pixel skylines
★
The Stonewall Inn
Show & Tell
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
Misplaced Lens Cap
Monterey Bay Aquarium
Today's Document
Mike Driver
No title available
oozey mess
ellievsbear
No title available
Cosimo Galluzzi
blake kathryn
izzy's playlists!
roma★
Cosmic Funnies
TVSTRANGERTHINGS
seen from United Arab Emirates
seen from Italy
seen from Türkiye
seen from South Africa
seen from T1
seen from United States
seen from T1
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Dominican Republic
seen from Australia
seen from Panama
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Ecuador
seen from Brazil
seen from Thailand
seen from Nepal
seen from United States
seen from United States
@hahaechans
nabi’s masterlist 🫧☆彡
↓
Oneshots!
Midnight Ramen
Riku x Reader!
Serendipity
Sion x Reader!
Headcannons
Piercer!BfRiku
Texts!
Boyfriend Riku texts
Best friends to lover Jaehee Texts
SMAU !
(Coming soon)
collaboration
“Go milk a Cow!”
he’s the cutest ever, i wanna kiss all over his gorgeous face :( and don’t get me started on his cheeks ugh let me squish :(
she is ♡ album merchandise © 948 (do not edit or remove logo)
— ᨳଓ . Saving Kuromi : Mission Impossible | リク
ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ when her beloved kuromi plushie accidentally ends up in the boys' shower room, shy y/n has no choice but to sneak in and get it back but before she can escape, she's caught by the school's popular volleyball player, maeda riku, who mistakes her for someone trying to steal the boys' underwear. how can she prove she wasn't doing what riku thinks she was?
pairing volleyball player! riku x shy!fem reader
au/genre high school life, non idol riku, fluff
warnings cursing, bullying, anxiety, second hand embarrassment, babymonster asa as a bully (sorry), trauma.
wc 6.5k
a/n i inserted classic y/n here, my fav seasoning stuttering. y/n like me simping over yushi AND riku at the same time...i tried to be funny as i could.
another day at school, another day of suffering. you walked through the school gates with zero enthusiasm, your posture slouched and your eyes heavy with sleep. as soon as you reached your desk, you rested your head on it. even the thought of socializing drained you.
the classroom buzzed with noise that morning. students were running around, chatting loudly, and the constant chaos felt overwhelming.
finally, after two torturous hours of classes, it was lunchtime. you practically rushed out of the classroom and stood in line with your tray, curious to see what was being served. this had been your routine ever since you transferred to this high school a year ago.
you hadn't made a single friend. still, you couldn't deny it was better than your previous school. you never wanted to go through that kind of pain again.
at lunch, you sat alone with a few other students who kept to themselves. you didn't mind having little to no friends. at least no one paid attention to you.
when school ended, you headed to the locker room to change into your sneakers and put your slippers back in your bag before going home. you were bent over tying your shoelaces when someone brushed past you. you turned to check your bag and froze. your favorite kuromi keychain was gone.
your eyes darted around the room until you spotted it. it was hanging from the hem of yushi's pocket.
oh no.
you quickly finished tying your laces and followed behind him, slightly crouching so you wouldn't attract attention. the locker room was still crowded, giving you the perfect chance to take it back.
"excuse me... can you give me some space?" you mumbled quietly as you squeezed through the crowd. finally, you were within arm's reach.
your fingertips brushed against the keychain—
oh...no.
it slipped right into his pocket.
no, no!
you were so close.
all you could do was stand there blankly as yushi and his friends walked away. that keychain was a gift from your friend back in second grade. she was the very first friend you had ever made and now you'd lost it.
you let out a frustrated sigh and walked back to your bag.
the entire walk home, you anxiously bit your nails, trying to figure out how to get it back but there were only two possible outcomes.
way one:
you: "yushi-kun! you have my kuromi keychain. could i have it back, please?"
yushi: "huh? what? i don't have it..."
yushi's fangirls: "did you just accuse yushi-kun of stealing?!"
...and world war three would probably break out.
way two:
how were you even supposed to approach him? he was always surrounded by his friends—and girls, way too many people. besides, everyone would probably think you were confessing to him.
you gasped, snapping out of your thoughts, and shook your head. "no, no, no!"
you whined, stomping your feet as you desperately searched for another solution. then, a light bulb practically went off in your head.
the boys' shower room.
volleyball practice started today, and yushi was still wearing his formal uniform which meant...he'd definitely be washing it today.
you shook your head, muttering to yourself, "no! are you crazy?"
the bizarre idea was still flickering in your mind, refusing to disappear. you gulped as you hurried home, trying to push away the thoughts that had been running through your head.
after greeting your mom, you immediately rushed upstairs and threw yourself onto your bed. you laid there, kicking your legs up and down in frustration.
"what do i do...?" you whined to yourself, for practically hours, you paced around your room, practicing how you would ask yushi for your keychain back.
"yushi-kun, excuse me... i think you have my kuromi keychain?" no, too awkward.
"yushi-kun! give me back my keychain!" absolutely not.
your legs were already sore, and even your tongue hurt from repeating the same sentences over and over again.
it was already 9 pm. you still had time. the volleyball team was probably still practicing, and no one should be in the shower room yet. those thoughts had been circling your mind for hours.
"ah, kuromi-chan! i will save you! no matter what!" you squealed, standing up with a sudden burst of courage and bravery.
only for your dramatic moment to be immediately ruined.
"shut your trap!"
your brother's voice shouted from the room next door while he was busy playing his game. you jolted, turning toward the wall where the voice came from. "sorry...!" you mumbled, rubbing the back of your neck.
you quickly changed into your black hoodie and black sweatpants.
the perfect disguise, right?
you proudly walked downstairs and announced to your parents, "i'm going to the convenience store!" ...to cause some inconvenience. your mom simply hummed in approval, completely unaware of the secret mission you were about to begin.
and from that moment onward, operation: saving kuromi had officially started.
it all seemed much easier said than done when you reached the school gates. you hid behind the bushes, peeking out carefully.
two security guards stood near the entrance, casually chatting with each other. on the other side, the lights were still on, meaning another guard was probably stationed there too.
you sighed, your shoulders dropping suddenly, it felt like you had two heavy iron weights pressing down on your back, this was impossible. then you remembered.
the small gate.
some rebellious students had created a hidden entrance on the side of the school grounds. you had noticed it before while walking past, and luckily, it wasn't too far from where the guards were standing.
but first...you needed a distraction. you pulled your bag down and searched through it desperately, looking for anything that could help then you found it.
a bear keychain that played songs.
why did you even have that?
honestly, you didn't know but to gain something, you had to lose something "goodbye, little bear..." you whispered dramatically.
you threw it toward the far left, the second it hit the ground, the bear started playing a loud song. the guards immediately turned around. "who's there?!" you didn't waste a second, you ran.
your heart pounded as you rushed toward the hidden gate covered by bushes and somehow...you made it through.
yes! you mentally high-fived yourself. phase one complete now came the harder part, finding yushi's pants.
you quietly made your way through the dark hallway until you reached the shower room. you placed your hand on the doorknob and silently prayed, "please don't be locked..." you pushed it down, it opened. your eyes widened.
wow, maybe luck was actually on your side today. although that luck didn't last long.
the moment you opened the door—"eeugh..." a terrible smell immediately hit you. it smelled exactly like a boys' locker room. (yushi once said, "this room smells like men.")
you pinched your nose, trying not to let the smell distract you from your mission. "what's the point of calling it a shower room if it smells like this..." you whispered.
you walked toward the washing machines, staring at the seven different uniforms inside somewhere in there was yushi's and hopefully your keychain.
you crouched down and opened the washing machine door, carefully searching through the clothes. your fingers grabbed onto something, you pulled it out.
your face immediately twisted in disgust, underwear. you quickly threw it back inside. this was a sacrifice you had to make for kuromi. your hand searched again until you felt something thicker. you pulled it out, pants. you quickly reached into the pocket.
and there it was. your kuromi keychain. your eyes lit up. "yes..." you whispered, barely containing your excitement. you carefully checked the plushie, wiping away the extra water and making sure it wasn't damaged.
finally. your precious kuromi was back but then you realized something, your hand was still holding something else. something that definitely wasn't yours.
someone's underwear.
you were about to throw it back into the washing machine when—a gasp echoed behind you.
you froze.
slowly, you turned around and standing there was...
riku.
fresh out of the shower, a towel wrapped around his waist, his eyes wide in complete shock because from his perspective...you were standing in the boys' shower room, holding a underwear especially his underwear and you didn't know how to explain what was happening.
you immediately raised your hands, dropping the underwear onto the floor "no, this isn't what it—" before you could finish, voices echoed from the hallway.
other volleyball players.
your eyes widened in panic. riku turned his head toward the noise, instantly realizing what was happening. without thinking, he grabbed your arm and pulled you behind the curtain where the players usually changed.
you froze, you were hidden away from everyone, barely making a sound as the footsteps grew closer. riku stood in front of you, covering your mouth to stop you from accidentally making any noise. your heart was beating so loudly you were sure he could hear it.
you avoided looking at him, too embarrassed by the entire situation. you could feel your face heating up as you stared down at the floor, wishing you could disappear.
one of his teammates called out, "did riku leave already?" yushi's voice followed. "he doesn't usually head out this early though." riku quickly answered, trying to sound normal.
"i'm changing."
he glanced back at you before calling out again. "it'll take some time!" a few seconds of silence passed then yushi spoke again. "why is your underwear on the floor though?" you immediately panicked.
your eyes widened as you looked at riku, silently begging him to come up with something, without hesitation, he replied, "i accidentally wore the wet ones. i'm changing. just wait for me outside."
"seriously?" yushi questioned.
"just go," riku answered.
you slowly tapped his arm, signaling that you needed to breathe. realizing it, riku quickly moved his hand away. the voices outside slowly became quieter as his teammates collected their uniforms and left the shower room.
finally...silence. the danger was gone but now came the part you were definitely not prepared for.
riku stepped away from you, giving you some space. you kept your head down, unable to look him in the eyes not only because you were embarrassed but because he was also half naked.
after a long silence, riku finally spoke, his voice was low, and there was a clear frown on his face "what the hell were you doing?" you swallowed nervously. you had no idea how you were supposed to explain this.
you looked up at him, panic written all over your face. "no, i didn't mean to—" your voice came out soft, almost like there was a lump stuck in your throat but riku immediately cut you off.
"didn't mean to take your underwear?" his tone was harsh and sharp. you quickly raised your hands, shaking your head. "no! that's not it, i—" you stopped yourself.
riku leaned slightly closer, raising an eyebrow "you...?" the words refused to come out. you just looked down, gripping your kuromi keychain tightly in your hand, wishing the ground would open up and swallow you whole.
this was it.
your life was over.
riku let out a sigh, a frown settling on his face "hey, what's your name? i need to know before i call the police—"
"no!" you immediately grabbed his hand in panic. "i didn't mean to! it's a misunderstanding..." you mumbled. riku looked at you with disbelief and slowly rolled his eyes "care to explain?" he pointed toward the underwear lying on the floor.
you froze. how were you supposed to explain this without making yourself sound even worse?
"i meant to... take..." you carefully chose your words.
"take yushi-kun's pants, not your underwear."
the second the words left your mouth: riku gasped dramatically like he had just discovered the biggest scandal of the century.
"ohhh..." his eyes widened "so you were after yushi?"
"no! no! that's not it! he—" before you could explain, riku covered his abdomen with his arms, looking genuinely horrified "who knows what you're gonna do to me next, you perv!" your eyes widened.
"perv?!" you pointed at yourself in disbelief "me?!" you couldn't believe what you were hearing. "i swear it's a misunderstanding!" but riku was already pushing you toward the exit "yeah, sure. explain that to someone else."
"wait—" before you could finish, he hurried you out of the shower room and closed the door behind you.
click. locked.
you stood there in complete silence, you just ruined your entire high school life. from now on, you would forever be known as the girl who got caught smelling underwear and the worst part?
the person who caught you was riku, maeda riku. the most popular, charismatic, and handsome volleyball player in school.
okay...maybe you had a tiny, tiny crush on him. which was why you were probably making him sound even more amazing in your head but that wasn't the point.
you were soooo done, completely done.
you clenched your fists, your kuromi keychain trapped between your fingers and without looking back you ran home.
the next day, you came to school completely mortified. you had reached a level of embarrassment that went beyond embarrassment itself. there was nothing you could do anymore. you just had to accept your fate and live with it shamelessly.
with your hood pulled over your head, you kept your gaze lowered the entire time, praying you wouldn't run into riku. surprisingly...everything was going smoothly.
you really shouldn't have said that.
it was the fourth period—the class right before lunch. the one where your energy was completely drained, and the only thing keeping you going was the promise of lunchtime.
the classroom door opened, and your homeroom teacher walked in. "class 3-2, today class 3-6 will be sharing our classroom because their teacher is absent." you didn't think much of it.
you simply looked up, watching as students from class 3-6 entered and filled the empty seats around the room then you saw them.
yushi, sion and riku.
oh no, you were so dead.
without wasting a second, you pulled your hood further over your head and immediately lowered your face onto your desk, please. just pretend you don't exist. after a few minutes passed, curiosity got the better of you.
slowly, you lifted your head, hoping they hadn't noticed you, only to freeze. riku was sitting right beside you and he was already looking at you.
not just looking, glaring.
his pencil was pressed against his notebook, digging into the paper as his cold gaze remained fixed on you.
you flinched, the second your eyes met his, you immediately looked away. "what the hell..." you mumbled quietly to yourself "why is he holding such a grudge against me...?"
a few minutes later, something lightly hit your desk, you looked down. a crumpled piece of paper. you slowly turned your head toward the person who threw it.
riku. he motioned for you to open it, hesitantly, you unfolded the paper. written in rushed handwriting were four simple words.
meet me at the rooftop.
panic immediately washed over your face, was he going to call everyone up there? was he going to expose you in front of the whole school? make fun of you? your mind spiraled into one worst-case scenario after another.
you were so busy overthinking that you didn't even notice the bell had already rung. students began leaving the classroom one by one.
riku walked past your desk, his bag slung over one shoulder, he narrowed his eyes at you. you jolted at his sudden presence. without saying a word, he continued walking out of the classroom.
and somehow...you still ended up at the rooftop. you stood there nervously, convinced you could be publicly humiliated at any second, with nothing else to do, you sat on one of the benches as the warm breeze brushed against your face.
then the sound of footsteps echoed from the stairwel, you slowly looked over it was riku. his bag hung casually over his shoulder as he walked toward you.
for a brief moment, your brain betrayed you. everything suddenly moved in slow motion. the sunlight seemed brighter sparkles surrounded him and you could practically hear background music playing in your head.
it looked exactly like the beginning of a confession scene except this wasn't a date, it was an interrogation.
you let out a quiet sigh, already dreading whatever was about to happen next.
riku walked over and leaned against the wall, crossing his arms; he tilted his head slightly, looking you up and down as if trying to figure you out.
you gulped, keeping your eyes fixed on the ground, the silence lingered until he finally broke it.
"why were you there last night?" his voice was calm but serious and honestly...you couldn't blame him. if you caught someone holding your underwear, you'd be mad too.
you nervously looked up at him, "uh... so... um..." nothing. the words just wouldn't come out "yesterday... i lost my keychain and..." your voice was so quiet it was barely audible.
riku frowned and leaned closer, "what?" his voice echoed across the nearly empty rooftop, you flinched "...keychain!" you blurted out a little louder.
wow, good job. a round of applause for saying exactly one word.
riku stared at you, completely confused "key... key what?" he blinked, "what keychain?" before you could answer—rrrrring.
the bell echoed throughout the school, your shoulders tensed. a bead of sweat rolled down the side of your face.
riku let out an annoyed groan "you're seriously starting to piss me off." he clicked his tongue, "i'll just tell yushi about—"
"i'll explain everything!" you interrupted, quickly raising both hands, "after school! i'll explain it all after school!" riku stared at you for a moment before letting out a quiet huff, he shoved both hands into his pockets "fine."
he turned to leave before muttering over his shoulder, "get out of my sight, perv."
ouch, that one actually hurt.
it was the last period of the day, which was usually a free period; most students spent the time chatting or wandering around, but you preferred sitting in the gymnasium, listening to music while watching everyone else.
you pulled out your wired earphones and plugged them in, when you looked up, you immediately spotted the volleyball team practicing.
ugh, you really didn't want to see riku again. deciding to mind your own business, you secretly pulled out your manga and tucked it inside your english textbook, making it look like you were studying.
you had gotten so absorbed in reading that—thud!
something slammed right into your head, you jolted, letting out a small yelp as the volleyball bounced away "ow..." you winced, rubbing the sore spot on your head.
before you could even process what happened, several footsteps rushed toward you. you looked up, yushi and a few other volleyball players were already standing in front of you, panic written all over their faces.
"are you okay?!" yushi hurried over and crouched down in front of you. "it's my fault. i hope i didn't hurt you."
wow, your imaginary romance background music immediately started playing and your eyes practically turned into little hearts.
you could almost hear the entire gym go, "oohhh..." you quickly cupped your warm cheeks, "i-it's fine..." you smiled awkwardly."it didn't hurt."
it absolutely did but... a little pretending wouldn't hurt either.
"sorry," yushi said again, he gently reached over and rubbed the spot where the volleyball had hit your head. your brain completely short-circuited; you immediately lowered your head, too embarrassed to look him in the eyes.
"i'm really okay..." you mumbled softly. the surrounding students watched the interaction with knowing smiles.
everyone...except one person, your gaze shifted across the court; riku. he was staring at the two of you, his fists were tightly clenched at his sides, his jaw tense, and his eyes narrowed with unmistakable irritation.
there was something in his expression that almost looked like...pure rage. even riku didn't understand why he was reacting this way, seeing yushi fuss over you...
for some reason it irritated him.
"hey!" riku suddenly called out from across the court. "she's fine." he rolled his eyes before adding, "she looks like she has a head made of iron anyway."
he signaled for yushi to toss him the ball, yushi gave you one last worried look. "are you sure you're okay?" you nodded, "i'm fine." only then did he return to practice.
you quietly huffed to yourself, rubbing the back of your head again "...what a jerk."
school was finally over, before heading home, you stopped by the nurse's office to get an ice pack. the spot where the volleyball had hit you was starting to ache a lot more than you wanted than before.
with the ice pack pressed against your head, you slowly made your way home. halfway there, you suddenly froze "...oh no." you had completely forgotten. you were supposed to explain everything to riku.
you let out a long groan since you were already halfway home...there was no way you wanted to walk all the way back.
"hey, panty stealer!" your entire body stiffened, panic immediately took over as you whipped your head around.
riku standing a few steps behind you with the most infuriating grin on his face, without thinking, you rushed over and clamped a hand over his mouth.
"hey!" you whispered frantically. "why would you say that?!" your eyes darted around, making sure no one had heard him; your heart was pounding.
riku simply chuckled, he gently grabbed the hand covering his mouth and pulled it away. "i thought you were running away again." you frowned, quickly pulling your hand back "i wasn't..." you mumbled, "...i just forgot."
he raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced–his expression practically screamed, well? i'm waiting.
you took a deep breath, "so... yesterday..." you struggled to meet his eyes. "my keychain got caught on yushi-kun's pocket." you nervously fidgeted with your sleeves. "i wanted to get it back... and the only way i could think of was getting it from the shower room."
you paused before quietly adding, "and... i didn't even know that was your underwear." riku stayed silent for a moment then he slowly nodded; a relieved sigh escaped his lips.
"...oh." he rubbed the back of his neck, "that wasn't exactly hard to explain, was it?" you awkwardly smiled. he let out a small chuckle, "i seriously thought you had a crush on yushi or something."
"...me?" you pointed to yourself, one of your hand nervously rubbing your neck as a small smile crept upon your face.."a crush on yushi-kun?"
the smile on riku's face instantly disappeared, his arms slowly fell to his sides. his bag slipped from his shoulder and landed on the pavement with a soft thud "...you do?"
your eyes widened, "no! i don't—" before you could finish—
"well, well... isn't that our beloved y/n?" your blood ran cold. you slowly turned around; a group of girls approached with mocking smiles plastered across their faces.
the voice...you recognized it immediately, goosebumps spread across your arms. standing in the middle was enami asa, the girl who had made your previous school years miserable.
one of the girls looked between you and riku before gasping dramatically, "oh my gosh! y/n-chan has a boyfriend?" she laughed, you immediately shook your head.
"no... it's not what you think..." asa stepped closer with a fake pout "how cute." she tilted her head. "but i don't think he's in your league." you instinctively took a step back, "asa... it's not like that..."
before she could say another word—"who the fuck are you?" riku's voice cut through the silence. it was cold and sharp, everyone froze even asa.
she scoffed, clearly offended, "...did you just yell at me?" riku stepped in front of you without hesitation. his broad frame completely blocked you from view "yeah."
he stared her down, "what're you gonna do about it?" the girls looked at each other, stunned. riku leaned in just enough for only asa to hear.
"get out of my sight..." his voice dropped lower, "...before i snap you in two." asa's eye twitched. she shot you one last glare before turning away. "let's go." she motioned for the others to follow.
within seconds, the group disappeared down the street, silence settled between you and riku. you stood there, completely frozen.
did maeda riku just defend you? your mouth hung open slightly.
"...you didn't have to do that," you mumbled, gently tugging on the sleeve of his shirt.
he turned to face you, "are you okay?" you nodded. you didn't trust yourself to speak because if you did...you might cry.
instead, you quietly turned around and ran home. riku watched your silhouette grow smaller and smaller until you disappeared around the corner, he let out a long sigh.
resting both hands behind his head, he continued walking in the opposite direction "...could've at least said thank you." he clicked his tongue "tch...
the next morning, you were walking toward the school gate, fixing your hair while holding a small mirror in your hand. suddenly, someone grabbed your arm, "hey! watch out." you gasped as your body was gently pulled back.
a tree stood right in front of you. if he hadn't stopped you, you would've walked straight into it. you turned around "...oh." it was riku.
"thank you..." you mumbled quietly, you couldn't help but feel confused. why was riku at school so early? he usually showed up just before the bell rang.
what you didn't know was that riku had woken up at four in the morning just to catch an earlier bus. he had checked his reflection in every mirror and window he passed, fixing his hair over and over again, all because he wanted to run into you before school started.
"let's walk together." he casually adjusted the strap of his bag. "yushi and the others aren't here yet." he leaned in slightly with a small smile, you blinked "...o-okay."
you nodded awkwardly before falling into step beside him. the walk to the school building was surprisingly quiet, neither of you really knew what to say.
by second period, it was self-study time, you were almost finished with your math worksheet when someone suddenly placed a carton of chocolate milk on your desk. you looked up in confusion.
it was one of your classmates, "uh... thank you?" she giggled and shook her head. "it wasn't me." she pointed toward the classroom door, you followed her finger there stood riku, leaning against the doorway.
the moment your eyes met, he gave you a small wave, his smile was so genuine that it reached his eyes.
what? you blinked, what was wrong with him? still confused, you awkwardly smiled back.
before you could ask anything, riku noticed a teacher approaching and hurried back to his own classroom "...that was weird." you stared down at the chocolate milk in your hands.
before you knew it, several classmates had gathered around your desk,
"no way..."
"are you and riku a thing?"
"riku's never done something like this before."
"seriously, what did you do to him?"
your face immediately warmed, "n-no..." you laughed nervously. "it's nothing like that..."
it was almost lunchtime, you were on your way back from the restroom when you spotted riku wandering aimlessly through the hallway.
probably skipping class again.
you hesitated for a second before walking over to him, "riku-kun!" he immediately turned at the sound of your voice.
the moment he saw you walking toward him with a small smile, everything else seemed to fade into the background. in his mind, fireworks exploded.
she... called me...
riku-kun? kun? ehhh?!
his heart nearly jumped out of his chest, somehow, he managed to keep a straight face well...mostly. the tips of his ears had already turned bright red.
"oh, hey!" he greeted you as casually as he could, pretending absolutely nothing had happened.
you looked up at him curiously, "why did you give me the chocolate milk?" riku immediately looked away, trying to suppress the smile threatening to spread across his face.
he scratched the back of his neck, desperately searching for an excuse, "uh..."
"i accidentally bought the chocolate one."
he nodded to himself as if the excuse made perfect sense, "i like the strawberry flavor, so... i just gave it to you." he shrugged "why?"
you nodded in understanding, "oh..nothing." there was a brief silence, "um... i'll head back to class now."
"okay." riku smiled and gave you a small wave, "see ya."
you returned the wave before walking back toward your classroom completely unaware that the second you disappeared around the corner...
riku buried his face in his hands, "...she called me 'riku-kun.' he muttered to himself, unable to stop smiling like an idiot.
over the next few days, riku was... suspiciously nice to you, it confused you. you didn't exactly mind it, but it felt strange.
his was riku. someone who barely had time for anything besides volleyball yet somehow, he always found time to talk to you before class, during breaks even just to say hi in the hallway.
it was finally friday, the last day of the week. you walked through the school hallways with a spring in you step, already looking forward to the weekend.
just as you turned the corner—someone suddenly slid right in front of you, "hey, y/n-chan." your eyes widened.
riku, he was already dressed in his volleyball uniform, a bandana keeping his hair back. he looked like he'd been running all over the school. small beads of sweat rested on his forehead as he caught his breath.
despite that...he still somehow managed to catch the attention of nearly every girl walking past.
you blinked.
did.. he just call you...y/n-chan?
not..."panty stealer" not..."perv." your heart skipped a beat.
"hi..." you managed to mumble, riku smiled "do you want to come watch me play?" he tilted his head "at lunchtime?" you stared at him "...me?" you pointed at yourself. he nodded immediately "yeah."
his smile only grew wider, "it'll be fun." he leaned in just enough for only you to hear, "...besides, i like it when you're there." your breath caught before your brain could even process what he'd just said—
"riku!" sion's voice echoed down the hallway, "we're gonna be late!"
"coming!"riku called back. he flashed you one last smile before jogging after sion, leaving you standing there. completely frozen. "...oh." was all you could manage to say.
you carefully scooted through the rows of seats in the gymnasium until you found an empty spot from there, you could clearly see the volleyball court; your eyes naturally landed on riku.
he looked... amazing, the confidence in the way he moved across the court, the effortless jumps, the loud calls to his teammates. he was so charming it almost hurt to watch.
while warming up, riku's eyes wandered around the gym, he was looking for someone then he spotted you his face immediately lit up. without thinking, he stopped what he was doing and excitedly waved both his hands at you.
caught off guard, you smiled awkwardly and gave him a small wave back, that alone was enough to make him grin even wider. soon, the match began.
throughout the entire game, one thought kept repeating in riku's head; she's here, she's watching me, for some reason, it pushed him to play even harder. every successful spike..every receive...every point. he wanted you to see all of it.
when the final whistle blew, riku's team had won; the gym erupted into cheers and applause. his teammates celebrated around him, laughing and high-fiving each other but riku wasn't paying attention.
his eyes immediately searched the crowd, looking for you but you were gone. his smile slowly faded. he was about to leave the court and go look for you when a crowd of fangirls surrounded him.
"riku-kun!"
"congratulations!"
they handed him drinks, snacks, little gifts, and notebooks for autographs although he smiled politely and signed them...his eyes continued searching the gym; hoping to catch one last glimpse of you.
a few minutes earlier...you had quietly slipped out of the gym. riku had looked completely exhausted after the match so you decided to buy him something.
you stood in front of the vending machine and pressed the button for a strawberry milk; with a soft clunk, it dropped into the tray below, you bent down, picked it up, and smiled to yourself.
holding the drink carefully, you walked back toward the gymnasium but the moment you reached the entrance, you stopped. riku was surrounded by girls.
they were handing him expensive snacks, sports drinks, gifts, and asking him to sign their notebooks; he was smiling as he thanked each of them. your gaze slowly dropped to the strawberry milk in your hand.
you suddenly felt embarrassed, maybe...you had overstepped, you quietly turned around and walked back toward your classroom. the strawberry milk remained unopened in your hand.
when you reached your seat, you gently placed it on your desk, the classroom was empty only silence kept you company. you stared at the carton for a long time.
maybe i shouldn't have bought this...
those girls gave him much nicer things.
he probably doesn't need mine anyway.
you let out a small sigh, shaking your head, you tried to chase those thoughts away but somehow...they only grew louder.
you heard footsteps getting louder before you could even react, riku appeared at the classroom door. he looked completely out of breath, his hands resting on his knees as he tried to catch his breath.
"you were here...?"
you immediately stood up, hiding the strawberry milk behind your back "oh... i just got here. i went to the restroom," you quickly lied.
riku stepped further into the classroom, causing you to instinctively take a small step back, he noticed. a confused laugh escaped him "eugh? what's wrong?"
you looked down at the floor, you knew you had to say it. taking a deep breath, you gathered all your courage.
"uhm..." he looked at you, "you don't have to be so nice to me." his expression changed "you don't have to pity me." your fingers tightened around the strawberry milk.
"i know you saw what happened that day. i know you know i was bullied before..." your voice became quieter, "but i'm used to not having friends. so you don't have to get involved with me just because you feel bad."
riku stared at you, then he repeated your words with a confused expression "pity you?" you nodded slightly "i know you're only being nice because of that. i don't want you to get dragged into my problems."
a soft laugh escaped him, not because he found it funny because he couldn't believe that was what you thought. he shook his head and stepped closer "you seriously think that's why?"
you blinked when he gently tapped your nose. "then what else would it be?" riku went quiet for once, he looked nervous. he took a deep breath before finally saying,
"i've liked you since you transferred here last year." your eyes widened. for a moment, you couldn't process what you had just heard, riku continued. "you were always by yourself." his voice softened.
"i wanted to talk to you, but we were in different classes. and every time i saw you, you looked so adorable that i couldn't approach you." he let out an awkward laugh, rubbing the back of his neck.
"i just never knew how to approach you." you stared at him, completely frozen, then riku smiled slightly. "honestly... i was kind of glad after the misunderstanding happened." you blinked.
he sighed, "it finally gave me a reason to talk to you." he paused, "although... the whole underwear situation was definitely not how i imagined it." you couldn't help but laugh softly.
riku smiled when he heard it, then his expression became nervous again. "hey..." you looked up at him. he looked like he was worried he had said too much, slowly, you smiled. "i like you too." your voice was quiet.
riku froze, "...really?" you nodded, looking away shyly. "yeah." for a few seconds, neither of you said anything then riku noticed what you were hiding behind your back, his eyes widened.
"wait." he pointed at it, "is that for me?" you looked down at the strawberry milk and slowly nodded. a smile appeared on his face, "actually..." he chuckled. "i don't even like strawberry milk." you blinked, "what?"
"i only gave you my chocolate milk that day so i lied about liking the straeberry one.." you stared at him. "...so i bought this for nothing?" riku laughed, "no, no. i'll still take it."
"if you don't like it, then give it back." he immediately pulled it away. he ripped the wrapper off the straw, poked it in, and took a big sip. "no! you can't take back gifts." he pouted. you chuckled, huffing playfully, "you're so evil..."
"you wanna drink it?" he asked. you tilted your head, confused by his sudden smirk. before you could answer, he leaned in, cupped your cheeks, and pressed a soft peck on your lips. the sound of the kiss was loud in the empty classroom. you stiffened at his sudden gesture
maeda riku just stole your first kiss..
you could even taste the sweet chocolate milk from his lips. "...you!" you exclaimed, hitting his arm. "why did you do that?"
"what?~ can't i kiss my girlfriend?" he chuckled, raising his arms to protect himself from your hits. your heartbeat raced with every single word he said. you shyly wiped your lips, completely avoiding eye contact.
he let out a dramatic gasp, looking at you as if you had committed a crime. he grabbed your cheeks again and pressed another kiss to your lips. before you could even say something—another kiss, and another one, each one melting away the initial shock.
both of you started giggling, especially riku, whose face was now as red as his ears. "i like you so so much," he mumbled, pulling you into a tight embrace. you pushed against his chest, laughing, "you're sweaty...that's why it smelled in the shower room..." riku smirks, "you still seem to remember what the shower room smells like..." he teased nonstop.
eventually, the playful bickering quieted down. you and riku sat side-by-side at the desk, the golden afternoon light casting long shadows across the floorboards. he reached into his pocket and pulled out a pair of wired earphones, untangling them with a focused frown before gently pressing one earbud into your ear.
he popped the other into his own, a soft, familiar melody immediately filling the space between you. slowly, riku’s hand slid across the cool wood of the desk. his pinky brushed against yours first, hesitant and warm. then, with a sudden rush of bravery, his fingers snaked forward, shyly but deliberately intertwining with yours.
his palm was warm, his grip just tight enough to let you know he wasn't letting go, and you could feel his pulse racing against your skin, mirroring your own...
currently playing — ᨳଓ
BOY MEETS GIRL - NCT WISH
— ᨳଓ masterlist
ABSOLUTELY MASTERPIECE
— ᨳଓ . Saving Kuromi : Mission Impossible | リク
ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ when her beloved kuromi plushie accidentally ends up in the boys' shower room, shy y/n has no choice but to sneak in and get it back but before she can escape, she's caught by the school's popular volleyball player, maeda riku, who mistakes her for someone trying to steal the boys' underwear. how can she prove she wasn't doing what riku thinks she was?
pairing volleyball player! riku x shy!fem reader
au/genre high school life, non idol riku, fluff
warnings cursing, bullying, anxiety, second hand embarrassment, babymonster asa as a bully (sorry), trauma.
wc 6.5k
a/n i inserted classic y/n here, my fav seasoning stuttering. y/n like me simping over yushi AND riku at the same time...i tried to be funny as i could.
another day at school, another day of suffering. you walked through the school gates with zero enthusiasm, your posture slouched and your eyes heavy with sleep. as soon as you reached your desk, you rested your head on it. even the thought of socializing drained you.
the classroom buzzed with noise that morning. students were running around, chatting loudly, and the constant chaos felt overwhelming.
finally, after two torturous hours of classes, it was lunchtime. you practically rushed out of the classroom and stood in line with your tray, curious to see what was being served. this had been your routine ever since you transferred to this high school a year ago.
you hadn't made a single friend. still, you couldn't deny it was better than your previous school. you never wanted to go through that kind of pain again.
at lunch, you sat alone with a few other students who kept to themselves. you didn't mind having little to no friends. at least no one paid attention to you.
when school ended, you headed to the locker room to change into your sneakers and put your slippers back in your bag before going home. you were bent over tying your shoelaces when someone brushed past you. you turned to check your bag and froze. your favorite kuromi keychain was gone.
your eyes darted around the room until you spotted it. it was hanging from the hem of yushi's pocket.
oh no.
you quickly finished tying your laces and followed behind him, slightly crouching so you wouldn't attract attention. the locker room was still crowded, giving you the perfect chance to take it back.
"excuse me... can you give me some space?" you mumbled quietly as you squeezed through the crowd. finally, you were within arm's reach.
your fingertips brushed against the keychain—
oh...no.
it slipped right into his pocket.
no, no!
you were so close.
all you could do was stand there blankly as yushi and his friends walked away. that keychain was a gift from your friend back in second grade. she was the very first friend you had ever made and now you'd lost it.
you let out a frustrated sigh and walked back to your bag.
the entire walk home, you anxiously bit your nails, trying to figure out how to get it back but there were only two possible outcomes.
way one:
you: "yushi-kun! you have my kuromi keychain. could i have it back, please?"
yushi: "huh? what? i don't have it..."
yushi's fangirls: "did you just accuse yushi-kun of stealing?!"
...and world war three would probably break out.
way two:
how were you even supposed to approach him? he was always surrounded by his friends—and girls, way too many people. besides, everyone would probably think you were confessing to him.
you gasped, snapping out of your thoughts, and shook your head. "no, no, no!"
you whined, stomping your feet as you desperately searched for another solution. then, a light bulb practically went off in your head.
the boys' shower room.
volleyball practice started today, and yushi was still wearing his formal uniform which meant...he'd definitely be washing it today.
you shook your head, muttering to yourself, "no! are you crazy?"
the bizarre idea was still flickering in your mind, refusing to disappear. you gulped as you hurried home, trying to push away the thoughts that had been running through your head.
after greeting your mom, you immediately rushed upstairs and threw yourself onto your bed. you laid there, kicking your legs up and down in frustration.
"what do i do...?" you whined to yourself, for practically hours, you paced around your room, practicing how you would ask yushi for your keychain back.
"yushi-kun, excuse me... i think you have my kuromi keychain?" no, too awkward.
"yushi-kun! give me back my keychain!" absolutely not.
your legs were already sore, and even your tongue hurt from repeating the same sentences over and over again.
it was already 9 pm. you still had time. the volleyball team was probably still practicing, and no one should be in the shower room yet. those thoughts had been circling your mind for hours.
"ah, kuromi-chan! i will save you! no matter what!" you squealed, standing up with a sudden burst of courage and bravery.
only for your dramatic moment to be immediately ruined.
"shut your trap!"
your brother's voice shouted from the room next door while he was busy playing his game. you jolted, turning toward the wall where the voice came from. "sorry...!" you mumbled, rubbing the back of your neck.
you quickly changed into your black hoodie and black sweatpants.
the perfect disguise, right?
you proudly walked downstairs and announced to your parents, "i'm going to the convenience store!" ...to cause some inconvenience. your mom simply hummed in approval, completely unaware of the secret mission you were about to begin.
and from that moment onward, operation: saving kuromi had officially started.
it all seemed much easier said than done when you reached the school gates. you hid behind the bushes, peeking out carefully.
two security guards stood near the entrance, casually chatting with each other. on the other side, the lights were still on, meaning another guard was probably stationed there too.
you sighed, your shoulders dropping suddenly, it felt like you had two heavy iron weights pressing down on your back, this was impossible. then you remembered.
the small gate.
some rebellious students had created a hidden entrance on the side of the school grounds. you had noticed it before while walking past, and luckily, it wasn't too far from where the guards were standing.
but first...you needed a distraction. you pulled your bag down and searched through it desperately, looking for anything that could help then you found it.
a bear keychain that played songs.
why did you even have that?
honestly, you didn't know but to gain something, you had to lose something "goodbye, little bear..." you whispered dramatically.
you threw it toward the far left, the second it hit the ground, the bear started playing a loud song. the guards immediately turned around. "who's there?!" you didn't waste a second, you ran.
your heart pounded as you rushed toward the hidden gate covered by bushes and somehow...you made it through.
yes! you mentally high-fived yourself. phase one complete now came the harder part, finding yushi's pants.
you quietly made your way through the dark hallway until you reached the shower room. you placed your hand on the doorknob and silently prayed, "please don't be locked..." you pushed it down, it opened. your eyes widened.
wow, maybe luck was actually on your side today. although that luck didn't last long.
the moment you opened the door—"eeugh..." a terrible smell immediately hit you. it smelled exactly like a boys' locker room. (yushi once said, "this room smells like men.")
you pinched your nose, trying not to let the smell distract you from your mission. "what's the point of calling it a shower room if it smells like this..." you whispered.
you walked toward the washing machines, staring at the seven different uniforms inside somewhere in there was yushi's and hopefully your keychain.
you crouched down and opened the washing machine door, carefully searching through the clothes. your fingers grabbed onto something, you pulled it out.
your face immediately twisted in disgust, underwear. you quickly threw it back inside. this was a sacrifice you had to make for kuromi. your hand searched again until you felt something thicker. you pulled it out, pants. you quickly reached into the pocket.
and there it was. your kuromi keychain. your eyes lit up. "yes..." you whispered, barely containing your excitement. you carefully checked the plushie, wiping away the extra water and making sure it wasn't damaged.
finally. your precious kuromi was back but then you realized something, your hand was still holding something else. something that definitely wasn't yours.
someone's underwear.
you were about to throw it back into the washing machine when—a gasp echoed behind you.
you froze.
slowly, you turned around and standing there was...
riku.
fresh out of the shower, a towel wrapped around his waist, his eyes wide in complete shock because from his perspective...you were standing in the boys' shower room, holding a underwear especially his underwear and you didn't know how to explain what was happening.
you immediately raised your hands, dropping the underwear onto the floor "no, this isn't what it—" before you could finish, voices echoed from the hallway.
other volleyball players.
your eyes widened in panic. riku turned his head toward the noise, instantly realizing what was happening. without thinking, he grabbed your arm and pulled you behind the curtain where the players usually changed.
you froze, you were hidden away from everyone, barely making a sound as the footsteps grew closer. riku stood in front of you, covering your mouth to stop you from accidentally making any noise. your heart was beating so loudly you were sure he could hear it.
you avoided looking at him, too embarrassed by the entire situation. you could feel your face heating up as you stared down at the floor, wishing you could disappear.
one of his teammates called out, "did riku leave already?" yushi's voice followed. "he doesn't usually head out this early though." riku quickly answered, trying to sound normal.
"i'm changing."
he glanced back at you before calling out again. "it'll take some time!" a few seconds of silence passed then yushi spoke again. "why is your underwear on the floor though?" you immediately panicked.
your eyes widened as you looked at riku, silently begging him to come up with something, without hesitation, he replied, "i accidentally wore the wet ones. i'm changing. just wait for me outside."
"seriously?" yushi questioned.
"just go," riku answered.
you slowly tapped his arm, signaling that you needed to breathe. realizing it, riku quickly moved his hand away. the voices outside slowly became quieter as his teammates collected their uniforms and left the shower room.
finally...silence. the danger was gone but now came the part you were definitely not prepared for.
riku stepped away from you, giving you some space. you kept your head down, unable to look him in the eyes not only because you were embarrassed but because he was also half naked.
after a long silence, riku finally spoke, his voice was low, and there was a clear frown on his face "what the hell were you doing?" you swallowed nervously. you had no idea how you were supposed to explain this.
you looked up at him, panic written all over your face. "no, i didn't mean to—" your voice came out soft, almost like there was a lump stuck in your throat but riku immediately cut you off.
"didn't mean to take your underwear?" his tone was harsh and sharp. you quickly raised your hands, shaking your head. "no! that's not it, i—" you stopped yourself.
riku leaned slightly closer, raising an eyebrow "you...?" the words refused to come out. you just looked down, gripping your kuromi keychain tightly in your hand, wishing the ground would open up and swallow you whole.
this was it.
your life was over.
riku let out a sigh, a frown settling on his face "hey, what's your name? i need to know before i call the police—"
"no!" you immediately grabbed his hand in panic. "i didn't mean to! it's a misunderstanding..." you mumbled. riku looked at you with disbelief and slowly rolled his eyes "care to explain?" he pointed toward the underwear lying on the floor.
you froze. how were you supposed to explain this without making yourself sound even worse?
"i meant to... take..." you carefully chose your words.
"take yushi-kun's pants, not your underwear."
the second the words left your mouth: riku gasped dramatically like he had just discovered the biggest scandal of the century.
"ohhh..." his eyes widened "so you were after yushi?"
"no! no! that's not it! he—" before you could explain, riku covered his abdomen with his arms, looking genuinely horrified "who knows what you're gonna do to me next, you perv!" your eyes widened.
"perv?!" you pointed at yourself in disbelief "me?!" you couldn't believe what you were hearing. "i swear it's a misunderstanding!" but riku was already pushing you toward the exit "yeah, sure. explain that to someone else."
"wait—" before you could finish, he hurried you out of the shower room and closed the door behind you.
click. locked.
you stood there in complete silence, you just ruined your entire high school life. from now on, you would forever be known as the girl who got caught smelling underwear and the worst part?
the person who caught you was riku, maeda riku. the most popular, charismatic, and handsome volleyball player in school.
okay...maybe you had a tiny, tiny crush on him. which was why you were probably making him sound even more amazing in your head but that wasn't the point.
you were soooo done, completely done.
you clenched your fists, your kuromi keychain trapped between your fingers and without looking back you ran home.
the next day, you came to school completely mortified. you had reached a level of embarrassment that went beyond embarrassment itself. there was nothing you could do anymore. you just had to accept your fate and live with it shamelessly.
with your hood pulled over your head, you kept your gaze lowered the entire time, praying you wouldn't run into riku. surprisingly...everything was going smoothly.
you really shouldn't have said that.
it was the fourth period—the class right before lunch. the one where your energy was completely drained, and the only thing keeping you going was the promise of lunchtime.
the classroom door opened, and your homeroom teacher walked in. "class 3-2, today class 3-6 will be sharing our classroom because their teacher is absent." you didn't think much of it.
you simply looked up, watching as students from class 3-6 entered and filled the empty seats around the room then you saw them.
yushi, sion and riku.
oh no, you were so dead.
without wasting a second, you pulled your hood further over your head and immediately lowered your face onto your desk, please. just pretend you don't exist. after a few minutes passed, curiosity got the better of you.
slowly, you lifted your head, hoping they hadn't noticed you, only to freeze. riku was sitting right beside you and he was already looking at you.
not just looking, glaring.
his pencil was pressed against his notebook, digging into the paper as his cold gaze remained fixed on you.
you flinched, the second your eyes met his, you immediately looked away. "what the hell..." you mumbled quietly to yourself "why is he holding such a grudge against me...?"
a few minutes later, something lightly hit your desk, you looked down. a crumpled piece of paper. you slowly turned your head toward the person who threw it.
riku. he motioned for you to open it, hesitantly, you unfolded the paper. written in rushed handwriting were four simple words.
meet me at the rooftop.
panic immediately washed over your face, was he going to call everyone up there? was he going to expose you in front of the whole school? make fun of you? your mind spiraled into one worst-case scenario after another.
you were so busy overthinking that you didn't even notice the bell had already rung. students began leaving the classroom one by one.
riku walked past your desk, his bag slung over one shoulder, he narrowed his eyes at you. you jolted at his sudden presence. without saying a word, he continued walking out of the classroom.
and somehow...you still ended up at the rooftop. you stood there nervously, convinced you could be publicly humiliated at any second, with nothing else to do, you sat on one of the benches as the warm breeze brushed against your face.
then the sound of footsteps echoed from the stairwel, you slowly looked over it was riku. his bag hung casually over his shoulder as he walked toward you.
for a brief moment, your brain betrayed you. everything suddenly moved in slow motion. the sunlight seemed brighter sparkles surrounded him and you could practically hear background music playing in your head.
it looked exactly like the beginning of a confession scene except this wasn't a date, it was an interrogation.
you let out a quiet sigh, already dreading whatever was about to happen next.
riku walked over and leaned against the wall, crossing his arms; he tilted his head slightly, looking you up and down as if trying to figure you out.
you gulped, keeping your eyes fixed on the ground, the silence lingered until he finally broke it.
"why were you there last night?" his voice was calm but serious and honestly...you couldn't blame him. if you caught someone holding your underwear, you'd be mad too.
you nervously looked up at him, "uh... so... um..." nothing. the words just wouldn't come out "yesterday... i lost my keychain and..." your voice was so quiet it was barely audible.
riku frowned and leaned closer, "what?" his voice echoed across the nearly empty rooftop, you flinched "...keychain!" you blurted out a little louder.
wow, good job. a round of applause for saying exactly one word.
riku stared at you, completely confused "key... key what?" he blinked, "what keychain?" before you could answer—rrrrring.
the bell echoed throughout the school, your shoulders tensed. a bead of sweat rolled down the side of your face.
riku let out an annoyed groan "you're seriously starting to piss me off." he clicked his tongue, "i'll just tell yushi about—"
"i'll explain everything!" you interrupted, quickly raising both hands, "after school! i'll explain it all after school!" riku stared at you for a moment before letting out a quiet huff, he shoved both hands into his pockets "fine."
he turned to leave before muttering over his shoulder, "get out of my sight, perv."
ouch, that one actually hurt.
it was the last period of the day, which was usually a free period; most students spent the time chatting or wandering around, but you preferred sitting in the gymnasium, listening to music while watching everyone else.
you pulled out your wired earphones and plugged them in, when you looked up, you immediately spotted the volleyball team practicing.
ugh, you really didn't want to see riku again. deciding to mind your own business, you secretly pulled out your manga and tucked it inside your english textbook, making it look like you were studying.
you had gotten so absorbed in reading that—thud!
something slammed right into your head, you jolted, letting out a small yelp as the volleyball bounced away "ow..." you winced, rubbing the sore spot on your head.
before you could even process what happened, several footsteps rushed toward you. you looked up, yushi and a few other volleyball players were already standing in front of you, panic written all over their faces.
"are you okay?!" yushi hurried over and crouched down in front of you. "it's my fault. i hope i didn't hurt you."
wow, your imaginary romance background music immediately started playing and your eyes practically turned into little hearts.
you could almost hear the entire gym go, "oohhh..." you quickly cupped your warm cheeks, "i-it's fine..." you smiled awkwardly."it didn't hurt."
it absolutely did but... a little pretending wouldn't hurt either.
"sorry," yushi said again, he gently reached over and rubbed the spot where the volleyball had hit your head. your brain completely short-circuited; you immediately lowered your head, too embarrassed to look him in the eyes.
"i'm really okay..." you mumbled softly. the surrounding students watched the interaction with knowing smiles.
everyone...except one person, your gaze shifted across the court; riku. he was staring at the two of you, his fists were tightly clenched at his sides, his jaw tense, and his eyes narrowed with unmistakable irritation.
there was something in his expression that almost looked like...pure rage. even riku didn't understand why he was reacting this way, seeing yushi fuss over you...
for some reason it irritated him.
"hey!" riku suddenly called out from across the court. "she's fine." he rolled his eyes before adding, "she looks like she has a head made of iron anyway."
he signaled for yushi to toss him the ball, yushi gave you one last worried look. "are you sure you're okay?" you nodded, "i'm fine." only then did he return to practice.
you quietly huffed to yourself, rubbing the back of your head again "...what a jerk."
school was finally over, before heading home, you stopped by the nurse's office to get an ice pack. the spot where the volleyball had hit you was starting to ache a lot more than you wanted than before.
with the ice pack pressed against your head, you slowly made your way home. halfway there, you suddenly froze "...oh no." you had completely forgotten. you were supposed to explain everything to riku.
you let out a long groan since you were already halfway home...there was no way you wanted to walk all the way back.
"hey, panty stealer!" your entire body stiffened, panic immediately took over as you whipped your head around.
riku standing a few steps behind you with the most infuriating grin on his face, without thinking, you rushed over and clamped a hand over his mouth.
"hey!" you whispered frantically. "why would you say that?!" your eyes darted around, making sure no one had heard him; your heart was pounding.
riku simply chuckled, he gently grabbed the hand covering his mouth and pulled it away. "i thought you were running away again." you frowned, quickly pulling your hand back "i wasn't..." you mumbled, "...i just forgot."
he raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced–his expression practically screamed, well? i'm waiting.
you took a deep breath, "so... yesterday..." you struggled to meet his eyes. "my keychain got caught on yushi-kun's pocket." you nervously fidgeted with your sleeves. "i wanted to get it back... and the only way i could think of was getting it from the shower room."
you paused before quietly adding, "and... i didn't even know that was your underwear." riku stayed silent for a moment then he slowly nodded; a relieved sigh escaped his lips.
"...oh." he rubbed the back of his neck, "that wasn't exactly hard to explain, was it?" you awkwardly smiled. he let out a small chuckle, "i seriously thought you had a crush on yushi or something."
"...me?" you pointed to yourself, one of your hand nervously rubbing your neck as a small smile crept upon your face.."a crush on yushi-kun?"
the smile on riku's face instantly disappeared, his arms slowly fell to his sides. his bag slipped from his shoulder and landed on the pavement with a soft thud "...you do?"
your eyes widened, "no! i don't—" before you could finish—
"well, well... isn't that our beloved y/n?" your blood ran cold. you slowly turned around; a group of girls approached with mocking smiles plastered across their faces.
the voice...you recognized it immediately, goosebumps spread across your arms. standing in the middle was enami asa, the girl who had made your previous school years miserable.
one of the girls looked between you and riku before gasping dramatically, "oh my gosh! y/n-chan has a boyfriend?" she laughed, you immediately shook your head.
"no... it's not what you think..." asa stepped closer with a fake pout "how cute." she tilted her head. "but i don't think he's in your league." you instinctively took a step back, "asa... it's not like that..."
before she could say another word—"who the fuck are you?" riku's voice cut through the silence. it was cold and sharp, everyone froze even asa.
she scoffed, clearly offended, "...did you just yell at me?" riku stepped in front of you without hesitation. his broad frame completely blocked you from view "yeah."
he stared her down, "what're you gonna do about it?" the girls looked at each other, stunned. riku leaned in just enough for only asa to hear.
"get out of my sight..." his voice dropped lower, "...before i snap you in two." asa's eye twitched. she shot you one last glare before turning away. "let's go." she motioned for the others to follow.
within seconds, the group disappeared down the street, silence settled between you and riku. you stood there, completely frozen.
did maeda riku just defend you? your mouth hung open slightly.
"...you didn't have to do that," you mumbled, gently tugging on the sleeve of his shirt.
he turned to face you, "are you okay?" you nodded. you didn't trust yourself to speak because if you did...you might cry.
instead, you quietly turned around and ran home. riku watched your silhouette grow smaller and smaller until you disappeared around the corner, he let out a long sigh.
resting both hands behind his head, he continued walking in the opposite direction "...could've at least said thank you." he clicked his tongue "tch...
the next morning, you were walking toward the school gate, fixing your hair while holding a small mirror in your hand. suddenly, someone grabbed your arm, "hey! watch out." you gasped as your body was gently pulled back.
a tree stood right in front of you. if he hadn't stopped you, you would've walked straight into it. you turned around "...oh." it was riku.
"thank you..." you mumbled quietly, you couldn't help but feel confused. why was riku at school so early? he usually showed up just before the bell rang.
what you didn't know was that riku had woken up at four in the morning just to catch an earlier bus. he had checked his reflection in every mirror and window he passed, fixing his hair over and over again, all because he wanted to run into you before school started.
"let's walk together." he casually adjusted the strap of his bag. "yushi and the others aren't here yet." he leaned in slightly with a small smile, you blinked "...o-okay."
you nodded awkwardly before falling into step beside him. the walk to the school building was surprisingly quiet, neither of you really knew what to say.
by second period, it was self-study time, you were almost finished with your math worksheet when someone suddenly placed a carton of chocolate milk on your desk. you looked up in confusion.
it was one of your classmates, "uh... thank you?" she giggled and shook her head. "it wasn't me." she pointed toward the classroom door, you followed her finger there stood riku, leaning against the doorway.
the moment your eyes met, he gave you a small wave, his smile was so genuine that it reached his eyes.
what? you blinked, what was wrong with him? still confused, you awkwardly smiled back.
before you could ask anything, riku noticed a teacher approaching and hurried back to his own classroom "...that was weird." you stared down at the chocolate milk in your hands.
before you knew it, several classmates had gathered around your desk,
"no way..."
"are you and riku a thing?"
"riku's never done something like this before."
"seriously, what did you do to him?"
your face immediately warmed, "n-no..." you laughed nervously. "it's nothing like that..."
it was almost lunchtime, you were on your way back from the restroom when you spotted riku wandering aimlessly through the hallway.
probably skipping class again.
you hesitated for a second before walking over to him, "riku-kun!" he immediately turned at the sound of your voice.
the moment he saw you walking toward him with a small smile, everything else seemed to fade into the background. in his mind, fireworks exploded.
she... called me...
riku-kun? kun? ehhh?!
his heart nearly jumped out of his chest, somehow, he managed to keep a straight face well...mostly. the tips of his ears had already turned bright red.
"oh, hey!" he greeted you as casually as he could, pretending absolutely nothing had happened.
you looked up at him curiously, "why did you give me the chocolate milk?" riku immediately looked away, trying to suppress the smile threatening to spread across his face.
he scratched the back of his neck, desperately searching for an excuse, "uh..."
"i accidentally bought the chocolate one."
he nodded to himself as if the excuse made perfect sense, "i like the strawberry flavor, so... i just gave it to you." he shrugged "why?"
you nodded in understanding, "oh..nothing." there was a brief silence, "um... i'll head back to class now."
"okay." riku smiled and gave you a small wave, "see ya."
you returned the wave before walking back toward your classroom completely unaware that the second you disappeared around the corner...
riku buried his face in his hands, "...she called me 'riku-kun.' he muttered to himself, unable to stop smiling like an idiot.
over the next few days, riku was... suspiciously nice to you, it confused you. you didn't exactly mind it, but it felt strange.
his was riku. someone who barely had time for anything besides volleyball yet somehow, he always found time to talk to you before class, during breaks even just to say hi in the hallway.
it was finally friday, the last day of the week. you walked through the school hallways with a spring in you step, already looking forward to the weekend.
just as you turned the corner—someone suddenly slid right in front of you, "hey, y/n-chan." your eyes widened.
riku, he was already dressed in his volleyball uniform, a bandana keeping his hair back. he looked like he'd been running all over the school. small beads of sweat rested on his forehead as he caught his breath.
despite that...he still somehow managed to catch the attention of nearly every girl walking past.
you blinked.
did.. he just call you...y/n-chan?
not..."panty stealer" not..."perv." your heart skipped a beat.
"hi..." you managed to mumble, riku smiled "do you want to come watch me play?" he tilted his head "at lunchtime?" you stared at him "...me?" you pointed at yourself. he nodded immediately "yeah."
his smile only grew wider, "it'll be fun." he leaned in just enough for only you to hear, "...besides, i like it when you're there." your breath caught before your brain could even process what he'd just said—
"riku!" sion's voice echoed down the hallway, "we're gonna be late!"
"coming!"riku called back. he flashed you one last smile before jogging after sion, leaving you standing there. completely frozen. "...oh." was all you could manage to say.
you carefully scooted through the rows of seats in the gymnasium until you found an empty spot from there, you could clearly see the volleyball court; your eyes naturally landed on riku.
he looked... amazing, the confidence in the way he moved across the court, the effortless jumps, the loud calls to his teammates. he was so charming it almost hurt to watch.
while warming up, riku's eyes wandered around the gym, he was looking for someone then he spotted you his face immediately lit up. without thinking, he stopped what he was doing and excitedly waved both his hands at you.
caught off guard, you smiled awkwardly and gave him a small wave back, that alone was enough to make him grin even wider. soon, the match began.
throughout the entire game, one thought kept repeating in riku's head; she's here, she's watching me, for some reason, it pushed him to play even harder. every successful spike..every receive...every point. he wanted you to see all of it.
when the final whistle blew, riku's team had won; the gym erupted into cheers and applause. his teammates celebrated around him, laughing and high-fiving each other but riku wasn't paying attention.
his eyes immediately searched the crowd, looking for you but you were gone. his smile slowly faded. he was about to leave the court and go look for you when a crowd of fangirls surrounded him.
"riku-kun!"
"congratulations!"
they handed him drinks, snacks, little gifts, and notebooks for autographs although he smiled politely and signed them...his eyes continued searching the gym; hoping to catch one last glimpse of you.
a few minutes earlier...you had quietly slipped out of the gym. riku had looked completely exhausted after the match so you decided to buy him something.
you stood in front of the vending machine and pressed the button for a strawberry milk; with a soft clunk, it dropped into the tray below, you bent down, picked it up, and smiled to yourself.
holding the drink carefully, you walked back toward the gymnasium but the moment you reached the entrance, you stopped. riku was surrounded by girls.
they were handing him expensive snacks, sports drinks, gifts, and asking him to sign their notebooks; he was smiling as he thanked each of them. your gaze slowly dropped to the strawberry milk in your hand.
you suddenly felt embarrassed, maybe...you had overstepped, you quietly turned around and walked back toward your classroom. the strawberry milk remained unopened in your hand.
when you reached your seat, you gently placed it on your desk, the classroom was empty only silence kept you company. you stared at the carton for a long time.
maybe i shouldn't have bought this...
those girls gave him much nicer things.
he probably doesn't need mine anyway.
you let out a small sigh, shaking your head, you tried to chase those thoughts away but somehow...they only grew louder.
you heard footsteps getting louder before you could even react, riku appeared at the classroom door. he looked completely out of breath, his hands resting on his knees as he tried to catch his breath.
"you were here...?"
you immediately stood up, hiding the strawberry milk behind your back "oh... i just got here. i went to the restroom," you quickly lied.
riku stepped further into the classroom, causing you to instinctively take a small step back, he noticed. a confused laugh escaped him "eugh? what's wrong?"
you looked down at the floor, you knew you had to say it. taking a deep breath, you gathered all your courage.
"uhm..." he looked at you, "you don't have to be so nice to me." his expression changed "you don't have to pity me." your fingers tightened around the strawberry milk.
"i know you saw what happened that day. i know you know i was bullied before..." your voice became quieter, "but i'm used to not having friends. so you don't have to get involved with me just because you feel bad."
riku stared at you, then he repeated your words with a confused expression "pity you?" you nodded slightly "i know you're only being nice because of that. i don't want you to get dragged into my problems."
a soft laugh escaped him, not because he found it funny because he couldn't believe that was what you thought. he shook his head and stepped closer "you seriously think that's why?"
you blinked when he gently tapped your nose. "then what else would it be?" riku went quiet for once, he looked nervous. he took a deep breath before finally saying,
"i've liked you since you transferred here last year." your eyes widened. for a moment, you couldn't process what you had just heard, riku continued. "you were always by yourself." his voice softened.
"i wanted to talk to you, but we were in different classes. and every time i saw you, you looked so adorable that i couldn't approach you." he let out an awkward laugh, rubbing the back of his neck.
"i just never knew how to approach you." you stared at him, completely frozen, then riku smiled slightly. "honestly... i was kind of glad after the misunderstanding happened." you blinked.
he sighed, "it finally gave me a reason to talk to you." he paused, "although... the whole underwear situation was definitely not how i imagined it." you couldn't help but laugh softly.
riku smiled when he heard it, then his expression became nervous again. "hey..." you looked up at him. he looked like he was worried he had said too much, slowly, you smiled. "i like you too." your voice was quiet.
riku froze, "...really?" you nodded, looking away shyly. "yeah." for a few seconds, neither of you said anything then riku noticed what you were hiding behind your back, his eyes widened.
"wait." he pointed at it, "is that for me?" you looked down at the strawberry milk and slowly nodded. a smile appeared on his face, "actually..." he chuckled. "i don't even like strawberry milk." you blinked, "what?"
"i only gave you my chocolate milk that day so i lied about liking the straeberry one.." you stared at him. "...so i bought this for nothing?" riku laughed, "no, no. i'll still take it."
"if you don't like it, then give it back." he immediately pulled it away. he ripped the wrapper off the straw, poked it in, and took a big sip. "no! you can't take back gifts." he pouted. you chuckled, huffing playfully, "you're so evil..."
"you wanna drink it?" he asked. you tilted your head, confused by his sudden smirk. before you could answer, he leaned in, cupped your cheeks, and pressed a soft peck on your lips. the sound of the kiss was loud in the empty classroom. you stiffened at his sudden gesture
maeda riku just stole your first kiss..
you could even taste the sweet chocolate milk from his lips. "...you!" you exclaimed, hitting his arm. "why did you do that?"
"what?~ can't i kiss my girlfriend?" he chuckled, raising his arms to protect himself from your hits. your heartbeat raced with every single word he said. you shyly wiped your lips, completely avoiding eye contact.
he let out a dramatic gasp, looking at you as if you had committed a crime. he grabbed your cheeks again and pressed another kiss to your lips. before you could even say something—another kiss, and another one, each one melting away the initial shock.
both of you started giggling, especially riku, whose face was now as red as his ears. "i like you so so much," he mumbled, pulling you into a tight embrace. you pushed against his chest, laughing, "you're sweaty...that's why it smelled in the shower room..." riku smirks, "you still seem to remember what the shower room smells like..." he teased nonstop.
eventually, the playful bickering quieted down. you and riku sat side-by-side at the desk, the golden afternoon light casting long shadows across the floorboards. he reached into his pocket and pulled out a pair of wired earphones, untangling them with a focused frown before gently pressing one earbud into your ear.
he popped the other into his own, a soft, familiar melody immediately filling the space between you. slowly, riku’s hand slid across the cool wood of the desk. his pinky brushed against yours first, hesitant and warm. then, with a sudden rush of bravery, his fingers snaked forward, shyly but deliberately intertwining with yours.
his palm was warm, his grip just tight enough to let you know he wasn't letting go, and you could feel his pulse racing against your skin, mirroring your own...
currently playing — ᨳଓ
BOY MEETS GIRL - NCT WISH
— ᨳଓ masterlist
happiest birthday to the other love of my life, my bf, sion’s bf, the cutest haem haem on earth who i genuinely love to the moon and back! he’s such a big inspiration to me and i hope he has the best birthday ever :((
none talk to me
HAIAIAIAI could i request a very affectionate reader who has a very obvious crush on wanderer and through some means (probably something related to the new archon quest) she becomes aware of his past and kind of distances herself?? But mwah mwah happy ending somehow i suck at writing my thoughts LMFAOO SO IDK HOW TO LEAD THIS TO END UP HAPPY BC I HATEEE ANGST AUGHHH HOPEFULLY YOU CAN FIND A WAY GOAT 😭😭🙏 I TRUST YOU FR
6/15/2026 ; there he saw your soft eyes and even softer smile, and something in him threatened to bloom, 𖥻 ׁ ׅ character/s : scaramouche / wanderer x gn! reader 𖥻 ׁ ׅ genre ; fluff ⋆ MASTERLIST ˎˊ˗ ─── slight spoilers ahead .ᐟ
Isn’t there something, or more specifically someone, that concerns you more right now? That fills you with dread and worry? For example, the person who gave you that charm?
It should have been a tremendous relief for the Wanderer to go back to Sumeru City victorious after he had finally gotten his revenge on Dottore. He should have been celebrating and perhaps gone back to check on Lesser Lord Kusanali, but no, his heart was in distress while clutching the woven charm that you had made for him.
It may not be as big of a threat as the second harbinger to the whole nation, but it made him uneasy all the same.
Had it been something like ignoring you, it would have been an easy fix—but no, it wasn't.
You were... Well, a very obvious individual when it comes to your affection. With that said, you were specifically affectionate towards one person, who was the Wanderer or Hat Guy, as most would call him.
Everyone knew you liked the Hat guy despite him mostly replying to you sarcastically.
Even Hat Guy himself knew that you liked Hat Guy despite his attempts to make you annoyed with him and give up, which only rendered them futile because you always looked at him with the brightest smile that you had as if he were the greatest thing that had happened in this wretched world. It was impossible to not find out that you like him.
At first, the Wanderer thought that maybe whatever Dottore was spewing out of his mouth was nonsense, baseless, and false. But when your eyes locked and you turned away in a way the Wanderer didn't think you had it in you, his heart sank.
It was denial first—maybe you didn't want to talk, maybe you were simply tired from all that moving around from Caravan Ribat and back to the rainforest again. The wanderer turned back. Perhaps you'll talk tomorrow, just not today.
He waited days that turned into weeks, and somehow, a part of him continued to ache. Dottore's voice echoing in his head.
I wonder what that person would think if your past... was suddenly revealed to them?
You truly didn't mean to turn around so quickly that day. Deep inside, your heart skipped a beat and then sank in a bottomless pit. In your mind, one name was persistent to remind you that the Wanderer you were looking at had a previous name—Scaramouche.
When it was announced that the people from the rainforest were allowed to go back to the city, you were overjoyed.
You just weren't ready to read the documents that were lying on your coffee table—names, experiments, and Scaramouche, the sixth harbinger—a puppet, a weapon, and a monster because his creator deemed him too human.
You wished you had never read those documents; your head ached from them, and you simply can't go shouting around that this wanderer was the sixth harbinger; you'll be seen as crazy.
You kept it to yourself instead, and now you look even more suspicious whenever you avoid the wanderer. The people around you have now speculated one thing: You were rejected by the Wanderer.
Which made the said man sigh because he was trying to find an opening to talk to you.
So he hid first, and the moment you turned around, you were pulled to the side. You gasped in surprise and blinked. "Hat guy!?" you exclaimed, eyes going wide to see the familiar man in front of you. Surely he wasn't going to— "Calm down, would you?" The Wanderer frowned as if he read your mind. He folded his arms across his chest and then spoke again, "Why have you been ignoring me?"
Somehow those words were more of a surprise to you; you didn't expect that question. Honestly, you weren't expecting all of this at all. You hesitated and forced out a smile. "Me? I haven't..."
"Stop lying. You're too obvious."
"I'm not—"
"You're lying again."
That made you shut up. The two of you stared at each other, and he was uncharacteristically patient for once. It was when you lowered your eyes that the Wanderer spoke, "You... read something, didn't you?"
You looked up, heart traitorously skipping a beat.
The Wanderer continued, "Something about me."
You kept quiet, and just from your expression did the Wanderer confirm it all: that yes, you had read something about him. The very part he despises. "You didn't tell anyone about this?" he asked. You frowned. "Why would I tell anyone? It's not my story to tell."
His purple eyes bore into you, and you heard him sigh, "Then tell me, now that you have read about my past... does that mean I'm unworthy of your affection now?"
You froze, looking at him in shock. "What—hey, are you distracting me from the fact that you were—" You immediately shut your mouth and tried again. "Why don't you tell me if whatever I read was true or not?"
The Wanderer took a deep breath. "If I said it was all true?"
You bit your bottom lip before answering, "T-Then... I don't know what to say."
The Wanderer didn't say anything—oh, he hated Dottore with every fiber of his being. He slowly raised his hand and opened it; on it was a woven charm. The one you had made for him before you departed for Caravan Ribat. You stared at him and looked at the Wanderer's purple eyes, and somehow they were staring back at you—soft, softer than the ones you had dreamt of.
"Your charm," he said, his voice lower now. "I kept it on my person the whole time. I wanted to thank you for it," not that he was a believer of charms and all that. "I thought of you," the wanderer felt. He wasn't used to this type of thing. "I just wanted to let you know."
You held the woven charm you had made and stared at him; you saw the Wanderer stare at you for a moment before he lowered his head and hid his face with his hat, turning his head to the side. "I better get going now."
A shaky breath left you. "I read everything. Even if it hurt my head, even if it shook me to the bone that the person I liked for too long was... that." The wanderer didn't turn around; he just listened. You were sure of it—that he was listening. "You never... made me feel unsafe. Not only that, you helped Sumeru and stayed here, and even if you don't admit it, you made it your home."
"So..." you said as you saw the Wanderer turn around, and his eyes settled on you once again, and there he saw your soft eyes and even softer smile, and something in him threatened to bloom—warm and foreign. "Tell me... let me see everything and stay anyway."
I LOVEEEE
°❀⋆. Comforting a crying Wanderer❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･
A/N: My heart suddenly got so soft when I remembered he was crying before Ei tossed him out. Oh gosh.
Warning: none, a hint of angst. GN reader. Unedited.
This wasn't like him. Or maybe it was exactly him. After all, the reason he was tossed out like worthless trash was because his tears. Why did he have to feel so deeply?
He curls in on himself, holding his knees as he stares out at the distance below him. His hat lay discarded near him and his free hand clutching his golden feather.
Wanderer was at the market buying spices when a scene between a mother and her child happened. The child was crying, pointing to a little doll on the shopkeeper's table and the mother was pulling him away, desperate to stop his tantrum. Wanderer didn't know what possessed him but he found himself kneeling to the child, pulling out the doll he always carried with him.
The doll itself wasn't remarkable, a small copy of himself. Dark indigo blue hair and white clothes with a single tear at his eyes.
Wanderer gently pushed the doll in the child's hands and the crying stopped. The child had looked up at him, eyes shimmering with tears before a bright smile took his place.
Wanderer didn't know why he gave it away. It wasn't like him to be impulsive. Maybe it was because of the same shade of hair, the same face and eyes as... The child that once promised him that they could be family. The child that died and broke his promise.
He scoffs at himself, feeling hollow without the doll in his possession. It was a physical tear to his heart and he couldn't understand why. Maybe this was why he was thrown away. Maybe he was, after all that has happened, still too emotional. Still too stupid to understand himself.
He nearly chokes as he feels arms wrapping around him from the back. Wanderer stays absolutely still for a moment before looking back at you.
He had specifically chosen this place because it was nearly inaccessible to anyone normal. He had flown so high and searched for a secluded place in the forest and yet...
"You know you don't have to be alone."
His lips began to twitch as if he was about to cry just like the child in the market, but he holds himself back. He couldn't cry now, especially with you here.
"How did you..." His voice is gruff but shaky.
You simply press him tighter to your chest, laying your head on his shoulder. "Nahida told me you dissappeared. I went looking for you."
He swallows and nods slowly. He hates this. Hates how Buer had noticed his absence and cared enough to warn you, and how you cared enough to come searching. You shouldn't care. Not about a worthless being such as himself.
But you slowly turn him around and cup his cheeks. He can't find the strength to look you in your eyes. You were never meant to see someone with the potential of a god crying.
You coo softly, wiping his tears away and leaning closer, trying to tilt your head so your eyes can meet.
"She told me about your doll." You whisper, your eyes falling onto where his hand is still gripping the golden feather. The symbol of an archon's favour, of their proof that he was made by a god.
"You were very kind."
He doesn't need this! He doesn't need you telling him anything! He doesn't want to hear your worthless praise!
And yet, he shudders, eyes closing as another tear slips down his cheek. "What... Does it matter."
"It mattered to you." You continue holding his cheeks, warming the moistness of his face.
"Listen, I don't know everything about you. You're harsh. You're blunt." You start, comfortably settling down on your knees. "But you have the purest heart I've ever seen. I won't pretend to know your agony."
You lean your head forward, rubbing your forehead against his. You breathe in his scent - a unique blend of wind and rain and subtle smell of the forest clinging to him.
"But I want you to know that truly, I love you. Like the sun loves the moon and how the wind kisses the earth. Truly my dearest. I hope you know it."
As you slowly pull back, three more tears have been conjured up and he's breathlessly staring up at you.
Bonus:
You surprised him with a replica of his doll but this time, a lock of your hair remains inside it. Not that he knows, but just so that you can definitively say you're always with him.
Has Jonghyun ever explained his inspiration behind each song from Base? I know he said a little about "Beautiful Tonight" when Shinee did One Fine Day & a little about 할렐루야 on something else, but what about the others?
he hasn’t explained his inspiration behind each yet, no, but he has a few! both that you mentioned already, for sure, lemme see:
+ déjà-boo: so, to start off, obviously the song title is a play on “déjà vu“ which is french for "already seen” (the literal translation, anyway) and is basically a feeling of having already experienced a present situation whether you remember it vividly or not. (that’s usually the point of “déjà vu” though - you feel like you’re familiar with it even though you can’t put a finger on why exactly.) “boo” is english and an affection way to refer to someone you’re dating or involved with. he admitted to the title being a play on words himself and that the literal meaning behind it is: “you’re already my darling”. so, the meaning behind the song altogether is like: the person narrating it keeps on meeting this person and the feelings they have when doing so are familiar / giving them déjà vu. beyond that…, idk, like it could go a lot of different ways: like there could be paranormal / supernatural elements to the song where he keeps on meeting someone over and over again, or he “feels like it’s the first time” when he’s with someone he’s in love with. jonghyun didn’t really go into… detail there, lmao. so, all speculation. + crazy (guilty pleasure): jonghyun said during an interview with “pops in seoul” that the song is about “a guy who’s friends don’t approve of his girlfriend, saying, ”she’s not right for you! you shouldn’t be with her!” but that only makes him become more attracted to her.“ so, it’s literally about the girl the song is about being his ”guilty pleasure”.+ hallelujah: this is one that he hasn’t really spoken up about but it’s pretty… obvious? and this is all speculation also, but the song itself isn’t meant to be religious (because jonghyun isn’t religious). he used religious metaphors / wording to explain how someone’s affected him. i’ve seen a lot of people suggest that the undertone to the lyrics are pretty subtly sexual / suggestion and i agree, lmao.+ love belt: he mentioned during a mini fanmeet after his debut solo performance on “inkigayo“ on january 11th that he wrote the song whilst recovering in the hospital after his car accident in 2013 - hence the alluding to cars, car related things, ect. in the lyrics, but he said that the song itself isn’t actually about cars. he went on to elaborate that a ”love belt“ is essentially something that can act as a safety device as you go on living your life and the song kind of morphed into someone using their lover as a ”love belt”. you can read more of what he said here!+ neon: … is yet to be mentioned by him, really, so all we can really go off of until he does (if he ever does) is speculation.+ mono-drama: this is another one that he hasn’t spoken explicitly on, but i do recall him mentioning during an interview or appearance (though i can’t place where or when it was exactly) that he wanted fans to try to come up with possible meanings behind the song. nothing’s been confirmed or spoken on since then, but so far i’ve seen speculations that range from: the song being written from a fan’s perspective about a one-sided/”unattainable” love for a celebrity / idol, it being written from a point of view of either narcissus about his own reflection or narcissus’ reflection about narcissus or it simply being a song about unrequited love. knowing jonghyun though it would be as simple as the latter, especially if he asked fans to “think” about the meaning.+ beautiful tonight: like you said, he’s said a little about this in the past. i feel like he mentioned being inspired to write it after talking a walk during a clear night when the moon was at it’s peak? not surprising; he seems to get a lot of inspiration from the moon, tbh.+ fortune cookie: he said that he was inspired to write it after “iron man”, lmao, but idk if i believe that.
also! i’d like to point out that all of the songs are gender neutral both from point of view and who they’re being “directed” toward with the exception of the first two and “neon”!
Disability Services (2) | Anton Lee
pairings: autistic!anton lee x (fem)reader
synopsis: Assigned as a peer aide for a withdrawn college student no one seems able to understand, you expect awkward conversations, difficult schedules, and long silences. What you don’t expect is Anton.
Soft-spoken and selectively mute, Anton moves through campus like someone slightly out of step with the rest of the world. He avoids eye contact, struggles to process emotions in real time, and finds comfort in routines, textures, music, and beautiful things. Most people see him as strange before they ever try to know him. But beneath his careful silence is someone painfully observant, deeply sensitive, and desperate for connection in ways he doesn’t fully understand himself.
As the semester unfolds, your role in his life slowly becomes more than academic support. Anton begins seeking you out instinctively — waiting outside your classes, memorizing your routines, touching your sleeve without realizing how intimate it feels. He doesn’t understand the meaning people attach to closeness, only that your presence quiets the overwhelming parts of the world around him.
And somewhere between rainy walks across campus, quiet practice rooms, and conversations filled with unfinished feelings, you begin falling for him.
But loving Anton means learning patience. His emotions arrive slowly, often after the moment has already passed. He struggles to recognize jealousy, affection, and longing until they’ve already rooted themselves deeply inside him. While you begin understanding your feelings almost immediately, Anton has to discover his piece by piece — through trust, comfort, and the terrifying realization that for the first time in his life, someone stayed.
A quiet, emotionally intimate slowburn about tenderness, misunderstood affection, and two people learning how to exist gently beside one another.
The words settled somewhere deep enough inside you that for a second you forgot how to breathe normally.
He sat across from you beneath the warm café lights, fingers resting loosely around his drink while rain traced slow patterns down the windows behind him. His expression remained thoughtful rather than embarrassed, like he’d simply arrived at a conclusion after careful observation and decided to share it.
He noticed when you were gone.
Not I missed you.
Not I wanted you there.
Anton’s attention drifted toward the condensation gathering on his cup after a few seconds, giving you time to recover from whatever had just happened to your nervous system.
You cleared your throat softly. “We’ve known each other for like… two days.”
“I know.”
His voice came easier now than before. Still soft. Still sparse. But less fragile around the edges, as though speaking had become slightly less exhausting in your presence.
“That’s not a long time to notice someone.”
Anton tilted his head faintly at that.
“It is for me.”
You stared at him.
He seemed to realize belatedly that he might need to explain further because his fingers immediately twitched toward his phone again. You watched him hesitate halfway there before deciding to speak instead.
“Most people feel…” He paused. “Temporary.”
The sentence came out unevenly, like he was translating thoughts directly as they formed.
“They change quickly,” he continued quietly. “Or they stop trying after they realize I’m difficult.”
Your chest tightened.
Anton looked down at the table while speaking now, voice lowering further with concentration.
“So when someone stays longer than expected…” Another pause. “I notice.”
The café felt unbearably intimate suddenly.
You wanted very badly to say something comforting and equally wanted not to scare him by reacting too emotionally. Anton seemed sensitive to emotional intensity in the same way he was sensitive to noise — too much too quickly made him retreat inward.
“Well,” you said gently, “I’m not planning on disappearing.”
The second the sentence left your mouth, Anton looked up.
Not fully into your eyes.
But close enough that the breath caught in your throat anyway.
His expression shifted in that quiet subtle way you were learning to recognize — something loosening internally, tension unwinding one careful thread at a time.
Then he nodded once.
Small. Certain. Like he’d decided to believe you.
You had to look away first.
Outside, evening settled fully over campus, the windows darkening into reflective black glass broken only by rain and scattered lights. The café had emptied considerably while you talked, leaving only a few students hunched over laptops near the back.
Anton finished the last bite of his sandwich with methodical precision before pushing the plate slightly away from himself.
You noticed immediately. “You actually ate.”
He blinked.
Then glanced down at the empty plate like he’d forgotten about it midway through the conversation.
“See? Survived.”
Anton considered that seriously.
“It helped because you stayed.”
Your heart physically hurt at this point.
You pressed your fingers harder around your cup to ground yourself. “Anton.”
He looked attentive immediately.
“You can’t keep saying things like that so casually.”
Confusion crossed his face almost at once.
“What things?”
Exactly.
You laughed weakly under your breath. “Never mind.”
Anton frowned slightly, clearly dissatisfied with not understanding. He shifted forward a little in his seat, cardigan sleeves falling down over his hands again.
“No,” he said quietly. “Explain.”
The determination in his voice startled you.
You looked at him carefully. “Some things sound more emotionally intense than you realize.”
“Oh.”
His cheeks pinked faintly.
You watched the realization begin unfolding behind his eyes in slow increments. Processing. Replaying previous conversations. Reevaluating.
“When I said touching you felt calm too?” he asked carefully.
Your stomach flipped violently.
“Yes.”
Anton immediately lowered his gaze toward the table.
“And when I said I noticed you were gone.”
“Yes.”
Another pause stretched between you both.
Then, very softly:
“I wasn’t trying to make you uncomfortable.”
“I know you weren’t. And you didn’t.”
That seemed to relax him slightly.
But his expression remained thoughtful, distant around the edges in that way it became when he was learning something new socially.
After a while, he asked, “Do people usually hide those things?”
“Feelings?”
Tiny nod. “Sometimes.”
“Why?”
You almost laughed at the genuine confusion in his voice.
“Because it makes people vulnerable.”
“But feelings already exist even if you don’t say them.”
The simplicity of the statement knocked straight through you.
You stared at him while he sat there completely sincere, genuinely unable to understand why people buried emotions under implication and performance instead of simply stating them aloud.
And maybe he had a point. Maybe everyone else was the confusing one.
“You’re dangerous,” you muttered before thinking.
Anton blinked slowly.
The pink in his cheeks deepened. “That sounds bad.”
“It’s not.”
“Then what does it mean?”
You groaned softly and covered part of your face with your sleeve. “You ask too many direct questions.”
“I know,” he said immediately, with the faintest trace of something almost amused hidden beneath the words.
You looked up in surprise.
Anton’s mouth had curved slightly at one corner.
The sight hit you embarrassingly hard.
“You did that on purpose,” you accused quietly.
His expression flickered with confusion again before understanding caught up several seconds later.
Then the almost-smile appeared once more.
Tiny. Beautiful.
Your entire body felt doomed.
Before either of you could say anything else, the café lights flickered briefly overhead. One of the workers behind the counter called out an apologetic, “Closing in ten!”
You glanced toward the windows. “Shit, it got late.. and I missed my shift.”
Anton followed your gaze outside immediately. Darkness had settled completely over campus now, rain reduced to a misty drizzle coating the sidewalks in reflected light.
You started gathering your things reluctantly.
Across from you, Anton had gone quiet again.
Not withdrawn. Just watching.
When you stood from the table, he stood too before you could even sling your bag over your shoulder. Immediate. Automatic.
You smiled a little. “You really do follow me everywhere now, huh?”
The second the joke left your mouth, Anton stilled.
His expression changed subtly.
You recognized it instantly now — processing something emotionally complicated in delayed real time.
“Oh my god,” you said quickly. “I was kidding, Anton.”
But he still looked unsettled.
“I know,” he murmured.
Yet his fingers had disappeared deeper into his sleeves again.
You softened immediately. “Hey.”
His attention lifted toward you.
“I don’t mind you being around me.”
“You would tell me if you did?”
“Yes,” you said gently. “I would.”
Anton studied your face for a long moment, like he was checking for inconsistencies between your words and expression.
“Okay.”
-
The walk back across campus felt different after that conversation.
Not heavier exactly, but charged in a quieter way, like something between you had shifted shape without either of you knowing what to call it yet. The sidewalks gleamed from the rain, reflecting blurry gold streetlights beneath your feet while damp wind tugged softly at your clothes. Anton stayed beside you in that instinctive way he had begun to, close enough that his sleeve brushed yours every few steps before drifting away again.
You couldn’t stop thinking about what he’d said in the café.
You would tell me if you did?
The question lingered unpleasantly under your ribs because it revealed too much all at once. Anton expected people to tolerate him until they didn’t anymore. Every reassurance you gave him seemed to land with the careful disbelief of someone handling something fragile enough to break if held incorrectly.
And somehow, despite barely knowing him, you already understood that hurting him would feel unbearable.
“You’re thinking too loudly again,” Anton murmured beside you.
You turned toward him with startled laughter. “What does that even mean?”
“It changes your face.”
“That’s terrifying.”
“I like it.”
The response came so naturally that he didn’t seem to realize he’d said anything unusual until several seconds later. You watched awareness arrive slowly behind his expression, watched him mentally retrace the sentence and reach the point where another person might’ve softened it or taken it back.
Anton just frowned slightly, like he couldn’t figure out whether he was supposed to.
“You say things before understanding them,” you said quietly.
“That sounds irresponsible.”
“It kind of is.”
You expected embarrassment. Instead, his mouth curved faintly against the collar of his cardigan, hidden halfway inside soft fabric. “You still stay.”
The honesty of it made your chest ache all over again.
You reached the library steps too quickly. Warm light spilled through the glass doors, students moving around inside with backpacks slung over their shoulders, the entire building humming with that exhausted nighttime energy campuses developed after dark. Your shift started thirty-five minutes ago.
Neither of you moved immediately.
Anton’s fingers disappeared deeper into his sleeves while he stared somewhere near the ground beside you. Thinking again. You were beginning to realize his silences weren’t empty pauses in conversation but entire internal processes unfolding where you could almost see them happen.
Finally, quietly, “What happens when you stop being my aide?”
You looked at him carefully.
“The semester ends eventually.”
“I know.”
But something tightened in your chest anyway.
The question wasn’t really about schedules.
Rainwater dripped steadily from the edge of the library roof nearby. Students brushed past the two of you without paying attention, conversations blurring together into meaningless background noise, but Anton remained fixed in place like he was waiting for an answer capable of settling something much larger than the conversation itself.
You tried for lightness first. “You planning on getting rid of me that quickly?”
“No.”
Immediate. Certain.
The word slipped out before he could reconsider it, soft but startlingly firm compared to his usual hesitation. His eyes widened slightly afterward, as though the speed of the response surprised him too.
You smiled despite yourself. “Okay.”
Anton looked away first.
His throat moved subtly before he spoke again, quieter now. “I don’t think I know how to stop noticing you.”
The world genuinely seemed to pause for a second.
You stared at him beneath the glow of the library lights, rain dampening the dark strands of hair curling around his face, cardigan sleeves covering his hands almost completely. There was no performance in him. No flirtation sharpened intentionally for effect. Anton said things with the devastating sincerity of someone still learning that feelings often stayed hidden inside other people.
And maybe that was why every word reached directly inside your chest before you had time to defend yourself from it.
“You can’t say things like that to me right before I have work,” you muttered weakly.
Confusion flickered across his face before understanding slowly followed. “Because it changes your body language.”
You covered your face briefly with your hands. “Anton.”
“What?”
“You are unbelievably stressful.”
That finally earned a real smile.
You’d noticed already that Anton became beautiful in motion more than stillness. The softening of his mouth when he forgot to guard himself. The way his shoulders relaxed when something genuinely pleased him. Even his voice changed slightly during those moments, growing warmer, easier, less careful around the edges.
Watching that smile appear because of you felt dangerous in ways you weren’t prepared for.
“You’re doing it again,” he said softly.
“What?”
“Looking at me for too long.”
Heat crawled instantly into your face. “You noticed?”
“I notice everything about you.”
Your stomach turned over so hard it almost hurt.
The terrifying thing was that he meant it literally.
Before you could recover, Anton stepped closer without seeming aware of the intimacy in the movement. Not enough to trap you against the library railing, just enough that you could feel warmth radiating through the damp fabric of his cardigan. His attention lingered near your face with unusual steadiness, focused and searching in that way he got when trying to understand something completely.
Then his hand emerged slowly from his sleeve.
You felt the slightest brush of his fingertips against your wrist.
Tentative. Curious.
Not grabbing. Not even really holding. Just touching your pulse like he was confirming you were real.
“You react here first,” he murmured.
Your heartbeat went absolutely feral beneath his fingers.
Anton seemed fascinated by it.
“When you’re overwhelmed,” he continued softly, still studying your wrist with complete concentration, “it gets faster before your expression changes.”
You couldn’t breathe correctly anymore.
“Anton,” you whispered.
That finally made him look up.
Really look at you this time, closer to eye contact than he’d ever managed before. His own expression had gone strangely open, all that careful distance he usually kept between himself and the world temporarily unraveled by curiosity and something warmer underneath it.
Then realization arrived. Not all at once. Slowly.
You saw the exact moment he understood what this looked like from your perspective — standing too close outside the library in the rain, fingers pressed lightly against your pulse while speaking in that soft voice of his.
His hand withdrew immediately.
Color spread across his cheeks.
“I—” He stopped, visibly overwhelmed by too many thoughts arriving together. “I was observing.”
You laughed helplessly under your breath, pulse still racing. “That doesn’t help your case.”
Anton looked genuinely distressed by this.
“You said I should explain things.”
“I know, puppy.”
The pet name slipped out accidentally.
Both of you froze.
Anton’s expression changed so suddenly it stole the air from your lungs. Confusion first, then surprise, then something deeper that unfolded slowly across his face as he replayed the word internally.
Puppy..
You watched him process it like a physical sensation.
“Nobody’s called me that before,” he said quietly.
And just like that, every coherent thought left your body.
You should’ve corrected yourself immediately.
Laughed it off. Said it slipped out. Pretended it meant nothing.
Instead you stood there outside the library with rain misting softly through the cold night air while Anton looked at you like the word had settled somewhere deep inside him and refused to leave.
Nobody’s called me that before.
The confession wrapped itself around your ribs painfully. Not because it was dramatic, but because of how sincere it sounded. Anton never exaggerated anything. If anything, he stripped emotions down so honestly that they became impossible to ignore.
You swallowed. “Really?”
He shook his head slowly.
Something about that felt impossible. Someone as soft as him should’ve been adored carefully. He should’ve had people smoothing his hair back affectionately, calling him sweet things without embarrassment, pressing warmth into all the places the world had taught him to make smaller.
Instead, Anton carried himself like someone accustomed to being handled incorrectly.
“You looked upset,” you said quietly, trying to explain the word somehow. “It just came out.”
“I wasn’t upset.”
“No?”
He thought about it seriously before answering. “Disorganized.”
Your laugh escaped before you could stop it.
Anton’s mouth softened again at the sound. Not quite a smile this time — something gentler, almost shy around the edges.
“I like when you laugh at me correctly,” he admitted.
“What does that mean?”
“When people usually laugh at me, it’s not for good reasons.”
You understood immediately. People laughed at him because they thought he was strange, or awkward, or unintentionally amusing. But Anton watched reactions carefully enough to tell the difference between ridicule and affection.
And somehow, without meaning to, you’d become someone whose reactions he trusted.
You leaned back slightly against the wet library railing, trying to steady yourself while Anton stood close enough for you to feel his warmth through the damp evening air. He’d gone quiet again, gaze lowered toward your sleeve where droplets of rain darkened the fabric.
“You’re cold,” he murmured after a while.
“So are you.”
“I don’t notice temperature immediately.”
“That sounds fake.”
“It’s true.”
“Anton.”
“What?”
“You say things that sound medically concerning and then act like it’s normal.”
This time the smile came easier. Small but immediate, hidden partially behind the collar of his cardigan as he tucked his mouth into the fabric instinctively.
You stared at him too long again. Anton noticed, of course.
“You’re doing it another time.”
“I know.”
“You stopped pretending it was accidental.”
Heat crept into your face. “You’re impossible.”
“No,” he said softly. “I’m observant.”
The worst part was that he wasn’t flirting intentionally. You could feel that. Anton approached conversations with too much honesty for manipulation, too much directness for games. Everything he said came from genuine curiosity or genuine feeling, and that somehow made every interaction more intimate than if he were trying.
A burst of laughter sounded from inside the library as students pushed through the front doors in a noisy group. The sudden volume cut sharply through the quiet night.
Anton flinched.
Not dramatically. Just enough that his body shifted closer on instinct before he caught himself. His shoulder brushed yours, warm and damp from the rain, and stayed there for half a second too long.
You felt him realize it.
Felt the exact moment awareness caught up.
But instead of moving away immediately, Anton hesitated.
His expression had gone distant again in that way it did when he was sorting through too many thoughts at once. You watched his throat move subtly before he spoke.
“When I touch you…” He paused, visibly reorganizing the sentence. “You never seem uncomfortable after.”
Your chest tightened.
“Should I be?”
“No.” Immediate again. Then softer, “I just keep waiting for it to change.”
Something painful pulled deep inside you.
Because there it was again — that expectation that eventually people would recoil from him, tire of him, decide he was too strange or too much work or too difficult to keep close.
You reached for his sleeve before thinking.
Anton went still beneath your fingers.
“You don’t have to earn basic gentleness from me,” you said quietly.
His breathing changed first, shallow for just a second before evening out again. Then came that look you were learning to recognize: the fragile disorientation of someone receiving care they hadn’t prepared themselves for.
You wondered suddenly how often Anton spent his life bracing for rejection before it arrived.
Probably constantly.
“You say things like you mean them permanently,” he whispered.
“I do mean them.”
“But people change.”
The way he said it made your stomach twist. Not bitter. Not angry. Just factual, like he’d learned it through repetition.
You slid your hand slightly further down his sleeve until your fingers brushed the edge of his wrist. “Maybe some people do.”
Anton looked down at the contact immediately.
Not nervous. Focused.
His attention lingered on your hand against him with the same careful concentration he gave beautiful objects or pieces of music. You got the strange feeling he was memorizing the sensation.
Then, slowly, his fingers turned beneath the fabric until they touched yours.
Not fully holding your hand. Just resting there.
“I think,” he said softly, “if someone was kind to me when I was younger, I would’ve become attached too quickly.”
“You already get attached quickly.”
“Oh.”
Anton’s thumb brushed faintly against the side of your hand through the damp fabric between you both, absentminded and searching. He didn’t seem aware he was doing it. Or maybe he was beginning to notice now, slowly connecting physical closeness with the emotions underneath it.
You wondered what it felt like inside his head lately. How confusing all of this must be when he processed feelings in delayed waves instead of immediate understanding.
“Are you flirting now?”
“I’m not,” he said quickly.
“I know.”
“But I…” He frowned, looking suddenly distressed by the complexity of the conversation. “I want to keep touching you.”
Your entire body went warm.
Anton seemed horrified by your reaction immediately afterward, gaze dropping toward your joined hands like he’d accidentally uncovered something too private.
“I don’t know what category that belongs in yet,” he admitted quietly. “I’m still thinking about it.”
And there it was.
The slow terrifying realization happening in pieces instead of all at once.
You looked at him standing there beneath the rain-dim library lights, beautiful and overwhelmed and trying so hard to understand feelings everyone else seemed to experience instinctively.
Then you squeezed his hand gently.
“You can take your time,” you whispered.
Anton looked at you like the words hurt him in the nicest way possible.
For a moment neither of you moved.
The rain had almost stopped completely now, leaving only the occasional drip from the library roof and the damp shine of campus lights reflecting across the pavement. Students passed in scattered groups behind you, conversations fading in and out of the cold night air, but the world around Anton always seemed strangely blurred once he focused on something.
Right now, he was focused entirely on your hand.
Not romantically, at least not consciously. You could tell he was trying to understand the sensation itself before assigning meaning to it. His thumb brushed slowly against the side of your wrist again, thoughtful and absentminded, like he was memorizing texture.
“You really think through touch,” you murmured.
Anton nodded faintly.
“It’s easier than talking sometimes.”
“How?”
He stayed quiet for a while, gaze lowered toward your joined hands. You’d started noticing that his longest pauses usually came before the most honest answers, like truth took more effort to untangle than rehearsed responses would.
“People say one thing while meaning another,” he said eventually. “But touch is usually honest immediately.”
Your heartbeat stumbled again.
Anton looked up at you then. The library lights caught softly in his dark eyes, and for once he didn’t immediately look away. Instead he studied your expression with quiet concentration, processing every piece of you at once.
“You’re careful with me,” he said softly. “Even when you react strongly.”
He noticed that too. Not just your affection, but the restraint inside it. The constant effort not to overwhelm him, not to push him faster than he could process.
“You make me want to be careful.”
Anton’s expression shifted again in that subtle, dangerous way it always did around vulnerability. You could almost see emotions arriving one at a time behind his eyes, delayed but no less intense for it.
“I don’t think people usually do that,” he admitted.
“Be careful?”
“With me.”
Before you could answer, a gust of cold wind pushed through the walkway, making Anton shiver visibly beneath his damp cardigan. Instinctively, you stepped closer and reached up to smooth his rain-curled hair back from his forehead.
Anton went still beneath your touch, breath catching softly enough that you almost missed it. But this time he didn’t freeze from surprise alone. He leaned into your hand deliberately, slow enough that it felt like a choice.
A dangerous choice.
Your fingers stayed tangled briefly in the soft strands near his temple while Anton closed his eyes for half a second like he was overwhelmed by how nice it felt.
Then he whispered, almost confused by himself, “I kept thinking about earlier.”
“The practice room?”
A small nod.
“When you touched my hair.”
The memory rushed back instantly — his face tilting unconsciously into your palm, the stunned silence afterward.
Anton swallowed subtly before continuing. “I didn’t understand why I wanted you to do it again.”
Your pulse throbbed against his fingers.
“And now?”
“I still don’t fully understand.” His mouth softened faintly, frustrated with himself. “But I think…” He paused, searching. “I think my body recognizes you faster than my brain does.”
Anton seemed unaware of the effect he was having again, too focused on sorting through the realization itself.
“It happens a lot around you,” he continued quietly. “I move closer before deciding to. Or I touch you before remembering other people think about those things differently.”
You couldn’t take it anymore.
“Anton.”
He looked at you immediately.
“You have to stop saying things that sound romantic before I lose my mind.”
The confusion returned instantly. “But I’m being accurate.”
“I know,” you laughed helplessly. “That’s the problem.”
A tiny crease formed between his brows while he tried to process your reaction. “You keep reacting like I’m confessing to something.”
“What?”
Anton seemed startled too.
You watched realization ripple slowly across his expression after hearing his own tone, like he hadn’t intended to sound playful but discovered too late that he had. The corners of his mouth twitched faintly before he ducked his face partially into the collar of his cardigan again, hiding.
“You’re getting bolder,” you accused quietly.
“I’m getting…” He paused, thinking carefully. “Less afraid of being incorrect around you.”
The honesty in that sentence nearly undid you.
Because that was what this really was underneath everything else. Anton wasn’t simply learning affection. He was learning safety. Learning that he could speak before perfectly organizing every thought, touch before fully understanding the implications, exist without rehearsing himself into something easier for other people to handle.
And somehow you’d become the place where that happened.
The realization filled you with equal parts warmth and terror.
“You should go inside before your shift supervisor hates you,” Anton murmured after a while, though he still hadn’t let go of your hand.
“You’re the one holding me hostage.”
“I know.”
You stared at him.
Anton blinked slowly, processing his own wording. Then the faintest flush spread across his cheeks.
“That sounded manipulative.”
“It sounded cute.”
His expression softened instantly at the word.
Cute.
You were beginning to notice certain compliments affected him differently. Pretty made him quiet and uncertain. Cute made him shy. Puppy had nearly short-circuited him entirely.
Like every gentle thing said to him became something he carried carefully afterward.
“You think I’m cute?” he asked softly.
There was no ego in it. Just genuine curiosity.
You stepped closer before thinking.
Close enough now that you could see every raindrop caught in his lashes, every tiny shift in his expression as anticipation and uncertainty tangled together behind his eyes.
“Anton,” you said quietly, “I think you’re a lot of things.”
The way he looked at you afterward felt dangerously close to wanting.
-
By November, Anton had developed a habit of appearing at your apartment without warning.
Not in an inconsiderate way. He always texted first, usually something minimal and strangely formal despite how often he came over now.
| Are you busy.
| Can I sit near you today.
| My roommate invited six people over without discussing it first.
The last one had arrived at 11:42 p.m. on a Thursday alongside a blurry photo of his dorm lounge crowded with strangers and empty energy drink cans. You had unlocked the building entrance remotely without even replying.
Now he existed in your apartment with the quiet familiarity of someone who had slowly woven himself into your routines without either of you acknowledging when it happened. His shoes stayed lined neatly beside your door. A pale blue toothbrush sat beside yours in the bathroom because he forgot things less when objects remained visible. One drawer in your kitchen held the snacks he consistently tolerated texture-wise. Your couch permanently smelled faintly like his fabric softener.
Anton liked your apartment because it was predictable.
No fluorescent lights.
No shouting through paper-thin dorm walls.
No roommate bringing strangers home unexpectedly.
No people touching his things.
Just you.
Which, increasingly, seemed to matter more than either of you knew what to do with.
Tonight, rain tapped softly against the windows while Anton lay stretched across your couch with his head in your lap, half-watching some nature documentary neither of you cared about. One of your hands drifted absentmindedly through his hair while you read over discussion posts on your laptop balanced beside him.
Months ago, touching him like this would’ve shattered his ability to function.
Now he melted into it automatically.
Not carelessly, though. Anton never became careless with affection. If anything, he grew more aware of it over time, not less. You noticed it in the tiny pauses before he touched you now, the moments where understanding flickered visibly across his face before he decided yes, he still wanted to anyway.
His fingers curled lightly against your knee beneath the blanket.
“You’re rereading the same sentence,” he murmured without opening his eyes.
“You’re distracting.”
“I’m horizontal.”
“You’re also staring at me every thirty seconds.”
“That’s unrelated.”
You laughed softly under your breath, fingers combing slowly through the damp silk of his hair. Anton had showered almost immediately after arriving, escaping the storm outside wrapped in one of your oversized hoodies and pajama pants that sat too short on his legs. The sight had nearly killed you on impact.
“You’re warm,” he said quietly after a while.
“You say that every time.”
“Because it surprises me every time.”
You looked down at him. “Are you usually cold?”
Anton considered it seriously. “I think maybe I don’t notice being cold until I’m near you.”
Your hand paused briefly in his hair.
Months later and he still said things that destroyed you casually.
The worst part was that now he understood why they affected you.
Not perfectly. Anton still processed emotions slower than most people, still arrived at certain realizations days or weeks after they began forming. But he had started recognizing tension between you. Recognizing the way your breathing changed when he touched your waist absentmindedly in the kitchen, or how quiet you became when he rested his face against your shoulder too long.
And once Anton noticed something, he studied it relentlessly.
“You did it again,” he murmured.
Heat crawled immediately into your face. “You monitor me like a science experiment.”
“You’re expressive.”
“You just know me too well now.”
At that, Anton finally opened his eyes.
The documentary light flickered softly across his face, catching on the silver chain around his throat and the strands of dark hair falling across his forehead. He looked devastating like this — relaxed enough that all the guardedness left his body at once. Soft-mouthed and sleepy and sprawled across you like he belonged there.
The realization terrified you a little.
Because he did belong there now.
Anton watched you quietly for a moment before speaking again, voice lower than before. “You know me too well too.”
Something shifted in the room.
The rain outside deepened, tapping harder against the windows while the documentary narrator droned uselessly in the background about migrating birds. Anton’s thumb traced absent patterns against your knee through the blanket, thoughtful more than nervous.
Then, quietly, “My roommate asked if I was dating you.”
Your entire body went still.
Anton noticed immediately, of course.
You looked down at him carefully. “What did you say?”
He took longer to answer than usual. Not because he didn’t know. Because he was choosing words carefully.
“I asked what qualified.”
“Oh my god.”
Anton’s mouth curved faintly at your horror. “It was a reasonable question.”
“No, it wasn’t.”
“Yes it was.” He shifted slightly against your lap, face tilting more toward you now. “We spend most nights together.”
“You spend most nights hiding from your roommate.”
“I could hide in the library.”
“You hate the library after ten.”
“I know.”
His gaze lingered near your face, steady and thoughtful.
“That wasn’t the point.”
Your pulse started climbing slowly.
Anton noticed that too.
You watched the realization happen in real time — the subtle focus sharpening in his expression once he recognized your reaction wasn’t irritation. Months ago, he might’ve missed it entirely. Now he tracked your emotions with terrifying precision.
“My body still does that around you,” he said quietly.
“What?”
“The heartbeat thing.”
“It gets worse when people imply romantic things about us.” His voice remained soft, observational. “I’ve been trying to understand whether that means my body already decided something before I did.”
You stared at him. He stared back with complete sincerity.
Rain filled the silence between you.
He made no effort to move.
Instead, Anton lifted one hand slowly toward your face. The movement carried none of the uncertainty it once had months ago. He still thought carefully before touching you, still approached affection with deliberate awareness now that he understood its weight, but he no longer seemed afraid of wanting it.
His fingers brushed lightly along your wrist first.
Then your palm.
Then slowly threaded through yours beneath the blanket.
“I think,” he said quietly, eyes lowered toward your joined hands, “if we aren’t already something, we’re very close to becoming it.”
And there it was again. That unbearable honesty.
No performance. No practiced confession.
Just Anton, slowly arriving at love like someone piecing together a language nobody had ever properly taught him.
You couldn’t speak for a second.
Anton remained stretched across your lap waiting patiently, fingers loosely intertwined with yours beneath the blanket while the rain softened outside into a low steady hush. His expression stayed calm in that way it always did when he said emotionally catastrophic things — not because he felt them less intensely, but because he approached emotions like discoveries instead of impulses. By the time he spoke something aloud, he had usually spent days quietly turning it over inside himself first.
You looked down at him carefully. “You’re saying this very casually for someone basically confessing to me.”
“I’m trying not to overwhelm myself halfway through the conversation.”
“That’s a real risk?”
“Yes.”
The sincerity of the answer nearly made you laugh.
Anton shifted slightly, cheek pressing more fully into your thigh as though seeking warmth without consciously deciding to. He’d become much more physical over the past few months, especially inside your apartment. Outside, he still carried himself carefully, shoulders tense beneath overstimulating lights and crowded spaces. But here he softened. Curled around you during movies. Rested his head against your shoulder while you cooked. Fell asleep with his hand tangled absently in your sleeve like he needed proof you were still nearby.
At first he hadn’t understood why he kept gravitating toward you physically. Now he did. At least partially.
And apparently that realization was making him brave.
“You’re very quiet,” he murmured.
“I’m trying not to scare you.”
Anton frowned faintly. “By responding?”
“You process emotions slower than I do.”
“That doesn’t mean I don’t want them.”
You watched him for a moment beneath the dim living room light, taking in the softness sleep and comfort brought out in him. Months ago, Anton rarely looked at you directly for more than a few seconds. Now his gaze lingered near your face openly, comfortably, tracing your reactions with quiet fascination whenever you spoke.
“I needed to know if wanting you near me was different from needing safety first.”
Anton’s thumb moved absently against your hand while he spoke, attention drifting toward your joined fingers.
“I think at the beginning,” he continued quietly, “you felt calming in the same way music does.”
The confession wrapped around your ribs painfully.
“And now?”
A long silence stretched between you.
Not empty. Full. You could almost feel him sorting through emotions in real time, carefully separating one from another.
“Now when I leave here,” he said finally, “everything feels louder afterward.”
You laughed helplessly, and the sound made his expression soften instantly.
There it was again — that look he got whenever he realized he’d affected you. Months ago he used to seem confused by it. Now there was something else mixed into his curiosity. Something warmer. Quieter. Almost shy.
Like he was beginning to enjoy being wanted.
The thought sent heat crawling up your neck.
Anton’s attention dropped toward your mouth briefly before he caught himself. The movement was small, instinctive, but you noticed it immediately because it was new.
And judging by the way his breathing shifted afterward, he noticed it too.
Rain whispered softly against the windows while the television continued playing forgotten narration into the dim apartment. Anton stayed completely still against your lap, but you could feel awareness building between you now, slow and electric.
Then, very quietly, “I think about kissing you sometimes.”
Your entire body stopped functioning.
Anton flushed almost immediately after saying it, color spreading slowly across his cheeks like realization had arrived one second too late to stop the sentence.
But he didn’t take it back.
Instead he looked down at your intertwined hands, visibly forcing himself to continue through the embarrassment.
“I didn’t understand why at first,” he admitted softly. “I don’t usually think about people that way.” A pause. “Then I realized I only wanted to when you were being gentle with me.”
You covered your face with your free hand immediately.
Anton watched the reaction with quiet fascination.
“You’re flirting with me on purpose now.”
The statement hung in the air.
You felt the exact moment he realized you were right.
You laughed helplessly into your hand while Anton stared up at you with growing understanding, piecing things together in real time. The physical closeness. The teasing. The deliberate observations designed to make you react.
He really had been learning emotions through you.
And now he was learning how to want.
Anton’s gaze dropped toward your mouth again, slower this time. Intentional enough that heat rushed instantly through your entire body. When he spoke next, his voice had gone softer around the edges.
“I think,” he murmured carefully, “I want to kiss you now too.”
Every nerve in your body lit up at once.
Anton stayed motionless against your lap waiting for your reaction, but you could feel tension building beneath his calmness now. Anticipation. Nervousness. The terrifying vulnerability of finally understanding what he was asking for.
You slid your fingers slowly through his hair again.
Anton’s eyes fluttered shut for half a second on instinct.
The sight nearly destroyed you.
When he looked back up at you, there was something unbearably open in his expression. Not confidence. Trust.
Like he was placing the entire moment carefully into your hands.
“You don’t have to process this alone anymore,” you whispered.
For a long moment, neither of you moved beyond breathing.
Anton stayed stretched across your lap with one hand threaded through yours, the other resting lightly against your leg beneath the blanket like he needed constant contact now that he understood what it meant. The room had gone impossibly still around him. Even the television noise faded into something distant and shapeless compared to the awareness building between you both.
You could feel how hard he was thinking.
Not retreating. Not shutting down. Just processing with his entire body this time instead of only his mind. His thumb moved faintly against your hand every few seconds, unconscious and grounding.
Then, quietly, “I don’t know what people usually do after this part.”
The vulnerability in his voice nearly cracked your chest open.
“There isn’t really a correct order.”
“But most people know sooner.”
“Anton.”
His gaze lifted toward you.
“You spent months teaching yourself how to trust someone enough to want them.” Your fingers moved slowly through his hair again, gentler this time. “That’s not late.”
Something in his face shifted at the words. You watched him absorb them slowly, the same way he absorbed every kindness directed toward him — carefully, almost cautiously, like he still expected warmth to disappear if he accepted it too quickly.
“I think,” he said after a while, “I kept separating you into categories.”
You smiled faintly. “That sounds like you.”
“At first you were safe.” His eyes lowered toward your joined hands again. “Then familiar. Then…” He paused, visibly frustrated with himself. “I couldn’t organize it anymore.”
“Because feelings overlap?”
“Yes.” Immediate. Relieved you understood. “I would miss you and want your attention and want you touching me and get jealous when other people distracted you.” His brows drew together faintly. “But all those feelings seemed too large to belong under one thing.”
Anton flushed slightly as realization continued catching up to his own confession. “That sounds more intense when I say it aloud.”
“A little.”
“I’m trying to be accurate.”
“You’re being devastating.”
Anton liked being understood. You’d learned that early on. Not praised exactly — understood. Every time someone interpreted him correctly without forcing him to overexplain, something inside him relaxed.
“You know what the worst part is?” you murmured.
“What?”
“You say romantic things with the emotional tone of someone explaining weather patterns.”
His mouth curved faintly. “That might be why you trust me.”
There was no manipulation in Anton. No performance. Every feeling arrived honest and unfinished and frighteningly sincere. When he wanted something, he studied it carefully instead of disguising it behind games.
And right now, he wanted you.
You could see it all over him now that you knew where to look.
In the way he melted beneath your touch but still seemed hyperaware every time your fingers moved through his hair.
In how his body naturally settled toward yours no matter where he sat.
In the way his gaze kept drifting toward your mouth before he forced it away again.
Anton noticed you noticing.
The realization spread visibly across his face, slow warmth climbing into his cheeks as understanding settled in.
Anton shifted then, pushing himself slightly more upright against the couch until he was closer to eye level with you. The blanket slipped lower around his waist in the process, one of your oversized hoodies hanging loose from his frame. You could smell your own detergent on him mixed with the faint clean scent of his shampoo.
The intimacy of it all suddenly felt overwhelming.
He stayed close after sitting up. Very close.
Close enough now that your knees pressed together beneath the blanket and his breath brushed softly against your skin whenever he spoke.
“I have another question,” he murmured.
You laughed weakly. “Of course you do.”
“When people want to kiss someone…” His fingers tightened slightly around yours. “Does it usually feel this frightening?”
“What kind of frightening?”
Anton thought about it carefully before answering.
“Like wanting something important enough that you could ruin it accidentally.”
The vulnerability of the confession settled heavily between you.
You reached up without thinking, brushing your fingers softly along his cheek. Anton leaned into your palm immediately now, instinctive as breathing. Months ago the movement would’ve startled him. Now it felt natural enough that he didn’t even seem aware he’d done it until afterward.
His eyes drifted shut briefly.
“You’re so gentle with me,” he whispered.
The words nearly undid you.
“Someone should be.”
Anton opened his eyes slowly at that.
You watched the emotion arrive in real time — not sudden but gradual, filling his expression piece by piece until something unbearably tender settled there. He looked at you like the sentence hurt him and healed him simultaneously.
Then his attention dropped once more toward your mouth.
This time he didn’t look away.
“I think,” he said softly, almost to himself, “I’m ready to understand this part now.”
Your heartbeat turned uneven.
“Yeah?”
A small nod.
But he still didn’t move.
Because despite everything, Anton remained Anton. Careful. Deliberate. Wanting without assuming. You realized suddenly that even now, even after months of sleeping beside you and holding your hand and memorizing every expression you made, he was still waiting for permission.
Not because he lacked desire. Because he respected yours.
“You can kiss me,” you whispered.
Anton inhaled softly.
Then he reached for you with the same carefulness he used for everything precious.
Disability Services (1) | Anton Lee
pairings: autistic!anton x (fem)reader
wc: a lot
synopsis: Assigned as a peer aide for a withdrawn college student no one seems able to understand, you expect awkward conversations, difficult schedules, and long silences. What you don’t expect is Anton.
Soft-spoken and selectively mute, Anton moves through campus like someone slightly out of step with the rest of the world. He avoids eye contact, struggles to process emotions in real time, and finds comfort in routines, textures, music, and beautiful things. Most people see him as strange before they ever try to know him. But beneath his careful silence is someone painfully observant, deeply sensitive, and desperate for connection in ways he doesn’t fully understand himself.
As the semester unfolds, your role in his life slowly becomes more than academic support. Anton begins seeking you out instinctively — waiting outside your classes, memorizing your routines, touching your sleeve without realizing how intimate it feels. He doesn’t understand the meaning people attach to closeness, only that your presence quiets the overwhelming parts of the world around him.
And somewhere between rainy walks across campus, quiet practice rooms, and conversations filled with unfinished feelings, you begin falling for him.
But loving Anton means learning patience. His emotions arrive slowly, often after the moment has already passed. He struggles to recognize jealousy, affection, and longing until they’ve already rooted themselves deeply inside him. While you begin understanding your feelings almost immediately, Anton has to discover his piece by piece — through trust, comfort, and the terrifying realization that for the first time in his life, someone stayed.
A quiet, emotionally intimate slowburn about tenderness, misunderstood affection, and two people learning how to exist gently beside one another.
The email had sounded simple enough when you first read it half-awake in bed that morning. Student accessibility services is assigning you as a peer aide for the spring semester. Flexible hours. Escorting between classes when needed. Organizational support. Occasional note-taking. The pay wasn’t terrible, and you needed another campus job anyway, so you accepted before really thinking about what it meant.
You regretted that decision a little when the counselor slid a thin folder across the desk and said, carefully, “He’s… not always easy with new people.”
The folder had almost nothing inside. Just a student profile and a class schedule.
Lee Chanyoung.
Preferred name: Anton.
Under accommodations, there was a longer list than you expected. Extended testing time. Alternative presentation formats. Excused absences during periods of overstimulation. Selective mutism.
“He usually communicates through typing,” the counselor explained. “Or writing. Sometimes verbally, but not often. Don’t pressure him to speak if he doesn’t want to.”
You nodded slowly.
“He’s very intelligent,” she added quickly, like she felt the need to defend him before you’d even met him. “He just struggles with certain social situations and transitions. Some aides have had difficulty because they expected him to respond in typical ways.”
Typical ways. You almost laughed.
“So what exactly am I supposed to do?”
“Mostly help him navigate campus life. Keep him on schedule. Make sure he actually eats sometimes.” Her expression softened faintly. “He responds well to consistency.”
That part stayed with you for the rest of the afternoon.
Consistency.
By the time you found the humanities building, the campus had settled into that gray lull between morning and evening classes. Wet footprints marked the tiled floors from the rain outside, and the air smelled faintly like old books and coffee grounds. You checked the room number twice before knocking lightly against the open classroom door.
Nobody answered.
Inside, students packed their bags noisily while the professor erased the whiteboard. Near the back corner, separated from everyone else by two empty seats, sat a boy with pale headphones hanging around his neck and a cardigan slipping off one shoulder. He was staring at his laptop screen with complete focus, fingers motionless over the keyboard as if he’d forgotten mid-thought what he intended to type.
You recognized him immediately without needing the student ID photo.
He was prettier than you expected.
Not handsome, exactly. Pretty in the way porcelain figures were pretty. Delicate wrists disappearing into oversized sleeves, soft mouth slightly parted in concentration, dark lashes low against his cheeks. His hair looked impossibly soft, falling over his eyes in uneven layers that almost hid his expression completely.
The room gradually emptied around him.
He didn’t move.
You approached carefully, suddenly hyperaware of your own footsteps. “Anton?”
His shoulders tightened immediately.
Not dramatically. Just enough for you to notice.
He looked up after a second, though not directly at you. His gaze stopped somewhere near your chin instead, uncertain and fleeting. Up close, he looked younger than a college student should’ve. There was something guarded about him, but not cold. More like someone constantly bracing for discomfort.
You offered your name gently. “I’m your student aide this semester.”
His expression didn’t change.
Then slowly, he reached for his phone.
The silence stretched long enough to become awkward before the screen lit up with typed words.
| You’re late.
You blinked. “Late?”
He turned the phone toward you properly this time.
| You were supposed to come at 2:40.
You checked the clock instinctively. It was 2:47.
“Oh.” Heat crawled up your neck. “Sorry. The office took longer than I thought.”
Anton stared at you for another quiet second before looking away again. Not dismissively. More like he’d already filed the interaction away somewhere in his head.
You noticed then that he had arranged everything on the desk with impossible precision. Laptop centered. Pens aligned parallel. Water bottle label facing outward. Even the edges of his papers stacked perfectly flush together.
Without warning, he stood.
You nearly stepped back from how sudden it was.
He slid his bag over one shoulder, then paused beside you awkwardly, fingers curling once against the strap. Waiting.
“For me?” you asked before thinking.
A tiny nod.
Right. Escorting between classes.
You followed him out into the hallway, trying not to make it obvious you were observing him already. He walked quietly, head lowered slightly, one hand tucked into his sleeve. Students brushed past in loud clusters, backpacks bumping into shoulders, sneakers squeaking against the floors. Every time someone came too close, Anton subtly shifted away before contact could happen.
He didn’t speak once. You weren’t sure if you were supposed to fill the silence or leave it alone.
“So… what’s your major?” you tried eventually.
Anton pulled out his phone again without stopping his pace.
| Composition and media studies.
“You like music?”
Another pause.
Then:
| I like beautiful things.
You glanced at him.
He remained completely serious.
Something about the answer caught you off guard. Not because it was strange, but because of how plainly he said it, like beauty was an objective category instead of a vague preference.
“What counts as beautiful?”
This time he took longer to respond. You could almost see the processing happening behind his eyes.
Finally, he typed:
| Certain voices.
| Clean piano sounds.
| Rain before it gets dirty.
| People with kind mouths.
Your chest tightened unexpectedly.
Before you could answer, a group of students burst through the stairwell doors laughing loudly. The sound ricocheted sharply through the narrow hallway. Anton flinched hard enough that you noticed immediately.
His hand caught your sleeve.
Not your wrist. Not your hand. Just the fabric near your elbow.
The contact seemed unconscious.
His fingers twisted lightly into the material while his gaze fixed somewhere over your shoulder, unfocused and distant for a moment. You could feel how tense he’d suddenly become, every muscle drawn tight beneath layers of soft fabric.
“It’s okay,” you said quietly without thinking.
Anton blinked once.
Then slowly looked down.
Like he’d only just realized he was touching you.
He released your sleeve immediately, but not before his fingertips dragged against your arm through the fabric. Light. Careless. Intimate in a way he clearly didn’t understand.
A faint pink flush spread across the tops of his ears. Not embarrassment exactly. More like confusion.
Neither of you mentioned it.
By the time you reached the music building, rain had started again outside the tall windows, turning the campus silver-gray. Anton stopped near the entrance to his next class, shifting his bag higher onto his shoulder while students filtered around both of you.
You waited for some kind of goodbye.
Instead, he stared briefly at the charm hanging from your bag. A tiny cat keychain.
His eyes lingered on it with open concentration.
Then he reached out suddenly and touched it with careful fingertips. Softly rubbing the plush fabric between his fingers once. Twice.
The movement was so absentmindedly gentle it startled you.
“It was from a friend,” you explained quietly.
Anton nodded faintly but didn’t let go immediately. His thumb brushed across the worn stitching near the ear before he finally withdrew his hand back into his sleeve.
Then he typed something quickly and turned the screen toward you.
| I don’t like most textures.
You looked at the message, then at him.
“But you like that one?”
A pause. Another small nod.
For the first time since meeting him, something in his posture loosened slightly around you. Not trust yet. Nothing that simple. But maybe curiosity.
The classroom door opened behind him.
Anton glanced toward the sound before looking back at you briefly, eyes flickering near yours but never fully meeting them.
Then his phone buzzed softly in his hand. Another message already typed before he turned away.
| You should arrive at 2:40 next time.
-
You spent the rest of the day thinking about him against your will.
Not in the embarrassing way your roommate immediately assumed when you mentioned meeting “a pretty quiet boy” during dinner, but in the persistent, nagging way people stayed in your head when you couldn’t fully understand them. Anton didn’t behave like anyone you knew. Every interaction with him felt slightly mistimed, like his responses existed half a step outside the rhythm everyone else moved to. He wasn’t rude. If anything, he seemed painfully aware of other people at all times. He just reacted differently, processing everything somewhere deeper and slower before deciding what to do with it.
You found yourself replaying small details while brushing your teeth that night. The way he’d described beautiful things with complete sincerity. The careful alignment of objects on his desk. The confused look on his face after grabbing your sleeve, like he genuinely hadn’t realized touching someone unexpectedly might mean something.
At exactly 2:38 the next afternoon, you walked into the humanities building carrying two coffees and an unreasonable amount of awareness about being on time.
Anton was already there. Of course he was.
He sat in the same corner seat from yesterday, laptop open, headphones on this time. His fingers hovered over the keyboard without moving while students shuffled noisily around him. Even from across the room, he looked disconnected from everything else inside it, tucked into his own atmosphere entirely.
You approached quietly. “Hi.”
He looked up immediately.
Not at your eyes. Never your eyes. His gaze caught somewhere near your mouth before flickering away again. His headphones slipped down around his neck as he noticed the drink tray in your hands.
“I didn’t know what you liked,” you admitted, setting one coffee carefully beside his laptop, “so I guessed.”
Anton stared at the cup for several long seconds.
You suddenly wondered if maybe you’d broken some invisible routine and made a terrible mistake.
Then he reached out and turned the cup slowly until the logo faced away from him.
Only after adjusting it did he pick it up.
His fingers were slender, almost delicate-looking, silver rings glinting softly beneath the fluorescent lights. You noticed his nails were neatly trimmed and slightly glossy, as if he buffed them absentmindedly.
He took one cautious sip.
Then another.
A pause.
His phone appeared in his hand a second later.
| Vanilla is acceptable.
You laughed before you could stop yourself.
Anton blinked at the sound, attention catching on your face immediately. Not startled exactly. Focused.
“You sound like you’re reviewing a product.”
He watched you type something into your own phone for class notifications while processing the joke several beats too late. You saw the exact moment understanding landed.
The corners of his mouth lifted faintly.
Tiny. Brief. But unmistakable.
It transformed his whole face.
Before you could comment on it, students started filing into the room more aggressively, conversations overlapping loudly enough that the atmosphere shifted from quiet to crowded within seconds. Anton’s posture changed almost immediately. His shoulders rose subtly. His hand tightened around the coffee cup. The soft crease forming between his brows looked more uncomfortable than irritated.
A boy dropped heavily into the seat beside him without noticing.
Anton froze.
Not metaphorically. Completely.
The student kept talking to his friend across the aisle, elbow spreading over the shared desk space while Anton sat perfectly rigid beside him, fingers curling tighter inside his sleeves.
You looked between them.
Then gently said, “Hey, I think he needs a little more room.”
The student blinked. “Oh. Sorry.”
He shifted over carelessly.
Anton still didn’t relax.
His breathing had gone shallow enough that you noticed it immediately now that you were paying attention. You leaned down slightly toward him.
“Do you want to wait outside until class starts?”
For a second you thought he might ignore you completely.
Then his hand moved under the desk and lightly caught the edge of your cardigan sleeve.
The same way he had yesterday.
Small. Quiet. Automatic.
You waited while he gathered his things with stiff movements before leading him back into the hallway. The moment the classroom door shut behind you both, some of the tension visibly left his body.
You leaned against the wall beside him. “Does crowded noise bother you?”
Anton nodded once.
Rain pattered softly against the windows nearby. Students passed through the corridor in uneven waves, but it was quieter here, the sounds more spread out and manageable.
After a minute, Anton typed something.
| He smelled too strong.
You blinked.
“Oh.”
| And his coat kept touching mine.
The seriousness of his expression nearly made you smile again. Not because it was funny to him, but because he explained discomfort so literally. No exaggeration. No attempt to make himself sound easier or more reasonable.
Just facts.
“You don’t like being touched?”
Anton stared at the screen for a long moment after reading the question.
Then slowly typed:
| I don’t mind when I know it’s happening.
Your heartbeat stumbled embarrassingly hard at the memory of his hand around your sleeve yesterday.
Before you could respond, the classroom door opened again. Students began settling down for lecture, voices quieter now.
Anton made no move to return inside.
“You still have class,” you reminded gently.
His gaze dropped toward the floor tiles.
Then his phone lit up.
| You come too.
“You want me to sit with you?”
A pause. Tiny nod.
Technically, student aides weren’t supposed to attend lectures unless necessary, but the way Anton stood there waiting made refusal feel strangely impossible. He shifted slightly closer while students continued walking around you both, the sleeve of his cardigan brushing your arm for half a second before he stepped away again.
You followed him back inside.
This time, Anton chose seats in the very back row.
You noticed he picked the one nearest the wall.
He sat down first, then hesitated oddly before placing his bag on the opposite side instead of between you. Like he’d considered creating distance and changed his mind halfway through.
Throughout the lecture, he barely looked at the professor. Instead, he typed constantly, notes impossibly organized across his laptop screen. Color-coded. Timestamped. Every heading perfectly aligned.
About twenty minutes in, you noticed movement beside you.
Anton had gone still again.
His fingers rested motionless over the keyboard while his attention fixed somewhere ahead, unfocused. The lecture hall lights buzzed faintly overhead. Someone behind you kept clicking their pen repeatedly.
Click.
Click.
Click.
Anton’s jaw tightened almost invisibly every time the sound repeated.
Without really thinking about it, you reached into your bag for your spare earbuds and placed them gently beside his laptop.
He looked down at them.
Then at you.
“They’re noise cancelling,” you whispered.
Anton stared for such a long time you thought maybe he wouldn’t take them.
Finally, he picked one up carefully between his fingers.
Not putting it in yet. Just feeling the smooth plastic surface.
His thumb brushed over it slowly.
Then, unexpectedly, he placed it back down and typed something instead.
| You notice too much.
You frowned slightly. “Is that bad?”
He read your lips while you spoke, eyes fixed there with quiet concentration.
Then he shook his head once.
A few minutes later, without warning, his shoulder tipped lightly against yours.
Not enough pressure to seem intentional.
Just there.
Warm through layers of fabric.
Anton continued typing with complete focus like he hadn’t noticed the contact at all.
You became aware of his shoulder long before you became aware of the lecture again.
Not because the touch itself was dramatic. It wasn’t. Anton barely leaned into you at all, just enough for the warmth of him to settle against your arm through the fabric of your sweater. But there was something dangerously intimate about how unconscious it seemed. He wasn’t testing boundaries or searching for reassurance. His body had simply decided you were easier to exist beside than everyone else in the room.
And apparently, that was that.
The professor’s voice blurred into background noise while rain streaked slowly down the windows. Anton kept typing steadily, expression soft with concentration. Every few minutes he paused to adjust something tiny: the angle of his pen, the brightness of his screen, the cuff of his cardigan slipping over his wrist. His movements were precise in a way that felt practiced rather than obsessive, like the world only stayed manageable if things remained arranged correctly.
The clicking pen behind you finally stopped.
Anton relaxed almost immediately afterward.
You weren’t sure why noticing that made your chest ache a little.
When class ended, students shoved chairs back noisily and crowded toward the exits in impatient waves. Anton didn’t move. He stayed seated beside you while the room emptied around him, fingers still resting on the keyboard even after the screen dimmed from inactivity.
“You okay?” you asked quietly.
His eyes lifted toward you briefly before drifting away again.
Then he typed:
| There are too many transitions in one day.
You read the sentence twice.
It was such a strange way to describe exhaustion, but somehow it made perfect sense. You thought about how often people expected immediate adjustment from one thing to another without hesitation. Loud cafeteria to silent lecture hall. Crowded sidewalks to empty dorm rooms. Conversation to isolation. Most people did it automatically.
Anton probably felt every shift like stepping between different temperatures.
“That sounds tiring,” you said softly.
His gaze flickered back toward your face then, lingering there a fraction longer than usual. You got the unsettling feeling he wasn’t used to people responding like that. Not dismissing him. Not trying to correct or simplify what he meant.
Just accepting it.
Outside, the rain had worsened into a steady silver downpour. Students hurried across campus beneath umbrellas while water gathered along the sidewalks in shallow reflective puddles.
Anton stood beside the building entrance staring outside with visible hesitation.
“You don’t have an umbrella?” you guessed.
He shook his head once.
“You could’ve checked the weather.”
A pause.
Then his phone appeared.
| I did.
| It said 40%.
You stared at him for a second before laughing again despite yourself. Anton’s attention snapped toward the sound instantly, distracted from the rain.
“What?”
His brows pulled together faintly.
| Why do you keep doing that?
“Doing what?”
| Making that noise.
“Oh.” You smiled a little. “Laughing?”
He considered the word carefully, like matching it to memory.
Then:
| You laugh more quietly than most people.
Something about the observation felt far too intimate for someone you’d known less than two days.
Before you could answer, Anton stepped out into the rain without warning.
“Wait—”
Cold droplets immediately soaked into the dark fabric of his cardigan, dampening his hair within seconds. He didn’t seem to care. Or maybe he cared and didn’t know what to do about it. You hurried after him beneath your umbrella, catching up just as he crossed the sidewalk toward the arts building.
“Anton.”
He slowed.
“You’re getting soaked.”
He looked down at his sleeve like he’d only just noticed the rainwater spreading through it.
Then he typed while still walking.
| I like rain before people touch it.
You almost told him that made no sense before remembering who you were speaking to.
“What does that mean?”
Anton paused near the crosswalk, watching water rush along the curb in thin rippling streams.
For a while, he didn’t answer. Cars hissed past on wet pavement while students crowded beneath awnings nearby. You thought maybe he’d abandoned the thought entirely.
Then:
| Rain is clean when it first falls.
| Afterward it becomes campus rain.
You looked at him carefully.
His hair clung damply against his forehead now, soft dark strands curling slightly at the ends from the moisture. There was something vulnerable about him standing there in the middle of the gray afternoon looking entirely consumed by a thought no one else would ever have.
“You think about things strangely,” you murmured before you could stop yourself.
The moment the words left your mouth, regret hit hard.
Anton’s expression changed immediately.
Not dramatically. Just quieting.
His fingers stilled against his phone screen.
You opened your mouth quickly. “I didn’t mean—”
But he was already looking away from you.
Shit.
The walk to the arts building suddenly felt much longer.
Anton stayed half a step ahead the entire time, cardigan sleeves pulled over his hands again. You replayed your sentence over and over in your head, trying to figure out exactly where it had gone wrong. You hadn’t meant strange in a bad way. If anything, talking to him felt oddly refreshing compared to the exhausting predictability of everyone else.
But maybe he’d heard that before.
Maybe people had spent his entire life calling him strange.
By the time you reached the building entrance, guilt sat heavily in your stomach.
“Anton.”
He stopped but didn’t turn around fully.
“I’m sorry,” you said carefully. “I wasn’t making fun of you.”
Silence.
Rain hammered softly against the glass doors nearby.
Then Anton finally looked toward you, eyes lowering automatically before they could meet yours completely. Up close, you noticed faint water droplets caught in his lashes.
His phone lit up slowly.
| I know.
But he still looked hurt.
The realization unsettled you more than it should have.
You stood there awkwardly while students brushed past into the building around you. Anton readjusted the strap slipping off his shoulder with damp fingers, movements slower than usual now.
Then, unexpectedly, he stepped closer.
Close enough that your umbrella tilted awkwardly backward from the movement.
His hand appeared near your sleeve again.
Not grabbing this time.
Just touching the wet fabric lightly between two fingers.
“You’re cold,” you said quietly.
Anton blinked once, looking down at where rainwater darkened the cuff of your sweater too.
After a few seconds, he typed:
| You came into the rain anyway.
You weren’t sure why that sentence lingered so heavily in your chest afterward.
Maybe because he said things so plainly that they stopped sounding plain at all.
You came into the rain anyway.
Like it meant something.
Anton followed you silently into the arts building, water dripping softly from the ends of his sleeves onto the polished floors. The lobby buzzed with low conversation and distant piano scales echoing from somewhere upstairs, students moving between practice rooms carrying instrument cases and sheet music folders pressed against their chests. Compared to the rest of campus, the building felt strangely warm, almost sleepy, lit gold by old hanging lamps instead of harsh fluorescents.
Anton visibly relaxed the moment the doors shut behind you.
Not entirely. He never seemed entirely relaxed. But his shoulders lowered slightly, and his breathing evened out again beneath the soft hum of music drifting through the hallways.
“You have class here?” you asked.
Small nod.
“What kind?”
He typed one-handed while wringing rainwater absentmindedly from the cuff of his cardigan with the other.
| Composition lab.
That explained the major, at least partially. You tried imagining him making music and immediately could. Not performance. Nothing loud or attention-seeking. Something intricate and emotional and probably far too beautiful for most people to understand properly.
A girl passing through the lobby slowed suddenly when she noticed Anton.
“Chanyoung!”
He stiffened instantly.
She either didn’t notice or pretended not to. “Professor Kim was asking where your revised arrangement went. Did you ever email it?”
Anton’s gaze dropped toward the floor.
Three seconds passed.
Five.
The girl’s smile faltered slightly as the silence stretched.
You watched panic build subtly beneath Anton’s expression, not dramatic enough for most people to catch. His fingers curled tightly into the soaked fabric hanging over his hands. His lips parted once without sound emerging.
He was trying.
Your chest tightened.
“He probably hasn’t had the chance yet,” you answered gently before the silence could become humiliating.
The girl blinked toward you like she’d forgotten other people existed. “Oh.”
Anton remained completely motionless beside you.
“Well…” She laughed awkwardly. “Tell him Professor Kim’s been emailing.”
Then she hurried off down the hallway.
The second she disappeared around the corner, Anton exhaled softly through his nose.
Not relief exactly. More like recovery.
You looked at him carefully. “You don’t like when people expect answers right away.”
His eyes shifted toward you. Then downward again.
After a moment, he typed:
| Sometimes words don’t arrive before the moment is over.
The sentence hit you so hard you almost forgot to breathe for a second.
You wondered suddenly how many people mistook his silence for indifference when really it was delay. Like his emotions and thoughts existed behind glass slightly thicker than everyone else’s.
“That sounds frustrating,” you said quietly.
Anton stared at the phone screen after reading your response. His thumb hovered near the keyboard as if he intended to say more.
But instead, he slipped the phone back into his pocket.
A nearby piano stumbled through the same wrong note three times in a row from one of the practice rooms upstairs.
Anton visibly winced.
“You can hear that from here?”
Tiny nod.
“That’s kind of impressive.”
Another wince at the fourth mistake.
Then, unexpectedly, he reached for your wrist.
Not dramatically. Not even fully.
His fingertips just settled there lightly, cool from the rain, before he began guiding you toward the staircase without explanation.
The contact shocked you enough that you followed automatically.
Anton climbed the stairs quietly, still holding your wrist with absentminded gentleness the entire way. Not possessive. Not nervous. Casual in the way someone might carry an object they’d already decided belonged beside them.
Meanwhile your heartbeat had become humiliating.
On the third floor, the hallway narrowed into rows of small soundproof practice rooms with rectangular windows set into each door. Music spilled unevenly through the walls anyway — violin scales, fragments of jazz piano, someone singing warmups badly enough to make Anton’s nose wrinkle slightly.
You smiled before you could stop yourself.
He noticed immediately.
“What?”
Anton tilted his head faintly.
“You make expressions even when you don’t talk much.”
A pause.
Then he let go of your wrist abruptly like he’d only just remembered he was touching you at all.
The sudden absence of warmth felt strangely noticeable.
Anton stopped outside one of the practice room doors and pushed it open carefully. Inside sat a keyboard, two chairs, scattered sheet music, and little else. The room was dimmer than the hallway, insulated from most of the outside noise.
You stepped inside after him.
“This is yours?”
He nodded once, already moving toward the keyboard.
The room changed him somehow.
Not personality-wise. More like the tension he carried around campus loosened in specific places here. His movements became smoother, more instinctive. Comfortable.
Anton sat down on the bench and adjusted the sleeves falling over his hands before resting his fingers lightly against the keys.
Then he froze.
You waited quietly.
After a few seconds, he typed into his phone again without looking up.
| You can sit.
“Oh. Right.”
You settled into the chair nearby while rain tapped softly against the narrow window beside the piano. Anton remained still for another long moment, staring at the keys with intense concentration.
“You don’t have to play for me,” you said gently, suddenly worried he felt pressured.
He shook his head immediately.
Then finally, he played.
The first notes were so soft you almost missed them.
Not a melody at first. Just careful fragments unfolding slowly beneath his fingertips, delicate and thoughtful and strangely lonely. The sound filled the small room without overwhelming it, each note lingering long enough to feel intentional. Anton’s expression changed while he played. Not happier exactly, but clearer somehow. Like music translated things his body couldn’t organize into speech quickly enough.
You watched his hands move across the keyboard.
Beautiful hands, honestly.
Long fingers. Silver rings glinting faintly under the dim lights. Sleeves slipping down toward his knuckles every few seconds before he impatiently pushed them back again mid-song.
The music deepened gradually, weaving into something fuller and aching enough that your chest hurt unexpectedly listening to it.
Anton never looked at you once while he played.
But somehow it still felt like being let inside something private.
When the final note faded, silence settled gently back over the room.
You realized only then that you’d stopped moving entirely.
“That was really pretty,” you whispered.
Anton stayed motionless at the keyboard.
Then slowly:
| You keep using that word.
“Pretty?”
A tiny nod.
You smiled faintly. “Do you not like it?”
For the first time since meeting him, Anton actually looked close to nervous.
Not externally. You were just beginning to recognize the signs now — the slight tension in his jaw, fingers rubbing together beneath oversized sleeves, gaze fixed stubbornly on the piano keys.
Finally, he typed carefully.
| No one usually means it kindly.
Something inside you softened painfully at that.
The practice room suddenly felt smaller, quieter, the rain outside reduced to a dull silver murmur against the windows. Anton kept his eyes lowered toward the keyboard after showing you the message, shoulders slightly hunched like he regretted saying it at all.
You thought about him walking across campus with his oversized cardigans and careful posture, about the glossy shine on his nails, the silver rings, the softness he didn’t bother hiding even though people probably noticed immediately. You could already imagine the kind of comments college boys made when someone didn’t fit neatly into whatever version of masculinity they found acceptable.
“You know I mean it kindly,” you said gently.
Anton didn’t respond right away.
His fingers drifted absentmindedly across a few silent piano keys without pressing hard enough to create sound. Thinking. Processing. You were beginning to realize he often needed silence the way other people needed conversation.
| I know now.
Now.
Not before.
Your chest tightened again.
Before you could answer, voices echoed loudly down the hallway outside the practice rooms. Several students passed by laughing, the sound muffled but sharp enough to pull Anton immediately out of whatever calm the piano had given him. His posture straightened. His hands stilled.
One of the voices paused near the door.
“Oh, he’s in there.”
Another laugh. “Of course he is.”
The doorknob rattled lightly.
Anton froze so suddenly it almost frightened you.
Not fear exactly. Anticipation. Like his body had learned to brace before his mind even caught up.
The door opened halfway before either of you could react. Two boys from what looked like an ensemble class leaned inside casually, both carrying instrument cases.
“There you are,” one of them said. “Kim keeps emailing about your arrangement.”
Anton’s gaze dropped instantly toward the floor.
Neither of them acknowledged you at first.
“You gonna answer him this year or what?” the other joked.
Silence.
You watched Anton’s fingers slowly curl into the sleeves covering his hands.
The first guy sighed awkwardly after a few seconds. “Right. Sorry.”
But he still lingered there waiting, clearly expecting some kind of response.
Anton’s throat moved faintly.
Nothing came out.
You could almost feel the pressure building inside the room.
“He said he’ll send it,” you interrupted quietly before the silence could turn cruel.
Both boys finally looked toward you.
The second one blinked. “Oh.”
Then, lowering his voice slightly but not enough, “Does he just not talk ever?”
The question landed heavily.
Anton remained perfectly still at the piano bench beside you, expression unreadable now in that way you were beginning to hate because it meant he’d withdrawn somewhere unreachable.
“He talks,” you answered before thinking. “Just not whenever people demand it.”
The room fell quiet.
One boy looked embarrassed immediately. The other shifted awkwardly against his instrument case strap.
“Right,” he muttered. “Whatever.”
They left a second later, the door clicking shut behind them.
Silence rushed back in.
Anton still hadn’t moved.
You exhaled slowly, anger simmering hotter in your chest than it probably should have after only two days of knowing him. “They were being rude.”
Nothing.
“Anton?”
His hand moved toward his phone slowly.
Then stopped halfway there.
Instead, he pressed both sleeves against his mouth briefly, eyes fixed somewhere distant across the room. Processing again. You could see it happening now — the delayed impact arriving piece by piece after the interaction already ended.
When he finally typed, the message appeared slower than usual.
| They weren’t trying to be mean.
“That doesn’t make it better.”
Anton stared at the screen after reading that.
Then:
| Most people become uncomfortable eventually.
The matter-of-factness of the sentence hurt more than self-pity would’ve.
Like he’d accepted it as inevitable.
“Well, I’m not uncomfortable.”
The room went very quiet.
Anton blinked once.
Then again.
You got the distinct feeling you’d said something unexpectedly important.
His attention lifted toward your face slowly, cautiously, eyes stopping just short of yours like always. For a second he looked almost disoriented, as if he didn’t know where to place the statement inside his understanding of people.
Then his phone buzzed softly in his hand.
| Not yet.
The words startled a laugh out of you before you could stop it.
Anton watched your reaction immediately, shoulders loosening just slightly at the sound.
“You’re kind of mean, you know that?”
A pause.
Then:
| You laugh when you aren’t upset anymore.
You stared at him.
Anton stared back in that indirect way he had, gaze hovering near your mouth while he read your expression carefully. Observing. Cataloging.
“You notice everything,” you murmured.
He processed that silently.
Then typed:
| Only things I need to remember.
The air in the room suddenly felt too warm.
Before you could recover, Anton stood from the piano bench in one smooth movement and crossed toward the stack of papers scattered near the music stand. He crouched to reorganize them with immediate focus, aligning the corners carefully against the floor before clipping them together.
You watched him for a second before kneeling automatically to help.
Anton went still beside you.
“What?” you asked.
His eyes flickered toward your hands gathering the loose sheets.
Then toward your knees pressed against the carpet beside him.
Finally:
| You don’t have to do that.
“It’s literally two papers.”
He kept s taring anyway.
Up close like this, you noticed how long his lashes were again. Ridiculously long, honestly. They cast faint shadows against his cheeks whenever he looked downward.
Without thinking, you reached over and brushed a damp strand of hair away from his eyes.
The second your fingers touched him, Anton stopped breathing.
Not metaphorically.
Actually stopped.
Your hand froze too.
His skin was cold from the rain. Soft.
You should’ve pulled away immediately.
Instead, both of you stayed there for one horribly suspended second, Anton staring at you with open confusion written across his face. Not discomfort. Something more startled than that, like his brain had failed to categorize what just happened.
Then, slowly, very carefully, he leaned forward.
Just slightly.
Into your hand.
Your breath caught so hard it almost hurt.
Anton didn’t seem to notice the effect he had on people when he did things like this. Or maybe he noticed reactions without understanding where they came from. Either way, the movement was small enough that another person might’ve missed it entirely — the faint tilt of his head against your palm, the way his eyes lowered halfway shut for a second like he was concentrating on the sensation.
Soft.
That was the first thought that hit you.
Not just physically. His entire presence felt soft in ways the world probably hadn’t handled gently.
Then realization flickered across his expression.
Anton pulled back immediately.
His hand came up halfway toward his face before stopping awkwardly in the air. You watched confusion move through him in real time, slow and visible behind his eyes as he tried to process the interaction after it had already happened.
“I’m sorry,” you said quickly, dropping your hand back into your lap. “I shouldn’t have just—”
Anton shook his head hard enough to interrupt you.
Not upset. Just overwhelmed.
He stared down at the papers scattered between you both, fingers tightening once around the edge of a music sheet before he typed something with abrupt intensity.
| Don’t apologize for touching me if it was kind.
The sentence settled heavily between you.
You looked at him carefully. “Has nobody ever told you there’s a difference?”
Anton frowned faintly.
“Between wanted touch and unwanted touch.”
He went still again.
Not frozen this time. Thinking.
You could practically watch him sorting through memories and information behind his eyes, reorganizing old experiences against the new wording. After a long silence, he typed slowly:
| People usually touch me accidentally.
Something about that answer made your chest ache.
You thought suddenly about crowded hallways brushing against him, strangers shoving past without warning, uncomfortable handshakes, impatient taps on the shoulder when he didn’t respond quickly enough. Touch that happened to him instead of for him.
And maybe because Anton processed emotions later than everyone else, maybe by the time discomfort fully arrived, the moment had already passed.
“That’s not the same thing,” you said quietly.
He read the sentence twice.
Then:
| You ask before doing things.
You almost pointed out that you hadn’t asked before touching his hair, but Anton continued typing before you could.
| Most people decide things for me first.
The practice room felt unbearably quiet after that.
Outside, someone played scales down the hallway while rain tapped steadily against the narrow windows. Anton gathered the rest of his papers into a neat stack again, movements slower now, attention split somewhere deeper inside himself.
“You think about people a lot, don’t you?” you asked softly.
He glanced toward you.
Then away.
A tiny shrug.
After a moment:
| I have to study people longer than other people study me.
You didn’t know what to say to that.
Because it was true, probably.
Most people would look at Anton once and make immediate assumptions. Quiet. Strange. Awkward. Difficult. Sensitive. Meanwhile he seemed to spend enormous amounts of energy trying to understand everyone around him properly while they rarely extended the same patience back.
Your eyes drifted toward the music sheets in his lap. The notes were impossibly neat, handwritten annotations arranged with color-coded precision along the margins.
“You really like organizing things.”
That earned the faintest reaction from him. Almost defensive.
| Things behave better when they’re organized.
You smiled slightly. “People don’t?”
Immediately, before even typing:
“No.”
The sound startled you both.
Anton’s eyes widened a fraction.
It was the first time you’d heard his voice.
Quiet wasn’t even the right word for it. His voice sounded soft in the same way fabric could be soft, low and airy from disuse, almost careful around the edges. Like speaking required more physical effort for him than most people realized.
For a second neither of you moved.
Then color rose slowly into Anton’s cheeks.
He looked away so quickly it almost gave you whiplash.
You tried not to react too strongly, suddenly aware that if you made a big deal out of it he might retreat completely.
But your heartbeat was going insane.
“You’re right,” you said gently, pretending your pulse wasn’t stumbling all over itself. “People are kind of impossible.”
Anton kept staring stubbornly at the floor.
The blush spread all the way to the tips of his ears now.
You bit back a smile.
“You have a nice voice.”
The reaction was immediate.
Anton’s shoulders drew up slightly, like the compliment physically struck him somewhere sensitive. He tucked his hands deeper into his sleeves and focused aggressively on aligning the papers again even though they were already perfectly straight.
Interesting.
“You don’t like compliments?”
A pause.
Then, quietly this time, barely above a whisper:
“I don’t know.”
You almost melted directly into the carpet.
Anton seemed startled by his own answer too. His throat moved faintly afterward, like he was still adjusting to the unfamiliar feeling of speaking aloud. But he didn’t fully shut down again. If anything, he looked more disoriented than distressed.
“You don’t know if you like compliments?”
Tiny shake of his head.
“Why not?”
He reached for his phone again, clearly more comfortable typing complicated thoughts than saying them.
| Sometimes people compliment me because they think I’m strange.
| Like observing an animal that learned something impressive.
Your expression must’ve changed because Anton immediately looked down again.
“I wasn’t doing that,” you said quietly.
He nodded before you even finished.
| I know.
That I know sounded different now too. More certain than earlier.
You sat there for another moment listening to the muffled music outside before your phone buzzed with a calendar reminder.
Work shift. Ten minutes.
“Shit,” you muttered, checking the screen. “I have to go.”
Anton’s attention lifted immediately.
“I forgot I’m covering someone at the library tonight.”
The atmosphere shifted so subtly you almost thought you imagined it.
Not disappointment exactly.
But something adjacent to it.
Anton looked toward the rain-streaked window automatically before typing:
| You don’t like leaving in the middle of things either.
You stared at him.
“No,” you admitted softly. “I guess I don’t.”
For a second he just watched you gather your bag and jacket. Or rather, watched your hands. Anton seemed to focus on hands often, you realized suddenly. Movements. Gestures. The physical shape of emotion instead of eye contact.
When you stood, he stood too.
Immediately.
Like it was obvious he should.
“You don’t have to walk me out,” you said.
Anton blinked once, confused.
Then:
| I know.
But he still followed you anyway.
The hallway outside the practice room had grown quieter by the time you left, most classes already in session. The muffled sounds of instruments still drifted through the walls in uneven fragments — piano chords from somewhere downstairs, a violin stopping and restarting the same passage over and over again, distant laughter echoing briefly before fading down another corridor.
Anton walked beside you without speaking.
Not awkwardly silent. Just present.
You were beginning to realize there was a difference with him.
Most silence between people felt empty because both parties waited for someone to fill it. Anton’s silence felt occupied already, crowded with observation and delayed thoughts and tiny details he seemed to absorb constantly without comment. Walking beside him made you hyperaware of your own movements in return — the squeak of your shoes against the polished floor, the shift of your bag strap on your shoulder, the warmth lingering in your palm from where he’d leaned into your touch earlier.
You tried very hard not to think about that too much.
At the stairwell landing, Anton stopped suddenly.
You nearly walked past him before turning back. “What?”
He looked distracted by something over your shoulder. Following his gaze, you noticed a girl descending the stairs carrying a bouquet wrapped in pale pink paper. Tiny white flowers peeked through the plastic.
Anton stared openly.
Not at the girl. At the flowers.
The intensity of his focus almost made you smile.
“You like those?”
His attention flicked back toward you, caught.
Then he nodded once.
“They’re just baby’s breath.”
Another small shake of his head this time. Incorrect.
Anton typed carefully while still watching the bouquet disappear downstairs.
| They look soft.
Of course that was his reason.
You wondered if he categorized the world entirely through sensory feeling. Soft. Sharp. Loud. Beautiful. Wrong. Safe.
The realization made him seem somehow even more vulnerable.
As you continued downstairs, Anton drifted closer beside you whenever groups of students passed in the opposite direction. Not enough to touch. Just enough that his sleeve brushed your arm occasionally before he corrected the distance again. Like his body naturally sought proximity before his mind remembered it was supposed to maintain space.
By the first floor lobby, the rain outside had softened into a fine mist coating the windows silver.
You adjusted your bag strap. “I’ll see you tomorrow before your lecture?”
Anton nodded immediately.
Then hesitated.
You could tell by now when something was stuck inside him trying to become language.
His fingers moved once against the edge of his sleeve before he finally typed:
| You don’t have to keep talking when I stop responding.
“Oh.”
You frowned slightly. “Was I talking too much?”
He looked alarmed instantly and shook his head hard enough that damp strands of hair fell into his eyes again.
Quickly:
| No.
| Most people become uncomfortable with silence.
You stared at the screen.
Then at him.
“Do you?”
Anton seemed genuinely confused by the question.
| With silence?
“Yeah.”
A long pause.
| Silence is easier because nobody expects immediate versions of you.
The words settled somewhere deep in your chest.
Immediate versions of you.
You thought suddenly about every rushed conversation you’d ever had, every moment people interrupted each other or filled pauses before anyone could truly think. Anton moved through interactions like someone translating feelings manually while everyone else operated automatically.
No wonder he got exhausted.
“You think really beautifully sometimes,” you murmured before you could stop yourself.
Anton went still. Not tense. Just attentive in that startlingly complete way he had.
Then slowly, carefully, he typed:
| You say things to me like they aren’t dangerous.
The comment confused you for half a second before understanding arrived.
Compliments. Kindness. Gentleness.
Things he’d apparently learned to handle cautiously.
Your chest ached again.
“Well,” you said softly, “they aren’t dangerous.”
Anton looked at you for a very long time after that.
Not direct eye contact. You still weren’t sure he’d ever fully meet your eyes comfortably. But his attention stayed fixed near your face with unusual steadiness, expression unreadable beneath the soft fluorescent lobby lights.
Then someone entered the building loudly behind you both, the door slamming harder than necessary.
Anton startled.
Not dramatically, but enough that his hand caught the fabric of your sleeve again automatically.
The movement happened so naturally now that neither of you reacted immediately.
His fingers stayed there lightly curled against your wrist while he glanced back toward the entrance, orienting himself. You looked down at the contact for a second before lifting your eyes toward him again.
Anton followed your gaze belatedly.
A flush spread across his face almost instantly.
He released you carefully this time instead of jerking away.
“Sorry,” he whispered.
The second the word left his mouth, surprise crossed his expression again. Like he still wasn’t entirely deciding when speech happened.
You smiled a little despite yourself. “You don’t have to apologize every time you touch me.”
Anton stared.
You watched the sentence process in real time.
Slowly. Dangerously.
His lips parted slightly before closing again. He looked down toward his own hand like it had become unfamiliar to him somehow.
Then his phone appeared.
| I think about it afterward.
“What part?”
| Whether I was supposed to know something.
Your heartbeat stumbled.
“About touching?”
Tiny nod.
The honesty of it nearly killed you.
You leaned against the wall slightly, trying to steady yourself before answering. “Most people attach meaning to physical affection.”
| Even small things?
“Yes.”
His brows pulled together faintly.
| That seems exhausting.
You laughed softly before you could help it. “It can be.”
Anton watched your face with quiet concentration.
| When you touch me it feels calm.
| So afterward I don’t understand why everyone makes those things complicated.
The entire world seemed to tilt sideways for one horrifying second.
Anton, meanwhile, looked completely sincere.
No flirting. No awareness of the effect he’d just had on you. He said things the way people described weather patterns — observationally, honestly, without understanding how intimate they sounded once spoken aloud.
You were absolutely doomed.
Before you could respond, Anton’s phone buzzed sharply in his hand. The sudden sound made him flinch slightly before checking the screen.
His expression shifted immediately.
“What is it?”
He turned the phone toward you.
A calendar notification.
Dinner — 6:00 PM
Underneath it, another smaller reminder:
Eat full meal. Not snacks.
You blinked.
Then looked at him slowly. “Did someone actually schedule meals into your phone?”
Anton took the phone back.
After a moment:
| I forget.
“You forget to eat?”
Tiny shrug.
| Other things are louder.
-
You looked at him for a moment longer than necessary after that.
Other things are louder.
Anton said sentences like they were simple facts, then left you standing there trying to recover from the weight of them afterward. You wondered if he had any idea how revealing he sounded sometimes, how easily little pieces of himself slipped into conversation before he could recognize them as personal.
Probably not.
“Have you eaten today?” you asked carefully.
Anton’s silence answered first.
You stared at him. “Anton.”
Another pause.
Finally:
| A banana.
“Since when?”
His eyes drifted upward slightly, thinking.
| Morning.
Your chest tightened in immediate irritation. “That’s not enough.”
He looked mildly confused by your tone, like your concern had arrived too intensely for him to categorize right away. You were beginning to notice that too — strong emotion seemed to make him pause longer, processing each word more carefully before deciding how to react.
“I mean…” You exhaled, softening your voice. “No wonder you’re tired.”
Anton leaned lightly against the wall beside you, cardigan sleeves pulled over his hands again while students passed through the lobby in scattered groups. He looked genuinely thoughtful now, considering your statement with unusual seriousness.
| I didn’t notice until you said it.
“That you were hungry?”
Small nod.
You weren’t sure why that made you sad.
Maybe because Anton seemed disconnected from his own body half the time, noticing discomfort only after it became impossible to ignore. Hunger. Overstimulation. Emotions. Everything arrived delayed.
“Well,” you said, adjusting your bag again, “you should eat before your next class.”
His gaze shifted toward the rain outside immediately.
Avoidance.
“You don’t want to go to the dining hall.”
Another tiny nod.
Too loud. Too crowded. Too unpredictable. You could practically map the reasons out yourself already.
“You could get takeout somewhere quieter.”
Anton didn’t answer.
You narrowed your eyes slightly. “You’re not going to, are you?”
| Eventually.
“That means no.”
Anton blinked slowly, caught.
The expression that crossed his face was so unintentionally cute you almost got angry about it.
Before you could stop yourself, you sighed and said, “Come on.”
He frowned faintly
“Where?”
“There’s a café behind the library that stays pretty empty around this time.”
You watched confusion spread across his expression in stages. Then surprise. Then something more hesitant underneath both.
“You don’t have to,” he said quietly.
The soft sound of his voice caught you off guard again. It was still strange hearing him speak aloud after spending most of the past two days communicating through typed messages and silence. His voice felt intimate somehow. Fragile in a way people instinctively leaned closer to.
“I know,” you said gently. “I want to.”
Anton stared at you for a second too long after that. Then lowered his gaze first.
You were starting to suspect he did that whenever emotions became too large to process immediately.
The walk to the café was quieter than usual because the rain had driven most students indoors. Damp leaves clung to the sidewalks, the entire campus washed gray and silver beneath the evening sky. Anton stayed close beside you without seeming aware of it, occasionally brushing against your shoulder before drifting away again.
At one point, your umbrella tilted slightly from the wind.
Anton adjusted it for you automatically.
Not taking it from your hands. Just reaching up carefully to straighten the angle so the rain stopped hitting your sleeve.
The gesture was so natural it took you a second to even process it.
“Thanks,” you murmured.
He nodded once like the action required no acknowledgment.
The café sat tucked behind the library exactly as promised, warm yellow light glowing through fogged windows. Inside smelled like espresso and cinnamon with soft instrumental music low enough not to overwhelm the room. Only a few students occupied the scattered tables.
Anton stopped just inside the doorway.
You turned toward him. “Too much?”
He looked around carefully.
Then shook his head.
Relief loosened something in your chest.
While you ordered at the counter, Anton lingered several feet away studying the dessert display with complete concentration. Not the food itself, you realized after watching him for a moment.
The colors. The arrangement.
Tiny fruit tarts lined perfectly in rows beneath warm lighting. Frosted cakes decorated with edible flowers. Soft pink macarons stacked like polished stones.
Beautiful things.
You smiled to yourself before ordering.
When you carried the drinks and food back to the table, Anton immediately moved his phone and sleeves out of the way for you with careful precision. You set a sandwich in front of him.
His eyes widened slightly.
“That’s too much,” he murmured.
“It’s half a sandwich.”
“It’s large.”
“You had a banana six hours ago.”
Anton stared at the sandwich like you’d handed him a complicated assignment instead of food.
“You remembered.”
The words landed strangely soft between you.
“Of course I remembered.”
Something changed in his expression again. Small enough that another person probably wouldn’t notice. But you were starting to recognize these tiny shifts now — the way his shoulders loosened when he felt safe, the faint unfocusing of his eyes when emotions became difficult, the careful stillness whenever he was trying to hold onto something internally.
Anton picked up the sandwich obediently after a moment.
You expected him to eat delicately.
Instead, he took one bite and immediately closed his eyes.
Not dramatically. Just briefly.
Processing.
“It’s good?” you asked, amused.
After swallowing, he typed one-handed:
| The bread texture is correct.
You laughed so suddenly a nearby student glanced over.
Anton’s attention snapped immediately toward your face.
Again.
Always again.
He watched your reactions with such complete focus it made your stomach feel strange.
“What?”
His fingers stilled against his phone.
| You laugh differently now than yesterday.
“Oh?”
Tiny nod. Less careful.
You looked down at your drink for a second, suddenly embarrassed by how comfortable you’d already become around him. It had only been two days. Two very strange, emotionally days.
Across from you, Anton continued eating in small precise bites while occasionally glancing toward the rain streaking the café windows. His damp hair had finally begun drying, soft dark strands curling slightly near the ends.
Without warning, he spoke again.
“You touch people a lot?”
You nearly choked on your coffee.
“What?”
Anton looked immediately concerned, like he’d skipped too many conversational steps again without realizing it.
“You…” He paused, visibly searching for the words. “Move close easily.”
“Oh.”
Heat crept into your face embarrassingly fast.
“I mean, not everyone.”
Anton processed that carefully while peeling the wrapper from his straw with meticulous attention.
“Only people you like?”
You stared at him across the tiny café table while he waited with complete sincerity for an answer, entirely unaware of how loaded the conversation had become.
“I guess so,” you admitted quietly.
Anton nodded once.
Then returned to eating like he hadn’t just destabilized your entire nervous system.
For a while, neither of you spoke again.
The café settled into a comfortable hush around you both, low music blending with the soft hiss of the espresso machine behind the counter. Rainwater crawled slowly down the windows in thin uneven trails, turning the lights outside blurry and gold. Anton seemed calmer here than anywhere else you’d seen him on campus so far. Not fully relaxed — you were beginning to think that state barely existed for him — but settled enough that the constant tension in his shoulders had eased.
You watched him absentmindedly peel the paper sleeve from his straw into perfectly even strips.
Not fidgeting.
Organizing.
His sandwich sat precisely centered on the napkin between bites.
“You always do that?” you asked softly.
Anton glanced up.
“With objects.”
Then his eyes drifted toward the neat pile of paper strips beside his drink.
“Oh.”
He looked faintly embarrassed for the first time all evening.
“I’m making a mess,” he murmured.
“No, you’re not.”
You reached over before thinking and straightened one of the uneven paper pieces he’d missed. Anton went completely still watching your fingers brush the table.
The silence stretched.
“You don’t get irritated by things?”
The question caught you off guard. “What kind of things?”
He gestured vaguely toward the strips.
“The wrongness.”
You looked down at the table.
Then back at him slowly.
“I mean… sometimes.”
Anton waited.
“But not like you do, I think.”
He stared at your mouth while you spoke, expression thoughtful and slightly distant again. Processing. You were getting frighteningly good at recognizing when he’d gone inward like that.
After a moment, he typed:
| Most people say I overreact to discomfort.
The ache in your chest returned immediately.
You wondered how many parts of himself Anton had spent years apologizing for simply because other people experienced the world less intensely than he did.
“Well,” you said carefully, “if something genuinely feels overwhelming to you, then it’s overwhelming. Even if other people don’t understand it.”
Anton stopped moving entirely. Listening.
You saw the exact moment your words landed somewhere important.
His fingers tightened once around the edge of his sleeve before loosening again. Then he lowered his gaze toward the table almost abruptly, like he suddenly needed somewhere else to look.
“You say things softly,” he said after a while.
Your heartbeat stumbled.
“What does that mean?”
Anton frowned faintly, searching.
“Like…” He paused again. “Like you don’t want them to hurt anyone.”
The sincerity in his voice nearly killed you on the spot.
You looked away first this time, pretending to focus on your drink so he wouldn’t notice how flustered you’d suddenly become.
Across from you, Anton continued studying you openly in that indirect way he had. Not eye contact exactly. Attention contact. Total and unnervingly observant.
Then his phone buzzed against the table.
The reaction was immediate.
His shoulders tensed before he even checked the screen.
You watched his expression shift as he read the notification. Not upset. Just… burdened.
“What is it?”
Anton turned the phone toward you after a second.
Mom calling
He stared at the screen while it rang. Didn’t answer.
The vibration stopped after several seconds before immediately starting again.
“You should probably pick up,” you said gently.
Anton looked genuinely distressed by the idea.
“She worries if I don’t.”
“Then answer?”
Another ring.
He swallowed faintly before pressing accept and lifting the phone to his ear.
You looked away automatically to give him privacy, but silence stretched so long you eventually glanced back.
Anton hadn’t spoken.
He sat perfectly still listening to the voice on the other end while his thumb rubbed repeatedly against the edge of his sleeve beneath the table.
Then, very quietly:
“Yes.”
A pause.
“No.”
Another pause.
“I ate.”
Something in your chest twisted at how carefully he said each word, like speech over the phone required even more concentration than face-to-face conversation.
His mother’s voice carried faintly through the speaker, too muffled to understand.
Anton’s gaze drifted toward you unexpectedly.
Then away again.
“Yes,” he whispered after another long silence. “I’m with someone.”
Your stomach flipped embarrassingly hard.
Whatever his mother said next made faint pink rise into his cheeks almost instantly.
“No,” he murmured quickly. “Not like that.”
You nearly inhaled your straw.
Anton looked absolutely horrified the second he realized you’d probably heard that.
His fingers tightened around the phone.
“No,” he repeated, quieter this time. “She’s my aide.”
The sentence shouldn’t have stung. It did anyway.
You hated yourself a little for that.
Another stretch of silence followed while Anton listened again, expression becoming more and more strained by the second. You could almost see the social exhaustion building in real time.
Then finally:
“I know.”
A beat.
“I’ll sleep.”
Another.
“Yes.”
And softer this time:
“Love you too.”
The call ended.
Anton immediately set the phone facedown against the table and exhaled through his nose like he’d been holding tension in his lungs the entire time.
You looked at him carefully. “You okay?”
He nodded automatically. Too quickly.
You didn’t call him out on it.
Instead, you stirred your drink quietly while Anton reorganized the paper sleeve strips again despite already arranging them perfectly. The café lights reflected softly against the silver rings on his fingers.
After a minute, he spoke without looking up.
“She asks if I’ve eaten every day.”
You smiled faintly. “Sounds like she knows you well.”
Anton’s expression shifted strangely.
“She remembers things even when I don’t tell her.”
The words lingered between you both.
Then, after another pause:
“You do that too.”
Your chest tightened so suddenly it almost hurt.
Before you could answer, Anton finally looked up fully enough that his eyes nearly met yours for half a second. It was the closest he’d gotten yet.
“She’ll think…” He stopped, visibly reorganizing the sentence mid-thought. “She’ll think you’re important.”
The café suddenly felt too warm again.
You stared at him across the table while he remained completely sincere, completely unaware of the effect he had when he spoke like this. He wasn’t flirting. He wasn’t testing anything. Anton just said honest things before understanding the emotional consequences attached to them.
And somehow that made it worse.
“What do you think?” you asked quietly before you could stop yourself.
The second the question left your mouth, Anton went still.
Slowly, carefully, his attention fixed near your face again while the entire café blurred strangely around you.
Then, after what felt like forever, he answered in a voice barely above a whisper.
“I think…” He paused. “I noticed when you were gone.”
┆ ✰ :: “ you’re insane ( affectionate ) ”
includes :: [ fifteen screenshots ] stranger!sion x reader ( typically gender neutral ). getting to know the cute guy you bumped into ? i like to think sion is a cutie patootie ( he is ). flirty sion oh noooo . . . . . . . . y/n is kind of sarcastic ???? idk how to describe u oops. when in doubt avoidance is the way to go ( sion’s motto ). sion is so very dramatic ( expressive ). ooc sion. absolute, absolute crack fic it moves fast keep up. pictures from pinterest ! all mistakes are unintentional.
authors note, welcome to my first wish work . . . maybe my only wish work . . . lol. anyway i was hit with a wave of sion fever and NEEDED to get it out. so. here is massive flirt and painfully forward sion <3
⊹ ࣪ ˖ ᓚᘏᗢ ♡ 𖾕𖾝꙼ᩚ𛲕𖾟 ♡ ᗢᘏᓗ ࣪ ˖ ⊹
happiest birthday to the love of my life, the best leader and hyung the wishies could’ve ever asked for a.k.a oh sion! may you always be happy and healthy, i love you!
yk nct x reader fanfics are truly dying kind because how come there was not a flood full of jaehyun x reader military discharge ffs... not even 5 mind you 💔
