Han's kisses are a health hazard… yet you’re addicted.
This was his fault. He was the desperate one.
Was.
Always stealing kisses whenever he passed you, always leaning in just because he could, always pressing his mouth to yours like it was a reflex. Like affection was something he couldn’t help but give away, smiling into it like it was a habit.
Somewhere along the way, it stuck.
Now the absence of it itched. The memory lingered on your lips long after the last one ended, like your body had learned something your brain hadn’t agreed to yet. Like he’d trained you without meaning to – soft lips, familiar pressure, over and over – until wanting it felt automatic.
Addiction, disguised as affection.
And there he was, sitting on his chair, headphones on, pen tapping against his notebook while a beat looped softly from his phone. Completely in his zone. Concentrated. Focused.
Not kissing you.
Unacceptable.
You reached over and paused his track.
Han looked up immediately, blinking. “Hey Bab—”
“Kiss.”
No preamble. No negotiation.
He smiled, soft and easy, like you’d asked for something obvious. “Okay.”
He leaned up and pressed a quick, polite peck to your lips. Sweet. Respectful. Over before your brain had even caught up. He leaned back again, already satisfied, already halfway returning to his notebook.
You stared at him.
“That’s it?” you said.
Han turned back to his desk, grinning like he was proud of himself. “What? It was cute.”
“That was a notification kiss. I want a real one.”
He laughed under his breath, pushed his headphones down around his neck and rolled his chair closer. This time, he leaned in properly. His hand came up automatically, cupping your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek like he needed the contact to stay grounded. He paused just long enough for you to feel his breath against your lips before he closed the last inch of space.
The kiss started gentle. Normal. Sweet. Safe.
His mouth met yours slowly, deliberately, lips fitting against yours like it was something he already knew by heart. Not rushed. Not hesitant either.
You smiled into it.
Big mistake.
Because it always went like this: soft and sweet… until some invisible switch flipped. His focus tunneled. The kiss deepened without him seeming to even realize. His breathing stayed perfectly steady – unfairly steady – while yours started to disappear entirely.
Han kissed like he performed: fully committed, zero brakes and just slightly competitive. What started soft deepened fast, his focus narrowing until the rest of the world clearly stopped existing. The notebook, the lyrics, the studio. Gone.
Just you, him and the way his lips moved against yours.
The kiss deepened, his tongue brushing yours softly – enough to make your fingers curl in his hoodie and draw a quiet, approving sound from him against your mouth, like you’d just hit the correct note.
You tried to keep up. Tried to match him. But the same breath control he used for rapid rap verses was now apparently repurposed for maximum kissing efficiency.
Halfway through, your lungs submitted their first formal complaint about oxygen.
You ignored it.
Then they filed another one.
You squeezed his sleeve once.
He didn’t notice. Didn’t pull back. Didn’t seem to need air at all
You nudged his shoulder.
Nothing.
You nudged his shoulder again.
Still nothing.
You tried to pull back a little.
But he only followed like some kind of a magnetic pull forced him to. Still kissing you. Still not breathing like a normal human being. The man had the lungs of a marathon runner and the determination of someone trying to win Olympic gold in kissing.
You finally thumped his shoulder twice and pushed away, sucking in air like you’d just resurfaced from deep water.
Han blinked at you, stunned and dazed. Then immediately pouted.
“…why’d you stop?” he asks, genuinely confused, lips still a little swollen and hair a mess.
You stared at him, still catching your breath. “Why did I stop? Bro—do you even breathe??”
His pout dropped into scandalized betrayal. “Bro?! I was being romantic and you call me bro?! YOU demanded a real kiss!”
“I wanted a kiss,” you shot back, “not a near-death experience.”
Han laughed, full volume, absolutely thriving. “I was holding back, by the way.”
“Holding back? I just saw my ancestors!"
“Skill issue.” He sat up straighter, offended but also pleased with himself. “That just means I’m a great kisser.”
“You are,” you admitted immediately. “And you’re also a health hazard.”
His grin turned shameless. “That sounds like a compliment.”
“It is not.”
“It is,” he said lightly. “You’re just mad I literally took your breath away.”
“Show-off.”
You stepped back into his space, grabbed his hoodie strings and tugged him forward until his knees bumped yours. “Do it again.”
Han paused, searching your face. “You sure?” he asked, amused. “You just accused me of attempted murder.”
You shrugged, already smiling. “There are worse ways to go.”
His grin widened, slow and dangerous. “That’s a wild thing to say.”
“But not incorrect.”
His smile softened – not smug now, just warm – and his lips met yours again, slow and deliberate. The familiar softness pressed against your mouth, fitting like it always did.
the sunshine twins are just trying to make truman 2.0 but unfortunately, jisung's itching curiosity about seungmin’s girlfriend makes them derail entirely.
MINORS DNI!
wc: 1.8k
a/n: i had so much fun with this! it’s a little different from what i usually do <33 hope you enjoy! again, this is strictly 18+
“felix? are these crackers yours or seungmin’s?”
jisung’s voice rings out from the kitchen, slightly drowned out under the violent crinkle of a bag. he’s supposedly cutting snacks while on a diet, but lately he’s cheating so often it barely counts. who can blame him if he’s noticeably happier?
but if the crackers belong to seungmin, he’d put them back immediately and wouldn’t touch them again with a ten-foot pole. if even one went missing in the bag, seungmin would somehow know. jisung shivered at the thought.
“they’re mine,” felix calls from the living room, eyes still glued to his laptop. “you can bring them over.”
jisung sighs in relief and happily wanders in. he drops onto the couch and swings one leg over the armrest, crackers balanced precariously on his thigh. “what were we doing last time?”
felix closes his laptop shut before diverting his attention to jisung, “redoing the second verse. you said it was dog crap.”
“right, right.” jisung leans closer, reaching for the notebook on the coffee table. “let me see.”
he skims the page and grimaces instantly. he definitely wrote this drunk because he vaguely remembers thinking the rhyming went hard.
unfortunately, jisung also knows at least seventy percent of this session is going to be spent talking shit and staring at videos of buff men before anything remotely productive happens. explaining the latter to chan last time was an awkward conversation.
jisung paused. “where the hell is he, by the way?”
felix furrows his eyebrows. “who?”
“seungmin.” another cracker disappeared into jisung’s mouth. “is he out, right now? usually he sits out here on this phone or something.”
“he’s in his room. his girlfriend’s over.”
jisung freezes mid-chew, staring at felix.
one eyebrow slowly creeps up.
felix added, “he said he didn’t wanna bother us while we were working.”
“oh,” jisung says slowly. “okay. interesting.”
his eyes stay on the lyrics in front of him, but his brain very much does not.
“you know,” he says, voice dropping in case seungmin could hear him through the closed door down the short hallway, “i haven’t even met her yet.”
felix snorts, taking the notebook out of jisung's hands. “yeah. that checks out.”
jisung watches felix skim over the lyrics they’ve scribbled down, his eyebrows knitting together. felix is clearly trying not to get derailed. jisung, on the other hand, is already gone.
jisung sits up straighter, his voice jumping up an octave. “look, it’s not even like i want to pry! i just want proof she exists. seungmin’s not above claiming he has a girlfriend just to get out of hanging out with us.”
jisung quickly looked around realising he must’ve been much louder than he should’ve been. seungmin did have ears like a hawk.
“i don’t even know what she looks like,” jisung adds, quieter now. “sometimes i fully think he made her up.”
felix sighs and leans back, staring up at the ceiling for a second. funnily enough, he can’t even blame jisung for thinking this way.
“i assume you’ve seen her,” jisung adds. “considering she’s literally in your house.”
“yeah.” felix looks back down. “i have.”
“and?” jisung presses, scooting closer on the couch. “what’s the vibe.”
“she’s pretty,” felix continues, struggling a little to describe someone he hasn’t seen much. “smiles a lot. i’ve tried saying hi before.”
jisung perks up immediately. “but?”
“she looks like she wants to say hi back,” felix says. “but then seungmin always swoops in before any of us can get a word out.”
jisung’s mouth gapes as he stares down.
“do you think he’s just ashamed of us?”
felix doesn’t even hesitate. “oh, absolutely.”
“that’s so rude.” jisung says, “i’m great with people.”
felix raises an eyebrow.
“i can be nice,” jisung insists angrily, shoving another cracker into his mouth. “and i would try for her! i love seungmin, it’s not like i wanna embarrass him!”
“yeah, but you know how he is,” felix says, leaning back with a sigh.
they both look at the seungmin’s bedroom door in silence.
“let’s get back to work,” felix says, already glancing toward the hallway. “they’re gonna hear us talking about them.”
jisung huffs but grabs a pen anyway, slouching back into the couch. he leans over so they’re both looking at the notebook, the same page full of half-baked rhymes.
they stare at it.
felix squints. “this line still sucks.”
“yeah,” jisung mutters, scratching it off with the pen. “i hate it.”
another beat passes.
“…what do you even think they’re doing in there?” jisung whispers.
felix exhales through his nose and drags a hand over his face.
“i’m just saying,” jisung continues, clearly not stopping. “are they even talking to each other right now?”
felix flips the notebook closed a little harder than necessary. “i swear, you cannot focus for five minutes.”
“yeah, i can,” jisung fires back immediately. “you should see me with chan and changbin. laser focused. maybe you’re the problem.”
“no, i’m not. it’s the fact that i’m roommates with the one guy in our band who has a girlfriend right now. and you’re just fucking nosy.”
“yes, i’m nosy,” jisung says without shame. “of course i’m nosy. i mean,” he adds, lowering his voice, “out of all of us, kim seungmin?”
felix lets out a laugh despite himself. he’s fully aware that he’s about to become the problem, because unfortunately, he's just as interested as jisung at this point.
“to answer your question,” felix says, rubbing his temple, “i don’t know what they’re doing in there. i don’t know what they do half the time.”
jisung perks up immediately.
“but i came home once,” felix continues, “and they were on the couch. right where we are.”
“oh?” jisung’s eyebrows wiggle, a slow and devilish grin spreading across his face.
felix immediately holds up a hand. “they were watching some historical romance drama. like swords and people dying in hanbok. and you’d think maybe,” felix goes on, “netflix and chill. right?”
jisung nods eagerly.
“but no,” felix says. “i walk in and his hand is behind her. on the backrest. not even touching her.”
jisung’s smile drops instantly.
“where the hell are we,” jisung sputters, looking genuinely offended, “the 1800s?!”
felix shrugs. “hey, maybe the show got to him. put him in a whole mindset. like touching a woman is suddenly frowned upon or something.”
jisung stares at the wall.
“anyway, for all i know, he’s never had sex with her.” felix waves a hand like he’s already done thinking about it. “i’m usually good at guessing that stuff. if you can’t picture them doing it, they haven’t done it.”
“she probably hasn’t even seen him naked.” jisung mutters under his breath.
felix snorts. “hell, even i barely see him naked. he goes into the bathroom fully clothed and comes out the same after a shower. meanwhile, i’m out here trying to remember where i put my fucking boxers.”
jisung nods aggressively in agreement, “when we were all living together, i swear i saw chan’s dick swinging around more than i saw seungmin’s wrist.”
felix grimaces immediately. “god, that’s disturbing.”
jisung says, “i’m just saying, comparatively, seungmin’s basically a myth.”
felix shakes his head, rubbing at his face.
“…still,” jisung adds, voice softening just a little, “good for him though. he deserves it.”
felix nods immediately. “yeah. he really does. he’s loyal and he’s the most emotionally stable out of all of us i’d say.”
“if kim seungmin loves you, you’re set for life.”
they fall quiet for a second.
then jisung’s eyes drift back down to the notebook still sitting between them, pages full of crossed-out lines.
“…speaking of which,” he says slowly, tapping the paper, “we should probably ask him about this.”
felix follows his gaze, a bit of fear on his face. “why would we do that.”
“because,” jisung says, already standing up, “he’s good at lyrics and we’re clearly stuck.”
felix sighs. “he’s ashamed of us, remember?”
jisung scoffs immediately. “i don’t believe that for a second.”
he leans down closer to felix.
“and also, i wanna meet her!” jisung whisper-yells. “if anything, this is our chance. what better excuse to pop in than work?”
felix looks unconvinced.
“he was nice enough to give us the living room,” jisung continues. “who’s to say he’d be against giving us five minutes of help?”
felix squinted as he contemplated hard, weighing his options. jisung could only look at him hopefully.
“fuck it,” felix slaps his palm on his thigh. “let’s go.”
jisung lit up, launched to his feet and scurried quietly as the pair crept toward the hallway. the door to seungmin’s room loomed at the end of the hall.
when they reached it, felix glanced at jisung and raised his brows. nodded once. you knock.
jisung shook his head violently. you do it. he nodded at felix.
felix exhaled, staring at the door. then, very slowly, he lifted his hand.
and froze when he heard bedsprings creak, once, then again.
felix blinked. turned to look at jisung.
jisung had already stopped breathing
a second later, they heard a feminine moan that was muffled by something. a hand, a pillow, you name it.
felix’s hand dropped back to his side.
then, like telepathy, they both turned on their heels and bolted silently back down the hallway, not speaking, not breathing, not thinking until they’d reached the safety of the living room and flung themselves back onto opposite sides of the couch like they’d just outrun death.
jisung’s face was pale. felix looked ill.
neither of them spoke for a long time. if they knew seungmin and his girlfriend were clearly... preoccupied, they wouldn’t have worried so much about being overheard.
jisung finally blinked and cleared his throat, voice barely above a whisper. “um. we should just...do this without him.”
felix nodded, once, stiff. then swallowed. “yeah, good idea.”
they both turned back to the notebook between them.
the room was then so silent they started hearing the bed squeaking again. it was only audible if you were actively focusing or standing at the door. but once you knew what to listen for you couldn’t unhear it.
jisung closed his eyes trying to drown out the sound.
felix groaned and dragged a hand down his face. “god, no wonder he’s so calm all the time” he complains, letting his head fall back against the couch. “he’s been nutting regularly.”
another faint creak from down the hall, making felix shut his eyes as well, “i mean… it makes sense. look at him. his skin is clear, his sleep schedule’s perfect, always composed.”
“i need that.” jisung muttered, “i just need whatever they’re doing in there.” he gestured vaguely toward the hallway. “i need someone to do that with me. regularly with a deep emotional connection and heavenly orgasms.”
felix nodded, almost solemn. “same. i think i’m going to explode. i haven’t been touched in weeks.”
another beat of silence passed.
and then they both slowly turned to look at each other.
their faces morphed at the same time into mirrored expressions of horror.
felix pointed at him. “don’t look at me like that!”
“you looked first!”
felix grabbed the nearest cushion and shoved it between them. “this conversation is over. never again.”
“good.”
“good.”
“and if chan asks us why we got no work done, we'll say we lost track of time...” jisung said slowly, “watching videos of buff men.”
୨୧ summary: you hate chan because your boyfriend hates chan, and you’re pretty sure he hates you too. so when he proposes a fake dating arrangement after you get cheated on, you accept only for the revenge plot. but that doesn’t exactly go as planned, because maybe you two never really hated each other after all.
୨୧ pairing: student!bang chan x fem!student!reader
୨୧ genre: college!au, enemies to lovers / fake dating, a lil fluff, a lil angst, smut MINORS DNI
୨୧ word count: 20.6k
୨୧ featuring: jaehyun of nct and mina & jihyo of twice
୨୧ warnings: 18+, cheating (not between reader and chan), mentions of alcohol, explicit language, poor communication, some arguing, overuse of italics (sorry!), oral (f receiving), fingering, unprotected sex (pls dont do it), breast play (+ one slap !), creampie, multiple orgasms, spitting, dirty talk, teasing, pet names (baby, princess), afab reader
୨୧ author's note: let's play a game of how many tropes can i fit into one fic! i did all of my college courses online so not too much on me and my unrealistic depictions pls… also obviously this is not an accurate portrayal of jaehyun, i love that man down okay!! and i got a lil lazy midway through this and rushed it to get to the smut lmao sorry!
You hated parties. You hated parties because they were loud, because spaces with that many bodies on top of each other were too suffocating, because men always tried to hit on you with boozy breath and wandering eyes.
Now you hated parties because they made your boyfriend want to stick his tongue down other girls’ throats.
Jaehyun had managed to destroy nine months within three minutes – that’s the length of time you’d convinced yourself you’d spent standing there, unable to avert your gaze from the horror unfolding in front of you. Three whole minutes that he hadn’t even noticed your presence, too preoccupied. Too focused on kissing this random girl like he had something to claim, as if you weren’t enough. And worst of all, he hadn’t even cared enough to bring it somewhere private. They were in a corner of the living room, tucked away but not hidden. It had only taken a little bit of squeezing between partygoers and quick apologies to make your way to them.
They had gathered a crowd, too. A few spectators, voices meant to be whispers – drunk people can’t seem to mind their own volume.
“Yo, is that Y/N?”
“Nah, I just saw her getting a drink.”
“Shit…she’s gonna be so pissed.”
At least the alcohol hadn’t made them completely brainless. You were, in fact, pissed. There was the unmistakable heartbreak too, but you weren’t going to let anyone see that. Instead, you blinked back your tears and cleared your throat to make sure the words didn’t get stuck. Each step you took towards him made it more real, until you were close enough that you knew he could hear you over the raging music.
“What the fuck are you doing?” you hiss, far from an actual question. Your voice still broke on the last word, and you hoped he hadn’t noticed. As soon as he registers that it’s your voice, his girlfriend, Jaehyun tries to push the girl away, feigning disgust. It’s almost pathetic in a way, his little act.
“Shit, Y/N,” he curses. “I didn’t mean to – fuck, I didn’t mean for this to happen, I just – ”
He stumbles on his words as if his mouth wasn’t working perfectly fine just seconds before. When he tries to inch towards you, you step back, refusing to allow him the comfort.
“You’re fucked, Jaehyun,” you say flatly. That’s as much of your energy as you would give him, at least for now. He’d embarrassed you enough by kissing another woman in the middle of a party; you decided against escalating your humiliation by shouting at him and causing a scene. You turn on your heels and begin pushing through bodies again, away from him, and you can tell he’s following. You can hear your name, barely reaching your ears but definitely there.
Once you make it out of the most concentrated pool of people, he staggers soon after and latches onto your wrist. The same fingertips that used to run across your skin so gently now felt like betrayal and poison.
“Let me go,” you snap. His grip loosens slightly, but he still holds you there, determined to defend himself.
“I fucked up, I know, but please just hear me out,” he begs, as if he has the right to. His excuses are the last thing you want to hear right now, and you know that’s all they would be. Stupid excuses for a stupid “mistake,” and it makes you sick to even think about listening to him explain why and how he ended up making out with another woman in the corner of a party he asked you to go with him to.
“No! Fuck you, seriously,” you spit, words laced with venom you prayed would hurt him even a fraction of the way he hurt you.
And perhaps they did, or at the very least stunned him, because he drops your arm entirely. Now, you take the final steps towards the door, reaching for the handle. He tries to follow you again, unsatisfied, unrelenting. “And if you follow me out this door, I promise you I’ll never speak to you again.”
That stops him in his tracks. Maybe gives him some hope that if he just lets you cool off for the night, you’ll let him explain in the morning. Regardless of how he perceives it, you lunge at the opportunity to escape, finally making it out the door and into the crisp night air. It hits your skin viciously, your skirt and halter top offering little protection from its bite. You’re cold, heartbroken, and, worst of all, not even nearly drunk enough to mask it.
Without the vivaciousness of the party, you can only see Jaehyun kissing her in your mind, can only hear the hushed whispers of the onlookers, replaying on a torturous loop. You’d only made it down the steps of the house before the tears began to fall. Now you let them, assuming you were away from prying eyes.
Unfortunately, you hadn’t noticed someone standing right next to the door while you and Jaehyun had your little spat. A certain someone who would get far too much enjoyment out of such a scene. You had been followed once more, but this time not by your stupid cheating ex boyfriend, but by his equally as stupid “rival.” It was still a mystery to you why they hated each other, and at this point, you didn’t care at all to find out.
“Those were some harsh words,” he chuckles, and you don’t even need to turn around to recognize the voice. The same way you don’t need to turn around to know he’s smirking. You hurriedly wipe your eyes, careful not to smudge your makeup; the last thing you need is him to see you crying, another thing for him to derive sick pleasure in. You wouldn’t dare grant him that.
Because it was an unspoken relationship rule that an enemy of your partner is an enemy of your own. So, for no real reason other than the fact that Jaehyun hated him, you hated Bang Chan.
“Fuck off, Chan,” you snarl, quickening your pace. It doesn’t matter, since he catches up to you in a few short strides. “Why the hell did you even follow me out here?”
He steps in rhythm with you, making it clear he had no intentions of leaving. Not until he got what he wanted, whatever that may be. The satisfaction of seeing you broken? The chance to remind you how shitty Jaehyun is and how great he is? You aren’t sure, but you keep walking anyway.
“I just didn’t expect to hear you say such things to your boyfriend,” he answers. His emphasis of “boyfriend” makes you both angry and repulsed, then bitter and devastated. Nine months of your life gone in minutes, and now you had the displeasure of dealing with Chan on top of it.
You scoff and finally stop, turning to face him for the first time. His eyes twinkle with something devious, and it infuriates you. “He’s not my boyfriend. Not anymore.”
“Oh?” he draws his head back in shock. He’s silent for a moment, and you fold your arms across your chest, glaring at him in a way he finds cute more than intimidating. “I’m surprised you two lasted this long, actually. Figured it was about time for Jaehyun to do what he does best.”
You blink at him incredulously, his careless words cutting deep. There’s no reason anything he says should bother you, but there’s something about it that stings. And Chan notices, too, watching your entire face shift from rage to sorrow. Your features soften in a way he’d never seen before – you’d only ever looked at him with hatred and annoyance – and it deflates him.
“I don’t know why you two don’t get along. Seems like you should be best friends – you’re both fucked up,” you retort quickly, though it comes out as a strained whisper.
Chan hates being grouped with him, especially in your mind where Jaehyun now seems to be synonymous with evil. He never expected to be giving you of all people an apology, but he figures he needs to. For his own consciousness, of course. Definitely not because he felt an odd pang in his chest when you looked at him with something other than disdain for once.
“Okay, okay, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said all that. Are you alright?” he asks cautiously. He never thought he’d be so relieved to see someone roll their eyes, but when you do, he swears he feels ten times lighter. Your hostility he could navigate, but your sadness was uncharted territory; he was glad to be back to familiarity. And since you hadn’t walked away from him yet, he takes the chance to dig deeper. “What did he do?”
“Like I’d want to talk to you about it. Just give it a few hours, you’ll hear about it from someone, I’m sure,” you shrug, trying to pretend that you’re unbothered. That you don’t care that you’ll likely be the talk of campus, the woeful ex-girlfriend people will look at in that pitiful way they look at small, broken things.
As much as you hate Chan, you’re grateful he isn’t looking at you like you’re small or broken. He’s looking at you the same as always, like you’re a challenge, a puzzle he hasn’t yet solved. Maybe that’s why you decided to keep standing there, holding more of a conversation with him than you’d likely ever had before.
“Probably. But I want to hear it from you. So tell me, what happened?” he asks again.
He doesn’t say it with demand or snark. It sounds almost unsettlingly genuine. It sounds like someone that isn’t Chan, or at least the Chan you’re familiar with. You hesitate, conjuring up another smart remark, but you let it die in your throat.
“He fucking cheated on me. He was making out with some girl in front of everyone. Can you believe that?” you chuckle sarcastically, forgetting who exactly is standing before you. “Nevermind…I’m sure you can believe it. God, I’m so stupid.”
“No, you’re not stupid,” he says adamantly. “He’s stupid. An even bigger idiot than I thought, actually.”
It angers him more than it should that you’re degrading yourself over Jaehyun’s horrible decisions, and he has a fleeting thought of going back and telling him off for it. And as the thought passes, he can’t understand why. He knows you hate him. He knows you have likely been fed lies and half-truths by Jaehyun for months. He knows he shouldn’t care about any of this. He can’t seem to figure out why he does.
“I just can’t get that image out of my head. It’s making me sick,” you mumble, and it replays all over again. The ear-splitting music, the crowd, his lips on hers, that look on his face when he saw you. All your emotions bubble back up to the surface and come out as a loud groan, though internally you just want to scream until your throat is raw. “I wish I could make him feel even half of what I feel right now.”
The idea that pops up sounds ridiculous in his head and likely even more so said aloud, but his mouth opens before he can stop himself. “Well, maybe you could,” he trails.
“I know it may be hard for you to believe, but I’m actually a good person,” you sneer. “I would never cheat.”
He laughs dryly and you furrow your eyebrows in confusion, awaiting an explanation. “Believe me, I know you’re just a perfect princess,” he mocks, and you’re certain if you roll your eyes any harder they’ll get stuck like that. “But who said anything about cheating? Besides, you’re not together anymore,” he reminds. “And there’s only one thing I can think of that would drive him just as mad.”
You’re intrigued now, though doubtful there’s anything that could reflect the same level of hurt you currently felt. Anything rational, at least. Still, you wanted to hear whatever silly idea Chan had, if not for your own amusement.
“Which is what?” you question.
“Being with me,” he answers, too quickly, too plainly, as if it was something entirely normal and not an absolutely insane statement. When your eyes widen, he continues, waving his hands urgently to indicate you had gotten the wrong impression. “Okay, not for real, Jesus. Like faking it, you know? Just for him to see and lose his mind.”
That was quite possibly the last thing you expected, and you’re forced to laugh at the absurdity of it. You wait for him to join in, to tell you he was joking just to fuck with you. That would have been the Chan thing to do. Instead, he stares at you, a half-smile playing on his lips.
“Yeah, okay, you’re insane,” you scoff.
“Is it that insane?” he says smugly, poking his tongue in his cheek. “Think about it, imagine how pissed he’d be seeing us together.”
For a moment, you can’t help but realize how attractive he actually is. It’s not that you hadn’t noticed before – you had perfectly functional eyes – but now being single and also inches away from him, it was an unavoidable fact. It made you almost begin to consider his idea. Almost.
“Yes, it’s insane! Just because I gave you five minutes of my time on a shitty night doesn’t mean I want to talk to you ever again, let alone pretend to date you.”
“Oh, Princess Y/N gave me five minutes of her precious time, thank you so much,” he quips, and this time he’s the one to roll his eyes. “Whatever, I gave you a guy’s perspective on how to get back at him. You’re not gonna get any better revenge than that.”
“And what do you get from it?” you ask, certain there must be some mutually beneficial aspect beneath it. There’s no way he would suggest something so outlandish without thinking of his own gain, and you know that’s true when he grins wickedly.
“Just the satisfaction of seeing his face when he realizes he lost his girl to the one person he hates more than anything.”
You aren’t sure why you hadn’t grasped that from the beginning. All Chan wanted, as always, was to get under Jaehyun’s skin, to take something of his, to win. The idea is still crazy, and far more theatrical than you’d usually approve of, but you’re a lover scorned.
Then, you think back to the unspoken rule, the sole reason and origin of your hatred for Chan. Jaehyun hadn’t even followed relationship rule number fucking one: don’t cheat on your girlfriend. So, you figured you could break some rules and allow some theatrics.
“Okay. Okay, fine, I’ll fake date you or whatever,” you huff, trying to ignore his triumphant smirk. “But nothing weird, alright? And once it’s all over, we go back to hating each other.”
He throws his hands up like it’s offensive you’d even insinuated it. “Believe me, that’ll be no problem,” he agrees.
“Good,” you say simply, a forced tight-lipped smile on your face.
“Good,” he repeats.
The silence that falls over you two is uncomfortable, only disrupted by the sound of the wind lifting leaves along the sidewalk and the faint thumping of music. You can still see the house down the road, and it makes you wonder if Jaehyun is still inside and if he went right back to her. Suddenly, you feel the need to get home and cry in the shower with your carefully-curated sad music playlist.
“Well…I’m gonna go back to my dorm now,” you finally speak, shifting on your feet awkwardly.
“I’ll walk you,” he offers without a second thought.
You can’t help the way you exhale a little too harshly. Truthfully, you just wanted a short walk on your own to process all of the nights’ events, including the proposal you’d just accepted. And you had already spent more time than you’d like with Chan for one night (although you know you’ll have to spend much more now).
“Uh, no thanks. I don’t think we need to start the whole fake dating thing right now,” you reject bluntly.
He pinches the bridge of his nose and shakes his head, trying to stop himself from saying the wrong thing. He’s just trying to do a nice thing, the right thing, but you have a way of getting under his skin. The next few weeks are surely going to be a challenge. “It’s not for that, Y/N,” he sighs. “It’s late and dark out. Just let me make sure you get home safe, please?”
The roads are lit only by streetlights and the moon shining above, and you shiver from both the chilly air and the thought of making the walk to your dorm alone. You’d expected to be going home with Jaehyun, definitely not on your own in the middle of the night.
“Fine,” you agree reluctantly. “But can we just walk in silence? Not really in the mood to talk anymore.”
You deliberately exclude that you feel like if you keep talking, you’re going to break. You’d kept a relatively strong front – far stronger than you thought you’d be after being cheated on – but it was slowly crumbling. Maybe it was all the adrenaline that kept your emotions contained, because now everything was slowing down and soaking in.
“Sure,” he nods, following closely behind when you turn and begin taking steps forward. Your dorm is ten minutes away, and you walk side by side, arms occasionally brushing against each others. You only make it about two minutes in before he stops, shrugging off his jacket. Then, he holds his hand out, gesturing to it when you stare dumbly.
“Here,” he offers. “You’re freezing.”
There’s no denying that he’s right, but that didn’t mean you were going to wear his jacket. You could survive a few more minutes of the cold, even though your skin was covered with goosebumps that hadn’t gone away since you’d first left Jaehyun at the door. “I’m not wearing your jacket, Chan,” you shove his hand back.
Before you can start walking again, he drapes it around your shoulders, ignoring the glares you send his way.
“Do you always have to be this stubborn?” he groans. “You’re literally shaking, but God forbid you wear my jacket.”
You click your tongue and pull your arms through the sleeves anyway, mumbling a grudging “thank you.” The newfound warmth was a great comfort, and you’re so wrapped up in it you don’t notice the way he steals short glances over at you. His eyes drag down your body, drinking in how his jacket sits on your shoulders like it belongs there. How the sleeves fall past your wrists and the hem lines your thighs, still mostly exposed from your skirt length of choice. How you look good wearing something of his.
And then he curses himself for even thinking it, tearing his eyes away even though he really doesn’t want to. He clears his throat loudly, awkwardly, trying to ground himself, and you look over wordlessly. Any words you were going to say get caught in your throat when you notice how muscular his arms are now that they’re no longer covered.
Still, neither of you speak again, both thinking silent thoughts that you’d never let the other know. Once you arrive at your dorm building, he walks you all the way to your door despite your protests, muttering something about you being stubborn yet again.
“Thank you for walking me home,” you force out, gratitude sounding like exasperation. Your back is pressed against the door, hand wrapped around the handle. All you want is to throw yourself in bed and sob and sleep at this point, but Chan’s presence keeps you in the hallway.
He nods, combing a hand through his hair, wondering when it became so difficult to think of the right words to say to you. “Try not to think about him too much tonight, alright?” he sighs. “I know that’s hard, but just try to get some sleep or something.”
Such gentle advice sounds odd coming from his mouth, and he waits for your sarcastic reply. Counts on it, actually.
It doesn’t come. Instead, you smile at him weakly, telling yourself you simply don’t have the mental capacity to go back and forth with him anymore. Not that you were actually hating him a little less.
“I’ll try,” you assure. “Oh, yeah. Here.”
You pull off his jacket, the one that had begun to feel a little too comfortable, and fold it over your arms towards him.
“Keep it. You can wear it around or whatever,” he suggests indifferently. It would make your fake relationship more believable, but beyond that, it would appeal to that small part of him that enjoyed seeing you in it.
Fuck, what had gotten into him?
“I won’t,” you sass, bringing the jacket back to your chest anyways.
He runs his tongue along his teeth, chuckling. “Of course you won’t. So stubborn.”
“Stop calling me that.”
“Stop being that,” he shoots back.
Seemingly, you’d met your match. Someone who could keep up with your quick retorts, your mouthiness. And it came in the form of a man your ex boyfriend hated, a man you hated. You weren’t sure why that made it all the more exciting for you.
His gaze lingered, a curious glint in his eyes. He was trying to piece you together bit by bit, but you were a more difficult puzzle than most.
“Have a good night, Chan,” you say, finally turning the handle. When the door swings open, he finds himself looking around unintentionally, another opportunity to figure you out. He can see a few plushies on your bed, posters lined on the walls, and framed photos he can’t quite make out. There’s probably some of you and Jaehyun, and he hopes those are long gone by the next time he ends up at your dorm.
You slip inside hastily, and he realizes he’d been too engrossed in examining your room to respond. The door comes to a close in front of him.
“Yeah, you too,” he breathes out when you can’t hear, standing there just a few moments longer.
Once inside, you wait to hear the sound of his footsteps padding away, and when you do, you crack. The pictures of you and Jaehyun sit on your bedside dresser, mocking you, and you slam them down against the wood. You’re partially inclined to throw them against the wall and hope they shatter, but you don’t particularly feel like cleaning up glass shards through tears.
At least you let the teddy bear he gifted you stay on your bed, unharmed. An innocent soul caught in the crossfire, a child of divorce even.
“Fuck Jaehyun, fuck parties, and fuck this whole night,” you curse, though it comes out in choked sobs. And fuck Chan, your brain wants to say, but you bite it back. He had walked you home, given you his jacket…and become your fake boyfriend (soon to be, anyways) within the span of thirty minutes. Still, he was annoying, arrogant, impossible-to-deal-with Chan.
As much as every fiber of your being yearned for the soft comfort of your bed, you trudge to your bathroom and start the shower, making sure to put on your playlist while the water warms. Because if you were going to be heartbroken, you were at least going to be heartbroken while listening to Cigarettes After Sex.
After thirty minutes of crying and scrubbing your body of any traces of Jaehyun, you finally step out and decide to check your phone for the first time since everything had completely unraveled. Apparently getting cheated on was all you needed to reduce your screen time, so maybe that was a positive?
Naturally, there’s a few texts from people you could hardly consider friends but would now act like you were with feigned sympathy, full nosiness. Among them, however, is a text from a number you hadn’t saved.
y/n?
who’s this?
I’d say the guy you hate the most but i think someone else might’ve taken that spot
Chan. It was almost impressive that he managed to sound annoying even through texts.
ha. and how’d you get my number…?
I asked someone for it. you think they’ll take the bait?
they’ll probably just think you’re a freak who goes for recently heartbroken girls.
Nah. that’s not really my type.
oh yeah? what’s your type then?
You watch as the typing bubble pops up and disappears a few moments later, and then nothing. Minutes pass and you assume he’s leaving you on read, and that’s fine. It’s late, anyway, and after such a thorough cleansing and crying session, you’re exhausted.
So it’s no surprise when your phone buzzes again just as you manage to get comfortable in bed.
Just because that’s not my type doesn’t mean i have a type
“Liar,” you mumble to yourself. Whatever, it’s not like you care who or what he’s into. In fact, you’re glad he didn’t answer. Who knows what kind of weird things he’d come up with, if not just to irritate you.
okay, boring
What about you then? what’s your type?
You’re torn between giving him a genuine answer or something along the lines of “basically the antithesis of you.” Then, you realize you can probably do both at once, since you don’t consider Chan to align with any of your dating criteria.
i like someone who’s warm, attentive, and can make me laugh. someone who notices the little things, too
Yeah, definitely not Chan. But then again….
That can’t be right. i mean, you ended up with jaehyun
Also not Jaehyun. That was something you could admit now, but it was different coming from someone else. Like you were the only one who couldn’t see the flaws, the incompatibility. You feel stupid all over again, trying to ignore the way your throat began to tighten once more.
i’m going to sleep.
HahahaAw man. i was having fun.
goodnight, chan.
Goodnight princess
The nickname might’ve been a term of endearment from anyone else, but from Chan, it was a thinly veiled taunt. You save his contact with a very fitting eyeroll emoji just to spite him, finally drifting off to a surprisingly peaceful sleep soon after.
“What an asshole,” Jihyo hisses. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there, you know I would have ripped into him.”
With all the craziness of the night, you hadn’t even thought to text any of your friends. It was one of the rare times none of them could make it out with you, and now you were being inundated with questions over lunch.
You wave her off, poking at your plate idly. “It’s fine, I promise,” you sigh.
“Has he texted you today?” Mina asks, glancing down at your phone on the table. You look down too, half-expecting to see another flurry of messages from Jaehyun – he’d already sent about twenty since the morning, all going unanswered.
“Yes,” you groan, unlocking your phone and passing it to the two girls for them to read the same desperate pleas you’d been spammed with. They scroll through, mouths slightly agape. “Should I answer? I’m worried he’s gonna end up showing up at my dorm if I don’t.”
“Here, let me answer,” Jihyo says, and you reach over and snatch the phone out of her hands before she can type. It wasn’t that he didn’t deserve whatever insults she’d send his way, but that you worried any response would entice him at this point.
To satisfy her, you finally text him back, telling him to leave you alone and that you would let him know when you were ready to talk. You truly had no idea when that would be, but any more silence from your end would inevitably have him tracking you down on campus.
Then, you remembered the other half of the night, the part where you agreed to fake date the same man your friends had heard you complain about more than once. There was no way you were going to keep that from them, nor would you be able to, but you weren’t even sure how to approach the subject.
Hey, by the way, I’m pretending to date that guy I hate. For the revenge plot of course.
“There’s actually something else that happened last night,” you begin, studying their reactions. They wait expectantly, eyes wide with curiosity. “Chan heard us arguing and we…talked a little.”
“Yeah, well, that sounds like Chan. He basically feeds off of Jaehyun’s misery,” Jihyo chuckles.
Mina catches onto the end of your sentence, the words you had said just a little too quickly and quietly. Intentionally so. “What do you mean you talked? You can’t stand him.”
Now, both girls are staring at you, disbelief etched on their faces. You and Chan had never talked. You insulted, glared, and mocked. Talking? They weren’t even sure you two were capable of holding a conversation without spitting names at each other.
“It’s stupid…” you trail. “He had this idea, and…I don’t know, I guess I just agreed to it because I was so angry and emotional.”
You’re stalling, obviously, and they’re growing more impatient with each delayed sentence.
“He suggested we pretend to be together to get back at Jaehyun.”
It’s quiet for a few seconds, and then Jihyo laughs, a full-body laugh that has tears pooling at the corners of her eyes. Mina just blinks at you, unamused. “Y/N! You can’t make me laugh like that while I’m eating, you know,” Jihyo scolds, still releasing occasional giggles.
“You’re not joking,” Mina says flatly. “Are you?”
Realization strikes both their faces when you don’t answer, swirling your straw around absentmindedly. Next comes their looks of disapproval.
“Don’t look at me like that,” you groan. But what did you expect? You had just thrown into question a fact they knew more concretely than grass being green or the sky being blue: you hate Chan. So did your need for revenge trump your hatred, or was your hatred truly never that deep after all? They suspected the latter – they always did, especially when you would go on about how insufferable he was while eyeing him from across a room.
“Like what? Like you’re crazy? Because clearly, you’re crazy,” Jihyo whisper-shouts.
“And with Chan of all people, seriously?” Mina adds.
Okay, neither of them were wrong, but they’d also never been cheated on to understand all the complex thoughts and feelings you’re experiencing right now. And yes, with Chan, because the plan simply wouldn’t work with anyone else (nor would anyone else be stupid enough to go along with it). It just had to be your ex boyfriend’s worst enemy.
“I know it’s crazy and you know I’d never agree to something like this, but – ”
“ – but she just couldn’t resist me,” someone interjects from behind you. Then, he throws himself next to you, leaning back against the table on his elbows.
You aren’t sure how long he’s been there or how much he heard, though you guess not much since one of them definitely would have warned you. Either way, add his stupidly good timing to the list of things that piss you off about him.
He hadn’t texted you in the morning – not that he was supposed to, or that you expected him to – and it almost made you wonder if the whole night was a fever dream. Evidently not, seeing as he was sitting a few inches away with a wide grin plastered on his dumb face.
“Are you stalking me across campus?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.
He huffs out a hollow laugh. “You wish. You guys sit in the same spot almost every day.”
Is he right? Yes. Does it make sense for him to know that? Not really. Unless he’d been paying more attention to you than you thought, which also didn’t make sense.
“Okay, so you’re not stalking me,” you conclude. “Just watching me.”
“Why does it have to be you? There’s two other lovely ladies here.”
“Ew,” Mina says.
“Don’t be gross,” Jihyo adds.
Now it’s your turn to laugh, though Chan is unamused. You want to poke him further, to find out why he knows the specific time and place your friends typically eat lunch, but you decide to save it for another time. Especially since those two are sitting right across from you and would hang onto every stupid thing he says, pestering you about it later.
Chan spins forward, now facing Jihyo and Mina. “Do you girls mind if I steal Y/N for a bit?”
“I mind,” you scoff, but he ignores you entirely.
The two girls look at each other suspiciously, knowingly. Then, Mina shakes her head, basically sending you off to your demise (another uncomfortable walk with Chan – two in less than twenty-four hours has to be considered cruel and unusual punishment). “Sure,” she shrugs. “We were just finishing up, anyways.”
Were you, though? The conversation hadn’t shown any signs of slowing down until he arrived.
With the approval of your friends, not yours, he clasps his hand around yours and stands up, trying to bring you with him. You can’t move, you can’t function at all with his hand holding your own, and once it hits you, you yank it away from him.
And then you stand anyway, as if your body was betraying you and doing everything your brain said not to.
“I hope you don’t plan on hurting her, too,” Jihyo cautions, an unspoken threat behind her words.
Her intentions are sweet, but you can’t help but feel the need to chide her for making it seem like you two are actually together.
“I’m not going to cheat on her, if that’s what you’re implying,” he jeers, picking up your bag and slinging it over his shoulder. “Don’t worry, princess, you’re the only fake girlfriend in my life.”
He must think he’s so funny, putting on a show in front of your friends, but you’re not laughing. However, Mina and Jihyo are. Snickering under their breath, actually, and probably going to gush all about this odd interaction after you leave.
The three of you exchange goodbyes, Chan already walking away from the table. You have to take larger strides to catch up to him, and when you do, you reach for your bag, trying to pry it from his arm.
“Is it going to kill you if you let me be nice and carry your stuff?” he huffs, readjusting the strap.
“It might,” you glare, but you can tell he’s not budging, so you resign. You wait for him to speak, to offer an explanation. Instead, he scans your face like he’s looking for something beneath the surface. “Is there a reason you took me from my friends just now?”
“Are you okay?” he asks, answering your question with…a question? So. Annoying.
But it sounds sincere coming from him, unlike how everyone else had asked you since last night. You can tell the difference now between girls who asked because they wanted to know if they had a chance with Jaehyun, guys who asked because they wanted to know if they had a chance with you, the complete randoms who asked just to be in the know, and now…this. Someone who genuinely wanted to know if you were okay, nothing more, nothing less, no underlying motives.
“I’m alright,” you shrug, “just numb, I think.”
He swallows hard, then nods. And suddenly the Chan you recognize is back. “Well, you look good for someone who just got cheated on.”
Maybe the compliment would have felt good if he hadn’t tacked on the last part. You had enough reminders throughout the day, so much so that your phone had been on DND for hours. And the reminders came in other forms, too, like your lonely walk to your first class in the morning, the one Jaehyun would always accompany you on. Or the song that came on shuffle that you two had once added to a shared playlist (which you now had sole custody of).
“Do you know how to give an actual compliment?” you snap, already knowing the answer. Chan would probably drop dead before he complimented you.
“So you’d rather I just say you look good?” he questions.
Yes, yes you most certainly would. But there was no way in hell you would tell him that and make him think his words actually mean something to you. You can just picture his smug look of satisfaction already.
So you lie through your teeth.
“No.”
He chews the inside of his cheek, carefully mulling over what he says next. “You do though. Look good, I mean,” he states matter-of-factly. And to your surprise, he doesn’t drop dead afterwards.
What should you say in return? Thank you? No, that implies you’re appreciative, grateful he complimented you, which you aren’t. You look good too? Absolutely not, unless you want to have him use that against you for the foreseeable future. Ew, don’t say those things? You’re not even sure you can feign disgust like that.
You end up not saying anything at all, but your face says a lot. Too much. It heats up and your cheeks dust with red, a far worse response than any of the others you’d contemplated.
“Aw, you’re blushing,” Chan teases, bumping against your shoulder lightly. “Getting all shy on me, where’s that smart mouth?”
“Shut up,” you grumble, and then you realize you’ve been following him blindly for the past minutes. You see that he’s led you to the heart of campus, the vast field of green where couples, friends, and classmates alike all congregate. He heads straight for a bench, pulling you down next to him like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“When’s your next class?”
You don’t answer.
“You took me away from my friends to bring me here?” And then you look around, convincing yourself everyone’s eyes are on you. “People are staring.”
He looks over at you, your bag now acting as a barrier between your bodies, and quirks an eyebrow. “Is that a problem?”
“I just don’t want anyone to get the wrong idea.”
“Yeah, well, newsflash, princess. We’re doing this so they do get the wrong idea,” he reminds, tucking your bag by his side. With the new space, he hooks his arms around your thighs and shifts you towards him, pulling your legs onto the bench and draping them over his lap.
“Chan!” you hiss, trying to move, but he holds you there.
If you thought people were staring before, they must be drilling holes through you now. Realistically, you’re just being dramatic – everyone is too entrenched in their own problems, their own conversations, their own world to really notice you. But you know people will talk, because that’s what people do, especially when it involves two individuals who are quite well-known on campus.
“Relax. The more obvious we make this, the quicker people will see, the quicker Jaehyun will see. And then it can all be over, right?” he explains, and you huff in response. You sit there like that long enough that it becomes comfortable, his fingers tapping idly on your leg while he scrolls on his phone. At the same time, you trace mindless shapes onto the bench, pretending you weren’t melting into him slowly.
No.
Being like this with Chan shouldn’t feel this normal, and you refuse to accept that it does. So, naturally, you have to say something to ruin it. Almost like an innate reflex.
“I should’ve just stepped out in a revenge dress, but nooo, I had to agree to your stupidity,” you mumble. He laughs, and then his face contorts to something more serious.
“You have a revenge dress?”
He says it hopefully, a glimmer of interest in his eyes.
“If I do,” you begin, leaning in to whisper in his ear, “you’ll never get to see it.”
His entire body deflates, and you take the opportunity to pull yourself off of him. You had a class across campus to get to and also needed a serious mental debrief to process the last twenty minutes. He hands over your bag, lifting off the bench as well. “Do you want me to like, walk you to your classes and stuff?”
“Nope,” you decline easily. “Unless you’re willing to walk me to my 8:30 on Tuesdays.”
It’s supposed to be a joke, and he must know it because he scoffs, shaking his head like you’d just said the most egregious thing ever. You laugh and start in the direction of your class, the feeling of his body so close to yours still lingering.
The weekend comes and goes quickly, with you swearing off any more parties for the time being despite Mina and Jihyo’s pleas. They both mention something about alcohol and loud music being the perfect remedy for a break up. But you already only really went to parties to appease your friends (and Jaehyun, previously), who dubbed them an “essential part of the college experience.” Now, you had the perfect excuse not to. Even Chan texts you to ask if you’ll be going out, though he doesn’t have nearly the same level of disappointment as your friends when you say no.
Instead, you spend your days clearing your camera roll of pictures of your cheating ex boyfriend and boxing up all the things of his you no longer wanted to have in your possession. Maybe you could get Chan to burn it all for you (except for the teddy bear, of course).
And then Tuesday morning rolls around and there’s an incessant knocking on your door, which is not only irritating but unusual, given the time. You’re in the middle of getting dressed when you answer, top half still in a tank top, bottom half in jeans.
This person is about to feel all your morning wrath, until you blink a few times and register that it’s Chan of all people.
“What the hell?”
“8:30, right?” he confirms, leaning against the doorframe.
You fold your arms across your chest, resisting his charm as best as you can. “That was a joke,” you groan, opening the door wider. “I’m not done getting ready and it’s gonna look weird if you’re waiting outside.”
He steps inside happily, immediately noticing the now barren space on your dresser. You had gotten rid of the pictures, good. He also recognizes his jacket draped along the back of your chair in a way he knows you’ve worn it, or at least moved it recently. It hangs off a little unevenly, one of the sleeves wrinkled in on itself.
“Yeah, because it’ll look so much better if we come out of your dorm together at eight in the morning,” he chuckles while you walk into the bathroom to change shirts in peace.
“Don’t even think like that,” you shout. Then, you walk out, throwing the tank top at him (which he catches, unfortunately), feeling emboldened. “Everyone knows I wouldn’t fuck you.”
The smirk on your face is wiped away immediately when he grabs your wrist as you bend down to reach your bag. “Yeah? Do you know that?” he whispers. His whole demeanor shifts, gaze intense, grip strong but not painful. You attempt to force out a stammered reply, but admittedly, you’re flustered. Your own body is a traitor, clearly.
Thankfully, he releases your wrist and breaks the tension with a devilish laugh. “You’re so easy to fuck with,” he says, sounding completely like his usual irksome self.
Now that you had a glimpse of a different, enticing side of Chan, you craved more and hated yourself for it. After all, you had just said you would never fuck him. And you wouldn’t.
But can’t a girl just think about it?
You grabbed your bag successfully this time and slipped on a pair of shoes, heading out the door with him right behind.
“So why did you do this, exactly?” you question, still fighting off sleep yourself.
“When I commit to something, I go hard,” he explains, though it sounds like a double entendre. “So if we’re going to fake date, I’m gonna be the best damn fake boyfriend you ever had.”
How wonderful. You thought you were agreeing to get revenge against Jaehyun, not to fuel Chan’s ego. Maybe you’d need another fake boyfriend down the line just to knock him from the top spot.
“Well, good thing we probably won’t need to keep this up for very long. I’ve already had people text me asking what’s going on between us,” you click your tongue. “No Jaehyun though.”
“Poor guy’s probably losing his mind thinking his fuck-up made you realize you had repressed feelings for me all along.”
“Oh, I had feelings for you?”
“Well, yeah,” he shrugs. “That’s how my story goes, anyways.”
When you make it outside, he wraps his arm around your shoulder, pulling you just a little bit closer. And now that you understand there’s no reasoning with him, you let him. It’s too early to argue, anyways, but you still roll your eyes where he can’t see.
“God, you’re insufferable. Can’t even give me some dignity in our fake love story,” you sneer.
“Okay, fine, I had feelings for you,” he relents, and for a second, it sounds like a fact, not a fabrication. “That sound better?”
You hum in approval, satisfied with the change. Whether he would actually follow through with it, you weren’t sure.
“So, are you gonna stay cooped up in your dorm this weekend, or are you going out?” Chan wonders, seemingly forgetting why you didn’t want to go to another party in the first place. They were kind of ruined for you at the moment, especially when you never really enjoyed them to begin with.
“I’m put off of parties for a while,” you wave your hands. “And I need to study, anyway.”
He squeezes your shoulder, displeased with your answer. “C’mon, Y/N, don’t let him ruin your fun,” he urges.
It was too late for that, though; all “fun” had been sucked out the moment you caught your boyfriend sucking face, and you knew he would probably be there, too. Just because he was playing the regretful, devastated ex in your texts didn’t mean he was depriving himself of his favorite pastime. You wouldn’t even be surprised if one of his “please forgive me, I’m so sorry, I miss you so much” texts had come while he was balls-deep in another woman.
“I’ll have plenty of fun in the library, thank you,” you shoot back.
“Oh? In public? Wow, princess, I didn’t know you were into stuff like that,” he grins, and you shove his arm off of you, staring at him in disgust.
“Oh my god, you’re a fucking freak!”
“I’m the freak? You’re the one that’s going to – ”
“Chan. Stop talking.”
“Okay, okay,” he throws his hands up defensively. “But just so you know, I don’t judge, and if you want some company…”
Fuck this smug bastard, and more importantly, fuck the way he was starting to get into your head.
The rest of the walk is relatively normal, at least in the sense there’s no more talk about public sex, and you reach your class promptly at 8:28.
“Well, have a good day,” he says a little awkwardly. “Let me know when you’re planning on grabbing lunch?”
“Unlikely,” you scoff, leaving him open-mouthed as you head inside.
So how you end up with Mina, Jihyo, and Chan at your usual lunch spot, you’re not sure.
“You guys missed it. Then she goes ‘fuck you, Jaehyun!’ and he looked terrified,” Chan laughs, and your friends join in, loving the cheater lashings.
“He did not look terrified,” you correct.
“She’s being modest. Even I felt a little intimidated,” he draws in a sharp breath, “but it was kinda hot, too.”
You’re not sure where that came from, and you kick his foot under the table where Mina and Jihyo can’t see. In return, he places his hand on your thigh, squeezing.
“You guys sure you’re faking this?” Jihyo questions, her chin resting on her hand while her eyes flicker between the two of you. Like she would be able to figure you out if she just looked hard enough. Impossible, considering you couldn’t even figure out what was going on at this point. He was still annoying, painfully so, but he was also alluring, and the heat between your legs was starting to do most of the thinking.
“Yes,” you and Chan say simultaneously, almost rehearsed.
“Right,” Mina nods, drawing out the word. “As long as you believe that.”
His hand moves now, rubbing along your thigh softly, and you have to grit your teeth to not snap at him. “I do believe it, because it’s true,” you say harshly (but not convincingly). “I’d rather drink a jean jacket through a fucking straw than actually date him.”
Unfortunately, that doesn’t stop his wandering hand; in fact, it only pushes him further, now sliding lower until his fingertips brush along the inside of your thigh. You shift awkwardly, keeping your eyes locked on your friends. You wouldn’t let him see that he was undoing you.
“I’m not particularly fond of you either, but a jean jacket through a straw is insane,” he smirks, finding enjoyment in your fidgeting.
“Then I guess it does a good job of conveying how much I can’t stand you.”
This time, you do snap your head towards him, eyes shooting daggers into him. They gave a silent warning, a threat he didn’t quite think you truly meant. After all, your body had a different message with the way your thighs clenched and shoulders stiffened.
“So sweet, isn’t she?” Chan smiles sarcastically, drawing his hand back. And you’re grateful – at least, that’s what you tell yourself, ignoring the small voice that said you wanted more. He reads something on his phone before typing quickly and rising from his seat.
“Anyway, thanks for the invite Y/N, but Minho’s locked himself out of the apartment, so I’ve gotta swing by before class,” he sighs dramatically.
“I absolutely didn’t invite you.”
“Sure you didn’t,” he winks, already gone before you can argue.
Once he’s out of earshot, Jihyo groans, covering her face with her hands. “God, I think if I’m subjected to that level of sexual tension again, I’ll actually pass away,” she huffs, muffled.
Bad time to take a sip of your drink.
“Sexual tension?!” you repeat, nearly choking, completely stunned by her words.
“We weren’t sure of it when you were with Jaehyun, but now it practically radiates through the air whenever you’re around each other. It’s suffocating,” Mina agrees, only adding to your embarrassment. Your face is heating up quickly, and it makes it hard to deny their accusations.
“Can you just hate-fuck and get it over with? Maybe you’ll find out you actually do get along in some ways,” Jihyo adds, exasperated.
You laugh dryly. “Oh my god, do you guys hear yourselves? I’m not having sex with Chan, that’s disgusting.”
“Well then can you two at least not make lunch feel like the build-up of a porno?”
Needless to say you would be informing him he could not join you and your friends for lunch anymore, lest you get lectured again on your “radiating” sexual tension.
By the time Friday comes, things have quieted. Chan listens when you tell him Mina and Jihyo requested your lunches stay reserved for the three of you (it’s not quite true, but the best excuse you could come up with without mentioning that your friends think you two want to fuck each other). So, you don’t see him much, aside from the couple of times he shows up outside your classes.
His texts, however, are frequent. They’ve developed into something expected, a normal part of your days. You talk about mundane things like grades and annoying lab partners. You talk about personal things like favorite songs and future goals. Each conversation is still filled with sarcastic quips and quick insults, but they don’t hold the same edge they once did. It felt more like comfort – like if you kept up the hatred act, you could protect yourself from what it was becoming.
And at the same time, the texts from Jaehyun had resumed because, although he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes, he had heard that you and Chan were seen together. On multiple occasions. He had even shown up at your dorm finally (the week of freedom you’d had was far longer than you’d expected), and you had slammed the door in his face, telling him it wasn’t any of his business who you hung out with anymore.
After that encounter, you were grateful for some peace – which was becoming rare in your life – throwing yourself nose-deep in your notebook. With your headphones on and such intense focus, you don’t notice anyone else’s presence.
Until someone makes their presence impossible to ignore.
“Hey, princess,” Chan greets, a cup of coffee in hand. He slips into the seat in front of you, placing the cup down and sliding it over. You have to pull your headphones back to hear him, eyebrows knitted in confusion.
“What are you doing here?” you ask.
He shrugs. “You said you were studying, I thought I would bring you some coffee to help your brain.”
He says it so calmly, and you have to fight against the way your heart swells at the simple act of service. Though really, it wasn’t so simple, because this was Chan showing up to the library unannounced on a Friday night, when he would usually be far away from anything academic. For you.
“Well, thanks, because I feel like my brain has basically disintegrated,” you complain, taking a sip. It was your favorite, too – he must’ve asked Mina or Jihyo for your order. “Did you skip out on the party?”
“Yeah, I wasn’t feeling it. Kinda just wanted to chill tonight. I thought a library date might be fun,” he muses.
You scoff, watching his lips curl into a satisfied smile. “Date?”
Chan blinks at you like you’ve wounded him, although you know it’s all part of his (perfected) act to get into your head.
“You wouldn’t call it that?” he says, disappointedly, leaning his head against the palm of his hand.
“No, I’d call it me studying for hours and losing my mind and you showing up uninvited.”
He points behind him with his thumb, turning halfway in his seat, an empty threat. “So, should I leave then?” he challenges.
This is probably the part where you should say yes. You should demand it, actually. But he had brought you coffee, liquid gold for your overloaded brain, and the chances of him listening to your request were slim to none regardless.
“It’s fine,” you concede, hoping it sounded indifferent. You even shift your focus back to your laptop to play up the act, writing down “notes” that don’t quite make sense. Chan accepts this, tapping his fingers on the table obnoxiously, purposely so. After a few minutes, he straightens in his chair, leaning forward against the table.
“I must say,” he whispers, “I’m a little disappointed to find you actually studying. You had my hopes up the other day.”
It takes you a moment to recall that conversation, and once you do, the realization spreads across your face in red hues. “There is something seriously wrong with you,” you frown.
And there may have been something seriously wrong with you for enjoying it.
“Maybe. But I think you like it. You were basically writhing when I touched you at lunch.”
Now you know you definitely should have told him to leave. He pokes his tongue in his cheek, in that way that could drive you crazy if you let it (which you weren’t).
“No, I wasn’t,” you argue weakly.
He finds your denial cute, truly, since he remembers your body’s responsiveness so vividly. It was essentially engrained in his mind, spinning it in circles. He could elicit that reaction from just touching your clothed thigh, and it made him feel powerful. And curious.
“Oh, you weren’t?” he chuckles. “So if I come sit next to you now, that’d be fine? And if I touch you like that again, you wouldn’t start to melt under my fingers?”
“I did not melt under your fingers.”
“But you would have,” he says confidently. He drops his voice to a whisper again. “If your friends weren’t there, and I kept going, you would have.”
You’re staring at each other now, wondering who will break first, though his eyes shine with excitement and yours narrow with annoyance. Or rather, desire that you try to disguise as annoyance.
“You think too highly of yourself,” you snort, scribbling gibberish into the margin of your notebook.
He releases a small, humorless laugh. “I don’t need to think it,” he corrects. “You’ve shown me.”
You snap now, slamming your laptop shut a little too aggressively. Because you refused to allow him to continue talking with so much confidence, like he knew what you were thinking better than you did.
“I’m sorry, did you forget the part where none of this is real? All of your little touches and stupid remarks have nothing to do with what we agreed on.”
But your boldness only encourages him, biting his lip subconsciously. “No, they don’t. That’s just for my enjoyment. Like I said, you’re easy to fuck with.”
“That's why you decided to come see me in the library on a Friday night instead of going out? To ‘fuck with me?’” you say pointedly, to emphasize how unreasonable it sounded.
“Well, you didn’t tell me to leave.”
“I asked a question.”
Chan drags his hand along his face, suddenly far less arrogant. For once, he looked like he was struggling to conjure up a smart response. And he was. But you were refusing to back down, finally having a sense of control.
“I don’t know,” he finally says, and you glare at him. “Really, I don’t. I just wanted to see you.”
You scoff, shaking your head in disbelief. “Don’t be dumb.”
Because there was no way he meant it. Or maybe you had misheard him entirely. But his whole demeanor had changed, and you no longer recognized the Chan that sat before you without his smugness.
“Right. If I tease you, I’m ‘insufferable,’” he recites, “if I’m honest with you, I’m dumb. Tell me, princess, what can I do then?”
You swallow harshly, trying to ignore what his words entailed. Honest. He said that he wanted to see you and he meant it. The air around you had shifted now, thicker, heavier, falling on your chest in a way that almost made your voice get caught in your throat.
“Are you fucking with me again?” you grimace, waiting for him to laugh in your face. To snap back into the version of him you’re familiar with.
But he doesn’t laugh. “You tell me. Am I?”
“You can’t do that!” you groan, exasperated. “You can’t say these things and then act all cryptic after.”
You cross your arms across your chest, and he relents. “Okay. Yes, I wanted to see you. Is that bad?”
“Yes.”
Yes, it was bad. Very bad, actually. Because you were supposed to hate him, and you thought he hated you. Because none of this was supposed to be real, and once you’d gotten vengeance against your shitty ex boyfriend (however dramatic it may be), things would go on like nothing had ever happened.
But is that what you wanted? It should be. It had to be.
“Huh. I guess I don’t care,” he breathes. “Do you?”
He awaits your answer, though he already knows what it will be. You had become easy for him to read now; he had studied you like you were his favorite subject. The unsolved puzzle he had finally pieced together.
And though you try to force yourself to lie and say yes, you simply cannot. All your resolve has vanished since he made such an unexpected confession, leaving you dazed.
“No,” you mumble, and your breath hitches.
His smirk returns, though it’s different now. Less of an attempt to get under your skin, more of an acknowledgement that one day he’ll get to touch every inch of it.
“Didn’t think so,” he reaches across the table, trailing his fingers along your hand. You snatch it back, ignoring his snickers.
He would be the death of you, you were certain. And for some reason, you find yourself thinking that it may not be such a terrible way to go out.
Neither of you are sure how to proceed after that night in the library, an obvious tension lingering between the two of you. You knew you weren’t going to be the one to address it, but you were growing exhausted with pretending that it had never happened.
It seemed like Chan was perfectly content with that, however. He hadn’t even mentioned it once, continuing to text you and show up outside your dorm and classes like it was all still part of a plan. And maybe it was. Maybe he was a great liar, but that didn’t explain the rift that had settled between you two. If he had lied that night, why could he hardly meet your eyes now?
You didn’t ask, because you feared the answer – both possibilities. Though when you turned to Mina and Jihyo for advice, they were adamant. They were convinced they were right all along, that there was a budding romance beneath the hatred. So, it was quite hard to get any sort of unbiased guidance from them. This was something you’d have to navigate on your own.
And by navigate, you meant continuing to avoid it. Hopefully Chan would crack before you did.
After almost two weeks of letting the unspoken words nearly suffocate you, you had begun to believe you really would have to forget it had ever happened. If he wanted to speak on it, he would. Nevermind that he could say the same thing about you; it was him that had started it, so he had to be the one to acknowledge it. It was only fair.
Your phone rings in the middle of the afternoon, during your thirty minute interval between classes. It’s Chan, which isn’t the surprising part (he had learned your entire schedule by now).
“Let me take you to dinner tonight,” he says only a few seconds after you pick up.
You roll your eyes, hardly registering his proposal. “A ‘hello’ might be nice.”
“Hi,” he utters. “Let me take you to dinner.”
If you agree too easily, he’ll know you had been waiting for him to say something like this. And with how straightforwardly he had asked (or stated, rather), he clearly expected your agreement. You could make him grovel just a little bit.
“You wanna see me again?” you quip, the most you’d allude to the library incident.
But Chan could match your attitude ten times over, so he has a quick retort. “I just figured if we go to dinner you could post a picture on your story, really commit to the bit,” he explains flatly, and then laughs when you’re silent. “What? You wanted me to say I want to see you?”
“Fuck you.”
“You said you wouldn’t,” he reminds. “Remember?”
If he could see you, he would undoubtedly point out how flustered you were, then follow it up with a dumb joke about how the offer was always open. And you would have to hold back from taking him up on it.
“Really doing a good job of making me want to say yes,” you chide.
“Please let me take you to dinner. I’ve been thinking about our library date, and I wanna take you on a real one.”
You huff loud enough for him to hear over the phone. “That wasn’t a date,” you correct. “And I’m busy tonight.”
A lie, but he didn’t need to know that yet. There’s shuffling on his end, and then his voice comes out sharply.
“Busy with what?”
“That’s really none of your concern,” you can’t help but grin at your own mischief. “But if you must know, I’m seeing someone tonight.”
“Y/N,” he growls, and it’s hot. You try to imagine the look on his face (why couldn’t he have FaceTimed you?), and it makes you weak.
“So, what time are you picking me up?” you ask, voice syrupy sweet despite your antics. Like honey masking poison.
He exhales loudly, and you can hear all the unease release from his body. If he was going to be so wound up about you even potentially seeing someone else, why had he taken so long to address your ever-present tension?
Maybe he was just as confused as you.
“You don’t know what you do to me,” he groans. “I’ll be there at seven.”
He hangs up before you can hound him about the first half, not even sparing a second to confirm the time. No, you don’t know what you do to him, but it was inevitable that you would find out. And he would make sure that you understood to the fullest extent.
It’s difficult for you to decide on an outfit for dinner with Chan, one, because you’re still tossing with the idea internally and two, because you aren’t sure what’s an “appropriate” amount of dressed-up. If you look too good, he’ll think you’re trying too hard to impress him, and you’ll never hear the end of that.
Though, you had already agreed to going to dinner with him, so you probably wouldn’t hear the end of that, either.
Mina and Jihyo choose an outfit over FaceTime (and so kindly remind you to “at least make him wear a condom”), one that teeters right in the middle of simple and dressy, and you’ve fixed your hair at least a dozen times by the time he’s knocking on your door.
When you open it, he stares at you, and then tears his eyes away to roam all over your body. He draws in a sharp breath, shaking his head in disbelief.
“Wow,” he rasps. “You’re beautiful.”
The compliment comes with no snarky follow-up, and he doesn’t even tease you when you feel your face heating up. He takes your hand and holds it the whole way to his car, only letting go to open the door for you; you would have never taken him for such a gentleman.
He doesn’t tell you which restaurant he’s picked, but the drive isn’t long before you arrive and are seated, his hand finding its way back to yours while you walk through the aisles.
As you sit there scanning the menu, you can’t help but realize you’re at fucking dinner with Bang Christopher Chan. And he’s staring at you like you wouldn’t notice.
“What?” you question, and he drops his head, chuckling.
“Nothing,” he says. “Just can’t believe how much things have changed.”
“You’re still annoying, don’t get it twisted.”
“Yeah, well, you still agreed to get dinner with me,” he shrugs.
He thinks he’s won with that, turning his attention to the menu. But even if he’s right, you aren’t letting him shame you so easily. “You would’ve begged me if I didn’t,” you smirk.
His eyes snap back to yours, the mischievous glint forcing him to fight back the more impure thoughts. “You know, that mouth is going to get you in trouble one day.”
“Yeah? By who?”
“Careful, Y/N,” he warns, words coming out through clenched teeth.
You flash him an exaggerated smile, thanking the waitress when she returns with your drinks, and Chan curses himself for being turned on by how quickly you switch from a temptress to the sweetest angel. He stumbles over his words while giving his order, and you giggle softly without even knowing you’re the cause of it.
Considering Chan had brought you to dinner, you felt confident enough to bring up the subject of what the hell was going on between you two. Specifically the Friday night you’d left unaddressed. “So, is it finally time we talk about it?”
“Talk about what?”
“This,” you motion between the two of you.
He doesn’t even pause to think about it. “We’re having dinner,” he replies coyly.
You figure admonishing him for his feigned ignorance won’t bring you closer to an answer, so instead you push further.
“But why?”
“I told you, you can post it on your story or whatever. I’m sure Jaehyun still stalks your socials.”
You’d seen quite a few random spam names in your story viewers, so you knew it to be true, but you also knew that couldn’t be his reasoning.
“You also told me you wanted to take me on a ‘real date,’” you mention, and he throws his head back against the booth.
“Jesus, Y/N,” he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Can we just have a nice dinner and worry about the semantics later?”
Obviously, the answer was a resounding no, which he should have expected since he understood your stubbornness better than anyone. “Oh, for you to pretend it never happened and leave me wondering for weeks? Sure thing, Chan,” you sneer.
You probably should have excluded the part where you admitted you’d still been thinking about that night, because he latches onto it and uses it to evade answering any more questions.
“I really get in that pretty little head of yours, huh?” he grins.
“Or maybe I get in yours,” you shoot back. “What did you say? Something about ‘I don’t know what I do to you’?”
He rubs his jaw, exhaling through his nose loudly. Because you really didn’t know what you do to him.
“Princess, you don’t get into my head. You’ve never fucking left it.”
Your food is brought over moments later, right on cue, leaving you sitting idly, stunned. Chan pretends not to notice, already moving past his previous admission.
“God, I am starving,” he groans. He takes a bite of his meal, and then blinks at you when you haven’t even slightly shifted. “What’s wrong? You wanna take that picture for your story now?”
If you heard the word “story” one more time, you were convinced you’d actually implode. And you’d take him with you, just to annoy him in the afterlife.
“Don’t do that,” you hiss. “Don’t act clueless.”
“Well sorry for trying to be a believable fake boyfriend.”
Nothing about this felt fake anymore, and when he says it, it feels like a harsh reminder. That vicious awakening from the middle of a good dream, pulled to the surface of reality when you’re in such a deep slumber.
“That’s all you are, right? My fake boyfriend? So why do you say and do all these things that make it feel so real?” you demand.
Your meals are all but forgotten now, and the booths around you are probably getting more of your argument than any of you would like. You swear you can see the lady in the booth to your right staring at you and then leaning over to whisper in her daughter’s ear. Hopefully she’d give her some advice to never get involved with idiotic men like Chan.
He rubs his temples, growing more exhausted by the minute. “I’m trying to figure that out. I came up with a stupid plan, and somewhere along the way the lines got blurred.”
“You blurred them!” you whisper-shout, eyes widening in disbelief.
“You let me,” he says simply, and you can’t deny it. Though he’s still far more culpable for your current situation. “Listen, we can talk about it more on the way home, yeah?”
It’s his cop-out, and you should know this, yet you relent anyway. You aren’t surprised when he refuses to discuss it further in the car, either, and when he tries to put his hand on your thigh, you push it away.
He deserves that, but it still makes him sulk internally. If he couldn’t offer you answers, you wouldn’t offer him any more of yourself. At least, you’d try your best not to (easy to say, harder to do).
When he drops you off, you hardly give him a goodbye, so he knows he’s fucked up. His chest tightens at the thought of not being able to make it right. Of letting you go without telling you everything he’s been thinking for the last month.
He isn’t even sure you’ll give him another chance, but he figures he needs to sort his mind out before he faces you again, for both of your sakes.
The texts slow and then stop altogether, and you don’t see him at all for another week. Maybe you had pushed him enough that he had been scared off (still, he could at least fake break up with you). Though you had never taken Chan for someone who could be scared of anything, especially with his constant arrogance.
“That’s just how men are. They run when shit gets too real,” Jihyo says, fixing her top.
The three of you were currently getting ready in your dorm, because the minute you had texted the groupchat stating that you were desperate for a night out, they were basically busting your door down. And you couldn’t blame them, because you were never the one to initiate, but right now, it seems like the only distraction you have left.
“I think he’s just a little confused,” Mina adds with more eloquence. “I mean, do you even know what you want?”
“Yes,” you grin. “I want to go out, have a good time, and forget about all of this.”
Mina rolls her eyes at your avoidance, and Jihyo clutches her heart dramatically. “My Y/N is so back, I could cry right now.”
You know very well that a party is not the magical cure for all your problems – in fact, it’s the indirect cause of nearly all of them – but your other option was to spend another weekend in your dorm preparing an internal monologue about Chan’s cowardice. So, yes, you were going to a party.
“You know they’re both probably going to be there, right?” Mina advises. Both of the banes of your existence, though for drastically different reasons.
“It’s fine,” you wave her off. “I won’t even notice that they’re there”
Between the three of you, there’s not a soul that believes your lie, but nobody questions it.
Though perhaps they should have, because maybe it would have made you reconsider before you ended up in your current situation. Which was searching through a sea of bodies for one particular person, even if you weren’t sure what you would do if you found him.
Mina notices, too, watching as your eyes sweep all along the room while nodding every once in a while, pretending to be engaged in the conversation. You really hadn’t caught a single word she’d said for the past three minutes.
And although there were plenty of people there, you were confident you’d be able to spot Chan out of a crowd. But so far, there was no sign of him, and you couldn’t decide if you were relieved or disappointed.
Unfortunately, however, you had spotted Jaehyun. In the back of the room, looking completely untouched, sipping on a drink with his friends on one side and a girl on the other. But he looked disinterested, not paying her any mind, nodding along indifferently. He looked like you, searching for someone amidst the chaos.
“Y/N!” Mina barks, and you turn to her immediately. “Are you even listening at all?”
“Uh, yeah,” you lie.
She throws her hands on her hips, eyebrows raised. “Really? So what do you think, should I go over there and talk to him?”
She points to the left of you, but there’s at least five guys in the general vicinity she could be referring to. Of course, you’d know who she meant if you hadn’t been so checked out while looking for Chan.
“Um, who?” you ask carefully, and she groans, frustrated. “I’m sorry! I think I need another drink. To clear my head.”
You take off for the kitchen before she can argue, the counters covered in discarded solo cups and half-empty bottles of alcohol. Tempting. Instead, you open the fridge, pulling out one of the remaining unopened cans.
When you turn around, you’re stuck in place, a firm chest blocking you from walking away. You’re about to complain, to remind whoever it is that there’s a thing called personal space, but one look up has the words refusing to come out. It’s Jaehyun, of course.
“Y/N,” he falters, studying your face as if he’d forgotten your features.
Your heart races, not from anything other than the discomfort of confronting someone who you once thought the world of.
“Leave me alone, Jaehyun,” you spit, and he steps back, granting you some space and the freedom to walk away if you so choose. But you don’t, not yet.
He takes note of your stillness, encouraging him to speak again. “I will,” he nods. “But you haven’t given me a chance to explain, and I need you to know how much I regret what I did.”
“Yeah, well, good for you.”
He sighs, and a quiet moment passes between you, one that makes you picture him kissing that girl all over again.
“Are you with him?” he asks, under his breath. You stare at him with feigned confusion, lips pressed in a taut line. This time, he speaks louder, intentionally. “Don’t play dumb, Y/N, please. Are you with Chan?”
“I don’t owe you anything.”
“You don’t. But I owe you an explanation, and if you’re with Chan…” he trails, and it sends you over the edge. You tell yourself your anger rises up solely because of Jaehyun, but it’s undeniable that half of it comes from all you’d bottled up during the days without Chan around.
“Then what? Then it doesn’t matter? You cheating on me just gets justified because I’m with Chan?” you snap, voice increasing in volume with each word. “Guess what, Jaehyun, your fuck-up is to blame for all of it.”
Even with the thumping music, your voice carries throughout the room, and a few people glance over, intrigued. Someone pushes through the crowd, entering the kitchen right as Jaehyun opens his mouth to argue back.
“Is everything okay over here?”
Both of you look over, though you don’t need to to recognize the voice. It had become your favorite, even when it was teasing you or whispering innuendos just to unnerve you.
“Chan,” you whisper, and he heads straight for you, ignoring Jaehyun’s unwavering glare.
In a few quick steps, he’s beside you, wrapping his arm around your shoulder and pulling you into him like he hadn’t ignored you for a week. “Hey, baby. Are you alright?” he asks, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.
Baby. That was a new one. He had called you princess more times than you could count, but it had started as a taunt and never really felt like anything more than that. Baby, however, had your heart pounding and mind racing.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” you swallow, finding more interest in the ground now. For a second, you forget all about Jaehyun in front of you, and it reminds you that Chan’s actions are probably directly correlated. After all, the original plan was to get back at Jaehyun, and what better moment than right now? The final act to your months-long play.
“So you two are together,” Jaehyun concludes, frowning.
“Don’t look so upset,” Chan grins wickedly. “I’ll treat her better than you ever could.”
Try not to take his words seriously, you remind yourself. He doesn’t mean it. This is all for show. But as always, he makes them sound real, adding a layer of intensity you can’t ignore.
“You’re not good enough for her.”
You’re about to chime in, to remind him he has no say in what or who is good enough for you, and that it was rich hearing that from him of all people.
“And you were?” Chan laughs humorlessly. “C’mon, baby, let’s get out of here, yeah?”
He squeezes your shoulder, looking down at you, waiting for your agreement. And as you glance between him and Jaehyun, something takes over you entirely. You pull his face towards yours, hesitating briefly to gauge his reaction. When he closes the final inches, your eyes flutter closed, his lips crashing onto yours.
It’s quick, soft, restrained, and not at all like what you expected (or wanted) kissing Chan to be, but it serves its purpose.
Jaehyun stands there, wordlessly, the most satisfying look of outrage plastered on his face. Chan sees it, too, a small chuckle leaving his parted lips. He’ll probably burn the image in his mind to remember it whenever he needs a pick-me-up.
And while you’re a blend of emotions between the kiss, facing Jaehyun, and Chan’s declaration, you keep yourself together for now, yanking Chan’s hand to lead him away. “Yeah, let’s go.”
You maneuver through bodies, making it to a noticeably more empty section of the house before you finally release his hand. If you’re lucky, he’ll go back to ignoring you, and you won’t have to discuss whatever just unfolded.
Unfortunately, you haven’t had much luck recently.
“Bold move there, baby,” he quips.
There it was again. Only this time, Jaehyun’s not around, so there’s no explaining away the pet name. Does that make it better or worse? You aren’t sure.
“Shut up,” you mumble, “I really don’t want to be here anymore.”
Your night out had been ruined, and you swore you’d be done with parties for good. At least in your dorm you could save yourself from running face to face with anyone who either cheated on you or refused to share their feelings.
“I’ll take you home,” Chan states, not offers.
“I’m not getting in a car with you. You’ve been drinking.”
It was an assumption, but a reasonable one. Though clearly incorrect, because he quirks an eyebrow and shakes his head immediately. “I haven’t had a drop of alcohol, actually,” he refutes, now pulling his keys out of his pocket and swinging them around his finger.
So much for that excuse.
“Whatever.”
He takes this as your reluctant surrender, now grabbing your hand and leading you to his car which was only a little ways down the street. And despite the kiss, you still had nothing to say to him – or rather, way too much to say to him, and no desire to say it if he wouldn’t talk first. So a thick silence falls between you, leaving you with just the lingering feeling of his lips on yours.
“Quiet today,” he comments, stealing a glance you don’t return. You keep your head pressed against the window, a dull headache already forming from the night’s events and the alcohol.
“I’m still mad at you,” you grumble.
His hands grip the steering wheel a little tighter, tongue swiping across his teeth. “I know,” he mutters.
“And I think I hate you again.”
“Well, the ‘again’ gives me some hope,” the corners of his lips tug upwards. “Means I had you on my side for a little, at least.”
“You did. Until you wouldn’t talk to me and ran like a coward,” you insult, watching his shoulders drop and smile fade as fast as it had come. You almost regret saying it. Because all your insults before had been quick, meaningless jabs that he could brush off. This one came with intent, a bitterness that wouldn’t be forgotten seconds later.
“Yeah, I deserve that,” he sighs. “We’ll talk soon, okay? When you’re not tipsy and overwhelmed.”
“I don’t believe you,” you say flatly, still not lifting your head from the glass.
He reaches across the console for your hand, rubbing his thumb against your skin. “I mean it this time. Because I’ve been going crazy without you. And that kiss just sealed the deal.”
“Please,” you scoff, forced. “It was hardly a kiss.” Hardly. Your minimization of it wasn’t wrong in a literal sense; it was short-lived, lacking the passion you knew you both had within. But regardless, it had completely hijacked your brain, so clearly it wasn’t hardly anything.
“I know. That’s the problem. I need more.”
Now, you turn towards him, trying to decipher his expression. It’s unreadable for once, devoid of that familiar smirk. You want to tell him if he needs more to take it, that he can have everything he wants if he just says the words. But those words don’t come, not tonight, and you close your eyes against the window once more.
Before you leave for your dorm, he reaches for your hand again, pulling it to his lips.
“Soon, I promise.”
You nod, trying to believe him, though you wonder if it would hurt less if you don’t.
You didn’t particularly like loose ends.
That’s why after weeks of dangling a fake relationship in Jaehyun’s face and the culmination of it all at the party the night prior, you decided to confront him fully and at least hear what he had to say before you closed the chapter for good. You didn’t owe that to him, certainly not, but you felt like you owed it to yourself. An explanation for why he did it to quell the thoughts that had never completely gone away. Which he also said he owed you, anyways.
And perhaps this was all amplified by the fact that most of the day had passed and there was no text, no call, no anything from Chan. He had only said “soon,” not “tomorrow,” but still. Some form of acknowledgement would be enough to placate you, but he hadn’t even spared you that.
So, with a final layer of lipgloss, you considered your makeup complete and mentally prepared yourself for the impending doom. You looked irresistible at least, everything Jaehyun could never have again.
But nothing could ever go to plan (once again, luck hadn’t exactly been on your side), so you aren’t shocked when a knock on your door disrupts your evening.
“Hi, princess,” Chan grins when you swing it open. Then, his eyes trail down your body, tugging his lip between his teeth subconsciously. “You look good.”
Well fuck. Why did he have to show up now? A text in advance might have saved you from unintentionally double-booking yourself, or maybe you’re at fault for assuming Chan was ghosting you again today.
“Thanks,” you smile half-heartedly, heading back to your mirror to look yourself over once more. It’s far too awkward to face Chan knowing you’re about to go see your ex, especially when you and Chan had almost established…something. Something real, beyond the pseudo-relationship.
He senses that you’re withholding something, watching you suspiciously. “Going out?” he questions, and you curse under your breath. Bracing for the storm.
“Something like that.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
His tone is already accusatory and you hadn’t even dropped the bomb yet, so you really had to prepare yourself for his reaction. At best, he would storm out and you could deal with it later, after you had dealt with Jaehyun. At worst, you’d have a full-blown argument in your dorm right before the other inevitable argument you’d have with Jaehyun.
“I’m going over to Jaehyun’s,” you say softly, guilt washing over you when his face drops instantly. But you didn’t need to feel guilty – you were allowed to seek closure, especially when Chan hadn’t yet granted you transparency. Still, you can’t help but wonder if you were making the right choice.
Chan’s blood runs cold, and he waits for you to laugh in his face, to tell him how dumb he looks when he’s angry. Something snarky, something annoying. Something. Anything. He doesn’t care, as long as it means you aren’t currently getting dolled up to go see your cheating fuck of an ex boyfriend.
Instead, you say nothing, shifting on your feet uncomfortably.
“Y/N, you can’t be serious.”
“I’m just hearing him out,” you say flatly. “I don’t think that’s a crime.”
“No, it’s not a crime, but Jesus fucking Christ, you’re looking like that to go ‘hear him out?’”
You look down at yourself, a lacy bodysuit and skirt adorning your body – not to appeal to him, not at all, but to remind him what he had lost. Was it a little melodramatic? Maybe. Were you allowed to be melodramatic when confronting someone who had made you question if you weren’t enough? Definitely.
“Yes! What’s wrong with that?!”
“Everything is wrong with that!”
“Oh my god, Chan, you got what you wanted,” you throw your hands up in frustration, “I’m sure you’ll never forget the look on his face when he saw us kiss last night.”
“You think his face is what I was thinking about after we kissed, Y/N?” he asks incredulously. “I was thinking about you, only you, and how right it felt.”
Was this his confession? It was beginning to feel like it. If only it hadn’t come at such a horrible time and in such a horrible way, maybe you would be happier. Now, the words sucked the air out of your lungs, leaving you speechless and uncertain.
“So fuck what I wanted back then. What I want right now is for you to realize you deserve better than someone who broke your heart and your trust in the worst way possible,” he finishes, holding himself back from pulling you into his arms and screaming that it’s him. He’s the one who will give you everything you deserve; he’ll make it his life’s purpose to do so.
“I’m just hearing him out,” you repeat again, emphatically, though no matter how true it was or how believable you made it sound, Chan refuses to accept it.
“Right,” he scoffs, running his hand through his hair. “Can’t wait to see you two all over each other in the corner of every party again.”
You open your mouth to argue, but he’s already heading for the door, unable to take another second of seeing your face and knowing you won’t be his.
“Hope it works out, Y/N.”
The door rattles as he slams it shut, and the room feels colder, emptier. And not just because of Chan’s physical absence, but because of what it entails. The same man who you hated - and who you swore hated you - had made you feel more seen and valued in not even two months than Jaehyun had in nine. He had put more effort into a fake relationship than Jaehyun had put in a real one. You were letting that go for some semblance of closure from someone who broke you.
Previously, you had tried to convince yourself your feelings had never become real. That of course your heart would beat a little faster when Chan would remember things about you, that of course you would like the way pet names fell from his lips, that of course you couldn’t stop thinking about him in every single way possible, from pure to downright filthy. This all made sense, of course, because he was the hot guy you were faking a relationship with. It had nothing to do with Chan, and everything to do with your body and mind being too receptive of what you’d been deprived of before.
But you simply couldn’t lie to yourself any longer. And that’s why, for once, you knew what you needed to do. You type out another message to Jaehyun, deliberating each word carefully. It would be the last you’d ever give him, at least in this capacity, where he still felt like he had a small chance at getting you back.
actually, i’m not coming over. i thought about it, and nothing you say can make me forget what you did…i didn’t deserve that, jaehyun.
i know what i deserve now.
i hope you learn from this and treat the next girl better.
His texts come in quick succession, frantic pleas and apologies and then the angry ones regarding Chan. You don’t answer him or even give him the solace of knowing you’d read them. Instead, you turn your phone on DND and throw it behind you, hoping it’ll get lost in your bed sheets.
And though you’ve done the right thing, there’s still the unavoidable grief over something that once was. The only person you want comfort from right now is Chan, but you know you should give yourself the space to reflect and process properly. He probably wants some time away from you, anyways.
So you don’t call or text him. You avoid all the spots you know he frequents. You make yourself as nonexistent to him as possible. And worst of all, he doesn’t even come searching.
There’s no way for you to know how badly he wants to see your name pop up at the top of his screen, or how he waits for you outside the library on days he knows you usually study. You don’t know that he stayed up late that first night, hoping you’d call him. Each notification made his heart jump, and after the eighth one that wasn’t from you, he finally turned his phone off completely.
He didn’t want space, nor time. He wanted you. And beyond that, he wanted you to know you deserved more - that he would give you more. But he can’t fault you for any of this; he can only blame himself for not telling you sooner.
When a week goes by and it’s still silence on your end, he figures you’d forgiven Jaehyun and taken him back. And that’s just something he’d have to live with.
The days pass by slowly, monotonously, and though you argue with Mina and Jihyo that it’s healing, they complain that you’re just wallowing in needless despair (“Girl, get your man,” had been the phrase of the week).
And you wanted to, but you weren’t sure how to face him after the way you’d left things. There was a gnawing worry that he wouldn’t answer your calls or texts, so you don’t even try. No, you decide you’ll just have to show up at his apartment, and yes at nine o’clock at night, because you couldn’t put it off any longer. The yearning was almost consuming you.
Though Chan had been to your dorm multiple times, you had never been to his apartment; it was way less convenient to go off-campus where he lived. You had to get Chan’s address from his roommate, Minho, who you had already known from a shared class last semester. And he had also texted you a few times begging you to do something about Chan’s moping, because it was “making his life miserable.”
While it was off-campus, it wasn’t far, and your determination was enough to ward off the apprehension of walking alone at night (though Chan would definitely not be pleased). Still, you kept Jihyo on the phone for the whole fifteen minutes, slight reassurance for both of you.
You can barely bring yourself to knock when you arrive, feeling much less composed now that you were actually there, separated from Chan by only a door and thin walls. Your fist meets the wood without you fully realizing it, and it swings open with ferocity moments later.
“Hi,” you choke out, all of your composure gone when he’s standing before you.
“Y/N?” he asks, blinking in awe to confirm that you’re real. He’d started to accept that your presence in his life was a thing of the past, a treasured memory he’d hold onto. “What are you – Jesus, it’s so dark out. Come on, get inside.”
He reaches for your arm and drags you inside, leading you all the way to his room; Minho’s home, and Chan doesn’t quite want him to hear the moment the girl he’s been losing his mind over ends things for good. Is “end things” even the right term, since there had never been a defined “thing” in the first place?
His room is not much different from any other college student’s room, with books and papers sprawled on the desk and empty energy drink cans filling the trashcan. But it’s his, and that makes your heart swell a little.
“I can’t believe you walked all the way here this late,” he scolds. He gestures for you to take a seat on his bed, and when he sits in his chair across from you, you deflate a little at the distance.
“I had to see you,” you whisper.
He clicks his tongue, trying not to melt at your words. Because to him, you’re with Jaehyun, and there’s probably some other rational explanation for why you’d shown up at his apartment at nine o’clock. He doesn’t know what it could be, but it exists, surely. “You know if you had texted me I would’ve been there in minutes,” he asserts.
“Actually, I didn’t know that,” you correct, folding your arms over your chest, “considering the way you stormed out last time we saw each other.” Which may have been justified, but still.
“Can you blame me? You told me you were going to see your ex boyfriend who cheated on you, by the way. And then you didn’t even bother to call or text, so what was I supposed to think?”
“You could’ve called or texted me!”
“I thought you went back to him!”
He stands, chest rising and falling heavily, and he looks so distraught your anger fades. “I didn’t,” you say, softer now. “I didn’t even see him that night. We haven’t even spoken since. Or I guess that’s not totally true, he’s spammed me and I’ve ignored him.”
His eyes soften, and he crosses those few feet to sit beside you, mattress dipping under the added weight. “Why?”
There’s a million ways to answer that question, and you aren’t sure which is the right one. So you go with what flows naturally, not giving it a second thought.
“Because I realized I need more too,” you confess. “No more pretending, no more lies.”
Though your chest feels lighter with the confession, the room feels smaller and your throat tighter because Chan doesn’t speak, or move, you don’t even think he blinks. He doesn’t mean to stare at you like this, but you’ve left him stunned with words he’d only ever heard in his dreams, and he worries if he speaks he’ll wake up and you’ll be gone again.
You start to rise from the bed, fighting back tears of rejection and humiliation. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come – ”
His hand latches around your wrist, gently yet firmly, and you fall back to the bed with a quiet gasp.
“I haven’t been pretending. Not for a while now,” he breathes, and now you’re the silent one. “You’re right, I was a coward. I’ve wanted you so badly and I didn’t know how to say it.” He cups your cheek, thumb brushing along the skin faintly, confirmation that you and this moment are very real. “I should’ve told you everything. How much I think about you, how much I hate it when you’re not here.”
There’s hardly any space between you now, foreheads nearly touching, breaths intertwining.
“How I can’t get that kiss out of my head,” he exhales. “How selfish I feel for wanting more.”
You shake your head. “You’re not selfish,” you whisper, and the corners of his lips twitch into a smile.
“I am, because I want you all to myself.”
“Then you have me,” you say simply, as though such a claim wouldn’t change everything. You’ve had me without even knowing.
He can’t hold back anymore – he’s done enough of that over the past month – because those words are his absolute undoing.
“Can I kiss you right this time?” His eyes drop to your lips, awaiting, begging for your permission.
You nod eagerly, and that’s all it takes for him to place his hand along your jaw and draw your face towards his. His lips melt into your own, this time with all the passion you’d both held back before.
And while the kiss starts soft, tender, moving against each other with the carefulness of a blooming love, it quickly plunges into desperate desire. Your fingers thread through his hair, delicately at first, until you tug at the roots and he groans into your mouth.
That sound. That devilish, sinful sound. It causes the heat within your core to grow tenfold, and you kiss him more fervently now, tongues swirling together. He sucks your bottom lip between his teeth, tugging gently, then drops his head to your neck.
And when your head tilts instinctively, offering him more skin to mark as his, he can’t help but smirk because he loves having this effect on you. He’d realized it that day at lunch, when he couldn’t do anything but skim your thigh under the table. But you were offering, so who was he not to take? He nips at the skin and runs his tongue along each spot afterwards, soothing, claiming.
“Mine,” he mumbles against your neck, and then he kisses his way back up to your lips, mouth hovering over your own.
“Chan,” you rasp, “I want you.”
His lips crash against yours once more, because he can’t help himself when you’ve just said you want him so desperately. “Yeah? You want me, baby?” he asks, breathless.
You shiver when his fingers slip under the hem of your shirt, tracing circles along your waist. “Yes,” you sigh, and then louder, “yes, God, I want you.”
He grips your waist, only sheer will keeping him from ripping off your clothes and fucking you right then and there. Because he wants to savor every last moment of this, but some small part of him is going feral – not a devil on his shoulder, but his throbbing cock trying to push through the seams of his boxers. So actually not a small part, because he’s big, you can see the imprint in his sweatpants.
“Are you sure?” he questions. “Because if you want me, that’s it. There’s no more Jaehyun, no more anyone else.”
Was he genuinely asking, or just trying to make you fall apart? You can’t tell, but you’re so needy, you answer regardless.
“I don’t want anyone else.”
His hands hook under your shirt while he guides you onto his lap, and you raise your arms for him to pull it off while you settle against him. He pauses, drinking in the sight – you haven’t even taken your bra off yet – and then his palms find your breasts, massaging through the fabric.
“You’re so beautiful,” he says, thumbs flicking over your covered nipples. The moan it elicits is so delicious that he does it again, and then again, cock twitching in his sweatpants.
“You only think that ‘cause I’m shirtless,” you quip, toying with the hem of his like you needed to make things even.
“No,” he says firmly. “Always thought you were the prettiest fucking girl ever.” He reaches behind his neck, yanking his tank top up and over his head, and you swear your breathing stops momentarily. This is what he’d hidden behind t-shirts and hoodies (and that jacket you still hadn’t given back to him), and honestly, how dare he?
But you can’t focus on that a moment longer, because he dips his head down to press his lips against the tops of your breasts hungrily, dragging wet kisses all the way to your sternum. “So fucking pretty,” he repeats, fingers unclasping your bra and tugging the straps down.
His mouth is on you again before it even hits the ground, like he’ll keel over and die if he isn’t tasting you, and right now, he really thinks he might. So, for survival, he wraps his lips around your perked nipple, tongue swirling around it, then flicking.
Each careful movement of his tongue causes your breath to hitch, hips rutting against him for any sort of friction, and he moans against you. His hands grip your waist, stilling your movements, and as a punishment – if you could call it that – he bites gently and tugs the sensitive bud between his teeth.
“Chan,” you moan, and when you feel the curl of that signature smirk, you become emboldened. “Who knew your mouth could actually be useful?”
Because although you definitely didn’t hate him now, you could at least reflect on that history, if not just to drive him a little wild. And hopefully he’d fuck you just a little bit harder.
He growls then, his hand sweeping along your side to squeeze your other breast, kneading the soft skin in his palm. And when you least expect it, his hand comes down, slapping your breast with enough force to make you gasp.
“Fuck, I’m gonna miss that smart mouth of yours. Always thought it was so hot the way you’d act like you actually hated me,” he chuckles, now massaging the skin.
“I did hate you,” you rasp. You aren’t even sure if that’s true anymore, because you can’t think. His cock pressing into you has your mind in a frenzy. One where your only thoughts are of having him inside you, stretching you open, filling you up.
When he lifts his head from your breasts, his eyes are dark, lidded, and boring right through you. Daring you to say it again. To lie and see where it gets you.
“You sure?” he whispers, tauntingly. “Because I always saw that look in your eyes.” His fingers dip lower, slipping into your panties, and he laughs when you shudder. “Deep down, you wanted to know all the filthy things I could do to this gorgeous body.”
Maybe you did. It matters little what you wanted back then, because you could only think of what you wanted right now, and his fingers were drifting dangerously close to it. But he was playing with you, not bringing them any further, waiting for your admission.
“You flatter yourself,” you whisper. The wrong answer, clearly, because he pulls his fingers away, gripping your chin now. Forcing you to look at him, because he knows you won’t be able to keep up the act if he’s staring at you so intensely.
“Say it’s not true then,” he orders.
You should be able to say it. You should be able to look him in the eyes and tell him he was once everything you wanted no part of. But he starts peppering open-mouthed kisses along your neck again, unfairly, and your voice betrays you. “It’s not true,” you mumble weakly.
Your fingers fly to his hair and tangle at the strands, but he won’t let you off that easily. Of course not. He grabs your face, squeezing your cheeks between his fingers.
“No,” he growls. “Say it like you mean it.”
His commands only add to the ache between your legs, and you accept that you can’t win. Your silence tells him everything, and he releases, hand patting your cheek like he pitied you. “That’s what I thought,” he hums, satisfied.
Your breathing becomes ragged when his hand trails down again, and this time you’re sure that he’ll relent and give you what your body was craving. Or maybe that was just you trying to convince yourself.
“You never hated me. You hated that you knew I was better than your boyfriend,” he smirks, slipping his fingers into your jeans. They drag down, slowly, finally stopping right at your core. “You hated that you wanted to know what it would feel like if I touched you here,” he taunts, rubbing your pussy through the soaked fabric of your panties.
“Shit, you’re this wet for me?” he groans, fingers gliding up and down, pressing harder when they pause at your clit. “I guess I was right, then.”
Any other time you would have been able to throw something sarcastic right back at him, but not now, not when he was teasing you like this. It was the closest he’d gotten to touching you where you so desperately needed him, and your hips buck unwittingly again. “Please, Chan. Need you,” you moan.
“Yeah, I know baby,” he coos. “Don’t worry. I’ll show you everything I’ve been dreaming about doing to you.”
And then you’re pushed off of him and onto the bed, hitting the sheets with a quiet squeal. The same fingers that had been rubbing your clothed pussy now hurriedly unbutton your jeans, and you lift off the bed slightly to help him drag them down along with your panties.
Once you’re completely naked before him, his movements lull, now taking in every inch of exposed skin.
You feel like you’re drowning under his eyes, because the last person to see you like this had betrayed you, had touched someone that wasn’t you. This was the reality of infidelity – the insecurity, the nagging, cruel insecurity that seeped into places it shouldn’t. Because Chan would never.
And he sees it, too. The way you begin to falter and drift elsewhere. Your head turning against the pillow, refusing to face him.
“Hey,” he whispers, cupping your jaw, pulling your face back towards him. “Where’d you go, baby? Don’t hide from me, please.”
You swallow harshly, forcing a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “Not hiding. Just…worried I’m not enough,” you mumble, and the words break him. He hated Jaehyun before, but he despises him now, because he made you – who he considered the most beautiful girl to ever grace the earth, even when you were calling him an idiot – feel less than. And that’s something Chan would spend the rest of his life undoing if he had to.
His thumb strokes your skin now, trying to wipe away the remnants of anyone’s touch that wasn’t his. “No, stop that. You’re more than enough. You’re perfect,” he says.
Your cheeks heat up from the affirmations, and he kisses you to cement them. But it's short, subdued, as he moves further down, lips grazing your neck, your chest, then your navel. He sinks lower, hovering right above your cunt, spreading your legs apart.
“So perfect for me,” he breathes, and you can feel the air hitting against you. “You’re mine now. You won’t have to worry about anyone else ever again.”
The words can barely sink in before his tongue is on you, licking a slow, tantalizing stripe between your folds. It’s so sudden that your hips lift off the bed, and his hands come quick, wrapping around your thigh and pinning you down. He swipes his tongue again, and then he takes as much of your pussy into his mouth as he can, devouring what had been kept from him for too long.
“Fuck, Chan, please,” you moan, grabbing at his hair for something to ground you. He groans into you, both from your fingers tugging and the sound of you moaning his name like that.
“You taste so fucking good,” he rasps. His lips wrap around your clit, sucking the sensitive nub hard, tugging, releasing. Then, he swirls his tongue, creating a pattern that has your back arching, threatening to come undone.
You’d thought about this. Lonely nights in your dorm, touching yourself at the thought of how he would look between your legs, about how his tongue would feel against you. But there was no way to anticipate this. He lapped at your pussy like he was starved and you were the only meal he’d get again. He’d like that, truthfully.
Your body is trembling by the time he draws his head back, and the lack of his warm tongue causes you to whine. “Patience, princess,” he coos.
Before you can beg him to touch you again, he spits directly onto your cunt, letting his fingers spread it as if your slick wasn’t enough. And the action is so erotic, so filthy that your thighs clench involuntarily and he has to hold them open.
Two fingers push inside you, and his tongue is back, flicking your clit with urgency. He pumps them languidly, curling them against your g-spot and then pulling back until you’re almost empty. His name leaves your mouth through choked cries and it only drives him further, because he needs you to unravel just like this. His tongue circles your clit in rhythm with his fingers, hitting your sweet spot with each pump, and his pace quickens when he can tell you’re close.
“Chan, please don’t stop!” you pant. “Fuck, I’m so close.”
It’s all too much - his fingers, his tongue, the lewd noises of them bringing you to the edge. “Go on, baby, give it to me,” he coaxes. “Come on my tongue for me, just like that.”
With his permission (which was much more of a plea), you let go, throwing your head back against the pillow. Your whole body comes alive with the intensity of your orgasm, ripping through you in currents while he continues lapping at your pussy lazily. It’s only when he pulls his fingers out for the final time and sucks them clean that you come down, chest heaving.
“My mouth sure is useful, huh?” he teases, laughing when you roll your eyes.
His laughter is cut short when you sit up on your knees and tug at the waistband of his sweatpants, head lowering. Your intentions are clear, but he grips your shoulder, halting your movements.
“No, no, princess, it’s okay,” he huffs, using his last bit of self-restraint. He can’t believe he’s turning down head from you, but right now, being buried inside you is his priority.
You can’t believe it either, blinking up at him sweetly, eyes wide with confusion. “But I wanna return the favor,” you pout.
Jesus, were you an angel from above or a succubus from the depths of hell, he wonders?
“Fuck, I know, baby,” he groans. “But I need to be inside you, right now.”
He sounds so desperate that you feel like you’re in control now, and you reach for his cock through his sweatpants. Wrapping your fingers around it, stroking softly. “You wanna fuck me, Channie?” you purr.
“Yes,” he growls, grabbing your wrist – all your control, gone. “You want it too, don’t you baby?” He stands, ridding himself of his sweats and boxers at once. His cock springs free, precum beading on the tip, and he cages you against the bed. “Or can you not take it? Hm? Is one all this pretty pussy can give me?”
The flip switches in you instantly, arms slithering around his neck, yanking him to you. His lips crash onto yours, all teeth and tongue, both of you at your neediest. When your hand slips down to stroke him, thumb spreading precum along his length, he lets out a low guttural sound into your mouth.
“Baby, shit, you’re killing me,” he rasps.
“Can you die inside me, at least?”
That he could do. Happily. Willingly. He reaches over you, pulling open a drawer and rummaging inside. And though you shouldn’t, you bring your hand to his wrist, stopping him.
“I’m on the pill, if that helps,” you whisper. “I need to feel you, nothing else.” Your words are sinful but your eyes are so sweet, looking up at him like you’d break if he denied you.
“Fuck, princess, you’re trouble,” he groans, shoving the drawer closed and bringing his hand to your cheek instead. He swipes away a few strands of hair that had fallen, trying to soak in every inch of your perfect face.
“You love it,” you giggle.
“God, yes I do.”
He grasps his cock and fists it a few short times, then guides it along your pussy. Your slick coats his shaft immediately, slow drags making your head spin. And when he slaps the tip against your clit, you know he’s doing it just for that. To drive you crazy, to hear your whines, to see you writhing for it. For him. Would it be appropriate to call him a smug bastard again?
“Stop teasing,” you beg, your voice a strained whisper.
“But you’re so cute like this,” he says. “What’d you say again? ‘Everyone knows I wouldn’t fuck you?’”
You buck your hips against him, a poor retaliation, and he laughs, positioning himself at your entrance. “Well look at you now, princess.”
He presses into you just the smallest bit, enough for the tip to slip inside, still teasing when all you wanted was for him to plunge inside you and fuck you senseless. That small amount of pressure is gone in an instant, leaving you empty once more.
“Chan,” you whimper. “Please just fuck me, I can’t take it.”
You might cry if he keeps this up, still sensitive from your last orgasm but so desperate for another. And while he wouldn’t mind driving you to that point, his cock is painfully hard. Even he’s at his limit.
“Oh, baby, you’re gonna take it,” he taunts, thrusting forward in one swift motion. He bottoms out and stays there, immobile, reveling in your cunt stretching around him. “Fuck. Jesus Christ, you feel amazing.”
“Would feel more amazing if you would move,” you hiss, and he actually listens. His hips snap against you with a purpose, slow and deep, watching every inch sink further.
Each thrust reaches that sweet spot that has your back arching and nails digging into him. You can already feel the fire building inside you again, clenching around him in a way that has him wondering if you’re a dream. “Fuck, your pussy was made for me,” he groans, hips bucking faster now. Less restraining and savoring, more adhering to his primal urge to fill you up entirely.
“Funny. Jaehyun said the same thing,” you pant. You aren’t sure where the confidence comes from, especially when he’s the one pounding into you; maybe he’s fucking the attitude back into you. But you know it’ll get you into trouble, the good kind of trouble, the kind where Chan wrecks you mercilessly.
And oh, he does. He thrusts wilder, rougher, almost carelessly, the sound of skin slapping skin echoing throughout the room.
“Yeah? Well he fucking lied, baby,” he growls. “Because you feel that?” His hand presses down on your stomach. “That’s all me. My cock you’re squeezing like a fucking vice.”
His hand slides down, thumb rubbing tight circles against your clit. The added sensation brings you closer to the edge, and he’s nearly there as well. “Chan, oh my god,” you moan, nails dragging along his bicep.
“You’re so tight,” he grunts. “Did he ever fuck you right?” He won’t even say the name, because it holds no meaning now. You’re his, and he’ll fuck you enough times that you won’t remember anyone else.
Your walls clench harder around him, his thumb circling relentlessly. “No,” you cry. “Not like you. Not like this.” That answer satisfies him, and he pulls back all the way just to slam into you harder.
“I didn’t think so,” he muses. He leans down, nipping at your neck. “Forget about him. All you need to remember is me and my cock ruining you like this.”
You’d already forgotten, only able to think about how Chan was the one currently fucking into you like he had something to prove. You’re so close to release, strangled cries of his name escaping your lips while your thighs clench around him. “Ah, Chan, I’m gonna come!” you whimper.
“Fuck, me too, baby,” he grunts. “You want me to fill you up? Leave your pussy leaking with my cum?”
His words are your final propulsion, and he emphasizes them with each rut of his hips. Your back arches off the bed, face contorting in pure euphoria, and Chan commits the image to memory. It matters little that he knows he’ll see it many, many more times; he wants to watch you ride every single high until the end of time.
Your orgasm washes over you, setting every inch of your body aflame, and you want more. More of him. All of him. “Yes! Please fill me up, please,” you beg, voice breaking from the overstimulation.
He can’t deny you, doesn’t want to deny you, and he couldn’t anyways. You’ve basically sucked him in, legs keeping him held in place. He thrusts into you one final time, a low groan emitting from someplace deep within, hips jerking erratically as thick, white strings of cum spurt inside of you.
When you’ve milked every last drop from him, he pulls out from your spent heat and falls to the bed dramatically, limbs flopping as if he’s dead. And maybe he is, because that was definitely heaven.
You lay there side by side, chests rising and falling in sync, staring at the ceiling like it might offer an explanation for what just happened. How you ended up like this, his cum dripping from you, your scratches welting along his back, when just months ago you couldn’t stand each other. Supposedly.
Then comes a knock on the door, and you both are struck with the realization that you’d forgotten Minho was home, in another room, hearing everything. Or rather, Chan had forgotten, and you’d never known. Never even considered it.
“Are you two done in there?” he calls from outside. You lift your head and look at Chan with wide eyes, and he shrugs like he’s just as clueless.
“Uh, yeah,” Chan shouts back. You bury yourself under the sheets, expecting the door to swing open. Thankfully, it doesn’t. But the alternative might be worse.
“Y/N, when I asked you for help, I didn’t mean by moaning loud enough to wake the neighbors in my apartment.”
Minho’s footsteps pad away from the door, and you pull back the sheets, horrified. “Was I really that loud?!” you exclaim. He hadn’t said anything about your volume or even tried to quiet you, and you were far too consumed to notice.
“A little…” Chan rubs his neck sheepishly.
You wish you could melt into the bed and disappear forever, because how would you ever face Minho again? And their poor neighbors, no less. The walk of shame was going to be unbearable. “Oh my god, that’s so embarrassing!” you groan.
He shakes his head vehemently and kisses your forehead, a small reassurance. “No! No, baby, it was so hot,” he coos. And then it hits him. “Wait. Minho asked you for help?”
“I guess you were going crazy without me,” you smirk. This time he groans, and you laugh, nuzzling into his neck. “Don’t worry. You’re not getting rid of me now.”
“Like I’d ever want to,” he whispers.
His lips press into your hair, and you can’t help but sigh against him. Because any remnants of hatred, if they even truly existed, are gone, and you’re left only with the peaceful acceptance that this was a glimpse of countless days to come.
After a year abroad, Hwang Hyunjin comes back different. Much to your dismay, the change isn't only on the outside.
★𓂃 PAIRING(S) | Hyunjin x reader
★𓂃 THEMES | jerk!hyunjin, slowburn <3, friends to frenemies to lovers kinda?, f2l, buzz cut and mullet hyunjin, buff!hyunjin, ft other members
★𓂃 WORD COUNT | n/a
★𓂃 SCHEDULE | 10/10/25 - UPDATING WEEKLY ON FRIDAYS
★𓂃 RATING | pg13
★𓂃 TAGLIST | @akindaflora @sam200212345 @alisonyus @itsraininghyunebuckets @seungminnieinthebuilding @hwangjoanna @xesqz @skzfelixlove @screamsinbanshee @elizalabs3 @lemonn015 @femaholicc @stayjinnie @that-crazy-five-foot-two-chick @todorokiskitten @baedreamverse @arunabrak @v3n7s @cb9711 @9824web @dlizzzy @ayedomino-08 @otherworldlystriderstranger @lilbugthings @broken-glowsticks + regular stray kids taglist
Navigation | Taglist
★𓂃 CHAPTER LIST: one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine | ten | eleven | twelve | thirteen | +
★𓂃 TEASER | PREVIEW BELOW THE CUT
★𓂃 PREVIEW
Hwang Hyunjin turns to you in what seems to be slow motion. Though you’ve seen him almost every day for the last five years–save for last year–you feel like you’re seeing him for the first time.
Hyunjin, who had grown his hair just past his shoulders and maintained considerably long lengths since then, had a buzz cut.
Hyunjin, who you knew had started working out a bit, was three times the size of the man you knew.
Hyunjin, who left with only his ears pierced, had piercings in his eyebrows and nose bridge.
Hyunjin, who had always been your sweet friend who greeted you with a smile at every chance, was now staring at you with a face devoid of all emotion.
It gives you whiplash how much he changed in only a year. Sure, you knew he had always been pretty experimental with his hair, but to buzz it completely was something nobody expected. Not to mention the fact that he looked like some tough-guy who had eaten your art-loving sweetheart of a friend twice and used him for protein. It didn’t help that you hadn’t caught a whiff of the old Hyunjin other than his brief chuckling earlier when you had first walked in.
Dropping your bag on your seat, you give him a proper once-over, mouth still hanging open in complete shock at what you’re seeing.
You’re not sure if it’s disbelief or because damn is he fine, or both—but your stomach twists.
Then finally, he cracks a smile that you’re not sure you’ve seen on him before. “Hey [Y/N], long time no see. You miss me? You look like you did.”
That finally makes you shut your mouth, before you retort back, “Relax, painter boy. I just… didn’t recognize you at first.”
He looks a little smug at that, somewhat of a smirk playing at his plump lips that you’ve missed staring at…
“I know, right! He has gotten huge since the last time we saw him. He’s almost as big as me now!” Changbin grins, patting Hyunjin’s biceps in admiration. “We should start working out together.”
“I think I’m as big as you already, Bin,” Hyunjin laughs, hitting a tricep flex, “You see that?”
And though they seem to be in friendly competition, you can’t help but wince at Hyunjin’s tone.
You can’t help the way your eyes stay glued to his bicep, either.
★𓂃 please consider reblogging and/or commenting, your support means a lot to me <3
Synopsis: You used to orbit around Chan, all late nights and unspoken feelings, until his rejection forced you to move on. Now you’re in a soft, quietly solid relationship with Seungmin—and Chan can only regret the choice that made room for someone who actually chose you back.
a/n: ahh this is so bittersweet but comforting at the same time
wc: 6,978
You always find him in the same place.
Headphones on, shoulders hunched, fingers tapping restlessly against the desk as a project file glows on the screen. The clock on the wall insists it’s nearly 2 a.m., but Bang Chan still looks like he’s only halfway through his to-do list.
You pause at the doorway of the studio, paper cup of coffee warm between your hands.
“Chan?”
He jumps slightly, spinning in his chair. The harsh blue light of the monitors softens when he recognises you.
“Oh— hey. You scared me.” He pulls one earcup down, a small tired smile tugging at his lips. “What are you doing here? Didn’t your shift end ages ago?”
You step in, closing the door with your foot. “Didn’t your shift end ages ago?”
He laughs quietly, that soft breathy sound you’ve heard a thousand times. You cross the room and set the coffee beside his keyboard.
“Thought you might need this.”
His eyes flick to the cup, then to your face.
“You’re an actual angel, you know that?” He wraps his hands around it, inhaling the steam like it’s oxygen. “Thank you.”
“It’s just convenience store coffee.”
“Yeah, but it’s coffee.” He takes a sip, eyes closing. “And you thought about me.”
He says it so casually, like it doesn’t send your heart straight through the floor.
You swallow, fingers twisting together. You’ve rehearsed what you’re about to say a hundred times— in the shower, on the bus, staring at your bedroom ceiling when you should be asleep. It never sounded right in your head, but your chest feels too tight to keep carrying it around.
“Chan?”
“Mm?” He’s already turned back to the screen, cursor dancing through waveforms, but his attention shifts when he hears your tone. He swivels properly to face you, brows knitting. “Everything okay?”
No. Not really.
You exhale slowly. “Can we… talk for a second? Like, not about work.”
His posture straightens. “Yeah, of course.” He takes the headphones fully off and sets them on the desk. “What’s up?”
You thought you’d be more nervous, but once the first word leaves your mouth, the rest follow like they’ve been waiting at the edge of a cliff.
“I like you.”
His eyes widen just a fraction. For a moment, all you can hear is the hum of the computer and the faint thump of music leaking from some neighbouring room.
You push on before you can lose your nerve.
“I know you’re busy— more than busy, actually, like some sort of functioning insomniac— and I know this probably isn’t a good time. But I…” You swallow. “I’ve liked you for a while. And I didn’t want to keep tiptoeing around it like it’s not there.”
You watch the realisation land slowly across his features, like dawn creeping over a horizon.
“Y/N…” His voice is soft, almost careful.
“I’m not asking for anything huge,” you add quickly, cheeks burning. “You don’t have to… give me an answer now, or at all, really. I just— I needed you to know. Because pretending I don’t feel this way is making it really hard to even be in the same room as you.”
You laugh, a short, embarrassed sound. The room feels much smaller now.
Chan stares down at his coffee for a long moment. When he looks back up, there’s something heavy in his eyes.
“I… thank you,” he says, and you know from the way his voice dips that it’s genuine. “Really. For telling me. I know that wasn’t easy.”
“But…” you say quietly.
He winces at the word, like it hurts him too. “But.”
You brace yourself.
“I care about you a lot,” he starts, fingers tightening around the paper cup. “Like, a lot. You’re… one of the people I rely on the most. You know that, right?”
You nod, though it doesn’t feel like enough.
“And that’s why I…” He takes a breath. “I don’t think I can give you what you deserve right now.”
There it is.
“You’re always here,” he continues. “Helping with schedules, picking up things we forget, bringing coffee at stupid o’clock—” he tries to smile, but it falters “—and I already feel guilty about how much of your time I take. If we… if we tried to date on top of that, I don’t know how I’d not let you down.”
“Chan—”
“I’m always in the studio. I’m always thinking about the next comeback, the members, the fans… and it’s not because you’re not important. You are.” His voice cracks slightly on the word. “But I’m scared I’d make you wait. For answers, for time, for promises I can’t keep. And you don’t deserve that.”
Silence stretches between you like a tightrope.
You’d prepared yourself for rejection. You hadn’t prepared for it to sound like this— soft, apologetic, filled with too much care and not enough room.
“So you’re saying no,” you say quietly, just to make it real.
He flinches, but nods. “Yeah.” His gaze doesn’t leave yours. “I’m… I’m saying no.”
Your chest aches, but it’s a clean pain, sharp and bright. You nod once, slowly.
“Okay.”
“I’m sorry,” he blurts, leaning forward slightly, eyes frantic. “Y/N, I’m really, really sorry. It’s not that I don’t—”
“Don’t.” You smile, and it’s steadier than you feel. “Please don’t make it harder.”
He shuts his mouth, guilt flickering across his face.
You pull in a breath and straighten your shoulders. “Thank you for being honest with me.”
“You’re not… you’re not angry?”
“Honestly? Maybe a little.” You huff out a humourless laugh. “But it’s not your fault you’re married to your job.”
He groans quietly, burying his face in one hand. “God, don’t say it like that.”
“It’s true, though,” you say, softer. “And I knew that. It’s not like you suddenly turned into someone else. You’re just… you.”
He drops his hand and looks at you. There’s something raw in his expression, something fragile.
“I’m still really glad I told you,” you add. “Even if this is your answer.”
“Y/N…”
You step back before he can say your name again in that tone that makes everything sting.
“You should get back to work,” you say. “Deadline and all that.”
“Work can wait.”
“That’s literally the opposite of everything you’ve ever said to me,” you tease weakly.
He smiles, but it’s tight, pained. “I hate this.”
“Me too,” you admit. “But I’ll be okay.”
The problem is, you’re not sure if you’re trying to convince him or yourself.
You leave the studio before you change your mind, before you stay and let the ache drag on. The door closes behind you with a soft click, and you only let your smile drop once you’re safely in the empty corridor.
For a long moment, you just stand there, staring at the scuffed floor, listening to the faint muffled beat of music through the walls.
Then you square your shoulders, wipe at your eyes, and walk away.
౨ৎ
Two years pass.
Comebacks blur into each other. New songs, new concepts, new tours. The boys grow more confident, more famous, more exhausted in that strange, glittering way success demands. And you’re still there— behind cameras, in rehearsal rooms, at the side of the stage with a clipboard and an emergency stash of plasters and cough drops.
You and Chan never talk about that night again.
You don’t avoid him, not exactly. The first few months are awkward; you triple-check your words, make sure your smiles are the right distance. He hesitates the first few times he asks you for help, like he’s waiting for you to say no. But slowly, bit by bit, it settles into something gentler. A quieter kind of friendship. Not as easy as before, but not broken either.
The feelings fade the way old bruises do— colour draining slowly, leaving faint shadows only you notice.
You still catch yourself looking at him sometimes when he’s laughing at something one of the members said, or when he falls asleep on the sofa between schedules, mouth slightly open, hoodie pulled over his head. The affection is still there, but it’s less of a storm now and more of a tired tide, lapping at your ribs and then retreating.
Life fills up the empty spaces.
And somewhere in the middle of all that chaos, you start to notice Seungmin.
౨ৎ
It starts with your ankle.
You’ve been on your feet all day— early dance practise, then a long shoot, then a last-minute change to the schedule that has you sprinting down the corridor with a stack of revised cue sheets. By the time the boys are running the choreography again for the fifth time, your legs are buzzing and your trainers feel about two sizes too small.
When the music cuts, you lean back against the wall, stretching one foot, rotating your ankle until it pops.
“You’re doing that thing again.”
You blink and turn to see Seungmin watching you, water bottle dangling from his hand. Sweat darkens his fringe, cheeks flushed from exertion, but his eyes are sharp.
“What thing?” you ask.
“The one where you pretend your ankle doesn’t hurt.”
“I’m not—”
You shift your weight and immediately wince as pain flares.
He raises a brow. “Right.”
“It’s fine,” you insist. “I’ve just been walking a lot.”
“Exactly my point.” He takes a step closer, tilting his head slightly. “Sit down.”
You let out a breathy laugh. “Excuse me?”
“Sit,” he repeats, like he’s talking to a stubborn puppy. “Before you actually injure yourself and we have to drag you to A&E in the middle of promotions.”
“You’re being dramatic.”
“Call it preventative care.”
You roll your eyes, but your ankle throbs in protest when you shift again, so you slide down the wall until you’re sitting on the floor. He nods, satisfied, and crouches in front of you.
“I’ll be fine after I rest a bit,” you say. “You should be stretching or something. I heard your choreographer threatening bodily harm if any of you pull a muscle.”
He huffs. “I already stretched.” He gestures at your foot. “May I?”
You stare at him. “What are you, the physio now?”
“Only for people who are bad at looking after themselves.” His tone is dry, but his gaze is steady, waiting.
“Shouldn’t you be starting with Chan, then?” you mutter.
A small, wry smile tugs at his mouth. “I’ve been trying.”
You hesitate, then extend your leg a little. He takes your ankle gently, fingertips surprisingly careful and warm even through your sock. He presses lightly into the joint, testing the movement.
“Does this hurt?”
“Only my pride,” you say.
His lips twitch. “So yes, then.”
He loosens your laces and adjusts your trainer, retying it more securely. When he lets go, the pressure feels different, more supported.
“Better?” he asks.
“Yeah,” you admit, a little thrown. “Actually.”
“Good.” He stands and offers you his hand. “Come on.”
You take it without thinking. His grip is firm as he helps you up.
“Try not to sprint around for the rest of the day,” he adds. “You’re the one who lectures us about ‘long-term health’ every week.”
You squint at him. “Do you… actually listen when I say those things?”
“Apparently more than you do.” He steps back, eyes flicking briefly to your ankle. “If it still hurts tomorrow, tell someone. Don’t be an idiot.”
“You’re very bossy for someone younger than me,” you grumble.
He shrugs. “Someone has to compensate for your terrible life choices.”
You’re still rolling your eyes when the music kicks in again and he jogs back to his spot, slipping effortlessly into formation. But later, when you’re at home and finally take your shoes off, you realise your ankle does hurt less than it had that morning.
You tell yourself it’s just the way he tied your laces.
You don’t think about the way he’d watched you for a full song before saying anything.
౨ৎ
After that, you start noticing him more.
How he always seems to be the first one to grab an extra mic if someone’s cuts out. How he quietly adjusts Hyunjin’s in-ear without making a fuss. How he’s quick with dry comments in interviews, but even quicker to back off if he thinks his joking is actually bothering someone.
“Do you ever stop working?” he asks you one evening, dropping onto the chair opposite your desk in the staff room.
You glance up from the schedule spreadsheet. “Do you?”
He shrugs. “Fair point.”
He’s got a coffee in one hand and a small plastic bag in the other. He puts the bag on your desk.
“What’s that?” you ask warily.
“Food.”
You narrow your eyes. “Why?”
“Because the last time I walked past, you were chewing on the end of a pen,” he says, deadpan. “Which I’m fairly sure has zero nutritional value.”
You stare at him. “…Have you always been this sassy or did I just not notice?”
“You were busy limping around and pretending not to be in love with Chan,” he says, casually.
The air leaves your lungs in a whoosh. “Wow,” you manage. “Subtle.”
His expression softens. “You’re better now, though.”
It’s not really a question. You look down at the bag and peek inside. There’s a neatly wrapped kimbap and a small packet of your favourite crisps.
“I’m getting there,” you say quietly.
He nods once. “Good.”
You tear open the crisps. “You know, for someone who calls me an idiot at least twice a week, you’re surprisingly considerate.”
“I never said you weren’t one of my favourite idiots,” he replies, sipping his coffee.
Your heart does a small, inconvenient flip.
You tell it to calm down. It doesn’t listen.
౨ৎ
You and Seungmin fall into an odd sort of orbit after that.
He starts appearing at your desk more often, asking oddly specific questions about the schedule that you suspect he already knows the answer to.
“So, what time is rehearsal tomorrow?” he asks one afternoon, leaning over your shoulder.
“You literally have it in the group chat,” you reply.
“Yeah, but your version is more accurate.”
“It’s the same version.”
“Yours is in pink highlighter,” he points out. “That makes it feel less aggressive.”
Sometimes he joins you on late-night convenience store runs when practices run long.
“Why do you always get that one?” you ask as he grabs the same brand of yoghurt drink for the third time that week.
“Because I’m loyal,” he says, then glances pointedly at the instant ramen in your basket. “Unlike some people I could mention.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You said last week that was your ‘absolute favourite flavour in the world’,” he mimics your voice. “And now you’ve thrown it over for spicy seafood.”
“It’s called personal growth,” you sniff.
He nudges your shoulder with his. “Mm, sure.”
He notices things.
“You’ve been staring at that screen for twenty minutes,” he says one night in the empty dressing room. “Either you’re very enamoured with that spreadsheet or you’re thinking too much.”
“Is this how you flirt?” you ask, dry.
“Is it working?”
You choke on your own saliva. He laughs, low and pleased, and tosses you a bottle of water.
And then, without you really realising when it happened, he becomes the first person you text when something good or bad happens. The one who sends you photos of funny signs he sees on the way to schedules. The one who asks you, “Have you eaten?” with a raised brow that says he’ll be annoyed with you if the answer is no.
You don’t notice the exact moment your heart switches allegiance. All you know is that one day, Chan walks into the practice room, smiles at you, and your pulse stays calm.
Later that same day, Seungmin sits next to you on the floor, knees touching as he scrolls through dog photos to show you, and you feel your cheeks heat.
You stare at your traitorous hands, resting a little too close to his, and think, Oh.
౨ৎ
Ironically, it’s Chan who notices first.
You and Seungmin are backstage at a music show, pressed into a narrow corridor while technicians wheel equipment past. The boys are due to go on in ten minutes. Felix is stretching his shoulders; Changbin is muttering lyrics under his breath; Jisung is bouncing on his toes, burning off nervous energy.
You’re scanning the running order, making sure you haven’t missed any last-minute changes, when Seungmin leans in.
“Hey.”
“Hmm?”
“Your hair.”
You frown. “What about it?”
He reaches up and gently smooths a strand of hair back, tucking it behind your ear. “There. It was annoying me.”
Your brain short-circuits for a second. “Oh. Thanks.”
His hand lingers a moment too long, fingertips brushing your temple. When he pulls away, there’s a small, satisfied smile on his lips.
You look up and freeze.
Chan is a few metres away, watching the exchange. He’s mid-conversation with the stage manager, but his gaze flickers briefly between you and Seungmin, eyes narrowing just a fraction in thought.
He catches your eye and quickly looks away, plastering a smile back onto his face as he nods along to whatever the staff is saying.
Heat creeps up your neck. You suddenly feel very aware of the small distance between you and Seungmin, of the way his arm presses lightly against yours.
“You’re fidgeting,” Seungmin murmurs.
“I’m not.”
“You are.” He bumps your shoulder. “Relax. You look like you’re about to be the one going onstage.”
“That’s because you are about to go onstage.”
He tilts his head, studying you. “You’re worried.”
“Of course I am,” you mutter. “You’re all running on four hours’ sleep and caffeine.”
“Five,” he corrects. “I had a nap.”
You give him a look.
He smiles, softer now. “We’ll be fine. I’ll be fine.”
You open your mouth, then close it again. Instead, you just nod.
He glances at your hand, fingers twitching, and then— slowly, like giving you time to pull away— he takes it.
His palm is warm and dry, fingers slotting between yours with an ease that makes your chest hurt.
“Breathe,” he says quietly. “Yeah?”
You let out a shaky breath you hadn’t realised you’d been holding.
“Good.” He squeezes your hand once, then lets go as the stage manager calls them to standby.
As he walks away, you feel Chan’s gaze brush your profile again. When you glance over, his expression is unreadable.
౨ৎ
You and Seungmin don’t define anything for a while. It’s a series of almosts— his fingers skimming yours in busy hallways, his hand hovering at your lower back as he guides you through crowds, his teasing texts that sometimes stray a little too close to something else.
Seungmin:
you left your charger in the practice room again
You:
my bad, will get it tmrw
Seungmin:
no you won’t
You:
are you calling me unreliable?
Seungmin:
i’m calling you you
i’ll bring it to you
You:
ok bossy
Seungmin:
you like it
You stare at that last message for longer than you should.
The official shift happens on a rainy Tuesday evening.
Schedules had run long, and by the time you leave the building, the sky has opened properly, sheets of rain drenching the pavement. You stand under the awning, clutching your umbrella, watching cars hiss by in the wet.
“You’re not seriously going to walk home in that.”
You don’t even have to turn to know who it is. “Seungmin, I live fifteen minutes away. I’ll survive.”
He steps up beside you, opening his own umbrella. “Which direction?”
“Spying on my address now?” you tease.
“I’m deciding whether to file a noise complaint,” he replies smoothly. “Which way?”
You roll your eyes and point. He hums. “That’s on my way.”
“It isn’t,” you say immediately. “You live in the opposite direction.”
“Yeah,” he says, entirely unbothered. “But I also live with a group of grown men who absolutely know how to feed themselves. You, however, will probably go home and eat instant noodles.”
You gasp. “How dare you.”
“You literally did that last night.”
You deflate. “Okay, fair.”
“Come on,” he says, stepping out into the rain. “Walk with me.”
You fall into step beside him, umbrellas overlapping slightly. The city glows under streetlights, puddles reflecting neon signs and traffic lights. For a while, you just walk, listening to the soft patter of rain on plastic.
“I like nights like this,” you say quietly.
“Rainy ones?”
“Yeah. Everything feels… slower.”
He glances at you out of the corner of his eye. “You need slower.”
You snort. “Says the idol whose job is literally running around stages worldwide.”
“Exactly. I’m uniquely qualified to diagnose the condition.”
“And what condition is that?”
“Overworked idiot who thinks rest is optional.”
You bump his shoulder. “Stop calling me an idiot.”
“No,” he says, but there’s a smile in his voice. “What are you thinking about right now?”
You blink. “What?”
“You looked like you were somewhere else,” he says. “Where were you?”
You hesitate. Normally, you’d laugh it off, deflect with a stupid joke. But the rain, the quiet street, the way he’s really looking at you— it all makes you braver than usual.
“I was thinking about… timing,” you admit. “How unfair it can be.”
He’s silent for a moment. “Because of Chan?”
You stare down at the wet pavement. “Not exactly. Not anymore. Just… thinking how a few years ago, if someone had told me I’d be walking home in the rain with Kim Seungmin, I’d have laughed in their face.”
“Oh?” he says lightly. “Is that a bad thing?”
“No,” you say quickly. “That’s not— I mean…” You exhale, breath fogging the air. “I used to be so stuck on one idea of what my life should look like. One person. One… version of happiness. And when it didn’t work out, I just assumed that was it. That I’d missed my chance and everything else was just… consolation prize.”
“And now?” he asks quietly.
“Now I know I was being dramatic,” you say, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Because I didn’t know there were other ways to feel—” You stop yourself before you say this safe, this seen.
Seungmin slows, then comes to a stop under a streetlight. Rain drums steadily around you. You look up at him, confused.
“What?” you ask.
He looks at you for a long moment, the usual mischief in his eyes replaced by something softer, more open.
“Do you like me?” he asks.
The question lands between you with surprising gentleness. No teasing, no theatrics. Just simple, direct words, spoken like he already knows the answer.
Your heart thumps unhelpfully.
“That’s a very arrogant question,” you say, trying to deflect.
He tilts his head slightly. “Is it wrong?”
You chew on your bottom lip. “You’re very… sure of yourself.”
“I’m very sure of you,” he corrects. “Which is weird, because you clearly have no idea.”
“Seungmin—”
“If you don’t,” he adds quickly, “if I’ve misread everything, tell me. I’ll shut up. We can go back to me bullying you about your snack choices and pretending I don’t care whether you rest or not.”
Something in your chest squeezes.
You think of the coffees, the snacks, the way he steals your pen just to give it back with a stupid flourish. The way he stands a little closer than necessary. The way he noticed your ankle when no one else did. The way he’s quietly shifted his route home just to match yours.
You think of Chan’s studio, the way your confession fell awkward and hopeful into the dim light. The way your heart had shattered and slowly, slowly put itself back together.
You think of how you feel now, standing under a flickering street lamp with Seungmin, rain pounding a steady rhythm around you.
“I do,” you say.
His brow furrows. “You do… what?”
“Like you.” You exhale, a shaky laugh leaving your chest. “A lot, actually. Which is very annoying, because you’re very smug about it.”
A slow grin spreads across his face, bright even in the dull light. “I knew it.”
“You’re unbearable.”
“You like that too,” he says, and then his expression sobers. “Can I…?”
He doesn’t finish the question, but you understand. You nod, heartbeat roaring in your ears.
He steps closer, shifting his umbrella slightly so he can see your face properly. Raindrops catch on his lashes, his fringe damp. He lifts his free hand, fingers brushing your cheek, then your jaw, giving you one last chance to pull away.
You don’t.
He leans in and kisses you, soft and unhurried, like you have all the time in the world.
It’s not fireworks and orchestras and the world spinning off its axis. It’s something quieter— a warmth that blooms low in your chest and unfurls slowly, wrapping around all the old aches and whispering, See? It can be like this too.
When he pulls back, there’s a faint flush on his cheeks, but his eyes are steady.
“Just so we’re clear,” he says, voice slightly rough. “This isn’t a consolation prize.”
“I know,” you say, and you do. “You couldn’t be a consolation prize if you tried.”
“Good.” He presses a quick kiss to your forehead, smirking. “Because I don’t come second to anyone.”
You laugh, the sound carried away by the rain.
౨ৎ
People find out gradually.
Hyunjin shrieks when he catches you and Seungmin holding hands in the practice room. Jisung won’t stop making exaggerated kissy faces for an entire week. Felix beams so brightly you’re genuinely worried he might combust. Minho just gives Seungmin a long, assessing look and says, “Don’t be weird about it,” which is his way of approving.
You’re more careful in public, but around the team and core staff, you don’t hide it. It feels too big to tuck away into shadows.
And Chan… well.
You don’t know exactly when he pieces it together, but one evening, you walk into the studio to drop off revised schedules and find him mid-conversation with Seungmin. They fall abruptly silent when they see you.
“…Am I interrupting?” you ask cautiously.
“No,” Chan says quickly. “We were just— uh—”
“Talking about you,” Seungmin supplies smoothly.
Chan shoots him a helpless look. You blink. “Oh. Should I be worried?”
“Probably,” Seungmin says.
“Definitely not,” Chan says at the same time.
You snort. “That’s reassuring.”
Seungmin steps towards you, brushing your hand briefly with his. “I’ll meet you downstairs, okay? Don’t let him bully you into doing another all-nighter.”
“Oi,” Chan protests.
“I mean it,” Seungmin says, ignoring him. He looks at you, gaze briefly soft. “Ten minutes.”
“Got it,” you say.
He leaves, closing the door gently behind him. The studio feels oddly quiet in his absence. You turn to Chan, suddenly very aware that you’re alone.
You hold out the folder. “Updated schedules for next week.”
“Thanks,” he says, taking it. His fingers brush yours briefly. “How are you?”
You blink at the question. “I’m fine. Why?”
“Can’t I ask?”
“You can, but you usually lead with ‘Sorry, can you do me a favour?’”
He huffs a small laugh. “I am trying to improve.”
You smile, but there’s a tension in the air that wasn’t there before. You hover for a moment, unsure whether to leave.
“Y/N,” he says suddenly.
“Yeah?”
He stares at his hands. “When did you… start dating Seungmin?”
Your pulse stutters. “Um. A while ago.”
“Right.”
You chew your lip. “Is that… okay?”
He looks up sharply. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
“I don’t know. It’s just… you’re the leader. Maybe there’s some unwritten ‘no dating staff’ rule I missed.”
He snorts. “If there is, they’ve never told me about it.” He sobers, fingers tightening around the folder. “I just… I wanted to make sure you’re happy. That’s all.”
You study him. There’s something careful about his expression, like he’s holding himself still.
“I am,” you say quietly. “I’m really happy.”
A flicker of something crosses his face— pain, regret, something small and bitter— but it’s gone as quickly as it came, replaced by a soft smile.
“Good,” he says, and he sounds like he means it. “He’s… good. Seungmin.”
“He is,” you agree, warmth curling in your chest at the thought.
Chan looks at the monitors, then back at you. “Can we… talk? Properly. Not right now, maybe. Just— at some point.”
Your stomach twists. You’ve known this moment might come, but you’d hoped, selfishly, that you could just glide past it forever.
“Okay,” you say. “Just tell me when.”
౨ৎ
It happens two days later.
You’re half expecting him to text you late at night, ask you to drop by the studio after everyone’s left. Instead, he catches you after practise, when the others have already shuffled out, laughing and shoving as they head to the showers.
“Y/N,” he says, leaning in the doorway. “Got a minute?”
Seungmin looks up from where he’s fiddling with his phone. His eyes flick between you and Chan, and his jaw tenses almost imperceptibly.
“You good?” he asks you quietly.
“Yeah,” you say. “I’ll meet you in the lobby?”
He studies your face for a heartbeat, then nods. “Text me if you need rescuing.”
You roll your eyes. “He’s not going to murder me, Seungmin.”
“Well, he did reject you once,” he mutters under his breath, just loud enough for Chan to hear. Chan chokes on his own saliva.
“Go,” you urge, shoving lightly at his shoulder. “You smell like sweat.”
He gasps. “Rude.”
You watch him leave, then turn to Chan. “So. What’s up?”
He jerks his head towards the studio. “Come here for a sec?”
The familiarity of the room hits you as soon as you step inside. Same scuffed rug, same mismatched cushions, same faint smell of coffee and dust and creativity. You remember standing in almost this exact spot two years ago, heart in your throat.
Chan closes the door gently behind you, then walks over to his usual chair, but doesn’t sit. He rests his hands on the back instead, fingers drumming restlessly.
“I’ve been… thinking,” he says finally.
“That sounds dangerous,” you reply, because humour is easier than the knot in your stomach.
He huffs a weak laugh. “Yeah.”
Silence stretches. You watch him, waiting.
“I owe you an apology,” he says at last.
Your gut twists. “Chan—”
“No, listen— please.” He takes a breath, eyes fixed on his hands. “When you confessed to me… I handled it badly.”
“You were honest,” you say. “That’s not bad.”
“I was honest about the symptoms,” he says. “Not the cause.”
You frown. “I don’t follow.”
He lifts his gaze to yours. “I told you I couldn’t give you what you deserved because of work, because of my responsibilities, because I was too busy. And that was true, but it wasn’t the whole truth.”
“What was the whole truth, then?” you ask, voice low.
He swallows. “I was scared.”
Your chest aches. “Scared of what?”
“Of letting you down,” he says. “Of getting it wrong. Of being selfish enough to say yes when I knew I’d be exhausted all the time, distracted all the time, asking you to understand things you shouldn’t have to.” He exhales, shoulders slumping. “I thought that by saying no, I was protecting you. That you’d… move on faster without having to deal with me half-loving you between deadlines.”
The word hangs in the air like a dropped glass.
“Half?” you say, heart hammering.
His lips twist. “I… liked you. Maybe more than liked. I just… refused to look at it too closely. Because if I did, I knew I’d give in. And the group was still finding its feet, and I felt like I couldn’t afford to be… anything but focused.”
You stare at him, a dozen memories rearranging themselves in your head. The extra coffees. The late-night conversations. The way he’d always seemed to know when you were having a bad day, even when you didn’t say anything.
“Why are you telling me this now?” you ask, not unkindly.
“Because for a long time, I thought I’d done the right thing,” he says, voice quiet. “I told myself you’d get over it, that you deserved someone who could actually show up. And then I watched you and Seungmin.”
Your throat tightens.
“He looks at you like you hang the moon,” Chan says, a faint, bittersweet smile on his lips. “He notices things I used to notice before I forced myself to stop. He walks you home. He makes sure you eat. He teases you until you laugh on days when I’m too buried in my own head to see anything past my laptop screen.” He takes a shaky breath. “And I realised that the thing I thought I was doing for you… I was mostly doing for me.”
You blink. “What do you mean?”
“I told myself I was being noble,” he says, rolling his eyes at himself. “But it was easier to say no and bury it than to admit I wanted you and still might not be enough. I was cowarding out, basically. And in the process, I hurt you. And then I just… let that hurt sit. I never cleared it properly.” He looks at you, eyes earnest. “You deserved better than that. You deserve better than me pretending it never happened.”
Emotion burns behind your eyes. You look down at your hands.
“I did wait,” you say quietly. “For a while.”
He flinches.
“Not… forever,” you add quickly. “But I waited. I thought maybe once things calmed down, once you’d settled a bit, you’d come back and say you’d changed your mind.” You laugh, small and self-deprecating. “Then I realised your job is never really going to calm down. And neither is mine. So I had to stop waiting or I’d just… stay stuck.”
“I’m sorry,” he says again, voice thick. “I never wanted you to feel like you were waiting for something that was never going to happen.”
“But it did happen,” you say, meeting his gaze. “Just not with you.”
A faint, sad smile flickers over his face. “Yeah. I see that.”
You take a breath. “You’re right, though. About Seungmin. He… shows up. Even when he’s tired, even when he’s busy. He doesn’t make me feel like I’m an extra task on a checklist.” You shrug. “It’s not big grand gestures. It’s… him turning up with my favourite snack after a long day. Or texting me just to ask if I got home safe. Or noticing when I’m quiet.”
“Sounds familiar,” Chan says, a ghost of a smile crossing his lips.
“Yeah,” you say softly. “A little.”
He looks at the floor, jaw working. “I’m really happy for you,” he says, and this time you can hear the honesty through the ache. “I mean that. Even if it… hurts, sometimes, when I think about what I could’ve done differently.”
“You were doing your best,” you say. “We both were. We were just… different people then.”
He huffs a quiet laugh. “You got wiser. I just got more sleep-deprived.”
“Hey, you’ve grown too,” you protest. “You apologise faster now.”
“That’s growth?” he asks.
“For you? Definitely.”
He smiles properly, the tension easing a little.
“For what it’s worth,” you add, “I don’t regret telling you. Or… liking you. It hurt, but it also… made room for the person I ended up with.” You shrug. “We wouldn’t be here without that.”
He nods, eyes shining faintly. “I’m glad you didn’t wait forever.”
“So am I,” you say, meaning it.
He hesitates, then steps closer, holding out his hand. “Friends?”
You look at it, then up at him.
“Friends,” you say, taking it.
His grip is warm and steady, and for the first time, the old ache in your chest feels like something finally, properly laid to rest.
౨ৎ
You find Seungmin leaning against the lobby wall, scrolling on his phone. He looks up as you approach, eyes immediately scanning your face for signs of distress.
“You survived,” he says.
“Disappointed?” you ask.
“A little,” he admits. “I was looking forward to a dramatic rescue.”
You snort. “You’d get distracted by a dog on the way and forget what you were doing.”
He gasps. “Untrue. I can multitask. I would absolutely rescue you and pet the dog.”
“Your priorities are very concerning.”
“My priorities are excellent,” he says, straightening and taking your bag from your shoulder without asking. “You just happen to be one of them.”
Warmth flutters in your chest. You bump his arm lightly. “We talked,” you say.
“I figured,” he replies. “You look like someone who just let go of a very heavy backpack.”
“That’s… weirdly accurate.”
He glances at you. “You okay?”
You consider the question. Think of the studio, of Chan’s apology, of the way the ghost of your old crush finally loosened its grip.
“Yeah,” you say. “I’m okay.”
He nods once, accepting your answer. “Good.” Then, with mock seriousness: “If he made you cry, I’m pushing his chair over in the next meeting.”
You laugh. “He didn’t. I promise.”
“Shame,” he muses. “Would’ve been fun to watch.”
“You’re evil.”
“You like that,” he says, the words so familiar now they feel like a private joke.
You do. You really, really do.
౨ৎ
Months later, at a team dinner, someone makes a comment that finally puts everything into sharp, almost comical relief.
You’re squeezed into a long table at a restaurant, empty plates and side dishes scattered everywhere. The boys are loud and loose, laughing over some story Jisung’s telling. You’re perched between Seungmin and Felix, half listening, half texting a colleague about tomorrow’s call time.
Seungmin drops a piece of meat into your bowl without looking, still engaged in an argument with Changbin about some game.
“Eat,” he says absently.
“I was going to,” you mutter, but you take a bite anyway.
Across the table, one of the stylists watches the exchange, eyes flicking between you and Seungmin, then over to Chan, who’s quietly topping up everyone’s water glasses.
“You know,” she says, grinning, “I always thought you and Chan would end up together.”
The table goes briefly, awkwardly quiet. Your chopsticks pause halfway to your mouth.
“But seeing you with Seungmin now…” She gestures vaguely between you two. “You suit each other so well. It just makes sense.”
Time seems to slow for a second.
You risk a glance at Chan. He’s frozen, jug in hand, expression carefully blank. Then he clears his throat, smile returning a fraction too bright.
“Yeah,” he says, voice light. “They do.”
Heat rushes to your face. You open your mouth to deflect, but Seungmin beats you to it. He simply reaches over and casually adjusts the collar of your shirt, fingers deft, like he’s done it a thousand times before.
“Obviously,” he says. “She’d be miserable with anyone else.”
You choke. “Excuse me?”
He gives you an innocent look. “What? You’d be late, unhydrated, and your ankle would definitely be in pieces by now.”
“Wow,” you say. “Romantic.”
He leans in, voice dropping just low enough for only you to hear. “You know what I mean.”
You do. Your cheeks burn, but you can’t stop smiling.
Across the table, Chan watches for a moment, then looks down at his plate. When he looks up again, he catches your eye and gives you a small, genuine smile. There’s a hint of sadness lingering at the edges, but it no longer feels like an open wound— more like an old scar you both acknowledge.
You smile back, and that feels like its own kind of ending.
౨ৎ
Later that night, you and Seungmin walk home together. The city is quieter, streetlights casting long shadows on the pavement. He hooks his pinky through yours, swinging your hands between you.
“Tired?” he asks.
“A bit,” you admit. “You?”
“I’ve been tired since 2018,” he says. “It’s my personality now.”
You snort.
He glances at you, then gently tugs you closer, slipping his arm around your shoulders. You melt into the warmth instinctively, head resting against his shoulder.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hmm?”
“If you’re tired,” he continues, “lean on me. I’ll carry the heavy stuff. You just have to walk next to me.”
The words are simple, almost off-hand, but they land somewhere deep, somewhere that remembers late nights in studios and unanswered wishes and the feeling of always coming second to something you couldn’t compete with.
You look up at him, your chest full.
“Okay,” you say. “But only if you let me carry yours too.”
He smiles, a small, secret thing. “Deal.”
You walk the rest of the way like that— in step, shoulders touching, the future not some grand, glittering promise, but a series of ordinary nights like this one. Quiet, honest, shared.
In a studio several floors above, Chan sits alone in front of his computer, headphones on, a half-finished melody looping gently. Through the window, he can just make out the street below, two small figures walking side by side.
He watches you both for a moment, something bittersweet tugging at his ribs. Then he smiles to himself, presses play, and gets back to work.
He’d made his choice years ago.
You made yours now.
And for the first time, all the timelines sit comfortably together in your chest— the girl who once stood under harsh studio lights with her heart in her hands, the woman now leaning under the soft glow of a streetlamp against someone who always, unfailingly, shows up.
Good for you. Bittersweet for him.
But right for everyone.
You tighten your arm around Seungmin’s waist, and he squeezes your shoulder in reply, as if to say, I’m here.
hyunjin thought a group day off would be easy. until he realised he can’t skate, he can’t hide his feelings, and he definitely can’t handle you smiling at someone else. good thing holiday magic and his generous heart gives him the courage he needs.
pairing: hwang hyunjin x reader
wc: 3.3k
tags: fluff, f2l, assumed unrequited feelings, awkward and jealous hyunjin, platonic ot7 (which is a tag in and of itself) | divider creds @lariesographic !
❅ day ten of a very merry kpopmas!! thank u larie and angel for organising this <3 ❅
hyunjin wasn’t expecting good news when he checked the schedule that morning. he was still half-asleep, hair tied up messily, unevenly buttoned pyjama shirt sliding off one shoulder as he shuffled into the kitchen. changbin was already there with coffee, humming something aggressively off-key.
“did you look?” changbin asked, eyes sparkling with drama.
“look at what?” hyunjin mumbled, rubbing his eyes.
“the schedule, god. open your phone.”
hyunjin did, thumb tapping lazily through the notifications—until he froze.
day off for the entire group. today. as a treat :)
he blinked. then blinked again, like the letters were an illusion brought on by sleep deprivation.
“we’re… off?” he whispered.
changbin nodded as if announcing the birth of a royal heir. “chan said we should all do something together. like, group bonding, christmas vibe.”
hyunjin’s brain should’ve gone straight to: cool, where are we going? instead, it smacked into a brick wall labeled you.
you, his best friend.
you, the person he’d been hopelessly in love with long before he wanted to admit it to himself.
you, who smiled at him like he painted constellations across your sky, even though he was 99% sure you meant it platonically. maybe. probably.
hopefully not.
every time he thought about confessing, he got dizzy and had to lie down.
“you should invite her,” changbin said casually, sipping his coffee.
hyunjin nearly choked on air. “what— why— how do you even— i didn’t— that’s— no?”
changbin stared at him, blinking slowly. his disposition yelled “lets be for real rn…”
“you talk about her like she’s a deity you worship.”
“i do not,” hyunjin muttered weakly.
“you do,” changbin repeated. “yesterday you said her laugh could reverse global warming.”
“i was joking—”
“you were blushing.”
hyunjin groaned, burying his face in his hands. he wanted to invite you. he wanted you there for everything, always. but asking felt dangerous, like tipping the entire balance of your i-want-to-be-more-than-friends-but-i’m-not-quite-sure-where-she-stands relationship.
still… a small part of him wanted to risk it.
so when he finally stepped onto the balcony, scrolling to your name on his contact list, his heart was beating so stupidly fast he thought it might actually escape through his throat.
he called before he could chicken out.
you picked up on the second ring. “hey jinnie!”
suddenly, every word he knew how to speak died in his throat.
“uh… everything okay?”
your voice did something devastating to him. he leaned against the railing of the dorm balcony, trying to breathe like a normal human being.
“uh— yeah,” he said, which was a lie because his pulse was tap dancing. “we got the day off! all of us. and we’re gonna go out. like… ice skating or something? if you, um. if you wanted to come.”
there was a beat of silence, and he panicked immediately.
“you don’t have to!” he rushed out. “like, seriously, don’t feel pressured—”
“hyunjin.”
the way you said his name—soft, fond, like it belonged to you—shut his mouth instantly.
“i’d love to come,” you said.
relief flooded him so fast he nearly slid down the wall. “okay. cool. great. awesome. uh—i don’t know when we’re leaving? hold on—”
he moved the phone away from his face:
“CHANGBIN!! WHEN ARE WE LEAVING?!”
an echo of—unintelligible, yet undeniably changbin’s—yelling coursed out of your phone speaker. the normalcy in their chaotic interactions would always amuse you.
“—he said we’re all leaving in like an hour? you all good to come here around then?”
“yes of course,” you laughed. “i missed your face.”
he stared out at the morning sky, cheeks warming. “yeah. i, uh… i missed you too.”
too much, maybe. but he couldn’t say that part.
when you arrived at the dorm later, bundled in a scarf and smiling at him, every coherent thought hyunjin had evaporated instantly.
changbin leaned against the wall behind him and whispered, “close your mouth, romeo.”
hyunjin kicked him lightly without breaking eye contact with you—because you were already walking toward him, and god, he really hoped you couldn’t hear his heart pounding like an audition drummer.
“hey! we ready to go?” changbin greeted you, giving a casual hug.
“yeah! i’ve never skated before though, so i’m a little nervous,” you toyed with the ends of your scarf, laughing anxiously, “i don’t want to eat shit and embarrass myself.”
“i’m sure you’ll be fine— hyunjin can help you!” he replied, smacking between hyunjin’s shoulder blades, snapping him out of his trance.
“uh—yeah! yeah i can…”
this was going to be the most embarrassing experience of his life.
the rink looked like something out of a winter postcard—gold fairy lights, drifting snow, soft music playing from hidden speakers. kids wobbled across the ice with unearned confidence; couples glided like they practiced it for years; the rest of the boys were already arguing about who would fall first.
“it’ll so be han,” chan said.
“no way! it’ll be you chan,” jisung gasped and shot back.
“it’ll be hyunjin,” jeongin added immediately.
hyunjin gasped. “why me?!”
“your center of gravity disappears when you panic,” felix laughed, patting his shoulder.
“i don’t panic,” hyunjin insisted.
you snorted softly. he ignored it as a matter of emotional survival.
the moment everyone laced up their skates, hyunjin felt… unsafe. profoundly unsafe. the ground was already too slippery, and he hadn’t even stepped onto the actual ice yet.
you nudged him lightly. “you okay?”
“i’m a dancer,” he said, as if reminding the universe. “i should be able to do this.”
seungmin passed by, deadpanning: “you say that every year. it’s never true.”
before hyunjin could argue, you stepped onto the ice. and you… didn’t wobble. nor did you flail. and not a single scream was heard.
you glided. carefully at first, then smoother, turning experimentally like you’d just unlocked a hidden skill tree.
hyunjin stared at you, stunned. “wait. you told me you’ve never done this before!”
“i haven’t,” you laughed, pushing off your own feet again. “but it doesn’t seem to be that hard once you get going.”
his jaw worked silently like his words were buffering.
he placed one foot on the ice— and immediately slipped, arms flinging out in a dramatic windmill that almost took felix down with him.
“okay— okay— hold on— hold on—” he panted, scrambling for the railing, knees bowing inward as he tried to pull himself up. “why’s it— why’s it doing that?”
“because you’re moving too much,” minho replied smugly, skating past with the elegance of someone who had lived on ice in a past life.
you blinked. “wait, minho, you’re good at this?”
“hm? oh.” minho shrugged casually, skating backwards. “yeah. i used to come all the time.”
then he looked at you, letting his gaze flick briefly to your feet. “you’re good too. natural talent.”
you smiled at him, bright and easy. “thanks— that’s sweet.”
and hyunjin’s soul left his body. he wasn’t proud of what washed through him—this warm, sharp fizz in his chest, like jealousy disguised as soft drink foam—but he felt it anyway. he clung to the railing, watching the two of you talk while his skates tried to murder him for free.
felix reappeared at his side, voice gentle. “you okay?”
“no,” hyunjin whispered. then louder: “i mean yes. fine. perfect. incredible.”
“hyune,” felix said softly, “your eye is twitching.”
“is it?” hyunjin asked weakly.
“yes. very much.”
across the rink, you and minho skated in a little looping path—him correcting your stance once, you copying it flawlessly, both of you laughing hard when jisung crashed somewhere behind you. he heard you laugh at a comment made about jisung not being one for sports.
hyunjin wanted to be happy for you. he was happy that you got along with his members. but also that feeling once again churned in his stomach—
felix leaned closer. “you could go skate with her, you know.”
“i can’t skate,” hyunjin muttered, feeling totally humiliated and defeated.
“you could try.”
“and fall in front of her? no thank you.”
felix considered this. “she thinks everything you do is cute.”
hyunjin nearly choked. “she does not—”
“hyunjin,” felix said, amusement spilling into his voice, “you’re the only person here who doesn’t know that she likes you.”
hyunjin froze. actually froze. he forgot how to breathe, forgot the concept of oxygen temporarily.
“felix.”
“hm?”
“don’t say things like that unless you have scientific evidence.”
felix pointed toward you—where you were looking at hyunjin, smiling softly, your face full of awe. you cocked your head, beckoning him your way. you were waiting for him to join you.
“there’s your evidence.”
hyunjin’s heart somersaulted. then tripped. then hit a wall.
“okay,” he murmured. “okay, i’ll— i’ll go over. eventually. when i can move without embarrassing myself.”
“no, now,” felix said, scooting behind him and giving the smallest, most traitorous push.
hyunjin yelped, flailing into motion.
you skated toward him immediately, laughing when he grabbed your forearms like they were his personal life preservers.
“i’ve got you,” you giggled. “you baby.”
he stared at you, overwhelmed, flustered, and totally melting despite the cold.
yeah. he was really, seriously, undeniably in love with you.
you kept hyunjin upright for a full lap, which, considering gravity’s apparent vendetta against him, was genuinely impressive. he gripped your hands like the ice would open a sinkhole beneath him at any moment—in a way that made your pulse flutter embarrassingly fast.
every time you steadied him, he mumbled some variation of “i’m fine,” “i wasn’t falling,” or “that was intentional,” which only made you smile harder.
and hyunjin… god. he felt all of it.
he felt the warmth of your fingers through your gloves.
he felt his jealousy gnawing inside him where he wished confidence lived.
he felt your laughter settle in his chest and make itself at home.
when you skated ahead a little—just to test your balance—minho drifted beside hyunjin once more, slow and casual.
hyunjin side-eyed him, proving his point. minho smirked.
“you have nothing to worry about, hyunjin. i have no intention of swooping in, or whatever you’re overthinking about—which i know you are before you complain that you aren’t.”
before hyunjin could argue further, chan skated up—significantly less gracefully than minho, but with leader energy that suggested he had a plan.
“break time,” chan announced. “my knees hurt and i refuse to tear a ligament before christmas.”
everyone chorused agreement. your face lit up.
as the nine of you walked toward the exit after handing in your skates to the clerk, you and felix started some sort of conversation as you unintentionally led the group to the exit.
hyunjin lingered back as jisung nudged him from behind. “so,” he whispered, “when are you gonna tell her you’re in love with her?”
hyunjin stepped wrong and nearly folded in half. “i— what— i’m NOT— don’t SAY that—”
jisung blinked, feigning innocence. his tone was soaked in sarcasm. “oh. sorry. i forgot it was a secret from yourself.”
changbin laughed, clapping hyunjin’s back, similar to that morning. “you’re painfully obvious, dude.”
“i’m not—”
“she looks at you like you hung the moon,” jeongin chimed in, beaming.
hyunjin opened and closed his mouth. no sound came out. shock had killed language.
“okay, okay,” chan cut in, raising his hands. “enough bullying for now. look.”
he pointed toward the far end of the plaza, where rows of christmas market stalls lined the snowy walkway—string lights overhead, warm scents drifting through the cold.
you inhaled softly. “oh— those are pretty.”
you didn’t say you wanted to see each stall. you didn’t have to.
three things happened at once unspokenly:
all seven boys noticed your expression,
all seven boys looked at hyunjin,
all seven boys decided to disappear.
totally “accidentally,” of course.
“we’re gonna check out the food trucks,” chan announced. “right? guys?”
“uh-huh,” jisung nodded, already walking away.
“definitely,” jeongin said, joining him.
“i saw a stall selling corndogs,” felix added.
“i need hot chocolate,” minho deadpanned, rubbing his cold hands together.
“i need privacy,” seungmin said, glancing between you and hyunjin pointedly.
hyunjin felt panic crawl up his spine. “wh— wait— guys— don’t just—”
but it was too late. they were gone, vanished like a team of elves who’d completed their mission successfully.
you looked at him, hands tucked into your sleeves, breath puffing into the cold air. “do you wanna… look at the stalls? we don’t have to buy anything. just walk… unless you’re hungry, we can follow them! i don’t mind… i can just come back another time…”
hyunjin’s heart pressed itself against his ribs like it wanted out.
“i want to stay with you,” he murmured. “i’d like to do what you want with you.”
he missed how flushed you became.
so the two of you began walking—slowly, gently, side by side—your shoulders brushing now and then, each touch sending a ripple of warmth through both of you.
he kept glancing at you when he thought you weren’t looking. you kept smiling when you caught him anyway.
and somewhere behind the hot chocolate stand, the rest of the members peeked around the corner like spies surveilling a fragile diplomatic negotiation.
“step one complete,” jisung whispered dramatically. “the oblivious idiots are alone.”
“step two,” chan said, “is letting them think we didn’t plan it.”
“we absolutely planned it,” minho replied.
felix giggled. “they’re so cute.”
you and hyunjin walked slowly, side by side, your elbows brushing each time one of you stepped around a child or a bundled-up couple.
“your cheeks are really pink,” you murmured.
“it’s cold,” hyunjin said too quickly.
it was not the cold. it was you. he was very aware of this and desperately hoping you didn’t catch his white lie.
you stopped at a stall filled with delicate glass ornaments—hand-painted, shimmering under the string lights. you picked one up shaped like a small sprig of mistletoe, blown in pale green glass with tiny white beads for berries.
“oh… this is so cute,” you whispered, turning it gently in your hands.
hyunjin watched you, watched the way your eyes softened, watched you fall in love with something that fit perfectly with the warmth you carried everywhere you went.
“you should get it,” he encouraged quietly.
you shook your head, smiling ruefully. “mm, it’s really pretty but… it’s too expensive. i shouldn’t.”
he wanted to say: but you deserve everything you reach for. instead he said nothing, just nodded as you placed it back carefully, and a little sadly.
you walked on to the next stall—candles, then knitted scarves, then little trinkets—but hyunjin lingered behind.
the vendor looked at him knowingly. “for her?”
hyunjin flushed immediately. “i— well— she liked it.”
“people don’t light up like that over just anything,” the vendor said, wrapping the ornament before hyunjin even finished deciding.
he paid quickly, tucking the little paper bag into his coat pocket before jogging to catch up with you.
“there you are,” you laughed. “i thought i lost you.”
“no, no, i was just… looking.” — a terrible lie. his voice trembled as if honesty was leaking through the cracks.
you continued your slow stroll until the crowd thinned, leaving a quiet corner near the end of the market—soft lights overhead, a small tree decorated with ribbons.
that was where hyunjin finally cleared his throat.
“hey,” he murmured, sounding shy even to himself. “can i… give you something?”
you blinked in surprise as he pulled out the tiny paper bag. your brows lifted as you opened it, careful fingers peeling back the tissue.
“hyunjin…” your voice softened instantly. “you didn’t…”
“you liked it,” he said, trying not to rub the back of his neck anxiously. “and i wanted you to have it. it’s nothing, really. if it makes you happy, then… that’s a good enough reason to get it for me.”
your heart pressed hard against your chest. “hyunjin, it’s not nothing—”
“it is,” he insisted quietly. “compared to your happiness.”
his face went red immediately. “i mean— compared to— i— that sounded weird—”
you laughed softly, stepping closer, close enough that your breath warmed the air between you.
you lifted the ornament, holding it above the two of you. “it looks like mistletoe, doesn’t it?”
hyunjin stopped breathing. your fingers toyed with the red ribbon as it spun in the air between your flushed faces.
“yeah,” he whispered. “it… it does.”
you leaned up—slow, giving him time to pull away—and kissed his cheek, dangerously close to his lips, soft as snowfall.
his eyes fluttered shut, his whole body going still, like that tiny touch had rearranged the universe.
“thank you, jinnie,” you murmured, lowering the ornament. “it’s perfect.”
hyunjin opened his eyes, and something brave flickered in them.
“i wish that wasn’t a cheek kiss,” he blurted out.
your breath hitched. “oh?”
he swallowed so hard it looked like it hurt. “i… like you. i really like you. more than i’m supposed to. and i didn’t want to make things weird, or ruin anything, or confuse you. i value our friendship so much, but i— i think about you all the time. and i didn’t know if you liked me back, and everyone kept saying you did, but i—”
you pressed a hand to his chest, gentle. his heart hammered under your palm. you stepped closer into his space.
“hyunjin,” you whispered. “i like you too.”
he stared at you, stunned. “wait. seriously? like— like-like?”
“yes,” you laughed. “very much like-like.”
a disbelieving smile bloomed across his face—wide, boyish, bright enough to melt the frost around you.
“can i—” he whispered, leaning in, “make it a real kiss this time?”
“please.”
this time, he kissed you—soft, trembling, warm despite the cold, a perfect collision of relief and wonder and feelings you’d both been carrying too long. it was a short and sweet kiss, almost like he was adjusting to the fact that this was still the real world and not a dream.
and when you pulled back, he kept his forehead resting against yours, smiling like he was finally able to exhale.
“i’ve wanted that for too long.”
hyunjin kept your hand in his long after the kiss ended—like he was afraid letting go would wake him from whatever dream he’d slipped into. his thumb brushed over your knuckles every few steps, tentative, reverent, amazed.
he’d been hopelessly in love with you quietly for so long that walking beside you like this felt unreal, like a future he never let himself imagine was suddenly unfolding without resistance.
“they’re gonna tease us so bad,” you murmured, smiling down at your joined hands.
“i don’t care,” hyunjin said too quickly. too honestly. “not anymore.”
the two of you rounded the corner toward the food trucks—and immediately spotted seven heads duck down behind a stand like a bunch of spies who did not understand the concept of cover.
felix popped up first, saw your hands, and shrieked. actually shrieked.
“THEY’RE HOLDING HANDS.”
“felix!” minho hissed, yanking him back down by the hood.
but it was too late; chaos erupted instantly.
jisung emerged dramatically, clutching his heart. “i knew it. i KNEW it. destiny is real.”
jeongin fist-pumped the air. “finally!”
chan dragged a hand down his face, muttering something like, “thank god, now we can stop pretending they aren’t stupid.”
seungmin took one look at your interlocked fingers and nodded like he’d solved a mystery. “told you. pure heart eyes.”
you covered your face with your free hand. hyunjin, unfortunately for him, couldn’t—his hand was still trapped in yours, and his panic had nowhere to go.
“can we not—” he tried, already blushing up to his ears.
“NO,” changbin yelled, pointing a finger of fate at him. “you don’t get to ask for peace. you’ve been in love with her since— what— march?”
“february,” jisung corrected. “remember that time he talked about her smile for thirty straight minutes when we were trying to record?”
“jisung,” hyunjin begged, “please don’t—”
“he said ‘her smile feels like when a candle is first lit,’” felix recited dreamily.
“i DID NOT—” hyunjin tried to protest, but you squeezed his hand gently, saving him from spontaneous combustion.
you giggled softly. “candles, huh?”
he buried his face in your shoulder. “i’m never talking again.”
“you say that every time you’re embarrassed,” minho said, sipping his hot chocolate.
“and every time you fail,” seungmin added.
the boys formed a loose circle around you both—some teasing, some smiling softly, some just warmed by the moment. there was no pressure, no spotlight, just affectionate chaos.
after the excitement had died down and the circle had dispersed, hyunjin finally lifted his head from your shoulder. you turned toward him, brushing a stray snowflake off his hair.
he looked at you like he still couldn’t believe you were real.
chan clapped his hands once, gathering everyone’s attention. “okay, now that our resident lovebirds have finally confessed, who’s ready for corndogs and more skating?”
hyunjin stiffened. “i’m not skating again.”
“you are,” minho said.
“absolutely not.”
“i’ll hold your hand,” you offered.
hyunjin paused.
“…okay maybe,” he murmured.
the group erupted into groans and cheers.
and as the eight of you walked back toward the rink—your hand snug in hyunjin’s, his smile soft and unguarded—nothing felt cold anymore.
ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: slightly suggestive but other than that nothing~~
ᴀɴ: these are actually so fun! i want to do more but im lowkey pulling a blank (˃̣̣̥ᯅ˂̣̣̥) if you have requests please lmk!! ALSO there is a slide abt tate mcrae you do NOT have to read it- i skip over most of it in the sc bc it was just for the plot! again you're under no obligation to read it ദ്ദി( • ᴗ < )
SUMMARY: If the world wasn't going to bring positivity to you. You'll have to make it on your own.
Note: please ignore any mistakes or inaccuracies. If you saw them no you did not 🙂↔️ I am doing these for a silly goofy time and they are not meant to be taken seriously.
Bang Chan | Lee Know | Changbin Pt.1 | Hyunjin | Han | Felix | Seungmin | I.N
WARNINGS: This fanfic contains explicit sexual content (including masturbation, oral sex, penetrative sex, dirty talk, and detailed intimate scenes), strong language, and adult themes. Intended for readers 18+ only. All interactions are consensual. Proceed with discretion.
Only for adults (18+). If any of this is offensive to you or if you're under 18, please don't view it! All based on fictional events, none of this is real.
NOTE: This fanfic it does not portray the members of Stray Kids as idols, but as fictional characters. I hope you enjoy the journey!
SUMMARY: You reluctantly take in Lee Know as your new flatmate after your best friend Han suggests him to help with skyrocketing rent. What starts as a chilly, distant cohabitation—marked by Lino's cat-like privacy and minimal interactions—evolves into something deeper when a bad cold reveals his caring side. As shared anime nights, home-cooked meals, and sweet notes bridge the gap, unspoken attraction builds into steamy tension. But when fantasies turn real and secrets spill, will their living arrangement survive the heat?
It all started a few months ago, when the rent for your apartment in the city became an unbearable burden. You lived alone, but the price was drowning you, and although you'd posted ads looking for a female roommate to feel more comfortable –someone to chat about girl stuff with, share routines, and not worry about awkward tensions–, no one responded. Your best friend, Han Jisung, noticed your stress during one of your late-night calls.
-Hey, what if I help you? I know someone who needs a place urgently. It's my best friend, Lee Know. He's a great guy, really, and very clean. You won't regret it-
At first, you hesitated.
-A guy? I don't know, Han... I wanted a girl to feel more at ease- But the rent didn't wait, and Lino needed to move quickly due to problems in his old place. You agreed, thinking it would be temporary.
The day he arrived, Lino was polite but distant: a brief greeting, a quick smile that didn't reach his cat-like eyes, and he locked himself in his room to unpack. He was handsome, with that mysterious air, dark hair, sharp features like a cat's, and a stealthy way of moving, as if he was always calculating his next step. But from the beginning, you noticed his personality: he loved his privacy. He avoided sharing common spaces with you, as if you were two shadows in the same apartment.
The first months were cold. Lino left early for his job (something related to music production, according to Han), and came back late. If you ran into each other in the kitchen, he'd prepare something quick and slip away to his room with a vague excuse. You tried to break the ice: "How was your day, Lino? Did you see that new series on Netflix?". He'd respond with a polite but distant smile: "Fine, thanks. No, I didn't see it". And poof, he'd disappear. In the living room, if you were watching TV, he'd pass by with a minimal greeting. You felt like you were living with a polite ghost.
You complained to Han on the phone one night.
-It's impossible to get close to your friend, Han. He's like a stray cat that doesn't want to be touched. He always dodges me, and when I talk, he gives vague answers and leaves.
Han laughed, but encouraged you.
-Give him time, babe. Lino is like that at first: closed off, he protects his space like it's sacred. But once he opens up, he's the best. He's loyal, affectionate, and cooks like a chef. He just needs to feel comfortable. Keep trying, you'll see it's worth it.
One day, everything changed. You didn't go to work because a cold had hit you hard: low fever, throat irritated like sandpaper, and a tiredness that kept you glued to the sofa. You covered yourself with an old blanket, surrounded by used tissues, and put on a comforting anime on TV, one of those with epic stories and characters that distracted you from the discomfort. Lino didn't expect to see you; he was coming back early from an unexpected day off, and you didn't hear him enter until the door closed.
He entered the living room and stopped dead, his cat-like eyes widening at seeing you curled up, with a pale face and glassy eyes. He noticed the mess of tissues and your exhausted expression. For the first time, his cold facade cracked; genuine concern crossed his face.
-Hey... are you okay? You don't look good-, he said, his voice soft but firm, approaching cautiously, as if he didn't want to invade your space.
You tried to respond, but your voice came out gravelly and hoarse, each word scraping your throat.
-Just a cold... It hurts to talk.
He frowned, coming closer.
-Don't talk much then. Do you have medicine? Have you eaten anything today?.
You shook your head, admitting it.
-No... I haven't had the strength to get up. I've just been here..
His concern increased visibly; his eyes darkened with a protective instinct you hadn't seen before.
-That's not right. Stay calm, I'm going out to buy you medicine and ingredients to make you a good dinner. To help with the cold, chicken soup with ginseng, that always works-
You tried to protest, not wanting to be a bother.
-No, Lino, really... I don't want to infect you. I'll go to my room so I don't bother you.
But he shook his head, firm but gentle.
-Don't even think about moving. You're not a bother, and I won't get infected. Just relax.
He left, and half an hour later he came back loaded with shopping bags.
-I have everything: fever pills, throat syrup, and ingredients for the soup. I also saw that you always have these snacks in the cupboard, I figured they're your favorites, so I brought more for you to eat something while I cook.
You were left speechless, wondering if you were hallucinating from the fever. Was this the same distant Lino? He gave you the pills with a glass of water.
-Take this first, it'll help with the pain.
While he disappeared into the kitchen, you heard the comforting sound of knives chopping vegetables, the fire turning on, and the aroma of garlic, ginger, and chicken filling the air. He was a great cook, as Han had said, precise movements, as if the kitchen was his territory.
At one point, he poked his head out.
-I'm going to prepare a bath for you. A hot bath will make you feel better, it relaxes the muscles and helps with congestion.
He filled the bathtub, adjusting the water to the perfect temperature, and then helped you up from the sofa with a gentle hand on your arm.
-Lean on me if you need to.
He guided you to the bathroom, and before closing the door, you said with a weak voice:
-Thanks, Lino... Really, I didn't expect this.
He smiled for the first time genuinely, a playful glint in his eyes.
-Don't mention it. Just... don't get used to it, huh? But seriously, relax. The soup will be ready when you get out.
You came out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel, feeling a bit better, the steam had relieved your congestion, and the aroma of the soup made your mouth water. Lino had transformed the living room: the blanket was folded, the tissues picked up, and on the coffee table there was a steaming bowl of soup, with tender chicken pieces, fresh vegetables, and a boiled egg on top.
-Sit down- he said, guiding you to the sofa. -Try this. It's my grandmother's recipe, full of ginseng for energy and ginger for the throat.
You sat down, taking a sip, and the flavor was comforting, warm and spicy just right.
-It's... incredible, Lino. Thanks. I didn't know you cooked like this.
He sat on the other end of the sofa, keeping a respectful distance, but for the first time he didn't slip away.
-I like cooking. It's therapeutic. Do you feel better?.
You nodded, and you chatted a bit, nothing deep, but more than usual. You told him about the anime you were watching, and he tilted his head:
-Ah, that one. I watched it a while ago. It's good for days like this.
When you finished the soup, he insisted you take more medicine.
-Don't be stubborn. This will help you sleep.
The night went on with him taking care of you subtly: he brought you a fresh blanket, adjusted the TV so you could keep watching your anime, and even prepared an herbal tea.
-Don't worry about the dishes, I'll wash them- he said when you tried to help. In a moment of silence, you looked at him.
-Lino, why are you doing all this? I thought... well, that you preferred your space, you don't have to go to so much trouble for me.
He shrugged, with a shy smile.
-I do prefer it, yes. But I'm not a monster. If you're sick, I'm not going to ignore you. Besides... Han would kill me if I don't take care of his friend.
You laughed, and for the first time, you felt a glimpse of warmth in him. At the end of the night, he walked you to your room.
-Sleep well. If you need anything, just shout.
You got into bed, astonished by this side of Lino you'd never seen.
Days later, the cold was gone, but something changed in Lino. He started getting closer, like a cat deciding you're worthy of his trust. One night, seeing you in the living room with anime, he sat next to you.
-Hey, are you still watching that? I'm a fan of Chainsaw Man and Jujutsu Kaisen. Want to watch one together?
You agreed, and it became a ritual: nights on the sofa, sharing popcorn, discussing plots. "That character is an idiot", he'd say with a dry laugh, revealing his playful side.
You noticed more gestures: Lino started cooking for both of you, especially if he got home before work and saw you exhausted.
-I made kimchi jjigae. Eat, you look dead tired-, he'd say, serving you a plate.
You also left notes in the kitchen –simple things at first, like you writing: "Thanks for dinner yesterday, it was delicious". He'd reply: "You're welcome. Since you got home late last night, I thought you'd want to sleep in today. I left food in the fridge. Have a good day". Little by little, these gestures made you see Lino in a new light: his reserve became charm, his care became attractive. You started feeling butterflies, you liked him, in a way that surprised you.
One day, you got home early after a short shift, and just as you entered, Lino was coming out of the bathroom after a shower. He was only in low pajama pants, drying his hair with a towel, his torso exposed. You froze in the entrance, taking off your shoes slowly, your mouth dry at seeing him: broad shoulders, defined muscles in his chest and abs, not exaggerated, but toned, with smooth skin glistening from the water. You'd never seen him like this, and something inside you stirred, a heat rising in your belly.
-Hi- he said casually, not noticing your fixed gaze, and headed to the kitchen for a glass of water. You stammered a "hi" and fled to your room, your heart pounding hard. From that day, the fantasies started: at night, you'd masturbate thinking of Lino, imagining him entering your room silently, kissing you urgently, fucking you against the kitchen counter while he cooked, or on the sofa during an anime night, his hands exploring your body. Or in the shower, water falling while he took you against the wall; or on the floor, raw and desperate. You'd lose your mind, touching yourself with eager fingers, moaning his name softly.
What you didn't know was that one of those nights, Lino heard you from his room. You thought he was asleep and that you weren't moaning loudly, but the sounds traveled through the thin wall: your soft gasps, the movement of the sheets. He stayed still in his bed, tense, his body reacting involuntarily. The next day, you noticed: Lino was more tense when talking to you, avoiding eye contact during breakfast.
-Everything okay?-, you asked.
-Yeah, just... tired-, he murmured, escaping quickly. The tension grew, an unspoken secret hanging in the air.
The following days were a subtle torture. You noticed Lino more distant than usual, but not like at the beginning, this time it was a palpable tension, as if something invisible hung between you. During breakfast, he evaded your gaze, answering your questions with monosyllables.
-Want to watch anime tonight?-, you asked one morning, pouring yourself coffee. He looked at his cup, stirring the sugar harder than necessary.
-Maybe. I have things to do-. He got up quickly, leaving his plate in the sink, and disappeared into his room. You were left confused, wondering if you'd done something wrong.
At night, your fantasies didn't stop. You'd imagine Lino bursting into your room, his cat-like eyes shining in the dark, his strong hands pinning you against the mattress while he fucked you with an intensity that left you breathless. Or in the kitchen, against the counter, his fingers sinking into your skin while he penetrated you, whispering dirty things in your ear. You'd moan softly, touching yourself urgently, but you tried to be more discreet after noticing his change. What you didn't know was that Lino, in his adjacent room, heard you again some nights, not always, but enough to make his mind spin. He'd stay awake, tense in bed, his body betraying him with an erection he couldn't ignore, imagining what made you moan like that.
One afternoon, you got home exhausted from a long day and found him in the kitchen, preparing dinner as usual. The aroma of bibimbap filled the air, rice, sautéed vegetables, and marinated meat. You tried to break the ice.
-It smells incredible, Lino. Can I help?
He turned, but his gaze shifted quickly, as if looking at you directly burned him.
-No need. Just... sit down.
He served two plates and you ate in silence at first, but the tension was thick. Finally, you couldn't take it anymore.
-Is something wrong? Lately you seem... distant. Did I do something that bothered you?
Lino stopped, his chopsticks halfway. His eyes met yours for a second, something intense shining in them, a mix of frustration and repressed desire.
-It's not that. Just... I've been thinking about things-. He paused, as if debating whether to say more. -Hey, are you okay? Sometimes... at night, I hear you... I don't know, like you're restless.
Your heart raced –had he heard you? You tried to play it off.
-Ah, that... Probably just snoring or something. Or work nightmares, you know how it is.
He nodded, but didn't seem convinced, and the rest of dinner was awkward, with stolen glances and a loaded silence.
Despite the tension, the rituals continued. One night, you decided to watch anime together 'Jujutsu Kaisen', one of his favorites. You sat on the sofa, with a shared blanket because of the cold, and Lino settled closer than usual, his leg brushing yours accidentally. The episode was intense, but you were distracted by his proximity: the heat of his body, the subtle scent of soap and something inherently masculine. In a moment of action on screen, you exclaimed:
-God, that power is brutal!
He laughed, a low and playful sound you rarely heard.
-Yes, but the protagonist is an idiot. He should be more strategic.
The night advanced, and for the first time, you chatted deeper. You told him about your stressful day at work, and he listened attentively, offering dry but useful advice.
-Don't let them walk all over you. Be firm, like me with my privacy.
You joked:
-Speaking of that, at first I thought you were a hermit.
He smiled sideways.
-I am. When I don't know the person, but.. with you, it's different now.
The air got charged, and when the episode ended, neither of you moved. Your hands brushed under the blanket, and you felt a shiver. Lino cleared his throat.
-Good night, then.
He got up, but his gaze lingered a second too long, as if he wanted to say something.
That night, your fantasies were more vivid: you imagined that instead of leaving, Lino kissed you on the sofa, his lips claiming yours while his hands explored under your clothes, fucking you right there, slow at first, then with urgency, his hips crashing against yours. You moaned a little louder than planned, lost in the pleasure, but you cut it short quickly, panting in the darkness.
The next day, Lino left a note in the kitchen: "I made extra breakfast. Eat before you go. And... if you need to talk about something, I'm here". It was subtle, but you felt he knew more than he said.
The tension had been building like a silent storm, and it finally exploded on an ordinary night, a few days after that note in the kitchen that left you wondering what Lino knew exactly. You got home late, after an impromptu outing with friends –nothing special, just some drinks to unwind from work–, and the apartment was in dim light, illuminated only by the soft light of a lamp in the living room. Lino was there, sitting on the sofa with a book in his hands, but he didn't seem to be reading really; his cat-like eyes were fixed on the pages, but his posture was rigid, as if he was waiting for something. Or someone.
You closed the door carefully, taking off your coat and shoes, and noticed how he slowly lifted his gaze, his expression a mix of curiosity and something deeper, more guarded.
-You're late-, he said in a neutral voice, but there was a nuance in his tone –not reproach, but subtle concern, like always when he worried about you without admitting it directly.
-Yeah, I was with Han and some friends. Nothing crazy, just chatting- you replied, trying to sound casual as you approached the sofa. You sat on the opposite end, leaving a space between you, but the air felt charged, as if that meter of distance was filled with unspoken words.
Lino closed the book with a deliberate movement, placing it on the coffee table, and turned slightly toward you. His eyes, those sharp eyes that always seemed to see more than they said, met yours for a moment before shifting to the dark window.
-Sounds good. Han always drags people into his craziness-, he murmured with a small, playful but fleeting smile. He paused, drumming his fingers on his knee, a rare habit for him, who was usually so controlled. -Hey... can I ask you something? Straight up.
Your heart skipped a beat. You knew this was coming, from that awkward conversation in the kitchen days ago.
-Sure, shoot-, you said, trying to keep your voice light, though you felt a knot in your stomach. Lino cleared his throat, looking at the floor now, as if choosing his words cost him effort, which fit his personality, always protecting his vulnerability.
-Lately... I've noticed you don't sleep well. I hear you at night, through the wall. At first I thought it was the cold coming back, or maybe work stress. But... it doesn't sound like that. It sounds like... something more personal.
Heat rose up your neck, and you felt your cheeks burn. You tried to play it off with a nervous laugh:
-Ah, that... Probably just snoring or something. Or work nightmares, you know how it is.
But Lino didn't bite; he lifted his gaze, and this time it held yours, intense but not aggressive, like a cat assessing whether to approach or flee.
-I'm not stupid, you know? The walls are thin, and I live here. I can tell the difference between a snore and... well, someone dealing with something alone- He paused, his voice dropping to a murmur -It's not like I'm spying on you. Just... it worries me. If it's stress, or something bothering you, you can tell me. We're roommates, after all. And... friends, I guess, now.
The silence stretched, heavy but not uncomfortable, it was like he was giving you space to process, true to his reserved nature. You swallowed, debating internally. Admit that you'd been imagining him in those moments? It seemed like a huge leap, but the way he looked at you, with that genuine concern mixed with something raw and unspoken, gave you courage.
-Okay, Lino... It's not nightmares. It's... more like thoughts I can't turn off. About someone. About... you, actually- The words came out rushed, and you regretted it instantly, but it was said.
Lino stayed still for a second, his eyes widening slightly, not with shock, but with an understanding that seemed to have been lurking in the background.
-Me- he repeated, blinking, more like a statement than a question. He ran a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture that made him seem more human, less the distant cat from the early months.
-Since when? I mean... why me? I'm not the most open guy in the world- His tone was curious, almost playful on the edge, but there was vulnerability there, like he was testing the waters before diving in.
You shrugged, looking at your hands to avoid his gaze.
-Since that day you came out of the shower, with just the pants and towel. I'd never seen you like that, and... I don't know, something changed. You're reserved, yes, but also attentive, like when you took care of me with the cold. You cook for me, leave notes... It makes me see you differently. And at night, my mind wanders-. You paused, your heart pounding hard. -It's not that I expect anything. It just... happens-.
Lino didn't respond right away; instead, he moved a little closer on the sofa, shortening the distance without invading. You could smell his scent, clean soap mixed with something warm, like the tea he always made.
-I get it-, he said finally, his voice soft but with a husky nuance. -I've been... distracted too. Hearing you at night makes me think about things I shouldn't. Like, what makes you sound like that? Is it just imagination, or is there something real behind it?- He extended a hand tentatively, brushing your arm with his fingertips, a light, exploratory touch, not demanding. You felt a shiver run across your skin, and he noticed, withdrawing his hand but not pulling away.
-I don't know what to say-, you admitted, looking at him now. -It's confusing. We live together, and I don't want to ruin that.
Lino nodded, his expression softening into a small, almost shy smile.
-Me neither. But... maybe it doesn't ruin it. Maybe it just makes it better.
He leaned in a little more, his face inches from yours, giving you time to pull back if you wanted. You didn't. The kiss came gradually, his lips brushing yours first in a soft touch, testing, as if measuring your reaction. It was warm, with a control that fit him, but underneath there was a spark of repressed hunger.
When he pulled away, just a bit, he murmured against your mouth:
-Tell me if you want to stop- You shook your head, and the kiss deepened, his hands rising to your face to hold it gently. It wasn't an abrupt jump; it was a slow advance, built on weeks of tension, with pauses to breathe and glances that said more than words.
The kiss lingered on the sofa, with Lino maintaining that controlled rhythm that defined him, exploring with lips and tongue, but without rushing, as if savoring every second. His hands moved from your face to your shoulders, massaging gently, and you felt the heat of his body pressing against yours subtly.
-I didn't imagine it would be like this-, he murmured between kisses, his voice low and husky, with a playful touch. -I thought you were more... distant-
You laughed softly against his mouth.
-I'm the one who thought that about you.
He pulled away for a moment, looking at you with eyes darkened by desire, but still with that feline reserve.
-I want to know more about those thoughts of yours-, he said, his hand sliding down your arm to intertwine fingers with yours. -Just... what brings you back to me in your mind?
It was a curious question, not demanding, inviting you to open up at your own pace. You told him bits, the day of the shower, how his body had left you breathless, the notes in the kitchen that made you feel cared for. He listened, nodding, his thumb tracing circles on your palm.
Little by little, the touches became more intimate: his hand sliding up your back under your shirt, brushing bare skin, sending sparks down your spine.
-You're soft- he whispered, kissing now kissing your neck, slow and deliberate. You arched your neck, moaning softly, and he paused: -Too much?
-No... keep going-, you replied, guiding his hand lower. He explored with patience, his skilled fingers undoing buttons, revealing more skin. When he finally touched you more intimately, fingers brushing your belly, then lower, it was with a slowness that drove you crazy, building anticipation.
-Show me how you did it-, he suggested then, his voice a soft but loaded growl of playful curiosity, his eyes fixed on you with a feline intensity that made you feel exposed and desired at the same time. -When you imagined me at night... show me.
It was an invitation, not an order, but the husky nuance in his tone sent a pulse of heat straight to your core. You nodded, your heart pounding hard, and slid your hand under your skirt, feeling the wetness that had already built up just from his kisses and touches. Lino leaned back a bit on the sofa, watching you with that calculating gaze.
You started slow, rubbing soft circles over your clit through the fabric of your panties, a moan escaping your lips as you looked at him.
-Yes... I thought about you coming out of the shower, how your body looked so strong, so... accessible-, you confessed between gasps, speeding up a little. Lino swallowed visibly, his hand going to his own crotch to adjust, but not touching himself yet, he was holding back, true to his reserved nature, but his eyes were burning.
-Keep going-, he murmured, his voice deeper now. -Describe it to me. What did you imagine I did to you?
You pushed the fabric aside, slipping a finger inside yourself, feeling the slippery wetness that made the movement easy.
-I imagined you entering my room... kissing me like now, but then taking me against the wall, or on the bed, fucking me hard until I couldn't think of anything else.
Your words lit him up more, and Lino finally came closer, his hand covering yours, guiding it gently at first.
-Fuck, that sounds... intense- he said, with a low, playful laugh that contrasted with the desire in his voice. -Feel this.. like this, deeper- His fingers replaced yours, sinking into you with a precision that made you arch your back, a wet and obscene sound filling the living room. It was filthy, the way he explored, curling his fingers to brush that sensitive spot inside you, his thumb rubbing your clit in firm circles.
-You're dripping, you know? All because of thinking about me-, he growled, leaning in to kiss your neck while he finger-fucked you, slow but picking up the pace. You moaned louder:
-Lino... yes, just like that.
The tension exploded when he couldn't hold back anymore; he pulled out his fingers, glistening with your arousal, and licked them with a mischievous look that left you breathless.
-It tastes sweet... like you-, he murmured, before lowering his head between your legs, his tongue replacing his fingers. He was expert, licking with long, soft strokes at first, sucking on your clit until your hips bucked. -Relax, let me take care of you- he said between licks, his voice vibrating against you.
You grabbed his hair, guiding him.
-Harder... please- He obeyed, tongue-fucking your pussy, thrusting it deep while his fingers returned, creating a sticky mess of saliva and your wetness dripping onto the sofa.
It didn't take long before you came, the orgasm hitting you like a wave, your walls contracting around his fingers as you screamed his name. Lino lifted his head, lips shiny, and kissed you hungrily, letting you taste yourself on his mouth.
-That was... fuck, incredible-, he panted, his erection pressing hard against your thigh through his pants. You, still trembling, lowered your hand to palm him.
-Now you... I want to feel you- He groaned, helping you pull down his zipper, his cock springing free, thick, veiny, with precum dripping from the tip.
-Touch me... like you would in your thoughts-, he asked, his voice husky but with that playful control.
You jerked him off with firm strokes, feeling his heat and hardness, the precum lubricating your hand to slide easily.
-I imagined this inside me... fucking me deep- you confessed, speeding up. Lino groaned, his hips thrusting into your hand.
-Shit, yes... keep talking- But it didn't last long; he turned you gently but firmly, positioning you on the sofa so you were lying back, him kneeling between your legs.
-I want to fuck you now... if you want-, he said, seeking confirmation in your eyes. You nodded, desperate.
-Yes, Lino... do it.
He positioned himself, rubbing the tip of his cock against your soaked entrance, pushing just the head in, feeling how you opened for him.
-You're so tight... warm-, he murmured, leaning in to kiss you as he sank in inch by inch, a shared moan escaping both of you. It was slow at first, giving you time to adjust, his thrusts deep but controlled, as if measuring your every reaction.
-Feel how I fill you... -, he growled, speeding up gradually, the sound of skin slapping against skin mixing with your gasps. You wrapped your legs around his waist, scratching his back.
-Harder...
but obeyed, his hips moving with more force now, fucking you with a brutal rhythm that made the sofa creak.
-This is what you wanted, huh? Taking my cock so well-, he said, his voice dirty but with a caring nuance, kissing your collarbone while thrusting deep, feeling how your pussy squeezed him. Sweat covered his muscles, the same ones you'd fantasized about, flexing with each thrust. He changed the angle, hitting that perfect spot, and you screamed:
-Lino, I'm going to come!
He sped up, his balls slapping against you with wet sounds:
-Do it... come around me, squeeze me tight.
The climax hit you again, more intense, and Lino followed shortly after, grunting as he came inside you, hot spurts filling you, a sticky mess dripping down your thighs.
He stayed inside for a moment, breathing heavily, before pulling out with a wet pop. He kissed you softly now, the tender side returning:
-That was... more than I imagined.
They cuddled on the sofa, exhausted but content, with Lino tracing patterns on your skin.
-This changes everything... but I like it. And you?
