffing himself into you again, your walls kneading his length in a way that makes his body feel hot with need, chasing his climax. your soft sounds each time his tip grazes your soft spot are an aphrodisiac, and he feels himself growing impossibly harder inside you, so aroused it almost hurts. 
"haechan, i'm cumming," you moan, and his fingers put more pressure on your clit, as you bounce on him, eager for release. 
"keep saying my name," he breathes, pulling you close, your bodies moving frantic and unsteady against each other, as you cum, mouthing his name against his skin. he empties himself into the condom soon after, hips still jolting as he helps you ride out the aftershocks of your climax, your breaths echoing loud in the car.
you almost wanted to ask for round 2 — and you were sure he would give it to you, if you had asked. instead you stay silent, feeling emptier than ever as he pulls out, your body draining of his warmth as he cleans you with wipes from his glove compartment, kissing you sweetly whenever your eyes met. the water bottle he procured from the passenger seat of the car making you wonder if this was his plan all along, as you sipped quietly, as he put your address in his phone to take you home. 
you can feel him slip away from you on the drive back. 
a sea of red and green lights move across the planes of his face as you watch him drive, one hand on the wheel and the other touching your hand softly on the centre console. you give his fingers a faint squeeze and he smiles, bringing your hand up to his lips and pressing a light kiss to your fingertips. 
when you reach the next intersection, he pulls his hand from yours and puts it back on the steering wheel. 
when he makes his next turn, his shoulders start to tense and the easy, relaxed expression on his face morphs into a stony one. 
and when he finally pulls up in front of your apartment building, turning to face you, the glowing streetlights illuminating the outlines of his face do nothing to soften the blow of seeing him like this again — looking at you with half-lidded eyes, almost lazy in his power. 
"are you coming to the next show?"  
"i want to," you respond, your voice small. "...should i?" 
"it doesn't really matter to me." his fingers tap against the wheel, restlessly. "i just hope you know you shouldn't wait around afterwards." 
you bite your lip. "i know." 
he nods. "so you know this is over?" 
"i know." 
"good girl." it feels like a punch to the stomach, and you inhale, sharply, hands gripping the handle of the car door. waiting for him to dismiss you, as he always did. 
but then he's speaking again, breaking the silence. his voice is softer, a little more hesitant – "do you need me to walk you up?" he's not looking at you, eyes trained on his dashboard. "will you be okay?" 
it's cruel, the way your heart stutters in your chest. you take one last look at him, trying to memorize everything — the sharp line of his jaw, his collarbones, the joints of his fingers, the way his pinky finger crooks slightly to the right. the faint smell of vanilla and something darker, mixed with his warmth. you try to memorize it because you're sure this is the last time you'll be so close to him again, both in proximity, and in the way his voice aches with something close to tenderness. in that moment, you know if you told him you needed him, he would turn off the engine and open your car door, holding you safe against his chest and walking you up to your apartment. but what for? for him to shut off on the way up the elevator, and turn into a stranger at your door? 
"it's fine," you murmur, and you don't wait for a response before stepping out into the warm night. 
your ribs press against the barrier, and you wince slightly. the crowd screams loud in your ear, as the boy in front of you looks up from his guitar at the crowd in front of him, dark gaze sliding over faces, tongue poking at his cheek and puffy lips stretched. 
his eyes briefly meet yours, and your heart skips a beat. 
and then he's looking back down at his guitar again, lips pursed in concentration. 
the next time he glances up, the familiar glint is back, eyebrows drawn together. there was something strange about the way he was looking at you, not exactly meeting your eyes. was he looking at your clothes? your hair? or… 
"oh my god!" 
you shoot a brief glance back, at the girl who's just let out a squeal. she claps her hands over her mouth, eyes shining as she stares adoringly at haechan, unblinking. you don't have to check to know he's staring right back — you know the look on her face a little too well. 
the disappointment and jealousy weighing on your chest is entirely unjustified, but you feel it heavy in your bones, anyway. 
he had meant every word: it was truly over. 
"did anyone see you?" 
"no," you whimper, as he mouths over the seat of your panties, tongue lapping at your folds through the fabric. 
"good girl," he pants, letting out a satisfied groan when he tugs them down your legs, burying his face in between your legs with a lewd moan. 
but if it was truly over, why did he find you after the show last week, – slipping by you to tell you to meet him in the upstairs master bedroom, where he fingered you open in front of the mirror?
if it was truly over, why did a stagehand stop you from leaving after the next show you went to, passing you a note that told you to wait at the back entrance of the venue? 
"fuck fuck fuck-"
and if it was truly over, why was he currently in between your spread legs, his mouth and chin covered with your juices as you lay on his bed?
"need you now, princess." his fingers brush your clit, and your thighs shake with overstimulation. "are you okay? i can wait-" 
"don't wait," you plead, pulling him towards you. he follows, propping himself up on his arms as his face reaches yours, his lips gently nudging your own apart, letting you taste yourself on his tongue when he kisses you. his sticky hands stroke your sides, leaving trails on your skin. "haechan –" 
he interrupts you with another kiss. freckling more kisses down your neck, he smiles against the mark he left days ago, fading slightly now. "i missed this," he murmurs, and your heart stings, a collection of memories surfacing in your mind – of his eyes avoiding yours at shows. of him waiting onstage for someone else. of him smiling at you cordially, face blank as if he were greeting you for the first time when he talked to you in front of other fans. 
"did you really?" 
he doesn't respond, latching his lips to your skin with a hum, hands cupping your breasts in one swift motion, fingers teasing over your nipples and making your body arch into his touch. 
"haechan…"  
"what do you want, princess?" he wanders lower, licking at your cleavage. your mind threatens to blank when he circles a fingertip around your areola, puffy wet lips closing around a nipple and sucking wetly. "hm?" 
"want you to fuck me…" your voice is shaky, but you press on. "like how you were gonna fuck that girl."  
his hands still for just a brief second. you can see your words hit him, understanding and lust flickering in his responding laugh. he focuses his eyes back on your face, hands now coming up to brush your lips, caressing your cheek, smoothing over your skin almost lovingly.
this is how he was going to fuck her? 
"open up," he murmurs, fingers pressed to your bottom lip. as if stuck in a trance, your lips part. 
a wet mess of saliva, still mixed with traces of your arousal, drips down from his tongue into your mouth, connecting your lips with his in a glossy sheen. his lips tug into a smile as he sees your blown-out pupils, arousal completely overriding his every thought. 
his fingers trace your jaw. "swallow," he commands, sweetly, and as always you do exactly as he says. 
you feel something shift against your upper thigh, your hips rising on instinct to buck against his hard length, still trapped behind his ripped jeans. 
his low groan is interrupted by a sharp rattling of the doorknob, followed by a thud against the door. both of you still, eyes focused on the locked door, straining your ears to hear the voices outside. 
"are you sure no one saw you?" haechan asks, quietly. "did jisung see you? mark? jeno?"
"i don't think so," you mumble. 
that was the arrangement you had come up with a little over a week ago, discussed in heated kisses and bliss-induced haze. you could keep seeing haechan, as long as you never saw the rest of the band again. on nights when he knew he wanted you, you would slip through crowds like a ghost to make your way into warm beds and cold bathrooms, saving him from the jealousy, and saving you from the questions. 
of course, there were a few nights where no message would find you, where he wouldn't grab your wrist as you brushed past him in a hallway, his hands distracted with someone else. those nights used to make you cry, your entire being aching for his attention, his indifference just as bruising as his care. 
the doorknob rattles again, and there's a knock on the door. 
"haechan? are you in there?" 
mark's voice. 
"they're back early from the party," haechan mumbled. to your shock, he ignores them and tugs off his shirt roughly, revealing delicate tanned skin dotted with moles, looking soft-to-touch. 
"haechan," mark's voice is exasperated. "i thought we agreed not to bring girls to our apartment." 
haechan rolls his eyes as his hands go to his belt, ridding himself of his pants and underwear. you can see the muscles in his thighs tense as he makes his way up the bed, hands holding your hips.
"you wanted me to fuck you like the other girls?" he murmurs, low so only you can hear. "well. on your knees." 
"but mark is –" you break off, seeing the way his eyes narrow, something dangerous flickering in his pupils. "but…but they're outside," you whisper. as if to prove your point, mark bangs on the door again. 
and then jisung's voice, low and urgent comes through the door. "who is he even with? the girl he left the show with was alone when i saw her."
"god, are they all outside the door?" haechan grumbles, focusing his attention back on you when you let out a small sound of distress. "forget about them," he soothes, leaning in to kiss you on the lips. his mouth moves over yours searingly, possessive and all-consuming in the way he pushes his tongue into your mouth. "on your knees," he commands, quietly, against your mouth. "i won't ask again." 
a thrill runs down your spine as you flip over, his large hands adjusting you so your back arches, head pressed into the pillows as he holds your hips up. he presses a kiss to your back as he reaches off the bed for a condom, rolling it onto his hard length with a soft groan. you look over your shoulder, see him stroking himself, mouth hanging open. 
"hurry," you plead. you can feel slick on your thighs from the way he ate you out earlier, growing wetter from anticipation. "please." 
he ignores you. "can you be quiet for me?" he mumbles. outside, you can hear the boys discussing something heatedly, voices low so you can't make out the words. "don't want anyone else to hear you."
"yes," you promise, meekly. 
"good girl." he lines himself up to your entrance, reaching around to rub your clit as he runs the tip of his cock against your folds. you let out a shaky breath at the feeling, trying hard not to let it catch your vocal cords. 
one hand on your hip and the other stroking your lower back, he pushes in slowly, letting you adjust to his girth. you feel a sting as he stretches your walls, filling you up deeply while burying himself inside you. he murmurs for you to relax, listening to you take shallow breaths, the way your hole flutters around his length making him want to thrust forward, relieve his own ache. 
"haechan, are you asleep?" 
there's a sharp rap on the door, and haechan curses as it makes you tighten around him, gummy walls gripping him like a vice, as if begging for his cum. 
"you liked that, baby?" his voice is low, and mocking. you whimper. "you like the idea of them coming in and seeing you like this? letting me take you like a slut?" 
"haechan, we know you're in there." now it's jeno's rough voice, devoid of its usual warmth. "we saw the shoes at the door. we need to talk." 
haechan pulls out until only his tip is still inside you, and slams back in aggressively, filling you to the brim. he starts to build a rhythm, thrusting deep and slow inside you, letting you feel the drag of him against your walls as he strokes your clit with his fingers. he was taking his time with you — pausing to lean forward and press kisses to your shoulders, mouthing messily over your skin. 
"haechan, please -" you try to keep your voice quiet, but he chooses this time to fuck you a little harder, picking up the pace, and your mouth hangs open as your aborted whimpers turn into drawn out moans.  
"hm?" he prompts, faking nonchalance. but you can feel that the pace is affecting him too, his breathing growing heavier as he speeds up a little more. 
"harder," you mumble, words feeling thick and slow in your mouth. "faster. fuck," 
a bang on the door. the loud sound makes you jolt, and haechan hisses as you clench down on him harshly again, your thighs inching closer together, creating a tighter fit around his thick cock. 
"i wonder why they're not coming in yet." his voice in your ear is low, sultry. the kind he uses on-stage when he's teasing the crowd. 
"i-isn't the door l-locked?" 
"sure…but it's a really old lock. i know mark could open it if he really wanted to. he's done it before when i'm late for rehearsals, ah fuck-" he's slamming himself into you, barely pulling out before pushing in again, wet sounds filling the room. "fuck, you must really like that. how do you just keep getting tighter and tighter, hm?" 
"haech–" 
"maybe i'll ask them to come in…" he muses, his tone sickly sweet. "i just know you'll cum hard on my cock when they open the door, right? let them see how filthy you are?" 
"don't –", you choke. 
"should i tell them not to come in?" 
"no," you gasp, and he laughs, darkly. 
"no, i should tell them to come in?" he asks between breathless pants, pace unrelenting as the lewd sound of skin against skin fills the room. "you want me to talk to them baby?" 
you let out an incoherent mumble, no longer sure of anything. 
he coos at that. "dumb already, princess?" his hand wanders up to your chest, blunt nails haphazardly scraping across your nipples. your hips push back onto him instinctively, fucking yourself onto his length, your hips chasing pleasure from the sensitivity as you cum. 
"haechan, i'm not leaving until you open the door." another thud, as mark sits down. 
"fuck…" haechan's only half listening to mark as he throws his head back, murmuring curses as he feels you clench around him, milking his cock. it takes all the self control he has to place his hands on your waist, stilling your movements as he pulls out of you. he's so hard that it hurts, and he knows his release is close, but he still shifts your body until you're lying on your back, and he can see your tear-streaked face, drool smeared all over your chin. 
you mouth his name soundlessly, fresh waves of tears gathering on your waterline as you see him move away from you, and you try to sit up to keep him in your line of sight. 
"haechan, –" 
"i'm here," he murmurs, one hand immediately finding yours and squeezing, the other grappling for the water bottle on the bedside table. he unscrews the cap with one hand as he moves towards you, helping you prop yourself up against the headboard. "drink." 
he holds the bottle up to your lips, but you shake your head. "want you," you whisper, even though your mouth feels warm and sticky, your throat dry from moaning. you can't focus on anything except for the emptiness inside you, your clit throbbing whenever you shift your thighs together slightly. you're focused on his hard length, the slope of his shoulders down to his slender waist. you shake your head again, knocking the bottle against your lips and spilling a little bit of the water onto the sheets. 
"don't be a brat." his voice is low, a dangerous sort of patience in his tone. "drink, or i won't give you what you want." 
you swallow, his voice washing over you, pulling you under. this time when he raises the bottle to your lips, you hold it with shaky hands, letting water trickle down your throat. his own hand comes up, touching two fingers to your neck gently, making sure you were drinking instead of pretending by feeling for the movement of your throat.  
"done?" he watches you lick your parted lips, dewy with water and saliva, and takes the bottle from you, placing it back on the stand. "do you want to keep going?" 
you nod, slowly. 
"use your words," he commands, quietly. 
"please don't stop," you plead, shuffling towards him. it feels like the fog has cleared slightly in your head, the water making the heat haze dissipate. vaguely, you're sure that mark, jisung, and jeno must know what you were doing – must have heard the headboard thumping against the wall, haechan's low groans and your breathless whimpers. 
you wonder what mark is thinking now, outside, not leaving and yet not breaking in like haechan said he could. it sends a wave of arousal down to your core, some part of you wanting him to see the way you break for haechan, completely and wholly his. your way of rejecting him without having to see his face – your way of explaining why you ignored him whenever he caught your eyes during shows and after-parties. 
haechan reads you easily, observing the way your eyes flicker to the door. he's torn between opening the door himself — letting mark see you on his bed, fucked stupid by him, or stepping outside and telling mark to leave because no one should see or hear you like this but him. 
"do you want me to tell mark to leave?" 
"n-no," you hesitate. "don't."
he raises his eyebrows. "why?" 
"w-want him to know that i'm yours," you mumble, a hand wrapping around his thigh and squeezing. 
haechan's eyes darken. “mine?” he echoes, quietly, almost gently.
you're so focused on the shift in his features – the set of his jaw, the way he tenses, that you barely notice he's sliding off the bed and picking you up effortlessly so that you cling to his upper body, legs gripping his waist. his lip curls into a smile, head tilted mockingly as he starts to walk, strong arms holding you up.
your back hits solid wood, and you gasp. 
"haechan?" mark's voice is crystal clear on the other side of the door. 
haechan adjusts his grip, pushing you against the door as he slides his tip along your dripping cunt, making you squirm in his hold. 
"be good, hm?" he whispers, as he pushes into you, eyes squeezing shut and jaw dropping open at the feeling of your walls sucking him back in, pulsing along his length and making his cock throb. when he opens his eyes again, his gaze is unfocused, hazy, and you can see that this situation is heightening his arousal, causing his thrusts to be sloppy and unfocused as he chases his own high. each time he pushes into you, the weight of his hips snapping against yours pushes against the door, and you hear it jolt a little, the lock jiggling.
mark's shouted expletive rings against your ears, mirrored by haechan's own as he captures your lips in a kiss. the feeling is familiar and new at the same time, his tongue sliding languidly over yours, swiping against your bottom lip. at the sight of your parted mouth and wet lips, he moans again, and without hesitating he spits into your waiting mouth, sloppy and messy, causing it to dribble past your lips and down your chin. 
the rhythm against the door is unmistakable, and you can hear footsteps as mark runs off. haechan laughs, a pleased hum in his chest that vibrates against your own as he leans into you, and he mouths down your neck, biting at your shoulder and letting his low groan scrape against his throat as a growl. you cum when your stiff nipples brush against his chest, the tiny bit of stimulation just enough to throw you over the edge into your orgasm, your thighs clenching around him as you sob, your core aching. 
the feeling of your walls rippling around his length is too much to bear, and he barely lets you ride out your orgasm on him before he's pulling out of you and carrying you back to his bed. haechan tugs off the condom urgently as you lie there, tired and spent, watching as he strokes his length, fast, eyes fluttering open and shut with lust, his hips thrusting forward uncontrollably. his thumb ghosts just under the head of his cock, and then he's cumming all over your stomach and chest, sticky white spurts pooling on your skin. 
you watch him out of half-lidded eyes as his breathing slows, collapsing next to you in a heap. the high from the sex hasn't faded yet – the consequences of being heard by all his bandmates hasn't hit you, as you bask in the temporary glow of being his. 
a finger traces along the cum on your stomach, haechan transfixed by the sight. curious, your hands grab for the small mirror on his bedside table, and he comes out of his daze, handing it to you wordlessly. 
in the moonlight, the marks he's made on your skin blur with the shadows. no part of you looks untouched — your tear-streaked face and kiss-swollen lips, bruises on your hips and the sting of the bite mark on your shoulder. your hands tremble a little as you focus the mirror on where his fingers play with his drying cum on your skin, tracing lines and curves. 
"'m yours," you mumble out. 
"yeah?" he chokes. "mine?" 
dazedly, you point to your neck. "yours." 
he groans, just watching you, eyes roving over your body. "you're beautiful," he whispers. you think he means it.
"more." your voice is quiet. 
"no more, baby," he murmurs, looking up at you with concern. "it's too much for you." 
you shake your head. "these could be from anyone," you point at the marks on your neck. his body tenses, hands stiff on your skin. "i want to be yours." 
slowly, your words settle over him. he looks at you with an unreadable expression, the kind you see right before he strikes his first chord, the moment his eyes find yours in the crowd. a dark sort of determination, in the way his holds your gaze. 
he reaches over, and opens a drawer. you can hear the sound of things knocking around inside as he roots his hand around, finally emerging with an eyeliner pen. through the mirror, you can see his hands splayed out over the space just under your breasts, pulling the skin over your ribcage taut. his tongue pokes out into the lower corner of his mouth as he places the tip of the pen to your skin. 
he loops once. skids the pen downwards. jerks it up harshly, ending off with jagged motions, each brush trailing ink on your skin. 
when he's done he leans backwards, raising his eyebrows, asking you wordlessly if this was finally enough. his signature on your body, next to the bruises and marks and last remnants of his cum on your skin. 
"haechan?" 
he doesn't respond, but a part of you expects it already – you've memorized the way he leaves. 
"why didn't you fuck that girl tonight?" 
he takes his time, taking a long sip from his bottle of wine. from where you lie on the bed, you can just see the broad frame of his back, his side profile as he looks out of the window and at the moon, bright in the sky, the milky glow illuminating his skin. without his makeup, he looked like just a boy – pretty features almost dainty on his face. it's his hands which break the facade, calloused and rough, with veins that make your head spin when you think about them for too long, holding the bottle up to his lips. 
"didn't feel like it." 
you think about his answer, blinking slowly from the sleepiness. "why did you fuck me?" 
he faces forward, away from you. "felt like it."  
"why?" 
"i'm beginning to question that too," he replies, bluntly.
hurt aches in your bones, as silence rings loud in your ears. "if you don't want me here i can just go," you say, softly, and you're sure your voice sounds as wounded as you feel. "you've cleaned me up. i can leave if you want." 
you can see him stiffen, his shoulders tensing up. 
"where's jaemin?" 
of course. sitting up, you wince at the ache between your legs. "he's probably asleep," you answer, bitterly. "but i can just call a cab –"
his back muscles tense, and then he's shifting from where he sits on the edge of the bed. sliding into the space next to you, he rests back against the headboard, legs stretched out over the sheets. a hand wraps around yours. 
"ask me easier questions," he mumbles, turning your palm over so he can lace your fingers together, giving them a reassuring squeeze. 
your breath stutters. 
"what did you talk about? with the band?" 
after cleaning you up and tucking you into bed, haechan had finally stalked out of the bedroom to talk to mark, jisung and jeno. he hadn't said a thing when he returned, holding a bottle of wine, placing it on the bedside table before stepping into the bathroom wordlessly to remove his makeup. 
haechan blinks down slowly at your intertwined hands. "they asked me what was going on." 
"what?" 
"i've been losing focus," he mumbles. "during shows and during rehearsal. and jeno noticed i kept ditching girls at parties, said it wasn't like me to not be fucking around at all." 
a beat. 
you bite your lip. "you're…you're losing focus?" 
but he just shakes his head. "they're wrong." 
you can see that the topic is upsetting him, so you rush to ask another question. "do you write any of the songs that the band play?" 
he raises his eyebrows. "so you care so much about the band now? does that mean you're a fan?" 
he ignores your mumbled excuse, squeezing your hand again to let you know he was teasing. "mark usually writes the songs," he answers. "i don't have much to write about." and then, with a little more force, "ask me questions about me, not the band."
"what does this tattoo mean?" you place the tip of your finger just below his ribcage, where there's a small doodle of a bear paw. 
"people say i look like a bear," he mumbles, a little shy. even in the moonlight, his pouty lips and round cheeks are evident, his shoulders broad as he slumps against the headboard. 
"i see it," you confirm, and a smile flickers on his face. 
"yeah?" he looks over at you, and his free arm loops around your shoulder, squeezing you into his side. his affection buzzes in your veins, as you try to divert his attention with another question. 
"and what does this tattoo mean?" your other hand comes up again, now to trace at the sunflower peeking out from the base of his neck, trailing down to his shoulder. 
he takes a deep breath. "my sister picked it." 
"sister?" 
"baby sister," he adds, softly. "she just turned six. this is her favorite flower." 
"oh." 
"why?" he tilts his head, bumping your own gently. "do i not seem like an older brother?" 
"i think…" you hum, contemplating. "not when you're onstage," you decide.
"do you think i'm different? from when i'm onstage?" 
"i don't know you enough to judge," you say, truthfully. aside from the sex, and from the brief moments right after when it felt like he was truly there, holding you, the haechan you knew was mostly the one flooded with stage lights, the kind of boy you had to beg to earn his attention. 
haechan goes quiet, his hand on yours stilling, and you turn to look at him. tension is filling up the room, slow and thick like a fog, and you can't breathe against the weight of everything — the weight of his gaze, the almost boyish way his eyes flick down to your lips and back up to meet yours. 
"do you want to?" 
you bite your lip. 
maybe two weeks ago your heart would have leapt, maybe you would have begged for the opportunity to have him closer. 
but your body has already had time to learn disappointment, to defend yourself against his callousness and his cold, learning the art of slipping in and out of intimacies. every line crossed, every boundary blurred. 
"do i want to?" you echo, and you see him falter. 
maybe his own words held more weight than he'd anticipated. 
"you don't?" 
or maybe he was just scared to hear your answer. 
"will you let me?" you reflect the question back to him. his fingers twitch against your shoulder where he's still holding you.
there were some nights where it felt as if he was taking his adrenaline out on your body, or where he was making you forget the fear of being caught by overriding your senses with pleasure. there were others when you fell so deep into a headspace, that he would care for you gently, something romantic and tender in the negative space between your bodies. 
and ultimately all of these nights ended the same – the same curl of his lip, his face closed-off, his voice too steady and unfeeling.
"how would you let me know you?" it's only when he flinches when you catch the harshness to your tone, your own words leaving a bitter aftertaste in your mouth. "by barely letting things slip every night?" 
"y/n…" it's not meant as a warning. your name is spoken softly, with an ache in it that makes goosebumps rise up your arms. "i thought you were fine." 
"i am," you insist, feeling defensive. "i'm fine with you pretending you don't know me, or when you disappear on the drive home." 
"y/n, –" 
"just…don't say things if you don't mean them," you finish, mumbling your words to mute the hurt in them. 
there's a long silence. 
and then, his voice, so delicate and fragile, like he was afraid his words would bruise the space between him and you. 
"we're playing at a bar this friday." 
you make a sound of confusion, and he continues on. "it's only for a few fans who won some sort of a lucky draw. they get to talk to us and get autographs." 
"i didn't enter," you cut in, but still he continues on, as if he was trying to get the words out before he lost his nerve.
"i'm inviting you now. and….and afterwards i'll leave with you and we can go to my place." he swallows. "my real apartment. not this one i share with the band." he lets out a shaky breath. "i don't… i don't usually bring girls there, if you can't tell."  
"but…" the wheels in your head are turning slowly, as you try to catch up with what he's saying. "but if i'm there… and it's such a small crowd…the band is going to see that i'm there. 
"they will," he confirms quietly. 
"they're going to know you invited me. because i'm not a fan." 
his lips twitch. "but you like me, no?" 
"i do," you concede, absentmindedly. "but i thought you said…the band…" 
"i don't think i really care about that anymore." his thumb dips low, brushing over the space under your ribs where his name is temporarily tattooed against your skin. "i…" he hesitates, before his thumb swipes against your skin again, and he takes a deep breath. "i told them about you. just now." 
you feel like you're falling – a sense of vertigo making your head spin.
"what did you say?" 
"just that…there was a you," he finished, lamely. "that we see each other more, but it's nothing." his hand squeezes yours, a gentle pulse. "nothing yet, anyway."
"i'll take it," you murmur, holding his hand clasped in both of yours and kissing him lightly on his fingertips. his face crumples, his chest caving in on itself with the weight of the tenderness he feels for you in that moment, and he leans in, tilting his head, eyes fluttering closed. 
he kisses you like it's a promise, close-lipped and earnest. it feels almost like the two of you are finally on even ground. 
— 
"what are you trying to do?" 
you jump, as the light in the small kitchenette flicks on. dirty dishes pile up in the sink, mugs scattered over the countertop, and the boy leaning against the fridge focuses his gaze on you. his voice is gentle, a mellow sort of sweetness undercut by the deepness of his voice. not in the way jisung's was deep, but a bass to it that gave it authority, one that the boy seldom had to use. 
"what do you mean?" 
jeno tilts his head. "y/n, do you know why haechan likes to fuck girls after his shows?" 
the sweetness on your tongue from haechan's kiss decays into bitterness. 
jeno doesn't seem to care. "he gets high off the feeling of the crowd. it's something he doesn't want to let go of, so he finds someone who adores him and makes them prove it." his eyes bore into yours, unblinking. "he doesn't care who he's with, y/n. he just likes the way they sound, screaming his name." 
"but why doesn't-" you choke. it  feels almost like you're betraying him. "why doesn't he date?" 
jeno raises his eyebrows, and you feel pathetic. it’s a long time before he finally answers.
"all the girls are only after the version of him onstage. it's him they like, and haechan's just extending the performance. would you want to date someone who only liked one side of you?"
"but i don't just like that side of haechan," you protest, weakly. even then, you don't know what other sides you're alluding to — was it his gentleness with you? how he always held you after? the one who let his baby sister pick his tattoos?
"y/n?" 
a soft voice sounds out from the corridor leading off into the bedrooms. sleep-ridden syllables mumbling out into the still air, calling your name. 
"where are you? is everything okay?"
jeno's looking at you with someone like pity in his eyes, the way your body turns towards his voice like an instinct. "haechan isn't even his real name, did you know that?" 
he crosses over to you, and places his mug into the sink behind your back. "try not to get too loud," he murmurs. "we're all tired." 
and as haechan pulls you into his warm embrace, palms wandering over your skin, you bite your tongue and keep as quiet as possible.
haechan's head snaps up as he sees the door swing open again and more girls wander into the bar. there are excited squeals and shouts as they spot the band, he can hear mark's warm laugh and see jisung's wave out of his peripheral vision. behind him, jeno's methodically checking on his drum kit, and haechan can feel his eyes on the back of his neck, as if he knew. 
his eyes scan the crowd again, praying he was wrong. but deep down he knows he would recognise your voice anywhere, be able to spot your features even in total darkness. 
and right now, you weren't there at all. 
his body goes on autopilot, muscle memory kicking in as he plays the chords, does his solos, nods along to the music. the crowd is frenetic, watching the way his eyebrows are drawn together, tonguing at his cheek, his lips downturned — the anger tense in his body making them whisper to themselves, wondering why this was part of his performance today. he keeps his expression slack as he signs autographs, nodding curtly towards fans as they bid him goodbye timidly, intimidated by his stormy gaze. 
he doesn't understand why it makes his insides twist, each time he searches the crowd and darts his eyes back to his guitar. maybe he'd just gotten used to seeing you front row at his shows. maybe that was all this was — and you were a bad habit he should have broken. 
it's what he tells himself as he lets his hands brush against the girl's as she holds her poster out to him, smiling a close-lipped smile, eyes dragging up and down his body excitedly. he lets her think it's a part of the performance, as he rails her in the bathroom of the bar, his eyes squeezed shut as she moans his name into the sink, trying to ignore the way her body didn't react at all like yours did, that his hands couldn't find purchase on her skin at all, and her voice made him want to crawl out of his skin. 
you were a bad habit he should break — at least that's what he tells himself to keep him sane.
-> part 2 here!
taglist: @neochan, @ahncosette, @18shy @kittydollzz @jenoslutie @pussymode @yyfka @cheolctrl @jaeminsballs @mysummerhyuck @strawberrytyong @rosiejunnie @nctzen4eva @haechskies @wickedrei @sundamariis @simpforarmihn @liliansun @lanadreamie @nodisdino @angelwonie @foxydumps @manooffline @moonsmias @skzct7 @iscocohere @ficrecnctskz @smwhrinthehaze (sorry there were q a few i couldn't tag!)
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choerrypuffs · 7 months
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what the puck!
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pairing: hockey player!donghyuck x reader
genre: fluff, slight angst, a crackfic turned way too serious lmao
word count: 11.6k
synopsis: you hit the university’s star hockey player with your car. shenanigans (and maybe even a little romance) ensue. 
author’s note: sorry i came back after almost an entire year and dropped this instead of anything people actually asked for teehee 😋 also i know nothing about hockey so none of the sports stuff makes sense pls kindly ignore <3 big shoutout to miss cat and moon for coming up with the only good parts of this fic 
warning(s): brief descriptions of injuries 
playlist: and july (feat. dean and dj friz) by heize ― mixtape 2003 by the academic ― chit chat by beach weather ― 1983 by neon trees ― fearless by taylor swift
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part i. lee taemin once said his ideal meet-cute is a girl running him over with her car <3
First off, to set the record straight—
You are not a bad driver.
There just so happened to be a bad thunderstorm, and your windshield wipers happened to malfunction, and you happened to lightly tap someone with the front of your beat-up Toyota Prius. Honestly, the person probably did more damage to your car that’s one airbag deployment away from spontaneous combustion than the car could ever do to him. 
However, for some reason, the blurry figure that you can barely make out through the onslaught of rainfall doesn’t seem to be getting up off the ground. 
Hurriedly putting your car in park, you clamber out in a panic as water pelts you in the face like one of those super strong hoses set on sprinkler mode. Without even asking if the person is okay, you lift him up by the shoulders and shake him violently. 
“Oh my God, please don’t die! I literally can’t afford to pay for someone’s funeral right now,” you wail. 
You’re met with a pained chuckle, and a hoarse voice replies, “I’m not dead, but thanks for the concern.” 
His words cut through your blubbering like the sun peeking through the dark rain clouds, and the violent storm that nearly killed him five minutes ago suddenly subsides into a pleasant drizzle. Now that you can open your eyes without getting waterboarded, you blearily blink at him, finally able to get a good look at your victim. 
Even though he’s soaked to the bone with rain, the guy in front of you takes your breath away. He has angled features but big, round doe-eyes and heart-shaped lips that brings a softness to his face. His dark hair, presumably having been styled before this whole fiasco, is flat against forehead and falls into his eyes, brushing against his eyelashes. If you hadn’t just almost committed vehicular manslaughter against him, he’d definitely be someone that you would make eye contact with by chance and have delusional fantasies of living in domesticity with him before looking down at your feet and making a beeline in the opposite direction. 
His expression is a bit dazed, a half-smile tugging at his lips, as he makes eye contact with you―almost like he isn’t aware that he’s smiling. You grow a bit concerned, wondering if he’s fallen into a stupor because of the adrenaline. 
However, there’s another thing that’s been bothering you more.
And it’s the fact that he looks so familiar―
Then, it suddenly hits you (no pun intended). 
You know exactly who this guy is because you pass by a banner with his face on it twice a week on your way to your statistics class. 
“Holy shit,” you breathe, “you’re Lee Donghyuck.” 
A star hockey player whose talent hasn’t been seen in generations, the guy that is single handedly carrying the university’s legacy on his back, a permanent fixture in recent sports news cycles, the shoo-in for the upcoming NHL draft, and someone who definitely cannot afford to be injured just as he’s reaching the peak of his career―that Lee Donghyuck.
“Yep, that’s me,” he replies with a fairly cheerful demeanor for someone who was just hit by a car. “And you are?” 
You just stare at him for a beat before you realize that he’s actually talking to you. “Oh, I’m Y/N.” 
Donghyuck goes to say something but stops, clenching his jaw. He reaches down and grasps his right leg, face twisted in pain. Dread sinks into you with the pressure of a dozen semi-trucks. 
Before you can bring yourself to look at how bad the damage is, you pray to every god that you can think of that it’s just a teensy-weensy little scrape and Donghyuck has a low pain tolerance. After all, you may not be particularly religious, but you consider yourself a pretty decent person that hasn’t committed a sin grave enough to incur this kind of punishment.
Unfortunately, the gods don’t seem to agree because when you look down, Lee Donghyuck’s calf is bent at an angle that no human’s calf should ever be bent at, his leg resembling an extremely grotesque and mangled L-shape. 
You may not have to pay for Donghyuck’s funeral, but you might be holding one of your own.
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“Yeah, it’s broken,” the ER doctor says matter-of-factly. 
You put your head in your hands, feeling the urge to curl up in a hole and die as if it were your career on the line. 
“You’ll be out for six to eight weeks. But on the bright side, it was a pretty clean break, so you shouldn’t have any trouble getting back on the ice once you’re healed,” the doctor continues, thumbing through the X-rays on his clipboard. “You were hit in a very methodical way.”
Whipping your head back up and nearly snapping your neck, you gawk at the doctor. “Why are you saying it like I did it on purpose?”
“Hm,” is the only response you get before he turns back to Donghyuck, patting the latter on the shoulder. “Anyways, just know that the whole staff here are huge fans of you, and we’re all rooting for ya. Get well soon, and make us proud.” 
Donghyuck just gives him a strained smile, stiffly trying to sit up on the bed without jostling his leg that’s been propped up in a heavy, thick cast. The doctor fanboys a little more before finally leaving, drawing the privacy curtain closed behind him. 
An extremely awkward silence hangs in the air between the two of you. You wait for him to start crying or screaming or have some sort of emotional outburst. However, he doesn’t react at all, just quietly sitting and fiddling with the heart rate monitor clipped on his finger. 
“So, um, are you…are you okay?” you ask quietly. 
Donghyuck laughs. “I think that’s the first time you’ve asked about my wellbeing since we got here.” 
That’s the second time he’s smiled in front of you. You don’t understand why he hasn’t reached over the railing of the bed and throttled you yet. You can’t even imagine how frustrated and disappointed he must be right now. While the doctor did say he’ll be fine once he’s healed, it’ll take at least a month for him to fully recover. That means he’ll be missing at least 7 or 8 games―games that will undoubtedly have important scouts present.
Hell, Donghyuck even had to pay the ER bill too (luckily, his insurance covered the majority of it). 
“I’m really sorry,” you sigh, finally giving him a well overdue apology. “I wasn’t thinking straight back then. When I panic, my head goes empty, and I just blurt out stupid shit all the time. I know saying sorry isn’t nearly enough, but if there’s anything I can do for you, I will do my best to make it happen.” 
You watch him pause to think. “You know…there actually is.”
You lean forward eagerly, nodding for him to continue. You’re expecting something labor-intensive or gross, like cleaning his house or doing the hockey team’s laundry. 
“Could you drive me to and from my classes and practice?” he simply asks. “My parents live out of state, and my teammates’ schedules are always packed, so I kind of need someone to help me.” 
You blink at him. 
He blinks back. 
“You want me to drive you around?” you ask slowly. “In the same car I hit you with?” 
“Well,” he shrugs, “I’ll be in it this time, not in front of it.” 
You’re not sure if you should be impressed or concerned by his faith in your driving ability. 
“If you’re too busy then―”
“No, no! I can,” you quickly interject, “As long as you’re okay with it.” 
You still find it surreal how calm he is about everything. 
Donghyuck beams. “Perfect. Because I have practice in twenty minutes.” 
“Wait, you want to go to practice now? But shouldn’t you go home and rest?” 
“Eh, I’ll be fine. Even if I can’t play, I want to show up for moral support,” he replies nonchalantly. “Plus, I still haven’t told them that my leg is broken.”
You make a mental note to casually slip out of the room when that conversation takes place.
“Um, okay then,” you start hesitantly, “once you’re discharged, I’ll drive you there.” 
He gives you another grin, and it suddenly hits you that you’ve just committed a whole month of your life to chauffeuring the pride and joy of the hockey world. 
Then again, you’ve already hit him with your car, so surely nothing worse could happen.
Right? 
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When Donghyuck is finally discharged from the ER, you help him hobble along to your car with his crutches and carefully into the passenger seat. You had already haphazardly swept all the empty water bottles, crumpled receipts, and miscellaneous trash under the backseat, so luckily, he doesn’t notice the absolute abysmal state of your vehicle. 
You play some music once you hit the road, and he hums along, tapping his uncasted foot to the beat. You, on the other hand, can barely hear the song. You keep your back ramrod straight and grip on the steering wheel so tight that your knuckles turn white, driving with the focus of a Secret Service agent escorting the President. 
“So, what’s your major?” Donghyuck asks jovially. 
“What?” you jolt. “Oh, um, communications.” 
“Oh cool,” he says, sounding genuinely interested. “What do you want to do when you graduate?” 
“Uh, just a typical 9-5 office job, I guess,” you answer half-heartedly. 
When he doesn’t immediately respond, you hurriedly continue, “I’m not a very ambitious person, as you can see. It probably sounds so mundane to a hotshot like you.” 
“You think I’m a hotshot?” He waggles his eyebrows. 
You give him a confused look. “Your face is literally plastered all over our school.” 
He shrugs like you have a point.
“Well, there’s nothing wrong with mundane,” he continues reassuringly, “Besides, I doubt a communications degree would entail a super flashy job or anything.” 
You shift in your seat, now feeling strangely defensive over a degree that you care nothing about. “Well, I could be, like, a PR manager for a celebrity or something.” 
He raises an eyebrow. “Do you really want to clean up the messes of a bunch of entitled millionaires that would probably treat the gum stuck to their shoe better than you?”
You rack your brain for a clever retort and eventually give up when your silence drags on much too long for a quip, no matter how smart, to have any merit anymore. 
“No,” you finally admit, shaking your head like a toddler who just got caught doing something bad. 
“Aw, don’t look so down,” Donghyuck says, clearly trying to stifle a laugh. “Don’t worry. If I become a professional hockey player, I’ll hire you.” 
Now it’s your turn to raise an eyebrow. “So when you become an entitled millionaire, you want me to clean up your messes while you treat the gum stuck to your shoe better than me?” 
“Ah, but you see,” he trails off dramatically, “the twist is that I’m going to remain my angelic self as always and then you won’t have any messes to clean up. You’ll basically just be paid for sitting around and doing nothing. It’ll be a nice, easy, cushy job. Perfect for someone with no ambition.” 
You laugh, leaning back in your seat. “How generous of you to offer a job to someone who almost killed you a couple of hours ago.”
“Bygones,” he says breezily. “What do you think? I promise I’ll treat you well.” 
Donghyuck puts his elbows on your center console and props up his face in his hands, batting his eyelashes at you. 
“I think the doctor might have given you too much morphine,” you reply, rolling your eyes. 
“Is that why I’m seeing so many shapes and colors?” 
You whip your head towards him in concern. 
“Just kidding.” He winks. 
“Not funny,” you grumble. 
“I think I heard your neck crack.” 
“Shut up.”
“Do you know what tech neck is?” 
“Are you always this annoying towards strangers?” you demand. 
“Oh come on, we’re not strangers anymore,” he insists. “We’ve become trauma bonded.” 
You actually can’t dispute that. 
“And are you always this chipper after sustaining a severe injury that inhibits your burgeoning career?” 
“Only when I have good company,” he replies smoothly. 
While your eyes are focused on the road, you can still see him through your peripheral vision. You know he’s looking at you, feeling his gaze like a beam of sunlight shining directly on your face (also probably why it feels so warm). He has one arm on the center console, covering his mouth with his palm, but you can tell he’s smiling by the way his animation-like eyes crinkle in the corners and how his cheeks are puffed up.
You’re not sure how to respond to a joke like that; rather, you’re not really sure how to respond to Lee Donghyuck at all. 
“Oh, we’re here!” you announce, sounding a little too relieved when you see the skating rink right up ahead. 
Much to your surprise, you do an amazing job at parking, carefully easing into the lines with a doctor’s precision. Performance anxiety really does make a person thrive.
You quickly get out and grab the crutches from the backseat before going over to the passenger side door, where Donghyuck is balancing on one foot as he tries to exit the car on his own. 
“Be careful,” you scold, immediately grabbing his arm and looping it around your shoulder. “Wait for me to come get you. I’m supposed to be helping you.” 
“But I want to look cool in front of you,” he replies sheepishly. “Want you to see my swagger when I walk.” 
Rolling your eyes, you hand him his crutches and hold him steady until he’s able to stand on his own. Even though he insists that he’s fine now, your arms still hover by his side, ready to catch him at any moment if he slips. 
Just as the two of you are about to reach the entrance of the rink, you see another guy walking towards it as well. He’s carrying a hockey stick covered in tape and a giant duffel bag that isn’t zipped fully, overstuffed with what you can only presume to be hockey gear. His red and blue jersey has the number 2 and the name ‘LEE’ printed on the back of it. 
Hearing your shuffling footsteps, he glances over and catches Donghyuck’s eye before doing a double take when he realizes that the latter is in a cast. 
“Dude, what the hell?” he gawks, marching right over to Donghyuck. “What happened to your leg?” 
“Mark, this is Y/N. Y/N, this is Mark,” Donghyuck quickly introduces the two of you, ignoring Mark’s question completely. Mark gives you a confused wave before turning back to Donghyuck and raising his eyebrow. 
“Anyways, Y/N hit me with her car,” Donghyuck explains casually.
You gasp, nearly punching him in the arm but holding back just in time because a) he’s already injured and b) he’s right. You just wish he didn’t say it like that. 
Mark’s expression grows more bewildered when he looks at you. “Why? I mean, I know he’s annoying and a bit of an eyesore, but he’s still a pretty good guy…” 
“Accidentally,” you clarify through grit teeth. “It was an accident.” 
“Oh okay,” Mark nods as if everything suddenly makes sense now. “You know Coach is gonna lose his shit, right? We have a month before playoffs.” 
You let out a small squeak of fear even though Mark isn’t talking to you anymore. 
Donghyuck certainly never mentioned that. Your guilt only grows tenfold; of course, you couldn’t just hit this prodigy player on any random Tuesday. You had to hit him right before the playoff games that determine the championship. 
“Yeah, well,” Donghyuck mumbles, shrugging. “At least you boys will be treated to a nice show.” 
Mark snorts before grabbing the handle to the door and holding it open for the two of you, gesturing for you to walk in first. You feel both of their expectant gazes on you, waiting for you to move, but your feet feel like they’ve been bolted in place. 
“What’s wrong?” Donghyuck asks, shifting all his weight onto one crutch so he can lean forward and look at your face. “Are you feeling sick?” 
“You could say that,” you mutter, “I suppose the crippling fear of being skinned alive by your coach might be the reason why I’m so nauseous and sweaty.” 
“Don’t be afraid,” he reassures you, puffing up his chest. “I’ll protect you!” 
“How are you going to protect me?” you demand. “You’d last three seconds against him with that leg and then we’d both just die.” 
“You could use him as a human shield,” Mark suggests. “Just throw him at the Coach as a distraction and then run away.” 
“No,” you sigh. “He’s too heavy with that cast. I can’t lift him.”  
“Ack,” Donghyuck gargles dramatically, “Did you hear that? That was the sound of a knife entering my back. Et te, Brute?” 
“It’s Et tu, genius,” you correct, rolling your eyes. 
“Yeah, dumbass. Didn’t you read Julius Caesar in high school?” Mark sneers. 
“Sorry that I was cool in high school, ” Donghyuck retorts, “Get out of my way, nerds.” 
You chuckle as he hobbles past you and shoves Mark on the way, heading into the rink at a snail’s pace. After lightly bullying Donghyuck, you feel much more relaxed than before. Even though you’re still terrified of the reactions you’ll be met with later, you decide to finally gird your loins and step foot into this godforsaken place.
Donghyuck and Mark kindly give you an informal tour as you make your way down to the skating rink, pointing out the locker rooms and where the student section is in the seats. It astounds you that you’re only a couple quarters away from graduating and yet you’ve never been here before. You have some friends who are fans or just show up to ogle hot players, and they’ve invited you to games, but you’ve just never really cared about the sport in general.
How ironic, you think to yourself and stifling a slightly hysterical giggle. 
The rest of the team are doing warm-up exercises on the ice, and you notice the burly-looking coach watching over them with a hawk eye and a whistle in his mouth, arms crossed. His face is turned downwards in an extremely scary scowl. 
Your palms start to grow sweaty and your footsteps become heavier again, and Donghyuck seems to notice instantly, turning around and giving you a wink. 
“I got this,” he says coolly. 
You watch Donghyuck confidently swagger (as best as he can) towards the coach, who looks at him like he just saw a ghost, all the blood draining from his face. The coach’s mouth hangs wide open, the whistle slipping out of his mouth and hitting his chest. 
The sounds of the blades of the skates skidding across the ice come to a sudden halt as everyone in the room stares at the cast on Donghyuck’s leg and slowly starts to register what that means. 
“Heeey, Coach!” Donghyuck walks up to him and does jazz hands like an idiot. “What’s kickin’? Haha, not me!” 
And you realize that Donghyuck does not, in fact, got this. 
You might as well just grab a shovel and start digging your own grave. 
“Lee Donghyuck, stop dicking around and get your ass on that ice now. I don’t have time to deal with another one of your pranks. Not when playoffs—”
Donghyuck, the little arsonist who likes to dump fuel on the fire he is, takes out the X-rays of his broken bone from his pocket and proudly presents it to the coach. 
“What the hell did you do?” The coach asks after staring at the X-rays like they had complex quantum physics equations written on them. 
“I got hit by a car?” Donghyuck answers sheepishly, holding his arms out as if he were announcing something grand. 
You watch as the gears start falling into place in the coach’s head.The blood that had drained from his face earlier suddenly comes rushing back, and you’re surprised steam doesn’t come out of his ears.
“Did I or did I not tell you to not act like a little shit before playoffs? I asked you to behave for just once in your life and then you go and get yourself hit by a car!” The coach hollers, fuming. “What, did you finally piss someone off enough? Who hit you? I want to meet them and ask why they didn’t just kill you right off the bat. You’re of better use to me dead because then at least I would be sad for you. What the hell am I supposed to do with you now? Limping around like a three-legged dog.”  
“Aw, Coach, you’d be sad if I died?” Donghyuck sniffles. Judging by his reaction, you can tell this isn’t the first time he’s been chewed out by the coach before. Despite the coach's harsh words and tone, it’s clear that he has a strong familial bond to his players. 
“Get out.” 
“I get that you’re mad, but it’s kind of rude to compare my gait to a three-legged dog’s, as adorable as they may be. Admittedly, my swagger is kind of off, but I’d prefer you call it something with a little more pizazz. Like ‘fracture swagger’ or—”
“Get out!” The coach hurls his whistle at Donghyuck’s head.
Even with his injury, his athlete instincts kick in and he dodges it with ease. 
On the other hand, you—who had sneakily slipped behind Donghyuck without him noticing in an attempt to hide yourself—not so much.
Luckily, the metal whistle doesn’t hit your face, but the lanyard it’s attached to slaps you across your cheek like a whip. You let out a yelp, but it’s not really out of pain. It’s more out of surprise and terror of being on the receiving end of the coach’s wrath.
“Are you okay?” Donghyuck asks immediately, looking way more concerned than he should be. “Did it hit you in the eye?” 
“Nope. I’m totally good,” you answer a little too quickly, nodding like a bobblehead.
He hesitantly reaches over but drops his hand right as his fingers brush your jaw. Turning away stiffly, his concerned expression quickly morphs into a glower. 
“Coach,” he says, all humor draining from his tone. “Apologize.” 
Donghyuck lowers his voice, but the weight of his words loom in the air like a rumbling storm cloud—the ones you see on weather satellites that eventually amasses into a hurricane. 
“I’m…sorry,” the coach stammers, clearly taken aback. 
You feel like all of the air is being sucked out of the room, so you just give him an awkward thumbs-up. 
Another beat of silence passes by before the coach snaps out of his surprise and yanks Donghyuck by the ear. “You have a lot of nerve talking to me with that attitude, little brat. Especially after the stunt you pulled today. Who the hell is she anyways?”
“Owie,” Donghyuck whines, pawing at the coach’s wrist before finally being released. “Oh, that’s Y/N.” 
As if it were just a blip in time, that unimaginable pressure dissipates in an instant. He goes back to his mischievous self so smoothly that you wonder if you had just imagined everything before. 
“Hello,” you greet, trying your best to smile naturally even though it probably looks like you’re just opening your mouth and showing your teeth. 
“She’s the one who hit me with her car—”
In that moment, the gods suddenly decided to grant you the same athlete instincts that Donghyuck is graced with because you lunge forward in a blur, slapping a hand over his mouth. The clap reverberates throughout the whole rink, but you just smile sweetly. 
“Accidentally. It was an accident. I’ll be driving him around until his leg heals.” 
It takes another second for the coach to register what you mean, and you brace for the worst, expecting another object to go hurtling towards you—this time with intent. 
Instead, the coach glances at Donghyuck before looking back at you, a knowing smirk on his face. 
“Welcome to the team, I guess.” 
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Despite your initial qualms, you adjust to your new norm pretty quickly. 
In fact, it’s kind of surreal how suddenly you were thrust into Donghyuck’s world and how perfectly the pieces of your life and his mesh.
He’s a morning person, so he’s always ready and lively when you pick him up at 7AM, even if you’re running late. But no matter how late you are, the two of you always get coffee first. It’s become a routine that actually makes you look forward to waking up at the ass crack of dawn. 
Your classes also end an hour earlier than his, so you have time to grab food for the two of you before screaming Taylor Swift song lyrics together at the top of your lungs in your car on your drive to practice. You watch all of the practice and official games with him, and he tries his best to explain what’s happening, though the terminology mostly flies over your head. You’re on first-name basis with all of his teammates and even managed to ingratiate yourself with the coach by offering to help him fill up water bottles. Everyone treats you as if you were part of the team; though they were already a completed puzzle, they softened their edges to make room for your mismatched piece. 
It’s unnerving how attached you grow to them—to Donghyuck—since it will all go away in a month. You feel like you’re a part of something here; Donghyuck makes you feel special, as if he’s made a place just for you in his life.
You suppose time truly flies when you’re having fun because, before you know it, three weeks have already passed by.
The team’s last official game before playoffs is finally here. 
When you pick Donghyuck up to take him to the game, you can tell he’s a bit off today. He still puts on a brave face and tries to goof off like he normally does, but you know he’s nervous by the way he’s nervously tapping his uncasted foot to the music. In fact, you’ve been sensing his growing anxiety at the past games for a while now. The team has been holding their own relatively well without him, but their momentum has definitely started to slow as they get closer to playoffs. 
You can’t really blame him for getting antsy; he may have been eerily calm and in good humor when he first got injured, but you’ve realized that his playful nature is often used to deflect from his actual feelings. You used to think he did it to push other people away, but it’s really so he doesn’t crumble under the weight of the immense pressure he puts on himself.
You won’t mention it, of course, since you’re probably not supposed to know that. 
Instead, you turn the music up as loud as it’ll go and grab his hand, yelling at the top of your lungs, “You take my hand and drag me head first, fearless!” 
Donghyuck tries to sing with you, but his voice catches in his throat and cracks. 
Oh, that’s another thing about him—he can dish it but he can’t take it. He’ll flirt with you like there’s no tomorrow, as if he were a corny protagonist from a dollar store romance novel, but the moment you get too close to him or brush his arm as you walk past him, he suddenly becomes petrified like he looked into Medusa’s eyes. He reacts like he couldn’t even fathom you reciprocating his flirting, and you’re not sure if it’s because he thinks you’re that much of a loser. Either way, it also makes you flustered in turn when he acts like that, so the two of you just end up awkwardly standing there like two embarrassed fools.
But this is different. This isn’t just simple flirting; this is…something else. 
So you squeeze his hand tightly and sing even louder, hoping it’s enough to drown out his worries even if for a little bit.
.
.
.
There’s only a minute left in the third period of the game, and the score is tied 3–3, but you can’t even focus on the game. 
You’ve never seen this kind of expression on Donghyuck’s face before.
Despite the fact that he’s sitting right next to you, you can tell by the glisten in his eyes that he’s feeling all of the emotions that his teammates on the ice are. Hockey usually brings out a boyish energy in him, as if he were a child full of wonder. Yet here, he looks down at the rink with a wistfulness, a sense of longing. A homesickness. 
So when the opposing team scores a last-minute goal, followed by the blaring buzzer that signals the game is over, you know that Donghyuck is blaming himself for the end of his team’s winning streak—when he should be blaming you for hitting him with your goddamn car. 
He was born to be on the ice, to be a champion. He doesn’t belong here in the stands, to be a spectator on the sidelines. 
That role has always been meant for you. 
You don’t realize you’re crying out of frustration until the tears hit the back of your hand, the warmth a stark contrast to the chilly temperature of the rink. Donghyuck turns to you to say something and jolts in alarm when he sees your state. 
“Wha…What’s wrong?” He leans in closer when you try to turn away, grasping your forearm gently. “Are you not feeling well? Do you feel sick? Is it too cold? Do you want my jacket?” 
You shake your head, trying to choke down the ugly sob in your chest. 
“Is it because we lost?” He asks hesitantly. “Don’t cry, Y/N. I’m gonna recover in a jiffy, and we’ll breeze through the playoffs—”
You shove him weakly before the wail you’ve been holding back rips through your throat like projectile vomit. Fat tears fall freely from your cheeks, and you’re pretty sure snot is dripping from your nose. “You’re an idiot!” 
Donghyuck stares at you in bewilderment before slowly saying, “Well, I can’t really dispute that, but may I ask why?” 
“Stop being nice,” you blubber, “Just get upset because I know you are. It’s my fault that everyone lost. You should just cuss me out or something. Or punch me in the nose. How about you hit me with your car to make things even, huh?” 
You’re far too gone to know what you’re saying anymore, just blurting out your stream of consciousness. 
“You want me to hit you with my car because we lost one game?” Donghyuck laughs. He gazes at you with a mix of disbelief and awe—the same way he looked at you when you first met him. You wonder if his eyes warmed with adoration like this the first time too.
“—and you’re supposed to be the protagonist while I’m just a side character. Me hitting you with my car derailed the canon event of your undefeated season. I ruined your life—” 
“Okay, okay,” he finally interrupts your nonsensical rambling, brushing the tears from your face with his thumbs before dabbing away the snot from your nose with the sleeve of his jacket. “I don’t understand a word you’re saying, so no more of that.” 
But you’re inconsolable, holding your head in your hands. “It’s all my fault. I’m the reason you lost. The team lost because you weren’t there.” 
“You know, going by that logic, that means you’re also the reason why they won the last couple of games without me,” he points out. “So, I guess that means I should also cry and thank you.”
“What? That makes no sense—” 
“Thank you, Y/N,” Donghyuck says softly, his thumb lingering on your cheekbone, running along it with a feather touch. “For crying for me. For comforting me.” 
“You’re so full of shit,” you sniffle, swatting his hand away in annoyance. “You’re the one comforting me right now. I haven’t done anything to comfort you. ” 
“You’d be surprised,” he whispers underneath his breath, but his words are lost among the bustle of the packed rink. 
Not that you would’ve heard him anyways.
Now that you think about it, there really hasn’t been a single thing you’ve done for him other than driving him around, but that doesn’t count. You want to do something for him—something that would make him look the way he does when he’s excitedly telling you about a good hockey play that you didn’t understand but nod along anyways to. 
And you have just the idea. 
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part ii. hey girl are you the american healthcare system? because i’ll be indebted to you for the rest of my life <3
You drum your fingers in against your steering wheel in anticipation as you wait for Donghyuck’s last class of the day to end. When you see him walking out of the building and to your car, you try to act cool, but it’s hard when you’re literally bouncing in your seat. 
Naturally, Donghyuck notices.
“You’re in a good mood today,” he teases as he buckles himself in. “Did you do well on that statistics quiz from last week or something?” 
You’re surprised he even remembers that; you had only mentioned it in passing. 
“No way. I definitely failed that,” you dismiss, waving your hand to shoo off the negative energy if that cursed quiz. “I have a gift for you.” 
“For lil’ ol’ me?” He gasps loudly, covering his mouth and fanning his face.
Ignoring his theatrics, you whip out your phone from your back pocket and present it to him proudly. “Ta-da!” 
“Wow,” he claps politely. “You finally got your screen replaced. I was worried you would slice your thumb with how cracked—”
“Shut up,” you cut him off, “You just ruined my dramatic reveal.” 
Unlocking your phone, you go to your photo album and show him the video you took a couple days ago. “Look! I asked your coach which team you guys would be up against first in the playoffs and did some old-fashioned espionage by sneaking into one of their games and filming everything. Your leg is healing pretty fast, so I figured you’d want to study their playstyles before you got back on the ice.” 
Much to your satisfaction, Donghyuck seems genuinely surprised. He gingerly takes the phone from your hand and presses play on the video, and you see that spark in his eyes that you so desperately missed. 
Eagerly leaning on the center console, you point out of the players and say, “You see Number 30? I’m pretty sure that guy is the you of his team. He scored three goals in one game—oh wait, you told me that’s called a ‘hat trick.’ Anyways, he did a hat trick, and the last goal actually won them the game. So we have to make sure to tell the team to watch out for that guy. Oh my God, and halfway through the game, Number 21 and Number 4 started fighting! Dropped their gloves on the ice and started punching each other while the referees just watched. I know you said fighting is allowed in hockey, but it was still wild to see in 4K like that. Hold on, let me fast forward to show you—” 
When you glance over at him, Donghyuck’s face is about four inches away from yours, and he isn’t paying attention to the video at all. You’ve never seen this kind of expression on Donghyuck’s face before. If hockey brings out a boyish joy in him, then you wonder what this is. 
He gazes at you with a mellow softness, as if you were a moment of peace from the glaring stage lights, screaming crowds, and thunderous applause. Like you were a cloud of warmth enveloping him after braving through the unforgiving cold of the ice. He looks at you with a sense of longing—but it’s different from the way he looked at the game. That was wistfulness, a homesickness. A responsibility that he bears. 
This is reverie, a daydream. A moment of escape. 
Suddenly, your arms, which had been holding most of your weight on the console, give out. Your shoulder smacks into his, jostling the two of you out of whatever trance you had been under. Recoiling at supersonic speed, your face burns as your sputter, “J-Jesus, you scared me! Why aren’t you watching the video and just staring at me like the blue-eyed Miley Cyrus meme?” 
Donghyuck drags a hand down his face, and you see his ears turn a bright red. “S-Sorry. I didn’t even notice I was doing it—Hey! That’s rude. I’ll have you know that I’m often told that I have innocent Bambi doe-eyes.” 
You know he’s trying to give you an out by cracking a joke, and you’re grateful. Any more of that and your heart would’ve jumped out of your mouth. 
“Whatever. Just watch the video. I worked really hard to get it, you know. I even wore one of those oversized hoodies and giant sunglasses with a scarf to hide my face so I couldn’t be incriminated.” 
He raises an eyebrow. “You wore sunglasses inside? What are you, a Republican?” 
“Do you want the video or not?” you snap.
“Hey, you can’t give me a gift and then threaten to take it back,” he retorts before quietly continuing, “Thank you, Y/N.” 
You try to ignore the way your heart swells at his sincerity. 
“You’re welcome,” you mumble.
On the drive to the skating rink, neither of you notice that there isn’t any music playing—too distracted by the butterflies in your stomachs. 
.
.
.
When you pull into the parking lot, you spot Mark getting out of his car. Desperate to escape this suffocating enclosed space with Donghyuck, you nearly tumble out of the door after him.
“Oh, look, there’s Mark,” you say hurriedly, “I’ll show him the video too.” 
“Wait, Y/N—” Donghyuck calls, trying his best to hobble after you. 
Mark spots you in his peripheral and stops, waiting for the two of you to catch up. 
“Why are you running?” Mark asks when you jog up to him. “If you’re trying to get away from Donghyuck, all you need to do is power walk. Or you could hit him with a car again and break this other leg.” 
“Very funny, dickwad,” you shoot back, rolling your eyes. “And to think I did you a favor.” 
“You did?” He looks confused, but you’ve realized that he always perpetually looks confused. 
You go to show him your phone, but Donghyuck finally catches up and squeezes in between the two of you. “Wait, I need to talk to Mark—” 
“Hold on a sec, dude. Let me see this first. I’m curious now,” Mark huffs. 
“I asked Coach which team you guys would be up against first in the playoffs and snuck into their game to film it, so you could watch it and learn their tricks,” you announce proudly. 
“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that,” Mark replies breezily, “We already have recordings of a bunch of their games.” 
You slowly lower your phone, nearly letting it slip out of your hand. 
“What?” 
“Donghyuck didn’t tell you? We always review our opponents’ games before playoffs,” Mark explains, glancing between you and Donghyuck and realizing a beat too late that he said something he wasn’t supposed to. “Oh, I guess he didn’t, huh…”
“You have literal shit for brains, Mark Lee,” Donghyuck says through grit teeth. “How many years have we played together and you still can’t take a hint?” 
“Sorry! I thought Y/N knew—”
“Just go,” Donghyuck sighs, shaking his head. 
Mark runs away so fast that he almost leaves a puff of smoke in his wake like a Looney Tunes cartoon. Once he’s gone, Donghyuck cards a hand through his hair and turns to you with an apologetic look on his face. 
“Y/N—” 
“You could’ve told me,” you say quietly. “Instead of making me look like an idiot.” 
“You’re not an idiot,” he responds almost immediately. “You just looked so happy, and it made me happier, so I kept quiet. Besides, the video does help.” 
You laugh bitterly. “In what way? Was it funny watching me get all excited like a fool, thinking I had actually done something for you?” 
“Why are you being so harsh on yourself?” Donghyuck asks, putting a hand on your shoulder. “I mean it. The video really does help.” 
“I’m not being harsh on myself. I’m telling the truth. All I’ve done is just screw up your life, and when I try to help even a little bit, it just hinders you more,” you say in frustration. 
You’re not sure how the atmosphere grew so somber, but you suppose that's the energy you’ve always brought to  him. You’re just a dark rain cloud to his sunny skies. 
“Come on,” Donghyuck says, grabbing your hand and tugging you towards your car. “Let’s go to the mall.” 
“What? Why? What about practice?” you ask, completely caught off-guard by his seemingly out-of-nowhere suggestion. 
“Coach won’t even notice that we’re not there, and if he does, he’ll get over it,” Donghyuck replies. “Now come on.” 
“But I don’t want to go to the mall,” you say petulantly, pouting like a child and wanting to wallow in your own misery. 
“We’re going.”
“You know you can’t go anywhere without me driving you, right?” 
“Then you better hurry up and get in your car unless you want to unleash this traffic hazard onto the streets,” Donghyuck says, pointing to his leg. 
The two of you have a staredown before you finally relent, begrudgingly getting into the driver’s seat and slamming the door. He beams at your silent agreement to go, and you’re suddenly not as upset as you were earlier, though you still maintain a pissy expression because you’re dramatic.
Luckily, the mall is about a fifteen minute drive from the university, so you get there rather quickly. You wait for Donghyuck to explain why he randomly insisted on this impromptu trip, but he keeps mum about it, simply leading you to the lowest floor of the mall—where the skating rink is. Other than the handful of staff who are all either on their phones or hiding in the break room, the two of you are the only ones here since it’s the afternoon during a weekday. 
“So we left that skating rink to go to another skating rink?” you ask wryly. 
“Yup. Wait here,” Donghyuck says, leaving you in the changing area while he goes to the front desk. You awkwardly sit at a bench and twiddle your thumbs until he comes back with a pair of skates in hand.
“What are you doing? I know the doctor said you can walk on your leg now, but he definitely did not say you could skate,” you scold. 
“Good thing I won’t be skating,” he answers nonchalantly, handing you the pair of skates. “I didn’t know your exact shoe size, but these should fit.” 
“No way,” you shake your head. “Nuh-uh. I haven’t skated since I was, like, seven.” 
“Well, you’re about to receive a lesson from a damn good teacher,” he says, nudging your foot. “Hurry up and put them on.” 
“How are you going to teach me with that giant walking boot? Are you just going to get on the ice without any skates?” you demand. 
“As a matter of fact, I am,” he counters, “It’s not like the staff are going to call me out.” 
“I don’t understand why you’re doing this,” you sigh. Nevertheless, you slip your shoes off and put the skates on. “And I still don’t think you should be on a slippery surface even if you’re not skating.”
“And I don’t understand why you’re getting a communications degree with you when you have a PhD in nagging,” Donghyuck teases. 
“You’re a douche,” you say, giving the laces on your skates one final tug before standing to your feet, albeit wobbly as you try to remember how to keep your balance on the blades. “Let’s get this over with.” 
Donghyuck offers to hold your hand as you make your way to the entrance of the rink, but you quickly swat him away in fear of dragging him down with you if you fall and injuring him further. 
Your legs tremble like a newborn fawn when you finally step foot onto the ice, clinging onto the side railing with a vice grip. Donghyuck, despite his five-pound walking boot, comfortably walks onto the ice and maneuvers around as if he were uninjured. 
“Is this some sort of sick humiliation ritual? Is this how you’re going to get your revenge on me, by having me bust my ass on this ice?” you ask, voice wavering like just the rest of your body. 
“And you say I’m a drama queen,” he mutters. “Why do you always think of such dark scenarios? You were like this when we first met too. You just assumed I was dead first before asking if I was okay.” 
“I like to assume the worst,” you reply matter-of-factly, “Lowers my expectations. Makes my life a lot easier.”��
“Yeah, I’m sure it does,” he says sarcastically before gently grasping your wrists and carefully dragging you away from the railing. “Now stop hiding in the corner like a small injured animal. There’s only room for one injured animal, and that’s me.” 
“No, no, no. I’m going to fall,” your voice slowly escalates into shriek as your nails dig into his forearms. The ice is too slippery, too slick, and you feel your knees start to buckle as you lose your balance. 
But you don’t fall. Instead, Donghyuck wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you against him, keeping you upright even with your jelly legs. You feel the taut cord of muscle in his arm flex as he holds you, and he sucks in a sharp breath when your chest presses to his. Your breath comes out in labored white puffs from the temperature, and you curl your fists into his shirt, clinging onto him for dear life because you know you’ll crumple to the ground if he loosens his grip even a little bit. 
Even though your mind is whirring with a million thoughts and you feel like you’re about to have a heart attack, your body reacts naturally to him, curving to fit with his just right. The warmth of his calloused fingers splayed across the small of your back anchors you, and you feel so secure in his arms; he cradles you against him as if you were made of glass. 
“I got you,” he reassures you, his breath rustling your baby hairs. “Okay?” 
You give a small nod, and he takes a small step back. And another. And another. 
Slowly but surely, he manages to pull you to the center of the ice, where the logo of the mall is printed. 
“Do you remember what position I play, Y/N?” Donghyuck asks, leaning back so that he can look at your face. 
Now that you’ve regained some strength in your legs and have grown a bit more comfortable on the ice, you start to relax your grip on his poor shirt. You even manage to tear your eyes away from your feet to meet his gaze.
“Center,” you answer. A fitting title, indeed. 
“So you’re not just a black hole of hockey information, after all,” he sniffs. “I’m so proud.” 
“Get to your point quickly,” you warn. 
“So impatient,” he tuts before breaking out into a smug beam, “You’re standing right where I usually am at games.” 
“You dragged me all the way out here to flex?” you gawk in disbelief. 
“Of course not!” He raises an eyebrow.. “But are you impressed?” 
“Take me back, you ass.” 
“Kidding,” he quickly says, stifling a laugh, but you still feel it rumble in his chest. 
“Why are we here, Donghyuck?” you ask again, exhausted. 
He pauses, and everything goes perfectly still. 
“You know, this is the first time I’ve stood here in a month,” he muses, almost unaware that he’s  speaking aloud. “This is the first time I’ve been on ice in a month.” 
“Well, you were injured—” 
He shakes his head. “Hockey players play with worse injuries than this constantly. If I had really wanted to get back on the ice, I would’ve done it.” 
You don’t say anything. 
Donghyuck looks around the empty skating rink. “It’s big, isn’t it?” 
You follow his line of sight and scan the vast expanse of the ice. From a distance, it doesn’t seem so big, but the ice feels like it stretches on for miles when you’re standing in the middle. 
“Yeah, it is.” 
“I thought so for a while too. Trying to get to the goal felt like climbing Mount Everest. I loved that feeling of the cold air freezing my lungs, the air getting thinner as I got closer,” he describes before trailing off. “But one day, the rink felt like it was shrinking, closing in on me. I was being chased instead of the other way around. Centers cover more ice surface than any other player, but I was being held down. Anywhere I skated wasn’t far enough. But that didn’t matter. I had a championship to win. A team that I couldn’t let down. Scouts that I had to impress. A talent that I worked my entire life for. A career that people would kill for. It didn’t matter that I felt like I was suffocating every time I put on my uniform.” 
Your first reaction is to say something, anything to comfort him, but his expression tells you that the best thing you can do right now is hold your tongue and just listen. 
“And as comical as it sounds, being hit by your car couldn’t have come at a better time for me. For the first time in my life, I was relieved that I didn’t have to play. Even though my career could’ve been over, I didn’t feel a thing. I just wanted to quit everything, but the thought of throwing my whole life away terrified me too. I thought maybe if I attended the practices and the games that it would make me want to get back on the ice, but it didn’t. It wasn’t the game that made me want to play again. When you cried for me after we lost—”
Donghyuck draws in a shaky breath. 
“I had forgotten what it felt like—to have someone cry so wholeheartedly for you. To be yelled at for pretending to be okay. To be seen. Being with you has made me realize that maybe my world isn’t so small after all—that it isn't collapsing in on itself like I thought. You make me feel free again.” 
He lifts his hand and brushes a stray lock of hair from your face. You watch as his eyes drag across your features, going from your eyelashes to the slope of your nose before lingering on your lips. 
“I wasn’t lying when I said your video helped,” he reiterates, “When you showed me your phone with that spark in your eye, it made me want to play hockey again. I want to see it the way you do. I want you to see me.” 
Your breath hitches in your throat when he leans in, resting his forehead against yours. The hand on your back brings you closer while his other hand reaches down and grabs your own. 
“I’m really glad you hit me with your car, Y/N,” he whispers, a bright laugh escaping his lips. 
That sentence cuts through war raging in your head, and you let out an involuntary snort, giving him a half-hearted shove. “Stop making it seem like I did it on purpose.” 
“That’s all you have to say after I just poured my heart out to you?” he asks, raising his eyebrow in amusement.
“No! I just…I’m thinking,” you mumble, head swimming with the scent of his fabric softener. The way he talked about you, the way he’s looking at you—doesn’t that mean he likes you? But that makes no sense. The two of you are…well, you’re not sure what you are. 
“About?” he hums, lacing his fingers through yours and playing with your hand. 
“I—I don’t know. You’re being very distracting,” you sputter. Has he always this suave? You distinctly remember how he would turn bright red whenever your hand would just accidentally brush against his, and now he’s grown so emboldened seemingly overnight. 
“I am?” He blinks innocently. 
And you know you’ve got it bad when you even find that somewhat adorable. 
“Okay, back up, buster,” you order, pushing yourself off him. “I need five feet between us, so I can properly think.” 
“Wait, Y/N—”
In your frazzled state, you forget that you’re wearing ice skates that you are very much incapable of standing upright in without Donghyuck’s help. You feel yourself beginning to tip backwards and shoot your arms out behind you to break your fall. 
Crack. 
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“Yeah, it’s broken,” the same ER doctor from your last visit announces, flipping through yet another set of X-rays. “Not as clean of a break this time. Probably going to take at least twelve weeks to heal.” 
If you could put your head in your hands, you would, but your right arm is currently in a thick cast and hanging from a sling. Not to mention it hurts like a bitch. 
“I’m sorry, Y/N,” Donghyuck winces, “It’s my fault. I should’ve caught you.” 
“No, it’s fine. This is divine retribution, I’m sure,” you sigh. 
“If I may ask, what exactly do you two get up to in your spare time?” The ER doctor looks from Donghyuck to you and then back to Donghyuck. 
“I actually decided to pivot to a career in amateur wrestling, and Y/N agreed to be my practice partner, and sometimes we get…experimental,” Donghyuck responds without blinking an eye. 
“No,” you snap. 
The ER doctor gives the two of you one last side eye before leaving, drawing the privacy curtain behind him. 
“Why do you always insist on embarrassing me in public?” you ask, shaking your head.
“I simply have a natural calling for it. Like Michaelangelo and sculpting,” he insists.
“I hate you.”
“Well, that’s a shame because I really, really like you,” he smiles. 
And you think he really, really means it too. 
You look away, still unsure of how to answer him. You know it doesn’t go unnoticed by Donghyuck, but he changes the subject anyways. 
“I guess it’s my turn to drive you around now,” he says in a sing-song voice. 
“How the hell are you going to do that with the boot?” you ask, giving him a dubious look. 
“I’m getting it off in two weeks,” he points out. 
“So you want me to miss two weeks of school?” 
“No,” he sniffs, “I’ll get Mark to drive us.” 
“Mark’s car is filthy!”
“Are you really one to talk?”
You shut your mouth after that.
.
.
.
The two weeks whizz by, and Donghyuck finally gets his walking boot removed in exchange for a much more discreet brace. The doctor even gave him the OK to play but only for short increments at a time and no more than ten minutes. 
With Donghyuck so focused on his recovery in addition to the fact that the two of you have been carpooling with Mark, you and Donghyuck haven’t really had a chance to properly talk alone since the mall—not to mention the fact that you’ve been avoiding him like crazy. It’s also pretty hard to think about anything else other than how much your arm hurts and how sweaty your cast gets. 
However, despite everything, you still show up to watch Donghyuck practice for his first playoff game. He texted you that he could pick you up in the morning, but the thought of being alone with him after all this time made you feel way too jittery, especially since you were still trying to sort your feelings out. In the end, you lied and said your arm hurt too much, skipped your classes, and told him a friend would drop you off in time for practice (you just called an Uber). Since you leave your house a bit late, practice has already started. 
You see Donghyuck doing laps around the rink, warming up. This is the first time you’ve seen him in his uniform in person, and you realize that this is how a hockey uniform is supposed to be worn. You’ve always thought that hockey players always looked a bit like the Michelin Man with how bulky their gear is, but Donghyuck looks like he belongs in a modeling catalog. 
This is so pathetic. He gives you a little bit of attention and now you’re fawning over him like you’re sixteen again. 
But it’s hard not to fawn when he looks so natural on the ice. Even though he’s not at his prime, the way he glides so smoothly across the rink and how he dribbles the puck with his stick all feel like second nature for him. Every move he makes seems purposeful, graceful. 
You make Donghyuck want to play hockey again? Impossible. 
Not when he belongs on the ice. 
But why does he hold you in such high regard? Why does he make you feel so special? He makes you feel like you belong with him. The spot beside him is not a place someone like you could ever dream of taking, yet he makes you want to. He makes you want to be selfish, to expect something. 
Even if he does like you, he can’t possibly like you more than you like him. He may have been reliant on you this past month, but you’re going to need him more than he would ever need you. 
The more you watch him on the ice, the more you feel like you’re looking at the banner of him on your way to statistics. He’s not really a person that you know anymore but a pillar. A pillar of everything that is out of reach to you. You’ve gotten to see a different side of him for a short period of time, but you’ll be nothing but a blot of the past once he’s fully recovered. He’s going to graduate college and become a professional player in the NHL. He’s going to make a name for himself. You’re just going to be in a cubicle for the rest of your life. 
The two of you make no sense. 
It’s easy to not want something that you’ve never had, but it’s so much harder to let go when you’ve been given a taste. 
It’s a sobering feeling—reality. 
“Y/N?” 
You startle, turning to see Mark. 
“Hi, Mark,” you say, voice wavering between octaves. 
“You’re here to see Donghyuck, right?”
“No, I—”
“Donghyuck!” Mark calls out loudly, cupping the sides of his mouth with his hands. “Y/N’s here!” 
You wince at the echo of his voice, but Donghyuck’s head shoots up when he hears your name. A huge grin breaks across his face, and he gestures for you to wait while he starts to skate off the ice, ripping off the bulkier padding of his uniform and taking off his helmet as he goes. 
“Hey,” Donghyuck says, making his way up to you. “You didn’t have to come if you weren’t feeling well. How’s your arm?” 
“Fine,” you squeak out a bit too fast. 
“You don’t sound fine,” he points out, completely unconvinced. 
You curse yourself for being such a shitty liar, avoiding his gaze like a criminal being interrogated. You absolutely do not need him to psychoanalyze you when you’re in such a vulnerable state. 
You can feel Donghyuck’s knowing gaze sweep across your features. “This isn’t about your arm, is it? Is that why you’ve been avoiding me?” 
Your silence is confirmation enough for him. “Y/N, I just wanted to tell you how I feel. You’re under no obligation to like me back. If you want me to pretend like it never happened, I will, but please don’t—” 
You really don’t want to have this conversation here or ever, but you suppose you can’t exactly ignore it any longer. 
“I do like you back,” you say gingerly. “Much more than you know. Much more than you like me.”
He goes to protest, but you cover his mouth. You want to say it all at once because you know he’ll change your mind if you let him talk. 
“I’m not an ambitious person, Donghyuck,” you whisper. “I know when I don’t belong. There’s no place for me here. We only have a little bit before graduation, and then we’ll probably never see each other again.” 
His expression wrenches. He looks like he’s in more excruciating pain now than he did when he broke his leg.
“I know you say I always think of the darkest scenario, so I’ll try my best to be optimistic this time,” you continue. “Once you become a famous hockey player, treat me to a meal or something if you remember me. Or we could have a listening party when Taylor’s new album comes out if you still like her music by then. But I don’t think we’ll be any more than that. We can’t.” 
“Why?” he asks harshly, grasping your wrist and removing your hand from his mouth. “Why are you deciding that before anything has even happened?” 
“I’m trying to make your life easier, Donghyuck,” you say, exasperated. “So you won’t have any baggage when you leave here. You’ll forget about me in no time.” 
“You are so mean,” his voice cracks on the final word, “I wish you just told me you hated me.” 
“I’m so—”
“Don’t,” he interrupts coldly, and you’ve never heard him speak like this to you before. “Don’t apologize. Just—please just leave.” 
You know he’s crying by the way his shoulders shake when he turns away from you. He doesn’t return to the ice, instead opting to head back to the locker rooms. Every step he takes grows more and more sluggish, and you’re worried that his leg is giving him trouble. You watch his figure disappear behind the double doors and stand there silently, listening to the sound of a whistle cueing drills followed by the ice skate blades skidding across the ice. They’re noises that you’ve heard thousands of times over the course of the month, but you think you’re going to miss them a lot. 
You’re going to miss him. 
This is for the better, you keep telling yourself. 
Eventually, the words don’t even make sense anymore. 
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Against your better judgment, you decide to attend the first playoff game.
You haven’t spoken to Donghyuck since you rejected him—is it really a rejection if there was nothing to reject in the first place?—but it doesn’t change the fact that you care about him more than anyone. You want him to succeed. You want to support him, even if that support is unwanted. 
You tell yourself that you’re going to be selfish one last time and then you’ll let him go. 
As to not be a distraction to him in case he somehow spotted you, you decide to wear the same attire you wore when you snuck into the opposing team’s game, sunglasses and all. Luckily, by the time you arrive, the rink is already packed to the brim since it’s Donghyuck’s comeback game. 
You find an area in the back to stand, lowering the brim of your hat to avoid any unwanted camera shots on the big screen. Shortly afterwards, loud music starts to blare from the speakers and you spot the team skating out on the rink. Donghyuck leads the line to wild applause from the crowd, and you clap along as well, but your stomach turns at how exhausted he looks. He smiles and waves for the cameras, but his face is pallor and there are deep bags underneath his eyes. 
This isn’t what you wanted. 
You wanted him to thrive, much more than he would’ve without you. You wanted him to forget about you and focus on his career. You wanted him to be okay. 
So why do you keep hurting him? 
You dig your nails into your palms as you watch him skate to the center and take his position. There’s a momentary hush that falls over the crowd as the referee holds the puck above him and the other center’s head before dropping it between them, and the game is off to the races. 
Donghyuck ends up playing for way longer than ten minutes, throwing all caution to the wind, but he moves like a lightning streak across the ice—scoring a hat trick before the first period is over. His momentum carries onto the last two periods as well as he absolutely demolishes the opposing team. He is especially persistent in hounding Number 30, the player you warned him about. You almost feel bad for Number 30 since he is most definitely on the receiving end of Donghyuck’s poor mood. 
With only ten seconds left in the third period, Donghyuck scores a buzzer beater and the winning goal of the night. The crowd is on their feet, clapping their hands and stomping their feet so strongly that the whole stadium shakes. 
You feel like crying again as you watch Donghyuck’s teammates descend on him in happiness. 
They don’t understand. 
He’s playing like he did before—like he’s being chased. Like he’s being slowly crushed between walls of the stadium. It’s a lifeless victory, and it’s your fault. 
You were wrong. 
He’s not okay. You hurt him more than any physical injury ever could. 
You should’ve just thrown yourself into his arms, your fears of being hurt be damned. You should’ve believed in him, believed in his feelings. You should’ve at least given him a chance to prove you wrong. You should’ve just allowed yourself to like him first and foremost. 
When you look back at the rink, you see a reporter making her way onto the ice with a camera crew. Donghyuck’s face is suddenly on every screen in the skating rink. 
“So how does it feel to score so big after being away for more than a month?” she asks, handing him the mic. 
Donghyuck looks up—past the reporter, past the cameras, past the audience, past the lights. 
He sees you. 
Even with your sunglasses on, you feel how piercing his stare is. The mist that had clouded his gaze the whole game dissipates almost instantly. His eyes shine clearly, and you see that spark that you thought you had single handedly stomped out. 
“Hey,” he breathes out, clutching the mic so tightly that his knuckles are white. “Hey, girl wearing the sunglasses inside like a Republican.” 
You freeze as the crowd starts to mutter to each other, confused as to what he means. 
“You lied to me. You said I would forget about you, but I see you even in my dreams. And now you’re here too. Why are you tormenting me?” he demands. 
You hurriedly start to make your way down the stairs and to the entrance of the rink, not wanting him to say something he would regret in front of a live audience. When he sees you coming down, he skates over to meet you. 
“You were wrong,” he continues. “I like you way more than you like me.” 
“Donghyuck, I—” 
“I’m an ambitious person,” he states. “I can be in love and be a professional hockey player. I know I can. I’ll have enough ambition for the both of us, so please be with me. You belong right here with me, Y/N.” 
You finally make it down to where he is, trying to catch your breath as he watches you, looking at you as if you were just a figment of his imagination. 
“I promise I’ll treat you well,” Donghyuck says softly, lowering the mic. You realize that he’s echoing the words he said to you the way you met him, and you wonder if you’ve been in love with him since then. 
There are so many things you want to say to him, an apology especially, but you decide to save those words for when the two of you are alone. 
Instead, you march right up to him, loop your sling over his neck so that your cast can rest comfortably on his shoulders before cupping his cheek and pressing your lips against his. 
It only takes him half a second to kiss you back, wrapping his arms around your waist and lifting you off your feet. You can feel the tension physically leaving his body, as if he finally released a breath he had been holding for a long time. 
When you pull apart, you ignore the loud whooping and hollering of the crowd, leaning in just close enough so that only the two of you can hear what you’re about to say. Your lips brush against his again when you say:
“I’m really glad I hit you with my car, Lee Donghyuck.” 
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“Wow, I must say, that was like a scene straight out of a romance movie!” The reporter gushes excitedly. “So how did you two meet?”
You and Donghyuck exchange glances.
“Well…”
3K notes · View notes
luviestarz · 6 months
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lee haechan fic recs!
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❤︎ I LIKE YOU (I DO) (L.DH) - @domjaehyun (stoner!haechan just wants you to know how much he likes you.)
❤︎ paperclip - @smileysuh (yandere, ex bf! hyuck)
❤︎ My Boy. - @prodbymaui (A series of failed relationships and you were this near of giving up on love. But then here comes little Donghyuck and his persistence. Maybe-- he was the one fated to you, after all.)
❤︎ kiss it better - @yeow6n (haechan gets hurt but you know that with him it’s not going to be as simple as putting a band-aid on it)
❤︎ sugar, butter, & the royal crown - L.DH - @haechwrites (prince donghyuck only has one princess on his mind, but she's not actually a princess. she's just the royal baker's granddaughter.)
❤︎ bus stop - @ooshu (haechan rides the bus. you hop on the same ride. minutes later, you two were a couple. he never questioned why.)
❤︎ strawberries & cigarettes - @hyudior (the art school's play is in two days and you're running out of time to put everything together since your known enemy lee donghyuck decided that the rehearsal day was the perfect day to release a launch party for his new album.)
❤︎ >> take my breath - @hyuckwrlds
❤︎ moles ♡‧₊˚ lee haechan - @sleeping-sirens (you read something on the internet that made you feel jealous of a person you didn’t even know but haechan knows just how to reassure you.)
❤︎ haechan — gold-skinned, eager baby - @hyuckmov (he used to be able to hide it. he used to be fine with glancing at you, habitually flicking his eyes to your chest when you would walk into the room or snuggle up to him. but now he’s totally fucked, because he thinks he’s developed some sort of addiction.)
❤︎ eyes tell - @tonicandjins (donghyuck has been trying to confess his feelings to you. third time's the charm, he thinks.)
❤︎ going below zero | l.dh - @cherryeoniis (Considering how much Haechan makes it his personal mission to antagonize you at work, it seems like a rather cruel twist of fate that the both of you have been side by side since middle school, the only consolation being that his office is a different floor from yours. But if there’s a saying about how distance makes the heart grow fonder, your attitude with him might just be the opposite, and it’ll take a family ski holiday to find out.)
❤︎ take my breath. - @sixzeroes (lee donghyuck did not believe in ‘love at first sight.’ key word: did. he does now, but only because you happened to fall into his arms on the icy road in the narrow streets. you’re going to render him breathless from the countless times your smile takes his breath away.)
❤︎ ice cream thief [ l.dh ] - @tddyhyck (someone has been eating haechan's favorite ice cream so he decides to put a hidden camera in the kitchen and living room thinking it's a shared space it shouldn't invade anyone's privacy... right?)
❤︎ tease | lee haechan - @hyuckiefluff (Playing spin the bottle definitely wasn't what you had envisioned for your first college party. And the last person you expected to see was Lee Haechan. But life has a funny way of throwing surprises at you, and this time it came in the form of the bottle landing on some drunk dude who dared you to kiss Haechan.)
❤︎ 𝟏𝟎 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐈 𝐇𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 ¹⁸⁺ - @goldyeokki (you and lee donghyuck both get along like oil and water. if it were up to you, you would be going about your days without even breathing in his direction. unfortunately you're in the same friend group and you have to tolerate each other. as handsome or attractive as people claim him to be, you hate his guts. there's so many reasons why you hate him, so why do you get butterflies in your stomach when he's near?)
❤︎ high (with my lover) [m] – l.dh - @yeonghosins (y/n smokes up with donghyuck for the first time)
❤︎ what the puck! - @choerrypuffs (you hit the university’s star hockey player with your car. shenanigans (and maybe even a little romance) ensue.)
❤︎ double take | l.dh - @cherryeoniis (friends to lovers, highschool au, slowburn, fluff, angst)
❤︎ Your Red Lipstick || L.DH - @ihaechans (Kisses, kisses, kisses. That’s all your boyfriend wants. When you refuse to give him the one thing he craves, he won’t leave you alone, begging and begging until you give in.)
2K notes · View notes
marksmelodies · 3 months
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Hellooooo can I request when dreamies forget their anniversary with y/n and she says “ do you even care about this relationship” and them trying to convince her preety please
Love you 🩷
hiii yes omg love you too!! i hope you enjoy!!
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1K notes · View notes
starsstuddedsky · 7 months
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Persimmon Problems
jaemin x reader
summary: fantasy crushes are all fun and games until it stops being a fantasy and he’s really talking to you. but what are you supposed to do when he invades every part of your life?
genre: fluff, angst, university au, non idol au, he’s not a frat boy but he’s basically a frat boy, inaccurate depictions of student council, I don’t actually know what this is
warnings: swearing, drinking, implied sex (it’s pg-13), lmk if I missed any
wc: 18.3k (oops)
a/n: ahahaha remember that jaemin dream… yeah. anyways so I’ve looked at this for so long that I don’t even know what this is anymore, all I know is that I can’t keep working on it. also I still don't know what a persimmon tastes like so.. yeah. I really wanted to try one but if this stays in my drafts any longer I will go insane. I hope you all enjoy!!!! as always I'd love to hear what you think :)
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You’ve never had persimmon before but you think maybe it’s the best word to describe Na Jaemin. He is a persimmon in your palm, an unknown flavor to be discovered if you dare to bite. It doesn’t help that he chose to wear orange today, the sweater a shade away from pink. 
There’s a pinch at your side. “You’re staring again.” 
You glare at Renjun, who doesn’t bother to look up from his laptop, working on the graphic for the student council. “Was not.” 
“Whatever,” he says. “Just don’t let the pretty boy distract you from paying attention because I needed to finish this yesterday.”
“The only one distracting me is you, and you aren’t pretty.” You pretend his silence is agreement instead of him trying to force you to take notes as Professor Bae closes up the lecture. 
It’s not that you can’t focus around Na Jaemin–your perfect notes at the end of class prove just the opposite. Jaemin simply exists in another world. There is your corner, mostly filled with student council responsibilities and never ending university work, and there is Na Jaemin, honorary member of every frat on campus. Not that you’ve been thinking that much about him, but his Instagram shows up in your recommended often enough for you to know that he goes to parties nearly every weekend. The sliver of overlap in the Venn diagram of your world and his only includes Microbiology on Tuesdays and Thursdays from 1 to 4, and that’s enough for you. To fantasize about him from here, a fruit you’ll never have the opportunity to try. 
Jaemin starts to turn around and you quickly turn to Renjun, resisting the urge to peek at him out of the corner of your eye. You look at the shapes on Renjun’s computer instead. 
“That looks like shit.” 
“Trust the process,” he says. 
“You spent the entire lecture working on this, you are aware we have a lab where you actually have to do things right?” 
“You don’t think you can handle it on your own?” 
“Stop trying to bait me into doing all the work.” You close your laptop, standing and stretching. You see Jaemin out of the corner of your eye, a blob of black hair shuffling down the aisle toward the door to the classroom. The orange-pink sweater is actually a cardigan, large cream colored buttons keeping it together. That’s when you realize you’re staring again. Shit. 
“Are we eating before lab or do you seriously think you’ll finish that thing in the next thirty minutes?” You ask Renjun, who still hasn’t moved. 
“You want to be president when you aren’t even pressuring me into posting the election announcements that were supposed to go out yesterday?” 
“I want to eat something before we have to stare into microscopes, so what do you want?” You wonder if he’s focused enough to miss you grabbing his wallet out of his bag. 
“Whatever you want is fine and if you use my card it will literally decline.” You curse and toss his wallet back into his backpack. 
“Should have taken that class with Chenle, his card never declines.” 
“That’s because it’s his parents’ black card.” He finally looks up from his laptop at you. “Are you getting the food or not?” 
You open your mouth to say something extremely witty and/or smart, but your stomach rumbles. “I’m going to fire you when I’m president.” 
“And who else will put up with your bullshit?” he calls as you walk down the aisle. You prepare a mature response (sticking your tongue out at him), walking backwards. Directly into someone—bouncing off their chest, more specifically. 
Hands grab your shoulders before you can react, straightening you before you have a chance to fall. “Woah there.” 
“Holy shit, I’m so sorry,” you say as you turn around and find Na Jaemin staring at you. Apologies spill out, even as he smiles at you, a true, knees-to-jelly, threat-to-sunshine smile. 
“Don’t worry about it,” he says. 
“Sorry,” you repeat. Your brain struggles to diversify its vocabulary with him looking at you, smiling with his eyes in full focus. His eyes are so dark it’s difficult to distinguish between his pupils and his irises. Staring, again, the third time in an hour. Why can’t you be normal around him? 
“I was blocking your way out anyway, so it wasn’t all your fault.” He steps back, letting you out of the aisle. At least, giving you the space to do it, since your feet decide not to work. He tilts his head at you, sending your brain into a spiral of predictions, ranging from he’s going to ask you out (rather fantastical) to he’s going to tell you that you have something stuck between your teeth (horribly realistic). 
Instead, he says, “You’re YN, right?” 
“Yeah. How did you know that?” 
His smile widens when you say yes. “Student council vice president, right?” 
You don’t trust your voice so you nod. 
“I’m Jaemin,” he says, extending his hand for a moment like he wants to shake hands but he pulls away at the last second. “Your picture is on the website.” 
“Nice to meet you,” you say, mouth going through the motions on its own since your brain’s whiteboard has been wiped completely clean. The only thing left is NA JAEMIN in giant bold letters, bright red marker and all. 
“Yes, it is,” he says. Does he know the effect his smile has on people? Legally it could be considered a weapon. He pauses a moment longer, like he wants to say something else but instead he turns away, walking back to his seat, waving at half the class because of course he does. 
You don’t have to turn around to feel Renjun staring at you. You don’t feel like hearing his judgy comments, even when they’re only passed on through his eyes. Whoever said eyes are the window to the soul was right—Renjun’s give you a clear view of the most judgmental person you have ever met. You leave the class without looking back. 
Very few places nearby campus sell edible food, and even fewer are ever empty enough to be able to grab food and eat before the three hour lab starts. Today is even worse than normal, as if everyone has chosen to be hungry at the same time as you. You end up at a 7/11, grabbing Takis since they’re the only chips Renjun will eat. You grab an iced tea, tapping your finger in line as you wait. Getting the food was enough of a distraction to keep you from thinking about Jaemin but as you wait for the person in front of you try to get a discount using a coupon that expired three months ago, you go over every millisecond of the interaction–and god, you were so awkward. All you really did was apologize to him, you couldn’t even move. You have got to grow up, stop acting like a middle schooler with a crush. 
The cashier finally gives up, giving the person a discount and waving them out. You set your food down and smile at her. She does her best to put a customer service smile back on her face, though you can see the exhaustion. You thank her as profusely as you can. 
By the time you make it back to the lecture room, there’s barely five minutes left of break. 
“Thank god, I’m starving,” Renjun says, grabbing the bag out of your hands. You keep your iced tea on the side farthest from him, glaring at him until he tilts the bag so that you can reach it too. “We are going to make Donghyuck cook tonight, I need real food.” 
“Agreed,” you say, covering your mouth with your hand so you don’t spew hot chip dust everywhere. 
“And I took pictures of you embarrassing yourself in front of Jaemin, so please try to replace me as your social media correspondent.” He smiles at you over the purple bag. 
“You’re horrible, has anyone ever told you that?” 
“Music to my ears, sweetheart.” 
.
.
Unfortunately, Renjun’s graphic does look good, though still not good enough to warrant how much time he spent on it. The messy shapes don’t look half as bad when they’re the right color, and all the information is listed (not in Comic Sans, though it’s only a matter of time before he tries to use it again. You have yet to find out if he actually likes the font or just wants to be annoying). He posts it an hour after the lab, which wasn’t half bad. Your percent error was under 50% for once. 
It’s a Friday morning, no classes since your university actually listened to the student requests for a three day weekend, which the student council (you) takes full credit for. Unfortunately, that doesn’t mean you are responsibility free. Instead you sit in cheap plastic chairs rented from the events and planning committee and under a tent that’s in serious danger of blowing away. 
You cling to your ball cap, NCIT STUDENT COUNCIL embroidered on the front. The papers in front of you whip around, the weights on top of them holding steady. At least it isn’t raining, though the thick clouds overhead get darker every minute. 
Realistically, there’s no reason for you to be here. All the information about running for student council is posted online and with over 30,000 students, only a small portion of the student body actually care—none of whom are walking around campus at 11 in the morning on a Friday. You pull the blanket tighter over your shoulders. Just another fifteen minutes and then Jisung will relieve you. Mark should be the one freezing his ass off since he’s the one that insists on upholding tradition, but as president he takes advantage of avoiding work whenever he can. 
Only two and a half months before that privilege is yours. Assuming you are elected, of course, but there’s no real danger in losing that. You’ve been a part of the council since freshman year, appointed as vice president as a sophomore. Few people have more qualifications, and fewer are actually interested in the position. Usually the competition comes from within the cabinet, but none of the rest of the guys have said anything about the running, though that might be because you haven’t shut up about the position since freshman year. Either way, the position is all but yours, and there is absolutely no reason you need to sit here when you could be studying for midterms. 
A strong gust of wind blows from in front of you instead of behind and this time you are too slow. Your cap flies off your head, tumbling across the empty quad. You shuffle after it, keeping the blanket wrapped tightly over your shoulders, which helps protect you from the cold winds. Unfortunately, said cold winds don’t stop blowing, and your hat blows faster than you can shuffle. It reaches to the sidewalk on the opposite side of the squad by the time it finally stops. 
Moving as fast as you can wrapped up one dry day away from mummification, you try to snatch the cap before it gets blown away again. You bend down to reach for it but a pair of sneakers appear in front of you and a mitten-clad hand grabs it before you can. You stand up and find Jaemin, wearing bright red earmuffs that have a green headband to make it look like a pair of cherries. He holds your hat out, smiling when he sees you (when he recognizes you?). 
“What’s wrong? Hat got your tongue?” He waits, with an expectant smile. The boy next to him, wearing more layers than you, shakes his head. “Sorry,” Jaemin says, “bad joke, I know, but I couldn’t help it.” 
Even the most lovesick part of you can’t defend him on that one. You take your hat from his outstretched hand, sticking it back on your head when you realize what your hair must look like after crossing the quad with all the wind. 
“It’s Jaemin, from microbio,” he says, as if there’s actually a chance you don’t know him. 
“Thanks, Jaemin from microbio.”
He flashes a smile that warms you better than any sun. “My pleasure, Vice President.” 
“You can just call me YN,” you mumble. 
“Where’s the fun in that?” You swear he winks, though maybe it’s the wind blowing in his eyes. 
The boy next to him nudges Jaemin with his shoulder, keeping his hands tucked safely in the pockets of his jacket. “Aren’t you going to introduce me?” 
Jaemin rolls his eyes. “This is Jeno, he’s–God, I guess he’s my best friend.” He glances at Jeno, unimpressed. “The position is temporary.” 
“Thanks!” Jeno says brightly. 
“Jeno, this is the vice president of the student council,” he says. 
“YN,” you say, “I’d shake your hand but…” You show your hands, stuck keeping the blanket wrapped around you. 
“It’s alright, I lost my gloves, so my hands are stuck here.” Jeno lifts his jacket with his hands in the pockets, just to prove his point. 
“Hey, I didn’t get a handshake,” Jaemin says. 
“Did you need a handshake?” 
He tilts his head, showing off his jawline, not that you’re paying attention to that at all. It simply calls attention to itself, and who are you to ignore a jawline that could have been sculpted by Michelangelo (not the ninja turtle). He must be cold with so much skin exposed. 
“I’ll settle for some advice,” Jaemin says. Right, maybe you shouldn’t be comparing his face to famous works of art mid-conversation (save it for the Instagram stalking like everyone else). 
“Advice?” 
“I was actually looking for you anyway.” Jaemin glances at Jeno before meeting your eyes again. “The student council election is open to anyone, right?” 
“The presidency is open to seniors that are enrolled here, but yeah,” you say. “Why?” 
He shrugs. “I’m going to apply.” 
You blink at him. “For president? Of student council?” 
“Yeah,” he says. Jeno shuffles beside him, stuffing his hands impossibly deeper into his pockets. 
President… but that’s your position. If it wasn’t for the senior-only rule, you’d already be president. You rose through the ranks, suffered through a vice presidency with Mark to get here–it’s your position. 
“Do I apply there?” He asks, pointing at the table you’re supposed to be sitting at. 
“The application is online,” you find yourself saying, “you have to submit a resume and go through a qualifying process, and submit your proposals for campaign policies and a whole bunch of other stuff, it’s all on the application information.” You’re about halfway through your own application, though it’s mostly copying and pasting from the document you’ve been working on since you joined student council. 
“You can scan the QR code on this blanket, it’ll take you to the application.” You hold it straight, cursing Renjun in your head for being so creative with marketing. You look like an idiot, waiting for him to scan your shoulder. 
“Cool,” Jaemin says, pulling out his phone, but instead of scanning the code, he hands it to you, a new contact profile with your name already in it. You glance between the phone and the smiling boy. “Can I ask you if I have any questions?” 
Jaemin is asking you for his phone number. To help with his campaign, against you. Your brain works in overdrive, trying to determine how you are supposed to feel. Your heart doesn’t hesitate to take advantage of the internal turmoil. You put your number into his phone and hand it back to him. 
“Sure,” you say, even as your brain screams at you not to. “Whatever I can do to help.” 
He grins and your brain fully malfunctions, gears popping, cartoon sparks flying. “Thank you, YN.” 
“No problem,” you mumble, knowing that’s not true at all even without a functioning brain cell. You should have let him call you vice president when you had the chance–this is so much worse. 
“I should go back,” you say, taking a step backward, a gamble considering your history of walking backwards around him. Trying not to linger in Jaemin’s presence is like a planet resisting the pull of gravity to the sun–no matter how hard you try, you can’t beat physics.  
 But maybe he isn’t the sun because when you take another step, Jaemin takes a step to follow you. Are there stars that revolve around planets? But Jaemin doesn’t revolve around you, he doesn’t even exist in your solar system. Maybe a black hole is a better metaphor, sucking you in from a galaxy over. You should stop making metaphors based on middle school astronomy. 
You peer at Jaemin as he continues across the quad, walking leisurely beside you as you shuffle. Jeno trails behind slightly, risking the cold to pull out a phone. 
“Are you following me?” 
Jaemin looks at you over his shoulder, raising his eyebrows. “You think you’re that special already?” Before you can answer, he laughs. “But, yeah, I am. I can’t leave you all by yourself out here, anything could happen.” 
“As opposed to by myself at the table?” 
He shrugs. “There’s two chairs. I could sit with you.” 
It’s your turn to raise your eyebrows, looking him up and down. He’s got a puffy jacket (bright red, probably to match with the earmuffs) and jeans. “You’d freeze in five minutes.” 
“You could–” 
“Are we going to Doyoung’s or not?” Jeno calls from behind you. 
“Right,” Jaemin says, “I definitely did not forget about that.” He glances at you. “Rain check?” 
“I’m sure there will be plenty of opportunities for you to keep me company freezing my ass off,” you say, “but seriously, I wouldn’t let you stay anyway.” You reach the table, turning to face him. 
Jaemin pouts. “Why not?” 
“For starters, I don’t want to be responsible for the hypothermia you’re bound to catch,” you say, “and it’s a student council thing. You’re not a part of the student council.” 
“Not yet.” 
Right. The standard, crush-threatening-the-dream-you’ve-spent-three-years-working-toward-situation. “Also, no offense, but I barely know you.” 
“Offense taken,” Jaemin says, holding a hand over his chest. “We’ve taken half a class together!” 
“We’ve spoken twice if you count today!” You say. Does he really not get it? “At the very least it would be awkward.” 
“I take full offense to the idea that I could ever be awkward,” Jaemin says. He folds his arms over his chest, eyeing you. “I’ll prove it to you.” Your gut twists, sending off the warning bells, but there’s no way Jaemin is actually flirting with you. He probably hates the idea that someone doesn’t immediately trust him with their heart and soul. He doesn’t need to know that you already do. That’s why there’s simply no way he’s flirting with you–it simply doesn’t make sense. 
“Dude, we seriously need to go,” Jeno says. “Doyoung is spam texting.” 
Jaemin wiggles his eyebrows at you. “I’ll see you in class.” 
“Bye Jaemin,” you say. You watch him walk away with Jeno, throwing his arm over his friend’s shoulders. He doesn’t look back at you. 
What just happened? 
Jisung approaches so quietly you jump when you turn around and he stands in front of you. “Was that Na Jaemin?” 
“Yes–wait, how do you know him?” 
Jisung avoids your eyes, turning to watch the pair of boys trudge away. “Renjun talks.” 
You’re going to kill him. But first you need to defrost, so you hand the blanket over to Jisung and jump a few times to warm yourself up, trying in vain to make up for the loss. 
“What was he doing here?” Jisung asks, wrapping himself so tightly his feet are bound together. One strong push would send him tumbling over, probably unable to get up. If only it was Renjun. 
“He wants to be president.” 
“Of student council?” 
“Apparently.” 
“Huh.” Jisung sits back. “Aren’t you supposed to be president?” 
“Yep.” 
“Huh.” Jisung stares at you. 
“Have fun!” You say. The air without Jaemin is so much colder. Maybe your toes have frostbite. “It’s cold!” 
Jisung grunts, huddling down and you don’t spare a second look at him. There’s a solid chance he’s texting Renjun already, since your best friend has decided to be a dirty gossip. You walk along the sidewalk and try to tell your heart that no matter how pretty his smile is, Na Jaemin is bad for you. Your heart reminds you that he saved your hat. 
Your phone vibrates in your pocket. You pull it out, fully expecting to see a message from Renjun but instead a string of numbers show up. you better save my number :). You stare at your phone until it fades to black, which is why you know the exact moment it starts to snow. Though it’s March and the groundhog didn’t see its shadow, a snowflake falls on your phone, melting quickly. You walk home in the snow, thoughts of Jaemin piling up a snowbank that no plow can clear. 
.
.
For breakfast on Tuesday morning, you have an untoasted bagel with a side of impending doom. You woke up with the feeling, a knot in your gut that usually only appears before exams or after you drink too much coffee, but today has chosen to warn you of unknown horrors yet to come. It has to be the dream you had, only you forgot it the moment you woke up. 
[Bitch #1] You’re just trying to avoid jaemin. 
You don’t know why you expected Renjun to support you. Unsurprisingly, he found out about Jaemin’s intent to run for president before you made it back to your apartment, and dedicated an hour to lecturing you over FaceTime, then spent the entire pregame on Saturday side eyeing you. 
Jaemin’s message sits at the bottom of your recent texts. He hasn’t sent anything since Friday, though neither have you. You close your phone and try not to think about him, an impossible task. In the end you can’t think of a valid excuse, and go to your morning lecture. It’s one of your favorite classes (world history of medicinal developments 1200-1600) but today your mind drifts, still trying to figure out why today feels so off. Are you forgetting an assignment? You’ve checked the syllabus for all of your classes and the reminders your professors sent out but nothing has slipped past your the list on your planner. You check your outfit after class to see if you put something on backwards but you look fine. By the time you head toward microbio, you’ve resigned yourself to a day of inexplicable anxiety. 
You should have trusted your gut. 
You take one step into the room and the knot in your gut twists itself into a mess that spells out leave now while you still have the chance. 
In your normal spot at the back of the classroom, sitting beside Renjun, sits Jaemin, grinning and waving at you like he’s been sitting there the entire semester. 
You walk carefully down the aisle of desks, stopping in front of him. “You’re in my seat.” 
Jaemin doesn’t seem to notice Renjun’s snort, opting to smile at you. “Hello YN, it’s nice to see you.” 
“Hi Jaemin,” you say, “you’re in my seat.” 
He rolls his eyes, sliding his backpack to the side and slipping into the next seat over. “I was just getting to know Renjun.” 
You glare at your best friend, sitting beside him. “I’m sure he’s been lovely.” Renjun smiles innocently, turning back to photoshopping a graphic of the student council.  
Jaemin pulls out his laptop, sitting leaning back into the chair. Is he planning on sitting here for the whole class?  
“What are you doing?” You ask softly. Renjun continues to click around, not even pretending not to eavesdrop.
“I told you, I could never be awkward,” Jaemin says. 
“Speak for yourself,” you mutter, shrinking in your seat. Does he really not notice the class staring at you? Okay, maybe staring is an exaggeration, and it’s not the whole class, but the people he normally sits with keep glancing back at you and whispering to each other. 
Professor Bae walks in and they turn back to the front, saving you from (more) embarrassment. From the corner of your eye, you watch the boys at your sides—Renjun doesn’t bother to open the notes doc he shares with you, opting for continuing the edit, which you can’t really complain about because it’s the series of posts you asked him to make. Jaemin pulls up a cartoon series, Teen Titans, volume off with the subtitles on. 
“Is this what you do every class?” You whisper. 
Jaemin looks away from his fake typing for a moment. “She grades for attendance, not participation.” 
“Are you even passing this class?” 
Jaemin grins. “Sweetheart, I skew the curve.” Just to prove his point, he pauses the bickering superheroes and pulls up the grade review for the class. True to his word, his scores are well above average, rivaling your own. With the exception of Renjun, you haven’t met anyone who’s gotten similar grades. 
Jaemin smiles, switching back to the show. He exudes confidence, and why wouldn’t he? Not only hot and popular, he’s smart too, smarter than you—it takes you hours of studying, exam cram sessions, paying attention in class—he doesn’t even hide that he isn’t paying attention, and from his reputation alone, you know he doesn’t spend as much time studying as you. Does he know what he’s getting into with student council? Even the laziest of presidents put in several hours of work a week.
Jaemin laughs at the show. Renjun finally glances at you, raising his eyebrows at Jaemin in a silent question. You shrug, mouthing, I don’t know either. He purses his lips and turns back to photoshop. You’re sure the second Jaemin steps away he’s going to be on your ass again. 
Belatedly, you realize you’ve spent far too much of the class thinking about Jaemin. Professor Bae has already moved on from weekly announcements to new topics, meaning you have a date with YouTube review videos tonight. Thank god Professor Bae actually cares about her students and has recorded lectures. You just have to hope you didn’t miss one of the exam hints she only drops during class. 
Jaemin and Renjun stay quiet for the rest of the class period, though it does little to help you actually focus. Between Jaemin existing next to you and the inevitability of Renjun’s judgment, it’s hard to stay focused on virus identification. You take half the notes you usually do. 
But can you really blame it on them? It’s you that loses focus, you that is distracted by Jaemin beside you when he doesn’t actively try to pull your attention. He may have disrupted the balance of the universe by sitting beside you, but that doesn’t mean you have to fall off the scale. 
Professor Bae announces the end of lecture a couple minutes early. You swear you see her raise her eyebrows at you and glance at Jaemin before disappearing into her office for the half hour break before lab. Is it too self-absorbed to wonder if she’s taking things the wrong way? But what is the wrong way? None of it makes any sense except that maybe Jaemin is too stubborn for his own good. Funny how a week ago he didn’t know your name and now you can say he’s ‘too’ something. 
“So what do you normally do during break?” Jaemin asks. “Other than bounce off the chest of your roguishly handsome classmates.” 
You roll your eyes to keep him from noticing how flustered his comment actually makes you. “Go over the prelab in case someone forgets to do it–”
“I always do it!” Renjun says. 
“–but usually get snacks and do homework. Lately Renjun has been doing a lot of student council work during class, but that’s because he doesn’t know how to manage his time.” 
“Says the one who asked me to design a scheduler for them.” 
“Just because you’re good at Canva doesn’t mean you’re on top of your work.” 
Renjun shakes his head. You can tease him all you want, at the end of the day, you know that it doesn’t really matter. The truth is, he just doesn’t need to study as much as you. Sort of like Jaemin, and absolutely nothing like you. 
“What do you normally do during break?” You ask. 
Jaemin purses his lips. “Well, my lab partner rarely does the prelab, so usually I let him look at mine.” From the row where Jaemin normally sits, a guy in a striped yellow polo glares back at you. 
You glance between him and Jaemin, who turns away from his partner to look at you. “Should you go over there?” 
“Probably.” He doesn’t make a move to get up, instead tilting his head and smiling at you a little. “You’re very interesting, YN.” 
You cough, breaking eye contact to fiddle with the A key on your laptop which is in serious danger of falling off. “Well, your lab partner is probably going to try and inject you with a virus during lab if you don’t go over there.” 
Jaemin laughs. “You’re probably right. I’ll talk to you later.” He stands up and glances at Renjun, who finally looks away from his laptop. Jaemin nods at him and flashes a smile at you, showing perfect rows of white teeth, and finally turns around, backpack half open in his hand. 
You tear your eyes away from him, turning back to Renjun, who sits with his elbow on the armrest, chin in hand. He softens his eyes and looks up at you. “You’re very interesting, YN.” 
“Shut up,” you say, pushing his elbow out from under him, though he doesn’t fall like you wish he would. 
He shakes his head. “I do not like that guy.” 
“Really?” You frown. “Why?” 
“The fact that you’re even asking me that.” He sighs. “He’s just not my favorite type of guy.” He glares at you before you can tease him. “You seem to exclusively be attracted to shitty men, and then I become associated with them through proximity and it’s overall not a fun time for me.” 
“Okay first of all, you barely know Jaemin,” you say, “and second of all, nothing’s ever going to happen with him.” 
Renjun raises his eyebrows. 
“Seriously,” you insist, “he’s literally Jaemin, and I’m… not his type. You can hate him all you want but don’t do it on my behalf.” 
Renjun stares at you a little longer. He doesn’t believe you, and he’s probably right not to. But he turns back to his computer and doesn’t argue back. 
“I didn’t do the pre lab, though,” Renjun says, “that was a lie.” 
“I’m going to kill you and make it look like an accident.” 
.
.
Jaemin doesn’t show up to class on Thursday. You stare at your phone, the single message in your conversation with him. Curiosity and something bitter boil together, making it impossible to think logically. He acts so friendly around you it would be easy to mistake him for a friend, but it’s not like you don’t have friends. You wouldn’t have a second thought about sending a text like this to Renjun or Donghyuck–but you’ve never felt butterflies when either of them looked at you. 
So when your phone dies, you slip it into the pocket of your sweatshirt instead of trying to fight Mark for a charger (ever since “someone” stole one, he’s been overprotective of the cords). It’s movie night anyways, it’s not like you need your phone. 
“Wait,” you say, “since when are we watching Endgame?” 
“We literally just voted,” Donghyuck says, “You could have tied it for Lilo and Stitch but you weren’t paying attention.” He glares at you. 
Mark throws an arm over your shoulders. “It’s all good, YN can just make the popcorn.” 
“It’s hitting buttons on a microwave.” 
“Oh, would you look at that, the movie’s starting!” Mark says, pushing you off the couch and towards the kitchen of his apartment. You glare at him, but the guys have made you watch Marvel movies enough times that you are glad for the excuse to escape any part of it. It’s bad enough you can hear it from the kitchen. 
The shelves in Mark’s apartment are tall enough that he keeps a stool in the kitchen so that he can reach the highest of them. Of course that’s where he keeps his popcorn, so you jump as high as you can, snatching the box. Except you pull a little too hard and the box flies clean out of your hand, your feet slipping out from under you. You tumble to the ground, narrowly avoiding banging your head on the faux marble countertop. 
A moment later, Donghyuck appears standing over you, box of popcorn in one hand. “You could have just used the stool.” 
“That’s so much work.” 
“And yet it keeps you off the floor.” He holds out his free hand and helps you stand. Your tailbone hurts a little but otherwise it seems you dodged major damage. 
“You okay?” Chenle shouts. 
“Fine,” you shout back. You wonder what the odds are that they’d let you bleed out to finish the movie—probably higher than what you want to calculate. At least Donghyuck is as anti-Endgame as you. 
He sets the box on the counter, pulling the plastic off a bag and putting it in the microwave for five minutes. You would’ve just used the popcorn button but Donghyuck insists it tastes better this way. He turns around, leaning against the counter and studying you. 
“So,” he says. 
You raise your eyebrows. “‘So’ what?” 
“So, Jaemin.” Donghyuck stares at you, eyes unreadable. He’s been like this ever since you met him—pulling people apart with his eyes and extracting the most important bits, all with a smile on his face. He knew Shotaro was going to drop out before Shotaro did. 
“He’s…” A friend? A crush? The guy you wish would stay out of your life so you could keep daydreaming about him? 
“He’s sort of famous,” Donghyuck says. “Or infamous, depending on who you ask.” 
“And if I ask you?” 
Donghyuck smiles like this is going according to his script. “He’s lots of fun to party with. I don’t know anyone that doesn’t like him.” 
“But?” You jump when the first piece of popcorn pops. 
Donghyuck pins you down with his eyes. “But he isn’t the boyfriend type. I mean, I’m not best friends with the guy, but it’s pretty obvious, and I talked to—”
“Stop.” You hold a hand up. “I know exactly what kind of guy he is, I’m not an idiot.” 
“I’m not saying you’re an idiot, I just—”
“Donghyuck, I get it.” You stare back at him. “I really do, but I promise I know what I’m doing.” Okay, maybe that last part is a lie, but you know what you aren’t doing. You don’t expect a single thing from Na Jaemin. 
“I heard he’s running for president.” 
“Come on,” you say, “you think he can beat me?” Donghyuck raises his eyebrows. He won’t call you out on it, but he doesn’t have to. Your lie doesn’t even convince yourself. Jaemin has it all—grades, good looks, and, most importantly, popularity. Yes, he can beat you. Easily. 
“Why are you helping him?” 
“Jisung can’t keep his mouth shut, huh?” 
“Renjun was actually the one that told me, but that’s not the point,” Donghyuck says. 
“He hasn’t even asked for help,” you say, “and it’s not like I’m going to give up. I just…”
“You like him,” Donghyuck says. He raises his eyebrows, waiting for you to try to deny it but you won’t fight a battle that’s already lost. But you won’t admit it either. 
“I know what I’m doing.” 
Donghyuck chews on his lip for a moment. “Just be careful,” he says, “I do care about you. A little. Just a tiny bit. And from what I know, Jaemin is a good guy, but I don’t want you to get hurt because he isn’t what you want him to be.” 
“Gross, stop acting like we’re friends,” you say. 
“Never mind, I take it all back,” he says, “and I won’t be your vice president.” 
“Too late.” You shrug. “You already signed a contract.” 
“Fine, I’ll veto everything you propose.” 
“You don’t have the power to do that.” 
He tossed his hands up. “What is the point of being vice president?” 
You beam at him. “Doing the shit I don’t want to do!” 
Donghyuck opens his mouth to argue back but he pauses, sniffing at the air, and that’s when you realize the popcorn has long since stopped popping. Behind Donghyuck, smoke rises. 
He curses, pressing the button to open the door only to take a wave of smoke straight in the face. At least the bag isn’t on fire. You laugh as he waved his hand in front of his face, coughing. 
“Dude, what is that smell?” Mark shouts from the living room. 
You spend half the movie bickering with Donghyuck while trying to get the sharp smoky scent out of Mark’s kitchen. By the time the Avengers have all the infinity stones again and are in the final battle, you are curled up on the floor with a blanket, the popcorn bowl confiscated by Chenle when he realized how much you and Donghyuck ate while making it (it sort of tastes like smoke anyways). Two Marvel movies later, Mark shakes you awake and sends you and the rest of the guys out. 
You’re so tired by the time you get home, you plug your phone in and fall asleep. That’s why you don’t see the message until your alarm goes off the next morning. 
[Na Jaemin] you busy? 
.
.
For the past three weeks, you’ve tried meditation. Renjun swears by it, but you’ve seen him lose it over half a quesadilla, so it doesn’t exactly instill confidence in you. Still, you set aside ten minutes every morning to listen to the podcast he sent you. It’s meant to be calming, to connect you with yourself, and usually you do feel better, at least for a few minutes. 
You peek at your phone, checking how much time in the lesson is left (3 and a half minutes). No new notifications. 
Jaemin’s message gave you a heart attack when you woke up. He sent it at 8:12pm, probably right after your phone died. So seeing his message first thing in the morning woke you up pretty fast. You sent an apology that you definitely didn’t rewrite fifteen times, and now you wait. 
But no, you’re meditating right now. Clearing your mind, not thinking about a single thing except the air that floods your lungs, letting your heart beat twice before releasing the air again. You peek your right eye open. No new notifications. 
The narration ends and you sigh, laying back on your bed and checking your schedule for the day even though you’ve memorized it. In half an hour you need to be in the library to meet with your study group, then a council meeting, some space for lunch (which will undoubtedly end up crashed by Chenle or Donghyuck), then more homework in the afternoon. Tonight you’re supposed to go to a party thrown by one of Mark’s friends from grad school—depending on whether Renjun can find out if he’s a poli-sci major or not. 
You jump when your calendar disappears and the incoming call screen pops up. You stare at Jaemin’s name for a couple seconds before your brain begins to function again, and you slide the button at the bottom of your phone to answer the call. 
“Hello?” 
“YN,” Jaemin says. His voice is a little deeper than normal, raspy like he just woke up. “I was starting to think you’d blocked me.” 
“Sorry, my phone died last night and Mark doesn’t let anyone use his chargers.” 
Jaemin laughs, the phone distorting the quality, sounding choppy and un-Jaemin. “Damn, does the student body know he treats his council like this?” 
You laugh a little but can’t think of anything else to say. The silence stretches longer as Jaemin doesn’t speak either. The ceiling of your apartment has a constellation of holes, evidence of the former tenant’s antics. You have yet to figure out exactly what it could be—stabbing the ceiling with a broomstick? What does Jaemin’s ceiling look like? He’s so hard to pin down, like the more you get to know him the less he makes sense. He’s the type to have a messy room with clothes tossed everywhere and a bed that’s never made, yet he’s also the type to keep it neat, put up diagrams to match the college aesthetic of studying even if Jaemin himself is allergic to it. 
“So,” Jaemin says, apparently realizing you aren’t going to say anything else. “I actually texted last night because I wanted to see you.” 
You shove down the butterflies that spring up. “For what?” 
“First of all, it’s cruel that you don’t think I’d want to see you just to see you. But also I was gonna ask to go over microbio together because I heard a rumor that Professor Bae talked about the final.” 
“Don’t you have a lab partner?” 
“Yeah, he’s who told me she talked about it. Unfortunately he’s worse at taking notes than me.” He pauses. “Besides, you’re much cuter.” 
“Oh.” The butterflies breach containment, digging like madmen trying to escape your stomach. 
“So are you free?” 
Despite just checking your schedule, your mind goes blank. You frown, trying to remember what you’d just seen, and thank every deity that might exist that Jaemin can’t see your face right now. 
“I’m free after the council meeting. How is 12:30?” 
“Damn, council meetings on Fridays,” Jaemin says, “that works though. Meet you in the library?” 
“We can use the council room on the third floor,” you say, “no one else will be there.” 
“Okay,” Jaemin says, “see you soon, YN.” 
“Bye, Jaemin.” 
The butterflies have turned into zombies, rotting in your stomach and spoiling the leftover popcorn from last night. It’s just sharing notes. It’s just Jaemin. He’s just a boy from another world. The butterflies groan and demand chocolate. 
.
.
Council meetings feel a little bit like the Magic School Bus series. The tagline plays in your head: A normal council meeting? With this group? No way! 
Some of the blame can be directed towards having such an eclectic group of majors, Mark as the only true political science major. The rest of the group has been adamant about keeping the council safe from political science majors (how Mark doesn’t see the horrors of his classmates you truly don’t know). Another point towards Jaemin, being biochem and pre-med. 
Though being a non-poli-sci major doesn’t mean he can handle the presidency. Mark can barely do that. Not that he’s a bad president. Though it sometimes feels like you do all the heavy lifting for him to take credit for, he does work hard. No, Mark’s problem isn’t his leadership—it’s that he doesn’t know when to give up. 
The council meeting is long done but he continues to bicker with Donghyuck, who holds the entire student council hostage. 
“It’s a proven fact,” Mark says. “How are you arguing with science?” 
“Can science tell me what I feel?” Donghyuck folds his arms over his chest. His laptop has faded to black, the meeting notes long forgotten. “This isn’t about facts, it’s about my experience!” 
You check your phone. The meeting has already gone over fifteen minutes. Any longer and Jaemin could walk in on a very not-empty room with Mark committing a crime against Donghyuck for saying that Froot Loops have individual flavors. Maybe it’s time to intervene. 
“You’re just gaslighting yourself,” Mark says, “it’s not physically possible!” 
“Well, you’re not physically possible!” 
“That makes negative sense. I’m getting dumber listening to your attempts to argue.” 
“Okay,” you say, standing up so quickly your chair falls back. “This isn’t council business anymore. All in favor of concluding the meeting?” According to the official rules, Mark is the only one that can conclude the meeting, but Jisung’s hand flies up, followed quickly by Renjun and Chenle. 
“Cool, majority rule,” you say, ignoring the outrage on Mark’s face. Donghyuck pretends to be mad too, but he was only arguing with Mark to piss him off. He’ll probably follow the older boy around just to ruin his day. The two always have some fight going on—you’re convinced the reason Donghyuck agreed to be your vice president (if you win) is just because Mark would hate it. 
Jisung leaves first, eager to escape from Donghyuck and Mark. Donghyuck pauses long enough to write a few more summarizing notes on the meeting but catches up to Mark before he can vanish, continuing to pester him about Froot Loops. 
“Going home,” Renjun says, “we’re going out tonight, by the way. Turns out Taeyong is an econ major, and also a former frat president.” 
“Huh,” Chenle says, “I can’t believe neither Donghyuck or me know him.” 
Renjun shrugs. “I need to finish a couple projects since nothing will get done tomorrow.” He grins. “See you guys later.” 
“Bye Renjun,” you say, tapping your phone screen to check the notifications. 
[Na Jaemin] in the library  [Na Jaemin] lost in the library  [Na Jaemin] nvm found the stairs 
[yn] need me to come find you? 
[Na Jaemin] nah i don’t get lost (yes please) 
“You’re texting with Jaemin?” Chenle breathes over your shoulder, making you drop your phone. Unfortunately it’s still open, your messages easy to read and Chenle doesn't hesitate to snatch it. At least the rest of the guys left, only Chenle is nosy enough to wonder who you’re texting. 
“This is painful,” he announces. He hands the phone back to you. “You could at least add an emoji. Or, like, send more than one sad message.” 
“Why?” 
Chenle shakes his head. “You are texting the Jaemin, right? Na Jaemin?” 
“Is there any other?”  
“You’ve got a chance here,” Chenle continues, ignoring your question. “Not many people—well, I’ve actually heard he’s quite experienced but that’s beside the point, because you have a chance and that’s rare.” 
“Genuinely, I have no idea what you’re talking about.” You glance at the door, just in case Jaemin appears. Somehow you don’t think you want him overhearing this conversation. 
“Okay, look,” Chenle says, “you’re you. Student council, 4.0 GPA, plans to be the next director of the WHO or whatever—”
“That’s not at all what I want.” 
“—never a second you aren’t working, and then there’s Jaemin, and sure he’s a STEM major too, but the he’s type that strolls through life, who has things fall into his lap because he’s hot and lucky but you can’t really be mad about it because he’s Jaemin.” He pauses, like that explains everything. But you already know that Jaemin exists in a realm outside your own. Chenle waits a moment longer then shakes his head. “You know what, you’ll figure it out eventually.” He glances at you with a frown. “Maybe.” 
“Good bye, Chenle,” you say pointedly. 
He moves extra slow, closing his laptop only after spamming the save button. He once forgot to save a spreadsheet after a two hour budgeting session and you think he’s still traumatized. Still, spending a full thirty seconds hitting CTRL + S is excessive even for him—he’s stalling, trying to be as nosy as ever. 
“I’m meeting him at the elevator so you can stop stalling,” you say. You hover over the send button, Chenle’s “advice” infecting your brain. You hit send before you can overthink it any more. 
[yn] on the way now 👍 
Chenle sighs, returning to peeking over your shoulder. “You’re hopeless.” 
You grin and give him a thumbs up. “Thanks buddy. If you hurry you can run into him in the elevators.” 
Chenle perks up, grabbing his still-open bag and sprinting out the door. You feel a little bad for lying to him, but he was the one that didn’t read Jaemin’s messages closely enough—evident from missing the fact that he’s on his way up the stairs and how Chenle thinks he might actually be flirting with you. You shake your head at the thought. 
Just when you reach the doorway to the stairs and wonder if you should meet him in the stairwell, the door flies open. Despite climbing three flights of stairs, Jaemin breathes normally. A different backpack than usual is sling over his back, bright orange, like… well, an orange. (Persimmon, your brain unhelpfully supplies). 
“Hi,” he says. “Sorry I’m late.” You wonder how anyone is immune to his smiles. A smile like that robs you of everything irreplaceable and leaves you missing it as soon as it’s gone. 
“You’re not late,” you say, showing him the time on your phone as you walk to the council room. “Exactly on time.” 
“Oh.” He glances at you, and when you turn your phone back to face you, you understand the awkwardness. 
[Chenle] good luck 🤪🤪🤪
[Chenle] have fun with the hottie 🔥🔥🔥
[Chenle] but not too much fun 😼😼
You clear your throat, praying he didn’t get a chance to read all of the messages. “Chenle’s just making fun of my emoji use. Or lack of emoji use.” 
Jaemin nods. “I hate to take the side of someone I’ve never met over you, but he might be right.” 
“I use a perfectly respectable amount of emojis,” you say. “Besides, I’ve never seen you use any.” 
“You’re just going to have to text me more to find out.” 
You’ve never been so happy to see the doors to the council room. It’s nothing more than a glorified study room, with a rectangular table that stretches in the middle of the room, eight wooden seats set around it. A giant whiteboard stretches the majority of the back wall. The only truly special part of the room is the projector that hangs from the ceiling, with a screen that needs a button to come down. The walls that line the hallway are glass, along with the doors, so that anyone can see the council discussions, though tucked away in the back corner of the third floor, only the occasional passerby is subject to the bickering. 
Jaemin raises his eyebrows and whistles. “This is nice.” 
“Don’t lie,” you say. “The only nice thing about it is that we have full access to it whenever we want.” You point to the sign that reads Student Council Members Only. Truthfully, the six of you use it more as a private study room than for actual council work. 
“It is nice,” Jaemin says, holding the door open for you. He pauses in front of the whiteboard. Chenle had been sitting closest to it, apparently spending the final thirty minutes of the meeting drawing out different game plans for the basketball club he somehow has time for. 
“Chenle,” you explain, “he thinks he’s a part of the Golden State Warriors.” 
“How much council work actually gets done in these meetings,” he says teasingly. 
“You catch on fast,” you say. “It took me the full first year to realize how incompetent we are.” 
“How come?” 
“The president just wanted resume padding. He was incredible at sucking up to faculty and making the right people think he was a great leader, but he would send us fresh-terns to pick up condoms and sent Donghyuck with a fake to get drinks once.” 
“Fresh-tern?” 
“The freshman interns,” you explain, “since the president is the only elected position and the rest of the council is appointed, the only way to get known is through the ‘internship,’ which technically is open to anyone but only freshman are dumb enough to dedicate that much time to a job that does absolutely nothing—like, it doesn’t pay or even guarantee you a spot on the council in the future. It’s all based on whether the president likes you or not. 
“Anyway, our president last year was marginally better, and he tried to abolish the seniors-only president rule but couldn’t get it to pass in time, so we ended up with Mark. Not that Mark is a bad president, though council meetings could be half as long if he wouldn’t go on tangents every two minutes.” You stop, realizing how much you’re talking. You’ve come dangerously close to telling him the truth about the presidency. Jaemin says nothing, probably bored. “Anyways, we’ve got a few new initiatives this year but mostly we try to maintain the annual events and keep Mark’s head on his shoulders until he graduates.” 
“Sounds like fun,” Jaemin says. 
“Sometimes.” You pause. “How’s your application going, by the way?” 
He glances at you, smile fading a little. He turns back to the whiteboard, this time studying the fading drawing Renjun made a month ago of a goat fighting Donghyuck. “Still figuring things out. Mostly working on my campaign goals.” 
You nod. A part of you wants to press further, learn more about his plans—but because you want to beat him or because it’s Jaemin? Why is it so difficult to think clearly around him? 
You sit at the table and open your laptop, pulling out your notes. He sits beside you, scraping the chair against the tile floors until his knee is an inch away from yours. He must not notice the way your breath catches in your throat when he leans closer. A moment later and your brain is invaded by his scent, a clean smell like laundry detergent or body wash. 
“It’s organized by subject,” you explain. “Usually I take notes in class and then Renjun reviews and organizes it with keywords and highlighting and this coding system that I don’t really get but he swears by. Either way it works for us.” You show him the keyword that Renjun uses to signify exam hints, combining it with the past class’s date to cross reference the relevant information. 
Jaemin lets out a low whistle. “This is crazy.” 
“Yeah,” you say, “Renjun puts a lot of time into it. But when we study for exams, it’s worth it.” 
“You know Renjun from student council?” He asks, beginning to type a few notes. 
“I guess that’s where I met him first,” you say. “But he’s pretty much my best friend. The whole student council is pretty close, way closer than the group Mark came into. He tells us horror stories about how they made the fresh-terms compete just to turn them against each other, though that’s back when it was filled with poli-sci majors.” 
“None of you are poli-sci?” 
“I’m public health,” you say, “and Mark is poli-sci, but the rest of the guys avoided it. We swore that the next council would be free of the plague of poli-sci majors.” 
“You really hate them?” 
“They deserve it,” you say. “But also it’s because I made the mistake of dating one last year.” You shudder at the memory. 
“Really?” Jaemin looks away from his laptop, staring at you instead. 
“Don’t make fun of me,” you whine. “It was a moment of weakness and he confessed to me with cookies.” 
“Not making fun,” Jaemin says. “Were the cookies at least homemade?” 
“Well, yes.” You shake your head, trying to stop the next bit from coming out. But Jaemin raises his eyebrows and you can’t help it. “He had his ex make them, actually.” 
“No!” 
“Yeah, and then dumped me for them after, like, two weeks, and the guys are all convinced that he cheated on me with them,” you say. “So, no, I don’t really like poli-sci majors.” 
“A good observation,” Jaemin says. His approval makes your cells glow—scientists could discover a new form of bioluminescence from within you. 
Jaemin continues to stare at you, eyes full of warmth. It’s so easy to get lost in them, glancing between the pure dark chocolate and fond smile on his lips. The change in light when your laptop screen fades snaps you out of it. 
You eye him. “Do you even need these?” 
“Nope,” Jaemin says. He grins at you. “Just an excuse to see you.” He turns back to the laptop and continues to copy your notes into his document. You turn around, giving him no chance to see the smile that creeps onto your face. You seriously need to get a grip. Jaemin needs to get a grip and realize that he can’t flirt with you like this, not without completely upsetting the balance of the universe. But even as the world slides sideways, you smile. 
.
.
“Nothing special.” That’s what Renjun said when you asked him what he wanted to do for his birthday. But March 23rd falls on a Friday this year, and everything snowballed from there. 
That’s how you find yourself wearing an outfit even the most lenient parents would dub inappropriate, wearing more body glitter than exists in the state of Utah, taking your fifth shot. 
“Sixteen more to go,” Renjun says, patting your back. Why you promised to match him shot for shot, you aren’t quite sure. You had reasoning, at some point. Definitely before the shots. 
At least you aren’t alone—Donghyuck curls his lip after his shot, lime slice snatched out of his hand by Mark before he can take it as a chaser. Mark laughs as he grimaces. 
 “What’s our motto?” Donghyuck shouts. 
“Two and three to infinity!” Mark shouts. 
“Nobody goes to the hospital!” You shout. 
“To the grave!” Renjun shouts. 
“Huh, I guess we should have coordinated that,” Donghyuck says. “I was thinking something more like ‘happy birthday Renjun.’” 
“Shoulda said something,” you say. You take a step to the couch, the world tilting to the side, though maybe it’s actually you because you stumble into the wall. It holds you up until you make it to the couch, sighing as you reach solid ground. A couple people sit next to you, friends of friends of Renjun whose names you don’t know regardless of the alcohol. 
“You’re YN, right?” The girl closer to you says, making you feel a little guilty for having no idea who they are. She beams when you nod. “I live in Apollo Hall, Karina is my RA, she says you aced biochem.”  
“Oh, yeah,” you say. “Who do you have?” 
“Professor Ahn,” she says. 
“He’s good,” you say, “I had him for a different class and he talks off topic all the time but if you visit him in his office hours once, he’ll remember and be more lenient on the research report. I can send you my notes, too, if you want.” 
She smiles even wider. “Really?” 
You nod, your brain sliding around your skull with the movement—not a good sign, only five shots into the challenge. 
The music changes, a Britney Spears song that Donghyuck must have slipped into the rotation. The girl’s friend drags her up to dance before you get the chance to ask for her name. 
Dancing sounds like so much fun, until you stand up and realize that you’ve been hydrated too well. Your bladder announces its need for attention much like the maintenance worker that fixed the leak in your shower—loud and last minute. 
You push your way through the people crowded at the edge of the room, making your way to the hallway where the bedrooms and, more importantly, bathroom are. You pass by a semi-familiar face flirting with a girl from Renjun’s study group, but your bladder gives no time for your brain to make connections of recognition, let alone time to wave. 
Finally, you break the crowd, ignoring the couple making out concerningly close to Donghyuck’s bedroom door (something you like to call “not my problem”). All your focus is on the door to the bathroom, a piece of lined notebook paper taped on with RESTROOM scribbled in marker. Just as you reach for the handle, the door swings inwards. 
You might have caught yourself, two or three shots ago. Instead you tumble forward, the floor coming to meet you fast. And then you aren’t. 
“We have got to stop meeting like this,” Jaemin says, laughing. He caught you by the elbows, your face pressed into his chest. He helps you straighten up, though he doesn’t let go of your arms. 
“Jaemin.” You grin at him. 
He tilts his head. “You’re drunk.”  
“You’re pretty,” you say. Jaemin tilts his head and smiles at you. Endearing. Endearing, that Jaemin has an amused expression on his face. Like he is endeared by you. How funny. 
But he really is pretty. He must be hot in the leather jacket, loose over his broad shoulders. Yes, those broad shoulders. He’s hot too. But first, he’s pretty. His black hair falls just above his eyes, loosely split down the middle, framing the perfect angles of his face–the perfect line of his nose, gentle curve of his cheekbones, that jawline–and of course those lips. Perfect lips. 
Jaemin leans closer. “You’re prettier.” 
You burst into laughter, stopping only when you snort. “You almost sound serious.” 
Jaemin doesn’t say anything else, still smiling at you, only a couple inches of space between you. Ignoring those lips this close is impossible. They’re the prettiest shade of pink, and he must have put on lip balm–or maybe it’s the lighting–because they glow. What do they feel like? They have to be soft—you’d bet everything in your pocket (if these pants had pockets) he tastes sweet. Like a fruit, a yummy, juicy fruit, dripping with juice, which reminds you—pee. 
You push past Jaemin, into the bathroom. “Need to pee.” 
He catches his hand on the door before you can close it, frowning a little. “You’re not going to slip and crack your head open?” 
“Nope,” you say. “Really need to pee.” He lets go of the door and you slam it shut, using one hand on the counter to steady yourself while you fumble with the lock. After an eternity, you finally get to the toilet, which, despite the number of people crowded in a house of two college guys, isn’t totally disgusting. 
Two minutes, an empty bladder, and clean hands later, you push the door open. Your balance has improved just enough for you to feel confident in your ability not to die on the dance floor—and with perfect timing because Break Your Heart by Taio Cruz just started playing. You find Donghyuck in the middle of the room and join him, grinning when he cheers. 
Renjun appears halfway through the next song, shots in hand. More of the tequila ends up on the ground than in your stomach by the time you knock it back but Renjun shouts, “Six!” anyways. 
Another 2000s hit plays (it’s definitely Chenle’s playlist, which reminds you that you haven’t seen him in a while) and you get Renjun to stay on the dance floor for the full song. It’s hot and sweaty and you wouldn’t be anywhere else in the world. 
Donghyuck cheers again, hyping up the people that join your little circle. You turn to see Jeno, wearing a piece of fabric that technically could be called a shirt though it really looks like a hole for his head that’s completely open at the sides except for the ties at the bottom. Beside him, and right next to you, Jaemin grins at you. He throws an arm over your shoulder, pulling you against his side. 
“And I was like baby, baby, baby, oh!” You shout along with the song, vaguely aware of the rest of the guys singing along—except for Jaemin, who waits for Ludacris’s verse to come in to rap it word for word. 
Renjun drags you away before the next song can start. “Number seven,” he shouts in your ear over the bass. 
“What about Donghyuck?” You glance behind you where he starts a full performance, an empty water bottle as a microphone. 
Renjun shrugs. “He’ll catch up.” 
You watch Renjun struggle to pour the tequila, holding the bottle with two hands off the edge of the counter to get the mouth as close to the paper shot cups as possible. You can’t see how much tequila actually makes it into the cups but it burns its way down, sending your stomach spinning. Only a third of the drinks you are supposed to take with him but you’re already questioning the next round. 
Renjun gets dragged away from you by some people you aren’t even sure are actually his friends, but you lose track of him when someone tugs on your hand. Jaemin, again. He lost his jacket at some point, wearing a shirt that matches Jeno’s, showing off his considerable arms. Even in the poor lighting from the strobe lights Donghyuck set up, you can see the definition in his biceps. 
Yeah, you’re definitely staring. 
Jaemin asks something but you can’t hear him over the music. You step closer, stumbling a little on your own feet. As always, he catches you, arm sliding around your waist. 
“How are you doing?” He shouts over the music. 
You grab his other forearm to keep yourself from falling over. “I’m so hungry.” 
Jaemin leans closer, lips brushing against your ear. “Wanna get out of here?” You raise your eyebrows at him and he grins. “The McDonald’s, across the street?” 
“I need French fries,” you say, letting go of his arm and spinning out of his embrace to face the door. He catches you before you can go too far (and fall on your face), looping his elbow through yours. 
As soon as the door closes behind you, everything falls silent. Not everything, because you can still hear the bass from inside the house, and cicadas sing, and the highway is close enough to hear the rumbling of engines passing by. But quiet falls in the space between you and Jaemin, a breath waiting to fall free. 
He doesn’t let go over your arm, using his other hand to brace the three steps in front of Donghyuck and Renjun’s place. He leans on you as much as you lean on him, magnets stuck to each other, except magnets don’t struggle to stay upright crossing an empty street. Maybe if they could get drunk. 
The street light flickers above you, crackling electricity. You can feel Jaemin’s bare arm against yours, firm muscle held taut. You peek at the boy beside you, his head tilted to the sky. Pretty. You won’t say it again for fear of being repetitive, but it’s the right word for this moment. Not just Jaemin, but the chilly night air, the faulty light above you fighting with the neon lights to illuminate your breath. You’ll blame the alcohol in the morning, but tonight it’s all pretty. 
Jaemin swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, and he turns to meet your eyes. It’s definitely the alcohol but you don’t look away. 
The crosswalk changes to the white man, beeping at you to cross the street. You tear your eyes away from him, settling for clinging to his arm to make it past the striped crosswalk illuminated by headlights. 
You’re hardly the only drunk couple at McDonald’s. Jaemin notices you limping a little and drops you off in a booth, stumbling on his own to order. You must have done something dancing, though you don’t remember anything hurting. Your ankle hurts now, so you lean your head into your elbow and watch Jaemin’s back. 
The fluorescent lights can’t make him look sickly. They show his arms in their full glory, open sides revealing enough of his body to make you self-conscious. The hint of a farmer’s tan dusts his arms, shoulders just a shade lighter than his forearms. Where did he get that from? 
So many questions about him. So much to know. So little you do know but you like him so much it gets so hard to tell. What matters. 
Jaemin puts his wallet into his back pocket, turning around and smiling when he meets your gaze. He slides into the seat across from you. “Potatoes are incoming.” 
“Do you know what persimmons taste like?” 
“What?” His brow furrows, a cute frown that makes you forget what you’d asked. 
“Never mind,” you mumble. Opening your mouth any more around him is a dangerous game—you aren’t quite sure what will spill out. 
He reaches out to tap his finger on your arm. Like the sun, being in his atmosphere makes everything warmer, his touch boiling your skin. The heat flows through your body, each cell vibrating with the need for something. 
“You feeling okay?” 
It takes considerable concentration to work past his finger, which has graduated to drawing shapes, and answer him. “Renjun wanted to do twenty-one shots for his birthday but seven is beyond enough.” 
Jaemin whistles. “Is Renjun going to survive tonight?” 
“Probably not,” you mumble. “That opens up a council position. You could be a good social media person. Your face is pretty enough.” 
“Is that the only requirement for student council?” Jaemin asks. “Being pretty?” 
“You can’t be a poli-sci major either,” you say, “which you pass. It helps that you’re smart, and kind. I like people that are smart and kind.” 
“That’s a low bar,” Jaemin says. “What else do you like?” 
“Hm…” Your voice rumbles, a funny feeling in the back of your throat. You hum for a little longer before you remember Jaemin asked you a question. What do you like? 
“Sharks. They’re much cooler than dolphins. And potatoes, I love potatoes. I like Renjun. And Donghyuck. And Mark, even though he’s a poli-sci major. I like Chenle and Jisung. They might be my favorite people.” And you. I like you so much I don’t know how to say it. 
“What about doctors?” Jaemin leans closer, intertwining his fingers with yours. “Do you like doctors?” 
You lift your head up, pouting your lips at him. “Doctors have needles. I don’t like needles.” 
Jaemin laughs. “Even if the doctor is super rich?” 
“Rich? From taking all my money?” You cry. 
“Rich from saving people’s lives,” he says. “Like a neurosurgeon.” 
You squint at him, the blurriness of your eyelashes mixing with the blurriness of the alcohol and canceling out until his face becomes clear. “Are you actually pre-med because of Grey’s Anatomy?” 
Jaemin looks away, running a hand to the back of his neck. “Maybe.” His biceps are almost enough to distract you from his admission. Almost. 
“Oh my god.” You can’t hold back the giggles, trying to cover your mouth with your hand. Tears prick at your eyes and you gasp for breath, stomach twisting the alcohol with the giggles and turning over itself until you aren’t sure if you’re starving or need to throw up. 
“It’s a perfectly respectable career!” Jaemin says. 
“You want to be Patrick Dempsey?” You say between giggles. “Not even McSteamy?” 
“Hey, he’s—wait, you watch it too?” 
You shrug. “It’s fun.” 
“Then how are you making fun of me!” He cries. 
“I didn’t go into medicine because of it!” 
Before he can say anything else, the workers shout a number. He glances at the receipt and shoots you a glare without a drop of malice in his eyes and leaves. 
Jaemin being silly. Jaemin bickering with you. Hard to believe that even two weeks ago, you never would have believed he watched children’s shows in class and chose his profession because of a soap opera. Jaemin who keeps surprising you, who makes you want to believe that maybe he’s from the same planet as you after all. 
He brandishes the brown paper bag in front of him like treasure. What does it matter that you’re grinning because of him and not the golden treats inside?
“For you,” he says, setting the bag in front of you and tilting it on its side so you can reach inside for the fries. “I didn’t know what sauce, so I fought… Okay, maybe flirted with the worker, but the important part is that I got one of each.” He pauses glancing at you. “Which apparently you don’t need.” 
“So good,” you say, eating them properly: no sauce, just freshly fried golden perfection. You look up to find Jaemin smiling at you… fondly? Is that what’s in his eyes? 
“What?” 
He shakes his head. “You’re just cute.” 
You stare at him, fry halfway to your mouth. He looks down, the tips of his ears tinted red as he grabs a fry and dips it in honey mustard. 
The rest of your time at McDonald’s is dedicated to properly enjoying the French fries and not at all sneaking glances at Jaemin sneaking glances at you. You finish the fries long before the swirly feeling in your stomach goes away. The butterflies must be drunk too. 
“Back to Renjun’s?” Jaemin asks, standing up and extending a hand for you to take. The most dangerous handhold of your life. You don’t think twice about taking it. 
“Mm, I’m pretty tired,” you say, “and Renjun was pretty adamant about the twenty-one shots thing. If we go back, he won’t let me go until one of us is in the hospital.” Walking is easy when Jaemin lets you lean on his shoulder. Standing just outside the McDonald’s, your shadows stretch ten times as tall as you, the lines between you and Jaemin undefined. 
Jaemin raises an eyebrow. “You aren’t worried about him?” 
“He swore to send Donghyuck to the grave before him, he’ll be fine,” you say, “plus Jisung is there, sober. They’ll be fine.” 
“And you?” 
“I’ll be fine when I get home.” You tilt your head up from his shoulder only for him to look down at you, his nose brushing against yours. Your breath catches in your throat, heart pounding. But you don’t move away and neither does he. 
“Take me home?” 
He doesn’t move for a heartbeat, eyes flickering to your lips. Then he turns his head straight, patting your head with his free hand a couple times. “Okay.” 
You whisper directions, a ten minute walk from Renjun’s place. The walk home is considerably less stumbly, your balance recovered halfway through the fries. You cling to Jaemin’s arm anyway, more afraid of letting him go than falling. 
The building appears far too quickly, Jaemin pushing open the glass doors and walking you to the elevators. You don’t dare say a word to break the silence as the elevator dings to the third floor. He waits until you reach your door to disentangle himself from you, standing with the tips of his sneakers a millimeter away from yours, catching your hands in his. 
“Goodnight, YN,” he says. 
No. This isn’t the time for goodnight, not when every atom in your body might explode if he takes a step away. You tighten your fingers around his. 
“Do you want to come in?” You ask. “See my apartment?” 
He tilts his head, a little frown creasing his brow. “Okay.” 
You fumble with your keys, hands shaking when you open the door. Emotions swirl around you, making it difficult to tell the difference between excitement and anxiety, if it exists. Calling the place an apartment is a bit of a stretch. Glorified broom closet is your preferred term–a bed shoved against the far wall with a tiny window next to it, desk tucked in next to it like a puzzle piece without enough space for a chair, a door for your bathroom, directly next to the “kitchen” of a stovetop oven and sink, and a closet that barely fits your coats.
Beyond being tiny, you left the place a mess, second, third, and fourth contenders for outfits strewn on your bed, unwashed dishes in the sink. The entryway is the only space for the two of you to stand together comfortably but you lead Jaemin farther in, balling up the clothes and tossing them into your hamper underneath the bed. 
“I don’t normally have company,” you explain. 
“It’s okay,” he says, “my room’s a mess too.” He picks up the pink teddy bear from your bed and smiles. “A gift?” 
You shake your head. “Bought it myself for surviving sophomore year.” You pull the great white shark out from beneath a blanket. “Freshman year.” 
“Cute,” Jaemin says, still looking at the bear. 
You follow Jaemin as he wanders the tiny room. He pauses at a framed picture of the student council that sits on your desk. It was a gift from last year’s graduating cabinet, the whole group, president, appointed cabinet, unofficial members, and the fresh-terns, fifteen people in total. 
“That one’s my ex,” you say, the word still strange in your mouth. “If you count two weeks as even dating.” 
“The one in red?” 
You nod. 
Jaemin snorts. “I’m way hotter than him.” He sets the picture and turns, and suddenly only a couple inches of space separate him from you. This close, you can see exactly how pretty he is, long eyelashes that cannot be natural, even longer when he stares at his toes instead of meeting your eyes. And, this close, you can see the soft pink of his lips, lower lip jutting out just a tiny bit. 
Not drunk, not yet sober, it’s easy to lean a little closer, brush your lips softly against his. The kiss is over before you can think about it. 
You open your eyes to Jaemin staring at you, eyes wide, somewhere between disbelief and fear. You open your mouth to apologize but he moves faster, hand coming up to cup your face and pulling you closer until you kiss him again, your hand instinctively catching you against his chest. He links his fingers with your free hand, tugging you even closer to him. 
He moves slow at first, a gentle kiss that takes your breath away anyway. He pulls away when the stars flood your brain, smile boyish and sweet. His thumb strokes your cheek into the shape of a heart. Then he slides his hands to the back of your neck, letting go over your other hand to wrap around your waist and pull you against his chest. 
Jaemin knows how to kiss. He moves like it’s his last chance, desperate lips telling truths words can’t capture. And you might not have as much experience, but you understand the language of desperation. A never ending chain of fireworks explode within you, pushing you to wrap your arms around his neck, kiss him even harder. Your hands move on their own, tugging at the cloth of his shirt until he leans back, breathing heavily. 
“How far you want to go?” He asks, chest rising and falling with each breath. “You know consent is so sexy.” 
You laugh, giddiness making it difficult to think. “You have a condom?” 
Jaemin grins, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out his wallet. He slips the shiny packet out, tossing his wallet to the floor along with his shirt. He gives you a proper amount of time to ogle his chest before tugging you against him again, your heart pounding so hard against him he must feel it. 
He tilts your head towards his until his lips brush against yours, and when he speaks, you feel every word. “Now where were we?” 
.
.
[Na Jaemin] sorry I had to go :( [Na Jaemin] wish I could have been there when you woke up  [Na Jaemin] but! I have a surprise [Na Jaemin] [image attached] [Na Jaemin] see you in the morning <3 
You blink at the message, a picture of him wearing a fuzzy headband in the middle of his skincare routine. Your head pounds a little, but otherwise your hangover isn’t too bad. Definitely not the worst it’s ever been. 
No, the strange feeling in your stomach is something else. Last night is burned into your memory, every move, every touch. Jaemin, who you fell asleep beside, though the timestamp on the texts show he didn’t stay much longer after. Not that you expected him to. It’s Jaemin, you remind your traitorous heart. No matter how much he flirts, no matter what he did drunk, he was never yours. 
Your phone rings, but it isn’t Jaemin. 
“Hey,” Renjun says. 
“You sound awful,” you say, throat aching. 
“You’re one to talk,” Renjun says, “and you didn’t even get to double digits. Donghyuck out-drank you.” 
“And how’s Donghyuck doing?” 
“Throwing up in the shower, it sounds like.” 
You laugh, the motion, sending your stomach spinning. “Happy birthday Renjun.” 
“Yeah, yeah,” he says, “I actually did call for a reason.” 
“I am not helping with clean up,” you say, “Chenle swore he’d do all of it since he bailed on set up.” 
“Not that,” Renjun says. “I’ll be over as soon as I can walk without passing out.” He hangs up, leaving you to frown at the empty screen. 
Well, considering how late he got back, Jaemin probably won't be awake any time soon. You need to shower and rehydrate and try to convince your stomach to take something—and with how Renjun sounded over the phone, it seems like you’ll have plenty of time. 
An hour later, slightly burnt toast, and post-Advil, the headache is mostly gone. Your stomach still twists at the thought of Jaemin. You jump at the doorbell but find Renjun wearing a mismatched sweatsuit and his bright orange crocs, glasses nearly sliding off the bridge of his nose. He wears the hood of his sweatshirt up but you can see tufts sticking up. 
��God, did you shower?” You catch a whiff as he passes by, reeking of tequila. 
“I was serious about coming over as soon as possible.” He groans, collapsing on your bed. “I think I maybe came over too early though. Might need to throw up.” 
“Do you want toast?” You offer. 
He glares at you. “Just sit.” Renjun rarely speaks with patience but today he seems extra short on it. Maybe because of the hangover, but the way he glares at the carpet before turning to look at you makes you wonder if something else is wrong. His eyes soften a little when he meets your eyes, his frown lightening just barely. 
“I really wish I didn’t have to tell you this,” he begins. “Did you go out with Jaemin last night?”
“He… took me home,” you say. “What’s wrong Renjun?” 
“Last night—well—this morning, I met some guys from Sigma Nu, who are friends with Jeno and Jaemin,” he says, “who were talking about how Jaemin is going to be president. About how he’s messing around with the frontrunner, trying to distract them or fuck around, trying to take the presidency.” He falls quiet, studying your face. 
“He wouldn’t.” Your voice feels so small. 
He wouldn’t, you said, but you can’t even convince yourself. Your heart flounders, drowning in a lake of its own creation, choking on fantasies. Your brain takes control in the chaos, gears turning despite the crashing waves. Facts don’t need oxygen. 
1) Jaemin approached you about the presidency first 
2) he pretended not to know you were running 
3) he’s known for hooking up with anyone 
4) he never belonged in your world 
The conclusion is obvious, a conclusion you could have come to much sooner if you weren’t too busy getting swept off your feet by his easy flirting and sweet smile. Though your heart doesn’t want to believe it, it makes too much sense. So much more sense than the hope you were stupid enough to believe in. Jaemin isn’t that type. How many of your friends told you that? How many times did you tell yourself that? But you let him hurt you anyway because he held your hand and called you cute. How quickly a fruit can rot when it sits in the palm of your hand. 
Jaemin doesn’t exist a universe away–he lives in your world, worse than a cliche. The type of boy that made you want to believe in him, even when you knew better from the start, and maybe that’s the worst part. He never hid who he was, what he wanted. It’s you that wanted more, that believed he could want something more. How pitiful. 
“I’m sorry,” Renjun says softly. “I wanted him to be different.” 
“Did you? Because everyone was telling me about how I needed to be careful, protect myself, not get hurt over him. Did any of you consider that I didn’t ever expect anything from him?” You shake your head. “No, you all thought poor little YN, getting their feet swept out from under themself over a boy that doesn’t give a shit about them? A boy that’s actively trying to stop them from achieving a dream they’ve had since they started college? Well, guess what? You all were right. Congratulations.” You bite your lip trying to hold back the tears but it’s too late. 
“I’m sorry,” Renjun repeats. He pats your arm, looking away when you swipe at your eyes. He waits for you to take a shaky breath, hand on your arm. You grab the teddy bear, trying not to hear Jaemin calling it cute. 
“I slept with him.” The admission burns its way up your throat. “Last night.” You sigh. “You don't have to tell me I’m an idiot.” 
“Okay, I wasn’t going to say that,” Renjun throws his arm over your shoulders. “Though I’m kind of regretting sitting on the bed.” He scoots a little forward but squeezes your shoulder. “You’re going to do things you regret, there’s no stopping it.” 
“Why do you always have to be right? Why am I exclusively attracted to shitty men?” Your chin digs into the innocent bear, jaw tightening. “Why can’t I just like a boy that likes me?” 
“Do you think maybe you liked him too much?” Renjun asks gently. “Like maybe you liked the idea of him more than Jaemin himself.” He pauses, squeezing your arm. “Don’t let a boy that isn’t real hurt you.” 
You lean into his touch, resting your head on his shoulder. “But he was real. Sweeter than persimmon. Like a strawberry. Or a mango.” 
“Okay, I’m not understanding.” 
“I thought he was a persimmon, a magic fruit I could imagine tasting sweet or sour or tart but he’s real and even though his flavor isn’t a mystery, it’s better than what I could have imagined. Like taking a bite of a pineapple and it’s the best pineapple you’ve ever had, juicy and sweet.”
“Okay first of all, that’s a terrible metaphor, please stop talking about how he tastes or I will throw up,” Renjun says. “Also persimmons are real.” 
“I know that,” you snap, “but I’ve never had one, so they’re magic to me.” You stare ahead, grateful Renjun knows when you just need a little bit of time to work up the courage to say what you need to say. “I’m saying you are right. I didn’t really like him, not at first. But it’s worse than that because when I did get to know him, it was so much better. He wasn’t a dream, he was a boy who watches Grey’s Anatomy and does skincare even after a night of partying.
“I know it makes more sense, that his flirting wasn’t real, that he was never really interested in me. But nothing real about him makes sense, and I want to believe in him, still.” You purse your lips. “Pretty pathetic, huh?” 
“You really liked him,” Renjun says, “that won’t just go away.” 
“That would be too easy,” you mutter. 
Renjun laughs. “You’re going to be fine. There are so many better men.” 
“That’s what you said last time,” you say. 
“And I was right,” Renjun says, “Jaemin is better than last time. Marginally. At least he isn’t a poli-sci major.” 
You snort. 
“See, you’re already laughing at him.” Renjun pushes you off his shoulder, standing up and groaning. “Now, I’m going to throw up in your bathroom, and then we can watch dumb action movies until your brain rots. The rest of the guys are supposed to come over, though I think Donghyuck is still throwing up.” 
You bury your face into the bear. “Does everyone know?” 
Renjun pauses. “The guys from this morning were sort of proud to be the ones to tell us.” 
You groan. The door to your bathroom closes but you barely hear it. You clutch the bear a little tighter, as if the fluff could break through your chest and fill the spilling hole in your heart. 
It would be too easy to blame Jaemin, to pretend like none of the pain is from your own stupidity. But you already told Renjun. You knew it from the start. 
Knocking at the door, a knock that means only one person. You wipe the tears from your eyes and take a deep breath that does nothing to steady your heart. 
“God, I was afraid I was waking you up.” Jaemin starts talking as soon as you open the door. He holds up a bag, a tray with two iced coffees and a hot cup. He looks unfairly good and, of course, he grins at you. “I wasn’t entirely sure what your hangover cure is, so I got hot and iced coffee, and there’s a breakfast sandwich and a donut and also these potato things, I really wasn’t sure what you’d like, but–” 
“Did you know that I was running for president?” 
Jaemin freezes, frown slowly curling his brow. “What are you–”
“Just answer the question.” You grip the door handle, knuckles turning white. 
He pauses a moment too long. “It’s not like that.” 
“Never talk to me again.” You fight the urge to slam the door, but your neighbors don’t have to suffer your wrath. You shake your head, “I can’t believe I fell for your bullshit.” 
Jaemin opens his mouth but you close the door, sliding the deadlock as hard as you can. He has the audacity to try to explain himself. If you didn’t want to hear him out so badly, you might laugh. Instead you turn your back on the door, sliding down it until you can rest your head on your knees and sob. 
.
.
Jaemin makes it halfway down the aisle of seats on Tuesday before you turn to Renjun, panic and tears in your eyes. He glares at Jaemin so hard he freezes in his tracks and doesn’t try again. He doesn’t look at you in class, not even a peek. On Thursday, he walks straight to his seat. 
.
.
Chenle doesn’t bother to throw his packages into the recycling after opening them. He says he’s hanging onto them to make moving out easier, but really he’s just too lazy to break them down. You have to step around them to get into his apartment, since he thought it would be fun to make an obstacle course out of them. Navigating these sober is hard enough, you have no idea how he makes it to bed after a night out. 
But today, it’s worth it. It’s been two weeks since you cut off Jaemin, a month since the day you bumped into him in class (a month and three days but who’s counting?). He doesn’t look at you anymore. You haven’t fully escaped him–every once in a while you’ll hear his laugh from the other side of the lecture room. The sound still stabs between your ribs, a wound turned new each time you hear it. But it cuts a little more shallow each time. One day you won’t feel it at all. 
And today, Chenle got a puppy. 
She cries before you make it over the baby gate in Chenle’s room. A tiny ball of white fluff bounds toward you, tripping over her own feet. 
“Hi baby!” Your voice automatically rises three pitches looking at her. “Aren’t you just adorable!” You crouch down, letting her jump on your knees. She won’t sit still long enough to be pet, sprinting around your feet, then back to Chenle sitting on the floor, back resting against his bed. 
“Hi to you, too,” Chenle says pointedly. 
“Hi Chenle,” you turn back to his puppy. “And hello puppy!” 
“Her name is Daegal,” he says. You can hear him rolling his eyes. “‘Cause she’s got a big ass head.” 
“Chenle is so mean to you!” You coo at the puppy at your feet. “But that’s okay, I’ll take good care of you. You can come home with me!” 
“You hear that baby?” Chenle says. “YN wants to pay me $1000 to take care of you!” 
You stare at him. “Did you seriously adopt a $1000 puppy?” 
He shrugs. “She’s really cute.” 
“You’re insane.” Daegal settles down enough to let you pat her head. 
“I invite you into my home for some much needed puppy love and this is how you treat me?” Chenle sighs. “To think that I felt bad for you, that I told you about her before anyone else. This is how I get treated for my kind heart.” 
“I don’t need your pity,” you say. Daegal licks your hand. 
“It’s not pity.” He pauses. “Well I guess it is pity, but you’re also my friend YN. Believe it or not, watching you live the sad boy lifestyle over some dude, again, is not fun. I’d much rather watch you being happy with my puppy.” 
“You’re the one who brought it up,” you mutter. 
Chenle claps his hands, making Daegal jump. “But that does remind me, everyone has been too much of a coward to ask, but I’ve heard from tertiary sources about his reputation, but I’d love a first hand account.” 
“What are you talking about?” You eye him. 
“How was the sex?” 
“You’re seriously asking me that?” 
He shrugs. “Well, yeah.” 
You pick up Daegal, staring at her instead of Chenle. She wiggles her tail, then her paws, so you set her back down. “I’m not answering that.” 
Chenle narrows his eyes, studying you. “That means it was good.” 
“That’s not at all what I said.” 
“And yet you’re not denying it.” 
“Please shut the fuck up.” 
For once he listens. With Renjun, silence means peace–he doesn’t say anything that doesn’t matter. When Chenle doesn’t speak, it means he has something to say and he isn’t sure how to say it. You peek up at him and your suspicions are confirmed. He chews on his lip, frowning at you. 
“Just tell me.” 
Chenle purses his lips. “He dropped out.” 
“Of school?” 
He rolls his eyes. “The election.” 
You stare at him. “Seriously?” 
“He hasn’t touched his application since Renjun’s birthday and Donghyuck said yesterday he emailed and said he wasn’t going forward with it.” He doesn’t say anything about how technically you should be checking the email. 
“But it doesn’t make any sense.” 
Chenle shrugs. “I’m just telling you what I was told.” He stands up. “Now! How much do you like cleaning up dog pee?” 
You glance down at Daegal, who squats in the middle of the room, a dark stain on the carpet beneath her. Chenle tosses you some paper towels and a can of Febreeze. 
“Why am I cleaning up after your dog?” 
“Because you tried to steal her,” he says, “and I’ve already done this three times today and I’m really sick of it.” 
You shake your head but pull off a paper towel and press it into the stain. 
“We’re going out tomorrow night, by the way,” Chenle says. “And you’ve passed two weekends in a row so you’ve hit a cap for the month. You have to come with, no ‘buts.’” 
Apparently the grace period of pity is over. Whatever, it’ll be nice to do something other than hiding in your room watching Powerpuff Girls. And maybe you will see him. Maybe you’ll get an answer to the giant question mark that’s lodged itself in your heart when Chenle told he dropped out. Maybe the little caterpillar of hope that’s survived these past few weeks can metamorphize. 
And maybe he’ll break your heart again. But you won’t get any answers daydreaming. 
.
.
How Renjun can still drink Tequila, you truly do not understand. Ever since his birthday, the thought of it makes your stomach flip, and you didn’t even drink that much. But he sips on the margarita, insisting it doesn’t taste like alcohol. 
“It’s disgusting,” you say, pushing it closer to him. “I am not drinking this.” 
He rolls his eyes. “You do realize the whole gimmick of this place is all their drinks are made with tequila, right?” 
“No one told me that!” You glare at Chenle, who showed up at your door at exactly 8:00pm and dragged you to the bar. “For the record, I would have pre-gamed. But I guess I can be the babysitter tonight.” 
Chenle cheers. “Donghyuck, you’re back in! YN is babysitting!” 
Your drink slides down the table to Donghyuck, interrupting whatever ‘conversation’ he was having with Jisung. 
“I thought the whole point of dragging you out was to make you have fun,” he says. 
“You better be fun, then,” you say. 
Donghyuck raises his eyebrows but eventually take a long sip. “Brain freeze!” He cries, clutching his forehead. You laugh with the rest of the guys. It’s almost normal, except you can’t help but peek at the door whenever somebody walks in. 
The night passes and the guys get more drunk. The bar gets more crowded–soon you are squished between Renjun and Chenle, barely able to breathe as the music slowly gets louder. The tequila looks more and more appealing but the guys need at least one person sober to make it back alive: Chenle arm wrestles a stranger while Donghyuck has some poor soul cornered, practicing his pick up lines. 
When Chenle loses, you push past him, muttering something about fresh air that they probably can’t hear. You push through the crowd of drunk people, trying not to remember the last time you did this. 
You squint at the steps, edges difficult to see with so little light. Who builds a bar on the second floor of a building? You make it to the final step but misjudge how close it is and your foot slips off the edge, sending you tumbling forward. You might have caught yourself, but you don’t have to—strong arms catch you mid fall, wrapping around your waist and swinging you clean off the stairs and onto solid ground. You aren’t surprised at all to look into Jaemin’s eyes as he lets go. 
He frowns at you, eyes so dark they look black. Maybe it’s the lack of light, but the twinkle in his eyes, the glint you’ve come to recognize as trouble, is missing. 
“Hi,” you say. 
He drops his arms, stuffing his hands into his back pockets. “So you’re talking to me now?” 
An apology begins on your lips but you can’t push it out. Not when you still don’t understand. “Can we talk?” 
He glances at you. “Have you been drinking?” 
You shake your head.  
“Okay.” He doesn’t walk away, folding his arms over his chest. 
When you imagined this conversation, the sun shined so that you could see the warmth in his eyes. He smiled at you, called you silly for ever doubting him. The Jaemin in your head wouldn’t ever do something to hurt you. 
But Jaemin doesn’t exist in your head–it’s far past time you learned that. 
“I’m sorry,” you say. “I shouldn’t have just cut you off. But I thought… I don’t know what I thought, let alone what I think now.” You force yourself to meet his cold eyes, searching for a hint of warmth. “Chenle told me you dropped out of the presidency.” 
He nods slowly. 
“But Renjun told me that someone told him that the presidency is the only reason you ever pretended to like me, but if you dropped out then I really don’t get it. Not that I ever got it in the first place, though, because you’re you and I’m me, and everyone kept telling me that, like I didn’t already know that you are supposed to be a persimmon and grow on a tree far far away from my lemon or pomegranate or whatever kind of fruit I am, because the point is we were never meant to be.” You take a deep breath, realizing that you don’t exactly sound sane. “What I’m trying to say is that it doesn’t make sense. It made sense when you were trying to cheat me out of the presidency, but you dropped out. And it doesn’t make sense.” 
Jaemin blinks slowly at you. “You would rather believe that I was trying to rob your presidency than that I actually like you?” 
“Do you?” 
He frowns. “Of course I do. I like you so much I think about things I’ve never wanted before, the silly shit–watching horror movies as an excuse to cuddle, having picnics by the river, buying groceries together–I wanted to do all of it with you. 
“You talk a lot about how we’re different people—who gives a shit? If I’m the type of person that wants to be with you and you’re the type of person that wants to be with me, why does any of that matter?” He takes a step closer to you, and you can see you were wrong. His eyes aren’t cold, they’re full of emotion, dark waves of hurt. “What do I have to do to prove it to you? Should I tell you how pretty you are? How incredibly smart you are—not fake smart like me, but really smart. And when I’m around you, I like who I am. I know it’s cheesy but you bring out the best in me. 
“I know I fucked up. I should have told you how I felt before anything else, and I shouldn’t have left. I regretted it as soon as I was gone but it was terrifying to lay next to you and give you my bare heart, even when I didn’t think you would ever try to hurt me.” He takes a deep breath. “I don’t know if it hurts more thinking that you never wanted a relationship or thinking that I’d ever stoop that low. I mean, everyone tells me about my reputation, but I didn’t think you cared about any of that.” 
Tears prick at your eyes. How could you be such an idiot? Listening to all the wrong people, especially yourself. Jaemin doesn’t exist in another world, he isn’t any kind of fruit. He’s a boy that you like that likes you back. It doesn’t have to be any more complicated than that. 
“I’m sorry,” you whisper, reaching a tentative hand out to rest against his arm. “I’m so sorry.” He drops his head, sighing. “I was an idiot.” 
He sighs, staring at your hand. You start to drop it but he grabs it, squeezing your fingers. “Where do we go from here?” 
You study him, eyes finally adjusted to the darkness. Jaemin who is not a fruit, not an alien, just a boy. 
“Hey.” You reach out and cup his cheek, waiting for him to meet your eyes. “My name is YN. I think you’re really cute.” 
For a heartbeat he doesn’t move. Then he smiles, cheek rising underneath your hand. “Hey, my name is Jaemin. I think you’re really cute too.” 
“Oh really?” You slide your hand to the back of his neck, wrapping your other arm across it. His arms wrap on your waist, pulling you into a hug. He squeezes you flush against him, head tucked into your shoulder just as yours is tucked into his. 
“I know we can’t start over,” he says, “but can we start again?” 
“How about this time we just talk to each other?” You say, tapping your fingers on his shoulder. “No more rumors and gossip.” 
He nods, chin digging into your neck a little. “I swear, I won’t give you any reason to doubt me ever again. I won’t be the kind of guy your friends call a red flag.” 
You loosen your grip and lean back to look him in the eye. “Wait, did they seriously say that to you?” 
“I ran into Donghyuck after I dropped out and we had a very… one sided conversation with his side doing all the talking,” Jaemin says, “and Renjun made it obvious from the start that he didn’t like me.” 
You laugh a little, then even more when he pouts. “You’ll win them over again.” 
“They really don’t like me,” he says. 
You cup his cheek again. “You’ll change their minds.” He leans into your touch, closing his eyes. You lean forward, resting your forehead against his. He gasps a little, hands tightening on your waist. 
“Now, am I remembering incorrectly, or are you an amazing kisser?” You ask. 
He grins, leaning forward and closing the distance without wasting a second. Neither of you can stop smiling, lips and teeth gnashing together but it’s still the best kiss you’ve ever had. 
.
.
You stretch an arm out, only to find more bed instead of empty space. You sit up, shivering as the blanket falls away. Right, you fell asleep in Jaemin’s bed. His room is much bigger than yours, sharing an apartment with Jeno. He has enough room for a dresser and a nicer desk, even a chair. It seems he lied to you about being messy, because even when you show up unannounced, like today, his clothes are neatly folded and the biggest mess you’ve found has been three dirty dishes in the sink (which you later found out were Jeno’s). 
Jeno, apparently, isn’t all bad–he did let you in even though your boyfriend was still out. He doesn’t fully trust you, but then again, your friends don’t hide their mistrust of Jaemin either. You maintain your earlier stance that time will heal that wound. 
You hear a knife against a cutting board coming from the kitchen, so you wrap the blanket around your shoulders and shuffle towards the sound, unable to stop the smile from spreading up your lips when you turn the corner and find Jaemin standing at the counter. He glances behind him and grins at you, and even though you just woke up from a nap and probably have messy hair and marks on your face, he says, “you look sexy.” 
“So cheesy,” you say. He laughs and turns back around. You slip behind him and wrap your arms around him, burying your face in his back and closing your eyes. He radiates warmth better than any blanket. It’s too easy to lean against him, take a deep breath of the scent of his laundry detergent and cling to him. Jaemin moves slowly, careful not to hit you by accident. 
“What’re you doing?” 
“A surprise,” he says, “at least my attempt at one.” He sets down the knife on the counter and taps on your hands, pulling them apart gently and spinning around to face you before setting your hands back on his waist. He tilts his head at you when you purse your lips and frown. “What’s wrong?” 
“Still no ass,” you say, patting him a little lower than his waist. 
“Hey!” He sticks his lower lip out. “I’m trying.” 
“No one’s perfect,” you say, sliding your hands back up and sneaking a kiss to his cheek. 
“You are,” he says, cupping your face to kiss you properly. Jaemin still kisses like it’s his last chance, drawing out every moment, lips lingering on yours until your head spins. It’s only when you can’t breathe that he finally pulls away.  
“Good answer,” you say. 
He smiles. “If you come to the gym with me I’d be more motivated to get an ass you’d be proud of.” 
“You send enough pictures for me to know that if I saw you at the gym I would never survive,” you say. “You want me to die?” 
He laughs, squishing your face together with his hands. “If anyone’s going to die, it’s going to be me, because you are too cute.” 
He presses another kiss to your lips, still squished together in a pout. He laughs at the outrage on your face, letting go of your cheeks and slipping his hands behind your neck, kissing you one more time for real, letting go far too early. 
“The surprise,” he says. He lets go of you with one arm, turning to the cutting board and holding up a slice of what he was cutting. It looks a little bit like a tomato, though it’s more orange than red, and about the size of a golf ball. 
“A persimmon?” 
“I still don’t really get the persimmon thing,” he says, “but I’ve never tried one.” 
You blink at him. Jaemin makes it so easy to fall in love. He holds the piece closer to your mouth, waiting for you to open. A persimmon tastes sweet and mild and rich, a little bit like honey. Jaemin eats his own piece, frowning and nodding. 
“No more magical mystical fruit,” Jaemin says. 
“You’re going to make an amazing trophy husband,” you say. You tap him on the nose. “Maybe we could even be a power couple.” 
He grins. “We’ll be so cool. Like Beyoncé and her husband.” 
“Jay-Z?”
“Whatever.” Jaemin flips his hand. “The important part is that I am Beyoncé.” 
You smack his shoulders softly. “Hell no, Beyoncé would never have a flat ass.” 
“It always comes back to the ass.” He sighs. “Be honest: are you embarrassed by me?” 
Once you never thought he could be embarrassing. That was before you knew he staked his career on a soap opera and wears jorts to the gym, before he called you drunk just to confess he accidentally stole your pencil, before he spent three hours putting up campaign posters for you (and then another two getting written up by campus police for not having permission). Before you fell in love with him. 
“By you? Never.” You pat his cheeks. “Your ass leaves much to be desired, though.” 
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thank you for reading!
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writemekpop · 13 days
Text
Cold Feet | Mark Lee
Summary: With just one week to go, you call off the wedding. You’ve just realised that you know nothing about your fiancé.
Genre: Angst, established relationship AU
Word count: >1k
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KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK
You stood outside Mark’s door, shivering. Icy rain was slamming down, drenching you, but you didn’t care. You just needed to see your boyfriend.
“Come on, open up!” you cried, banging on the door again.
The door swung open. Mark was standing there, in nothing but his grey pyjama bottoms, rubbing his eyes sleepily. His dark hair was splayed out in all directions.
“Y/n, whatchu doin’ out here? It’s three in the morning.” Mark said. He stood to the side, ushering you in. “Come inside, you’re soaked.”
You shook your head, ignoring his outstretched hand. “We’re getting married in a week!”
Mark smiled. “I know. Baby, wedding planning is all we’ve been doin’ for months.”
“No, you don’t get it. Mark, we’re supposed to be getting married, but… but… we can’t!”
Mark frowned. “Why not?”
“Because we don’t know anything about each other!” Tears slid down your cheeks, mixing with the rain.
“What are you talking about, Y/n? Of course we do,” he said softly.
“No we don’t. We’re making a huge mistake!”
“Please just come inside so we can talk about this properly.”
You followed Mark into his apartment. He handed you a towel and one of his spiderman T shirts.
“Put this on, you’re gonna catch a cold,” he said.
Your heart twinged at Mark’s kindness. You got changed out of your clothes and sat on Mark’s bed, wearing his T shirt that smelled just like him. You gulped.
Mark rubbed his neck. “Y/n, this is just pre-wedding jitters. Freaking out in the middle of the night ain’t helpin’ anyone. Can we just talk in the morning?”
“You’re not listening to me! Mark, we’ve been dating for a year, but we haven’t talked about anything important. I mean… where are we going to live once we get married? One of us is going to have to give up their apartment, but who?”
Mark stared at you in silence. You went on.
“We’ve never talked about whether we want kids, or if we’re gonna send them to private school or not. Whose family are we going to visit on the holidays? And what about money?”
Mark shook his head. “Y/n, I don’t care about all that stuff. All I know is that I love you, and that I wanna be with you for the rest of my life.”
Mark touched your arm gently, but you shook him off.
“All that stuff, Mark, is our entire life,” you spat. “Love isn’t enough.”
The temperature in the room fell to zero.
“Do you not love me?” Mark asked, voice small.
“I do, but Mark, what even is love? We don’t live together, we’ve never been on holiday together, heck, we’ve never even had sex!”
Mark gulped; eyes glued to the floor. “I thought you said you were okay with that…”
You sighed. “Mark, don’t you get it? We’re rushing into this lifelong commitment when we’ve barely thought it though. I should never have… said yes when you proposed.”
“Are you saying you don’t wanna marry me next week?”
You let out a shaky breath. “Not next week… but maybe someday?”
“I have never doubted us, Y/n.” Mark stood up, stuffed a pillow under his arm, and walked towards the door.
“Where are you going?”
“To sleep on the couch,” Mark said, rubbing his eyes.
“But this is your apartment…” you said.
Mark groaned. “Fine, you sleep on the couch! Actually, why don’t you go back to your own apartment!”
“Mark, I-“
“Why are you sabotaging our wedding like this, Y/n? You should have talked to me earlier, instead of waiting till the week before our wedding. You’re being so… selfish.”
“I’m sorry,” you said, tears beginning to fall again.
“Go home, Y/n. I can’t be with you right now.” Mark pushed you out of the bedroom and slammed the door shut. The lock clicked.
You looked around Mark’s living room. There were pictures of the two of you on every surface. You felt sick.
You sobbed the entire way home in the taxi. When you got inside your apartment, you flopped onto your bed, not even bothering to take off your shoes. You had just pushed a good man away. What had you done?
---
The next morning you were awoken by a thumping on the door. You jolted out of bed, head throbbing from crying so much.
Could it be…? You tried not to let yourself hope as you ran to the door and pulled it open.
Yes! It was Mark, looking adorable and tired with his circle glasses and stubble.
“Mark, what are you doing here?”
“I think we should move into your apartment,” Mark said.
You raised your brows. “What?”
“Yours is bigger, so it just makes sense,” Mark said. “And I do want kids, but no more than three. I’d wanna send them to private school if we can afford it. Let’s go to your folks for the holidays, and for money? We can figure it out together.”
You sighed. “Oh, Marky.”
Mark took your hand in his and pressed a kiss to your palm. “I’m sorry for gettin’ mad last night, Y/n. Everything you said was totally reasonable. We… need to talk about this kinda stuff before rushing into anything.”
You sighed.
Mark looked at you, brown eyes glassy. “We can postpone the wedding if that’s what you want. We don’t even have to get married. But, please, I need you in my life.”  
You pulled Mark into a tight hug, too overwhelmed to speak. You breathed in his familiar peach shampoo smell, and basked in the warmth of his body.
“How was I lucky enough to find you?” you whispered; face buried in his neck. “I must have done something amazing in a past life. Saved a bunch of orphans from a burning building or something.”
Mark snorted.
You were beaming as you pulled him into your apartment, shutting the door behind you.
“I want to kiss my man, but I don’t wanna give the neighbours a show,” you said, smirking.
Mark just smiled, and leaned in to kiss you. His lips were eager, and his hands roamed your hips. You could feel his tongue against yours, sending shivers down your spine. You pushed your hands into his hair and kissed him back, hard.
When you pulled away, you were both panting.
Mark leant his forehead against yours. His eyes were closed.
“There was one more thing I wanted to talk about… about what you said last night,” Mark whispered.
“What is it?”
“The fact that we’ve never… you know…” Mark bit his lip.
You pulled away to look your boyfriend in the eye. You cupped his cheek. “Baby, I’m fine with that. You said you wanted to wait till marriage, and… I respect that.”
Mark’s fingers were toying with the hem of your blouse. “Are you sure you’re going to be able to resist me for that long?” His pink lips were pushed out in a smirk.
You giggled, wrapping your hands around his broad shoulders. “It’s true, you are irresistible. It’s going to be torture.”
You dragged out the last word, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to Mark’s neck. He shuddered with pleasure.
“It’ll be worth the wait,” Mark said, his eyes slipping shut.
“Don’t I know it.” 
MASTERLIST
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hyuckiesdoll · 8 months
Text
𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧 + 𝐜𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠
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. *. haechan x f!reader
He’s mumbling against the skin of your neck, wrapping his palm around the space above your hip. His lips curl in the form of quiet pleads, please don’t go —you always go, stay in bed with me— begging under heavy breaths that coat your throat in goosebumps. 
“I have a meeting,” you tell him, struggling against the hand that holds you. Against the body that lays flush against your twitching frame, screaming at you to listen. 
“Screw your meeting.” 
He licks a strip up your neck —stops just below your chin to place a languid kiss before sucking down, slowly hitting every inch. You inhale, feeling the way he moves meticulously between each kiss; taking the time to show you just how much he wants this. 
“Haechan I—“
“Please?”
The neediness of his voice is infectious. Like a disease, it pushes into your ears, taking over your mind. In an instant, every productive thought is obscured by the blooming of temptation. The pulsing pain develops between your thighs as he dips a set of fingers to ghost the edges of your entrance. It aches with newfound demand. The sudden feeling ripping through your chest; making you gasp at the touch of calloused skin slipping through soft folds. 
Quickly, it creates a domino effect. One where the denial of your pleasure is compromised in the form of a muted microphone.
Behind you, Haechan continues his ministrations as you listen to your boss talk about upcoming deadlines for projects you’re too blissed out to focus on. In the background of your shared breathing, you can hear him rambling on about some big-time investor —about how it’s crucial during this time to perform. 
“How would you rate my performance?” Haechan laughs against the nape of your neck, mocking you as he pushes two fingers inside. “You think my boss will give me a raise?” 
Instinctively your mouth opens to let out a moan, reluctantly reveling at the pressure despite wanting to scold him. To shove him off and grumble about how inappropriate this all is. 
“They can’t hear you,” he reminds you then, using his thumb to graze the outside of you.
It pulls you back in again —the sensations of him wrapped around, fucking into you with his desperate hand. Each movement becomes a reminder of the end. A subtle cue that has you closing your eyes and mouth, waiting for something more. 
As your boss begins to call on teams for updates, you can hear Haechan’s quiet praise. The sound of his breathy compliments latching to your skin, telling you how good you’re doing. How smart and beautiful you are. How well you take his fingers in preparation for his cock. 
An inevitable chill runs up your spine when Haechan makes the aforementioned switch. When his fingers move to hold your stomach and he slips inside, filling you up inch by painstaking inch at the same time your boss calls your name. 
You have to force yourself not to moan as you reply. To ignore the aching feeling of Haechan’s unmoving cock just sitting inside as you provide your boss with updates. 
“Good work,” he tells you, but before you can sit with the professional praise Haechan takes over, adding to the approval with a hand around your throat. 
“Good work, huh?” It’s said with bite. The way he mocks your immediate need to do the best you can, makes you swallow hard, feeling his fingers tighten. “That’s my girl.”
There’s a possession that takes over after that. Every movement is rough. The hand around your throat feels heavy; obstructing the air that keeps trying to push itself out and the way he pulls you back against him, stretching you out for a deeper angle that has you whimpering against his forearm, praying to god he moves. 
When he doesn’t you find yourself squirming for more, resisting the hands that hold you in place so you can force the push and pull. 
“You’re not paying attention to your meeting, sweetheart.” 
Under your breath you huff, feeling him buck his hips just once before he laughs and settles back in, roughly massaging the sides of your throat with nimble fingers that move up your chin to grab your jaw.
He forces you to focus on the screen of your computer. To look at all the coloured boxes that obscure real faces, completely ignorant to the fact that you’re lying here naked, feeling so full. Narrowing your eyes, you glance around at each one, trying to focus on the voice of someone who’s talking about sales as Haechan thumbs your bottom lip. 
“Unmute your mic.” 
“What?” 
“You heard me.” 
It’s an argument that’s quickly overthrown when Haechan does it for you, darting the hand that rests against your face to click the button before putting it back. Out of embarrassment you open your mouth and feel him carefully move his hips, smirking against your shoulder blade.
You have to force yourself not to swear as your head falls back, feeling the way he leisurely moves in and out, providing enough force to build but not to surpass the oncoming orgasm. Slowly but surely, the base of your cunt begins to tighten up, throbbing with minimal friction as you try to match his pace, shifting against him. 
As time passes, you can feel your thoughts begin to cloud over, resulting in the missed cue your coworker gives as he calls your name, prompting Haechan to tap your cheek and stop. 
It pulls you away from your blissed-out state, creating a sour taste in your mouth that has you sighing heavily, asking them to repeat themselves. 
After they do and you respond, Haechan mutes your mic again, snorting. “Thought I told you to pay attention.” 
“No, you said—“
He tuts, shoving his fingers against his tongue to shut you up. “Shhh, your boss is talking.” 
Obeying, you wrap your lips around his digits, letting your tongue explore each one as he relentlessly moves inside of you; each connection of your hips providing that familiar tinge of pain each time he stretches you out. Against his hand, you hum at all the returning sensations. The way he grips your hip —the way you follow each other through the delirium of shared pleasure.
“Don’t want to get in trouble, do you?”
You say no but it comes out all garbled, resulting in Haechan shaking his head, knowing you mean it. The last thing you want is trouble —to be perceived as anything less than perfect in and out of the workplace. Haechan knows this because, without a shadow of a doubt, you’re always good to him. Always giving. 
He wants to return the favor, especially after all the teasing, so when he pushes through the final hurdle, feeling you shudder around him, he lets his mouth find purchase against your neck, suckling the supple skin before sinking his teeth inside. 
“Good job sweetheart, you deserve a break,” he tells you, watching the way you twist your neck to look at him with wide eyes he ultimately ignores by closing the lid of your laptop and nestling back inside of you. 
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haetrack · 29 days
Text
(lucky for you) we’re just friends
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lee haechan x gn!reader
wc: 6.6k
summary: haechan realizes, for once in his life, he doesn’t know what to do. he's in love with his best friend, and he's sure you don't like him the same way. do you think about him as much as he thinks about you?
warnings: angst, little fluff, bittersweet, unrequited feelings, jealously, argument, confession, dialogue heavy, end of a friendship
heavily inspired by like a friend - pulp
this is part 1 of the how it all goes series!
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haechan can feel how his heart pounds in his chest, aching and yearning for something he can’t quite reach.
he’s someone who tries hard to get what he wants, and most of the time, being able to achieve that. he believes if he wants something that bad, then there should be no reason why he shouldn’t be able to get it. he’ll learn, he’ll adapt, he’ll make any changes needed. but now, as he lays in bed within the darkness of his room, he feels lost. nothing’s ever quite compared to this feeling, a feeling of longing for something.
something called you.
he has his phone on his chest, feeling the buzzing of notifications as you text him. you asked if you could come over, despite how late it is and how rain currently is pummeling down. he couldn’t say no to you, his best friend. while he’d be normally happy to see you, he was busy thinking of how it would feel to kiss you before you texted him. he can’t bring himself to pick up his phone, not really sure what to say.
it’s not until he hears knocks at his door that makes him get up. he opens it, and there you are, your jacket drenched in rain while you smile at him. he can’t help the smirk that forms on his face, mirroring your own. he pulls you inside, away from the cold rain and into his warm apartment. you peel your jacket off before pulling haechan into a hug, nuzzling into his shoulder. he can feel how cold you are, his arms hesitantly wrapping around you.
“sorry for coming so late,” you sigh, “just wanted to see you.”
“long day?”
“horribly long. it’s like god was testing me or something.”
haechan laughs as you pull yourself away from him, plopping down on his couch, taking up most of the space. haechan squeezes himself in the small spot left, one hand finding your knee as he tries to comfort you. despite the tiredness of your voice, your eyes shine when they make eye contact with his, almost as if he's healing you.
you start, “i almost ended up not coming here, i thought you fell asleep on me,” he shakes his head, “you weren’t answering me.”
“i was just… in the bathroom.” he lies.
you hum, glancing at him one last time before pulling out your phone. it’s quiet, and haechan can hear the light sound of rain thrumming against his window. you’re here, taking up all his space, not bothering to move you out of the way. whatever’s his is yours, he thinks. he turns to you again, notices how you’re typing on your phone, your attention pulled away from him. he makes a show of grabbing your phone from you, whines coming from your mouth as you try to grab it.
“no phone time when you’re here with me!” he huffs, “you asked to be here so late, so now you have to pay attention to me.”
you frown as you try once more to reach for your phone. haechan laughs loudly at you, enjoying how hard you’re trying. “say please, haechan. maybe even a pretty please, haechan will do!”
you glare at him, inhaling a big breath of air before saying, “pretty please, haechan.”
he cooes at you sweetly before precariously handing your phone back to you. you sigh, now fully seated up as you lean into his side. you miss how he flinches at your touch, how his eyes dart nervously to yours. you lean your head onto his shoulder, eyes closing as he wraps an arm around you.
he likes how this feels, likes how you just come to him no matter how much he annoys you. he wonders if you’re like this with anyone else, wonders if you’d still smile at them if they annoyed you as much as he did. he doesn’t like the thought, biting on his tongue at the uncomfortable feeling inside of him.
he looks to see you now scrolling through instagram, not noticing the longing looks that haechan sends your way. you surprise him when you tiredly look up at him, seeing him slightly flustered for a second before pushing it away. it’s bittersweet, having you like this knowing he’ll never really have you like this. at least not in the way he wants.
he’ll let you do this as many times as you want. he’ll let you take over his mind if you need to.
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you: haechannn
you: come pick me upplzzzz
it’s two in the morning and haechan can hear two buzzes coming from his phone. it’s you, probably drunk, asking for a ride home. he’d normally go out to party with you, but one essay and one shift later, he was stuck to his bed. as much as he’d like to go back to sleep, you’re more important. he grabs whatever clothes are closest to him, shoving his keys and wallet into his pockets before driving off.
he has the address from when you had asked him if he wanted to go. but as he pulls up to the place, there is quite literally no spot for him to park. he parks down the street, having to walk a good eight minutes down to the house. he slips past the people outside, into the house that’s filled. despite the amount of people there, he can easily spot you from far away. of course he would, he thinks, you shine the brightest to him.
he taps your shoulder, and as you turn towards him, he can see the growing grin on your face. it’s easy to tell that you’re drunk, the hooded eyes and lazy smile on your face proving it.
“haechan,” you drag his name out, “you don’t know how much i missed you,” you whine into his neck as your throw your arms over his shoulders. he tries to stop the blush on his face from forming from your warm breath on his neck, but fails when he feels your nose nuzzling against his skin. he doesn’t try to pry you off of him, deciding in this one moment to indulge in your touch.
“come on, we gotta get you home so you can sober up.”
he drags you away, saying goodbye to your friends as you both walk out. you lean against him as you both walk down the street, his body warm compared to the cool night. his hand is wrapped around your waist, leaning into your touch. it feels so normal like this, so used to the thoughts of you two together like this playing in his head late at night. he’s not sure if this will ever happen like he wants it to, holding onto you a little tighter than before.
the streets are illuminated by orange street lights, shining down the both of you as the loud music begins to fade as you walk away. he can feel you stumble, him helping you back up as you smile at him. he doesn’t know how long he’ll be able to pretend that your smile doesn’t play in his mind constantly. it hurts having you this close, but it hurts even more knowing you probably don’t feel the same way as him.
in the current turmoil of his mind, one thought is louder than the rest. he doesn’t want to say it, doesn’t even want to think it. he tries to push it away, but when he looks as sees the sweet smile on your face, three words begin to form in his throat. he can’t help it, the words begin to bubble up, threatening to slip out of his mouth. before he can stop it, his mouth opens up, sucking in a breath until-
“haechan… you take such good care of me… you’re such a good friend.”
your words are whispered into the cold air. haechan’s mouth shuts, the words dying in his throat as new thoughts are replaced in his mind. he’s only your friend. no matter what he wishes, what he wants, what he feels like he needs, he’ll never get it. this time, there’s no way for him to work to get it- to get you. the smile on your face tells him what you said is real, genuine words despite how drunk you are.
he feels a little stupid as you make it to his car. he opens the door for you, letting you stumble into the passenger seat. once he’s in, he buckles your seat belt, successfully getting you away from the cold and into the safety of his car. he sees how your eyes shut, how your body naturally leans towards his. it’s stupid for him to think that there’s any way that you might like him back.
he grips the wheel, bites his tongue, fighting back words of a confession to your tired mind. he can’t do that to you, and decides it’s better to drive off into the night.
he unlocks his apartment for you, opening the door and taking you straight to his bathroom. he washes your face to the best of his ability, rinses your mouth out with water, and hands you a cup of water. you whine, but he sternly tells you to drink it. after more complaints, you eventually listen to him, gulping it all down.
he didn’t mean to have you come over. you asked if you could in the middle of your car nap, eyes still closed as you spoke. he can’t say no to you. he eyes you, your party clothes still wrapped around you as you gulp down the water. he offers you some of his clothes, and you happily accept them.
“won’t you let me sleep with you, haechan? it’s too cold for you to be alone on the couch tonight.”
you knew him, knew how he’d give you his whole room to himself. he tries to argue with you, but you pull him down next to you. your arms wrap around his body as you nuzzle your neck into his shoulder. if this were any other day, haechan would play along, trying to annoy you. but tonight, his heart is aching while wrapped in your arms.
he loves you.
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“... and so i was about to fight my professor, he just wasn’t- hey, haechan? are you even listening?”
haechan tears his gaze off of you from far away. you’re sitting next to your own friends who he doesn’t really talk to. you pay no attention to him, probably not even aware he’s in the dining hall at the same time as you. you look nice right now, smiling and laughing, leaning onto the person at your side. he wonders if you’re talking about him, wonders if you bring him up as much as he talks about you.
he’s taken away from his thoughts as renjun snaps his fingers in front of him, glaring straight at him. haechan sends a pretty smile at renjun, hand on his cheek as he puts all his attention on him, “continue.”
“do you even know what i was talking about?”
“something about… a fight… and your professor…”
renjun huffs, turning around and scanning the room to find what haechan was so distracted with, “if you were paying attention to what i was saying, you would’ve known that the fight would’ve been- oh. oh.”
haechan looks away, eyebrows furrowed knowing that renjun had seen you. it’s stupid, haechan thinks, how you take all his attention. haechan wasn’t even supposed to be here, his class was cancelled, joining renjun to go grab lunch. if he had known you would be here, he would’ve asked to do something else. it’s not that he doesn’t want to talk to you, but he doesn’t want to think about the other night.
“haechan, you can’t keep doing this.”
“doing what? looking at my literal best friend?”
“you know that’s not what i’m talking about.”
haechan sighs, trying to move on. he pushes the food on his plate around, trying to push all thoughts of you out of his mind. he just can’t stop thinking about you. he wonders if there might be any way for you to see him more than what he is- a friend. he can’t force you to like him, can’t force you to think about him. all these feelings for you are building up inside of him, and it only gets worse when he sees you.
haechan looks at renjun, really looks at him and asks, “is there anything i can do about this?”
renjun looks a little startled by his seriousness, “if i’m speaking honestly, there’s not a lot. if you’re the only one feeling like this, then what else is there left to do?”
“it’s just… the other night, we were walking together, and i just felt… it felt different. i realized that i have all these feelings but there’s nothing i can do about them. they have nowhere to go.”
it hurts to think about, and with a quick glance, he sees your smiling face once more. you’re free from worry, free from the stress of knowing how haechan feels. seeing you puts a smile on his own face. if he were just your friend, he’d walk over, say hi, and sit. but he’s here, sat with renjun, talking about how you don’t want him. how you supposedly don’t want him. although it hurts, it’s funny to think about how there might not be anything between you two anymore.
renjun doesn’t laugh, doesn’t get annoyed, he just breathes out, “i don’t think it’s going to happen the way you want it to.”
haechan plays with his fingers, “i know.”
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haechan has to pick you up after class today.
he hasn’t seen you in person since the party night. he’s of course texted you, never fully being able to pull away from you. you draw him in every single time, texts filled up with pictures with a text saying this is us. while haechan is fighting to keep everything in, you’re sending him posts that remind you of him. the small gesture makes his heart swell, body aching to be with yours again. it’s only been like, three days, he reminds himself, i’m acting like i’m dying.
he swallows down his feelings, turning on his car and blasting a song to try to think of something else. he can’t, thinking of you sitting in the passenger seat humming along to the song. he thinks about laughing at you when you sing off-key, thinks about how you ask him to sing instead. he thinks he can sing every single song in the world if it would make you happy.
after an excruciatingly long ride, he finally makes it to your class’s building. you let him know you’d be waiting outside, and as haechan pulls up, he sees you. except, you’re with someone else, laughing along with someone that haechan has never seen before. he bites his lip, grips down onto the steering wheel as the sickly feeling of jealousy pools in his body. he honks his cars horn, thinking it might be the only way to get your attention.
you’re startled out of your conversation, turning to find the source of the sound, finding haechan sitting in his car. there’s a smile etched on his face, but his eyes show something else you can’t quite pick out. he watches you say goodbye to this random person, watches as you walk to his car, sliding yourself in. he can’t stay upset too long, tries to shove down the feelings almost slip out.
“hey, haechan. should’ve texted me that you were here, i swear i almost died when you honked.”
“it wouldn’t have been a problem if you weren’t so busy talking to whoever that was.” he bites the inside of his cheek as he drives off to your apartment. he’s supposed to hang out with you, but he’s not sure what’s about to happen.
“be nice!” you say jokingly, “they were just someone from my class, someone kept asking crazy questions during lecture so we were just-”
“laughing together,” he cuts you off, “yeah, i saw.”
you roll your eyes, “clam down, dude. i’m not replacing you, i promise you are still my best friend.”
your words are supposed to calm him down, but it only makes it worse. he doesn’t want to start an argument, doesn’t want to make you feel bad for something you’re not even aware of. but that’s the problem, you can’t see how he looks at you, can’t see that he’s getting jealous of the thought of someone else making you laugh like he does. it’s bad to feel like this as a friend, worse as someone who likes you. he chooses to be quiet.
“anyways, there’s this party i got invited to at a friend of a friend’s house. you wanna go with me?”
“who invited you?” haechan asks, trying to focus on the road instead of the rising jealousy.
“this guy that my friend knows. i wouldn’t have said yes if it weren’t for you,” you chuckle, “i felt bad that you couldn’t go to the party the other night.”
once your words register, he immediately feels bad. you were thinking about him. you felt sorry for him, felt the need to say yes to someone you didn’t know, just for him. he lets out a small laugh, “you know you didn’t have to. we’re literally supposed to hang out today.”
you smile at him, happy that he’s calmed down, “trust me, i wanted to. plus, i wanted to see if i can find someone cute to talk to tonight.”
haechan gapes out, “why would you need that? i’m gonna be there with you the whole night, just talk to me?”
he can see how you give him a confused look, “i meant like, talking talking to someone. you’re supposed to be my wingman.”
“it’s not that, i just- i don’t know. sorry.”
“don’t do that. tell me what’s wrong, please. i’m here for you, i’m your best friend.”
before haechan realizes it, it all just flows out of him, “i don’t want you talking to someone else. i want you to talk to me, want you to spend tonight with me. not some person from class or- or some random person from a party.”
he doesn’t look at you as he continues, “i want you to be with me. and, god, i just- you don’t know how much i want you to just look at me for once.”
his ears are ringing. he can’t hear if you’ve said anything, or if you kept quiet. he’s near your place, wonders if you’ll still let him, let him apologize, let him put it all behind you. instead, he sees how you shift in place, sees how your eyes shift all over, sees you breath in to speak.
“drop me off here.”
“but i-”
“haechan. please drop me off here.”
he can’t breathe, mind going blank as he can feel you run away from him, “i’m sorry, i just- i didn’t mean to- i don’t know what i was saying-”
“don’t make this worse, haechan. i’ll text you, i’ll walk home, just let me get off here.”
he can’t fight this. he can’t keep you in here. he can’t take back what was said. he unlocks the doors, whispering, “okay.”
what has he done?
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haechan feels like his life might quite literally be over.
not only did he angrily confess to you, he might’ve just ruined his friendship of many years just to say that he likes you. well, he didn’t outright say i like you but… you could probably tell what he was trying to say. nothing can make this better. like any of his problems, he wishes he could text his best friend. this time, he’s not sure if you would answer him.
the next best thing he can do is call renjun. he doesn’t really want to, doesn’t want to hear a lecture, doesn’t want to hear how he messed up, how messed up he is. at the same time, he doesn’t know what to do. renjun might not either, but calling him would beat the recurring thought of how he’s ruined everything.
so haechan calls him.
“hey, i’m doing like, ten different things right now so-”
haechan interrupts, “i confessed.”
there’s silence on the other end for a few beats, “you did what?”
“i confessed without even thinking. i just rushed it all out with no plan and i-” haechan takes a breath, “i was so jealous, so fucking jealous to where i couldn’t keep it in anymore.”
“and what happened?” renjun sighs, closing whatever book he was reading.
“nothing good, i think. we were supposed to go to a party, i’m assuming neither of us went to the party. i drove home alone, and now i’m here, and nothing feels right anymore.”
“did you try talking or just like, sending a message?”
“no, what’s the point? who’d want to talk to anyone after something like that happens?”
“that’s true.”
it feels like the conversation ended, haechan and renjun sitting in silence on the phone call. haechan can feel how his eyes begin to well up with tears, feeling like everything might truly be over. you’re still his best friend, he still wants to talk to you, laugh with you, cry with you, and do so much more. you’re slipping away from him, and it’s all his fault.
“i know who you are as a person, haechan. you-” haechan hears a small groan as renjun tries to articulate his words, “you can’t give up like this. i know you don’t want to give up like this.”
“but what can i do? it’s all so fucked, i fucked everything up.”
“no, you know what to do. you just can’t do this halfheartedly, this is your best friend we’re talking about. make it work, haechan.”
“and if it all doesn’t work?”
“then that’s how it ends.”
haechan whispers goodnight into his phone, quickly hanging up on renjun. he doesn’t bother trying to hear anything else. his body buzzes with a feeling of longing, quickly moving to his messaging app. he finds your contact, hovering over your name as he moves to text you. he stares at his screen, reads a few texts from nights before, and lets out a breath. his fingers begin typing, and before he can fully register what he’s typing, he sends you a text.
haechan: if it’s okay with you, would you want to come over tomorrow afternoon?
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haechan doesn’t go out the next day.
he stays in his room, hovers around in his apartment. haechan keeps on checking on his phone, trying to see if you’ve texted him back already. the sun is beginning to set, and haechan thinks it might actually all be over. it hurts knowing he hurt you, his best friend. you’ve never really argued like this before, haechan not letting you run away from him for more than a second.
now that this has happened, haechan can only think of giving you space. he can’t beg you to talk to him, can’t just ask you to ignore what he said. these feelings that he has are as real as yours are, he can’t look past that. so as he checks his phone one last time, he’s ready to let you go. he moves to sit on the edge of his bed, staring off into space.
it’s not until he hears a knock at his door.
he didn’t invite anyone but you over, and he’s sure you’re not showing up. he trudges to the door, fully expecting to see renjun with a frown on his face when he opens the door. instead, when he opens the door, he sees you standing there. your eyes look tired as you greet him with a faint smile. he awkwardly stands at the door for a moment too long, spluttering as he tries to come up with something to say.
“are you gonna let me in, or what?” you ask, a teasing lilt in your voice. 
he blinks, “sorry, uh, come in.”
he moves aside to let you in, giving you space as you walk in. so many times he’s hung out with you, but none of them feel like this. he feels guilty, feeling like he pressured you into coming over. he keeps his distance from you, shifting his weight on his two feet, watching as you look around his apartment before your gaze settles on him. you don’t look angry, you don’t look happy either, but you still smile at him. he can feel his heart jump in his chest.
“look,” haechan starts, “i didn’t even know you were going to come over. i-i’m sorry-”
“let’s not do that just yet, yeah? let’s just… talk. wanna head out to your balcony?”
he nods, quickly catching up to you as he slides open the door to his balcony. you watch how jittery his movements are, a feeling of sadness washing over you as he tries being careful around you. you did this to him, and you don’t really know how to fix it. you move to his cramped balcony, big enough to fit two lawn chairs and the smallest table you’ve ever seen.
you remember the day he bought the table. you watched as he hauled the big box by the balcony, opening it up just to see a small table, staring right back out at him. you both bursted out laughing, hunched over as you pointed at the size of it. haechan’s cheeks were tinted pink as he tried to justify himself for the accidental mistake of buying the wrong size.
“whatever! it’s perfect for out here, perfect for our little space.”
you hummed, “you better not invite anyone to this spot. this is for me and you only.”
“you know it’s only gonna be you. who else would i’d rather have here than you?”
you look away, fitting yourself into the cramped space of the balcony, sitting down on one of the worn-down chairs. he squeezes in, quickly sliding the door shut as he sits on the other chair. he’s not looking at you, choosing to look out at the setting sun, the light cascading over the both of you. it’s quiet, save for the passing cars and the rustling of the leaves on the trees. you breath out, trying to figure out what you want to say.
haechan beats you to it, “i really didn’t think you were gonna come. i texted you so late, and… i don’t know, i was so horrible to you yesterday.”
“the text you sent me was like, the most formal text you’ve ever sent,” you laugh out, “i was so worried that i just had to come over.”
he freely laughs out at your words, feeling himself relax at your words. he has to remind himself again that it’s still you, his best friend. he’s known you for so long, and for the meantime, he can put his feelings at the back of his mind.
you shift a little in your chair, “so… was all of that like, you saying- i mean, you confessing to me? i didn’t want to assume, and i know i kinda just walked out, but i wanted to ask.”
he messes with his fingers, “i don’t know how it happened. i didn’t want it to happen like that, i wasn’t even sure i wanted to say all of that.” he bites down on his lip before speaking again, “i don’t want to call it a confession, but i do want to say it now, properly. i like you.”
you suck in a breath, not really sure what you’re feeling. this is haechan talking to you, your friend for some time. you never really thought too much of how touchy he was or how flirty he was, it just seemed like him. now, as you finally piece it all together, you take note of the longing gaze, the shyness when you flirted back, how he always calmed down with you around.
you see it now too, his eyes softly scanning over you, no sadness in his eyes despite the situation. his look is full of all his feelings for you, and it hurts that you’re barely seeing it now. 
“oh,” you dumbly say, “that’s… i’m sorry.”
he lets out a confused laugh, “do you even know what you’re sorry for?”
you try not to laugh too hard, given the circumstances, but you do anyway. haechan joins you, and it feels normal again. “i don’t even know. i can see that you like me now that you’ve told me, but i just- how come i didn’t see it before?”
“i thought that i was pretty obvious with it. renjun even told me that i had to stop being so forward.”
“even renjun told you,” you repeat, “what a good guy. he could see it before i could.”
“he is a good guy, he was there through it all. all the times where i told him how nice you looked one day or how much i wanted to kiss you during a party.”
“you wanted to kiss me? how- how long have you liked me for?” you didn’t mean for your voice to get so high-pitched at the end, but you can’t hide how surprised you are. 
he laughs dryly, “i’m not even sure myself. it just kinda happened over time.” he sighs as he feels his phone buzz, opting to turn it off completely, “you just… i liked how you always stayed you. no matter who you talked to, even if i got jealous watching you laugh and smile at other people.”
your heart aches in your chest. he likes you, and at no point did you ever stop to think if you like him. he’s nice, a good friend, funny, and cute. comparing to how he feels about you, though, your feelings almost mean nothing. anyone can use those words to describe him, and you don’t think you feel anymore than that. you can’t say this to him, turning away to try to avoid him altogether.
“what’s wrong?” he takes hold of your shoulder, feeling how it shakes under his touch, “hey, you can tell me. i… i can probably imagine what you’re gonna say.”
“y-you can?” you sniffle, and he lets out a small laugh when he sees that your eyes are filled with tears.
“i think so. i prepared myself for everything, and it’s probably so much better than you just flat out never talking to me again.”
“i could never do that to you!” you splutter out, “you’re still my friend, and i… i’m sorry for saying that.”
he scratches the back of his neck, clearing his throat before he says, “so can i assume you don’t, uh- you don’t like me back?”
you don’t answer right away. you focus on your hands in your lap, twiddling your thumbs together. you know your answer, but you just can’t get it to come out. it feels wrong, almost betraying your friend in a way. you hate seeing him sad, and knowing that you might cause him pain makes everything even worse. you try clearing your throat, opening up your mouth, but nothing comes out.
he doesn’t try rushing you. you can tell he knows. he knows you like the back of his own hand, and your silence tells him everything. yet, he still doesn’t press you for an answer, doesn’t get mad or upset with your silence. there’s not point in doing so, no point in causing an argument that doesn’t need to be made.
finally, you speak up, “i don’t think,” you take a breath in, your words steadily come out, “i don’t think i like you. at least, not in the way you want me to.”
he slowly nods, biting down on his bottom lip as he takes in your words. it’s not that he didn’t expect this, but it’s different when it’s actually coming from you. he’s imagined this, he’s had renjun tell him this, and yet, his heart still hurts. he doesn’t really know what to do. all that he can come up with is, “yeah, that’s what i- that’s what i figured.”
it’s quiet for a while, you both sit there, staring at the sunset in front of you. no one comments on how pretty it looks, how the beams of sunlight strike against the purple hues of the sky. before you can think about it, you say, “i’m sorry-”
“there’s nothing for you to be sorry about. those are your feelings. i can’t make you feel bad over what you feel.”
you let out a shaky breath, “i know. i just, i don’t know, i wish there was more for me to say.”
“then can i ask a question?” you nod, “was there no time where you ever thought that, maybe, you could’ve liked me?”
you laugh out despite how shaky your voice is, “your nosy ass.”
he lets out a genuine laugh, no sadness behind it as he tries to refocus. you shift in your seat a little as you try to think of anything. he makes you happy, recalling all the times he’s wiped your tears away and made you laugh. even just from the other night, he helped you back to his apartment when you were too drunk to do anything. he didn’t have to come and get you, but he did.
even though he’s done all these things, you never thought of him more than a friend. it feels selfish in a way, all the things he’s done for you while you just take from him. you shake your head slowly, haechan watching how you face him, but try not to look at him. you sigh out, “i… it just always felt like you were a good friend to me.”
haechan just nods dumbly. it’s what he can expect, it was never supposed to be ‘more than friends.’ he was never supposed to find fall in love with your smile, how you lean into him when you laugh, or how you come to him when you’re sad or tired. it’s his fault you both feel like this, and he’s scared of what this might mean for the both of you.
he pokes his tongue into his cheek, his hands folded across his chest, “so, what now?”
you stare at the side of his face, his face scrunched up from either the sunlight or the worrying feelings brewing in his head. you’re not even sure yourself. you don’t know what you want, you don’t know what haechan will want in the future, either. it scares you, almost a feeling of expectations that haechan will have of you slowly falling in love with him.
“i’m not sure…” you inhale, letting out the words you really didn’t want to say, “are you… are you still going to like me after this?”
he wastes no time responding, “i’ll always like you as my friend, but i don’t think- i don’t think i can just push away these feelings i have. i won’t let it get in the way of our friendship, but it’s always going to be at the back of my mind.”
you can feel your heartbeat in your throat, trying to get yourself from saying anything that might hurt. in the end, you think, it’s probably better to say this now. “i just- i’m scared that you want me to fall in love with you in the future. i can’t make that promise, even if that’s not what you’re thinking right now.”
he tries cutting you off, “that’s not what i-”
“i know, haechan. but it’s just, we aren’t gonna be the same after this. i’m gonna be aware of how you act around me. i’ll see how careful you are when you hug me, or- or when i try to talk to someone else and you have to hide your feelings.”
his hands grip onto his thighs, your words blurring into each other at the end. he knows what you’re saying, and it almost sounds like you’re trying to pull away from him. he’s not sure how he can get you back, feeling the distance between you both even as you’re seated right next to him. he shuts his eyes, images of you both together flashing behind his eyelids. you’re everywhere, he thinks, he can’t get away from you.
you continue after a bit, “i just think we need time to figure this out. i just, i don’t want to lead you on in any way. i can’t let you keep falling for me when i know it’s just going to hurt you even more.”
he wants to try to reach out to you, grab your hands and beg you to stop. he wants to make a joke, wants to wipe the serious look on your face and replace it with a laugh. he wants to take you back inside, sitting next to you on the couch while pressing a kiss to your cheek. he tries to shake away the thought, now knowing there’s no way that it will ever happen. all he can do is nod at your words.
you pat the armrests of the chair, feeling the need to walk away from here, from him. you can feel your heart breaking for your friend as you stand up suddenly. he watches with you with bleary eyes, eyes begging you to sit back down. he watches how your hands can’t stop moving around, trying to figure out what you want to do.
“i think i want to go now, haechan. it’s- it’s getting late, and i don’t want to keep you for too long.
he subconsciously nods, sliding open the door for you as you rush into his apartment. he follows you in a daze, his body seeking at your warmth as you pull away from him. he wants to reach out and hold your hand, pulling you against him as he laughs against your shoulder. he swallows, watching how you awkwardly stand in his apartment.
“text me if you need anything. if you feel bad, don’t- don’t hide it from me. i’m still your friend, okay? remember that.”
he’s not entirely sure, but he thinks he nods at your words and lets out a small okay. he opens the door for you, letting yourself out, standing at the doorstep for a little longer. “i love- i care about you, haechan. i’m here for you, always.”
he watches you rush down his hallway, entering the elevator as it opens for you. he slowly makes his way back to the balcony, leaning against the metal fencing of it. this almost feels like a last goodbye, and he’s not sure if he’ll ever see you again. at least, not as friends. he finds you walking down the street, hands moving to your face as you presumably wipe away tears.
he could’ve held back his feelings. he could’ve never fallen in love with you. he could still be hanging out with you today, laughing on his couch as he puts on a dumb romcom. he could’ve still had it all with you, but he threw it all away in a selfish act of love. he doesn’t feel bad for ever loving you.
as haechan watches you walk away from him, he can’t help but wonder if all this time spent with you was worth it. the times cramped up in your apartment, times where you cried out to him, times where you were the only person who could heal him. all the times where you only thought of him as a friend while he could only wish for more with you. 
he doesn’t think he could ever regret it.
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a/n: this is my first fic without any smut and i am so happy with how it came out… i know how hard it is to fall off w someone so i just had to… *looks out a window* i hope this wasnt too sad but i also hope it was...
taglist: @mwahaechz @froggyforyoongi @the-universe-in-you-jjh @dorkyji @ppeachyttae @omlhyck @hazyhae @vip-access @snflwrhaerecs4u @forhaever @girlwholoveslpreppyattire @haechology @candyeollies
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j0hnj4ej3n · 1 month
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nct dream's reaction to you ignoring them after an argument
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word count: 1.4k 
warnings: slight angst but they mostly end with fluff heh, mentions of food, let me know if i missed out anything
notes: hii loveys! here’s a short post for the month of February <3 i know i said i’ll try to post monthly this year but i’ll be really busy from here on, mostly because of school but i will be working on a Jaemin AU really soon! that will probably be my next post, which i will try to get out by the end of April or early May! until then, please be well everyone, sending all my love <3
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𔘓Mark:
He’s been trying to talk to you after the argument you two had last night, but he’s only been met with cold replies. You’ve also been keeping to yourself all day, clearly still dwelling over the argument last night. Mark hates this. He hates that you’re both not being able to be comfortable around each other. He wonders if you’re still mad at him, so he asks you the next time you walk out to the living room. “No…” you say quickly, before retreating back into your shared bedroom. Mark follows closely behind you, “Why have you been avoiding me, then? I thought we talked it out already, if you’re still upset just tell me.” “We did talk it out, and we’re past that argument. But I still need some time to myself… that’s all. I didn’t mean to avoid you intentionally, I’m sorry.” You tell him as you still can’t get over the emotions from last night. Mark comes to sit beside you on the bed, patting your head twice, “You should have just told me that, babe. I’ll give you as much space as you need, just know I’m still always going to be there for you.”
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𔘓Renjun:
Renjun knows you’re doing this on purpose. He’s asked you the same question twice, and you are basically refusing to answer him out of spite. The argument is still fresh in both your minds and Renjun is trying to get over it by offering to go get take-out for you both. But since your petty ass is ignoring him on purpose, he wants to be petty right back. “I’m asking you one more time baby, do you want me to get you anything for dinner? I’m about to leave.” Silence. “Fine, I’m leaving.” Renjun storms out of your shared apartment, almost slamming the front door behind him. He doesn’t understand why you’re ignoring him after the two of you already talked it out. You always do this and he doesn’t get it. He’s frowning the whole way to the restaurant but when he leaves, he carries a plastic bag containing food for two.
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𔘓Jeno:
“Baby… won’t you talk to me?” Jeno is not new to this treatment from you. Everytime the two of you argue, he’s met with the cold shoulder. It’s like he suddenly doesn’t exist, even if he’s standing right in front of you. You’re just avoidant, and you promise you’re trying to be more communicative but it’s still a work in progress. Jeno has an evident pout on his face, it genuinely makes him sad when you do this. He sighs at your silence, “Okay, I’ll leave you be… I’ll be in the room if you need anything okay? I love you.” Your heart flutters and you try not to show it, you hear Jeno shuffle into your room and the door closes behind him. You can’t ever stay mad at Jeno for long, and this sounds ridiculous but you miss him already. You’re still feeling a little upset and you don’t have anything to say but you just miss being close to him. So you drag your feet towards your shared bedroom, opening the door and walking to where Jeno is on his gaming chair, wordlessly. He quickly turns around, eyes wide and about to ask if you need anything. But before he gets to open his mouth, you crawl onto his lap and drape yourself over him. You can hear Jeno chuckle to himself and feel how quickly he wraps his arms around your torso. He knows well enough that this means you’re okay, maybe still a little bothered but you just want to be near him. And he allows it, so he only pulls you closer because Jeno would choose this over you ignoring him any day.
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𔘓Haechan:
“Are you really ignoring me right now?” Haechan stands in front of you with his hands on his hips, blocking your view of the TV. “Hey! I’m talking to you!” He says as he waves his hand frantically in front of your face. You only glare up at him and swat his arm away. “You’re so childish…” “You’re childish.” “Oh? So you respond now…” You just cross your arms and nudge Haechan aside with your feet. You honestly don’t even know what show is on right now, you just need the white noise to drain out your anger. “If you’re still upset about something, just tell me. How am I supposed to read your mind, baby?” “Okay, fine. I’m upset with you.” Haechan sits beside you now. “Okay, that’s obvious… May I know why?” “No.” “Baby.” “I’m not calm enough right now to tell you.” You let out a breath, it comes out like a huff. “Do you always look this cute when you’re angry?” You give Haechan the nastiest side-eye and he just giggles. “What? You’re just so cute.” He says as he reaches out to pinch your cheeks. “Stop it!” Haechan only laughs. “Sorry, sorry…” He replies trying to hide his chuckle behind his hand.
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𔘓Jaemin:
This doesn’t happen often, at all. Jaemin and you have been rather calm every time you’re met with a disagreement. But this escalated really quickly and caught both of you off guard. You two ended up arguing over something so silly, saying unkind things in the heat of the moment, and worse still, in public. You got so emotional about it, so quickly. And you feel like you’re being dramatic when you begin to walk away from Jaemin to cool down. He’s calling out for you immediately. He catches up quickly, reaching down to try and hold your hand. But you wrestle to get your hand out of his grasp. “Honey, please… just listen.” But you cross your arms so Jaemin can’t get a hold of your hands and starts to walk more briskly. You don’t look at him, don’t say a word. You hang your head low, staring only at the ground as you keep walking wherever your legs take you. Jaemin isn’t beside you anymore but you can hear him trailing just behind you. He watches your small figure in front of him. He knows you just need time to calm down and he lets you be, staying close until you’re ready to face him again. After another 10 minutes of walking to god knows where, you stop in your tracks and Jaemin walks to stand in front of you. “Are you feeling a little better now?” You nod, now a little embarrassed at the act you pulled. “I’m sorry…” you mumble out and Jaemin only hugs you, “I’m sorry too.”
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𔘓Chenle:
“Look at this, it’s so funny…” Chenle shoves his phone in front of you, laughing at the tiktok that’s playing. When you don’t respond, Chenle’s stops laughing and his attention shifts completely to you. You’ve been ignoring him for about 2 hours now, unbeknownst to him. “Hm? Is it not funny? You usually like this stuff.” Chenle mumbles to himself, pulling his phone back in front of him. He’s so oblivious sometimes you want to scream at him. A few minutes later, he’s cackling at his phone and shoving it in front of you again. But this time you nudge his arm away, and Chenle slowly stops laughing. “What’s wrong with you?” And instead of replying to him, you turn, facing away from him. “You’re ignoring me?? Fine, I can do it too!” Chenle says before he turns away from you, curling into himself on the sofa as he huffs.
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𔘓Jisung:
Jisung is honestly freaking out. You’re not talking to him and he knows it’s because you’re still upset. It’s a mess in his mind, do you hate him now? Are you going to break up with him? He has no idea what to do. “B-baby, I’m really sorry…” He tells you again as he pokes your shoulder to try and get your attention. Honestly, you’re not that upset anymore, it’s just that the argument just ended. It’s awkward to just pretend like nothing happened and go back to normal, just like that. “It’s okay…” And you don’t say anything else other than that. The silence is deafening, it’s literally eating away at the both of you. You hear Jisung gulp before he speaks again, “You’re not going to break up with me, are you?” You frown. “Why would I do that?” “You haven’t said anything… It's worrying me.” You shake your head, a small smile forming subconsciously. “I just need some time to get over it completely, I won’t break up with you over something like that, silly.”
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rrxnjun · 8 months
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where do broken hearts go? [lmk]
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you know what they say about past lovers that can remain just as friends - either they're still in love with each other, or they never were in the first place.
pairing: mark lee x fem! reader
genre: exes to lovers. angst, fluff.
wc: 12k (11.926)
warnings: mention of sex, weed and alcohol, heartbreak, swearing, park jihoon of treasure is one sassy bitch and also accidentally somehow the main character of this fanfic plz dont @ me, inconsistent writing style bc i took 3 months and 3 depressive episodes to finish this fic
playlist: where do broken hearts go - one direction / too good to say goodbye - bruno mars / everytime - ariana grande / closer - waterparks / tornado warnings - sabrina carpenter / survive the night - the boyz
a/n: hey do some of you still remember me..... AHAHA tell a friend to tell a friend rrxnjun is BACK! this fic isn't the ideal vision i had in my mind but we are working on not being so hard on ourselves with our writing so! here we are. i still kind of like it :,)
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When you walk up to your best friend’s apartment one day with a tub of ice cream under your arm and the biggest pout on your face, Park Jihoon makes a complete list of things you should do to get over your failed relationship with Mark Lee. And while you think your dear friend has some psychopathic tendencies sometimes, you’d say the list is actually pretty reasonable of him. 
There’s something about the five simple steps that makes you wonder if it’s really as easy as Jihoon makes it sound. And while you doubt it– because the pinging pain in your heart makes it seem like the heartbreak is truly going to kill you in a few minutes if you don’t do something about it– you give it a try, because come on… you’d do anything to not feel like this ever again.
Step one – cry it out.
“He was a cunt anyway,” Jihoon mutters as he steps into the living room with two spoons in his hands, throwing one of them to you– while almost managing to hit you in the middle of your forehead in the process, adding a concussion to the mix of problems you have going on right now– and you find yourself furrowing your brows at his hateful comment.
“Why’d you say that?”
“Well, as your best friend, I’m supposed to be on your side, no?” he says as he takes a seat on the sofa next to you, watching as you wrap one of the thick blankets you got for the male around your figure– you bought it mainly for yourself, because his apartment is cold as a freezer and you knew he wouldn’t buy one for you to use in the first place– and shrugs. “Besides, he broke your heart, and any male who does that is a cunt in my eyes.”
“I broke up with him,” you mourn, “so I broke my own heart,” you snicker, despair fully filling you up from the inside– fitting everywhere into your lungs and choking you up from how bad you truly feel. Now, this isn’t your first breakup– you’ve had your fair share of boyfriends in high school (in your baddie era, as Jihoon called it), but Choi Yeonjun from Maths class and Jung Woonyoung, the guy you dated for a total of 2 months over the summer break before he moved away, weren’t exactly boys you found yourself falling in love with. Sure, you liked them, you kissed them and went on dates with them– hell, you even hooked up with Yeonjun once before you realized the relationship truly wasn’t for you– but no one managed to cave into your heart just as much as Mark Lee, your first college boyfriend did.
“But you sure had a reason for it, come on!” Jihoon huffs, taking the tub of ice cream from your hands and opening it for you, since you’ve gotten quite weak from the lack of sleep and nutritions ever since the break up, hands clammy and not cooperating. “You don’t just break up with someone to break your own heart. He did that, that’s why you said goodbye to him,” he says before sitting the enormous tub of ice cream between your two bodies, nudging you to dig into the frozen delicacy.
“Yeah, but–”
“No buts, young lady. We are here to make you forget you ever even dated Mark Lee, so open up, eat the ice cream and focus your attention on Titanic so you can finally cry it out,” he says, and by the tone of his voice, you’d think he’s angry with you. Jihoon has this aura around him that makes you think he’s always at least a little annoyed at everything– but he told you to not mind it and that it’s just his sassy bitch attitude. 
He does have a point, though. You broke up with Mark because he broke your heart first– there was no other reason for it. If it was something minor, something small, you were sure you could work on it. You have, numerous of times before, brought up something and had a mature conversation about it– something you always so admired about Mark, being so cautious and understanding when navigating problems in the relationship– but when you bring up the same thing over and over, and it never gets fixed despite him telling you he’ll try harder next time, you think you’re allowed to feel a little heartbroken at his nonexistent efforts. And that’s exactly why you decided to quit the relationship– after a while, you felt like you were putting in more effort than he was, effectively making you feel like he’s not even that interested in dating you in the first place.
First, he just told you he was forgetful. He forgot he promised to pick you up from class one day– and you said that it’s okay, he is busy, after all– and it was the first time it happened, so you didn’t really mind that much, truly. Then, he forgot about the date you scheduled– but it was fine, because you didn’t have reservations anyway, you could change the day to any other day of the week, after all. He kept forgetting the stuff you told him in between the conversations you shared– and it was small things, you understand, but sometimes, you wondered if he was ever really listening to you at all. 
Forgetful soon turns not interested in your eyes, and when he doesn’t call you in the evening like he promised he would, when he doesn’t show up to the party you invited him to, because he forgot it was that day, you’re one step closer to calling it quits, because each and every one of these situations sends a sharp pain into your stomach. The last straw was just last week, though– and realistically, it was an important day, as much that you thought the day is somehow gonna fix everything, but the truth is somewhere completely else as Mark Lee forgets about your one year anniversary and never shows up at your doorstep for the dinner you prepared for the two of you like he promised he would. 
And it doesn’t click in him two days after either– you don’t even get a text. He got so forgetful over time that he forgot about you completely, and that’s when you took an uber to his place and broke up with him for good.
And even though the breakup was the most painful thing you’ve ever felt yourself go through, Jihoon is right– you’re not the one that broke your own heart. Mark Lee did that for you many times before, and this was just the breaking point.
“Fucking hell, you bought cookies and cream again?” Jihoon huffs when he takes another spoonful of the ice cream into his mouth, eyebrows furrowing at the sweet taste. Looking at him from the corner of your eye, you wipe your left cheek as you hum, immune to his nagging by now.
“You know I hate cookies and cream!”
“You know, Hoon, I bought this for myself. When you’re the one that’s heartbroken, we’ll share your favorite ice cream flavor instead,” you mumble, munching on the coldness on your tongue, sniffling a little when your eyes avert to the TV screen.
And after that, the teasing from your best friend’s side stops. Maybe it’s just because he hates to see you cry– and he rarely gets the chance, if you’re being honest, since you’re pretty good at handling your emotions– but you secretly know that it’s because when he looks back at the TV screen in front of the two of you, the sad part of the movie hasn’t even started yet and the tears are not the result of the movie, but of your own thoughts instead.
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Step two – give him back all of his stuff and the stuff he’s given you that reminds you of him. Demand that he does the same.
Now, step two was a thing most couples do when they break up. Realistically, it makes sense– you wouldn’t want stuff that’s not yours just laying around, and also, it’s just bound to remind you of the person you lost. Naturally, you’d want to return it.
“Why does he have to return my things as well?” you mutter under your breath as Jihoon helps you fold all Mark’s hoodies into a cardboard box, alongside with wrapping the little things your ex boyfriend made out of ceramic for you in tissue paper like you asked him to– even though he complained and said that it shouldn’t matter to you if they break, because you are the heartbroken one– but you held those little things too close to your heart to let them get damaged in the first place.
“Because that’s how it works,” Jihoon hums, watching as you throw another one of Mark’s shirts onto the top of his head, shielding his vision. “What, you don’t want your stuff back?”
“I mean…” you mumble, deeply considering of the fact that the thought of getting your stuff back didn’t even cross your mind until now, before you realize your favorite pair of socks is thrown somewhere in Mark’s drawers– the blue ones with peaches on them– and you suddenly have the revelation that while you don’t necessarily need the stuff back, you’d love to wear those socks again. “I guess…” you note as you walk over to Jihoon and take a glance into the full cardboard box, looking over the stuff and chewing on the inside of your cheek.
“It’s like witchcraft, y’know,” Jihoon points out, looking at you with fierce eyes mirroring the stupid idea that just flashed through his brain, “if you don’t exchange the things, a piece of you is still kept at his apartment and you won’t be able to move on.”
And again, Park Jihoon does have psychopathic tendencies, but he may be onto something here. So you listen to him as you nod along and close the cardboard box, ready to drive over to Mark Lee’s apartment and drop off the things you’ve collected from him for the past year. The box includes all of the clothes messily scattered across your drawers and your closet, the picture frame of you two together that you always had on your night stand, the ceramic bowls and a little tiger sculpture he made for you when he took a pottery class with his friend Renjun, and the lost guitar pics you found under your bed and at the very top of your bookshelf from when he used to bring his guitar along and play you songs on rainy afternoons. The only things of Mark’s that you kept were the love letter he gave you for your birthday and the USB with his cover of Justin Bieber’s Off my face on it that he shyly gifted to you on one of your dates; but you would never tell Jihoon that in fear of him getting rid of those most precious memories for you.
It’s good to let go, but you don’t think you’re wrong for wanting to keep something to remind you of the good times. The times you still felt loved by Mark.
“Off we go,” you say, standing up and bringing the box towards your front door, your best friend at your feet. He promised to drive you to Mark’s place– you think he’s worried about you meeting your ex-boyfriend face to face for the first time since the break up, but he said it’s because you’re too broke to Uber all the time, efficiently throwing all the considerate thoughts you were accrediting him out the window– and after a few minutes of the drive, you find yourself standing on the doorstep of Mark Lee's apartment.
Taking a deep breath in and out, almost chickening out with the flood of thoughts and excuses you could say to Jihoon when you come back to his car with the box still in your hands– sayings like “he wasn’t home” or “he didn’t want those back”, the latter stupider than the first– you decide to face your problems head-on and finally knock on the mahogany door, waiting for Mark to answer. And he does– of course he does, because he’s always home, and as his ex-girlfriend of one year, you're painfully aware of the fact– but when that happens, you feel your heart falling all the way down to your stomach, crushing you and suddenly making it hard for you to breathe. 
“Um… hi,” he greets you, voice a little groggy, as if he hasn’t spoken in a while– and when you meet his eyes, the deep chocolate orbs you always found yourself admiring and writing silent odes to in your head, you quickly glance away in fear of staring into them for too long and making decisions you wouldn’t like to make.
“Hi,” you awkwardly greet back, clearing your throat and moving a little in your place, shifting the weight from one foot to the other. You're surprised you're able to keep up with the conversation, thoughts running in your brain faster than you can comprehend them, heartbeat ringing in your ears from the unexpected anxiety. Maybe Jihoon was right and you should've taken a shot before coming here– at least you'd have more courage and social skills clearly needed for this kind of interaction. “I… brought you back your things,” you say, finally looking up at the male and chewing on your lips, letting out an awkward, tense laugh when he stares at you with an empty look, “figured you’d want them back,” you add, watching as the male opens his mouth and closes it in what seems to be shock before he presses his lips tightly together and nods at you.
“Uh, yeah,” he says, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly as he watches you clumsily hold up the cardboard box to him, ready to leave his stuff there with him and escape as fast as you can, not really minding how you'll get back to Jihoon's car– if jumping down the window of the entrance hall is the fastest option, you're ready to get to it. The truth is, everything is starting to get a little too hard to bear– his familiar scent filling your nose, the hoodie he wore to your first date enveloping his figure, his messy hair reminding you of the many times you brushed your fingers through it in attempts to smooth it down. It’s only been two weeks since you last saw him, but it was starting to feel as if you forgot about him already and were now relearning all the things you once fell in love with again, looking at him in the same light, yet noticing him and all the small details a little bit differently. “Thanks, I… I actually, uh… I have your stuff here too, so if you want it back I’ll– I can just–”
“Y-yeah,” you nod, almost a little too eagerly, “that would be… cool,” you say, trying hard to ignore the fact that he had your stuff packed too, intending to give it to you, and the crashing reality that comes with it, telling you he was prepared to do this before you were and how it’s making you feel kind of shitty.
Mark moves further into the apartment, the sound of him dropping the box to the floor filling your ears before he’s back at the door in no time, a similar cardboard box in his hands that he offers to you with a tense smile on his face. “Wanted to bring it around so I had an excuse to see you, but you, uh… beat me to it, I guess…” 
Looking at him as you take the box out of his hands, gaze as if to tell him not to say such words to you when you’re still so fragile to his effect, you only nod and mutter out a simple “Thanks,” before you turn on your heel and intend to take the stairs back down.
“I’ll… see you around, then?” Mark calls after you as you take the first step out– something about it making you feel like it’s the first step out of his life, in a way– and you only nod, because one, you truly don’t know how else to reply to this question, and two, you really, really don’t know if you’ll ever see him again, but you can't bring yourself to say it to his face. Somehow, it would feel like torture to admit it– and you're not prepared for that reality just yet.
Rushing outside and getting into Jihoon's car, you almost feel like you’re on the verge of breaking, and when the male asks you how it went as he’s reversing out of the parking lot, you only bid him a one-word reply before you look through the box on your way home, too impatient to stay back from the memories.
And Jihoon didn’t really think this one through, because the fact that you gave Mark back the things that reminded you of him meant that he did the same, and now all the things you brought along to Mark’s apartment were in the cardboard box, all stained with countless memories and feelings attached to each and every single thing. The artwork you made for him, the little heart-shaped keychain you gave him for his birthday, the plant you gave him that was now long dead and dried out– those were once your stuff, but all in this world with the intention of love being sent out through them to your now ex-lover, and the fact that they’re in your possession again instead of his is not making letting go of Mark any easier. 
And maybe Mark was right and he truly was forgetful, because as you rummage through the contains of the box, while you find out your favorite blue socks are nowhere to be seen, surely still buried somewhere in the drawers of his closet, obliterated out of his memory, there’s a gray hoodie sitting at the bottom and it’s surely not yours– it’s his and it was always your favorite, and you always used to wear it at his place when you got cold or when you just really wanted to smell his cologne, and you suddenly don't know if it's presence in the box slipped his mind or if he truly left it there on purpose. 
Couldn’t he forget about that too?
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Step three – block his number.
The third step comes into place after you accidentally slip out to Jihoon about the phone call you get on a Friday night– more like two hours into Saturday already– and now, most of all, you must admit that your best friend might be right about his advice.
Your phone starts ringing at 2:11 AM, and while you weren’t sleeping– you’ve been having some trouble with dozing off without being overbeared with thoughts lately– the name flashing on your screen shocks you for more reasons than one. 
Mark Lee calls you, three weeks after your breakup, in the middle of the night. You haven’t spoken since the time he gave you back your stuff, and even though you’ve done quite a bit of stalking on his social media, you have no news of him or his whereabouts. Naturally, a call from him in the middle of the night startles you and shakes you to the core. He has no reason to call you, so your brain does the math and concludes there must be an emergency– and god knows that even after being hurt by him, you could never ignore him and leave him hanging in a state of need.
So you pick up– with shaky hands and a raging heartbeat, expecting the worst. Listening to the other side of the line, you take a deep breath in and out, bracing yourself for the impact of the words you’re going to hear. The voice on the other side is laced with haziness and his tone is almost a little tired– worn out, even– when he finally greets you from wherever he is.
“Hi,” Mark says, and for a second, your heartbeat steadies itself and the world stops spinning– he sounds okay, and for a moment, you’re grateful to hear his voice.
Humming, as if to collect your thoughts, you clear your throat before you offer him an answer. “Hello,” you greet, “what’s- what’s up?”
“Just wanted to hear your voice,” he says, almost a little abruptly to your question. He doesn't overthink his answer and he doesn't give himself time to think if it's a good idea or not– he just blurts it out and now it's your problem to deal with, when it's there, out in the open. Your palms get sweaty and you start to lose feeling in your fingertips, making you take a few seconds to yourself to process the situation before you decide to finally answer to the strange sentence. 
“It’s late, Mark,” you mumble, and you involuntarily wonder if the sentence doesn’t have double meaning– it's too late for anyone to call at this hour, and at the same time, it’s been weeks since your ex boyfriend lost the privilege of listening to your voice when he can’t sleep in the middle of the night whenever he feels like it– and it’s now too late to do anything about it or make it any easier to deal with.
“Shit, sorry,” he chuckles to himself, and you suddenly recognise the laziness in his voice to be the effect of his and his best friend Hyuck’s Friday endeavors; the sweet coating of his voice being the effect of none other than the momentary bliss that comes with the relaxation of his body and mind when he's high. “Didn’t realize,” he concludes, making you shake your head at him in disbelief– not really mattering that he can’t see you in the act.
“‘s okay,” you mumble– and in your perfect reality, you hang up the phone now. In your perfect reality, you connect it to your charger and close your eyes, calling it a night. You fall asleep with no thoughts rummaging through your brain and wake up in the morning to a new sunny day, ready to take on the responsibilities of what’s to come, having productive days ended with smiles and a hot dinner you make for yourself just because you feel like it. In your perfect reality, you protect your own heart. This is not your perfect reality, though– and that’s why you stay on the line, listening to Mark ramble on the other side of the phone, intoxicated and slightly out of it. You wonder if he’ll remember calling you when he wakes up tomorrow. You wonder if he’ll regret it, or if he’ll just shrug his shoulders at the fact and go on with his day, not really paying you much thought when he’s sober.
“I was with Hyuck just now,” he says, and you hear the rustling of his sheets on the other side of the line, making you wonder if he’s washed up and ready for bed, “and– and I remembered how we all used to hang out together, y’know… you with us all– you always clicked with my friends and it was so cool and stuff… and I realized, right, they’re not as funny when you’re not around… but anyways… Jeno’s girlfriend asked about you, ‘cause she didn’t know…and telling her felt so silly, ‘cause they all kept looking at me and I knew they were pitying me, but it was my fault in the first place–”
“Mark–” 
“No, it’s true. And it’s cool, I don’t– I don’t blame you, or anything. I just… I dunno, I guess it got me wondering…”
The line goes silent on the other side, and you settle into your own bed, giving him time to continue. When he doesn’t say anything for a long time, you wonder if he’s fallen asleep.
“Mark?”
“Hm?”
“You still there?”
“Yeah. How was your day?” he asks, tone of voice casual as ever, as if he’s forgotten about all the words he’s told you up until now–  as if it’s not 2 AM and both of your hearts aren’t breaking at the sound of each other’s voice on the other side of the line.
“It… it was okay, I guess,” you say nonetheless, too hopeless to find a way to end the conversation before he does. 
“That’s good to hear,” he says, sighing, “that’s… awesome. You still taking those yoga classes on Mondays?” he asks, and you snicker to yourself– because what kind of question even is that? Who asks that on a late night call, when there are more important things you two need to talk about?
“Yeah,” you lie, still. You haven’t been since the breakup.
“That’s great. Wouldn’t want you to… y’know,” he laughs to himself, “be too sad over this… ‘t was for the better, after all.”
You hear yourself hum– the noise way more stable than your actual words ever could be– and you find yourself feeling silly in the conversation, lying to your ex boyfriend through your teeth; because at the end of the day, you don’t want him to worry about you– because it seems to be the case that he is. And it’s stupid, because he hurt you and you shouldn’t care, maybe you should’ve even show him that you’re heartbroken and that he is the reason behind your pain and the way your life is falling apart, bit by bit, but you don’t find it in you to be so cold and heartless. At the end of the day, you still care about Mark and there’s nothing you could do about it. Turns out that breaking up with him doesn’t magically make the feelings go away– and you knew that, but now you have proof.
“What were you saying before, by the way? You… trailed off at the end,” you say, reminding him of his previous words.
“Oh, that,” he snickers into the microphone again, a heavy sigh escaping his lips as he twists and turns in the sheets, “don’t worry about it. It was selfish of me.”
It was selfish of him to call in the first place. But you won’t tell him that.
“What was it?”
“It’s just… I was wondering if I lost you forever, y’know… if there was a chance we could ever…” he trails off again, but this time, you don’t bug him to complete it. You’re not stupid– you know the implication of his words. You’ve known him for a long time, after all– maybe you should’ve predicted this when you picked up the call.
“I mean…” you hum, “you didn’t lose me completely, if that’s– if that’s what’s keeping you up at night. We’re still friends, aren’t we?” you say, and in the corner of your brain, you can’t even believe the words yourself– but if it was selfish of him to call, you think it’s okay for you to selfishly fill both of you with empty promises, just for the sake of not breaking your heart even further.
“Yeah,” he mumbles, “that’s– …I’m glad.”
The line’s silent after that, and you wonder if you two have used up the list of words to say to each other this time, if there’s truly no other answer at the end of this conversation. When the situation gets too much for you to bear, the heaviness finally settling on your shoulders and your chest, you finally find the courage to sniffle out a quiet goodbye.
“Good night, Mark.”
“G’night,” he drags out, mind still cloudy. “Love you,” spills out from his tongue, like a bad habit.
He ends the call before you get to say it back. Maybe that’s for the better.
And the truth is, you should’ve really listened to Park Jihoon and blocked Mark’s number after this encounter. But you didn’t– you’re too weak for Mark’s sweet words, finding yourself still hanging on to his saccharine voice and the muffled ramble he has reserved for you only every time he gets high and loses all self-control before calling you on Friday nights selfishly demanding your attention, somehow falling for him like a teenager over and over again despite promising yourself you're gonna move on for real now.
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Step four – date someone new.
“So…” Jihoon starts one day, eyes glued to your skull like laser beams, the tone of his voice so incomprehensible you think he’s going to scold you for the actions of your previous days– even though you haven't told him about the midnight calls with Mark and so if he's not going through your phone, he has no way of knowing. Tense and nervous, still, knowing that the impact of his words could either heal you or cut you open like a knife– damn him for always being so brutally honest, no matter how soft his heart is for you– you smile at him with tight lips, crossing your arms on your chest in defense.
“So…?” 
A nervous laugh almost escapes your throat. If Jihoon wasn’t suspicious of you before, he surely is now– or he just finds you strange by the way he furrows his brows at you and scans you up and down, taking a second for himself before he sighs and seemingly decides to drop the weird way you’re acting right now, shaking his head and focusing on the task at hand.
“I was thinking… my friend asked about you,” he says, nonchalantly looking down onto his hands and taking the dirt out from behind his nails, as if it’s not a big deal and he doesn’t even care that much. “Choi Hyunsuk from Biology, you know him– shabby haircut, kinda short, failed the class so he has to retake it this year…?”
“I think you’re forgetting the fact that the two of us have completely different majors, Hoonie,” you sweetly smile at him with irony, making him roll his eyes with a sigh before he tries again.
“The guy who ripped his pants at Xiao Dejun’s party last year?”
“Oh, that one! You should’ve said that earlier, of course I remember Choi Hyunsuk from your Biology class,” you nod hurriedly, the gears finally clicking in your brain.
“As if I wasn’t talking about him for the last few minutes–”
“Okay, and what about him?” you cut him off, already tired of his annoying tangent.
“I said he asked about you.”
“I heard that already,” you nod, looking at him with expecting eyes. “And?”
Jihoon stares at you, unblinking, as if you fell on your head and he’s trying to comprehend if you’re still here with him or if you got a concussion and need to be transferred into a hospital. When the contact of his eyes on your skin gets a bit too uncomfortable– you swear his looks could actually kill someone, if he tried enough– you furrow your brows at him in confusion and shake your head in disbelief.
“Why are you staring at me like that, Park Jihoon?”
“Just tryna see if you’re really that stupid or if you’re just pretending,” he mutters under his nose before he sighs again– his favorite activity whenever you’re around, it seems– and speaks up again, tone of voice reminding you of a kindergartener teacher trying to explain why it gets dark in the evening to a bunch of 4 year olds. “You know, when people ask about you, they are usually interested in you, as in, my friend Hyunsuk didn’t ask because you’re nice, but because you’re hot, if you know what I'm getting onto.”
“Oh,” you get out, eyes wide in concern and a little shaken-up, “well, that’s… nice of him, I guess.”
Jihoon only hums at you before he looks around himself and brings out the bag of chips that he left open by his right side only a few seconds ago, not really speaking more about the topic. It’s either he’s waiting for you to get what he’s hinting at, or he’s just waiting for you to get even more confused and ask him about it in a few seconds again– either way, he’s not the one doing more talking right now, because conversations with you, the most oblivious person he’s ever seen, are never productive if he goes too fast.
Chewing on the chips, his eyes go wide when you finally open your mouth and talk more about the topic at hand– just like he predicted. “Why are you telling me this?”
Your best friend swallows before he places the bag of chips back to its original place and turns his whole body so he’s facing you, speaking up again. “I was thinking that maybe, just maybe, you’d like to hang out with him. Like a date, before you ask– because I know you’re gonna ask– and why? – because, again, I know you’re gonna ask– because I simply think you should try to date again to get your mind off the loser you broke up with two months ago,” he says, blunt and honest, answering all of your unsaid questions at once, and before you know it, he has you snickering and shaking your head in disapproval.
“Absolutely not,” you retort, waving your hands in the air to only further show your disagreement with the proposition, “that would just be a massive catastrophe.”
“Why? Hyunsuk’s nice.”
“I didn’t say he isn’t, it’s just…”
“Just?” he probes you, eyebrows raised and questioning.
“I… don’t know,” you nervously chew on the inside of your cheek, aimlessly shrugging. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea, Jihoon.”
“Because of Mark?” he asks, and the moment his name escapes your best friend’s mouth, the whole room goes strangely quiet– you feel your heartbeat in your throat, the tips of your fingers start tingling and you swear that if you concentrate hard enough, you could feel a bead of sweat drip down your forehead with the incoming stress and nerves only the mention of your ex boyfriend brings you.
“No, that’s not it–”
“Sure,” he nods, sighing to himself– and there it is again, the judging look you so despise.
“You can’t just expect me to date other people a few weeks after my break up, Jihoon,” you exclaim, “that– that wouldn’t even be fair to your friend. You know I wouldn’t be invested,” you explain, and your friend rolls his eyes in frustration, sighing to himself.
“Oh but I know that! And Hyunsuk does too,” he shakes his head at you, “just thought the company of someone else could take your mind off things.”
“I have you,” you try.
“Yeah, but all we do when we’re together is mope about Mark Lee,” Jihoon snickers, “and don’t get me wrong, I’m more than open to bitch about your ex boyfriend and as your best friend, I don’t mind, but the fact that you’d be hanging out with someone else could take your mind off him, because you wouldn’t feel comfortable talking about him with someone else, y’know?”
You shut your eyes closed, a heavy sigh heaving out of your body as you try hard to concentrate and not lose it, and with how Jihoon’s tone gets softer and he’s not as loud with his brutal, yet logical advice, he must feel you getting overwhelmed and accommodates to your needs. “Look, it’s gonna be fun. I promise. Hang out with someone new, feel wanted and hot and pretty again, get some male attention that’s not your ex boyfriend, and you’ll see how it makes you feel. If you hate it, you hate it and you can slap me, I don’t know... If you don’t, you can keep dating around with my friends, and I swear I’ll hook you up only with the nice ones,” he takes your hand into his and waves it around in comfort, making you open your eyes and look at him again.
Seeing the softness and encouragement in your best friend’s eyes, you sigh to yourself. All this time, he’s tried to help you– what if you finally follow his advice? Who knows, it might even help. 
Sighing, you squeeze his palm and hover over him to get the stranded bag of chips he’s guarding on the other side of the sofa. “Fine,” you mutter, “but let your friend know that he’s the one paying, okay?”
“Perfect. I'll text him your number, then.“
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And maybe Jihoon was right and after dolling yourself up and dressing up in your favorite dress just so you would feel as comfortable as possible, you don’t feel as bad when his friend Hyunsuk picks you up in his white Volvo and chats with you on the way to the restaurant. He makes good small talk and even gets a giggle out of you, the music in his car is low and you find yourself slowly easing into the situation. You don’t remember when the last time you went out with a guy that wasn’t Mark was, but it’s surprisingly nice. 
And Jihoon was right– you feel pretty. And when Hyunsuk opens the door for you after pulling up to the parking lot of the restaurant, you even feel wanted. You like the attention, just like any other girl would, and the smile you offer to your date seeps of tender shyness as you get out of the comfortable seat of his car. 
The illusion, though, is soon broken as you notice the restaurant he pulled up to. Your smile freezes, your palms get sweaty and you feel your heartbeat rummaging against your ribcage as soon as the idle atmosphere of the restaurant opens up before you. And realistically, you could turn on your heel and get back to the car, tell Hyunsuk that you want to go to another restaurant– but you don’t do it, against your biggest wishes, because you worry that the boy already made a reservation and you don’t want to ruin an evening that’s going well so far.
“Everything alright?” your date checks up on you, seemingly noticing the frown on your face, and when his worried eyes meet yours, it’s sealed– you’d feel too bad for pulling out of the date now. So you only do what you always do best– you put on your best relaxed smile and nod, catching up to him and ensuring him that you’re all okay and you didn’t just talk yourself out of an anxiety attack. 
Because you owe it to him and to Jihoon– both of them worked so hard to make you feel happy and help you to get over your ex boyfriend. It’s not Hyunsuk’s fault that he just managed to pick the restaurant your said ex boyfriend works at part-time. He had no way of knowing, and if you’re lucky enough, Mark wouldn’t be on today. He only works here part-time, it’s not like he’s here every day, and as far as you’re concerned, he only worked like two or three days a week when you dated. It would be a weird coincidence for him to be working the day you go there with your new date– you hope you’re not that unlucky.
Hyunsuk is a gentleman. Opening up doors for you, pulling out the chair for you, letting you talk and not interrupting you. He watches you with fond eyes and you almost try to feel bad for the fact that even if this ended well, the poor boy would just end up being a rebound. He deserves so much more, and you start to worry if this date was a good idea after all. Wasn’t it selfish of you to agree to this? 
“What do you want to get?” he asks as you open up the menu, and you squint at the prices, mentally taking a note to order the cheapest thing just in case he wants to pay for you at the end of the evening. 
“Spaghetti Bolognese,” you blurt out, despite it not being your favorite meal. Hyunsuk just stares at you with squinted eyes, but doesn’t disagree with you. After all, he has no way of knowing that you dislike the taste of the sauce in most restaurants– even though your conscience tells you that Mark knew that and always made sure to remind you about it before ordering for you, worried that you won’t get to eat much that evening– the only thing left to hope is that it tastes good in this particular place. 
“Okay, sure,” he nods and puts the menu down, smiling at you before engaging in a comfortable conversation with you. It feels like you’ve known Hyunsuk forever– his personality oddly reminding you of Jihoon’s caused mainly by the fact that the two have grown up together. Everything flows soundly, but you still find yourself anxiously picking at your cuticles as you cautiously look around the restaurant, fearing the fact that you could catch a glimpse of your ex boyfriend at any second.
And maybe you should be a psychic, because those bad feelings were not there for nothing– when you see a waiter walking out of the back and eyeing your table, ready to get your order, the boy is a few inches taller than your current date, raven hair messy, but still a little styled, dark circles under the man’s eyes, and there he is– your ex boyfriend. Mark Lee halts in his movements, wearing his work uniform, eyes wide, a hint of something that breaks you at least in two mirroring in his orbs before he turns on his heel and disappears in the back again. When he doesn’t come back and his co-worker joins you and Hyunsuk at your table with a warm smile, you stop waiting to see the glimpse of him you selfishly desired to catch despite fearing the interaction the whole evening.
You want to fall through the floor and disappear in the depths of this earth. For some reason, you feel mortified. What would he think? And why do you even care about his feelings? A million different thoughts run through your brain and you worry that you’re being too distant from your current date, but Hyunsuk’s warm eyes reassure you that he doesn’t mind. 
Piercing the food on your table with your eyes, you try to battle the noisy words running around your brain. 
It’s easy to say you’re over someone when you don’t see them. To have them in front of you, meet their gaze and acknowledge their existence and still be able to nod and say that you’ve moved on, is something completely different. 
Were you ever convinced that you were over Mark Lee in the first place, though?
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After all of this– the months of following Jihoon’s advice, although making a few mishaps along the way as you continue to pick up Mark’s calls on Friday nights, snoop around his socials and let your mind wander to places it shouldn’t, overthinking everything and making you wish the relationship never ended in the first place– it’s time for the last step of it all. The last, most crucial part of this whole moving on process– the most important one, if you may.
Step five – avoid him at all costs.
Sounds easy, right? After the four previous steps, you’d already cried plenty about the lost months with your ex-boyfriend. You’d already given him back all of his stuff, not tying yourself to him with any material memory. You’d already gone on a date with someone new, choosing to distract yourself instead of letting yourself feel the emotions. After all the previous steps, this one’s supposed to be the easiest one. The one you’re supposed to want to do, after all. The break-up wasn’t messy, but it was still painful– it’s only natural for you to not want to see Mark ever again, right?
Wrong.
Because you never listen to the advice you’re given. That just wouldn’t be you, would it?
And so when Mark Lee calls you one day and tells you that he has a free train ticket to the Bukhansan stop, explaining that he was supposed to go hike there with Donghyuck who canceled on him last minute because of an assignment due midnight, you don’t really hesitate much before you shoot him a short text saying that you’re down and get ready for the short hike. 
When you meet your ex boyfriend at the station, his figure slightly slouched up until the moment his eyes meet yours, you feel the quiet tension in the air. You’ve seen each other a few times before this meeting– on a party you went to with Jihoon, at the campus when you went to class one morning, your ex boyfriend walking you towards the Art building, hell, you’ve even met in the grocery store, all accidental and making your heart leap in your chest with tension. This time, though, you’re here completely intentionally, just to hang out with him, and something about the fact makes a dull pain shoot all through your intestines, a sensation so uncomfortable you try to hide with a tight-lipped smile. 
“Ready for the hike?” he asks, adjusting the bag on his back, playing with the straps with clammy fingers. You can’t help but notice how he looks just like a little boy, in his little world, shielded from everything. He seems to have taken a protective stance, and you hate how the air between you shifted from how you two used to be when you were dating. Mark seems scared. Nervous. On top of his feet. Maybe you shouldn’t have agreed to this at all.
You’re already here, though. Turning around and leaving wouldn’t really work right now, as you take a step towards the train that’s just arrived, humming to your ex boyfriend in agreement. Taking a seat on the place Mark’s pointed to you on the train ticket, you try to loosen up your muscles and get as comfortable as you can, clearing your mind as you gaze outside of the window.
“How have you been?” he asks, clearing his throat.
Pressing your lips into a tight line, you turn to him as you search for an answer. “Better,” you nod, voice quiet. “You?”
Mark hums, chewing the inside of his cheek. “Good, good,” he lies through his teeth, “I’ve seen you at the restaurant the other day,” he hints, and you battle the sigh that’s begging to cut out of your throat. You don’t know where he’s going with the sentence. It’s not a question– only a proposition, barely even that– and you could ignore it with a nod of your head, you could pay it no mind as you see the bitterness in his gaze and the slightly self-conscious averting of his stare. You don’t know where he’s going with the conversation, but frankly, you don’t know where you are going with your answer either, as you shrug to him in a casual manner and peep under your breath.
“Yeah,” you say, “that was just… Jihoon’s friend from uni, I suppose,” you complete, and the sentence hints at nothing– it doesn’t clear out the confusion, it doesn’t outright say anything that could make Mark believe that it was just a casual hang-out with a friend, but still, you see the boy visibly relax as he nods to you and offers you a tight-lipped smile.
“Oh,” he hums, looking out of the window, past the profile of your face. The change in topic is sudden and sharp, but also welcome as he falls into a casual conversation with you, and suddenly, you’re reminded by the Mark you once knew– the guy you’ve once called not socially awkward, but so social that it’s awkward– as he talks to you about his day and rambles on about the weather. “It’s good that it won’t rain today, I bet the view will be nice.”
Locking your gaze with him for a brief second, you lick your lips and point your eyes towards the ground. It’s good that it won’t rain today, as opposed to last time you two went to the Bukhansan trail. You wonder if he remembers.
Before you have a chance to mention it– and in all reality, you won’t, no matter how bold you could be feeling at the moment– the train comes to a stop at your station and you hop out of the carriage, ready for the hike.
It’s easy to forget how messed up things have gotten between the two of you when you walk alongside with your ex boyfriend, laughing at his silly jokes and gasping at everything he shows to you with a pointed finger, finding yourself admiring the sound of his giggle when he spots a squirrel pass your path somewhere near the top of the hill. The trail is almost empty at this hour, since the two of you have decided to go in the late afternoon, and you find your soul to finally be at peace after so many weeks, you finally feel relaxed in the nature, one with the wind and the gentle sound of birds chirping lullying your running thoughts to a rest. 
You realize that this is just what you needed all this time. You needed to get out and walk for some while, to tune out yourself and to accept the fact that you’re still here, for another day, and something about that is still a blessing. Watching the back of Mark’s head as he walks a step in front of you due to the narrowness of the trail in this area, you smile to yourself. It’s easy to forget just how much you were hurt by him when he heals your soul with such a simple gesture. It’s easy to forget you were hurt when he seemingly tries to put all the broken pieces back together, glue them to where they were in the first place, when things were easier and you both didn’t have so many things to worry about. 
You reach the top just as the sun starts setting over the horizon, and there are only a few people scattered across the peak, sitting on their own picnic blankets and gazing into the distance. The hues of the sky paint the world in a different color, the oranges, pinks and muted purples playing with your heartstrings as you come to a halt and crouch down and feel the presence of another soul mirror your actions only a meter away to your right, his gaze glued to your side. The view is beautiful, but the feeling of being watched isn’t ignorable anymore, and so you turn to your companion and raise your eyebrows at him, wondering if he has something to say.
You don’t know how you’ll be able to come back to your life after this and pretend you still don’t want to spend every passing second with the man on your right. You don’t know how you’re supposed to ignore the ever so growing love for him– even though after being so disappointed with the past, the feelings should be decreasing, not doing the opposite– and frankly, you don’t even want to think of going back to the way it’s been for the past few months. And so you don’t– you allow yourself to indulge the moment, to ignore the pain that’s about to come, just so you could hold another beautiful memory to your heart and enjoy the moment before it hurts you to think of it tomorrow morning. 
“It’s even more beautiful than the last time,” Mark hums, but his eyes never leave your figure– if you were still dating, you bet he’d come out with a cheesy line about how you’re prettier than the view, or something. “It didn’t rain this time around, thank god.”
Gazing at him, you shake your head in disbelief. Scoffing, you play with the grass between your fingers. “You remember that?”
“Yeah,” he hums, “I remember a lot of things.”
The sentence makes you bitterly chuckle. He knows why you’re reacting the way you are– and you have every right to. He claims to remember a lot of things, but the ones important to you, the ones you wanted him to remember, he failed to save into his memory. And that’s eventually what made you break up with him, at the end of it all.
At your reaction, he sighs and drags a hand across his face, seemingly realizing the weight of his own words and just how ridiculous he must have sounded to you right now. 
“I- That-” he stutters, shaking his head, “that sounded stupid right now, considering… everything… Didn’t it?”
“Kind of,” you nod, not wanting to meet his eyes. 
“I’m sorry,” he blurts out, voice suddenly raw and serious, so different to the tone he’s been using with you the whole afternoon, “I don’t- I can’t remember if I said that back then, when you- when you… broke up with me, but I really am sorry, Y/N. You didn’t deserve that, and I am in no way shape or form trying to make this about me, but I hate myself every day for the way things turned out and if I could go back to that day, I’d do so many things differently.”
The sky in front of you deepens in reds and you taste iron on your tongue, suddenly hyper-aware of the fact that you’ve managed to bite on your lip too hard in the midst of the conversation. Tearing out stems of grass with your clammy fingertips, you focus on the clouds running through the sky, calculating your next response.
“Okay,” you nod, not giving him much else. The answer perfectly encapsulates the way you feel on the inside right now– you don’t know if you’re ready to accept his apology, if you’re ready to let go of it and act like you weren’t hurt or that none of it ever happened, but you listened to him and you internalized his words. He is sorry. He knows he was in the wrong. And you were aware that he knew all of this before– hell, you’d even go as far as say he knew it the moment you knocked on his door that day and told him it was over– but hearing it from him surely moved something inside of you to a more comfortable place.
“I-” he starts, voice breaking making him clear his throat before he continues, “I don’t expect you to forgive me. And I know I shouldn’t have expected you to still be my friend after all of this, and that- I shouldn’t have even called you so many times and approached you at the store and stuff, but um-” he mumbles, shrugging to himself, “I guess I just couldn’t stay away from you. And again, I don’t expect you to forgive me, I don’t expect you to do anything, really. So… yeah…”
Snickering at his aimless monologue, you shake your head in disbelief. “Mark?”
“Yeah?” he stares at you, eyes a bottomless pool of emotion.
“Why did you invite me here today? What was the… point, I guess?” you ask, hugging your knees to your chest as the breeze makes goosebumps appear all over your body. 
Mark offers you a sad smile, head leaned to his right as he shrugs, and this time, his eyes don’t leave yours as he spills the truth into the air. “I guess I was just feeling selfish today,” he hums, and the sentence makes you cringe with the memory of his first call to you after your break up, “wanted to spend time with you.”
“Here, of all places?”
“Yeah,” he nods, “told you. I was feeling selfish.”
Snickering, you look away, staring at the sky again. The colors are starting to blend together into a deep, dark purple– the horizon darkening as the sun starts to say its final goodbyes to the day. You sigh to yourself, yet feel no bitterness or terror at his words. Somehow, you understand. Somehow, you get him a little too well. Somehow, you think you knew the moment he texted you today, and somehow, you think you felt it in your bones when you didn’t say no, although you could have. There’s calmness in your soul when you nod at the implication of his words, leaning back on your elbows and plopping your bottom to the ground, sitting at the dusty surface. 
“You said you didn’t expect anything out of me today, Mark.”
“And I don’t,” he says, voice soft. 
“And you brought me here to remind me of the last time we went?” you stare at him, a hint of a bitten-back smile playing with your lips. “Because you’re selfish?” 
He nods, not escaping your gaze. “To remind you of the last time we went. To show you that… I remember, I guess. And that I still care, just like the last time. If not more.”
“Mark, you can’t just say all of this and expect nothing out of me right now,” you mutter.
“Actually, I can. Because that’s what I’m doing. I’m just… laying it out in the open, and what you do with the information is completely, completely up to you,” he explains, and you find yourself chuckling at him, the atmosphere instantly lighter as you hear his voice in its usual casualness, talking to you as if he was just unpacking what went on in class today, and not the starting and the end of your one year relationship.
And he’s right. What you do with the information is completely up to you, and the next steps and the progress of your relationship with Mark Lee is also completely in your hands. You could turn away and never talk to him again, you could curse at him and tell him that it’s too late now and he missed his chance, but if that was the case, you wouldn’t be here in the first place. He wouldn’t be inviting you to this place, lying about his roommate canceling just to trick you into going, and you wouldn’t be blindly accepting the invitation, wanting to see where the afternoon brings you. 
“So you still care about me?” you hum, looking at him from under your eyelashes, noticing his slouched-over pose as he looks back at you over his shoulder.
“Always have,” he admits, “never stopped. Despite not really… acting like it in the past few months.”
“Why’d you stop acting like it, then?” you ask.
A sigh escapes his lips, his head turning forward before he leans back and sits cross-legged on the ground, more comfortably now. Shrugging, he answers the question. “I guess I just got too caught up with different things. And don’t get me wrong, you were always my priority, always, but I was all over the place with everything and my mind just couldn’t… there were too many things to keep up with and I couldn’t stay up to date with everything,” he says, “and I know it’s not an excuse, but it’s an explanation, and it doesn’t make it better or undo the pain I’ve caused you, but it’s… at least you know it was never because I’d care about you any less.”
His eyes bear into yours with such honesty you think the weight of the world will crash on you any minute, and suddenly, the whole situation seems so much clearer.
And you wouldn’t take it back, you wouldn’t undo the breakup or do anything differently, because at the end of the day, you think it was needed. Perhaps the time apart was what he needed as a wake up call and what you needed to shield yourself from hurting more. 
“Stop me from saying it if you… if you don’t want to hear it right now,” he hums, voice barely louder than a whisper. There seems to be a silent communication between the two of you, a connection of some sort that brings out the strange telepathy, but you just nod at him, a gentle smile playing with your lips as you understand exactly what he means, telling him that it’s okay and that you don’t mind– you welcome, you need to hear him say it again.
Licking his lips, he turns to you fully, facing you. There’s not a hint of nervousness in his body, having done this a lot of times before, and then it happens– the repeated confession, confirming what was there the whole time, never leaving even when the times were rough. 
“I love you,” he says.
And isn’t that all that’s needed? 
A year is a long time with someone. Somehow, you wouldn’t want the time to go to waste. At the end of the day, if love is still present, isn’t it worth trying? One more time?
“And you still don’t expect anything from me?” you ask, gazing at him softly. “You don’t expect me to say it back?”
“No,” he breathes out, shrugging. “I just needed to get it off my chest.”
“Because you’re selfish like that,” you nod, teasing him. 
“Because I’m selfish like that,” he agrees, breaking out into a slight grin.
Looking at the sky, now completely dipped in dark purple, you sigh to yourself at the turmoil of the conversation. You don’t say it back– although you feel it, you know it’s in there, playing with your heartstrings and clenching the muscle in the palm of its hand– you know love is there, deep inside, for the man that’s currently staring at you as if you hung the very stars appearing on the sky there yourself, stolen them from your own eyes and gluing them there selflessly, for everyone to see. You don’t tell him you love him back, you don’t tell him you forgive him or accept his apology. You don’t worry about what tomorrow will bring you, what your brain is going to tell you when you come down from the hill and get home, lay in your bed and overthink. You let the worries escape you, letting fondness and calm envelope you in a tight hug instead.
“Okay,” you nod, watching the boy next to you look at you with curious eyes. You take his hand into yours and place it on your thigh, playing with his fingers for a heartbeat before you meet his eyes again and smile. “I won’t say it back, but for all it’s worth, Mark… I’m glad you remembered.”
And that’s all he needs– there is love, there is fondness, and there is the silent confirmation that all you need right now is just a bit more time. 
Where do broken hearts go?
Somehow, you think they hold on to the place where it all started. Somehow, you think your heart never went anywhere– it stayed on this hill, waiting for you to pay it a visit and pick back up everything right from where you left it.
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“It doesn’t seem like a good idea to go here today, Y/N,” Mark laughed behind you as he looked up to the sky, the dark clouds shielding the sun that had been previously shining down on your hiking figures, casting an orange glow on the strands of your hair. 
“Well, there’s no turning back now,” you shrugged, turning to him and grinning as you tugged on his hand, grip strong as you dragged the boy up the trail, your sneakers fast against the dirty ground. “We have finals starting next week and it’s gonna be too cold to go after the exam season is over, so we gotta go now.”
“I kind of regret telling you that I’ve never been here before now,” Mark sighed, but followed you nonetheless, breathlessly following your excited stride. It was October, the leaves on the trees were welcoming the two of you in shining colors, and the wind kissing your skin turned a bit chilly in the evenings– courtesy of the warm hoodie Mark shyly lended you when you shivered for the first time, adoring the way you, his friend, looked in the light gray fabric. Something about you wearing his clothes made the boy a bit hopeless about the day. Maybe he’ll have enough courage to confess his feelings to you, he thought. Maybe, despite the first raindrops falling on the skin of his bare arms, this evening will have a happy ending for you and him. 
“Oh, please,” you squinted at him, continuing to run up the hill– thank god it wasn’t that steep, serving both of you as the perfect hiking difficulty, “even if you wouldn’t have, I’d drag you here anyway. It’s like, my favorite place to go in Seoul, haven’t I told you before?”
You have, Mark thought. But he was okay with hearing it again. 
You squealed when the raindrops got heavier and the rain started pouring faster on the two of you, and Mark found himself laughing at your running figure. He was right behind you, praying that you don’t slip on one of the rocks and break your leg on the hiking trail, but he encouraged you with sweet comments and a hand on the small of your back as he watched the tip of the hill appear right in front of his very eyes, your body coming to a satisfied halt when you reached your destination.
“Tada!” you grinned at him, twirling a little like a ballerina, showing him the place with outstretched arms. He tried hard to observe the place, but his eyes stayed glued to your excited figure, gaze bearing into yours as you looked at him, amidst a little flustered, with sparkly orbs and a bright smile on your face. Your hair was a mess, his gray hoodie enveloping your body was slowly growing darker in color from absorbing the rain, and your sneakers were getting a bit muddy from walking around the place. He wanted to remember this moment forever, he thought– this version of you, the smiley expression on your face, the carefree and excited nature of your step. 
“Isn’t it beautiful?” you exclaimed, jumping around and nearing the boy, but as you went to take his hand to drag him around the top of the hill once more, your feet slipped and you fell forward, a surprised squeak battling its way out of your throat.
Your whole life flashed in front of your very eyes in that moment, embarrassment spreading down your neck at the fact that you were about to fall face first onto the ground in front of your crush of a few months, before your body collided with a soft, yet firm mass engulfing you closer. A pair of strong arms steadied you against his chest, and when you looked up at your friend, you swear all words were taken out of your dictionary, the sight leaving you speechless.
“It is,” he gaped, eyes bearing into yours. Mark was agreeing with you, but something in the back of your head was telling you that he didn’t really admire this place as much as you did– his curious gaze was always plastered somewhere completely else. 
That place being your face, of course. And your eyes, your cheeks, the mess of your bangs, and occasionally– screw that, almost always– your lips. Much like in that moment, a few centimeters away from his face, so inviting he thought it would be a crime to contain the urge. 
And so he didn’t– he didn’t control his feelings and the ever-so growing yearning for you, as he silently leaned towards your face and captured his lips with yours in a firm, yet short kiss.
He looked at you with a nervous tint behind his gaze when he leaned away, the sight of your wide eyes staring at him making a slight flush grow on his cheeks. You looked so beautiful in that moment– flustered, surprised, with messy hair and lips still apart– and he was relieved to not find a hint of a displeased emotion in your expression. 
“Okay, so- well-” you stuttered, laughing to yourself, “this didn’t go as I planned, but I guess I’m happy as long as the final result is the same,” you hummed, standing on your tippy-toes and pressing your lips against him once more, this time letting yourself enjoy the moment fully, mouth moving against his in a careful, yet excited rhythm. He tasted like the strawberry candy you offered him on the bottom of the trail and smelled a bit like rain, the mixture always staying in the depths of your mind as his warmth enveloped you in comfort and a feeling of home.
“The final result being…?” he asked when you pulled apart once again, a dazed expression overtaking his sharp features.
“Us,” you shrugged, “like this,” you clarified.
Mark laughed at that, hugging you closer to his chest. You rested your head on his shoulder, listening to the sound of raindrops washing away the top layer of dirt off the rocks on the tip of the hill, hands sneaking around his waist and enjoying the way they wrapped around him so tightly and so comfortably. You in his hoodie, in your favorite place, standing in his arms. It was raining, but it didn’t matter.
“Mark?” 
“Hm?” 
“If we ever get lost, or something happens… bring me back here, okay?” you mumbled close to his ear, lips gently glazing the skin of his ear, making goosebumps appear all over your new lover. “I’m convinced that this place could fix everything.”
“Even us?” 
“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re not allowed to ever leave me now, what would there be to fix between us?” you smacked his shoulder, snickering to yourself.
“You never know,” he laughed, “what if I accidentally mess up somewhere along the way?” he asked, threading his fingers through your hair, smoothing down the wet mess.
“Okay then,” you hummed, “even us.”
Staring into your eyes, letting the moment play out by itself, Mark swore he’s never felt more at peace. He wondered if it was the effect of the place, the rain, or just your sheer presence.  “I’ll remember that,” he giggled before he let go of your body, petting your head as he took a hold of your hand, tugging you down from where you came from, “now let’s go home before we catch a cold.”
Nodding, following the man as you both carefully, yet fastly made it down the trail, you enjoyed the way his hand fit into yours and the way you knew that after this, you can’t ever come back to being friends with Mark Lee. He was all yours, completely, utterly yours, and you knew in the back of your head, that you were his– and nothing will ever change that.
You would always come back to the hill with him. It felt ridiculous to think about you two ever having to fix anything between the two of you back then, but even in that moment, you knew that for him, you’d keep trying. As long as he does– as long as he remembers.
Where do broken hearts go? You guess they always come right back to the place they come from– and they leave glued back together every single time.
You guess your heart never really left the hill.
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ghostofhyuck · 1 month
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Nct Dream and why you two broke up. 
Mark Lee ; too busy
OBVIOUSLY. Mark probably wants a stable relationship with you but he can't due to his career being his number one priority. He'll be too busy that he couldn't make time for you. He has apologized to you countless times, promising you that he'll make up to you but because you're tired of waiting around, you broke up with him. 
Huang Renjun ; falling out of love
It's a hard decision. One day, you two are madly in love with each other but then the next day, you two are strangers living under the same roof. You tried to convinced yourself that you still love Renjun but it's obvious that you two have fallen out of love. Renjun acknowledges it first, and you two ends it without any conflict. It's just not meant to be. 
Lee Jeno ; misunderstandings 
Your relationship ended with a misunderstanding. You tried to clear it up but the communication between you and Jeno isn't working. You two happened to interpret it in a different way rather than accepting what's the truth. It's no use and you tried to explain it a hundred times and so did Jeno, but it seems like both of you wanted to stick to your truths, that's why rather than fixing it, you two broke up. 
Lee Donghyuck ; suffocating relationship
Donghyuck became too much. He's high maintenance and you're just not the type to be overbearing over someone. He became clingy and reliant to you which is the thing you don't like the most. You love him but his love became suffocating to you that you felt lost in the relationship, that's why you broke up with him. 
Na Jaemin ; a huge fight
It was a huge fight that ended up hurting you two. No one wanted to apologize and no one wanted to hear the other person's side. Both of you were prideful and for once, doesn't want to give way for the other. Weeks of cooling off turned into a months of not talking, and then you two just decided from there, you two are no longer together. 
Zhong Chenle ; different perspectives in life
You thought that opposites attract. But you were wrong, you and Chenle have different thoughts about the future. Your principles never aligned and it was hard to adjust for each other. You two agreed that both of you don't see their future with each other, that's why you two broke up. It was a mutual agreement and you two decided to be just friends. 
Park Jisung ; immature love
You two are young and inexperienced. it has a lot of ups and downs, that's why it was hard to continue your relationship. You two often break up and go back together until it becomes tiring. Both of you realized that it was too early to enter a relationship, that's why you two decided to just end it completely and focus first on yourself. 
part two.
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hyuckmov · 6 months
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haechan — settle down (rockstar hyuck) | part 2 of 3
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wc: 18k (yay!) genre: angst, smut (18+ minors dni), a bit of fluff warnings: wet dreams, jerking off, fingering, oral (f receiving), protected sex, making out, praise kink, strength kink (? he's strong...) crying during sex, dirty talk, aftercare...? petnames (baby, princess), and ... names needs to be read after part 1 i think! a/n: shorter warnings list lmfao anyway.... i....this took me awhile but i really hope u enjoy this and the way it reads. let me know what you think and please be kind :) thank you thank you THANK YOU to every single one of you on my taglist and if you've sent me an ask, reblogged, or left a comment. i could not have finished this without u
haechan almost always knew of the hurt he caused — especially to you. 
he knew what he was doing each time he showed up around you at a party, love bites staining his skin and hair messy and wild. he noticed the way you recognised the perfume on him with a crinkle of your nose, or the slight flicker of sadness in your eyes when his phone would vibrate against the bedside table, wandering to the names on his phone. he could feel the way your shoulders tensed when he smiled blankly at you, track your movements as you looked away when he was cozying up with someone else. 
and most of all – he knew that beyond that, you couldn't go to him for all your hurt. and that was what would be most painful, the knowledge that everything you had to suffer was unjustified, feelings not tied to reason, because he never made you any promises.
haechan almost always knew of the hurt he caused — and he always hoped that his touch could be a good enough apology. 
all throughout rehearsals, when they took the trip to the venue, back to when he had woken up that morning, something had stirred in his chest. he was never nervous before shows, but this time he fiddled with his guitar mindlessly, wandering over to the bar and ordering just a few drinks to hopefully dull the way his heart was racing in his chest, alcohol burning a path down his throat. he picked at the way his hair fell over his eyes, re-doing his makeup before the show with the black eyeliner that he couldn't hold without thinking of you. his bandmates watching him carefully, not knowing what had changed. he wouldn't be able to tell them if they'd asked. 
it was only when the girl in the bathroom had stumbled away on shaky feet, leaving one last slick touch on his arm as a goodbye, when all his feelings that had ached in him that day came crashing down in his chest, that crushing weight he couldn't ignore each time he tried to breathe. 
you had kissed him — and it felt like a promise. 
it was this thought that now stung at him, as he watched the numbers on the screen of the elevator flick higher and higher. he had made his way to your apartment as if on autopilot, driving down streets now too familiar. he always knows the hurt he causes you — and he feels it now, like retribution, because even now he has no right to be angry at you. no right to blame you for his hurt, because while he had never made you promises, in reality you hadn't either. 
but the reality was he was here now, knocking on your apartment door. 
"y/n?" 
there's warm light seeping out under your apartment door, he can see all your shoes on the rack outside. jaemin's not home, but you definitely are. 
he knocks again, a bitter taste in his mouth. 
"y/n, i know you're home." 
his hand curls into a fist, and he hits it against the door, twice. he thinks he can hear something beyond the door, a clink of something like keys, so he raises his voice, the tone of it rough. 
"are you happy now?" 
mark has told him he gets vindictive when he's hurt or scared, has urged him to think before he speaks. 
"does it make you feel like you have the upper hand? standing me up?"
but haechan can't distinguish what he's feeling right now. 
"because i don't care at all," he spits, lies he'd never rehearsed, the alcohol mixing with thoughts he didn't even know he had, to inflict the cruelest hurt. "at least i know the girl i fucked didn't feel any different." his voice dips low, cold freezing over each syllable. "i hope you know even if you went, i still would've picked her. it didn't make any difference." 
the night is still, and quiet. his words seem to swell in the air, ringing around in his head. he stands in front of the door, head lowered, hand still lingering on cool surface, breaths dragged out of his lungs painfully. he waits for so long, that he wonders if he was speaking to no one at all — if you'd been asleep, if he imagined the sounds beyond the door.  
but then there's a soft click, and the door drifts open. 
the moment haechan sees you, he feels it like a shot to his chest, because something was terribly wrong. 
it's not just the tears running down your cheeks. 
your face is blotchy and red, dark circles under your teary eyes, your hair mussed up and tangled. you're wrapped in layers of clothing despite the cool summer night, your body still trembling with cold, and when you speak, your voice is so hoarse and broken that it makes goosebumps break out over his skin — and an achy tone he never wanted to hear from you ever again.
"it didn't make a difference?"  
his lips part. he tugs on his jacket, trying to to close it, to pull up his collar a little higher, but it's too late — your eyes are already reading the marks on his skin, drinking in every last detail of him. 5 minutes ago he had wanted nothing more than for you to open the door and see him exactly like this — lipstick smudged lips and fucked out eyes, the smell of fake roses clinging to each fibre of his clothing, the rips in his jeans tugged this way and that.  
and all at once he knew — you had wanted to go, and he just accused you of the worst thing. you were going to go, and now he was forcing you to look at him like this. if the trip here made him feel vulnerable and bruised, he knew it must have felt like this for you too on the nights he didn't ask for you — the two of you sharing feelings that you weren't supposed to have, that you couldn't justify.  
now haechan sees the way your face crumples, tears gathering on your waterline. you lift your hands to wipe them away, and it's like he can feel the way your chest shakes with wounded sounds and choked sobs, your fingers clenching into fists as you bite your lip to keep from bursting into tears.  
"y/n-" he breathes. "are you…is everything —" 
"s-so you didn't mean it? when you invited me?" you're trying to steady your breathing. every second that passes where he's watching you fall to pieces in the doorway feels like it's searing into haechan's skin, the heavy feeling in his chest increasing tenfold with guilt. he swallows, as he watches you take a few deep breaths. "i thought… i thought it meant…when you invited m-me you said you weren't making empty promises —" 
"i wasn't." he bites his lip, taking a step towards you. "y/n —" 
but you back away. "i was going to go, haechan. i was really going to go –" 
"i know." he knew now. 
" — but i've been sick since yesterday, and it wasn't getting any better, i couldn't leave the house –" 
"why didn't you tell me?" he desperately wants to run away, but he knows it's worse for you. 
your voice is small. "i don't have your number."
it had slipped his mind. it was something so stupid, something so small – how he never wanted to give you a way to talk to him, or give himself an easy way to access you, didn't want things to be too easy. all of it had slowly built up to that feeling each time he glanced at his phone that night, clutching the lifeless device in his hands. 
the last thing he should do, if he ever wanted to see you again, is blame you. he bites back his question of why you didn't ask jaemin for help, wrapping his jacket around his body self-consciously, running a hand through his hair.  "i forgot," he whispers. hurt flickers across your face again. 
"i d-don't know why i thought this would be different." you wipe at your face, biting your lip again to keep from trembling. "i hoped that maybe, even if i couldn't show up, you'd come here and take care of me. when i heard you outside the door…" 
the words have a bitter bite to them, and you spit them out like you hate the taste in your mouth, hate every memory associated with his care. 
"i'll take care of you," he pleads, quickly, stepping towards you. 
he doesn't know what he expected, if you'd showed up. maybe he'd play for you, and leave with your hand in his. maybe he could have taken you in his car, or in his soft sheets at home. brought you out for a late dinner, sit with you and let you pry him open as you always did. or maybe he'd say nothing at all, and nothing would have changed – he didn't know. 
his touch has always been his apology, always his way of reaching you through the only sure thing the both of you wanted from each other. but the look on your face tells him that the brush of his fingertips against your skin is only cruelty. 
"you're fucked up if you think i'm letting you take care of me now," your voice is grating, rough on his skin. 
"but i-"
"you'll hold me like this? force me to stare at the marks on your chest? breathe the perfume that isn't yours?" your tone is harsh and accusatory. he takes it all. "what were you going to do, if i showed?" 
and for once, haechan can't help but be honest. "i don't know," he mumbles, and he sees the words hit you like a strike to your face.
"you knew i wanted more," you whisper. "you knew i wanted to be close to you, but you always…you always –" 
"wanted?" he asks, quietly.  
"you can't think i still want to know you, after everything. whatever person lies behind all that…" your tears have stopped, your voice unfeeling. the numbness in you mirrors his own. "i want nothing to do with him." 
he can't think of anything to say. he reaches out a hand, and for a moment you let his fingers graze your arm, fear and hurt in the way they curl around your wrist, begging you to hold on to him too. you're scaring him, and he doesn't know how to go back, but he knows he deserves everything you're saying to him. deserves the way you shake free of his hold and close the door, his feet stumbling over themselves as he backs away. 
you said you didn't want to know him, that you didn't know him at all. but he can't help thinking that's not true, because you knew him enough to know exactly how to hurt him through the walls, through the boy he pretended to be, right through his chest and past his ribcage, right into his aching heart. 
ever since your fever broke, your life had been quiet. 
you go to all your classes. you cut down on coffee by getting sleep at night. you take walks with jaemin around the neighborhood, falling back into old routines. movie nights, and grocery trips. he was coddling you, and you felt it every day — coming home to warm meals, the way he was more forgiving over little disputes. you didn't deserve it, watching him slip out of the front door quietly, camera bag slung over his shoulder. 
you didn't deserve it, because you ached to follow. 
some part of you was still trapped inside your room, heady and aching, desperately trying to reach him. needing his apology, needing him to recognise the way he hurt you. you couldn't look for answers in your memories, but you played each scene back in your mind like a looping film reel, letting images suffocate you — his jacket falling open, love bites marking his skin, all the times he's slipped from your grasp. and yet, other fragments come back too — the warmth of his hand on yours in the car, the slight tilt of his head as he brought his gaze level with yours, seeking you out when things got too much. his quiet answers in the dark, the slow smile that spread across his face that made you glow, knowing you'd made him happy. 
"he got off lightly," you tell jaemin one night, the both of you on the floor by the couch. ice cream and wine drip condensation on the table-top, and the both of you are too heavy with the rush of sugar and alcohol, the clock ticking in the silence of the room as you sit.  
"you just want to see him again," he'd replied, quietly. "don't you?" 
"i just wish we could have talked." your voice is small. you and haechan never truly talked, except for some nights in the dark, lying in his arms afraid to breathe, afraid of breaking the tenderness that swelled in the room, afraid of turning on the lights to see who you were holding in the shadows.
"and then what? you'd be together?" jaemin glances over at you, and the concern in his eyes makes you shrink back even more. you were supposed to be doing better. everything in your life was right, it was exactly the way it should be — but why did you feel empty? 
"then i'd at least have closure," you mumble. "i'm never going to get any answers unless i talk to him." 
a brief expression of discomfort crosses jaemin's face, but it's gone when you blink. 
"i just don't want you to see him again, and forget all the ways he hurt you." 
you don't say a word. both of you knew that it was something too likely to happen. 
it's dark in haechan's room. the boy liked it shadowy, black-out curtains drawn over the windows, the air cool from air-conditioning, an air humidifier spewing light blue mist in the corner. the boy sitting in bed had his guitar in his lap, picking at the strings quietly, his phone face-up on the bed next to him, recording his ideas. he was swaddled in a large hoodie, swallowing his frame, shorts riding high on his thighs as he curls into himself. 
he doesn't look up when mark shuffles in, closing the door behind him quietly, blinking as his eyes adjust to the low light. 
"jaemin's outside." 
haechan nods. "i heard you." his voice is a soft sound, boyish. mark has heard it enough growing up, that he knows haechan is scared. he knows haechan is waiting for answers, waiting for the verdict.
"he says he'll only continue to work with us if you stop seeing… y/n." 
the name trips in his mouth, clumsy. it feels strange to use it, especially around haechan, who knows you more than any of them do, like he's saying something he's not allowed to, a boy using an expletive he doesn't understand. haechan's body tenses when he hears your name in mark's voice, predictable, almost laughable — the slight tightening of his nimble fingers on the neck of the guitar, slip of his fingers on the guitar pick. 
"okay." and the boy goes back to playing. 
"you'll stop seeing y/n?" 
"yeah." mark moves closer to the bed, sees haechan's lower lip caught in his teeth. 
"haechan, stop." 
the boy shakes his head roughly, plucking at the strings a little harder. 
"what happened? what happened between you and y/n?" 
"i'll stop seeing her." 
"stop acting like i don't know you," mark mumbles, finally sitting down on the bed. haechan stills, as mark pulls the guitar away from him, his hands going limp as he lets mark set it down at the foot of the bed. "i hate it when you do that."  
"i'm sorry." a beat, then haechan buries his face in his hands, pulling at his features, before letting his arms drop down to the bed again. "could you…could you at least tell her?" 
"tell her what?" 
"that jaemin told me to stay away." haechan fiddles with the hem of his shirt, head still lowered. "i…i shouldn't be the one avoiding her. she should be avoiding me." 
"is there a difference?" 
"yeah." he mumbles his words, plush lips barely forming each syllable. "because i hurt her. i can't hurt her and then ignore her…that's…that's not right."
"so you want to keep seeing her?" 
"i just want…" his voice is hollow, and when he looks up at mark — the dim light in the room catching on the features of his face, mark can finally see the way his lips were raw, skin torn and bitten. his eyes, usually sharp and piercing, are puffy and swollen from crying, dazed pupils blinking up at him. "mark, i don't think i've ever hurt someone like this before."
mark wonders what he could have done, but he doesn't ask. "do you want to make it right?" 
"i don't know how." he swallows, throat bobbing. "i don't know if i can." 
"maybe avoiding her isn't the best thing…" mark starts, putting a hand on haechan's arm, but haechan flinches. 
"the band will kill me. jeno will kill me." mark opens his mouth to argue, but already haechan is leaning back against the headboard, head lowered and looking down at his lap. "i'll do it. i won't see her again."
"it'll be fine" mark reassures, softly. "in a few weeks, after a few more people, you'll forget all about her." 
neither of them really believed it. 
as jaemin sits on the couch — jeno sprawled on an armchair with jisung perched on the armrest, mark sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of him, he thinks about how these boys have become his close friends. he fits in with them in a way he never has with his other clients — evenings spent photographing them, understanding them through the lens of his camera. cycling trips with jeno, bringing out mark's competitive streak as they drank in the kitchen, babying jisung and taking care of him when the other bandmates weren't around to do so. 
and of course, getting to know haechan — teaching him how to use a camera, chatting with him easily about the city. if jaemin was to be honest, haechan intimidated him a little with how guarded he was, every sentence he spoke to jaemin felt like it'd been turned over a million times in his head, each word careful and poised. he also disappeared for long periods of time, sometimes never there during parties. 
now jaemin knew what the time had been spent on. who he'd spent it on.
"we're really sorry." it's mark who speaks up first. jisung nods in agreement, while jeno looks on. 
"i don't need you to be sorry," mumbles jaemin. "it's not your fault." 
"still…" mark scratches the back of his close-cropped hair tentatively. "he mentioned it."
"what did he say?" 
"he didn't tell us everything," jisung says, voice hushed. his hair falls over his eyes as he ducks his head in thought. "mostly just told us to stay away." 
"did he sound like he wanted them to be exclusive?" 
mark and jisung exchange a glance, but it's jeno's voice that answers just as mark's lips part. 
"no." when jisung bites his lip, jeno raises his eyebrows, annoyed. "are you kidding? he just said he fucked her more often, and that we should fuck off." 
jisung looked wounded. "he didn't say that." 
"but that's what he meant." 
"mark?" 
jaemin calls out to the boy, bringing him out of his thoughts. mark was staring at his own hands, a frown creasing his face.
"haechan agreed," he says, slowly. your name lingers on the tip of his tongue as he says it, like he's tasting the sound, the unfamiliarity of it in his mouth. "i…i think i might know what's going on with haechan, but it's up to him to explain, not me." 
"so he won't see her anymore?" 
the words come easily to jaemin. he knew it was the deal he was going to make the moment he texted mark to ask if they could talk. he was willing to lose his growing friendship with the rest of the boys if it could give you peace, if all of you could go back to the way things were. 
he think back to how he found you — struggling to head out of the door the previous day, barely able to make it to the door, the fever burning up your brain and making your bones ache. he thinks of coming back home to you after he'd went to the pharmacy to get you medicine, slipping his shoes off at the door and immediately knowing that something had changed, from the tears streaming down your face. 
"how did this happen?" 
"he came to see me" you mumble, struggling with the sleeves of the thick sweater you were trying to pull your arms through. the moment you straighten, you wince as a dull pain throbbed through your head, hunching over again as stars blinked in your vision. 
"haechan?" 
he sets down the bag of medicine on the kitchen counter, picking up the thermometer and pointing it at your forehead. the light on the screen blinks red, and his eyebrows furrow, the displeased expression on his face only growing stronger. 
"why did you open the door?" he asks, slowly. "i thought we talked about this." 
"i thought…." your voice is scratchy, as pressure seems to rise inside your skull, pain that made your eyes tear up. it's laughable that you thought he would take care of you, and instead he ripped you to pieces. tears well up in your eyes again, and your lips part, only to let out a small sob. 
he grips onto your arm, gently but firmly, steering you back towards your room. you don't have any strength to fight back, it felt like the temperature in the room was at freezing point even though jaemin was only wearing a thin shirt and shorts, and the ache in your bones made every movement shoot pain through your nerves. even after lying down on your bed, swaddled in blankets, the dim light slightly easing the pain in your head, you were too weak to lift your head, stretching your fingers out over the blanket and crawling towards where jaemin's hand rested on the sheets. 
he held your hand and listened to you talk, knowing you needed to let it all out. he didn't judge, he didn't make faces. just listened with his eyes closed as you told him about meeting haechan, the way he pulled you away from everyone else and how you'd followed. he observed you quietly through his lashes as you sniffled, breaths breaking up your words. 
the story got harder to tell when you recounted moments of his tenderness — when he'd call you his, when he took care of you, when he'd promise to be harsh with you but never went through with it, the way his face fell when you cried. you stuttered and hesitated through it all, because you didn't know if any of it was real or just imagined.
jaemin knows he could have hurt you further — broken every last illusion, pierced through the image of haechan you had in your head. but he didn't have the heart to, so this was the best he could do — making sure it stopped. 
"it's done," mark nods, but he looks unhappy. 
jaemin doesn't feel the weight lift from his chest like he thought it would. he feels jisung move to sit next to him, a hand on his shoulder as he observes his face. 
"i'm really sorry," he mumbles, lips barely moving. 
"it's not your fault," jaemin replies, leaning back against the cushions, letting out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. 
haechan is dreaming again. 
except it's more memory than dream, the way you're laid up against the pillows, fingers tangled in his hair as he leaves kisses on your inner thighs. it's so vivid, the way you taste, the twitch of your muscles as you tense around him, the small gasp as he pulls away to sit back on his knees. 
"please-" you whimper, needy from being teased. scrabbling, you bring your knees to your chest, hands trembling as you hook them on your thighs, tears smearing your cheeks with a dewy glow. you were trying to keep your voice quiet, small sounds barely escaping your lips as you bit down on them, pleading with him through murmurs and barely coherent words. his shirt on your body crinkled everywhere from how he'd been grabbing at it, the long sleeves falling over your palms. it was straight out of a wet dream, which it now was, as you begged him to fuck you, your wet folds slick with spit and arousal as you bared yourself to him, pleading with him to sink into you. 
in memory, he croons. he gives you what you asked for — pressing your weight into the mattress as he pushes into you, feel you pulse around him as he goes in hard and deep, feel your body trembling against his. 
but in dream, he can be honest enough with himself to admit that it scares him when you cry. that his stomach twists when he hears you beg, like missing a step on a staircase, a second where he's rushing into nothing — not knowing if he'd made you like this, not knowing if he was hurting you. from the girl shaking against him, clumsy hands finding purchase on his shoulders, and you now — hips rocking into nothing, desperate for him. 
"i'm here," he whispers, gently taking your hands and slowly lowering your legs down to the bed. he kisses you until your breathing calms and slows, your hands now on the sides of his face, caressing his cheeks. he likes how you touch him as if you could ever bruise him, loving brushes of your fingertips, urgency making your fingers curl into his skin, hesitant scratches on his shoulders that your hands skitter away from. 
in dream, he pushes into you slowly, watching the way your lips part, breath caught in your chest, eyes fluttering closed as you take him in. wet sounds fill the room as he begins to move his hips, your face shyly tucked into his chest, your ankles sweetly hooked against his lower back as you melt together. the feelings in his chest intensifying the pleasure he feels from you wrapped around him. his eyes meet yours as you blink up at him, and it's so real — the way you glow against the sheets of his bed, eyes all soft and sparkling with tenderness. 
but then he wakes in the same bed: the feeling of you under him, the crash of his heartbeat in his chest, all of it hanging in the dark, a lingering tattoo on his body. 
so it's almost like a dream, when he opens the door to the stranger's bedroom, to see you slumped on the floor. 
the din from below echoes through the hall, the sounds of the overwhelming crowd seeping into the room and reminding him of why he was here. he'd been looking for a quiet place to be alone — the constant eyes on him making him feel self-conscious and jumpy. 
back at the apartment, jeno had said he wasn't being like himself, that he hadn't been himself in a long time, the memory of his laugh ringing in haechan's ears as he climbed upstairs. when has a crowd ever bothered you? when have you ever hated attention? 
he didn't know the answers. 
now haechan stands in the doorway, not believing his eyes. there was no way you'd known he would be here, alone. you're curled in on yourself on the floor, leaning against the bed with your knees tucked to your chest, eyes shut. your body is still, and for just a while longer he lets himself watch you for just a moment — drink in every single detail he'd missed even if it felt like teasing open his own wounds with fingers caked in salt. the rise and fall of your chest, your hair mussed up and falling over your face, the slope of your shoulders, your arms. 
and suddenly he's back in his bed, your weight the only thing he was sure of against his chest, drunk on the soft sounds you made, lips barely forming his name. 
you don't know he's here yet. he could walk away, leave you by yourself. but something in him told him he couldn't leave you like this in the middle of a party, barely conscious in a stranger's bedroom. before he knows what he's doing, before he can fathom the consequences, he's kneeling before you, slipping his jacket off his shoulders and draping it over your body. you reek of alcohol, stirring when you feel the weight of the leather on your body, your tongue numb and heavy in your mouth, eyelashes feeling stuck to your cheeks as you struggle to open your eyes. 
"y/n?" haechan whispers, choking on the sound of your name. 
"haech-" you trail off, fingers coming up to rub your eyes sleepily, the jacket slipping slightly. "haechan." it's the way you say it, like your tongue is too afraid to form the syllables, like something you can't bear to say. 
"i-i'm going to find someone," he mumbles, backing away from you, clumsily trying to get to his feet. "you stay here, i'll –"
"don't go-" the words almost get lost from the way you're slurring, lips barely moving, shaking your head as you reach for him again. your fingers slip on the sleeve of his shirt, before curling and holding on tight. "please don't leave." 
"i…" pain flickers over his features. he bites his lower lip, body moving towards yours instinctively, your hand crawling up his sleeve and grasping for his arm, fingers digging to the bone as you tremble. but then he feels your breath on his neck, and he pulls away again. 
"what happened, y/n? did someone hurt you?" he feels like a hypocrite. 
"no," you say, meekly. "i think i just had too much to drink." 
"did you come with jaemin?" 
you shake your head, nuzzling into him in a way that makes his heart pulse painfully in his chest. "i don't know anyone here." 
he still thinks he should get help from any of the girls downstairs. even as you meld yourself a little closer to him, he's almost certain you wouldn't be acting this way if you were sober. 
"y/n, i can't. please just let me call jaemin–" 
"want you here." you reach for him again, trying to pull him impossibly closer, fitting his body against yours. "don't want jaemin to see me like this." 
it dawns on him that besides jaemin, he was the only one you felt comfortable around like this. it wouldn't be the first time he's taken care of you when you were vulnerable or weak, and his body reacts out of habit — pulling you into his arms, his hands gently patting your back as you blink back tears in the crook of his neck. but it still didn't feel right, knowing he was the one who had caused this, and yet he was here holding you.
"let me talk to someone downstairs – i'll see if they can take you home," he murmurs. you bury your face deeper in his neck, shaking your head. "just 5 minutes, okay? i just need 5 minutes —" 
"don't want someone to bring me home," you rasp, and his gut twists painfully when i feels your tears damp on his skin. "i don't want to go back to my place. i want to go with you." 
"you're going to regret this," he says, softly. to him it's the truth you're not sober enough to see, even if it hurt to tell you. "you don't really want this, y/n." 
"is it because you want to find someone else?" your words are soft-edged, lips forming the words carefully, but it pierces him all the same. "is it- is it because you want to bring someone else home?" 
"no," he answers, quiet. "i haven't…not in a while." 
"so you just don't want to be around me?" 
his mind is racing, desperately trying to think of how he could help you, but his mind was coming up with nothing. that same feeling he always had around you — protectiveness intersecting with the ache in his chest everytime your eyes met his, all of it roaring in his ears, louder than the cacophony from any party. for all the times he's claimed he knew what was good for you, he's begun to realise that he has a terrible grasp on how not to hurt you. 
"you don't want to be around me," he corrects, but his fate is sealed when you let out a small sob, muffled against his shirt. 
and he takes you home. 
you watch him through your lashes, as he swipes a cotton pad on your face, cleaning off your makeup. 
"close your eyes," he mumbles, a slight pout forming on his lips from how hard he was concentrating, trying to be gentle with you. his touches are far too light, and you're sure your makeup is still on your face, but you let your lashes flutter shut anyway, feeling a featherlight brush against your eyelid as he holds it against your eye. dropping the used pad into a small bin, he brings a warm, damp towel up to your face, the material of it soft against your skin. 
"can you brush your teeth?" he holds a toothbrush up to your face, but he withdraws it once your hands come up to hold it, completely misjudging the distance and landing on his shoulders instead. "open," he coaxes, parting his own lips so you'd mimic him. he smiles fondly as you open your mouth wide, a hand coming up to hold your face in place. "good girl," he mumbles, and you preen at the praise that shines through your drunken haze, following his instructions to rinse out your mouth.  
there's a short pause. having brushed out your hair, removed your makeup and brushed your teeth, the only thing to do next was to get you to bed. 
your legs squeeze around his hips, your back against the mirror on his bathroom counter. "haechan," you mumble, tipsiness making you swallow your words. "don't…my clothes…" 
"i'll leave them on," he promises, ignoring the way your tight dress looks uncomfortable and unclean to sleep in. "don't worry." of course you don't feel comfortable around him, not after everything.
but for some reason, you're shaking your head, two clumsy hands closing in on one of his and guiding them to your back. "take them off. please–" you add, when he hesitates. "please help me."
"of course," he murmurs, familiarity sparking in his fingertips as they grasp for the zipper, a sense of dejavu in how he drags it down your spine slowly, your back arching slightly. you look at him, drink in the proximity like the first taste of rain after a heatwave — the pretty cut of his eyes, the way his pupils float upwards as he focuses on your back through the mirror. the round tip of his nose, and finally the plushness of his heart-shaped lips. it feels like reprieve, the ache in you finally soothed by the way his breath fans over your cheeks, a gentle balm on an open wound. you lean forward slightly into him as if drawn by a magnetic field, one of your hands coming up to trace the arches of his cupid's bow. 
"y/n?" you can feel his lips move, soft like rose petals on your fingertips. "what are you doing?" 
"you haven't called me baby all night," you blurt out. "or…or princess." your thumb dips to brush against his lower lip, before he's catching hold of your hand and pulling it away from his face gently. 
"i shouldn't," he mumbles, pressing a light kiss to your fingertips before letting go. "i can't."
your dress has gone loose around your body, and you push the sleeves off your shoulders with your hands, letting the fabric drop to your waist. you observe him, watching the way he swallows, throat bobbing when his eyes dart to your chest, lace draped over your curves. 
"haechan," you murmur, but then he turns, hands now fumbling with a pile of his clean clothes. he holds out a clean shirt to you, bunching it up at the collar to slip your head through it, but you stop him with a hand on his chest. 
"i want that one," you say, softly, pointing to a long sleeved shirt you'd remembered wearing before in the room he'd shared with the boys. something flickers in his eyes, his hands curling into fists before he picks it up. he's putting it over your head, the soft cotton hanging off your shoulders, his hands coming close to your body to guide your arms into the sleeves, until you can't take it anymore. 
"haechan, don't you want me?" 
his lips part, his hands stilling, slowly unfurling his grasp on you and placing his palms on the counter. "y/n…" 
"why aren't you-" you look up at him, biting your lip, your tongue too slow to form the thoughts your mind was racing with. "why haven't you touched me yet? do you not want me like this?" 
his heart splinters and fractures. you were so used to it — used to all his touches leading to kisses, kisses leading to him all over your body. "you're drunk." it's the only thing he can say. 
"i know what i'm doing," you fire back, but your words lilt and smear together. "ask me anything and i can answer you right now." 
but all he does is resume putting your arms through the sleeves, your limbs pliant against him as always, and soon you're completely covered up, and he can breathe a little easier. his strong arms grip your waist, and you're like a ragdoll in his grip as he guides you to stand, the dress at your hips falling, the shirt brushing the top of your thighs. 
it gets worse when he sets you down in his bed. in another universe, this might be a moment of bliss for him, something romantic and sweet in the way your body curves against his pillows, sinking down into them and blinking up at him hazily. but guilt still thunders in his chest, his vision split by lightning bolts of fear. you would wake up hating him. he would never stop hurting you. you would never want to see him again. 
your arms slide up his, grasping for him. "please," you plead, your voice small. "what did i do wrong? why don't you want to touch me?" 
"you didn't do any wrong," he murmurs, as he lets his weight sink into bed next to you, feel you curl up against him. just for a minute he tells himself — just until you fall asleep. your weight on his chest feeling like someone had doused his body with warmth, a comfort that made his eyes prickle with tears. "y/n, you're perfect," he whispers, the words melting into the dark.
"don't say that." he feels tears wet against the soft fabric of his shirt over his chest. "stop saying my name." 
"baby," he amends. "sweetheart, go to sleep." 
you hum. "haechan." 
"don't," he echoes. 
"what's wrong?" you mumble, your question heavy with sleep. 
he grips onto you tighter, holding you fiercely as tears cloud his vision. 
"i'm sorry," he says, his voice cracking. "i'm so so so sorry." when you don't respond, he nuzzles into your hair, freckling wet kiss on your forehead. "i'm sorry," he repeats, long after you've fallen asleep. 
you wake up to the sound of laughter ringing out against the walls. 
the room is as dim as it was last night — dark curtains drawn and the lights turned off. time seemed to have come to a standstill, you couldn't tell if it had been days or weeks or even months since you'd fallen asleep. your body ached, still heavy with sleep while your mind cleared — it had been a while since you've slept this well.
blinking your eyes open, you slowly sit up, feeling sheets warm and soft against your skin. you sit there, dazed, getting your bearings as you survey the unfamiliar room again. your clothes, folded on a small couch next to the window. your jewelry on the bedside table, your phone plugged in to the charger. 
the only thing you recognised was the long sleeved shirt unmistakeable on your body, the familiar smell of perfume and body lotion in every fiber of the sheets.
stumbling over to the bathroom, the warm light brings back every memory — the party, the drinks, stumbling upstairs into a room as your consciousness slipped away, and then haechan, haechan, haechan. haechan leading you out of the party, taking you home in his car, taking care of you. your fingers ghost over your forehead, where you swear he kissed you just before you woke up.
you turn off the tap. in the silence, there's another round of giggles, bright like a child's, and then —
"baby, don't move!" 
haechan's voice rings lighter than you've ever heard it, and the smile in it is evident. this is a voice without shadows, fondness in every lilt and inflection. with something like urgency, you dry your hands on your shirt, padding out of his room, hesitantly blinking into the sunlit living room. 
you almost don't believe your eyes. 
haechan is sitting on the couch, eyebrows furrowed in concentration and pink lips stuck out in a pout. sitting on the floor, cross-legged between his knees, was a little girl — her hands busy with a doll, while her own hair was being meticulously braided and arranged by the boy…whose head snaps up the moment he hears the creak of the door. 
"you're awake," he blurts out, and the girl looks up. 
"hi!" she waves shyly, leaning forward towards you, but whining as the motion tugs on her hair instead. "hyuck! it hurts…" 
his eyes finally dart away from yours. "i'm sorry," he murmurs, lightly massaging her scalp with the tips of his fingers. 
"you're making it messy —" 
"right, sorry." he grabs a sparkly pink hairbrush and combs through her hair gently, beginning to rebraid. the girl goes back to her doll, settling back down and quickly losing interest in you. 
his eyes flick up to yours again, the tiniest hint of blush on his cheeks. "did you sleep well?"
you nod, feeling like you'd walked in on something you weren't supposed to. 
haechan studies your face, a strand of hair falling from his grasp before he tucks it in diligently. "are you hungover? there were painkillers on the bedside table, i don't know if you saw…" 
"i'm fine," you croak out. 
"and there's breakfast on the table," he murmurs, ducking his head back down to focus on the impressive french braid he was attempting. he looks back up when he feels you staring, as if fixed to the ground beneath your feet. 
"is she…?" 
"this is my baby sister," he answers, smiling softly. "sorry, i didn't know she was coming over today. her kindergarten is near here so sometimes i walk her to school." and then, with a nod towards the table, "please eat — i made too many sandwiches." 
the girl smiles, mumbling softly to herself. "hyuckie makes the best sandwiches." 
you can see 'hyuckie' blush at that, his lips pressed together tightly to keep in his smile as he pokes the little girl's cheek softly, going back to the braid. you cross over to the dining table, feet shuffling slowly, reluctantly tearing your eyes away from the two siblings, watching the fondness in haechan's eyes. quietly pulling out a chair, you sit down and pick up a sandwich, holding it gingerly between your fingers. 
a hushed voice breaks the silence, and you turn to see his sister, cupping her lips against haechan's ear whispering so loud that her words fill the room. "is she your friend?" the girl asks, pointing her pinky finger at you, head tilted with curiosity. haechan's head tilts too, but his eyes wander over to yours as he hesitates. 
"yes, she's my friend," he says, slowly. "we're…good friends." sliding the hair ties from his wrist, he finally finishes tying off the braid, before giving the girl a gentle pat on the shoulder. "you can play for 5 more minutes okay? hyuckie needs to talk to his friend." 
her round eyes blink at you as she slowly gets to her feet, before tottering over to the window, where another pile of dolls lay. haechan clears his throat, before shuffling over to you and sitting down in a chair next to yours. 
although he adjusts himself to face you, he keeps his distance – legs drawn in under the chair, hands placed carefully on his knees in a way you'd never seen him do before. it feels like the space between the both of you spans for entire oceans and continents, an invisible force field that holds weight against your limbs, keeping you from leaning in, incapable of even moving your fingertips. 
"are you sure you're okay?" 
he looks at you — his expression soft like wax melting around a candle wick. 
"do you…do you remember how you got here?" 
you nod, taking a deep breath. "the party?" 
"i'm sorry that you're here like this," he says, quietly. "i didn't know you were going to be there, i wasn't trying to corner you, i swear." 
you nod, dazed. 
"are you upset with me? for bringing you here?" at the conflict in your expression, he adds on, hurriedly, "i-i know it wasn't the best thing to do. i could've called jaemin, or mark, or anyone downstairs…it's just that i didn't know…i didn't know if it would be okay–" 
" — i'm not upset," you cut him off, the pressure easing as you raise a hand jerkily to place it over his. "i believe you. thank you for taking care of me last night."
he exhales slowly, and when he speaks he sounds even more troubled than before. "you…you shouldn't thank me. you shouldn't thank me for anything."
his eyes dart over to his little sister, checking in on her, and the sense that you're intruding on something creeps up on you again. 
haechan had been right — there was so much of him you didn't know. you hardly recognised the boy sitting beside you, despite a vague sense of comfort and familiarity in the slightest traces of his expression, the look in his eyes, his thumb absentmindedly stroking yours. it scared you. 
you withdraw your hand, pushing your chair a little further from his, the scrape of it dissonant in your ears. "so, uh, i'll just wait downstairs for the taxi if you don't feel comfortable —" 
"taxi?" he looks at you, confused. 
"i…i should go now, right?" 
"i wasn't going to ask you to go," he says, his voice small. "i was…i was hoping we could talk." 
"talk?" you echo. after weeks of nothing? "now?"
"i mean, not right now-" he glances over at the clock, wincing. "but can you stay today?" 
there's a pause. you don't think you've ever been able to read him — you've spent days second-guessing every emotion you thought he had, the meaning behind each expression, whether he ever told the truth. but something about him like this makes you hesitate, made your breath catch in your throat. all the ways you've tried to learn how to be immune to his words and his touch slowly melting away, because that was your defense against the version of haechan you thought you knew before. 
"i'll understand if you say no," he says, quietly. "but i have things i need to say to you. please." 
you don't know what to do. 
"hyuckie?" 
you both turn. haechan's baby sister is waddling over, her fist clenched around her hair ties as the last remnants of the french braid unravel from her head. she sniffles. "it fell." 
haechan's eyes dart back to you quickly, before refocusing his attention away. "it's okay-" he soothes, taking the hair ties from her as he swipes the pad of his thumb on her cheek, brushing off the teardrops that have begun to spill from her lashes. his lips jut out into a pout, his head tilting to meet her gaze. "let's just tie it up and go to school, hm?"
"but i want it in a braid…"  
"i can't finish it in time," he says, gently, touching the strands of her hair. "i'm sorry. i promise, we'll do it next time, okay?" 
her lip wobbles. "but…"
"let me help," you say, suddenly. 
he turns, round eyes wide. "what?" 
"i'll do her hair. you still need to get her things right?" 
he nods, a little dazed. "really?" 
"i'll stay," you murmur, and you slip the hair ties from his loose fingers and sling them around your wrist. "i need to talk to you too." 
you can feel his eyes on you as he coaxes his sister towards you, the girl shyly hiding her face in your hands as you swiftly braid two pigtails down her back. he still watches you out of the corner of his eye as he packs her bag, noting the way you listen to her babble on about her days at the school, the way you help adjust the straps of her backpack onto her tiny frame.
he looks at you like he's never seen you before. you think you know the feeling. 
— 
the bed dips under his weight as he sits down. 
"hey," you hear him murmur, and you stir. his hair falls over his face, and he's changed out of his clothes, and a pair of thick-rimmed glasses perches on his dainty nose. it's foreign, and new…until he pushes back his hair boyishly with an open palm, flicking his head like a puppy after a swim, and the skip in your heartbeat feels all too familiar in your ribcage. 
"did you get her to school?" 
he nods. "i got us lunch too. and stopped to get groceries." studying your face, he leans in. "i didn't want to wake you up so soon. do you feel better?" 
you hum. the morning now seemed like just a dream — haechan and his sister, the breakfast sandwiches. he'd left to walk her to school, telling you to rest in his bed until he got home. now, late afternoon light seeps into the room through the open door, until haechan gets up to close it, once again sealing the room in cozy darkness. 
"may i…?" he lifts up the corner of the covers, and you nod, easing yourself to the side as he gets into bed, leaning up against the headboard, his eyes trained on his lap. you lay on your side, that same feeling — as if you couldn't reach out and touch him, as if he existed in a world of his own without you, slowly settling in your body like a familiar ache. 
but then there's a shift — and you can feel his gaze warm on your skin. you blink up at him, his pupils focused on yours, pools of the darkest molten brown sucking you into his world. he wets his lips with his tongue nervously, taking a shuddering breath. 
"y/n, i'm really sorry." 
your heart squeezes a little in your chest. "for?" 
"for what i said that night…when i thought…when you didn't show up." he takes another breath. "and for not trusting you, for going to your place after i...." his fists clench the fabrics of the sheets, twisting it in his hands. 
you bite your lip. "haechan —"
" — i'm not done." he swallows, voice dipping low. "you were right. i knew you wanted more, i always knew exactly when i hurt you. but i never tried…i never tried to change anything. i'm sorry." his hands reach towards yours for a second, but he hesitates, dropping them back on his lap. 
"what would you have changed?" you ask, softly.
"i could have stopped seeing you," he murmurs. 
you smile, sadly. "i'm not convinced that would have hurt any less." that was something you knew for sure. 
"and i don't think i could have stopped myself," he admits. 
"haechan," his eyes move to yours. "why did you invite me?" his breathing picks up, and you want desperately to comfort him, to curl up on his lap and soothe him, but you knew the both of you were afraid of what would happen if you touched. knew the possibility that you'd try to find answers in skin-on-skin, lips-on-lips, and the possibility that it would all be lost in translation again.  
"i'm sorry, –" he looks at you sadly. "i think i was just trying to get you to stay. i…" he chews on his lip, glasses sliding a little lower on his slender nose bridge as his head dips. "i regret what i said, but some of it was true. i don't know what i would have done, and i don't think i was ready for…for what you thought it was." 
you nod, cheek rubbing against soft sheets, thinking about what he said. "haechan, i don't regret not going. i only wished i'd done it intentionally." 
"yeah?" he whispers. the sound sticks in his throat. 
"if you hadn't found me yesterday…would you still have looked for me? talked to me? i'm not hurt that you didn't find me sooner-" you cut in, when you see the guilt on his features, the parting of his lips in apology. "time apart….time apart was good. i needed it to clear my head. i….i couldn't stop myself around you." 
he doesn't say anything, for a while. "jaemin came over," he says, slowly. "and he said i couldn't talk to you or he would stop working with the band and it was decided for me." 
"he what?" 
haechan shakes his head. "i don't blame him. i'm not going to pretend that i couldn't have still talked to you if i really wanted to. i'm selfish enough to do that, i'll admit. i didn't reach out because i didn't know what to say, and i didn't know what i wanted." 
"and now?" 
he closes his eyes. "time apart was good," he murmurs, echoing your words. "it gave me a chance to go back to a time before." 
your breath catches. 
" — but i couldn't. i don't think i can take it any longer. i missed you, y/n. i miss you now, even as you're here." 
"you miss me?" 
something bothered you about it, hearing him say those words. when he'd pulled you away repeatedly in the weeks you've known each other, when he came for you time and time again, was that missing you too? were things different now? 
"i miss spending time with you," he says, almost timidly. "not just…not just sex. everything. i know it's selfish…" his eyes blink open, and he pushed his glasses up, avoiding your gaze. "i didn't mean to pressure you to come back. you can forget i said that." 
he shakes his head, trying to clear it. 
"i just wanted to tell you i'm sorry for hurting you." 
you'd never dared hope for a real apology from him. some part of you expected, or even secretly wished, he would find you again after that night, lie through his teeth to win you back. and in the weeks that followed, you took his silence to mean he didn't even care enough to do that.
and now here you were, sitting with him. after days and nights, he's had time to really mean his words — he wasn't himself, which is maybe why you believed he was telling the truth.
you think you know now, why he refused to let you in. why he hadn't wanted to take your first time, something so intimate and romantic that it would have pierced right through the layers he'd built up around himself. why he drew away so many nights when your touch lingered on each others' skin, when you wanted him to stay. 
"haechan," you say, quietly. "i need you to understand that i…that i've learned how to be hurt by you. i don't want to go back to how we were before." 
he nods, quickly. "of course." 
"and…you say you knew i wanted more. so you know that i wanted to be with you…romantically, right?" 
"i know." the words are so quiet, you barely catch them. 
"if…if i come back, i don't think i want that anymore." you say, gentle, but firm. jaemin was right — you couldn't let yourself forget all the ways he hurt you. "i associate us with too much hurt. i can't trust you with my heart, can you understand that?" 
there's silence. he's nodding, but when his lips part, he's wordless. 
"haechan?" 
"i understand," he murmurs. "i'm…i didn't…" he breaks off, fiddling with the covers, lip caught in his teeth. "whatever happens next will only happen on your terms," he says, softly. "i only want to do what you want to do, okay?" 
your brow furrows. "but haechan, if you don't feel comfortable with something –" 
"i'm fine as long as you still want to see me," he whispers. 
"if you don't want to let me in, i won't push anymore." you realize you truly mean it when you make the offer out loud. even if it hurt to know that you may never see him like this again, you press on, jaemin's advice resurfacing in your mind again. "you don't owe me any more of yourself. if you want it to just be sex, we can do that – but you have to commit to it too. so no more getting jealous, or —"  
" – that's not possible." 
"you're not making any sense." you should've been hurt, but sitting here now — looking at him, the way he melts into his room, fuzzy at the edges, soft curves of his face, you can't feel any of it. finally, you're beginning to see that he's just as lost as you are. his head is still bowed low, taking in every word you say like a weight he carries upon him. 
"it's not possible because you already know me. you know enough of me that i couldn't perform with you in the crowd, can't be myself around you at a party. i can't stand there onstage, do things like eyefuck girls and play the guitar and pretend to be someone else, while feeling your eyes on me. you'd see right through me."
he sounds like he's on the verge of tears, his voice achy and raw. and as you look up at him, tears are smudging on his waterline, his cheeks glistening as he sniffles. 
"i said i'd be fine with anything," he breathes shakily, as he starts to cry, sharp inhales punctuating his words. "and i am, i really am. i-i'm not in the position to set terms. it's fine if you don't want to know me, but i can't pretend we're just strangers anymore. i won't be able to." 
words you'd said to him — you can't think i still want to know you, after everything. 
for a moment, you entertain the idea that you've hurt him too. 
"i don't think i can pretend either," you murmur. "i hated it when you pretended like you didn't know me. like you'd never seen me before." 
i'm s-sorry, he chokes, but the syllables scattered across his sobs. he claps a hand to his mouth as his breathing speeds up even more, tears wetting his shirt, achy sounds muffled against his palm. and finally you sit up, limbs still clumsy and heavy from sleep, and you wrap your arms around him, and arm slung over his chest, another around his waist, just like you wanted to all this time.
his breath shudders against your palms, warm body against your skin. you bury your face in his neck, breathe in the familiar smell of him that changed no matter who he was or whoever he was pretending to be, until his breathing slows and his sobs come to a shaky stop. 
"i missed you too, haechan," you breathe. he shakes his head. "i did-" you insist, but he shakes his head again, a hand coming to touch your arm on his waist, squeezing tight. 
"not haechan, donghyuck," he whispers. 
"donghyuck," you correct, stroking the side of his cheek lovingly, your fingertip stained with his tears. "i missed you." 
"i missed you too." he says it like the words are dangerous, hushed and quiet. "are you…are you really coming back to me?"
"do you think we can be friends?" you ask, tentatively. not lovers, not strangers. this was the only in-between you knew that could do justice to the ways you knew each other, the only way you could see yourself holding on to him now.
he looks at you for a long time, until you forget your question. his nose is tinted pink, his eyes still watery as he drowns in his thoughts. 
he swallows. "are you sure?" he asks, softly. "your first time being with someone…and it's not even a real relationship." 
"you're doing that thing again," you murmur. "where you tell me what's good for me. how i should do things." you soften when you look up, seeing the guilt in his face, as if he had been caught red-handed. "i'm asking you again," you say, slowly. "do you think we can be friends?" 
this time, he nods. "yeah," he murmurs. "friends who…"
you nod too, feeling your cheeks burn, and then you lean in — slotting your lips against his. 
for a second, he doesn't kiss you back, and your stomach swoops. 
but then his mouth is moving against yours, soft and gentle. a close-lipped kiss, just the feeling of his soft lips on yours, the brush of your noses together, your eyes slowly fluttering shut to focus on the feeling. and even though you'd just agreed — even though you were the one who suggested it, a part of you wondered if you could ever only want to be friends with lee donghyuck.  
you sit at the dinner table, and haechan's entire body aches with a longing that crests over him like a tidal wave, knocking the breath from his lungs. 
he recalls the way he'd felt earlier, walking back across the park from the kindergarten, stopping by the grocery store and wandering the brightly-lit aisles, turning over pasta sauce and soup stock in his hands. the knowledge that you were in his home, sleeping, that he would turn the key in the lock and you would be waiting for him — burned down his throat like alcohol, a bonfire in his stomach. it felt like playing pretend. he was afraid to even drive you back to your apartment, to walk you to your door, to look at you too long in the moments after. and yet here he was, tipsy off the sweetness of being able to come home to you. 
after the talk, neither of you had gone much further than kissing. 
"i missed you so much," he murmurs – his voice crumpling under the weight of his own words. 
"do you want to show me?" your tone is lightly teasing, dipping low as you keep your smile on your face. the warmth coursing through your body has nothing to do with the blankets pooling around your thighs, and everything to do with the boy sitting across from you — doll-like legs with miles of silky skin splayed out over the sheets, back slouching against the headboard, all crumpled in and soft and worn. 
if you had gone to the bar weeks ago, let him guide you to this home, to this bed, you might already be familiar with this soft mattress in a whole different way.  
neither of you can deny the way your minds wander there still, despite everything. him missing your body framed against his, you craving the sink of his chest, the curve of his waist.  
there's silence, as his words register in the boy's head, pain flickering over his features. if he was feeling more like himself, he would pulled you in, caged you under him. tugged at that side of you that was always so pliant and easy for him and watched you unravel under his fingertips. the words are on the tip of his tongue — i'll show you. did you miss me too? kiss me. stay with me.
instead, his fingers withdraw, and gently touch the soft cotton of his shirt's hem, warm light flickering in his eyes. "not like this," he murmurs quietly. "not…not now."
you let out a breath, tension dissipating. "yeah," you'd murmured. "you're right." 
you'd gone to take a shower while he prepared dinner. there was something terribly domestic about all of it — you padding into the living room again, each fiber of your being smelling so much like him. the way he turned from where he stood guarding the soup bubbling on the stove to see you in one of his shirts, a towel draped over your shoulders. the feelings he hadn't learned to pin down, hadn't had the time to sort, intensified in his chest, an ache lodged inside him. 
friends. he'd introduced you to his sister as his friend, watched you braid her hair and laugh with her softly, heard your sweet voice wishing her good luck with school. the nights he'd spent with you by his side — talking about the band, about his tattoos. asking about how he did during the show, seeking your praise, wanting to know so badly how he appeared in your eyes. the way you somehow reached right through him and made him listen, made him stop. was that friendship? 
now with all the plates cleared and washed, the sounds of your clothes tumbling in his washing machine in the background, the smell of black nail polish prickled his nose as you leaned over. your fingers brushing his, holding them in place. 
"should i make it a little messy?" your voice is light. 
"it's usually messy because i get my sister to do it," he tells you, softly. "you don't have to mimic how it looks." 
you nod, a small smile on your face as you dip the brush back in the bottle. there's silence, for a while, as he watches you, studying the way you look with your head bowed, feeling each careful touch of your fingers, and then — 
"do you want to talk about rules now?" 
you look up at him just briefly before going back to the task. he swallows. 
"sure." 
another pause. and then quietly, "you can't get jealous anymore, you know that right?" 
"i know," he murmurs. "you told me to stop before…but i didn't. i'm sorry." 
you nod. "you can't be possessive of me, either." 
he hesitates. "so…no marking?" 
slowly, you let go of his left hand. "you can still leave hickeys and bruises," you mumble. "just don't…don't call me yours you know?" 
he didn't know if he could do that. "okay," he says, softly. "i'll try." and then, slowly and carefully, he asks, "are you going to keep coming to our shows?" 
the slide drag of the brush on his nail stops. "do you want me to?" 
he bites his lip. "i want you there," he says, slowly. "but i don't know if i'll be okay with having you in the crowd." 
"oh." 
"maybe you can watch from backstage. or the wings. i want you to," he adds, when you look troubled. "please." 
"are we still a secret?" 
his lips part. he wanted to say yes — but it was the way you'd asked it, like it was something you feared, that made him hesitate.
"because," you continue. "it didn't feel good, keeping it from jaemin. and as i said, i hated it when you pretended we were strangers." 
he felt your hands leave his, capping the bottle of nail polish as you leaned back in your chair, tucking your knees to your chest. he keeps his hands splayed on the table, taking a deep breath.
"no more secrets," he agrees. "and stop going to those parties, y/n. if you want to see me, just tell me." 
you raise your eyebrows. "we're not exclusive," you point out, slowly. "i don't go to the parties just for you. haechan, if you don't think you can do this…" 
"i can," he says, hurriedly. "i'm sorry. if i see you at a party…i'll say you're my friend. i'm sorry, it's just that i…i'm just…."
"it's okay." giving him a small smile, you get to your feet, shuffling over to the kitchen. you don't hear him come closer as you fill up a glass of water on the kitchen, only know of his presence as his hand touches your shoulder carefully. 
"don't go," he murmurs. his arms slide around your body, gently pulling you towards him, and you turn slightly so you can see his face.
"i'm still here," you respond, softly. 
but he shakes his head. "don't go." 
you turn around in his arms and your lips brush, his own parting against yours, seeking permission. all the time he wonders when he'll stop kissing you like he's swearing an oath — devoted in the way he wraps his lips around yours, patient and true in the way his tongue moves against yours, and even now, something loving in the way he murmurs your name into the cavern of your mouth. his hands move carefully on your skin, nail polish still drying on his fingertips, and if either of you question the way you kiss, you keep it to yourselves. 
it's different, watching haechan perform, when he's not performing for you. 
you saw the way his eyes flitted through the crowd, making and breaking eye contact so fast it was hard to keep track of, each twitch of his expression rehearsed and calculated. a teasing part of his lips, sinful face fluttery and slack as the music crashed all around him, like he could physically feel it. he was right — you didn't see him the same. you knew it was the performance, that he was really the one trying to please the crowd, riding off the pleasure of attention. but despite seeing through it as he had said, it still had you feeling tightly wound inside, pressure building up inside you, a craving for his touch intensifying with each time his hips shifted against his guitar. 
and even worse was the way your heartbeat would trip over itself every time haechan's eyes flickered over to you. never during a song, but in the moments between — mark's voice speaking through the mic, the rest of the boys checking on their instruments or interacting with the crowd. he would look over at you briefly, almost shyly, his heart-shaped lips creasing into a smile. 
"friends?" 
the moment you'd arrived home, you had pleaded with jaemin not to be upset with haechan, but it turned out you didn't need to. haechan had left a message the night of the party, and when you'd walked in looking more well rested and collected than you'd had in days, jaemin knew that you had been safe. you'd reassured him too, when he asked if keeping you from him only made things worse. both of you had needed that time to come to this conclusion. only time would tell if it was the right one. 
"so you're going to be friends with benefits?" jaemin raised his eyebrows. "was this his idea or yours?" 
"mine," you mumble. feeling the need to defend yourself, you raise your voice just slightly. "i just think that…i want to keep seeing him, and i want to get to know him…but i don't want him in that way. anymore," you add, when jaemin bites his lip.
"did you really lose feelings, or are you just not ready?" he asks, quietly. 
you force a laugh out of your chest. "you think i'd still have feelings for someone who hurt me that much?" you try to say it sarcastically, but you don't have the heart to. the words have no bite, and instead truth echoes in the spaces between.
"that's not the worst thing in the world, y/n." his voice is steady, and calm. "it's okay to take your time. if you remember that lying to yourself will only hurt more." 
but there are things to soothe the ache. 
"did you like the show?" 
haechan roughly tugs off his jacket, letting it slump off his shoulders and onto the floor. the moment the last song ended he'd rushed off stage and right to you, eyes blazing under his heavy makeup, the both of you stumbling into one of the small storerooms backstage. 
a single small lightbulb barely illuminates the small space, bathing you in warm light and shadow. shelves of boxes line most of the walls, except for a sliver of space that currently presses against your back, your fingers touching the cold surface. 
"it was good," you murmur. 
"yeah?" 
he's still hungry for more. you can see it in his eyes — for all his good girls and you're perfect, you knew he craved to be adored too. 
"you were right," you say, softly. "it feels different, watching as your friend." 
his smile falters.
"i…i like it more," you continue. "being in the wings…makes me want to get your attention." 
"you have my attention now, princess," he points out. he touches a hand to your waist. 
it's almost scary, how you slip back into old patterns. a heady rush filling your senses, slowly dragging you under. this is why i couldn't stop, you think, as he leans in ever closer, his eyes glazed over as his gaze slides to your lips. 
there's a beat. 
"i forgot to ask," he mumbles. "no possessiveness right?" 
your mind clears, just a bit. you nod, breathlessly. 
"what else?" he asks. looking at you, timidly, he asks. "can i…are pet names okay? can i still call you baby?" 
"baby's fine," you whisper. 
"princess?" 
"hmm?"
"no," he smiles fondly at you. "i was asking if calling you princess was okay." 
you want to bury your face in your hands. or his chest. "princess is fine." 
his smile grows wider, before he suddenly turns serious again. "are we starting anew?" he asks, hesitantly. "can i…can i bring up things from before? or are we pretending that this is our first time…" 
"no more pretending," you murmur, feeling like a hypocrite. "why? did you want to bring up something?"
"kind of," he nods towards the door. "just thought you're going to love this," he says, slyly. "hearing stage crew and bandmates walking by, knowing that at any point someone could hear us, someone could come in…"
and now you do bury your face in your hands, and when he reaches around to hug you, you lean against his chest, feeling his laugh vibrate against you, feeling you with warmth. 
"it's okay," he murmurs, as his hands slide down to squeeze your waist. "i won't play with them this time, baby. today's all about you, hm?" 
his hands falter, perhaps realizing the words were too tender, a little too loving for what you both claimed this would be. 
"lets try not to do anything…romantic?" you mumble. 
you regret the words as soon as you say them, your teeth biting into your lip sharply. 
haechan's face has shuttered down. you can't read his expression, as he nods, taking your hands in his and kissing them. 
"please." you look at him, this time taking the dive, feeling yourself free-falling towards that familiar desire, letting the current swallow you whole. "i need you." 
in spite of everything, haechan's lips are as gentle as they've always been. 
his lips brush yours, once, twice, before he locks in his kiss, hands trembling slightly as he touches the side of your face, cups you in his palms. you want to ask him what's wrong, pulling away slightly, but he makes a wounded sound from the back of his throat, pressing you against the wall, his head dipping to kiss you fiercely. his tongue slides against yours, and he groans low against your lips. 
your hands fumble on his shirt, skimming his broad shoulders, strong arms. he pants into your mouth when your drag your nails down his chest, breaking away. tugging his shirt roughly over his head, he grabs your hands and places them on his chest before leaning in to kiss you again, this time working his way down your neck, his wet kisses making your body shudder as you cling onto him for support. 
"please," you murmur, wondering why he was staying so silent. "please-" 
but he shakes his head, fingers tracing your jaw, tilting your head up so he lap his tongue over a newly formed bruise. the room is silent save for the sound of his lips, but you crave his voice, his words guiding you through everything, the lilting cadence of it. 
"haechan-" a foreign feeling spikes in your stomach as he ignores you, continuing to kiss his way down to your collarbones, fingers tugging your collar wide open. it felt like he wasn't there at all. 
he breathes heavy against your skin as he curls his hands around your hips, holding on tight. still he doesn't say a word, or even make a sound, as his caress the back of your thighs.
"stop-" you blurt out. roughly, you take his hands in yours, gripping them by the wrists. 
he lifts his head. 
"haechan," you start, but he just looks at you. your heart squeezes painfully in your chest. 
"haechan, you're scaring me." your voice is panicked and tight, the tension so overwhelming that tears begin to blur your vision, your chest rising and falling faster. 
"baby?" he asks, alarmed. "what's wrong?" 
"please talk to me," you beg, wiping away the tears on your cheek. the ache has soothed slightly at his voice, but you need more. "why…why aren't you talking? you always…you always used to-" 
"i'm sorry," he whispers, pulling your body into his, wrapping his bare arms around you. "i'm here," he soothes, in your ear. "i'm here," he mumbles again, and again, until your breathing calms down. 
"i'm sorry," he repeats, kissing you softly. "i'm here now, baby, okay?" 
you nod, and now you guide his hands to your thighs, feel the way his breathing hitches.
"can i…?" 
"please," you say, breathlessly, and his hand cups your warm core. 
"fuck," he blurts out. you were so warm, the seat of your panties completely soaked through. he slides them to the side with nimble fingers, inhaling sharply as he strokes your folds. 
"how are you so wet? fuck-" 
"take them off," you plead, the fabric sticking uncomfortably to your skin. immediately, he tugs your panties and skirt down roughly, almost frustrated, barely waiting for you to step out of them before encouraging you to spread your legs wider as he strokes you, fingers dipping to catch at your entrance, your swollen clit. 
"so fucking wet," he marvels, groaning slightly as he swipes his fingers softly . 
"from watching you perform," you say, softly. 
the words send pleasure thrumming low in his navel. "yeah?" he murmurs, eyes meeting yours. 
slowly, he drops to his knees, and suddenly you feel hypersensitive — his breath on your thighs, hands gripping you tightly. he suckles a kiss close to your core, and you whine, loudly, the sound too loud in the small space. 
he looks up at you, sultry eyes framed in dark eyeliner. "let me hear you, baby," he coaxes, easing your legs open. he sticks out the tip of his tongue, and gives your clit a gentle flick, your hips bucking into his face before you can stop yourself. "i've been dreaming about this," he sighs, before he closes in and suckles on your clit. 
he lapped at you like all he'd done in your days apart was think about how best to do it — alternating between suckling on your clit, licking your folds with his tongue wide and flat, and prodding at your entrance. one hand keeping you pressed against the wall, his other slips around your entrance, sliding in one long finger, the way your walls suck him in making him moan, vibrations sending another wave of pleasure through you. you can feel the jut of his finger joints, the pad of his finger curling against your walls, while his tongue focuses on your clit, drawing shapes and letters expertly. 
you slump further against the wall, the pleasure making your legs shake, unable to hold yourself up, your hands tangled in his hair, knotting them around your fingers. 
"i can't stand-" you're cut off by a moan, as he bites into your thigh, licking up the wetness that stains them, a mix of your arousal and his saliva. "please," you wish you were on a bed, wish both of you had had more patience to go somewhere and do this right, feel the whole weight of his body on yours. 
"cum," he pants, sucking on your clit with his plush lips as he coaxes another finger into your warm, now mimicking a vibrating motion with his hand as he pushes in hard and fast. he doesn't break away even as he moans out, now curling his fingers languidly against your walls. "fuck, baby, i need you to cum now because i can't wait any longer-" 
his tongue presses onto your clit, and the pressure pushes you overboard. his hand the only thing keeping you upright, pushing roughly into you, he eats you out until your orgasm is over, kitten licking your clit as his head moves this way and that. you open your eyes and see him staring right at you, desire pulsing in his pupils, eyes blown out and dark. 
"good?" he breathes, both hands now gripping you tight. you nod, swallowing and gasping. his face is smeared with you, mouth and nose shining and glossy. he licks around his lips, mouth hanging open as his eyes glint. 
"more?" he asks, and you nod, gasping, falling to your knees. now, you're finally able to touch him, as your body crashes into his, causing him to nearly tip over from how he kneels, sitting back on his ankles to draw you into him. you kiss him deeply, letting his lips wrap around your tongue just the way you loved it, feel his hum vibrate against your own chest. 
his hands ghost under your shirt, and you help him pull it off, his hands cupping your breasts with his familiar touch, sucking kisses down your cleavage as you gasp for air. his hands roam your body indulgently, as if he was afraid you'd dissolve if he wasn't mapping your skin with his palms, his tongue, his lips. one hand trailing up and down your back, unclasping your bra, while the other squeezes the back of your thighs, resting his hand on your ass. 
he suckles on your nipples like he had all the time in the world, as if you weren't in a cramped store room feeling as if you were about to explode from his touch alone. gentle tongue drawing circles around the bud, eyes staring up at yours with devotion. your hips move against his, and his eyes flutter shut as he sighs, his hips starting to grind up against you as well. 
"turn around," he mumbles. "now, princess." 
"i want to see you," you protest, hands gripping onto his arms as he slowly walks forward on his knees, pushing you towards the wall. 
"i'm sorry, baby-" he kisses you, placatory and sweet. "we'll go again in my bedroom later, okay? need you like this now."
you let him maneuver you until you're facing the wall, legs spread apart as he kneels in between. trying to soothe you, he rubs a hand over your stomach, reminding you of his presence the entire time he rids himself of his jeans and underwear, rolling on a condom, tension building with every small sound, until you can feel something thick and heavy press between your legs. 
"haechan-" you pant, your back arching just slightly as you lean towards the wall for support, feeling his hand squeeze your hip. 
"i know," he mumbles, making slight shushing sounds as he eases himself against you. "i know, baby." 
even though he was behind you, you knew the face he would make as you felt his tip slowly push past your entrance, the way his eyebrows would float upwards as his eyes went unfocused, lips parting in a lovely 'ah- ah' that he tried hard to contain behind hisses and bitten lips. part of you still wants to see it, but all thoughts are lost as he fully sheaths himself into you, feeling him deep inside from the position. his hand on your hip creeps over to your navel, and he pushes gently over where he was buried inside you, the pressure somehow intensifying as you feel full from all sides. 
slowly, his body presses you further into the wall, and you gasp as the cool surface brushes your chest. he kisses the nape of your neck, and your body trembles, shifting against him and whining as you clench around him from sensitivity. behind you, haechan mumbles out a string of curses, hips jolting forward unsteadily before he stops himself. 
"please move," you whisper, and he moans, finally thrusting into you. he finds a rhythm that's slow and deep, feeling full and stretched out each time you throb around him. a particularly harsh thrust has you whining, your hips tilting towards the wall, trying to get away, but suddenly the solid weight of his body presses against you ever harsher as he rolls his hips, his chest pressed to your back. he feels stronger, and sturdier than he ever did before, as a hand creeps down to your clit and begins to rub slow and lazy circles, his body attuned to yours. you jolt away from the simulation, ass suddenly jolting back against his length, making you cry out again, sandwiched between pleasure. 
"don't run from it," he coaxes. "just take it, hm?" 
you had nowhere to go as he fucks himself into you, wet sounds filling the small space, and you're sure the floor is wet with your arousal, can feel your next climax approaching fast, making you forget about the ache in your knees and in the way your head pressed against the hard wall. you begin to shake in his hold, trying to fuck yourself back on his cock while he bullies your clit relentlessly, but once again his chest presses into you, strong arms holding you firmly in place as he overflows your body with pleasure, a hand slowly grasping yours and squeezing.
"i missed you, baby," he says, quietly, voice surprisingly steady despite the way he was ramming into you. "i really missed you." his lips brush the shell of your ear. 
you cum unexpectedly, crying out, squeezing tight around him as all the muscles in your body tense. your hand squeezes tight around his as the other rubs quick circles on your clit, working you through your orgasm. you can feel him still behind you as he cums too, whining in a pitch and tone you'd never heard from him before, desperate and achy as you clench around him again from the sound, so sensual that it rekindles a fire inside you despite the soreness in all your limbs. 
your weak hands fumble against him, scrabbling against his strong grip. he pulls out with a hiss, helping you turn around to face him. in the semi-darkness, you can see the concern pooling in his eyes, bright and scared. 
"was it too rough?" he asks, breathlessly. his hands skim your frame, pulling you onto his lap. 
you shake your head, nuzzling into him. you're torn between watching that silvery glow in his eyes, makeup smudged around all his corners, and burying yourself deep inside his chest until you can feel his heartbeat on your cheek. 
"baby? are you alright?" he rubs gentle circles on your back, as you nod. "use your words, please," he says, softly. 
"you got stronger," you blurt out. 
"did i hurt you?" he moves against you, something protective in the way he holds you that makes your body sing with warmth. 
"no," you say shyly. "i loved it." 
you lift your head just quick enough to catch the way his face crumples. before you can ask, he leans in and he's kissing you again — soft, gentle, sweet and almost shy. when you part, he looks dazed, eyes drifting down to your lips and wandering back up to your eyes. 
"you deserve better," he says, quietly. 
he looks down, at the way you're sitting in his lap, and then tilts his head sharply to look around the store room, as if he meant you deserved better than this for your first time back with him. as if this was about sex at all. 
you take a deep breath, and shake your head. "haechan, you're exactly what i deserve." 
the name rings out in the space. it seems to ground him, and he shakes his head to clear it, slowly untangling himself from you as he gets ready to help you up. 
you swallow. "take me home," you tell him. "take care of me." 
he does exactly as you say. 
attention simmers on your skin, a palpable heat you're unable to shake. 
girls circle the kitchen island like sharks, eyes glinting under the fluorescent lights, but they're never able to come close as it's so clear haechan's focus is entirely on you. haechan's back is turned to the party as he sits on the counter, long legs spilling over and the muscles in his thick thighs accentuated by the way he sits, denim stretched tight and each gaping hole making you doubt your decision to come to the party here, instead of going over to his home. 
it was his party, and he should go. the fans would be upset if he didn't at least show. now you were seriously regretting it, as you ducked your head to avoid the glare of another crowd as they passed by, while haechan knocked back another drink. 
he had been alight with energy ever since the show ended — agreeing amiably when you suggested going to the party, his smile only wavering when you reminded him he couldn't get jealous. and while your eyes wandered around the party, drinking in the scenes you hadn't seen in awhile, he was doing everything in his power to keep your attention on him, camera strap hanging from his neck as he clicked through the photos, pointing out the parts where jaemin had helped him, explaining the stories behind the pictures. 
"i didn't know you were into photography." it's a stupid statement, that you want to retract immediately. of course you didn't – you didn't know much about him at all. but it makes him smile a little proudly, clicking on the dial to speed through the photos. 
"yeah well, i've never taken a photo of you." he mumbles, scratching the nape of his neck. "i know for sure because when we…you know…when we weren't seeing each other, and i missed you…" his cheeks are burning up, his mouth barely moving as he tries to fumble through the rest of the sentence, plush lips swallowing his words. "i couldn't find any photos of you. on my camera or in my phone or…" he trails off. 
your heart thrums harder in your chest. "yeah?" 
"do…do you have photos of me?" he asks. timidly, softly. his eyes trained on his camera, unseeing, breath held in his chest waiting for your answer.
"of course i do," you murmur. you hope he can hear the smile in your voice, know that it's for him.  "rockstar." 
his fingers twitch, and he looks up at you, a searing intensity in his eyes that wasn't there before, flames licking at your cheeks as you hold his gaze, a warmth that sparks down your spine like fireworks. the sounds of the party fade away, sealing you in the vacuum of his attention.
"y/n,"  his voice drops an octave, all the softness drained out of it. 
"haechan?" 
"let me take a photo of you," he murmurs. "please." 
"now?" 
"no, not now," he says, slowly. "you know what i mean, princess." 
but you never get to clarify, because someone taps you lightly on the shoulder. haechan's eyes flicker behind you, all the intensity faded out, and it feels like your lungs fill with air again as you turn to see jisung, holding two cups in his hands, one of which he's holding out to you. 
you're torn between crushing guilt, and relief that he doesn't hate you. 
"j-jisung," you splutter. "jisung, hi." 
"hi, y/n." he smiles, nudging the cup towards you again, and you take it. almost against your will, your eyes dart over to haechan, but his face is impassive and neutral, camera laying forgotten on his lap as he turns quickly to survey the party behind him. was he trying to offer you privacy, or was he upset? 
you sip from the drink, trying not to make a face at the overwhelming sweetness that floods your tastebuds. the boy had barely put any alcohol in it. your hand almost inches towards the cup haechan made for you, wanting to balance out the taste, before you stop yourself. 
you didn't want to hurt his feelings again. 
"it's been a while," you say, sheepishly. "and again, i'm really sorry about last time."
"it's okay," he says, cheerfully. "haechan already apologised. besides, you can make it up to me on our date."
jisung's words have a physical effect on haechan. you feel him tense up behind you, body going stiff as he turns back to watch you, eyes trained on the side of your face. 
"you still owe me a date." you don't know if it's determination, or sheer recklessness, that inspired jisung to say this to you as you stood in the kitchen with haechan just inches away, the side of his thigh still brushing your waist. "are you free tomorrow night?" 
you try your best not to look at haechan. he had no right to care, you didn't owe him anything. you didn't know what you wanted to see on his face either way — whether his jealousy would make you angry, whether his sadness would hurt you instead. 
"i am," you agree, hesitantly, and jisung's close-lipped smile blooms. 
"you know there are other boys out there right? that there's a world beyond the band?" 
"shut up, jaemin," you mumble, checking your reflection in the dressing room mirror one last time. 
"this is good for you." his tone has changed, as he leans against the locked door. "jisung is nice. i hope it works out." 
tonight's show had been different. jaemin had reluctantly confirmed that it wasn't just your imagination — the way haechan was quieter throughout, more self-conscious in his performance, eyes barely scanning the crowd, taking longer glances at you throughout the show. jisung's confidence, on the other hand, poured off him in waves, his jacket unzipped, gums showing as he smiled wide. 
"i know." you sling your bag across your body, adjusting your skirt, as you turn to face him, taking a deep breath. "i'm really giving him a chance, jaemin. i'm…i'm taking this seriously, even if you don't believe me." it wasn't a lie. you barely knew anything about jisung, and jisung barely knew anything about you — but he was always sincere and sweet, quietly brave under his shyness. you couldn't forget the way he looked at you even with haechan by your side. it made you want to give him a chance too.
"i believe you," he reassures. "good luck, okay?" the door unlatches with a small click, and he gives you one last wave before heading out into the corridor. 
your eyes dart back to your reflection one last time before you turn back, satisfied with your appearance, and start towards the door. you barely take a step before there's a creak, and you think it's jaemin coming back, or perhaps jisung, wondering why you took so long. 
but of course, things are never easy. 
a familiar face enters the room, pushing the door open wide. he doesn't bother to close it, just takes you in for a second — eyes sweeping your frame, taking in your jewelry, the hints of makeup on your skin, your clothes, your neat hair. dejavu crawls over your skin, remembering the first time you'd met jisung, the way haechan had cornered you in the dressing room after, too. you tense your shoulders, preparing for the fight. 
"you look nice," he says, quietly. 
your lips part. "haechan-" 
but before you can speak, he's blurting out his next words. "j-jisung's going to love it," he stammers out, shadows flickering in his gaze as he swallows, throat bobbing. "i… i just came here to say good luck." at your surprised expression, his lips curve up into a sad smile. "that…that's what friends do, right?" 
"yeah." your hands grip onto the sling of your bag tightly, afraid of what your hands would do if you let go. 
"i'm going to go now," he mumbles. "i…have fun, y/n." 
there isn't a trace of sarcasm in his tone, his eyes soft and fond. he leaves before you can say another word, not closing the door behind him. you can hear his boots all the way down the corridor, can hear him disappear up the stairs. 
you try not to think about his voice, as you take the back exit out of the venue, see jisung standing in the warm summer night, smiling under a streetlight. try not to dwell on the fact that haechan might have actually wished the best for you – no more layers of pretense under pretense, no more feelings without reason. 
it's easier said than done.
two hours pass, your food gone from your plates, only the dregs of your drinks left in their glasses, before jisung finally clears his throat. 
"this isn't working out, is it?" 
"i'm sorry," you say, biting your lip. you'd walked to see a movie, something jisung had picked out, but had been mind-numbingly dull to you. you settled to watch his reactions instead, the way his hands flew over his eyes at the more intense scenes, the way he bit down on his fingers when the tension spiked. it was cute, but less so when he started asking you questions about the movie, and you had to admit you didn't remember any part of the plot past the first 20 minutes. 
late night dinner hadn't been better, each topic running itself to the ground quickly, your opinions and lack of opinions causing each conversation to crash to an uncomfortable halt. good things take time, had been jaemin's text to you when you asked for help. you were sure that jisung and you weren't acting like your true selves, the prospect of the date altering the way you talked and responded to each other, until you'd finally come to the conclusion that perhaps you just weren't compatible. 
"i really thought this would work out," jisung says, a tinge of sadness coloring his words. 
"i wanted it to," you confess. selfishly, you had almost been excited at the prospect of things working out with jisung — needing confirmation that you could still feel for others. excited for the date leading to the next, to fall in love with surety. 
excited to find the first relationship, the first 'you and i' that haechan seemed to think you deserved. 
"it's okay," jisung reaches out, pats your hand clumsily, shyly, as if surprised that reaching towards you meant he actually got to touch you  "i didn't know much about you when i asked you out, anyway. just thought you were really pretty." he looks mortified again, and it makes you laugh — everything about him still endearing.
"do you want to just be friends?" you ask, gently. 
it's like a weight lifts from the conversation, and he sighs, relieved. "yeah," he echoes. "friends." 
the silence that follows is a lot more peaceful. jisung slumps slightly in his seat, like the tension has left his body. his deep voice somehow still manages to sound timid when he speaks up next. 
"since we're friends…" 
you nod, encouragingly, taking a last sip of your drink. 
"can i ask…do you like haechan?" 
you nearly choke. jisung was looking at you carefully, although he smiled at the expression on your face. 
"a-are you sure you want to talk about this?' you stammer. 
he shrugs, but there's something unreadable in his expression. "i'll always be curious about it, and i guess this is my chance to ask." 
you don't have the heart to answer him directly. 
"i…i used to," you say, slowly. "but that was when i didn't know him." 
"know him?" he asks, confused. 
you nod. "yeah. i didn't really know him as a person….just…knew the performance, i guess." 
jisung still looks confused, but he nods along. "well, do you know him now?" 
you think of the sunlight in his living room. the faint dimple on his cheek as he showed you a photo of his sister running towards the camera, her face alight as she called out for her big brother. his arms around you in the kitchen, as he asked you to stay. the slope of his neck as he turns towards you at the end of a song — the fading sound of his guitar as his eyes sought yours. 
"maybe," you say, softly. 
"and?" jisung prompts. "could you like him now?" 
you don't answer him aloud, but your unspoken words ring in your head. 
it's different this time, haechan tells himself, as he grips his phone in his hands. 
it's different this time, because he knew where you were. he knew why you weren't calling. 
he slumps back against his bed, his body heavy with alcohol but his mind racing wild, each thought outpacing the next. 
the apartment was silent and empty. both jeno and mark were gone for the night. haechan hadn't bothered to go to the party, knowing that he would feel jisung's absence like a pain lodged in his ribs. he wonders if jisung will bring you home, here, whether you'd let him, even if he knew jisung wasn't the type of boy to go further than hand-holding on the first date. he thinks of it anyway — of hearing your sounds through his bedroom wall. whether it would make you needier to know haechan was listening. 
he feels like a loser. he's never felt more uncomfortable in his own skin, more unclean, more ashamed. but then again, there's no one around to know, as he lets his mind wander a little farther, away from you and jisung, away from his phone, sinking deep into the last time he'd touched your skin, images and sensations jumping out eagerly at him when he closed his eyes. flicks through moments that caused a heat to lick down his spine, the familiar hum of pleasure buzzing low in his navel — your legs on his shoulders, your hands in his hair. your taste, the patterns he would draw on your body so you'd shake just the way he liked, the spot on your neck he could kitten-lick to feel you tense up all around him. 
that night, even after he'd fucked you in the store room, you had been insatiable. 
he'd tried to touch you like the other girls he used to play with — never speaking much, preferring to use his mouth for other things, let their own imaginations run wild with what he could be thinking behind his hooded eyes. he'd taken you with your face turned away from him, pleasure without intimacy, sucking bruises as a keepsake for you after the night ended, not as if you were his to keep or to lose. 
let's try not to do anything romantic. 
but then you'd begged him to talk to you. told him to take you home. he'd hated it — hated the way you folded for him, like someone had given him powers he couldn't help abuse. do you know how tender this is for me? he'd wanted to ask, as he was touching you again in his sheets back home, racing to meet your every demand before you asked for it. 
your legs parted for him as he entered you, trying to keep his eyes open through the pleasure to watch your every expression, the look he'd been dying to see — your eyelashes fluttering, lips parted silently, the sharp gasp as he found your soft spot, your hands scrabbling against his skin. he held your gaze even as he let you wrap your legs around his waist, ankles locked in a sweetheart's cross behind him as he pushed your legs even higher, letting him in deeper. he'd never imagined himself with anyone like this before — a position so full of love and closeness, feeling your body and ripple against his, leaning in to kiss your lips softly, kiss away your desperation. 
he'd almost gone crazy when you found your voice amidst all the pleasure. 
"donghyuck," you'd breathed, saying the name like a prayer. "feels so good." 
he had stilled, slowing to a stop, even though he was painfully hard in you. his heart racing in his chest, pounding so hard he felt like it was about to burst out of his chest.
"you," you mumbled, slowly grinding your hips against him. "you make me feel so good, 's like no one else-"  
"yeah?" he picks up the pace again, tilting your body at an angle now so he could go even deeper, watches the way your face changes. he was the one who pulled that sound from your chest — sated but desperate at the same time, needy but satisfied. "i make you feel this good, right? i'm good for you, everything's for you-" he babbled, not making sense to even himself, your praise burying itself deep inside him like a siren song. 
you'd choked out more praises, pretty words tumbling from your parted lips, your eyes never leaving his. 
"more, hyuck-" you pulled at him, nails scratching down his back. "hyuck-" 
it's like he can hear your voice, as his hand slides down to his hip, down to his leaking cock. 
he jerks himself off like that — to the images of you pressed under him, your voice calling his name. he does it fast, with no finesse — tugging roughly, the slide too dry, but he doesn't care about drawing out the pleasure, doesn't think it matters if you're not here with him. 
he feels even filthier after he finishes — peeling off his soiled shirt, as he stumbles to the bathroom. he knows he won't hear from you tonight, that you wouldn't do that to jisung, but still he keeps his phone unlocked with the ringer on next to his bed as he lays down again. 
maybe he would wake up, and you would tell him he could never see you or touch you again. his mind wanders in another direction now, away from your body, away from pleasure — to the ways you made his heart squeeze tight in his chest. when you said his name. when you'd comforted him as he was crying, the kindness in your eyes despite all the ways he hurt you. sitting on the kitchen counter, thinking of ways to keep you with him as your eyes wandered off. look at me, he'd wanted to beg. think of me. just me. 
he goes to sleep thinking about how this could be the last night before you'd really only exist in memory and fantasy, before everything changes.
@neochan, @ahncosette, @18shy @kittydollzz @jenoslutie @pussymode @yyfka @cheolctrl @jaeminsballs @mysummerhyuck @strawberrytyong @rosiejunnie @nctzen4eva @haechskies @wickedrei @sundamariis @liliansun @lanadreamie @nodisdino @angelwonie @foxydumps @manooffline @moonsmias @skzct7 @iscocohere @ficrecnctskz @makiswrld @itskkung @simpforarmihn @aryraaaa @rbf-aceu @laubyrinthine @yujuvly @nctevia @hyuckenjoyer @guhhfgbbj @girlwholoveslpreppyattire @kasperneo @eneiyri @toroufriteh @cauliephays @jisoung @niinjo @wonaoi @yuskitty @strawbabyz @readingisgodly @daegalfangirl @minkyuncutie @feat-sun @chaoticstrawberryland @shawnyle @sofix-hc7 @scftharu @spageddy @adorejaehyn @manooffline @02mrk @tyongspice1 @runahways @neosdaisy @hotmessexpress35
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mrkis · 8 months
Text
the way life goes — six(final). (n.jm)
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PAIRING: na jaemin x reader GENRE: angst, fluff, smut, college au WORD COUNT: 18.5k
SYNOPSIS: it's crazy how everything had came to be in your life, you didn't expect anything to happen the way it did. but you suppose that's the way life goes.
CHAPTERS WARNINGS: absolute mess and head fuck as twlg always is, angsty just how i like it, mentions of heavy emotions, dumb reader and jaemin moments, eunbin and jaemin moments, mentions of alcohol and weed, explicit language (a lot of cursing), kissing, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex,
[series m.list]
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Jaemin sleeps soundly for the first time that night.
He would argue that it’s probably the best sleep he’s had in ages—covered in blankets, wrapped up in your arms with his head resting on your chest, legs tangled together… he felt at peace.
He’s pretty sure he dreamt for the first time too. No recurring nightmares appearing or dreamless nights where he wakes up groggy, confused and lonely.
He dreamt. He dreamt of him, he dreamt of you. You looked so pretty—you always look pretty. You were smiling, you were laughing all while holding onto his arm and pointing at the sky. The sun was setting; a mixture of yellows, oranges and pinks. It would’ve been a beautiful picture to capture, especially with your silhouette in the shot.
The group were there too, running across that sand barefooted, screaming and shouting as the cold sea came to shore. But he wasn’t focused on them. He has his eyes set on you. 
But, much to his dismay, he wakes up before he can even finish the dream, and he wakes up alone.
His hand runs across the bed, a frown settling on his features at the cold touch of the sheets pricks his fingertips. Jaemin lifts himself up on his elbows as he stares at the empty spot with fuzzy vision, hair sticking in different directions and muscles aching. 
You’ve been out of bed for a while, He thinks while he sits up, sleeping rubbing at his face as he swings his legs over the side of the bed to stand up. He wobbles across his floorboards, blindly reaching in the dark to retrieve a clean pair of shorts to tug them up his legs to cover his modesty, fumbling to get to his bedroom door.
Jaemin steps out into the vacant hallway, squinting at the light that blinds his eyes as he walks towards the bathroom, dripping the doorknob and twisting with a call of your name, fully expecting you to be sitting on the toilet or even in the bathtub as he peers his head inside but grunts as he’s met with complete darkness, and a empty room.
His brows draw together in confusion as he pulls the door shut, turning to look over his shoulder to eye the closed bedroom doors of the other boys, not fully sure if they all came back home last night after they all ventured to the girls apartment.
Jaemin hovers outside of Yangyang’s bedroom, debating whether to open it up and take a quick peek inside to see if, for some reason, you were in there. But he’s met with darkness yet again, and an empty bed. 
He feels a little uncomfortable and majorly confused, flashbacks of waking up alone after his last night with Eunbin before she disappeared repeats in his head and he feels the panic build up in his chest, trying his best to calm his erratic heartbeat as he ventures downstairs and into the kitchen to grab himself a glass of cold water but flinches in shock when he switches on the light and sees Donghyuck sat alone at the kitchen island with his hand shoved in a cereal box.
Jaemin stares at him in bewilderment, “What are you doing?”
“I’m eating” Donghyuck answers simply, giving him an odd look as he shoves another handful of cereal into his mouth before bringing his attention back to his phone that lays across the marble countertop, scrolling through instagram. 
“Where is everyone?”
“Shotaro’s in his room sleeping, Renjun is with Haru and Yangyang and Jeno are walking Y/N back home”
Jaemin does a complete double take. “Walking her home?”
“She said she wasn’t feeling too good when we came in, caught her just by the door… was afraid she was going to throw up or something” Donghyuck explains to Jaemin who grows even more confused. “We were going to call her a cab but she said she wanted some fresh air so Jeno offered to walk her home. Yangyang tagged along because he got worried”
The panic inside of Jaemin builds at the thought of you not feeling okay, trying his hardest to remember how much alcohol you drank a few hours prior just in case you got too drunk, but he knows you didn’t drink that much and you were completely sober when you got back to the house. He then tries to remember if something had happened when the two of you were together in his room and if he had done something wrong or something to hurt you when you had slept together, but nothing comes to mind, he’s stuck. 
Jaemin leaves Donghyuck alone in the kitchen as he runs back upstairs, not bothering to continue on with the conversation as the latter shouts nonsense behind him about what could’ve possibly happened, too busy searching for his phone to call you.
It rings once, twice, three times before it goes to voicemail and Jaemin huffs, tapping the call icon again and sandwiches his phone between his cheek and shoulder to listen to it ring once again as he yanks open his closet in search for some pants and a shirt, desperate to find something to wear so he can head over to your apartment. 
“She’s home safe, you know” A voice interrupts from behind and Jaemin whizzes around to see Jeno standing in the doorway with his hands shoved deep into his pockets, head tilted to the side as he stares with Jaemin with an amused glint in his eyes when he sees the heap of clothes in front of him. “You can calm down”
“Is she sick?” Jaemin asks, pulling the phone away from his ears when it goes to voicemail yet again and he frowns.
“She doesn’t really seem herself,” Jeno admits, pressing his lips together as he figures out how to word his next question. “Did something happen between you both?”
“What? No” Jaemin's eyebrows furrow at that. “We’re fine. We talked when we got home—about the party and whatever. She was going to tell me something but we got carried away… did she say something to you?”
“Not a word” Jeno shakes his head, shifting on his feet as he straightens his back. “I don’t know if you know but Eunbin—”
“Dude, I don’t give a fuck about Eunbin right now” Jaemin cuts Jeno off with a deep sigh, his arms falling to his sides in exhaustion and annoyance. “Ever since she came back, all you guys have been doing is throwing her name around and shoving conversations about her in my face… I don’t care about Eunbin”
“Funny” Jeno scoffs, his tongue prodding at his cheek as he rips his hands out of his pockets to curl his fist around Jaemin’s bedroom door handle. “For someone that claims they don’t give a fuck about Eunbin, you sure hang out with her a lot”
Jaemin grits his teeth, “You know it’s not like that”
Jeno’s brows raise at that, “Do I?” And with that, Jeno slams the door shut, leaving Jaemin alone in his room with his thoughts.
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 Walking out and ignoring Jaemin after spending the night with him is probably one of the stupidest decisions you have ever made, and you have made a few. 
A big part of you wanted to stay—to blurt out your full feelings and admit that you have grown to like him in a way you promised not to, but the conversation with Eunbin and lying about how there were no feelings involved weighed heavily on your chest and you felt guilty.
You felt guilty for lying, guilty for sleeping with him after telling Eunbin that you’d stop, guilty for leaving the second he fell into a deep sleep, guilty for not being selfish and getting what you want. 
But, as always, you’ve never been selfish. You’ve always been selfless, you like making other people happy even if it means hurting yourself. It’s a flaw that the girls have grilled you for more times than you can possibly count. 
You never learn, you never listen.
When Yangyang and Jeno walked you home that night, you could feel their curious and doubtful gazes on the side of your head, desperate to ask what was actually wrong and why you decided to leave early, clearly not taking the ‘I’m sick’ comment as an excuse. You hate how well they know you, but you were grateful they didn’t push for a real answer, there was no way you could be honest to them about what happened at the party. 
“What’s wrong?” Miwoo questions you the next morning at breakfast and you feel your shoulders slump. Miwoo, on the other hand, pushes for the answer while Haru observes, staring at you until you break yourself. This is not what you need. “You’ve been weird since you got home late last night”
“Hungover” You simply lie, twirling your spoon around the cereal bowl. “I drank too much”
Miwoo scoffs at that, “You hardly drank”
“I agree” Haru chimes in softly, watching you over the rim of her coffee as she takes a sip. 
“Nothings wrong,” You tell them.
“Okay”
“Stop it” You warn, pointing your spoon in Haru’s direction menacingly as if it will help, not appreciating the way the corners of her lips lift up in amusement. “I don’t like it when you assess me with your eyes, makes me feel nervous”
Miwoo grins, leaning on her elbow smugly. “Why would you be nervous if there’s nothing wrong?”
You huff in frustration, sliding down in your seat with a frown as you shove a spoonful of cereal in your mouth to not utter a single word to them, casting your eyes down to your bowl as they stare into you, waiting for you to crack. 
You hold your ground, refusing to make eye contact with any of them as you continue eating your breakfast but the quietness that surrounds you three with the occasional crunch of cereal and sip of coffee makes you feel like you’re losing your mind.
“Fine” You immediately crack, your spoon clanging against the bowl as you drop it, crossing your arms over your chest as you turn your head towards Miwoo. “I’ll speak if you tell us why you’re spending so much time with Sunwoo”
Miwoo gasps, palm of her hand slapping against her chest in shock. “Don’t turn this on me”
Haru slowly cranes her head to Miwoo almost comically. “Interesting”
“I saw you talk to him last night so I’m sure he spilled on what I asked from him” Miwoo tuts with a shake of her head. “I just wanted to have some fun and Sunwoo carries a lot of the fun. He didn’t give me anything, but I did sit down with him for like an hour and talked… It was strange, a good strange” 
You stare at her quizzically as you ask, “Do you like him?”
Miwoo snorts. “No. Since breaking up with Jeno, I’m done with relationships for now. I don’t need them”
“But?”
“But I like to think as myself as ‘sex positive’ so if the opportunity comes around where I can get dicked down then—”
“Okay, your turn” Haru cuts her off as she directs the conversation towards you, staring at you expectedly and you mentally groan, biting down on your inner cheek for even agreeing to spill the truth if Miwoo did first.
Honestly, you didn’t think Miwoo would actually talk about Sunwoo. You expected her to change the topic, to talk about something else like she usually does but of course, with just your luck, she was honest.
You sigh deeply, clearly a little frustrated and annoyed but you know your friends mean well. They’re curious—worried—about your sudden mood drop and how weird you’ve been acting since last night. They’re looking out for you, they care.
“I think I’m going to stop sleeping around with Jaemin” Your confession makes the girls freeze in confusion and shock, staring at you across the table and silently pleading for you to continue and explain. “I just thought that maybe it’s been going on for too long, you know”
Haru gives you a disappointed look, “You didn’t talk to him, did you?”
“I couldn’t” You shake your head, knowing what she’s hinting at. Your feelings towards Jaemin. “I couldn’t do it”
“Talk to him about what? How much you like him?” Miwoo asks nonchalantly as she takes a sip of her juice and your head snaps towards Haru for outing you out but she shakes her head, putting her hands up in defence and Miwoo snickers softly, “I figured it out. I’ve known for a while. I was just waiting for you to admit it out loud”
You frown deeply, “Is it that obvious?”
“Not really” Miwoo hums before sending you a smile, “I just know you. You're one of my best friends”
You blink at her sudden kindness, “Well that’s sweet”
Miwoo shrugs her shoulders with a smug grin as she leans back comfortably in her seat, “I try sometimes”
“I still think you should talk to him” Haru brings up the topic once again and your stomach flips with anxiety, a weight laying heavy on your chest. “You won’t know if he feels the same unless you talk to him about it”
“What if talking about it makes it worse?” You ask, voicing your fears with a shaken tone. “What if I’m standing there—blurting out my entire feelings and telling him that I broke the most important rule we made and then he rejects me or something?
“Rejection happens” Haru tells you quietly, giving you a small but tight lipped smile that does nothing to calm your nerves. “Rejection is a part of life. Sometimes it’s unavoidable, sometimes it’s not, but it happens. I think rejection helps us grow too. Sure, it fucking sucks but it’s a pain that will be forgotten in the long run. It’ll be okay”
“Also, there would be something seriously wrong with him if he rejected you” Miwoo chimes in, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively at you from across the table. “I’d date you if you confess your undying love to me”
You can’t help but smile in amusement at that, the corner of your lips twitching upwards. “Thanks, Miwoo”
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Maybe you should’ve been completely honest to the girls on why you wanted to stop sleeping with Jaemin, and although you did admit a few of your worries like rejection and heartache, the thought of what Eunbin had asked of you left a bitter taste in your mouth.
You did weigh the pros and cons when you were alone in your room getting ready for the day. The pros being that they would have comforted you to the extreme, perhaps maybe even talked some sense into you and told you that it’s okay to be selfish every once in a while. 
The cons felt heavier, intense. They would have gotten mad, at you and definitely at Eunbin. Haru has always been silent but deadly with her anger while Miwoo has, without a doubt, been more physical and verbal. She would get her hands dirty if someone had hurt you, Haru or anybody she cared about, even herself. 
You didn’t want to cause a fight, that would be a little too dramatic.
You lean back in your chair at the library with a sigh, stretching out the aching muscles in your back and arms before placing down your pen and flexing out your fingers, the numbing sensation spreading to the tips, having been holding your pen in the same position for so long left a dull throbbing in your hand.
The heaps of notes, books and Donghyuck’s laptop that you borrowed from him once again splayed out in front of you proves how long you’ve been studying inside the library, and you mentally curse at yourself for spending your free period cramming all your work into one instead of grabbing a coffee with the others.
But you had your reasons.
A stack of books slam down on the desk in front of you and you jump in fright at the sudden noise, eyes widening in shock as your head snaps up to the culprit, ignoring the sounds of other students around you shushing you or warning you to be quiet as you see Jeno.
Usually, you would’ve scoffed and calmed down once settling your attention on Jeno, but with his jaw clenched and dark eyes staring at you through the messy strands that fall in front of his face, it’s hard for you to calm down. In fact, it makes you feel more scared. 
“Why are you ignoring Jaemin?”
“I’m not!!” You splutter, shaking your head. You are. “Keep your noise down, we’re in a library”
“I don’t care about the library” Jeno scoffs, pulling out the chair vacant opposite you and making himself comfortable, crossing his arms over his chest as he stares at you expectedly. “Why are you ignoring Jaemin?”
“I told you, I’m not” You lie, gesturing towards the mess in front of you. “I’ve been busy with my assessments. The college life is stressful, you know”
“So it has nothing to do with the conversation you had with Eunbin?” That throws you for a loop and your lips press together tightly, unable to control the emotions that are easily now written upon your face and Jeno sighs, dropping his head low with a shake before looking back up at you. “What happened?”
“Nothing—”
“Come on, you know you can’t lie to me,” Jeno says with a teasing smile. “Talk to me. I promise I won’t tell a soul” You give him a disbelieving look, “Okay, depends on what is it because sometimes I can’t keep my mouth shut when talking to Donghyuck—”
“Jeno” You cut him off with a frustrated sigh, rubbing your hand across your forehead at the headache that forms. Jeno frowns deeply at you, his efforts of making you laugh and crack a smile fails him, letting him know that whatever happened between you and Eunbin must’ve been serious. 
He calls your name softly and your hand drops to your lap as you gaze up at him, hating how worryingly he’s looking at you right now but you bite back any comment you want to make, swallowing thickly before you begin to talk again.
“I don’t want to continue being official and sleeping with Jaemin anymore” You admit, the heavy weight laying on your chest once again as Jeno’s eyebrows raise in shock. “I have been avoiding him… but that’s because I’m nervous to have the conversation with him. I’m making it worse”
Jeno’s quiet as he mumbles, “How come?”
“Feels like it’s gotten a little out of hand” You laugh softly, embarrassment filling your tone as you stare awkwardly at your fidgeting hands. “Rules were broken—important rules. I ended up breaking the main one”
Jeno takes a moment to register what you had just admitted, remembering the five rules Jaemin had told him during the early stages of your friends with benefits situation, and everything slowly begins to sink in, a genuine smile threatening to spill onto his lips as he stares at you, “You like him”
You nod quickly, feeling awkward and embarrassed for admitting something to someone like Jeno: Jaemin’s ultimate best friend. You feel a little stupid too, but you push down all regrets and worries as you mutter, “But I can’t like him”
Jeno’s eyebrows furrow, confused. “Why not?”
You finally meet his eyes across the table, giving him a tight lipped smile as the words pour from your lips. “Because Eunbin likes him too”
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Jeno promised he wouldn’t tell anyone about your conversation with Eunbin after he made you explain everything in detail, wrapping his pinky tightly around yours to seal off the promise. 
The look of anger and annoyance written across his features worried you a little and at some point you were afraid he was about to burst and curse up a storm, but he kept his cool (much to your surprise) despite his facial expressions giving away exactly what he was thinking.
He accompanies you for his entire free period despite you telling him that you’re fine without the company but he ignores you as he pulls his phone out of his pocket, kicking his feet up on the empty chair beside him as he mindlessly scrolls. You scoff as you catch him glancing over at you from time to time. 
Jeno also decides to come with you when Donghyuck demands his laptop back when he and the others return from getting coffee, sending you an interesting text with a bunch of emojis and light-hearted threats if you don’t return his ‘prized possession’ back in one piece. 
You walk side by side with Jeno now, heading towards the outside grounds where you know the others will be waiting for your arrival and you grow a little nervous when you think about Jaemin. Would he be there? Did he have a free period to go and get coffee too? Or would he stay behind and catch up on his own work?
The questions leave you dizzy and annoyed, huffing at your thoughts which easily catches Jeno’s attention and he gives you a kind smile, reaching his hand up to your shoulder to dig his fingers into the pressure points, causing you to wince upon his first touch but slowly relax in complete bliss as you feel the tension slip away. 
You give him a dumb grin to which he snorts at.
“Hey” A familiar voice calls out and you crane your neck to the side, the grin slowly slipping from your lips as you see Jaemin emerge from a class with Junghoon, who you’ve grown to learn is his nosey seatmate, by his side. It seems like your questions are answered. He did stay.
Jaemin eyes the way Jeno’s fingers are dug into your shoulders, brow twitching upwards in question when he watches his hands slowly trail down your arm and drop to his sides casually, giving Jaemin a smile that, for once, Jaemin didn’t bother giving back.
Your mouth feels dry upon seeing Jaemin, unable to come up with a simple greeting when he makes his way towards you, but he stops abruptly when Junghoon tumbles into him and apologises profusely when he steps on the back of Jaemin’s shoe, yet Jaemin pays no mind to the small accident and instead swats Junghoon away when it dawns on him that he’s trying to follow behind.
Junghoon’s mouth drops open in offence, spinning around on his heel with a scoff and disappearing into the crowd, but not before giving you a wave to which you felt obliged to return and your hand falls to your side when Jaemin brings his attention back to you. 
“Hey” He greets you casually, but his brows pull together in concern as his eyes take you in, roaming your face with curiosity. “Are you okay? I’ve been trying to call you but… it kept going straight to voicemail”
“Yeah, sorry” You apologise, the guilt immediately eating you up and you struggle to look him in the eyes even when he tries so hard to meet yours. “I wasn’t feeling too great and then I had assessments from Professor Moon, I just—” You gulp. “I’ve been busy”
“Are you feeling better now?” Jaemin asks you and you nod quickly, but abruptly stop when he asks the next question, “Are you still busy now?”
“I, well…” You pause, staring down at Donghyuck’s laptop in your hands before looking back up at him. “I have to give this to Donghyuck—”
“Jeno can give it back” Jaemin tells you, not even sparing a glance at Jeno who’s been silently watching the interaction this entire time, his hands shoved deep into his jean pockets with his jaw locked. You’re unsure of what to say back, but the urge to make up a lame excuse on why you should be the one to give Donghyuck his laptop back lays on the tip of your tongue. “I want to talk to you, alone”
You’re about to decline, to follow along with your excuse until you hear the faint ‘please’ that leaves his lips when you take a second too long to answer him. It leaves you crumbling, the walls that you’ve built up fall down just from that word and the tone that was used.
You hate how weak he makes you feel and you mentally scold yourself when you hand the laptop over to Jeno who’s already staring at you, trying to communicate with you through subtle glances but you simply nod at him to tell him that everything was okay, and maybe this could be your chance to end things with Jaemin once and for all.
Jeno bids you both a silent goodbye, giving one last look at Jaemin and Jaemin holds eye contact with him for a few moments before dropping his head low as he remembers the small dispute the pair had regarding himself and Eunbin—but Jaemin didn’t care about that right now, not when he finally has you here in person.
He offers his hand out for you to take and you feel a little dumb staring at it, debating in your head whether to hold it or not. You really want to hold his hand, to feel his warmth against your skin and get that comfort you’ve been yearning for, yet the guilt is quick to rise and the conversation with Eunbin comes to mind. You can’t take his hand.
But yet, you do. 
Your fingers slide through his before you can even register you’re doing it and the squeeze he gives your hand is enough to pull you out of your thoughts that swarm your head. You allow him to take you wherever he wants to go to talk to you alone and the anxiety that surges through your veins at the lingering eyes of others causes you to drop your head low to avoid their stares, especially Mia’s who watches with her arms crossed tightly over her chest and her jaw clenched. 
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“What’s going on?” Jaemin asks the question you have been dreading and the silence that fills the empty classroom he had pulled you inside for your one-on-one talk makes you feel uncomfortable, and a little nervous. 
You have no idea how to even talk to him, let alone start the conversation of ending whatever it is you both have. A friends with benefits situation, an official one. That’s all it has ever been. Your stomach twists and turns at that, refusing to make eye contact with him as you look elsewhere, focussing on a board with scribbles from its previous class.
Jaemin calls out your name softly and you almost jump when you feel the palm of his hands cup your cheeks to turn your attention on him, and your heart drops plummets in your stomach. The desperate look in his eyes, the curiosity—the worry—it makes you feel sick.
“I know you said you’ve been busy… but it kinda feels like you’ve been avoiding me” Jaemin laughs lightly despite the crushed tone, his thumbs caressing your cheekbones as his lips press together with a sigh. “Please talk to me”
“Jaemin, I—” You wanted to scream when you heard his phone shrill loudly in his pocket, ruining your chance to explain what was going on. Maybe it was a good thing you were getting interrupted, you weren’t exactly ready to end whatever you both had and truthfully, you didn’t want to.
Although you grow confused when Jaemin allows his phone to continuously ring, not bothering to check the caller ID and answer it as his attention is focused on nothing but you. You would’ve been entirely grateful if this was under a different circumstance, recalling the amount of times he’s answered the phone when you were together but you couldn’t ignore it, not with that annoying ringtone. 
Slipping your hand into his jean pockets, you fish out his phone and you barely bite back a scoff when you see Eunbin’s caller ID. You’re shocked at your complete 180 in attitude, being so used to feeling guilty and ashamed when being in Jaemin’s presence with Eunbin’s name running in your mind, but now you feel annoyed—resentful even.
“You should answer it”
“I don’t want to,” Jaemin immediately says.
“It hasn’t stopped you before” You bite back before you can stop yourself, your bitter tone catching Jaemin off guard and you sigh, closing your eyes in defeat. “I’m sorry—”
“Did she say something to you?” It was your turn to be caught off guard, your eyes snapping open to stare at Jaemin who’s hands drop to his side, head tilting to the side quizzically. 
Jaemin remembered his brief encounter with Jeno during the night you left, how Jeno had brought up Eunbin’s name but Jaemin was quick to shut it down, not wanting to know anything or even hear anything about his ex-girlfriend. 
But he can’t help but piece two and two together: you have been acting weird since Eunbin’s welcome home party and he’s almost certain he saw you and Eunbin together before he was pushed inside of her home by others who attended the party.
Instead of answering him like he wishes you would’ve, you look down at his phone in your hands and slide your finger across the answer button, shoving his phone in his grasp with force and collecting your belongings to leave him alone once again.
A gasp flies from your lips as you feel Jaemin’s fingers wrap around your wrist and tug you back to him, and you almost trip over your own feet if it wasn’t for his tight grip to keep you steady, staring at him in complete shock as he stares back with a unreadable expression on his face.
You hear Eunbin’s voice call out his name from the speaker: asking if he’s there, asking if he can hear her and what he’s doing, but he remains silent with his attention, yet again, focused on you and it makes your heart pound loudly in your ears. 
Your thoughts ramble together, unable to even come up with a clear thought to get you out of this situation. Instead, you do what you know best. 
You kiss him.
You don’t know why you kissed him, you don’t really know what brought on the urge to do so but you did. With your arms wrapped around his shoulders, fingers curled around the hair at the nape of his neck, chest pressed against his, you kissed him hungrily—desperately.
It’s when you feel Jaemin respond to the kiss, letting his phone drop to the ground as his hands come up to rest on your waist that you realise what you’re doing and you recoil back in shock, eyes wide as you stare between him and his phone on the ground, baffled at what you just done.
Jaemin tries to reach back out to you, to bring you back to him and to kiss you again but you refuse, muttering a small apology as you finally gather your things and leave him once again.
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It’s been two weeks since Jaemin last interacted with you in the classroom. 
There’s been brief moments where he encountered you with the group, but it’s obvious now when you avoid his gaze or make up some excuse to go somewhere else or that you’re busy, and Jaemin is tired.
What makes it worse is that it seems everyone else around him is knowing what's going on while he’s left alone in the dark to figure it out himself. It makes him upset, even though he’d never admit it out loud to anyone. 
It makes him upset to see you avoid him so quickly, to refuse to meet up with him alone or to talk to him. He’s tried calling you, he’s tried texting you—hell, he’s even tried to talk to Haru and Miwoo who give him nothing in return but a sharp look or disappointing gaze.
He’s sick of it.
Jaemin’s not sick of you, he doesn’t think he could be ever sick of you. He’s sick of the hushed whispers he hears from the group, how they refuse to tell him what’s going on. He’s sick of the looks he gets from them whenever Eunbin makes a sudden appearance to talk to him, whether it’ll be through a phone call or in person. 
He knows Eunbin’s trying to get on good terms with him, to rebuild a friendship with him while she’s back. Some part of him admires Eunbin for her efforts as Jaemin doesn’t bother giving anything back apart from some half-hearted replies or sounds of acknowledgement when she says something to him, but the other part of him is annoyed at how she can pretend that nothing ever happened and that because he forgave her for his closure, Eunbin thinks it’s fine to worm her way back into his life with his friends (who clearly hate her). 
Jaemin feels conflicted. He hates awkwardness and he hates the tension, and he’s not the best when it comes to uncomfortable situations. He can, however, have his moments when it comes to other people. He doesn’t mind being confrontational if it helps the other person, but when it comes to himself he would avoid it at all costs. 
He wouldn’t admit it out loud but he wants his friends to be happy and he most importantly wants you to be happy. Eunbin? He ponders her name for a moment, tongue prodding at his cheek as he stares at his blank computer screen. Eunbin is not his priority. He doesn’t really care about Eunbin’s happiness.
So why was he trying so hard to keep the peace on both ends? Jaemin grows frustrated again, trying his best to clear his thoughts as he busies himself with his computer, editing a picture he had taken of Shotaro recently but he gets distracted when he hears his phone vibrate relentlessly on his desk and he picks it up, brows pulling together as he sees the main groupchat is active. 
[ 𝗛𝗔𝗥𝗨'𝗦 𝗦𝗨𝗚𝗔𝗥 𝗕𝗔𝗕𝗜𝗘𝗦 — 𝗚𝗥𝗢𝗨𝗣𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗧 ]
donghyuck: sunwoos having a party tonight donghyuck: he invited all of us and said he’s got the goods covered donghyuck: i think i love him a lil 
yangyang: i’m down [donghyuck hearted this message]
renjun: who the fuck changed the groupchat name.
miwoo: me❤️
renjun: change it back.
yangyang: 🗣️rare sight of renjun getting overprotective over his gf 🗣️
donghyuck: i screenshot already👍 [yangyang liked this message] [renjun disliked this message]
miwoo: haru is the only one with a big bank account tho bc she works miwoo: its fitting dont u think????
donghyuck: idkkk donghyuck: just wait until me n jeno start our onlyfans account
jeno: 🤨
yangyang: wait hyuck why not ask m e????
donghyuck: no offence but jeno would bring in the views
yangyang: you right you right 
jeno: anyway jeno: im down for the party jeno: haven’t had one in a while
renjun: you had one last weekend.
yangyang: we literally hosted a party last weekend????
donghyuck: did you get so fucked up you forgot we had one last weekend???
jeno: shut up jeno: are we all going or not [yangyang, donghyuck and miwoo liked this message] jeno: what abt renjun, haru, shotaro, yn & jaemin???
miwoo: renjun goes if haru goes miwoo: and shotaro goes if renjun and haru goes [donghyuck questioned this message]
donghyuck: uh no donghyuck: shotaro goes if ME and YANG go
miwoo: idk abt that :/
shotaro: i go if you all go :)
donghyuck: i love you
haru: me and renjun can’t go tonight, we’re packing for our weekend trip
miwoo: THE FCK??? 🤨🤨🤨 miwoo: WHAT WEEKEND TRIP???? miwoo: and without me???
you: haru and renjun have planned this trip for like weeks, that’s why haru asked for more shifts at work [haru hearted this message] [renjun liked this message]
renjun: at least someone listens.
donghyuck: wait what teh fuck
miwoo: thats what im SAYING
donghyuck: what happened to group trips </3 do we not do those anymore </3 
miwoo: ^ ^ ^
donghyuck: this friday is the worst friday to have ever friday [miwoo emphasised this message]
shotaro: is this our first time seeing miwoo and hyuck agree on something?? [donghyuck and miwoo disliked this message] shotaro: sorry.
yangyang: where are u guys going??
renjun: none of your business.
haru: rented out a beach house!
donghyuck: BEACH TRIPS ARE OUR THING!!!!!???
miwoo: how are me and yn going to survive without haru miwoo: i feel so lonely already </3
haru: i’ll be gone for three days…
miwoo: and??? miwoo: do u know how long that is????
yangyang: 3 days lol [miwoo disliked this message]
donghyuck: 3 days??? [miwoo disliked this message]
renjun: 3 days. [miwoo disliked this message]
miwoo: ok stfu
jeno: we’re getting side tracked. jeno: yn? jaemin? party??? 
you: idk you: i’ll think abt it
yangyang: thats a yes yangyang: because i’ll be dragging ur ass out
donghyuck: me too ;)
jeno: jae??
jaemin: no.
And with that, Jaemin shuts off his phone and drops it beside him on his desk, leaning back in his chair with his head in his hands, rubbing at his face in frustration as his chest tightens with an uncomfortable feeling. He hates this.
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“Don’t take this the wrong way but, why are you even here right now?” Haru questions you with a quick glance over her shoulder as she restocks the vinyls, rearranging them in alphabetical order for Johnny’s liking.
She spins to face Renjun for a brief moment with a grin, holding up a vinyl with the words ‘COLOURFUL TRAUMA’ scrawled across the front in block letters and Renjun nods, opening up his little ‘misfits’ tote bag and allowing her to shove the vinyl inside for later purchase. 
“Can’t I just come visit you at work?” You question back, finding offence as you frown at her. Your arms cross over your chest as you lean against a pillar, raising a brow in her direction. “Is it wrong for me to want to hang out with you?”
Renjun scoffs, “You’re so dramatic” You retaliate by throwing up your middle finger and Renjun does the same with a smile, causing Haru to give you both a pointed look, clearly unimpressed with your attitudes towards each other.
“I think you’re stalling” Haru tells you, turning back to the vinyls. “He’s not going tonight, you know. Ditch the party and actually talk to him… avoiding him isn’t going to make either of you feel better”
“I can’t bring myself to do it” You admit, staring down at your shoes in disappointment. “I don’t want to end whatever we have for my benefit… but not only do I not know how he feels about me, I have Eunbin waiting to make her move and get her second chance”
“Eunbin doesn’t deserve a second chance” Renjun says, causing you to look at him. “And honestly? I don’t think Jaemin is dumb enough to give her a second chance. At this point she’s just making a complete fool out of herself”
Your lips curl into a frown, “Doesn’t that mean technically that I’m making a complete fool out of myself too?”
Haru turns her head towards you abruptly, “What makes you say that?”
“Think about it,” You start, uncrossing your arms to count off your fingers. “I’ve fallen for him without knowing how he feels about me. I broke the most important rule we had made which, shocker, is the don't fall for each other rule. I’m practically stalling everything just so I don’t have that conversation with him and potentially lose him… I’m a fool”
“You’re just scared—”
You blink at Haru, “That makes me feel so much worse”
“It’s okay to be scared, you know” Renjun speaks this time and you’re surprised by his soft and caring tone, eyes wide as you look over at him. Renjun rolls his eyes at your expression, “I can be nice sometimes”
“Yeah, and it’s creepy” You tell him, causing Renjun to scoff and Haru to laugh at her boyfriend, patting him on the shoulder before resuming in her work. “I know it’s okay to be scared, by the way… I just hate feeling it and I want to get rid of it. I wish I could pull an Eunbin and leave on a trip”
Haru sucks through her teeth, gently whacking you on top of the head with a vinyl. “Don’t use that writing trip as an escape”
Renjun snorts at your choice of words, “Pull an Eunbin”
“It was a joke” You tell her, rubbing the top of your head despite it not actually hurting you. “I have been thinking about it though. Professor Moon asks me about it from time to time, and I still have Mr Nakamoto’s details on a note somewhere in the bottom of my bag”
“Go on the trip if it’s something you really want, but don’t go on the trip if you’re using it as an escape route to avoid Jaemin” Haru gives you a hard look and you’re a little startled, not expecting her to give you that type of expression. “You’ll be worse than Eunbin if you do that”
Renjun spares you a quick glance, “Don’t be Eunbin”
You frown at that, the thought of becoming something like her leaving an uncomfortable feeling on your chest. You regret the joke you made moments prior about pulling an Eunbin and leaving—you’d never do something like that, that would be the last thing you’d do. Jaemin would, truthfully, be one of the first people you’d tell if you decided to go on the trip, remembering how excited he was for you when you first mentioned it to him. 
You wouldn’t do that to him—you wouldn’t leave without telling him, no matter what type of situation you’re both in.
“Do you want a job or something?” The sudden but familiar voice causes you to slowly turn around on your heel, eyes zoning in on Johnny who’s standing behind you with a pudding cup in hand and a spoon in the other, staring at you with a deadpan expression as he raises his spoon to his mouth.
“What?”
“You’re here all the time.” Johnny points out, the corner of his lips subtly twitching which gives you the impression he’s teasing you. “Do you want a job or something? Help organise the shelves? Be my assistant?”
“Fuck off, Johnny”
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“Are you really going on a trip?” Miwoo frowns, sitting on the edge of Haru’s bed as she watches her pack her final belongings for the weekend getaway. 
When Haru had finished her shift this evening, she rushed home with you to pack while you had to shower and get ready for Sunwoo’s party. (Miwoo’s orders. You didn’t feel like crossing Miwoo today.)
You’re prettied up alongside Miwoo, wearing your favourite outfit along with some silver jewellery and heavy makeup that you think definitely pulls the look in all together—you praise Miwoo for her talents. And despite not wanting to go in the first place, you have to admit that you feel much better after seeing your reflection. 
“Yes, I’m really going on this trip,” Haru tells her as she’s shoving some hygiene products into her bag. “Why do you keep asking me?”
“The longest I’ve been without you is five hours,” Miwoo explains. “You’re going for three days—how am I going to cope?”
Haru snorts, “Mi—”
“No, seriously. What should I do?” Miwoo deadpans. “You’re, like, my anchor. What am I going to do?”
“It’s three days” Haru repeats to her as she places a comforting hand on Miwoo’s shoulder and gives her a warm smile. “You’ll be fine… plus, you can just call me if you want”
“Everyday?”
Haru gives her a look, “Don’t push it”
“Worth a shot” Miwoo grins before she shoots up from Haru’s bed, quickly excusing herself to retrieve something for her as she dashes out of the room. You snort at her behaviour, turning your head to look at Haru who seems a little uneasy and bothered, it makes you frown.
“Can you do me a favour?” Haru asks you before you can even get the chance to question what was wrong, but you nod anyway. “Keep an eye on Miwoo”
“I mean, I will, but,” You pause, brows pulling together. “Why?”
“She spoke to me last night about some stuff—well, she hinted towards some things about herself and about Jeno. How weird and lost she feels, how different things seem to be without having Jeno there in her life as a boyfriend” Haru explains to you quietly, keeping her voice low and glancing towards her bedroom door to make sure Miwoo wasn’t returning back yet. “Don’t get me wrong, Miwoo can be independent… but I think she also depended on Jeno a lot in some weird sense. I know that people called us the trio, but—”
“It was always Jeno and Miwoo” You finish and Haru nods with a gentle hum, confirming you were right. “I’ll keep an eye on her… I’ll try and talk to her too”
Haru laughs softly, “Good luck with that, Miwoo doesn’t open up easily”
“Found it~” Miwoo sings happily from the hallway as she comes bounding back into Haru’s room, holding something in her hand. 
You watch as she excitingly hands the box over to Haru who looks at it sceptical before unwrapping the pink ribbon from around the box, sliding the top off before slamming it back on with a shocked expression, eyes wide as she stares over at Miwoo who grins.
You’re curious to know what’s inside the box, fingers itching to reach out and see why Haru had caused such a reaction but before you could even get a chance to question it, Haru’s already reacting once again. 
“You’re crazy. You’re insane… how did you even find this?”
“I’ve very persuasive” Miwoo’s grin widens as she settles down on the bed beside you. “Surprisingly had a little help from Sunwoo too—He knew a few people and luckily I’m good at getting what I want”
“Miwoo…” Haru whines with a pout, dropping the box on the bed and launching herself at Miwoo who happily welcomes her with open arms, squeezing her tightly to her chest with a joyful giggle as Haru embraces her while muttering gibberish under her breath.
Feeling left out, you immediately reach for the box and take a peek inside, instantly making a noise of recognition as you see the sage green mesh dress that’s been sitting in Haru’s wishlist for a few months, knowing how badly Haru was wanting the pretty dress and even saving up for it alongside her savings for her weekend vacation away with Renjun. 
You immediately awe out loud, looking over at Miwoo who is beaming with happiness, wrapping her limbs awkwardly around Haru who tries to free herself this time, pinching Miwoo’s thighs in an attempt to force her to let her go and Miwoo’s reluctantly frees her when she squeezes a little too hard.
“I want to hit you for buying this but I also want to kiss you” Miwoo immediately puckers her lips as that confession but Haru places the palm over her hand over her face. “How did you have the money to buy this? Do you realise how expensive it is?”
“I told you. Sunwoo knows people and I’m good at getting what I want” Miwoo explains as she pushes Haru’s hand away. “But if you want the full details… We all know Sunwoo’s parents are rich so they’re involved with a lot of people. When I met up with him for a smoke, he told me that one of the girls he plugs for owns a family boutique. She owed him for the last ‘service’ so I asked if I could get the dress”
“I’m pretty sure this dress costs more than Sunwoo’s goods”
“I don’t know about that…” You pitch in this time, looking between Haru and Miwoo. “Sunwoo does sell some high quality shit. That’s why he’s so popular”
Miwoo clicks her fingers at you, “Exactly”
“When I come back from vacation, I hope you realise I’m paying you everything back”
“Shut up” Miwoo scoffs, shaking her head while gently glaring at Haru before her lips curl into a smile. “You can pay me back by never leaving me again” Haru gives her a blank look to which Miwoo shrugs her shoulders innocently, the smile dropping from her face. “No, I'm serious. I get separation anxiety”
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Standing in Sunwoo’s kitchen with him on your one side with Miwoo on the other wasn’t exactly in your plans for this party, nor was striking up a conversation with him as he sits upon the countertop while rolling a joint expertly between his fingers, selling them to people who strolled by and shoved money in his hands. 
You almost snorted when you first witnessed him alone, emoji stickers plastered across his face and glasses hanging off the bridge of his nose and you dared to ask why he was covered in such things, only prompting an actual laugh out of you when he said some girls stuck them on his face as a thank you gift for hosting a party. 
But you immediately stop laughing and stare at him unimpressed as he pulls a lips emoji sticker off his cheek to put it on your own, patting the area softly with a sluggish grin before peeling a devil emoji off his glasses and pressing it in the middle of Miwoo’s forehead, causing her to drunkenly grin as she pulls out her phone to take a picture of you three.
“You know,” Sunwoo begins as he rolls another joint, taking a quick glance at you. “As much as I love you hanging out with me right now, Eric is upstairs. He’s going to come find me soon and if you still want to ignore him, now’s your best chance to go find your friends”
“Thanks for the heads up” You tell him appreciatively, shocked that he’s even letting you know about Eric’s whereabouts. You look over at Miwoo, “I’m gonna go find Shotaro—”
“I think you should talk to him though”
Your head snaps towards him, and so does Miwoo’s.
“I’m not saying you should forgive him” Sunwoo adds as he studies your face. “I’m saying you’re going to end up spending the majority of your life trying to avoid him, making things harder and awkward for yourself. Just talk to him—tell him how he made you feel, hear whatever he has to say back, decide whether he deserves forgiveness or not and get your closure”
Closure. That word leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. Seeing firsthand how Jaemin’s closure has worked out between him and Eunbin, how Eunbin has easily wormed her way back into his life as if nothing happened… you don’t want to go down that path, you refuse, especially with Eric. 
You can’t. 
“I’ll pass” You grab your drink and leave the kitchen, pushing your way through the crowd of sweaty bodies who grind upon each other, allowing the music to take over their rhythm. 
You decline when a girl from your class taps your arm to come join her and her little group, pointing to your cup to subtly tell her you want to finish your drink first and she nods, allowing you to slip by and continue on walking. 
Shotaro is the first person you see and a genuine smile spreads across your lips when you see him talking with Yeji in the far corner of the room, how his cheeks bloom a slight shade of red as her hand caresses the bruise on his face, courtesy of Hyunjin’s punch. 
(You even fight the urge to awe out loud when she leans over to kiss it.)
Not wanting to interrupt their moment, you venture out to find Donghyuck or Yangyang instead, maybe even Jeno if you’re lucky. But, much to your dismay, you can’t find them anywhere and you feel a little silly being left alone.
You’re starting to miss Haru and Renjun, maybe even Jaemin too. 
You exhale deeply and tug your phone out of your pocket as you make your way out to the backyard, eyeing the couples that kiss in the pool and others who cannonball in, three drunk guys sitting on the sidelines scoring them.
Sitting yourself down on an empty garden chair, you sip your beer as you scroll through your phone, hearting Haru and Renjun’s posts on Instagram as they posted that they finally arrived at their destination, leaving a small comment for them to have fun and stay safe to which she, and Renjun too (shockingly), replied back with heart emojis.
You continue to scroll mindlessly, liking other posts from mutuals and you snort when seeing an old post of Yangyang but you feel your chest tighten and your amusement drop when you see a recent post of Jaemin’s, thumb hovering over the heart button. 
‘Taken with my favourite polaroid’, the caption reads and you sigh softly, pressing your lips together. It’s the polaroid you bought him, the one he hasn’t stopped using since you gifted it to him. 
You’d be lying if you said that the caption didn’t affect you, leaving your heart warm and fuzzy. And you’re not sure what pushed you to do it but you tap the comment section of his post, seeing a few comments from his classmates and one that leaves a sour taste in your mouth.
Eunbin.  
She left a smiley face emoji under the photo, a comment that wasn’t liked apart from the others and you begin to wonder if you should comment to, just to test if he would like yours but you figured that would be too toxic and silly, deciding to just heart the photo and continue scrolling but you pause when a notification from Jaemin comes up on your phone the second you heart it, causing your brows to follow as you tap his message.
jaemin: are u at the party?
you: yeah
jaemin: are u drunk?
you: tipsy you: i’ll be fine
jaemin: typing… jaemin: typing… jaemin: typing…
You gnaw at the nail of your thumb, watching the three bubbles on the screen as you wonder what he’s about to say next.
jaemin: stay safe jaemin: i’ll come get u if u need me
Your bottom lip starts to quiver, heart rate increasing as your emotions get the best of you, wanting to spill some tears at a simple and kind message. You shut off your phone, shoving it into your pocket as you bring the beer bottle up to your lips to chug, tears brimming in your eyes and making your vision blurry.
You do need him. You hate to admit it, but you do need him. More than ever. You don’t want to lose him, you don’t want to stop seeing him because of Eunbin wanting a second chance. Maybe you deserve to be a little selfish once in a while
But it dawns on you that you don’t exactly know how Jaemin feels. 
The frustration soon starts to build inside you, realising how secretive and quiet Jaemin is about his feelings, how he doesn’t allow anyone to have a dip inside his head to know what he’s thinking of feeling in that given moment.
You hardly know anything about him, and that’s because he doesn’t let you. 
“There you are” A familiar voice coos from behind you and you peer your head over your shoulder to see Yangyang stumbling towards you, eyes red with a dumb grin and you laugh as he pulls a vacant garden chair beside you to sit down, knocking his shoulder against yours. “I’ve been looking for you”
“Sorry” You mutter, staring down at the almost empty beer bottle in your hands. “I needed fresh air”
“Me too, it was stuffy in there” Yangyang agrees as he mindlessly drums his fingers on his thighs, staring out at the others in the pool. “You missing Haru and Renjun?”
You exhale deeply, “Very”
“Same” He hums, pressing his lips together as he takes a quick glance at you. “Are you missing Jaemin?”
“Just feels different without everyone here” You say, not wanting to jump into full details about how you really are missing Jaemin even if you don’t want to admit it out loud. “I like it when we’re all together”
Yangyang nods slowly to agree with you and silence falls upon you both for a while, basking in each others presence as you watch the other partygoers, some still flinging themselves into the pool or dancing on the well kept grass to the music that plays loudly from the speakers. 
“You look pretty, by the way” Yangyang’s sudden compliment doesn’t surprise you, always have been used to this type of behaviour from him and you roll your eyes as you turn to face him, finally looking straight at him since he first arrived to sit with you and you notice the change in his features, how the grin he had falters into a frown. “Have you been crying?”
You scoff, feeling a little embarrassed. “No”
“Wow…” He gasps dramatically, reaching out to touch your face, his thumb wiping the tears that bubble in the corner of your eyes. “You’re pretty when you cry too? How the fuck is that fair? Hm?” His over the top acting has you struggling to keep your expression stoic. “I look ugly as fuck when I cry… What the hell?”
“Shut up” You crack, a laugh slipping past your lips as you swat his hand away. “Stop it”
“But you are,” Yangyang smiles, dropping his hand from your face to your lap, fingers skimming over your own. He nudges your shoulder gently, “I have this ugly picture of drunk Miwoo crying into a bowl of spaghetti if you want to see it? Surely that would make you feel better, right?”
“You’ve got to stop taking pictures of people drunk”
Yangyang shrugs his shoulders, “Blackmail. You all have photos of me too” He meets your eyes again, turning serious this time. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing—”
“Don’t lie to me” Yangyang cuts you off immediately and this time, he grabs your hand to lace your fingers in a comforting hold. “I know you too well, so don’t lie to me” He squeezes your hand gently. “Tell me”
And you do. You tell him everything.
Everything about Jaemin, everything about Eunbin—even everything about yourself and your feelings, and Yangyang listens to you so intently, concern and sadness written across his features as he nods along with your words.
Yangyang’s chest tightens as he listens to your problems, especially regarding Jaemin as he hears you admit how much you had fallen for him despite it being the number one rule. His heart breaks seeing how sad you are, how the tears threaten to spill again and he wishes he could help make you feel better, to see that smile on your face that he loves so much. 
Love. That word makes him feel a little sick, his stomach swirling uncomfortably at the new and unusual feeling. He’s never loved anyone romantically before, that’s all new and foreign to him. He never expected himself to ever fall in love with someone, especially with how comfortable he is with hook-up culture and how normal is it for him.
Love is scary. It leaves his palms sweaty and he grimaces whenever there’s something romantic happening between him and someone else, which is why he always sets boundaries, boundaries that are not meant to be crossed.
But yet, when it comes to you, maybe love to Yangyang doesn’t sound so bad.
“There’s something I want to tell you…” Yangyang interrupts you, voice soft and timid. Once you look at him, you notice that he’s staring at the ground, refusing to meet your gaze as his fingers timidly place with your own. “It’s important. It’s been on my mind for a while and I… I just need to get it off my chest”
“Okay” You say, nodding your head with a smile despite the anxiety that buzzes through your veins at his unusualness. “What is it?”
“I…” Yangyang suddenly pauses, staring straight at you as you stare back at him, waiting for him to speak. He wants to do it, to tell you everything that he’s been feeling, to finally get it out into the open and be free of all the thoughts inside of his head.
Yangyang has always been honest with his feelings—blunt and straight to the point. He doesn’t beat around the bush when being completely real with someone, so why is he hesitating when he comes to you?
He stares at you a little longer, noticing how red your ears are, how your makeup is slightly smudged from crying, how swollen and bitten your lips are from trying to conceal yourself from any more tears and sadness.
His shoulders sag slightly, exhaling through his nose in defeat as he grips your hand in his own. “I’m proud of you, I always have been. You’re strong and I admire that about you, and I just—” He feels his eyes burn, tears threatening to appear but he holds back with a harsh swallow. “I promise that everything will work out in the end. You’ll be happy… you deserve to be happy. Don’t let anyone, including Eunbin, ruin that for you”
Whatever you were expecting Yangyang to tell you, it definitely wasn’t that. You can’t help but stare at him in shock, taking in his words with a warmth in your chest. You feel emotional and you bite back the urge to make another fool out of yourself by crying but you’re aware of the tears that are already forming in your eyes.
“That was pretty cheesy of you” You joke, unable to hide your smile as a tear drips down your cheek. Yangyang laughs lightly and squeezes your hand once again, using his other hand to wipe the tear away and he caresses your cheek softly, and that���s when you notice the pain in his eyes.
“I love you” He whispers to you so gently that you barely hear him. “You’re my best friend, and I love you”
“I love you too” You repeat back, swatting his hands away so you could lean forwards to embrace him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders as his arms slide around your waist, holding you tightly to his chest with his fingers clutching the back of your dress, not wanting to let you go just yet as the tears freely spill down his cheeks, completely unbeknownst to you.
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Jaemin lets out a soft grunt as he raises his arms above his head, bones cracking from the hunched over position he had held for so long over his computer, eager to finish a few photos that were left untouched in his folder, using at as an excuse to get his mind off of everything that was going on. 
He keeps glancing over at his phone, wondering if you would take him up on his offer to help you if you need it, but his mood defleats more and more when it buzzes and your name doesn’t show up on the screen. 
It’s Eunbin’s name that does, asking him if he went to Sunwoo’s party and if he would like to hang out if he didn’t go, wondering if they wanted to go for beers somewhere else or even get a bite to eat.
He ignored every single one, he wasn’t in the mood to do anything but work on his photos and he sure as hell wasn’t in the mood to be around drunk people, apart from you. 
Jaemin sighs as he reaches for his phone, teeth gnawing at his bottom lip as he opens up your chat to see that you’ve left him on read, his fingers tapping anxiously against the sides of his phone.
He wonders if you’ll take him up on his offer if you need someone to come get you and he contemplates on sending another text just to let you know that he was serious about coming to get you if needed, or texting to see if you were still tipsy or getting sober. 
But he decides against it when his phone pings again with another notification from Eunbin and he locks his phone, throwing it back on the desk as he runs his fingers through his hair with a frustrated sigh, pushing his hair out of his eyes as he stares at the computer screen.
Jaemin returns back to his work without another thought, wanting to focus on his main priority of getting this photo done until he hears the front door slam downstairs and his fingers hover above his mouse, listening intently to the sound of someone cursing under their breath as they trip and stumble up the staircase, heading towards the bedrooms. 
He believes it’s Jeno at first, knowing how he likes to go straight up to his room after indulging himself in a few beers and shots, and fall asleep to wake up early in the morning and workout the hangover away. 
But he’s surprised when the door to his own bedroom is forced open to see Yangyang standing in the hallway, swaying side to side slightly with a beer bottle in hand. He leans against the door frame to take a sip of the concoction, eyeing Jaemin who stares back unamused.
“What have you done?” Yangyang suddenly asks him and Jaemin is slightly taken back by the question, but he doesn’t show it, opting to just glare at him and he takes note of how glossy his eyes are. It makes Jaemin’s brows furrow when he realises he must’ve been crying and Jaemin bites back the urge to ask him what’s wrong. “I said, what have you done?”
“What are you talking about?” Jaemin mutters with a roll of his eyes, turning his attention back to his computer as he shakes his head. “Get out of my room if you’re going to talk about something stupid. I don’t want to hear it—”
Jaemin’s cut off by Yangyang’s dry chuckle, making him sound a little crazy. “She’s upset, you know. The last time I saw her that upset was when the Eric bullshit happened… So, what have you done?”
Jaemin’s chest tightens at the thought of you being upset, but he can’t help but frown in annoyance as he looks back at Yangyang. “What makes you think I did something wrong? She’s the one that’s been actively ignoring me this entire time, I’ve tried to get her attention and she leaves. I call her, she ignores me. I message her and she either leaves me on read or gives me blunt replies. I’m trying, Yang”
“So you think you did nothing wrong?”
“No, I just—fuck—I don’t know what I—” Jaemin’s words die down in the back of his throat when he notices Yangyang staggering towards him, feeling slightly uncomfortable and intimidated with the way he’s being looked at by him. 
Never in his years of knowing Yangyang would he think he would come across as intimidating, or scary for that matter, but with Yangyang standing in front of Jaemin with his face a little too close for his liking, Jaemin has never been so uncomfortable and nervous around Yangyang in his life.
Yangyang’s hazy eyes dance over Jaemin’s face, a halfhearted laugh slipping past his lips, the stench of alcohol and weed hitting Jaemin’s nose which makes him grimace. Yangyang’s eyes swirl with anger, sadness and regret, but it doesn’t stop him from slowly raising his hand to pet Jaemin’s blonde head of hair, not even sympathetically, Yangyang was hurting him a little with his rough touch.
“Talk to Eunbin” Yangyang tells him, dropping his hand from his head to grab his phone and shove it into Jaemin’s hands. 
Jaemin’s eyes narrow in on Yangyang, “What?”
“Talk to your ex-girlfriend and ask her about the conversation she had with Y/N” Yangyang knows he shouldn’t have said what he said, having promised you that he wouldn’t tell Jaemin about what happened between Eunbin and you. But he couldn’t stand back and continue watching you get hurt anymore, not when he cares about you so much. “Maybe it’ll finally knock some fucking sense into your head”
Jaemin watches wordlessly as Yangyang leaves his room, slamming the door shut behind himself as he disappears into his own room and Jaemin’s attention drops to the phone in his hands, brows pulled together in confusion at Yangyang’s demands. 
But surprisingly, it doesn’t stop him from unlocking his phone to bring up Eunbin and his chat, ignoring the multiple messages she had left behind as his thumbs tap the screen, tongue prodding at his inner cheek as he presses sent.
jaemin: i want to talk to u 
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“Hi” Eunbin greets him with a pretty smile the next morning, gesturing to the empty seat opposite her in the Dreamies Café and Jaemin slumps down in the seat, staring across the table at Eunbin blankly. “I’m sorry about last night. I completely drank too much and sent a whole bunch of embarrassing messages to you, and then I passed out. I’m really sorry”
He wasn’t exactly thrilled about having to wait an entire night to talk to Eunbin due to the previous conversation he had with Yangyang, how questions repeatedly circled in his head and how he was desperate for answers.
It seemed that your unusual actions were because of the conversation you had with Eunbin, as he tried to ask you before in the classroom, and last night it dawned on him after his brief encounter with Yangyang how serious it must’ve been.
Jaemin just wants to get to the bottom of this.
“I bought you an iced americano, by the way” Eunbin speaks up once again, sliding the plastic cup over the table towards him with another smile. “Extra shot, just how you like it”
“Thanks” He says as his fingers curl around the cup, not in the mood to drink as his other hand fiddles with the green straw, swirling the ice around the drink. 
“So,” She leans her elbows on the table, eyes sparkling. “What did you want to talk to me about?”
“Your conversation with Y/N at your welcoming party” Jaemin immediately answers and Eunbin’s face drops. He eyes her for a few seconds, watching how she uncomfortably shifts in her seat as she sits up straight. “What was it about?”
“Jaemin, I—”
“Don’t lie” His sharp tone surprises Eunbin. “I can’t handle being lied to right now”
“We were just talking about me,” Eunbin says softly as she fiddles with the rings that decorate her fingers, twisting the ring that should belong to him on her middle finger. He glances down at it, the pretty black gemstone taunting him and he snaps his attention back to her. “We talked about me in New York, how stupid I was for doing what I did and leaving you behind”
Jaemin fights the urge to roll his eyes, “Anything else?”
“We talked about you—your friends with benefits situation” That seems to grab Jaemin’s interest and he perks up, leaning on the table to listen closely. “I asked her what was really going on between you both and she told me the truth”
“She did?” He questions, his voice quiet this time, almost like a whisper. “What did she say?”
“That you two are just fucking”
Jaemin doesn’t know why, but his heart crumbles and a pain settles in his chest at that, throat tightening and feeling heavy, making it hard for him to swallow. He’s unable to form words or even process a thought, struggling to solve what he’s actually feeling right now.
His lips press together tightly, leaning back in his chair as he looks out of the window, trying to steady his breathing as it seems to get faster and heavier, knowing that he’s about to panic.
“Jaemin?” Eunbin calls out his name softly to grab his attention and he gives a short hum, letting her know that he’s listening. “Do you like her?”
“It doesn’t matter” He’s quick to say, this time grabbing his drink and taking a sip so he doesn’t have to talk anymore.
Eunbin watches him carefully and the guilt eats her away, a frown making its way onto her face and she realises exactly what’s going on. A wave of sadness consumes her, but it doesn’t overpower the absolute regret she’s feeling and she lets out a shaky breath, “Jaemin, this is my fault”
His eyes immediately dart towards her as he pulls the straw from between his lips, “What do you mean?”
“When I asked her about your situation, she didn’t give me an answer straight away… She only gave me an answer after explaining why I came back home and when I asked her to do something for me,” Eunbin begins, nervously staring down at her hands to avoid Jaemin’s deep gaze. “I told her I wanted a second chance with you and I asked her if she could stop being friends with benefits to see if I can get that second chance…”
Jaemin sits in silence.
“I wanted to show you how much I’ve changed and how much you mean to me” Eunbin explains as she reaches over to grab Jaemin’s hand, gripping his fingers tightly. “Even after everything that happened between us, I still cared for you—still loved you. I wasn’t ready to give that up. I wanted to be selfish and you know first hand that I’m the type of person that will fight for what I want, and I want you… Can you blame me for that?”
Eunbin’s honesty baffles Jaemin to the core, his eyes widening at her every word and he listens to her excuses. She has tears in her eyes, filled with desperation and forgiveness but Jaemin doesn’t see himself giving her what she wants, not with the pent up rage and frustration that fills him.
It had been her after all this time. Eunbin was the one that had been pulling you away from him, making demanding requests as it seems. It makes him feel sick to his stomach, knowing that all your sadness had been not only because of him, but because of Eunbin too.
Jaemin knows deep down that he hasn’t been the most innocent or helpful in this situation. He was the one that allowed Eunbin back into his life, allowing her the possibility of friendship just to keep the peace with himself. But he hurt you in the process. He hurt the one person he cares about the most.
“Jaemin?” Eunbin calls out his name once more, feeling uneasy with how he hasn’t said a word since she confessed. “Please say something”
“You…” Jaemin finally speaks up, tone a little too calm for Eunbin’s liking and she watches with wary eyes, nervously biting down on her bottom lip as the tears threaten to fall. Jaemin dryly chuckles with a shake of his head, his tongue prodding at his cheek in pure anger. “You are pathetic”
Eunbin stills, “Wh—”
“I told you. The second you showed up at my door after your trip, I told you how badly you screwed me over. I told you how shitty you made me feel,” He pauses, a laugh of disbelief slipping past his lips as he smiles. “And you think I would still give you a second chance?”
“Everyone deserves a second chance—”
“But I didn’t want to give it to you” Jaemin cuts her off, causing Eunbin to blink at him in surprise. “I spent months trying to move on from you and I was scared it wasn’t going to work, but when you came home that day and you visited me, I realised how I already did. I felt shocked seeing you, obviously, I didn’t expect you to come home. But there wasn’t a slightest part of me that was still in love with you, willing to give you another chance… it was gone”
Eunbin sucks in a deep breath, “Then what about us hanging out together after it? Did that mean nothing?”
“I was willing to give you a friendship for my selfish reasons,” Jaemin nonchalantly shrugs his shoulders. “I hate drama, especially when I’m in the middle of it. I try to avoid it as much as possible and I thought I was keeping the peace by giving you a chance for friendship… but I realised now how my selfish ways actually hurt everyone else I care about in the process. My friends don’t like you, they’re angry at you, angry at what you did and I put a weight on their shoulders in having you around all because I wanted myself to feel fine”
It’s Eunbin’s turn to be silent now, looking across the table at Jaemin in disbelief at his words.
“I got my closure with you, Eunbin. I shouldn’t have kept you around after that” Jaemin admits and suddenly, it feels like a weight has been lifted off of Jaemin’s chest and he can finally breathe, air flowing freely through his lungs. 
He smiles to himself—a real smile, the most genuine one he’s given in the past few days and then he laughs, another real sound rumbling from his chest as he peaks with happiness, staring over at Eunbin with a beam as she stares back at him with sadness and guilt. 
“Thank you, Eunbin” Jaemin suddenly thanks her and she looks at him confused, watching as he stands up from the table. “Thank you for helping me come to my senses”
“Wait, where are you going?” She asks him, abruptly standing up from her own chair, causing it to scrape against the ground and customers stare over at the table in curiosity. 
Jaemin smiles again, shoving his hands inside his pockets. “I’m gonna go make things right”
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“I miss Haru” Miwoo pouts over breakfast, stabbing her fork into her plate of scrambled eggs as she scrolls through Instagram on her phone, her pouting quickly disappearing and replaced with a look of awe as she angles the screen towards her. “She looks so pretty”
“The one she posted last night was pretty too” You add with a smile, staring at the photo. “I’m glad she’s having fun. She deserved the break”
“I wish she shoved me in her suitcase” Miwoo mumbles, pulling the phone back from you. “I would love to be anywhere but here right now”
“You and me both” You can’t help but mutter, spooning your cereal and bringing it up to your mouth for a bite, chewing softly before swallowing. “Are you okay? I mean, generally, are you okay?”
“I’m fine” She hums with a simple nod. “I think I’m fine”
“You think?”
Miwoo frowns this time, seemingly worried. “Am I not supposed to feel fine or something?”
“No, no, it’s not that” You shake your head, giving her a reassuring smile. “It’s just that I was talking to Haru before she left and she mentioned that you said some things to her, about you and Jeno” The realisation seems to hit her as her eyes widen slightly and you’re quick to reassure her once again. “It’s fine if you don’t want to talk about it, but I just want you to know that I’m here to listen to you and if you want to talk about anything, then—”
“I’m not fine” Miwoo cuts you off, voice vulnerable and honest which immediately surprises you, but you hide your shock as you nod your head slowly, wanting her to continue at her own pace. “Physically, I’m fine… but mentally, I’m not and I don’t like the feeling”
You dare to ask, “Is it about Jeno?”
“Kind of, yeah” She nods, refusing to meet your gaze as she plays with her breakfast. “I don’t know if it’s because it's my first but breakups are hard… and, as much as I don’t want to admit it, I’m struggling without Jeno. I don’t want to be with him anymore, because I know it’s not good for the both of us. It’s unhealthy, our relationship… but I feel so lost without him. I don’t really know what to do with myself”
“Miwoo…” You frown, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder and she sighs, reaching up to grab your hand to hold it tightly in her grasp. You squeeze her hand, allowing her to have her moment as you both sit in silence, watching her facial expressions.
“He was my person. And even though we fought and bickered sometimes, the happy moments completely outweigh it. Jeno made me happy and now I just feel miserable” Miwoo sighs softly, chewing down on her bottom lip. “I miss being with him in a way where we joked around a lot, how we teased each other and just hung out… excluding the sex”
 “Maybe you should talk to him?” You suggest, causing her to snap her attention towards you. “He’s still your friend, Miwoo. You’re both still in the group. You haven’t lost him since you broke up… he’s still there, he’ll always be there for you”
Miwoo pulls a face, “But he doesn’t talk to me that much”
“You don’t talk to him that much either. Communication is key”
Miwoo shifts in her chair to face you as she deadpans, “Funny how you give great advice but you can’t take it yourself”
“Hey” You point your fork warningly at her. “Stop turning everything on me”
“Just saying” Miwoo giggles, gently pushing your fork away from her as she sighs. “We’re a couple of girls who struggle to communicate… kinda love that for us”
“You’re insane” You snort, dropping your fork to grab your coffee and take a sip, humming at the taste. “I still think you should talk to him”
“I’ll talk to him if you talk to Jaemin” Miwoo grins at you. “I think it’s a pretty decent deal, don’t you?”
“No”
Miwoo groans as you stand up from the kitchen table, offering to clean up the dishes since she was the one that made breakfast. You hear her mumbling to herself behind you but you pay no mind, filling the sink with hot soapy water to wash the dishes and utensils, allowing yourself to think over her deal.
You would like to talk to Jaemin, somewhat. It could solve a lot of your problems, finally being able to put your real feelings towards him and lay everything out on the table. But it’s the fear of rejection that sits heavy in the back of your mind that stops you from doing anything of the sort. 
So, breaking everything off with Jaemin does seem like the right thing to do, even if it leaves you miserable. 
It doesn’t take you long to finish washing the dishes, drying your hands on a paper towel and excusing yourself to go to your room but you pause midway when you hear a knock on the door, peering your head over your shoulder at Miwoo as she announces that she’ll go see who it is. 
You nod, but you remain still, watching as Miwoo’s figure stands at the door and looks through the peephole and the sound she makes causes you to give her a confused expression, feeling even more confused and curious when she slowly turns around with a knowing smirk on her face.
“It’s for you”
“For me?”
“Yep” She nods with a grin, pulling her phone out of her sweatpants pocket. “I think I’m going to have that talk with Jeno now”
It takes you a moment to realise what she means, your face dropping as it dawns on you, “Miwoo…”
“You got this” Miwoo reassures you as she walks on over, wrapping you up in a warm and comforting hug but your arms lay limp at your sides, unsure of what to do. “Just be honest, okay? Don’t hold back and don’t do anything stupid… communication is key, remember?”
“I can’t believe you’re using my own words against me” You mumble under your breath in disbelief and Miwoo laughs loudly, pressing her lips against your cheek in a sloppy kiss before releasing you, making her way back to the front door and yanking it open.
From her previous statement, you knew Jaemin was standing on the other side. But seeing his face in person, seeing him just a few metres in front of you, your heart thumps wildly in your chest and your palms become sweaty. 
Miwoo’s greeting towards Jaemin is brief, a quick ‘hello’ with a hard look as she leaves the apartment, but not before turning around before Jaemin’s back and giving you a thumbs up, something you force yourself to bite back a curse at as you watch her disappear, leaving you and Jaemin alone for the first time in awhile. 
“Can I come in?” He’s the first to break the silence, asking you in such a hopeful tone that it makes your throat tighten in panic, feeling like you’re going to be sick as your head starts to swirl so fast you’re afraid you’re going to get dizzy and faint. Jaemin takes a hesitant step forward as he sees the difference in your expression, “Are you—”
“What do you want?” You force yourself to ask, swallowing the lump in your throat and breathing steadily through your nose. You didn’t mean to sound so rude towards him and you regret it the second you see his face drop. “Just—what are you doing here?”
“I want to talk to you” He says, eyes roaming your face with his brows furrowing. “We need to talk, face to face”
You straighten your back, “What is there to talk about?”
The corner of Jaemin’s lips twitch up subtly, “I think you know what we need to talk about”
You mentally pick a fight with yourself as you nod and tell him to come in, watching as he steps inside the apartment and closes the door behind himself. You bring him over to the living room but neither of you sit, continuing to eye each other to see who cracks first and you feel the annoyance bubbling in your veins, biting down on your inner cheek as you cross your arms over your chest. 
Unfortunately, it’s you who breaks first. 
“Why did you start this friends with benefits situation with me in the first place?” You find yourself asking first, tone slightly harsh and Jaemin blinks at you in surprise, not expecting that to be the first thing you’d ask. You stand your ground this time. “Why, Jaemin?”
His eyes lock on yours. He makes you feel small. You hate it. “You know why”
You let out a dry laugh, “Do I?”
Jaemin shakes his head, “This isn’t what I wanted us to talk about—”
“I want to talk about it” Your finger pokes at your chest. “I want to know. I need to know”
“We started this friends with benefits situation because we missed sex. We told each other at the beginning of it all that we missed sex but didn’t want a relationship to come with it. That’s all it was, you know that” The serious tone Jaemin uses makes you feel sick once again and you couldn’t even bear to look at him, instead finding interest in something in the corner of the room, teeth biting harder down on your cheek to stop the emotions from letting loose. Jaemin’s shoulders sag as he sighs, “Can you please just look at me?”
“I don’t want to” You know you sound childish, especially with how your voice sounds and your stubbornness, but you didn’t really want to look at him, not when you’re on the verge of tears.
Jaemin exhales deeply and you hear him drag his feet across the floorboards, heading straight towards you and you take a step back but Jaemin’s too quick, already standing in front of you with his cold hands coming up to cup your face, forcing you to look at him. 
“I—”
“I refuse to believe it, you know” You blurt suddenly, eyes brimming with tears that burn. “I just—I can’t believe it. Not after everything we’ve practically been through together. You believe that this was just sex? That the months we spent together, we were just two friends having sex? To fill that empty void?”
“Wait, I—”
“Do you realise that you were the one that broke the rules we had first? The rules that were supposed to keep us grounded? To not let us stray down that path of feelings? You broke two of those rules in the first week we got into this and now you’re here? Telling me that sex was all it was?”
“Baby, you’re not—”
You cut him off immediately. “Enough with that fucking name”
“Y/N—”
“You left me confused, Jaemin” You’re refusing to let him talk now but you can’t help it, your emotions and your feelings getting the complete best of you. You can’t stop yourself. “I loved what we had, it was fun, but you left me so confused. You would do things and you would say things that can be interpreted into something completely different. Then the exclusive shit happened and even though it was something I agreed to, it shouldn’t have happened. We went too far”
Jaemin’s hands slowly drop from your face as a frown slips across his, “Do you regret becoming exclusive with me?”
“Sometimes” You admit, causing him to frown deeper and you notice the look of hurt that flashes in his eyes. “This type of situation always gets messy if ‘official’ or ‘exclusive’ titles are added to it. That’s why people set boundaries, rules. But they were constantly being broken by the littlest of things you did… But don’t worry, it was me who ended up being the biggest fool out of the two of us, right?”
“What do you mean?”
You laugh half-heartedly, shaking your head. “It doesn’t matter if you broke the first two rules, Jaemin. I was the idiot that broke the biggest one of all”
Jaemin stares at you now, eyes wide as he repeats with a whisper, “What do you mean?”
“Rule number three, genius” You snort out a laugh. You’re aware of how much of a lunatic you must look right now, laughing with tears sliding down your cheeks, but you can’t bring yourself to care as the emotions you’ve been trying to conceal come slipping through the cracks. “Rule number three was no feelings involved… No. Falling. In. Love”
Jaemin’s unable to gather the right words to vocalise how he’s feeling, opting to just continue staring at you which makes you scoff, shaking your head in disbelief. 
The weight of the subtle confession has been lifted off of your chest, but with how he’s staring at you silently is making you feel worse. You don’t know if you want the ground to swallow you whole or if you want to kick Jaemin out of your apartment, to shut the door in his face and forget everything that just happened, but you know that’s not going to happen. 
So, you decide to keep going. To bite the bullet. To tell him everything.
“I’ve always had some sort of feeling towards you, but I realised I fell for you when Eunbin came back. How jealous and uneasy I felt when she was around or if you were with her. I tried to make excuses for it, but every kiss you gave me—every touch—I realised that I was far too fucking deep and some stupid part of me believed for the smallest moment, you might’ve felt the same way… but nothing changed. Nothing was said. You were still acting as you always did… closed off and unreadable”
Jaemin hangs his head low in shame. He knows well enough he’s closed off and unreadable, having become the type of person that hides his emotions and feelings towards anything and everything. He feels shame for hurting you with it all, not realising the effect it could leave on you and he sighs, an apology resting on the tip of his tongue and he goes to give it to you, but you start talking again.
“Truthfully, I don’t know anything about you” You tell him, rubbing the tears off of your cheeks. “You constantly have these walls built up around you and you refuse to let anyone in… Not only that, but you refuse to show anyone your feelings. Yet again, it leaves me fucking confused. You confused me and I can’t stand not knowing anything about you, your feelings, your—”
“I appreciate the things I love” Jaemin cuts you off suddenly, causing the words to die down at the back of your throat as you stare at him in surprise. “I appreciate my family for everything they have given me. I appreciate my friends for making memories I’ll never forget. I appreciate my camera for capturing the prettiest pictures for me to see whenever I feel sad. I appreciate sunsets because the colours are warm and comforting. I appreciate coffee because it gets me through the day when I’m exhausted. I appreciate the quietness because sometimes it eases me and allows me to think clearly”
You notice how Jaemin’s breathing gets heavier and you take a cautious step forward, eyeing him as he seems like he’s starting to panic. “Jaemin…”
“And I fucking appreciate you” 
You freeze. You can’t move. You can’t breathe. 
The words repeat in your head, the meaning of it all, the rawness in his tone. You’ve heard it before, he’s said it to you twice already but you never knew the actual meaning behind it and now, standing in front of him, hearing him say that appreciates the things he loves, it makes your heart thump.
“I’m sorry” Jaemin whispers to you quietly. “I’m sorry for hurting you. I’m sorry for not being honest and real with my feelings. It scares me, it has since everything with Eunbin—but I’m at fault too, I can’t put the entire blame on her. I hold myself back and I do things for selfish reasons… but I can’t keep doing that. It hurts people around me when I do and most importantly, it hurts you. I can’t handle hurting you. You mean too much to me”
He takes a few steps forward to stand close in front of you, reaching for your hands and caressing them in his own, thumbs smoothing over your knuckles before holding them in his grasp.
“Eunbin told me everything earlier, about what she asked you to do at the party” Your brows raise in shock at that, not expecting Eunbin to be the one that confesses first. “I don’t like Eunbin. I’d never give her a second chance, ever. You’re the only person that matters to me, so… don’t give up on me yet. Don’t let me go”
You can’t help but give him a teary smile, laughing softly as you squeeze his hands, the warmth in your chest spreading, “You still want to continue as exclusive fuck buddies?”
“God, no” Jaemin laughs at that, noticing your teasing tone before he smiles gently at you. “I want to be your boyfriend”
“My boyfriend?” You grow shy, feeling a little flustered and Jaemin’s grin widens at your reaction, leaning forwards to press a soft kiss to your forehead, trailing his lips down to your cheeks and placing a few kisses there. He reaches your nose next, leaving another soft kiss on the tip before his lips brush over your own.
“I’m ready to be your boyfriend if you’re ready to have one” He whispers against your lips and you nod, wanting to close the gap between you both but Jaemin leans back slightly, shaking his head. “Ask me first. I want to hear you say it”
“Will you be my boyfriend?”
“Yeah” Jaemin grins happily with a nod, letting go of your hands to cup your cheeks. “Yeah, I’ll be your boyfriend”
He presses his lips to yours gently and you kiss back almost instantly, lips moving slowly against one another as you melt in his touch, your own hands coming up to rest on the nape of his neck, threading his hair through your fingers.
The kiss turns feverish in seconds, a clash of tongue and teeth, a little nibbling and groping, and you break the contact to let out a surprised yelp when Jaemin bends down to grip the back of your thighs, hoisting you up in the air and you wrap your legs around his hips so you don’t fall.
He laughs, face muffled in your chest as he blindly carries you to your bedroom, a trip he knows awfully too well that he doesn’t make any mistakes or falls even when he’s unable to see the view. 
He closes your bedroom door behind himself with a simple kick of his foot before he drops you on the bed, his own body falling above yours and you laugh as he huffs, shuffling his way between your thighs with a grin. 
You expected him to kiss you again, to leave you breathless and wanting him but you’re surprised when Jaemin does nothing but caress your face softly, stroking your cheek and tracing the outline of your lips with his thumb.
He’s smiling so gently at you that it makes your heart flutter, the look in his eyes causing you to shy away and look elsewhere but your attention is soon back on him when he whispers your name, leaning down to finally reconnect your lips and you immediately reciprocate, pouring all of your affection and want into the kiss as you lips move against his while your hands fist at his shirt. 
Jaemin’s the first to take off his shirt and you follow shortly behind, pulling it over your head and dropping it mindlessly to the floor as Jaemin attaches his lips to your bare chest, leaving light, feathery kisses over your skin and you arch your back with a gasp, watching as he trails over your breast and down your stomach.
His touch is so oddly loving and caring it feels a little foreign, but your chest warms at the thought of him taking his time with you, cherishing this moment and drinking in every part of you. 
Jaemin hooks his fingers beneath your sleep shorts and pulls them down your legs along with your panties, and you squirm at the cold air that hits, knees knocking against his side but he pays no mind, deciding to lay on his stomach between your legs.
The sight of him staring at you from his position makes you feel shy, but the arousal builds up inside of you and you lift your hips to coax him into touching you, tasting you and you clench around nothing when he leans in, expecting to feel his lips or even tongue but you whine when you feel him press open mouth kisses across your inner thighs. 
“Are you doing this on purpose?” You dare to ask, leaning up on your elbows to look down at him.
He smiles, eyebrow twitching suggestively. “Just taking my time with you, baby”
Without warning, you feel his tongue slowly lap over your slit and you gasp, falling back against the bed as the tip wiggles between your folds before flicking over your clit, causing your hands to fly down to his hair and grip at the roots to ground yourself.
Jaemin seems to be enjoying the moment, moaning in your pussy and he messily slurps you up, sucking on your clit with the right amount of suction that has your body feeling electrified, a cry falling past your lips at the pleasure that swirls in the pit of your tummy.
You start roll your hips against his face, tightening your hold on his hair and Jaemin groans, the vibration on your pussy inching you closer and closer to your orgasm, and Jaemin takes it upon himself to hook one hand under your knee to push it up at an angle that helps him burying himself further in between your legs, mouthing at all the right places.
“Fuck” You curse loudly with a moan, unable to control your sounds as your orgasm builds up faster, the band in your tummy tonighting as your pussy clenches around the tip of his tongue that dips inside of you, the pressure and pleasure becoming too much for you to handle that the band snaps as you cum on his tongue.
“Good girl” Jaemin praises you softly, lapping you up eagerly as he helps ride out your orgasm, grinning as he feels your thighs tremble. 
You struggle to catch your breath, dry panting as you arch your hips away from his mouth and Jaemin’s chest rumbles with a laugh, letting go of your thigh as it drops limply to the bed as he crawls up your body to kiss your lips.
You taste yourself on his tongue and you moan, returning the kiss and sucking on his tongue to which he responds by rutting his hips into yours, confined cock pressing against your inner thigh.
“Take them off” You whisper into the kiss, hands grabbing at his jeans. “Please...take them off”
“Okay” Jaemin hums, tongue intertwining with yours as his own hands reach down to pop the buttons on his jeans, awkwardly shoving them down his legs along with his boxer briefs before kicking them off to the side.
You dip your hand down between your bodies to wrap your fingers around his cock, causing him to groan between the kiss as you pump him leisurely, feeling intoxicated with the way he pants against your lips, mouth agape as his breathing gets heavier and heavier with each tug of your hand.
You guide him to your entrance, coating his cock with your arousal as you slide the tip through your folds and Jaemin deeply exhales, pressing his lips together and he cranes his head down to see you position his cock and you awaiting hole, and he pushes his hips forwards, breaching your entrance. 
A strangled moan leaves your lips, having nothing of that significant size been up there in a while and Jaemin coos softly, taking your hand in his own to give it a gentle, reassuring squeeze as you both watch where you’re connected.
He sinks into you deeper as he kisses you, rolling his hips to thrust slowly, allowing your legs to wind around his waist and he brings your interlocked hands above your head, pushing them into the pillow as he gets comfortable above you.
This kiss is needy and affectionate, and each fluid roll of his hips has you seeing stars behind your closed lids, unable to control the sounds that leave your lips and Jaemin’s the same, cursing and grunting every time he bottoms out inside and you squeeze around him in return. 
Your grip on his hand tightens as your stomach knots, breaking the kiss to allow yourself to breathe when you begin to struggle for oxygen, staring up at him in bliss and he’s smiling down back at you, eyes dazed and lids fluttering with every roll of his hips.
But he buries his face into the crevice of your neck, leaving open mouthed kisses on your skin as the pace of his thrusts start to quicken, the wet noises of your pussy sucking in his cock fills the room along with your shameless noises of pleasure, and your free hand reaches up to grab the back of his head, threading your fingers through the roots as you nip at his shoulders.
“I’m gonna cum” You pant heavily as you feel yourself tinkering towards your second orgasm of the night.
“Me too, baby” He mumbles, groaning as your walls clamp around his cock. “Fuck, me too”
Your hand tightens around his as you reach your climax, whining as your legs tremble around his hips as the knot in your stomach loosens, cumming all over his cock. The feeling of your walls gripping him like a vice triggers his own climax and he’s moaning into your neck, releasing with long spurts that paint your insides and you gasp at the feeling of him filling you up, the warmth spreading. 
He stays above you for quite some time, basking in each other's presence and collecting your breath, staring at one another with giddy smiles which causes you both to laugh.
You love being with him like this, holding him in your embrace and seeing the happiness written across his face, the love and adoration that swirls in his eyes when he looks down at you and even though it makes you feel shy, you can’t help but get addicted to it. It’s something you want to see all the time. He looks so beautiful. 
“Hey…” You say softly and Jaemin hums to let you know you’ve got his attention, leaning into your palm when you rest it on his cheek. “I appreciate you”
His eyes widen a little at your words, but the smile gets bigger on his lips and he turns his head to the side to gently kiss your palm before looking back at you, honesty and tenderness within his tone as he says back, “I appreciate you too”
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➤𝗘𝗣𝗜𝗟𝗢𝗚𝗨𝗘.
“YOU MOTHERFUCKERS!” Miwoo screams as Donghyuck takes her by the arms and Yangyang by her legs as they both carry her towards the shore, threatening to throw her into the sea for her teasing jokes towards them both, neither of them backing down as they step into the water.
You laugh as you watch the scene play out, bringing the bottle up to your lips to take a sip as you rest back into Jaemin’s chest who sits behind you, his arms winding around your waist and kissing your cheek before resting his chin on your shoulder, watching the trio along with you.
Haru and Renjun sit on the beach blanket beside you both, his arm thrown around her shoulder and she resting into his side, mindlessly playing with his fingers as they speak quietly to themselves about something you can’t make out.
Jeno and Shotaro are sat on the other end of the beach blanket, the former getting up to join in with the trio while the latter stays seated, capturing pictures of the chaotic moment while laughing loudly, causing you and the others to laugh along.
The foursome arrive back to the group and Miwoo flops down beside Haru, grinning happily as the others take a seat too and she grabs her beer, raising it up in the air.
“I’d like to make a very dramatic speech and if none of you are crying by the end of it, I will drown you in the sea”
“Oh here we go” Renjun groans, but the smile on his face shows how much he’s teasing. 
“I just want to say that I’m proud of us. We’ve come a long way since the beginning and I’m happy we’re still here together… I don’t think I would’ve been able to become the person I am today without you guys by my side”
Donghyuck starts to playfully fake gag and Miwoo huffs, throwing her middle finger up at him and he begins to smile, returning her insult with some heart hands. 
“She’s right,” Shotaro agrees, raising his own bottle and Miwoo grins. “I get happy being with you guys. I wouldn’t want it any other way”
“Shotaro” Donghyuck coos as he reaches out to pinch Shotaro’s cheeks and Yangyang throws himself at him, the pair tumbling back into the sand as they laugh. 
“Also,” Miwoo starts up again, looking over at you this time. “I want to congratulate you on signing up for the writers trip you’ve been holding off for so long. You deserve to explore and write about all the places you see”
“Stop…” You chuckle, a little embarrassed under the attention and you feel Jaemin’s chest vibrate behind you as he laughs, pulling you closer to him and intertwining your hands, soothing his thumb over your knuckle. “I’m excited to go, but I’m sad to be leaving you guys”
“You’re acting like you’ll be gone forever” Yangyang says as he nudges your leg with a smile. “You’re only going for a few months”
“I know” You sigh, “I just know I’ll miss you guys”
“We also need to congratulate Haru and Renjun for taking the next step” Jeno announces as he looks at the pair. “Congratulations on moving in together”
“Finally away from you idiots” Renjun teases as he takes a sip of his drink and Haru shoulders him softly with a laugh. “Thanks, Jen”
Shotaro turns to Miwoo worryingly, “Are you going to be okay living on your own for a while?”
“Of course!” Miwoo smiles. “Y/N’s only going to be gone for a few months and I need to learn how to be independent, rely on myself for a little while”
“You know, if you need anything, you got us” Donghyuck speaks this time with a serious tone to Miwoo and she nods. 
“You always got us” Jeno chimes in this time, smiling over at Miwoo who smiles back happily and knocks her beer bottle against Jeno’s who lifts his up for a cheers and your heart warms at the two.
“The sun is setting, can I take a picture of us all together?” Jaemin asks as he points to his polaroid camera that sits on top of his backpack and the group eagerly agrees, standing up quickly and moving to stand in front of the sunset.
You and Jaemin both rise from the ground and you go to stand beside Miwoo as Jaemin sets up his polaroid to take the picture and you take this moment to appreciate everything that is going on around you, how the happy smiles on everyone's faces warms your heart.
Who would’ve thought that this was the way things would turn out after everything began? It baffles you, really. 
If someone told you a few months ago you’d be in a position where you’re happily with Jaemin as your boyfriend, surrounded by a strong friendship group and an upcoming writers trip, you would’ve possibly laughed, calling them stupid and unrealistic… Yet here you are, living out this moment.
You laugh to yourself, shaking your head as you lean into Jaemin as he comes to stand beside you, winding his arm around your waist and pressing his lips to your temple lovingly as he whispers to you those three words.
You’re unable to stop the grin that spreads across your cheeks.
You guess it’s just The Way Life Goes. 
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A.N| and that's the final of twlg. this had, undoubtedly, been such a wild rollercoaster to make. this fic has brought me a mixture off all different emotions going between happiness and anger, but it's over. and bro. i'm emotional. thank you for all the support you have given this series, it's been incredible, i'll never forget it.
i appreciate you♡
©mrkis
1K notes · View notes
lowkeychenle · 3 months
Text
See My Sea [ZCL] (M)
Description: You never expected your lab partner to be the captain of the basketball team...or a decent human being, but you get proved wrong twice. Despite a rocky past of your own, you find yourself falling for him faster than you thought. Maybe, with his help, you can finally find your way home and see your sea.
A/N: this is inspired by Marine Turtle sort of ??? it just gave me these vibes oops. HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!!!!!!! I hope u take this fic with u into 2024 lol
Genre: Fluff/Smut/Angst (College AU where Chenle is captain of the basketball team like he DESERVES)
Content Warnings: SLOW BURN! Drinking, alcohol, intoxication, some instances of friends being shitty, verbally abusive ex-boyfriend appearances, mentions/instances of anxiety and insecurity, a panic attack Smut warnings: This might be some of my mildest smut omg, usage of pet names 'baby' and 'sunshine,' oral (f & m receiving), slight dirty talk? there's not much rip
Word Count: 20,040
Pairing: Zhong Chenle x fem!Reader (feat. Mark & Jisung, a male OC named Woojin, and three female OCs, Soobin, Jiyoon, & Heewon)
Juliet's Masterlist | Tell me what you think? :)
Taglist: @carelessshootanonymous @thisisnotjacinta @soberhani @fullsunstrawberry @midmourn
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“I think your answer’s wrong,” the boy next to you says, leaning over your shoulder to look.
You blink in frustration, already hating the new seating arrangement your college professor forced upon you. When you turn to give him your best glare, you hesitate for a brief moment when you see the genuine concern on his face.
His black hair is draped like a curtain over his forehead, just a bit too long. Soft brown eyes stare back at you, unblinking for several seconds as he scans over your expression. His lips are slightly parted as if he wants to continue, but isn’t sure what to say.
“Sorry,” he mutters. “It’s just…if you get it wrong, it kind of affects me now, too.”
“Why would it affect you?” You recoil and slide your paper farther from him.
“This…is a lab.” He frowns. “And that makes us lab partners for the foreseeable future.”
“Ah, great.” You close your eyes and drop your head into your hands.
“I’m trying to help,” he replies.
“Well, I actually prefer to work alone.”
You don’t know exactly where your snippiness is coming from, but you don’t appreciate this random ass guy trying to correct your work. He could’ve at least introduced himself first instead of immediately selecting the douchebag category.
“I don’t think we really have a choice.” He taps his fingers on top of the table. “Sorry if I pissed you off, I was just…”
He clicks his tongue, presses his lips into a thin line, and his eyebrows jolt up quickly before he turns away from you and back to his own work. You take a deep breath, your heart sinking at the idea of snapping at him when he didn’t deserve it.
It’s taken you a long time to get used to people genuinely trying to help you, and your brain sometimes doesn’t get the memo that not everything is a derogatory comment.
“Sorry,” you say softly, inhaling deeply. “You were being nice. And I’m being a bitch.”
“I wouldn’t use that word.” He snorts as he scribbles down some words on his paper.
“Seriously?”
“I don’t like using it in a bad way.” He sets his pencil down and runs his fingers through his hair to push it back.
You laugh. “Don’t men find things like that funny?”
“What kind of guys are you talking to?” The boy scrunches up his nose and shakes his head.
“I…” You pause, pursing your lips. That’s a good question. “But really, I am sorry. I hope we can rewind and work together.”
“Luckily for you, I don’t hold grudges.” He grins and holds his hand out to you. “I’m Chenle. I’m a senior getting a degree in music theory and I’m the captain of the basketball team.”
You think about the information for a second—he seems like a nice person from what you’ve seen thus far, but the basketball team makes him lose a couple points. Most boys in college sports don’t have the best reputations.
Your palm meets his as you take his greeting. “I’m (Y/N). I’m also a senior, but my degree is in Fine Arts. And I’m the captain of embarrassing myself and my friends.”
He chuckles at that one before brandishing his paper over to you.
“What?” you ask.
“I’m gonna help you figure out the right answer.” Chenle beckons you closer.
You hesitate for a moment, but eventually decide nothing will happen in the middle of your science lab. Scooting your chair over to his, you allow him to lean toward you. You ignore the nervousness gathering as the scent of his cologne invades your nostrils. It smells smoky, but in an artificial way. You doubt the man has ever touched anything bad for him in his entire life.
“This one is easy to fuck up,” he murmurs, his pencil scratching against the paper as he leads you through it.
You attempt to pay attention, but as much as you hate to admit it, the smell of him is intoxicating and him being near you has every single one of your senses on edge. Sweat starts to form on your skin, and you almost curse under your breath.
He glances at you out of the corner of his eye, looks back at the paper, and then his gaze rests back on you, like whatever he saw during his first sweep caught his attention.
“Are you alright?” he asks.
You blink, frowning at him. “Why are you asking me that?”
“Uh.” He wets his lips, his cheeks reddening slightly beneath fluorescent lighting. “You’re staring at me instead of the answer I’m giving you.”
Embarrassment rushes through you like a wildfire in a dry forest, and you immediately snatch the assignment away from him and move your chair away. Disbelief wracks your body, because you only realize at that moment that he’s right—you were much more interested in his facial features and the softness of his skin instead of the only reason you let him around you in the first place.
It’s been a long time since anyone has distracted you in that way. All it does is make you want to run away at full speed, but there’s still a few minutes of class left.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to offend you or anything.”
“Just…forget it.” You shake your head. “I’ll figure this out so you don’t lose points.”
“And then what?” He raises an eyebrow at you.
“Huh?”
“It’s not only this assignment.” Chenle taps his fingers against the desk. “It’s all of them. And I don’t want to be a dick, but I’m kind of used to people staring at me.”
You laugh incredulously, dropping your head into your palms. “The universe has fucked me.”
He doesn’t respond, seemingly waiting for you to continue whatever’s on your mind.
“That was kinda douchey.” You fidget with your pencil.
“It’s not douchey if it’s true.” He scoffs. “And I haven’t even done anything to you, so I don’t understand where this hostility has come from after being around me for ten minutes.”
“I just don’t like—”
“Men?” he interjects.
“You.” 
“Okay, well.” He rolls his eyes, inhaling deeply. “I don’t know what your problem is. Did I breathe incorrectly in your direction? I’m trying to help you and you’re not being nice at all. You were the one staring at me, I feel like I should remind you of that.”
“I was not star—”
“Alright, class, your lab assignments have been finalized. You’ll be working with your partner for the rest of the semester, and if there are any issues, you’re adults. Figure it out. The first set of problems will be due tomorrow at the start of class,” the teacher interrupts your thoughts, and leaves both you and Chenle gaping.
“Professor, I have a basketball game tonight—”
“Well, then you’d better finish the worksheet early, Mr. Zhong,” she insists.
“For fuck’s sake,” Chenle murmurs under his breath, running his fingers through his hair. Stress melds through his expression as his brows pinch together, and it almost makes you feel bad for him.
You know next to nothing about basketball. In fact, you weren’t 100% aware your school even had a team.
After he takes a second to calm down, he turns to you. “What are you doing for lunch?”
“I meet my friends every day.” You shrug.
“Oh, great. I’m coming with you.” He starts shoving things into his bag, not giving you a second to comprehend what he’s saying.
“It wasn’t an invitation,” you say.
“I’m not failing because of you.” Chenle sets his bag down on the table. “I don’t know what I did to give you such a bad impression, but you haven’t done much better yourself, okay? The sooner we get this done, the sooner I can worry about getting to practice on time.”
“Practice? I thought it was a game.”
He stares at you blankly, blinking slowly. “I…I practice before my games.” His tone is sharp, as if he expects you to know that already.
“You’re the captain.”
“No shit.” Irritation sparks in his gaze. “Which means I have to be good. And prepared.”
“Now who’s being a dick?” you shoot back. “Am I supposed to just know everything about you already?”
“This…is going to be fucking impossible.” He massages his forehead and takes a deep breath. “We’ll try to finish it in the next ten minutes before class ends, then.”
Spoiler alert, you don’t finish by the end of class, which means, unfortunately for you, you drag Chenle in tow with you to lunch, where your three friends wait for you. The girls are distracted in their conversation as you approach, and you already know what their reaction will be.
“(Y/N), you’re finally here—who’s this?” Alarm flares in Jiyoon’s brown eyes as she glances back behind you at Chenle as if you don’t know he’s there.
“You don’t know him?” Heewon asks. “Pretty sure that’s Zhong Chenle, you know, the captain of the basketball team. He’s friends with your boyfriend.”
“I’ve never seen him before.”
“Yeah, he’s right here.” You nudge Soobin’s arm so she’ll scoot over. “So if you could maybe not act like he’s not.”
“Why is he with you?” Soobin asks.
“It’s not by choice,” you grumble, dramatically gesturing to the seat next to you. “Did you guys eat yet?”
“I’m invading,” Chenle says. “I’ll go buy lunch, alright? Pizza good for everyone?”
“What? You don’t have to—”
“Just answer the question,” he says.
“Pizza’s good.” Jiyoon grins. “Thanks, Chenle.”
He presses his lips together, grabs his wallet out of his backpack, nods at you, and then heads in the opposite direction. You know the second he’s out of earshot, the girls won’t let this go. They apparently know more about him than you do, which isn’t all that surprising.
Jiyoon started dating Jisung a few weeks back, and while you’re happy for your friend (and the fact her boyfriend isn’t the worst man ever), you could never justify wasting your valuable time on anyone else right now.
“Yeah, just walk in with Zhong Chenle and don’t warn us first—”
“I didn’t even know he was a big deal. Or that he’d be coming for lunch,” you defend yourself. “We’re lab partners, and apparently, we’re being forced to work together.”
“He’s not a bad guy,” Jiyoon says. “From what I’ve heard from Jisung, he’s really passionate about basketball and stuff. So like, he takes it seriously. He’s not an ass.”
“That’s not what I’ve experienced.” You roll your eyes, wishing more than anything they would stop before they’re ahead.
“I get you’re in your ‘I hate men era’ or whatever, and I respect it, but you’re allowed to be friends with good guys. You’ll be hanging out around the team soon, anyway. Jisung wants to get our friend groups together.”
“Maybe Jisung isn’t awful, but you know how sports guys are.” You almost shiver involuntarily at the thought.
“Jisung wouldn’t hang around assholes, (Y/N),” Heewon interjects. “You haven’t met him. The kid’s an angel. You morph into the people you’re around, and if he was around dicks, he’d act like one. Or have a single red flag, at least.”
“And, to be honest, some of the team has been mentioned in some sketchy situations, but I’ve heard good things about Chenle, Jisung, and Mark. They’re not man-whores, and they—”
“Glad to hear that’s a criteria for being a good guy.” Chenle’s voice nearly sends Soobin’s soul out of her body.
Her cheeks and the tips of her ears turn bright red, and she quickly mutters out an apology.
He puts the box in the middle of the table, a small chuckle passing by his full lips as he takes a seat next to you. “No worries. I’ll pass the message to Mark. He’ll get a good laugh out of it, considering he’s probably got the highest body count on the team.”
You shift away from him slightly, this topic of conversation not entirely helping your situation with him.
“Mark?” Jiyoon snorts. “Mark Lee?”
“Surprisingly, I don’t know any other Mark.” Chenle grins. “But not every guy is vocal about how much he gets laid. Girls throw themselves at him—”
You tense, wanting nothing more than for the conversation to stop. Chenle cuts himself off, a minuscule glance in your direction making his eyebrows pinch before his poker face returns.
“Anyway, pizza.” He clears his throat, gesturing to the box.
“Wow. Mark Lee.” Heewon runs her tongue over her teeth. “And what does a girl have to do to get on that donation list?”
Jiyoon elbows her, nodding in your direction. An odd silence fills the table before Soobin opens the box and grabs the first slice. Your appetite has oddly disappeared, and none of your friends seem to realize it.
Chenle continues his conversation with Jiyoon—something about Jisung and the practice dates—but while he does that, his pen scratches across the paper on the table in front of you, and when he slides it in your direction, it’s almost unnoticeable.
you should eat
You nearly scoff, grabbing a pencil out of your bag to write your response while your friends still cluelessly converse.
not hungry
“You know, we’re having a party after the game,” Chenle mentions. “You guys should come. Assuming we win, it’ll be time for celebration.”
“Oh, you’ll win.” Jiyoon’s eyes widen. “I’ve seen clips of games online and stuff. Mostly Jisung’s. But if you’re all that good, I can’t imagine you’d lose.”
“Glad to see you’re as obsessed with him as he is with you.” He chuckles and runs his fingers through his hair. “You should all go.”
His gaze rests on you, and Soobin laughs outwardly.
“(Y/N) doesn’t go to parties.”
“Why not?” He frowns.
“It’s a long story,” you interject before any of your friends can spill your secrets. “But maybe it’s time for a change. I’ll go. If Jiyoon is going and if she promises not to ditch me for Jisung.”
“Oh, please, you haven’t been to a party since before Wooj—” Heewon stops herself with a hand over her mouth. She cringes as your chest deflates.
Leave it to your friends to rehash old wounds. You already had a shitty day between your random argument with Chenle, him tagging along with you for lunch, and now Heewon is basically telling him your secrets buried deep.
“Um,” you say, sighing. “We have an assignment to do. Do you want to go to the library or something?” When you turn to look at Chenle, he’s already gathering his things and shoving his materials in his bag.
“Yeah, sure.” His eyes scan over the table. “I’ll see you guys later.”
“(Y/N), I didn’t—”
“Not now, Heewon.” You shake your head, slinging your bag over your shoulder and heading off without another word.
It’s been many, many months since Woojin was in your life. The man who essentially tore your life apart little by little until there wasn’t anything of the real you left. You were a shell of who you used to be, and it took you much too long to realize it. Hell, you’re not 100% sure if you’ve even brought yourself back from that brink. It’s hard to figure out who you are when the person who’s supposed to love you not only drags you down to the bottom of the ocean, but buries you beneath the sand.
But none of your friends get it. They see who you are now—a mask of confidence shielding the gaping open wound—and assume you’re normal again.
Healing isn’t a straight line. You don’t wake up one day and decide to be okay, and admittedly, there are some mornings that are better than others. For most, you find it hard to come up with a reason to pull yourself out of bed.
Chenle follows you silently as you walk across campus for the library. He walks side-by-side with you and stops once he sees the cafe come into view.
“Hey, I’m gonna get some coffee,” he says. “Come with?”
“Uh, yeah. We can just do the work in there, if that’s okay.”
He gives you a half smile and nods, gesturing toward the building for you to lead the way. Once you make it to the door, he opens it for you. You frown, but walk in regardless.
“I’ll get it. What do you usually order?” he asks.
“Oh, no, that’s okay.” You wave him off. “I can get my own—”
“Tell me.” His tone is soft, yet firm, as if you don’t really have any other option but to tell him what coffee you want.
With a sigh, you tell him your order and he walks off with a smug smile on his face. You set all of your stuff up on one of the tables, deciding which questions you need to work on first while you wait for Chenle.
He places a cup in front of you before clasping both hands around his own. Standing there, he doesn’t move until you look up at him, wondering why the hell he isn’t sitting down.
“Can we start over?” he asks. “We clearly got off on the wrong foot, and I don’t want you to hate the entire semester if you’ve got to work with me.”
You pause, clearing your throat. “I’d prefer it that way, I think. If we started over, I mean. I was kind of a bitch, and it wasn’t even your fault, I just…have some issues with trusting people.”
“I noticed.” He chuckles, a grin plastering on his face as he takes his seat across from you. “And I still don’t like that word.”
“Sorry. I was being an ass. Is that better?”
“Yeah, it is. You were an ass.” He sips his drink.
You press your lips together to stop your laugh, but it doesn’t prevent your eyes from rolling.
“And I’m sorry, too. If I made you uncomfortable earlier. Or if I did, indeed, do something to make you hate me randomly.” His fingertips tap against the table. “It really wasn’t my intention.”
“It’s not you. At all.” You scoff to yourself, flipping through the stack of papers before you. “I don’t want to talk about it. But I’ll try to remind myself people are innocent until proven guilty.”
“So…you’ll come tonight?” Chenle hesitates briefly, wetting his lips. “You could come to the game, too. I’m sure Jiyoon would like someone to sit with besides Jisung’s parents.”
“I know nothing about basketball,” you reply, quirking an eyebrow at him.
“Well, yeah, but you could always learn. And now you have friends on the team, so it doesn’t matter if you know or not.” He grabs the first assignment to look at it, pretending as if your answer doesn’t impact him.
You think about it for a moment. After all, maybe you were wrong about him—maybe he’s not some awful guy, and you were wrong to assume that after knowing him for five minutes. The longer you spend time with him, the more genuine he seems. You could use more friends, but you can’t help but wonder if Chenle is the type of guy you should entertain.
Woojin had you fucked up. Between the sports teams and friend groups and everything that went wrong with him, it was so hard to even imagine being friends with Chenle or any of the other guys on the basketball team.
“I’ll think about it,” you mutter. “Don’t get your hopes up about the game, but I’ll be at the party for sure.”
“Party’s a strong word, by the way. It’s just the team and our close friends, so it won’t be like…a rager or anything.”
You nod, chewing the inside of your cheek. “Alright. We should get started before we run out of time again.”
You weren’t planning on going to the game. Not in the slightest. But when the time got closer and closer to seven, you realized there was an odd urge within you that made you want to go. You made the split second decision to text Jiyoon and tell her to pick you up.
Jiyoon brought you a shirt to wear—a simple school T-shirt that said the basketball team’s name on it—and insisted you change before the two of you left. You did as she said, and by the time you got to the gym, you were almost regretting your decision.
You and Jiyoon sat in the bottom row right in the middle. There goes the opportunity to pretend you weren’t there. Maybe he wouldn’t see you. He’ll be too focused on the game, and he won’t even give you a second glance. You’re not sure why the idea of him knowing you’re here makes you so God damn sweaty, but you choose to ignore it.
“What’s wrong with you?” Jiyoon asks, nudging your arm.
“Huh? Nothing.” You shake your head. “I’m good.”
She clicks her tongue. “I’ve been your friend for years, (Y/N). You look nervous.”
“I don’t think I should really be here, I guess, like…I was an ass to him earlier, and now I’m sitting here like I know what I’m watching and like I belong here when he probably doesn’t even like me at all—”
“Dude, you’re rambling,” she cuts you off, placing her palm on your shoulder. “You said he was the one who told you to come. So I don’t think being unwelcome is your problem. Everything’s gonna be fine! I promise. I give you full permission to stare at Jisung the whole time if you have to.”
“He’s not my type.”
“Is anyone at this point?”
“I…” You purse your lips. “I guess you’re right.”
You’re surprised to see the seats fill up quickly, and despite Jiyoon only dating Jisung for a few weeks, she seems really friendly with both of his parents as they sit down in the two spots next to her. Jiyoon leans close to you.
“The couple that just sat down next to Jisung’s parents are Chenle’s parents. Ji and Chenle have been friends since they were really young, I guess,” Jiyoon explains.
Curiosity gets the best of you, and when you look at them, you try to figure out which one he resembles the most. His mother turns and meets your gaze, and you quickly avert it as your face burns. What the hell are you doing?
You wait in anxious silence with Jiyoon until the game begins, and your eyes immediately seek out Chenle. At first, you think you’re looking for Jisung so you can point him out to Jiyoon, but you’re still watching the boys enter the court long after Jisung is already out.
When Chenle makes it out on the court, the wide smile on his face takes you off-guard. There’s no denying the truth—he’s attractive. That’s the extent of what you know about him at this point, but you see plenty of attractive men every day. It’s not like they’ve ever garnered your attention in a way that made you want to watch them.
Unlike earlier, his hair is part down the middle now, probably from running around in practice and preparing for the game. He runs his fingers through it as he walks up to Jisung. The taller man was already standing with their other friend, who you can only assume is Mark. Chenle’s jersey has his last name printed in big letters on the back, along with the number 30.
You try not to study him, but somehow he’s like a damn magnet. No wonder he said he was used to people staring at him.
Jisung glances once in your direction, and then he nudges Chenle and gives him a nearly non-existent nod. He turns, and the second he sees you, his brows jump up in some sort of surprise. Then he grins at you.
“You’re being weird,” Jiyoon mentions, breaking you out of your trance.
“Huh? How am I being weird? He looked at me.”
“Yeah…because he invited you. And you’re here.” She snorts, running her fingers through her hair. “Speaking of which, I think he’s coming over here.”
Your eyes widen, and your head shoots up just in time to see Chenle jogging over to you. You have to crane your neck upward to look at him when he’s right in front of you, and you’re sure the shock on your face is what causes laughter to drop past his lips.
He pulls a simple bracelet off his wrist—one made with blue and gold thread—and holds it out to you. “Wear this for me?”
You blink up at him. “Why?”
“If you wear it and we win, you’re our good luck charm,” he states simply.
Your cheeks burn (hopefully unnoticeably) as you gently take it out of his palm. Your fingertips brush against his skin despite how hard you tried to avoid touching him, and once it’s completely in your hand, he backs away from you as Jiyoon helps you tighten it around your wrist.
“Are we gonna—” Jiyoon starts.
“Say nothing,” you cut her off. “Not a single word about that.”
She giggles to herself. When the game is about to begin, Jiyoon leans forward, hyperfocused on Jisung and the way he carries himself. You want to make fun of her for it, but you know she’ll come back tenfold with jokes about Chenle.
“Also,” Jiyoon whispers, getting closer to you without removing her gaze from the court. “He was totally fucking with you. He just wanted you to wear it. They haven’t lost a game this entire season, so.”
“Why would he do that?” you ask.
This time, she does look at you. She clasps her hands together and stares expectantly.
“Oh, come on. Don’t be ridiculous.” You scoff.
“Dude. His parents are five feet away and he just asked you to be his good luck charm. For a game everyone already knows they’re going to win.” She shakes her head. “Maybe he’ll be good for you.”
“It’s been a day. One day. And I didn’t like him at all for most of it.”
“Yeah, well, you don’t usually like any man on the first meeting, so cut him some slack.” She pats your knee. “But also, the game’s starting, so watch.”
Honestly, you’re not sure what you were expecting. It’s been a long time since you’ve been to a sporting event—especially so for a man, but you try to convince yourself you’re here to spend time with Jiyoon.
But you have to admit, watching Chenle weave around the court is intriguing. He moves with unmatched grace. It looks effortless despite the amount of work you know goes into it. You fiddle with the bracelet on your wrist, chewing on your bottom lip as you concentrate on the way he blocks shots from guys much taller or how he never misses when he passes the ball.
“Told you he was good,” Jiyoon says.
“Sh.” You wave her off.
At one point, Chenle attempts a shot from the middle of the court. You’re hanging onto the details like a lifeline, afraid to even blink and miss something. Much to your surprise, your heart thuds in your chest.
And when the ball goes straight into the net, something launches you to your feet next to Jiyoon as you cheer. Thankfully, the entire section stood, so you didn’t look ridiculous by yourself, but Chenle looks over at you, almost like he’s checking if you saw the points he scored.
You didn’t realize how wide the smile on your face was until you made eye contact with him. Clearing your throat, you brush off your jeans and sit back down in your seat.
“Come on,” Jiyoon whispers. “He’s like…ugh. You should see where it goes.”
Your face burns. “I just like sports, Ji, okay?”
“You dirty liar.” She snorts. “You guys are lab partners anyway, so good luck trying to avoid him. He’s a good guy, he plays sports, he’s smart as hell, and I heard he can sing, actually—”
“I get it,” you grumble. “I’m not interested.”
“You just screamed and cheered when he made the half-court shot. You’re interested.” Jiyoon laughs. “Whatever happens…just let yourself have it, okay? Have a good time. You deserve it.”
Chenle’s team absolutely dominated the other one. They barely scored a couple points the entirety of the game. He didn’t have time to talk to you right when the game finished, as he went back to the locker rooms with the team, but you figured you’d see him at the party anyway.
Mark, Chenle, and Jisung rent a house together near the school, so that’s where their get-togethers take place. He didn’t lie when he said it was more of an intimate get together—only a handful of people were there when you arrived. As much as you would deny looking for Chenle, you spent half an hour doing so, scanning the room back and forth to find his presence, and you were completely lost. On the bright side, Jisung was also MIA, meaning Jiyoon stuck by your side in the kitchen as you made yourself a drink.
You sigh quietly to yourself, the sound almost lost in the music from the living room as you brace your palm on the counter.
“You good?” Jiyoon asks.
“It’s been a while since I’ve been to a party,” you remind her. “You know what happened last time. It just feels…out of place, I guess.”
“Yeah, well, nothing’s gonna happen like last time,” your friend reassures you. “Regardless of who it could be, the guys would never be okay with something like that.”
You tap your fingers, resuming your scan of the room. “They’re not even here.”
“(Y/N).” Jiyoon’s tone catches you off-guard, almost like it’s a bit sharp and pricking at your skin. “I know you don’t know them, but they’re good, okay? They’d never let anything happen to anyone. Let alone someone like you.”
You tilt your cup to your lips, taking a big sip of the fruit punch. When you set it back down, you make eye contact with Chenle, his back pressed against the door frame with his arms over his chest. Your breath hitches at the sight of him. His hair is damp, forehead exposed as the strands stick to the sides of his face. He wears a simple black T-shirt, but something about the way it fits him has every logical thought racing out of your head.
You hated feeling this way. Like you were intimidated by him and the softness of his presence. He made your palms sweat and your mind whirl.
“I’m gonna go find Jisung,” Jiyoon speaks up, bolting past Chenle before you can stop her.
“I didn’t think you’d come.” Chenle pushes himself off the wall, walking over to the counter opposite of you, gaze soft as he looks you over. He hones in on the bracelet on your wrist before flicking his eyes back to yours.
“I probably won’t stay long.” You wet your lips and sigh. “I just feel off.”
“Do you wanna talk about it?” he asks.
“With you?” You blink at him.
He chuckles, running his fingers through his damp hair. “Yeah, with me. There’s a swing out on the patio if you’d feel better away from people. It’s kinda stuffy in here.”
“It’s your party, though,” you remind him. “You just won a game, Captain. That’s a big deal.”
“My lucky charm was there.” He glances down at your wrist again.
Your cheeks burn, and you clasp your hands together behind your back. “The patio sounds nice.”
He gives a small, satisfied grin, and makes his way toward the door to your left. He opens it and waits. You get the hint, shuffling past him to the backyard. His scent—a graceful blend of vanilla and sandalwood—wafts toward you, fresh and strong. Once again, your face reddens at the realization of how much attention you’re giving him.
The porch is wooden, the slats beneath your feet slightly creaking as you walk to the swing. You watch Chenle closely as he follows you, equally relieved and disappointed by how much distance he leaves between the two of you.
You sit in a comfortable silence for a moment, you crossing your legs and Chenle using his feet to propel forward and backward without ever leaving the ground.
Breathing in the night air, you relish in how fresh it feels filling your lungs. Inside, your worries swarmed you, but out here, you’re alright.
Chenle closes his eyes and leans his head back, allowing you a moment or two to appreciate more of him. Your gaze sweeps down his face and over his neck, and you wonder why you’re even paying attention to such things.
“Why don’t you like parties?” he asks.
“It’s not that I don’t like them.” You shrug and pick at the seams on your jeans. “A couple bad experiences just…makes you weary, you know?”
“Sure.” He pauses. “Thanks for coming, by the way. To the game. And the party, too. We didn’t really start off on the right foot, but I’m glad we didn’t leave it there.”
“Oh, speaking of which.” You push your wrist toward him, the blue and gold thread wrapped around it reflecting the light from the opposite side of the window. “You can have this back now.”
“What’ll I do without my good luck charm?” He quirks an eyebrow at you.
You chuckle quietly and roll your eyes. “Jiyoon told me you guys don’t lose either way. I don’t think you need me.”
He tentatively wraps his fingers around your arm. Your gaze darts to his, the breath caught in your throat. You hadn’t expected the warmth from his touch, or the way you swore sparks just whizzed through your skin.
“C’mere,” he murmurs, giving you a gentle tug. “I’ll take it off if that’s what you want.”
You shuffle closer, and without much thought behind it, you’re nearly pressing against him, with your feet planted on the opposite side of his lap. You’re somehow not touching him still, but you’re engulfed in the body heat radiating off of him and the smell of his cologne.
He places your hand on top of your knee and twirls the bracelet around until he finds the knot. “Was it someone I know?” he asks, concentration taking over his tone.
“Who?”
“The guy that somehow convinced you not to go to parties anymore.” Chenle doesn’t look at you when he says it, he continues working away at the thread on your wrist.
“I don’t think so,” you reply, gulping as you pull away until the bracelet is out of his reach. “Not sure you really hang out with that crowd.”
He rests his hand on your knee, his face scrunched as he debates with himself what he should say. “I don’t know the full story, but nobody should control you. Especially not some dude who clearly is a prick. Whatever habits you picked up from him, I really hope you’re able to forget them and be who you want to be.”
“Thanks,” you mutter, not expecting the surge of emotions to hit you until your eyes start welling. You laugh at yourself, shaking your head and taking a deep breath. “I’m sorry. For class today. I’ve learned it’s always better to assume the worst.”
“I noticed.” He smiles, tapping his fingers.
His feet keep the swing moving even with you positioned over him like this. You try to pretend you don’t feel the movement of his sweats against your jeans. What the hell’s gotten into you today?
“Keep the bracelet,” he says. “Can I give you my number? In case you ever need anything?”
You grab your phone out of your back pocket, unlock it, and hand it to him. “Just send yourself a text.” You lean closer while you watch his thumbs dance over the keyboard. His shoulder brushes yours, and when he finishes his text, he looks over at you.
You’re much nearer to him than you anticipated, gulping once you see the swirls of brown in his irises. He wets his lips, fingers splaying out further around your knee. Shifting toward you, he turns ever-so-slightly, his face only inches away from yours.
You’ve known him for less than twenty-four hours, but somehow, you find yourself wanting to kiss him. Maybe it’s from the way his full lips are parted, fresh mint on his breath, or perhaps it’s that odd craving of intimacy you’ve missed since you left Woojin in the first place.
“If you need anything,” he whispers. “Anything at all. Call me, okay?”
You nod, entranced by the little details of him that come together to make him who he is. The cologne. His finally-dried hair parted in the middle. The softness of his touch. His sympathetic stare that doesn’t feel at all like pity, but you can’t place how someone you just met could actually care about you.
“Sorry, for some reason, I just really, really want to—” He’s interrupted by the door opening, the music loud enough to make both of you freeze as if you’re doing something wrong.
“(Y/N), are you out here? Jiyoon said she left you alo—oh.” Soobin halts as soon as she sees you and Chenle. She blinks a few times, like that’ll change the sight in front of her.
“Where’s Heewon?” you ask.
“She went upstairs with Mark.”
Chenle snorts, scratching his forehead. “Girl knows what she wants, huh?”
“She’s not shy,” you reply.
“Are you ready to go?” Soobin asks. “Pretty sure Jiyoon plans on staying with Jisung, so I’m ready if you are.”
Disappointment floods your chest at the thought of cutting your conversation with Chenle short. You look at him to ask what he’d prefer.
“I’ll see you in class tomorrow?”
He smiles softly. “Yeah, I’ll be there.”
You not-so-gracefully swing your legs over his lap to reach the ground, stopping once you’re on your feet to glance back at him. “You sure you don’t want the bracelet back?”
“I like how it looks on you,” he says, shaking his head. “It’s all yours.”
You give him one last smile, and then you walk past Soobin inside. She leads you through the house to the front door, and it’s only when you’re in her car that she looks at you expectantly.
“What was that?” she asks you.
“What was what?”
She glares at you. “Oh, come on. You were on top of him. Your faces were so close I thought I was about to witness you kissing a man.”
“I was not about to kiss Chenle.” You give her a pointed look.
“Oh, my God, and now the man has a name?” Soobin’s face scrunches up. “First, Jiyoon starts dating Jisung, second, Heewon is hopping on Mark’s dick, and I really thought I’d be safe with you, but Chenle?”
“There’s nothing going on between me and him,” you remind her. “He’s my lab partner. And I’m allowed to have friends.”
She opens her mouth to speak, but your phone dings obnoxiously in your lap. You look at it, and when you see the contact name Chenle gave himself, you chuckle.
“Who is it?” Soobin asks.
“Oh, it’s…” you trail off, annoyance creeping in when you realize the reaction you just had to him. “It’s Chenle.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” She lets out an exasperated groan. “I’ve already lost the war.”
The next few weeks pass by. You see Chenle in class every day, and he somehow convinced you to go to the games he had over that span of time. Jiyoon hadn’t lied to you—they simply do win every game they have.
It became normal for not only Chenle to eat lunch with you, Heewon, Jiyoon, and Soobin, but Mark and Jisung, too. Seeing Mark actively talking to and hanging out with Heewon shocked you, but you were pleasantly surprised.
You’d grown quite accustomed to Chenle and his friendship, to the point where he always sat next to you, so close that your legs touched. His bracelet was still latched around your wrist. You rarely took it off, and when you did, the second you were able to put it back on, you did.
Jiyoon rests her head on Jisung’s shoulder, and his arm loops around her waist and pulls her tight. Mark whispers something to Heewon, who giggles and pushes his shoulder gently. Soobin sits next to you and Heewon, but the more the latter giggles, the closer to you Soobin scoots.
“(Y/N), you’re coming to the game tonight, right?” Mark asks from across the table.
“Unfortunately, you’ll be without me tonight,” you tell him, bumping your knee against Chenle’s. “I have a big test on Friday. But I’ll be at the party.”
Mark salutes you and gives you an apparent nod of approval. “Don’t know what Chenle will do without his good luck charm.”
“He’ll do just as well as he did before he knew I existed.” You laugh and run your fingers through your hair.
Chenle grabs your hand to look at the thread, gaze darting over to yours as a tiny smirk forms on his lips. “As long as you don’t take this off, I’ll be fine.”
“Right, because if I do, you’ll be so sad you can’t play.” You fake a pout, and his smirk turns into a full-blown grin.
“Broken hearts kill people, (Y/N). Be considerate.”
“Wow, they’re flirting in real time,” Jiyoon says, nodding.
“Weird, because Chenle doesn’t do that in front of us usually,” Jisung mutters back to her.
You crumple up one of the papers in front of you and throw it at your friends, and it bounces right off Jiyoon’s forehead. 
“Nice.” Chenle high fives you, and you laugh at Jiyoon’s narrowed eyes.
Neither of you deny what’s happening, and it makes your stomach twist and turn with something you can’t recognize. Whatever’s happening to you, you don’t hate it, but it makes you nervous. Your heart races in his presence, and any time you’re alone with him, you want to kiss him.
Soobin and Heewon have another class to attend, so Mark offers to walk them there. The three of them stand and say their goodbyes. Mark loops his arm through Heewon’s and watches her fondly as he walks away with her.
“I thought he was a player,” you muse. “Now he’s all over her.”
“No, no,” Chenle replies. “I said he has the highest body count. But when he likes someone, he takes it seriously. He’s not a player or anything, he just happens to like sex.”
You nod in understanding and shrug. “I guess I didn’t think that was possible.”
“I mean, no offense to Heewon at all, but we were surprised he wanted more. Not anything to do with her, but he was just planning on going with the flow for the last couple semesters,” Jisung adds, chewing the inside of his cheek.
“Surprised on behalf of Mark, I get it.” You hold your hands up before dropping them back in your lap. Grabbing your bottle of water, you sip from it.
“And what about you two? You seem awfully close lately. Anything happening behind closed doors?” Jiyoon wiggles her eyebrows, and you full-on choke on your drink.
“Classy,” Chenle says to her, putting his hand on your lower back. “Are you okay?”
“Yep.” You try to clear your throat, your face burning at the realization he hasn’t vehemently denied or confirmed anything. Like he’s not going to answer until you’ve made yours clear.
“It’s a pretty simple question,” Jiyoon replies. “And you guys have been hanging out a lot. And I don’t really think he can say he doesn’t want to—”
His touch is now burning a hole right through the small of your back, and when you tense up, he’s quick to remove it.
“I don’t think we should talk about this,” Chenle interjects, resting his elbows on the table.
“See? That wasn’t a denial.” Jiyoon grins widely as if she’s proud of herself.
Your friend seems acutely aware you haven’t said anything either, and you know this is her way of trying to push you out of your shell. Chenle’s not denying his attraction to you, and you almost prefer it this way. Most people would jump to the ‘no, we’re just friends’ much too quickly for comfort, but it’s clear he’s not going to do anything to confuse you.
“I’ll see you after the game, right?” he asks, gaze soft despite the topic Jiyoon brought up.
You smile at him. “Yeah, of course. If I finish my homework at a decent time, I’ll try to make the game.”
“Cool.” He nods and stands up. “Jisung and I have a class, so I’ll see you later.”
Jisung kisses Jiyoon, placing his hand on the back of her neck. It lasts too long for comfort, which leaves you and Chenle to exchange awkward looks. Jisung pulls away first, pressing another quick peck to her cheek before he stands up and walks away with Chenle.
“I feel like that wasn’t really necessary.” You scrunch your face at her.
“The second you kiss Chenle, you’ll realize how necessary it really is.” Jiyoon grins, reaching into her backpack for a bag of chips. “It’s been a while for you. Live a little. Not that you’ve ever really…had a good experience with that kind of stuff.”
“Ah yes, thank you for the reminder.” You snort, looking over your shoulder to see Chenle and Jisung in the distance. “I will not be kissing Chenle.”
“Why not?”
“Why would I?” you counter.
“Uh, because you like him?”
“Kissing requires both parties wanting it, Ji.” You shuffle through your notebook, absentmindedly looking at your notes.
She frowns at you in silence.
“What?”
“You think that man doesn’t want to kiss you? Or get you undressed?”
“Okay, maybe. But just because we want to doesn’t mean we should. Or that we will.” You close your book and sigh as you look at your friend. “I’m not ready for something like that.”
“Not ready? That’s such a sad excuse and you know it. He’d never treat you like Woojin did.”
“It’s really only been a few months, okay? If he really likes me, he’ll give me time. If not, he’ll move on, and we’ll be the same way we have been for the past few weeks. We’re friends, Ji.” You gather your things to put them in your bag.
“I think you’re just scared he doesn’t want you.” Jiyoon narrows her eyes at you. “Try it. Literally try to kiss him tonight and see what happens.”
“You’re crazy. I will see you at the party.” But as you finally move away from your friend, images of kissing Chenle flash in front of your brain, and you realize how much that really is everything you want.
You were gonna kiss him. After the rest of the afternoon debating with yourself, you decided that was the best course of action. The past be damned, you deserve good things—and if Chenle is one of those things, then so be it.
You’ve been at his house for an hour, hanging out with him, Jisung, Mark, and a handful of other people you didn’t really know. You sat next to him on the couch, his arm loosely thrown over the cushion behind you.
Shifting closer to him, you rest your head on his shoulder, and his grip tightens naturally, his fingertips brushing the skin of your forearm. There’s no way you’ll kiss him in front of a group of people, but you’re not sure how to pull him away. He talks animatedly with his friends, laughing and celebrating their most recent win.
After a few moments, he leans close to whisper in your ear. “You okay?”
“Hm?” You blink at him, turning and nearly forgetting how to breathe when you see how easy it would be to press your lips to his. “Yeah, I’m good.” You lift your drink, but as soon as you do, someone hits Chenle’s arm behind you, and it makes you jolt as well, half of your alcohol pouring down your front. You gasp at the chill, gaping as you stand up.
“What the fuck?” Chenle sits up to put his drink down, throwing a glare over his shoulder to whoever ran into him.
Before you say anything, he’s right next to you with his hand on the small of your back. You allow him to lead you to the stairs, your face hot with embarrassment.
“Sorry, Chenle, I should go home and change—”
“You can just put something of mine on,” he says, opening the first door on the right and allowing you to walk in first.
The room is somewhat bare, beige walls and dark flooring. There’s nothing really showing someone lives here despite the sweatshirt haphazardly thrown over the desk chair. His bed isn’t made, the gray comforter bunched in the middle.
The music fades to background noise when he closes the door behind him. He goes into his dresser and pulls out a black T-shirt. When he hands it to you, you timidly take it from him.
“You can change, I’ll wait for you downstairs,” he tells you, already turning.
“Chenle, wait,” you call out, cringing at how quickly you said it. “Stay. Just…close your eyes or something.”
“Okay.” He frowns in confusion, but nods, facing the opposite direction.
Without wasting any more time, you pull your ruined shirt over your head and exchange it for his. It’s the school’s logo on the front, and even though you don’t look, you know his jersey number and last name are on the back.
Nerves eat away at your stomach as you approach him. Logically, you know he won’t reject you. He likes you just as much as you like him, but something still has you choking on the thought.
You put a hand on one of his shoulders. “Chenle.”
He gulps as he turns back to face you, but you don’t give him the time to say anything. Your hands move from his shoulders up to his face, cupping his cheeks and pulling him toward you. He allows it, gaze meeting yours once before his eyes flutter shut and your mouths meet.
His lips fit so perfectly with yours, it has you sighing against him. He wraps his arms around you, fisting your shirt as if he needs to ground himself. The pace is slow, his body flush to yours as your touch slides into his hair. It’s softer than you imagined it to be, and you just can’t get enough of him.
“Fuck, wait.” Chenle pulls away. “You’re not drunk, are you?”
You slap a hand over your mouth, face on fire as you turn away from him without an answer.
“Don’t go,” he says, reaching out for you. “Look at me and tell me you’re sober so I can kiss you again.”
Your heart skips a beat, and you allow him to pull you back until your chest bumps into his. You put your hands flat on his chest, surprised to find his heart thumping just as hard as your own beneath your palm.
“I think you forgot you made me the one drink I had…half of.” You peer at him through your lashes, the shine of your lip gloss reflecting off his lips.
“You’re so fucking pretty,” he groans, his hand finding the back of your neck.
As soon as his mouth is on yours, your body arches into his, molding into him like you’re an extension of him. You’re not sure exactly what you’re doing, but you know you’ve never felt so comfortable with anyone else before. You move him backward until the backs of his knees press against his bed.
“(Y/N),” he whispers as you push him down until he sits on the mattress.
“Is this okay?” you ask him.
“Yeah,” he mutters breathlessly, pulling at you. “C’mere, Sunshine.”
A shiver runs down your spine as you climb onto his lap, staring right into his eyes while you crave his kiss. You reach up and swipe your thumb across his bottom lip, entranced. “Call me that again.”
“Sunshine.” He presses you as close as possible by the small of your back. “My Sunshine.”
You kiss him, and when you shift on top of him, you gasp at the feeling of him hardening beneath his sweatpants.
“‘M sorry,” he murmurs. “We can stop—”
“Is that what you want?” you ask him, leaning back to look at his face.
He shakes his head, and it’s the first time you’ve ever seen him so nervous. For the most part, Chenle’s a confident man, so seeing him with even the slightest bit of hesitation warms your heart. His vulnerable side is on full display for you, and you’ll be damned if you’re the one who stops this moment.
“But, (Y/N), I need you to know that—”
“Chenle, can you come help? This fucking guy won’t—Oh, shit. My bad.” Mark stands in the doorway, and instead of flying off Chenle’s lap, you bury your head in his neck. He cradles the back of your head as he looks at his friend.
“What’s going on?” Chenle asks.
“Some dude is refusing to leave but he’s been making a couple girls uncomfortable, and I have no idea where Jisung is.”
“Probably in his room with his girlfriend.” His chest rumbles as he narrows his eyes at Mark. “Yeah, I’m coming.”
You move off his lap and sit next to him on his bed. He presses a quick kiss to your cheek.
“I’ll be right back.” And then he’s gone, following Mark downstairs.
You lie flat on his bed, patting your cheeks and fighting off a smile at the thought of what you just did. Amidst your happiness cloud, you don’t realize your phone is vibrating in your pocket until it’s on the last ring. You grab for it, unsure of who would be calling you at a time like this when all of your friends are downstairs.
When you see the screen, you immediately shrink in on yourself. The contact name has been labeled as “don’t answer,” and by that logic, you already know who it is. As soon as you see it, the call stops, and it turns into a notification instead. You anxiously wait for the second call, knowing Woojin better than you’d like to.
Your breath catches in your throat and anxiety sprouts at the base of your spine, and sudden guilt smashes into you when you process what you’ve done with Chenle. Your hands shake as you get a second notification, one that notifies you that you’ve received a voicemail.
You unlock your phone and immediately play the message.
“How fucking stupid do you think I am? Like I haven’t heard what’s going on with you and Chenle. Seriously, (Y/N)? You gonna let the whole basketball team get in your pants, too? He’s not as good as me. I bet every time you’re on his dick, you wish you were with me. You’ll come back when you realize he doesn’t really want you. The second you stop putting out, he’ll drop you so fast, just wait. The thought of you with him makes me so fucking—wait ‘til I fucking see him, and you’ll see. Do you know what you’ve done? You’re such a bitch, you’re pitting people against each other. I’ll get you back.”
The voicemail ends abruptly, and bile rises in your throat. Your eyes well with tears, and you cradle your knees up to your chest, your phone falling onto Chenle’s mattress. You become acutely aware of the way his shirt feels on your skin, and your guilt rages on. You’re not sure how long you’re sitting there before Chenle comes back.
But it doesn’t matter, because you’re hysterical—you can’t understand a word of what he’s saying, and you fight against his grasp like he’s suddenly not the same man you know.
“Hey.” He cups your cheeks, stopping your abrupt movements and forcing you to look into his eyes. “Breathe, talk to me. What the hell just happened?”
Your chest heaves and you stare at him in shock. You’re sure anyone else would have sent you away at the sight of the mess you became in seconds.
“Was it me? Did I do this?” he asks, thumbs stroking your skin.
Your heart pangs in your chest, and you quickly shake your head, unable to open your mouth to explain. Chenle’s face scrunches in relief as his chest deflates.
“Come here.” He tugs at you until you practically fall into his lap. You curl into him, and he lets you cry on his shoulder.
“Sorry,” you choke out, gripping onto his sleeve. “I wanted tonight to—”
“Don’t do that,” he says. “You don’t need to apologize to me. Can you…please tell me what happened?”
You’re almost too embarrassed to tell him about the message. He’d find out things about your past, and it might change his opinion of you. Although, the concern in his gaze as he wipes your tears away becomes enough convincing. This is Chenle. You trust him, inexplicably.
“Voicemail,” you whisper, jaw quivering all over again.
Chenle kisses your forehead and reaches for your phone. You feel queasy as he finds what he’s looking for and puts the device up to his ear. Faintly, you hear it play. You watch Chenle’s face closely, waiting for the disgust to show like you expect.
Instead, as the recording finishes, his jaw clenches, fire raging in his brown eyes. He tosses your phone to the side and tugs you closer to his chest. You sniffle, and his grip tightens on you. He’s rigid, unmoving except for his hand that runs through your hair.
“Chenle, I haven’t said anything about you to anyone.” You look up at him. “I don’t know where he heard any of that from, ‘cause I’d never spread rumors.”
“I didn’t think you did,” he says, tone soft. “I don’t think any part of that is your fault.”
“You’re not mad?”
“At you?” he asks incredulously. “Of course, I’m not mad at you. His actions can’t be blamed on you.”
For the first time since you received that call, your heart calms. You stare at him, lips parted in shock, and wait for the other shoe to drop. Wiping the rest of your tears, you clear your throat. Fear creeps up your spine, and the only thing on your mind is not scaring him off. Not doing anything to rock the boat so you can keep him, because you’ve already unknowingly fallen for him.
You sniffle, readjusting yourself on his lap so you’re straddling him again. He looks at you in confusion, but his hands find purchase on your hips. You tangle your fingers in his hair, swallowing the reproach you feel toward this situation, and kiss him like the past half an hour doesn’t exist. He returns the gesture, but it’s not like it was earlier. The passion has all but drained, and his touches are tentative.
He pulls away, eyes scanning over your face. “What are you doing?”
“What we were supposed to do in the first place,” you mention, grinding down on him.
He opens his mouth to speak, but a quiet curse comes out instead. Your hands shake as you reach down to the hem of your shirt and tug it over your head. Like Woojin said, as long as you’re giving Chenle what he wants, he won’t leave you.
“Stop,” Chenle breathes out, making you freeze above him.
“What’s wrong?”
“I can’t do this right now.” He drops his head into his palms. “Is this about the voicemail? You think you have to do this for me?”
Your silence is the only answer he needs.
“God, what the hell?” He removes you from his lap and stands up, tugging his fingers through his hair in frustration.
“Don’t go. Please.” Your voice is so small, you barely recognize it. “I’ll do better. Whatever you—”
“No.” He strides over to you and helps you to your feet, hands cupping your face as he kisses your forehead. “No, baby, I’m not going anywhere, promise. I just need a second, okay?”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. Let’s get your shirt back on.” He leans down to grab the black fabric off the floor and helps you pull it back on.
“Chenle,” you whisper.
“Yeah?” His eyebrows pinch together as he looks at you.
“Did you…want to?” You cringe at how small you sound. “Earlier, at least. You wanted me?”
“I did. I do. But I want you to want it, too,” he explains. “You shouldn’t ever feel like you have to do something you don’t want to, especially not things like that. No real man would ever ask you for that.”
“Thank you,” you say, taking a deep breath. “Can I stay with you tonight? Please?”
“I’d prefer it that way, actually.” He chuckles. “I’m gonna be right back, okay? Gonna tell Mark to end the party now, and I’ll be right back. You’ll be okay by yourself?”
You nod, and surprisingly, you actually mean it.
“If you don’t want to sleep in your jeans, you can get a pair of sweats from my dresser.” He kisses your cheek before heading downstairs.
While he’s gone, you change out of your jeans, a dull ache in your head from the sobbing. After you have his sweats on, you climb into bed and slide beneath his comforter. You’re surrounded by his scent like this. You want to melt into the sheets and never leave, surrounded by everything he has to offer all the time.
When he comes back, he locks his door behind him and lays down next to you. He doesn’t make any moves to pull you close, so you take the initiative and bury your head in his chest, wrapping an arm around his middle.
“Get some rest,” he whispers. “I’m sorry you have to deal with that piece of shit.”
“I’ll be okay,” you tell him, sighing. “I have you now.”
His grip is firm on you when you wake up, the steady rising and falling of his chest telling you he’s fast asleep. You sigh in content. You’d never really understood what people meant before, when they said things about not being able to get close enough. He’s pressed flush against you, but you feel as if it’s not enough.
You have no idea if your friends are here, but you carefully crawl out of bed so as to not disturb Chenle. Rubbing your eyes, you grab your phone to check your notifications. Jiyoon texted you a few times to ask if you’d gotten home okay. She’d been upstairs long before you, so it doesn’t surprise you she has no idea you stayed with Chenle.
He stirs with a short groan, but doesn’t open his eyes. You bite back a smile at the softness of his face. His cheek is smooshed into the pillow, and you’re surprised by the odd urge to kiss all over him. Instead, you opt to go into the kitchen for some water.
When you walk in the room, you’re met with Jisung, Jiyoon, and Heewon. Your friends blink at you in surprise, and Jisung laughs to himself.
“Think we found her.” He nudges Jiyoon.
“You could’ve just responded to my text and told me you got dick last night.” Jiyoon throws her hands up in exasperation.
“Nothing happened.” You shrug. “Jisung, water bottles?”
He points to the fridge, you give him a thumbs up, and then you grab one, twisting the cap off and sipping from it.
“You dirty liar, you’re in his clothes.” Heewon narrows her eyes at you. “His last name is on your back.”
“I spilled alcohol on my clothes,” you reply. “Mark was there, ask him.”
“Nothing happened?” Jiyoon asks. “Nothing at all? Not even some light petting or you know, head?”
You glare at her. “You’re such a perv.”
“Mark said he saw something last night,” Heewon blurts out. “And then I said, what? My sweet, innocent (Y/N) would never do something like that. But then I thought about it, and it obviously had to be you because Chenle wouldn’t randomly take another girl in his room.”
“Oh, my God.” Your face heats up. “Yeah, we kissed, but that’s it. Let me breathe before you start interrogating me.”
Jiyoon exclaims in excitement, shaking Jisung’s arm. “They finally fucking kissed!”
You grab a second bottle for Chenle, and then you make your way back toward the stairs.
“Wait!” Jiyoon calls. “You have to give me the details. You can’t just drop that on us and then leave!”
You turn toward her, giving her a pointed look. “Not telling you anything. I’m going back upstairs.”
“Yeah, go kiss Chenle again.” Jiyoon snickers.
“Maybe I will.” You whirl around, gasping mid-laugh when you smack right into Chenle’s chest. Embarrassment shoots through you as one of the water bottles tumbles from your hand. “Oh, I was just about to—”
“Kiss me again?” His lips form the tiniest smirk.
“Water. For you. But—”
“It’s okay, I’ll do it for you.” His palm finds the back of your neck, pushing you closer to him so he can connect your lips. You immediately melt into him, the other bottle falling as you wrap your arms around his shoulders.
The only thing that pulls you away from him in that moment is the obnoxious sound of Jiyoon and Heewon cheering behind the two of you. Your face burns, and you put your palms flat on his chest.
“Good morning.” You clear your throat.
“Would’ve been better with you in my bed instead of the kitchen,” he whispers in your ear.
“Hey, hey! No secrets.” Jiyoon pouts.
“Sorry, she’s very convinced we’re…you know.” You purse your lips. “Did you want to stay down here?”
“Came to see if you were still here,” he admits. “I’d much rather be upstairs with you right now.”
You glance over your shoulder at your friends and Jisung, glaring at them before returning your attention back to Chenle. “My peaceful attempt to get water was thwarted by my loser friends assuming we had sex.”
“You’ve got some nosy friends.” He grabs the water bottles from the floor and gestures back up the stairs. “Exactly why we lock doors in this house.”
When you get to class the next day, you’re surprised that Chenle’s nowhere to be found. He hadn’t mentioned anything to you, so you grab your phone and send him a quick text. Half of the class passes by before you start to worry. He hasn’t messaged you back, and he’s still not here.
You walk up to your professor, fidgeting with your hands. “Excuse me, sorry if this is weird, but did Chenle email or anything about not being here?”
“Not that I’m aware of,” she replies. “But I do think the basketball team had something planned for today. If you’re looking for him, he may be in the gym.”
You nod at her to thank her, and then you do exactly as she says. It’s unlike him to be MIA all day, and you’re sure he wouldn’t be upset seeing you, so why not?
You’re not expecting the room to be so full when you walk in. You don’t see him immediately, but you see Jiyoon and Jisung, so you approach them.
Jiyoon spots you first, confusion sprouting on her features. “(Y/N)? What are you doing here?”
“Um.” You blush, suddenly embarrassed that you came all this way to find Chenle. “Have you heard from Chenle? He wasn’t in class and he wasn’t responding, so…”
“You’re so cute when you worry,” Jiyoon says, nudging your shoulder. “Yeah, the captains of the sports teams do this once a year or whatever. He’s been here all day.”
“Oh, okay, well, I’m gonna head to lunch. Are you coming?” You tilt your head and adjust your bag.
“Heewon’s here, too. You didn’t know about this?”
You frown, taken aback by everyone knowing what’s going on but you. It gives you an uneasy feeling, your stomach twisting.
The door on the far end opens, and Chenle walks through, clearly frustrated at whatever he just witnessed back there. His anger melts the second he sees you, and he makes his way over.
He pulls you into a hug. “What’re you doing here?”
“I…” You pause, throwing one of your arms around him. “You weren’t in class, and our professor said you might be here. I’m a little confused.”
Chenle glances around before he gestures toward the door. “C’mon, I’ll explain.”
You let him lead you away from Jiyoon and Jisung. Once you’re far enough from the crowd, he grabs your hand.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about this,” he tells you. “I just…I figured you knew, but this is a schoolwide event. Which means everyone on a sports team is here, and I didn’t want you to feel pressured to come knowing—”
“Zhong, not inviting your girlfriend to things? Isn’t that frowned upon?”
You freeze at the sound of that voice, and suddenly, everything makes sense. Chenle runs his tongue over his teeth, immediate irritation sparking on his face.
“Didn’t we just have a conversation about you being around her, Woojin?” His body tenses as he turns toward the other man. “Don’t make me get us both in trouble before such an important week.”
He stands directly in front of you, blocking your view of the man. You hold onto the back of his T-shirt and tug gently to tell him it’s not worth it.
“Well, if she’s over me, what does it matter if she sees me? Are you scared you’ll lose out to a better man?” Woojin’s tone seeps with misplaced confidence. “C’mon, she’s not that good to where you have to get so defensive.”
Chenle quickly moves forward, making you lose your grip on him. Fortunately, Jisung and Mark jump in, hands on his shoulders to push him back.
“Hey, calm down,” Mark says in his ear. “We can’t play without our captain.”
Jiyoon and Heewon shuffle past the boys over to you, but you’re focused more on Chenle than yourself at this point.
“C’mon, let’s go,” Jiyoon says, tugging at your arm. “Let Chenle handle it.”
“What? No, he’s clearly not handling it. I’m okay.” You move around Mark to stand in front of Chenle, not sparing Woojin a glance. Despite the uneasiness you feel, you care more about calming him down than giving Woojin the satisfaction of a response from you.
You put your hand on his chest, and his anger all but dissipates when he looks at you. His eyes soften, and he nods at his friends so they’ll let him go.
“I’ll be back,” Chenle says. “I’m gonna take her home.”
“You don’t have to leave for me.” You grin up at him. “I’ll make it fine by myself. I shouldn’t have come.”
“Trust me, I need a walk.” He brushes his pants off and puts his arm around you, guiding you in the opposite direction. The glare he throws at Woojin would be enough to send chills down your spine if it was directed at you.
Once you’re out in the fresh air, you finally feel like you can breathe. Chenle’s still tense as he walks you through the courtyard.
“Are you okay?” you ask him. “I’m sorry, I should’ve just waited to hear from you, but I was worried.”
“Don’t apologize. You have nothing to be sorry for, you’re not the one who’s an asshole.” He pulls you tighter and kisses the side of your head. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m good.” You nod, looking down at your feet as you walk.
He pauses, fingers tapping against your skin. “I’m really not mad at you. I wanted you there, but I didn’t want you to be in a situation like that. So, if anything, I should’ve told you about what I was doing today. I didn’t mean to make you worry.”
You stop, frowning at him. He tilts his head at you and raises his eyebrows in confusion.
“You did that for me?”
He gives you a small smile. “It definitely wasn’t for me. If I was being selfish, I would’ve brought you.”
Instead of responding, you tangle your fingers in his hair and kiss him. He finally relaxes and rests his hand on the small of your back.
He drops his head on your shoulder, sighing. “Don’t wanna go back. Do you care if I just stay with you for the day?”
“Well, you missed our assignment directions, so I think you probably should.” You intertwine your fingers with his and resume your journey.
You and Chenle end up in your room, and he sits next to you on your bed while you shuffle through your papers from today. He shifts, spreading his legs to pull you between them, his arms squeezing around your middle.
“He makes me want to commit murder. I can only imagine how you feel.” He breathes you in.
You chuckle, leaning back on his chest. “Honestly? I just wanted you. I didn’t care about him or whatever he was saying. Plus, he has no idea what he’s talking about. He sucks.”
“Oh, that’s working,” he murmurs. “Tell me all about how he sucks, please.”
“He never let me go to parties. Couldn’t have a simple conversation with any man that wasn’t him. Always hung out with his friends instead of me. I had to ask permission if I wanted to do anything. Even if it was with Jiyoon or Heewon.” Your face heats up, and you’re glad he can’t see you. “He talks about being this great man but he never actually…took care of me.”
Chenle tenses all over again. “What?”
“Uh.” You clear your throat and shake your head. “Nothing.”
“No, no, sorry, I shouldn’t have done that,” he says. “I’m just…I guess I shouldn’t really be surprised, huh? Any man that talks like that probably doesn’t even know how to use his parts.”
“Yeah, he kinda sucks.”
“I’m stuck between wanting to kick his ass or showing you what it feels like.” He kisses where your neck meets your shoulder. “Is he the only guy you’ve been with?”
Your thighs clench together at the sudden heat you feel, and you gulp, nodding. “I mean, I’ve…done things to myself. But yeah. He’s the only one.”
“I…” His eyelashes flutter against your skin. “God, I could kill him.”
You turn your head until you meet his gaze, heart pounding in your chest as you work up the courage to say what you want. His eyes dart down to your mouth before he wets his lips.
You trace your finger over his cheekbone, shifting back against him. “Why don’t you stop thinking about him and show me?”
He kisses you hard, hands clenching at the fabric of your shirt. You try to move so you can straddle his lap, but he tightens his grip instead.
“Relax, baby,” he murmurs. “You don’t have to do anything. Just lay back and let me take care of you, yeah?”
“Are you sure? I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”
“Do you want me to touch you?” Chenle’s hand slides down to the button of your jeans, and your breath catches in your throat.
“If you want—”
“Do you want me to touch you?” he repeats. “I’m not doing it if you don’t want it.”
“Yes.” You look into his eyes. “Please.”
“There you go.” He gives you a small smile as he pops the button and unzips the zipper. “Lift up for me for a second? Wanna get these off of you.”
You do as he asks, and he pushes the fabric down to your knees. With anyone else, you’d feel embarrassed to be seen this way, but Chenle’s lips against your neck and fingertips exploring your bare thighs has you forgetting all about it.
You lean back on him, already panting at the thought of him so close to where you want him. He traces along the hem of your panties before tracing down to your core, ghosting from your entrance to your clit. You bite your lip to stop yourself from making a sound.
“You can stop me whenever if you want to, okay? Don’t think you have to do this because you already said yes.” He rubs tentative circles on you with just enough pressure to have you squirming.
“I want it,” you tell him. “I want you.”
“I know, baby. I’m letting you know it’s okay if you change your mind.” His cock is hard already, digging into you back as he presses a little harder.
This time, you can’t hold back the moan fluttering past your lips. You put your hand over your mouth, and he uses his other hand to pull at your wrist.
“Let me hear you.” His voice is deeper than you’re used to, thick with want for you. “Tells me if I’m doing a good job.”
He stops his movements to slide his hand beneath your panties. His fingers move to your entrance, and he curses under his breath and the feeling of your wetness. You cry out when he slips them inside you, not sure what to do with your hands as your eyes roll.
“Good?” he asks, kissing along your neck. His body radiates heat. It pours into you, your chest heaving while you reach up to tangle your fingers in his hair and kiss him hard.
“More,” you whimper.
His tongue enters your mouth, delicately wrestling with yours. He pumps his hand faster, his palm finding your clit with every thrust. You’re embarrassed by the way your legs shake, but you don’t break the kiss. Your hips buck up, a knot forming in your stomach that you’ve only ever felt by yourself. It’s more intense when it’s Chenle, the butterflies swarming around the closer you get.
He curls his fingers, finding your spot. You squirm and moan as your high takes you, your grip on his hair tightens while you grind down. While you float on the cloud he created for you, he moves slowly to bring you back down to earth, and he kisses all over your face. He gently removes his fingers and wipes them on his shirt.
“God, I wanna fucking eat you out so bad,” he pants. “Fuck.”
You push your jeans off the rest of the way and turn around to straddle his lap. His hands find your hips, holding you away from the noticeable bulge in his shorts.
You frown. “What about you?”
“Baby, I’m good. I’m just gonna go take care of it in the bathroom.”
“You don’t want me to—” Your chest deflates.
“That’s not it.” He chuckles breathlessly. “I promise you, the only thing I want more than being inside you right now is making sure you know that me doing things for you doesn’t mean you have to for me, too.”
You’re silent for a moment, blinking at him as he traces shapes on your hips.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
“I—I think I’m in love with you,” you say it so quietly, you barely hear the words yourself.
His eyes widen, and within seconds, he’s pulling you in for another kiss. He cradles the back of your head as he flips you over. Resting between your legs, his lips work on yours like he’s never kissed you before.
When he pulls away, your face is still on fire from your confession.
“I’m so sorry,” you tell him. “I don’t know why I’d say something like that, and you don’t have to—”
“I love you, too,” he cuts you off, smiling. “Give me, like, five minutes, Sunshine. I’ll be right back.”
Before you protest, he’s jumping away from you and heading into the bathroom. You splay out on your bed, giggling to yourself as you replay what happened in your head. The thought of him taking care of himself in there has your imagination wandering dangerously. You start to wonder what would happen if you offered to help him.
You finally decide to get up and grab a pair of sweatpants from your dresser. As soon as you have them secured on you, Chenle comes out of the bathroom. He wraps his arms around you, pulling your back to his chest.
“Sorry you had to do that,” you murmur, taking a deep breath.
“It’s not the first time,” he admits, chuckling.
Your jaw drops and you turn to look at him. “Seriously?”
“The world will fall to its knees when you finally accept how fucking perfect you are.” He kisses the tip of your nose. “Come lay down with me. We’ll worry about homework later, yeah?”
You curl into his chest when you join him on your bed, legs tangling with his. He runs his fingers through your hair, pressing his lips to the top of your head. A giddy feeling runs rampant in your chest, and all you want is to stay here forever with him.
“Thank you,” you whisper to him, squeezing his waist.
“You don’t have to do that.” His reply makes his chest rumble. “I promise I’ll always treat you the way you deserve.”
“I don’t doubt that for a second,” you hum, closing your eyes.
His heart thrums in his chest, the sound filling your ears and calming you despite how fast it is. You make him as nervous as he makes you, and that thought alone puts a smile on your face.
He gives you a sense of calm you haven’t felt in a long time—you’re safe.
For a week, you don’t see Chenle except in class. It disappoints you, but as his championships approach, he’s been practicing nonstop. He offered to come over after his practices, but he’d be stumbling in past midnight, so you declined.
You’re getting ready for bed when you hear a knock on your door. Hesitating, you’re not sure who would be at your place, let alone knocking. You check your phone to make sure you didn’t miss any texts, and then you look out the peephole.
You recoil at the sight of Woojin, stumbling back until you bump into your table. What the hell was he doing at your house.
“(Y/N), open the door.” He has to be shouting. His voice is much too clear. “I just wanna talk to you. I know Chenle’s not here, babe, let me in.”
Your first instinct is to grab your phone out of your pocket, but you’re not sure what you plan on doing.
“Let me in or I’ll find a way in without your help,” Woojin warns.
You turn away and bolt back to your room, closing it and locking it before your first instinct is to dial Chenle’s number.
“I was just about to call you,” he answers. “We got out early so I was gonna see if—”
“Woojin’s outside.” Your voice warbles as you try to stand steady, tugging your fingers through your hair. “He said he’s gonna find a way in, and I don’t remember if all the windows are locked or—”
“Hey, hey, listen to me, okay? I’m on my way. Go to your room and lock the door. I’ll be before you know it. He’s not going to get to you.” His tone switches from lighthearted to dead serious, but somehow still comforting despite the situation.
“Chenle—”
“I know, baby. Make sure your door is locked.”
Woojin pounds on the front door more, and you drop your phone.
“If you think he’ll make it before I get to you, you’re wrong. This could’ve been fucking easy, (Y/N)!” A cold edge takes over Woojin, and tears well in your eyes.
This man was forcing his way into your house, and fear paralyzes you from head to toe. You can’t move, no matter how much you try. At least the noise alerts you to where he is, but when the silence sets in, you feel bile in your throat.
You sit on the floor, cradling your knees to your chest as you rock back and forth as your only option for response. Nothing changes, and suddenly, you hear a familiar voice through your bedroom door.
“(Y/N)? It’s Mark, are you okay? Chenle’s outside.”
It’s not enough. You can’t speak or move to unlock the door, and you don’t want Mark.
“He’s taking care of it,” Mark continues.
After more silence, he seems to get that you’re not going to respond to anyone but Chenle.
A few more minutes pass, and a light knock sounds.
“(Y/N), open the door,” Chenle says softly. “I’m here, Sunshine. Come see me.”
You pick yourself up off the floor and make your way over to the door, unlocking it but not having enough energy to open it. As soon as he hears it, he’s in your room and wrapping you up in his arms.
“Are you okay?” He kisses the top of your head, his heart pounding in his chest. Pulling back, he grabs your face, wiping away the tears you don’t recall shedding.
“He tried to—” You choke on your words, opting to bury yourself in his grasp instead.
And then you see his hands, some of his knuckles split and bleeding. You gasp and grab his wrists, gaping at his injuries.
“Chenle, what did you do?”
“Just taught him a lesson is all,” he tells you, shaking his head. “I want you to come stay with us for a little while, okay?”
“Huh?”
“I want you to pack a bag and come stay with me, Sungs, and Mark for a while.”
“I can’t do that.” You put your hands on his shoulders. “You said you handled it, right?”
“Please?” He cups both your cheeks. “It’ll make me feel better. I know he won’t try anything there.”
Reluctantly, you agree, and he helps you gather your things. He insists on carrying it for you, and he leads you through your house. When you make it outside, you see a handful of people you don’t know and Mark and Jisung. You turn to look at Chenle.
“Is…is this the whole basketball team?” you ask.
“We were all leaving when you called. They offered to help.” He shrugs.
You’re exhausted by the time you make it to Chenle’s. Jiyoon and Heewon are already there, and when they see you, the looks on their faces tell you everything you need to know. Chenle guides you upstairs without a word.
“Chenle,” you mutter after he closes the door.
“Yeah?”
“I don’t wanna talk about it, okay?” You fight your tears and grab his hands. “Let me help you clean up, and then I just want to go to bed.”
“Anything you need.” He kisses your forehead.
“Do you have a first-aid kit?” You sniffle and wipe at your eyes.
He leads you into his bathroom and grabs a plastic case from under the sink and a bottle of hydrogen peroxide. Sliding onto his counter, you spread your legs to allow him room close to you. You don’t say another word, you just get to work. He flinches when you wipe his wounds, and you sigh at the amount of damage done. All of it for you? It didn’t make sense.
“I’m sorry,” he tells you, staring down at your movements. “It just makes me…so mad that he thinks he can get away with trying to hurt you. So, I’m sorry if I hurt you by doing that, but I’m not sorry for protecting you.”
“You brought the whole team.” You chuckle and kiss his cheek.
“You’re important to me, and by definition, that makes you important to them, too.” He shrugs and pulls his hands away from you to grip the edge of the counter. “You’re safe with them.”
“I wasn’t done,” you scold him, but you enjoy his warmth anyway.
Chenle shakes his head. “Just let me look at you for a sec.”
You’re sure your face is puffy, eyes bloodshot from tears you barely remember, but he stares at you so fondly you forget all about it. He gives you the faintest smile.
“Come to bed with me?” His voice is so soft, like he’s afraid of any louder octave breaking you into pieces.
You cup his cheeks, stroking his skin with your thumbs. “What if it gets infected?”
“It won’t,” Chenle reassures you. “I’m exhausted. And I have class in the morning.”
You nod, and he takes a step back to allow you to get down. Following him into his bedroom, you feel how heavily sleep tugs on you, too. You sit on the edge of his bed as he moves his comforter so he can get under it. Watching him over your shoulder, you appreciate how soft he looks. All you want is to be close to him at all times. Whenever he’s away from you, the air is so much colder.
Chenle wraps his arm around you and pulls you to his chest so you can curl into him. “I love you. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.”
“I love you, too. And you got to me in time, that’s all that matters.” Your mouth brushes his gently at first, and then you allow him to part your lips with his tongue. 
Despite that and the way he holds you so tightly, there’s no real heat behind this. You wrap your leg around his waist, and his hand moves down to your ass. Sighing, you shuffle again, getting lost in his kiss and the feeling of his hands all over you.
He squeezes you, making a short moan escape your lips. Resting his forehead against yours, he closes his eyes.
“We should stop.”
“You’re the one touching me,” you point out, tracing your thumb along his bottom lip. “We can stop if you want to, but I want it. So, don’t stop on my behalf.”
He rolls his hips toward you, pressing his hardening cock against your clothed entrance. “Does it feel like I want to stop?”
“I want you so bad.” You sigh as you grind on him. “I haven’t stopped thinking about you since—” Your face heats up at your confession, but he smiles.
“I let you cum one time, and now this,” he teases you, biting back a wider grin.
You smack his shoulder. “It felt good.”
“It’s supposed to,” he retorts. “And if you’re ever with me and you don’t finish, you’d better tell me. Because I’ll make it happen.”
“I haven’t finished yet.” You continue grinding on him, his hardness sliding perfectly against you.
He massages your ass, the pressure of it slotting him firmly between your legs. You kiss him hard and let out a shuddering breath at the stimulation of your clit through your pants and underwear. His teeth sink into your bottom lip, and he tugs until you let out a short whine.
“God, I don’t wanna have you for the first time while Mark and Jisung can hear,” he groans, burying his head in your neck. “Need to hear how I’m making you feel.”
“So let me just take care of you.” You move your hand down his body until you squeeze his bulge.
“You don’t have to,” he says, voice strained.
“If I want to?” you ask.
He inhales sharply, but doesn’t exhale. “Whatever you want, Sunshine.”
“Close your eyes and relax.” You kiss him gently before moving beneath the blanket.
He shifts onto his back, and you pull his pants down enough to palm him over his boxers. A short gasp leaves his lips. That’s enough for you to decide to slide your hand inside and grip his length. He throbs as your thumb rubs over the tip.
You're more nervous than you’d care to admit, but when you put the head in your mouth and suck, his low curse is all you need. You sink down further, attempting to relax your throat to take him deeper. He struggles to keep quiet, his moans sending bursts of wetness to your core.
You grab his hand, finding it fisted into the sheets, and bring it to your hair, hoping he’ll get the message. He immediately starts guiding your head up and down on his cock, and the slight sting from his movements has you moaning around him.
“Gonna cum,” he warns you. “Fuck, baby, your mouth is so good.”
You dig your nails into his thigh, sinking all the way down until your eyes water from gagging on him. With one last groan, he spills down your throat. You swallow what you can, climbing out from under the blanket while he readjusts himself in his pants.
“You’re fucking killing me,” he groans, reaching up to wipe the corner of your mouth. Before he moves away from you, you take his thumb in your mouth and suck.
“Feel better?” You quirk an eyebrow at him.
He shifts, laying you on your back so he can settle between your legs. You’re a little surprised when he kisses you hard, tongue and all, considering you swallowed his load, but he doesn’t seem to care about that.
“Your turn,” he mutters, kissing and nipping along your neck.
“You shouldn’t.” You run your fingers through his hair. “Your hands are—”
“Oh, baby.” He chuckles. “I don’t need my hands for what I’m about to do to you.”
“What happened to not having to do things just because the other person did?” You chuckle as he plays with the hem of your pants.
“You fucking earned it.” He nips your collarbone. “Plus I’ve wanted to taste you for so long. So, really, this is for me, too.”
“That feels backwards.”
He lifts your shirt up so his lips can graze your skin on the way down, tongue dancing along. Your breathing becomes uneven from the anticipation. With him between your legs, you can’t move to create the friction you crave.
“Is this okay?” he asks you.
You nod, helping him remove your panties. His gaze darkens as he sees your core, surely slick with your arousal. The pause he takes is minimal, and within seconds, he’s licking a broad stripe up your core. Your hand flies to his hair, whining as your back arches. He sucks your clit into his mouth, tongue flicking it fast. His arms wrap around your thighs to stop them from clenching around his head, and his nails digging into your skin amplifies your pleasure.
You squirm beneath him, moaning as he dips into your entrance. His nose nudges your sensitive bud, and you wonder how you’ve gone this long without feeling this kind of pleasure. Lewd sounds emanate from where he’s attached to you as he works your entrance like he’s done it a hundred times.
You look at him, at the sight between your legs, and feel a whole new burst of heat between your legs. It feels like a rubber band is being pulled tight in your stomach, and you know damn well how soon it’ll snap.
The second his gaze flicks up to yours while his mouth is attached to your core, your orgasm hits you hard. Your back arches as your hips buck, and you tug hard on his hair until he’s moaning against you.
He doesn’t let up, helping you ride out your high before he starts to slow his pace. When you’ve come down from it, he separates from you, sitting up on his knees to get a good look. His lips glisten with your arousal, and you wet your lips at the thought of the evident bulge in his pants.
“Not tonight, baby.” He wipes his face with the back of his hand. “Not with them in the house, and not after everything.”
He grabs you a clean pair of panties, sliding them up your legs before he kisses you deeply. You moan at the taste of yourself.
Once you nod, he practically collapses on top of you, his head resting on your chest. You like feeling the weight of him and his warmth, so you wrap your arms around him and hold him while you will your heart to calm down.
In the morning, Chenle kisses all over your face to wake you. You groan, pushing at him despite only wanting him closer.
“I have to get to class,” he tells you. “And I have practice later, but I’m gonna leave a little early.” His lips trail to a sensitive spot below your ear.
“Leave practice early?” You fake disappointment. “Why would the captain leave early?”
“Because the captain is tired of his roommates being home when all he wants is alone time with his girlfriend. So, he’s gonna take some time to do the things he’s been dreaming of the past few weeks.” He drops his weight on top of you, resting his head on your chest. “If that’s okay with her, of course.”
“Oh? What things?”
He smirks up at you. “I’m gonna take you on a date, and then, if you’re up for it, I really, really wanna be inside you all fucking night.”
Your face heats up at the bluntness of his confession, but you nod.
“Just for bonus points, I’ll tell Mark and Jisung not to come home tonight, yeah?” He lifts himself up on his palms until he’s hovering over you.
“Why don’t you stay here, and we can be without them all day?”
“I have a test.” He sighs, placing one last kiss on your collarbone. “If that were an option, I’d’ve already picked it.”
Chenle pats your hip before rolling out of bed. He’s already changed into jeans and a T-shirt, but you admire him anyway. You turn to your side and curl into the blanket, planning on staying in that very spot until he comes back.
“I’ll see you later.” He grabs his backpack and heads for the door, glancing once more over his shoulder before he disappears. Even though he closes the door behind him, it doesn’t take long for it to open again, Jiyoon poking her head through.
“Hey.” She gives you a nervous smile. “How are you feeling?”
“I’ve been worse,” you reply, sitting up. Pursing your lips, you remember your pants are on the other side of the room. Jiyoon notices at the same time you do.
“Y’know, I thought I heard something last night,” Jiyoon jokes, sitting at the foot of the bed. “But then I was like, no way. (Y/N) is celibate.”
“Oh, come on. Celibate?” You glare at her.
She holds her hands up in mock surrender. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me the second it happened.”
“It hasn’t. That’s why you haven’t heard about it.” You shrug.
“That explains why it’s only your pants.” She frowns. “Why’s it taking so long?”
“It’s only been a couple months, Ji.”
“Yeah. That’s like six years in guy time.”
“We’ve done…stuff. Just not that.”
“Oh, my God, wait! I have to get Heewon before you spill.” Jiyoon squeals in excitement and runs out of the room.
You fall back against the pillow and sigh. As much as you want to tell them, you also want to keep it to yourself. It feels…private. Magical. Something only shared between you and Chenle.
They’ll ask you questions about him—and you’ll only ever be able to answer in one way. He’s perfect, and every second you spend with him makes you want more.
You end up in the living room with them after changing your clothes for the day. Jiyoon ordered pizza, and shortly after Chenle left, Mark and Jisung head out for practice.
But Chenle comes back a lot earlier than you expected. You, Jiyoon, and Heewon share an awkward glance. It must be right after his class, considering it’s only been an hour and a half.
“I thought he said he was still going to practice?” Jiyoon whispers.
You shrug. “Yeah, he did.”
He exchanges a look with you, and you realize immediately that he’s not happy. Shaking his head, he turns and immediately heads upstairs.
“Did he look upset to you guys?” you whisper.
“I think he wants you to go with him,” Jiyoon replies, pushing your arm.
“I’ll be right back.” You wipe your hands off on your napkin before following him to his bedroom. He’s on his way back out when you make it up there.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
“Checking on you,” you tell him. “You’re back early and you don’t seem happy, so I wanted to make sure you’re good. Why aren’t you going to practice?”
“Why would I practice if I can’t play in the game?” He raises his eyebrows at you.
“What do you mean you can’t play?” you shoot back, eyes widening. “Is this because of me?”
“No, it’s not your fault.” He wets his lips. “I don’t really wanna talk about it right now. Let’s just go downstairs, yeah? If I don’t get to hold you, I might go crazy after everything today.”
You nod and intertwine your fingers with his. “Yeah, of course.”
When the two of you take your seats, you motion at Jiyoon to tell her not to ask him any questions. You sit next to him with your legs over his lap, and his thumb rubs your thigh through your jeans.
You rest your head on his shoulder, listening to whatever story Heewon is telling. When you look over at him, he’s relaxed back on the cushion, eyes closed. You know something’s bothering him, but you don’t want to push or make him feel uncomfortable by prying. Instead, you shuffle closer to him.
He pulls you onto his lap, squeezing his arms around you and letting out a long sigh. It worries you more than you’ll admit, and when you glance over at your friends, they’re talking to each other in hushed voices.
“We’ve got a class,” Jiyoon says, standing up with Heewon. “We’re gonna head out. Talk to you later?”
“Yeah, of course.” You smile at her, and then quickly mouth ‘sorry’ before she waves you off like it’s no big deal.
Once they’re out of the door, you look back at Chenle, shifting so you’re straddling his lap to allow you a good view of him.
He runs his fingers through his hair, gaze traveling over you. “Would you hate me if we took a rain check on the date day?”
“I could never hate you.” You frown at him. “Whatever you need. Just tell me and I’ll make it happen.”
“Come take a nap with me?” he whispers, eyebrows furrowing slightly. “All I want is to hold you and forget today exists.”
You give him a soft smile. “Of course.”
You’re not sure what it is exactly that has him so upset, but he said he didn’t want to talk about it. He guides you upstairs, fingers intertwined, and closes his bedroom door behind you once you’re both in.
Rummaging through his drawers, he grabs a shirt and hands it to you. You take it without question before going to your bag to get a pair of shorts. Without a second thought, you take your own shirt off and drop it on his floor, glancing over your shoulder at him to see him changing into a pair of sweatpants. You secure his shirt on before unbuttoning your jeans, pushing them down your legs until you can kick them off.
His arms snake around your waist, pressing his chest to your back. He kisses your cheek. “This was supposed to be a good night. I’m sorry, Sunshine, I’ll figure it out soon, okay?”
“Hey,” you murmur, turning to him. “You don’t have to apologize to me. We have all the time in the world for dates.”
“Thank you. I’m fucking exhausted.” Chenle moves toward his bed, and you follow without hesitation. When you’re both settled beneath the comforter, you curl into him like you can’t get close enough.
You’re not sure who falls asleep first, but you wake up before him. The dim lamp in the corner is now the only lighting, the sun no longer illuminating the walls in orange. A door opening and closing downstairs followed by Mark and Jisung laughing together is what stirs you.
Reluctantly pulling yourself away from Chenle, you grab your shorts from the edge of the bed and slide them on before heading toward Chenle’s friends. You rub your eyes to help you adjust to the brightness of the kitchen, and Jisung and Mark stop their conversation as they notice you.
“Hey,” Jisung says, fingers tapping on the counter.
“Don’t let me interrupt.” You chuckle, your voice still heavy with sleep. “I just wanted to ask you guys something if that’s okay.”
Mark nods. “Yeah, of course.”
“Why wasn’t he at practice today? He said something about not being able to play?”
The two boys share a look, and for some reason, that makes you feel as if you already know the answer.
“It’s because of me, isn’t it?”
“Not you,” Jisung replies. “But…”
“But what?” You cross your arms over your chest. “Come on, if there’s something I can do, I want to help.”
“Woojin reported Chenle for kicking his ass. And Coach asked him why he’d do something like that, but he wouldn’t say anything. He didn’t want to air your business or whatever, and he’s pretty much banned the rest of us from defending him. Honestly, he didn’t even want us to tell you. But we’re gonna lose without him, and this is the last championship before graduation.” Jisung pauses, pressing his lips together. “Not that we blame you, because what happened wasn’t your fault at all, but it’s just…”
“No, I get it,” you tell him. “Don’t tell him I know. I’ll fix it.”
“That’s not exactly what I meant by that, either.”
“I’m not letting myself be an inconvenience to him, Jisung.” You chew on the inside of your cheek, contemplating your next move. “Where is the coach at after mine and Chenle’s lab?”
Jisung and Mark explain to you where to find him, and then you make a mental note of it before you thank them and go back upstairs to Chenle. He’s fast asleep when you make it back, and you already know after all of the things he’s done for you, telling the truth is the least you can do for him.
Like nothing happened, you climb back into bed and resume your place against his chest.
After your lab, you make an excuse as to why you won’t be at lunch that day. You kiss Chenle’s cheek quickly, and then you’re off in the opposite direction to find his coach. Luckily for you, Jisung’s directions were foolproof, and you made your way to the office easily.
You told the truth—everything about your past with Woojin, how he’d been harassing both you and Chenle, and how he was attempting to break into your house when Chenle came to help you. It was hard to get through the story, but you knew he deserved to play in the championships. There wasn’t anything that could convince you otherwise.
You told the coach to verify the story with any of the rest of the team, and they’d corroborate it. Once you left, a weight felt like it’d been lifted from your shoulders, but you could only hope it was enough to get him his spot back.
Soon enough, you're back in Chenle’s room, sitting at his desk doing your part of the assignment from the lab. Practice starts an hour after lunch, which means you weren’t expecting him for a while yet, but when the front door opens downstairs, you’re sure it’s him.
“(Y/N)?” Chenle calls up to you.
“Homework,” you respond, nervous for his reaction.
You stand up as you hear him approaching. He opens the door, and within seconds, he’s right in front of you, tangling his fingers in your hair and smashing his lips to yours. Your surprised gasp gives him the opportunity to slide his tongue in your mouth, his other hand finding the small of your back to keep you pressed firmly to him.
He rests his forehead on yours, panting. “As much as I should kill Mark and Jisung for opening their big fucking mouths, I can’t believe you did that.”
“Are you mad at me?” you ask. “I didn’t want you to get in trouble and lose out on your games because of me, and when I—”
“No, baby, I’m not mad at you. I’m just so fucking in love with you.”
“I love you so much,” you tell him. “Are you playing next week?”
He nods, grinning. “Yeah, but I told Coach I’d come back next practice. And I also told Mark and Jisung not to come home tonight.”
You don’t respond, instead kissing him once again. He moves softer this time, his hands moving down to grip your ass. Mind whirling, you sigh into his mouth.
“I like this better than the idea of finishing homework.” You chuckle, gripping his shoulders.
“I want you so bad,” he continues, kissing up your neck. “I can’t believe you did that for me.”
Your body heats at his words, images of the ways he’s made you feel before flash across your mind. “I’d do anything for you.”
His lips are on yours again, walking you backward until the back of your knees hit the edge of his bed. You tug on his hair, and the groan he lets out sends shivers down your spine. This is what you’ve been waiting for—and when he pulls away to ask you if it’s okay, you take your shirt off in response. Both of you pause for a moment, him to look you over and you to gain the courage to keep your confidence up.
Turning the two of you around, you gently push him until he sits on the mattress, and then you climb onto his lap. He immediately grips your hips, fingers digging in hard.
His touch ghosts along your skin, making a shuddering breath escape you as every brief second of contact has you on fire.
“I love you,” he says. “Absolutely fucking everything about you.”
“Lucky me,” you murmur, reaching down for the hem of his shirt. He helps you take it off of him, pulling you closer. You gasp at the feeling of his hardening length against your core, and you start to grind down on him.
His eyes darken as he leans forward until his lips brush yours. “No. I’m the lucky one.”
You lift yourself up to push your shorts down, trying your best not to be too awkward with getting them off your legs in your current position. Chenle uses it to his advantage, kissing along your chest and nipping until marks form on your collarbone.
You pull at his pants, the way you need him so desperately making him chuckle as he moves to assist you. After he kicks them off, you continue moving your hips, his bulge rubbing right on your clit through your thin panties.
“Are you sure?” he asks, palms sliding down to your ass so he can squeeze it. “We can wait, Sunshine.”
“If I wait any longer, I might implode,” you tell him breathlessly. “I need you.”
He watches you closely as he reaches the clasp of your bra. You give him an encouraging nod, and he quickly removes it from you. He guides you on top of him, but he wets his lips before putting his hand on your back and lowering his mouth to your nipple. You groan, feeling the knot forming in your stomach at the stimulation on your clit. Whining, you move faster to reach your high, your grip on his shoulders tightening as you get closer.
His gaze meets yours briefly, and then he kisses you hard. Your pleasure becomes so overwhelming that you can’t focus on kissing him, instead a moan escapes you, and he swallows it. He holds you tightly as you practically spasm on top of him, euphoria spreading through every inch of your body.
“I can already feel how wet you are,” he mutters, inhaling sharply. “Let me make you mine, baby. Let me have you.”
“I’m yours. You’ve had me since day one.” You cup his cheeks and kiss him, heart racing.
You’ve never wanted someone as badly as you want him, but it’s only at this point that nerves start to sweep you up in their whirlwind. Like he can read your mind, he pauses, blinking up at you.
“Just relax,” he says. “Whatever you need, tell me.”
“You.” Sitting up again, you try to push your panties down. He takes the opportunity to lift up as well to take his boxers off.
“Do I need a condom?” Chenle asks, cursing under his breath when you wrap your fingers around his length.
You shake your head. “I’m on birth control.”
He gulps, lining himself up with your entrance. You sigh at the feeling, preparing yourself to sink down on him. As he slides inside, you throw your head back. The moment the two of you really connect, you realize you must’ve never been in love with someone before. There’s something about the way your heart beats for him that increases your pleasure. You’ve never felt this good before.
“Good fucking God,” he groans, grip tightening on you.
Once he’s fully in, you pause to look at him, finding his lips parted and his eyebrows furrowed. He kisses you gently and wraps his arm around you. You don’t waste anymore time and opt to set a steady pace, unafraid to let your sounds escape as his length drags slowly against your walls.
“That’s it.” His voice is strained, like he’s holding something back. He works his hips up gently every time you sink down. “You’re so fucking tight, Sunshine. You feel so good.”
You whimper at his words. The only thing you want is to pleasure him—so you pick up your speed, rolling your hips as you sink back down. When he squeezes your ass, your body jolts.
“How you feeling, baby?” he asks, massaging your butt as you work on top of him.
“Good.” Actually, like you’re on a cloud of pleasure, and every time you take him deep, you think how you want him to be inside you forever. “So good.”
He secures his grasp on you before flipping you over onto your back. You immediately wrap your legs around his waist and lock your ankles together. He moves faster, thrusting at a steady but mind blowing pace. Your eyes roll, and you can barely think coherently with his cock throbbing inside you. His chest presses against yours, the closeness making your body so much hotter.
Sweat forms on your skin, and you tangle your fingers in his hair to lead him down to kiss you. You moan into his mouth when his tip kisses your spot. Every vein in your body is on fire, every thrust brings you closer to Chenle. Sounds of your arousal sound with each movement, joined in harmony with both yours and Chenle’s moans.
He snakes his hand between the two of you, his finger connecting with your sensitive clit. Your pleasured cry is louder than you anticipated, but it pulls a similar sound from Chenle.
“You gonna cum for me?” he mumbles against your mouth. “C’mon, Sunshine, squeeze my cock.”
Your back arches into him, nails digging into his shoulders as your walls clamp down on him like a vice. Euphoria bursts throughout you, and you swear your vision blacks out for a second as Chenle’s thrusts pick up in pace. He fucks you through your orgasm until he lets out a string of curse words.
“Fuck, baby, where do you want it?” he asks, voice tinged with desperation. “I’m so close.”
“Inside. Cum in me.” You lift your hips to match his thrusts, dazed from your own orgasm. All you want is to feel him fill you up.
He drops his head on your shoulder, thrusting one last time before his warm cum coats your walls. Both of you lay there, unmoving. He kisses the base of your neck, panting as he tries to regain his breath.
You pull him up to kiss him, lips working gently on his. He hums against your mouth, nails scratching up and down your thigh.
“Was that worth missing practice?” You grin up at him.
“I’d miss a whole lot more than practice for this.” He smiles, shaking his head as he slowly pulls out of you. “Take a bath with me?”
“Only if you carry me there.” You push his shoulder. “My legs are a little…”
“Just the way they should be.” Chenle winks at you before he gets up to head into the bathroom to start the water. 
Once it’s filled, he scoops you up in his arms and places you in the tub, somehow the perfect temperature, and climbs in behind you, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you flush to him.
As you relax with him, allowing him to wash your body ever-so-delicately, you realize this is how it always should’ve been. You feel free, like you’ve been unshackled from your past just by loving Chenle and being loved by him.
It’s as if you’ve made it to your destination—like the journey matters just as much as the end. You look at him over your shoulder, and he kisses you so softly, you let out a sigh of content.
The teams were tied—Chenle was visibly irritated by the way the scoreboard had yet to change with minimal time left on the countdown. This has been the closest game all season—most of the others had been clean sweeps—yet here he is, during the last one of his college career, and he’s close to losing for the first time.
You and Jiyoon sit with Jisung’s parents and Chenle’s parents, leaning forward in deep concentration. Playing with the thread bracelet on your wrist, you watch in earnest as you see the time ticking down. Chenle blocks the ball from going into the net, effectively taking it and running across the court til he gets to the middle. The other team basically bombards him, but as he lines up to take his shot, you grab Jiyoon’s arm and squeeze it. The countdown hits three seconds when he throws it, and it’s like the ball moves in slow motion.
Your jaw hangs open, and right as the clock hits zero, the ball sinks into the net, putting Chenle’s team one point over the other. You and Jiyoon both launch up, shouting and cheering. He turns to you, as if to make sure you saw that, and when he finds you grinning at him, he moves toward you like it’s a reflex.
You leave your spot in the bleachers and meet him in the middle. He picks you up as you wrap your arms around him, and you laugh as you hold on tightly. His smile is wide as he sets you back on your feet, kissing you hard. You giggle against his mouth, and an overwhelming sense of pride settles in your chest.
“You did so well,” you praise him and press your lips to his cheek.
“It’s all ‘cause I had my good luck charm.” He squeezes you tightly. “I love you.”
“I love you, too,” you reply.
The words had never left your mouth so easily, nor have you ever meant them as much as you do now. You’ve only just hatched into the person you’re supposed to be, and with Chenle by your side, you know it’s only going to get better from here.
But you love here, too, because in the distance, finally you see the light at the end of the tunnel.
Finally, you see your sea.
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marksmelodies · 3 months
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dreamies reactions to you being “needy” in public
idol nct dream x 8th member fem reader *minors dni*
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lebrookestore · 3 months
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backburner | n.jm (teaser)
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Pairing: Na Jaemin x reader
Themes: college! au, exes! au, the situationship vibes are STRONG, angst, fluff, exes to ???, reader is a serial overthinker.
Warnings: profanity, heavy ANGST, kissing, food, underage alcohol consumption and alcohol consumption in general, jaemin is lowkey an asshole, more to be added for the full fic.
Word count for teaser: 580 | Estimated word count: 12-15k
Summary: After three months of ignoring your presence entirely, Na Jaemin saunters right back into your life without so much as single warning, leaving you to once again pick up the pieces of your burning heart.
Notes from brooke: a late christmas present from me<3 i'm back to writing my college aus so i hope all of you will enjoy my pain (literally).
[send an ask to be added to the taglist!]
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It was one in the morning when your phone rang.
A sigh left your chapped lips as you glanced down from the screen of your laptop to the device sitting by its side, your eyes burning at the too bright light emitting from your phone. The rest of your dorm was dark, having switched the lights off earlier at the request of your roommate, who had an early class the next day. 
Unfortunately for you, you had an assignment due the next day that you had, as usual, left for the last minute. Music played through your headphones as you tried to construct what you deemed a coherent enough essay to submit. 
Scrambling so you wouldn’t wake your roommate up, you pushed your headphones off and swiped the call icon across the screen of your phone, accepting it a second before you registered who the caller was. The contact glared at you as if it was mocking you for your carelessness and hastiness, causing you to bite down hard on the inside of your cheek.
Well. It was too late now.
Swallowing hard, you held your phone up to your ear and whispered. “Hello?”
“Hey.”
A breath you didn’t know you had been holding in escaped from your lips, having you shut your eyes and process his voice. It was funny, how just one inconsequential word from a single person could change your entire disposition.
“Jaemin? Are you okay?”
He hummed in response. “Yeah, I’m fine. I think I might be a little tipsy though.”
You could just imagine him right then, a glass being gripped loosely by his fingers, leaning against some wall as he spoke to you over the phone. The image was enough that you slipped out of your bed and pacing about your room as quietly as you could, restless.
“Oh. Um, don’t drink too much.”
He chuckled, a sound so familiar yet so distant to you. “I won’t, don’t worry.” 
Jaemin liked alcohol, you knew this much. He liked the way it would slowly hit his head and render him more easy going than he already was, causing that pretty smile of his to show more liberally. You were well versed with everything about him, from his walk to the way his eyes would express everything he was thinking, the slightly changes making themselves completely obvious for you,
The two of you had been so in tune with each other. Sometimes, you forgot how easy that made it for it all to fall apart.
“Okay.” You weren’t really sure where you were supposed to go with this conversation anymore. “Do you need something?”
“Not really.”
“Then….then why did you call me?” Bewilderment crept into your voice as clear as day. If you were in front of him right then, perhaps he would have teased you, tucking your hair behind your ear and muttering something about how cute you were. 
He stayed silent for a moment. “I just wanted to hear your voice.”
You stopped your pacing, coming to a standstill as his words settled over you. In the silence of the night, you were almost too aware of the way your heart rate increased ever so slightly.
Yunjin was right. There was hardly ever a time where your best friend’s advice wasn’t spot on, but this time you found yourself wishing you had complied and actually blocked him like she had suggested you do. Maybe then you wouldn’t have found yourself in such a position. 
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coming soon. | lebrookestore 2024
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