aisa.

• jisung's .

[kkyeoji]

when the quiet breaks

pairing: jaemin x reader

in which...the softness between you and jaemin slowly turns to silence. genre: angst, falling out of love, est relationship w/c: 3.5k ish

there were nights when you couldn’t remember what the beginning felt like. not the first kiss, or the first fight, or the first time he held your hand in that tiny cafe with his stupidly warm fingers. not even the first “i love you.” no, what you couldn’t remember—what hurt the most—was the first time it started to fall apart.

jaemin had always been a little too beautiful for his own good. not just in how he looked, but in the way he existed. like he was always halfway in another world. kind, but distracted. warm, but far away. you used to love that about him—how he made you feel like the only real thing in his orbit. how he looked at you like he’d found something worth staying on earth for.

but lately, his eyes didn’t hold that wonder anymore. lately, you felt like one more thing he was trying not to drop.

it started with the little things. unread texts. plans rescheduled. conversations cut short with, “sorry, practice ran late,” or “i’m just tired today.” and you understood. god, you always understood. he had a dream. a life. responsibilities you couldn’t begin to carry for him. but part of you still waited. still hoped for the version of him that used to show up on your doorstep at midnight with your favorite snacks just because he missed your face.

but he hadn’t missed your face in weeks.

you sat on the edge of your bed one night, phone in hand, screen lit up with a single-word reply from him: “sleeping.”

you stared at it like it might turn into something else. an apology. an explanation. anything. instead, the screen dimmed, and the silence wrapped itself around your chest like a fist.

“do you even want this anymore?” you typed, then deleted it. typed again. deleted.

you didn’t send it. not yet.

when you saw him next, it was different. colder, somehow. his arms still wrapped around you when you opened the door, his cheek still pressed against your hair, but it felt rehearsed. careful. like he was trying to remember the steps of a routine he didn’t want to dance anymore.

you didn’t say anything. not when he sat on your bed and scrolled through his phone. not when he barely touched the dinner you made. not even when he left without kissing you goodnight.

you curled up under the covers that night and told yourself you were just tired too.

but it got harder.

the more he slipped away, the harder you held on. you became someone you didn’t recognize—someone who watched his every move, who counted the seconds he took to reply, who smiled less and questioned more. it made you feel small. pathetic. but love will do that to you—make you chase after pieces of someone who stopped giving themselves freely.

one night, you finally asked.

“are we okay?” your voice broke halfway through the question.

he looked up from his phone, startled, like he didn’t expect you to speak. “what?”

“us,” you said, softer. “are we still… okay?”

jaemin blinked. and for the first time, he didn’t answer right away.

that silence told you more than any words ever could.

“i don’t know,” he said finally. and it was worse than if he had just said no.

you nodded slowly, trying to breathe through the sharp ache in your chest. “right.”

he reached out then, like he wanted to take your hand, but you pulled away before he could. because if he touched you, you knew you’d fall apart.

“do you still love me?” you whispered.

he opened his mouth. paused. looked away. “i think so.”

you laughed, bitter and quiet. “you think so.”

“i didn’t mean it like that—”

“no, jaemin. you don’t think when you love someone. you just do.”

his face crumpled a little, like the guilt finally landed somewhere in his chest. but it was too late. too many cracks. too many silences. too many almosts and not-enoughs.

he stayed the night. you laid beside each other in the dark, backs turned, both pretending to sleep. and when he finally got up in the morning and kissed your forehead, you didn’t open your eyes.

you didn’t want to see him leave.

you stopped texting first after that. stopped asking if he’d eaten. stopped waiting for his good mornings and goodnights. part of you hoped he’d notice the difference, that he’d come running back with a thousand apologies and the boy you fell in love with in his eyes.

he didn’t.

the next time he reached out, it was two weeks later.

“can we talk?”

you met him at the park you used to go to on lazy afternoons, where he once pushed you on a swing and said you looked happiest in the air.

this time, the air was heavy. grey clouds overhead. no wind. no laughter.

jaemin was already sitting on the bench when you got there, head bowed, hands fidgeting.

he looked up when he heard your steps. and the sadness in his eyes nearly undid you.

“hey,” he said softly.

you nodded. “hey.”

you walked in silence for a bit, your shoes kicking up the fallen leaves, the weight of everything unsaid settling like fog between you.

“i haven’t been fair to you,” he started. “i know that.”

you didn’t reply.

“i let things get bad. i thought if i ignored it, maybe it’d get better. maybe we’d fix ourselves without having to talk about it. but… that was stupid.”

you glanced at him. “yeah. it was.”

he nodded, like he expected that. “i’ve been scared.”

“of what?” your voice was quiet.

“of losing you.”

that made you stop walking. you turned to face him, eyes wide. “you lost me the moment you stopped trying, jaemin.”

his jaw tightened. “i know.”

“you let me feel alone in a relationship. do you know how fucked up that is?”

his voice cracked. “i didn’t mean to. i didn’t know how to balance everything.”

“you could’ve just told me that.”

“i didn’t want to disappoint you.”

you shook your head, blinking fast. “you did anyway.”

a pause. then—“do you still love me?”

you looked at him, really looked. at the boy you once thought you’d marry. at the boy who held your trembling hands during your panic attacks. who danced with you in the kitchen, barefoot and grinning. who kissed you like he was afraid you’d disappear.

and yet here you were—right in front of him. already gone.

“i don’t know,” you whispered. and this time, it was his turn to break.

he reached for you then, hands shaking, eyes wet. “please. i’ll do better. i swear, i’ll do better.”

“why now?” you asked, stepping back. “why only when it’s too late?”

he had no answer.

you stood there in the cold, hearts laid bare, and for the first time, there was nothing left to salvage. just two people who loved each other once. and tried. and failed.

“i’ll always wish we made it,” you said.

jaemin’s voice cracked. “me too.”

and that was it.

no dramatic goodbye. no final kiss. just the sound of leaves crunching under your feet as you walked away.

he didn’t follow.

and you didn’t look back.

[kkyeoji]

in which...you started going to the campus basketball games for chenle, but end up staying for jisung

genre: basketballplayer!jisung x reader, fluff, mutual pining, strangers to?... w/c: 672

you started going to the campus basketball games just to support your friend chenle.

chenle — loud, energetic, impossible to miss — had joined the team this semester and begged you to come to the games. at first, you only showed up for him, sitting somewhere in the middle rows, pretending you knew what was going on. but over time, your attention kept drifting somewhere else.

number 5. point guard. jisung.

he wasn’t flashy like some of the others — no showy dunks or over-the-top celebrations. but he was fast, steady, always a few moves ahead. you couldn’t help but notice the way he controlled the pace, how his passes always found the right person, how calm he looked even when the game was down to the wire.

you told yourself it was just because he was close with chenle. that it made sense to notice him. but deep down, you knew that wasn’t really true.

you’d sit in the same spot each week, hoodie up, phone out, occasionally glancing down at the court. but every time jisung had the ball, your eyes were locked on him. you’d learned his style by now — how he faked left when he meant right, how he checked the scoreboard with this tiny, thoughtful frown, how he ran a hand through his hair when frustrated.

what you didn’t expect was that he’d noticed you, too.

it happened after a game — a close one they barely won. the crowd was still buzzing, fans streaming out of the gym. you stayed behind, waiting for chenle to come out like usual, sitting near the edge of the bleachers.

that’s when you saw him.

jisung, standing a little ways off, sweat towel slung around his shoulders, joking with one of the guys. except… he wasn’t really paying attention.

his eyes were on you.

you stared back, caught off guard. for a second, you weren’t even sure he was looking at you — but then he smiled. just a small one. a barely-there twitch of the lips. but it was real. and it was yours.

you panicked and looked away.

the next week, you came again. same seat. same routine. chenle waved at you before warm-ups, and you gave him a thumbs-up. the game came and went. they won. and as you were getting ready to leave, someone called out.

“hey.”

you turned — and there he was. jisung. still in his jersey, hair damp, holding a water bottle and somehow looking completely composed despite the chaos around him.

“you always sit there,” he said, like it was just a normal observation.

you blinked. “what?”

he nodded toward your usual spot. “that’s where you always sit. every game. i’ve seen you.”

your pulse jumped. “right. i mean, chenle’s my friend. i’m here for him.”

his lips quirked. “sure. for chenle.”

you narrowed your eyes. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“nothing,” he said, but he was clearly trying not to laugh. “just wondering if maybe you were also watching someone else.”

you crossed your arms, lips twitching. “maybe. just a little.”

“only a little?” he teased, stepping a bit closer. not too close — just enough to make your heart flutter.

“you’re decent,” you said with a shrug, failing to sound casual.

“decent?” he echoed, mock-offended. “wow. i was trying to impress someone.”

he said it so casually, but your breath caught anyway.

“i’m jisung,” he added, offering his hand, like he wasn’t already a constant thought in your head.

“i know,” you said, taking it — and noticing he didn’t let go right away.

he hesitated, then smiled a little softer. “maybe next game… if you’re staying after, i could give you a tour. of the court. or like, wherever the players go.”

you raised a brow. “are you asking me out… on the court?”

“depends,” he said. “are you saying yes off the court?”

you laughed, cheeks warming as your heart thudded a little too loudly.

“maybe.”

and this time, he grinned — the kind of grin that made you think this might be the beginning of something.

a/n: anon you cooked with this req 🧏‍♀️🧏‍♀️🥰

[kkyeoji]

more than a tease

𝜗ৎ pairing: lee haechan x reader

𝜗ৎ summary: he’s all teasing smiles, dumb pickup lines, and way too much confidence, but you’ve made a habit of staying unbothered. that is, until the day his jokes start sounding a little too real… and your heart starts listening a little too closely.

𝜗ৎ genre: fluff, downbad haechan x unbothered reader, haechan being a tease as usual

𝜗ৎ w/c: 2.5k

you weren’t exactly sure when it started, but at some point, lee haechan had made it his full-time job to flirt with you.

every day, without fail, he had something to say—usually ridiculous, sometimes charming, always annoying. it didn’t matter what you were doing or how uninterested you looked, haechan was there, leaning against the counter or dramatically sighing beside you like a lovesick puppy who had just been ghosted.

“you know,” he began one afternoon, plopping himself on the couch next to you like he hadn’t just followed you from the kitchen, “if i were a cat, you’d be the laser pointer i’d chase until the end of time.”

you didn’t even blink. “you’d probably get tired after five minutes.”

“no,” he grinned, chin resting on his hand. “not if it was you.”

you didn’t respond. instead, you scrolled through your phone like his presence was just another background noise—the hum of the fridge or the faint sound of traffic outside. you were used to this by now. haechan being haechan. persistent, dramatic, ridiculous.

“cold,” he muttered under his breath.

you hid your smirk behind your phone.

haechan had always been like this. you met through mutual friends, and somewhere between game nights and shared takeout orders, he decided you were his favorite target. while others found him hilarious and magnetic (and, okay, he was), you made the mistake of not being charmed from the start. and for someone like haechan, that was basically a challenge.

he once texted you a picture of a heart-shaped potato chip with the caption, “it reminded me of you. crunchy but beautiful.”

you replied with, “please never speak to me again.”

he sent another message two minutes later: “you’re even cuter when you threaten me.”

⸻

but you were stubborn. maybe a little scared. you’d seen the way he could charm a whole room with just a smile. you weren’t interested in becoming another girl he flirted with for a few weeks before moving on to someone new.

so you kept your walls up. made sure to keep your heart out of reach.

even when he looked at you like you hung the stars.

⸻

one evening, you were sitting on the balcony of your shared friends’ apartment, watching the sky bleed into night. the air was cool, and you had a blanket wrapped around your shoulders. the city buzzed softly below, and for once, it was quiet.

until haechan appeared.

of course he did.

“why do you always look like you’re starring in a sad movie?” he asked, sitting beside you. “like… heartbreak in paris or something.”

you rolled your eyes. “don’t you have someone else to bother?”

“nope,” he said cheerfully. “you’re my favorite.”

you didn’t say anything.

a beat passed. then another.

he turned to face you fully, voice quieter. “you okay?”

you glanced at him, surprised.

there it was again—the shift. the way his voice softened when he wasn’t putting on a show. the way his eyes actually looked at you, like he saw through the sarcasm and unbothered expression.

“i’m fine,” you said, almost too quickly.

haechan didn’t push. he just nodded and leaned back, looking up at the stars. “you ever wish people would just say what they mean?”

you blinked. “what do you mean?”

“i don’t know. like…” he paused. “like maybe someone flirts with you all the time, but he actually means it. like he’s not playing. but the other person never takes him seriously.”

you turned your head slowly.

he didn’t look at you.

instead, he let the silence fill the space, the way he rarely did. like he wanted the words to settle.

your heart thudded, once.

“is this your idea of reverse psychology?” you asked, trying to sound light.

he laughed, but it was quieter than usual. “maybe i’m just tired of pretending i’m not actually into you.”

your chest tightened.

you weren’t used to this version of him—the one who didn’t wear his bravado like armor. the one who looked nervous, like he’d just handed you a piece of his heart without knowing what you’d do with it.

“haechan…”

“you don’t have to say anything,” he said quickly, standing up. “i just… i wanted you to know i meant it. all of it. even the dumb stuff.”

you looked up at him, blanket still wrapped around your shoulders.

“you’re really not just messing around?” you asked, softer than before.

he shook his head. “nope. unfortunately for me, i’m very much down bad for you.”

the words made your lips twitch.

“you’re ridiculous,” you muttered.

“yeah,” he said, giving you a crooked grin. “but i’m your ridiculous.”

⸻

after that night, things were different.

not dramatic or sudden. haechan didn’t suddenly become serious all the time, and you didn’t start blushing every time he looked at you. but there was a softness between you now. a quiet understanding.

he still flirted—constantly. but now, you looked at him longer. now, you smiled more.

one morning, he appeared at your door with a smoothie and a lopsided grin.

“i got you the strawberry one. i remember you said mango makes your throat itchy.”

you raised an eyebrow. “you remembered that?”

“of course,” he said. “i listen to everything you say. i’m obsessed with you, remember?”

you rolled your eyes, but this time, you took the smoothie with a thank you.

he froze. “did… did you just thank me without insulting me?”

you smirked. “don’t get used to it.”

but later, when he walked past you in the living room, you reached out and tugged at his sleeve lightly.

“hey,” you said, almost shy.

he turned, eyebrows raised.

“you’re not… that annoying,” you offered.

he blinked. then grinned so hard you thought his face might split.

“is that your way of saying you like me back?”

you shrugged. “don’t push it.”

but when he turned to leave, you heard yourself say—

“haechan?”

he looked back.

you gave a small smile. “maybe ask me out properly sometime.”

he stared at you like he’d just won the lottery. “are you being serious right now or are you about to throw a pillow at me?”

“try it and find out,” you said.

he took a cautious step back. “i’ll text you details tonight.”

“don’t forget the smoothie next time.”

he saluted you, eyes shining. “anything for my laser pointer.”

you groaned. “you’re unbelievable.”

but this time, you were smiling.

and this time, you didn’t look away.

a/n: thank you anon for requesting! this was fun to write 🙂‍↕️ we love downbad haechan 🐻💕

[kkyeoji]

All Along, It Was You

pairing: lee sohee x reader

summary: your bestfriend had always been the constant in your life. but somewhere between shared hoodies and late-night laughter, you started to realize he might be something more.

genre: fluff, friends to lovers, FLUFF, silly whimsy highschool au, bestfriends to lovers, highschool sweethearts (???)

w/c: 468

warnings: none?? besides tooth-rotting fluffiness (lowercase intended)

sohee had always just been there — like the smell of fresh notebooks in september, like your favorite hoodie that you always ended up wearing to bed, like music playing low in the background on lazy afternoons.

he was the one you texted after every test, the one who knew when you needed a snack break or a silent walk home.

over the years, your lives tangled together in this easy, effortless way. like you belonged in each other’s story without even realizing it.

it was always so simple with him — no fireworks, no big declaration. just… the little things. like how he always stood between you and the street without even thinking. how he could read your mood before you even opened your mouth. how he’d give you his hoodie on cold mornings like it was always meant to be yours.

you’d chalked it up to how sohee was — thoughtful, steady, always looking out for you. until one night, halfway through your last year of high school, sitting across from him on your bedroom floor, with half-eaten chips between you and a playlist quietly looping in the background — you looked at him and realized.

he wasn’t just part of your life.

he was your life.

sohee was scrolling through something on his phone, shoulders relaxed, like nothing had shifted. like you weren’t suddenly seeing him for everything he’d been all along.

“sohee,” you said, voice quieter than you meant.

he looked up, eyes meeting yours with that familiar warmth. “yeah?”

you pulled your sleeves over your hands, trying to slow the butterflies in your chest. “have you ever… thought about us? not as friends?”

the room went quiet. but not in a scary way. just soft. like the air had paused to listen.

he didn’t look away.

“all the time,” he said.

your breath caught.

“I’ve thought about it since, like… sophomore year,” he added, half-laughing like he couldn’t believe he was actually saying it. “but I didn’t want to mess anything up. you’re… everything to me.”

your eyes welled up, and you blinked fast, trying to play it off with a smile. “that might be the best possible thing you could’ve said.”

he laughed a little — nervous, sweet — and scooted closer until your knees touched. his fingers brushed yours, hesitating for just a second before curling around them.

“I think I’ve loved you longer than I knew how to say it,” he said. “you feel like home.”

you looked at him through blurry eyes and whispered, “then stay.”

and when he leaned in to kiss you — soft, careful, like you were something fragile and precious — it didn’t feel new.

it felt like finally catching up to something that had always been there.

like all the quiet love you never spoke had been waiting for this exact moment.

[kkyeoji]

freestyle!

pairing: mark lee x reader

summary: in which your boyfriend can't stop freestyling!

genre: fluff, established relationship

w/c: 256

you were just trying to buy toothpaste.

that was it. a chill, uneventful trip to the convenience store. but you made the mistake of bringing mark lee with you.

“I’m telling you,” he said, already bouncing next to the gum display like a sugar-rushed puppy, “they should let me do an ad for toothpaste. I’d freestyle it.”

you didn’t even look up. “mark, no.”

but it was too late.

he struck a pose—in the middle of the aisle, and started rapping into a pack of breath mints like it was a mic.

“yo, minty fresh, clean my breath,

no cavities, I’m dodgin’ death—”

“mark.”

“brush twice a day, babe, I’m obsessed—”

“MARK LEE.”

he stopped mid-rhyme, turning to you with wide, guilty eyes. “too much?”

a little boy down the aisle clapped.

you covered your face. “I don’t even know you.”

“oh c’mon,” he grinned, stepping closer, toothpaste still in hand. “you loooove me.”

“I have poor judgment.”

“but excellent taste.” he wiggled his eyebrows, you snorted despite yourself.

later, walking home with your hands full of snacks you didn’t need, he bumped his shoulder into yours gently.

“you really don’t know how much I love you, huh?” he said, more serious now, eyes soft and honest.

you looked at him, heart full and warm. “I do.”

he smiled, wide and goofy and all yours. “then let me freestyle about you next time.”

you groaned. “I take it back. I don’t know you. I never knew you.”

too late. he was already beatboxing into a banana

a/n: this was so silly i loved writing this hehe

[kkyeoji]

one last time

pairing: park jisung x reader

summary: you know you don't deserve it, but you can't help but yearn for your ex lover back.

warnings: cheating, ANGST, yn passes out cz her depressed ass hasnt been eating properly and has solely been drinking, yn is stupid and wants jisung back, yn implied to be an ex-player. mentions of giselle as yn's close friend. exes to?.. (lowercase intended)

now playing: one last time by ariana grande

the raindrops beat fast against the window. your room dark, gloomy. as if awaiting for someones presence. his presence.

feel like a failure 'cause I know that I failed you

you know it was your fault. there was no excuse that could make up for it. you swore it just happened. you swore it was only because you were drunk. you swore it didnt mean anything.

I should've done you better, 'cause you don't want a liar

'YOU TOLD ME YOU CHANGED. I believed you did. even when everyone told me not to' you could hear the ringing of his voice, the last conversation you ever had with him. 'ji, I swear it didnt mean anything. I was DRUNK for gods sake'

he laughed in disbelief. 'I cant believe you have the audacity to use that stupid excuse, and you swore to me you changed.'

he walked towards you, presence overwhelming.

'don't even try to do this stupid shit with me right now. I'm done, I'm fucking done with your bullshit I'm leaving.'

'ji please! no, I'm sorry. I swear I wont drink anymore, I won't I swear! please bab-'

'dont fucking call me that. ' he cuts you off, slamming the door.

and with that he was gone, out of your sight. that was the last time you saw him in the past few weeks. and every passing day, you haven't missed him any less.

but I got nothing here without you

you haven't gone out like you used to, you stopped partying, but you kept drinking. trying to drink your sorrows away. but they only seemed to be growing more.

you haven't even gone out to buy groceries, to see your friends, your old self gone. all that was left was a moping alcoholic that only ever thought about your ex lover.

you haven't taken care of yourself in weeks—hair unwashed, clothes stained and your body running on nothing but cup noodles and soju. the fridge holds nothing but expired food, the trash can filled with a dozen assortments of alcohol.

can't you forgive me? at least just temporarily

the curtains stay drawn, lights dim, and air stale. your phone is in your hand, not for calls, not for news. but for jisung. to see if he's replied to the heap of texts you've sent.

'I miss you'

'talk to me'

'I'll stop drinking, just come back to me.. please'

but he hasn't replied, not once.

the messages stay delivered, they dont turn green. but they dont say read either. just there. awaiting for the receiver

a text from your friend pops up, its giselle again. 'you need to eat some actual food, I'm worried about you. text me back.'

all I really care is you wake up in my arms

you read it, stare at it, then turn your phone off. you don't reply immediately like you used to, no. that version of you is long gone. you haven't given a damn about anyone besides jisung.

one more time

I promise after that, I'll let you go

you still think that after all this time, there would be a chance of him coming back. even after you found out about his new date the other day from giselle, 'I heard he went out with a girl the other day. I'm not sure if they're dating though' .

baby, I don't care if you got her in your heart

you grab another bottle, hoping for a distraction, but it's empty. with a groan, you head out for more.

the world outside seems to bright, too loud. but you keep your head low and walk to the nearest store.

at the fridge aisle, your eyes land on real food—sandwiches, rice cakes, something warm. your hand lingers briefly, remembering giselle's text. you consider it for a second, before putting it back and grabbing another bottle of beer.

Back home, you fumbles with the keys. but you feel light headed. your vision swims, the door blurs, your knees buckle. the world tilts like a wave pulling you under, and then—silence.

your neighbour finds you crumpled by the doorway, pale and still. in the rush of panic, she reaches for the number saved under “Jisung". she remembers him as the boy that would come by your house often, laughing too hard in the early mornings.

but she doesn't know about the hundreds of messages left unanswered, she just calls. waiting for help to arrive.

jisung comes running, breathless and wide-eyed, panic written all over him. he still remembers the passcode—his hands move without thinking. He carries you inside, barely conscious.

you stir awake, eyes fluttering open, confused and dazed.

'why… are you here?' you whisper softly.

he tells you that the neighbour called, that he rushed over the second he heard—he didn’t know what else to do.

you blink up at him, face pale, lips dry, and suddenly you grab his hand, holding on like you might fall again.

'please,' you breathe, 'I miss you… come back.' your voice cracks, and for a second, he doesn’t say anything. then you add, softer, 'I know you’re with someone else. Giselle told me she heard you went on a date'

jisung looks at you, eyes filled with something heavier than pity. 'it didn’t work out,' he says quietly, like he doesn’t want to hurt you more than you already were. 'it wasn’t the same.'

you stare at him, eyes wide and slightly wet, silent tears forming. 'please,' you repeat, tears slipping down your cheeks. 'I’m still in love with you.' you say gently. 'I'm in love with you and only you.'

one last time

I need to be the one who takes you home

he sighs, brushing the hair gently from your face, something tender in the way he touches you.

'okay,' he whispers. 'one last time.'

a/n: anddd user jwikyo debuts! i hope this was okay 😭 i went through several stages of grief to figure the plot out, but realistically i just had one last time on repeat lol

reblogs and likes are appreciated! as well as feedback <33 !

[egojo1st]

oh damn this was gooddddddd

[blissfullsvn]

bungee

summary. there are two things to know about han taesan. one, han taesan is hard to understand, and two, han taesan does not like you. it turns out that neither of these are particularly true.

pairing. han taesan x reader genre. fluff, college/university!au word count. 1.3k warning. brief mention of drinks being spiked (not from MCs) a/n. in love with the concept of taesan looking so cool but being the most idiotic specimen on earth but even i think he’s questionable here 🧍‍♀️ nonetheless, i hope you enjoy this as much as i did! reblogs are welcomed with open arms :D masterlist

taesan has always been a bit of an enigma.

he dresses like your typical emo skater boy, but is obsessed with chococat. he hates being called a cat, but has all kinds of cat-related accessories for his outfits. he looks like he would never be seen within a five-meter radius of any dessert, but always has five packs of pudding in his bag. 

but above all, what truly confuses you is how he treats you.

for starters, taesan doesn’t like you.

at the very least, he’s uncomfortable around you.

that’s a well-established fact. has been, ever since you started hanging out with jaehyun and naturally integrated with the rest of his group. taesan has always kept his distance with you, even after you’ve grown close enough with everyone else for them to show up at your door unannounced. whenever it comes to you, he’s always chosen to be at the sidelines, walk a few steps behind, pipe up with minimal responses.

but it’s not like you have anything against him for that. you know it’s impossible for everyone to get along, even if it’s within the same friend group—especially when you joined later than everyone else—and it’s not like taesan has ever said or done anything offensive to you; he just . . . tolerates you. 

as easily as your friends welcomed you with open arms, you simply accepted that that’s just how it’ll be between the two of you; floating in parallel orbits without ever reaching each other. and you’re okay with that.

. . . despite your tiny, little crush on him.

you don’t know when it started, but from some moment onwards, you frequently found your eyes drifting towards taesan. on monday, when the lecture is particularly boring; on wednesday, when the lecturer enters ten minutes late; on thursday, when his smile is especially blinding and there are strands of white fur on his black tee.

so, maybe your crush isn’t actually minuscule, and the chances of it being reciprocated are less than zero, but you can live with it. that’s just how taesan is with you.

but that’s also why it’s confusing when taesan does things that are so . . . uncharacteristic.

like when you’re having lunch at the cafeteria, and he casually picks up the banchan on his own tray to replenish yours. or when you let out a whisper that you’re cold, and he’s the first to remove his jacket to drape it over you. or when you once dug through your bag and pockets to find a hair tie before settling with a pen, and from then on you always see him with a hair tie on his wrist.

it’s even more confusing when you stare at him afterwards, equal parts flustered and fluttery, and all he does is look back at you in question, as if asking you “what's up?”, like what he did was nothing out of the ordinary; like it’s something he has no problem doing for you; like it’s something as normal as breathing.

and then, when you’re left to wonder what exactly it means, losing sleep and sanity, taesan would show up the next day, acting as usual—distant, aloof, withdrawn.

as much of a whiplash it is, you can’t say it’s particularly surprising. taesan, in all his enigmatic glory, has always been difficult to understand, to comprehend, to grasp.

but right now, you might be a step closer to figuring him out.

“don’t.” taesan’s hand is around your wrist, grip firm but gentle. he’s huffing a little, hair disheveled. it’s clear he had been running towards you, but you haven’t a single clue why. 

“what . . . are you doing?” you look at your wrist, the way his hand engulfs it entirely, and then to his eyes. his pupils are so deep and dark that you’re drawn in immediately, and it’s then that you realise: you and taesan have never looked at each other face-to-face, this close before.

instead of looking away, which is what you expected and what he would have done, he does something completely uncharacteristic, once again.

for the first time, taesan takes a step inside your orbit.

your breath hitches at the proximity, and you almost want to ask if jaehyun is around the corner, filming this as a poor idea of a prank. but it’s taesan who’s in front of you, and he would never agree to anything like that. especially not when he’s looking at you like . . . that.

it’s so intense that you have to look away, find a spot on the gravel to ground yourself. but that doesn’t last long, because you’re immediately pulled back to him when he speaks, just like a force to a satellite.

“don’t have dinner with him,” he says—commands.

under normal circumstances, you might have butterflies. be thrilled, even. because this implies that he had been thinking about you; that what you do does affect him.

but right now, what you feel is something closer to indignation. you’re all dolled up, ready to meet someone new and have some fun, and hopefully rid yourself of your chronic illness of pining. but then the reason for all this comes and demands like you owe him?

before you can chew him out, taesan speaks again, and all the words on the tip of your tongue immediately melt away.

“he’s a terrible person.” he clenches his jaw. “has a reputation for . . . tampering with people’s drinks.” his grip on you tightens. “and i overheard him offering to take someone else out tomorrow.

“so . . .” he softens, his fingers slackened against your skin, “don’t go out with him.”

“i. . . .” you open your mouth but shut it immediately. this was the last thing you expected him to say when he came up to you, so you’re not entirely sure how to reply. you decide to say the most appropriate thing first: “thank you for telling me.

“but . . .” you continue before he adds anything, “why?”

“why?” taesan repeats, reeling back in surprise. “what do you mean?”

“why . . . did you come all the way here?” you tilt your head in question. “your class just ended, didn’t it? that means you ran all the way from campus to my dorm to tell me this. which i’m super grateful for, of course!” you add quickly. “but i’m just . . . confused.” internally, you wonder when you’re ever not confused by him. “a phone call would have sufficed.”

taesan blinks, as if he hadn’t thought about that.

“oh.” he lets out. “that . . . wasn’t on my mind.” he scratches his nape. “i just wanted to see you.”

you freeze, your brain short-circuiting. it takes a while to recover, but even then, taesan is still looking at you like he hadn’t just spewed out your new sleep-deprivation material, like it’s truly something as normal as breathing for him.

“taesan.” you call out, and the way his thumb brushes your skin in response sends a jolt down your spine. “do you . . .” you pause, rethinking your wording, before deciding on a far safer option. “are we good?”

“huh?” he tilts his head, wondering if you’re making a joke. when he sees that you’re not, he answers definitively. “of course.”

you let out a shaky breath, unconsciously leaning towards him. so . . . you’re good. taesan doesn’t dislike you. that’s good enough—no, way better news than anything.

“okay.” you nod, and a strike of confidence hits you. emboldened by the newfound knowledge, you inch closer. “i’m all dressed up, but i just found out my date is an asshole. what should i do, taesan?”

“huh?” taesan looks flustered, and you revel in that information now that the smokescreen blocking your vision has disappeared. “you . . . can still go out?” his tone is hesitant and clumsy, but nothing short of endearing.

“right.” you nod. “so go out with me, taesan.”

taesan splutters. “w–what?”

“be my date instead, taesan.”

and for the first time, you know what his answer is going to be.

© blissfullsvn 2025. All Rights Reserved.

[egojo1st]

HIHI HAHA GIGGLES

[4doras]

HEART SHAPED CANDIES "IT WASN’T A CONFESSION, BUT IT FELT LIKE ONE." *ੈ✩‧₊˚

genre. fluff, sakuya x f.reader, 1.1k

ꕤ. first req of the event and its a saku one… ( •̀ᴗ•́ )و ty for the request anon!! ^^

“y/n, me and iroha have a club meeting during lunch today.” wonhee informed you. “sakuya’s here, right?” she asked, looking around for the japanese boy. 

“umm…” you hummed, unsure of the answer. finally, you caught him laughing with his friends near the front of his classroom. “yeah, he’s over there.” you said, pointing a finger his way. “i can eat lunch with him and his friends today.”

more under the cut!

wonhee thanked you for your understanding and quickly scurried to her meeting. 

but you weren’t just gonna invite yourself to the table, you had to make sure sakuya was okay with it. 

“saku,” you tapped sakuya’s shoulder, “can i sit with you during lunch? my friends have their club meeting then.” you were already scared to approach him when he was talking with his friends, but now all of them were staring at you like you were some exotic animal in a zoo. 

“yeah, of course.” he gave you a sweet smile, contrasting from the blank faces of his friends behind him. you thanked him and scurried away. 

despite being in the same class as sakuya’s friends, you weren’t close with any of them but sakuya and daeyoung. the rest of them weren’t scary per se, just a bit intimidating. but you’ll have to hang out with them just for today. just one lunch and it’d be over. 

the moment lunch started, you immediately looked for sakuya and daeyoung. it was easier to spot daeyoung due to his tall height and you slid onto the bench beside him. 

you were starving which explained your filled up tray that daeyoung made fun of. 

“can i have one?” he poked at your tempura. you shook your head, protecting it with your chopsticks. “you have so many! just one, please?” he looked at you with those stupid puppy eyes and a pout that you couldn’t say no to and you gave in. 

you dropped the tempura onto his tray, but when you looked back at yours, it was as if you didn’t even give him one. one, two, three, four. if you started with four, and gave daeyoung one, wouldn’t you have three? 

“ohh, saku!” sion cooed, pinching sakuya’s cheeks. you looked around the table, unsure of why everyone was so surprised. “how sweet.” riku teased him, squeezing his arm. “what a gentleman,” he fought with sakuya’s hand who was trying to shut him up. “giving her your tempura is so cute, saku.” that explains it. 

“oh,” you looked at sakuya who was attempting to play it off as nothing, but you could see his ears turning a shade of red. “thank you.” why did it feel so sweet when all he did was give you food? 

it wasn’t that crazy for him to do that, if anything it’d be weird if he didn't share his food with you. but it felt different this time. the way he gave it to you without saying anything? it felt so… affectionate.

you and him were friends, there was no chance for any feelings, but you couldn’t ignore the ache in your chest.

every day after this one, sakuya went to your table to give you a portion of his food before going back to his table. 

“i swear, sakuya likes you, y/n.” wonhee had been thinking it the whole time. there was absolutely no way that a guy was giving his food “just because”. she was sure he liked you. “speaking of, where is he?” sakuya would come to your table at the start of lunch and pass you some of his food, but it was ten minutes past his usual time and he was nowhere to be seen. 

you shrugged, you truly had no clue. “i don’t know,” you muffled, mouth full of food, “he might be hungry today and wanted to eat it all.” 

“i’ve seen him play a whole hour of football and still give you half of his food, there is no way he’s starving after sitting down in class.” iroha shook her head. 

“either way, it’s fine if he doesn’t give me his food. i have my own, anyway.” your friends seemed more upset about it than you. 

it wasn’t that big of a deal to you, but of course, him missing one day made you wonder what happened to his routine. 

the hour of lunch started to come to an end, and you hadn’t seen sakuya whatsoever. it wasn’t just a matter of giving his food, but he always found some time in his lunch to have a small chat with you. 

“lunch is about to end and he hasn’t showed up?” iroha raised an eyebrow. “did you guys fight?” wonhee asked, convinced that something was really wrong. 

“nothing happened,” you drummed your fingers on the table, “he’s probably just hungry, guys.” 

lunch ended and there was no sight of sakuya. odd. on your way to your classroom, you passed by ryo. 

“hey, ryo!” you had finally gotten closer to the others, especially ryo, and were way more comfortable with talking to them now. “have you seen sakuya?” 

a sly grin grew on his face at the mention of his best friend's name. “oh yeah, he should be in the classroom right now.” was there some sort of joke going on? you could swear that ryo was biting back his laughter. but you decided to ignore it. you thanked him and continued your journey to the classroom. 

there he was, sitting at his desk with a handful of something you couldn't see. 

“saku,” the way he looked at you – he looked nervous, and the fact that he was looking up at you made him seem even more timid. “are you… okay? i didn’t see you at lunch and you look a bit nervous right now.” you had to look away from him for a second, everything felt a bit too tense. 

he stood up and took your hand. he didn't say anything, just took your hand and placed the things that previously filled his hands in it. you opened up your palm to see multiple candies in it. heart shaped candies. 

it didn’t answer your question of why he hadn’t shown up at lunch, but this was much sweeter than him sharing his lunch with you. 

“what’s it supposed to mean?” you looked back to him, diverting your focus from the hearts. 

“whatever you want it to.” he gave a sheepish rub to the back of his neck. “i-i’m gonna go see ryo.” he stammered. he was keeping his head low in an attempt to hide his face, but even with how fast he walked away from you, you could see his face starting to grow a red glow on his cheeks. 

you weren’t sure what you wanted it to mean. 

thinking back to what wonhee said about him liking you, it made sense, but you knew it wasn’t true. because there was no way sakuya liked you back. 

but it sure did feel like it.

perm taglist. @jellyouse 

[egojo1st]

AWHHHH RHIS IS SO CUTE IM GONNA CRY

[radiohao]

you belong with me!

sypnosis: it’s a common cliché — the new girl falls in love with the school’s handsome jock. there’s just oneee little problem; he’s dating the captain of the cheerleading squad! don’t worry though, they’ll end up together somehow.

or in which… you’re the captain of the cheerleading team and your classmate confesses her profound love to your popular jock boyfriend. yikes!

pairing: tokuno yushi x reader (she/her pronouns) ft. sion, aeri, ningning, one (1) mention of tws hanjin LOL

genre: crack, small angst, fluff, soccer player!yushi, cheerleader!reader, uni!au, bulletpoint fic

warnings: baby and sweetheart as pet names, mentions of food (?), cringy, not proofread i’m so sorry

wc: 1.7k

— august 5, 8:00 am

you and yushi are literally the power couple of the campus

the handsome yet quiet jock and the pretty, outgoing cheerleader? a match made in heaven if i've ever seen one

the two of you met in science class when paired for a project back in freshman year

slowly you got close with him and became best friends, an unlikely pairing to some eyes, but it worked perfectly for you two

then in junior year yushi confessed to you

it wasn't anything grand or over-the-top, it was just... a confession

a simple "i've developed feelings for you, and if you feel the same i'd love to be yours just as you'd be mine."

i mean, who could say no to that?

"i feel the same way, ushi."

and now here you two are, starting your final year of university stronger than ever

your couple dynamic started getting more traction when yushi got accepted into the soccer team and you into the cheerleading squad

people started LOVING your little moments together

you and your public affection for yushi, always hugging him or giving him good luck kisses for soccer games

him and his quieter acts of love, holding a matcha latte for you in his hand as he waits outside your class, remembering the little things you tell him

people ATE IT UPPPPP (and so would i)

but since yushi isn’t one for big gestures, you resorted to smaller acts like giving him snacks for soccer practice or making him lunch

he’s more affectionate in private and you always respected that

but things started changing when the new girl transferred

uchinaga aeri

"what a fancy name" you first thought

ningning, your best friend and roommate, introduced you to her

she started getting popular in a way

how could she not? she's incredibly pretty!

very reserved though, only started talking to people in the cheer squad when you invited her to tryouts

she was surprisingly very good! got in right away

you introduced her to yushi because you thought they'd get along since he can speak japanese to her

and you were right! the two immediately clicked

you could tell aeri was very comfortable with yushi because she was much more talkative

they were getting close but you didn't mind! you trusted yushi and you had no reason to be worried

...right?

— october 30

2 months go by and aeri has officially joined your little group

it's you, yushi, ningning, and aeri

things are going well! aeri's coming out of her shell and embracing her true self thanks to ning and yushi

she changed a lot from when she first came

aeri dyed her hair a baby pink, started wearing more statement clothes, etc.

very cute look on her! others think so as well since guys started asking her out

and it's nice for yushi too because he has a friend to talk to in his mother tongue

everything is working out!

things are taking a turn for the better

little do you know

— november 11, 4:31 pm

one day, you head to the soccer field to give yushi one of his favorite potato chip snacks

you can't seem to spot him though

"looking for mr. tokuno?" a voice says

you turn around

oh, sion! (pun intended)

"yeah, i just wanted to give him some food"

"i saw him go in locker rooms, try check there"

you thank sion and start heading there

u enter the locker rooms and slowly peek your head through the doorway just so you don't walk into someone changing LOL

and there you see it

yushi and aeri talking on one of the benches

she's saying something in japanese that you obviously can't understand

your bf looks un-entertained

"you shouldn't be here. not even y/n comes back here." he says sternly

aeri scoffs

"so what?"

excuse me????? your brows furrow and a frown grows on your face

"so that means you should leave." yushi's voice firms

aeri giggles and playfully shoves him, "okay okay, i'll go ushi-kun. let's just talk later!"

when did she start calling yushi by the nickname you had for him?

your stomach drops

why do you feel so nauseous?

— november 17, 2:15 pm

a couple days go by and you're still thinking about what you saw in the locker room

maybe you're just overthinking things

if anything you should be glad that aeri is being all friendly!

you're currently walking up to the rooftops of one of the buildings

it's usually where you and yushi go to eat lunch

suddenly, you see ning and sion running towards you like madmen

what the hell is going ON???

"Y/N, Y/N! baby i’m so sorry-“ ningning starts, tears welling up in her eyes

“honey what’s going on?” you ask as she catches her breath

sion finishes the sentence for her

“aeri’s asking yushi out on a date”

you freeze

what?

sion rubs ning on the back soothingly

“it’s okay, we all know yushi loves her, we just wanted to let you know y/nnie”

“this is all my fault! i should’ve never introduced aeri to you y/n i’m so sorr-“

you pull ningning in for a hug

she gets emotional easily lol

“we’ll take you there if you want” sion suggests

you agree

GET YOUR MAN!!!

— november 17, 2:22 pm

the three of you head over to the soccer field

immediately you see it

aeri is standing in front of yushi near the water jug

she’s talking with what seems like a newfound confidence in herself

the rest of the soccer team is on the benches just watching

what a bunch of chismosos, am i right? (sion takes a seat next to ryo and you sit next to him)

it’s like aeri has no shame in talking to YOUR boyfriend infront of his whole team!

but you also have no shame eavesdropping on their conversation

touché

you can hear aeri’s voice clear as day

“ushi-kun, i just wanted to say that i’ve developed feelings for you. you showed me that change is an opportunity for new beginnings, that being myself isn’t something i should be afraid of, and that loving somebody doesn’t have to be grand or extraordinary, that love finds its way into everyday things and mundane matters. thank you for allowing me to be myself. please let me take care of you properly.”

oh

well that wasn’t what you expected at all

you start to think that her confession was even better than yours

it makes you think back to when you first met aeri

she was so quiet, and now she’s much more comfortable with herself

and it’s all thanks to yushi

maybe she makes him feel the same

you can practically feel your body tensing up awaiting yushi’s response

he stares at her blankly and softly says something in japanese

it's short and sweet

yushi then walks away

the sinking feeling in your stomach tells you that it’s better not to know what he said.

he may be your boyfriend, but why does it feel like you're fighting for something that should already be yours?

— january 8, 11:30 am

it’s been less than 2 months since aeri confessed to yushi

you haven’t brought it up since

maybe it's petty or immature but can you really be blamed?

perhaps it isn't even your business to ask

yushi notices you've been distant

of course he does

he just needs to find the right time to talk to you about it

— january 8, 10:56 pm

so this was definitely not the right time

he's practically sprinting to you and ning's shared dorm rn

not only is he out of breath but it’s also pouring rain

horrible timing, he thinks

he arrives at your dorm and knocks on your door frantically

you on the other hand are making dinner

ning's out on a date with some guy named hanjin? you forgot tbh

someone starts pounding on your door like crazy

"DAMN GIRL HOLD ON i'm getting to it!" you shout, thinking it was ningning oops

but you open the door to your very much distressed boyfriend

he's wearing his signature denim jacket with a white tee inside and sweats

and even though he’s basically drenched in rainwater the droplets slide down his cheeks just right and they lay on drop of his eyelashes so beautifully

wow

he looks so pretty ugh no wonder why aeri likes h-

"baby, i'm freezing here."

his voice snaps you out of your trance

oh RIGHT

you apologize and let him in right away, running to the bathroom and giving him a towel to dry his hair

he sits on your couch and you do the same, taking up the space next to him

"why are you here so damn late?” you scold him “it’s pouring out there too! what were you thinking?”

“i know you were there when aeri said she liked me. i know you heard everything. i know you think that i accepted her confession.”

goddamn he NAILED it

you can barely look him in the eyes as you try to respond

“i—“ “y/n.” you look up at yushi, who’s already staring at you very intensely

“listen to me sweetheart, okay?”

you nod (it’s all you can manage to do)

“i do not love her. i belong to you just as you belong to me. i only see aeri as an acquaintance, nothing more. you make me feel safe, comfortable, and loved. you turn my rainy days around and make the sunny ones even brighter. please never think that you will be replaced. the love you’ve shown me is of a price that nothing can buy. i love you, y/n.”

oh

well that wasn’t what you expected at all pt.2

wait, are you crying?

oh yeah we’re crying

hereee we go with the waterworks

you can’t even get a word out because you’re practicing sobbing at this point but yushi just hugs you tightly and rubs the back of your neck as his other hand is rubbing small circles into your waist

“how do you always know what to say” you ask through sobs

he chuckles

“i can read you like a book”

yushi holds you for the rest of the night

— february 27, 8:20pm

back and better than eva baby!!!

you and yushi are doing much better now, if not better than the beginning of the school year

aeri has a group of new friends now, and both you and yushi say hi to her occasionally, but things have changed

and that’s okay!

yushi’s game against the rival uni just finished

close match but yushi’s team stay winning!!!

there was supposed to be a victory celebration at a nearby restaurant but he wanted to go to his dorm so you agreed

he must be tired

as you enter his dorm you take notice of how everything seems so… sentimental?

candles are lit, warm lighting is surrounding the living room, soft music is playing

what is going ON

you step forward a little bit and there it is

all your favorite snacks set up nicely in a basket, your favorite character's plushie sitting on the couch, a HUGE ass bouquet of flowers, and balloons that spell out 'happy anniversary'

you laugh out loud

he's really outdone himself

yushi may not be someone that loves in public, but when he does, he does it right

— bonus

after aeri confesses, yushi says something in japanese so you can't understand

what was it, you may ask?

"my heart belongs to someone else."

—

author's note: AAAAAAA my first actual fic?? i don't know how i feel i'm not good with words so it's probably booty

please make sure to like or reblog if you enjoyed it and pls be nice or i'll cry :') have an amazing night!

[egojo1st]

STOPPTOTOT IM GIGGLINGGGKTKRKFF

[haechsauce]

THE BAG SWAP - M.RK

PAIRING: boyfriend! riku x reader

GENRE: best friends-to-lovers au, humor, fluff

SYNOPSIS: on the way to class, riku has roommate! sakuya over the phone—suggesting how they can swap leather bags after grabbing each other’s accidentally. riku can’t care less… maybe not until the latter starts to get curious about what’s in his bag.

WC: 1.0k

AUTHOR’S NOTE: randomly woke up with this concept on top of my head a day ago, so i thought it’d be great to make use of it （＾∇＾）

“riku, maybe you can pass by my class!” sakuya says through the phone. “let’s have our bags exchanged before my professor gets here.”

there’s noise from the young boy’s end that suggests he’s arrived to his lecture hall. besides the loud chatter and the chair screeches, there are a few voices calling sakuya’s name to probably tell him to sit next to them. it’s frankly the sound of only being a week in since the term break.

“when will you ever call me hyung?” riku manages to mutter from his end on the phone, despite being quite breathless from still brisk walking to his own lecture hall. he adjusts his grip on sakuya’s bulky leather bag. “but i can’t, saku. i’m almost running late to mine.”

unlike sakuya’s college building, riku’s is on the other side of the campus from their dorm. while that’s a pain in the ass on its own, so is living with five other boys that have similar class schedules with him this term. it’s been troublesome enough to share the kitchen and take turns in the shower for a few days now, so riku didn’t think it could get any worse. yet, he (a senior) has accidentally switched leather bags with sakuya (a freshman) as they grabbed their belongings by the door this morning.

riku wouldn’t exactly call it karma, but the fact that he got the same leather bag as sakuya when they went shopping together last month might’ve done the trick. the doodle that chants, “sakuya sakuya sakuya” in pink on the young boy’s bag didn’t even salvage riku from this moment. after all, he bought his own bag to tease sakuya after directly saying he wants no one to match with him.

“should i pass by yours?” sakuya produces a thud, which makes riku think the young boy slammed his leather bag flat on a table. “let’s see what you have in here.”

“i actually don’t need mine for this class.” riku decides, thinking he can simply borrow a notepad and a pen from you—his best friend since elementary school, but also his girlfriend since the recent term break. he sets aside the excitement he instantly feels from thinking of sharing classes with you now, but he double-times his pace. “you need yours?”

“not really. i don’t ever need it, actually.”

“then why is it so heavy?”

“i haven’t cleaned it up since first term.” sakuya says, which makes riku produce a breathy scoff. it’s been more than half a year since the start of the school year. “yours is pretty light, but you have—whoa.”

“what?”

“you have film photos of you and your best friend printed out,” sakuya is slowly uttering his words, like he’s in the middle of a revelation. “in the twenty-first century.”

riku closes his eyes shut—mentally cussing himself for not being able to collect all your developed film photos together out of his bag. he’d been wracking his brain, wondering if some of your shots during your first date in your hometown weren’t printed out, only to find out they’re currently in sakuya’s possession. “fujinaga, close my bag.”

“there’s the sea, there’s you having dinner together,” sakuya ignores riku and only continues to sort through the photos. “and you… holding… hands… together?”

this is exactly why you and riku have decided to keep your relationship private for now. neither of you have the time for his dorm mates’ interrogation, so you both figured it’d be best to build your romantic relationship right in front of their eyes little by little instead.

riku, however, is already constructing your relationship to sakuya in good old hard-launch fashion. he clears his throat, “you know, maybe i can pass by your class right n—”

“and you kissing each other?”

as if on cue, riku hears your giggle from behind him first before he feels you kiss his cheek. “beat you to the door,” you say as soon as you block him from entering the lecture hall.

riku can’t fight the smile on his face from seeing you so mischievous, yet flushed from running your way here. he slowly walks towards you, only to buy himself more time to admire you before landing a quick peck on your lips.

you giggle again. “hi, kuri.”

riku’s smile widens, feeling the heat of his phone against his cheek from doing so. “hey, cutie.”

“ew.” sakuya says on the other line.

“ew?” riku repeats to the phone.

he detaches his phone from his ear to put the young boy on speaker. riku mouths to you that it’s sakuya on the phone, then proceeds to lift the leather bag he’s carrying to show you their situation at hand.

you mouth, “ooo” to your boyfriend before speaking to the phone. “hi sakuya!”

“well, hello!” he laughs, “it seems like you had a sweet break.”

riku scrunches his nose at this. however, he’s instantly on autopilot mode as soon as you look up to him for context. “saku saw our photos in my bag, but it’s my bad. i’m sorry.”

you shake your head with a teasing smile taking over your lips. “so much for not letting the dorm know yet!”

sakuya’s voice is heard from the phone again. “i won’t ask questions if you come over tonight to doodle on my bag and help me sort out my keychains. i think i wanna remember knowing about you both before the whole dorm.”

“oh, saku.” riku says, genuinely softened.

“then i’ll see you later, sakuya!” you say to the phone.

“yes!” sakuya exclaims, like he might be throwing a fist in the air because of this. “but, also, riku has to take my turn in dishwashing tonight.”

riku sighs so loud, that a handful of your course mates from inside the lecture hall look at where he’s standing by the door. “fujinaga sa—”

before he even gets to say the young boy’s full name, sakuya ends the call.

and, even though you laugh because of what riku has to deal with later today, he looks at you with as much amusement as you have for him. not because he finds his situation funny either, but because he likes that he’s the reason you’re happy right now.

[egojo1st]

THIS WAS SO STINKIN CUTE

[studioeisa]

that’s so true ❤️‍🩹 mingyu x reader.

he’s thinking: she’s so cool. he’s also thinking: you were, too. scratch that. present tense. you’re cool, too.

❤️‍🩹 pairing. exes!mingyu x reader. ❤️‍🩹 word count. 4.4k. ❤️‍🩹 genres. alternate universe: non-idol, alternate universe: uni. romance, humor, pinch of angst. ❤️‍🩹 includes. mentions of food, alcohol; profanity. second chance romance, reader is a singer/cover artist. mingyu is very dramatic, svt ensemble supports his delusion, psych terms i’m not 100% sure of, gracie abrams’ that’s so true as a plot device. ❤️‍🩹 notes. @gyubakeries is the first mutual i made on this account. more than that, tiya has been such a consistent fixture in my carat journey that i can’t imagine being on tumblr without her. i’m not sure if you remember, but you actually asked this of me waaay back in november—i give it to you now as a present!!! happy birthday, my sweetest girl. your metaphorical big sister from oceans away will always wait on your updates. <𝟑

The living room smells like kettle corn and stale beer, the kind that’s been spilled and wiped and spilled again over the warped parquet floor. Someone’s Bluetooth speaker is playing a remix of something ironic—Britney, probably—but no one’s really listening. The bass is more of a heartbeat now, thumping through the walls, the couches, the soles of everyone's shoes.

Mingyu’s on the armrest of a sunken couch, red Solo cup in hand, legs spread like he’s too large for this party, this furniture, maybe this whole city. You know the look on his face. Eyebrows slightly raised, mouth doing that thing where it’s half-interested, half-inviting. 

She’s across from him, laughing at something someone said, maybe him. She’s not beautiful in the way you are, but she’s curated. Hair in that loose, glossy blowout style, the one that says, I woke up like this but cost seventy bucks at a salon in Itaewon. Her shirt is sheer. Her lip gloss is strawberry. She knows the angles.

Mingyu is thinking: she’s hot. He’s also thinking: she probably doesn’t cry in parking lots.

She won’t ask him about attachment theory. She won’t remember that his left wrist aches when it rains because of that skateboarding injury in middle school. She won’t know what he looks like when he’s not trying.

She won’t, but you would. You did.

They’re kissing before they’re really talking. Her hand slides up his arm and he smiles against her mouth. She tastes like cranberry vodka and something synthetic. Her perfume is expensive but too floral. It’s cloying. It fills his nose, his throat, his lungs.

In the bedroom, she pulls her hair down and says, “Oh my God,” like she’s in a teen drama. She laughs when he fumbles with her zipper. He laughs too. It’s easy, he thinks. Easier than it ever was with you.

But when she pulls his shirt over his head, he flinches. For half a second, the cotton brushes his collarbone, and he thinks of your fingers there. You used to trace that spot like it meant something. Like it was sacred.

He kisses her harder, trying to wipe the thought clean.

Later, when the room is dark and she’s asleep beside him, limbs flung over the covers like a thrown coat, he stares blankly up at the ceiling. Wondering if you ever ended up on someone else’s couch, laughing at someone else’s jokes. Wondering if they made you laugh the way he used to.

He’s thinking: she’s so cool.

He’s also thinking: you were, too. Scratch that. Present tense. You’re cool, too. Maybe even more. 

The next morning, Mingyu’s shoes are sticky with someone else’s spilled life. Beer, soda, something sentimental he can no longer imagine. He kicks his shoes off at the door of the apartment he shares with Wonwoo, who is curled up on the couch with a psychology journal and a judgmental brow raised just high enough to qualify as a greeting.

Wonwoo doesn’t look up. “So,” he says dryly, “did you learn anything at your extracurricular activities?”

Mingyu groans, dragging himself to the fridge. “Yeah. That Bacardi should come with a warning label.”

Wonwoo flips a page. “You’re spiraling.”

“Am not.”

“You slept with someone who pronounces ‘Freud’ like ‘fruit.’”

Mingyu opens a yogurt and points the spoon at him. “She was cool.”

“She was unironically quoting astrology memes.”

He shrugs. “You should’ve seen the way she took her hair down. It was cinematic.”

Wonwoo finally looks up. His eyes are soft but sharp. “You know what else was cinematic? You and—” He pauses. Doesn’t say your name. Just gestures vaguely, like it’s a word too big for the room.

Mingyu exhales through his nose and leans against the counter, eyes on the floor. “That was… different.”

He doesn’t say your name either, but he thinks it. Quietly. Like an incantation.

It started in PSYC 231: Theories of Personality, where he made fun of Freud and you corrected him, deadpan, mid-laugh, with a full citation. You were brilliant and unbothered and slightly intimidating. He liked that.

You liked that he made you laugh.

You studied together in a café with sticky tabletops and slow jazz. You fought over which theorist was most overrated. He said Jung. You said Skinner. He said Skinner wasn’t even a theorist, he was a behaviorist. You said exactly, and he fought the urge to kiss you in that damn library that was too cold for anybody to be studying in.

Somewhere between arguing and annotating, he started noticing little things—like how you hummed when reading, or tapped your pen when you disagreed with something. How your eyes didn’t just read but searched. That, in particular, always made him feel like he was being flayed open for you to study. For you to make sense of whatever theory you thought would best fit. 

By the time you were dating, he already knew how you took your coffee, which hand you used to tuck hair behind your ear, and what your childhood smelled like.

The relationship ended quietly. Not with a scream but with a sigh. 

Final exams were brutal. You’d both been tired, stretched thin. One day, in the middle of a café you used to call yours, you said, “I don’t think we’re good for each other anymore.”

He wanted to argue. But he knew. You were both too gentle, too smart to force what had already unraveled. And now here he is, eating yogurt at 11AM, with his hoodie on backward and a girl’s perfume still clinging to his shirt that’s probably inside out.

“She was cool,” Mingyu repeats, but his voice lacks conviction.

Wonwoo returns to his article. “So was New Coke.”

Mingyu flips himself off and stalks into his bedroom. He plops down on to his bed, pulls out his phone, and decides he deserves to doom scroll. Kill time. Avoid the mountain of notes on his desk and the group chat buzzing about someone’s birthday dinner. But his fingers are traitorous. They know muscle memory too well.

Your username appears in his search bar before he even finishes typing it. The profile loads like a held breath.

Still no new posts. No stories. Just the familiar grid of moments you once chose to share with the world. Sepia-toned coffees, a blurry picture of your dog mid-jump, and, in the third row, dead center, the one video he always returns to.

Your cover of One Direction’s If I Could Fly.

It’s from months ago. Posted three days after your first date. He remembers that timing like it’s stitched into his skin.

He taps the video. The screen brightens. The opening notes begin—soft piano, distant as a memory—and your voice floats into the room.

If I could fly, I’d be coming right back home to you.

The camera angle is simple, framed by fairy lights and your curtain swaying gently in the background. You’re seated cross-legged on your bedroom floor, hair tucked behind one ear, guitar resting against your knee. There’s a candle flickering off-screen. He remembers you saying it helped with nerves. He bought you a dozen and you accused him of love bombing. 

Your voice is clear. Honest. Not trying too hard. The kind that doesn’t need to prove anything.

He closes his eyes, lets it wash over him.

The first date had been spontaneous. You’d both stayed late after a 3PM lecture, loitering in the Psych building’s stairwell with iced americanos and a half-formed debate about the ethics of the Stanford prison experiment.

He asked if you wanted to grab dinner. You grinned and said, “Only if you're paying.”

You ended up at a street-side kimbap place, elbows bumping over shared plates. Your shared laughter rang louder than the traffic. He remembers watching you talk about your music—how you’d grown up humming along to your mom’s CD collection, how you hated performing live but loved the quiet of recording.

You compared it to bottling emotion and labeling it. Days later, you would post the video with no caption, no tag, but Mingyu knew. He’d bet his entire degree on the possibility of the song being full of emotion for him. He had played it over and over, heart stuttering every time you hit the line: For your eyes only, I show you my heart… 

Now, he listens to it again. Months later. Same voice, same room, but everything’s shifted. For when you’re lonely and forget who you are…

Mingyu presses the phone to his chest. Just for a second.

He doesn’t cry. But the silence that follows is loud.

He replays the video. 

Again, and again, and again.

Jeon Wonwoo 🐈‍⬛   @everyone_wonwoo If I have to hear ‘If I Could Fly’ one more fucking time... 🙂

Mingyu doesn’t bring it up directly. He just says he’s bored.

“Bored?” Seokmin echoes, squinting at him over a protein shake. “You’re never bored. You’re either studying, cooking, or stalking that Facebook page about people’s worst dates.”

“Okay,” Mingyu sulks, eyes pointedly avoiding the phone on the counter. “Then maybe I’m tired. Of everything.”

There’s a pause, a beat of silence that stretches long enough to be suspicious. Seokmin leans forward slightly, his expression softening. “You still checking her profile?”

Mingyu doesn’t respond. Doesn’t have to.

Seokmin eyes him for a beat longer, then slaps a hand on the table like it’s been decided. “We’re going jogging.”

“Jogging?”

“Fresh air. Blood circulation. Endorphins. It’s either that or I drag you to a Zumba class with my aunt.”

Mingyu regrets agreeing almost immediately.

The sun is too bright, his hoodie is too warm, and Seokmin runs like someone being chased by a scholarship. His legs move with the speed of divine punishment. But Mingyu keeps pace, mostly because it’s better than curling up in his bed like a dumpling of misery, and because Seokmin insists on making a dad joke every time they pass a new kilometer marker.

“How do joggers stay in touch?” Seokmin pants. “They go the extra mile!”

Mingyu nearly trips on a loose pebble just to end it all.

They’re rounding the curve near the Han River, where the breeze carries the faint sting of river water and distant hotteok from a food stall parked by the trees. The air smells like silt, spring grass, and something damp and persistent, like memories that refuse to fade.

Mingyu is just about to complain when Seokmin stops so abruptly he almost crashes into him. “What?” Mingyu wheezes, catching his breath.

Seokmin’s eyes widen. “Bush,” he says, low and urgent.

“What?”

“Bush. Now.”

Before Mingyu can even formulate a protest, Seokmin is manhandling him into the nearest patch of overgrowth like a poorly disguised cartoon criminal. Leaves slap Mingyu in the face. A twig pokes him directly in the ribs. Dirt makes its way into his shoe.

“What the f—”

“Shh!” Seokmin hisses. “Look.”

Through the gaps in the foliage, Mingyu sees why.

You.

You’re walking toward them, earbuds in, tote bag swaying by your side like it’s following its own rhythm. Hair a little messy in the wind, your expression somewhere between focused and free. 

You look good. Still you, but lighter. Like a burden he hadn’t realized was shared is now just yours to carry alone. Or maybe you already set it down.

Seokmin is now fully visible on the path, standing like he’s waiting for judgment. You spot him easily.

“Oh. Hey!”

Your voice is like a dropped pebble in a still pond—too familiar, too immediate. Mingyu forgets to breathe.

Seokmin waves with the nervous energy of a man who knows he’s one sentence away from disaster. “Hey! Uh, great to see you here.”

“I run this route sometimes,” you say, slowing your pace. Your eyes scan the area casually, briefly grazing the suspiciously shivering bush nearby.

Seokmin laughs too loudly. “Yeah, uh, me too. With Mingyu. I mean, not that we’re, like, training for a marathon or anything. Just... casual cardiovascular bonding.”

There’s a beat. Your eyebrow lifts. “Is that code for hiding in bushes now?”

Seokmin freezes like a deer caught mid-excuse. Mingyu’s heart drops to his ass. He’s crouched among the leaves, silently reciting every mistake that led him here.

You don’t press. Just smile—cordial, unreadable. Like you know exactly who’s buried in the shrubbery but decide to gift him the mercy of not dragging it into the daylight.

“Tell him I said hi,” you say. And then you’re jogging again, disappearing into the path ahead with the same effortless grace you always carried. 

Mingyu exhales so slowly it feels like releasing a trapped lifetime.

Seokmin crouches to peek into the bush. “You good?”

“No,” Mingyu says, brushing twigs off his sleeves. “That was the most cardio I’ve done all semester.”

It’s not necessarily what Seokmin is asking about, but he’s at least somewhat willing to leti t pass. “You owe me,” Seokmin mutters, offering a hand.

Mingyu takes Seokmin’s hand. In a way, Mingyu is starting to think that moving on isn’t a sprint, isn’t dramatic or cinematic or even particularly graceful.

Maybe it’s just the slow, undignified crawl out of the shrubs—twigs in your hair, knees scraped, heart still stupidly hoping for a glimpse of someone who’s already halfway down the road.

Seokmin claps him on the back. “Tomorrow, we jog at dawn.”

“I’m blocking your fucking number, man.”

SEOK ◝(ᵔᗜᵔ)◜   @dk_is_dokyeom JOGGING IS THE SOLUTION TO ALL HEARTBREAK !!! ᕙ(  •̀ ᗜ •́  )ᕗ 5KM MARATHON NEXT WHOOOP

The thing about studying with Minghao is that it’s almost productive. Almost. 

He’s efficient, focused, the type to highlight with color-coded precision and take Cornell notes with monk-like discipline. But he also plays ambient jazz remixes of anime openings and occasionally pauses to psychoanalyze fictional characters in the middle of their Cognitive Psychology notes.

Mingyu doesn’t mind. The rhythm of it is comforting, like sharing a library table with someone who’s silently agreeing to not let either of you fail.

They’re halfway through Chapter 9—something about memory recall and flashbulb events—when Minghao stretches, pops his neck like an old man, and says, “Ten-minute break. Don’t fight me.”

Mingyu doesn't. He leans back in his chair, eyes slipping toward the light of his phone. It’s muscle memory at this point. Tap, scroll, sigh.

And then he sees it.

A new post. From you.

It’s been months since you last uploaded. Radio silence since the breakup. But there it is, timestamp fresh: a new cover. You, singing again.

He taps it before he can stop himself.

The video opens on your bedroom wall, fairy lights glowing soft gold. Your guitar is nestled in your lap. You’re already playing when it starts, your voice soft but steady, clear as breath in cold air. I could go and read your mind, think about your dumb face all the time.

He doesn’t even blink until the bridge hits.

Made it out alive, but I think I lost it. Said that I was fine, said it from the coffin. 

The words come like a slap—no, a symphony of emotional gut-punches conducted with the smug finesse of someone who knows exactly who might still be watching.

Remember how I died when you started walking? That’s my life, that’s my life. 

Mingyu’s jaw slackens. His stomach turns to wet newspaper.

I’ll put up a fight, taking out my earrings. 

He gasps. Actually gasps. The kind of sharp inhale usually reserved for plot twists in dramas or sudden stab wounds. Minghao looks up from his notes, alarmed. “Did you just find out you’re adopted?”

Mingyu stares at his screen like it’s physically wounded him. “No. Worse.”

“There’s worse than that?”

He turns the screen toward Minghao, who watches blankly as you croon you should spend the night, catch me on your ceiling with the conviction of a woman who’s been through three divorces. “Oof. That’s brutal,” Minghao deadpans. “She posted that publicly?”

Mingyu nods slowly, as if he’s been sentenced to emotional exile. “With hashtag song cover and everything.” 

You’re still strumming and singing on screen, humming along to the pop song in a way that might be innocuous. Except Mingyu’s hobby is making everything about him, and he has made the executive decision that this one is most definitely about him. 

He slumps forward like someone has cut his puppet strings. “I think she wrote that just to kill me,” Mingyu laments. 

“Gracie Abrams wrote that.”

“Exactly. Which means she used an outside contractor.”

Minghao shuts his textbook with a flourish. “Alright. Let’s go.”

“Where?”

“Somewhere you can scream into the void without getting noise complaints.”

Mingyu doesn’t argue.

Because some pain demands movement. Or, at the very least, screaming into a gorge like a man who knows he lost something important. Something musical. Something with perfect pitch and the ability to destroy him in 2 minutes and 46 seconds flat.

Mingyu is mid-tragic sigh when it happens. He’s still staring at your video, thumb hovering over the screen, when betrayal strikes.

A double-tap, when he meant to swipe. 

The accidental like.

The screen flashes with a bright red heart. Liked by @min9yu_k and 26 others. For a post that’s only been up for five minutes. 

Mingyu freezes.

Minghao, who was zipping up his hoodie, senses it instantly. “What? What happened?”

Mingyu’s voice is a whisper. A horror film crescendo. "I liked it."

Minghao frowns. “Liked what?” 

“The post. Her post. I liked the video.”

There’s a silence. A long, stretching silence. Then Minghao inhales slowly. “Okay. Okay. That’s not the end of the world. Just unlike it.”

“I’m trying!”

He taps the heart again. It unlikes. In the cursed chaos of his frantic thumb, he hits the comment button, clicks on the red heart emoji that comes up as the suggested, and slams on the button that’s meant to send it out. 

Mingyu stares in blank, glitching horror. “NO.”

Minghao leans over, sees the screen, and reels back like it’s radioactive. “Oh my God. You commented. A heart. A full heart,” the younger boy huffs judgmentally. “Not even a broken one. That’s—that’s commitment.”

“I didn’t mean to!” wails Mingyu. 

“The algorithm thinks you did.”

Mingyu is full-on spiraling now. He opens the comment section. His name. His profile picture. His heart. Right there. Bold as day. Public. “Delete, delete, delete—”

His fingers are moving like he’s hacking into NASA. He finally deletes it.

“Did she see it?”

Minghao makes a face. “It was up for ten seconds. So… maybe. Maybe not.”

“What if she has post notifications on?”

“Who has post notifications on for their ex?”

Mingyu stares at him.

Minghao sighs. “Okay, fair point.”

Mingyu buries his face in his hands. “I have to fake my death.”

“You can’t fake your death over a heart emoji.”

“Tell that to the death certificate I’m about to file right fucking now.” 

Minghao pats him on the back, not unsympathetically. “Look. If she saw it, maybe she thinks you're just… appreciating her art.”

Mingyu lifts his head, eyes bloodshot with melodrama. “I can’t be art-appreciation guy. That’s worse than being ex-boyfriend guy.”

“Well,” Minghao says, pulling him to his feet, “at least you’re not boring.”

Mingyu glares. “Take me to the park. I need to scream again.”

“You already screamed at the river yesterday.”

“Then today I’ll scream at the sky.”

“That’s the spirit.”

They leave for the park like two men walking into battle—one brokenhearted, the other holding the emotional equivalent of a mop and bucket.

Somewhere, your phone buzzes twice.

hao   @xuminghao_o currently witnessing levels of crash out yet unknown to man

“So,” you say, appearing like an accusation in human form. “You liked my post. And then took it back. And then commented a heart. Which you also took back.”

Mingyu does not choke on his coffee, but only because he hasn’t sipped it yet.

He thought he would get away from you. Or that you hadn’t seen. It’s been a couple of days, after all, since the That’s So True-gate that had Mingyu screaming his head off while Minghao quizzed him on behavioral psychology. 

When you didn’t immediately message, Mingyu assumed he was in the clear. Enough to start studying back in the café that saw the beginning and end of your relationship. 

Big, fat mistake. Still, Mingyu tries to play it off. “I think that was an AI-generated coincidence.”

You raise your eyebrows as you slide into the seat across from him. Uninvited but not unwelcome—that seemed to be your whole gig. “An AI-generated coincidence?”

“Yeah. Like those deep fake videos. Except emotional.”

“You deepfaked a heart emoji on my video?”

Mingyu puts his mug down. “Look, I was just appreciating the vocals. You were serving serious tone and resonance. Any casual listener would have been compelled to engage.”

“Right. With a bright red heart. For the song about dying when your ex walks away.”

“That is... purely coincidental.”

You hum. Not quite convinced. Then, in that same effortless way you always had—like peeling back the foil lid on someone’s yogurt without asking permission—you add, “Because it would be weird, otherwise. Especially since Wonwoo kinda revealed you being in your little Directioner phase.”

The jab nearly misses its mark. When it hits, though—bullseye. The implication doesn’t elude Mingyu. “You’re keeping tabs on Wonwoo’s tweets?” he asks. 

You pause. Not long. Just enough to suggest you may have miscalculated. “They came up,” you say vaguely. 

“They came up,” he repeats, savoring the words like a hard candy made of gotcha.

You, ever quick, counter: “Yeah, well, at least I’m not the one with crash outs unknown to man.”

Strike two. Verbatim. Word for word to Minghao’s tweet. Mingyu starts to laugh, even as you level him that deathly, I-will-murder-you glare. “You’re keeping tabs,” Mingyu wheezes, and you look mortified for only a fraction of a second. 

You smile ruefully. That same maddening look you used to give him in the middle of debates you’d already won. “You know, you could’ve just said hi,” you say once Mingyu has calmed down, and he has a feeling you’re referring to more than just the incident in the bushes or the post liking incident. 

He exhales. “Yeah, but where’s the emotional turmoil in that?”

“Tragic. Really,” you say dryly. “You missed your calling as a K-drama second lead.”

Mingyu lifts his coffee. Takes a long sip. Lets the silence stretch just long enough to taste what’s underneath. You’re sitting across from him after what feels like forever, wearing that smile like a borrowed shirt. Ill-fitting. Too hopeful for somebody who has no business to care this much over how your ex is faring. 

After a moment too long, you reach for your bag like you didn’t just throw a rhetorical grenade and watch it bloom between you. “Anyway, I should go.”

“Right,” Mingyu says, nodding slowly, “back to curating cryptic playlists and pretending not to spiral.”

You shoot him a look. Deadpan. Disarmed. Slightly impressed. “I don’t spiral.”

“You’ve started titling things in lowercase.”

“That’s aesthetic.”

“You quoted Phoebe Bridgers in your Instagram story and didn’t provide context.”

You shrug, lips twitching. “If he wanted to, he would.”

“He did,” Mingyu says, meaning himself, but he doesn’t clarify.

You smile then. Small. Real. The kind that makes his chest feel like it forgot how to carry breath.

He watches as you stand, adjusting the strap on your shoulder, fingers fidgeting with the hem of your sleeve like they always do when you want to say more but don’t trust the air to hold it right. The fluorescent light above you flickers. You blink up, then laugh softly, like the moment decided to flirt back.

Your perfume is faint. The smell of a summer afternoon you never quite got to finish. It follows you, subtle as breath, lingering in the booth and the hollow of his throat. You pause at the door. Not long enough to be dramatic, but enough to be remembered.

And then you’re walking away.

Mingyu doesn’t stop you.

Not because he doesn’t want to. But because it’s always been like that with you. The tension not in the holding, but in the letting go. He thinks of all the times you looked back, and all the times you didn’t. Each one a verse in a song he doesn’t know how to stop humming.

The door swings. The bell above it jingles like an afterthought. Something unresolved in a symphony.

And just like that, the moment ends.

He sits for a while. Lets the mug cool. Lets the ache spread out soft and even.

Memory doesn’t arrive with warning. It bleeds.

Your knees tucked into his side on the couch, face half-covered by a blanket, both of you too tired to talk but too in love to turn away. How you reached for his hand without looking. How he kissed the inside of your wrist like it held your name. How your laugh cracked something open in him that had been sealed since childhood.

He remembers how you said things without saying them. How silence between you didn’t feel empty, just honest. Like breath between words. Like a secret passed through eye contact and lazy fingertips tracing collarbones.

That one night you got caught in the rain after a concert and neither of you had an umbrella. You laughed, drenched and shivering, mascara a little smudged, mouth full of lightning. You kissed him under a streetlamp and whispered something he didn’t catch. He said “what?” but you shook your head and kissed him again. Water streamed down your cheeks like tears that didn’t hurt.

He never asked what you said. He didn’t need to.

Mingyu runs a thumb along the rim of his mug. It’s chipped.

So is he, maybe. But not broken. Not yet.

You’re both so young. Still are. Young enough to believe in maybe. In could be. In if not now, then later. In second chances that don’t come with prerequisites.

He thinks about running after you. Thinks about not thinking. About blurting it all out like a prayer or a punchline.

Instead, he finishes his coffee, stands, and lets the door swing shut behind him.

The space you left behind—still warm. Still scented. Still shaped like you.

The echo of your last smile lingers like a line in a song he can’t stop repeating.

Again, and again, and again. 

KMG   @min9yu_kbtw if you see this i still love you 

[egojo1st]

NEED PART 2 WHATTHESHIT

[luvyeni]

( drabble ) my cheerleader ̨ ! ୨୧ 一 박지성 ՞

⸃ ⸰ ⌁ a kiss from you gave jisung all the energy he needed to win the game ヾ

soccer!haechan・ cheerleader!reader ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ g ・ fluff ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ cw ・ ‎ none completely fluff wc ・ ‎0.9k ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎| ‎ ‎click to library

request. for a request, what about cheerleader reader x soccer player nct's jisung? like mutual pining but neither of them knows that the other likes them back. something on the sweet side 🥺

「 ୨୧ authors note 」 i hope you like it , you didn't say you wanted smut so it's all fluff...

“oh look who is it.” chaewon smirked nodding her head in the direction of the doors , where the soccer players came out from boys locker room. “it's jisung.”

you turn your head; the boy exiting the room onto the field, making eye contact with you, your head quickly to your friends to finish your stretches. “you two are so in love with each other.” you rolled your eyes. “we've only spoke twice and they were both about the game.” you said; although you did wish he'd say more than ‘are you coming to the game?’ — of course you were, you cheered for all the games.

“he's just nervous; you see how hot you are.” you shook your head. “enough with my love life , focus on your stretching , don't complain when you're in pain after the game.” you ordered, she waved you off , returning back to her task. you turned to head to the field where the players were warming up, jisung was kicking a ball; stopping head turning to you, your eyes widening , his hand raising to wave. you smiled , returning to wave , smiling to yourself as you continue to stretch.

“yo , dumbass pay attention.” haechan snapped in the boys face. “stop eye fucking the cheerleaders and focus , we all know what happened last time we lost.” the boy followed the boys eyes. “ah , not all the cheerleaders , just a specific one.” jisung pushed past the boy to grab the ball , only for it to be picked up by haechan. “go talk to her.” if only i was that easy. “it is that easy , just-” haechan kicked the ball over to where you were. “go get the ball.”

you felt the ball hit the back of your foot , bending down to pick it up. “oh my god jisung is coming over.” the other girls squealed , your heart pounded as he made his way over to you. “hey.” there his stood in front of you. “hi.”

the boys hands were sweaty as you reached out , the ball in your hand. “this is yours.” he took the ball from your hand. “thanks.” he said , his voice shaking from nerves , he didn't understand why you made him like this. “you look good out there.” you said. “you'll win for sure.” that gave him all the confidence he needed for the night. “really?” you nodded. “you're the best player on the team.”

“hey yn don't lie to him now!” haechan shouted , running over. “shut up hyuck.” chaewon said. “th-thank you.” he said , his ears red. “hey you know a kiss from the head cheerleader is good luck for the game.” haechan winked. “he-he’s ly-” before you could back down and could finish , your hands were on his shoulders and you were planting a kiss on his lips , gasps erupting from your team as you pulled away. “good luck.” haechan had to drag the stunned boy away since the game was about to start , you smiled, waving him off. “you better not fuck up this game now , and wipe the glitter off your lips.

the game was neck and neck; your team already cheered, watching the game on the side. “god i’ve never seen him work this hard , that kiss must've really done something.” chaewon smirked. “where did that confidence come anyway?” you shrugged. “i don't know.” you said just as jisung scored another goal. “oh he got it!” you cheered , clapping; he turned to you smiling , his teammates patting him back to back.

“good job park , one more and we win.” the coach shouted. “you got this!” he nodded , thinking about that kiss , you gave him all the energy he needed , the game not seeming so hard when he looked at you , everything else was silent around him. “kick it!” the crowd all groaned as he missed the shot. “shit , you got this.” haechan helped him up off the ground. “pay attention , 20 seconds,” he said. “20 seconds and you can go kiss your cheerleader again , a winner this time.”

he turned to were you were; you were giving him a thumbs up; mouthing a ‘you got this’ he brushed the dirt off his knees , locking back into the game , taking the ball from the opponent , kicking it down the field. “8.7.6.5.4—” it felt like it was in slow motion , the ball slowly going into the next , just as the alarm went off. “goal!” the crowd began to shout in victory , the coach shouting. “we did it!”

“where's jisung?” he was already sprinting across the field; over to you , his body sore but he didn't care. “jisung , you did so well.” you greeted him; his hands coming to both sides of your face surprising you— but not nearly as surprised as you were when he pulled you into a feverish kiss , your lips dancing in the middle of the fields. “thanks to you.” he smiled, pulling away. “i wasn't the one on that field.”

“you were though , in my head telling me everything was gonna be fine.” you smiled. “go out with me.” he said. “really?” his thumb running across the bottom lip , nodding. “ok-okay.” you said. “park!” the coach shouted. “celebrate with your girlfriend later , come celebrate with your team.” you laughed. “wait for me after the game?” you nodded. “go.” you sent him off, he gave you one more kiss , finally letting you go , a huge smile on his face , he got two victories today.

“my cheerleader.”

©LUVYENI translations to other sites prohibited, reblogs are appreciated but not forced !

[egojo1st]

ihnmyogd i was kicking my feet reading this

[viasdreams]

˙✧˖°🐿️ ༘ ⋆｡˚

digitally speed dating nct dream !!

a/n: 〜⁠(⁠꒪⁠꒳⁠꒪⁠)⁠〜

[egojo1st]

THSISIS SO FICKING FUNNY

[k0ingisdone]

you know what.

I am so fucking tired of rape fics. I am a sexual assault survivor and you sexulise rape. why. why do I work so hard to get better and it all get ruined by some horny asshole just like last time. THESE CHARATERS DONT WANT TO RAPE YOU. rape is horrible, its NOT sexy. its traumatizing. why do you keep talking about it and writing about it. STOP MINIMIZING MY PAIN WITH YOUR DERANGED FANTASIES.

Simon Riley isnt a rapist

Leon Kennedy isnt a rapist

and belive it or not Jonathan Crane ISNT A FUCKING RAPIST

dont tell me not to kink shame

do not tell me to skip it

you cannot tell me that my trauma doesn't matter

STOP WRITING RAPE FICS

[saythenametotheworld]

Long Story Short | n.jm (18+)

Na Jaemin—your best friend, the one person who’d always been there for you, comes to help you back to your feet again. But is it too late to finally see him for what he truly is?

Campus Confessions master list

Genre: childhood friends to lovers, slow burn, smut Pairing: Na Jaemin x afab!reader Warnings: sloooow burn, explicit sexual content Notes: 24k words. Part 5/5 of the Campus Confessions series, but can be read as a standalone fic. Listening to long story short by Taylor Swift. Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know them personally and do not claim they would ever behave like they were portrayed in this story.

playlist: long story short by taylor swift, friends by ed sheeran, clean by taylor swift

The school was packed. Students and visitors crowded the halls, their chatter and laughter echoing off the walls. The international high school science fair had taken over the campus, drawing in visitors and competitors from different schools—and different countries—but you couldn’t care less about any of it.

You checked your phone for the nth time, then sighed, shifting the cold cup of iced coffee in your hands. Your hand had started to numb, and your patience was running thin as you tapped your finger on the cup. The coffee was for Jaemin, something to hold him over until you both could finally leave and get proper food. But he was taking too long.

It was his birthday, and all you wanted was to take him to your favorite pizza place after he finished whatever student council errand had him running around. He had promised he’d be quick, but it had been twenty minutes since.

Just as you were about to text him, a pair of hands grabbed your shoulders from behind. “BOO.”

You jolted, the coffee slipping from your grip. The lid popped off upon impact, ice and liquid splashing onto your uniform. A sharp gasp left your lips as you turned to find Jaemin grinning, completely unbothered.

“Are you kidding me?” You gawked at him, arms lifted away from your body as the cold sank into your shirt. “Jaemin!”

His hands shot up in mock surrender. “In my defense, I didn’t think you’d scare that easily.”

“You jumped me!” You gestured at your now-stained uniform. “And now I’m soaked. Great. Happy birthday to you.”

Jaemin laughed, stepping back just as you raised your hand to smack his arm. “Relax. You can just buy me a new one.”

“Go buy yourself a new one,” you retorted, shoving the half-empty cup into his hand. You huffed, marching past him toward the school gates.

He gulped the remaining contents of the cup and caught up with you, while you tugged at your damp collar, scowling. “You took forever, my hand’s numb, and now I’m freezing.”

“Don’t you have a handkerchief on you, or something?” he asked, unzipping his jacket and draping it over your shoulders.

“I did have one,” you muttered, standing still as he adjusted his jacket on you and zipped it up. “But some guy needed it, so I gave it to him.”

Jaemin scoffed, shaking his head. “You really shouldn’t be giving out your stuff to just anyone,” he chided, patting your shoulders. “There. You’re good to go.”

The warmth of his jacket surrounded you, chasing away your irritation. It smelled like detergent and something distinctively Jaemin, something familiar. It wasn’t the first time he’d done something like this. Jaemin was always looking out for you and you didn’t think much of it.

Back then, you never really did.

The ceiling stared back at you, dull and lifeless, as your mind drifted aimlessly. Disconnected and meaningless thoughts swam through your mind—old conversations, half-formed ideas, fleeting memories. Until your eyes caught sight of the strip light clinging stubbornly to the edge of the ceiling, with its adhesive peeling away after years of being up there.

Jaemin had helped you put it up when you were sixteen. He’d almost fallen off the ladder, wobbling dramatically while you stood below looking unimpressed with your arms crossed. You’d given him hell about it, calling him useless for something he was doing as a favor. Your mom had scolded you after, shaking her head at how mean you were to a boy who was nice enough to help you out.

The memory made you smile, though it felt distant now. Back then, everything felt light and easy. Your only worries had been how to perfectly capture the grunge aesthetic you wanted for your bedroom.

A knock at the door cut through your musings, making your head snap in the direction of the door. You barely had time to sit up before Jaemin pushed it open, stepping inside like he owned the place.

He took one look at you and sighed dramatically. “It’s 10 a.m. Why aren’t you ready?”

“I am ready.”

He glanced at your bed, then at you—still in pajamas. “No, you’re not.”

“All my stuff’s packed,” you shot back, rising to your feet. “I just need to change and we’re good to go.”

Jaemin sighed but didn’t argue. Instead, he grabbed your bags, hauling them out of your room without waiting for you to catch up. After quickly changing, you followed him outside to where his car was parked at the curb.

Your mom and sister stood by the door, sending you off with a chorus of reminders. “Don’t skip meals,” “Call when you get there,” “Behave yourself.” You nodded along to each of them, half-listening, while Jaemin loaded your things into the trunk.

Then, just like always—like second nature—

You slid into the passenger seat without thinking. You pulled the seatbelt over your shoulder, and Jaemin draped a blanket over your lap just as you reached for the console to connect your phone. A lollipop landed in your palm at the same time you tossed his glasses from the dashboard into his waiting hand.

“The silver one,” said Jaemin, nodding at the other pair of glasses on the dashboard. You took the black ones and swapped them with the silver ones. 

“Thank you,” he chimed, wearing them carefully and showing them to you. “Looks better, don’t you think?”

You grimaced. “It looks the same to me.”

Jaemin deadpanned, shaking his head as he started the engine. “Why do I even bother asking someone with no taste?”

“Excuse me? How dare you?”

Four hours passed with comfortable conversation and music, your voices occasionally singing along to the songs playing through the speakers.

At some point, Jaemin reached for the volume dial, turning it down a notch. “You’re lucky we’re friends,” he muttered, shaking his head.

You raised a brow. “Oh? What did I do now?”

“You put that song in the playlist,” he said, nodding at the stereo like it had personally offended him. “We’ve been over this. It’s a crime against my ears.”

You gasped dramatically. “Excuse me? This is a masterpiece.”

Jaemin shot you a look of pure judgment. “It sounds like a car alarm.”

“You have no taste.”

“And you have terrible taste,” he retorted. “It’s been in all of your playlists since high school. Don’t you get sick of it?”

Scoffing, you skipped to the next song—one you knew he actually liked, though you made a show of sighing as if it physically pained you to do so. “Better?”

Jaemin grinned. “Thank you so much.”

The rest of the drive was uneventful, filled with more playful arguments about music choices, lazy singing, and the occasional comfortable silence. By the time you reached the city, your playlist had nearly looped itself, and Jaemin was humming along without even realizing it.

“You know,” you mused, unbuckling your seatbelt as he pulled up to your apartment, “for someone who ‘hates’ my music, you sure know all the words.”

Jaemin clicked his tongue, feigning annoyance. “Unfortunately, exposure to bad influences does that.”

You stuck your tongue out at him before stepping out of the car. Jaemin parked in front of your apartment building and helped you carry your bags upstairs, unloading them and complaining about how heavy they were. You only scoffed, knowing he was just being dramatic.

“You have dinner plans?” he asked once everything was inside. You shook your head. “You should text the others. Let’s all have dinner together.”

“Yeah, let’s do that,” you replied, slumping on your couch.

You could tell he was stalling. Dragging things out with small tasks—checking if the appliances are plugged in, rearranging the shoes by the door, checking his phone without really reading anything. But eventually, he ran out of excuses.

Jaemin stepped toward the doorway, pausing with one hand on the knob. “Are you sure you’ll be fine?”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

His expression didn’t change, but you could tell he didn’t buy it. “There’s still a few hours before dinnertime. Don’t you wanna go out and do something?”

“If you’re so worried, why don’t you just hang out with me until later?”

“Oh, I have to take my stuff to the dorms,” he replied, sighing as if he really was considering the idea. “Are you sure you don’t wanna live with the girls? Just so you’re not alone.”

“I’ll be fine, Jaemin.”

His lips pressed into a thin line, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to another like he wanted to say something else. But he didn’t. With one last glance, he gave a small nod and stepped out.

And then, just as the door was about to shut, his head popped back in. “Text me if you need anything.”

You rolled your eyes. “I know.”

Still, he hesitated. He paused briefly by the doorway, giving your apartment one last sweep. Then finally, finally, he walked away. The door clicked shut, and the silence that followed was deafening. You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

Alone again.

You tilted your head back, resting on the backrest of the sofa and staring at the ceiling. It had become a habit at this point, staring at the ceiling and letting your mind wander anywhere and everywhere.

Six months had passed since the accident in Mykonos that left you with a few scars and a broken heart. Six whole months of healing and trying to reconnect with the person that you were before that summer. Seeing a therapist helped for the most part. You were able to talk about what happened, address your questions and confusions, and face the consequences of your actions. But it was useless for the emptiness that followed. The odd feeling of having a hole in your heart but not feeling any sadness or hurt about it. It was just… there.

This emptiness tends to be strong when you are alone. You hated it, but after six months of being a burden, of having people walk on eggshells around you, you couldn’t bring yourself to confide in anyone and tell them you hated being alone.

You stared at the boxes scattered across your living room, the remnants of your hasty move. The idea of doing something productive was almost laughable, but you pushed the thought aside. You were going to unpack. You would. And that would be something.

The process was slow at first as you sorted through the boxes. Old books, some clothes you hadn’t seen in ages, and trinkets you’d forgotten about began to fill the shelves and hang in the closet. It wasn’t the most exciting task, but it was progress.

Eventually, your mind began to wander as your hands kept working. You hadn’t realized how much bigger this new apartment was compared to your last one. It was the same building but the living room felt more spacious compared to your previous unit.

The layout was unfamiliar, and for a moment, you paused, your eyes drifting down the hallway to a door you hadn’t really noticed before. It led to a second bedroom. You hadn’t asked for it when you’d signed the lease—this new place was supposed to be temporary, just for this semester. You’d taken the break from college to heal, to recalibrate after the wreckage of the past summer. Now you were back and a small part of you felt like an alien in an unfamiliar territory. You hadn’t exactly figured out how to balance all of this—your old life and this new version of yourself.

You moved to the second bedroom, setting up the bed with the same care you’d given the first. The window in here was smaller, but it was cozy and had enough space for a few furniture and for moving around. It could be perfect for when your mom comes. Or, maybe it would just be a place for things you never used.

When you finally made it to the living room, the place was looking less like a chaotic mess and more like an apartment. You flicked on the TV, hoping some background noise would distract you from the heavy silence that seemed to follow you around. Sinking back on the plush couch, you entertained yourself with a show you’d been meaning to watch. 

You didn’t realize you’d fallen asleep until loud, persistent knocks on your door jolted you awake. For a moment, you just stared at the TV, trying to make sense of the time and the situation. Then the knocks came again, this time with such force it sounded like they might break the door down.

Your heart rate quickened. You sat upright, momentarily disoriented, rubbing your eyes. Glancing at the clock, you saw that two hours had passed. You quickly got to your feet, shaking off the grogginess as you reached for the door.

“Who is it?” you asked, turning the knob and swinging the door open.

What greeted you was Jaemin’s panic-stricken face, his phone pressed to his ear, and his eyes wide as if he were on the verge of tears.

“Jaemin? What happened—” Before you could finish, he pulled you into a tight hug, squeezing the breath out of you.

“What’s going on?” you asked, suddenly nervous.

“Oh god, you’re gonna be the death of me,” he mumbled, holding you even tighter.

“Jaemin,” you said, trying to push him off, but he wouldn’t budge. “Jaemin, I can’t breathe!”

Finally, he pulled back, hands still gripping your shoulders as he demanded, “Where were you? Why didn’t you pick up?”

You blinked, caught off guard for a moment. You glanced at your phone on the coffee table, still buzzing because he was still calling you on his phone.

“Oh…” you trailed off, feeling suddenly guilty. “I fell asleep. I didn’t hear it.

Jaemin sighed, his shoulders sagging as he stepped back, rubbing the back of his neck. Before he could say anything else, the door swung open again, revealing the worried faces of your friends. The moment they saw you, relief flooded their expressions, and they practically lunged at you, whining and fake-sobbing as they pulled you into a dramatic group hug.

You caught Jaemin's eye. You gave him a quick, questioning glance, discreetly mouthing, “What's going on? Why are they here?”

Jaemin paused, then mouthed back, “This is all your fault.”

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, but before you could protest, your friends were already dragging you back into the apartment, chattering excitedly, leaving Jaemin behind with his amused grin.

Dinner plans had taken an unexpected turn, and now your apartment was filled with the comforting chaos of your friends’ voices, laughter echoing from both the kitchen and living room. Jaemin and Renjun had taken over cooking duties, moving around each other with an ease that suggested they’d done this plenty of times before. You sat curled up on the couch with Karina and Giselle, half-listening to their chatter while keeping an eye on whatever Jaemin was doing near the stove.

“I swear, you almost gave me a heart attack,” Karina huffed, lightly smacking your arm. “Jaemin made it sound like you were unconscious or kidnapped or dead.”

“I was asleep,” you muttered, sinking further into the cushions. “Totally fine. He might’ve overreacted a little.”

“Overreacted?” Giselle scoffed. “You disappeared for hours, didn’t pick up a single call, and this is your first night back. Can you blame us for being a little overprotective?”

You pursed your lips, unsure how to respond to that. You weren’t trying to worry them. It just hadn’t occurred to you that they’d actually be this worried.

“I get it,” Karina said, her tone softer now. “I know it must be exhausting having people hover over you all the time, but you kinda scared us. We’re not trying to be dramatic, we just—” She hesitated. “We don’t want you slipping back into that place.”

You exhaled through your nose. “I was asleep,” you repeated, though your voice lacked conviction this time.

For a while, the conversation drifted to lighter things—Karina complaining about her new professor, Giselle filling you in on a particularly messy situationship she got tangled up in. But in between their stories, your mind wandered. You’d been back for less than a day, and it already felt like there was a spotlight on you. Like everyone was waiting for you to break again.

As Karina started a new story, you took the opportunity to discreetly lean toward her and lower your voice. “Okay, but... why is Renjun here?”

She blinked at you. “Oh. He kinda just... ended up in the group last semester.”

You furrowed your brows. “How?”

“Dunno,” she said, shrugging. “We all started hanging out more, and he just stuck around.”

“Jaemin was the one who pulled him in, I think,” Giselle added. “And then it just happened. You probably didn’t notice ‘cause, well... you weren’t around.”

Right. You hadn’t been around. It was a strange realization—like the world had kept moving while you were frozen in place.

Before you could dwell on it, Giselle suddenly perked up, her voice turning mischievous. “Hey, Renjun,” she called toward the kitchen, loudly enough to grab everyone’s attention. “How’s it feel to make food for the girl you used to like?”

Karina covered a laugh with her hand, while Jaemin snorted under his breath. Renjun, standing by the stove, exhaled slowly and shook his head, giving Giselle a look that was equal parts tired and unimpressed.

“I’m never gonna live that down, am I?” he muttered, turning to Jaemin instead of dignifying the question with a real response.

Jaemin only smirked, stirring the pot in front of him. “Nope.”

You wanted to sink into the floor. Giselle, clearly entertained, leaned closer to you. “Does it feel weird?” she whispered. “Having your ex-crush make you dinner?”

You shot her a look. “We’re not talking about this.”

“We should talk about this,” Giselle insisted, grinning. “We wouldn’t want things to be awkward. We’re fond of him, you see.”

Karina leaned closer and lowered her voice. “We like him more than Jaemin.”

“I can hear you,” Jaemin interjected, pointing the spatula at Karina.

Thankfully, they didn’t press on the matter. Dinner proceeded smoothly after that, filled with easy conversations, inside jokes, and the occasional teasing at Jaemin’s expense. The warm, comforting energy reminded you of what you had missed—of how much you had needed this.

By the time the meal wound down, everyone was full and content, slumping into their seats as Jaemin and Renjun made a half-hearted attempt to clear the dishes before eventually giving up. With a few reluctant groans, they finally dragged themselves toward the door.

“I expect an actual text back next time,” Jaemin warned, pointing at you as he slipped his shoes on.

You rolled your eyes. “Noted.”

Renjun only gave you a small nod before stepping out, and just like that, the apartment felt quieter. But not for long.

The moment the door clicked shut, Karina and Giselle turned to you with identical grins. “Sleepover,” Giselle announced.

You blinked. “What?”

“We’re staying over,” Karina said, already making herself comfortable on your couch. “You don’t get a say.”

And just like that, the night stretched on, filled with whispered gossip, bursts of laughter, and limbs tangled together as the three of you squeezed into your bed. There was something nostalgic about it—something safe. Maybe it was the way Karina absentmindedly played with your hair, or how Giselle kept making you both laugh until your stomachs hurt.

Either way, by the time sleep finally took over, you couldn’t remember the last time you had felt this at peace.

The first day of the new semester felt like walking into an old sitcom set. Same buildings, same people, same scenes playing out with minor variations. Even the air smelled the same, a mix of coffee, freshly printed syllabi, and stress.

Your first lecture was a blur. You spent most of it half-listening, jotting down random notes between doodles, and staring at the clock. Time moved in an odd way—too slow and too fast all at once. Lunch was better, mostly because it required no real thought. You walked through the crowded cafeteria, tray in hand, until you spotted your friends at a corner table. Karina and Giselle were talking, Jaemin was picking at his fries, and Renjun looked relaxed and refreshed.

Jaemin glanced up as you sat down. “Finally. Our esteemed scholar returns from the clutches of education.”

You stabbed a cherry tomato with your fork. “It’s syllabus week. I haven’t done anything.”

“And you still look like you’ve been through war,” Karina teased.

You hummed noncommittally, half-listening as they fell into conversation. Someone mentioned a professor who still hadn’t uploaded the syllabus, then the best study spots on campus, then somehow they were debating the worst seats to get in a lecture hall.

The minutes stretched. The sun outside moved slowly. You took bites of your food at an unhurried pace.

At some point, Jaemin turned to Renjun. “I can’t believe you’re still sitting with us.”

He didn’t even look up from his phone. “I can’t believe I’m still sitting with you either.”

“We adopted him,” Giselle said. “He had no choice.”

Karina leaned back in her chair. “We like him more than you, so he’s not going anywhere.”

Jaemin placed a hand over his heart in mock offense. “Wow. Right on my face?”

“Renjun doesn’t embarrass us in public,” Giselle pointed out.

“Not yet,” Renjun muttered, glancing at you.

The conversation continued with pointless yet oddly entertaining topics. Someone tried to recall the name of a movie but got it completely wrong. Jaemin made a terrible pun that Karina groaned at but Giselle immediately wrote it down for later use. You laughed a few times without realizing it.

And then, just like that, lunch ended. Trays were cleared, schedules compared, half-hearted complaints about afternoon classes exchanged. 

The next few days passed pretty much the same. Classes, meals, occasional hangouts with your friends. Conversations stretched a little too long, and lectures felt like white noise in the background. It wasn’t bad, just monotonous. The world kept moving, even if you weren’t entirely participating.

Your schedule was light by design. Easing back into normal life was the goal, after all. But normal life turned out to be... dull. You sat through your lectures, watching the professors gesture at PowerPoints that no one was paying attention to, doodling in the margins of your notebook just to stay awake.

Somewhere in the middle of it, you befriended your seatmate, Eric. He was easygoing, quick with a joke, and effortlessly charming in the way some people just were. He had a habit of leaning in when he talked, his voice always carrying a hint of amusement.

“Did you get all that?”

“I think so,” you replied, shrugging.

“Great, can I see your notes?”

You glanced down at your page. A series of unrelated scribbles stared back at you. You slid your notebook over anyway.

“Wow,” he muttered, chuckling. “An abstract artist. Impressive.”

You glanced sideways at him, unable to suppress a chuckle at his comment. You tugged your notebook back. “You asked to see it.”

“You know, I think you might be the only person in this class who doesn’t look completely bored and sleepy,” he mused, lazily spinning a pen between his fingers.

You raised an eyebrow. “That’s an assumption.”

“Yeah?” He smirked. “What’s your secret? Other than practicing abstract art in your notebooks.”

“Complete emotional detachment,” you deadpanned.

Eric laughed, the sound warm and genuine. “I really really like you.”

You only smiled, assuming he meant it in a general, friendly way.

Meanwhile, Jaemin remained his usual self, looking after you in his own quiet way. He never outright asked if you were okay. He just walked back with you most days, keeping up a steady stream of conversation like he always had.

Today, he was talking about a new café that opened near campus. “They have this matcha croissant that’s supposed to be life-changing,” he said, stuffing his hands into his pockets as you walked. “I heard you girls are already planning a whole trip just to try it.”

“Yeah,” you nodded, glancing at him. “What about you?”

“I mean, I like croissants,” he shrugged. “But I feel like I’ll end up there no matter what.”

You hummed in response. Jaemin didn’t push. Instead, he switched topics, asking if you’d seen the latest episode of the drama you both started last year. You hadn’t.

“That’s tragic,” he sighed. “Now I have to pretend I don’t know what happens every time I talk about it.”

“You could just not talk about it.”

“That’s just impossible,” he said, shaking his head. “You know I don’t have that kind of self-control.”

You huffed a quiet laugh. The week passed before you knew it. 

One evening, after another regular day of classes, you came home feeling drained. You went about your routine—shower, tea, maybe a TV show since it was Friday night. You had a good grasp of your plans for the night, until a simple misstep turned into a disaster.

You weren’t even sure how it happened. Did you trip over the edge of the rug? Lose your footing while stepping into the shower? Either way, one second you were moving, and the next, you were on the floor, hissing as a sharp sting shot up your ankle.

It’s not that bad, you told yourself. Just a little soreness. You managed to get an ice pack for it, and went to bed thinking it would be fine in the morning.

Except, by morning, it wasn’t. You were feverish, and the dull ache had worsened. Even shifting the wrong way sent a sharp pulse through your foot. You tried to get up and walk, but that proved impossible, so you decided to call the first person who crossed your mind.

Jaemin arrived not ten minutes later, equipped with some stuff from the drugstore and a takeout bag.

“What happened?” he asked as soon as he stepped into your bedroom.

“Just a little accident,” you said too quickly. “I’m fine, but it hurts to move.”

Jaemin’s face tightened as he examined your ankle, pressing on it just enough for pain to shoot through, making you wince.

He exhaled sharply. “Yeah, no. We’re going to the ER.”

“It’s not that bad. I just need rest and some ibuprofen.”

Jaemin gave you a look. “You also have a fever. We need to check if you broke a bone or something. I know you hate it, but you’re gonna have to deal with this because, honestly, you’re way too clumsy for your own good.”

The trip to the ER wasn’t exactly eventful, but it was exhausting. You sat through the usual process—check-in, vitals, waiting. When the doctor finally saw you, they examined your ankle, prodded at it, and sent you off for an X-ray, just to be sure.

“Good news, nothing’s broken,” the doctor announced when they returned with your results. “Just a bad sprain. We’ll wrap it up, and you’ll need to stay off it for a few days. But there’s something else. Your bloodwork shows low iron and glucose levels.”

You blinked. “Huh?”

“You need to eat healthier,” they said simply, setting the file down. “Skipping meals, not getting enough nutrients. It’s showing up in your results. We’re giving you an IV now, but you should be more mindful of your diet moving forward.”

You exhaled as the nurse set up the IV, already anticipating what was coming. Jaemin, who had been sitting quietly beside you, didn’t say I told you so, but you felt it in the way he glanced at you.

It was only after the doctor left that he spoke. “I called your mom,” he said, casual like it was nothing.

Your head snapped toward him. “You what?”

Jaemin raised an eyebrow. “I figured you won’t tell her so, I did.”

“I was gonna tell her,” you grumbled. “Eventually.”

He didn’t look convinced. Before you could say anything else, your phone buzzed in his hand. He glanced at the screen before handing it over. “That’s her.”

Sighing, you took the call. “Hey, Mom.”

“Oh, honey.” Her voice was warm with relief. “Are you okay? Jaemin said you hurt your foot?”

“I’m fine,” you reassured her. “It’s just a sprain. And some iron deficiency, apparently. No big deal.”

Your mom sighed on the other end. “Sweetheart, you have to take care of yourself. Are you sure you’ll be okay on your own?”

“I’ll be fine,” you said. “It’s just a sprain. And I’ll eat better, I promise. They gave me an IV. I’m allowed to go home after this.”

A pause. Then, carefully, she said, “I was thinking maybe one of your friends could stay with you for a few days. Just until you’re feeling better?”

You opened your mouth to protest, but she added quickly, “It’s just a suggestion. I’d feel better knowing someone’s there with you.”

You blinked. “Mom, I don’t wanna bother them like that.”

“I know, but…” she sighed. “Let me talk to Jaemin, sweetie.”

You glanced at Jaemin before handing the phone back to him. He took it without question, nodding along as your mom talked his ear off. You could only catch bits and pieces—something about making sure you eat, not letting you skip meals, and keeping an eye on your ankle.

Eventually, he hung up and turned to you. “So, good news. You’re not dying. Bad news. Your mom insists someone stay with you for a few days. And—” He paused for dramatic effect. “She volunteered me.”

You gave him a flat look. “You volunteered yourself, didn’t you?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Jaemin dismissed. “What’s important is that I am now your temporary live-in nurse. I expect full cooperation.”

You sighed, debating your options, which, realistically, were none. You could protest, but you knew Jaemin. He wasn’t going to leave you alone while you were limping around your apartment. And honestly? Maybe having him around wouldn’t be that bad.

“Fine,” you muttered.

Jaemin nodded. “Okay. I’ll take the couch.”

You shook your head. “No need. I have a spare room you can use.”

“Oh?” he said, pressing his finger to his chin in a thoughtful gesture. “That’s even better.”

You exhaled slowly, rolling your eyes as you shifted to get more comfortable in the hospital bed. Jaemin, without missing a beat, adjusted the pillow behind you, leaning in a bit closer than necessary. You could smell his cologne, fresh, woodsy, and all too familiar.

“I have rules,” you said, eyes fluttering shut for just a moment.

“Of course,” Jaemin murmured, sounding amused.

You felt his hand brush over your forehead for a second, checking your temperature, but it lingered there longer than usual. You let out a quiet sigh, more content than you'd been all evening. With Jaemin here, maybe things would be okay.

You were only 14 when Jaemin and his family moved in next door. At the time, you weren’t particularly thrilled by the idea of befriending some new kid just because your parents told you to. You were used to being on your own, and you didn’t really feel like spending your weekends babysitting someone. But, as parents do, they insisted, so you reluctantly agreed.

It would be easier if he wanted to be friends with you too. But you could sense that he didn’t. He was curt, somehow a little mean when he talked to you. So, despite your parents’ wishes, you didn’t put in the effort to really get to know him.

That was until one Saturday morning. The sun was a little too bright for your taste, but you went with your family anyway. The hike was supposed to be a fun family outing, the kind where you would all get some fresh air and maybe stop at the lake for some snacks. Jaemin had only just moved in for over a week, and he was quiet, reserved, completely out of place in the familiar group of your family and his own. You didn’t blame him for that, but it didn’t stop you from feeling annoyed when your mom pointed him out and told you to stick by his side.

It didn’t take long for Jaemin to get lost. Not that it was entirely his fault. He was a city kid, and the woods were a different world. He wandered too far ahead, distracted by something, and before long, he was out of sight. That was when you heard him calling out for help.

You should’ve ignored it, honestly. The adults would hear him soon and they’d help. But somehow, you couldn’t just leave him alone. So you went after him, with quick steps as you navigated through the trees, trying to track down the lost kid. You found him standing by a cluster of rocks, looking entirely confused.

“Hey,” you called, catching his attention. “What are you doing all the way out here?”

Jaemin turned to face you, frustration and relief etched in his expression. “I... I guess I took a wrong turn.”

With a sigh, you rolled your eyes, stepping forward. “Come on. I’ll take you back.”

He followed you without a word, your pace steady as you led him back to the group. It wasn’t long before the others found you, and the hike resumed without much delay. But Jaemin stuck to you for the rest of the day. You didn’t mind because he was quiet most of the time, so you didn’t need to talk to him.

After that day, Jaemin kept showing up. At school, he’d sit next to you in class, not because he had to, but because he didn’t know anyone else to sit with. At lunch, ,he would find his way to your table, and you’d have your usual back-and-forth, making jokes and laughing about things only the two of you found funny. He was a little quieter back then, but there was always something comfortable about having him around. You didn’t have to try to impress him, and he didn’t make things awkward.

In high school, Jaemin was the guy you called when you couldn’t reach the top shelf in the kitchen, or when your phone was broken and you needed help figuring out what was wrong with it. When your family’s car broke down on a trip out of town, he was the one who came over with his toolbox and somehow managed to get the engine running again. And when you told him your food cravings at 11 PM, he’d be the one to show up at your door with your favorite late-night snack, laughing about how you were impossible to please.

“Am I your slave? Why do I have to do this for you?” he’d complain, but you knew he didn’t mean it.

Jaemin was dependable, and you had always known that. He wasn’t just that. He was also the guy who could make you laugh even when you wanted to stay mad at him. He was good at cooking, always surprising you with something new in the kitchen. And when he’d show you his latest photos, you couldn’t help but feel proud. He was talented. He always managed to stay humble, even when people around him began noticing just how good he was at everything.

You never really told him he was your best friend. You didn’t need to. The way you bickered and joked around always downplayed the depth of your connection, but you both knew you were each other’s person. It was the kind of friendship that didn’t need constant reaffirmation. The kind that lasted because it was simply there, no effort required.

Now, as you sat on the couch in your apartment, Jaemin sitting nearby while you fumbled through a book you were reading, you couldn’t help but notice how little had changed. Jaemin had grown up, of course, he had. He was older now, more popular, more confident, a little more polished. But underneath all of that, he was still the same guy you’d met all those years ago.

Still the guy who could cook you a meal without breaking a sweat, making your favorite dish like it was the easiest thing in the world. Still the one who was always convenient to have around, no matter the situation. There was something strangely comforting about how much he hadn’t changed. He had grown, sure, but the essence of who he was—the one who showed up without being asked, who willingly and effortlessly took care of everything—was still the same.

Jaemin was annoyingly good at taking care of you. The first morning in your apartment, you woke up to the smell of something warm and savory, your stomach twisting in hunger before you were even fully conscious. When you managed to make your way to the kitchen in crutches, he was already plating breakfast, acting like he’d lived here all his life.

“You’re up,” he said, not even looking up from the pan. “Sit. Eat.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Isn’t this too much for breakfast?”

Jaemin set a bowl in front of you, a perfectly balanced meal that made your usual instant ramen diet look embarrassing. “Breakfast is the most important meal of the day. I thought you already knew that?”

You huffed but didn’t argue, mostly because he was right. And because the food smelled too good to resist.

For the next few days, Jaemin took over your apartment like a man on a mission. Since you couldn’t walk, he made sure everything you needed was within reach. He left water bottles and snacks at your bedside. He helped you move whenever you needed to get to the bathroom or the couch.

He had an almost annoying dedication to making sure you ate. Every lunchtime, without fail, he showed up at your apartment. You’d hear the front door unlock, and a few minutes later, he’d be standing in front of you, arms crossed.

“Did you eat?”

You’d roll your eyes. “Yes, Dad.”

Jaemin would glance at the table, checking for evidence. If he saw plates in the sink, he’d nod and remind you to take your meds before going back to campus. Sometimes just moving to prepare your own food was tiring, but you knew better than to try and lie to him, so you didn’t.

It was kind of nice. Annoying, but nice. But, of course, there were the embarrassing moments that came with having him around 24/7.

Like the time you walked into the living room, only to find him casually folding your clothes—including your underwear.

“Jaemin!” you shrieked, nearly tripping over your own foot.

He barely blinked, holding up a pair of lace-trimmed bras with a considering look. “Are these new?”

“Oh my god, drop them!”

Jaemin chuckled, but thankfully, he did as you said. “Relax. It’s just laundry. It’s not like I haven’t seen a bra before.”

Then there was the time you walked out of your room in the morning, still half-asleep, only to find Jaemin in nothing but a towel, casually walking out of the bathroom. You froze.

Jaemin, completely unfazed, rubbed his damp hair with another towel. “Morning.”

You closed your eyes shut, looking away dramatically. “What the hell?! Put some clothes on!”

He snorted. “Don’t like it, don’t look.”

“Excuse me? This is my apartment! I don’t need to see—” You cut yourself off before you could make things worse, groaning into your hands. “God, just—just go.”

Jaemin laughed as he padded past you toward the spare room. “Noted.” It was a nightmare.

When you were finally able to attend classes again, Jaemin always walked there with you. He made it look casual, stuffing his hands in his pockets and shrugging whenever you pointed it out. “What? We have almost the same schedule.”

You didn’t. And yet, every day, he was there, waiting for you to get ready, carrying your bag when he thought you looked too tired, making sure you got back home without a hitch.

Around the apartment, he was everywhere. You’d be brushing your teeth in the bathroom, and he’d be leaning against the doorway, scrolling through his phone like he had nowhere better to be. You’d be on the couch, flipping through channels, and he’d plop down beside you, stealing the remote.

When he cooked dinner, he’d make you sit on the counter, keeping you close while he moved around the kitchen like it was his. “I swear, if you don’t start eating better, I’m gonna move in permanently,” he’d threaten, flicking water at you when you teased him about being a housewife.

“You don’t have to do all this, you know,” you told him one evening, watching as he washed the dishes.

Jaemin didn’t look up. “I know.”

“Then why are you doing it?”

He glanced at you over his shoulder with a small, knowing smile on his lips. “Because I want to.”

You stared at him for a second before shaking your head. “Suit yourself. I’m not complaining about a clean house and good food.”

Jaemin just chuckled. “You can admit you like having me around. Don’t be shy.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. He was right, but he’d never catch you admitting that out loud. Not to his face at least.

Before you knew it, two weeks had passed. Your ankle had fully healed, and Jaemin—your self-appointed live-in nurse and housewife—was finally packing up his things. You stood by his bedroom door, watching him fold his clothes neatly in place.

“What are you doing?” you asked, trying to keep your voice neutral.

Jaemin hummed, tossing a hoodie into his duffel bag. “Getting my stuff ready. I’m moving back to the dorm by the end of the day.”

You knew this was coming. It wasn’t like he was living with you permanently. But for some reason, you didn’t like hearing it out loud.

The idea of your apartment returning to its usual emptiness made you uncomfortable. No more clinking in the kitchen in the early morning, no more stolen bites from your plate, no more Jaemin casually invading your space like it was his own. Loneliness slowly crept into your chest at the idea. 

But you didn’t tell him that.

By the time you stepped out of the apartment, the morning sun was warm against your skin, and Jaemin was walking beside you like he had been doing in the last few days. It had become routine—leaving together, arriving together. For the past two weeks, Jaemin had been around every moment of the day, making sure you ate, getting you to class, sticking around like a permanent fixture in your life. And now, just like that, he was packing up.

You glanced at him, the strap of his bag slung over his shoulder. It felt strange, knowing he wouldn’t be there tonight, or tomorrow, or the day after that. The thought unsettled you more than it should. Trying not to dwell on it, you cleared your throat. “What’s the college dorm like?”

Jaemin scoffed. “Let’s see… bunk beds that creak every time you move. Paper-thin walls so you hear everything. People talking, snoring, doing… other things.” He grimaced. “Shared bathrooms, too. It’s an experience, to say the least.”

You made a face. “That sounds awful.”

“It is,” Jaemin confirmed, kicking a loose pebble on the sidewalk. “And my roommate? Dude never cleaned up after himself. I swear, I did all the work.”

“That sucks.” You hummed thoughtfully. “Must be nice having your own space for the past two weeks, huh?”

Jaemin shot you a look, catching on just a little. “I guess.”

“You guess?” You raised a brow. “I mean, you had a whole kitchen. A clean bathroom. Nobody snoring in the same room as you.”

Jaemin let out a soft chuckle. “Are you trying to make a point?”

“Nope. Just making conversation.” You shrugged, keeping your expression neutral.

He rolled his eyes, but there was amusement dancing in them. “Right.”

You left it at that, but something about the conversation must have stuck, because at lunch, Jaemin was still talking about it. He was talking when you joined them at the cafeteria, casually sliding into the seat next to him.

“What are you guys talking about?” you asked, although you already heard snippets of their conversation.

“Jaemin’s moving back to the dorms today,” Karina said, sighing. “We’re wishing him luck.”

“Why would you willingly go back?” Giselle added, incredulous. “Dorm life is hell. It’s literally just a shoebox with a bed.”

“And you can hear everything,” Renjun chimed in. “My friend used to hear his neighbor watch porn and masturbate at two in the morning.”

Everyone at your table groaned in unison. Giselle dramatically covered her mouth as if she couldn’t believe her ears. “That word in your mouth, Renjun? I can’t believe it!”

“What? Masturbate?”

You all groaned again. At this point, Giselle was fake-sobbing on Karina’s shoulder. “My sweet innocent Renjun. Jaemin, what have you been teaching my baby?” she pointed an accusatory finger at Jaemin.

“I’m literally half a year older than you,” Renjun deadpanned.

Your table was chaotic as usual, but your mind was elsewhere, focusing on Jaemin and the fact that he won’t be around after today. 

And that afternoon after classes were over, you leaned against the doorway of the spare bedroom, watching Jaemin zip up his duffel bag. He moved around the room, gathering the last of his things, a hoodie hanging on the back of the door, his camera resting on the desk, a pair of socks he’d somehow left on the floor.

It was expected, of course. He was always going to leave. That was the deal. But standing there, watching him pack, you felt the reality of it settle in your chest in a way you hadn’t anticipated.

You sighed without meaning to. Jaemin didn’t turn at first, but when he finally did, he smirked. “Why do you look so upset? Gonna miss me when I’m gone?”

“I’m not upset,” you said quickly, arms crossing over your chest. “I was just worried you’d have a hard time when you’re back in the dorms.”

Jaemin huffed out a small laugh. “I’ve lived there since freshman year. I’ll survive.”

You knew that. You weren’t actually worried about him adjusting. He was fine there before. He’d be fine again. But would you? Would you be okay when the small ray of sunshine that had been brightening up your space for the last two weeks disappeared?

You hesitated. The words forming in your head felt too heavy, too exposing. You weren’t even sure you wanted to say them. And yet, before you could think better of it, they slipped out anyway. “You don’t have to leave.”

Jaemin paused, his hands holding the zipper of his bag. “What do you mean?”

You swallowed, shifting on your feet. You could leave it at that. Brush it off, pretend you meant something else. But he was already looking at you, waiting.

“You heard me,” you muttered, looking away.

Jaemin tilted his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I did, but I’m not sure I’m understanding it correctly.”

Heat prickled at your skin. This was exactly why you didn’t want to say it. He was just gonna tease you about it. Annoyed, embarrassed, and already regretting this, you huffed. “I said I want you to stay. Don’t go back to the dorms. Just go get your stuff and stay here.”

Jaemin laughed. “Oh, you want me to stay—” He trailed off as his eyes met yours. His amusement faded slightly when he realized you weren’t laughing.  “You’re serious?”

You dropped your gaze, suddenly feeling ridiculous. “Yeah.”

“I don’t think you understand what it would mean if I stayed here,” he said softly, searching your face. “That means I have to live here with you, in your space. You’ll have to see me everyday until the semester is over.”

“I know that. It’s not like I’m doing this for free. We can split the rent and other bills. I’ll buy the groceries, you make sure to make food. I’ll lend you my linens and other stuff, you make sure they’re clean.”

“Why are you okay with this?”

You exhaled slowly, staring at the floor like the answer might be there. 

Because the apartment would be too quiet without him. Because the past two weeks had been easier, and brighter, less mundane and less dull. Because you’d gotten used to him being there, to the sound of him moving around, to the way he always had something to say.

But admitting that felt like too much. So instead, you shrugged, forcing nonchalance into your voice. “Because I’m anemic and low on sugar. Someone’s gotta make sure I’m well-fed and healthy.”

Jaemin chuckled heartily, sighing as he gave you an affectionate look. He always did that when he found you cute or endearing, and it always annoyed you because it made you feel like a child.

“If you don’t want to then, forget it,” you huffed, rolling your eyes. “Go back to your bunk bed and dirty roommate, I guess.”

“Fine. I’m staying. But only because you forced me to,” he teased, opening his bag again and emptying it.

You stomped toward him, slapping his shoulder. “I did not!”

“Sure, you didn’t.”

You scoffed, annoyed and wondering if you could still take it back. But your heart is lighter now, more at ease. “You better not say that to the girls when they ask about this.”

“I don’t know,” he said in a sing-song. “I might. I might not.”

Living with Jaemin wasn’t all that different from when he was just temporarily staying over. It still came with the same pros: warm food every day, a perpetually clean kitchen, and the added bonus of a personal bodyguard whenever you had to walk home late. But, of course, the same cons remained—the casual half-nakedness, and the occasional mixing of laundry that resulted in you pulling one of his boxers out of your pile.

He changed the spare bedroom completely, swapping out your plain beddings for something that matched his aesthetic better—earthy tones and soft fabrics, the kind that looked straight out of a home decor catalog. He put up posters on the walls, ones he must’ve had in storage, and his toiletries now sat next to yours in the bathroom cabinet. It was still your apartment, but it was slowly becoming his home too.

For the most part, it was nice.

One evening, as you got ready to head out, Giselle came over, letting herself in as usual. She plopped down on your couch, watching as you moved around the apartment, gathering your things.

“Hey, did Jaemin leave already?” she asked, eyeing the shoes by the door—his shoes.

You glanced at her, then back at the bedroom door that was slightly ajar, revealing the edge of his neatly made bed. “Oh, no. He lives here now.”

Giselle blinked. “Permanently?”

“Yeah.” You pulled on a jacket, smoothing it out in the mirror. “He figured it was better than the dorms, so he just moved in.”

Giselle let out a low whistle. “Damn. I’m kinda jealous. I want a live-in housemaid who cooks for me every day too.”

You laughed. “He’s not a housemaid.”

“But still.” She crossed her arms, tilting her head in thought. “Isn’t it weird, though?”

“What?”

“Living with a guy,” she said. “Like, you’re a girl. He’s a guy. Isn’t that… I don’t know, weird?”

You made a face. “We’ve known each other since we were fourteen, Giselle. I don’t see him like that.”

“Huh.” She tapped a finger against her chin, thinking. “So girls and boys can really be just friends.”

“Of course. Why is that even an argument?” you chuckled, shaking your head.

“I mean, I always figured it was possible,” she mused. “But you guys aren’t just friends. You’re like…” She gestured vaguely, searching for the right words. Then, she snapped her fingers. “You’re soulmates. Platonic soulmates, but still soulmates.”

You snorted. “Soulmates?”

“Yeah. You guys are practically an old married couple without the romance.” She grinned. “It’s honestly kinda cute.”

You rolled your eyes, but you didn’t argue. Because, well, maybe she had a point.

The party was louder than you remembered parties being. Maybe it had just been a while, or maybe you were out of practice, but for the first hour, you found yourself unable to keep up with the energy around you. People moved in and out of conversations effortlessly, the music pulsed through the space, and the air was thick with the familiar mix of sweat, alcohol, and perfume.

It felt new again, being surrounded like this, caught up in the rhythm of a rowdy crowd. You sipped at your drink, letting yourself ease into it.

As you looked around, the memories of the past summer came registering into your mind’s view. The last time you'd felt this kind of buzz was that summer in Mykonos. You hadn’t thought about it much in a while, but now, under the neon lights and the noise, your memories brought you back to those days. Surprisingly enough, it wasn’t sad or upsetting to remember that phase. In fact, you almost laughed at yourself, recalling just how much fun you’d had back then.

You’d been reckless. Maybe a little foolish. Definitely unhinged at times.

Donghyuck crossed your mind, slipping into the memory as easily as he had slipped into your life back then. That summer had been a whirlwind, the two of you burning through it like a fire neither of you had tried to put out. You wondered how he was doing. If he ever thought about that summer. If he ever thought about you.

Before you could dwell on it for too long, a hand grabbed yours. It was Giselle, grinning at you as he tugged you further into the house. “Come on!”

“Where are we—”

Karina appeared on your other side, looping her arm around yours. “Drinking game. Let’s go.”

You barely had a chance to protest before they dragged you into a circle of students, their laughter and cheers carrying over the loud music and chatter. Someone handed you a shot. The game was in full swing—a card game of truth or take a shot.

You participated, not because you wanted to, but because you were already there. It carried on, drinks passing from hand to hand, each question peeling back another layer of someone's carefully curated image. You laughed as someone admitted to sending an embarrassing drunk text the night before, and winced when another revealed they had been caught sneaking a boy into their apartment by their roommate’s mom.

Then, it was your turn, which surprised you a little. You thought the chances of getting picked was low, given the large number of people participating in the game. But here you are.

“Who’s the last person you kissed?” said someone who was reading the card you’d picked, and the circle immediately leaned in, eager for the answer.

You hesitated, warmth creeping up your neck. The answer should have come easily, but instead, your mind drew a complete blank.

“Well?” Giselle pressed.

You shifted in your seat. “No one.”

That didn’t satisfy them. “Come on, be serious.”

“I am being serious,” you insisted. “I haven’t kissed anyone recently.”

The group groaned in disappointment, and someone called out, “Boring!” You only rolled your eyes, but before you could deflect, another question landed in your lap.

“What about your first kiss?”

You laughed, relieved it wasn’t about the present anymore. “That was back in high school,” you said lightly. “You probably wouldn’t even know them.”

But the moment the words left your mouth, your gaze flickered across the room, drawn almost instinctively to Jaemin. He was standing far across the hall, deep in conversation, laughing with his friends.

And then it hit you. Jaemin. Your first kiss had been Jaemin. A sharp gasp left your lips.

The realization knocked into you like a gust of wind, rattling your brain, unearthing a memory you hadn’t even realized you’d buried. The circle of people blurred into static noise as your pulse pounded in your ears.  Without thinking, you rose to your feet.

“Hey! Where are you—”

“Bathroom,” you blurted, before turning and walking—no, running—out of the room.

You didn’t stop until you reached the garden area of the house, stepping into the cooler night air. The party still pulsed behind you, but out here, it was less stuffy, easier to breathe.

You held onto the edge of a patio table as you tried to process what had just resurfaced. How could you have forgotten something like that? How had it just slipped from your memory as if it never happened?

Jaemin had been your first kiss. Not some crush, not a random guy at a party. Jaemin.

The thought sent your brain into overdrive. It must have been casual, right? A stupid teenage thing. A dare? A joke? You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to summon the exact details, but all you got were flashes—his face close to yours, the stuffy in the air, the way he’d grinned afterward.

You let out a breath, feeling slightly light-headed. And then you heard a familiar voice calling your name behind you.

“Are you okay?” You turned, and there he was. Jaemin, stepping onto the patio, his head tilting slightly in concern. 

You straightened immediately, forcing a neutral expression. “Yeah. Just needed some air.”

Jaemin didn’t look entirely convinced, but he didn’t press. Instead, he eyed you for a moment before asking, “Have you been drinking?”

You hesitated before nodding. “A little.”

He narrowed his eyes on you. “You know you’re not supposed to drink, right?”

You chuckled lightly, rolling your eyes just a little. “I’m allowed to drink, Jaemin. And besides, I’m all better now. I didn’t even need to go to rehab and I’m off therapy.”

Jaemin shrugged, stuffing his hands in hi pockets. “Yeah, but it won’t hurt to be careful. You don’t seem that well to me.”

You understood what he meant. While it was true that the events of that summer no longer haunted you, you hadn’t reverted back to your old easy-going, and happy self. This was probably just a phase, a transition period because blending back seamlessly wasn’t as easy as people made it out to be. But you knew in your heart that you were all better now, you were simply adjusting.

Silence settled between the two of you, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Just… lingering. There was something on the tip of your tongue, something you wanted to ask, but you didn’t.

Instead, you inhaled slowly, pushing the thought away. “I’m heading back in,” you said.

Jaemin nodded, stepping aside to let you pass. As you walked back inside, the memory of your first kiss still sat heavy in your chest. It was back now, no longer buried. And you had no idea what to do with it.

You had hoped that unearthing a memory as important as your first kiss wouldn’t affect your life. But it did, funnily enough. Now, you couldn’t look Jaemin in the eye or act normally around him. It was awkward, and you knew he could feel it too. He was just nice enough not to ask questions. Or maybe he knew he hadn’t done anything to cause this, so he wasn’t bothered at all.

You, however, were very much bothered. 

As you sat on the couch, pretending to scroll through your phone, your gaze kept drifting toward Jaemin. He was vacuuming the apartment like nothing had changed, like you hadn’t just recovered a lost piece of your history together. Did he remember that night? Or had he forgotten, just like you had?

You could still see it so clearly now. Some summer party when you were sixteen. The two of you, shoved into a cramped closet for a round of Seven Minutes in Heaven.

“We’re not gonna do it,” you’d said immediately. “Obviously, we’re not gonna do it.”

Jaemin had shrugged. “Let’s just let the seven minutes pass and we’re out of here.”

“Yeah,” you’d agreed. But you’d been restless, hugging your arms around yourself, picking at the sleeve of your dress. 

The closet had been stuffy, filled with the scent of old coats and lingering perfume. You’d had a few bottles of beer and cups of whatever mix of alcohol and softdrinks the jocks had concocted earlier. You’d been hot and light-headed. So when he shifted slightly and his elbow nudged your arm, you had looked up at him ready to snap and say something mean like you always did.

But you couldn’t. The words died in your throat when you were met by his eyes, striking in the glow of your phone’s flashlight, staring back at you. The same eyes that had always been so easy to read—except, for the first time, you weren’t sure what you were seeing.

“Just one?” you blurted before you could even stop yourself.

Jaemin moved to face you fully. “Just one,” he said, already reaching to cup your face and kiss your lips.

It was just one, as agreed. As soon as his mouth touched yours, something in you had caved. The kiss had stolen the air out of your lungs, and erased the rationality in your head. That one kiss had you gripping the back of his neck, fingers curling against his hair as you pulled him closer for more. His hands on your hips were firm, keeping you steady as you felt your knees go weak with the sensation of his lips.

It was just one kiss. But it was one hell of a kiss. And yet, somehow, you’d managed to forget it ever happened—until now.

“Hey.” Jaemin’s voice yanked you back to the present.

You blinked, vision coming back into focus. He was standing in front of you now, the vacuum off, watching you with mild concern. His hand was on your arm.

“Huh?” you said, stupidly.

His brows furrowed. “Are you okay?”

Panic flared up in your chest. His touch felt too warm, too familiar, and suddenly, it was all too much. You swatted his hand away, bolted up from the couch, and rushed straight into your room.

You told yourself it was no big deal. Just a long-forgotten memory, insignificant in the grand scheme of things. It shouldn’t change anything. It didn’t mean anything.

But no matter how much you tried to push it out of your mind, you couldn’t. It was like Jaemin had been put under a magnifying glass—every little thing about him suddenly too noticeable, too distracting.

Like the way his voice softened when he called your name. Or how his sweater sleeves were always pushed up to his elbows, exposing his forearms. Or the way he laughed, nose scrunching, eyes disappearing. Or, most annoyingly, how effortlessly attractive he was.

That hadn’t been a new observation, obviously. You always knew Jaemin was handsome. It was just a fact. But suddenly, it was something you were aware of in a way you had never been before. Suddenly, you were attracted to this handsomeness and it was infuriating.

The worst moment, by far, had been a few days ago. You had been curled up on the couch, scrolling through your phone, when Jaemin had stepped out of the bathroom—fresh from a shower, towel slung around his neck, with his messy damp hair falling over his forehead. And, of course, because the universe was cruel, he had been shirtless.

You hadn’t meant to stare, but you did.

It was impossible not to when his toned muscles were right there, his defined chest and abs on full display as he wiped at his hair. You knew he was ripped. You knew he had been going to gym consistently, putting in the work to maintain his physique. But you hadn’t given it any attention until right now.

He glanced up mid-rub, catching you staring blatantly with wide eyes. “What?” he asked, smirking.

“Nothing,” you blurted, whipping your gaze away so fast you almost gave yourself whiplash. Your ears burned. You buried your face back into your phone, scrolling blindly, hoping the ground would swallow you whole.

Jaemin just laughed, shaking his head as he walked into his room. But you were left with the horrifying realization that you had just ogled your best friend.

And it wasn’t just that. It was everything that used to be so normal, so second-nature.

The way he absentmindedly ruffled your hair, the way he leaned in close when talking, the way he smelled—clean, fresh, woodsy—a mix that smelled distinctly Jaemin. You found yourself noticing things you never paid attention to before. And the more you noticed, the more your brain kept circling back to that memory—of being sixteen, of being in that closet, of his lips on yours.

Jaemin noticed eventually. He noticed how you avoided his gaze, how you stiffened when he casually draped an arm over your shoulders like he always had. He noticed how you started keeping just enough distance between you, subtly leaning away when he got too close.

At first, he didn’t seem to think much of it—maybe just a weird mood, something that would pass. But when it didn’t, when you kept acting like a skittish cat whenever he so much as looked at you for too long, his patience finally ran out.

He caught you by the wrist one afternoon, stopping you just as you were about to escape into your room after he sat too close to you in the couch and you scooted away like you were terrified of him.

“Okay, what’s going on with you?” he asked, brows furrowed.

Your heart jumped to your throat. “Nothing.”

His grip was loose enough that you could pull away if you wanted, but his stare pinned you in place. “You’ve been acting weird.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said quickly. Too quickly.

Jaemin scoffed, giving you a look that said he wasn’t buying it for a second. “Yeah, okay,” he said, tone dripping with sarcasm. “If you’re just gonna act like I’m gonna devour you each time I so much as look at you, why did you ask to live together?”

“Live together?” you echoed, his choice of words making your brain short-circuit. “We’re not living together. We’re sharing an apartment.”

“Yeah, that’s what living together means. I— That’s not the point,” he stopped and sighed, letting you go and placing his hands on his waist. “What did I do? Tell me so I can apologize and we can get over it.”

Tell him? Tell him? How were you supposed to tell him that you’d just remembered your first kiss with him and it was making you all giddy and nervous when he was near? You couldn’t possibly say that to your best friend of all people!

You opened your mouth to argue, to deny, to brush it off, but luckily, salvation arrived in the form of your friends ringing the doorbell.

“That’s the girls,” you said, making a break for the door before he could stop you again. “We’re seeing Ningning today. I’ll be home late, so no need to make me dinner.”

Jaemin let out a frustrated sigh behind you. “Call me if you need me to pick you up.” 

“I will,” you replied, but you didn’t look back. You definitely will not call him to pick you up.

Café dates with your friends were usually a safe space, a break from the chaos of college life. But today, your mind was still preoccupied, and no matter how hard you tried to be present, you kept zoning out, stirring your iced coffee with the straw until the ice had almost completely melted.

“You’re quiet today,” Karina noted, giving you a curious look.

You blinked, forcing a smile. “Huh? No, I’m fine.”

“You literally just sighed to yourself,” Ningning said flatly.

Giselle narrowed her eyes. “You’ve been acting weird since we got here. Spill it.”

You hesitated. Admitting this out loud made it feel too real. But the three of them were staring at you like interrogators, and you knew they weren’t going to let this go.

You exhaled, deciding to rip the band-aid off. “I’ve been thinking about something weird lately.”

Giselle leaned in, interested. “Weird how?”

You bit your lip, hesitating for just a second before blurting, “I just—” You exhaled sharply. “I just remembered that Jaemin was my first kiss.”

“WHAT?”

Their voices were too loud that it drew attention from the nearby tables. You winced, shushing them in a panic. “Hey, keep it down.”

“You just dropped a bomb on us, what do you expect?” Ningning whisper-yelled, looking personally offended that she was only learning this now.

Karina gaped at you. “Jaemin was your first kiss? How are you best friends with your first kiss?”

“I kinda forgot about it,” you admitted sheepishly. “It happened in high school. And I didn’t remember until recently.”

They exchanged looks, intrigue and disbelief dancing on their faces. Giselle was the first to recover. “Okay, wait. So, was it like, an actual kiss kiss? Or one of those lame pecks?”

You opened your mouth to answer but suddenly remembered just how intense it had actually been. Your face burned. Karina gasped. “Oh my god! It was a real kiss, wasn’t it?”

You groaned, dropping your head into your hands. “Can we not?”

“No, we absolutely can,” Ningning said, practically buzzing. “So? What does this mean? Do you—” she wiggled her brows, “—like him?”

“What? No!” you said immediately, way too defensive. “We were sixteen and dumb, playing seven minutes in heaven. I just— It’s weird, okay? It’s weird that I didn’t remember it, and now that I do, I can’t stop thinking about it.”

They exchanged another round of knowing looks. You hated it. “Guys, stop making me nervous.”

Ningning leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. “Okay, but think about it. You’ve lived with Jaemin for how long now? Three weeks? And now is when you suddenly remember this? What if your brain suppressed it because it meant something?”

You gave her a deadpan look. “Yeah, I totally repressed my first kiss because I was secretly in love with Jaemin all this time. That makes so much sense.”

Karina tapped her nails against the table. “Actually, she has a point. You said you forgot it happened, right? But then all of a sudden, it just comes back out of nowhere? Why? What triggered it?”

You hesitated. “Remember last week when we were playing a game at the party? And you guys asked me about my first kiss?” They nodded. “Yeah, that’s when it came back to me. Now I can’t stop thinking about it. I’ve been acting all weird around him and he’s starting to notice.”

Karina’s eyes widened. “Oh my god, wait. What if the reason you forgot about it was because it would have changed the way you saw him back then? And now that you remembered it, you can’t unsee it because it’s been so long and he’s changed and you’ve changed and now he’s—”

“Hot,” Giselle finished, giving Karina a high-five after.

“Don’t say that,” you groaned.

“What? Hot?” Giselle snickered. “Why not? Jaemin is hot. Have you seen him?”

Karina grinned beside you. “Of course she’s seen him. They see each other 24/7 now.”

Ningning, just to fan the fire, said, “Bet he walks around shirtless after a shower.”

“Or when he gets back from the gym,” Giselle added, making all the girls oooh and fan their faces.

You stared at them, horrified. “You’re all insane.”

“Maybe, but you’re not saying we’re wrong,” Ningning said smugly. “Come on, babe. It’s okay to admit it. You like him. You want to kiss him again.”

“You guys are giving way too much meaning to something that happened years ago,” you insisted.

“Are we, though?” Giselle challenged. “Because we’re not the ones acting weird around our best friend over ‘something that happened years ago’,” she added, mimicking that way you spoke.

Karina tilted her head. "Yeah, why do you think that is?”

You opened your mouth to answer but came up empty. Because, ugh, they did have a point. It was just a kiss—one from years ago—but if it really was that meaningless, why were you spiraling?

“Wait, what about him?” Ningning prompted. “Does he remember that? Did he know that was your first kiss?”

Your stomach flipped at the question. “I’m not sure. I don’t think we ever talked about it.”

“What if,” Karina said, narrowing her eyes, “he remembers, but he never tried anything with you because he knows if you two cross that line, it changes everything.”

That thought sat uneasily in your chest. Giselle leaned back. “So. What are you gonna do about it?”

“Nothing,” you said immediately.

They groaned in unison. “You have to at least ask him,” Ningning urged.

“Why? That’s just gonna make things weirder.”

“What’s weird is that you’re spiraling over this instead of just asking,” Giselle pointed out.

Karina agreed. “Yeah. What if this is your ‘childhood best friends to lovers’ arc?”

You shot her a look. “This is not a K-drama.”

“But it could be.”

You let out a deep sigh, shaking your head. “Look, I’ll think about it, okay? But I’m not just gonna randomly ask him if he remembers a kiss from when we were sixteen.”

“You won’t have to,” Karina chimed. “We’ll help you figure out the perfect way to bring it up.”

You had a feeling you were going to regret this.

Giselle smirked, stirring her drink. “See, this is why I always say men and women can’t be just friends.”

“We totally can,” you countered.

“Sure, whatever,” she said, unimpressed. “But at some point in every guy-girl friendship, there’s gonna be a small phase where one of them saw the other romantically. Or, in your case, had a history of sharing something as special as a first kiss.”

Your friends began teasing you about it. You could only frown and say nothing. Because, for the first time, you weren’t entirely sure if she was wrong.

Mark Lee was the last person you expected to run into.

You had been walking back to your apartment, your mind still agonizing about your conversation with your friends. The moment you spotted him, standing by the trunk of a car and hoisting a duffel bag over his shoulder, you almost gasped.

“Mark?” you called out, making him glance at you.

His face lit up in recognition. “No way. Look who it is.”

You walked towards him, smiling. “Hi.”

He shut the trunk with a firm thud and slung his bag higher onto his shoulder, his eyes scanning you briefly. “It’s been a while. You still live here?”

“Yeah,” you said. “You?”

“Nah, I’m actually moving out,” Mark replied. “I graduated last semester.”

Your brows lifted slightly. “Oh. Congratulations. I almost forgot you were a year ahead of us.”

“Thanks.” He grinned, rubbing the back of his neck. “Feels weird, though. Like, I don’t think it’s hit me yet that I’m actually done with college.

“Four years of studying will probably do that to you,” you replied, chuckling.

“Four and a half for me,” he said, shaking his head.

You just nodded, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. A comfortable silence settled between you. It was nice seeing him, but now that you were talking to him, you realized you really didn’t have anything in common that you could talk about. You weren’t in the same circle of friends, nor were you particularly close. The only connection you had with him was Donghyuck.

“Hey, uh…” You saw hesitation flicker across his face before he offered a small smile. “I heard about Mykonos, Donghyuck and… everything.”

“Oh.” You froze, huffing a small laugh. “Yeah. That happened.”

“Are you okay?”

“Of course. I’m fine. I’m fine now. I wasn’t but, I am now,” you explained, not wanting to divulge more. You didn’t want to ask. You could’ve just left it at that—just another casual encounter with an old neighbor. But before you could stop yourself, the words slipped out.

“How is he? Donghyuck…”

Mark shrugged as if he was expecting you to ask that. “He’s fine, I think. He’s studying there and actually putting in the work to get good grades. We text here and there, and I saw him when I went home after graduation. He looks the same, still insufferable and an idiot, but… he’s okay.”

A strange feeling settled in your chest—something between relief and disappointment. Mark must have sensed something because he tilted his head slightly and showed a ‘calling’ gesture with his hand. “You wanna—?”

“No.” You cut him off before he could even suggest it. “It’s for the best.”

Mark let out a soft chuckle. “Alright. Well, I’ll tell him you said hi.”

You nodded. “Yeah. Thanks. Take care, Mark.”

“You too.” And just like that, another piece of Donghyuck slipped through your fingers.

When you stepped into your apartment, the silence was almost jarring. No sounds of Jaemin humming to himself in the kitchen. No sight of him sprawled on the couch watching something ridiculous. The place felt... empty.

For a second, you thought maybe he was out. Then, you spotted his shoes by the door and figured he must be sleeping. Good. You weren’t in the mood to interact.

You went straight to your room, shedding your jacket and tossing your bag onto the chair. The moment you entered the bathroom, you turned the shower on, letting the water heat up as you pulled off your clothes. Under the spray, you closed your eyes, tilting your head back as the warmth soaked into your skin.

Donghyuck.

It hasn’t even been a year, yet somehow, it felt longer than that. You used to be neighbors. It used to annoy you when Donghyuck brought girls over, when the sounds of them having sex echoed faintly through your walls. That was before you knew what it was like to spend an entire summer with him—before you knew what it was like to fall into something messy and thrilling and impossible to forget.

You exhaled sharply and shut off the water. It was enough to know that he was doing well. That he was living his life properly. You weren’t hurt by what happened anymore, surprisingly. But a part of you still wished you were able to talk to him before he left. You deserved a proper goodbye. Especially with the scars left by that fateful event.

“Tragic,” you muttered to yourself, rubbing the scar on your elbow.

The bathroom was still warm with steam when you stepped out, a towel wrapped loosely around your body. Water dripped from your damp hair, trailing down your shoulders, but you barely noticed. Your thoughts were still in the past. You needed something to calm your nerves. Maybe tea.

You crossed the hallway to the kitchen, moving straight to the overhead cupboard. You stretched up on your toes, fingers barely grazing the box of tea on the top shelf but you couldn’t get it. Annoying. You tried again, straining a little harder but then suddenly, something brushed against your back.

You stiffened, breath catching as you turned only to find yourself face-to-face with Jaemin. Or rather, face-to-chest.

He had stepped up behind you so quietly you hadn’t even noticed, one arm reaching past you to grab the tea. His other hand rested against the counter beside you, blocking you in without even realizing it.

Your gaze flickered up just as he glanced down, and that’s when you realized how close you were. He was close. Really close.

His face was just inches from yours, close enough that you could catch the familiar scent of his detergent mixed with something distinctly him. His chest barely touched yours, but you felt every shift, every breath. The towel around you suddenly felt too thin.

Jaemin held the tea between you, as if just now realizing the way you were staring at him.

But instead of taking it, you asked, “Do you remember the time we played Seven Minutes in Heaven?”

You caught the small shift in his expression. Surely he’d know which specific time you were talking about right? If he remembered that kiss at all, surely he wouldn’t be confused and assume you were talking about all the times you’d played seven minutes in heaven?

But his response came quickly and with certainty. “I do.”

Your eyes traced his features, noting the way his gaze flickered downward to your chest, a split-second slip before he caught himself and turned his head slightly, jaw tensing. Your chest rose with a shallow breath.

“Did you know that was my first kiss?”

Jaemin was still looking away, but you saw his throat bob as he swallowed. “I think you mentioned it,” he admitted.

Your fingers twitched before you lifted a hand to his cheek, your palm grazing the sharp line of his jaw before settling at the curve of his neck. His skin was warm beneath your touch, and his pulse was steady but strong.

“Then why did we both forget it ever happened?” you asked softly, eyes fixed on his lips, so close and so inviting.

Jaemin finally met your gaze. His lips parted as if to say something, but then he stopped. His eyes lowered, and when he looked at you again, his expression had changed. 

“I didn’t forget.”

The words sent warmth through you. Your heart pounded in your ears as your fingers pressed lightly against his skin. Something about the way he was looking at you made it impossible to breathe, impossible to think. So you did the only thing your body seemed to understand at that moment—you rose to your tiptoes and kissed him.

Jaemin didn’t hesitate. His hands found your waist as he pulled you flush against him, his lips molding against yours, deep and persistent. Heat prickled at your skin, your fingers tightening in his hair as you tugged him closer for more. His grip on you was firm and possessive, and for a moment, nothing else mattered but the way he was kissing you back.

Then a voice in your head screamed at you to stop.

You pushed him away, breathless, panic creeping into your heart as your hands pressed firmly on his chest. “This doesn’t mean anything.”

The words came out fast and desperate, but it sounded more like a statement to yourself than to him. Jaemin backed away, studying your face as he nodded slowly.

“Okay,” he breathed, and you weren’t sure if he meant it because it was impossible to read the expression on his face.

Either way, you didn’t have time to dwell on it. You held your towel in place and walked away.

Jaemin didn’t argue. He didn’t try to stop you as you turned and hurried away, leaving behind the forgotten tea and the line you’d crossed to the point of no return.

The next morning, you did what any sane person would do—you pretended last night never happened.

You took your time getting out of bed, hoping that by the time you stepped into the kitchen, Jaemin would be gone. No such luck. He was sitting on the couch in the living room, looking relaxed and unbothered, like he hadn’t kissed you breathless in the kitchen less than twelve hours ago.

You ignored him. Moving around the kitchen, you focused on your routine—heat up leftovers, pour yourself some water, avoid looking in his direction. But you could feel his gaze on you, lazy and knowing, like he was waiting for something.

When you reached for a mug, his voice cut through the quiet. “The tea’s in the drawer. In case you want it.”

Your fingers twitched. You didn’t turn around, didn’t react, but you heard the insinuation in his tone, the meaning hiding between the lines. Still, you said nothing. You weren’t going to give him the satisfaction

Later that day, you met up with your friends at the quad, lounging on the grass as the afternoon sun dipped lower in the sky. The conversation was light and fun, and for a moment, you were free from the clutches of Jaemin’s infuriatingly charming grin. 

That is until he came strutting in with Renjun, drinks in hand.

Renjun handed the drink one-by-one. He’d asked if you girls wanted something from the cafe while he was there, so you texted him your orders. But now that he was handing you the iced tea you asked for, you hesitated to accept it.

“I’ll have coffee instead,” you said, pushing the drink back toward him.

Renjun frowned. “What? But you asked for iced tea? Honey lemon, right?”

Yes, right. But that was before you knew he’d be coming back with Na Jaemin. “I changed my mind.”

Jaemin, who had been watching the exchange, chuckled under his breath. “You don’t want your tea?” You shot him a warning glare, but he only smiled. He took his coffee and held it out to you instead. “Here, you can have mine. I’ll take the tea.”

You didn’t want to take anything from him, but declining again would make it obvious. So you exhaled sharply and snatched the cup from his hand, ignoring the way he grinned. Then, just as you took a sip, Jaemin said,

“You sure you don’t want your tea? You seemed pretty desperate for it last night.”

You nearly choked. Your grip on the cup tightened as heat flared up your cheeks. Jaemin only sipped his drink, looking perfectly fine while you struggled not to just go ahead and strangle him.

Before you could say anything, Giselle, who had been oblivious to the tension, turned to the group with a casual, “So, what were you guys like in high school?”

Karina, clearly picking up on her intention, hummed in thought. “High school me? Pretty boring, honestly. I was too busy studying to get a proper life.” 

“What? Don’t tell me you didn’t get kissed in high school?”

“I did, of course. But not as much as I wished,” Karina replied, shaking her head. “My first kiss was because of a dare.”

“So is mine,” Giselle added, glancing sideways at you. “It was with my crush, but I stopped liking him after because he was such a lousy kisser.”

Then she turned to Jaemin. “What about you? Do you remember yours?”

You froze, realizing right then what they were doing. They had promised to help you figure out if Jaemin remembered that kiss all those years ago. And judging by the direction of this conversation, this was the help they meant. Not that it was necessary anymore. You had already asked him yourself.

But you couldn’t exactly tell them that. So you stayed silent, waiting, heart pounding a little too fast as Jaemin leaned back on his hands.

And then, he looked right at you. “I don’t remember my first kiss, exactly,” he said smoothly. “I do remember kissing someone recently, though.”

Your stomach dropped. His words sent a jolt of something hot through your veins—half panic, half something you didn’t know you’d feel for your best friend. You stared at him, pulse thundering in your ears, as his lips curved into the slightest smirk.

You were going to kill him.

But not right now. You were gonna take your time and kill him with no witness. So for now, you kept your distance. Even as the day stretched on, even as Jaemin hovered near, you refused to acknowledge him. When it was his turn to talk, you busied yourself with your phone. When he laughed at something, you pretended not to hear. And when it was finally time to head home, you walked ahead, ignoring the way he naturally fell into step beside you.

He didn’t say anything about it. Not once did he call your name or try to slow you down. At the apartment, you swung the door open and stepped inside first, not bothering to hold it for him. You kicked off your shoes, tossed your bag onto the couch, and started toward your bedroom.

But then he called your name and that made your patience snap.

“What is wrong with you?” you huffed, gesturing at him.

Jaemin’s voice was teasing, “What? What did I do?”

You narrowed your eyes. “You keep bringing it up.”

Jaemin didn’t even blink. “Bringing what up?”

You narrowed your eyes. “You know what.”

He tilted his head, feigning innocence. “I really don’t.”

You scoffed, stepping closer. “The kiss, Jaemin. You keep hinting at it. You were so obvious, you might as well have just announced it to everyone.”

Jaemin simply shrugged, the smirk on his lips irritating you more. “I wasn’t obvious. You’re the only one who noticed.”

“Why were you doing it in the first place?” you demanded, stepping right into his space. “I told you, that kiss didn’t mean anything.”

Jaemin’s gaze flickered. He stayed quiet for half a second too long before he closed the gap between you. You stepped back, suddenly nervous at how close he was being. He kept at it, stepping closer while you stepped back until your back hit your bedroom door.

“If it didn’t mean anything,” he said, voice slow and teasing, “why are you so worked up about it?”

You didn’t have an answer to that, and he knew it. He was watching you too closely, too carefully, catching the way your lips parted, then closed again.

So you did what you always did when backed into a corner. You brushed it off. “Just forget it ever happened,” you muttered, looking away.

Jaemin studied you for a second, then exhaled through his nose. “No.”

“Yes!” you insisted.

There was a long pause. Then, he sighed like he wasn’t happy about it but was willing to let you have this. “Fine.”

“Good.” You turned back toward your door, gripping the handle with a sigh of relief. But just as you started to push it open Jaemin tugged your wrist lightly, just enough to make you turn slightly toward him.

Eyes gleaming mischievously, he asked, “Wanna do it again?”

Heat shot up your cheeks, exasperation and something dangerously close to exhilaration rushing through you despite the fact that you should have been pissed.“Stop,” you said, exasperated, shoving the door closed in his face.

“Oh my god, stop it,” you muttered, slapping your palm on his chest and shoving the door closed in his face.

Only to rip it open a second later.

Jaemin barely had time to react because you quickly grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him down, pressing your lips to his in a kiss that was deep, hot, and feverish. Jaemin responded instantly, hands firm on your waist as he backed you against the doorframe, tilting his head to deepen the kiss.

It was intoxicating, dizzying—the way he kissed, the way he held you like he’d been waiting for this. But just before the moment took over completely, you pulled away, catching your breath.

Jaemin stared at you, lips parted, chest rising and falling. You stared into his eyes, then at his lips, biting your own as you savored the lingering sensations he’d left behind.

“You liked that?” he teased, catching the way you were looking at him. Flustered, you swallowed and quickly stepped back into your room, locking the door behind you before you could do something reckless again.

You leaned against it, heart racing, lips tingling, your skin still burning from the way he touched you. Then you heard him chuckle softly on the other side before he rapped his fist on the door, the sound startling you.

“You kissed me first, alright?” he called out, and you could almost hear the grin in his voice. “So you better not skip dinner because of this.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, biting back a smile. Then, with a quiet groan, you slid down to the floor, pressing your hands over your face and kicking your legs in the air as you tried your best not to squeal.

You told yourself it wouldn’t happen again. But then it did. It started small, so small that it was easy to pretend it was nothing. Like that morning in the kitchen when you were making coffee, and Jaemin leaned against the counter beside you, too close, as always. He watched as you poured sugar into your mug, his gaze intent and knowing.

“That’s too sweet,” he commented.

You paused, the spoon clinking against the ceramic. “It’s not. You just like yours bitter and sad.”

Jaemin hummed in amusement, then he said, “I like my coffee bitter, but I’ve been told many times that my kisses are very sweet.”

You scoffed, taking the spoon out of your mug and turning to raise an eyebrow at him. “You telling me you’ve kissed lots of people isn’t really convincing me to kiss you again.”

“Oh, I’m not trying to convince you yet,” he replied, grinning playfully. Without warning, he reached out and brushed a strand of hair from your face. Then he leaned forward to press a soft peck on your cheek. “This is me convincing you.”

You stared at him, unimpressed, and took a step back with your mug. “Not working.”

Jaemin only smirked. You sighed, turning away to grab some bread from the overhead cupboard. The moment your fingers came up short, he stepped in behind you, reaching for it easily. You exhaled at sudden feeling of a deja vu.

He held it out casually. “Here.”

But when you reached for it, he pulled it back—just far enough to make you glare at him—before swooping in and stealing a kiss from your lips.

You froze, still gripping your coffee. Jaemin, meanwhile, took your other hand, placed the bread in it, and patted your head like nothing had happened. Then he walked away whistling, leaving you standing there, mildly annoyed.

You recovered quickly though, placing the mug and the bread on the countertop and trudging toward him with heavy steps. Jaemin noticed and turned to look at you with that stupid smirk he always had.

“Oh, hi. What are you—”

You grabbed his collar and pulled him down, cutting him off with your lips pressed firmly against his. It was deep and reckless, but only for a few seconds. When you pulled away, Jaemin looked shocked.

And then he smirked. “Oh,” he mused, tilting his head. “So now you’re playing my game?”

You scoffed, tightening your grip on his shirt. “What game?” you asked before kissing him again.

And from then on, it was like a challenge. In your shared apartment, in the moments in between, in the spaces where no one was watching—you both kept crossing that line, over and over again.

A stolen kiss behind the bookshelf at the library. A lazy makeout session in the empty hallway of your apartment when you both got home late. A whispered “You drive me crazy,” before Jaemin kissed you stupid against the fridge door one evening, his hands firm on your waist, your fingers tangling in his hair, neither of you stopping until the timer on the microwave beeped.

And through it all, neither of you ever talked about it. Because if you did—if you admitted how much you wanted it—you wouldn’t be able to stop. If you acknowledged what was really happening, you’d have to stop pretending that it was nothing. That it didn’t mean anything. And that was something you weren’t ready for.

And then there was that night on the couch.

It had started with an old movie playing on the TV, both of you sitting closely and sharing a blanket. Jaemin had his arm on the back of the couch, fingers idly playing with the strands of your hair. It was harmless at first, but then his fingers trailed down the back of your neck, light and slow, and you felt goosebumps all over your body.

You turned your head slightly to look at him, only to find that he was already staring at you. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes were dark and focused. You opened your mouth to say something—anything—but Jaemin was faster. His fingers tipped your chin, tilting your face toward his as he leaned in.

The first kiss was soft, almost hesitant. But then you sighed into it, melting just enough for him to take control. His hand slipped to the back of your neck, and before you knew it, you were on your back, Jaemin hovering over you without breaking the kiss.

The movie was forgotten, its noise fading into the background as the sound of your shallow breaths echoed in the room. His kisses trailed lower, grazing your jaw, all the way down to your throat. You gasped when he found a spot just beneath your ear, his teeth nipping at it before soothing the bite with his tongue.

“Jaemin,” you murmured, your fingers slipping into the back collar of his shirt, feeling the warmth of his skin underneath.

“Mmh,” he hummed against your skin, not stopping.

His hands were already sliding under your sweater, warm against your bare skin. Your legs parted beneath him, your body arching into his touch before you could stop yourself.

And then when his hand dipped down to your lower abdomen, you tensed. Not because you didn’t want it, but because you did. Too much. Jaemin must have felt it because he paused immediately. His lips hovered over your collarbone, his breathing unsteady, before he finally pulled back just enough to look at you.

His voice was low when he asked, “Should we stop?”

You swallowed hard, nodding against your wishes. “Yeah. We probably should.”

Neither of you moved for a moment. His hands were still on you, your fingers brushing his back, and it would’ve been so easy to pull him back down, to let him keep going. But then he exhaled, forcing himself to sit up, and you followed, scooting to put a little space between you.

The movie was still playing, though neither of you paid it any attention. Jaemin ran a hand through his hair, glancing at you with a half-smirk, though his voice was rough when he spoke.

“We’re really bad at pretending this is nothing, you know.”

You let out a breathy laugh, shaking your head as you folded your legs beneath you. “You’re right. It’s ridiculous.”

And just like that, it was over. For now, at least.

There was a strange feeling in your chest lately, something you couldn’t quite put a name to. Like the rush of something new, conflicting with the pressure of something unresolved.

You had spent the past weeks trying not to think too hard about Jaemin, about the way your lips kept finding his, about how easy it was to pretend nothing had changed when, deep down, you knew everything had.

But pretending only worked for so long. Because no matter how much you tried to move forward, some things still followed behind you. Some things still had a hold on you, however faint. And just as you were starting to believe you had left it all in Mykonos, there he was.

Donghyuck.

Standing just outside the campus gates, hands in his pockets, bouncing lightly on his heels with an impatient look on his face, as if he’d been standing there for a long time now. He was waiting for someone, but the moment his eyes landed on you, his face broke into a wide grin.

And just like that, all the hesitation that had been creeping up inside you disappeared. You ran across the quad toward him. “Hyuck!”

His laughter was warm as you threw your arms around him, his embrace just as familiar as you remembered. He still smelled like summer—bright, musky, and reckless, even in the cool autumn air.

“I was waiting here expecting you’d ignore me,” he teased, pulling back to look at you. “I would’ve chased you down if you did, though.”

You rolled your eyes, stepping back, but there was no denying the way your heart ached a little. Not in the way it used to, but in the way that happens when you reunite with someone who once held every piece of you in their hands.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you at all,” you admitted. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to see you. Why else would I be here if not for you?” Donghyuck said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m not here to get back together or anything. Not that you were expecting me to.”

You let out a small chuckle, but he wasn’t wrong. That thought had never crossed your mind. “You wish I want you back, don’t you?” you teased, making him laugh.

“Do you have time? Can we talk?” he asked, motioning outside the gates.

“Absolutely,” you replied without missing a beat, following after him.

You walked from the campus to the nearby cafe where you ordered food and spent the first few minutes laughing and talking about stupid things. Then the conversation turned serious, which was not something that often happened between the two of you, but you listened to what he had to say anyway.

“I really, really wanted to stay and wait for you to wake up,” he began, referring to when you had a coma after being run over by a car. “But it was out of my hands and I haven’t been on my best behavior for the longest time so… that was the last straw. My parents were furious and Hyung had no choice but to send me back.”

You bit your lip, nodding. “I figured you weren’t allowed to contact me after that?”

“Oh, I wish it was only that,” he scoffed, shaking his head. “Because then I would have had chances to contact you in secret. But I wasn’t allowed any electronics at all. Not a phone, not even the computers at uni. I could only meet my friends at home and their phones are confiscated before they even step into the house.”

You winced. “That’s awful.”

He sighed. “You have no idea. I was going nuts! They put me in rehab too for my drinking problems.”

“You had drinking problems?”

“I have drinking habits that they didn’t like so they saw it as a problem.” He chuckled, flashing that boyish smirk you used to hate but had grown to love. “What about you? How are you doing? I heard you skipped a semester?”

“Well, moving on from something that major wasn’t exactly a walk in the park,” you replied, laughing at your own expense. You told him what had happened after that summer. How you came home heartbroken and sad. How you had to get therapy because you were showing signs of depression. How you moved on from it all but still didn’t know how to properly live the life you used to have before that summer. It was a six-month battle and it had been ten months since that fateful summer, but looking back on it now, it felt so much longer than that.

“I’m glad I came. I owed you an explanation, so I had to find a way,” he said, his voice softening. “And I wanted to see how you were doing.”

Something in your chest tightened. You had spent the past months wishing that fate would at least grant you this—closure, a proper goodbye. And now that it was here, it felt like a load was being taken off of your shoulders.

“I’m doing okay,” you said honestly. “And thanks… For coming, I mean. And for being safe.”

Donghyuck smiled wistfully. “I have Taeyong Hyung to thank for that. He convinced our parents to let me come. Told them I needed to ‘learn from the field.’” He made air quotes, then dropped his hands with a small shrug. “Truth is, he just wanted to help me see you.”

Your lips parted slightly, but before you could say anything, Donghyuck grinned. “Guess I’m still the guy who gets what I want, huh?”

You laughed despite yourself. “Looks like it.”

“Yeah. Not all the time now, though. Just sometimes.”

It was strange, this conversation. Maybe time really does heal everything, or maybe you were already healed on your own before today. Either way, as you sat there with Donghyuck laughing, catching up, and looking back on the wildest days of your youth so far, your heart felt lighter and the world seemed to shine brighter with his smile.

“That’s my ride,” he said at one point, looking outside the cafe. You followed his gaze and spotted Taeyong standing by the curb, leaning against the car, waiting. 

You turned back to Donghyuck, feeling just a tiny bit sad that this chat was almost over. “Well. I guess this is it.”

He nodded, watching you carefully. “Don’t forget me, okay?”

You let out a breathy chuckle, shaking your head. “I don’t think I could if I tried. This scar right here spells your name out,” you quipped, pointing to the scar on your elbow which you got from the accident.

Donghyuck reached to feel it, his touch gentle and warm. “Sorry about that.”

“Don’t be,” you said, watching his solemn expression. “I got it after you saved me, so, thank you for this.”

Something passed through his eyes, something unreadable that he masked with a smirk. “Yeah. Not really exciting. I’m more used to leaving bruises on your neck than scars that don’t disappear.”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Sucks to be you. You won’t be leaving bruises on this neck anymore.”

Donghyuck made a show of clutching his broken heart. “What have I done?” he whined, fake-crying.

That made you laugh, and in the quiet that followed, you reached forward and squeezed his hand, offering him one last comforting smile. “Take care of yourself, okay?”

“You too,” he murmured, squeezing your hand back.

As you both stepped out of the cafe, you turned to Taeyong, who gave you a small nod, like he knew what this moment meant to you. “Thanks,” you told him sincerely.

He didn’t ask questions, just nodded again and slipped into the car with Donghyuck. You watched them drive away with a comforting sense of fulfillment blooming in your chest. Then you noticed a presence appearing beside you, and you didn’t even have to turn to know who it was.

“You good?” Jaemin asked, peering down at your face.

You chuckled, linking your arm through his as you started walking. “I’m fine. We had our closure. He’s okay, and I’m okay. So I’m fine.”

“Good. I was just asking to make sure you didn’t break down crying,” he teased.

You scoffed, hitting his arm. “That’s right. Make fun of someone’s heart ache. Ha. Ha. Ha.”

Jaemin grinned, giving your hand a small squeeze. The moment passed, fading into the rest of your day.

You weren’t sure when it started feeling different. Maybe it was after the first time you grabbed him by the collar and kissed him. Or maybe it was in the moments in between, the ones that had nothing to do with kissing.

But the kissing didn’t stop. It was easy to blame it on your body. That was the logical answer, wasn’t it? You hadn’t had any action in a while, and now Jaemin was right there, warm and solid, tempting and willing. The way he kissed you made your skin burn, made your stomach flutter, made you crave more. It had to be that. Just chemistry. Just a reaction to touch and proximity—a biological response, if you please.

And yet, in the late hours of the night, when you lay in bed staring at the ceiling, it was never just the stolen kisses that stayed in your mind.

It was the way he always waited for you after class. The way he pulled you to the inside of the sidewalk when you walked together, his hand pressing lightly against your lower back. The way he noticed when you were exhausted and handed you a water bottle before you even asked. The way he listened intently whenever you spoke, no matter how insignificant the topic was.

Jaemin had always been like this. Thoughtful. Gentle. Attentive in ways no one else was. But now, it made you wonder, was it really just because you were his best friend? Or had he always seen you more than just a friend and you were just too blind, too caught up in your own world, to realize it?

It bothered you more than you wanted to admit. It followed you through every sneaky kiss, every whispered tease against your lips, every smirk before he kissed you breathless against some forgotten corner of your apartment. Until, one day, it became too much.

Jaemin was being especially affectionate that afternoon. Not in the usual teasing way, not in the way that led to secret kisses or knowing glances. He was just doting. Leaning close, brushing your hair back, tucking it behind your ear. Making sure you weren’t too cold, giving you his jacket before you even noticed the cold. He smiled at you like you hung the damn stars, his eyes soft and fond.

And you snapped. “Can you please stop acting like my boyfriend?” you blurted, voice sharper than intended.

Jaemin froze, his hands pausing in the middle of adjusting your sleeve. His brows lifted just slightly, before his expression carefully smoothed over.

“Right,” he said lightly like it was no big deal. But his hands dropped from you, and his gaze grew colder.

You expected him to say something else, maybe throw out a cocky remark, maybe push back. But he just stepped away, nodding like he understood, and left you standing there without another word.

And for some reason, that felt worse than if he had argued with you.

Maybe it was for the best. For the next few days, you and Jaemin kept a comfortable distance from each other. No more stolen moments hidden from other people’s eyes. No more lingering touches. No more knowing glances. You admit it was hard to get used to it, but it was better that way.

One afternoon, when the sun was gentle enough for you to hang out at the quad, and the atmosphere was just like every other day with the usual campus chatter, students huddled in groups, couples hanging out by the benches, laughter echoing from clusters of friends. You were walking with Karina, listening to her rant about an upcoming exam, when something caught your eye.

Jaemin.

He stood a short distance away, his hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie, a relaxed smile on his lips. Beside him, a girl laughed at something he said, her head tilting back slightly, short blonde hair falling over her shoulder. She was pretty—undeniably so. And Jaemin was watching her laugh—amused, warm, unbothered.

“Who’s that?” The question left your mouth before you could think twice about it.

Karina followed your gaze and made a noise of recognition. “Oh. That’s Minjeong.”

You blinked. The name was vaguely familiar, but not enough for you to immediately place it. “Minjeong?”

Karina turned to you, looking genuinely surprised. “You know, Winter? Jaemin’s ex. You seriously don’t remember?”

Oh. That Minjeong.

You remember her now. She was the girl he had dated last year, the one he had broken up with after a short while. You hadn’t paid much attention to her then—Jaemin had simply told you they didn’t see eye to eye, and you hadn’t questioned it. He never seemed all that affected by the breakup, so you figured it hadn’t been anything serious. But now, standing there watching them, a strange thought lodged itself in your mind. Jaemin lied. 

Because right now, they looked like they were seeing eye to eye just fine.

You swallowed, looking away before you could overthink it any further. Karina, thankfully, moved the conversation along. 

“By the way,” she started, narrowing her eyes slightly, “what’s up with you and Jaemin?”

Your head snapped toward her. “Nothing.”

She gave you a skeptical look. “Really? Because you two seem kinda distant lately. Did you fight?”

“No,” you answered quickly. Because technically, you hadn’t. “There’s no reason for us to fight.”

Karina hummed, unconvinced. “Okay. That’s even more suspicious.”

You frowned. “How is that suspicious?”

“Because you and Jaemin always come up with things to fight about,” she said simply. “If you’re not overly clingy, you’re fighting about something minor. It’s always one or the other.”

You exhaled sharply. “We didn’t fight. And we’re not distant. We’re just being… friends. Like usual.”

“Okay, let’s just say I believe that and you’re not very suspicious right now because I have a feeling you’d snap at me if I push your buttons,” said Karina, stepping back a little.

You rolled your eyes, brushing her comments aside. She wasn’t wrong. You and Jaemin were either attached by the hip or fighting, no in between. You bickered, pushed and pulled like it was second nature. But lately...

Lately, he had given you space. After what you’d said to him, after the way his expression had cooled and he had simply left, he had kept his distance. And somehow, that felt worse than all the arguments in the world.

It was cliché at this point. Your life wasn’t some rom-com flick, but it seemed to be thriving on predictable storylines. Like right now—just when you were struggling to figure out what to do about this whole mess with Jaemin, of course, someone had to show up to stir things up.

Admitting you were jealous was the last thing you wanted to do. Because doing so meant admitting that you liked him as more than a friend. And acknowledging that meant defeat. You didn’t like defeat. Love and relationships had defeated you several times before. You weren’t about to let it happen again.

And yet, there she was. Minjeong—Winter—whatever people called her now. She was pretty. Endearing. Adorable, even. The kind of girl that made it impossible to dislike her. And that just made it worse. 

She was likable. Genuinely likable. You couldn’t even bring yourself to hate her, which would have been easier. But that didn’t change the fact that seeing her next to Jaemin made something twist in your chest

And Jaemin? He looked… happy? That smile, the way his eyes crinkled as he watched her laugh at something he said. It was the kind of look you’d seen a hundred times before, but right now, you hated it. Right now, you wanted to forfeit your pride, march over there, and pull him away from her.

Which was stupid. You were being stupid. You took a deep breath, shaking off the thought just as you passed their table.

“Lunch?” Jaemin offered casually, as if he weren’t sitting there with his ex.

You barely spared him a glance. “No, thanks,” you said curtly, your voice colder than you intended. You walked past him and went straight to your friends’ table.

Karina raised an eyebrow when you plopped down across from her, stabbing your fork into your food a little too aggressively. “So… that’s a ‘no’ to talking things out?” she asked dryly.

You exhaled sharply, refusing to look back at Jaemin’s table. “There’s nothing to talk about,” you muttered.

Karina hummed, clearly unconvinced. “Right. And I’m Beyonce’s daughter.”

You weren’t proud of it, but your mood had been awful all week. You snapped at Renjun over something trivial, ignored Jaemin’s messages, and couldn’t focus in class because every time you blinked, you saw her—Winter, laughing, tilting her head toward Jaemin like he was the most interesting person in the room. And Jaemin? He was eating it up.

You buried yourself in your studies, submitting assignments ahead of deadline, studying for quizzes, and doing advance reading. You used to hate presentations, but you were thankful for having one because you had something to keep your mind off of things.

But at the end of the day, when you were done with everything and fatigue was catching up to you fast, all you wanted was a familiar, comforting presence to keep you sane. Giselle and Karina were unavailable. Renjun might be free but you weren’t close enough to hang out with just the two of you.

Jaemin was your only choice. Not that it was because you were out of options, in fact, he’d always been the first choice. So when you finally caved and texted him, you were completely caught off-guard by his answer.

You: Are you free? Nana: No.

It was a simple response. Nothing inherently wrong with it. But it didn’t come with an apology, or an I’ll see you later, or even a What’s up?—just No.

And that stung, squeezing painfully at your heart. But what really did it was seeing him a few minutes later, leaving the library with Winter, laughing at something she said.

You were sitting on the steps just outside the entrance, waiting for Giselle, when you spotted them. Jaemin had his hands in his pockets, casual and unbothered, while Winter gestured about something, her voice cute and teasing. They stopped a few feet away, still talking, and you had a front-row seat to the easy, unhurried way Jaemin listened to her, the amused smirk tugging at his lips.

He looked like he had all the time in the world for her. Not even a few minutes ago, he had been too busy for you.

You sat there, gripping your phone, overthinking every possible meaning behind this moment. Had he chosen to spend time with her instead? Was he making some kind of decision without telling you?

And then, as if he could sense someone’s eyes on him, Jaemin turned his head, his eyes landing on you.

Your heart leaped to your throat. This was it. This was the moment where he’d see you, where he’d realize you were right there, waiting. Where he’d excuse himself and come over because that’s just what Jaemin would do.

Except… he didn’t. He looked at you, waved with a smile, then turned back to Winter and kept walking.

The impact was immediate, a slap to the face without ever being touched. You didn’t even realize Giselle had arrived until she waved a hand in front of your face. “Earth to you. Are you okay?”

You exhaled through your nose, keeping a neutral expression. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

You stood up, stuffing your hands into your jacket pockets, willing yourself not to look back. But Giselle had seen exactly what you had been staring at.

“Huh,” she mused as you both started walking. “Didn’t expect that.”

You sighed. “Expect what?”

Giselle jerked her chin toward Jaemin and Winter. “Them, hanging out again. I thought they ended things on bad terms.”

Your fingers curled inside your pockets. “You knew about them?”

Giselle shot you a confused look. “Of course, I knew. You did too. She used to give Jaemin hell for always hanging out with you.”

Your steps faltered. Right, there was that. If the two of them were together trying to rekindle their old relationship, of course, she wouldn’t want Jaemin hanging out with you. She used to hate it before, and she had no reason to like it now. Especially if she knew you and Jaemin had crossed the line.

But knowing that made you angrier. Why would he try to get back with his ex just days after being rejected by you? Was Jaemin always like this? Fickle and move on to the next girl as soon as he was done with one?

You knew you were overthinking things. You knew Jaemin wasn't that kind of guy. But the thought still made you seethe.

Jaemin was waiting when you got home. You barely glanced at him as you kicked off your shoes and tossed your bag onto the couch, your exhaustion amplified with irritation. You had spent hours at the café, helping yourself to a single drink, scrolling mindlessly through your phone, trying (and failing) to distract yourself from the mess in your head.

“Where were you?” Jaemin asked, his voice casual. “Had dinner yet?”

You didn’t look at him as you walked toward the kitchen. “Out. And I’m not hungry.”

Jaemin, of course, didn’t let that slide. “Out where?”

You opened the fridge, staring blankly at its contents. “Why do you care?”

Silence. Then, slowly, carefully, he said, “Are you mad? You sound mad.” 

That did it. The way he said it like he genuinely didn’t know, like he couldn’t possibly fathom why you might be upset, snap the tiny thread holding your patience together. You shut the fridge door, finally turning to face him. “Why would I be mad, Jaemin?” you said, voice cool, almost mocking. “It’s not like I expected anything from you.”

Jaemin blinked, caught off guard. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You tell me.” You crossed your arms, your pulse hammering. “I asked if you were free. You said no. And then five minutes later, there you were, walking out of the library with your ex-girlfriend who used to hate my guts. Laughing, smiling, acting like you had all the time in the world.”

Realization dawned in his eyes, but he didn’t say anything, so you pushed further, your voice gaining an edge. “So forgive me for assuming I wasn’t worth squeezing into your very busy schedule, and getting mad about it.”

Jaemin exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. “Are you serious?”

You laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Oh, I promise you, I’m dead serious.”

“You’re mad because I was with Winter?”

“I don’t know, Jaemin, should I be?”

His expression darkened. “Oh, come on. You know what that was.”

“Do I?” You shot back. “Because from where I was sitting, it looked a hell of a lot like you choosing her over me.”

Jaemin stared at you, his jaw tightening. “That’s not what that was! You’re jumping into conclusion and it’s not fair.”

“Neither is you acting like I’m supposed to be fine with being ditched without so much as an explanation! You’re the one who acted like you’d literally combust if I so much as disappear from your sight, now you pick someone over me like I’m nothing?” The words came out louder than you intended, echoing in the small space between you.  

The silence that followed was loud and suffocating. Jaemin took a step closer, his voice softer now, but no less intense. “You’re the one who told me to stop acting like your boyfriend.”

Your breath caught in your throat, but he wasn’t done yet. “And now, what? You’re mad that I did?” He tilted his head, eyes searching yours. “What do you want?”

You wanted to yell at him. To push him away. To tell him he was an idiot for not knowing, for not seeing. But you had to stop yourself. Because to answer that question, to say the words out loud, meant admitting the truth. And you weren’t ready for that.

So you did what you always did when things got too real. You turned away. “Forget it,” you muttered, moving to walk past him.

Jaemin didn’t let you. Before you could take another step, his hand caught your wrist, yanking you back just enough for you to stumble into him. His arms caged you in, backing you against the counter. “Jaemin—”

“Tell me.” His voice was low, his face inches from yours. His grip on your wrist wasn’t tight, but it was firm, keeping you there. “Tell me why you’re mad. Or I’ll make you.”

Your breath hitched at the promise in his tone. Your heart was hammering so loudly you were sure he could hear it. And then, before you could stop yourself, the words tumbled out. “I was jealous, okay?”

The second the confession left your lips, you saw the glint of relief in his eyes. His grip loosened, but he didn’t pull away. He just stood there, watching you with a smile threatening to tug at his lips.

Heat crawled up your neck. “You knew,” you blurted out and the smirk he was concealing finally revealed itself. 

He knew and he just wanted you to say it out loud. Annoyed, you tried to twist out of his hold, but Jaemin was faster. He caught your face in his hands, tilting it up, his thumbs brushing over your cheekbones.

“You’re jealous?” he echoed softly, like he needed to hear it again to believe it.

“Na Jaemin, I swear to god—” He didn’t let you finish. His lips crashed against yours, stealing whatever excuse, whatever deflection you were about to throw out. It wasn’t like the other times. It wasn’t teasing, wasn’t playful. It was urgent, consuming, an answer to every question you refused to ask.

You gasped, and Jaemin took the opportunity to shove his tongue into your mouth, pressing you further into the counter. One hand slid down, gripping your waist, the other tangling in your hair. You should have stopped him. Should have shoved him away. But instead, your hands found his shoulders, clinging to him like your life depended on it.

When he finally pulled back, you were both breathless. “You’re jealous,” he said again, softer this time.

You swallowed hard, your fingers curling into his shirt. “Shut up.”

Jaemin chuckled. “Winter and I… we—” He paused, searching for the words. “It’s not what you think.”

Your stomach flipped. “It better not be,” you scoffed, hiding behind the mask of nonchalance. Jaemin chuckled.

“I wasn’t choosing her over you.” His fingers brushed against your cheek. “We got paired for a group project and we’ve been working on it all week. Earlier when you texted me, we were heading out to submit it.”

You stared at him, still breathless, your mind scrambling to process what he just said. A group project. That was it? That was all it was?

The weight in your chest lifted so suddenly that you nearly laughed at yourself. The past week—your overthinking, your jealousy, the way you’d lashed out at him—had all been over something so stupid.

“Oh my god.” You shut your eyes, mortified. “You’re kidding.”

“Wouldn’t joke about this,” said Jaemin laughing. “I’m sorry, I should have explained it at least.”

You groaned, dropping your forehead against his shoulder. “I’m actually gonna die of embarrassment.”

He chuckled, his arms wrapping fully around you now. “Yeah? Well, you should know I’d never choose anyone before you. There’s no one above you, silly.”

“This is why you don’t have a girlfriend, Jaemin,” you chided, pulling back to glare at him. “You can’t just put me first over everything.”

Jaemin only smirked, his fingers tightening at your waist. “I don’t want a girlfriend. You’re all I want.”

“Don’t say that,” you muttered, burying your face in his chest. “What if I can’t reciprocate?”

“Well, you were jealous of me and my ex,” he murmured, his tone teasing, but there was something else underneath it—something smug, satisfied. “That’s a good start.”

“Oh my god, enough!” you huffed, pushing him away and trying to escape his hold but he was quick to lift you by the waist, setting you down on the counter.

Before you could argue, before you could even think of something to say that would salvage your dignity, Jaemin kissed you again, lips moving against yours with a heat that sent your mind spiraling. His hands held you firmly, one on your waist, the other cradling your face like he was afraid you’d pull away.

You weren’t pulling away. That fact alone should have set off alarms in your head, but right now, you didn’t care. Not about pride, not about the mess between you, not about the fact that this was probably the worst way to handle your emotions.

Just as you were starting to get consumed by the heat of his touch, Jaemin pulled away and you scoffed before you could even think twice about it.

“You’re so annoying,” you muttered against his lips.

Jaemin exhaled a breathless laugh, looking up at you with that handsome grin he always had on. “And you’re stubborn.” His thumb brushed over your cheek, his voice lower now, rough with restraint. “I thought you didn’t want me acting like your boyfriend.”

You swallowed, your heart beating wildly as you met his gaze. “I don’t,” you whispered, slipping your hand inside the collar of his shirt to rub his back. “But I still want you.”

Jaemin went still for a split second, his grip tightening. “Say that again,” he said—no, he pleaded, eyes glassy with desperation and desire.

“I want you, Jaemin,” you obliged, swallowing shyly.

His mouth crashed onto yours, all restraints melting away. The kiss was deeper, messier, a collision of breath and want, like he was finally letting himself feel everything he’d been holding back. You barely had time to process before he wrapped your legs around his torso, lifted you from the counter, and carried you across the apartment into his bedroom, his body hot against yours.

His hands skimmed down your waist, sliding under the hem of your sweater, palms warm against your skin. His lips moved down to your jaw, then lower, lingering at the soft spot beneath your ear. Jaemin groaned when you arched your hips against his crotch, his grip on your hips tightening like he was holding himself back—like he was still trying to be careful. But you didn’t want careful. You wanted reckless.

You tugged his shirt off, fingers tracing the smooth lines of his back as he pressed you down into the mattress. His lips were feverish, moving with a desperation that sent heat pooling low in your stomach. When he pulled back to look at you, his pupils were blown wide, his chest rising and falling like he was struggling to catch his breath.

“Let me.” His voice was rough, hand sliding down your thigh. “Let me take care of you.” His fingers found the waistband of your shorts, toying with the fabric like he was waiting for permission, but you just spread your legs wider.

He cursed under his breath before his lips were on your throat again, trailing lower, his hands already working to get rid of the last pieces of clothing you both had. Every touch was hot as he whispered promises against your skin—promises he was more than ready to keep.

He lowered himself, head disappearing between your legs. He took a sniff, nose pressing against your sex before he licked a stripe on it.

“Jaemin,” you breathed, your entire body burning with anticipation and want.

Jaemin responded by sucking at your cunt, making you gasp as the first bout of pleasure washed over you. He kept at it, lapping and licking, fucking you with his tongue while you writhed and moaned. You clutched your fingers at his hair, wanting so much to push him away, but you kept pulling his face closer for more.

He rose to meet your gaze at one point, with a smirk gracing his lips, making you lose your mind further because of how hot he looked. 

“If you keep shouting like that…” he trailed off, leaning down to kiss your lips as his finger slipped into your sex. He kissed you again just when you were about to moan. “...the neighbors will hear and they’ll know.”

You didn’t care, but you covered your mouth anyway, biting your lower lip as well to make sure you weren’t too loud. Jaemin moved his fingers, in and out, curling and pressing, all while watching every shift in your reaction. When he pushed another finger inside, you failed to stifle a gasp, your hand flying to his arm and squeezing it tightly. 

“Shh,” he shushed gently, kissing you once before he went down on you again. And he took his time, teasing, tasting, dragging out every moment until you were trembling beneath him, nails digging into his shoulders in a feeble attempt to not lose your mind at the mind-blowing orgasm that washed over you.

Jaemin kissed you again as he positioned himself between your legs, his manhood prodding your entrance. “Tell me you want this.”

Your hands found their way on his chest, feeling the firm muscles, the way his stomach tensed at your touch. You nodded, still dazed, already losing yourself in him.

“Use your words, baby,” Jaemin coaxed, his voice a little uneven now, like he was barely keeping himself together.

You reached to cup his cheek. “I want this. I want you, Jaemin,” you whispered, and his answering curse was swallowed by your lips as he kissed you again.

His lips on yours muffled the gasps you let out when he slid his manhood in—rough despite the wetness of your orgasm, stretching you impossibly wide. “You okay?” he asked, voice strained with concern.

You nodded quickly, overwhelmed, and he kissed you again, swallowing your soft whimper. “Relax for me,” he whispered soothingly. “I’ve got you.”

He moved with a patience that contradicted the way his body trembled against yours, like he wanted to take his time, like he was memorizing every sound and expression you made. His hands traced along your ribs, slow and reverent, before sliding down to your thighs, gripping them with just enough force to make your breath hitch. His movements were steady, his thrusts heavy as he pounded into you.

“You feel so good,” he breathed against your lips, his voice wrecked. “You drive me fucking crazy, you know that?”

You barely had time to respond before he kissed you again, deeper, stealing the air from your lungs. His hands slid higher, exploring every inch of exposed skin, setting your nerves on fire. When he started ramming harder, you let out broken gasps and whimpers, and that sound had him gripping you tighter.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he murmured, lips brushing along your jawline, his breath hot against your skin. “Tell me what you need, baby.”

You swallowed, eyes rolling back as you held onto him for dear life. “I don’t know,” you admitted in a ragged voice, but Jaemin just hummed, nipping lightly at the sensitive spot beneath your ear.

“Yes, you do,” he coaxed, straightening up on his knee and gripping both of you thighs as he tried to plunge in as deep as he could. “You want this.”

“Harder,” you managed to croak out, shutting your eyes as he drove you further into the edge.

Jaemin hummed, and you could picture the smirk on his lips. “Harder, yes?”

“Yes,” you sobbed, desire clouding your judgment. “Please.”

“I’ve got you,” he promised before obliging. 

Every touch, every kiss, every reassurance had you melting beneath him. He was everywhere, and you wanted more of him. Needed more of him. He gave you everything. He kissed his way down your body, slow and reverent. Every time you gasped, every time your breath hitched, he murmured against your skin—

“That’s it, baby.” “You’re so beautiful like this.” “Let me make you feel good.”

And you did. More than you ever had before. And when he finally pushed you past the point of no return, you realized—he had always been there to catch you. You clung to him, nails digging into his shoulders as Jaemin exhaled a shaky breath, his forehead pressing against yours before collapsing above you.

The silence between you was jarring. It was the kind silence that didn’t belong in a space that had only ever been filled with teasing, bickering, and laughter. The sheets were tangled between your legs, your skin still warm from being touched by Jaemin. But the aftermath of the warmth that had consumed you moments ago was heavy.

Regret wasn’t the word—not exactly. But uncertainty sat heavily in your chest, and you hated it. You exhaled, staring at the ceiling, before finally voicing the question that had been gnawing at you since the haze of desire dissipated. “What now?” 

Your voice came out quieter than expected. You turned your head to look at him. “Why did we do this? What if we ruined everything?”

Jaemin was propped up on one elbow, watching you, his fingers playing with the ends of your hair. He didn’t look the least bit conflicted. If anything, he looked like a man who had finally gotten what he wanted.

He smiled. “Baby, we were done the moment you kissed me in front of that fridge a few weeks ago. This friendship? It ended right then and there.”

You swallowed, trying to make sense of his words. “I never wanted to be friends with you anyway,” he added, voice soft but unwavering. “Did you forget that?”

You hummed. “Isn’t that kind of a betrayal, though?” You searched his face, looking for something—an answer, a reassurance, maybe even a reason to argue. “You’ve loved me all these years, and here I was, thinking you were my best friend.”

Jaemin’s eyes darkened, but not in the way they had earlier. This was something more profound. “I do love you,” he admitted. “But not all these years.”

Your heart lurched painfully. “What—”

“I liked you when we were younger,” he clarified, his fingers tightening ever so slightly around your wrist. “But we became friends, so I let it go. You were happy with other people, and I was happy being the one who stood beside you.” He exhaled, the tension in his grip loosening. “I only realized I loved you now. Not because I was waiting, not because I was hoping, but because tonight, you looked at me the way I used to look at you.”

Your lips parted, but no words came out. The way he said it, so simple yet so profound, left you at a loss. “You’re so cheesy,” you muttered instead, forcing lightness into your tone.

Jaemin only chuckled, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “That’s okay. I know you’ll love me anyway.”

It was sweet. He was sweet. And for a split second, you wanted to believe in the warmth of this moment, in the possibility that maybe you could finally have something good.

But then reality sank its claws into you, dragging you back down. You weren’t in the right headspace for this. Not now. Maybe not ever. Your heart still bore the scars of past failures, of love stories that had ended in ruins. You didn’t trust yourself to make this work, to not destroy something before it even had the chance to grow.

You couldn’t risk it. Especially not with Jaemin, your best friend, your emergency contact—the one person you knew would have your back no matter what happened.

The hesitation must have shown on your face because Jaemin’s expression shifted. He didn’t look disappointed. He didn’t even look surprised. If anything, he just looked patient.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he murmured, stroking your cheek. “You can take your time.”

Your throat tightened. “And if I never push through with it?”

Jaemin smiled, something achingly fond in his gaze. “Then I’ll still be here. And I won’t hate you for it.”

That was the thing about Jaemin. He never asked for more than you were willing to give. And somehow, that made you want to give him everything.

Jaemin didn’t hesitate when he asked for his right to act on his feelings. He promised he wouldn’t push too far, wouldn’t do anything you didn’t want, but he wanted to be able to touch you, hold you, kiss you when he felt like it. And for some reason, you didn’t push him away. Maybe because deep down, you liked it too much. Maybe because it was easier to indulge than to fight it.

So you let it happen. You let him linger closer, let his hands find yours whenever you were within reach. You let yourself fall into his presence, allowing the way he touched you to become something you expected, something you craved, even if you wouldn’t say it out loud.

Mornings changed first. You got used to waking up to the press of his body against yours, to the weight of his arm over your waist. He was always warm, always impossibly comfortable. Jaemin, who once used to be the one dragging you out of bed, now found excuses to keep you there. 

If you tried to get up, he’d pull you right back, wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his face in your neck. “Five more minutes.” 

You’d roll your eyes, and push at his chest, only for him to hug you tighter, murmuring something about how you smelled too nice for him to let go yet. You always huffed at him, but you never actually pulled away.

Jaemin took care of you in the smallest, most effortless ways. Your coffee was already waiting for you before you even asked. On mornings when you slept in, he’d slip into your room just to leave a cup on your nightstand, the smell of roasted beans waking you up before the sunlight even had the chance.

When you cooked together, he always found ways to touch you. Guiding you from behind when you stirred the pot, his hands sliding to your waist like it was second nature. He’d taste whatever you were making and hum in approval, then kiss the side of your head just because.

He always looked at you like that too, like you were something precious, something his. And you let him.

The little touches never stopped. A hand on the small of your back when he passed by. Fingers brushing your cheek as he tucked your hair behind your ear. When you got too focused, too lost in your work, he’d lean in and press a quick kiss to your cheek, just to remind you that he was still there. He did it so casually, so confidently, like touching you was as easy as breathing.

But it wasn’t just at home where things changed. At school, Jaemin was just as affectionate. He sat closer than usual, his knee bumping against yours under the table, his hand resting on your lower back whenever he leaned in to speak. He stole sips from your drinks, stole bites of your food, stole every excuse to touch you in ways that, had anyone been paying closer attention, would have looked like something far more than friendship.

But no one noticed. Because, to them, you and Jaemin had always been this way—close, affectionate, orbiting around each other like you were both integral parts of each other. No one questioned it when he pulled you onto his lap during movie nights at Giselle’s place because it was easier than sharing the small couch. No one batted an eye when he draped an arm over your shoulders at lunch, absentmindedly playing with your hair as he listened to Karina talk about weekend plans. Not even Giselle, who usually had a sharp eye for these things, suspected anything when Jaemin took your bag without a word and slung it over his shoulder, carrying it for you.

You could feel it though. The way Jaemin’s touches lingered just a second longer than they used to. The way he watched you when he thought you weren’t looking. The way he whispered your name sometimes, like it was something he was still getting used to saying with affection and love.

You caught yourself looking for him. When he wasn’t home yet, you listened for the sound of the door unlocking, for his familiar voice calling out to you. You never used to notice it before, but now, your shared space felt off without him in it. And when he was home, you never questioned why it felt better.

One night, you slipped up. You were half-asleep, curled up against his chest, the steady rise and fall of his breathing lulling you gently. And maybe it was the exhaustion, or maybe it was the warmth, or maybe it was just him, but the words tumbled out before you could stop them.

"Don’t go. I'll be lonely without you."

Jaemin stilled. Then his arms tightened around you, his lips pressing on the top of you head. "I’m not going anywhere."

And that was how you lived—entangled in something unlabeled, something neither of you tried to question or define. He didn’t ask for more. You didn’t push him away.

Nana: You’re fine with getting new housemates, right?

You frowned at your phone. You asked him to get groceries, and he’s talking about getting housemates?

You: No. Nana: Not even gonna ask who they are first? You: Doesn’t matter. The answer is still no. Nana: That’s unfair. You should at least meet them before deciding. You: It’s my apartment. I get the final say. Nana: you mean, OUR apartment.

You: I still get the final say. Nana: What if I just bring them over for a quick dinner? No pressure, just introductions. You: I don’t see how that changes anything. Nana: You might change your mind. You: I won’t. Nana: … Nana: So that’s a yes to dinner?

You sighed, already regretting your decision.

You: Fine. But it’s still a no. Nana: Noted.

About an hour later, you heard the front door open and close, followed by the unmistakable sound of Jaemin kicking off his shoes. You looked up, expecting to see him with, what? Two guys? A couple of friends in need of a place to crash? Instead, Jaemin stood in the doorway, grinning like a kid who had just done something he wasn’t supposed to.

In his arms was a fluffy cat with wide, curious eyes. Another poked its head out of the bag slung across his chest. And at his feet, a third cat rubbed against his legs like it had already claimed him as its personal human. 

You blinked. “Jaemin.”

“Yeah?” he asked, completely nonchalant as he set the cat in his arms down on the floor.

You gestured at the trio of kitties now sniffing around your apartment. “What the hell is this?”

Jaemin crouched to scratch behind the ears of the one that had been circling his ankles. “This,” he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, “is Luna, Lucy, and Luke. Our new housemates.”

You stared at him. “Excuse me?”

Jaemin finally looked up, smiling at you in that sweet, boyish way that usually meant he had done something ridiculous but wanted you to let it slide. “They needed a home.”

“That’s not an answer.” You pointed accusingly at the one sitting on the couch now, making itself comfortable. “Jaemin, we never talked about getting a cat. Let alone three.”

“I know.” He stood, brushing off his jeans. “But a senior from our department is graduating and she couldn't take them home with her. She was looking for someone who could adopt them, and I was only gonna get one but then she told me they’re siblings and have to stay together. And I just can’t leave them, can I?”

“So you thought bringing all three of them home was a good idea?” you asked, pinching the bridge of your nose.

He stepped closer, lowering his voice to that soft, coaxing tone he always used when he was trying to win you over. “You love cats.”

“That’s not the point.”

“They love you already,” he continued. “Look.”

You felt something nuzzle against your leg. Looking down, you saw Luna—Luke? Lucy? Whatever—purring up at you, their big round eyes full of innocence. Your heart softened, but you refused to let it show.

Jaemin noticed anyway. His smirk was triumphant. “Oh, they are sooo staying.”

You sighed heavily, pouting with your shoulders sagging in defeat. “I hate you.”

Jaemin laughed, leaning in to kiss your temple. “No, you don’t.” Then he hugged you from behind, squeezing you gently as he watched the cats now making themselves comfortable in their new home. “So, should we get them matching collars, or is that too much?”

Your last semester of college came too soon, slipping through your fingers like the pages of a book you weren’t ready to close. Life moved forward whether you were prepared or not, and with it, your friends were the first to step into their next chapters.

Karina and Giselle walked the stage that spring, struggling to keep their caps in place as they jumped into each other’s arms. Renjun beamed as he shook hands with professors, looking a little smug in his honors sash. Even Jaemin, who always brushed off big moments like these, cracked a self-satisfied smile when his name was called. You cheered for them, clapped until your hands hurt, and posed for pictures, but there was no denying the way it felt watching them leave while you stayed behind.

The halls of NCIT felt emptier without Karina’s complaints about deadlines and Giselle’s dramatic reenactments of campus drama. But Jaemin was still there. He hadn’t packed up and left like the others. While everyone else dove headfirst into their careers, he stayed, taking time off instead of immediately stepping into the expectations waiting for him outside college walls.

His days were spent taking care of you, spending time with you, helping you with homework, and piecing together his photography portfolio, and somehow, you became the centerpiece of it.

“Look at me.” Jaemin’s voice was soft but insistent as he crouched in front of you, camera in his hands.

You huffed, tearing your gaze away from the book you weren’t really reading. “I am looking at you.”

He clicked his tongue. “No, you’re glaring at me.”

“Because you’re being annoying,” you retorted. Jaemin grinned, completely unaffected. 

“Let’s try that again,” he said. You sighed but gave in, letting your eyes meet the lens, expression softening just a little. He snapped the photo immediately, and from the way his face lit up, you could tell he got exactly what he wanted.

“Perfect,” he murmured, flipping the camera around to show you.

You tried not to let it get to you, but there was something about the way he saw you, how his lenses captured you as someone important, someone loved.

The cats were an extension of the both of you, curling up on Jaemin’s chest when he sprawled on the couch, purring on your legs when you stood in the kitchen. Jaemin spoiled them rotten—Luna got her favorite sunspot by the window all to herself, Lucy got head pats on demand, and Luke had claimed Jaemin’s lap as his personal throne. 

“Traitor,” you had muttered once when Luke chose Jaemin over you. 

“They just love me more,” Jaemin had teased, scratching behind Luke’s ears with a smirk.

This was how things had been between you two. Ever since that night, the night you crossed a line you could never uncross, nothing really changed yet somehow, everything had. 

Jaemin never held back anymore. He was more affectionate, more attentive, like he wasn’t afraid of pushing too far. He called you baby like it was the most natural thing in the world, pulled you into his arms whenever he felt like it, and pressed kisses to your forehead without hesitation. 

He worshipped you in the privacy of your apartment, uttered your name like it would hurt him not to do so, touched your skin like you were the most precious thing he had ever touched, ever kissed, and ever laid his eyes on. He loved you in and out, and you basked in his attention, his affection, and his unwavering loyalty.

Maybe you should have stopped it, maybe you should have told him to slow down, but the truth was, you liked it. You liked how easy it was, how warm it felt. You liked not having to question what you meant to him anymore.

And Jaemin never asked for more than what you could give. He let you take your time, let you figure it out in your own way. So you spent the rest of the semester like that, somewhere between best friends and something more.

When your turn to graduate finally arrived, they were all there—Karina, Giselle, Renjun, Ningning, everyone who had been with you through the years. They cheered for you just as loudly as you had for them, but it was Jaemin who stood out the most. He was impossible to miss, holding your bouquet like it was his accomplishment, snapping pictures as if he were paid to do it.

The ceremony was long, the speeches were boring, but it didn’t matter. You had done it.

It wasn’t until the reception that Karina’s eyes narrowed at Jaemin when he leaned over to fix your cap. “Baby, your tassel’s on the wrong side,” he murmured, adjusting it before you could react.

Karina gawked. “Did you just—? Did he just call you baby?”

Giselle nearly choked on her drink. Renjun gave you a slow, knowing smirk. You felt your stomach drop.

“What?” Jaemin blinked, completely unfazed. “I’ve been calling her that since earlier.”

“You have not,” Karina accused.

“Yes, he has,” Renjun said, crossing his arms. “You guys just don’t listen.”

Giselle let out a scandalized gasp. “Oh my god. Were you guys—? Since when?”

“I’m gonna get more food,” you blurted, grabbing Jaemin’s wrist and dragging him away before anyone could interrogate you further. He let you, chuckling under his breath.

Later that week, when the celebrations died down and you were finally hauled the last box of your stuff outside your apartment complex, you glanced back at NCIT right across the street and thought about the years you had spent in this place, all the moments that had led you here.

The late-night cramming sessions, the spontaneous road trips, the heartbreaks, and the reckless decisions. Every piece of your college life was shaped by the people who walked it with you.

Giselle, Karina, and Ningning, your constants through every breakdown and triumph, who saw you at your worst and never let you stay there for too long. They made the ordinary feel special, turned bad days into bearable ones, and stayed no matter how messy life got,

Renjun taught you friendship and admiration. You haven’t heard from Yangyang for a long time now, but you’d never forget his cheshire cat smile and how he taught you to live in the moment. Jeno taught you patience and the importance of putting yourself first. What you had with Donghyuck ended before it had the chance to properly begin, but the memories of your youth will always have him in it. 

Love in the eyes of a college student was everything and anything. It was stupid, it was dumb. It was exhilarating, it was euphoric. It was slow, it was fast. It was damning, but also freeing. Such are the highs and lows of college romances. At the end of it all, you leave it all behind and move on with your life.

“Baby!” Jaemin’s voice cut through your thoughts. You glanced over your shoulder, smiling at the sight of him waving happily and beckoning you over to his car. “Time to go!”

You took one last look at the campus that had been your whole world for the past few years, exhaling softly. Then you walked toward him, toward the future.

Because some things, you take with you.

You walked toward him, fishing your phone from inside your pocket. Jaemin leaned in to peer at your screen. “What are you doing?”

“Sending one last entry to Campus Confessions.”

“Campus Confessions? NCIT's confessions page?”

“Yes.”

Jaemin gasped. “You send entries to CC?”

“I do, sometimes,” you replied, getting into the car.

“For whom?” he pressed, sitting on the driver's seat looking perplexed and surprised. “Did you just send a last minute confession to a crush or something?”

“Start driving. We're way behind schedule as it is.”

“Unbelievable,” he muttered, but didn't argue. You smiled as you watched him seethe in his seat, driving the car away from the apartment complex.

To: NCIT Long story short, I survived. - x

[fin]

[smileysuh]

eat it - TEASER

🌙 starring. Jaehyun x afab!Reader 

🔮 preview. “I mean, what if we make a deal? For every ‘A’ you get on these three tests in November, I’ll eat you out till you’re begging me to stop. And in December, if you pass your physics final with a grade above eighty-six percent, I’ll fuck your brains out.”

tw/cw. Unprotected sex, pussy eating, foreplay, face grinding, dry humping, breast worship, fingering, squirting, dirty talk, using sex as inspiration to study, no nut november, blue balls, dirty talk, praise, multiple little sex scenes, big dick Jaehyun, slight phone sex, mentions of masturbation, teasing, etc… I pet names: (hers) baby.

👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 4.5k

🍭 aus. Uni au, fuck buddies to lovers, no nut november, etc…

☀️ mlist + an. Short but sweet :) was missing Jae

You and Jaehyun have had an on-again off-again fuck buddy relationship for a little over a year now, and in that period, you’ve fucked only a handful times. With Jaehyun, things are strictly business. There’s not much foreplay, not much chit-chatting- it’s entirely about you both getting your rocks off as stress relief, then going your separate ways.

There’s a part of you that’s always thought extensive foreplay is less of a fuck buddy type of deal, and more of a budding relationship experience, which is why it’s generally been off-limits.

Having a man’s dick in you is one thing, having his mouth on your pussy while he’s neglected, looking up at you and doing his best to make you cum without any pleasure for himself- well, that’s something else entirely.

Neither you nor Jaehyun like to be selfish in this arrangement you have, it’s always a mutually beneficial interaction.

But… if you let him eat you out for doing well in physics… if he doesn’t get to cum or be touched at all… then that’s you being selfish, and the flip side is, he’s being selfless with you. 

Selfless has never been a word you connect to the idea of fuck buddies- and sure, some men love eating out women, some men get super turned on from that, but… you worry you’ll just be blue-ballsing the poor man. 

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