fullsunfilm

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[fullsunfilm]

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welcome to my blog ୨ৎ have fun reading!

requests: open

ot7

how they love you

[callisrecords]

Lovers and Cowards

pairing: zhong chenle x f!reader

trope: uni au, strangers 2 lovers, rom-com

description: Chenle finds an old love letter in the dorm printer trash and does the most logical thing: threatens to read it aloud at Movie Night unless the owner steps forward. The problem? It’s your friend’s letter, and she immediately begs you to pretend it’s yours. Now you’re fake confessing to Chenle on her behalf, and he just seems amused. And suspiciously into it.

Part of the Notice Me (literally) series!

warnings: food mentioned, language, slander, alcohol mentioned

w/c: 8.9k

a/n: unedited and not beta-d because i wrote this purely fueled by the thought of taeyong coming back and like i just let the neo rip through me... sorry um. yes anyways, this is my comeback :))) this is personally a very chenle thing to do in my opinion so i hope you thinks so too and i did not do our main yapper's yapping tendencies justice with this but bear with me guys :sob:

The dorm’s bulletin board is usually a wasteland of passive-aggressive Post-its and flyers you never read. Someone’s always trying to sell a desk lamp, or start a study group, or threaten the rest into keeping the kitchen clean.

Which is why you almost don’t notice the new piece of paper pinned dead-center with three thumbtacks like it’s the announcement of the century.

You wouldn’t have looked twice if Yizhuo didn’t suddenly grab your arm hard enough to cut off your circulation.

“What the hell,” you hiss, shaking her off. “Do you mind? I like having blood in my hand.”

She stares at the notice like it’s about to lunge off the board and strangle her. “Oh my god,” she whispers. “Oh my god.”

You glance between her and the paper. “What?”

Yizhuo swallows hard. “I'm not going to freak out.”

“That’s literally what people say right before freaking out.”

She ignores you, steps forward, and points at the paper without actually touching it. Like it’s a crime scene. “That’s my letter.”

You blink. “What?”

“The one in the notice!” she snaps. “I typed it out last week after the midterms, when we got drunk. Printed it and then panicked and threw it away. Now—” She waves at the paper like it’s personally offended her. “—this is happening.”

You actually read it this time.

Notice: Lovers and Cowards Did you (or someone you know) pour their heart out into a love letter, only to chicken out and toss it near the dorm printer? Bad news: I found it. Worse news: it’s going public. Unless the rightful owner steps up, this masterpiece of romance will be read dramatically during Movie Night this Friday. Don’t make me do this. (Actually, please do—I love the drama.) Claim it before then, or prepare to be exposed. No judgment… maybe.

You look back at her slowly. “…You wrote a love letter.”

“Yes.”

“And threw it away by the printer.”

“Yes.”

“And now some lunatic has it and is threatening to read it in front of the whole dorm.”

She throws her hands up. “Not just some lunatic. Look at the name! It's Zhong Chenle. He'll fucking humiliate me in front of everyone. If he reads it on the day of the movie night, the person I wrote it to will figure it out."

You lean back a little. “How?"

“It's Jun—" She stops herself, looking around before leaning in to whisper into your ear. "It's Junghoon. You know I talk to him a lot. He'll easily know that it was me and that is the last thing I want right now."

You nod slowly. "Okay… So just go claim it? That way he won't reveal anything."

Yizhuo backs up and sighs, palms fisting at her hip. "Babe. So you clearly don't know Zhong Chenle that well."

She takes the quizzical look on your face as the sign to continue. "I've known the guy since middle school, and for some reason he just likes pissing me off. Even if I owned up to it, he would go and tell Junghoon."

You open your mouth to retort, but she beats you to it. "Trust me. I know."

"What will you do then?"

Yizhuo stills, eyes narrowing in on you. Softly, she brings up her palms to grip your elbows. "My love. My darling friend. The one who's got my back at all times—"

You shake your head, trying to pry her fingers off. "No."

"You don't even know what I was going to say!"

"Well, it can't be great if it needs a build-up like that. So no."

"Please," she pleads, calling out your name. "All you'd have to do is go up to him and say it was yours. He won't care if it's you because he doesn't know you."

"And why would I embarrass myself in front of a total stranger?" You sigh, walking away from the notice board and over to the couches.

Mark Lee—you recognize him because he shares a class with you, one that you can't recall at the moment—sits on one of the couches with his girlfriend, and you'd rather not listen in to their conversation. So you plop down onto the farthest seat and watch as Yizhuo dramatically falls to her knees in front of you. The carpet hasn't been cleaned in, well, god knows how long, and you try to pull her up.

She swats your hand away.

"Please. Embarrassment is not a word in your dictionary, and honestly, it isn't one in his either. Which is why he would do such a thing." She rolls her eyes before muttering to herself. "God, that fucking idiot. Always up in everybody's business."

You watch her with equal parts disbelief and amusement as she flails around. The dust and questionable stains cling to her jeans, but she’s too focused on her theatrics to care. You reach down again, this time tugging a little harder at her elbow. “Get up before you catch something.”

Yizhuo finally gets up with a small grunt, dusting her knees off before putting the same palms on your shoulders. You flinch with disgust.

"Come on. You just have to go up to him, tell him that it was you and that he should never bring this up again and walk out!"

“Okay, okay. I don’t really know Chenle that well,” you admit, glancing toward the notice board like it’s the root of all your problems. “But from what you say, he sounds like exactly the kind of guy who would make this hell for you.”

She nods, relieved. “Right? He’s like the unofficial dorm detective—except instead of solving crimes, he just digs up everyone’s secrets and spreads them for fun.”

You sigh, running a hand through your hair. “So, you want me to be your shield. Walk up, claim the letter like it’s mine, and then pray Chenle doesn’t turn it into some dorm-wide scandal.”

Yizhuo’s smile widens. “You got it. You’ll save me from eternal humiliation.”

You shake your head, already feeling the weight of this terrible favour. “Fine. But if Chenle makes a mockery of me, you owe me. Big time.”

She throws her arms around you with a squeal, and your eyes flicker over to where Mark and his girlfriend watch you two with thinly veiled concern. You shoot an awkward smile and a thumbs-up at them.

So you make the walk of (slight) shame over to Mark who sits, bent over a mass media law textbook. Ah, that's the class you share.

You realise, soon enough, that you might have to confront Zhong Chenle earlier than you expected. The pinned message in the dorm's group chat stares at you in all its glory.

Gentle reminder, D-2 to the movie night. Hope everybody is excited! (and please, bring your own snacks. We're uni students, not billionaires)

"Hey." You poke his shoulder, a bit awkwardly.

Mark startles, looking up at you before pulling his wired earphones out. "Hi. Can I help you?"

"You're friends with Chenle, aren't you?"

He nods, glancing at his phone that lights up before turning back to you. "Yeah. Is there a problem?"

"Oh, no." You shake your head. "I was just wondering, what room is he from?"

Mark's eyes narrow in on you. "Hold on… are you the one—"

"God, no." You clarify, waving your hands in front of him. "I forgot to take my USB out after using the printer. Someone told me they saw him taking it."

It's a lie, obviously, and you surprise yourself a little with how easily it slips out. The things you'd do for Yizhuo.

Mark stares at you for a few seconds like he’s weighing whether you’re telling the truth or just wasting his time. Then he shrugs, like whatever. “Alright. That makes sense. Chenle lives in 130 with Jisung. But he's in class right now, actually."

"Oh? I'm sorry, but it's kinda urgent. What class is he in?"

"Uh…" he trails off, scrolling on his phone to find the man's contact. "I'll ask him. The kid doesn't pay attention in any of his classes anyway."

You nod and awkwardly stand beside him while he waits for the reply. Pulling your phone out, you're met with a string of texts from Yizhuo asking if you got the job done. You type out a passive-aggressive 'not yet' followed by five rolling eyes emojis and mute her number temporarily.

Mark's feet tap on the ground rhythmically, probably along the tune of whatever he's listening to. After about a minute, he perks up.

"He's in Ethics in Journalism. C block. Says he doesn't have any USB, but he forgets stuff, so you should probably go and talk to him. He's almost done, so he'll be out by the time you reach."

You nod, forcing a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. Ethics in Journalism sounds ironic for whatever you've heard about him. A blabber-mouth like him couldn't possibly be a good thing for journalism, could he?

You thank him, making Mark shrug before turning back to his textbook and putting his earphones back in.

The afternoon sun hangs high, casting short shadows across the cracked pavement as you make your way toward the main campus buildings. The familiar buzz of students rushing between classes fills the air—laughter, distant music, the occasional shout—but none of it reaches you today. Your mind is too busy rehearsing what’s about to happen.

Ahead, the modern brick facade of the journalism building rises into view, old and intimidating. You glance up at the small sign near the entrance: C Block, Communications and Media Studies.

The heavens seem to be slightly on your side today, for Zhong Chenle walks out just as you walk up to the entrance. You recognize him from the photos Yizhuo has showed you. Plus, you were told that if you saw anyone boring enough to be out and about wearing a Stephen Curry jersey, then that was your guy.

True to her word, Chenle wears a royal blue Golden State Warriors shirt, headphones slung around his neck and eyes on his phone as he skips down the steps, taking two at a time.

He glances up just as he reaches the bottom of the stairs, locking eyes with your waiting figure for a moment before pulling out one earbud. "Hey. Are you the girl that lost her USB?"

You blink, startled that he already knows. “Uh, yeah. That’s me.” You shuffle your feet, suddenly aware of how awkward this whole situation is.

Clearing your throat, you try to sound casual. “Listen, could we maybe, uh, go somewhere a bit more private? To talk?”

"About your lost USB?" Chenle laughs out, before smirking. "Dude, if you like me or something… I don't know, just say it here. I don't really care."

You scoff out of disbelief, crossing your arms. Somehow, he's already managed to irritate you. "Okay, stuck-up much? No. Listen, I didn't even know who you were until like, a day ago."

He nods slowly, like he finds your rambling amusing. "Sure."

"No, seriously. It's something important, so I'd appreciate if we went somewhere a little—" You look around at the influx of students that are leaving the building, "—less exposed."

He laughs again. It's an easy, contagious laugh that somehow makes you want to punch him and grin at the same time. “Fine, fine. Lead the way, mysterious USB owner.”

You take in a deep breath and start walking toward a quieter corner of the campus, away from the crowds milling between classes. Chenle trails behind, hands in his pockets, eyes scanning the scene with that casual confidence that’s somehow both annoying and impressive.

The air feels cooler under the shade of the tall oaks, leaves rustling softly as you reach a bench tucked away near a side path. Chenle leans back against the bench, crossing his arms.

"You didn't even tell me your name? What's up, anyway?" He exhales loudly, throwing his head back and slouching in the seat.

You give him your name. He says it once, lazily almost before glancing at you. Somewhere on the way, he's put on black shades. You don't like how you can't see his eyes, but you continue anyway.

"So… about the notice that you put up in the dorm."

That makes him straighten up. Chenle almost squeals before fully turning his body to face you. He claps his hands once as he brings his leg up to sit on it, like this is some picnic that the two of you are having. "That was you? Oh my god, I can't believe that worked!"

"Yeah, so just—" you cut yourself off with a sigh, "please don't read it out on movie night?"

He smirks, tilting his head. “What were you thinking anyway? Love letters? Who even writes those anymore? Especially ones they immediately throw away? That’s some dramatic behaviour. You sure you weren’t drunk?”

You flush, eyes flicking away. “Okay, yeah. Drunk after exams. Tired and emotional. Can you just not make a big deal out of it?”

Chenle chuckles, a slow, teasing sound. “No promises, but—"

"Hey!" You retort. "You said you'd keep it hush if the person revealed themselves!"

"—Okay, okay. I will. I'll cut you some slack." He throws his hands up in defence.

You sigh, looking away. You don't even know this guy, but you already know that there's a but at the end of that sentence. "But what?"

"Only if you read it out to me right here."

Your mouth falls agape as you turn back to him. There's no way he's being serious about this.

"Come on." Chenle urges, the grin never leaving his face. "Be brave! It was fun to read on my own, but it would be even more hilarious coming from the writer herself."

"Dude, what the hell? This was not what you said on the notice."

"A man can change his mind. Come on, be quick." He shrugs as he pulls his bag forward, unzipping it to rummage through the loose papers dumped in it. "I have it in here somewhere."

"Do you not have people dedicating love letters to you? Is that why you want me to read it out, you sicko." You grumble, grabbing the letter from his hands.

It makes him laugh again, and you watch, a little dumbfounded at the way he throws his head back. You would hate to admit it, but there's something charming about the guy.

You shake your head, curse Yizhuo a thousand times before clearing your throat and holding the paper up. The edges crease where you grip the letter tightly. Chenle leans back, almost vibrating with excitement.

“To the one who makes my heart do somersaults,

Every time you walk into the room, it’s like fireworks explode inside me—bright, loud, and completely impossible to ignore. You’re the melody I hum in the shower, the warmth I crave on cold nights.”

You pause, blinking at the words like you can’t believe someone wrote this. Chenle snorts quietly behind his sunglasses.

You press on, cheeks heating despite yourself. Fuck Yizhuo, fuck that stupid little girl.

“I know I’m probably a mess right now—drunk on exams and bad decisions—but damn, I had to tell you. You’re the kind of beautiful disaster that makes my world spin faster and slower at the same time.”

Your voice cracks slightly on “beautiful disaster,” and you clear your throat.

“If loving you is a mistake, then I don’t want to be right. So here I am, a hopeless fool scribbling my heart out on paper, hoping maybe you’ll catch the fever too.”

There's about two more paragraphs left, but you fold the letter back up and look at Chenle with a face so full of pain that he almost pities you. You stand up, shoving the paper into one of your pockets and glare at the man who's barely managing to hold back his laughter.

"There. Done. Can you shut up about it now?"

He nods, lips still split into a shit-eating grin. "One last thing. Who was this even written to? And I swear I won't go around telling people."

You eye him suspiciously. What could possibly happen? As long as you make it out of this alive and as long as it isn't revealed that the actual writer was Yizhuo, you'll be fine.

"Junghoon." You state, pursing your lips. "You may not know him, he's in a different dorm."

"I think I've heard his name, yeah." Chenle nods, also getting up from the bench. "But damn, you were brave. I acknowledge and respect that, although I was hoping you'd be a no-show and I'd get to read it out."

You step away, throw up a sign heavily relying on your middle finger and turn around to walk back.

His giggles ring in your ear and you resist the urge to turn around and punch his stupid, infuriating, good-looking—no. No, just stupid and infuriating face.

"What a fucking sadist, really." You mutter to yourself, stomping across the footpath. "Well, at least it's over now."

The common room buzzes with the low hum of chattering students and the clatter of drinks and popcorn buckets being passed around. In the kitchen, you hear the RAs arguing about seating arrangements and the lack of beanbags that they've borrowed from the college club rooms.

The couches have been moved to the sides, and upon your insistence, the carpet has been replaced, so it isn't as much of a hazard to just sit on the ground anymore. Behind you, someone is setting up the projector and fiddling around with the size of the projection on the wall. Yizhuo has managed to catch hold of a bean bag big enough for the both of you to sit, and you have a thin but soft blanket, folded in your arms in case they decide to turn the air conditioning up like the theatres. There's nothing that could go wrong.

Or so you think.

Because half way through the opening credits, someone settles down on the ground beside your bean bag with a loud exhale, making you twitch and turn towards them to throw a stink-eye.

Chenle.

He shifts lazily, propping himself up on one elbow as his eyes settle on you.

Yizhuo stiffens beside you, fingers clutching the blanket a little too tightly. Her gaze flickers to Chenle with something close to disdain, and you catch the subtle but unmistakable chill radiating between them.

Chenle’s dark eyes flick over to Yizhuo for just a moment, a flash of mild annoyance crossing his face before he looks back at you.

"Where's loverboy?" he asks, low enough for only you and Yizhuo to hear it. She scoffs lightly and turns back to the movie. "Didn't invite him?"

You roll your eyes. "No. Why do you ask?"

"Just wondering." He shrugs with a smile, "I thought you'd be here cozying up to him instead of… Yizhuo."

"Shut up, Chenle." She grumbles from beside you.

"What is up with you two anyway?" You ask, straightening a little with curiosity.

"I was just better than her at everything."

"He's a stuck-up asshole." They both answer at the same time. You bite your lip to not let the smile show.

"Our mothers are friends." Chenle hums. "So we kind of grew up together, unfortunately."

You blink, caught off guard by the casual confession. “Oh wow, that explains a lot.” You glance between them, the familiar sibling-like banter oddly endearing, before turning to Yizhuo.

"So you don't actually hate him, do you?"

Yizhuo shoots him a glare, but there's traces of amusement in her eyes. "Yes, I do."

"She doesn't." Chenle scoffs, pointing his chin towards the movie. "Turn back around."

“So,” you say, nudging Chenle lightly, “are you here just to torment us, or do you actually like the movie?”

Chenle shrugs again, eyes twinkling. “A bit of both, honestly. Plus, I figured sitting here would be more interesting than wherever the hell I was before.”

Yizhuo groans beside you. You look behind, eyes catching on the group of six that are slowly settling down towards the back of the room. "Really? They do look like they'd be fun."

"Eh, at times." He admits, "But honestly, I'm also here to ask about your little crush."

"No." You reply sharply, and he only lets out a breathy laugh before settling into the side of your bean bag. It surprises you how easily he gets comfortable, but you don't mind—weirdly enough—and Yizhuo doesn't seem to either, so you let him be.

"You're interesting, actually." Chenle mumbles, eyes still on the wall. "How have we never met before?"

You blink at him, caught off guard by the honesty that’s so casually dropped between the flickering shadows of the movie. “I have no idea,” you say, voice low enough not to disturb the others, "but it's probably for a good reason anyway."

Chenle throws an irritated glance at you, scrunching his nose. "Your loss. I'm a really fun person to be around."

When you reply with a snort, he stretches his arms above his head, eyes still half on the screen but now relaxed, like the casual companion he somehow is tonight. “So, tell me,” he says, voice dropping to a teasing drawl, “how much of that letter was real, and how much was drunk poetry."

"Man, let it go." You groan, pushing back into your seat. "Everything was drunk poetry. I'm not usually like that."

Yizhuo pinches your thigh under the blanket with a laugh, and you have to force yourself to hold back and not expose her then and there.

"Okay, you know what. I'm nosy. Tell me about this guy."

"What are you going to do?" You roll your eyes, "Play wingman?"

"Hey," Chenle protests, "I could if I wanted to."

But still, you stiffen. Truth is, you barely know Junghoon beyond a few passing hellos in the dorm hallway and a handful of vague group chats. Your mouth opens to answer, but the words stick in your throat.

Before you can stumble over some awkward excuse, Yizhuo leans a little closer, her tone smooth but firm. “Junghoon’s alright. Quiet, keeps to himself mostly. Not much for the spotlight. Probably why you don’t really know him,” she says, eyes flicking to Chenle with a hint of challenge.

Chenle raises an eyebrow, smirking at the subtle jab but not pushing back. “Ooh, protective, huh? Nice.”

You shoot Yizhuo a grateful glance, silently thanking her for the rescue as Chenle nudges the conversation forward with a lazy grin. “Well, quiet types can be interesting. Mysterious. But if you don’t know him well, how do you even… like him?”

"I do know him," you protest weakly, "he's a nice guy. I wouldn't like him otherwise."

"So that's your type? Nice, quiet guys?" He hums. "Didn't expect that, lowkey."

"Guess so, yeah." You nod slowly. You hope you're a good liar, because the way Chenle seems to look right at you makes you feel like you aren't. "Focus on the movie, would you?"

Chenle chuckles, shaking his head like he’s amused by some private joke. “You’re good at dodging, I’ll give you that."

You bite your lip, trying to keep your expression neutral. He notices, maybe, because he shakes his head, his black mop of hair swishing around.

You palms roll up into fists under the blanket to resist from reaching out and running a hand through it.

Zhong Chenle. Who is this guy?

The laundry room smells strongly of detergent pods, a quiet refuge from the usual dorm chaos. You lean against the wall near the row of dryers, phone in hand, eyes half-watching the soft white numbers counting down.

Your laundry’s nearly done, and you’re just killing time, thankful for the rare moment to yourself, when the door swings open with a muffled creek and in stroll two people, one with a familiar voice.

"I swear to god, you need to ask one of us to make something for you or at least to teach you how to use kitchen appliances without making it a safety hazard for every one involved." Chenle lets out exasperatedly, dumping his laundry bag into one of the baskets.

The other boy—Jisung, whom you've heard of before from Yizhuo—whines lowly. It's a sound you don't expect to hear from a man of his height, his brows furrowed and feet stomping lightly on the tiles, so you almost let out a small laugh.

It catches Chenle's attention, and he whips around to meet your eyes. He waves with one hand, shooting a grin, the other hand busy stuffing his closed into the washing machine.

Jisung eyes you a little curiously, nodding once in acknowledgement before he turns back to his friend. "Get off my back, dude. It's not my fault the toaster seems to malfunction every single time I touch it."

"Are you hearing yourself right now?" Chenle scoffs. "Jisung someone had to call you out using the notice board. You realize how embarrassing that is for you?"

"You don't have to tell me." The taller boy grumbles. "It's okay. I'll go apologize later. At least I'm not ignorant like Mark was."

Chenle shakes his head, slamming the washing machine door shut. "Just ask, next time."

He glances over at you again, eyes sharp but friendly. "Why are you alone here? Where's the little devil?"

You sigh, slipping your phone back into your pocket. "She's bunked too many classes and is facing the consequences now. Studying in our room. Is this your roommate?" You ask, tilting your head at Jisung.

"The one and only," Chenle grumbles affectionately. "One hell of an idiot is a more apt description."

"Hi." Jisung waves awkwardly. "I've heard of you before."

You pointedly stare at Chenle, who simply shrugs.

"What can I say? He was the one that sat and watched me type the notice up. He's so non-committal, I tell you. Wants to know what happened but doesn't want to be directly involved."

"I don't want to be an ass like you." Jisung wraps an arm around his roommate's shoulder. "Being nosy isn't as big of a crime."

You exhale loudly just as the dryer beeps. "Hold on to that thought." You say as you turn back around to load the clothes into your bag.

"I don't judge, unlike him." Jisung points out, making you giggle.

"He wasn't too judgemental, I guess." You admit. "Although he did—wait, no. He was. He made me read out the letter to him."

Chenle's eyes glint as he leans slightly forward. "Well… I have to say, you have a really nice voice. Made the whole thing sound way better than I expected."

You pause for a moment, caught off guard by the unexpected compliment. A faint blush rises to your cheeks as you glance up at him.

"Is that your way of saying I should read more often?" you tease, folding your laundry with a sly smile.

Chenle shrugs, grinning. "Maybe. Or maybe I just like hearing you talk."

Jisung rolls his eyes but can’t hide the amused smile tugging at his lips. "Easy, there. She likes someone. Don't try to make moves on her."

It makes you laugh out loud despite yourself, and the smart retort that he was about to say dies on Chenle's tongue as he watches your palm come up to cover your mouth, your eyes crinkling before you turn away.

Why is he making moves on you? And worst of all, why do you not seem bothered by it?

"I'm not." He responds defensively, clearing his throat and shooting Jisung a look that clearly says shut the fuck up.

But he says nothing more, his attention fixed on you again. There’s a pause, the hum of the machines filling the silence.

“So,” you say absently, checking the number of clothes in your bag to make sure you left nothing, “what’s really got you so worked up about the kitchen?”

Chenle smiles. “Right, the toast is Jisung’s problem. I'm pretty good in the kitchen."

You look up at that, eyebrows raised in disbelief. "You can cook?"

"Why is that so surprising?" He asks, sounding slightly offended.

"I don't know…" You mumble, pulling the strings to close the bag. "You look—"

"Good? Yeah," he waves you off with a sly grin, "tell me something I don't know."

"—like you survive off Red Bulls and instant noodles." You finish with a light-hearted scowl. "Where do you get all that confidence from, really?"

"I am a good cook." Chenle replies, sounding like he's challenging. "If you don't believe me, you can see for yourself. Or rather, taste for yourself."

"He does make really good scallion oil noodles." Jisung admits airily, slightly zoned out of your conversation.

Chenle raises an eyebrow at you. "So?"

“Okay, chef,” you say, tugging the laundry bag over your shoulder. “You owe me a taste test. When and where?”

Chenle taps his chin thoughtfully. “How about this weekend? I’ll cook, you judge.”

You smile, feeling a spark of something unexpected but welcome. “It’s a date.”

He nods, stepping back with satisfaction and slight determination. Another thing you've heard about him from Yizhuo is that he's competitive. Almost to a fault. But maybe… maybe you like that.

As you gather your things to leave, Chenle calls out your name, like he's just remembered something. "You sure your quiet boy won't mind you eating with another guy?" He teases cheekily.

You groan. "I'm allowed to have friends, thank you."

When you leave, Jisung turns to his roommate with a grin. "Why the hell are you hitting on her, dude?"

"I'm really not, Jisung." He sighs, pushing the taller boy away. "Maybe you'd know if you ever managed to speak to a girl who was interested in you."

"Rude." He mutters, a little dejectedly. "She seems nice. She called it a date. Why would she do that?"

Chenle hums, looking up to let out a small noise of confusion before he brushes it off, already opening his notes app to make a checklist of ingredients.

The setting sun's rays slide in through the library’s tall windows, casting long stripes of pale gold and pink light across your cluttered table. You’re buried under textbooks and scattered notes. The faint smell of recycled paper from your notebook and the sickly sweet coffee from the canteen has begun to make you gag. Your eyes flick over the same sentence for the third time, but it refuses to stick.

You groan. “I can’t do this anymore.”

Yizhuo stretches beside you, cracking her neck like it’s been ages since she last moved. “Break. Now.”

You shove your stuff into your bag, following her out. The quad is alive with the buzz of students—laughter, conversations, a frisbee sailing somewhere in the distance. Yizhuo wanders over toward the basketball courts, where a small crowd has formed.

When the two of you finally make it past, she scoffs. "Of course, it's him. That little attention-seeker. Bet he's just showing off."

It takes you the first four words to figure out who she's talking about.

You spot Chenle easily—darting between players like he owns the court, the bounce of the ball synced perfectly with his steps. His bright blue jersey stands out, like a beacon daring anyone to challenge him. You watch him spin, dribble, and then launch the ball into the net with that effortless flick of the wrist that gets the crowd cheering.

Yizhuo snorts beside you, crossing her arms. “Typical. Full of himself.”

You can’t help but smile, even though you try to play it cool. “He’s good.”

“Yeah, but he’s also an annoying show-off.”

You shrug, shifting on your feet. “Maybe. But he makes it look good. I kind of get why people watch.”

Yizhuo raises an eyebrow. “Don’t get too soft on him now. You’re supposed to be focused.”

You huff out a breath, stealing a glance at Chenle again. His laugh is loud and easy, the kind that makes the whole court seem a little brighter. There's a lot about him that you didn't expect, and somehow, he just keeps catching you by surprise.

You turn your gaze back to the game, but something about the way the sunlight hits Chenle’s face makes you pause. His hair is tousled just enough to look effortless, and when he smiles—really smiles—it’s like the whole crowd fades out for a second.

You catch yourself watching the way his muscles tense as he dribbles, the way his eyes sharpen when he focuses on the basket. It’s not just the game. It’s him.

You clear your throat, suddenly aware that you’ve been staring a little too long. Yizhuo nudges you with a reluctant sigh. "Please don't tell me you think the rat is handsome."

Her words are so random that you laugh out loud, maybe a little louder than you intended. The noise catches Chenle’s attention. He looks around, eyebrows raised as if trying to figure out where it came from. Then his eyes settle on you.

A slow grin spreads across his face as he waves, calling out, “Hey! Watching the game or just here to make fun?”

You and Yizhuo exchange a quick glance before you wave back awkwardly. Chenle shrugs and turns back to the game.

But you notice something subtle. His next moves are a little sharper, a little more precise—not like he suddenly decided to play seriously, but like he’s enjoying the extra attention. There’s a flicker of something playful in his eyes whenever they flick back to where you sit.

Yizhuo watches him too and mutters, “Okay, what the fuck is he doing?”

You turn to face her, raising an eyebrow.

"Like he's clearly trying to impress you, or whatever. But why? He thinks you like someone else, doesn't he?" Yizhuo asks , eyes focused somewhere past the courts as she thinks.

"Unless…" She snaps her fingers before turning to you and gripping you by the shoulders. "Did you tell him the truth?"

"No," you argue, "why would I do that?"

Yizhuo sits back again. "Sorry, you wouldn't. That was a moment of weakness."

Shaking your head, you lean back with her and continue watching. After a few seconds of silence, she pipes up again.

"Then why in the world has he developed home-wrecking tendencies? Trying to flirt with a girl who's heart is technically taken."

You shrug, cheeks warming.

Yizhuo rolls her eyes and stands up, throwing her hands up. “Alright, I’m done. This is weird. Let’s bounce before he starts trying to throw in slam dunks or something.”

"He's going to cook for me this weekend, by the way." You inform her as the two of you leave the court, not before you throw a small wave at him.

Yizhuo stops in her tracks, jaw hanging slack in astonishment. "He's going to what?"

You shrug. "We were just talking about cooking and he said he was good and I didn't believe that. Think he took it as a sort of challenge."

"Oh my god. What the fuck. I'm going to tell him to back off."

"Hey!" You protest weakly, "let me make friends too."

Yizhuo shakes her head before smiling and looping her arm through yours. "Hmm honey, I don't think he wants to be your friend. But alright, he's not the worst person out there."

On Saturday morning, your phone buzzes with a series of texts.

Almost instantly, he replies.

Chenle (130)

hey 121

isn't the little devil out all afternoon today?

my mum said she's visiting home

You

yeah! i think her cousin is home.

You pause, considering it. The dorm kitchen is usually a hassle on the weekends, and your own room is much more calming. Your phone pings with another text before you can respond.

Chenle (130)

can i cook in your room then?

i mean i've already got the scallion oil ready in a jar lol

so really i only need to make the noodles but

Chenle (130)

i'd offer my room but

jisung cannot get his ass out of bed and he's clumsy and awkward

do you fw that energy?

You

poor him…

he's so sweet why are you mean to him

and yeah my room's fine. will clean up a little though, so let me know when you're coming around

You react with a thumbs-up and throw your phone onto your bed before staring at the mess that your room has become after Yizhuo spent the entire morning deciding on outfits.

Chenle (130)

in like half an hour or so?

You start picking things up slowly, trying not to overthink why your heart beats a bit faster at the thought of him walking through that door. It’s silly. You tell yourself it’s just noodles, just cooking. But there’s a strange warmth in your chest that you don’t bother naming.

Halfway through, you catch yourself smiling quietly at the floor, like you’re keeping a secret you don’t want anyone to find out about. It’s awkward and a little thrilling all at once.

Your phone buzzes, dragging you out of your thoughts.

Almost there. Hope you’re ready for the best noodles of your life.

You tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, cheeks warming just a little. Then, the soft knock on your door breaks the silence.

“Coming!” you call out, before shuffling over to the door.

When you open it, you're met with Chenle's dazzling face (as he says it himself) and a hand held out with a glass jar of scallion oil.

You take it with a small smile, your fingers brushing his just long enough to notice but not enough to care too much. Chenle steps inside, surveying your room with that familiar cocky grin.

“Nice setup,” he says, nodding toward your cluttered desk. “Looks like someone’s been pretending to study.”

You shoot him a side-eye. “Pretending? I’m multitasking.”

He laughs and pulls out the portable stove and pot from his bag like a pro. Watching him unpack, you settle on the floor nearby, arms crossed, trying not to look too interested.

“Hey, don’t think I didn’t see you stealing glances,” Chenle says without looking up.

You roll your eyes, smirking. “Please. I’m here for the noodles, not the show.”

He flicks a glance your way, amused. “Sure, keep telling yourself that.”

Chenle sets the pot on the stove, the faint hiss of boiling water filling the quiet room. He moves with easy confidence, but you notice the brief flicker in his eyes when they meet yours—something softer, quieter, that he quickly hides behind a casual grin.

“So,” you say, folding your arms and leaning back against the bed, “how long have you been cooking like this?”

“Long enough,” he replies, stirring the noodles gently. “Used to watch my mum. She’s got this way of making simple stuff taste amazing.”

You hum thoughtfully. “Mums are always like that, aren't they?"

“Yeah, exactly.” He shrugs. “It’s all in the timing. Too long and they get soggy. Too quick and they’re hard.

You grin, clearly entertained. “And how much time did it take you to learn that, Mr. Zhong?"

He waves the chopsticks at you. "Almost none. I'm a pro."

The soft clatter of the chopsticks, the gentle bubbling of the water, the quiet comfort of the room—it all feels strangely calming.

“So,” you say after a moment, “do you always cook for people? Or is this just a special occasion?”

He pauses, glancing at you briefly before turning back to the noodles. “I don’t know. I guess... I like it. The cooking part, and maybe the hanging out part too.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Just maybe?”

Chenle laughs quietly, shaking his head. “Okay, maybe more than just maybe.”

You grin, leaning back on your hands. “I’m starting to think you might actually enjoy my company.”

“Don’t get too full of yourself,” he teases. “I enjoy a lot of things.”

But the smile he gives you feels softer, like it’s meant just for you. You don’t press it, just watch as he slides the noodles into a bowl, topping them with a generous drizzle of the scallion oil.

Chenle sets the bowl down in front of you, and you reach for your chopsticks, smacking your lips in anticipation. You wait for him to settle down in front of you with his own bowl.

“So, what’s the verdict?” he asks, eyes bright.

You take a bite, the warm noodles slipping easily between your chopsticks, the scallion oil fragrant and rich. “Not bad,” you say, “for someone who claims to be a pro.”

Chenle grins, watching you carefully. “Told you."

As the conversation flows—bits of teasing, shared stories about family dinners and awkward kitchen mishaps—Chenle’s gaze drifts to you, not just hearing your words but noticing the way your eyes crinkle when you laugh, how easy it is to be here, like this, just talking and eating.

He thinks about how simple it feels, this rhythm between you two. No pressure, no pretence. But beneath that ease, a quiet ache presses at him.

You like someone else. He knows he’s not the one you want. And that knowledge stings, sharper than he lets on. Yet, despite that, he finds himself here. Choosing to be near you, drawn by something he doesn’t quite have the words for yet.

Chenle wipes his face lethargically with a towel, sweat dripping down onto the concrete ground as him and Jisung leave the courts, duffels hanging on their shoulders.

"Hey." Jisung nudges his elbow, nodding towards a bench near the quad. "Remember you were asking who Junghoon was? That's him."

Chenle follows his gaze and freezes. “Wait… what the hell is Yizhuo doing sitting practically on top of him?”

Jisung shrugs. "Beats me. I've seen them hanging out a lot, but I assumed that was how 121 and him met."

"Yeah, bullshit. She's sitting way too close for him to just be a friend." Chenle scowls.

"Hey, be glad. If they have something going on, that just means your chances with 121 increased."

Chenle laughs, but it’s tight, the kind that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. "Shut up."

He watches as Junghoon leans in closer, Yizhuo laughing way too loud, her hand brushing against his arm in a way that makes Chenle’s stomach twist in pain for you. Do you know about this? Why would Yizhuo do this to you? He thought you guys were inseparable.

It’s dumb. He knows it’s dumb to care this much. But the heat rising in his chest says otherwise.

Jisung claps him on the shoulder. “Come on, man, time to hit the showers before you start inventing conspiracy theories.”

Chenle grumbles but follows, his mind buzzing with half-formed thoughts.

Shower steam and hot water usually help clear his head, but not tonight. When he steps out, he’s still chewing on the scene, replaying it like a bad song stuck in his brain.

Pulling on a hoodie, Chenle grabs his phone and calls you before putting it on speaker.

You pick up on the fourth ring. He hears a little shuffling before your voice comes through in a whisper. "Hey? What's up. Sorry, I'm in the library."

"Which one?" Chenle asks, dropping his phone onto the bed and already pulling on the first pair of socks he can find.

"Uhm, the one near the engineering department." You inform, albeit a little confused. "Why? Are you going to study as well?"

"Uh—" Chenle mutters from the corner of his room as he slips into his shoes, "yeah, kind of. Stay there, I'm coming soon."

You say goodbye quietly. Chenle pulls his hood over his head and begins the short walk over to the engineering department. The street lamps are beginning to switch on, and the cool air hits his face, sharp and clear, but it doesn’t clear the clutter in his mind.

He just cannot wrap his head around it all. Chenle's known Yizhuo like you would an annoying sibling, and if there's anything, she would never do that to you. But he's seen it with his own two eyes. Why would Yizhuo go for the guy you liked?

The library door swings open with a quiet creak as he slips inside. The familiar smell of old books and polished wood settles over him, and he spots you almost immediately—head bent low over a pile of notes, your hair falling in soft waves that catch the light just right.

He stops short, blinking. There’s something about the way you look right now—soft, tired, and completely unguarded—that catches him off guard. His chest tightens in a way he hasn’t expected, a strange ache that makes him want to reach out and brush that loose hair from your face.

Before he can overthink it, he clears his throat, making you look up. Your eyes meet his, and there’s a flicker of surprise before you break into a small, tired smile.

“Hey,” you mumble when he nears you. "What are you planning to work on?"

Just as he's about to answer, Yizhuo emerges from the shelf behind you two, balancing the three thickest books he's seen in his life in her hands before dropping it onto the table, beside you. She huffs out, blowing the baby hairs away from her face, and Chenle controls the urge to lash out at her then and there when he sees the way you smile at her antics, eyes softening in affection.

“Hey,” he replies, voice rougher than he means it to be. "Don't know. I'll see."

Chenle slides the chair out noisily and lowers himself beside you, his gaze flicking briefly to Yizhuo, who’s still bustling about, her energy loud and bright in contrast to the quiet library. She shoots him a grin and waves before retreating back toward the stacks, leaving him alone with you.

He watches you for a moment, then without really thinking, he slides his chair a little away and pulls yours toward him without much warning. You startle with a gasp, looking at him incredulously. "What the—"

"Can we talk?" His voice is low, barely above a whisper.

You blink up at him, surprise flickering in your eyes, but you nod, pushing your notes aside and lean in close enough that he can smell the faint hint of your shampoo and feel the warmth radiating from you.

Chenle clears his throat, suddenly not knowing how to break the news to you. He glances around, making sure that Yizhuo isn't in the vicinity before talking.

"Don't freak out, but I saw Yizhuo with… Junghoon a little while ago." He studies your face carefully, and is slightly perplexed when you give away nothing. "They were being kinda touchy, I don't know. Not the way friends act."

"Yeah? Okay.” Your tone is casual, like it’s nothing important.

Chenle blinks, a bit thrown off by your reaction. “You’re not... bothered?”

You shake your head slowly. “No. Him and Yizhuo know each other and are friends. I don't really mind.”

He lets out a frustrated noise. "Listen, I know it's not my place and you probably believe her more than me, but I swear that the way they were acting was not appropriate. Aren't you bothered that your friend may be hitting on your crush?"

There’s a beat of silence between you two. Then something clicks in your mind, and your eyes widen just a little as you realise you’re supposed to care.

Chenle watches this shift with quiet surprise and much more confusion than he'd walked in with.

"It's okay," you wave him off, "it's nothing. Don't worry. She would never do that."

He watches with thinly veiled disbelief as you turn back to your textbook. Maybe you're just… much more open-minded than he thought you were. Maybe he's just reading too much into it—letting his feelings get the better of him because he's started to care more than he should

The next day, you find Chenle waiting for you outside your building when you walk out of class. He doesn't say anything, and only drags you—fingers wrapped gently around your wrist—to the same bench you sat at when you first met.

He sits you down, pays absolutely no regard to the confusion on your features and sits down next to you before removing the sunglasses he's wearing.

"I’ve been thinking,” he states confidently, “like… the entire night, actually.”

You glance up, brow raised, but he doesn’t waste time.

“The only thing that makes sense,” Chenle continues, “is that you lied. You came in place of Yizhuo.”

Your eyes flicker in surprise before he goes on. “Remember when I asked you about Junghoon? You didn’t have anything to say. If you liked someone, you’d probably mention him a bit more, right? But I’ve literally never heard you talk about him.”

"And in the short while that I've known you, it's become very obvious, if I think about it, that you are not the type to write love letters and cringey poems to someone. Like, that's Yizhuo's territory. Why didn't I think of her before?"

You open your mouth to protest, but he holds up his palm and continues anyway.

"And she was the one who spoke about him during the movie night. You just sat and nodded along!" He exhales with exasperation. "On top of that, you didn't even care when I told you about that entire ordeal yesterday. And I know that Yizhuo is one stupid girl, but she would never do that to a friend, no matter how much of a fucking devil she is."

Chenle's gaze sharpens in on you. "And you let me in your room, let me cook for you, and did not push me away when I lowkey flirted with you, so there's no way you like Junghoon. And you're the only one who would do the little devil's dirty work for her." He pauses, glancing away with annoyance, "What a coward, she is."

"Chenle—" you try to interrupt, in vain. "You've got it all—"

"So here's my final theory." He interrupts, placing his palm on your lips to stop you. You swallow, eyes widening in surprise. "Yizhuo likes Junghoon, wrote the letter when she was drunk and was stupid enough to get caught. She freaked out, asked you to go in her place, and you being the sweetheart that you are, agreed. And thus, you've been lying to me."

He watches you for a long moment, until you feel vulnerable enough to give up and nod under his gaze. With a triumphant fist pumping into the air, Chenle lets his palm drop from your face.

"I'm sorry," you mumble, looking away.

He turns to you immediately, heart sinking. "Hey, no. I mean, that was a dirty move, but I'm not upset. Don't worry. Just slightly confused and overall shocked that I didn't figure out sooner."

You nod, cheeks warming. "Yeah, I do not like the guy… Don't even know him that well."

Chenle bobs his head up and down, unable to stop the grin that stretches his lips. Your eyes narrow.

"Why do you care so much anyway?"

His smile drops a little before he brings a hand up to rub the back of his neck awkwardly. "Well, um." He looks away for a beat, then meets your gaze again, a little softer this time. "Isn't it kinda obvious that I'm like…into you?"

His honesty catches you off guard, and you look away, letting the wind brush your hair onto your face to hide the colour rising up your cheeks. "I don't know… I guess so."

"Okay, um. Well, I like you. And I was a little bummed because I thought you liked that guy or whatever, but clearly you don't. So can we…" Chenle trails off as he gets up from the bench to look at you.

"Start over?" You mumble.

"Yes, exactly." He grins, reaching a hand out.

You grab it and stand up along with him, and he lets it fall between the two of you. "This time, Yizhuo stays the fuck away from us."

You laugh softly at that, the tension breaking like a snapped rubber band.

“Deal,” you say, your smile returning, bright and a little mischievous. "But only if you promise not to blow up on her."

Chenle shrugs, clearly amused. “No promises. Do you really not agree with my nickname for her? It's perfect.”

"She's an angel to me," you quip cheerily, swinging his hand slightly. "Okay, okay, wait. Do we do it like the movies?"

Chenle clears his throat and lets your hand go. He brushes a hand through his hair and falls one step back before shoving his hand in your face.

"I'm Zhong Chenle. I'm a sport journalism major, I live in room number 130 and I'm like, kinda sorta into you."

You nod solemnly, biting back a laugh before shaking his hand and telling him your name. "Good to know. I agree with you."

Chenle quirks an eyebrow. “Well, that was surprisingly formal for two people who basically just admitted to crushing on each other.”

You grin, bumping his shoulder lightly. “Hey, gotta keep it professional. Can’t just spill feelings like that."

He laughs, then steps closer, lowering his voice a notch. “So does this mean I can actually take you out on a date that we don't spend pretending we're into other people?"

You smirk, folding your arms. “Depends. What are your negotiation skills like, Mr. Zhong?"

He pretends to think hard, tapping his chin exaggeratedly. “I’m pretty good, if I say so myself. Especially when the prize is dinner with you.”

You roll your eyes but your smile widens. “Okay, I’ll hold you to that.”

Chenle’s grin deepens. “You won’t regret it.”

taglist: @yukisroom97 @fleumurrr @awktwurtle @hyperbolicheart @reiofsuns2001 @t-102 @evilsailorsenshi @dee-zennie @gyubookeries @bat-shark-repellant @jisungsleftcheek @neocitytime127 @markleesleftpinky @fae-renjun @luumiinaa @ridinhyuck @carelessshootanonymous @jungwonniehv127 @once4sunrise @bunnysoonie @joonsprettygf @fleumurr @struggling101 @finewinesixtynine @bettyschwallocksyee @cloudzzcoffee @undomielsql @haeivie @nishiimuraka

[mysnoopyvalentine]

rollercoaster confessions

mark lee x reader

word count: 7.5k

genre: college!au, fluff, friends to lovers

warnings: swearing, kissing

playlist: Maybe We Could Be a Thing (Jesse Barrera), next door (Amelia Moore, ASTN), Blue Butterflies (JHIN), daisy. (wave to earth)

summary:

In an ideal world, you would’ve survived college without catching feelings for anyone in your friend group. In reality, you’ve kept one secret close to your chest for the entirety of your college career: your persisting crush on Mark Lee. With summer and your graduation looming around the corner, an end-of-the-year group trip and a drop of a rollercoaster will have you both screaming your hidden confessions out in the open.

When you roll down your window and stick out your head, the warm yet fresh breeze that brushes your face reminds you that summer is just around the corner. Usually, you’d be filled with the light promise of summer plans to fulfill, or, at the very least, a buzz of anticipation for what’s yet to come.

This year, however, everything’s different. Unmade plans feel like a burdensome failure rather than a spontaneous opportunity, and you can’t shake the dread sitting heavily in your gut. 

All because of one thing: your impending graduation.

A wave of nausea washes through your body, causing you to roll up the window.

“Car sick before we even leave for the amusement park?” Chenle asks with a raised brow. “That’s on you for sticking your head out like a damn dog.”

For all of your friend’s occasional lack of tact, you’re able to ascertain moments like these for what they are: a genuine check in of concern.

“I’m fine,” you say, pitching up your voice as you speak. “Although I cannot believe that you convinced them to let you rent a van, of all things.” 

“And yet, you stood next to me the whole time as I rented the van,” Chenle shoots back. “With no objections.”

“Well, everyone in the group chat insisted on riding in one car. All seven of you.”

If someone had told you that your closest friends in college would’ve been a group of seven guys, you would’ve laughed in their face. Your first impression of the initial part of the group–Jeno, Jaemin, Haechan, and Renjun–had consisted mostly of annoyance, as the group of four men hogged your dorm’s common area constantly. You’d spent the first month of school nodding politely as you passed by, all the while carrying a one-sided beef with the group.

You begrudgingly grew close to Renjun first after realizing you shared multiple classes together. Sitting together in lecture led to group projects which led to sharing meals in the dining hall after class. Eventually, studying together in the common room became a part of your routine. Seeing as the common room had been commandeered by the entire friend group already, it was inevitable that you’d slowly merged in as a member yourself. 

You didn't find this friend group to be that much different from your previous ones. When Chenle and Jisung joined the next year, you found that each person fit into their own niche to blend with your personality and interests—Chenle and Renjun are your go-tos for gossiping, Jaemin for a coffee break, and Haechan for late night gaming.

You tried to pull in new friends over the years to add variety, but at the end of it all you’re the only one who stuck around. The closest you’d come to pulling someone into your group was Alex, your first year roommate, but her insane schedule left her both physically and emotionally unavailable to fully assimilate. 

“Plus, I think I’ll catch feelings for one of them if I hang around too much,” she confesses to you privately. “I can’t afford that kind of distraction. It’s crazy enough to me that you don’t like any of them like that.”

It becomes second nature to laugh off all of those comments from both friends and acquaintances. Even the guys joke amongst themselves that you’ve seen too much to ever see any of them in a romantic light. Despite the fact that all of them are unfairly good looking, it’s true that you’ve been a firsthand witness to many of their most embarrassing moments and bad habits. In an ideal world, all of this would make you wholly unable to develop feelings for any of them. 

You’re taken out of your thoughts as Chenle reaches forward to turn down the music. “So…what’s really up with you?” He asks.

“Very emotionally intelligent,” you roll your eyes, but answer honestly. “I’ve just been thinking about graduation again.”

“Ah.” A pause. What’s left of the music bumps in the silence. “You know me and Jisung will still be here. Renjun too.”

“So you remind me,” you sigh.

“The other guys will still keep in touch too, even if we don’t see each other often anymore.”

“Right, right.” You attempt to lighten the mood. As much as you appreciate this impromptu check-in session, you’re not exactly down for a full vulnerable moment before everyone else piles into the car. “The seven of you better be nice to me today so I can feel better about graduating.”

“Mhmm,” Chenle hums. “By the way…I thought you misspoke at first, but why are you saying seven?”

Your eyes narrow. “Because there’s seven of you and only one of me? Seven in favor of the van and one opposed?”

He frowns as he makes the last turn into the parking lot. “Didn’t Renjun tell you that him and Jisung can’t make it?”

“No,” you say through gritted teeth. “He did not.”

“Something about accidentally double booking,” he shrugs. “Said he’d text you.”

You grunt noncommittally, but you whip out your phone without hesitation and start typing in furious taps.

Funny that your day ended up being double booked, you text. Considering I chose this date around the basis that it would be at least you and me free.

Renjun’s response pops up in the chat immediately. Jisung was too scared, and I thought it would be better for you guys to have an even number for rides.

You roll your eyes as if he can see you. Bullshit. Why did you actually back out? 

A couple of minutes pass before the next text. I’m actually busy bro. But maybe you should use this as an opportunity to pair up with Mark instead of me? ;)

You curse under your breath. In an ideal world, you would’ve survived college without catching feelings for anyone in your friend group.

In reality, you’ve kept one secret close to your chest for the entirety of your college career: your persisting crush on Mark Lee.

You blame the NCIT dorm assignments. Mark was the only one in your year placed into a different dorm; while you’d met the other four first and gotten comfortable enough to see them as brothers, they’d only started bringing Mark around midway through the school year.

From the beginning, he reminded you of a lead in a romcom movie — sweet with that boy-next-door type of charm. You’d developed a crush on him almost instantly. There was something about his presence that drew the attention of everyone in the room, yet he made each person feel special in their own right. It’s a quality both endearing and incredibly aggravating, as it makes it hard to get over him. 

When the mere sight of him standing on the sidewalk with the others makes your heart flip in your chest, it serves as a painful reminder that three years has done little to make your crush fade away. If anything, Mark’s intermittent attendance to group events makes you hypersensitive to his presence. 

“Been a minute,” you smile as he’s the first to climb into the car. 

“Hey!” He taps your shoulder as he slides straight into the car’s middle row. Thankfully, it’s diagonal to your seat, so it’s easy for you to turn and face him. “How have you been?”

You’re racking your brain for something interesting to say when you feel a tug on your arm from behind. 

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen you too,” Haechan whines from just outside the car. 

You stare at him. “We got dinner with Jeno like two weeks ago.” 

“That’s still longer than usual.” 

You roll your eyes. He has somewhat of a point, since he’s the one you see the most aside from Renjun and Chenle. However, the last thing you want to do is validate his interruptions, especially when you had just started chatting with Mark. 

“Dude, move. Get inside.” Jaemin redirects Haechan towards the backseat with a push. 

“I don’t want to sit next to you,” he complains.

“Too late,” Jeno says, snatching the seat behind you while boxing the two in the back. “Don’t try to move to the middle row either. We have more than enough room now.”

Your feeling of missed opportunity with Mark is validated, as the flow of conversation doesn’t go your way again. The rest of the group is too busy talking over each other half the time and bickering for the other half.

“Aren’t you glad you’re in the front with me now?” Chenle asks over the sound of Haechan yelling as Jaemin wrestles him into a headlock. “That could be you.”

“No way they would roughhouse with her like this,” Mark says with wide eyes.

“They have,” you shrug.

“What?” Mark asks, leaning his ear closer.

“They have!” You repeat.

“Really? When?”

“At least a few—“

“What?” He yells.

“You know—I’ll tell you later!” You cut it off before either of you can drag this painful exchange out further. As much as you want to catch up with him, it’s impossible to hold a conversation between Chenle’s music in the front and the squabbling in the backseat.

You manage to eavesdrop on bits and pieces of the normal conversation Mark’s somehow able to maintain with Jeno instead. Yes, Mark was still on track to graduate on time. Yes, he still wanted to be part of the group’s planned graduation party. Yes, he was always planning on coming today, he’s just bad at texting the group chat and didn’t see the messages until Renjun texted him separately.

You sink into your seat with a pout. You were going to fight Renjun for keeping secrets from you.

Renjun had been the first to pick up on the crumbs of your crush—if anything, he’d insisted that there was a spark since day one, when you’d accidentally barged in on their study session. It was one of your most embarrassing moments that you actively tried to block from your memory; even so, Mark had taken it in stride with a sweet smile that had sent your heart pounding on impact. You remained in denial for months before reluctantly acknowledging that, yes, you found Mark attractive. Renjun’s teased you relentlessly since.

All things considered, nothing in Renjun’s demeanor had ever indicated that it was anything beyond a running joke about an old innocent crush, but today has you second guessing everything in a new light. Renjun is not the forgetful type. Failing to tell you he was bailing and he encouraged Mark to come was an intentional omission—not a mistake.

You rack your brain the rest of the way there, but you can’t come up with anything. Whatever vision he had in mind is his prerogative, you decide, as the outlines of the amusement park come into view.

Chenle’s barely turned into the parking space when Haechan flings the door open. 

“Get off me!” He shakes Jaemin from his body before taking off towards the entrance.

The rest of you follow suit in a more timely manner.

“I guess he can choose the first ride,” you say to Mark with a laugh.

“Right…” Mark says as he scans his ticket at the entrance point. The color in his face has paled considerably, although it’s difficult to completely tell from your angle behind him.

“Um,” you trail behind Mark as your group enters the line for the first ride selected by Haechan. It’s a classic rollercoaster with a big drop and everything. Nothing crazy, but not kiddie level either. “Is everything alright?”

Mark swallows thickly. “I don’t, um, love rollercoasters.”

You blink once. Twice. “Like, any rollercoaster? Ever?”

“I like some!” He protests. “Without big drops or twists.” 

Dreamscape World had been chosen by the group specifically because of the more intense rides when compared to family friendly parks.

“So…like most of them here?”

“I guess?” He deflates. “I thought it would be more balanced.”

At this point, Haechan’s given your party size to the worker, who sorts you into the preloading lines. You’re dangerously close to boarding the ride, but, more importantly, you and Mark have been sorted into the very back car.

“Mark,” you say in a low voice so the others won’t overhear. “No one’s forcing you to get on.” 

“No!” He straightens his back and shoots you a shaky yet genuine smile. “I came here because I want to. Don’t worry too much about me.” 

Your heart jumps. It’s his complete sincerity that reminds you of why it’s so easy to like him. Whether he’s being serious or goofy, you can always count on Mark to bring an authentic level of care to everything he does. Something you’ve never had to question is how much he values this friend group. 

How he feels about you beyond friendship has always been impossibly hard for you to read, but that’s a completely different matter that you don’t want to think about. Not when you’re at the tail end of your college days. If anything, maybe you can enjoy the time left with him before accepting that he’ll always be a good friend. Maybe, after all this time, you can finally get the clarity you need to move on from him once and for all.

Then he smiles at you before climbing into the cart, and your heart clenches with such intense care that you want this coaster to launch you far, far away.

If your sudden urge to scream into your hands is noticeable, it’s completely missed as Mark’s calm demeanor immediately evaporates as the reality of his situation finally hits him.

“Oh god.” Mark closes his eyes as the overhead locks into place. “It’s happening.”

Your own nerves fade away into genuine concern. Sure, you wanted to trust that Mark knew his body enough to give you a heads up in the case of an active throw up hazard, but the unsettled and nearly ill look on his face makes you uncertain.

You squeeze his arm. “Hey? Mark?” 

He peeks open one eye. “Yeah?” 

“If it helps, there’s a game that I used to play with my high school friends at amusement parks. It could get your mind off of the height.” 

“Hit me,” Mark says.

“Right as you’re about to approach a drop, you each say something that the other doesn’t know. It doesn’t have to be anything too personal–you can just say something for shock factor.”

There’s a jolt as your car moves. The standard spiel sounds over the speakers: Good afternoon riders, please keep your hands, arms, and legs inside the vehicle at all times.

“It’s pretty stupid,” you blurt nervously when Mark hasn’t replied, “but I remember it being fun since it can be as silly or dramatic as you want. It helped one of my friends focus less on the height and more about what she was going to say.” 

The noises of the connected chain clunk above you as the roller coaster climbs higher and higher. Your friends yell and babble incomprehensible things up front. 

You feel silly for even suggesting it–this is typically something you’d bring up to Chenle, since you know that he’d lean into the unhinged shock factor potential of it all. 

“Sorry, we don’t have to—” 

“No, it’s good. I’m game to try it,” Mark says through a clenched jaw. “Just gotta think of something, right?”

“Uh, yeah?” The intensity takes you slightly aback. “If you want to, at least?” 

He’s so silent the rest of the way up that you check to see if he’s passed out before the drop, but sure enough he’s awake and mumbling to himself. 

“Let’s go!” Haechan and Chenle scream in the row in front of you.

You take a deep breath and ready yourself to share your go-to line, but as the rollercoaster reaches the top Mark’s finally screams out:

“I’M ON A TEN GAME LOSING STREAK IN BASKETBALL!”

The car tips over the edge. You’re whipped around due to being in the last car, but your manic laughter gets lost in the wind as the roller coaster rushes forward and through a series of fast turns.

When it slows and turns into a momentary lull as you approach another incline, Mark cranks his head toward you accusingly. 

“You didn’t even say anything!”

“Sorry!” You say through the aftershock of giggles. “I wasn’t expecting you to say anything. I literally thought you passed out.”

“That’s fine,” he pouts. “Just say one this time!”

You hadn’t anticipated Mark to get so into this, but you’re not complaining. You hadn’t been able to have this much fun—this much unfiltered, pressureless fun—with him in a long time.

Your heart flutters with anticipation as you rise up to the next peak. This time, you’re ready. “I’ve never officially dated anyone–” 

“I CAN’T COOK!”

The ride cycles through a series of sudden turns and ends with a last minute flash of a camera toward the end. When the brakes screech to a halt, your stomach hurts from laughing. You exit still wiping tears of laughter from the corners of your eyes. Sure enough, the picture displayed on the screens near the exit depict a grinning Chenle and Haechan in the front, while you’re mid-laugh next to a wide-eyed and open-mouthed Mark. 

 “Cute,” Chenle snaps a picture with his phone. “Anyway, Mark, heard you’ve been sucking ass in basketball lately?”

After explaining and pitching your game to the rest of them, the others run with it in a way that’s both flattering and concerning–the next three rides trigger the full audacity of a friend group with nothing to lose. 

“I eat your snacks when you’re not looking,” Chenle says to you on the next ride.

“I know,” you roll your eyes. “I keep extras in my pantry just for you.”

“I offered a girl a date with you if she sent her notes to me,” Jaemin informs Jeno solemnly. “She’ll see you next Friday.” 

“I log into your PlayStation account and send myself your best in-game items,” Haechan confesses next, and your group is held behind and berated by staff after Chenle tries to choke him out mid-ride. 

After that, the roller coaster seating assignment is incredibly strict: Jaemin and Jeno decide to each take Haechan and Chenle respectively, which leaves you with one option.

“Any controversial secrets to spill this time around?” Mark grins as he lines up behind you.

“I think I’m running out. Plus,” you gesture to Haechan, who stares across the way at Chenle with a taunting smile. Chenle flips him off. “I kind of regret telling those guys about it.” 

He laughs, but the smile in his eyes quickly fades into something bittersweet. “It’s nice to see almost everyone like this, though. It’s almost like nothing’s changed.”

You tilt your head to the side. “I don’t think any of us have really gone through a transformation, though. Which is maybe a bad thing, if you think about it. We stayed the same old losers.” 

“I meant it in a good way. We’re all about to graduate–”

“Chenle and Jisung still have a year, technically.”

“Almost all of us are graduating. Things are going to change, which means that it’s nice to enjoy these moments together while it lasts.” 

The sentiment leaves a thick lump in your throat. You’re staying to work in the area, but you knew that the others weren’t nearly as tied down. Jeno was waiting on a couple more admissions decisions from graduate schools, at the very least, and Jaemin would be taking a year off to travel. Both Haechan and Mark were from the surrounding area, but you knew Mark had grown up moving around a lot. Who's to say that he didn’t feel some pull elsewhere? From the way he was talking, you wouldn’t be surprised if he decided to pack everything and explore somewhere new. 

You know this is the perfect chance to find out more information about his future plans, but you can’t bring yourself to do so. Instead, you ask, “Do you have any regrets?” 

Mark’s eyes widen. “What?” 

At that moment, the cars whoosh past you, and the sounds of passengers unloading fill the silence between you.

“Ah, don’t worry about it,” you laugh it off as you shimmy into your seat. “Just something that popped into my mind.” 

Mark frowns but doesn’t prod further as you pull the safety restraints over your chest. 

This ride has your least-favorite type of design: the type of carriage where your feet dangle underneath you. From watching other runs during your wait time in line, you know that the ride also flips upside down, which is enough to make your palms sweat. 

It’s for that reason—added to the fact that the over-the-shoulder safety restraint is so thick that you can’t see Mark’s face even when you turn to the side—that you’re silent nearly the whole way up. It’s only when the safety platform drops away that you feel yourself panic. 

“My main regret is that I wish I spent more time–” Mark begins. 

“Mark, I’m scared shitless of these types of rollercoasters!” You squeak as you see your feet dangle over the edge.

It happens in a split second; too fast for any more words to be exchanged. Mark’s hand quickly wraps around your palm first before fumbling around until your fingers lace together. You grip on for dear life and scream as you plummet into the first drop, only cracking your eyes open so you can’t be surprised by any turns or inversions.

You’re still squeezing his hand after the brakes kick in, and you don’t let go until you’re at a full stop and the seats release the safety mechanism. You hop out of the cart, not daring to look behind you until you’re confident that the others are too wrapped up in their own conversations.

Mark’s face is flushed completely pink. He massages small circles into his left hand—the unlucky victim of your fear. 

“Sorry for squeezing the shit out of your hand,” you mutter. “I got really freaked out.”  

“I saw that–or felt it, more like.” He pats the top of your head a couple of times. “It’s cool, really. My hand will survive.” 

The adrenaline from the ride begins to fade as you walk it off, which allows you to finally process something you’d never have anticipated in your long tenure of a crush: you just held Mark Lee’s hand. More accurately, Mark Lee held your hand first to comfort you. 

You speed walk up to Chenle’s side so Mark can’t see your expression. Your face burns hot with embarrassment. Were you thirteen years old? Holding hands was enough to leave you this flustered?

A shoulder bumps into your other side. You brace yourself, expecting Mark, but you’re instead met with Haechan’s hawklike stare. 

“Having fun?” He asks. It’s too casual, too innocent.

Your eyes narrow. “Yeah? You know I love amusement parks and most thrill rides.” 

“Yeah.” He clicks his tongue before flashing you a shit-eating grin. “It’s more thrilling for me when I hold Mark’s hand, too.” 

Your hand clamps over his mouth with lightning speed.

“Please shut up,” you hiss.

“You guys aren’t smooth, I could see it from the seats behind you!” His muffled cry leaks through your hand. “I want to hold hands with Mark next!” 

The damage has been done. Chenle nearly trips over his own feet as he turns to you, eyes wide. “You held hands with Mark?!”

Jaemin joins the betrayal with a shrug. “Seemed like it from our view.” 

Heat rushes up your neck and throughout your face as you feel five pairs of eyes staring you down. You can’t even bring yourself to turn around and look at Mark’s expression. Half baked excuses and explanations jumble through your head, and you ultimately blurt the first coherent thing that pops into your head.

“Gotta pee, be right back!” You say as you flee to the nearest bathroom.

It’s not a complete lie, although you take your time afterward at the bathroom sink, willing your heart rate to slow down. Your reflection stares back at you, a little bit wild and tousled by the wind. You take a deep breath. Inhale…2…3. Out…2…3.

“You got this.” You say out loud to yourself. “He’s just a guy. A guy you’re pretty much over and won’t see after graduation. You don’t care that you held hands after all this time.” 

One of the bathroom stall doors creaks open, revealing a girl that can’t be older than eleven years old. She tiptoes around you before washing her hands and rushing out of the bathroom. That’s more than enough of an indicator that you’ve clearly lost your mind, and you wash your hands before heading back out.

Based on how you left the group, you’re expecting a full ambush from the others, but instead Mark sits by himself on a nearby planter. 

He waves a little when he sees you. “They got too impatient to wait before riding Supreme Scream. The drop one?” 

Any residual shyness at Mark’s presence is replaced by visceral rage. “Haechan–that bastard knew that was the one I was most looking forward to, and he was just okay with leaving me behind?!” 

“Oh shit,” Mark blanches. “Should we try to catch them?”

You’re marching in the general direction before he even finishes his question. However, something else pops in your head first: Why did they leave Mark behind? Sure, at least a part of it was at your expense and Haechan’s revenge, but it seemed strange that no one else stayed behind.

“Did…you volunteer to wait for me since everyone else wanted to go?” 

“Yeah,” he admits, hand extending behind to rub at the back of his head. 

“Well, in that case,” you slow your speed into a normal walk. “We can just watch them. I need a break anyway, after that last one.”

From that last ride and everything that came with it, you think to yourself.

There’s no wait for Supreme Scream, as evident by the empty line as well as your friends actively boarding while you and Mark walk up. Most of the group waves at the two of you, except one of them in particular.

You’re welcome, Haechan mouths to you from his seat.

I’m going to kill you, you mouth back with your sweetest smile. 

If Mark notices the exchange he says nothing; the two of you watch as your friends get lifted up and up and up, pausing briefly at the top before surging downwards for the drop. Your stomach flips from the secondhand adrenaline rush. When you peek over at Mark, you find that the color has once again drained from his face. 

The guys come off the ride, laughing with a slight deliriousness as they come closer. 

You waste no time in punching Haechan’s shoulder. “Way to wait for me, dude.” 

“Ow!” He whines loudly. “You can just go, it’s not like there’s anyone in line right now.”

“Okay, then you’ll go with me then?” 

Of all of the time you’ve known them, there’s rarely a genuinely awkward pause. There’s nothing to be awkward about after three years of near-constant hangouts. This time, however, you feel the hesitancy radiating off each guy as they look at each other.

The silence doesn’t make you self-conscious as much as it legitimately pisses you off. They’re clearly hiding something from you.

“Fine,” you scoff, “I’ll go by myself.” 

You don’t look back as you march through the empty line with your head held up high. You hear Mark’s faint protests behind you.

“You guys are just gonna let her go alone?!”

“You have legs, don’t you?” 

As the attendant opens the gate for you, heavy steps thunder behind you. “Wait!” 

Mark’s out of breath with his hands on his hips. “I’ll go with you.”

“Mark, this is the worst ride for you,” you explain gently. “It’s the biggest drop in the park.” 

He shakes his head aggressively. “I can handle it.” 

The two of you end up as the only two on the ride, strapped in side-by-side facing your friends, who holler and wolf whistle at you. 

Renjun isn’t the only one I need to fight, you consider absentmindedly as the ride lifts you up, up, up from the ground. It’s clear that you’re being made a fool of–there’s no way that the others haven’t caught on.

You’re not sure if it’s the semi-public humiliation from your friends or the fact that you’re once again unable to shake your crush on Mark, but one thing is for certain: you’re tired. The part of you that doesn’t want to ruin your friendship is being overridden by the currently loud voice in your head that’s frustrated that he still doesn’t get it. How much more obvious could it be? 

Then and there, perhaps feeding off some of the deliriousness of the day’s adrenaline spikes, you decide to do it. You have no idea when you’ll get a private moment like this with him again. After this day you don’t even know when you’ll get to see him again. It feels right for you, now, to get everything off your chest and let your feelings loose. 

You sneak a subtle glance to Mark on your right, and it’s worse than you expect. His face is white as a ghost, which matches the stark paleness on his knuckles as he grips for dear life onto the safety bar. 

“Okay, this is just one quick drop, right?” Mark asks through gritted teeth.

“Yup,” you say, your own eyes closed. “Ready?”

“Yeah, you?”

“Yeah.”

In all honesty, you’re not ready. A part of you wants to be catapulted into the atmosphere instead of baring your soul wide, but you know it has to be done. It’s your final chance.

There’s a final clank as the ride stops at the top. It’s time. 

You brace for the drop and let it all out. “I’ve always liked you—!”

“I’ve had a crush on you for the past two years!” Mark shouts at the same time.

The ride doesn’t drop.

“Attention riders,” the operator’s voice crackles over the intercom. “We are currently experiencing some technical difficulties. You are safe and we will alert you when we’re about to activate the drop. In the meantime, please remain calm.”

“Yo—what?!” Mark’s legs swing back and forth. “This can happen on this kind of ride?”

“Yeah, I’ve had that happen to me and Renjun on a similar ride before. We’ll be fine,” you say. Your heart is threatening to burst out of your chest for reasons that have nothing to do with the technical difficulties. 

There’s an awkward pause as you both wait expectantly for a follow up announcement. Somehow, the delay has utterly broken the tension from before. The guys watching down below wave their arms at you from below, looking as tiny as bugs. Minutes pass before you finally harness the courage to break the silence.

“So…” You swing your legs back and forth. “Two years?”

Mark’s head snaps to you, and a red flush creeps up his neck. He looks away and clears his throat. “Uh, yeah, two years…what about you?”

You snort. “It’ll be four years in December.” 

“Four years? December?” His voice cracks into a high pitch. “Wasn’t that when we met?”

“It was.” Do you really have to spell it out for him?  

“Wow,” Mark’s voice comes out a little breathless. “I really had no idea.” 

“I really find that hard to believe.” An irrational annoyance flickers through you at his casualness, as if you hadn’t been agonizing over the consequences of a confession for literal years. 

“I didn’t!” He insists. “Nothing ever fazes you, and you treat everyone the same.”

“I definitely do not treat all of you the same.” 

“Uh,” his brow wrinkles. “Yeah, you kinda do.” 

“No I don’t.”

“You’re always just, you know, cool when we all hang out, so I figured you were treating me the way you treat all of your friends.” 

“I was not, Mark!” Your temper boils over. You don’t even process the compliment before the words rush out of you in a rapid fire. “I don’t immediately walk up to the others at a party in case I don’t see them for a while. I walk up to you the second you come in. In fact, I wear makeup even if I think you might come. I fight for my life to sit next to you instead of Haechan."

"I—wait—" Mark tries to interject, but you're on a roll.

"I cleared my schedule to watch your basketball championships last season. Chenle’s always pissed at me because I go to your games and not his. I haven’t officially dated anyone because I haven’t even thought of dating another person since I met you! I find every excuse to talk to you, even if it’s liking and responding to memes you send me that aren’t funny.”

Mark's features are wide and flustered. “Memes that aren’t funny–wait, hold up, a lot of these things would be hard for me to tell from the outside!” 

“Okay, then what about you?” You huff. “You’ve barely come to any group things this whole year. How was I supposed to know that you were ever interested?”

“I go to things!” He protests.

“You never came to a single game night at my apartment!”

“I have basketball on Fridays.”

“Or the ski trip last winter!”

“That weekend…I had a preplanned church retreat.”

You grip the sides of your safety restraint and glare at Mark the best you can. “My last birthday party?”

The tips of his ears flush red. He kicks his foot out in a nervous jitter. “I did plan to go to that, but I had to go home the night before for a family emergency.”

Another pause. Thoughts swirl around your head in a confusing torrent. This should be everything that you’ve wanted in the past three years, but something still feels off – like Mark isn’t telling you something.

“Is there a reason why you didn’t say anything?” 

“Ah…” Mark falters. “To be honest, I didn’t know if I was staying in the city after graduation. I got a job offer here and one to work abroad, and I only made my decision recently…”

Your throat dries up. “You already accepted a job offer?”

“I didn’t want to tell any of you guys and freak you out!” He says quickly. “Well, I did tell Haechan, but that’s because we live together and he could hear me doing my phone interviews through the walls.” 

Your voice comes out flat. “Makes sense.” 

The detachment in your tone makes Mark talk even faster. “I’m staying here, you know. In the city. So that’s especially why I was waiting to tell everyone–” 

“And that’s also why you didn’t tell me that you’ve liked me for two whole years?”

“—No, well, at least in the last year I was thinking about pulling the trigger and talking to you, but since senior year is such a big decision time I didn’t want to make things so complicated right before graduating.”

“Mark.” You slump back in your seat, eyes gazing up at the clouds. “Everyone knows that I’m staying in the area.”

You know that the irrational side of your brain is holding out right now. Every point Mark has made is extremely valid and logical, but you can’t help but feel like this confession is simultaneously a point of convenience. 

“What’s wrong?” He asks in a gentle tone. “You seem upset, and I don’t understand why.” 

You’re saved from responding when the intercom voice crackles over the speaker. Attention riders, thank you so much for waiting. All issues have been resolved. We will be dropping you momentarily.

The operator has enough decency to count down prior to activating the drop. Neither of you scream on the way down. A small rush of adrenaline kicks in, but it’s not enough to wash away your hurt feelings. You just want to get the hell off of this ride. 

When you’re finally fully stopped and released, you hop off and nearly sprint out of the gate after receiving an apologetic free pass to skip the line. 

“Hope you had a safe fligh—whoa!” Haechan dodges you as you thunder past him. 

“Wait!” Mark says, hot on your heels. 

“Should we go after them?” You hear Chenle’s distant voice.

“Better not,” Jeno says. “Let’s just give them some space.”

You dash through the park, weaving through the already sparse crowd for a random Thursday afternoon, but you still can’t manage to lose Mark in the chaotic path you’re taking.

“Stop following me!” You shout over your shoulder. 

“No—god, could you slow down? Stop running from me!” 

In a last ditch effort to shake Mark off your trail, you run into the line of a walk-on ride you know he’ll hate. Water Rapids is notorious for being incredibly long and getting its riders incredibly soaked. 

You don’t hear him as you rush through the line, which makes you think you’re in the clear. It’s only when you fasten your seatbelt that he plops into the open seat next to you.

“Damn,” he gasps through his words as your boat drifts away. “You run fast.” 

The ride is based on an old children’s movie, taking you into a dark tunnel where animal characters celebrate a birthday party in the forest. You focus your attention on the ride’s intended story, aiming to ignore your companion next to you. 

“You’ll have to talk to me eventually.” He says as your boat drifts past a dancing bear animatronic.

“Not really,” your stubbornness says. “Look at all this vivid storytelling.”

A soft snort, followed by your name. “Please look at me.”

Your childishness buckles at his tone. The contours of his face are shadowed in the dark, but you can still see the earnestness brightening his eyes. “It’s dark,” you whisper.

He must sense your attitude waver because his hand reaches out to close around yours. “I don’t understand—we both feel the same way. This should be a happy moment. I want to know what's wrong.”

You look down at your intertwined hands. Despite being in the dark, Mark’s hand is warm and comforting. “It’s stupid.” 

“I don’t care if it’s stupid. I want to understand how you’re feeling.”

A pause. You take in a shaky breath before starting. “I’ve just been holding onto these feelings for so long because I didn’t want to mess everything up. And here you are, saying you’ve felt the same way pretty much the whole time.”

He squeezes your hand. “I felt the same way. Down to not wanting anybody else but also not wanting to ruin everything.”

“But,” you swallow the lump that’s stuck in your throat. “I know it’s not fair, but it hurts me to know that you wouldn't have said anything at all if you didn’t stay in the city. It makes me feel more like a convenience, rather than us being meant to be.”

It’s one of your most inner secrets. Most of the guys would never peg you as the type to believe in fate, but you’ve held onto the hope for the entirety of these four years based on the principle of what’s meant to be, will be. While this mutual confession makes the butterflies in your stomach flutter in droves, you can’t shake the deep insecurity lingering in your chest.

“I see.” You’re afraid that he won’t say anything else and that you’ve really scared him off now, but he hums in thought. “I guess, from my perspective, I was worried about freaking you out by telling you. I had no idea how you felt, so in my head it was a way to play it safe and make sure that I didn’t completely drive you away with how much I like you.” 

You exhale in a half-laugh. “As if that would happen.”

“I’ve just always had a gut feeling that your presence in my life was part of a bigger plan. Definitely beyond college. Plus,” he thinks out loud, “you hate situationships, so I didn’t want to put you through any uncertainty until my plans were confirmed.”

Now you’re lost. “What in the world are you talking about?”

“Situationships?”

“Mark, I haven’t had a situationship since freshman year—“

Suddenly, the last puzzle piece falls into place, and you’re transported back into your first year. 

You barge into Renjun’s room without knocking, beelining to flop onto his bed face down. “I fucking hate men!”

“Good afternoon to you too,” Renjun drawls from his desk. “What did he do now?”

Throughout your entire flirtation with the guy you’ve been seeing, Renjun has notably refused to use his real name. It’s always ‘that guy you can’t get over,’ ‘him,’ or ‘that one douchebag.’

“I ended things,” you murmur into the blankets.

Renjun’s chair creaks as he straightens in his seat. “Really?”

“Yeah,” you choose to ignore the excited tone in his voice. “It’s pretty clear he was never going to commit to me. Another girl messaged me about him, too. It was never just me.”

Renjun just clicks his tongue in his response. 

“Don’t let me end up in another situationship,” you groan. “I hate being stuck in the talking stage with selfish assholes who lead me on.”

“Noted,” he says, then adds, “by the way, do you want to introduce yourself?”

You shoot up into a sitting position immediately. There, in the corner blind to the entrance of Renjun’s room, is a guy you’ve never seen before. His doe eyes are round and wide, fixed completely on you from the other side of the room. Shit, he’s cute.

“Um,” he stutters as a blush overtakes his entire face. It makes him look cuter. Shit. “My name’s Mark Lee. I’m in Renjun and Haechan’s writing class.”

Your throat feels dry as you choke out your own name. “Nice to meet you.”

From there on, your feelings take hold and the rest is history. 

“Mark,” you repeat, “are you talking about everything I said on the day we met? That long ago?”

“Well, kinda?” His voice cracks. “It’s not because of that guy—more of the principle, really. I didn’t want you to feel like I’m leading you on. I’ve always been serious about this, even though Renjun kept saying to just do it.”

Your eye twitches. “Renjun knows?”

He freezes. “Yes?”

That two-faced hoe, you think.

For now, you can’t stop the laughter that escapes from you due to the absurdity of it all. 

“Uh,” Mark’s eyes dart between you and the impending drop. “Is that good laughter?”

“Mark Lee,” you giggle, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “You can be sure that you’re the least selfish person that I’ve ever met. I would never have liked you this much otherwise.”

“Oh,” he visibly relaxes. He pauses for a second before adjusting your connected hands until your fingers intertwine. “Well, that’s a relief for me.” 

You take this drop together hand in hand. You’re laughing all the way down, even as an insane wave douses you both with water from head to toe. 

You turn to him, still laughing. “Mark—“

Mark grabs your face in his hands and presses his lips to yours. His lips are soft and somehow warm, despite the chill of the water on the rest of your skin. It’s wet and tastes slightly of chlorine, but it’s perfect.

“Go on a date with me,” he says between kisses. He won’t stop kissing you, even as he talks, as if he’s making up for the years of lost time. “An actual date. Just you and me.”

“Okay,” you say against his lips, smiling.

“I want you to be my girlfriend.”

“Me too.” Another smile, another kiss.

“But we can take it slow.”

Someone’s throat clears. You push Mark away from you and directly apologize to the attendant as you scramble off the ride. 

When you’re around the corner and away from prying eyes, you take his hands in yours. “Let’s start with that date first and see how that goes.”

His eyebrows raise. “But the odds are good?” 

You laugh and press a final kiss to his mouth. “More than good, I’d say.”

When you find your way back to the others, soaked to the bone, they look at the two of you like aliens from another planet. Then, when they process your intertwined hands and wide smiles, all hell breaks loose. Chenle’s lecturing you about rental car fines due to water damage, Haechan is whooping and shouting I fucking told you so, and you think you even see Jaemin pass Jeno a twenty. Thirty minutes later, even Renjun texts a message that just says took you two long enough. 

You’re willing to let it go for now. You wouldn’t trade this for anything. Not for the way things unfolded, and not even for a confession years earlier. It’s a couple years lost, but the entire future ahead of you. Together. 

[rina786549]

★ NCT DREAM REACTION: You hold onto their hand for the first time

★ PAIRINGS: nct dream x fem!reader | ★ GENRE: Fluff,Romance,Slice of Life,Slow Burn | ★ WORDS COUNT: 1,250 words

★ NOTE: This is a fan-made, non-profit work created out of appreciation for the original content. All rights remain with the rightful owners. I'm just sharing my version for fun—hope you enjoy!

★ MARK / 마크

You were both walking along the quiet riverwalk at night, the city lights painting the water in streaks of gold. Mark was talking about his trainee days, hands tucked in his pockets, eyes squinting as he smiled at his own stories.

You laughed softly, your fingers brushing his by accident as you shifted beside him. The air felt electric.

He didn’t notice at first, or maybe he was pretending not to — so you took a breath, gathered your courage, and gently laced your fingers with his.

Mark froze.

Then he looked down at your hands, then up at you with a small, startled smile, cheeks glowing pink beneath the streetlight. “Oh,” he breathed, as if the moment had punched the air from his lungs.

“Is… this okay?” you asked shyly.

He didn’t answer right away — just gripped your hand tighter, brought it to his lips, and whispered, “Yeah. More than okay.”

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★ RENJUN / 런쥔

The two of you were exploring a small art gallery tucked away on a quiet street — Renjun’s idea, of course. You weren’t even officially dating yet, but the tension between you had been growing with every lingering glance, every inside joke.

As he pointed out his favorite watercolor piece, you noticed how expressive his hands were when he talked. You smiled to yourself, then reached out and took one of them in yours.

Renjun blinked. You could practically hear the gears turning in his brain as his eyes flicked down to your entwined fingers.

“This is new,” he murmured, cocking his head.

You started to pull away, but he held on tighter. “No, I like it,” he added quickly. “It’s just... surprising. You always make the first move, huh?”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart raced. “Someone has to.”

He smirked. “Good. I’d rather it be you. I’d be overthinking it for hours.”

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★ JENO / 제노

It happened while you were walking his dog in the park. The golden retriever was running ahead, dragging Jeno by the leash slightly, making you giggle.

He looked over and grinned, cheeks slightly flushed from the cool breeze. “You cold?” he asked, eyeing your fingers as you rubbed them together.

“Maybe a little,” you replied.

And before he could offer his jacket or some awkward fix, you slipped your hand into his — warm, sturdy, careful.

Jeno stopped walking for a split second, then smiled so wide it reached his eyes.

He gave your hand a gentle squeeze, looked down at the ground like he was trying to hide how happy he was.

“Finally,” he murmured.

“What?”

He cleared his throat. “Nothing. Just… I’ve been wanting to do this for a while.”

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★ HAECHAN / 해찬

You were both sitting in the back row of the movie theater, sharing popcorn and whispering sarcastic commentary back and forth, stifling your laughter. The movie wasn’t even halfway over when your pinky brushed against his.

He stilled.

You peeked over at him through the dim lighting, watching his lips twitch with a suppressed smile.

You leaned over, whispered, “Why are you so quiet all of a sudden?”

“I’m concentrating,” he muttered dramatically, and you almost laughed — but then you boldly slid your hand over his.

He turned his head toward you slowly, his playful expression melting into something softer, more genuine.

“Wow,” he whispered. “Who knew Miss Tease would make the first real move?”

“Shut up,” you grinned, but your fingers stayed curled around his.

“Nah,” he smirked, intertwining your fingers properly. “I love this version of you.”

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★ JAEMIN / 재민

The day had been perfect — a sunny cafe visit, a walk through flower fields, light teasing and shared music through one set of earbuds.

You were walking side by side now, your hands brushing occasionally. Every time it happened, your heart thudded harder.

Finally, you gathered every ounce of courage and slipped your hand into his.

Jaemin didn’t react immediately — he just kept walking, like nothing had changed.

But then he looked over, smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Took you long enough,” he said.

You blinked. “You were waiting for me to do it?”

He chuckled, brushing his thumb over your knuckles. “Of course. I wanted to see if you'd be brave enough.”

“And what if I wasn’t?”

He leaned closer. “Then I would've waited forever.”

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

★ CHENLE / 천러

Chenle was cracking jokes again, telling a wild story about something that happened during a Dream show. You were laughing so hard your stomach hurt, wiping tears from your eyes.

Then he turned to you, still chuckling, and casually offered his hand. “C’mon,” he said. “We should keep walking.”

You hesitated for a second before you took it — and when you did, his whole demeanor softened.

The laugh lines around his eyes remained, but there was something tender in the way he looked at you.

“See?” he said, voice quieter now. “We’re good at this.”

“At what?”

“This... being close. Feels natural.”

And it did. It really, really did.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

★ JISUNG / 지성

It was late. You were both sitting on the swings at a quiet playground, legs dangling, barely moving. The stars were out, and the silence between you felt full — not awkward, but waiting.

You could feel Jisung glancing at you from time to time, but every time you looked back, he looked away.

So you reached over, shy but sure, and rested your hand on his.

He stiffened.

You were about to apologize when you felt his fingers turn, slow and careful, curling around yours like something fragile.

He didn’t say anything — just smiled softly at the ground, ears turning red.

“I thought I’d have to wait forever,” he finally mumbled.

You smiled too. “Good thing I got impatient.”

[mrsdotkennedyyyyy]

soft launching bf!renjun ˙✧˖°📷 ༘ ⋆｡˚

©softlysoul’s permament taglist - @markkiatocafe @delirioastral

a/n - renjun is so cutie

masterlist

[naeirichill]

nct dream as college boyfriends

mark is at every single party ever and then you have to scream-call him at 9am because he's about to miss another lecture. he knows every single spot on campus and never misses an opportunity to take you on little dates. you're always 5 minutes late to class because he has a hard time stopping the goodbye kisses. he makes up dumb raps to help you memorize important information.

renjun is the perfect partner to practice for debates because he just loves talking to you. he brings you your favorite juice if he knows you've pulled an all nighter. everyday-huang-renjun-scolding-you-for-a-different-reason. he cries and takes pics like a dad when you graduate.

jeno encourages you to go on morning runs with him around the campus but never bails on pizza fridays. loves nap dates. he nervously laughs when you ask him about his grades but he always manages to pass (thanks to some kisses-as-a-reward type of study dates). he thinks you're the smartest person on earth and always goes to you when he needs help.

haechan wants to hit up all of mark’s parties just to make out with you on his lap the entire time. the two of you have perfected the art of communicating via memes of your professors' faces. he texts you when he's bored in class but temporarily blocks you when you do that to force you to pay attention to yours. he gives you his 65 cent coffee change and when you ask him why he just says "pay off those student loans honey".

jaemin is at every single charity event you take part in and goes all out to get those donations. he has been kicked out of your dorm after curfew multiple times. most-disgustingly-in love couple-on-campus-award. he hypes you up during debates and laughs when your opponent can't argue anymore.

chenle suggests study dates and then just bothers you the entire time. he does help you study using flashcards when finals are approaching and is a pro at calming you down before tests. he hates whatever professors you hate and calls you a nerd when he feels exceptionally proud of you.

jisung may not know shit about your subjects but he'll become a master in them just to help you. he does your homework for you when you're too stressed to think. then he gets stressed too and requests cuddles when that happens. he thoroughly enjoys hearing you bitch about your professors. really, that's the highest form of comedy for him.

[marked4ever]

five more minutes.

mark lee drabble.

your eyes flutter open to the sound of birds chirping softly outside the window, the morning light slipping through the curtains. you stretch under the covers, only to feel a warm arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you back against a familiar chest.

“where do you think you’re going?” mark’s voice is rough with sleep, and there's a smile in it—lazy, teasing.

“i was just gonna get water,” you mumble, but he tightens his hold.

“nope,” he whispers, pressing a soft kiss to the back of your neck. “five more minutes.”

“you said that fifteen minutes ago.”

“then five more on top of that,” he chuckles. “math is hard in the morning.”

you laugh, and he finally opens one eye to look at you, hair sticking up in every direction. he looks so soft, so real, like this—no cameras, no bright lights. just mark. your mark.

“stay with me,” he murmurs, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “i like waking up to you.”

and even though your throat's dry and the bed is a little too warm, you let him pull you back in. because five more minutes with mark lee will never be enough.

REPOST ARE APPRECIATED, THANK YOU!

[susicheng]

15% ... p.js

wc: 2,472 strangers to lovers - jisung x fem!reader

Jisung is, more often than not, the victim of Chenle's impulsive plans. This time is no different. Except, maybe it is. or Chenle asks Jisung on a date. Jisung gets a girlfriend out of it.

Seeing an incoming phone call from Chenle meant one of three things for Jisung. He was either going to be asked to play basketball, be gaslit, or be lured into an evil plan that he would more than likely end up regretting.

“Jisung, go on a date with me.”

Apparently, the secret fourth option was that he would be asked out. By his (previously?) heterosexual best friend. He could work with that.

“What?”

“There’s a discount at that one restaurant by campus for couples going on right now. 15% Jisung. We have to go on a date.”

“Ask Donghyuck.”

”No, he’d think it’s a date date. But it’s not. We just have to gaslight the employees into thinking we’re dating and get free money.”

“Why would he think it’s a date date? Plus, you’re rich. Why do you need a discount?”

“Because we kissed the other day. Just go with me.”

“…You what?”

“Be ready by 4 tomorrow.”

Jisung didn’t have time to unpack any of the words that were just said to him before Chenle hung up on him. So that was that. Option 3. He was not looking forward to this.

Despite the voices in his head assuring Jisung that this was an awful idea, he was ready by 4. The entire walk to the restaurant was spent with Jisung internally regretting having ever agreed to be Chenle's partner for a project in freshman year. Chenle was more committed to the bit than Jisung expected him to be.

Everything was going relatively smoothly until the waitress approached the table. Jisung had, officially, never regretted anything more in his entire life. Here he was, sitting across from Chenle on a fake date, with maybe the most beautiful woman he had ever seen serving them. This might be the fumble of the century. He had to kill himself.

"Can I get you guys started with any drinks?"

Oh god, you were looking at him. His mouth opened and closed like a fish. Holy shit, Jisung had never fumbled this hard in his life. He couldn't let himself talk because he knew his voice would come out at least 3 octaves higher than it usually did. His life was over.

"We'll just have 2 waters, thanks!"

Chenle swooped in and saved the day. He must have sensed Jisung's internal struggle. Which, by the way, did not calm down until you had nodded and disappeared out of his sight.

"Holy fuck, Jisung. You're so into her."

"Did you see her!?"

"Yeah, and I saw you looking at her like a lovesick puppy. You have no respect for this plan! She's never going to believe we're dating if you keep doing that."

"I didn't even agree to this."

"But you're here. If we don't get that discount, I'm making you pay."

"Fine."

Jisung was anything but fine, actually. He still wanted to die. Every time you approached the table, he had to make a conscious effort not to stare at you longingly. On top of being hopelessly in love with the waitress for his fake date, Chenle spent the entire meal making fun of him. When the waitress was at the table, he had to endure Chenle tossing wiki-how pickup lines at him (Seriously, how can he say "If you were a vegetable, you’d be a cutecumber.” without batting an eye? In front of a gorgeous woman?) and as soon as the waitress left, Chenle spent every available second laughing at Jisung.

"Do you want me to say something to her?"

"No! Please god no. I thought you wanted the discount."

"I do. But watching you try to act normal around our waitress is more entertaining than getting 15% off."

"No. If you say anything I'm burning your Steph Curry jerseys. All of them."

"What the hell!?"

"I'm serious."

He could hardly finish his food. He spent way too much time staring at you as you did your job. It was just too easy to laser-focus on the way you pushed a strand of hair behind your ear as you wrote down a table's orders, or the way you laughed with your coworkers during a brief lull in tasks. He could imagine being the one to pick you up from work in his car (he didn't have a car) and make sure you got home safe. Seeing your smile at the end of his day would have made it worth it.

"Dude."

Chenle's voice snapped him out of it.

"What?"

"You don't even know her name."

"Yeah I do. It's yn, it's on her nametag."

He chose not to acknowledge the bewildered expression that crossed Chenle's face, or the uncontrollable laughter that followed.

Jisung survived the rest of the evening (barely) and endured all of Chenle's teasing until the bill came. He figured his suffering would be over once Chenle paid. Chenle, apparently, did not catch onto Jisung's silent pleas for mercy. He decided to wait until they were collecting their things to leave to deliver his fatal hit. When you returned with Chenle's card, he decided to put the final nail in the coffin.

"By the way, he thinks you're super cute."

Jisung looked up just in time to see Chenle gesturing towards him, your eyes following the movement with shock evident on your face. His eyes met yours, and he almost combusted on the spot.

He was going to kill Chenle and then himself.

Valentine's Day was your least favorite season for a multitude of reasons. Primarily out of jealousy, but also because the restaurant you made the mistake of working at loved to promote themselves through couple discounts around this time. Not only were you forced to watch people in love in the wild all day, but they were also waiting for you the instant you clocked in.

Maybe the most evil part of all of this was one of the couples you were serving today. Both of them were attractive, objectively, but one of them was exactly your type. He stumbled his way through placing his order, he flushed bright red every time his boyfriend flirted with him, and he could barely hold eye contact. He was a complete and utter loser. Unfortunately, you were indescribably into that.

You felt a little bad, watching how they bantered when you weren't checking in on them. That boy always went dead silent the instant you stopped by their table, looking at you almost like he was scared. You wondered if maybe you looked homophobic? Maybe they felt unwelcome in the restaurant, being pretty much the only same sex couple in the establishment.

Having come to the conclusion that this was undoubtedly the case, you doubled your efforts. You went out of your way to make sure they felt welcomed. You even took an extra 5% off of their bill at the end (you really hoped your boss wasn't paying close attention to the checks tonight).

Honestly, you were a little bit confused about their dynamic. Both of them seemed like bottoms. Not that you were stereotyping them. But the little chatty one just had too much twink aura. But he was paying. The taller boy you were into was just too shy. And he wasn't paying. So truly, what was going on here? Maybe you were having problematic inner thoughts. You decided to stop thinking and return the little gay one's card to him.

You thought you were done with that exchange until the little one spoke up.

"By the way, he thinks you're super cute."

He pointed at his boyfriend, who you turned to witness turn paler than a sheet of paper. Your first aid training kicked in faster than your mind processed what was happening. One second, the boy was staring at you like a deer in headlights, and the next, he was passed out in your arms after you ran to catch him.

"Holy shit! Jisung!"

The shorter one ran to join you at his side, seemingly fighting between laughing and panicking.

"I'm gonna assume you guys would rather not pay for an ambulance or an emergency room visit. Help me carry him to the break room. Does this happen a lot?"

"I mean, kind of? Not really but he's socially awkward enough that social situations can make him freak out."

You let out a hum of acknowledgement as the two of you dragged him to the break room. Neither of you were tall enough for this. And this short guy was surprisingly weak, so you were doing the majority of the heavy lifting. One point to tall boy in the "Who is the top?" debate.

Nobody really questioned the two of you barely succeeding at carrying a man twice your size into the back. Which might raise some questions about the empathy of society, but you weren't here for philosophical discussions. There were much more pressing matters. Like the science behind how the hell this short guy could not shut the hell up. Seriously, he had not stopped yapping even once. You weren't even really listening, giving halfhearted replies as you plopped the tall one on the dingy couch in the back.

"Can I tell you a secret?"

"Mmm?"

"You can't edit our check or anything, right?"

"I mean, I could. But I really don't feel like it regardless of what you're about to say."

"Awesome. We aren't dating. Like me and Jisung. We aren't a couple."

"Oh."

"Yeah. He's so into you, man. Like so bad. I think he wanted to kill me for flirting with him in front of you."

"Oh, nice."

"Yup. I'm leaving now, you got this though, right?"

"What?"

"Yeah, bye!"

This guy, you learned, was a terrible friend. But you did learn the cute one's name from him. And that he was single. And that he was into you. So there's that.

You were just lucky that your manager had told you that you were cut after finishing the table with the gay couple (who were actually not a couple). As anyone would do, you decided the best course of was to sit on instagram reels after putting a cold compress on Jisung's forehead. He would wake up in a minute, probably.

You were right. He shot straight up a couple of minutes later and caused you to jump approximately 2 feet into the air out of shock.

"Fuck! Oh my god."

He was staring at you like a deer in headlights again. You watched him pinch himself a few times and continue staring at you like you were from another planet.

"You okay?"

"Where's Chenle?"

"The little twink?"

"Uhh. I guess?"

"Oh. Yeah he left. Didn't really give a reason."

"Seriously?"

"Dead serious. Sorry. He seems like kind of a dick."

"You don't even know. Oh my god. He dragged me here because he just needed a 15% discount, which, by the way, doesn't even make sense! I've seen his bank account! I don't think I've seen that many digits anywhere besides the lottery! And he picked me of all people to be his fake boyfriend. Seriously, me!? And then he spent the whole time making fun of me, I didn't even get to enjoy my food. And now he just left me here!? Unbelievable, seriously."

Your smile grew as he continued to ramble about his traitorous best friend. Man, you wanted him bad. He seemed to notice the audience he had, or rather, who his audience was, a bit belatedly.

"Oh man. I just said way too much. You're not gonna make me pay back what was discounted, right?"

"No, the other one already told me it was fake."

"He did?"

"Yeah. Also mentioned something about you being into me?"

"Oh my god."

You watched him visibly shrink into himself. It was cute how embarrassed he got at everything.

"He doesn't know what he's talking about. Don't listen to a word he says."

"Really? That's a bummer, so that means you wouldn't want to go out with me this weekend?"

"Right, yeah."

He paused. He stared at you in silence. His brain was definitely lagging. You watched the realization finally dawn on his face.

"Hold on. What?"

"I think you're cute. I'm off this Sunday if you want to go out for lunch or something. I'd like to get to know you."

"You're being serious?"

"Never been more serious in my life."

"I'm free too." (He wasn't. He had agreed to play basketball with Chenle already. He was cancelling that plan the second he was not longer in your presence).

"Perfect. Are you doing anything else tonight?"

"Besides plotting the murder of my best friend? No, nothing."

"I'm off work now, mind if we walk around together for a while?"

"That sounds great, actually."

You made him wait in the break room for a couple of minutes while you changed out of your work clothes, finally leaving the restaurant together shortly after. Conversation flowed surprisingly easily between the two of you now that he wasn't stuck in his head like he must have been at dinner. It was easy to slide your hand into his, interweaving your fingers and swinging your joined hands lightly. His blush now, you thought, was prettier than it had been during dinner. Maybe that was because it was all your doing that caused it this time.

His voice was soft, but deep, lingering in the air in a way that made you crave to hear his voice all the time. Conversation ranged from what you were doing with your lives (both of you were pursuing higher education, though you went to different universities in the city), to your favorite kind of Minecraft wood (Jisung liked dark oak. That's how you knew he was the right one).

You let him walk you home, like a real gentleman. With a fleeting kiss on his cheek, you walked into your apartment building with your heart a little fuller and a new contact sitting in your phone. Maybe this year you would start to like Valentine's day.

Jisung :) : Just got home

Jisung :) : Can't wait to see you on Sunday :3

mel yaps: this is my 600 follower and 127 post gift for all of you, please enjoy the evil bs my brain decides to spew out. also thank u to @jisusung for the assistance with brainstorming for this guy.

#: @f6llsun @i03jae @jeonghansshitester @holyhaech @chenlezip @mi1kteaa @ayukas

[naeirichill]

dream cute icks

mark has a habit of moaning in affirmation??? like it’s literally at the most inconvenient times. he’ll let out the craziest most powerful mind boggling grueling moan of the century. bonus: he claps his hands while laughing.

renjun is a chronic manspreader. his one tiny flaw but it’s okay because pretty people are allowed to be a little flawed. renjussy facing the world.

jeno looks at himself in every reflection he passes. he physically can’t help himself from looking in every single reflective surface he sees.

haechan trips over things or nothing at all. he is so graceful(?) when dancing, you never realized how cartoonishly clumsy he is anytime else.

jaemin is the type to ask, “where’s my hug.” but not in a needy/creepy way. it’s that type where he has both arms wrapped tight around you, basically caging you in against his chest. and he starts to do that thing where he’ll rub soothingly or squeeze endearingly, maybe rock you two from side to side while sighing casually.

chenle will talk to his mom about you. he is cautious about sharing parts of his life with literally anyone but he just wants to talk about you so badly he can’t stop.

jisung tries to wash raw chicken with dish soap.. i’m not even gonna elaborate…

[fullsunfilm]

nct dream and how they love you ⋆.𐙚 ̊

7dream x gn!reader

ᢉ𐭩 no warnings, just a lot of fluff

mark

mark is the definition of a loverboy. he's sweet, patient, and loves you with his whole heart. there's an underlying current of trust and comfort when you're with him. despite his put-together demeanor, he's crazy about you on the inside.

he can't stop thinking about you. every melody he crafts, every lyric he messily scribbles onto his sheet music, and every thrum of the bass against his headphones are all for you. you ignite his passion for songwriting and are undoubtedly his muse.

there's a small part of him that is terrified of being over-consumed by you and your relationship, and an even larger part of him that's terrified of losing you. but that makes him blind to when he's losing himself. deep down, he knows that he'd risk it all if it meant he got to keep loving you.

renjun

you learn quickly that renjun isn't afraid of being affectionate, even if your friends are all gagging and whining at how touchy he is. his hands are constantly linked with yours, arms swinging forward and backward as you walk together.

but he's also cautious, constantly checking in and making sure to respect your boundaries. his steps closer to your heart are small and calculated. first, holding hands. second, hugs. then, kisses. he checks in before and after each of them. the words "is this okay?" leave his lips often.

there's nothing he loves more than seeing you smile. a true smile, not one you plaster on in an attempt to please a crowd. he learns how to discern them fast. he takes pride in it, in learning how to make you laugh until your stomach hurts or grin until your cheekbones are sore. you are one of the most important people in his life, and he wants nothing more than to make you happy.

jeno

jeno's love for you is quiet. he stands tall, happy to be a pillar for you to lean on as you move through your day-to-day life. on the outside, he doesn't say much, just offering hums of acknowledgement and gentle touches to you, but there's a sense of security each night you settle in bed next to him.

though the "i love you"s are on the scarcer side, he shows his love in more subtle ways. leaving a cup of your favorite coffee out in the morning, tucking you in when he notices you've kicked off the blanket in your sleep, and buying your favorite scented candles to light around the house.

he's practically made for comfort. on nights when you come home crying from work or school, his brain automatically starts spinning to find ways to ease you. he has all your favorite films, songs, and activities tucked away neatly in the library of his mind. some might say he's over-prepared, but he wants to be ready, so that when you need him, he's already there waiting with open arms.

haechan

his favorite activity is toying with you. he loves the push and pull you two have going on. there's something so enchanting about the banter you share with him, about the twinkles of mischief in your eyes as you quip comebacks at him. his favorite opponent in any game is you, because you're just so easy to tease.

paired with the chaos of your tom and jerry-like relationship comes the soft comfort of a big teddy bear. not a night goes by where haechan isn't tangled in your arms. he appears in your dreams, donning a bright, goofy smile. his warmth lulls you to sleep as he hums soft melodies. he stops only when your breathing evens and he's sure you've gone to sleep.

perhaps the thing you love most about him is his undying faith in you. wherever you go, no matter what endeavor you experience, he's not far behind. haechan is your number one cheerleader. his confidence in you is one that pushes you to be better, to strive for bigger goals, and become more confident.

jaemin

the ultimate house-husband, equipped with life skills such as cooking, cleaning, and dealing with three very pampered cats. although not explicitly mentioned, his pampering also extends to you. he loves giving you gifts and showering you with compliments. his schedule, although packed with responsibilities, always has room for you.

jaemin is completely enamored by you. he finds you to be the cutest being in the universe and he's not afraid to tell you that. he's completely smitten. without even realizing it, he's mentally planned out your lives together, categorizing expenses and resources for the both of you from each of his paychecks.

the most important message that jaemin craves to tell you every day is how much you should love yourself. he sees you as the light of his life, and he believes that you should see yourself from his eyes. that's why he loves taking photos of you and recording your memories. he wants you to have a gallery to look back on to see how you've grown and how beautiful you are.

chenle

before he was your lover, he was your best friend. maybe that's why there seems to be no petty arguments within your relationship. he wholeheartedly trusts you, and you reciprocate the trust completely. there's no jealousy or location stalking necessary. things that would normally destroy other couples seem absurd to the two of you.

wherever you go, chenle goes, too. he's practically your other half. you both come as a two-for-one deal. there's a mutual comfort that comes from just being around one another. without even saying anything, he can already tell what you need when you need it. chenle is undoubtedly your rock, even through the roughest of times.

he hates seeing you hurt. if he could, he would make all your problems disappear. his heart is constantly yelling for him to pay off your rent, to beat up the angry co-worker that made you cry, to make sure that nothing ails you. although he offers to, he understands why you deny him, and he instead helps you pick up the pieces and get back on your feet.

jisung

if there was one thing that surprised you the most about falling in love with jisung, it's that he is indeed a yapper. despite his timid, aloof demeanor in public, he's bright-eyed and lively when you're alone. although the difference is a bit jarring, you can't help but feel a strong tug at your heartstrings when you realize how comfortable he is around you.

he's curious about you. unlike other things, he feels like he'll never get tired of learning about you. sometimes, you feel like you're being studied by a mad scientist with how many questions he asks. from your opinion on aliens to your reasoning for the milk first vs cereal first debate, he wants to know you completely.

jisung doesn't offer much physical affection towards you. although he can't deny liking cuddles and shy hugs, his brain operates on the idea of "less is more". even out of his shell, he still likes to express affection on his own terms, which is why every hug or kiss feels like a milestone. every "i love you" is that much more important to him and to you.

[bbina]

business proposal masterlist

✎ . . . SYNOPSISᝰ things aren't going as planned the way you thought it was going to be. especially the part where you find yourself falling in love with your own boss– which was definitely not part of the agreed proposal.

✎ . . . PAIRINGᝰ zhong chenle x reader

✎ . . . GENREᝰ ceo!au, fluff | ✐જ - written portions

✎ . . . STATUSᝰ ongoing

✎ . . . TAGLISTᝰ open

✎ . . . NOTESᝰ just wanted to post this for fun lol. this has been sitting inside my vault for over 3 years now just waiting to be published. now i'm not exactly too sure when i want to start uploading for this cuz i still have one other ongoing smau but we shall see..

CHAPTERS ᝰ.ᐟ ➺ PROLOGUE ➺ INTRODUCTION ➺ ONE ᝰ HIRED ✐જ ➺ TWO ᝰ SINCE WHEN? ➺ THREE ᝰ THE REAL DEAL ✐જ ➺ FOUR ᝰ I THINK I HATE MY BOSS ➺ FIVE ᝰ I STAND CORRECTED ➺ SIX ᝰ BEEN A WEEK ➺ SEVEN ᝰ LUNCH ➺ EIGHT ᝰ TIMES NEW ROMAN ➺ NINE ᝰ CLEAR MY SCHEDULE ➺ TEN ᝰ JEJU BOUND ➺ ELEVEN ᝰ WHY IS MY BOSS KINDA HOT ✐જ ➺ TWELVE ᝰ PR CRISIS ➺ THIRTEEN ᝰ PROFESSIONAL ✐જ ➺ FOURTEEN ᝰ RISE AND GRIND ➺ FIFTEEN ᝰ AFTER WORK HOURS ✐જ ➺ SIXTEEN ᝰ A MONTH ✐જ ➺ SEVENTEEN ᝰ SAVE YOUR TEARS ➺ EIGHTEEN ᝰ GOOD JOB ✐જ ➺ NINETEEN ᝰ COMPETENT ✐જ ➺ TWENTY ᝰ PUNNY ➺ TWENTY ONE ᝰ OVERCOMPENSATING ✐જ ➺ TWENTY TWO ᝰ CONVINCED ➺ TWENTY THREE ᝰ LITTLE MIX ➺ TWENTY FOUR ᝰ RAISE ➺ TWENTY FIVE ᝰ MODERN LIVING, ZHONG STANDARD ✐જ ➺ TWENTY SIX ᝰ LIAISON OFFICER

[gyuswhore]

Hits Different (...'cause it's you) (1)

«« I trace the evidence, make it make some sense Why the wound is still bleedin' »»

PAIRING: kim mingyu x reader

SYNOPSIS: Kim Mingyu was the first friend your brother had brought home for dinner. Fast forward a couple years, his toothy smile and pierced ears would wedge their way into a permanent place in your heart. Nail to a coffin, never to escape.

or;

in which you get rejected by the only boy you've ever loved; a rejection you can't quite shake off.

GENRES: based off of 'Hits Different' by Taylor Swift, brother's best friend!au, brother!seokmin, fluff, angst, smut (in part 2) [MINORS DNI], friends(?) to lovers, university!au.

PLAYLIST: right here!

WORD COUNT (full fic): 40k (im actually embarrassed)

Part 1: 20.2k | Part 2: 20k

masterlist

WARNINGS : slowburn, angst, fluff, mingyus a bit of an airhead and an ass, reader has a hard time managing her feelings, lots of frustrated tears, one sided pining, user toruro x minghao make an appearance, swearing, there's another woman (gasp,,,,,but shes cool so), Nayeon is a darling, Seungcheol is kinda annoying here but we love him, smut tags in part 2

(Comments from @toruro): "oh shizzle", "yeah bitch", (on jihyo) "mother", "ME X HAO FIRE EMOJI", "men (derogatory)"

[A/N]: Tumblr is annoying and won't let me post the entire 40k in one go so i have to break it up (part 2 is out tomorrow!!!) i hope you guys enjoy this, thank you for all the love on the teaser, i hope this is able to live up to the hype, thank you so much for being patient with me <33 (ty @toruro for encouraging me when i felt shit ab this gkjnrgvkjrng and beta-ing ofc)

As someone who could vomit at the mere thought of throw-up, you tried not to stare into the toilet bowl as you emptied your guts in this questionable club bathroom. 

It was proving to be easier than you’d anticipated, naturally, when your eyes were blurred with bubbling tears. Were they because of your wretching or the feelings that churned in your heart? You can’t be entirely sure, nor can you find yourself having the mental strength to figure out. There’s a banging on the door behind you, one that sends your already aching head into a hurling spin. 

“Open the door, I have water for you, it’ll help!” You hear Mika blare from the other side, concern lacing her voice. 

You try to blink the tears away but they cascade down your cheek anyway, rubbing at them furiously before preparing to haul yourself off the disgusting bathroom floor. Taking a deep breath was a horrible idea, you realize when an atrocious mixture of scents hit your nostrils, cringing visibly. 

Washing your hands at the sink took you another five minutes, scrubbing furiously at your palms and nails with the dollar store soap the club graciously placed in a fancy dispenser, pumping more than a normal amount to rid yourself of the paranoia of tainted hands. 

Unfortunately for you, your palms were tainted with entities beyond mere soap and water’s powers. 

It was evident with the way you exited the bathroom feeling perhaps worse than you went in. Mika was nowhere to be seen in the hall, moving along to the private room where the rest of the group was to find her springing up as you enter. 

“You weren’t answering, so I left. Here, water, I told you to be careful with what you drink; you haven’t had a bite to eat either.” She reprimands. 

“Sorry,” you smile sheepishly, not having a reasonable excuse to give her. 

Joshua peeks over her shoulder, “You feeling any better?” 

The water is slow to go down as you sputter before replying in a hoarse voice, “Yeah. Way.” 

To be fair, the water did help. But it was you who was the problem, blaming the alcohol for the behaviour all your friends knew perfectly well where it was stemming from. Not a word was said though, for your sake or their own. You wrap up quickly after that, Joshua insisting to drop you off home himself, quoting how Seokmin would have his head if he left you in the hands of a taxi driver in this state — age gap be damned. You can only thank him as he pulls up to your destination, hoping you’ll remember this in the morning to return the favour in the future. 

“Before you go, can we talk for a second?” he piques, halting you as you remove your seatbelt. 

“Sure, yeah. What is it?” 

“I’m not gonna ask if you’re doing alright, not when you’re gonna give me the same answer as always. But…please take care of yourself. You’ve been drinking quite a bit lately, and it can’t be helping you at all” 

You listen to him silently, not a thought in your brain. But you nod anyway. 

“Thanks for looking out, Shua. I’m…I’m probably not gonna be going out for a while, you’re right,” you reply, quietly, a small smile on your face that you can only hope is reassuring. 

“I don’t mean lock yourself up, either. You don’t give yourself a break and then try to make up for it by drinking your self faint every week, that’s never gonna help you. You know that.” He speaks in a soft, soothing voice, a hand coming up to pat your hair before landing on your clasped hands on your lap. “You know what, I’ll pick you up tomorrow night, we can go the fair just me, you and Seok-” 

“I have class tomorrow.” 

“Like showing up hungover is gonna help you retain any information. Just skip.” 

You sigh a deep exhale, deciding to simply be upfront. “I kinda just wanna stay home for a while, going out’s kinda making it worse. I think rotting in front of my laptop’s what I really need right now” 

Throwing in a tinkle of a laugh, you hope you’ve sold yourself.

“Alright,” he sounds slightly unconvinced but doesn’t push you further, “I’ll drop in to bother you tomorrow though, don’t try stoping me”

“Okay,” you say, smiling a little wider. “I’m gonna go now, goodnight.”

“Wait!” he stops you once again, right before your about to shut the door. “Have you talked to Mingyu at all?” 

“There’s nothing to talk about, Shua. Night” 

With that you’ve slammed the door of his car shut, missing the ghost of a “goodnight” that leaves Joshua’s lips as he watches you walk inside the building. 

“And stop staying out so late at night! What were you supposed to do if Joshua wasn’t there?” Seokmin rants as he walks back and forth grabbing you water and pills as you finish your forced breakfast.

“Take a taxi?” you suggest sarcastically. 

“What? And get me called to the station to identify your body parts when some dude decides he wants to play cannibalistic butcher?” he screeches, and it has you wincing and grabbing onto your head at his volume. You dramatize it a little, hoping he’d shut it with his nagging if you gained some extra sympathy. He doesn’t stop talking, but he does tone it down. 

“Whatever, I’m not going out anymore.” You push your plate and bowl away as you hop off the stool and stalk off to your room, making as much noise as possible in the process. 

Your brother calls after you, but you don’t stop. Your head was pounding, 

“Are you gonna take your meds? HELLO? Or do you enjoy the feeling of having your head split open?” he slams open the door of your room mid-sentence, going on at your blanket-clad figure on the bed. 

“I’m going back to sleep.”

“No, you’re taking your fucking meds.” A cup of water is thrust into your hands as you pick up the pills from Seokmin’s open palms, swallowing before he decides to shove it down your throat himself. 

He waits on the edge of the bed, checking to make sure you actually swallowed the pill instead of hiding it under your tongue like you’ve done since you were kids. 

“I’m not stopping you from going out if that’s what you think I mean,” he starts, a lot softer this time, and you’re taken back to your conversation with Joshua last night. “You’ve been going out and coming home wasted a lot more than normal lately. I don’t know if it’s because your college agendas are finally catching up to you or what.”

“I’m just…My friends are always out and I wanna be with them, it’s normal,” you grumble, disappearing deeper into your sheets.

“You’d tell me if something was bothering you, right?” 

‘Yeah, yeah, now shoo. Your voice is making my head hurt worse, I doubt Advils are immune to your yapping.” 

“Fine, fuck you too” he mumbles, leaving the room only to pop back in a second later. “Mom called last night, told her you were at a study group. Might wanna call her back before she catches a flight herself.” 

You wave two fingers up in a salute from your flat position on the bed, hearing him close the door. You don’t sit up until you hear the TV blare from the living room, knowing he had parked himself on the couch and has his attention diverted. 

The headache wasn’t actually that bad, you just really wanted to be left alone, and your brother had a habit to do the opposite when asked, so it had to be done. 

What on Earth were you supposed to tell him, anyway? That his best friend in the whole world rejected his sister on the spot when she confessed her decades long feelings? That she was ruining her liver and kidneys every weekend over a rejection? By his best friend in the whole world?

Yeah, that’s an easy conversation. 

Snuggling into the covers you try not to think back to the abomination that was your birthday party just a few weeks ago, but your thoughts yank you there anyway, as if to remind you of every wretched detail of the encounter like it was wasn’t already burned into your frontal lobe like a brand. 

You were on a high; too happy, too excited. It’s not like you were expecting anything for your first birthday at uni anyway, you were too old for pink blowout parties and too young for the madness of college level clubbing. You were excited for takeout with your brother, to sit in front of the TV for the rest of the night, maybe even stick a candle in one of your burgers and call it your cake. Plans were changed when you walked into your home, ready to wind down for the night and celebrate in your own way. 

It was a full house, food and drinks everywhere, complete with a loud “SURPRISE” as you walk through the door. You remember hugging both your brother and Mingyu when they tell you they did all of this for you, an overwhelming feeling overcoming you as you grip them tight, hoping it’ll transfer all the gratitude you couldn’t express. 

You’re breathless as the night progresses, trying hard to focus on the conversations at hand, trying to be a good host. Failing miserably, you can’t force your gaze from wandering every few minutes, searching for Mingyu in the crowd, watching him move his mouth as he talked, throw his hair back as he laughed, smile that beautiful, beautiful smile of his, perfect teeth on display. 

It had been bliss these past few weeks, the lingering smiles he would give you, the flirtatious attempts never gone unnoticed. The smoothest of words slipping right off his tongue as he gave you eyes that twinkled and sparkled and blew air directly into the embers in your heart. You would still yourself as they would happen, like the mirage would crack and shatter if you even dared to breathe; it felt unreal. After all these years, you realised soon, Kim Mingyu may have began to like you. 

You’d be lying if you said you were completely sober when it happened, drinks were passed around and as the birthday girl you didn’t seem to have a choice to back down, already a little hot and wide eyed barely halfway through the night. 

And when Mingyu doesn’t interact with you all night, you go to him as the numbers in the house dwindled, cornering him as he collected bottles in the kitchen.

“Hey!”, he sounds enthusiastic, “You having fun yet?”

“Yeah, thanks again for doing this.” your remember fidgeting with your fingers and nails, digging them into each other as you let yourself spew. 

“Are you gonna say thank you at every chance for the next six months? It's your first birthday away from home. Besides it was Seok’s idea, I just helped out.” He had said, beaming.

“Mingyu, can I talk to you about something…?”

You sigh loudly as you replay the memory, face pushed into the covers as you bite back a scream at the blood rushing to your head. 

Stupid. Idiot. Absolutely brainless.

“Oh.” He had breathed out when you had spilled your entire heart out to him standing in that kitchen, visibly taken aback at your abruptness. “I…I’m sorry I’m not quite sure what to say.” 

You still remember that sickening feeling, that big ball of junk and emotions that sank lower and lower in your abdomen, settling a deep hurt in your chest that made it difficult to breathe. 

Laying in your bedroom, weeks after the fact, you can still feel your breathing go slightly erratic at the memory, hot tears springing your eyes, burning before you wipe them away. You were aware how baffling it was, how you were letting it affect you to this degree, but you justified it with the years you had remained quiet, yearning on the sidelines. 

You deserved to wallow in this pit. 

At least that’s what you thought. But after last night you wonder if you had stopped indulging in the sorrow and let it ruin you instead. A sigh escapes you at the thought of ending yet another night in a dirty bathroom, makeup smeared and guts removed, misery becoming the only thing you were allowed to feel in the aftermath. 

You reach for your phone on the bedside table, flicking through your unread messages, barely registering a word as you leave them opened and unanswered. There wasn’t an ounce of willpower in you even after a full night’s sleep, turning your phone off before shoving it in your bedside drawer, forgotten. You take a moment to stare at the ceiling, having no energy to get up to turn your lights off. Until the doorbell sounds. 

Of course you knew who it was the second you heard, but the voice paired with your brother’s conversing outside was enough to have you catapulting out of bed. You slap your hand over the switchboard, turning off all your lights, moving across the room to pull your curtains shut, cascading complete darkness in the room. You fly under the covers as a last effort to convince, covering your face with the sheets just as you hear a knock. 

The door creaks open slightly as Seokmin calls out your name. 

“Are you up? Mingyu’s here, he brought coffee.” He whispers slowly. You don’t respond. 

He calls out your name one more time before you hear the door click shut. You don’t move till you hear his muffled voice on the other end, “She’s knocked out, her head was hurting, better let her rest.” 

Heat pricks the sides of your face as your body finally relaxes, borderline embarrassed at how you were hiding from him like a middle schooler who thinks she’s in love. Which you were at one point; now you're a college kid who thinks she’s in love.

You try not to focus too much on the sounds coming from outside, burying under the covers to attempt at sleep for real this time. Eyes screwed shut, you can’t help but open them at every other intonation. There was no way you could figure out what they were saying if you tried, between the door and the TV, it was all a taunting buzz in your ears. 

You do end up falling asleep. But only after you hear the droning of the TV turn off, and the distinct goodbyes as the front door clicks shut. 

Keeping to your promise, you stay away from late nights for the next couple of weeks. Joshua so far as commends you for declining invitations, offering dinner on him on one particular phone call. 

“You know, I was serious when I said I was proud of you.” Joshua voices solemnly as you attempt to cut a strip of meat onto the grill. You snort as a response. 

“I wasn’t like, an alcoholic, you’re making it sound worse than it was.” 

“It was still bad for it to affect you in that way. Takes a lot to get back up from heartbreak”

“Especially one that’s lasted for nearly a decade.” You sigh as you give up on the meat, handing the scissors and tongs over. 

“Are we still talking about that?” He raises his eyebrows. 

A smile makes its way to your face, nibbling on a radish, “No.”

“Good. Because we need to talk about if we want our noodles hot or cold.”

“Seok! SEOK! Where the fuck did you put my pimple patches?” Your screams echo across the house yet garner no response. Opting to yank open the fridge, you dig through through the box of face masks to find them possibly laying at the bottom, forgotten. Seokmin bounds into the kitchen, towel in hand as he pats at his damp hair.

“What?” 

“Nothing,” you huff, shoving the unfruitful box back into the cabinet, "you used up all the patches.”

“Patches? Pimple patches? We’ve been out for a month, just use this tube in the drawer.” Pulling open the drawer, he rummages for a moment before emerging with a sickly yellow tube of what looked like poorly marketed toothpaste.

“You want me to put this on my face?” 

“Yeah, it works, zit on my nose was gone by morning.” He stuffs the tube back in the drawer not before squeezing a small amount on his fingers to dab on your face.

“Ew, get your dirty hands away from my face.” You grip his wrists before he tries to move in further. 

He does nothing but shush you, shaking off your hands as you grumble in silence, letting him finger paint on your face. You move up to fix a roller on your head, undoing it before rolling the bit back in, resulting in another “tsk” emitting form your brothers concentrated face.

“Okay, enough! I don’t have that many zits.” You pull away as Seokmin moves to wash his hands. 

“Are you going to bed right now?” He asks as you move over to the door.

“Yeah. I’m not going to sleep, though.” 

“Gyu’s coming over, you were asleep when he was here last too.” 

It seemed as though every bone in your body rattled against your flesh. 

“When is he coming?” You ask quickly, frozen in your spot. 

The doorbell rings. 

“Right now, I guess.” He snickers to himself.

You can only watch in mild horror as he moves to open the door, words escaping you. You follow behind him, trying to stop him, yet not doing much other than reach the front door yourself, fingers frozen yet mildly trembling. 

“Wait!” You finally whisper-shout, “Don’t open it!” 

Seokmin pauses to give you a look, “Why? He’s seen you look worse, it’s fine”

The door wrenches open before you can protest any further, a cartoonish moment of the hunched figure of you, hands out in a nearly there grip. You’ve failed, and the chorus of ‘hey’’s reach your ears in almost a mocking manner. There’s a conscious effort on your end to not look up too high, keeping to chest eye level for your own sanity. What you find once your vision clears from the white blur, is that there’s not one, but two people at the door. 

Mingyu’s brought a girl. 

Standing behind the door meant there was no immediate attention on you, which should have been a perfectly good opportunity for you to book it to your room, but you don’t. You stand there instead, staring at the back of their heads like a child in wonder.

Once you are noticed by your brother, he winces at your appearance, a silent apology, like he didn’t know about this new guest either. Or he was apologising for what he was about to do next, you wouldn’t know, because you wouldn’t be hearing him out when you throttle him later. 

“This is my sister” 

All three sets of eyes are on you now, a moment of silence as they take in your appearance. The grandma nightgown, in all its blue and collared glory, does absolutely nothing to boost your confidence in front of the very pretty lady, whose hair cascades down her back, whose skin stands as clear as a summer sky. 

“Hi!” She breaks the awkward silence first, “I’m Jia, it’s nice to meet you! I’ve heard a lot about the both of you.”

What?

“Mingyu has a hard time keeping his mouth shut, I’m not surprised.” Seokmin tries to joke as he motions for the couch in the centre of the room. You catch him kicking a stray sock out of the way as he urges them to sit. 

With the way your brother is acting, you don’t doubt this is his first time meeting this girl. Mingyu is yet to clarify why he would bring a friend to the house unannounced, but something tells you you already know. You remain on the sidelines, inching away to the hallway slowly, trying your hardest to not bring attention to yourself.

“I haven’t seen you around campus ever, are you new?” Seokmin prods, his voice slightly on edge. 

“Oh, um-” Jia begins but is cut off by Mingyu as he speaks for her. 

“Jia doesn’t go to our uni, we met at Seungcheol’s, we’ve been dating for a couple months.” 

There it is. 

“Oh! Couple months? How come I didn’t know?” You don’t miss the hurt laced in your brother's words, your fists clenching slightly at the oncoming silence. 

“That’s on me, sorry. It’s just…I didn’t want anyone to know ‘cause I thought he was playing around when he said he liked me, I wanted to see if he was being real or not.” She laughs nervously, and you see the back of her head move as she talked. You can’t help but note the arm that’s swung across the back of the couch where she sat. “Please don’t be mad at him! I promise it was me that stopped him.”

You don’t hear too much of what happens afterwards as you slip away into the crevice of your bedroom, standing in the entryway in absolute silence, attempting to absorb what you had just witnessed outside. Approaching the full length mirror on the other end, it takes a lot out of your to bring yourself to look straight into it, regretting it immediately as you acknowledge your appearance. 

Of course, the woman who actually succeeded in winning over the man that rejected you had to witness you in the unappealing yellow paste that your brother graciously dotted all over your face, not leaving the giant rollers in your hair to cut you any slack either. You could cry about it, but you don’t. Instead you lay back in your bed, sniffling in the dark, just as you had the last time Mingyu was over. 

It’s significantly easier to drown out the voices this time round, especially when your mind is preoccupied with a couple months. Your birthday was a couple months ago, does that mean they started dating right after that conversation? Or were they already offical and you had waltzed in with your princess dreams about your brother’s best friend being in love with you. 

It made perfect sense at the time, and no sense at all anymore as you wonder why on Earth he was being so forwardly flirty with you if there was another girl all along. There’s a bitter taste in your mouth as you recall how he had quit perceiving you altogether after that night, and you can’t help but mentally commend Jia for testing him by keeping it quiet. Especially when he was going around flirting with his best friend’s sister. 

It didn’t take long for you to guage Mingyu’s reputation when you first dropped into university, the senior having made himself a reputation none less similar than he had in high school. He was popular, but with his outgoing personality and a face like that it was hard not to be liked. Your brother was right there beside him, living it up as carefree college kids, suddenly remembering he now had a little sister to tend to. You were grateful for the both of them for being there to help you take your first baby steps, all the rites of passage and which professors sucked the least, not leaving the leaky water fountain to never drink from. 

That was when Mingyu’s (supposed) advances had begun. 

You’re projected back to first semester, when both of them had dragged you to the same couch outside, talking about an “important thing you should know”. 

“You walk into class one day, expecting nothing out of the ordinary. Your professor drones on as usual, your classmates look bored as usual, you’re tired as usual. But then!” Seokmin breathes in sharply, and you hear Mingyu bound to the other side of your vision, emerging on the opposite end of the room with a backpack swung over his shoulder. 

“The man of your dreams walks by…” Seokmin continues and you snap your head towards him in a panic, suddenly afraid he had found you out. He’s busy though, making ethereal hands in Mingyu’s general direction, while the latter walks in comedic slow motion like he’s in a K-drama b-roll, complete with passes over his hair and a nonchalant yet controlled expression. 

“What is this about?” It comes out snappier than you had intended, but you’ve had one scare already. 

“Just!” your brothers hands turn from graceful to clenched, like it was you he was trying to squish you for interrupting him, “Listen, alright?” 

“The man of your dreams walks by,” he goes back to his narrator voice, “and you wonder where he’s been all your life. You start talking, you’re enamoured. You start thinking about introducing him to your parents, what your wedding’s gonna look like, what your kids are gonna look like!” 

Your face is becoming increasingly warped the more you listen to him speak, not being able to fathom where this was going. 

“But no!” It’s Mingyu that speaks this time, pushing a jolt out of you as he slams the backpack on the floor, pointing directly at you for added effect,  “You’re better than that!”

“What the fuck-” you start, but are shushed by a physical finger on your lips as Mingyu shushes you. Seokmin slaps his hand away. 

“Our point is, that you’re probably gonna come across someone who you think is your next boyfriend.” Your brother continues, “But lucky for you, you have two seasoned professionals here to tell you that it’s nothing but fresher’s fever.” 

“It’s a new place, new people, loads of new experiences; you’re bound to latch on one of the first couple pieces of meat. Our advice is don’t, because it will happen to you. But you also now know that your just in a deluded stage right now. Give it a semester before you start dating people, trust.” Mingyu finishes for Seokmin as he thumps down on the couch next to you. 

“So all of this was just another stay away from boys lecture?” You raise your eyebrows. 

“Yes and no. You can date whoever you want,” Seokmin answers coolly before quickly adding, “but not right now.”

It was laughable, the thought of latching onto another person when you’d been trying exactly that for years. To have anyone catch your eye, to have anyone sweep you away from this madness that came in the form of Kim Mingyu. Neither of these seasoned professionals had a thing to worry about though, because you weren’t latching on anything that came out of this institute. You had already done so, in a stage more impressionable than this, years and years before any of them knew of the dangers of young girls and new boys in their vicinity. 

“Okay, I know you’re like on a self inflicted party ban and all that…” Joshua starts the second he places himself at your table, still haggard looking from jogging across campus.

“Don’t even try.” You warn with filled cheeks.

“Girl, let him finish.” Nayeon chides next to you. 

You exhale through your nose heavily, going back to pick at your tray as Joshua continues.

“Cheol’s throwing a little party tonight to celebrate the end of midterms.” He starts, “You should come, it's only gonna be a handful of people.” 

“A handful?” You repeat, unable to bite back the amusement in your voice. 

“Come on, your brother’s going as well! You’ll be fine, I promise we’ll keep you in check.” 

“I don’t need to be kept in check, I’m fine.” You grumble.

“Perfect! Nothing stopping you then, I’ll pick you both up at 8.” The words are barely out of his mouth before he’s back to sprinting out the vicinity, garnering looks from oncoming traffic, off to his next pestering destination 

“I don’t think I’d explicitly agreed.” You voice. 

“He got what he wanted.” Nayeon snorts, “Whatever, we’ll get ready at my place after this.”

“Weren’t you guys worried about me? Now you’re actively dragging me to parties.” You drop your utensils onto the tray.

“Too much of either isn’t a good thing, you went from forgetting what home looks like to exclusively holing yourself up in there.” She stabs a piece of potato with a chopstick and tries to pry it in your mouth. “Besides, Cheol’s parties are always super intimate, they’re all gonna be people you know, don’t worry.”

‘Super intimate’, as Nayeon had put it, had amounted to at least fifty people as you take in the crowd at the floor of the house. Despite not being packed to the brim, it was still coming out to look like a full house, random items already scattered across the floors in true frat party fashion. 

“Do you want a beer?” Nayeon asks, dragging you to the kitchens by the hand as you crane your neck to spot people.

“Uh, no. Is there juice?” 

“Um, there’s a questionable looking fruit punch.” she wrinkles her nose at the blaring red bowl on the counter. 

You sigh, grabbing a cup, “I’ll risk it.”

Joshua was air the second he had walked in with you, whisked away to socialize with his own hoard of acquaintances, leaving both you and Nayeon to fend for yourselves. You’re yet to spot your brother, granted you’d only been here a mere five minutes, his rowdy demeanor making him quite easy to spot in usual circumstances. 

Taking a casual sip of the electric red liquid you’re forced to make a face as you register the flavour, alerting Nayeon, who was too busy fiddling through multiple crystal bottles. 

“What? Is it bad?” 

“What the fuck is that?” You sputter in astonishment, wondering how the bowl was already half empty. “Who’s drinking this stuff?” 

She grabs the cup from you before taking a gulp herself, emerging the same gagging mess you were, eyes watering at the taste. It seemed almost comical when Seokmin shows up behind her, waiting to greet only to find both of you doubled over. His eyes move over to the potion in Nayeon’s hand and passes a knowing look.

“He’s brought The Whole Shabang out of retirement.” He states like it was the obvious answer.

Nayeon spits first, “Are we supposed to know what that means?” 

“Cheol got drunk one time in freshman year and mixed every ounce of alcohol he owned into one big bowl of despair. We retired it last year when the bowl broke and stained his counters. But anyway, beginners are supposed to dilute it before downing it.”

“That’s great and everything but why is it so red?” You ask.

Another voice speaks from behind you, turning around to find Seungcheol himself. “There’s an entire thing of food colouring in there, gives it an edge don’t you think?”

“I’m scared of you.” You deadpan, a sour expression remaining on your face. 

Seunghceol is quick to suggest the backyard for some fresh air to distract from the flavour it’s left in your mouths, commenting on the nice weather. Neither him nor your brother stick around for too long though, dipping at the holler of their names somewhere inside. You’re comfortable though, despite being blocked off by a concrete railing, the stairs make a nice haven for the both of you to lie down and stare into the clearer than usual sky. Cheol was right, it was nice outside. 

“I can’t lay down like this, I need to get a drink.” Nayeon announces not even five minutes later. 

“Why didn’t you get one when we were there?” You groan, but she doesn’t respond as she hops back inside, throwing a promise to be quick in the air behind her. 

The wall supports you as you deflate into it, legs sprawled across the steps in disarray. Nobody could see you anyway, taking full advantage as you practically manspread. The side of the pool that’s in your vision is empty by grace; calm save for the giant flamingo floaty that bobs itself into view from the edge of the wall you lean against. A breathy laugh leaves you at the sight. 

The railing on your other side is mostly concealed, you can still make out the wicker sofa set, complete with an unlit fireplace. It’s unoccupied, for the time being, as you register a conversation floating closer and closer to your ears. Wondering if Nayeon had brought friends, you stand up quickly to look over the railing to check for her face over the sliding door that leads inside. 

There’s no Nayeon in sight. 

But there is Mingyu. 

His mere presence knocks your butt back onto the concrete the second you see him stumbling over the threshold with a hoard of his friends, nothing short of his picturesque party strut. There was little reason for you to hide from him at all, considering the very possible notion that he would look right past you if you happened across his line of sight. Space floating in, he’d ignore you for your sake or his own, perhaps even both. 

For now, he’s seated himself with a few other people on the wicker sofas, leaving you hugging your knees to your chest, head on the concrete wall with the lingering feeling akin to that of a trapped mouse. Closing your eyes, you blow out air in an attempt to relax yourself, take light of the situation you’ve found yourself in. You could get up and leave in this very moment, possibly go unnoticed if you stalked back inside before they began their rattle not meant for your ears. 

And yet, you find yourself unable to move, not even when you hear their topic shift to Mingyu’s new beau. Suddenly you wish you’d moved inside the moment you saw him. 

“Was it you that stopped Jia from coming to parties?” You hear somebody ask.

“Why the fuck would I do that?” Mingyu grumbles, he pauses and you assume he’s taking a swing of his drink. “We started going out and suddenly she didn’t wanna come, that’s fine though, it isn’t her vibe anyway.”

There’s a snigger that moves across everybody seated, you hear loud thwack before Mingyu speaks again, “What’s so fucking funny?” 

“This girl’s made you work for it, huh?” 

“Isn’t that like, his brand? Don’t look at me like that, you’re the one yapping about liking a challenge all the time.”

“Yeah, remember Minji?” 

“I still think she was only pretending to not like you, her clique was always smacking at her to straighten up when you’d come over like we couldn’t see everything.” You could almost hear the eye rolling.

“Change the subject, will you?” Mingyu proposes, sounding exhausted at the prodding already.

“I apologise for the ex talk and nothing else.” 

There’s a pause for another choke of laughter across the group, and you wonder what it was that they found so funny. 

“I don’t know if I should say this…” Somebody begins, but is cut off by Mingyu.

“Then don’t say it.” He snaps, but you don’t miss his own jest. 

“I honestly thought you were gonna date Seok’s sister at some point. I mean, common consensus is that bagging your best friend’s sister is… what you’d call a challenge.”

What the fuck. 

You feel your eyes drifting closed at the turn this conversation has taken, wishing to simply fall asleep at what it’s come to. Somebody speaks up. 

“Nah, that’s like, the grand slam prize, that one comes after he’s done hanging with the side quests.” 

The situation is making itself out to be something out of a fever dream. 

Mingyu tsks, and you note a jostle happening through the gaps of the railing. “I’m leaving.” 

You find yourself hugging yourself tighter, eyes shut like he wouldn’t be able to see if you couldn’t see him. Not that it was possible unless he peered directly through the railing in his peripheral. 

“OKAY! Okay! We’re kidding.” There’s a pause. “Okay, but really…”

Another pause, this time longer. You hate how you can picture the ghost of an exasperated smile on Mingyu’s face, a bite of his lip perhaps, dejected at the shoulder with his longing, distant look. You hate how your mind fills the gaps of him the railing won’t allow you to see. 

“Seok’s not the type to beat me up if I dated his sister. And besides…” He sighs, halting his words.

“Besides what?” Somebody chimes in.

“I’m not interested in going after someone who’s chased my tail for the past fifteen years.”

There’s a chorus of hisses and oh’s, a few bounts of laughter in their disbelief. You can feel your stomach twist, heat pooling your figure. 

It would’ve been better if his words had hit you like a gong, maybe the aftermath wouldn’t have felt as horrid. But the connotations crept up on you like a million spiders making their trek up to your brain, waiting to stick their crawlers in the bits that would allow those words to hold meaning for you. You can feel the electric red of Seungcheol’s god awful concoction begin to rise up in your throat like bile; burning, imprinting. 

Mingyu had said what he had said. And everything was in it’s place, in finality. 

Despite the nearly four year age gap, you and Seokmin had co-existed without the semblance of an older-younger duo. It was mostly owed to Seokmin's shy nature, and his difficulty making solid friends. That, however, didn’t last long as your brother progressed through middle school. 

You had met Mingyu for the first time when Seokmin brought his first ever friend from school home for dinner. 

Despite being barely nine years old and half spoon fed by your mother at the same table, the prospect of Seokmin’s new friend was equal to you having a new friend – which caused enough excitement as you brought your favourite cartoon books into your brother’s room to show this new person after dinner. 

As the following year progressed, you saw less and less of your brother, and more and more of newer faces of ‘friends’ that you weren’t allowed to play with. It was distressing enough to be told by your mother that something of your brother’s was not yours, but even more so when you were kicked out of the room by Seokmin himself for the very first time.

It wasn’t as trauamtising as it felt in the moment, because you grew to find your own group of friends, doing the same as you’d kick your brother out for being annoying – except unlike you, he was doing it on purpose. 

Mingyu was a recurring face, one that was nicer to you on the days your brother was meaner, more forgiving on the days your relatively new middle school was relentless. He fit himself in your life easier than you had realised, more comfortable than you soon found you were comfortable with.

“Did you take my guitar picks?” Your brother bursts into your room just as your about to fall into your after school nap, grip loosening on the book in hand. 

Jolting awake at the sound of loud voice, you don’t respond as you attempt to orient yourself. 

“Well? Did you?” He demands again.

“What? No, I don’t know where your stupid guitar pick is.” You grumble. “Get out.”

“It’s not in my room that has to mean you took it, where is it?” 

Mingyu emerges from behind him, hand on his arm as he tries to pull his iron grip off of your doorway. “It’s probably just in your bag, you haven’t even looked!” 

Kicking the covers off, you sit up in a disarray, progressively annoyed at your brother for ruining your perfect descent into dreamland. 

“I don’t have shit, you just suck at keeping tabs on your stuff!” You grit. 

There’s a stagnant pause as he stares at you from the doorway. You can sense it coming. And it does. 

“MOM! SHE JUST SWORE!” He yells into the hallway, bounding to where your mother was, leaving an unsure Mingyu in your doorway.

Surprisingly, you were just glad he was gone, wanting to melt back into the covers. You make eye contact with Mingyu. “I really don’t have it.” 

“It’s probably in there somewhere, he’s just not looking.” He mumbles, standing a little awkward. “Um, go back to whatever it was, I’ll close your door.”

He does so, allowing you to finally slump back into your pillows to go back to your nap.

You find out quickly that you couldn't sleep after that.

The controller is becoming increasingly uncomfortable to hold. It doesn’t help that you’re brother is chewing on his four additional pieces of gum behind you on the couch, making obnoxious comments about your gaming form. 

You’re also sitting a foot away from Kim Mingyu on the floor, with whom you’re forced to battle out on Mario Kart. 

“Why’re you clicking the buttons so hard, chill out.” You heat Seokmin say, continued by his wet chomping right by your ear. 

“How hard is it to chew with your mouth closed?” Mingyu grits.

“What? Like this?” Seokmin leans over to Mingyu, chewing even louder, mouth wrenched open and closed right into his ear. Mingyu makes a sound before falling to his side, covering his ears at the ghastly sound, pushing him back with his free hand to shut him up.

You barely crack a smile at the unfolding, watching them continue to wrestle half on the floor. It’s noisy when you set your controller down, chest heavy, unfolding your legs to walk into the hallway to your room. Unnoticed. 

You only reemerge to feed yourself, inspecting the fridge for possible leftovers. Settling on an apple, you’re closing the fridge when you see Mingyu walk in, seemingly taken aback to see you there. You freeze with your mouth still attached to the apple to take a bite. 

“Oh! Where’d you go when we were playing? Didn't notice you gone till I got him to spit that wad of gum out his mouth.”

“Uh, just tired. Took a nap.” 

He hums in response and you're just about to leave when he starts talking again. 

“Hey, did you move the popcorn somewhere else? Could’ve sworn it was in here last week,” he mumbles as he rummages through a cabinet. 

“Oh. Um. It’s in the pantry.” You move before you can think, grabbing the box and slamming it on the counter, pausing briefly before reaching for the popcorn bowl and setting it on the counter next to it. “Here.”

You don’t wait for a reply before grabbing your apple and moving out the kitchen, only to bump into your brother at the door. 

“Where’ve you been?” 

“Napping,” you say, moving around him to go your own way but are stopped yet again as he calls for you. 

“We’re gonna watch a movie! You can lie on the couch.” 

Turning around, you catch sight of your brother still in the doorway, and more intriguing, Mingyu also expecting an answer from inside the kitchen behind him. You gulp as you attempt to remain casual.

“Nah, I’m good. You guys have fun.” 

You’re nearly at your door when you hear your brother speak. “She didn’t even ask what we were watching.”

Nayeon catches up with you before you notice, pulling your headphones away from your ears to announce her presence, not slowing down as you walked to campus. 

“Are you still upset about that Mingyu thing?” She asks when noting your silent demeanor. “We talked about this, come on.”

“Yeah and we concluded that it’s not an easy thing for me to just get over.” You huffed.

“You know what he’s like…” 

“Which is why I should’ve seen this all coming.” You turn around the corner with her.

“That’s not what I meant either.”

“I don’t know what came over me that day. I was doing so well for so long and I had to go ruin it because I’m – I deluded myself into thinking I had a chance.” You’re breathing heavily when you find a table in the air conditioned common room, yanking your bag off and slumping into the sofa. “None of this would’ve happened if I just shut the fuck up.” 

“What wouldn’t have happened?” Seungcheol plops down next to Nayeon, butting into the conversation. 

“Aren’t you intrigued.” Nayeon muses. 

“Especially when it’s none of my business.” 

“Charming.” 

“Anywho,” he sighs, throwing himself back against the couch. “I’ve been tasked with rounding people up for an assignment.”

“Are you gonna experiment on us?” you ask, referring to his chemistry major. 

“Nah, this is for an elective. Faculty needs volunteers for a photography class.” 

“So they need models?” You ask.

“I mean, anyone who signs up is automatically a model, so yeah they need models.” 

“Are we getting paid?” 

“You get to say you modeled for me.” 

“How convincing.” Nayeon deadpans. 

You’re stifling a snicker as you see Joshua walking up to where you were sat, planting himself next to you. 

“What’re we talking about?” He asks, pulling his laptop out almost immediately.

“Nothing, just how Seungcheol needs a reality check,” you sigh. 

He barely acknowledges the comment, going straight to business typing away. “Hey, you're staying for the summer right?” 

“Ew,” Seungcheol voices. 

“I am,” You confirm. 

“For what?” He sputters. 

“Is this you offering to pay for a round trip?” 

He silences quickly after that, giving room for Joshua to ask his next question. 

“Are your parents coming for your brother’s grad?” 

“Mhm, only for the night, though.”

“Oh, did you hear back from the bookstore too?” he asks. 

“I’m gonna apply right before break, I’m swamped right now.” 

“Let me know when you do, the restaurant might need another hire, you could work there if you want.” 

You make a face. “Appreciate the sentiment but I don’t think I’m in the right state of mind to be working in customer service.” 

Joshua’s hands freeze over his keyboard as he breathes out a delayed laugh. Nayeon mimics him.

“Right state of mind?” Seungcheol’s eyebrows are furrowed. “Wait, what were you talking about before I sat down again-” 

He’s cut off by a voice bellowing your name from across the common room. All four of you perk up at the sound, locking in on Mika aggressively pointing her wrist at you from yards away. You sit up with a jerk, checking the time. You were nearly thirty minutes late for your lecture.

“Josh, move.” You basically climb over him to get out of your seat, waving a hasty goodbye as you sprint to an exasperated Mika. 

“I’ve been waiting outside the hall for ages, you said we’d go in together!” she chides as you both speedwalk. 

“Sorry, I lost track of time…” You huff out a breath. “I just started talking about…whatever.” 

“Why’d you have that face on in there?” she asks.

“Huh? Oh, I was-”

“Nevermind, I don’t wanna know.” She picks up the pace and reaches the door before you do, rendering it impossible for you to speak to her after that. 

You’ve forgotten about it by the time you come home to an empty house, both Mika and Nayeon in your arms. It doesn’t take long for them to make themselves comfortable on the couch, looking at you expectantly like children waiting to be fed. You do that, courtesy of the half eaten pizza that sits on the coffee table. 

“I think you need to get drunk,” Nayeon voices from her end of the couch. 

Mika is immediate with her response, “Don’t encourage her.” 

“Hey!” You pout, “I haven’t gotten drunk in a while.”

“Keep it that way,” she shudders, “don’t need another Mingyu fiasco.” 

Your chewing slows at the sound of his name, a strange feeling settling in your stomach at the thought of him. Setting down your half eaten slice, you brush off your fingers. 

“I mean…” Nayeon starts after a long pause. 

“We don’t. Need another Mingyu fiasco, I mean.” You cut in. 

“If only he’d learn to shut up.” Nayeon grumbles, a sour expression on her face. 

Mika’s been shifting looks between the both of you, seemingly confused. “Am I missing something?”  

Despite not having the intention, you find yourself telling her what you heard while enclosed in the staircase. You attempt to keep it concise, for the sake of your own sanity, but Nayeon’s grumbling is only pushing you deeper into a rant. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t let a couple frustrated tears make their way down your face. 

Mika’s response as brisk as your explanation was passionate, brushing over the topic quickly before you got too heated. You appreciated it. 

“Have you considered signing up for the photography thing?” Mika asks.

“You know, I was thinking about that too.” Nayeon pulls a finger up in signed patience to wait till she finished the remaining pizza in her mouth. “You should do it. It’ll put your mind off…him. You’ll be busier too.”

“I have a million things to do, I’m busy enough.” You retort. 

“You’re busy studying at home. Where he could drop in at any point of day.” She points. 

Your open your mouth to rebut again, only to close it as you fail to find a reason to deny her point. “Okay, still!” 

“Just – think about it, okay. It’ll put more on your plate but maybe it’ll help.”

That was the last of your Mingyu talk, not that you could carry on when your brother comes slumping into the house after his class, stealing a slice of pizza as he makes his way to his room. He’s slumped at the shoulders, and you egg him to take a nap before he collapsed on the living room floor. 

Both Nayeon and Mika are quick to leave after that, leaving you with leftover pizza and your thoughts.

You sprawl your things out on the coffee table, taking advantage of the silent house to get some work done. Nayeon was right, as you think of the prospect of Mingyu entering at any given moment to bother your brother as a constant threat. 

It’s not until your prepping dinner with Seokmin that the project is brought up again.

“There’s leftover Chow Mein Mingyu made yesterday, shove that in too.” He yawns as he pushes the box over. 

You can only stare at the box in mild agitation, contemplating if you should simply chuck it into the garbage chute. Unfortunately, by experience, you knew Mingyu made really good Chow Mein, so you begrudgingly slide the opened box into the microwave to heat up, deciding you’d push Seok to eat it before you have a chance to take a bite. 

It’s silent while you eat, Seokmin still in a daze from his earlier nap, shoving spoonfuls of noodles in between bites of pizza. It’s not until your halfway through eating before he jolts up slightly like he’d just remembered something.

“Did you hear about that volunteering thing from the photography department? They want models for some project.” 

“Oh, yeah.” You pause, thinking back to what Nayeon had proposed. “Are you gonna sign up?” 

“No, but you should.”

“I don’t know, I still have a lot of prep for finals.”

“You get extra credit if it helps,” he notes. 

That was news to you. There’s a frown on your face as you deny, “No, you don’t.” 

“They’re doing it ‘cause they weren’t getting the response they wanted. I found out just now too, they’re gonna put it up on the bulletin tomorrow. Might wanna decide before then.” 

There were no questions asked after the realization, blue light of the laptop casting your face aglow in the darkened room as you hit the big blue Confirm button on the website. Skimming through the subsequent email, you find you won’t be needed till next week, the date and time making it’s way to your calendar. 

Now, if you had known what the next week truly held for you, there was no doubt you’d be sending in a cancellation email at first chance. 

But you didn’t know. So you simply went to bed, falling asleep to the vague idea of searching for modeling tips on youtube during the coming weekend, entertaining the mild possibility that this might be the thing that puts you at peace at last. 

The photography classes are held in regular lecture rooms, as you find out as you file into the sparingly filled hall at the date your calendar has graciously alerted you for. There was an image of a larger, more spacious area for a discipline pertaining to the arts, yet to be fair, the idea of having to create this form of art within a four walled containment did seem a little counter productive. 

Nonetheless, you find yourself seated in a spare chair, waiting for the clock to hit nine on a Saturday morning for the shuffling professor at the front of the room to begin. Your eyes make passovers across the gradually filling room, searching for a semblance of Seuncheol’s bright blond hair to wave him over. There’s no sign of him five minutes before the minute hit twelve, and you’re thinking about slipping to the restroom before it can to kill the remaining time. 

There’s another person filing into the room as you rise from your chair, and you pause in attempt to recognize Cheol in the grey zip up.

Except you don’t find Seungcheol, not at all. 

Mingyu is walking into the classroom, gaze sweeping across the hall as he seats himself in the front bottom row, head thrown back as he sifts through his perfect hair with his fingers. 

You aren't sure why your brows furrowed like they did, or why you planted your butt back onto the chair with the force that you did; especially when all you wanted to do was book it out of the room in full velocity. 

He was taking this class. Of course you knew that, especially when it was all he would yap about at any point he graced your presence. 

You can feel your purpose in the room fade to nothing as you register him as a unit. You want to blame someone, but you know it’s all you fault. You knew he’d be here; if your mind had only thought fit to remind you at any point in the past week. 

In regular Mingyu fashion, if he’d seen you, he does nothing to show it as you find him unraveling a loose thread off of his jacket. You keep your eyes on him, remaining mortified at your blatant disregard to the information that Mingyu was also in this class. Come to think of it, it was probably Mingyu who told Seokmin about the added credit in the first place. You want to kick yourself for not questioning your brother’s apparent magical source of information. 

There’s nothing that can be done as you feel Seungcheol finally slip into the seat next to you just as the professor in the front of the room begins to speak. You’re not in the right headspace to make conversation, so you're grateful for the small acknowledgment as the professor begins to drone. 

“Each student has been given a theme to work with, they’re all different and given to the people whom I saw fit for the job. You’ll be receiving your packets with your theme today, so remember to pick them up from the front desk before you leave,” she begins. 

“As for your models,” she switches to the next slide over to reveal a spreadsheet full of names. “Their names will be right next to yours, the photography students.” 

The entire room lurches forward as a unit, eyes squinted and whispers exchanged as they search for their partners in the sea of names. Seungcheol is zooming in on the picture he took with his phone, eyes zooming over to find his name. 

“Hey, I found yours!” he announces, moving the phone over to you. 

He’s zoomed into your full name on the screen, and your moving the picture aside to see the name across from it. Except, you find you wish you hadn’t. 

—Kim, Mingyu. 

If you needed more confirmation that the universe was simply against you, you’d gotten the message as you prayed the letters would morph into something else before your very eyes. 

You seem to have been staring at the name for too long, because Seungcheol snatches his phone back from your grip to see for himself after you refused to answer his questions of what the name next to yours was. 

“Oh, it’s Mingyu! That’s easy, you're basically related.”

You wanted to slap him. 

Before you can stop him, he’s yelling the boy’s name across the room amidst the growing chatter, the biggest, stupidest grin on his face. “Mingyu! I found your model, she’s right here! 

You wanted to squeeze Seungcheol’s neck till his head popped off. 

Mingyu turns around at the call, registering his friend’s words despite the growing noise. He registers you and you watch as he turns his head back at the projection, like he was confirming it was true. 

Of course he’s as petrified as you are, if not more. But the embarrassment of his apparent disbelief made its hot way into your stomach and chest nonetheless, your breakfast threatening to make its way back up. 

By the time the professor’s done with her bit and the room has begun to file out, you’ve found yourself standing outside the lecture hall in uncomfortable movement, shifting your weight between both feet and fiddling with the straps of your bag. Every passing face sends a jolt though your stomach as you calculate how jarring it would be if you left right this second without seeing him. 

You're counting his steps inside your head, how he’d shuffle for his name on the packet he’s meant to receive, counting in any conversation he’d start with a friend or with the professor. A thought occurs to you, and you wonder if he was searching for you inside. You’re weighing between walking inside and leaving altogether when he makes the decision for you, walking out of the room, booklet in hand. 

There goes the toast blaring its way back up your esophagus. 

“Hey,” he says unceremoniously. 

You respond with an unreasonably meek “Hi.” 

“Seok didn’t tell me you signed up for this.” He points casually. 

Well, Seok doesn’t need to tell you everything. 

“Oh, I told him while he was like half asleep, pretty sure he thought he dreamt it.”

Mingyu snorts a little at that, a slight smile appearing on his face as he pictures a sleepy Seokmin. 

“I can imagine,” he says, before he’s brought back to the matter at hand by you. 

You clear your throat before you begin to talk, expression remaining neutral. “Do we need to get started right away?” 

“Oh.” He seems a little taken aback at your forwardness. Like he didn’t know why you didn’t want to make small talk with him. “Uh, I don’t even know what theme I have yet. I’ll read over the packet and plan a couple things out before you have to come in.”

“That’s great.” You hold on the straps of your tote. “Text me when you need me.”

With that, you had spun on your heel and stalked away, not leaving room for him to retort with anything at all. You don’t look back. 

Nayeon can do nothing but gape as she watches you hold back frustrated tears, picking apart the grass under you as you curse the heavens for your horrible fate. She’s absorbing the situation as you wallow, finding the words to say.

“Fuck, this is my fault,” she breathes out.

“No!” You gasp out, furiously wiping away the irritating tears. “It’s not. I just forgot, it’s my own fault. You were right for trying to get me to do it, it just…”

“You can’t ask to change partners?” she asks.

“I can’t!” You wail, “I’m supposed to not care, how is this me not caring?” 

It was ridiculous. Truly. You were sobbing like a child over this, screaming about wanting to not care. But you did care. Too much. Nayeon can do little but hold you as you sniffle into her lap, feeling sick to your stomach at your own childish behaviour. 

“Why am I crying about this, this is stupid.”

“You’re stressed, hon, that’s it. You’ve got a lot going on and this just multiplied it.” She’s running a soothing hand over your back. “Just let it out, you need it.”

You emerge from your hunched position to sit up straight, sniffling a little less as you calm down. “Should I withdraw from the project?” 

“I mean, if you really want to,” she says softly. 

“But?” You sense her apprehension.

“But, maybe you should give it a go.” 

You can only blink at her with wet lashes.

“Think of it this way. You need to… build resistance, keep yourself around him regardless. There’s bound to come a point where you start to feel…nothing.” 

“Are you trying to work exposure therapy on me?” 

“Maybe? If that’s what it means. If you take yourself out of the project, it shows that you care. You need to pretend to not care before you can stop feeling the real thing.” 

There’s a pause as you attempt to find reason in her words.

“Listen, I may be talking out of my ass, and if you do end up doing it, it’s gonna be hard – like a lot, but–”

“No. You’re making sense.” 

“I am?” She blinks, taken aback at the realisation that you may be listening to her. You nod quietly, “You’re right, I can’t keep running away.” 

“So, you’re gonna do it?” She confirms with wide eyes.

Once again, you find it within yourself to nod. 

Yeah. You were gonna do it.

Being in Mingyu’s presence and feeling nothing may be the goal, but you realise quickly it’s going to take you a while to restrain the trailing eyes that follow him wherever he goes. Nayeon had warned you, but you realise you may be slightly ill-prepared. 

The theme is light. Vague to you but he doesn’t seem too bothered by it. He isn’t looking at you as he talks, eyes darting between the laptop screen and the plethora of papers he’s scattered on the coffee table. “I don’t really have a colour preference for this one but a a deeper blue or a purple would fit pretty well with the sunlight on here.”

You can only nod along in mild understanding, most of your effort exerted on trying to keep your eyes on the screen where he’s pulling up a color wheel. “I probably have something.” 

“Do you still have that button up Seok bought you? The one with the stripes?”

You recall the deep blue shirt your brother had gotten you for your first in class presentation, picturing it hung still in your closet. “Uh, yeah I do. I’ll wear it.”

“Bring options, whatever fits the colours. No turtlenecks or crewnecks though…” Mingyu continues to talk, taking notes for you in the process. Your mind, however, is somewhere else.

You hate how your mind takes you to a murkier place, one where the thought of him retaining memory of your closet pieces unprovoked has your neck tingling and your cheeks lifting. Trying to snap out of it before he notices your dazed expression, you pretend to flip through the couple papers in front of you, noting nothing. 

“Other than that–” he’s cut off by his phone ringing on the table. Both your gazes dart to the caller ID, and you immediately wish you hadn’t as you register the pink heart on the end. Jia was calling. 

He barely spares you a glance as he excuses himself in a mumble, something about being back in a second. You watch him leave through the cafe altogether, emerging on the other end of the glass walls in your direct vision. For the nth time that day, you find it impossible to tear your eyes away from his positively elated face, teeth out on display as talks to his girlfriend. You wonder what they’re talking about, if her face is beaming like his own, wherever she is. 

You zone out as you wonder what it’d be like to be the receiving end of an expression like that. To have something within you to be worth his smile, his mumbled pardons and his uninterrupted space. There’s a part of you that wonders if its greed – you’ve gotten to see him nearly everyday for the past decade, perhaps you’ve run your tickets dry. 

You realise quickly that Mingyu is no longer in your line of sight as you feel a ruffle on the chair as he sits back on his seat. 

“I think we can wrap up here, let me take the first couple shots before I can see where to go with it afterwards.”

You sense his eager want to leave, and you cannot help but beat him to it for your own sake. 

“Alright. I’ll see you friday then.” SLiding out of your seat, you make a halfhearted attempt at shuffling his papers in a neater pile, throwing him a half smile before grabbing your bag.

He isn’t watching you leave, you know that. Yet you find yourself refusing to slow down or look back till you round the corner, letting your shoulders finally slump and your pace to come to a temporary halt. It takes you another beat before you begin walking again, breathing in slowly as you navigate your way through the moderately crowded sidewalk. Nearly ramming into a fire hydrant, you shake off the seize that remains in your body, picking up the pace hoping it’d promote less thoughts.

It works, as you unlock your front door, finally shaking off the autopilot. Shifting to the kitchen is easy, rummaging the cabinets for your hidden stash of moonpies with the intention to devour the family box whole. You’re contemplating texting Seokmin to bring you actual food as you make your way to your bedroom, wanting nothing more than to let your covers absorb all the feelings that make you human. 

You find it unfortunate as you catch sight of yourself in the full length mirror and the outfit you’d put together before you had left. Your mind goes back to pandemonium as you take in the details, wondering why on earth you’d put in so much effort for a conversation that lasted less than an hour. You tear your eyes away before you begin to truly hate yourself, ripping your jewelry off as you make a beeline to wash your face clean of the makeup you’d put on. 

It becomes increasingly difficult to look at yourself even in the bathroom mirror, moisturizer going on more aggressively than what’s good for you. You feel a sting in the back of your eyes and owe it to the face wash. 

It’s easier once you’re in bed, your laptop at the ready, and a text on its way as you bug your brother to bring you your favorite burger and milkshake combo. You put your immediate faith in your moonpies for now as you rip the first one open, letting the sweetness bring you a deluded happiness. 

“His name hurts.” Your voice comes out echoey, the sound reverberating in the cavern of your chest. The shot on the table is inviting, but you can’t help but feel nauseous at the thought of downing it. Your fizzled out sprite is being good to you, so you let it.

“Hearing you talk about him hurts,” Mika slurs, slumping down onto the beanbag she’s dragged onto the scene, joining you and Nayeon next to the couch. 

Letting out a loud sigh that you doubt she can hear over the bass booming across the house, you settle to rest your head back on the couch backrest, staring into the ceiling. “Imagine what it’s doing to me then.”

“I don’t need to.” You can hear the exasperation in her voice. 

“Oh, hey, Hao!” Nayeon drags next to you and you lift your head up to see Mika’s boyfriend join her on the already tiny beanbag. He huffs out a hey between a slight smile, slumping almost entirely on his girlfriend. She pats his hair in silent regard. 

“I read this research paper about how they can delete the memories out of your brain squiggles,” Nayeon pops in.

“Since when do you read academic material for interest?” Minghao mumbles, fingers busy playing with Mika’s hair.

The pair continue to bicker as your eyes trail across the moderately packed house, the party looking more lowbeat than any other Seungcheol extravaganzas. Not that you were complaining, but when you spot a certain someone, it’s hard not to. 

Mingyu files into the kitchen with your brother in tow, beaming face evident over the island as he pours himself what looks like orange juice. Your mood is instantly soured.

“What study was that again?” You poke at Nayeon, the image of the man you wished for gone burned into your forebrain. She glances over to the open kitchen and realises what you’re talking about, coming around with a face of her own.

“That one’s gonna be a hard one to scrub out. But it’s okay, even the toughest stains succumb to bleach that’s strong enough,” she sighs. You’re barely listening to her analogy, not when he’s standing right there rendering it impossible for you to look anywhere else. 

“You sound like a commercial.” You can almost hear the crinkle in Mika’s nose as she comments, and you can’t help but breathe out a laugh. 

The rest continue with their conversation as you remain quiet for most of the exchange, eyes filling your heart heavy with the way they remain glued to the figure far out into the kitchen. It was less about the fact that you just wanted to look at him and more of how it was forcing you to think about your predicament; something that was weighing you down yet something you couldn’t help. 

You can’t be entirely sure how long you managed to stare without getting caught, but when Mika calls your name out harsher than expected, you snap around to divert your attention. 

“Huh?”

“Sixth time’s the charm, huh? Get it together, he’s not gonna look at you,” she huffs as she slumps back onto the beanbag, alone this time as you note that Minghao is gone.

It takes you a moment to gather what she had said, mouth gaping open and close as you try to conspire a proper response. “I wasn’t trying–”

“No. Save it. It was my fault for thinking I could sit here without having to sit through more of your Mingyu bullshit.” She’s shuffling out of her bean bag with mediocre difficulty, exasperation on her face as she trudges away to sit with her boyfriend and his friends on the seats on the middle of the floor. 

The air seems to have knocked out of your chest as you find the capacity to process what just happened. Seemingly forgotten Nayeon was also here, you note the hand she places on your elbow as a sober attempt to get you to look at her. 

The rest of the night passes in a nauseous blur, none that you could really make sense of. You bid Nayeon goodbye as you assured her you’d go home with your brother, waving goodbye to blurred taxi lights as she leaves you alone in front of a dwindling house. 

The breath you let out is shaky as your feet remain planted on the concrete, the remnants of tonight passing over you as they came. Deciding you owed it to yourself, you let the tears well up in your eyes. As tired as you were of crying over what was essentially the same thing over and over again, you let yourself tire yourself out once more. 

The party was over, and you knew that because you were walking home alone, hoping Nayeon would forgive you for lying to her. But you couldn’t possibly explain the tear stains on your cheeks to your brother, not when he knew nothing. It was better that way; you refuse to be the person that potentially ruins a friendship that’s lasted longer than any other.  

You try to keep your sniffling to a minimum as you trudge slowly in the dark, not bothering to wipe your tears. Your stomping grows louder the more you grow frustrated with your thoughts, and it proves not too well for you. There’s a pair of headlights throwing light onto the oncoming street, illuminating you in the process. You want to kick yourself as the realisation settles in, praying the car would simply pass you. Considering the late hour and the fact that you were alone is hitting you at the worst time, wondering if you could pretend to make a call as you walked. 

It’s a black sedan that rolls up next to you, slower than what’s considered a normal speed on an empty street. It honks and you nearly halt, owing to the shake that passes through your knees. It honks again, and you can’t help but look to the side to find a window rolled down. 

Mingyu sits on the driver’s seat, leaning over to the empty passenger side to grab your attention. 

“The Uber’s free! So is the driver,” he yells out the window. “Hop in.”

“I’m alright. I kinda wanna walk.” You shift your weight between your feet, the distance adding an awkward feel. 

“Wasn’t asking. It’s the middle of the night, I’m not letting you walk alone.” As he speaks, another car passes from behind him, slowing down. You note the look the other driver is giving you through the window, and it’s enough to convince you to step into Mingyu’s car. 

“I think we’re way past the point of formalities, don’t know why you hesitated.” He chuckles as he motions for you to click on your seatbelt. You fumble with it for a moment, his own fingers coming to the rescue to latch it on. You retract your fingers before they can brush with his own any further. 

Settling into your seat, you choose to look forward as he picks up speed. “Uhm, just wanted to walk, it was nice outside.”

“Take someone with you next time, it’s nearly midnight,” he warns. 

There’s a twinge of annoyance that emerges in the back of your mind for some reason, despite knowing full well that he was right. You just didn’t want to hear it from him.

It’s silent for a bit as the radio plays an uncharacteristically upbeat tune, prompting you to wonder if it was just you who felt the atmosphere pressing in on your chest.

“Did you not bring your car today?” he asks out of the blue, eyes remaining on the road as you glance up at him. One look at his side profile and you’re turning your gaze away.

“No, it’s at the workshop. I came with Nayeon.” 

“Why didn’t you leave with her?”

“I…” You pause. “I told her I was gonna go with Seok.”

“Hm. That didn’t happen.”

“It’s like I said,” you mumble.

He hums again in response, dropping the subject.

“Listen, are you…are you okay?” he starts again and it has you looking back up at him. 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” You try to hide the bitterness in your tone but it proves difficult.

“I couldn’t help but overhear but I was sitting right there. Hao was talking to Mika about something she’d said to you, about…” He trails off. “I mean, you looked a little upset, I just wanted to ask if you were okay.”

You bit your tongue. Hard. 

He knew you were staring at him, he knew you weren’t over him. He knew you were still standing on the same square confinement from months ago. Never changed. 

“I’m fine,” you reply, snappier than you had intended. 

“Are you sure? I felt like I should’ve said something but Nayeon was right there so I thought…” He sounds unsure and when you see him look at you, with eyes filled with an emotion that makes you nearly gag, you almost lose it. You did not want him to pity you. Nor care for you; especially when it came from a place that nullifies your feelings. You didn’t want him to care for you for the sole reason that you were his best friend’s sister. 

“Mingyu, I think it’s best if you drop it.”

“Of course. But it might help if you wanna, you know, feel your feelings.” 

Fuck no, you weren’t crying in front of him. Not when you're sure he’s noticed the tear stains on your makeup.

“Mingyu, I said drop it. I don’t need your help, I don’t need to feel anything, I need you stop feeling like you’re obligated to care about me because you’re not.” The words come tumbling out before you can stop them, irritation laced in every snap and dent.

He says your name in an attempt to smooth you over. It only lands him in more trouble.

“No, listen, I get it. You’re uncomfortable about everything but you feel like you need to check up on me at the same time, and I’m here to tell you that you don’t have to worry about that. What happened, happened, and it’s my job to pick up the pieces because it’s my fault. You don’t need to meddle.” You’re breathing hard as you finish, finally settling back in your seat. 

He’s already pulling up to your building, heat still penetrating the silence. You unbuckle your seatbelt, mumbling a thanks for the ride. 

“Seok’s staying at Cheol’s tonight,” he calls out as you shuffle out the door. “Remember to lock the door.” 

You stand sheepishly holding the open door as you nod quietly. “I’ll see you tomorrow for the shoot.”

Middle school was harder than you thought. 

Not that you expected it to be easy, but you remained hopeful nonetheless. Fifth grade came plowing for you with an unexpected vigor, which you were feeling especially as you gripped your red marked paper with a vice grip. 

It was Mingyu who had found you on the kitchen island sniffling, waiting for your mother to come home and ask you for your dreaded test results. 

You drop your head in shame (even more so) when he asks you the inevitable question of “what’s wrong?” Your voice comes out as a mumble. “I failed my first test.” 

He blinks as he stops in front of the fridge, opening it to emerge with a carton of chocolate milk and two monsters. He slides the carton over to you as he takes a seat on the other chair. 

“Well, what did you get?” he asks as he pops his can open, ears studded black from the piercings he’d gotten done. 

You mumble out the number in incoherence that has him hunching down to hear you. 

“What?” 

“A fifteen!” you finally huff out in exasperation. 

“Hm. Better than me I think I got a two at some point. Don’t worry about it, it's not the end of the world.” He says. “D’you want me to turn that into a seventy five?” 

You look up confused. “How?”

“You’ll see. Get me your test. And a red marker.” 

On that day, Mingyu aided you in your first con, pulling lines to turn the one into a seven right before your eyes. 

“There. Now don’t let her look at it too hard or check your answers. And only give it to her if she asks for it.” 

He had left back to your brother’s room with the spare can of monster, leaving you to stash your test into your bag and move to seat yourself in a more natural position. You’d gotten away with it as your mother pats you on the back for your first attempt at a fifth grade paper, leaving you with a lesson to work harder, and a memory that stayed with you for years. 

The following day is met with a pit of guilt sitting in your stomach before you could even recall the events of last night. 

There’s little that you can do to prep as you’re supposed to change at the studio anyway, pushing the remnants of your makeup products into a pouch as a second thought. Your hair seemed fine, deciding you’d see to it if it needed changing when you got there. 

You push your departure as far as you could, finding more things to do and more chores to finish before you were due to leave. It takes you a final look at the time before you finally decide to trudge to the door with your things. You cross paths with Seokmin who’s only just coming home, looking worse for wear. He barely acknowledges you as he makes a beeline for his bedroom, disappearing. 

He’s probably fine. 

By the time you get to the studio Mingyu is already in the middle of setting up, immersed in the switches behind giant studio lights. It’s dark, save for the one studio light thats already on, casting a light on the white backdrop, a single stool sits at the front. Looking around, the place casts an eerie atmosphere, the unattended stations and dark back rooms casting a shiver down your spine despite the Afternoon light outside. Perhaps you were acclimated to the hustle and bustle in behind the scene videos of photoshoots, yet here it was just you and Mingyu. 

He doesn’t notice you come in right away, and you’re thankful for the opportunity to recast your words in your head, waiting to be uttered as soon as you say your hellos. 

“Oh, hey,” he says normally. 

“Hope I’m not too late.”

“No, you’re fine, I’m nearly done setting up,” he says, as he switches the second studio light on, doubling the glow in the room. 

“Oh, okay.” Your voice comes out as an uncharacteristic whisper. “Uh, listen, Mingyu, I just wanted to apologize about last night. You were only asking and I was being too harsh.”

He picks up his back from his bent position to look at you, hand coming to rub the back of his neck. “Oh, no, don’t say that, It’s me who should be apologising. I shouldn’t have pried when you said you didn’t wanna talk about it. I’m sorry, really.” 

You're opening your mouth to rebut, nails clashing onto each other as your fidgeting gets worse, but you decide to end it. “We’re both sorry, let’s just end this here.” 

Both of you have slightly uncomfortable smiles on your faces as Mingyu continues to fidget with his cables and equipment. It went smoother than you’d thought, silently thanking him for keeping it from getting awkward – more awkward than necessary anyway. 

“These ones are gonna be basic studies, establishing the usual studio lights in the beginning before we move to the more experimental shots.” He drags his own stool forward to sit directly across from you in front of the plain white backdrop. “Did you bring another black top?”

“I did, do you want me to change?”

“Not yet.” He positions the camera higher, looking like he’s ready. “Okay, relax your body. Shoulders back, chin down. Okay, now a smile, really small, barely there.” 

He snaps his first photo and you nearly knock yourself backwards on the stool, lights going off at the shot damn near blinding you. 

“You good?”

“I thought the flash was just gonna be your camera.” You frown, coming round. 

“Nah, you’ll get used to it. Okay, back in position.”

He takes a couple more pictures, urging you to make miniscule changes to your poses, whatever feels good. You find yourself loosening up, your posture aiding you instead of working against you. “Try putting your hands on the stool, yeah like that, lean forward. Chin up a little more.”

The directions continue from behind the camera as he continues to flash away, and you do your utmost to not let the lights disorient you too much. He lets you take a break when you make a comment about the pure thermal energy in the room, your face no doubt shiny and red from the lights. You’re done after you take a couple more pictures after an outfit change, rendering you free to leave within the hour. 

“I think you’re done,” he announces, stretching as he leaves his own stool. “I’ll send you deets for tomorrow, we’ll probably get a lot more done.”

“Oh, cool.” 

Gathering your stuff doesn’t take you as you go up to tell him you’re about to leave. You find him fiddling with cables, packing everything up before leaving himself. You make a split second decision, dropping your bag before announcing yourself. 

“Let me help.”

“Huh? Oh no, it’s fine. I just need to shove them in storage.” 

“That’s alright, I’ll help. What d’you want me to do?” 

“Uh, Maybe unplug all the ports, and um, turn the lights on too, I guess. It’s gonna get dark if you don’t.”

Cleaning up was easier when those god awful studio lights weren’t overheating the entire hall, collecting cables and putting equipment back into their places. It was over before you knew it. 

“Is your car back from the workshop?” Mingyu yells from inside one of the side rooms collecting his stuff. 

“Not yet, I’m getting it back on the 15th. Ordered a cab.” 

“You’re going home from here, right?” He emerges from the room, arms in the middle of slipping into his jacket. “I’ll drive you.”

“No, it’s fine I have to meet Nayeon at uni and–”

“Even better, I was going there too. Come on, I just need to kill the lights.” 

You’re out of saviours, evident as you slide into his car, yet again with no choice. It’s meant to be a short drive, considering the studio is barely ten minutes away from where you need to be, yet it feels like an impromptu road trip with the way the roads seem to stretch. 

It’s significantly less awkward than last night, perhaps owed to him not being as inclined to make conversation, unlike last night. 

By the time he’s pulling up, you already have your bag in hand, a thank you frozen on your tongue as you register who it is that’s standing outside the library. You groan internally as you see Nayeon waiting for you, immersed in something on her phone. Praying she stays occupied, you rush your, “thanks, I’ll see you tomorrow,” as you hope she doesn’t see you slip out of the familiar car. 

She does notice. Looking up at the sound of yout door opening, she catches clear sight of you stepping out of the car, Mingyu in the driver’s seat. You can tell she’s subdued her reaction, but the eyebrows gives her away as they shoot up at the sight. Trudging up to her is a nightmare and a half, dreading the questions she’s going to ask as you hear Mingyu rev away.

“Are my eyes deceiving me?” she breathes out, eyes wide, mouth open in jest. 

“Quit it, I have work to get done.” You choose to lead her straight into the library where you know she won’t be able to ask you any more probing questions.

That doesn’t seem to sedate her though as she continues to whisper a million questions, watching you pull your stuff out.

“I had a shoot with him today, he offered to drop me off and I couldn’t say no!”

“Oh my gosh!” she exclaims a little too loud, owing a couple nasty surrounding looks her way, including yours. She continues quieter, pulling your laptop away from you so you’d pay more attention to her. “How’d it go? Did you pose all sexy for him, did he look nervous?”

“I did not pose sexy, I posed normally, because I have a conscience,” you snap, yanking your laptop back from her grip. 

She’s smiling like an idiot, unaffected by your annoyance. “Is he gonna drop you off after every shoot? Oh my god! Don’t you dare get your car from the garage, give it to Seokmin, or, or, tell them to keep it!” 

“Nayeon, shush!” It’s your turn to whisper shout at her gradually increasing volume, pushing her to quit leaning over the desks. 

“Okay, okay.” She sobers up.

“I’m supposed to be getting over him, why are you so happy about this? Indifference, remember? It was you who brought it up.”

“Yes, but you can’t tell me it doesn’t look, I don’t know, like, you know!”

Once she’s a little less giddy, you finally tell her about last night – leaving out the bit where he droppped you home for the sake of the library and its inhabitants. 

“I mean, I know we aplogised and everything, but I felt a little less… on fire around him. Other than those stupid studio lights, those were turning the place into a sauna. But I could meet his eyes without hyperventilating,” you explain, eyes downcast as you speak. 

“I imagine his eyes were covered with that camera anyway, but progress, I guess,” Nayeon comments.

“Maybe I needed to get mad at him to feel better, I don’t know. But it feels like I’m making progress for the first time.” 

“I told you this would be good for you, give it a couple more weeks and it’ll be like Mingyu never happened.” 

It takes a conscious attempt to not scoff. Like Mingyu never happened to your heart. That’s a heart you can’t recognise. 

The first time Seokmin had brought girls over was a day you couldn’t forget, no matter how hard you tried. 

You were padding down to the kitchen, still bleary eyed and pyjama clad from your nap, making a beeline for the fridge to get a glass of water. Your trip is cut short, however, when you realised the living room was not as empty as you expected. It’s a crowd (to your eleven year old self, anyway) of people your brother’s age. You catch a couple familiar faces, friends of your brother who visited often, Mingyu is part of the lumps on the couch with them. 

What stumped you, however, were the girls that were seated in between, eyes equally trained on you as everyone else in the room. 

“Oh, who’s this Seok?” one of the girls asked. 

“My little sister. D’you wanna say hi?” he asked you, neck craned to look at you. 

“Uh. Hi,” you whisper, gulping. 

There’s a chorus of hi’s that came bounding at you. You could feel the embarrassment creep up your entire body, feeling conscious for the first time in your life. They were staring at you. They were smiling, but you hated it. 

You weren’t thinking as you turned around to sprint back upstairs, not missing the tinkle of laughs coming from the living room. 

“Oh, she’s cute,” you had heard. That had you nearly starting to cry. 

You’d be lying if you said your little crush on Mingyu hadn’t started blossoming for a while at that point. Being younger meant you were constantly fighting to be seen, even more so when you’d do anything for Mingyu to look at you. Hogging your brother’s bean bag until you were kicked out, putting sparkly clips in your hair before you went to the kitchen, laughing especially loud when you knew he could hear.

And yet, despite everything, for the very first time, you hated that Mingyu was looking at you, watching you idle and awkward while he sat next to a bunch of prettier, older girls. 

That night was of many firsts, including the first time you had ever cried over Mingyu.

Mingyu claimed this was the last shoot, that he’d be done after this final set of shots. 

You’re having a hard time though, because he’s decided his studio for the day was gonna be at the top of a mountain at the asscrack of dawn. 

“We have fifteen minutes,” he announces. 

“To live?” You heave, crouching on the gravel to give your body a break. 

“Till sunrise,” he interjects, reversing to get to your crouched figure. You feel him grab hold of the straps of your bag, swinging it over his own shoulder. “Come on, just a little more.”

“You’ve been saying that for an hour.” You groan, picking yourself up off the path to resume your trudging. Mingyu stays next to you this time. 

“Did you pack your entire house in here, the fuck is this so heavy for,” he grunts. 

“You're the one asking for a bajillion outfit changes, I’m just doing what you asked.” 

“One change of clothes and a compact doesn’t weigh this much, are you disposing a body up here?” 

“Might be yours if I don't see that damn railing in a minute.” 

“I think you're hungry,” he huffs out. 

“I think I need to never agree to do this again.” 

“Salavation!” he yelps as he sees a vending machine in the distance, quite literally glowing (with its fluorescent lights). 

“I don’t need a water bottle, Mingyu, I need to lie down.” Your voice grows more gruff by the minute, legs nearly giving away. 

“No, the vending machine means…” He bounds up the last couple leaps to the glowing box with a burst of motivation. The slope turns flat at the horizon. “We’re here.” 

Nearly falling to your knees at the sight of the long awaited arrival point, you drop to a nearby bench and lay flat on the stiff wood. 

“How long till I need to look presentable? Because if it’s anything under thirty minutes, I’m tapping out.” You declare. 

“I can give you five minutes, take it or leave it.” He barely sits down as he speaks while already unzipping his camera bag. The thought of lifting your arms is excruciating, so you rest your tongue and bite back a whine. 

By the time you do find it within yourself to swing your legs back over the bench, the sky is shifting to a smoky navy, urging you to hurry up as you dry your sweat. You’re cringing as you press powder on your unclean face, but power through the final touches as you stretch while standing up straight.  

The first rays of sunlight are just coming through as Mingyu calibrates his lenses, trying to figure out the best shots in the limited time frame you have. You listen to him as he directs you where he wants you, contorting your face into something akin to faux serene. It’s near impossible when the frown has molded itself into your face after what you’ve put your body through today. 

“Think happy thoughts.” Mingyu calls out from behind his camera. 

“Oh, I’m thinking real happy thoughts. Like the ice cold shower I’m about to take when I get home. My clean bed that’s gonna be nice to me when I lay in it. The leftover pasta in the fridge. My moonpies.”

He has to bring his face away from the camera to throw his head back in a breathy laugh, smile as wide as it could go. It does things to you, but you ignore it. 

The summit isn’t entirely empty, noting a few people leaning against the railings, rendering it mostly quiet. All the more jarring becomes Mingyu’s phone as it blares into the silence, causing the both of you to jump at the sudden sound. 

He checks the caller ID only to silence it and slip it back into his pocket. 

You don’t get to ask who it was calling him so early in the morning, but get your answer when he immediately announces he’s done with his shots. The sun is higher up at this point, casting a more even orange glow across all the eye could see. 

You suppose he’s in a hurry to get home, seeing as he has someone waiting on him. “Should we leave then?” 

He swings the camera strap around his neck, forearms on the railing as he admires the view. “Give it a couple more minutes, I need to mentally prepare myself for the next hour.” 

It’s hard for you to deny that, so you let yourself place your head into your crossed arms over the railing, staring into the glow. It’s silent for a while as the rays hit your face, warming you more than you’d like. You don’t make any effort to move though, deciding to appreciate the view while it was here, doubting you’d ever make the trek up here again. Not willingly, at least. 

There’s a camera shutter that goes off next to you and you find Mingyu fidgeting with his camera as he tries to begin packing it up. You would help, but you’ve found yourself refraining from touching anything when it comes to his actual camera setup, opting to watch as he disassembles his lenses and pushes buttons to power off. 

By the time you're trudging down the path you’d come up from, it’s bright and sunny, rendering it warmer than before. Going down, however, is proving easier as you appreciate the reduced strain in your calves, letting the recent conversation take you to a smoother route. 

“When d’you think your gonna be done editing?” You ask at some point, the thought occurring to you that you’d only seen a couple pictures that he’d taken so far, oweing to his disapproval showing you all the raws before editing. 

“Kinda have to get them edited and annotated by the due date, so probably by the end of the month.” 

“D’you think I could get the ones you edit?” 

“Why? D’you wanna kickstart a portfolio?” he muses.

“I think it’s normal to ask for my pictures you took of me,” you grunt.

He laughs it off. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll send them over.” 

Mingyu doesn’t drop you off home this time, both of you slipping into your own cars at the base of the hiking trail, bidding your goodbyes. You’d gotten an earful from Nayeon for getting your car back from the garage so quickly, and while sitting in a car with him wasn’t so bad anymore, you choose to retain that distance regardless. This was work, You’re doing this because you have to, and the stupid extra credit that roped you into this in the first place.

Alas, as you start your engine, eyes cast towards Mingyu’s number plate right up front, you can’t help but feel…sad… remembering this was your last shoot. As emotionally vexing the experience was, you had grown to look forward to his discreet location pins and outfit plans, growing more comfortable with him by the meeting. 

It almost felt like you and Mingyu were friends. 

Your brother’s graduation was an ordeal to say the least. Your parents flying in was a plus, getting to see them at least once for the summer, even if it was just for the day. 

The night is wrapped up fairly quickly, a big dinner with yours and Mingyu’s family to congratulate the freed graduates from their academic shackles. It dials back when Mingyu announces he’s gonna take a summer course for now to keep himself busy, wanting to wait a little before job hunting. Seokmin seems to express the same, wanting some time off for himself before entering the corporate world.

It’s when you get home and your brother is sending you all the pictures of today that you note one that stands out. It was of you and Mingyu, an inevitable one as your parents took turns to make sure everybody got solo shots with everyone.

You’d applaud the enthusiasm, but it was particularly unfortunate for you when the camera was thrust into your hands as Mingyu and Jia posed for nearly fifty pictures. You wouldn’t mind usually, but it just felt like a little too much in the moment.

Despite everything, you find yourself clicking on the Save button on the picture where you’re smiling a little too wide right next to him, for the sake of yourself.

Summer break rolls around with no more hiccups, if you’d count finals as anything other than strenuous. You were happy, with a new job to keep you company for the next three months as you lament not being able to go home. 

Getting the job at the bookstore was easy, your shifts were reasonable and it didn’t pay half bad. You would’ve guessed they were desperate for a hire, but you appreciate the activity regardless. It’s not really hard work, you find out quickly. Manning the desk, shelving deposits and restocking supplies. Monotonous tasks yet ones that you find yourself slipping into quite easily.

After the last shoot at the mountain, it was basically radio silence from Mingyu. Not being able to catch him the rare chance he stopped by the house, both of you swamped with the end of semester throw up. You doubt he’d noticed, and you despair at the fact that you did, even if it was just a little. 

“Oh, great, you’re here!” The owner greets you as you walk into the store, all smiles. She was a sweet lady, nicer than any other boss you’d ever had. “Was just waiting for you so I could leave, my daughter has a play she’s putting on today!” 

“Oh, sorry to keep you!” You rush to set your bag down as she picks up her own things, coming around from the table to take her leave. “Hope the recital goes well, tell her I said good luck.”

“Will do.” She smiles before adding, “Oh and, somebody called an hour ago asking about our book bundles, he said he’d come in to check but he hasn’t yet. Thought I’d let you know in case he asks about the phone call.”

“Got it,” you confirm, waving as she walks out the door, “I’ll see you tomorrow!” 

Breathing out a sigh, you find yourself relatively free this afternoon, a slow weekday as you pick your current read out of your bag to get comfortable for the long shift. You’re nearly through the halfway point when you hear the first jingle of the day, the bells attached to the door making their familiar chime

“Good afternoon!” You look up to greet the customer, dog earring your book before standing up from your seat.

The person who’d walked in wasn’t just any customer, you soon realise as you recognise the familiar shag of hair. Mingyu was here. 

“Oh.” You can’t help but let it out when you register him, his own eyebrows shooting up at the sight of you behind the counter. Your next greeting comes out a little dumbly. “Hi.”

“Hey. What’re you doing here?” he asks, eyebrows furrowed as he takes you in. 

“Um,” you glance at your obvious name tag. “I work here.” 

“Oh, right, Seok mentioned you started working at a bookstore.” He throws his head back at the memory. “Hey, was it you over the phone earlier today? Didn’t sound like it.”

“Oh no, that was my boss, my shift started like an hour ago.” You confirm. 

“Ah, I see.” 

The silence is awkward for about five seconds before you jump into action. “You asked about a bundle over the phone?” 

“Right, um,” he pauses to fish his phone out his pocket, scrolling for something. “It’s Jia’s birthday coming up, and there’s this book series she’s been wanting. Here.”

You need to remind yourself to pat yourself on the back for not shaking as you received his phone, mind remaining in the moment. “Oh yeah, we have those. Let me grab ‘em for you.” 

He follows you through the columns of shelves as you navigate to find what he was looking for, stopping in front of the shelves. “There’s three of these, I can put them in a sleeve for you. Probably put a bow on it too if you want.” 

“Okay, perfect. Do you guys have LP’s too?” he asks.

“Uh, yeah. Hold on, let me put these up front.” 

You lead him to the back of the store. “The selection’s pretty small, the first shipment only came in like a month ago. I’m not sure if you’ll find what you want here.” 

“She’s been talking about getting more LP’s after she got a new record player. Hasn’t mentioned anything she wants though,” he voices, thumbing through the selection. 

“What does she listen to normally?” You ask before quickly adding, “So I can, maybe, help pick something she’d like.”

“Uh, older stuff? I should’ve snooped before coming, fuck.” He mumbles, thinking hard. “She barely plays it when I’m around but most of her LP’s are like Frank Sinatra and…Duran Duran was it?”  

“Hm…” You hum as you flick through the dated section of the stockpile, “How’s this?’

He’s taking a look at the record you’ve handed him, scanning the tracklists on the back. “I’ll get this, I guess. I can always bring her around to get more that she likes.” 

“D’you want a bow on this?” You ask, referring to the books you’re putting into the set sleeve, “You can pick your colour.”

He’s quick to pick the lilac ribbon, watching you as you tape it prettily on the box. You’re trying to curl the ribbon at the ends when he tries to make conversation. 

“When does your shift end?” 

If the man wasn’t quite literally buying a birthday present for his girlfriend (or if you had any memory of your own birthday), you’d think he was trying to hit on you. But he’s not. You know that. 

“Ten-ish. Closing’s on me so I could technically leave an hour early and no one would know.” You snort.

“Everyday?” he asks incredulously. 

“Minus weekends, the family takes care of that. They just need someone for afternoons and evenings on the weekdays. It’s not like I’m taking summer classes or anything, and it’s easy work.” 

“Well, you’ll be pleased to find out you’ll most likely be available on the 27th of August, then.” He sing songs as he fishes his phone out to pay, a cheeky air in his expression.

You blink at him in confusion, waiting for him to explain. “Was I supposed to get that?”

He pushes his shoulders back, content expression on his face as he continues. “There’s a cultural art exhibition in two months, and I, have just found out I’ve been shortlisted for a spot.” 

“A spot? Like to display your photos?!” You drop the card machine with a thud.

“Your photos. Prof liked the project so much she submitted some of ‘em as entries. It was super short notice, but they liked them, I guess.” His grin is wide, one that you find impossible to not reciprocate. “I just need you to sign a consent form and I’ll be all set to start prepping.” 

“That’s insane, Mingyu, congratulations!” You exclaim, genuinely excited. “Are you gonna be using the same pictures?”

“Yup, I just need to fix the editing with my prof before they go up. You’re the first to find out, I just got out of the meeting.” 

There’s a mix of hesitation before you utter your next proposal, a split second of bewilderment at what you were about to suggest. “Come over tonight, we can celebrate with Seok. Bring Jia along too, we can celebrate an early birthday.” 

“I’ll see, she might be taking a bus home tonight for the weekend, might have to bother you by myself.”

The ache in your cheeks didn’t stop until well after Mingyu had left with his cargo, the elated feeling remaining for even longer after the fact. There was a point where it took you convincing to rid yourself of another intrusive, uneasy feeling, like you were taking a step back by being happy at his announcement. 

It was, however, safe to call Mingyu a friend. Safe to be happy for him. Safe to have your heart swell at his achievement, having watched him work hard for it.

It was safe to feel.

This was horrible. 

Truly. 

You were trying to ignore it, the strange thumping noises coming from under your car, like it would go away if you pretended to not hear. There was a sliver of hope for you, barely five minutes away from home that you’d make it before your tire decided it had enough of trying to grab your attention. 

But then it started screeching, and you had to stop before you caused a road fire.

“Tire? Didn’t you get them changed like last month?” Seokmin asks over the phone.

“Didn’t know new tires were immune to industrial blades, too. Are you gonna tell me I got ripped off?” 

“Mingyu has a scissor jack, I’ll tell him to come to you.”

“Wait! You have a scissor jack, too! Why can’t you come?” You sputter at the sound, glancing at the 21:42 on the dial. 

“He has my scissor jack, he’ll change it for you.” He grits back. “Besides, I’m not letting this face pack go to waste I just put it on.” 

“Seok!” 

“Stay in the car, lock the doors till he gets there.” He grounds.

“Seokmin!” 

Beep. 

The bastard hung up. 

“Ugh!” you break from a tightened jaw, slamming the car door shut with passion as you huff into your seat, waiting for Mingyu. 

Was Mingyu busy at 10:30 PM on a weekday? He was, actually.

He’d scrambled to finish up the last of his meeting with his professor, wrapped up in planning for the exhibition despite the two month time frame he’d been given. Exhibitions were a lot of paperwork, as he was finding out as he sweet talks Jia over the phone, promising to be with her within the next five minutes. Well, ten maybe, he has to grab butter from the store.

She sits on the kitchen counter as Mingyu makes her favourite. A strenuous task, but he’s willing to go through the double frying to make up for the time he’s lost. It’s not until he’s doing the post dinner dishes while Jia’s picking a movie in the living room that he’s met with another dilemma to handle. 

He’s deflating as he stands, phone to ear as he listens to Seokmin about your situation. Glancing at the near 10:30 PM hand on the clock, he finds it difficult to refuse, especially when he’s told you’re alone and stranded on a highway. He thinks to Jia in the living room as he tells Seokmin he’s leaving the house to get to you.

He’d only be gone for barely 20 minutes. He’s changed plenty of tires, this should be quick and easy. 

Slipping into the living room is easy, wrapping his arms around Jia from behind is even easier. It’s when he has to open his mouth that he begins to falter. Twenty minutes, he reminds himself.

“I have two I’ve heard are really good, you can pick which one we watch first,” she voices as she fluffs the pillows on the couch, ready to tuck in for the rest of the night. 

“Babe?” 

She spins around in his arms, coming up to fluff his flat hair too. “Hm?” 

“Seok just called…”

Her face falls as he talks despite his best attempts to assure her he won’t be long. 

“Twenty minutes?” she parrots, wanting his word. 

“Fifteen.” 

Whether Mingyu would keep his word is something he’d find out, but you had kept your word to Seokmin, staying in the car, doors locked till you saw Mingyu’s car pull up behind you in the rearview. The wretched scissor jack that’s caused all of this sits in his own boot as he yanks it out to bring it over to your car, where you stand arms crossed, face dejected. 

“Were you waiting long?” He asks as he immediately crouches to fit the jack where he wants it. 

“No, not really,” you reply. “I’m sorry you had to come all the way out here, if only Seok remembered to take the stupid scissor jack–”

“No, no, it’s okay. I wasn’t doing anything.” Lies. But you already sounded apologetic and he didn’t wanna hear you apologize any further.  

“No, it’s not okay. The idiot’s relaxing with a stupid face mask on while you have to come out here and change a fucking tire, God, you have class tomorrow too, don’t you?” 

“Not until the afternoon, I’m in the clear.” He springs up from his crouched position, pulling the jack with him. “Open the boot.” 

Placing the scissor jack in your boot, he continues, a little breathless. “There, I’ll tell Seokmin I left it in your car. Or, you could do that.” 

“Thanks, Mingyu. Really.” 

He does nothing but flash a smile, doing his best to convince you you weren’t an inconvenience before having to see your apologetic face again. “Alright, I wanna see you drive off before I leave, go on.” 

By the time Mingyu’s slamming the door of the house shut, it’s eighteen minutes on the dot. Jia doesn’t say much, excited to have him back in her arms. 

“Wait!” he suddenly yelps, once he’s tucked in with her. 

“What now?” she groans. 

Mingyu’s bounding back to his bedroom, emerging a few moments later with a dark paper bag. He goes back to sit next to her on the couch, sliding the bag and its contents towards her.

“Here. We’re not gonna be together for your birthday, might as well give you your present the night before you leave.” His eyes are glinting, hopeful.

Jia expresses her thank you’s commenting on the ribbon and his LP choice, grinning widely.

Your name comes tumbling out of Mingyu’s mouth before he can stop himself. “She helped me pick it out!” 

“You…took her with you?” She asks after a moment.

“She worked at the store! I didn’t know till I went there either.” Mingyu’s voice grows increasingly enthusiastic, seemingly unaware that his girlfriend was growing slightly irritated. “I’ll take you there when you get back, the selection’s small but she’ll probably help you pick out something you’d like. I only had to give her like two names before she figured it out.”

“Oh, that’s nice,” she comments, tight smile on her lips as she collects the book sleeve and the LP, placing them back into the bag and leaving them on the floor next to her.

Mingyu is blissfully unaware of the fuel he’s added to growing embers, munching away on his popcorn, eyes trained on the TV and its stimulating colours. 

“I was talking to Jihyo the other day, super random but it came up while we were talking about you,” Jia starts experimentally. 

“Huh?” He has her attention. And when she mentions your name, the part of him that’s always wondered when she’d bring it up comes out of dormancy. 

“She said she…I don’t know, she said she liked you at some point, Like a lot, and for a while.” Jia sounds unsure, like she didn’t know if it was a good idea to bring you up. 

Mingyu sighs as he rears himself for the inevitable conversation. “It’s—well, it was—just puppy love. I was around all the time and I guess she latched, I don’t know.”

Jia pauses, eyes remanging trained on the movie. “Does it make you uncomfy? That she liked you? Maybe she still does.” 

“It doesn’t matter, does it? I’m around Seok which means I’m sometimes around her by default. Can’t help it. I mean, the photography thing kinda just happened but, I don’t really care. And she seems over it.” 

Mingyu is rambling. He can feel it. Which is why he tries to end the conversation right there, tone nonchalant as he hopes the topic breezes past. 

It doesn’t. 

“You seemed pretty adamant in leaving, though.”

“Huh?”

“When she called just now.”

“Seok called, I had his scissor jack!”

“Why couldn’t he have grabbed it for you and helped his sister himself? He has a car too.”  Jia’s paused the movie at this point, moving away from his arm she was leaning on, shifting to look at him fully. 

“It would’ve taken him forever, she was alone in the middle of a highway at nearly eleven, you wanted me to leave her there?” Mingyu finds the conversation ridiculous, and it shows in the irritation that rises in his own voice. 

“Mingyu, you can’t be upset with me right now,” she breathes out exasperated. 

“I’m not? I get that you’re upset, I haven’t been around as much but you also know what this exhibition means to me. I need to put everything I have into this and it’s only for a couple months–”

“Mingyu, it’s not just the exhibition!” 

“Jia, I can’t know if you don’t tell me what’s really bothering you, talk to me.” Mingyu’s begging at this point, wondering how it’s come to this in the first place. 

“You can’t expect me to be okay with you going around wherever, whenever, when I know what kind of lifestyle you’ve come out of not even six months ago!” 

Mingyu had come a long way from his galvanizing tendencies, doing absolutely everything he could to convince Jia he was serious about her. Unfortunately, this was not the first time his past had been brought up; in an argument or in a light hearted setting, and he wasn’t particularly fond of it. 

“Are we in six months ago? Are you saying I’ve done nothing substantial for you to think I’m still fucking around? Either give me an instance or figure out what the real issue is!” 

There’s a plaster of suffocation in the room, neither soul speaking a word. Until Jia finally speaks. “I wanna go home.”

It didn’t matter to Mingyu if she was expecting him to grovel, to ask her to stay and talk about this further. It was clear she wasn’t about to talk about anything pertinent at all, and definitely not tonight. He was tired, and frankly wanted to be alone right now.

“Fine.” 

Silence penetrates all of his air for the entire car ride up until he’s entering his apartment for the third time that day. Not bothering to clean up the living room, he thinks he does himself a service so as to not be reminded of the past couple hours. He’s casting the place in complete darkness before moving to his room. Might as well get some work done. 

There’s a conscious effort to not start slamming things, he succeeds mostly, his graphic tablet receiving the short end of the stick. Turning on his monitor, he’s met with his ongoing project still brought up on the screen.

It’s a picture of you. One he took in a greenhouse off the outskirts of the city, something you complained about extensively as the heat ruined both your mood and your hair. You were smiling regardless; a wide, happy smile as you looked into the camera, petunia’s and dahlia’s framing an illusion around your figure.

Mingyu feels the tension in his muscles begin to relax, his breathing evening out after what felt like hours. He becomes almost excited to pick up his stylus and work on the photo, the set up allowing him to dive right in. There was barely any work left, moving on as he finishes the photo and saves it. 

It isn’t until he happens to click on the the last folder, the one where you both caught the sunrise after a strenuous hike. He can’t help but break into a hint of a smile at the memory of your broken figure at the pathway, cursing him for bringing you here so early in the morning. The pictures had come out good, especially when Mingyu opens a particular photo at the bottom of the folder, an extra from his initial round of editing for his actual project. 

It’s of you (of course) with your chin tucked into your arms as you gaze at the scene from up above, beyond the railing. The sun is up higher at that point, but the cast remains as the top half of your face that wasn’t tucked in your arms is lit in an orange glow, eyes glistening like stars during the day, wide and beautiful. 

Mingyu remembers the shot. It was an accident.

In an attempt to fiddle with the settings to turn off the camera, he ended up snapping a picture instead. The distinct click was noticed, never bothering to check what came out of it when he stuffed his camera back into his bag, nor when he sifted through his SD card. 

It was like he was seeing the picture in a new light, and the potential it had to become something worth ogling at. He wonders what had come over him when he had placed the photo as a secondary option without another thought, lamenting at what could’ve been his actual final piece. 

He stares and stares, attempting to draw maps of color rendering in his mind, yet all that comes up is his eyes zeroing in on your own. How they glisten. How they sparkle.

Part 2

[gyeomsweetgyeom]

for frat jaehyun can u do the Tik tok prank/trend where the gf is getting ready and asks if the bf is ready? Or like when r they leaving for the date but the bf has no idea what’s happening. https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMBtrRghv/

⋆⭒˚.⋆ the "planned" date ⋆⭒˚.⋆

(cw: f!reader, profanity)

It had started because you were bored. There was only so much you could do around the frat house before you'd done it all. You cleaned, you napped, and you scrolled. You scrolled endlessly and then you found your next idea.

You sat up on fratboy!Jaehyun's bed, looking around his room to find all the things you needed strewn all over his room. You had your makeup here, your straightener, and a freshly washed clean outfit. Getting ready, even for a prank, would help cure your boredom.

You started with your hair, humming along to the music that was playing from your phone. Jaehyun was still out of the room, he probably would be for a while doing god knows what. He'd told you he was going out to the gym then he had a Nu Chi officers meeting.

You did your makeup and changed into a cute enough date outfit. You peeked your head out of the bedroom door, listening to the voices that were growing closer and closer. Perfect.

"Jae! Baby, will you be ready soon?" You asked as you dusted off the last of your setting powder.

"Bro, I thought we were going to game?" Yuta whined, hitting Jaehyun's arm.

Jaehyun stands in the middle of the hall with his eyes wide. He looks between you and Yuta and back again. His mouth falls open and he let's out a noise of confusion. With one hand raised in Yuta's direction, he turns to you, "Sweetheart, sorry. Ready for what?"

You pout, "Baby... you said we were going out to dinner tonight. Date night?"

His face looks even more confused now, "wait- date night?"

"Jaehyun! You planned this! It was your idea!" You whine with a soft stomp of your foot.

"Yeah, yeah, dinner tonight. Where did I say again? What time?" He tries to play off.

Yuta smiles awkwardly with a quiet "you're fucked, bro" as he moves back toward his room.

"You forgot," you state as you cross your arms, "didn't you?"

"Forget? No, no, could never forget a date with my girl. Just a busy week, it slipped my mind," Jaehyun denies quickly.

"Okay... good. Is my outfit good for where we're going?" You ask as you give a slow turn.

"Yeah... yeah, you look perfect, Sweet girl. Give me 15 and we'll head out," Jaehyun rushes out before sprinting into the bathroom.

With a satisfied smile to yourself you start to clean up your mess. You slip into your shoes just as Yuta steps into the doorway. He smirks at you, "there was nothing planned was there?"

"Nah, I got bored," you giggle in response.

"Smart girl, devious, but smart," Yuta laughs as he daps you up. His face turns stern as he points at you, "seriously Sweets, you owe me something for ruining my plans."

"You got it. Dessert on me later," you nod dutifully. "On Jae's card," you add quickly.

"That's what's up!"

[mejaemin]

prompt 9 with jaem pretty plz !!!

jaemin + them discovering ur praise kink

(18+ mdni !!!) warnings: couch stuff, riding, mentions of drawing blood but its so vague, praise kink ofc an: another one that i accidentally made too long… i love my nana banana so much i had too much fun remembering and writing down our experience tgt.. bc this is our story obvi

“mm, baby, you’re so good for me..” jaemin breathes, head falling back against the couch. the noise that spills from your mouth is a mix of a whine and something a little more strangled, and that pairing with the way you clench around him has his whole body shuddering.

you grip his biceps, whining and gasping endlessly as you bounce on his lap. your arms are tired, baby pink nails leaving scratches on his skin as your high comes closer. truthfully, the way jaemin speaks to you so sweetly, making you feel so good and special, praising you with the most flowery words as his dick stretches you out.. it makes you feel a certain way, making you all flustered non-sexually, and setting your body on fire in intimate moments.

even when he speaks to his cats, petting one of the girls as he gives her praises for doing literally anything. even if it’s not directed at you, it makes you squirm just thinking about his voice, smooth and velvety, calling you a ‘good girl’ the same way he does to his babies.

“angel,” he starts, hand resting against your cheek. “where are you right now?” he stops you, hand on your hip to keep you from moving, smiling when you let out a sweet little sorry.

“thinking about you..” you mumble, looking down at your hands.

he chuckles, sitting up to connect his lips to yours. “i’m flattered.. but why don’t you focus on the real me, hm? how i feel inside you?”

you nod, slowly repositioning yourself to be comfortable, before finally starting to move again. he sighs, sinking back into the couch cushions. you’re already so close, so quick just from his face, all glossy with sweat glittering over his pleasure-stricken expression.

“oh, fuck, doing so good, my good fucking girl.. bouncing on me like that..”

he doesn’t even mean to say it, it just happens, but it’s everything you wanted. that’s all it takes, just those three words, and your body freezes, hips jerking as you cum around him. your voice is empty, hands bruising and drawing blood as you grip his muscles with one of the most intense orgasms of your life. jaemin’s right there with you, pulling you into him as his seed floods your insides.

you both stay there for a moment catching your breath. you’re frozen, hoping he doesn’t bring up how badly you just gave yourself away, but of course he does.

“what was that, huh?” he pinched your hip when you don’t respond, and you whine into his neck. “you liked that? being my good girl?”

“please shut up..” you groan.

he chuckles. “no.. it’s cute. i don’t mind calling you that from now on.. i mean, it’s what you are isn’t it?” you whine again, embarrassed by him, but he only laughs, leaving wet kisses on your cheek.

[rainverry]

pretty boy.

PAIRING  ☆  nakamoto yuta x afab!reader

GENRES  ☆  smut, fluff, angst, a bit of crack?, enemies to lovers, fake dating, college au

WARNINGS  ☆  18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. profanity, substances (alcohol consumption, one mention of weed), light smut (oral [f receiving], praise kink), use of nicknames (baby, babe, princess, my girl, gorgeous), mentions of throwing up, one mention of blood, the characters are in their mid 20s in this fic, reader wears glasses and has a pet cat, yuta’s hair is red in this because that’s his best hair colour i don’t make the rules

SUMMARY  ☆  college life is full of uncertainties, but there is one thing you know for sure: nakamoto yuta hates your guts, and the feeling is mutual. so when he goes to you and asks you to pretend to be his girlfriend, you start to realise that maybe you were wrong about him too.

WORD COUNT  ☆  24.2k (im so sorry)

PLAYLIST  ☆  click!

AUTHOR'S NOTE  ☆  heya lovelies !! this is my first ever full-length one shot, as well as my first time ever sharing my smut with anyone so i’m kinda nervous lol if u think u’ve read any other of my full-length one shots before, no u haven’t <3 i also got carried away because i truly did not expect it to be this long 😭 big thanks to my friends lou for the feedback and carol for beta reading and encouraging me to continue writing when i kept having second thoughts 🥺 enjoy reading and feedback is always welcome !!

THE END OF YOUR MID-TERM BREAK always meant going to the nearest coffee shop with your two best friends, with the intention of catching up on all the things that happened on your short-lived holiday. It also functioned as the last time for you to have some fun before you knuckle down and keep your focus on studying for the final exams, merely six weeks away from now.

“Anyway, that’s how we managed to pull off the biggest cookie heist in the Im household,” Nayeon finishes, leaning down to take a sip of her chai latte.

“Must be fun, having younger cousins,” Jennie sighs in envy. She cradles her chin in one hand, toying with the ends of her hair with the other. “Meanwhile, all my cousins have grown up to be obnoxious jerks!”

You raise your eyebrows. “But not Taeyong, right?”

Jennie crinkles her nose in disdain. “The cousins on my mom’s side like to pretend I don’t exist. It’s a low bar, but Taeyong is the only nice one,” she throws her hair over her shoulder. “Speaking of, he should be here soon. You don’t mind him interrupting our girls’ day out, would you?”

You don’t mind at all. Despite your friend’s pretend indifference towards him, Lee Taeyong was the resident sweetheart, known and liked by everyone on campus. The music production major is the captain of the dance club, frequently volunteers to tutor his peers and on top of that, always makes sure to bring treats and small toys for your cat whenever he drops by your place.

What you did mind, however, is if he happens to bring along a friend of his with him. Although Taeyong could integrate himself into virtually all of the social circles around campus, there is one group he sticks with more than the others – the group filled with fuckboys, notorious for flirting with anyone who was available and throwing wild parties. How the sweet Taeyong manages to get along with people so different from him is beyond you, but you figure men will always be men.

As if sensing your thoughts, Nayeon remarks, “I don’t think he’ll be with anyone today. I’m sure they’re too busy unpacking.”

You push your glasses up your nose and shrug, only hoping that was true. Even though not all the men in Taeyong’s friend group are bad apples, you’ve had more than enough awkward encounters with them to last you a lifetime. Plus, there is also one person in that group that you dislike more than the others, and you know Taeyong wouldn’t consider bringing that person within a ten feet radius of you.

The doorbell of the cafe rings, followed by two sets of footsteps and familiar laughter. You tense.

Today is not your lucky day.

You look up to see Taeyong heading towards your table. And behind him, wearing his signature smirk, is the bane of your existence – Nakamoto Yuta.

Many people have asked you why you hate Nakamoto Yuta, and your answer has always been: where do you even begin? His annoyingly vibrant red hair, the fact that he coined the nickname “Glasses” for you because of your poor eyesight, the way he’s able to get along with everyone except you and the fact that he’s been your rival for the top spot of the class ever since you could remember were only a few reasons the mere sight of him can make your blood boil.

Before you can even process your thoughts, Nayeon hisses, “Behave.”

You resist the urge to let out a groan at her command, and when you meet Taeyong’s eyes he directs a sheepish smile at you. You glare at him and look down at your phone, deciding to scroll through whatever that would make you feel less irritated at that moment.

“Hey, guys,” Taeyong greets when he reaches your table. “Enjoyed your break?”

You mumble out, “Hi, Taeyong.”

Taeyong nods at you and Jennie, and begins to listen to Nayeon as she animatedly recounts the story of how she and her younger cousins managed to steal the five batches of chocolate chip cookies her aunts had baked. You also want to listen to her story even though you had just heard about it three minutes ago, but someone slides into the seat across from yours. Despite yourself, the action captures your attention.

“Just going to ignore me, Glasses?” Yuta grins at you, completely disregarding your friends and the fact that this was supposed to be your private time with them. “Or have you already forgotten about me after such a long time?”

“Yeah, I was too busy having fun to think about things that don’t matter,” you snap back. “Anyway, two weeks was long for you? Did your friends not want to hang out with you or something?”

“Here we go,” Jennie mumbles under her breath. You pretend not to notice.

Yuta slaps a hand over his heart. “Ouch, right in the feels,” he pouts. “My break was fine, thank you. Kinda missed seeing your annoying butt around, though.”

“I’m flattered, but the feeling is not mutual,” you retort, and before you can say more, Jennie clears her throat.

“Anyway, that’s the end of the story!” Jennie says abruptly, even though you’re sure from Nayeon’s expression that she had more to tell. Subtle. From Yuta’s face, you can tell he thinks the same thing. 

The both of you normally try to avoid seeing each other as much as possible, knowing it would only lead to endless arguments, but right now you’re blaming Taeyong for even daring to bring Yuta into your presence when he knew you were going to be here.

Jennie claps her hands and looks up at her cousin. “Yongie, you wanted to give me something, right?” 

“Oh yes,” he holds up the bag that he’s carrying and sets it on the table, a look of amusement on his face. “A little present from my mom – to remind you that you should have come to visit her during the break, and she’s mad that you didn’t.”

“Oh, it’s because–” Jennie starts, but Taeyong is quick to cut her off.

“Oh, and I’m mad too.”

The two start bickering in their mother tongue, and you and Nayeon share a smile at their antics. Yuta is still sitting across from you, but you’re trying your best to ignore the fact that, for whatever reason, he’s looking at you. You look down at your phone again, desperately wanting for the guys to be gone already so you can finally get back to your precious dishing time with your best friends.

“Take a picture, Nakamoto. It’ll last longer,” you comment sarcastically, unable to handle Yuta’s gaze on you any longer.

He seems undeterred by your sudden jab at him. “It’s cute that you’re trying so hard to ignore me, Glasses,” he sighs. “I’d like to see you ignore me when I beat you for valedictorian next year.”

“Okay, enough,” Taeyong cuts in, sparing his friend a warning glance when he sees the look on your face. “Jennie, you’re going to visit me and my parents during the next break and that’s a promise, okay?”

“For ahjumma and ahjussi, maybe, not you,” Jennie teases, then her face softens. “But thank you for the food.”

Taeyong nods, then pats Yuta on the shoulder. “Anyway, we should get going or we’re going to be late.”

Yuta hums in agreement and is about to get up when Nayeon clicks her tongue. “Wait, pretty boy, you still owe me ten bucks.”

Pretty boy is the nickname Nayeon coined for Yuta in high school – a moniker that you would agree suits him to some degree.

(Not that you would ever admit it in a million years.) 

Yuta groans, head falling back in annoyance. “I haven’t forgotten. Hold up, I think I have some cash on me.” He reaches into his jacket pocket when a handful of paper scraps fall out and scatter all over his lap. With a mutter of annoyance, he reaches down to pick them up, and you’re expecting him to put them back inside his pocket when he suddenly crumples them up in his hands. 

You raise your eyebrow in surprise. “Hoarding trash in your pocket, huh? Is finding a trash can too difficult for you?”

Yuta glares for a split second before the maddening smirk is back on his face. “Thanks for your concern, Glasses. It’s actually all the phone numbers I got working at the bar last night. Not that I need them, I already have enough women wanting me.” 

You roll your eyes as the others laugh and let out dog whistles at his incredibly distasteful comment. Only Yuta could make your friends think such a repulsive statement is hilarious.

“No shortage of girls chasing you everywhere, huh, pretty boy?” Nayeon asks playfully.

“None, unfortunately,” Yuta shakes his head, producing a ten dollar note from his wallet and handing it to Nayeon. Seeing Taeyong already heading for the door, he shoots them a smile. “Bye, girls.”

He turns and winks at you. “See you around, Glasses.”

You’re left glowering at Yuta’s backside, your scowl only fading when you hear the sound of the door closing behind them.

“God, I can’t stand him,” you murmur.

Jennie lets out a practised sigh. “Yeah, we know.”

During your first year of college, you accidentally found a secret corner in the campus library while searching for a textbook for your major. The corner was cosy and out of sight from the rest of the library, perfect for when you need some peace and quiet. Ever since, it’s been your place of solace.

It’s usually the place you go to to be completely alone, and this time you needed a few hours of reading by yourself. It’s been a week since your mid-term break ended, and after nights staying up studying, you suppose right now is a good time to have a short rest from cramming information into your brain, and just enjoy a romcom book instead.

You are one hour deep in your romance novel when you hear footsteps in the library getting louder. You figure it’s Nayeon, the only other person who you’ve told about the secret corner, coming to find you as she’s chided you many times on how you tend to lose track of time when you’re in here.

The footsteps end in front of you, but you don’t look up from your book. “I’m at a good part, Nayeon, give me a few minutes.”

“Are the characters making out or something?”

The unexpected voice makes you snap your book shut and when you push your glasses up your nose to see clearly, you could only stare up in shock. Nakamoto Yuta stands in front of you, an unusually shy smile on his face. At first you’re speechless – he is the last person you would want to see anywhere, let alone in what was supposed to be your safe haven from the rest of the world.

“What are you doing here?!” you hiss, and then you look back down at the novel in your hands. “Great, you made me lose my page, you idiot!”

Suddenly, Yuta’s voice is devoid of his usual humour. “Can we talk?”

“Can you go be annoying somewhere else?” you flip through the pages rapidly, barely noticing his serious tone. You smile in relief only when you find the page you’re looking for, and you prepare to resume reading. 

Yuta lets out an exasperated sigh at your attempt of scaring him off and kneels down to your level, and to your surprise, he takes your book, secures the page you're on with your bookmark and then puts it aside.

“Seriously, I need your help,” Yuta murmurs, his big brown eyes staring deeply into yours. His face is so close to you, his voice so gentle that for a moment, you’re unable to stop and think about the sheer absurdity of his words. 

“I–” you start, before shaking your head and letting out a snort. “You need my help? Couldn’t you have asked, I don’t know… anyone else?”

“You’re my last resort,” Yuta responds immediately, as if he’s already rehearsed what he’s going to say. You think he’s about to drop the serious act and start teasing you again, but his lips are still tucked into a thin line. “And believe me, you’re the only one who can help me.”

“I seriously doubt that,” you scoff, getting ready to leave. Your secret corner isn’t even safe anymore. The only place you can go back to would be your dorm room, a place you know would be empty of any fuckboys or sworn enemies who would only ruin your mood. You know your roommate Jisoo would probably have someone over for the night, but it’s a small price to pay to avoid seeing Yuta again.

Yuta watches silently as you gather your things. You think he’s given up on whatever he was going to ask you and let you leave when he speaks up again.

“I need you to fake date me.”

You stop in your tracks. 

“What?” you stutter out. “You’re kidding, right?”

You know he’s not kidding, not when he’s staring at you so intently – not when you had heard his voice as clear as day, and with no trace of irony in his words.

“Y/-”

You burst out laughing. You laugh and laugh until your sides hurt, all the while Yuta is still kneeling in front of you, and you’re clutching your stomach at the ridiculousness of it all. 

“You want me to fake date you? Seriously? That’s what you need my help for?” you manage to finally say after your laughter dies down, wiping tears of mirth off your cheeks. “Oh, Nakamoto. That’s funny. Like that’s ever going to happen. I mean, what would I even get out of it?”

You can see Yuta’s cheeks are lightly shaded pink after seeing your reaction to his statement, but he replies without a hitch, “You can show off your hot-ass boyfriend to everyone else.”

“Yuta!” you smack him with your novel, and he grunts at the impact. “I’m serious. How would that benefit you? More importantly, how the hell would that benefit me?”

“I don’t know!” Yuta grumbled, softly rubbing the spot on his arm where you had smacked him. He finally gets up from his kneeling position and starts pacing around. “Listen, so many girls have been–”

“Oh my God, I know, there’s no shortage of girls that want you–”

“Let me finish!” Yuta snaps, his hands balled in fists when he glares at you. His face and voice softens after a beat, and he takes a deep breath before continuing. “Girls have been messaging me left and right asking me to go out with them. And–” he runs a hand over his face. “–I’m tired of it, okay? I’m not interested. And they’re not getting the message. I thought that maybe, if I get someone to act as my girlfriend, they will back off for a bit.”

You scoff. “Then get an actual girlfriend, you dick! Why get a fake one?”

“Because like I said, I’m not interested,” Yuta repeats slowly. “I’m not looking for an actual relationship right now. And, like… I came to you because I know for a fact that you won’t want an actual relationship from me. I don’t know…” he sighs again, staying silent for a moment. “Just… think about it, okay?”

You stare at him silently, still in disbelief at the words he had just said. You’re almost convinced that you had fallen asleep while reading your book a while ago and this is just some strange hyperrealistic dream. Yuta honestly, genuinely believed that there was a chance that you would help him and go along with his crazy request. You don’t know how you feel about that. 

What you do know, though, is that you don’t want to be tangled up in Nakamoto Yuta’s business in any way.

After a long pause, you shake your head.

“I’ll give you my answer now, Yuta. Thanks, but no thanks.”

You sling your bag over your shoulder and stand up from your seat, romance novel in hand. You can’t resist the temptation of looking over your shoulder and commenting one last time.

“Rejection doesn’t feel so good now, does it?”

You relish at the sight of his red cheeks before leaving the library.

You had been studying in your room when Nayeon and Jisoo had burst through the door, begging for you to try on a few outfits they had put together. You agreed, thinking it was only going to be a brief try-on and then you’d shove the outfits back in your closet, but somehow they’d convince you to keep the clothes on and crash a nearby party with them. To top it all off, they had also asked you to ditch your glasses so you could finally use the coloured contacts that you very much disliked wearing.

That’s how you find yourself in the corner of some random stranger’s house, nursing a red solo cup in one hand. The dress your friends had put on you showed off your legs a lot more than you would have liked, so now you’re trying your best to keep yourself warm with the crappy booze they were serving.

As you survey the small crowd surrounding you, you’re hit with the realisation that you don’t really know anyone here. You know the point of your friends dragging you to this party was for you to mingle a little more with other people, but somehow you’re unable to think of any interesting opening lines to a conversation that could last longer than two minutes. You’d rather have a friend beside you, but Nayeon is chatting it up with someone from her major and you don’t want to interrupt them. Just a while ago you also caught a glimpse of Jisoo heading upstairs with a stranger you hadn’t seen before, and you definitely don’t want to disturb her fun time. 

You hadn’t even bothered telling your friends about Nakamoto Yuta’s offer he had given a few hours ago. That man was not worth wasting your breath for.

And yet, your thoughts kept drifting back to him.

Yuta actually had the balls to ask you, his sworn enemy, for help in becoming his fake girlfriend. Out of all the things! You still remember the stony expression he had on when the words I need you to fake date me had left his mouth, signifying that yes, he was being one hundred percent serious. You know he’s known for his unpredictable and somewhat wild streak, but to ask you to do such a bizarre thing…

You don't know what to think.

“Hey, cutie. Can I get you a drink?”

Your head snaps up to see a tall stranger smirking at you, his eyes red from him smoking what you can only assume is some offhand weed that you know are usually at these types of parties.

“I already have one, thanks,” you smile politely, raising your cup to show him. Now, you desperately wish there’s a friend by your side – you’re not in the mood to be hit on at the moment.

But the stranger doesn’t get the hint. He steps close enough to you that you can instantly smell the repulsive mixture of substances in his breath. “That shitty beer they’re serving? Don’t be stupid. I’ll get you a real drink,” he leans in, dropping his voice so he could whisper in your ear, “Unless there’s something else you want me to do for you?”

Your stomach churns at the implication of his words.

“Um, no, thank you, I… have a boyfriend,” is all you manage to say before slipping away from his presence.

You sprint outside of the house, trashing your cup in the process, relieved to be free from the smell of booze and flirty men who wouldn’t take no for an answer. You pull out your phone from your purse.

you: gonna bail, will u and jisoo be okay?

nayeon: yeah i didn’t drink anything so ill be driving us back

nayeon: u okay tho? 

you: just need to do sumn real quick. dont worry ill find my way home

As soon as you know your friends will be fine, you immediately call for an Uber. You have one destination in mind.

You're surprised how quick the ride to Yuta’s place is. Amazingly, you know what you’re going to say to him now. Maybe it’s the alcohol running through your veins that’s making you do such an illogical thing, really.

When you knock on the door, Johnny is the one who opens it. “Oh, hey.”

When you see his look of surprise, you’re now realising how crazy you must look. Johnny must have not recognised you at first, especially now that your usual glasses are gone and your eyes are a shade of grey. You do suppose you can’t be the first person to show up at the guys’ dorm at midnight in a little dress and heels, but the thought of you being compared to those other girls doesn’t really comfort you.

You make a feeble attempt at covering yourself up, giving him a bashful smile. “Um, hey Johnny. Is Yuta home?”

Johnny’s eyes widen even further, causing your embarrassment to grow tenfold. You can only imagine what Johnny could be thinking right now.

“Uh, yeah, I don’t think he’s asleep yet. Want me to get him?”

When you nod and Johnny’s gone, you rub your hands that you didn’t realise were sweaty against the back of your dress. You can already think of all the things he would say when he sees you. Hearing a nauseating Aww, did you get dressed up all for me, Glasses? from Yuta may as well happen. The insanity of what you’re about to do finally hits you, but there’s no turning back now.

“Y/N?” Yuta says, standing in front of you in nothing but a pair of sweats, with his red hair looking exceptionally vibrant in the night. He’s clearly too shocked to come up with his usual cocky opener, and for that you are grateful. “What are you doing here?”

You can’t see where Johnny went and you know he’s not the type of person to listen in to his friends’ private conversations, but you’re not willing to take the risk. “We need to talk,” you assert, brushing past Yuta and heading straight towards his bedroom. His jaw drops, and you’re equally surprised at how different you’re behaving. The alcohol really is making you act more brazen than usual.

“Well, come in, make yourself at home, why don’t you?” Yuta grumbles, his bewildered expression now changing into one of annoyance as he closes the bedroom door behind him. “What do you want? You here to reject me again?”

You lean against the wall and take in your surroundings, in awe of how immaculately his bedroom is decorated, with accents of space blue and striking reds all over. You spot an electric guitar in the corner. You didn’t know he played any instruments.

“I’ll do it.”

“What?”

“I’ll be your fake girlfriend, Yuta,” you tell him, and you see his eyebrows raise in amazement. “But I want you to know that I’m also doing it for my own gain.”

Yuta immediately scoffs, but there’s a hint of amusement on his face. “Okay. What’s in it for you?”

“To get my friends to stop dragging me to parties I don’t want to go to. But also, if they do manage to get me to go to a party somehow and there are annoying dudes there trying to flirt with me, I can say I have a boyfriend and I wouldn’t be lying.”

“Sort of,” Yuta comments drily. He crosses his arms against his chest, and it’s difficult not to notice his perfectly sculpted biceps. There’s a chain tattoo wrapped around his left arm that you’ve never seen before. “Well, I didn’t expect this. I guess I should say thanks.”

You shrug, looking down at the floor. “It’s whatever. I love those girls, but they can’t get off my ass about joining them at parties, when sometimes all I want to do is study at home,” you admit reluctantly, before looking back up at him. “Anyway. How are we going to do this?”

Yuta shoots you a grin, and for once it’s not the usual one that would make you roll your eyes. “I’m so glad you asked. To do this, we have to fool everyone, and that includes our own friends. Because if our friends don’t believe us, Glasses, then no one will.”

You’re irked by his use of the nickname (like, you’re not even wearing glasses at that moment!), but you tilt your head in curiosity. “What are you getting at?”

“Before we just tell everyone that we’re dating, we have to hang out with each other. One on one.” 

Your mouth runs dry at what he just said –  but Yuta’s not done talking. “You and I both know that everyone knows that we can’t get along, Y/N. How the hell are we going to convince them we’re dating when you keep insulting me?”

“You always insult me too,” you retort, and he nods solemnly.

“Yes, I have, and that’s why we have to stop doing that as soon as possible. Tomorrow I have an early morning class, but I’ll be free after. We can figure out all the details then,” he looks at you, reaching in his pocket for his phone. “Give me your phone.”

Your hands feel sweaty again at the thought of Yuta being able to contact you any time he wants, and you hope he doesn’t notice how jittery you are as you hand him your phone.

As he types his number in and calls his phone from yours, you let out a dry laugh. “So it’s a date, huh?”

“I guess you could call it that,” Yuta gives your phone back to you but is unable to meet your eyes. Is he feeling embarrassed at the thought of going on a date with you? 

Your heart drops when you think about it. You think you’re sobering up now, because now you’re wondering if you've just made a huge mistake.

“Um… I should go,” you breathe, clutching your purse close to your chest.

“Wait,” he says, looking into your eyes again, and there’s a small smile on his face. 

Any second thoughts you have vanish instantly. 

Yuta extends his hand out, his grin growing wider. “We should shake on it.”

“Shake on it? You’re such a dweeb.”

He rolls his eyes. “Just do it.”

So you do.

You wake up with a light headache, but you’re surprised to find a painkiller and a glass of water on your nightstand, a small note sitting right beside it.

take this, I know you need it -N

You sigh in awe, thanking the heavens for you having such a godsend for a best friend. You don’t know what time it is, but the rest of the apartment is quiet, so you assume your roommates are at their mid-morning classes. After taking the pill, you check your phone for the time. As you suspected, it’s almost 11. You also have two unread texts that were sent to you half an hour ago.

Unknown: this is yuta. i’m free now

Unknown: unless ur still sleeping lol

You roll your eyes, swiftly typing a response.

you: dickhead

you: u would sleep in too if u had my bed

You don’t know how long it will take for him to reply, so you put some music on and take a shower. Your pet cat Pumpkin isn’t scratching at your door like he usually does, so you reckon one of your roommates had already fed him for the morning. 

As you’re getting ready, you recall the events of the night before with a shudder. It feels like a fever dream that you actually showed up at Yuta’s house in the middle of the night so you could tell him that you would pretend to be his girlfriend, but that crappy beer you had must have given you a boost in confidence.

You’re in the middle of having breakfast when you hear your phone buzz.

yuta: oh good morning sleeping beauty

yuta: come find me at the library ;)

Fifteen minutes later, you find Yuta sitting at a lone table right in the center of the library. He’s dressed in a grey hoodie and blue jeans, his red hair tied up into a mini ponytail.

“Took you long enough, Glasses,” Yuta remarks when he sees you, a smirk on his face.

You ignore his comment, pulling up the chair across from him and sitting down. The library is empty besides two people sitting at different corners, so you don’t bother keeping your voice hushed. “Let’s talk terms,” you start counting off your fingers. “First, no more calling me Glasses.”

Yuta pouts at that. “Aww, come on. Not even as a – what do you call it – term of endearment?”

“No,” you narrow your eyes at him. “Fake boyfriend or not, that’s a stupid thing to call your significant other. No more Glasses,” though he still looks put out by it, you take his silence as a sign to continue. “You can call me by other nicknames. The usual, like baby and stuff.”

“Okay, stuff,” he grins.

You glare at him.

“Fine, baby it is,” Yuta relents, crossing his arms over his chest. “Damn. You’re no fun in the morning, huh?”

You really aren’t. You once gave Jisoo the silent treatment for one whole week because she had the audacity to prank you by setting an early alarm on a day you were supposed to peacefully sleep in, but that’s not a story you are going to tell him. 

“Second, this relationship shouldn’t last longer than a month.”

“Don’t I get a say in that?” Yuta protests, raising an eyebrow at you. “What if girls start hitting on me the second we break up?”

“That’s your problem,” you smile smugly. “Remember, Nakamoto. I’m only doing this fake relationship for my own gain, and I only need it until the end of finals week.”

He stares at you for a moment with narrowed eyes, and you expect him to say something biting back to you, but suddenly the smirk is back on his face.

“Fine. My turn to list my own terms.”

“I’m not finished y-”

He clicks his tongue, interrupting you. “You talk too much, baby. Are you forgetting who came up with this whole fake relationship idea in the first place?” 

You could only glare as you keep your mouth shut, and nod at him as a way to tell him to begin.

“We need to go on fake dates. All the time,” he says so solemnly that you almost laugh. “To fake it for the gram, of course. And whenever we’re around our friends, we have to hold hands or something. Just so they don’t get suspicious.”

You blink. The thought of holding hands with Yuta in front of all your friends made your stomach do a flip.

Yuta grins at you, relaxed as ever. “Why don’t you take a story of me now? The sooner the better.”

It’s difficult to argue with his logic, so you pull out your phone and quickly snap a picture of him looking to the side, his tiny ponytail on display. As you prepare to post it on your story, you can already hear all the things your friends will say the second they view it, but you push that thought down. You’ll just have to worry about that later.

“Anything else?” you say as you put your phone back in your pocket. 

“You need to call me baby too,” he adds, and you groan out loud.

“Come on!” you cry out, looking at him in exasperation. “Isn’t that the guys’ thing to do?”

“Incorrect. And very sexist of you,” Yuta deadpans. “Call me baby, and I’ll stop calling you Glasses for the rest of time. Deal?”

It’s a very tempting offer, and even though you’re still inwardly cringing at how you’re supposed to call him baby, you sigh in surrender. “Fine, whatever. But I have one last condition.”

“Shoot.”

“After the time is up, if we go back to being enemies or not, you can never tell anyone that this relationship was fake. That will be too embarrassing for either of us.” 

Yuta smirks. “Whatever you need, baby,” he replies and you roll your eyes. That nickname will take a while to get used to. Before you can say anything, he looks at you and says, “By the way, we can’t tell anyone right away, or they’ll never believe it.”

You nod. “That’s fair.”

Although you would prefer to get this done with as soon as possible, you agree with Yuta. You know that Nayeon (and perhaps Jennie and Jisoo to a lesser extent) knows more than anyone just how deep your hatred for Yuta ran in your bones, so telling her that you’re suddenly dating him won’t fool her at all. You suppose that Instagram story that you posted of him was a good start to your deception.

“Okay,” you clap once, flashing him a saccharine smile. “Well, if there’s nothing else, I’m done talking. Go away,” you tell him, pulling out textbooks and a few notebooks from your bag, readying yourself for a long day of studying ahead. 

Yuta doesn't move, still looking at you with those big eyes of his. 

“Or…” he trails off, and you look up at him, waiting for him to finish. “...we could study together, and after you're done, we could get to know each other a little better. How does that sound?”

You rub your temples and sigh. “Just as long as you don't piss me off too much.”

He grins, signing an X over his heart. “I'll be the best study buddy, I promise.”

Yuta then pulls out his own textbooks and supplies and you gasp in surprise at the amount of pens in his large pencil case – two large bundles of them are tied together with rubber bands, plus a few loose ones that are scattered at the bottom.  

“Do you really need that many pens?” you ask.

He shrugs nonchalantly. “I tend to go through them a lot because I make a lot of notes in class. You can take some off my hands if you want to.”

You shake your head in disbelief and reach for a blue pen. “Well, now I know who to go to when I need another pen,” you joke, fiddling with the clicker and doodling with it at the corner of your notebook. You start writing out some notes with it. “Wow, this is a really good one. Never thought you’d be the one to write down your notes, Nakamoto. I just assumed you typed them all into your laptop or something.”

Yuta sends you a wink. “I’m traditional like that.”

“Are you sure I can take this?” you question, eyeing the pen in your hand. You can’t deny that you’re already fond of how easy and comfortable it is to use, but you’re hesitant about taking something from Yuta.

“Of course. I mean, I literally have 50 more.”

“Thanks,” you reply quietly, feeling a surge of gratitude. A week ago, if someone told you that Yuta will offer something to you and you’ll willingly accept it, you would have laughed straight in their face. You're aware that it’s just a pen, but the sweet gesture tugs at something in your heart.

Maybe Yuta doesn’t really hate you as much as you think he does.

You sneak a glance at him and a small crease has appeared between his eyebrows and his lips has formed into a pout as he’s carefully highlighting a passage in his textbook. It’s strangely cute, especially since he’s using a neon pink highlighter. He inclines his head down, and you see that the hair band holding up his ponytail is also a light shade of pink. 

Your heart skips a beat.

You clear your throat as if he suddenly caught you staring, even though you’re sure he’s still focused on taking notes. Fighting the sudden wave of awkwardness in your gut, you try to focus on your own books.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket, and you fish it out to see you’ve gotten a few notifications.

nayeonyny replied to your story: ur hanging out with the DEVIL himself????

jennierubyjane replied to your story: is this real lol

You resist the urge to immediately reply to your friends’ messages, and ignore it for now. As you look at Yuta, his head bent down as he studies his notes, it sinks in that this will be your life for the next few weeks.

What have you gotten yourself into?

The rest of your study session went by without a hitch, save for a couple of snarky remarks from Yuta. He had been a really good study buddy, much to your surprise. You really admire his commitment to taking down all of his notes – and now you understand why, seeing as how his handwriting is the neatest and the most beautiful of anyone you’ve ever seen. 

(But you did not voice your praises to him because he really doesn’t need another reason for his head to get any bigger.)

After an hour of studying, you made good on your promise to get to know each other better. Yuta had listened intently as you explained the reason why you chose your major, and in turn, he told you that he had a few dozen cousins in Japan that he has never met. It was only when the sun had dipped low outside the library windows that you decided that you'd learned enough about him and called your study session to a close.

The rest of the week consisted of the two of you playing the part on social media, with him posting several cryptic shots of you on his stories – which was met with much pestering from both your friend groups – and you informing your friends how you would be too occupied to join them partying or going out at night. While you didn’t exactly disclose what you were going to be doing during those times, you were leaving that up to their imaginations. 

In truth, though, you mostly went to the nearest cafe to study in peace. The other times were reserved for your fake dates with Yuta.

You’re not oblivious as to how Nayeon has been suspicious of your behaviour, but you’ve been able to dodge her questions for most of the time. You think you're positively dying from the weight of keeping a secret from your best friend, but as for now, your only confidant is Pumpkin.

You’re getting ready in your bedroom when you let out an apprehensive sigh.

“It’s happening today,” you tell your cat, staring into the vanity mirror. 

Pumpkin is lying on his back on the edge of your bed with his furry stomach exposed for you to see, and you're sure he’s asleep until he lets out a trilling sound at your comment.

Usually you’d coo at every little noise and action done by the cat and the sight of his white tummy would be too adorable for you to resist, but you’re too preoccupied by your thoughts to even notice.

Today is the day. 

Yuta will be arriving at your place at any moment, and you could practically hear the quiet beating of the clock in the living room ticking down the seconds until you hear the doorbell ring. 

Both Nayeon and Jisoo are still lazing around at home, because unlike you, they don’t have classes until later in the day. There’s a soft rumbling sound of the television that carries through the thin walls. Someone’s in the living room – right next to where the front door is.

You can taste the dread in your mouth as your brain comes up with all the possible scenarios of how your roommates would react when Yuta walks through that door. 

Once you’re done putting the finishing touches of your outfit, you gather your things and stop by your bed to stroke Pumpkin’s ears. “Well, wish me luck.” 

You’ve opened the door when Pumpkin gets down from the bed and stretches, suddenly deciding that he’s not in the mood for a nap anymore. He follows you into the kitchen and takes his usual spot on the kitchen island. You smile for a second at how cute he is, but your mind clouds again once you spot who’s in the living room.

Jisoo’s hogging the couch, which is in plain view from where you’re standing in the kitchen. The TV is playing a rerun of Stranger Things, but you don’t really think she’s paying any attention. Jisoo turns around when she hears the rattling of the fridge door when you open it.

“Oh, hey,” Jisoo greets, stifling a yawn. “Got a lot of classes today, huh?”

“Yeah,” you return timidly, taking a bottle of root beer from the side rack and unscrewing the cap with more force than necessary. You chug down the drink hastily, silently wishing it was a magic potion that could give you the confidence to go through with what you’ve planned for the day.

Jisoo doesn’t seem to notice the tremor in your voice. She runs a hand through her hair then studies her nails. “Sucks. Well, I have nothing to do for a while. Do you want me to drop you off?”

A nervous laugh escapes you. “Thanks, but I kind of already have a ride.”

The ringing of the doorbell makes you jump.

Jisoo gets up without a word, and before you can say anything, your roommate has opened the door to reveal a smirking Yuta, clad in all black.

There’s no mistaking the confusion in Jisoo’s voice. “What are you doing here?”

Yuta’s sporting a lazy smile, and doesn’t seem to notice how bewildered your friend looks. “I’m Y/N’s ride for today,” he says casually, as if it’s the most natural words to ever come out of his mouth.

You’re mortified when you witness how wide Jisoo’s eyes have become, and you’re convinced that they just might pop right out of her sockets if you don’t intervene. 

You set down your root beer on the kitchen island and walk towards the door. “I got it from here,” you say breezily despite feeling the opposite. You reach for Yuta’s hand, to which he immediately clasps yours in his, and then shoot your roommate the sweetest smile you could muster. “See you at lunch, Jisoo.”

Jisoo’s still agape when you close the door behind you, and you wait until you’ve gone down a floor before speaking up. “Couldn’t you have been a bit more subtle? You almost gave her a heart attack!” you hiss, glaring at Yuta.

But Yuta is unfazed by your outburst. “You’re the one who held my hand first,” he responds without hesitation.

You look down and realise that your hand is, in fact, still intertwined with his even though you’re now in the lobby and are walking out towards Yuta’s car. You quickly pull away, feeling your cheeks warm. 

“Whatever,” you retort. You're unable to find a proper comeback, too focused on the fact that you were holding onto his hand for way too long.

Embarrassing.

You let out a deep breath and cross your arms against your chest. “Anyway, just remember – I don’t want to flaunt whatever this is in everyone’s faces. That’ll just make us look desperate!”

Yuta opens the passenger seat door for you. “Can’t be a new thing for you,” he deadpans, leaving you speechless.

He stares at you before his expression breaks into a rueful smile. “Okay, I take that back. I said no more insults, right?” he affirms, playfully leaning against the door. “Come on, get in the car. Don’t want to be late, now, do we princess?”

It’s only because he reminds you that the both of you will be late that you’re willing to dismiss his incredibly half-assed apology. You slide into the passenger seat with a huff.

You wait until he gets in the car before you look at him pointedly. “I don’t want to hear another word from you until we reach campus.”

“No promises.”

Aside from the soft rock music blasting from the car speakers, the short ride to the campus is actually rather quiet, in contradiction to Yuta's attempt to tell you otherwise. You suppose he knows that you’re on your last straw – especially after the whole hand-holding incident – and the two of you have to be on good terms on the day you’re supposed to quietly debut your fake relationship to everyone.

You’re glad he knows that, because one more remark from him would have just infuriated you further.

Before leaving for his own lecture, Yuta drops you off in front of the lecture hall, a smirk on his face. “See you later, baby,” he whispers right next to your ear just for you to hear, and you try to ignore the goosebumps that form on your skin.

During the class, your thoughts keep veering to what Yuta told you when you went on a fake date just three nights ago.

“We do it on a random afternoon, when everyone’s eating in the cafeteria,” Yuta says conspiratorially, fiddling with his thumbs. You notice that’s a peculiar little habit he does whenever he’s excited. His half-eaten burger has been pushed aside, too caught up in telling you about his plan.

You stare at him blankly. “Do what?”

“We walk in together, holding hands,” he announces, grinning like a Cheshire cat. “What do you think? Not too over-the-top, but still enough to get people talking.”

It’s undeniably clever, and you don’t really have your own idea on how to go about it, so you reply: “Let’s do it.”

But looking back now, your stomach does flips when you think about what you're about to do very soon. Holding hands with Yuta in front of Jisoo in the safety of your own apartment is one thing, but walking into the cafeteria hand-in-hand with him where practically the entire college population could see it is another.

Uncharacteristically of you, you’re unable to focus much during your classes. You only have two before the inevitable lunch break, and before you know it, you’re at the place where the two you agreed to meet. 

As promised, Yuta is already there waiting for you, his bag slung over one shoulder. Instead of his usual smirk, he shoots you an easy smile that strangely eases the knot in your stomach.

“Are you ready?” he questions, hand outstretched for you. You take it.

“Now or never, I guess,” you say, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. You’re sure he could see right through your demeanour, seeing as your hand is unusually sweaty. You’re awaiting a snide comment from him about it, but he doesn’t say a word.

When the two of you walk through the cafeteria doors, you can immediately feel eyes on you. You spot Nayeon, Jennie and Jisoo at your usual table, and if it was any other day, you’d head straight to them.

Today, you have a different plan.

Hand still clasped in his, Yuta leads you to where Johnny, Jaehyun and Taeyong are sitting. It’s Taeyong that notices you first, and you almost burst out laughing at how wide his eyes go when his gaze lands on your intertwined hands. The other two crane their necks to catch a glimpse at what he’s looking at – and when they see you, Johnny falls silent and Jaehyun’s jaw drops.

You send Yuta a sweet smile when he pulls out a chair for you to sit on. 

“Thanks,” you say appreciatively as you take your seat, secretly loving how your little audience is making zero attempts to hide their stares. Yuta takes the seat across from you, and you can tell he’s also trying his best not to laugh.

Johnny clears his throat, so quick to fix his composure. “Y/N, I didn’t know you’d be joining us today.”

“Yeah, Yuta invited me at the last minute. I hope you don’t mind?” you say in a light-hearted tone, studying their faces intently.

Taeyong and Johnny immediately shake their heads at your words. Jaehyun, though, is still staring at you for an impolite amount of time at this point, so Johnny not-so-subtly slaps him in the back. 

“Fuck!” Jaehyun coughs heartily, before choking out, “Um, no, we don’t mind at all!”

Before you can respond, Yuta murmurs, “Heads up, we’ve got company.”

You want to look up and see who Yuta’s talking about, but you can already tell who it is by the familiar sound of stilettos clicking, getting louder as she heads towards your direction. Only one person you know would bother wearing six-inch heels and outfits that were way too elegant for a Thursday afternoon lecture.

Jennie slams a hand down in front of you the moment she reaches the table, making everyone jump at the sudden intrusion.

“Hey, Y/N! What’s going on?” she asks you, her tone a tad more enthusiastic then what it probably should be. She has a grin on her face, though it screams confusion more than anything, and you almost giggle.

“Oh, nothing, I’m just gonna have lunch with Yuta today,” you reply with a cheeky smile.

“You and your friends are welcome to join us if you’d like,” Yuta adds smoothly, and before the words are completely out of his mouth, Jennie is already rushing back to tell the others. Two minutes later, Nayeon, Jennie and Jisoo have squished themselves into the seats beside you, even though there’s really not enough space for all eight of you on that table.

Ignoring the awkwardness in the air, Yuta reaches into his bag and lays out a few packed pastries onto the table. “I’ve got some for everyone,” he says. Then, he sends you a wink as he hands you a package. “And your favourite, baby.”

Gasps are heard around the table and your face heats up when the nickname falls from his lips.

Well, there’s the final nail in the coffin.

Jisoo turns to you with a puzzled look. “Okay – what? What’s going on? Why are you sitting at the guys’ table? And why is calling you baby?”

Yuta directly stares at Jisoo, a solemn look on his face. “I would think that that’s a normal thing to call your girlfriend.”

Ah, so much for not flaunting your fake relationship in everyone's faces.

“Girlfriend? What? You’re dating?!” Jennie shrieks, attracting attention from the surrounding tables. As if the sheer amount of people sat at this table wasn’t conspicuous enough. You resist the urge to bury your face in your hands.

“Is that why he dropped by this morning saying he’ll be your ride?” Jisoo asks you, her eyes still wide in amazement. 

“He dropped by this morning?” Nayeon’s eyes quickly turn to Jisoo, scandalised. “You didn’t tell me that!”

“Hey, listen, I was kind of too shocked to tell you–”

“Uhh, don’t you two hate each other?” Jaehyun asks, a bewildered look on his face.

“Maybe they finally realised they had to get rid of the sexual tension between them and just fucked it out,” Johnny mumbles in amusement.

Your head snaps up to look at Johnny. “What sexual tension?”

Seeing the look on your face, Yuta waves his hand dismissively. “Alright. alright, relax,” he says coolly, his signature smirk back on his face. You haven’t seen it on him for so long that you almost forgot how the sight of it used to infuriate you. He crosses his arms against his chest. “We did a study session together last week and have been hanging out ever since. No crime against that, is there?”

“And – let me get this straight,” Taeyong cuts in, putting up a hand to interrupt Yuta, before looking at you. “You didn’t attempt to strangle him even once?”

You shake your head and laugh. “Oh, believe me, I wanted to – at first,” you begin, surprising yourself at how truthful you're being. You glance at Yuta to see what he’s thinking, and he’s staring back at you. “But he’s actually not so bad once you get to know him.”

Yuta grins. “Thanks, babe. Right back at you.”

“This is crazy,” Nayeon deadpans, her gaze landing at the package in front of you. “I mean – two weeks ago you were saying you hated his guts. And now he’s getting you your favourite pastry? That’s crazy.”

In the commotion, you had forgotten that Yuta had given you something until Nayeon pointed it out. You look down at the package and raise your eyebrows in surprise when you realise it’s a chocolate croissant – your favourite ever since you could remember. 

Did you ever mention that to him? 

From what you can recall, the only information you told him was about your family, your education and your career goals, so you’re not sure how he could have known that. You decide to brush it aside for now, seeing as how Jennie is furtively nudging you at that moment. You turn to her with a questioning look. 

She leans in to whisper in your ear. “Ignore Nayeon. I’m really happy for you, babe. I mean, look at the way he’s looking at you.”

Yuta’s gaze is indeed on you, and there’s a mysterious smile on his face. Right away, you know the others would interpret it as a smile of adoration or something like that, but you know exactly why he’s smiling.

The plan is working.

“I don’t buy it.”

You look up from your textbook, seeing Nayeon leaning against your doorway. As if understanding her words, Pumpkin, curled up by the wheels of your chair, lets a meow of agreement.

You don’t even have to ask what she’s talking about.

“Why not?” you raise an eyebrow in fake confusion, masking the nervousness you feel inside.

Nayeon stares at you for a beat, before coming in and sitting at the edge of your bed. You spin around in your chair to face her. “Because you hate that man, Y/N. With every inch of you.”

“Things change, Nayeon,” you offer your already-rehearsed explanation, even though you could already feel your walls crumbling. It’s physically impossible to keep anything from her – your best friend knows you like the back of her hand.

And just like you expect, Nayeon gives you a knowing look.

You let out a sigh, getting up to close the door. If Nayeon is going to know about your deception, you’re not going to take the risk of Jisoo possibly overhearing you confirming it to her.

Once the door is securely shut and locked, you turn around and cross your arms with a huff. “Okay, fine,” you confess quietly. “It’s not real. But I have a good reason behind it.”

Nayeon’s face is a blend of amusement and curiosity. “And what’s that?”

You run a hand down your face. “To get all of you to stop pressuring me to go out all the time!” the second those words leave your lips, you let out a breath you didn’t know you had been holding. You didn’t realise how much this secret has been dragging you down all week. “Look, I love you, but you know how much my studies mean to me too.”

“Oh.”

The room falls silent.

“Okay, uh…” Nayeon starts but trails off quickly, suddenly staring at the floor in front of her. You tilt your head to look at her, and even though her face is angled away from you, the guilt on her face is crystal clear. “You, uh… we’re that annoying that you really had to get a fake boyfriend to get rid of us? I… I’m so sorry, babe.”

Your heart sinks. 

“Hey, don’t say that,” you sigh. You rush to sit next to her, and start patting her back assuringly. “It’s not just that. I mean, it’s also my fault for not learning how to say no. I know you mean well, really, wanting me to find someone for myself and all – but I don’t think I can really say no since Jisoo’s not as understanding as you, you get me?”

Amidst your speech, Nayeon lets out a muffled laugh.

“Also, when I went to that party with you two last week – even though all I really wanted was to just study at home – an icky guy tried to hit on me. I just thought that was the last straw.”

Your friend nods, the uncertainty on her face clearing a little. “Okay, I guess I get that. But, um, why pretty boy, of all people?”

“He approached me first. At my library corner. Said something about wanting all the girls to stop chasing him,” you explain in irritation, before smiling smugly. “Of course I said no first, but I changed my mind and agreed to do it because I’m a better person than him.”

Nayeon rolls her eyes at your words. “Very big of you,” she replies drily.

“Don’t get me wrong, I still hate his guts,” you tell her in defiance, then falling back into your sheets. “It won’t last long. Latest probably until finals are over.”

Nayeon doesn’t turn to face you, instead she’s staring at something on the floor of the bedroom. Perhaps she’s looking at Pumpkin – as the room goes quiet, you can hear him grooming his fur.

Your best friend finally speaks up again, but this time her voice is guarded. “I wonder why he came to you though.”

“The poor guy must have been desperate,” your attempt to snub, but the promise you made to Yuta about not insulting him anymore lingers at the back of your mind, and your tone falls flat. Of course he’s not here to hear it, but the guilt eats at you anyway.

“And yet you agreed,” Nayeon turns around to face you, a teasing smile on her face. “Maybe you’re the desperate one.”

“Hey!” you grab your pillow and smack her with it. “Not cool!”

Nayeon giggles at your reaction. “Well, it makes sense now. I guess I can see why you didn’t tell me about this.” 

You look directly into her eyes, shaking your head. “You’re the only one who knows. And you can’t tell anyone.”

Not even Jisoo, the words are at the tip of your tongue, but you know you don’t have to voice it to Nayeon. The both of you know that if Jisoo learns about your fake relationship, soon the entire school would know because she can’t keep her mouth shut to save her life.

“I won’t tell a soul,” Nayeon promises.

You’re currently scouring through your wardrobe, looking for a decent outfit you could put together. It’s Friday night – a time that you would usually reserve for staying in and curling up in your room with a novel, Pumpkin sleeping soundly by your side. 

Earlier when you were having lunch with your friends, though, Yuta had dropped by your table to ask you something.

“You wanna go out tonight?” he leans forward to whisper in your ear, but his voice is loud enough that everyone at the table has already heard it. Nayeon cocks up an eyebrow, while Jennie lets out a low whistle and Jisoo grins.

“Um, what?” you reply blankly, wiping the side of your mouth where a bit of your latte had dribbled out.

“A date, just the two of us. I figured since it’s a Friday…” Yuta shrugs, tilting his head in curiosity. “Unless you don’t want to?”

You’re well aware of the pairs of eyes on you, awaiting your answer, and you wish Yuta had told you he was going to do this beforehand so you could’ve prepared a proper response – because you don’t know how to react.

It takes you a few beats to realise that you’re taking too long, so you just nod. “Okay, sure. Where do you want to go?”

“Ah-ah, that’s going to be a surprise,” he winks, before readying to leave. “I’ll pick you up tonight, babe.”

You swear you could’ve strangled him for pulling that stunt without any prior warning, and now you’re cursing him for keeping the location of the date a secret – because what the hell are you supposed to wear?

The door of your bedroom opens and Jennie walks in, heading towards your wardrobe at once.

You let out a cry of relief. “Oh, thank God you’re finally here!” you sigh, collapsing onto your bed. You’re sitting on top of a few pieces of clothing you had thrown on your bedsheets while searching your wardrobe, tossed aside because none of them really felt right. “I have nothing to wear.”

“Nonsense! I know exactly what you should wear,” Jennie assures you as she sifts through your clothes.

You’re not sure what she’s referring to, but since she’s the fashion design major, you suppose you should trust her judgement. When Jennie pulls out your favourite sleeveless dress, you look at her skeptically. 

“It’s going to be cold outside,” you attempt to oppose.

“Then wear it with this jacket,” Jennie responds, holding up a black leather jacket that you only wear on special occasions. The outfit matches perfectly, you admit, but it’s also much nicer than what you thought it would be.

On your previous meetups with Yuta, you just threw on whatever was most comfortable for you at that moment and called it a day – but that was also when you weren’t trying to convince anyone that you were actually dating him. 

Seeing the look on your face, Jennie shakes her head. “Come on, you’re going on a date! You should look your best!”

You can’t really argue with her without making her suspicious, so you agree. Jennie leaves the room so you can finish getting ready. Yuta had texted you earlier saying that he’ll arrive at your dorm around 7, so you still have about ten minutes.

You’re looking in the mirror and fixing your hair when you hear the doorbell ring. When you leave the bedroom and enter the living area, Yuta’s hovering by the doorway, chatting quietly with Jennie. You spot Pumpkin curled up on your sofa.

“Well, don’t you two look like two peas in a pod?” Jennie coos, a grin on her face. Yuta’s also wearing a leather jacket similar to yours, and now you’re wondering if she had chosen this outfit for you on purpose. 

“Hey,” Yuta greets you with a smile, his hand extended out for you. “Shall we go?”

You nod, taking his hand. An inexplicable warmth spreads through your body when he intertwines his fingers with yours. You turn to your friend. “Um, I’ll see you later, Jen.”

“Have fun, you two!” Jennie shouts as the door closes behind you.

The second you know there’s no longer an audience, you pull your hand away from his. The hallway is slightly chilly, so you pull your jacket close to your body.

“Are you really not going to tell me where we’re going?”

“Nope.”

You huff. “Fine, but the least you could do is pass me the aux.”

In your peripheral vision, you see Yuta sporting a wide grin. “Whatever makes you happy, babe.”

You can’t really tell if he’s mocking you with the use of the nickname, but when you reach his car, he indeed lets you take control of the music. You put on a chill playlist and lean back against the seat with a sigh.

“You should’ve told me that you were going to ask me out today. I almost blew our cover in front of our friends!”

You can tell he wants to look at you, but Yuta is never one to take his eyes off the road when he’s driving. Instead, he replies evenly, “Dates are a part of our deal, are they not?”

“Yes, but like I said, you should’ve at least warned me first,” you retaliate.

Yuta shrugs, his hands still on the steering wheel. “Just wanted to surprise you like a normal boyfriend does.”

“Fake boyfriend, that is – or have you already forgotten that?” you reply sarcastically. You glance at him, continuing, “And another thing – you should really cool it with all the nicknames! Like, what’s the point of calling me babe when there’s no one around?”

You hear him scoff. “And what about you?”

“What about me?”

“You’re the one who should start calling me babe or baby! I’ve never heard you call me that even once,” he grates, his tone brusque even though his gaze is still fixed on the road ahead. “I told you, it’s either that or I will call you Gl-”

“Okay, okay!” you grumble, already flinching before the first syllable of his former nickname for you had even left his mouth. Your glasses are on your face tonight, only serving as a sick reminder of what he used to call you. “I’ll call you baby or whatever. Just don’t ever call me that stupid word ever again, please.”

Yuta snickers and you groan inwardly, resenting how easily you had let him have that victory. It’s silent for a moment before you turn to face him again.

“Can you tell me where we’re going now?”

“No.”

“Oh, come on!”

Despite your constant prodding, Yuta held his ground and had kept his lips sealed for the entire car ride. You admire his determination to keep your destination a secret – because the second he pulls up into the parking lot of the newest arcade center in the city, it all becomes worth it.

“No way,” you mutter in awe, unable to hide your grin as you survey the impressive size of the building. The word FUNSCAPE is emblazoned across the front, flashing in bright neon colours. You pull out your phone to take a photo of it.

Yuta maneuvers the car into a parking spot close to the entrance and once the engine is off, he turns to you and wiggles his eyebrows. “Hope you like it.”

You’re already scrambling to get out of the car. “Are you kidding? I love it!” you squeal in excitement, slamming his car door shut behind you. “I’m going to beat the shit out of you at every game.”

He grunts. “We’ll see about that.”

Walking through the front doors together, Yuta heads to the front counter to exchange money for some tokens, while you stride across to a row of air hockey tables. Immediately you’re reminded of the times you played it with your best friends in the arcade at the local mall back in your hometown. That arcade was much smaller and nowhere near as grand as this one, but the familiarity of the sport and the memory still warms your heart.

When Yuta approaches you, a handful of tokens in his grasp, you shoot him a deceptively sweet smile. “You’re going down, buddy.”

“Oh, you’re on.”

Choosing the nearest table, Yuta sets his phone next to the scoreboard and opens the camera. He changes it into a selfie video mode, and you can just barely see the two of you at each end of the frame. You look at him curiously. “What’s that for?”

“Officially, for the gram,” he tells you seriously, before his face breaks into a cocky smirk. “Unofficially, visual evidence of how easily I can beat you.”

It’s laughable how he really believes he has a chance at winning over you, a former air hockey champion amongst your friends. You don't want him to know how confident you are in your skills, so you mirror his smirk. “Keep dreaming, Nakamoto.”

Yuta inserts two tokens into the slot and presses the record button on his phone, and the game begins. You grip the disc in your hand, swinging a puck at an angle, which then bounces off the wall and goes straight into Yuta’s goal.

Yuta’s nostrils flare at your immediate success, and you snicker. The tricks to winning are already coming back to you, even though you haven’t played in a while. As the game continues, Yuta is able to sneak one or two pucks into your goal, but his points still pale in comparison to yours. Before long, the scoreboard has declared you the winner. Yuta groans in defeat and you laugh.

You bring the disc to your mouth and blow on it, as if blowing smoke off the barrel of a gun. “Still got it,” you smile smugly.

Yuta rolls his eyes. “Please, you got lucky. I’ll beat you in the next round.”

He inserts another two tokens and the game starts again. Now, he’s able to block some of your shots towards his goal, but your blocking technique for your own goal remains unbeatable. Two minutes later, the scoreboard shows that you’ve trumped him again, and Yuta is left glaring at the numbers on the screen.

“Still feeling good about that visual evidence, Nakamoto?” you let out a small giggle. 

Yuta shakes his head loftily and snatches up his phone, ending the video recording. “You win this time, babe. But I know for a fact that I’ll beat your ass at any other game here.”

Taking his words as a challenge, the two of you head towards the basketball machine to insert a few tokens. Even though you’re quite sure that he’s not into any sports, Yuta is surprisingly good at aiming for the net – and you aren’t even mad when he eventually wins. 

“Can we call it even now?”

Yuta grins, nudging you with his elbow. “Are you too scared to play anything else now just because I beat you at this?”

“Don’t flatter yourself. I can beat you at billiards with my eyes closed,” you shake your head indignantly. “You up for that?”

“You bet your ass.”

Walking towards the billiards table, you two agree for a best two out of three game. Yuta wins the first round, much to your chagrin.

“What were you saying about beating me with your eyes closed?” Yuta asks you as he places the cue stick behind his neck and rests his hands on each end. There’s a smirk on his face, but his head is tilted at an angle that you find somewhat endearing. 

Immediately, you feel the urge to take a picture of him in that specific pose, so you pull out your phone and aim your camera at him. Yuta barely has any time to react but he’s able to put on a surprised little smile before you take the photo.

As you pocket your phone, you reply snarkily, “Don’t celebrate anything just yet. It’ll just be embarrassing for you when I win.”

True to your word, you manage to pull through and win the other two rounds. As soon as the final ball falls into the hole, you slam the cue stick against your hand and grin triumphantly. “And that, Nakamoto, is how you do it.”

Yuta lets out a groan. “Fine, you win. But I must say, you’ve got one hell of a game in you,” he says while rolling his eyes, but you can see hints of a smile on his face. “Respect.”

You were expecting him to accept his defeat with much less grace, so your grin only widens at his comment. You look at your surroundings, dozens of machines and plenty other games occupying the massive space. “Well, what do you want to play next?” 

Yuta glances down at his watch, and then sets his cue stick down on the table. “Actually, I was thinking we could grab a bite. There’s a hot dog place just near here – sound good?”

“Sounds perfect.”

Five minutes later, you and Yuta are walking side by side to the hot dog restaurant. Yuta had insisted on driving, but you didn’t see the point of it when all you needed to do to get to your destination was just to walk to the other side of the parking lot.

The air is quiet as you stroll past the abundance of cars. It’s also slightly cold just as you predicted earlier, which wouldn’t be a problem since you’re wearing your jacket, but your bare legs definitely feel the chill.

You sneak a glance at Yuta, whose hands are buried deep in the pockets of his jacket. The wind has swept his fringe away from his face, leaving a red tuft comically sticking up in the opposite direction from the rest of his hair. You giggle.

“What?” Yuta asks, his head turning to you.

You look away quickly. “Um, nothing. It’s just – I can’t believe you wanted to take the car when the restaurant is literally two minutes away.”

“It would’ve been less than a minute if we drove,” Yuta grumbles quietly, then looks back at you with a smirk on his face. “Besides, the car’s heater would have saved you from shivering like you’re doing right now.”

You glare at him, quietly wondering how he could have possibly known that when he hasn't spared you a glance since leaving the arcade. “I would’ve worn something more appropriate if you had just told me where we were going!”

Yuta chuckles, removing a hand from his pocket and reaching for yours. “Fine, that’s my bad,” he apologises, squeezing your hand. “Feel better now, baby?”

The nickname and the warmth of his touch immediately makes you feel less cold, but you’re not going to tell him that. “Whatever,” you mumble quietly.

Thankfully, you reach the restaurant half a minute later, and it’s significantly less chilly. Yuta leads you to a seat next to the window, and as he momentarily leaves to order your meals, you decide to scroll through Instagram.

The story you’ve posted of Yuta has gotten a few likes, with Jisoo replying with “👀”. Nayeon still hasn’t viewed it, but you can’t help but wonder what she would say once she does. 

The two of you haven’t had a moment alone together ever since you told her the truth yesterday – and so, you had no one to privately complain to after Yuta had dropped the bombshell during lunchtime. While your other two friends had gushed over how smoothly Yuta had asked you out, Nayeon only gave you a quiet gaze that you couldn’t quite decipher.

Yuta returns a minute later, setting down a large tray in front of you. “Eat up, princess,” he says even though you’re already reaching inside the paper bag. The smell of fried goods immediately hits your senses and your stomach growls.

“You got my order right,” you remark as you survey the hot dog in front of you. “I thought you’d order it wrong on purpose just to piss me off or something.”

“And why would I do that?”

“Because that’s just the thing you’d do,” you roll your eyes as if it’s the most obvious statement in the world.

Yuta chuckles. “Nonsense. You know what they say – happy fake girlfriend, happy life.”

“I think the phrase you’re talking about is actually happy wife, happy life.”

He shrugs, beginning to munch on his fries. “Well, potato, tomato.”

You don’t have a response to that, so you start digging into your hot dog. For a while, the only sounds that can be heard are the quiet chewing from the both of you as you enjoy the food, and the rustling of the paper bag as Yuta reaches for a handful of fries every now and then.  

You sigh happily as you lean back in your chair, content with finally having some food in your belly. The games at the arcade had taken up a lot more of your energy than you thought.

You shoot a curious look at Yuta, who's finishing up the last of his fries.

“So…” you begin. “Are you getting fewer numbers from girls compared to before?”

“Not really,” he mutters almost incoherently, tossing the empty fries carton aside. He picks up the tissues laid on the tray to rub the grease off his fingers. “My DMs are still full with people who just can’t take the hint.”

“Maybe they’re not buying it,” you hum thoughtfully. “I mean, we did hate each other's guts like a week ago.”

Yuta tilts his head, a grin spreading across his face that’s so blinding that you’re caught off guard by the sight. “Does that mean you don’t hate me anymore?”

You hesitate, before narrowing your eyes at him. “Don’t get it twisted, Nakamoto. You’re still pretty damn annoying, but… I guess you’re more tolerable now.”

Yuta’s grin grows even wider, even though you aren’t sure that was even possible. “I’ll take it,” he falls silent again, fiddling with the tissue in front of him before he clears his throat. “I might have an idea of how to sell our relationship even more.”

“How?”

“We should take a selfie together and post it on Instagram. On our actual feed – not just the stories. And not just a normal selfie either, we should be posing like one of those nauseating Instagram couples.”

Oh hell no.

“Absolutely not!” you say, looking at him incredulously. “I don’t want your face anywhere near my feed.”

“Then we’ll just post it on mine,” Yuta challenges immediately, but you aren’t too keen on that either.

“Yuta–” you begin, but he cuts you off.

“Listen – just one pic. The most lovey-dovey, cringiest couple photo to end all lovey-dovey cringey couple photos. Once finals are over and we break up, I’ll delete it and it’ll be like it never happened!” Yuta tries to persuade you, his expression pleading. You give him a questioning look, though you’re silently weighing the pros and cons of what he’s proposing in your head. He sends you a sweet smile. “It’s for your own benefit too, you know?”

You suppose that’s true.

“Fine. We can do that,” you sigh in defeat. “But… later. I don't think I'm ready for that yet.”

Yuta brings his cup of Coke to his lips to hide his smirk. “No pressure, princess.”

Jisoo is absolutely hammered. 

To be fair, so are you. The ceiling seems to be spinning and the neon club lights are a little too bright that you have to squint your eyes every time you look up, but you’re not stumbling over your own feet like your friend on the dancefloor is doing right now.

“How does she do it?” Jennie sighs as she twirls the glass in her hand around mindlessly. Her other hand is cupping her face, elbow on the bar as the three of you take in the sight of Jisoo grinding on the dancefloor with a stranger.

Nayeon’s beside you, nursing her own drink in her hand. “You want to be like her? Really?” your best friend asks with a tilt of her head.

“Why not?” Jennie argues, waving a hand to punctuate her point. “That girl attracts practically everyone she sees. Me? I’m lucky if I find one decent guy on Tinder.”

“I told you nothing good comes from that app,” Nayeon shakes her head in disapproval, bringing her drink to her lips.

“Oh, give me a break!” Jennie sighs, leaning back in her seat in exasperation. “I know it’s not easy, but everyone deserves to find the Yuta to their Y/N, alright?”

“What?” you squeak, half-dazed.

Jennie sends you a smug smile. “I gotta admit, I’m jealous. You managed to bag one of the very, very few good guys on campus.”

You blink, opening your mouth to reply but Nayeon cuts in drily.

“Oh, that’s attractive.”

You follow her line of vision to where Jisoo is on the dancefloor, doing what you can only assume is her weird version of twerking.

You start snickering uncontrollably. 

You reach out to take a sip from Nayeon’s drink, but almost fall on your face when you do so – thankfully, she steadies you just before you could embarrass yourself.

“Alright, babe,” Nayeon chides, gripping your arm firmly. “That’s enough drinks for tonight.”

You groan. “Come on! I had, like, half the amount of what Jennie had. Can’t I have a bit mo–” A wave of nausea washes over you, and you hang your head down before you can finish your sentence.

Jennie appears beside you. She shakes her head, taking your other arm that’s free. “Bullshit. You’ve definitely had more than me,” she informs. You try to search for the usual telltale signs of her being drunk, but the dizzying array of light above stops you from really looking at her properly.

Nayeon hums in agreement. “Besides, Jennie can hold her alcohol well. You, my dear? Not so much.”

Another surge of sickness comes over your body, and you hang your head down in an attempt to let it pass. The pounding in your forehead grows as Nayeon and Jennie begin discussing something.

Nayeon taps your shoulder, her voice sounding far away even though she’s just next to you. “Where’s your phone?”

“Front pocket,” you mumble.

You don’t pay attention to Nayeon as she fumbles around in your purse, too focused on fighting off your nausea. Suddenly, a water bottle is placed in your hands and you’re not sure how, but you're grateful for it nonetheless as you greedily down its contents. Nayeon pats your back as you gulp down the water, and you could hear Jennie murmuring quietly into a call.

“Okay, Y/N,” Jennie finishes, and you look up to see tapping away at your phone, then she hands it back to you. You accept it with shaky hands. “Yuta will be here soon.”

You nod aimlessly, her words not really registering in your head. Nayeon clears her throat. “Yuta?”

“Your place is too far away, and Miss Lightweight here–” Jennie shoots you a sideways glance, “–will definitely throw up in the Uber if the drive takes too long.”

“Okay, yeah, but isn’t your place just nearby?” Nayeon replies, and there's something significant in her tone, but you can’t really tell what it is in your drunken haze.

“There won’t be space for all four of us,” Jennie shrugs, patting you on the shoulder and grinning widely. “Besides, I don’t think pretty boy would mind, would he, Y/N?”

You moan. “I’m gonna be sick.”

Nayeon guides the water bottle in your hands back towards your mouth. You don’t know how much time passes as your friends try to sober you up, but Yuta suddenly appears in front of you.

He’s looking very much out-of-place amongst the sea of stylishly-dressed people in the nightclub, seeing that he’s only clad in grey sweatpants and a black slogan tee that says I have no idea why I’m out of bed. 

Your headache a little cleared now, you’re able to manage a smile. “My knight-in-funny pajamas is here.”

The look of concern on Yuta’s face immediately melts away at your words. He rolls his eyes at you and turns to your friends. “Will you ladies be okay?”

Jennie nods. “Oh yeah, we’ll be fine. We were just worried about this messy drunk here,” she says and pats your shoulder affectionately.

You pull away indignantly, crossing your arms. “I’m not messy!” you protest, sliding off your seat. “Look, I can still dance a bit. Which move do you want to see–”

Yuta wraps an arm around your shoulders, shutting you up. “You’re a funny little thing, babe. Time to say bye.”

You wave defeatedly to your friends as Yuta leads you past the crowd of dancing people and out to his car parked outside. The ride to his place is surprisingly quick and quiet – he doesn’t turn on the radio, but you suppose you should be thankful because the rock music he would normally play would only make your headache worse.

“How much did you even drink tonight?” Yuta chides as he follows you into his apartment.

You shrug. “Um, not that much–”

“Bullshit.”

A smile tugs at your lips. ”Okay, fine. I don’t know – just, seven vodka shots,” you admit, but he keeps his gaze on you. “Ugh – and a few martinis, okay?”

Yuta shakes his head and turns to lock the door behind him. “The bartenders should have cut you off – all of you. I definitely would’ve.”

“That’s because you’re no fun!” you retort as you collapse onto the sofa – but the sudden swift motion makes you feel nauseous again, and you lay a hand over your face.

You hear a sigh, and suddenly Yuta’s hand is stretched out in front of you. “Hey, come on. Let’s get you into something more comfortable.”

You toe off your heels and gratefully take his hand. The familiar warmth returns, and you relish in the feeling as Yuta helps sit you down on his bed. You pay him no attention as he shuffles around the room and opens a few drawers. A minute later, you’re still fighting off your headache when he hands you a T-shirt, shorts and a towel. 

“I thought you should take a shower or something… it could help,” Yuta hesitates. His eyes flicker all over the room, and you wonder what he’s thinking of. “Um, there’s also a spare toothbrush in the cabinet. I’m going to see if we have any painkillers left.”

You reach for his arm. “Wait, do you have–”

“Saline solution? Yeah, it’s by the sink. I also have a case here somewhere,” Yuta releases himself from your grip. He heads towards his drawer and rummages around in it. “Ah, here you go.”

You take it gratefully. You’re about to open your mouth to speak, but Yuta leaves the room without another word, leaving you staring at the door in disappointment.

Sighing, you peel off your dress and enter his bathroom. The hot temperature feels absolutely heavenly and you’re not sure how long you were in there but when you step out, there’s a large glass of water and a painkiller on Yuta’s bedside table.

After putting on Yuta’s clothes and swallowing the pill, you’re about to leave the room to look for him when there’s a knock on the door. 

“You doing okay in there?” Yuta asks. “Can I come in?”

You open the door and he steps in.

“Just here to take a few things and I’ll leave you be,” he mumbles. You swear there’s a faint spray of pink on his cheeks when he lays his eyes on you – but since you’re not wearing glasses, you decide it’s just your eyes playing tricks on you.

Standing by the door, you could smell the sweet aroma of fresh coffee waft in.

“Did you make coffee? May I have some?” you ask hopefully. 

Yuta hums and shakes his head. “Absolutely not. Don’t want you any more dehydrated than you already are right now, darling,” he meets your eye. “Just finish that big glass of water I gave you.”

“You really are no fun,” you sigh in defeat, taking a seat on the edge of his bed. “You’re forcing me to sober up so I can drive myself home or something?”

You’re half-joking, but Yuta knits his eyebrows together. “Y/N, it’s almost 2 in the morning. You’re not going anywhere. Just crash here and I’ll drive you home in the morning.”

You rise and brush your fingers against his. “Wait, Yuta. You really don’t mind that? I didn’t know what to tell my friends… I’m sorry for dragging you into this,” you apologise timidly.

In the quiet of the night, you’re suddenly aware of how close his face is to yours – and you look at him. Really look at him.  His face is bare, and there’s a cute little mole next to his nose that you’ve never seen before. His brown eyes, warm as ever, stare into yours, and your heart starts hammering in your chest.

Yuta squeezes your hand, and the sensation sends a jolt up your arm. The sudden grin on his face does little to help the flutter in your belly. “It’s all good, babe. What kind of fake boyfriend would I be if I didn’t take care of my fake girlfriend?”

Something in you recoils at the word fake. It must be because you’re drunk – that’s the only explanation you can come up with at the moment. 

His eyes scan the walls of his bedroom, and his voice drops to a whisper when he looks back at you. “You should sleep here. I’ll take the couch,” he says as he reaches for the doorknob. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

Yuta shuts the door behind him, leaving you with nothing but silence. You let out a breath you didn’t know you had been holding.

A feeling tugs at you, and something about it lets you know that it won’t go away all that easily.

But it’s a problem for tomorrow. Shrugging it off for now, you reach for the glass of water on the bedside table and down it in three big gulps. You lay back against Yuta’s pillows. They smell like him, clean and incredibly comforting. The exhaustion of everything that’s happened that night finally weighs down on you, and you find yourself falling asleep soon after.

You’re feeling under the weather – or at least that’s the excuse you’re giving for skipping classes today.

You’re back in your own apartment, cuddling with Pumpkin on the couch. You’d informed your roommates earlier that you won’t be attending classes, and now there’s no one else in the apartment.

You’re scrolling through Instagram, trying to get your mind off the situation you found yourself in earlier this morning. Without your glasses, everything had quite literally been a blur when you woke up in an unfamiliar room, but it all hit you once you could make out the unmistakable shape of a guitar in the corner. 

Yuta wasn’t awake yet when you entered the living room – and you thanked your lucky stars for that. If he had caught a glimpse of you and your puffy, makeup-smudged face along with the dress from the night before that you could barely zip yourself into, it would've been absolutely mortifying. You don’t know how you managed to slip out the front door without stirring him, but as soon as you left his apartment you called Nayeon for a ride home.

Your best friend didn’t say a word when you’d slid into the passenger seat in your disheveled state, assuming you were too hungover to explain – and you were grateful Jisoo had already gone to campus when you’d arrived back home, for you were not in the mood to answer any awkward questions.

The doorbell rings.

“Pumpkin, could you get that for me?” you say idly, still scrolling on your phone. 

The orange cat doesn’t move a muscle, so you sigh and roll off the couch. When you open the door, the last person you expect to see is your fake boyfriend.

He’s dressed in a basic black T-shirt and skinny blue jeans, his red hair falling by his eyes and framing his face. You almost scream at how good he looks.

Before you can say anything, Yuta flashes you a blinding smile.

“Hey! Just wanted to check up on you,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. The action is strangely out of character for him, but you can’t deny how cute it is. His expression softens. “Um, you left without saying anything and then I heard from Jennie that you’re skipping classes today. Is everything alright?”

Despite everything, you manage out a smile. “Oh, I’m… fine! I mean, still a little hungover… but fine.”

You stand there in the doorway, mind going blank. Yuta’s still smiling at you, waiting for you to continue, but when you stay quiet his gaze drops to the floor. You curse yourself because now the silence is much too deafening in your ears, but you have no idea if there’s anything more to say.

Yuta clears his throat. “Well, okay, I’ll get out of your h-”

“Hey, wait, um–” you grab his hand before he can turn away. “–thank you… for last night. And for checking up on me. You seriously didn’t have to do that. Like, you could’ve sent me a message or something.”

Yuta’s looking down at your intertwined hands, and when he looks back up at you, there's a smirk on his face. “Just making sure you didn’t get lost or fall on your face on the way home. Your friends would have my head on a platter if anything happened to you on my watch.”

You scoff, immediately letting his arm drop from your grasp. “I take my thanks back.”

Yuta grins. “It’s all good, babe. I’m just glad you’re okay.”

By the tone of his words, he sounds like he’s gearing up for a goodbye, and your thoughts are confirmed when he angles his body away, about to turn and leave.

But you don’t want that to happen. Not just yet. 

“Wait – do you wanna come in?” 

He pauses, then nods. You turn and lead him to the living room. Yuta sits himself in the seat adjacent to where your orange fur ball is still curled up, and surprisingly, he doesn’t growl. 

Pumpkin did not like him when they’d first met, the cat hissing at Yuta when he’d tried to pet him. 

“He doesn’t like the smell of fuckboys,” you had joked, to which Yuta gave you a glare. The cat made a point to growl whenever Yuta dared to come close again –  and again, the next few times he swung by your place, but that never deterred Yuta. 

“He’ll grow to like me, just like his mama did,” Yuta had declared with a wink, and you had rolled your eyes then. Yuta was never humble whenever it came to how well-liked he was by everyone. But his cocky remark seems to be proven now, when Yuta had given him a pat on the head and Pumpkin acknowledged him with a meow.

You fiddle with your thumbs. Now that you’ve invited him in, you’re not really sure what to do. Your idea for the day was to hide from the rest of the world (though if you were being honest, it was actually to hide from the very man that’s in front of you right now), but that was thrown out the window the second he showed up at your door.

“So, um… did you have any plans for today?”

You hope it’s a good conversation starter, because it’s all you can come up with at the moment. 

Yuta leans back in the seat, folding his arms and placing them behind his head. “I was going to go to a cafe and study there,” he shrugs. “And I was going to ask if you could come with me, if you’re up to it.”

“Come with you? What for?”

The smirk is back on his face. “So we can make good on our deal and finally take that selfie.”

You’re left speechless, and you must’ve taken too long to respond because Yuta frowns.

“If you’re not up to it, it’s fine. It was just a suggestion. Are you still sick? I should c–”

“No!” you interrupt his flurry of words, but the word sounded much sharper than you intended. You try to lighten the atmosphere with a laugh. “No, sorry, that sounds great. I just–” you look down at your worn out shirt and shorts, “–need to get dressed. Could you give me a minute?”

Twenty minutes later, you’re waiting for Yuta to come back with your drinks, sitting in a small booth in your favourite coffee shop. You hadn’t paid much attention to anything when you’d left your dorm, because on the ride over, your mind was on one thing and one thing only. 

The selfie.

You haven’t forgotten about it – in fact, it hasn’t left your mind, as the mere idea of posting a picture with Yuta on Instagram makes your brain short circuit. Especially when he insists that the two of you should pose like an affectionate couple. Plus, you were definitely against it when he first suggested it, but now the idea doesn’t sound so bad after all.

“Here you go,” Yuta flashes you a smile as he sets down your latte on the table. He’s holding a coffee of his own, and you raise an eyebrow skeptically when he slides into the booth next to you. 

“Didn’t you have coffee last night as well? Who even drinks coffee at that hour?” you ask him teasingly.

Yuta lets out a nervous chuckle, his hand finding the back of his neck. “Actually, coffee at night makes me sleepy. It’s weird, I know.”

You shrug and take a sip of your latte and sigh in contentment, shoulders relaxing as the sweetness of the drink warms something in your chest. You turn to Yuta with a smile.

“Y’know, I’ve been craving this ever since I got a whiff of what you made last night,” you confess. “Next time I drop by, you should show me your mix and brew me some.”

Yuta hums in agreement, then his eyes widen in recollection. “Oh actually, before I forget,” he reaches in his pocket before holding out the contact lens case you had used the night before. “You left this behind.”

“Oh… thanks,” you say sheepishly as you take it and put it in your purse. 

In your rush to leave this morning, you know you must have forgotten something as trivial as that. But the whole fiasco of sleeping over at Yuta's is really something you’d rather not remember right now. Or ever.

There’s something else you're curious about, so you shoot him a glance. “By the way, why do you have a lens case and saline solution? You don't wear contacts, do you?”

Yuta’s expression remains neutral, but for some reason he’s avoiding your gaze. “Well, actually… they belong to Johnny. I don’t know how his stuff got in my room.”

That would explain it – though you weren't aware that Johnny wore contacts. In high school, all you remember about him was that he was the star basketball player that the girls fawned over, not someone who would ever read enough books that he'd eventually need glasses to help with his vision – but you suppose after years of late night studying, any college student’s eyesight will get worse.

Before you can question him about it further, Yuta clears his throat and grins. “So, can we finally take that selfie, baby?”

“Yes, um…” you say hesitantly, your eyes dropping to the table. “So, how exactly are we going to do this?”

It’s not that you aren’t ready for it – in fact, you’ve decided that the selfie is a great idea – but your mind is still racking for poses the two of you could do. 

Yuta lays his hand over yours. “If you’re uncomfortable with it, let me know and we don’t have to do it,” he tells you before breaking out into a grin. “But I do have the perfect pose.”

You look at him questioningly. “What is it?”

With your glasses back on your face, you can clearly see a faint blush on his cheeks when he announces, “I smile at the camera while you kiss me,” he angles his face away and taps his cheek. “Here.”

You stare at him for a few beats, letting the words sink in. “Can’t it be the other way around?” you eventually reply, laughing nervously.

“Do you want it to be?” he asks you, tilting his head and he takes a sip of his coffee. “Because I don’t mind either way.”

You bite your lip in contemplation, Yuta still looking at you in curiosity. You let out a breath. “Um, why don’t we try both poses and you decide which one is best?”

“Sounds good to me,” Yuta replies, the grin easily making its way back to his face. He slides out his phone from his pocket and opens up the camera app.

“You ready?” he asks, putting the camera in selfie mode, and you nod. Yuta’s still sporting his big grin as he stares into the camera, and you pucker up your lips to kiss him.

You close your eyes and lean in. His skin is unbelievably soft when your lips touch his cheek, and you’re taken aback by his cologne hitting your senses. You hear the camera go off a few times, but it barely registers. When you pull away, you find that your breath is unsteady. 

“Perfect,” Yuta chuckles as he readies himself for the other pose. “You good for the next one?”

“Just–” you suck in a breath and shake your head. “Give me a second.”

You’re dizzy. The air feels thick, and you’re unable to think about anything except for his cologne. You clear your throat and manage to meet his gaze.

His smile falters into a look of concern, and something about it makes your heart flutter. “Y/N, if you’re not comf–”

“No,” you cut him off gently, taking his hand in yours and squeezing reassuringly. Your grip is steady, despite the thundering behind your ribcage. “I’m okay, honestly.”

Relief washes over his face, and Yuta hands you his phone with a smile. “Alright babe, your call.”

You put the camera in front of your face, ready to smile. 

You’re expecting a quick kiss – something sweet and brief, but what you don’t expect is Yuta’s hand finding the back of your neck. Goosebumps rise on your arms at the sudden contact, and your breath catches.

Then he leans in.

Yuta’s lips touch your cheek, the tips of his hair tickling the side of your face, and your heart’s beating so loud in your ears that you’re convinced Yuta could feel it with his grip on your skin. You close your eyes and melt into him. For a moment, it’s just you and him against the world.

“Um, Y/N, the camera…” Yuta’s breath is hot against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Oh, uh–” your voice comes out breathless and you almost scream at how embarrassing you sound. “–right.” 

Somehow, you’re able to move your hands and the shutter clicks a few more times. Yuta’s kissing you again, and you smile, his touch and his cologne enveloping your senses.

When Yuta finally pulls away, you brush your fingers to where his lips had been on your cheek. Your face is embarrassingly hot at this point, and you silently hope that Yuta wouldn’t notice. You run your hands down your arms in an attempt to steady your heartbeat – but it’s useless. Your heart is still beating erratically.

Yuta flashes you a smile as you give his phone back, your hands all jittery. But if he does notice it, he doesn’t let on. “Awesome,” he breathes as he swipes through the photos. “Do you want to take more pics with different poses or do you think this is enough?”

“I think that’s enough,” you blurt out a little too quickly. You curse under your breath before clearing your throat. The truth is, you don’t know if you could go through with taking more couple photos with Yuta without possibly passing out. You force yourself to speak again, though it comes out tighter than intended. “Um, so which one do you think is the best?”

Yuta sets his phone down and shakes a finger. “Ah-ah, you’ll just have to see it with everyone else when I post it later tonight,” he smiles, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Gotta surprise you a little bit, or else where’s the fun in that?”

You want to argue with him. Usually, you would – but your mind is still clouded by what happened moments earlier. 

All you can manage out is a quiet, “Just… make sure I look good.”

Yuta’s about to take a sip of his coffee when he smiles at you, something unreadable in his eyes. “Darling, you always look good.”

There’s something wrong with you.

You’re lying on your bed, eyes directed at the ceiling. Everything is quiet – the whirring of the fan overhead, Pumpkin purring beside you, the low rumble of voices coming from the other side of the wall – but it all pales in comparison to the persistent pounding in your chest.

It’s been hours since you left the cafe and Yuta had dropped you home, but since then, your mind hasn’t stopped replaying everything that’s happened.

You let out a groan, breaking the silence that blanketed the room. Pumpkin stirs from his sleepy posture, so you absentmindedly stroke his fur in apology. You roll to lay on your side and reach for your phone.

There’s nothing yet, so you set it back down.

You’ve been checking Instagram every few minutes – not obsessively, exactly (though if you were being honest, this might be the tenth time you’ve refreshed your feed) – but enough times that you’ve been disappointed with the lack of any new posts from a certain someone.

Between the regular Instagram checks, you’ve been huddled on your bed surrounded by pillows, staring at nothing in particular. You know your roommates have been home for quite some time now, but you had no energy to speak to them from the moment you got home.

When your phone pings, you hate how your heart jumps at the sound. You sit up, unlock your phone and see that you have a new notification.

yuu_taa_1026 tagged you in a post.

When you click on the post and the photo finally loads, you gasp.

He had chosen the second one – the one where he’s kissing you.

Your eyes are closed in the picture, an open-mouthed smile gracing your lips. He’s also smiling into the kiss, a real, genuine smile that’s a stark contrast to his usual cocky smirk. His caption is only two words, but it sends a flush of warmth throughout your body.

yuu_taa_1026: My gorgeous 🖤

A bittersweet feeling tugs at your chest and you bury your head in your hands. You don’t know why you’re feeling this way – and you sure as hell know that you shouldn’t be feeling anything.

Not over fucking Nakamoto Yuta, of all people. 

You still remember the words he had uttered when he proposed this fake relationship to you a few weeks ago. It replays over and over in your head – like some sick mantra.

I’m not looking for an actual relationship right now.

You throw your phone across the bed.

It means nothing to him. You know that, he knows that. It’s the exact reason why he came to you – so that nothing would be complicated.

But the way he looked at you after taking the photos didn’t feel fake – and the way your pulse still races just thinking about it doesn’t feel like pretend. You can still feel the way he touched you – the sensation of his hand searing into the back of your neck, the ghost of his lips still lingering on your skin, as if it had just happened just moments ago.

It’s still imprinted in your mind, the way the word darling had fallen from his lips, as if he’d called you that nickname for all of his life. And you can’t deny how the mere sight of his smile made you feel as though the sun shone from right inside you.

You let out another groan. This can’t be happening.

There’s a knock on your door, and you mumble out, “Come in.”

Both of your roommates stride in at your response. Jisoo doesn’t spare you a glance and heads straight for your closet like she usually does. Nayeon, however, sends you a look and takes a seat next to you.

“Are you okay?” your best friend asks as she looks down at you, her face threaded in concern.

“No,” you groan.

“What’s wrong with you?” Jisoo muses, sorting through your clothes. She phrases it more like a sentence than a question, but you decide to answer anyway.

“Nothing,” you murmur, laying a hand over your face. You rack your brain for an appropriate excuse. “I think I’m just stressed about finals.”

Nayeon raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say a word. Jisoo clicks her tongue, and you get a sense of what she’s about to suggest.

“Then let’s go out. Our senior Seulgi is throwing a party at her house tonight.”

Ah, like clockwork.

Nayeon opens her mouth to respond, but you beat her to it. “I’m not in the mood to fraternise right now,” you say icily.

Jisoo gasps, finally turning to face you and you see she’s got a hand over her heart. “Y/N! You know me better than that,” she scolds, and there’s no mistaking the irony in her voice. “Come on – no frat boys tonight. Just us girls, and lots and lots of booze.”

You shudder to think about drinking again as you’re still recovering from the sheer amount of alcohol you had consumed just last night, and you also wonder how Jisoo could suggest such a thing – considering the night before, she had as many drinks as you did, if not more.

Nayeon seems to read your thoughts, and she pats your arm gently. “I think we should go. To blow off some steam before the exams,” she whispers to you. “Take your mind off… everything.”

You suppose the buzz would be a welcome distraction from what you’re feeling right now – plus, Jisoo’s already holding up the perfect outfit for you to wear.

You smile.

“When do we leave?”

You fully believe that the universe hates you, because the second you step into Seulgi’s house, you spot an unmistakable mop of bright red hair amidst the small crowd in the lounge area.

You swallow your groan and duck into the kitchen, where Nayeon and Jisoo are greeting your seniors. After exchanging hellos with Seulgi and her friends, they give you the cups in their hands, mumbling something about how the punch may have already been spiked with something strong and they wanted the three of you to taste the punch in its purest form.

(Though you definitely wouldn’t have minded if the drinks did contain alcohol, as that is exactly what you want right now – but you don’t tell them that.)

You find yourself perched on the kitchen island minutes later, drink in hand as Nayeon sits across from you. Boxes are scattered around the kitchen, and you can see in an already-opened box that there are bottles of whiskey inside them. 

“Are you feeling better?” your best friend questions, eyeing you up and down.

The skirt you’re wearing is a little short and the breeze from outside causes goosebumps to travel down your legs, but you let out a nonchalant shrug.

“Yes,” you affirm, taking another sip of your drink. “Told you, I’m just stressed about finals.”

There’s a ghost of a smile on her lips.“You sure? It’s not because you’re stressed about someone…” she tilts her head, “someone who just happens to be in the next room?”

You freeze.

“You saw him too?” is all you can say, unable to meet her eyes.

“He’s kinda hard to miss,” Nayeon grins. And it’s true. You could spot Yuta’s red hair from a mile away.

You don’t say anything, not even when Nayeon sets her drink down and shuffles to get closer to you. You keep silent when she takes your hands, and she squeezes them comfortingly.

“Listen. I don’t fully know what’s going on,” Nayeon admits. “But whatever it is, you have to talk to him about it. Nothing good ever comes from keeping your feelings hidden.”

The second the words fall from her lips, the weight on your chest that hasn’t disappeared since this morning suddenly feels like it’s been lifted. Somehow, your best friend always knows the exact thing to say.

You squeeze her hands back and smile at her – a genuine, real smile. “I know. Thanks, Yeon.”

You sit there in silence for a few moments, hands still clasped together – that is until a couple of loud shouts echo from the hallway. A minute later, a disheveled senior pokes her head around the corner, a look of irritation on her face.  

“Can one of you come and help me? Jisoo’s locked herself in the bathroom and she’s crying or something, and she said she will only talk to one of you.”

“Oh God, that girl – I’ll take care of it,” Nayeon lets out a practiced sigh. She sends you a skeptical glance. “Will you–”

“Just go, I’m fine,” you wave a hand dismissively, and when Nayeon disappears with the senior, you take up one of the bottles of whiskey from the opened box. Unscrewing the cap and bringing it to your lips, you relish the strange sense of relief when the liquor runs down your throat.

You don’t know how long you sit there as the thud of music booms through the kitchen wall, but after you’ve finished downing two bottles, you decide to head towards the lounge. 

You’re definitely drunk now – you feel the buzz as you move your hips sway to the beat, and your mind is no longer focusing on things that you don’t want to think about right now. 

“Hey cutie, mind if I dance with you?”

You turn at the unfamiliar voice and find a stranger smirking at you. There’s a hungry look in his eyes that immediately makes you feel uneasy. Right on instinct, you take a step back and open your mouth to decline, but before you can say anything, a voice cuts in. “She has a boyfriend.”

Yuta’s standing beside you, a cold look on his face as he stares down the stranger. His normally warm eyes are now steely and sharp, and it sends a reckless thrill through you. He wraps an arm around your shoulders, to which you grab his hand in gratitude. 

The stranger lets out a scoff and spares you a glance. “When you get bored of him, gorgeous, come find me.”

He retreats into the crowd, though Yuta doesn’t stop glaring daggers at him until he’s fully out of sight. Once it’s just the two of you, Yuta lets out a sigh and shoots you a worried glance. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice rougher than usual. You take both his hands and place them on your waist, while you wrap your hands around his neck, fingers brushing his nape.

You don’t reply, instead you say, “Let’s dance.”

At your request, Yuta smiles and starts swaying you back and forth to the rhythm. You take the opportunity to check him out. He’s wearing a plain white tee, dark ripped jeans and your favourite leather jacket, a silver chain necklace dangling from his neck. His red hair is left unstyled, just the way you like it – and when you gaze into his eyes, you realise he’s put on dark eyeliner.

He looks effortless, yet so fucking attractive.

You let out a sigh. “Gotta be honest, I didn’t think you’d be here.”

Yuta shrugs. “Neither did I, but… Johnny convinced me to let loose one last time before finals.” 

The smell of alcohol is strong from his breath, and because of the proximity, you wonder if he could smell the whiskey in your breath too.

“Johnny knows Seulgi?” 

“Johnny knows everyone.”

There’s a twinkle in his eye and he’s giving you such a toothy smile that you can’t help but look at him curiously.

“What?”

Yuta’s eyes scan your face and then your outfit, and for a moment you’re not sure if he’s going to answer you – but then he lets out a chuckle. “Nothing, it’s just… what I said earlier. I was right.”

“About what?”

Yuta bites his lip. “About how you always look good.”

Your pulse starts racing.

You don’t know if it’s the alcohol, the music or the dark lighting of the room that makes Yuta look so dangerously tempting.

All you know is that you really want to kiss him.

He’s still looking at you, something unreadable in his eyes. Your eyes drop to his mouth, and when you lick your lips in anticipation, you could see his face falter. 

Yuta looks away, clearing his throat. 

“Yuta,” you call, your voice finding its vitality. He looks at you again, but now you recognise what’s in his eyes. Doubt.

“Yeah?” he murmurs.

You lean in towards him, slowly – and to your satisfaction, his breath shudders against your neck. 

“I think you looked insanely hot when you got jealous just now,” you admit quietly, and he lets out a groan that makes you weak in the knees. “So hot – that I really wanted you to kiss me.”

“Really?” Yuta’s voice is dangerously low now, igniting a fire in your belly. He squeezes your waist and his touch only makes you want him more – but he’s still hesitating. There's a question in his eyes, as if he’s silently asking you if he should hold back. 

You don’t want him to hold back. Not anymore.

You grab his collar in desperation. “Just kiss me, please,” you almost moan, and he crashes his lips against yours.

It’s electrifying how fervently Yuta kisses you, his hands finding your jaw and his thumbs brushing against your cheeks as your mouths move in sync. The kiss is messy, desperate – and when you tug at the roots of his hair, the moan that he emits into your mouth leaves you aching in desire. The crowd blurs around you and everything fades.

Until the catcalls and wolf whistles are too loud to ignore – and then Yuta finally pulls away from you.

“Upstairs?” he mumbles breathlessly, foreheads pressed together as you both are panting heavily. Your heartbeat’s thundering and you can’t come up with any words, so you just nod, trailing behind him as he laces your fingers together and pulls you through the crowd and up the stairs.

Yuta pushes open the first door he finds and the two of you are barely inside the room when he’s kissing you again, his hands roaming your body with urgency. You pull away to take the jacket of his body and toss it onto the floor, before he leads you to the bed.

“You have no idea how fucking bad I want you,” he hisses, leaning down so he can kiss you again. It’s more intense than before, and when Yuta palms your clothed breast and you let out your first moan, he growls.

“Fuck, you drive me insane,” he mutters, lips leaving yours to kiss your jaw, and then your neck, and then his kisses trail lower and lower until his hands find the waistband of your panties. It’s there that his motions stop – and Yuta looks up at you, eyes dark and lips parted.

“Do you want this, baby?” he asks softly, his chest puffing up and down from shallow breaths.

“Stop talking,” you groan, pushing his head down to where you need him most. It’s all the permission he needs, so he swiftly pulls down your panties and tosses them aside. Yuta pushes your skirt up and you gasp at cold air hitting your core, but it’s immediately replaced by the warmth of his touch.

Yuta places his hands on your knees for leverage, and then he presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh. Your breath catches with each kiss from him – all of them slow and teasing that you’re left squirming and whining under his grip. 

You let out a soft cry when he finally puts his mouth on you, and the first stroke of his tongue sends you to heaven. You need something to ground you down, so your hands find his hair, and when Yuta hears the sounds that you’re no longer holding back, he lets out another growl and squeezes your thighs.

“You taste so sweet,” Yuta grunts, and the vibrations of his voice send sparks up your spine.

You moan in response, unable to form a coherent sentence. Yuta is reaching all the right places that you swear that you’re seeing stars. His mouth is hot, sucking gently and then changing rhythms until your legs are trembling with every flick on his tongue. Your moans grow even louder when he adds his fingers into you, scissoring you open.

Yuta’s grip has you paralysed, and you’re unable to move – but you feel your high coming on any moment, so you whine and pull at his hair as a warning.

“Mm, gonna come for me, baby?” he groans appreciatively, one hand reaching up to fondle your breast and the other now rubbing circles on your clit in just the right way. “Come like the good fucking girl you are.”

The overwhelming new sensations combined with Yuta’s encouraging praise send you over the edge, your orgasm washing over you like a wave. You can only moan in pleasure as you tug at Yuta’s hair for your dear life, all while he continues the motions against your core.

You’re still breathing heavily as the last remnants of your orgasm leaves your body. After getting up from his kneeling position, Yuta moves up the bed to be face to face with you, supporting his body weight by putting his arms by each side of your head and seizing all of your attention.

“Good?” he mumbles, his voice so impossibly deep that goosebumps rise on your skin. He leans down to kiss you and you taste your essence on his lips. You moan, gripping his arm with desire.

“Good,” you whisper, and you feel him smile into the kiss. His mouth then leaves yours to move further down, now leaving a trail of kisses along your jawline.

“Can my girl take a little more?” 

Though you’re still trying to catch your breath and your legs are still trembling, you can’t deny how fucking tempting Yuta looks on top of you. His red hair is all mussed courtesy of your fingers, his eyes darkened with lust and his plump lips glossy from giving you the best head you’ve ever had in your life. God, he is absolutely ethereal.

And you need him. 

All of him.

You grip the chain of his necklace and pull him close to you again.

“I need you, Yuta.”

Satisfied with your answer, he pulls you in for another messy kiss. While he nips at your bottom lip, begging for entrance, you guide his hands to the hem of your shirt. You could sense his hard-on pressing against your tummy, the sheer weight of it against your body making you shudder in anticipation. You tug at his sleeves, desperately wanting to feel his skin on yours now.

But Yuta’s not done teasing you yet. His hands stay on your waist, gripping firmly. He pulls away from the kiss and before you can complain, he ruts his clothed knee against your still-sensitive cunt. You gasp at the unexpected friction.

“Fuck, Yuta,” you moan shamelessly, curling a hand over his bicep. “Just fuck me, please!”

His fingers rest at the hem of your shirt when his eyes meet yours. You’re expecting him to rip all your clothes away now and finally give you what you’ve been craving from the moment he had kissed you in the dim light of that lounge room.

Without warning, he abruptly removes himself from you, muttering under his breath, “Shit.”

He scrambles to back away from you, getting off the bed and running a hand through his hair as he starts pacing around the room.

You look at Yuta in alarm. Your body is immediately exposed to the chilly air at the loss of contact, so you use the pillow next to you in an attempt to warm yourself up. The atmosphere of the room has changed so quickly in just a split second that you don't know what to think.

“Wh–what’s wrong?” you question anxiously. You can’t deny that your mind is still fuzzy from his touch, but any feelings of arousal you had fades away when you see the worried look on his face.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry,” Yuta groans lowly, burying his hands in his hair. You’re not really sure what he’s sorry for, but you’re also too afraid to ask. He stands rigid in the middle of the room for a few seconds before heaving a sigh and moving to sit at the edge of the bed.

“Listen, uh, I’m sorry,” he starts, though he’s unable to look at you properly. He tugs at the roots of his already messy hair. “It’s just – we’re both kind of fucked up right now. We… we shouldn’t be doing this, Y/N.”

Your heart shatters.

“Are you alright?” he’s looking at you now, eyes wide with concern. His lips are swollen from how intensely he had kissed you, the bulge in his pants still apparent. You would’ve laughed at how comical he looked if you didn't feel as though someone just punched you in the stomach.

Yuta lets out a breath. “I just th-”

“No, I get it,” you interrupt.

It takes you a moment to get up from the bed, and you pick up your underwear that was carelessly tossed onto the floor by Yuta moments earlier. You quickly put them on, ignoring how uncomfortable you feel with your arousal still dripping from you, before turning to him. 

“It’s okay, Yuta.”

Yuta’s expression shifts. “Really?”

You’re well aware of the amount of drinks you had consumed earlier in the night, but you feel more sober than you have ever been before. The alcohol in your system may have clouded your judgement and actions before this, but now you can see it. 

You can see it all, clear as day – like a revelation that’s been in front of you all along.

“It’s my fault,” you start, and despite the lump in your throat, your voice comes out steady. Tears are threatening to spill from your eyes, but you’re not going to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he made you cry. 

You would die before letting him know how much pain he’s caused you. 

You give a dismissive shrug. “I don’t know why I thought that you could… ever look at me like that. Then and now.”

You should have seen this coming. It stings, how you let yourself believe that there was a real chance that Yuta had genuine feelings for you.

How naïve you’ve been.

Yuta’s eyes widen when your words sink in. “No, Y/N, I-”

“I get it now. Things never change, do they?”

There’s dismay written all over his face, but you’re sure whatever he’s feeling pales in comparison to the knife in your chest. You knew this, you predicted this – nothing good ever comes from being tangled in Nakamoto Yuta's business. Yet here you are, standing in front of him with the last shreds of your dignity, body trembling from the sobs that threaten to spill. The room is suddenly spinning, and you wish that the floor would just crumble from underneath you and swallow you whole.

“Listen, Y/N-”

“Have a good night, Yuta.”

You ignore his protests as you close the door behind you. You wait until you’ve rushed down the stairs, past through the sweaty bodies in the living room and out of Seulgi’s house before you finally let your sobs tear through the night.

You can’t believe you let it happen again.

You were thirteen years old when Nakamoto Yuta first broke your heart.

He had been your first crush, and though every other girl seemed to fawn over the drop-dead gorgeous Taeyong and the confident Johnny, you had always been attracted to the studious and quiet Yuta.

His hair had been jet black then, and was a little longer than what the school rules probably allowed it to be. It curled a little over his ears and his fringe almost reached into his eyes every time you stole glances of him poring over his notes in class. Despite how he was the model student, always obedient to the teachers and focusing intently during lessons, you liked that there was still a small part of him that allowed himself to rebel.

“That guy? Really? He looks so grumpy and he doesn’t even talk to anyone,” your friends had said, affirming your suspicions that they thought it was just a silly infatuation.

And perhaps it was true – anyone would think that Yuta was aloof given how he never spared anyone much of a glance during lessons, or how he mostly spent lunchtime alone in the cafeteria.

But what your friends weren’t aware of was that Yuta had, in fact, spoken to you before.

One evening, you had gone cycling a few blocks away from home when you accidentally crashed onto the mailbox of one of the houses. You let out a cry of pain first – and then the anxiety kicked in, because your own house suddenly seemed so far away and you weren’t sure if you could walk all the way home.

As if the heavens heard your prayers, a boy of your age walked out of the house, immediately running to you in concern and asking if you were alright. 

You recognised him. He was the strange boy at school that never seemed to do anything outside of his studies. Despite the fact that your knee was scratched and blood was running down your leg, all you could focus on was how freaking cute he really was when you looked at him closely.

He helped you get off the ground, supporting you all the way into the house where he asked his mother to help you clean up the injury. The second you were bandaged up and told him you were completely fine, his worry melted away – and then he flashed you a smile and held out his hand, introducing himself as Yuta.

You ignore the fact that you already knew his name, too mesmerised by how blinding his smile was. Somehow, you were able to shake his hand and you introduced yourself – and the next few hours were spent watching reruns of Mr Bean while finishing cans of Dr Pepper. As the sun dipped low and you mounted your bike, you thanked him for the evening and promised that you now owe him one.

You tucked that memory down deep in your heart, a precious little secret that’s just known to you. You didn’t care that everyone else thought he was unapproachable because of the serious face he put on during class – all you knew now was that he could smile, and his smile was the prettiest thing you’d ever seen.

You were quite content to admire Yuta from afar and only speaking to him on occasion, fully knowing how important his studies were to him – because they were just as important to you too. But the stories of your peers asking their fellow classmates kept coming – and you couldn’t deny that the concept of going on a date intrigued you.

Months passed, and there was still no sign of Yuta going out with anyone. He was a little different now – he’d gotten a haircut, his social circle was growing and he started hanging out with more of the guys – but your crush on him was still going strong. 

It was on a Friday afternoon that you gathered the courage to finally ask him to go out with you. 

“Hey Yuta,” you greeted, smiling shyly. The locker area was crowded with your schoolmates and two of his friends were by his side, but you were determined to not let that bother you.

Yuta spared you a glance and closed his locker, slinging his bag over one shoulder. “Oh, hey.”

“Um…” you started, suddenly aware of the number of eyes on you. Whatever. You can do this. “I was wondering if you wanna… go out with me this weekend? We could go to the cinema, and… I don’t know, you can pick the movie.”

The boys flanking Yuta let out snickers and gasps were heard from all around you, to which you begrudgingly ignored.

But you took one look at Yuta and everything else faded away.

There was a frown on his face.

“Go out with you?” Yuta asked incredulously, like he was wondering why you would ever dare to ask him such a question. He eyed you up and down, and suddenly you felt very small under his gaze. “I don’t even know you.”

Your heart dropped to your feet and everything went silent.

You’re never been rejected before, but the stories you heard from your friends felt extremely tangible to you now. Yuta, a boy you thought was an absolute sweetheart, just rejected and humiliated you in public.

There was laughter. The rest of the world became clear again, and you heard it now, loud and distinct – everyone around you was laughing.

At you.

Tears stung your eyes but you blinked them back. You didn’t know how you found your voice, but you were somehow able to squeak out, “Oh! That’s okay, um, see you around then.”

You turned on your heel and ran out, but the sound of everyone laughing at your mortification, the sneers of his friends, the words of Yuta’s rejection still echoed in your head.

It echoed until you reached home and curled under your blanket, crying silently until you were all dried out.

It echoed for days, even when you decided to skip school for the next week because you knew everyone would just stare and whisper.

And that’s when you vowed to yourself: you would never, ever let Nakamoto Yuta hurt you again.

Nayeon hovers in the doorway, a pensive look on her face. “There’s someone here for you.”

You’re bent over a textbook, pretending to read a paragraph even though your brain hasn’t been processing any of the words on the page. The coffee you’d consumed earlier hasn’t helped much either.

You get up from your seat without a word, brushing past Nayeon and making your way into the living room. You feel her trailing behind you, and when you’re in the living room and reaching for the doorknob, Nayeon grabs your arm.

You turn to face her. There’s no mistaking the worry on her face, so you send her a tired smile and say, “It’s okay – I got it from here. Thanks.”

Nayeon squeezes your arm as a silent assurance. With that, she heads into her own room.

You push open the door and Yuta’s leaning against the wall, hands buried deep in his pockets. He doesn’t look good – though to be fair, you’re certain that you don’t look any better than he does. The cocky expression he usually wears is gone, aggravated by the heavy bags under his eyes. His red hair is even messier than normal.

You’ve never seen him like this before. 

If you were being honest, you’d thought that some sick, twisted part of you would find a little satisfaction of seeing him all tired and hollow – but the sight of him like this only tightened the ache in your chest.

“Hey,” Yuta greets quietly, eyes devoid of its usual flare or humour. “I didn’t know if I should come, but… I didn’t want to leave things like that.”

You don’t say anything, still gripping the edge of the door. 

You knew it was coming. You were expecting Yuta to show up at your door. 

But the events of last night are still fresh in your mind. The pain and the rejection felt all too familiar – and all the heartache Yuta has caused you came crashing down into you once more, like a thousand knives in your chest. 

You knew for a fact that Yuta would come to you eventually, but what you don’t know if you’re ready to accept what he’s going to say. You almost feel like slamming the door in his face and telling him to get lost, and that you never want to see him again.

Despite it all, Nayeon’s words echo in your head.

Nothing good ever comes from keeping your feelings hidden.

So you stay put.

But Yuta doesn’t meet your gaze. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry,” he lets out a breath. “Not for stopping us last night. I – I think I was right to do that. I mean, we were drunk, and we weren’t in the right place… especially because… of our history.”

Your throat runs dry. 

He finally meets your eyes, and you know that emotion blazing in his eyes all too well.

Longing. 

“It’s not an excuse, but… I was a stupid kid,” his nostrils are flared, and he runs a hand through his hair. “I felt like the odd one out back then, so I did it because I thought it would make me look cool.” 

You could see it now – the quiet, nerdy little Yuta earning validation from his friends for breaking a girl’s heart. And you almost laugh at the thought.

“I wanted to apologise to you, I swear. But you had already written me off by then, and – I couldn’t blame you for that,” Yuta shrugs like it’s nothing, but there’s a bitterness in his tone. “And it’s so, so stupid, but after that I couldn't stop thinking about you.” 

Yuta takes a step towards you, and your heart begins hammering in your chest. 

“I saw you. Everywhere. Every time I turned on the TV, there was a rerun of Mr Bean. Whenever someone was riding their bike in front of my house, I couldn’t stop thinking of you. Fuck, I couldn’t even drink sodas without remembering the Dr Pepper we had! And when my vision started to get worse, all I could think of was how you must’ve felt every time I made fun of you for wearing glasses.”

Yuta’s face is just inches away from yours. 

You can’t breathe. You don’t know if you ever knew how to.

Your heart nearly stops when he takes your hands, but you let him intertwine your fingers with his.

“Y/N, I – I’m not expecting you to forgive me or anything. I hurt you. I know I did. But I just wanted to let you know that I’m sorry,” Yuta sighs, his eyes finally landing on your face – and when it does, his voice cracks a little. “And if you let me have another chance, I’ll show you just how much you mean to me – for real this time.”

You don’t know how long you’ve been holding your breath, but you finally let it out. You keep your gaze on him – his eyes are full of pain and anguish, but you feel something.

It's a small part of you, beginning to heal.

Neither of you speak for a while, only letting Yuta’s apology soak in the silence. 

Until finally, you lean in, resting your forehead against his – and even after everything, there’s still the familiar warmth in Yuta’s touch, ever present and comforting.

“Yuta, I really appreciate you saying that,” you breathe out, and when Yuta’s eyes light up, you almost don’t want to go on with what you’re about to say next. You know you have to push through – even if it means that it’ll disappoint him. “But… it’s still too early. I – finals are coming up and I can't think about this right now and – and I just need some time.”

“All the time you need,” Yuta whispers, his breath hot against your face. He squeezes your hands – and it feels like a promise. “Whenever you’re ready, just know I’ll be waiting for you.”

When he pulls away, he’s wearing a smile – it’s a little weary, but you could see the light slowly returning to his eyes.

“See you around, Y/N.”

You watch his figure retreat down the hallway and disappear.

And for the first time since last night, you have a tiny inkling that everything will be alright.

Your life’s been quiet ever since finals ended.

Even though it’s now common knowledge between your friends that you don’t really have anyone to occupy your time, you’re still surprised that none of them have been pestering you to go out as they usually would.

Campus has quieted too – the frantic energy of everyone facing the pressure of their studies is long gone. With the early days of summer rolling in, the atmosphere feels warm and comfortable. 

Besides a text that you never sent and a couple of shared glances at the library, you haven’t spoken to Yuta since that day outside of your dorm – but his apology still lingers at the back of your mind, along with his promise to wait for you.

When Johnny told you earlier that he had been hanging out with Taeyong (read: around the music building), you had a vague idea of where he would be. There’s a little bench next to the building overlooking the campus gardens, perfect for a little peace and quiet – and that’s exactly where you find Yuta.

He doesn’t notice you approach at first, too focused on the view before him. There’s a guitar case by his feet, and you silently remind yourself to ask him to play a song for you one day.

“Yuta,” you call out gently.

At the sound of your voice, Yuta looks up at you, a twinkle in his eyes. “Well, well, look who survived the academic tornado.”

His tone is teasing, light-hearted, and you feel your knot in your stomach melt away already. You take the seat next to him. “Just barely, but yeah. I’m officially free now,” you declare. “And I’ve been thinking.”

He doesn’t say a word, staring at you intently. Your tone wasn’t hostile at all, but there’s still the uncertainty of what you’re about to say – and you can see it weighing on him, the caution in his eyes and the carefulness of his actions.

You take a deep breath and exhale. “That day – you were right. You did hurt me. And I hated you for it. I promised myself that I would never let you do it again – so I completely cut you off. I convinced myself that you were the monster that I wanted you to be,” you admit, sparing a glance at him. Before you realise, mirth seeps into your words. “God, it was frustrating, because I still had to see you all throughout middle school and high school – and when we graduated and I thought I was finally free of you, somehow we still ended up at the same college.”

Yuta chuckles, light and slow, and the sound sparks something in your chest.

But you're not done speaking yet.

“Maybe I did hate you at first. But I think over the years, it just turned into annoyance – especially when we started fighting for the top spot in class and you started calling me Glasses.”

You fiddle with your thumbs. You’re grateful that Yuta hasn’t interrupted to say anything yet, because you’re still untangling the thoughts in your head.

“Still, after all those years of convincing myself and everyone else that I hated you, I don’t know if I can just take that all away so quickly,” you confess, and take his hand. Slowly, but surely – a smile starts to form on his face. “But I’m ready to give you a chance, Yuta. I’m willing to try, if you are.”

Yuta's fully grinning now, and he brings your hand up to his face to plant a kiss. The brush of his lips against your skin sends butterflies through your stomach. “I am,” he vows. “More than anything.”

And your heart soars. 

You really want to kiss him again.

So you lean in – and Yuta’s face is flushed in pink when you place a kiss on his cheek. Your hand is still clasped in his, but you don’t let go. You don’t want to.

“So…” Yuta begins, tilting his head. His eyes are alight now, and it sends a warm flush through you. “Will you go on a date with me tonight? A real one this time?”

“Yes… on one condition.”

“Anything,” he says, squeezing your hand.

“No fancy dinners or anything like that, please,” you assert, and when you see the curiosity in his face, you let out a laugh. “Let’s just… take it slow.”

“Slow,” Yuta repeats, then slowly raises an eyebrow. “Unless I tell you that I’m willing to take my shirt off right now?”

You roll your eyes, nudging him in the shoulder. “Don’t push it, Nakamoto.”

He grins at you, the corners of his eyes crinkling in the most adorable way. You sigh in contentment and pull him close, wrapping your arms around him as he melts into your embrace.

You don't know what the future holds, but you’re certain that in this moment, you're content to sit and enjoy the pretty view, holding hands with the prettiest boy you've ever seen.

TAGLIST  ☆  @greenyweirdo @dontlethismagicdie

© rainverry, 2025

[lyvhie]

(18+ mdni)

ᯓ★ cockwarming with chenle

honestly, he still couldn't understand why you insisted on it with him. what was the purpose of being inside you if not to fuck—to make love to you? he just couldn’t wrap his head around it. you always said something about intimacy, about how special it is to be that close without necessarily having sex, that it could be more than just that. and well… it’s not like he could resist your cute, pleading face when you whined about it to him. so, of course, he gave in (easily, if he’s being honest), even if he kept up a little act of fake annoyance.

that's how you ended up like that—your head resting just above his chest, tucked under his chin, while his back was leaned against the couch. you sat on his lap, his cock nestled deep inside your warm cunt, the connection between you two steady and still. his hand traced slow, lazy circles along the small of your back, lulling you into a soft haze, nearly drifting to sleep in the comforting quiet of it all.

"that’s really all we have to do?” he asked, his voice soft. "mhm,” was all you offered in reply, your face snuggling deeper into the crook of his neck, your breath warm against his skin. he hummed back. yeah. cool. it was… nice. not as thrilling as actually moving inside you, sure, but still good in a way he hadn’t expected. he liked it.

“oh, by the way,” he said, his hand sliding down to your thigh, giving it a light squeeze “i got us tickets for the warriors’ game next week.”

“mhm… right, i saw something about curry recovering from his injury,” you replied, sighing softly as his fingers rubbed gentle circles into your skin. “he might be playing by then.”

“ooh, my pretty girl is keeping updated on this stuff?” he teased, a smug grin pulling at his lips. “well, i need to know how my enemy is doing,” you replied, dead serious, which made him let out a short laugh. “c’mon, not this again. i told you already, you’re my only one. not even he can compete.”

you huffed dramatically. “i’m not so sure about that, but i am winning right now considering the current scenario,” you said, clearly smirking against his neck. “i don’t think you’d be doing this with curry, right?”

he hesitate for a second, “… right.”

“chenle, no way!” you immediately pulled back from his neck, staring at him with wide, incredulous eyes.

he burst into laughter, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you back into his chest. “do you really think i’d be cockwarming with stephen curry?” his voice dripped with disbelief and amusement.

“don’t make me answer that,” you muttered, and he could practically hear the pout in your tone, making him laugh even harder. “i was just kidding, love,” he said, voice softening as he nuzzled into your neck. “you think i'd let anyone but you sit all pretty like this on me?”

his hand trailed down between your legs, and before you could say anything, his thumb found your clit, pressing and rubbing in slow, teasing circles. the contact made you tighten around him involuntarily, a small gasp escaping you, his soft sigh mirroring your own.

“mmh,” he hummed against your skin, lips brushing gently along your neck. “see? only you.” he pressed a few soft, lingering kisses there, each one making you shiver just a little. then, with a teasing bite to your skin, his voice dropped lower, more playful, yet laced with want.

“since you were doubting me…” he mumbled, hands sliding up to grip your waist, “i think we’re done with just sitting pretty. gotta fuck some sense into you, sweetheart.”

[hazyhae]

moving waters | kdy

researcher!doyoung x f!reader

summary: you’re always on the go, always needing something new—new places, hobbies, jobs, people. when you settle in your penpal’s beach town for an indefinite time, a harsh encounter with his best friend, doyoung, turns into so much more, and you find that maybe everything was meant to lead you here. maybe the thought of something lasting forever isn’t so scary, after all.

wc: 10k 18+ mdni

genre: fluff, hurt/comfort, angst, smut

cw: beach town au, non-idol, enemies to ???, story heavy, slowburn-ish, mean doyoung at first, reader has problems with hyperfixation and commitment, opposites attract, bestie taeyong, fwb, jealous reader, drunk sex, body worship, unprotected pinv sex (pls don’t), oral (receiving), drunk arguments, sick from drinking, pet names: pretty, baby, beautiful

You inhale the fresh sea breeze, taking in the hint of salt and bright blue sky all around you. You carefully make your way through the rock formation, gazing down at the shallow pools of water woven through the rocks you step on.

You see a starfish sprawled out just under the water’s surface and crouch down a bit more to get a better view, but a slight movement of your hand sends one of your rings flying into the water, tucked somewhere your eyes don’t quite catch.

You panic, reaching in to try and grab where you think it might be.

“Don’t touch that!” a stern voice booms from behind you, and you snatch your hand back, whipping around to see the source of your scolding.

A man in rubber overalls, a bucket hat, and the nastiest glare you’ve ever seen strides until he is on a rock a few feet away from you. He points an accusatory finger at you.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing? Those starfish aren’t for people to play with.”

You frown. “I wa-”

“Don’t you know not to mess with the wildlife? They’re alive and-”

“I wasn’t going to touch them, you asshole!”

His glare narrows even further, and you get a better look at the man’s sharp eyes that match his even sharper tone.

“Oh, sure, as if I didn’t see you reaching in with my own two eyes.” He rolls his eyes, scoffing. “Typical tourists.”

You feel rage bubble in your throat, but you stop yourself. You meet his glare with your own. “Shut the fuck up.”

You relish in the way his glare twists into a look of shock at your harsh words, storming past him the way you came, still careful to avoid stepping on anything but the rocks that stick through the water’s surface.

You exit the tide pool, ignoring whatever the man tries to say to you, walking away as fast as possible.

He eventually gives up, but you don’t look back once. By the time you reach the steps of a familiar building, the anger has faded into mild annoyance. What the hell was that guy’s problem?

“Hey, everything okay?” a friendly voice calls out to you, and you turn to see your blonde headed friend tending to his patio plants.

Taeyong had been your pen pal for years after you met him on one of your travels. You swear he is your platonic soulmate, evident in how many years you’ve kept in contact. A few months ago, he invited you to his beach hometown to stay in the tiny guest house attached to his as long as you wanted.

“Yeah, just ran into some asshole at the beach,” you grumble, taking a seat on the steps as you watch him carefully water one of them. His head whips towards you with a look of concern, and you hold your hands up to stop him before he gets heated. “It’s fine though, really.”

“Just wait for me next time, I’ll go with you,” he frowns, going back to watering his plants, and his concern shakes the last bit of annoyance from you.

You’ve been here for two weeks, and your time here has been exactly what you needed.

For as long as you’ve been alive, you’ve always been on the go, never one to settle in one place for too long. Your family moved from city to city growing up, with you never fully allowing yourself to get attached to anything or anyone you might leave behind.

As you grew up, you adopted this same lifestyle, and you never felt bad leaving anything behind, never let your thoughts dwell for too long.

But you’d become stagnant for a couple of years, and it was driving you insane, caught in commitments that didn’t allow you to move on. So you tied loose ends and left at Taeyong’s invitation— better to figure things out on the warm sand, right?

“Anyways, go get some rest before tonight,” Taeyong instructs, patting some loose dirt off of his trousers.

“Tonight?”

He scoffs in disbelief. “You forgot? We haven’t gone out once since you came— don’t you want to see how we have fun around here?”

Grinning, you give him a thumbs up.

“If I’m not up by 7, do whatever it takes to wake me up.”

He laughs. “Whatever it takes—noted.”

You don’t need Taeyong to wake you up, and after dressing yourself up for a night out, he shows you exactly what it means to have fun in his hometown. The clubbing scene is just right— not too crowded, but just enough to have a good time.

Drinks are unbelievably cheap, and all the excitement leads to a shot, a cocktail or two, and way more shots you lose count of.

The two of you end up having a little too much fun, and Taeyong ends up crouched at the corner of the bar’s exterior, throwing up as you pat his back.

“I’m sorry..” he apologizes drunkenly through his retching, and you wince as he continues to empty his stomach’s contents.

“It’s okay, Yomi,” you assure, speech also slurred as you try to soothe him. You don’t know how the two of you will be getting home tonight, but it’s hard to even think about it with your friend in this state.

“Is he okay?” a voice cuts through your daze, and you whip your head around to find its source.

It’s hard to make out the man’s features from his backlit form and your blurred vision, but as he comes closer to crouch next to you both, immediately your eyes widen in recognition.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” you seethe, and the man’s eyebrows furrow in confusion.

“Do I know you?” he asks, and the rage bubbles up even more.

“Aren’t you that asshole from the beach earlier?”

He pauses, but that seems to do it for him, and his eyes narrow into the same sharp glare he had earlier. “Oh, it’s you.”

You’re about to start arguing with him when he passes right by you, peering over at Taeyong’s face. Your protective instincts activate.

“Hey, get away from hi—”

“Doie!!!!!” your sloshed friend exclaims, jumping to his feet as he throws his arms around your enemy. You’re confused and way too drunk for this right now, just watching as “Doie” separates himself from your friend, holding him at arm’s length with a disgusted look.

“Yomi, do you know this freak?”

“Freak? What the—”

“My bestie Doie is heeere,” Taeyong exclaims, seeming as if he’s risen from the dead. He loops his arm around your neck and the other around his taller friend, holding you two tightly, your faces just inches from each other.

“Both my besties in one place? I-I’m so happy I could..”

You both look at each other with panicked expressions.

“Cry—”

And what comes from your friend are not tears, but another round of vomit. Luckily, you’re not caught in the crossfire, but the two of you are silent as Taeyong slumps over, both of you struggling to hold his dead weight.

After somehow getting Taeyong onto his back, you follow as he trudges over to what you assume is his car parked a block away. You open the car door for him as he shoves Taeyong in, your friend curling up peacefully across the entire row of seats.

The dark haired man slams the door with a grunt, letting out a heavy sigh. He turns his sight to you, his glare still present, but not as intense.

“Are you coming or what?” he asks gruffly.

“Huh?”

He sighs again, shaking his head. “Are you that drunk? You’re the one staying with Taeyong aren’t you?”

Dazed, you nod your head.

“He drunk texted me about an hour ago to pick you guys up—didn’t realize you were the friend he was talking about.”

“What do you me-”

“Just get in the damn car if you don’t want to be stranded here,” he interrupts coldly, turning on his heel to the driver’s side.

Your voice gets stuck in your throat, a pounding headache starting to form. You have no choice but to comply, with no idea of how to get back to Taeyong’s at this time of the night.

Opening the passenger door hesitantly, you slide in, setting your sights out the window, refusing to turn your head towards the driver.

He starts the car and starts the trip back to Taeyong’s and you pinch your nose as your head starts to spin. You quickly realize you probably aren’t as sober as you thought you were.

“Better not throw up in my car,” he warns, glancing over at you, and that last comment is just what it takes for you to snap.

“Well, Doie. You’re rude as fuck to someone you just met,” you assert, pointing at him accusingly. “Even earlier on the beach, I wasn’t gonna touch anything, you know? You just assumed.”

“First of all, it’s Doyoung to you. and yeah—you’re telling me that when I know what I saw with my own two eyes,” he scoffs. Finally, you face him, eyes wide at his stubbornness.

“Doie, Doyoung, whatever. I dropped something in that tide pool, I was just reaching into try and find it—and you know what? It’s probably in some starfish’s stomach thanks to you-”

He takes a particularly sharp turn as you finish your sentence. The swift motion has your pounding headache turning into spinning, and suddenly you feel sick to your stomach. Slapping a hand to your mouth, you grip onto Doyoung’s arm.

“Pull over! PULL OVER!!!!” you screech, and in shock he veers over to the nearest curb with you stumbling out of the car before he’s even properly parked.

“Are you fucking crazy?!” you hear his voice trail off behind you.

Luckily, there isn’t anyone else on the streets this late—one, to see the car moving as if Doyoung was the drunk one, and two, to see you in the very same position Taeyong was in earlier.

Your eyes sting with embarrassment and pain as you empty your stomach, at this point not even caring if Doie or Doyoung or whatever the fuck his name is leaves you on the curb.

Catching your breath, you feel your eyes well up a bit more in frustration at this situation. You don’t register the sound of footsteps approaching, and something cold touches your face, making you wince in surprise.

You look up to see Doyoung holding a cold water bottle to you, its condensation making it look like the most delicious drink in the world right now. In an uncharacteristic display, he opens it for you with a snap of the cap, handing it to you again.

“Drink, you need this.”

You hate the way he tells you what to do, but you feel your resolve crumble as you accept it gratefully, feeling humiliated at this moment of weakness.

“Take your time,” he nods and walks away, and after a few minutes, you get up, too.

You’re surprised to see he didn’t go back in the car, simply waiting as he leans against the hood of his car. He moves back into the driver’s seat as soon as he sees you walking back, water bottle still in hand.

The rest of the drive back to Taeyong’s is silent. As he pulls in front of the house, you turn to him, shakily preparing to admit defeat and apologize.

“I’m so-”

“It’s fine, just go inside.”

A flare of anger ignites at once again being interrupted, but you’re more than grateful to not have to fully apologize.

“I’ll take care of this guy, you have the key to the guest house, right?” he asks, and though you want to ask him how he knows that, you simply nod and exit the car. Without any further regard for you, he starts to help Taeyong out of the car.

Taeyong will be fine, and you’re too tired and pained to think anymore. You make your way around the back to the guest house, collapsing into the bed and drifting off as soon as your head hits the pillow.

You wake up with the worst hangover you’ve had in a long time, flailing blindly for any source of water. Finding the half-finished water bottle from last night, you groan as you replay the events of the night.

You force yourself to get up and shower, reflecting as the hot water washes away last night’s mistakes.

Who would’ve known the asshole who yelled at you on the beach would be your sweet Taeyong’s friend? Best friend at that? Though a part of you tells you that he did have some redeeming moments.

Whatever, you just hope you won’t see him anytime soon.

Taeyong is most likely still knocked out cold, so after freshening up, you go on a walk to try and decompress, taking in the fresh air.

You stop by a cafe on the way, drinking a cup of much-needed coffee as you watch people stroll by.

This really is just what you needed. No responsibilities, no stress. You catch a whiff of the sea breeze—that could be a hangover cure in itself.

Arriving at the beach, it’s a little more crowded that day, but a familiar head of pitch black hair popping in and out from the tide pool area catches your eye.

Your brain tells you you should’ve just turned around and walked away, but you approach anyways, your feet leading you up the same path and to the same man you had encountered there just a day before.

He doesn’t hear you approaching, and you watch as he carefully forages through the tide pool in those same rubber overalls, doing exactly what he told you not to do.

“Hasn’t anyone ever told you not to mess with the wildlife?”

He whips around in shock at your words, eyes wide at you seemingly appearing from thin air. He breathes out when he realizes it’s you, and he shakes his head.

“I’m not messing with them, for your information—this is my job,” he corrects you sternly.

“Your job is to pick around at tide pools?”

He scoffs. “I’m a marine biologist, I don’t pick around these pools—I research and preserve them. There are always stupid kids and tourists coming around here and messing around.”

“Oh.”

You have nothing smart to respond with at the revelation that he is a qualified professional, and an awkward silence settles between you, the sound of waves crashing against the rocks filling the space.

That explains why he was such an asshole—he’s probably used to chasing off people who actually mean harm.

An apology hangs off of your tongue, but you don’t let it fall, your pride reminding you of how he’s spoken down to you since the first time you met.

He approaches silently, rummaging through the pocket on the chest of his overalls. “Anyways…” he trails off, pulling out a few items and holding them out to you.

“Were any of these what you were looking for?”

Lying in his hand are two plastic buttons clearly from different garments, a hairclip, a broken keychain, and, slightly dulled from its time in the water, the ring you dropped.

“You didn’t say what you lost, so I didn’t know what to look for.”

You’re speechless. You’ve been cursing him with every fiber of your being since you laid eyes on him, but in a second the atmosphere has shifted.

“Well?” he asks, looking at you expectantly.

“…Yeah, this one,” you reply, gingerly picking the ring from his hand, your skin brushing his slightly.

He nods, putting the rest of the items into a container he’d had by his feet.

“You actually looked for it?” You realize it might be a dumb question, but you’re genuinely shocked he would go out of his way to do that.

“Sunday is my day for weekly tide pool surveys anyways,” he waves you off. His eyes soften slightly, and the corners of his lips curl in a slight smile. “Didn’t want it in a starfish’s stomach after all.”

You can’t help but feel the corners of your own mouth twitch up at his reference to your drunken rage last night.

“That ring—is it important to you?”

You got the ring at some market for cheap, and realistically, you would’ve forgotten about it in a week. You’re honest with him.

“Not really.”

He laughs in disbelief.

“But still, thank you—seriously.”

You hope he can feel that you’re genuine, and it seems like he does.

You know you could buy 100 more, but now that someone worked so hard to get it back to you? Someone who you thought hated your guts? Maybe you could take better care of it.

“Are you done with your work?” you ask, and he seems caught off guard by your question.

“..No? Still have half of the pool to survey.”

You smile at his confused expression—it’s nice to see his different expressions when he’s not glaring at you like you’re the worst person in the world.

“Need some help?”

Though he rejected your first offer, you stubbornly insisted on helping him pick out little bits of trash and debris. There wasn’t that much to clean, and Doyoung still had to do work once you were done.

The first time you helped you left as soon as you were done, but as you go about the rest of your week, something has you itching to see him again.

So you do the following Sunday, eyes scanning for that familiar head of dark hair.

You see more of him this day—the shocked expression he has at seeing you again, the slightly annoyed look he dons when you refuse to leave. Yet the sharpness he had when you first met is absent, and you’re relieved.

And when you return the following week wearing a pair of similar rubber overalls to his, the surprise on his face is priceless.

You can’t help it. You tell yourself you won’t go back, and Doyoung insists you stop coming, but every Sunday you end up right back where you started.

The 5th time you come, things shift a bit. With barely anything to clean and a lull in his research, the time you usually fill with work is empty.

One thing leads to another, and you trip on one of the rocks, falling on your ass. Luckily, no sea creatures are harmed in the process, and you laugh at yourself.

Doyoung rushes towards you, grabbing your forearms to help you up. “Are you hurt anywhere?” he asks, concerned.

“It’s no wonder Taeyong kept you around his whole time,” you coo, allowing him to help you up. You half expect him to revert right back to a stoic glare, but your consistency proves to have broken down some of his barriers.

He smiles, really smiles, and it’s a gummy smile with eyes that crinkle just right. His laughter is so joyful, so unlike your first impression.

“It’s more like I keep him around,” he jokes. “Just kidding, Tae is too kind for his own good, he needs someone careful like me around him.”

You don’t have a witty response, starstruck at the soft expression he has talking about his friend. Someone dear to him.

Could that expression, that gummy smile of his, ever be directed at you? For you? About you?

Silence.

For some reason, the apology you left hanging for so long hits you like a train.

“Sorry.”

“Sorry.”

It takes a second to register that the word left not only your mouth, your heads darting to each other, eyes open wide in shock.

He inhales, you giggle, and the two of you break into fits of laughter. You laugh until your stomach hurts, and you don’t continue quite yet once the laughter dies down. He beckons you over to a rock formation that juts over the water, and you sit side by side.

The way the water cascades is hypnotizing, and the two of you watch for a moment before he breaks the silence.

“I’m really sorry for being so disrespectful. It’s just..” He glances back at the tide pool before training his eyes back on the waves. “This is my life’s work you know? A lot of people come through here and don’t care. I thought you were like them and I’m sorry I treated you like you were.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t judge people before you know them.”

“Yeah— that's true.”

He sounds so genuine. Another silence ensues, and it makes you wish you had gone first. You push down any remaining pride, turning to him.

“I’m sorry, too, for being kind of a bitch.”

He laughs at your choice of words, and the air lightens noticeably.

“Well, I kind of deserved it.” You don’t quite agree with that. The two of you are just different.

“No, you’re just passionate. That’s a good thing. I personally can’t understand dedicating your whole life to something—there’s so much out there, you know?,” you muse.

And it’s true, you can’t imagine what life would have looked like if you only ever stayed in one place.

“You think it’s a good thing? I was born and raised here, the ocean is all I’ve ever known.” A small smile lights his face as he breathes in the fresh air.

“But I don’t think I’ve wanted anything else.”

You can only sit there in awe. You don’t know if you’ve ever met anyone like this—so straightforward, so committed, so content. So opposite of you.

“Well, I’ve had a lot of passions, but nothing’s ever stuck,” you muse.

“Like what?”

You explain that you’ve tried it all—thought for a while you’d be a lawyer, then dabbled in nursing, traveling the whole country. He laughs at the thought of you as a nurse.

“You as a nurse when you’re the one yacking on the side of the road?” he teases.

“Hey.”

He apologizes sheepishly, and you continue.

“I tried to do fashion and design, and those didn’t stick either. I think the longest running thing was a weed business I ran back where some of my family lives—my cousin runs it now, though. You ever try?” you hold up your pinched index finger and thumb to your mouth as if smoking an imaginary blunt.

Amusement lights his eyes. “I’m not so sure it’s legal here.”

“Oh, it is—I made sure to ask Taeyong before coming to stay here,” you correct him confidently.

He laughs. “Fiend.” You lightly smack the side of his arm and his laughter grows.

“Well, what are you doing now?” he asks.

You grin as you gear up to explain.

“Nothing!”

His brows furrow, waiting for the punchline of a joke he thinks his coming.

“Nothing?”

You nod amidst his confused reaction, continuing.

“I’ve done so much, worked so much, but doing nothing is the only thing I haven’t tried yet, and it’s honestly been nice.”

“And you can afford that?” His question is genuine.

“Trust, I have more than enough to get by for a while. That’s what happens when you hyperfixate on a bunch of different things.”

You fixate on the patterns the crashing waves make, watching how the droplets drag themselves back into the mass.

“The more you move the more you make, you know? And that’s all I’ve ever done.” You look back at him. “Move.”

He’s at a loss for words, and you notice how his eyes droop a bit, taking on a sad look. Another expression added to your mental scrapbook of Doyoung, but not one you think you want to see often.

After what feels like a million questions directed towards you, you ask just one of your own.

“You’re sure you never wanted to try anything else?”

Doyoung’s response is immediate, as if he’s pondered this many times before.

“No.” The sadness leaves his eyes as he takes on a resolute expression instead. “I’m perfectly fine here.”

A question enters your mind at how certain he is. How nice is it to have something you care that much about? You don’t voice it, keeping it for yourself.

“I think I’m fine, too. For now, at least.”

You continue your days spending time learning to do nothing. While your quiet Sundays are always spent on the beach with Doyoung, Saturday nights are always Taeyong’s.

After that disaster of a first night, you’ve been careful of your alcohol intake. You tell yourself it’s because you don’t want a repeat, but a part of you holds back at the thought of wanting to be fully energized for your mornings on the beach.

You’ve been thinking too much, and maybe Taeyong has noticed, but he convinces you it’s time to let loose.

You don’t have to be at the pools in the morning—half the time you don’t even help when there isn’t much to clean. You sit and sunbathe while Doyoung works. He’s stopped telling you to leave, but who’s to say he wouldn’t appreciate some solo time?

You resolve yourself to go all out, but you’re not even halfway done with your first tequila soda when you think you may be hallucinating. A familiar face walks into the bar, waving at the two of you awkwardly.

Doyoung stands in front of you, dressed for a night out in his own Doyoung way—some nice fitting pants and a loose black button up giving you a nice view of a silver chain perfectly framed by his collarbones. His hair, usually fluffy and free, is tousled with some gel in just the right way.

He looks mouth watering.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, and Taeyong bounces between you two.

“You’d be surprised, but this guy can hold his liquor 10x better than I can,” Taeyong exclaims.

“I’m not surprised actually,” you tell both of them, already seeing the telltale signs that your friend is drunk.

Taeyong pouts, and you and Doyoung laugh. While Taeyong buys a round of shots for the 3 of you, you nudge Doyoung’s shoulder.

“Match me?”

“You’re gonna regret it.” There’s a playful glint in his eye, and your chest flares as you rise to the challenge.

“Bet.”

It’s safe to say you don’t regret it in the slightest.

Taeyong taps out not too far into the night, tucked safely in some booth with a glass of water until his cab arrives to take him home.

And you and Doyoung? The night flies by in a booth of your own.

You’re talking like you’ve never talked before. He talks about his childhood in that beach town, the trouble he and Taeyong used to get into, the university up the coast he works at on some weekdays. You talk about your favorite cities, the worst jobs you’ve tried, the craziest people you’ve met along the way.

All the while you get to know him, you don’t realize you’ve inched closer. It starts with your hand on his arm as you excitedly explain a random story to the way you sit angled towards him, your knees touching every so often.

And the touches only grow more familiar as the drinks go down.

His hand trails down your forearm, his touch light and feathery. At some point you hold one of his hands in both of yours, playing with his fingers as you talk animatedly about another tangent subject you don’t remember bringing up.

You see even more of Doyoung you haven’t before, and part of you wishes you could snap a picture to keep this memory forever. You can smell his cologne mixed with alcohol, and you hope you can commit the addicting scent to memory.

You’re drunk— it’s evident in the cool feeling of the alcohol sitting in your stomach and the heat in your face. His face is tinged with blush, his eyes are dazed and glossy—he’s just as drunk as you are.

At some point, you make the mistake of closing your eyes as you lean back. You aren’t sleeping, but it just feels nice to rest your eyes, the alcohol making it’s way through your blood stream. Your head lolls to the side and onto a firm shoulder.

“You okay?” Doyoung calls softly to you. You can feel his warm breath close to you and his arm wrap around your form to steady you.

You hum in response, cracking one eye open.

He’s right in front of you, and as his full face comes into view, backlit by the dim lighting in the club, your thoughts betray you.

You like seeing so many sides of Doyoung: annoyed, happy, excited. Yet you want to see yet another side of him—one different from all the rest.

You lean in and kiss him.

It’s a gentle peck, nothing crazy, but it feels like the air stills around you. Like the music and chatter in the background have silenced, like only the two of you exist.

Doyoung doesn’t react like how you think. He doesn’t freeze, get mad, push you away.

No, he closes his eyes, his arm around you holding you tighter, pulling you closer, and meets your lips with his. It’s longer than the one you gave him. You can taste the alcohol on his breath.

His hand trails down your back down to your waist, tugging you closer to him, his kisses deepening.

Your arms wrap around his neck like you’ve done this with him a million times before, and you take the initiative to deepen it even more, loving the way he gasps a bit when your tongue meets his.

The two of you make out for who knows how long, but even when he pulls back, out of breath, lips glistening—you chase him. It all feels too good, and you want more.

He pulls back again.

“You’re drunk.”

The corners of your lips pull up.

“No, you are.”

He sighs, leaning his forehead on yours.

“We’re both drunk.”

“Then it cancels out!”

He lets out another more exasperated sigh, but his lips pull into a smile as well.

“Not how it works.”

Pulling the inside of your lip between your teeth, your eyes trail from his eyes, down to his lips, and back up to his eyes. He groans.

“Don’t look at me like that.” You bat your eyes innocently.

“Like what, baby?” you tease, but you know where this is going. His eyes darken at the affectionate name. You’re drunk, but you’re entirely in your right mind when you say you need to fuck Doyoung in this moment.

You never really thought about it before despite knowing he was an attractive guy, but the second he walked into the bar looking the way he did, talking to you the way he did, touching you the way he did—there was an unmistakable feeling of desire.

And he seems to have the same feeling, apparent in the way both of you stumble out of the bar, giggling as he keeps a hand wrapped around your waist firmly, his hold on you not faltering even in the taxi back to the guest house.

His lips are back on yours as soon as you’re inside. He pushes you up against the front door as soon as it’s closed, locking it with a click behind you.

He runs his lips down your neck, leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses down its expanse that send shivers through your entire body. For someone usually so patient (through not necessarily without complaints), he’s so impatient, running his hands down your waist and hips, bunching up the bottom of your dress in his hands.

“Fuck, Doyoung, do something,” you moan, and you’re met with his dark gaze.

He falls to his knees, pulling your bottom half towards him, your back still resting on the door. He pushes up your dress, throwing one of your legs over his shoulders.

“Shut up,” he mumbles out, attaching his mouth to your core over your underwear. Your other leg trembles, and it would give out if not for the hold he has on your thigh and ass. He digs his tongue between your folds, finding your clit and pressing the material against it in circles.

You grasp at his hair, tugging slightly, and he groans into your pussy, sending vibrations through your clothed core. Your chest heaves as he has his way with you, moving his tongue from side to side until you’re shaking.

The feeling of the slick, rough fabric pushed by his warm tongue sends shocks down your system, and it’s only a matter of time before you’re cumming with a loud cry, your head shooting up.

You don’t get a chance to recover before Doyoung has you on the bed, him helping you slide your dress up over your head. You take a look at the bit of his chest that peeks out from his shirt.

“You, too. Take it off, Doie,” you in plead, and grins.

“I helped you, why don’t you help me out?” he asks playfully, and in a flash you’re fumbling with the buttons on his shirt, taking in every bit of toned skin that comes into view. You run your hands down his chest, loving the way he shudders under your touch.

“Don’t play, baby.”

He pushes you back in the bed, shrugging his pants off. He kisses down your bare chest, palm kneading at your chest, his lips wrapping around one of your nipples as his tongue glides across it.

You moan at the sensation—everywhere he touches feels like it’s on fire. His hot breath on your skin feels more intoxicating than the liquor pumping through your veins.

“You’re so beautiful,” he mutters under his breath, “so fucking beautiful.”

His lips trail up back to yours, kissing you even deeper, pressing you into the sheets, grinding his knee into your bare cunt. You moan into his mouth, moving your hips along with his motions.

And all of a sudden, the need to be filled up is far too overwhelming. “Doyoung, please, please,” you cry into his mouth.

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you, pretty girl,” he assures, his voice low and rough as if he’s holding himself back. “Condoms?”

Your head is clouded with desire, and you don’t think you’ve ever wanted anyone more than in this moment.

“I’m clean, I’m on the pill—just, please, Doyoung. Please,” you cry.

As if something snaps, he groans, pulling himself from his underwear—his cock stands painfully hard, and you feel yourself salivate at the sight. He spits into his hand, quickly coating his member in his spit, and lines up between your legs.

“Bear with me okay—tell me if it hurts, pretty,” he instructs before pushing into your entrance with a hiss. The stretch burns, but it burns so fucking good, and you move your hips to try and get more of him in you.

“Sh-shit,” he pushes on your lower stomach to hold you in place, but it just leaves you wanting more, your chest heaving with pure desire. “You’re so fucking tight.”

“I’ll give you what you want, just stay still,” he growls, moving both hands to your hips, keeping you in place. “Don’t wanna hurt you, baby. Let me take care of you.” You squirm in his hold, but it’s no use—he pins you there with his strong grip until he’s fully sheathed himself in you.

And fuck, it feels so good, so full. And as he starts shallowly thrusting, testing the waters all while gauging the way your expression twists with a watchful eye, all you can do is just lay there and *take it—*and that in itself is such a new feeling for someone so used to getting what you want on your own.

His eyes swirl with lust, but also awe, and you wonder if he likes seeing your different sides as much as you like seeing his. He starts picking up the pace, his cock reaching into you deeper, and you cry out at the sensation, your hands flying to his shoulders to hold onto something.

He sets a steady rhythm, though sometimes his hips stutter sloppily, undoubtedly from the leftover alcohol in his system, and the silver chain hanging around his neck swinging back and forth is hypnotizing.

His gaze never wavers. Even when your eyes roll back, shut, or you move your head around from the sensations of getting pounded into the mattress, his eyes are always on you when your gaze returns to him—and Doyoung looks at you like you’re the only thing in the world.

The only words exchanged between the slapping sound of skin on skin and the burning sensation between your legs are curses and strings of his name from you and sweet whispers and praises from him.

“So beautiful, so fucking pretty,” he groans like a mantra, “pretty girl like you deserves everything—fuck—gonna take such good care of you.”

You clench around him at the sweet promises, your mind spinning with only thoughts of Doyoung, Doyoung, and Doyoung. You want him to take care of you, you want to be under him, letting him do whatever he wants to you. The feeling of his skin on yours just feels so right.

You pull him closer to you, fully wrapping your arms around his neck. He continues pounding into you like there’s no tomorrow as you cling to him for dear life, his deep groans and grunts in your ears.

“L-let go, let me see you when you cum, baby,” he heaves, holding on as long as he can. Your hold on him loosens, but you keep your hands on his shoulders, nails digging into the muscles.

“Hi, beautiful,” he greets as your face comes into view. “Keep those eyes on me, yeah?” The pressure builds and builds at each thrust, your pussy starting to ripple around him until it’s all too much, and your eyes flutter, trying to do as he says and keep your eyes on him.

You cum around him with a loud gasp, your cries filling the room as he rides out your orgasm. He grits his teeth to hold on until you’ve completely finished, feeling a tightness in his own abdomen before pulling out, jerking himself furiously, his cum painting your stomach in streaks.

You both breathe harshly, coming down from your highs, before he collapses right next to you, an arm thrown over you. You’re so tired and everything is hazy, but you’re 100% sober at this point.

Regret should be filling your system at doing this drunk, but it doesn’t. Doyoung grabs his shirt, wiping your stomach, and settles beside you, tucking his arm under your neck.

And just like how it was when he was inside you, lying beside him feels just as right.

You wake up with pain in your head and your body, still in his grasp. Doyoung is still asleep, breathing steadily. He looks so peaceful. Another piece of him added to your memories.

As if he senses you staring, he stirs slightly before his eyes peek open, blinking off sleep as he makes out your features.

“Hi,” he greets, voice deep and scratchy. It stirs something in your stomach.

“Hi.”

There’s a brief silence, the two of you just looking at each other, knowing you have to address how you got to this point. You dread it.

“…Were you okay with everything? I want to let you know I’m completely okay with what happened last night, but I know we were drunk.” he breaks the silence. The fact that he checks in on you first and foremost makes your chest tighten.

“More than okay,” you assure, yet you know you have to make yourself clear. No matter how right it felt in the moment, it isn’t.

This isn’t meant to be any more than what it is on the surface—a one night stand. You can’t commit right now, not while you’re figuring everything out. You can’t do that to anyone, especially not him.

“But..” you start, and he urges you to continue with a soft gaze. “I don’t want things to change between us.”

He’s silent for a bit, his expression unreadable, and you wish in this moment that you could read his mind.

“I’m sorry if this ruins things,” you double down at his silence.

His lips part as if to say something, and he closes it again. You start to get nervous.

“It doesn’t,” he finally responds. “And things don’t have to change.”

You let out a shaky breath you didn’t know you were holding. You know Doyoung probably had more to say, but you’re grateful to leave things as is.

He unwraps himself from you, getting up and stretching his arms high over his head with a groan. You stare at his bare back, the broad expanse of his shoulders, every ridge and dip of his muscles. Half of you wants to pull him back down to lay with you, but after what you just said? What he just accepted? It would be unfair.

He peeks back at you. “Mind if I freshen up here before heading to the pools?” he asks, casually as if you didn’t just draw the thickest line between you two. Yet you’re grateful.

“You’re still going even after a night out?”

“Yeah?” he tugs at your covers.

“And you are too, aren’t you?” he asks as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

With a mix of guilt and warmth in your chest, you let him pull you from your sheets, getting ready to go to the tide pools with him—just like any other Sunday.

It’s been 9 months since you first arrived in the city, 8 months and 2 weeks since you met Doyoung, and you’re conflicted.

The half-year mark is usually when you ask yourself if it’s time to move on from your current state of life. Other jobs, other places, other people have lasted longer, but you’d always made the decision that they’d be that way from the half-year mark.

But now coming into almost a year here with no thoughts of leaving feels weird. Is it that you’re enjoying doing nothing?

That may be so, but you’d be stupid if you didn’t admit that there was something keeping you tethered to this beach town—someone.

Your days are spent with Taeyong and Doyoung, together and individually, doing everything from mundane daily chores to visiting nearby cities. You take weekend trips with the two of them, though you’re sure to be back by Sunday for the weekly tide pool visits.

Taeyong is your platonic soulmate, that’s for sure. But Doyoung—you’re not quite sure what role he plays in your life.

You wish you could write it off as a drunken one-night stand, but the way you end up under Doyoung again and again after that night tells otherwise. Drunk, sober— you can’t get enough of him. The feeling of his skin against yours, his lips on yours, his voice in your ear.

Nights are spent at yours until he finally takes you to his place, a quaint 2 bedroom home left to him by his retired parents, and the more you stay, the more you want to. You can feel yourself slipping.

It all hit you one day after a night with Doyoung, waking up wrapped in his arms as the sunlight peeked through the curtains. It wasn’t a Sunday—time with him at some point bled into every other day of the week.

“Where do you see yourself in 5 years?” you had asked out of the blue, lazing around with him well into the afternoon since Doyoung didn’t work that day.

You don’t know what possessed you to ask—thinking that far in the future was something you actively avoided, but something in you wanted to see what he’d say. Maybe you thought his answer might inspire your own.

He pondered for a bit before responding.

“Here, hopefully.”

Another silly question left you before you knew it.

“With who?”

A heavy silence settled between the two of you, one you hadn’t experienced with him in a long time, maybe since the first few times you spent with him. Silence with him is usually comfortable, natural, yet in that moment it felt far too cold.

“I’m not sure.”

You don’t know why your heart sank. Maybe a part of you expected him to say you, wanted him to say you, and what he said next made you feel sick.

“I know I want to get married some day, but who knows?”

Marriage. You’d never even thought of that as a possibility in your life.

Loving someone enough to stay with them forever, denying any other possibilities or paths because you’ve made the decision to intertwine your fate with someone else’s—you don’t think you’re even capable of that.

You feel something for Doyoung, you’re certain about it. You’ve spent most of the time in this town with him, and in that time, you don’t think you’ve wanted anything else.

Yet who’s to say you won’t in the future?

You’ve seen this play out in your life far too many times—wanting something so bad it consumes you, uprooting your life in pursuit, and then repeating the process with something else once the passion cools.

The thought of that happening with Doyoung made you sick.

So you did as you always do—you drew the line.

“I guess you’re stuck with me ‘til you find your wife.”

“…I guess so.” He laughed, but the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.

You didn’t notice, too busy pushing down the ache in your chest at the thought of Doyoung finding someone else.

He’s a good guy, one of the best you’ve ever met, maybe. He’s stubborn and honest to a fault, but he also would do anything for his loved ones to be happy. He deserves someone who can give him the same.

That’s what you tell yourself, but the way you glare holes into Doyoung at your usual bar with Taeyong peering at you worriedly tells otherwise.

It had been like any other Saturday night, with you coming into the bar, but Doyoung wasn’t glued to your side as usual. A few drinks flew by when Taeyong leaned in, pointing across the bar.

“Do you think he knows her?” Taeyong asked. You turned your head in the direction he was pointing, and that’s when you saw them.

Doyoung and by his side, a very pretty woman, talking to him animatedly with stars in her eyes.

Your throat tightened, your stomach sank, and your head felt light. A flurry of emotions came all at once, and it was far too overwhelming to process at that moment. You had to look away.

“Maybe,” you replied, turning back to the bar to order another drink. And another. And another.

And pretty soon, Taeyong’s the one nursing you for once, having tapped out earlier. He hands you a glass of water, which you take gratefully, your eyes scanning once again for your missing raven-haired friend.

Every thing seems to move in slow motion as you watch him lean down to her, his lips approaching hers, her hand gripping his arm. You see red.

You push through the few people in your way, ignoring Taeyong’s calls for you to stop, quickly storming up to the two of them. The woman next to him looks at you in surprise, and you don’t even get a good look at her face before you snatch Doyoung’s arm from her grip, tugging him along with you.

She shrieks a shrill “what the fuck?!” but you pay no mind, your only goal to get Doyoung as far away as her from possible.

You end up outside the bar, panting from the sheer adrenaline of what you just did.

“What the hell was that all about?” he asks, and when you finally turn to look at him, your heart sinks.

The sharp glare he had when you first met him is back, but there’s more—there’s shock, anger, maybe even resentment. You don’t remember what resentment on him looked like, but you’re sure it gave a similar feeling.

You let go of him, stumbling back, tongue tied at this unfamiliar side of him. You treasure each moment you meet a new side of Doyoung, but in this moment, you don’t know how to feel.

“Well?” he asks expectantly.

“I-um. Who was that?” You could slap yourself for how dumb you must sound, but it’s the only thing you can think of. He clenches his jaw at the question.

“I met her tonight, she’s nice,” he replied, curtly. Your face pulls into a sour look, and you turn away, a flare of anger rising in your chest. You don’t realize flames have burst in his own chest as well.

“You don’t get to do this to me,” he chides. “Didn’t you say you’ll be here until I find my wife, so what’s your problem?”

His wife—he just met her, how could he be taking it this seriously? You aren’t thinking straight, just combative at the idea that he could do everything he does with you with someone else.

“You think your wife is some random at a bar?”

“Hey, you don’t know her,” he bites back, and your heart sinks at his defense.

“… and you were some random at a bar, too, you know?”

He might as well could have taken your heart and stomped on it with those words. It would feel the same.

Even after all this time, is that all it was? He thinks anyone could have what you two have? You know this is unfair, it’s fucked up of you—it doesn’t make sense after every line you’ve drawn, yet you can’t help it.

You crossed all of them a long time ago.

“What the hell, Doyoung? How dare you compare me to her? You don’t even know her!” you deride him, but your voice betrays you as it trembles.

“I’m so much more than that.”

There’s a long silence. You’re too scared to look up at Doyoung. You don’t want him to hate you, not when you’ve gotten so used to the side of him that looks at you with so much warmth.

With love in his eyes.

Fuck.

“You are.”

His voice cuts through, but it lacks any of the venom it had prior. You finally look up at him, and there it is—that look that makes you feel like the only person in the world.

“You are so much more than that to me.”

He takes a step forward, taking your hand and interlocking his fingers with yours.

“You’re everything.”

It’s as if the air has been completely swiped from your lungs. No words form in your brain or on your tongue.

“I’m not having this conversation while you’re this shit faced, I’m taking you home.”

“I—” your breath gets caught in your throat, your eyes start stinging, and your head is suddenly spinning. All the fight leaves you, and it feels humiliating. You can’t speak.

Doyoung immediately gathers you into his arms, walking you to his car and tucking you into his passenger seat, and you let him. You gaze at the part in his black hair at the top of his head as he bends over you, clicking your seatbelt into place.

You only look out the window as he starts the car, driving you down the streets you’ve come to know well. He places a hand on your thigh, thumb rubbing comforting circles into your skin, and you hate how his touch calms you in a second, yet it’s also a reminder that he’s here. With you.

He helps you into the guest house once you arrive, sitting you down on the bed.

For a while, it’s like nothing is wrong. He grabs your makeup removing wipes from the bathroom, dabbing away the product from your skin—gently, like you’re a precious work of art.

He grabs clothes from your closet, handing them to you.

“Change.”

“Help me.”

And he does, wordlessly pulling your dress over your head, replacing it with a soft oversized t-shirt you’d always told him was your favorite to sleep in. He gets you a glass of water, making sure you drink a good amount before placing it on the bedside table.

“Doyoung,” you call.

“Just sleep, we’ll talk in the morning.”

You bite down your words and lay down, and he sits next to you on the bed. His hand comes to your cheek, wiping at the tears you didn’t even realize started leaving your eyes. Everything feels right with him here, yet in this moment you feel like the worst person in the world.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

The corners of his lips turn up just slightly, and he places a chaste kiss on your forehead.

“It’s okay.”

It’s just before sunset when you wake up, and Doyoung isn’t there.

When was the last time you came home with him and didn’t wake up to him the next morning? He always woke you up, knowing you’d feel some type of way if he didn’t take you with him or at least say goodbye before leaving.

You feel hollow, as if a piece of you is missing.

It’s over.

It’s time to pack it up, move on and figure out what comes next in your life.

Your eyes catch sight of a note next to the water on the bedside table, and you hold it up with shaky hands.

Happy Sunday, beautiful.

You know where to find me.

You’re so scared, so fucking scared, but for the first time, you don’t move away from what scares you, you run towards it.

Your heart is both at rest and unrest when you see his silhouette at the tide pools, the sunset illuminating him in an array of golden colors. You’re out of breath when you approach him, but you speak before he can even turn around.

“Do you want me?”

The question hangs heavily in the distance between you two.

“What a stupid question,” and he looks like he’s in physical pain when he turns towards you, yet the warmth in his eyes is still there.

“I always want you, but every time I wake up to you, I have to remind myself that you don’t want me in the same way.”

He couldn't be more wrong.

“I think I love you,” you confess, quietly, as if you can't believe you're saying it yourself.

And it’s his turn to be speechless, mouth parted as his eyes widen at your confession.

“I want you, Doyoung— I want you so badly it hurts. This must be so selfish, but part of me thinks—no, wants to stay here forever, but another part of me is so fucking scared.”

He comes closer to you, gathering you in his arms as he always does. “Scared of what, baby?” Everything spills.

“I’m scared that this will just be like every other thing in my life—one day something is the center of my life, and then all of a sudden it means nothing. I won’t find meaning in it and go looking for the next best thing.”

“And is that how you feel about me?” he asks, and it breaks your heart.

“No! No… but what do I do if my feelings go away?” You feel choked up as you pour your heart out to him.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Doyoung,” you sob, and he pulls you to his chest, letting your tears soak his shirt as his hand rubs soothingly up and down your back. He just lets you let it out, and once you’ve calmed slightly, he continues.

“Please be honest with me—have you… have you felt the way you do for me about anyone else?”

His question hits you square in the chest—harder than any question has ever hit.

Because if you really think about it, every job you’ve had, every hobby you’ve explored, every place you’ve been, every person you’ve met—they’ve never made you feel this way. You’ve always chased and chased fulfillment, but he didn’t need to be chased—he was there, he was willing, he was home.

The thought of leaving terrifies you—and you’ve never felt that way. You’ve lived the pattern of passion and burn-out, but passion has never felt like this.

It’s never felt like the fresh ocean breeze on a sunny day, like the feeling of smooth, jet-black hair threaded between your fingers, like discovering new things about the same person every day and wanting to.

“You don’t have to answer that—actually don’t,” he says, still holding you against his chest. “I’m an adult, you know. I may not have seen as much of the world as you have, but I know what I want.”

You push back slightly so you can look at him, and you can see unshed tears in his eyes, too.

“You can do whatever you want, go wherever you want, but if you want me—really want me, then be selfish. Let me be yours. Let me be yours until you think you don’t want me anymore.”

You can’t help the tears that resurface, sniffling as your heart starts to settle.

“Then I’ll remind you again what it felt like in this moment.”

“And how the hell will you do that?” you ask between your tears and hiccups.

“I don't know, but trust me, I’ll figure it out.”

You laugh, and the gummy smile you’ve come to love lights his face.

“I’ve never felt this way about anyone else,” he assures, holding your face in his hands.

“And I don’t think I ever will.”

His gaze is unwavering, and every last bit of resolve crumbles.

“Please be mine Doyoung, please,” you cry, flinging your arms around him as you bring your mouth to his, the salty taste of your tears sitting between the two of you. When you separate, breathless, his smile has brightened even more. It's the brightest smile you’ve ever seen on him.

“Only if you’ll be mine, too.”

And for the first time in your life, the idea of forever doesn’t feel like the end, but just the beginning.

a/n: it’s done!!!!!!!!!!! this one goes out to my hyperfixaters...... guys,, getting myself to write anything, let alone a full fic, without absolutely hating and scrapping it has been a hard journey. but i'm doing my best, and hopefully that comes across in this fic :') a love letter to doyoung before he goes </3

also no weed??? in my sobriety era! jk ofc not, i just dont want my stuff to get redundant so im branching out, trying new things :)) thank you to bestie boo @onriyuview for beta reading!

please let me know your thoughts on this, feedback and shares are always welcome and appreciated greatly.

-coco <3