darquette

(19 y.o.) (she/her) (infp) (nadi)

[coriihanniee]

LOVE AT LATTE LANE! ─ a spinoff of TERMS AND CONDITIONS APPLY!

જ⁀➴ SYNOPSIS .ᐟ You just came back to Seoul after studying abroad—and instead of your famous older brother Jaehyun picking you up, one of the influencers from Myungnyanghakz, he sends Taesan : the blunt, infuriatingly attractive barista from Tré Seoul who you may or may not have developed a secret crush on through his viral online appearances. Wanting a fresh start—and definitely not choosing it because it’s near him—you take a job at a trendy new café, only to discover it’s Tré Seoul’s newest rival. Now, with both cafés banning staff from interacting, your nonstop bickering with Taesan starts feeling dangerously close to flirting. But when the internet begins paying attention, keeping your identity hidden may be harder than resisting him.

⤷ ゛PAIRING ˎˊ˗ barista!taesan x rival barista!reader (jaehyun's little sister) GENRE(S) ˎˊ˗ smau, slow burn, forbidden love, rivals to lovers, fluff, comedy, angst, mystery WARNING(S) ˎˊ˗ kys/kms jokes, sexual jokes, gay jokes, random timestamps/timeskips, profanities, mentions of food, manipulation, defamation, blackmail STATUS ˎˊ˗ tbc ~

╰┈➤ AUTHOR'S NOTE ! hihi everyone!! 💕 it's been exactly one year since I first posted Terms and Conditions Apply! and honestly I still can't believe the response it got and how much love you all gave it 😭💔 so what better way to celebrate than bringing you back to this universe?? 😉 ~ Love at Latte Lane! is the official T&Cs spinoff and I'm so excited to finally share it with you all!! Taesan has always been one of my favourite characters to write in T&Cs and I felt like he deserved his own story so this came out of it hehe ~ 🥹

a few things before you start reading : I highly recommend reading Terms and Conditons Apply! before diving into LaLL!! while you can enjoy this as a standalone, there's deeper lore, callbacks and context from the main smau that will make this story so much richer 🥹 you can find T&Cs on my masterlist !! ~ also this smau is dedicated to my beloved moot @hollyoongs who designed the most beautiful header for this 😭 she's incredibly talented and I love her so much MWUAH !! 💋

˚⊱ PROFILES ⊰˚

latte losers | jaehyun's groping victims (ft. new additions!)

˚⊱ CHAPTERS ⊰˚

00. prologue

01.

02.

03.

@coriihanniee ᯓᡣ𐭩

taglist open!

any users I'm unable to tag will be in bold !

perm taglist : @riuscheri @imhereonlytoreadxoxo @heeheesang @jjyurahz @prodkwh @ivehan @yunextdoor @chocorenchin @hyunjinslongasslegs @pupillary @s0shroe @mydeepestsecrects @perlleta @levi-09 @parkthothwa8 @woonbabie @nemoihan @wnouzi @kazukazukiiii @hollyoongs @kjunebuggie @niiqv @fayepz @bamgeutori @hraethy @twaesns @ihanzzn @atdeerhunter @luvkeiiii

smau taglist : @vampdomi @xolinn @aphantassia

[mametchiii]

똑똑똑...

MYUNG JAEHYUN knockin' at your door !

WHO’S THERE! A new school brings a new roommate! What could possibly go wrong?

cw: roommates2lovers, f!reader, mentions of alcohol and sex, fluff

a/n: ok this turned out WAYYY longer than i anticipated. i was planning on hitting 18 pictures...then suddenly....my hands werent under my control anymore idk...but i enjoyed writing this sm! my first time ever writing an smau scenario (and BND piece), and it was such a different experience lol; shout out to all reegular smau writers omg.. my storage is exploding.

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။|||||။၊|။• ♫ What If I Miss Love?

also see: l. sanghyeok

[seobjectified]

𐙚 ₊ ⊹ better than fiction

♡ kim taesan is the quiet boy who visits your bookstore every Thursday at 6:17 p.m. He buys poetry, says little, but notices everything. What begins as silent glances slowly becomes handwritten notes in returned books, songs shared through one earbud in the rain, and a love so specific it feels like it was written just for you.

☆ genres: bookstore romance | quiet intellectual love | slow burn | “he notices everything” | emotional intimacy | unspoken yearning | friends to lovers | poetic affection

☆ warnings: explicit nsfw (MDNI), detailed emotional smut, switching, praise, marking, oral, fingering, possessive but soft dirty talk, crying during sex, aftercare, themes of emotional vulnerability, slight jealousy

☆ playlist: serenade - boynextdoor | peach eyes - wave2earth | seasons | wave2earth | i want you to tell me the moon is beautiful - kakizaki yuta | all the possibilities - tws |

☆ seobjectified's note: guys i mixed up taesan's full name so if u see kim rather than han im so sorry 😣💔

---------------------------------------------------

The bell above the door chimed softly at exactly 6:17 p.m. every Thursday.

You knew the time because you’d started anticipating it.

He always came alone.

Tall, dark hair falling softly over his eyes, dressed in simple oversized sweaters and coats that made him look like he’d stepped out of a poetry collection himself. He moved through the small independent bookstore with quiet reverence, fingers trailing over spines as if each book held a secret.

Kim Taesan.

You learned his name the third time he came in, when he paid for a worn copy of The Sun and Her Flowers and you asked for it for the receipt.

He’d smiled then — small, almost shy — and said “Thank you” in a voice softer than you expected.

That was all.

No small talk. No lingering. He simply took his book, gave you one last quiet glance, and left.

But he kept coming back.

Every Thursday. Same time. Same quiet intensity.

You started noticing the way he watched you when he thought you weren’t looking. The way his eyes softened when you recommended a book. The way he always chose poetry collections, like he was searching for something he couldn’t say out loud.

One Thursday, as rain began to fall outside, he approached the counter with two books.

You rang them up, then hesitated.

“It’s pouring,” you said gently. “Do you have an umbrella?”

Taesan looked at you for a long second, surprised you’d spoken more than the usual transaction.

“I’ll be fine,” he murmured, voice low and melodic.

You didn’t know why you did it.

You reached under the counter and pulled out the spare umbrella you kept for yourself.

“Here,” you said, offering it. “Bring it back next week.”

He stared at the umbrella, then at you. Something flickered in his eyes — surprise, warmth, maybe even nervousness.

“…Thank you,” he said softly.

When he left, you watched through the window as he opened the umbrella and walked into the rain.

He glanced back once.

Just once.

But it was enough to make your heart skip.

He brought the umbrella back the following Thursday at exactly 6:17 p.m.

You were reorganizing the poetry shelf when the bell chimed. Taesan stepped inside, shaking rain from his dark hair, the borrowed umbrella folded neatly in his hand. He looked slightly more nervous than usual, fingers tapping lightly against the handle.

“You’re back,” you said with a small smile, walking behind the counter.

He approached slowly, placing the umbrella on the wood with careful precision.

“Thank you,” he said quietly. His voice was low, almost hesitant, like he was testing the waters of conversation. “It kept me dry.”

You nodded, trying not to stare too long at the way raindrops clung to his lashes. “Good. I was worried you’d get soaked.”

A small, shy smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He didn’t say anything else for a moment, just stood there looking at you like he wanted to speak but didn’t know how.

Eventually, he turned toward the poetry section.

You watched him browse — the same quiet ritual. He picked up a new collection by Ocean Vuong, flipped through a few pages, then set it down. His fingers lingered on the spines, gentle and reverent.

When he finally brought two books to the counter, you noticed something different.

Inside the top book — a slim volume of contemporary poetry — he had already placed a small bookmark. On it, in neat, elegant handwriting:

for when the rain feels too loud

You looked up at him, surprised.

Taesan’s ears turned slightly pink. He rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding your eyes.

“I thought… you might like it,” he murmured. “You always look peaceful when it rains outside the window.”

Your heart did something complicated.

He paid quickly, gave you one last soft glance, and left with his new books tucked under his arm.

You opened the book later that night after closing.

The bookmark wasn’t just a suggestion. He had underlined a single line on the third page:

"I am learning how to be alone without being lonely."

You stared at it for a long time.

The weeks after that blurred into something warmer.

Every Thursday became a quiet conversation.

He started recommending books based on the smallest things you mentioned.

When you said you felt tired, he brought Letters to a Young Poet.

When you laughed about feeling lost in your own thoughts, he left The Bell Jar with a note: for when the world feels too heavy.

The notes grew longer. More personal.

you smiled at page 47 last time. thought you might like this one too. — taesan

you said you like the rain. this poem sounds like how you look when it’s storming. — taesan

You started looking forward to 6:17 p.m. every Thursday more than you wanted to admit.

One rainy evening, after he paid for his books, Taesan lingered by the door.

“It’s raining hard again,” he said softly, almost to himself.

You grabbed your coat without thinking.

“I’ll walk you to the station,” you offered.

He looked surprised, but nodded.

The two of you shared one umbrella — shoulders brushing, steps in sync. Halfway there, Taesan pulled out one earbud and silently offered it to you.

You took it.

The song playing was soft, melancholic, beautiful. You walked in silence, listening to the same music under the rain, the umbrella shielding both of you from the world.

When you reached the station, Taesan paused.

“Thank you,” he whispered. “For the umbrella. And… for this.”

He looked at you for a long moment, something deep and unspoken in his eyes.

Then he turned and disappeared into the crowd.

You stood there in the rain for a while after he left, heart beating too fast.

Kim Taesan was quiet.

But somehow, he was becoming the loudest thing in your life.

-----

The shared earbud became a new ritual.

The following Thursday, Taesan arrived at 6:17 p.m. with two books and one earbud already in his hand. When you finished ringing him up, he hesitated for only a second before offering the other one to you.

“Same playlist as last time,” he said quietly, almost shy. “If you want.”

You took it without hesitation.

The two of you stepped outside into the light drizzle. Taesan held the umbrella over both of you, his shoulder brushing yours as you walked toward the station. The song playing was soft and melancholic — acoustic guitar and gentle vocals that felt like a secret.

Neither of you spoke.

You didn’t need to.

The silence between you was comfortable, filled with the rain, the music, and the quiet understanding that something was shifting.

When you reached the station entrance, Taesan paused. He gently removed the earbud from your ear, his fingers brushing your cheek for the briefest moment.

“Thank you,” he murmured. “For walking with me.”

You smiled. “Anytime.”

He looked like he wanted to say more, but instead gave you that small, private smile and disappeared into the crowd.

The notes inside the books grew longer.

One week he left a slim poetry collection with three lines underlined and a small handwritten note tucked between the pages:

“She reads like someone who carries entire worlds in her chest.” You remind me of this line every time you recommend a book. — taesan

Another week, a different book had a single sentence highlighted:

“I have loved you in a thousand quiet ways.”

No note this time. Just the line. And his neat handwriting in the margin:

for you.

You started keeping every note in a small box behind the counter.

One Thursday, he didn’t come at 6:17.

You waited until closing, anxiety twisting in your stomach. When the clock hit 7:30 and the store was empty, you locked up and stepped outside into the rain.

Taesan was standing under the awning across the street, soaked despite the umbrella he held. The moment he saw you, he crossed the road quickly.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice low. “My lecture ran late. I didn’t want you to think I forgot.”

You looked at him — wet hair clinging to his forehead, eyes full of quiet worry — and felt something warm bloom in your chest.

“You didn’t have to come,” you said softly.

“I wanted to,” he replied simply.

He walked you home that night, sharing the umbrella again. Halfway there, he pulled out his earbud and offered it without a word. You took it. The song playing felt like it had been chosen just for this moment.

When you reached your apartment building, Taesan lingered.

He reached into his bag and pulled out a new book — one you hadn’t seen before. He pressed it into your hands.

“For you,” he said, almost shy. “I marked a few pages. If you want.”

You opened it later that night.

On the first marked page, he had written:

“Some people feel like home the moment you meet them.”

And below it, in smaller, more hesitant handwriting:

I think you might be that for me.

The quiet observer was starting to speak.

Not with grand declarations.

But in the only language he seemed to know — through pages, through songs, through the small, painfully specific ways he loved you.

And you were starting to read him loud and clear.

The notes inside the books slowly turned into conversations.

What started as single underlined lines became full paragraphs written in the margins. Taesan’s handwriting was neat and elegant, each word chosen with care, like he spent hours thinking about what to say to you through someone else’s poetry.

One Thursday, he brought back a book you’d recommended weeks earlier. Inside, almost every other page had small annotations:

This part reminded me of how your voice gets softer when you talk about books you love.

Page 89 — the way she describes longing feels like the way you look out the window when it rains.

At the very end, a single line in the back cover:

I keep finding pieces of you in every story I read.

You stared at it for a long time after closing.

The following week, Taesan arrived later than usual, at 6:45 p.m. His hair was slightly damp, cheeks flushed like he’d rushed.

“I’m sorry,” he said immediately, placing a new poetry collection on the counter. “Class ran over.”

You smiled, ringing him up. “You don’t have to apologize for being late. Life happens.”

He looked at you for a long moment, something vulnerable flickering in his eyes.

“I didn’t want to miss seeing you,” he admitted quietly.

The words hung between you, simple but heavy.

That night, after he left, you found another note tucked inside the book:

I think I’m starting to come here more for you than for the books. — taesan

Another rainy Thursday, he didn’t buy anything.

He simply stood at the counter after the store had emptied, fiddling with the strap of his bag.

“Would you… like to listen to music together again?” he asked, almost shyly. “There’s a new song I think you might like.”

You locked up early.

The two of you walked under his umbrella, shoulders pressed together. Taesan offered you one earbud. The song was soft and melancholic, the kind that felt like it understood things you couldn’t say.

Halfway to the station, the rain grew heavier. Taesan stopped under the awning of a closed café and turned to you.

“I keep thinking about what I said last time,” he murmured. “About how some people feel like home.”

He looked down at the wet pavement, then back at you.

“I wanted to say it in person." He paused. "I think you feel like that for me.”

The confession was quiet. Barely above the sound of rain.

You didn’t know what to say. So instead, you stepped closer and rested your head against his shoulder. Taesan’s breath hitched. Slowly, carefully, he wrapped his free arm around you, holding the umbrella over both of you as the rain fell harder.

Neither of you moved for a long time.

-----

The jealousy came quietly.

A regular customer — a friendly literature major named Jun — started coming in more often. He was talkative, flirty in a harmless way, always complimenting your recommendations and lingering at the counter.

One Thursday, Jun was still there when Taesan arrived.

You laughed at something Jun said. Taesan stood by the poetry shelf, watching silently. His usual calm expression didn’t change much, but you noticed the way his fingers tightened around the book he was holding.

When Jun finally left, Taesan approached the counter with his usual books. He placed them down gently.

“He doesn’t listen to you carefully enough,” he said softly, almost to himself.

You looked up, surprised.

Taesan’s ears were pink. He avoided your eyes as he added, “He laughs at the wrong parts of what you say.”

The observation was so specific, so painfully observant, that it made your chest feel tight.

Taesan paid quickly and left with a quiet “Goodnight.”

Inside the top book, he had left a longer note than usual:

I notice the way your eyes light up when you talk about stories that matter to you. I notice how you tilt your head when you’re thinking. I notice everything. I’m sorry if that’s too much. — taesan

You traced the words with your finger, heart racing.

It wasn’t too much.

It was starting to feel like exactly enough.

-----

The first kiss happened on a Thursday that felt different from the start.

Taesan arrived at 6:17 p.m. as always, but this time he didn’t go straight to the poetry section. He lingered near the counter, fingers tracing the edge of a new arrival display, eyes flicking to you more often than usual.

When the store emptied and you flipped the sign to “Closed,” he stayed.

“Would you like to walk again?” he asked quietly, almost hesitant. “I brought an extra umbrella this time.”

You smiled and nodded.

The rain was gentle tonight — a soft drizzle that made the streets glisten. Taesan held the umbrella over both of you as you walked the familiar route. The shared earbud was in place, the same soft playlist filling the space between you. But tonight the silence felt charged.

Halfway to the station, Taesan slowed to a stop under the warm glow of a streetlamp. Raindrops fell around you like quiet stars.

He turned to face you.

“I’ve been trying to find the right words,” he said, voice barely louder than the rain. “But I’m better with other people’s words.”

He reached into his bag and pulled out a small, worn poetry book. He opened it to a page he had clearly marked many times. His handwriting filled the margin:

If I could, I would turn the world quiet just to hear you better.

Taesan looked up at you, eyes dark and vulnerable under the streetlight.

“I think about you all the time,” he whispered. “Not just on Thursdays. Every day. The way you tilt your head when you read. How you smile at customers even when you’re tired. How you remember the little things I say. I notice everything about you.”

Your heart was pounding.

He stepped closer, the umbrella tilting slightly as rain fell on his shoulder. His free hand came up slowly, giving you time to pull away. When you didn’t, he gently cupped your cheek, thumb brushing a raindrop from your skin.

“Can I…?” he breathed, eyes dropping to your lips.

You answered by closing the distance.

The kiss was soft at first — tentative, almost reverent. Taesan’s lips were warm against the cool rain. Then something in him seemed to break. He made a quiet, desperate sound and kissed you deeper, the umbrella forgotten as it tilted and rain fell on both of you.

His hand slid to the back of your neck, holding you close like he was afraid this moment might slip away. The kiss tasted like rain and longing and months of silent observation finally given voice.

When you finally pulled apart, both breathing unsteadily, Taesan rested his forehead against yours.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” he whispered, voice trembling. “Every time you handed me a book. Every time you smiled at me. I was terrified I’d ruin it if I said anything.”

You kissed him again, softer this time.

“You didn’t ruin anything,” you murmured against his lips. “You made it better.”

He smiled then — small, shy, and so genuinely happy that it made your chest ache. Rain continued to fall around you, but neither of you moved.

Taesan pressed one more gentle kiss to your forehead, then your temple, then the corner of your mouth, like he couldn’t stop now that he’d started.

“I don’t want to be just the boy who buys poetry anymore,” he whispered. “I want to be the one who reads it with you.”

You took his hand.

“Then stay a little longer tonight.”

He did.

The two of you walked the rest of the way to your apartment in comfortable silence, fingers intertwined, the umbrella long forgotten between you.

For the first time, Taesan didn’t disappear into the night.

He stayed.

And the quiet observer finally stepped into the light.

-----

The days after the first kiss felt like stepping into a new chapter of a book you’d both been reading in silence.

Taesan still came every Thursday at 6:17 p.m., but now the visits lasted longer. He no longer left right after paying. Instead, he lingered by the counter, helping you close up, carrying stacks of books without being asked. His touches were careful but constant — a hand on your lower back when reaching for a high shelf, fingers brushing yours when handing you a book, a gentle tug on your sleeve when he wanted your attention.

He was still quiet.

But his silence had become full of meaning.

One evening, after closing, you were both shelving new arrivals. Taesan worked beside you in comfortable silence until he suddenly paused, holding a slim volume of poetry.

“This one,” he said softly, offering it to you. “Read page 23 when you get home.”

You took the book, smiling. “Another note?”

He nodded, ears turning slightly pink. “I wrote more this time.”

Later that night, curled up in bed, you opened the book.

On page 23, he had underlined several lines and written in the margin:

I used to think love was loud. But with you, it’s the way you hum while organizing shelves. The way you always leave the last cookie for the last customer. The way you look at me like I’m not too much. I think I’ve been writing about you long before I knew your name. — taesan

You read it three times, heart full.

-----

Another Thursday, Jun was still there when Taesan arrived.

You laughed at something Jun said about a manga series. Taesan stood by the poetry shelf, watching silently again.

That night, after closing, Taesan didn’t leave right away.

He helped you lock up, then walked you home under the shared umbrella. Halfway there, he stopped under a streetlamp and turned to you.

“I don’t like it when other people make you laugh like that,” he admitted quietly, voice raw with vulnerability. “Not because I don’t want you to be happy. But because… I want to be the one who makes you smile that way.”

You stepped closer, cupping his face with both hands.

“You are,” you whispered. “You always have been.”

Taesan’s breath hitched. He leaned in and kissed you — deeper this time, more confident, one hand sliding to the back of your neck as rain fell softly around you.

When he pulled back, forehead resting against yours, he whispered:

“I think every story I read now ends up being about you.”

You kissed him again, slower, letting the rain soak you both.

The quiet boy who used to pretend not to look at you had finally stopped pretending.

The deepening happened slowly, like ink sinking into paper.

After that rainy kiss, Taesan became braver with his affection — still quiet, still careful, but no longer hiding. He started waiting for you after closing, walking you home every Thursday without fail. His hand would find yours under the umbrella, fingers intertwining like it was the most natural thing in the world.

One particularly cold Thursday night, after you locked up the bookstore, Taesan didn’t take you straight home.

“I want to show you something,” he said softly, leading you toward the small park near the river. The rain had stopped, leaving the air crisp and clean. He spread his coat on a dry bench and pulled you down beside him.

For a while, you sat in comfortable silence, shoulders pressed together, sharing earbuds again. Then Taesan turned to you, eyes dark and vulnerable in the moonlight.

“Can I kiss you?” he whispered, always asking, always gentle.

You answered by closing the distance.

The kiss started soft but quickly deepened. Taesan cupped your face with both hands, kissing you like he’d been holding back for lifetimes. When you climbed into his lap, he let out a quiet, shaky breath, hands sliding under your coat to warm your waist.

His hands trembled slightly as they explored your skin. You could feel how much he was holding back — the quiet intensity that defined him now pouring out in every touch.

You took his hand and guided it lower. Taesan’s breath hitched.

“Are you sure?” he asked, eyes searching yours even as desire darkened them.

“I’m sure.”

You ended up in his dorm that night.

The moment the door closed, Taesan pressed you against it, kissing you deeply. He was still gentle, but there was a hunger underneath — months of silent longing finally given permission to exist.

Clothes came off slowly. Taesan took his time, kissing every inch of skin he revealed, whispering observations like poetry against your body.

“Here,” he murmured, lips brushing your collarbone. “This is where you tense up when you’re worried about a customer.”

He kissed lower. “And here… this is where you lean when you’re tired after closing.”

When he finally settled between your thighs, he looked up at you with glassy, reverent eyes.

“Can I… please?” he whispered.

You nodded.

Taesan was devastatingly attentive. His mouth was warm and patient, learning every sound you made, every twitch of your hips. He brought you to the edge twice with his tongue and fingers before finally moving up your body.

When he pushed inside you, both of you moaned softly. Taesan buried his face in your neck, hips rolling in deep, slow thrusts.

“You feel like every good thing I’ve ever read,” he gasped, voice breaking. “Better than fiction. So much better.”

You switched later — you on top, riding him slow and deep while he looked up at you like you were the only poem he’d ever need. His hands gripped your hips, but his eyes stayed locked on yours, full of wonder and love.

“I love you,” he whispered as you moved together. “I think I’ve loved you since the first Thursday.”

You came first, trembling in his arms. Taesan followed right after, holding you tightly as he spilled inside you, whispering your name like a prayer.

Afterward, he cleaned you up with gentle hands, then pulled you into his chest, arms wrapped around you like he never wanted to let go. He pressed soft kisses to your hair, your temple, your shoulder, murmuring quiet observations even now.

“Your breathing changes when you’re falling asleep,” he whispered. “It gets slower… softer. I want to memorize it.”

You smiled against his skin, heart full.

Taesan was still quiet.

But in the dark, wrapped around you, he finally let himself be loud with love.

-----

The notebook changed everything.

It happened on a quiet Thursday evening, weeks after that first night together. Taesan had come in as usual, but instead of buying a new book, he placed a small, worn leather notebook on the counter.

“For you,” he said softly, ears pink. “I’ve been writing in it for a while. I think… it’s time you read it.”

You took it with careful hands. The cover was smooth, well-worn from being carried everywhere. When he left that night, he kissed your forehead gently and whispered, “Read it when you’re alone. And don’t be mad.”

You waited until you were home, curled up in bed with the lamp on low.

The first page was dated months ago — back when he was still just the quiet boy who came every Thursday.

Observation Log

Subject: The girl at the bookstore who always recommends the best poetry

Page after page was filled with his neat, elegant handwriting. Not a diary. Not love letters. Something more intimate.

She always hums the same song when she’s shelving new arrivals. It’s slightly off-key. I like it anyway.

Today she recommended “Milk and Honey” to an older woman who looked sad. She chose the right poem without being told why the woman was sad. She just knew.

Her laugh is quiet when she’s tired but bright when she’s excited about a book. I want to be the reason for the bright one more often.

Some entries were longer:

She thinks no one notices when she’s had a bad day. But her shoulders are tighter. She smiles a little less at customers. I wanted to tell her she doesn’t have to smile for me, but I’m still too scared to say anything real.

And then, near the middle, the tone shifted.

I don’t just notice her anymore.

I think about her when I’m not in the store.

I write lines that end up sounding like her voice.

Every poem I read feels like it’s missing her name.

The last few pages were different. More raw.

She kissed me tonight.

I think my heart forgot how to beat normally.

She let me stay. She held me after. I cried and she didn’t make me feel ashamed.

She says my silence doesn’t scare her. I hope she means it.

The very last page had only one paragraph, written more recently, ink slightly smudged like his hand had been shaking:

I think every story I’ve ever read eventually became about her.

Every quiet moment. Every longing. Every line about finding home in someone else.

I thought I was just observing.

But I was falling.

I am in love with her.

And I’m terrified she’ll read this and realize I’m too much.

Below it, in smaller, almost hesitant handwriting:

I think every story became about you eventually.

You found him the next morning.

Taesan was waiting outside your apartment building, hands in his coat pockets, looking more nervous than you’d ever seen him. The moment he saw you holding the notebook, he froze.

“I know it’s a lot,” he said quickly, voice unsteady. “I know it’s weird that I wrote all of that. I wasn’t trying to be creepy, I just… I didn’t know how to tell you. So I put it in the only language I know how to speak.”

You stepped forward and kissed him.

Taesan melted instantly, hands coming up to cup your face as he kissed you back with quiet desperation. When you pulled away, his eyes were glassy.

“I’m not scared of how much you notice,” you whispered. “I love it. I love you.”

His breath hitched. A single tear slipped down his cheek before he could stop it.

“I love you too,” he said, voice breaking. “So much it felt dangerous to say out loud.”

You pulled him into a tight hug right there on the sidewalk. He held you like you were the only real thing in his world.

“I don’t want to be just the quiet boy who buys poetry anymore,” he whispered into your hair. “I want to be yours.”

You smiled against his shoulder.

“You already are.”

-----

The breaking point came quietly, as most things with Taesan did.

It started with a misunderstanding.

One Thursday, Jun — the chatty literature major — came in again. He lingered longer than usual, talking animatedly about a new manga collection. You laughed at one of his jokes, bright and friendly as always. Taesan arrived at his usual time and saw the entire interaction from the doorway.

He didn’t say anything.

He bought his books in silence, left a short note, and disappeared without the usual lingering walk home.

The note read:

You looked happy. I’m glad. — taesan

It felt like a goodbye.

You found him two days later on the rooftop of the arts building, the same place where he sometimes went to think. He was sitting on the ledge, notebook open on his lap, but he wasn’t writing. He looked smaller than usual, shoulders curved inward.

“Taesan,” you called softly.

He flinched at your voice but didn’t turn around.

“I saw you with him again,” he said, voice quiet and painfully even. “You were laughing. Really laughing. And I just… stood there. Like always.”

You walked closer.

“I thought maybe I was imagining things,” he continued, still not looking at you. “That I was being too much again. That you’d eventually get tired of the quiet boy who only knows how to love through notes and songs and small observations.”

He finally turned. His eyes were red-rimmed.

“I’m scared I’m not enough for you,” he whispered. “That one day you’ll want someone louder. Someone who can say things easily. Someone who doesn’t need a notebook to tell you how they feel.”

The raw honesty cracked something open in you.

You stepped forward and took his face in your hands.

“You are more than enough,” you said fiercely. “You notice things no one else does. You love in ways that feel like poetry. I don’t want loud. I want you.”

Taesan’s breath hitched. A tear slipped down his cheek.

“I love you,” he said, voice breaking. “I love you so much it hurts to breathe sometimes. I love the way you organize the shelves. I love how you always save the last bookmark for the shy customers. I love how you make me feel seen without forcing me to speak. I love you in every quiet way I know how.”

He kissed you then — desperate, emotional, years of silent longing finally given sound.

You ended up in his dorm room.

The door had barely closed before clothes were being shed. Taesan’s hands trembled as he touched you, but there was a new confidence underneath the vulnerability.

“Can I… please?” he whispered, always asking, even now.

You pulled him down onto the bed.

This time it was raw. Emotional. Healing.

Taesan took his time, kissing every inch of you like he was rewriting his fears into devotion. When he finally pushed inside you, he buried his face in your neck, hips rolling deep and slow.

“I love you,” he gasped with every thrust. “I love you. I love you.”

Tears slipped down his cheeks again. You kissed them away, legs wrapped around him, pulling him impossibly closer.

You switched later — you on top, riding him while he looked up at you with wet, adoring eyes. His hands gripped your hips, but his touch was reverent.

When you both came, it was together — trembling, clinging, whispering “I love you” like a promise.

Afterward, Taesan held you tightly, refusing to let go even as he cleaned you up. He curled around you in bed, face pressed into your neck, breathing you in.

“I’m sorry I got scared,” he whispered.

You stroked his hair gently. “We’ll get scared together from now on.”

He smiled against your skin — small, real, and full of quiet joy.

Taesan was still quiet, still observant, but now his love was no longer hidden between book pages. It was in the way he waited for you after every shift, in the handwritten notes he left on your pillow, in the way he looked at you like you were the only poem he’d ever need.

Your first official date was simple and perfect.

He took you to a small hidden bookstore café on a Sunday afternoon. The two of you spent hours browsing shelves together, shoulders brushing, sharing earbuds as always. Taesan would occasionally pull a book off the shelf, read a line quietly to you, then look up with that small, shy smile when you reacted.

Later, you sat at a corner table with warm drinks. Taesan reached across and gently tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

“I used to come here alone and imagine what it would be like if you were sitting across from me,” he admitted softly. “Now you’re really here.”

You leaned over the table and kissed him, slow and sweet, right there in the café. He smiled against your lips — the kind of smile that made the whole world feel warmer.

The relationship was gentle, but deeply passionate.

One rainy night, after closing the bookstore together, Taesan pulled you into the back room where the old reading nook was. He laid you down on the oversized beanbag chair and loved you slowly, reverently, whispering observations between every kiss and thrust.

“You’re so beautiful when you’re falling apart for me,” he gasped, hips rolling deep. “I’ve dreamed about this sound… the way you say my name.”

You switched, riding him while he looked up at you with glassy, adoring eyes, hands gripping your thighs like you were his anchor. When you both came, he held you close, tears slipping down his cheeks again — not from fear this time, but from overwhelming love.

“I’m so happy,” he whispered afterward, voice hoarse. “I never thought I’d get to have this.”

The cute moments piled up.

Picnic in the park — Taesan packed tiny sandwiches and your favorite poetry book. He read to you while you rested your head in his lap, fingers playing with his hair.

Late night drives — He bought a second pair of earbuds so you could both listen without sharing. You’d drive around the city at 2 a.m., singing off-key to his playlists while he smiled at you like you hung the moon.

Photo booth dates — He always made the last frame serious — cupping your face and kissing you deeply while the camera flashed.

Bookstore closing rituals — He helped you shelve books, then pulled you into the back room for soft, stolen kisses among the poetry stacks.

One quiet evening, months later, you found him in the poetry section writing in a new notebook. When you approached, he closed it quickly, cheeks pink.

“Another one?” you teased.

He nodded, then handed it to you.

The first page read:

“Better Than Fiction”

— for the girl who turned every quiet moment into poetry

You flipped through it, tears gathering in your eyes. Page after page was filled with observations, love notes, and tiny poems about you.

At the very end, in his neat handwriting:

I used to think love was something you observed from afar.

Then I met you.

Now I understand every love poem ever written.

I love you in every quiet way.

And I will keep choosing you, every Thursday, every day, for the rest of my life.

You looked up at him, tears slipping down your cheeks.

Taesan stepped closer, gently wiping them away with his thumbs.

“I’m still not very loud,” he whispered. “But I will always be loud about loving you.”

You pulled him into a deep kiss right there between the shelves.

When you finally pulled back, you smiled brightly.

“Good. Because I love my quiet poet exactly as he is.”

Taesan’s smile was small, shy, and devastatingly happy.

He was still the quiet observer.

But now, he was yours.

And every story you read together from that day on felt like it had been written just for the two of you.

Better than fiction.

[leehancupcake]

So let's go see the stars - #1 𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𓇼 ࣪

Leehan x fem!reader ff

genre - leehan x reader, supernatural, fantasy, fluff

wc - 1.1k

warnings: none!

a/n: This was inspired by a tweet a saw calling leehan a mermaid 😭

───────

The waves gushed as your feet tingled from the sea water tickling you. You sat down, your knees hugging your face. The beach was completely empty today. You had always felt a weird connection to the water ever since you were young. If you had the time, you'd always find yourself smelling the salty seas by the shore. 

The sun had began setting as the sky painted orange. You played around with a shell, observing its lines. 

Your mother had given you a necklace, a silver one shaped like a starfish. You had been searching everywhere but your efforts had been in vain.

You snapped of you thoughts as a hand popped out from afar in the ocean. You squinted slowly, curious at the sight. Was someone drowning?

The waves glowed slightly, rising with the wind.

Suddenly, as if the ocean just threw up, a man got thrown onto the shore, coughing up seaweed.

He paused and stared at you, you stared at him, The water finally went back and revealed the lower portion of his body. 

"AHHHHH!" You squealed, gawking down to the long, blueish green fish tail on this man's waist, the scales fading up his arms.

"Uh hey...sorry to scare you." The man giggled.

"You're- " You shrieked, bolting up.

"Real?" He smirked, revealing sharp, fang-like teeth. "So are you."

He lifted his hand out of the water. "Is this yours?" He lifted up a necklace. "I think you dropped this starfish necklace. It's...pretty."

He observed the necklace was a warm smile on his face, resting his head on his left hand.

"I shouldn't be here...it's forbidden for my kind to be up here."

You kneeled down. "U-um...what's your name...?" 

He tilted his head slowly, studying you with a kind of curiosity that almost felt intimate. "Leehan," He handed your necklace back slowly, letting his hand hold yours as you quickly pulled away.

His gaze dropped to your pulled away hand, then back to your eyes. "You came looking for it."

"My names, {Name}." You stuttered out.

"{Name}..." He repeated, tasting the sound. "A surface name, of course." 

You swallowed. "And you're a-"

"Something you probably shouldn't of seen." he mumbled softly. "I certainly shouldn't be here."

"So why are you?" You squinted.

"Because you dropped that," he glanced at the pendant sitting between your fingers. "And...because I wanted to see you. You're interesting. At the sea almost everyday. It made me curious."

Your breath caught in your throat. You've been watched by a mermaid??? 

He slipped back into the water gently, his expression alert.

"I have to go." he said quickly. "But...I'll return. If you want me to."

You couldn't use your words so you just nodded.

You sat alone at the beach, letting the wind blow your face. 

𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼

You told yourself you weren't waiting for him.

You sat on the rocks on the beach as the evening before, legs pulled to your chest, watching the tide creep in. The sky was a soft wash of dark indigo, fading into baby blue.

You caressed your necklace, the pendant cold against your warm fingers.

You weren't waiting.

The water stirred, a ripple where the sea should've been smooth. Your breath hitched excitedly. Leehan peaked out of the water, you could tell he was smiling because of his creased eyes. He got up, hair slicked back, moonlight slid over his shoulders, catching on the faint glow beneath his skin.

His eyes met yours quickly. "You came back," he said, his voice low, full of relief. 

You tried to sound casual. "I said I would."

"You didn't say you want to."

You looked away, heat rising to your cheeks. "Maybe I didn't know yet." 

Leehan swam closer, close enough that you could see the droplets clinging to his lashes. "And now?"

You swallowed. "Now i'm here."

A small smile played at his lips. Not sharp this time but soft, almost shy. "Then so am I." The waves hit the rocks, he pulled himself out of the water, sitting next to you. He braced his hands against the stone.

Leehan tilted his head. "Can I show you something?" He asked.

You glanced at him. "Show me what?" 

"Your world is all sky and wind, my world is light and current." He said. "I want you to see it. At least a little bit of it."

Leehan extended a hand to you. You were nervous, you felt that you shouldn't. But you let your hand find his.

The moment your skin touched his, a weird shiver crawled up your arm. It seems Leehan felt it too because he was staring at you wide eyed slightly.

"Come closer," he said softly. You scooted closer. He leaned forward with you to the water. Leehan lifted your hand to the surface of the water. The tide where their fingers touched glowed light blue in the dark sky, swirling around.

"I need to go.." Leehan's voice threaded with regret. "Unless...do you want to come into the water with me?"

He curiously looked at you.

"Me coming in the water? How will I breathe?"

"Just trust me." He pouted. "Please." He hopped into the water, resting his head on your lap.

You sighed, annoyed. "Okay, fine."

 He instantly pulled you into the water. You quickly shut your eyes as you heard the splash of water in the quiet night. 

Your heart was pounding in your chest, trying not to panic.

Leehan was watching you nervously. 

Bubbles escaped your throat.

"I knew it. You could breathe." He smirked. "It's that necklace I suspect."

You looked around confused and glanced down at your legs.

Or what were supposed to be your legs.

"I was right. You're a mermaid!" He swam excitedly around you. Hugging you tightly, rubbing his face on your cheek.

"How could I possibly be a mermaid...?" You glanced at him, shocked. 

You always knew you had a weird connection with the water, but not like this. The current flowed around the dark waters.

"You honestly look even more beautiful down here." His voice dropped to that low tone he liked to use.

Your breath caught...or whatever counted as breathing underwater. "Leehan..."

He suddenly looked away from you, tension flickering across his features. 

"The other mermaids will sense you...they'll know you're not from here."

"Leehan." You gave him a warm look, bringing you hand to his. "I wanted to come."

His eyes met yours. "You don't understand. It's dangerous." 

You tilted your head. "So why'd you bring me here?" 

He sighed. "Because I can't stay away from you..."

You felt the water glowing brighter. You floated closer, forehead almost touching his. "Then don't."

For a moment, the ocean held it's breath.

Then a distant, echoing call rippled through the water, clearly not human.

Leehan's facial expression changed instantly. Fear and anger furrowing in his eyebrows.

"They're coming." He whispered. "We have to get you back to the surface."

He grabbed your hand, pulling you up. Your could only focus on your hand holding his as the echo got louder.

You both broke to the surface together, gasping into the cool night air.

Lehhan looked toward the dark horizon, jaw tight. "Tomorrow," he said. "If it's safe."

You lifted your pinky. "I'll be here."

His eyes softened, just for you. "I know." He grinned interlocking his finger with yours before leaving.

And then he slipped beneath the waves, leaving you alone in the cold night embrace.

───────

𓂃 𓈒𓏸‪‪ 𓇼

a/n: thanks for reading! please reblog, like, and comment for more it really motivates me <3 AND THANK YOU ALL FOR ALL THE SUPPORT MWAH

[coriihanniee]

ㅤㅤ꒰ ⊹ ˚ . we'd still worship this love ᵎ ➶ . ˚

. ˚◞♡ ⃗ religion's in your lips even if it's a false god 𓈒 ✧ ˚. ᵎᵎ

۶ৎ ALTERNATIVE : boynextdoor when you pull away while making out ۶ৎ PAIRING : boynextdoor x reader ۶ৎ GENRE(S) : fluff ~ ۶ৎ WARNING(S) :  yearner riwoo, long hair jaehyun, taesan pinning you to the couch (TRIPLE COMBO !!! NOT FOR THE WEAK HEART 😭🙂‍↕️) ۶ৎ WORD COUNT : 0.8k - 1.3k words / member

۶ৎ A/N : I had to indulge my long hair jaehyun delusions so this came out of it...

ˋ ⌞⋮ SUNGHO .ᐟ⌝ ˎˊ˗

It starts innocently enough—well, as innocent as making out with Sungho can be. He's always so controlled, so measured in everything he does, and that extends to this too. His hands are gentle on your waist, his lips moving against yours with careful precision, like he's trying to memorize every detail.

But you're feeling a little bold today. A little dangerous.

So when he deepens the kiss, tilting his head to get a better angle, you pull back just slightly. Not enough to fully break away, but enough that his lips chase yours for a split second before he catches himself.

His eyes flutter open, slightly dazed, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. "What—"

You don't let him finish, leaning back in to kiss him again. He relaxes immediately, that little crease between his brows smoothing out as he cups your face with one hand. His kiss becomes more insistent, tongue sweeping against your bottom lip, and you feel his other hand slide from your waist to the small of your back, pressing you closer.

This time when you pull away again, you catch the exact moment confusion shifts into realization. His eyes darken considerably, pupils blown wide as he stares at you. The hand on your back flexes, fingers pressing into your skin even through your shirt.

"Are you..." he starts, voice already rough and lower than usual. He swallows hard, and you watch his throat work. "Are you doing that on purpose?"

The barely restrained frustration in his tone sends heat pooling in your stomach. You try to look innocent, biting back a smile. "Doing what?"

Sungho’s jaw clenches, and you see his chest rise and fall with a deep breath, a familiar sign of him trying to steady himself. He doesn't say anything for a moment, just watches you with those intense dark eyes, and you can practically see him trying to maintain control.

Then slowly, deliberately, he leans back in. Both hands come up to frame your face, and the way he holds you is almost possessive. His thumb traces your bottom lip, and his eyes track the movement with an intensity that makes your breath catch.

"Don't," he murmurs, and his voice has dropped even lower. It's not a request—it's a warning. "Don't pull away again."

But of course, you do.

The sound he makes is devastating, somewhere between a groan and your name, rough and frustrated. In one smooth movement, his hand slides to the back of your neck, fingers tangling firmly in your hair. It's not painful, but definitely controlling. His other hand grips your hip hard enough that you feel the heat of his palm through the fabric.

"I'm trying," he breathes out, and you can hear how strained his voice is, "to be patient with you."

He pulls you closer—or maybe pushes himself closer, you're not sure—until there's no space between you at all. You can feel the heat radiating off him, feel his heart racing against your chest, feel the tension coiled tight in his muscles.

“But you keep—” He breaks himself off with a sharp breath, the words failing him. He leans in, resting his forehead against yours, eyes falling shut as if he needs the contact to steady himself, as if proximity is the only thing keeping him anchored. When he opens them again, the look on his face is raw, unguarded, almost desperate.  “Do you have any idea,” he asks quietly, voice strained, “what you’re doing to me?”

His hand in your hair tightens just slightly, angling your head back. The movement is controlled but barely, and you can see the exact moment his carefully maintained composure starts to crack.

"One more time," he warns, voice barely above a whisper but somehow more intense for it. His lips hover just barely above yours, so close you can feel his breath. "Pull away one more time and I won't be gentle anymore."

It should probably intimidate you, but instead it sends a thrill down your spine. You can feel him trembling slightly with the effort of restraint, can see the war between his natural control and his desire written plainly across his face.

"I'm serious," he continues, and now his lips brush against yours with every word. "I'm trying so hard to be good, to take my time, but you're making it impossible."

His hand slides from your hip to your lower back, then lower still, pulling you even more firmly against him. The kiss he gives you then is harder, more demanding, his tongue sliding against yours with clear intent. When his teeth catch your bottom lip, you gasp, and he takes full advantage, kissing you deeper until you're dizzy with it.

He pulls back just enough to speak, and his voice is absolutely wrecked. "So be good for me," he murmurs against your lips, and the please is unspoken but clear in his tone. "Stop teasing me, got it sweetheart?"

When he kisses you again, it's with single-minded focus, like kissing you is the only thing that matters in the world. His hand tightens in your hair, the other sliding under the hem of your shirt just enough that his fingers brush bare skin. The touch makes you shiver, and you feel him smile against your lips.

"That's better," he breathes, sounding almost relieved. "Much better."

This time, you don't even think about pulling away.

ˋ ⌞⋮ RIWOO .ᐟ⌝ ˎˊ˗

Riwoo kisses with complete focus and surprising intensity hidden beneath a gentle exterior. His hands are soft where they rest on your waist, his lips moving against yours with careful attention, like he's trying to get every detail just right.

You almost feel bad for what you're about to do.

Almost.

When he tilts his head to deepen the kiss, you pull back just slightly. His eyes flutter open immediately, wide and confused, lips still parted. "Did I... did I do something wrong?" he asks softly, concern evident in his voice.

"No," you assure him quickly, leaning back in. "You're perfect."

He relaxes at that, a shy smile crossing his face before you kiss him again. This time he's a little more confident, his fingers curling slightly into the fabric of your shirt. You feel him sigh contentedly against your lips, and that's when you pull away again.

"Oh," he breathes out, and you can see him trying to figure out what's happening. His eyebrows furrow adorably, head tilting like he's solving a puzzle. "Are you... do you need a break? We can—"

You cut him off with another kiss, and this time you feel the exact moment he realizes what you're doing. His sharp intake of breath, the way his fingers suddenly grip your waist a little tighter, the slight tremor that runs through him.

When you pull back the third time, his reaction is completely different.

“You’re teasing me,” he says, the words barely audible, more confession than accusation. His ears have gone pink, heat creeping up his neck, but his eyes give him away—there’s a new intensity there, a shadow beneath the softness you know so well. “You're doing this on purpose.”

Before you can respond, he's leaning back in, and this time his kiss is less careful. His hands slide from your waist to your back, pulling you closer with more force than you expected from him. When your lips meet, you can feel the desperation already building in the way he kisses you—deeper, more insistent, like he's trying to keep you from pulling away through sheer determination.

But you do it anyway.

"Please," he breathes out, and the sound goes straight through you. His voice is shaky, strained. "Please don't— I can't—"

He cuts himself off, pressing his forehead against yours. You can feel him trembling, feel the rapid rise and fall of his chest. When you look at him, his eyes are squeezed shut, jaw clenched like he's trying to compose himself.

"This is torture," he whispers, and there's a whine in his voice that makes your stomach flip. "You're torturing me."

His hands are restless now, one sliding up your back, fingers splaying across your shoulder blade, the other moving to your hip and squeezing. You've never seen him like this—usually so controlled, so precise in his movements, now barely holding himself together.

"Riwoo," you murmur, and his eyes snap open.

The look he gives you is devastating, pupils blown wide, lips swollen and red from all the kissing, cheeks warm with colour. It’s not just desire, but a soft, aching plea tangled with a frustration you’ve never seen on him before, unfamiliar and vulnerable, like he’s losing control that it both unsettles and exposes him.

"I need—" he starts, then stops, swallowing hard. His voice drops lower, rougher. "I need you to stop pulling away. I don't... I can't think when you do that."

To prove his point, he kisses you again, and this time there's nothing gentle about it. His hand comes up to cup the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair as he angles your face exactly how he wants it. His other hand slips under the hem of your shirt, and the feeling of his palm against your bare skin makes you gasp.

He takes advantage immediately, deepening the kiss, and you feel him shaking with the effort of maintaining some semblance of control. His thumb traces patterns on your skin that make you shiver, and he makes this small sound in the back of his throat that's pure need.

When you start to pull back again, his grip tightens instantly.

"No," he says firmly, and the command in his voice surprises both of you. His eyes widen slightly, like he can't believe he just said that, but he doesn't take it back. "Stay. Please stay."

The "please" softens it, but there's still an edge of desperation that makes your heart race. He's looking at you like the thought of you pulling away again might actually break him.

"I'm trying so hard to be good," he confesses, voice cracking slightly. His forehead drops to your shoulder, and you can feel his breath hot against your neck. "But you keep— every time you pull away, I—"

He doesn't finish the sentence. Instead, he presses a kiss to your neck, then another, and you feel his teeth graze your skin lightly. The hand in your hair tightens, and suddenly he's pulling your head back gently, exposing more of your neck to his lips.

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” he murmurs against your skin, his voice dropped so low it feels almost dangerous. “To see me lose control.”

His kisses trail up your neck, along your jaw, until his lips are hovering over yours again. He's breathing hard, chest heaving, and you can see the internal war playing out across his face—the Riwoo who’s always gentle, always careful, pressed up against a need that’s sharper, more urgent, tugging insistently at his restraint.

"Well, congratulations," he whispers, and then he's kissing you again with an intensity that steals your breath. "You won."

This time when his tongue slides against yours, when his hands grip you tighter, when he presses impossibly closer, you don't even think about pulling away. You couldn't if you wanted to, not with how he's holding you, kissing you like he's been starving for it.

"No more teasing," he breathes between kisses, and it's still soft, still Riwoo, but there's steel underneath it now. "I can't take any more. Please."

And the way he says please—broken, desperate and so, so honest—makes you want to give him everything he asks for.

ˋ ⌞⋮ JAEHYUN .ᐟ⌝ ˎˊ˗

Jaehyun kisses like he's enjoying every second of it—which, knowing him, he absolutely is. There's a smile on his lips even as they move against yours, his hands warm and secure on your waist, thumbs tracing idle patterns that make you want to melt into him.

His hair has gotten longer recently, falling into his face as he tilts his head to deepen the kiss, and you can't resist reaching up to run your fingers through it. He makes a pleased sound at that, leaning into your touch.

That's when you pull away.

His eyes open slowly, still half-lidded and hazy, a confused smile playing on his lips. "Hm?" 

You just smile innocently and lean back in, kissing him again before he can question it. He responds immediately, enthusiastically, one hand sliding up your back. But just as he's really getting into it, you pull away again.

This time, his eyes sharpen with understanding.

“Oh,” he says, the confusion easing as his smile shifts into a knowing curve. “Oh—I get it now.”

Before you can say anything, he's laughing that bright, delighted laugh of his. "You're messing with me right now. You're actually messing with me."

"I don't know what you mean," you try, but he's already shaking his head.

"Okay, okay," he says, still grinning. "So we're playing games? I love games."

He leans back in, but this time when you try to pull away, his hand comes up to cup your jaw, holding you in place firmly enough that you can't escape. His kiss is deeper this time, more purposeful, and you feel him smile against your lips.

Then he pulls away first.

"How does it feel?" he asks, voice teasing. His thumb brushes over your bottom lip as he watches your reaction with obvious amusement. "Not so fun when it happens to you, right?"

Two can play this game, apparently.

He kisses you again, and just when you're sinking into it, he breaks away with a playful smirk. "Oops."

"Jaehyun—"

"What?" He's grinning fully now, eyes sparkling with mischief. "This is what you wanted, isn't it? To play around?"

His hair falls forward into his face as he leans closer, and you reach up to brush it back without thinking. His expression shifts slightly at the touch, eyes darkening just a fraction, but the smile remains.

"You keep touching my hair," he observes, voice a little lower now. "Do you like it longer?"

Before you can answer, he's kissing you again, and this time you can feel the teasing energy start to shift more intensely. His fingers tangle in your hair, mimicking your earlier action, and when you gasp softly, he makes a satisfied sound.

You pull away again—you can't help it, it's too fun—and this time his reaction is different.

"Okay," he says, and his voice has lost some of that playful edge. He runs a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his face, and you watch his jaw clench slightly. "Okay, you need to stop doing that."

"Why?" you ask innocently, and his eyes flash.

"Because," he says, leaning in close enough that his lips brush against yours as he speaks, "I'm trying really hard to play along and be fun about this, but you're making it really difficult."

His hair falls forward again, tickling your face, and he makes a frustrated sound. In one smooth motion, he reaches back and gathers his hair, tying it up into a small ponytail with the hair tie he keeps on his wrist. The movement makes his arms flex, his jaw set in concentration, and you can't help but stare.

He notices, of course. The corner of his mouth quirks up. “Yeah,” he murmurs, gaze dropping to your lips. “You like that, don’t you, princess?”

He kisses you again, and with his hair out of the way, it's different—more intense, more focused. His hands grip your waist tighter, pulling you closer, and you can feel the shift in his energy. The playfulness hasn’t disappeared, but beneath it is a seriousness that wasn’t there before, an insistence that asks instead of teases, that wants instead of jokes.

When you try to pull away this time, he doesn't let you.

"Nuh-uh," he murmurs against your lips. "My turn now."

His hand slides to the back of your neck, holding you in place as he kisses you deeper. There's a confidence in the way he takes control, like he's done playing your game and has decided to start his own. His other hand slips under the hem of your shirt, palm hot against your skin, and you feel him smile when you shiver.

"See, the thing is," he says, pulling back just enough to speak, "I was having fun letting you tease me. It was cute." His thumb traces your jawline as his eyes lock onto yours. "But now I'm thinking about all the ways I could tease you back."

To prove his point, he kisses along your jaw, down to your neck, and you feel his teeth graze your skin lightly. Your hands come up to grip his shoulders, and one of them tangles in his ponytail without thinking, tugging slightly.

The sound he makes is somewhere between a groan and a laugh.

"Oh, so you can pull my hair but I can't—" He doesn't finish the sentence. Instead, his hand comes up to thread through your hair, gripping gently and tilting your head back. "That's not very fair, is it?"

His lips return to your neck, kissing and biting softly, and you can feel him smiling against your skin when you gasp. “There you go,” he murmurs, lips brushing your skin. “That’s the reaction I was looking for.”

When he pulls back to look at you, his eyes are darker than before, pupils blown wide. "No more pulling away," he says, and it's not quite a command but not quite a request either. His hand tightens slightly in your hair. "You had your fun. Now let me have mine."

He kisses you again, and this time there's no teasing, no games. Just intensity, heat and the feeling of his body pressed against yours. His hands are everywhere—your waist, your back, sliding up to cup your face, back down to grip your hips.

When you instinctively try to pull back just slightly, probably out of habit more than anything, his grip tightens immediately.

"What did I just say?" he asks, but he's smiling even as he says it. He presses his forehead against yours, breathing hard. "You're going to be the death of me, you know that?"

His hair tie has come slightly loose, a few strands falling free to frame his face, and without thinking you reach up to fix it. He catches your hand, bringing it to his lips instead.

"Or," he says, eyes glinting with mischief again, "you could just take it out. Since you seem so interested in my hair."

When you do, his hair falls forward, messy and perfect, and he shakes his head slightly to settle it. The movement is casual, but the way he's looking at you is anything but.

"There," he says, leaning in close again. His voice drops lower, more intimate. "Now you can touch it all you want."

And when he kisses you this time—deep, slow and purposeful, his fingers threading through your hair to mirror your touch in his—you forget all about teasing him.

You forget about everything except the way he's holding you, kissing you, like he plans to make up for every single time you pulled away.

"See?" he murmurs against your lips, and you can feel his smile. "Told you I'd be fun.”

ˋ ⌞⋮ TAESAN .ᐟ⌝ ˎˊ˗

Making out with Taesan is always intense. He doesn't do anything halfway. When he kisses you, it's with complete focus, like nothing else in the world exists. His hands are firm on your waist, his lips moving against yours with purpose and confidence that makes your head spin.

So really, you should've known better than to tease him.

But you do it anyway.

The first time you pull away, his eyes open slowly, dark and slightly unfocused. He doesn't say anything, just looks at you with a quiet question in his gaze. When you lean back in without explanation, he accepts it, one hand coming up to cup your jaw as he deepens the kiss.

The second time you pull away, you feel the change immediately.

His fingers tighten on your waist—not painfully, but noticeably. His eyes are sharper now when they meet yours, more alert. He's figured it out.

"What are you doing?" His voice is low, quiet, but there's an edge to it.

"Nothing," you say, but you can't quite hide your smile.

Taesan's jaw clenches. He doesn't move for a moment, just watches you with that intense gaze that always makes you feel like he can see right through you. Then, slowly, he leans back in. His hand slides from your jaw to the back of your neck, grip firm and possessive.

"Don't," he says simply, right before his lips meet yours.

This kiss is different, harder, more demanding. His tongue sweeps against yours with clear intent, his hand tightening in warning when he feels you start to pull back. But you do it anyway, breaking the kiss with a soft laugh.

The look he gives you could melt steel.

"You think this is a joke?" His voice is dangerously quiet, and the tone in his voice makes heat pool in your stomach. He's not smiling. Not even a little bit.

"Maybe a little," you admit.

Wrong answer.

In one fluid motion, Taesan shifts, and suddenly you're the one being pressed back against the couch. He's hovering over you, one hand braced beside your head, the other still gripping your hip. His hair falls forward slightly, shadowing his eyes, and the intensity of his gaze pins you in place.

"You want to play games with me?" he asks, voice still low, a controlled tone that somehow feels more threatening than if he were actually angry. "Okay. Let's play."

He leans down, but instead of kissing your lips, he goes for your neck. His mouth is hot against your skin, teeth grazing lightly before he soothes the spot with his tongue. When you gasp, you feel him smile against your throat.

"What's wrong?" he murmurs, lips brushing your skin as he speaks. "You can dish it out but can't take it?"

His hand slides under your shirt, palm flat against your stomach, and you feel him trace slow patterns on your skin. It's deliberate, teasing, and completely unfair. When you try to squirm, his grip on your hip tightens, holding you still.

"Stay," he commands softly, and the authority in his voice makes you obey without thinking.

He kisses up your neck, along your jaw, getting closer and closer to your lips but never quite getting there. When you turn your head to try to kiss him, he pulls back just enough to stay out of reach, and the smirk on his face is absolutely infuriating.

"Not so fun, is it?" he asks, voice laced with dark amusement. "Being teased?"

"Taesan—"

"What?" He tilts his head, looking at you with false innocence that doesn't match the heat in his eyes at all. "I'm just doing what you did to me. That's fair, right?"

His hand slides higher under your shirt, thumb brushing just below your ribs, and you arch into the touch without meaning to. He notices, of course. He notices everything.

"So sensitive," he observes, and there's satisfaction in his tone. His hand moves back down, tracing patterns that make you shiver. "I barely even touched you."

When he finally kisses you again, it's overwhelming. Deep and consuming, like he's trying to prove a point. His body presses close to yours, and you can feel the tension wound tight beneath his skin, the barely restrained control as he holds himself back.

You try to pull away—instinct, maybe, or maybe you just want to see what he'll do—and his reaction is immediate.

His hand flies up to grip your chin, firmly turning your face back to his. "Don't," he warns, and his voice has gone even lower, rough with frustration. "I'm not playing anymore."

There’s a dangerous edge in his gaze now, sharp enough to steal your breath. He’s always been intense, but this is different. This is Taesan with his patience worn down, his restraint fraying, control slipping just enough to show what he’s been holding back.

"You wanted my attention?" he asks, his thumb pressing against your bottom lip. "You have it. All of it. So stop running away."

He kisses you again, harder this time, almost punishing. His hand slips back into your hair, fingers curling with just enough force to steal a breath from you, and he doesn’t hesitate, using the moment to pull you closer, to deepen the kiss until the world tilts and everything feels hazy around the edges. His other hand grips your waist, thumb pressing into your hip bone hard enough that you know you'll feel it tomorrow.

"This is what you do to me," he breathes against your lips, and for the first time you hear how affected he actually is. His voice is ragged, strained. "You drive me crazy. You know that?"

His forehead drops to yours, and you can feel him trembling slightly with the effort of maintaining control. His breathing is heavy, chest heaving against yours.

"Every time you pulled away," he continues, voice barely above a whisper, "all I could think about was how to make you stay. How to make you want me so badly you couldn't even think about leaving."

He pulls back just enough to look at you, and the raw intensity in his gaze steals your breath. "So here's what's going to happen," he says, voice dropping into that commanding tone again. "You're going to stay right here. You're not going to pull away. And you're going to let me kiss you until I'm satisfied. Understood?"

It's not really a question.

When you nod, his expression softens slightly. "Good girl," he murmurs, and the praise sends warmth flooding through you.

This time when he kisses you, it's slower but no less intense. Thorough. Possessive. Like he's claiming you with every brush of his lips, every slide of his tongue. His hands roam your body with purpose, touching, gripping and holding like he's trying to memorize every inch of you.

When he finally pulls back—minutes or hours later, you've lost track—his lips are swollen and red, his eyes dark and satisfied.

"You're so pretty," he says, voice still rough. His thumb traces your jaw gently, a stark contrast to how tightly he was holding you moments ago. 

He settles beside you, pulling you against his chest, and you can still feel his heart racing. His hand finds yours, fingers intertwining, and he brings it to his lips.

"Next time you want to tease me," he says quietly, pressing a kiss to your knuckles, "remember how this ended."

It's a warning and a promise all at once.

And the really dangerous part? You're already thinking about doing it again, just to see what happens.

ˋ ⌞⋮ LEEHAN .ᐟ⌝ ˎˊ˗

Leehan kisses the way he does everything else—with a calm, unhurried confidence that somehow makes your heart race more than any urgency could. His hands are gentle on your face, thumbs brushing your cheekbones as his lips move against yours with patient precision.

There’s an almost meditative quality to it—how he takes his time, as if he has all day to learn the shape of your mouth. It’s the same focused attention he gives anything that holds his interest—steady, observant, fully present.

Which is exactly why you're curious to see what happens when you disrupt that carefully maintained composure.

When you pull away the first time, he doesn't react much. Just opens his eyes slowly, looking at you with that serene expression he always has, like nothing in the world could disturb his peace. He tilts his head slightly, a small questioning smile on his lips, but he doesn't say anything. Just waits.

You lean back in, and he accepts it without hesitation, picking up exactly where you left off. His kiss is deeper this time, more intentional, and you feel one of his hands slide to the back of your neck, fingers spreading through your hair.

Then you pull away again.

This time, you catch the faintest flicker in his eyes. Not confusion, not frustration, more like… focused interest. Like he’s watching an experiment unfold and quietly filing away observations.

"Interesting," he murmurs, voice still soft and even. His hand stays where it is in your hair, not gripping, just resting. "Are you testing something?"

The casual way he asks it makes you laugh. Leave it to Leehan to treat this like a curious phenomenon rather than actual teasing.

"Maybe," you admit.

He hums thoughtfully, eyes scanning your face with that focused attention he usually reserves for his fish tanks. "I see." Then, simply : "Continue."

It's such a Leehan response that you can't help but smile as you kiss him again. This time his hand tightens just slightly in your hair—barely noticeable, but you feel it. When you pull away for the third time, you're watching for his reaction.

His eyes open slowly, and there’s a shift you can’t ignore. The calm is still there, carefully maintained, but beneath it simmers a heat that hadn’t surfaced before. He looks at you for a long, deliberate moment without saying a word, and the silence feels heavy, charged, far more unsettling than anything he could have spoken.

"Three times," he observes quietly. His thumb traces your bottom lip with deliberate slowness. "You've pulled away three times now."

"Have I?" You try to sound innocent.

"Mm." His gaze drops to your lips, and you watch his jaw tighten almost imperceptibly. "You have."

He leans in again, but this time it's different. Slower. More purposeful. His eyes stay open, locked on yours until the last possible second, and when his lips finally meet yours, the kiss is deeper than before. Consuming. His hand in your hair shifts, fingers curling just enough to keep you in place without being forceful.

When you try to pull away this time, you realize you can't move far. His grip isn't painful, isn't even really tight, but it's firm. Decisive. And the message is clear : he's done letting you control this.

He breaks the kiss himself, but stays close enough that his lips brush yours when he speaks. “I’ve been patient with you,” he murmurs, voice low and even, controlled that it feels almost mesmerizing. There’s an undercurrent to it now, a quiet shift that makes your stomach tighten, that sends awareness sparking through you. His gaze stays locked on yours as he adds, just as softly, “But I think we’re past that.”

His free hand lifts to cradle your face, the touch gentle but unmistakably claiming, a quiet possessiveness threaded through the softness of the gesture. "Do you know what happens when you test someone's patience?" he asks, and it's clearly rhetorical because he continues without waiting for an answer. "You find out exactly how much control they actually have."

He kisses you again, and this time there's no mistaking the intensity behind it. It's still controlled, still measured, but you can feel the restraint it's taking. His tongue slides against yours with clear intent, and the hand on your face angles your head exactly where he wants it.

"I have a lot of patience," he murmurs against your lips. "But even I have limits."

When his hand slides down from your face to your throat, his thumb against your pulse point, you gasp softly. You feel him smile.

"Your heart is racing," he observes, voice still that same quiet, almost clinical tone. But his thumb traces circles on your neck that are anything but clinical. "Interesting. Are you nervous?"

You shake your head, and his smile grows slightly.

"No? Then what?" His eyes search yours with genuine curiosity, edged with a darker intent. "Excited? Anticipating what I'll do next?"

He’s analyzing you even now, reading every reaction—and somehow that makes it worse.

"Let me tell you what I think," he says, leaning in close enough that his breath fans across your lips. "I think you wanted to see what would happen if you pushed me. You wanted to know what I'd be like when I stop being patient."

His hand tightens just slightly around your throat—not restricting, just present, just enough to remind you it's there. "Would you like to see?"

Before you can answer, he's kissing you again, and it's completely overwhelming. Still controlled, still measured, but intense in a way that makes your head spin. His hand stays on your throat, feeling every gasp, every quickening of your pulse, while his other hand finally releases your hair to slide down your back.

When he pulls you closer, you can feel his heart beating against your chest, faster than usual but still steady.

"You're not pulling away now," he notes, pulling back just enough to speak. There's satisfaction in his tone, quiet but unmistakable. "Why is that?"

His hand slides under your shirt, palm flat against your lower back, and the skin-to-skin contact makes you shiver. He notices immediately, of course he does. He notices everything.

"Cold?" he asks, but there's a knowing look in his eyes that says he knows exactly why you shivered, and it has nothing to do with temperature.

"Leehan—" you start, but he cuts you off with another kiss, this one somehow even deeper than the last.

"Shh," he soothes between kisses, hand moving in slow circles on your back. "No more talking. No more pulling away. Just focus on this."

When his hand slides higher up your back, fingers tracing your spine, you arch into him without meaning to. His other hand tightens on your throat in response just for a second, just enough to make you gasp, before relaxing again.

"See?" he murmurs, and there's a smugness in his tone now. "You're much better when you stay still. When you let me do what I want."

He kisses along your jaw, down to your neck, and you feel his teeth graze your skin lightly. "I could do this for hours," he says conversationally, like he's commenting on the weather. "Just finding all the spots that make you react. Learning exactly what you like."

"But first," he says, pulling back to look at you again, "you're going to stay right here and let me kiss you properly. No more games. No more pulling away." His thumb brushes across your throat, feeling your pulse jump. "Can you do that for me?"

It's phrased as a question, but the look in his eyes makes it clear there's only one acceptable answer.

When you nod, his smile is small but genuinely pleased. "Good," he says softly, leaning in again. "That's very good."

And when he kisses you this time—slow, deep and absolutely devastating—you understand exactly what he meant about patience. Because Leehan doesn't rush anything. He takes his time, thorough and methodical, until you forget you ever wanted to pull away in the first place.

Until all you can think about is how to get him to never stop.

ˋ ⌞⋮ WOONHAK .ᐟ⌝ ˎˊ˗

Kissing Woonhak is sweet and a little clumsy in the most endearing way. He's still figuring things out, but he makes up for any lack of experience with sheer enthusiasm. His hands rest nervously on your waist, and you can feel how fast his heart is beating when you're this close.

So of course, you decide to make it worse for him.

The first time you pull away, his eyes fly open immediately, wide and startled like a deer in headlights. "Wait, what— did I mess up?" His voice pitches up slightly in panic. "Was that bad? I can do better, I promise, just—"

"You're fine," you assure him with a laugh, leaning back in before he can spiral further.

He relaxes instantly, shoulders dropping as he lets out a relieved breath. "Okay, okay good, because I've been practicing— I mean, not practicing, but like, thinking about— you know what, never mind." His ears are already bright red as he kisses you again, and you can feel him smiling against your lips.

That's when you pull away the second time.

"Okay, what—" He blinks at you, confused. Then his eyes narrow slightly in suspicion. "Wait. Are you doing that on purpose?"

You try to keep a straight face. "Doing what?"

"THAT!" He gestures wildly between you. "The pulling away! You're messing with me right now!"

When you don't deny it, his mouth drops open in betrayal. "Oh my god, you ARE! I can't believe— I was so worried I was doing something wrong!"

"You weren't," you say, grinning now.

"Then why—" He stops, processing, and then his expression shifts between embarrassment and indignation. "You're TEASING me? Seriously?"

He runs both hands through his hair, laughing in disbelief. "I'm already so nervous and you're just— wow. Okay. That's how we're playing this?"

Before you can respond, he's leaning back in with renewed determination. "Fine. You know what? I'm not gonna let it get to me. I'm just gonna— we're just gonna kiss and it's gonna be great and you're not gonna—"

You pull away again.

"ARE YOU KIDDING ME RIGHT NOW?" His voice cracks spectacularly, and he falls back against the couch dramatically, covering his face with his hands. "This is torture! Actual torture! I'm being tortured!"

You're laughing now, and he peeks at you through his fingers. "You think this is funny? My heart can't take this kind of stress! I'm too young!"

"You're so dramatic," you say, but you're smiling.

"I'M dramatic?" He sits back up, pointing at you accusingly. "You're the one playing mind games! Do you know how hard it is to focus when you keep— when you—" He gestures vaguely, too flustered to finish the sentence.

His whole face is red now, and he's fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. "Every time you pull away, I think I did something wrong and my brain just goes—" He makes an explosion sound effect with his hands. "Like that. Complete malfunction."

"Want me to stop?" you ask, taking pity on him.

"YES! No! I don't know!" He groans, flopping against the couch again. "This is so confusing. You're so confusing. Why are you like this?"

After a moment of internal crisis, he sits back up with a determined look. "Okay. Okay, I'm gonna try one more time, and you have to promise not to pull away because I don't think my heart can handle it."

"I promise," you say, and he eyes you suspiciously.

"Really?"

"Really."

He studies your face for a long moment, clearly trying to determine if you're trustworthy. Finally, he nods. "Okay. But if you do it again, I'm— I don't know what I'll do, but it'll be something! A consequence! There will be consequences!"

The threat would be more effective if his voice wasn't shaking slightly and if he didn't look absolutely adorable while making it.

When he leans in this time, he's extra careful. His hand comes up to cup your face gently, and he pauses just before your lips meet. "You promised," he whispers, and for all the control in his posture, there’s a fragile note beneath it, almost pleading, almost vulnerable.

"I promised," you confirm.

This kiss is different—slower, more confident now that he's not worried about you disappearing. His other hand finds yours, fingers intertwining and squeezing like he's anchoring himself. When you don't pull away, you feel him relax completely, even smiling against your lips.

After a few moments, he pulls back himself, and the smile on his face is so bright and genuine it makes your heart squeeze. "See? We can do this! When you're not being evil, we're actually really good at this!"

"Evil is a strong word," you laugh.

"You literally tortured me for fun," he points out, but he's grinning now. "That's pretty evil. I'm dating a villain."

He's still holding your hand, thumb tracing patterns on your skin, and the simple affection of it is so Woonhak it makes you smile.

"Don't do that again though," he says quietly. "My heart rate still hasn't gone back to normal. I think you took years off my life."

"So dramatic," you repeat.

"So mean," he counters, but he's leaning in again anyway, bumping his nose against yours playfully. "You're lucky you're cute."

"You think I'm cute?"

"Don't fish for compliments, you already know you are," he mumbles, ears going red again. "Now can we please just kiss like normal people? No more games?"

And when you agree, his relieved sigh is so loud and exaggerated that you can't help but laugh against his lips.

Even as he kisses you again—sweet, enthusiastic and unmistakably Woonhak—he pulls back every few seconds just to check that you're still there, like he doesn't quite trust that you won't disappear again.

"Just making sure," he explains each time, and honestly? It's perfect.

@coriihanniee ᯓᡣ𐭩

˖➴ reblogs are appreciated! ty for reading! <3

bnd taglist : @riuscheri @imhereonlytoreadxoxo @heeheesang @jjyurahz @prodkwh @ivehan @yunextdoor @chocorenchin @hyunjinslongasslegs @pupillary @s0shroe @mydeepestsecrects @perlleta @reibelhearts @levi-09 @parkthothwa8 @woonbabie @nemoihan @wnouzi @kazukazukiiii @hollyoongs @kjunebuggie @niiqv @fayepz @bamgeutori @haeonniie

[212art]

Don’t Go

Pairing: Taesan × Fem!Reader

Warnings: fluff, sickness (fever), clingy behavior, physical affection, emotional vulnerability, comfort, established relationship

Summary: When Taesan gets sick, he doesn’t push you away instead, he holds on tighter, needing you close in the quietest, most vulnerable way.

You didn’t realize he had a fever at first.

You just thought he was quieter but you didn’t say anything.

Until he leaned against you without warning.

“Taesan…”

He doesn’t respond.

He just settles more against you, his head falling onto your shoulder.

His breathing feels heavier.

Your hand moves to his forehead and you freeze.

“You’re burning.”

He barely reacts.

“It’s nothing.”

A lie.

You try to pull away slightly.

“You should lie down.”

But he doesn’t let you.

His arm tightens around your waist, pulling you closer.

“No.”

“Taesan—”

“Stay.”

He says it low.

Words dragging slightly, not firm.

Just… tired.

You stay still for a second.

He takes advantage of it, presses closer into you.

His face ends up against your neck.

“Don’t move…”

he murmurs.

Your hand ends up in his hair, you run your fingers through it.

“You’re sick.”

“Mm.”

He doesn’t deny it this time.

But he doesn’t pull away either.

If anything…

his arms wrap around you more, like that’s the only thing he wants.

“Let’s go to bed,” you insist.

He doesn’t answer.

But when you try to move… he tightens his hold.

“I’m fine like this.”

His voice is low, softer than usual.

“You’re not fine.”

“Yes.”

A pause.

“If you’re here.”

Your heart aches a little.

You sigh.

“You’re impossible.”

“Mm.”

He doesn’t argue.

Just settles more comfortably.

His hands move slightly against your back. Slow, lacking energy but constant.

“Don’t go.”

He murmurs again, quieter this time.

And you stay, of course you do.

[riumori]

COUNT TO LOVE ─── HAN TAESAN

Taesan grew up in the city, he's never lived in such a small town until now. There are no heads turning when he walks around—he goes unnoticed. However, it only starts to bother him when the girl he has eyes for doesn't bat him an eye. Not even once. No wonder he finds himself trying to change her mind with only one month of summer left.

OR IN WHICH . . . Wherever Taesan went, heads turned and eyes were on him. But now, things are different. In this small town nobody cares about anyone's looks nor reputation, except for Taesan. He cares about you and wants you to do the same for him, to which you don't. Maybe it's time for him to embrace his city life and change things.

THE PAIRING -> city-boy!taesan x small-town-girl!reader

⤷ THIS CONTAINS ────୨ৎ──── oneshot small town au mentions of city life au romcom shirtless taesan makeout scene suggestive at end ( 8265 WORDS ! )

NOTE -> if im being honest this is actually a very old fic idea from last summer (and part of my loser bnd series) but obvi i got unmotivated and stopped working on it midway and only decided to pick it up again now.... but yayay its done and ready to be read right!!!!!!! enjoy my cb to bndblr for a bit before i vanish again until june.... 👻👻 Sorry for the ass kiss scene too lol...... i hate writing them i also feel like this was ass But oh well playlist is linked in the title too!

ONE — HE’S SOMETHING.

A small town lifestyle. That’s something Taesan never once thought he’d ever live. He’s so used to the city, the constant vehicles driving about, sirens blaring in the distance, strangers yelling out of anger on the sides of the streets, dogs barking at each other on the roads, eyes on him wherever he goes.

It’s different. There’s none of that. 

The town is quiet. The stores that used to be a walking distance for Taesan are nowhere near close now. It’s a bit of a drive. There are no sirens where he stays. No dogs barking or strangers yelling out of anger. If anything, the only shouts that he hears are joyful ones—greetings. Everyone knows each other in this town, nobody is a stranger. 

Not even Taesan who only moved here two months ago. 

It’s different. It’s comforting.

He can actually hear the raindrops that splash against his window on gloomy days. He can hear the birds chirping every morning and uses it as a wake up call. The tractor that runs over the patches of grass near the place he stays. 

It’s different and refreshing.

However, there’s one thing in particular that makes him love the small town lifestyle even more. It’s you. You’re the reason he’s bothered. He’s fine with the fact nobody gawks at his looks anymore, but not when it comes to you.

He wants you to look at him. When he walks in your area, he’s only reminded of his first ever interaction with your mother. She was amazed by his looks—something about it being uncommon for new citizens to be so ‘handsome’. She even insisted that he’d be introduced to a girl in town. After landing eyes on you, the girl who walked out of their house with a bowl of fruits, he really hoped that she was talking about you. 

That only explains why he’s walking down the same path he did two months ago. Hands in his pockets as he strolls down the rugged walkway. He’s greeting neighbors with a cheeky smile on his face. Yes, he’s happy to see them, but even more excited to see you. 

The excitement bubbling within him only doubles when he sees the roof of your flat come into view. To be honest, he comes here often. The main reason to see you, but he always gets warped into a task by your parents. They took a liking to him. Perhaps, even a loving. He’s not that far from getting their blessings, right?

“Taesan!” Your mother cheers from the porch. A smile appears on his face as he walks through the gates of your home into the arms of your mom. He gives her a tight hug while she rubs up and down his back.

“Good morning,” the boy greets, his smile never faltering. He can’t fight the way his eyes switch to the open door that leads to the hallway of your house, and back at your mother. It’s a common occurrence. Maybe you’ll come out like you did the first time he saw you. Ever since then, you’ve been on his mind. Not once have you ever left it. 

“How are you?” She’s rubbing his back with a hand, rustling his clothes in the process. Though, he doesn’t care. A few new lines in his freshly ironed white top won’t hurt him. 

“I’m fine, what about you?”  

“That’s so sweet of you to ask.” She gawks at his thoughtfulness and reassures him that she’s doing okay. The offer to have breakfast with them doesn’t fall deaf on Taesan’s ears. In his head, he’s quick to say yes, but in reality he’s laid back. He gives your mom a nod with a hand on his heart to show his gratitude. He wouldn’t be able to express his thankfulness in words because, honestly, it’s out of the roof.  As he walks down the hallway he was continuously glancing at, he’s biting down on his lip.

This was never the plan. He only came to see you and work with whatever random task your parents give him. Things managed to go south with how he’s sitting at their family dining table. It’s his first time, but he's not complaining. He could do this many more other times.

“By the way,” Taesan starts as he settles down even further. “The fruits you gave us the other day were sweet. It was a nice feeling.” He informs her, a slight smile present on his face at the faint taste on his tastebuds. 

“Really? I’m glad!” Her voice raises an octave as she prepares the boy's meal. He hums in response with his fingers fiddling with one another. He’s not lying to satisfy your mother. The fruits were truly as good as he said they were. 

“There are still some left. When you leave, you can take a few.” She offers. 

The ends of his lips curl upward. “That would be nice, yeah.” 

“Taesan?” Someone says from down the hall. His head turns at the familiar voice as he locks eyes with a familiar face. It’s your father. His walking pace increases when Taesan gives the man a wave. As happy as he is to see your parents… he still wants to see you. 

The you who appears at the doorway momentarily after your dad does. You’re holding two bags of soil, one over the other, when a sigh leaves your mouth. Your dad is squeezing Taesan’s shoulder and he feels it, but he isn’t paying attention to it. His head is still turned to the entrance of your home as you kick the door shut with the back of your foot, hands too busy to do anything about it. 

Your eyes are closed when you inhale. You’re exhausted from the trip your father put you on.

“Dad, where should I put these—” You pause, finally taking note of Taesan’s presence. “—Why is he here?” 

“Don’t be like that. You can put them over there, I’ll use them later anyway.” He scolds you then points at the empty spot near the door as your mother ushers you to come eat. 

It’s as if they have a plan up their sleeves with the way you’re forced to sit beside Taesan, the boy who randomly showed up in town around two months ago. He doesn’t know it, but that was the only thing everyone spoke about that week—a family from the city moving to this sad town. Why would anyone give up city life for a life like this? 

You don’t get it. You don’t like him either—okay, you don’t like anyone from the city. From what you’ve seen online or through movies, they are snobby and full of themselves. You hate it. You hate him. Well, not that much. You aren’t sure if he’s putting up a front, but from what you’ve seen within the two months he’s been here… he’s different. 

To you, he’s not the same person you’ve seen in movies. He doesn’t have an attitude or a high ego. He’s offering to help your family and citizens whenever there’s an opening. It’s refreshing to see, yet you can’t help but feel suspicious of him. Like he’s up to something. You have a feeling he is—a feeling that you can’t prove the truth to.

“This tastes amazing,” Taesan boasts as he goes in for another bite of your mother’s cooking. You’re looking at him through your peripheral vision as you spoon another bite of rice while your parents smile at his reaction.

He’s not wrong, your mother cooking is one of the best you’ve ever had. There’s no way he’s faking that, right?

“It’s way different than the food from the city.” He says. There’s a genuine tone laced in his words, leaving you unsure of your suspicious feeling. Unless he’s a really good actor, it’s hard to not believe that he’s being serious.

“Oh right.” Your father grabs a napkin and wipes at his mouth. “How is your life on the west end? Do you ever miss the city?” 

Taesan looks up at the question. He ponders before answering. This is something that you want to hear. You’re mentally cheering, eyes focused on the bowl of food in front of you. Taesan clears his throat and shakes his head.

“Not at all. I like it here better… it’s more… quiet. There aren't people looking at you wherever you go, expectations that you have to keep up. The roads aren’t as overstimulating due to the vast number of people who walk on them. Everyone isn’t a stranger and are the sweetest people you’ll ever meet.” He pauses.

“It’s refreshing, really.” 

When you look over at the boy, he’s smiling. He really means everything he says. Maybe you were wrong. He’s nothing like the city people you’ve seen growing up. Actually, he’s far from that. With how he describes the differences, it’s like he feels at home here. In the small town that is.

And truthfully, as much as it pains you to say it after keeping up a front for the last two months, his vibe does suit the town you live in. 

TWO — FLOUR, SEEDS, MILK, AND EGGS.

Taesan doesn’t know how the two of you ended up here, but he isn’t complaining. One moment he was having breakfast with you and your family, and now he’s holding a list of groceries to buy as he walks beside you. The walk isn’t long, but it feels long because of how quiet the two of you are. He’s rereading the grocery list to distract himself from the deading silence. 

At times like these, Taesan would speak up and try to get your attention. 

He can’t do it.

“What’s on the list?” You ask, breaking the unbearable silence. His head perks up at your sudden question. It caught him off guard.

“There’s…” He pauses, fumbling over the words in his head. The ones he’s been reading over for the last seven minutes, yet, he’s struggling to say them aloud.

Taesan clears his throat as you both come to a stop in front of the local grocery store. “There’s flour, seeds, milk, and eggs.” It’s a weird combination of things, but there’s no surprise that you’re running short on them. There’s not a day where your parents aren’t using either of the items. You nod at Taesan’s words and enter the store with him following shortly after.

“I’ll go get the seeds since there’s quite a few of them.” The boy points down the aisle they are located in and you send him off. Honestly, he needed a moment to calm down. He’s embarrassed from how he nearly tripped over his words in front of you. 

What happened to the Taesan from the city who had no trouble talking to people? The one who held a constant reputation and lived a pretty social life. Where’d he go and why did he disappear into thin air the moment he met you? It’s unfortunate, really. You had him wrapped around your finger and had no clue of it. 

Taesan eyes the seeds on the shelves. There are ones for flowers, vegetables, and fruits. He takes his time with matching the names of the needed seeds to the ones on the shelves, reaching and grabbing them in a swift motion every time. Your father loves to tend to the garden and the farm near your home. He wouldn’t be shocked if he asks the boy to assist him when you two return home. He’s always glad to help him anyway. 

After grabbing the last seed, Taesan sets out on his way to find you. Hopefully you’ve gathered the last three items while he worked alone. His hands are full with how he carries the six seed packets in one hand and the list in the other. He really should’ve grabbed a basket before disappearing down the aisles of the store. 

“Hey, I’m done.” Taesan starts while going over the seeds on the list once more. Just to double check with the ones in his hold. When he reaches your side, he’s looking over at you and the way you’re reaching the bag of flour. Well, trying to. You’d usually ask the cashier for assistance because of how high it was, but he’s busy. It’s on the last shelf… There are many levels to it. Could you really blame yourself? 

“Do you need help?” Taesan asks as he drops the seed packets into the basket next to your foot. From a quick glance, he’s able to tell that you’ve gotten the other two ingredients while he was gone. You work fast, that’s for sure. 

“A little.” You say and back away from the stocked shelves as he takes over. You watch as he reaches for the sack of flour. You don’t know why they are in sacks. It’s not like they’re a bag of soil. A small quantity could have been completely fine too. You also don’t know why you can’t peel your eyes away when his white t-shirt slightly riles up, revealing the lower portion of his back. 

You hate Taesan. 

Well, your reasoning behind it isn’t enough to back up your hatred anymore. 

You hated Taesan. Despite that, you couldn’t deny the fact that you don't find him even a little attractive. 

He turns around with the sack in his hold. “Only one, right?” He asks. He’s carrying it without an issue. You nod and pick up the shopping basket by the handles before walking away from him. He’s confused, but doesn’t question your quick movements. Maybe the two of you are under a time limit he isn’t aware of.

You’re already placing the items in the basket onto the front desk when Taesan catches up to you. You move out of the way, giving him an opening to slip through with the sack of flour, and enough space to keep your distance from the boy. 

He doesn’t pay much attention to it. 

Taesan shoves his hands into his back pocket as you converse with the cashier. Although he’s been in this town for two months now, he doesn’t know that many people. He stays in contact with your family and a few of his neighbours. That’s pretty much it. Even if he doesn’t know that many townspeople, he still gives everyone a smile followed by a greeting. It’s a common thing here—nothing like the city he used to live in. 

“Let’s go.” You say, grabbing the bagged items. He picks up the sack of flour and follows you out of the door. He whispers a soft ‘thank you’ at the way you hold the door open for him. It’s nothing much, but it still makes him smile. He’s getting there.

The walk is quiet. Once again. This time, he’s eyeing the scenery around you two as you walk your way home. There are so many differences between a small town and a city. The city is loud with cars everywhere you look. In this small town, the roads aren’t as stable. There are a few cars, but not enough to disrupt your walk in the middle of the road. It’s much safer.

The scenery is green—like a really vibrant green. Everything is well kept and healthy unlike the dead grass patches and browned leaves on branches where he used to live. It’s where he grew up, he was used to it. So, moving here and seeing the brighter greenery was quite shocking to him. 

Taesan lets out a sigh. It isn’t a sigh of distress, more so relief. He loves it here. The air lifts off any weight on his shoulders. He’s more free than he was back then—in the area where he had to keep a lifestyle. 

Posting things on social media to keep up with the algorithm. To keep up with the image he put for himself. It felt draining, really. His friends were too immersed with social media too. Not one day did they not post anything, leaving him to do the same. Every hangout, there was an image being taken. There wasn’t one moment where the flash wasn’t going off. It briefly blinded him, but felt like eternity. 

He hated it.

He still does. He doesn’t like anything to do with cameras. Even if he doesn’t have social media anymore, it’s not like he isn’t reminded of it. He wants a break—to break free, even. Luckily, moving away from that toxic life of his is a good start to what he wants. 

You gasp, causing the boy’s head to whip over at you almost instantly. He’s startled by the sudden sound. Worried that you might’ve seen something you shouldn’t have. You point and he follows. It’s an unfamiliar sight to Taesan. He doesn’t know what he’s looking at nor reading. He squints. A sign that says two words he’s familiar with on their own. Not together.

“Banana pudding?” He questions and you’re turning to look at him with wide eyes. Why are his words in a questioning tone? 

“You’ve never heard of it?” 

He shakes his head and you blink. 

What?

“Not even at a dessert place in the city?” You question. Taesan briefly flinches at the mention. It’s so subtle that you would miss it even if you only blink. 

“I haven’t.” 

That’s the last thing Taesan says before you’re grabbing his forearm. It’s soft enough to not disrupt the sack of flour in his hold and harsh enough to have a firm grip onto him. 

“You’ll try it today. It’s so good. Seriously, you’re missing out.” The words rush out of your mouth. You’re excited to have a portion of your favourite dessert ever and surprised that he’s never heard of it in the first place. When you two arrive, Taesan’s standing in silence as you order. It’s rare to see pop-up stands like these. Especially ones selling your all-time favourite dessert. 

You turn, two cups of banana pudding in your hands, and he takes it as a sign to put the flour down. It rests at his feet as he takes a cup into his own hands. Once your hand is free, you’re quick to grab your spoon and take a bite of your portion. It still hits the same as it would in your childhood. 

Taesan lifts his spoon, scooping a bit of the pudding. You focus on him, waiting to see the changes in his facial features. You aren’t sure if he has a sweet tooth. Honestly, you should’ve asked before. If he doesn’t like it, it’s not like it would offend you… you’d still be a little disappointed.

He takes his bite in silence. With the way it rests on his tongue, melting in the process, it reminds him of Tiramisu. That’s a dessert he knows about. However, it’s different. It’s less rich in flavour, but more fun. It feels like a burst of colours in a bite. It’s lighter, smoother, and sweet. There’s even a tiny hint of vanilla that appears once in a while. 

It reminds him of the town in comparison to the city. It’s ten times better. 

He swallows, then bites his lip. “I like it.” 

You smile at his words as the boy goes in for another bite. You’re glad he likes it. With the way his eyes sparkle at the sudden burst of flavour and he bites his lip every single time, you can’t take your eyes off of him. He’s nowhere near anything you made him out to be. He’s not full of himself. He’s not ungrateful for things he’s given. He’s not a spoiled brat. He’s none of that. He’s cute. 

“I can’t believe you’ve never heard of banana pudding before.” You say, swinging the plastic bag back and forth as the two of you continue your walk home. The cups you ate out of are now lying in a trash can with whatever residue was left behind. It was very tasty. 

“Yeah… I wasn’t one to go to dessert places like that.” He informs while readjusting the way the sack of flour rests in his arms. It’s true. Dessert places wasn’t an area you’d find him in. He only ate whatever his parents brought home. That was it. He didn’t go out of his way to try them himself either. Why? Well—It wasn’t really part of the lifestyle he had out there…and it doesn’t really help that he too wasn’t given much privilege to live out of that image freely.

“That’s a shame…” You mumble. “I always wanted to try the dessert places out there.” That’s really the only thing you liked to hear about the city. They had a variety of desserts compared to the ones you grew up with. Of course, someone with a sweet tooth would feel jealousy in a way. 

Taesan makes a mental note of everything you say. You like pastries? Okay. Perchance, he could use that as opening to your heart, right?

Right…

THREE — YES, BEING SHIRTLESS!

Obviously not. Taesan has no clue how to bake. He’s done it a few times with pre-made batter, but that was it. It’s not like you could call that baking. It’s bright and early on a new day and Taesan finds himself in his kitchen. Not to make himself breakfast, instead to bake your favourite dessert—banana pudding. 

The ingredients sit in front of him on the counter as he stares them down. He believes he has the taste remembered. It can't be that hard. It can’t be and yet he’s struggling. The recipe itself says that it's as easy as reading a book. He can protest against that. It’s nowhere near the level of reading a book. 

His struggle only continues to grow as he nears the end of the recipe. He has no clue if he’s doing any of this right. He can only hope that he is. There’s a three day chill time… if he can’t succeed with his own charms within the next few days, hopefully the banana pudding can do it for him. 

The boy shakes his head at the memory of his baking attempt. It’s still fresh on his mind even if this happened a few hours ago. Hours before he appeared at your home like always. 

He picks up the shovel from the shed and returns to his spot beside you. You’re patting the soil around a new planted seed when he joins your side. He’s been helping you with the garden since he arrived an hour ago, but disappeared to grab something else from the shed. It’s your parents’ fault. Taesan showed up at your home as part of his daily routine, then got winded up into doing tasks with you.

He likes to think that they are playing matchmaker for him. Maybe they support the idea of the two of you ending up together. The idea Taesan yearns to see come true. It’s only been twenty-four hours, but from his constant observation from the past… your distaste for him is slowly going away. Today you didn’t protest against their words. When they told you to let him help with the garden, you didn’t say anything bad. 

It was plain and simple. Just a basic ‘okay, come on’. Nothing more and nothing less. Either way, he followed you without any questions in his head. 

You’re unaware that he’s back, too busy humming along to whatever song faintly plays in your ears. When he takes a seat beside you, you’re grabbing the bag of soil nearby. The sudden shadow that covers the soil patch causes you to pause. It’s too dark. You can’t see it. 

Slowly, you turn your head around, wondering where the sudden darkness came from. Are you afraid? Obviously. It might be Taesan, but the walk to the shed and back shouldn’t be that quick. He’s only been gone for a minute or two. No way he would’ve ran, right?

Wrong. 

Taesan’s face appears in a blur as you flinch before your vision is covered by the colour brown, and the bag of soil in your hand lessens in weight. It lessens in weight. Then it’s revealed—a soil-covered Taesan who has his eyes closed and yours are widening. 

“Oh my gosh.” You gasp. In haste, you harshly place the sack of soil aside and reach out towards Taesan’s clothes. Using your gloves, you try dusting off the patches of soil hoping that it will lessen the mess, but nothing happens. Instead, it gets worse.

Taesan grips your wrist, halting your movements. He brings your hand to his face and uses your glove to wipe off soil that landed on it. There’s no way you’d save his t-shirt with the enormous amount that landed on him. It’s better to work with what you can and not with what you can’t. 

“I’m so sorry,” you apologize. This isn’t the first. There were many as you tried wiping at his shirt and then his face. A smile appears on his lips. He has the audacity to smile in such a state. 

“It’s fine, really,” he sighs. “I should’ve made my presence more known.” He stands up, reaching for the hem of his shirt. You lean back, thinking he’s going to shake the soil particles off, but no. Your guess isn’t even close to being right. He’s taking off his shirt. Fully taking off his shirt. 

He shakes the piece of clothing, creating a pile of soil underneath, as you look away. There’s a beat—you can’t tell if it’s your heartbeat or a still in the air. Maybe it’s a mix of both?

“You can go clean yourself… I’ll continue here.” You insist. 

“Are you sure? I’ll be fine, I don’t need this anyways. It’s hot.” 

“I’m sure. Please, borrow a shirt from my dad.” To you, your words are more of a plea than an offering. Taesan looks you up and down, analyzing your state. He purses his lips and turns on his heel. As he walks away he shakes his head, leaving a trail of soil which falls from his hair. God, it was way worse than you thought it was.

You feel terrible. 

Taesan runs a hand through his hair as he walks down the hallway of your home—cheeks red. He’s embarrassed and flustered. He acted out of reflex when he took off his shirt. The soil feeling through the thin lining of his top against his skin was unbearable. He couldn’t help it. He screwed up. Most likely, he made you uncomfortable. That’s not what he wanted to do. Hell, that’s the last thing he would ever want to do. 

With Taesan gone and the area around you silent, it gives you an opening to think. To overthink. These last two days with Taesan felt different. They were more comforting than you expected. They only made you think: did you truly ever hate Taesan? You never liked him because he was from the city. You never denied that he was attractive. You didn’t like his company only because you thought he was a spoiled stuck-up brat. You never denied that he was helpful to your tasks. Once all your suspicions were refuted, there wasn’t a reason to not like him (in both ways, fortunately). 

You let out a harsh sigh, dropping the tools in your hand. They plop against the soil and you’re ripping your gardening gloves off of your hands. They feel suffocating—even worse than the guilt that swallows you whole. 

(Literally) within a blink of your eyes, you’re standing in the hallway of your home, a few steps away from the bathroom. Maybe you’re worrying too much about this. Maybe Taesan doesn’t need your help at all. Hell, he’s the one who said he’d be fine either way. 

You’re the one who overreacted… too flustered by the sight of his bare skin. The urge to turn back is creeping up your neck the longer you hesitate. You’re unsure. Are you going to regret helping him? Things have already changed between the two of you, the only other option is for things to change even further. Reaching the point of liking one another. 

With how much u suppressed such a thought over the last two months, you wouldn’t be shocked to reach that point anytime now. Maybe it was finally time for you to accept the truth.

“(Name)?” Taesan says, closing the bathroom door behind him. You struggle to look up from your soil-covered sneakers, too afraid to face the boy. Taesan ruffles his hair with the small towel in his hold with a puzzled expression on his face.

“What’re you doing? Did you finish planting the seeds?” 

“No.” The word leaves your lips in a broken yet stern tone. So much for trying to keep your composure together. There he is effortlessly walking about while your nails dig into the palms of your hands, turning pale in the process. 

Your hatred for the boy is returning, well, your so-called hatred. 

Taesan raises a brow at your stiffness. “Why are you just standing there? We should get back to work.” He lowers the towel from his hair, his focus now on you.

“(Name)?” He calls as he approaches you, concerned. “What’s wrong?” 

“I’m okay!” You blurt out, head shooting up in a hurry. You can feel your face heating up, you really can’t face him anymore. This is bad. You need help—wait, that’s what you came here for in the first place. To help him clean up. 

Right.

“Taesan,” you say, followed by the clearing of your throat. He hums in response, still questioning your reactions. 

“Do you need help? You look like you could use some. Let me help you dry your hair!” You ramble, rushing over to the boy before he could even get the chance to respond. You’re quick to grab onto the towel in his hand and drag him by the wrist, heading off to a different room within your home. 

If you’re not looking at his front then you should be okay. You can’t deny and say that he isn’t attractive. He’s fit and toned. It’s a great balance. The sight of his dampened torso makes you flustered. 

You must remain calm. 

You gulp while taking a seat on the sofa, ushering him to sit on the spot below. It’s all going according to your plan—the sight of him being turned away, your heartbeat calming down, and nothing to make you feel flustered, right?

Wrong… again. 

Unfortunately (but fortunately), his back isn’t any better. The droplets that take their time to fall from his dark strands and make themselves at home on his back leaves you feeling worse than before. In haste, you slam the towel on his head, causing the poor boy to flinch.

“Ow!” He exclaims and whips his head around. “What was that for?” 

Your face is hot. Your heart is beating against your chest. It’s the loudest it's ever been. At this rate, you’re not sure if your heart could tell the difference between being chased and presenting in front of a class. Hell, more like standing in front of a shirtless and damp Taesan. 

“(Name)?” Taesan says in the same confusing tone as earlier. So much for feeling déjà vu. “If you’re feeling unwell then go rest. I can do this on my own.” He’s adjusting his seating, kneeling as he reaches for the towel on his head. 

You lean back at the sudden movements. “No!” You swallow. “I’m okay.”

You’ve been acting weird. This whole time, there wasn’t one moment where he didn’t feel confused by your reactions. He believes the two of you have finally gotten on good terms, but it feels as if it didn’t last long—as if he has done something to bring the two of you back to square one.

There’s a shift in his expression as his features soften. “Did I do something?” Taesan questions, an upsetting tone lingering in his voice. 

Yes, being shirtless! 

Is what you want to say, but you can’t. Neither do you know why you’re reacting in such a way. As weird as it sounds, you’ve seen many shirtless boys in town. There’s no reason for you to be feeling this with Taesan. It’s not like you at all.

“I’m sorry.” You exhale. “You didn’t do anything, sorry.” You apologize again, removing the towel from his hand softer than before. You motion for him to turn back around and he does just that. Regaining your composure once more, you place the towel on his head and begin your attempt to dry his hair.

All of this is a fluke. Of course, it’s out of character for you to act in such a way, but it’s just a fluke. You don’t like Taesan. You don’t hate him but, you don’t like him—romantically. 

That’s that. 

And it’ll always be that way. 

“There. I’m done.” He stands up while feeling his hair. 

“Thanks.” Taesan says with a slight smile.

“About the gardening, I can finish it up.” You need something to clear your mind with anyway. This will be enough of a distraction. 

“I can help—”

“No!” You blurt. “I mean, it’s okay. There’s not much left… I can manage it.” You give him an awkward but convincing smile. 

“Take the rest of the day off. My parents might need help with dinner later anyway.” 

He hesitates but nods. Maybe you’ll really be okay on your own. You have more experience than he does anyway, if he continues to help he’ll probably get in your way. Thank God he agreed. You don’t know how you would’ve survived if that incident happened again. Taesan walks out of the living room as you turn away from his back. You can’t bear to see it again. 

Hopefully he puts on a shirt soon.

FOUR — NEVER, NEVER, NEVER!

You lied. Forget everything you said about never liking Taesan romantically. Today has to be the weirdest day of them all. Honestly, these last few days were weird.

The whole shirtless incident, him giving you homemade banana pudding the day after (you felt flustered all over again), and right now. Dinner around the campfire with your parents… and Taesan. 

“So?” Your father asks, waiting for your answer to his question from earlier. He wasted no time asking such a question the moment Taesan left for a brief second. All he did was leave to rinse his mug that fell on the sandy spot in front of his seat. There’s no saying he wouldn’t be back in less than twenty seconds. 

It’s been five seconds of silence. The question your dad asked still remains unanswered. “I don’t get what you’re trying to say…” You say as an excuse. You know exactly what he was hinting at saying ‘what about Taesan’. He’s always been the one to ask about your love life. 

“Have you ever thought about dating him?” 

Taesan pauses, his foot almost colliding with a rock. His heart sinks. His stomach flips after overhearing the confession. It’s your dad’s voice, he knows that it is after spending so much time with the said man. But who is ‘him’? 

“No, I haven’t.” You reply. 

Taesan swallows hard. The reason why you’ve never batted an eye the same way he did with you has to be because of this. There’s definitely another boy that you like and it’s not him. After all his attempts in making you view him the same way and never knowing if they worked or not, it’s clear that they didn’t. 

Not if your eyes were still on another boy in town. 

“If I’m being honest, I feel flustered around him. It’s weird. I’ve never felt this way about anyone before despite being around so many different boys my age growing up.” You explain, taking a sip of your beverage. “It’s not like me at all...” 

What a lucky guy he must be. He’s able to make your heart skip a beat unlike Taesan. Hell, he probably does it effortlessly too. 

Unlike Taesan.

He’s tired with an aching heart. 

He doesn’t wanna hear anything else you have to say. This is enough for him to understand that he has never been an option in your eyes. He wants to walk away with his heart dragging behind him. He’s never felt this heartbroken before. 

He was so used to the many eyes that darted his way as he walked down his local streets in the city. The constant people who came up to him, asking for his socials or phone number. That (unfortunately) was his lifestyle. He grew up to fit such social and beauty standards living in the city.

The moment his family decided to move to a small town his life didn’t change slightly. It was completely different with no similarities. 

He felt misplaced and like the odd one out. In the city, there’s a ton of people. It’s easy to blend in and hard to stick out unless you draw attention easily—for example, Taesan and his friends. In the small town, there’s nothing to blend into. He sticks out like a sore thumb. His flashy outfits, his way of speaking, and meals that he enjoys to eat or has knowledge of. 

There’s too many differences and he hated it when he first arrived. Always waking up and believing that he would never fit in nor would he ever feel like himself again. 

Luckily, that changed after he met you. 

You helped him get familiar with the small town life. You’re the only one he’s ever felt so connected to within a small span of knowing each other. He even managed to fall for you quite fast too. 

It’s not fair.

He bites down on his bottom lip, as jealousy settles within him. He’s ready to wreck the conversation with his ‘sudden’ appearance. He’s been gone longer than he intended to be. 

“Taesan.” You pause and he pauses too. He’s frozen in his tracks at the sound of his name. Were you able to see him this whole time? Has he been caught eavesdropping? That can’t be the case. He’s hidden quite well behind the pillar near your back door. 

“I like him.” Your words catch the boy off guard. It’s almost as if you’re talking to him without him even being there. There’s no way you’re talking about him.

“I like Taesan.” You say again, making things clearer for your parents who sit near you. 

Taesan feels his legs go weak. Too weak to the point where he stumbles and falls down onto his knees. The rustling against the rocky sandy path sounds, making your head whip over. It’s probably another crow, a fox, or a rabbit making its way to gnaw away at the field of crops. 

You stand up in a hurry, rushing over to the spot where the sound came from. You won’t let them get away this easily. You’re tired of waking up to the sight of your half-eaten and wrecked crops. Despite your passion to catch the crop-eating culprit, you aren’t met with the sight you expected. Instead, it’s a dazed Taesan on his knees and his freshly washed mug all dirty again. 

“Taesan,” you breathe, still in shock. With the sight of his current state, there’s no way he didn’t overhear everything you said. You knew it. Washing a mug and returning doesn’t take longer than thirty seconds.

You wanted to convince yourself that maybe he stopped to use the bathroom or grab something extra for the rest of the family. Anything to possibly buy you more time like he knew something like this would happen. 

Possibly even stall his return. 

Embarrassed, you run past him and head back into the house. The sound of your footsteps against the gravel is only continuously eating you alive. You hated Taesan. You’re sure that you made it obvious too. It’s embarrassing to admit that you now like him. It’s even more embarrassing to admit that with him listening in on everything. 

You’re never living this down. You’re never leaving your room. You’re never facing Taesan ever again. 

Never. 

Not after that.

Never, never, never!

“What just happened?” Your father asks, looking at your mother and she shrugs. 

“He must’ve overheard everything she said and now she’s embarrassed.” She sighs. 

It’s a canon event. 

Taesan’s footsteps are heard shortly after their conversation. After regaining strength in his legs, he leaves the mug behind before taking off to follow behind you. He knows he’s too late with the way you’re nowhere to be found in the trail he goes down. There’s only one possible place you’d be. 

Your room. 

It’s not the first time he’s seen you go there. In the earlier stages of meeting you and the two of you would get off on the wrong foot, you would escape to your room and slam your door in the process. You’d go there when you were annoyed, upset, and well, embarrassed. 

The moment he arrives (after almost tripping up the stairs), he knocks. There's silence. He knocks again. Still silent. You don’t want to open the door. You know it’s him. He’s the last person you’d like to face right now, especially with your pounding heart.

“(Name).”

“Don’t call my name.” You reply from the other side of the closed door. 

Are you that mad that he was eavesdropping? It was honestly an accident. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop on your conversation.” He apologizes. 

“Please open the door. I have something I want to ask.” Taesan wonders if everything you said is true. All the days he spent struggling with his feelings and the many moments of thinking of ways to make you feel the same. 

Have they really all paid off? 

“Listen, I’ll be honest with you. I’ve liked you for two months now, almost three with the way summer break is about to end.” Taesan begins. “The city was filled to the brim with people. Everywhere I went I had to make sure I looked the best. I had to make sure I walked correctly. There were too many things I had to be conscious about to the point where walking around in public felt like I was walking on literal eggshells. If you were anywhere near ordinary or weird, you were easily singled out and judged. All eyes were on you. It was terrible.” 

“I hated it. I hated it so much. I even hated the thought of moving to a small town the moment my parents brought it up. I thought it would be worse. There’s not that many people around, so I thought it would make me stand out even more. Obviously, I still felt that way when I first moved here. I even had thoughts of where I missed the city more than ever.”

He lets out a shaky breath from being reminded of the first few nights here. 

“Then I met you, and everything felt fine. Your family was so welcoming I actually looked forward to waking up every morning and spending the day here. It was definitely the first time I went to sleep without having such drowning thoughts.”

“I’ve always wanted to thank you for that. So I tried to spend more time with you until the time was right. You constantly shut me out, yet I never walked away. It made me want to be around you even more—to get you to be fond of me so that I can say thank you without it going unappreciated. Then soon enough, I realized I started to like you.” 

Taesan remembers the day clearly. It was the time he looked into a nearby mirror to fix his hair after spending a day around you. That’s when he saw it. The faint red on his cheeks. At first, he believed it was because of the hot weather. Then he found out that wasn’t the case. It continued to occur even if the two of you were in a cool area. His heartbeat even started to increase when the two of you were too close. 

The moment he couldn’t make up any other excuses for himself to believe, it was obvious he liked you. So then, he accepted the truth, and now here he is confessing his feelings to you behind the closed door of your room. That’s definitely not the way he expected things to happen.

“(Name)—”

“I said don’t call my name.” You open the door with your face hotter than ever. This time, you’re completely sure he can see everything, your reddening ears and face, the way your breathing is faster than normal, the movement of your chest as your heart rams against it. 

Everything. 

You give up trying to hide it in front of him.

He looks you up and down. You are already embarrassed enough. Him looking you up and down isn’t making you feel any better. 

“What did you want to ask?” You question, hoping that will make him stop his gazing, to your surprise, it does. 

“Oh—right.” He mumbles, fixing himself straight. “Was everything you said back there true?”

There’s a brief pause between his question and your answer, but you still give him a nod. The answer he’s been waiting for all along. The tense feeling Taesan felt earlier washes away in a hurry. He feels relieved—at ease. 

“I do like you. Although I only came to terms with it recently, I’m still sure of it.” 

Silence.

You’re embarrassed. Honestly, you never stopped being embarrassed, if anything, the feeling only intensified. You’re avoiding eye contact with him and he notices it. Of course he does, his senses are on a high right now.

He hooks his finger under your chin, redirecting your gaze onto him. “You shouldn’t look away during such a time. I’d think you’re lying if you do that.” Taesan explains. 

He’s not wrong. It’s part of the studied body language when someone lies. 

Despite that, the whole finger under your chin was not necessary! He’s definitely doing this to see you flustered. 

Lucky him, it’s working.

“I’m not lying.” You reply, locking eyes with him. 

He sighs, hand dropping to his side as he falls forward, landing his head in the crook of your neck. You catch a glimpse of the red on the tips of his ears. That surely affected him more than it affected you. 

“Cute.” You whispered.

FIVE — DEATH OF HIM

It’s been around a week since the whole confession. Taesan has asked for you to be his girlfriend, leaving your parents livid. Almost as if they’ve been waiting for this moment since they first saw him. Spoiler alert—they have.

The boy you previously disliked is nowhere like the ones from the movies. He’s humble and kind, not spoiled or snobby. 

He’s perfect in your eyes. 

After being in this town for a while now, he’s definitely learned the ropes. He’s good at many things: cooking, cleaning weeds out of the garden, purchasing certain items, and even tending to the yards of the townspeople. He’s able to do a lot of things, such as making your heart flutter, making sure that you’re always okay, and giving you leg-weakening kisses. 

Taesan backs away with dazed eyes as he catches his breath. He’s been eyeing you for the whole morning, including the walk to the grocery store, unloading the items into their correct spots at home, even on the way to your bedroom. In the end, he obviously got what he wanted—a kiss. 

Which happened to lead into something more.

He smiles while gazing down at you. You’re sprawled out on your bed beneath him, chest moving up and down from the way your breathing quickens. 

“Are you okay?” He questions before the two of you continue. You nod, not able to catch your breath in time to formulate any words. The moment his smile falters he’s already leaning in to kiss you again. Your eyes closed, waiting for the touch of his lips on yours, but it never comes. Instead, you’re surprised by the sudden warmth against your neck. 

Your breath hitches and your back slightly arches off the soft surface of your bed. It tickles, however, you don’t push him off like you usually would if something tickled. Taesan takes your hands into his own as the traces of kisses continue up your neck, pausing once he nears your lips. You can feel the tip of his nose on your cheek. 

The way his small breaths tickle from the short laugh he lets out. 

He’s teasing you. 

Luckily, it isn’t long before he’s kissing you again. You can feel him smiling through it all, as if he’s enjoying the effect he has on you. You squirm underneath him in an attempt to gain his attention. 

“Take—” You breathe. “Take this off.” 

You’re tugging at his shirt as his brows raise. He’s surprised. The last time he had his shirt off around you, you seemed like you didn’t even want to see him shirtless ever again. The constant tugging brings him back to reality. You’re looking at him through hooded eyes. He can’t go against your request if you look at him like that. 

He pulls his shirt off over his head in haste, then crashes his lips back into yours. There was no pause in between—no time wasted. With the way your hands began running down his back, he knew it was over for him.

As long as the two of you are together, you’ll definitely be the death of him. 

© RIUMORI

BOYNEXTDOOR PERM TAGLIST — @ihankaji @ancnymcnzjy @ilovedallywinston @i03jae @borednia @s0shroe @leehanwish @sol3chu @en-dream @ribbeoms @itsactuallylina @himewonu @hollxe1 @r1kification @mensisim @mydearyeseo @sunghxxnie @taesanfav @wonzzziezzzz @ijustwannareadstuff20 @tanghuyuj @ranjupotato @mimimimiaa @ningizuo @hyunjinslongasslegs @jvngw0nlvr @paradiseoflosers @itsactuallylina @kukkurookkoo @monniemoody @cheruphic @kazemiya @rizzwoos @beomgyus-right-eyelash @kagatinkita @w3willris3 @jusskla @bamgeutori @athenaisonlinee @wensurr @wnouzi @soobundle1009 @chae-rries @pupillary @daeengz @ivehan @angelyseo

[woonhakfeet]

convenience my a$s! | myung jaehyun

Pairing: familyshop!worker!myung x jobless!reader

Synopsis: After having a horrendously pulcatrudinous start to the day, the very last thing you needed was your mom sending you to the convenience store. The same convenience store that the cute (but the ‘cute’ is silent cause MAN is he annoying) guy that you flipped off this morning after nearly running you over works at. The same guy that also happened to have stolen your snacks thanks to the vending machine being a total prick and not giving you your moneys worth, like it was made to do. The same very guy you had tripped and fell face flat on the ground in front of. That very same guy. That very same store. The very same day. It couldn’t possibly get any worse, except for some darn reason, your mother just can’t seem to grasp the full list of groceries she needs!

Word Count: 1.8k

Author’s note: I genuinely wrote this without a singular serious thought in my mind and with minimal proofreading so… sorry children. These events are inspired by the real life experience of my brother being sent to the store 8 times in a day by my mom.

It was nearing the late afternoon hours when Jaehyun’s dad phoned him up from the store sounding all frantic. 

Something about an urgent matter popping up, having to leave the shop unattended and not being able to do the closing.

Jaehyun did try to weave his way out of it, but apparently his older brother was busy too, which essentially meant that no one would be able to do the closing shift. Except him. 

With such a messed up start to the day, this was the last thing he needed.

He hadn’t stopped by the family owned business in ages, but he knew enough to close up just fine without any extra assistance.  

He just wished it wasn’t today of all days.

Jaehyun huffed out an exhausted breath, performing a u-turn to re-route for the shop.

Sure, whatever. It was just a small favour. What’s the worse that could happen?

Somewhere on the other side of town, you swore under your breath as you exited the house for the 5th time.

You wish you were joking.

Just because it was close by and a brisk walking distance did not excuse you having to genuinely hit 10k steps against your will. 

“If she sends me one more time I’m gonna—” 

You kicked a loose pebble, wrangling your fists and pumping them in the air. An animalistic groan filtered through your lips.

This time…this time, you swore it’d be the last time. 

You walked through the old and cranky door to the shop, a deep scowl already etched on your face.

You couldn’t even make it past two steps when you saw him. 

His eyes equally widened at your presence.

What appeared to be the most unhide-able level of irritation mixed with the fakest passive aggressive customer service smile one could EVER muster up. 

For a moment, you stood there, making sure your eyes weren’t messing with you. But no, he was there, in the flesh. 

The same dude you met like 3 times now, was staring at you with just as much misery as you. 

You couldn’t help the words that left your lips shortly after your mutual disappointment, rasping it out with genuine frustration.

“Don’t you go to school or something?” 

He looked at you from behind the counter, an unreadable glint to his eyes. 

“I, in fact, do not.” 

“Well don’t you have a job or something?!” 

He stared at you silently for a brief second, pointed at his named badge on his uniform and glowered at you with such mockery, like you were the stupidest joke on the planet and you just hadn’t caught on yet. 

“That, in fact, I do have.” 

That’s it! That just about does it!  

Resisting the urge to jump him right then and there, you scoffed in disbelief, grabbed the stuff you came for, and harshly dropped them on the counter.

He passed the products, you paid. 

All this without a singular verbal exchange. 

You went home. An hour passed. 

Your mother begged you to buy onions. They ran out. She needed them asap otherwise how else would she make her famous French onion soup for your sick little brother—and she already started cooking so she couldn’t possibly go herself!

Because of course. 

The corner of your left eye twitched in vexation. 

You kicked the front door open for the 6th time that day. Stomped your way over. Hood up. The “don’t talk to me or you’re dead” face on. Pushed the entrance to the small corner shop open with what can only be described as the force of a professional wrestler, waltzed to the fresh produce, gripped those red onions so hard that the poor old man beside saw it’s juices squishing out through your fingers, and stomped your way to the front. 

Surely he’d be busy right now. There ought to be another worker working alongside him, there was no way—

You looked up. 

From behind the till, his back faced you as he adjusted the display of alcohol. 

You sucked in a breath, turned around, and walked right back where you came from.

“Nope, nope, NoPE—” only to hear his annoyingly attractive and unnecessarily cheeky and husky voice ringing much louder than usual. As if he was deliberately trying to get under your skin.

“Next please!” 

The rush to your steps halted. You shut your eyes like you just got caught stealing something in broad daylight by an armed officer.

He didn’t mean you.

There’s no chance he meant you, right?

Ever so slowly, you risked a look behind you. 

He was already smirking down at you with such mischievous pride, you could practically see the little demon on his shoulder jumping for joy. 

Giving the most strangled smile you could attempt to wear, you tentatively took baby steps to the counter.

He scanned your item. You paid, avoiding eye contact throughout the whole thing.

Haha. You think that was the end of it? 

YOU REALLY THINK THAT WAS THE END OF IT—

You stared up at the illuminated sign before you. The store’s front greeting your blank face. Tired eyes, dark circles, grumpy expression.

Okay, this was actually going to be the last time…for your own sanity, it had to be. 

It was a good few hours later.

You were hungry.

Yes, yes, you had food at home but it just wasn’t the same!

You tried. You really did, but you craved your favourite snack so bad only to not have it stocked at home. 

You did debate going to another store, but your residence was a small town, well-separated from most assets. This was practically the only walkable store in the area. 

Maybe you could pretend to be another person…

You had changed into your sleeping clothes anyway. You also looked much more haggard than earlier, so maybe you’d be unrecognisable.

As it came to pass, you had fallen asleep half way through the day, resulting in your current disheveled appearance. You couldn’t miss out on your routinely siesta. That would have truly been the last straw, but that’s beside the point.

Should you just cry yourself to sleep and say no to your late-night  cravings instead?

Logically, his shift might’ve ended. 

You tapped your foot against the damp concrete, shoulders twitching from the slight chill of the night. 

Nahhh, there was no way he was still there. It had been hours!

Your stomach grumbled in agreement. 

It’ll be quick. 

This time, your eyes burned with determination, this time it was really the last time you’ll be there—for the day, because it was friCkiN 11:30pm. 

You squished the bottom of your oversized, fluffy jacket, your thin cartoon-decorated trousers swaying lightly at every step you took. 

Your cold fingers gently pried the door open.

It was quiet in the store, empty even. 

There wasn’t a single worker on sight and for a moment you wondered if you magically got transmigrated to another dimension with the same layout. 

You ignored your thoughts, walked to your designated isle and caressed the snack you’ve been craving ever since approximately hours ago. 

This was worth it, dramatised tears began to brim in your eyes. 

“Wow. I’m not even that snack and I feel genuinely uncomfortable.” 

You jumped in surprise. 

The worker, the one with the name tag “Myung” leaned against one of the freezers nearby, arms crossed over each other, watching you with tame amusement. 

“I think I’ve seen you more than my mom.” He added, chuckling to himself— which was a little attractive…just a tiny bit…but you would never admit that. 

You soured at his presence. 

Great. Yay.

At this point, your embarrassment meter had already stopped working, you were basically immune and entirely numb to all sorts of potential humiliation rituals the universe could throw at you.

Perhaps this was what finding inner peace was all about.

You wordlessly stared at him. 

At your bland silence, he coughed meekly, a tinge of red crawling up his ears. 

Jaehyun forgot that ignoring someone was also an option. Not that you ignoring him hurt or anything… of course not.

“I’ve definitely seen you more than my mom,” you finally replied, eyes still on him. A very monotone volume to your voice.

Scratching the back of his head, he shifted his weight from one foot to another, your serious gaze melting his teasing tone with ease and rendering him slightly awkward. 

“Well, uh, whenever you’re ready for me to ring that up,” he pointed to the product you were holding. “just give me a shout—”

“—AH!” 

The male shuddered so viscerally that he ended up tripping over his own feet. 

He genuinely died for a second there.

You watched him tumble all the way to the floor, holding his heart as if it would stop beating at the mere sound of a pen hitting paper. 

Your unfazed expression slowly morphed into you trying to hold back your laughter. Snorting, you replayed the scene in your head. You broke, vibrant chuckles squeezing out of you, your loose arm went to grip your stomach.

The day was definitely getting to you. 

Maybe you were losing your mind.

Jaehyun only looked up at you, glaring at first, until it transformed into a quiet expression. He observed you, noting how your smile stretched on your lips. His heart did a little flip. He tried to ignore it. Such a foreign expression.

He didn’t expect you to literally shout. You were certainly not sane. But wow. He hadn’t seen a real smile from you before, despite all the times you’ve visited the store today. The most he got was your strained and quite lethargic-looking “I-don’t-want-to-be-here” smile.

As with all happy moments, your laughter eventually came to a gradual stop. Wiping an overly amused tear from your eye, you breathed in a liberated breath.

Half a smile grazed your lips, you lightly shook the snack in your hand.

“Ready when you are, Myung.” 

His heart fluttered the tiniest bit, which was strange because he couldn’t ignore it this time…was he into crazy people?

The world appeared to mull into a soft stop… except it didn’t, because he actually had to do his job and scan your item, as another customer had walked in briefly after the moment you both shared.

After that, you paid. 

This time, you did it without frowning. Instead, an easy atmosphere lingered on your shoulders.

“I’m guessing I’m definitely seeing you tomorrow,” the male behind the counter joked as he watched you gather your snack, ready to leave the small shop.

You cockily lowered your voice, a gruffness to your next phrase. 

“If destiny calls,” you signalled a finger to the sky, then you halted your steps. You looked over your shoulder and added, “and by destiny I mean my mother.” 

You walked out feeling less hateful towards this so called “Myung” guy. 

The store tingled with the remaining resonance of the bizarre encounter. 

An oblivious Myung Jaehyun was left gently smiling to himself like a little weirdo as he continued to scan the next customer’s beer cans. The customer, who was a towering male with an extremely muscular figure, peered down at him in mild concern.

Once finished, Jaehyun bid him farewell, the grin on his face still present.

Sighing to himself, he scouted the building for any more customers. 

Seeing none, He bit his lips in thought. 

Seems like covering closing shifts wasn’t that bad afterall.

[veevrsee]

❝ ⎯⎯ The first encounter does not go as planned ! ꞌꞋ ࣪ 투어스 　❞

┈ Destinies that barely touch… until fate pushes them closer than expected.

› Pairing: Student!PopularBoy!TWS x Student!PopularGirl!Reader › Word Count: 14.7K › Warning: None. They have a really big crush on you. This is an overly in love version of the members. Just fluff…too much.

┈ Note ! ꞌꞋ Okay... Merry Christmas, this was supposed to be posted on the 24th, but well... things happened (I was drunk)... but back to this headcanon. I love it, to the extreme; I'm a huge fan of this AU, but it's also the main concept of TWS, so in honor of “Plot Twist,” let's just say I made a more cliché and ridiculously sweet version of the first encounter/interaction with them... I love it, even though it ended up being very, very long (I was very inspired).

I also want to clarify that English is not my first language, so there will probably be several typos or it will look very formal; an apology for that. Without further ado I hope you like it and have a nice night/day.

vee﹒ᵔᴗᵔ﹒

Shinyuㅤ ❛❛    ──── ㅤShin Junghwan !

The third floor hallway vibrated with that chaotic intensity so typical of high school just before break. The air was permeated with laughter, hurried footsteps, cross talk, and the metallic sound of doors opening and closing in uneven rhythm. Sunlight streamed through the wide windows on the right side, tinting the floor a soft gold that cast long, elongated shadows of students in motion, as if the entire building were breathing.

Shinyu was speeding down the stairs, body half-turned backwards as he laughed, driven by the joke Jihoon had just shouted at him from above. The laughter still vibrated in his chest, light and carefree. There was something about those moments that disarmed him. Moments when the weight of expectations, of exams, was diluted in that unreasoning running between classes, in the voice of his friends, in the orderless bustle that surrounded him.

Dohoon would shout something from the steps above, half feigning annoyance, half in jest, claiming him for “cheating again” as if they would ever stop competing, even in the most absurd of ways. The echo of his voice bounced off the walls, but Shinyu didn't pay attention at all. He was walking down without looking, body slightly cocked to one side, and backpack hanging loosely over a single shoulder.

It was a second.

A broken instant in the midst of all that energy. As if someone had pressed pause in a world that didn't know that button.

He didn't see you coming.

First it was a shadow, a moving figure entering his field of vision from the left side. Then, the slightest brush, barely perceptible, like a feather escaping from the wind… and the imbalance. He didn't know if it was you who spun, if it was him who crossed, or if the universe conspired with an exact choreography for that instant.

The next thing was pure instinct.

The body responded to him before the mind: Shinyu spun toward the source of the impact, seeking to compensate for the weight, feeling his center of gravity shift completely. His arm automatically reached out, firm, sure, meeting you before his eyes. He felt your waist under his hand, the soft fabric of your uniform's fabric, and the warmth. The warmth of a body he hadn't expected to touch.

And then, the stillness.

The pause wasn't just mental. The world really seemed to stop around you. The voices of his friends were silenced. The noise in the hallway, which seconds before was a storm of sound, became a distant murmur. He didn't even hear the soft thump of the backpack slipping off his shoulder and falling to the floor with a discreet thump. The only real thing at that moment was the contact.

Shinyu looked down. And he saw you. It was you. You.

The contact was immediate. Almost electric. Not like a shock, not like a violent discharge, but like that silent spark that ignites between two opposite poles touching for the first time. The warmth of your body, palpable under his palm, ran up his arm like an invisible current. It wasn't just warmth. It was an absolute awareness of the exact place where his hand touched you, at your waist, slim, firm, perfectly fitted between his fingers. A place he didn't know, but that his skin was no longer going to forget.

How close he was —a breath away, literally— didn't prepare him for the intensity of what he saw in your gaze. Because then, his eyes collided with yours.

And time, if it hadn't stopped before, it did now.

The noise in the hallway was completely gone, or so he thought. Maybe it was still there, maybe Jihoon was still yelling some nonsense from the stairs, and Dohoon was still coming down, clamoring for his backpack, but for Shinyu, it was all gone. There was nothing left. There was just you and him.

And your eyes.

Shinyu recognized them before he could think about it. He had seen you before. Many times. In the courtyard, under the shade of the building during breaks, half laughing with your friends, sitting in the third row of the auditoriums, or walking with that slowness that seemed to float above the ground. Always with that way of yours of filling the space without saying anything. Without looking for it.

It was impossible not to notice you.

Everyone talked about you. With admiration, with awe, with that half-contained voice used by those who name something sacred.

But he didn't.

He didn't say your name. He didn't comment on anything. He didn't follow the conversations that mentioned you. It was not out of disinterest. On the contrary. It was because, for him, talking about you —so publicly, so superficially— felt like a fault. As if naming you was trying to reduce something that clearly couldn't fit into words. So he didn't.

He watched you in silence.

From a distance. From where you couldn't see him. Like someone looking at something they dare not touch.

Until now. And now you were there. So close. So absurdly real.

And yet you seemed to be enveloped in that same soft light as always. He didn't know if it was the reflection of the midday sun streaming through the windows, or if it was you. But there was a warm clarity about your face that took his breath away. Your lips were barely parted, as if you had forgotten how to breathe. Your eyes wouldn't leave his, and for a second —just one— Shinyu felt like he could fall into them.

Your cheeks were flushed.

A rosy, delicate color, spreading like a brushstroke from your cheekbones to your ears. You didn't know if it was from the shock of the near collision, or from the way the distance between you had blurred as if space didn't exist.

Maybe because of both.

Shinyu didn't know how he was breathing either. His chest barely moved, as if any puff of air might break something invisible between you. He forced himself to blink, slow, as if he feared that, if he did it too fast, you would disappear.

Then, without thinking, without planning it, without even being fully aware that he had opened his mouth, his lips moved:

—Are you okay? —He asked.

His voice came out lower than he thought it would. Almost a whisper. He wasn't even sure if you heard him. It was an absurd question in theory —you clearly hadn't fallen, you were clearly in one piece— but it didn't matter. Because the phrase wasn't a formality. It wasn't to fill the silence. It was genuine. Almost urgent. As if he needed to know, as if he cared more than he knew himself.

You nodded. Slowly. And you didn't say anything. But you kept looking at him.

That look of yours, fixed, clear, without artifice, without masks. There was no inordinate surprise, no awkward embarrassment, no that subtle haughtiness that sometimes floated down the corridors. You were just there, wide-eyed, calm, looking at him as if the world had stopped for you too. As if you really saw him. Not his name. Not his reputation. Not to the one who walked surrounded by voices and compliments. Him.

And for a second, Shinyu felt like you understood him.

He couldn't explain what that meant, but he felt it as a soft, deep certainty. As if something in that shared gaze —in that wordless silence— had said much more than any sentence could have uttered.

A mute conversation, carved in the space between their breaths. An impossible coincidence.

The sensation was so powerful it scared him. As if he was about to learn something about himself that he didn't want to admit. As if you had seen something even he dared not look at in the mirror.

And then, the spell cracked.

—Shinyu Hyung! —the voice cut through the air, from somewhere in the hallway.

Youngjae. His voice always carried a kind of impatient cheerfulness, and now it sounded even louder because of the contrast with the silence that surrounded him inside. Shinyu did not turn immediately. Not because he didn't want to, but because his body didn't respond with the same speed.

The noise returned. The murmur of footsteps. The echo of voices crossing each other. A bell announcing recess. Time, again.

Shinyu realized then that he was still holding you. That his hand was still resting on your waist with a gentleness that bordered on intimacy. The contact that had once been impulse now felt conscious.

Alive.

He withdrew it carefully, as if letting you go all at once might break something more than the moment. As if letting you go was like closing a page he didn't want to leave behind. He did it slowly, without abruptness, as if his palm still wanted to keep your shape, the warmth of your body. It was not a physical gesture. It was something deeper. Almost reverential.

You took a step back.

Neither clumsy nor quick. Measured. As if you too knew that this had been something out of the ordinary, something that could not be undone with a simple movement.

And then your friends appeared. As if they had been waiting on the outskirts of a scene they knew it wasn't their place to invade prematurely. Surrounding you, questioning you in hushed tones, some with eyes alight with intrigue. One of them —the one with the shortest hair— had a smile that she didn't try to hide. Another whispered something in your ear. You just shook your head. Shinyu saw it.

He didn't look at yours. He didn't even try to locate Jihoon or Dohoon or Youngjae. He didn't listen to the voices that were probably calling him. He only looked at you.

One more time. As if that last look could help him remember everything, every line of your face, every shadow, every slightest gesture. As if he could keep you inside his chest. As if you would let him.

And then, just as you turned around to leave with your girls… you did it. You smiled.

It wasn't big. Nor provocative. Nor exaggerated. It was a small curve, barely drawn on the lips, but genuine. Almost shy. As if it had escaped on its own, without you noticing.

A smile for him. And that…that destroyed him. Shinyu stood still.

Literally. As if his muscles had been replaced by hot cement that had not yet finished setting. His lungs forgot how to breathe for a second. Or two. Or five. He felt his heart beating not in his chest, but in his ears, in his fingers, in his throat. A slight, constant pressure that told him: This is not everyday. This is not something you will forget.

That smile, so small… it was too much.

Not because you were unreachable. Not because you were “you”. Not because everyone looked at you or wished you or named you as if you were a legend walking the halls. But because, for that instant, that smile was just for him.

And Shinyu felt that nothing —nothing— after that was going to feel the same.

To go back to his group. To hear the laughter. To laugh with them as always. Sitting in class, looking out the window, joking with Jihoon, arguing with Dohoon, moving through the crowd as if nothing had happened.

All of that was going to feel different. Because there was something new inside him. Small. Fired up.

And even if he didn't know its name yet, he knew where it came from.

It came from you.

From that look. From that touch. From that shared sigh between two worlds that didn't touch.

And from that smile that had just broken him, without anyone else noticing.

Shinyu looked down, once again. The backpack was still on the floor.

He picked it up silently, as if by bending down he was coming down from a dream. As if that movement marked a return to reality.

But something inside him resisted. Because he didn't want to go back.

He wanted to stay there.

In that second that shouldn't have existed. Where you and he… at last, had touched.

Dohoonㅤ ❛❛    ──── ㅤKim Dohoon !

The sun was beating down on the court, slipping through the branches of the old oak tree that marked the boundary of the main courtyard. The light, golden and hot, bounced off the cracked asphalt and made the air seem almost liquid, as if the world were wrapped in a summer movie that never ended. The laughter of the students, mixed with the shouts between players, created a vivid echo that filled every corner of the place. Recess was not just a break; it was a vibrant scene, a choreography in which each group had a role, a space, a universe.

In the midst of it all, Dohoon was in the middle of his. The impromptu soccer game was his perfect excuse to escape the tedium of class, but more than that, it was his zone of control. His rhythm. His steps were agile, measured; his decisions, quick. He played with a mixture of restrained strength and precision, like someone who had nothing to prove, but did it anyway.

His white T-shirt was plastered to his back by sweat, revealing the defined muscles that constant training had sculpted him. His hair, dark and somewhat long, fell messily over his forehead, sticking up at times when he turned his head or ran too fast. The eyes, normally serene, were focused, with that sharp glint that only appeared when he really immersed himself in something. Like now.

He had just intercepted a pass from Hanjin, with a clean, quick ankle movement. A short turn, a step forward. He was preparing to return the ball when he heard his name among the voices:

—Hyung! —Youngjae shouted, further in the background.

He responded with a lopsided half-smile, the one that seemed to emerge effortlessly, almost distractedly, and turned his body naturally to return the ball with a touch of his instep. But just in that second of minimal unfocusedness, he knew: he had hit it too hard.

The ball soared higher than he intended, taking an unexpected, crooked trajectory. It gave a little bounce on the ground, then rose into the air, as if deciding to get out of the game. His eyes followed it with a microsecond's delay, as if time itself gave him a chance to correct it. But it was late. Too late.

Because he saw where it was going. Or rather… towards who.

You were there. A few meters away, near the edge of the court, right where the white line was blurred by wear and tear. With your back turned. Oblivious. Your hands were in the air, drawing something as you talked to your friends, laughing with one of those open laughter, the kind you can't hear clearly but feel. Your hair, loose and full of movement, seemed to capture the light itself as it danced in the wind. Even from afar, your presence had that strange effect: as if everything else —the voices, the shouts, the goals— were lowered in volume. As if you were the static part of a fast-paced scene.

Dohoon felt a flip, a sharp tug inside his chest. The ball was headed straight for you. And you didn't know it. He didn't think about it. He didn't measure, didn't evaluate. He just moved.

Your body responded before your mind did. It was a visceral, automatic start. He ran. And he did it with a speed he rarely put out. The air hit his face hard, sweat trickled down his neck, his sneakers scraped with a squeal against the asphalt as he turned his direction slightly. His muscles tensed, his senses sharpened. Each step was calculated, brutally fast, as if time itself was against him.

The ball was descending. But you remained there, right in the trajectory.

And just before the white sphere reached your head, his arm intervened. A sharp, dull thud vibrated from his forearm to his shoulder. He felt the impact run through his bones, leaving a warm pressure on his skin. The ball ricocheted and bounced off to the side.

But the sudden movement had startled you. You turned at the last second, just as he was arriving, and seeing you so close, your eyes still not understanding what had happened, you took a step back. Just one.

Enough to lose your balance a little. And he acted again without thinking.

His arm moved with the precision of one who responds to an instinct, not a decision. He circled your waist without hesitation. Firm. Sure. As if in that exact instant his whole body had become a natural barrier between you and the world. He did it with a serene confidence, without violence, without awkwardness. As if he knew your center of gravity better than you knew yourself.

And suddenly, you were close. Too close.

Closer than anyone could have anticipated. Closer than was allowed in the unspoken logic of the hallways, in the silent rules of the school. Closer than two worlds that don't touch usually are. It was as if the distance that had been maintained until then —perfect, intangible, respectful— had evaporated in a second, and now only that narrow, intimate, new space remained.

The contact was immediate, direct, strong.

Your body stopped abruptly as it collided with his. It was like bumping into something solid and warm at the same time. The center of his chest brushed your shoulder, his arm still wrapped around you, adjusting to the curve of your waist, not roughly, but with an inescapable firmness. There was no escape. There was no need.

And you felt it all.

Every inch of his closeness. The warmth of his skin under the thin fabric of the barely sweating T-shirt. The heartbeat that, for an instant, you thought was not yours, but his. The soft scent of something barely sweet —shampoo?, his lotion?, the sun on him?— that floated around, nameless, but that you already knew you wouldn't forget. Your breathing stopped. Not by choice, but by reflex. As if your body needed a second to process what was happening.

Dohoon felt it too. All of it.

He felt your body tense slightly under his hand, not out of fear, but out of surprise. He felt your figure adjust, as if it fit effortlessly into that exact spot where he held you. His open hand sensed the line of your back, the subtle way your waist descended. The warmth you radiated was uncommon; it felt human, alive, impossible to ignore. As if the whole world had centered on the point of contact between the two of you. His mind, normally quick and sharp, clouded for an instant.

And then, your eyes met his. It was intense.

Like a silent lightning between two different skies crossing for the first time. Your pupils were still dilated from fright, but also from something else: amazement, perhaps. Recognition. He didn't know for sure. But what he did understand was that in that look of yours there was a clarity that disarmed him. It was not the look of someone who sees a stranger. It was the look of someone who has seen, many times, from afar. Who has imagined. Who, perhaps, has waited.

And for him, it was impossible not to remember. All the times he had seen you. Not by chance. It was never by chance.

From the first time he saw you at the back of the hallway, bent over your notebook, the way you smiled without realizing it as you wrote. Since that time in the library, when you thought no one saw you and you arranged the books by color, as if order was more than just a habit. Since Friday afternoons, when you sat on the patio wall and laughed with your friends, with that laughter that you couldn't quite hear, but you felt it. Like a song that you can't hum, but that stays with you just the same.

You were that.

A constant, gentle presence, impossible to ignore. You didn't need to speak loudly or take up space. You did it differently. With the way you walked, with the way you looked at others. With your calm aura, almost oblivious to the general euphoria of the school. You had seen it. You knew it. That everyone was looking at you. That everyone, at some point, considered you the ideal that could not be touched. A serene, luminous, reserved beauty. As if you were part of a plane that the rest could not reach.

And yet, now you were there. Right in his arms. Dohoon didn't know if it was you or the sun that was burning him from the inside.

Because he held you so close, so real, so human, so tangible… that it hurt. It hurt him in a warm, unfamiliar, deep way. As if he had been waiting for you all this time without knowing it. As if this instant was the inevitable result of all the times you had looked at each other without saying a word. As if that space in his chest —the one he had never known was empty— had just been filled.

—You're okay? —He asked, in a low voice. Too low.

As if even the air had betrayed him, suffocated by the weight of all that was left unsaid. Because something inside him —something visceral, inexplicable, powerful— told him that this moment was suspended on a thin, fragile rope, like a bubble of silence that, at the slightest touch, could burst.

And he didn't want it to burst. Not yet.

Then he saw you nod. Slow. Silent.

An almost imperceptible movement, as if even that gesture cost you to break the spell that enveloped both. And yet, you did it. Firmly, but without harshness. A yes that was not verbal, but that outweighed any words. Because you looked at him as you did it. You didn't look down. You didn't look at your friends, or at the ball, or at the ground. You looked at him.

And there, in that tiny nod, there was something. An echo. A correspondence. A response.

There was something in that gesture of yours, in that tense calm, in that silence woven between the two of you, that told him he was not alone in what he had just felt. That what still had no name —that electricity under your skin, that unexpected giddiness in the center of your chest, that absurd sensation that the world had shrunk to a point between his hand and your waist— had not been his alone.

You had felt it too.

Dohoon knew it. As if the seconds shared in that minimal space had contained something that could not be erased.

And then, the world came back. All at once.

The sound of distant footsteps. A voice calling out his name —Jihoon, no doubt, in that familiar tone he used when something went off script. Then others: laughter, footsteps, murmurs. The outside world, which had been on pause, was returning with all its noise, with all its haste, with its brutal disinterest in the delicacy of what had just happened.

And Dohoon knew the moment was going to break. He knew it as one knows a dream is about to fade as one opens one's eyes. And yet, not yet. Not yet. So he didn't let go of you right away.

Not because he wanted to hold you —though maybe he did— but because letting go of that touch felt almost like a betrayal. As if letting go of your waist meant leaving behind something he was just beginning to understand. His hand, still resting on you, was slow to slide away. It did so carefully, with measured slowness, as if afraid that a sudden movement might erase everything that had just happened.

That's when your friends arrived. Like a flurry of voices, perfumes and concern.

—You all right? —they asked, all at once.

Dohoon took half a step back. Not out of discomfort, but because he knew it was the right thing to do. That space that had closed between you had to open again, out of obligation. As if the universe was reclaiming its balance.

But he didn't look.

He did not look at how they surrounded you. He did not observe their gestures, nor the barely concealed curiosity with which they scanned him from head to toe. He looked away. He took a deep breath. Not to calm down, but so as not to drown. Because inside there was something in him that was beating too loudly. As if his heart had decided to shout everything that his mouth did not dare to say.

And when he finally looked at you again…. You were already looking at him. Again. But this time it was different.

Your eyes were still fixed on him. No doubt about it. But now there was something else. Something slight, but precious, unrepeatable. A small curve of your lips. Just a hint of a smile. Small. Almost imperceptible. But so real that Dohoon's chest tightened.

It was enough.

There were no words. No need. That gesture of yours, as subtle as it was powerful, was a secret code between the two of you. As if in that second, amidst the chaos of the courtyard, the voices of your friends, and your breath still heaving from the shock, you took a moment just for him. To see him. To recognize it. To thank him. Or something else.

Dohoon didn't smile back. He couldn't.

Not because he didn't want to, but because he was too busy trying to stand. Because that smile of yours —so small, so quiet— had moved something in him that he didn't know could move. It had disarmed him. It had left him defenseless.

And he knew it.

He knew he was vulnerable at that moment. That if anyone looked at him closely, they would notice the way he was breathing slower. The way his jaw tensed from holding back any visible emotion. That if Jihoon approached him, or Youngjae said anything else, he wouldn't be able to respond with his usual tone. Because something had cracked.

And not in a bad way. It wasn't pain. It was vertigo.

It was a feeling of having touched something sacred, by accident. As if I had set foot on unknown and beautiful ground, and now I couldn't turn back. As if that instant, that exchange of glances, that tiny smile… had changed something that he could no longer ignore.

He didn't know what it was. Not yet. But he knew he wouldn't forget it.

He knew that smile of yours would replay in his head many times, when he went back to class, when he showered that night, when he tried to sleep. He knew he would return to that instant again and again, seeking to understand it, to chew on it, to decipher it. He knew it was the beginning of something.

And for the first time in a long time, he wasn't afraid of not understanding it.

He just wanted to see you smile like that again. He just wanted… to come back.

Youngjaeㅤ ❛❛    ──── ㅤChoi Youngjae !

The library had that kind of silence that not only filled the space, but seemed to spill out, seeping through the cracks between the doors, dampening the aisles and muffling the noises coming from beyond. Youngjae wasn't usually there. It was not his territory. Too still, too stopped. Too real, perhaps.

He had entered just a few minutes earlier, following Hanjin and Jihoon, who had insisted on going “just for a moment,” chuckling between inside jokes as they pretended to look for books they clearly didn't plan to read. Youngjae had allowed himself to be dragged along, as so often before, not for lack of an opinion, but out of habit. Because the routine of his days had a precise choreography, and he knew every step by heart. There was something comfortable about that.

He had a book under his arm —one he had pulled out of inertia from one of the shelves, without really looking at the title— and his uniform sweater was rolled up to his elbows, more for warmth than style. Although, of course, even that seemed calculated when someone saw it from the outside. As if everything about him was thought out, when in reality he was just existing within the formula that had been imposed on him, that everyone celebrated. He knew they called him “perfect.” Not because it was —and he knew better than anyone else— but because it seemed so. Because he was expected to be.

And that's when he saw you.

It's not that you were a stranger. You never were. In fact, you were a constant presence, a kind of visual buzz that inhabited the school with the same intensity as the sun's rays through the second-floor windows. Always there, but never within reach. He knew you without ever having met you. And that somehow made you sharper than many faces that were part of their days.

You were the kind of figure that was remembered without knowing exactly why. The kind that makes your head spin before your brain has finished processing what it's seeing. It wasn't just your looks —although yes, the beauty was undeniable, almost irritatingly perfect— but the way you moved through the world. As if you didn't need to prove anything, as if you knew everything but preferred to keep quiet about it. A gentle assurance, without arrogance. There was something hypnotic about it.

That day, you were sitting at one of the tables in the north wing, where the afternoon light fell sideways and turned everything golden, slower. Your hair was loose, falling like a silk curtain over one shoulder, leaning toward your friends as they turned leaves, whispered, laughed in a restrained way. Your smile was faint, like a piano note between the pages. Youngjae looked at you for just a second. Just for a second. Just long enough to feel something in his chest tighten. He didn't recognize it as nerves. Not yet.

He averted his gaze at once, as one who fears being caught observing the forbidden.

He followed the boys into the history section, paying no real attention to what they were saying. Hanjin and Jihoon's voices melted into a low hum, while he thought only of the fleeting image that had stuck in the back of his eyes. It wasn't the first time I'd seen you. Of course it wasn't. But there was something different that day. Maybe because you were closer. Maybe because it was the first time the idea of approaching you didn't seem completely absurd. Although, of course, it wouldn't. Why would it?

The minutes slipped by like water through your fingers. At some point, his friends decided to leave, and Youngjae followed them out of pure reflex. They crossed the hallway in the direction of the exit. Jihoon was still joking about something he had trouble following, but he pretended to laugh anyway. The habit of being “present” even when his mind was going somewhere else.

And then, it all happened. In a simple way. Almost without drama. But with an intensity that would mark him without him knowing it yet.

You were walking out right in front of him. He hadn't noticed you at first, busy adjusting his sweater and tucking his book under his arm. But then, that soft fragrance —light, barely a sweet whisper— reached him before your image. And he knew it was you. You were walking at a leisurely pace, with your friends a few steps behind, wrapped in complicit murmurs. You were smiling. That soft smile that needed no exaggeration. There was something about it that made everything become more… quiet.

The door leading out of the library was heavy, solid wood, with an old spring that always seemed to close with more force than necessary. That day was no exception.

Your friends had stayed behind, one looking for something in her purse, another probably commenting on something that made you smile. You kept walking, your head slightly turned towards them, that slight smile still alive on your lips. You didn't see the door. You didn't hear that particular high-pitched squeak that always preceded the violent closing. You didn't notice it.

But Youngjae did. Youngjae acted without thinking.

It was a reflex, a wordless impulse. He reached out with a jerk, catching the door just before the edge could close on you. The sound was a sharp thud, muffled against your outstretched palm. A firm, abrupt, final sound.

But what he did not expect was what came next. His body, propelled by the inertia of the movement, took a step forward. It was automatic, necessary to stop the force of the door. And right at that very second —as if the universe had aligned for that perfect mistake— you took a step backward.

Your back collided against his chest.

It was an instantaneous, gentle, yet devastating contact. He barely had time to process it before his free arm, out of pure instinct, out of that strange impulse that is born when the body protects before the mind commands it, slipped around your waist.

It was not a hug. It was not invasive. It was a restrained, but intimate gesture. His hand rested barely on your side, fingers splayed with a gentleness that betrayed the racing pulse he felt coursing through his arm. He did it to support you. To keep you from stumbling. To take care of you. But also for something else. Something he didn't fully understand, something that seeped into his pores without asking permission. A quiet, confused, trembling desire.

And then it stopped. You both did.

He remained motionless, as if any movement could break the magical stillness of that instant. You stayed like that too, wedged against him, your breath suspended. The contact was subtle, but absolute. There was no real space between you. Your body fit perfectly against his, with a naturalness that almost frightened him.

He could smell your perfume with an absurd sharpness. It was not a strong one. On the contrary. It was something warm, light, like flowers. He didn't know what it was, but in that instant he knew he could never smell it again without thinking of you.

His fingers, barely closed on your waist, trembled barely. Not from nervousness exactly. Or yes, but not the kind you get before an exam. It was something else. Something that was born in the center of his chest, between his ribs, and spilled outward. As if his body knew before his head did what was going on.

You turned.

Very slowly. As if you also felt that any sudden movement might break the moment. You turned on yourself, still inside his arm, and your gaze met his.

And there was the second impact.

The closeness was ridiculous. Absurd. Undeniable. Your eyelashes were so close that he could see the barely perceptible tremor when you blinked. Your eyes, wide as if trying to make sense of the scene, reflected more surprise than fear, more bewilderment than discomfort.

Your lips parted. You did not speak. But the gesture spoke for itself. And he… simply lost himself.

There were no concrete thoughts. Just sensations. The texture of your hair brushing against his forearm. The shared warmth. The subtle trembling of your breath. The softness of your voice that didn't quite come through. The intensity of your eyes, so close he didn't know if you were looking at him…or into him.

Youngjae wasn't the type to run out of words. He knew what to say, when to say it, and in what tone. It was part of his world, part of his role. But there, in front of you, with your body inches from his, he felt stripped of all that. Vulnerable. Raw. Real.

He had never had you so close.

Not even in his imagination, which sometimes —on long nights or too noisy recesses— had placed you in blurred scenes, amidst the murmur of nonexistent conversations and gestures that never happened. Sometimes, in those lapses of silent weakness, I imagined you turning to him by accident, brushing his arm as you passed, sharing a comment between classes. Simple, almost insignificant things, but things that had the power to wrench a visceral reaction from him when he was alone.

But this…

This was something else. This was you. Real. Physically present. Looking at him from such a close distance that he could feel the heat you radiated as if his body had been designed to recognize it. The air between you was different, thicker, denser, as if something invisible was enveloping just the two of you. As if the rest of the world had vanished for an instant - without drama - simply erased. Non-existent.

And his heart.

His heart was pounding with an urgency that scared him a little. Not just because it was beating fast, but because it was beating loud. As if it had a voice of its own. As if with every beat it was telling him: look at this, feel this, don't ignore it. I didn't know if it was because of the surprise or because of you. Or because of everything. But there it was, throbbing like he had never felt it throbbing before.

He didn't know how much time passed. It could have been seconds. Or a whole year. Or an early memory he didn't want to leave.

—I'm sorry —he murmured.

And his voice… it didn't come out the way he had rehearsed it so many times in his head.

It wasn't steady. It wasn't sure. It was low. Lower than he'd expected. A whisper that brushed the air between you as if afraid to break it. A sincere apology, but also unarmed. Vulnerable. As if, by saying it, you were acknowledging that that instant held a weight you didn't know how to handle.

But you didn't walk away right away. You didn't turn away in discomfort. You didn't turn sharply or make a gesture of discomfort or embarrassment. You stayed. There. Just inches away. Staring at him.

As if you didn't even know what to do with that second that had just been born between the two of you. As if something inside you —just as in him— was still processing the fact that that touch had not only been physical, but almost… electric. As if a part of your soul had been anchored to his for a fraction of time that neither of you knew how to handle.

Until one of your friends called out to you.

It was soft, from behind you. A voice that didn't sound impatient, but it broke the moment like a stone dropping into water: with concentric circles spreading out to undo the stillness. And then he reacted.

He released you immediately. Not clumsily, but with a hint of haste that betrayed his self-control.

He stepped back just barely. Just a step. But to him it was as if he had forced himself away from a place where he wanted to stay a while longer. His fingers trembled slightly, though he disguised it well. Enough so that no one —except perhaps you— noticed.

And you… You arranged your hair with that naturalness of yours, but which stuck in his mind like an image he would never forget.

Your fingers ran along the strand behind your ear, that small, everyday gesture, but which in that context suddenly became intimate. You didn't look at him immediately. Your eyes lowered. Your eyelashes swept the hallway light like wings. But your cheeks…

Your cheeks were pinker. And he saw it. He noticed.

As if the color in your skin was a silent response to what had just happened. Not exaggerated. Not theatrical. Just… real.

And then, when you finally looked up again, you found him there. Watching you.

But not like everyone else was. Not with the superficial look of someone who wants to see you without really knowing you.

You looked at him and saw that Youngjae… hadn't stopped looking at you. Not even for a second. As if he had been recording every detail of your face with his eyes. As if he couldn't, even if he wanted to, look away.

And then, you smiled at him.

It wasn't a big smile. It wasn't wide, or bright, or perfect. It was small.

Almost imperceptible.

Barely a movement at the corner of your lips, like a door ajar, like a wordless secret.

But for him… it was devastating. Enough.

Because that smile —yours, so simple, so unarmed— stuck with him. Like a light turned on in the midst of darkness. Like a song barely hummed in the background of a memory. He knew, without needing words, that it would not go away.

That that image was going to repeat itself over and over again, in the most absurd places: when he looked out the classroom window, when he heard his name in the hallways, when he opened the book he wasn't planning to read, when he leaned his head on the desk in the middle of class.

And he knew, with that quiet certainty that sometimes comes before understanding, that he was screwed.

Not in the superficial sense of a high school story. Not like boys who fall in love just because, because it's nice, because they like someone.

But for real. From the inside. From that place where emotions don't ask for permission, they just settle in and grow like roots under the skin.

Because now he knew. He knew how you smelled.

How your eyelashes barely trembled. How your body felt against his. How your voice sounded in the closeness of silence.

And worse: what your smile looked like when it came out unintentionally. And that…

That was going to haunt him for a long, long time.

Hanjinㅤ ❛❛    ──── ㅤHan Zhen !

The school supply store smelled of old wood, cardboard dampened by time and an almost invisible patina of dust that covered everything with a kind of silent veil. It was a place away from the usual noise of the school, those spaces where time did not seem to move forward as it did in the corridors full of echoes and laughter. Here, every creak of the aged linoleum floor, every click of the rusted metal of the shelves, felt deeper, as if the silence were a living being, breathing among boxes and shelves, attentive to everything.

Hanjin had come in with Jihoon and Kyungmin with a simple mission: to find the shooting racks for the archery equipment. Nothing particularly exciting, but important enough that they trusted him to do it. They always did. They trusted his calm judgment, the precision with which he did things, that almost stealthy way of moving as if each step was thought out before it was taken. He didn't talk much, but when he did, it was with a weight that made others listen. That was his nature: steady, contained, effective. Almost invisible if he so chose, yet impossible to ignore when he wished.

His fingers slowly slid the laminated inventory list he had taken off one wall, while Jihoon mumbled something about how everything there looked like something out of an eighties movie. Kyungmin chuckled under his breath, checking a few more boxes up front. But Hanjin wasn't listening anymore.

Because then, he saw you.

Not head-on, not in a direct way, but through one of the openings between the metal shelves, right in the far aisle, where the light from the skylight fell in soft lines on the mottled floor. It was like watching a scene through a crack —intimate, accidental, momentary.

Your friends were leaning against a low bookshelf, their voices a muffled murmur between restrained laughter, as if they knew that place deserved respect. But you… you were standing a few steps ahead, on your tiptoes, arms outstretched toward one of the higher shelves. You were reaching for a large box, probably light, but located just beyond your reach. You didn't jump or make noise; you didn't ask for help. There was an almost solemn concentration in the way you stretched, as if in your world there was only this small goal: to brush the cardboard with your fingertips.

Hanjin paused. The inventory forgotten in his hands.

It was as if the whole atmosphere was folding back into that image: you, lit by the indirect sun, your hair sliding down your back like a cascade of dark silk, your white T-shirt stretched barely above your waist as you reached out, gently outlining the curve of your silhouette. The scene had an almost dreamlike quality. Not artificial, not exaggerated, but honest. Natural. Real. Almost painfully real.

They had never spoken. Never a cross word, never a feigned conversation in shared hallways. But he had seen you. Of course he had. How not to. How to avoid it. Always surrounded by a serene, magnetic energy, the kind that needed no effort to attract attention. You were not like the others. You made no effort to be visible, and yet you were impossible to ignore. There was something about you, in the way you walked, in your slight but constant smile, in that look that seemed to see beyond the daily noise, that disarmed him in ways he couldn't explain even to himself.

And now you were there. In front of him, without knowing it. And then, his gaze lowered, involuntarily, toward the box.

The corner. It was barely protruding from the edge of the shelf, hanging like a small imbalance that no one had paid attention to. A barely perceptible shadow of instability. Almost a whisper. But he saw it. It wasn't a heavy box, but it was heavy enough to pose a danger. If you touched it inadvertently, if you pushed it just barely wrong… it would fall. On you. Perhaps not with devastating force, but with the kind of absurd violence that chance has. A foolish blow that could have been avoided.

And you didn't know it.

He reacted without thinking. His legs kicked in before his mind could register a conscious decision. A pure, precise impulse. There was something in the way his muscles moved, in the accuracy of the speed with which he closed the distance, that spoke of something deeper than habit or reflex.

His steps were silent, certain. Like a hunter, he slipped through the shadows of the warehouse without breaking the air around him. The floor barely creaked under his weight. His eyes did not blink. Every second seemed to multiply. He knew exactly what was about to happen.

The box tilted. It came off the shelf like a dead leaf in autumn, slow at first, barely a change of angle, and then, suddenly, vertigo. The carton fell.

But his hand —that hand that was so seldom raised without purpose — intercepted it halfway. It did not catch it tenderly. There was no delicacy in that gesture. It was a sharp, direct blow, almost aggressive in its precision, deflecting the box just before its corner could graze you. It fell to the floor with a hollow, muffled sound, bouncing on the linoleum with a slight crunch of cardboard and trapped dust.

It didn't touch you. It didn't hit you. It didn't even hit you.

In that same second, with no margin of distance, no measure, his other arm came up and leaned firmly against the shelf, right next to your head, as if it were a shield. It was not a threat. It was not intentional. It was instinct. Precise. Immediate. And that's why it was so real.

His body stopped in front of yours, close enough that the space between you both felt suspended, fragile, unreal. As if a sheet of paper could pass between you… or maybe not. Maybe not even that.

And you were there, right in that little corner of shadow and light, between him and the crowded shelf, between his arm and his chest. Between his presence and your surprise. Surrounded. Caged. Inches away.

Hanjin blinked.

His heart, normally steady, measured, restrained… was now pounding with a mute violence inside his chest. As if it had jumped straight into his throat, without permission. As if it were trying to break the calm that defined him. He had never been so close to you. Never, in all his life, had he held you like this, so close that he could count the tiny beats of tension in the line of your neck. So close that he could see your eyelashes tremble with surprise. So close that your held breath brushed against him, soft and brief, like a brush that even air couldn't avoid.

And you were looking at it.

Not as someone who had been waiting for this. Not as someone who understood what was happening. But as someone who was living a moment you never imagined like this, in this way, with this intensity. Your eyes, huge, with that unexpected gleam that mixed fright with something deeper, something harder to name, pierced it without looking for it. They did not challenge it. They did not flee. They didn't pretend anything. They simply… held him.

And he, who had learned to remain calm even when the world seemed to tilt beneath his feet, felt himself being lost.

Not by the gesture. Not by the impulse. But by you.

For that expression that did not quite correspond to a frightened person. Because the fright was there, yes, in the way you had held your breath, in the slight trembling of your lips, but it was also subsiding. It was slowly receding, giving way to another emotion that was quieter, harder to ignore. An unexpected sweetness. Curiosity, perhaps. Intrigue. Or something that neither he —nor you— would have been able to put into words at that moment.

Silence covered everything like a thick blanket. It was no longer the same silence of the warehouse that I had felt upon entering. It was no longer neutral or impersonal. Now it was intimate. As if everything else had disappeared. As if the world had stopped at the door to leave you alone, encapsulated, protected by dust, cardboard and that golden light that fell on your shoulder as if it had been waiting for it all day only to illuminate you now.

Your mouth half-opened, barely. Not even to speak. As if your body was trying to say something before your mind knew how. A reflex. A hesitation. But you said nothing. Your eyes were still on his. And yours couldn't move away.

And then he noticed. Your scent.

It was so light that he had not noticed it at first. Sweet without being cloying. Warm, enveloping. A mix of something floral and something deeper, something he didn't know how to identify but it seemed made for you. It was not strong. It didn't compete with the dust of the place or the old wood. But it was there, as if it had crept stealthily around you, slowly encircling you, entangling itself in your breath. It was like a gentle anchor. And now that he had felt it, he couldn't let it go.

And that unbalanced him even more than the fright. Because for an instant, for a single brutally honest second, he wished he hadn't moved.

He wished he could stay there. Still. Between that scent, that look, that tremor barely contained in your eyelashes. He wished he could capture that scene and frame it within himself, keep it intact before reality came to undo it.

But then… A voice.

Distant, but close. Feminine. One of your friends. She had said your name. Not with urgency. Not with alarm. Just… strangely. As if they'd just remembered they were there. As if they hadn't seen you for a few seconds. As if that moment, that moment so close and perfect, had been invisible to the rest of the world.

And with that voice, the spell was broken. Hanjin barely stepped back.

Just one step. Measured. As if your body was still trying to unknot what had just happened, carefully spinning the separation between what was impulse and what was reality. He lowered the arm that, until just a second ago, had been resting next to your head. His fingers brushed the empty air, as if the exact form of the gesture still remained there, the slight temperature of your presence among the wood, the cardboard, the golden light. The movement was restrained, almost reverent, as if any abruptness could explode the memory of what had just happened.

But his eyes did not move.

They were still there, in yours. Trapped. As if there was an invisible rope stretched between the two of you that not even physical distance could break. As if releasing that eye contact was somehow more difficult than physically moving away. Looking at you was… the only thing he could do. The only thing he wanted to do. Even in the suspended echo of shock. Even when the box was gone. Even when his body had already reacted and the danger was gone. It was as if his soul had been anchored to that moment, to those eyes, to that little piece of time that seemed more real than anything he had experienced lately.

You blinked.

It was a simple gesture. Human. Fragile. But within the silence that had formed between you, that flicker felt like a seismic event. Like a small jolt that broke the stillness and, at the same time, made it more intense. It was after that-only after-that it happened.

You smiled. Very softly.

Not a big smile. Not a bright, open gesture, the kind you throw when you're among friends or under the spotlight in the auditorium or in the middle of an aisle where everyone expects to see you shine. No. It was something much smaller, more subtle, more intimate. Just a slight curve at the corner of your lips. A gesture so minimal that, had he not been so close, had he not been watching you with that almost sacred concentration, Hanjin might not even have noticed it. But he did. And the instant he saw it, the instant he understood that that little smile was for him —just for him— something in his chest contracted.

A strange contraction. Internal. Silent. Not painful, but so intense that it almost seemed physical.

He'd seen it before, of course. Your smile. Many times. In the hallways, when your friends were talking, when you laughed without holding back, when you greeted teachers or new students who seemed to feel less intimidated just because you were around with that slight gentleness. Hanjin had seen it in all its forms: open, bright, playful, carefree.

But never like this. Never directed at him.

Never up close. Never in that tiny space where the world didn't seem to dare enter.

—Thank you —you murmured.

Your voice was barely a whisper, like a thought that had escaped without permission. It was not meant to be heard by anyone else. It was not meant to fill the space. It was a word woven between silences, almost like a secret, like something that existed only for him. Not out of obligation, not out of politeness. But for something else. Something soft. Something sincere.

And then, for a full second…. Hanjin forgot how to breathe.

It wasn't a metaphor. It was real. His chest tightened in a way he hadn't expected. His lungs didn't know what to do with the air. His mind, so clear, so rational, so used to analyzing things coldly and precisely, disconnected from his body. He stood there, looking, feeling, completely absorbed by the fact that that word, that thank you, had come from your lips and had been for him.

He, who had never had more than crossed glances with you. He, who had watched you so many times from afar without telling anyone. He, who had learned to respect that silent distance like someone who takes care of a delicate crystal. And now… now you were talking to him. You smiled at him. You were there, in front of him, as if everything else was just noise.

Hanjin nodded his head. Barely. It was a small movement, awkward by his standards, lacking the millimetric composure that normally accompanied it. Not because he was uncomfortable, but because he could afford no more. The words would not come out. His tongue seemed to have forgotten how to form sounds. To say anything aloud would have broken the exact fragility of that moment. So he just nodded. And that was enough.

And then, as naturally as it had come, you walked away.

Not in a hurry. Not with discomfort. But with that ethereal air that seemed to envelop everything you did. You turned gently, and your friends, still leaning against the nearest shelves, looked at you with wide eyes, with chuckles they didn't even try to disguise. Their murmurs were curious, anxious, floating like sharp echoes among the rows of old and forgotten objects. But you said nothing. You didn't look back.

And he…

Hanjin stood there. Still. Absolutely still. As if his body was still processing the scene. As if he could still feel the echo of your perfume floating in the air. As if his fingers —the ones that had brushed yours just as he returned the box to you— still carried the exact temperature of your skin.

He didn't know how much time passed. Seconds, maybe. Minutes. It didn't matter. The warehouse was no longer just a warehouse. The air was no longer the same. Everything had changed.

Because for the first time, that space of fantasy that had always existed between you and him —that unreachable space made of assumptions, of stolen glances, of unformulated hypotheses— had become real.

Tangibly real. And with it, came certainty.

He could no longer continue to admire you only from afar.

Not after this. Not after seeing you like this, so… close. Not after that smile, that whisper, that moment when the world stopped just for you.

That moment had stayed with him.

And Hanjin knew, with every part of his body, with every heartbeat that was still trying to return to its normal rhythm, that the thread that had been stretched between you in that warehouse… would not break easily.

He didn't want it to break. And though he didn't yet understand what it all meant, he knew something with a certainty that shook him to the bone:

He had just crossed a line. And there was no turning back.

Jihoonㅤ ❛❛    ──── ㅤHan Jihoon !

The high school cafeteria, at that midday hour, was a living organism. Every table a noisy cell, every voice an electrical impulse traveling unchecked through the rush hour chaos. The air was thick with fried food, teenage laughter, brand-name perfume mixed with cheap sports deodorant, and a constant murmur like that of a swarm that never slept. Jihoon was in his usual space, at a table toward the back where students dared not get too close, not because of anything explicit, but out of sheer inertia. His group always occupied that corner, as if the air itself knew it was his.

Kyungmin was talking —something about an inside joke at the athletic club— and Dohoon was chuckling, chopsticks pointed at a piece of kimbap that had turned out perfect. Jihoon smiled too, half out of politeness, half because it was easier to keep up than to interrupt him with thoughts he didn't share.

He had his team jacket over his shoulders, his backpack thrown as usual on the corner of the bench, and the posture everyone seemed to envy him: relaxed, confident, as if the world couldn't touch him. But inside, deep inside, he was not so still.

And then, as if an invisible line stretched taut in the air, he saw her. Again. You.

It wasn't that you did anything special. You didn't stumble gracefully, you didn't laugh louder than the rest, you didn't wear a brightly colored dress that stole attention by force. You just walked in. Just like you always do. Like every day. Walking through the sea of tables with that pace of yours —neither slow nor hurried, but with the precision of someone who knows where she's going, who she is and what she's leaving behind.

Dohoon's laughter became more distant. Kyungmin's fork hovered in the air in its periphery. But Jihoon was no longer listening. Because there you were.

You were talking to your friends —that squeaky-voiced girl with braids, the other one who always wore impeccable nails— but that wasn't what was stopping him. It was the way you tilted your head slightly as you listened, your expression so open, so genuinely present. It was the way you tucked a lock of hair behind your ear without looking aware that thousands of eyes were probably following your movement. And, more than anything, it was that thing you couldn't name: something between light and magnetism. It wasn't something you did. It was something you were.

Jihoon had never said it out loud. Not even to himself. It wasn't like he was “in love,” that absurd, adolescent word. No. It was something else. Something colder and more painful, more constant. A constant awareness of your existence, like a song that has been playing in the background for years and you can never get it out of your head. Because you weren't just “pretty” or “dear”. No. You were the kind of girl that made even the perfect ones feel… not enough.

And that's why he'd never tried anything.

Because while he could handle it all —the team pressure, the high grades, the girls who sought him out, the teachers who smiled at him— you were another league. A league where it wasn't enough to look good or say something witty. You had to be something more.

So she had settled for watching you from a distance. From time to time, a glance across the table. Sometimes in the hallways. Other times in the common room, when you were laughing quietly while reading something on your cell phone. They were moments that passed by like comets: bright, fleeting, impossible to catch.

Until now. It all happened in seconds. Fractions, even.

He was just returning his gaze to his tray, when he noticed something out of rhythm in the flow of the cafeteria: a silhouette running, tray in hand, one of those who do not know how to sustain the balance between haste and clumsiness. And he saw the bottle cap, half-loose. The trembling movement of a liquid that was not supposed to move like that. He calculated the angle without thinking: the turn of the student, the swaying of the bottle, the blow that would send it flying.

And you. With your back turned.

Just a few steps ahead. Unaware of the approaching disaster. It was as if something inside Jihoon ignited. A spring. An electrical impulse that fired without permission, born from a place as primal as it was inevitable. Neither logic nor reason had time to intervene. His body simply responded.

He stepped forward.

A single step. Precise. As if the distance between you was not an obstacle but a call. As if that space had always been destined to close in that instant. And in a second, he was right in front of you. The air seemed to split at the exact moment he turned quickly, his jacket brushing against your arm as it passed like a warm gust through the bustle of the cafeteria. The impact of the water hit, but not you. He received it.

The liquid hit his back, cold, an unexpected shock against the lightweight fabric of the team jacket. It slid swiftly down the sporty fiber, soaking the contour of his shoulder and the side of his side. But that wasn't what registered. It was his hand. His hand that, out of pure reflex, went to rest on your waist.

Not too hard, not too soft. Instinctive. Natural.

A single contact to stop you, to hold you steady, to keep you from continuing to walk toward the invisible danger beneath your feet. The puddle was already spreading on the ground, clear, harmless to the eye, but enough to have caused a fall. Or an uncomfortable scene. And Jihoon didn't let it happen.

And then you turned around. Not slowly. Not with a start.

It was almost at the same time. Almost as if his movements were your own. Almost colliding with him.

And then everything froze.

The sound of the cafeteria seemed to fade the instant your eyes met his. Jihoon literally felt time stand still. A pure, sharp pause. Not because of drama, but because his mind didn't know how to process so much at once. Your eyes —bigger up close, clearer, more vivid than he'd ever remembered them— looked at him with surprise, yes, but not fear. Not discomfort. A mixture of awe, recognition, and something else…something undefined. Brilliant.

Jihoon stopped breathing. Not by choice, but because his body forgot to.

His hand still rested on your waist. Just a touch. Just enough to know you were there. Just enough for the heat of your body to seep through the thin fabric of your blouse and burn his fingers. And yet, you didn't dare remove it right away. As if to remove it would be to break something fragile, something suspended in that delicate balance between what was real and what seemed like a dream.

They were close. Too close.

Close enough for him to see the slight blush that began to creep up your cheeks, warm, subtle, so human it left him speechless. Enough to see how your breath moved: short, ragged, as if you'd forgotten how air worked, too. Your lips —so close he could make out the exact curve of the lower one— were slightly ajar, not in preparation to speak, but as if the world had left you breathless too.

You did not speak. Neither did he.

But in that silence —in that perfect parenthesis from the usual noise— there were more than words.

Jihoon, his heart pounding so hard it almost hurt, noticed that there was no way to hide it. That if someone looked at him from outside, maybe even from across the cafeteria, they could see that something was happening. That something had broken between that distance he had always maintained. That you had always respected. Until now.

Because you were there. Real. Present. Really seeing him. And he… wasn't able to look anywhere else.

The dampness of his jacket clung to his back like an icy second skin. The cold was beginning to seep through his T-shirt, to soak his shoulder and waist. But he didn't care. He didn't feel it clearly. Because you were close. Because your eyes were still on his, as if you were searching for something. As if he could give you some answer to a question neither of you had asked.

And then, you broke it. Gently. Delicately. In a barely audible voice.

—I'm sorry —you murmured.

An apology for breaking into his world. Or for letting him into yours. And Jihoon felt something tighten in his chest.

He was the one who had broken in. The one who had crossed that invisible distance that had separated you forever. The one who had touched you, with the boldness of one who does not think, who simply acts. There was no time for judgment, no time for consequences. There was only the reflex. The impulse to protect yourself. To arrive before gravity. To come between you and the slightest accident.

And yet you apologized.

As if you felt it. As if you carried the weight of that instant. As if some of what had happened had been your responsibility, even though it was not.

—No, no… —Jihoon answered at last. The words barely came out. A barely audible exhalation. It wasn't that he chose to speak softly. It was that he didn't know how to make it louder. His voice sounded different even to himself: deeper, more intimate, as if each syllable had to work its way carefully through the dizziness he felt in his chest. —You're fine, aren't you?

You were silent for half a second. But then you nodded. And you smiled.

It wasn't a bright smile, the kind that lights up a whole room. It wasn't rehearsed, or nervous. It was small. Sincere. Slight, but so warm that Jihoon felt it more than saw it. As if that smile had slipped through the spaces of the world to touch him directly, to affirm something he couldn't even name.

And then, he felt it. Something in his world changed.

Not with a bang. Not like an earthquake. It was a silent, but irreversible change. Like when a leaf falls from a tree and you know, without a doubt, that summer is over. It was like that. As if an entire season inside him had changed color with that gesture of yours. And he knew it. Even if he couldn't explain it. Even if he had no words yet. His fingers —still resting, still hanging on the edge of your waist— began to separate.

Not abruptly.

Not like someone who walks away out of obligation, but like someone who says goodbye to something without wanting to break it. His touch faded little by little, each centimeter witnessing a silent resistance, as if his fingertips wanted to retain something beyond the skin. You were not just a physical presence. You were warmth. Light. Rhythm. And when he stopped touching you, something of him stayed with you.

Your friends were already calling you. Their voices cut through the moment like a thin rope being pulled taut until it broke. One of them called your name, slurring the vowels as if bringing you back to reality. Another looked at you with a mixture of surprise and disbelief, as if she didn't know whether to approach or stand there watching. The puddle on the floor was already evaporating in the general attention. An anecdote. A small incident. Nothing more. And yet, Jihoon knew —he knew with absolute certainty— that for him, that instant was never going to be just an accident.

Because in the silence that followed, between you and him, there was no awkwardness.

There was something else. A different pause.

A kind of promise suspended in the air, without words, without commitments, without expectations. Something latent, fragile, like those moments when two people look at each other and know they are on the edge of something. Of a beginning that still has no shape. Of a path that no one has named, but that begins in the way one holds the gaze of the other. And you did.

You walked away. Brief steps. Unsure, at first, as if you too were returning to the body, to the time, to the place.

You returned to your group. The laughter around you tried to normalize the situation. Someone offered you a napkin. Another pointed to your blouse with a quick gesture, checking for a drop of water. Everything kept spinning. Everything was moving.

But then… you turned around. Just once. Just for a second. But for Jihoon, it was everything.

Your eyes searched for him. They met his again, this time at some distance. Between people, trays, voices. But the line was clear. It wasn't a mistake. It wasn't a stray glance. You looked at him.

You knew that that look was unlike any of the others.

That you were no longer just that unattainable figure, that girl who seemed to always walk two centimeters above the world. The one everyone watched from afar. The one who was spoken of in hushed tones, as if she were unreal. You were no longer an image. A projection. An impossibility.

You were you. Close. Human. Real. And now, you had seen him too.

Not like the perfect athlete, the one who is always with his friends, the one who laughs with ease and walks as if everything comes easy to him. Not like the popular name that gets written on slips of paper, mentioned in casual conversation or tagged in group photos.

You saw him as him. Just him. And that was enough.

Jihoon stood still, watching you get back into the rhythm of the day. How you settled in among your friends, how you shook your head gently, trying to downplay what had happened. But your gaze still burned in his chest. Your smile. Your voice. The way your eyelashes barely trembled when you held him so close.

And he knew something had broken. Not a destructive break. A necessary one.

The distance between you and him, that invisible line that had separated you forever, was no longer intact. It had cracked with a step, a hand, a glance. And there was no going back. He couldn't see you the same. Not after having you so close.

And maybe… maybe, he thought as he slowly sat back down, still with his jacket soaked through and his heartbeat erratic… he no longer wanted to admire you alone from afar.

Because now he knew what it was like to have you inches away.

And the world, after that, simply could never be the same again.

Kyungminㅤ ❛❛    ──── ㅤLee Kyungmin !

The high school gymnasium was noisier than usual.

The lights were not yet fully on, but the large halogen lamps flickered to life as technicians adjusted the sound levels and spotlights on the makeshift stage. Voices mingled in a chaotic echo: students running back and forth, teachers giving directions, a couple of chuckles exploding from some corner, and the eternal hum of the sound system as someone tested a microphone with the classic “one, two, one, two.” It all sounded like a prelude to something important, as if the whole atmosphere was holding its breath before the big show.

Kyungmin watched it all with the calm of someone who, though present, seemed to float slightly above the chaos. He was standing with some of his own —familiar, unmistakable faces, always surrounded by a certain atmosphere of perfection forged by rumor, popularity, and an almost untouchable halo. They were also there for something. To rehearse, probably. To go over the entrance, the positions, some number prepared to close the event. But none of that seemed really important in that instant.

Because she was there. You.

He didn't need to look for you. He didn't need to ask. From the moment he had stepped through the double doors of the gym, his gaze found you with such immediate precision that he wasn't even aware that he was looking for you. There you were. With your back turned. Simply with your back turned, but even that sight had something that made him pause.

A high ponytail swaying with your steady gait, headphones dangling from your neck, arm raised to give directions, a tablet propped against the palm of one hand as your other hand rose to point at something with natural precision. A group of students surrounded you, keeping an eye on you. You were at the center of it all, without even needing to raise your voice. You were… clarity within the chaos. Control without effort. Authority without harshness. You had that kind of energy that didn't shout, but carried.

Kyungmin felt something tighten in his chest. It was not new. That feeling he already knew. He had seen you before. Many times. In the hallways, in the dining hall, during assemblies, on breaks. He knew perfectly well who you were, although he had never said it out loud. There was no need to. Everyone knew. You were one of those figures who existed almost like myths in the school environment, mentioned in whispers, in laughter, in veiled sighs. But what he remembered most about every time he saw you… was how you did nothing to draw attention to yourself, and yet you were impossible to ignore.

But that day, something changed.

It wasn't just seeing you. It was seeing you move. Seeing you coordinate. Seeing you take control without the world seeming forced to obey you. Seeing you smile with that almost luminous air while everything around you was in chaos. To see you even tired - the slight crease in your forehead, that almost imperceptible sigh when someone didn't understand your directions the first time. And yet, you were still you. And then… it was that moment.

He was close to the stage, a little away from the group but close enough to hear their jokes, to nod when they spoke to him even if he wasn't fully focused. His gaze kept alternating between the spotlights, the technicians, the cables, the rows of chairs… and you. Always you.

And then, he saw it. It was an instant. A flicker. A visceral anticipation that coursed through his body like electricity.

You were pacing hurriedly, eyes fixed on the tablet. You had finished talking to someone, probably giving some last order before checking another part of the setup. Your steps were quick, sure. But you didn't see the cable.

Black. Thin. Crossing the floor like a silent snake, lying just where no one was supposed to leave it. One of those traps that the accidental chaos of events used to plant.

He saw it all in sequence, as if time slowed down just for him. The movement of your leg, the sure and fast stride —too fast—, the slight gesture of concentration on your face, the tablet barely slipping through your fingers while your attention was still on something else. It was barely a second, maybe less, but for Kyungmin it was an eternity condensed into the certainty that something was wrong.

And then he shouted. —Watch out! —was the only thing that came out of his mouth as he instinctively stepped forward.

His voice didn't sound loud, or heroic. It was urgent. Sincere. Broken by the immediacy of fear.

You had already stubbed your toe. The gesture was so subtle that it didn't even seem like a fall at first. Just a loss of stability, of rhythm. Your body projected forward, unintentionally reaching for the ground, and he felt it as if you were fading in front of his eyes. The tablet spun in your fingers, about to come loose. Your friends, barely a couple of steps away, didn't notice. The noise from the gym covered everything like a thick blanket. No one saw it in time.

But Kyungmin did.

His body activated itself. The muscles tensing, the stride long, sure, as if he had been training for it all his life. In three moves, he was at your side. His arm darted, precise, straight to your waist, and in a single gesture, he caught you before your knees touched the ground.

He pulled you hard towards him. The impact was immediate, enveloping. Your body fit against his as if it was made for it. A perfect fit. Not awkward. Not abrupt. He held it all-your weight, your surprise, your held breath. He felt the slight tremor of your tense muscles, the soft thump of your forehead against his chest, the slight choked sound of your breath escaping as the whole world stopped.

And there you stayed. Glued together. Almost airless.

The gym, the sound, the voices, the flashing lights… all gone. It wasn't poetic, it was chemical. Physical. As if his senses were completely reconfigured to focus solely on you. On your body trembling slightly against his. On the heat you gave off, real, tangible. On the beating of his own heart, which suddenly became painfully evident in his chest, as if it wanted to break through the fabric of his shirt and brush against your skin.

Kyungmin's first thought was that you were incredibly light. As if air inhabited you. As if you were made of something different from everyone else.

The second thought was that your perfume had a sweet touch, with something floral, but not cloying. A soft, restrained scent, like a secret garden after the rain. It seemed so you to him, even without knowing you, that he almost laughed at how perfect that tiny detail was. And yet, that scent disarmed him inside. It left him stunned, still, as if breathing had become too intimate a function to do in front of you.

The third… was that you were looking at him.

Your eyes, still round with shock, were looking at him. Big, alive, with that watery gleam that appears when something really surprises you. And Kyungmin felt, without being able to help it, that something inside him was sinking, as if an invisible anchor was pulling at his chest.

Your pupils were not looking for a way out. There was no fear in them. Only surprise… and something else. A connection he didn't know if it was real or a figment of his imagination.

But he felt it.

Your lips were so close he could have counted the little lines that formed on them as he pressed them together. They were half-open, as if you were going to say something, but the words didn't come. They didn't even try to come. We were just there. Suspended.

His arm was still around your waist. And you couldn't force yourself to let go right away. A stupid, ridiculous fear… that if he let go too quickly, it would all disappear like a mirage.

And then, finally, his brain tried to function. What do I do? Do I say something? Do I let go now? Why can't I move?

But his body betrayed him. He was aware of the warmth of your back under his hand. Of the way your shoulder blades gently contracted each time you breathed. He felt the texture of your blouse against his fingers, the subtle way the fabric wrinkled from the tension of the moment. His palm trembled barely, not from insecurity, but from the intensity with which his every sense clung to the tangible, immediate, almost unreal presence… of you.

Your breath mingled with his in that minimal space between the two of you, that invisible bubble that had formed like a capsule out of time. Kyungmin was struck by how natural it was. As if the whole world had been pushing the two of them toward that collision point forever. And now both were there. Suspended. Connected.

He watched the slight movement of your eyelashes. You blinked slowly, as if checking to see if this was a dream or a joke of the universe. It wasn't. You were there. And you were still looking at him. Your pupils still anchored to his, doubtful but firm. As if you were looking for a wordless answer.

You were sure someone was looking at you.

Maybe many. Maybe all of them.

That kind of scene didn't go unnoticed in a packed gym, at an event where glances flew back and forth, always looking for something new to observe, comment on, or ruminate about.

But he didn't care. Not now.

—You okay…? —he asked. His voice did not sound as he expected. It was low, barely a whisper, almost unrecognizable.

Your eyes twinkled. A quick breath. A nod. You nodded.

You didn't speak, not yet. You just shook your head slightly, with that gesture that seemed a mixture of automatic affirmation and genuine vulnerability. Your breath was still unsteady. And it was then that Kyungmin noticed it: the blush that was slowly starting to creep up your cheeks. The pinkish hue that blossomed from the base of your neck to invade your face with a shyness that seemed to scream more than any words.

And in that blush there was something.

A mixture of pure, unfiltered emotions: embarrassment, of course, for the fall that almost happened. Adrenaline, for the suddenness of the moment, for how close you had come to hitting the ground and instead found yourself wrapped up in it. But there was something else.

Something Kyungmin couldn't quite identify.

Not logically. Not with certainty. But he felt it.

He felt it in his chest like an electric current, a clean, direct shock. As if something inside him, something old, something hidden —a need he had never wanted to name— was activated for the first time. Something that forced him to breathe slower, deeper, so as not to lose control. So as not to let his emotions boil over in front of you.

So he let you go. Slowly. Carefully. As if releasing you was an act that required a ceremony in itself.

First he loosened the pressure of his arm around your waist. Then he let the physical distance begin to grow, centimeter by centimeter. As if the air seeping between your bodies was cold, annoying, as if reality was trying to impose itself on the involuntary magic of the moment.

Your body took a slight step back. Your feet touched ground safely again. But Kyungmin felt something in his chest refuse to accept that you were no longer so close. As if his memory, just seconds old, clung to the warmth that still remained on his skin.

You tucked your hair behind your ear with an almost automatic, nervous gesture. He noticed how your fingers trembled barely. Not from weakness. Not from fright. Out of intensity. From the brief uncontrol of emotions that were still running beneath the surface.

You avoided his gaze for an instant. That instant.

That moment where your eyes lowered and he could see you in your most human, most unprotected form. And then, with the strength that only people who are truly in control of their emotions have, you looked up again.

Your eyes met his again. And you smiled.

It wasn't a big smile. It wasn't confident. It wasn't the kind of smile you give at an event, in front of people, with false confidence. It was something else. Small. Nervous. Real. A smile that contained gratitude, surprise, and something Kyungmin didn't want to name because he was afraid to break it with words.

And that was enough. Enough for the world around him to disappear again.

Kyungmin didn't know how long he held it in his mind. Whether it was three seconds or thirty. He just felt that smile imprint itself, with slow fire, somewhere inside him. A place where the images were not easily erased.

The noise came back. The gymnasium regained its sound. Voices, laughter, footsteps, music. It all hit again like a wave breaking the spell.

Your friends rushed over, alarmed, asking if you were okay. They touched your arm, picked up the tablet, laughed with that mixture of relief and confusion. They surrounded you without noticing, forming a warm barrier, a familiar shield.

And he… he returned to his own.

His friends were already looking at him. Dohoon whistled low. Jihoon nudged him, and Shinyu raised an eyebrow with a half-smile that said more than he dared say aloud.

They said nothing. But they all saw it.

He didn't react. He didn't answer them. He just sat on one of the side benches, where the sun streamed in through one of the gym's windows and illuminated the dust suspended in the air. The others went about their business, between jokes, comments, instructions for the event.

But Kyungmin was no longer really there.

He was in that instant.

In how you had looked at him. In how close you had been. In your blush. In your smile.

And how impossible, how absolutely impossible it was going to be to forget.

Because now, every time I thought of you —and I knew I was going to, countless times— it wouldn't be from far away.

It wouldn't be from across the hall. It wouldn't be with stolen glances between classes, or with extraneous conversations filled with your name without naming you.

Now he had felt you.

You had been real in his arms. Fragile and strong. Close. Possible.

And that… that changed everything.

© veevrsee — All rights Reserved.

[xmhaoluvr]

HOW THEY BECAME YOUR BOYFRIEND x idol!reader

SHIN JUNGHWAN 신정환

you guys have been dating for a few months now, you guys have met in inkigayo as he was the special mc alongside with one of your members. shinyu was doing well before the interview for your group, but when it came to the time they had to interview your group, he suddenly lost all ability to function; he kept stumbling on words, he kept coughing, he kept dropping his cue card. lucky for him, his co-mc isn’t oblivious to this

“ah, seems like shinyu here is nervous. can you tell us why? do you like one of my members?”

he laughed nervously and just played it off, how? idk. but hey, it’s over now. when ‘cut!’ was shouted, he immediately approached you and asked for your kakao before having a small conversation with you. after that, you guys kept talking and it evolved into something

KIM DOHOON 김도훈

you’re a soloist that debuted before tws. and during their trainee days, dohoon kept listening to your songs and learning your choreos. once he debuted, his first ever post was him dancing to your recent song and it immediately gained attention for how he executed it perfectly didn’t even mascunalized it

as their comeback neared, his members decided to list out idols that they should do a challenge video with and dohoon immediately suggested you. and since he thought of it, they also agreed that dohoon would do the challenge with you if you agree. of course, you did, you were also a fan of them and was excited. it was decided that the location would be at your company’s practice room

the day of the filming of the challenge arrived and now dohoon is on his way with his members to your company. a camera alongside them for [tws:eries]

“ah, i’m so nervous” dohoon whispered out to the camera

“isn’t she your crush, hyung?” kyungmin asked with a teasing smile

“celebrity crush, yeah” he played it off cool and the members all collectively hummed, not convinced

and after all is done, you talked with tws members for a bit, sitting down inside the practice room with snacks nearby

they had spent more time there than they anticipated so it was time to leave. but of course, dohoon won’t leave without your number

CHOI YOUNGJAE 츼영재

you’re one of the newly debuted group under hybe; also the first co-ed group of the said company. tws had come to greet you guys congratulations for your successful debut. the moment youngjae stepped inside, your eyes immediately locked with his and it lingered for a moment before he looked away

however, as the two groups conversed, even when both of you are talking, you two only kept looking at each other and no one else. because of this, you two didn’t notice the knowing glances and the teasing smiles your members shared with his

with permission, tws decided to stay longer and have a chat. you guys sat down in one big circle, you sitting next to youngjae

as time went on, the two of you started having your own conversation. it started with asking the other what their mbti is and it went on and on until you guys started laughing to each other

when it was time for tws to leave, you two exchanged hugs and numbers before going your separate ways but it will definitely not be your last meeting

HAN ZHEN 韩振

weekly idol is hosting another special episode like they did before by hosting an episode with four groups; two ggs and two bgs

although your group hadn’t been selected, tws had been. but it’s okay since you’re one of the hosts

and so filming began, game after game had occurred and they decided to do, once again, the heart meter test where any member of the four groups will make one of the hosts heart beat the highest

kiss of life chose julie, riize chose wonbin, baemon chose pharita, and tws chose hanjin

who did the hosts choose? you of course lol

your heart meter scored 125 with julie, 136 with wonbin, and 128 with pharita

now it was hanjin’s turn, and boy was he nervous. the people before scored such high scores, will he ever be able to beat that?

as he started making his way to you, your smile could be seen and your heart rate increased rapidly

“hey, hey, hey, your heart meter’s going up!” one of the hosts laughed out and pointed at the screen that showed your heart rate, and he was damn right; it was already 132, close to wonbin’s

“wait! he’s so beautiful and i love beautiful things” you confessed and stepped backwards but your co-hosts pushed you closer to hanjin causing your heart rate to go high as well

“hanjin, just smile at her and you’re all good” dohoon joked out and everyone laughed. he did it though, he smiled at you

140 bpm

man, you might die of heart attack at this rate, but as long as it’s hanjin, right?

there’s nothing else he did but stand there, stare at you, and smile. maybe a few words from time to time and holding your hand

hanjin’s final score was 148 bpm, so naturally, tws won

a break commenced after that, dedicated for you lol. hanjin approached you though and made you sweat once again. this time, you guys managed to talk, albeit you stumbling your words. numbers were exchanged before the shooting began once again

HAN JIHOON 한지훈

you’re a trainee under pledis, had been for the last two years. so it should be the time you debut, right? well, not yet, no, not until you finish jihoon’s lesson

he’s been your tutting teacher for a while now, you’ve always had an interest for that topic. so you told the staff, and they gave you jihoon

well, it hasn’t been a smooth ride let’s just say that. you always end up messing up, always getting confused on what the next step is, arms always getting tangle with each other. man, tutting might not be it for you

this time, jihoon is teaching you youngji’s my cat tutting choreography

“do you get it?” he asked, you nodded slowly “let’s try it slowly” he said and you both got into position

“tan, tan tan, darararandan” he said out the beat, thankfully you managed to follow through “should we try it with music?” you nodded, feeling confident and jihoon smiled at this

…

well, that confidence ended up with you on the floor crying and jihoon not knowing what to do

“i’m so sorry, senior” jihoon bit his bottom lip as you said sorry with a quivering voice “i don’t know why i’m so bad at this” you confessed, voice in a shush tone

“hey, it’s okay. you know what? let’s take a break, let’s go out and eat” you looked up at him and saw him smiling

is this a man or an angel? because damn that patience is never ending “is it really okay?” he nodded and you both went out to a nearby convenience store to eat

while eating, you guys conversed, whether it be causal stuff or tutting stuff. in the end, you both decided to end the lesson for the day and meet the next day

however, you texted him when you got home, saying thank you for fetching you home

LEE KYUNGMIN 이경민

you’re an idol who is still in school, who also happens to be in the same grade level as kyungmin and boy was he a such a classmate

he’s the typical guy classmate one could have; rowdy, noisy, and most of all, annoying. he seem to enjoy annoying you most of the time

“[y/n]!” you turned around and saw a flash, indicating your photo got taken. and you didn’t even have to look to know who it is “delete that” “nice, new addition to my album” kyungmin laughed with (han) yujin “you look cute here, [y/n]” yujin added fuel to the fire

you were trying to contain yourself from lashing out so you just plugged in your airpods and continued to study

but kyungmin didn’t like that, so, he took your airpod case and one of your airpods “give me that” you demanded “what if i don’t want to?” “i’ll make you”

the class erupted in ‘ooh’-s after what you had said. kyungmin smirked liking every second of it “oh yeah? how?”

you inched closer to him until your faces are mere centimeters apart. you lunged forward acting like you’re about to kiss him; this made him flinch and let go of both your airpod and the case. you caught it don’t worry “just like that”

the class erupted in chaos after what had happened, yujin trying to lift kyungmin up because his knees gave up on him, gehlee and nana shaking you because that was so crazy. all in all, kyungmin fell madly in love with you

WOW! ANOTHER POST AFTER THE HANJIN ONE

but honestly i didn’t think it would be this long lol. the way it got longer for every member 😭 oh well. i also think this doesn’t align with the title but all is well. i hope you guys enjoyed this!!

MY REQUESTS ARE OPEN!!

[jaymentions]

drowsy confessions | 김도훈

📬 Archived Letters #09 — “drowsy confessions” ╰┈➤ For anyone who knows that the sweetest words often slip out when we’re too tired to hide them.

pairings. idol!kim dohoon x reader

w.c. 679 words

soundtrack. jaljayo good night by twice

author notes. I never knew that I could love and stan any kpop group again but here we are tws proving me wrong. I'm not even a month in but I'm in this fandom deep. Since it’s also my birthday today so I just want to post this one. Consider it as a birthday special! tws fighting!

After filming Wise Health Checkup for TWS:CLUB, Dohoon felt a little drowsy from the anesthesia. His steps were slightly unsteady as he followed the other members out of the clinic. They all thanked the staffs, doctors, and nurses for helping them through the day. Then, one by one, they said their goodbyes and went home.

You had gotten word from Jihoon that they’re back they’re dorm while Dohoon is still at daze, and despite the late hour, you couldn’t resist visiting. You quietly let yourself in, holding a small bag of snacks and his favorite drink ‘Asyatchu’, careful not to startle him.

“baby…?” His voice was soft, thick with sleepiness as he slumped against the couch, a blanket draped around his shoulders. His hair was messy, and the dark circles under his eyes made him look even more endearing.

“You came to see me,” he murmured, his lips quirking into a half-smile. “Good… good.”

You knelt beside him, setting your bag down. “Of course, silly. How are you feeling?” you murmured as you cupped his cheek.

Dohoon blinked slowly, then reached out almost instinctively, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “Better… now that you’re here,” he mumbled, leaning his head on your shoulder.

You stifled a laugh at how clingy he already was. “You’re so drowsy… you sound like a little kid,” you teased, brushing a stray hair from his forehead.

“Kid?” He pouted, resting his chin on the top of your head. “I’m… serious… serious grown-up,” he slurred, then yawned, his eyes fluttering shut for a second before peeking open again.

The members had called you earlier, already teasing him over the things he had said under anesthesia. Apparently, Dohoon had been very vocal, muttering about wanting to hold hands, asking for comfort, and saying he missed someone—you, in fact without realizing anyone was listening.

“You know, he was talking about you nonstop,” Jihoon had said on the call earlier, laughter bubbling in his voice. “Dohoon said he wanted to keep you in his pocket”

Dohoon’s ears flushed pink as he leaned even closer to you. “I… I didn’t… I just… sleepy… you were in my mind…” he mumbled, his usual pride fighting against the lingering haze of anesthesia.

“Oh my gosh, Dohoon,” you giggled, placing your hands over his. “You think of me even while unconscious?”

“Of course, I always think of you” His sleepy tone was almost whiny, and you could feel his fingers clutching yours tighter. “I…always…think…of you consciously too…”

You laughed again, tugging him gently closer. “Good, you better. But now… you can rest on me while I tease you a bit.”

He nuzzled into your neck, muffling a soft “huh… okay…” His arms snaked around you, holding you like you were his safe space, his drowsy body sinking into yours.

You settled into the couch with him draped over you, one arm holding him close and the other brushing his hair back. His small, sleepy complaints came every so often about how heavy he felt, about how warm you were, about how unfair it was that he couldn’t just stay asleep forever in your arms. And every time, you kissed the top of his head, whispering soft assurances, letting him melt completely against you.

For the next hour, you stayed like that, him murmuring half-coherent thoughts, you laughing quietly and soothing him. Occasionally, he would hug you tighter, mumble something about not wanting to let go, and drift back into a doze, only to repeat the cycle when he stirred.

By the time he finally fell into a peaceful, deep sleep, you couldn’t help but grin at him. The anesthesia hangover might have left him drowsy and clingy, but in that moment, he was entirely yours–soft, vulnerable, and utterly adorable.

“You’re so hopeless,” you whispered, brushing your fingers against his cheek. “But I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

And as you sat there holding him, the quiet of the dorm wrapping around you both, you realized that this kind of clingy, sleepy, messy Dohoon was maybe your favorite version of him yet.

🏎️ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ main masterlist. — from the drawer of stories I never meant to share. © December 2025

[cortispilled]

dodging their kisses ۶ৎ tws

their reactions to you dodging their love :'( / ignoring them kind of ?? ⋆ ˚｡⋆ g fluff, humor if you squint w kissing, use of pet names, grammar & spelling mistakes probs ft ot6

an trying to find a specific way i want to set these up is so hard for whatttt ugh

۶ৎ shinyu

skeptical off the rip, can feel that you're playing some kind of game. regardless, he tries to smooch your cheek again, and when you move out of his path for a second time he pauses. shinyu stares for a few moments, before he finally asks you what's up. "why are you dodging my kisses?" when you make the mistake of looking over at him, his pouty face stops you before you can even say anything. you give up, "just a prank, baby", and give him a kiss on the lips for being a cutie.

🐶 rest utc

۶ৎ youngjae

you always give jae a thank you kiss when he grabs you something, but this time around you decided to dodge him. you wanted some kind of reaction out of him, but instead he just shrugs and walks away. your brain immediately goes ??? and you chase after him. "wait, wait!" when you finally reach him, he turns around quickly to trap you in his arms, a beaming smile on his face. "where's my thank you kiss, huh?" you burst into laughter, and tell him it was just a prank, ending your sentence with a sweet kiss to his lips as an apology.

۶ৎ dohoon

immediate whining, grabbing your arm and asking why you won't let him kiss you with a pitiful look. when he catches the smirk on your face, he realizes you aren't mad at him or anything and tackles you. you cant help but laugh at his attempt to get your attention, and give up; grabbing his cheeks to stop his complaints and grace his lips with the kiss he so desperately needed. "please don't do that again, my body needs your kisses to stay alive!"

۶ৎ hanjin

thinks that maybe you're upset about something, and goes in for a hug instead of a kiss. when you don't let him do that either, he really gets worried. "baby, are you okay? should I leave you be?" his soft voice makes it hard for you to keep it up, and when he gets up to leave you alone, you grab his arm. "you're too kind for your own good." you sigh, and tug his sleeve; which he takes as you wanting him to sit back down. "it was a joke, I thought you'd have a funnier reaction." your boyfriend smiles at you, before he leans in for a kiss with his hand on your cheek. "you scared me!"

۶ৎ jihoon

another one who whines. jihoon pushes his head into your neck, his arms wrapped so tightly around you, you cant escape them. "baaaaaaabe, do you not like my kisses anymore?" rocks you back and forth with his cheek against yours until you give in and peck his lips, which makes him yelp out some kind of happy noise... "you're so annoying, jiji!" your playful complaints fall on deaf ears as he leans in for another kiss from you. one big happy puppy.

۶ৎ kyungmin

immediate confusion, his big eyes shiny as he stares you with an open mouth. "hey, don't avoid my kisses!" flops his body onto your lap and wriggles around, trying to annoy you into putting your attention on him. when that doesn't work, he huffs and waits with his cheek against your shoulder and a pout. after a few more moments, you realize you lowkey do want a kiss (and he gave up quicker than you thought he would), so after a quick "sorry baby, just a prank" you turn to him and bring his face up to yours for a smooch. after you pull away, he's all smiles.

thank you 4 reading! ദ്ദി •⩊• )

[loserlvrss]

IM THE ───── 𝓓𝐑𝐀𝐌𝐀(𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐄𝐍) .ᐟ 신정환 : he just wanted to be with you on his day off. fluff 🐿️ 387. 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐕𝐄

slice of life &&𝔣.reader | feeding twsblr :3

You were perfecting your eyeliner, prepared to put blush on and do the finishing touches when your boyfriend pushed open the cracked door with an exasperated sigh. You watched as he wrapped a loose arm around your waist wordlessly, pressing a kiss into your temple.

“Hello to you too.” you guffawed, letting out a chuckle at his creased brows. “What's wrong, my drama-queen?”

His lips pouted immediately, and you had to fight off the urge to pinch his cheeks—he was just so damn cute you could hardly contain yourself.

Junghwan hovered for a second, and you stopped your makeup to examine his clothes, a loose white t-shirt and leopard print pants; His usual outfit to sleep. Very glamorous.

He sat on the closed toilet, body-language immediately hunched as he quietly asked. “Are you leaving?”

“Yeah,” you replied, pulling out your pink dusted brush, “I’ll be back in like 3 hours, I promise. You know I haven’t seen my mom in a bit, I miss her. It’s just lunch.”

He let out the most dramatic sigh you’d ever heard, staring at his feet kicking the rug slowly.

“If I knew you weren’t going to sleep in so late, I would’ve told her I was bringing you.” Junghwan looked up hopefully, “I was just worried you’d not want to come because it’s your only day off, but I can text her right now.”

You went back to doing your makeup when he jumped up, suddenly full of the energy he lacked a couple of minutes ago; Obviously still tightly grasped by sleepiness when he entered the bathroom.

“Really?” he asked, plopping himself onto the counter at your side. You looked at him curiously through the mirror, trying to focus so you could let him get ready.

“Sure baby, just let me finish then you can—“

“Will you do my makeup? I want to look my best for her, you know. I can’t be walking around with two 10s looking sub-par.”

You snorted out a laugh, looking towards him, but he was dead-serious. Then, you nodded, and the biggest smile ever spread across his face—you swear you could see all his damn teeth.

You’re just glad you knew how to do makeup enough (so you could see that smile all the time) and he had his bb cream shade already.

2025 rights reserved. @kstrucknet @k-films @blossomnet @starlit-network @slytherinshua @1009high @gyuwrites

[yjaeswrld]

misread signals

4.9k | series | idol!shinyu x reader

6 WAYS TO APPROACH LOVE SERIES (INFO + CATALOGUE)

𝙎𝙔𝙉𝙊𝙋𝙎𝙄𝙎 You were only trying to make things easier for him. But what happens when every step back feels like rejection and every silence sounds like nothing but distance?

𝘼𝙐𝙏𝙃𝙊𝙍'𝙎 𝙉𝙊𝙏𝙀 First part of the series is officially out!! This is my first ever series so I’m super excited 🤗🤗 HOPE U GUYS LIKE ITTT

Reply to join the taglist (specify perm or series only)!

© yjaeswrld 2026

“Is it all resolved then? Have they been reported?”

The voice carries quietly from the end of the dorm hallway. 

“Okay, that’s good then. Keep me updated. I’ll let you know if anything else happens,” it continues. 

The voice slips through the low whir of the air conditioner and air purifier in Shinyu’s room. Whoever it is is clearly trying their hardest not to be heard. Still, he recognizes it immediately. One of their managers. 

“Hey, are you still there?”

Your warm voice brings him back to your call through the phone. 

“Yeah, sorry,” he murmurs, already pushing himself off the bed. “I thought I heard something. Give me a second.”

He steps into the hallway with his phone still pressed to his ear, not bothering to mute it. The manager looks up when he approaches, a slightly surprised expression etched alongside the tiredness evident on his face. 

“Oh, you’re still awake? I just got off the phone with the company.”

Shinyu leans against the wall, all ears. 

“There’s been an uptick in sasaeng sightings lately,” the manager continues. “I noticed someone lingering around at your schedule today with the boys, so I reported it. The company will probably set up a meeting later this week just as a precaution. Safety reminders, that kind of thing.”

Shinyu nods in agreement. 

“Got it. Thanks for letting me know, manager-nim, and for filing that report. I didn’t even notice. Although now that I think about it, Dohoon and Hanjin did mention their suspicions about something similar last month too. I’m glad the company’s taking it seriously.”

“Yeah,” the manager agrees with a sigh. “Just be careful when you’re outside. And get some sleep tonight, okay? Let’s just hope it dies down soon.”

“I will.”

Shinyu lingers for a second before turning back to his room, making sure to close the door quietly behind him so that he doesn’t wake a sound asleep Youngjae in the next bed. 

When he brings the phone back to his ear, you’re still waiting on the other end of the line.

“Did you hear that?” he asks softly. 

“Most of it,” you whisper back. “Do you think you’ll be okay?”

He runs a hand through his hair as he sinks back down on the bed. 

“I’m fine, it’s nothing new,” he says. “It’s comeback week, so we’re out a lot more trying to get to our schedules and music shows here and there. Stuff like this is much more likely to happen around this time.”

“Still,” you continue. “It sucks that you have to deal with that on top of such a busy schedule. Just report anything that feels off, okay? Even if it seems small.”

“Of course.”

“You know, I might try to come to one of your music shows this week,” you offer, changing the topic. 

Shinyu’s lips curve up in a slight smile. 

“Yeah? That’d be nice,” he says. “You don’t have to come backstage, though. You’d have to be up at, like, the crack of dawn.”

“We’ll see. Don’t worry about me. The comeback’s more important right now” you reassure. 

“You know that’s not true,” Shinyu counters immediately. 

He leans back against the headboard, exhaustion clearly finally catching up to him now that he’s in bed, which doesn’t escape your notice. 

“You sound tired.”

“A little.”

“You should sleep. I bet you’re barely at the dorms.”

“You too. Do you want to sleep on call?” Shinyu murmurs. 

“Wait, yeah, of course I do,” you agree. 

The camera angle shakes slightly as you move to lie comfortably under the covers. You make sure to prop the phone up on its side right next to your pillow. 

“Goodnight, Shinyu,” you whisper softly. 

“Goodnight baby,” he replies.

He’s out almost instantly, and the last thing you see before you drift off is the peaceful look on his face with his eyes finally closed and at rest. 

—

The company building is alive with activity when you arrive. You had dragged yourself out of bed at seven-thirty in the morning just to make Shinyu lunch. Now, standing in the elevator, the lunch box is neatly packed in a paper bag, the outside still warm from the stove. 

You check your phone out of habit. No new messages. He said he had practice earlier. That’s totally fine – you’re not here to stay long anyway. Just to drop the food off and maybe see him for a minute, if he happens to be on break. If not, that’s okay too. 

You barely make it down the hallway toward their practice room before someone calls out, “Hey!”

You turn around to see his manager, who’s already walking toward you from the other side. 

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” he says, though his expression remains flat and indifferent, not at all matching the emotion he should be feeling based on what he just said. 

You always knew his manager was known for being stoic and rather straightforward, mannerisms hardened by the fast-paced, unforgiving industry that encompassed his job. Not to the members though, no, he always treated them with utmost care. Sometimes, if you were lucky, you’d notice that he would loosen up a little, still composed, but certainly not as uptight. 

Today was evidently not one of those days. 

“I was just – um, well, I just brought a quick lunch for Shinyu,” you explain, gesturing to the bag in your hand. 

His gaze follows your hand, then back at you, his expression still unreadable. You curse yourself internally for your horrible fortune in meeting him when you were already so close to making it to the practice room. 

“He’s in rehearsal right now,” he says firmly. 

You kind of get the idea that the manager really, really doesn’t want you here. You nod quickly. 

“Oh, it’s totally okay. I can just leave this here,” you offer.

“You can just leave it here,” the manager repeats, echoing your words with finality. “He’s pretty busy. It’s best not to interrupt.”

You’re aware he’s not accusing you of anything. There’s nothing wrong with him simply doing his job by staying practical and professional anyway.

“Here, I’ll take it,” he says, reaching out for the bag. 

You hand it over immediately. 

“Thanks.”

That was clearly your cue to leave, so you turn around to head back the same way you came. 

—

As promised, you arrive promptly at seven in the morning to the Music Bank recording studio. Even though Shinyu insistently told you not to worry about coming, you knew better than to listen. All you could think of is the surprise and pure elation on his expression when you finally get to show your face and surprise him. 

The familiar halls are buzzing with staff moving between rooms, stylists rushing past with hangers filled with clothes, idols getting their hair and makeup, and comeback challenges being filmed near the iconic stairs, the glow of the vending machines lined up against the wall providing bright LED lighting to the photos idols took to post on their SNS later. 

Right when you turn to TWS’ hallway, you’re stopped. Again. By their manager. This time, his distaste seems far more palpable. 

“Oh, hi again,” he greets you hurriedly, clearly in the middle of a discussion with a few of the recording staff listening intently to what he has to say. 

You nod politely in hello and continue toward their dressing room. 

Just as you near the entrance, the manager calls out, “Wait one second!”

So you pause and turn around as he quickly approaches. 

“Are you here to see Shinyu?”

Maybe you’re just fooling yourself again, but you swear his disapproval is unmistakable this time. 

“Yeah, I told him I might stop by just for a bit,” you answer. “Just to say hello, since I’m gonna be hanging around in this area of the city anyway.” 

“About that, he actually said not today,” the manager claims. “He doesn’t want to be distracted.”

You listen silently as he continues, “Sorry. If you need anything, I can pass it along if you’d like.”

“No — no, it’s all good,” you reply quickly, the meaning of his words still hanging heavy in your mind. 

It doesn’t sound like him at all, at least you didn’t think it did. But… it also could. Comeback week is notorious for being extremely exhausting. You’ve heard it in his voice, felt it in his mannerisms, seen it in the delayed and shorter messages he sent you. Not that you minded at all. This was simply just how work was like for a public figure. But the last thing you wanted would be to add on to his burden. 

Knowing him, there’s a chance he would prioritize work; as a leader and the oldest, you knew he had an unimaginable amount of responsibility to bear. 

Inside, Shinyu’s sitting in front of the mirror as staff touch up his makeup. Through the barely open door, the sound of his manager’s voice with someone else drifts through the crack. A woman, maybe? But they were too far for him to make out clearly, much less the words they were saying, though he could hear snippets of conversation being had. 

“Were you talking to someone?” he asks as his manager steps inside. 

“Hm? Oh, no, just the staff to make sure everything’s on schedule,” his manager says. 

“Ah, okay.”

And that was it. 

You find yourself standing outside right at the entrance after what was probably your shortest visit ever into the recording building. You stand there for a second, phone in hand, unsure as to whether or not you should text Shinyu. Maybe a message would help, but you’re not sure. 

You type: i stopped by but u were busy

You stare at the words before deleting them. No, that would come off the wrong way for sure. 

You type again: hope it goes well!

Your finger hovers over the “send” button before you press it, watching as the message delivers instantly. You tuck your phone away before you can overthink it again. 

Behind you, inside the building, everything continues as normal. Idols finish their schedules while staff run around trying to make sure everyone is in their designated places. 

And somewhere upstairs, Shinyu’s still getting ready, completely unaware that you were ever there at all. 

—

By the time TWS finishes filming their stage, the waiting room is a mess of bags, clothes, and belongings strewn around everywhere. Staff herd them around as they try to tidy everything as much as possible. 

That’s when it hits him. You said you’d come today. Shinyu frowns, straightening up as he tries to remember. He didn’t see you today at all. 

“Hey, manager-nim,” he calls. 

“Yeah, Shinyu?”

“Did (Name) come by today?” Shinyu asks. 

“Uh – no, I didn’t see her today,” the manager answers, his words tinged with hesitation that Shinyu completely misses. “Did you text her?”

“Right, I should do that.”

Shinyu unlocks his phone to see the text you had sent him around an hour ago. 

baby: hope it goes well!

His brow knit slightly. It’s not like he’s super pressed that you couldn’t make it or anything. It’s just strange when he recalls how eager you were to come. And without even a text telling him that you couldn’t make it?

He types out: were you busy? and sends it after much deliberation. 

Your response comes pretty fast while he’s on the way back to the company with everyone else. 

no, not really

Why didn’t you come around then? Shinyu couldn’t help but feel a little confused. What do I even respond? Do I confront her about it? Is it even a big deal?

Finally, he settles on: oh okay :) 

The moment the message is sent, he regrets it. The text sounded so distant and strangely polite. Not like the way he talks to you at all. For a second, he considers calling you. But a quick scan across the car shuts that idea down, as he’s the only one awake – everyone else is completely knocked out from the early morning. 

He locks his phone. He’ll talk to you later. 

—

You’re already home by the time your phone buzzes. You glance at it. 

baby: oh okay :)

What does that even mean?

For a moment, you think maybe he’s typing another message, but it never comes. You sigh quietly, setting your phone back down beside you. You’ll just contact him later when he’s gotten some rest. 

But even a day later, your texts just feel different. And you know he can feel it too. No one’s cracking silly jokes or making fun of the other person. You scroll up to a string of messages from earlier in the week. He had just finished making fun of you for your boba order. Not like there’s anything wrong with taro milk tea, but apparently Shinyu has particularly strong opinions. A small grin appears on your face at the memory. 

Now it’s just short one-liners. A good morning here and there. Reminders to eat food and to bundle up for the cold weather. 

How did everything change so fast?

—

The next time you go to the company, it’s because he asked you to. You’re standing in the lobby with a small tote bag in hand. It wasn’t anything crazy, just something he forgot at the dorm and needed for practice. He’d texted you earlier just to see if you happened to be free and in the area, and of course, you said yes. 

You don’t have to wait long before he appears. Shinyu rounds the corner, a hoodie thrown on over his slightly messy hair. The moment he sees you, his entire expression softens. 

“There you are,” he says. 

“Hi,” you greet, holding the bag out toward him. “Here you go.”

He takes it, his fingers bushing yours briefly in that familiar way. 

“Thanks. I don’t know what I would’ve done without it,” he says. “I didn’t think you’d actually come this fast.”

“I wasn’t busy,” you reply quickly. Then, like an after thought, you ask, “I wasn’t interrupting anything, right?”

“What?”

“I mean, because you’re supposed to be at practice right now,” you clarify quickly. “I was just wondering.”

“What do you mean? I was the one who asked you to come,” he says firmly. “You’re not interrupting anything.”

“Right,” you nod. “Okay. 

Usually, this is where you’d ask how practice is going. Maybe tease him a little. Maybe he’d ask you something too. 

Instead, you add, “I should go, though. You should get back to practice. I have to clock into work later, so might as well.”

“Already?” Shinyu asks, a small whine evident in his voice. He always looked forward to you whenever you visited. Obviously mainly because he got to see you, but also because it coupled as a convenient excuse to take a short break before getting back to work. Who could blame him anyway?

“Yeah,” you say, stepping back. “Good luck with practice!”

Now he’s really confused. 

“Wait – ”

“Shinyu!” 

A staff member calls from the room down the hall. 

“Coming!” he replies instinctively, leaving the hallway empty. 

—

That night, your phone lights up with a notification under Shinyu’s name

do u wanna call?

You stare at it. You want to say yes. Immediately yes. You always do. But then, you think back to his schedule and how busy he is. 

you: maybe not tonight

you: you can get some rest? 

you: we can def do it another day :) 

Back at the dorms, Shinyu reads your message. If he was a little confused earlier in the week, now he’s absolutely bewildered. 

He types: i’m not that tired its okay

But deletes it quickly. If you don’t want to call, he’s not going to push it. After, he drops his phone onto the bed beside him as he stares up at the ceiling. 

Since when do you say no to calls? Is it maybe… do you not want to see me anymore? Or worse… did you lose feelings?

It doesn’t make sense. None of it does. 

—

This time, for Show Champion, Shinyu makes sure you’ll be there. He texts you the day before, and then again the morning of. Even a reminder a few hours before he knows you’ll be there. There’s not backing out today – not that you were planning on it. So you show up, this time, just as a part of the audience. 

Before their recording starts, you step out briefly to use the restroom. The hallway is crowded, but you make your way through to the restrooms. 

Just then, Shinyu steps out into the hall as he’s mid-conversation with Dohoon, a ghost of a laugh still evident in his eyes. Relief flickers across his face when he notices you. 

Normally, you would have gone to him in an instant. But then you remember again. He didn’t want you there last time either. Your feet stop just for a second. Then you force yourself to keep moving. Finally, you lift your hand in a small wave before disappearing off to the restroom. 

The last thing you catch is the way his smile falters. Your chest tightens as the door swings shut behind you. You feel awful, genuinely. But you tell yourself that it was the right thing to do. At least until promotions are over.  

On the other hand, Shinyu’s still standing there where you left him. He knows you saw him. He saw your wave. But then you just left. You didn’t come over. You didn’t even try. 

Do you not want to be seen with me?

Normally, it wouldn’t even cross his mind; it doesn’t even sound right. But then again, lately, nothing really has. And he doesn’t know which part of it all is worse: the thought itself or the fact that he feels as though he can’t even prove it wrong. 

—

He doesn’t wait this time. He can’t afford to. 

By the time filming wraps up, Shinyu is already scanning the hallways for a glimpse of your face. You were here, he literally saw you. So where did you go?

“Shinyu!”

“Give me a second,” he says, already moving away. 

He doesn’t even know where he’s going at first, just back the way he came, past the dressing rooms and the waiting area. 

And then he sees you at the far end of the room near the exit. You stand by the wall as you adjust your bag, clearly about to head out. 

Relief hits him first. Then frustration follows immediately. 

“(Name)!”

You turn at the sound of his voice and freeze. He’s already headed straight for you. 

“Why do you keep doing that?” he asks, not bothering to hide the agitation in his voice.

“Doing what?” you reply, caught off guard at his question.  

“That,” he says, waving his hands around like he doesn’t even have the right words for it, “like earlier, when you just, I don’t know, left.” 

Your grip tightens around your bag. 

He exhales, dragging a hand through his hair. 

“Look, I have to go back with everyone else right now,” he says, his voice tight, “but we’re talking tonight. Okay?”

He doesn’t even wait for you to nod before he’s walking in the other direction. 

—

Shinyu heads straight to his room the moment he gets back; he meant it when he said he was going to resolve everything tonight. He exhales and then taps your contact icon. It rings once. Twice. And then you pick up. 

“Hi,” you say.

“Hey,” he replies, sliding down until he’s sitting on the floor with his back against the side of his bed. “Are you home?”

“Yeah. You?”

“Me too, I just got back.”

And then you both fall silent. You’re still on the line, but neither of you speak. Neither of you hang up either, just waiting for the other to say something first. 

Shinyu finally asks, “Can we video call?”

“Yeah,” you answer quietly. 

He waits for you to accept the call before your face appears on his screen. You’re sitting on your bed with your knees pulled in and your phone propped up right beside you. 

“Hi,” you say again. 

“Hi.”

Another pause. 

Shinyu leans back against the headboard and runs a hand over his face. 

“Okay,” he starts. “I don’t even know where to start.”

You give a small, uncertain smile. 

“Me neither.”

At least that part’s mutual. 

“Then I’ll just say it,” he decides. “Why have you been acting like this?”

“Acting like what? What do you mean?” you reply, frowning.

“I don’t even know, but like as if I’m off-limits or something. Like you don’t want to see me anymore,” he says. “I’m sick of it.”

“What do you mean? I do want to see you,” you say earnestly. 

“Like for example, that day when you said you would see me at Music Bank. You said you were coming, and then you didn’t. Which I’m not mad about you not coming, and I never want you to feel like you’re obligated to come to my shows all the time. But it’s just you didn’t say anything about it to me, and when I asked if you were busy, you said ‘not really’ so I just – I just didn’t get it.”

You blink at him, confused to say the least.

“Wait, I did come that day…” 

“What?”

“I came,” you repeat, your words slower now. “I remember it clearly. I showed up and was just about to enter your dressing room like half an hour before you had to go on stage, but your manager stopped me. He said you told him you didn’t want to see me that day so I should just go back.”

Shinyu sits up straighter, his face closer to the screen now. 

“My manager?”

You nod. 

“So then I just left, since I had work anyway. I figured you were just really busy.”

“No,” he says immediately. “I didn’t say that at all. I didn’t even know you were there.”

“Really?” you ask. 

“Wait,” he mutters, thinking back. “I remember him talking to someone down the hall that day. The door was cracked open a little bit so I could kind of make out a woman’s voice, but when I asked him, he said it was just a staff member.”

He lets out a breath of frustration in disbelief. 

“I really thought you didn’t want me there,” you admit quietly. “So I just didn’t bring it up again.”

Shinyu leans back again, shaking his head. 

“I had no idea,” he says. “I just thought you didn’t come.”

“You know, a few days before that, I came to drop off food for you too,”  you add. 

He nods. 

“Yeah, I remember. That kimbap was really good, by the way.”

“Thanks,” you smile. “Well, the same thing happened. Your manager stopped me again. Said you were busy and shouldn’t be interrupted. So he took it from me. I’m assuming he gave it to you?”

Shinyu frowns. 

“He told me you dropped it off,” he says. “I just thought you didn’t want to come up.”

“Really? I was right outside the door. I just thought I wasn’t supposed to or something…” you trail off.

Now everything makes sense. 

“Is that why you’ve been acting like that?” he asks. “Like when you came to drop something off and left right away? And earlier when you just waved and walked off instead of coming up to me?”

You nod again. 

“I thought I was crossing a line or something. With you being so busy during the comeback, I figured I should just back off until you weren’t as busy.”

“That’s not true. If anything, after a long day or before I have to go to schedules, you’re the only person I want to see. Trust me, being with you is what I look forward to the most. I love spending time with you whether I’m tired or not.”

“Me too.”

“You got up super early to make that lunch box, didn’t you?” Shinyu asks suddenly. 

“Yeah, but it wasn’t a big deal – ”

“Oh my god,” he groans softly, dragging a hand over his face. “And you didn’t even get to give it to me yourself.”

“It’s fine,” you say, “seriously. It’s not like it’s your fault or anything.”

“I’m sorry,” he says. “For not asking more. I just didn’t want to pressure you. I thought maybe you just didn’t feel like coming.”

“No, it’s really not your fault. I should've said something too instead of just assuming.”

“You know, when you waved earlier and left, I thought you maybe didn’t want to be seen with me.”

Your eyes widen. 

“What? No – ”

“I know,” he says quickly. “I know that now. But that’s also why I didn’t want to push too much, because I didn’t want to push you away.”

“Oh my god… I was trying to do the exact opposite. There were so many people around that I didn’t want to be obvious or distract you.”

Shinyu lets out a small laugh. 

“We were just caring for each other but going about it in the wrong way.”

“Yeah,” you say, laughing. “Pretty much.”

“So… we’re good?” he asks. 

“Yeah,” you reply. “We’re definitely good.”

“Okay,” he says. “When are you free?”

“Free? Isn’t your schedule literally packed?”

“Well, just for like an hour. Or less,” he clarifies. “Nothing too crazy. Just – I just want to see you properly.”

“I have work tomorrow, but I could probably come by after?”

“What time”

“Is nine good? I can bring food, that way we can eat together.”

He nods immediately. 

“Just for a bit,” you add. “You still need to rest.”

“I can just rest after,” he says. 

You roll your eyes at that. 

“Shinyu,” you say pointedly. 

“No, I'm serious. Also, don’t worry about the food. I got it.”

“Fine then,” you say, giving in. 

“And I’m going to talk to him,” Shinyu adds after a moment. 

You tilt your head. Who?

“My manager,” he clarifies. “Because what he said to you was not okay. What he did was more than not okay.”

“Okay, yeah,” you say, then hesitate. “But just, be careful with how you come off. He is still your manager, after all. I don’t want you to get in trouble.”

“No,” he cuts in calmly. “What he did was a violation of trust. He was the one who caused this miscommunication.”

“Okay,” you agree. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

“Yeah,” he replies. “Tomorrow.”

For the first time in days, it feels like a weight has finally been lifted. 

—

Most of the lights are off in the company building when you arrive. Shinyu’s sitting on the floor when you walk in, his back against the mirror with a hoodie thrown on. His bag is tossed off to the side, and there’s a pile of takeout waiting patiently in front of him. 

He looks up the moment the door opens. 

“Hey,” you say, stepping inside. 

“Hi baby,” he replies, already getting up and crossing the room in a few quick steps. 

He pulls you into a hug without hesitation, arms wrapping around you tightly. 

You laugh softly, a little surprised. 

“You look excited.”

“I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages,” he says, not letting you go right away. 

You smile into his shoulder. 

“It’s been, like, two days.”

“Still,” he mutters. 

You gently pull back, slipping your hands into his. 

“Aren’t you hungry?” you tease as you tug him toward the food. 

When you both sit down, he sits so he’s right next to you, his shoulder pressed against yours and knees brushing. You open the containers and for a while, the only sounds in the room are rustles of plastic and containers and utensils.  

After a few minutes, he speaks again. 

“I talked to him earlier.”

You glance over.

“Your manager?”

He nods, reaching for another dumpling. 

“Yeah. It wasn’t really a big deal. He said he didn’t realize how it came across.Apparently he was too focused on making sure the comeback was running smoothly that he overlooked the bigger issue. Remember the sasaeng incidents? He said he was worried that it could potentially affect us and that we would then get in more trouble. Not that it’s any excuse, of course. He wanted me to tell you he wants to apologize in person.”

“That sounds like him, I guess,” you agree. 

“He said he’d be more careful,” Shinyu adds. “And that he wouldn’t speak for me like that again.”

You nod, relieved that it was resolved without any issues. 

“Okay.”

“So that means the next time you see me, you’re not allowed to just wave and run,” he teases, nudging your shoulder. 

“I didn’t run!” you protest. 

“Oh come on, you basically did.”

“Fine, whatever,” you concede, a smile on your face.

At some point, you shift even closer without realizing, your head coming to rest against his shoulder. He leans into it like it’s second nature. The containers between you are nearly empty now, and there’s only a few minutes left before Shinyu has to get back to work. But until then, it’s just the two of you, sitting side by side on the floor with nothing in the way. 

[jellyluvsjihoon]

ᯓ you are so tinyᵎᵎ ✴︎ (kim dohoon)

˚˖𓍢ִ໋❀ ─── I'm a lucky fella, and i've just got to tell her that i love her endlessly 𖹭

⸝⸝ in which! dohoon keeps doing the same stupid jokes about your height... but you love him anyways ಄ genre! bftall!dohoon x short!reader. fluff, domestic life, stablished relationship, spring, based in seoul. (weird attempt of humor); requested! ☆ warning(s)! not proofread, kissing. › wc! 1.7k ۶ৎ we all love dohoon, right? hshs (2) happy almost-comeback-week!!! 𖧧 @fantasia-films ˎˊ˗

"She surely aint got no money, her clothes are kinda funny, and her hair is wild and free" was the first thought that came to Dohoon's mind when he first saw you. Yes, he was certain it was a song he had heard sometime ago, but it just resonated with you so much that day...

It had been a spring day (a very spring day, indeed, as flowers started to bloom, and pollen was all over the place), the day he met you. You were smiling and giving tiny hops all around the road. You just seemed so happy looking at the pink cherry trees; the ones the rest of the people didn't seem to even notice as they passed by. He just thought you were cute. Like a breath of fresh air.

He had to admit how he thought you were pretty tiny, although Dohoon really didn't notice how much he actually liked that characteristic until recently. That Dohoon, the one from two years ago, wouldn't have noticed half of the things that Dohoon noticed about you nowadays. He wouldn't even have imagined you would share a class together and somehow just... end up together. Live together. Laugh together.

Two years from that, and now he was walking right beside you in the same park, holding hands, and laughing as you walked by those same cherry trees.

"Your hand is so small," muttered Dohoon in one of your endless conversations, squeezing it just to prove he was right. He used to joke about how you were much tinier than he was. Just because he loved the annoyed face you put on when he did so.

You narrowed your eyes, just as he expected, frowning. "Brou. It's not. My hand is perfectly normal, it's not my fault yours is just like a replica of a dinosaur's paw." You said sharply, clearly obvious to your boyfriend that you were just messing around.

"A dinosaur?" he chuckled, "You know dinosaurs are tall and sexy, right? So thank you for the compliment, baby."

You frowned in disbelief. "Aham. It's not a compliment, though." You said, shaking your head. "You should be in the museum next to the diplodocus right now. I'm sure they are searching for you. I might even have to call them so they take you to the place you really belong."

"And that is...?" He wondered, grinning, testing your knowledge on dinosaurs (which, by the way, he knew quite well was pretty limited).

You took your time to think, doing a soft 'hmm' even if you (clearly) didn't know the answer. Your memory was bad, okay?

"Dinoland," you said at last.

This made Dohoon burst out laughing, and even if you didn't want to follow him, his laugh was just so contagious that you ended up doing so (against your will).

"¿Dinoland?" He managed to inquire while laughing. "I hope Lilliput's open for you then."

You widened your eyes and kicked him softly in his lower arm, still laughing. "Dohoon!"

There's no need to say you two continued laughing for the rest of the walk, under that beautiful, pink sky.

The teasing kept going on until you got home. It felt as if Dohoon had found the new thing which entertained him the most, really. He teased you about your height: about how you were so small he could practically hug you and make you disappear or how you could get lost so easily among the crowds. It was usual, and he did it smoothly too; so smoothly it was almost pleasant.

Key word: Almost.

You, honestly, did not know if you hated it or loved it. Maybe both. Who knew. But you, certainly, thought it was cute. You knew it was his way of saying ‘I love you’.

It was late at night. Almost dinner time. Before, you had been sleeping comfortably, hugging Dohoon and breathing easily. It was Dohoon's day off, and even if you wanted to do things together, he still needed to rest. He deserved it. And nap time was sacred for both of you.

However, you now needed to wake up and do your boring adult stuff. You sighed and cursed your stomach for being hungry.

You slipped away from him, careful not to wake him up. You were wearing Dohoon's green and pink hoodie (your favorite from his wardrobe), which only made you look three times smaller. Not because you were short (that, well- that was debatable) but because he was indeed like a walking streetlight. You liked how it looked on you, so you usually wore it when he was at home.

You glanced at him once more. He was sleeping like a pretty little baby. His oval face, his steady breathing, made him look so peaceful you just wanted to stay a bit more.

'Grrrrr', you heard. It was your stomach. Unfortunately, it seemed like your body didn't want you to stare at Dohoon.

So, you stood up, putting your feet against the floor and shuffling your feet. Soon, you arrived at the kitchen, where the magic usually happened and started cooking. It wasn't like cooking was your favorite thing in the world. Even more, every time you could, you would let Dohoon do this kind of work and then enjoy the meal he had prepared.

But sleep is sacred, so you just started to work.

Time passed, and Dohoon started to hear noises from the kitchen. No need to say that woke him up. He was a light sleeper. The boy rubbed his eyes and glanced to the side, expecting to have you beside him - even if you obviously weren't, because if not, who would be making such noises?

He was still disappointed in not finding you there, though. He stood up, even if he really did not want to, and walked to you. There was a sweet smell all around the apartment, and that was part of the reasons he felt curious. You never cooked, and now Dohoon felt scared of you burning down the kitchen.

What he found there, however, wasn't fire but you trying to get a jar he had lifted a bit too high for you to reach. So you were hopping, sticking out your tongue in concentration.

Quacking jar, you thought to yourself, who the hell had had the idea of leaving it up there?

Dohoon grinned and got closer to you without you even noticing. "Hi," he said. You jumped because of the sudden surprise.

"Oh. Oh my god, Dohoon..." You said, putting your hand on your chest and looking up to look at him. And a little higher, just because you couldn't see all his face from down there. "You scared me."

A chuckle escaped his lips. "Sorry, sweetie. Do you need that?" He pointed at the reddish jar.

"Yes..."

You looked at him. He lifted an eyebrow, his eyes on you.

"What?" He asked.

You bit your lip, not really wanting to ask it because you knew he was going to tease you about it. But on the other hand, you still needed that for the recipe. It was pretty important (or at least that was what it said).

"Could... Could you get it for me?"

"'Course," he nodded, as it was no big deal. Which, by the way, wasn't. It was just... weird. Because Dohoon did not tease you. Didn't say anything, just got it for you. And, of course, he was so tall and his arms were so long, he didn't need to say anything to just demonstrate it; he just got the jar even without standing on his tiptoes.

Your confusion was clear to him, as you were frowning and looking at him as if he had just turned into Spiderman. He gave it to you, directly into your hands. He must be half asleep, you thought. Well, maybe your skeptical manner was exaggerated, but he had been a real pain about that all day.

"What? Are you expecting me to say 'awie you are so small you couldn't get it by yourself'?’ because I could do it too if you want me to.." He teased, with a grin.

Okay, here it went, your typical Dohoon was back. He wasn't asleep, then. You rolled your eyes and shook your head, but with a small smile on your face that didn't go unnoticed by your boyfriend. "There's no need, you tease."

He snorted, and as you turned back to the meal you were preparing, Dohoon hugged you from behind, and rested his chin on your shoulder, arching his back. He enjoyed the moment for a little longer, taking in the sight of you cooking (a rare one), the way you were fighting with the vegetables to turn them around, and the smell of your scent mixed with the food’s. He knew quite well the next day he would go back to his tiring, exhausting schedule and wouldn't enjoy all that anymore. 

He wouldn't properly see you in a couple of days, and suddenly... he felt scared. Even if he didn't quite know of what.

"Love." He called you after a while.

"hm?"

"You know I love you, right?" He muttered.

"Of course I do. And I do too. I love you a lot."

Dohoon nodded and let out the air he didn't even know he was holding. "Okay."

You snorted, turning off the fire once the food was ready. The smell only made you hungrier. But first things first, you thought as you turned around and wrapped your arms around Dohoon's neck.

"I love you. I'm proud of you, and I'm not going anywhere either. I'm here for you." You said slowly, quietly. Your gaze filled with love.

He shallowed hard, but smiled. Dohoon sometimes wondered how on Earth were you capable of saying the exact things he needed to hear to feel better, even when he didn't know himself.

"Thank you," he returned quietly as well.

You smiled too. He leaned slowly and pressed his forehead against yours, and then kissed you. It wasn't rough, or that type of kisses that leave you lingering for more. It was a soft one that carried more than words could actually say. It carried feelings, it carried love. The one you felt everyday when you walked near him, or when you slept, laughed, ate… just spend time with him. 

You got on your tiptoes to kiss him better, which had become a habit.

Dohoon snorted at this. You rolled your eyes internally.

Man, how you loved him. Even with his stupid shortie jokes.

© jellyluvsjihoon 2026. do not copy or repost. ask to translate. (cr for the dividers to @uzmacchiato)

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[spideyyeet]

➷ Unspoken Conditions ✦ 7 || Summer Break

[ SERIES SYNOPSIS ] — it was obvious when this started, it was simply a mutual understanding between two horny college students — with very high libidos, and didn’t want any random stds — that this was purely a sexual relationship only. and yet, both of you are unintentionally toeing the line between that and something else ✦ frat!kuna fwb ✦ ongoing series

[ TAGS ] — MDNI. 18+ only. nsfw. angst. FAMILY DRAMA. a wholeeeeeee lot of plot. fwb. slight degradation. dumbification. sukuna’s thick happy trail. SEXTING. phone sex. dacryphilia. toxic frat culture. sukuna has ANGER issues. crying. toxic co-dependency. underage drinking. TRAUMA. domestic abuse. child abuse. depression. anxiety. wc: 22.9k

series masterlist ✮ previous chp ✮ next chp (coming soon)

SLAP!

the sound cracks across the parking lot, sharp enough to startle a flock of birds.

thirteen-year-old sukuna barely flinches. his head turns with the force of it, cheek already burning, his soccer bag slips from his shoulder and thuds against the concrete.

late evening sun hangs low behind the bleachers, practice long over. most of the other kids have already been picked up. a few parents glance over, then quickly look away. koari stands in front of him, chest heaving, car door still open behind her.

inside, the engine is running. yuuji’s wailing from the backseat, loud and hiccuping cries that only get worse the longer she ignores him. choso, five years old and small for his age, is twisted around in his booster seat trying to shove a stuffed animal into the baby’s hands, whispering frantic little “it’s okay, it’s okay”s that don’t help.

sukuna is still in uniform. dark soccer jersey clinging damp to his back, the team crest stitched over his chest, grass stains streaked across his socks and shorts. sweat runs down the side of his tanned face, mixing with the heat blooming under her hand.

“so you think you’re funny?” she snaps, grabbing sukuna by the front of his practice jersey. “making me sit here while you show off?”

practice ended ten minutes ago.

sukuna doesn’t answer. he never does, not to her. his red eyes stare straight ahead, unblinking.

her grip tightens. “I have two kids in that car. two! and you think doing stupid little tricks with your friends matters more than my fucking time?”

yuuji’s crying spikes.

“look at what you’re doing!” she shrieks, gesturing wildly toward the car like the baby’s distress is his fault. “you stress him out! you’re selfish, just like your father. always needing attention. god!” she exhales like it’s hard to breathe just thinking about his dad, “zero fucking backbone as a man.”

choso is watching through the window now.

sukuna finally moves, just enough to shrug her fingers off his shirt, slow and controlled.

“It was practice,” he says flatly.

the second slap is louder. harder.

“don’t talk back to me.”

a car drives past the lot entrance and slows. sukuna notices it, makes eye contact with a teammate sitting in the backseat. then the car keeps going.

her eyes flick to the snake bite piercings in her step-son’s bottom lip. her lips pull tight in the same familiar disgust as if the two earrings he got a few months ago wasn’t bad enough. “you’re still putting more garbage like that on your face,” her insides twist, “looking like a degenerate.”

she leans in closer, nails biting into his arm. her voice drops, venomous and low. “you think you’re special because you can kick a ball? you’re not. you’re a burden. do you understand me? a burden I didn’t sign up for, but I’m still forced to take care of.”

yuuji is still crying. choso is getting anxious. sukuna stands there, cheek red from the slap, eyes dry, jaw locked so tight it aches. he doesn’t look at her. he does it on purpose, he’d rather get hit again than look at this woman.

the third slap draws the metallic taste of blood blooming where his teeth cut the inside of his mouth.

kaori pulls her hand up again for a fourth, eyes dark and filled with vicious malice towards this thirteen year old boy. her hand shakes as she watches the boy lick his bloody lip, cold. he never reacts…he acts like she’s beneath him. as if! kaori’s anger bubbles over, hot fury leaking from her pores as she heaves, fingers flexing ready to slap him once more. but she catches sukuna’s gaze flick up at the car, at his brothers.

choso is sticking his head out of the car, eyes rimmed red. “mommy! yuu wont stop crying!”

koari’s head whips around, “choso,” she snaps. “what did I tell you about interrupting me—“

“but he’s—“

“choso!”

choso flinches, eyes brimming with more tears. sukuna’s fist clenches, glare finally flicking up to this women. “he’s just a kid,” he grits.

koari turns back to the thirteen year old. her eyes wild and manic. she can see the disgusting bubbling behind his gaze, the scowl on his face.

“don’t you dare speak about my parenting,” she seethes. her face curls into a snarl. “you’re the parasite. sucking my soul, your brothers souls, your fathers—everyone would be better off without you.”

sukuna remains still. thick brow permanently sewn together, glare cutting through her. her teeth grind, hands trembling with more pent up anger. finally having enough of yuuji’s wailing and choso’s fidgeting, she curls her lip, turning on her heel.

“find your own way home.”

the engine roars as koari pulls out of the lot, leaving a quiet sukuna behind. and only when the car is out of sight does sukuna let his hand tremble and hot tears cascade down his cheeks.

“FUCKFUCKFUCK FUUUCK HERRR!!” sukuna screams at the top of his lungs, slamming his duffle bag on the concrete. again and again. and again. the strap rips, flying against the concrete just for sukuna to drop to his knees, fist rising high before slamming it into the duffle. all his pent up rage unleashes on his equipment, however, his shin guards, cleats, and water bottle are used to it by now. ultimately laying under him as he falls on the pavement, burying his face deep in his duffle, and screaming with all his might.

his throat tearing.

——

“you’re lying.”

sukuna sits across from choso. his jaw locked, eyes dead, and muscles tense.

the tv was turned off minutes ago after sukuna finally came home. the blanket lays on the floor after sukuna ripped it off the fifteen year old, who was passed out on the couch. choso frowns, brown hair a mess, and dark circles under his brown eyes.

“I answered you. you can choose to believe me or not—“

“I don’t,” the eldest cuts, arms crossed, biceps flexing with frustration, glaring at his idiot brother. “why’d she give you that money?”

choso frowns, sweat building on his forehead. “I don’t know. maybe go ask her, since you’re the only one that can talk to her.”

sukuna scowls, biting back his tongue. he runs his hands through his hair. choso watches, back slouched against the couch, sweats and tshirt wrinkled from sleep, and one leg tucked under him. he doesn’t say anything. just observes, and quietly prays that sukuna doesn’t know find anything out.

“yuu’s telling me you’re practicing with y’r friends?”

choso’s eyes widen momentarily, sukuna catches it. “yeah…”

“how often you guys practice? yuu’s makin’ it seem like it’s an everyday thing.”

choso shrugs, “we’re workin’ out a new song, and ino keeps fuckin’ up the drum solo.” sukuna leans back in the arm chair, eyes narrowing. choso frowns noticing the way his older brother is scrutinizing him. he looks away, eyeing the blanket sukuna snatched off him. “can I go back to sleep now?”

sukuna pokes his cheek with his tongue, shrugging.

the teen grumbles, pushing off the couch to head to his room. “whatever. can’t even sleep on the stupid couch without getting bothered—“

“so if I talk to your ino friend, he can tell me where you’ve been?”

choso halts. sukuna doesn’t need to glance over his shoulder to know that his brother stopped. choso’s hands ball into fists, heart thudding, as it always does when he starts fabricating a lie. “you don’t even know who ino is—“

“the kid with the beanie. we met when you told me to fuck off and ran away with em. I remember.”

“I never told you to ‘fuck off’ .” choso tsks, sweat slowly sliding down his back.

sukuna turns, arm over the chair, glaring straight at his brother, “you basically did when that’s the last time you fuckin’ talked t’me. giving me the goddamn silent treatment like I’m your girlfriend.”

choso feels his blood start to pump louder, his eyes narrowing like knives, letting go of all composure, “maybe I just don’t have shit to say to you — ever think of that?!”

sukuna turns even more, “yeah, I don’t miss being a stupid fucking teenager—jesus christ!” he aggressively points at his brother. “you really have no fucking clue the shit I’m keeping from you. that’s why you think you can get fucking angry at me!”

“I don’t give a shit! there’s other people besides you that can think for themselves—!”

sukuna’s hand trembles, eyes burning red.

“if I want to talk to her that’s my choice—“

“you’re fifteen, fuck do you think you are?” sukuna scoffs, cold, “we needa sit down and get ya fucking checked in the head. seriously cho, y’er getting under my fucking skin—“

“good,” he spits, chest heaving.

sukuna’s jaw locks. “give me y’er phone.”

choso’s eyes widen, immediately taking a step back, “no-why?”

“gonna call your friend,” sukuna reaches for choso’s pocket, but the teen is quickly dodging, deflecting his brother’s arm,

“I’m gonna tell gramps—!”

“tell him!”

as strong and intimidating as sukuna is to outsiders. he’s also the eldest of three boys, and will ultimately fall on the ground tackling his teenage brother. and unlike the frat, sukuna has never raised a fist or hand, to either of his little brothers. the most his soul can do, is physically overpower them.

which has led to choso’s arm getting pinned under his brothers knee. sukuna straddling the younger’s chest, letting the teen thrash beneath him as he keeps a hand pressed to choso’s cheek, other hand grabbing at the phone that has fallen to the ground.

“you started going to the gym, ya little shit?” sukuna grunts.

choso groans in frustration, arms flexing to grab his brothers shirt. “get off me!”

“fuck’s your password?” sukuna attempts, typing out choso’s birthday. incorrect. yuu’s birthday. incorrect. his birthday. incorrect. sukuna frowns.

“woahhh dudeee, what’s going on?”

the color drains from choso’s face. his eyes bulging as he tilts his head back.

standing tall and curious — his best friend — ino.

it takes, a little under, a second for sukuna to glance up, spotting the boy, then the beanie, then choso’s reaction.

“ino?”

ino freezes, eyes widening as he makes direct eye contact with choso’s very intimidating, very scary, older brother. “y-YES?”

choso’s eyes look like they’re going to burst from their sockets. he’s aggressively shaking his head, struggling underneath the two hundred pound athlete. “go home ino—“

“stay.”

ino freezes, sweat quickly building under his beanie.

“don’t—listen to him,” choso falls back, sukuna letting go, no longer fighting over the phone. choso turns on his knees, eyes wide when he sees sukuna already walking up to his friend.

“did you guys do anything other than practice with your band this week?” sukuna’s first question already had ino glancing at choso. “don’t look at him, look at me.” ino’s eyes snap to sukuna, sweating. “now answer.”

“hey dude—“

“I’m not ‘yr fuckin dude,” sukuna barks, patience paper thin.

choso tsks, fixing his torn shirt from the tackling earlier, staring directly at his friend, as if that’ll get them to communicate telepathically. forgetting that ino secretly admires his older brother.

“we got a couple burgers from the diner and uh we went again after the school’s soccer game yesterday—“

“choso went to a game?” sukuna’s brow hits the ceiling, whipping his head to see choso frowning.

“is that so surprising?” he says.

sukuna’s eyes narrow. “you wouldn’t go—“ he stops. an uncomfortable twist preventing him from finishing the sentence. he turns back to ino. “can you drive?”

ino shakes his head.

“who’s driving ya both around town then?”

“maru,” ino replies, quickly elaborating before sukuna snaps again. “he’s a friend and plays base, for our band and he was the one driving last time when you—“

“so choso didn’t go anywhere alone?”

ino hesitates.

choso takes a step forward, sweat trickling down his back as ino chokes. idiot! choso screams internally, eyes snapping to his brother. he definitely noticed that!

sukuna’s crossed arms flex in anger, pushing further, the room bending around him causing the teens to sweat buckets, “where’d he go—“

ino loses it—

“he just left to talk to a girl and got rejected—real bad— that was the only time he left—but also when we’re in school, since we have separate classes. but he just got rejected by a girl he has a crush on during the soccer game so we ditched during halftime.”

the house is dead silent.

sukuna blinks.

his brother’s friend really is a fucking character. his head drops forward, fingers rubbing his eyes, aware of the two boys holding their breaths as he realigns his thoughts, grinding down on his teeth.

ino shoots his friend a nervous look. the other frowns shrugging at him before lifting a finger to his lips, easily mimicking a don’t say anything else face.

the sharp inhale of the six foot so man has both teens looking back at him.

“you going out to practice now?”

the question hangs in the air. neither boy responding, they’re so shocked. but once sukuna looks back at choso, and the teen catches the anger slowly dissipating from his brother — he nods.

sukuna turns away, walking further into the house towards his yuuji’s room, the exhaustion hangs heavy on his taunt shoulders. ready to crash.

choso watches. silent, heart thudding against his ribs, until—

“so you believe me now?”

sukuna halts.

the sharp jab hangs in the air.

sukuna’s back is turned. ino hold his breath, eyes clenching shut in panicked anxiety, heart thudding agaisnt his chest. why does he have to be in the middle of this???

sukuna rolls his neck back. a crack. his glare pierces the air, holding choso in place.

“watch it,” he mutters, low.

choso averts his gaze, eyes flicking toward the kitchen like he’s suddenly interested in anything but sukuna. his face twists into a sharp, frustrated scowl, hair a mess from his older brother’s rough handling. yet…he stays quiet. for once.

the silence stretches, tense and unnatural, as sukuna rolls his neck back again, another crack slipping out as he finally turns away. his patience is gone. whatever energy he had left is gone. he doesn’t say anything else. just walks off.

his steps are heavier now as he disappears down the hall and into his old room. the door clicks shut behind him, finally ending the interrogation.

only then do choso and ino move. ino lets out a breath he’d been holding, glancing back at him. “dude, i—”

“not here,” choso cuts in sharply.

he’s already moving to his room, fast and clearly agitated. he grabs his guitar, shoving it into its case, he yanks his backpack off the chair. there’s no second thought or pause. he doesn’t even bother with a change of clothes, or the bathroom. he just wants out of the house.

ino watches for half a second before following, the two of them slipping out as quickly as they can.

meanwhile, sukuna’s body feels like it’s shutting down. his thighs ache from the week, his back tight from the studying stress and impromptu practice, his shoulders are heavy like they’re carrying something he still can’t fucking shake. and his head won’t stop pounding. all his thoughts stack onto one another, overlapping and refusing to quiet down. he doesn’t have the energy anymore.

so when he pushes open the door to what used to be his room—now yuuji’s—he barely registers anything. megumi’s curled up on the air mattress in the middle of the room, and yuuji’s splayed half over the covers of the full sized bed. sukuna simply crosses the small room, and drops onto the empty side of the bed. the mattress dips under his weight, drawing a small shuffle from yuuji, but sukuna’s already gone. his eyes shut, and his body gives out the second he hits the sheets.

———

your lips part into a small smile, eyes soft but distant, your mind is already drifting somewhere else as your stomach churns with something uneasy. utahime invited a few of her friends out with you and shoko, and the place is packed. the bar is crowded, loud, warm, and full of people clinging to the last bit of freedom before summer actually begins.

everyone’s talking about something. internships, trips, plans, and you find yourself wondering how many people in here would rather stay exactly where they are than go home. there’s definitely a few. it’s not just you. but utahime isn’t one of them.

she’s mid-conversation with the girls she brought, laughing lightly as she talks about still deciding whether to take that internship or not. you catch pieces of it, enough to make your chest tighten, and you hate yourself for it. you’re happy for her. of course you are. but god—you’d take anything over going back home in a few weeks to work at the hospital.

“are you sure?” shoko interrupts, her drink already half gone, eyes flicking over you like she knows you’ve been somewhere else this entire time.

you snort, nodding. “obviously. my sister isn’t gonna be in her room anyway.”

shoko sighs in relief, shoulders dropping. “thank yooou, i would’ve taken your floor too.”

you laugh, shaking your head, but it fades quickly. your mind drifts again. your chest tightens.

you really are a fucking failure.

the thought hits hard this time, sitting heavier in your stomach. three years in school and you couldn’t land a single internship. not one. all you wanted was to try something—anything—that isn’t doing clinics at a fucking hospital. you just wanted to see what another life would be like. one that wouldn’t make you anxious, or have you feeling empty.

but no. life has other plans.

and those plans are dragging you back home for another suffocating summer, stuck in a hospital you hate, with your father watching you too closely, asking too many questions about a future you don’t even understand yourself. and god forbid you say you’re unsure. even worse is the look they give you when you admit you’re still figuring things out. and you can’t even stand up for yourself, which everyone loved to shove in your face.

seriously! three years in and you’re still lost? it’s pathetic. you press your lips together, jaw tightening as the thoughts spiral. they’re constant, familiar. and then—

the door swings open. a burst of noise cuts through the bar as a group of rowdy frat boys and athletes pile in. they’re laughing loud, and their energy is immediate. many heads turn instinctively, the shift in atmosphere familiar to the group.

shoko is the first to notice.

“oh they made it.” she’s already grinning as she spots her two close friends in the bunch. “yo!” she calls. your brows pinch slightly as you glance over. gojo and geto spotting their brunette friend, dragging along a surprisingly willing nanami, behind them. a few others flood in as well, loud and chaotic as ever.

you subtly sit up in anticipation. your eyes quietly scanning the group without meaning to.….

where is he?

you swallow, something tight forming in your throat as you shift in your seat, crossing your legs slowly, like it’ll ground you. he left your apartment yesterday afternoon. you don’t know when exactly, all you remember is the quiet disappointment you felt when you sat up on your bed, half expecting him to come out of the bathroom and give you another rough round of sex, to mush your brain up.

that’s the whole point of this. he’s left like this many times before. but this time you just…you wanted a little more before the break…

your gaze flicks back to the door, then to the group again.

he’s not here. does that mean he went back home already? that fast? your jaw tightens, fingers curling slightly around your glass as something uneasy settles deeper in your chest. you sure as hel didn’t come here for him, but now that your brain won’t quiet down, you wanted him to silence it for you.

“are these your first drinks?” gojo barks as he drops onto the stool across from you and shoko, already leaning too far forward like he’s been here for hours instead of minutes.

geto slides into the empty seat beside you, casual as ever, lifting your glass and bringing it to his nose. his brows knit almost immediately. “what—is this a virgin?”

shoko snorts, shoulders shaking beside you. you wave him off lazily, lips curling. “i was just warming myself up.”

“you warm yourself up with a drink before shots, not with a virgin!” gojo fires back, loud enough that a couple people nearby glance over in annoyance.

shoko leans across the table, sliding her drink toward him. “your warm-up is all you usually need, satoru.”

the frat president scoffs, rolling his eyes. “I’m actually much better at holding my liquor now.”

the lie sits there. then.

gojo, two drinks in and one shot later: wasted. you, one drink in and three shots later: wasted.

the bar is chaos. the music is too loud, lights too warm, voices overlapping until everything blends into one loud, buzzing blur. at some point, utahime’s friends join the table, then more people, then somehow you all migrate toward the dart boards in the back.

you’re laughing too loud. leaning too much. mostly on shoko. sometimes on gojo—who is absolutely no help, because he’s swaying just as bad, arm slung over your shoulders, yelling nonsense in your ear.

nanami stands off to the side, drink in hand, watching the two of you with thinly veiled disapproval, though there’s a faint hint of amusement in his eyes. geto’s not far behind him, a little too relaxed now, watching everything unfold like it’s entertainment as a few guys from the team chat with him.

and then there’s hiromi higurama. nanami’s friend, that rarely, if ever, makes an appearance. he’s a first year law student, who’s overstressed, sharp as shit, and he’s put-together in a way that doesn’t match the rest of you. but he’s here, along with a couple other law and grad students, leaning against the table like he got dragged here and decided to stay anyway. he’s older by only a couple years, but it shows in the way he carries himself and in the way he watches.

utahime lines up her shot. “comeback comeback,” she chants confidently. you and shoko are laughing, booing her as she squints, closing one eye, then the dart flies.

it hits the board, and of course, she immediately loses her balance— “shit!—” she stumbles back, catching herself and slamming right into you.

your footing slips just enough, a surprised laugh bursting out of you as you tip backwards. why’re you always falling?!

but then hand catches you. it’s steady and firm. higurama’s arm wraps around you just enough to keep you upright, pulling you back against the edge of the table before you can actually fall.

“careful,” he mutters, low, close to your ear.

you’re already laughing.

“i’m good—i’m good,” you insist, even though you’re still half-leaning into him for a second longer than necessary, your balance completely shot. and he doesn’t move right away. his arm loosens around your waist, but hovers close as you sway. his eyes soften, quietly watching you as you slap utahime lightly on the shoulder.

geto notices. his brows furrow slightly, just for a second, catching the way higurama’s gaze lingers. it’s subtle, but there.

meanwhile, you’re completely oblivious. already turning back, leaning into shoko again as gojo starts arguing about the rules of darts like he invented the fucking game.

“nahh you literally had us playing a different version last time,” you hiccup, words slurring together as you try to explain gojo’s made up rules he came up with a few weeks ago. no one fully understanding the direction of the conversation anymore as gojo scoffs, swaying as he shakes his head.

“no no no, last,” he hiccups, “last time, we were playing as individuals, now we’re—hic—we’re going—doing teams!”

“what’re you guys talking about?” higurama voice lowers, leaning down slightly, lips ghosting your ear so you can hear him over the music, eyes still on you.

“just something that happened at one of their frat parties,” you explain, gesturing vaguely toward gojo and geto, who are now mid-argument with utahime over who actually won the last round. your laugh bubbles up again, light, careless.

the rest of the night blurs. unaware of how your friends became just as distracted, and careless, that when you felt the same voice ghost your ear again, your mind couldn’t help the blurred image it was conjuring up.

“you want me to grab you some water?” the smooth voice of higurama had you swaying closer to hear him. he leans in, basically yelling over the music to repeat what he’d asked.

your hazy eyes hum, smiling widely when he passes you and the rest of the table some water bottles.

as the bar came to a close, your small group migrated to the pier. gojo and geto easily buying a couple six packs from the liquor store and meeting the rest of you guys on the picnic bench. gojo and nanami were in a heated argument about summer plans, whilst shoko sat on the table smoking her cigarette and passing up another drink.

“do you even here yourself,” nanami scoffs with uncanny annoyance. his face is dusted pink from the alcohol. his navy sweater is off and tossed over his shoulder, white tee straining over a surprising build of pure muscle. his large hand is still holding his half empty can of beer as he sneers at his high school friend.

“yeah i sound like a fucking genius—“

“I just told you I’m not—hic— I’m not gonna be free,” nanami is wasted, you guess he was just as a stressed during finals week. his jaw clenches as gojo laughs louder.

“you said you finish your work thing end of July, so the trip is planned for the next day!”

shoko and geto are in hysterics as gojo rage baits their poor friend. you’re still chatting with utahime, yuno, and higurama—wait—

“shouldn’t you be like, busy?” your voice cuts as you point to the stranger, higurama, with a raised brow.

the law student glances over. it isn’t a struggle when he’s been straddling the bench to lean an arm on the table and face you for the entirety of the time. a casual smile graces his lips, glancing at your expectant eyes, before shrugging.

“why would i be busy?”

“because you’re older, and in law school, so you should be busy, not—not hanging out with lo-hic-losers,” you slur. no filter much?

utahime gasps, her pale cheeks flushed from the alcohol. “I’m not a loser!”

yuno nods, absentmindedly, hand subtly brushing utahime’s wrist.

who isn’t drunk here?

“you know what I mean,” you mutter, speaking over the rim of your can. drinking sucks.

higurama raises a brow, fingers drumming over the surface of the table. his tie hangs around his shoulders and his dress shirt sleeves are rolled up. he quietly studies you. “I finished finals too. are law students not allowed to relax?”

you quietly absorb his words, glancing at his eyes then away. you shrug.

the man smiles, swinging his leg over, moving to stand up.

your eyes widen. wait, is he leaving??

“I’ll see ya kento,” he swings back the rest of his drink and leaves it with the rest of the empty cans on the table. he spares you a final glance, then walks away.

“what the—“ you gape, eyes snapping to utahime and yuno, drunk as shit and jaws agape. “that wasn’t because of me?”

“you basically asked him why the fuck he’s hanging out with us,” yuno calls out, utahime nods.

your face flushes hot, stomach churning with guilt, “that wasn’t—I didn’t say it like that.”

“sounded like it, babe,” utahime quietly agrees.

your brows furrow, glancing back at the man walking away. “now I feel bad,” you cringe at yourself, heart beating against your chest as you move before thinking, which usually happens when you get drunk.

“what’re you doing??” utahime gasps as you start sprinting towards higurama.

“to apologize!”

however, running and drinking wasn’t a very good combo, not only were you swaying, but your stomach was turning in a very familiar way.

“higu—“

your eyes widen. fuck.

you quickly detour to the bushes, stomach emptying onto the poor greenery. why are things turning out this way?

“why’d you do that?” the soft, firm hand on your back, briefly startles you, but you turn, puking some more. eyes tearing up.

“can you call ryo?” you mutter, mind still lost and not grasping the present.

“ryo?” higurama gently guides you to the empty bench closer to the water, and away from the bushes you barfed on. “sit down.”

you listen, body unable to unwind, as you rest your back against the seat, eyes distant as the waves crash. you swallow thickly, still catching your breath. the nausea lingers, sour and stubborn, sitting heavy in your chest.

“never mind,” you mumble after a second, voice hoarse. “ryo’s not here.” the words come out softer than you expect, and then they land. your brows pinch faintly. you’re only now realizing what you just said, who you just asked for. your stomach twists again—but this time it’s not from the alcohol.

higurama doesn’t comment on it. he just watches you for a moment longer before shifting beside you, settling onto the bench with a quiet exhale. his legs stretch out in front of him, dress shoes planted against the pavement, knees spread just enough to take up space. his sleeves are still rolled up to his forearms, the fabric slightly wrinkled now, the night has worn on him too. one hand rests loosely against his thigh, the other drapes along the back of the bench—close enough to you without actually touching.

for a while, neither of you say anything. just the sound of the water, waves crashing softly against the pier, steady. the noise fills the silence without demanding anything from it. you stare out at it, eyes unfocused, your mind drifting somewhere you don’t want to follow.

then, quietly…

“why did you….why did you decide on law?” it comes out almost absent. it feels like you’re asking just to fill the space. that’s what you tell yourself. but you quietly wait for his answer.

higurama glances at you, just briefly, before his gaze returns to the water. he takes his time answering. “i want to help people,” he says at first, simple, but his voice doesn’t stop there. “not in the… uh idealistic way people say it,” he adds, quieter now. “not like—saving the world or anything like that. the world’s fucking shit and people are cruel...”

you glance at him quietly.

his jaw shifts slightly, choosing his words carefully. “i just… didn’t like how often people get stuck with decisions that aren’t really theirs. bad situations. bad systems. and no one actually explains anything to them.” he exhales softly through his nose, fingers tapping once against his leg. “so i figured if i study it, maybe i could make it a little less unfair for someone.”

there’s no arrogance in it. no need for validation. just matter-of-fact.

you look away from him, eyes fixed on the water, watching the way it moves. the constant, endlessness of it… it knows where it’s going even when you don’t. your chest tightens faintly, something uncomfortable settling deep in your ribs, because he sounds so sure. even in the way he talks about it, even with his pauses, he still chose something and committed to it. like he knows why he’s here…unlike you,

your fingers curl slightly in your lap. “that’s…” you start, but the word trails off, dissolving before it can become anything real. you don’t finish it. instead, you just nod a little to yourself, swallowing whatever else was going to come out, letting the silence settle back in.

this time, it feels heavier.

he’s quiet for a moment after you trail off, the sound of the water filling in the space again. then, without looking at you, he asks, “why are you doing medicine?”

the question hits harder than it should. it’s simple. but it lands somewhere deep. your breath stutters, just slightly, and before you can stop it—before you can control it—you feel it. that awful, tight pressure climbing up your chest, wrapping around your throat like a wire pulling too tight.

fuck. this is why you hate drinking.

your eyes sting, vision blurring as you blink once, then again, trying to push it back down, but it doesn’t work. it never really does when you’re like this, when everything is already sitting too close to the surface. this is the reason you drank. you just wanted one night. one stupid, fun night with your friends before you all go for the summer. not this.

a tear slips down your cheek. then another. its’s quiet, you mood unannounced. higurama notices immediately, because you don’t even try to hide it.

“i don’t know,” you admit, voice small and uneven. your gaze stays forward, locked on the water like if you look anywhere else you might actually break. “i don’t know if i wanna do it… but like—” your throat tightens, words catching. “i don’t know what to do.”

it comes out in pieces. fragile. honest even though you didn’t mean to be and in a way you rarely ever just say without feeling like you’re being judged. but you’re too drunk to feel insecure or embarrassed.

higurama doesn’t interrupt, doesn’t rush to fill the silence. his gaze drifts back to the waves, giving you space while he stays right there beside you.

his arm, that was resting on the back of the bench, gently brushes your arm. steady, grounding, and nothing more. it’s not possessive. not suggestive. just… there. and you don’t even realize that he’s not looking at you like that, anymore. not right now. whatever flicker of interest was there earlier is gone and now replaced with something calmer and more aware.

you swallow, voice quieter now. “did you always know what you wanted?” you ask, barely above a whisper. “or did you just… force yourself to like it?”

higurama exhales softly, leaning back against the bench, arm still resting around you. his head tilts slightly as he looks out at the water again, thinking.

“I highly doubt anyone knows what they’re doing,” he says after a beat. “people just get better at pretending they do.” there’s a faint edge of something dry in his tone. “people talk about ‘paths’ like they’re set. like you pick one thing and it just… works out.” he shakes his head slightly. “it doesn’t. it’s more like… a series of decisions you keep making, even when you’re not sure they’re right.”

his fingers tap lightly against your arm, absent and thoughtful. “law’s the same way. I mean you build a case with what you have, not what you wish you had. you take the risk, present the argument, and hope it holds.” he pauses. “sometimes it doesn’t.”

you nod slowly, even if your chest still feels tight, trying to absorb his words, trying to make it mean something for you. “so what if it doesn’t?” you murmur, voice still unsteady. “what if i’m already behind?”

he glances at you this time, properly. “behind who?” he asks simply.

you hesitate.

“…everyone,” you admit, quieter. “i’ve been doing the same thing every summer at a hospital. same place. same freaking thing. and everyone else is… doing something.”

“do you have something else you wanna try?” he asks.

you shrug, small, helpless. “i don’t know…” your voice dips, wavering, but you push through it anyway. “i want to do something else… but i don’t have something, like, to show for it. like an internship for it, or—” you swallow hard, the words catching before they can fully form, cutting yourself off before it turns into something else. you shrug instead, tighter this time, like you’re trying to make it seem smaller than it feels.

higurama watches you for a second, piecing together what you’re actually saying underneath it.

“you still have the hospital, though,” he says evenly. it’s not dismissive, he’s just stating it.

you make a face immediately, gaze dropping. “yeah…”

“are you there the whole summer?”

you shake your head. “no… just a few weeks. my dad makes me do it every summer.”

there’s a small pause.

“then what’s stopping you?” he asks.

you blink, glancing at him like the question doesn’t fully register at first. “from what?”

“from trying something else for the rest of it,” he says simply. “you’re acting like you need something official to justify trying something else. you don’t.”

his shoulders lift in a small shrug. “internships are just structured ways to prove interest. they’re not the only way to have it.”

your brows pinch slightly, listening.

“if you already know you don’t like the hospital, then fine. do your time there,” he continues, tone calm, grounded. “but after that? you’ve got like a month or a few weeks or whatever to do something else. you don’t need a title to start figuring something out, and I’m guessing you just wanted the title to show that you’re not behind.”

he glances at you again, more direct now. his voice softens just a fraction. “you don’t need to be good at it yet. you just need to start somewhere. but if your parents are anything like mine, then I’m guessing they just want you to do something in the summer.”

you nod, quietly.

“don’t stress too much. people change their minds every day, and at least you’re interested in something else,” he speaks like it’s that easy, and maybe in your drunk mind, your walls have come down low enough to really listen. and it could also be because you’ve heard of higurama and how hard working he is from nanami. so maybe his words mean a little more than your dad, or your sisters. “what exactly do you wanna do?”

you wet your lips, and higurama quietly notes how you’ve stopped crying. “I wanna work in film, like screenwriting, or producing.”

his eyes widen. “for real?”

you nod, swallowing the anxious feelings threatening to bubble up after admitting it to a complete stranger. “I’m minoring in film right now, but i really like it.”

higurama hums, sitting up straighter. “you’re working at your dad’s hospital in the summer?”

“it’s not my dad’s hospital, he’s an attending there, but like it’s not like he owns it—but yeah,” you correct, a slight tone shift in your voice, which higurama dismisses.

he reaches for his phone, arm moving from around your shoulder. “pretty sure my uncle has some crazy contacts. he…was anentertainment lawyer for this production company a couple years ago. if you want I can see if he can give me a contact and try and introduce you for some informational meeting or something.”

your eyes burst with light.

“wait for real???”

higurama nods, “everything is about fucking connections in that industry.” you nod along as he finds his uncle’s contact, texting him, then handing you his phone. “add your number and email so I can send them to him too when he gets the contact.” you nod again, sitting straight as you quickly type your info. “have you had any meetings with industry people?”

you shake your head, “just like, meetings with my professors,” you hand him back his phone.

“no stress,” higurama reassures, saving your contact and turning his phone off. “most first meetings like these always go the same. it’s about networking and you have a connection, so hopefully when my uncle introduces you to whoever, you have to make sure you get out of that meeting with another contact, and it’s just like a string until something sticks.”

you’re nodding along.

“wait,” your eyes widen. he quirks a brow. “I’m like really drunk, I don’t wanna forget this,” you freak.

higurama snorts, pulling up your contact again, “I’ll text you what I just said,” he slouches on the bench, amused when you lean close watching him type everything.

“you got it man?!” gojo slurs, him and geto crowded around his phone as they watch their soccer captain scowl at them through facetime.

“I can’t understand a fucking word you idiots are saying,” he snaps from the other side.

gojo groans, nanami’s head popping in as he turns gojo’s wrist. “we’re planning the trip—and he’s not listening to anyone—“

“you’re the one that’s not listening, i gave you dates that work—“

“they don’t work!” nanami barks, face flaming with anger and the liquor he should put down.

sukuna licks his teeth, “call me back when you dickheads are sober—“

“waaaaittt,” gojo whines, freeing his wrist from nanami’s grip with tug, and inevitably falling off the seat. his phone clatters on the floor. another figure picks it up.

utahime.

“oh, you.” she frowns at the sight of the man. sukuna frowns in return. unlike gojo and geto and the rest of the guys that loosely know about his relationship with you. he’s assuming shoko and utahime are definitely less forgiving of the argument you guys had, and even if you made up, he doubts you filled them in since it was less than 48 hours ago. “just because—“ hiccup.

great, everyone is drunk.

“because you’re sleeping with my best friend, d-doesn’t mean I like you—“ utahime slurs, pointing at the screen. at sukuna. “and she’s—“

yuno who’s sitting beside her, drunk, smiles, “hey cap.”

in the minor distraction, utahime waves her crush to shh. “did you hear what I said—“

“yeah. did ya talk to her, or are you too drunk?” sukuna grumbles in disinterest, ready to hang up any second. he moves from his place on the couch, to the kitchen. yuuji, megumi, and their other friend, nobara, are still shouting in the background. video game blasting in the living room.

“no I’m not talking to her, she’s over there talking to k-ken’s friend and—hic—I’m talking to you right now, duh,” utahime scoffs.

sukuna’s movements halt.

huh?

“who?” he asks before thinking.

utahime glances over at yuno pointing off screen. “what was his name—oh higu—higu-“

“higurama?”

utahime hums, “yeah, higurama. nanami’s law friend. they’re talking over there.” she raises the phone without really thinking, flipping the screen toward the pier.

the camera wobbles for a second before it steadies, and there you are. not with them. not near the table. you’re off to the side, sitting on one of the benches closer to the water, the distance obvious even through the shitty front camera quality. the rest of the group is loud, clustered together under the dim pier lights, but you drifted off and just stayed there.

you’re leaning in slightly, shoulder angled toward higurama, your body turned to face him more than anything else. close enough to look familiar. close enough to look comfortable.

he’s saying something—something sukuna can’t hear—and for a second, he lifts his phone between you, showing you something on the screen. but from this angle, it just looks like you’re sitting back, smiling at him, soft and distracted, your voice faint in the background as it carries over the speaker. whatever you’re saying, it’s looser and easy. too easy.

something in sukuna’s stomach twists, sharp and unpleasant. he pushes it down immediately.

“why’re they talking away from the rest of you?” he asks, voice flat, edged with something colder than it needs to be. he pulls out a drink from the fridge.

utahime squints at the screen, words a little slurred. “she was kinda mean—not really—but like, she’s drinking—which is—we should stop—but she went to apologize and now they’re talking.” she shrugs, already half over it.

gojo suddenly leans into frame, grinning like he just found something unbelievably entertaining. “oh yeah—you see ’em?” he laughs, keeping the phone angled right on you and higurama.

sukuna clicks his tongue, irritation slipping through. “why’re you fucking laughing?”

“because you’re pissed,” gojo shoots back instantly, grin widening.

sukuna scowls, jaw tightening. “i’m not fucking pissed, you fucking idiot.”

but his eyes don’t leave the screen. don’t leave you. and they don’t miss the way you tilt your pretty head when you listen. the way you shift a little closer without thinking. the way your attention is fully on someone else. his grip tightens slightly around his phone, looking away.

are you gonna text him before or after you fuck this guy, he thinks. his tongue drags slow against his teeth, jaw tightening as he leans back slightly, eyes glancing up at his brother and his friends.

“oh—they’re coming back!” gojo calls suddenly, voice bright with amusement.

and sure enough, you’re walking back toward the group with higurama right beside you, like nothing ever happened. like you didn’t just disappear with him for however long. you’re still talking, hands moving as you explain something, a little too animated, a little too loose from the alcohol. your head tips toward him when he responds, eyes flicking up to his face again—and again—and again.

higurama says something that makes you laugh, and it’s soft, quieter than the way you usually laugh with them. your shoulder brushes his arm for a second as you walk, not even noticing it

sukuna’s expression doesn’t change. but something inside his stomach hardens. his gaze tracks you the entire way back, slow, deliberate. the way you close the distance. the way you don’t rush it. the way you look…comfortable. his grip shifts on the phone, thumb pressing harder than necessary against the edge. he’s leaning against the counter, jaw tight when your hand fixes the strap of your top, laughing when shoko makes a comment he barely hears.

“see?” gojo hums, smug, leaning closer to the camera. “you got competition now.”

sukuna exhales through his nose, unimpressed. “shut the fuck up.”

gojo cackles loudly, and you glance over. “who’re you guys talking too?” you slide beside nanami, leaning over just for gojo to turn the screen towards you.

your stomach flips so fast it almost hurts. your whole body heats in an instant. ryo. it slips out before you even think about it. and you don’t realize how soft it sounds until you say it again, a little lighter this time, a small smile pulling at your lips like it’s second nature. your tone is gentler than usual, looser—too loose—and it’s obvious. you’re drunk. so drunk. because why are you saying his name like that?

why does it feel so easy?

on the other end, sukuna stills for half a second. it doesn’t stop the way something warm settles low in his stomach. behind you, higurama’s attention shifts at the name. his gaze drifts over your shoulder, landing on the screen. the familiar face tattoos clicks almost immediately.

…oh. so that’s who you were calling. sukuna…but…ryo? his brows knit faintly, something quiet and curious settling in his chest. are you guys dating?

he doesn’t ask it out loud. just watches. you don’t notice any of it, too busy leaning closer into frame, lips parting as you talk. “you’re missing out,” you say, voice bright despite the slight slur. “we were playing darts earlier and you should’ve been here because freaking gojo was being an ass about the rules again—” you laugh, the memory still obnoxiously funny.

and sukuna hates himself a little. hates the way his tongue presses against the inside of his cheek. the way he nods once, slow. the way his neck cracks as he tilts his head back, trying to ease the tension sitting there.

from the living room behind him, one of his brother yells about something, loud and distant, but it barely registers because you’re still on his screen. you’re not dating. you guys have both been very clear about the terms and conditions. so why not indulge? you’re free. he’s free. there are conditions for a reason—

“i’ll send you the video when i get home,” you add lightly, like it’s nothing. “my phone died.”

and just like that, everything in his head goes quiet. because now he’s going to be waiting for it. waiting for you to text him. and fuck if he’ll ever admit that shit.

“…yeah,” he hums, softer than before, almost absent, like it just slipped out. his eyes don’t leave the screen or more specifically, you.

your face fills it completely now. your lips, the ones he knows too well, the taste of them when you roll your tongue over his. your cheeks, the ones that get damp the second he fucks you a little harder. your eyes— those same eyes. the ones that look up at him like you want something. like you expect something. like he’s the only one that can give it to you.

his grip tightens just slightly around the phone. and for a second he forgets anyone else is even there. and even if gojo took the phone away and sukuna basically hung up afterwards. he ignored whatever tug he felt in his chest. and he seriously couldn’t care to answer gojo’s calls again.

“are you gonna play with us now?” yuuji calls as sukuna makes his way back.

“yeah,” sukuna simply confirms, dropping back onto the couch.

he doesn’t catch the way yuuji’s entire face lights up, and how quick the kid straightens, already reaching for the controller—because the front door suddenly slams open so hard it rattles the walls.

“what the fuc—” sukuna snaps, already halfway up again.

two high schoolers freeze in the doorway. choso is slumped between them. one of them, ino, goes rigid the second his eyes land on sukuna. the other, mechamaru, panics instantly, hands fumbling where they’re hooked under choso’s arms.

“what the hell is his brother doing here?!” mechamaru screeches, trying to pivot like he can somehow leave with choso still half-dragged between them.

“shit—I forgot he came this morning!” ino swears.

“you forgot—?” mechamaru freaks.

they’re somehow out the door again, then they both stall on the front steps. because the air shifts, drops, and something heavier settles in the space between them. sukuna is standing at the door, blocking the light from reaching them, creating a shadow over the high schoolers.

“what the fuck happened to him?” sukuna barks. his tone is sharp, cutting right through them. they turn back slowly.

sukuna is down the two steps in seconds. his hand comes up, gripping choso’s jaw, forcing his head up. choso barely resists, head lolling slightly, eyes glassy and unfocused. his cheeks are flushed, lips parted, breath uneven—

and it hits him. the smell. sukuna’s expression twists instantly, something dark snapping into place behind his eyes.

“is he drunk?” he asks. but it’s not really a question. his grip tightens. “answer me.”

mechamaru confesses instantly. “we got asked to play at a party, and we went because it’ll also be great practice, before the competition, but after—“ he glances at ino, now hesitant. “we were dragged to do drinks.”

“by who?” sukuna is already grabbing his brother, easily tossing his arm over his shoulder and lifting the teen up. choso mutters something incoherent.

“these guys from the baseball team.”

sukuna’s face twists, “baseball?” the disgust in his tone was evident.

ino fixes his beanie, nodding. “yeah, guess it was their party, but um I’m pretty sure they’re friends with these guys that’are also gonna play at the concert, and it looks like they were picking at us.”

“doesn’t explain why cho’s the only one that can’t fucking walk,” sukuna barks. the two teens confusing him even more.

the two nod frantically. “yeah, choso got pissed when he realized we just played our new songs to a bunch of ops, so he wanted to prove them wrong.”

sukuna deadpans. “and you two let ‘him?”

ino quickly replies, fidgeting with his hair that peaks from his beanie. “no, we told him not too. but by the time he agreed, those baseball dicks told us to shut the fuck up, and they wouldn’t let us get to him until choso ended up like this.”

sukuna licks his teeth, jaw tight as he glances at choso.

“we got him out the second they let go of us,” mechamaru adds.

sukuna silently notes the concern written on the faces of his little brother’s friends.

“do you know how much he drank?”

the two glance at one another, shifting their weight, before shaking their heads in defeat.

sukuna straightens up. choso’s head lulls to his shoulder.

“woah, what happened to cho?”

a small voice booms from behind them. yuuji stands at the door, eyes wide and brows pulled together. megumi and nobara glance from their seats on the floor.

“he’s not feeling well,” sukuna responds. he dismisses the two high schoolers, and turns back to the house.

choso groans as he’s hoisted up the two steps. the front door slams behind them.

“is he drunk?” yuuji blurts, already stepping in the way, trying to peer up at choso’s face.

“yuuuuji,” choso slurs, head lolling toward him, cheeks flushed an ugly shade of pink.

“yuuji, grab some water for him,” sukuna cuts in, already moving, arm hooked tight around choso as he drags him further into the house. he doesn’t make it past the hallway when—

“wait—” choso chokes, eyes widening, hand coming up weakly, “i’m gonna puke—”

“shit—”

sukuna doesn’t hesitate. he yanks him sideways, practically hauling him into the bathroom and shoving him down in front of the toilet just in time. choso barely gets his hands on the seat before he’s throwing up. loud. violent. his whole body jerks with it, his shoulders heaving as he gags, groaning in between, completely gone.

sukuna stands over him for a second, jaw tight, watching him?, then he crouches down, hand bracing his shoulder so he doesn’t tip forward.

“fuckin’ idiot,” he mutters under his breath, but it lacks bite.

choso retches again, weaker this time, whimpering slightly when it finally slows.

and sukuna frowns…all he can see is himself. his chest tightens. a small, ugly part of him twists with something that feels too close to guilt. why the fuck is he like this? why is choso trying to prove anything at all at some shitty high school party?

her.

the image hits him out of nowhere. sharp. intrusive. his step-mother’s face, her voice, the way she worms her way into everything. the way she still haunts him, and now choso… his jaw clenches so hard it aches. he wants to rip the thought out of his own head.

“i don’t…” choso mumbles weakly, voice slurring into itself. his head drops against his arm, propped on the toilet seat. “i don’t wan’ you-you being mad…”

sukuna stills.

choso’s brows knit together, drunk mind scrambling, trying to hold onto something that’s floating. “i don’t… mom is… she’s my mom… i just—” his voice cracks.

choso’s a sad drunk.

his eyes gloss over, unfocused, bottom lip trembling slightly as he breathes unevenly. “i wanna talk to my mom…”

something in sukuna snaps tight in his chest. his jaw sets hard. he doesn’t say anything. he can’t when choso’s vulnerable like this. but his grip tightens just slightly on choso’s shoulder.

no.

that woman is not getting anywhere near him. near any of them. doesn’t matter how much choso cries. doesn’t matter how much he fucking asks or begs. the answer will always be no. she’s a fucking cancer.

“here’s some water,” yuuji pipes up, appearing in the doorway with a glass, then immediately recoils. “ewww.”

sukuna exhales through his nose, grabbing the glass without looking at him. “yeah, we’re not telling gramps.”

yuuji straightens a little, arms crossing like he’s being let in on something serious. “our secret?”

“our secret,” sukuna repeats absently, already nudging choso’s shoulder. “c’mon. sit up.”

he tilts the glass toward him. “drink.”

“m’not…” choso mumbles, but he obeys anyway, taking a few messy gulps before coughing, water dribbling down his chin.

“yuuji, go grab me the ibuprofen,” sukuna adds without looking up.

“got it,” yuuji nods, already darting off.

choso slumps back against the tub once he’s done, head tipping back, eyes barely open. sukuna reaches over, flushing the toilet and shutting the lid. choso keeps mumbling…

“i’m not… hic—m’not an idiot…”

yuuji reappears in the doorway, curious now, watching like it’s a show. sukuna glances up at him briefly, grabbing the bottle, before looking back at choso.

“i know how she waas…” choso continues, voice quieter now, rough around the edges. “why you left me and yuuji—”

sukuna’s jaw locks, hard. his expression doesn’t change, not when his brothers are right there. but the tension in his shoulders spikes, something heavy settling behind his eyes and over his chest, as he stares at choso.

and for a second he doesn’t know what the fuck to say.

choso’s eyes well up, slumping even more as his knee comes up. his face presses into his arm, hair falling over his face in a tangled mess. “but she…”

yuuji steps closer, small brows knitting together as he leans toward sukuna. “who’s she?” he whispers.

sukuna exhales through his nose. “no clue.” he straightens, already reaching down to haul choso back up. “let’s get him to bed.”

it’s messy. choso barely helps, weight sagging into sukuna as he drapes an arm over his shoulders. sukuna adjusts his grip, one hand firm at his side, the other keeping him upright as they shuffle down the hallway. sukuna basically lifting him the entire way.

“move,” sukuna mutters.

yuuji is already ahead of them, darting into choso’s room. he kicks a pile of clothes out of the way, yanking the blanket back.

sukuna lowers choso onto the bed with a quiet grunt, guiding him down instead of dropping him. choso immediately curls in on himself, still mumbling, words slurring into nothing.

“turn,” sukuna orders, nudging his shoulder until choso rolls onto his side. he adjusts him without much patience, but careful enough, one arm tucked, head angled. sukuna adjusts one of the throw pillows behind choso’s back. he groans, but settles. sukuna pulls the blanket over him, tugging it up to his shoulder.

for a second, he just stands there. watching.

yuuji edges closer, peering up at sukuna’s face, then back at choso. “it’s not good that he was drinking, right?”

sukuna stifles a yawn, dragging a hand down his face, but his mind is still stuck, looping on choso’s words.

“no,” he mutters. “it’s not good.”

yuuji shifts, frowning. “then why aren’t you mad?”

sukuna doesn’t answer right away. his eyes stay on choso, something tight pulling low in his chest before he finally says, quieter, “i’m upset.”

yuuji’s expression softens almost instantly. he leans into sukuna’s side without thinking, small and warm. sukuna’s hand comes up automatically, rough palm settling on his head before ruffling his hair.

“i’m gonna stay in ’ere with him,” sukuna says, nudging him gently toward the door. “so go play.”

yuuji stumbles a step from the push, but stops at the doorway, hesitating. his lips press together, jaw tightening just a little. “aren’t you gonna play? you said you would.”

sukuna drops into the old lounge chair in the corner with a low grunt, legs spreading out, shoulders heavy as he sinks back into it. he barely spares him a glance. “i gotta watch choso.”

“but he’s sleeping,” yuuji argues quietly.

sukuna’s gaze flicks back to choso. “he’s drunk as shit. you want him choking on his vomit?”

yuuji’s face scrunches. “no.” his voice is small.

“we’ll play tomorrow,” sukuna says, already closing his eyes, tone coming off more dismissive than he intended or even thought about.

yuuji lingers for a second longer, then disappears down the hall. the room goes quiet. just choso’s uneven breathing. the faint hum of the house. sukuna sinks deeper into the chair, head tipping back, eyes shut. his body aches in that dull, heavy, almost like he’s expecting something that’s inevitably coming…

his step-mother. his eyes shut, fuck everything is tangling together he must have drifted at some point, barely asleep, barely conscious, because the sudden buzz of his phone cuts through it like a blade. punishing him for the delusion that he had a little bit more time.

he fishes his phone out of his pocket, blinking at the screen.

toji.

———

you quickly grab the handle of your apartment building before you trip again. a light laugh escapes as a hand holds your waist steady.

“you sure you’re okay?” shoko asks, other hand coming up to her face. her head is spinning.

you mutter out something, fishing for your keys. shoko sways, waiting patiently, along with the halted uber with the rest of the gang inside, well except for higurama who left once you all got in the uber, and utahime and yuno…

“okayokay I’m inside, byebye!”

you’re stumbling into your apartment, drunk as hell, the door barely shutting behind you before you’re already kicking your shoes off across the floor. your balance wobbles, fingers clumsy as they fumble with the zipper of your jeans, a quiet huff leaving you when it snags for a second before finally giving.

you peel them off with far less grace than you’d like, stepping out of them and leaving them abandoned somewhere behind you. your top follows, dragging it over your head, then your bra—gone just as quickly, tossed without care. the apartment is warm, it’s thick with that early summer heat, and your skin practically sighs in relief as you’re left in nothing but your panties.

you don’t even bother covering yourself. your body is loose, uncoordinated. your chest rises and falls a little deeper than usual, and with every step, there’s that soft, natural movement. your bare skin warm, your body relaxed in a way it only gets when you’re like this. the moment you reach your bed, you collapse onto it.

your phone slips from your hand, bouncing once against the sheets as you roll onto your side, face pressing into the pillow. your lashes flutter lazily as the screen lights up beside you. notifications stacking from family group chats, names you don’t have the energy to read right now.

but one name floats to the front of your mind. one. and before you can even think it through, your fingers are already moving.

the phone rings. once. twice. then—

“hello?”

his voice is rough. low, edged with sleep, and something else you can’t quite place in your state.

you shift slightly, your phone resting near your cheek, heat spreading there as you breathe out, “ryo…”

there’s a pause. then a quiet hum on his end, fabric shifting as he moves. “you just got home?”

you answer with a soft, tired hum, eyes slipping half-shut. your lips part slightly as you exhale, tongue darting out to wet them without thinking. your head feels lighter now, the alcohol settling into something softer, slower, but it leaves your voice like honey, sweet, drawn out.

on the other end, sukuna’s jaw tightens.

“are you upset?” you ask, absent, like the thought just wandered into your head and out your mouth.

“why would i be upset?”

you make a small sound, barely there. “dunno… you just sound… like it,” you murmur, sighing into your pillow.

there’s a brief silence.

“you should get some sleep,” sukuna says, more abrupt now. a little colder, but it barely registers through the haze.

“I wan’ed to uh…” you yawn, words slurring together. “m’ gonna go home.”

his tone shifts instantly. “where the fuck are you now?”

you hum, too slow, too tired to match his urgency. “mmm… i mean… to my parents… next week,” you mumble. “i’m gonna do the hospital thing.”

he hesitates. you can’t see it, but he does, because last time, you shut that conversation down fast. hell, he doesn’t even know why you’re telling him this, so now he just… waits.

on your end, your breathing softens. a quiet, shaky exhale leaves you as your fingers curl slightly into the sheets. “i…” you swallow, eyes stinging faintly. “that’s okay, right?”

his breath catches, just barely. what is it with drunk people tonight…

“…yeah,” he says finally, quieter. not fully understanding the entire context, but answering anyway.

you don’t question the way you relax just a little.

“o…kay,” you murmur, softer now. then… “i wish… you were here.”

there’s a beat. and then, his lip quirks faintly, voice dipping. “so you can fuck yourself on me?”

you let out a light, airy laugh, barely there, bringing the phone closer, like his voice could comfort you the way his body does. “yeah…”

a pause. then softer, unguarded… “you always make me feel good, ryo.”

and he stills. completely.

shit.. he exhales, slow. his hand drags up his face as his head tips back against the chair. the room is quiet only broken by the faint shift of choso on the bed and the distant hum of the house settling at night. the silence only makes the way his chest is beating just a little louder in his ears.

“ryo,” you breathe again, even softer this time. he hums, voice even, steady. on the other end, your lashes grow too heavy to fight. your lips part slightly as your voice slips out, barely there, “g’night.”

there’s no response. not right away. because by the time he opens his mouth, you’re already gone your breathing evens out, soft and slow through the phone, quiet enough that he almost misses it at first. but then it settles into a rhythm, steady, warm, unmistakable. you fell asleep. still on the call.

sukuna doesn’t hang up. he just… listens. eyes still closed, head tipped back, phone pressed loosely to his ear as your breathing fills the silence on his end. it’s strange, how something so small manages to take up so much space in his head.

his mind drifts. back to the last time he saw you. saturday afternoon. less than 48 hours ago. the way he’d rushed out of your apartment without looking back, already halfway gone before the door even shut behind him. this is the first time you’ve called him like this and he didn’t show up. didn’t end with him pushing you into a mattress, didn’t end with his hands on you, your voice in his ear for a completely different reason.

if he was still on campus, he would’ve came. no question. but he’s not there. and somehow…that makes this feel different. a kind of different he doesn’t sit with for too long. doesn’t want to sit with. so he pushes it down, like he does everything else and focuses instead on the sound of you breathing—soft, steady—and he finds himself annoyed for a reason he doesn’t fully unpack.

he should be hearing it closer. your breathing against his ear, against his chest. your body warm, tucked into him the way it always ends up.

you said you wish he was there because he makes you feel good. his jaw tightens slightly. you make him feel good too. too fucking good. and with everything else tangled in his head, his family, choso, her, his call before this, the future—you’re the only thing that’s pretty simple. you don’t shift. it’s the routine. the sex. you. and it’s something he can actually count on.

his grip tightens faintly around his phone, thumb pressing against the edge of it as he exhales again, slower this time. summer stretches out in front of him. and in the quiet of that room, with your breathing in his ear and everything else sitting heavy in his chest, all he can think is:

summer is going to be hell.

— THREE WEEKS LATER —

the field sits just off the small town’s coast. the air tastes like salt and the wind carries the distant crash of waves. it’s late afternoon, sun still high, heat clinging to everything and sukuna is drenched.

sweat slicks down his chest, dragging along the hard lines of muscle, catching in the dips of his collarbones before trailing lower. his back is worse, broad, defined, and every movement is pulling the ink stretched across his skin. the tattoos curl over his shoulders, down his back, around his biceps. and his hair is damp, sticking slightly to his forehead, breath heavier from drills, but controlled.

people notice. a couple women slow their walk along the path by the beach, voices dropping as their eyes linger. some just outright staring.

sukuna jogs up to the benches, grabbing the water bottle toji tosses his way without breaking stride. the plastic cracks slightly under his grip before he twists it open, taking a long drink, water spilling down his throat, over his chin, dripping onto his chest.

“anything?” he asks, voice rougher now.

toji doesn’t answer right away, just hands him the folder.

sukuna takes it, flipping it open with one hand. “what’s this?”

beside him, shiu kong flicks ash from the cigarette hanging off his lip, leaning forward slightly as he talks. “background check on her partner came back clean. his money’s real, and his business checks out.”

sukuna’s eyes scan the pages. bank statements. employment records. a couple photos clipped in.

“those three years she disappeared?” shiu continues, “she spent em in china for about a year. then the rest in the UK.”

sukuna flips a page. his brows pull together slightly. “so?” he mutters.

toji exhales through his nose, scratching at his chin. “yeah, shiu, i thought you’d come back with somethin’ we can actually use.”

shiu snorts quietly. “you didn’t read all of it,” he shuts toji up. sukuna keeps reading, slower now. there’s a pause. then shiu tilts his head, cigarette shifting between his lips. “it doesn’t look like she went overseas just to hide from those lawsuits.”

sukuna’s eyes flick up briefly. “what d’ya mean?”

shiu leans back slightly, more relaxed than the tension building in front of him. “after she got out of jail, she worked at that loan company job for about a year, that’s where she got tied up with the lawsuit.”

“i know that part,” sukuna cuts in, flipping another page. “that’s all you fucking gave us a million weeks ago.”

“yeah, well,” shiu shrugs, ignoring the aggression. “one of the clients she was stealing from wasn’t just some idiot with bad credit and needed a loan.”

toji’s brows lift slightly, sitting up and waving sukuna to hand him back the folder,

“the guy had some connections,” shiu continues. “small operations, but enough to make things messy. when the lawsuit started closing in, he’s the one that got her out.”

sukuna’s jaw tightens.

“paid for her to leave the country,” shiu adds. “china first. she worked under him there, nothing flashy. looks like she was just working as a personal accountant and was moving around money, setting up accounts under different names. it’s pretty clean to not get caught, but if someone looks closer the numbers are just off.”

toji reads through the last few pages. they were thinner. notes, partial records, but not enough to actually start any shit with her.

“and the UK?” toji asks.

shiu shrugs again. “that’s where she met her new guy. your step-mom’s got a type, men with money and enough ego to overlook the rest.”

toji huffs a quiet laugh at that. sukuna doesn’t. he’s still staring at the page in toji’s hands, arms crossed over his chest.

“she cut ties with the china contact once she secured her new situation,” shiu adds. “so she got a completely clean slate with this guy. or as clean as she could manage. she started working for him as an accountant, still works for him, but dating now.”

toji glances at him. “it’s something.”

“it’s not enough,” sukuna snaps immediately. his patience has been shot for weeks. watching choso. waiting. thinking.

“we can push this on her,” toji starts, leaning forward, “and bring up the lawsuit again, tie it with this—”

“she’ll deny it,” sukuna cuts him off.

“then we—”

“she’ll deny it,” sukuna repeats, sharper this time, eyes flicking up, irritation clear. “and she’ll try an get choso, and he’s fucking desperate to give her a chance. no. you said we’d make her leave for good, so this is all fucking shit!”

sukuna runs a hand through his damp hair, exhaling hard through his nose, chest rising and falling heavier now.

“i need something more concrete,” he mutters. “something she can’t fucking, snake her way out of like a fucking cockroach.”

“i can look into that china contact,” shiu says simply. “I’ve got some people that can ask around.”

toji glances at sukuna, jaw setting before he nods. “yeah, that’s good.”

sukuna doesn’t respond. his eyes are staring up, jaw tightening. the ocean crashes in the distance. he doesn’t make a move once shiu leaves. not until toji is clearing his throat.

“i don’t know what you’re expecting.”

sukuna feels something harden inside. eyes deadly sharp as they glare at his long time friend and coach.

“you think we’re gonna uncover some body with her fingerprints on them?”

sukuna tsks, rolling his eyes, “shut the fuck up.”

“I’m jus’ asking.”

“you’re being a fucking dick!” sukuna’s voice pierces the air, chest heaving. his heart pounds against his ribs, blood flowing in his ears. “she started messaging me, and we don’t have shit.”

toji’s gaze takes in the twenty-three year old, a small, but strong, string tugs in his chest as he remembers when he was thirteen. his jaw tightens. “i talked to wasuke, we both agree you should go.”

sukuna’s eyes snap up. harsh. mean. “what?”

“accept the offer, and go train with the team. it’s not the same club that asked you when y’ were in high school, but this is what you’ve been workin’ for. I’ll deal with shit here.”

a sudden fury crashes full force into the man. “you have no clue what the fuck I want—i want this shit to go away. if ya think I’m pissed because of the offer, I’m not. I’m pissed that I don’t have shit on that woman when you fucking told me to trust your dipshit friend!” sukuna’s words bite the air.

“yeah sure,” toji sighs. sukuna’s easily setting him off the more he pushes back.

sukuna snarls, eyes dark, his head tilts, sizing up the thirty-two year old coach. “ya have more to say?”

his vein snaps.

toji’s suddenly standing right in front of him, close enough that the heat from sukuna’s skin hasn’t even cooled yet. emerald eyes dark, steady, not backing down. for a second, it looks like it could tip. like sukuna might start something.

his shoulders are tight, chest still rising hard, jaw locked so tight it aches. the vein in his neck ticks, pulse loud in his ears, everything in him might snap in seconds. but toji doesn’t move. doesn’t flinch.

“yeah,” he says, voice lower now. calmer, but not softer. “i do.”

sukuna’s lip curls slightly, head tilting just enough to show teeth. “then say it.”

toji exhales through his nose. “you’re losing control like a fucking kid again.”

heavy silence follows. then sukuna lets out a dry, humorless huff. “watch your mouth.”

“or what?” toji shoots back immediately. “you gonna swing at me?” that almost does it. sukuna’s fist flexes at his side, fingers twitching like they’re deciding whether or not to hit his fucking coach. “you’re pissed,” toji continues, cutting through before he can react, “and I’m not blaming you. but you’re acting like you can fix this overnight.”

“i can fix it,” sukuna snaps.

“no,” toji fires back just as fast, “you can’t.” his words hit, it’s how sure he sounds. sukuna’s eyes darken, something sharp flashing behind them. “you don’t have enough yet,” toji goes on, voice steady, and grounded making sukuna seethe. “and you forcing it isn’t gonna make it show up faster.”

“so i just sit around for another fucking month?” sukuna bites out. “wait for her to walk in and fuck everything up again!?”

“you think hovering over choso every second is gonna stop that?” toji counters. “you’re burning yourself out for nothing.”

sukuna scoffs, stepping forward this time, closing the already small space between them, eyes deadly to anyone other than the very man he’s targeting. “you don’t get to tell me how to handle my family.”

toji’s jaw tightens. “i’m not. i’m tellin’ you, you’re gonna fuck up your future if you keep this up.”

there’s that word again. future. sukuna’s expression twists instantly.

“don’t start,” he warns, low.

“you think this offer’s just gonna sit there and wait for you?” toji presses anyway. “you’ve been busting your ass for this since you screwed up and got—“

“i said don’t—”

“and by some fucking miracle you managed to get an offer again,” toji cuts him off, sharper now, voice much louder, “and you’re ready to throw it because of her!?”

that’s it. sukuna shoves him. it’s full force. enough to break the line they’ve been holding. toji stumbles back, just to block a swing from sukuna. his arm hooks with the kid, locking him up as sukuna grunts, not fighting back with the amount of strength he started with.

“don’t,” sukuna says, voice rougher now, chest heaving again in the hold. “don’t fuckin’ act like you’re responsible for me.”

toji grits, muscles flexing. “I’m not tryna act like your guardian angel,” he starts, his words coming out careful…almost hesitant thinking about the right words to describe his bond with the itadori family. “but I know what it looks like when you let your past decide everything for you.” his grip tightens around sukuna’s arm, almost hugging him, except for the way sukuna’s arm is forcefully trapped between their bodies, and the other is locked against his back. “i screwed up, not you.”

sukuna’s jaw tightens again, but this time there’s something else under it. something sharper, old wounds stinging.

“i said i’ll deal with it,” toji adds. sukuna struggles momentarily, before toji lets go, letting sukuna fall back on the grass, sun beating harshly above them. sweat slides down sukuna’s chest, fists gripping the dirt.

sukuna doesn’t answer. his gaze fixes on the ground between his legs. white lines worn into the grass. the ocean beyond it, endless and loud. this is what he’s been working for. he knows that. but….his jaw clenches again.

“you can’t be in two places at once,” toji says, standing above him. “so decide where you want to be.”

another long silence stretches between them. wind picks up slightly off the water, cooling the sweat on sukuna’s skin, but it does nothing for the heat sitting under it. finally, he scoffs under his breath and looks away. his hand comes up, running through his damp hair again.

“i’m not done with this,” he mutters, more to himself than toji.

toji shakes his head.

sukuna doesn’t look back at him. doesn’t give him anything else. but the way his shoulders sit, the way his jaw won’t unclench, it’s clear he’s not letting it go. he just doesn’t know which fire to put out first.

the silence breaks with a loud cheer in the distance. it cuts clean through the tension and heat.

“SUMMMMMERRRRRR BREAAAKKKKK!!!!!”

the voice is unmistakable. sukuna exhales through his nose, head tipping slightly to the side as his arm drops just enough for him to see across the field.

yuuji.

already halfway across, sprinting like his life depends on it. megumi’s right behind him, trying his best to keep up, eyes set in on yuuji’s back in determination. somewhere between the halfway line and the benches, both their backpacks go flying off, hitting the grass with dull thuds. yuuji doesn’t even look back, and just runs faster.

sukuna’s head drops back again, eyes closing briefly, jaw tightening as he lets the noise wash over him, and pull him out of his own head for a second. and he knows what’s coming. he doesn’t move, but braces.

“RYOOO—!”

yuuji slams into him full force, arms hooking around his shoulders as he crashes down, laughing loud and bright. sukuna grunts, body shifting slightly from the hit, but his hand comes up automatically, gripping the back of yuuji’s shirt to keep him from face-planting into his chest.

“fuck you’re heavier—” sukuna mutters, voice rough, but there’s no bite to it.

yuuji laughs, already climbing onto him, half dangling off his shoulders as sukuna finally pushes himself up to stand. “we’re free! FINALLY!!”

megumi finally reaches them, bent slightly at the waist, breathing heavier than he’d like, shooting yuuji an annoyed look. “you cheated.”

“i didn’t!” yuuji fires back immediately, still clinging to sukuna like he’s part of him now

“you started early,” megumi argues.

“did not!”

sukuna clicks his tongue, rolling his shoulders once as he stands fully, yuuji still hanging off him like dead weight. “both of you are fucking annoying.”

toji snorts quietly from the side, reaching out to ruffle megumi’s hair. the kid lets him, even if he rolls his eyes a second later, already distracted again by yuuji’s loud arguing.

“you’re just mad you lost again,” yuuji adds, grinning. “you can never beat me in a race.”

“i didn’t lose.”

“you did—!”

“i said i didn’t—”

“yo yo yo!” the voice cuts in before it can escalate, loud and familiar as two more figures cross the field. gojo strolls up like he owns the place, blue shorts hanging low on his hips, white tee clinging just enough from the heat. beside him, geto moves slower, black tee, baseball cap low over his eyes, hands shoved casually into his short pockets. gojo’s grin widens the second he gets a good look at sukuna.

“damn,” he lets out, dragging the word. “you look like shit.”

geto huffs a quiet laugh, eyes flicking over sukuna’s drenched frame. “you’ve been out here all day?”

sukuna doesn’t answer right away. he just grabs the hem of his shorts, tugging them slightly where they cling, sweat still dripping down his torso, catching along the lines of muscle, the ink on his skin darker from it, a tan already forming.

“what gave it away?” he mutters dryly.

yuuji is still draped over him, completely unbothered, arms locked around his shoulders like he’s not planning on letting go of his older brother anytime soon. “he’s been training like crazy,” he chimes in proudly, like it’s his accomplishment.

gojo leans in slightly, eyes narrowing behind his sunglasses. “yeah, no shit. he looks like he just crawled out of a fight.”

“lost, probably,” geto adds under his breath, glancing at toji who’s uncharacteristically lost in thought behind megumi.

sukuna scoffs, finally shifting his shoulder just enough to jostle yuuji. yuuji only laughs, tightening his grip like a damn leech. “can we play a game with you guys?” he asks, already bouncing with energy.

sukuna drags a hand through his damp hair, strands sticking to his forehead and temples, sweat still tracking down the sharp lines of his throat. his chest rises slow, controlled, muscles still tight from drills, veins faintly visible along his forearms, and v-line. “get off my back,” he mutters, voice rough.

yuuji drops immediately.

“I call being on ryo’s team!!” yuuji cheers, sliding in at sukuna’s side. for a second, it cuts through everything, the tension, the heat, the lingering frustration.

sukuna huffs, faint smile ghosting his lips. he ruffles the kid’s hair, rough but familiar. “yeah, yeah.”

gojo claps his hands together, already grinning like an idiot. “well, me and meg—”

“I’m with suguru,” megumi cuts flatly, already stepping toward geto without even looking at gojo.

there’s a beat. then sukuna snorts. geto does too, low and amused, adjusting his cap as his eyes flick between them.

gojo’s face twists in pure betrayal. “what the hell?!”

the ocean breeze rolls through the field, tugging at their loose shirts and damp hair, carrying the sound of distant waves, and the very obvious attention of people lingering along the edges. a few girls pause mid-walk, eyes dragging over the group, not subtle.

sukuna stands there shirtless, skin tan and sun-warmed, slick with sweat. his tattoos stretch across his chest and wrapping down his arms, and around his thick thighs. every movement pulls something sharp and defined beneath his skin. beside him, geto’s build is just as unfair, broad shoulders, dark shirt clinging slightly before he peels it off, exposing toned muscle and smooth skin. his silver chain catches the light, muscles flexing as he reties his long hair. and then there’s gojo, tall, bright, obnoxiously pretty, who yanks his shirt off with zero shame, tossing it aside like he knows exactly how many eyes just followed the motion, and his muscles were no joke.

“i’m not sitting out,” gojo declares, already walking backward onto the field. “we’re doing three on three. coach, you’re in.”

toji just exhales through his nose, rolling his shoulders like he expected this the second they showed up.

“be on our team!” yuuji immediately points at gojo, beaming.

gojo lights up like he just got chosen for something life-changing. “finally—someone that finally sees my value.”

that lasts about two seconds

“you’re goalie,” yuuji adds brightly. sukuna lets out a sharp laugh, head tipping back for a second. geto laughing louder across from them.

gojo freezes. “what the hell?!”

“well i’m playing,” yuuji says, like it’s obvious, gesturing between himself and sukuna. “and me and ryo are a team—”

“i play with him all the time!” gojo cuts in, scandalized.

yuuji scrunches his face, brutally honest. “yeah but…you guys hate each other.”

there’s a pause.

“…that’s not—” gojo starts, then stops, jaw ticking, and veins straining. he groans anyway, dragging himself toward the goal with exaggerated misery, muttering under his breath the whole time. sukuna and geto watch him go, lips twitching.

on the other side, toji doesn’t argue when he gets shoved into the same position for megumi and geto’s team. he just cracks his neck once, slow, eyes already tracking the field, mind anywhere but the game.

as the teams settle and the heat clings to their skin, the game starts off light. it’s almost easy. the ball moves quick between them, laughter cutting through the salt-heavy air as yuuji and megumi try to outdo each other, their smaller frames darting across the field with reckless energy. geto plays loose, smooth with it, backing megumi with an ease that makes it look effortless, while sukuna shadows yuuji, letting the kid take the lead, stepping in only when needed. for a moment, it feels normal. just a summer game.

gojo, unfortunately, blocks almost everything. he stretches out in the goal, long muscular limbs moving with lazy precision, talking shit the entire time. “stupid fucking game.”

and every now and then he lets one slip—on purpose—just enough for megumi to make a few shots, to keep him from scowling too hard. but toji doesn’t do the same. every shot yuuji takes, every burst of effort, gets shut down hard. clean catches. sharp deflections. not even a hint of mercy. and slowly, that grin on yuuji’s face starts to strain.

and that’s when sukuna shifts, a scowl pulls at his mouth. it’s subtle at first. he puts a little more force behind his kicks, losing patience. and then it builds faster, he feels something heavier sitting under his skin. and his focus drifts, between yuuji, the goalpost and everything else. the offer.

fuck!

the weight of this shit summer presses behind his eyes. and toji is just standing there, catching everything like it’s nothing. like sukuna isn’t trying hard enough. his jaw tightens as he drives the ball again, and again. harder each time, forcing plays, and, pushing past those friendly match into something rougher, more aggressive. geto notices. gojo definitely notices.

but sukuna doesn’t stop until the game ends just as messy and close and yuuji’s team barely scraping the win

the field immediately breaks into noise with yuuji and megumi arguing over fouls, both talking over each other with flushed faces and wild gestures.

“we already called that as offside,” yuuji shouts, shaking his head.

megumi scoffs, pointing, “you couldn’t even explain the offside rule to me a month ago!”

“doesn’t matter!”

sukuna’s barely listening as he grabs a towel and drags it over his face, and chest. sweat drips down his jaw, his torso and back gleaming under the sun. his free hand shoves a bottle into yuuji’s chest.

“drink,” he mutters. yuuji obeys without question, still mid-argument as he chugs.

gojo strolls over, dramatic as ever, wiping at his neck with a grimace. “this sweat is from the sun, not from a workout,” he complains, like he wasn’t just throwing himself around ten seconds ago. “fucking waste of an hour,” he adds, slapping his sunglasses on and stretching his arms behind his head.

the frat president is completely oblivious to the mini crowd off the field, until he turns his head to feel a gust from the ocean. that’s when he catches a couple girls nearby staring. his lip curls on instinct and easily flashes them a grin, and a lazy wave.

geto snorts under his breath beside him, adjusting his cap, equally as drenched. sukuna doesn’t care. his eyes are already elsewhere. specifically on the man he was arguing you with earlier.

toji stands near the benches, turned slightly away, phone pressed to his ear. his posture different. sukuna bites down on his jaw, something tightens in his chest. ‘I’ll handle it’ my ass.

his gaze flicks back to yuuji, still arguing, “why isn’t choso with you?”

yuuji doesn’t glance away from megumi, “i dunno, i walked here from school.”

“i told choso to bring ya over, gramps wanted a quiet friday,” sukuna frowns.

“he’s probably practicing. the competition is tomorrow,” yuuji thinks.

that rips gojo’s attention away from the girls, “ohh damn! that’s the battle of the bands thing right?”

yuuji nods, beaming as he recalls how much choso has been talking about it, “cho showed me a couple videos from the other bands that signed up, and they’re sooooo lame compared to him!”

sukuna listens. choso’s been practicing almost every night, usually at ino’s place since gramps would get cranky. but before kaori rose from dead over three months ago, choso was updating sukuna around the clock, including—

“i guess he found a way to pay the submission fee,” gojo tosses so casually it almost passes,.

sukuna’s brows pinch, head turning slightly. “how d’ya know about the submission fee?”

gojo blinks, like it’s obvious. “choso told me,” he shrugs, wiping sweat from the back of his neck. “back in april. remember when he ditched school and came to the house? kid was stressin’ about it.”

sukuna stills, “…he told you that?”

“yeah,” gojo hums, a little smug now. “said he was tryna handle it himself. didn’t wanna ask you ‘cause you’ve got,” he gestures vaguely, “your whole thing going on. y’know. life crisis, anger issues, whatever.”

geto snorts under his breath. yuuji is still arguing with megumi, completely oblivious. but sukuna doesn’t hear any of it. his jaw tightens, something cold slipping down his spine, because choso never said a word to him. not once. not about money. not about struggling, not about needing help.

and then it clicks.

a month ago the house had been quieter than usual. it was when sukuna stopped by on the weekend before the last week of classes and finals. gramps was out, yuuji was inside with megumi and nobara. sukuna had just come back from talking with toji, when he heard it, music bleeding out from the garage.

he hadn’t meant to stop, but he did. he leaned against the frame, arms crossed over his chest, he watched through the cracked door. choso stood in the middle of the cluttered space, guitar slung low, hair tied back messily. ino was adjusting something on an amp while the others tuned, voices overlapping in the garage.

“we still need the fee by next week,” ino mentions.

“i know,” choso muttered, fingers dragging through his hair. “i’m working on it.”

“you gonna ask your brother?”

choso’s head snapped up immediately. “no.”

too fast. too sharp.

“why not? he could literally—”

“i said no.” choso’s voice cut through the garage, firm, and defensive. “i’ll figure it out.”

there’d been a pause. awkward tension between the boys.

“…you sure?”

choso exhaled, shoulders dropping just a little, but he didn’t look back at them. just adjusted his grip on the guitar. “he’s got enough shit going on,” he said, quieter now. “i don’t need to add to it…I’ll have my half by June.”

and that was it. they moved on and started playing again. and sukuna left before they finished the song. competition’s usually cost around three hundred dollars. if he can’t figure it out himself, he’ll eventually ask his older brother for help. he always does…

but now, back on the field, the ocean air feels heavier. his tongue presses hard against the inside of his cheek.

“he didn’t say anything to me,” sukuna mutters, more to himself than anyone else.

gojo tilts his head. “yeah…i figured.”

and that makes something in sukuna’s chest twist, sharp and ugly. because now the timeline lines up too cleanly. kaori showing up. choso being curious about her. the fee. choso needing money. choso asking him to talk to her. and then— that bank transfer.

his gaze drops, jaw locking as the pieces start to settle into place in a way he really, really doesn’t like.

did he meet with kaori?

———

the house is quiet when sukuna gets back. it’s late—past midnight—and the only light on is the dull flicker from the tv in the living room. the front door clicks shut behind him, the smell of alcohol and citrus still clinging faintly to his clothes from his summer job at the bar. his shoulders ache, muscles heavy from the day, but his mind is louder than anything else.

the news drones on. wasuke sits in his usual spot, hunched slightly forward, a blanket thrown over his legs despite the summer heat. he doesn’t look over when sukuna walks in. he pauses for a second, then drops onto the couch beside his gramps with a low exhale, elbows resting on his knees, mind anything but calm. the only thing he could think about during his late shift was choso asking kaori for money.

“…how do you think choso’s doing?” his deep voice breaks the silence.

wasuke grunts, unimpressed. “you’re the one hovering over him like a leech.”

sukuna’s brows pull together, irritation flickering. “i’m not—”

“you are,” wasuke cuts him off, finally glancing at him. his eyes are sharp, even through the fatigue. “kid can’t breathe without you watching him while he shits.”

sukuna scoffs quietly, looking away. his jaw tightens, tongue pressing against his cheek. “he’s ignoring me still.”

“so let him.” the response is immediate, and it makes something in sukuna’s chest twist. he leans back into the couch, arms crossing loosely, gaze drifting to the tv but not really seeing it. the silence stretches for a beat, filled only by the low murmur of the broadcast.

“…he didn’t tell me about the money,” sukuna says finally, voice low and rougher now. “for the competition tomorrow.” wasuke doesn’t react right away. just shifts slightly in his seat. “he found a way to get it,” sukuna adds, eyes narrowing faintly. “on his own.”

another beat.

“…and you’re mad about that.”

sukuna exhales sharply through his nose. “i don’t like not knowing where the fuck it came from.”

wasuke hums. “so ask him.”

“he’ll lie, he already lied.”

“then that’s his problem.”

sukuna’s head snaps slightly, irritation spiking. “it becomes my problem if he’s getting mixed up with—” he cuts himself off. jaw tensing.

“…with her?” his gramps asks, voice colder.

the word hangs there without being said. kaori. sukuna doesn’t answer. but he doesn’t need to, his silence does it for him.

wasuke exhales slowly, leaning back into the couch, eyes drifting back to the tv. “i told you i want nothing to do with that woman,” he mutters.

“i know.”

“then stop bringing her into this house without her even bein’ here.”

sukuna’s jaw clenches, fingers tapping once against his arm before going still. “i’m not bringing her anywhere. she’s the one tryna get to choso and yuu.”

“and you’re letting her.”

sukuna blood spikes, “what?! how am I letting her! you want me to pull the same shit you did for me and do nothing?!”

wasuke’s expression hardens…

kaori’s voice could slice through walls, through skin. and his father would just stand there…patient…useless. and she tore into everything. that house was a fucking hellhole.

but wasuke didn’t ask questions, or comment. he didn’t bat an eye when sukuna stayed the extra night when visiting, or when he eventually brought more bags and stayed permanently.

“…if it’s still unclear to you, I don’t want her fucking everything up again,” sukuna mutters, quieter now. the tv flickers. some anchor talking about something sukuna could care less about.

“you left when you were around his age,” wasuke continues, voice gruffer now, but steadier. “you made your choice. it was a good one.” a pause. “but those boys didn’t.”

sukuna’s eyes lower.

“you kept choso over longer when they’d visit on the weekends,” wasuke says. “yuuji doesn’t even remember half of it.” he shifts, blanket rustling. “you don’t get to make their choices for them now just because you think you know better.”

sukuna’s chest tightens, “i’m not—”

“you are,” wasuke interrupts again, harsher this time. “you’re scared—“

that makes sukuna’s head snap up. his eyes flash, in defensive, anger raging. “i’m not scared of her-“

“not of her,” wasuke says simply. “of what happens if you’re wrong.”

the room goes still. completely still….

what if choso did go to her? what if he wanted to? what if he likes her? sukuna’s jaw locks, a cold anger bubbling up inside, old wounds opening as he recalls how—

“…she’s not good for them,” sukuna says, voice low and certain.

wasuke doesn’t argue that, he just sighs, long and tired, rubbing a hand over his aged face. “yeah,” he says. “but locking ‘em up isn’t gonna make it go away either.” sukuna looks away again, jaw tight. “couldn’t teach you shit because whenever I’d tell ya to do something, you’d do the opposite.”

he doesn’t respond…why are teenagers so difficult?

“and let me know if you’re gonna go to that training thing overseas.”

sukuna’s head snaps. “how do ya know about that?”

wasuke doesn’t bat an eye. “choso saw it in yuuji’s room and asked me about it.”

sukuna’s jaw tenses, sinking further into the couch, muscles tightening and mind pounding. his gramps continues watching, eyes ahead as his short tempered grandson quietly sits beside him.

sukuna’s room is dark when he finally pushes the door open. empty and quiet since yuuji’s at megumi’s. sukuna drags a hand down his face, kicking the door shut behind him before peeling off his shirt, tossing it somewhere on the floor. his jeans follow, shoved down and discarded without care until he’s left in just his boxers. the fan hums lazily in the corner, warm summer air clinging to his skin, still faintly sticky from his shift.

he drops onto his bed with a low exhale, one arm thrown over his eyes for a second, then his phone’s in his hand. mindless, numb doom scrolling. his thumb flicks up, up, up tapping on the string of insta stories.

gojo with multiple stories from today. yuuji mid-sprint across the field, megumi scowling in the background, another of gojo grinning like an idiot with geto, toji somewhere behind them looking half-interested at best. there’s one of sukuna too—shirtless, sweaty, mid-play—clearly taken without him noticing.

he clicks his tongue.

next. geto reposted the same ones gojo had tagged him in. a few others of the soccer ball, and one of sukuna yelling and pointing at gojo.

he scowls. next— his thumb pauses mid-scroll. he taps before he can think about it. it’s a repost from shoko’s story. you’re sprawled out on a gurney, knocked out cold in your scrubs, one arm hanging off the side like you just gave up mid-shift.

his lip quirks faintly. then another photo, you and shoko again, except now you’re slumped over the counter in a bar, still dressed in scrubs, cheek pressed to your arm resting on the surface, and completely knocked out again.

“the fuck…” sukuna huffs under his breath. his thumb lingers on the photo, then he taps your profile. his eyes flick over your dashboard, clicking the most recent photo. he’d already seen it, you haven’t posted since winter break, but his eyes still linger on the photo. on your face. your lips. he scrolls through your dash again, tapping on your highlights in hopes of finding a photo that’ll get him going…

his room is quiet, no one present to see how he quietly stalks your page, hand resting just above his—

BUZZ

his phone slips—smacking him straight in the face.

“fuck—!” he groans, hand flying up to his face as he answers, irritation already bleeding into his tone.

“hello?” your voice comes through, soft, and a little unsure.

“what,” he huffs, rubbing his face.

there’s a shift on your end. fabric, maybe, moving. “are you busy right now?”

“no, it’s fucking one am,” he snaps automatically, voice rough with exhaustion.

“right,” you murmur, a small pause. “sounds like I got you at a wrong time though?”

“you didn’t,” he says, a little quieter.

your lips purse…then, “how’s your summer?”

sukuna’s brow quirks, shifting on his bed, one arm tucking behind his head as he stares at the ceiling. “you called to ask how I am?”

“well we haven’t talked in almost a month-ish,” you say, casual, because it is, neither of you batting an eye about it. but he can picture that little shrug you do. “so like…yeah. how are you?”

something in his chest shifts as he exhales through his nose, giving in anyway. “fine.”

“yeah?” there’s a small smile in your voice now. he hums. “I saw satoru’s story. you guys looked like you were having fun.”

“yeah,” sukuna mutters. “my brother’s are off for break now.”

“ooo, fun,” you say softly, the word stretching a little.

the conversation flows casually, too comfortable for either of you to notice. “you back home doing the hospital thing then.”

you hum, then with a slight pause, “yeah.”

he shifts again, phone pressed closer to his ear without realizing. “looks like you’re sleeping the whole time,” he teases lightly, voice low.

there’s a small scoff on your end, breathy. “shut up. those were like—very strategic naps.”

“on a fucking gurney?” he snorts.

“listen,” you start, a little defensive now, a little more awake. “those shifts suck, and if i don’t sleep when i can, i’ll actually kill myself.”

“dramatic.”

“I’m never dramatic,” you shoot back, then quieter, “I’m literally exhausted all the time.”

there’s a beat. sukuna’s gaze drifts to the ceiling again, something softer settling in his chest without permission. “…sounds like it,” he mutters.

there’s another pause, and it doesn’t feel awkward, it’s familiar, like no time has passed at all and yet it has. his fingers tap idly against his stomach, mind quieter than it’s been all night.

“…you hate it there?” he asks after a second, tone more neutral now, less bite.

your exhale comes slower this time, heavier. “yeah,” you mutter honestly, unaware of the way sukuna’s jaw shifts slightly. then there’s a slight shifting on your end again. “four more weeks of this,” you add.

sukuna doesn’t realize how much he actually wants to hear your talk, hear your voice, something calm settling in his chest as he hums, hoping you’ll continue talking, and luckily you do.

“the best part is shoko being here,” you talk mindlessly, voice soft, clear that you’re trying not to make a lot of noise.

“and the worst part?” sukuna pokes, earning a light snort from you.

“my dad hovering over my shoulder and interrogating me,” you sigh, “can you talk to me?”

his brow quirks, “we are talking, you called me.”

you frown, rolling your eyes, “yeah to have like a conversation about something that’s not this dumb program.”

“and I’m a great conversationalist,” sukuna’s tone is laced with sarcasm.

“the best,” you add on, smile lifting your lips when you hear him snort. he exhales, his breath moving through the speaker and right into your ear, reminding you when it was really pressed close to you, warm and gentle.

“i’ve been working at a bar,” sukuna starts, mind slowly piecing together what he should talk about.

“for real?”

“yeah, is that shocking,” he throws, voice steady, barely reacting.

“no, i can picture it,” you coolly reply.

“smartass.” sukuna exhales, then continues. “since we’re getting deeper into summer people are moving into their beach houses.”

“Oo fancy.”

and maybe it was the slight comments that allowed sukuna to continue rambling about some annoying customers, or it could be your little questions that eased the knots in his chest. but sukuna felt natural speaking, telling you about moments in the last three weeks. and even touching on a subject very sore to him…

“oh wow that’s great. I’ve haven’t gone to a battle of the bands competition since I was high school,” you say, peaking sukuna’s interest in seconds.

“you were part of a band?”

you shake your head, “no lol,” you laugh, “my boyfriend was.”

sukuna goes quiet for half a second? not long enough for you to clock it, but long enough for something sharp to flicker under his skin.

“boyfriend,” he repeats, tone flat, he doesn’t notice.

you hum lightly, shifting on your bed. “yeah, from high school.”

“hm.” there’s a pause again. not awkward, just…thicker now. he doesn’t ask why you broke up. doesn’t ask anything that obvious. he doesn’t care, but still… “you lose your virginity to him?” he asks, casual.

you blink at your ceiling, lips pressing together. “as if,” you pause, “i don’t think i actually liked him like that to let him go all the way.”

sukuna’s brow twitches faintly, “what, so he was just there?” he scoffs.

you let out a small laugh. “kinda. he was cool when he was part of the band, but i think he liked me more than i liked him…which made me feel kinda bad.”

“figures.”

you roll your eyes, even though he can’t see it. “whatever.” but you’re smiling.

there’s another pause, shorter this time, then he tilts his head slightly against his pillow, voice dipping just a bit. “so what’d you let him do?”

“kissing, a little touching over the clothes…i dunno,” you slowly begin to recall the memories from high school. “he was…cringey.” you hesitate, then add, “he was always talking, but didn’t do much of anything else.”

a quiet huff of amusement leaves him, his lips twitch up. “talking,” he echoes.

“yeah,” you sigh. “like—texting. sexting. all that.”

“and you didn’t like it?”

you shake your head instinctively, “it was so…” you cringe just thinking back about it. “cringey and boring.”

there’s a small shift on his end, sheets rustling as he sits up a little more against his headboard, phone tucked closer to his ear. “boring?” he repeats, slower now, voice dropping.

“yeah,” you mumble. “it just felt…fake. like i was supposed to say certain things, or react a certain way because he was getting off…just gave me the biggest ick.” you pause, then add quieter, “and it never did anything for me.”

there’s a slight pause as sukuna goes quiet again, then—

“…so what does?” his voice is rougher now, deeper, slipping into something more familiar.

you blink, heat creeping up your neck at the shift in tone. “…what?”

“you said it’s boring,” he continues, slow and deliberate. “so what isn’t?”

your breath hitches, just a little, and he hears it. of course he does. it’s the one thing he knows about you. you wet your lips, suddenly very aware of how you’re laying, how your voice sounds, how he sounds.

“…i don’t know,” you deflect weakly.

“that’s not an answer.”

“it is when i’m half asleep,” you mumble, heat settling in your stomach. the house is quiet. your room even more.

he huffs quietly, a faint edge of a smirk, “…so if i started talking,” he says, almost offhand, like it’s nothing, “you’d just get bored and hang up?”

your stomach flips, because you know what he’s doing, and he knows you know.

“…no,” you say, softer now. you hesitate then, quieter, honest without meaning to be, because why else did you call him…your mind had drifted to him, and you clicked his number without thinking twice… “keep talking to me.”

that’s all it takes. there’s a shift on his end, barely audible, but it feels like the air tightens between you through the phone. sukuna exhales slowly through his nose, heat crawling up his neck.

“yeah?” he murmurs. you hum, softly. he didn’t realize how much he enjoyed your voice, so he continues talking, voice deeper, the way he speaks when it’s just the two of you, and when you’re underneath him… “you don’t post a lot.”

your brow quirks, “like on instagram?” he hums. “were you stalking me?”

“was just on your profile after i saw your story, then your idiot self calls me,” he huffs remembering the way his phone smacked him in the face. he ignores the way he didn’t feel embarrassed telling you though.

you laugh, “i probably sensed it,” you tease. heat blooming across your cheeks. “you want me posting more?”

his breath hitches.

“I can post if you ask me nicely,” you coo through the speaker, voice warm and light. “what d’ya want to see, ryo?”

the man snorts, biting his lip at the tone in your voice. you’re not making it subtle at all that you want a little bickering this late at night.

“you’d post if i told you too,” he murmurs, slower. “since when do you listen to me.”

you smile into your pillow, cheek warm, fingers idly tracing the fabric of your sheets. “depends how you ask.”

something settles deeper in his chest. “…what’re you doing right now?” sukuna asks, voice lower, steadier, not rushed.

you swallow lightly. “…in bed.”

“yeah?” he hums, hand ghosting over his the subtle bulge in his boxers. “what’re you wearing.”

your lips part, wetting your bottom lip as you exhale, “not much,” you admit, softer now. “shorts.”

“panties?” he asks, and you shake your head making a little noise. “is that the real reason ya called?”

“no,” you mutter, not knowing whether that’s a lie or the truth. of course, the possibility lingered in your mind when you thought of him…then when you clicked his contact…especially after, “i had a long day…and some guy asked for my number.”

sukuna’s hand stills, body going rigid.

“and for some reason…it just made me think of you,” the confession filled the quiet space of your rooms. “but then…i wanted to know, if we still had an agreement together..?”

the question hangs in the air for a moment.

then sukuna shifts, biting back a smirk, “you can let other guys fuck you if you’re so horny.” you frown, chest tightening— “but i can tell you’re afraid they might get scared of ya.”

your lips part, but he doesn’t give you a chance to respond.

“you’ll tell em to go faster and they’ll try, then you’ll tell them to go harder and they’ll give ya a look, and then you’ll shake that pretty ass waiting for them to spank it, because you’ll never say how much ya like it out loud,” sukuna’s words flow easily, turning your stomach into knots, thighs pressing together. “isn’t that why you thought of me? i know how wet you’re getting just from my voice.”

your lips part in quiet shock, face burning.

“tell me how drenched your pretty little pussy is,” his voice scratches an itch deep in your core, a small whimper leaving your lips. your hand crawls into your shorts, biting your lip as your slick immediately coats your digits.

“you touching’ yourself?”

“Mhm,” your cute voice flows straight to his cock, his hand moves over his bulge again. “I’m wet, ryo.”

he bites back a groan, “you miss havin my voice pressed against your ear, tellin ya what to do?”

you can’t hold back the whine that barely escapes your throat, sending a wave of heat rushing down to his cock.

“take the shorts off, princess.” sukuna immediately hears the rustling of bedsheets from your end. his hand continues to stroke himself over his boxers. you settle back near the phone with a light exhale. “ya took em off?”

“yes,” you breathe, lips glossy.

“you miss havin’ me there with you?” he listens carefully as you whine softly into the phone. “answer me.”

“yes, i miss you,” you sigh, ghosting a finger over your folds. the light breeze of your bedroom sending a pool of heat between your legs.

“what d’you miss?”

you wet your lips, dipping a finger into your folds. “miss your hands touching me,” your voice softens, juices collecting on your finger, as you slowly drag it up to your clit. “miss when you’d stretch me out.”

sukuna’s jaw clenches, palm pressing against his fully erect cock. “can’t stretch y’rself?”

you make a noise that sends sukuna into orbit. “my fingers are too small.” you wet your lips as you continue playing with your clit, your breath growing heavy. “i hate touching myself.”

“hate’s a strong word,” he snorts, shoving his boxers down, unbothered by the how hard he is. he reaches over for the nightstand before pausing. “fuck.”

“what?” you fingers pause their movement,

sukuna sits back, cock twitching, “forgot I’m not in my room.”

your brow quirks, heart stopping, “where are you then?”

“I mean at the frat. my little brother took over my room here when I moved out,” he explains, biting his lip as he looks down at his cock. “so no lube.”

oh.

heat spreads across your face.

“wish i had your sweet pussy here to get me nice n wet,” sukuna bites. saliva collects in his mouth as he leans forward, and then he spits a fat glob, watching it land right on his engorged tip. “you’re all drenched now, aren’t you?”

your face stings. of course he knows how drenched you are.

“you like playing with your pussy?”

your lips part, finger rubbing tight circles on your clit as sukuna lets out a low grunt. you can hear the distant squelch of his hand moving up and down his cock.

“n-no,” you exhale, cheeks hot.

“no?”

“it’s boring haah,” you confess, but your actions are saying the opposite, especially with the added whine in the end.

sukuna squeezes his base, “it’s boring to touch y’rself talkin’ to me?”

you hum quietly, lips parting, breathless, and uncharacteristically shy. it was the fact that you’re only hearing his voice, when you’re used to seeing him, touching him, the bickering was mutual even if he’d have your ass bruised everytime you quip back…but this time…you’re unbelievably aware of the fact that you’re alone. and maybe that’s why his confidence was overheating your brain in a way that had you touching your poor clit a little quicker.

“even if I tell you how hard my cock is jus’ talking to you. that doesn’t do anything?”

your brain goes dizzy just thinking about sukuna’s thick chubby cock — you don’t even realize the pathetic whine that comes out of you.

“doesn’t make your cunt tighten around those fingers?”

your chest heats up, sweat building across your forehead. “I’m not using my fingers…”

sukuna pauses his strokes, thumb nail digging into his slit, turning his cock a darker shade. “you’re just rubbing that poor nub then?”

a mix of a hum and whine comes out. your fingers slow, mimicking the way sukuna would’ve been touching you, but…it’s not that same, not even close.

“push in a finger.”

your chest rises, legs parting. “mm’kay…” you leave your clit, fingers covered in your honey as you drag them lower, teasing your puckering hole. “it never feels good when I do it myself though,” you mutter.

sukuna twist his wrist up and down his cock. pre oozes down the veins and ridges, unbothered by the fact that it’s been a minute since he’s jerked off himself. the last time was when he was in your room—

he ignores you. “push a finger in, and keep rubbing your clit f’r me.”

you listen, gently pushing a finger in. the satisfying sensation of fullness doesn’t take you over, instead you’re whining softly, breathless as you rub your clit. “it doesn’t feel good ryo.”

“push your fingers deeper, and then ya gotta curl them until you feel that gummy part—“

“it all feels gummy,” you exhale, working your clit faster, not fully realizing your other hand is mimicking the way your fuck buddy fingers you. “haah I’m jus’—“ you suppress your moans, the speaker picking up every hitch in your throat, and quiet whine.

“you fingering yourself, baby?”

your lips part, working yourself more. “y-yea-haah..”

sukuna’s voice drops an octave, hand coming down to cup his heavy balls, working his cock faster. “atta girl.”

heat breaks out.

your glossy lips part, choked moans filling sukuna’s ear.

“keep going—ngh, y’er getting my cock so fucking hard,” he grunts, his biceps bulge, veins on his forearms flexing dangerously as he strokes himself aggressively. you whine a little more, his words making you clamp around your pathetic finger, your clit throbs as you rub tighter circles.

“y-you like my voice?” you don’t mean to make your voice that breathless, but it comes out either way. what you don’t expect is the choked groan that comes from the phone.

“fhuck,” one leg bends up, before butterflying out, fuck he misses your teasing. “you wanna get spanked for that?”

his lip quirks the moment you whine on instinct.

“knew you were a dirty fucking slut,” he grunts strokes picking up. images of your gorgeous face getting all flustered at his words appears in his mind. “ya like gettin’ punished.”

it wasn’t a question, but you still deny it with a cute huff from your end. “I don’t.”

“you do,” he states, tongue dragging across his lip, “you wish I had ya bent over my lap, spanking that pretty ass until ya start crying.”

you hate the way your skin burns, and his name falls from your lips. “I’ve never cried.” his loud, deep, laugh rattles through your speaker, sending a wave of heat to your face. your lips purse, finger curling inside you, but coming out just to rub your puffy clit quicker. “don’ ah laugh at me.”

“you’re a liar,” he snorts between laughs. his cock is throbbing, bulbous tip a dark shade of red as clear pre dribbles at the slit, sliding down the protruding veins and ridges. it was a filthy pathetic mess how hard he is. “fucking asking for a spanking now.”

“mmm not,” you pant, lips parting as you get closer, his voice the only thing your fixating on. “I’m not haah.”

“you’d still bend over if i asked,” he smirks at the soft whine that leaves your lips. “you’d also pull down your pants just to show me how wet your panties are.” your hand sneaks into your shirt, fingers twisting your nipple. “then you’d get embarrassed when I pinch your little clit through them, scolding you for getting all drenched when this should be a punishment.”

“fuuh…” you choke.

you’re so precious.

his grip tightens on his cock, jerking it harder, abs clenching at the knot coiling inside. “then you’d start crying when I start making ya count each spank.”

“I wouldn’t,” your lips are so wet, sukuna can practically hear how glossy they are.

“you’re so dumb when you get wet and needy, you don’t even realize you’re crying,” he coos, “I think ya do it on purpose.”

“I don’t.”

“you do,” sukuna’s grunt hits your ear. his hand is jerking his painful cock the squelching is so loud you can hear it. “you know how fucking hard it makes me.”

you whine at the admission, squirming as you draw closer to your relief. tongue poking out, panting into the mic. sukuna groans in response, his throat bops.

“seein’ you look at me, and I know there’s nothin else you’re thinking about except my cock,” he bites his lip at the image he’s conjuring up, just as you call his name, light and sweet. “fuck y’er close?”

“Mhm,” a breathless moan escapes. “gunna cum.”

“haah fuck same,” he keeps going, “fuuck I wanna kiss you so bad.”

you whine, legs trembling as you feel your orgasm start to come.

“miss my dirty girl cumming around my cock ngh,” his grunts aren’t as deep or loud, as they are when he’s fucking you. and that small detail sticks in your mind as you feel the searing white relief wash over you. the warmth floods through your body, slow and heavy, leaving your limbs loose against the sheets.

on the other end, sukuna’s groan comes out heavy and deep, hot ropes shooting onto his abs, hand stroking more cum our as he slowly goes quiet… breathing hard.

after a moment, he shifts, the faint rustle of fabric and movement carrying through the phone, and his head tips back against the pillow, eyes shut. his cock rests on his stomach, white thick cum all over his abs and happy trail. but…

his mind is blank for once. no kaori. no choso. no future clawing at his chest. just you. the sound of you, and it settles something in him in a way he doesn’t question, but just lets it happen, chest rising and falling slower now.

“…you fall asleep?” he mutters after a beat, voice rough, quieter than before.

you shake your head instinctively, even though he can’t see it, lashes fluttering as you stare at nothing. “no…just coming down,” you murmur, voice soft, airy, like you’re barely holding onto it. there’s a pause. then, almost sheepish, “kinda anticlimactic…”

he huffs a quiet laugh through his nose, glancing down briefly at the mess he made himself before dragging his clean hand over his face.

“yeah,” he agrees, voice gravelly, worn out from the day.

you roll onto your side, curling slightly into your pillow, phone pressed closer to your ear. neither of you says anything for a few seconds, just the quiet sound of each other breathing. an unspoken calmness easing you both.

on his end, you hear him shifting again, something soft brushing against fabric, the faint sound of movement as he cleans up without thinking much about it. it’s mundane, grounded, and real. and all you can think about is how different it would feel if he were actually here. how warm he’d be beside you. how easy it would be to just turn your head and press into him instead of speaking into a phone. your fingers curl into your sheets a little tighter at the thought.

“…you’re quiet again,” he murmurs, settling back in his bed, casually lifting his hips and pulling his boxers up.

“just tired,” you whisper back. there’s another pause, as sukuna hears you yawn, his eyes grow heavy. “I’m gonna go to sleep, but,” you yawn again, “send a video of your brother tomorrow.”

sukuna smiles, “gonna think about your ex?”

“as if,” you snort, “i rarely ever think about that guy.”

sukuna’s tucks an arm behind his head, “so you think about him?”

you yawn, rolling onto your stomach, “I’m gonna go to sleep now.”

sukuna doesn’t comment on the not-so-subtle deflection, he just lets the silence sit for a second longer before muttering a low, “g’night.”

you echo it back, softer. neither of you hangs up right away, but eventually the line clicks. and the room is quiet again.

he doesn’t move for a while after. he lays there, staring at the ceiling, phone still loose in his hand. the fan hums overhead, pushing around warm summer air lingering through the cracked window. everything feels…slower, quieter, his skin stinky from his orgasm. his mind isn’t clawing at him like it has been for the past three weeks. it’s dulled, softened at the edges, and annoyingly…it’s because of you.

your voice. the way you call his name. the way you needed him, even from miles away.

sukuna exhales through his nose, dragging a hand down his face before finally tossing his phone onto the mattress beside him. his eyes close not long after, body sinking heavier into the bed. and for once sleep comes easy.

the next morning hits hot. the heat sticks to his skin before the sun’s even fully up, and sukuna’s already running. shirtless, drenched in sweat, muscles pulling and flexing with every stride as he cuts along the stretch near the water. his breathing is steady, controlled, but his mind is anything but…it was yesterday, but he expected some information from toji, or shiu. and his gramps words all coming back to him.

everything loops and overlaps, and it presses in from every angle until his jaw is tightening and his pace picks up just a little more, trying to outrun his fucking head.

his shoulders are rising and falling as he slows, sweat dripping down the sharp lines of his chest, his back, and disappearing into the waistband of his shorts. a few early beachgoers glance his way—lingering longer than necessary—but sukuna barely registers it. his mind is still somewhere else. the day goes by like a clock.

every blink and he’s somehow in a new location.

he ends up, back home in the bathroom. shower running. mirror fogging. and somehow his phone is resting on the counter as he’s hunched over, finger swiping—and your profile pulled up.

he scrolls without thinking. his thumb flicking lazily through pictures, your face, your smile, the ones from your study abroad trip, the old ones from nights out. he even goes through your highlights again…he pauses on one. zooms in slightly. his jaw shifts.

“…fuck,” he mutters under his breath, head tipping back for a second like he’s annoyed at himself more than anything else. this is stupid. and yet, his hand won’t stop jerking his cock.

he needs you here.

his thumb taps your name before he can overthink it. the message bar blinks and he stares at it for a second. then types, quick, blunt, like it’s nothing.

send me a pic.

your lips purse as you glance at your phone. you and shoko, by some miracle have a weekend off, and that’s spent lounging in your basement. well, until you’re shifting your attention from the movie, to your phone screen.

what in the world…your fingers tap…

[1:08PM] crybaby: wdym a pic?

[1:08PM] dumbass: need some help with this

*attached photo*

your eyes bulge out of their eye sockets, phone slamming into your chest, hiding your screen, and head whipping up. shoko cranes her neck, focus on the movie still, but giving you a glance, “there wasn’t even a jumpscare.”

your eyes snap to her, “no, I just remembered i had to send my dad this one file…thing… from my—yeah give me one second.” you scramble up to your feet, heading to the stairs.

“you want me to pause—!?” shoko yells after.

within the blink of an eye, you’re back in your room, gawking at the lewd, perverted, uncalled for dick pic you were just sent.

you can recognize sukuna’s chubby engorged cock anywhere. heat crawls up your neck in seconds, the tuft of dark hair at the base and his hand wrapped around the monster, veins protruding and tip flushed red and leaking. your lips purse, controlling the way you feel your pussy clench.

[1:10PM] crybaby: u’re jerking off in the middle of the day?

[1:10PM] dumbass: yea so send a fucking pic so I can get off

[1:10PM] dumbass: ur ig is ass

you tsk, face still warm.

[1:10PM] crybaby: rude

[1:11PM] crybaby: weird asl you’re getting off to my ig anyways

[1:11PM] dumbass: weird asl my dumb ass fuck buddy isn’t fixing my problem

[1:11PM] crybaby: RUDEEEE SO RUDE

sukuna’s head tips forward in irritation. his jaw tightens as he looks down at his painful erection.

[1:12PM] crybaby: srsly tho

[1:12PM] crybaby: you can’t send or show anyone

[1:12PM] dumbass: wtf?? y tf would I do that

[1:13PM] crybaby: it’s almost like you’re in a frat or smt

sukuna tsks.

[1:13PM] dumbass: no one will see the pic

[1:13PM] dumbass: send

[1:12PM] crybaby: say please

his lip twitches….

[1:13PM] dumbass: please

you’re sat on the edge of your bed, dangerous smile plastered on your face.

[1:13PM] crybaby: please what?

he wets his lips, palm squeezing his cock, as starts moving his hand. fuck, you’re such a brat.

[1:14PM] dumbass: please send me pic of you

you’re already taking off your shorts and panties, typing…

[1:15PM] crybaby: I dunno if u sound sincere

sukuna frowns.

[1:15PM] crybaby: send me a voice note

death.

sukuna’s scowl almost cracks the mirror. you’re fucking messing with him, but at this point, he’s in desperate need of release. and unfortunately, he’d rather cum in a second just from looking at a photo of you, than search for a vid on x that’ll get him to cum in hours. so within the next thirty seconds of cursing you out under his breath. the thirty seconds following, was him tapping the audio, and holding his phone close to his lips.

[1:17PM] dumbass: *audio recording*

the first thing you hear is your name, then a distant…grunt…

“can you please,” he practically seethes, voice unbelievably deep… “…send me a goddamn photo. please—ng—“ the audio cuts off his groan.

you’re lips part.

oh. my. god.

your face bursts into flames. you position yourself, kneeling on your bed, phone up, shirt pushed over your breasts. your nipples hard from the cool air. you spread your legs, just wide enough for him to see that you’re completely bare down there. your cheeks sting, eyes darting over the photo, thumb hovering over the send button…

he’s just a fuck buddy….but he’s also a frat guy…you hesitate. your heart beats against your chest, uncharacteristically nervous.

[1:20PM] dumbass: you’re killing me here

fuck, he’s so hot—

[1:20PM] crybaby: *photo attached*

his jaw tightens, tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek. then he clicks the photo, and his breath catches somewhere in his chest as his eyes drag slowly over the image. your lips slightly parted, your chest, bare and soft under the daylight coming in from your room. the angle’s lazy and careless, barely even trying.

“…fuck,” he mutters under his breath.

his hand braces against the counter, fingers spreading slightly against the cool surface as he leans forward, head dipping. his patience, already worn thin from the run, from the past few weeks, from everything. and it’s your picture that has sukuna buckling over, aggressively jerking his swollen cock, zooming in on your tits, then back to your face, and finally shooting his load on himself and the counter.

“fuck.”

you barely make it back downstairs when you receive a photo, followed by a text. you flush at the bottom of the steps, flustered smile pulling at your lips as you stare at the cum covering sukuna’s sculpted abs, and then a thanks.

you heart the message, keeping your comment about how it’s barely been five minutes since you sent the photo, to yourself. and unfortunately the moment you glance up, your smile immediately drops.

“I was calling you,” your mom throws as she walks past you, easily scooping up your four year old niece, yazzy.

“she was ignoring you on purpose.”

your vein pops.

“I wasn’t ignoring her,” you snap at jennie, irritation written all over your voice as shoko pops her head out from the kitchen. “why did you come a week early, I thought you had stuff to do?”

your mom huffs at the attitude, her eyes flicking to see shoko, before plastering a smile, “always arguing,” she waves, her attempt at distracting your friend. “sisters.”

shoko laughs through her nose, smiling. as your mom introduces your niece to shoko, you’re reluctantly helping jennie with her suitcases, purposely giving her the cold shoulder. considering the last time you spoke turned into an argument and her leaving for the airport, you hadn’t reached out since.

“how’s working with dad?”

your eyes flick to her. “fine.”

“good.” there’s a beat of silence, just as shoko comes back to the living room.

“I’m gonna go to target,” shoko says.

your eyes lit up, “oh I’m coming too!”

shoko reserves her thoughts until you’re both in your sister’s old car. music filling the space, windows rolled down, and shoko glancing at the road ahead. “do you usually fight with your sister?”

you blink, slightly caught off guard. “I mean,” you try to form your thoughts, “she’s just judgmental, and like—never puts herself in other people’s shoes.” you shift in the drivers seat. “she thinks she’s the smartest person in the world.”

shoko isn’t like utahime…she doesn’t pry in a lot, but she’s been staying with you for the last few weeks, so it’s only inevitable that she picks up on certain things. one of which is your horrible habit of avoiding any relationship head on. while your sister is one, she clearly sees it almost everyday when you guys are at the hospital.

for the amount of times you avoid mentioning your dad when you’re in school, you’re the first to help if he needs anything at work. the first to step in, the first to skip your lunch to help, the first to act…and you’re not embarrassed.

except when other doctors are around, seeing this…and the comments follow after…

“you’re such a good daughter.” “you must be your parents favorite.” “I wish my son would act like you.” “your dad must be so proud.”

and that’s when shoko would notice the shift. the way you’d get quiet, the way you’d force out a smile, the way you’d excuse yourself to finish work. and shoko couldn’t understand the difference until you were at the bar after work. you weren’t even drinking, your sad sat comfortably in your hand as you stared at the sticky table.

“i have no idea why adults think i wanna hear being called my parents favorite like I’m ten or something,” you scowl quietly, irritation bubbling over from the long ass day.

“yeah that was weird,” shoko nods along sipping from her drink and scrolling on her phone.

“like actually, I’m my dads favorite because I’m doing exactly what he wants me to do. obviously I’m not gonna embarrass him and be lazy especially because he got me this job, but that doesn’t mean i want to be there,” you groan head falling on the bar. “freaking hate working there, and i hate his stupid comments.”

shoko glances up, “did he say something today?”

you frown, “I can’t do this without you,” you recall his words, brows pinching tighter. “bros acting like I’m the best support beam ever, freaking doormat can’t even say anything back.” you bury your face in your arm.

shoko reaches a hand out, touching your arm in comfort. “yeah…hopefully you get something after the program.”

you hum quietly, higurama’s words from a few weeks ago resurfacing. “I have that meeting with hiromi’s uncle next week.”

shoko’s eyes light up. “ohh that’s really good!”

you smile at her excitement, nodding. “yeah, hopefully he gets me a contact.”

shoko nods frantically, “for sure for sure!” she waves a bartender, “let’s get a shot.”

“just one,” you cut in.

as the bartender slides two shot glances towards you gushing, shoko is raising the glass. “and gojo finally decided on dates for the trip.”

your brows furrow, “isn’t that with just your little high school group?”

shoko nods, “last summer gojo invited a ton of randos, and me and utahime told him we’re gonna invite you, but you had something last summer.” oh right. “so do these dates work for you,” shoko says turning her phone screen towards you.

you hum, butterflies breaking out inside your chest. it’ll be a good summer….just after these hellish few weeks.

so shoko stays silent on the ride to target, easily changing the topic and turning up the volume to the music. 

“oh and sorry about my sister barging in, but she’ll be in a hotel next week when her husband comes, so you can just stay with me in my room.” 

shoko waves you off, “all good.” 

and the flow in the car returns as shoko talks about how she didn’t like the movie you just watched, while you defend it, hands flying, voice animated, a laugh slipping out of you. completely unaware of the events that transpire hours later, a few hundred miles away, with a certain soccer captain—

the venue is loud. amps buzzing, feedback screeching through cheap speakers, bodies packed shoulder to shoulder as the set bleeds into chaos with applause. people are shouting, laughing, drinks sloshing onto the floor—

and sukuna is already pushing through it, hard. people stumble when he hits them, curses thrown over shoulders, but he doesn’t stop. doesn’t apologize. doesn’t even look back. his expression is sharp, carved in something ugly and his jaw is locked so tight it aches, eyes dark and fixed on one thing only. backstage.

“move,” he snaps, voice cutting through the noise like a blade. someone tries to protest just for sukuna to aggressively shove past them anyway.

the curtain jerks as he pushes through, the muffled roar of the crowd dropping just enough, and then he sees him. choso.

sitting off to the side, shoulders hunched, eyes red…too red. his hands are clenched in his lap, knuckles pale, breathing uneven. sukuna’s blood pressure spikes so fast it feels dizzying, a rush of heat flooding his chest, his arms, his hands. and his fists are already curling before he even realizes it.

because just a foot away stands kaori.

sukuna goes completely still for half a second, his gaze dragging from her to the red mark on choso’s cheek.

then something in him snaps.

a/n: I know that was over a month wait for the chapter. so many things happened, ramadan, work, etc. and I really thank you all for your patience, and it always make me so unbelievably grateful that you guys are still reading, so thank you thank you thank you!! 

and this was a very plot heavy chapter, and because I made you guys wait so long I’ll just lyk that next chapter will include this summer trip gojo has been planning, so it’ll be fun :p

[eunandonly]

FAKE DATING WITH BOYNEXTDOOR

fake dating boynextdoor was easy–until it started feeling real

( 対 ) boynextdoor + fem. reader 1477WC · fake dating trope contains! fake dating, skinship, language / archive

은 : i'm going to try my best to be a bit more active on blr now that i'm on spring break >< i hope you guys enjoy this fic!! ily <3

myung jaehyun 

when you ask myung jaehyun to fake date, he agrees to it immediately, flashing you that signature smirk. it almost worries you when you see the grin. you know he’s up to absolutely no good.

he treats it like a game at first, but you find the way he slips into the role so effortlessly almost unnerving. he throws his arm over your shoulder in public, calling you “babe” without hesitation and teases you whenever you get flustered. 

“you’re blushing,” he whispers, lips barely grazing your ear as you try to keep your face neutral. “are you falling for me already?”

cocky bastard.

jaehyun finds your reactions entertaining, but there’s a strange possessiveness in the way he glares at anyone who talks to you, or looks at you a bit too long. he nearly punches a guy trying to get your phone number, and when you call him out, he just shrugs, claiming that it “needs to be convincing.”

he takes you by surprise by remembering little things about you, how you take your coffee, your favourite snack. he brushes it off with a casual “a boyfriend would do this.” 

but the longer this goes on, the less it feels fake. you catch him staring when he thinks you’re not looking, his teasing flirty remarks losing its playfulness. 

“you know,” he says one day, his voice softer than usual. “i think I might've forgotten to pretend.”

park sungho

sungho hesitates when you first tell him your idea. you tell him it’s a great idea; fake dating so that you can get your ex boyfriend back, and he can get back his ex girlfriend. killing two birds with one stone, you say. sungho’s not too sure, but he gives in after some begging from your side.

sungho isn’t sure why, but the thought of pretending to be your boyfriend makes him unreasonably nervous. 

at first, he’s awkward–stuttering over pet names, clearing his throat when you hold his hand. but he still finds himself holding doors open for you, carrying your things without being asked, offering you his jacket when the weather gets chilly. the first time you kiss him, it’s on the cheek, and sungho practically freezes, ears tomato red as he tries his best to avoid your gaze. 

“we should practice more,” he says out of the blue one day. “it needs to be convincing.”

you’re quick to tell him that you’re already being convincing, that it’s him that’s the problem.

sungho’s careful with boundaries, always asking, ‘is this okay?” before touching you in any way. but then things start shifting, there’s no denying it. he texts you good morning without thinking, lingers a little too long after fixing your scarf, gets defensive when someone asks about your relationship. 

park sungho doesn’t realise he’s falling until it’s too late.

“i don’t want this to be fake anymore,” he says one night, standing outside your door whilst fidgeting with his sleeves. “forget about my ex, i want you.”

lee sanghyuk

riwoo finds the whole situation really fucking funny. 

“fake dating? how desperately do you want that asshole back? yeah, i’ll do it, it’s gonna be so fun.”

yeah well, it's fun. for him.

from the moment you two announce your “relationship”, he plays it up like you’re in some kind of terribly cliche, terribly cheesy romance movie, throwing dramatic love confessions at random.

“my love, i would walk through fire for you!” he declares loudly in the school hallway, before snickering as you try your best to do damage control to no avail. 

riwoo’s constantly teasing, winking at you in class and whispering stupid things like, “careful, you might actually fall for me.” just to see your face redden in embarrassment. but then there are moments when he tones it down, and it’s a bit too natural–the way he rests his head on your shoulder when he’s tired, or the way his hand absentmindedly finds yours.

“why’re you blushing?” he teases, but he’s blushing too. 

the problem is, he never knows himself when he’s joking and when he’s being serious. he tells himself it’s just an act, just a way for you to get back your dickhead boyfriend who looks like a two out of ten. but he finds his heart stuttering when you look at him just right. 

and soon, riwoo finds himself wishing the act would never end. 

one day he turns to you, his usual stupid grin plastered on his face, but there’s something softer behind it. 

“so, uh, what if we didn’t stop fake dating?”

han dongmin

when you ask han taesan to be your fake boyfriend to make you ex jealous, he barely reacts. barely even raises his head, murmuring, “sure,” as if you just asked him to pass the salt. 

annoying little bitch.

but beneath his cool, nonchalant exterior (that’s what he thinks), his mind is racing.

he’s not the person for over-the-type gestures, but he shows affection in the smallest ways–remembering your favourite drink order, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, pulling you closer when walking near traffic. you applaud his for being boyfriend material and make a point to very loudly wonder why he’s never had a girlfriend before remembering, aha, his personality is shit.

han taesan insists he doesn’t care about pda, but if someone questions your relationship, he’ll kiss your cheek without a second thought. 

“see? believable.” he says, ignoring the way his heart is pounding. he does it so naturally that even he forgets it’s fake sometimes. he texts you late at night to check if you’ve eaten and gets irritated when other guys get too close. but taesan’s stubborn, and he spends most of his time gaslighting himself that he doesn’t like you like that, brushing it off as just an act. 

then one day, he catches himself staring, thinking how you look a little bit too pretty, hands itching to reach for yours. 

“you said i’m boyfriend material, right?” he asks, catching you by surprise.

“yeah sure.”

“ok, well how about you give up on your shitty ex and we date for real? i’m like, hotter than him too.”

kim donghyun

leehan takes the whole fake dating thing very, very seriously. when you tell him about your ideas, he looks more determined than you, face serious as he says, “if we’re going to do this, we really have to sell it.” you end up having to ask him if he has an ex girlfriend he wants back, because there’s no way he should be this invested in the whole plan.

he makes you practice with him; holding hands, casual touches, so it looks natural. but the more you two practice, the more it starts feeling real. he’s always respectful, never crossing boundaries and always asking if you’re comfortable. but he’s a little too good at being a boyfriend. he ties your shoelaces when they come undone, carries your bag without you asking and smiles at you in a way that makes your heart ache. 

“why’re you looking at me like that?” you ask one day when you catch him staring at you in the restaurant on one of your fake dates. 

leehan just grins. “because you’re cute.”

it’s moments like these that make you forget this isn’t real. but then he starts getting flustered–hesitating before calling you pet names, looking away too quickly when you catch him staring. he’s the first to realise his feelings, but it takes him forever to act on them.

one evening, he exhales deeply before turning to you. “so… what if we kept dating?” he asks, nervous but hopeful. “for real this time?”

kim woonhak

woonhak is way too excited to date you. yeah, it’s fake, but he’s still technically dating you. he’s already planning out cute couple photos. 

woonhak fully commits, calling you cute nicknames, being your personal hype boy, and practically beaming with excitement when you’re around.

you think he’s kind of cute.

“this is my girlfriend,” woonhak announces to everyone, holding your hand. “she’s so pretty isn’t she? yeah, well she’s super smart as well, and-”

he’s affectionate without realising–holding your hand, fixing your hair, resting his chin on your shoulder. it’s all a joke to him at first, but then he starts feeling weird.

why does his heart race when you smile at him? why does he hate seeing other people flirt with you?

“i’m not jealous,” he insists, but his pout says otherwise. 

one day, you joke about breaking up just to see his reaction, and he gasps dramatically.

“if we ‘break up, i’m keeping the dog we don’t have.” 

but behind the playful tone, there’s real fear. he’s known for a while now, this isn’t fake to him anymore. one evening, as you’re walking home together, he suddenly blurts out, “wait, you didn’t know? i fell for you ages ago.”