☆

I like nct, enhypen, zb1, and ninjago

[ilovedinodino]

Wanna bet?

synopsis: You and Haechan weren’t acquainted, but both of you were widely popular across the university—though for different reasons. Haechan was known as a fuckboy and a partygoer, changing girls every two weeks and being rude to everyone except his friends. You, on the other hand, were his complete opposite. Kind-hearted and distant, you had no relationships at all, turning down every confession and remaining unattainable. And so, it happened that you and Haechan unknowingly made a bet on each other. Where will your bets lead? Will you discover the truth? And, finally, who will win the bet?

pairing: haechan x f!reader

genre: slightly enemies to lovers, fluff, comedy, angst, suggestive

warnings: mentions of trowing up, haechan is insecure sometimes, idk what else..

playlist: conan grey - the cut that always bleeds

wc: 15,931

na: my first fic ever and I’m so scared ngl. any feedback in anon or here is appreciated😌

“Haechan, why didn’t you accept my gift?” a loud female voice echoes through the hallway. You, Ningning, and Karina watch as a girl runs after Haechan, clutching a box in her hands. The three of you roll your eyes and sigh, witnessing yet another dramatic scene.

It wasn’t the first time you had watched university girls chasing after Haechan. And it wasn’t the first time he had been seen with a new girl. Every two weeks— a new girl, a new fan, a new romance. And it annoyed you.

It’s not that you paid attention to him on purpose, but he always seemed to appear in front of you, making it impossible to ignore.

And what annoyed you the most was his rudeness to everyone at this university. More than once, you had heard him arguing with other students and irritating people. Jisung, your best friend, told you that he was actually kind and normal with his friends, but you didn’t believe it—you thought Jisung was just covering for him.

As Haechan walks past, the girl rushes between you, trying to catch up, but suddenly stumbles and falls to her knees. You quickly leaning down to help her up.

“Hey, are you okay?” you ask.

She lifts her head and reaches for the contents that spilled from the box— a letter, an assortment of candies, and a bracelet. Karina and Ningning kneel beside her, helping gather everything. Once you all stand, you steady her so she doesn’t lose her balance.

“Thank you so much!” she says with a grateful smile.

You gently pat her back.

“Be more careful…,” you say, glancing at the now-crumpled box in her hands before looking back at her. “And honestly? Forget about that jerk. He doesn’t deserve sweet and beautiful girls like you.”

She stares at you for a moment before letting out an awkward laugh, nodding slightly.

“Maybe you’re right… I stayed up all night writing this letter…”

You reassuringly squeeze her hand, but your eyes catch a movement behind her. A little farther away, a guy stands watching her intently, concern clear in his expression.

“More than that,” you continue, “I’m sure there’s someone far more deserving—someone who’s truly in love with you.”

The girl looks at you, startled.

“Who?”

“He should be the one to tell you that himself,” you say with a soft smile. “We’ll get going now. Toss the letter and keep the sweets for yourself, okay?”

She nods quickly, smiling at you. You and the girls walk away, leaving her alone—but not really alone. Someone is already waiting for the right moment to step forward.

“That idiot didn’t even bother to turn around. What do people even see in him?” you say irritably, crossing your arms.

“He’s handsome, comes from a wealthy family, part of the popular boys, a partygoer. I think that’s enough”, Ningning replies.

You sigh heavily.

“And he’s also rude, changes girls like clothes, does poorly in studies, drinks too much, and, honestly, he’s an idiot.”

“Does he really do badly in studies? I thought he had good grades?” Karina joins the conversation.

“He used to, but this semester he’s been terrible. I don’t know what happened, but he dropped in the rankings and basically gave up on studying”, Ningning explains.

You stop in your tracks and look at her in confusion.

“How do you know all this?”

Ningning blinks, momentarily stunned, then quickly starts rambling:

“Uh… Aren’t these just the rumors going around campus? I just heard about it! I mean, he is popular, after all.”

You narrow your eyes at her suspiciously but eventually nod and keep walking.

“Whatever. Let’s forget about him and all of them. Today, we’re finally going to that café we’ve been wanting to go.”

“Oh, right!” you and Ningning say at the same time.

Laughing, the three of you hug each other as you leave the university.

“Ah!” Haechan bursts into the room and flops onto the couch with a loud sigh. Chenle and Mark look at him in confusion.

“What’s wrong?..”

“Some girl has been chasing me all day with this box! I already told her this morning that I’m not interested and asked her to leave me alone, but she didn’t care! Because of her, another girl rejected me, thinking she was my ex!” Haechan flails in frustration, aggressively hitting the pillows.

Chenle and Mark sigh heavily and stop paying attention to him. They are already used to Haechan constantly complaining about the people around him, even though he doesn’t realize how annoying he can be himself.

“Why are you silent?” Haechan looks at his friends in surprise.

They don’t respond and simply take out two controllers.

“Hey!”

“What?” Chenle glances at him irritably. “We’re not interested in your stories.”

Haechan watches as his friends sit down next to him, shoving him aside, and turn on the TV.

“I am your best friend?”

“Unfortunately. Now, can you leave? We want to play.”

Haechan blinks, gets up from the couch, and heads to his room.

“Alright.”

But in reality, he wasn’t mad. He knew he often talked too much about himself and his experiences in excessive detail, so he understood his friends.

He also understood how irritating he was to everyone. But that was his choice—after a bad experience, he was afraid to open up to anyone and decided to create a completely different image when he entered university.

At first, his friends noticed his changed behavior and tried to talk to him, to bring him back to his senses, but it was all in vain. Haechan convinced them that everything would be fine.

Nothing was fine.

His friends didn’t even realize how much he was changing, how often he was going out partying. Back in school, Haechan had been the most level-headed among them and never did anything reckless—but that had all changed. What shocked everyone the most was that he started dating people left and right and sleeping with different girls.

“Haechan, why are you doing this?” Renjun asked one day while they were playing together.

“What? You just said you’d beat me here, and now—”

“I’m not talking about the game. Why do you drink so much and change girls so often?” Renjun turned to him, but Haechan just blinked dumbly.

“Isn’t it fun? I mean, I’m a guy and a student—it’d be weird if I didn’t do it.”

“But none of us do that.”

“Jeno does,” Haechan replied, and Renjun rolled his eyes.

“He just goes on dates—he doesn’t dump them after a few days like you do.”

Haechan just laughed.

“Let’s get back to the game.”

“Haechan, if—”

“Let’s just play, Renjun.»

After that, Renjun never brought it up again. But everyone knew Haechan had problems expressing himself—he was just scared that no one would like him for who he really was. And proving him wrong was difficult… and pointless.

The entire next day, Haechan walked around like a ghost, trying not to draw attention to himself, hiding under his hood. And he was doing a good job at it.

Lately, he hadn’t even noticed how exhausted he had become—both physically and mentally. He blamed it all on uni and partying, but in reality, the problem was within himself. He was draining himself with thoughts and stress. Mark, his closest friend, told him that it was all because he was pretending to be someone he wasn’t, but Haechan thought that was nonsense.

Nonsense, right?

There was only one last economics lecture left, and unfortunately, he was running very late. He rushed through the hallway, searching for the right classroom. Lately, he didn’t care much about studying, but economics was an exception—he didn’t even have any grades for it. That meant he had to be there today and ask for extra assignments to save his own ass.

He was almost at the classroom when he crashed into someone, sending them both tumbling to the ground. Looking at the floor, he saw spilled coffee—clearly from the person he had bumped into.

His hood was up, and his bangs covered his eyes, making it hard to see anything in front of him. He felt a hand on his shoulder, steadying him. Slowly, still dazed, he looked up, ready to thank the stranger.

“Oh my God, are you okay? Did you get hurt?”

Haechan hears a sweet, melodic voice and blinks, lifting his head—only to see you staring back at him.

“You?! Oh my God, you idiot! Watch where you’re going! You almost killed me and spilled my coffee!” you shout, shoving him hard.

Haechan stumbles back in shock, eyes widening at your reaction.

“Huh? Sorry, I didn’t see—” he tries to explain, but you cut him off immediately.

“Maybe if you took off your hood and actually cut your damn bangs, you’d be able to see! Now my favorite sweater is ruined!”

What?

“Well, maybe if you weren’t standing in the middle of the hallway glued to your phone, this wouldn’t have happened!

You blink in surprise, staring at Haechan as he suddenly raises his voice right back at you.

“I have every right to stand here! But can you even run through the hallways like that in a university?”

“I was late! And now, thanks to you, I’m even later! So just move and let me—”

“What’s going on here?”

Both you and Haechan freeze and turn toward the voice. Walking toward you from the right is Professor Kwon, the economics lecturer, his expression stern and unamused.

“Classes are in session. It is completely inappropriate to be yelling and causing a scene in the hallways right now.

“Sorry,” you both mumble at the same time, bowing slightly.

Professor Kwon’s gaze shifts to Haechan, narrowing in suspicion. “Lee Donghyuck? Why are you not in my lecture right now?”

Haechan straightens up, quickly trying to save himself. “I was on my way, but I—uh—bumped into her! Sorry, but she’s the reason I’m late!”

Your mouth drops open in disbelief before you smack his arm. “Are you kidding me?! You ran into me, you liar!”

“Enough,” the professor sighs, rubbing his temple. “Lee Donghyuck, get inside before I decide not to let you in at all. And you, miss, stop walking near the classrooms. If you have no more business here, go home.”

Neither of you dares to argue, quickly doing as you’re told. But before leaving, you and Haechan exchange one last heated glare.

“Idiot,” you both mutter under your breaths at the same time before finally going your separate ways.

“She was the one standing in the middle of the hallway, staring at her phone with her coffee, and then she blamed me for it. Is she insane?”

Haechan walks into friends dorm with Jisung, Mark, and Chenle. After kicking off their shoes, they head straight to their shared room.

“You spilled coffee on her. I’d be pissed too,” Chenle replies, making Haechan click his tongue in annoyance.

“It wasn’t my fault! I was in a rush. And she snapped at me the second she saw my face. She even has a weird name—Y/N? What kind of name is that?”

“Y/N?! She was rude to you? No way, she’s the nicest person in the entire university,” Mark says, making Haechan scoff in disbelief.

“Her? The nicest? Are you sure we’re talking about the same person?”

He tosses his backpack next to the couch and flops onto it. Chenle climbs on top of him, and Haechan instinctively wraps his arms around him.

“Wait… Y/N? Hold on, that’s my best friend from my group.”

All three of them turn to Jisung in unison. Haechan immediately shoves Chenle off and sits up.

“She’s your best friend? Don’t be ridiculous.”

“No, I’m serious!”

“Why do we never know about your other best friends?” Chenle exclaims, while Mark nods in agreement.

Jisung rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “Well… I just never had a reason to bring her up, so I guess I forgot.”

“And by the way, Haechan, I highly doubt she was rude to you. She’s an angel—she wouldn’t snap at anyone for no reason.”

“But she—”

“Isn’t she literally known for rejecting everyone. Mind you, she even turned down Sungchan! SUNGCHAN, HAECHAN!!!” Chenle practically shrieks, grabbing Haechan by the shoulders and shaking him violently.

“Alright, alright, I got it! Let go!”

Haechan shoves him off, and Chenle flops dramatically onto the pillows.

“You know, now that I think about it, I’ve never actually seen her with a guy. Maybe she’s just into girls?” Mark asks as he walks over and sits beside the others.

“No, she’s into guys,” Jisung replies casually, while Haechan furrows his brows.

“If she’s so popular, why don’t I know her? I literally know everyone in this university.”

The other guys burst into laughter.

“What?”

“You two live in completely different worlds, Haechan. You only know people from your own crowd, and as you’ve probably noticed, she’s nothing like you,” Mark explains.

“So what? She’s probably just another typical nerd who stays home and is nice to everyone. Boring.”

“Hell no, she’s fun, and she loves parties. She’s just careful and doesn’t do the stupid shit you do,” Jisung corrects him, giving Haechan a pointed look.

“Then why is she still single? Was Sunghchan not good enough?”

Jisung simply shrugs as he reaches for the bathroom door.

“Maybe she has high standards. Or maybe she’s just waiting for the one. She’s never told me,” he says before stepping inside and closing the door behind him.

The sound of running water fills the room, and Haechan chuckles at his words.

“So picky? Ridiculous. I bet if it weren’t for the coffee incident, she’d be chasing after me like all the others. She’s nothing special—just putting on an act.”

Chenle suddenly freezes, and Haechan immediately notices, giving him a questioning look.

“You sure about that?”

Haechan remains confused.

“Yeah?”

“Wanna prove it?”

“What?”

“You really think you could get her if you tried?”

“All girls are the same—of course I could!”

“Wanna bet?” Chenle smirks, and Mark immediately frowns.

“Chenle…”

“Are you saying I wouldn’t be able to make her fall for me and actually date me?” Haechan raises a brow.

“Haechan, she’s never dated anyone in this university—”

“Alright, I’m in.”

Mark stares at him in shock, while Chenle’s grin stretches even wider.

“You’re going to lose, Haechan. I’m serious. She hates you, especially after—”

“My tactics have never failed me before, Mark. Don’t worry. I’ll even buy you your favorite meal with my winnings,” Haechan pats Mark on the shoulder before heading to his room.

—

“Then he called me an idiot! I heard it!”

You sit in the apartment you share with Ningning and Karina, recounting yesterday’s situation to them and Jaemin. A whole day had passed, yet you were still fuming. It had taken forever to get the stain out of your sweater, and even then, a faint mark remained.

“That’s insane,” Ningning says—before bursting into laughter.

“It’s not funny,” you pout, leaning onto Jaemin’s shoulder.

“How do you even friends with him, Jaemin? He’s awful,” you complain, taking a sip from your mug.

“He’s actually nice to us. The sweetest, even,” Jaemin shrugs.

“Then why can’t he be like that with everyone?”

“He’s got his issues,” he says, grabbing your drink and taking a sip himself.

A couple of hours later.

“No, but seriously, Y/N, he’s the worst player I’ve ever seen. No one lasts more than two weeks with him. It’s impossible—”

“Ningning, he’s just a dumb boy! I’m sure it’s easy to keep him around for longer than two weeks. Besides, it’s me. Don’t you believe in me?”

For the past hour, the four of you had been discussing Haechan. What started as casual gossip had quickly turned into a playful challenge—could you really date him for longer than two weeks? They all doubted you. But you insisted it would be too easy. And no matter how hard they tried to talk you out of it, you weren’t budging.

“Are you guys scared you’re going to lose?” you smirk, leaning back against the couch.

“Scared?” Ningning scoffs, glancing at Karina and Jaemin.

“You two should be talking her out of this. Why aren’t you?”

“She does whatever she wants,” Jaemin sighs, smiling. “There’s no stopping her once she sets her mind on something.”

Ningning clicks her tongue before shaking her head.

“Alright, Y/N. Let’s bet on it. But just so you know—we’re playing for big money. This is Lee Donghyuck we’re talking about.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay. Let’s do this.” You stretch out your hand toward Ningning, who looks at the two beside her in disbelief.

“Am I seriously the only one betting against her?”

“I believe in her,” Jaemin says with a shrug.

“I just don’t want to waste my money,” Karina adds, making Ningning roll her eyes.

“Fine.” She finally shakes your hand, and a triumphant smile spreads across your face.

The bet was on.

After searching the entire university, you finally spot Haechan. This whole plan of apologizing just to get closer to him annoyed you, but it was necessary. So here you were, wandering through the campus, determined to find this idiot.

You step into an empty classroom, only to see a familiar figure sitting with his back to the door. The sound of your footsteps makes him turn around, his brows slightly raised when he sees you.

Without hesitation, you walk up to him and sit down.

“Hey.”

“Y/N? What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to apologize for what happened on Tuesday. I shouldn’t have been so rude to you. Sorry” you say, putting on your best attempt at sincerity. In reality, you’d much rather punch him in the face.

Haechan looks genuinely surprised before rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

“You don’t have to apologize. It was my fault—I spilled your coffee and ruined your sweater.”

You force a smile, though just thinking about your favorite sweater and that damn stain makes your eye twitch.

“Oh, it’s fine. I was planning to replace it anyway.”

“I’ll buy you a new one.”

«…What?» You blink in confusion.

«I ruined yours, so I’ll get you another one. Just send me the one you want.”

You freeze for a moment, processing what just happened. Why was he suddenly being so… nice? Was this really the same Haechan?

Then it hits you—this is actually perfect. You were going to need his number eventually, but now you had the perfect excuse to get it without waiting another week.

«Ah… okay… Can you give me your number? I’ll send it to you.»

Haechan nods, and you take out your phone to save his contact. You’re about to leave when he suddenly adds:

«No need to rush. Pick something you like and don’t worry about the price.»

He smiles at you, and you feel like something is definitely off. But you quickly brush off the thought, nodding at him before walking away.

xxxxx: link

idiot: good taste😉

xxxxx: thanks ☺️

idiot: are you sure you really like it? You didn’t check the price?

xxxxx: yeah, I love it

xxxxx: why? What about the price?

idiot: I just expected it to be more expensive. I could’ve bought you something pricier if needed

xxxxx: no, it’s fine, I really like this one. Thank you

idiot: don’t thank me, I had to

idiot: by the way, you looked really beautiful today

xxxxx: huh? Thanks…

idiot: sorry, I just couldn’t hold back from saying it

xxxxx: haha, you’re cute

idiot: me? I’m cute?

xxxxx: honestly, yeah

idiot: I’m glad you think so :)

«Is she really that dumb?» Haechan scoffs, tossing his phone onto the bed.

«Who?» Chenle, lying on the bed across the room, glances at him.

«Y/N. She’s so naive. How did she reject every guy? It’s so easy to gain her trust.» Haechan turns onto his side, watching Chenle play on his phone.

«I don’t know, maybe she rejected them after some time. I’m sure you’ll be one of them.»

«No. She’s already falling for it, and I haven’t even done anything yet.»

Haechan turns onto his back, closing his eyes.

—

«Your beautiful sweater, miss.»

Haechan hands you a bag, and you take it from him. Only two days had passed, and he was already handing you your new sweater.

Did he get close to all his flings before dropping them like this? You wondered.

«Wow, you actually bought it.» You peek inside and smile at him.

«How could I not?» He grins, shoving his hands into his pockets.

You both tried hard to pretend to be sweet to each other. But because of the rumors about one another, you couldn’t help but wonder—what was wrong with the two of you right now?

«By the way… to be honest, Y/N, I’d really like to get to know you better.»

You flinch slightly. Why is everything happening so fast and so easily? You know he probably just wants to sleep with you and then disappear, but without this turn of events, your plan wouldn’t work. So you have no choice but to take the risk and let him do what he wants.

«Me? Really?»

Haechan nods. «Yeah, and if you don’t mind… would you like to go on a date with me? This Sunday?»

You smirk. This is going to be way too easy.

«Oh, um… if you’re sure about it, then yeah, I don’t mind!» You pretend to be flustered, lowering your gaze to the floor.

«Then I’ll text you what time to be ready, okay?»

You nod, and he waves at you before walking away.

«So dumb.» You roll your eyes and head in the opposite direction.

—

Sunday.

After that day, Haechan texted you the time and let you know he’d come to pick you up. You told the girls everything, and…

«You do realize he just wants to use you like he did with all the others, right?» Ningning trails behind you while you get ready.

«I know, but it’s only temporary.»

«Y/N.» She grabs your hand and pulls you closer. «Let’s call off the bet? I’m worried about you.»

You smile at your friend and hug her.

«Ning, this isn’t about the bet. I want to teach that rude guy a lesson myself. It’s fine, I’ll be fine, don’t worry. He’s just dumb, that’s all.»

«Are you sure?»

You nod, and she hugs you again.

«Just be careful.»

«You look really beautiful,» Haechan says as you approach him and his car.

You’re, to say the least, surprised to see that he actually owns a car, though it makes sense considering the family he comes from and what he can afford. Ningning even managed to tell you that he used to live with Mark, but after his parents gifted him an apartment for his 21st birthday, he moved out and has lived alone ever since, but he often stays over at Mark’s place.

You feel a little flustered and quietly thank him.

«You look good too.» And it’s true. In all your years as a student, you’ve never seen Haechan dressed like this—even at events. Actually, have you even seen him at any uni events? Since he’s a partygoer, he never really cares about how he dresses, but this time, he actually put in effort. He’s wearing a cardigan over a button-up with black jeans, and you can’t seem to tear your gaze away from him. As much as you hate him, you can’t deny that he’s really attractive.

Haechan opens the door for you, and you get in, already anticipating a night at some basic café where you’ll sit through the embarrassment of his conversation.

Haechan was surprisingly a great conversationalist. He wasn’t acting silly and talked calmly—you didn’t even know he was capable of that. To be honest, you always thought he was a complete idiot who didn’t know how to handle relationships, which is why he had so many almost-relationships with different girls. But it turned out that wasn’t the case.

He told you about his family, his friends, and just his life in general. How he once dreamed of becoming a musician but later decided it was a bad idea and chose to study IT instead. How, despite being good with computers, he was terrible at video games and so on.

The whole evening was filled with a good atmosphere, to the point that you almost forgot why you were really here. Haechan seemed like a genuinely kind and good person, making you momentarily forget about his real personality.

Now, the two of you were walking through a park, breathing in the fresh air, and continuing your conversation.

Haechan walks beside you and says, “I’m still surprised that Jisung never mentioned you. You’re not someone people should keep quiet about.”

“What do you mean?” you ask.

“You’re pretty. You’re kind, beautiful, and sweet. A good person. If you were my friend, I’d be telling everyone about you.”

You blush, but this time, it’s real. A part of you hopes he’s being honest, but this is Lee Haechan—he couldn’t be.

“Thank you. You’re a good person too, but I don’t get why you have such a bad reputation. Everyone calls you rude.”

Haechan flinches slightly. “I just… I just don’t trust people.”

“You don’t trust people?” You tilt your head, confused.

“Yeah. I only trust my friends and family. I had bad experiences with others, so I decided to be this way.” Haechan didn’t even know why he was telling you this right now, especially since it was so personal.

“But have you ever thought that if you gave others a chance, you might be able to trust them too?”

Haechan stays silent for a moment, and you decide to drop the topic. You continue walking in silence until you reach your apartment.

“Thanks for tonight. I hope we can do this again if you don’t mind,” he says.

“I’d love that,” you say with a bright smile. He smiles back, just as warmly.

You say goodbye, and he watches you until you disappear inside the building.

“Such a weirdo,” Haechan mutters under his breath before turning back to his car.

—

idiot: are you in the cafeteria?

xxxxx: yeah, why?

You stare at your phone, waiting for a reply, but instead, a hand on your shoulder startles you. You look up and see Haechan.

“This is for you.” He places a cheesecake and your favorite juice on the table. Your friends watch the scene unfold with wide eyes.

“What? Why?”

“What do you mean, why? I just want to keep you in a good mood during class. So, enjoy.” He pats your shoulder and walks away.

“What did you do to him?!” Karina hisses at you while you stare at the cheesecake, just as confused.

“I… have no idea? Maybe my charms are working.”

Ningning bursts out laughing.

“No, but seriously, this is weird. He never does stuff like this. Look around—the whole cafeteria is staring at you now!”

You glance up and, sure enough, every table seems to be drilling holes into you with their eyes.

You quickly look away and stab your fork into your salad.

“Damn, I didn’t want this kind of attention.”

“You’re already popular.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want to be famous just for being Haechan’s next girl!”

“Oh, baby, believe me, this is a completely different case,” you ignore Ningning and continue eating, letting everything else fade into the background.

“You’re trying so hard, it’s hilarious,” Chenle says, settling into a seat at the kitchen table, eyes locked on Haechan.

The guys had gathered at Jeno and Jaemin’s place after university. Jaemin was still at the gym and Jisung still at uni, but the rest of them were here.

“What’s going on?” Jeno asks, while Renjun also looks over with curiosity.

“He made a bet with Chenle that he could date Y/N.”

Renjun laughs hard, nearly falling over onto Mark.

“Y/N?” He laughs again, and Chenle joins in. “She rejects the most popular guys, and you think she won’t reject you?”

“We went on a date!” Haechan shouts.

“So what? She goes on dates with guys, then it’s over. No one ever makes it to the final stage, Haechan. And you, of all people, definitely won’t.”

“Wanna bet on that too?” Haechan challenges, smirking.

Renjun scoffs but is still grinning. “I don’t waste my time on childish things like this.”

“We bet $800.”

“What?” Renjun exclaims, eyes widening. “Well, damn, I’m in!”

Laughter erupts around the room, and Mark sighs before adding, “If Jaemin finds out you guys are betting on Y/N, he’s gonna kill us. And for the record, I’m totally against this.”

“Everything will be fine, Mark. Just… please, no one tell Jaemin or Jisung.”

Everyone nods in agreement.

—

Your second date takes place at an amusement park. You mentioned that you love them a lot, and Haechan couldn’t miss this chance.

“It’s so beautiful and fun here,” you say as you walk through the park. It’s Sunday, and there are a lot of people around. Haechan stays close to you, making sure not to lose sight of you and to keep you from tripping. He frequently places a hand on your back and gently guides you forward. You feel a bit flustered by it but don’t show it. The same goes for Haechan.

“Do you want to go on that one?” you ask, pointing at a ride that spins people around.

Haechan gulps. In reality, he’s a bit afraid of extreme rides and often gets nauseous from them. He does like amusement parks, but he tries not to go on too many rides—one or two at most. He thought you’d be the same and that he wouldn’t have to endure too much.

But how wrong he was.

“Haechan, let’s go there!” You grab his hand and pull him toward yet another ride.

Haechan wants to cry. He can’t handle another one—his stomach is churning, and he’s holding on for dear life, all for yo- for the bet. And you’re too happy, too excited, too adorable today for him to say no. Besides, he doesn’t want to disappoint you when he’s the one who invited you here.

And yet, he’s at his limit. If he gets on one more ride…

“Y/N, wait.” He stops you, pulling you toward him, breathing heavily from running. You look at him, starting to worry.

“Are you okay?” You place a hand on his cheek, and he flinches at your touch.

“Yeah, I just… I’m tired. Can we just eat now?”

You pout—you really wanted to go on that ride.

“Just once? I’ve always wanted to try it, but I never got the chance. Just one time?” You smile sweetly, holding up a finger. He sighs in defeat and nods.

One time. He prays he won’t throw up.

“Haechan, why didn’t you tell me you weren’t feeling well?” You rub his back as he hunches over the toilet, trowing up. The moment you got off the ride, he suddenly clutched his stomach and muttered that he was going to be sick. Acting quickly, you rushed him to the public restroom.

“I didn’t want to say no to you,” he finally says, wiping his mouth and sinking down to sit on the floor.

“Huh? I’m not a kid; you could’ve just refused.”

“You looked too cute, and I wanted to make you happy.” He chuckles, but you glare at him.

“Happy? Are you happy now?”

Haechan sighs and lowers his head.

“I’m thirsty…”

“Thirsty? Wait, I’ll go get you something.” You stand up, but he grabs your wrist and pulls you back.

“Stay here. We’ll go together later.”

“You sure? You look awful.”

He looks up at you and smiles.

“You make me feel better.”

You freeze.

This is all for the bet… right?

It was a dark evening, and you were sitting on a bench near the park. Haechan felt better after drinking some water and getting fresh air. Naturally, you didn’t go on any more rides or walk anywhere else. You just sat there quietly, watching the bright lights shining from the amusement park.

“Why didn’t you tell me that rides make you sick?” you break the silence.

“I… You were having fun, and I was the one who invited you, knowing I’d feel bad. I just didn’t know you liked riding them so much.” Haechan chuckles, but you stay silent. He notices and wipes the smile off his face before continuing.

“Sorry, I didn’t expect it either. The last time I threw up at an amusement park was when I was eighteen.”

You turn to him.

“Because after that, you stopped going on rides?”

Haechan is surprised by your tone and slowly nods.

“Yeah.” He smiles again, trying to make it seem like a joke.

“You really are an idiot. Don’t lie to me again.”

He nods and turns back to the view.

“To be honest, I do go on rides, but only once or twice. I didn’t expect you to love them this much.”

“I’m scared of them.”

“What?”

“I’m really scared of them, but sometimes I push through my fear and force myself to ride, reminding myself that I only live once. And I thought you enjoyed them too, so I kept going, even though I wanted to stop after the third one.”

Haechan suddenly laughs—loudly, throwing his head back.

“What’s so funny?” you frown.

“We both forced ourselves to do something we couldn’t handle… for each other. It’s funny and kind of stupid.”

You scoff, and he grins.

“Want some ice cream?”

You nod, and he stands up, holding out his hand.

“Let’s go.”

And you take it.

—

You quickly step into the apartment, slamming the door shut behind you and leaning your back against it. You stand there for a few minutes, staring blankly ahead, until Ningning comes out of her room and looks at you with questioning eyes.

“Are you okay?”

“Nings, is Haechan always this open with his partners?”

“Open? What do you mean?” Ningning sits on the couch and gestures for you to join her. You give in and flop down beside her with a heavy sigh.

“He told me about his fears… and some personal things.”

“Haechan?”

“Yeah.”

“I—”

“He never shares personal stuff with anyone.”

A sudden male voice interrupts, making you turn toward the sound. Jaemin walks in with a grin and sits down next to you.

“Jaemin? What are you doing here?”

“Came to play with Ningning,” he says casually as she nods and turns on the PlayStation.

“So… my plan is working, and he’s starting to like me,” you lean back, smiling widely before bursting into laughter.

Ningning looks at you in horror, then shifts her gaze to Jaemin, but he only shrugs and smirks before turning back to the game.

—

“Why is he doing this? Jaemin could easily see them,” Mark clicks his tongue as he, Chenle, and Renjun watch from the corner of the cafeteria. You were standing there with Haechan, who had just walked up to you like usual and handed you your juice. You had told him to stop because it was awkward, but he didn’t care.

“Especially now—rumors will spread, and everything will definitely go downhill.”

“Mark, stop stressing so much already,” Chenle laughs, nudging his shoulder. Mark had always been the voice of reason, constantly stopping his friends from getting into trouble. So it wasn’t surprising that he was desperately trying to put an end to this, especially knowing that you were Jisung and Jaemin’s best friend.

“What is he doing?”

The boys jump as Jaemin suddenly approaches them. He doesn’t react to their startled faces, just keeps his eyes fixed on you and Haechan.

“Why is he talking to Y/N?” Jaemin’s intense gaze burns into the two of you, and the boys start panicking. Chenle scrambles to come up with an excuse and is about to say something when Haechan starts heading back toward them.

Halfway there, he spots Jaemin and stops in his tracks. They stare at each other for a moment before Haechan decides to keep walking, approaching the group.

“What were you doing with her?” Jaemin asks directly, and the air around them tenses.

Classes had already started, and they should have all left by now, but no one moved.

“I was just talking to her.”

“About what?”

“Am I not allowed to talk to her?”

“I don’t see any situation where you would need to talk to YN, Haechan.”

Haechan freezes at the coldness in his friend’s tone, swallowing hard as Jaemin continues.

“If you’re planning to make her just another one of your girls for a few days, you better stop now.”

“I’m not planning that, Jaemin. She’s different for me.”

Silence hangs in the air as Jaemin completely ignores Haechan’s words.

“Don’t do anything stupid, and if you dare hurt her, I don’t care that you’ve been my best friend since childhood, Donghyuck.”

With that, Jaemin brushes past him, bumping his shoulder slightly before walking away, leaving Haechan standing there, staring at the floor, unsure of what to feel.

—

Idiot: hey, wanna go for a walk?

angry princess: rn? I don’t mind :)

You were strolling through the park, talking about everything and nothing. You still secretly annoyed each other, but your relationship had shifted slightly. Haechan used to think you were just a nerd and a weirdo, but over time, he realized you were completely different—just as Jisung had said. He didn’t have feelings for you, or so he told himself, but for some reason, he wanted to do everything for you. He convinced himself that he was only putting in so much effort to win the bet and rub it in that annoying Chenle’s face.

The weather was nice at first, but without you noticing, it started to change—dark clouds rolled in, and soon, it began to rain. Haechan took off his jacket and draped it over you.

“Sorry, I didn’t know the weather would be like this today.”

You had planned to spend the whole day outside, even wearing a skirt and a top, but luck was not on your side. As you made your way toward Haechan’s car, the rain turned into a downpour, and you both started running. Completely drenched, you jumped into the car, laughing at the situation you found yourselves in.

As Haechan settled into the driver’s seat and shut the door, you watched him closely. Feeling your gaze, he turned to face you. You stared for a long moment before reaching out, brushing his wet bangs from his eyes. He froze under your touch, his gaze locking onto yours.

Slowly, you started leaning toward each other. Haechan’s eyes flickered from yours to your lips and back again, as if silently asking for permission. You gave a slow nod.

Without wasting a second, he leaned in, pressing a soft, testing kiss against your lips before pulling away to gauge your reaction. Without hesitation, you grabbed him by the neck and kissed him properly.

The kiss was gentle and unhurried, both of you moving in sync as you melted into each other. Haechan wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you closer. In this kiss, it felt as if he was finally doing something he had wanted to do for a long time, and you didn’t hold back either. After a few minutes, you both pull away, breathing heavily. You look at each other, and in his eyes, you see either the reflection of the streetlights outside or his own shimmering gaze.

“Wow…” That’s all Haechan manages to say, clearly at a loss for words. You laugh and lean back against the seat. A brief silence follows before he speaks again.

“I guess I should be grateful for not checking the weather. If I had, I wouldn’t have gotten a kiss from you.”

“Yeah, but we’re probably going to get sick—especially me.” You gesture to your skirt, and Haechan lowers his gaze.

“Oh, wait a second.” He reaches into the backseat and pulls out a black hoodie. Without hesitation, he drapes it over you and turns on the heater, making the car warmer. You look at him, surprised.

“Isn’t this the hoodie you always wear?”

He nods. “Yeah, it is.”

Silence fills the car again until Haechan breaks it.

“Can I kiss you again?”

You smile and nod, and just like that, you spend the rest of the rain-soaked night kissing in his car until the storm finally passes.

Haechan walks into his apartment, where his friends are already lounging on the couch, watching a movie. Mark had a spare key, and they had texted earlier about coming over in the evening, so it wasn’t surprising to see them there.

As soon as Chenle notices him, he practically yells, “Haechan! How was the date?”

Haechan stiffens at the question, his steps slowing as he heads toward his room.

“Nothing special, just the usual,” he mutters, trying to sound nonchalant. He quickly disappears into his room, leaving his friends staring after him in confusion.

The moment he shuts the door, he leans against it, pressing his hands to his cheeks. A huge grin spreads across his face, and before he can stop himself, he blurts out, “I kissed her.”

Realizing how loud he was, he slaps a hand over his mouth, his eyes darting toward the door as if making sure no one heard him. He could’ve gone out there and told them everything, declared his victory in the bet right away—but for some reason, it didn’t feel right. This moment wasn’t about the bet anymore. It was something just between the two of you, and he wanted to keep it that way.

After changing into something more comfortable, he falls onto his bed and grabs his phone. He types out a quick message before drifting off to sleep.

idiot: goodnight 💖

idiot: let’s meet somewhere private tomorrow, I need to tell you something

idiot: sleep well :)

Haechan offered to be your boyfriend.

At the start of the day, you both agreed to meet in an empty room, and there, he asked you to be a couple. Of course, you said yes, silently praying that your relationship would last more than two weeks.

The first few days were quiet—you didn’t hide, but you didn’t flaunt it either. But then, one particular day turned into chaos. Rumors about your relationship spread like wildfire. Whenever you or Haechan walked through the hallways, people stared and whispered. You didn’t like the attention, but you had expected it, so you quickly accepted it.

What shocked everyone wasn’t just the fact that someone was dating—it was who was dating. Two complete opposites. Most of all, people couldn’t believe that you, the infamous untouchable, had given a chance to the university’s biggest player. That’s why the gossip was louder than ever.

Then, on the university’s website, someone made an anonymous post about you two. It gained tons of likes and comments. You didn’t care much about people’s opinions, but one comment managed to get under your skin.

catJlover: maybe they just made a bet on each other, and now they’re forced to “be together”? ;)

“What?” You frowned and clicked on the comment. It already had three dislikes, making you scoff. “Right, of course.”

catJlover: maybe they just made a bet on each other, and now they’re forced to “be together”? ;) (0 likes, 4 dislikes)

“Haechan! Why didn’t you tell us you two were dating?!” Chenle burst into the empty classroom where Haechan and Mark were sitting.

Haechan smirked and lazily lifted his gaze, noticing that Jisung and Renjun were following closely behind.

“Isn’t it more fun to find out this way instead of hearing it directly from me?” he grinned.

Chenle scoffed and sat on the desk in front of him.

“I can’t believe you actually won the bet,” Renjun said, making Haechan freeze. His eyes darted to Jisung, who stood silently next to them—his best friend, the one person he didn’t want to find out.

Renjun noticed Haechan’s panic and quickly reassured him.

“He knows. Chenle told him.”

“Why?” Haechan shot a glare at the younger boy, who only shrugged.

“He asked. He already had suspicions.”

Haechan hesitated before looking at Jisung carefully, his voice cautious.

“Are you mad?”

Jisung chuckled.

“Of course I’m mad, Haechan.”

Haechan lowered his gaze, but Jisung continued before he could spiral.

“I just hope you either end this without suspicion… or do what I actually want you to do.”

Before Haechan could ask what that meant, Chenle suddenly spoke up.

“Hey, you need to prove that you two are actually dating.”

Everyone turned to him with questioning looks.

“What? Everyone already knows we’re dating,” Haechan said, frowning.

“Only by words, right?” Chenle glanced around before hopping off the desk.

“You could’ve just convinced her to play along and split the winnings with her.”

“What kind of nonsense—”

“I don’t buy that she rejected Sungchan but agreed to date you.” Chenle crossed his arms. “I need pictures or at least to see a kiss myself.”

“Hey! You pervert!” Renjun smacked him, making Chenle hiss in protest.

“I’m not! Just think about it—it’s really weird that we haven’t seen them up close! I still don’t believe it, and I need photos,” Chenle grinned, making Haechan roll his eyes.

“Fine, you’ll get your pictures. But after that, you give me my money immediately.”

Chenle nodded but then added, “Actually, you know what? I need a video of you two doing it, because you could just do a quick peck, and that doesn’t co—”

Renjun smacked him again, this time harder.

Haechan laughed, grabbing his bag as he got up to leave.

“I’ll send them tonight.” And with that, he walked out.

“Tonight? That fast?” Chenle raised an eyebrow.

“Maybe they actually are dating… Well, at least for Y/N, it’s real.”

Jisung watched Haechan leave, biting his lip in frustration.

—

idiot: babe

idiot: wanna come over tonight?

idiot: I’ll order pizza, and we can watch a movie.

angry princess: come over? to your place?

idiot: yeah

angry princess: oh um

angry princess: I guess yeah, sure. Will you pick me up?

idiot: of course, when does your last class end?

angry princess: 5:45 PM

idiot: I’ll be waiting at the gate.

You sat on Haechan’s couch, waiting for him to return from the kitchen. The fact that he had invited you over to his place still caught you off guard. You had even texted your friends to ask if he did this with all his girlfriends, but Jaemin had quickly replied, saying no—he only let in the closest people. That made you uneasy.

You couldn’t figure out whether Haechan actually had feelings for you or not. But you quickly pushed those thoughts away, focusing on the most important thing—keeping this relationship going for as long as possible. You weren’t even sure what you felt about him. In fact, you had forbidden yourself from feeling anything more than hate.

Speaking of which—you don’t really hate him now. And it pissed you off.

He was too kind to you. Too attentive. He even remembered little details about you, which was surprising, to say the least. You felt lost in this whole situation but reassured yourself that it would all be worth it soon, and you’d spend your winnings on new clothes.

“Hey, sorry I took so long.”

Haechan walked in, placing two glasses and a plate of snacks on the table.

“I’ll order us some food now. What do you want?”

He sat down next to you—so close that your heart skipped a beat.

“I’d like a double-cheese pizza and a large fries.”

He smiled, nodding, and for a second, you caught yourself thinking that his smile was really cute.

—

Some time later, you were both sitting there, eating, watching a horror movie. Neither of you liked romance movies, though your reasons were different and understandable. So horror was a fair compromise.

The truth was, you loved horror movies. But you were also terrified of them. You expected to flinch and scream during the jumpscares like you always did.

The movie you picked was creepy and unsettling. You were doing your best to keep quiet, but—

“AHHH!”

You jumped as Haechan suddenly grabbed onto you, hiding his face in your shoulder.

“Haechan?…”

You hesitantly touched the top of his head. He slowly peeked up at the screen, clearly embarrassed.

“God, sorry, I wasn’t expecting that jumpscare.”

“That wasn’t a jumpscare?”

Haechan awkwardly leaned back, pulling the blanket over himself. You both continued watching in silence until a real jumpscare popped up. This time, he didn’t just grab your hand—he completely wrapped his arms around you.

You froze. The TV blared with horrifying sounds, but he didn’t let go. In fact, he only held on tighter.

“You know, if you wanna cuddle, you can just say so.”

Haechan pulled away slightly, looking at you. But before he could respond, another loud scream came from the TV, and he flinched right back into your shoulder.

You laughed, patting his arm.

“Okay, so you’re actually scared.”

“Aren’t you scared too?” he mumbled into your neck.

“I am jumpy, and yeah, I’m scared. But you’re freaking out so much that I don’t even get a chance to be scared first.”

You laughed even harder. Haechan pouted.

“I just didn’t expect it to be this scary… Let’s turn it off, please?”

He looked up at you with those puppy-dog eyes, and you widened yours in disbelief.

“What? Then what are we gonna do? I actually like the movie.”

“Kiss?” Haechan replied instantly, leaning in closer. “I missed you.”

You blinked, caught off guard. And he took advantage of your hesitation, pressing his lips to yours.

Right then, another horrifying scream erupted from the TV, scaring both of you. Haechan groaned, pulled away, and angrily turned the TV off. Then, he immediately returned to you, shifting positions—pulling you onto him.

That’s when you realized—he wanted you to sit on his lap.

“Come on, sit on my lap, please.”

You hesitated but eventually nodded, adjusting yourself onto him. His hands found your waist, fingers tracing soft patterns on your sides. He kissed you again, this time deeper, more insistent, more intoxicating.

Your hands moved up to his neck, pulling him even closer—though there was barely any space left between you two.

When you finally pulled away, you both just stared at each other, soaking in the moment.

“I wanna capture you on camera right now.”

You said it without much thought—Haechan just looked so good, lips swollen, cheeks slightly flushed. But the second those words left your mouth, something clicked in his mind.

A perfect opportunity.

“Then do it. My phone’s on the table behind you.”

You stared at him, shocked.

“Seriously?”

“Why not? We barely have any pictures together, and right now, you look really beautiful—especially after our kisses. I want to remember you like this.”

You blush but still reach for his phone, turning on the camera.

“Should I stay like this?” you ask, and Haechan nods.

You lift the phone, adjusting the angle to find the perfect shot. Both of you pose, and you snap a few pictures.

“Let’s take a kissing photo,” Haechan suddenly suggests, tilting your face toward him with a smirk before leaning in.

You freeze for a second but quickly press the shutter button as he kisses you. Afterward, he grabs the phone, scrolling through the pictures. They looked straight out of Pinterest—effortless, natural, and breathtakingly intimate.

Haechan grins victoriously, but more than anything, he’s ecstatic that he now has proof for Chenle—and even better, the photos turned out genuinely stunning.

“Wow, these are really pretty,” Haechan says, showing them to you.

You don’t react immediately, just staring at him with a furrowed brow.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, confused.

You snap out of it, shaking your head. “Nothing. Just send them to me too.”

The rest of the evening is spent taking more photos and sharing kisses.

“Here, damn it.”

Haechan tosses his phone onto the table in front of Chenle, who instantly snatches it up, scrolling through the pictures. Mark and Renjun lean in from both sides, trying to get a look as well.

“So, does this mean I won the bet?” Haechan asks nonchalantly, grabbing a fork and digging into a salad that was already on the table.

“Hey! That’s my salad!” Renjun yells, shoving him off the chair.

Chenle, still scrolling, raises a brow. “Why did you take so many pictures?”

Haechan just shrugs, a small smirk playing on his lips.

“So you’d be absolutely sure. Besides, she loves taking pictures—I couldn’t say no.”

Haechan takes his phone back, scrolling through the gallery again with a satisfied smile.

“Did you send her the pictures?” Jisung suddenly asks.

Haechan hums in response, nodding. “Every single one.”

Jisung chuckles quietly, shaking his head.

“WHAT?! He never allowed anyone to take pictures with him! At least I’ve never seen any posts with his girlfriends!” Ningning practically yells, staring at your pictures along with Karina.

“Right!” You announce proudly, snatching your phone back. “And seriously, what do you mean he didn’t let people take pictures with him? Is he some kind of idol or something?” You scoff.

“Hey, I wasn’t done looking!”

“Wait, seriously?” Karina asks, narrowing her eyes.

You nod enthusiastically. “Yep, weird, right?”

“Super weird.”

“Yeah, but honestly, I don’t care. I already won the bet, so Ningning?” You tilt your head at her with a smirk. She huffs in frustration.

“It hasn’t been three weeks yet.”

“Well, it’s almost three weeks, so get your money ready.”

“Wait—he followed you?”

She clicks on his profile, checks his following list, and sure enough—your username is right there.

Ningning looks up at you with a shocked expression, and Karina covers her mouth in disbelief.

Meanwhile, you just stand there, confused. ”…Why are you guys looking at me like that?”

—

“Are you going to Johnny’s party?” You walk beside Haechan through the cafeteria, talking about your weekend plans. Johnny threw two huge parties every year, and this time, the date happened to fall at the end of the semester.

“Not sure. I don’t really feel like going this time. What about you?”

You and Haechan had been holding hands the entire time, and people still stared at you both. Of course, the rumors had died down a little, but they still lingered. Not that either of you cared anymore—probably.

“I can’t miss it, and I wanted to go with you this time,” he says with a smirk. “We’d be like the ultimate power couple there.”

You laugh, and he smiles, squeezing your hand. “I’ll think about it.”

And in the end, you agreed.

Haechan offered to pick you up so you could go together, but you wanted to go with the girls. He then suggested driving all three of you, which made them ecstatic—especially Ningning, who was already planning how she would interrogate Haechan the whole way.

“No, Ningning, stay quiet, or I’ll tell him not to drive us.” You point a finger at her while getting ready.

“Ugh, so boring! I need to make sure everything’s real!”

“I literally showed you our pictures!”

Karina laughs as you two argue.

“What if it’s AI? You know, technology is getting crazy nowadays.”

You click your tongue and shove her lightly. “Just be quiet the whole ride, okay?”

“Fiiine.”

Still, you had a feeling she wouldn’t last even five minutes in the car.

“What do you like about her?”

Fine.

“Everything? I can’t choose just one thing.” Haechan answers uncertainly as he drives you all to Johnny’s house.

You, Ningning, and Karina are crammed into the backseat because you refused to sit away from the girls—mainly because you wanted to keep an eye on Ningning. Unfortunately, she’s sitting on the other side of Karina, making it difficult for you to reach her. Not that it stops her from breaking her promise—she started interrogating Haechan the moment you got in the car.

“Not even one thing? That’s kind of suspicious…”

“Ningning!” You hiss at her, ready to smack her, but then Haechan suddenly says—

“Her voice.”

All three of you turn to him.

“My voice?” You echo quietly.

He nods, glancing at you through the rearview mirror. “You have a really beautiful voice. I’m in love with it.”

Karina and Ningning share a look, and you feel your face heating up. But before you can say anything, Ningning strikes again.

“Okay! The real question. Do you see a future with Y/N? Like, marriage? Kids? Dogs? Cats? A house on an island?”

“Ningning, shut up!” You practically yell at her, smacking her while Karina gets squished in the middle.

Haechan laughs loudly as he stops at a red light. You expect him to brush it off or joke around—after all, things between you two weren’t that serious.

But then he surprises you.

“Yeah, I do.” His voice is calm, like he’s just stating a fact. “I don’t know about kids or pets, but living with her and getting married? I’d like that. But we need to finish university and get jobs first.”

You stare at him in disbelief. The girls exchange shocked glances, but Haechan just keeps driving like he didn’t just drop a bomb on you.

The rest of the ride is completely silent.

“Be careful, and call me if you need anything, okay?” Haechan adjusts your bomber jacket on your shoulder, smiling at you.

You’re still stuck in your thoughts, processing what he said in the car. You just stare at him, too stunned to react.

“Are you okay?”

“Huh? Oh—yeah, yeah, I’m fine. I’ll call you if anything happens, yeah. Go to your friends.” You mumble quickly before hugging him and practically running off to find the girls.

Haechan watches you go, completely confused.

—

“I’ll transfer you the money tomorrow,” Chenle says, taking a sip of his cocktail.

“Money?” Haechan turns to him, confused.

“The bet. The money you won from the bet.”

“Oh… that money…”

“Did you seriously forget?” Chenle raises a brow.

“Looks like he’s actually in love,” Jeno comments, smirking.

Haechan flinches like he’s been doused in boiling water. “What? No. I don’t need her, and I’m not in love.”

“Then why have you been staring at her all night?” Jeno teases.

“I’m not staring.”

“Sure.”

Haechan frowns, sinking into his drink.

“You even let Y/N post the pictures?” Chenle suddenly asks, making all the guys grab their phones.

Confused, Haechan takes his out too and opens Instagram.

There it is—your post from that night, tagged with his name.

“With Donghyuckie💕”

His breath catches.

No one called him Donghyuck. He never let anyone do that.

He scrolls to the comments, and people are freaking out.

“Haechan finally let his girlfriend take pictures with him?”

“I was starting to think he was a virgin pretending to be a player.”

“Y/N is so brave for doing this.”

Oh yeah. You were very brave.

Haechan suddenly stands up and storms off to find you.

“Haechan!” Renjun calls after him.

Chenle watches him leave, sipping his drink. “Guess he wasn’t lying when he said he doesn’t like sharing his personal life.”

Jisung hides a small smile from the corner of the room.

You wanted to go home. You didn’t know what happened, but you had drifted apart from all your friends, and everyone went in different directions. It had been exactly three weeks since you were with Haechan, and Ningning had given you the money after car incident. So, you finally decided to get back at Haechan for your hoodie and post your photos. He was known for not taking pictures with girls, and that bothered you more than anything. Besides, he had allowed you to take pictures and even sent you. He shouldn’t be against it, right? And honestly, you didn’t care anymore. You just wanted to end it once and for all, so you hit the “post” button.

“Someone liked your post!”

You smiled and leaned back on the couch. Then, a guy sat next to you. You opened your eyes and sighed. It was the guy who had been bothering you for a while. He kept trying to flirt with you, and you just stayed silent, praying he’d leave you alone.

“Leave Haechan. I don’t even get why you’re with him. Did he give you money? I can give you more! I have more than he does!” he says, moving closer and placing his hand on your shoulder.

“Move away from her,” you hear a rough voice from above, and you see it’s Haechan. The guy, seeing him, slowly pulls his hand away and turns fully to face him.

“Who are you?” the guy squints, then recognizes him. “Ah, it’s Lee Haechan!” The guy stands up and extends his hand, but Haechan ignores him and pulls you by the hand towards him. He places his arm around your shoulder, clearly protecting you, and glares at the guy across from him.

“You know, I’ll just wait until you break up with her like you always do, and then I’ll have my chance,” the guy winks at you and walks away. Haechan wanted to follow him after hearing that, but you stopped him.

“Forget it. That idiot has been chasing me for a year, and he won’t stop.”

“If he bothers you again, tell me immediately, okay?” You nod, and Haechan suddenly grabs your hand and leads you out of the house.

“What are you doing?” you scream, frightened, but Haechan’s strength is greater, and you can’t break free from him. As you walk, someone from the crowd shouts:

“Oh, it’s that girl of Haechan, Y/N, who posted their revealing photos!” The crowd turns toward you, and everyone starts screaming and whistling. Haechan stops and stares into space. You look around and see a crowd of drunken students. Then you turn to Haechan and hear him swear before finally pulling you out of the house.

Outside, he lets go of your hand and stands with his back to you.

“What are you doing?”

“What’s your deal?” he finally looks at you, and you get scared. He was serious, and his tone was harsh. “Why did you post the photos?”

You raise an eyebrow. “I’m your girlfriend. I wanted to do it.”

“You should have asked me for permission.”

You laugh. “You sent them to me. That’s permission.”

“Y/N…” He sighs and messes up his hair with his hand.

“Just delete them, okay?” He didn’t want to get angry at you, but the situation threw him off balance, and he didn’t know how to react. He felt exposed right now, like he was completely vulnerable.

“I don’t want to, Haechan.”

“What?”

“I don’t want to. It’s my profile.”

He stays silent, not knowing what to say.

“I don’t understand why you’re acting like this. Are you a star, a K-pop idol or something?”

“It just makes me uncomfortable.”

“Uncomfortable when your girlfriend posts pictures with you?”

“It makes me uncomfortable when everyone sees me.”

“What? You’re literally popular in…”

“I know, and it pisses me off, Y/N!” You flinch as he snaps.

You flinch at his shout, not expecting such a sharp outburst of emotion. Haechan breathes heavily, looking at you, and you see his jaw clenched tightly.

“You don’t understand,” he continues, but now in a quieter tone, almost exhaling his words. “I hate it when people invade my life. My relationships. Me.” Haechan felt like everything he had built was falling apart and everyone had seen the real him. He created the bad boy image to keep everyone away, but then you came into his life and ruined everything.

You roll your eyes. “You’re acting like a child. It’s just a photo, Haechan, stop dramatizing.”

He clicks his tongue in irritation and looks away. “It’s not just a photo. It’s… I don’t want everyone talking about me and you.”

You cross your arms over your chest. “Too late. They’re already talking. So what now? I’m not going to delete them just because you suddenly decided you’ve got star syndrome.”

Haechan looks at you again, but now his gaze isn’t just angry — there’s something in it that’s almost disappointment.

“Do you want to piss me off on purpose?”

“No, I just want to do what I want. Like you always do.”

You both fall silent, and the tension between you seems almost tangible. He doesn’t move, but you see his fingers clenching into fists.

“Fine,” he finally says. “Do what you want.”

He looks at you for a couple of seconds before suddenly turning and walking away, leaving you standing alone.

You watch him walk to his car, but you didn’t want to leave things like this. You told yourself you would finally let him go, but something held you back. You believed he was truly in love with you, and you had treated him this way. You ran after him. You grabbed his hand and turned him toward you.

“Haechan,” you see his glassy eyes, and your heart breaks.

“Sorry, I’ll delete the photos,” you say, and he suddenly hugs you tightly. You feel his tears on your shoulder, and you hug him back.

“I love you,” he whispers. You flinch, pulling away slightly to look into his eyes. He looks at you, and then you both kiss.

Can I come to your place?” you unexpectedly asked, and Haechan, already forgetting everything, looked at you in surprise.

“To mine…?”

“Yes, I don’t want to be alone today, especially since Karina and Ningning might not come either.”

“Yeah, of course.

You don’t know how it happened, but as soon as you entered the apartment, you and Haechan immediately started kissing and he pressed you against the wall in the hallway. Everything was calm and quiet until the door closed and you attacked each other. It’s surprising that you were thinking about the same thing all the way and now you were devouring each other.

You screamed when Haechan abruptly picked you up and carried you to the bedroom. There he laid you down and hung over you without tearing off the kiss. You stroked his whole body with your hands and pulled him towards you. Then he pulls away from you and, breathing heavily, looks you straight in the eye.

"You.. Haechan seemed scared and very embarrassed, which surprised you because it seemed to you that he was always confident in such situations.

"Yes, very much." you answer and pull him towards you, but he moves away again.

"Are you sure? If something is wrong, will you tell me?" You're taken back by his behavior

"Yes, I will," he nods and kisses you again.

Haechan’s Room. You open your eyes and see the ceiling of Haechan’s room in front of you. You slowly sit up and try to remember what happened last night. Without realizing it, you start kicking your legs and smiling, then lie back down on the bed, burying your face in the pillow.

“Oh my God, we did it. We were really together all night. Oh my God!” You shake with happiness on the bed but then suddenly sit up again.

“Wait, where’s Haechan?” You look around the room and listen carefully, wondering if the water in the bathroom is running or if he might be in the kitchen, preparing something. But there’s complete silence. You sigh, and suddenly a notification pops up on the phone—not yours, but Haechan’s. You look at it, then turn away, lying back down and wrapping yourself in the blanket. The notification comes again, then again, and again, and again.

“Oh my God!” You throw off the blanket and grab Haechan’s phone to turn off the sound, but then you see a message from some chat, and you notice Mark’s photo profile.

big (small) chenle: hey, are you both done fucking? It’s morning already.

big (small) chenle: we saw you two kissing by the car ;)

my boy: I’m pretty sure they’ve done, chenle…

big (small) chenle: so why isn’t he answering??

renjunnie: If they did, I would be so shocked that he went this far with the bet.

The bet?

Your heart drops, and you hear another notification.

big (small) chenle: Me too, dude. I didn’t want to lose money on him.

The bet.

The fucking Lee Donghyuck did the bet on you.

Suddenly, you feel a sharp pain in your head and start shaking. You drop the blanket and grab your clothes off the floor as quickly as possible, trying to escape this place.

Haechan enters the apartment, places a bag on the floor, takes off his shoes, and walks into the bedroom with a smile.

“Y/N, you’re awake…” but you’re not there. He looks around for your things, but they’re gone. Did you leave? That fast? He approaches the bed and looks for at least a note from you, but there’s nothing. Haechan grabs his phone, and there isn’t a single message from you. Instead, there are tons of messages from his friends’ group chat. He sits on the bed and scrolls through the messages on the lock screen.

He reads what his friends wrote with some irritation because he didn’t want to call your relationship a bet, especially not after last night. Once he’s read everything, he puts the phone back on the nightstand and lies down on the bed. He lies there for a few seconds, staring at the ceiling, wondering why you left so quickly without warning him. Did he do something wrong? Was everything bad? Did he annoy you? Did you realize you needed to break up with him? Or…

Fuck no.

Haechan suddenly sits up and grabs his phone. He rereads the messages and it hits him.

You saw their chat. You found out it was a bet. You fucking found out that he made a bet on you.

Haechan quickly dials your number and calls, but your phone is off.

“Shit…” He rushes to the coat rack, grabs his jacket, and heads for the door. When he opens it, he sees his friends Mark, Chenle, and Renjun standing there.

“I’m sorry, I tried to convince them not to go to you,” Mark says.

“Y/N at home?” asks Chenle, and then Haechan explodes.

“No, she fucking left because of you idiots!” The guys look shocked, and Haechan continues.

“She saw what you were writing about. She now knows we made a bet on her.” Haechan starts shaking, and tears fill his eyes. The guys quickly react, pushing him back into the apartment while closing the door. Haechan can’t hold it in anymore and starts crying, falling to his knees on the floor, covering his face with his hands. The shocked guys sit beside him, and Renjun hugs him to comfort him while Chenle runs to the kitchen to get water.

“Haechan, calm down…”

The guys don’t understand why he’s reacting this way to your departure, considering he did it all for money. They were sure he felt nothing for you and that he was doing all these strange things just to make sure you’d stay with him. But now, seeing him like this, they start to rethink everything.

Chenle brings the water and hands it to Haechan. He takes it with trembling hands and drinks it quickly. Renjun gently strokes his back, and Mark sits opposite, watching him closely, waiting for him to speak.

“We… we slept together yesterday…” No one answers, and Haechan continues.

“I didn’t think she’d agree to it… I didn’t understand why she even agreed to be with me… I never understood it, and it hurts that I used her, even though I actually have feelings for her.” Everyone freezes. Haechan never loved anyone since school, and he never admitted it. That’s why he changed so many partners. He wanted to love and finally find the one, but every time he felt like a failure. He was convinced he would stay alone for the rest of his life, that he would never meet anyone, so he gave up on himself and everyone, becoming someone he wasn’t. Only his friends knew how soft and kind he really was, but the fear of being himself ate him up, so he created a completely foreign image for himself.

This bet was supposed to be just another distraction and source of entertainment for him. But somewhere along the way, something changed, and from the very first date, he began to genuinely like you. He started doing things for you sincerely, not for the win, even though he denied it to himself and refused to acknowledge it. After the first kiss, he didn’t even want to tell his friends about it, because for him, that moment wasn’t a bet—it was something much more important and personal. He finally felt love.

The guys listened to him in silence, and they hugged him for a long time, comforting him.

“He used me.”

You sit down on the couch in the empty apartment. The girls weren’t home yet, so you sat there alone, letting your emotions take over as you talked to yourself.

“Fuck,” you groan, leaning back and covering your face with your hands.

“I shouldn’t be reacting like this. I used him too. I made a bet on him too. I’m no better than he is.”

You stand up and head to the kitchen to get some water to calm yourself down. As you pour the water, you mumble under your breath again.

“I knew what kind of person he was. I should’ve guessed he would do something like this.”

You bring the glass to your lips, but as soon as you feel the warm tears rolling down your cheeks, you quickly wipe one away with your hand.

“Damn it… he used me this whole time!”

You slam the glass down on the counter and rub your face with your hands, trying to pull yourself together, but you can’t.

This whole time, you wondered why he treated you differently. Why he acted like you were special. You believed he was truly in love with you, but in the end, he only treated you that way because you were a challenge.

You grab your phone, ready to text Ningning and Karina, but you hesitate.

“If they find out he had a bet on me… I’ll lose my own.”

No. You can’t tell them.

Your tears fall again as you sit back down on the couch, curling into yourself. Just then, you hear the soft click of the door opening.

You flinch and quickly wipe your tears away.

It’s Jaemin.

“Y/N? What happened?”

You hide your face, but Jaemin moves quickly, sitting beside you and pulling you into his arms.

“Hey, I’m right here. It’s okay. What’s wrong?”

You don’t answer, just bury your face in his neck as he gently strokes your back.

“He used me.”

You couldn’t hold it in any longer. At the very least, you needed to tell Jaemin, knowing he would keep it a secret.

Jaemin freezes, his movements stopping as he hears your words.

“What do you mean…?”

You pull away slightly, looking at him with tear-filled eyes, and Jaemin feels his heart almost shatter.

“Haechan made a bet on me. I found out this morning when I was at his place.”

You wipe your tears while Jaemin stays silent, his hands gently rubbing your arms.

“But you know… I shouldn’t even be mad because I did the same thing. I used him too. It’s just… he acted so different. I actually believed it…”

“Do you have feelings for him?” Jaemin asks quietly.

You hesitate before finally speaking.

“We slept together last night.”

Now Jaemin’s heart completely breaks. He knew how hard physical touch was for you, even with friends. And now… an entire night with Haechan, who had only used you.

“That asshole,” Jaemin mutters, but you cut him off.

“Please don’t tell the girls. I at least want to get the money out of this.”

Jaemin nods, and for the rest of the day, he stays by your side, doing everything he can to distract you from the situation.

Two weeks had passed since that day.

You and Haechan hadn’t seen each other or texted even once. It was strange—there had been no real fight, no dramatic confrontation, yet you both silently agreed to ignore each other.

For you, it was a choice. You didn’t want to see him. For him, it was shame.

Before dating you, he had been in a dark place. During your relationship, he had felt healed, lighter, like a better version of himself. But now? Now he had fallen even lower than before.

He stopped talking to everyone. Stopped going to university. Stopped responding to his parents. Stopped gaming. Stopped leaving his room.

Stopped living at all.

His friends tried to pull him out of it, to get him to go outside, to do something, but he wouldn’t budge.

And you? You had tried to forget. Or at least to pretend you had. You went on with your normal life, spending time with the girls, keeping yourself busy. The money was still untouched, and they still didn’t know the truth. You had told them you and Haechan had a huge fight—because of you—and that’s why you broke up.

They believed you and left you alone.

Jaemin told you he wasn’t talking to Haechan either.

You were both suffering.

One Saturday evening, Haechan sat in the living room watching a drama. A romance, of course. Lately, that was all he could watch, imagining the two of you in place of the actors.

Tears pricked at his eyes as he buried himself deeper into his blanket. Then he remembered how you had once lain here beside him, wrapped in the same blanket.

His tears fell even harder.

Then, a knock at the door.

At first, he ignored it, assuming it was Mark or Chenle again. But the knocking grew louder.

“If that’s you, Mark or Chenle, just leave me alone. I’m not opening the door,” he called out, already turning away.

But then, a voice.

“It’s Jaemin.”

Haechan froze for a few seconds before slowly turning back. His hand hovered over the doorknob, hesitant, before he finally opened it.

Jaemin stood there, smiling.

Haechan blinked, confused. “Jaemin? What are you doing here…?”

“Can I come in?”

Haechan nodded, stepping aside and shutting the door as Jaemin walked in.

“I—”

“I know about the bet,” Jaemin interrupted.

Haechan stiffened, his head dropping as Jaemin stood with his back to him.

“She must’ve told you everything…”

“No. I knew from the start.”

Haechan’s eyes widened as Jaemin finally turned to face him.

“From the start…?”

“Yeah. Jisung told me.”

“But… he was in the shower when we talked about it,” Haechan mumbled.

Jaemin just shrugged and sat down on the couch.

“Are you mad?” Haechan asked, still standing near the door.

“At first, yeah. But then I found out Y/N had made a bet on you, too. So I wasn’t too worried—you weren’t the only one playing games.”

…What?

“She what? What are you talking about?” Haechan finally steps closer, standing directly in front of Jaemin, his face filled with confusion.

Jaemin smiles widely and lets out a small laugh.

“Haechan, did you really think you were the that only one?”

Silence falls between them, the tension in the air growing thick.

“What? Jaemin, what’s going on? Did you make a bet with her?”

“No, but I was the one who suggested it to her.” Jaemin sits down on the couch. “She didn’t know about your bet, and when Jisung told me, I was so pissed off that I wanted to go straight to you that day. But then I thought—why not make you taste your own medicine? She actually won, but she doesn’t even know it. You really fell for her, didn’t you?”

Jaemin stands up, looking directly at Haechan. Haechan doesn’t know how to respond. He just stands there, frozen in shock. Did you really do this? Did you go that far for a money?

“Do you think she would have posted your pictures if she didn’t mean it? She barely even posts herself.”

Tears start to stream down Haechan’s face again. He lowers his head, finally realizing that he deserved all of this. But at the same time… he feels relieved. Relieved that you didn’t suffer as much as he did.

“This all started because of you, Haechan. Because of your ego.”

“I’m sorry… I know I was an idiot.”

Jaemin steps forward and pulls him into a hug.

“You’re an idiot, but you’re a good idiot. We all know you can be better than this. And Y/N is suffering too, so instead of locking yourself in this room all night, maybe it’s time you go fix this mess.”

Haechan pulls away, looking at him in disbelief.

“Y/N is suffering? Why?”

Jaemin sighs. “You really are dense. I’m telling you—go to her and figure it out yourselves.”

—

Haechan came to the university.

That was all you heard throughout the morning, from every corner of the campus. Everyone was talking about it as if a god himself had descended upon this place. It wouldn’t have bothered you so much—if only people didn’t keep coming up to you with endless questions about your relationship.

“Where is Haechan?”

“Did you two really break up?”

“Do you actually love him?”

You clenched your jaw, your patience wearing thin with every passing second.

“Oh my god, can you all just back off? Don’t you have anything better to do?”

The entire hallway turned to look at you after your outburst, eyes filled with curiosity and shock. You froze for a moment, embarrassment creeping up your spine—until frustration took over again.

“Stop meddling in other people’s lives!” you shouted, voice firm and unwavering. “Whatever happens between us is none of your business, even if we are insanely popular. Mind your own damn lives, and don’t ever bring this up to me or Haechan again!”

Your sharp gaze swept over the stunned crowd. No one dared to speak. The silence was deafening.

Feeling the weight of their stares suffocating you, you turned on your heel and rushed into the nearest restroom.

Even after you left, no one moved. The air was thick with the shock of your words.

At the end of the hallway, Haechan stood still, watching everything unfold. His heart clenched. He wanted to run after you—to hold you, to tell you that you weren’t alone in this. But he stopped himself. You needed space. And he refused to make things worse when he was the reason you had to spill your emotions like that in the first place.

Haechan entered the cafeteria, and as soon as he did, Chenle jumped on him.

“Haechan, I missed you!” He hugged him tightly, and Haechan laughed, hugging him back.

“I missed you too, Chenle.”

Still, Haechan couldn’t bring himself to approach you the whole day. He spent the day walking around alone, sitting with his friends during lunch. He told them every detail Jaemin had shared with him.

“So, I actually won the bet?” Chenle exclaimed, and Renjun smacked him on the arm.

“No, you lost. The bet was about dating her, and Haechan went further,” Renjun replied, and Chenle raised an eyebrow.

“Aren’t you supposed to agree? You lost too.”

“Yeah, but for me, my friend’s happiness and mental health matter more,” Renjun responded.

Chenle frowned and turned away.

“You’re making me look like the bad guy.”

“And besides, Y/N wouldn’t have slept with him just over a regular bet,” everyone turned to look at Jisung, who had been quiet throughout the conversation. After Haechan explained everything, no one judged him for telling Jaemin about this. They understood that you were their best friend, and what he did wasn’t that bad. He could have just told you directly. Jisung was always honest and couldn’t lie, especially to who was close to him, which his friends really appreciated.

“Really?” Haechan asked quietly, and Jisung nodded.

“Moreover, she wouldn’t even have kissed you. She’s too uncomfortable with physical contact from guys.”

Everyone sat in silence, and Haechan smirked, simply nodding.

It was evening, and the whole university was heading home. You said goodbye to your classmates and walked to the exit. As soon as you stepped outside, a heavy downpour began, and all the students were running in different directions, making noise. You stood under the porch, sheltered from the rain, unsure of what to do. You didn’t even have a jacket with you. You looked around to see what others were doing. Some people, being smart, walked out with umbrellas, others draped their jackets over themselves, while some lifted their backpacks over their heads. You sighed — it seemed like you’d have to walk out and just pray you wouldn’t catch a cold the next day. But deep down, you kind of liked it. You loved the rain and being in it, especially during your sad periods.

You took a step forward, preparing to get completely soaked, but suddenly, you noticed that nothing was dripping on you, even though you were already outside. You looked up and saw a transparent umbrella, then noticed a hand and…

Haechan.

You both stood there for a few minutes, looking into each other’s eyes. You couldn’t believe you were finally seeing him again after such a long time. He looked so handsome. His eyes were sparkling — you couldn’t tell if it was because of the rain or if they were naturally that way. He wore a hoodie, and his bangs didn’t fully cover his eyes, so you could see his face clearly. You even noticed the raindrops on his cheeks.

Wait, raindrops!

“Hey, you’re going to get soaked!”

You grabbed the handle of the umbrella and rushed to him, bumping into his chest. Now, you were both standing under the umbrella, and neither of you would get wet anymore.

“Do you want to get sick?” you looked up and met his sweet smile.

“Why are you… why are you silent?” you stuttered, not knowing how to react to your closeness, but you couldn’t help it. You didn’t want him to get wet, and you didn’t want to get wet either.

“I missed you and your sarcastic tone.” Your heart skipped a beat when you heard his voice. It was a little hoarse and quiet because of the rain, but you could still hear it. Around you, there was no one else left; everyone had run off, leaving just the two of you.

“Let’s talk, please,” he said again, and you hesitated, nodding.

“Hey!” you heard a male voice from afar and turned around.

“Is it you two again? Why are you standing in the rain? Go home faster! Lee Donghyuck, if you get sick, I’ll still wait for you in class, even if you’re will be dying! So don’t even think about asking for a sick note!” It was Professor Kwon. You couldn’t help but laugh out loud, covering your mouth, while Haechan just stood still and didn’t move.

He shouted back, “I promise, Professor Kwon, I won’t miss another one of your lectures!” Then, he grabbed your hand, and you both ran to his car.

When Haechan gets in the car and closes the door, an awkward silence falls. You don’t dare to look at him and focus on what’s going on outside. He, on the other hand, sits still for a moment and then breaks the silence.

“Sorry.”

“Hm?” You turn to him, and he remains still, continuing:

“Sorry for betting on you. And sorry that you found out in the worst way.”

You remember that day and can’t help but smirk. You weren’t mad at him; you were mad at yourself, because you fell for someone you shouldn’t have. You were the one who got involved in the bet, you agreed to everything. You let him take you.

“You don’t need to apologize, I was the one who used you.”

You decide to tell him the truth, but he shakes his head, interrupting you.

“No, this bet started because of me. If it weren’t for me, and my idiot friends, especially Chenle, none of this would have happened. Jaemin wouldn’t have made you do all of this.” He finally looks at you, and you see his eyes glistening, but what concerned you more was this: does he know?

“You know about me?… How?”

He nods. “Jaemin told me everything. He made you the bet after hearing from Jisung that Chenle bet with me on you. So, it’s all my fault. I’m sorry.”

You turn your gaze to the windshield, trying to process everything he just said. You zone out for a moment, and Haechan patiently waits, trying to control his own feelings.

“I guess it’s also my fault,” you say quietly.

Haechan looks at you. “I could’ve kept my distance from you and not gotten too attached, but… I got too involved. I even kissed you, and what’s worse, slept with you. I made that choice because I fell for you, but honestly, I hoped you felt the same, so I freaked out.”

“You fell for me?” Haechan’s eyes widen, and you do the same, both of you staring at each other in shock.

“I-I… damn, isn’t it obvious?!” You curse and suddenly yell at him.

“I don’t know! Don’t yell at me, I’m just shocked!” he shouts back.

“Wasn’t your plan to make me fall for you? So don’t be shocked and accept your win.”

“Actually, it was your plan to make me fall for you, and it worked, so just accept the consequences.”

You both fall silent for a moment, then burst into laughter.

“My god, we’re idiots,” you cover your face with your hands, and Haechan leans back against the seat.

“At least I know you like me, that’s all I need.”

You stop laughing, and he feels your gaze on him.

Haechan sits up straight, his eyes falling on your lips. You do the same, slowly leaning forward. He takes the initiative and kisses you. You grab his neck, pulling him closer. He hesitantly places his hands on your waist and back before you break away.

“Why are you so shy now?”

“I don’t know… It’s my first time kissing a girl I like after confessing to her.”

You’re surprised.

“But you’ve had so many girlfriends.”

“They didn’t mean anything to me.” He kisses you again, and you respond.

“Y/N. Can I be your boyfriend?”

“Yes.”

“Haechan deleted all his posts!”

“What?! Where?”

“What’s going on?” you asked Karina, and she showed you Haechan’s Instagram. Instead of his 23 posts, there was only one group photo with his friends. And he added one of your photos from your walk together.

You took Karina’s phone and blinked.

“Why did he do that?”

“I think the only answer is you,” Ningning answered with a sigh.

“Nonsense. Why would he do that for me?”

“I want only Y/N to watch me,” Chenle appeared and threw his arm over Ningning’s shoulder. She pinched him in the side, and he yelped.

“He said that, and you know, he had such lovesick eyes, it was even annoying.”

“Does it annoy you when your friend is happy?” Ningning asks.

“What? Of course not! Why are you all making me out to be a terrible person? I was just joking…” Chenle pouts, and you all laugh.

“You know, Nings, I knew from the beginning that something was off when you were telling information about Haechan’s friends and him.” You glance at her, and she blushes.

“I knew too! Who would’ve guessed that you’re Chenle’s girlfriend?” Karina supports you, but then Ningning exclaims.

“In my defense, I wasn’t his girlfriend yet! I even ignored him! He was just running after me around the university and telling me everything. But about the bet, he didn’t say a word!” She gives an accusing look to her boyfriend.

“Sorry, I couldn’t say anything! Especially to a near stranger.”

“A near stranger?!”

They stop, and Ningning hits him. You and Karina laugh, but then you hear someone’s voice.

“Y/N!” A person suddenly jumps on your back, and you realize it’s Haechan.

“Where have you been? I’ve been looking for you,” he hugs you, and you sigh. Since you started dating, he hasn’t left your side. He literally follows you everywhere and always texts you. No one had ever seen this side of Haechan. He even started doing really well in studies and rose in the rankings, which amazed not only you and his friends but the entire university. He also became much closer with Jaemin again, even more than before. It made you happy to see the two your favourite people being together. He was still one of the most popular guys and in the spotlight, and after everyone found out that you two were back together, the rumors only grew. You became almost the most popular couple. But sometimes this brought problems. His fan girls would approach you and almost threaten you, but Haechan quickly found them and made sure they wouldn’t bother you again. And indeed, they stopped bothering you.

“Why did you delete all your posts?” Haechan tilts his head.

“Posts? Ah, why do I need them?”

“Um, I don’t know? You posted them before, so I thought they were important to you.”

“I posted them for attention, but now I don’t need that. Well, except from you, but I can just send you my photos privately. And it’s way better than Insta posts,” he winks at you, and you roll your eyes. You take his hand, and you both walk down the corridor. By now, you’re alone, since your friends went to their classes, and you two have a shared one.

“You know, I can’t believe I didn’t notice you before. It actually makes me angry,” Haechan says, and you smirk.

“You were obsessed with yourself.”

“No, I just hated that subject so much that I kept sleeping through it.”

“Yeah, and now you’re not sleeping, but staring at me.”

“How can I not look at the best and most beautiful girl in the world?”

“Okay, enough, this is getting too corny.”

“I don’t really care, you know.”

You sigh but laugh quietly. You reach the door, and he opens it for you, letting you pass.

“After you, milady.”

“Oh my God, shut up,” you walk into the classroom, and Haechan smiles and follows you in.

You both won something better than the bet.

[sillyseob]

y’all this fanfic shit easy

[emotaeyongie]

i've been reading spiderman fanfiction again and i totally forgot people have been including johnny storm from the fantastic four in their fics so i just keep getting confused and assuming THE johnny suh is in my spiderman fic

it really feels like this.

[nctlegacy]

260806 JISUNG IG Update

“Beggar Jisung #egypt #pyramids #crossedoneofmybucketlist”

Translated by JisungGlobal

[honey-hyuckle]

Alexa play crush by seventeen

[nctlegacy]

260806 JISUNG IG Update

“Beggar Jisung #egypt #pyramids #crossedoneofmybucketlist”

Translated by JisungGlobal

[honey-hyuckle]

I dont support mark or anything but what r these theories of him being in a religious cult? I wouldn't be surprised with the shirt and everything and also just its so weird that hes living with his manager and his family and picking up his manager/ "best friend" 's kids from school. Like there is no way he left nct to become a traditional malewife

[devilcherri]

WELCOME BACK LOML!!!!!

[honey-hyuckle]

This but with ay-yo haechan as well 😛😛😛

[hyuckmov]

haechan — just for you

boyfriend!haechan x afab reader 1.6k, smut, minors dni, some fluff warnings: light dom/sub themes (haechan as dom), slight dumbification, fingering (f recieving), some aftercare, some subspace, haechan is a terms of endearment kind of guy, overuse of the word baby a/n: idk everyone...SORRY if this is what no one was expecting i have other works otw with no smut but i was just feeling kind of ~stressed~ so i wrote this. it's basically completely smut so minors dni please! first time writing something like this i hope it's at least kind of hot LOL anyway do leave an ask or reply if you enjoyed this <3 other pg works on the way i PROMISE

“you need to relax, babe.” 

haechan reaches over and plucks the keys from your fumbling hands. slotting them easily into the door, he holds it open for you as you storm in, still fuming. 

“i have no idea who that guy thinks he is. how am i going to do this paper with him? who’s going to tell him that diminishing romeo and juliet to a cheap love story about two idiot kids completely undermines the point Shakespeare was trying to make to us? i mean, the characterisation, and the development…” 

“you’ll tell him sweetheart, i’m sure.” 

flinging your bag onto the chair, you grab your many binders and folders and lay them out on the table. fishing your well-worn copy of romeo and juliet out onto the table, you thumbed through your annotations. you couldn’t believe your classmate, who thought he was better than the whole class, had picked another fight with you just as class was about to end, with one of his horrible horrible takes. 

“you know, maybe he’s a little in love with you.” 

your head snaps up. “what?” 

haechan lounged easily on the couch. somewhere between the front door and the living room he had taken off his large hoodie, leaving him in a thin white t-shirt and ripped jeans. his legs spread haphazardly, he propped his head up with a hand, eyes fixed on you. “i mean, it reminds me a little of how we got together. us arguing all the time…you finding reasons to talk to me in the hallway to call me out for something…” 

you had tuned out what he was saying, just a little bit. you loved those ripped jeans, and the way his legs seemed to stretch on for miles… 

looking at the dazed expression on your face, haechan bit back a smile. “y/n? earth to y/n?” 

shaking your head to bring yourself out of it, you look back at your book. “sorry, what were you saying?” 

“i was saying…”, enjoying this immensely, haechan played with the rips in his jeans, tugging at the fabric. “maybe he’s just trying to get your attention.” 

“or maybe he just doesn’t understand the reading.” you scowled. “you know, he dismissed gender roles as important to the context of the play. it’s just so infuriating when he’s going at it from such a limited perspective, this lack of sensitivity to the nuances and dismissals of whatever he deems unimportant from his contemporary views…” 

unbeknownst to you, haechan’s mind was beginning to wander as he continued to fix his gaze on yours. he loved it when you would talk academic, loved it when you got competitive. those passionate rants on anything from literature to bioengineering always made you look sexy to him. his eyes take in your flushed cheeks, your hair coming undone from the ponytail, the tightness of your pencil skirt and the way your chest heaved up and down.

“baby,” he called softly. turning around to face him, he opened his arms. “put down your book and come here.” 

sighing, you set down your study materials and walked over to your boyfriend. as you got ready to settle down on his lap, he shook his head, and maneuvered you until you were straddling him. brushing the hair out of your eyes tenderly, he began to kiss down the side of your neck. 

“haechan,” you whisper. he hums against your skin, and you feel chills running down your spine. “i really need to go finish my paper.” 

“it can wait, can’t it baby?” pulling away, he looks at you, his eyes dark. “that pretty little head of yours needs a break from all that thinking.” 

because haechan thought you were irresistible when you were clever, if only because he knew he was the only one who could make your brain go empty. 

slipping his hands under the hem of your skirt, his fingers snake their way around the back of your thighs.

"haechan, what are you doing?"

"trying to make you feel good. is it working?" his boyish smile spreads across his face, and you practically swoon.

you’re beginning to feel hazy, whimpering slightly as he leans forward to kiss you deeply, swallowing all your sounds. you let out a moan when his fingers brush over your core, and you can feel him smile into the kiss. 

“you okay, y/n?” 

not knowing what to say, no longer able to find the words for it, you are completely enveloped in your boyfriends hands and his perfume. letting out a whine and hoping it would suffice, you push yourself further into his hold.

“mmm, i can’t understand that baby.” he laughs, and the sound vibrates against you. 

“please.” 

“please what?” 

his hands make their way back down your skirt and come up to hold you at your hips. the lack of warmth makes you squirm, and you push yourself against him again. “haechan….” 

“what’s wrong, baby?” he pulls your face away from his neck, and although his tone is sweet and soothing, the way he licks his puffy lips is completely sinful. “thought you wanted to talk about the…characterisation, was it?”

“the what?” 

he grins at that. “your paper?” slowly, you blink up at him, lost. “babe, i’ve just kissed you a little. lost your mind already?” 

his words were a nice muddle of sounds, but what you did know, and what you could feel, was his hard-on, pressing against your thigh through his jeans. “mmh,” you mumble, absentmindedly, as you begin to grind against him. 

letting out a moan, he throws his head back, and you melt at the way his eyes roll into the back of his head. but soon, he refocuses, and grabs your hips. “baby, wait. i’m in charge right now.” 

struck, you halt your movements. “okay” you say, in a small voice. 

“good girl,” he sighs, bringing one hand to your core again while the other strokes the small of your back. he makes shushing sounds at you as your thighs quiver and your lip begins to wobble. pulling your panties to the side, he brushes his fingers against the lips of your pussy. “fuck, you’re so wet. ” 

“haechan-” 

“shhhh…” he slips a finger inside, continuing to shush you as you let out a moan. “how does it feel, baby?” 

“it hurts.” your mind has gone completely fuzzy, except for the man in front of you, his eyes half-lidded and his mouth hanging slightly open, breaths coming quick with lust. “it hurts haechan.” 

“where does it hurt, baby? be a good girl and tell me.” 

“i don’t know.” you shake your head, trying to clear it, but he chooses that moment to add another finger, angling them deep inside you. 

“there? does it feel better now?” you nod, but then you shake your head, because you want more. he pouts at you, sweetly, but somewhere in the haze of your mind you can see that he’s putting on an act. he knows exactly what you want, and he’s dangling it just out of your reach. 

“i don’t know what you mean,” he pouts, and withdraws his fingers. you whine, as he sucks on them, not breaking eye contact the whole time. “it’s okay, let’s try that again, okay baby?” he slides them past your entrance, and curls them against your walls, “does this feel good,” he stops his movements, and spreads his fingers apart instead, scissoring motions stretching you out. “or this?” 

“both,” you nod, eagerly. 

he clicks his tongue at you, and shakes his head, slowly. “pick one.” 

you blink at him, the movement of his fingers dominating your entire mind. you just don’t want him to stop. “the first one.” 

“whatever my baby wants.” he presses his palm to your clit to rub slow, heavy circles. “are you going to cum?” 

you moan. you’ve given up on verbal answers entirely, lost in the haze of pleasure. burying your face in his neck, you bite and lick at the skin, as he hums satisfactorily. “haechan, wanna, gonna…” 

“go for it, baby,” he whispers, quickening the movement of his hand. you begin to rut against him, riding his fingers. “you’re just mine aren’t you? bet your classmate would kill to see you like this, all fucked out and dumb over my fingers.” you cry out, your hands grasping his shoulders desperately, your hips moving as if they had a mind of their own. 

he lets out a growl, his hand on your back coming up roughly to untuck your blouse from your skirt, as he shoves a hand up to palm your chest over your bra. “come. now.” blubbering, a moan of pretty half-words and swears come tumbling out as you reach your climax, his fingers relentless against your clit and inside of you, riding out your high until you slump down against him, spent and tired. 

haechan removes his fingers from you, licking them clean as he looks down at you fondly. gathering up your limbs, he strokes your hair to comfort you as you come down from your high, and the fog in your head slowly clears. 

“baby? are you with me?”

“mmh,” idly, you blink up at him. 

“okay, maybe not yet.” he chuckles, smiling to himself at how cute you could be. “you’ve been so good for me today. the best girl.” he presses a kiss to your forehead.

preening at the praise, you press against him. “wait, haechan-” you sit up suddenly, and his hands go to your waist to steady you. 

“what is it, baby?” 

“you’re still hard.” you begin to fumble with his belt. “wanna make you feel good.” 

swatting your hands away gently, he holds them in his and places a light kiss to your fingertips. “no, baby. you can make me feel good later. you have a paper to write.” 

your face falls. “a paper?” 

he smiles. “it’ll come to you soon.” he’s so proud that he’s the one that gets to make you fall apart this way, the one version of you that no one else gets to see. “come on, baby. let’s go take a bath.” carefully, he scoops you up in his arms, and heads for the bathroom.

[spacejip]

i miss nct u

[honey-hyuckle]

I love you round&round I mourn neo sungchan every time I listen to this song

[haechanglazer]

Finding a sub!idol fic of an idol who always gets written as a dom is like finding a needle in a haystack, in an ocean, surrounded by great white sharks

[honey-hyuckle]

Its like finding a needle in a haystack

[mafiadad5]

Teach me to not love || L. HC (part 1)

𐙚 fuckboy!haechan x fem!reader (ft. best friend jaemin)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

𐙚 synopsis- Jaemin’s out for revenge after Haechan slept with the girl he liked. You’re just supposed to be a distraction, something pretty to keep Haechan’s mind off of what Jaemin was doing. He’s cute, addictive— you should stay away… you really should, but when he touches you like that how are you supposed to remember what’s right?

𐙚 genre- college au, smut/ porn with plot (MDNI 18+), angst, slight fluff.

𐙚 warnings- drug use, alcohol use, sex under the influence, lost of virginity, protected sex, oral (fem receiving), marking, praising, sorta rough sex, arguing, slight sexual Jaemin moment, mention of death.

𐙚 W/c- 14k

Now playing: House of balloons/ Glass table girls- The Weeknd

a/n- hi guys! I really wanted to post this all in one part, but tumblr had other plans loll. I’ve poured months (and a few breakdowns T.T) into this, so I really hope you enjoy it! let me know if you want to be tagged in the next part, and I’d love to hear what you think <3

══════════════════════════

It was a typical Thursday night—  your desk lamp casted a soft glow over your notes as you flipped through flashcards for your biology test. You were focused, head down as you muttered terms under your breath, determined to cram as much into your brain as humanly possible before crashing, then came the voice.

"Oh, Y/n!!!"

Your door flew open with no hesitation. You didn't even have time to respond before Jaemin strolled in like he owned the place, grinning from ear to ear.

"What the fuck." You muttered under your breath, barely looking up as he waltzed in and flopped himself onto your bed. 

"Jaemin, what are you doing here— how did you even get in?" You asked, spinning in your chair with a look of disapproval stretched across your face.

He shrugged nonchalantly. "Your hot roommate let me in."

You raised a brow. "The one who has a crush on you?"

"The one I may fuck." He said with a grin as he stretched out, hands behind his head, settling in like he had no plans of leaving anytime soon.

"Ok, yuck. Didn't you literally fuck the other one?" You said flatly, turning back to your desk, scooping up your stack of color coded flashcards with a sigh. "Seriously though, what are you doing here? I told you I'm locking in tonight."

"You lock in every night." He said, dragging out a dramatic sigh.

"And that's why our intelligence levels are not in the same bracket." You joked, a small smirk appearing on your lips, even though your eyes stayed focused on the pile in front of you.

"So you don't love me, I guess?" He asked, his voice tilting into that overly dramatic tone you knew too well.

"Exactly." You said, spinning around to face him again.

"Wow... so cold. After ten years of friendship, this is how I'm treated? Unrequited love, what a tragedy." He said, clutching his chest, face twisted in fake agony.

"I love you, Jaemin. I've loved you since we were nine. You're my best friend ever. There, happy now?" You said deadpan, raising an eyebrow.

He froze for a second, then grinned slowly. "Wow... so you really love me? Like, really love me? You'd do anything for me, because you're so in love with me, right?"

You narrowed your eyes immediately. You knew that tone, it was the 'I need something' voice.

"What do you want Jaemin?" You sighed, already regretting humoring him.

"Ugh, you know me too well. Ok, hear me out." He said sitting up now, a bright smile spreading across his face. "I need a favor. A small one— tiny really."

You crossed your arms. "What kind of favor?"

"I need you to come to a party with me tomorrow night."

You blinked. "A party? Jaemin, you know I don't do parties. Especially not when I have class the next day."

"You have class at noon on Fridays." He countered quickly. "You'll be fine."

You gave him a long, skeptical look. "So all I have to do is... go to a party with you? That's it?"

He opened his mouth and hesitated.

You instantly leaned back. "Nope... nope, you're already pushing it. What's the real reason?"

"Wait! Just... let me explain, please." He clapped his hands together in a prayer gesture.

You sighed. "Ok fine. I'm listening, speak."

He sat up straighter, his grin faltering just a bit. "There's this guy, Haechan. I'm really fucking pissed at him."

You tilted your head. "Why?"

"He slept with the girl I really liked. Like, genuinely liked, not just thought was hot liked."

"Oof, I'm sorry." You said. "And... what does that have to do with me?"

He looked at you, dead serious now. "I want revenge."

You squinted. "What kind of revenge?"

"I want you to distract him. Just talk to him, keep him downstairs at the party, keep him busy, while I... you know."

"Jaemin." You said slowly. "Distract him from what?"

He hesitated for only a second, then smiled. "From me."

Your eyes narrowed. "If you're doing anything illegal, I'm out."

"I'm trying to fuck his sister."

There was a full beat of silence as your mouth dropped open, eyes wide.

"You what— seriously?" You said, disbelief and a reluctant laugh bubbling up all at once.

"She's hot!" He defended, already laughing. "And it's perfect, he'll lose his shit when he finds out."

"You couldn't just... I don't know, hook up with a girl he likes or something? Call it even?" You asked, raising a brow.

"Yeah well, Haechan doesn't like girls." Jaemin said casually.

You blinked, your brows furrowing slightly. "...hmm?"

He held up a finger with a small smile. "Not like that, don't look at me like that."

You leaned back, smirking. "Mmm, sure."

"What I mean is, he doesn't have feelings for anyone. Not girls, not really anyone. He just uses people— gets what he wants, then tosses them aside. He's emotionally detached. Kind of fucked up, honestly."

You frowned slightly. "You're just being dramatic."

"He's dramatic!" Jaemin shot back. "The man throws house parties on Thursdays for no reason. He once invited a girl over, got head, and then called her a uber while she was still on her knees."

Your eyes widened slightly. "Damn, he sounds like a real asshole. How does someone like that have this big of a name already?"

"He's a senior." Jaemin said with a roll of his eyes. "But all he does is throw parties, drink, and do drugs. He's a loser honestly."

You exhaled. "So... all I have to do is distract him— nothing else?"

"That's it. Just talk to him, keep him downstairs for like twenty minutes. If he tries anything, call me and I'll come get you. Promise."

You bit your lip, thinking. "Ok Fine, but only this once."

"YES! Oh my god, I love you so much, you're actually the best." Jaemin said, beaming at you.

"Yeah, yeah. Now you owe me, pick up those flashcards." You said, tossing the stack into his lap as you turned back to your desk.

He caught them and gave a smile. "Delighted, my queen."

You just rolled your eyes, but your smile lingered as you reached for your pen.

══════════════════════════

You finished the final touches on your hair, giving yourself one last glance in the mirror before grabbing your phone. Right on cue, Jaemin's name lit up the screen with a text:

Jaemin [11:47 PM]:

"I'm outside."

Stepping outside, you spotted him leaning against his car, arms crossed and a grin already spreading across his face as he saw you approach.

"Damn." He said, letting his gaze travel from head to toe with an exaggerated nod of approval. "You look sexy."

"Thank you, Jaemin." You replied smoothly, brushing past him with a hint of sarcasm in your voice.

He opened the passenger side door for you, but paused before you could step in. "I mean... we don't have to go right now, you know. We could go upstairs instead— chill a little, you and me... one on one." He tilted his head, giving you the same smirk he always uses when he's up to no good.

You raised your hand and snapped your fingers right in front of his face. "Focus."

"I am focused." He said, blinking slowly. "Just... not on the party anymore."

"Seriously." You said, sliding him a look as you walked to the car. "Is it your life's mission to try and sleep with every girl you meet?"

"Not every girl." He replied, shrugging as he followed behind. "Only the special ones."

You raised a brow. "And what would your mother think of you throwing yourself at someone who's practically your sister?"

"Ew, don't say it like that." He scowled, visibly shuddering. "That ruined it for me, thanks."

"Good." You smirked, climbing into the car.

He got in on the driver's side and started the engine, throwing you a side glance. "You're lucky I love you, anyone else and I'd have driven off by now in heartbreak."

"Right, so tragic." You said with fake sympathy, adjusting your seatbelt. 

Jaemin chuckled, turning up the music just enough to fill the space between you. The drive was short, maybe ten minutes at most, but the energy shifted just slightly as the neon lights of the house party came into view down the street.

He slowed the car and looked over at you. "Hey... real talk for a second."

You turned toward him, a little wary. "What?"

"I know I joke a lot." He said, eyes flicking over your face, a little more serious now. "But I'm not gonna throw you into the deep end or anything. If this gets weird or Haechan gets weird, just call me and I'll come get you, no questions."

You blinked, surprised by the softness in his voice. "Jaemin..."

"And if you wanna bail at any point." He added. "Just say the word."

A small smile appeared on your lips. "Thanks. I mean it's just a distraction mission, right? I think I can handle that."

He nodded, but his gaze lingered on you. "I know you can. You're... careful, thoughtful— like you think ahead."

You gave a dry laugh. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

"It's not." He said. "Just means I won't have to worry about you doing something stupid."

Your eyes narrowed slightly. "What are you trying to say?"

He hesitated, then said it gently: "I remember that conversation we had last year. About how you were still, you know... saving yourself."

Your cheeks flushed instantly. "Wow, really bringing that up right now?"

"I'm not judging." He said quickly. "I actually think it's cool. You're not like the rest of them, that's why I care if you're ok."

You looked out the window, the beat of the music fading under the weight of his words. "Thanks, I guess."

Jaemin parked across the street, cutting the engine. "I know I'm an asshole sometimes, but I wouldn't bring you into this if I didn't trust you."

You exhaled slowly, then met his eyes. "Ok, let's do this."

"Hell yeah." He grinned, hopping out and circling around to open your door once more.

You stepped into the house, instantly hit by the loud bass of the music and the scent of weed, alcohol, and too much cologne. Bodies swayed under strobe lights, some grinding against each other, others already too far gone to care how they looked. Jaemin kept a casual, but protective hand on your lower back as he guided you through the crowd, eyes scanning the room like he was on a mission.

"That's him." He muttered, leaning down so only you could hear. He nodded subtly toward the kitchen.

Your gaze followed and landed on a guy behind the counter, restocking a row of liquor bottles.

You paused, he was... hotter than expected.

Black hair, tan skin, a body that made a plain black tee and jeans look like he was born for it. His movements were effortless, confident. His smile, charming. There was something in the way he looked people in the eye when talking, like they were the only person in the room. Your lips parted slightly as you took him in, eyes dragging over the way his shirt clung to his waist, the veins on his forearm flexing as he adjusted a bottle.

"Oh no." Jaemin teased, pulling you out of your trance. "Are we losing you already?"

"No." You said too quickly, blinking yourself back into reality. "No, just observing."

"Mmhmm." Jaemin smirked. "Well, he's your target babe. You've got all night."

"Lucky me." You muttered half sarcastically, but then he grabbed your arm gently.

"You sure?"

You turned toward him. "Yeah, are you?"

He nodded, though a flicker of something uncertain passed over his face. "Just, wait." He reached into his pocket and held something out, a condom.

"Jaemin—"

"Just in case." He said, tone serious now. "Even if he insists, don't let him talk you into going raw, I mean it."

You rolled your eyes, but smiled. "I'm not gonna do anything, relax."

"I know you won't, Y/n." He said, softer now. "But he'll try and sometimes the heat of the moment sneaks up on you. So just... have it, please."

You took it with a small nod and shoved it into your back pocket.

"Good luck with your girl." You said.

"Good luck with your guy. If you need me, call me."

And with that, you were on your own.

You straightened your shoulders, pulled your confidence up, and walked toward the kitchen— eyes locked on him the whole time. He didn't notice you at first, too busy rearranging cups and pouring mixers, but when he turned, his gaze landed on you like a spark.

"You look a little bored over here all alone." You said, voice smooth.

He looked you over slowly, thoroughly. "I am, are you gonna do something about that?"

"Maybe." You smiled, tilting your head. "But are you really worth my time?"

He grinned, a cocky thing that only made him more irresistible. "Maybe."

You watched as he accidentally slammed a bottle of tequila a little too hard on the counter, too distracted by your presence.

"I don't know..." You said, stepping closer. "You can't even handle a bottle. What makes you think you can handle me?"

He leaned a little closer, voice dropping. "I can— when I'm drinking."

"That doesn't sound very fun." You teased, watching the way his eyes flickered down to your lips.

"It is fun." He said. "Especially with a pretty girl like you."

Your hand slid over his on the counter, fingers brushing against his skin as you lifted the bottle from under his touch. "Then why aren't we drinking?"

He paused for a second, watching you intently. "Why aren't we?"

"You're still hogging the bottle." You murmured.

For a moment, you were locked in a wordless gaze, one of those silences that say more than anything spoken. You held it, tested him with your eyes.

"Are you just gonna stare." You finally said. "Or are you gonna pour me a shot?"

He smiled and grabbed two glasses, pouring quickly.

"What are we cheering to?" He asked.

You smirked. "To wherever this night takes us."

He clinked his glass to yours. "Dangerous words."

You both downed the shots, the tequila burning its way down your throat. You didn't even shudder.

"Wow." He said, licking his lips. "You took that like a champ."

"I can take a lot." You replied, wiping the corner of your mouth and not looking away once.

"That so? He said, exhaling slowly, pausing for a second. "Then take another with me."

"Don't you wanna wait?" You asked, your voice hinting a bit of concern. 

"I thought you said you could take it." He challenged.

"Are you calling me a liar?" You raised a brow.

"Yeah." He shrugged. "I guess I am."

You grabbed your glass, poured another, and tossed it back without blinking, and he followed right after. That turned into a third, then a fourth.

By now, your skin was buzzing, cheeks flushed with heat. The line between performance and reality blurred fast.

You talked about nothing— music, parties, stupid shit, other people you both barely knew, but everything had a spark to it. The way his gaze lingered when you laughed, the way his hand brushed your waist when reaching for more cups, the subtle way your knees touched.

"You dance?" He asked, stepping just slightly closer.

"Depends who's asking."

He gave that dangerous smile again. "You know who's asking."

You glanced at your phone, and still no text from Jaemin. Thirty minutes of flirtation— of temptation. You looked back up at Haechan, something electric passing between you.

You smirked. "Let's dance then."

The music pulsed around you as he led you out of the kitchen and into the crowd. The beat was dark, seductive, and you let yourself move to it, swaying your hips, letting the rhythm take you. His hands found your waist. You didn't stop him. His body pressed behind yours, chest to back, his lips brushing close to your ear every time he said something teasing.

His hand slid lower and you turned to face him, now chest to chest, bodies moving in sync.

He leaned in close, mouth brushing your ear. "You wanna go upstairs?"

You paused, swallowing hard. "Mmm... I don't know..."

He pulled back just enough to see your eyes. "Why not?"

"I don't want you to think I'm some kind of whore or something." You admitted, voice quieter now.

He blinked, then tilted his head, gaze softening just slightly. "Then let's not go upstairs."

You blinked at him, not responding.

He leaned closer again, voice husky. "Come here."

Before you could respond, he took your hand and led you down a dim hallway off the side of the living room, the noise of the party muffled behind you. It was quiet here, secluded . You were suddenly aware of how your pulse picked up.

He pushed you against the wall, hands bracing both sides of your head.

"This okay?" He asked.

You nodded slowly, heart racing and then his lips were on yours.

It was hot, insistent. His mouth moved like he already knew how you liked to be kissed— like you were meant to be tasted slowly, like his hands couldn't decide whether to cup your cheek or grip your hip tighter.

He pressed closer, lips trailing down your neck, his hand tugging lightly at the hem of your shirt. You gasped, your body reacting faster than your brain could catch up.

And then your phone buzzed, twice.

You broke the kiss breathless, and fished it from your back pocket. Jaemin.

"Clear. Let's go."

You looked up at Haechan, his lips kiss bitten.

"Aw, I gotta go." You said softly, smiling while biting your lip.

He blinked, still catching his breath. "Seriously?"

You said nothing, just shrugged.

He smirked, eyes glinting. "You leaving now makes me want you more."

You backed away slowly, keeping eye contact as you fixed your shirt. "Good."

You turned, leaving him in the hallway, the taste of tequila still tingling on your lips. 

You met Jaemin at the front door just as he was coming down the porch steps, his hair slightly tousled, lips flushed, and a dazed kind of grin stretching across his face. His shirt was wrinkled, and he looked like he'd just barely remembered how to walk straight.

You raised an eyebrow, smoothing your own hair out with your fingers. "What took you so long?"

He laughed, wiping his mouth like he was still catching his breath. "Got caught up in the moment."

You rolled your eyes as you both started walking down the sidewalk, leaving the pulse of the party behind you.

"I've never seen you this messed up in person." He said, glancing at you. 

You just shrugged, before turning to him. "How was your night?"

"Fucking amazing." He said, letting out a blissed sigh. "She was... yeah, worth it."

You smirked. "I'm happy for you. Sounds like you had fun." 

He turned to look at you, a little more alert now. "What about you? How'd it go?"

You shrugged with a soft smile, brushing your fingers against your lips almost unconsciously. "It was... fun. He's fun and hot— too hot, honestly."

Jaemin groaned dramatically, dragging his hand down his face. "Oh god, please don't tell me you slept with him."

You gave him a shove. "No, chill. He tried like you said he would, but I didn't. We just made out."

Jaemin gasped. "Y/n, you definitely have like, mono now."

You laughed, shoving him again. "He's not that bad."

"He's that bad." Jaemin said, shooting you a look. "How was he looking at you? It was probably like he was deciding how to ruin your life in the hottest way possible."

You gave a dreamy little sigh. "Yeah... I noticed."

Jaemin gasped. "Oh my god, you're into him."

"No I'm not." You tucked your hands into your jacket pocket, smiling to yourself. "He's just... magnetic. Like, he knows exactly what to say and exactly how to look at you when he says it."

"Uh huh, that's called manipulation." Jaemin said.

"I mean, maybe." You admitted. "But he was also weirdly... sweet? Like, he actually listened to me talk and he didn't push when I said no."

Jaemin raised a skeptical brow. "Ok, maybe a half point for consent, but let's not pretend this is some romance. You got lucky. I've seen girls fall for his type before, and they don't come out looking as cute as you do right now."

You gave a laugh. "I don't think I'm going back anyway. Not my scene."

"Good." Jaemin said with a little relief in his voice. "Because he's probably not gonna let you step foot at another party anyways because you rejected him. That boy's ego is fragile."

You tilted your head thoughtfully. "Well, if I never plan on going back, it doesn't matter what he thinks of me."

Jaemin grinned. "And that's why I love you."

You rolled your eyes but smiled back. "Yeah, yeah. Whatever."

He reached over and draped his arm around your shoulder, pulling you into a sideways hug as you walked. "Seriously, thank you. You saved my ass tonight."

"I know I did." You grinned, letting yourself lean into him for a second. "You owe me, like, five coffees and a weekend of doing whatever I want."

"Done." He said immediately. "As long as 'whatever you want' doesn't include throwing yourself at Haechan again."

You laughed. "He threw himself at me, thank you very much."

"Right, right." He said, laughing. "Just remember who's actually got your back when you get those 'u up?' texts at 2 AM."

You gave a smile, already hearing the echo of Haechan's voice in your head, the taste of tequila and heat still lingering on your lips.

"I won't forget." 

══════════════════════════

It had been about a week since the party, and life had mostly returned to normal. School, studying, sleep, repeat. But he kept showing up uninvited in the quiet moments between thoughts. The memory of his voice, the glint in his eyes, the way his hands felt when they slid around your waist like he'd done it a hundred times before. You hated how he stuck in your head.

Still, it was whatever. You weren't going to do anything about it. You had your routine, and it didn't include making out with cocky boys in back hallways at house parties.

You'd just wrapped up another cram session for your Thursday Bio test—highlighted notes and color coded flashcards spread across your desk, when you heard it. A familiar, echoing voice in the hallway.

"Y/n!"

You didn't even look up. "You never knock."

Jaemin burst into your room like he owned the place, arms wide, his signature grin already plastered on his face. "My beautiful Y/n, I have arrived."

You leaned back in your desk chair, crossing your arms. "I can see that."

He walked over to hug you, and you let him, even though you were still recovering from the mental strain of studying.

"You know." You mumbled as he pulled back. "One day you're going to bust in here and catch me changing or worse, touching myself."

"Even more reason to keep doing it." He smiled.

You rolled your eyes. "You're actually such a creep."

"Yeah, yeah." He laughed it off, but then paused. His smile lingered familiarly, but you saw the hesitation flicker in his eyes.

You squinted. "What do you want, Jaemin?"

He gasped dramatically. "Y/n! I'm hurt, you think I only come here when I need something?"

You gave him a look, one he couldn't argue with.

"Ok, fine." He said. "But in my defense, we help each other equally."

"You mean I help you and you buy me coffee once a month?"

"Exactly." He grinned.

You sighed. "What is it this time?"

Jaemin scratched the back of his neck. "So, remember how you said you wouldn't go back to the party again?"

You blinked slowly. "Yeah..."

"Well, technically I'm not asking you to go for you. I'm asking on behalf of... well, her. His sister, she invited me again, practically begged— and I think we both know how that's gonna go."

He glanced at you cautiously.

"And you want me to keep Haechan busy again." You finished for him, leaning back in your chair.

"Look, I wouldn't need you to, but it'd be... really helpful." He said carefully. "I just need him not in the way, just for a little while."

Your brain flickered back to Haechan. His smirk, the way he made you feel both seen and exposed. The way he leaned in like he already knew what you'd do next. You told yourself you were over it, just a one time heat of the moment thing. But even now, something twisted in your stomach at the thought of seeing him again.

"Listen, I know you said you're not—"

"I'm down." You said, the words escaping before your brain caught up.

Jaemin blinked. "Wait, seriously?"

You cleared your throat. "Yeah, sure. You need me, right?"

His eyes narrowed. "Wow you really like this guy."

You rolled your eyes. "I'm just looking out for a friend."

Jaemin crossed his arms, fake pouting. "I don't know, I'm reconsidering this whole plan now. First he gets the girl I liked, now it's my best friend? I might need to keep you on lockdown."

You smirked. "Maybe that was my plan all along, you should just stay in."

"Nope." He said, pointing at you. "We're going, but this is the last time, I swear. And for real, don't do anything with him. Now I'm actually worried."

You held up your hands in surrender. "It's my job to distract, that's what I'm gonna do."

"I don't know if I trust you with that anymore." He shook his head, even though he smiled.

"You should." You said quietly.

He paused. "I'm teasing." He said after a minute. "I do. I guess."

You just smiled, the kind that said you already made your decision.

The house was louder this time. Packed tighter, music thumping harder, the kind of base that made your bones vibrate. You stood with Jaemin for a moment, eyes scanning the crowd.

You told yourself this was just a favor, a distraction like last time.

But as soon as you saw him— Haechan, leaning casually against the kitchen counter, sipping something from a red cup with that lazy grin on his face, all of that logic began to melt.

He looked even better than you remembered. Black hoodie, chain peeking from under the collar, dark hair slightly damp.

He spotted you instantly, his smirk curling as he straightened up.

You glanced over at Jaemin. "You owe me."

"I owe you my life." He said, already making a beeline toward the stairs. And just like that, you were alone, again... with him.

Haechan pushed off the counter and met you halfway.

"Well, well." He said, voice low. "Look who came back for seconds."

You tilted your head. "Maybe I'm just here for the drinks."

His eyes scanned you, slow and deliberate. "You look like trouble tonight."

You stepped in, closing the gap just enough to be suggestive. "You think I wasn't trouble last time?"

He laughed, licking his lips. "No, last time you were temptation. Tonight? I don't think I'll be able to behave."

You let yourself smile just a little.

"Try to." You said, smirking as you hit Haechan's shoulder, weaving through the crowd and heading straight to the kitchen. The music thumped through the walls, as you grabbed a bottle of tequila from off the counter.

"You're already hurting my feelings." Haechan said from behind you, his voice dipping just enough to graze your nerves in that playful, confident way.

"How's that?" You asked turning, only for him to close the gap between you. His arms casually caging you against the counter, hands resting just close enough to your hips.

"Drinking without me." He said, smoothly taking the bottle from your hand like it belonged to him.

You tilted your head. "I'm sorry, who are you again?"

"You should know. It's my party, after all." He replied, that teasing grin never leaving his face as he leaned in just enough to test the space between you.

"You're cocky." You gave him a playful shove, but didn't move far.

"I'm Haechan. Who are you? I never got your name last time."

You raised an eyebrow. "Wow. Kissing a girl and not even knowing her name? I've heard about you, you know... what you do to girls, the type of person you are."

That made him pause for a second, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he held your gaze. "But you're still here, aren't you?"

You didn't reply, just smiled slowly, head tilting amused at his boldness.

"So." He leaned in again. "Are you gonna leave me alone, or tell me your name?"

"Y/n."

"Pretty." He said, the smile that followed unusually soft, like he actually meant it.

You eyed the bottle still in his hand. "Are you just gonna stand there and smile at me, or pour the damn shots?"

"I thought you'd never ask." He reached past you, his arm brushing yours as he grabbed two shot glasses. His cologne hit you, mixing with the alcohol and the buzz in your chest.

The tequila burned on the way down, but it made your limbs feel warm, relaxed.

"Is tequila your favorite?" He asked, eyes not leaving you.

You shook your head, setting the glass down. "Vodka mixed drinks. I don't like taking things straight."

He grinned at that, grabbing a red solo cup. He poured vodka, rum, and a splash of something creamy and white—the scent immediately familiar.

"Pina colada mixer?" You asked, brow raised.

"You seem like the type. Plus, you told me last time." He said with a smile.

"You remembered?"

"Of course. You're kinda hard to forget." He said, clinking his cup to yours before sipping.

You looked down for a second, smile slipping in without warning. "I really shouldn't be talking to you."

"Says who?"

"Myself, my conscience."

He shrugged. "You're a big girl, smart too. You know what you're doing. Just let go a little, everything doesn't have to be heavy all the time."

You gave him a playful side eye. "No?"

"Nope. If it was, it wouldn't be fun."

Before you could reply, someone passed by and handed him what looked like a vape.

"Fuck yes." Haechan muttered, taking a long drag and exhaling slowly, the smoke curling out the side of his mouth.

He held it out. "Want a hit?"

"Nah, I don't vape."

He blinked a little surprised, then laughed. "Baby, this is a cart, not a vape."

"Oh." You giggled. "That makes sense. Smelled... different."

"So do you want it?" He asked again.

"I don't know, I don't really do drugs."

"It's just weed. It's chill— makes everything feel good." He said, his tone smooth, not pushy.

You hesitated, biting your lip.

"I'm not forcing you, but trust me— it's fine."

"...Okay, fine." You took the cart, cautiously bringing it to your lips and inhaling. It hit your lungs faster than you expected, making you cough, but after a few seconds you got used to it, taking a few more hits. Warmth spread through you, you felt light and weightless.

"Haechan." You murmured, blinking slowly, finishing the drink in your hand. "Let's dance."

He didn't argue. You pulled him onto the dance floor where bodies swayed and moved like one blur of motion, but you were only aware of him. His hands on your hips, guiding your movements. His breath brushing the curve of your neck. His mouth near enough to graze your ear when he laughed at something you said.

And then you kissed him.

You didn't think— your lips were on his, his hands tightening slightly on your waist as he melted into it. The kind of kiss that made everything else disappear.

"How about we take this up to my room?" He whispered into your mouth, voice low.

"I told you I felt like—"

"You're not a whore." He cut in gently. "I want you. That doesn't make you anything except someone I want."

You hesitated for a second, the distant part of your brain catching up. "I don't know, my friend might come looking for me. He was supposed to—"

"He's not here right now." Haechan's voice was low and coaxing. "You're here, with me. You can make your own decisions."

You didn't answer,  just grabbed his hand and followed him upstairs.

You were halfway down the hallway, your heart fluttering, when you passed a room and the unmistakable sound of soft moaning filtered out from behind the closed door.

Haechan paused, head turning. "What the fuck?" He muttered, steps slowing.

Shit... Jaemin.

Before he could say anything more, you spun him to face you, grabbing his face urgently, your hands warm against his cheeks. His brows lifted in surprise.

"Focus on me." You whispered.

And then you kissed him again, deeper and slower this time. Your hands slid into his hair, pulling him closer as your bodies melted together. His hands found your waist again, but they didn't stop there, traveling up your sides, fingers over your bare skin as his mouth moved against yours with increasing hunger.

He backed you gently into the nearest wall, lips never leaving yours as the kiss deepened. Your back arched into his touch, your hands tugging at the collar of his shirt, desperate to feel more.

His mouth dragged from your lips down your jaw, kissing, teasing, then down your neck where he paused, sucking gently at the sensitive spot just below your ear.

"Room's this way." He murmured between kisses, and you followed him, half stumbling into his room, laughing softly as he shut the door behind you.

The moment it clicked shut, he was back on you, lips on your neck, hands guiding you toward the bed.

He pushed you down onto the bed, his body pressing against yours as he climbed on top. One hand slid roughly up your thigh, bunching your dress higher, never breaking contact with your neck as his mouth stayed hot against your skin.

His fingers played with the edge of your underwear for a moment, teasing, before pulling them down to your knees.

He paused then, lifting his head. His eyes met yours, and for just a second something shifted, uncertainty flickering across his face. He licked his lips like he was thinking, maybe even questioning, but before you could say anything, he lowered himself again, kissing a slow path down your body, lips soft against your thigh.

His breath was warm against your skin as he kissed the inside of your thigh, slow and steady, his hands holding your legs apart. Every movement felt like he wanted to make sure you felt everything— every kiss, every brush of his lips.

He glanced up at you once more, eyes darker now, the hesitation from before gone. Then he lowered his head again, his mouth finding the tender spot just above your knee, then higher. His fingers slid up your thighs, anchoring you in place as his mouth moved closer, teasing you.

You could feel your body tightening beneath him, breath catching in your throat as he finally reached your folds, his lips brushing against your clit, gentle at first.

Then he gave in completely, his mouth working you with focus, his hands gripping your hips like he never wanted to let go.

His tongue slid over you as he teased you with soft flicks and gentle pressure, each movement sending a wave of heat through your body. Your hips shifted under his touch, instinctively searching for more, but he held you steady, his grip firm on your thighs.

He looked up at you again, eyes heavy, mouth glistening. Then he dove back in, hungrier this time, his tongue moving with purpose now, circling, pressing. The sounds he made vibrated against you, adding to the overwhelming sensation building fast inside you.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, needing something to hold onto as he drove you higher. He responded to every twitch, every gasp, adjusting his pace, his pressure, as if he could read exactly what your body craved.

Then he slid one finger inside you slowly, deeply, curling just right. The rhythm of his hand and mouth worked in perfect sync, pulling you closer to the edge with each passing second.

That's when your phone buzzed, the vibration low, but sharp against the haze in your mind. Your eyes blinked open, lashes heavy as you glanced down. A message lit up the screen.

Jaemin [1:35 AM]:

"I'm ready. Meet me outside."

"Ignore it." Haechan murmured against your thigh, voice deep and muffled. His lips brushed warm against your skin, but your eyes stayed on the message.

"Mmm... I have to go." You said, sitting up slowly, the daze of alcohol and drug weighing your limbs.

"What?" He asked, looking up at you with hooded eyes, lips still wet.

You smiled, pushing hair from your face as you stood fully. "Leaving you on a cliffhanger again."

"You're evil." He smirked lazily.

"Mm, bite me." You teased with a wink, turning for the door.

"Wait." He cut through.

You paused, glancing back over your shoulder with a raised brow.

"Can I at least get your number or something?"

You shook your head, a quiet laugh slipping past your lips. "Where's the fun in that?"

And then you were gone, the door clicking shut behind you. Haechan just smiled to himself, letting out a breath as he ran a hand through his hair. "Unbelievable."

Outside, the cool air hit your flushed cheeks as you stumbled into the night, spotting Jaemin.

"There she is." He grinned. "Somebody's fucked."

"You are too, shut up." You giggled, smacking his chest lightly.

"Nah, just you. I'm only a little bit drunk." He gave you that smug, crooked smile that always made your stomach flip.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." You muttered with a grin, stumbling into him slightly.

His arm came around your shoulders without thinking steadying you, but then he stopped, glancing at your face more closely, his smile fading.

"Y/n." He said slowly. "Are you... high?"

You paused, lips parting like you hadn't even thought to lie. "Maybe." You giggled.

Jaemin stared at you, concern overtaking every line of his face. "You never do that shit... you barely drink anymore— what the hell happened?"

"Relax, Jaem. It was just weed, a few hits. I'm fine."

"You could've had a bad trip." He said, eyes narrowing. "Or what if it was laced? You don't know who the fuck gave you that. You don't know what could've happened—"

"Can you chill?" You said, laughing. "You sound like my parent."

"That's what I gotta be when you do stupid shit like this." His voice dropped, rough with something deeper. "I just... I don't want anything bad to happen to you."

You smiled. "I'm fine, I swear."

"Alright. I'm staying at your place tonight."

"Damn, thanks for asking."

He gave you a look and just giggled again.

When you got home, your shoes hit the floor one by one as you peeled off your jacket, then the thin dress that clung to your skin. You collapsed face first into your bed in only your bra and underwear, the sheets cool against your flushed skin.

Jaemin followed behind. He dropped into your desk chair with a heavy exhale, pulling his hoodie off and tossing it aside. He leaned back, phone in hand, scrolling casually.

"You look good in this lighting." You said, voice smooth and thick as you propped yourself up on your elbows.

He looked up at you over his screen, lips quirking. "You're really saying that right now?"

"Mmhmm." You let your eyes drag down his figure slowly. "You've always been pretty Jaemin."

He laughed under his breath, glancing back at his phone, but not before you caught the slight flush in his cheeks.

You sat up more, letting your legs dangle over the side of the bed, posture relaxed, but eyes sharp with mischief.

"Come here." You said.

He raised an eyebrow. "To the bed?"

"Yeah, just wanna be close."

He hesitated for half a moment before standing. "You're so high." He muttered with a smirk, making his way over. He sat beside you, hands propped behind him on the mattress.

You leaned into him, fingers brushing up his arm softly. "You smell good." You murmured, eyes locked on his lips.

"Do I?" He asked, amusement threading through his voice.

"You always do." Your fingers trailed over his chest now, dragging down to his stomach. His muscles tightened slightly beneath your touch, but he didn't stop you. "And your skin's soft..."

Jaemin watched you, breath slower now. "You're really flirting with me right now?"

"I'm not flirting." You said, tone quiet. "I'm appreciating."

Your lips ghosted along his jaw, then lower to the curve of his neck. He tilted his head slightly, allowing the contact. You kissed him there— slowly, sensual, your lips lingering just a second too long.

He swallowed hard.

"I know you like it." You whispered.

His hand slid instinctively to your thigh, gripping gently as your lips traced down the side of his throat. He leaned into it, breathing deep through his nose.

But then—

"Wait." He said suddenly, pulling back. "I can't."

You blinked, stunned by the shift. "Why not?" You asked, voice low as you stared up at him.

"You're my best friend." He said, the words stuttering off his tongue.

"Oh, but when you ask to fuck me it's a different story?"

"It is." He said.

"Mmm, really?" You smirked, sliding your hand up his torso again, fingers trailing.

"Yes." He said firmly. "You're not sober and you don't actually want me right now, you're just under the influence... as fuck."

"I always want you." You said, eyes locked on his.

He sighed, the tension in his body slowly fading into something softer. He wrapped an arm around you and pulled you against him gently, tucking you under his chin.

"Please go to sleep, Y/n. I'm right here, just rest."

And... you listened. Eyes fluttering closed, breath slowing as the world dimmed into his warmth.

══════════════════════════

Your eyes fluttered open, vision blurry and head pounding. The sunlight filtered weakly through the curtains. You slowly sat up, blinking against the ache throbbing in your skull.

Jaemin was sprawled next to you on top of the blankets, one leg stretched over the edge of the bed, scrolling casually through his phone. 

He glanced over. "Relax, it's just me." He said, offering a small smile.

You exhaled deeply, rubbing your temples with your fingers. A sharp pain spiked behind your eyes, a groan escaping your lips as you reached for your head.

"Here." Jaemin said, reaching down for a plastic bag on the floor. "I got you some water, some food, and Advil— for your headache." He set it on the bed beside you. 

"How'd you know I have a headache?" You asked, unscrewing the cap of the water and popping the pills into your mouth.

"Jesus, Y/n." He scoffed, sitting up straighter. "You were shit faced last night, obviously you're gonna have a hangover."

"Right." You said with a smile. "Thank you for taking care of me."

"Yeah, of course." He returned the smile briefly, his attention sliding back to his phone.

Silence settled between you, but it wasn't entirely comfortable. Your brain was still catching up to reality, glimpses of last night flickering through your mind in half lit flashes. Laughter, music, moaning in the hallway. Haechan, and Jaemin... your heart beat a little harder at that last part.

"Hey..." You started cautiously. "Did we—" You hesitated. "We didn't do anything, did we?"

He chuckled, but didn't answer right away. The silence stretched a second too long, just enough to make your stomach flip.

"You tried." He said finally, his voice was calm, almost amused, but the words made your chest tighten. "But I stopped it, and you went to sleep— so, all clear." He gave you a lazy smile.

"Phew." You exhaled, falling back onto your pillow in relief.

"Damn." He teased, raising a brow. "Am I that bad?"

"No, no." You said quickly, laughing. "I just don't want to make you uncomfortable or anything."

"All good over here, you don't." He replied, eyes flickering back to his phone.

You shook your head, grinning. "Damn, I'm such a horny freak."

"I see how you get when you're drunk... and high." He added, glancing over at you, disappointment flickering in his gaze.

"Stop, Jaemin." You groaned, pushing his shoulder playfully.

"I'm still disappointed about that." He said, his voice a little firmer. "You need to be more careful. That's the last time you're going there ever again."

"You can't tell me what to do." You teased, lips quirking into a smile.

"Ahh, I guess I can't." He said dramatically, reaching over and grabbing the bag of food.

"Stop, give it." You laughed, stretching across him to snatch it back. Your fingers brushed against his hand, and your eyes caught his for a long, silent moment.

Your voice softened. "You know... I'm seriously grateful that you take care of me when I need it."

He blinked, lips twitching into a small smile. "Yeah, yeah. Now can you eat?"

You nodded, finally opening the container and taking a bite of food. "I almost accidentally got you caught, but I saved it." You said between bites, your voice cheeky.

"How, come?" He asked, only half listening as he scrolled.

"We came upstairs and we heard moaning." You said with a grin. "I'm guessing your party."

"You came upstairs to do what?" He looked up sharply now, eyes narrowing with suspicion.

You didn't respond, just smiled to yourself as you continued chewing.

"Did you fuck him?" He asked suddenly, sitting up straighter, eyes locked on yours.

"No, no." You answered quickly. "He just gave me head." Your voice was quieter now, but the confession hung in the air.

"He gave you head?" Jaemin blinked, dumbfounded. "YOU?" He repeated. "And he didn't get anything else from you? No sex, no head, not even a handjob?"

You shook your head. "Nope."

"Dude, he never does that... ever." He looked like he was short circuiting. "What's up with these guys just giving you head man? I'm impressed."

"First off, it only happened once before, so don't do that, and you know we don't talk about him, ok?" You said in a on edge voice.

"Ok, ok." He held up his hands in surrender.

"I guess I just gave the magic touch." You said with a smug smile.

"Damn, me next!" He cheered jokingly, grinning.

"Shit, maybe." You said with a smirk. "Haechan didn't even make me finish— well, because we were interrupted by someone." You shot him a playful look.

"Aw shucks." He said, chuckling. "Jaemin here to crash the party always."

"Partially." You replied. "I think he's not done with me though. Before I left, he asked for my number."

"He asked for your number— like, first? While you were leaving him?" Jaemin exclaimed, eyes wide with disbelief.

"Yep." You said.

"Did you give it to him?" He asked, leaning in like a gossipy teen.

"Nah. I don't think that's someone I should have access to at all times— for my own safety you know." You said, giggling. 

"You're so smart, that's why I love you so, so much." He said with a bright smile... before it faltered slightly.

"I'm not smart for not giving him my number. I'm just not dumb." You said, brushing off the moment.

He recovered with a quick grin. "Maybe you aren't as bright as I thought, because that is the same thing."

"Shut up." You laughed, nudging his shoulder. 

"Damn, I actually can't believe he did all this for you." Jaemin said, eyes wide again. "Nothing wrong with you of course, but he just— never acts that way with anyone. You might be his soulmate."

"Ew, shut up. Yes he's hot, but I could never imagine dating someone like him." You said, scrunching your nose.

"Good, because I doubt you're welcomed at any more parties after the double rejection you gave him." He said with a laugh.

"Didn't you say that the last time?" 

"Yeah, but I mean it this time. You rejected him like four times."

"Okay, enough Haechan talk." You set the now empty container aside and leaned back. "I appreciate everything, but you should get going to freshen up. Plus, I have class in like an hour."

"You're still going?" He asked, brows raising.

"Absolutely, I'd never miss class."

"Okay, well..." He rubbed the back of his neck, hesitant. "Do you think we can meet up for dinner later?"

You paused, your tone shifting gently. "I think I need to be alone right now. I also have a project due on Tuesday that I'm cramming for because I got a little lazy. Let's meet... maybe Wednesday?"

He nodded. "Sounds good." With one last smile he stood up, grabbing his hoodie off the chair and slipping it on.

══════════════════════════

It was finally Wednesday, after days of cramming, sleepless nights, you had just submitted your project and shut your laptop with a dramatic sigh of relief. You sprawled out on your bed for a moment, eyes fluttering closed, the weight of the past few days slowly lifting off your shoulders.

The front door creaked open and slammed shut again, followed by the familiar shuffle of sneakers on hardwood.

"Yo." He called out, stepping into your room with a plastic takeout bag in hand.

You propped yourself up on your elbows, noticing something was off immediately. His voice lacked its usual playful energy. No cheeky grin, no snarky comment about your workaholic tendencies, just... a weird kind of stillness in his tone.

"What's up?" You asked, brows furrowing slightly at his hesitance.

He rubbed the back of his neck, glancing down for a second before meeting your gaze again. "I need you to come to the party with me again."

You blinked, half in disbelief. "Again?" You let out a soft giggle, sitting up fully. "Weren't you the one who banned me from that place like... twice?"

"Yeah, I know." He said with a sigh, plopping down beside you on the bed and setting the takeout between you. "But you're the only one who can distract Haechan well it appears, and fuck, that girl is so—"

He stopped himself mid sentence, biting his tongue. You stared at him, your smile fading slightly. He was always joking— even when things were serious, but right now he looked more anxious than amused.

"Right." You said slowly, nodding as you studied his face. You didn't press it— whatever that girl meant, you could guess, and it wasn't your place to dig.

"So... will you?" He asked again, voice low.

You hesitated for a second before shrugging. "Yeah, sure. Whatever."

His shoulders relaxed, just a little, and the smallest hint of a smile broke through. "You're a lifesaver."

You reached into the takeout bag, pulling out your container with a soft smirk. "You owe me something good for this."

"Oh, I got you extra fries." He said quickly, handing the container toward you like it was a peace offering.

You rolled your eyes. "Bribery works I guess."

══════════════════════════

The party was already fill by the time you and Jaemin arrived per usual. As soon as you stepped inside, Jaemin melted into the crowd like a ghost.

You didn't even bother calling after him. You just sighed, brushing past a couple making out near the stairs as you made your way to the kitchen. You needed a drink.

The fridge was wide open, someone rummaging through it carelessly. You reached past them for a can of something and cracked it open, sipping without thinking.

"Is this gonna be a pattern?" A familiar voice teased from behind you.

You turned, already knowing who it was, of course.

There he stood, eyes on you like you were the only person in the room. His head tilted just slightly, like he was already amused.

You crossed your arms and let out a short sigh. "Is what a pattern?"

"You drinking without me." He said smoothly.

You shook your head, watching as he took a sip from his own cup. "You're drinking without me too, so I'm not sure that makes sense."

"Just casually." He grinned, his voice light. "Take a shot with me."

You eyed him for a second, then gave a small nod. He reached over to the counter, pouring two uneven shots, one for each of you.

You raised yours with a quiet "cheers" before knocking it back. The alcohol settled in your stomach, hot and quick.

"You know I'm not doing anything with you, right?" You said once the warmth hit your chest.

He raised a brow, grin widening. "Did I ask?"

You huffed a soft laugh, unable to hide the way your lips curved despite your better judgment and his smirk deepened like he won something.

"It's loud in here, come outside with me." He said, already reaching for the bottle again, refilling both your cups without waiting for an answer.

You hesitated, something in you buzzing—nerves or excitement, you weren't sure, but you nodded anyway.

Outside, the backyard was a complete contrast to the chaos inside. Quieter, almost peaceful. Blue and purple led lights in the pool, casting a neon glow in the water. The heat of the night clung to your skin, but the moment you dipped your feet into the cool pool, relief washed over you.

He sat beside you, pulling a pre rolled blunt from his pocket and lit it with a flick of a lighter. For a second, the flame highlighted his face, features softened by the glow.

"How are you?" He asked, voice quieter now. "How was your week?"

You turned to him, blinking. "You actually care? Wow, that's new."

"You're so negative." He said, exhaling smoke before offering it to you.

You stared at it for a moment, fingers twitching slightly. Then you took it, bringing it to your lips and inhaling slow. You held it for a second before letting it go with a sigh.

"I'm cautious." You murmured, passing it back.

"Mmm." He hummed, nodding, puffing again. 

"Why do you never disagree? Defend yourself when people say shit about you?" You questioned, turning to him. 

"Because it's true. I'm not afraid to admit it." He said, exhaling slowly. "But sometimes people talk and over exaggerate, make it seem like I'm just heartless. If they're scared and stay away, that's their problem. But if they know what they're getting into— or think they do, then why should I waste my energy proving them wrong? In my eyes, they're just as fucked up as me."

You were quiet for a moment, then nodded slightly in agreement. He passed the blunt again, and you took two more puffs in silence. It wasn't awkward, just still.

"So." You eventually said, eyes drifting to the lit up pool. "How do you have such a big house as a college student?"

"My parents." He replied, tone casual. "They pay for everything while they go prance around in different countries, leaving me and my siblings behind."

"Siblings?" You echoed, surprised. You knew he had a sister, but hadn't heard anything about more.

"Yep. A younger sister and brother." He said, taking another hit. "My sister's a junior, doesn't live with me, but I keep a guest room here for when she wants a break from her roommates."

"And your brother?"

"He's a sophomore, goes to college a few hours from here— said he wanted a fresh start. I still check in with him a few times a week. He's had his ups and downs, but he's a good kid."

"I get that." You said. "I went somewhere else freshman year too. Only stayed for a year before transferring back here this year."

"So you are a sophomore." He said, nodding. "I figured."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

He only shrugged, sipping his drink.

"What's your story?" He asked, glancing over. "Why'd you want a fresh start?"

"My mom died about two years ago." You said, the words escaping before you could filter them.

His face shifted. "Oh shit, I'm sorry."

"It's good." You said quickly, brushing it off. "It's actually kind of stupid, out of all the drugs, she died from weed. It was laced."

"Damn." He muttered. "Is that why you were so hesitant earlier?"

You nodded. "Yeah. People don't realize how terrifying it is, it's real."

"Fuck, now I feel like an asshole." He said, running a hand through his hair, a tired chuckle leaving his mouth as he put the blunt out.

"Don't." You told him. "You gotta grow up and not be scared sometimes. Plus, I can make my own decisions."

There was a pause before you added with a lazy smile, "I don't even know why I'm talking to you."

"What— because I'm 'evil'?" He teased, one brow rising.

You laughed. "No. Because you're a stranger."

He leaned back dramatically. "Wow, you kissed a stranger. What did you say? Whore."

"Oh, shut up." You rolled your eyes. "I guess you're not too much of a stranger."

"Exactly." He grinned. "But sometimes you just need someone to be there for you, stranger or not."

His eyes lingered on you now, more serious than before. "But... we don't have to stay strangers— I don't think we should."

You raised a brow.

"Just give me your number." He said, voice softer.

You squinted at him, half amused. "Is that what this was all about?"

"No." He said quickly, then paused. "I just... you're different and I'm curious about you."

"Curiosity." You said, rolling your eyes, a reluctant smile tugging at your lips.

"There's nothing wrong with that, is there?" He leaned a little closer. "We should just mess around, find out more about each other. You must be curious too?"

You stared at him for a second, lips pressing into a tight line. "I'm not."

"Ouch." He laughed, not entirely believing you, but to his credit, he didn't push.

You paused, then let out a sigh. "Fine, I'll give you my number."

His grin widened as he pulled his phone from his pocket and handed it to you.

"Thank you." He said genuinely.

"Maybe now we don't have to only talk to each other on Thursdays." You said, punching in your digits and handing it back.

"Mmm." He smiled, his gaze lingering on you.

As if on cue, your phone lit up with a text.

Jaemin [12:58 AM]:

"Let's go."

You looked up, Haechan already watching you.

"Well, I've got to go." You said, standing and brushing off your skirt.

"Is there a night where you're not gonna leave me?" He asked, smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he looked up at you.

"Mm... don't hold your breath." You smirked, waving before slipping back inside.

Jaemin was waiting by the door, hands in his pockets, a smile on his face.

"Well, well." He said as you approached. "What did you do tonight?"

"My job." You said with a giggle, eyes slightly hooded from the buzz in your system.

"Oh, you're high again?" His smile faded just a bit.

"Yeah, not a big deal." You said, casually hooking your arm around his like it was second nature.

"Right, and I can't even stay with you tonight."

"Why not?" You asked, looking up at him.

"Because you can't control yourself under the influence." He said bluntly.

"Wow, don't say that." You laughed. "I'm not even that fucked up, I could totally control myself."

"Right." He smirked. "But I probably can't."

"Yeah... maybe you shouldn't stay with me tonight then." You teased.

He let out a short laugh, shaking his head as the two of you disappeared into the night.

══════════════════════════

Saturday | 11:37 PM

You were curled up in bed, knees tucked beneath you, your laptop warming your thighs as the glow of the screen illuminated your face. The essay you've been chipping away at all day was only half done, and your focus was slipping fast. You already reread the same paragraph three times when your phone buzzed on the nightstand.

Unknown Number [11:37 PM]:

"Come over. Chill for a bit."

Your brow furrowed as you set your laptop aside and picked up the phone, thumb hovering over the screen.

You [11:37 PM]:

"Who is this?"

You already had a guess, but you weren't about to make it easy.

A few seconds passed.

Unknown Number [11:38 PM]:

"You know who it is."

You let out a quiet scoff, one corner of your mouth curling into a smirk, of course it was him.

You [11:39 PM]:

"Mmm, no I don't. So I guess that's a no."

Another pause, longer this time.

Unknown Number [11:40 PM]:

"Come over. Please."

Your thumb hovered again. You should've just gone back to your work, should've tossed your phone aside and shut the whole thing down. 

You [11:41 PM]:

"I seriously can't, busy rn."

Unknown Number [11:41 PM]:

"Bummer."

You stared at the message, your bedroom suddenly too quiet. The flicker of curiosity and something else sat in your chest.

You [11:42 PM]:

"You can come over later though. We could watch a movie or something."

His response was fast.

Unknown Number [11:42 PM]:

"Later? It's already 11."

You [11:43 PM]:

"Ok, then don't."

Silence. Then...

Unknown Number [11:44 PM]:

Send the address.

You hesitated, biting your lip for a minute too long. Then you dropped a pin and hit send.

1:27 AM

You opened the door, blinking against the cooler air spilling into the hallway. Haechan stood there, hair tousled, a six pack of drinks in one hand and a smirk pulling at his lips.

"Didn't think you'd actually send it." He said, stepping inside without waiting.

"Didn't think you'd actually come." You replied, locking the door behind him.

"We're just sitting in the living room." You said, already making your way towards the couch.

"Perfect." He said, slipping off his jacket and tossing it over the armrest as he followed.

You pulled up something half decent on Netflix, something neither of you would end up watching, and settled in. He handed you a drink, and you clinked your cans together quietly.

He was the first to speak.

"How've you been? Since Thursday." He asked, voice soft, watching you from the side.

You took a slow sip, eyes on the screen. "Busy. Regretting life decisions."

He chuckled, amused. "Yeah, which ones?"

"Letting you text me."

A grin tugged at his mouth as he leaned back, one arm draping lazily along the back of the couch. "You're the one who invited me, sweetheart."

"You begged."

"I don't beg."

You gave him a look. "You literally said please."

"I'm just a convincer." He shot back smoothly.

"Manipulator." You corrected with a smile.

He laughed again, reaching into his pocket. "Mind if I hit this?"

You glanced at the sleek cart between his fingers, then at the hallway.

"Even though my roommates aren't here, they're still strict about smoking in shared spaces." You said. "No vape, no carts— none of it."

He blinked, pausing. "Damn. I can go if—"

"No." You interrupted, standing. "We can go to my room."

His eyebrows arched in interest as he rose to follow.

Your room was dim and cozy, washed in soft fairy lights. You pushed the door closed behind him and leaned against it for a moment before crossing to the bed.

"This is cute." He said, looking around. "You always have a vibe."

"Try not to ruin it." You said, climbing onto the bed and settling into the pillows. He leaned against your desk, then raised the cart again and took a slow pull, the scent hitting your nose.

"You want?" He asked.

You rose from the bed, stepping toward him and plucked it from his fingers without breaking eye contact.

His brows lifted. "Woah."

You rolled your eyes. "Don't be selfish now."

He smirked, but his voice dropped just slightly as he teased, "What if it's laced?"

"Not funny." You said.

He held his hands up, surrendering, though his grin said he enjoyed every second.

You took a slow puff and handed it back.

"That's all I'm doing." You murmured.

But that wasn't true.

Time slipped, the air thickened, you kept passing it back and forth, voices growing lower, laughter softening.

At some point, you looked up and noticed he was still standing.

"You've been standing there whole time." You said, eyes a little glassy, lashes fluttering as you sat up straighter.

"Yeah, I know. Why?" He asked, inching closer.

"Just curious why you don't want to be near me." You said with a teasing shrug.

He stepped in front of you now, close enough that you could see the shift in his expression. "I'm near." He murmured.

"Not close enough." Your voice was soft but firm as you reached out, trailing your hands up his arm and guiding it onto your shoulder.

His fingers stayed, curling gently over your skin. His gaze dropped to your lips, then flicked back up.

"Don't look at me like that." He said, eyes low. 

"Like what?" You asked, guiding his arm again until his hand cupped your jaw.

"Like you want me to ruin the night."

His hand lingered against your cheek, the warmth of his palm spreading through your skin. Your breath hitched, fingers curling softly around his wrist.

You tugged him closer, his face now just inches from yours as he leaned over you, one hand settling on your thigh. "Maybe I do."

He closed the distance between you instantly, his lips crashing against yours with desperately. The hand that had been gently cupping your cheek slid to the back of your neck, fingers curling as he pulled you closer, deepening the kiss.

Your hands found the hem of his shirt, gripping it tightly as you tugged, urging him to shed the barrier between you. He broke the kiss just long enough to pull the shirt over his head, tossing it aside. His sweats hung low on his hips, revealing the sharp lines of his v-line.

He climbed fully onto the bed, hovering over you, claiming your lips in a heated, breathless kiss. His hands moved, tugging your shirt and pajama shorts off in one swift motion, never once breaking eye contact, the intensity in his gaze made your breath catch.

He leaned in again, capturing your lips in another kiss— wet and messy. As his mouth moved against yours, he nudged your legs apart with his own, his knee slipping between them, pressing softly against your heat.

His lips left yours only to travel down your neck, trailing gentle kisses that quickly turned rougher. He latched onto a sensitive spot just below your jaw, sucking hard enough to leave a mark. The sensation paired with the slow pressure of his knee drew soft moans from your lips. Your fingers found his hair, tangling in it as your hips shifted unconsciously in response.

"I don't have a condom." He murmured, his breath warm against your neck.

You were just about to leave it, but Jaemin's voice sounded in your head: "Don't let him fuck you raw." 

Without thinking, you reached over to your nightstand, fingers finding the familiar shape of a silver foil square that you got a few weeks back. You pressed it to his chest, your eyes meeting his.

He paused, a slow amused smile spreading across his lips. A soft chuckle escaped him. "Smart." He said under his breath.

He rose to his feet, pushing his sweats and boxers down in one fluid motion. Tearing the foil open with his teeth, discarding the wrapper carelessly onto the floor, then rolled the condom on with ease, his eyes never straying far from you.

He grabbed your legs with firm hands, dragging you to the edge of the bed, his gaze locked onto yours intensely. Without a word, he hooked his fingers into your underwear and yanked them down, leaving you bare beneath him.

He leaned in again, capturing your lips in another deep kiss. His mouth moved over yours, but as you pulled back your eyes shimmered.

"I haven't— this is my first time." You admitted, voice barely above a whisper, breathless and shaking.

For a moment everything stilled. His expression shifted, something flickering behind his eyes— part surprise, part fascination. 

"I'll try to be gentle." He said softly, his voice low and tight with restraint.

He stood, hands skimming down the length of your legs until they reached beneath your knees. He lifted them slowly, spreading you open softly.

He positioned himself between your legs, his body tense. He paused, eyes locked on yours for a moment, as if waiting for any sign of hesitation.

Then he pushed into you. The sting was sharp, and you gasped, your breath catching. He froze for a second, his forehead pressing lightly against yours.

"Breathe." He whispered, his voice rough. He gave you a moment, just enough to adjust before he asked, "Ok?"

You nodded, too breathless to say anything, but when you didn't pull away he pushed further, the pace picking up as he moved into you again, harder and deeper this time.

He gripped your legs tightly, forcing you open as he thrusted into you, his movements rougher now, more desperate. The initial sting quickly faded into a pulsing heat that had you gasping with every thrust, each push a little harder than the last.

"You feel so fucking good." He muttered, voice thick with desire. His hands tightened on your legs, and he slammed into you with more urgency, his pace picking up, rougher and less controlled. The air was thick with the sound of skin meeting skin, the room vibrating.

The tension in your body kept building, the pleasure mixing with the intensity of each thrust. His breath was uneven and shallow as he moved faster, harder, his grip tightening. There was no slowing down now.

"Fuck." He groaned, his movements becoming more erratic, less restrained. "So fucking perfect."

The care he showed earlier was gone. His pace didn't slow, only grew faster, more frantic. Each thrust hit deeper, more forceful, and you could feel every inch of him filling you completely. You clung to him, nails digging into his skin as he fucked into you without restraint.

The sounds of your bodies crashing together filled the air, a mix of moans, heavy breathing, and the wet, slick noise of each push. He didn't give you time to adjust, didn't pause to check in again. He just kept going, his grip tightening on your legs, forcing them open even wider as he moved harder.

The pleasure was building, overwhelming you, the pressure mounting with every thrust. Your body felt like it was on fire, heat pooling low in your stomach as his thrusts drove you closer to the edge.

"You like that, huh?" He groaned, his voice rough. His eyes flickered down to where you were joined, watching how he moved inside you. "You're so fucking tight."

You couldn't form words anymore, only moans escaping your lips as your hips instinctively moved against him, meeting each thrust, urging him deeper. Every motion felt like a jolt of electricity running through you, tightening your core, making everything spin.

His hand slid down from your legs, gripping your waist as he pulled you closer, driving into you with more force. The friction built, sending waves of pleasure crashing over you.

"God, I'm gonna make you cum." He grunted, his own pace stammering just slightly as his own release neared. "Hold on."

His hips snapped into yours recklessly, his movements growing more urgent. His grip on your waist tightened as he pounded into you, each thrust harder than the last, the sound of your skin meeting his filling the room.

"You feel fucking amazing." He whimpered, his voice strained, the force of his movements making your whole body shake beneath him.

He cursed under his breath as your nails scraped down his back, and with one last, brutal thrust, you felt everything snap—your body tensing, your legs trembling as the pressure exploded inside you. A loud, breathless moan escaped your lips as your orgasm ripped through you, your whole body convulsing around him.

He didn't stop though, didn't give you a second to breathe. His thrusts only grew more erratic, chasing his own release as you clenched around him, each movement pushing him closer to the edge.

"Fuck, yes." He groaned, his eyes locked onto yours as he slammed into you again. 

"I'm there..." He buried his face into your neck, movements sloppy as he finally came, his body shaking as he released with a low groan.

He collapsed against you, his body still trembling, his breath coming in ragged gasps. For a moment neither of you moved, lying there tangled together, trying to catch your breath. His head rested on your shoulder, his chest rising and falling against yours. The tension in his muscles slowly started to melt away, and you felt the steady rhythm of his heart begin to slow.

He shifted slightly, pulling back just enough to look at you, his gaze softer now. His fingers traced the curve of your cheek, brushing away a strand of hair.

"Are you okay?" He asked, his voice quieter now.

You nodded, unable to find the words just yet. He gave a small smile. "I didn't mean to... push too hard."

You shook your head, pressing your palm to his chest. "It was... good." You whispered, your voice still shaky, but calm now.

"Good." He murmured again.

══════════════════════════

The day after – 1:18 PM

You woke up to loud, insistent banging on your door.

You blinked your eyes open, lashes heavy with sleep, your body sore and aching in ways that immediately brought back hazy memories of the night before. You reached for your phone on the nightstand, and the screen lit up— four unread messages, all from Jaemin.

Jaemin [12:38 PM]:

"u want chicken tenders or a burger?"

Jaemin [12:44 PM]: 

"Hello? I need u to hurry I'm in line."

Jaemin [12:57 PM]:

"Just got chicken tenders u took too long, otw."

Jaemin [1:17 PM]:

"Dude, open the door wtf?"

Your stomach dropped... shit.

It was Sunday, your Sunday. Movies and lunch with Jaemin, your thing since middle school, the one routine neither of you ever skipped and was always on time for.

You sat up too quickly and instantly regretted it. A sharp pulse radiated through your thighs, your knees folded slightly beneath you as you stood. You hissed through your teeth, muttering a quiet curse. The soreness, the silence in the room, the disheveled sheets tangled behind you and...

No Haechan, not a trace.

You probably weren't going to hear from him again. If anything, he'd gotten exactly what he wanted and maybe... so had you.

You slipped into the first pair of underwear you could find, pulling on an oversized t-shirt and not even checking the mirror. You couldn't be bothered. Your body felt heavier than usual, limbs slow, mind foggy.

You stumbled to the door, fingers fumbling over the lock before it clicked open. Jaemin stood there with a takeout bag in one hand and annoyance on his face. "Where the fuck—" He froze. 

His expression shifted fast, first frustration then concern as his eyes scanned your face, your hair, the obvious haze of sleep in your eyes. "Are you okay?"

You nodded once, voice scratchy. "Yeah. Just... come in."

You turned around, not realizing how stiffly you were walking until you heard his voice again behind you.

"You're walking weird."

You glanced over your shoulder, trying to play it off. "I just woke up, Jaem."

But his brows drew together, and he followed you with quiet suspicion. He spun once in your desk chair before planting his feet and letting his eyes roam, and stopped.

You didn't notice at first, but his gaze lingered just a little too long on your neck.

"Those weren't there last time I saw you." He said. 

You forced a small laugh, brushing your hair back casually. "What, you keeping track now?"

"It's hard not to when it looks like someone marked you up like a vampire." He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes.

You turned away, cheeks flushing, but you stayed silent.

He held up the takeout bag. "I got you food, don't know if you saw my text."

"I didn't." You said, hovering at the edge of your bed. "But thanks, I'm starving."

He smiled for real this time, but just as he reached to hand you the bag something on the floor caught his attention.

His hand froze mid air. He bent slightly, reaching down beside your nightstand. A second later, you watched his fingers close around a small, crinkled square of foil.

An empty condom wrapper.

He stared at it, his jaw twitching once before he tossed it into the trash without another word.

The air in the room changed instantly. You stood still, frozen as he looked at you.

You tried to lighten the mood, your voice forced. "The one you gave me, remember?"

But he didn't smile, didn't even blink. His voice dropped, almost too calm. "Did you...?"

You hesitated, then sighed. "Yeah. Last night."

He blinked once, and then again. He opened his mouth, but for a second, no sound came out. "Thought you were saving yourself."

You gave a slight shrug, arms folding across your chest. "Guess I changed my mind."

Another moment of silence. He tilted his head slightly, a ghost of a smile on his lips now, confused. "Who was the lucky guy?"

You hesitated, biting your bottom lip.

His eyes narrowed before he scoffed. "I know that face... no way."

Still, you said nothing.

He let out a short, stunned laugh, humorless. "No fucking way." Jaemin stood up, the desk chair creaking loudly behind him.

You met his gaze, heart thudding. "Jaem—"

"You let him?" His voice rose, disbelief mixed with something else— hurt, maybe. "Out of all people, him? Seriously? What, he texted you 'come over' and you just—fucking hell Y/n."

"It wasn't like that." You murmured.

"You ghost me for hours, you never miss our Sundays. I show up and you're sore and covered in hickeys—"

"I was asleep, Jaemin."

He scoffed. "Name one time you've ever slept past noon this year?"

You stayed silent.

"Exactly."

"I didn't plan for it to happen." You said quietly.

"That's the problem... he did!" He snapped. "I didn't think you were so easy. What, he called you pretty and that's enough for you to spread your legs?"

"No, I—"

"What, you've known this guy for like a month? You knew he just wanted to use you and you went along with it?"

"I was okay with that! That's what I wanted."

"You were okay being used for sex by some guy you barely even know?"

"No, not like that—"

"So then what? Because to me, it sounds like you're just a desperate slut."

You blinked. That word hit harder than you expected.

"Oh, I'm a slut?" Your voice was sharp now. "One body and I'm a slut, yet you dance around fucking anything with a pulse. You're disgusting... and easy."

"I'm disgusting and easy?" He snapped. "You let a senior fuckboy you don't even know take your virginity. It's actually sickening."

You stepped toward him, jaw clenched. "Would it have been sickening if it was you?"

Silence. His face froze, jaw locked as his eyes flickered, and he didn't say a word.

You let out a breath. "If you're so disgusted, then leave. First of all, it's none of your business who I sleep with— I don't stick my nose into yours. You've fucked girls I can't stand, and I never made it everyone's problem."

Your voice rose now. "You're my best friend— not my parent, not my boyfriend, and definitely not my mentor. So if you came here to judge me on every move I make, then you can go fuck yourself."

"Excuse me for being the only one that fucking cares about you."

You opened your mouth, but he was already tossing the takeout bag onto your bed with more force than necessary.

"Here." He muttered. "Since he couldn't even feed you."

Then he turned and the door slammed behind him.

The silence that followed felt like a vacuum, like the air had been sucked out of the room the moment the door slammed shut.

You stood there, unmoving, arms still crossed tightly around yourself. Your chest rose and fell a little too fast, like your body hadn't caught up to your brain yet.

"Desperate slut."

You could still hear it. Loud in the quiet and it hurt. God, it fucking hurt.

You sank down slowly to the edge of the bed, staring blankly at the takeout bag he'd thrown toward you. You let out a shaky breath and dropped your head into your hands.

He'd looked so angry, so betrayed, like you done something personally to him. But he wasn't your boyfriend, he never was, he never wanted to be.

So why did he get to act like this? Why did it feel like you were the one who done something wrong? You hadn't expected Haechan to stay. You hadn't expected Jaemin to explode and yet here you were, alone.

He was supposed to be your best friend.

But best friends didn't call you disgusting. Best friends didn't throw insults in your face and storm out. Best friends didn't look at you like you were less for doing something you had every right to do.

You didn't even realize you were crying until the tears hit your thighs. Silent, hot, and angry.

You swiped at them roughly, jaw tightening.

He didn't get to reduce you like that. He didn't get to decide what your choices meant, and he definitely didn't get to pretend like he was some kind of savior when all he'd ever done was hover just close enough to make you want more and then pull away every time you reached.

Some part of you still wanted him to come back. Still wanted him to knock again, to take it all back and say he was sorry.

But another part of you was done waiting on Jaemin to treat you like you mattered only when it was convenient for him. Because you didn't regret what happened.

Not the choice, not the experience, not even the consequences.

You only regretted giving someone like Jaemin the power to make you feel small.

══════════════════════════

[haebo]

b*tches be like “i love emo boys” and its just istj era haechan.

[honey-hyuckle]

Me

[feellikecinderellanaegabyeonhae1]

mark should learn from vernon’s shirts instead of wearing some “vintage” thing

[im4rmy]

NCT DREAM, soulmate AU, book 1

«Wěn» Park Jisung

TW: violence, drugs, death, sex, trauma, child abusing, depression.

GENRE: criminal AU, gang AU, soulmate AU, strangers to lovers, book 1/5.

Jisung and Chaerin didn’t care for soulmates—adrenaline was their lifelong companion. But their love for risk wasn’t the only thing worth dying for.

"And what are you afraid of? There must be something you fear losing, or else you'd just be a madman with a gun."

吻

Having a soulmate was crucial for members of a criminal gang, as they served as an inexhaustible elixir of healing. That’s why NCT devoted much of their energy to finding their partners. Only a few of the 17 members had met their other half.

Some weren’t even remotely ready to find them.

Chapters:

00. 吻 «Wěn»

01. say it, beanstalk

02. NCT D is yours

☆03. of course i'm into girls

04. what's his name again?

☆06. you don't have enough boobs for that

07. YOU KNOW THIS TALL GUY?

08. you scare me

☆09. finally you shut the fu*k up

10. i do have abs

11. your father hates me

12. i can't breathe

☆13. you were creepy, but happy

14. i'm in charge now

15. let's go home

16. i'll be fine

BONUS SCENE. you wish, bitch

BONUS SCENE 2. i know

soulmate AU index of books

masterlist

[withlovemark]

pairing: na jaemin x reader, slight! lee jeno x reader | genre: slice of life | words: 20k+

synopsis -> ruin the friendship - taylor swift

playlist -> orange.

warnings: angst!!! guaranteed to rip your heart out. use of nickname: tiger, will they, won’t they? jealousy, misunderstandings, terminal illness (not specified bcs i didn’t want inaccuracies and tbh i was too lazy to research — call it lazy writing but the fact that i even finished this at all is enough for me), character death!, grief, grab the tissues.

an: i cried my eyes out writing this. i know angst is not my general audience’s cup of tea but i hope you give this one a chance. as sad as it is, writing it was really fun. very very much inspired by love, rosie but…worse. orange - c.

jaemin is the warmth in my coffee cup

that’s how it starts. 

the story, the memory — whatever this is. 

if someone asked you to describe him, you’d probably say that. 

he is the warmth you reach for in the morning. the kind of warmth that doesn’t burn, just seeps in slowly, gently, until you don’t realize how cold you used to be. 

he is the comfort held in both palms, the chipped mug you never replace because it has learned the shape of you. a sweetness waiting at the bottom, surprising you just when you think the moment has ended. 

he is the calm in the noise, the weekends between weekdays. the reason the air feels lighter, the reason you exhale without thinking. 

he is laughter that finds you on the brink of tears, bubbling up like a secret spring. he is late night drives with windows cracked open to a sky that listens, the kind of company that doesn’t need words to fill the quiet. 

with him, life feels less like surviving and more like living. 

he is home in a heartbeat. that instant sense of belonging, of safety. the kind of home that isn’t built of walls but of glances, of small smiles, of hands brushing in passing.

and if you’re honest, you can’t remember a time before him. because once someone like jaemin crashes into your life, the world before him feels black and white. 

and he — 

he is orange. 

the tender blush of dawn across a kitchen floor, the first sip of sunlight through curtains,  the shade of hope you didn’t realize you were allowed to keep. 

yes. if someone asked you to describe him, that’s what you’d say. 

year i. freshman year - eight years ago.

you were running late.

the kind of late where every sound feels louder, every hallway longer and every second heavier than the one before. your arms were full of books, hair rebelling whatever attempt you’d made that morning to tame it, shoelaces barely knotted, flapping with each frantic step.

the universe, it seemed, had chosen you as its punchline that day. 

you rounded the corner too quickly — 

and crashed. 

a collision. sudden, sharp, inevitable. 

the impact should’ve sent you sprawling, your books should have flown, pages fluttering ike startled birds, your knees should have burned, your pride should have splintered on the polished floor. 

you braced for it. ready to hit the ground. ready for the blow, the embarrassment, the inevitable chorus of laughter. 

but the fall…never came. 

instead, a hand caught you.

a steady arm slipped around your back, halting the world in one smooth motion. and then — warmth. not from him. not at first. but from the coffee seeping between you, dark and staining across both uniforms like an unspoken truce. 

both of you stilled. a held breath suspended between two strangers.

you looked up, ready to apologize, to spill every flustered syllable that tripped over your tongue — and then you met his eyes. soft. brown. steady. like someone had melted sunlight into them.

your apology curled in your throat, unspoken. 

then…he laughed. not mocking. not sharp with annoyance or frustration. but something light, unbothered. the kind of laugh that makes the edges of a day soften. 

“you look like a tiger,” he said, eyes glinting with amusement. 

you blinked, cheeks blooming with embarrassment, “excuse me?”

“fierce,” he clarified, smile growing as if it had been waiting for this moment, “chaotic. cute. and ready to pounce.”

you stared, caught somewhere between offense and confusion, “you don’t even know me.”

his smile shifted, gentler, “yet.”

just one word. small. but somehow it opened a door neither of you had noticed until then.

and that was it. 

the beginning.

you didn’t recognize it at the time – how coffee-stained fabric and a laugh you weren’t prepared for would thread itself through the years that followed. 

how a silly nickname would echo in your memory long after the stain faded from the uniform. how a moment you wished you could redo would become the moment you’d never trade. 

the beginning of something you had no language for then — something tender, something inevitable. 

the beginning of you and him. 

the beginning of  na jaemin. 

and maybe the universe wasn’t conspiring against you. maybe, just this once, it was holding your shoulders, turning you around and nudging you toward exactly where you needed to be. 

year ii. sophomore year. seven years ago.

by the time sophomore year rolled around, jaemin had become the constant in your life — your chaos and your calm. 

he was the first person you looked for in a crowded hallway and the last voice you heard before you fell asleep. he’d grown into your rhythm, somehow —harmless at first, comforting later, and before you realized it…essential. 

inside jokes were traded in whispers between classes, half-stolen lunches shared on stairwells, the quiet of his presence settling beside you when words felt too heavy to cary. 

he was home, even when everything else felt temporary.

it happened during P.E. — the pacer test, of all things. 

the gym smelled like sweat and echoing sneakers, the sound of the beeping machine bouncing off the walls, followed by the most cursed piece of background music ever made sounding something between the gates of hell and a funeral song for teenagers’ dignity. everyone was groaning by the seventh round — except jaemin. grinning from ear to ear, determined to keep pace with mark, chenle and jeno like he was training for the olympics instead of surviving tenth-grade gym class. his hair stuck to his forehead, his cheeks flushed pink and still he kept going. 

“jaem, you’re gonna overdo it!” you called, half-laughing, half serious, because you’d learned to read him by then. you knew when the spark in his eyes meant something more fragile beneath. 

“relax, tiger,” he threw back between breaths, chin lifted like a challenge to the universe, “i’ve got this.”

spoiler alert: he did not. 

one second, he was sprinting. the next — he wasn’t.

you saw it happen in slow motion. his foot faltering, the sound of sneakers squeaking against the gym floor, then the sickening sound of his body collapsing across the glossy floor. for a moment everything went silent. the beeps stopped. the laughter stopped. everything stopped. 

and you — you were already running.

“jaemin!”

his name ripped out of your throat before you even knew you were moving. the world blurred around you — shouts, gasps, the teacher calling for help. but all you saw was him. you hit your knees on the floor beside him, hands shaking as you reached for his face. his skin was cold, clammy, pale. his lashes fluttered once, then stilled. 

“jaem, hey–come on, this isn’t funny–wake up,” you whispered, voice trembling. you could feel the shallow rise and fall of his chest beneath your palm but it wasn’t enough. it wasn’t steady. 

you followed as they carried him down the echoing hallway, past wide-eyed classmates and through the doors that led to the nurse’s office. your legs felt numb, your hands wouldn’t stop trembling but you kept close. you sat beside him while they checked his pulse, took his temperature, placed a cool cloth on his forehead. you didn’t move. you couldn’t move. 

the nurse asked you to return to class, twice, but you only shook your head, “i’m not leaving him.”

so you stayed. hands clenched around the sleeve of his jacket like it was th only thing keeping you grounded. the bright lights blurred your vision. the smell of antiseptic stung your nose. yet you counted each rise of his chest, matched your breathing to his as if you could keep him tethered just by being there. minutes stretched and the clock ticked too loudly, like it mocked your heartbeat.

when his lashes fluttered — brown eyes blinking open, hazy, confused — your relief came all at once, crushing your ribs from the inside. and then, you were scolding him. 

“idiot,” you whispered, tears burning your throat, “you scared the hell out of me.”

he gave a weak smile, finger brushing yours, a touch so gentle you could’ve mistaken it for a dream, “sorry, tiger,” he rasped.

you didn’t smile back. fear still clung to you, stubborn and shaking.

“don’t tiger me,” you muttered, arms  crossing in defense of the ache in your chest, “you collapsed, jaemin. you—god, what were you thinking?”

he chuckled softly, wincing as he tried to sit up and you immediately pressed a hand to his shoulder, pinning him gently to the pillow. 

“hey,” he murmured, his voice small now, “it’s fine. it’s just…my heart.”

your anger faltered, “your heart?”

he hesitated, exhaling slowly, eyes drifting toward the ceiling. then, quietly, he said, “it’s always been kind of…weak, i guess.”

you blinked, “what do you mean?”

“ever since i was a kid,” he starts, “i used to get tired really easily. mom used to keep me inside when the other kids played outside. said my heart couldn’t take too much,” he laughed faintly, like he’d practiced making it sound small, like he’d learned early how to minimize his pain so others wouldn’t carry it.

for a moment, you didn’t know what to say. because now you understood – the caution in his mother’s lingering glances, the way he pushed himself too hard, too often, as if trying to outrun the body that betrayed him, watching others live louder because he couldn’t. 

so you said the first thing that came to mind – soft but certain. a promise.

“guess i’ll just have to be stronger for the both of us.”

his head turned toward you, eyes wide, and then…he smiled. not the teasing grin he always wore, not the mischievous spark that came before a sarcastic remark, but something gentler. something real. 

that was the moment. 

the moment jaemin’s heart stuttered for a completely different reason. because you were sitting there with your messy hair and your trembling hands, still refusing to leave him, still looking at him like that. like you were holding all the warmth in the world and offering it to him without hesitation. 

and for the first time, he wasn’t afraid of how weak his heart was because he knew exactly what, or who, had stolen its rhythm. 

year iii. junior year. six years ago. 

prom night. 

the night was supposed to feel like magic — all glitter and promises and slow dances under neon lights. but instead, you were standing outside the gymnasium, dress wrinkled, plastering fake smiles while your heart was sitting somewhere heavy and quiet in your chest. 

your date, lee haechan, had stood you up. no call. no text. just silence and the faint humiliation of watching everyone else arrive hand-in-hand while you stood alone under the flickering hallway light, pretending it didn’t sting.

you were seconds away from leaving. from slipping out the side doors, ditching the glitter and noise and disappointment — when you heard his voice. 

“there you are, tiger.” 

you turned. jaemin was standing there in a black suit and a crooked tie, his hair a little messier than usual, a shy, hesitant smile tugging at his lips like he wasn’t sure he was supposed to find you here. his eyes scanned your face, then the empty space beside you, “you look like you could use a dance.”

you laughed weakly, a sound caught somewhere between relief and heartbreak, “go back to your date, jaemin.”

“eh,” he shrugged, “she’s having a lot of fun with jeno.” 

then he held out his hand — palm open, waiting. 

“come on,” he said softly, his tone threaded with warmth, “you’re not getting away that easily.”

you hesitated, your breath trembling as you looked at him – at the boy who was your safe space. then, slowly, you placed your hand in his. he pulled you up gently, the movement natural, careful. 

his eyes flickered briefly to your wrist, where a corsage should’ve been. you saw the way his expression changed. the way his smile faltered just a little before he wrapped his arms around you, tight and certain, holding you close enough for your head to rest against his shoulder. 

you didn’t need to tell him what happened. he didn’t ask. he just held you. and that was more than enough. 

the noise of the gym bled through the walls — muffled laughter, bass trembling through the floorboards but in that small space between you, everything was still. 

you pulled away first, blinking fast, trying to keep your tears at bay. and then he was reaching into his pocket, “wasn’t sure what color your dress was gonna be,” he said quietly, holding something out between you, “but i took a guess.”

an orange corsage. peonies. 

it wasn’t perfect — a little wilted, petals slightly bruised from being shoved into his jacket, but it was beautiful. because it was him. and it matched your cream colored dress perfectly.

you stared at it, throat tight, “jaem, you didn’t have to–”

but he was already slipping it gently around your wrist, his fingers brushing your skin just long enough to make your heart stutter. he smiled, that soft, boyish kind of smile that could undo you in a heartbeat, “can’t have you going to prom without one, tiger.”

you looked up at him then. the boy who always showed up when no one else did, who always knew when to be gentle and when to make you laugh. and for the first time that night, you smiled.

he smiled back. that quiet, unspoken kind that reached his eyes. then, with your corsage now circling your wrist and your fingers tangled with his, he led you inside. 

the gym was a blur of cheap lights and pastel balloons. the air smelled faintly of floor wax and vanilla body spray. the shiny wooden floor squeaked under your heels as the dj switched songs without rhythm or mercy. the disco ball hanging overhead spun lazily, scattering fractured light that somehow made everything look cheaper but somehow, softer too. 

it shouldn’t have felt special. but with jaemin beside you, it did. 

you danced like idiots at first, laughing through songs that didn’t deserve slow movements — songs that were too loud, too fast, too 2000s. he dipped you dramatically to baby, spun you off-beat to teenage dream, almost tripping over someone’s forgotten purse, both of you laughing so hard your sides hurt. and when the dj, in all his questionable wisdom, played candy shop by 50 cent, you both just froze. then, in perfect unison, both of your burst out laughing.

“no way,” you said, your hand pressed to your mouth.

“this is so romantic,” jaemin said with mock seriousness, straightening his tie like he wasn’t seconds from cracking up.

you shoved his shoulder, bubbles of laughter pouring out of you. 

“slow dance with me, tiger.”

and so you did. you slow danced beneath that ridiculous disco ball, to a song that made no sense for the moment, to a rhythm that wasn’t really there. his hand found your waist, yours found his shoulder, and despite everything — the cheap lighting, the sweaty gym, the noise — it felt perfect. 

it shouldn’t have worked. but it did. 

you looked up at him, the lights flickering gold in his eyes and for a moment, the world fell quiet. 

he smelled faintly of citrus and fabric softener – clean, familiar. safe. his thumb brushed against your hip, slow and absentminded, like he didn’t even realize he was doing it. you could feel your pulse everywhere, loud and nervous. maybe it was the music, or the warmth, or the ache of wanting something you didn’t understand yet, but your heart stumbled as he leaned in. 

just a little closer.

your breath caught. 

the laughter, the lights, the chaos — all of it blurred until there was only him. 

for a heartbeat, you could see it — the maybe of it all. 

the what if. 

the almost. 

and then—

“I’LL TAKE YOU TO THE CANDY SHOP!”

chenle’s ridiculous voice shattered the air, breaking whatever fragile spell had been holding you both still. he jumped between you, completely oblivious, grabbing one of your hands and one of jaemin’s swinging them wildly. before you could react, mark and jeno joined in, laughing, shouting, turning the moment into a clumsy group dance that had no rhythm, no grace and entirely too much noise. 

you laughed too, a little too hard, a little too fast, like laughter could undo what almost happened. like if you laughed enough, maybe your heart would stop racing. 

jaemin laughed with you, but when your eyes met through the blur of spinning friends and terrible music, his expression softened.

just for a second.

it was that look, tender and fleeting, the kind that said maybe someday. 

but not tonight. 

the rest of the night was full of laughter and cheap music and friends who didn’t know they’d interrupted something fragile. and later, when you looked back, you’d remember that fleeting second before the noise returned — when the world had gone still and his eyes were all you could see. 

year iv. senior year. five years ago. 

the end was coming. 

you could feel it in the air, thick and heavy, like the quiet before a storm. it clung to the walls of the school, to the murmurs between classes, to the glances you shared with friends who all pretended not to be terrified. it was in the way teachers started speaking softer, in how every conversation seemed to circle back to the future, in how laughter in the hallways carried an edge of goodbye. 

everyone was talking about college, about plans, about leaving. and even when you smiled and nodded along, your chest felt tight, like there was a clock ticking somewhere inside you, one only you could hear. 

the pressure came in waves – the weight of choices, the blur of expectations, the whisper that everything you knew – the laughter, the classrooms, the crowded hallways, him — was all about to change. 

you woke up tired, no matter how much you slept. the ache behind your eyes pulsed quietly, steady as a heartbeat and your body felt heavier with each passing day. the exhaustion, the nerves, the endless current of what now and what if wrapped around you until it was hard to breathe.

you brushed it off, the way you brushed off most things. everyone’s tired. everyone’s anxious. everyone’s body complained sometimes. 

so you pushed through the tiredness, forced laughter into your voice and yourself to hold on until graduation. just a few more months, you thought. then everything would feel lighter. then the weight in your chest would fade. 

by then, you’d know what path to take. what college to go to. 

by then, you would accept that change was inevitable. 

by then, it would all be a little clearer. 

but right now….

right now….

you broke. 

the room was quiet except for the sound of rain against your window, a soft steady rhythm that filled the spaces between your shallow breaths. you were sitting cross-legged on your bed, textbooks and crumpled notes scattered like wreckage around you, the glow from your desk lamp flickering faintly against the walls. 

your hands were pressed against your temples, eyes burning, chest tight. you didn’t even realize you were crying until the tears began to blur the words on the page in front of you. 

you didn’t want to call anyone. didn’t want to explain. you just wanted the noise — in your head, in your heart – to stop. 

then came the soft knock. 

“tiger?”

his voice. gentle. familiar. you forgot he was coming over today to help you study for literature. you tried your best to wipe the tears away before he could see. but it didn’t matter. jaemin took one look at you — your red eyes, trembling hands, the exhaustion carved into your face and his expression softened instantly. he crossed the room in three steps and sat beside you on the bed. he didn’t ask what’s wrong, didn’t push. just waited. quietly. 

your voice came out small, shaking, “i can’t do it jaem,” you were barely whispering, “everyone’s talking about the future and i don’t even know what i want. i feel like—like i’m falling behind, like there’s this clock ticking inside me and i can’t keep up.”

the words came out in pieces, scattered, uneven, raw. all the things you’d been holding in. the pressure, the fear, the loneliness. and when you couldn’t speak anymore, you just cried. quiet, helpless tears that soaked through his shirt as your buried your face in his chest. 

jaemin didn’t try to fix it. he just wrapped his arms around you, one hand gently threading through your hair, the other tracing slow, steady circles across your back.

“i’m scared,” you whispered into him, “i don’t want everything to change.”

he sighed softly, his chin resting on your head, “hey,” he murmured, voice low and steady, “it’s okay to be scared.”

“it doesn’t feel okay.”

“i know,” his words were a hum against your skin. calm. unshakable, “but we’ll figure it out. like we always do.”

you lifted your head slightly, eyes glassy, “you promise?”

he smiled, small and sure, “i promise.”

for a long time, neither of you spoke. the rain kept tapping at your window, your breathing finally slowing, syncing with his. his heartbeat was steady against your ear, grounding and constant. and somewhere in that stillness — that fragile kind of peace that only existed when it was the two of you — you found a new kind of quiet.

“let’s have a word,” you murmured, voice thick from crying, “something that means…no matter how many things change, i’m here for you.”

he was quiet for a second, thinking. then, softly, he said, “orange.”

you sniffled, blinking, “orange?”

“yeah,” his voice was gentle, a faint smile curving his lips, “it’s warm. and bright. and kind of messy. like us.”

you let out a shaky laugh, the smallest hint of smile tugging at your mouth, “okay. orange.”

he brushed a strand of hair away from your face, his thumb lingering just long enough to make your heart ache.

“orange.” he repeated. 

it became your word — the one that didn’t need explanation. whenever the world felt too loud, or life too heavy, or silence too long, orange meant i’ve got you.

it meant you’re not alone. 

it meant i love you, even if neither of you said it out loud. 

you fell asleep like that — your breath finally even, your body relaxing against him. jaemin stayed still, not daring to move. he watched the way your lashes brushed your cheeks, the faint furrow between your brows slowly fading as sleep found you. you looked so peaceful, so calm. like the storm that had been living inside you had finally gone quiet. his heart ached in that sweet, unbearable way — full of everything he wanted to say but couldn’t. 

he brushed his thumb lightly over your wrist, right where your pulse fluttered and whispered into the quiet, “orange, tiger.”

it almost slipped out then — the other thing. the heavier truth sitting on the edge of his tongue. 

but you were asleep. 

so he smiled softly, his hand resting over yours and thought —

it can wait a little longer. 

year v. the summer before college. four years ago. 

it was the perfect summer. one last breath before the real world began. before dorm rooms and degrees and distance. before everyone scattered. 

you told yourself it was just a trip to the beach. just five friends. one car. and too many playlists. but deep down, you knew it was a goodbye wearing a prettier name. 

the air was thick with salt and sunlight as the car tore down the coastal highway, windows down, wind catching your hair. jaemin sat in the passenger seat with his arm dangling out the window, sunglasses reflecting the blue horizon. chenle was on your left, a bag of chips in hand, enjoying the summer air. mark sat to your right, flipping through the playlist, insisting on finding the perfect song for the drive. and jeno — steady, calm, unshakable, jeno — had one hand on the wheel, humming softly to the song playing. 

it should have felt simple. it should have felt like any other road trip. the kind that would end with photos and laughter and sand still stuck in your shoes weeks later. but your chest was heavy. 

because just yesterday, everything had changed. 

the doctor’s office had smelled like disinfectant and rain — clean, sterile, unfeeling. you remembered nodding, smiling, thanking them for their time like it was some kind of meeting you were late for. 

the word terminal sat quietly in the corner of your mind, heavy and patient, waiting for you to stop pretending you didn’t hear it. but you didn’t stop pretending. not today. not in this car. not with them laughing beside you, singing badly to old songs and taking turns to stick their heads out the window like overgrown children. 

you weren’t going to ruin this. 

you weren’t going to let the end make its way into something that still felt like forever. 

the airbnb was small but warm. the kind of place that smalled like salt, sunscreen and cheap detergent. the walls were off-white and peeling in places, the furniture mismatched, but no one cared. 

jeno was the first to claim a room, quietly slipping inside. mark began strumming his guitar almost instantly. jaemin filmed snippets on his camera — the view from the balcony, your laugh in the background — his voice teasing you from behind the lens. chenle wandered through the small kitchen, quietly checking if there was enough food for everyone.

you smiled, half-present, half-somewhere else. 

by sunset, the five of you were gathered on the beach, the sky bleeding orange into pink. the bonfire crackled softly, shadows dancing across your faces as the tide whispered against the shore. 

it felt almost cinematic — five teenagers caught in a perfect snapshot of time. all pretending they weren’t growing up too fast. mark strummed his guitar lazily, the melody sure and warm. chenle sat beside him, humming along, his voice soft, carried away by the ocean breeze. the scent of salt and smoke wrapped around everything, clinging to your clothes, your hair, your memory.

“so,” jeno said, grinning, “what’s everyone’s plan after this summer?”

chenle perked up immediately, marshmallow stick in hand, “mark and i got into the same music program!,” he said beaming, “i’m gonna sing, he’s gonna write the songs. we’re gonna be famous, you’ll see.”

mark laughed in the middle of strumming his guitar, shaking his head, “yeah, right. we’ll be broke artists eating ramen in a shoebox apartment, but sure, famous.”

chenle gasped dramatically, tossing a marshmallow at him, “optimism, hyung!”

everyone laughed — even jaemin, who was poking at the fire with a stick, his face glowing orange in the light. the sound was soft and fleeting, carried away by the waves before you could hold onto it.

when the laughter died down jaemin’s voice slipped through the quiet, calm and sure, “i got into a program overseas, english literature.”

it wasn’t a surprise to you. you’d been there for every step of it — every late-night draft, every half-crumpled essay, every version of his personal statement that he swore he hated until you convinced him otherwise. you’d sat beside him in cafés, coaxing him through his panic when he said he wasn’t good enough, when he said there were a thousand better writers than him. you’d stayed up with him the night he hit submit, both of you wide-eyed and giddy, a little scared but full of hope.

you remembered the morning the acceptance email came — how he’d burst into your room, his hair a mess, phone in hand, shouting your name like he’d just been given the universe. how you’d cried harder than he did, throwing your arms around him, the two of you laughing through the tears.

you’d cried again later, but for a different reason — happy, because he was finally going to chase the thing that made him light up in a way few things did. sad, because he was going to do it without you. you’d spent days pretending you were fine, telling him how proud you were, how excited. you meant it, you did, but the truth sat quietly beneath all that joy, heavy and secret.

and now, sitting there on the sand, with the fire painting him in gold and shadow, it hit you all over again. this was real. he was really leaving. but the ache in your chest felt different this time.

you looked at him — the curve of his smile, the way the flames flickered in his eyes — and instead of sadness, you felt something close to relief.

relief that he figured it out. relief that he was going somewhere better, somewhere full of stories and chances and tomorrows. relief that he didn’t have to stay here long enough to see what was coming for you.

he didn’t have to watch you fade.

jeno turned toward him, surprised, “overseas?”

jaemin nodded, a faint smile tugging at his lips, “yeah, i figured…i’ve always wanted to write. maybe it’s time i tried.”

chenle smile, soft and fond, “that’s really cool, hyung. what’s next, jeno starting a company and becoming a ceo?”

jeno chuckled from where he sat across from you, leaning back on his hands, “i actually am staying here. got accepted for a business course. my parents want me to help with the family stuff eventually.”

“classic,” mark said with a grin, nudging him lightly with his foot, “the responsible one never leaves.”

then, all eyes turned to you. 

you hesitated, fingers tugging at the end of your sleeve, the firelight flickering against your face, “i’m… not going anywhere,” you said, your voice smaller than you intended.

chenle tilted his head, “what do you mean?”

“i’m taking a year off,” you said quietly, watching the fire sway, “i don’t really know what i want yet. everyone else seems to have it figured out and i just…don’t.”

the words came out softer than you meant and for a moment, you regretted saying them at all. but then jaemin looked at you — that familiar, gentle look and said, “that’s okay, tiger,” he said softly, his voice steady, certain, “you don’t have to know right now. you have all the time in the world.”

you met his eyes. and you wanted to break. scream into the void. get on your knees and beg whoever was in charge out there to change your prophecy. but you didn’t. you just smiled. 

the others went back to talking — about dorm life, roommates, concerts they’d attend together. the freedom they couldn’t wait for. you watched them. their faces lit by firelight, laughter spilling into the salty air and your chest ached. you wished you could freeze this. this warmth. this noise. this feeling of belonging. 

you wished time would stop just long enough for you to catch your breath. 

you sat quietly, listening to their voices fade into the waves and for a second, you almost believed you could outrun what was coming. 

the sunset bled orange over the ocean that night. you sat there for a long while, watching the sky burn and fade. it looked endless — that kind of endless that hurt to look at. you pressed a hand against your chest, felt the faint, uneven rhythm there, and wondered if you’d ever see a sunset like this again. 

you were so, so tired. 

later that night, the house was alive with laughter. the boys were in the living room, arguing over cards and snacks, their voices echoing against the walls. jaemin’s laugh was the loudest — that familiar, unrestrained sound that could pull a smile out of anyone.

you laughed too, for a while. but it didn’t last.

the ache in your stomach had been growing for days, twisting deep and sharp. and when the dizziness came again, sudden and suffocating, you excused yourself quietly, smiling so no one would follow. the moment the bathroom door closed, your knees hit the tile. the dizziness worsened. then the nausea. then, without warning, the taste of iron filled your mouth. the sound of it, soft, wet, terrible, echoed in the small room, painting the porcelain red. 

blood. 

your vision swam. the room tilted. you clutched the edge of the toilet and tried to steady your breath, but panic clawed it’s way up your throat. you hadn’t wanted a reminder. you hadn’t wanted proof that maybe the reason why it was so hard to imagine a future was because you weren’t going to have one. not right now. not yet. not when you were still pretending everything was okay.

the door creaked open. 

“y/n?”

you froze. jeno’s voice. calm, steady — always steady. 

before you could warn him, he was already inside. his face went still — eyes wide, lips parting in shock as he took in the scene. the blood. your trembling hands. the fear you hadn’t had time to hide. 

“dont–” you rasped, your voice breaking, “don’t call anyone.”

he didn’t listen at first. he moved toward you, grabbed a towel, crouched down, “what the hell–you need to go to a hospital–”

“i’ve been,” you said, voice shaking, “yesterday.”

the world went very quiet then. the only sound was the sea outside, waves rolling somewhere beyond the walls. 

he looked at you, really looked, and the horror in his eyes nearly undid you. 

“what do you mean?” he whispered.

you swallowed, the words barely coming out, “i’m sick, jeno.”

you couldn’t say dying. you couldn’t make it real like that. but the way his breath hitched told you he understood anyway.

you looked down at your shaking hands, “they said it’s terminal. i don’t know how long…maybe years, maybe less. i didn’t want to tell anyone. i can’t. not yet.”

“y/n…” his voice cracked, breaking on your name, “you weren’t going to tell us?”

“please,” you said, meeting his eyes, desperate, “don’t tell them. not jaemin. not anyone. i just need this summer. i just need to feel normal for a little while longer.”

jeno exhaled shakily, running a hand through his hair. his jaw clenched — his eyes glassy. and then, finally, he nodded.

“okay.”

you blinked, unsure you heard right, “okay?”

“i won’t tell them,” he said quietly. “not if you don’t want me to. but you’re not going through this alone, you hear me?”

you nodded weakly, the tears coming before you could stop them. he didn’t say anything else. just helped you up, steadied you when your knees wobbled, wiped the blood from your chin with careful hands.

from that night on, jeno stayed closer. 

not in a way that drew attention — just soft, invisible gestures.

he carried your bag without being asked. found excuses to sit beside you — he noticed things. the moments you winced, the way you’d go quiet in between jokes, the way you’d clutch your side when you thought no one was looking. he didn’t say much. just made sure you ate. that you rested. that you smiled, even when it was hard. 

he didn’t tell anyone. 

jaemin noticed. 

he just didn’t see the truth. not the way jeno did. 

he saw the way jeno started lingering beside you. how jeno always seemed to know what you needed before you asked. how the two of you would sometimes slip away from the group, speaking in whispers, sharing quiet glances he wasn’t a part of. how you leaned into him sometimes, subtle, fleeting — the way you lean into him.

and jaemin, who’d always been so good at reading you — suddenly found that he couldn’t.

he didn’t ask about it. he couldn’t. because some part of him already knew the answer he didn’t want to hear. so he smiled. he teased you. and then he buried it. 

buried the ache. the questions. the almosts. 

he buried the memory of you asleep on his chest whispering orange. 

he buried the memory of the disco ball scattering silver across your face. 

he buried the way his heart skipped every time you laughed, every time you looked up at him like he was sunlight. 

he buried everything that came with that coffee stain. 

because maybe, he thought, maybe you were already someone else’s orange now. 

year v. the airport. four years ago.

the day came faster than you thought it would.

airports always smelled like beginnings but that morning it smelled like endings. like coffee and jet fuel and all the things you couldn’t say. 

the drive there was quiet — jaemin humming softly along the radio, his suitcase tucked neatly in the back, your hand resting limp in your lap. the city blurred past in streaks of gray and gold. every few minutes he’d glance at you, like he wanted to say something but didn’t. you’d do the same. but neither of you did. 

the silence was gentle, almost fragile. neither of you wanted to break it. 

when you finally pulled up to the airport, the clock on the dashboard read 9:51 AM. you stared at it for a moment, like you could freeze time if you looked long enough. 

you wanted to tell him then. you wanted to say that the world had given you an expiration date. that every heartbeat felt heavier now. that each breath was something you’d started counting. 

but you couldn’t. 

he was chasing something beautiful. and you couldn’t be the one to turn that into a burden. so instead, you forced a smile as you stepped out of the car.

“need help with your bag?”

he laughed softly, shaking his head, “you? you’d drop it in two seconds.”

you rolled your eyes, “rude. i’m stronger than i look.”

“i know,” he said quietly, that familiar gentleness threading through his one, “you’re the strongest person i know.”

inside the terminal, everything felt too bright, too cold. the kind of place where goodbyes were meant to be quick. but you couldn’t seem to make yours small. you walked beside him in silence. fingers brushing occasionally, both of you pretending not to notice. his flight number blinked in bold letters on the overhead screen. 

departure: 11:15

every minute felt like a countdown. 

at the gate, he turned to you, his eyes a little too shiny, “i can’t believe i’m really leaving.”

you tried to smile, but your throat was already closing up, “you’ll be amazing, jaem. you always are.”

he exhaled, his breath shaky, “i don’t know how to do this without you.”

and just like that, the dam broke.

you didn’t remember who reached first — only that your arms were around each other, clinging like the world would crumble if you let go. his face pressed into your shoulder, your tears hot against his neck. 

it wasn’t the kind of hug you gave a friend. it was the kind that said please don’t forget me. 

it was the first time in five years that you’d have to say goodbye. the first time you wouldn’t be able to call him up when the world got too loud. the first time he wouldn’t be a short drive away. you pulled back just slightly, enough to look at him — his eyes red, his cheeks damp, his lips trembling with the same words you were afraid to say. 

and then, without thinking — you kissed him. 

it wasn’t planned. it wasn’t perfect. it was soft and trembling and full of every unspoken thing between you — every late-night almost, every look that lingered too long, every heartbeat you’d both tried to ignore. 

he kissed you back. gently at first. then with that desperate, aching kind of tenderness that came from knowing this was goodbye. 

when you finally pulled away, both of you were breathless — your forehead resting against his, your tears mixing with his. you smiled through it, a quiet, trembling smile, and whispered, “orange.”

his lips curved faintly, breaking into something halfway between a laugh and a sob, “orange.”

you took a step back, wiped your eyes, and nudged him toward the gate. “go. before you miss your flight.”

he hesitated, eyes locked on yours, like walking away was the hardest thing he’d ever do. then, slowly, he turned. you stood there, heart pounding, a hand to your aching chest, watching as he handed over his ticket and started toward the jet bridge.

he looked back once. you waved, tears already streaking your cheeks. he smiled — that same soft, boyish smile that had ruined you from the start — and kept walking.

but with every step he took, you broke a little more.

and then, just before he disappeared through the gate, he stopped. 

turned.

and suddenly, he was running — back down the corridor, through the murmurs of strangers, his bag swinging wildly behind him.

you barely had time to breathe before you were in his arms again, holding you like he never meant to let go.

“i’ll be back soon, okay?” he whispered against your hair, his voice cracking on the last word.

you nodded into his chest, your hands fisting in his jacket. “okay.”

you didn’t tell him that soon wasn’t a promise you could keep. you didn’t tell him that by the time he came back, it might already be too late. you just held him tighter, memorizing the warmth of him, the sound of his heartbeat, the scent of his cologne — everything you’d ever loved about him condensed into one impossible moment.

and then he was gone.

the last thing you saw was the back of his head as he disappeared past the gate — the boy you loved walking into a future you wouldn’t be part of.

year vi. the first year of college. three years ago.

the clock on jaemin’s desk read 11:37 PM. the room was quiet except for the faint hum of the radiator and the sound of rain tapping against his dorm window. his phone sat in front of of him, screen glowing softly — your contact name lit up like a ghost he couldn’t reach.

call it again? it asked. 

he did. for the fifth time that week. 

it had become a habit. something he couldn’t unlearn. every sunday, no matter how hectic classes were, no matter how late it got, or he was out with his new friends — he’d call you. 

it was your promise before he left. same time, every week. 

you’d talk about everything and nothing. for months, your voice had filled the quiet corners of his dorm room — soft, teasing, familiar. the one constant in the blur of essays, time zones and homesickness. you’d tell him about the latest movie you’d watched, about jeno’s new obsession with mint ice cream, about chenle’s new song, about how quiet the world felt without him in it. 

and he’d tell you about the new city. the cobblestone streets, the little cafe that reminded him of home. his new friends, renjun and jisung, who he’d met in the library. sometimes he’d even read you things he’d written — soft, clumsy, words that he’ never dare to show anyone else. 

you’d listen. always.

he’d hear your quiet laugh through the speaker and everything would feel right again. 

but then you missed one sunday.

then another.

at first, he tried to be rational. he told himself you were probably busy, probably tired. maybe you were out with friends, maybe your phone had died, maybe time zones were just cruel. he replayed your last message over and over like a prayer. 

tiger 🧡🍊: talk to you soon, promise. 

but as the second week passed with nothing — no texts, no calls, not even a read receipt. something inside him started to twist. 

it wasn’t like you. 

you always answered. even if it was just a sleepy voice at 3AM saying five minutes, jaem i’m awake. 

you were the one who reminded him when he forgot, the one who said orange at the end of every call, soft and sure, like a promise that no ocean could drown. and he knew, better than anyone, that when you went quiet, it wasn’t because you didn’t have anything to say. it was because you were hiding something. 

he’d seen that version of you before — the one that smiled when you were breaking. the one that insisted everything was fine when it wasn’t.

and god, he hated being so far away.

so that night, with rain spilling down the window and his essay abandoned, half-finished on his desk, he called again. 

the ringtone buzzed once. twice. three times. then finally—

click.

“y/n?” he said quickly, sitting upright, relief spilling through him like oxygen.

but it wasn’t your voice that answered. 

there was a pause — the faint shuffle of someone adjusting the phone, and then, quietly, “hey, jaem…it’s jeno.”

his stomach dropped. for a second, he thought he’d misheard, “jeno?”

“yeah.”

the sound of waves came faintly through the line — that same low hum of the sea near your place. you’d always called him from there when you couldn’t sleep. he’ picture you sitting on the boardwalk, legs dangling over the edge, phone pressed to your ear. 

but you weren’t there on the other end of this call.

“where’s y/n?” jaemin asked, trying not to sound panicked, “is she okay?”

“she’s asleep,” jeno said after a pause, “didn’t mean to pick up — her phone kept buzzing. figured i’d answer before it woke her.”

“asleep?” jaemin tried to sound casual, but the unease in his voice betrayed him, “it’s morning there.”

“she’s been tired lately.”

tired.

the word lingered. jeno’s tone was gentle, cautious, too practiced for comfort. 

jaemin forced a laugh that came out brittle, “you’ve been hanging out with her a lot, huh?”

jeno didn’t answer right away. then, quietly, “yeah, just keeping her company. things have been…rough.”

that word — rough — made something twist deep in jaemin’s gut. he couldn’t tell if it was worry or something uglier. he hated not knowing things. especially when those things were about you.

he sank back into his chair, trying to keep his voice even, “rough, how?”

“she just…has a lot going on. you know how she is. always acting like she’s fine.”

he did know. that was what scared him most. 

silence hummed on the line for a beat too long. jaemin swallowed hard, “you sound close,” he said finally, the words slipping out before he could stop them. 

jeno gave a short, almost weary laugh, “we’ve always been close, jaem. you know that.”

jaemin nodded, even though jeno couldn’t see it, “yeah, yeah, i know.”

but something about the way jeno said it — that quiet steadiness, that easy warmth — made jaemin’s chest ache. 

for a moment, he didn’t trust himself to speak. he wanted to ask if you ever talk about him. if you mention your calls or the inside jokes or the stupid word orange.

if you ever thought about the airport. 

the kiss. 

the one thing neither of you had talked about since it happened. it wasn’t even that it was awkward — it was just…unspoken.

you both had cried, you both had clung too tightly, and in the blur of goodbyes and flight calls and tears, your lips had found each other. it was desperate and trembling and full of everything you’d never said out loud. and then, when you pulled away, both of you just smiled through it — breathless, eyes glassy, pretending. 

you whispered orange. he whispered it back. like a coward — always hiding behind that one word. 

and that was it. 

no explanations. no labels. just a quiet, mutual understanding that it happened because tensions were high and hearts were weak and goodbyes were hard. 

at least, that’s what he told himself. 

but some nights, when the world went still, he’d still feel the ghost of our lips and wonder if you were pretending as much as he was. 

“anyway,” jeno said, snapping him out of it, “i’ll tell her you called.”

jaemin forced a small smile that didn’t reach his voice, “yeah. please do.”

“she’ll call soon,” jeno added after a beat, “don’t worry so much.”. 

but jaemin could hear it — the faint sigh behind the reassurance. the softness in his tone. the kind of softness that belonged to someone who cared too much. he swallowed, his voice catching on the question that had been sitting in his throat since summer, “are you…and her…?”

jeno exhaled, a sound halfway between a sigh and a laugh, “you’re asking if there’s something between us?”

“i’m not—i mean,” jaemin stopped himself, realizing how ridiculous it sounded. this wasn’t his place. “forget it.”

“it’s okay,” jeno said, voice quiet, “you’re not the first person to wonder.”

that didn’t help. 

jaemin stared at the floor, his pulse loud in his ears, “and?”

another pause. and then, softly, carefully, “she’s important to me, jaem.”

something in the way he said it made jaemin’s grip on his phone tighten, his voice coming out smaller than he meant, “yeah, well…she’s important to a lot of people.”

jeno hummed, low, noncommittal, “you should get some sleep. it’s late over there.”

“tell her i—,” he stopped himself before the words miss her could leave his mouth. 

“tell her i’ll call again next sunday.”

“i will,” jeno said. 

and then the line went quiet. 

jaemin stared at his phone long after the call ended. the reflection of his own face stared back — eyes tired, mouth drawn tight. 

he should've felt relieved. you were okay. you were home. you had people looking out for you. but all he could feel was the hollow ache of distance. you were there, with jeno. and he was here, an ocean away, holding onto promises that suddenly felt like memories. 

he shut his phone off and pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, trying to shake the feeling off. but he couldn’t. because it wasn’t just worry anymore. it was jealousy — raw, unexpected, ugly. 

and he hated himself for it.  

he needed to get out. the walls of his dorm felt too small, too suffocating, too full of memories that didn’t belong here. so he grabbed his jacket, shoved his phone in his pocket, and left. 

the rain had slowed to a drizzle by the time he stepped outside. the campus glowed under streetlights, puddles reflecting fractured light like broken glass. the nearest pub was only a few blocks away — a student favorite. loud, warm and messy enough to drown out his thoughts. 

that’s all he wanted — noise. something to blur you out. he walked there half-numb. half-hoping the rain would wash the ache out of him. it didn’t.

the pub was crowded — laughter spilling over the music, glasses clinking, the air thick with cheap beer and perfume. he slid into a corner booth, ordered whatever the bartender recommended and stared at the condensation dripping down the glass. 

he wasn’t used to this — the emptiness that came after missing someone. it wasn’t dramatic, just…quiet. a slow, dull ache that settled behind his ribs and refused to leave.

he didn’t notice her at first. 

not until she was standing beside his table, holding her drink with one hand and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear with the other. 

“is this seat taken?”

he looked up. she had dark hair, sharp eyes softened by the dim amber light and a smile that looked like it knew more than it let on.

“uh—no,” jaemin said, clearing his throat, motioning to the seat across from him, “go ahead.”

“thanks,” she slid in, her glass clinking soflty against the table, “you look like you’re trying to forget something.”

he blinked, “what?”

she tilted her head, smiling faintly, “you’ve been staring at your drink for ten minutes. that’s either heartbreak or a failed exam. maybe both?”

a reluctant laugh escaped him, small, startled, “something like that.”

“i’m giselle,” she said, leaning forward, extending her hand.

her smile was light, easy — and for a moment, the ache in his heart didn’t feel so unbearable. 

across the world, you sat in the back of jeno’s car. 

the trunk propped open to face the sea, a blanket draped around your shoulders, the night air blowing cool against your cheek. the sea breeze made it easier to breathe — or maybe it just made you feel like you still could. 

the phone buzzed again on the space between you.

jaemin 🍊🧡calling…

you looked at it for a long moment before whispering, “answer it.”

jeno turned to you, brow furrowed, “you sure?”

you nodded, tightening the blanket around yourself, “if you dont…he’ll keep calling.”

he hesitated, his eyes flickering from the screen to your face — pale and drawn, your lips slightly cracked, your breaths too shallow. you’d gotten worse these past few weeks, though you’d stopped saying it out loud. it was in the way you moved slower now. the way you winced when you thought he wasn’t looking. 

“just don’t tell him, okay?” you murmured, “please, jeno.”

jeno exhaled through his nose, quiet, resigned, before picking up the call.

you closed your eyes as soon as you hear jaemin’s voice on the other end — rushed, anxious, full of something that twisted painfully in your chest. you could hear him asking for you, his voice frayed around the edges. 

jeno’s hand brushed lightly against your knee — a silent reminder to breathe. 

“she’s been tired lately,” jeno said carefully, eyes on you the whole time. 

that word. tired. you almost laughed. it was too small, too human a word for what you felt now. for the way your body betrayed you more each day. for the way your vision sometimes blurred into static when you stood too fast. 

jeno’s thumbed brushed against your knuckles as he continued, “you know how she is. always pretending she’s fine.”

you could picture jaemin on the other end — sitting somewhere in his dorm room, his brow furrowed, his voice softening in that way he always did when it came to you. and you missed him so much your chest ached. 

jeno tried to keep the call steady — a short, harmless conversation that wouldn’t raise alarms. but jaemin’s voice wavered with something else — jealousy, confusion, lonelines. 

“you’ve been spending a lot of time with her,” he said. 

jeno froze for half a second, “yeah,” he said quietly, “just making sure she’s okay. things have been…rough.”

that word too. rough. your eyes burned but you didn’t look away from the ocean. the waves were easier to face than the thought of jaemin sitting miles away, wondering why you weren’t picking up. 

when the call finally ended, the silence in the car felt heavier than before. you sat there, staring at the waves, trying to blink the tears out of your eyes before they fell. 

jeno set the phone down gently beside him, “he’s gonna worry more now.”

you pulled the blanket tighter, “he already does.”

he turned to you then, his gaze soft, full of soemthing heavy and unspoken, “you should tell him.”

you shook your head, “i can’t.”

“y/n—“

“i can’t jeno,” your voice cracked this time, “he’s happy. he’s doing what he loves. i can’t take that from him. if he knew, he’d come home. he’d give it all up.”

jeno didn’t argue. he just sighed, his breath fogging in the cool air. after a moment, he reached over and gently tugged the blanket higher around your shoulders, making sure it covered you completely. his fingers brushed your jaw when he pulled a strand of hair away from your face. 

“you’re freezing,” he muttered. 

you smiled faintly, your voice teasing, “you know he’s gonna kill you, right?”

jeno blinked, then let out a quiet laugh, “yeah, probably."

“thanks for covering for me.”

he looked at you, really looked at you — at the hollow beneath your eyes, the faint tremor in your hands. his voice was low when he spoke, “you don’t have to thank me, just…don’t make me lie to him forever, okay?”

you nodded, though both of you knew it was a promise you might not get the chance to keep. 

and then sunday rolled around once again. 

and for the first time in weeks, you were the one who called. the phone rang twice before he picked up, his voice sharp with surprise, almost breathless.

“tiger?”

you smiled into the call, pretending not to hear the relief in his tone, “hey, jaem.”

there was a pause — short, but full of meaning. you could almost see him, hand running through his hair, the corner of his mouth lifting like he wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. 

“you finally remembered me,” he teased lightly, but his voice cracked on the last word. 

“please, i could never forget you,” you said, keeping your tone light, steady. it took everything in you not to cough mid-sentence, “you’re my sunday night ritual, remember?”

he let out a small laugh, that familiar sound you hadn’t realied you’d been starving for, “yeah, well, you broke our streak. i was starting to think i’d have to file a missing person’s report.”

“sorry,” you murmured, “things have just been…a lot.”

he hummed sofltly, “jeno said.”

you froze, just for a second, “oh?”

“he said you’ve been tired lately,” his voice softened, careful now, “you okay?”

you forced a small chukcle, “i’m fine. just burnt out, maybe. you know how it is.”

you said it like it was nothing — like your body wasn’t turning against you, like your lungs weren’t tightening more each day. like you weren’t terrified of what tomorrow would bring. 

jaemin sighed, that soft, concerned sound you’d memorized, “you sure?”

“positive.”

another pause. you could hear him settle into his chair — the faint creak of it, the rustle of paper. “okay,” he said finally, deciding to believe you. or maybe just pretending to.

“anyway,” you said quickly, changing the subject, “tell me about you. how’s school? still romanticizing libraries and late-night coffee?”

he laughed, “you make me sound like i’m in a movie.”

“you basically are.”

“fine, then. let’s see… classes are good. the city’s colder now. oh, and—” his tone shifted slightly, lighter now, “i met someone.”

your heart stilled, “someone?”

“yeah.” you could hear the small smile in his voice. “her name’s giselle.”

you gripped the edge of your blanket, keeping your voice even. “giselle.”

“mhm. she’s in my literature seminar. we met at this pub a few blocks from campus,” he laughed softly, almost sheepish, “she called me out for staring at my drink too long, said i looked like someone who came to forget.”

you smiled faintly, your chest tightening in that quiet, painful way, “sounds like she’s bold.”

“she is. in a good way, though. she’s… easy to talk to. feels kind of like i’ve known her longer than i have.”

you nodded, though he couldn’t see you, “she makes you smile.”

he hesitated, then laughed again, softer this time, “yeah, i guess she does.”

you wanted to be happy for him. you were happy for him. but underneath that, something else lingered — a small, sharp ache. because for the first time since that airport goodbye, it felt like he was moving on.

and you couldn’t.

you swallowed the lump in your throat, forcing your voice to stay steady, “she sounds lovely, jaem.”

“she is,” he said, then quickly added, “but she’s not you, tiger.”

the words hung between you — warm, aching, dangerous.

you smiled into the silence, blinking back the tears burning behind your eyes, “i’m glad you’re doing okay.”

he hummed softly, “i’m not, really. but I’m trying.”

“good,” you whispered, “keep trying.”

he was quiet for a moment, then said gently, “you’d tell me if something was wrong, right?”

you hesitated, your heart breaking at how sincere he sounded.

“of course,” you lied.

he sighed in relief, like he’d been holding his breath, “okay. i just… worry about you.”

“i know.”

“orange?” he said softly.

you smiled, the tears finally falling, “orange.”

the call ended a few minutes later, but you kept the phone pressed to your ear long after the line went silent — listening to the faint hum, pretending it was still his voice.

across the ocean, jaemin stared at his ceiling, your word still echoing in his chest. he didn’t know why it hurt this much to hear it this time.

and you sat on the boardwalk alone this time, the ocean stretching endlessly ahead of you, whispering to no one at all—

“orange.”

but this time, it didn’t mean i’m here.

it meant i’m trying to be.

year vii. the second year of college. two years ago.

one year.

and somehow, you were still here.

maybe the universe was still giving you time for honesty.

you’d gotten used to measuring time differently — not in semesters or seasons but in checkups, prescriptions and quiet victories. the new medication helped, at least for now. your body still ached, still betrayed you, but you could walk longer, breathe deeper, laugh without feeling like it might be the last time.

you told yourself it was enough — enough to keep pretending, enough to keep living. 

so after countless times of jaemin inviting you to visit, and a hesitant go signal from your doctor — you finally said yes.

the city was different from how he described it — louder, colder but beautiful in the way foreign places are when you’re seeing them through the eyes of someone you love. the air was sharp with autumn, the streets glittering faintly with rain. you’d never been this far from home, but the thought of seeing him again steadied you. 

you spotted him before he saw you — his hair a little longer, his shoulders broader, a camera slung around his neck. he looke exactly like you remembered and nothing like you remembered, all at once. 

“tiger!”

and there it was — that grin. that too-wide, boyish grin that never quite grew up. 

you smiled before you could help it, the sound of that word loosening something tight in your chest. he ran toward you through the crowd, all ungraceful excitement and hugged you before you could even drop your bag. 

it startled you at first — the warmth, the familiarity, the way he still smelled faintly like citrus and clean laundry. he hugged you so tightly you could barely breathe though you didn’t dare tell him that, not when you could feel his heartbeat against your cheek for the first time in years.

he pulled back, hands still on your shoulders, eyes scanning your face like he couldn’t quite believe you were real. 

“you’re really here,” he said softly, pulling back to look at you. 

you’ve tried to look like the girl he used to know — brushed your hair the same, wore the kind of sweater he once said was very you. but there were some things you couldn’t hide. like how thin your wrists have gotten or how every shirt now hung off your frame like it didn’t belong. or how your smile didn’t reach quite as far as it used to. 

but as always, he didn’t ask questions. 

he only said, “god, i missed you.”

you laughed softly, a little relieved, “we called every week.”

“yeah,” he said, his grin faltering just a little, “but it’s not the same.”

you wanted to tell him you knew — that you’d missed him in a way that screens couldn’t fix, that your body had memorized the absence of him. but instead, you just smiled.

“lets go,” he said, taking your bags before you could protest, “you’ve got so much to see.”

you met her that afternoon.

giselle. 

she was cool, polite, effortlessly charming — the kind of girl who didn’t need to try to be liked, because the world already wanted to love her. she hugged you tightly like you’d known each for years. her perfume was soft, expensive, a little vanilla, a little smoke. 

“its so nice to finally meet you,” she said brightly, “jaemin talks about all the time.”

you smiled, unsure what to say, “he does?”

“are you kidding?” she laughed, “i practically know your entire life story. high school besties, him spilling coffee all over your shirt, junior prom — he told me about the orange corsage, by the way, that’s adorable."

you glanced at jaemin, who stood by the counter pretending to busy himself with mugs. he shot you a sheepish grin. giselle didn’t notice. she was already talking again, offering to show you around campus, pointing out cafe’s she thought you’d like. she laughed at your jokes, asked about the beach trips, about jeno.

and the worst part was, you liked her. 

she fit into jaemin’s world the way you never could. she knew the professors he talked about, the cafe’s he loved, the rhythm of the life he’d built without you. she laughed at all the right moments, touched his arm when she teased him, finished his sentences like she’d known him a lifetime.

you couldn’t even be mad about it.

because she wasn’t trying to take your place. 

she already had her own. 

you nodded and smiled in all the right places, but you could feel it, that quiet, invisible space growing between you. he was building a life. a beautiful one. and you — you were just visiting. 

so this — this is what it feels like to come back home and realize it’s not yours anymore. 

on the second night, his apartment was full — warm light spilling from the kitchen, laughter echoing down the narrow hallway, the faint scent of takeout and cheap wine hanging in the air. you sat cross-legged on the floor beside the coffee table, half-listening, half-floating. 

renjun was perched on the arm of the couch, gesturing wildly as he retold the story of his disastrous poetry reading. the one where he’d accidentally read the wrong piece and gotten halfway through before realizing it was a breakup letter. jisung couldn’t stop laughing, practically wheezing into a pillow, while jaemin kept refilling everyone’s glasses, eyes bright and crinkled with joy. 

he looked so, so happy. 

it should’ve made you happy too. 

but it didn’t.

you laughed when you were supposed to, smiled when eyes were on you. you even clinked glasses with jisung and pretended that this was exactly what you wanted — to see him thriving, surrounded by light, surrounded by people who understood the version of him you no longer knew how to reach. 

but underneath it all, your heart ached in that quiet, suffocating way that came when you realized how much had changed without you. 

you sat there, a ghost in the corner of the life he’d built and tried not to think about how far away you felt, even while sitting right next to him. 

and then came his teasing on the third night. 

you were all seated in the boy’s shared living room again — the same couch, the same lazy laughter, the same city hum pressing faintly through the windows. giselle was sitting comfortable on jaemin’s lap, her hand curled loosely around his wrist, the two of them so effortless together it hurt to look at. 

“so,” jaemin said, leaning back againsts the couch, smirking in that way that used to mean trouble, “how’s jeno?”

you raised an eyebrow, “he’s fine, i guess. why?”

“come on,” he said, leaning forward to nudge your knee playfully, “you two still do that thing where you act like you’re just friends but everyone knows you’re pining for each other?”

you blinked, caught off guard, how could he have possibly been so wrong?

“what?”

renjun snorted. jisung laughed. giselle giggled behind her glass. 

and you almost scoffed. they’d never even met jeno. 

but jaemin just kept smiling, completely oblivious to the weight behind his words, “you can tell me, tiger. when are you two finally going to confess? we all know it’s bound to happen eventually.”

you forced a laugh, your throat tightening, “you’re ridiculous.”

he shrugged,that teasing glint still in his eyes, “hey, i’m just calling it like i see it.”

you wanted to tell him he was wrong. that what he saw wasn’t love.

that it was jeno sitting on the floor beside your bed, steadying your breathing when the pain got too sharp. that it was jeno holding your hand during checkups you couldn’t face alone. that it was jeno promising he wouldn’t tell as he wiped the blood from your lips quietly, gently, like it didn’t scare him — like he’d already accepted the ending you refused to say out loud. 

but how could you tell jaemin any of that?

how could you ruin this version of you that existed in his head — whole, steady, alive?

so you smiled. you let him tease. you let everyone laugh, even as your chest burned. and you told yourself maybe it was better that he thought that. maybe it was kinder to let him believe you were loved in some other, simpler way. 

later that night, when giselle finally left, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek, whispering something that made him smile and the boys had drifted off to their separate rooms — it was just the two of you. 

the apartment was quieter now. softer. the kind of silence that felt heavy, like it knew what was coming. you sat by the window, the city lights spilling through the glass. he was cleaning up bottles, humming softly under his breath, the shuffle of his slippers against the tile.

when he came back, he looked tired but content, “you okay?” he asked, leaning against the doorway. 

you nodded, “yeah. just…tired.”

he smiled faintly, that same worried crease between his brows, “you always say that.”

you looked at him then — really looked. the soft mess of his hair, the way the city light from the window halos his silhouette, the way his eyes found yours like they always did, even after all this time. 

and for a moment, you forgot how much it hurt to be here. you forgot how far gone you already were. because right then, sitting in the warmth of the life he built without you, you could almost believe you still belonged in it. 

the night felt like it was holding its breath. 

“hey,” you said quietly.

jaemin turned from where he was stacking dishes in the sink, eyes soft, “yeah?”

you hesitated, fingers playing with the hem of your sleeve, ”can we….hang out tomorrow?” you asked, “just us?”

he paused, straightening slowly, towel still in his hands, “just us?”

you nodded, fingers fidgeting with your sleeve, “yeah, like old times.”

something in his face shifted then — something small but sharp. 

“y/n,” he said after a moment, voice careful, “you’ve met my girlfriend, my friends…you know we’re all planning to take you out to that pub tomorrow?— and now you want it to be…just us?”

the air between you thinned. 

you opened your mouth, then shut it, “it’s not like that,” you said, voice trembling despite your best effort, “i just…miss you. that’s all.”

he let out a laugh — not cruel, but tired, heavy in a way that told you he’d been holding back a lot more than he let on, “you haven’t changed at all, huh?”

you froze, “what’s that supposed to mean?”

he ran a hand through his hair, exhaling like it hurt, “you still hold on too tightly. to things. to people. to how life used to be.”

your chest tightened, “i just wanted one day, jaem.”

“one day won’t change the fact that things are different now,” he said, a quiet frustration slipping into his voice, “we’re not kids anymore. change isn’t bad.”

your throat burned, “you think i don’t know that?”

he shook his head, “then stop fighting it. this world is bigger than us, y/n. it can’t just always be me and you.”

that did it. 

something inside you broke completely — quiet, invisible, but deep enough that you felt the pieces shift.

you blinked fast, your voice small, “you’re right. it can’t.”

before he could say anything else, you grabbed you coat and left. 

he called after you — your name, your nickname, something broken in between — but you didn’t stop. you ran down the stairwell, your chest aching, lungs burning, until the night air hit your face — cold and sharp. the kind of cold that bit at your skin, like it was trying to remind you that you were still here. still alive. 

you didn’t know where you were going. you just needed somewhere to breathe, somewhere to fall apart. somewhere he couldn’t see. 

the city was quiet in that strange, faraway way cities get after midnight — too big to sleep, too bright to rest. you didn’t know how long you’d been walking, only that the cold air stung your cheeks and your chest ached in that deep, familiar way that had nothing to do with the weather or the heartbreak. 

by the time you found yourself in the small park a few blocks from jaemin’s apartment, your legs were trembling, your lungs raw, your vision swimming. you sank down onto a wooden bench beneath the flickering lamppost, clutching your coat tighter around you, trying to stop the shaking. 

it wasn’t even anger anymore — you didn’t have time for that. 

it was simply just exhaustion. 

at yourself. at him. at the truth sitting heavy in your chest, beating weaker with every breath you took. 

you told yourself you’d just sit for a bit, that you’d go back soon. you’d apologize. you always did. but the world kept spinning quietly around you — the hum of the city, the whisper of passing cars, the faint sound of rain starting to fall again. 

and then, footsteps. 

“god, tiger,” a voice breathed out, half exasperated, half relieved, “i can’t believe you walked this far.” 

you turned.

jaemin stood a few feet away, hair damp from the drizzle, chest rising and falling as if he’d been running the whole way. his eyes — those soft, familiar eyes, searched your face, the corners crinkling with worry.

he laughed under his breath, shaking his head, “why did you run? we don’t do that. we talk about it”

you looked away, blinking fast, “things change.”

he sighed and stepped closer, his voice gentler now, “i didn’t mean it like that.”

you didn’t say anything, you just stared at the wet pavement, tracing circles on your knee with your thumb, trying to hold yourself together. the rain fell heavier now, tapping rhythmically against your coat. 

after a long silence, he spoke again, softer this time, “i’m sorry. for what i said. “

you looked up, surprised by the crack in his voice. 

“i shouldn’t have—,” he ran a hand through his hair, exhaling, “—said it like that. i just…they all cancelled schedules to hang out with us tomorrow and,” he shakes his head, “—it doesn’t matter.”

you swallowed, your throat tight. 

he took another step closer, hesitating like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed, “tomorrow,” he said, almost pleading, “it’ll be just us, okay? no giselle, no plans. just…me and you.”

you nodded faintly, eyes stinging. 

he smiled then — that same smile you’d know since you were fifteen, soft and steady and unfairly kind. the same one that used to fix everything. 

and suddenly, you couldn’t take it anymore. 

the way he was looking at you — like you were still his world, like he’d never meant the words this world is bigger than us. the way your heart still fluttered even when you knew better. the way everything hurt, all at once, and yet, he was the only thing that made you feel alive. 

you reached out, fingers trembling, brushing a strand of hair off his forehead. 

“tiger…” he murmured, his voice low, confused,

and for once — just once — you wanted to take instead of give. to be selfish instead of selfless. to hold on, even it it was only for a heartbeat. 

you leaned in. 

and he didn’t move. 

not at first. 

your lips found his — soft, hesitant, desperate — and for a single, suspended second, the world went quiet. like it always did with him.

it felt like every missed call, every unsent message, every almost between you collapsed into that one moment. his breath hitched, his hand brushed your jaw and for that fraction of a second, he kissed you back.

for a heartbeat, he was yours.

and then he froze. 

he pulled back suddenly, breath uneven, eyes wide. 

“tiger—” his voice cracked, “i—we can’t. i have a girlfriend.”

the words sliced through the night, through you.

you blinked, stunned at your own impulsiveness, your chest hollowing out as the rain started to fall harder. you nodded quickly, stepping back, pretending it didn’t matter. pretending your heart hadn’t splintered into a thousand irretrievable pieces. 

“i-i’m sorry” you whispered. 

jeamin reached for you, then stopped halfway. his hand dropped to his side. only only one word falling from his lips — small, fragile, heavy. the word that became his armor. 

“orange?”

i’m still here for you. nothing has changed. i love you but not in that way.

and god, it hurt.

but you said it back anyway. 

the morning came too quickly. you hadn’t slept. you’d spent the night sitting on the edge of the bed in the guest room — the one jaemin had so carefully prepared for you with extra blankets, a mug for tea, a vase of peonies by the window. the city was just beginning to wake, a pale light slipping through the curtains, quiet and unforgiving. 

every time you closed your eyes, you saw it again — the look on his face after the kiss. the shock. the confusion. the guilt. the pity. you’d known instantly what that look meant. and now, you couldn’t stand to see it again. 

you moved quietly, folding the blanket you’d slept under and placing it back on the bed. the air smelled faintly like rain and the detergent he used —  something clean. something familiar. it made your chest ache worse. 

your suitcase sat by the door. you zipped it up slowly, careful not to make a sound. every click of the metal teeth felt final, like you were stitching something closed.

you checked the time. 4:58 AM.

the sun wasn’t fully up yet. the streets outside were still gray and half-asleep. 

you slipped on your shoes and tiptoed down the hallway. the apartment was silent except for the steady hum of the refrigerator. you passed by his door — it was slightly ajar. you could see the faint outline of him inside, half-buried in his blanket, his arm hanging off the bed. 

you paused there for a long time. just looking. he looked peaceful in sleep. young again, almost. like the boy who spilled that warm coffee. the one who gave you a nickname just because he thought you looked cute when you were startled. 

for a moment, you wanted to wake him. to tell him you were sorry. to tell him that you loved him — but not to keep him, just so he would know. 

but then you remembered his words from the night before. 

this world is bigger than us. 

and you realized — he’d been right. 

you’d spent years trying to hold onto something that wasn’t meant to be yours anymore. and now, holding on just hurt both of you. 

so instead, you whispered the only thing you could. 

“orange.”

quiet. barely audible. meant for no one but yourself. 

this time, it didn’t mean i’m here. 

it meant i’m setting you free. 

you reached for the doorknob, heart trembling in your chest and slipped out. 

the hallway was cold. your steps echoed softly as you made your way down the stairwell, your hand brushing the railing for balance when the world tilted for a moment — the side effects, the exhaustion, all of it catching up to you. by the time you stepped outside, the city was just beginning to stir. a few cars passed, a street vendor setting up shop, the autumn leaves swaying in the breeze, the faint hum of life waking up around you. 

you stood there for a second, letting the morning air hit your face. it was cold, sharp, grounding. you wanted to cry but the tears didn’t come. you were too tired for that now. 

you hailed a cab, the sound of tires on wet asphalt echoing like a goodbye. 

no note. no message. no goodbye. 

because you’d already taken too much. because you didn’t want him to wake up and feel like he had to chase after you again. 

because leaving was the strongest thing you could do for him. 

year ix. present day. 

it was 2:13 A.M. when jaemin’s phone rang.

he almost didn’t pick up. he’d been staring blankly at the ceiling for over an hour, insomnia gnawing at the edges of his mind, that familiar restlessness pressing against his ribs. the city outside was silent, his apartment dim except for the faint blue glow of his laptop screen.

the sound of his ringtone cut through the quiet — sharp, jarring, wrong somehow.

jeno.

he frowned. jeno never called at this hour. not once in all the years they’d known each other.

something cold unfurled in his chest.

he answered immediately, voice low and rough, “jeno?”

there was no greeting. no easy laugh, no casual hey, man. just breathing — heavy, uneven, breaking.

“jaemin…” jeno’s voice sounded scraped raw, as if he’d swallowed gravel. it cracked on the second syllable.

jaemin’s body tensed. he pushed himself upright, blankets pooling around his waist, heart kicking painfully against his ribs, “what’s wrong?”

silence. not the comfortable kind – the suffocating kind, thick and trembling on the line. then a sharp inhale.

“jaemin, i— i’m not supposed to tell you.”

the sound of it — the way his voice trembled, the way it broke halfway through — it sent a chill through jaemin’s body. something in his chest pulled tight, tightening further with every beat, he pressed the phone closer to his ear, his voice tightening. 

“tell me what?” his voice came out sharper then he intended, strained at the edges. 

jeno didn’t answer right away. all jaemin could hear was the sound of him crying — quiet, muffled, the kind of crying you only did when you were trying too hard not to.

“jeno,” jaemin said again, firmer this time, though his throat had gone dry. “tell me.”

seconds stretched, long and merciless. then jeno exhaled, like the words hurt to hold in—

“it’s y/n.”

everything inside jaemin stilled. 

your name hadn’t been spoken to him in two years. not by friends. not by family. it hit him like an impact – sharp, wind-knocking, disorienting. 

his tiger.

the ache bloomed fast — old, remembered pain cracking open like it had only been yesterday.

you had disappeared on him. just— gone. no call. no message. no explanation.

he could still see that morning as if it were preserved in ice. the sun was shining brightly, soft light bleeding into the apartment when he walked toward the guest room. he’d expected to find you half-asleep, hair messy, drooling on his pillow the way you always did. instead, the room was empty. your suitcase gone. the blanket folded neatly at the foot of his bed. his front door slightly ajar, as if it had been closed gently behind you but not enough to catch. 

he remembered standing there, in the doorway, still half-dreaming, waiting for you to come back in, laughing, saying you just stepped out for coffee or fresh air or anything that made sense — until the minutes bled into hours, and hours into days.

he remembered calling. again. again. again. his voice growing smaller with every voicemail, his hands shaking as he typed message after message you never opened. he emailed. he reached out to your friends, to your mom, to anyone who might have known why you suddenly hated him enough to vanish. 

but no one gave him answers. everyone chose silence.

he checked your accounts every day like a habit, like a prayer. waiting for something. a sign. a clue. anything that said you missed him even half as much as he missed you. 

but all he found were photos.

photos of you and jeno —

you, laughing beside him at a cafe, sunlight catching in your hair.

you, on the beach, chin on your knees, the waves brushing at your feet.

you, grinning up at the camera, jeno’s arm slung loosely around your shoulders, matching your expression in a way that looked easy. familiar. like he belonged there.

you looked happy. free. like someone who’d finally accepted change. 

and maybe that should’ve been enough. maybe seeing you smile should have softened the bruise in his chest. 

but it didn’t. 

it just made his chest hurt in that deep, wordless way that no one talks about — the kind that feels like nostalgia and jealousy and loss all tangled in one unbearable knot. 

because the night he lost you, that night on the park bench, was the night he realized he’d never stopped loving you. 

he could still feel it with haunting clarity — rain dripping from his hair, your trembling fingers brushing his cheek, the soft press of you lips against his, his heart hammering wildly against the cage of his ribs, your voice cracking as you whispered, orange.

he’d tucked you in that night, wrapped you in a blanket, watched your eyelids flutter closed. and something inside him had snapped free. he couldn't do it anymore. couldn't lie to himself. couldn’t lie to anyone. 

he left his apartment at 2 AM, the sky still weeping, rain clinging to him like guilt and he went to giselle’s. he ended things. no fights. no apologies. just the truth, plain and quiet and cruel. 

“she’s the one,” he’d told her quietly, “she’s always been the one.”

and giselle, too kind, too understanding, had only nodded, eyes glistening, “i know,” she said softly, “i’ve always known.”

when he returned, it was close to four. the world felt different, lighter, terrifying, brand-new. he had stood at your doorway, watching you sleep, committing the sight of you to memory like a promise. 

he was ready. ready to choose you, finally. ready to tell you everything he had held back for years. 

but when morning came —

you were gone. 

and you never came back.

for weeks, months, years, he cycled through emotions like storms — confusions, heartbreak, then anger. angry at you for leaving like that. angry that you could. angry that you made him feel disposable. temporary. angry for being so selfish. 

and for the next two years, he filled that silence with stories he made up himself – stories where you’d moved on, where you’d fallen for someone else, where you'd decided he wasn’t worth the chaos. 

and maybe those stories were easier to live with than the truth. 

but now… hearing your name again, after all this time — those stories shattered.

because whatever came next — the way jeno’s breath hitched, the way his voice cracked, jaemin felt something colder than anger. 

fear. 

he swallowed hard, his voice barely steady. “what about her?”

a breath. not steady — shaken loose, like jeno was barely holding himself together.

then he said it — the words jaemin would replay in his head for years after.

“she’s dying, jaem…”

for a split second, jaemin didn’t react. not because he hadn’t heard but because his mind refused to process a sentence where you and dying existed together. the room around him seemed to mute itself – the hum of the fridge, the faint buzz of his laptop, the city beyond his window — all of it fading to a dull, suffocating quiet. 

he blinked once. twice. the air felt too thin. 

“no,” he whispered, the word barely formed, “no that—that doesn’t—what do you mean she’s dying?”

he heard shuffling on the other end, fabric brushing, like jeno was pacing or shaking or both. 

“she—it got bad,” jeno forced out, voice cracking on every syllable, “it’s been bad for a while. we tried—she tried—jaemin—,” his voice cracked again, choked, desperate, “please…please come home.”

and just like that, the silence shattered. and suddenly, everything inside jaemin surged at once — confusion, panic, denial, anger — colliding so fast he felt physically nauseous. 

it didn’t feel real.

it couldn’t be real.

he could still see you — laughing on the beach, rolling your eyes in the school hallways, hugging him tightly at the airport, whispering orange like it meant everything in the world.

he could still feel the ghost of that kiss — soft, unsure, the rain between you.

and now—

now you were dying.

what kind of cruel, twisted joke was this? 

he pressed the phone back to his ear, his voice breaking, “where is she?”

a broken inhale. then jeno gave him the name of the hospital, the city, the floor number — all in a rush as if speaking quickly would make it hurt less. 

jaemin didn’t say goodbye. didn’t think. didn’t breathe. he stood abruptly, feet hitting the floor, hands trembling as he searched for his keys, his passport, his bag, anything. everything was a blur in his periphery while his mind replayed the words with merciless clarity—

“she’s dying, jaem.”

each repetition sliced deeper, colder. like punishment. like consequence. like fate laughing at him for being too late. 

he didn’t remember locking his apartment. didn’t remember the elevator ride, the drive, the airport security lines, or the plane boarding. his memory stored nothing but fragments — flashes of movement, fluorescent lights, the sterile chill of transit spaces. 

all he could remember was his knee bouncing relentlessly through the flight. his fingers shaking as he gripped the armrest. his chest tight enough to hurt with every breath. 

outside the window, the sky was black — moon tucked behind clouds, stars swallowed whole. the world looked like it was holding its breath with him. he whispered your name once – so softly, the sound barely left his lips. as if saying it too loud might break whatever thread still tethered you to the world. 

the moment the plane touched down, jaemin was already unbuckling. the seatbelt sign was still lit, but he didn’t care. the click of the buckle releasing sounded too loud in the quiet cabin. he stood before the wheels finished rolling, earning a few startled looks, but he didn’t register any of them.

his heart was a drum—loud, hard, constant.

she’s dying.

she’s dying.

she’s dying.

the words marched with every beat of his pulse. he was the first off the plane. first through the jet bridge. first to the immigration line — shifting weight from foot to foot as if still mid-run. 

every minute felt like something was being stolen from him. 

the airport was too bright, too noisy, too slow. people walked with coffees and suitcases like the world wasn’t ending. a child laughed. a couple argued quietly. a man yawned into his palm. jaemin wanted to shake all of them and scream—

don’t you know she’s dying?

don’t you understand i’m too late?

but his mouth only stayed in a tight, thin line as he moved—fast, mechanical. he grabbed a cab, forced out the hospital name, and told the driver to go—please, faster, faster.

streetlights streaked past the window in long, yellow smears. the city looked half-asleep, unaware that the most important person he had ever loved was slipping away inside it.

he pressed the heel of his palm to his sternum, trying to breathe through the sharp, splitting ache spreading there. the drive felt endless. his leg bounced the entire time, fingers twitching like they needed something to hold, to break, to anchor him.

when the cab finally pulled up to the hospital, he shoved bills into the driver’s hand without looking and ran.

the glass doors parted with a soft whoosh that felt too gentle for what was happening. inside, the air was cold, sterile, laced with antiseptic. the floor gleamed. the lights were harsh. everything felt wrong. his voice barely came out, scraped raw from hours of silence and fear.

“Y/N Y/L/N,” he gasped to the nurse at the counter, his voice hoarse from hours of silence. “where— where is she?”

the nurse’s expression shifted—just slightly, but enough to tell him everything was already bad. before she could answer—

“jaemin!”

he spun around.

jeno stood there — eyes bloodshot, cheeks streaked with dried tears, shoulders slumped as if the night had drained the strength from him. mark hovered beside him, jaw clenched tight, eyes swollen. chenle sat rigid in one of the waiting chairs, hands clasped together so tightly his knuckles were white.

the sight of them—all wrecked—made something inside jaemin lurch.

but he didn’t slow.

didn’t greet.

didn’t breathe.

the world tilted. his knees nearly gave out.

but still, he moved forward — forcing his feet to take him closer, hoping, praying he was wrong.

jeno stepped toward him, wordless. his face crumpled as he reached for him, pulling him into a hug so tight it hurt. and through that broken, breathless quiet, jaemin managed to ask —

“where is she?”

no one answered.

mark’s gaze dropped to the floor. chenle squeezed his eyes shut. jeno stepped back, lips parted, but no words came out. 

“jeno,” he said again, barely holding himself upright, “where. is she.”

jeno’s face crumpled. he shook his head once, small, helpless, and the tears returned, spilling over.

“jaem…” his voice was broken whisper, “she’s gone. she died thirteen minutes ago.”

the sentence didn’t land all at once—it struck in pieces, sharp edges catching in jaemin’s chest. 

no. 

not you. 

not the girl who always had a smile on her face. not the girl who promised to stay strong for him.

gone.

died.

thirteen minutes.

minutes.

not days.

not weeks.

he was thirteen minutes too late.

something inside him broke open so suddenly he thought he might collapse. but his body moved before the grief could swallow him whole. he ran. through the hall. past nurses calling after him. past rooms and signs and the sound of his own heartbeat roaring in his head.

he needed to see you. needed to prove them wrong. needed to undo something—anything—

until suddenly—he stopped.

your room.

he stood frozen in the doorway. the lights in your room were dim, softened to a low glow that painted everything in muted, gentle shades. curtains were drawn halfway, letting in a sliver of dawn—the sky outside still a washed-out grey-blue, caught somewhere between night and morning.

it felt too quiet. too calm. too peaceful for what he was about to see. his breath stuttered as he stepped inside, the door clicking shut behind him with a soft finality.

and there you were.

the world fell silent.

you were lying there, so still, so small against the hospital bed. the machines beside you were quiet now, their steady beeping replaced by the low hum of the air conditioner.

your body lay still against the white hospital sheets, the blanket tucked neatly around you. your hair framed your face softly, as if someone had brushed it with care. your skin looked pale under the muted light—almost translucent, unreal.

you looked like you were sleeping.

like if he whispered your name, you’d stir. if he nudged your shoulder gently, you’d groan and tell him to let you rest. if he sat beside you with that worried crease on his brow, you’d tease him for looking like a mess after a red-eye flight.

for a second — just one — he let himself believe that.

his throat tightened painfully. he stumbled forward, his hands shaking violently as he reached for you. his voice broke as it left him, so quiet the room nearly swallowed it.

“tiger,” he whispered, his voice breaking on the word. “hey.”

you didn’t move.

he sat on the edge of your bed, his hands trembling as they found yours — cold. too cold.

he let out a choked laugh — raw and helpless, tinged with disbelief and horror. “okay,” he whispered, his thumb brushing over your knuckles as if he could coax life back into them, “this—this isn’t funny. you can stop now.”

he rubbed your hand between his palms, trying to warm it, trying to pretend the world hadn’t already stolen you.

“come on, tiger,” he breathed, voice cracking, “you always loved dramatic entrances, but this—this is cruel.”

still nothing.

no stir.

no soft exhale.

no hand squeezing his back in reassurance.

his vision blurred. tears slipped down his cheeks, but he didn’t bother wiping them. he leaned forward, pressing his forehead to your hand, shoulders shaking.

“wake up,” he begged, the plea breaking as it spilled out of him. “please… wake up.”

but you didn’t.

you never would.

he stayed like that for a long time. he didn’t know how long — time losing meaning in the dim room. all he knew was the feel of your hand in his, cooling, unresponsive, slipping away from what he remembered.

he lifted his head, eyes tracing your face — committing you to memory the way you had looked when he loved you, when you loved him, when life still had more time to give.

the gym. the airport. the park. your whispered orange.

his chest caved in. 

“orange,” he choked out, the word breaking in his mouth. it felt like saying goodbye with the wrong language.

it used to mean i’m here for you.

but here, in this room, holding your hand that would never warm again, it only meant one thing—

i love you.

he leaned in and pressed his lips to your forehead—soft, lingering—as if trying to seal something back into you. his tears fell onto your skin, sliding down your temple, and he whispered against your unmoving warmth—

“orange, tiger. i’m here.”

even though, this time…you weren’t. 

the silence in the room was unbearable.

jaemin couldn’t look at you anymore — not like this. not when every memory of you was alive, and this was anything but.

your hand had gone slack in his, your fingers still cold despite how long he’d been holding them. his thumb brushed against your knuckles one last time before he let go, but the moment he did, the air around him felt wrong. too empty. too final.

he stood up, dizzy, his vision blurring with tears he couldn’t blink away. he turned sharply and stumbled out of the room, his breath coming in uneven, broken gasps.

and as he walked down that hallway — sterile, white, endless — the world started replaying itself.

every memory. every moment.

your laugh echoing through the gym.

your fingers clutching his sleeve the day you first met.

your voice saying orange through tears, through laughter, through years of growing up together.

he saw the prom lights again.

he saw your orange corsage dangling loose on your wrist.

he saw you crying in your bedroom senior year, whispering you were scared of the future — and he’d said we’ll figure it out, like we always do.

except he hadn’t.

he saw the wind blowing your hair at the beach.

he saw your eyes when you kissed him at the airport.

he saw the night in the park — your trembling hands brushing his hair back, your lips touching his, the rain between you, and how he’d pulled away.

he heard himself saying this world is bigger than us like a fool.

and now, standing here in this hospital hallway, he realized — the world hadn’t been bigger than you.

it had been you.

and you were gone.

he couldn’t breathe. he shoved open the door, stumbling into the hallway, as if the floor had tilted beneath him. his vision tunneled, breath ragged, chest tight enough to burst. the hallway outside felt too bright, too awake, too wrong. voices blurred. a nurse said something, but he couldn’t hear. couldn’t think. couldn’t feel anything. 

then he saw them — chenle. mark. jeno.

standing. waiting. crying. 

and something inside him snapped. 

he didn’t stop. he didn’t think. 

it all made sense now. he finally sees the full picture. 

“you knew.”

the words came out low at first, dangerous, cracked open from somwhere feral.

jeno stepped forward carefully, “jaemin–”

but jaemin was already moving. in two strides, he was in front of jeno, hands fisting into his shirt as he slammed him into the wall so hard the frame rattled. mark jerked forward—shocked—but froze when he saw jaemin’s face.

“you fucking knew!” jaemin’s voice ripped out of him, raw and hoarse, shaking with something between grief and rage–

“you knew she was dying and you didn’t tell me?!”

jeno gasped at the impact but didn’t didn’t fight back. he didn’t even raise his hands. his eyes were wet, his voice breaking as he said, “she—she made me promise—”

jaemin slammed him again, harder, voice shattering, “I DON’T CARE ABOUT YOUR PROMISES!”

his fist drew back — mark grabbed his arm just in time, “jaemin—stop—”

“LET GO!” jaemin snarled, yanking free with a violent jerk. his fist hit the wall right beside jeno’s head, knuckles splitting on impact. pain shot up his arm, sharp and bright, but he barely felt it. 

“you let me show up thirteen minutes too late,” he spat, chest heaving, “THIRTEEN MINUTES.”

jeno’s eyes filled, his voice shaking, “i–i didn’t want to hurt you—”

“hurt me? you think THIS–” jaemin’s voice cracked, wild and broken all at once, “this is better? not knowing? missing her last breath? do you have ANY idea what you just took from me?!”

jeno’s own anger flared through his grief, sudden and pained, “you think i had a choice?! she begged me, jaem! SHE BEGGED–”

jaemin shoved him again, voices rising, grief colliding with grief like fire to gasoline.

“when someone’s life is on the line, you DON’T GET TO KEEP SECRETS LIKE THAT!”

“SHE WAS DYING!” jeno choked, voice breaking on the word, his own tears spilled faster now, “you think knowing would’ve made it easier?! you think i didn’t want help?!” he shouted back, his voice cracking, shaking under the weight of his own guilt.

“you think watching the girl you love die slowly would’ve hurt less just because you knew?!”

jaemin froze — chest heaving, breath tore from him like he’d been punched.

jeno’s voice broke completely then, trembling as he whispered, “you think i don’t know what that’s like, jaem? watching someone i love fade right in front of me and pretending i don’t? holding her when she couldn’t stand? lying every day because she just wanted to feel normal? you think that’s easy?”

jaemin’s hands loosened. his eyes widened.

“she was dying,” jeno repeated, his voice barely a whisper now, “and all she ever worried about was you.”

the fury in jaemin’s chest twisted—splintering, collapsing under its own weight.

his hands dropped.

his knees gave out.

he hit the floor hard, palms scraping against the tile, breath ripping unevenly out of him. he bent forward, shoulders shaking, and a sound tore from his chest—half-scream, half-sob, all devastation.

jeno sank down with him, reaching—but not touching—not unless jaemin let him.

chenle covered his mouth, eyes red, body shaking. mark stood frozen, tears sliding silently down his cheeks.

jaemin pressed his forehead to the cold floor, fists clenched, voice breaking open in a whisper that sounded like it hurt to exist—

“i didn’t get to say goodbye.”

jeno squeezed his eyes shut, tears falling onto the floor between them.

“i’m sorry,” he whispered, “i’m so, so sorry.”

and in that hallway—bright, sterile, too alive for what had just died—jaemin cried with the kind of grief that didn’t soften over time. the kind that stayed. brutal. permanent.

he should’ve asked the questions

he should’ve demanded the answers 

maybe then…

maybe then he wouldn’t be here…on his knees…surrounded by grief and love and all the words he’d never get to say.

two weeks later

the  sky was gray that morning—not the soft, rainy kind, but the heavy kind that just sat over the city like a weight. unmoving. colorless. the sort of gray that pressed on your lungs when you breathed, like the world itself had gone quiet for you.

the church was full but quiet. rows of black coats filled the pews, heads bowed, tissues crumpled in shaking hands. people spoke only in whispers, like their voices might disturb something sacred. the air smelled of lilies and incense—sweet, cloying, suffocating—and beneath it all, something colder, sharper.

something like finality. 

jaemin stood at the back for a long time before he could make himself walk in. his fingers clenched around the orange peony he brought. the same kind he tied around your wrist at prom, the night he thought you’d remember forever. the petals were vivid against the black of his coat, almost wrong in their brightness. too alive for a room that held your absence. his shoes scuffed softly against the marble aisle as he made his way forward.

and there you were.

surrounded by flowers—white, ivory, pale pink, gentle colors people choose when they want to pretend death is soft. a framed photograph sat beside your coffin of you, frozen mid-laugh, hair tousled by the wind, sunlight warming your cheek, that familiar glint in your eyes, like you were seconds from teasing him about something.

for a moment, jaemin couldn’t move.

his breath caught halfway up his throat. that picture wasn’t fair. it made you look too alive—like you were just late to your own funeral. like any second, you’d walk in, breathless, apologizing because you overslept.

god, it hurt.

he took one step closer. then another. your photo stared back at him with a smile he could still hear. his chest burned with the kind of ache that didn’t fade—it sharpened.

you were right there. and impossibly far away.

“jaemin.”

he turned.

jeno stood a few feet away—eyes swollen, dark crescents beneath them, his black tie crooked like he hadn’t bothered to fix it after crying in the car. his hands trembled slightly as he held something out.

a small, worn notebook.

bound in fading orange leather.

edges frayed. corners bent. a ribbon poking out from between the pages.

“she wanted you to have this,” jeno said quietly.

jaemin stared at it, at the frayed binding touched so many times your fingerprints were practically a part of it. his voice barely came out, “what…what is it?”

“her journal,” jeno said. his voice cracked. “she’s been writing in it since that day after the beach — you remember? the summer before college.”

the words hit like a blow. jaemin’s heart stuttered. he remembers that day so clearly. the bonfire. your laughter. the salt wind. 

so all this time — you knew this day was coming. and he had been in the dark. 

jeno continued quietly, eyes glassy, as if each memory hurt to touch, “she said she didn’t want to lose the memories. that she wanted to keep all of us with her, even when things got bad.”

jaeemin reached out slowly, hands shaking, and took the journal. the leather was worn soft from use. a few pages looked slightly warped, like they’d been touched by tears. there were indentations across the front — deep grooves from your handwriting, pressed too hard into the page, the way you always did when the emotions didn’t fit inside the lines.

his breath hitched. he held it tighter. then tighter still. like if he loosened his grip, someone would take it from him too.

his vision blurred, tears gathering despite how many he’d already shed. he pressed the journal to his chest, right over his heart, as if it could hold him together, anchor him to the floor, keep him from collapsing all over again.

because right now, everything else felt like it was slipping out of his hands.

he couldn’t open it. not yet.

the words inside would be too heavy. too real. too you.

if he read it, it would make your death feel irreversible.

so he tucked the journal carefully into the inner pocket of his coat, close to his heart, the same way he had once tucked your hand into his jacket on cold nights. and he stood there, beside your coffin, surrounded by flowers and silence and everything he never got to say, holding onto that journal like a lifeline.

because it was all he had left.

of you.

of the future he thought he’d have with you.

of the version of himself that only existed when you were still here.

his heart hurt — god, it hurt— his stupid heart that had always beaten too hard for you, too fast, too reckless. that same heart that failed him when it needed to be brave, when it needed to choose you sooner.

maybe that’s why you got sick, he thought. bitter. broken. because you were always the strong one. always holding everything together until your body couldn’t anymore.

a sound escaped him—half-laugh, half-sob, sharp enough to cut. he covered his mouth, shoulders shaking.

“god, tiger,” he whispered, voice trembling, cracking. “you really left me nothing but your words, huh?”

he closed his eyes, feeling the weight of the journal against his chest—light, but unbearable.

“orange,” he murmured, so soft it barely reached the air.

the word trembled like a confession. like a promise he didn’t know how to keep without you.

one and a half year later.

the graveyard was quiet. the kind of quiet that didn’t feel lonely anymore — but a still, settled kind. a quiet that felt…lived-in. familiar. like grief had pulled up a chair beside him and finally stopped trying to drown him.

early spring softened the air. the sky was pale gray, clouds stretched thin, like the world was just waking up. the trees were dusted with new leaves, shy and young. a breeze moved lazily through the grass, cool enough to raise goosebumps, gentle enough not to sting.

jaemin knelt down in front of your gravestone, jeans brushing damp grass, his breath forming the faintest fog as he exhaled. a few leaves had gathered at the base, carried here by wind and time. he brushed them away with careful fingers, as if clearing dust off a photograph. he traced his thumb over your name, slow, deliberate, letting the letters settle beneath his skin. he touched it the way you used to touch his hand when he was anxious, thumb brushing over his knuckles in quiet reassurance.

“hey, tiger,” he murmured.

his voice didn’t break this time.

there had been days, so many days, when standing here felt like being skinned alive. days where he couldn’t form words because the air itself hurt to breathe. days where he clung to your gravestone like it was the last piece of you he could hold, chest heaving, begging the universe, god, fate, anyone, to rewind time and give you back.

he had screamed here. sobbed here. collapsed here. he had cursed at the sky until his throat felt scraped raw. cursed at you for leaving him, at himself for being too late, at life for being so relentlessly cruel.

but grief changes shape when you start learning how to carry it.

now, the visits were softer. not painless — but quieter. quieter in the way healed wounds still ache when it rains.

today, though, wasn’t like the others. today, he brought something he had been too afraid to open for a year and a half.

your journal. the once-orange leather had deepened to a muted, weather-touched brown. the corners were worn soft, edges curling like petals drying at the end of their bloom. a thin elastic band held it closed, stretched loose from how often he held it—but never opened it. he didn’t go anywhere without it. he kept it tucked into his coat, on his bedside table, beside his coffee cup in the mornings. sometimes, he fell asleep with his hand resting on it, like holding onto your words might keep them from fading.

but he hadn’t read a single page.

not until now.

because a year and a half later, his heart finally felt steady enough to break again.

he exhaled slowly, his thumb brushing the indentation on the front—the faint ridges left from your handwriting pressed too hard against the cover, like your words wanted to bleed through.

“okay,” he whispered to himself, as if preparing for impact.

he opened the journal.

the first line didn’t just hit him—

it pulled him back in time.

jaemin is the warmth in my coffee cup.

the laugh that slipped from him was small, shaky, but real. his eyes stung.

“you really started with that, huh?” he said, huffing a breath that was almost a smile. he flipped slowly, carefully—like the pages were fragile bones that might snap under too much pressure. his hands trembled at first, then steadied, as if your voice in the ink was guiding him.

every page was you — your voice scrawled in messy handwriting. your heart tucked between sentences. your world captured in run-on thoughts and half-scribbles. there were doodles in the margins—tiny suns, coffee mugs, waves, little tiger paws. some pages were tear-stained. some wrinkled like they’d been clutched too tightly. some had music lyrics half-written, half-erased.

you wrote about school, the boys, prom night, fears about the future, the sunset on the beach that one night, the airport, the flickering lamp post at the park and—

him.

he saw himself everywhere.

not the version he thought he was. not the flawed, terrified, overly-careful boy who couldn’t choose love until it was too late.

but the way you saw him.

warmth.

comfort.

home.

his vision blurred. he blinked hard, but the tears kept forming. still—he kept reading. he read until his heart felt full and hollow all at once.

and then he reached the last entry.

the handwriting was different—shakier, thinner. letters leaning into each other like they needed support. like your hands had trembled while writing.

at the top, you had written:

for jaemin,

he swallowed hard, his chest tightening as he began to read.

i don’t really know where to start. there’s no version of this that feels right, and i’ve rewritten it so many times that the ink started bleeding through the page. maybe that’s fitting. maybe love is supposed to spill a little.

i think the simplest way to begin is with the truth….i’m sorry. i’m sorry for keeping this from you. i’m sorry for not telling you when i should have. i’m sorry for leaving the way i did. you didn’t deserve that. you never did. not then. not now. not ever.

i need you to know this. none of it was because i loved you any less. if anything, it was because i loved you too much. in that big, terrifying, once-in-a-lifetime way — the kind that makes you want to shield the other person from every ugly thing in the world, even if that ugly thing was me.

you’ve always been the best kind of person, jaem. the kind who makes the world softer just by being in it. you don’t even notice when you do it…you just breathe, and suddenly everything hurts a little less. i didn’t want to dim that light. not with hospitals and iv drips and the kind of exhaustion you can’t sleep off. i wanted you to keep your warmth. the same warmth that carried me through every laugh, every sleepless night, every heartbeat that hurt too much to hold alone.

i left because i was running out of time. and i was terrified that if you saw me breaking, you would break with me. i couldn’t bear the thought of your last memory of me being in a hospital room and a goodbye i wasn’t strong enough to say out loud.

if there is one thing i regret more than anything, it’s not giving you the chance to choose for yourself. i thought i was protecting you. maybe that was selfish. maybe it was cowardly. maybe it was both.

but please…go easy on jeno. he only kept my secret because i asked him to. begged, really. i didn’t want your eyes — the ones i loved more than anything — to look at me with pity, or fear, or that kind of sadness that never leaves a person. i wanted our last memory to stay warm, untouched, still blooming with all the possibilities we never got to live through. i wanted our last goodnight to feel like love, not like an ending.

you once told me that the world was bigger than us. and you were right. the world is bigger than us. and it should be. we weren’t meant to fit in just one place, or one moment, or one version of a future. but still…i hope, somewhere in that big world, i still take up a little space in your heart. not as a wound. not as the thing that broke you. just as someone you once loved.

and i hope when you think of me, you think of laughter. the kind that made your shoulders shake. sunlight on the beach. a sparkling disco ball. autumn leaves. and the smell of coffee in the early mornings.

i hope you remember the warmth.

i hope you remember the beginning more than the ending.

jaemin paused, jaw clenched, breath shaking. he swallowed, but it didn’t go down smoothly. he turned the page. the last lines were smaller. slower. like you had traced each word with care. like you were afraid to write your last one.

i often wonder…

if i’d kissed you that nigh at prom…would things be different?

i used to replay that moment over and over again in my head. the music, the lights, the way your hand kept brushing mine like you were waiting for a sign. i remember thinking, if i just take one step closer, everything in my life will change.

but here’s the truth i finally made peace with–

no.

i don’t think it would have changed anything.

i think no matter what happened that night, in every version of my life, i would have loved you exactly the same. the timeline didn’t matter. the kiss didn’t matter. the universe had already picked you for me.

so let’s throw that silly word away, huh, na jaemin?

no more hiding behind colors.

no more metaphors because i was too scared to say how i really felt.

no more oranges.

just the truth. the truth i should’ve said sooner, louder, clearer — while i still had time.

just….

i love you.

i love you in every lifetime i won’t get to live. i love you in every version of the future we never reached. i love you in the mornings we lost, the nights we missed, the years we won’t get. and if love has any echo after this life…if it lingers in places or people or memories…then i hope mine finds you every time the sky turns that soft, familiar shade of orange.

if that happens…

you’ll know it’s me.

the page blurred beyond recognition. his chest didn’t cave in this time. it expanded—painfully, beautifully, as if the words had finally given his grief a place to rest. he closed the journal slowly, letting his palm settle against the cover. the he pressed it to his heart.

for the first time in months, he smiled. a small, tired, honest smile. the kind that comes after surviving something you weren't sure you would.

“i love you too, tiger,” he whispered, voice steady. “always.”

a breeze passed through the cemetery then — gentle, warm, carrying the faint scent of lilies and rain. the clouds shifted, just enough for a break in the gray, and a soft spill of sunlight touched the grass, your gravestone, his hand.

it wasn’t bright.

but it was orange.

he exhaled, a soft, breathless laugh slipping out, tears sliding down his cheeks—not like collapse this time, but release.

he stayed there a while longer. one hand resting against your name. the other holding your journal—your words, your love, your forever.

and for the first time since you left, jaemin didn’t feel like you were gone.

he just felt you.

everywhere.

[loevhyuck]

[honey-hyuckle]

Oh hes so pretty and beautiful

[honey-hyuckle]

I NEED a fic based on love beyond cause HFBSGFIWBXJSU THAT SONG IS SO GOOD WHY IS HAECHAN SUCH A LYRICAL GENIUS