Yeah yeah

just here to weee

[jaeminvore]

Credit Card Baby | Z.CL

“Who do I gotta fuck for barricade tickets to Sabrina Carpenter around here?”

PAIRING: Chenle x Fem!Reader

SYNOPSIS: Four days, three broke girls, two possible outcomes, and one solution. What are you willing to sacrifice in exchange for a night seeing a long-awaited Juno pose five feet away from your eyeballs? Your dignity, probably because it just so happens that one (1) Chenle Zhong could be the solution to your current girl problem. Only, you don’t really do well with charity. Nothing in life was free and everything had a price, but Chenle likes to think differently—that he's simply helping a friend out. Like the many times he did before. There should be sugar-daddy-sugar-baby joke around here somewhere.

alternatively: ‘three dumb bitches telling each other ‘exactlyyyy’.’ — ‘A sugar-daddy (kinda) au with no age-gap, but with a financial gap that no one asked for’.

WORD COUNT: 15.5K

NOTE: first Chenle fic kinda nervous but also excited because I've been wanting to write for pookie for a loooong long while!! So I gathered all the remaining brain cells I have and came up with this hot garbage (affectionate). This is legitimately the most unserious piece of fiction I’ve written so far, so if you’re in the mood for some fun and entertainment centered around vibes n mild-horniness you’ve come to the right place! The title comes from a song with the same title which is funny to me because the song itself (Credit Card Baby by Wham!) is the complete opposite of the story I'm telling here LMAO

CONTENT TAGS & WARNINGS: mildly suggestive themes (as in, there's very little implication to sex and masturbation here if it bothers anybody. Just to put it out there so proceed with caution), crude jokes and language, crack treated seriously, comedy, college au, fluff, friends to a secret third thing, sugar daddy au (kinda), Chenle majors in business, MC majors in architecture, everyone yaps a lot... for some reason, Chenle’s also a micro-celebrity (streams and posts on TikTok), brief discussion of OnlyFans, but I am in no way encouraging it.

DISCLAIMER: none of this is meant to represent anyone in real life. This is purely fictional and for entertainment purposes only.

According to an article you’d come across, an OnlyFans creator earned an average of one-hundred-eighty dollars a month. Multiply that four or five times, you’d have enough for one ticket.

“Alright,” you sighed, bringing your knees up as your eyes glued to what laid out in a neat pile right before you and the girls you lived with. “how much do we have all together?”

“Twenty-seven dollars and thirty cents. One banana flavored condom. Three sticks of gum—a chewed piece of gum, ew—a crumpled tissue and a… hairball.”

Jesus. This was getting ridiculous.

“Fantastic!” You clapped, looking at both girls with a wide smile and desperate eyes. “Anything else?”

“A maxed out credit card,” Minjeong sniffed as she threw the offending piece of useless plastic onto the pathetic pile. “That’s all we have to our names combined. We’re broke as shit.”

No, really. You had everything you needed for a flourishing career of flashing your nether regions to the world behind a paywall.

A laptop with a webcam. A pretty face. A small collection of toys. Very small. A pink two-in-one vibrating dildo the girls had gotten you as a gag gift for your birthday still in its packaging type of small. Vaguely resembling a swirly ice pop you’d get on a hot summer day, and you had lovingly named it ‘Pinky’ before it had gotten shoved into the depths of your drawer, never to be seen again.

Your imaginary audience probably wouldn't mind, right? So long as they’d get an eyeful of a pretty girl playing out starved men’s depraved fantasies.

Then again, the idea didn’t seem too hard in theory considering how far gooners were willing to throw a couple of dollars for a  five seconds long clip. They wouldn’t even notice the difference between an overexaggerated moan resembling a cat’s mating yowl and a genuine moan of pleasure, far too busy jerking it until their keyboards were dank from their own mess. You’d be earning enough to broaden your pathetic sex toy collection.

Simple-minded people were easy customers and you sure had no problems capitalizing off of that.

It was a good plan. A perfect long-term plan even, if it didn’t earn less than minimum wage and if you weren’t racing against time.

“This sucks,” Yizhuo whined, throwing her head back and staring forlornly at the ceiling. “Where the hell are we gonna get that kind of money in four days?”

Minjeong raised a groomed eyebrow. “Can’t you ask your parents? Say it’s an emergency or something.”

Yizhuo’s head lolled to the side, frowning at her. “They still have me cut off, remember?”

And the thought wasn’t just devastating to Yizhuo who, up until a few months ago, had been living the life of a spoiled princess with the world right in the palms of her dainty, never-worked-in-her-life hands. Naturally, being the closest to Yizhuo where you all were practically sisters, you and Minjeong were tangled up in the punishment as well. That meant leeching off of her and her unlimited access to her parents’ money was ineffective until she learned her lesson. 

After all, she was the reason why you and Minjeong had a roof above your head because apparently buying a house out-of-pocket was much more cost-efficient than renting, leaving you girls the responsibility of paying for groceries and sparing you just enough to spend for personal items. Yizhuo handled the rest as she had become somewhat of a sugar mommy.

“Apparently Daddy thought I was being very irresponsible with their money.” Yizhuo rolled her eyes. “Whatever that means—that I spend most of my time shopping rather than studying, which is so stupid when I already know the business like I know Daddy’s card details by heart! Why should I go to university when I’m set for life?”

She had gotten a job a week after spending what was left of her savings in a fit of panic. Lavishly, one could say, where the amount of clothes, bags, makeup and accessories had your eyes bugging out at the exorbitant prices printed on each receipt. Minjeong hadn’t been responsive all throughout. You didn’t think she was breathing either when she stared hard at a receipt from Prada.

Lucky for Yizhuo, Minjeong’s job at a thrift store had recently let go one of their former employees after her boss had caught them doing lines in the break room.

It was perfect for Yizhuo, low effort as she’d be manning the cashier and would occasionally keep the racks in stock. And best of all, she won’t be alone. She’d be with Minjeong which also came as a relief to you since it was a huge adjustment from not lifting a finger all her years on Earth thus far, to suddenly contributing enough to keep your mouths fed for at least twice a day.

“Wow,” Minjeong drawled, “your life must be so hard.”

“Ugh,” Yizhou groused, crossing her arms as she leaned against the foot of the couch with a moue reminding you of a spoiled child being told ‘no’. “You don’t even know.”

Judging by the look on Minjeong’s face, she was not having Yizhou’s tone-deafness in the slightest, and while you silently shared the sentiment—that the youngest of the household could have refrained from flaunting her privileged life, you didn’t want any casualties that could potentially turn into a court case. Because as sweet as Yizhuo was, she could be just as evil and vindictive to anyone that wronged her in some way.

“At least your parents let us keep the house,” you joked, patting Yizhuo’s knee with a smile. She at least appeared genuinely apologetic by the situation. “Any ideas on how we could get at least fifteen hundred dollars for three barricade tickets in”—you glanced at your calendar app—“four days?”

“Girl, you are asking for a goddamn miracle,” Minjeong sighed, “even Jesus took three days to resurrect.”

You nodded sagely and added, “took him six days to create the world,” which got a confused noise from Yizhuo.

“I thought it took seven?”

Minjeong shook her head. “No. He rested on the seventh day. Didn’t you go to Sunday School?”

“Not really. I barely lasted half a day.”

Well, all of you were definitely losing the plot here, quoting holy scripture, or whatever, but Minjeong was right; none of you were divine beings capable of pulling miracles out of your proverbial asses in time when the goddamn concert was in four days.

One could argue that you were given a long enough timeframe to save up for pre-sale, but when you had a friend like nepo-baby heiress Yizhuo Ning who had connections everywhere, it was guaranteed that you'll get the best seats at a concert of a big-named artist with her influence regardless of the limited time frame. Perhaps backstage passes if Yizhuo liked them enough. And she liked this one. A lot. She could never resist Sabrina Carpenter’s big blue eyes and bouncy blonde curls.

So, no. None of you had the forethought of pulling out the ‘Saving Up For A Concert For Dummies’ manual. Not when you had Yizhuo and her endless pockets full of hard cash to fall back onto.

Then she lost access (temporarily) to the Ning family vault, with barely anything saved up from her job because her spending problem wouldn’t vanish with just a snap of her father’s fingers, apparently. Now here you were: sitting in a circle on the plush, mauve, floral embossed carpeting that must have costed a fortune with crumpled dollar bills and junk you found deep in your purses like you were all trying out a crude summoning ritual for fat wads of cash.

Nothing could get worse than this. You’ve been through worse than this.

“We could sell feet pics?”

“Hell no. Feet freak me the fuck out,” Minjeong shivered.

You plucked the condom from the pile and lifted it up at face-level. “Would a used condom sell a lot to some weirdo freak out there?”

“Maybe,” Yizhuo replied the same time Minjeong said, in absolute disbelief that one of you would ever think of something so unhygienic, “I wouldn’t know, I’m a lesbian.”

“Yeah, no.” You wrinkled your nose. “You would not catch me pulling out a condom with some guy’s jizz in it from the trash. Ew.”

“How about a sugar daddy?”

“Eh. I’m not really into older men.”

“You saying you wouldn’t let the guy who played M-C-U Bucky Barnes hit?”

“Oh sure,” you said, sarcasm dripping thickly with each word that followed, “let me just hit up my buddy, my pal, Sebastian Stan on Instagram. Maybe I should call his phone number too! Y’know, the number that I don’t have.”

“Okay, sheesh. You don’t need to be so mean about it,” Minjeong mumbled.

“Oh! OnlyFans!” Yizhuo suggested with reverence as if she figured out how to attain world peace, earnest as her eyes rounded with excitement. “I’ve heard plenty of success stories. It can’t be too hard for any of us.”

A beat of silence, and then—

“Not it!” Minjeong exclaimed, touching the pad of her index finger to the tip of her nose.

“Not it!” came Yizhuo’s shrill voice a close second, copying Minjeong.

“Not it—fuck!” you wailed, half from being the sacrificial lamb and half because you smacked yourself in the fucking face from momentary panic which the girls didn’t seem to catch, too busy shrieking and hugging each other in relief. “No fair.”

“Oh, I think it’s plenty fair,” Minjeong shrugged, pressing her cheek against Yizhuo’s. “You were just slow.”

“And if anything, this’ll be easy for you!” Yizhuo cheered.

“Easy? okay—this“—you motioned wildly to your own body—“isn’t for the masses.”

Minjeong snorted. “Oh, sure. Tell that to the three guys you keep on rotation.”

“They’re just three guys. God forbid a girl has a healthy sex-life,” you whined. It was either wither away when you weren’t agonizing over your Architectural Design course—any of your courses, really—or fuck around with the guys you’ve met through mutual friends as your mode of relief.  “and why does it have to be me? I’m sure either of you could pull off being an O-F model.”

“One,” Minjeong raised a finger, “don’t ever call me that. Even if it’s in a hypothetical sense. And two, the thought of men being the majority of my audience unnerves me. I don’t think you could make it so only women could see me, so fuck that.”

“Fine. I’ll allow it.” You turned to Yizhuo with an expectant look. “What about you?”

She returned it with an unimpressed one, bordering on disbelief the longer you stared at her, waiting to say her piece.

“You’re kidding, right?” No, you were not. Was there a joke hidden in those three words forming a question? Not that you knew of, so you gestured for Yizhuo to get on with the program. “I’m like, the last person you should send to the wolves.”

“Why not?” You pouted. “You’re like, the most charismatic of us three. Got a pretty face too, if that wasn’t obvious enough.”

“Uh-huh, yeah—calling me pretty won’t change my mind,” Yizhuo said, firm and that meant she won’t tolerate any more of your pushing, yet the pretty blush tinting her cheeks told you enough that you almost got through her. “I’m an heiress to one of the largest Chinese conglomerates back home. How’d you think that would look for me?”

Bad, I’m guessing, and you knew this first-hand. 

There was an approximate six-thousand mile distance from where Yizhuo was brought up to where all three of you resided, yet that didn’t stop the Chinese media from getting their updates on how Yizhuo Ning was faring as an international college student.

You had a few run-ins with the paparazzi just dying to get dirt on Harbin’s sweetheart, fought with some too which had caused quite a buzz on both Weibo and Xiaohongshu when pictures of Yizhuo stumbling down the stairs of a frat house, looking drop-dead gorgeous were shared. No one could tell she was barely clinging onto sobriety. Or that she had already emptied her stomach twice in one of Sigma Chi’s bathrooms and a plant that surely had seen better days being under the care of jaunty frat boys who barely knew the concept of photosynthesis.

There was also a handful of you elbowing one of the paparazzi in the face when they had gotten too close. Your face, thankfully, had been blurred out. Same with Minjeong’s who had been trying her absolute damndest to keep you from getting aggravated assault charges while being tipsy herself.

If they had somehow caught wind of Yizhuo being involved in something so obscene—and you knew they would eventually—her life would be over. And yours. And Minjeong’s, because God forbid her parents might as well treat you as their own children with how often their darling daughter talked about you during their weekly check-up calls.

“And my parents would literally kill me if they found out their only daughter isn’t as virginal as they thought!”

“But you haven’t been a virgin since sophomore year.”

Yizhuo rolled her eyes. “They don’t know that, obviously.”

“And so that leaves me to be the breadwinner of this fucking household,” you said, heaving a conceding sigh. “God I hate you rich people.”

“I know you do. You say ‘eat the rich’ at least three times a day like it’s ‘grace’.” Yizhuo didn’t even sound remotely annoyed by your diss, basking in the relief of not taking your place and sacrificing her dignity. “It’s just until we get the tickets. Then you can be boring and gate-keep yourself until we have to slut you out again.”

“My body is a temple,” you said, feigning offense as you crossed your arms, cupping your breasts in a protective hold while Minjeong cackled. “Besides, OnlyFans might be easy on paper, but executing it? Four days won’t be enough. There are many factors involved and engagement won’t be that easy from how oversaturated it is. I’d be a no name. It’d probably take me months to get the amount we need and Miss ‘have you ever tried this one?’ would be in Europe by then.”

“And you did the math for that?”

“Only since we took all the shit out of our purses.”

“Right, because you always do the math for everything.”

“It’s a reflex.” You shrugged. You could even say it had been ingrained in you, haunted by the fact you almost failed Calculus I. You struggled less with it now, spending all summer drilling numerous Youtube tutorials into your brain and electing one of your classmates as your tutor. “How do you think we’ve survived this long without your parents’ money?”

Yizhuo shrugged. “Fair enough. Nerd.”

She gets a pillow to the face for that.

“Well,” you said with a clap. “If that’s all, I gotta go in”—you glanced at your watch and then panicked as you scrambled to get up—“five minutes ago. Fuck, I’m gonna be late!” The pop in your knees made you wince when getting on your two feet, making a bee-line towards your bedroom and stumbling over Minjeong’s thighs in the process.

“For a dick appointment?” 

“If you count AutoCad fucking up my chances for a four-point-oh, then sure.”

So maybe you had lied about the dick appointment, but in your defense, you actually had shit to do.

It just so happened Renjun also majored in Architecture, and that you shared all of your classes with him because if you were walking into five years of hell, you sure as hell weren’t going to suffer alone. You were simply hitting two birds with one stone.

If only those two hypothetical birds you hypothetically murdered coughed up fat wads of cash enough for three tickets, then you’d be set.

You let out a defeated sigh. “I need fifteen hundred bucks.”

Renjun, who just got back from a shower, blinked at the bold request.

“Say that again? You need how much?”

“Fifteen hundred bucks,” you repeated.

Renjun's face twisted as he stuck his pinky into his ear and wiggled it around. “I’m definitely hearing things ‘cause there’s no way.”

You rolled your neck to blankly stare at him. “I can say it again in Mandarin, if you want.”

“Please don’t,” Renjun shook his head, not minding that you were trying really hard to set him on fire with your eyes. “That’s like, using what I taught you for evil.”

“Well that’s too damn bad,” and you repeated what you said in near flawless Mandarin.

The conversation should have ended there. He just had the most underwhelming orgasm to-date due to whatever weird headspace you were in throughout your—ahem—session that made it less passionate and more robotic, but getting blue-balled was considerably worse than having to act as your last-minute financial adviser.

He simply could ignore anything that had just left your mouth when your attention was set onto the glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to his ceiling, but the unfortunate thing was that Renjun was nothing but indulgent at the moment. 

Dregs of lust in his brain prevented any of his usual no-nonsense approach and it certainly didn’t help that he could never say no to a girl—a pretty girl, no less—no matter how insufferable they were. Specifically you with his sheets wrapped around your still naked body. Renjun was still a man, and his IQ could still lose a few points if a girl so much looked his way.

Since you were both things, a girl and pretty, he calmly graced your dilemma with an answer.

“I can only give you orgasms, I’m afraid.” He said with a pout you knew was meant to be patronizing, mocking almost, especially with a detached lilt to his voice.

This wasn’t new to you as it was one of his methods to get under your skin. He knew you hated it, and you could definitely tell he’d prefer to discuss something else. Or nothing at all, but he had already poked the bear which meant he had to listen to you whinge until you either 1.) get it out of your system yourself or 2.) or he did something about it, and Renjun knew exactly the choice he made, yet that obviously didn’t work.

“What’s the fifteen hundred for anyway?” he conceded, barely tampering down the reluctance of circling back on your current financial struggles while rubbing his hair dry.

“Barricade tickets to Sabrina Carpenter,” you said shifting onto your side so you could face him properly. “VIP too if possible. For me, Ningning and Minjeong.”

He closed his eyes, jaw clenching. Saying other girls’ names post-coitus should be considered an act of violation or something, but he digressed.

“I thought Yizhuo got you tickets already?” His eyes snapped open to regard you with a lost look. “Before the whole cutting her off from her parents’ money fiasco?”

“Well, no one was really expecting her to go broke. She didn’t think it was a priority when she could just get the tickets last minute.”

“And since they took away access…”

“No money for us until further notice.”

Both of his eyebrows rose at the sheer ridiculousness of Yizhuo, self-proclaimed number one Sabrina shooter who could not go one day without singing Feather as much as her lungs could take, not being able to cop tickets. “The concert is in four days.”

“Oh don’t I know it.” When it rang like a giant alarm in your head, it was hard to not think about it. “I’m thinking of taking out a loan from my bank.”

“Absolutely not,” he snapped and tossed his damp towel onto your face. You shrieked and clawed it away because, ew, gross. “No way in hell are you going into debt because of a concert. Are you fucking crazy?”

“It’s not like I can ask someone to buy them for me either!” 

Renjun just barely resisted the urge to groan at the fact your persistent yapping almost ruined your then stellar bed chem.

“Like, who would be dumb enough to buy me a ticket? Let alone three?”

It’s surprising how you were able to come up with coherent sentences aftergetting your brains fucked out, but Renjun had always thought you were a weird one. Stamina on good days, yet a common cold could have you acting like you were knocking on death’s door.

“I’m sure I can name at least one person,” he said, thoughtful.

“Does this person have two-toned hair, perchance?” you wheedled, rolling onto your stomach to cup both of your cheeks with your hands looking like a flower in bloom for him. “Is his name Renjun Huang? A-K-A my favorite guy in the whole wide world?”

“You’re cute,” Renjun snorted, sitting on the foot of his bed. “But no.”

Your bottom lip jutted out in a pout. “You’re no fun.”

“There’s Jaemin,” he offered.

You grimaced. “Too needy.”

“Haechan?”

“Too mean.”

“And you still go to that asshole?” Renjun asked, incredulous. 

“He’s a good lay?” you offered, sheepish almost under the glare of his disbelief and the full force of his eyebrows. “C’mon, at least one ticket for your best girl?” you cooed, laying it on thick with a flutter of your eyelashes. “The other two can probably work something out.” 

Minjeong and Yizhuo were your girls. No one could ever doubt the love you had for them, being housemates for two years and counting, but desperate times called for desperate measures. It’s every man (well, woman) for themselves and if there was an opportunity right in front of you, might as well take it.

“Yeah…” he trailed off with a wince and you already didn’t like what he was about to say when he glimpsed at you and then at some random spot behind. “about that—“

“Whatever you’re about to say, don’t,” you ground out.

Renjun pretended like he hadn't heard you. “Someone from the student association gave me a ticket.”

“And you’re going?” You hoped he wasn’t.

As if he read your mind, Renjun’s mouth parted in offense. “It’s Sabrina Carpenter. It’s a great opportunity to clout chase.”

Oh he was definitely going to be insufferable on Instagram, talking about it for days on end. Just like you would be.

“Seriously?” you exclaimed, both hands covering your face, muffling your scream. This felt way worse than the time you almost didn’t meet the deadline of a plate submission that made up a large chunk of your grade. “Is everyone and their goddamn moms going except me?”

“Guess so.”

You peeled your hands away to Renjun scrolling through his phone in mild interest.

“Can you at least pretend to feel sorry for me?” 

Renjun let his phone drop in between his crossed legs. “My condolences that you won’t get to see Sabrina do her Juno pose five feet away from you.”

“You’re the worst,” you groaned, sitting up and holding the blanket tightly to preserve your modesty. “I’m literally out of options and you’re already kickstarting the FOMO.”

“And what were your”—he waved absently to the air—“options exactly?”

“There was the OnlyFans route—and before you say anything else,” you gave Renjun a look that was sharp enough to make him think twice about his needling. He said nothing, thankfully, but his pursed lips and scrunched eyebrows said a lot. “yes, I did the math and we all agreed—surprisingly—that it would be impossible to earn that amount of money before the concert. Then Minjeong suggested a sugar daddy, but I’m not really up for being a geraitric’s pretty play-thing. What if he dies mid-sex—”

You got cut off from Renjun doubling over with laughter. “Sugar daddy? Why don’t you just ask Chenle then?”

“Why should I ask Chenle?”

“Why shouldn’t you ask Chenle?”

“That’s why I’m asking you,” you quipped back.

Renjun laughed again. A rich, belly-deep equal parts loud and grating. “You cannot be this dense,” he said as he calmed down. “I just mean—you guys are close, right? Close enough that he bought you a replacement T-square.” He watched you, amused, as you considered the question. Renjun can almost see the gears turning in your head, chin resting in his palm and using his leg to balance his elbow.

“It was an emergency,” you stressed with an eye-roll, though you didn’t exactly fight the fond smile settling on your lips at the memory of Chenle getting rung up for a new sixty-four-inch long acrylic T-square while you perused the rows upon rose of cute stationery. You hadn’t meant for your old one to snap cleanly in half, but when there was a guy who didn’t take ‘no’ for an answer and, well, there was a reason why the running joke of a T-square doubling as a weapon was still relevant to this day.

“Doesn’t he pay for you guys when you hang out?”

Renjun snorted. “Sure. If you count him demanding us to Venmo him later.”

“Huh. He usually just pays for us both.”

Actually, now that you’ve thought about it, his housemates hadn’t ever gotten the privilege of Chenle covering for any of their expenses, much less a cheap meal from a well loved hole-in-the-wall restaurant. You didn’t think it was favoritism either. Was that a thing in friendships too? You had no idea, and you never had to ask when Chenle never thought twice to remind the waiter or waitress that he was paying for two. For me and her—he would nod his head towards you—only and leave the rest to settle their shared bill among themselves.

“Huh.” you repeated.

“Yeah-huh,” Renjun echoed with one corner of his mouth lifted up in a smirk. “Seriously, if you’re that desperate to see Sabrina up close, I’m sure he can work something out for you. What’s fifteen hundred gonna do?”

You both knew the answer to that. Nothing, because although Chenle wasn’t as high profile as Yizhuo and her family was, you had a vague idea on how deep his pockets ran if he barely spared a glance at his receipt from Gucci for a track-suit set he’d been meaning to get. He might as well have slapped you in the face with a thick stack of one-hundreds.

It would have invoked the same feeling of being too poor to even breathe inside the store and it had been a relief you thought of dressing up that day too despite the fact you’ve pulled an all-nighter to complete a handful of plates for design class the night before. You were at least spared from any judgment from the sales reps.

Still.

Renjun clicked his tongue, sensing your mental turmoil. “Just ask him. If he says no, then there’s your answer.”

Just ask him. Easy for Renjun to suggest when he wasn’t the one stewing away in a puddle of anxiety. He already had a ticket! Of course he’d think nothing of it. 

Walking into Yizhuo’s obscenely large living room, you were once again reminded how excessive it was.

There was a grand piano in there, for fuck’s sake, in the far end after the actual living area with the plush seating, yet none of you could play any elaborate musical pieces except for Twinkle Twinkle Litter Star. Right next to it was a sunken conversation pit with a modern fireplace built into the large concrete column and there were a series of floor-to-ceiling windows and glass sliding doors encompassing the pit.

Other than overlooking the luscious, grassy backyard, the doors led straight to the deck where a round pool resided as its main attraction. There was a goddamn fountain just beside it, too. Who needs a fucking fountain in this economy anyway?

Actually, everything about the house was ridiculously extravagant for three college girls to live in. Your bedroom included. Yizhuo ended up giving you one of the bigger rooms and you were sure the drafting table you bought off of a grad student for cheap would do its job and cramp it up, but you knew the saying about gift horses and Mom raised you better than complaining about convenience being handed to you on a silver platter.

The round floor table of the conversation pit was vacant, though there were scattered papers, notebooks, textbooks and all sorts of pens on top of the reflective glass surface. That meant either one of the girls was home. Or both, as Minjeong’s and Yizhuo’s voices grew louder by each step towards the kitchen.

“Guess who might have found a solution to our ticketing problem!”

You slid onto the cushioned seats of the breakfast nook—a breakfast nook, Jesus—right across from Minjeong sipping her to-go cup of thai milk tea. She wordlessly slid on towards you. You took a generous drag of the stuff.

“Actually, it was more of Renjun’s idea—which I am effectively stealing.”

Yizhuo, who was in the middle of plating a hefty amount of pad see ew, looked like she swallowed something toe-curlingly sour. “Oh so you were with Renjun-ge.”

An easy smile curled on your lips as you lifted a shoulder to shrug, sweetly batting your eyelashes. “What can I say? The guy gives good head—” (“I did not need to know that.”) “—anyways, my idea.”

“Mine was probably better.”

“Oh yeah?” you drawled, egging Yizhuo on. “Let’s hear it then.”

“Breaking into the thrift store and stealing everything from the cash register.”

“What?”

“She claimed if her parents found out about her crimes, they’d have to bail her out from prison and then restore her money privileges,” Minjeong glared at the youngest who simply whistled to Espresso as she carried on with the food. “Then I had to remind her of her reputation.”

“Good thing you did ‘cause that’s the dumbest fucking idea I’ve ever heard,” you said and you made sure it showed on your face as Yizhuo wilted underneath your tangible disappointment that she would even risk an integral part of her privileged life when she had used it as a counter-argument to the whole OnlyFans thing. “So we’re going with my solution to our broke-ness—Chenle Zhong.”

Yizhuo did not look pleased whatsoever. “What does Caillou have to do with Sabrina Carpenter?”

You ignored Minjeong shrieking with laughter. “Chenle’s got money,” you said as if you were talking to a toddler barely getting a grasp on words having their designated meanings. “And do you know what we need to get tickets? Money, and Chenle has a lot of it.”

“It took Renjun for you to realize that Chenle could be our solution?” Yizhuo exclaimed in disbelief, head in her hands. “Oh my God—it took Renjun telling you, then you telling us that he could be our solution? How could I’ve been so stupid?”

Her head jerked upwards, ponytail swishing along and gave you a look so sharp and abrupt that you jerked in surprise. You fixed your posture so fast that your grandmother would have been proud. For once. “You’re definitely asking Chenle.”

“Uh—first of all, why me? Don’t rich people have, like, some sort of kinship with one another? Like, hey, can I borrow ten-thousand dollars? I’ll pay you back with five-percent interest.” That definitely wasn’t how deals between rich people were made, but whatever. “Second, why not you, money bags?”

“He’ll never say yes to me,” she said brusquely, clicking her tongue. “I kicked his ass a bunch of times in PUBG and he’s still bitter about it. It’s not my fault he sucks absolute balls. There’s like, a compilation of him complaining on stream about how I was cheating”—Yizhuo made air quotations—“on TikTok. It’s so funny. Actually, I’ll send you the link—”

You turned your gaze towards Minjeong for help, eyes widened a fraction for an added pathetic flair as the younger one focused on scrolling through the damn app.

“Don’t look at me. Chenle’s just cheap with everyone—actually, maybe except for you,” Minjeong pointed a long, black almond tipped nail in your direction. “the favorite.”

“You say it like it’s an insult.” You slurped your milk tea at an obnoxious volume, shrinking in your seat. “Maybe he’s just nicer to me because I’m nice to him unlike you two.”

“Is that what we’re calling it these days?” Minjeong said, eyeing you curiously.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

She moved her gaze elsewhere. “Nothing.”

You squinted. “Uh-huh.”

“Anyways,” she said, pointedly keeping her gaze forward. “He started it. I asked him if I could borrow money for my Lyft and he laughed in my face.”

You pressed your lips together to keep yourself from laughing too because, yeah, the image was a little funny. “You’re exaggerating,” you said evenly.

Yizhuo made a half-wince, half-smile sorta thing with her face. “Are we though?”

“Lele’s not that much of an asshole,” you defended. “He drives me home. You could have hitched a ride with us is all I’m saying. And if I can remember correctly, he still gave you more than enough for your Lyft.”

“He didn’t have to laugh at me, then.” Minjeong looked like she was heavily debating whether she should smack you upside the head, or not. “For someone smart, you’re real stupid.”

You frowned. “Hey.”

The argument still carried on deep in your weekly ‘everything shower’.

“Face it, babe. He’s like your personal A-T-M.”

“Chenle doesn’t always get me things.”

You were aching in places you never knew existed as you passed the foamy loofah over your skin, yet the girls had denounced what it meant to have boundaries, making themselves at home in your bathroom to prove their joint points.

Yizhuo scoffed from where she sat on top of the closed lid of the toilet. “The shampoo you used earlier? That was imported from Japan.”

“So? He noticed I ran out the last time he was here. It’s just shampoo.”

“From Japan,” Yizhuo countered.

You pulled a face. “Is that supposed to mean anything? It’s fucking shampoo.”

She just threw her hands up in the air, visibly annoyed.

“And the body wash you’re using? From Chenle.” Minjeong piped up from the separated bathtub, pointed at the towels hanging on the towel warmer and added, “The bath towel set? Chenle.”

“Alright, fine, maybe—”

“The year’s supply of assorted sheet masks in the fridge we use?” she offered.

“The gargantuan tin of tea leaves you’ve mentioned you liked.”

“Okay. I get it—”

“A new backpack because your old one ripped at the seams.”

“Your underwear—”

“Hah!” You pointed triumphantly in Minjeong’s direction. “No, he hasn’t bought me any.”

“Not yet,” girl-in-bathtub emphasized, resting her chin on top of her arm propped on the tub’s edge. “Shit, he probably bought everything you own.”

“Okay, now you’re definitely exaggerating.” You snorted, walking into the spray of the shower to rinse off the suds. “I’m not that broke.”

“Should I also mention that if it weren’t for him, you wouldn’t have met us? Or that you would have been homeless?” Well, yeah, and you would have figured something out eventually, but you weren’t expecting Yizhuo to bring that up to one-up you in an argument.

“I can’t believe you would use the ‘you would’ve been homeless if it weren’t for me’ card against me.”

“If it weren’t for Chenle, you mean,” she corrected, propping her cheek on top of her bent knee. You glared at the needless addition, though the usual effect wasn’t as strong with warm water sluicing down your face. To Yizhuo, you were definitely doing an almost perfect rendition of ‘wet cat’. “You can’t be this stupid. You’re literally his favorite. I doubt there’s another guy out there that would willingly—again, listen—willingly spend money on you.”

“Does Jaemin buying me a pack of gum the other day count?”

“Oh my fucking God, you’re hopeless.”

Minjeong shrugged. “Maybe he was lowkey telling you your breath stinks.” (“Ex-fucking-scuse you?”) “Didn’t Chenle buy you a ring that looked like a bent nail?”

“As a gift, yeah?” Your wince was immediate the moment Yizhuo gasped at your confirmation.

“That was Cartier!” She whipped out her phone from fuck knows where and showed you the website and its price. Did she have that tab open all this time just for a ‘gotcha!’ moment? Jeez, she scared you sometimes. “Look—Juste un Clou ring. Classic model. I would’ve given you rose gold, personally, but the white gold looks pretty too,” she mumbled, nodding approvingly. “He knows his stuff, at least.”

“Viola!” You turned to Minjeong making jazz hands with flourish. “If he can blow three grand on you without blinking, fifteen hundred would be nothing.”

You let out a heavy sigh, rinsing the loofah free from the suds. “How sure are we that there are any tickets left? Last I heard, three nights sold out.”

“It’s Chenle. He has connections everywhere. He’ll probably end up tracking scalpers too if he could help it.” She weighed her own words for a moment. “As long as you’re the one asking.”

“If you say so,” you trailed off, still not entirely convinced even by her radiating certainty.

“Uh-oh.” Yizhuo promptly sat up. “That’s not good. What’s wrong?”

“It’s just—I feel kinda weird. Asking him. Like, I’ve never really had to ask him for… stuff before.”

“What,” the girls said in a way so dry that you most likely would have broken out in sweat with how serious their faces were right now. Thunderous even.

“What do you mean by ‘not having to ask him’?” Minjeong asked, deathly calm.

“Just as I said. He just does it on his own. Without me telling him.”

In hindsight, Chenle might have been an option right from the very start if the thought of simply asking for help financially didn’t bother you in the slightest, but that’s the thing. The idea did bother you to your very core because, again, it wasn’t like you were broke. A victim to capitalism? Absolutely.

Once you broke the news to your parents and brother about your acceptance to one of the top universities in the state on a full-ride scholarship, they had insisted on a monthly allowance. They hadn’t minded extending a helping hand at all, and it was the least they could do to lighten the burden with the condition that you should be devoted to your academics.

Consequently, you were also good with multi-tasking, so you’ve managed a healthy work-play balance so far. What your parents and brother didn’t know wont hurt them and you hadn’t given them a reason to not trust you on your own, miles away from home, either. Not yet at least.

Deciding for a part-time job was after the realization that majoring in architecture was a bit heavy on the pockets from the consistent need for materials and printing out your designs brought to life by the handful of software provided by your department. The café pay was decent, you were tipped just as okay, and you wouldn’t say no to some cash on the side. Adding that to the remnants of your monthly allowance, it was enough to buy a thing or two at the end of the month as a treat.

And then came Chenle, guns ablazing, with no qualms swiping his card on your behalf.

You never really had to ask him.

Literally.

He would already have it taken care of before you could even pluck your wallet out and split the cost. You couldn’t remember if you had a time where you outright asked (begged) him for a few bills, and if you did, you always always promised to pay him back.

That being said, Chenle wouldn’t let you fight him on it either. When his mind was already made up, it was like talking to a brick wall, standing tall and impervious to almost everything. A losing battle when you’re up against someone headstrong yet so goddamn stubborn.

That’s where your hesitation had stemmed from, because it could either go two ways: he could say no and you could kiss your chances of brushing hands with Sabrina Carpenter goodbye, which would be the best case scenario, or he’d say yes, and once he said yes, there was no turning back. A yes from Chenle was law—signed and sealed that not even expressing the preconceived regret of asking a favor would shake him.

This was entirely different from Chenle just doing whatever the fuck he wanted with his own money without any of your persuasion. You never had to ask him for anything before and the fact of the matter was, you were damn terrified of asking if Chenle could be a bro one last time and drop what was equivalent to the price of a newly released iPhone for you.

Asking him would literally be so detrimental to your conscience that you would probably go insane with guilt and you couldn’t afford getting thrown into the nearest psych-ward when you had tons of deadlines to meet.

Minjeong leaned back to stare forlornly at the ceiling. “Lord, I see the luck you’ve bestowed upon this girl so stupid.”

“Hey!” You whined.

“Congratulations on getting a sugar daddy,” Yizhuo said, dry. “Can you ask him for tickets now?”

Oh God, you thought with abject horror. What if Chenle is my sugar daddy?

Technically speaking, though, you both fit the description. Minus the ‘sugar’ part so, quasi-sugar-daddy then?

Okay, no. That’s definitely not a can of worms you’re gonna open, like, ever. Chenle just happened to be there whenever you had to go out and buy shit. Just happened to be faster whipping out his wallet than you were. After all, he’s the spry athlete while you were five cans of Monster Energy away from keeling over.

What you’d like to get into now was how this conversation developed backwards where you had to be naked and wet to get some sort of pep-talk. Was this even considered pep-talk? This was somebody else’s form of nightmare for sure.

“This is really weird,” you said, neither confirming or denying Yizhuo’s so-called congratulations as you glanced between the two girls unabashedly staring at you in your birthday suit, expecting. “Can you guys leave?”

“Nothing we’ve seen before.” You met Minjeong’s eyes for a second before they strayed to your naked breasts and back up again. “Bet Chenle would love to see you right now.”

For whatever reason, Yizhuo mirrored Minjeong’s sentiments as she bobbed her head so fast you would think the idea was exciting for her. “Only right for you to give him some sugar, too.” 

“Or—get this—I don’t do that?”

“Why not?” Minjeong frowned. “You fuck anything that moves.”

“Correction: I do not. I’ve only been with, like, five guys my entire life,” you said, brandishing one hand so they would get the picture. “And Chenle’s my friend! We’re like this”—you crossed your fingers, shaking them for emphasis—“tight, y’know? Literally everything’ll change if I go… do that.”

“You and Renjun are also”—she copied your crossed fingers—“like this, but you’re still fucking.”

“Well… that’s—that’s obviously different! He doesn’t count!” you said with each word increasing in pitch.

“Oh pray tell why you wouldn’t sleep with Chenle Zhong,” Minjeong goaded. “I may not like guys, but looking at him through an objective lens, he’s one of the good ones.”

“There’s no risk with Renjun because it’s strictly casual and platonic, and I know I wouldn’t get attached and develop—” you quickly clamped your mouth shut. Shit. “Uh—um—you’re breaking up,” you blurted, closing your eyes as you stepped into the heavy downpour of the rainfall shower. “I can’t hear you,” you said, though that likely sounded like incoherent blubbering. You were sure you’ve got your point across with that piss-poor save anyway.

“We can literally see you.”

You turned your back to them. They could talk to your ass if they wanted. Out of sight, out of mind. “Not anymore, you don’t.”

You hoped that was the end of it, though it was made clear time and time again that the girls weren’t satisfied with your hedging. A growl was heard, followed by the quick plap plap plap of feet against the cold tiles. As the glass door squeaked, the brief water prison you’ve enclosed yourself in stopped soon after and you opened your eyes to a hand retracting from one of the knobs.

There was barely a second for you to complain before an undignified yelp was forced out from your throat when you were spun around to find Yizhuo’s dour face, her hands clamping down on your shoulders.

“You’re just admitting this to us now?” she said, incredulous, and a little surprised that you’ve managed to keep a crucial detail from them for this long. 

“It wasn’t like an immediate thing I needed to resolve!” you argued, “but the thought was always there, I guess. Just sitting in the back of my mind until you brought up sex with Chenle. And I’m busy, in case it wasn’t obvious enough to you non-architecture majors. Never had the chance to explore it, y’know?”

Busy was the biggest understatement of the year. Your life revolved around sketching, drafting, rendering—hell, even printing your designs on sheets of paper almost (more or less) half your height had never been this stressful. Adding a part-time job to that? It was a miracle you were still kicking.

With all that combined, you didn’t have the time to give a damn about relationships running deeper than casual, less emotionally charged flings. Those were easier to manage without the messiness of feelings involved. 

“Well, Dora the Explorer,” Yizhuo tendered as she handed you your heated towel. “you better start explorin’ because you’re gonna fuck him either way.”

You swiped the towel from her. “No I’m not.”

“No you’re not,” Yizhuo agreed, and maybe the shrewd glint in those beady eyes of hers was only your imagination, toweling yourself dry and wrapping it around you once you were less damp. “but at least keep it as your trump card if he gets difficult—which I’d doubt, really.”

“You guys’re that confident he’d say yes?” you mused, pushing past Yizhuo to grab the other towel for your head. “It’s gonna be so embarrassing if he says otherwise.”

“To the tickets? Or the sex?” Minjeong then heaved a dramatic gasp, eyes wide as her voice dropped to a staged whisper. “Or worse, your alleged feelings.”

You puffed out your cheeks, ignoring the rush of warmth blooming onto your face. “Now I’m hoping he says ‘no’.”

“Oh, girl, trust me when I say ‘no’ is the last thing he’ll say to you.” Yizhuo said, looking very sure of herself. “So. How soon can you get to him?”

“God I hate you rich people.”

Yizhuo beamed. “I know.”

Well, it wasn’t like you were a stranger to testing your luck.

You: wyd

Lele: ? Lele: I’m not one of your groupies Lele: need something?

You: wanna get groceries with me? :D

Lele: be there in 15 Lele: need to grab Daegal’s kibble too

You: ur the best ✨✨

Lele: i know i am

You: girl whatever.

Lele: ❤️

“You know, when you said groceries, I was expecting personal stuff—like skincare or some shit,” Chenle said loftily. “Pads? Tampons? God forbid a menstrual cup—“

“How do you even know what a cup is,” you muttered. “and my period ended a week ago.”

“I know.” You looked up from your work to Chenle squinting down at his phone. He caught your eye and beamed, pocketing the device. You were too afraid to ask what that was about. “We could have gone to Sephora after.”

Oh you definitely could have if you had been more specific with what groceries meant, but you simply said to take both your asses to the nearest H Mart. Cute as the thought was, you weren’t exactly in the mood to watch Chenle try and figure out which products were on your current rotation. It would have made good content for him though, a sure hit for his predominantly female fanbase, yet the looming three days left to secure tickets above your head kept you from suggesting that.

“Well, I can’t exactly cook you a five-star meal with hyaluronic acid now can I?” 

He blinked and answered with a bland, “I have no idea what that is.”

You squinted at him, taking in the way he’s got his head tilted at an angle where the lighting hit one side of his pale face just right. No texture whatsoever, like a smooth, almost blank canvas marked by a singular mole on the cheek.

“‘Course you don’t,” you grunted, envious of his near perfect skin.

Chenle’s gaze slid towards the pot on the stove, then to his wooden chopping board where a humble spread of your additional ingredients had been neatly organized in small piles with two open noodle packets. “Also, that’s just your classic Shin ramyeon and some crab balls.”

“Well damn, Chenle, I’m no Gordon fucking Ramsay,” you snapped, swatting at his arm. “So ungrateful.” An elaborate recipe was out of the question when you were too busy panicking about how the hell you were going to pull this off.

(“The one thing you’re gonna ‘pull off’ is your top,” Yizhuo instructed as she followed you out the gargantuan front door. “You know how guys are with boobs. They’re like catnip for them.”

“Please don’t compare my tits to catnip.”)

He cackled, tucking himself into your side with an arm thrown around your shoulders in a side-hug. “Thank you,” he cooed, and like a cat, rubbed his head against yours. “You didn’t have to do all this, but I’d never say no to food.” You couldn’t exactly see his face like this, but you could hear his appreciation. Your heart squeezed at the press of his cheek against your temple.

See, it’s little moments in time like this were what jump-started the on-going betrayal you would never expect from your own beating heart, and Chenle made it extremely hard for you to not entertain any straying thoughts formed by the casual intimacy between you. It really didn’t help that Chenle was physically affectionate, and it especially didn’t help that you spent most of your time with him despite majoring in vastly different programs.

Starting the day with Chenle waiting in his car to take you to school, ending it with him driving you home and everything in between was a sure gateway for neutral feelings to gradually do a one-eighty. Reaching that level of comfort where you felt safe with him was just as inevitable, too. Chenle was safe. Always has been.

But for both of your sakes, it had been a conscious choice of burying yourself into your work—letting yourself get fucked over by the workload you had to do. The minor breakdowns you’ve had every time your calculations went wrong, or when color or material swatches didn’t seem to go together than you’d originally thought saved you from overthinking every single interaction with him.

You wouldn’t risk it. You couldn’t risk it.

“What’s the occasion?” Chenle prodded. Still there. Still close. Still trying his hardest to weld himself to your side that he would soon figure out something was up the moment you went stiff in his hold, but you were just as quick coming up with some bullshit excuse to save your own ass. Though it begged the question whether it will hold up against Chenle’s incessant need to stick his nose into anyone’s business.

The longer he stayed quiet, the more your nerves fried. His house—house because Chenle was a loose cannon with money like Yizhuo—was always set to a cool temperature and you wore an outfit that wasn’t meant to cover up much at all, yet you could feel yourself break into sweat the moment he pulled himself away from your space. You still stood there frozen and the pot was taking too long to fucking boil.

“No occasion!” you exclaimed, spinning on your heel to face him with the sweetest and most disarming smile you could muster at the moment. A drop of sweat trickled from your temple down to your cheek when all Chenle did was wrinkle his nose as he took a step back. “‘was just in the mood to cook… something. For you—uh, for us. I was craving ramyeon.”

“You were craving Shin ramyeon,” Chenle echoed, not looking at all convinced. “Shin ramyeon that Yizhuo has stocked in her pantry.”

“That’s why I asked you to get groceries with me,” you replied in haste. “We were running out.” 

Which wasn’t a lie. Technically.

The three of you used to gorge on whatever there was in the kitchen, fridge or pantry, or DoorDash when any of you craved something specific. Key words were ‘used to’ because snack options had been limited to cheaper alternatives and what was cheaper and filling than a packet of noodles that took less than five minutes to cook? Really, it was like you were back in your freshman dorm, living off of instant noodles.

“Running out.” The more Chenle repeated whatever you said, the more you started to realize how deep of a grave you had dug for yourself. “You bought just enough for two people to eat.”

“Right.” You drawled, snapping your fingers and hitting him with the finger-guns. Might as well make yourself look even more like a jackass than you already are with the dogshit lying. “Right—so no plans later? I could use another H Mart run.”

Chenle cracked this time. “You’re a shitty liar,” your name tapered off into laughter. “You want something, don’t you? You’re never this nice to me.” He simpered with a certain type of fondness you’d usually see in people witnessing a puppy scaring itself with its own bark—he should really stop that. You were already kind of a mess from the way he’d freely insert himself in your bubble like he owned the space. You didn’t need the ooey-gooey, cavity-inducing stares to go with that too.

This was all clearly very amusing to him—you stumbling over your own words picked out from throwing darts at random in an attempt to gaslight him. He shouldn’t find any humor in this, really, but Chenle had always been chill like that. Marching to the beat of his own drum or however the saying went that the ease of falling into character, the jester to his court, wasn’t surprising.

If it made him that happy, then you’d continue shaking your fool’s cap for him. As a friend, of course.

“What? Me?” you said, guileless and with a hand flat on your sternum, eyes rounded with that faux gleam of innocence for the full effect. “I have never wanted anything in my life.”

“Anything?” he pressed and received a firm nod. “Not even barricade tickets to Sabrina Carpenter?”

You gaped at him, stuttering out words that weren’t even qualified to be in the English dictionary until you settled with a broken, “who told you that.”

Chenle smiled serenely in kind, not at all fazed by your brain blue-screening in real time. “Renjun.”

The mention of a name sobered you up in record speed.

“That snitching bitch,” you seethed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “I only told him because I was hoping he'd help me think of options, or buy me a ticket himself. The girls could figure something out.” You paused, absorbing the situation as your hand fell back to your side. “Less work for me, though. I've been shitting my pants since, like, yesterday.”

“Yeah?”

You huffed a short laugh. “Oh yeah. There’s this theory going around—not that I believe it—that it’d be easy convincing you.”

“Easy,” he huffed, amused.

“Easy as in—I just have to ask you.”

Chenle tilted his head, considering you for a moment. “Alright. Ask away.”

You balked, grasping straws for a response.

“Ask away?” Nod. “Just like that.” Nod. “I’m not asking just for me, y’know? I’m also asking for Minjeong and Ningning. Since we’re broke and desperate girls who just happen to love the same singer.” Chenle only raised an eyebrow, slowly nodding in a way that said, ‘yeah. I know. What are you trying to say?’.

“Are you not worried how much it’s gonna cost you? Even just a little bit? I’m already feeling sick just thinking about it.” You grimaced.

“Not really, no.” He shrugged, slanting an easy smirk.

You pursed your lips. Right. Okay. So maybe you had severely underestimated how disposable money was to him, then. It didn’t seem like he minded at all, barely showing any negative emotion sans the boredom slowly coloring his features.

You, on the other hand, were already knee-deep in a bog of guilt and regret that you could honestly spit-up today’s lunch from how nerve-wracking this was; standing in front of him while carrying as much audacity a human being was allowed to and asking for something so expensive.

“You’re insane if you actually say yes. I don’t know about you, but if someone asked me for a thousand bucks and told me, ‘oh, bee-tee-dubs, I’m not gonna pay you back. Like ever.’, I’d consider suing the hell out of that person until they have to file for bankruptcy.”

“I mean, money’s never been an issue so I don’t see why my attorney should be involved.” The fact that he actually has an attorney (or a full-blown legal team. You never know) at the ready did not bring you comfort in the slightest. Chenle still tried though. You could at least appreciate that. “I wanna circle back on your so-called theory, though.”

“Don’t look at me.” Both of your hands raised in defense. “I’m not the one who came up with the ‘I’m Chenle’s favorite’ theory. The girls did.”

“Did they?” And for some ungodly reason, he looked delighted by the claim. “Well, can’t say they’re wrong.”

“Chenle,” you warned with a tone so biting you would think it’d have him think twice with this blasé approach.

Though maybe there was something on your face that betrayed the annoyance you’ve vocalized when all Chenle did was smile genially as the syllables making up your name passed through his lips in smooth succession.

“I’m not a charity case,” you muttered, flexing your fingers then curling them into fists. You weren’t too sure if you were pleased hearing it from the source. That you were Chenle’s favorite, confirmed by the man himself. Whatever that meant, or more annoyed that he really couldn’t care less about the money he’d wasted on you because you were his favorite. “You know I don’t take charity as well as normal people would.”

“Why do you think I never let you argue?” He said cheekily. “It’s easier and faster that way. And it’s no big deal! Seriously,” Chenle emphasized quickly at the sight of your deepening frown.

“But it is to me! If there’s one thing I know, it’s that nothing is ever just free. People these days are always expecting something in return. Maybe not right away and what if you’re just letting me rack up enough debt so you could ask me for my soul, or something.”

Chenle snickered. “So this is an exchange, then. Your noodles for concert tickets. You drive a hard bargain,” he wondered with an impish quality to his words, giving you a once over. Twice. It made you a little self conscious, shifting from foot to foot the longer sharp, cat-like eyes passed over your form. “Is that why you’re dressed like that? In case your cooking didn’t make a good bribe—oh, sorry—exchange?”

“Like what, exactly?” You asked, a little offended that he wouldn’t completely fold—or at least crease—at the first bite of a dish that earned its Michelin stars back in Yizhuo’s kitchen. Or that your chosen outfit wasn’t creaming any pants.

“Didn’t you wear this exact outfit when you skipped class to meet with Haechan that one time?”

“It was a different top, I think.” A top that was just as fast to remove too, so you understood the confusion. “How do you even remember that?”

“I remember lots of things,” he clarified, closing the distance until you could make out the top notes of his five-dollars-per-spray perfume with each inhale. “Like how you dress differently whenever you meet with one of your guys.”

“Gee what a coincidence. I wonder why I’m dressed like I am about to meet with one of my guys while in your kitchen.”

This time it’s Chenle who got the surprise of a lifetime, eyes almost bugging out of his skull as those lips you had once imagined yourself kissing just to see how they’d give under the soft pressure parted in a delicate ‘o’. He was quick to recover though, with a sly uptick of his mouth replacing the initial shock of finding out that, yes, you’d probably sleep with him if it came to that.

“Didn’t think you’d be that desperate for tickets.” He’s closer now, too close for comfort that you backed into the edge of the kitchen counter. “Is that how you’re gonna repay me?”

“It’s charity work,” you answered blithely, emboldened by Chenle’s interest because, fuck, might as well. “Fuck knows if you’ve been getting your dick wet or not. I’d literally be doing you a favor.”

Chenle didn’t seem to take offense to that as he threw his head back in raucous laughter.

“Charity for charity.” He grinned. “Seems fair.”

And the words had never sounded sweeter until they came from Chenle’s mouth. You could already hear yourself screaming with the crowd filling up the arena, with your girlfriends who you absolutely did not resent for essentially pimping you out to the one guy who could arguably make your dreams come true—

“I’ll think about it.”

Both Minjeong and Yizhuo were dead to you.

“Think about—” you paused, taking steady breaths until you were calm enough to start talking again. “Chenle. Lele,” and out came the big guns, being sweet to him and using the cutesy nickname the girls from the Chinese Students and Scholars Association would croon to get at least five seconds of his attention. Watching that play out from the sidelines always left a sour aftertaste, how they all would go as far as touching him when they decided holding eye-contact wasn’t enough to fuel their delusions. 

You’ve soon come to realize that it was jealousy that caused your eye to twitch when Chenle’s capitalistic smile turned honeyed towards his junior. Because there wasn’t a day where you were short of his attention.

Perhaps the thought was a little unhealthy, but what if you said it was what you were used to? Can anyone fault you for being a little catty after that interaction?

Calling him Lele worked, you thought. Or so you hoped. You weren’t sure rendering him silent was a good thing, actually. Silence never bode well with larger-than-life Chenle Zhong whose entire personality was being loud, especially with eyes as expressive as his. Dark as shots of espresso you’ve brewed countlessly at work laced with something you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

“The concert is in two fucking days! There’s no time to think—you know what? This was a bad idea. I don’t know how Ningning talked me into—” you shook your head, pressing the back of your hand to your cheek with a heavy sigh. “We can just eat the goddamn noodles and forget all this. I’ll just tell the girls they were wrong, and you said no—”

“Oh, no no no,” you would never admit to making such an undignified sound when Chenle pulled you back by his steady grip on your wrist. “you can’t make that offer and leave just like that, c’mon.” And he had the audacity to whine on top of it.

“Well that’s before I—what are you doing.”

“Making sure I am getting something out of this,” he murmured, crowding in on you further where all you could see right in front of you was Chenle, and whatever you could see over the slope of one hoodie-covered shoulder.

Which by all means wasn’t a lot to begin with, him being taller and broader than you. And Chenle wasn’t even super tall. You knew plenty of people that exceeded the one-hundred-and-eighty centimeter mark, like that Jisung kid who hung out with you both on occasion. Wasn’t even built like a brick shithouse like Jaemin and his friend, your on-and-off tutor, Jeno.

Yet the way he had you cornered, hands planted firmly on the polished quartz countertop boxing you in, kind of screwed with your perception—made him appear bigger than he actually was. Perhaps it was the intensity of his gaze, pinning you down with deep pools framed by gradually thinning rings of brown the longer this stare down went on.

Coupled with the heat radiating off of Chenle, from standing so much closer where it totally crossed the limits of what it meant to be platonic, something just as heated unfurled beneath your navel.

“What—whatever you want,” you stuttered, swallowing thickly when the soft material of his jacket brushed along the strip of skin left exposed by your cropped top.  

“Whatever I want?” Chenle’s tongue darted out, wetting his lips as he studied you. “Even outside of sex?”

It was really hard trying not to not stare at his mouth. “I think being your errand girl will get you your money’s worth than a regular pump n’ dump.”

“The mouth on you.” Chenle cracked a lipped smile, wide enough that a hint of teeth peeking between the soft rosebud pink of his lips. “‘My girl’ does have a nice ring to it.”

Warmth creeped up your neck. “You forgot the word ‘errand’.”

“I know what I said,” he murmured, coming in closer that the tip of his nose gently nudged yours. “Kiss me.”

Your breath hitched, eyes growing into saucers because kiss me could imply anything. Everything.

“What—“

“You said whatever I want,” Chenle pointed out. “and I want you to kiss me. Or I want to kiss you, actually. Real bad.”

Words, apparently, weren’t enough to prove how much Chenle could want something as simple as a kiss.

Slender fingers splayed themselves along your waist, just marveling that you’re allowing him to touch you like this—with reverence. Palms cooled by the counter and the calluses earned from years of basketball raised gooseflesh along your skin when dragging them along the expanse of your stomach. The dips of your waist again—like he couldn’t resist how softer you were there—your back, until one of Chenle’s hands settled beneath the curve of your spine, the other just shy under the side of your breast. 

Chenle was impossibly closer now and your body’s natural response was to arch into him and—oh, he’s hard. So hard—straining against the fly of his jeans pressed against your stomach, and you’ve barely done anything except letting him feel you up, leaving phantom brands of his touch along the way.

“Feel that?” Chenle said, voice low and gravely, delivered like it was a secret only you two should know. He pushed his hips further into yours causing him to groan quietly as you gasped, your hands laying flat on his chest to steady yourself. “You’re definitely getting your tickets if it’s the last thing I do.”

Somehow, out of everything Chenle said, that knocked the breath out of you. The utter conviction. How positive he was in his own right that he will get those tickets for you, one way or another.

Frankly, you couldn’t care less about them now, nor what you had to do in exchange for what was essentially overpriced pieces of paper. All you cared about was who you were getting them from: Chenle, his mouth just a couple of centimeters—all yours for the taking, how secure his hold was around you as if the mere thought of you drifting away any second unnerved him, and the fact that he wanted to kiss you.

Because maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t at all one-sided. Maybe what Minjeong and Yizhuo had been speculating held some substance that, yes, it wouldn’t be too hard if it was you appealing to Chenle’s sweeter side. Maybe the notion was that gratifying to your dwindling self-esteem because how could you deny his simple request? 

So with a breathy, almost breathless, “just—just shut the fuck up about the tickets for a second,” you cupped his face with both hands and yanked him down for a kiss.

Chenle’s kisses were syrupy-sweet, if not purposely drawn out as though he was savouring a once in a lifetime opportunity; uncertain if he’d ever get the chance again. The most surprising thing about kissing Chenle, other than the act itself, was the unhurried pace. So unlike the man you would see loping over with this restless energy ready to leave him bursting at the seams, harrying his friends (anyone, really) to play ball with him. 

It had been near impossible, forcing him to sit still when all Chenle knew was to keep on moving. Keeping close at his heels was a fixed workout you didn’t remember ever signing up for. It was only to your relief that he made sure to keep you right behind him. Beside him, rather. There wasn’t a time where Chenle would knowingly leave you behind and if that ever happened, he would always wait for you to catch up.

There was no rush, and maybe that was the point of it all. Chenle’s willingness to adjust for you with no terms and conditions applied, and you have yet to see him stop.

With each push and pull, worrying teeth on lips and a shallow press of a warm wet tongue, Chenle kissed you like he was a man starved, stumbling upon an oasis and letting himself drown after a drought lasting so long. He kept with the pace, not doing too much or too little, lips slotting together like perfect puzzle pieces. Sweet and deliberate, each movement holding intention. Chenle really wasn’t fucking around when admitting he wanted to kiss you.

You shared that want too. More than you had initially allowed yourself, but that was to be expected when you’ve basically repressed every not-so-platonic thought regarding Chenle for a long while. And you know what they said about bottling it all up.

It came bursting in a flurry rush of movement. From their tender cradling, your fingers reached up to curl into Chenle’s freshly dyed jet-black hair just as he mirrored your own growing need, lithe arms coiling around your torso as your mouths grew greedier by the second. A show of teeth pulled an airy moan out of you turned muffled the second he licked into your mouth.

From there, kissing just became a mere afterthought. Devolving into a carnal dance of tongues, lapping it all up to get your fill.

Chenle tasted just as sweet as he kissed before, like the lemon ginger candy he had stocked around his house, his car and sometimes you would catch him plucking a piece or two out of his pockets. And it was quickly becoming a problem where you just knew there was no coming back from this.

That nothing will ever be the same once you walk out of that door when all of this is over. You couldn’t go back, not when you’ve gotten a taste of what it was like swapping spit with the guy, the same guy who you had thought wasn’t worth the risk.

Fuck it, might as well risk everything, then. You’ve already kissed him, already bulldozed past that boundary you swore you would never cross. So long as Chenle wouldn’t mind a kiss, or two, or three—until he has to pry you off of him and say enough is enough, you’d let yourself crave the sensation of having his mouth give under yours.

Just like how you chased after the plushness of his lips with a meek whine when he drew back, grinning at the state he reduced you to—a needy little thing this high strung over a kiss.

Please. As if he didn’t pop a boner at the thought of kissing you.

Just as you were about to voice out the retort, one of his hands raised to cup your cheek. You leaned into the touch, feeling small under his thoughtful gaze as his thumb swiped over your kiss-swollen lips. You chased after that feeling, too, each drag winding the coil of your self-control tighter and tighter ‘til it snapped like you did, catching his thumb in between the edges of your teeth.

Chenle’s gaze darkened then, no traces of the playful glint you were used to seeing as he surged forward and kissed a searing path from the corner of your mouth, all the way up to the swell of your cheek. Then lower, and lower until the scrape of teeth under the hinge of your jaw made your knees buckle from the sensation with a gasp.

You gripped his hair tighter, though you made no move to pull him off. “That—this is more than just a kiss,” you lightly chided, voice shaky. “Greedy.”

“So what if I am?” He mumbled, mouthing his way down your neck. Your fingers left his hair and curled around his nape. “Want me to stop?”

Pulling him in further by his neck told him enough. The vibration of his pleased humming against where your pulse was at its strongest made you shiver. You could feel him smirk. Like a knife to your neck.

“Thought so.”

Staying true to his words, he didn't stop. Chenle latched onto your mouth again and you’ve quickly grown familiar with his rhythm. Only this time, his hands joined in the fray, seemingly needing more than just having you secured in his arms.

Though perhaps you bit off more you could chew. 

Like, yeah, getting fucked by Chenle wasn’t the most horrible idea you’ve had so far in your early twenties, but thinking about it was vastly different from actually doing it.

So you were definitely in your right to squeal when one of your best friend's wandering hands went up your skirt.

Chenle stilled and pulled back with his eyebrows knitted together. Your face was on fire, both from his bold move and the embarrassing sound you made.

“You okay?” He asked, the same hand that was under your skirt—right below your ass cheek—rubbing soothing circles. It was anything but soothing. When you’ve got thighs as sensitive as yours, the only thing Chenle was helping with was making you hornier.

If he moved his hand a little further up and a little further in, he would have felt just how soaked your panties were.

“I—uh—I’m not ready.”

He blinked. “My hand is literally up your skirt that’s barely covering your cute little butt,” he pointed out as his hands trailed higher and squeezed the plump flesh. “and you’re not ready.” Now he’s looking at you like you’re crazy. Shit, maybe you were. And it’s his fault. He’s just as crazy for calling your ass cute to your face, too.

“I mean yeah, that’s nice and all—your hand is really warm, um—but I may or may not have been talking out of my ass about fucking you.”

Chenle snorted. “I dunno. Your outfit clearly screams ‘fuck me!’. Cute shirt, by the way.” A stray hand wedged itself under the tight fit of your tube-top, earning him a sharp intake of breath when his fingertips grazed the underside of your tit. His touch didn’t go further than that, hand simply splayed across your ribs. “If you can call it that.”

“You bought me this shirt, dumbass.”

“Even better,” he said, delighted by the thought. “Feeling cold?” Chenle wondered, almost in an innocent, offhanded manner you wouldn’t think much of if the twitching of his mouth slipped under your radar. You caught his leering stray south, too. Just what could he possibly be intrigued by when he was quite literally sharing your breathing space?

With eyebrows furrowed, you let your curiosity get the best of you, tracing his line of sight.

You should have stayed curious.

Better yet, you shouldn’t have acknowledged the change of his focal point because of course he’d take notice of your nipples poking against the soft material of your shirt; as if they were saying ‘hi’ to the man who had come so close to giving them some attention.

Chenle dissolved into a fit of cackles. You could only imagine how embarrassed you looked to him. Why were you even embarrassed? You chose to forgo a bra in hopes of distracting him with your boobs if all else failed.

“Yeah, yeah,” you acquiesced, keeping your chin up as you blindly reached for his hands. “Hands where I can see ‘em, pervert.”

Only, you don’t exactly take his hands off of you. This was like, casual touches here and there dialed up to an eleven, right? It wasn’t a foreign concept to you, being held by him. Being friends with him for this long and counting, hugs were a thing you were frequently subjected to, and Chenle loved those, so you did your due diligence of settling his hands on your hips as a pseudo form of it.

A peace offering, if you will, for cutting the closeness short and a little because you were starting to like the warmth emanating from a more intimate touch.

Seemingly pleased by your initiative, Chenle graced you with the sweetest of smiles, squeezing you. That got him a snort and a fond shake of your head, though the amusement dimmed into contemplation as you lingered on the silver padlock-shaped pendant hanging from the dainty chain of the same metal around Chenle’s neck, not knowing where to go from here.

Eventually, you found your voice. “That better be worth fifteen hundred bucks,” you joked because if there was one thing about you is that you had a knack for making light out of an emotionally charged situation.

“I’ve spent more on you before, and you're worth every single penny so far.”

That shouldn’t have flustered you. Really, it shouldn’t have you hot in the face when you weren’t sure if he meant the dig towards you unintentionally milking him of his fortune. But Chenle’s ease of letting weighted words spill from his mouth was the sure contender here, and to deliver the final blow was the charming grin that ensured you everything was going to be just fine. He’d make sure of it.

“That’s definitely something a sugar daddy would say,” you said with a wry curl of your mouth. “Are you my sugar daddy? Because I can’t remember the last time I had to pay for my shit when you’re around.”

There was one time you went out for a bagel on your own, though that didn’t seem like a big girl purchase compared to your ergonomic chair he had ordered from Amazon. The look he had given you when you told him you made do with the many dining chairs Yizhuo had around her huge glass dining table had been the funniest thing you had ever seen. Like stiff chairs having multiple uses was a foreign concept to him.

You didn’t have the heart to tell him that you were mostly on your feet when you had to (by hand) draft floor plans and vignettes that took up almost the entire space of your choice of paper. And the chair was comfy. Good for your back too.

“It does look like that, huh?” Chenle laughed at that, shaking his head as he did so out of endearment because you just wouldn’t get it. “What if I just like taking care of you?”

Now wasn’t that an insane thing to say out loud? Granted that you could kind of see where he came from as he did save your sorry ass a bunch of times with either a tap or a swipe of his card, this was Chenle you were dealing with. The likelihood of him just pulling your leg under the guise of flattery was great and backing down that easy had never been your forte. No matter how sweet he was being about it.

You could count the serious conversations with him on both sets of your fingers and this regularly scheduled bout of psychological warfare won’t even count.

“You just want to get in my pants,” you accused with a defiant raise of your chin.

“You almost let me in your pants,” Chenle pointed out, his fingers gently grasping your chin so he could tilt your head back at its normal angle. “My hand was literally up your skirt and I heard no complaints until you got stage fright.”

“Fair,” you allowed with a shrug. “Still not gonna fuck you though. Not now at least.”

“Whatever you want,” he said softly as he bent down to catch your gaze. “and you know I won’t do anything you don’t want to.”

You hummed, thinking Chenle’s words over. “I’ll give it a few days until you’re on your hands and knees begging to stick just the tip in.”

Chenle’s smile wobbled then turned pained. “If I have to.”

It took three whole seconds for his admission to register in your brain before you sputtered a laugh, falling forward until his shoulder cushioned your forehead. No wonder you and Chenle worked so well. There was not a serious bone in any of your bodies and you wouldn't want to change it for the world.

“Down, boy,” you teased, still cackling as you nuzzled into his neck. “Who’s desperate now?”

He huffed. “Like you weren’t trying to eat my face moments ago.”

You pulled back with a pout. “I could say the same about you.” You poked him in the chest. “Were you actually trying to suck my soul out?”

“Regret anything yet?” Chenle’s question was posed as playful, but there was undertone of uncertainty to it too and over the years, you’ve gotten good at figuring out his tells. The uncharacteristic sudden stiffness in his frame, the way he chewed the inside of his cheek (subtly as he could) and the tightness around his eyes—he thought you did. Regret it, that is, but it was the farthest from what you were feeling right now.

“The only thing I regret is not seducing you sooner.” 

And that did it. Anything that fell in the same vein of uncertainty gave way to the radiance you were much more familiar with.

Chenle looked like an absolute winner—the cat that caught the canary and washed it down with cream in celebration of his win before diving in for his prize.

Until Daegal barked at the sound of jingling keys the moment your lips were a hair breadth away from touching, her excitement piercing through the bubble and granting you awareness from beyond it; namely the pot barely having any water being left on the burner for too long. 

There was a flash of white from your peripheral as you shared a panicked look with your qausi-sugar-daddy when the front door opened, followed by one of Chenle’s housemates, Beomgyu, announcing his arrival with a loud, “I’m home!”

“Shit,” you whispered and the two of you set into motion. Harried, if anything, yet still efficient with the swiftness Chenle displayed in fixing your clothes just as you smoothed stray strands of his hair back in place.

For a quick moment, he took a good look at you, a crease in the middle of his eyebrows before he was shucking off his hoodie and urging you to wear it.

“Didn’t take you for the protective type,” you teased, yet took it without question as Chenle rolled his eyes with a gentle shake of his head, watching you pull on the sleeves; a smile equal parts warm and mischievous playing on his lips.

With the zipper in place, you glanced at him then down to his very obvious problem beneath those denim jeans. “You gonna do something about”—Chenle’s eyes blew wide in alarm and stuck his hand in his pants—“yeah, okay,” you mumbled.

His smile widened into something annoying and you quickly pushed him towards the kitchen sink, a silent command to wash his hands once Beomgyu walked right into the kitchen, surprised that you were here. Daegal trotted closely behind, her tail wagging happily as you bent down to pick her up.

“We’re going to get groceries after some noodles,” Chenle answered the silent question for you while pouring water into the pot. “Want some?”

“I’m starving,” Beomgyu groaned. “I’ll eat anything.”

“Hope you’re excited for Shin ramyeon and crab balls, then.”

Over Beomgyu’s shoulder, Chenle winked at you and you nuzzled into Daegal’s fur, hiding your smile.

In the end, after letting Beomgyu devour most of your noodles, Chenle did take you out for another H Mart run.

“Are the two carts necessary?”

You didn’t think so. One full cart was pushing it, but two? For a second, you feared he might just buy out the whole store if you dared him. Then again, Chenle wasn’t familiar with the concept of limiting oneself and it seemed like it applied to you too. Well, in a way where he showed you it was okay to want things. That it was okay to ask him for things.

Because it’s Chenle who did most of the shopping. Fresh produce, different kinds of meat that didn’t need to be cooked in complicated ways for it to come out edible—namely the humble samgyeopsal. Quick, easy and absolutely delicious—he glossed over most of the condiments seeing you still had them at home, then he absolutely went insane when it came to the snacks, ice cream and, of course, packets of instant noodles.

Chenle had another pack of a different variant in his hands, tossed it into the snack-filled cart he was pushing around.

“You’re really playing into the sugar daddy thing,” you said as you mentally calculated the amount of debt you were in now with the addition of groceries that could last you and the girls the whole month.

“Better than you starving,” he said cheerfully, grabbing a dozen of Buldak Carbonara noodles and dumping them into the cart like a dad finding out their kid’s favorite snack. “Wouldn’t want you living off of shin ramyeon and crab balls.”

You scowled. “It wasn’t that funny.”

Chenle laughed and laughed and laughed anyway because your failed seduction plan was that hilarious if he was still making jokes about two-person groceries.

The drive home was quiet. Peaceful. Less awkward than you had initially expected when the soulful drone of music filled in the spaces with you sat in the passenger’s seat, reaching over to feed Chenle the Pepero you elected on sharing. When it all ran out, you relaxed in your seat and just… watched.

Watched your best friend in his element with his hand on the wheel while the other patted his thigh along the beat of the current song. He looked good. Unfairly so. With the lights glinting off the watch that likely made up your yearly university tuition and the high points of his face, the ruffled look of his hair and the way his jaw flexed every time he sang along the melody.

All this filled you with the urge to kiss him. Reach over and plant one on him and the thought still lingered even as you drove past the house’s gates opened with an app on your phone.

As Chenle helped put away the groceries while you pretended not to notice the leering from the peanut gallery.

As he helped himself to a Melona while keeping up with the verbal spat between him and Yizhuo munching on something yoghurt and blueberry flavoured.

It was all you could think about as you saw him out the door, and if you couldn’t help yourself and acted on it—a quick peck to the corner of Chenle’s plush mouth as thanks—leaving a sheen of your lipgloss, then that was between you, God and the security camera angled to where you stood.

Yizhuo wouldn’t notice if you deleted a few seconds of footage anyway.

Late into the night and you could still feel it. Feel him—the ghost of his kiss, his touch as everything that had transpired in the afternoon played on loop in your head.

You couldn’t sleep. Not when your mind was chanting Chenle Chenle Chenle like a mantra set to summon him. Like an itch you couldn’t get rid off no matter how hard you scratched.

If only…

That night, you decided to get well acquainted with Pinky, fishing her out deep within your drawer.

Mornings like this were rare, where all of you were awake at the same time. Even rarer that you were all up before ten, quiet. Relaxed.

No sense of urgency found on anyone’s person. No school, no jobs to clock into, no not-so-secret meetings—none of you girls had anything of priority today.

There was breakfast, arguably the most important meal of the day, though it seemed Minjeong and Yizhuo weren’t exactly in a rush demanding their eggs be cooked just the way they liked. Just fine with nursing a steaming cup of whatever energized them for the day ahead as they sat at the island counter.

Your phone chimed in the middle of cooking Yizhuo’s scrambled eggs. A text from Chenle—a sent photo to be specific and—

You screamed, nearly dropping the spatula.

fine shyt: [IMG_6969]

You: WWHAT THEBFUCJ

fine shyt: got your tickets 🤓

You: YEA I SEE THAT???????????

When you screen faded into Chenle’s caller ID, a photo of him holding up Daegal, Minjeong immediately took over the cooking as you rushed towards the living area.

“You got the tickets,” you said as you accepted the request to FaceTime, half in wonder and in disbelief that he was able to nab tickets in less than twenty-four hours and a day before the concert. You really should stop doubting Chenle and his ability (see: privilege) to get whatever, whenever. “Not that I doubted you, but the first night usually sells out quick—so how the hell.”

“You underestimate how far money can get you,” Chenle laughed. He looked sleep-ruffled, like he had just woken up. This was his cutest state yet and you really wished you were with him right now. “Think you’re ready to find out?”

“As I’ll ever be.” As long as he held your hand through it, sure. What the hell. You could survive future heart attacks caused by six figures by sheer will alone, you thought. “I asked for three tickets though. Who's the fourth one for?”

“Me,” he answered, beaming. “Someone has to drive you girls.”

“What? I mean—thanks.” That was one less thing to worry about then. “But since when do you listen to Sabrina?”

“Since last night. Still at it, by the way.” he clarified, a little too happy and if you listened closely, you could make out Sabrina’s crooning of Read your Mind on his end. “An enlightening experience, I might say.”

“Good luck on memorizing twenty-one songs then.”

“Oh, Princess. I released an album when I was eight. Memorizing the setlist is light work. Bet I could sing louder than you.”

“Yeah, okay. I’ll grill you on the album thing next time because what the fuck.” The ‘Princess’ thing you elected to ignore, too early and dire to suffer an aneurysm when a concert was waiting for you.

“I’ve lived quite the life,” he mused (“oh I’m sure.”) combing his fingers through his hair. “So what do we say?”

You scoffed, fond and grateful for his generosity whether you were deserving or not. “Thank you.”

“Thank you what, baby?”

Your face twisted in horror, quickly clocking what he was trying to get you to do. “Bye Chenle.”

He was cackling when you hung up, your face on fire, yet you didn’t put in any effort to tamper the giddy grin threatening to split your face.

The tickets were yours. Chenle got the tickets and they were yours. Gosh, this was probably the best morning in your life so far and nothing could dampen your mood from doing your girls proud.

“Now do you believe us when we say you’re Chenle’s favorite?” Yizhuo asked with a mouthful of scrambled egg.

You laughed, cheeks aching from how hard you cheesed at a simple fact. “I’m starting to.”

And selfish as it sounded, you hoped that it would remain that way for a long time because you couldn’t remember a life so dull when Chenle walked in with colors so bright that it sung, and because he was your favorite, too.

a/n: waow you've reached the end! Here, have a cookie 🍪 as always, thank you soo so much for reading until the end! I'd like to thank the girls: Aria, Moon and Aeriel for letting me talk my shit about this fic and help with ideas! and yes, brainstorming with them is an almost daily occurrence and it's great mental exercise imo lol! I hope you had fun reading the chaos that was this fic. I know I had fun laughing to myself writing all this 😆 and please please please let me know your thoughts! Likes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated <3

TAGLIST: @jaylaxies @hoondrop @gojosmojodojo @justalildumpling @dammit-jjk @learnthisfeeling @90s-belladonna @spacejip @ykvdani @drunkhee @neozon3nha @dinosaurtoothbrushwithninjasauce @sunghoonsgfreal @champagne1221 @yuyita-rosier @grimlinshere @jvngw0n @nanaxwi @kissesfromdarling @peterm4rker @haechology @evergreeneyesx @bbina @nctseventeensworld (special thanks to those who asked to be part of the taglist!)

[jenoyeahh]

the amount of times i had to stop reading so i can squeal and calm myself down, my cheeks hurt from smiling, my hearts fluttering, my stomachs aching... the way i gasped and laughed when chenle asked "not even barricade tickets to sabrina carpenter?" like *gasps* he knew!! i wonder what he felt when he picked up yn and saw her outfit hshshhs and the makeout... well, it's about time!!

want that for me! wishing the girls and chenle a happy concert lol funny how just a few nights ago i dreamed of going to sabrina's concert and woke up feeling sad because i know she'll never come to my country 😔

thank you for writing and sharing! 😊

[hannie-dul-set]

fire and brimstone (and you’re a moth made of gasoline) — FOUR.

SYNOPSIS. having fought tooth and nail out of high school, university, and law school, only to end up working for a law firm that basically serves as a clean up dog after the biggest organized crime group in the district, you thought you couldn’t get any lower than this. 

the bar is in hell, and yet you’ve managed to limbo six feet beneath that. alternatively— na jaemin is the personification of hell, and your very existence just makes him even worse than he already is. 

PAIRING. na jaemin x female! reader. GENRE. gang! au, lawyer! au, office! au, comedy, drama, romance, very light angst, this is a sitcom, hate to love(?), a somewhat questionable power dynamic, asshole! jaemin (my beloved…my kryptonite…) but he’s also an idiot, jaemin has an eye contact thing, inspired by the manhwas “weak hero” and “study group.” WARNINGS. an abundance of criminal activity (including but not limited to organized crime, fraud, blackmail, DUIs, unethical and illegal occupational practices, etc.), blood and violence, suggestive themes, eventual non explicit sex, jaemin with a tattoo, legal inaccuracies because i am not familiar with south korean laws, so i’m just using my own country’s as reference. also because this is just a stupid thirst fic. who gives a damn. WORD COUNT. 10k.

NOTE. whewwww so much happens in this. like a lot WAHAHAHAHAH. would love to hear your thoughts and comments, maybe even predictions HAHA. there’s a bit more violence in this than in the previous chapters, but y’all know what you’re getting into. anyhow, enjoy!

THAT DAY WAS PERHAPS THE MOST EVENTUAL DAY YOU’VE HAD AT NALKEUTTA. It’s been two weeks since then, and in the past week you’ve been plagued by contract drafts and notarizing documents, meeting with the groups new clients (i.e. victims) to trap a few more poor souls into this burning death trap, and giving legal advice to Mark Lee whenever he calls and needs.

Honestly, if this was all that your job consisted of, you’d be a pretty happy camper, especially considering the zeroes your bank account is set to accrue. No more hearings every other day. No more angry clients trying to get a slap on the wrist for attempted assault or embezzling company funds or whatever shit. Your work at present is more peaceful than expected— that is, of course, if you exclude what’s been causing you to work overtime these past two weeks.

“I feel like I’ve been seeing you more often lately, attorney.”

Yeongdeungpo Police Station. Officer Jung tries to entertain you while waiting for Mark’s favorite mutt to get fished out of his cell. No shit, he’s been seeing you often. This is your third time this fucking week. “He didn’t get into any more trouble overnight, did he?”

“No, we made sure to put him in a single cell this time.” You sigh in relief. They should’ve done that the first fucking time. “Hey, attorney…this may be out of line, but—” 

“Then stay in line, officer.”

Maybe your neuroticism is finally slipping through your stiff mask. Your eyes flash up at Officer Jung. He appears taken aback at first, but nods, smiling, and maintains a respectful distance. Sure, he’s hot and all, but you have no intention of hooking up with a cop just to put your career, life, and safety in jeopardy. Mark has eyes everywhere. You’re pretty sure he even has a handful of the officers here under his control.

“Damn. My guardian angel came early today,” 

Enter the bane of your existence itself. He wears an annoying grin on his face while being escorted to you, free from handcuffs meaning he can with his hands whatever he pleases— which, unfortunately, is sticking a middle finger up in the air when the guy that he got into an altercation with passes by, and a second fight almost breaks out while you dumb ass of a, executive just cackles like a madman as the second guy gets held back by the officer escorting him.

You do nothing but yank on the sleeve of his arm, nails digging into fabric and the skin underneath. You’re not strong enough to dislocate him, but by god you wish you were. “Thank you, officer. We’re heading out now.”

Officer Jung smiles at you. “I’d say I hope to see you again, but I doubt you’d want to drive up here for the fourth time this week.”

“Haha.” It’s eight in the evening. You’re tired as fuck.

The moment you succeed in dragging him out of the station to avoid another count of misdemeanor, you wipe your hand on your blazer and quickly march to your car, not even checking if he’s following when you rip open the driver’s seat of your car and slam it back close. Unfortunately, he shoves himself into the front seat before you can lock it. 

“Whew,” he says, buckling himself in. You look at him through the mirror. He’s leaned against the window and his torso is pointed towards you. “Want me to take over the wheel?”

The rev of the engine. You hear Na Jaemin scoff and turn his head away.

“Tough crowd.” He props up an elbow on the window ledge, cheek resting on closed knuckles as you continue to drive to the office when you’ve clocked out three hours ago. “You were pretty chummy with that cop earlier. If I remember, the fucker is the same prick who jumps out of station to wag his tail in front of you whenever you drop by.” 

God, you don't have time for this. You block your ears. You continue driving. You just want to go home, but Na Jaemin isn’t done pissing you off yet.

“You’re pretty amazing aren’t’cha, attorney? That why it only takes a second for you to get us all out?”

Screeeeech!

“Whoa. You’re finally looking at me for once.”

That’s fucking it. You’re not dealing with his shit anymore.

“Get out.” With all this and that damned death threat letter you received, you haven’t exactly been in the most amicable mood. “Get out of my fucking car.”

Yet somehow, Na Jaemin just starts grinning wider in response to your death glare. “But the office is too far away, attorney.” You click your tongue, grip tightening on the steering wheel as you leer away. It’s the dead of night. You’ve pulled over next to a closed laundromat. Your body still refuses to look at the psycho next to you directly. One day, you swear you’re going to rip him apart. 

“Do I look like I give a fuck?”

“Well, I wouldn’t know.”

Your car lets out a loud honk when you slam your forehead into the car horn, breaking the peaceful quiet of the night. “Ugh.” You release a breath,the sound rasping against your throat. One day, you’re going to kill him. One day.

‎*‎

“Damn, attorney. You look like shit.”

The next morning, Lee Haechan interrupts your coffee break by being an asshole. 

“There’s no one worth looking hot for in this dump.”

“Now, I think that’s what you call a hasty generali—”

“Haechan, I don’t want to fuck you.” His face is a stiff smile, just on the verge of cracking from a fatal injury. You step aside to give him space on the coffee machine, swallowing an almost scalding gulp of your drink. Come to think of it, Na Jaemin isn’t the only idiot you’ve fished out of the police station. “Hey. Hold on. I have a bone to pick with you, bitch.”

Haechan’s mug makes a rattling noise when he prematurely drops it onto the counter. You see a trail of sweat trickle down his neck. “What do you mean?”

“You nearly ran someone over the other day,” you start. “If I have to bail you out for another DUI, you’ll be seeing your car in a landfill.”

They’re so lucky that none of their victims chose to press charges. Thinly veiled threats usually allow you to settle with a compromise for the barest minimum amount for the damages they incur, but your words won’t always work. Still. It seems like Mark doesn’t mind pouring out whatever amount of money to save his valued lap dogs. These mutts are so god damned spoiled.

“Monster! Don’t you dare touch my Penelope!”

You wanna bully him for naming his porsche Penelope, but that’d make you a hypocrite. You don’t want to give up the remaining integrity you have left, so you choose to remain silent instead and finish up your coffee. 

At the same time, you notice a third presence enter the breakroom, and you make the unfortunate decision of peering back, just in time to find Lee Jeno looming behind you. You nearly choke on your coffee. “‘Scuse me,” he says, voice low, and you waste no time scrambling to the side and coughing your lungs out.

Haechan talks to him while the latter pulls out a back container from the cupboards. “Hey, man. How’s the Daeghwang contract going?”

At that question, Jeno’s brows close together and you flinch when he replies with an annoyed grunt. “Bad.” He taps the open mouth of the container against the rim of a glass of water, white powder cascading out. “Cheongang is a pain in the ass.”

“That’s rough. Well, good luck. See you later."

He starts leaving with the glass and you can finally get back to breathing. Seriously. Na Jaemin may scare you and piss you off, but this guy is just intimidation incarnate.

“Hey, what was his fucking deal?” Your voice is both fear-stricken and appalled, pointing at the break room entryway the moment Lee Jeno’s shadow disappears from the floor. “Did I do something to him? He looked like he was gonna punch my teeth out for getting in the way of him and his creatine!”

Haechan has finally finished making his coffee. Instant coffee, which he brings up to his mouth to take a sip. What was the point of giving him way to the machine? “Oh, Jeno? That’s just his face. Don’t worry about it.”

“What?”

He shrugs. “He’s a nice guy, but Mark likes to bring him around when he’s out doing business. Adds to the aura.”

The fuck? Well. Now that you poke into your brain, you finally remember why Lee Jeno had seemed oddly familiar when you were introduced to him. That day you found out your (former) literati, over the bar crush was actually a fucking gang leader who’s actually kind of crazy. Jeno was the one with Mark carrying that big, suspicious duffel bag. That makes sense.

“He doesn’t look like it, but he’s actually very diligent and organized. He’s basically Mark’s secretary.” 

This is very hard to wrap your head around, but maybe you’re just being too judgmental. Huh. If this is the case, then Mark has formed a pretty well rounded inner circle for him. Lee Jeno’s the one helping him make sure the oil keeps running, pretty much an all-rounder. Huang Renjun deals with Nalkeutta’s external partnerships. Now, all this makes you wonder—

“Then…what about Na Jaemin?”

There’s a flicker in Haechan’s eyes. He looks at you, eyes peeking above his coffee mug, and you don’t break your gaze. “Curious?” he hums, setting it down onto the counter behind him. “What about me? Don’t you wanna ask about what my role is?”

“I already know that you’re a desperate son of a bitch. What else do you do?”

“God damn, you never hold back.” You know he manages most of the internal affairs. Gratified HR, but you don’t want to grant him the satisfaction that you give a fourth of a shit. “Jaeminnie’s our clean-up dog. Mark knows how to put his maw to good use.”

Clean-up dog. Hah. 

“If there’s anyone Mark needs to be beaten half to death, Jaemin’s the man for the job. The guy basically lives off of the adrenaline he gets from fighting. I think the money is just secondary to him, but who knows. Mark likes to keep him busy with chasing down debtors or else he’d take it out on the nearest Nalkeutta member within arms reach. He seems like a lazy prick, but he’s actually pretty competent and meticulous. Only when blood and bruises are involved, of course.” 

Now, that makes you feel like absolute crap. Not for him, but for you— finding out that you and a psycho have been relegated to essentially the same demeaning position, one judicially and the other extrajudicially. That’s a dig into your pride. It leaves a sourly bitter taste on your tongue, and you don’t even have any coffee left to wash it down.

“Well. That is until someone pisses him off. Then things get pretty messy,” Haechan continues with a drawl, checking out his fingernails. Then his eyes flicker up, tipping his head back to flash you a grin. “Which has been more than often lately. He’s been getting into a lot of unrelated fights and trouble. Wonder why.”

Your mouth folds up into a sneer. “Talk about yourself, you serial drunk driver.”

“Let me take you out on a spin with my Porsche next time, attorney. It’ll be fun.”

“And fucking die? No thanks.”

“Aww, cmon! I promise you’ll get the rush of the century, babe, you won’t regret—”

Swoosh!

Thwack!

“Ow, hey, what the the fuck!”

You jump back, gaze darting down to check out the flying object that was punted into Haechan’s temple right. You snicker. It’s a vape pen. You’re about to thank the culprit until you actually find out who it is: lo and behold, Na Jaemin at the break room entrance, looking as smug as ever, and he successfully ruins your day at nine in the morning. “Whoops,” he says, sauntering up to you both, ducking down to swipe the vape pen off the floor before holding it back up. He’s not looking at you. He’s looking at Haechan. “Hand slipped.”

Haechan’s expression gets twisted. “Oh, you wanna go?” The gap between them closes. Uh-oh. Time to find an opening to leave. “Been a while since our last fight, Jaems.”

“Yeah, you mean the day I used your fucking face as a windshied wiper? Was it fun? Wanna try it again, you little bitch?”

“If you idiots wanna paint the carpet red, let me leave first—”

“No, wait.”

Haechan grabs onto your arm. He beams. 

“We need a referee.”

And that’s how you got held hostage for a dog fight at the parking lot of your company building. It’s not even noon yet. These fuckers need to get sedated.

You question your existence as Haechan and Jaemin warm up, a considerable amount of distance between each other. Why are you even here? “I’ll make sure to give you a show, attorney.” You stare dead forward at the empty space in between, face not looking particularly entertained. And then he shrugs off his jacket, revealing his tank-topped chest, and you choke on your spit. His face lights up at your coughing fit. “Keep your eyes on m—”

Thwack!

“Whoops.”

Oh, what the fuck, you blink and all of a sudden Haechan has lunged forward to sock him straight in the kisser.

“Hand slipped.” Haechan draws back his arm, grinning. Oh shit. You’re unable to see the entirety of Na Jaemin’s face. His head is turned, eyes covered up by his hair. You watch as he hacks up his throat to spit out a blotch of red on the concrete ground. For a second there, you think he’s pissed.

Then he lifts up his head, revealing the crooked, blood-stained grin on his teeth.

“You been practicing for me, Donghyuckie?”

This guy just got punched. He just got punched in the face and he’s smiling. 

That’s when things start getting uglier and you’re forced to watch two grown men brawl as their favorite pastime. Wow, they’re just going at it. Haechan lands another hook into Jaemin’s jaw and he quickly jumps away before the former can grab onto him. From what you can tell, Haechan’s a very sneaky fighter, retreating after every strike— almost as if he’s buzzing around Na Jaemin and nipping at him like a mosquito 

“Oi.” Na Jaemin’s jaw is tight. “There’s no fun in this. Get over here.”

“Whoa!” Haechan manages to dodge another one of Jaemin’s attempts to grab at him. “No thanks!” 

Yeah. Now Na Jaemin is definitely getting pissed. You can almost see the vein popping out of his neck when Haechan fails to duck quick enough, allowing Jaemin to grab a fistful of his hair. Haechan lets out a pained grunt when Jaemin yanks his head down, allowing full access to his face— allowing you to witness the blood drain from Haechan’s face in real time, at the very moment.

“Quit running away, you fuckin’ rat.” 

Jaemin winds his arm back. You squeeze your eyes shut. And then you hear the sound of a fist hitting bone.

“That’s more like it.”

Jesus, his voice is nothing but pure elation. That’s it. You’ve seen enough of this demon’s madness to conclude that Haechan had just lost. This is where they differ— Na Jaemin doesn’t like fighting. He likes watching the willpower drain from his opponents eyes after each blow until they’re back and blue and have lost the will to live. A textbook sadist. The moment Na Jaemin has you in his grasp, you’re as good as a dead man. And that much is obvious with how much Haechan is struggling to get out of his grip without ripping a chunk of his hair off.

He looks like he’s having the time of his life “Grit your teeth, buddy.”

Haechan responds with a nervous laugh, dangling half on the floor. “Hey, man, I thought we were just sparring for fun, yeah? Let’s take it easy, ok— oof!”

Aaaaand, that’s your cue to stop watching. If the roles were reversed, then maybe you’d be more interested. You’ve seen this show and multiple encores back in high school already. So while they’re busy killing each other, you quietly sneak off to your car just a few parking spots away to retouch your lipstick. Maybe grab a snack from the glove compartment. Anything other than this mess, for sure.

Anything. Yeah, nevermind. Maybe not anything because the moment you reach your car, you notice something stuck on your windshield wipers.

There’s a wrinkly slip of paper there.

When you fold it open, it’s revealed to be a mortuary pamphlet. There’s scrawl all over it. Red marker. Count your fucking days, attorney. Wow. Not very up for interpretation. Does this fucker think you’re fourteen?

“Hey.”

You flinch. You turn your head back. You’re not sure how long you’ve been standing here, but apparently long enough for Lee Haechan to gather a collection of blood and bruises as he tries and fails to wiggle out of Na Jaemin’s grip.

The latter isn’t even looking at him. He looks at you as he jerks Haechan back to his knees.

“What’s the matter?”

It’s only now that you notice your hands are shaking. You hiss out a swear and crumple the sheet in the tight lump and stuff it into your slack pockets. “Some bastard left their trash on my car,” you grunt, stomping away from your car and back up to them. “Anyway, are you two done playing? Unlike you two, I have a semi-normal job here and still have work to do.”

“Not until you declare the winner, attorney.”

Na Jaemin finally decides to let the poor guy go. Haechan gets dropped to the ground with a thump, groaning in obvious pain. You look down at him, sighing. “Why’d you even provoke him if you were gonna lose anyway?”

Yeah, you’re not giving Na Jaemin the satisfaction. Haechan lets out a breath and a laugh as he settles on the parking lot floor, propped up by his elbows. “I thought I’d stand a chance toda.” He cracks at you. “But it seems like my plan backfired. Too bad.”

Although you refused to declare Na Jaemin the winner, it seems like his fight with Haechan was enough to pacify him for a while.

Seems like the bastard had his fill. You didn’t get any phone calls from Mark or the station nor did you receive any more threatening death threats over the weekend. It’s great. You hit 10,000,000g in Stardew and will soon have the same amount in your bank account. Monday rolls around again though, and you have to spend the entire day out of office to join Mark and Jeno for the Daehgwang meeting. 

It’s so peaceful. The thorns in your side have been so well behaved. Haechan’s porsche got seized by the government because he forgot to pay last month, meaning he no longer has a vehicle to drive under the influence with. Na Jaemin hasn’t even gotten into another altercation.

At least not for the past three days.

On Tuesday evening, you get another ring from the station. 

“It was a 5v1,” Na Jaemin informs you, grinning with a new busted lip on top of his bruises from Haechan. “I won.”

This time, you drive off before he could even get into your car.

‎*‎

“I swear to god, Renjun, it’s like he gets off from getting handcuffed and ruining lives.”

Renjun is your favorite Nalkeutta member so far. Meaning, he’s the unfortunate soul that’s stuck with hearing your whines and complaints over a jenga game in his office. It didn’t take much to convince him into joining you to get paid for goofing around on company time— however, you didn’t exactly advertise having to be your unpaid therapist for the time being.

“Who are you talking about again?” he asks after pulling out a successful block from the tower.

“Na Jaemin.” You crane your neck, squinting at the remaining blocks for an opening. “Does he die if he can’t get into trouble with law enforcement once a week or some shit? God dammit, this tower is tight.”

You’ve always known he was a sadistic fuck since high school. But you thought that only extended to physical pain. Apparently he has a penchant for inflicting psychological pain as well. “Uh-uh, sure he got into messes before— try that one.” You prod on the block he points at until it becomes loose. “But he wasn’t always this bad.”

The block slides out. You put it back on top and sit straight. “Haechan said something like that too.” Your brows furrow. “What exactly do you guys mean by that?”

Renjun shrugs, poking around the block tower. “He’d usually get into fights outside the job like twice a month max.”

He pulls out the wrong block. The tower collapses on the coffee table.

“I think it was around the time you joined that he got worse.”

It clicks. You understand now.

“Hey, let’s play again, that was a— wait, where are you going?”

You storm out of his office and stomp into your own. Na Jaemin doesn’t get off from ruining lives in general— it seems like he gets a special kick out ruining yours in particular. Fuck’s sake. You thought he was just a lunatic for getting into bar fights thrice a week. Apparently being his high school alarm clock for two years wasn’t enough. He needs you to contract occupational depression too. 

Inside your office now. You bang a hand into your desktop keyboard because the printer is taking too long to vomit out the shitty piece of paper. You rip it out from its mouth and march into Ganghak Division, heels clicking against the tile— a sound most have already attributed to your presence, but this time so, so loudly that heads turn at each hollow clack— and the sound halts the moment you see one of his employees that you’ve flagged as a pushover the moment he’d been admitted here.

“Park Sion.” You grab him by the shoulder. “Is your dickhole of a boss in?”

He flinches and blinks his wide open eyes at you, gulping. “Y—yes?”

You grunt and push past him, printout in hand. You spot the door that has a frosted glass window in the middle. You make a beeline and kick it open with a loud bang!

“What in the name of fuck—”

The words get cut out from Na Jaemin’s throat the moment you lock eyes, and the pissed off expression on his face gets replaced by the cold splash of surprise and something you don’t give a fuck to decipher. 

“A—attorney.” He clears his throat and tries to scramble himself back together. “Wow. Came to give a little visit?”

There’s someone else in the room— another Ganghak high schooler, standing straight and firm and nervous before his desk with a deck of papers pressed to his chest. You click your tongue barrel forward, shoving yourself between them and slam the piece of paper on his desk, a huff escaping your nostrils as you stare him down with the animosity of a thousand suns. He’s still a little shell-shocked, brows uplifted and eyes blinking before he looks down and slides the paper up to him.

“I hate your fucking guts,” he reads out your message printed in Cambria 14. You smile when he looks up from the page to meet your stare. It hurts your cheeks. Then you spin your heels and may your merry way out of his office in the best mood you’ve ever been since getting here— and this change of demeanour is very much noticed by every single Nalkeutta member that you walk past, turning heads of both horror and concern as you hum back to Huang Renjun’s territory.

Renjun turns his head to the door when you knock and swing it open.

“Whew.” You fall back onto his office sofa, causing his newly built jenga tower to tumble down. “Shit, that was cathartic. I needed that.” 

He stares at his fallen tower, a somber expression on his face. “Are you gonna share it with the class?”

You do, in fact, share it with the class alongside your hypothesis that Na Jaemin hates your particular guts to the point that he’s actively making your living hell. Renjun is attentive throughout your whole rant session— nodding along to your cries and swears while he rebuilds your tower, and he places the last block on top just in time for you to finally run out of steam. “I swear to god, he has it out for me, Renjun” you finish off with a huff, sinking deeper into his sofa.

That in itself is bad, but apparently it could get worse.

“He could be doing it because he hates you, sure,” he starts, prodding into the newly built tower. “But have you considered the opposite?”

Because Huang Renjun injects a truly horrifying idea inside your head.

“What?”

He hums, locking into the middle piece at the very bottom of the stack. 

“I’m not sure you’ve noticed, but on the days you give Jaemin the slightest bit of tolerant attention he doesn’t act out.”

He, then, slides the piece out.

“And whenever you flat out ignore him for the entire day, I get a colorful text from you that Na Jaemin is in a holding cell again and you’re on the way driving to get him out.”

He takes it into his hand—

“Maybe he’s just doing it to get your attention.”

—and finally sets it on top of the tower to restart the game.

“Your turn.”

You’re frozen in your seat. You carefully think back to all the times you’ve been plagued to bail him out— the first time, which was the night of the recruitment bullshit, and you did talk to him then. Granted it was to insult his smoking habits, but that completely debunks Renjun’s theory right? How about the other times— like the day after the first incident and you were far too pissed to even give him the light of day— wait. Wait. 

No fucking way. Did you see him the day you left with Mark and Jeno to deal with the Daeghwang contract? You did pass him by, but why the fuck would you have greeted him? Shit. Oh my god. This is the most depraved shit you’ve ever been cursed to consider and you’d once debated offing a man just to win a court case. 

You don’t want to believe it. There’s no fucking way.

So, you put it to the test first thing in the morning to make sure that Huang Renjun is nothing but a delusional fuck who just wants you paranoid.

You walk out of Mark’s office with him after a quick discussion on how to strengthen their loan contracts. He asks if you’ve been getting enough sleep lately and the answer to the question is in the very same hallway that you’re passing through, walking the opposite direction as the both of you.

“Jaemin-ah, good morning,” Mark greets him. The guy only stifles a grunt in reply before turning his attention to you.

You look at him. Not at him, but on the silver chain hanging around his neck because you don’t feel very brave at the moment. “Good morning, Na Jaemin-ssi.” Then you immediately scuttle away, leaving a nonplussed yet still pleasant demeanored Mark behind to catch up with you and bounce for coffee.

That entire day, you wait for a phone call from the station to arrive.

Night comes. You’re about to go to bed. Your phone does not make a single buzz. Nothing. 

You’re horrified. You’re really, truly horrified.

Listen, you’ve never been dense to a man’s advances. You’re not stupid. You know when someone has a crush on your because always a standard operating procedure, the cut and dry tactics of trying to take you out for a meal or a drink, calling you pretty, or whatever the fuck. No one fucking flirts by violating the law multiple times a week just so you’d pick him up from the police station. So, you can’t exactly be blamed when you never saw this coming.

This singular thought plagues you for the rest of the week. So much so, that you don’t exactly trust yourself driving almost an hour over the weekend to Gyeonggi to meet up with some friends from law school, so you take public transportation instead. 

The problem is, you couldn’t even enjoy your fucking brunch because they kept asking why you quit JSS, so all you could think about is all the men that have plagued you to ruination— one bastard standing out in particular.

“Seriously, is he a fucking lunatic or something?”   

“Who’s the fucking lunatic or something?”

You’d been waiting at the bus stop on the way back to Yeongdeungpo when a convertible you don’t recognize pulls over, but the person sitting in the driver’s seat definitely is. Your face sours. Then dread washes over.

“Heard from Mark that you needed a ride,” Haechan tips down his sunglasses, smiling. “Hop in. Let me take you out for a spin on my new baby, attorney. It’ll be fun.”

Oh no. Fuck. Your days of relative peace from the police are over. You need to hire someone to wreck this orange-painted nightmare before you’re forced to deal with an inevitable hit and run case. This thing is an accident waiting to happen. It needs to fucking go.

Not right now, though. You do need a ride. 

“Mind stopping by a pharmacy first? I think I’m having fucking indigestion.”

You also need to know where he parks this thing. You take a few steps back and snap your phone camera at his license plate before hopping in the car. “Why? Shitty date?” he hums, starting up the engine. “I can do you one better, sweetheart.”

“Shut the fuck and drive or else I’ll be needing more than just antacids.”

“Gotchu.”

It’s not that being a stuck-up bitch is your default. It’s just that you know better than to get yourself entangled into Nalkeutta more than you already are especially when the one thing you’re looking for is an out. The both of you make a stop at the nearest pharmacy in Gyeonggi and you pick up your medicine. Outside the store, Haechan spots a small hotteok stand to bribe you to hang out with him a bit more before heading back to Yeongdeungpo.

Ugh. You don’t wanna get back in there. That’s where Na Jaemin is and lately he’s been mentally perturbing you more than pissing you off or scaring you. You take a bite into the warm snack and start talking with a semi-full mouth. “By the way. Renjun told me something interesting.”

“Yeah, what’s up?” he muffles out. 

“That Na Jaemin deliberately gets into trouble to get my attention,” you flatly say, looking at the syrup you just wiped off your mouth before licking it off. “I need a dissenting opinion or else I might actually go clinically insane.”

“Oh, you just noticed?” he says, walking back to his car and you follow. “Everyone in the office knows he has a crush on you. It’s pretty obvious.” 

Well. No dissenting opinion. Guess you’ll have to go insane.

“I thought bringing you to our fight the other day would distract his messed up brain. But apparently the sick fuck just got more excited knowing that you were watching. He got bored when you went back into the office. I really should’ve known better.”

“Wait, if you knew that your insane friend has a fuckied up crush on me, then why have you been trying to hit on me in front of his face?”

The both of you get back into the car. Haechan spares you a glance and a grin.

“It’s funny,” he cackles. The car starts moving. Slower than you expected. It’s surprising that this guy is actually receptive to feedback, but you appreciate it nonetheless. “I never get a reaction out of him otherwise. And, I gotta correct you about something, attorney. There are no friends in Nalkeutta.”

There’s a soft breeze brushing past your ears. You peer at him, a tug on your lips. “So, we’re not friends?” 

You almost snort seeing the way his shoulders flinch. The first time you speak to him without an ounce of venom, this idiot folds.

“I thought we’d gotten closer recently, Haechan.”

There’s no missing the way his ears flare up despite keeping his eyes on the road. God, this is pretty funny. The reason why you’re not as creeped out by the idea that another one of your co-workers harbors a petty crush on you despite the fact that they’re both demented and violent is simply because one has singlehandedly turned your last two years of highschool into a traumatic hell while also not giving enough of a fuck to remember the trauma he caused, and the other has not. 

Still, you’re not indulging Lee Haechan any more than this because you still have some self respect. You wanna continue dicking around with this newfound power a bit more, but your high is quickly shut down by a shiver down your spine.

You jolt in your seat. Your eyes flash to the rearview. There’s a taxi trailing behind. 

“Haha, have—have we gotten closer…? I thought you were more friends with Renjun, and—”

“Haechan, turn right.”

“What? That’s not the route ba—”

“Just fucking do it.”

With a concerned yet suspicious furrow of his brow, Haechan obliges your abrupt request, and what do you know— the moment you guys make a turn, the vehicle behind you does the same. “Now, make another right.” Your narrowed eyes remain fixed on the back mirror. “Left. Keep going.” 

Your companion isn’t dull. He notices the same thing as you do at the third nonsensical turn. You hear him click his tongue, feigning annoyance, but no form of play pretend could even attempt to hide the wicked grin sprawling on his face in excitement.

Ah, shit. You instinctively clutch onto the seat belt straps as if you’re holding onto your dear life. “Hey, attorney,” he starts, shifting pedals. “Hold on tight.”

What the hell does it look like you’re doing? 

The blazing hiss of rubber screeching against asphalt. This might very well be the day you die.

‎*‎

“C’mon, it’s been two weeks! Are you still mad?”

Yes. It’s been two weeks since your latest near death experience and it wasn’t even at the hands of your stalker, whom you managed to shake off thanks to Haechan, but the fact that these very past two weeks was spent trying to settle with his fucking hit and run victim has clearly pulverized any semblance of gratefulness you felt towards him.

Right now, he’s trying to win your forgiveness over by dropping a box of macarons from the new bakery in the district onto your lovely desk Savannah. You flip the box open as aggressively as you can and rip apart the unfortunate pink cookie with your teeth while you stare at him dead in the eye. He flinches. He tries to form a smile but it’s all crooked and nervous. “Sooo…are we good now?”

You finish up the remnants of your first victim and pull open your drawer, and Haechan watches as you take out a few staples pieces of paper before handing it to him.

“What’s this?” 

He opens his mouth first before reading. You marvel at the decline of man’s average intelligence.

“It’s a contract,” you hum. “Sign it, and I’ll hang out with you again.”

“Oh, sweet!” he enthuses and fishes out a pen from your variety assortment, setting the sheet down onto the polished mahogany surface. He’s already started the first stroke of his legally binding signature when he actually inquires into the nature of the contract. “You should’ve just given this to me days ago, damn I even went to— wait. What’s this about impounding my car?”

You quickly try to snatch the paper back, but Haechan may be dumber than you but he is stronger. He quickly flits back to the first page, squinting at the fine print very close to his face, and after a moment of realization, he jerks his arms down to release a horrified gasp.

“Evil! Evil woman!” He points an accusatory finger. “How could you attempt to do this to me and my Josephine?!”

His curses fall on deaf ears. You remove a bushel of lint from your blaze lapels and flick it off into a corner of your office. “I think it’s a fair agreement,” you languidly say. “We get to be friends for so long as you refrain from getting into another traffic accident. Otherwise, say goodbye to your dearest Josephine.”

“No!”

A knock on your door interrupts the tantrum you caused. It gets quiet. A head peeks in. It’s Mark.

“Are you two busy?” he asks, likely having heard your…conversation from outside. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

Immediately, you shift your attention away from the high speeding demon and straighten your back towards your boss. “Not at all. What’s the matter?”

Haechan quietly greets him as well in a grumble, stepping aside in order to surrender his spot in front of your desk to Mark. “Oh, it’s not at all a source of worry,” he assures with a hum. “It’s just that, it’s been over a month since you’ve graced Nalkeutta with your expertise, but we haven’t even thrown you a welcome party yet. Things have indeed been hectic with our clients one top with our ongoing problem with Cheongang, yet these issues aren’t justifications to prevent your warm welcome.”

There’s a smile on Mark’s face. Oh no. You know where this is going and despair befalls over your face.

See, you’re not exactly against company dinners. Back in JSS, it was a regular opportunity to get your bosses and partners blackout drunk so they don’t remember you recording their not-very-proud moments. But right now, you’re not exactly keen on going home late considering your whole stalker death threat situation.

“I already booked a bar near the bridge. Let’s all take the evening off.”

Well. Now that there’s no way out of this, all you can do is hope that today isn’t your due date yet.

Evening comes, and you’re suffered to be in Na Jaemin’s presence again. He’s in the company car that Mark ushers you into, sitting in the front seat next to Jeno and you two make a split second of eye contact through the mirror before stumbling into the car seat with an annoyed grunt. God, you’ve been so busy these past two weeks that you weren’t even given the chance to stress about him. Now you’re trapped with him for the rest of the night with little to know chance to escape.

Throughout the drive, you contemplate faking sickness again but unfortunately you never got the opportunity to set it up, so you just come up with your roster of excuses in case the amount of men inside the lounge starts becoming noxious to you.

“Cheers!”

The moment drinks start rolling in, they’re cheering for your name and title—- under duress, maybe, because it was preceded by a late welcome speech from the big boss himself. Mark pours you a drink and you’re obligated to swallow it down, burning your throat. Ugh. 

Obviously, not every Nalkeutta member is here right now. Aside from Mark and his four executives, two to three lower ranking members from each division have also been extended the invitation. You recognize Zhong Chenle from Hyeongshin and Na Jaemin’s favorite lackey, Park Jisung, held hostage by his boss in a torture chamber of shot after shot after shot.

“How are you holding up?” 

Renjun settles into the velvet seat next to you— unoccupied for the last hour because Haechan is still throwing a tantrum after your attempted vehicular slaughter, Na Jaemin maybe, finally took the eloquently worded message that you delivered the other week to heart, and the rest of Nalkeutta’s members are too intimidated to sit near the in-house lawyer that regularly stomps around in a flurry of swears throughout the office and your heel clicks harbors fear.

“Fantastic,” you deadpan, bringing the god rush you ordered to your lips. “I’m tipsy and cold and want nothing more than to knock myself out via head injury right now. You think if I announce that my period just arrived, they’d be too uncomfortable to stop me from leaving?”

“You’d probably succeed, but I don’t exactly recommend you leaving by yourself.”

“This is Nalkeutta’s territory, what kind of fucking idiot would try to jump me?”

“Well, things are precarious with Cheongang right now, and—”

You’re interrupted by a meek “Ex—excuse me,” from a Daehyeon subordinate. Lee Jeno’s subordinate. You look up and raise a brow at him. The guy’s face is embarrassed and he’s holding out a jacket. “The…the boss told me to give you this.” Your eyes flit down to the article, hanging sleeves barely brushing against the bare skin of your thighs that your pencil skirt is failing to cover, and you look up across the room to see the said co-worker conversing with Jaemin, now in a compression shirt when you could’ve sworn he was more covered up earlier. 

Again, you briefly meet eyes with Jaemin. You cough and look away, accepting the jacket with a thank you before the grunt scurries away. Then you recall Haechan’s words. He’s a nice guy. Man, if only you went to Daehyeon in high school, you’d probably be a lot saner today. 

“Anyway, as I was saying,” Renjun continues. “It’s a little dangerous right now and those guys are just across the bridge. They could be loitering around nearby.”

“Hey, I’ll be fine, I don’t go around unarmed you know.” You adjust the newly acquired cover on your lap. “Well. Maybe I do have something to worry about considering there’s a creepy stalker threatening to kill me.”

It’s like the entire room screeches into a tense halt.

“What?” Haechan finally decides to grow up and talk to you, marching up to your side of the lounge with a knitted look. “What do you mean stalker?” 

The repetition of the word attracts everyone’s attention if your first utterance hadn’t already. Drinks stop pouring. You notice eyes on you— particularly from across the room, which you promptly brush off to entertain Haechan’s question. “Oh, you know the day you ran over that grocery owner? The one I had to beg just so he wouldn’t sue you?”

“Yeah, I fucking know, but what do you mean you’re being stalk—” It hits him. “Fuck. The taxi. I thought it was just another one of my enemies training me!”

“Attorney, is this true?” Mark finally enters the conversation, uncharacteristically concerned. “And did you say this person is threatening to kill you?”

You meant to say it as a self deprecating joke. You didn’t expect these guys to actually clock your words and take you seriously.

“Attorney?”

You don’t answer verbally. Instead you grab your purse and pull out the envelope that’s been cozying up in there since you first got it. You set its contents down on the table for everyone to see, followed by the mortuary pamphlet you retrieved from your windshield. “This one was attached to my car in the company parking lot, but I’m pretty sure it’s a personal vendetta and has nothing to do with Nalkeutta, so you don’t have to worry about that.”

It’s disappointing, but this is all you have. There are no texts or phone calls. You have nothing on this bastard but a letter and a note.

Mark’s holding up the letter. You notice the pamphlet wrinkle in between Haechan’s fingers. “When did you get this?”

“Uhhh, the day Na Jaemin beat the shit out of you?”

“God fucking dammit.” He tosses it back to the table and throws his hands in the air before stomping off in frustration. Renjun scolds him and gives the note back to you, and you promptly fold it to return to your purse, along with the letter Mark offers back to you.

“There’s security cameras there,” he says. “Have you checked them yet?”

“I did and he was masked and covered up. Same with the footage from my building. I checked in with my landlady the day after I received the note at my doorstep, and she wasn’t around when it happened.” 

“He knows where you live?!”

“Jesus,” Renjun breathes out. “You’re practically buddies with the cops at the station, why didn’t you report it?” 

You simply sigh in your seat and set your purse aside. Honestly, you’re getting annoyed. Do they think you’re fucking stupid? Do they think you’re just letting this freak run around because you want to? Fucking ridiculous. “There’s barely any evidence to identify him, much less to penalize him for anything more than a fine and a warning. I thought I’d wait until I have enough under my belt to ensure a final conviction.”

“And continue risking your life? Are you fucking stupid?”

It’s Na Jaemin who says that.

He’s still sitting in the same spot as earlier, unmoving from his seat across the lounge, staring at you with a weight that practically digs into flesh and bone. Your jaw clenches. You ignore his insult with a roll of your eyes and you down the remaining half of your cocktail.

“This isn’t something we can just take lightly, attorney,” Mark tells you as though he’s genuinely concerned, but you call bullshit. He just doesn’t like the idea of losing his safety net from the law. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

Your brows twitch. You firmly set the glass down on the mess of a table. “It seemed personal,” you answer, pointedly. “I didn’t think it concerned the company. That’s all.”

There’s quiet. You don’t look up from your seat, pouring yourself another drink. There’s a ticking in your ear. You’re frustrated. A groan scratches out of your throat and you quickly try to wash it down with a lean glass of whiskey, but Renjun manages to snatch it out of your hands with a disappointed click of his tongue before you succeed with your attempt. 

You snap your head at him. “What the hell are you doing?” 

“Maybe you should call it a night,” says, taking out his phone. “What’s your address? I’ll book an Uber.”

“He’s right, but you shouldn’t go alone,” Mark interjects. You look at him like he’s vomiting out shit from his mouth. He ignores it and instead turns back— gaze directed to the set of seats across the room. “Jaemin, make sure she makes it back home safely.”

“What?” Your voice is a shriek. You jolt onto your feet. “I understand you’re trying to look out for your employee, but why does it have to be him?”

 Na Jaemin is already pulling on a jacket. Your bite down your lip. You already have one crazy asshole knowing where you live. You don’t need another one.

“He’s the only one capable and hadn’t had anything to drink.”

“What about Renjun!”

The man in question looks the slightest bit sorry and embarrassed. “Listen, I don’t wish upon your death, attorney, but if that threat comes tonight, I can’t protect you. I already told you that I don’t fight.”

Fucking hell. You deflate like a balloon. Mark takes your lack of further complaints as surrender and nods at Jaemin, who promptly starts ushering you out of the reserved room. “I already know that you fucking hate my guts, attorney, but now’s not the time to be picky.”

“Just take your damned orders as is like a good dog and don’t fucking talk to me.”

Frankly, you’re heated right now. That entire situation was patronizing. You can’t stomach being treated like some goddamn helpless bitch who can’t handle her own dirty laundry when you’ve been cleaning up for them for most of your fucking career. You just need time. You just need enough cards and opportunities to fuck this stalker over. It’s not beyond your capabilities. It’s not something you need a dysfunctional circus gang to fix for you.

Thankfully, your guard dog doesn’t try to pick a fight throughout the uber ride home. He’s garnered enough tact this past week to figure out your sour mood.

It’s just as quiet when you finally arrive at your building. Na Jaemin follows you all the way to the entrance. The key remains slotted into the doorhole, unturned. “What are you doing?”

You hear him scoff from beside you. “Doing my fucking job like a good dog. Your stalker left the love letter on your doorstep. You think I’d stop here?” 

“Ugh. Fine.”

Begrudgingly, you lead him up to your unit. The moment you reach the door, you spin your heels to look at him without exactly looking him in the eye. “Alright, we’re here and I’m alive and not dead. Now leave me al—”

You stop. You stop because just when you’re reaching out for your doorknob— almost relieved that you can finally rest and end the day with a shower and good night’s sleep— you notice dents on the metal that weren’t there before.

Na Jaemin notices the same thing. His brows are furrowed. He brushes your hand aside and the handle rattles with a twist. It’s unlocked. You didn’t leave it unlocked this morning. 

You remain glued to the hallway floor as you watch Na Jaemin open the door. 

The moment an opening cracks, he gets smashed on the head with your wooden counter stool and you let out a squeak and yell.

“Fucking hell!” 

“W—wait, you’re not—!”

He hisses in pain but takes less than a second to recover, grabbing onto one of the chair legs to jerk the entire thing back and reach out for the extended arm of the person wielding it before he could let go. You hear a fit of fighting grunts from inside. The chair gets dropped to the ground. Na Jaemin disappears into your apartment with the thrashing culprit, exchanging threats and swears, and it takes you a moment to get back to your senses, the thumping in your ears becoming less and less deafening, and you take your few steps inside.

To say the least, your living room is a mess.

The couch is tipped over. Your rug is in tatters. This fucker was gracious enough to spare your T.V., and your wide eyes immediately dart over to the center of it all— the sight of Na Jaemin pressing the struggling culprit against your once clean floors. 

“Fuck, let— go! Get the fuck off me! Agh—!”

“Shut the fuck up or I’ll break your fucking arms.” Na Jaemin nods his head up, not even budging. “Hey, attorney. You call the shots. What do you want me to do?”

You stare at the man underneath him— the man responsible for making the mess out of your apartment and everything that preceded this very moment. You look at his face, bunched up in rage and shame and frustration, and that’s when you recognize him: your last case at JSS. The sweet, sweet old lady you helped pen her will. The same will that disinherited her two prodigal sons. You met them before. Both of them, because your client wanted to break it to them personally even though she wasn’t legally obligated to, all because she’s such a kind person.

That same person gave birth to despicable trash like this one.

They weren’t happy to hear the news. And since their mother is still under the protection order you arranged, this guy decided that the next best thing to take his anger out on is the lawyer that helped his mother screw them over.

Na Jaemin is still waiting for your answer. The right thing to do would be to take him to the station, finally file the report so they could force an admission of guilt. There’s a CCTV camera in the hallway and even if he was covered up, there’s still clear evidence of breaking and entering on top of everything he’s done to torment you so far. That’s the right thing to do. The legal thing to do.

But right now, you’re simmering. 

No, fuck it, your blood is boiling. You shrug off your blazer and toss it as a new addition to your messed up apartment floor. You roll back your right shoulder. You take a few more steps forward, staring him down on the ground. “Hold him up,” you tell Na Jaemin. It takes a second for him to register your instruction. But when it does, you couldn’t even miss the wild grin that stretches on his face— even if you wanted to.

“Since you asked nicely,” he says with a lace of amusement, ignoring the bouts of protest from the guy when he lugs him up to his feet like a ragdoll, locking him in place with two arms, and leaving him open and vulnerable. 

The first thing you do is yank his chin up by the hair. It’s a sight to see— the sheer hatred and animosity someone is capable of mustering on their face, even when they’re at someone else’s mercy. 

It’s funny. You sneer. Then you grab the other side of his head and slam his nose into your knee.

“Fuck!”

“Son of a bitch.” You jerk his head back up, watching the blood dribble down from his nostrils. “Did you have fun pulling your dumb ass tricks?”

He lets out a pained groan, but still has the strength to shoot you a glare. You let go of his scalp to grab him by the collar so you can have a better grip of slapping him in the face.

Smack!

“Shit—”

“May life is already a living hell dealing with these Nalkeutta fuckers every single day—” 

Whack!

“And then your ugly ass rears in to make things all the more worse.”

Thwap!

“Your disinheritance is none of my fucking business.”

Slap!

“To think I was scared and paranoid for weeks and weeks and weeks because of some broke ass pathetic prick.”

Crack! Your bloodied fist draws back from his jaw. He sputters out a bubble of red. You’re practically holding him up by the stretched out collar of his shirt. 

“Hey,” you say, giving him a rattle. “What gives you the right to do all of that to me, huh? Huh?”

When he doesn’t answer, you feel a tick in your temple. You go in for another smack to his face, but it doesn’t happen.

“That’s enough.”

You’ve always thought that if Na Jaemin were to grab you by the wrist, he’d immediately snap it into two.

“You’re gonna regret it tomorrow.”

The shock from the gentle fitness of his grip sends you back to reality, and you finally feel the dull throb on the knuckles of your right hand, the sharp tingle on the skin of your palms that seeps into muscle and flesh. You let go of him. You see splotches of red all over, and the eventual sores and bruises that’ll show up by the morning. 

You call your landlady. Na Jaemin accompanies you to the station to turn your stalker in along with all the evidence you managed to acquire. Officer Jung questions the state of the perpetration, and when you chalk it up as self-defense, he doesn’t press further and simply wishes you a good rest. 

The moment you walk out into the lobby and see Na Jaemin waiting, you’re hit with an uncomfortable whiplash at the unprompted role reversal. You don’t fight him or anything when he takes you back home. All you could do was muster a quiet, “Thanks,” when he tells you that he sent over some Ganghak members to clean up the mess of your apartment in the hour and a half that you spent at the precinct.

“Mark says you don’t have to come in tomorrow,” he tells you before you go on.

“Wasn’t planning to,” is what you say before finally closing the door on him.

‎*‎

Unfortunately, Na Jaemin was right.

“Ow! Shit! Fuck me!”

You are, indeed, regretting your whole fit of violence right now— over your bathroom counter with your med kit sprawled open. Your hands are a mess. You bandage yourself up before attempting to make breakfast. The attempt ends with you hissing in pain every time you try to hold something with your right hand, so you end up ordering something to eat instead.

While waiting, you plop down on your down fixed couch to answer the flood of messages that had been coming in since last night. Mostly from Haechan. One text from Renjun checking in on you. The last few from Mark telling you to take as much time off as you need— paid, he emphasizes. His fluency in your way of communicating is starting to scare you. You tell him you’d be clocking in back to work tomorrow. 

A new notification comes in telling you that your order is almost here. You groan and peel yourself off the couch, grabbing a pair of slides from the entryway before twisting open your already unlocked door. 

The moment you breathe the hallway air, you’re met with another commotion.

“Get out! Go away!”

“Ma’am, I’m telling you I know the resident here, I’m just— ow!”

Thunk!

“Don’t you lie to me, I know Miss Attorney doesn’t have any friends or a boyfriend! Get out!”

You stop by the doorframe, taking in the sight of your middle-aged landlady beating the high and mighty Na Jaemin with a convenience store bought frying pan. He looks so distraught shielding himself with his arms, before finally noticing you, and his expression shifts. “Hey! Tell this woman to stop, I’ve been—”

Thwack!

 “Attorney!” your landlady greets you after landing another metal blow to Na Jaemin. “This weirdo has been loitering around your unit ever since I got here! Should we call the police?!”

Your eyes flit over to Jaemin. He looks annoyed and pissed and disgruntled, but apparently even someone like him won’t raise a hand against a woman old enough to be his mom. You stifle out a short sneer, then turn to your landlady with a smile. “Ahjumma, it’s alright, he’s my co-worker,” you assure. “He’s the one who helped me last night.”

You hear him scoff. “Oh,” your landlady gasps. “I’m so sorry, dear. You just looked awfully suspicious.” Then she quickly forgets about him to address you instead. “I already called a repairman to fix your broken door. They’ll be here before lunchtime.”

“Thank you. I’ll handle it from here!”

“Take care, dear. Have a lovely morning.”

When she goes off up the staircase, you look at the weirdo loitering around your unit. You cross your arms, brow raised. “What do you want?”

He stares you down, and you catch his mouth twitch when he lets out an incredulous huff. “Your damn landlady should get heating in the hallway. My back’s all sore and all I get in return is attitude,” he snarks. “Can’t believe you had a good night’s sleep even with your lock broken after the shit that went down. I don’t know if you’re brave or fucking stupid.”

You’re hit by a sudden pang against your chest. Oh. Oh. You notice he’s still wearing the same clothes as yesterday. You let his insult slide this time, telling him to follow you downstairs to pick up your food. It’s a good thing you ordered enough for two meals today. You don’t thank him. Instead, you invite him in for a doenjang-jjigae breakfast.

“Want coffee?”

“You gonna spit in it?” he chides from the dining table.

“Just say no, you prick,” you grunt, dragging out a pitcher of water from your fridge instead and slamming it down onto the table. You’re starting to second guess your act of gratitude. You should’ve just let your landlady beat him to death with the pan.

He pours water into the two empty glasses while you struggle to open the delivery bags and containers. You curse the plastic knot getting in the way of your doenjang-jjigae, hissing every time the plastic brushes against your still raw skin despite the bandages. Na Jaemin seems to notice your struggle because he clicks his tongue and snatches it from you to do it himself. Your face grows hot. Your pride is in tatters.

You two start eating in silence. God, this is so fucking awkward. “So, uh,” you try to crack it. “The food is…great…right…?”

“Cut the shit, attorney. Just spit it out.”

“Jeez, fine, alright,” you set your utensils down a little too aggressively, and you feel the sting deep within your palms. Your glare zeroes in on the spot on his head that you recall getting ambushed by your counter stool. “Is your head fine? It didn’t bleed or anything, right?”

He just shrugs and continues slurping down the soup. “I’ve had my head split open before. It’s no biggie.”

You stare at him. Was…was that supposed to be a brag? How many concussions has he had? Is that the reason why there’s a screw loose in there somewhere? He’s so fucking insane.

“You worried, or some shit?” He sets down his spoon to fish out a ply of tissue from the box on your table, dabbing away at the shit-eating smile on his face. “That’s cute. Does it mean you don’t hate my fucking guts anymore?”

The tofu you’re trying to eat stops midway into your throat. My god, you didn’t expect him to take that note so seriously. 

You swallow it down with water. “I just wanted to know if I had to reimburse you for any hospital bills,” you explain, somewhat defensive. “I still hate your fucking guts.” His past transgressions aside because he can’t even fucking remember them. “You were the shittiest and most stressful client I’ve ever had and I will hold this grudge until I die. I would’ve dropped your case if Mark’s very existence wasn’t a threat to my life.” All he does is cackle in response. You leer at him. “Fuck off, you treated me like crap then. I don’t get why you’ve been changing your tune lately. It’s throwing me off. Why the hell did you even help me?”

The ideas that Renjun and Haechan injected into your poor brain start to surface. Maybe he’s just doing it to get your attention. Everyone in the office knows he has a crush on you. You hope that’s not the case. You really hope it’s not— and now’s the opportunity to finally get the real answer.

Your heart is thumping like crazy waiting for Na Jaemin to open his dumb mouth. “Ah. The visiting room,” he starts, eyes wandering up like he’s reminiscing a pleasant memory. You don’t share the same sentiment and your expression sours. “I thought you were a pushover at first and it annoyed the hell out of me. Not a big fan of spinelessness and cowardice.”

Wow. You’re speechless. He’s this close to getting kicked out.

“But then you pulled me into that room during recess in court.” 

His eyes flicker over to you— forcing the eye contact that you’d always been running away from. The look on his face forces a lump in your throat. You gulp it down and feel a rattle in your bones. What is this? What’s his deal? Is he trying to fight? What in the name of—

“And then I realized just the kind of woman I was into.”

—fuck?

“Last night, too. But it would’ve been pretty inappropriate to tell you I was turned on considering the situation.”

You blink. You gape at him. You’re not sure if your face is steaming because of anger or embarrassment, so you chalk it up as both. 

“Get out.”

This is it. This is enough. It’s time to call it a day.

“Get out of my house.”

“I’m not done eating ye—”

You grab his glass of water and douse it over half-eaten stew, some of which spills and splatters over him. “Yes, you are. Out. Now.”

Na Jaemin lifts his brows and raises his hands up in surrender as he gets up from his chair without protest, an infuriating simper playing on his face, and it just all the more pisses you off. He makes a comment about your broken door lock before you tell him to fuck off and shove him out into the hallway, his cackles finally get muted the moment you slam the door into his face.

You press your back against the wood. You suck in a deep breath before releasing it as you slide down to the floor.

“This is nuts.”

Seems like you might need another day off. You text Mark that you’ll be coming in on Thursday instead.

fire and brimstone (and you’re a moth made of gasoline). © hannie-dul-set, 2025.

[jenoyeahh]

everytime there's a new update it feels like Christmas to me, yipppeeeee, yesssss yn get them bitches under your feet

cackling at jaemin’s crush and how all of them knew and seeing his kindergarten approach. what would he do when he found out about their highschool history

also wondering what the office thought of the two lunatics did they made a bet about them two will they wont they, i know i would, they're probably the only romance gossip fodder sksksk

thank you for writing and sharing! 😊

[kongjjen]

BOYS DON'T CRY! ✶ mark lee

SYNOPSIS: you never believed in taking breaks, but a series of small happenings led to mark breaking your trust, and you couldn't take it anymore. far and away from each other, you try to sort your thoughts before it's too late, if it isn't already. — and they say that boys don't cry, except this one does.

PAIRING: boyfriend!mark x female reader

GENRE: angst, established relationship, hurt and comfort, fluff

WORD COUNT: 10k

FEATURING: jaemin, renjun, choi yena as jaemin's girlfriend, brief appearance of haechan and jeno

CONTAINS: mentions of emotional cheating, breakup, mentions and use of alcohol, depressive episodes. dismissal and avoidance of feelings, emotional despair.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: huge thank you to the anon who dropped by expressing their need for some markie hurt & comfort <3 the idea of mark devastated and crying fuelled my inspiration, so i hope you'll enjoy reading this <3 of course meelings are open and PLEASE come talk to me! ᴖ ᴈ ᴖ   

©️ KONGJJEN 2024 - 2025. all rights reserved. do not copy, translate or repost any of my works.

You knew this was bound to happen. You look at Mark, who’s standing in the middle of the living room in your studio apartment, his jaw set and his muscles tensed, yet his eyes are so full of emotion, and it has you gulping because you know that if you keep standing like this, looking at him just standing there and looking at you the way he is — it’s going to ruin you and the last grams of self respect you have left in you.

So you avert your gaze, looking somewhere behind him so you won’t be distracted as you finally make up your mind. There’s no going back.

“I think we should take a break,” you mumble, and a lump sets in your throat.

The world around you stills for a few moments, with your heart threatening to burst in your chest and your ears ringing waiting for your boyfriend’s reply, you try to swallow the lump in your throat.

“Y/n, don’t do this,” he warns, but his tone isn’t upset. It’s raw with emotion as his voice trembles, and you finally find it in you to look at him, “You know we don’t believe in breaks,” he tries to convince you, and you agree with his statement but you warned him about all the small things in the past months, and you knew this was bound to happen. 

“Y/n, please,” his voice trembles as he pleads, taking a few steps around the couch to be closer to you, except you move backwards, until your back touches the counter of your small kitchen, making him halt his steps. The look in his eyes is full of worries, they’re shadowed by fear, by heartbreak, “If we do this, there’s no going back,” he tries, moving one hand pointing at the two of you, respecting the clear stance you just made by putting space between the two of you. “I love you, please don’t do this,” his voice breaks, and a closer look to his face makes you realise his eyes are brimming with tears.

You close your eyes immediately, reaching behind you with one hand, trying to steady yourself by gripping the kitchen counter. You hate seeing him crying, because he’s always been one of the strongest people you’ve known and he was the one who always consoled you. 

You open your eyes, and you feel your eyes swelling with the pressure of tears building up. You look at him — he’s biting his bottom lip, look of devastation making his features sharper. 

“I love you too,” the words leaving your lips are barely a whisper, but he hears you nonetheless, seeing him nodding your way and expecting you to call off the whole taking a break thing. “But I also love myself, Mark,” your voice is slightly louder, because this is something you’re not playing about anymore, “I love you so much, but I need to love myself as well, and I’m putting myself first because we talked about these issues before, apparently to no use,” 

You see Mark bringing a hand up to ruffle his hair, his gaze not leaving yours, as he registers your words and their meaning. “I promise nothing happened,” he shakes his head, the lump in his throat getting bigger and bigger and he thinks he’ll ruin your beautiful carpet soon.

“Stop!” You raise your voice, and you can’t control your tears any longer, “Stop saying this to me! I feel like an idiot because I always believe you, but you always betray my trust!” You’re accusing him, and you don’t like this side of you but you’ve had enough of this. “I warned you about her and you dismissed my worries every single time!” Your voice is full of newfound courage, your tone accusatory, and you hate how the way he’s looking at you right now is making you doubt your choice and your words.

“I never cheated on you, I swear,” he tries to reassure you, and his words only make your tears stain your cheeks faster. “Y/n, I would never do that to you,” he tries again, and after seeing how you’re not responding, he goes on, “I’m not that kind of scumbag, I love you too much,”

And you sigh, closing your eyes, and feeling an incoming splitting headache making your temples throb. 

“We need a break from each other, we have a lot of things to think about,” you start again, and Mark feels like you’re not listening to him or to yourself. His heart starts racing and there’s a strange feeling pooling in the pit of his stomach, and the fear of losing you it’s driving him insane.

He respects your choice of avoiding him physically, and he doesn’t even think about invading your personal space right now, knowing that he’d worsen the whole situation by crossing your boundary, especially because he can literally see you putting up an emotional wall, and denying him access.

You look at him, his disheveled self, and you see him getting paler and paler the more your eyes are set on him. There are tears running down his face right now, and he tries his best not to let out a sob as realisation sinks in. You’re serious about this. 

“If we do this, there’s no going back,” he repeats himself, in a last attempt to convince you to give up this idea.

But you stand your ground, and you once again avert your gaze. If you look at him any longer you’ll give in, and so many things have happened that you feel you can’t allow yourself to be this stupid and give in just because it’s Mark.

It’s Mark, the only man you’ve ever really loved, that made you realise what falling in love meant. Mark, who held your head while you cried and rubbed your tummy every time you were bedridden by period cramps. Mark, that wiped your tears with his t-shirts and blew your nose with the sleeves of his hoodies. Mark, who broke your trust after becoming too close to a co-worker. And what hurts you the most is the fact that you warned him about this, about your hunch, and he dismissed you every single time.

You’re doing this for yourself, but also for him. Maybe he’ll realise his mistakes, or maybe he’ll just give up and he’ll start a new life, with no trace of you in it. And if that happens, maybe it was always meant for it to happen.

“Mark, I need you to leave,” you tell him, and your tears are flowing freely, yet you still manage to contain the sobs that you so desperately need to let out past your lips. 

Mark closes his eyes, and you see him taking a few seconds to take big breaths. He nods, looking around for his jacket discarded on the couch, and he walks slowly towards the front door. You don’t look at him, you don’t find it in you to give him one last look, because you know it will haunt you forever. So you just watch the spot he stood in a few seconds ago, waiting for him to get out of your apartment.

“Call me, yeah?” He whispers, and you can see him with the corner of your eye as he’s stopping himself from getting out the door to look at you, to take you in one last time, “I love you,”

And the door doesn’t slam, doesn’t creak, doesn’t swish when he closes it after himself, leaving you all alone with your thoughts and the realisation of what just happened finally hitting you.

Everything in your studio apartment reminds you of him. He’s present in every corner you look, his scent fills the air, lingers on your sheets and pillows, his towel is still touching yours by the shower. His toothbrush is propped against yours, his slippers are scattered by the front door just the way he left them the night you told him to leave, your set of keys to his apartment resting in the bowl by the entrance. 

Your chest tightens looking at the keyring that he chose for you, a small Spiderman figure dangling alongside the keys to his apartment. You still remember how you chose a miffy one for his keys to your apartment, finding it extremely cute how a token of your favourite things get to be with each other all the time, like a part of you is there to be a reminder of how close you are, the domesticity between the two of you even if you don’t live together. The girly trinket hanging from his set of keys always made your heart melt whenever you caught a glimpse of them — seeing a man like Mark fishing for his keys with miffy attached to them made your heart lurch in your chest.

While you’re left to look at Spiderman, and you’re short of breath remembering you might not use these keys ever again.

His shower gel stays unmoving in your shower, his razor and aftershave lotion catch dust in your cabinet by your skincare, where they look so misplaced between the many products wrapped in such pretty and girly packaging. But they’re a part of you and a part of your space, and you don’t have it in you to move anything of his away from their spots.

Mark’s presence is felt everywhere in your apartment, and so is his absence. No more loud laughing, no more gossiping sessions during which he backs you up even if you’re wrong, only for him to tell you twenty minutes later that you were kinda wrong. No more binge watching a show in one night and no more him coming up to you with a recipe he found on social media that looked just too good, asking you if it would be alright for you to cook it someday. 

No more hurried showers together, no more kissing in the middle of the steam of the scorching showers that you take, that have his skin redden because he always takes cold showers instead. No more hands lingering between your bodies and no more kisses traveling down on your skin. 

The first two days into this break and things were relatively alright, but only because it was the weekend, and you spent two days rotting in bed with your feet only walking you to the bathroom and then back to bed. And when the workweek began, you had to brace yourself for impact, because every single thing you saw around on the street or at work that reminded you of him, you had to stop yourself from taking pictures to send to Mark so he could see as well. No more ‘outfit of the day’ pictures in the morning or selfies during your breaks, no more ‘thank you’ texts and no more ‘I love you’s’ sent randomly. 

On tuesday you had to refrain from texting him about your co-worker, the one you can’t get along with, to let him know what had happened and how it had gone down, just to have him backing you up. 

On wednesday it hit you, when it became hard to get out of bed in the morning. The lack of sleep, the lack of appetite, and the apathy you found yourself in made you miserable, not to talk about just how much you missed Mark. He tried reaching out a few times by calling you, yet you looked at the screen and then at how the call went unanswered, prompting him to call you once again. He always called you twice, knowing you might not always hear it or feel it vibrating on whatever surface it is on around you apartment. But you never picked up. You needed your space away from him, because the small conflicts that led to you taking this decision really hurt you, and you needed the distance.

And truth be told, you warned him. You asked him every single time and you confronted him, not wanting to be jealous or toxic, because it was better to talk it out and settle things once and for all, only for him to dismiss your worries. And look where it got him, where it got the two of you.

He met her at work, and you noticed her in his comment section on instagram whenever he posted something with only himself in the picture, never the ones with you, but you turned a blind eye, because Mark never gave you any reason to be jealous or worried about a possible lack of loyalty from his side. Then you noticed the pictures together during the company dinner, when she was a little too close to him, grin plastered on her face as she leaned on your boyfriend’s shoulder, and that’s the first time you opened up about it to him.

“Baby, you have absolutely nothing to worry about!” He reassured you, and you threw a skeptical look his way. “She’s a coworker and she’s friendly to everyone else as well,” his tone was airy, nonchalant, and he kissed you to ease your worries. 

So that time you shut your mouth, thinking there’s no way you’re letting this girl you don’t even know ruin your confidence or setting jealousy or insecurity in your bones. Until you met her.

For Jaemin’s surprise birthday party, which his girlfriend organised, inviting everyone from work too. And it was only normal for her to be there too, since Mark and Jaemin worked together. You observed her, discreetly of course. She might have been friendly to everyone else, but she didn’t lean on any other man present at the party, and you definitely saw how she avoided Mark when he was next to you. She only talked to you once that night, and you swear her eyes sparkled with something malicious, but you didn’t bring it up to your boyfriend, only telling him that you have a hunch, and that he should really trust you on this.

You turned a blind eye every time he brought her name up in conversations, and the times you couldn’t take it anymore you spoke openly about it with Mark, who seemed to partially understand what you meant, but he still dismissed your worries.

And thank goodness for your hunch, thank goodness for believing your instincts, because that feeling in your guts was never wrong. Generally a woman’s hunch makes no mistakes, especially when it comes to women like her who aren’t even trying to hide it. 

Mark was the confirmation in flesh and bones, because you noticed how he stopped talking to you about stuff. He no longer had that sparkle in his eyes while telling you something that had happened to him, or talking to you about new books he wanted to read and what activities for the weekend he wanted to get to do with you. The weekend activities started disappearing entirely, with Mark telling you he was drained and he didn’t want to spend his free time outside the house anymore. 

Mark stopped caring, stopped seeing the signs that things were starting to change when it came to you, and he started avoiding communicating. He lost the spark from his eyes, those beautiful eyes, and you still convinced yourself it wasn’t because of her. Because Mark reassured you, and you blamed all the changes on him being a workaholic on the brim of burnout. 

It took Jaemin’s girlfriend unexpectedly calling you, for you to really open your eyes. Yena was nice, Jaemin introduced her to both you and Mark and their other friends a couple of years ago, and you wouldn’t say you are best friends but you definitely are close to each other — maybe not in the ‘I’ll help you bury a body if you need me to’ type of close, but definitely in the ‘hey, watch out for that bitch because I’ve heard something from Jaemin and I felt like I needed to tell you’ type of close.

“Jaemin agreed to let me come to you, because he feels uncomfortable with everything going on,” Yena explained to you, not touching the iced coffee you bought for her before she showed up. 

“Is he sure?” You asked, biting on your bottom lip, but you couldn’t resist the curiosity. Everything Yena told you, that she knew from Jaemin, was a confirmation of everything you had your doubts on already, everything that was previously dismissed by your boyfriend. 

“Yes,” Is the only thing Yena managed to answer, not knowing what else to tell you, or how to sugarcoat it. 

“Thank you, to both you and Jaemin,” you mumble, and you can’t find it in you to fake being your normal self. 

What Yena told you started eating at you immediately, the anger of betrayal eating at you while also making you feel incredibly anxious of what you’ve just discovered. 

Mark didn’t physically cheat on you, but he did have an emotional affair with his coworker, and it is just as bad. The sparkle in Mark’s eye was gone because another woman had already seen it, the way Mark didn’t have enough energy to entertain you because he had spent it all on another woman. And it made you sick. It made you want to scream, it made you want bawl in the middle of the cafeteria, and although Yena could see your eyes lost yet still getting all puffy from the tears you were keeping at bay, she didn’t say anything.

A week after your and Mark’s break started, you started feeling everything ten times worse than you did before. During days you kept busy with work, but nights were the worst. Although you and Mark didn’t live together, you spent every night together, either at his or at your place. You’re now alone and all by yourself in an apartment that still smells like him one week after he’s last stepped foot in here, you’re engulfed by his scent, and you toss and turn into bed only to feel it even stronger on your pillows. The pillow he used to sleep on now a souvenir of the way the two of you were before, and while you hug his pillow to your chest, his scent lingers in your nose like it’s the only smell you’ve ever known.

Getting straight to bed after you’re done with work, phone on ‘do not disturb’, tossing and turning into bed while you try to get to sleep, seem like the perfect things to do, especially because you need a break from your own racing thoughts, from your own feelings. A very atypical friday night for you, but this is what you have to work with at the moment.

You flinch the moment you doorbell rings, and panic starts to settle in as you think it’s some unwanted visitor, which you’re really not in the mood for because not only do you look like a mess — tired and pale, — but so does your apartment, that has been your depression pit for the past week.

Your steps are cautious as you approach the from door, lights still off in case it really is an unwanted visitor and you need to fake not being home, and you peek through the peep hole, but your brows furrow with confusion, and you turn the lights on with a swift motion of your hand before unlocking the door.

“Hi, I didn’t order anything,” you let the delivery guy know as soon as you open the door, and he looks over the receipt stapled to the brown bag.

“I’m sorry, but this is the right address,” he explains, and the look on your face makes him throw another look at the receipt. “It says here it’s for Y/n… has already been payed for,” he seems to get tired of your cluelessness, so you pick the brown bag up and take it to the kitchen, and when you take the contents of the bag out to sprawl on the kitchen table, it dawns on you.

Friday nights are for Chinese food, a tradition you and Mark established very early on into your relationship, and you look at the receipt to make sure this isn’t just in your head. 

Your name is written on the receipt and the note stapled to the bag, and tears form in your eyes knowing that Mark ordered you food, because despite being apart from each other, it still is friday night. The bag contains dumplings — his favourite, — and spring rolls, your favourite.

There’s a lump forming in your throat as you think of Mark’s gesture, but your stomach growls as soon as you open the containers full of food, and it seems like Mark knew you weren’t taking care of yourself well enough.

You take a bite from one dumpling, and you force yourself to chew. Tears start streaming down your face before you can even think to stop them, and feeling the familiar taste of the food has the lump in your throat making it very hard to swallow your bite, — which consequently leads you to put your food down when you feel a sob suffocating you. The familiarity of the meal is almost made unbearable by the atypical silence that’s haunting your place, and your heart can’t help but break inside your chest as you think of Mark, and you hope he’s doing better than you are.

By the time the second week since you decided on taking this break from Mark comes to an end, you’ve changed the sheets. And another piece of Mark’s presence was gone from your life.

Mark’s not sure how he got home that night. He wandered the streets of your neighbourhood hoping for you to call him and to tell him you changed your mind, and that it’s best to talk it out. But your call never came, and he sat down on a curb crying like a little kid the more he spent outside in the cold.

He must have blacked out the moment his tired body hit the bed many hours later, when exhaustion finally took its toll on him. He’s also not sure how he managed to get through that weekend, but one thing is certain, he took a whole week off from work.

He’s so upset with himself, he’s so upset with the entire world — which only makes him want to isolate himself from everyone. He kept hoping he’ll see your contact picture popping up on his screen, and he decided maybe he should be the one to reach out first. Mark’s heart fell to his stomach the more time passed and the only thing greeting his hearing was the dialling tone instead of your sweet voice.

He knows you set a boundary by deciding to go on a break, yet he can’t shake all the anxiety away, knowing all the discussions the two of you had about how you both believed taking breaks meant actually breaking up but it’s just a way of sugarcoating it. 

Staying away from you, knowing and admitting what led up to this makes him feel short of breath, and a sob escapes past his lips even before he can register he’s crying in the first place. Something inside of Mark’s chest hurts when he remembers all the times you brought the issue up to his attention, and he dismissed every single one of your worries like the biggest idiot he is.

But to his defence, Mark wasn’t aware this emotional cheating was a thing, and he thought you were being jealous for some inexplicable reason. He should have listened to you, because he loves you so much, and he should have trusted you and your judgement, because look where all this dismissal and avoiding got him.

He loves you so much, he never thought he’ll go through this with you, he never thought he’ll break your trust and heart the way he did. You’re the best thing that happened to him and realising he might never hear from you again has his head falling into his hands. 

Mark becomes the shadow of the man he once was, appetite and will to just exist long gone. How will he manage to be without you, when he found your trinkets resting on his desk and tears suffocated him to the point of letting out sobs? Looking at your little Hirono figure that you gave him to bring him luck at work, has a lump forming in his throat.

He’s lost in his misery every time he wears his hoodies and t-shirts scattered around the house, because the collar smells so unapologetically like you, and realising this is the last bit of you he has around makes him sleep in all those clothes of his that you’ve worn recently. It’s the last palpable thing he has of you, and he can’t let go of them. Yes, he has the trinkets, and yes, he has the books and everything else in his apartment reminding him of you, because everything you touched was now marked by your presence. 

Your perfume clinging to the collar of his shirts is the last thing he has to remember your body by. There’s a shape of you in his bed, and he now sleeps on your designated side just to feel a bit better and not like his heart is literally trying to crawl out of his chest to get to you. He sleeps with one of those garments nearby, because he can’t hold you, but your scent still present and lingering on his pieces of clothing brings him a bit of comfort, like you’re there with him, and he’s sticking to your warm sleeping figure like he always does, not knowing what personal space is whenever you’re around.

Mark regrets everything he’s done to hurt you, everything he’s done to break your heart. A few more days being away from you and he felt like calling you again, but instead he bit his lips and he switched his phone off, not in the mood to see anybody else calling him, because he’s certain you won’t be one of them.

You made your stance clear, yet it breaks him to know you don’t want to talk about it, because in all honesty you kept trying for the past months, only for him to basically tell you that it was all in your head, and now that he wants to talk and he’ll hear you crystal clear, it’s too late. It’s always too late.

Mark used to judge men who couldn’t keep their relationships by fucking up. ‘How hard can it be to be genuine to each other?’ He always wondered with acerbic judgement, yet look at him know, hanging to everything his girlfriend’s ever touched like he’ll forget who she is and how she looks like if he doesn’t.

Nearly a week into this break and Mark thinks he started hallucinating. 

He lays in his bed, wearing his green hoodie, the one you always stole away from him, when he thinks he hears knocking on his door. He thinks he might be going insane, all the knocking feels like it’s far away, echoing in his ears as he rests his heavy head on your designated pillow. The more the knocking persists, the closer the sound feels in his ears, and it eventually brings him back to reality, making him shudder as he wakes up.

He drags his feet to the front door, not even peeping to check who the visitor at his door is, and he opens his door, the motion making his dishevelled hair move on his forehead.

Jaemin walks in, already knowing his way around the apartment. He’s carrying a brown bag in his right hand, a coffee carrier with two tall cups in the other. He’s standing in the middle of the living room, looking concerned around himself, knowing that Mark is not the type of guy who’s messy, but right now his place looks like a pigsty.

Mark is sitting on the couch, one leg bouncing, waiting for his friend to open his mouth. He’s averting his gaze, almost like he knows the look Jaemin’s sporting right now, and he prefers to look at the spot on the floor you usually sit down in while eating in the living room with him, binge watching a new series that you can’t just pause in favour of eating in the kitchen.

Jaemin raises his brows swiftly, getting rid of any emotion that might betray just how concerned he is, because he’s not here to nag, but he’s here to check on his friend and make sure he’s safe and sound.

“So,” Jaemin clears his throat, but he doesn’t move from his spot in the middle of the living room, “I called you a lot these days, but you never answered,” 

Mark nods, leg still bouncing betraying his nerves. He only switched his phone back on once a day, usually at night, to check if you had contacted him. No other text was important, not the four hundred missed calls from his friends when they realised he was unreachable. 

“Have you,” Mark gulps, his throat suddenly dry, and he finally raises his tired gaze to look for Jaemin’s, whose is already eagerly looking at him like he’s eating up every single bit of this interaction, “Have you heard from Y/n?” You are his main concern, he needs to know you’re at least doing better than him, because while he’s here repenting for everything he’s ever done to hurt you, you only need to think if he’s worth the while after all.

Jaemin shakes his head, lips pressed in a thin line, “She hasn’t reached out to anybody,” Jaemin confirms to him, and Mark wants to ask him to make sure you’re alright, to take care of you — but he ends up swallowing his words, and he only nods as a reply.

Jaemin looks around himself one more time, and then at Mark, who’s known for not being a messy person. Clothes scattered everywhere around the room, the apartment’s a mess. One look at Mark and he can tell he’s been going through it, his hair is disheveled, he hasn’t shaved in days, and his eyes are tired and puffy from all the crying Jaemin is sure these walls have been witness to.

“I brought you food, I was worried about you,” Jaemin shakes both his hands, the ice inside the tall cups of coffee making noise. “Man, you also need to do your laundry,” he rasps, not able to stop himself, “What’s all this?” He points at the few t-shirts and hoodies scattered messily on the couch and any other surface in the living room. Jaemin is sure the bedroom looks even worse, if the living room is presenting itself in these conditions. Thank goodness Mark doesn’t cook because the hairs on the back of Jaemin’s neck stand up immediately thinking of the additional mess, that would officially make this place ready to be burned down instead of cleaned.

“It’s Y/n,” Mark mumbles, bringing the collar of his hoodie up to his nose, hiding half of his face in it.

Jaemin looks confused. Is this the place where you’ve broken up with him? Did you perhaps raid it out of spite? But you’re so sweet and an angel, really, he can’t see you doing this type of stuff.

“Y/n? But this is all your stuff laying around,” Jaemin mumbles, furrowing his eyebrows. He really can’t understand.

“How can I do my laundry when these are the only things left for me to remember her by?” Mark’s voice breaks, and so does Jaemin’s heart while looking at his friend. “How would I ever go on with my life if I don’t have her by my side, Jaemin?"

Mark inhales sharply before squinting his eyes, and his bottom lip starts quivering. His head falls into his hands, and silent sobs are making his shoulders shake. 

Jaemin takes pity on him and, after placing the bags on the coffee table, he sits down on the couch next to his friend. He pats Mark’s back, trying to comfort him, only for then to literally drag him into his embrace, because he knows Mark needs this right now.

He just hopes you’re doing better than Mark, because it’s only been a few days, but seeing Mark’s condition has worry creeping up his spine, and his concerns suddenly know no bounds.

It’s been four weeks — almost a month — since you took a break from your relationship with Mark. 

You miss him every day, and your apartment has never been this quiet ever since you moved in, a couple of years ago. But you’ve grown strangely accustomed to the silence. 

Every single item of Mark’s is still in the same place he left them in. Except for the cleaning up you had to do around the apartment, the sheets and towels that needed to be changed, you didn’t touch anything of his. 

Mark is in everything around you, everything you notice, everything you see and touch. He’s in the Andy Williams vinyl, he’s in the sunny side up eggs you sometimes find yourself craving late at night, he’s in the morning coffee and in the late night hot showers. His presence is felt every time you walk by the convenience store around the corner as you make your way home after work, but where you don’t stop anymore because every time you did, it was to get him something. Yet in the last few weeks you didn’t have much of an appetite. 

He’s in everything you spot that’s blue — his favourite colour. He’s in every single thing around you somehow, and so is his absence. 

You didn’t keep up with your friends that much. You spoke to Yena a couple of times, Jaemin called once to ask for a film you had recommended him two years ago and you never managed to convince him to watch it, so you’re sure he only called to sense your mood and to check on you without him having to directly tell you that’s what he was doing. And with the others, they checked on you but you only told them not to worry about you, through text.

You took your distance from all of them , because they might be your friends, but they were Mark’s first. And you would never put them between you and Mark, like children between divorced parents. During this break they should be of support to Mark, even if you’re not sure how he’s doing and if he needs any of them to be there for him. He might be doing just well and you’re here worrying about him — and you have a clear answer as to why that is.

You’re extremely surprised to see Renjun’s contact picture popping up on your screen during your lunch break. You want to ignore it, you want to send him a text in maybe five minutes to tell him you’re in a meeting, but you’re sure he knows your schedule already and he’s aware that you’re on a break right now, and that throwing a lame excuse through text would be absolute bullshit. 

And there’s also a bit of anxiety that’s settling in the pit of your stomach, knowing that he might be calling for an important reason, but then you remember his birthday is in a few days, so you sigh and pick up the call.

“I honestly thought I had to show up to your workplace to talk to you,” he nags as soon as he hears the call going through, “I know you’re on a break right now, Y/n,” 

You sigh, “But I picked up, didn’t I?” 

“It took you a long time, though,” he retorts, sighing. You know there’s no winning when it comes to Renjun, he’ll always be the one winning in the end, “What are your plans for today?” 

You bite your lip, “Home, probably to sleep,” you lie. You haven’t been able to sleep more than two hours a night, and you’re not sure how you’re surviving. 

“Great,” his response is dry, like that’s exactly what he needed to hear you say, “You know how my birthday’s in three day, right?” He asks, and you hum, already having a faint idea about where this conversation is headed. “Come to my birthday dinner tonight,” he’s demanding, and you know it’s hard to refuse him.

You sigh, bringing a hand to you temple to massage it slowly, “I don’t know if I can come, Renj-”

“Mark won’t be here,” he interrupts, already knowing your real reason for refusing.

“He won’t?” You gulp, straightening your back, your ears ringing as you wait for his reply.

He tsks, and you can envision him shaking his head, “He said he prefers knowing you were the one having a good time,” there’s something he wants to add, but he hesitates.

“What?” Your voice is high in pitch, and your heart sinks to your stomach thinking of Mark choosing not to be with his friends tonight, so you could be the one going instead, “Renjun I don’t thi-”

“You said you weren’t doing anything tonight so just come by, for a drink at least!” He’s using his authoritarian voice on you, and you know he’ll start cussing at you soon if you go on to make him angry.

“Okay, okay,” you close your eyes, because you feel so many emotions right now that you might start crying, “I’ll come for a quick drink, just text me the details,”

You feel the familiar lump in your throat once again, and it’s like it is already a part of you, with the amount of times you felt it in the past weeks. You stand to your feet, leaving your cubicle behind, and you feel your bottom lip quiver as you make your way towards the restroom.

By the time you enter one of the stalls, tears are already streaming down your face, and you sit on one of the toilets to let all the tears flow freely. You feel like you’re suffocating trying to contain the sobs stuck in your throat, and there’s an ache inside your chest at the thought of Mark. You’ve never felt this broken, this devastated, and you tried coming to reason that maybe being far and away from him is the best thing for you right now, but you feel like you’re torturing yourself. You’ve never been this miserable, so alone.

The loneliness made your ears ring every single time you heard your neighbours laughing or just talking loudly in the building’s hallways. The loneliness physically hurt you every time you laid into bed alone, your muscles aching to be squeezed in the usual warm embrace your body knew so well.

Maybe time will heal your wounds, and maybe time will make it all better. Eventually you’ll stop feeling like a ghost roaming around pretending you’re living your life to the fullest — without the man you were once sure was the love of your life.

The rapid steps you take as you walk your way towards the address Renjun texted you earlier are making your cheeks warm up. You’re a bit late, even if usually you’re not the type, but today you stopped by some shops, buying some flowers and a small gift for Renjun’s birthday, even if he did invite you last minute. 

Your nostrils flare at the smell of grilled meat and delicious sautéed vegetables you sense once you enter the restaurant, telling the waiter your friends are already here.

The moment they spot you, everyone greets you, their gaze following your every move as you embrace the birthday boy.

“I’m sorry for being late,” you mumble against his shoulder as he squeezes you in his arms, and your eyes are glossy at the contact, and even if these aren’t the arms you wanted around your figure right now, they’re still nice to feel especially after the tough time you’ve been having. “These are for you,” you hand him the bouquet and the small bag you’ve been carrying around town, “It’s not much, but it’s your birthday and I stopped by some shops on my way here,”

Renjun kisses your cheek, and he takes a good look at you, eyes scanning your features before he shows you to your seat.

You sit down between Yena and Haechan, and the lump in your throat is once again present knowing you’re sitting next to your boyfriend’s bestest of friends. He should be the one here, sitting in your spot right now, enjoying his friends’ company. Not you. 

Guilt eats at you and you feel pressure building behind your eyes once again. Like a sign that he knows you’re not feeling your best and that he’s slightly aware of what’s going on with you and what’s happening inside your mind right now, you feel Haechan’s hand patting your back, and you gulp at the feeling of his very warm hand on your cold body. 

He gives you a warm and reassuring smile as he pours you a glass of wine, and you try your best to calm your nerves. 

Conversations start awkwardly as you chat with Yena and then with Jeno who’s sitting across from you, giving you his signature smile more often than usual, and you have a faint idea why that is. No one talks about Mark, like he’s the unnameable, like they’re doing you a favour not bringing him up, and you’re once again uneasy being around them, guilt making your insides churn.

You don’t stay much longer, blaming the fact that you have an important meeting tomorrow — which is totally a lie, but you have to get out of here because you don’t want to ruin the mood of the dinner, and something tells you that everyone really sees through you tonight, and even if Renjun and Jaemin do their best trying to convince you to stay a bit longer, to make you eat something at least, you decline nonetheless.

“Y/n, wait!” Someone shouts after you as you start walking away from the restaurant. And you turn around to see Jaemin jogging towards you and giving you a smile once he reaches you, “How… how have you been?” He asks, his tone genuine, “You know what I actually mean,” he makes sure you got everything that his question implies right. 

You take a big breath, wrapping your arms around your body, “Like shit, to be honest,” you’re truly honest, and he can tell by the way you avert your gaze, looking at something on the ground, eyes all droopy. “How-” you open your mouth, but your throat becomes dry and you have to pause, “How is Mark doing?”

Jaemin smooshes his lips in a thin line, and he puts his hands inside the pockets of his jeans. He ran after you to talk to you about this whole situation, and now you’re here making it easier for him.

“I haven’t seen him in a few weeks,” he admits, but to his defence, it only happened because Mark agreed to call Jaemin once in a while so his friend could check on him without having to show up, “He didn’t speak to the others, so I’m the only one who’s still in contact with him,”

“What?” You furrow your brows confused. Mark loves his friends, and to know he’s gone no contact with them it’s making your heart race.

“Mark…” Jaemin has to make a pause, and he brings a hand to his hair, fingers combing through the strands, “Mark quit his job,” 

“He what?” You nearly shout, and you have to seal your lips not to ask a billion other questions.

He nods, gulping, “I think it was after the first week into your break, he just showed up to have a talk with the managers and to take his things,” you can’t believe Jaemin’s words, and your eyes are starting to brim with tears for the second time today — and then there’s the night awaiting, and you’re not sure how many times you’ll have to dry them off your face.

“I know this is tough for you, and taking this decision wasn’t easy. I would never want to be in your shoes and be forced to recur to something like this, but please Y/n, if you can find it in yourself to take a decision soon, for your own good as well as his. You two can’t go on like this,” he brings both his hands up to squeeze your arms, “I know it’s tough, but you’re the one who has all the power right now,”

Jaemin’s words echo in your head, and he holds you in his arms as he pats your head, encouraging you to let it all out. Once again, the arms engulfing you in a hug are not the ones you need, but you feel secure and for the first time in the last four weeks, you feel ready for closure. 

Mark’s not sure how he got through the last weeks since he last saw you, since he last heard your voice in person. He finds himself looking through his phone almost every night, listening to your voice messages, watching all the videos you sent each other, even checking the shared folders in his phone, of all the trips and all the events and concerts the two of you attended together, grouping the videos and photos. 

He’s also not sure how he plans to go forward. You haven’t reached out to him, and the one month mark has already passed. Just thinking of you and how you’re basically refusing to acknowledge his existence makes him want to hurl.

But he’s acknowledged all his mistakes, and quitting his job was the best decision he’s taken. Distancing himself from what — or who, to be precise — caused his relationship to go into shambles was the wisest thing he thinks he’s done in a while. Because he knows that nothing really matters anymore, only you matter, and just the thought of going to work after knowing what caused your rupture drove him insane. 

He also acknowledges that he was at fault, too. Because if only he listened to you, this wouldn’t have happened. If only he took his distance from his coworker, if only he took matters into his own hands and set a healthy boundary, this wouldn’t have happened.

It’s been so long since he felt in touch with reality, and he honestly doesn’t know how many times he found himself crying, tears rolling down his face without him realising. Tears of anger, sorrow and despair.

No one heard from you, they didn’t know how you were doing. And it lowkey pissed him, because how can his friends say they care for him, but at the same time they wouldn’t check on you to see if you’re okay? He couldn’t stand having Jaemin at his doorstep too often, feeling like his friend was coming over more for an inspection than to have a normal hangout, whatever normal could mean for Mark nowadays, anyway. 

So he promised Jaemin he’d call once in three or four days and fill him in on how pathetic his little life is, fill him in on how much he loves you and how much he sobs wanting for you to come back to him. And what pissed him off even more is that, during said phone calls, every time Mark asked his friend if he had reached out to you, the answer was always a negative one. 

“Then did Renjun or Haechan try reaching out to her?” Mark sniffed into the phone, and Jaemin’s silence made him rasp back to him, “Then don’t expect me to call you again if you don’t know how my girl is doing. The fuck, Jaemin?” His tone was low, seething with anger, before he switched his phone entirely, not caring to hear another word.

And now he’s still worried sick, because he still knows nothing about you and it has been so long. The uncertainties settle inside of him, inside his bones, and now he’s restless because his mind has to worry for one more reason. 

No amount of scorching showers or nights spent hugging your pillow could make him feel better. No amount of shed tears could make him stop thinking about you. His entire being is crying for you to give him another chance, and the more time passes, the more Mark is sure you've already thrown his stuff away from your apartment, the more he’s sure that night more than a month ago was the actual breakup and not the two of you just taking a break. Again, Mark remembers how neither of you believed in breaks.

Crying in the shower was the easiest. While pillows were getting damp and t-shirts were getting temporarily stained, the running hot water of the showers he started taking — as a way of feeling closer to you, and remembering the scorching water you liked having on your skin, — was the best choice. He couldn’t notice the wet tears in an already wet environment, and blowing his nose had never been easier than just letting the snot run out his nose and into the running water.

He looks at all the t-shirts and hoodies in his laundry basket, already overflowing, because they stopped smelling like you a while ago, but he still didn’t find it in himself to put them into the washing machine. Maybe another month has to go by for him to make this transition.

There’s a small knock on his door, almost imperceptible if it weren’t for the dead silence in his apartment, and he’s already preparing himself to tell Jaemin to piss off. He closes the laundry basket, putting it back in the corner of his bathroom, and he sniffles all the evidence of his earlier melt down in the shower, walking towards the door lazily.

He doesn’t even peep before opening, all ready to see Jaemin’s concerned scowl, but Mark’s breath catches in his throat the moment his gaze meets yours. 

You, who’s standing in front of him now, wearing your comfortable home clothes that you didn’t bother changing before showing up to his doorstep. 

“Can we talk?” You mumble softly, and there’s something in your gaze that has Mark weak in the knees.

His eyes try to scan yours to get an idea of what it is you might want to talk to him about, but they don’t get any clue from you, and he gulps while opening the door for you to step in. Mark is glad he at least cleaned some of the mess away, but he’s sure you can still see the traces of the disastrous way in which he’s been living lately.

His uncertain eyes are glued to your back, and he wants to get closer to you, hug you and never let you go, but he’s not sure if that’s accepted of him right now. 

“I’m not sure how to start, to be honest,” you mumble again, turning around to look at him. “Not sure if our relationship can be mended,” you gulp, eyebrows furrowing.

Mark feels light headed all of a sudden. You’re here, in flesh and bones to tell him what he dreads hearing  the most. It’s really over, and he feels his heart sinking to his stomach. “Y/n…” his voice breaks, and you can hear the tears before you can see them. 

Your head snaps towards his direction, and your gaze meets his. He’s trying so hard not to let out all the tears suffocating him, all the sobs stuck in his throat, and you bite your lip pitying him — feeling the urge to pat him for comfort, but you resist your instinct, and decide to go on with your explaining instead.

“Maybe I should start with telling you that you betrayed me the moment all of my fears became reality. Maybe I should tell you how it broke me to know you were neglecting me and our relationship because you found comfort being around your coworker,” you start, and Mark recognises you’re getting upset, the soft tone of your voice changed to a slightly more raging one.

“I don’t know why I did it, but I swear I never cheated on you,” he finds the voice to answer back to you, even if his tone is soft, uncertain.

“Physically, you didn’t,” you retort, bringing your hands behind your back,

“I know, you explained it to me and I looked into it. And I’ll regret it forever, Y/n,” he remembers thinking you’ve just pulled the term out of nowhere when you brought it up in your last fight, right before you said you wanted a break from your relationship with him.

“Do you think taking a break helped us?” You ask, looking into his teary eyes. You hate to see him crying.

“We don’t believe in breaks,” he whispers, averting his gaze so he doesn’t start bawling in front of you.

“I heard you quit your job,” you mumble again, and he nods. “Why did you do that?”

“I knew I couldn’t be there anymore,” Mark really wanted to say that he couldn’t be there with that one coworker anymore, knowing how right you had always been when it came to her, and it brought to his despair, “I can always get a new job, but I can’t possibly get another you,” he gulps, and his head hangs between his shoulders.

“But you loved your job, Mark!” You retort, almost nagging at him,

He shakes his head, eyebrows furrowing as he takes his hands behind his back — otherwise he’ll continue to have the urge to grab you and take you into his arms, “Not as much as I love you,” his reply is simple, it gets straight to the point, “I’m sorry for not showing you how much you meant to me, how much I love you, and I’m sorry for hurting you,”

You sigh, closing your eyes, “I need you to promise me you’ll open up to me more, in the future,”

Mark’s head snaps back up to look at you, “What?” His tone is high in pitch, almost incredulous.

“I need you to be honest in the future, if you want us to work out,” Your eyes scan his face, and he goes through all the emotions in the book. “I love you, Mark, but I won’t be able to go through this one more time,” you say, alluding to the break, all the heartbreak and all the sadness it brought you.

“We don’t have to go though this again. We won’t, I swear!” His voice is full of newfound confidence after hearing your words, and he takes a few steps towards you, and you allow him to take you into his embrace.

This time, the arms wrapping around you are exactly the ones you’ve been needing, the ones your body has been craving for.

Mark’s nose is filled with your perfume, and he starts crying at the way your arms wrap around him, squeezing him. 

“I’m not sure how I survived being away from you for so long,” he mumbles, his nose nuzzling into your hair.

You look up at him, his beautiful and sparkly eyes are droopy from all the crying he’s been doing. He takes a few steps back until his heels touch the foot of the couch, and he sits on the armrest, bringing you after him, entrapping your body with his arms and legs as you stand between them. His face is now to the same level as yours, and it doesn’t take you long to grab the sides of his face to bring him in close. 

He closes his eyes the moment he feels your sweet lips mere centimetres away from his, and his hands roam on your waist and back to keep you as close as possible to him. His lips are devouring yours in a hungry, desperate kiss, that he deepens as soon as you grant him access into your mouth. You’re so sweet, like everything he’s ever tasted in the past few weeks tasted bland, like your sweetness was everything he’s ever needed. 

You have to break the kiss when you feel your lungs burning, asking for air, and as much as you love Mark and his obsession with having your lips entrapped in a kiss, he’ll have all the time in the world to be all over you, literally.

And his head falls in the crook of your neck, nose nuzzling against your skin and lips giving you small pecks. He inhales your perfume, the scent of your skin, he’s not sure anymore what it is — he’s elated to feel you, to have you back into his arms and into his life.

“I can’t believe you quit your job,” you tell him, bringing one of your hands up to play with his now long hair. You hope he knows that getting back together doesn’t mean him getting a haircut, at least for now.

“Stop saying this,” he commands, giving your hips a warning squeeze. “My job isn’t as important as you are, and I love you too much not to do this for you, for us,” 

You kiss him once again, and this time it’s sweet and slow, exactly like your relationship will be from now on. 

The moment is interrupted as you flinch against his body, after the doorbell startles you. Your boyfriend looks at you, confused, wondering if Jaemin dropped by like he expected just earlier, when he opened the door and the sight of you on his doorstep greeted him.

“Oh, yes,” you say, smiling sheepishly at him, “That must be the delivery guy with our food,” you peck his lips one more time, trying to wipe the confusion off his features, “It’s friday night, after all!”

[jenoyeahh]

love me some good hurt and comfort. mark should have grovelled more for the way he dismissed yn's worries, so now you wanna talk??!! and the audacity to think that yn is just making up about emotional cheating. but! yn was also suffering so i guess it's okay. mark better be treating her like a queen after. also love how yn got yena on her back, so many friends turn a blind eye on their friend cheating just because they think it's none of their business. this is a really good meal. i'm so full, this fic gonna stay in my mind for a good while. thank you for writing and sharing:D

[rrxnjun]

dancing in my backseat ✲ l. donghyuck

pairing. film student! donghyuck x film student! fem! reader starring. uchinaga aeri genre. college au, acquaintances to lovers. fluff, comedy, suggestive warnings. mentions of alcohol and weed, swearing, sexual innuendos word count. 24k (24.047) a/n. please dont hate me for the fact that this does not have any expected smut in it i tried and it felt too awkward i just COULDN'T. also this fic doesn't fit the image of it i had in my head at all but i actually kind of prefer this version over the prev idea i had anyway <;3

playlist. marvelous - wallows / crash my car - coin / test drive - ariana grande / streets - doja cat / no manners - superm / feather - sabrina carpenter / AEAO - dynamicduo / wet tongue - thomas headon / car crash - eaj / delicious - the boyz / but i like you - boynextdoor

there are only a few things in which men value their social status; one of them being the number of girls in their bed, the next one their rank in league of legends, and lastly, their cars— or— where you would never fuck a guy without a driver's licence.

✲ PART 3 OF THE SIMPLIFY ROMANCE SERIES ✲

If anyone asked you about your relationship with Lee Donghyuck, you’d scoff at them and simply state that the resident gemini was your moral enemy. Was that true? No. No, of course it wasn’t– there was nothing this man has done in his life to get on your bad side, and you truly don’t feel any hatred towards him, but at the end of the day, it’s always easier to say this than to explain the exact feelings you have towards the male without sounding at least a bit overly-dramatic.

See, you don’t hate Lee Donghyuck; you don’t think he’s your enemy either– you just find him absolutely, excruciatingly annoying.

And it’s not his personality, no– although you do admit that the way he carries himself and has such high mind about himself is quite alarming– the way your toes curl and the hair on your body stands up, all alert in sheer ick and disgust, has nothing to do with his ego and everything to do with your experience with the man. 

The first time you find Lee Donghyuck intensely annoying is when you get a text one day (having acquired his phone number from one of the class group chats, since the two of you major in the same program), at 9 in the morning, approximately 15 minutes before you have to leave your apartment to get to your fist class of the day. The man picked the wrong time to bother you, since it was Monday, of all days– the beginning of the week always manages to rile you up just because it exists in the first place– and you could give him the benefit of the doubt and say that it wasn’t his fault at all and you woke up grumpy already, but the events that happened after made you so deeply disturbed and annoyed to your core that there truly wasn’t any other word left in your vocabulary to describe Lee Donghyuck than the adjective already mentioned – annoying.

lee donghyuck (film theory class) – hi im in a crisis lee donghyuck (film theory class) – can u pls throw some toilet paper lee donghyuck (film theory class) – we ran out and my roommate already left for class lee donghyuck (film theory class) – pleaaaaase

Staring at the texts appearing on your phone screen in a hurry, you stop in your tracks and furrow your brows at the contact name in confusion. The truth is, you haven’t spoken to Lee Donghyuck that many times– you just know that he’s friends with your friend Lee Yangyang from high school and you two meet occasionally at the said friend’s gatherings. Plus, you had a discussion or two about the beauty of Quentin Tarantino movies when you met at orientation in freshman year, and that's also when you learned that he’s your neighbor; in fact, the window to his flat's bathroom and his very own bedroom face yours. But that’s about as far as it goes when it comes to your closeness. You’re not familiar enough with him to text each other or to think of each other in a time of need, so to have his first texts to you be about him being out of toilet paper is a thing to really dwell on to fully understand the extent of the bad impression this man had on you.

you – what the fuck

lee donghyuck (film theory class) – just open the window and throw me some lee donghyuck (film theory class) – i am good at catching

you – im in a hurry rn. gotta get to class

lee donghyuck (film theory class) – SO DO I why else do u think id be up this early lee donghyuck (film theory class) – so PLEASE throw me the damn toilet paper so im not late today

Shaking your head in disbelief at the conversation you’re currently having, too confused and tired to deal with it so early in the morning, you walk up to your room and look out of the window. Right opposite of you, not being further than 10 meters, if you’re being absolutely exact, is Lee Donghyuck’s head popping out from the bottom rim of his bathroom window, seemingly still sitting on the toilet. The look in his eyes is desperate as he clasps his hands together and mouths “Please!” at you, his face forming into a truly humiliating scowl that makes you wonder if he's truly done with what he'd been doing on the toilet only a few minutes prior. 

Sighing, you turn on your feet and escape your room– not noticing the absolutely disturbed and mortified face Donghyuck’s pulling behind your back, thinking you abandoned him and took off for class– and you truly can’t believe yourself when you walk into your own bathroom and take the half-used roll of toilet paper off the stand, murmuring a silent “Fucking hell” under your nose as you walk back to your bedroom and open up your window wide. Donghyuck’s eyes light up now, as if he was a kid under a Christmas tree about to receive a gift from Santa.

“If it falls to the street, I’m not getting it!” you yell after the boy, seeing as he eagerly nods and ushers you with a wave of his hands.

“Just throw it and I’ll be sure to catch it!” he nods, waiting for you to start your career in the new twist on baseball– a sport you’d call a toilet roll throw against the street. His eyes seem focused, knowing this is his only opportunity at wiping his ass this morning (why neither of you thought of suggesting to use the shower instead, you don't know to this day– perhaps it was too early in the morning for such complex strategies), when you surprisingly do your best at aiming for his window– thank god you both live on the same floor– and throw the roll across the alleyway, the paper unwinding only slightly before it lands on the floor of Lee Donghyuck’s pearl white bathroom.

“Thank you so much, you are my savior!” he yells, his head disappearing from the window, leaving you alone in your room to watch the commotion. When nothing happens for a while, you only shake your head in disbelief once again, deciding your job here is over and you can finally take off for your dreaded lecture.

“I’ll get going!” you scream into the void, scratching the back of your neck, aimlessly. 

“Mhm! See you later!” 

Nodding to yourself, you sigh, closing the window and doing a double take as you’re about to leave your flat for class, hopefully still on time. In disbelief, feeling the second-hand embarrassment seeping to your bones, you put on your shoes at the entrance and swear to yourself that you’re never gonna answer any of Lee Donghyuck’s texts ever again.

The previous scene already established that you’re no stranger to second hand embarrassment. I’m sure all of you have experienced it before– seeing someone desperately flirt with your friend, knowing that they’re not interested… Watching a drama and being absolutely grossed out with the script, wondering how the actors got convinced to take on the role… Hearing someone say an absurd answer in class… There are many, for sure, and the list could just keep going. You saw it with your own eyes as well, when your friend Choi Beomgyu tried hard to impress a girl at the skate park and managed to fall off his skateboard mid-trick, tearing his jeans in the crotch area in the process. Or when your roommate Aeri got tipsy at the club and who she thought was a very fine gentleman to flirt with was actually her ex boyfriend. The list goes on and on.

What about first hand embarrassment, though? You’re sure you experienced it before as well, but if anyone asked you, you’d tell them you don’t remember any embarrassing stories. If it’s because you just don’t want anyone knowing about the shame in your bones or if you really hated those experiences so much you chose to bury them and extract them out of your memory, you won’t tell. You just won’t let the shame haunt you for any longer than it has to, that’s for sure. 

So when you walk home from the hairdresser one afternoon and you’re met with your roommate Aeri looking at you with lips pressed together, yet the corners tugging upwards in what you assume (and fully know) is her trying to hold back an amused laugh, you admit that your suspicions were indeed correct when you saw yourself in the mirror at the salon and you’re going to have to live through another embarrassing moment. One that will take days and weeks to outlive as well, since your hair doesn’t grow back overnight– and when you look into the mirror again, you’re terrified.

“Don’t laugh.”

“I’m not laughing, it’s just… you look… well, you know, it’s just…” she mumbles, before she finally breaks into a loud laugh, standing behind you and examining the state of your hair in the mirror of your entrance hall with you, hands coming up to play with your strands and hold them up and down, brushing your bangs out of your face and ruffling the top– trying everything possible to find a single good hairdo with the haircut you have going on right now. “Oh babygirl… what did the do to your beautiful hair…” she mourns, the tone of her voice still amused, but now also kind of considerate.

“I told her I only wanted a trim,” you say, voice weak in what you realize is you holding back your tears and suppressing a mental breakdown, “how the fuck am I supposed to show my face to the world tomorrow?” 

Your roommate sighs at you, spinning you around so you no longer can see the disaster on your head, a pout forming on her face as she lightly shoves you deeper into the apartment. “At a second glance, it’s really not that bad, you know–”

“You don’t have to lie to make me feel better,” you cut her off, annoyed at her soft eyes.

“I don’t?” she looks at you, shocked irises hardening when she realizes you no longer need her sympathetic words. “Okay, thank god. Man, she fucked you uuup, leave a bad review like, right now. I’d cry myself to sleep if I got a haircut like that–”

“I take it back, I liked your lies better,” you roll your eyes at her, walking over to the kitchen to fix yourself a glass of water to calm down your racing heart. The mental breakdown is still right around the corner and you realize you have to do everything in your power to stop it, because you already have a fucked up haircut– you can’t afford to show up to class tomorrow with puffy eyes and stress-induced pimples as well. Gulping down the cold liquid, you decide to hop into the shower (and avoid looking in the mirror at all costs, which is kind of difficult, since there's three of them just on your way to the bathroom). 

Meeting the encouraging eyes of your roommate once you come out of the shower, hair tied up in a towel so you don't have to think about it any longer, Aeri's words reach your ears in the living room. “Come on, I’m sure we can manage to do something with this tomorrow morning,” she smiles, “at least you have a pretty face. You can pull off everything!”

And the truth is, even though Aeri is nice, she’s not always right. You’re met with the fact the next morning as you watch your reflection in the mirror before you both leave for your shared Film theory class, standing next to each other defeated; one breathtakingly beautiful and one looking like the main character from Chicken little. You'd be fine with it if it was only you who was aware of your disastrous image, you would be able to deal with the shame and insecurity silently– but that's not what happens as you’re only reminded by the fact that other people, sadly, do perceive you, against your biggest wishes, throughout the whole day.

You’re reminded by the fact that your haircut is fucked up when Ji Changmin, the guy you share an Animation class with, sees you in the corridor and does the yikes face at you and his friend Sunwoo hides his face from you as they turn the corner. You’re reminded by the fact again when you see Jisu, the ever-so-sweet girl that majors in Finance, the girl that’s friends with everyone in this school, look at you with a considerate look, patting your shoulder when she passes you by before you enter your Film theory classroom. 

And most importantly, you’re reminded by the fact when you finally sit down– at the very back of the classroom, which is both valid and understandable, considering your current state– and you’re met with a thud of a backpack to your left, a figure sitting down on the usually vacant spot. Clenching your jaw and looking up to see its owner, mentally preparing yourself for the teasing that’s about to come, you meet eyes with a tall, sleek man, shirt tucked into his black jeans and a sigh of relief escaping his throat as he sits down on the uncomfortable chair. Lee Donghyuck waves at you in greeting when he notices you there, running his hand through his neatly styled hair.

“Hi there,” he breathes out, “can’t believe I made it on time. My alarm didn’t go off and my roommate couldn’t be arsed to wake me, even though our morning lectures start at the same time, so I had to run and my usual seat is taken already… hope you don’t mind me sitting here– woah.”

And here it is again– the feeling of absolute humiliation as the man scans you up and down, eyes bearing into yours with an unreadable look on his face. Is this how he felt when he texted you to throw toilet paper through his bathroom window? Or was he immune to the shame? 

“Did you get a new haircut?” he asks, squinting his eyes at you in question.

“Shut the fuck up,” you sigh, already annoyed with his antics– because frankly, you know what will come next. 

“That’s an interesting answer to a yes or no question,” he muses, chuckling to himself, “I’ll take it as a yes, though, but it seems like you’re not satisfied with the new look…”

“Woah. You should work with the FBI or something,” you mumble, averting your gaze from him and looking straight in front of you, praying for the class to start fast so you don’t have to interact with your neighbor any longer and listen to him make fun of you for your new look.

“Why? It doesn’t look bad at all,” he says, the tone of his voice fakely considerate, making you want to punch him in the gut, “It’s interesting. I like it. It shows off your eyes and your forehead more, since your bangs are way shorter now,” he says, putting emphasis on the fact that your bangs truly are half their original length– which wasn't your original plan at all– only riling you up more.

“Only thing left to add is that I have a massive forehead, isn’t it?” you ironically smile at him, and the male takes your word for it as his eyes focus on the exposed part of your skin, furrowed eyebrows and all, as he examines your features.

“Not massive, but it’s a little… like, I wouldn’t say–”

“Just don’t say anything, okay?” you sigh, cutting him off and folding your arms at your chest in a poor attempt at defending yourself.

“Geez, why are you so snappy? I was complimenting you, y'know,” he says, and if you were more stupid, you’d even believe him– the tone of his voice still sounds genuine, but that’s just the way your neighbor likes to deceive people, and you know that; you’ve seen it happen multiple times before. “It adds character.”

The comment makes you roll your eyes, all words taken off your tongue– you simply think there’s no use defending your atrocious haircut now (not that you tried defending it before, even you aren't that oblivious). Your gaze is focused anywhere but at your seatmate, counting down the minutes until the class starts and you're taken out of your misery for at least an hour and a half. Your Film theory professor is almost never late and now is the only day you’re content and happy about the fact, because it means you won’t have to listen to Lee Donghyuck for more than approximately 2 more minutes until the small, hunched over frame of your professor strides through the door. 

Still, you feel his burning gaze to the side of your face, and despite your best intentions, you snap your head towards him and bite at the annoying gemini.

“Take a picture, it will last longer,” you spit, scoffing at the male.

“Can I really?” he asks, and before you have a chance to disagree, his phone is shoved into your point of view and the shutter comes off, making you lounge after the man in a poor attempt at taking his phone away and deleting the first picture of your new hair ever taken. (Well, except for the one you took crying last night, with a peace sign and your tongue darted to the side against your mirror. You don’t need any more traces of your current haircut than that one.)

lee donghyuck (film theory class) – hi neigbor whatchu doin lee donghyuck (film theory class) – u have a car right

Squinting at the next text conversation with Lee Donghyuck, the first one since he asked you for toilet paper 3 weeks ago, you feel nothing more than pure confusion at the strange questions the man asks you in the middle of the night. It’s Friday evening and your roommate went out with a guy named Eric she met four weeks ago in the gym, and even though you were slightly concerned when she texted you to say she was staying over at his house for the first time, you only showed her support as you went to lay down with no other plans for your evening. Falling asleep to your midnight playlist playing in the background (thanking God for the smart feature that makes the music shut off after 30 minutes), it's completely understandable and predictable that the noise of an incoming text annoys you when you hear it only a few minutes after 2 in the morning. The fact that it’s your neighbor texting you, out of all people, only makes the fury in you bigger as you click your tongue and shoot him a quick text back.

you – what do u want

lee donghyuck (film theory class) – neighbor!!!!! lee donghyuck (film theory class) – you do have a car 

Staring at the text that just appeared on your screen, you sigh and decide to spill the truth, preparing for whatever request that’s about to come after you admit to the fact that you do, indeed, have a perfectly functioning vehicle parked behind the building.

you – yes 

lee donghyuck (film theory class) – perfect lee donghyuck (film theory class) – do u hav sm time on ur hands

you – im sleeping

lee donghyuck (film theory class) – veryfunny youre replying rn tho lee donghyuck (film theory class) – come on itsa simple request

Breaking your back just to decipher the words through the amount of typos Lee Donghyuck’s making, your annoyance only grows bigger. Has he always been a bad texter? You don’t remember him struggling as much when he was sitting on the toilet three weeks ago– his texts were absolutely clear and with 0 mistakes back then. Maybe he was in a more desperate situation back then, after all…

you – what do u want hyuck its late

lee donghyuck (film theory class) – can u drive me home

And here it goes– in the back of your mind, you somehow knew it was coming. There were only a few reasons why someone would ask if you owned a car, and judging by the fact that it was now 2 in the morning on a Friday night, your neighbor wasn’t trying to sell you a new vehicle just in case you didn't have one yourself. Getting a drive home would be the only logical request from someone asking if you owned a car– it would only be more logical if the person asking you was your friend, and not an acquaintance at best.

Staring at the screen of your phone, counting down from 10 to not snap at the ridiculous request, you watch as the device lights up with an incoming call. You don’t even have to look at the caller ID to know who’s calling, and despite your best assumptions, you pick up with no more thought given, waiting for the person on the other side of the line to speak first.

“Y/N,” he says, voice breathless. 

“Lee Donghyuck.”

“Can you please drive me home?” he asks, tone of voice lazy and tired, something about the dragging of his words hinting you that there’s more to the request than you’re grasping right now.

“Are you drunk?” you ask, right off the bat, to clear out any confusion. 

There’s a short silence on the other side of the line, one that hints that you’re completely right in your assumptions, but you still want to hear it from the guilty man himself. “Maybe a little,” he admits, snickering, “I was over at Yangyang’s and then he kicked me out and I… my legs hurt too much to walk home.”

Sighing loudly at the man’s antics, you shake your head in disbelief and clear your throat. “I don’t see how that’s my problem?”

“Oh, come oonnn,” he drags out, “it’s not that far.”

“Yeah, so I don’t see how you can’t walk back, then?” you mutter, rolling your eyes at the demanding tone in your neighbor’s voice. If it was anyone else, maybe, just maybe, you’d be on your way already. You never decline your friend’s requests for favors, since you know they’d do the same if you asked, but you don’t really see how Lee Donghyuck, a man you’re not even close to in the first place, could repay the favor. What on Earth was he thinking in the first place when he called you? Were you his last option? Is he out of his mind?

“Because my legs hurt, if you were paying attention, you’d know that I told you before–”

“I don’t really care,” you mutter, “this is not my problem, I’m ending the call now, goodbye!”

“Y/N!”

The tone of his voice is desperate. Laced in agony, even. Still, you don’t care as you cut off the line and close your laptop that's been your source of music during the late night, settling deeper into your sheets. This is not your circus, not your monkeys, and frankly, you don’t really care what happens to Lee Donghyuck on his way home from Yangyang’s house, no matter how drunk or high he is right now. The man has done nothing but annoy you in your short, 23 year old life, and you’re not going to change out of your pajamas just to drive a few miles to get your dumb neighbor back home.

You’re not going to lose your beauty sleep for this. No, not at all.

Still, your eyes only close when you see the light in Lee Donghyuck’s room go on and the shadow of his slouched figure safely hits his bedsheets, another smaller frame coming to close his door and shut the blinds off, turning the light back off. 

The next Monday, you find yourself sitting in your Film theory class alongside your roommate Aeri that’s currently snoozing in the middle of the lecture. You can’t really blame her, since she only got home from her romantic retreat (read as: hanging out at Eric Sohn’s house the whole weekend and having sex possibly on every surface of his little flat downtown) on Sunday evening, and you can only imagine that she didn’t have much sleep during her stay there. 

And the class was boring, to add another reason for your roommate's nap. It’s not like you weren’t interested in the theory behind every movie, like the topic itself wasn’t interesting– you quite enjoyed wondering about all the special details in each movie that complete the story and make the atmosphere pop just in the right way– but the professor currently standing at the very bottom of the auditorium is old enough to be there when the Lumiére brothers showed the first ever movie to the public back in the 19th century, and his age only matches with the monotonous style of his teaching. Which means that his voice is mellow, but close enough to a lullaby, and with the amount of issues you have when paying attention in general, the lack of focus caused by this only feeds your distraction during the lectures, resulting in you not really being the top of the class in this specific subject.

So when you hear the professor mutter something under his nose about a project in pairs you’ll have to submit until the end of the semester, you feel your heart drop down to your stomach, all alert. Suddenly, you’re 100% present, brain racking about all the possible solutions and ways you could go around this just so you could pass the subject this year. 

Because frankly speaking, at the moment, you’re failing the class. And if you don’t manage to get a good grade on this final project, you’re going to have to retake the class next year– and trust me, another year listening to the monotonous lectures won’t make you pass easier, since you can only imagine the boredom will only grow once you’re in this class the second year in a row and you'd already heard all of the lectures once before.

“What was that?” Aeri mumbles under her nose when she notices you staring at the front of the classroom with wide eyes, an expression close to one you'd wear after seeing a ghost (with the age of your professor, you might as well have). She often tells you you look like a deer in the headlights when you get shocked or stressed-out, and you can’t say that comment doesn’t make you insecure. Still, you can’t quite control it when you sigh and turn to your roommate with a distressed look on your face.

“We have a final assignment to do,” you mumble, “in pairs.”

“Amazing, we’re doing it together, then,” she yawns, stretching a little before slumping over the desk again, ready for round two of her nap. 

“Fuck no,” you quickly dart, looking at her with furrowed brows.

“What do you mean, no?” 

Sighing, watching as she opens her eyes and looks at you with an offended expression on her face, you shake your head in disapproval and lower your voice, careful to explain yourself. “Look, girl, I love you, you know that,” you assure, “but we are both failing this fucking class. And I can’t afford to do badly just because the both of us suck, because I am not retaking this atrocious class ever again, so I suggest that the both of us find someone with good grades to leech from and get this over with.”

Aeri squints at you, seemingly lost in thought– more so contemplating your master plan– before she leans back in her chair and cautiously looks around the room. “You have a point there.”

“See? It’s nothing personal,” you chuckle, seeing as your roommate nods to herself.

“Okay, I’ll flutter my eyelashes at Shotaro,” she turns to you, eyes bright with the newly made plan, “we’re both Japanese, so he’s not legally allowed to turn me down.”

Rolling your eyes at her comment, you only nod in approval to her idea. Shotaro was one of the best in this class, so you can imagine that working with him would satisfy your professor enough to let Aeri pass the class this year. The only thing left to do was find the culprit to your own plan– you needed to team up with someone good enough to at least make you get a D on your final. And since half of the class was just as good as you in this particular subject, there weren’t many candidates left.

Eyes scanning the crowd (thank god you chose to sit in the back again), your gaze lands on a particular man sitting a few rows under you, a little bit to your right. Helplessly searching through the flood of your classmates currently occupying the auditorium, you sigh to yourself in realization, already dreading what’s about to come when the class is dismissed and you hurriedly walk over to the only person that can help you now, before he escapes the university grounds and you’re going to have to shamefully text him or ring his doorbell this afternoon.

“Donghyuck! Wait!” you yell after him, legs taking you closer to the man in question, now standing still in the middle of the moving crowd, watching you in curiosity.

“What’s up, neighbor?” he asks with a lazy smile, the tug at his lips only making your blood boil and your insides tighten into a bundle of nerves. Everything about him was ticking you off, the slouch in his shoulders making you want to stand behind him and fix his bad posture and slap the back of his head so you no longer have to look at him standing like a hermit crab, the glint in his eyes making you want to curl your fingers into a fist and slam your hand against a wall. The seemingly strong emotions of annoyance run through your veins whenever you interact with Lee Donghyuck, it seems, but the senile voice of your professor keeps repeating itself somewhere in the back of your head throughout the whole interaction, and so you choose to take a deep breath in and out before you smile at the man and prepare your best speech– you can't afford to be picky with this any longer.

“Who are you doing the project with?” you ask innocently at first, trying to get some info out of him.

He offers you a suspicious look, but replies nonetheless. “I’m not sure yet,” he sighs, “I was thinking of chasing down Haknyeon, but you stopped me in my tracks…” he shakes his head at you, teasing. 

“Hmm, I see,” you mumble, more for the effect than for anything else, “well, what if we do it together?”

There aren’t many instances in which you could catch Lee Donghyuck completely silent. Now is one of them, though, as he watches you with wide, surprised eyes, furrowed brows and his plump lips slightly agape, breathing in a few times before he shakes his head as if to reset the system, snickering to himself. “Us two?”

“Yeah, why not?” you peep, shrugging.

“Look, respectfully,” Donghyuck starts, and you brace yourself for the impact, “your grades in this class aren’t as good as mine, and even though I’d love to do it with you, I don’t wanna be the one doing all the work and–”

“I’ll help!” you snap, maybe too urgently for your own liking. “I promise. I’ll do everything in my power, I just really need your help with this,” you plea, looking at him with what you pray are your best puppy eyes, seeing as the man in front of you chuckles at the expression and averts his gaze from you for a heartbeat, signaling that you were most likely unsuccessful at the attempt.

“Sorry, Y/N,” he shrugs, shaking his head at you, even going as far as taking one step away from you, “see, if you hadn't declined my call on Friday, maybe I’d take this offer as a way to repay the favor, but you know…”

“I threw you toilet paper before, Donghyuck, you can’t be shitting me right now–” you feel your blood boil at the note, the ever so familiar annoyance seeping back into your bones.

“That was nothing–”

“You seemed pretty desperate back then.”

“That was the past, sweetheart,” he chuckles, taking another step away from you, somehow overthrowing your annoyance with pure, embarrassing desperation as you chase after him and stop him with a swift motion of your hand, catching him by his wrist. He stares at you with a shiteating grin on his face, one he always uses to get a reaction from you, and somehow, you know this is all a game for him, a stupid tug of war, but you can’t help it– you are in a desperate situation. So if you need to say please to the man and humiliate yourself in front of him just to pass this class, then so be it.

“Please, Hyuck? Just this once, I swear I’ll make it up to you. Literally, say anything, I’m gonna do it, I just really need to pass this class,” you mumble, a pout forming at your lips as you clasp your hands together– much like he did back when you two communicated through the window of his bathroom– and you swear you can see the gears in his brain turning when he calculates his next move and tells you his answer.

“Anything?”

“Pretty much, yeah,” you nod, hoping that Lee Donghyuck still has some dignity in him and wouldn’t ask for anything that would make you uncomfortable. He’s annoying, sure, but he’s not a dick, after all.

“Okay, then,” he nods, tone of voice airy, underlined with laughter, “be my personal driver for the entirety of the project, then. I’ll do it if you drive me places,” he grins, and that’s when your composure falls.

“Absolutely not.”

“Well then, say goodbye to the grade!”

Putting your arm around the passenger’s seat headrest, twisting your whole body as you look back and reverse the car into the parking spot in front of the mall, you see the figure next to you still in its place, eyes alert and staring at you. “If you’re so terrified of me driving, why did you want me to do this in the first place?” you sigh, finally turning back to the front and turning the engine off once you're standing straight between the lines, satisfied with your job.

“That’s- that’s not it,” he clears his throat and gulps nervously, shaking his head. “Anyways, let’s go,” Donghyuck says, slapping his thighs like parents do when it’s time to leave a family gathering, grinning at you widely as he waits for you to get out of the vehicle.

“What do you mean, let’s go? I drove you here, I can go now,” you glare, not satisfied with the way your Wednesday afternoon was going. You only agreed to the deal on Monday, and Donghyuck already made you drive him home after class twice and also asked you to drive him to the school this morning. Having him constantly leeching around you and making you drive him places wasn’t exactly fun, since he always asked weird questions and made fun of your bored face at every red light, so you really, desperately, needed him to be gone already so you could head home and scream into your pillow to unwind the nerves. 

“Well, how am I supposed to get back when I’m done shopping?” he innocently asks, pouting at you. “My hands are gonna be full with bags and you’re gonna have to come pick me up, because that’s the deal, and I can’t afford to wait with my hands full until you get back here, so you might as well stay and come with me, so it’s convenient.”

“Nothing about this is convenient for me,” you mumble, but comply with his orders nonetheless. “Why don’t you get a car? Or take a bus back?”

“Buses smell and I don’t have a license,” he mutters, “besides, I have you now to be my personal taxi driver, so I don't need a car,” he shrugs, walking alongside you to the mall. 

His confession startles you, makes you halt in your step as the boy looks at you with defeated eyes, already knowing what’s next. This scenario has happened to him multiple times before– he’s best friends with Huang Renjun and Liu Yangyang, he’s in for a teasing at every single action of his that goes just slightly wrong– but to hear it from you will surely feel more humbling to the man. Closing his eyes as if to not see the grin overtaking your features, he sighs. “What?”

“You don’t have a license?” you tease, snickering. “For real?”

“No.”

“Why? You failed the test?” you ask again, catching up to the male and falling in with his quick pace, enjoying the fact that you now have the upper hand on him for once.

“Never really tried getting it in the first place,” he mumbles, shrugging. 

“Why?”

“I dunno,” he shamefully ducks his head, “it seems scary,” he adds, making you snort out at his confession.

“Fucking hell dude,” you laugh out now, swatting his shoulder in a teasing manner, “that’s so embarrassing, it’s not even really that difficult in the first place–”

“I don’t know what’s more embarrassing,” he cuts you off, tone of voice laced with frustration as he realizes you are a bit too amused at him admitting to one of his fears, “is it me not having a license or you driving me around because you're failing a class… Hm?” he asks, locking eyes with you, lips pressed shut into a straight line, and suddenly, your composures exchange. He won. Again.

“Anyways, let’s get going!” he smiles, dismissing the previous discussion as he tugs you by your hand into one of the stores right in the middle of the mall.

You should’ve already predicted that shopping with Lee Donghyuck would be exhausting. Not only did he demand to know your opinion on every single thing he tried on, he also wanted you to pick up something for him to try– as if driving him here wasn’t too much work for you as it was. All you wanted to do was walk back to your car and get away from him as soon as possible, but with the way he teasingly poked your sides every time you weren’t paying attention and turned to your phone to entertain yourself with some mindless scrolling on social media, you weren’t able to escape even mentally, no matter how hard you tried. 

“Why don’t you try something on?” 

“I’m not in the mood,” you glare, walking out of the last store in the whole entire mall, the sky behind the glass doors already dark from how late it’s gotten. You’re pretty sure it’s gonna close soon, but checking the time on your phone, you’re relieved to learn that you still have enough time to get boba from the stand at the entrance of the mall. You deserve a little treat after involuntarily hanging out with Lee Donghyuck the whole day, after all. Call it your girl dinner, or something.

“Taro milk tea with coconut jelly, please,” you smile at the tired barista behind the counter, noticing the way Donghyuck stands next to you and looks at the menu. You expect him to order a drink for himself as well, and surely, he doesn’t disappoint as he smiles at the girl, the tone of his voice sweet and considerate– so far away from the way he speaks to you on a daily basis– as he asks for his own drink.

“Will you pay together or separately?” she asks.

“Separate–”

“Together,” your companion cuts you off, grinning at you when you glare at the man, sighing at his antics.

“Come on, I already drive you everywhere, do you think gas is cheap? Now you want me to pay for your boba as well?” you whine, reaching for your wallet as you frown at the male, his confused eyes bearing into yours when he slightly nudges you from his way, offering the girl behind the counter his card instead. The action shuts you up, making the gears in your brain turn faster as you watch him in the action, and it doesn't fully register yet, but you're left feeling a bit taken aback and sheepish when the cashier hands him the receipt.

“I was gonna buy it for you as a thank you for the nice day, but now you’re making me look like I felt pressured to,” he sighs, shaking his head at your little tantrum. His actions still don’t register in your brain, though, his words resonating all the way through your ears to your Wernicke’s area and right back, hanging everywhere in the air of the mall, shock making your body still. Then, it hits you.

“Ah,” you gasp, feeling the tips of your ears burning with shame at the fact that you managed to ruin his nice gesture, your eyes scanning the space in a poor attempt to not look at him or the cashier still watching your exchange.

“Get your drink and let’s go,” he nudges you instead, rolling his eyes for good measure as he walks out of the mall, nearing your car in the parking lot.

“Look at this, look! Isn’t it funny?” Donghyuck hovers over you with his phone in his hand, giggling to himself as he tries to make you look at the screen. You don’t really know why he’s trying to get a laugh out of you, honestly, but he’s currently doing everything but that as you’re sat in his living room, legs plopped up onto the sofa and crossed in front of you, waiting patiently– but also kind of boiling on the inside out of frustration– for him to pay attention to you.

“Hyuck, I didn’t come here to watch Tiktoks with you,” you say, eyes sharp, tone of your voice cutting like razors– efficiently making him look up from his screen and meet your gaze with an amused grin, “I’m not really sure if you forgot, but I came to discuss the project,” you mutter, sighing.

“Jeez,” you see him roll his eyes, the energy around him still not shifting as he maintains his casual and unfocused composure, but you know that on the inside, he's enjoying the view– your angry face seems to be his most favorite thing to stare at recently, “didn’t know you lack a sense of humor.”

“What?” you look at him, confused, quite frankly, before you shake your head in disbelief at the comment. “You know what, just put the phone away for 5 seconds and finally talk to me about the project, smart boy, or else I’m not wasting my time here any longer and I’m leaving.”

“You’re acting as if you’re the one putting in work,” he mumbles, snickering.

“I will be putting in work when you tell me what to do!”

At your sentence, Donghyuck finally puts his phone back at the coffee table and shifts a little in his seat, facing you and scratching the back of his head, seemingly lost in thought. You let him, convinced that if you speak up and cut off his train of thought, the poor boy wouldn’t be able to get back to it again, waiting for him to be done with his brain weaving so you can pick up on them and ride them out, seeming at least decently smart (or not completely stupid). When he finally speaks up, he licks his lips and shrugs.

“We just gotta pick a theme and do our best portraying it with no words in a 3 minute clip, right?” he asks you in reassurance, as if you were the most reliable source of information when it comes to this class and its assignments.

“Yeah,” still, you agree.

“Well, then we just gotta pick a theme and the rest will be easy,” he nods to himself, reaching back for his phone, which you swiftly take from his hold and hide behind your body. 

“Hey–”

“We’re not done talking about this! I’m not letting you use your phone, because you’re just gonna scroll on Tiktok instead of thinking about this,” you squint at him, twisting and turning in your seat as his hands try to sneak around your sitting figure and take the device out of your grasp. 

He seems determined as his arm lands on your elbow, a victorious grin smoothly swiped off his face when you sit on his phone and flash him a wide grin. “I’ll give it back when we have the theme down!”

“That’s an invasion of my privacy,” Donghyuck mumbles, and you roll your eyes at him, pointing a finger to his shoulder.

“That’s not what an invasion of privacy means, but whatever floats your boat…” you mumble, watching him sit back in his seat, defeated as his shoulders slouch and his gaze is glued to the wall in front of him. You’re not sure what’s so interesting about the white paint, but at least there’s not the noise of his phone filling your ears right now– you’re more than okay with silence, since you don't get to hear it often when Donghyuck is present. You would like it better if he spoke up and talked to you about the assignment, but if you had to choose between him being annoying and him being quiet, you think everyone knows which one of the two you’d prefer.

“So?” you test the waters after a while, seeing if your project partner decides to finally comply with your request and discuss the important matters.

“So? Do you got any ideas?” he teases, watching you with challenging eyes.

Clearing your throat, caught off guard at the request– you assumed he’d tell you exactly what to do and you just have to do it and follow his lead, essentially not putting in much effort and still being sure of passing the class– but it seems like Lee Donghyuck won’t let you off that easily. You should've expected it. Being difficult is his favorite hobby, after all.

“Well, you’re the smart one here, so…” you shrug, trying the method that always works on men– and that is praising them.

“So you’re saying you’re stupid?”

“If it works in my favor during this conversation, then sure,” you nod, smiling at him in irony. Hyuck gives you a defeated sigh, shaking his head at you before he clicks his tongue at you and finally gives in.

“Okay, so, I was thinking we should pick a theme that fits the current social struggles, but after hearing this, I don't think feminism is our best choice,” he mutters.

“Like you’d know anything about feminism–”

“What do you have me for?” Donghyuck sharply glares at you, clicking his tongue at you in pure offense. “I am a fan of Little women, I'll have you know, of course I’m a feminist.”

“Well, you must be a fake fan, since everything about this deal is just me majorly girlbossing,” you point out, trying really hard to prove your point.

“Are you even being serious right now–”

“Anyways,” you cut him off, “what were you thinking?”

The man sighs and shakes his head at you in disbelief, but still speaks up again nonetheless. “I was thinking, well, maybe we could pick something that would really play into the old man’s feelings, you know, so we get him all sentimental and moved to tears…” he starts off, tone of voice now completely serious, making him sound kind of smart– startling you in the process, “that leaves us with a few possible options. We could do something with the 18 hundreds, or… fishing? I heard he’s into fishing. Or we could do something more abstract and shoot something about youth, since he’s very old and this could get him nostalgic. Or!” he suddenly perks up in his seat, eyes wide and a disturbing grin sitting at his lips, “we could include nudity! He’s a man, after all… wanna shoot porn? We don’t need words for porn.”

In absolute disbelief, you stare at the man with eyes wide open, blinking a few times and taking a few seconds to yourself to process the monologue you just listened to. You knew he was absolutely insufferable, but you didn’t know he was this much of a dumb freak. 

Taking your silence for disgust, Donghyuck just nods to himself and purses his lips.

“Youth it is, then… I mean, nudity would be difficult to present in front of the class for sure–” he admits, pouting.

“Yeah, like that’s the only problem with that idea…”

Afternoon classes aren’t your favorite ones of the week and although you absolutely despise waking up early and having to commute to university while you’re still half-asleep and absolutely irritated, there’s nothing that infuriates you more than knowing you could be done with the day already, sitting at home and watching your favorite TV show, only if it wasn’t for the responsibility of having to stay at campus and sit through another hour and a half lecture on a Thursday afternoon, way too late for your brain to be working in those hours.

This is one of the only classes you don’t share with your roommate Aeri– which makes the lecture that more excruciating, since you don’t have anyone with you that you could gossip with about your classmates or friends from back home when it gets too boring and you can't bear sitting in silence and forcing yourself to focus anymore– but there is one person from your circle that you do share this class with, and yes, you already guessed it; it’s Lee Donghyuck.

You don’t know when you’ve gotten so close to the point where he sits in the vacant seat right next to you almost immediately, followed by his friend Ju Haknyeon who you’ve never even spoken to before, but he still does so nonetheless, every Thursday, just so he could annoy you with his only half-funny remarks to every other sentence that comes out of your Animation class professor’s mouth. 

“What are you doing this weekend?” you hear Haknyeon ask the devil sitting on your left, and trust me, you don’t really like listening to other people’s conversations (that’s a lie, you live for gossip. You just wish you knew the least amount of information about Lee Donghyuck as possible, because sometimes you learn fun facts you wish never joined your brain), but you can’t really help it this time, can you? Haknyeon doesn’t know what whispering is, and you’re convinced Donghyuck would love everyone to hear him talk and give him attention anyway. 

“Not really sure,” Donghyuck replies, “Renjun bailed on me, said he’s going to the shelter with his girlfriend again, so I was thinking, right? You know, I’d looove to go on a road trip, and it’s crazy, you know, because–”

The words coming out of his mouth instantly make you alert, snapping your head around to make eye contact with the man that’s already staring at you with a shit-eating grin on his face, knowing you’re listening to them talk. “Lee Donghyuck, I am not going on a road trip with you–”

“See, Y/N here is my personal driver for the semester, so she can’t really say no–” Donghyuck continues, enjoying the way your face distorts into a pained scowl, your hand coming up into your hair to tug at the roots in frustration.

“If you make me do this, I’m going to open your door while we’re going 120km/h on a crowded highway and throw you out so you die under the wheels of someone else and I don't face the consequences,” you propose, shaking your head in disbelief, your voice shushed due to you still not wanting to be heard by the whole classroom, but still loud enough for both of the boys to chuckle.

“Come on, I bet you’d have fun. I have the best playlists for road trips, you know,” Hyuck teases, poking you with the tip of his pen, to which you click your tongue and move a bit further away from the male. 

“The last time I drove you somewhere that was more than a 10 minute drive, you had Céline Dion on loop, so I don’t know just how believable this claim is.”

“That’s disrespectful to the legend Céline Dion is, dear Y/N, and I’d take it back before her ghost comes to haunt you at night.”

“Is she even dead in the first place?” you squint at him, at disbelief of his words.

“She’s not,” Haknyeon chimes in from the side, shaking his head at the both of you before he chuckles, “you two argue like a married couple.”

“I would rather die than to marry him–”

“See, Hak, Y/N just hasn’t realized she’s in love with me yet,” Hyuck adds, clicking his tongue at his seatmate, “but she’s gonna realize it somewhere during our 5 hour long road trip, I’m sure. Just wait, it’s gonna happen soon.”

The class gets dismissed somewhere in the middle of the argument, and as you’re gathering your things to go, you hear the two of them talk among themselves, not really including you in their conversation anymore (which you’re glad for, frankly). 

“Are you going home after class?” Haknyeon asks.

“No,” Donghyuck shakes his head in disapproval, and there it is– the shit-eating grin appears on his face when he initiates eye contact with you and snickers, “Y/N and I are actually getting fried chicken at this place downtown, since I got coupons– well, Renjun got coupons for free chicken from his uncle last week, but he doesn’t like chicken that much, so I stole them from him–”

“Huh?” you scowl at him, wondering if you heard right. “I’m not getting chicken with you.”

“Of course you are,” Hyuck announces, “the coupons expire tomorrow, so we gotta do it today. I know you’re not busy, come on.”

“I’d rather choke than to spend any more time with you than I already have today, Donghyuck. Go with Haknyeon,” you say, pointing to the clueless senior staring at the both of you in wonder.

“Yeah, go with me, man,” he shakes his head, “I like chicken.”

“Unfortunately, this offer only applies to people that have a working car that could drive me there, so in case you wanna get your shiny BMW fixed in the next 24 hours, I can save the coupons for you,” Hyuck chimes, smiling innocently at his friend.

“What are you even talking about?” you mutter, tone of voice pained.

“Look, do you wanna get out of the road trip on Saturday, or not?” he stares at you, his gaze flaming as you sigh more for him to hear than to get out your frustration– you learned long ago that it does nothing to calm you down, worse, it makes you even more infuriated.

“Woah, Donghyuck!” you exclaim, fake excitement written all over your features. “Chicken actually sounds so good right now!”

That’s how you appear in one of the fried chicken places downtown, your car parked in their tiny parking lot, with Donghyuck excitedly skipping towards the restaurant with the bunch of coupons in his hands. You don’t really know why he insists on spending time with you– he could get a bus here or drive with one of his other friends that own a car, and you’re certain you are not the only one on his list– so the whole interaction makes you slightly confused. Still, you enjoy the free meal– like any other broke college student would– and when Donghyuck eats, his mouth is usually shut, so you don’t find that many negatives in this whole thing, after all.

“What are you thinking of doing for the project, by the way?” you ask, wiping your greasy fingers on one of the napkins Hyuck had offered to you just a few seconds prior after noticing your dismay at the state of your hands. You don’t like it when you get dirty with food, but you’d rather not eat at all than to eat fried chicken with a fork, so you guess this is the price you have to pay.

“You keep talking about the project,” he shakes his head, chuckling, “don’t worry about it. I have it covered.”

“What do you mean, you have it covered? This is supposed to be teamwork. Just because I drive you around, it doesn’t mean I won’t put my hand in– you’ll complain too much if I don’t,” you mutter after you swallow, rolling your eyes at him. He keeps saying the same thing each time you ask him– you’re suspecting that he has zero idea at all, and he’s just bluffing to make you feel more comfortable. Hell, you might even fail while working with Donghyuck and your whole plan is going to be ruined, for all you know.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, grinning, “we got the theme, so half the work is already done. We’ll just have to take one day to shoot some scenes on a field or something, and then I can edit it and put some sad music over it, and we’re sold. Trust me, I am a straight A student, I know what I'm doing.”

“You are not a straight A student, Lee Donghyuck,” you glare at him, not believing a single word that's just came out of his mouth.

“Okay well,” he shrugs, taking a sip of his coca-cola that he got for free with the order, “maybe I’m not. But you can count on me with this, hon.”

Sighing to yourself, you shake your head at him. “Don’t ever call me that ever again.”

“Hyuck,” you call for the male, nestling a little in your seat and scratching the back of your neck in frustration.

“Hm?”

“You said we were going to work on the project today, am I correct?” you ask, watching as the male walks up to you from the kitchen area of the room, a bowl full of popcorn in his hand as he plops on the sofa next to you (on the only area that allows you to lay down comfortably and still face the TV, also known as the spot you’ve already laid on, making the two of you almost uncomfortably close in the small space), a bottle of coke situated under his right shoulder.

“Correct,” he nods, reaching for the TV remote he spent approximately 15 minutes searching for in between the cushions of the sofa when you arrived, screaming at his poor roommate for losing it again as the shorter boy just grimaced at you and escaped the flat to hang out with someone you heard him call RJ! y/n.

Humming to yourself, you nod. “Okay, then… why the living fuck are we watching Hunger games right now?” you ask, tone of voice laced in frustration.

Donghyuck doesn’t reply to you for a while as he fumbles with the TV remote (and frankly, you don’t really know why he’s so focused, it doesn’t take much to just press play), but when he looks back at you and sees your gaze impatiently glued to his forehead, he shrugs. “We gotta find some inspiration first, you know,” he innocently states, “Hunger games is a movie about youth if I’ve ever seen one.”

“We’ve both already seen Hunger games, Hyuck,” you whine, but take a hand-full of popcorn out of the bowl that’s currently sitting in his lap. 

“How do you know that I have seen it already?”

“You just said so, you dumb fuck,” you mutter as you roll your eyes, watching the opening credits start. You can do nothing else than settle deeper into the sofa and watch the painfully long movie with your annoying neighbor now, and you despise the fact.

Well, you could do something else. There are many things, to be exact– you could either protest so much that Donghyuck finally gives in and turns the movie off, focusing his efforts into actually working on your project. If that doesn’t work, you can fight him for the remote, but you can’t really know if that wouldn’t make him pettily give you the silent treatment, which is exactly the opposite of what you’d like to be doing right now. Or you could just give up– seeing that you’re not gonna get much work done today– and stand up and go home. It’s not like you live that far away anyways… 

But still, you stay and watch the movie with him. You’ve seen it at least three times already, having watched it recently with Aeri when the movie had its second wave of fame on Tiktok, so you’re pretty sure that if you tried hard enough, you’d be able to recite the script alongside the actors, word-for-word, 100% correct and exact, right on time. You stay and watch Hunger games with Lee Donghyuck– why exactly, you still don’t know– and you find yourself enjoying the experience. It’s not as boring when you hear your neighbor annoyingly comment on each and every little thing that happens in the movie, his nasal voice cracking jokes and jumping into the conversations as if he was a part of the cinematic universe. Somewhere along the way, you join in with him, laughing and giggling when your roleplay gets too silly, and before you know it, the movie is about to end and you’re finally going to be free to work on the project with him.

Donghyuck gets unusually quiet towards the last part of the movie. You turn your head to him, ready to crack jokes at the tears you’re expecting to see in his eyes because of the emotional outro– Katnis and Peeta’s berry scene got you the first and the second time you watched the movie, the third time not so much, since Aeri kept pausing the movie for pee breaks, ruining the full effect– only to witness the man’s head falling to your shoulder the exact second you try to lock your gaze with him; your neighbor having passed out somewhere in the middle of the movie. You foolishly jump just the slightest bit at the contact, opening your mouth to say something to him that could wake him up, your instincts telling you to move away from the already uncomfortable closeness of your bodies and give yourself more space.

But as your lips part and you’re about to protest, you notice his own lips apart in a small pout, his cheeks appearing softer now that one of them is smashed against your shoulder, his long eyelashes fanning over the bones of his cheeks. The blue hue of the TV paints his cheeks rosier in the dim light, making you notice the moles on his face for the first time– leading you to count them and mentally create constellations between them as your gaze focuses from all the different places of his face to another. Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you shut your mouth and awkwardly make yourself look away from your annoying neighbor, cracking the knuckles of your hands that have been resting in your lap; but when the credits of the movie roll and you have nowhere else to focus your gaze on, you find yourself scanning the man up and down again, orbs catching every detail of his suddenly so pure being.

He is wearing gray sweatpants, the fabric hanging low on his waist, a plain black tee adorning his upper figure. He doesn’t often look this casual when he comes to class, opting to wear jeans or pants more formal, so you foolishly admire the cozy fit he has going on, not quite used to seeing Donghyuck looking this homey. His clasped hands resting in his lap catch your attention next, the soft skin adorning his slender fingers looking way too inviting right now as you subconsciously want to glaze your fingertips against the surface of his palm, just to see if your suspicions are right and his skin is just as gentle as it seems to be to the eye, and you almost do it– for scientific reasons, of course– before you catch yourself and almost mentally slap yourself for being so foolish.

What the hell is going on with you right now? You should wake him up now– the movie is already over, there’s no use in you staying over any longer if he’s asleep and won’t work on the project with you anymore– but you find yourself freezing each time your eyes focus on the creature sleeping against your shoulder, so soft and comfortable it makes your insides squeeze in warmth. It’s a strange sensation, and even a stranger one to feel for a person that annoys you the most in this world, and you can't bring yourself to do anything else than to overthink the simple fact. 

He can sleep for a few more minutes. You don’t mind. He must be tired, you think– he deserves 10 more minutes, maybe even 15– you won’t disturb him. The silence is strangely comforting, after all.

He can sleep for a few more minutes, you think– but the exact moment those thoughts roam around your head again, the front door to Donghyuck’s apartment opens and his roommate stands still in the doorframe of his living room, gazing at you with suspicion in his gaze. You quickly jump away from your project partner when eye contact with Huang Renjun is made, feeling the tips of your ears heating up in shame as you scatter to your feet and scramble for your things. You feel like you were just caught red-handed, doing something you shouldn’t have been doing, and you can’t bear the thought any longer. You need to get out.

A dissatisfied noise leaves Hyuck’s mouth as he wakes up to the impact of your movement, squinted eyes watching you as Renjun just laughs at your antics, shaking his head as if to tell you that he knows something you don’t. You don’t wanna hear it.

“Where are you going?” Donghyuck asks, voice laced with sleep. 

“Home,” you snap, running your hand through your hair as you move through the door frame that separates the living room from their entrance hall. “We can’t work on the project if you’re asleep, so I might as well just go and not waste my time here any longer!” you offer him, making sure to save your face by putting just enough pretended frustration into the comment as you put on your shoes and don't look back at him– however inviting the mental image of him seems in your brain– before you shut the door after yourself and leave.

dongfuck – drive me to mcdonalds

you – well hello to you too you – no.

dongfuck – >:( dongfuck – please

you – its 2am dude

dongfuck – your point..?

Sighing, scrambling for your things as quietly as possible to not wake up your sleep deprived flatmate, you get dressed in comfortable sweatpants, throwing a hoodie on to shield yourself from the chilly air. The walk down the stairs doesn’t take you more than a few minutes before you’re standing in the parking lot of your apartment complex, already seeing Donghyuck’s figure leaning on the side of your car, almost looking like he owns it– he does act like it lately, to be fair. 

“I knew you’d come,” he snickers as you roll your eyes at him, pressing the button on your car key to unlock the doors, watching as the man swiftly opens the driver’s side for you and then jogs towards the passenger’s side to get in, an excited stride in his step.

“I’m only here because I haven’t eaten dinner and chicken nuggets sound absolutely amazing right now,” you mutter, “don’t get too ahead of yourself. None of this is for you,” you grin, fastening your seatbelt and adjusting the rearview mirror just the slightest before turning on the engine and driving off the parking lot.

Donghyuck only shakes his head at you, a bright grin playing with his features. “Of course,” he hums, “wouldn’t want me to think that you actually want to hang out for once.”

“Of course,” you nod, “because that would be a lie. My goal is chicken nuggets, nothing else. And if I manage to get them out of you for free, that’s even better.”

“Who said I’m paying?”

“The gas station clerk did when I last went to get gas, actually! He told me I’m using twice as much gas lately because I’m driving a certain dumbass around, and I’m paying for all of the gas myself, can you believe it?” you shake your head, teasing him as you turn right on the main road, already seeing the McDonald’s in the distance. 

“That’s a strange way to talk to a customer,” Donghyuck squints his eyes at you, watching as you slow down when getting into the food chain’s parking lot, ready to drive up to the drive-through window and order your late night snacks.

“At least he’s looking out for me,” you shrug, teasing the male. “I better order a hefty meal, since you’re paying and all…” you mumble, looking over the poster to your left, tapping your chin, trying to look lost in thought. 

Hearing the man next to you scoff– already satisfied with how frustrated you’ve managed to make him– you pretend to look over the most expensive parts of the menu. “I’m starting to regret my decision,” Donghyuck adds, but the tone in his voice is light.

After a few more minutes of picking out your menu, you both order your meals and wait for them at the window. It doesn’t take long, since you’re the only ones in the whole place, and before you know it, Donghyuck is pressing his card into your palm, nudging you to pay for both of your meals. The gesture should be expected– you pretty much plastered him into doing this with how much you teased and complained– but it still shocks you when he does it with no other annoyed comments, watching as you offer it to the cashier and smile at him in thanks, taking the bags of food and driving off into the very back of the whole parking lot, turning the engine off and settling into the dark.

You tug your feet up to your seat, sitting crossed-legged in the small space as you face your companion, watching as he offers you the bag of food and digs into his own fries as well, scanning you from the corner of his eye. Now is the time you finally get to admire his attire for the first time the whole night– you never knew you had a thing for guys in sweatpants and oversized jackets, but the way your breathing almost catches in your throat at the sight of Donghyuck dressed so cozily again should be enough of a warning for you to the future. Forcefully taking your eyes off the male next to you, because you’d rather not think about the way you find yourself eyeing him lately, you eat your chicken nuggets– the ones you’ve dreamed of the whole night– and listen to the sound of your neighbor chewing on his burger. 

Feeling his eyes on you, you glare at him. “What are you staring at?”

“No take a picture, it will last longer this time?” 

“I learned my lesson from the last time,” you laugh, reminded of one of the first interactions you had with the male. “I hope you deleted the pictures, by the way.”

“No, I stare at them every night before I go to sleep,” he says, “so I’ll dream of you,” he sing-songs, laughing at the way your face distorts in discomfort at his words.

“Ah, so annoying,” you roll your eyes at him, but can’t battle the way your heart jumps a little at the sound of a laugh escaping his throat. Your eyes automatically trace his movements, noticing the way the far standing lamp post illuminates his face in just the right way, casting orange shadows over his features, making his eyes glimmer when they catch yours. Clearing your throat after being caught staring at him, you avert your gaze and finish the last of your fries, noticing the male done with his meal as well. 

“Now what?” he asks.

“We go home, what else?” you laugh, shaking your head at his question.

“But I don’t wanna go home yet,” he whines, and you already know what’s coming– pursuing, weird ideas, absurd arguments just to make you stay longer. And you’re immune to them on most days, but it’s too late in the night, so you have to cut yourself some slack. So what if you don’t want to come back yet either? It’s not a crime to want to spend some time with Lee Donghyuck.

“What a shame,” still, you tease, waiting for him to come up with a bright idea that you could use as an excuse to stay out longer.

“Oh come on,” Donghyuck mutters, “you always ruin the fun. Teach me how to drive, what do you say?”

Shocked at his preposition, you turn to him again, wide eyes and mouth agape. “What? Absolutely not.”

“Why? The parking lot’s empty. I can’t possibly be that bad that I crash your car into nothing. Come on!” he pleads, going even as far as pouting at you– not really knowing that the expression has you shamefully stare at his lips for a split second, insides heating up– and realistically, you should have warning signs blinking at you from everywhere in your brain, an alarm going off to tell you that this is not a good idea at all, but you’re too stunned to come up with another plan for the rest of your evening, and, well, you may be getting a little weak for the annoying gemini. He's right, though– what could possibly go wrong? 

So you only sigh in response, opening the door and getting out of your seat, watching as Donghyuck excitedly mirrors your motions and jogs to the driver’s seat, ready to possibly ruin your evening and your car at the same time. When you’re back safe inside of the car, you quickly fasten your seatbelt, a sign of your sense of self preservation still working well, watching Donghyuck move your seat further back so he can comfortably reach the pedals. His focused face is in your full view as he adjusts all the mirrors possible, and only then is when you notice him chewing on the inside of his cheek– in either nerves or concentration, you can’t really tell right now– and the sight makes you halt him in his motions before he manages to start the engine.

“Have you ever done this before?” you ask, watching as he turns to you with wide eyes, shaking his head in disagreement.

“No,” he peeps, laughing to himself, “Yangyang declined me the last time I asked.”

“Yeah, because he has a working brain,” you whisper under your breath, still in disbelief of what you allowed to happen, “so… can you reach the pedals?”

“I can.”

“And you see the whole back window in this mirror, right?” you ask, pointing to the rearview mirror, watching as Donghyuck nods.

“Positive.”

“Great. So… start the engine now, I guess?” you say, chewing on the inside of your cheek as you see him nod and reach for the keys, turning them. The car instantly comes alive right in front of him all while Hyuck seems  absolutely clueless, looking at you with big, adorable eyes, and you take it as your cue to instruct him on his next moves.

“Now press the clutch– the far left pedal– and move the gear stick into the first gear,” you say, watching as the boy slowly does as you say, reaching for the device and moving it to the desired place. “Good. Now, keep pressing the clutch and slowly start pressing the accelerator– the far right pedal– while also slowly letting go of the clutch until you get to the point where the car starts moving on itself. That’s when you don’t let go of the clutch, but keep it at that same exact spot, and put a bit more acceleration until the wheels spin like, once or twice. Only then can you keep your leg off the clutch.” 

“You’re kinda hot when you tell me what to do,” Hyuck mumbles, but the flirting doesn’t quite come through when his face is focused at the road and his composure seems shaken, too stressed out to actually mean the words coming out of his mouth.

“Shut up and do what I said,” you snarl, seeing as the man nods and tries moving with the car. It takes him some time, but it seems that he is a natural– the car moves without the engine dying, and suddenly, you find yourself cheering him on. “Good! Good! You’re moving!”

“Oh. My. God.” 

“Don’t panic!”

“I’m not panicking!” Hyuck hums, nodding to himself as he turns the wheel and makes a circle around the parking lot, grinning to himself with confidence. The car moves painfully slowly, and you, despite your best interest, find yourself enjoying the view– although you should probably be more worried about your own safety than you currently are. That's when you decide to challenge the male further.

“Okay, then we can shift into the second gear, it’s gonna go a little smoother,” you muse, seeing as the male nods.

His eyes stay focused on the road, though, so you take it as your cue to instruct him again. “Press on the clutch then, and move the gear stick straight down.”

“Mhm,” he hums, and presses on the clutch, but the struggle comes next as his hand flies all over the car, not quite used to the placement of the gear stick yet. Stressed, eyes glued to the road in front of him to not run into any possible obstacles in your way, he refuses to look away for even a second, and the whole sight makes your heart race in anxious agony as you reach for his hand and grip it, guiding him towards the stick and placing his palm on top of the device.

Your hold on his hand doesn’t loosen up as you guide his movements further and do it for him, just to make sure the stick really gets to its designated place and doesn't get stuck in neutral, which would make the engine die with the next press of the accelerator. His skin is soft under your touch, just like you imagined it to be, and you find yourself growing hotter the more your skin is in contact with his, the touch so innocent yet still sending you to overdrive.

“Now let go of the clutch,” you order, eyes glued to the side of Donghyuck’s head as he nods, listening to everything you say. The car now goes more smoothly and you watch him take another lap around the parking lot before you realize your hand is still gripping his on the gear stick, the information making you jump slightly in your place, clearing your throat in the awkward, tense atmosphere you managed to create for yourself.

“Okay,” you announce, “the trial is over, it’s time to press the brake– the middle pedal, if you haven't figured that out so far– and get out of my place,” you say, hoping the tone of your voice sounds as light as usual. 

The car comes to a strong halt, since Hyuck doesn’t really know how fast the brakes react yet, and if you weren’t buckled in, it’s certain that you’d go flying in your seat and smash your head against the dashboard. Breathing out when the car stills, you finally feel yourself relax, having been alert this whole time, as you squeeze Donghyuck’s hand for the last time, amidst selfishly, before you let go of it and turn towards the door, opening it and thanking the chilly air of the night for slapping you to your face. You really needed that wake up call.

Do you really need to drive a fucking manual? 

hyuck – can you drive me to yangyangs at 8

Staring at the text message on your phone, sighing to yourself at the weird discomfort in your stomach when it appears and registers in your brain, the sound catches attention of your roommate Aeri currently getting ready on the floor of your room, pressed almost uncomfortably close to the mirror. She should really wear the glasses she was prescribed.

“Donghyuck again?” she asks, staring at you through the mirror, a mischievous grin sitting on her face as she asks the crucial question.

“How’d you know?” you roll your eyes in irony, walking over to your closet and picking out your tonight’s outfit.

“Well,” she shrugs, “one, he’s like, the only person that ever texts you except for me, and two, you had that disgustingly doe eyed look on your face.”

“I so did not–”

“You so did,” she notes, putting another coat of mascara onto her long eyelashes.

“You know what? I regret telling you about this,” you mourn, scrambling for your things around your room and putting them into your bag, practically already ready to leave the apartment alongside your roommate slash best friend. When you came home last week after the McDonald’s run at 4 in the morning, you decided that sleep really wasn’t worth it anymore– as if you could fall asleep after the hotness in your whole body despite your window being wide open– and so you took a cold shower and decided to stay up in the living room, watching Netflix (more like having the show in the background as you tried hard to not have a mental breakdown at the newly found information about yourself). Aeri found you like that at 6 in the morning when she woke up to get a glass of water, and even though she was sleepy and groggy– which was probably why you decided to spill the beans so quickly– she interrogated you about the weird look on your face and it’s been a running joke between her and herself for the whole week.

“It’s really not my fault that you find our neighbor hot,” she notes, shrugging to herself.

“When did I say that? When did I say that!” 

“Well, you said you came home all flushed and that you imagined making out with him when you dropped him off back home, so that’s basically the same thing.” 

“I did not say I wanted to make out with him!” you defend yourself. You didn’t say it. You thought about it, that’s for sure, but your roommate really doesn’t have to know that. Unless she can read your thoughts, of course.

“Yeah, whatever. You and I both know it’s true.” 

Sighing, deciding that you’re ending the conversation with your roommate as long as the topic is your annoying neighbor, you turn to your phone and finally reply to his text message.

you – can’t

He replies almost instantly, as if he was waiting at his phone for the last 15 minutes, and the predictableness of his message almost makes you chuckle.

hyuck – why

you – cuz im going you – and i wanna drink you – so i cant drive

hyuck – ok that changes things then hyuck – my original mission was to get you to go there with me but this has to do i suppose hyuck – see you there ;)

Yes, you admit that you reread the messages a little too many times for your own liking. Trying to decipher the hidden meaning behind his words, you swear your brain is running a thousand miles an hour, and realistically, this is the part where you reach for your girl best friend and ask her what exactly is happening in the chat with you and the guy you’re talking to, but after the endless teasing you’ve already heard from her side, you decide against it and just turn off your screen and put the phone into your bag with the rest of your necessities.

“If you mention something about this tonight in front of Donghyuck, I’m locking you out of the apartment.”

“Ay ay, captain!”

The journey to Liu Yangyang’s house isn’t long. He’s the only one that still lives with his parents, but you can’t really blame him– the house is huge, and they are hardly ever home, because they are always on business trips in Taiwan. Half the time, it’s like the guy owns the place, and he also acts like it too, since half of the parties you’re invited to in a year are taking place at his house. 

When you get there, it seems that everyone was already there– at least the usual group, you suppose. You don’t know who else is invited, but when you arrive to Yangyang’s basement– the part of the house where he usually hosts the more chill, laid-back parties, with low music in the background, laughter resonating through the place and alcohol being passed around between people drinking straight out of the bottles– your eyes instantly zero on Donghyuck, dressed in a light bomber jacket and skin tight jeans, you decide that burning your throat with alcohol is the best thing you can do instead of audibly moaning at the sight.

Taking one of the opened bottles of Bacardi off the little camping table situated near the corner of the big room, you take a swig, not really caring about the people who have drank out of it before you– because the pandemic has taught you nothing, it seems– when you finally walk over to the group and say your greetings. Deciding that avoiding the object of your desire for the whole evening is the best plan how to survive without doing something you’re going to regret, you engage in conversation with pretty much everyone else, completely unaware of the way your neighbors eyes are burning a hole through the side of your skull, kind of offended that you haven’t come up to him first, since as far as he’s concerned, out of all the people present in the room, you spend the most time with him in the first place (with the exception of Aeri, of course, but you two live together, so it doesn't really count). In his opinion, you didn’t need to be talking to Na Jaemin right now– you’re not even friends with the man.

But still– drinking beer out of a bottle Lee Jeno passes you somewhere in the middle of the night before he disappears with his best friend to dance with them under the cigarette haze (pretty embarrassingly, you may add) – the only thing resonating through your brain is that you got this, you’re not gonna give him a single glance, you’re not gonna think about how attractive he looks in all black.

You guess that everything about the way this evening has been going is the prime example of every single college kid’s usual Friday. Sitting in a basement of Liu Yangyang’s house, your vision cloudy with a bit of alcohol and also the sweet, piney smoke of the joint that’s been passed around the room only a few minutes prior, music lowly plays in the background, adding a relaxed, yet exciting and bubbling atmosphere to it all– it’s the epitome of the experience you imagine before you go to college when you’re 15 and gazing longingly outside of your window, wondering if life when you’re older will be better and more fun.

And while you don’t necessarily think life is better now– you do have a shitton of assignments to do and stress eating up your insides– you do think it’s kind of fun. Everything is more bearable when you have a group of friends by your side, and while you wouldn’t call every single person in this room right now your closest friend– a friend for life, even– you’d say everything is better than being stuck in your house on a Friday evening, mourning the break up of One Direction one more time as you watch This is us again with spoonfuls of ice cream shoveled into your mouth, figure cuddled up under the blanket with your roommate by your side.

The fun only lasts until a round of Truth or dare takes place, though. You must admit that it’s the fundamental part of the whole hang out, and yes, it’s the thing you always see in the movies. It adds a bit of spice to it all and it’s twice as fun to play when you’re a little intoxicated, but still– you’d like to think you’re too old for the game now, even though your friends believe otherwise and never fail to bring it up again.

This time, it’s Jaemin who brings it up. You shoot daggers to his skull, annoyed eyes and all, but you don’t think he notices as he continues to excitingly sway his arms in the air when he repeats the submission over and over again, finally heard by his roommate Jeno that’s just come back from the weird dancing session with his best friend that he’s very obviously pining over, and grins at his roommate in agreement, starting the game. 

“Not again,” you whine audibly, because frankly, if you wanted to survive the evening with no embarrassment and no weird thoughts about one of the party guests, you don’t think a game of Truth or dare is your best move. Your disgust makes your own roommate– that’s suddenly glued to your side, too tipsy to even walk (you heard her exclaim that her legs are too heavy to be used)– giggle, already familiar with your thoughts on the game. And frankly, that makes you even more terrified– because when Aeri is drunk, she talks even more than she does when she’s sober, and well, there’s no promising that all of the information you’ve ever shared with her will stay truly confidential when she’s under the influence.

“Don’t start again,” she says, shaking her head, “you always say you hate it, but you always end up playing it anyway.”

She’s right. It’s not like anyone is pressuring you, but you kind of feel like the situation calls for you to join in– because what else are you supposed to do, watch them? There’s no fun in watching if you’re not involved, and you’d feel like an intruder if you just watched them do all sorts of dares while not being in on the game. 

“Yeah, because you’d all whine if I didn’t,” you say instead, taking a sip of your drink, letting the bitter taste of beer slide down your throat as she rolls her eyes at you, nudging you in your side with her elbow.

“Just say you end up having fun,” she snickers, “nobody would think that’s weird, you know.”

“Yeah, whatever you say,” you shush her and pet her hair, taking advantage of the fact that you’re very obviously less tipsy than her, as you turn to the middle of the circle and wait for the game to start.

Usually, a couple of rounds pass before your name is called. You enjoy the tension– it feels like you have time to prepare to do whatever task their hazed minds come up with or answer whatever question that’s been burning on their tongue, yet, it also feels like a buildup before the big thing– a strange sense of climax, if you will. 

This time, it’s no different. A couple of minutes pass as you watch Yangyang lick the bottom of Jaemin’s foot– because Jeno always likes to come up with the nastiest, most worrying dares of them all– followed by the sight of Shotaro kissing the forehead of the most attractive guy in the circle (Renjun wasn’t happy with the wet peck left on his skin). The guys almost always pick a dare, and you think that’s an advantage, since before it’s your turn to finally participate in the game, they run out of ideas for dares that are possible to do in the weed-smelling basement of Liu Yangyang’s house and you can safely choose truth instead. It’s not like you’re not brave enough to choose dare– you did so many times before and never once backed away from the task, not even when you were dared to kiss the person on your right (that was the night you learned Kim Sunwoo wasn’t all that, because the drunken peck he pressed to your lips wasn’t all that appealing) – you just simply tried to pick the safest strategy for the game. 

Another kissing dare could suggest that you kiss the person you find the most attractive in the room right now. Or they could ask you for a lap dance on one of the guys. The possibilities are endless, and even though choosing the truth isn’t that much safer, since their questions could vary all the way from ‘What’s the color of your underwear right now?’ to ‘What is your favorite sex position?’, you’re trying to comfort yourself with the fact that you could just lie. You know it’s kind of prohibited, and that it also defeats the whole purpose of the game, but still– you’re not planning on embarrassing yourself tonight, and you were always a pretty good liar when it came to words. Actions? Not that much.

Sinked deep in the stained light orange fabric of the sofa, eyes half-lidded, you await Jaemin’s question as you tell him you did indeed pick the truth. And you were right, there are no protests coming out of the boys’ mouths this time around, seemingly tired of coming up with original ideas for their dares. 

“Come on, man, we don’t have the whole day,” Renjun nudges the boy into his ribs, annoyed with the lack of words from his friend. 

“Actually, we do. I don’t see the issue-”

“Just ask something already!” Shotaro whines from his position on the floor, his back pressed against the side of the sofa.

“Fine,” the man straightens up in his position, as if struck by a newly found sense of clarity, the look on Na Jaemin’s face reeking of insanity, “I've got something.” 

The room cautiously looks at the platinum-haired boy sitting on the floor, his back resting against an armchair in the corner of the room as he blinks a few times, seconds passing, yet there’s still nothing coming out of his mouth. 

“Are you gonna say something, or will you continue to act all dramatic…?” Jeno snickers, making his roommate roll his eyes at the jab, finally breaking the silence.

You’d argue that he just forgot what he wanted to say– with how Jaemin gets when he’s drunk, it wouldn’t be half surprising– but it seems like his roommate knows him better than you do, because the man speaks up fast, and suddenly, you take back all your impatient thoughts that urged him to ask you something already, because the question takes you by surprise and leaves you in shock, staring wide eyed and speechless.

“If you had to have sex with anyone in this room, who would you choose?” 

You no longer wish he took longer to ask you the question. No, you wish he would’ve sent it to you telepathically, so you could prepare your answer beforehand. You’d save yourself a lot of trouble– being met with the gaze of everyone, looking at you as they await your answer is truly not helping you with the difficult task of responding to the truth, when in reality, you don’t think you can manage to even say anything.

Because truthfully, if you were asked this question at any time prior to the weird situation you found yourself in with Donghyuck– who’s, just by the way, still present in the room, but more quiet that usual, which you shamefully notice and worry about on your insides, but don’t mention out loud– you’d think that you wouldn’t have sex with anyone in this room. It may be hard to believe– even though the men in this room aren’t the sexsymbols they often think they are– but that's the sheer reality.

But now? You feel like the truth is written all over your face, you feel like everyone can see right inside of your head and read the words straight out of your brain. It’s embarrassing. You feel ashamed.

Looking around the space, shiteating grins meeting all of their expressions, you shrug and finally get some words out, hoping they satisfy their needs for an answer. 

“No one,” you say, praying you sound confident. 

“Yeah, no-”

“Oh, come on-” 

“That’s a lie-”

Multiple voices cut into your confession, all in disbelief. If this isn’t the proof of their impressively big egos, you don’t know what is. All of them now staring at you with furrowed eyebrows, not believing a single word that’s just came out of your mouth, you start to wonder about how to convince them that you are, indeed, telling the truth, even though you’re obviously aren’t, so you don’t have to take a shot of whatever liquid the host of the party has hidden in the closet of his basement as a punishment.

“I’m serious! I’ve never looked at any of you and thought, ‘yea, I’d let him get it’,” you shrug, taking a nervous sip of the beer in your hold again.  

“Okay, but if you had to? Like, imagine someone is holding your mother captive and telling you they’re gonna kill her if you don’t have sex with anyone in this room. Who are you choosing?” Jeno squints at you, and you’re starting to believe that the man just wants you to pick him. 

“I’d have sex with Aeri,” you muse, pointing a finger to her as she’s leeching to your right shoulder, snickering.

“That’s a cop out!”

“Look, man, I don’t find anyone here hot, okay?” you shake your head at the commotion, grinning to yourself to seem more believable. And with how they roll their eyes and sigh to themselves, you think it’s working. There’s a premature feeling of relief in your insides, thinking that you’ve done it, you haven’t exposed yourself, before you hear your roommate mumble from her slumber, making your heart drop deep down into your own fucking asshole.

“Not even Hyuck?” 

Slowly spinning your head towards her, the tight smile on your face suggesting that you’re going to kill her in under approximately five seconds if she doesn’t take back what she said, you’re painfully aware of the fact that everyone’s staring at you now, grinning to themselves with a look that says they believe that Aeri knows something they don’t– she’s your best friend, after all– and you realize that you’re going to have a hard time getting out of this one. 

You should’ve expected this the moment you saw her drink that much. Maybe you should’ve stayed home today. The information about Lee Donghyuck was still too fresh in her brain to not mention when she has some to drink– you understand, in a way. At least, you’re trying to understand.

“Fuck no,” you grunt out, furrowing your eyebrows in the best acting performance you’ve managed to put on since your theatre kid days. You don’t think you’re convincing anyone, though. You’re not even convinced.

“Was that my name I heard?” 

And again, your heart drops at the familiar tone coming from the place straight opposite of you, the place that’s very obviously in your point of view, yet you’ve been successfully avoiding the whole evening to not seem as obvious to everyone that the very man has been occupying your every thought for the last week or two. You realize this is the first time he’s spoken to you this evening, if you’re not counting the text messages you exchanged before you got here, and something about the fact makes you shiver.

Meeting his eyes, because it’s the natural thing to do when someone speaks to you, you mentally curse and feel your heartbeat quickening at the grin sitting on his face. Eyes roaming his body– all against your will–  you notice the comfortable way he’s sitting on the armchair in front of you, legs parted wide and his thighs on full display, hair a little messy and eyes glossed over and blown out, since he smoked just a few minutes prior to the game, making you realize just how painfully he resembles someone who just had a long make-out session; the thought automatically leading you to think of the fact that you’d like to have a make-out session with him right now, and wow, his thighs do look inviting to sit down on.

“You wish,” you spit instead, still wanting to save the situation. Averting your gaze from him to keep yourself sane, you choose to focus on the floor instead, heat rising to the tips of your ears. 

“I mean, it seems more like you do,” he grins, the whole group snickering at the sudden quarrel in between the two of you. Your conversation suddenly reminds you of the ones you had with him before the two of you started properly talking, and something about the confident smirk on his face makes you remember just how annoying you’ve always found him whenever you encountered him at this very place. You’re back to square one for a minute, with your defensive remarks, similar to the way you used to quarrel with him before, and the familiarity engulfs you like a warm blanket.

“Your confidence amuses me,” you bite back, choosing to look at him as you say it to add more impact to your words; your decision seems to only worsen the things for you, though. The conversation admittedly sounds a little too much like flirting, and the way you notice him clutching the can of beer in his hand only makes you more flushed under his gaze.

“You don’t seem amused.”

“That’s because the idea of having sex with you makes me want to leave this room,” you grunt, shifting uncomfortably in your seat.

“I’ll take you home if you’d like,” he winks at you. Alarm sound goes off in your mind, your hands clammy as you run them through your hair, and suddenly, you’re on fight or flight. And if you can’t escape the situation, you decide to choose the latter– throwing him the most jabbing remark you can think of at this moment, fighting to keep your dignity.

“On a bike, or something?” you snicker. “As if I’d let a guy without a licence fuck me. You know that’s below my standards, Hyuck.”

An amused gasp is heard in the room when this remark leaves your mouth. The main source of the noise is Liu Yangyang, the host himself, since he likes to laugh at times when it’s the least socially acceptable. 

Now, you know that there are only a few things in which men value their social status; one of them being the amount of girls in their bed, the next one their rank in League of Legends, and lastly, their cars. And while Lee Donghyuck is known to be quite the player when it comes to the first thing in the list of social ranking between guys (or at least you’ve heard so from the girls in the locker room in the past years. Not like you were listening to their conversations whenever his name was mentioned… you just have very good hearing) and he was known to be the one that carries the team whenever any game on Yangyang’s PS5 is played in the dimly-lit basement on nights much like this one, there was something always setting him back in the neat ranking, and that something was the state of his car. 

Why? You guessed it– he doesn’t have a car. Or a licence.

To be quite frank, by the expression on Donghyuck’s face– all wide eyes and mouth agape in shock– you hit him right when it hurts, the grin falling off his face when he takes a sip of the beer in his hand, seemingly to chase down the taste of being put in his place and to have something to do to not seem as awkward and embarrassed as he must be feeling right now. 

You feel victorious, in a way– you managed to mask your very obvious sexual frustration caused by the man, while also managing to rile him up with your comment, which is definitely a first in your dynamic– adrenaline rushing through your blood as you look at him with expecting eyes, awaiting his response. The rest of the crowd laughs at your remark, only fueling the joy you feel when he suddenly averts his gaze from you, licking his lips for only a millisecond (yet it doesn’t get unnoticed by your eyes) before he snickers again, shrugging.

“Okay then,” he grunts, pressing the tip of his tongue to the inside of his cheek in annoyance, “you won.”

You know what? Once he admits to it, the feeling of victory quickly fades. Watching his frustrated face, eyebrows furrowed as he looks everywhere but at your face, suddenly, you choose to drown yourself in the rest of the beer in your bottle, relieved when you notice the game progressing without you. 

You won, he says, but you don't feel like you did. Quite the opposite, actually. You feel a tad bit defeated. 

You managed to lie to the crowd, but the very obvious pit in your stomach reminds you that you can’t lie to yourself– and now, bear with me as I say something cheesy, yet true– because even though Lee Donghyuck can’t drive, he’s still very successful at driving you crazy.

You feel like the universe is punishing you for every little, smallest thing you’ve ever done wrong in your life. You feel like whatever force is there that’s making this world go around, absolutely, completely, wholeheartedly hates, despises you, and won’t have mercy on you as you’re left dealing with the text message shining on your phone screen four days after the party, at 8 in the evening. 

hyuck – drive me to a date hyuck – please ig 

Sighing, one, two, three times, you chew on the bottom of your lip as your eyes scan over the messages, and something about the very few words makes your stomach turn and twist in an emotion you’d describe as a weird mix of disgust and shock as you mentally try to come up with a reply. And it’s hard.

It’s difficult, because you hate it, you hate it, you hate it– the way Lee Donghyuck just managed to score himself a date only four days after your ever so growing sexual frustration has started to see the light of the day, you hate the way he’s asking you to drive him there– as if to show you that he still has it, that you’re wrong, and that even though he has no car and no license to boost in front of other girls, they still want him and you’re about to witness it as you drive him there. 

And you hate it so much you start to think you’re going to chew on your own fist and throw a rock through your own window, but you strive hard not to show it. And is there a better way to seem unaffected in this situation than to comply with him? If you weren’t so jealous about the whole thing, you’d surely just make fun of him and do it, no questions asked– a friendly favor, or something. And so you do it. Like it’s nothing.

you – ok text me when you’re ready 

After a few minutes, you end up sitting in your car, hands on the wheel ready to turn (and run into the nearest car out of pure rage, possibly), waiting for Lee Donghyuck to appear on the passenger’s seat, all dolled up and dumped in cologne, presumably– and that’s exactly what happens when the door swings open and your nose is filled with his usual smell but somehow amplified, and you catch a glimpse of his leather jacket and the shirt tucked into his black jeans. You don’t outright look at him– because you’re still trying really hard not to show all of your inner thoughts on your face– and so you only turn on the engine and hum at him, already making your way out of the parking lot.

“Where are you going, then?” you ask, tone of voice completely unbothered and not too stingy or tight. “And I’m just dropping you off this time, right? Because I won’t sit there and watch you have a date and wait to drop both of you back,” you say, playing with the car radio and trying to find a station that would both satisfy your need to tune out your thoughts with a good song and the need to do something with your fingers to seem occupied.

“Of course not,” he snickers, “wouldn’t do that to poor you. And just go the way I tell you. Now turn left at the end of the street.”

Sighing to yourself at his orders, you do your best at driving your neighbor to his date while trying to ignore just how ridiculous this whole situation is. You should’ve said no back when he first asked you to be his personal driver for the semester– failing Film theory class doesn’t seem like such a bad thing in your eyes now, when you look at the situation in retrospect.

“Can’t believe you have to be dropped off at your own date and you still pull bitches,” you shake your head in disbelief, hoping, praying you seem annoyed because of your duties and not because you’d much rather have him staying in so you could catch a glimpse of him in his window, crouched down in the blue light of his room (yes, he has neon lights in his room. Yes, you teased him about it countless of times before) as he plays League of Legends or stays up on a discord call with his friends, playing Minecraft.

“See? You’re missing out,” he chuckles, shrugging to himself. 

“As if I’d ever go on a date with you,” you huff, moving to turn the volume of the radio higher so you don’t have to make small talk with him anymore, agitated, yet completely ignoring the fact that it was you who brought it up in the first place.

Hyuck moves his slender fingers along the knob of the radio and tunes the volume back down, and you’re eager to repeat your previous steps just to anger him and also so you don’t have to listen to his sneaky, egoistical remarks for any longer, when you hear him tell you the next directions and you realize that you still indeed need to hear Donghyuck’s voice, or else you’re not gonna be able to drop him off at his destination and drive away as fast as humanly possible.

The terrain around you starts to look more stranded. There are more trees than buildings in your sight, lampposts decreasing in amount as you drive further away from the city center, and only when you pass the sign that tells you that you just left the town you speak up again, now truly concerned.

“Where the fuck are you taking your date, man? To the middle of the woods?” you huff. “Is she meeting you there?”

“Don’t worry about it,” he laughs, shaking his head at your furrowed brows. Something about his casual composure makes your nerves tick off and goosebumps appear all over your body, as if you were sensing danger, when you sigh out heavily in frustration and turn to look at him for only a split second, eyes meeting with his. 

“Or are you making me drive to another fucking state, you fucker? I don’t have that much gas right now, you dumb ass–”

“We’re almost there, don’t worry,” he rolls his eyes at you, pointing somewhere into the distance again. “Just turn right there and drive up the hill.”

“Up the fucking hill?” you repeat, concerned.

“I told you to not worry about it,” Hyuck hums, settling deeper into the car seat, letting you battle your own thoughts as you follow his orders and drive up the hill for him, praying no deer decides to jump onto the road and total your car right now. 

“I worry about the girl that agreed to go on a date with you, Donghyuck,” you mutter, “I’ll tell you that, she clearly doesn’t have everything alright in the brain, because this is ridiculous.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he swats your worries away with a swing of his arm, pointing towards a place that extends out of the main road– if you can even call it that, since no cars are passing through the hill ever, much more in these hours of the day– and tells you that you can park the car there. 

And you do as you’re told, despite your never-ending complaining– that’s the dynamic you have with Lee Donghyuck, it seems. 

Stopping the car out of the main road, your car shielded from one side by a row of trees, you step on the break and look at the man to your right in question, the engine still running. “Is this it? Is this the place?”

“Yeah,” he nods, a grin slowly starting to play with his features. Something isn’t right– you feel it in your bones and see it in his eyes, but you can’t quite put your finger on it, still utterly confused and in the dark about everything. “Come on, get out of the car.”

He wastes no time in unbuckling his seatbelt and hopping out of the vehicle, his figure circling the car as he leans on the hood, turned away from you and seemingly waiting for you to follow his actions. Confused, figuring that you can’t do much more about the situation right now– where the fuck is his date? Why are we on the top of a hill? Will his date show up? – all swimming around your brain, you hop out and find his warm being, standing one step ahead of him and staring at him with stern, frustrated eyes.

“Look, isn’t it pretty?” he asks, pointing somewhere behind you. It takes everything in you to turn and gaze at the sight in front of you, your heart still weak and angrily beating against your ribcage, but you do as you’re ordered, eyes bearing into the view. 

The whole town is stretching out right below you. Now that you’ve turned the engine off and your headlights have gone out, you see the lights even better, shielded by a blanket of stars glimmering above the horizon, and you can’t help but gasp out in the beauty of it all. This place makes you want to take a picture, so you can remember how you felt while standing here and admiring the city forever– so you can remember how you felt while standing next to Donghyuck, heart foolishly drumming against your ribcage– and you suddenly realize just how badly you despise the fact that he showed this to you just to send you off while he waits for his date, as if to show you everything you could have if you went out with him, even though the question was never even on the table in the first place.

Clearing your throat, you turn to him, eyes glazing his side profile. “Where’s your date? Is she turning up? I don’t think it’s safe to make her–”

“My date’s already here,” he hums, nodding to himself. 

This does nothing to clear out the fog of confusion from in front of your eyes. “Huh? Where?”

“Here,” he repeats. The word has you wearily looking around yourself, furrowed brows and all– and that only makes the man chuckle at your antics, low voice cutting out of his throat making its way straight to the bottom of your stomach. “There’s no one else here. Just us. And no one else is coming, so will you chill out and enjoy our date, finally?” he asks, locking his gaze with you in a lazy, yet attractive manner that has your hands shaking and your brain instantly panicking.

Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you process his words for a few seconds, doing mental acrobatics and racking your brain in thought. Nothing helps. “Our date?”

“Mhm.”

“Yeah, no,” you giggle out in awkwardness, feeling unarmed and like somebody’s just dunk a bucket of hot water over you. Shaking your head, you try hard to mask the way you’re feeling on the inside right now, because what are you even feeling right now? As you do some unreadable gestures with your arms as a way of declining and canceling everything that’s happening right now. “Us? A date? Yeah, not happening–” 

You mumble out, ready to escape the situation as fastly and as efficiently as you can while you try to make your way back inside of the car, not really thinking of the journey home you’re about to have to make with him on the passenger’s seat, when a hand grips your wrist, making you stop in your tracks. You take a few steps away from him nonetheless, and the man soon follows you before your body is swiftly turned against your car, the small of your back coming in contact with the driver’s door. Your breathing is quick when the man hovers above you, and you don’t feel danger– you just feel a bit panicked at the way tonight’s playing out. A date? You wouldn’t have thought of this in your most insane dreams.

“Why are you trying to run away?” he asks, his hand still holding your wrist, his fingers firm, yet gentle on your skin.

“Because– um– because-” you stutter, eyes instantly meeting his– regret pooling in the bottom of your stomach when you realize the proximity of his gaze, something tense bundling up in your insides, “this is ridiculous, Donghyuck, you can’t just–”

“I can’t just?” he tempts you, eyebrows rising to make you continue.

“You can’t just lure me into a date with you, that’s not how this works–”

“Would you go if I asked, then?”

“No, of course not!” you shake your head at him, tone of voice a few octaves higher than usual. Your eyes scan over your companion, his face reflecting the moonlight, and you find yourself counting the moles on his cheeks and noticing his sped-up breathing, automatically matching it despite not realizing it yourself. 

“Why? ‘Cause I don’t have a driving license, or because you’re just scared to admit that you’re attracted to me?” he challenges you, quirking up his brows at you in tension. 

Something about it makes you lose all the air in your lungs. He’s so close now you swear the scent of his cologne has made you drugged up, since you can’t seem to take your eyes off his lips for the next few seconds, completely in trance and electrified, and before you know it, you’re a blubbering mess, too lost in everything that is him to come up with something coherent. “That’s- that’s just not-”

He laughs at you, he snickers, as those words escape your mouth, not even a full sentence. You bet it’s enough of a confirmation for him that you’ve officially lost all control– you can’t seem to get out a teasing remark like you usually can, no smart words calculated and thrown his way to scatter down his ego, and you think he realizes that he won. You’re defenseless, you’re weak, and you really want to make out with him right now.

Which he might have sensed out of the way you’ve been yearningly staring at his lips the whole exchange. Still, he mumbles out a small “Stop me now if you don’t want this,” just to be completely sure.

And you don’t. You don't stop him when he leans in and captures your lips with his. You’d be a fool to.

His lips crash against yours with a fever-like pace, the tension that’s been building up between the two of you making itself known in the hurried motions of your lips. His kiss is deep, hands cradling your cheeks as he angles you to lock your lips with his better, not a hint of shyness or hesitance in his motions. Your fingers shakily grasp at the front of his shirt, trying to steady yourself when each motion of his mouth against yours leaves your knees weaker and weaker, your body pressed harder against the car door.

He tastes of mint, making you suspect he planned this and chewed on a gum before meeting you, and when his teeth gently pulls at your bottom lip, eliciting a gasp from you, his tongue is left exploring the inside of your mouth, making you grow hotter and hotter under his ministrations. Your hands occupy themselves as they finally let go off his shirt and sneak around his small waist, pulling him closer, and you swear that you’ve never experienced a kiss that would leave you so eager for more before, a kiss that would leave you so weak and open for anything that’s about to happen– as if you were already naked and bare, a puddle in his palms. 

You’re soon left out of breath, gasping for air when he pulls away from you, and his kisses turn into pecks left on your lips, open mouthed kisses slowly trailing to the corner of your mouth and down your jaw, lips hungrily attaching to your neck, his nose glazing the soft skin as if to smell your scent and ingrave it into his memory. Something inside of you unties and makes you lose all of your control, finally falling fully into the sensation of the novelty of making out with Lee Donghyuck against your car, and you find your hands tying themselves into his hair, tugging at the roots when he finds the soft spot on the crevice of your shoulder that makes you squirm, and you suddenly know what all the girls in the locker rooms were talking about. Each action of his has you gasping for air, eyes pressing shut in the blissfulness of it all– the bites he leaves on your neck, smoothing them down with kitten licks each time surely leaving bruises, making your insides light up with the acts of possession.

“Hyuck–” you gasp, his mouth sucking into another spot on your neck, your head instantly moving away from his way to give him more space to work his magic.

“Hm?” he hums, a satisfied sound cutting out of his throat as his actions get more slow, more lazy, but still just as electrifying. You don’t really know what you wanted to say– perhaps you had no point of calling his name just to say it, and the hazy look in your face is enough of a proof to him when he unattaches himself off your neck and locks his eyes with you, a grin settling onto his face. “Feels good?” 

Nodding eagerly, almost a bit fast and a bit too soon to your own liking (but you’ll worry about that later), you watch him lean towards you again, lips locking with yours in need. Your fingers trail up and down his clothed back, his fingers mirroring the same, but up your loose shirt (which reminds you that you didn’t even dress prettily for the occasion– since you didn’t know this was your date you're attending), cold hands against your heated skin. Shivering from the fresh breeze of the night, you feel him grin against your lips before detaching himself from them to speak against your mouth. “Let’s move this somewhere warmer,” he murmurs before he tugs you away from the car and opens up the back door, pushing you inside.

Swiftly getting inside and closing the door behind himself, Donghyuck appears hovering above you, caging you against the uncomfortable seat. Still, you don’t have time to feel any sense of discomfort as his fingers move your hair from the way and his lips are back on yours again, leaving you no time to think of the implications of the whole situation. 

“See? Isn’t this much better than arguing with each other all the time?” Hyuck snickers again in a moment of weakness when he pulls back from your face to admire your swollen lips, and the teasing has you pushing him towards the seats, a dissatisfied look on your face. 

“Shut up,” you whisper almost hurriedly, climbing onto his lap (not before you admire his sprawled-up legs and the sight of his thighs, though).

“Make me,” he challenges.

“Gladly,” you nod, attaching yourself to his plump lips again, since you can’t seem to get enough of the sensation of them against your weak self, every sweep of his tongue with yours making you feel more heated and impatient as you move against him in his lap, the motion earning you a dissatisfied grunt sent against your mouth as his palms grip your hips with unsaid urgency.

“Don’t start something you wouldn’t want to finish,” he breathes out.

Nodding, you hum. “Who said anything about stopping?” you muse out, grinding against him harder.

You’ll worry about the consequences later.

“Why am I the only one in the shot?” you squint your eyes at the male, watching him as he points his camera to you and tells you to smile and act natural. Donghyuck has on his varsity jacket and his hair is sitting messy, a bit curled on the top of his head, his legs are covered with loose gray sweatpants instead of his usual black jeans– he looks casual, and yet, he looks amazing, you foolishly think as you sigh to yourself and walk across the field, much like the male mentioned a few weeks ago when the two of you ate fried chicken with his free coupons, trying to capture the energy of what youth feels like to you.

“Because you are the main star, honey,” he grins at you, the nickname making you trip over a little on your own feet, before you turn back to him and send him a glare.

“I told you not to call me that,” you mutter, but feel the heat from your stomach slowly rising to the tips of your ears and the tops of your cheeks, your composure slowly crumbling under his gaze. Not only are you watched by his deep brown orbs, there’s also a camera pointed at you now, and if he doesn’t stop with the weird flirting he has going on– especially after what happened between the two of you last week– you don’t know how you’re supposed to contain yourself and act so you don’t look like an utter fool in front of everyone, when the clips will be played in class next week.

“Besides, the project is due next week and this is all we’re doing? Are you sure we’re going to be able to pull this off?” you ask, wary of his confidence. You’re not really sure if Donghyuck knows what he’s doing with this assignment. Why did you even trust him with it in the first place?

“I told you to leave it to me,” he says, “now be a good girl and run down the field, maybe twirl a little like a ballerina, I dunno… Hum a little tune to yourself, do anything remotely interesting and youthful, okay?” he instructs you, and you comply, ignoring the fact that he told you to be a good girl, because after what the two of you did last week, you’re not able to register those two words in a way that would not be mildly sexual in your brain.

You two haven’t spoken about the fact that you hooked up in the backseat of your car after your weird date last week. Truth be told, you two haven’t spoken about anything since it happened, because you felt too awkward and hesitant to bring any conversation topic up. The first time you two spoke was when Donghyuck texted you yesterday about the project, and you told yourself that you simply can't ignore him when it comes to these things, and so you agreed to meet up with him, hoping he won't bring up the events of last week. You were scared. What were you scared of, exactly? You have no idea.

Something in you was almost a bit shameful to admit to yourself that you managed to fall for Lee Donghyuck this quickly. Something in you was a bit embarrassed at the fact that you let yourself be so intimate and so close with the male, and although you don’t regret it, you don’t think you want to talk about it with him (or anyone, for that matter) just yet. Or ever, actually.

And although you could be rational and tell yourself that surely, Donghyuck wanted you in just the same way you wanted him, and there was nothing embarrassing about it, you didn’t feel comfortable with talking about the act with him, because deep down, you know it wasn’t just about the sex for you and you were afraid that it was for him, and you’d rather stay in the blissful unknowingness than to know he only wanted to have sex with you and not try to go somewhere further with your relationship. Did this inner monologue reek of disgusting insecurity? 

Yes. Yes, it did. But somehow, you’re not able to do anything about it.

And so you run down the field like Donghyuck told you to, and you twirl and twist and shout and dance around, trying your hardest to act silly and youthful and exactly like he would like you to, because you’d hate to be unnatural around him, and you pray it’s enough for both the project and him included. Turning back to gaze at him from the distance, you notice that he’s not even recording anymore, only watching you with a lazy grin on his face, eyes glimmering under the direct sunlight, and you wonder how you haven’t realized just how beautiful he is when he’s simply just existing all those months ago, and how foolish you feel with the thought and both without it now. Walking up to him, you muse. 

“Are we done here?” 

“I think we got all the shots we need,” he hums, nodding to your question. There is something reassuring in his smile, and if you were confident enough to grasp at the straws, you would try to talk to him about the events of last week. You lack in many ways, though, and you were never so self-assured as you try to portray yourself to be, and so you don’t. 

“Let’s go, then,” you say, shuddering from the cold November wind as you walk away from the man, expecting him to follow you. You drove here, since the place is a few miles away from the city, and the fact that this marks the end of your project didn’t really make you as relieved and happy as you thought you’d feel back when you agreed to be his driver for the semester. 

A soft fabric envelopes your shoulders, his varsity jacket hugging you into warmth. You smell his cologne when you shyly push your limbs through the sleeves– a self-indulgent desire, too strong to be fought away– and when you look at him to thank him, he wears a soft look in his eyes that glazes you with such tenderness you feel like combusting from the inside with the strengths of your own emotions. Your heart beats fast in your chest when he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear as you walk towards the car, and when a stronger wind hits your heated face, you think that maybe Donghyuck was right, after all. 

You do think this perfectly captures what youth feels like.

“So we won’t talk about it?” he asks, and you turn away from him in fear of your emotions being clearly written on your face. He doesn’t have to name it– you know what he means.

“No,” you shake your head, determined, yet a little scared of his response, “not now.” Not yet, you think. You want to enjoy today a little longer.

“Why?” he asks.

Taking a shaky breath in, sensing that you won’t get to avoid the confrontation like you wanted to, you shrug. “I don’t know if I’m ready to hear it yet,” you bitterly laugh, meeting his eyes with something close to fear in your eyes.

“Hear what?”

“That you… you didn’t really mean anything by it, y’know,” you mumble, “I mean, you probably just did it to stroke your ego, or something, after everything I said at the party, so… yeah, I just don’t know if I wanna hear it.”

There’s a heartbeat of silence after your explanation, and Donghyuck only stares you down with a blank expression. It's not often that you don’t get to clearly see and experience all his emotions flashing through his face, letting you know what he feels even before he gets to speak it out loud. Now is one of the situations, though, and it scares you– it makes you so deeply afraid you’d rather back away from this conversation– damn you for entertaining it in the first place, and so you pretend it never happened in the first place.

“You think I did it to stroke my ego?” he clarifies.

“I- I mean…” you stutter, shying away from his gaze.

“Okay, then,” he mumbles, jaw hardening, his eyes not meeting yours when he circles the car and gets to his designated place on the passenger's seat, “that’s fine, I guess. I’ll try to show you my intentions clearer next time.”

Sitting in class, head resting in your hands as you stare right in front of you, mentally counting down the seconds until the last class of the semester starts, you are only vaguely aware of the things happening around you. You register Aeri talking to you about the new episode of her favorite drama somewhere to your right and you are also aware of Haknyeon and Shotaro sitting in the row in front of you, laughing loudly to themselves about the way their weekend went– yours went terribly, just for everyone’s information, since you decided to drown your feelings in alcohol alone in your apartment, having to be led to bed by your roommate after she got home in the middle of the night from one of her dates with Eric. You don’t really realize it when the class starts, because the monotone voice of your professor doesn’t do much to wake you up, but you are painfully aware of Lee Donghyuck’s body slumping next to yours into one of the only vacant chairs approximately 10 minutes after the class starts, out of breath and slouched over.

Aware of his presence, yet still acting like a scared deer around him, you don’t make any effort into turning to him and greeting him upon his arrival. Still, you sense the smell of his cologne filling your nostrils and making you just a bit more tired and sleepy, your eyes closing on themselves before you’re woken up by the sound of your name coming out of the professor’s mouth.

Scared you’re getting scolded for sleeping in class, you straighten your back and put on your best polite expression, but then you realize your name wasn’t called, just mentioned, and the name of none other than your neighbor was following, when the projector on the wall in front of you lights up and a file named Final projects is opened on the professor’s laptop, each .mp4 file named with a pair of surnames, and two clicks after, your final project is the first one of many presented in front of the whole class. You tried to tell Donghyuck that you could help with the final editing, but the male said he had a vision he needed to achieve, and for that, he wanted to be in charge of it alone, and frankly, out of fear of interacting with him more than was absolutely necessary, you left him to do his thing, resulting in this being your first time watching the final video as well.

There’s a few seconds of silence, a point of complete blankness as the clip starts, and a song played on an acoustic guitar starts playing when the word YOUTH, all capitalized, flashes at the screen. 

A clip of you running down the field in your flowy dress starts the video, the camera zooming in on your figure when you twirl and skip around in the tall grass, and then you laugh over the background music, the sound making you gape in surprise. You didn’t know your laugh sounded like that, and with the hazy coloring of the clips and the solemn, youthful atmosphere Donghyuck managed to capture in the video, you find yourself thinking the sound was kind of beautiful. 

Then the clip cuts into another one– and you widen your eyes at the sight, because Donghyuck told you he’s only going to include the clips from the field, and you believed him, well, because you never saw him record anything else– as the screen shows you a bunch of moments, all wordless, of you just going on with your life. The very next one is of you arriving to class late, a grumpy expression playing with your features. You didn’t notice Donghyuck filming back then, when he offered you a cup of coffee as you laid back on the desk, and a fit of giggles erupts around the class at your behavior. The next clip shows you laughing at Aeri’s shoulder in Yangyang’s basement– a couple of clips of that night following, capturing you playing beer pong with your other friends, or taking sips of your beer when you sat down on one of the folding chairs in the corner of the basement– each one showcasing you completely natural, unstaged, and raw. You had no idea anyone was watching you, yet alone taking clips of you. Did Donghyuck have his camera with him all those times? Or was he just taking those with his phone, since you never even noticed?

There’s a clip of you showing him the middle finger through the window when he called you late at night one day. Another one of you driving, and frankly, you don’t even know where you were going, but the sound of you giggling breaks through the speakers and you slouch deeper into your seat, shy at hearing the sound. The very next one is of you sipping at your boba through your straw, and that’s when you realize those were taken by his phone– at least some of them– because you attempt to hide from the lens by showing your palm against it. Another clip shows you digging through bags of McDonald’s take out in the driver’s seat of your car, another one lets you remember the time you went to get fried chicken with him, thinking he’s sending the video he took of you to tease his roommate with the free food he got with someone else back then, unaware that he wanted to use it for the project later. 

There are a few clips that only last a second. You walking a few steps ahead of him– you think it was the time you two went to the mall, you angry with his antics. Another one of you picking out cans of soda from the rack in the convenience store. A clip of you driving, once again, but now the sky is starry and dark, and you remember the night too well, since it wasn’t that long ago. A clip of you glaring at your bangs in the rear view mirror, another one of you staring into your textbooks at the library. 

There’s only one clip that shows Donghyuck as well. It’s one taken without you knowing, much like the previous ones, and how you missed the phone plopped up against the corner of your dashboard, you really don’t know, but the video shows you two in the McDonald’s parking lot, your hand touching his on the gear stick as you show him how to drive. Only then do you notice the flustered look on his face and the nervous laugh he gets out in the clip, the sound making your heart jump in your ribcage. 

The last part of the video is of you walking a few steps ahead of him, his varsity jacket hugging you around your shoulders. It’s the latest clip of them all, and it makes you painfully shy to look at it. The video comes to finish with a few last strums of an acoustic guitar in the background, and you come back to your senses when you feel a hand squeeze your thigh under the table, the whole class erupting into claps. The video was beautiful, and you feel moved.

Although you should be more mad about the fact that Donghyuck took videos of you without you knowing, there is something incredibly moving about the fact that somebody was looking at you and felt the need to capture the moment before it went away. The clips were candid, real, raw, showcasing exactly how the memory went, how your laugh sounded, and how you looked through Donghyuck’s eyes. The video was exactly what it needed to be and more. 

There’s something about the fact that all of the clips were of you that made you feel weak in your knees. If the video was what youth feels like, does this mean you were his youth?

If you felt beautiful in the video, loved the way your eyes crinkled in joy, liked the way your expressions morphed into the purest form of whatever emotion you felt at the moment, did that mean this was the way Donghyuck saw you with his eyes?

“See?” you hear him whisper into your ear, his hand still resting at the top of your leg. “I told you I had a vision. I did a good job, didn’t I?”

You chuckle, then offer him a nod. “I didn’t know you were recording all of those,” you whisper, ignoring the words coming out of your professor’s mouth– surely evaluating your work right now. You don’t really want to hear it, though– you’re sure you’ll pass. After seeing what your neighbor’s capable of, you have no doubts.

“I wanted it to feel authentic,” he peeps, “to the way I see you, I mean.”

“Is this what you meant when you said you’d prove your point later?” you wonder.

“I mean, the fact that I’ve always had the biggest crush on you was supposed to come across when I liked your objectively terrible haircut you got at the beginning of the term, but yes,” he admits, sheepishly smiling.

“Okay, uncalled for,” you shrug off his hand from your thigh, to which he giggles and captures your limb with his again, interlacing your fingers. He sways your hands back and forth, offering you a soft look that drives you slightly insane. After all of this, you’re really not sure what you were so afraid of.

“How does that roadtrip sound right now?” 

“Still absolutely terrifying,” you note. 

“Even if I pay for gas?” he laughs.

Squinting at him, admiring the boyish grin playing with his lips, you sigh. “I’ll think about it.”

[jenoyeahh]

will comment more when i finally have the words for this, but the way this fic plays in my mind like a taiwanese coming of age movies is truly wonderful, and i enjoyed every single second of it. Thank you for writing and sharing! ☺️

[sluttyten]

You In My Arms

Chapter 11: Always, Yours (Finale)

full masterlist || haechan masterlist || YIMA chapter index

summary: some things are hard to find the words for, and endings are always the worst. but this isn’t an ending, not really, not for Haechan. He used to be the background character in the love stories of other people, but now it’s definitely his turn to write his own happy ending.

length: 25,579 words

tags: friends to lovers, general perversion, smut, public sex, exhibitionism, voyeurism, blowjobs, etc.

previous chapter || Completed YIMA index

Haechan knew by the third date that he was going to marry her. 

He thought he probably would before then, but by the third date, he accepted it as a fact. 

He was in love like he’d never been before. 

“What have you done to me?” He asks her while they’re tangled together in bed on Valentine’s Day after a very nice, romantic date. “Did you slip me a love spell or something?”

She laughs. 

It was a love spell, for sure, he decides. That’s how he fell so hard and fast, so completely. It couldn’t possibly be his own incompetence and blindness over the years finally being lifted. 

Part of him expects the intensity of his feelings for her to fade as the months pass by, as they pass through that phase where the relationship is so new and everything is just fresh and exciting. 

But the feelings don’t dim even slightly, even once they do start to exit that honeymoon phase. Yeah, they argue sometimes, but that doesn’t mean that Haechan loves her any less? It doesn’t mean that he doesn’t still almost constantly think about her and want her, want to be by her or talking to her. 

And then, in May, she has to go abroad for work, and for those first few days, Haechan feels her absence like he’s had his heart scooped from his chest. He hates the lonely, hollow feeling. 

They talk as much as they can, and Haechan doesn’t even mind waking up early if it means he can talk to her for a bit before his day starts and hers ends. She’s a million miles away in London, and he’s teetering on the brink of falling back asleep as she talks, her voice so soothing. 

He’s only halfway awake when he hears her joke that she should take Haechan’s upcoming birthday week off of work so she doesn’t have to see anymore of Johnny who is also on this trip with her. Haechan mumbles out words of encouragement, telling her to do it, to take the time off with him. 

As soon as Haechan, in his drowsy state, hears her agree to take the week of his birthday off, as soon as she’s trying to suggest making plans together to get out of the city, he suddenly remembers his mom had asked him if he was going to come home for his birthday. So he hears his girlfriend’s question, he remembers his mom, and the two things combine in his mind, and Haechan panics a little.

He hasn’t told his mom about her. And he hasn’t told his girlfriend that he’s considered going home for his birthday. And when he combines those two things, all he can think of is that if he tells his girlfriend about seeing his family for his birthday, what if she asks if she can come along? Or what if she expects him to invite her? He hasn’t told his family about her! And he knows that is wrong, that he should’ve said something to them months ago about him being in a relationship, especially since he’s met her family and he’s in love with her (so hopelessly, head over heels in love) and he’s planning a future with her, and all of this just weighs down Haechan’s belly, thoughts roaring around in his head.

“Hyuck?” Her voice is so quiet from all those miles and miles away in London.

He makes up some terrible excuse and ends the call quickly. 

Shit. What is he gonna do?

For the next week, he goes back and forth again and again on what he should do here. Obviously, he should probably just tell his mom. He talks to her at least once a week on average, if not more, and over the course of that week they have three separate phone calls in which she asks him again if he’s coming to visit, and he could sit it then, could tell her, “ Yeah, I’m coming to visit, and I’m bringing my girlfriend with me to introduce her to all of you,” but does he say any of that? No. Why?

“Chicken!” Renjun laughs. “Lee Donghyuck, you’re usually not such a coward!”

They’re together at the gym. Haechan feels half-embarrassed as the two of them “work out” side-by-side with Renjun’s boyfriend who is actually doing a rather intense workout and whose muscles are next-level. Haechan can’t stop sneaking peeks over at the sweat that dampens Jaehyun’s shoulders and back.

“I’m not going to tell her,” Renjun is saying as Haechan again takes notice of the way that Jaehyun is grunting softly while he lifts weights just feet away. Haechan’s mind short circuits a little, thinking back to the videos he’s seen of Renjun and Jaehyun together. It takes great strength of mind to pull his attention back to Renjun, who doesn’t seem to have noticed, or at least doesn’t mind, how distracted Haechan is by Jaehyun.

Renjun says, “But you’re being such a chicken, dumbass. Just tell your mom you’ve got a girlfriend! Tell your girlfriend to come with you to meet them. What are you scared of, huh? It’s not like you’re coming out to them or anything. That shit can be scary. You’re just taking your wonderful girlfriend home to meet your family. What’s there to freak out about?”

Haechan whines a little, and he sits down pathetically on the dirty gym floor. “You don’t get it. We’ve been together for, like, five months now. Her parents have known about us for two months, and all this time I’ve been silent. Five months and I’ve kept her a secret from my mom. My mom is gonna be pissed because I used to tell her everything.”

Renjun just rolls his eyes. “Your mom is so sweet, I don’t think she’ll be pissed at you. Your girlfriend though….” Renjun shakes his head, looks over at Jaehyun, and then sighs, “If you keep it all a secret, she’s gonna be so upset.”

“I know.” Haechan is aware that she’ll probably be angry. And he knows it’s stupid, all so stupid. But he just has this mental block when it comes to this, and he doesn’t know why, really. It’s silly.

Haechan startles a little when Jaehyun speaks up. “Listening to this is just…” He laughs, and shakes his head. “You and her have both been totally open about your kinky sexual histories, but you’re scared to tell your family about her? You’re scared to invite her to meet them?”

Jaehyun walks closer, reaching out to steal the water bottle that Renjun was just drinking from. Haechan feels like he’s intruding when he notices the way Renjun is looking at his boyfriend: a deep need shimmering there in his eyes.

“Just tell them,” Jaehyun says after a moment. “Trust me, being very clear about where the relationship stands is important. If you don’t say anything, if you keep putting off introducing her to them, what if she thinks you’re not serious about her?” He’s staring at Renjun as he speaks, their gazes locked, and now Haechan definitely feels like he’s intruding on a moment.

Haechan’s girlfriend comes home from London the next day. He could have told her then, when she excitedly threw herself into the car and dragged him in for an excited kiss. He could’ve said something in the car, just thrown out the casual invitation to come meet his family.

But he didn’t.

And for the next few days he really, really struggles to overcome that mental block.

It doesn’t help that his mom is messaging him too, inquiring about his plans, and when he does finally agree that he’ll come to Jeju for his birthday, she has a million more questions about what he wants to eat and where he wants to go, what he wants to do with his time while he’s visiting home. It’s a lot. Plus, on top of his unnecessary and self-inflicted pressure in his personal life, his professional life is jam-packed full of stress too. Multiple projects and meetings and just so much work that he barely even sees his girlfriend those first few days, and it’s not until Thursday when his final project for the week is complete, that Haechan feels like he can even take a deep breath.

He leaves the boardroom and collapses at his desk, heaving out a sigh.

A few desks away, Jungwoo looks over at him, offering an easy smile.

And beyond Jungwoo is the door to her office. She’s sitting at her desk, on the phone while she’s clicking around on her computer. He watches her lips move, the annoyed tick of her eyebrow as whatever she hears over the phone meets her disapproval. Haechan watches her for a few long moments until her gaze lifts from the computer and sweeps over to his. She pauses for a split second and then smiles, and Haechan feels a little bit more relaxed right then.

She looks away, but he doesn’t.

He’s thinking. Thinking about how it’s Thursday and he’s taken Friday off, and then he’s free for the next week. His birthday is on Tuesday. And he has her. He’s so lucky to have her and he needs to tell her the truth. He needs to tell her that even though she has this coming week off too, he’s going out of town to see his family.

He hates how distant he’s been all week, the way he’s been busy with work and with avoiding telling her anything. He hates that he canceled on her when she wanted to go look at an apartment for them a couple days ago. He knows that she’d been annoyed by that, but Haechan had high hopes that he could make up for it.

He’s had his eyes on a better apartment than the one she’d wanted to go look at.

The one he wants is at the top of their price range, but it will be worth it. It is the kind of apartment that Haechan can see as more of a home. It’s a  two-bedroom, so there is room for a future to grow.

Haechan saw the listing online a few weeks ago, saw the photos and the location, and his mind began spinning, his imagination filling in the details of what he couldn’t already see. He was picturing cooking breakfasts and dinners with her in that kitchen. Envisioning relaxing baths and sensual showers, mornings waking up beside her in that bedroom that had plenty of windows to let in the sunlight. He was imagining dancing around the living room with her, wine-drunk and laughing, pulling her in for a messy kiss in front of the sofa. He could see himself proposing, slipping a ring on her finger and bringing her home to that apartment to celebrate. Haechan had visions of her cradling a baby in front of the big living room window that overlooked the city; visions of holding chubby hands while tiny feet stood atop his own for their first assisted steps, of chasing a toddling kid around the apartment with delighted laughter ringing in his ears. He could just imagine Christmas mornings and birthdays and game nights and movie nights and so many happy holidays with both of their families crammed in that apartment.

Haechan had it all planned out.

His future.

His future with her.

But hours later on that Thursday, Haechan feels his entire planned out future with her come crashing down around him.

She was an enchantress, seducing him right there on the sofa in his and YangYang’s apartment, and he was usually pretty jealous about sharing her, but he didn’t even care when YangYang walked in on them, when YangYang pretended like he wasn’t the one watching Haechan have sex (for a change). That part of the evening was good, even if his phone kept buzzing with messages from his mom throughout it all.

But then, afterwards, in that blissful afterglow as he’s cuddling her, she pulls the truth from him at last.

He admits the horrible truth: he hasn’t told his family about her.

She sits there, staring at him with angry tears beading in her eyes, her voice growing louder as she grows more upset, and his stupid fucking mental block just still won’t let him get the words out, won’t open up to let him tell her his (admittedly shitty, he realizes) excuses as to why he hasn’t told his family about her. But he’s trying. He’s trying to tell her, but the words that do manage to escape his mental block are coming out wrong, and YangYang emerges from his room at the sound of raised voices to intervene, and Haechan is at a loss.

She disappears to his bedroom, and Haechan assumes that she’s just in there to cool off, to calm herself down before she’ll come back out here, and they can talk about it again.

But when she reappears, she’s dressed in her own clothes instead of his shirt, and she keeps walking, heading right for the door of the apartment.

That’s when he really feels it, when he really knows that he fucked up, and he feels all the fractures in his bright future of them together in that apartment that feels more like a home.

“Where are you going?” He asks, trying to keep his voice from sounding as broken as he feels.

“I’m fucking leaving,” she spits back, blowing right by where he’s still sitting on the sofa talking to YangYang.

She can’t go. He’s always hated to watch her leave, but especially now when she’s this angry. He wants to talk to her, to actually get his words out.

All he manages is her name.

She pauses, her hand on the door handle.

“Stay,” he tries to say, but the word won’t come. It’s stuck in the back of his throat as he stares at her back, as he watches her head tilt slightly in the way he’s noticed it does when she’s really annoyed. She waits a few seconds, waits for Haechan to fail to find his voice, and then she throws the door open and vanishes through it.

Fuck. 

He doesn’t think he sleeps at all that night. 

He doesn’t know how many times he gets up and starts to pull on clothes and look for his shoes to go over to her place and talk to her. But each time he talks himself out of doing it. 

She was really angry when she left, so he doubts that she wants to see him or even hear from him right now. He does check her location (bless the app that lets them see where each other is at) to make sure that she at least made it home. And honestly, he periodically watches that little blue dot sit there at her apartment throughout the night. 

Haechan misses her. There aren’t many nights that they’ve spent apart since they started dating. He misses having her beside him, misses the warmth of her body but the cold press of her toes against his calf. He misses the smell of her shampoo when she rolls closer to him in her sleep. He misses her soft sighs and the sleepy mumbles she makes throughout the night. He misses just having her there, and he hates knowing that she’s sleeping in her own bed, angry with him. He hates sleeping alone. 

Eventually he must’ve dozed off for a little bit because when he opens his eyes again, it’s daylight. 

He has a plan. It developed sometime between three and four o’clock this morning, so it could’ve been a horrible plan, but even now in the light of morning Haechan thinks it could work. 

First step: call his mom. 

“Good morning, son,” his mom answers the call with a yawn. “Are you on your way already?”

“Not yet.” He’s still sitting in bed actually, still not dressed, still working up the courage to just get over the mental block. He says, “I’m catching a bus south in a couple hours. Listen, Mom….”

But that’s it. His voice stops. He pauses, and his mom is his favorite because she doesn’t rush him to say it, she waits and he can hear the sound of birds in the background and the breeze on her end of the phone call. She was probably out taking a morning walk or drinking her coffee out in front of the house or maybe shaking out the rugs as she prepares the house for him to come home. 

Finally, after a few long seconds, Haechan asks, “Do you think we have room for one extra person this weekend?”

“Of course!” She says with no hesitation. “Who’re you bringing?”

Haechan has brought friends home before. Mark, Jeno, Renjun, the most. Chenle was his mom’s favorite, though, so he knows she’s hoping he’s the one Haechan is bringing to visit. 

Haechan just clears his throat, shifts around in his bed. 

“Donghyuck?”

He takes a deep breath, and Haechan’s pulse picks up a nervous beat. “Not any of the guys. A girl. My girlfriend. I’d like to bring her home this weekend.”

There’s a flood of questions, of course, plus a huge weight lifted off of Haechan’s chest. Immediately, his mom just accepts it, and Haechan realizes he’s been a fool to be so stressed over this. She sounds delighted and just excited for Haechan, asking him everything about his girlfriend — what’s her name, what does she do, how long they’ve been together. She does, in fact, gasp and tell him he’s ridiculous for not having told her about his girlfriend when he admits that they’ve been together for five (almost six) months. 

A call from Ten at work is what gets Haechan to end the call with his mom eventually. He switches over to Ten’s call. 

“Yeah?”

“Dude, did you do it?” Ten asks, excitement in his voice. 

Haechan sits up in bed, running his fingers through his hair in an effort to tame the tussled mess. He needs to get up and get ready. “Did I do what?”

Ten makes a soft sigh of annoyance. “Propose, duh. You’re off today, off all next week. Your girlfriend called out today and also has all of next week off. Yuta thinks that you must’ve proposed last night, and you two were so busy celebrating last night that she called out sick this morning.” Ten laughs, and Haechan can hear Yuta’s voice in the background too. 

His stomach clenches. “No, I didn’t propose. Where did you two get that idea?”

She called out sick? Is she sick? Is she okay?

“Because you’re so lovestruck, both of you, that it’s only a matter of time, isn’t it?” Ten says. 

Haechan hears something from Ten’s end of the call, a small sound of distress, and then Yuta’s voice is the one on the call, demanding, “Don’t tell me you’re not planning to propose to her?”

“I don’t see how it’s any of your business.” Haechan isn’t going to give his proposal plans to the two biggest gossips in the Moon Corporation. When he proposes (because it’s only a matter of time, like Ten said), he doesn’t necessarily want her to hear about it ahead of time from their coworkers. 

Yuta snorts. 

“Is she really not at work today?” Haechan’s stomach gives an odd loopy feeling as he asks that. “She called in sick?”

“Yeah, first thing this morning. Didn’t you know?” A pause, and then Yuta gasps, “You two didn’t split up, did you?”

Ten’s distressed voice butts in, “Excuse me? They what?”

Oh, God. These two are going to start rumors. 

“No,” Haechan emphasizes, “We did not split up. I’m hanging up. Bye.”

Hopefully they don’t spread their false rumors around work, Haechan thinks. But now that he knows that she’s not at work, it makes step two of his plan a little easier. 

Second step: apologize to his girlfriend. 

He finishes packing his bag for the trip home pretty quickly after ending the call with his mom. 

As he moves around the apartment, gathering his clothes from the clean basket of laundry he’d left sitting in the living room, his toiletries from the bathroom, a few gifts he’s picked up for his family members since the last time he’s seen them, Haechan notices YangYang is awake too. It’s early for his roommate to be up, and especially early for YangYang to be out of his bedroom, but YangYang is sitting in their kitchen talking on the phone with someone in a low voice.

Haechan can’t miss the way YangYang is watching him closely, and he wonders what his roommate’s problem is. 

He leaves about twenty minutes later, his packed bag slung over his shoulder as he heads over to her place. 

He texts her when he’s halfway there, realizing that she might not appreciate it if he drops in unannounced.

When she hasn’t answered by the time he arrives at her apartment door, when she doesn’t answer his knock at the door, he texts again. He calls. And when both of those still go unanswered, he begins to panic a little bit. 

Is she okay? Is she actually sick? Is she ignoring him? Does she really just not want to see him or hear from him? Did he seriously fuck up and ruin a good thing by not telling his family about her? Was their fight last night the last one? He just needs it to not be the end, needs to talk to her and apologize. 

For several more minutes, Haechan continues to knock on the door and call her, growing more desperate as the minutes pass by. 

And then he hears it. A faint click. 

The door opens a few inches, just a wide enough gap for him to see her standing there. She’s dressed in just a hastily wrapped towel, her hair still dripping, and her skin covered with water droplets. 

Haechan, in that instant, forgets all of his worries. She is fresh from the shower and he can smell her shampoo again, and for the first time in about twelve hours, he feels himself relax a bit. He wants to push the door the rest of the way open, to hold her close and breathe her in. He wants to taste her skin and her lips and every part of her, to apologize and beg for her forgiveness. 

But she only cracked the door open enough for them to talk, just wide enough for him to see a few inches of her. It’s maddening, really. His need for her, his need to be forgiven by her, is overwhelming and drives him down to his knees to beg her forgiveness. 

And maybe, as he sinks down, he remembers Yuta and Ten’s questions about him proposing, and maybe Haechan drops down on one knee first. He just wants to see her reaction — the wide-eyed look of surprise when she thinks for a brief moment that he might be proposing. 

Instead he begs her forgiveness with a simply put, “Will you please forgive me, baby? My angel?” And then he adds on the big request, his genuine question, “Forgive me, and come with me this weekend. Come meet my family.”

“You’re a dick!” She whines adorably, but a smile is dancing at the corners of her lips, her eyes are focused only on him as she opens the door wider at last. 

“What?” Haechan laughs, “Did you think I was going to ask you something else?”

She rolls her eyes, but he can tell by the way she’s fighting down a smile and the way that she leaves her apartment door open for him as she walks away, that she’s forgiving him. But he needs to hear it in words, needs to hear her invite him in. 

“What’s your answer?”

“Just come inside!” She laughs. 

He can’t even begin to describe how light and relieved he feels now. Both of the heavy weights that have been settled on him for too long now have lifted. He’s got her forgiveness, he’s told his mom about her, he’s taking her to meet his family. 

As he follows her inside to her bedroom, all he wants is to lead her into distraction. He wants to tug that towel off of her and slide into bed with her, to take his time tasting every inch of her. But he knows he can’t. If he wants to make it home to visit his family any time today, they need to leave soon. 

Haechan puts aside those desires. 

Undeniably, as they leave her apartment, his relief begins to give way to nerves. 

In several hours he’ll  finally be introducing her to his family. This isn’t anything he’s ever done before with any of his past partners. 

Bringing them home. 

Of course, he’s never felt this way about anyone but her. 

“Relax,” she says as they board the bus that is taking them south to catch the ferry to Jeju. “I don’t get what you are so nervous for. They’re your family!”

She places her hand on his thigh, and Haechan immediately covers her hand with his, lacing their fingers together where her warm hand rests against his bare skin above his knee. “I’m nervous because I’ve never introduced them to any of my previous partners. They’ve just met my friends.”

She smiles and leans over, tipping her head against his shoulder. Haechan’s heart races, his fingers tightening against hers. “I’m excited,” she tells him quietly. “I want to meet them. You’ve talked about them all enough over the years I’ve known you, it’s certainly about time. But I’m excited too that this is the first, like, weekend away we’re taking together.”

“We’ve been on tons of trips together before.” Haechan looks down at her just in time to see her roll her eyes. “What?”

“I mean, our first weekend away as a couple.” 

Oh.

“I know it’s not like a proper weekend away as a couple. We’re going to visit your family, not take a romantic trip together.” She presses her cheek against the round curve of Haechan’s shoulder. “But I’m still excited.”

He should take her on a real weekend trip. One that can be as romantic and sexy as she’d like. 

They both take naps while the bus carries them south. Her head bobs on his shoulder, his cheek pillowed against the top of her head. Haechan has the distinct feeling that neither of them slept too well the night before, aware that they’d been fighting, and both of them less comfortable in bed without the presence of each other. 

So they sleep, wrapped up together, and Haechan never wants to let her go again.  

Haechan’s worst fears (he’s dramatic) are confirmed the moment that his mom opens the door to greet them. 

Her smile is wide — a mirror of his own smile, honestly — as she drinks in every last detail of Haechan’s sleepy and damp girlfriend. 

The evening is gloomy, a light rain drizzling over them as they make their way to his childhood home, and his girlfriend isn’t even fully awake after the nap she’d also taken on the ferry ride over. 

Haechan watches his mom’s face. Her eyes go slightly wide as she looks at his girlfriend, as everything clicks in her mind — the name he’d mentioned earlier this morning finally registering in his mom’s mind as the name he’s been mentioning for years — and then her gaze slides to her son, her eyes alight as she says, “Well, it certainly took the two of you long enough to get here! And I don’t just mean today! This is your friend, isn’t she? The one from school?”

Haechan feels his face heat up as he pulls ahead of his girlfriend, hurrying forward to embrace his mother and hopefully get her to stop talking before she reveals something embarrassing. They at least need to make it in the door before she does that. 

Behind him, he hears his girlfriend laughing, and in his ear his mom laughs as well. 

It turns out that his tight hug doesn’t cut off his mom’s words. “He used to show us pictures of all of your friends, tell us stories all about you! He talked about you all—“

“That’s enough, Mom.” Haechan cuts her off. 

“Oh, come on, Donghyuck.” She smiles warmly at him as she pulls back from his hug. “Come inside. Come in, dear,” she says kindly, waving Haechan’s girlfriend forward. “I’m so excited to meet you! Donghyuck has never brought someone home to meet us before! We were starting to wonder if he was embarrassed by us or just unlucky in love.”

He knew that his mom would make a big deal out of this, tease him about it. 

“It’s my birthday, Mom,” he whines, stepping over the threshold. “Be nice to me.”

She lifts a hand to pat his head, smoothing his hair down gently. “Yes, son, of course,” she says placatingly, but he doesn’t miss the wink and smile she sends over his shoulder to his girlfriend. “No embarrassing stories at all.”

That promise lasts at least for a little while, but of course it’s impossible to keep. Maybe it doesn’t happen immediately, but try as he might to keep his family from sharing weird and embarrassing stories about him, they manage to tell her some anyway over the next few days. Over dinner and breakfast, during excursions around the island or to the beach, his mom and siblings share stories, some of which include times that he’d talked all about her long before this relationship began. Even when his mom gets around to interrogating her about her past and her present and hopes for the future, they manage to embarrass Haechan. 

Especially on Monday night, hours before his birthday actually begins. 

Haechan is minding his own business, helping clean up the mess from their meal, but he can hear his mom and his girlfriend talking in the next room. 

Unsurprisingly, his family likes her. He truly had nothing to worry about there. They get along even better than he could have hoped for, which is almost too well if he really thinks about it. His mom and his siblings laugh and joke around with her just as they do with Haechan, and his sister is already calling her “unnie” so affectionately, and his mom kept offering to take photos of them together when they all went down to the beach earlier that day. 

Haechan had finally acquiesced after his girlfriend curled her fingers around his wrist, tugging him towards her as she smiled. The wind was blowing through her loose hair, and the sun was shining from her cheeks, and she met his eyes as she said, “Come on, Donghyuck-ah, take a picture with me for your mom.” 

They’d stood in front of the sea, their bare toes buried in sand. Haechan put his arm around her waist as she tucked herself against his side. In the split second before his mom snapped the photo of them, he felt the woman at his side twist to face him, and she pressed a kiss to his cheek, her hand pressing against his other cheek to keep him from pulling away in surprise. 

His mom laughed, and Haechan watched the happy expression on his mom’s face as she squinted down at the picture in her phone. Her smile filled her face. “Cute, you two! Very cute. But let’s just get a normal one now!”

Haechan had suffered through a miniature photoshoot, dramatically sighing and complaining the whole time, but inside he was thoroughly enjoying it. Already, he’d been thinking about asking his mom to send him all the photos, thinking about which ones he was going to post on Instagram in his photo dump of this weekend. 

Even once their impromptu photo session was over, Haechan didn’t let go of her. He’d clung to her at the beach, unwilling to let her too far mostly because he’d noticed the gazes of several strangers straying towards her. 

“Jealous, baby?” She’d teased him when she noticed the reason for his extra-clinginess. And then she’d placed a gentle hand on his cheek as she tipped in on her toes to kiss him softly. “You know I’m not going anywhere, right? You’re stuck with me.”

Now, as he stands in the kitchen of his childhood home washing the dishes, Haechan is still thinking about that moment. He’s reliving the feel of the warm sunlight and the sea breeze on his skin. The softness of her palm and fingers against his cheek, the whisper of her lips on his, her sweet voice making that statement that sounded like a promise. 

He wants it to be a promise. 

And in the next room, it seems like his mom is thinking the same thing. He can hear their conversation as he scrubs out a pot. 

“Donghyuck says the two of you are moving into an apartment together?” His mom says, “When is that happening?”

“We’re still looking, but we’ll hopefully have one by the time our leases are up. So by about the end of this month,” is her answer, but what he doesn’t necessarily expect to hear is his girlfriend saying, “You all should definitely come visit! We’re looking for a two-bedroom, so there’ll be room. My family are already planning to come help me move my stuff over to the new place, but honestly I think it’s an excuse for my mom to fawn over Haechan a little more. She adores him probably more than she does me.”

“Does she want him as a son-in-law as much as I want you as a daughter-in-law?”

Haechan drops the pot he’s scrubbing. Did his mom really just say that?

His girlfriend laughs. “She’s mentioned it a few times. The first day they met him, my mom brought up babies.”

The sounds coming from the other room increase, laughter and excited noises. He knows his mom would love a little grandbaby to dote on, she likes babies and always has liked their little chubby cheeks and contagious bubbling laughter. She’s been talking for years about future grandchildren, though she’s always followed that up with a bit of advice to marry the girl first before the babies. 

Haechan hasn’t even mentioned yet to his mom that he thinks this is the girl he wants to spend the rest of his life with, but judging by what she’s just said and the excited sounds from the other room, he’s sure that she’ll support him. Hell, she might even push him to do it as soon as he mentions it. 

He focuses on washing the rest of the dishes, and he loses track of the conversation in the next room.

All he knows is that when he emerges from the kitchen some time later, his fingertips are pruned and the front of his shirt is wet from where he accidentally slopped water down his front. Still, his girlfriend happily scoots aside to make a little room for him on the sofa, and he sinks down beside her so close that they’re pressed together from thigh to shoulder. 

She slides her hand over his thigh, letting it rest just above his knee. 

She’s deep in conversation with his family. It seems they’re debating the plot of some drama they all watch. Haechan has come in in the middle of it, so he keeps quiet, just watching her face as she talks and listens, the way her eyes light up right before she speaks up to make a point, her fingers curl in against his leg. 

She’s beautiful, sexy when she gets into it like this. He loves when her eyes blaze with determination to make a point. A lot of their little fights usually end with sex because he just finds the heat inside her so attractive. 

Just like right now. 

She’s busy arguing with one of his younger brothers, and Haechan is fighting down a boner. 

Her hand on his leg isn’t helping matters as she keeps gripping and rubbing his thigh. 

Haechan can only take so much of it before he feels like he’s at risk of doing something dangerous like moaning if she drags her nails along his inner thigh one more time. 

Carefully, he brushes her hand off his leg, and he stands up. “I’m gonna go shower,” he offers as an excuse for his escape. 

Barely anyone acknowledges it, but as Haechan turns to leave the room, he looks back over at her, momentarily catching her eye. The corner of her mouth ticks up into a little smile, something blossoming in her eyes, but then she looks away. Haechan leaves, wondering if she’d been touching him like that on purpose. 

Less than ten minutes later, Haechan is standing in the shower, when he hears the door of the bathroom open. He pops his head out of the shower to see who’s entered the room, and there she is. 

“Come here,” she demands. “Right now.”

There’s plenty of heat in her voice, but not the angry sort. 

As Haechan steps out of the shower, leaving the water running behind him, he watches her sink quickly to her knees in front of him. Clearly, she has one intention.

“Did you do that on purpose out there?” He asks, “Did you get me hard on purpose, angel?”

She looks up at him through her eyelashes. “What? I was just rubbing your thigh.” She tries to play it innocent, but she’s literally on her knees for him, and Haechan is no fool. She smiles up at him, and if anything that makes him even harder, knowing she was playing games with him. And even now, she keeps her tone innocent as she lets filthy words spill from her lips, asking, “Do you want me to suck your cock, Haechan? Wanna cum in my mouth?”

Does she even really have to ask? Of course he wants that. 

She leans in and starts licking water droplets from his skin while her hand wraps around his needy cock, Haechan is so grateful. He sighs, pressing his damp fingers through her hair.

“Gotta be quick,” she murmurs against his hip. “They think I’m just taking a bathroom break.”

Haechan hums, pressing his fingers encouragingly against her scalp, urging her mouth away from his hip to his cock. 

And she goes where he guides her, like the good girl she is. 

She gives him quick, sloppy head, swallowing around his cock until his tip hits the back of her throat with each bob of her head. The sounds of the shower running behind him help drown out the sounds they’re making — her soft gags and moans around him, his sighs and quiet curses as she sucks him off until his knees are going weak, his toes curl against the bathmat on the floor. 

It’s over faster than Haechan would like to admit. She has him cumming too quickly, but it’s knee-wobblingly good as she draws back until just her lips are tight around his tip, swallowing down each pulse of his cum across her tongue. His fingers grip tightly to sections of her hair, fucking it up completely. 

He sinks to his knees in front of her, smoothing his hands over her hair in an attempt to fix his mess, and then Haechan crushes his mouth against hers. 

He can taste himself on her tongue, the bitter tang, but he doesn’t care. He could happily kneel here and kiss her until the water runs cold in the shower, but before they get anywhere close to that point, she pushes against his chest with a groan. 

“I need to go back.” Her actions are contrary to her words as she dips forward to kiss him again. Haechan smiles, knowing that all it would take is him asking and she would just join him in the shower. She pushes herself away again, saying, “I don’t want your family knowing we’re in here having sex. Not when I’m just getting them to know and like me.”

Haechan can’t help the snort of a laugh that escapes him. “Baby, they’re gonna love you no matter what. Your family loves me and they walked in on us.”

She wrinkles her nose and stands up, drawing farther and farther away from him. “It’s different. But I hope you know you owe me now for what I just did.”

Haechan’s tongue darts out to wet his lips. “Later, angel. I promise.”

She turns and slips away from the room. He gets back in the shower, and now without the distraction of his erection, he passes through the motions much quicker. 

But while he’s in there he can’t help thinking about how she’s still so nervous about his family liking her. They clearly like her. There was really never any chance of them not liking her, which he’d realized as soon as he brought her up to his mom on the phone. 

He’d had his worries before then, obviously. It was part of the reason why he’d not mentioned her to his family. But after their fight the other night, after she left and he sat there talking to YangYang, his roommate helped him see light on the matter. 

Hours after she stormed out of the apartment, during one of the times Haechan had halfway convinced himself to go apologize, YangYang stopped Haechan in their living room, and asked him where he was going. That had given Haechan pause, and he’d sat down beside YangYang on the sofa and started actually talking with him.

“What if they don’t like her?” He’d finally admitted aloud to YangYang.

“You’re a fucking dumbass,” was YangYang’s point-blank reply. “Why wouldn’t they like her? And even if they don’t like her, you do. She’s your girlfriend, Haechan. Just last week, you were moaning about how much you love her and can’t wait to move in with her.”

Still, the thought of that makes Haechan smile. He’s excited to move in with her, to have no reason anymore to spend a night away from her, to get to wake up to her every day. He doesn’t care that when he says stuff like that to YangYang, to Renjun, to his other friends they tease him for being that way because, yeah, he’s in love with his girlfriend; he’s not going to pretend he doesn’t like her, like he doesn’t spend every waking moment wishing he was with her. 

So like YangYang said, it shouldn’t matter if his family doesn’t like her. But lucky for Haechan, they do like her. Unlucky for Haechan, now he’s definitely worried that they like her so much that while he’s standing up there finishing his shower, they’re all downstairs regaling her with stories about him that would embarrass the ever living shit out of him.

He hurries to dress again in something comfy, and he returns to the living room with his family and his girlfriend, immediately settling beside her. 

For hours they sit there, talking, playing games, and snacking with his family. Midnight approaches, and with it is Haechan’s birthday. 

He’s trying not to watch the clock, trying to not count down the seconds like he’s a kid again. He remembers birthdays in his childhood when he’d lain in bed, wide awake at midnight with excitement pulsing through his veins. Years as he grew older, hanging out with friends at midnight, celebrating as the clock turned over. 

Specifically he remembers a few years ago, the months between his first and second year of university. 

It was summertime, a brutal summer with exhausting heat that just leached the energy out of everyone. But all of his friends had come together that night to go out to a fancy rooftop bar. As midnight ticked nearer, as Mark and then Jeno and then Renjun and then strangers bought him drinks after drinks, Haechan felt himself growing happier and more excited for what his birthday tomorrow would bring and he felt lighter, light enough that he could just float off into the starry summer night. 

“Happy Birthday, Donghyuck!” said a voice from right behind him. 

He felt a hand clasp onto his, and he turned to look and found one of his newest friends standing there. He’d known of her since his first day of orientation, but it was really only within the last couple months of the second semester that he’d started to really, actually get to know her. And tonight she’s here to celebrate his birthday, and she’s holding his hand and looking at him with starry eyes that seem to mirror the night sky, and she just called him by the name his mother gave him. 

“You know we’re friends now,” Haechan told her, “You can call me Haechan. My friends call me Haechan. Donghyuck just sounds so….”

She laughed. “I like your name. Donghyuck. Donghyuck-ah. I like it.” She smiled softly, then said, “Haechan, too. It’s a bright name. A happy name. Happy birthday!” 

Cries of “Happy Birthday!” sounded from all around them. But she was still holding onto Haechan’s hand, and she murmured his name again, just a quiet “Haechan,” before she suddenly threw her arms around him, dragging him into a hug. 

It was a tight hug and warm, and Haechan felt every inch of her pressed against him. He slung an arm around her waist to return the embrace, and he couldn’t help, in that moment, letting the alcohol in his veins mix with the warm press of a soft body against him to feed his imagination. 

Maybe he should have known then.

She’d left him a moment after their hug, disappearing off to drink with Mark, and Haechan had ended the night with some random girl. And the same thing had happened the year after that and the one after that; as long as they’d been friends, she’s always been one of the first to wish him a Happy Birthday. 

This year is no different. 

At 11:59 PM, she twists around from where she’s reclining against his chest. 

“Happy Birthday, Donghyuck,” she wishes him, and then presses a kiss to his cheek. 

The clock strikes midnight, and around him his family wishes him a Happy Birthday as well, which means a lot to him, but not as much as the sound of her voice in his ear, the feel of her lips against his cheek even as he starts smiling at his family, the weight of her hand against his chest over his heart and her body resting back between his legs. 

He wraps his arms around her, refusing to let her up – not that she’s planning to go anywhere. 

A while later when his younger brother can no longer suppress his yawns, they all start to drift away towards their beds. 

Haechan happily and excitedly leads his girlfriend back to his childhood bedroom. In the years since he moved away for school, his bedroom has been taken over by one of his younger siblings, but for this weekend it’s Haechan’s again. The twin bed he spent years sleeping in is his again, and all weekend it has been a tight fit for both him and his girlfriend to sleep in, but tonight he’s glad about that. He wants to be as close to her as possible. 

She giggles (and his heart leaps in his chest) when Haechan shuts and locks the bedroom door, when he leads her by the hand over to the bed. He sits down heavily on the edge of it, guiding her to stand between his knees. 

“What are you doing?” She asks, her voice light, a smile gracing her lips. 

“Claiming my present. Paying you back for earlier.” Haechan slips his fingers into the waistband of the shorts she’s wearing. 

She pushes her fingers into his hair, combing his hair back off his forehead as he looks up at her. She asks, “Right now? Your whole family is here, just outside these walls. And it’s so quiet.”

Haechan grins. “You just have to be quiet. I know you can do it, angel.” Nevermind that he can hear water running in the bathroom, he can hear someone shifting in the bed next door. These walls are thin, but he knows that his girlfriend can be quiet if she puts her mind to it; there’s a reason she’s only been caught once — and it wasn’t due to her making noise. 

“Okay?” He checks with her, looking up into her eyes even as he starts to slide her shorts down her hips an inch. “Can I pay you back, baby?”

She swallows nervously and then nods. 

Haechan slides her shorts down until they drop to pool around her ankles. And then he moves to her shirt, fingers moving upwards beneath the fabric, over her belly, pushing her top up as he goes. 

She pouts, a vision of frustration when she reaches down to grab the hem of her shirt, and she drags it over her head instead of waiting. 

“Beautiful.” Haechan leans in, pressing his mouth against the curve of her hip, nipping slightly. Her answering sigh encourages him, and he kisses to the edge of her panties, leaving kisses all along the edge as he works his way towards the front and center, just beneath her belly button. 

Her fingers twist slightly in his hair. “Go on,” she sighs, tugging a little. 

Haechan smiles. He can almost smell her, can just imagine the taste of her on his tongue. Just the other night, before their fight, she’d ridden his face on the sofa and he’d been in heaven like that. Right now he almost wants to do it again, to fall backwards on his childhood bed and have an angel sit on his face. 

But he doesn’t do that. He knows she wants him to touch her, to kiss and lick and taste her. He waits. He teases, kissing her abdomen, drawing his nose from the edge of her panties, up to her navel and higher until he’s sitting up straight with his face at her chest. Now her fingers drag at his hair, a very quiet sound of desperation breathes past her lips. 

“It’s your birthday,” she tells him, “Don’t you just want to do it? Why are you taking your time?” 

Haechan smiles as he slides a hand up her back. “I’m savoring my present. Savoring you. I love the way you react to me, baby.” 

She presses closer to him when his fingers rising up her back reach the band of her bra, and Haechan quickly unfastens it. She sighs, and whether it’s due to the anticipation of him touching her tits or whether it’s the relief of being freed from her bra, he doesn’t know or care. She slides her arms out of the straps, lets her bra join her shirt and shorts on the floor, and then she drops her head back with a sigh as Haechan starts attending to her chest. 

He remembers the first time he really noticed her boobs: the night in the hot tub. He’d glanced over while they were all talking and laughing, and he’d happened to look down and seen the way that the string lights above the hot tub were reflecting on the water. Specifically the water that was lapping against her breasts where they rose out of the water. And he could see the thin fabric that had grown semi transparent beneath the water’s surface. And later that night when they’d shared a bed, he’d stared at them too, imagining how soft and nice they must be to touch. 

And in the present, as he palms one breast while he worships the other with his lips and his tongue, Haechan wishes (not for the first time) that he’d made a move that night. He missed out on so much time that he could’ve been with her like this just because he’d been too dumb and blind to notice what was right in front of him. 

Haechan drops his free hand down between her legs, and she shudders with another sweet sigh when he touches her over her panties, sliding a finger over the fabric, passing her clit so he can feel how wet she is, where she’s got a damp spot soaking through her panties. 

He thinks again about how much he enjoyed her sitting on his face the other night, and he really wants that to happen again, to feel her suffocate him against her pussy, smother him between her thighs. But he shouldn’t tonight. This bed is old and it squeaks and he’s sure that her riding his face is going to make a racket that will attract the attention of his family. 

Haechan slides off the edge of the bed to kneel on the floor, and he kisses down from her chest to her belly to the edge of her panties. 

She sighs his name, barely above a whisper, when his lips move over the front of her panties. Her fingers tighten, yanking at his hair, when Haechan licks over her clit through the panties while his fingers stroke slowly against the growing damp spot. 

He doesn’t remove her panties. He doesn’t even pull them to the side yet, but just licks and kisses and touches her over them. 

He waits until her fingernails drag over his scalp, her hands tugging at his hair to get him closer, her thighs twitching and a desperate hiss of his name—

Haechan drags her panties aside, his tongue meeting her clit. She rolls her hips against the heat of his mouth, and Haechan eagerly dives in deeper, wanting to feast on her, to devour the sweet taste of her pussy. Of course, he wishes more than anything to hear her moaning his name while he does it, but in the present circumstances, it would be better if she didn’t. 

She shudders and trembles against him with every drag of his tongue, and it gives Haechan such a headrush to have her like this, falling apart just with a few flicks of his tongue. 

“Hyuck,” she whispers, pressing her fingers into his hair, pushing slightly. “I’m gonna cum. Stop.”

Reluctantly, Haechan sinks back on his heels. He can feel her dampness on his lips and chin as he looks up at her. He can smell her arousal clinging to him and also so close at hand as she shifts on her feet. He just watches as she reaches down to push her panties off, letting them slide down her legs until she can step out of them, flicking them over to join the rest of her discarded clothes. 

Almost involuntarily, Haechan leans in, drawn towards the tantalizing taste between her legs. 

She jabs a finger against his forehead, stopping him. 

Haechan whines before he can catch himself. 

 “I don’t want to stop. The whole point is getting you there, returning the favor.” He pushes forward against her hand on his forehead until she removes it. He nuzzles against her bare thigh, leaving kisses up and down her left thigh. 

“No,” she whispers, “Fuck me. I want you inside me.”

Haechan doesn’t need telling twice. 

He curls his hands around the backs of her thighs, sliding his palms down over the softness of thigh and calves. “Sit down, then, baby,” he tells her gently. 

She lowers herself from standing above him to sitting in his lap. Her arms drape over his shoulders, her bare tits press against his chest, and she kisses him while she knots her fingers through his hair again. 

Haechan is hard again, because of course he is. Having his gorgeous girlfriend sitting in his lap is more than enough to do this to him, but also having just been devouring her pussy got him so hard that his cock is just aching in his shorts. 

He shivers a little when her fingertips brush over his belly, and he makes a little involuntary sound when she starts lifting his shirt. She pulls the shirt up, just breaking their gentle kiss long enough to drag it up over his head and drop it aside. 

Now when she presses herself closer to him, he can feel the press of her tits against his skin. He can feel the softness and warmth of her breasts, the peaks of her nipples. 

She sighs when Haechan slides a hand along her spine, when he shifts beneath her, and Haechan ever-so-carefully tips her backwards. He presses her back to the floor of the bedroom, and he covers her with his body, making sure there’s not an inch of untouched space between them. 

“Come on,” she whines so softly, tugging at his hair. 

Haechan feels the hair-tug right down to his cock, which gives a twitch in his shorts. 

“Need you, Haechan,” she whispers, “I need to feel you.”

As much as he enjoys hearing her beg and whine for his cock, Haechan slides a hand down between their bodies without further preamble. He shoves his shorts down, making a small sound in the back of his throat in relief as his cock springs free, and he gets a hand on himself. 

Something about doing this here on the floor of his childhood bedroom feels so right. He can’t explain it, but it’s a feeling of completeness and rightness, like he’s come full circle from when he was younger, lying in bed as he stared up at the ceiling and dreamed of someday being in love, to now when he’s rolling his hips forward against the love of his life. 

Because that’s what she is. No doubt. 

The absolute love of his entire life. 

He doesn’t even take the shorts fully off, just shoves them down around his thighs. She doesn’t care, she’s too busy panting against his lips as he drags his tip between her legs, feeling her wetness kissing his cock. All it takes is his thumb pressing against his length to direct himself towards her entrance, and then he rolls his hips forward and sinks inside her at last. 

It takes a great deal more effort to keep quiet after that. 

The house around them has fallen mostly silent, but blessedly one of his younger brothers is still awake and is playing video games or a movie in his bedroom, and the sound emanating from there is enough to mask some of the sounds they’re creating right here – their bodies are tangled together on the floor, knotted together with high energy and the inability to make too much noise. 

Her fingernails drag along Haechan’s shoulders and spine, digging in at the small of his back in a way that makes his toes curl, makes him grind his hips forward to be even deeper inside her warm, tight pussy. She’s rolling her hips too, aiming to get his cock to hit in just the right spot, and her breath is just against his lips, an imitation of a kiss. 

He wishes he could fully let go, could move right now and make the sounds right now that he wants to. He wants to treat her as well as she deserves. He wants to bend her into positions that he knows she likes better than just missionary, and he wants to talk to her because he knows that his voice gets her off faster. He wishes they were in the bed instead of the hard floor, although he knows the mattress is squeaky and will announce to the whole house immediately what they’re doing in here. 

He does the most that he can in present circumstances. 

Haechan fits a hand between them, his fingers find her clit. 

She lets out an audible squeak. 

She freezes but Haechan just grins, kissing her quickly before he lifts himself up a bit, putting a little space between her chest and his so he can look down at her spread out beneath him. He wants to see her as he rolls his hips and grinds his cock just right against that particular spot inside her. He wants to see the way that she bites her bottom lip to keep quiet when he plays with her clit. 

One of her hands drifts to her chest, cupping her breast and pinching her nipple between her fingers. Her other hand moves to Haechan’s hip, sliding around to grip his ass. 

The bite of her nails into his skin makes him hiss, makes his hips snap forward hard enough that she slides a couple inches against the floor. A second later he feels her heels against the backs of his thighs as she curls her legs around him to hold him closer.

He draws his thumb in tight circles on her clit, watching the way she squirms, the way her eyelids flutter shut, the way that her pussy eagerly swallows up his cock each time he rolls his hips forward. She’s so wet around him, and he can feel her getting closer, can feel the racing throb of her around his length. Her body is beginning to tense up in anticipation of her climax, and Haechan can feel his own quickly approaching as he watches. 

“Haechan,” she whimpers, and at this point he doesn’t care if it’s loud enough for anyone else to hear. He doesn’t care if they hear the sound that escapes her next — a mixture between a sigh and a whine and a cry. 

All he knows is the sweet release as he follows her over the edge, as he presses himself down over her again, as he captures her lips with his own. 

They drown in each other for a handful of moments, lost in the sensations of their bodies still moving together, taking from each other. 

Haechan is the one that breaks first. She bites his bottom lip and tugs and he forces himself to pull away from her. 

She lies there beneath him on the floor, chest heaving, a smile on her lips that is both pleased and full of challenge. “What?” She asks, her voice so quiet again now. “Where are you going?”

“You’re gonna be the death of me, angel.” Haechan rakes his fingers through his hair. “Keep it up and I won’t be able to stop myself, and we’ll do some serious damage to this bedroom and my relationship with my family.”

Still, she smiles up at him, reaching for his hand even as he pulls out of her and moves like he’s going to stand up. She tries to reel him in again, and Haechan knows it would be so damn easy to give in and lose himself inside her again. He always wants her, and when she’s laid out so invitingly like this, it makes it more difficult to say no. 

“Baby,” he sighs, taking her hand and tugging.

She sits up, still smiling as Haechan leans in to peck her on the lips. “Baby,” she sighs back at him, “Should we just go to sleep then?”

He nods. “Tomorrow we’ll go home. And at the end of the month, you’re all mine. No more roommates to intrude, and then we can just take all the time we want with each other. Any time you want me, angel, you’ll just be able to jump me.”

That makes her laugh, and that sound causes his heart to leap in his chest. 

She grabs his abandoned shirt from the floor, pulls it on and climbs to her feet. Haechan just pulls his shorts back up. He watches as she tiptoes from the bedroom to the bathroom down the hall. 

He’s half asleep already by the time she comes creeping back into the bedroom, quietly pressing the door shut behind her, sliding silently into the tight twin bed to squeeze herself against him. Haechan just opens his arms to let her snuggle in against his chest. The two of them fit tightly together by necessity (the too small bed) and just because they want to (Haechan wants her suffocatingly close, honestly). 

Her lips brush against his chest, her hair tickles his chin, and Haechan just breathes her in, feeling himself relaxing into the bed until sleep sinks over him. 

“You two are gross,” Mark groans from across the room. 

It’s the end of June, and as Haechan is finally moving in with his girlfriend to their new apartment, their friends have come to visit and help with the move. 

To be fair, the “gross” thing that Mark just walked in on is only Haechan hugging his girlfriend. She has her cheek against his shoulder, her arms around his waist, and Haechan’s arms squeeze tight around her shoulders while he rests his head against the top of hers. They’re just taking a pause, a well-deserved moment to drink in their present and their future in the quiet of their new apartment. 

Haechan’s dream apartment. The one he’s envisioned his future with her in. He was lucky that she’d fallen in love with it too upon their first viewing of it, lucky that they got it right away and were able to move in so quickly. 

And now they’ll finally have a place for just them. A quiet sanctuary. 

Well, it was quiet. 

But now Chenle, Xiaojun, and Jeno fill the doorway behind Mark, all of them talking. Then YangYang’s voice cuts through the clamor, saying, “If you think that’s gross, you haven’t spent enough time around them. I’m glad they’ve got their own place now, they’re always going at it like rabbits. I’m tired of hearing it and walking in on it.”

Haechan catches YangYang’s eye, and the younger at least has the decency to look a little embarrassed. 

And then Renjun appears, carrying a heavy box between him and Jaehyun. “Let’s just hope they can keep their hands to themselves when we all go on our trip.”

Jaehyun snickers, glancing over at Haechan’s girlfriend. He tightens his arms around her, feeling a jealous flare as she smirks back at Renjun and his boyfriend. 

“No promises,” Haechan says. “Our last trip everyone was fucking. So I wouldn’t be surprised if it goes the same in Bali.” He looks around the room at everyone – the couples of Renjun and Jaehyun, and Jeno and Jaemin most particularly – and then says, “At least it’s a bigger place and there are less of us this time, so we all get our own rooms.”

Though he has a feeling that that’s going to matter about as much as it did last time. People were still fucking around on their last trip outside of the bedrooms – in that outdoor shower, in the pool, in the kitchen. 

Renjun just laughs and drapes an arm on his boyfriend’s shoulder, leaning against Jaehyun. “The rooms aren’t soundproof, though, Haechan, so you’ll at least have to try to keep the volume down.”

Luckily, his girlfriend takes care of responding by flipping Renjun her middle finger. 

Everyone laughs and gets back to moving boxes and furniture up from the moving truck parked on the street below, but Haechan can’t stop thinking about the jokes from their friends. Their trip is coming up in just a couple weeks, and Haechan is almost certain that he’s not going to be able to keep his hands to himself. As a matter of fact, he’s got certain plans already that make him think that it’s not just going to be him struggling to keep his hands to himself.

He’s still thinking about the trip and his specific plans for it hours later after most of their friends have left, and still when her parents show up with pizza for dinner and also to help with unpacking some of their boxes. 

Haechan is glad to see them. Of course he is. They still have a lot of furniture to put together and boxes to organize, which is why Renjun, Jaehyun, and YangYang are still there, helping Haechan build a TV stand he bought from IKEA. It’s nice to have help, but with the way he’s been distracted for the past few hours, he also desperately wishes that he was alone with her already. 

While her mom helps her with unpacking some of the boxes, her dad comes over to help with the furniture assembly. That would be fine, like Haechan gets along well with her dad on the several occasions they’ve met, but Renjun and YangYang keep making jokes and blunt comments still that Haechan is terrified her dad is going to take the wrong way. 

Specifically jokes about the Indonesia trip and the sort of rules that they should put in place.

Eventually, Haechan sends them on a mission to pick up a few things from the nearest convenience store. Anything to get rid of them for a little bit. 

Haechan can hear his girlfriend and her mom talking quietly in the bedroom. They’ve got music playing over a Bluetooth speaker that mostly drowns out their conversation, and Haechan finds himself glancing towards the doorway. 

She’s laughing with her mom, saying something he can’t quite make out, and she’s holding an ugly sweater up in front of herself. 

Haechan has a vague memory involving that sweater. 

A few years ago while they were in school, an ugly sweater party they’d thrown at the rental house. He remembers that there’d been a gift exchange since it was right before the holiday break, there’d been mistletoe and Christmas lights. All of their friends wore hideous sweaters that ranged from itchy and horribly patterned to obnoxiously festive. They’d decorated cookies with frosting and sprinkles. They’d drunk spiced wine and spiked eggnog. Someone had started Christmas carol karaoke late in the night when pretty much everyone was completely wasted. 

Haechan remembers her wearing that sweater. He remembers that it had been very, very late when he walked onto the front porch, needing a breath of fresh air and a brief break from Xiaojun and Chenle’s karaoke singing. He’d found her sitting on the front step, wearing only the sweater and a pair of hole-y jeans. She’d been sitting there, staring up at the sky as fluffy flakes of snow were drifting lazily towards the ground where there was already a light dusting. The lampposts along the street gave off a pale, silvery ambience, and the whole city seemed so quiet right then except for the house right behind them. 

She’d been shivering when he sat down beside her. 

“You should be wearing a coat, you’re gonna catch a cold.” Haechan wasn’t wearing a coat either, but that didn’t matter so much to him. 

“It’s pretty out here,” is all she said. 

The wind blew a little, sending a couple little fluffs of snow to settle in her hair, and a few loose strands of her hair fluttered against her cheeks. She closed her eyes and tipped her face up. 

Haechan was probably drunk right then. A little more drunk than he’d thought because he was sitting here beside her, and he completely forgot about the girl he’d brought to the party who was sitting inside wearing a holly wreath as a crown and drinking everyone in there under the table. 

He watched her, shivering in her sweater as she enjoyed the wintry chill. She was pretty, so pretty. All haloed with snow and silvery light. She was an angel, a perfect angel, and his heart beat a little faster when she snuck a glance at him. He was staring, but she didn’t seem to mind too much. He figured if she called him out on it, he could tell her he was drunk, but really he just couldn’t bring himself to look away from her. He wanted to wrap his arms around her, to protect her from the cold. He wasn’t sure where that urge came from, but here it was. 

Of course, that night was years before he realized his true feelings. 

But sitting here right now in the living room of their new apartment, watching her laugh with her mom over the ugly sweater, Haechan wonders if she remembers that night. He really had been such a fool to take so long to realize he was in love with her. He should’ve known it that night, but he’d blamed his feelings on the alcohol, he’d pushed them away. 

While they’re alone — her and her mom distracted in the other room, his friends gone temporarily — Haechan talks to her dad. The music from the speaker keeps playing loudly, and Haechan notices her looking out into the living room, checking on him and her dad, but he knows she can’t hear what they’re talking about. 

It’s hours later when her parents are the last to leave. Hugs, handshakes, her dad nodding a goodbye to Haechan at the door. 

The door has barely swung shut behind them before she’s right there, sliding her arms around Haechan’s waist, pressing her chest against his back. Her lips brush his neck. 

“We’re alone,” she sighs. “At last.”

The mattress in the bedroom is brand new, and they break it in that night.

Haechan is enthusiastic as he devours her, kissing her tenderly, taking her apart on his fingers and his tongue before he finally takes anything for himself. He can’t get enough of her, and she can’t satiate her need for him either. 

Thankfully their apartment is a corner apartment, their bedroom right there on the outer edge, so they’re likely not disturbing their neighbors. Except maybe the people living above and below them. But they make no efforts to be quiet. 

It’s quite a while later when she groans and knots her fingers in Haechan’s hair, dragging his mouth away from where he’s sucking a mark against her collarbones. 

“What has gotten into you tonight?” She’s smiling as she says it. “Aren’t you tired yet?”

Maybe he should find an insult in that, but they have gone more rounds than normal, not to mention they spent all day moving heavy furniture and boxes up several floors, so maybe she’s just genuinely amazed that Haechan is still seeking more. 

“I just love you,” Haechan murmurs, lowering his head again. “And we’ve got this place. Our home. I’m just excited and in love. Can you blame me?” He turns his head to the side, and he brushes his lips against her wrist. He can feel her pulse pounding beneath his lips. She sighs. 

Haechan kisses from her wrist to the crease of her elbow. He can smell her perfume underlying the scent of them together. He trails kisses along the rest of her arm to her shoulder, from her shoulder to her neck, her neck to her jaw. 

She swears softly when he deviates to suck lightly at one of her earlobes, nipping lightly with his teeth. He smiles, loving the way she always reacts when he does that, the way that he can feel her tighten around him where he’s still buried inside her. 

He kisses the high point of her cheekbone, kisses her eyelids and her nose, leaves a lingering kiss to her forehead, and he can feel her breath against his throat. Her hands clench against his sides. 

“Haechan,” she breathes out his name. 

He draws his lips back from her forehead. He kisses her nose again, and then he withdraws a few inches to look down at her. 

Her eyes are still closed. Her lips are turned up, seeking, hopefully, begging to be kissed. 

Haechan leans in, still watching her, watching the way her mouth twitches, the way that her lips part with another small sigh. 

He kisses her. 

Not the hungry, devouring kisses of earlier. This one is slow and sweet. She hums, pleased. 

They tangle together one more time tonight. Bodies moving in tandem, slowly, savoring each other, embracing and enjoying the feel of each other everywhere inside and out. 

“Say it,” Haechan murmurs as he teeters on the brink of another orgasm. “Say it, angel.”

He knows she knows what he’s asking for, and she gives it willingly, openly, spilling the words sweetly from her lips pressed against his. 

“Yours. Always yours.” 

Haechan unravels, taking her words as a promise. 

Although he’s fully aware of all the jokes and teasing and fake rules their friends have put into place leading up to this trip, Haechan doesn’t take any of them seriously. 

It’s July now, the heat of summer is devastating, but as bad as it is at home, Haechan knows it’s going to be even worse when they get to Indonesia. He’s already sweating as he and his girlfriend unload from the taxi they took to the airport, baking in the heat, his sunglasses slide down his nose due to sweating. 

Blessedly, the interior of the airport is a lot cooler. By the time they’ve made it through security and have found their gate, Haechan feels a lot better. 

Xiaojun and his girlfriend, YangYang and his flavor of the month, and Jeno and Jaemin are already waiting at the gate. 

Haechan can’t help thinking, as they approach their friends, that they all put a lot of joking rules in place considering it’s only couples coming on this trip. Haechan won’t be surprised if not a single one of the sex rules gets followed this week. They all made it work during their trip to Thailand. 

While Haechan is settling into the seat beside Jeno, his girlfriend excuses herself to the restroom. 

They’ve still got about an hour and a half until their flight is meant to board, but Renjun and Mark, who were the ones who put the most planning into this trip, had told all of them to be here two hours early. Of course, Haechan doesn’t fail to notice that neither one of them is there yet. 

Before she returns from the restroom, Renjun and Jaehyun arrive, looking far fancier than the rest of their friends. Both of them look like they could walk a runway or something, and Haechan can’t deny that it’s not a good look, but it’s overkill since they’re all headed to the tropics. Haechan, Jeno, and Jaemin are dressed in sweatpants and tshirts. 

Haechan leaves his seat behind to go talk with the new arrivals, checking with Renjun about what some of the details of the group itinerary are since he’s the one that booked the villa, some of the dinners, and most of their rentals that had to be booked in advance. Renjun assures him that everything has been booked and scheduled properly in the itinerary that he sent to their group chat. 

Haechan returns to his seat beside Jeno and pulls out his phone to check the itinerary – the plans for dinners and for sightseeing, for excursions at the beach, and more. 

Eventually, she comes back, sliding quietly into the seat beside Haechan. She brought back drinks from Starbucks, passing him one and saving the other for herself. He notices the way she keeps shifting around nervously, crossing and uncrossing her legs, bouncing her feet. He reaches over and lays a hand on her knee. 

“What’s gotten into you?” He murmurs. “You’ve never been a nervous flier before.”

She nods, then leans closer, resting her chin on his shoulder to whisper in his ear. “I want to try something.”

Immediately heat blooms inside Haechan, a rush of heat centered in his lower belly. “Oh?”

“I’m wearing a vibrator,” she hisses the word so quietly that Haechan almost misses it. “And you’re going to control it.”

Dear God, his vision pulses black for a second, his head spins. She’s truly going to be the death of him, he thinks, as his heart races. 

“The rules….” He starts to say, glancing over at where Xiaojun is dozing with his head on his girlfriend’s shoulder, where YangYang is giggling with his girl at something on her phone. 

“As if anyone is going to follow them,” she whispers, “And besides, we have a long wait before we board the plane, a long flight after that. I don’t want to be bored, Haechan.”

There have been a rare few times since they began this relationship that Haechan wonders if he’s bitten off more than he can chew with her and her exhibitionism. 

“Can you really do it here?” He asks. He doesn’t even understand how she snuck a vibrator through the airport security. He’s not going to ask either. “Can you really keep it subtle enough?”

She smiles and pecks him on the cheek. “The app is on your phone, I downloaded it for you yesterday. You’re the one in control. You know what I can take.”

She’s giving him all the power right now? He tries hard to not let that rush immediately go to his head. 

She shifts again in a way that Haechan suddenly realizes is excitement over this situation she’s created for herself. 

“You’re a pervert,” Haechan accuses her softly, adoringly. She smiles sweetly. 

He’s grateful for the fact that he’s got a privacy screen protector on his phone. No one can see the app on his screen as he pulls it up with the help of her whispered instructions, it’s invisible unless they’re standing directly behind him and peering over his shoulder. They might be able to see the delight on his face as he realizes that she’s already gone through all the necessary steps, and all Haechan has to do is control her now. 

He could push her quickly right up to the edge, watch her fight to contain herself. 

Or he could just start her out slow, get her so wet that she’s going to ruin her panties. If she’s even wearing them. He wonders how much she’s really planned this. 

Haechan just starts out the vibration low and constant. She reaches over to hold his hand, and he can feel her pulse thrumming in her wrist where it presses against his. 

He toys with her for the time before they board their flight. He holds conversations with their friends while he messes around on his phone, and each time he jacks up the intensity of her vibrator using his phone, he feels her clutch his hand a little bit tighter. But she’s a good girl, and she doesn’t make a sound. 

Haechan has fun with it, pulsing it rapidly so that her fingernails dig into his skin as she fights to keep control of herself, but then other times hr has it so low and constant that she’s able to catch her breath, able to join in on conversation and look almost as if she’s not hiding this dirty secret in plain sight. 

Best of all is that no one notices. All of their friends are too distracted with each other to take any notice when she slips a little bit every now and then, her face showing a hint of the pleasure she’s feeling. 

When their flight is called to board, Haechan lowers the vibrations to almost nothing, but even then, he notices her legs are a tiny bit wobbly as she gets to her feet, as she clutches at his arm while they walk together to line up with their friends to board. He smiles at her, kisses her forehead, and murmurs, “Should I let you have it, baby? Do you deserve to be rewarded? Or should I make you wait til we get to the house?”

Her fingernails dig into his arm sharply. “I don’t think I can wait.”

“We’ll see.”

On the plane, she’s got a window seat, Haechan takes the middle seat, and the third seat in their row is left open for a stranger.  As soon as she’s settled with her personal item tucked beneath the seat in front of her, her seat belt latched across her lap, Haechan places his hand on her bare thigh. She wore shorts for their day of travel, loose athletic shorts that it’s easy for him to slide his fingers inside of. 

Not that he does that right now. 

Well, he stretches his pinky finger out and traces it along the edge of her shorts, which is enough to make her shiver. She turns her head to look out the plane window at the tarmac, and she presses her mouth into her palm. 

The flight fills in around them. Renjun and Jaehyun are in the row behind them with a sweet old lady who strikes up a conversation with the pair of them. Haechan waits to see who is going to fill in the seat beside him. 

But when the doors of the flight close, the seat remains empty. 

Perfect. 

He waits until they’re properly airborne, until the plane is filled with the dull murmur of conversations, the sharper sound of a baby crying a few rows ahead of them, and it’s then that he ramps the vibrator’s setting all the way up. 

She hisses and clutches at his arm, somehow both squirmy and rigid in her seat. Her eyes are closed, but she still has her head turned towards the window. 

It’s almost a seven hour flight from Seoul to Bali, Indonesia, and Haechan doesn’t intend to torture her with the vibrator for the entire seven hours. That might be a bit too much edging, honestly, but he thinks he can do it for a while, playing with her until she’s desperate for it. 

He rests his free hand on her thigh still, the other is preoccupied with his phone — his thumb sliding up and down to adjust the speed and intensity of his girlfriend’s vibrator. The thumb on his other hand strokes her thigh in a matching pattern. Goosebumps rise on her skin, and she squeezes her thighs together. 

She just wore a thin top today since the heat is going to be so thick once they arrive in Indonesia, and right now Haechan can see her nipples poking against the front of her shirt. She crosses her legs, trapping his hand there in the warmth between her thighs, and he’s sorely tempted to just throw caution to the wind and slide his fingers inside her shorts. Fuck the vibrator, he wants to finger her right here until she’s squirting around his fingers and he has to ask a flight attendant for some napkins. 

“Fuck off,” she whispers when he murmurs his thoughts into her ear. 

Haechan kisses her cheek, slides his fingers a little higher, and he draws his pinky finger along the center seam of her shorts. 

She shivers. 

Haechan grins, and again he whispers to her, asking, “Are you even wearing panties, angel? I swear I can already feel how wet you are.”

“I’m not,” she admits, and her voice gives an odd flutter when he draws his pinky finger in a circle over her clit. “I thought it would be easier if I wasn’t, so I stowed them in my purse when I went to the bathroom. I was hoping that after you got tired of toying with me, you’ll fuck me in the tiny airplane bathroom.”

God, Haechan is so in love with her. 

“I might take you in there,” he says. “Once I’ve had enough of this.” And then he drives the settings high again, watching the way her eyes flutter shut, the way her thighs clench around his hand, and she bites her bottom lip. He slowly lowers the setting until she relaxes again. 

Back and forth, again and again, wilderness with sudden sharp bursts of pleasure, sometimes he drops all the way to the lowest setting. And the whole time, Haechan is touching her — over her shorts, her thighs, holding her hand while she leans over with her head on his shoulder and her teeth scraping his bicep while she tries to keep quiet. 

Haechan is enchanted, endeared by her. 

Her teeth dig into his skin through his shirt as he lets the vibrator pass in a smooth rhythm between two different settings. Her fingernails draw marks into his forearm, and a small whimper manages to escape her as he lets her orgasm at last overtake her. 

She doesn’t say a word as she revels in the feeling, as he keeps his thumb on the screen of his phone, dropping her down to the lowest level and just letting it buzz to elongate her pleasure. She tucks her head into the crook of his neck, and Haechan can feel her breath damp against his skin as she shudders through a second weaker orgasm. 

“I love you,” she mumbles, “Give me, like, five minutes and you can drag me off to that tiny bathroom.”

Haechan laughs. He turns off the vibrator, and slides his phone into the pocket of his sweatpants. “We don’t have to. We still have hours left of this flight, baby. And a whole flight back home at the end of the week.”

She sighs a little, but she settles in against him, relaxing. Soon her breaths grow slow and steady, and Haechan realizes that she’s fallen asleep. 

The rest of the flight is quiet, uneventful, and even when she wakes from her nap a little while later, Haechan insists that they stay in their seats. 

“We don’t want to exert all of our energy now, do we?” He stretches his arms above his head and peeks back over his shoulder to see Renjun and Jaehyun, the latter asleep with his head on Renjun’s shoulder. “I have plans for us, angel. Lots of plans, and some are even ones that our friends definitely won’t approve of.”

Already they’ve made several plans as a group — paddle boarding to this lake just a short distance inland, parasailing, snorkeling, exploring historical structures, etc. — and Haechan has adapted some of his plans to account for those things. 

That answer seems good enough for her. 

The luxury villa is exactly as it was promised on the booking website. A gorgeous pool area with an abundance of lounge chairs and umbrellas, an outdoor jacuzzi, a covered patio with a fire pit and L-shaped sofa, a grilling area and outdoor bar. There are 6 bedrooms, 7 bathrooms, a state of the art kitchen, a small gym. The living room is equipped with large sofas, a massive TV with a sound system, and a pool table, air hockey table, dart board, foosball table, and a ping pong table. There’s wifi and TV, air conditioning, gorgeous views; the villa has everything they could want. 

As soon as YangYang pulls up to the villa in their rental car, there is a mad scramble to get inside and claim the best bedrooms. Each couple gets their own bedroom, their own bathroom. 

There is a main house and then two separate buildings, each one housing two bedrooms, although the main house holds the kitchen, the living room, and the gym. 

Xiaojun and his girlfriend claim one of the rooms in the main house on the basis that Xiaojun is going to be the one using the kitchen the most. Jeno and Jaemin take the second bedroom for the same reason — they’ll be using the kitchen and the gym often. 

YangYang and his girl, plus Mark and his girlfriend share one of the standalone houses, leaving Jaehyun, Renjun, Haechan, and his girlfriend in the other. 

“Don’t forget,” Renjun warns as the four of them step into their shared building. “Just keep the volume down.”

“Maybe we’ll be extra loud just to spite you,” she says quickly in reply.

Renjun opens his mouth to reply, but before he can, Haechan tugs on his girlfriend’s arm to draw her towards the stairs that lead up to their bedroom on the second floor. 

THe bedroom is just as beautiful as the rest of the villa. A wooden floor with soft rugs, a queen sized bed with a netted canopy that can be drawn back or cover the bed. There’s a nice bathroom with a waterfall shower. There’s a balcony that overlooks the beautiful forest view behind the villa as well as a nice view on the other side of the room of the pool area below. 

She slides up behind Haechan while he’s looking down at the pool. She hugs him from behind, her arms around his waist, her cheek against his shoulder. “We still have a few hours before we’re all leaving for dinner,” she says, “Do you want to shower with me? I’ll make good on that promise from earlier.”

Haechan watches Jeno reappear from the main house, taking a running leap before he plunges fully into the pool with a massive splash. Jaemin is close behind him, then Mark joins in too.

Later they’re all driving back into the little tourist town on the beach. They’re going to grab dinner and drinks at a restaurant that has great reviews. That’s hours from now. Plenty of time for him to enjoy his girlfriend the way that she deserves.

“You go in first,” Haechan tells her.

She wanders off, and he takes a few moments to draw the gauzy curtains over the windows looking down to the pool. He doesn’t want to share her with all of them, not now.

She’s already standing bare beneath the spray of the waterfall shower. The shower floor is made up of a few large tiles while the rest is filled in with pebbles. There’s a window overhead and another one that overlooks the forest.

Haechan strips and joins her. He pulls her against him, cradling her face in his hands, and he kisses her like he’s been deprived of her touch for weeks, as if it wasn’t just last night that he pinned her to the couch while they fought over the last bite of the last eggroll from their takeout dinner, and when she stuffed it into her mouth, he’d let her finish chewing it while he looked at her in shock, and then he’d kissed her. She’d teased him afterwards that it was gross that he wanted to kiss her just to get a taste of the eggroll, so he’d kissed her again and kept kissing her for quite a while.

But he can’t help how much he loves her.

He can’t help how often he wishes he was just like this with her: skin-to-skin with nothing in between, tasting her kiss, hearing her soft sounds of pleasure as he slides a hand down between her legs again.

He can’t help the way that his carnal desires take over, his need to be inside her driving him to press her up against that window looking out to the forest. He fits his cock inside her from behind, his hands on her hips as he fills her up again and again. He presses his fingertips between her lips to keep her mouth busy, and she sucks on his fingers like they’re his cock. 

Haechan cums, pulling out just in time to get her lower back, but that’s not enough for her. She only just barely spares a moment to shut off the water before she’s got her hands on his chest, propelling him backwards out of the shower, out of the bathroom, onto the bed. She sits right back on his cock, riding him with her hands on his thighs to steady herself. 

Her hair drips down her back and onto his skin, little cold drops that tickle as they roll across his skin. She looks like a siren, fresh from the sea with her skin and hair so wet, her body rolling on top of him, her head tipped back as she moans for him, sighing his name. Her breasts bounce distractingly on her chest, and Haechan is mesmerized, watching her use his cock to draw her own pleasure, her nipples are pulled into tight peaks, and he can’t help himself when he sits up and latches on to one of them.

She shudders, arching into the heat of his mouth. 

Haechan reaches around her, grabbing her ass, and he squeezes it. She rolls her hips a little faster, but it’s still not enough for him.

He wants to be deeper.

She gasps when he suddenly moves, turning them over so her back is on the bed and he’s above her. 

She’s not being quiet, and he’s not sure if that’s because of what she said to Renjun before they came up here, or if she’s just genuinely enjoying herself that much that she’s being so noisy. Either way, Haechan doesn’t really want to piss off their friends on their first night of the trip, so he leans in and kisses her to get her to quiet down a little.

It works a little bit, but once Haechan really starts moving, snapping his hips forward roughly to get as deep inside her as he can, her cries grow in volume again, even muffled by his mouth on hers. Haechan can tell that she’s getting close, and with each time that she clenches around him, each of her whining moans, he feels himself growing closer too. The knot in his belly draws tighter, and he loves the feeling of being so deep inside her, he really doesn’t want to pull out just to cum on her belly or thighs again. He wants to relish the feeling of his orgasm inside her.

“Can I cum inside?” He gasps the words out against her lips as he feels himself teetering on the brink.

She hesitates for a fraction of a second, but then she nods. “Yes. Inside me. Please, Haechan.”

She so rarely has let him cum inside her, and hasn’t let him do it in what feels like ages, so the feeling of it right now is overwhelming. And the way that she hits her peak at the same moment, just makes it all that much better.

Haechan does her the courtesy of at least pulling out and repositioning her, then he sinks down between her legs. She basically wraps her legs around his head as he cleans her up with his tongue and eats her out.

By the time they descend from their bedroom almost an hour later (after he brings her to orgasm twice more on his tongue and fingers, after they shower off again and get ready for their group dinner), Haechan’s lips feel a little bruised and he feels drunk off the taste of her, but he has a happy girlfriend at his side. 

Haechan wakes the next morning on a deflating pool float that’s halfway submerged on the steps into the pool. He doesn’t really remember how he got there, just that they’d all been drinking a lot of strong stuff at the bar, and then when they got back to the villa there was more drinking. 

He’s not the only one left out by the pool. Mark is asleep on two of the lounge chairs that have been pushed together. Xiaojun’s girlfriend is stretched out on the sofa by the firepit, a bluetooth speaker a few feet away from her still playing music.

Haechan, in his attempt to climb off the pool float, ends up tipping himself into the water, and the shock of the cool water closing over him is enough to fully wake him the rest of the way up, sobering him in an instant.

“Fuck! Shit! Damn it!” He curses as his head breaks the surface. Not that anyone hears him. Both Mark and Xiaojun’s girlfriend are still deep asleep as Haechan sloshes up the steps, splattering the concrete with his footsteps and soaking wet clothes. All the lights are off in the villas, and it’s then that Haechan realizes it’s still very early and it was probably only the deflating of his float letting in the cool water that woke him.

The sun isn’t all the way up yet, just coloring the clouds a pale orange color, and there is a surprising slight chill to the morning air. A short breeze prickles Haechan’s skin as he walks towards his building. 

The door to Renjun and Jaehyun’s bedroom is cracked open, and he can just barely catch a glimpse of their tangled bodies on top of the bedsheets. He climbs the stairs up to his bedroom quietly.

Haechan feels an odd sense of deja vu upon attempting to quietly open the bedroom door. A night so long ago when he cautiously opened a bedroom door, worried about waking the girl in his bed then. That night, he’d startled her awake. Or at least, he’d assumed he’d woken her, it was only all those months later when she finally confessed to him that she had not been asleep but had actually just finished touching herself.

This morning, she doesn’t even stir as he opens the door.

She’s diagonal on the bed, her head on Haechan’s pillow while her body crosses the rest of the mattress. She’s only wearing panties, all the sheets have been kicked to the end of the bed, and as Haechan notices the scattered hickeys on her thighs, a vague memory from last night returns: stumbling up the stairs with her, losing their balance and giggling as they sat down on the stairs, as Haechan untied the wrap dress that she’d worn out to dinner, as he parted her thighs and knelt there on the stairs to eat her out. 

Someone had come in downstairs while they were there on the stairs. Whether it was Renjun or Jaehyun, Haechan didn’t know, but he did finish her off on his tongue, and he’d still been leaving his mark on her thighs when the sound of a door opening downstairs sounded again. And that time they’d been caught, called out by Jaehyun. 

Haechan vaguely recalls laughing as he’d risen to his feet and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. He remembers stumbling back down the stairs and throwing his arm around Jaehyun’s shoulders, asking him not to tell everyone that they’d been breaking the rules against having sex in public spaces of the house. He remembers in blurry bursts, dragging Jaehyun back out to the pool, pouring both of them a few shots, and then the rest of the night vanished.

Haechan doesn’t want to bother her, so he walks quietly across the room to the bathroom. His head is throbbing, so as he waits for the shower to reach a good temperature, he digs through his bag for something to help his headache. By the time he’s finished showering and brushing his teeth, he does feel a bit better, though there’s still a dull pressure behind his eyes.

Coffee is the perfect mend for that, and Haechan brews a cup with a small Keurig that’s sitting on the desk in the bedroom. 

He’s sitting out on the balcony of the bedroom, air-drying all his bits and enjoying the fresh coffee and the quiet sunrise, when the door of the balcony slides open again.

“There you are,” his girlfriend says. “You never came up to bed.”

She’s still only wearing her panties. All the rest of her is bare and exposed in the morning light. He can see the hickeys better now when the sunrise brushes against her thighs.

“I think I tried to drink away Jaehyun’s memory of finding us.” Haechan opens his arms, and she sinks down in his lap, taking the mug of coffee from him as she leans her back against his chest. “But I feel better now than I did earlier.”

She hums into the mug, keeping it cradled in her hands. 

For a few moments, they’re both quiet, enjoying the peaceful sunrise, the mist rising from the forest into the golden sky. 

“I like it here,” she shares, “Like, of all the places we’ve been, I think I like it here the best.”

“We’ve been here not even a full day, and for half of the time we’ve been drunk,” Haechan reminds her. “But I agree. It’s nice here like this.”

There aren’t many nice vacations he’s been on where he can sit on a second floor balcony and enjoy an unobstructed view of nature. Not to mention, he’s not ever been on a vacation where he can sit completely naked on the balcony without fear of someone being able to see him. Especially not with his gorgeous mostly-naked girlfriend sitting in his lap.

She leans forward and sits the coffee mug on the ground beside their feet. “Maybe we can come back here. In the future.”

Haechan smiles, an undeniable smile. He loves when she talks like this. Any time that she talks about the future and includes him within that.

“We can do that,” he promises. “For vacations in the future.”

Again, she leans back against him, her head tipped back on his shoulder. She sighs, “What are we doing today? Was today the day that they wanted to go parasailing? And didn’t you say that you’ve got some plans too for this trip?”

“Mm,” Haechan agrees. “I do have plans. Very different from the ones our friends have been making.”

He wonders if she can feel the way that his heart has begun to race.

“Can you tell me your plans?” She starts to sit up and twist around to face him, but Haechan just wraps his arms snug around her hips, pulling her back so her ass rests right above his dick. She laughs, “What are you doing?”

“You want to know my plans?” Haechan asks. “These are my plans. Just you and me, fucking like bunnies in a tropical location. Last time we went on a trip like this I was still stupid and blind, and I didn’t really get to appreciate you as much as I should have. This time, I don’t want to make the same mistake. I want to enjoy my time with you, angel.”

She makes a satisfied sound. “Last time… meaning when you watched all of our friends fuck around the entire trip?”

Haechan nods, tucking his head so he can start kissing her neck. 

“What about the rules? You were so worried about them yesterday.” Her voice is beginning to wane as Haechan softly kisses her neck, as one of his hands slips down to stroke along the band of her panties. 

Haechan grunts a small sound of denial. “Not worried anymore.”

Haechan knows that he’s beyond lucky to have her. For numerous, endless reasons, but one of the most important reasons is that she is just as insatiable as he is. Despite her having had, like, several orgasms within the last approximately twelve hours, when Haechan’s fingers dive beneath her panties, she whimpers like she needs it.

She squirms in his lap, against his swelling erection, panting and whining while Haechan kisses her throat and draws light circles on her clit with his fingers. His other hand, he lifts to her chest, palming at her tits.

This doesn’t really feel like it’s breaking any of the rules. They’re not really in a public space right now since no one can see them on this balcony. There’s no one to accidentally spot them as she gets his cock trapped between his belly and her ass, as she grinds on him until Haechan is cumming, his cum streaking down her ass as she keeps moving, as he strokes her clit with his fingers until she cums too, her pussy so wet and warm against his dick that Haechan almost pins her against the balcony’s edge to feel her around him.

But he doesn’t. 

They move on. She showers away the feel of last night while Haechan just quickly wipes himself down. They dress and head back to the main house for breakfast provided by Xiaojun and Jaemin. 

Everyone goes sightseeing that day. Most of them are recovering from last night’s hangovers, but plenty of water, electrolytes, and some really decent sunglasses help for the most part. Dinner that night is an extravagant affair put on by Xiaojun, Jaemin, Haechan, Mark’s girlfriend, and featuring bartending by YangYang.

Quickly, Haechan realizes that when his friends made the list of silly rules, they meant for it to apply just to Haechan and his girlfriend. None of them are following their own rules, and of course, most of them have had direct experiences with Haechan’s voyeurism and/or his girlfriend’s exhibitionist tastes, so that’s why they’d laid down those rules.

But on the third night while he’s lounging in the pool while his girlfriend is over drinking by the firepit with Renjun, Jaehyun, and Mark, Haechan looks up at the main house, and catches a glimpse through the windows of the second floor of Xiaojun and his girlfriend fucking against the window. She’s blindfolded with Xiaojun’s hand possibly around her throat while he takes her from behind, her tits are pressed to the window.

It says a great deal about how being in this relationship has changed Haechan that, instead of staying and watching them, he turns away from the window. He plunges through the water until he reaches the edge of the pool closest to the fire pit, and he pulls himself out of the water.

He doesn’t want to watch Xiaojun and his girlfriend. He doesn’t care to watch them. Instead, his mind has immediately taken the scenario and flipped it around in his imagination so he’s the one up there, fucking his own girlfriend against the window, whispering in her ear that their friends are down in the pool and can see her being a perfect whore for him.

And the next morning, bright and early, Haechan and her leave their bedroom to go take a walk around the neighborhood of the villa. It’s a nice, quiet walk. They hold hands and enjoy the sunrise, and Haechan tells her about his self-discovery from the night before; how he’s not so sure that he’s into voyeurism anymore, how he feels that being in this relationship with her has reformed him from his perverted ways.

“Well, most of them,” he laughs, “I think I just adapted my form of perversion into yours. I still want to fuck you in public places. I want you all to myself, but I don’t think I care if people can see.”

That makes her laugh too. “I think we must’ve rubbed off on each other, then, because honestly, I still very much am into exhibitionism, but I also want to watch other people. Specifically, on this trip. Like, I thought for sure everyone would be breaking the rules. You’ve seen almost all of our friends on this trip having sex, and I feel like I’m at a disadvantage.”

Haechan has shown her before all of the videos he had in his phone – the one of Jeno and Jaemin, the stolen clips from Renjun’s phone – but she wants some of her own memories of watching. He can understand that.

As luck would have it, it’s still early when they return to the villa. The main house is silent, the pool is empty, but when they reach their building, when they step through the front door, the first thing they’re greeted with is the sight of the ground floor bedroom’s door wide open. Renjun’s bare back, pale in the light coming through the windows, stands out in contrast to the dark headboard of the bed. He’s riding Jaehyun, breathy moans pouring from both of them, not even trying to be quiet, which either means they were hoping to be caught, or they really thought that Haechan and his girlfriend were going to be gone for longer.

She’s giddy about finally catching someone, and she lingers in the doorway, watching their two friends in a way that brings to life a tendril of lust in his belly. She’s a pervert.

Haechan sits on the stairs, watching her peer around the doorway, her lips parted as eyes follow Renjun riding his boyfriend. He looks at her and he sees two images of her overlaid. He sees the angelic perception he had of her for so long, and he sees her the way he sees her now. Two very different perceptions, but exactly the same woman.

She giggles about it for a while once he takes her hand and drags her upstairs to their bedroom. Even through the floor, they can hear some of the boyfriends downstairs moaning.

“What’s so funny?” Haechan asks.

“I never got to see them together,” she explains, still smiling, “Jaehyun saw or heard every time that Renjun and I were together except the very first time during the movie. You showed me those videos you stole, but that’s not the same. It’s only fair that I got to watch them. Also, Jaehyun is a damn hypocrite. He used to make fun of me when I didn’t want to put in the work, but he was just letting Renjun do all the work down there.”

Haechan nods. “Did you like it, though? Did you like watching, angel?”

She shrugs. “I’m not going to go out of my way to look for it, but, yeah, if they’re gonna have sex right there in plain view, I’ll watch.” 

It must be something in the air, or perhaps it's the aphrodisiacal wine and foods that they’ve been eating, or maybe they all just snap and are filled with a flood of horniness, but that day everyone seems to be in a mood. It’s not like there’s a massive orgy or anything like that, although Haechan probably wouldn’t mind too much if that broke out right in front of him, but after spotting Xiaojun and his girlfriend the previous night, after witnessing Renjun and Jaehyun that morning, Haechan sees Mark getting a little too handsy while he helps his girlfriend apply sunscreen before they all head out for the day. 

They all go paddleboarding together. And Haechan’s girlfriend points out to him the way that YangYang and his girl are canoodling on the paddleboard that they’re sharing. YangYang is pressed up against her back, his arms around her as he helps her paddle, both of them whispering and laughing, and Haechan sees YangYang’s hands begin to wander. Haechan makes sure to show his girlfriend when he notices the way that YangYang’s board begins to lag behind where everyone else is paddling, when his girl is suddenly on her hands and knees.

“Look,” Haechan murmurs to his girlfriend. “There’s another fun little glimpse for you. So much for not having sex in public spaces. Wasn’t it him that came up with that rule?”

But YangYang is definitely fucking his girl doggy style on the paddle board. 

And maybe a little while later, when all of their friends are distracted, Haechan does the same with his girlfriend, fucking her from behind, her pretty ass bouncing with each thrust, the paddleboard wobbling so unsteadily. He knows that someone has to have spotted them, but for once no one calls them out, nor does anyone say anything when Haechan holds his girlfriend on his lap later as they’re driving back to the villa.

No one says anything as they all spend the rest of that day in the pool at their villa, sunbathing and playing around, Haechan unable to keep his hands off of her. To be fair, most of the couples can’t keep their hands to themselves, but when some of their friends are disappearing inside or curling up on the lounge chairs beneath umbrellas, Haechan and his girlfriend are stretched out on the sofa on the covered patio.

He’s been tickling her, her giggles echoing out from the patio, his fingers tugging at strings tying her bikini in place, his lips tracing her tanlines, tasting the saltwater from the sea earlier.

Right now, they’re not even trying to hide it. 

Her bikini falls away, leaving her bare but for the dappled sunlight that stripes over her skin through the latticed ceiling above them. 

“What if they see?” She asks, but she makes no attempt to cover herself up. She actually stretches her arms above her head, exposing herself a little bit more. 

“When has that ever stopped you before?” Haechan replies. “What happened to the girl that let some stranger eat her out in a library? The one that fucked Renjun in her car on campus, who fingered herself in the office?”

She lifts her chin, a daring gleam in her eyes. “She’s still right here. But she’s also aware of her boyfriend’s jealousies, his dislike of actually sharing her with anyone else.”

“They can look,” he says with a shrug, “But they can’t touch.”

He slides a hand from her hip to her chest, all along the curve of her body. She makes a soft, pleased sound. 

“And besides, angel,” Haechan says, “Anyone who sees us together knows that you’re mine. All mine. So let them watch me lay claim to you, let them see the way that you call yourself mine.”

Haechan sinks down, brushing his lips over her throat, down her sternum to her heart. He kisses her there, letting the heat of his mouth linger while his hands slip down to her thighs, pulling them up around his waist. 

“You’re so cocky, Haechan,” she accuses, “You make it sound like your dick is so good that I just beg you for more and more, that I can’t get enough.”

Haechan snorts, laughing even as he presses against her. “But you do, don’t you, baby? You can’t get enough of me, just as I can’t get enough of you. I don’t care who sees us, just as long as they can see how much we mean to each other.”

She lifts her arms from above her head up to drape them around his shoulders. “Are you gonna talk romance to me when we’re about to have sex out here? Gonna wax poetic about how much you love me, Hyuck? You should be begging me again to cum inside me, to mark me up. You should call me names. But don’t get sweet and soft when we’re having sex in public.” 

“I’ll do what I want, pretty whore. I’ll give you something so everyone knows you’re mine,” Haechan growls, and with that, he thrusts himself into her. 

He doesn’t take it easy. Doesn’t go soft or slow on her. 

Haechan takes what he wants, and she keeps moaning, a low chant of “yes yes yes” as her tots bounce with each of Haechan’s deep thrusts, her hands grasping above her head again for anything to grab onto. She bites her bottom lip, trying to at least keep her volume a little low so it doesn’t carry across the pool to where Renjun and Jaehyun are curled together on a large square lounger. 

He reaches for her chin, his thumb dragging beneath her bottom lip. “What are you being so quiet for, huh? Don’t you want all of them to know what we’re doing? Let them know who’s making you feel good, baby?” 

She does moan a little louder, her mouth falls open, and just the sound of her raised moans, her hisses of, “Fuck, harder, baby,” and “God, more! More, Haechan, more, more!” drives Haechan on. 

Each snap forward of his hips makes her tits jiggle, brings another guttural sound of pleasure from her pretty lips. 

“Ah, yes!” She whimpers when Haechan slides his hands down under her ass, lifting her and switching up the angle just enough that he’s hitting that spot inside her now with each thrust, and it’s only a moment later that she’s cumming around him. Haechan brings one of his hands around to her clit, the other up to her throat just to close his hand around it briefly, lightly. 

She writhes with ecstasy, her body arching, still working her hips to get the most out of his cock and the contact with his fingers.

Haechan doesn’t let up. He’s still fucking into his gorgeous girlfriend, still stimulating her clit, though he does remove his hand from her throat as soon as she taps at his arm. Then he moves to her tits, beautiful and perfect in the sunlight. 

She grows tighter around him when he pinches one of her nipples, and he swears he feels a gush of wetness when he tugs on the same nipple. She’s so reactive to him, grinding herself on his cock with a loud moan that Haechan is certain must carry across the pool, and she arches into the hand on her chest, her hands grip tight to a throw pillow over her head. 

He folds himself over her, his lips closing over her unattended nipple, flicking his tongue over the sensitive peak. She shudders again beneath him, waves of pleasure tearing through her as her pussy pulses around his cock. 

Haechan pulls out of her, pulling completely away more suddenly than he’s sure either of them would really like. 

She’s lying there, panting, damp with sweat and his saliva on her one breast. Her nipples both look swollen from his stimulation. She sits up, reaching for him, not done with him yet. And he’s nowhere near done with her either. 

“Up, baby,” Haechan commands, grabbing one of her hands and pulling. 

She stands up quickly on legs that shake a little, and Haechan quickly fills her place, his back on this outdoor sofa. 

Haechan watches her for a moment, watches how she glances around the pool area now that she’s standing. He notices the way that her gaze pauses in a few spots, landing on their friends. Haechan looks too, and all he can see from here is Renjun and Jaehyun still apparently napping. 

He tugs at her hand. “Come on. Come sit on me, baby. Need you to ride me.”

She straddles him, leaning down over him and bracing one hand on his chest as she sinks down on his cock tantalizingly slow. Haechan has to fight the urge to just thrust up into her invitingly warm and wet entrance as she just hovers above him. 

She smirks down at him, her fingernails dragging lightly over his chest. “My turn to be in charge?” She teases, “You gonna submit to me now, baby?”

Haechan snorts. Rarely in their relationship has he given her the reins, let her take control, but if that’s what she wants right now, sure. She can play at being in charge for now. 

He nods. 

“Good boy,” she hums. And then she finally drops her hips, and Haechan lets out an involuntary moan as her tight pussy swallows his length up. Her hand on his chest drifts over to one side, thumbing over his nipple in a way that sends a jolt down to his cock. 

She looks so pleased with herself there on top of him as she settles down with his cock buried all the way inside her. She looks so satisfied as she can take it how she wants it, teasingly slow as she lifts herself up and then back down, as she grinds down on him, as she plays with her clit in the same slow circles as she draws around one of Haechan’s nipples. 

She rides him like that, and Haechan is just in awe of her. 

She cums again like that, squirting a bit on his belly, making quite a mess, honestly, but Haechan likes it.

He slides his fingers through the wet mess, and he presses his fingers through his own lips, sucking the taste of her off. 

She digs her nails into his chest again, and she slumps over him. “Fuck, I’m tired.”

“Not yet, baby,” he pulls his fingers out of his mouth to reach around and pat her ass. “I’m not finished yet. Why don’t you turn around? I want to watch you, and why don’t you watch our friends, see if any of them are looking.”

Because surely some of them have noticed. They’ve been making enough noise that Haechan would be shocked if no one had noticed.

“Can you keep going, baby?” He asks. Because if she’s too tired to be on top, too tired to keep going, he’ll figure it out.

“I got this, thanks,” she says with a smile, patting Haechan on the chest. 

She climbs off of him, standing there bare in the dazzling sunlight for a moment as she turns around, and then she sits over Haechan him again, her back to him. 

She laughs, and that is an unexpected sound in the moment as she’s sinking down on his cock, but she turns her head to take a peek at him over her shoulder, and she says, “Jaehyun and Renjun are looking.”

“Keep going. Let them watch, if that’s what you want, angel.” But it’s what Haechan wants too, so when she starts moving, Haechan is glad. The thought of being watched is working for him, a lot more of a turn on than Haechan had thought it really would be. To know that they’re being watched, that other people (who he knows hold no foul intentions towards them) can see her feeling so good while she rides him.

It only makes matters worse (or better, depending on the angle), that she’s keeping up a narration while she fucks herself on Haechan’s cock, telling him all about what she sees across the pool.

She tells him about how Jaehyun is curled around Renjun from behind, both of them are watching her, and Jaehyun is whispering to Renjun. Renjun’s tiny shorts are riding up and exposing his thighs, Jaehyun has his hand down the front of them. She keeps going, and the combination of voyeurism and exhibitionism is too much for him.

He drags her off his cock, drags her back up his torso until she’s hovering above his face and he presses at her thighs and hips to get her to sit down. This is something he’s been thinking about since the first time she did it – when she rode his face on the sofa in his apartment with YangYang – and he’s been wanting to have it happen again. This seems like the perfect moment, and she seems to agree, judging by the sounds she starts making as soon as Haechan dives in hungrily. 

She doesn’t forget about him. She reaches down and jerks Haechan off with both hands. That, combined with the awareness they’re being watched and the exhilaration of her sitting on his face, carry Haechan at last over the edge, and he cums across his belly.

Haechan just lies there, and she does all the rest, riding his face like he’s just a toy for her to hump. She lowers herself over him, and Haechan nearly nuts again as he feels her licking across his belly, licking at the tip of his cock, cleaning his cum off of his skin. He gets back into it, eating her out until she’s trembling on top of him, cumming again, and this time she pulls away, rolling off of him.

“Now, I’m done,” she pants, leaning in to kiss Haechan once. He wants to hold her there, to kiss her until her lips are glossy too with her wetness like he knows his are. But he lets her withdraw. He watches as she reaches for an abandoned towel on a nearby cushion, and she wraps it around herself.

When he sits up a second later, Haechan looks across the pool, over to the square lounger where Jaehyun and Renjun are. 

But it’s empty.

Haechan frowns, and beside him, his girlfriend laughs. “They weren’t really watching. I made it up. Actually, as far as I can see, none of them are out here anymore.”

“Think we scared them off?” Haechan reaches down for his swim trunks, pulling them back up. 

“Mm, maybe.” She picks up her bikini, wadding the small pieces of fabric up in her hands. “I’m going to shower. You can come too, but just know that there’s not going to be any funny business. I need a good snack and a nap now.”

Haechan doesn’t really feel like moving. This could be just as good of a nap spot right here in the warm sunlight.

“Come on!” She reaches down, tugging at one of his hands. “If you don’t come take a nap with me, what am I gonna do? I’m gonna have to get in your bag and steal one of your shirts. You know I sleep best when I’m with you.”

That gets him moving, trailing along behind her. “No need to go digging for one of my shirts. I’m right here. Perfectly good for napping with.”

Truly, Haechan wonders, how did he get to be so lucky? 

The next night, they’re all seated on the outdoor sofa or in lounge chairs that they’ve drawn up around the firepit. There’s beer and some traditional Indonesian alcohol that some of the guys bought when they were in town earlier. They have three more nights and two full days left in their trip, and Haechan can feel the clock counting down.

Someone brought up in conversation their friends that didn’t come along on this trip – the younger ones, some of which are still in school; Chenle, who is just too busy running his shop to take a week off; and Shotaro and his girlfriend, who are pretty much living together in Japan, and never want to make the trip to come see all of their old friends.

“Oh, shit, that reminds me,” YangYang says then, “Did you see what they posted yesterday on Instagram? Shotaro finally proposed!”

Tucked into his side, Haechan’s girlfriend laughs.

“What?” He looks down at her. 

She shakes her head as if she’s not going to speak, but then she says, “Remember when you had a crush on her? When you threw your tantrum on our first big camping trip as a group?”

Haechan feels his face grow a bit warm as the others all turn to look at them upon hearing her words. “It wasn’t a crush.”

“But it was a tantrum,” Renjun says. 

Haechan draws his arm around her shoulders a little tighter. “I got over it quickly, though. There were no hard feelings after that night. I’m happy for them. Our innocent Shotaro needed someone to show him the ropes of romance, and she was always protective of him.”

“And much like someone else, it took her a long time to realize her feelings for him,” comes the quiet comment from Haechan’s side again. He looks down at his girlfriend. She smiles.

“YangYang, let me see the post!” Mark’s girlfriend demands, clambering over Mark’s lap to reach for YangYang’s phone. “I wanna see the ring!” 

Xiaojun shifts in his seat, glancing at his girlfriend before he looks back around the firepit at all of them. “He’s the first one of us to take that step. When do you think they’re going to get married?”

“Who do you think is gonna be next?” Jeno asks, sweeping a look around at each of the couples gathered here on this trip. “Jaem and I have been together the longest, but…”

“I’m not marrying you,” Jaemin groans from across the fire. “We don’t need to go through all that trouble. And even if we do get married, none of you are invited. Just us two, a quiet little ceremony, and then we’re gonna fuck off on a month-long honeymoon.” 

“If not us, then who?” Jeno asks, still gazing over at Jaemin. The way that they look at each other from across the fire is nauseatingly cute. 

Haechan thinks he might puke.

“After us, you two have been together the longest, right?” Jeno asks Mark and his girlfriend.

“Actually,” Renjun clears his throat, “It’s us.”

Jaehyun doesn’t say a word, just watching Renjun as he says, “It’s been complicated, but we’ve been together since, what, my third year of university? When I started the internship.” 

Jaehyun nods silently, then says, “But we couldn’t make it official in case the company found out. You’d have been let go from the internship, I’d have been at risk of firing or demotion. It was definitely… complicated.” His eyes flick over in Haechan and his girlfriend’s direction, and Haechan again draws his arm a little tighter around his girlfriend.

“But we’re waiting to get engaged, anyway,” Renjun says definitively. “Jaehyun is taking me on a trip to Santorini next year that he promised me years ago, and if he doesn’t propose on that trip, I’m breaking up with him.”

Jaehyun wrinkles his nose, looping his arm around Renjun’s chest, and he drags him to lie back against him. “Damn, I was hoping you were going to be the one proposing. I remember you being the one promising me a trip to Greece.”

The conversations all around them turn to the length of their relationships, dream proposals, talks of Shotaro’s future wedding. Conversations drift and twist away, winding down different paths of topic, but Haechan isn’t paying any attention to that. He’s still stuck on thoughts of his own future. 

He’s so deep in thought, that he doesn’t realize everyone else has left the fire until his girlfriend pokes his cheek with her finger. “Donghyuck?”

“Hmm?” He feels like he’s coming out of a daze. He blinks against the glow of the fire still burning in the firepit, and he looks down at her.

Her eyes are big, starry as the night around them when she says, “Do you remember a few months back? You saw a suit in a shop window and asked me about, like, the future? Marriage, kids, a family?”

She’d been quiet all through the discussion of proposals, and now Haechan finds his stomach tying itself in nervous knots. 

“I don’t think…” She pauses, and again, Haechan’s heart is thundering in his chest.

What if she tells him that she doesn’t actually want any of that? Haechan wants all of that so much that he can’t imagine his future without a marriage, kids, a family. 

She leans in, resting her head on his chest. “I don’t think I was very clear back then about what I want. Mostly because, you know, you’re never really sure of what you want until it’s right there in front of you. Which, I’m sure you definitely get that, like, it took you forever to realize that I was right here, in love with you. But, um, you were asking your questions very hypothetically back then, and I’ve done a lot of thinking since then about what I want.”

Haechan doesn’t like this type of conversation. It has a lump in his throat, a weight in his chest that has nothing to do with her head leaning on him. It has everything to do with the look he’d seen in her eyes on that day months ago. That had been before everything. Before she met his family, before their fight, before he realized that being apart from her left him feeling hollow. He’d seen the look in her eyes that day when he was standing there talking about wanting to get married and wanting to be a dad, and all he’d seen when he looked into her eyes was fear and uncertainty. 

She’d answered his questions that day in a way that left him feeling like he stood on unstable ground, like everything might just crumble away. He’d told her, in an effort to erase that scared look in her eyes, to reassure her, that he was just putting the thought out there, trying to gauge her reaction.

But then there was the morning after their fight, when he went to apologize and mimed a proposal when he sank to one knee. She’d looked panicked then.

What if she genuinely didn’t want a wedding?

“Haechan?”

Her voice sounds a long way off, and it’s not until she places one hand on his chest, the other lightly brushing his cheek, that Haechan realizes he’s holding his breath.

“Donghyuck, relax.” She strokes his cheek tenderly. “Relax, I’m trying to tell you that I do want that. Relax, okay?” She laughs at the way that Haechan lets out a relieved breath. 

And he does feel relieved. That odd weight in his chest, the sick feeling in his belly, and the knot in his throat all fade away. 

“You want me to ask you to marry me?” He closes his eyes. “Because I’ve really been hoping since that day that I was just imagining the way you seemed reluctant.”

“No,” she draws her thumb along his bottom lip. “I was never reluctant about wanting to be with you. Honestly, I think about marrying you all the time. Even in ridiculous moments, I’ll look at you and think ‘This guy. This is the one.’ I’ve always wanted you. That was never the question.”

The happiness sweeping through Haechan dampens slightly as he realizes what she isn’t saying. While she wasn’t reluctant that day about Haechan’s thoughts on marriage, there was something she’d been hesitant about. 

Kids. Children. Babies.

One of the big things that Haechan wants in life: to be a parent.

“You don’t want kids.” Haechan says it, not as a question but as a statement.

She looks at him straight on. “I didn’t say that.”

“But you don’t, do you?” Haechan can hear his voice shake, and he hopes that she doesn’t notice.

She closes her eyes. “I know that it’s important to you. You like kids. You want to be a dad, to raise a kid in a loving household with a whole family, full of love.”

“You don’t?” Haechan can feel that lump, that nausea, that heavy weight in his chest again. 

Her eyes flash open. “I want you, Lee Donghyuck. Always. Everything else can wait.” She moves her hands from his face and chest, reaching for his hands to wrap them tightly, pressing his hands between her palms. 

Haechan shakes his head. “It can’t wait, though. I’m not saying it’s a deal breaker if you don’t want kids, because it’s not. I love you, and I –” He has to take a moment to compose himself, to take a deep breath and search for the right words before he starts again, saying, “I just think that what I want and what you want might not align on this particular thing. So, if kids aren’t something that you want, if you don’t want to be a parent, it would be better for me to know that now than in five, ten years when I’m still holding onto the hope of something that you’ve let go of a long time ago.”

He loves her. 

He wants to marry her.

If she doesn’t want kids, that’s not going to change the fact that he wants forever with her. He’s not going to force that on her. But he would like to know now so he can stop imagining sweet little babies with his chubby cheeks and her eyes.

“I don’t know!” Her voice breaks on a quiet cry. “I don’t know what I want, Haechan.”

And there are tears glistening in her eyelashes, capturing the firelight within the tiny globes. She squeezes his hands, and Haechan squeezes back.

“Talk to me,” he says, “Just talk to me.”

So she does.

He doesn’t know where it all comes from, but she presses her face to his chest, and she just starts talking. She talks and he listens, and it goes on for a while, maybe hours, but still he listens while the love of his life tells him her reasons for her uncertainty, while she tells him that it’s not the idea of being a parent that she finds offputting, but the idea of motherhood in the traditional sense – the sense of sharing your body with another life, which is both magical and terrifying to her; the complications and horrors she’s heard about pregnancy and birth; the way that sometimes it doesn’t feel right to her to bring a new life into this world when there is already so much fucked up shit happening in the world, so many children without families, families that can’t afford to take care of their children.

Haechan listens to it all, and he takes it all in. 

And he gets it.

He gets it as much as he feels like any man that hasn’t had to experience the traumas of being born a woman might understand the situation. He’s never had to think about things from the perspective that she presented him tonight. The Othering of her body through pregnancy and childbirth, the changes that she would have to deal with mentally and physically, all of the things that maybe wouldn’t directly affect him if she were to have children with him, but they might affect her for years or the rest of her life.

He gets it.

Haechan holds her as the fire dies, as her tears dry on his shirt, as the night grows deeper around them. 

The clock is counting down to the end of their trip. Another day and another night have passed, and Haechan doesn’t want to go home. He doesn’t want this to end. He wants to spend forever in paradise. 

Because that is what this is. Paradise. 

It’s perfect here, just like he knew it would be.

Tonight, he just can’t sleep.

He lies awake in bed beside his girlfriend, tossing and turning while she sleeps peacefully. And he watches a clock on the bedside table count down the moments until the break of dawn. And when he can’t take it any longer he reaches over and shakes her shoulder.

“Hm?” She turns her head towards him, but he knows she’s not really awake, so he whispers her name, gently touching her shoulder again. This time her eyes flutter open, and she mumbles, “What?”

“Wake up.” Haechan keeps his voice soft. 

“No,” she whines, trying to hide her face back in her pillow. 

“Come on,” Haechan wheedles, “Just wake up for me, baby.”

Again, she whines, then asks, “What? Why?”

“I can’t sleep,” Haechan admits truthfully. “Why don’t we steal the rental car, drive to the beach, and catch the sunrise over the ocean?”

She sighs, and he can tell that she’s actually awake now. “Or we could just stay in bed and sleep until a decent hour.”

“You’re the one that told me you want to take a romantic trip with me,” Haechan says, “And when I try to be romantic, you just want to stay in bed.” She sighs into the pillow again, but it sounds like a more agreeable sigh than the first one, so Haechan tells her, “If we leave now, we can make it in time.”

“Fine.” She pushes herself up. “But it better be the best sunrise ever to make it worth getting up this early.”

Haechan agrees.

She disappears to the bathroom, and Haechan gets ready quickly, getting dressed and makes sure that he’s got everything he needs in his crossbody bag he’s been bringing almost everywhere with him on this trip – sunglasses, a mask, sunscreen, hand sanitizer, chapstick, extra hair ties for her. He stole the keys to the rental car from YangYang last night, and those are tucked safely in the bag too.

“Ready?” He asks, when she emerges from the bathroom.

She insists on changing out of her pajamas, so Haechan patiently waits on the edge of the bed, watching her put on a bikini (“If we’re going to the beach anyway, we might as well get in the water, right?”) and a hoodie (“I just feel like there might be a little bit of a chill, especially by the water.”) and a pair of leggings. He watches as she starts braiding her hair into two tight french braids, and his patience is growing thinner. 

Already, he swears that the sky is getting lighter outside.

Finally, she’s ready, and Haechan takes her hand and walks quickly out of their bedroom.

They’re halfway down the stairs when a shadow emerges from the bedroom on the ground floor. Renjun.

“Oh, what are you two doing up?” Renjun asks in a whisper, glancing back over his shoulder into his bedroom.

“Haechan wants to go watch the sunrise,” his girlfriend answers as she steps around Haechan where he’s stopped on the steps. “He woke me up because he couldn’t sleep.”

Renjun looks up at Haechan. “I can’t sleep either. Mind if I come too?”

Haechan would usually say no, that he wants this to just be him and his girlfriend for the romantic experience that he sold it to her as. But Haechan says yes.

The three of them sneak quietly into the main house, steal a few snacks and drinks for breakfast on-the-go, and then they’re out the front door, into the rental car, and driving away.

Renjun babbles in the backseat, and Haechan lets Renjun fill the silence. His girlfriend dozes off in the passenger seat with Haechan holding her hand as he navigates the dark roads to the beach half an hour away. Eventually, Haechan tunes Renjun out, and all he’s aware of is the feel of the steering wheel in his hand, his girlfriend’s hand in the other, and the sky growing lighter by gradual degrees.

They reach the beach half an hour later, and the sky is still a deep blue with just a slight edge of lighter color on the horizon. They haven’t missed it.

Together, the three of them take a brief hike from the lot where they leave the car, down through dirt paths. The sounds of insects and small creatures waking surround them, not to mention the rush of the ocean so nearby, the sound of which makes Haechan want to walk faster, but his girlfriend and Renjun are both treating this as a leisurely stroll through nature.

After about an eternal five minute long walk, the path opens up around them, and Haechan’s sandals fill with sand, a sea breeze and a large wave crashing against the shore spray them all with a fine mist of salt. 

Perfect.

The sky is just fading from deep blue to a burnt orange with a thin line of gold right above the distant dark horizon. 

“Damn, this is romantic,” Renjun says as they all walk a little closer to the edge of the sea. “Act like I’m not even here.”

Haechan is all too happy to let that happen. 

Beside him, she clings onto his hand, clutching at his arm and tucking herself in close to him. Her cheek rests against his shoulder, and Haechan is reminded very suddenly of the night he realized he was in love with her. A cool night before they ever started dating, as he walked her to the bus stop, as she clung to his arm, and he fell in love. 

Clouds drift slowly in the sky, and as the sun rises closer to the horizon, the colors begin to change, the deep orange and golden yellow turn red and pink, purple and sweet orange like the inside of a nectarine. The clouds are lined in gold and pearly pink. And the sea reflects those colors, cut through with the likes of the waves, the frothy crescents of gold as the top curve of the sun finally breaks above the sea. 

“This is worth it,” she whispers against Haechan’s shoulder. “Definitely worth waking up early for.”

He smiles and presses a kiss to the top of her head. 

And then finally there is the sun, spiking molten gold through the sky, rays arcing between the clouds, mixing the colors into brighter and better shades. It’s only a matter of minutes before the beauty of the sunrise will fade into just a pretty blue morning. 

Haechan’s heart catches in his throat. 

Behind them, Renjun speaks, and really for a few moments, Haechan had forgotten their best friend was there too. Renjun says, “This is insanely pretty. I should take a picture.”

“Oh,” she says softly beside him, and he feels her untangling herself from his arm, drawing away. “I want a picture too.”

She steps away, pulling her phone from her hoodie pocket, aiming it out at the sea, and Haechan watches the light of the sunrise on her face — all pinks and golds and oranges. 

Haechan reaches into his crossbody bag, and he glances back at Renjun, his phone aimed towards the sea and the glamorous sunrise. 

And Haechan does something he’s been thinking about for a long time. 

He says his girlfriend’s name as he feels his heart pounding like it’s about to race right out of his chest and into the sea, like it’s on fire and needs the sea to put it out, as Haechan sinks down on one knee and pulls out the tiny ring box he’d stowed in the bag earlier that morning while she was in the bathroom, the one he’s been hiding in his suitcase all week, the one that he bought the day after they moved in together, first thing the next morning after he asked her dad for his blessing in the living room of their new apartment while she was in the next room. 

Haechan sinks into the sand on one knee, and he holds up the ring box, the ring inside of it glimmering in  the sunrise as his perfect, beautiful, angel of a girlfriend turns at the sound of her name. 

For a moment, she looks confused, and then it registers. 

His pose. The ring. The look in his eyes and the hopeful smile on his face. 

And Haechan speaks, though he has to force the words out around his heart in his throat. 

“I used to think that loving someone as much as I love you was impossible. But every day I love you more than the day before. I love you, and I want to spend forever loving you, my angel. Will you marry me?”

Haechan expects an answer. Either a yes or a no. It’s not too much to expect right? A verbal confirmation or denial to the marriage he’s just proposed to his girlfriend, the love of his life.

Slowly, her hands come up to cover her mouth, the sunrise haloes her with gold, and she looks more like an angel now than ever before, and Haechan thinks he might pass out if she keeps him waiting any longer.

He opens his mouth, saying just, “If you d—”

It’s lucky the ground is such soft sand because she tackles him into it, and it’s just pure luck that Haechan’s fingers close on the box, snapping the lid of it shut so when it slips out of his hand, he doesn’t lose the ring in the sand. Not that he’s truly thinking about that in the moment. He’s far too preoccupied with the armful of his girlfriend as she kisses him, as she murmurs “yes yes yes” between kisses, her hands in his hair, grains of salt and sand and strands of hair between their lips, and Haechan doesn’t care about anything else more than the heat of her against him, and her promises of “yes, I’ll marry you” repeated again and again. 

Eventually, after a long, long time, they remember Renjun. 

He’s not standing anywhere near them, but has drifted down along the beach, minding his own business and ignoring the happy, entangled couple in the sand. The sun has risen high enough now that it’s fully cleared the horizon, and the magic of the sunrise feels like it’s settled into their bones instead. 

Haechan doesn’t want to let go of her, doesn’t want to get up. 

He feels light and good. Gone is the anxious weight he’s kept buried all week, the one that resurfaced the other night when their friends mentioned engagements while he had an engagement ring hidden in his bedroom fifty feet away, the feeling that had been plaguing him all night, the countdown towards this moment right here. 

It wasn’t an impromptu sunrise beach trip. He’d planned it ahead with Renjun, the only one of their friends on this trip he’d entrusted with this. That’s why Renjun had set an alarm to be awake early, to come along with them, to act as a photographer or videographer to this moment. 

God, he’s so grateful he did it. Even more grateful that she said yes. 

“You know, the other night, I panicked a bit when I thought you were going to tell me you didn’t ever want to get married.” Haechan admits when they sit up, though he’s still holding her in his lap. “I was panicking about what to do with the ring if you didn’t want it.”

She places a hand on his cheek and draws him in for another kiss. A brief one because she then pauses, frozen as she asks, “Where is the ring?”

Haechan searches the sand around them, and quickly, he locates the smooth shine of it among the sand as Renjun drifts back towards them. 

“So you’re saying yes, right?” Haechan checks with her as he frees the ring from its soft little cushion. “You’ll marry me?”

“Yes,” she repeats, and he can hear emotion bubbling in her voice. A glimmer in her eye shows that tears may be building as well. “Yes, I’m saying yes, I’ll marry you.”

Haechan kisses her as he slides the ring onto her finger. 

“I love you,” he promises her, “Always. I’ll be always yours.”

THE END.

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a/n: The end!! This has been a long, long work in progress, and the fact that it's finally over is gonna be hard on all of us, I'm sure. I've had a lot of fun with writing this fic, even if there were some scenes that I had initially planned on that never made it into the final cut. This fic has truly been a Haechan love story, about a boy falling in love with the girl that's been there in front of him this whole time. I've been thinking of this fic all along, since the pretty early stages of it, as "She fell first, but he fell harder," because once Haechan realizes his feelings, it's over for him; she's it for him, and he knows that very early on in their relationship. But he's had plans for a long time regarding his future with her, and he has almost always been in her dream plans for her future. So they get a happy ending! A happily ever after!!

Like I already said, I had a lot of fun writing this, posting this, and hearing from all of you wonderful readers! Thank you so much for reading and coming along on this slowburn of a journey with me, Haechan, and Y/N!

[jenoyeahh]

the finale is here!

i don't really read haechan smut, nothing against him, i just couldn’t see him in that way. but you’re such a great author that when i first stumbled upon this i was like, yeah i could read this. it helps that it doesn't dive straight into smut, even though it has a shotaro scene, which i also don't see him that way. but i've been keeping up for the updates, that for this last chapter it was the first thing on my mind when i woke up today. like, today the last chapter is dropping. i gotta read it.

and now i have romantic delusional feelings for haechan. i can't stop smiling and sighing while reading this like HA! you love her soooo much. i understand her concerns regarding motherhood, because it's a legit concern that even i, myself and my friends have. like will we ever be ready, will it be weird, you’re going to be responsible for a whole human, you know?

anyways! the proposal! it's a pleasant surprise, kind of expecting it but it's always like a will he? scene for me. when you said that haechan had a talk with her father during the move, i thought hmm is he asking for blessing? and when he dropped to his knee i thought renjun better be filming all of this. hihi, thank you for explicitly writing that yes, this is all planned. just made me giddy with myself.

the smuts are steamy, like there's love but there's also spice and hotness. wouldn't be surprised if there's gonna be an orgy. although probably not after they just got engaged. i reckoned that they probably just wanted to be alone, just the two of them basking in the engagement glow. thank you for writing and sharing! 😘😘

[neodump]

no joy in possession.

Warnings: slight (kinda large) mark/haechan interaction. Your boyfriend, Mark, thinks sharing is caring (lets his bestfriend do his girlfriend to make him feel better). 4k words, unedited. Mark/Reader/Haechan.

“You don’t have to put clothes on, it’s just Donghyuck,” Mark says, waving his hand. 

You pause your search for something more decent than your outfit of a huge t-shirt and panties. Friday nights usually entailed binging a new show and pigging out on pizza with Mark until you two were too tired to keep your eyes open. 

Donghyuck’s been invited over more and more recently though. He had a bad break up a little over a month ago. He hadn’t even seen it coming, from what Mark told you. And Mark’s told you a lot. 

“Just Donghyuck?” you question, shutting your drawer.

He blinks at you, shrugging. “I just want you to be comfortable around him is all. It’s our place.”

You could say after two years of dating Mark you’ve gotten pretty comfortable with Donghyuck. They’re childhood best friends. Their parents live next door to each other to this day. They’ve got matching scars on their knees. They even laugh the same sometimes. This doesn’t mean you’ve made it a habit of not at least wearing shorts underneath your knee length t-shirts even if you’re not wearing a bra when Donghyuck, or any of Mark’s friends, comes around. 

Mark’s a good boyfriend, awesome actually, but he’s a really good best friend, too. But lately, he’s been more than encouraging about you being able to walk around freely in your home, no matter if Donghyuck is here. It was cool at first, but it’s been weighing on you recently. 

Last Friday, Mark had gotten you flat on your bed after your shower, was about balls deep inside of you, and a minute away from giving both of you one of the quickest orgasms the two of you had gotten all week, when his phone started vibrating. It’s Donghyuck, Mark breathed before he picked up the phone, like it was supposed to make it any better. It wasn’t the first time Mark had taken a call in the middle of sex but it was the first time he’d been so obvious about what the two of you were doing during it. 

Tilting the receiver away from where he was panting hard into your mouth couldn’t have been enough for Donghyuck not to know what was happening, but he and Mark had a conversation about what beer he should buy before coming upstairs, like Mark wasn’t five seconds away from coming. 

It’s alright. Me and Donghyuck, Mark said against your lips after he hung up, his pelvis mashing against your clit, we share everything, babe. 

Does that mean you wanna share me too? You asked him. Mark’s wide eyes were still staring into yours as he came inside you with a thin exhale. He never gave you an answer but you knew it was more true than even Mark understood. 

“That’s him,” Mark says when the doorbell goes off, Donghyuck smashing it like he always does. Mark looks you up and down. “Come out like that, I’m okay with it.”

He leaves you in the room with that. 

… 

Donghyuck’s a good friend too. He buys Mark’s favorite beer and your favorite snacks and he cooks even if he doesn’t crash on the couch. He’s tried not to mope too much about his break up in front of you, but you could hear him murmuring about it with Mark in the kitchen while he cooked some nights, his soft voice carrying over the sizzle of the pan. 

Tonight is different. Donghyuck brings the beer and the snacks and he cooks, but you catch Mark whispering in his ear at the dinner table after you get a couple of cups from the overhead cabinet, Donghyuck’s eyes just flitting away from your back when you turn around. There’s less of their usual banter at the table, their eyes meeting for longer, at a standstill about something you’re not privy to. 

On the couch, the only light coming from the tv, things are a little better. 

You’ve got your toes tucked underneath Donghyuck’s thighs, a blanket draped across your folded up knees, leaning back into Mark’s side. It’s comfortably warm between them. They’ve been laughing some at the movie at least. It’s not how they might be overdoing it normally, slapping each other over or around you at something not that funny, or disregarding the movie for their own jokes, or crowding around you during a horror movie. 

Mark seems cozy this far into the comedy you put on, one of his hands resting on your sternum, thumb brushing the base of your throat or your chin unconsciously from time to time. When you look over at Donghyuck he’s got his arms crossed, hood up over his mussed hair, thighs politely spread. Not his usual space-hogging. 

You noticed a long time ago, how pretty Donghyuck is. It’s hard not to clock it. The soft slope of his nose balanced out by the pout of his lips, the bored set of his eyes from the side. He and Mark can go toe-to-toe in the looks department. Donghyuck double takes when he catches you looking, smiling gently at you before he turns back towards the tv. 

It’s then that Mark’s hand slowly slips away from the loose grip it had around your throat, skimming over your sternum, fingers dipping in the space between your breasts. It could’ve been an accident if he didn’t linger. And if he didn’t keep doing it; the weight of his hand getting heavier with each pass, your nipples hardening underneath your t-shirt from the anticipation. Mark’s started off slow plenty of times, acting sly to get in your pants when he doesn’t even have to ask. It would be fine, more than welcome, if Donghyuck wasn’t sitting right there, staring hard at the tv. 

“Mark,” you whisper harshly, louder than you meant to, when Mark tries to sneak his hand down the neck of your shirt. 

Donghyuck is still, arms crossed, his thighs tense where your toes are beneath them, jaw bunching with the clench of his teeth as he looks straight ahead. No matter how low your voice, he would’ve heard you. He could clearly see Mark trying to cop a feel from his periphery, although he’d given no real indication besides trying to act like he couldn’t. The thought of him willing to sit there while the two of you continue—it has your clit bleeding a druggy pulse to the rest of your cunt. 

 It’s like Mark knows this, leaning down to your ear where your head has slid down near his armpit. 

“C’mon, he hasn’t gotten any in a minute, babe,” Mark says, voice raspy with faux concern. “You could help him out.”

Donghyuck grows more tense, if possible, shoulders drawing up towards his ears when your eyes flick towards him. But he says nothing. When you look up at Mark, his eyes are already glassy in the dark, parted lips glossed by the light of the tv. This is what Mark must’ve whispered to him about earlier. Or who knows how long this has been an idea for them. 

The blanket covering your knees begins to slip away, the fuzziness tickling your legs. Mark’s still watching you, giving you those big, moony eyes, like he’s begging you to do Donghyuck a lifesaving favor. It sends your heart thumping in your chest, that the favor would be letting Donghyuck have you in whatever way Mark lets him. 

Like you said, Donghyuck’s a good friend to Mark. And he’s easy on the eyes. 

You face away again and snuggle back into him slightly. Mark’s fist drags the blanket off of you gently and drapes it over the back of the couch, leaving your legs exposed. Your calves don’t do much to shield your underwear, bent knees pressing together at the fresh air brushing over them. Mark doesn’t seem to want them to, fingertips dimpling the fat at the inner junction of one of your knees as he spreads it out.

“Just relax, baby,” Mark says, rubbing four fingers over your pussy through your panties, making you light up warm, whimpering a little. 

You catch Donghyuck trying, and failing, not to look at the valley of your cunt through your panties, nose flaring as Mark’s thumb circles your clit, making the shape of it obvious through the cotton. His middle finger slips down your slit, pressing the pad against your weeping hole, wetting the fabric. It’s a skill, being able to work you up this quick. 

Donghyuck gives up when Mark shifts your panties to the side, head turning to face you completely with wide eyes as Mark tucks and folds the damp cotton to the right. Your heart pounds as Donghyuck’s eyes zip along the length of you, committing it to memory for the first time ever. Mark pats your bare pussy barely-there, like a brand new car. 

“Take a good look at her, Donghyuck,” Mark rasps, forcing a gasp from you as his thumb fiddles lightly with your engorged clit. “Told you she’s got a pretty clit. So easy for me and you to suck on.”

The words zing along your entire body, thighs twitching closed, toes curling against Donghyuck’s thigh. Mark’s talked about this with him before—about your pussy. Donghyuck sucks on both his lips, a little guilty. He nods though. 

Mark uses two fingers to spread your lips open wide, your hole making an embarrassing, soppy sound. “Look at that, man. Love that color, the noises it makes when I get it wet.”

The need that creates within you makes your hips buck, wanting Mark–or one of them–to start getting you off. Donghyuck’s arms are still crossed but he’s sunken into the couch, mouth open a little. When you look down, he’s already growing hard in his sweats, just from watching your pussy get toyed with. 

Mark gathers a little slick from your hole, teasing at it, and spreads all the way up on either side of your clit, rubbing it gently after. Your shirt gets pulled up, Mark taking the hem all the way up to your throat, exposing the spill of your breasts to Donghyuck’s hungry eyes. 

“Go ahead,” Mark says to Donghyuck from behind you. “You can play with her, dude.”

Donghyuck looks down at you, nervous, but you let your feet splay out wider, tucking one into the cushions of the back of the couch. He scooches closer, reaching out to feel at one of your breasts. His hand is balmy, big with wide palms and knobby fingertips. He passes his thumb over your nipple reverently, eyebrows raising in awe when it pebbles up immediately. Mark’s hand grips softly at your other tit, squeezing it between his thumb and index casually. 

Donghyuck gets in between your legs, twisted at the waist, to get the tit Mark’s holding in his mouth. You groan, his soft mouth wrapping around you as Mark breathes out a yeah, squeezing harder, fitting more of you between Donghyuck’s lips. He switches over to the other quickly, brushing kisses across your chest. His tongue laves over your nipple inside his mouth, lips making a skipping sound as he suckles too hard, eyes closed. This is the first time he’s been so close, the short fan of his lashes visible, lips puckered around your nipple. 

“Shit,” he mutters when he lets your nipple go, eyes weighed. 

Donghyuck shifts down the couch as he kisses along your body, hands skating your sides, breathing harshly into your skin. Mark’s thumb is spreading Donghyuck’s spit over your nipple distractedly as he watches. Your pussy throbs when Donghyuck’s warm breath washes over it, shouldering between your legs, so ready for him to use his mouth. But he hesitates, looking up. Not at you, past you. 

“Can I?” he asks Mark. Asking for Mark’s permission to your body instead of your own. 

“Go for it,” Mark answers, a smile in his voice. 

You’ve slid almost flat on the length of the couch, knees still bent, but able to prop yourself up on one elbow to watch Donghyuck hold your panties completely out of the way before digging in. The first long, lap of his tongue along your pussy punches a breath out of you, stomach tightening. He does it twice then takes your clit between his lips carefully, feeding the ache. 

“Here,” Mark says, sliding against the back of the couch to guide Donghyuck’s head further down. “Yeah, get at her there before her clit.”

It’s hot, watching Mark coach Donghyuck through eating you out properly. Donghyuck splits you open with both thumbs on either side of your lips, trying to stuff his slippery tongue inside of you with Mark’s hand on the back of his head. You can’t resist rolling your hips into his face, panting at the fat slip of his tongue and his breath washing over you. Mark grabs him by the hair, pulling him back towards your clit. He angles Donghyuck’s head to the side, just enough so that Donghyuck’s lips wrap around the entirety of it, suckling wetly. It makes you cry out, rutting up, forcing his face flat into you.  

“That’s it, that’s how she likes it sucked,” Mark praises. He sounds winded. 

Donghyuck knocks away Mark’s hand after a bit, burying his face into your pussy with his eyebrows knitted together, slurping at you. Mark can get sloppy when he eats you out, enthusiastic and making needy noises. But Donghyuck keeps at it with precision, tinny moans leaving him when you hump his face, wanting to feel the softness of his nose bump your clit as he licks at your entrance. 

“Wanna fuck her, Donghyuck?” Mark asks suddenly, like he’s unsure of what Donghyuck’s answer will be. 

Your head snaps up to look at him. You’re more than willing to let Donghyuck do it at the moment, honestly, but you’re a little surprised that Mark’s the one who asked. Mark isn’t one to like other men speaking to you in little more than a friendly manner, but he smiles down at you, reassuring, before looking back at where Donghyuck’s come up for air. 

“Would she—would that be okay? With you, Y/N?” Donghyuck asks, kind of shy with your slick shining around his mouth. He bites at his lip, eyes bouncing from your face to your breasts. 

“If Mark’s fine with it, I am, too,” you answer. You reach, hesitant, to run your fingers through his hair for the first time, smiling a little at how he closes one eye as your thumb runs over his eyebrow. 

“I’m cool with it,” Mark murmurs, shifting behind you so he can lean down and kiss at your ear. “Go ahead.”

Donghyuck gets up from the couch to speed-shed his clothes. Mark leans over your shoulder to suck leisurely at one of your nipples upside down, his other hand slithering down to play with the other, pinching and rolling it between his fingertips. You card your fingers through his hair as you watch Donghyuck unzip his hoodie and toss it. 

“You good?” Mark mumbles, kissing a path up your chest as much as he can. 

“Yeah, you?” you answer, leaning your head against his. 

You can’t see it, but from the way he’s licking against your throat he must be hard as fuck, humming an mh-hm.  Donghyuck’s sheds his shirt and shirks off his sweatpants, tossing them into the dark. The movie continues playing, flashing colors over Donghyuck’s body. He palms at himself through his tented boxers for a second, looking at the two of you, before reaching into the gap to pull himself out, intending to fuck you like that. 

“Take those off, since you got undressed to fuck my girlfriend anyways,” Mark snorts, sitting back up. “She doesn’t wanna feel those, dude.”

Donghyuck rolls his eyes, a hint of his embarrassment playing out across his face still, as he slowly climbs out of his underwear. He lets those hit the floor more carefully than the rest of his clothes. He’s lanky all over, long legs, arms, fingers, gentler edges than Mark. Like this it's easy to see that he’s good and hard. Him and Mark are around the same length; him a little longer, Mark a little thicker, but he’s uncircumcised. The skin peels back as he strokes himself, beading wet at the tip as he comes to kneel on the couch. 

Your pussy pulses excitedly, wanting him closer, wanting to know what he’ll feel like. Mark drags you up by your armpits to put your head and the top of your shoulders directly in his lap, a surprised grunt leaving you as you look up at him. The heat of his cock brushes your cheek through his sweatpants, he must be hurting some at the very least. 

“Shouldn’t I get a condom?” Donghyuck asks quietly. 

You look back at him. You’re on birth control. Donghyuck knows this after you showed him the mile long pamphlet of side effects a few months ago. Whether or not he should get to experience you without a barrier is another question. 

“I know he’s clean,” Mark tells you, stroking your cheek with a knuckle. “If it’s him, if you’re okay with it, I’m cool with him going raw.”

Mark’s words spread over you. We share everything. As far as you’ve known, they’ve never done this together. But the way Donghyuck climbs over you after you agree, unafraid of being so close to his best friend while he gets ready to have sex with his girlfriend, would convince you otherwise. 

Donghyuck hovers over your face in Mark’s lap, looking up at him only once before he’s slowly leaning in to kiss you. Your heart feels like it’s about to come out of your throat, watching Donghyuck swoop in, his eyes closing, before your lips finally press together. He’s soft; his lips, the touch of tongue against your mouth, the sigh he lets out through his nose as your mouths mold together, as easy as you and Mark. 

The thought makes you whine and squeeze your knees around Donghyuck’s waist, still keeping his hips away. 

Mark’s hand trailing down your stomach surprises you, going for your pussy. Donghyuck pulls away to get up on one hand to watch, hanging his head. Two of Mark’s fingers make a V, sliding down to part your sticky lips wide. 

“She’s set deep, keeps you sucked up in there tight,” Mark says, he and Donghyuck almost face to face, looking at each other. “You might not wanna pull out once you’re in her. Take it from me.”

“Yeah? So if I come in her?” Donghyuck teases breathily, gripping the base of his cock and rubbing the head along your folds. 

Your knees relax completely outward, your pussy throbbing wildly, the most important point on your body at the moment. Mark cackles. 

“I dunno, it’s your kid then,” he jokes. 

Donghyuck manages a choked laugh with him, breaking off into a moan when the tip of him catches eagerly against your entrance. You don’t laugh with them, pressing up into Mark’s fingers still holding you open, against the slip of Donghyuck’s cock. 

“She’s so wet,” Donghyuck mutters, his cheeks ruddy. 

“Come on, try her out,” Mark whispers, his fingers trembling. 

Neither one of them knows how much they’re giving you right now, feeding each other back and forth this way. And not to mention how much you’re giving them, connecting them like this. 

Mark swings his other arm over, stretching to reach, to guide Donghyuck to you, into you. He breaches you with a hiccup, thick at the head, all three of you looking down at where he’s disappearing inside your pussy with Mark’s oversight. Your eyes flutter, nearly rolling back, as Donghyuck’s heat combines with yours, leaving your pussy thumping hot as he bottoms out with a deep, guttural groan. 

They feel almost the same, Mark’s fingers still spreading your lips open needlessly, framing Donghyuck’s girth stretching you out. Donghyuck’s circling his hips inside of you before Mark can pull his hand out the way, head thrown back. 

“Okay, baby?” Mark asks you, hand brushing across your forehead. 

You nod, your body melting everywhere but where Donghyuck is, wanting to keep him in you even as he tries rocking his hips back. He flattens himself over you, hovering over your face again as he works up a steady rhythm. 

The wet slapping sounds of him fucking you eggs him on, kissing you sloppily and hurrying his rhythm to a deep pound. You make small noises into his mouth as he reaches back with both hands, damp palms keeping your knees spread far as he fucks into you as much as he can bear. 

“Told you you needed this, didn’t I?” Mark is saying from above, petting the back of Donghyuck’s head as he goes at it. “That Y/N would get you right.”

Donghyuck's only answer is a high, stuttered affirmative cry, shoving his face into your neck. 

“I know your ex can’t even compare,” Mark continues. 

You wrap your arms around Donghyuck’s back as he nails you to the couch, your panting coming fast little chirps, your insides bearing down around Donghyuck’s cock. He presses against your clit every so often, his feet finding leverage against the couch to grind against you. The rush of it is obvious, both of you clinging to each other, Donghyuck’s hips tugging back like your cunt is giving him trouble pulling out, groaning weakly beside your ear. 

You have to reach between your bodies to really rub at your clit when it becomes too much, Mark pulling his dick out his sweats in your periphery, right beside your faces, jerking off like he needs to come just as bad as you do. Maybe worse. 

“Not gonna help her come, Donghyuck?” Mark grits out, thumbing his tip. 

Before Donghyuck can answer, slowing down with a short moan, you cut in. “You said it’s been awhile since he’s gotten some. He should just enjoy it.” 

Mark pauses, his own words catching up to him, and Donghyuck laughs tightly. His hips roll steadily, not as desperate as a minute ago, but reaching deeper, anchoring, pulling away, then sinking back in hard, just to do it again. Mark’s arm reaches between both of your bodies, over your shoulder, to rub his thumb over your fat, sensitive clit. Slow and digging in his inner-knuckle into one side so the bottom of your stomach feels like it’s falling in. 

Donghyuck kisses you hotly, feeding you tongue, all of it feeling intimate–too intimate. 

“Makin’ her pussy so tight,” Donghyuck whispers hoarsely to Mark, right into your mouth. “Fuck, I think she’s gonna make me come.”

Donghyuck fucks into you harder, forces your breath to hitch as he lets his need dictate his pace now, still trying to kiss you. Mark’s fingers work your clit just as slow but he pinches it between his thumb and forefinger, inescapable, making you whimper beneath Donghyuck’s onslaught. 

“Is it alright if I come inside, or…?” Donghyuck croaks, getting up on his elbows. 

“Yes,” you breathe quickly, your thighs beginning to shake. Mark’s harsh panting doesn’t pause, he doesn’t refuse. 

A bright heat spreads from your clit, like your entire core might overheat, both of them getting you there in tandem. You cross your ankles around Donghyuck’s hips, like you do with Mark, unwilling to let him come anywhere except inside of you. They share everything, like Mark said, so Donghyuck should get this too, shouldn’t he? So he can know what Mark feels. 

“Show him, baby, c’mon,” Mark coos down at you, his cheeks red above Donghyuck’s head. Both of their eyes are on you, wild. “Let that pussy make him come.”

It almost hurts, gripping around Donghyuck’s cock as you finish, crying out as he fucks you through it and Mark doesn’t let up. Donghyuck’s hips shove into you, flattening you to the couch as he starts coming into the back of your cunt like he’s your boyfriend, simpering into your neck with the force of it. You keep him close, fluttering around his throbbing cock, letting him rock into you until he’s heaving a sigh. 

His weight is warm on top of you, your ears filled with white noise. You can feel him starting to grow soft in you. 

“That was fucking–”

“Donghyuck,” Mark’s strained voice interrupts, the slick of him stripping of his dick urgent. “Move if you don’t want me to nut on your face too.”

As soon as Donghyuck rises up on his hands, you see Mark towering above you, one knee on the couch, shorts and boxers pulled beneath his tight sac, his cock flushed an angry red. 

“Open,” he commands, soft as possible, and slides a hand under the back of your neck, knocking your head back. 

Thick warmth hits your bottom lip, smacks the roof of your mouth, and then your chin as Mark groans loudly. The last, long sprays splatter over your tits, Mark’s hand slipping from underneath your neck. A mouth, not Mark’s, suckles over one of your come-soaked nipples, tongue laving over it leisurely. Mark sits back with a whispered, fuck. 

Donghyuck laps at your breast and then his face is above you, lips wet. Mark’s come is still sitting in your mouth, mixing with your saliva. Donghyuck leans down to get his share of that, too, cupping the side of your face as he licks into your mouth gently. Maybe now they can say they’ve shared everything. Almost. 

“Mark,” you call softly, tilting your head back to look at him, where he’s watching Donghyuck lick down your chin and neck, cleaning after his mess with wide eyes. 

Donghyuck’s softness slips out of you and a hot trail of his come starts sliding out after him. If they’re meant to share everything, Mark can do this. 

“There’s some of him down here for you two to share,” you tell him, spreading your knees out wide. 

Donghyuck starts slithering down your body first, slow, as he laps up some more of Mark’s come from your other breast. He’ll get there first. 

“Okay.” Mark nods, doesn’t move, watching. “I’ll let him get comfortable first.”

Mark gets there, eventually, with Donghyuck leaving enough of his come inside of you to go around for the both of them. 

[jenoyeahh]

can't count how many times i've reread this. idk i just think they're hot. the author's also hot for writing something so phenomenal in just 4k words. like wow. you're hot. rooting for them to go poly. they deserved it.

thank you for writing and sharing. this will not be the last time i read this :>

[starsstuddedsky]

Persimmon Problems

jaemin x reader

summary: fantasy crushes are all fun and games until it stops being a fantasy and he’s really talking to you. but what are you supposed to do when he invades every part of your life?

genre: fluff, angst, university au, non idol au, he’s not a frat boy but he’s basically a frat boy, inaccurate depictions of student council, I don’t actually know what this is

warnings: swearing, drinking, implied sex (it’s pg-13), lmk if I missed any

wc: 18.3k (oops)

a/n: ahahaha remember that jaemin dream… yeah. anyways so I’ve looked at this for so long that I don’t even know what this is anymore, all I know is that I can’t keep working on it. also I still don't know what a persimmon tastes like so.. yeah. I really wanted to try one but if this stays in my drafts any longer I will go insane. I hope you all enjoy!!!! as always I'd love to hear what you think :)

You’ve never had persimmon before but you think maybe it’s the best word to describe Na Jaemin. He is a persimmon in your palm, an unknown flavor to be discovered if you dare to bite. It doesn’t help that he chose to wear orange today, the sweater a shade away from pink. 

There’s a pinch at your side. “You’re staring again.” 

You glare at Renjun, who doesn’t bother to look up from his laptop, working on the graphic for the student council. “Was not.” 

“Whatever,” he says. “Just don’t let the pretty boy distract you from paying attention because I needed to finish this yesterday.”

“The only one distracting me is you, and you aren’t pretty.” You pretend his silence is agreement instead of him trying to force you to take notes as Professor Bae closes up the lecture. 

It’s not that you can’t focus around Na Jaemin–your perfect notes at the end of class prove just the opposite. Jaemin simply exists in another world. There is your corner, mostly filled with student council responsibilities and never ending university work, and there is Na Jaemin, honorary member of every frat on campus. Not that you’ve been thinking that much about him, but his Instagram shows up in your recommended often enough for you to know that he goes to parties nearly every weekend. The sliver of overlap in the Venn diagram of your world and his only includes Microbiology on Tuesdays and Thursdays from 1 to 4, and that’s enough for you. To fantasize about him from here, a fruit you’ll never have the opportunity to try. 

Jaemin starts to turn around and you quickly turn to Renjun, resisting the urge to peek at him out of the corner of your eye. You look at the shapes on Renjun’s computer instead. 

“That looks like shit.” 

“Trust the process,” he says. 

“You spent the entire lecture working on this, you are aware we have a lab where you actually have to do things right?” 

“You don’t think you can handle it on your own?” 

“Stop trying to bait me into doing all the work.” You close your laptop, standing and stretching. You see Jaemin out of the corner of your eye, a blob of black hair shuffling down the aisle toward the door to the classroom. The orange-pink sweater is actually a cardigan, large cream colored buttons keeping it together. That’s when you realize you’re staring again. Shit. 

“Are we eating before lab or do you seriously think you’ll finish that thing in the next thirty minutes?” You ask Renjun, who still hasn’t moved. 

“You want to be president when you aren’t even pressuring me into posting the election announcements that were supposed to go out yesterday?” 

“I want to eat something before we have to stare into microscopes, so what do you want?” You wonder if he’s focused enough to miss you grabbing his wallet out of his bag. 

“Whatever you want is fine and if you use my card it will literally decline.” You curse and toss his wallet back into his backpack. 

“Should have taken that class with Chenle, his card never declines.” 

“That’s because it’s his parents’ black card.” He finally looks up from his laptop at you. “Are you getting the food or not?” 

You open your mouth to say something extremely witty and/or smart, but your stomach rumbles. “I’m going to fire you when I’m president.” 

“And who else will put up with your bullshit?” he calls as you walk down the aisle. You prepare a mature response (sticking your tongue out at him), walking backwards. Directly into someone—bouncing off their chest, more specifically. 

Hands grab your shoulders before you can react, straightening you before you have a chance to fall. “Woah there.” 

“Holy shit, I’m so sorry,” you say as you turn around and find Na Jaemin staring at you. Apologies spill out, even as he smiles at you, a true, knees-to-jelly, threat-to-sunshine smile. 

“Don’t worry about it,” he says. 

“Sorry,” you repeat. Your brain struggles to diversify its vocabulary with him looking at you, smiling with his eyes in full focus. His eyes are so dark it’s difficult to distinguish between his pupils and his irises. Staring, again, the third time in an hour. Why can’t you be normal around him? 

“I was blocking your way out anyway, so it wasn’t all your fault.” He steps back, letting you out of the aisle. At least, giving you the space to do it, since your feet decide not to work. He tilts his head at you, sending your brain into a spiral of predictions, ranging from he’s going to ask you out (rather fantastical) to he’s going to tell you that you have something stuck between your teeth (horribly realistic). 

Instead, he says, “You’re YN, right?” 

“Yeah. How did you know that?” 

His smile widens when you say yes. “Student council vice president, right?” 

You don’t trust your voice so you nod. 

“I’m Jaemin,” he says, extending his hand for a moment like he wants to shake hands but he pulls away at the last second. “Your picture is on the website.” 

“Nice to meet you,” you say, mouth going through the motions on its own since your brain’s whiteboard has been wiped completely clean. The only thing left is NA JAEMIN in giant bold letters, bright red marker and all. 

“Yes, it is,” he says. Does he know the effect his smile has on people? Legally it could be considered a weapon. He pauses a moment longer, like he wants to say something else but instead he turns away, walking back to his seat, waving at half the class because of course he does. 

You don’t have to turn around to feel Renjun staring at you. You don’t feel like hearing his judgy comments, even when they’re only passed on through his eyes. Whoever said eyes are the window to the soul was right—Renjun’s give you a clear view of the most judgmental person you have ever met. You leave the class without looking back. 

Very few places nearby campus sell edible food, and even fewer are ever empty enough to be able to grab food and eat before the three hour lab starts. Today is even worse than normal, as if everyone has chosen to be hungry at the same time as you. You end up at a 7/11, grabbing Takis since they’re the only chips Renjun will eat. You grab an iced tea, tapping your finger in line as you wait. Getting the food was enough of a distraction to keep you from thinking about Jaemin but as you wait for the person in front of you try to get a discount using a coupon that expired three months ago, you go over every millisecond of the interaction–and god, you were so awkward. All you really did was apologize to him, you couldn’t even move. You have got to grow up, stop acting like a middle schooler with a crush. 

The cashier finally gives up, giving the person a discount and waving them out. You set your food down and smile at her. She does her best to put a customer service smile back on her face, though you can see the exhaustion. You thank her as profusely as you can. 

By the time you make it back to the lecture room, there’s barely five minutes left of break. 

“Thank god, I’m starving,” Renjun says, grabbing the bag out of your hands. You keep your iced tea on the side farthest from him, glaring at him until he tilts the bag so that you can reach it too. “We are going to make Donghyuck cook tonight, I need real food.” 

“Agreed,” you say, covering your mouth with your hand so you don’t spew hot chip dust everywhere. 

“And I took pictures of you embarrassing yourself in front of Jaemin, so please try to replace me as your social media correspondent.” He smiles at you over the purple bag. 

“You’re horrible, has anyone ever told you that?” 

“Music to my ears, sweetheart.” 

.

.

Unfortunately, Renjun’s graphic does look good, though still not good enough to warrant how much time he spent on it. The messy shapes don’t look half as bad when they’re the right color, and all the information is listed (not in Comic Sans, though it’s only a matter of time before he tries to use it again. You have yet to find out if he actually likes the font or just wants to be annoying). He posts it an hour after the lab, which wasn’t half bad. Your percent error was under 50% for once. 

It’s a Friday morning, no classes since your university actually listened to the student requests for a three day weekend, which the student council (you) takes full credit for. Unfortunately, that doesn’t mean you are responsibility free. Instead you sit in cheap plastic chairs rented from the events and planning committee and under a tent that’s in serious danger of blowing away. 

You cling to your ball cap, NCIT STUDENT COUNCIL embroidered on the front. The papers in front of you whip around, the weights on top of them holding steady. At least it isn’t raining, though the thick clouds overhead get darker every minute. 

Realistically, there’s no reason for you to be here. All the information about running for student council is posted online and with over 30,000 students, only a small portion of the student body actually care—none of whom are walking around campus at 11 in the morning on a Friday. You pull the blanket tighter over your shoulders. Just another fifteen minutes and then Jisung will relieve you. Mark should be the one freezing his ass off since he’s the one that insists on upholding tradition, but as president he takes advantage of avoiding work whenever he can. 

Only two and a half months before that privilege is yours. Assuming you are elected, of course, but there’s no real danger in losing that. You’ve been a part of the council since freshman year, appointed as vice president as a sophomore. Few people have more qualifications, and fewer are actually interested in the position. Usually the competition comes from within the cabinet, but none of the rest of the guys have said anything about the running, though that might be because you haven’t shut up about the position since freshman year. Either way, the position is all but yours, and there is absolutely no reason you need to sit here when you could be studying for midterms. 

A strong gust of wind blows from in front of you instead of behind and this time you are too slow. Your cap flies off your head, tumbling across the empty quad. You shuffle after it, keeping the blanket wrapped tightly over your shoulders, which helps protect you from the cold winds. Unfortunately, said cold winds don’t stop blowing, and your hat blows faster than you can shuffle. It reaches to the sidewalk on the opposite side of the squad by the time it finally stops. 

Moving as fast as you can wrapped up one dry day away from mummification, you try to snatch the cap before it gets blown away again. You bend down to reach for it but a pair of sneakers appear in front of you and a mitten-clad hand grabs it before you can. You stand up and find Jaemin, wearing bright red earmuffs that have a green headband to make it look like a pair of cherries. He holds your hat out, smiling when he sees you (when he recognizes you?). 

“What’s wrong? Hat got your tongue?” He waits, with an expectant smile. The boy next to him, wearing more layers than you, shakes his head. “Sorry,” Jaemin says, “bad joke, I know, but I couldn’t help it.” 

Even the most lovesick part of you can’t defend him on that one. You take your hat from his outstretched hand, sticking it back on your head when you realize what your hair must look like after crossing the quad with all the wind. 

“It’s Jaemin, from microbio,” he says, as if there’s actually a chance you don’t know him. 

“Thanks, Jaemin from microbio.”

He flashes a smile that warms you better than any sun. “My pleasure, Vice President.” 

“You can just call me YN,” you mumble. 

“Where’s the fun in that?” You swear he winks, though maybe it’s the wind blowing in his eyes. 

The boy next to him nudges Jaemin with his shoulder, keeping his hands tucked safely in the pockets of his jacket. “Aren’t you going to introduce me?” 

Jaemin rolls his eyes. “This is Jeno, he’s–God, I guess he’s my best friend.” He glances at Jeno, unimpressed. “The position is temporary.” 

“Thanks!” Jeno says brightly. 

“Jeno, this is the vice president of the student council,” he says. 

“YN,” you say, “I’d shake your hand but…” You show your hands, stuck keeping the blanket wrapped around you. 

“It’s alright, I lost my gloves, so my hands are stuck here.” Jeno lifts his jacket with his hands in the pockets, just to prove his point. 

“Hey, I didn’t get a handshake,” Jaemin says. 

“Did you need a handshake?” 

He tilts his head, showing off his jawline, not that you’re paying attention to that at all. It simply calls attention to itself, and who are you to ignore a jawline that could have been sculpted by Michelangelo (not the ninja turtle). He must be cold with so much skin exposed. 

“I’ll settle for some advice,” Jaemin says. Right, maybe you shouldn’t be comparing his face to famous works of art mid-conversation (save it for the Instagram stalking like everyone else). 

“Advice?” 

“I was actually looking for you anyway.” Jaemin glances at Jeno before meeting your eyes again. “The student council election is open to anyone, right?” 

“The presidency is open to seniors that are enrolled here, but yeah,” you say. “Why?” 

He shrugs. “I’m going to apply.” 

You blink at him. “For president? Of student council?” 

“Yeah,” he says. Jeno shuffles beside him, stuffing his hands impossibly deeper into his pockets. 

President… but that’s your position. If it wasn’t for the senior-only rule, you’d already be president. You rose through the ranks, suffered through a vice presidency with Mark to get here–it’s your position. 

“Do I apply there?” He asks, pointing at the table you’re supposed to be sitting at. 

“The application is online,” you find yourself saying, “you have to submit a resume and go through a qualifying process, and submit your proposals for campaign policies and a whole bunch of other stuff, it’s all on the application information.” You’re about halfway through your own application, though it’s mostly copying and pasting from the document you’ve been working on since you joined student council. 

“You can scan the QR code on this blanket, it’ll take you to the application.” You hold it straight, cursing Renjun in your head for being so creative with marketing. You look like an idiot, waiting for him to scan your shoulder. 

“Cool,” Jaemin says, pulling out his phone, but instead of scanning the code, he hands it to you, a new contact profile with your name already in it. You glance between the phone and the smiling boy. “Can I ask you if I have any questions?” 

Jaemin is asking you for his phone number. To help with his campaign, against you. Your brain works in overdrive, trying to determine how you are supposed to feel. Your heart doesn’t hesitate to take advantage of the internal turmoil. You put your number into his phone and hand it back to him. 

“Sure,” you say, even as your brain screams at you not to. “Whatever I can do to help.” 

He grins and your brain fully malfunctions, gears popping, cartoon sparks flying. “Thank you, YN.” 

“No problem,” you mumble, knowing that’s not true at all even without a functioning brain cell. You should have let him call you vice president when you had the chance–this is so much worse. 

“I should go back,” you say, taking a step backward, a gamble considering your history of walking backwards around him. Trying not to linger in Jaemin’s presence is like a planet resisting the pull of gravity to the sun–no matter how hard you try, you can’t beat physics.  

 But maybe he isn’t the sun because when you take another step, Jaemin takes a step to follow you. Are there stars that revolve around planets? But Jaemin doesn’t revolve around you, he doesn’t even exist in your solar system. Maybe a black hole is a better metaphor, sucking you in from a galaxy over. You should stop making metaphors based on middle school astronomy. 

You peer at Jaemin as he continues across the quad, walking leisurely beside you as you shuffle. Jeno trails behind slightly, risking the cold to pull out a phone. 

“Are you following me?” 

Jaemin looks at you over his shoulder, raising his eyebrows. “You think you’re that special already?” Before you can answer, he laughs. “But, yeah, I am. I can’t leave you all by yourself out here, anything could happen.” 

“As opposed to by myself at the table?” 

He shrugs. “There’s two chairs. I could sit with you.” 

It’s your turn to raise your eyebrows, looking him up and down. He’s got a puffy jacket (bright red, probably to match with the earmuffs) and jeans. “You’d freeze in five minutes.” 

“You could–” 

“Are we going to Doyoung’s or not?” Jeno calls from behind you. 

“Right,” Jaemin says, “I definitely did not forget about that.” He glances at you. “Rain check?” 

“I’m sure there will be plenty of opportunities for you to keep me company freezing my ass off,” you say, “but seriously, I wouldn’t let you stay anyway.” You reach the table, turning to face him. 

Jaemin pouts. “Why not?” 

“For starters, I don’t want to be responsible for the hypothermia you’re bound to catch,” you say, “and it’s a student council thing. You’re not a part of the student council.” 

“Not yet.” 

Right. The standard, crush-threatening-the-dream-you’ve-spent-three-years-working-toward-situation. “Also, no offense, but I barely know you.” 

“Offense taken,” Jaemin says, holding a hand over his chest. “We’ve taken half a class together!” 

“We’ve spoken twice if you count today!” You say. Does he really not get it? “At the very least it would be awkward.” 

“I take full offense to the idea that I could ever be awkward,” Jaemin says. He folds his arms over his chest, eyeing you. “I’ll prove it to you.” Your gut twists, sending off the warning bells, but there’s no way Jaemin is actually flirting with you. He probably hates the idea that someone doesn’t immediately trust him with their heart and soul. He doesn’t need to know that you already do. That’s why there’s simply no way he’s flirting with you–it simply doesn’t make sense. 

“Dude, we seriously need to go,” Jeno says. “Doyoung is spam texting.” 

Jaemin wiggles his eyebrows at you. “I’ll see you in class.” 

“Bye Jaemin,” you say. You watch him walk away with Jeno, throwing his arm over his friend’s shoulders. He doesn’t look back at you. 

What just happened? 

Jisung approaches so quietly you jump when you turn around and he stands in front of you. “Was that Na Jaemin?” 

“Yes–wait, how do you know him?” 

Jisung avoids your eyes, turning to watch the pair of boys trudge away. “Renjun talks.” 

You’re going to kill him. But first you need to defrost, so you hand the blanket over to Jisung and jump a few times to warm yourself up, trying in vain to make up for the loss. 

“What was he doing here?” Jisung asks, wrapping himself so tightly his feet are bound together. One strong push would send him tumbling over, probably unable to get up. If only it was Renjun. 

“He wants to be president.” 

“Of student council?” 

“Apparently.” 

“Huh.” Jisung sits back. “Aren’t you supposed to be president?” 

“Yep.” 

“Huh.” Jisung stares at you. 

“Have fun!” You say. The air without Jaemin is so much colder. Maybe your toes have frostbite. “It’s cold!” 

Jisung grunts, huddling down and you don’t spare a second look at him. There’s a solid chance he’s texting Renjun already, since your best friend has decided to be a dirty gossip. You walk along the sidewalk and try to tell your heart that no matter how pretty his smile is, Na Jaemin is bad for you. Your heart reminds you that he saved your hat. 

Your phone vibrates in your pocket. You pull it out, fully expecting to see a message from Renjun but instead a string of numbers show up. you better save my number :). You stare at your phone until it fades to black, which is why you know the exact moment it starts to snow. Though it’s March and the groundhog didn’t see its shadow, a snowflake falls on your phone, melting quickly. You walk home in the snow, thoughts of Jaemin piling up a snowbank that no plow can clear. 

.

.

For breakfast on Tuesday morning, you have an untoasted bagel with a side of impending doom. You woke up with the feeling, a knot in your gut that usually only appears before exams or after you drink too much coffee, but today has chosen to warn you of unknown horrors yet to come. It has to be the dream you had, only you forgot it the moment you woke up. 

[Bitch #1] You’re just trying to avoid jaemin. 

You don’t know why you expected Renjun to support you. Unsurprisingly, he found out about Jaemin’s intent to run for president before you made it back to your apartment, and dedicated an hour to lecturing you over FaceTime, then spent the entire pregame on Saturday side eyeing you. 

Jaemin’s message sits at the bottom of your recent texts. He hasn’t sent anything since Friday, though neither have you. You close your phone and try not to think about him, an impossible task. In the end you can’t think of a valid excuse, and go to your morning lecture. It’s one of your favorite classes (world history of medicinal developments 1200-1600) but today your mind drifts, still trying to figure out why today feels so off. Are you forgetting an assignment? You’ve checked the syllabus for all of your classes and the reminders your professors sent out but nothing has slipped past your the list on your planner. You check your outfit after class to see if you put something on backwards but you look fine. By the time you head toward microbio, you’ve resigned yourself to a day of inexplicable anxiety. 

You should have trusted your gut. 

You take one step into the room and the knot in your gut twists itself into a mess that spells out leave now while you still have the chance. 

In your normal spot at the back of the classroom, sitting beside Renjun, sits Jaemin, grinning and waving at you like he’s been sitting there the entire semester. 

You walk carefully down the aisle of desks, stopping in front of him. “You’re in my seat.” 

Jaemin doesn’t seem to notice Renjun’s snort, opting to smile at you. “Hello YN, it’s nice to see you.” 

“Hi Jaemin,” you say, “you’re in my seat.” 

He rolls his eyes, sliding his backpack to the side and slipping into the next seat over. “I was just getting to know Renjun.” 

You glare at your best friend, sitting beside him. “I’m sure he’s been lovely.” Renjun smiles innocently, turning back to photoshopping a graphic of the student council.  

Jaemin pulls out his laptop, sitting leaning back into the chair. Is he planning on sitting here for the whole class?  

“What are you doing?” You ask softly. Renjun continues to click around, not even pretending not to eavesdrop.

“I told you, I could never be awkward,” Jaemin says. 

“Speak for yourself,” you mutter, shrinking in your seat. Does he really not notice the class staring at you? Okay, maybe staring is an exaggeration, and it’s not the whole class, but the people he normally sits with keep glancing back at you and whispering to each other. 

Professor Bae walks in and they turn back to the front, saving you from (more) embarrassment. From the corner of your eye, you watch the boys at your sides—Renjun doesn’t bother to open the notes doc he shares with you, opting for continuing the edit, which you can’t really complain about because it’s the series of posts you asked him to make. Jaemin pulls up a cartoon series, Teen Titans, volume off with the subtitles on. 

“Is this what you do every class?” You whisper. 

Jaemin looks away from his fake typing for a moment. “She grades for attendance, not participation.” 

“Are you even passing this class?” 

Jaemin grins. “Sweetheart, I skew the curve.” Just to prove his point, he pauses the bickering superheroes and pulls up the grade review for the class. True to his word, his scores are well above average, rivaling your own. With the exception of Renjun, you haven’t met anyone who’s gotten similar grades. 

Jaemin smiles, switching back to the show. He exudes confidence, and why wouldn’t he? Not only hot and popular, he’s smart too, smarter than you—it takes you hours of studying, exam cram sessions, paying attention in class—he doesn’t even hide that he isn’t paying attention, and from his reputation alone, you know he doesn’t spend as much time studying as you. Does he know what he’s getting into with student council? Even the laziest of presidents put in several hours of work a week.

Jaemin laughs at the show. Renjun finally glances at you, raising his eyebrows at Jaemin in a silent question. You shrug, mouthing, I don’t know either. He purses his lips and turns back to photoshop. You’re sure the second Jaemin steps away he’s going to be on your ass again. 

Belatedly, you realize you’ve spent far too much of the class thinking about Jaemin. Professor Bae has already moved on from weekly announcements to new topics, meaning you have a date with YouTube review videos tonight. Thank god Professor Bae actually cares about her students and has recorded lectures. You just have to hope you didn’t miss one of the exam hints she only drops during class. 

Jaemin and Renjun stay quiet for the rest of the class period, though it does little to help you actually focus. Between Jaemin existing next to you and the inevitability of Renjun’s judgment, it’s hard to stay focused on virus identification. You take half the notes you usually do. 

But can you really blame it on them? It’s you that loses focus, you that is distracted by Jaemin beside you when he doesn’t actively try to pull your attention. He may have disrupted the balance of the universe by sitting beside you, but that doesn’t mean you have to fall off the scale. 

Professor Bae announces the end of lecture a couple minutes early. You swear you see her raise her eyebrows at you and glance at Jaemin before disappearing into her office for the half hour break before lab. Is it too self-absorbed to wonder if she’s taking things the wrong way? But what is the wrong way? None of it makes any sense except that maybe Jaemin is too stubborn for his own good. Funny how a week ago he didn’t know your name and now you can say he’s ‘too’ something. 

“So what do you normally do during break?” Jaemin asks. “Other than bounce off the chest of your roguishly handsome classmates.” 

You roll your eyes to keep him from noticing how flustered his comment actually makes you. “Go over the prelab in case someone forgets to do it–”

“I always do it!” Renjun says. 

“–but usually get snacks and do homework. Lately Renjun has been doing a lot of student council work during class, but that’s because he doesn’t know how to manage his time.” 

“Says the one who asked me to design a scheduler for them.” 

“Just because you’re good at Canva doesn’t mean you’re on top of your work.” 

Renjun shakes his head. You can tease him all you want, at the end of the day, you know that it doesn’t really matter. The truth is, he just doesn’t need to study as much as you. Sort of like Jaemin, and absolutely nothing like you. 

“What do you normally do during break?” You ask. 

Jaemin purses his lips. “Well, my lab partner rarely does the prelab, so usually I let him look at mine.” From the row where Jaemin normally sits, a guy in a striped yellow polo glares back at you. 

You glance between him and Jaemin, who turns away from his partner to look at you. “Should you go over there?” 

“Probably.” He doesn’t make a move to get up, instead tilting his head and smiling at you a little. “You’re very interesting, YN.” 

You cough, breaking eye contact to fiddle with the A key on your laptop which is in serious danger of falling off. “Well, your lab partner is probably going to try and inject you with a virus during lab if you don’t go over there.” 

Jaemin laughs. “You’re probably right. I’ll talk to you later.” He stands up and glances at Renjun, who finally looks away from his laptop. Jaemin nods at him and flashes a smile at you, showing perfect rows of white teeth, and finally turns around, backpack half open in his hand. 

You tear your eyes away from him, turning back to Renjun, who sits with his elbow on the armrest, chin in hand. He softens his eyes and looks up at you. “You’re very interesting, YN.” 

“Shut up,” you say, pushing his elbow out from under him, though he doesn’t fall like you wish he would. 

He shakes his head. “I do not like that guy.” 

“Really?” You frown. “Why?” 

“The fact that you’re even asking me that.” He sighs. “He’s just not my favorite type of guy.” He glares at you before you can tease him. “You seem to exclusively be attracted to shitty men, and then I become associated with them through proximity and it’s overall not a fun time for me.” 

“Okay first of all, you barely know Jaemin,” you say, “and second of all, nothing’s ever going to happen with him.” 

Renjun raises his eyebrows. 

“Seriously,” you insist, “he’s literally Jaemin, and I’m… not his type. You can hate him all you want but don’t do it on my behalf.” 

Renjun stares at you a little longer. He doesn’t believe you, and he’s probably right not to. But he turns back to his computer and doesn’t argue back. 

“I didn’t do the pre lab, though,” Renjun says, “that was a lie.” 

“I’m going to kill you and make it look like an accident.” 

.

.

Jaemin doesn’t show up to class on Thursday. You stare at your phone, the single message in your conversation with him. Curiosity and something bitter boil together, making it impossible to think logically. He acts so friendly around you it would be easy to mistake him for a friend, but it’s not like you don’t have friends. You wouldn’t have a second thought about sending a text like this to Renjun or Donghyuck–but you’ve never felt butterflies when either of them looked at you. 

So when your phone dies, you slip it into the pocket of your sweatshirt instead of trying to fight Mark for a charger (ever since “someone” stole one, he’s been overprotective of the cords). It’s movie night anyways, it’s not like you need your phone. 

“Wait,” you say, “since when are we watching Endgame?” 

“We literally just voted,” Donghyuck says, “You could have tied it for Lilo and Stitch but you weren’t paying attention.” He glares at you. 

Mark throws an arm over your shoulders. “It’s all good, YN can just make the popcorn.” 

“It’s hitting buttons on a microwave.” 

“Oh, would you look at that, the movie’s starting!” Mark says, pushing you off the couch and towards the kitchen of his apartment. You glare at him, but the guys have made you watch Marvel movies enough times that you are glad for the excuse to escape any part of it. It’s bad enough you can hear it from the kitchen. 

The shelves in Mark’s apartment are tall enough that he keeps a stool in the kitchen so that he can reach the highest of them. Of course that’s where he keeps his popcorn, so you jump as high as you can, snatching the box. Except you pull a little too hard and the box flies clean out of your hand, your feet slipping out from under you. You tumble to the ground, narrowly avoiding banging your head on the faux marble countertop. 

A moment later, Donghyuck appears standing over you, box of popcorn in one hand. “You could have just used the stool.” 

“That’s so much work.” 

“And yet it keeps you off the floor.” He holds out his free hand and helps you stand. Your tailbone hurts a little but otherwise it seems you dodged major damage. 

“You okay?” Chenle shouts. 

“Fine,” you shout back. You wonder what the odds are that they’d let you bleed out to finish the movie—probably higher than what you want to calculate. At least Donghyuck is as anti-Endgame as you. 

He sets the box on the counter, pulling the plastic off a bag and putting it in the microwave for five minutes. You would’ve just used the popcorn button but Donghyuck insists it tastes better this way. He turns around, leaning against the counter and studying you. 

“So,” he says. 

You raise your eyebrows. “‘So’ what?” 

“So, Jaemin.” Donghyuck stares at you, eyes unreadable. He’s been like this ever since you met him—pulling people apart with his eyes and extracting the most important bits, all with a smile on his face. He knew Shotaro was going to drop out before Shotaro did. 

“He’s…” A friend? A crush? The guy you wish would stay out of your life so you could keep daydreaming about him? 

“He’s sort of famous,” Donghyuck says. “Or infamous, depending on who you ask.” 

“And if I ask you?” 

Donghyuck smiles like this is going according to his script. “He’s lots of fun to party with. I don’t know anyone that doesn’t like him.” 

“But?” You jump when the first piece of popcorn pops. 

Donghyuck pins you down with his eyes. “But he isn’t the boyfriend type. I mean, I’m not best friends with the guy, but it’s pretty obvious, and I talked to—”

“Stop.” You hold a hand up. “I know exactly what kind of guy he is, I’m not an idiot.” 

“I’m not saying you’re an idiot, I just—”

“Donghyuck, I get it.” You stare back at him. “I really do, but I promise I know what I’m doing.” Okay, maybe that last part is a lie, but you know what you aren’t doing. You don’t expect a single thing from Na Jaemin. 

“I heard he’s running for president.” 

“Come on,” you say, “you think he can beat me?” Donghyuck raises his eyebrows. He won’t call you out on it, but he doesn’t have to. Your lie doesn’t even convince yourself. Jaemin has it all—grades, good looks, and, most importantly, popularity. Yes, he can beat you. Easily. 

“Why are you helping him?” 

“Jisung can’t keep his mouth shut, huh?” 

“Renjun was actually the one that told me, but that’s not the point,” Donghyuck says. 

“He hasn’t even asked for help,” you say, “and it’s not like I’m going to give up. I just…”

“You like him,” Donghyuck says. He raises his eyebrows, waiting for you to try to deny it but you won’t fight a battle that’s already lost. But you won’t admit it either. 

“I know what I’m doing.” 

Donghyuck chews on his lip for a moment. “Just be careful,” he says, “I do care about you. A little. Just a tiny bit. And from what I know, Jaemin is a good guy, but I don’t want you to get hurt because he isn’t what you want him to be.” 

“Gross, stop acting like we’re friends,” you say. 

“Never mind, I take it all back,” he says, “and I won’t be your vice president.” 

“Too late.” You shrug. “You already signed a contract.” 

“Fine, I’ll veto everything you propose.” 

“You don’t have the power to do that.” 

He tossed his hands up. “What is the point of being vice president?” 

You beam at him. “Doing the shit I don’t want to do!” 

Donghyuck opens his mouth to argue back but he pauses, sniffing at the air, and that’s when you realize the popcorn has long since stopped popping. Behind Donghyuck, smoke rises. 

He curses, pressing the button to open the door only to take a wave of smoke straight in the face. At least the bag isn’t on fire. You laugh as he waved his hand in front of his face, coughing. 

“Dude, what is that smell?” Mark shouts from the living room. 

You spend half the movie bickering with Donghyuck while trying to get the sharp smoky scent out of Mark’s kitchen. By the time the Avengers have all the infinity stones again and are in the final battle, you are curled up on the floor with a blanket, the popcorn bowl confiscated by Chenle when he realized how much you and Donghyuck ate while making it (it sort of tastes like smoke anyways). Two Marvel movies later, Mark shakes you awake and sends you and the rest of the guys out. 

You’re so tired by the time you get home, you plug your phone in and fall asleep. That’s why you don’t see the message until your alarm goes off the next morning. 

[Na Jaemin] you busy? 

.

.

For the past three weeks, you’ve tried meditation. Renjun swears by it, but you’ve seen him lose it over half a quesadilla, so it doesn’t exactly instill confidence in you. Still, you set aside ten minutes every morning to listen to the podcast he sent you. It’s meant to be calming, to connect you with yourself, and usually you do feel better, at least for a few minutes. 

You peek at your phone, checking how much time in the lesson is left (3 and a half minutes). No new notifications. 

Jaemin’s message gave you a heart attack when you woke up. He sent it at 8:12pm, probably right after your phone died. So seeing his message first thing in the morning woke you up pretty fast. You sent an apology that you definitely didn’t rewrite fifteen times, and now you wait. 

But no, you’re meditating right now. Clearing your mind, not thinking about a single thing except the air that floods your lungs, letting your heart beat twice before releasing the air again. You peek your right eye open. No new notifications. 

The narration ends and you sigh, laying back on your bed and checking your schedule for the day even though you’ve memorized it. In half an hour you need to be in the library to meet with your study group, then a council meeting, some space for lunch (which will undoubtedly end up crashed by Chenle or Donghyuck), then more homework in the afternoon. Tonight you’re supposed to go to a party thrown by one of Mark’s friends from grad school—depending on whether Renjun can find out if he’s a poli-sci major or not. 

You jump when your calendar disappears and the incoming call screen pops up. You stare at Jaemin’s name for a couple seconds before your brain begins to function again, and you slide the button at the bottom of your phone to answer the call. 

“Hello?” 

“YN,” Jaemin says. His voice is a little deeper than normal, raspy like he just woke up. “I was starting to think you’d blocked me.” 

“Sorry, my phone died last night and Mark doesn’t let anyone use his chargers.” 

Jaemin laughs, the phone distorting the quality, sounding choppy and un-Jaemin. “Damn, does the student body know he treats his council like this?” 

You laugh a little but can’t think of anything else to say. The silence stretches longer as Jaemin doesn’t speak either. The ceiling of your apartment has a constellation of holes, evidence of the former tenant’s antics. You have yet to figure out exactly what it could be—stabbing the ceiling with a broomstick? What does Jaemin’s ceiling look like? He’s so hard to pin down, like the more you get to know him the less he makes sense. He’s the type to have a messy room with clothes tossed everywhere and a bed that’s never made, yet he’s also the type to keep it neat, put up diagrams to match the college aesthetic of studying even if Jaemin himself is allergic to it. 

“So,” Jaemin says, apparently realizing you aren’t going to say anything else. “I actually texted last night because I wanted to see you.” 

You shove down the butterflies that spring up. “For what?” 

“First of all, it’s cruel that you don’t think I’d want to see you just to see you. But also I was gonna ask to go over microbio together because I heard a rumor that Professor Bae talked about the final.” 

“Don’t you have a lab partner?” 

“Yeah, he’s who told me she talked about it. Unfortunately he’s worse at taking notes than me.” He pauses. “Besides, you’re much cuter.” 

“Oh.” The butterflies breach containment, digging like madmen trying to escape your stomach. 

“So are you free?” 

Despite just checking your schedule, your mind goes blank. You frown, trying to remember what you’d just seen, and thank every deity that might exist that Jaemin can’t see your face right now. 

“I’m free after the council meeting. How is 12:30?” 

“Damn, council meetings on Fridays,” Jaemin says, “that works though. Meet you in the library?” 

“We can use the council room on the third floor,” you say, “no one else will be there.” 

“Okay,” Jaemin says, “see you soon, YN.” 

“Bye, Jaemin.” 

The butterflies have turned into zombies, rotting in your stomach and spoiling the leftover popcorn from last night. It’s just sharing notes. It’s just Jaemin. He’s just a boy from another world. The butterflies groan and demand chocolate. 

.

.

Council meetings feel a little bit like the Magic School Bus series. The tagline plays in your head: A normal council meeting? With this group? No way! 

Some of the blame can be directed towards having such an eclectic group of majors, Mark as the only true political science major. The rest of the group has been adamant about keeping the council safe from political science majors (how Mark doesn’t see the horrors of his classmates you truly don’t know). Another point towards Jaemin, being biochem and pre-med. 

Though being a non-poli-sci major doesn’t mean he can handle the presidency. Mark can barely do that. Not that he’s a bad president. Though it sometimes feels like you do all the heavy lifting for him to take credit for, he does work hard. No, Mark’s problem isn’t his leadership—it’s that he doesn’t know when to give up. 

The council meeting is long done but he continues to bicker with Donghyuck, who holds the entire student council hostage. 

“It’s a proven fact,” Mark says. “How are you arguing with science?” 

“Can science tell me what I feel?” Donghyuck folds his arms over his chest. His laptop has faded to black, the meeting notes long forgotten. “This isn’t about facts, it’s about my experience!” 

You check your phone. The meeting has already gone over fifteen minutes. Any longer and Jaemin could walk in on a very not-empty room with Mark committing a crime against Donghyuck for saying that Froot Loops have individual flavors. Maybe it’s time to intervene. 

“You’re just gaslighting yourself,” Mark says, “it’s not physically possible!” 

“Well, you’re not physically possible!” 

“That makes negative sense. I’m getting dumber listening to your attempts to argue.” 

“Okay,” you say, standing up so quickly your chair falls back. “This isn’t council business anymore. All in favor of concluding the meeting?” According to the official rules, Mark is the only one that can conclude the meeting, but Jisung’s hand flies up, followed quickly by Renjun and Chenle. 

“Cool, majority rule,” you say, ignoring the outrage on Mark’s face. Donghyuck pretends to be mad too, but he was only arguing with Mark to piss him off. He’ll probably follow the older boy around just to ruin his day. The two always have some fight going on—you’re convinced the reason Donghyuck agreed to be your vice president (if you win) is just because Mark would hate it. 

Jisung leaves first, eager to escape from Donghyuck and Mark. Donghyuck pauses long enough to write a few more summarizing notes on the meeting but catches up to Mark before he can vanish, continuing to pester him about Froot Loops. 

“Going home,” Renjun says, “we’re going out tonight, by the way. Turns out Taeyong is an econ major, and also a former frat president.” 

“Huh,” Chenle says, “I can’t believe neither Donghyuck or me know him.” 

Renjun shrugs. “I need to finish a couple projects since nothing will get done tomorrow.” He grins. “See you guys later.” 

“Bye Renjun,” you say, tapping your phone screen to check the notifications. 

[Na Jaemin] in the library  [Na Jaemin] lost in the library  [Na Jaemin] nvm found the stairs 

[yn] need me to come find you? 

[Na Jaemin] nah i don’t get lost (yes please) 

“You’re texting with Jaemin?” Chenle breathes over your shoulder, making you drop your phone. Unfortunately it’s still open, your messages easy to read and Chenle doesn't hesitate to snatch it. At least the rest of the guys left, only Chenle is nosy enough to wonder who you’re texting. 

“This is painful,” he announces. He hands the phone back to you. “You could at least add an emoji. Or, like, send more than one sad message.” 

“Why?” 

Chenle shakes his head. “You are texting the Jaemin, right? Na Jaemin?” 

“Is there any other?”  

“You’ve got a chance here,” Chenle continues, ignoring your question. “Not many people—well, I’ve actually heard he’s quite experienced but that’s beside the point, because you have a chance and that’s rare.” 

“Genuinely, I have no idea what you’re talking about.” You glance at the door, just in case Jaemin appears. Somehow you don’t think you want him overhearing this conversation. 

“Okay, look,” Chenle says, “you’re you. Student council, 4.0 GPA, plans to be the next director of the WHO or whatever—”

“That’s not at all what I want.” 

“—never a second you aren’t working, and then there’s Jaemin, and sure he’s a STEM major too, but the he’s type that strolls through life, who has things fall into his lap because he’s hot and lucky but you can’t really be mad about it because he’s Jaemin.” He pauses, like that explains everything. But you already know that Jaemin exists in a realm outside your own. Chenle waits a moment longer then shakes his head. “You know what, you’ll figure it out eventually.” He glances at you with a frown. “Maybe.” 

“Good bye, Chenle,” you say pointedly. 

He moves extra slow, closing his laptop only after spamming the save button. He once forgot to save a spreadsheet after a two hour budgeting session and you think he’s still traumatized. Still, spending a full thirty seconds hitting CTRL + S is excessive even for him—he’s stalling, trying to be as nosy as ever. 

“I’m meeting him at the elevator so you can stop stalling,” you say. You hover over the send button, Chenle’s “advice” infecting your brain. You hit send before you can overthink it any more. 

[yn] on the way now 👍 

Chenle sighs, returning to peeking over your shoulder. “You’re hopeless.” 

You grin and give him a thumbs up. “Thanks buddy. If you hurry you can run into him in the elevators.” 

Chenle perks up, grabbing his still-open bag and sprinting out the door. You feel a little bad for lying to him, but he was the one that didn’t read Jaemin’s messages closely enough—evident from missing the fact that he’s on his way up the stairs and how Chenle thinks he might actually be flirting with you. You shake your head at the thought. 

Just when you reach the doorway to the stairs and wonder if you should meet him in the stairwell, the door flies open. Despite climbing three flights of stairs, Jaemin breathes normally. A different backpack than usual is sling over his back, bright orange, like… well, an orange. (Persimmon, your brain unhelpfully supplies). 

“Hi,” he says. “Sorry I’m late.” You wonder how anyone is immune to his smiles. A smile like that robs you of everything irreplaceable and leaves you missing it as soon as it’s gone. 

“You’re not late,” you say, showing him the time on your phone as you walk to the council room. “Exactly on time.” 

“Oh.” He glances at you, and when you turn your phone back to face you, you understand the awkwardness. 

[Chenle] good luck 🤪🤪🤪

[Chenle] have fun with the hottie 🔥🔥🔥

[Chenle] but not too much fun 😼😼

You clear your throat, praying he didn’t get a chance to read all of the messages. “Chenle’s just making fun of my emoji use. Or lack of emoji use.” 

Jaemin nods. “I hate to take the side of someone I’ve never met over you, but he might be right.” 

“I use a perfectly respectable amount of emojis,” you say. “Besides, I’ve never seen you use any.” 

“You’re just going to have to text me more to find out.” 

You’ve never been so happy to see the doors to the council room. It’s nothing more than a glorified study room, with a rectangular table that stretches in the middle of the room, eight wooden seats set around it. A giant whiteboard stretches the majority of the back wall. The only truly special part of the room is the projector that hangs from the ceiling, with a screen that needs a button to come down. The walls that line the hallway are glass, along with the doors, so that anyone can see the council discussions, though tucked away in the back corner of the third floor, only the occasional passerby is subject to the bickering. 

Jaemin raises his eyebrows and whistles. “This is nice.” 

“Don’t lie,” you say. “The only nice thing about it is that we have full access to it whenever we want.” You point to the sign that reads Student Council Members Only. Truthfully, the six of you use it more as a private study room than for actual council work. 

“It is nice,” Jaemin says, holding the door open for you. He pauses in front of the whiteboard. Chenle had been sitting closest to it, apparently spending the final thirty minutes of the meeting drawing out different game plans for the basketball club he somehow has time for. 

“Chenle,” you explain, “he thinks he’s a part of the Golden State Warriors.” 

“How much council work actually gets done in these meetings,” he says teasingly. 

“You catch on fast,” you say. “It took me the full first year to realize how incompetent we are.” 

“How come?” 

“The president just wanted resume padding. He was incredible at sucking up to faculty and making the right people think he was a great leader, but he would send us fresh-terns to pick up condoms and sent Donghyuck with a fake to get drinks once.” 

“Fresh-tern?” 

“The freshman interns,” you explain, “since the president is the only elected position and the rest of the council is appointed, the only way to get known is through the ‘internship,’ which technically is open to anyone but only freshman are dumb enough to dedicate that much time to a job that does absolutely nothing—like, it doesn’t pay or even guarantee you a spot on the council in the future. It’s all based on whether the president likes you or not. 

“Anyway, our president last year was marginally better, and he tried to abolish the seniors-only president rule but couldn’t get it to pass in time, so we ended up with Mark. Not that Mark is a bad president, though council meetings could be half as long if he wouldn’t go on tangents every two minutes.” You stop, realizing how much you’re talking. You’ve come dangerously close to telling him the truth about the presidency. Jaemin says nothing, probably bored. “Anyways, we’ve got a few new initiatives this year but mostly we try to maintain the annual events and keep Mark’s head on his shoulders until he graduates.” 

“Sounds like fun,” Jaemin says. 

“Sometimes.” You pause. “How’s your application going, by the way?” 

He glances at you, smile fading a little. He turns back to the whiteboard, this time studying the fading drawing Renjun made a month ago of a goat fighting Donghyuck. “Still figuring things out. Mostly working on my campaign goals.” 

You nod. A part of you wants to press further, learn more about his plans—but because you want to beat him or because it’s Jaemin? Why is it so difficult to think clearly around him? 

You sit at the table and open your laptop, pulling out your notes. He sits beside you, scraping the chair against the tile floors until his knee is an inch away from yours. He must not notice the way your breath catches in your throat when he leans closer. A moment later and your brain is invaded by his scent, a clean smell like laundry detergent or body wash. 

“It’s organized by subject,” you explain. “Usually I take notes in class and then Renjun reviews and organizes it with keywords and highlighting and this coding system that I don’t really get but he swears by. Either way it works for us.” You show him the keyword that Renjun uses to signify exam hints, combining it with the past class’s date to cross reference the relevant information. 

Jaemin lets out a low whistle. “This is crazy.” 

“Yeah,” you say, “Renjun puts a lot of time into it. But when we study for exams, it’s worth it.” 

“You know Renjun from student council?” He asks, beginning to type a few notes. 

“I guess that’s where I met him first,” you say. “But he’s pretty much my best friend. The whole student council is pretty close, way closer than the group Mark came into. He tells us horror stories about how they made the fresh-terms compete just to turn them against each other, though that’s back when it was filled with poli-sci majors.” 

“None of you are poli-sci?” 

“I’m public health,” you say, “and Mark is poli-sci, but the rest of the guys avoided it. We swore that the next council would be free of the plague of poli-sci majors.” 

“You really hate them?” 

“They deserve it,” you say. “But also it’s because I made the mistake of dating one last year.” You shudder at the memory. 

“Really?” Jaemin looks away from his laptop, staring at you instead. 

“Don’t make fun of me,” you whine. “It was a moment of weakness and he confessed to me with cookies.” 

“Not making fun,” Jaemin says. “Were the cookies at least homemade?” 

“Well, yes.” You shake your head, trying to stop the next bit from coming out. But Jaemin raises his eyebrows and you can’t help it. “He had his ex make them, actually.” 

“No!” 

“Yeah, and then dumped me for them after, like, two weeks, and the guys are all convinced that he cheated on me with them,” you say. “So, no, I don’t really like poli-sci majors.” 

“A good observation,” Jaemin says. His approval makes your cells glow—scientists could discover a new form of bioluminescence from within you. 

Jaemin continues to stare at you, eyes full of warmth. It’s so easy to get lost in them, glancing between the pure dark chocolate and fond smile on his lips. The change in light when your laptop screen fades snaps you out of it. 

You eye him. “Do you even need these?” 

“Nope,” Jaemin says. He grins at you. “Just an excuse to see you.” He turns back to the laptop and continues to copy your notes into his document. You turn around, giving him no chance to see the smile that creeps onto your face. You seriously need to get a grip. Jaemin needs to get a grip and realize that he can’t flirt with you like this, not without completely upsetting the balance of the universe. But even as the world slides sideways, you smile. 

.

.

“Nothing special.” That’s what Renjun said when you asked him what he wanted to do for his birthday. But March 23rd falls on a Friday this year, and everything snowballed from there. 

That’s how you find yourself wearing an outfit even the most lenient parents would dub inappropriate, wearing more body glitter than exists in the state of Utah, taking your fifth shot. 

“Sixteen more to go,” Renjun says, patting your back. Why you promised to match him shot for shot, you aren’t quite sure. You had reasoning, at some point. Definitely before the shots. 

At least you aren’t alone—Donghyuck curls his lip after his shot, lime slice snatched out of his hand by Mark before he can take it as a chaser. Mark laughs as he grimaces. 

 “What’s our motto?” Donghyuck shouts. 

“Two and three to infinity!” Mark shouts. 

“Nobody goes to the hospital!” You shout. 

“To the grave!” Renjun shouts. 

“Huh, I guess we should have coordinated that,” Donghyuck says. “I was thinking something more like ‘happy birthday Renjun.’” 

“Shoulda said something,” you say. You take a step to the couch, the world tilting to the side, though maybe it’s actually you because you stumble into the wall. It holds you up until you make it to the couch, sighing as you reach solid ground. A couple people sit next to you, friends of friends of Renjun whose names you don’t know regardless of the alcohol. 

“You’re YN, right?” The girl closer to you says, making you feel a little guilty for having no idea who they are. She beams when you nod. “I live in Apollo Hall, Karina is my RA, she says you aced biochem.”  

“Oh, yeah,” you say. “Who do you have?” 

“Professor Ahn,” she says. 

“He’s good,” you say, “I had him for a different class and he talks off topic all the time but if you visit him in his office hours once, he’ll remember and be more lenient on the research report. I can send you my notes, too, if you want.” 

She smiles even wider. “Really?” 

You nod, your brain sliding around your skull with the movement—not a good sign, only five shots into the challenge. 

The music changes, a Britney Spears song that Donghyuck must have slipped into the rotation. The girl’s friend drags her up to dance before you get the chance to ask for her name. 

Dancing sounds like so much fun, until you stand up and realize that you’ve been hydrated too well. Your bladder announces its need for attention much like the maintenance worker that fixed the leak in your shower—loud and last minute. 

You push your way through the people crowded at the edge of the room, making your way to the hallway where the bedrooms and, more importantly, bathroom are. You pass by a semi-familiar face flirting with a girl from Renjun’s study group, but your bladder gives no time for your brain to make connections of recognition, let alone time to wave. 

Finally, you break the crowd, ignoring the couple making out concerningly close to Donghyuck’s bedroom door (something you like to call “not my problem”). All your focus is on the door to the bathroom, a piece of lined notebook paper taped on with RESTROOM scribbled in marker. Just as you reach for the handle, the door swings inwards. 

You might have caught yourself, two or three shots ago. Instead you tumble forward, the floor coming to meet you fast. And then you aren’t. 

“We have got to stop meeting like this,” Jaemin says, laughing. He caught you by the elbows, your face pressed into his chest. He helps you straighten up, though he doesn’t let go of your arms. 

“Jaemin.” You grin at him. 

He tilts his head. “You’re drunk.”  

“You’re pretty,” you say. Jaemin tilts his head and smiles at you. Endearing. Endearing, that Jaemin has an amused expression on his face. Like he is endeared by you. How funny. 

But he really is pretty. He must be hot in the leather jacket, loose over his broad shoulders. Yes, those broad shoulders. He’s hot too. But first, he’s pretty. His black hair falls just above his eyes, loosely split down the middle, framing the perfect angles of his face–the perfect line of his nose, gentle curve of his cheekbones, that jawline–and of course those lips. Perfect lips. 

Jaemin leans closer. “You’re prettier.” 

You burst into laughter, stopping only when you snort. “You almost sound serious.” 

Jaemin doesn’t say anything else, still smiling at you, only a couple inches of space between you. Ignoring those lips this close is impossible. They’re the prettiest shade of pink, and he must have put on lip balm–or maybe it’s the lighting–because they glow. What do they feel like? They have to be soft—you’d bet everything in your pocket (if these pants had pockets) he tastes sweet. Like a fruit, a yummy, juicy fruit, dripping with juice, which reminds you—pee. 

You push past Jaemin, into the bathroom. “Need to pee.” 

He catches his hand on the door before you can close it, frowning a little. “You’re not going to slip and crack your head open?” 

“Nope,” you say. “Really need to pee.” He lets go of the door and you slam it shut, using one hand on the counter to steady yourself while you fumble with the lock. After an eternity, you finally get to the toilet, which, despite the number of people crowded in a house of two college guys, isn’t totally disgusting. 

Two minutes, an empty bladder, and clean hands later, you push the door open. Your balance has improved just enough for you to feel confident in your ability not to die on the dance floor—and with perfect timing because Break Your Heart by Taio Cruz just started playing. You find Donghyuck in the middle of the room and join him, grinning when he cheers. 

Renjun appears halfway through the next song, shots in hand. More of the tequila ends up on the ground than in your stomach by the time you knock it back but Renjun shouts, “Six!” anyways. 

Another 2000s hit plays (it’s definitely Chenle’s playlist, which reminds you that you haven’t seen him in a while) and you get Renjun to stay on the dance floor for the full song. It’s hot and sweaty and you wouldn’t be anywhere else in the world. 

Donghyuck cheers again, hyping up the people that join your little circle. You turn to see Jeno, wearing a piece of fabric that technically could be called a shirt though it really looks like a hole for his head that’s completely open at the sides except for the ties at the bottom. Beside him, and right next to you, Jaemin grins at you. He throws an arm over your shoulder, pulling you against his side. 

“And I was like baby, baby, baby, oh!” You shout along with the song, vaguely aware of the rest of the guys singing along—except for Jaemin, who waits for Ludacris’s verse to come in to rap it word for word. 

Renjun drags you away before the next song can start. “Number seven,” he shouts in your ear over the bass. 

“What about Donghyuck?” You glance behind you where he starts a full performance, an empty water bottle as a microphone. 

Renjun shrugs. “He’ll catch up.” 

You watch Renjun struggle to pour the tequila, holding the bottle with two hands off the edge of the counter to get the mouth as close to the paper shot cups as possible. You can’t see how much tequila actually makes it into the cups but it burns its way down, sending your stomach spinning. Only a third of the drinks you are supposed to take with him but you’re already questioning the next round. 

Renjun gets dragged away from you by some people you aren’t even sure are actually his friends, but you lose track of him when someone tugs on your hand. Jaemin, again. He lost his jacket at some point, wearing a shirt that matches Jeno’s, showing off his considerable arms. Even in the poor lighting from the strobe lights Donghyuck set up, you can see the definition in his biceps. 

Yeah, you’re definitely staring. 

Jaemin asks something but you can’t hear him over the music. You step closer, stumbling a little on your own feet. As always, he catches you, arm sliding around your waist. 

“How are you doing?” He shouts over the music. 

You grab his other forearm to keep yourself from falling over. “I’m so hungry.” 

Jaemin leans closer, lips brushing against your ear. “Wanna get out of here?” You raise your eyebrows at him and he grins. “The McDonald’s, across the street?” 

“I need French fries,” you say, letting go of his arm and spinning out of his embrace to face the door. He catches you before you can go too far (and fall on your face), looping his elbow through yours. 

As soon as the door closes behind you, everything falls silent. Not everything, because you can still hear the bass from inside the house, and cicadas sing, and the highway is close enough to hear the rumbling of engines passing by. But quiet falls in the space between you and Jaemin, a breath waiting to fall free. 

He doesn’t let go over your arm, using his other hand to brace the three steps in front of Donghyuck and Renjun’s place. He leans on you as much as you lean on him, magnets stuck to each other, except magnets don’t struggle to stay upright crossing an empty street. Maybe if they could get drunk. 

The street light flickers above you, crackling electricity. You can feel Jaemin’s bare arm against yours, firm muscle held taut. You peek at the boy beside you, his head tilted to the sky. Pretty. You won’t say it again for fear of being repetitive, but it’s the right word for this moment. Not just Jaemin, but the chilly night air, the faulty light above you fighting with the neon lights to illuminate your breath. You’ll blame the alcohol in the morning, but tonight it’s all pretty. 

Jaemin swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, and he turns to meet your eyes. It’s definitely the alcohol but you don’t look away. 

The crosswalk changes to the white man, beeping at you to cross the street. You tear your eyes away from him, settling for clinging to his arm to make it past the striped crosswalk illuminated by headlights. 

You’re hardly the only drunk couple at McDonald’s. Jaemin notices you limping a little and drops you off in a booth, stumbling on his own to order. You must have done something dancing, though you don’t remember anything hurting. Your ankle hurts now, so you lean your head into your elbow and watch Jaemin’s back. 

The fluorescent lights can’t make him look sickly. They show his arms in their full glory, open sides revealing enough of his body to make you self-conscious. The hint of a farmer’s tan dusts his arms, shoulders just a shade lighter than his forearms. Where did he get that from? 

So many questions about him. So much to know. So little you do know but you like him so much it gets so hard to tell. What matters. 

Jaemin puts his wallet into his back pocket, turning around and smiling when he meets your gaze. He slides into the seat across from you. “Potatoes are incoming.” 

“Do you know what persimmons taste like?” 

“What?” His brow furrows, a cute frown that makes you forget what you’d asked. 

“Never mind,” you mumble. Opening your mouth any more around him is a dangerous game—you aren’t quite sure what will spill out. 

He reaches out to tap his finger on your arm. Like the sun, being in his atmosphere makes everything warmer, his touch boiling your skin. The heat flows through your body, each cell vibrating with the need for something. 

“You feeling okay?” 

It takes considerable concentration to work past his finger, which has graduated to drawing shapes, and answer him. “Renjun wanted to do twenty-one shots for his birthday but seven is beyond enough.” 

Jaemin whistles. “Is Renjun going to survive tonight?” 

“Probably not,” you mumble. “That opens up a council position. You could be a good social media person. Your face is pretty enough.” 

“Is that the only requirement for student council?” Jaemin asks. “Being pretty?” 

“You can’t be a poli-sci major either,” you say, “which you pass. It helps that you’re smart, and kind. I like people that are smart and kind.” 

“That’s a low bar,” Jaemin says. “What else do you like?” 

“Hm…” Your voice rumbles, a funny feeling in the back of your throat. You hum for a little longer before you remember Jaemin asked you a question. What do you like? 

“Sharks. They’re much cooler than dolphins. And potatoes, I love potatoes. I like Renjun. And Donghyuck. And Mark, even though he’s a poli-sci major. I like Chenle and Jisung. They might be my favorite people.” And you. I like you so much I don’t know how to say it. 

“What about doctors?” Jaemin leans closer, intertwining his fingers with yours. “Do you like doctors?” 

You lift your head up, pouting your lips at him. “Doctors have needles. I don’t like needles.” 

Jaemin laughs. “Even if the doctor is super rich?” 

“Rich? From taking all my money?” You cry. 

“Rich from saving people’s lives,” he says. “Like a neurosurgeon.” 

You squint at him, the blurriness of your eyelashes mixing with the blurriness of the alcohol and canceling out until his face becomes clear. “Are you actually pre-med because of Grey’s Anatomy?” 

Jaemin looks away, running a hand to the back of his neck. “Maybe.” His biceps are almost enough to distract you from his admission. Almost. 

“Oh my god.” You can’t hold back the giggles, trying to cover your mouth with your hand. Tears prick at your eyes and you gasp for breath, stomach twisting the alcohol with the giggles and turning over itself until you aren’t sure if you’re starving or need to throw up. 

“It’s a perfectly respectable career!” Jaemin says. 

“You want to be Patrick Dempsey?” You say between giggles. “Not even McSteamy?” 

“Hey, he’s—wait, you watch it too?” 

You shrug. “It’s fun.” 

“Then how are you making fun of me!” He cries. 

“I didn’t go into medicine because of it!” 

Before he can say anything else, the workers shout a number. He glances at the receipt and shoots you a glare without a drop of malice in his eyes and leaves. 

Jaemin being silly. Jaemin bickering with you. Hard to believe that even two weeks ago, you never would have believed he watched children’s shows in class and chose his profession because of a soap opera. Jaemin who keeps surprising you, who makes you want to believe that maybe he’s from the same planet as you after all. 

He brandishes the brown paper bag in front of him like treasure. What does it matter that you’re grinning because of him and not the golden treats inside?

“For you,” he says, setting the bag in front of you and tilting it on its side so you can reach inside for the fries. “I didn’t know what sauce, so I fought… Okay, maybe flirted with the worker, but the important part is that I got one of each.” He pauses glancing at you. “Which apparently you don’t need.” 

“So good,” you say, eating them properly: no sauce, just freshly fried golden perfection. You look up to find Jaemin smiling at you… fondly? Is that what’s in his eyes? 

“What?” 

He shakes his head. “You’re just cute.” 

You stare at him, fry halfway to your mouth. He looks down, the tips of his ears tinted red as he grabs a fry and dips it in honey mustard. 

The rest of your time at McDonald’s is dedicated to properly enjoying the French fries and not at all sneaking glances at Jaemin sneaking glances at you. You finish the fries long before the swirly feeling in your stomach goes away. The butterflies must be drunk too. 

“Back to Renjun’s?” Jaemin asks, standing up and extending a hand for you to take. The most dangerous handhold of your life. You don’t think twice about taking it. 

“Mm, I’m pretty tired,” you say, “and Renjun was pretty adamant about the twenty-one shots thing. If we go back, he won’t let me go until one of us is in the hospital.” Walking is easy when Jaemin lets you lean on his shoulder. Standing just outside the McDonald’s, your shadows stretch ten times as tall as you, the lines between you and Jaemin undefined. 

Jaemin raises an eyebrow. “You aren’t worried about him?” 

“He swore to send Donghyuck to the grave before him, he’ll be fine,” you say, “plus Jisung is there, sober. They’ll be fine.” 

“And you?” 

“I’ll be fine when I get home.” You tilt your head up from his shoulder only for him to look down at you, his nose brushing against yours. Your breath catches in your throat, heart pounding. But you don’t move away and neither does he. 

“Take me home?” 

He doesn’t move for a heartbeat, eyes flickering to your lips. Then he turns his head straight, patting your head with his free hand a couple times. “Okay.” 

You whisper directions, a ten minute walk from Renjun’s place. The walk home is considerably less stumbly, your balance recovered halfway through the fries. You cling to Jaemin’s arm anyway, more afraid of letting him go than falling. 

The building appears far too quickly, Jaemin pushing open the glass doors and walking you to the elevators. You don’t dare say a word to break the silence as the elevator dings to the third floor. He waits until you reach your door to disentangle himself from you, standing with the tips of his sneakers a millimeter away from yours, catching your hands in his. 

“Goodnight, YN,” he says. 

No. This isn’t the time for goodnight, not when every atom in your body might explode if he takes a step away. You tighten your fingers around his. 

“Do you want to come in?” You ask. “See my apartment?” 

He tilts his head, a little frown creasing his brow. “Okay.” 

You fumble with your keys, hands shaking when you open the door. Emotions swirl around you, making it difficult to tell the difference between excitement and anxiety, if it exists. Calling the place an apartment is a bit of a stretch. Glorified broom closet is your preferred term–a bed shoved against the far wall with a tiny window next to it, desk tucked in next to it like a puzzle piece without enough space for a chair, a door for your bathroom, directly next to the “kitchen” of a stovetop oven and sink, and a closet that barely fits your coats.

Beyond being tiny, you left the place a mess, second, third, and fourth contenders for outfits strewn on your bed, unwashed dishes in the sink. The entryway is the only space for the two of you to stand together comfortably but you lead Jaemin farther in, balling up the clothes and tossing them into your hamper underneath the bed. 

“I don’t normally have company,” you explain. 

“It’s okay,” he says, “my room’s a mess too.” He picks up the pink teddy bear from your bed and smiles. “A gift?” 

You shake your head. “Bought it myself for surviving sophomore year.” You pull the great white shark out from beneath a blanket. “Freshman year.” 

“Cute,” Jaemin says, still looking at the bear. 

You follow Jaemin as he wanders the tiny room. He pauses at a framed picture of the student council that sits on your desk. It was a gift from last year’s graduating cabinet, the whole group, president, appointed cabinet, unofficial members, and the fresh-terns, fifteen people in total. 

“That one’s my ex,” you say, the word still strange in your mouth. “If you count two weeks as even dating.” 

“The one in red?” 

You nod. 

Jaemin snorts. “I’m way hotter than him.” He sets the picture and turns, and suddenly only a couple inches of space separate him from you. This close, you can see exactly how pretty he is, long eyelashes that cannot be natural, even longer when he stares at his toes instead of meeting your eyes. And, this close, you can see the soft pink of his lips, lower lip jutting out just a tiny bit. 

Not drunk, not yet sober, it’s easy to lean a little closer, brush your lips softly against his. The kiss is over before you can think about it. 

You open your eyes to Jaemin staring at you, eyes wide, somewhere between disbelief and fear. You open your mouth to apologize but he moves faster, hand coming up to cup your face and pulling you closer until you kiss him again, your hand instinctively catching you against his chest. He links his fingers with your free hand, tugging you even closer to him. 

He moves slow at first, a gentle kiss that takes your breath away anyway. He pulls away when the stars flood your brain, smile boyish and sweet. His thumb strokes your cheek into the shape of a heart. Then he slides his hands to the back of your neck, letting go over your other hand to wrap around your waist and pull you against his chest. 

Jaemin knows how to kiss. He moves like it’s his last chance, desperate lips telling truths words can’t capture. And you might not have as much experience, but you understand the language of desperation. A never ending chain of fireworks explode within you, pushing you to wrap your arms around his neck, kiss him even harder. Your hands move on their own, tugging at the cloth of his shirt until he leans back, breathing heavily. 

“How far you want to go?” He asks, chest rising and falling with each breath. “You know consent is so sexy.” 

You laugh, giddiness making it difficult to think. “You have a condom?” 

Jaemin grins, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out his wallet. He slips the shiny packet out, tossing his wallet to the floor along with his shirt. He gives you a proper amount of time to ogle his chest before tugging you against him again, your heart pounding so hard against him he must feel it. 

He tilts your head towards his until his lips brush against yours, and when he speaks, you feel every word. “Now where were we?” 

.

.

[Na Jaemin] sorry I had to go :( [Na Jaemin] wish I could have been there when you woke up  [Na Jaemin] but! I have a surprise [Na Jaemin] [image attached] [Na Jaemin] see you in the morning <3 

You blink at the message, a picture of him wearing a fuzzy headband in the middle of his skincare routine. Your head pounds a little, but otherwise your hangover isn’t too bad. Definitely not the worst it’s ever been. 

No, the strange feeling in your stomach is something else. Last night is burned into your memory, every move, every touch. Jaemin, who you fell asleep beside, though the timestamp on the texts show he didn’t stay much longer after. Not that you expected him to. It’s Jaemin, you remind your traitorous heart. No matter how much he flirts, no matter what he did drunk, he was never yours. 

Your phone rings, but it isn’t Jaemin. 

“Hey,” Renjun says. 

“You sound awful,” you say, throat aching. 

“You’re one to talk,” Renjun says, “and you didn’t even get to double digits. Donghyuck out-drank you.” 

“And how’s Donghyuck doing?” 

“Throwing up in the shower, it sounds like.” 

You laugh, the motion, sending your stomach spinning. “Happy birthday Renjun.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, “I actually did call for a reason.” 

“I am not helping with clean up,” you say, “Chenle swore he’d do all of it since he bailed on set up.” 

“Not that,” Renjun says. “I’ll be over as soon as I can walk without passing out.” He hangs up, leaving you to frown at the empty screen. 

Well, considering how late he got back, Jaemin probably won't be awake any time soon. You need to shower and rehydrate and try to convince your stomach to take something—and with how Renjun sounded over the phone, it seems like you’ll have plenty of time. 

An hour later, slightly burnt toast, and post-Advil, the headache is mostly gone. Your stomach still twists at the thought of Jaemin. You jump at the doorbell but find Renjun wearing a mismatched sweatsuit and his bright orange crocs, glasses nearly sliding off the bridge of his nose. He wears the hood of his sweatshirt up but you can see tufts sticking up. 

“God, did you shower?” You catch a whiff as he passes by, reeking of tequila. 

“I was serious about coming over as soon as possible.” He groans, collapsing on your bed. “I think I maybe came over too early though. Might need to throw up.” 

“Do you want toast?” You offer. 

He glares at you. “Just sit.” Renjun rarely speaks with patience but today he seems extra short on it. Maybe because of the hangover, but the way he glares at the carpet before turning to look at you makes you wonder if something else is wrong. His eyes soften a little when he meets your eyes, his frown lightening just barely. 

“I really wish I didn’t have to tell you this,” he begins. “Did you go out with Jaemin last night?”

“He… took me home,” you say. “What’s wrong Renjun?” 

“Last night—well—this morning, I met some guys from Sigma Nu, who are friends with Jeno and Jaemin,” he says, “who were talking about how Jaemin is going to be president. About how he’s messing around with the frontrunner, trying to distract them or fuck around, trying to take the presidency.” He falls quiet, studying your face. 

“He wouldn’t.” Your voice feels so small. 

He wouldn’t, you said, but you can’t even convince yourself. Your heart flounders, drowning in a lake of its own creation, choking on fantasies. Your brain takes control in the chaos, gears turning despite the crashing waves. Facts don’t need oxygen. 

1) Jaemin approached you about the presidency first 

2) he pretended not to know you were running 

3) he’s known for hooking up with anyone 

4) he never belonged in your world 

The conclusion is obvious, a conclusion you could have come to much sooner if you weren’t too busy getting swept off your feet by his easy flirting and sweet smile. Though your heart doesn’t want to believe it, it makes too much sense. So much more sense than the hope you were stupid enough to believe in. Jaemin isn’t that type. How many of your friends told you that? How many times did you tell yourself that? But you let him hurt you anyway because he held your hand and called you cute. How quickly a fruit can rot when it sits in the palm of your hand. 

Jaemin doesn’t exist a universe away–he lives in your world, worse than a cliche. The type of boy that made you want to believe in him, even when you knew better from the start, and maybe that’s the worst part. He never hid who he was, what he wanted. It’s you that wanted more, that believed he could want something more. How pitiful. 

“I’m sorry,” Renjun says softly. “I wanted him to be different.” 

“Did you? Because everyone was telling me about how I needed to be careful, protect myself, not get hurt over him. Did any of you consider that I didn’t ever expect anything from him?” You shake your head. “No, you all thought poor little YN, getting their feet swept out from under themself over a boy that doesn’t give a shit about them? A boy that’s actively trying to stop them from achieving a dream they’ve had since they started college? Well, guess what? You all were right. Congratulations.” You bite your lip trying to hold back the tears but it’s too late. 

“I’m sorry,” Renjun repeats. He pats your arm, looking away when you swipe at your eyes. He waits for you to take a shaky breath, hand on your arm. You grab the teddy bear, trying not to hear Jaemin calling it cute. 

“I slept with him.” The admission burns its way up your throat. “Last night.” You sigh. “You don't have to tell me I’m an idiot.” 

“Okay, I wasn’t going to say that,” Renjun throws his arm over your shoulders. “Though I’m kind of regretting sitting on the bed.” He scoots a little forward but squeezes your shoulder. “You’re going to do things you regret, there’s no stopping it.” 

“Why do you always have to be right? Why am I exclusively attracted to shitty men?” Your chin digs into the innocent bear, jaw tightening. “Why can’t I just like a boy that likes me?” 

“Do you think maybe you liked him too much?” Renjun asks gently. “Like maybe you liked the idea of him more than Jaemin himself.” He pauses, squeezing your arm. “Don’t let a boy that isn’t real hurt you.” 

You lean into his touch, resting your head on his shoulder. “But he was real. Sweeter than persimmon. Like a strawberry. Or a mango.” 

“Okay, I’m not understanding.” 

“I thought he was a persimmon, a magic fruit I could imagine tasting sweet or sour or tart but he’s real and even though his flavor isn’t a mystery, it’s better than what I could have imagined. Like taking a bite of a pineapple and it’s the best pineapple you’ve ever had, juicy and sweet.”

“Okay first of all, that’s a terrible metaphor, please stop talking about how he tastes or I will throw up,” Renjun says. “Also persimmons are real.” 

“I know that,” you snap, “but I’ve never had one, so they’re magic to me.” You stare ahead, grateful Renjun knows when you just need a little bit of time to work up the courage to say what you need to say. “I’m saying you are right. I didn’t really like him, not at first. But it’s worse than that because when I did get to know him, it was so much better. He wasn’t a dream, he was a boy who watches Grey’s Anatomy and does skincare even after a night of partying.

“I know it makes more sense, that his flirting wasn’t real, that he was never really interested in me. But nothing real about him makes sense, and I want to believe in him, still.” You purse your lips. “Pretty pathetic, huh?” 

“You really liked him,” Renjun says, “that won’t just go away.” 

“That would be too easy,” you mutter. 

Renjun laughs. “You’re going to be fine. There are so many better men.” 

“That’s what you said last time,” you say. 

“And I was right,” Renjun says, “Jaemin is better than last time. Marginally. At least he isn’t a poli-sci major.” 

You snort. 

“See, you’re already laughing at him.” Renjun pushes you off his shoulder, standing up and groaning. “Now, I’m going to throw up in your bathroom, and then we can watch dumb action movies until your brain rots. The rest of the guys are supposed to come over, though I think Donghyuck is still throwing up.” 

You bury your face into the bear. “Does everyone know?” 

Renjun pauses. “The guys from this morning were sort of proud to be the ones to tell us.” 

You groan. The door to your bathroom closes but you barely hear it. You clutch the bear a little tighter, as if the fluff could break through your chest and fill the spilling hole in your heart. 

It would be too easy to blame Jaemin, to pretend like none of the pain is from your own stupidity. But you already told Renjun. You knew it from the start. 

Knocking at the door, a knock that means only one person. You wipe the tears from your eyes and take a deep breath that does nothing to steady your heart. 

“God, I was afraid I was waking you up.” Jaemin starts talking as soon as you open the door. He holds up a bag, a tray with two iced coffees and a hot cup. He looks unfairly good and, of course, he grins at you. “I wasn’t entirely sure what your hangover cure is, so I got hot and iced coffee, and there’s a breakfast sandwich and a donut and also these potato things, I really wasn’t sure what you’d like, but–” 

“Did you know that I was running for president?” 

Jaemin freezes, frown slowly curling his brow. “What are you–”

“Just answer the question.” You grip the door handle, knuckles turning white. 

He pauses a moment too long. “It’s not like that.” 

“Never talk to me again.” You fight the urge to slam the door, but your neighbors don’t have to suffer your wrath. You shake your head, “I can’t believe I fell for your bullshit.” 

Jaemin opens his mouth but you close the door, sliding the deadlock as hard as you can. He has the audacity to try to explain himself. If you didn’t want to hear him out so badly, you might laugh. Instead you turn your back on the door, sliding down it until you can rest your head on your knees and sob. 

.

.

Jaemin makes it halfway down the aisle of seats on Tuesday before you turn to Renjun, panic and tears in your eyes. He glares at Jaemin so hard he freezes in his tracks and doesn’t try again. He doesn’t look at you in class, not even a peek. On Thursday, he walks straight to his seat. 

.

.

Chenle doesn’t bother to throw his packages into the recycling after opening them. He says he’s hanging onto them to make moving out easier, but really he’s just too lazy to break them down. You have to step around them to get into his apartment, since he thought it would be fun to make an obstacle course out of them. Navigating these sober is hard enough, you have no idea how he makes it to bed after a night out. 

But today, it’s worth it. It’s been two weeks since you cut off Jaemin, a month since the day you bumped into him in class (a month and three days but who’s counting?). He doesn’t look at you anymore. You haven’t fully escaped him–every once in a while you’ll hear his laugh from the other side of the lecture room. The sound still stabs between your ribs, a wound turned new each time you hear it. But it cuts a little more shallow each time. One day you won’t feel it at all. 

And today, Chenle got a puppy. 

She cries before you make it over the baby gate in Chenle’s room. A tiny ball of white fluff bounds toward you, tripping over her own feet. 

“Hi baby!” Your voice automatically rises three pitches looking at her. “Aren’t you just adorable!” You crouch down, letting her jump on your knees. She won’t sit still long enough to be pet, sprinting around your feet, then back to Chenle sitting on the floor, back resting against his bed. 

“Hi to you, too,” Chenle says pointedly. 

“Hi Chenle,” you turn back to his puppy. “And hello puppy!” 

“Her name is Daegal,” he says. You can hear him rolling his eyes. “‘Cause she’s got a big ass head.” 

“Chenle is so mean to you!” You coo at the puppy at your feet. “But that’s okay, I’ll take good care of you. You can come home with me!” 

“You hear that baby?” Chenle says. “YN wants to pay me $1000 to take care of you!” 

You stare at him. “Did you seriously adopt a $1000 puppy?” 

He shrugs. “She’s really cute.” 

“You’re insane.” Daegal settles down enough to let you pat her head. 

“I invite you into my home for some much needed puppy love and this is how you treat me?” Chenle sighs. “To think that I felt bad for you, that I told you about her before anyone else. This is how I get treated for my kind heart.” 

“I don’t need your pity,” you say. Daegal licks your hand. 

“It’s not pity.” He pauses. “Well I guess it is pity, but you’re also my friend YN. Believe it or not, watching you live the sad boy lifestyle over some dude, again, is not fun. I’d much rather watch you being happy with my puppy.” 

“You’re the one who brought it up,” you mutter. 

Chenle claps his hands, making Daegal jump. “But that does remind me, everyone has been too much of a coward to ask, but I’ve heard from tertiary sources about his reputation, but I’d love a first hand account.” 

“What are you talking about?” You eye him. 

“How was the sex?” 

“You’re seriously asking me that?” 

He shrugs. “Well, yeah.” 

You pick up Daegal, staring at her instead of Chenle. She wiggles her tail, then her paws, so you set her back down. “I’m not answering that.” 

Chenle narrows his eyes, studying you. “That means it was good.” 

“That’s not at all what I said.” 

“And yet you’re not denying it.” 

“Please shut the fuck up.” 

For once he listens. With Renjun, silence means peace–he doesn’t say anything that doesn’t matter. When Chenle doesn’t speak, it means he has something to say and he isn’t sure how to say it. You peek up at him and your suspicions are confirmed. He chews on his lip, frowning at you. 

“Just tell me.” 

Chenle purses his lips. “He dropped out.” 

“Of school?” 

He rolls his eyes. “The election.” 

You stare at him. “Seriously?” 

“He hasn’t touched his application since Renjun’s birthday and Donghyuck said yesterday he emailed and said he wasn’t going forward with it.” He doesn’t say anything about how technically you should be checking the email. 

“But it doesn’t make any sense.” 

Chenle shrugs. “I’m just telling you what I was told.” He stands up. “Now! How much do you like cleaning up dog pee?” 

You glance down at Daegal, who squats in the middle of the room, a dark stain on the carpet beneath her. Chenle tosses you some paper towels and a can of Febreeze. 

“Why am I cleaning up after your dog?” 

“Because you tried to steal her,” he says, “and I’ve already done this three times today and I’m really sick of it.” 

You shake your head but pull off a paper towel and press it into the stain. 

“We’re going out tomorrow night, by the way,” Chenle says. “And you’ve passed two weekends in a row so you’ve hit a cap for the month. You have to come with, no ‘buts.’” 

Apparently the grace period of pity is over. Whatever, it’ll be nice to do something other than hiding in your room watching Powerpuff Girls. And maybe you will see him. Maybe you’ll get an answer to the giant question mark that’s lodged itself in your heart when Chenle told he dropped out. Maybe the little caterpillar of hope that’s survived these past few weeks can metamorphize. 

And maybe he’ll break your heart again. But you won’t get any answers daydreaming. 

.

.

How Renjun can still drink Tequila, you truly do not understand. Ever since his birthday, the thought of it makes your stomach flip, and you didn’t even drink that much. But he sips on the margarita, insisting it doesn’t taste like alcohol. 

“It’s disgusting,” you say, pushing it closer to him. “I am not drinking this.” 

He rolls his eyes. “You do realize the whole gimmick of this place is all their drinks are made with tequila, right?” 

“No one told me that!” You glare at Chenle, who showed up at your door at exactly 8:00pm and dragged you to the bar. “For the record, I would have pre-gamed. But I guess I can be the babysitter tonight.” 

Chenle cheers. “Donghyuck, you’re back in! YN is babysitting!” 

Your drink slides down the table to Donghyuck, interrupting whatever ‘conversation’ he was having with Jisung. 

“I thought the whole point of dragging you out was to make you have fun,” he says. 

“You better be fun, then,” you say. 

Donghyuck raises his eyebrows but eventually take a long sip. “Brain freeze!” He cries, clutching his forehead. You laugh with the rest of the guys. It’s almost normal, except you can’t help but peek at the door whenever somebody walks in. 

The night passes and the guys get more drunk. The bar gets more crowded–soon you are squished between Renjun and Chenle, barely able to breathe as the music slowly gets louder. The tequila looks more and more appealing but the guys need at least one person sober to make it back alive: Chenle arm wrestles a stranger while Donghyuck has some poor soul cornered, practicing his pick up lines. 

When Chenle loses, you push past him, muttering something about fresh air that they probably can’t hear. You push through the crowd of drunk people, trying not to remember the last time you did this. 

You squint at the steps, edges difficult to see with so little light. Who builds a bar on the second floor of a building? You make it to the final step but misjudge how close it is and your foot slips off the edge, sending you tumbling forward. You might have caught yourself, but you don’t have to—strong arms catch you mid fall, wrapping around your waist and swinging you clean off the stairs and onto solid ground. You aren’t surprised at all to look into Jaemin’s eyes as he lets go. 

He frowns at you, eyes so dark they look black. Maybe it’s the lack of light, but the twinkle in his eyes, the glint you’ve come to recognize as trouble, is missing. 

“Hi,” you say. 

He drops his arms, stuffing his hands into his back pockets. “So you’re talking to me now?” 

An apology begins on your lips but you can’t push it out. Not when you still don’t understand. “Can we talk?” 

He glances at you. “Have you been drinking?” 

You shake your head.  

“Okay.” He doesn’t walk away, folding his arms over his chest. 

When you imagined this conversation, the sun shined so that you could see the warmth in his eyes. He smiled at you, called you silly for ever doubting him. The Jaemin in your head wouldn’t ever do something to hurt you. 

But Jaemin doesn’t exist in your head–it’s far past time you learned that. 

“I’m sorry,” you say. “I shouldn’t have just cut you off. But I thought… I don’t know what I thought, let alone what I think now.” You force yourself to meet his cold eyes, searching for a hint of warmth. “Chenle told me you dropped out of the presidency.” 

He nods slowly. 

“But Renjun told me that someone told him that the presidency is the only reason you ever pretended to like me, but if you dropped out then I really don’t get it. Not that I ever got it in the first place, though, because you’re you and I’m me, and everyone kept telling me that, like I didn’t already know that you are supposed to be a persimmon and grow on a tree far far away from my lemon or pomegranate or whatever kind of fruit I am, because the point is we were never meant to be.” You take a deep breath, realizing that you don’t exactly sound sane. “What I’m trying to say is that it doesn’t make sense. It made sense when you were trying to cheat me out of the presidency, but you dropped out. And it doesn’t make sense.” 

Jaemin blinks slowly at you. “You would rather believe that I was trying to rob your presidency than that I actually like you?” 

“Do you?” 

He frowns. “Of course I do. I like you so much I think about things I’ve never wanted before, the silly shit–watching horror movies as an excuse to cuddle, having picnics by the river, buying groceries together–I wanted to do all of it with you. 

“You talk a lot about how we’re different people—who gives a shit? If I’m the type of person that wants to be with you and you’re the type of person that wants to be with me, why does any of that matter?” He takes a step closer to you, and you can see you were wrong. His eyes aren’t cold, they’re full of emotion, dark waves of hurt. “What do I have to do to prove it to you? Should I tell you how pretty you are? How incredibly smart you are—not fake smart like me, but really smart. And when I’m around you, I like who I am. I know it’s cheesy but you bring out the best in me. 

“I know I fucked up. I should have told you how I felt before anything else, and I shouldn’t have left. I regretted it as soon as I was gone but it was terrifying to lay next to you and give you my bare heart, even when I didn’t think you would ever try to hurt me.” He takes a deep breath. “I don’t know if it hurts more thinking that you never wanted a relationship or thinking that I’d ever stoop that low. I mean, everyone tells me about my reputation, but I didn’t think you cared about any of that.” 

Tears prick at your eyes. How could you be such an idiot? Listening to all the wrong people, especially yourself. Jaemin doesn’t exist in another world, he isn’t any kind of fruit. He’s a boy that you like that likes you back. It doesn’t have to be any more complicated than that. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, reaching a tentative hand out to rest against his arm. “I’m so sorry.” He drops his head, sighing. “I was an idiot.” 

He sighs, staring at your hand. You start to drop it but he grabs it, squeezing your fingers. “Where do we go from here?” 

You study him, eyes finally adjusted to the darkness. Jaemin who is not a fruit, not an alien, just a boy. 

“Hey.” You reach out and cup his cheek, waiting for him to meet your eyes. “My name is YN. I think you’re really cute.” 

For a heartbeat he doesn’t move. Then he smiles, cheek rising underneath your hand. “Hey, my name is Jaemin. I think you’re really cute too.” 

“Oh really?” You slide your hand to the back of his neck, wrapping your other arm across it. His arms wrap on your waist, pulling you into a hug. He squeezes you flush against him, head tucked into your shoulder just as yours is tucked into his. 

“I know we can’t start over,” he says, “but can we start again?” 

“How about this time we just talk to each other?” You say, tapping your fingers on his shoulder. “No more rumors and gossip.” 

He nods, chin digging into your neck a little. “I swear, I won’t give you any reason to doubt me ever again. I won’t be the kind of guy your friends call a red flag.” 

You loosen your grip and lean back to look him in the eye. “Wait, did they seriously say that to you?” 

“I ran into Donghyuck after I dropped out and we had a very… one sided conversation with his side doing all the talking,” Jaemin says, “and Renjun made it obvious from the start that he didn’t like me.” 

You laugh a little, then even more when he pouts. “You’ll win them over again.” 

“They really don’t like me,” he says. 

You cup his cheek again. “You’ll change their minds.” He leans into your touch, closing his eyes. You lean forward, resting your forehead against his. He gasps a little, hands tightening on your waist. 

“Now, am I remembering incorrectly, or are you an amazing kisser?” You ask. 

He grins, leaning forward and closing the distance without wasting a second. Neither of you can stop smiling, lips and teeth gnashing together but it’s still the best kiss you’ve ever had. 

.

.

You stretch an arm out, only to find more bed instead of empty space. You sit up, shivering as the blanket falls away. Right, you fell asleep in Jaemin’s bed. His room is much bigger than yours, sharing an apartment with Jeno. He has enough room for a dresser and a nicer desk, even a chair. It seems he lied to you about being messy, because even when you show up unannounced, like today, his clothes are neatly folded and the biggest mess you’ve found has been three dirty dishes in the sink (which you later found out were Jeno’s). 

Jeno, apparently, isn’t all bad–he did let you in even though your boyfriend was still out. He doesn’t fully trust you, but then again, your friends don’t hide their mistrust of Jaemin either. You maintain your earlier stance that time will heal that wound. 

You hear a knife against a cutting board coming from the kitchen, so you wrap the blanket around your shoulders and shuffle towards the sound, unable to stop the smile from spreading up your lips when you turn the corner and find Jaemin standing at the counter. He glances behind him and grins at you, and even though you just woke up from a nap and probably have messy hair and marks on your face, he says, “you look sexy.” 

“So cheesy,” you say. He laughs and turns back around. You slip behind him and wrap your arms around him, burying your face in his back and closing your eyes. He radiates warmth better than any blanket. It’s too easy to lean against him, take a deep breath of the scent of his laundry detergent and cling to him. Jaemin moves slowly, careful not to hit you by accident. 

“What’re you doing?” 

“A surprise,” he says, “at least my attempt at one.” He sets down the knife on the counter and taps on your hands, pulling them apart gently and spinning around to face you before setting your hands back on his waist. He tilts his head at you when you purse your lips and frown. “What’s wrong?” 

“Still no ass,” you say, patting him a little lower than his waist. 

“Hey!” He sticks his lower lip out. “I’m trying.” 

“No one’s perfect,” you say, sliding your hands back up and sneaking a kiss to his cheek. 

“You are,” he says, cupping your face to kiss you properly. Jaemin still kisses like it’s his last chance, drawing out every moment, lips lingering on yours until your head spins. It’s only when you can’t breathe that he finally pulls away.  

“Good answer,” you say. 

He smiles. “If you come to the gym with me I’d be more motivated to get an ass you’d be proud of.” 

“You send enough pictures for me to know that if I saw you at the gym I would never survive,” you say. “You want me to die?” 

He laughs, squishing your face together with his hands. “If anyone’s going to die, it’s going to be me, because you are too cute.” 

He presses another kiss to your lips, still squished together in a pout. He laughs at the outrage on your face, letting go of your cheeks and slipping his hands behind your neck, kissing you one more time for real, letting go far too early. 

“The surprise,” he says. He lets go of you with one arm, turning to the cutting board and holding up a slice of what he was cutting. It looks a little bit like a tomato, though it’s more orange than red, and about the size of a golf ball. 

“A persimmon?” 

“I still don’t really get the persimmon thing,” he says, “but I’ve never tried one.” 

You blink at him. Jaemin makes it so easy to fall in love. He holds the piece closer to your mouth, waiting for you to open. A persimmon tastes sweet and mild and rich, a little bit like honey. Jaemin eats his own piece, frowning and nodding. 

“No more magical mystical fruit,” Jaemin says. 

“You’re going to make an amazing trophy husband,” you say. You tap him on the nose. “Maybe we could even be a power couple.” 

He grins. “We’ll be so cool. Like Beyoncé and her husband.” 

“Jay-Z?”

“Whatever.” Jaemin flips his hand. “The important part is that I am Beyoncé.” 

You smack his shoulders softly. “Hell no, Beyoncé would never have a flat ass.” 

“It always comes back to the ass.” He sighs. “Be honest: are you embarrassed by me?” 

Once you never thought he could be embarrassing. That was before you knew he staked his career on a soap opera and wears jorts to the gym, before he called you drunk just to confess he accidentally stole your pencil, before he spent three hours putting up campaign posters for you (and then another two getting written up by campus police for not having permission). Before you fell in love with him. 

“By you? Never.” You pat his cheeks. “Your ass leaves much to be desired, though.” 

thank you for reading!

[jenoyeahh]

reading the astronomy metaphors, seeing your username, hmm i wonder if the author likes the sky.

the drunk mcdonald's escapade is cute. i laughed when yn cried that doctors get rich from taking their money. i did NOT see the crisis coming, like when renjun dropped it i gasped, like nooooo everyone trusted you jaemin!!! (not renjun and donghyuck though) i was rooting for you!! we are all rooting for you!!! (again, renjun and donghyuck are not included)

when jaemin's smile dropped when yn asked about his application, I thought it's because jaemin never really wanted to apply, just wanted a reason to talk to yn but no!!! you're the worse jaemin. though even after the confession, i'm still kind of confused, did jaemin approach yn to distract yn or he genuinely like yn?

everyone deserves a friend like renjun who would gladly help yn hides jaemin's body but for now there's no need! jaemin is gladly yn's trophy husband-to-be.

i also never ate persimmon and i don't think there's any around me for me to try. thank you for writing and sharing this fluff perfection <3

[sluttyten]

You In My Arms

full masterlist || haechan masterlist

summary: Haechan doesn’t mind being a background character in someone else’s love story as long as he gets a front row seat to the love scenes. She wants to be the star of her own love story, even if that means that she has to put herself out in the limelight. They’ve been friends since the start of their time at university, and she’s been in love with him since then, but can the love lines of an angel and a pervert ever intersect? (Told in alternating POVs, Haechan’s and Y/N)

tags: slowburn, friends to lovers, voyeurism, exhibitionism, masturbation (public & in private), threesome?, general perversion, smut

💙 Chapter 1: The Tourist

Haechan experiences an awakening, a realization: he likes to watch

💗 Chapter 2: In the Dark

You experience an awakening as well: you would like to be watched

💙 Chapter 3: Temptation

haechan knows that watching is wrong, but he can’t help it when he just stumbles upon it happening right in front of his eyes. and it happens a lot.

💗 Chapter 4: Promises

your time at university is coming to an end, but Haechan isn’t going anywhere, and neither is your long-standing crush on him

💙 Chapter 5: Risk and Reward

Haechan sees lots of things he’s not meant to see, but finally he sees something that has been right in front of him all this time

💗 Chapter 6: Truths Tonight

for so long you and Haechan have each held onto your secrets – your crush, your exhibitionism, his voyeuristic habits – but the time finally comes to bring it all out into the open

💗 Chapter 7: An Eye For An Eye

now that the truth is out in the open, you find it harder than ever to keep yourself from wanting Haechan constantly. But at least now you know that he wants you just as much.

💙 Chapter 8: COMING SOON!!

[jenoyeahh]

just absolute perfection. the other smut fics were integrated seamlessly, and it kinda reads like their sex diary and journey. it sure is a slow burn and i had to force myself to stop reading because it's nearing 3, and i have work tomorrow. it's my fault for starting a series when i was only searching for a short smut. now, i was basically just edging myself.

wondering if there's gonna be a mark story since he's kinda getting lots of action and the backstory with him and his current girl.

[sluttyten]

You In My Arms

Chapter 7: An Eye For An Eye

full masterlist || haechan masterlist || YIMA chapter index

summary: now that the truth is out in the open, you find it harder than ever to keep yourself from wanting Haechan constantly. But at least now you know that he wants you just as much.

length: 9,317 words

tags: voyeurism, exhibitionism, slowburn, friends to lovers, masturbation, public sex, fingering, general perversion, smut

previous chapter || next chapter  (Coming Soon)

Waking the next morning, you stare up at the ceiling for a good long while. Remembering yesterday, remembering last night. 

You got the truth from Haechan. You shared secrets. 

He kissed you. 

And still, you feel giddy about it, like a young girl with her first kiss. 

Haechan kissed you. 

You kissed him. 

You cover your face with your hands to muffle the excited sound that spills from your lips. 

What happens now?

You go through your day as normal. You clean the apartment, you and your roommate make a grocery run in the mid-afternoon, and then as the day creeps towards evening, your thoughts start to turn and focus exclusively on Haechan. Thinking of what you’d said to him before he first kissed you. An eye for an eye; a truth for a truth. You want equality, which means he’s watched you, so you want to watch him. Properly watch him instead of just from a distance in the dark, though you didn’t share that particular truth with him last night. 

Your roommate leaves for the night to go on a date with her partner and then stay at their place. Which leaves you to fend for yourself for the night. Before she got into this relationship, the two of you spent many Friday and Saturday nights together here in the living room, bundled up in blankets with takeout from a variety of your favorite places. But tonight you either have to decide on a place for yourself, or you can throw together dinner from what you’d bought earlier at the grocery store. 

Unsure what you really want, you just play around on your phone until your brain and your stomach can come to an agreement on what to eat. 

You scroll on Twitter for a little while, get lost down a TikTok rabbit hole until the sky outside is dark and the time staring back at you reads quarter after nine. You switch to Instagram, and right there at the top of your screen it shows that one haechanahceah has added to his story. 

You tap on it. 

He’s holding his phone close to his face as he laughs, the blue sky of twilight barely visible behind him along with a flash of YangYang’s face and toothy smile. The sound of wind rushes against the microphone. The camera flips and you see a skateboard under his feet, pavement rushing by, and then a path stretching out along the river. 

The next part to his story: pictures of food covering a table. Haechan tagged several other people, though YangYang and Ten’s are the only usernames that you recognize from them. 

Drinks. Everyone clinking their glasses together. 

And then the most recent addition to his story is just a simple picture of the moon shining like a fat pearl in the velvet night sky. There’s a song playing, lyrics scrolling over the image of the moon, and it’s a song of neediness, desire, longing. 

It was posted five minutes ago. 

And just as you’re about to close out of the app and order yourself some dinner, your phone chimes with a message. 

“Are you doing anything right now?” From Haechan. 

When you don’t answer immediately, you receive a second message from him. “I saw that you just watched my story. Don’t pretend like you’re not on your phone.”

You call him. 

He answers immediately. 

Judging by the lack of wind, you assume he’s not outside any longer. And furthermore, the silence in the background makes you think he might not even be with the others anymore. 

“Hello?” He says, a little breathlessly. 

“What did you want?” 

Silence, then a slight rustling sound. Then, “I was just wondering if you were free or if you’re busy. I’ve been out with some guys all day, I just got home, and I want to send you something.”

“Oh?” You cradle your phone against your face. “Like what?”

“How was it that you phrased it yesterday?” Haechan pauses, as if thinking, then says, “Oh, right. You said you want equality. You want to watch me, since I’ve watched you.”

Your heart thuds in your chest, sending pulsing heat to your extremities. “Haechan….”

“So let me ask again,” his voice dips lower, asking, “Are you doing anything right now? Can I send you something?”

All thoughts of dinner have been removed from your mind. The only hunger you feel now is for what Haechan is offering you through the phone. 

“I’m not doing anything.” You hope your voice isn’t shaking, that you don’t sound nervous or over-excited. “Send it.”

He laughs a little under his breath, and you know that you failed at sounding so cavalier. The eagerness and hunger bled through in your voice. 

“Alright, I’m hanging up now.” Haechan’s own voice is light with amusement and excitement. “I’ll send it shortly.”

After the call goes dead on his end of the line, you sit there, clutching your phone in your hands, perched on the edge of the sofa. You wonder if you should order food, if you should just try to eat something. It’s late. If you’re going to eat tonight, you’d better do it now before you get so swept up that you forget to eat altogether. And where do you want to watch this video at? Do you want to just watch it out here? Or should you close yourself away in the privacy of your bedroom, snug in your bed to witness exactly what you’ve been longing to see for so long now?

You think back to the night that started all of this interest in watching and being watched. The night of the hot tub. The first time that you felt there could genuinely be a little something more than just friendship between you and Haechan as you shared that bed with him. You remember longingly noticing the bulge in the front of his shorts when he’d emerged from the hot tub’s water, and you remember about an hour later when he’d stripped beside you in the dark. It had been quite dark, but not dark enough that you hadn’t caught the barest glimpse of his ass and just the shadowy hint of his cock. 

But now? Now your curiosity will be satisfied. 

You snack on something you pull from the pantry, waiting and waiting and waiting. After twenty minutes, you send him a text with a bunch of question marks. 

“Patience baby” is all you get back from Haechan. 

But the thing is, you’re feeling rather impatient. You’re horny now, excited thinking about getting to watch him. You do move to your bedroom, closing the door, turning the lights down, tucking yourself in with your phone held to your chest. You’re going to enjoy this. 

Finally after too fucking long, your phone chimes again. 

When you open the message, the rectangle of the video is just black. 

You tap play, and it fills your screen, still black. 

For a moment, you think something’s wrong with the video, but then you hear sound. The rustle of sheets. A shuddering breath. Something moving in the dark, which you realize a moment later is the shadow of some part of Haechan’s body against the faint light of his computer’s blinking power button. 

What is this? You wanted to see him, not just hear him. 

And then the video is illuminated as his bedside lamp is clicked on. The phone camera passes over rumpled sheets. There’s a flicker of tanned skin, the curve of his bare thigh. You hold your breath as at last the camera focuses on the fit of his fingers around his dick. 

It’s pretty and tan, just like the rest of him. 

His cock is actually bigger than you imagined it would be. You figured Haechan would be a little below average in terms of size, if you’re being honest, but the cock you’re looking at on your phone screen exceeds your expectations. He’s probably average in length, but damn, he’s thick from base to the tip, which is a pretty shade of pink that reminds you of his lips. He’s got a perfect cock, in your opinion. Right away, you want him in your mouth, your throat aches for it. 

And then you just sit back and watch the video, admiring the way he touches himself, the sounds he makes, the way that as he gets close to orgasm his hips twitch off the bed to rock into the circle of his fingers. You drink everything in, hungrily consuming the video to notice all the small details. The small scattering of moles across his belly and thighs and his arm and hand. The dusting of hair leading from below his navel to the base of his cock. 

You’ve been with a decent amount of men. You’ve seen cocks, touched them, tasted them, had them inside you. But you’ve never had Haechan’s, and the longer you sit here watching, the more that you feel like this video is just a cruel tease. 

Is that how he felt while watching the video feed of you masturbating in the office? Like it was just a cruel tease of what he couldn’t have?

Haechan moans your name in the video and your belly goes tight and hot at the sound, a whined praise from his lips.

How long would it take you to get to his apartment right now?

His hand flies over his length in the video, his moans like music to your ears. “Oh, fuck,” he grunts, “Baby, bet your pussy would be so tight around me right now, so wet and slippery. I know you get super wet. Are you wet right now?”

Fuck. Yeah, you are. You’re not touching yourself though, too caught up in simply watching him to want to take away from it. But your core is throbbing with heat, panties soaked through. 

“You’d be taking my cock so well, angel.” Haechan gives one sharp thrust into his hand, his heels digging into the mattress as his hips lift off the bed. “Do you think you’d be a good girl for me? Do whatever I ask? Would you get on your knees and beg for me?”

If you were there right now, you certainly would be on your knees, mouth open wide, tongue out for his cock. You would let Haechan make such a mess of you. You would let him cum on your tits and your throat in public, and you would proudly wear that pearl necklace like a prize.

“Or would I need to punish you? You’ve shown me how naughty you can be.” He moans, passing his thumb right over the weeping slit of his cock. “What would even be a good punishment for you? Taking you out in public, teasing you, but not letting you cum? Sit you on my cock in front of all of our friends, tease you nice and slow while you keep my cock warm. But, no, you would enjoy that too much, wouldn’t you? What if I didn’t allow you to cum? Would that be punishment enough? I’d have to take you home, angel, edge you for as many times as you nearly gave us away.”

Your toes curl at the sound of his words, and you feel your pussy clench around nothing. You can’t take it anymore. 

You slip your fingers inside your panties, dipping them through your wetness. 

Haechan moans again, and your entire body buzzes and flares with heat in response. 

“I’ve never really done anything in public before, not quite like you,” Haechan says, still fisting his cock. “Only ever when I’m tucked out of sight, in semi-privacy, or after dark.” His hand holding his phone shakes, his breath shudders. “But you make me want to try getting a little riskier.”

You can just imagine it now. Taking Haechan out with you like you’d tried to do with a few of those random guys you hooked up with. Taking him to the park to have some fun on a picnic, tucked in a corner of the aquarium as the pretty fish swim by, fucking around in the car on a hot summer day with the windows down and your sweaty bodies exposed to the sunlight. 

You fuck yourself on your fingers, trying to keep your eyes focused on the video, but your vision grows hazy with lust, fantasies sweeping into your mind to overlay the visual of Haechan squeezing his hand around his cock with a groan, bucking his hips up into the tight grip of his fist as he finally cums with your name on his lips. Pearly drops coat his fingers, landing on his belly, and he keeps touching until he cums weakly again, spurting from his cock onto his belly too, all of it gathering in the dip of his belly button. 

You want to lick him clean, gather it all on your tongue and let it leak over his dick again before you blow him just to see how quick his refractory period is. 

You replay the video, and this time you touch yourself. You fold a pillow on the bed, straddle it, and ride your fingers while you hump the pillow, keeping the volume on his video loud where your phone lies beside your knee. You close your eyes and imagine that you’re riding him, fucking yourself on his cock instead of your fingers, that your clit is gaining friction from contact with him instead of your pillow. You imagine that it’s his hand coming down on your ass, a sharp smack that leaves your skin smarting; that it’s his fingers that pinch at your nipples; his shoulders that your fingernails dig into instead of the mattress. 

You slump to the side, fingers still slowly pumping as your body trembles from your orgasm. Your free hand searches the bed for your phone and when you swipe out of the video, you see Haechan has sent you a few more messages that you somehow missed. 

One is a closeup photo of his belly, shiny and wet with his cum. One is a simple question of “did you like it?” And then the third and final message is just a steamy mirror selfie, where only a circle to show his face has been wiped clean on the mirror, and the rest of his nude body is blurred out by the steam. 

You simply respond with a picture of your hand, cum stretching between your fingers, more wetness dripping down your palm. “I liked it.”

Monday morning, you don’t see Haechan at all before you go into your meeting with Taeil. It’s probably for the best. You wouldn’t be able to focus on the meeting if you’d seen Haechan; instead you’d be lost in dreamland, thinking of his cock, the rasp of his voice as he moaned your name. 

So you walk into the meeting with a clear head, which makes it run smoothly and successfully. Taeil is proud of you, he’d told you, stating that you worked hard and efficiently on the project, finishing it in less time than it would’ve taken anyone else. And he doesn’t say it in so many words necessarily, but he does hint that there might be a promotion coming up for you. 

You leave the meeting ecstatic, and the feeling carries you through the rest of the day. 

Tuesday, Haechan gets called away for a business meeting on the other side of the city. Wednesday, it’s your turn. Annoyingly, now that you’re finished with the project and finally thought you’d have some free time, something has always got one or the other of you busy. 

You’re never at work at the same time for that whole week, and that weekend he goes home to visit his family. 

You receive a video then of him on the beach at home, the sunset stretching out before him, and Haechan jerking off. He sends it along with the message “since I once saw you by the ocean, this is only fair,” which he explains he meant he watched you and Renjun in that outdoor shower in Thailand. 

You message each other back and forth constantly that weekend. Just casual conversations and then also the deeper, dirtier kind of conversations. More talk about his watching and your enjoyment of being watched, his new experimentation with exhibitionism. You talk about more things — other kinks and interests. His somewhat unsurprising interest in consensual non-consent. Your interest in a threesome, which you’ve never participated in; Haechan follows this up in recounting what he’s experienced. 

Come the following Monday morning, following all of that talk with none of the action, you’re itching with the need to see him. To actually be in the same space as Haechan. 

That need for proximity only grows when you walk into the office and spot Haechan sitting at his desk just a short distance from yours. 

He’s sipping at an iced americano, spinning back and forth in his chair as he stares at the desktop computer’s screen. He turns to catch your eye as you pass him. Your fingertips brush the back of his chair, just barely touching the fabric of his shirt, but he turns his entire seat to follow you with his eyes. 

“You smell nice today,” he says. 

You turn to look at him, and Haechan’s eyes are currently trailing down your legs. The skirt you’d worn today is perhaps a bit shorter than entirely appropriate, but it has captured his attention fully. He hungrily stares at your thighs, your calves, the way that your heels hug your feet. And then his attention sweeps up to your face again. 

“Do you have plans later?” He asks even as you keep walking away to your own desk. 

You don’t, and you tell him that, but before he can suggest any plans for you and him, someone else speaks up from where you hadn’t even noticed her. 

Taeil’s secretary. 

“Oh, Channie!” You cringe as she uses a nickname for Haechan. “Mr. Moon was actually wondering if you could help him out later. You have a friend that’s a mechanic, right? Mr. Moon’s car has been acting up, so he was wondering if you wouldn’t mind taking it for your friend to look at?”

Haechan barely conceals his scowl. The friend in question is Chenle, who recently took his history of wealth, an interest in the inner workings of luxury cars and what he’d learned while studying for a business degree, and he opened a car repair shop business — a far cry from the culinary degree he’d mentioned pursuing when you last saw him. 

“Sure, I can take it to him. But his shop is expensive. He typically only works on luxury cars,” Haechan says. And as far as you’re aware, Mr. Moon drives a Hyundai to and from work everyday, not exactly a luxury vehicle. 

The secretary just smiles. “That’s fine! Mr. Moon recently upgraded to a BMW.”

Hours later, as you’re leaving for the day, you follow Haechan down along with Mr. Moon’s secretary to see the car. It is in fact a shiny, brand new BMW. You wouldn’t think there would be anything wrong with it at all since it looks like it just rolled right out of the factory into this spot in the parking garage. 

The secretary passes the keys over to Haechan, and you don’t miss the nervous way his eyes widen as he takes in the feel of the keys in his hand and then eyes the length of the flawless and expensive car. 

“You’re sure he wants me to take it? He doesn’t want to? I could give you directions, and give my friend a call.” Haechan’s fingers close around the keys. 

She shakes her head, smiling widely as she looks from Haechan to you and then back again. “Mr. Moon has a flight to catch for that conference in Germany. So he’s unavailable to take the car right now, and since he’ll be out of the country for the next week, it just makes sense to have it get worked on while he’s gone.” And then she passes a card over to Haechan as well. “You can charge the mechanic’s bill on this card. And once the car’s finished if you wouldn’t mind just bringing it right back here, and you can leave the key and the card in his office. Thank you, Channie, we both really appreciate it!”

And then she’s walking off, leaving you and Haechan standing there to gaze at the car. 

“You do have your license, don’t you?” You ask. 

Haechan nods wordlessly. “Yeah, but shit. I’ve never even been in a car this nice; I’ve definitely never driven one as nice as this.” 

He unlocks the car, and you watch as he nervously reaches for the door handle. The door opens smoothly, soundlessly, unlike your car which groans loudly pretty much every time you touch it. 

The interior of the car is a cool, sleek black. The dashboard is a screen that comes to life the moment Haechan turns the car on. The engine purrs, and Haechan settles into the driver’s seat, making himself right at home. 

“How do I look?” He asks, gripping the steering wheel and staring ahead through the windshield. “Do I look like I could drive one of these?”

You laugh. “You look hot, Haechan. Like a very, very wealthy man who uses flashy cars to impress people.”

He glances over at you. “Is that what you think Taeil’s doing? Using the car to impress, possibly to compensate?”

“Impress yes. Compensate?” You look Haechan in the eye as you say, “I think you’d be the one who could tell me that. Does he have anything to compensate for?” Haechan’s admitted that he’s watched Taeil fuck the secretary through his hidden cameras, so he should know if Taeil’s gotten a flashy car to compensate for dick size or his skills in bed. 

Haechan shakes his head. “No, he’s fine. Just to impress people then. And it’s definitely working because I’m impressed.” He buckles his seatbelt, adjusting the seat height and distance from the steering wheel, readjusting the mirrors. He does look very hot in the driver’s seat of this nice car. The suit he’d worn to the office today and the pair of sunglasses that he plucks from the cup holder certainly help with the vibe. 

He closes the car door, and a moment later rolls down the dark-tinted window so you can see him again. 

“You want to come with me?”

You lean in, resting your elbows on the edge of the window. Your face is only inches away from Haechan’s, and that delicious fragrance he wears is all you know for a few delirious seconds. You can envision yourself sliding onto the buttery soft leather of the passenger seat. You can envision convincing Haechan to pull over into another parking garage or a park’s parking lot, into anywhere at all and letting you ride him in the driver's seat of this fancy car, finally getting to experience his cock for real. 

You think you can see some of your fantasy playing out behind the dark brown of his eyes too. He’s smiling with a little edge of heat. 

“I shouldn’t.” You take a step back. “I know I said I didn’t have plans, and I haven’t seen Chenle in a while so it would be nice to see him, but I have a feeling that if I get in that car with you…” You meet Haechan’s gaze. “I feel like I’d be distracting you a little too much. Or at least I would want to.”

Your gaze drifts from his eyes to the curl of his hand on the wheel. You don’t think you’d even be out of this parking garage before you’d already be tugging his hand to rest on your thigh, urging his fingers up beneath your skirt. After a week of being denied Haechan’s physical presence in your life, a week filled with nothing but want for every part of him, you feel like an addict being presented with their drug of choice, and it’s almost impossible for you to say no to what he’s offering. But you’re trying so hard to not jump Haechan in your boss’s car. 

“What you’re saying is I’m too sexy right now in this car. You’d be throwing yourself at me?” He grins. 

That’s not what you said, but yes, it’s exactly what you meant. 

You take another step back. “I’m going to go home. You take this car to Chenle for him to work on. Maybe let me know when you’re done, and we’ll see about making some plans then. If not, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Again, you look at his hand on the wheel, the way it flexes, squeezing around the curve of the steering wheel, and your mind flashes to the videos he’s sent you — his hand on his cock, fingers dripping in cum. 

You walk away, taking the elevator to the third level of the parking garage where you’d left your car this morning, and then you sit in your car for a few moments to compose yourself before you head home. Your thoughts, as much as you try to steer them away from the crafted fantasy of fucking Haechan in a fancy car, keep returning there. Again and again on the drive home. 

You’ve just arrived home, just stepped out of your car to head up to your apartment, when you receive a message from Haechan. 

Without hesitation, you open it. 

A video. At first you can only see the interior of the car, and then the camera swings down to focus on his lap. Or, more specifically, on his bare cock. 

“Traffic,” Haechan says. “I’m stuck in traffic, and I’ve got a boner because all I can think about is how if you were here with me right now, you’d be throwing yourself at me.” He laughs a little. “Okay, maybe I’d be the one unable to keep my hands to myself. But unfortunately, right now my hands are all I’ve got for myself, and we’re barely moving in traffic, so I just, ah, thought I’d bide my time productively. I said it the other night, you make me want to take risks in public.”

He’s just rocking his hips off the seat, driving his cock against his hand. 

“The fact this isn’t even my car makes this even hotter. Do you think our boss and secretary have fucked in here yet, or am I the one breaking it in? Shit, if you were here this could be your hand around me. Or maybe your lips. We could break this car in together, would you like that? The windows are so dark though, no one would be able to see you.”

He strokes his cock with a moan. The car lurches forward, you can see his thigh relax and clench as he releases and then steps on the brake. 

“Gotta be careful,” he mumbles to himself. But then he’s right back at it, stroking his cock, and it rubs against Taeil’s steering wheel by accident. His fingers squeeze around his tip and you can see the shiny smear of his precum against the material of the steering wheel. 

He thrusts his hips up, another moan breaking through his lips. 

“It’s gonna be a mess when I cum,” he grunts. “Knew I should’ve brought you for easy cleanup. Could’ve cum in your mouth, made you swallow every drop.”

Your body reacts to that. A lurching feeling of arousal in your core, imagining cleaning up Haechan’s cum. 

His hand stills on his cock for a moment, just the thumb teasing slow circles around the tip, and then he releases his hold with a curse. “We’re moving again.”

And the video ends. 

It’s not until that moment that you realize you’ve just been standing frozen there beside your car this whole time. You pocket your phone and head up to your apartment to take a cold shower. When you get out, you have a new message. 

Another video. 

In this one, the phone is at a different angle and his pants are gone, his shirt is lifted up to expose his belly. And he’s quickly jerking off. There’s no finesse, no teasing or dirty talk. It’s just a quick, short clip of Haechan’s hand moving fast and tight, bitten back moans escaping his teeth as he cums over his fist, dripping down onto his thighs and onto that flawless leather seat. 

“I get why you like this,” Haechan says, bringing the phone up so you can see his chin. “Some man just walked by where I’m parked on the street outside Chenle’s place. The windows are dark so he couldn’t see in, but I had the window rolled down just a little, and he definitely heard me moaning. He was looking, and that’s when I came. What do you think he’d have done if he actually saw me?”

Exactly. That’s exactly what you like about exhibitionism. The thrill of getting away with it and the questions of what if you hadn’t gotten away with it. What would they do if they caught you?

In the video clip you watch Haechan wipe his hand clean on the inside of his undershirt before he tugs his button-down back into place. He straightens his tie and his jacket, then he manages to slide his boxers back up over his hips with one hand. 

“Do you think he’s got any napkins or tissues in here?” Haechan mumbles, reaching around to rustle through the contents of Taeil’s fancy car. “I need something to wipe my jizz up with.”

You smile to yourself, noting the blend of amusement and frustration in Haechan’s voice. 

Eventually he finds something, and he wipes and smears the glob of his cum that had landed on the leather seat. 

It’s then that he slides his phone onto the car’s dashboard, giving you a view of the sky through the windshield. He makes some noise that you assume is him pulling his pants back up, and then he finally picks his phone back up again, showing his face on the video. 

“Anyway, I’d better head inside now and pass the car off to Chenle.” The car door opens, the sounds of the wind and traffic mixing with the sound of his voice. “I’ll have to see how long this takes, but maybe we can still make plans.”

You hope so. 

You spend a little while after that taking care of the Haechan-inspired itch that needs scratching, feeding yourself with fantasies featuring him. You keep expecting to be interrupted by him texting or calling about plans, but you’ve taken care of yourself with no word from him. 

You wait, going about your afternoon doing some laundry and a little cleaning around the apartment. All of it is meant to distract you from being nervous about the reality of making plans with Haechan. Plans that you assume will only lead to finally having sex with him. 

And when he finally sends you a message, your heart takes up an erratic pace. 

But it’s not quite the message you’d hoped for.

“Chenle wants to hang out. He already messaged Renjun, YangYang, and Xiaojun. Do you want to come?”

Now, those aren’t exactly the plans you had in mind, and even as your heart swells with disappointment, you agree. You do want to see your friends, especially Chenle who you haven’t seen in quite a while. But considering that you’re meeting up with all of them for dinner, that they all have a tendency to want to chat late into the night, and since you’re picking up YangYang and Xiaojun on the way, you don’t find your odds of any actual plans with Haechan happening tonight. 

Xiaojun’s girlfriend has basically moved in with him, so she comes along too, and your car is crowded on the way to meet the other three for dinner. And the booth table Chenle booked is even more crowded. 

Everyone is squeezed in so tightly that Haechan has you pressed up against the wall. Across from you, Xiaojun pulled his girlfriend onto his lap. The woman that comes over to take your order only offers an apologetic smile and says that this is the only size table they had left. 

It’s fine. Really. 

You’re all very close friends, so if some of you have to sit with arms around each other, ankles knocking and twisting beneath the table, that’s fine. 

And if it means that at some point after your order is put in and the first round of drinks are served, Haechan tugs one of your legs up over his so he can slide just a little closer to you and save a little extra space for Renjun on his other side, well… you’re not going to complain. 

He glances your way, a sparkle in his eye. 

His hand doesn’t leave your thigh. 

You’re still wearing a skirt, though it’s not the short one you’d worn to work today. 

This is a longer, casual skirt. One that’s loose and floaty enough that when Haechan starts walking his fingers along your thigh, the fabric easily starts bunching up, gathering beneath his fingers and drawing up your leg. 

You tamp down the urge to shiver when the pads of his warm fingers make contact with your bare thigh. 

Liquor burns the back of your throat as you quickly drink the alcohol the woman brought to your table. You hope that the flush of alcohol in your cheeks might conceal the way that you can already feel yourself blushing beneath Haechan’s touch. 

And then he starts stroking his fingers over your inner thigh. Moving them back and forth, fingers drumming gently a melody that you can’t determine. 

The frustrating thing is that you’re in a tizzy, but Haechan is perfectly cool. He’s maintaining a conversation with the others while he builds the heat inside your core. 

And then he squeezes your thigh. 

Palm flat to your skin. Fingers pressing in. 

You snap your head to the side to look at him, your hand dropping beneath the table to cover his hand on your thigh. Your leg draped over his twitches, foot kicking out. 

Unfortunately your accidental kick makes contact. 

Chenle frowns, looking around at your side of the table. “Who just kicked me?”

“Sorry,” Haechan apologizes quickly, covering for you. 

Judging by the way that Chenle moves and the slight thump beneath the table, paired with Haechan’s grunt and jolt, you assume Chenle landed a retaliatory kick. 

Haechan pouts and starts to whine, playing it up dramatically. The others roll their eyes and tease him as he reaches for Renjun asking for him to kiss it better, as he tells Chenle he owes him dessert because his kick had been an accident while Chenle’s had been fully intentional. He asks YangYang to kiss it better, too, to which YangYang flips Haechan off. 

Then he turns to you. “Will you kiss it better?”

Renjun laughs into his drink, nearly choking on it. 

He’s known about your crush on Haechan for ages, so you’re sure he finds that comment very amusing.

You glare at Renjun from over Haechan’s shoulder. Haechan pouts at you, and as much as you desperately want to kiss his soft-looking lips, you’re not going to kiss him in front of your friends right now. “Just take a drink, and you’ll forget about your boo-boo.” You pick up his glass and lift it to his lips for him, tipping it back and pouring it into his mouth. 

Haechan holds eye contact with you, and a pulse of something races along your spine. 

Some of his drink spills from the corner of his mouth, and he lifts a hand to your wrist, pulling your hand and the glass away from his mouth. “I feel better already.”

Beneath the table, he massages your thigh again. 

When the food is served, you would’ve thought he’d need both hands to eat, but to your surprise and satisfaction, Haechan keeps one hand firmly on your thigh, the other to handle his chopsticks. 

You do your best to maintain conversation with the others. After a while, once you’re used to the weight of Haechan’s hand on your thigh and the press of his fingers along the sensitive skin of your bare upper thigh, conversation and concentration get a little easier. You eat and laugh and talk with your friends all while Haechan’s fingers roam higher. 

It’s only once the food on the table is dwindling, once Haechan has eaten his fill apparently, that he turns his focus back to teasing you properly. 

He’s in the middle of talking to Xiaojun about some culinary festival. His fingers slide higher than they’ve been yet, brushing the soft edge of your panties. 

You choke a little on your food, and his fingers withdraw for a moment as attention around the table turns to you. 

“I’m fine.” You cough, reaching for your glass, gulping it down quickly to cool the heat consuming you. 

Xiaojun resumes talking. Haechan’s fingers return to your panties, slower this time and accompanied by a glance to the side from him. Checking with you. 

You slide your hand down to his again, giving him a nod of approval, and applying a little pressure to get his hand moving again. 

The corner of his lips turn up in a barely-suppressed smile. 

The smile grows when his fingers brush along the center of your panties, and he finds them damp. You try to steady your breathing, try not to lean into Haechan as he circles his middle finger over your clit, as he strokes along your slit over your panties, working you up, making you wetter. 

You lean back against the cushioned back of the booth, shoulders pressed into the corner. 

Your hand shakes when you lift your glass to your lips. You hope no one notices. You hope no one notices the attempt you make at taking a steadying breath. Pray no one notices that your eyes are growing distant, your face warm, your posture dissolving.

Haechan eases his fingers inside your panties, and you slide a little lower in your seat to spread your legs just a bit wider. 

You’re reminded of that first time with Renjun. This is a very similar set of people, but this time you don’t have to stare longingly across the room at Haechan’s thighs. Now you’re able to drop a hand to his lap, your hand curving over his gorgeous thighs wrapped snug in his suit pants. You don’t touch him — not in the way that he’s touching you, anyway — just leave your hand there on his thigh, fingernails dragging over the material of his pants as he slides his long, middle finger into your core. 

How he does this so smoothly, so casually, showing nothing at all on his face…. You don’t understand. 

You’re shaking. You’re blushing. 

You’re an exhibitionist, but tonight Haechan has you blushing like a virgin. 

Luckily, the others are pretty much distracted. They don’t notice when you thump your head to the side against the wall, when you lower your gaze to your lap to watch the indecent bulge beneath your skirt as Haechan starts moving, thrusting first the one finger, and then as he adds a second. 

You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from making a sound, though Haechan keeps glancing your way as if hoping to catch your lips parted around a silent moan. 

If anyone does look over at you while you’re utterly distracted, then they probably just assume you’ve hit your limit in alcohol. You’re flushed and your eyes are looking a little glazed. You look like you’re about to fall asleep leaning against the wall with your head angled down like that. 

Truly you’re a hot fucking mess. Your upper inner thighs feel slick with arousal. You’re sweating behind your knees, the back of your neck, under your arms. It’s taking everything in you to not just throw caution to the wind entirely, to haul yourself into Haechan’s lap, to kiss him and ride him right here at the table in front of your friends. 

That thought ignites a new level of heat inside you. 

You remember talking about something like that once with Renjun. Imagining cockwarming him in front of your friends. He’d not been too sure about it, but that had been at the start of whatever it was you’d been doing. 

A little sound slips out between your lips. 

Haechan looks at you, his mouth twisting with amusement, teasing words right on the tip of his tongue. 

You grip his thigh, nails biting into his leg even through the pants. Whatever words he was going to say, he swallows down, just watching you eagerly as he fills you again and again with his fingers. Neither of you pay any attention to your friends around the table, each of you too focused on the same goal: your orgasm. 

When it hits, you just close your eyes and ride it out on Haechan’s fingers. The waves of pleasure pulse through you, and you can feel the way that you’re soaking his fingers, the way he keeps pressing in for more and more, until finally you move your hand from his thigh to push his hand away from in between yours. Wetness drips against your thigh as he removes his fingers. You may have squirted just a little bit, and judging by the heat in Haechan’s gaze, he liked it. 

“Need some water?” He asks, voice just loud enough for the others to barely catch it. “Something to sober you up a bit?”

With his clean hand, Haechan pushes a glass of water towards you, the sides of it dripping with condensation. Gladly, you accept it, gulping down a few mouthfuls of icy water before you press the cool glass to your cheek. When you open your eyes, you make eye contact with Xiaojun. 

His gaze flicks away to Haechan, then back to you before he returns his attention to YangYang who’s in the middle of some dramatic retelling of a sleaze from the club the other night. Just once more, Xiaojun glances your way, and you can’t help wondering if he’d noticed. He’s seen you orgasm before, never in public, but he’s no stranger to it. 

You wonder if he’s told his girlfriend that you used to hook up? 

Before you can pay much more thought to that matter, Haechan brings his hand up from beneath the table. While everyone else is hanging on every word of YangYang’s story, Haechan builds himself a little perilla leaf wrap. You watch him, only barely listening to YangYang, more interested in the way that Haechan fingers glisten with your wetness as he holds the perilla leaf to fill it. 

He catches your eye as he bundles the leaf around the filling, and then he all but shoves the entire thing into his mouth. Including his fingers. 

It’s lascivious the way that he basically sucks his fingers clean of your wetness. The way that even after he’s pulled them out, he waits until he’s finished chewing and swallowing the perilla leaf wrap, and then he licks each of his fingers. 

When Chenle eyes him with a mildly disgusted face, Haechan just shrugs. “What? When you’re eating, don’t you know the juice is the best part?”

“I wouldn’t lick my greasy fingers in public like that,” Chenle responds, shaking his head. 

“Yeah, well, there’s lots of things people shouldn’t do in public.” Haechan smirks and wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. 

You sit your glass down and lean forward against the table, resting your hand on his leg beneath the table. “You’re interrupting YangYang’s story. Be quiet, Lee Haechan.”

The rest of the night doesn’t last long. YangYang has to go to work, so he just catches a taxi to take him there. Xiaojun and his girlfriend decide to go check out a restaurant of one of his culinary friends for dessert a short distance away. 

“How’re you getting home?” Haechan asks after you’ve all paid and the others have begun to head their own ways. “I know you’re not drunk, but I think you’ve had too much to safely drive yourself.”

Outside, the cool night air brushes against your warm cheeks. You know he’s right. You were drinking quite a bit earlier, and driving wouldn’t be safe. 

“You can take me.” You grab for his arm. “My car is right there. You can just drive me home.”

“Chenle did quick work on Mr. Moon’s car earlier. I have to return it to the parking garage at work. I can’t do both.” Haechan leans against the wall outside the restaurant, looking at you. You can’t help smiling, can’t help gravitating towards him. 

“I can drive.”

You turn around, almost surprised to see Renjun there. His hands are in his pockets, and he even looks a little surprised too. 

“I can drive you home,” he says to you. “I haven’t had anything to drink in the past couple hours. I can take you. Plus, it’s been a little while since we got to talk, just the two of us.”

You nod. “My car is right here.” You point across the street to where your car sits like a piece of garbage behind Mr. Moon’s fancy BMW. Your keys are in your purse, and it takes you a minute of rummaging around to find them, but once you do, you drop them into Renjun’s waiting hand. “And here’re the keys.”

Haechan knocks into your other hand, his knuckles skimming along the back of your hand. “Let me know when you get home, okay? Both of you.”

You’re quite tempted to kiss him goodnight. To drape your arms over Haechan’s shoulders, to taste the saltiness of the samgyeopsal, the sweetness of the soda he’d been drinking too. 

He taps a finger against your forehead. “Don’t fall asleep before you get home. Renjun won’t carry you to bed.”

Renjun laughs. “I could.”

You’re not blind to the look that Haechan shoots at Renjun. A sharp look. A curse embedded in there. The threat that spells out that Renjun had better not even try. 

Wordlessly, Renjun unlocks your car, and with a loud groan (from the car, not from him), he opens the door on the passenger side for you. You slide in, and Haechan fills the open door, fitting himself in between the door and the body of the car, a hand on each one as he looks down at you. 

“Text me once you’re home.” His voice is a gentle command. Your heart warms, and you nod. 

“Goodnight, Haechan.”

The driver’s side door of your car squeals open, and Renjun drops himself into the seat. 

Haechan steps back, closing the door for you, and he just waits there on the sidewalk, watching as Renjun starts the car, as you both buckle in, as Renjun pulls away from the curb. You wave, and Haechan waves back, watching you go. 

You’re still watching him shrink in the reflection of the side mirror when Renjun starts laughing. You look over at him. “What?”

“So you finally succeeded? That’s happening?” He laughs, readjusting his grip on the steering wheel. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You fold your arms, checking the mirror again, but Haechan is too far now for you to be able to see him anymore. 

Renjun waits a moment, during which the quiet sound of a turn signal is all that fills the silence. And then, “I’m not blind. Maybe the others were somehow oblivious, but I was sitting right beside Haechan all night. Also, I’ve fingered you around our friends before, I can see the signs.”

“Shut up. You couldn’t tell.” You shoot a look over at him, but he stays focused on the road. 

“Maybe. Maybe not. But either way, you just confirmed it for me.” He smiles, sending a short glance over at you before he looks ahead again. “You were too squirmy, and there was a long time that Haechan only had one hand above the table. Guess you found your perfect match in him, didn’t you? Lucky, since you’ve had that crush on him for so long.”

You sigh, tipping your head against the window. “He’s gross, Renjun. A real pervert.” You say those words as if they are compliments, as if you’re calling him dreamy, a real prince.

Renjun makes a noise on the other side of the car, and you’re not sure if it’s disgust or one of intrigue.

“I love it, honestly.” You twist your head to the side. Renjun’s profile is outlined by streetlights in pale amber. “We talked one night recently, and everything came out into the open. The things I’ve done, things he’s done. He’s so much worse than I am.”

Renjun tilts his head. “How? You were constantly begging me to fuck you somewhere public. How could he be worse than that?” He doesn’t say it with any vitriol, but rather like he’s teasing you. You know Renjun was just as eager to do everything as you were.

“He’s been watching people for a long time. I won’t give you all of the details, but did you know that when he went through your phone while we were all in Thailand, he sent himself videos from your camera roll?” 

That makes Renjun’s head finally turn to look at you fully. Luckily you’re stopped at a red light already, so he runs no risk of rear-ending anyone. “He what?”

“It’s just one of the confessions he told me. He didn’t show me them, just told me about them.” You shiver a little with delight as you recall, “He told me that his favorite one is the first one we filmed together, me riding you in my car. And he doesn’t even know that it’s me; I haven’t told him that yet.” You laugh, resting your cheek again on the cool window. “He also said that he wasn’t asleep that final night in Thailand when we messed around right there beside him. He’s a little perv, Renjun, watching us and all of our friends too. It’s just… gross, but I can’t explain it. I like it.”

Now he laughs too. “You’re both gross. I should’ve known that about him. After he spent months crashing on our sofa at school because his roommate caught him being a chronic masturbator.” He shakes his head. “Maybe caught isn’t even the right word.”

You laugh too, but your mind is filled with the vivid imagery of the video Haechan had sent you earlier. His fingers wrapped around his cock. Cum dripping pearly white down his fingers. Your laugh tapers off into a sigh. 

“I’m happy for you,” Renjun says after driving a few moments in silence. “For you and Haechan.”

“I’m not so sure there is a Me and Haechan yet. We just talked. We’ve kissed.” Your heart flutters in your chest, wishing you’d have kissed him goodnight. “He’s sent me a few videos, and we talk of course, and then there was tonight. But we haven’t, like, talked and we haven’t gone on a date or actually had sex. I want it to be a proper thing, not like what you and I did, and not like what Xiaojun and I did.”

“Trust me,” Renjun shares, “The way Haechan looks at you, the way he treats you… he likes you. Genuinely and completely, and both of you are fools if either of you let the other get away. I’ve known him longer than you, and I’ve never seen him the way he gets with you; and he’s been that way for a while now, honestly. When I talk with him, you always come up inevitably, in some way he always twists conversation to mention your name, to tell a funny story or to praise something that you did at work. And he’s always been, like, protective of you, whether you noticed it or not. I don’t think you need to worry about it not becoming a proper thing.”

When Renjun drops you off at your apartment door, you’re left with a lot more than just the car keys that he returns to you. Your mind and chest are buzzing thinking about what you’d talked about in the car. 

You want to call Haechan as soon as you’re inside. You want to hear his voice. You want to tell him that you like him too, because it’s only now that you’ve been mulling over Renjun’s words that you remember that Haechan had confessed the night you first kissed. He’d whispered an “I like you” after you kissed on the street, and you’d been too busy reeling him back in for another kiss to tell him that you like him too. 

You decide maybe you’re still a little tipsy, and maybe you should wait to call him and confess that you like him too until you’re in a clear state of mind. 

So instead of calling him, you just send him the confirmation message that you got home safely. 

And he calls you. 

He’s still driving, returning the car to the parking garage at the office. You talk to him when he’s returning the car, when he’s riding the elevator up to the Moon Corporation’s offices, as he drops the key and the credit card off in Mr. Moon’s office. You keep talking, just keeping him company, as he leaves and rides a cab back to his place. You keep talking to him as you go through your bedtime routine — brushing your teeth, washing your face, using the toilet, changing out of your clothes. 

“I’m home now.” Haechan yawns in your ear after a while. “It’s been a long day.” 

“It’s been a long everything.” You sigh, sinking into your bed. “About earlier, at the restaurant….”

Haechan hums quietly on his end of the line, and you can hear him close a door, sit his phone down, and from the way sounds are more distant and slightly echoier, you assume he put you on speakerphone. 

“I really enjoyed that.” You stare up at your ceiling, fighting the blush that rises to your cheeks, the heat that flares in your belly as you remember the feel of his fingers — Haechan’s fingers! — against your thighs and inside you, pulling you apart so easily. 

“Me too,” he admits. “Though I would rather have had you spread out on that table so I could get a proper taste of you. The little licks I got off my fingers weren't enough.”

You have to bite back a whimper at the mental image he’s painted. “Haechan… I—I still haven’t gotten to touch you. Or taste you. I feel like I’m at a disadvantage again.”

His voice sounds distant from the phone when he says, “I guess we’d better remedy that, angel. But there’s one thing I need you to do for me before you can get a taste.”

“Hm?” Your heart is racing. 

“Go on a date with me. A real date. Dinner and talking, maybe a movie. Dessert.” Haechan’s voice draws nearer again, and then suddenly you can tell he’s scooped his phone back up, that he’s holding it to his face. “I want to be wined and dined before you have your way with me, babe.”

That makes you laugh. But you quickly agree. 

“A date. Name your time and place, Haechan.”

The smile in his voice is clear when he promises, “I’ll get back to you on that. Goodnight.” 

You haven’t felt so giddy at the idea of a date in a long, long time. How are you meant to fall asleep right now?

“Goodnight, Lee Donghyuck.”

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a/n: not quite the full thing, but they've finally!! at last!! done something with each other! they're building up towards it lol which I'm sure is torture for all of you who've been dying for them to fuck, but it's coming! I swear!

[jenoyeahh]

It's funny how i started reading this chapter to avoid thinking about work but then when yn got praised for her work, it made me felt guilty so i started mine. the week long of not really seeing each other... the burn... it's burning me apart. I'm all but ashes now. please... and i only can be revived when they finally fucked, like a pheonix. lol

theres just no way that renjun didn't realise whats happening next to him, like deadass, when he knows what she's like. They're finally going on a date!!! 🙌🙌 yippeee!!!

Loving all the chapters so far. Thank you for writing and sharing :)

[suhnshinehaos]

˚ ༘⋆｡˚ free falling

synopsis : nobody believes yn is in a relationship with their boyfriend, mark lee. why? he's a member of a famous band and yn's simply a cafe owner that likes to interact with the fandom on twitter pairing : mark lee x gn!reader genres : smau, fluff, the tiniest bit of angst, band au, cafe au

part one : don't tell

previous  ➤  profiles next  ➤  part two free falling  ➤  masterlist

from reese, with love <3

and so we begin... i hope you enjoy reading and this gives you something to look forward to ! thank you for reading and as always, i would love to know what you think ! asks/replies/rbs are much appreciated !! hope you're all doing well and taking care !

[jenoyeahh]

a spin off!! oh yeahh!! mark is cheesing so hard in the last picture. he's adorable. can't wait to read a whole of fluff 🫶🫶

[jwsverse-deactivated20240828]

guardians of love | 039

whats after or

synopsis. for the upcoming valentine's event happening in your school, you are assigned to work on a podcast to enhance the romantic mood, and keep listeners on their toes as they anticipate the weekly confessions. but valentine's is almost two months away, and there has to be something other than the weekly confession letters to entertain the students. hence, when your professor assigns one more person to the podcast as an extra helping hand to come up with ideas, you don't mind. except, the extra helping hand, is mark lee, the one man that does not believe in love.

pairing. mark lee x f!reader

genre. fluff, angst, comedy, smau, college au, podcast au, enemies to lovers, pining, opposites attract, slowburn, music major mark and journalism major reader, features other idols

warnings. profanity, alcohol, smoking, suggestive, ignore dates and timestamps

taglist. open

status. ongoing

[jenoyeahh]

smiling giggling laughing kicking my blankets away yes!!! theyre finally bee eff n gee eff this is such a serotonin boost, thank you for writing and sharing! 😍😍

[jaeminvore]

Volleyball for Dummies (In Love Edition)

CHAPTER 4: it's the star sign 😎

previous | masterlist | next

a/n: THE GIRLS ARE HERE!!

taglist [OPEN]: @maiverie @jaylaxies @cherriegyu @criceofpain @justalildumpling @makiswrld @liumoonlight @stopeatread @vantxx95 @saythenameseventeen178 @heeliopheelia @suhnnyskiess @w3bqrl @13isacoolnumber @dokiyeom @sunoona @jishyucks @glamourizz @neozon3nha @soonyoungblr @anothershorthuman @markonthemoon @hibernatinghamster @pleasetellmenow @sukistrawberry @kikookii @ohdudehesflirting @tddyhyck @luvenshiti @minluvly @scintillasofbeomgyu @sxndmemes @kuic0re (can’t tag: @svtglitch @shwizhies)

[catboyieejeno]

don't kiss and tell: part 3 ♡⸜(˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝

other parts: 1 | 2 | 3 | ???

pairings: best friend! mark + best friend! jeno + best friend! hyuck x female! reader summary: maybe you indulged yourself too much. you always knew that if any of you caught feelings, things would get complicated. if you knew, then why did you let it get this far? content: non-idol au, explicit smut, cursing, pet names, angst, foursome with switch! reader, switch! mark, switch but sorta sub! haechan, sorta dom! jeno, unprotected sex (pls be safe), hair pulling, fingering, oral sex (male recieving), creampie, there is plot (please read parts 1 and 2 to fully understand!) wc: 10.2k

masterlist

₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊

18+ minors do not interact !

!¡

“no.”

“but mark-”

“absolutely not.”

“mark, please.”

“we end up doing this every time.”

“this is the last time, i promise!" you plea, one hand resting on his tense arm, "and if i remember correctly, the last two times we did this, it was your idea!”

with the heaviest and most dramatic of sighs, mark’s shoulders sink down in defeat, head rolling back. the last syllable is dragged out as he complains again, "but we've seen this episode before!"

"yes, but it was so long ago that i don’t even remember what happened, please!" you insist, black remote clutched stubbornly in your hand. when he takes longer than two seconds to conjure a convincing argument, your finger presses the middle play button without missing a beat, just in case the boy next to you decides to protest again.

as revenge, the bowl of buttered popcorn, still warm from being recently made, is snatched off of your lap and clutched between mark's palms as he settles under the blanket.

"alright, fine. but pay attention this time so that you don't start asking questions," he's only half-joking, even when he tilts the bowl away and out of your reach playfully. incapable of really denying you anything, mark notices your puffed out cheeks and snorts, compliantly setting the bowl between your bodies. you're busy rolling your eyes, muttering something under your breath close to the effect of "i don't ask that many questions."

while your right hand reaches in to grab a few pieces and pop them into your mouth, you train your eyes on the tv in mark's room. it's the only source of light in the otherwise dark space, illuminating the sharpest points of your faces in cool-toned hues of blue and purple.

maybe it's because he has already seen this episode and is only re-watching it to appease you—and reinforce your lacking memory of the plot—but mark's dark orbs find themselves troubled with the task of concentrating on the screen. instead, they're fixed on you, swimming over the curves of your features.

he's caught himself thinking about you more often these days: jumping for his phone in hopes that it's your name that appears when he gets a text, or staring at you with no intention of looking away unless there's a chance you may catch his eye. at first, he considered knocking some sense into himself and snapping out of this risky habit he's developed, but how could he do that when the very mention of your name provokes a whirlwind of thoughts?

without tilting his head too much in your direction and giving himself away, mark watches the slow rise and fall of your chest. much like his gaze, his mind is preoccupied with all that is you, disregarding the content on the screen.

he finds his mouth salivating as a quick flash of you hovering above him crosses his mind, suddenly reminding him of the way your weight felt on his face, shaking thighs on either side of his head as his tongue swirled around your folds to savor your taste… thank god, he's under the blankets.

and the sounds you made for him? the sweet sounds you made might very well be responsible for his newfound infatuation. mark catches his bottom lip between his teeth as he tries to remember the way his name slipped off your tongue like velvet-

"mark?"

just like that.

"mark!"

ripped from his daydream and forced to return to reality, mark quickly blinks, eyes snapping to you and widening slightly as he orients himself, "what? sorry i-"

"i asked if this is the guy who was caught with the killer last episode?"

mark gawks at you, a certain amusement or perhaps endearment behind his eyes, be it intentional or not.

it takes him a moment to register your ask because, well, he fully expected you to ask questions because you always ask questions, regardless of what's playing—but for reasons unknown, your little quirk felt particularly familiar today, wholesome even. it's enough to make his heart slightly swell.

"or wait, no! isn't he the one who- why are you looking at me like that?"

he shakes his head softly, unaware of how beguiled he looks, and mutters out "no reason." as his lips press together again, they curve into a little grin.

you raise a brow in confusion, "i know you said not to ask questions, it's just that i wasn't sure if-"

"oh, i don't mind."

as you inspect his face, trying to pick apart what's going on with him, mark's attention starts dwindling once more. why had he never noticed how pretty you are? i mean, he's always thought you were pretty, but something feels so distinctly different now. so, what changed?

for starters, the kiss—no. it wasn't the kiss. he had already doubled back to check if that was the moment that you decided to take a piece of his heart for yourself, and it wasn't. that day, nothing that you did or said solidly implied you might have wanted to be more than friends.

then, there was the time you sat on his face. as exceptional and undeniably revolutionary as that moment was, he wasn't the only one who ate you out, and mark is almost positively sure that he started feeling like this after you deliberately singled him out; something you had done had distinguished him among the other boys and made him feel as though there was a connection between you, more than just the sexual aspects of the bet.

Or, perhaps he's just deluded, searching for any minimal interaction between you that justifies how his ever-waking thought is you. he considered that possibility, also, but it doesn't feel as likely, or at least he sincerely hopes it isn't the case.

so when? when did you make mark lee feel so special that his heart decided to beat wholly for you? it's on the tip of his tongue.

he hasn't uttered a single word in two minutes, despite your burning gaze. "okay, seriously," you sit up, ceasing the playback at once, "what? do i have popcorn in my teeth?"

"no."

"then, what is it?"

baby. that's what it is.

when you called him baby, that's when he started feeling this way.

he's never been keen on pet names, they sounded foreign or misdirected when others would use them on him. but when it came from you? it was heavenly.

ever since you called him that, voice airy and thin as you drowned in the pleasure he gave you, mark had never been the same. moreover, he could not seem to forget a single, minute detail: all three of the boys ate you out, but the only person who you called baby was him.

"why did you call me baby?" he surprises you and himself, the question leaving the safe space of his mind before any consultation is made with his better judgement.

your eyes flicker between his, "what?"

"you called me baby."

quick to object, you lean back, "no i didn't. when?"

"not right now," he shakes his head, "but that day... the day you, uhm- sat on my-"

"oh." in the wake of your realization, your heart begins to wildly leap in your chest.

it's impossible to forget the events of the game night; in fact, any time you're in the same room as any of the boys, you can't help but think of it and wonder if they do, too. often times, the memories follow you even in their absence, at moments where you're alone and randomly dwelling over your exchange with mark.

the two of you cuddling while you were fully naked and in still your post-orgasmic bliss, right before he left to grab you some clothes for the night and offer you his bed, tugging a long a blanket so he could crash on couch for the remainder of the evening...

yes, that exchange. you proceeded to not sleep a wink that night, despite the lingering smell of him on his sweats and sheets that lulled you to comfort.

however, not once since that day had any of you dared to bring it up in conversation, especially as bluntly as mark just had. so, naturally, your cheeks are blossoming, sporting a bright shade of red that is evident even under the tinted blue glow of the tv.

in your shock, you can't tear your eyes away from mark's. you're frozen in place, blinking at him as your brain urges you to spit out any moderately coherent response.

when you finally find your voice, you're a stuttering mess, "well, it's just that, uh- it just felt right, i guess. i mean, why are you asking?"

"because," he pauses, the nerves finally catching up to him, "from the moment that word left your lips, i haven't been able to stop thinking about you."

"mark..."

"please tell me i'm not crazy." he interjects, fearing there's a rejection coming. if he doesn't speak out now, he might never get the chance to, so he continues, using every last bit of courage he has, "i really, really like you," his voice cracks slightly, "but, if you can look at me and tell me that you don't think about me the way i think about you, i'll never bring it up again. we can forget this all happened,"

you've been staring at him the entire time but somehow, you failed to notice the way he had inched closer at some point during his confession. when you don't pull away or immediately refuse his feelings, he starts to lean in, letting his eyes freely travel down to your lips. very carefully, he reaches up to hold your face, wary that a single wrong move could rob him of the virtue that is tasting your lips again.

little does he know that not one single fiber of your being intends to interject or stop him. when your eyes flutter closed, giving him silent permission, he presses his mouth to yours gently.

god, if you thought the first kiss you shared with him was slow and torturous, nothing could have prepared you for this one.

tenderly and gingerly, mark moves his mouth against yours, finally free of any distractions or time constraints. his fingers disappear into your hairline as he rotates his head to revel in the feeling of your warm, plump lips finally grazing his.

with no hesitation, you reciprocate his affection, sinking into the warmth of his touch. it's as exhilarating as ever to kiss him, even with the slight awkwardness that radiates off of both of you.

at first, he's modest about using his tongue, but it soon swipes against you a few too many times, pleading for entry. his eagerness becomes increasingly evident when he delivers a slight but sharp tug at your hair that causes your lips to part and his tongue to freely swipe at yours.

fuck, everything he does is so hot, and you're suddenly bursting with the need to get closer to him in any way possible.

without breaking the kiss, you reach to move the popcorn to the bedside table behind you, hoping it doesn't fall although you can't be bothered to care if it does. slowly, you move to straddle him, the skin at your waist heating up under the contact of his guiding hands that place you right over his lap.

by now, there's a growing arousal between your legs, made so much more apparent when his hardened cock brushes against your cunt and you feel how cold your wetness is, pressed flush against you. it doesn't help that he's feeding breathy whimpers into your mouth.

unintentionally, you whine out the pet name in return, and he pulls away for the first time, checking if he heard you correctly. baby: four letters and he instantly feels his heart rattle against his ribs.

"holy shit, say it again."

"fuck, baby, please."

"please what?" his eyes stare into yours—deeply, attentively, like an unbreakable trance—he's hanging on your every word, disposable to fill any demand.

with a soft batting of your eyes, you mutter, “kiss me,”

he doesn't need you to ask twice; a guttural growl leaves his throat and mark dives back in to capture your lips, bucking up to rub his erection into you. with a seemingly insatiable hunger, your hands start busily exploring his chest and shoulders, clawing at his shirt running through his hair, grabbing everything you can reach. your fingers slide up from the expanse of his shoulders to his locks, where they settle, allowing you to pull him even closer.

in this moment, mark is thinking about absolutely nothing and everything all at once. turns out, he didn’t imagine your affection, it was really there the entire time. his mind is racing; he thinks about how the swell of your breasts feel against pressed against his chest, how your tongue licks his teeth and wets his lips, meanwhile you're grinding yourself down to feel more of him— sure, you two were already on the same page about one thing, but there’s still an issue at hand, an issue that won't leave his mind even with all the wonderful things distracting it.

when the air is beginning to run short in his lungs, he pulls away again, chest heaving. leaving his forehead pressed to yours, he mumbles out a question that makes you instantly dizzy.

"do you wanna do this?"

you quickly nod, but the weight of his question isn’t clear.

"no, like, do you want to do this,” he emphasizes what he means with an index finger that points between you and his implication clicks. the sigh the breezes past your lips makes his shoulder’s immediately tense up. mark fears he may have completely ruined the moment. that is, until you answer.

"i think so," you nod slowly, taking him by surprise. a small smile sits on your lips, thumb coming up to swipe his cheekbone affectionately. he leans into your touch as you continue, "we can talk about-"

"-no, because there's no way that you actually think the earth is flat." distantly, a set of voices are heard, along with the sound of the apartment door closing. the first belongs to jeno, obvious despite the way it's muffled.

"i'm just saying, bro, there's a possibility."

"you're actually an idiot, donghyuck, oh my god," their footsteps are rapidly approaching, heading straight towards you.

"watch, i bet you mark agrees that-"

you and mark don't have time to scramble off of each other before his bedroom door swings opens with a thud. simultaneously, you both turn to face the boys who skid their heels to a stop, taking in the scene before them.

hyuck's eyes widen, but he masks his shock by simply striding inside and letting his hands sit at his hips, "woah, what did we just interrupt?" his tone is mocking and accusatory, and jeno rolls his eyes.

"oh, we were just-" you finish climbing off of mark, nervously brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

the boy looks between the two of you and the tv, nodding in understanding, "netflix and chilling?'"

jeno shakes his head, "i don't think they got to the chilling part, hyuck."

"then it looks like we got here just in time. got room for two more?" he scoffs playfully, wiggling his eyebrows at his own lewd comment that more than likely, isn't a joke. at your silence, the youngest boy sits at the edge of the bed, ready to state his case.

"i know how that sounds," he sputters quickly before you or mark can object, "but seriously, think about it: it’ll be full circle! we started with the kiss, then i proved i'm the best at head, and now we can- ow!"

you've lost count of the amount of times jeno has had to smack him over the head recently. "what hyuck is trying to say," he explains, "is that he's a horny fuck who can't keep it in his pants. come on, bro,"

mark snorts, slightly amused at the situation. he can tell you're a little flustered from being caught, even more from being proposed such an offer. he knows hyuck can be quite relentless.

the boy in question shrugs off the hand that jeno placed on his shoulder to pull him away, stubbornly whining out, "you're telling me you're not even a little bit curious about what it's like to fuck all of us at once? think about it, princess. we'll be at your disposal, again."

no because when you put it like that...

fuck, fuck, fuck.

how do you always find yourself back in the same situation? in fact, why are you even considering this?

your first instinct is to turn around and look at mark, since you're not entirely convinced that after tonight's confession he'll be jumping at the chance to share you. the two of you are stuck between friends and something more, as a result of the boys interrupting before you could continue your conversation. still, there's no denying what you feel for him.

it's not any less true that your panties are soaked and ruined at the mere idea of having all of them in palm of your hand, competing to pleasure you for the third time. even so, your decision remains an easy one: if mark isn't okay with this, then you aren't either.

you want to prove to him that you're serious about him, not blatantly disregard him and agree to hook up with his friends right after he told you about his feelings.

when your eyes land on him, however, whatever resistance you're expecting to see is nowhere to be found. mark's slumped posture implies he's completely relaxed, and he's looking back at you through a low-lidded gaze.

“what do you think?” you ask him timidly.

“is this something you wanna do?” he no longer refrains from touching you in front of the boys, letting his hand reassuringly slide under your shirt and the tips of his fingers rub circles on your lower back.

shuddering under his touch, you blink, “is it alright with you?”

the fact that you’re even checking with him reinforces that you really do like him. it boosts his ego, gives him a certain sense of ownership over you. now, he knows that if he told you he wanted you all for himself, you'd be his without a second thought.

surprisingly, there's a lack of jealousy bubbling in his chest; the idea of you bouncing on his best friends' dicks doesn't bother him. if anything, it pushes him to fuck you even better.

if they can make you moan, he'll make you scream.

"if you want to, i don't mind doing this one more time," his lips curl up to small smile, "but it's the last time."

when you turn back around, hyuck can't seem to contain his bubbling excitement. laughter rumbles in his chest, a devious expression taking over his features.

even jeno, who originally wasn't as persistent with the idea, is taking long steps over so that he can quickly come up to stand beside where you sit. it's not in his nature to overstep boundaries or even push them, and you've noticed he always seems more apprehensive when things escalated to this point. weirdly though, despite his initial shyness, he always seems to surprise you.

unlike mark and hyuck, he wears a bit of a nervous smile, but you can still see the outline of him in his pants where he grows harder and harder.

you shake your head, laughing breathlessly, "you're all crazy."

"maybe. but if that pussy feels half as good as it tastes..." hyuck trails off, licking his lips, "what do you say, princess?" he leans closer until he's slightly hovering above you, propping himself up on his hands. he's not shy about the way he gawks at your lips with unfaltering focus, waiting for them to mold and utter a yes.

so you give him exactly what he wants.

between your legs, your clit throbs, and you don't know it, but the innocent, doe-like look in your eyes makes the precum leak angrily from his tip.

the word has barely left your lips before hyuck leans in, pressing his lips to yours roughly. the first thing you notice is that it's so different from your recent kiss with mark. hyuck has always been greedy with his affection, that much you know, but it's made painfully obvious in the way he kisses you now—it's like he's in a frenzy, edged on by how hard you make him, furiously turned on and desperate to sink himself in your folds.

you were so busy molding your mouth into his that you almost missed the sensation of all their hands on your body, each with a different placement and intention. one of hyuck's hands made its way between your legs, palm pressing into your clit while the other grabbed his own erection to grope it over his jeans.

on your left, jeno comes in, rolling your shirt up so that your boobs are exposed, nipples boldening when the cool breeze hits them. his thumbs flick the buds distractedly.

mark groans quietly from behind you, squeezing the skin on your ass and thighs between his fingers before running his hands up and down your spine. he sits up to remove your shirt.

you and hyuck break the kiss for a moment as the material comes up and over your head, and he takes the opportunity to remove his own shirt, but before he can dive back into the sanction of your lips, jeno's grip on your throat turns you to him.

he lets his mouth brush over yours, a thumb tugging your jaw down. you're practically panting in his face, and you may have otherwise been embarrassed if he didn't look to be so absorbed.

"i'll try to be gentle, but every time we end up back here," his breath is hot, "i get the urge to ruin you."

indeed it seems that he plans to surprise you this time around, too.

there is such intense fervor and impatience burning though your veins right now, and his provocative words aren't helping. you want to be devoured right now, to have your clothes ripped off so that you can be used.

he casts his gaze all over your features, "speak up. what's running through that pretty little head of yours?"

you speak with the absence of shame, letting the need drip off your lips, "i want you to make me feel good,"

"you're so fucking hot, fuck," he praises, voice resembling a growl. an involuntary whine escapes your throat, perhaps out of frustration because he's still teasing you with a kiss, or maybe pleasure, since hyuck's hand is still rubbing into your core, setting you aflame with want.

or, it's could very well be because behind you, mark's hot tongue has started sliding across your skin, over your shoulder and into that sweet spot where your collarbone meets your neck.

"alright," mark breathes the words into your skin, pulling you slightly toward him, "i go first."

hyuck is quick to object, getting up on his knees, "why should you get to go first?"

"i don't know if you recall," the clanking of his belt being unbuckled makes you drool, "but you two interrupted us,"

"wait," you insist. mark looks at you expectantly, pausing his movements, "let me,"

something about the way his eyes flutter, softening as he watches your fingers inch closer to the waist band of his pants, drives you absolutely mad. it tugs at your heartstrings to see his cheeks so flushed, his features suggesting that he's both taken aback and contented by your sudden initiative.

you're basically crawling over to him now, lowering your face so that you're eye-level with his crotch and your ass is up in the air—don't worry, this new position doesn't go unnoticed by the other boys.

while you busy yourself tugging down his jeans so that they're looped around his upper thighs, jeno mirrors your actions. in less than two seconds, your shorts are slipped down and pooling where your knees meet the mattress, leaving you in only your panties.

when haechan reaches to slide it off, jeno's blocks him, "not yet. look at this," a single finger prods you, swiping down the tiny piece of fabric that covers your folds. he's pointing out the blotch of wetness to the other boy, a darker shade than the rest of the material around it.

mark's eyes are set on you, unmoving, watching the way your comparatively small hand wraps around the shape of him. he had made you feel so good last time, and because you were unable to return the favor then, you felt the need to impress him now—you wanted to see his eyes roll back as he came down your throat.

in an effort to tease him just a bit, your tongue darts out, licking a stripe across the outline of him over the black boxers he's wearing. his pouty lips form an 'o', right hand brushing your hair from your eyes.

"quit teasing and take this off for me, baby."

obediently, the tips of your fingers hook his waistband and pull it down, letting his hardened length spring free. your eyes widen slightly, meeting his, and the first thing you notice is that all of him is pretty. tussled hair, soft eyes, hollowed cheeks that suck in a breath, pink tip that glistens with silky pre-cum.

you waste no time, letting your lips slide against him, tongue collecting every drop of his arousal. as soon as your hand wraps around his base, he lets out a hiss through his teeth.

as much as you'd like to keep your focus, it proves to be slightly difficult, considering the way jeno's fingers are rubbing you, still refusing to discard the last piece of clothing that remains covering you. he's simply spreading your wetness, getting off on the fact that you're so aroused and barely anything has happened yet.

"you like that?" hyuck asks you.

you can only hum, lips wrapped around mark's slit. he hisses again, bucking up at how sensitive he is while your sounds vibrate against him.

"we should prep her," jeno thinks out loud. you clench around nothing at the thought, "how else is she gonna be able to take all three of us?"

"let me take her panties off,"

"no," he simply tugs them to the side, exposing your slit.

hyuck huffs with exasperation, "why?"

"don't you wanna watch her panties get ruined?"

from the silence, you can only assume that he's been convinced. before you know it, one of jeno's long digits is pushing into your entrance. you lift off of mark with a pop, letting out a soft moan.

it's been months since you've had sex, so you're grateful that they've decided to ease you in. you don't know how you would've handled the burning stretch otherwise, especially now that you've seen mark's impressive size.

jeno pumps in and out of you slowly, watching the way his finger becomes coated with your juices. you cry out as he adds another finger, then another.

returning to the task at hand, you replace the thumb rubbing mark's head with your mouth, sinking down as far as you can until he's disappeared past your lips.

"oh, yes, baby, just like that. your throat feels so good," he whimpers, slurring over his words. he didn't know if he was better off grabbing a fistful of the sheets or of your hair so he greedily settles for both. gathering all of your hair with his right hand, mark tugs you up.

when you gasp loudly, he gently coos at you, "breathe, baby. remember to breathe."

you nod, although you're not sure you properly processed the information. the feeling of jeno's three fingers curling in your core and hitting so deep inside of you have your mind a bit preoccupied. mindlessly, your eyes flutter closed.

"look at me, pretty baby."

with a hum, you oblige, blinking at him. your face is pinched in pleasure, your orgasm approaching quickly, but you're determined to pleasure him. you take his cock in your mouth again, cheeks hollowed as you bob up and down, taking care to swirl your tongue long the bottom of his shaft.

"ohh-aah."

you pop up for air once and mark thinks he might get a break, a second to admire the string of saliva that connects his tip and your lips, but you don't give him that liberty, quickly sucking him off again.

it's his turn to gasp now, a low groan rumbling in his throat. when his eyes close, you stop your movements, breathlessly retorting, "look at me, baby" just as he had said to you moments ago.

what were you doing to him...

mark smirks, tongue pressing into his cheek. he only manages to uphold this amused expression for a second, because when your nose bumps against his base again makes his teeth clamp down on his lip.

and when you swallow around him-

he quickly pulls you up by your hair, "don't do that again or i'm gonna come,"

"but baby, i want you to come-"

"no." mark pants, "i wanna be inside of you before i come."

your hand is still pumping him, subconsciously matching the pace jeno has sets with his fingers in your cunt. there's a wet squelching sound from between your legs, and your thighs beginning to shake.

jeno curses, landing a slap on your ass, "fuck, i feel you clenching around my fingers, you're so tight."

what sends you over the edge is a perfect combination of a few different things: jeno maintaining his speed, knuckle deep in you, hyuck taking his thumb to rub circles on your clit, and mark, even when dazed from the way you we're just pleasing with your mouth, holding your face in his hand, a string of encouragements and praises leaving his lips.

"come, baby, please. i wanna see your face as you come."

"oh, shit, shit, shit-i'm-" the pressure in your stomach snaps and cuts you off. your hips instinctively begin to roll back desperately until you're basically grinding yourself into the boys' fingers. for a moment, you cant make any sound, just letting out labored breaths in the midst of your blinding bliss.

but, as you start to come down, you realize the boys haven't let up, and you finally find your voice when the pleasure slips into overstimulation, leaving you a fidgeting, whining mess, clawing at mark's shirt for any way to ground yourself.

he takes your hands into his, admiring the sight of you overwhelmed so early into the night.

jeno draws his fingers back, instantly bringing them to his mouth where he sucks them clean.

"she's ready for you," hyuck smirks, "and you were right," he turns to jeno, gesturing at your underwear and the enlarged stain that keeps spreading as your juices continue slipping out. he uses both hands to spread your ass cheeks, "this was a sight worth waiting for."

mark slides off the edge of the bed, pulling his shirt off in the process. he doesn't bother fully taking off his pants or underwear.

"c'mere"

you scoot closer, bringing your legs together so he can slide your shorts up and toss them aside. then, with no hesitation, mark spreads your legs with both hands, hungrily taking in the sight of your wet and slick core.

there are so many nerves bubbling in your stomach right now. with the way he's staring at your figure, you swear you're about to burst into flames. the tiniest details of his being are absolutely the most mind-blowing. there's a single drop of sweat sliding tentatively down his long torso, lean and defined. his chest keeps rising and falling quickly, and you can tell from the way he looks you up and down that he, just like you, is trying to soak up every last detail of how you look.

he thrusts into his hand a few times before guiding his tip towards your folds where he slides himself between your lips, poking at your bundle of nerves time and time again. he rubs himself into you, teasing incessantly until your back arches and pleads are falling from your mouth.

"please, mark, please.."

he sucks his teeth, "please what?"

"i wanna feel you,"

and he complies, cause he's so lenient when it comes to you. he gives you a small nod that tells you he's satisfied with your response, then slips just the tip in. you had started to moan out but as soon as he pulled himself back, you end up whimpering instead.

"shh, baby, i know, i know," he bends down to kiss the corner of your mouth as your eyes close, pushing himself in again slowly, "i don't wanna hurt you."

after a few more patient thrusts, he bottoms out inside of you. your stomach tightens at the feeling of being full of him, deliciously stretched out and warm.

when you blink your eyes open, you notice that beside you, hyuck has pulled off his jeans and is kneeling in his underwear with his dick out, rubbing himself and spreading his leaked pre-cum over his swollen tip. he's clearly frustrated, cheeks red and bottom lip puffy from biting at it.

jeno hasn't taken his length out yet, but you can't imagine it would take him much longer. the tent in his pants, constrained by the black denim of his jeans, must be killing him.

you reach out to help hyuck and the boy shudders before you've even grasped him in your palm. he's sensitive, crying out quietly for you to give him more. for a second, you consider laughing, the peculiar sounds taking you aback.

hyuck who's normally a smart-mouthed menace is suddenly begging for you to please him?

irony aside, you happily adhere to his pleas, spitting in your hand so that it's easier to slide up and down his length. he’s a mess by the fourth or fifth stroke, leaning his weight back on his palms as he struggles to not blow his load yet, especially with the way jeno squishes and plays with your boobs.

he’s for sure a boob guy, constantly fondling them and tugging on your nipples until you wince. you suspected it since the last time, but it’s rather obvious now.

hyuck is intently watching everything, practically thrusting into you to increase the friction.

between your legs, mark rocks his hips a little harder, enough to graze a spot inside you already so sensitive from jeno’s fingers. you sigh out, reaching for him with your free hand to pull him closer.

when he fucks into your spot again, you clench, making his movements buffer momentarily. “oh, my god.” he sighs out, gripping your waist tightly.

“you’re so deep,” you're drinking up every last moan from him, hyuck, and jeno, the last to unbutton his pants. he releases his dick from the white boxers brief's and as the air hits it, his head falls back. you don’t refrain from marveling at the sight.

as mark moves to push down on your lower stomach, your eyes roll back.

"mark, baby, fuck," truthfully, mark doesn't know what he did in a past life to deserve this. you're sucking him in so tightly, your walls gripping him with no intention to let go. under his palm, he can feel where the head of his cock hits inside you. the layer of sweat on your face makes you look like you're glowing, and your soft hair is fanned out around your face, like that of a halo.

"yeah, you like that?"

you nod breathlessly, breasts bouncing up and down as he pounds into you. the hand that wraps around hyuck’s dick begins to lack consistency as you lose yourself in the feeling of mark in you. desperately, hyuck rushes to place his hand over yours and guide you up and down.

there's a coil about to break within you, your second orgasm hurling toward you with no plan to stop.

you're foggy, dizzy—the only thought in your mind is how intense the ecstasy is, how good you feel in this moment. your walls squeeze tighter and tighter until you announce:

“oh, i'm gonna come-"

"baby," he slows down, speaking softly "not yet."

"what?" you lean up, lids snapping open, "why?" your orgasm is ripped away from you as he pulls out, leaving you writhing and empty. you're left fluttering around nothing, yearning for release.

"i don't wanna tire you out before they have their turn," he looks to jeno and hyuck.

in disbelief, you pout, pulling him closer by his forearms, "but i wanted you to-"

"i will," he kisses you, momentarily calming your mangled cries, "believe me, baby, I wanna come with you. let's let them have a go, yeah?"

you shakily nod, still mourning the feeling of having him filling you up. nonetheless, in an effort to be good for him, you sit up and turn to hyuck, who's been edging himself for the last few minutes.

"fucking finally," he groans, realizing that your gaze trailing down to his cock, tells him it's his turn.

wasting no time, he scoots up to lay down on the bed and up you go to follow him, crawling over so that you're straddling his lap, only a few inches above his throbbing erection.

he urges you to come down and jeno tsks, shaking his head, "both of you are so impatient."

your entrance is already so wet that when your fingers direct his tip there, you’re able to sink right down, both of your heads rolling back at the relief.

"i want you to ride me," hyuck sighs out, gripping your hips to roll you against him. knowing that it would only heighten the experience, you reach for jeno's shoulder, bringing him closer. he's quick to reciprocate, pressing his lips to yours as his hand holds the back of your head. at first, he only rests it there, but as your hips roll faster and the moans start resonating in your throat, he pulls on the strands he grips.

"is this okay?" he murmurs, giving another test tug.

"yes," you breathe out quickly, nodding, "yes, jeno."

you hold yourself up on hyuck's bare chest, nails digging into his skin. he's especially deep inside of you because you're sitting on his lap and every sway of your hips provides your clit with friction as it rubs against his pelvis.

progressively, his and your moans get louder as both of you get sloppier. jeno busies himself by mercilessly fisting your hair, studying the way he can make you gasp out and wince.

mark is droopy-eyed, leaning in to kiss your shoulder blade.

“yes, ride me just like that. fuck, i think you’re close cause you’re-“

“i am close,” you confirm, jaw slack.

“use me, princess. keep using me until you come all over me,”

god, you want to, but the burn in your thighs is becoming unbearable. you slightly whimper “i can’t,” and hyuck starts with pleading with you, begging you to keep going.

“m’so tired, hyuck,”

you’re starting to sweat, legs weakening with every time you try to urge them to move.

hyuck realizes that you are indeed struggling, and he grips your hips tighter.

“it’s okay, i got you,” with an unsteady thrust up, hyuck manages to lift you enough to buck his hips up into you at an impossibly fast pace, chasing his own climax and prepared to deliver yours. within a few seconds, you’re coming again.

jeno tightens the grip on your hair and your high suddenly hits you that much harder—even as you come down, you’re floating, reaching back for mark who whispers sweet nothings into your ear as he drags his lips along your cheek, lazily kissing you.

“oh, shit—i’m gonna-“ hyuck slips out of you, using his hand to stroke himself until he spews his milky white liquid into his stomach, trembling below you.

“do you need a second?” mark wonders, looking over your body that glistens with perspiration. you shake your head, though it’s not very convincing.

“no, i can keep going.”

jeno lightly brushes your hair over your shoulder, his hold on it loosening when your orgasm came to a end. now, he settles for rubbing soothing circles onto your smooth skin.

"i'll be good to you, yeah? i'll take it easy." he assures you, helping you climb off of hyuck who's just barely beginning to regain his composure, dick still twitching where it lays on his stomach.

jeno practically carries you, placing you on the side of the bed that was unoccupied. as mark lightly blows cool air in your face, jeno takes his shirt off, kneeling on the bed so that he's right behind you, your back pressed to his chest. like this, you're sandwiched between both boys, your exhaustion quickly fleeting as you feel their skin against yours.

shaky fingers come up to hold mark's shoulders, and he sweetly kisses you. as you arch your back, you can feel how jeno's hard and potent tip brushes between your folds, teasing your entrance.

even though you're sensitive, you're still dripping with need. your essence is coating your thighs and mark's sheets, and now, jeno's dick, which he slowly seeps in.

you whine into your kiss with mark, breaking apart to lean your head back onto the broad chest against your backside. both pairs of hands are roaming your skin freely, and you're unable to distinguish whose is whose or predict where they'll go next. you settle for savoring every touch and grasp they leave in their wake.

you can tell jeno is reading your body language, interpreting each gasp and reaction you give so that he can speed up when you're ready to take all of him.

"you can go faster," your permission comes out mumbled, but you’re too restless to sit at this speed. he hisses at the way you wiggle around temptingly, walls massaging him. he never thought you’d be so warm and so, so wet. it takes him biting his cheek to not bust right then and there.

bringing a hand down to your ass, he gives you exactly what you want, grunting with each thrust, slamming into you at an angle that makes your breath get caught in your throat.

there are stars swimming on your eyelids from how hard you're squeezing them shut, your hips subconsciously pushing back to meet jeno's with shameless desperation, needing to feel him closer.

everything about the scene is so lewd: the sounds of your skin slapping against each others, the bed creaking rhythmically in accordance with jeno's thrusts, the drops of sweat that slide down his chest and side burns and make him glisten, even in the dim light...

mark begins lowering himself so he can take your nipple into his mouth, tongue swirling and teeth grazing the bud till it darkens and perks up, brings his fingers to your clit to rub you.

your mind is clouded with lust, vision is fuzzy and glazed; it's like something out of a dream. both of your forearms are held behind your back in one of jeno's large hands while the other one wraps around you, holding your neck and tilting your head back so that he can look at you. when he isn't watching your face, admiring the way it contorts in pleasure, he's kissing and sucking the skin on your neck.

and the sounds he makes as he fucks you? otherworldly.

the grunts he's delivering to your ear are delectable and you involuntarily clench around him, yelping out when he sinks his teeth into your shoulder at the way your walls squeeze his cock.

"shit, jeno!" you breathe out when mark lifts his fingers, dipping them into your mouth. when you lick them clean, he places them back where they were, leaving you a shuddering and fidgeting mess. jeno stills his movements, pushing himself as far into you as possible. "oh, god, you're so deep," you mewl.

with a smirk on his face, he slowly starts moving again, spreading your cheeks so he can watch the way his cock sinks into you time and time again, disappearing between your wet folds. just the sight makes him twitch.

"i'm close," he warns, twisting your hair around his wrist and pulling you close to kiss your cheek affectionately. you nod weakly in agreement, leaning into his touch. though you’re unable to utter a single intelligible word in response, a series of quiet whines leave your lips as you sit on the verge of your third orgasm.

"is he fucking you good?"

you nod at mark's question, reaching for his hands again.

"i wanna come on your ass,"

"p-please," your voice must sound no better than pathetic by now.

your stomach churns on cue as mark's speeds up his motion, teasing your throbbing and puffy clit until you find yourself gushing around jeno's dick, walls fluttering from overstimulation. it's well worth all the sensitivity, because you’re coming so hard.

god, and you still have another orgasm awaiting you.

you're suddenly being bent over as jeno puffs and huffs, sliding out of you and working himself until his hot cum covers your ass and back in stripes. he pants loudly, teasing himself until every last drop has been emptied and your covered in his release.

"yup. that was hot. i'll be back, i'm gonna go clean up," hyuck pipes up for the first time in a while, tapping his hand to his stomach to watch how his load sticks to his fingers in webs. he scoots off the bed and leaves, presumably to the bathroom.

"you gonna clean up, too?" mark asks.

jeno shakes his head, still heaving breaths, "nah, not yet." his eyes land on you but mark quickly shakes his head.

"we're gonna wrap it up here, i think," mark explains, holding you up by your waist, "i don't think she can take any more,"

"i can," you stubbornly argue, "mark, you haven't even finished, baby."

between your bodies, his dick is standing as tall as ever, red and inflamed and knocking against your lower stomach. he's undeniably rock hard, and you'll be damned if you don't get to watch the look on his face when he orgasms.

"it's okay. i can take care of it myself. you-"

you lean in to kiss his jaw, cutting his words short. when he stops talking, you bring your lips to his ear, you whisper, "i want you to come inside of me,"

his eyes widen, and you catch the way his cheeks get red when you lean back. his reaction makes your heart beat faster, and you reach to hold his face.

"are you sure?" the shock dwindles into concern again.

"if i was too tired," you peck his lips, "i would tell you. i'm sure that i want this." he grins softly, scooping you up by your thighs to lay you on the bed, diving on top of you and situating himself between your legs. he's still kneeling, and in order to kiss you, he has to lean over, lips landing on yours with so much delicacy that it takes your hand on the back of his head for him to sense that you want more.

your other hand reaches to grab his length, slowly pumping it. as you run it up and down, his breathing changes and he moves to kiss down your chest. effortlessly, mark picks you up again by your hips so that your head is the only part of you still resting on the bed.

you're so filled with desire that you moan even before he touches you. he doesn't make you wait long, though, wasting no time and guiding himself to your entrance, sopping wet and ready for him. as he directs your hips closer, you help tilt his tip down. finally, he's inside of you again with a shiver and the sexiest drawn out groan, stuffing you full.

his jaw tightens instantly at the pressure of you squeezing around him, and when he speaks, it's through gritted teeth, "you're so wet," he moves with caution since you're still hypersensitive, "and after how many times you've been fucked tonight, you're still so fucking tight. shit, i can feel you sucking me in."

slowly but surely, he starts picking up the pace, working you until sweat droplets are sliding down the side of his face.

he's fucking into you so mindfully, making sure that he pulls out enough to see most of his head, then pushing in so far that you're flush against the base of him, jolting up when he hits a spot that's particularly deep.

every time that you cry out his name, his eyes flash up to yours, taking in your fucked out expression. your hair is a mess, makeup running just a bit. all of your features are scrunched up, mouth open and panting, and currently. you're holding a hand over your mouth, the other placed over his where it meets your hip.

damn, he could come at the sight of you like this.

and he does.

he's filling you up in more ways than one now, spilling into your cunt, grip tightening enough to leave bruises along your waist. he realizes in this moment that after today, there's no way he's not pussy-whipped by you.

how could he not be, when you were taking him so well? when you asked him to come inside of you?

he also realizes that you still haven't finished and his thrusts are beginning to stutter. voice strained, mark chokes out, "aah, shit. are you-?"

"just a little more, baby, please," your words are muffled by the hand on your mouth but he gets the message nonetheless, grimacing at the overstimulation of keeping up such a speed now that he's so sensitive. he keeps going, because he has to help his baby ride out her high.

your fingers dig into the sheets as your orgasm hits you, waves of pleasure flushing through your core. your face is red hot, vision blurred, cunt booming with a pleasure so intense, nothing like you've ever felt before. a mix of your wetness and mark's cum is coating his cock now, making a ring at the base of it and spreading all throughout his length. when he'[s sure you're done, he cautiously pulls out, watching as his seed leaks out of you.

"that was-," he pauses—inexplicable, heavenly, incredible, mind-blowing—"there's no word that even comes close."

when you look over, jeno had come a second time, the sticky white substance all over his hand and thighs. he resembled both of you, breathing heavily. you take in the sight of him through your lashes, shoulders are rising and falling, hair sticking to his forehead.

the bedroom door opens about half way, and hyuck pokes his head in, "i could hear all of you from the bathroom on the other side of the apartment. it was impressive, really. oh, and sincerely, i feel envious of your future boyfriend. that dude's gonna luck out." you can feel everyone's eyes on you, face getting red, "i'm gonna knock out. thank you for that, yeah?"

"yeah," you reply, offering a bit of an awkward laugh.

mark kisses your forehead and lips before getting up, pulling his underwear and pants up. he walks over to his drawer to grab a change of clothes for you as jeno gets up, too, dressing himself.

he gives you a nod, "stay here, okay? i'm gonna grab something to clean you up with."

it wasn’t like you really could move anyway, at least not yet. your thighs were burning, and if you tried to get up, your wobbly legs would give out.

as jeno leaves, mark brings over a folded shirt and a pair of boxers for you to wear, setting them on the night stand.

“i’m gonna shower,” you lean up on your elbows, flashing him a tired smile. mark brushes your hair behind your ear, nodding.

“you wanna stay over, pretty?"

"i'd love to."

"good. wait for me, i'll be right back."

as he clicks open the door to leave, jeno reaches for the handle. as mark shimmies out, the boy walks in, a warm, moist towel clutched in his hand.

you laugh as he shields his eyes, coughing awkwardly. "sorry, uh-is it okay if i-"

"jen, you're acting as if you didn't just fuck me. you've seen me naked twice now."

he lets out a little snicker, casting his eyes over you softly. when you reach for the towel, he shakes his head, "here, let me. can you sit up for me?" you do as he asks and he gets closer, "you have some- let me get that for you," trailing off, jeno holds your face as he gently wipes away the black smudges from your under-eyes.

you're simply looking up at him, but for some reason, when he meets your gaze, his ears go red. he really hopes you don't notice.

in an effort to hide how flustered he is, jeno moves away, going around the bed. you let out a little squeak, shivering when he starts wiping away some of the stickiness from your thighs and ass where he relieved himself earlier. then, he moves to the front, wiping between your legs with hesitance.

"why are you so nervous?"

he instantly tenses up, stilling his eyes on the bed instead of on you, "huh?"

"you're all... shy. i don't know. it just seems like after we do..." you look around, trying to find the right word, "well, this—you're a completely different person."

"oh," he looks like he wants the earth to swallow him, and you slightly pout at his reaction. maybe you shouldn't have said anything.

"you know what, forget i brought it up." you sigh gently, "it's not a bad thing, i swear, it's just... i don't want this to affect our friendship."

"it already has." he mutters defeatedly. as he finishes wiping you off, you take mark's old shirt, throwing it over your head so that you're not completely nude. his statement doesn't slip your mind, though. not at all.

"what? what do you mean?"

"the reason i get nervous," he starts, but it takes him too long to continue and you're interrupting him again, kneeling up and tugging him to sit beside you on the edge of the bed.

"if you didn't wanna do this, you could've said something, jen. i'm sorry if this made you uncomfortable or-"

"no, no. it's not that. like, genuinely, it's so far from that." he laughs lightly, finally finding your eyes. you immediately relax at the sound that rumbles from his chest.

"so, tell me." you shrug.

for a few seconds, jeno tries to organize his thoughts, but his efforts are futile. he can't remember a single time he didn't wish he could tell you what’s been on his mind. in fact, for the last six months, it's been the first thing that's popped into his head when the two of you entered the same room.

fuck, man. no matter how many times he's rehearsed the same speech, it's not any easier—especially not now. you look as pretty as ever, and it doesn't help that he's made you come around his tongue, fingers and cock-

spit it out, jeno.

"i like you."

if you were expecting to feel any bit of relief, think again.

the burden that was meant to be lifted is now immediately heavy on your shoulders, and you're convinced your face has gone entirely pale.

"i've liked for as long as i can remember. and it was easy to ignore at first, until the day we kissed.” his eyes fall to the ground, “for a while, i was so mad at hyuck because i didn't want to put myself through that if i knew i wouldn't be able to have you. b-but even then, i thought ‘i might be able to forget. it was a ten second kiss that was for a bet, you know?’"

oh, god. your heart beats so loud that for a second, you think he'll hear it.

"but then, after the night we were drinking after today... after today, i don't think i’ll ever be able to forget." his hand is paced over yours as he gulps, "i was even gonna ask if you wanted to stay in my room, but i know you and mark are close and i chickened out. i think-" he takes a breath, "i think i'm in lo-"

the door creaks open and mark walks in. saved by the fucking bell. "okay, i've got you some water, a towel, and i brought the sheets so that-"

before you can even open your mouth, jeno gets up awkwardly, slightly disappointed, too. he coughs, cutting mark off. "we'll talk later, yeah?" he walks past him without sparing either of you a second glace, consumed by embarrassment and leaving you to call after him.

"yeah, o-okay." you shout, but he doesn't acknowledge it.

no, no, no. there's absolutely no way that just happened.

guilt bubbles thickly in your throat, burning bitterly as your breathing picks up.

"baby?"

you need to go home. you can’t stay here, that much is obvious. moving to get up, your heels hit the floor and you clumsily stumble, mark reaching with his free hand to hold you up.

"woah," he waits for you to stand steadily, then turns, putting down the things he brought in on the dresser before taking long strides to return over to you. his hands rest on the back of your arms. "you're probably sore, yeah? do you want to- hey, hey." he notices the puddles beginning to pool under your eyes, "what's wrong? does something hurt?"

"no, it's-" you let out a shaky breath, reluctantly meeting his eyes, "it just sucks to be right."

"what are you talking about, babe?"

"stop calling me that." you shake your head. at once, mark's face falls—it absolutely crumbles, and so does your heart.

he mutters your name lowly, leaning so that he's at eye-level with you. with a heavy heart, you brush away his hands, wiggling out of his embrace and moving to grab your clothes that scatter the floor. he doesn't move to stop you, yet.

beyond confused, mark just watches you gather your things; his breath is caught in his throat, meanwhile his brain racks to piece together a single reason or cause for your behavior. he’s drawing blanks, though. everything was going so well.

after a few seconds of standing in the same spot, he speaks up, a hand reaching for your shoulder.

"can we talk about what happened? you just-"

“mark, nothing can happen between us.”

dumbfounded, he reaches out to stop you dead in your tracks this time, "what? why?" his eyes are narrowed, eyebrows pinched.

"it's too complicated,"

"no it's not. i like you, you like me. what's complicated about that? is it because of what we all just did? because i don't care about that, i told you it was okay and i meant it-"

“no, mark you don’t get it—“

“then tell me so that i can understand why-“

"jeno just told me that he had feelings for me!” it didn’t matter that you were whisper-shouting. the words carried enough trouble on their own without needing any volume to make them any clearer or alert the man of the hour, whose room was right down the hall.

you decided to keep his much more serious confession to yourself, the one where he almost professed his love. mark didn't need to know about that. it didn't matter now, anyway.

at your statement, his persistent rambling ceases.

"what?"

"while you were gone, he told me. so nothing can happen between us, and that's that."

he shakes his head in disbelief, tightening his hold around you when you attempt to break away again, "i'll talk to him. i'll explain that you and i are already-"

"no, you won't, and no, we're not, mark. drop it." you escape his grasp which weakens at your harsh proclamation. without a second thought or any elaboration, you’re sliding your shorts up your legs. hurriedly, you begin to travel the room, collecting your phone from the night stand, slipping your shoes on, and putting in your bag your previously discarded clothes and undergarments.

"baby, you're giving up on us before we've even begun,"

fucking damn it.

you halt your packing, turning to glare at him, though there isn’t much anger. it’s hurt that reads instead, reflecting the one in his own stare. "how would you feel if i started going out with jeno?"

"what? so now you wanna go out with jen-"

you roll your eyes, rephrasing. "no. i'm asking: how would you feel if i started going out with jeno?"

begrudgingly, he grumbles, "terrible," under his breath.

"precisely."

maybe you indulged yourself too much. you always knew that if any of you caught feelings, things would get complicated.

jesus, you didn't think it would actually fucking happen.

if you even suspected this was a possibility, why did you let it get this far?

all of your belongings are gathered. your hair is tied back and your keys are in hand. your mind is racing, but there's not much you can do to help that now.

before mark can utter another word, you cast him one last, sad glance, and walk out the door.

₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊

[jenoyeahh]

LOVING THIS SERIES SOOO MUCHHH, me too yn, my heart too flutter when mark calls you baby, loving the smut, loving the angst they were just about to begin :( the dread i felt when jeno acted weird bcs i can just know what about to happen... the solution is... polyamory!! hshshs regardless will be waiting for the continuation, can't wait to read more, thank you for writing and sharing :D

[saintlyhyuck]

We’re Exes But… (M)

❝Please, can I shove my cock down your throat until you’re crying?❞

PAIRING: lee donghyuck & fem!reader

GENRE/TROPES: smut; angst; crack; exes to lovers; college au; fuckboy!hyuck; dumb kids au(not rlly)

WORD COUNT: 8,741 words

SUMMARY: even though you’re no longer together, you and haechan just can’t seem to stay away from each other. no matter how many times he says he’s dating someone, haechan comes along and pretends as if you two never broke up.

WARNINGS: dirty talk; oral (m. receiving); throat fucking; cum eating; thigh riding; unprotected sex; big cock haechan; creampie; multiple orgasms

AUTHORS NOTE: it’s nearly been a year since i uploaded a full fic and i feel like i’m rusty with my writing. i had fun writing this but if it doesn’t make sense or flow or isn’t that good then i apologise lol. anyways, happy reading! feedback is appreciated <3

“Oh my God, have you heard about Soomin?” Juwon clasps the edge of the table, her acrylic nails scraping against the fake wood.

“Heard what?” Your words are barely audible as your mouth is full of pizza. You’d just sat down after waiting ridiculously long in the cafeteria line. You could’ve sworn that being in college wasn’t going to be a fight for hunger, but you were wrong.

Juwon scoots closer to you, her body pressing into your side. You give her a fixed look but she pays no attention as her gaze is across the room, staring at a group of preppy girls. “She’s been secretly fucking Haechan!”

“W-what?” You choke on your mouthful, slapping your hand against your chest as you cough. “What do you mean secretly fucking Haechan?”

Juwon notices the way you’re looking at her. Your nostrils flaring and your eyes are mean. Maybe she shouldn’t have said anything. “It’s what I’ve heard. It could be a rumour for all I know.”

“No. Don’t backtrack now.” You shake your head, dropping your slice of pizza and putting your full attention onto your best friend. “Who told you that?”

“I don’t know.” Juwon shrugs. “I was just walking by a group of people and overheard them saying it.”

You squint at her, trying to figure out if she’s lying to protect your feelings or if she genuinely did just overhear a conversation. “What group of people? Did you see who was in the group?” You’re bound to get some answers from her if you throw questions her way.

She brings a fake nail to her mouth, chewing lightly on it as she thinks of an answer. “Not really…”

“Juwon.”

“Okay, fine!” Juwon sighs and avoids eye contact. Now you know she’s hiding some of the truth. “I walked past Haechan’s group and it was him who said it. I didn’t want to tell you the actual truth as I knew you’d be upset.”

You scoff. “I don’t have a reason to be upset. Me and him broke up ages ago, he can do whatever he pleases.” Deep down you don’t mean those words. Yeah, you’re no longer together, but you can’t just shut off your feelings for him. You’d hope it would’ve been the same for him, but clearly not.

“Are you mad at me?” Juwon squeezes your wrist, her sign of an apology on the way.

“No,” you shake your head, taking another bite of your pizza slice and forcing it down your throat. “Thank you for telling me. At least I now don’t have to find out from that man stealing bitch.”

Juwon stares at you, her hand slowly retracting from your wrist. “Well, I’m sorry either way. You deserve better than him. He’s a fuckboy, anyway. He’ll never know true happiness if he keeps shoving his dick in anything that breathes.”

“Really?” Your face is deadpan as you look at your best friend. “I’m his true happiness… was. Whatever.”

Juwon gives you a sympathetic smile, you just shrug your shoulders and go back to eating your pizza. You gaze ahead mindlessly and your eyes land upon the same group of preppy girls Juwon was staring at earlier— Soomin caught your eyes immediately. Why, you may ask? Oh, because she’s wearing the hoodie you gifted Haechan on your four month anniversary.

“That fucking bitch!” You slam your hand down onto the table, dozens of eyes stare your way and you pay them no mind.

“What? What’s just happened?” Juwon looks left to right around the cafeteria, trying to figure out what’s made you so angry all of a sudden. “Y/N?”

“Look at her,” you tilt your head towards Soomin, Juwon’s eyes finding her with ease. Juwon looks puzzled, so you explain. “She’s wearing the hoodie I bought him.”

“Oh… well, fuck me.” She breathes out, resting her elbows on the table and glaring at the hoodie-stealing-man-stealing-bitch. “Do you want me to go over there and rip it off her?”

You fight back a smile. “No. Let her wear it— I’m sure Hyuck doesn’t even know she has it.” You finish the last few bites of your pizza, grabbing your bag and nudging Juwon. “Let’s go before she has the chance to look at me funny, ‘cause I swear I will hurt the bitch.”

Juwon rushes to collect her things. “Yes ma’am!”

You were halfway across the cafeteria before you felt a hand tugging at your sleeve. You spun around and collided with Juwon, “Dude, do you not watch where you’re going or something? And why are you tugging at me, what’s wrong?”

You noticed she wasn’t even looking at you, but across the room, towards Soomin (of fucking course). You sigh, “What now?”

Juwon doesn’t say a word; all she does is point. “What the…”

Haechan is suddenly by Soomin’s side, his right arm draped over her shoulder as she presses kisses along his cheek and jawline. Your stomach flips and you start to regret having that slice of goddamn pizza.

You make a move to leave, not wanting to witness your ex and the sluttiest girl out of the whole college makeout in front of you, but before you can, Haechan’s eyes lock on yours and you feel your cheeks heat up.

After all this time broken up and hating him, a simple bit of eye contact has you flushing. Get a grip.

Soomin takes notice of where Haechan is looking and shoots you the dirtiest look known to man before smirking.

“I’ll kill her.” You clench your fists and grit your teeth, just seconds away from marching over there and knocking her two front teeth out.

“Not today. Save it for another time.” Juwon grabs your shoulders and ushers you out of the cafeteria before a scene commences and you get yourself kicked out of college. “She’s not a nice person, just don’t pay her any attention.”

You shake your head, stomping your feet on the floor as you head towards the parking lot. “It’s easier said than done when she’s wearing something of mine!”

“Y/N, it’s not your hoodie. You gave it to him. It’s his.”

You rummage around in your bag for your car keys. “Yeah, well… still mine.”

It’s nearly midnight when your phone starts ringing. You watch it ring, not wanting to answer it when you see who’s name pops up.

When it stops, you breathe a small sigh of relief. You wonder why he’s even calling you in the first place. If he wants to gloat about who he’s now fucking, you’d rather stab yourself in the eye with a toothpick than here him say he’s ‘found someone better.’

You roll over in bed, scrolling aimlessly on your phone. None of the apps were even interesting, but you still stayed scrolling.

A minute goes by and Haechan phones you again. You groan inwardly, but you decide to answer. “Stop calling me.” You bluntly speak before hanging up.

Deep down you knew that he wouldn’t leave you alone until he finally says what he wants. Only this time he doesn’t call you, he sends you texts— about a million of them.

Haechan (Hyuckie): why don’t you wanna speak to me?

Haechan (Hyuckie): answer me plsssss

Haechan (Hyuckie): i wanna talk to you :(

Haechan (Hyuckie): i’ll call you again

You: don’t.

Haechan (Hyuckie): there you are :D

You: what do you want?

Haechan (Hyuckie): can i come over?

You: no. leave me alone.

Haechan (Hyuckie): but i wanna see you. i havent seen you in ages

You: you saw me today.

Haechan (Hyuckie): not what i meant

Haechan (Hyuckie): im outside anyway. let me in

You: dude wtf

A stone hits your bedroom window and you know immediately that Haechan is throwing them.

You swing your legs over the side of the bed, the cool air hitting your warm skin causing goosebumps to rise. You open your window and glare down at the beaming Haechan standing underneath the tree just outside your apartment building.

“Why’d you ask me if you could come over if you’re already here?” You call down, your arms folding against your chest.

Haechan steps forward, shouting back up, “Cos I knew you’d let me come over even if I wasn’t already standing outside.”

You huff defiantly. “I literally said no over text. Go home, Haechan.”

“Oh? You’re calling me Haechan now?” His face softens, almost as if he’s upset. “What happened to calling me Hyuckie?”

You roll your eyes, “I stopped calling you that when you broke up with me. Remember? You broke up with me. Go home.”

Haechan winces and holds a hand to his heart. “Come on… a little conversation won’t hurt. I promise to keep my hands to myself.” He shoots you a cheeky grin and your heart flutters. Girl, get a fucking grip.

“I’ll buzz you in.” Famous last words, Miss Y/N.

A few moments later and Haechan is banging on your front door— you were lucky as hell to have your dorm roommates be out tonight, you’d have no idea what they would say if they saw Haechan walking into their apartment.

“Well, hello.” He’s so dazzling you want to punch him right in the gut, making him curl into a ball and cry like a little baby. Maybe another night.

“Hi.” You give him a tight lipped smile, shutting the door and following him closely behind to see where he ventures. If he goes towards your bedroom, you’ll know he’s come here with intent, but if he heads towards the kitchen or living room, you’ll know he’s here for chatting shit.

But to your surprise, he abruptly stops short in the corridor and you bump into his back. The heat from his skin radiates under his plain black tee. Where the fuck was his jacket?

He spins around, a smile on his stupidly gorgeous face and brings his hands to your waist, his thumbs rubbing small circles there.

You fight back the urge to stay in his hold, but you know that if you don’t set boundaries between the two of you, he’ll continue to treat you like you’re still his. It’s not a fair game.

“Why are you here? What did you wanna talk about?” You take that difficult step backwards, allowing a reasonable amount of space between your bodies.

Haechan watched his hands fall from your waist, an eyebrow rising at your body language. “Am I not allowed to just come over and see how you are?”

“No, you can’t.”

He forces out a chuckle. “There’s no harm in it.”

“There is when you act like everything between us is okay.” You fold your arms over your chest, a cross expression plastered on your features. “I don’t understand why you’re doing this to me.”

Haechan steps forward, returning his hands onto your waist and you’re about to take another step back but his grip on you tightens. “What am I doing to you? Tell me.”

Haechan doesn’t answer, all he does is close the remaining space between you— the feeling of his body pressing against yours once again brings back too many memories. It’s too much… but it’s what you want, right? You were mad earlier about him moving on, but now you’re annoyed he’s with you right now.

You can’t seem to keep your mind balanced. It’s driving you crazy.

“It’s so painfully obvious, Haechan…” You sigh, defeated against your own emotions.

“Don’t you mean, obviously painful?” He tilts his head to the side with a humorous grin. You know he’s trying to lighten the mood with a crappy joke, but it fits. It is obviously painful. For you, anyway.

“Not funny.” Your hands slowly make their way to his shoulders, your fingers interlocking behind his neck. You forgot how good it feels to be touching him. You truly wish you never broke up, but Haechan wasn’t ready for a long term commitment and needed his own space. And yet, for some reason, he can’t seem to leave you alone.

“Y/N, talk to me.” Haechan rests his forehead against yours and you try your best not to melt against him.

“I just— it’s complicated,” you let out a shaky breath. You feel so different from earlier. You were mad upon seeing him with Soomin, but now that he’s here in front of you, touching you, it’s like you can’t even fathom anger toward him. “I’m supposed to be hating you, but I just can’t… I think— I think I still love you.”

You feel Haechan’s body tense under your touch, his breathing quickens and you immediately regret voicing your feelings.

“Well, maybe not love, but care for you.” You untangle yourself from him, his eyes immediately searching for your own. “Yeah… yeah! Yeah, I still care for you, that’s what it is.”

“Y/N…” Haechan sighs, “I still care for you, too. You know that.”

You raise your eyebrows at him, “Do I? ‘Cause you seemed pretty into Soomin earlier today. She’s even wearing the hoodie I bought you.”

He winces and knows he’s in the wrong. “Yeah, I shouldn’t have let her wear that.”

“You let her wear it?” Now the anger from earlier is seeping its way back into your veins. How could you let yourself be so vulnerable in front of him? He’ll just use it to his advantage!

“It was a mistake, you should know that. I didn’t mean to upset you, baby.” Haechan used to call you baby more than your real name when you were dating, and now that he’s called you it right now, you let the anger take full control of your body.

You shove him in his chest, not hard enough to push him back, but enough to make him stumble a little. “How dare you! How fucking dare you come over here and call me baby!”

“Y/N, it just slipped out—”

“No.” You cut him off. “Stop acting like we’re okay. We’re not okay. You don’t want a commitment with me, so stop fucking stringing me along. It’s not fair. Go be with Soomin and live out your fuckboy fantasy.”

Haechan scoffs. “My fuckboy fantasy?”

“Mhm.” You nod, arms flying across your chest as you stand there holding your ground. “If you wanna be shagging the biggest slut on campus, be my guest. You won’t be getting your dick wet with me again.”

Oh now you’ve poked the bear. “Huh, really?” Haechan’s demeanour suddenly changes and you wonder what the fuck is happening. “If I remember correctly, the night we broke up, you said that if I ever needed to let out my frustrations I could come to you.”

Your jaw hangs open. Anger now turns into embarrassment. “I never said such a thing.”

In a swift movement, Haechan has you backed up against the wall, both of his hands pinned either side of your head. “I recall it like it was yesterday.”

“Yeah, well, I take it back.”

“Nuh-uh. No taking back a promise.” Haechan leans in dangerously close to your lips, his breath fans across your cheeks and you feel them heat up. “I want you to be true to your words. Can we make that happen?”

You fumble for words, your brain going foggy as he presses the smallest of kisses on your lips. You mumble something incoherent and he does it again. The more you struggle to answer, the more kisses he gives you. At this point, you’re sure to have lost any sense of the English language.

“Come on, baby, use your words.” There’s that stupid nickname, but you don’t have any more fight left in you. “Tell me that we can make getting my dick wet happen.”

Your mouth opens and luckily this time words have decided to come out. “Unbuckle your belt.”

Haechan smirks at you, fingers automatically flying to his belt and flinging it behind him. You sink to your knees, the hardwood floor already sending an ache through to your bones but it’ll never compete with the sudden ache between your legs.

You nimbly unzip his jeans and drag the denim material down along with his boxers. You’ve seen his cock endless times, but the shock of how big and girthy he is never leaves.

Honestly, you will never find anyone with a bigger and better cock than Haechan. And that lowkey stings.

“I’ve missed your touch,” Haechan murmurs when your fingers wrap around the base of his erection. His tip is already leaking precum and you do him the justice of licking a long stripe up the underside of his cock and swirling your tongue around the tip, moaning at the saltiness you’ve missed dearly.

“I’ve missed touching you.” You moan against his length, your tongue running over the small veins protruding from the base of his cock.

It’s funny how it’s been months since you last saw him like this, yet you remember every detail of his naked body. Your favourite detail is the small mole that hides just under the waistline of his boxers, only for your eyes to see.

His hands fly to your hair, tugging at the roots causing a hiss to leave your lips from the stinging sensation. “Open up, I wanna fuck your throat.”

You shake your head, “No. I wanna take my time with you.”

Haechan groans, throwing his head back when you press open mouthed kisses along the top of his thighs, your hand absentmindedly slowly pumping him, not giving him enough friction that he so desperately craved.

“Open your goddamn mouth before I force it open.” Your panties just got wetter.

You laugh lightly against his skin, your hand tightening around his cock at the tip. His thighs tense beneath your lips and you love how sensitive he gets.

“Only if you ask nicely,” you smile up at him, your eyes shining with lust.

His fingers thread through your hair, and stop at the base of your neck. He tilts your face up more to him and you feel your throat on display and you just know he’s thinking about how far his cock will go. You are, too.

“Please, can I shove my cock down your throat until you’re crying?”

You whimper at his words. Oh how you’ve missed his dirty talk. You’ll most likely think about this moment for days on end. Great.

You open your mouth, allowing your jaw to go slack. Haechan pumps his cock once, twice, thrice before lightly tapping the head of his cock against your stuck out tongue. His teeth bite into his lower lip as he slowly pushes his cock further into your mouth— your warm tongue and throat feeling like heaven.

“Oh, fuck.” He curses under his breath when he feels your throat constrict around his length. He takes both of his hands and cups your cheeks, his thumb gently rubbing against the apples of your cheeks.

You look up at him through your lashes, tears already forming on your waterline as you feel him go deeper in your throat. You’ve grown accustomed to his thick cock in your mouth that your gag reflex ignores it.

Haechan begins slowly thrusting, your nose grazing his pubic area each time he goes to your limit. “You’re doing so well, baby. Your throat feels so good.”

Your hands grip his wrists, steadying yourself as his thrusts become faster and more erratic. Saliva pools out of your mouth and onto the floor. Wet and gagging sounds fill your apartment as Haechan uses your mouth to get himself off.

His eyes can’t seem to focus on one thing. He switches from your eyes, to where his cock fills your mouth, to the spit dripping down your chin. It’s overwhelming his senses and he feels himself approaching his orgasm a little too quickly.

Haechan slows the speed of his hips, allowing his cock to slip from your mouth and you gasp for air, breathing in as much oxygen as possible.

Tears fall from your eyes and your lips are puffy. “You look so fucked out and I haven’t even cum yet.”

You roll your eyes and grab his cock, jerking your hand up and down as fast as you can, your free hand groping his balls and earning a string of profanities from him. “Well, I’ll make you cum then.”

It didn’t take long before he hunches over your body; hot spurts of white cum cover your hand and face. “O-oh God. Y/N… please, fuck.” Haechan whimpers against his hand, his teeth sink into his palm as he tries his best to stay standing. “Too much— it’s too much.”

You tut at him, shaking your head as you continue to pump his cock until he goes soft. “You wanted to cum, so I made you cum.”

Once he catches his breath, he stares down at you still sitting on your knees. “Aren’t you a pretty sight. Face covered in my cum and talking back to me.”

You smile up at him shyly, your fingers swiping at his cum on your face before shoving them into your mouth. Eyes closing and moaning at the taste of him, you rise from your knees.

Haechan closes the gap between your bodies, his lips collide with yours and he groans at the taste of him on your tongue. Your hands slide into his hair, tugging at the roots as you deepen the kiss. God how you’ve missed kissing him.

Haechan pulls away, his forehead resting against yours as he catches his breath. “Let’s take you to bed, I’m gonna make you scream my name.”

You giggle before turning around to drag him through your apartment to your room.

Just as you step into your room, Haechan’s phone begins ringing. He looks at the contact name and grimaces, “I’ve gotta take this… I’m sorry.” He lets go of your hand and leaves your bedroom.

You just stand there, staring out of your door wondering who the fuck is so important that he needed to ruin this moment.

When he enters your room again, he looks apologetic and you know he’s about to say he needs to leave. Before he even gets the chance to open his mouth, you speak first. “Just leave, it’s fine. Wasn’t like we were doing much, anyway.”

“Hey, don’t be like that.” He steps closer to you but you step back. “I can come back after, I just need to do something.”

You fall to the edge of your bed, your hands running down your face as realisation dawns on you. “Soomin called, didn't she?”

Haechan hesitates to answer but… “Yeah, she called.”

“Of course.” You purse your lips into a straight line.

“She’s at a nightclub but has no way of getting back home. I’ll just go pick her up and I’ll come back here, then we can finish what we started.” His voice sounded hopeful but he knew that you’d say no and banish him to hell.

You shake your head. “Just go. At least you got your dick wet one last time.”

“Y/N—”

“Just. Go.”

And he does. He goes to Soomin, his new girl. And leaves you on the bed contemplating why on earth you let him slide into your life like that.

You slam your head down onto the table, people in the library turn and shush at you. “God, I’m so fucking embarassed.”

Juwon taps her pencil repeatedly against her textbook, watching as you grimace and cringe at the memory of last night. Even though it’s a Saturday, it’s become a tradition to meet your best friend and study, whether you feel up to it or not. Neither of you have bailed yet, but you really feel like it.

“Errrrr.” You grit your teeth together as it all plays out like a movie in your mind. You feel sick. “I wish you lived in my dorm, you wouldn’t have let me open the door.”

“What?” Juwon stops tapping her pencil, fully invested in what your late night shenanigans involved. “Who did you open the door to? What even happened last night?”

You lift your head, a pained expression on your face. “Please, I don’t want to relive it.”

She pouts at you, her acrylic manicured hand gently moving a stray piece of hair from out of your face. “I’m your best friend. Share the embarrassment with me, we’ll relive it together.”

“Okay…” you take a deep breath, sitting up straight to prepare yourself for humiliation 2.0. “Promise that you won’t judge me, or say how stupid and naive I was?”

Juwon places a hand over her heart. “I solemnly swear not to judge you, or say how stupid and naive you were.”

“Um,” you hesitate, but decide to rip the bandaid off. “Haechan came over last night and I sucked him off. We were about to get real nasty but his phone rang and it was Slutty Soomin saying she needed a ride back home. So, he left me— even though I told him to go, he still left.”

Juwon gawks at you. Her jaw opened and eyes wide. “What. The. Fuck.”

“I knowwww.” You whine and slam your head back onto the table, earning a few shushes from other students. You raise your hand and give them the middle finger.

“Why didn’t you ring me after it all happened?” Juwon leans in super close to your ear, her breath smelt like vanilla coffee— the one she’s so obsessed with from Starbucks. “I’m your best friend.”

You give her the middle finger. “Not important right now. What am I gonna do if I bump into him? Do you know how fucking awkward that’s gonna be?”

Juwon doesn’t answer and you roll your eyes to yourself, enjoying the way the hardness of the table eases the pressure in your forehead. “I just…” you begin, ignoring the fact that Juwon is dead silent. “What if he thinks this means we’re back together? I mean, he broke up with me, so surely he isn’t that stupid. Well, it’s Haechan so who knows what goes on inside his head. But still! So. fucking. Embarassing.”

“Hey.”

You startle, your knees banging into the table and you sit bolt upright, eyes frantically searching for the new voice in your ear. Haechan.

Your head snaps toward Juwon, your eyes squinting as she chews on her fake nail. “You couldn’t have warned me that he was right next to me?”

She shrugs, her eyes darting between you and Haechan. “I’ll leave you two alone.”

She goes to stand up, but you shake your head. “No, I need to find a new textbook anyway.” You stand from the chair and glare at Juwon. “You’re in my bad books from now on.”

She rolls her eyes and gets back to her book, tapping the pencil once again as she waits for you and Haechan to come back.

You’re not sure what’s more awkward; Haechan overhearing what you said, or knowing that you’re about to bicker in a goddamn library.

“So, seeing me would be embarrassing, huh?” Haechan leans his shoulder against a bookshelf once you find the area you’re looking for. “It’s not like we haven’t done shit already. We dated for like six months.”

You drop your head, holding in a scream. “We dated for a year.”

“Shit. Time flies, I guess.” He shrugs his shoulders. “About last night, though… I’m sorry I had to leave like that, you gotta believe me.”

Your finger traces a few books, your mind wanting to be elsewhere other than here. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not, you were clearly mad at me.”

“Oh, gosh, was I? I never noticed.” You sarcastically reply, picking up a textbook that relates to your major. “Obviously I was fucking mad. I had your cock in my mouth and not even five minutes later you were off picking up your new girl. You’d be mad if it was the other way around.”

“If I had your cock in my mouth?” Haechan smirks at you, wanting to lighten the mood. “That’d be a strange turn of events.”

“Shut up.” You whack him on the arm with the book. “This has got to be the worst breakup in breakup history.”

Haechan pouts and rubs the spot where you hit him. “Violence is never the answer.”

“It is with you.” You move to the side and begin walking off, leaving Haechan standing by himself in the non-fiction section. As you emerge from the large bookcases, your eyes fall upon Juwon talking awkwardly with Soomin. You felt your heart fall to your feet. What is she doing here?

Haechan appears next to you and you hear him wince. “Don’t tell me you’re here to meet her?” Your eyes meet his and you don’t think you’ve ever seen them look so apologetic. Even on the night you broke up, he didn’t look this sorry. “Great. Just fucking great. Of course you’re here with her, you just want to rub it in my face even more, don’t you?”

“Hey, Y/N, don’t be like that. I didn’t even know you were going to be here.” He tries to defend himself but you don’t allow it.

“Whatever. Wasn’t like last night meant anything to you, so I gotta at least expect to see you with her.” You storm off to the table, completely ignoring Soomin as you drop the textbook down with a loud slam, causing her to squeal in shock.

“Oh, hey, Y/N.” Slutty Soomin flashes you a cute smile. “Funny seeing you here.”

You give her the fakest smile you can muster up and sarcastically reply, “So fucking funny.”

Her face drops and you hear Juwon holding back a snort. It fails and she snorts anyway, earning a disgusted look from Soomin. She looks over her shoulder and spots Haechan and waves him over. “Hi, baby! You ready to get your freak on— oops, sorry, I mean study on.”

Haechan looks so awkward you swore he was about to burst into flames. Honestly, you wouldn’t mind seeing that given he’s been playing a game with you.

It looks as if he’s fighting inner demons as he takes a seat next to Soomin. If this day couldn’t get any more worse, Soomin just had to trail her grubby little fingers across his jean clad thigh. In. front. Of. you.

“Okay, now if you two don’t mind, me and Y/N have some studying to do.” Juwon gestures to the library doors. “Please leave.”

They both ignore her and you’re about to cause a scene before Haechan brushes Soomin’s hand off his leg. You quirk an eyebrow up and wait for her to give a temper tantrum. “Listen, Soomin… we gotta talk.”

“We can do more than talk.” She giggles and you gag.

Haechan ignores her comment and continues. “I should’ve said this last night but you were drunk and wouldn’t have remembered a thing in the morning. I slept with my ex.”

Boom! That was your world exploding around you. Why, oh why, was this happening. Of all fucking things to talk about, it had to be about you and him. You want nothing more than for the ground to swallow you up whole. You look over at Juwon and see that she’s staring wide eyed at them both.

“I wouldn’t call it sleeping together, just a little second base action.” You interject in the worst of moments. Haechan looks exasperated and Soomin looks as if she’s about to release a banshee scream. You sulk against the back of the chair, not wanting to involve yourself more than you already have.

“Recently?” Soomin sounded hurt. Who cares?

“Yesterday.”

Soomin takes a deep breath, “We had sex yesterday.”

It was like a blow to your gut. What the actual fuck? Haechan slept with Soomin yesterday and he still came over to you. His eyes quickly flick from your pain stricken face back to Soomin’s. He wanted to make sure you were okay— spoiler alert, you really aren’t— but he tried to sooth Soomin and her increasingly loud voice.

“You mean to tell me you slept with your ex before you picked me up and we fucked in your car?” Soomin, clenched her fists around his shirt, tugging him closer and being somewhat intimidating despite her slutty and ditsy personality. “Go to hell.”

She abruptly stands and rushes out of the library, a sob escaping her lips as the doors close behind her.

Silence engulfs the table. Your ears ring and you’re not sure what to do or say. As it turned out, Haechan came to you before going to Soomin. Your brain is trying to make that out to seem like a better circumstance, but in all honesty, it makes matters worse.

“You know,” Juwon starts, leaning her elbows on the table. “Going to see your ex and then sleeping with your new girl you’re seeing is a total dick move.”

“Can i just—”

“No.” Juwon cuts him off. “I expect nothing from you, but dude, that was the lowest blow I’ve ever seen. Get outta here with your stupid ass.”

Haechan looks so guilty and a part of you deep down feels bad for him, but the sensible part of you tells you he deserves to feel guilty for what he’s done. “Y/N, let me explain, it’ll make total sense. I promise.”

You shake your head. “Don’t wanna hear it. And I don’t wanna see you. Ever. Again.”

Each day since you last saw Haechan in the library has felt so… dreary.

You hadn’t even felt this way when you guys broke up. Because even then you would still interact with each other, but now, not even a single glance in your direction.

Obviously when you said that you didn’t want to see him ever again was a little dramatic; but who can blame you? He literally confessed to sleeping with Soomin right after he got his dick sucked by you. So yeah, saying you didn’t want to see him was valid, but now it’s been too long and you’re starting to regret it.

Sunday just felt bleak. You stayed in your dorm and caught up on a bunch of assignments that were late. Juwon texted you throughout the day. No sign of Haechan.

Monday was boring. You had a lecture in the morning and a lunch date with Juwon. You spotted Haechan’s car in the parking lot, but still, no sign of him.

Tuesday was dull. You didn’t have any lectures so you decided to bake some brownies— special brownies— for your roommate's birthday. You forgot about them and they burnt. No sign of Haechan.

Wednesday was tiresome. You had three lectures back to back, the same as Haechan as you knew his schedule when you were dating. His lectures were in the same building as yours. But to your disappointment, no sign of him yet again.

Thursday was okay. You had a semi-decent day. Juwon made you ditch your classes to go therapy shopping. You bought a few new makeup products you wanted to try out and some lingerie to help boost your ego— it’s been feeling bruised lately. You saw Haechan’s friends out, but no sign of him.

Friday was stupid. It just felt like the worst day of the week, when in fact you were supposed to be excited the weekend had come back around. But no. You caught the tail end of your roommate's phone call with her boyfriend and apparently Haechan is throwing a birthday bash for this new dude that’s just transferred. You were invited.

“I feel sick. I think I’m gonna throw up.” You hold a hand against your stomach as you lean against the bathroom door leading out of Juwon’s bedroom.

She rolls her eyes at you, a curling wand in her hand as she precisely curls her hair into perfection. “Don’t be dramatic. I doubt you’ll even see him there. The place is gonna be swamped.”

“Maybe I want to see him.”

Juwon gives you a pointed look, “Don’t even start with that shit. You literally said you didn’t want to see him ever again and now you want to see him?”

You shrug, still holding your stomach. “I don’t even know. Obviously I’m still angry at him for what he did, that was such a dick move, but he’s Haechan…”

Your best friend scoffs. She turns off the curling wand and stares you down. “I love you, Y/N, but if you go searching for him tonight at the party it will be a massive mistake. And I’m not just saying that to hurt your feelings, you know damn well too that it’ll be something you’re gonna regret.”

You huff, a pout forms on your lips and you know she’s right, but you’d still like to see him, even if shit goes tits up.

“What are you gonna wear?” You ask, wanting to change the subject. “I’m just gonna leave what I have on.”

Juwon side eyes you, “No way. You’re not wearing that. Come on, you can wear something of mine.”

You’re not sure how or when it happened, but you’re now standing outside Haechan’s apartment door wearing the smallest and sluttiest dress in Juwon’s closet. Small being the key word; it barely covers your backside.

You fold your arms over your chest before immediately dropping them back to your side— one wrong move and your tits will fall out over the hem line. “Honestly, you need to throw this dress out. I can’t even move properly without risking that I’ll flash everyone.”

“Oh, please,” Juwon nudges your shoulder with hers as you both wait for someone to answer the door. “Don’t act as if wearing that won’t help get a certain someone’s attention.”

“Yeah, well, he’s probably sucking face with Soomin anyway. She probs forgave him and pounced on him the second she got a cha—” You stop short once you realise the door was open and Soomin was standing there, giving you the evil glare.

“Please, do come in.” Her voice was heavily disgusted as she moved to the side to allow you and Juwon into the apartment.

It was already crowded and there were at least already ten broken bottles shattered on the floor. Haechan’s roommates are gonna give him so much shit.

“If you’re looking for him,” Soomin slides past you, uninterested in speaking. “Here’s in his room.”

“T-thanks.” You stutter, not sure how to feel. “Wait, why’s he in his room?” You turn to Juwon but she’s already gone. She’s wearing a red dress but with how dark it is in here and with how the strobe lights are flashing, you can barely make out anyone’s face.

You plan to search for her, but Soomin’s words float around the back of your head. Why’s he in his room?

“Sorry, Juwon. Priorities.” You mumble to yourself. You begin squeezing past a huddle of sweaty bodies grinding up against each other and too many people making out. The place smelt of sex and alcohol— you’re not sure if this is a party or the grand opening of a brothel.

When you stand outside his room, you hesitate. Is this really the best thing to do? Probably not.

You know that if you enter this room you most likely won’t leave until the morning… it’ll also give major mixed signals and you’re not sure that you’re ready to have a very confusing and difficult conversation.

Oh well.

You knock once before opening the door. You spot Haechan standing in front of the mirror attached to his closet. He’s posing and… “What are you doing?” You laugh, surprised to see him doing… whatever that is.

“I’m flexing my muscles, what do you think I’m doing?” He doesn’t even look over his shoulder, he just continues to pose in the weirdest positions.

You step into his room and close the door behind you. “Why aren’t you out there? You are the host y’know.”

He shrugs, dropping his plain black tee and spinning to face you. He wasn’t even dressed up. He was wearing basic clothes. A black tee and grey sweatpants… oh fuck.

He shrugs, “Changed my mind I guess.” He moves to his bed, sitting at the foot and manspreads… this feels like a trap. “You look fucking hot.”

Heat creeps upon your cheeks and you roll your eyes to cover for feeling flustered. You take slow steps until you're standing between his legs, your body on its own mission without consulting with your brain. “Maybe… maybe we could have our own party?”

Haechan’s hands find their place on the back of your bare thighs, his fingers gently squeezing your flesh. “What games would we play?”

You feel his hands sneak higher until they’re on your ass, his fingers fiddling with the hem of your dress. “Well, um, there’s spin the bottle, truth or dare, uh and would you rather.”

A breath hitches in your throat when you feel him tug your dress up to your waist. Haechan’s eyes trail from your face, down your body, until he’s staring between your legs at the sight of you not wearing any panties. Shit.

It was like a lightbulb appeared above his head, “Why don’t we play would you rather?”

You nod your head, teeth sinking into your bottom lip as Haechan swipes a finger through your slick folds. “Y-yeah… yeah we can play would you rather.”

Haechan nods, a smirk forming on his lips. “I’ll go first. Would you rather cum on my fingers or cum on my thigh?”

“W-what?” You choked on your spit, spluttering quickly before regaining your composure— well, as much as you could considering the fingers that were toying with your folds. “Uh, cum on your thigh… yeah.”

“Good choice.” He beams up at you with a devilish smile. Your stomach does flips but you can’t resist perching yourself over his sweatpants cladded thigh with a satisfied sigh. The feel of the soft material against your slick folds felt too good to be true. “Move. Slowly.”

You stare down your body to watch yourself slowly grind against his thigh, your mouth watering at the taste of a great orgasm on its way.

Haechan perches his hands against your hips, helping to guide you through your movements, dragging you back and forth until your head falls against his shoulder.

“Hyuckie— oh. It feels— feels really good.” You moan out, eyes fluttering at the delicious friction against your swollen clit. “Want… need more.”

Haechan chuckles as he lifts your head up to press a soft kiss against your lips. “No need to be greedy, we have all night.”

You lean more into the kiss as you begin to pick up the pace of your hips. You can feel how wet you’ve made his thigh, his sweatpants soaking up all your pussy slick. “Oh shit, I’m gonna— oh Hyuckie please. I wanna cum. Can I cum?”

Haechan smiles against your lips, his fingers digging into your hips. “Yes, baby. Cum all over my thigh, there’s a good girl.”

You squeeze your eyes shut as your orgasm washes over you. Your hips buck at the sensitivity of pressing yourself harder against him. You whimper a string of curses before suckling at the bottom of his neck. “I needed that so bad, oh my god.”

Haechan tilts his head to give you better access. God how he’s missed the feel of you on top of him. He regrets breaking up with you every day, but he knows he’s blown it with you with the whole Soomin thing.

“Your turn.” His voice is slightly strained as you continue to lick at his skin.

“Would you rather cum in my mouth or in my pussy?” You pull away from his neck and a string of saliva still connects you to him.

“Jesus Christ, Y/N.” He runs a hand through his hair before flipping you onto your back causing you to squeal. “I’d rather cum in your pretty pussy and make a mess of you.”

Your heart thumps rapidly against your chest as you look into his pretty brown eyes. “I can’t wait.” You grin at him, hands reaching to lift his shirt up and off him. You’ve missed looking at him like this— eyes full of lust. You reach further down and tug at the waistband of his sweatpants.

“I remember how to undress myself, y’know?” Haechan leans back on his knees, watching you pry at his sweatpants until you’re desperately tugging them down his thighs.

“Yeah, but I do it so much better.”

Haechan chuckles at you once you’ve successfully stripped him out of his clothes. You gawk at his naked body; clearly you weren’t the only one not wearing any underwear. “C’mon baby, lean back, I’m gonna make us feel so good.”

You fall onto your back, legs automatically spreading for him and he growls at the sight of your glistening pussy lips. He presses his thumb against your clit and you squirm. “Don’t be a tease. Just fuck me.”

“Anything for you.” He presses a quick kiss to your thigh before aligning himself up against your hole. You stare down between your bodies, your stomach filling with butterflies at the thought of having him inside you like old times. “Ready?”

You nod. Haechan eases himself into you, inch by inch until he bottoms out. “Oh– I’m so full. God you’re so big, I love it.”

A hand flies to your waist as he slowly pulls himself out, savouring the feeling of your walls wrapped around his cock. “Hurry up and fuck me properly Lee Haechan.” You quip.

“Fuck you properly, huh? Whatever you want, baby, I’ll give you it.” He smirks down at you before roughly pushing himself back into you. Your breath is forced out of your lungs as he creates a cruel pace of his hips— the sound of skin on skin fills his bedroom along with the bass of the music coming from outside his bedroom door.

You cling onto his biceps, bottom lip trembling as you hold back your moans and whimpers and cries for him. The tip of his cock reaches places deep inside you and your toes curl at the pleasure. “Hyuck— go… faster.”

He picks up his speed and stars explode behind your eyes as your second orgasm surprises you. Your back arches off the bed and you hear him coo at you. “God you look so hot creaming on my cock like that.”

You pull him closer, your lips ghosting over his. “Cum in me, please.”

Haechan sighs as he feels you clench around his cock, squeezing him until he can’t take it any longer. “Keep doing that, baby. Keep squeezing me.”

You forcefully press your lips against his as he rocks into your cunt, sloppy sounds echoing around the room. You clench around him a few more times before he stills and whines into your mouth, his tongue fighting against your own as he releases inside you.

“Fuck.” He curses as he slowly pulls out of you, his cum oozes out and he whines yet again. “I could stare at your pussy forever.”

You roll your eyes, “Yeah well, you can’t.”

It was his turn to roll his eyes. “I’ll run the shower… round two?” He hops off the bed, his cock still standing hard against his stomach and you realise that you’re gonna have to make him cum once more before you even think about getting some sleep.

You batter your eyelashes at him, “Only if you do all the work.”

He scoffs. “I already do.”

You’re not sure when you fell asleep, but all you know is that your entire body feels sore and aches between your legs. How much sex did you have?

You open your eyes and nothing seems out of the ordinary. Haechan’s room looks exactly like how you left it after being carried into the bathroom to clean yourself up and obviously go for round two.

Normally when you sleep around his place, he’d have his arm draped over your waist and his nose nuzzled into your neck, but none of that is happening. You roll over and notice that he isn’t even in the bed— you don’t hear any noise coming from his bathroom. He isn’t in the room.

You sit up, wincing at the dull ache between your thighs as you slowly pick up your dress that got thrown on the floor on the way to the shower.

After you got dressed— as best as you could— you made your way out of his room and down the hallway.

The place is completely trashed. Broken bottles scatter the floor, solo red cups stick to pieces of furniture, the fluorescent lights hang from the walls as if someone tried hanging off them, and a few passed out guys who you believe are Haechan’s roommates are cuddled up on the floor together.

You carefully tread through the mess until you’re near the kitchen, but you hear hushed voices. Angry sounding voices to be exact. You hover outside the doorway so you can eavesdrop. Not very classy but oh well.

“You slept with her. Again?!” A female’s voice rises and you hear the other person shush them. “Don’t shush me. I don’t care if she hears, I’m annoyed.”

“Look, I’ve got history with her. She means something to me.” The male voice now speaks and your stomach drops when you know who’s talking.

Haechan.

“History or not, you promised me we could work things out last night before you got pissy and went to your room.” The female voice was Soomin. You felt sick to your stomach. What the fuck is going on?!

“Listen, Soomin. I don’t know what to tell you right now.” He sounded exasperated. “I may have another shot with Y/N and I don’t wanna mess it up.”

“Well you should’ve thought about that before you asked me out.”

You felt a headache coming on and you didn’t even drink any alcohol last night. You don’t know when you zoned out of their conversation, but you gathered they stopped talking as Haechan was now standing in front of you. Looking guilty as hell.

“Y/N… how’d you sleep?”

“Oh, fuck off.” You scoff at him. “Juwon was right. I do regret this.”

“What?” Haechan looks offended. “What do you mean she was right? You regret sleeping with me?”

You comb your fingers through your hair. This conversation is not something you want to be having, but you gotta rip off the bandaid. For both you and him.

“We’re so complicated. We can’t stay away from each other no matter who we’re involved in.” You look at him in his eyes. “You didn’t want to be with me because you didn’t want to have a committed relationship, yet here you are trying to get that relationship back.”

“I know what we have is on the road to getting fucked up, but I made a mistake breaking up with you.” Haechan confesses. “I just wanted to experience college like a single guy and being with you stopped me from doing that, but I don’t want to be single. I want you.”

The audacity? “Y’know what, Hyuckie. Fuck you. Fuck you and your slutty side piece. You and Soomin can go to hell. I’m done.” You don’t even allow him the chance to respond before storming out of his dorm apartment.

“Y/N— fuck. Stop!” He grabs your wrist as you open the door. “Can we not talk about this? I don’t wanna be with Soomin, she’s long forgotten.”

You snatch your wrist back out of his grasp. “Tell that to the promise you made to her.”

“What promise?”

You roll your eyes, “You promised that you and her could work things out.”

Haechan stands there silently. He knows he’s done wrong, yet why isn’t he apologising?

“Whatever. I’m done.” You spin on your heels and walk out, leaving him behind you and in the past.

Copyright 2021-present. Legal action will be taken if saintlyhyuck’s work has been taken without consent. Do not plagiarise.

TAGLIST: @neochan @ourbeautifulaffair @liliansun @sundamariis @lovingvoidgoatee @thiccfullsun @matchahyuck @luvjiro @produmads @yujuvly @n0hyuck @wanlore @harrypinks @nctevia @miumiumiso @rum-gone-why @mrkis @neobanguniverse @sstarrysshit @sweetjaemss @soobsfairy444 @fairy-jojo @hyuckshoe69 @haechology @staeryminies @zetaares @cosmiczen @liuyyluvr @toroufriteh @sweetdreaminadream @glitching-wren @haechoshi @carelessshootanonymous @tamakofever @watamotee33 @hellokittyindoors

[jenoyeahh]

so good sooo goooood really in the mood for some angst and sometimes reading people made stupid decisions distracts you from your own stupid decisions! would have at least punch haechan for what he did like fuck you haechan! none of the people here are good like yn knows that haechan has something goin on with soomin but she still hit, get a grip!! stand up!! soomin leave these mess alone, you'll find someone better, the audacity he had to literally say that he thinks he had a chance with his ex, throw him to the fire pit! if i was juwon i wouldn't even let her go to the party like yeah we're going somewhere else or we're staying home, youre on probation for the stupid things you did. anyway, it's nice to let out some steam and got mad at fictional characters, thank you for writing and sharing 😚😚

[jaeyunverse]

the perks of having a hot best friend

PAIRING(S) | lee jeno x fem!reader

GENRE(S) | fluff, crack, mild angst, best friends to lovers, college au

WORD COUNT | 14336

WARNING(S) | profanity, sexual jokes, jeno is shirtless in a scene phew, too many idol features SORRY i lowk lost track of who i’ve included. i think that is all but lmk if you find something else!

SUMMARY | having a hot best friend is nice until you start getting butterflies in your stomach every single time you look at them.

AUTHOR’S NOTE | JAEYUNVERSE COMEBACK WOOO i’ve missed writing long fics so much omfg but i’m shitting bricks as we speak LOL it’s been a while since i’ve posted something big and i won’t lie i’m hella nervous. i rlly hope you guys enjoy this fic ♡ please don’t hesitate to give me your feedback! here’s to hoping my writing skills haven’t become as rusty as i think i have hehe :’))

𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐊𝐒 !

01. an abundance of freebies and discounts

Lee Jeno knew the power his smile held. 

All it took was one flirty laugh combined with those sleepy eyes of his for people to melt. Being the resourceful person you were, you utilised that talent of his to its full extent. 

“Can you go and flirt with the cashier so she gives us a free muffin?” 

Your best friend gave you a dirty look. “You do realise this is supposed to be your treat, right?” 

“I am paying!” you exclaimed. “Just go do your thing and make her feel generous enough to slip a free dessert in our order.” 

Jeno rolled his eyes, but you knew you’d won. You almost always did. “Fine, whatever. You owe me one though.” 

“I’m feeding you because I owe you one,” you pointed out. “This makes us equal.”

“How riveting. I have to work so the person who owes me doesn’t have to owe me anymore.” 

“We can argue about this for hours or you can haul ass to the counter and place the damn order. I’ll Venmo you the money the moment you’re back,” you promised. 

Sliding out of the booth, Jeno said, “You’re lucky you’re cute. If this were Jaemin, I wouldn’t be letting him off the hook easily.”

You stuck your tongue out at him and shooed him away. Narrowing his eyes, he grabbed your wrist and pulled you along. 

“Hey!” you cried. “Don’t take me with you! The flirting won’t have any effect on her if she thinks we’re together!” 

“Everyone thinks we’re together,” Jeno muttered and got in line behind an old man. “She checked me out when we entered the cafe, saw you arm-in-arm with me and gave you the dirtiest look to ever exist.” 

You snorted. “Liar. You might be an eye candy but you do not command such a high level of attention.”   

“I’m telling the truth!” he argued. “I would know because I was checking out the drink she placed on the counter. I was trying to figure out what the person’s order might have been to get something so incredibly delicious-looking. I saw her out of the corner of my eye.” 

“Oh.” You frowned and took a step forward when the line moved ahead. “That’s unfortunate. Should we go to another cafe and try our hand at getting something free there?” 

“How about you stop being such a cheap skate for once?”

Slapping his shoulder hard, you grumbled, “I have to bear the weight of my goddamn rent alone while you share yours with three others! I need to cut down on certain things, asshole.” 

“My offer to move in with you next semester still stands.” Jeno wiggled his eyebrows. “I’m a really good housemate; ask the others.” 

“You live with boys. The disgusting things you do don’t bother them because they do them too.” 

He closed his mouth and thought about it for a second. Then, “Touché.” 

You rolled your eyes, but before you could make another snarky comment, a pleasant voice interrupted, “Good morning. What can I get for you today?” 

Jeno averted his gaze to the girl standing behind the counter and let a lazy smile take form on his lips. You raised a brow and watched in amusement. 

“Hey there. Can I get a Strawberries & Crème Frappuccino with 1 pump caramel syrup, 1 pump hazelnut syrup, and 1 pump toffee-nut syrup? Java chips too, please.” 

The girl—Lia, according to her name tag—looked surprised to see him blatantly flirting with you right beside him. Maybe he was right about every stranger assuming the two of you to be together, though you couldn’t fathom why. “O—okay.”

“What do you want, friend?” Jeno stressed the last word. Refraining to roll your eyes a second time, you said, 

“Iced coffee without milk. Could you add some sugar to the brew? I prefer my drinks to be sweet.” 

“Of course,” she said and nodded once, unfazed even after learning of Jeno’s status as an eligible bachelor. 

Snorting under your breath, you whispered to him, “Lia doesn’t give a fuck. You’re lacking.” 

He scoffed and nudged you away. “No, I’m not,” he whisper-snapped. “Get out of here. You’re killing my vibe.” 

You deadpanned and gave him a don’t-bullshit-me look but retreated to your booth nonetheless. The last thing you heard Lia ask was: “Anything else?” 

You’d only been sitting and scrolling through your phone for a few minutes before a hand slapped a receipt on the table in front of you. 

Glancing up, you inquired, “What?” 

“Read the order.” 

Dropping your gaze to the piece of paper again, you picked it up. An appreciative frown tugged at your lips as Jeno slid into his seat. “You managed to get us a free muffin and a free bagel?”

“Don’t ever question my talents again,” he ordered and leaned back. Resting his arm on the cushion behind him and placing his ankle on his knee, his attitude was nothing short of a king’s. “I won’t tolerate any further slander.” 

“Uh-huh,” you muttered, utterly unimpressed. Though you admit, a smile threatened to break out on your face and you had to bite your lip to keep it from escaping. 

Jeno raised an eyebrow, as if waiting for something. All you did was stare at him, and when he realised you wouldn’t budge, he did an extremely horrible and high-pitched imitation of you that should have deserved jail. “Thank you sooooooo much, Jeno! If it weren’t for your flirting skills, I wouldn’t have anything to eat. You’re my one and only saviour, and I don’t know what I would have done without—”

“Order for Jeno!” Lia hollered. 

Said-boy flinched and clutched his heart with his hand. “What the… That was quick.” Clearing his throat, he turned his attention back to you, the tips of his ears red and his face flushed. “Whatever. I’ll be right back. Venmo me the bill amount.” 

You snickered and watched him get up. However, before he could move out of earshot, you called his name. “Thank you for your service.” 

Jeno glanced at you over his shoulder and did nothing but observe you for a moment. Then, a lopsided grin took form on his lips and he mock saluted. 

“You’re welcome.” 

02. gives good boy advice

“What are you doing here?” 

Pushing past you, Jeno strolled into your living room and plopped down on your sofa. “Is that any way to greet your best friend?” 

You rolled your eyes and closed the front door. Sitting down beside him, you placed your laptop on your lap again and resumed going through your notes. “I’m being serious. Were we supposed to hang out today? Because I cannot. I still have three finals left.” 

“No, we didn’t have any plans today,” he said, peering over your shoulder to check what subject you were studying. It was Economics. Horrible memories from the previous semester resurfaced and he shuddered before continuing, “Your text said you wanted to talk about something important?” 

You paused and glanced at him. “So you came over?” 

“Do you want me to leave?” Jeno frowned. “I thought it would be better to talk in person.”

He stood up and dusted himself off. Eyes widening, you grabbed his wrist and forced him back to his original position. “That’s not what I meant! I do want to talk to you but—it’s weird. I don’t feel like dealing with whatever has happened right now and I’m getting second thoughts about asking you for advice.” 

Concern seeped into Jeno’s face. “Woah, are you okay? You don’t have to explain anything right now. Just tell me one thing: do I need to beat anyone up? I’ve got a few gym buddies who are ripped.”

You huffed a laugh and placed your laptop on the coffee table. Crossing your legs, you turned to face him. Upon watching you get comfortable, your best friend rolled his shoulders back and did the same thing. 

“Before I say anything, I need you to promise me that you won’t laugh. Or make fun of me. Or call me an idiot.” 

“I won’t,” he answered immediately, though he wondered what issue warranted you to require his word. 

Taking a deep breath, you nodded. “YangYang asked me out a few days ago. I’ve always liked him, but not in a way that’s not platonic. I fucked up and instead of rejecting him right there, I asked him for some time to think it over and kinda led him to believe that I would say yes.”

Jeno raised an eyebrow. “How?” 

“I told him he’s my type,” you mumbled, cringing at the memories that came rushing back. 

“What?!” he exclaimed. “How the hell did you manage to do that?” 

“I don’t know!” you whined and buried your face in your hands. “He came up to me when I was in the library and asked if we could talk! I didn’t know he was going to drop such a bomb on me so I said yes. Then he started talking about how he’s always cherished our friendship and how he’s so glad to have me.

“I started suspecting where his train of thought was headed when he added a but to his sentence. He said he’s liked me for a while now and he couldn’t keep it to himself anymore. I was flabbergasted once he was done! I’ve always viewed him as a good friend and I didn’t want to just turn his heart down!”

“So you told him he was your type?” Jeno asked incredulously. “I know I promised to not call you an idiot but you’re really fucking stupid, Y/N! It’s going to be hella awkward when the group meets up!” 

You groaned and closed your eyes shut, letting yourself fall on your back. “That’s not even the worst part.” 

Jeno grabbed your wrists and hauled you back up. His face was barely a few inches away from yours when he ordered, “Explain.”

Taking a deep breath, you continued. “I told YangYang that he was cute and my type but I wasn’t in a position to think about going out with anyone with still two weeks of finals left to get through. I thought he would drop it but he asked me if I would think about his confession after our exams and I felt terrible telling him the truth. So I said I would. Yeji called me last night and said she set me up on a blind date with this guy in her class. You know how fast word spreads here. YangYang is going to know I dangled him on strings only to go on a date with someone else!” 

“You’re going on a blind date? With whom?” 

You flicked Jeno’s forehead. “That’s not the issue!” 

“Well, I want to know!” he sputtered and slapped your hand away. 

“I don’t know! Frankly, I don’t care either. I made a bet with Yeji and I lost. Now I have to spend an evening with a random guy I don’t even want to seek a romantic relationship with.” 

Your best friend sighed in frustration. “This might be one of your biggest fuck-ups till now.”

“I know,” you said quietly and dropped your gaze to your lap in shame. 

“You’ll have to apologise to YangYang and tell him the truth. He’s a good guy and he doesn’t deserve any of this.” 

“I know.” 

“Hey,” Jeno said softly. You glanced at him to see he’d gotten up and was holding his out for you. “Come here.” 

You rose to your feet and let him envelop you in his comforting embrace. Burying your face in his chest, you whispered, “I never wanted to hurt YangYang. I don’t want to lose him as a friend.” 

“You won’t as long as you come clean and explain everything. Don’t insult him further by giving him more half-truths. Guys would rather know what’s the real deal than be lied to and find out from someone else. Not only is it hurtful, but it’s a huge blow to the ego.”  

Your lips curled in a small smile and you leaned back a little to look at his face. “Is this about your mom lying to you about the tooth fairy?” 

“Damn right it is,” he grumbled. “I gave an entire speech about her being my favourite person in the whole world. That’s not something you recover from easily.”

“It’s been 15 years.”

“It’ll take me another 15 to come to terms with the fact that I used to rip my loose teeth out and place them under my pillow when I needed money urgently.” 

You laughed and pulled yourself out of his arms. “I can’t believe I’m taking guy advice from you.” 

“Why?” Jeno exclaimed. “I’m a guy too! Plus, I always give good advice!” 

You giggled and plopped down on the sofa again. “I know. But you’re also Jeno. I’ve never thought of you as just a guy.” 

“I don’t know if I should be flattered or offended.” 

“How about you sit your ass down and help me study now that you’re here? I made flash cards.” 

Snatching the stack from your hand, Jeno teased, “Oh, how would you survive without me?”

“I don’t have to wonder about that shit.” You grinned. “There’s no way in hell you’re getting rid of me anytime soon.” 

He laughed. “And thank fuck for that.” 

03. hugs always make you feel safe thanks to all the beef underneath

You were going to drag Jeno to the seventh circle of Hell. 

You couldn’t afford to go grocery shopping with him when you had a huge exam the next day. You hadn’t studied shit and were one “have you prepared for tomorrow’s final?” away from a mental breakdown. 

It didn’t help that Yeji had called you in the middle of the night to clear a doubt she had from a chapter you didn’t even know had been covered.

You’d been panicking ever since and it felt like you were going to get a heart attack at any moment.  

“Doritos or Lays?” 

“Kick to the nuts or knuckles to the jaw?” 

Your best friend tore his gaze from the rack of chips and eyed you warily. “I said I’ll help you study tonight.” 

“You don’t understand, Jeno!” you exclaimed and ran a hand through your messy hair, pacing in the supermarket aisle impatiently. “I’m going to fail! Fail!”  

Groaning, Jeno grabbed your arm and forced you to face him. He held your shoulders and looked you in the eyes, enunciating each word as he reiterated, “You’re not going to fail. We’re going to pull an all-nighter in the library, but we need to be stocked up on food before we do that.” 

You sighed painfully. It burned your eyes to just focus on anything—how the hell were you supposed to stay awake for another day and write a three-hour-long exam after that? 

“You could have come here without dragging me with you,” you muttered. “I could have been studying at home instead of wasting precious time.”

Jeno frowned. “Any more time in front of your laptop and you would have gone insane, Y/N. Your eyes are completely red.” 

“Oh, that’s not because of the screen time. I cried before you came to check on me.” 

Huffing a small laugh that bordered on exasperation, amusement and worry, Jeno threw a few packets of Doritos in the shopping cart before slinging an arm around your neck. You let him pull you against him and wrapped your arms around his waist as the two of you began walking. 

“Well, you needed to get out anyway. I don’t remember the last time I saw you leave your apartment.” 

“I stepped outside yesterday to play with the neighbour’s cat,” you said defensively. 

“Not good enough,” Jeno popped. “We’re going to go get a massage once we’re done shopping.” 

You stopped in your tracks and peeled yourself away from him. “The final is in twenty-eight hours!” you yelled, staring at him incredulously. “Are you fucking stupid?!” 

“So you have plenty of time to de-stress before you start studying again!” he chirped, paying no heed to your concerns nor the people who had heard your outburst and were giving you odd looks. “Trust me, I went for a massage before my final and I was so relaxed. It helped me to focus too.” 

“Jeno,” you uttered his name with barely contained impatience. “I don’t have time. I need to cover a lot of shit before I go and sit in the fucking examination hall.” 

“And I said I’ll help!” he repeated, sounding almost exasperated. Pushing the shopping cart forward again, he studied the shelves and continued, “You always do this, Y/N. You freak out before a test and act like the world is ending only for you to do super well.”

“Well—” you began, stumbling after him— “that’s just my coping mechanism! The more worried I am, the better I do. But I’m screwed for real this time!” 

“No,” Jeno popped, placing a 2-litre bottle of Sprite in the cart. “I’m not listening to you this time. Especially not after you stayed awake for three days straight for your midterm.” 

You sighed again. There was no arguing with your best friend. “How long is this massage of yours going to take?” 

“We’ll be back at your place in two hours max,” he reassured you, patting your head. You swatted his hand away and gave him a dirty look. “I think we have everything we need to make it through today and tomorrow.” 

“Why do we need such a big bottle of Sprite?” 

“Party at my place this weekend. There’s a discount so I’m buying in advance.”

You frowned. “Shouldn’t you be stocking up on booze?”

“The guys said I have an alcohol addiction,” Jeno said, getting in line at the billing counter. “Which is, like, totally untrue but you know I never back down from a challenge. I’m going to prove them wrong by staying sober for two weeks.”

“Sure,” you snorted. “You’ll just find lame loopholes or cheat when no one’s looking.”

A sly grin took form on Jeno’s lips. He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively and drawled, “I know what you do when no one’s looking.”

“Really?” You feigned a gasp. “You know I sneak over to your house and steal your food when you’re not there?”

His smile dropped immediately. “Wait, what? That’s you? Not Hyuck?”

“The food thief is me but the one stealing your sheet masks is Hyuck,” you admitted.

“He steals my masks?! The ones I buy are expensive as fuck!” Jeno exclaimed, betrayal seeping into his features. His hands fell to his side and his eyes turned distant. “I can’t believe he’s been gaslighting me into thinking I do an extra round of skincare when I’m drunk.”

You giggled and pushed the shopping cart forward once the person in front of you was done. Placing the contents on the billing counter for the cashier to scan, you revealed, “Hyuck saw me raiding your pantry when you were at the gym. He used that as leverage against me for weeks before I saw him stealing your sheet masks and was able to finally strike a deal—he turns a blind eye to my robberies and I turn a blind eye to his.”

“Why’d you team up with him?” Jeno pouted. “I thought we were best friends.”

You laughed incredulously. “Seriously? That’s what you’re focusing on? Not the part where Hyuck and I used your stuff without asking?”

“Well, yeah, I’m pissed you used my shit. But I guess I’m just a little more bothered that you guys teamed up,” Jeno said and shrugged, fetching his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans. “Because, you know, coming together to make people suffer has always been our thing.”

You raised an eyebrow, slightly amused by how he was beating around the bush. “Are you saying you wanna team up with me to get back at Hyuck?”

Jeno grinned. “I’m gonna screw over that motherfucker so bad. You get off the hook, though, because you’re cute and I need your help.”

“You’re impossible.” You huffed and shook your head. Taking the bag of groceries, you said to him, “Text me my share and I’ll Venmo the money to you.”

“You could buy me an ice cream instead.”

“No,” you denied immediately. “We’re not wasting time on ice cream. Massage and then straight home so I can pick up my study material and we can leave for the library.”

Thankfully, Jeno didn’t protest. He drove you to your apartment complex and waited for you while you packed your bag. Then, the two of you were off to the massage place.

An hour later, you were done and forced to admit that the massage had indeed helped you. It felt like all the stress had left your body. Thinking about the final didn’t make you want to cry anymore and things were actually looking up now that you were rested.

You were able to retain the knowledge better and it was easier to understand the concepts. Jeno quizzed you and provided you with an endless supply of coffee throughout the night.

Right before lunch the next day, however, the panic resurfaced as you were revising your syllabus for the last time before your final at 3. You couldn’t seem to remember anything you had studied the previous night. 

You could feel another breakdown coming, but before you could hyperventilate, Jeno scooped you up in his arms.

You hadn’t even realised when he’d come back from picking up your food. One minute, you were trying to control your breath and the next, your face was buried in his hard chest.

You held onto his shirt as his hands rubbed soothing circles on your back and he rocked you from side to side.

“Shh, don’t cry,” he mumbled and kissed the top of your head. “You’re gonna ace the final like you always do. You were able to answer all the quiz questions, so keep in mind that you are prepared. The pre-exam anxiety is just clouding your thoughts. Everything’s gonna come back to you when you sit down to write, alright?”

Nodding, you clenched your eyes shut and bit down on your lip to keep a sob from escaping. Jeno’s presence kept acting like a tether for you. It always had.

Maybe he was right about the final. Maybe he wasn’t. But at that moment, engulfed in his warm, safe embrace, it felt like everything was going to be okay.

𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐒 !

01. having to deal with a narcissistic asshole. 

It was an especially sweltering day. 

You were being baked inside-out despite wearing a tank top and a pair of shorts, your hair tied in a messy high bun. Adding to your torment was your broken A/C. You’d requested your landlord to fix it several times but your efforts were to no avail. 

You would have kept bothering him incessantly and gotten the job done if you weren’t so intimidated by him already. 

Sighing, you eyed your bathroom. A cold shower sounded like an amazing idea. Jeno wasn’t supposed to come over to watch the movie for a while anyway. 

Deciding to cool yourself and get rid of the sweat sticking to your body, you entered the tiny bathroom. A high-pitched squeal left your mouth the moment you turned the shower knob and the cold water hit your skin. 

“Fuck,” you cursed and flinched, turning the knob the other way immediately. Your shitty apartment didn’t even have a valve to adjust the temperature—the water was either mildly hot or ice cold. Showering in summer was always a big problem.

“God, I don’t wanna keep doing this,” you mumbled to yourself and stepped into your room again. 

There was this… thing you’d been doing ever since you moved into this apartment. Whenever it was hot, you’d work out so you’d get more sweaty. That way, when you showered under the ice-cold water, it didn’t feel as unbearable. 

It was weird and there probably was no science behind it, but you didn’t care as long as it worked. 

So, you rolled out your yoga mat on the floor and began warming up. 

Within no time, your skin was glistening with sweat and your hair was damp. You were struggling to complete the last push-up of your final rep when someone knocked on your door, causing you to lose your focus. Your arms gave out beneath you, and you collapsed to the ground. 

“Woah, it’s boiling in here,” Jeno pointed out intelligently. “And you look like you’re one move away from dying. God, I can’t even breathe Why the fuck are you working out with the windows closed? Are you stupid?” 

Groaning, you rolled on your back and watched your best friend as he moved to the windows and threw them open. “Hey!” you protested weakly and raised a trembling arm in a pathetic attempt to stop him. “I’m trying to do something!”

Jeno raised an eyebrow at you and grabbed your hand, hauling you up effortlessly. “Oh, yeah? Pray tell.” 

You crashed into his chest and rebounded, but he tightened his hold on you. His palm hovered over your back in case you lost your balance. Steadying yourself, you glared at him and snapped, “No. You’re gonna make fun of me.”

“I won’t!” Jeno laughed, his eyes crinkling. 

“Stop, you’re doing it already!” 

“Okay! Okay, I’m sorry. I really do wanna know what you were doing.” 

You eyed him for a moment, waiting for him to slip up and start laughing again. But Jeno’s face remained mildly curious. Satisfied, you explained, “Well, because I was feeling hot, I decided to take a shower. The water here is very cold, though, so I decided to work out in a closed room because that would make me even hotter. If I get in the shower now, it wouldn’t feel as cold because my body temperature has already increased, and the water would be sort of neutralised.” 

A beat of silence passed. And then, “I know I said I wouldn’t make fun of you—”

“Then stop talking.”

“But did you not realise you could have mixed the hot and cold water in a bucket?” Jeno continued, clearly still talking. “Or, I don’t know, come over to my place to shower?” 

“You live with three other men.” You deadpanned. “I was not going to shower in your apartment with Jaemin, Renjun and Hyuck there. Also, I don’t have a big enough bucket, so I will be buying one today,” you added, muttering the last bit. 

Jeno rolled his eyes. “God, Y/N, I would have kicked the guys out.” 

“What makes you think they would have listened to you?” you asked amusedly.

“Okay, true,” he agreed. “They would have listened to you, though. If there’s anyone who’s bossy enough to get them out of the house on a hot Sunday afternoon, it’s you.” 

“Are you calling me bossy?” 

“Are you going to shower now?” he deflected. “You stink.”

“Shut up!” you exclaimed and slapped his shoulder hard, but laughed nonetheless. Moving away from him, you kicked him off your yoga mat and said, “You opened the windows and interrupted my workout, so I don’t feel as hot anymore. I think I’m gonna exercise a little more so I don’t die of hypothermia in the shower. You can take my laptop and choose a movie till then if you want.”

“How about I work out with you?” Jeno suggested. “We can have our gym bros moment.” 

“I don’t wanna have a gym bros moment with you.”

“Why?” he whined. 

Flicking his forehead, you said, “Because I know you’re gonna turn this into a competition, and I’m not in the mood.” 

“Scared?”

“You wish,” you scoffed. “I’m tired from all the working out I did before you came, and I’m not going against you when you have that advantage over me.” 

“That still means you’re scared. Pussy”

Letting out an exasperated sigh, you got into the position for a plank. “Get out if you’re going to keep being annoying and not contribute shit to our gym bros moment.”

“I knew you’d come around,” Jeno replied smugly. You practically heard the grin in his voice when he said that. 

You closed your eyes and laboured your breathing as you felt your abdomen begin to burn almost immediately. “Had to, or I knew you’d keep irritating me.” 

Opening your lids, you turned your neck to see if he was doing the exercise with you. 

Your arms gave out the moment you saw Jeno shirtless, his bulging biceps on full display.

“Damn, you lost quicker than I thought,” he commented. 

“Why are you naked?!” you demanded in a shrill voice. 

Still in position, Jeno only glanced at you like you were out of your mind. “I was wearing a hoodie, Y/N. Did you expect me to do a plank in that furnace?” 

“Yeah!” you exclaimed. To your dismay, your eyes kept drifting to his well-defined muscles no matter how much you tried to focus on his face. 

To make things worse, Jeno noticed. And smirked. “Stop complaining if you’re enjoying the view so much. It’s okay to admit you have a hot best friend.”

Flustered, you scrambled to your feet and looked at the ceiling. God, you felt like a stupid middle schooler. It was insane how much of an effect Jeno was having on you. What was weirder was that your mind was drifting to places it had never been before. At least where your best friend was concerned. 

“Narcissus has nothing on you,” you muttered under your breath, and tried to gather your bearings. 

“Besides,” Jeno continued, having not heard you. “I do send you pictures sometimes. I don’t know why you’re acting like you’ve never seen me like this.” 

“Your phone’s camera is fucked, Jeno,” you grumbled. “The photos you texted me didn’t capture half of what’s actually there.”

No matter what you hadn’t seen, you’d felt whenever you hugged each other. It didn’t take away your surprise upon seeing the 2440p quality visual though. 

“Is that disappointment I hear?” he taunted. 

“No!” you exclaimed and finally looked at him again. At the sight of his working muscles, you muttered, “Can we stop now? You won.”

“Ah!” Jeno dragged the word as if he had just stumbled upon a revelation. “You want me to stand up so you can get a better view of my abs? Got it.” 

Your eyes widened, and before you could deny his ridiculous accusations, he was towering over you. Wiggling his eyebrows, he gestured towards himself and flexed dramatically. 

“You’re an idiot,” you huffed, unable to help yourself. 

“Yeah? Then I guess an idiot just managed to fluster the shit out of you.” Jeno smiled and ruffled your hair. Bending, he picked up his discarded hoodie and shrugged it back on. “I’ll go and get you a bathing bucket from the supermarket around the corner. Don’t freeze yourself to death.” 

You rolled your eyes. “I won’t.” 

“Also, do you remember the shirt I forgot here all those months ago after I got wet in the rain? Can you find it so I can change into it when I’m back?” He frowned and looked at himself. “I’ll eventually toast myself if I watch the movie in my hoodie.”

“Sure, but you’re stupid for wearing warm clothes in summer,” you commented.  

Jeno gave you a dirty look. “Sorry for assuming your A/C was in working condition. Besides, you always want to cuddle when we watch movies, so I figured you’d be more comfortable if I was wearing a hoodie.” 

Your cheeks warmed at that, your heart stumbling a beat. What was wrong with you? You’d always known Jeno was caring and went out of his way to do nice things for you.

Typically, you’d have felt grateful for how thoughtful he was being. 

Now, though, you felt that and… something else that you didn’t really want to acknowledge. 

“Whatever,” you said instead, trying to sound dismissive. Pushing him out of your room, you continued, “I’ll find it. Just hurry up with the bucket.” 

A few minutes after Jeno was gone, a notification popped up on your phone. 

[jeno]: clearer picture that i clicked on jaemin’s phone for your viewing pleasure :”) 

You blinked in confusion and opened the photo that was attached below, your eyes widening the moment you saw it. It was a zoomed-in gym mirror selfie of Jeno wearing nothing but sweatpants and shoes, his muscular abdomen on full display. 

[you]: did you crop jaemin? 

[jeno]: ???? [jeno]: wdym……. [you]: the photo’s dimensions are weird [jeno]: oh [jeno]: what the fuck [you]: LMFAOOO [jeno]: STOP I DIDN’T WANT YOU LOOKING AT HIM INSTEAD OF ME I’VE GOT A BETTER BODY ANYWAY AND I’M GONNA BUY A NEW PHONE SO I CAN SEND YOU CLEARER PICS WITHOUT HAVING TO CROP THAT FUCKER OUT 

You bit down on your lip to keep yourself from smiling too wide. Right before you were about to type a reply, you received another text from your best friend. 

[jeno]: so are you gonna tell me what you think [you]: FINE you’re hot. [you]: happy?  [jeno]: euphoric

Finally laughing out loud, you shook your head. 

Narcissus had nothing on Jeno indeed.

02. female friends ask you to be their wingwoman 

You didn’t think you’d ever accompanied Jeno to a party without having someone ask you to set them up with him. 

“Please,” Yoo Jimin begged for what seemed like the thousandth time. “Yeji said he was single!” 

Sighing, you mentally cursed Yeji for inviting Jimin to Jeno’s party. “He is, but I’m not setting you up with him.” 

“Why?” Jimin demanded rather aggressively, making you wonder what it would take for her to quit nagging you. “Do you like him or something?” 

It took a concerning amount of effort for you to refrain from rolling your eyes. “I do not.” 

“Then what’s the problem?” 

“I don’t know, Jimin!” you finally burst and gestured at your surroundings. “Maybe I’m not too keen on helping you out because you followed me into the washroom and cornered me! Maybe I feel used because you’ve never shown much interest in me even though I’ve tried striking up a conversation with you several times before!”  

Jimin’s features softened, and she looked away. “You’re right,” she muttered, guilt and shame evident in her voice. “I’m sorry for jumping on you like that.” 

You immediately felt bad for snapping at her. Pursing your lips, you tried to cheer her up. “Don’t worry about it. You don’t need me to set you up with him anyway. I know we haven’t hung out much, but based on what I’ve heard about you from Yeji, you’re smart, funny and social. You have no reason to be nervous while approaching Jeno.” 

For some reason, you regretted encouraging Jimin to pursue your best friend. A gaping hole formed in your heart, and you wished she would go for someone else instead. 

“Thanks, Y/N.” Jimin smiled gratefully. “I know I’ve been a shitty person, but could you give me another chance? I’d really like to get to know you more.” 

And just like that, the hollowness in your chest was gone. You gave her a genuine smile of your own and said, “I gotta pee right now, but does lunch tomorrow work for you?”

Jimin’s eyes widened. “Shit, I’m so sorry. I forgot where we were.” Rubbing the nape of her neck sheepishly, she replied, “Lunch works. I’ll text you tonight so we can talk about it.” 

The two of you exchanged your goodbyes, and then she was gone. A few minutes later, you exited the washroom as well and headed back to the party. 

“I missed you,” a voice slurred in your ear. Arms circled around your waist, and a face buried itself into the crook of your neck. 

You laughed. “You failed the challenge, Jeno.” 

“Where were you?” he demanded in an almost whiny tone. “It’s your fault! I wouldn’t have lost at beer pong if you’d been playing with me.” 

Patting Jeno’s back in consolation, you replied, “I’m sorry you have zero self-control and commit to things you know you won’t be able to do.” 

Jeno peeled himself away from you and pouted. “You’re mean.”

“Thanks. Let’s get wasted together,” you said, but then added upon looking at his already tipsy condition, “Or I can get wasted, and your ass can keep me company.”  

“Don’t you think one of us should be sober?” Jeno asked as you pulled him along.

“I’m not gonna hold back from drinking!” you exclaimed. “Let me remind you that you were supposed to be the sober one today and make sure I didn’t do anything stupid. I’m blaming you if I get naked in the yard.” 

Thanks to the music that was gradually getting louder as you approached the main party area, you didn’t hear your best friend’s response. You tightened your grip on his hand when the crowd thickened. Wading your way through the dancing throng, you finally reached the table lined with alcohol and food. 

You chose a bottle of Romanov and popped it open, drinking straight from it. You’d barely taken a few gulps when Jeno snatched it from you and put it to his own mouth. 

Throwing him a dirty look, you picked up another bottle for yourself. “Do you wanna dance?”

“I wanna throw up.” 

“Suit yourself.” You shrugged and aimed for the dance floor. A smile crept on your face upon seeing Jaemin; you were not in the mood to dance alone. 

“Y/N!” he hollered when he noticed you. Stumbling towards you, he pulled you in a quick embrace. “I haven’t seen you in so long!” 

“Finals!” you answered. Jaemin nodded in understanding and ran a hand through his hair, taking a swig from his beer. “Do you wanna dance?” 

You grinned. “You know I do.” 

The next few hours were a complete blur. The bottle in your hand was replaced by more one after the other, and when Jaemin deemed you’d had enough to drink, he gave you a red solo cup filled with water instead. 

It felt good to finally unwind after the horrible few weeks you’d had. There was no academic stress weighing down on you anymore, and though you were low on sleep, you didn’t want to stop partying. 

You just wished you and Jeno had gotten wasted together. While you were having fun with Jaemin, partying with Jeno was a different experience entirely. 

Right as you were about to take a sip from your cup, you felt an arm being thrown around your neck. The touch was so familiar that you recognised who it was immediately. 

“I missed you!” you exclaimed. Jeno looked down at you with a grin on his face, a pair of black party glasses sitting on his nose. His hair was damp and fell over his forehead. Maybe it was the liquor in your system, but you could have sworn he never looked better. “Let’s dance.”

“Dance?” Jeno laughed. “Haven’t you been doing that for the past two hours? Don’t your feet hurt?” 

Frowning, you glanced at your legs. “They do!” you exclaimed, and looked back at him again, your bottom lip sticking out in a pout. Feeling tears beginning to pool in your eyes, you mumbled, “But I still want to dance.”

“How about we go on the roof instead? The stars look pretty tonight,” your best friend suggested, trying his best not to laugh at you. “I didn’t drink at all after you left me. I’m sober enough to take care of you now.” 

Your eyes lit up at that. “Wow, that’s such a good idea! You’re so smart, Jeno. I love you.”  

Jeno’s lips finally twitched up in a smile. “I love you too, silly.” 

Plucking the solo cup out of your hand, he offered you an arm. You looped yours through it with a soft thank you and leaned on him as he led you upstairs. 

The two of you entered his dark room, and Jeno shut the door behind him. Only when the loud music was muffled did you realise your head was throbbing.  

He unhooked your arms gently and grabbed a warm blanket off his bed. Throwing open his window, he jumped out on the flat roof and looked at you expectantly. 

You staggered behind Jeno and took the hand he was holding out for you. His other hand hovered over your waist as you climbed on the sill. 

Thanks to the alcohol in your system, your balance was non-existent, and your legs turned to jelly the moment they made contact with the roof. Fortunately, your best friend was there to catch you.

You bumped into Jeno’s chest instead of falling to the ground. He wrapped his arms around you and steadied you, laughing a little at your antics. 

“God, how much did you drink?” you heard him wonder to himself. You mumbled an incoherent response and leaned against the outside wall of his room, watching him lay the spread on the floor. 

The two of you usually climbed the ladder that led to the slanting roof at the very top of the house, but you reckoned the boy in front of you didn’t want to risk taking you up there when you were so wasted. 

Jeno sat down on the blanket once he was done and peeked at you over his shoulder, patting the space beside him. “Come on.” 

Pushing yourself off the siding, you stumbled to him, tripping over your feet a bit. You were able to keep your balance, though, and a moment later, you found yourself lying on the blanket next to him.

Your shoulders brushed against each other, the warmth from his body seeping into you. It was summer, but the night air was still chilly, especially now that you were on the roof. You were thankful for the protection Jeno offered against the mild cold. 

The music was blaring once again now that you were outside, and there were no barriers to deafen it, but the volume barely bothered you. Your eyes were on the stars, trying to identify the constellations.

“I see Orion right there,” Jeno said, pointing at the sky. You followed his finger, and sure enough, there it was. “And there’s Ursa Minor.” He moved his hand after noting that you had recognised Orion. 

“I don’t see it,” you muttered, blinking heavily to clear your sight. 

“Can you see Polaris?” he asked, glancing at you for a moment. 

You raised your hand and pointed it at a random star that was nowhere near the one Jeno was referring to. “There.” 

Jeno snorted. “You could spot Orion, but you can’t identify the brightest star in the sky?” Without waiting for a response, your best friend grabbed your arm and directed it to the right star. “That is Polaris.” 

“Woah.” You gaped and lowered your arm. “It’s so shiny.” 

Jeno laughed again upon hearing the child-like wonder in your voice. You stargazed often and always challenged each other to see who could identify the most constellations in a minute. He knew the night sky was familiar to you, but seeing you like this reminded Jeno of the first time he brought you to his roof and introduced you to his favourite hobby. 

“Do you want it?” he teased. 

Eyes widening, you turned your neck to look at him, your faces so close you could count his lashes. “Really?” 

“Really,” he said and pinched your cheek, unable to help himself. “I’ll get it for you.” 

A wide smile immediately broke across your lips, and you threw your arms around him, hugging him tightly. “Thank you!” you squealed. 

Jeno chuckled, a little surprised that you had practically climbed on top of him, and part of him was caged under you now. He didn’t mind the sudden intimacy. It had always been his love language; any sort of physical contact with you—be it comparing hand sizes or carrying you on his back—warmed his heart. 

Patting your head, he asked, “You want me to show you the rest of Ursa Minor?” 

“Yes.” You nodded into the crook of his neck and peeled yourself away from him, but your head still rested where his shoulder met his arm. 

Brushing away a strand of hair that had fallen on your face, he averted his gaze to the sky. “Polaris is the tail of The Little Dipper. Now we move towards the left. See the star that’s above the brightest? That’s Delta. Epsilon is above Delta too, but the distance between them is not as much as the distance between the first two. Zeta is below—” 

You tuned Jeno out. He was still showing you the stars that made up the constellations, far too invested to notice that you were no longer paying attention to what he was saying and were looking at something much more beautiful instead. 

You’d always known your best friend was attractive. You’d have to be blind to not notice his striking features—they were sharp with a certain softness around the edges. His face always stood out in crowds and demanded people’s undivided attention. 

Rightfully so, you thought to yourself as you admired his perfectly straight nose and the shape of his soft lips, diverting your gaze to his eyes. You’d always thought they were his best features. They were warm and open and felt like home. It deserves to be appreciated. 

“Pherka, Eta, Kochab and Zeta form a—”

“You’re prettier.”

Jeno glanced at you, your faces mere inches away and those beautiful eyes peering into yours with slight confusion. “What?”

“You said the stars looked pretty tonight,” you whispered. “I think you’re prettier.” You paused for a moment, as if rethinking your words. Then, “I think you’re the prettiest person in the world.”

A fond smile crept on your best friend’s face, and maybe it was because your ear was in the vicinity of his heart, but you could have sworn you heard it thumping loudly against his ribcage. Lightly bumping his forehead against yours, Jeno whispered back, 

“I think you’re the prettiest person in the world too.” 

03. it’s very easy to fall for them, especially when they’re always so sweet and caring

The first thing you felt upon regaining your consciousness was pain. 

Your skull was splitting apart, the little bit of sunlight creeping in through the closed curtains rendering you blind. Nausea was beginning to set in, but your body was so weak that you weren’t sure you could make it to the toilet in time. 

You should have never drunk so much. Not only had you not taken any proper rest after working yourself to exhaustion during your finals, but had also danced to the point you couldn’t move your legs. Heck, you couldn’t even remember much of the party. You recalled leaving Jeno behind to party with Jaemin, but everything after that was a huge blank slate. 

The toilet was far away, but you could try reaching the dustbin near the study table instead of just throwing up on the carpet. Groaning, you tried to push yourself up. When that didn’t work, you put all strength in your abdomen and threw yourself off the bed. 

A shockwave of agony passing through your body rendered you immobile on the ground. You moaned in pain and curled in on yourself, covering your mouth with a hand upon tasting bile on your tongue. 

The door was thrown open, and a worried Jeno gaped at you lying on his room’s hard floor motionlessly. “What the fuck?” 

“Dustbin,” you croaked with much difficulty, tears springing to your eyes. They hurt so much you wanted to rip them out. 

Your best friend moved into action immediately. “I kept the dustbin right beside the bed in case you got sick, you blind twat truck. Along with painkillers and water on the table.”  

You found it in yourself to glare at the boy, but he ignored you. Placing the waste basket in front of you, he helped you up. You gripped the rim as he gathered your hair in his hand and held it up to avoid it getting in the way of your vomit. 

Right before you emptied the toxins in your body, you managed to say to him, “How capable do I look to you right now, you stupid toe-licking grinch man?” 

Jeno rolled his eyes and rubbed your back with his other hand, patiently waiting for you to finish. Once your heaving stopped, you took the tissue he was holding out for you and wiped your mouth. You felt much better after throwing up but you were still so tired. 

“Come on.”

You swatted Jeno’s hand away and rested your back on his bed, tucking your legs under your chin. “Too much effort,” you muttered and closed your eyes, willing the headache to go away.

“I was going to carry you to the bed, Y/N,” he said in exasperation. 

“I just need a moment,” you whispered almost incoherently, wishing he would stop asking you questions when you had no energy to answer. “A moment and an Aspirin.” 

There was some shuffling, and then you felt a hand brushing your matted hair out of your face. “Here.”

You peeled your lids open to see Jeno crouched in front of you with water and the painkiller you had asked for. Taking it from his hand, you popped it into your mouth and gulped down some water. 

For a few moments, you tried to regulate your breathing and calm yourself down. Jeno could tell you were gathering the willpower and strength to climb back on his bed. He wanted to help, but you clearly didn’t want it. So, he just watched you silently struggle.

He should have been with you last night; he hated that he wasn’t when he had promised to be the sober half. As far as Jeno was concerned, Jaemin was going to get an earful about keeping tabs on how much his friends drank. Never in the two years of friendship had he seen you with such a huge hangover. 

“Fuck,” he heard you curse under your breath. You moaned in pain as you pushed yourself up on trembling arms and fell on his mattress. Sighing, Jeno tucked you in and pressed a chaste kiss on your forehead. 

“Sleep well,” he said and made his way to the door. “I’ll wake you up for lunch. Renjun is making grilled sandwiches.” 

Your eyes flew open again. Fuck. You were supposed to meet Jimin. 

“Jeno, wait,” you blurted, and he stopped in his tracks. “I was supposed to meet a friend for lunch, but I don’t think I can make it. Can you cover for me?” 

Your best friend leaned against the doorframe and crossed his arms over his chest. “Which friend?” 

“Jimin.” 

“I thought she ghosted you.” He frowned. “Now you’re meeting her for lunch?” 

“No, you are meeting her for lunch. I don’t wanna be rude and cancel at the last minute. What if she already left?”

“It’s 10 in the morning.”

“Well, what if she turned down other offers because of the plans we made?” 

“She left an hour ago with Mark after passing out on the couch in Hyuck’s room last night. I doubt she’s had the time to turn down any other offers. Actually, I think she’ll be glad you cancelled. She looked pretty hungover when she left.”

“Why are you being so difficult?” you whined, wincing when the throbbing in your head responded to the sudden increase in the volume of your voice. “I’m only asking you for a small favour.” 

“I’m not being difficult,” Jeno defended himself and took a few steps towards you. “I’m trying to tell you that you may be overthinking this. Let me send her a text from your phone asking for a reschedule, and we can have some homemade lunch with the guys.” 

Sighing heavily, you averted your gaze from his and stared at the ceiling. “I just don’t wanna blow this. I think she’s really cool and I’d like to get to know her more. I’m good friends with everyone in our social circle except her. It’s awkward.” 

Jeno’s eyes softened at that. “Y/N, you’re not blowing anything. Rescheduling lunch because you both partied till you collapsed is not going to take away any points. Trust me.” 

Your best friend was right. You were overthinking this, but you didn’t exactly blame yourself. All your efforts to befriend Jimin had been futile till now. You didn’t want to do anything that could mess up the friendship that had begun to bloom last night. 

“Fine,” you finally relented. “Shoot her a text from my phone. I think it’s in my clothes bag—” you paused, your eyes widening. Lifting Jeno’s duvet in panic, you looked down at yourself. “Who changed my clothes?” 

“Ningning did!” Jeno answered quickly, the tips of his ears turning a bright red. He couldn’t understand why he was freaking out—nothing happened. 

You exhaled in relief, trying to get rid of the alien tingling feeling spreading throughout your body. Your cheeks were hot with embarrassment. “Okay. Well, my phone’s in my clothes bag.” 

Jeno busied himself, rummaging through your backpack that was on his bedside table. What you didn’t know, however, was that it was just a front for him to calm himself down. “Got it.” He waved the phone at you. “What’s your pin?”

“Your birthday.”

His eyebrows disappeared into his hairline, and a seed of warmth sprouted in his chest. A dizzying sense of affection for you washed over him, drenching him in happiness from head to toe. “Really?” 

You nodded and closed your eyes. Turning on your side to get into a more comfortable sleeping position, you buried yourself deeper under his sheets. Yawning, you mumbled, “Day-Month-Year with leading zeros.” 

“My password is your birthday too,” he said quietly after sending Jimin the text. “A lot of them are. It’s the easiest set of numbers to remember.”

You didn’t respond. Jeno didn’t mind. He knew you’d already fallen asleep. Keeping your phone on the table, he smiled sadly and stared at your resting figure in longing. “Everything about you is so easy to remember.”

Jeno closed the door behind him as he left, none the wiser about the fact that you were still awake and had heard everything he’d said, your heart beating so fast that you thought it was going to leap out of your chest. 

Your best friend left, completely unaware of the fact that you were now entertaining the possibility of being in love with him. 

𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄 𝐄𝐅𝐅𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐒 !

01. the green-eyed monster you resent makes an appearance more than you’d like

You genuinely couldn’t believe your friend group and their seemingly never-ending social battery. 

One would think that after a long night of partying, a person would stay at home the next day and take some much-needed rest. Your friends, however, thought it was a good idea to meet up for dinner and decide what to do over the weekend. 

You didn’t bother to remind them of the wonderful invention that was group chats. 

“We should drive up to the beach,” Mark suggested, flipping through the menu. “Summer just started, so I don’t think there will be a lot of people.” 

All of you were seated in a round booth at the back of a diner Chenle said he frequented. You weren’t going to lie; you could see why. The setting was very homey, and the cushioning of the sofa was very cosy—you were almost sure you were going to fall asleep even before your food arrived. 

Ningning, who was sitting beside Mark, peeked over his shoulder to see what was listed. Minjeong said, “That’s stupid. The start of summer is exactly when beaches get overcrowded. Most don’t get to visit the ocean during the year, so they make a beeline for the beach as soon as break begins.”  

“True,” you heard Jeno say. He leaned back in his seat and put his arm on the cushion behind you. You resisted the urge to lean in. Taking a sip of his water, he continued, “Besides, we’re already going to Jeju Island for a week next month. I don’t think we should drive three hours to go to the beach right now.” 

“What about karaoke?” Jimin piped up. She was sitting on the other side of Minjeong, opposite from Chenle, who was on the other side of the table. 

“We don’t need an entire weekend for just karaoke,” Chenle pointed out. “We could do it whenever we want.”

“Well, what about—” 

“Hey, can I take your order?” a female voice that was a combination of annoyed, upbeat, friendly and polite interrupted Minjeong. The girl looked a little flustered at being cut off, but she cleared her throat and mumbled a small yeah, just give us a minute.

The waitress did not move, so all of you awkwardly picked up the menu cards and began flipping through them. 

“The usual for me, Yuna,” Chenle said, smiling up at her. To diffuse the sudden tension created in the air, he began making small talk with her as she waited. 

“What are you eating?” Jeno asked. He was closer to you now, his eyes scanning the contents of the menu card in your hand over your shoulder. 

You shrugged. “I don’t think I’m eating anything. I’m not very hungry.” 

Jeno’s eyebrows creased, and he glanced at your face in worry. “You haven’t had anything since lunch. At least drink something.” 

“It’s fine.” You dismissed him with a wave of your hand and pushed the card in his direction so he could order whatever he wanted. “I won’t be able to finish anything by myself and I don’t wanna waste food.” 

“How about we share?” he insisted. “You eat however much you want, and I’ll finish the rest. Don’t go to sleep on an empty stomach.” 

An internal battle began. While Jeno’s suggestion was sensible, you knew he didn’t like to share his food with anyone. You remembered a time when he had refused to go on a second date with a girl because she kept nibbling on his meal. You didn’t want him to do something he hated just for your sake. 

“Really, it’s fine,” you repeated. “You go ahead and—”

“Hey, Y/N,” Yeji called, making you divert your attention to her. “You wanna share a triple-decker chicken sandwich? Chenle said this place is famous all over town for that dish.” 

You had to admit, a triple-decker chicken sandwich did sound tasty. But you’d just turned down Jeno, so you didn’t wanna say yes to Yeji. Shaking your head, you once again said, “I’m not hungry.”

“Why aren’t you hungry?” Mark frowned, overhearing your conversation. The rest of your friend group looked at you in concern. Ningning asked, “Are you okay?” 

You groaned. The last thing you wanted to do was explain to everyone why you didn’t have an appetite. “I’m okay. I’m just not hungry because I had a lot for lunch.”

“That’s a lie,” Jeno commented unhelpfully, and you smacked his shoulder hard in retaliation. He winced, rubbing the area of attack. “Hey!” 

“Shut up!” you exclaimed. Taking a deep breath, you said to everyone with as little annoyance in your voice as you could, “Please just order what you want. I still feel a little weird after last night’s party, and I don’t think I can stomach anything right now.” Before anyone could reply, you added, “I’m going to the restroom. Be right back.” 

Yeji looked a little stunned, but she got up from her seat and let you leave the booth when you requested her to move. Locking yourself in one of the stalls, you clutched your stomach and curled in on yourself, closing your eyes. 

Your period cramps were especially painful this time. Maybe it was because of last night’s exertion, but your cycle was early too. Your stomach was in too many knots for you to even think about eating anything. 

The washroom’s door opened, and you heard soft footsteps trudging towards you. Knocking on the only occupied stall’s door, a female voice asked, “Is everything okay, Y/N?” 

“Yeah,” you croaked, feeling tears burning your eyes. “Everything’s fine, Jimin. I just have period cramps, that’s all.” 

“Oh.” There was silence for a moment. “I have painkillers. Do you want them?” 

Exhaling through your mouth, you wiped your moist cheeks and stepped out of the stall. “Sure.”

Jimin smiled at you reassuringly and handed you a wet wipe, looping her arm through yours. “Don’t worry. I got you.”

Your heart swelled with happiness and gratitude. You’d wanted to connect with her for so long, and it finally felt like you were getting somewhere this time. Maybe you were being overemotional due to your fluctuating hormones, but you wanted to pull her into a hug.

“Oh, also,” you started a little sheepishly, “I wanted to apologise in person about cancelling on you earlier today. I drank and partied more than I should have. I thought about sending Jeno to cover for me, but he pointed out that it would have been awkward for you to see him when you were expecting me.”

“Woah, wait!” she gaped and took a step away from you. The shock on her face surprised you for a moment, but the feeling didn’t last long. “You’re kidding me! You should have kept insisting, Y/N! A lunch date would have been the perfect way for us to get closer!”

“I don’t think he would have considered the lunch a date because he was just a stand-in for me,” you said awkwardly, and threw the used wipe in the dustbin. 

Jimin waved you away as you walked out of the restroom and back to your booth. “I mean, yeah, it wouldn’t have been an official date, but it would have given me the opportunity to ask him out on a real one.”

“Right.”  

You hated the way you sounded. You hated the way your stomach churned, and your mood dropped. You hated that someone was pursuing Jeno. You hated that you were being forced to play Cupid, all thanks to your strong refusal to admit your feelings and the friendship you wanted to build with the girl next to you. 

“Oh, my God!” Jimin exclaimed, too immersed in her own fantasies to have noticed the change in your tone and demeanour. “I can make up for the missed opportunity by sitting next to him right now! You wouldn’t mind, would you?” 

You did mind. The idea of her making a move on your best friend made you want to dig a hole and cry. God, you were being so pathetic. This was completely unlike you, and you despised the way you were acting. You had to pull yourself together immediately. 

Besides, it wasn’t like you were ever going to explore these newfound feelings you had for Jeno. The last thing you wanted to do was ruin your friendship. Forcing an encouraging smile on your face, you said, “Um, sure! That’s a really good idea.”

“Took you guys long enough,” Chenle commented once you returned. 

You raised an eyebrow. “Did you have any other places to be?” 

“I mean I was worried.” He rolled his eyes. “We ordered food while you were gone. You sure you don’t want anything, Y/N?” 

“Yep,” you said, popping the last letter. “Scoot over and make space for us.” 

Yeji got up again and stood to the side as Jimin, and you slid into the booth. “The two of you better not make me get up again. I’m not budging even if you need to take a big dump.” 

“Sorry,” you muttered, smiling at her sheepishly. Making yourself comfortable, you grabbed your glass of water and dipped a straw in it, idly sipping the liquid. 

Jeno’s gaze caught yours from behind Jimin’s back. He pointed at her with a frown on his face and mouthed, “Why is she sitting beside me?” 

You waved him away and turned your attention to the rest of your friends. “Please tell me you guys finally decided what we’re doing over the weekend.”

“We did,” Mark piped up. “We’re thinking of going to an amusement park and then a water park.”

Jimin frowned. “Won’t those places be crowded as well?” 

“We just need to accept that most destinations will be. Everyone’s on break, so it doesn’t matter where we go. There will be people everywhere.” 

You agreed with Minjeong. “Amusement park it is. Can we hit the bars at night?”

“It won’t be much of a trip if we don’t.” Ningning grinned. “You sure you want to go clubbing so soon though? You were completely wasted when Jeno called me to his room and made me change your clothes last night.”

Mark snickered. “Are you scared of changing your own girlfriend’s clothes, Jeno?”  

Silence. No one spoke. 

NingNing was staring at Mark incredulously, and Yeji seemed to be suffering through an extreme case of second-hand embarrassment. Chenle pretended to flip through the menu while Minjeong grabbed her phone and scrolled through the apps on her home screen in an attempt to look busy. 

Jimin whirled to face you so fast that you wondered how her neck hadn’t snapped. You couldn’t even dare to look at Jeno to see what reaction Mark’s words had evoked out of him. 

Laughing awkwardly, you asked, “Who said we’re dating?” 

“You’re kidding me, right?” Mark scoffed in disbelief. “You guys are so bad at keeping your relationship private. Everyone knows there’s something going on between the two of you.” 

“Is that true?” Jeno asked, but no one present at the table dared to meet his gaze. “Do all of you think there’s something going on between Y/N and me?” 

“I mean….” Chenle began, dragging the word out. “You both are very close. People who claim to be just friends don’t cross the boundaries you two step all over everyday. But we’ve never seen you kiss either, so we’re not sure if you’re dating secretly or…” 

“You guys are crazy,” you interrupted. “Stop speculating about our relationship. It’s weird.” Turning to face a very betrayed-looking Jimin, you enunciated, “Jeno and I are just friends. That’s all there is to us.”

“Yeah,” Jeno added, glancing at you. “Y/N and I will only ever be friends. There’s no way I would date her. I don’t find her attractive in a romantic way.” 

Feeling a knot form in your heart and anger bubble in the pit of your stomach, you snapped, “Same. Jeno’s not even my type. I wouldn’t get together with him if we were the only people left on Earth.” 

Your friends exchanged knowing glances, and poor Jimin, who was stuck sitting between Jeno and you, made an attempt to diffuse the tension. “Okay, guys. We get it.” 

“I’m not sure you do,” Jeno hissed, staring all your friends down. “I can see your damn faces. The only way you’re going to believe I’m not into Y/N is if I prove it to you by going out with someone else.” 

Minjeong began, “That’s not—” 

“No, he’s right,” you fumed. Under the table, your hand curled into a fist. “The only way you guys are going to get this stupid image of Jeno and me being together romantically is if we date other people.” 

“The two of you are overreacting!” Yeji exclaimed. “There’s no need to get so defensive! We were wrong for assuming, and Mark was an idiot for opening his fat mouth. I’m sure you both would have told us if there was something. We’re all sorry.” 

There was a chorus of agreement on the table. Everyone genuinely seemed to be apologetic—except Mark, who was glaring at Yeji and looked mad for being called an idiot. His eyes met yours, and a sheepish smile took form on his lips. 

You huffed a small laugh and shook your head, but your heart was still in knots. There was a certain hollowness in the pit of your stomach. You felt sick and anxious. 

Did Jeno really have to say all those hurtful things just to convince your friends about your platonic relationship? He didn’t need to sound so offended and make your mutual denial a competition. 

Sure, you were the one who had declared there would never be anything more than just friendship between Jeno and you, but he didn’t have to cross the line by saying you weren’t appealing to him. 

Besides, you’d said what you’d said for Jimin. You didn’t actually mean the words that left your mouth. Considering the emotions you’d been feeling recently, it would be a lie to claim you didn’t hope for a different sort of future with Jeno. 

It didn’t matter anyway. A romantic relationship between the two of you wasn’t practical. Your best friend had never so much as hinted at wanting something more. 

In a twisted way, you were glad he said those wounding things. You needed to be pulled back to reality.

“Hey, Jeno,” you heard Jimin say once the food arrived and everyone started eating. “I was wondering if you wanted to grab lunch and watch a movie sometime this week?” 

Bile rose to your throat. You hoped to God he would say no. You didn’t care if you were being a shitty person; you didn’t think you could take any more of this torture. 

“Are you asking me out on a date?”

Your eyes were trained on your glass of water, but you didn’t need to look at him to know he was surprised. As much as you hated eavesdroppers, you couldn’t stop yourself from wanting to learn where this conversation was going. 

“I am.” Jimin chuckled nervously.

Jeno didn’t reply immediately. The rest of your friends were engaged in their own discussions with the people sitting next to them. The table wasn’t silent by any means, but the only things you could hear were Jimin waiting for his answer with bated breath and the pounding of your heart in your chest. 

Then, “I would be honoured.”

Oh, you were most definitely going to throw up.

02. you fall for them

You hadn’t talked to Jeno ever since dinner with your group.

He hadn’t reached out to you, and you hadn’t tried to contact him either. You’d received a text from Jimin the next day about the specifics of her date with Jeno. They were supposed to meet up for lunch at a restaurant near your college campus and then go out to watch some sappy rom-com. 

He didn’t even care for rom-coms. You’d begged him to watch one with you countless times and he’d always turned you down. Part of you wondered if he knew Jimin was updating you about everything and he was purposely pulling this shit to get back at you. 

But you dismissed the notion immediately. No way were you so dense and self-centred. Maybe Jeno genuinely was into Jimin. 

Your phone began ringing, and you rolled over on your bed, blindly searching for it on your bedside table. God, you hated being woken up in the middle of your afternoon naps. It almost always guaranteed a headache. 

“Hello,” you said groggily, your throat raw and dry. “Who is this?” 

“Oh! Did I wake you up?” It was Jimin. She sounded upbeat. Your heart sank. “I’m so sorry!” 

Pushing yourself up, you rubbed the gunk out of your eyes and made your way to the window. The darkness made you bump into the corner of your study table, and you bit down on your lip to keep a yelp from escaping. Hobbling, you threw the curtains open and said, “No worries. My alarm was just about to ring. How was the date?” 

Laughter bubbled from the other end of the phone line. “It was cool! He is a really good guy. No wonder everyone is head over heels for him. He opened the door for me, didn’t let me spend any money even though I asked him out, was an excellent listener, called me pretty and beautiful, and drove me back home. Oh, God, and the eye-contact? It made him a hundred times sexier.” 

Seems legit, you thought to yourself. Jeno had always been a gentleman. The other girls you’d set him up with had pretty much given you the same feedback. Part of you felt relieved that this date hadn’t been any different than the others he’d been on. 

Except the rom-com part, of course. For the life of you, you couldn’t figure out why he would agree to something he hated. 

“Ah, I’m happy for you, Jimin!” you exclaimed, trying your best to mean what you said. Your own words tasted like ash on your tongue. “Are you guys going on a second date?” 

“I’m not sure, to be honest. He said he had a great time with me, but when I tried to ask him out again, he just hugged me. That took me by surprise, and I kinda just forgot.” She laughed. “I know good dates usually end with a kiss, but the fact that he didn’t go for one didn’t bother me.”

“Oh,” you mumbled. Sitting on the ledge of your window, you asked, “That sounds nice. Do you think you’ll try asking him again?”

The last thing you expected her to say was no. And the way she said it… she didn’t sound sad or upset or disappointed. She sounded like herself. She sounded the way one would when they talked about the weather. 

It confused you. Didn’t Jimin just say the date was really good? She sounded so happy and delighted. Why was she backing out now?

“I—I don’t get it,” you sputtered. “I thought you were into him. I thought you had a great time today. Why aren’t you going to ask him out again? Did something else happen—?”

“Calm down.” She chuckled. “Nothing happened.” 

“Huh? Then what’s the problem?”

“Nothing happened,” she repeated. “That’s the problem. I like Jeno. He’s attractive, funny and caring. He’s everything a girl would want in a guy. But there was no spark between us. I had a great time with him, but hanging out today didn’t feel any different than usual. It felt like I was hanging out with a good friend, not with a potential romantic interest.

“I was looking forward to exploring what I felt for him. Turns out, it was just physical attraction. It also turns out that he wasn’t into me at all. If it wasn’t obvious the night we all went out for dinner, it was glaringly clear today. I think part of the reason he said yes was that he didn’t want to hurt my feelings,” she added. “The other—major—part was that he’s in love with someone else, and I would rather die than be a homewrecker.”    

“Oh,” you said again. You didn’t know how to respond to that. What did she mean Jeno is in love with someone else? You didn’t dare focus on the last part of what she’d said. You didn’t dare hope that the person she was referring to was you. “Well, I’m sorry it didn’t work out between the two of you. I’m sure you’ll find someone else easily. You’re a delight. Anyone would be lucky to date you.”

Jimin laughed again. “If you weren’t in love with Jeno too, Y/N, I would have thought you were into me.” 

It took a second for the words to register, but when they did, you felt your heart drop to your stomach. Forcing yourself to laugh, you croaked, “Whatever do you mean?” 

Saying that was a mistake. You should not have asked her to elaborate. She was going to make you come to terms with your feelings, and all the time and effort you’d spent denying and trying to get rid of them was going to go down the drain. 

Before she could speak, you made a static sound with your mouth. Then, you pretended that the connection was really bad. “Wha—hear—you. Try—back. Hell—?” 

You hung up before Jimin could call you out on your bullshit. A moment later, you saw a text pop up. 

[jimin]: that was soooo unsubtle  [y/n]: idk what ur talking ab!!!!!!! [jimin]: sure [jimin]: also a tiny heads up [jimin]: i told jeno to stop being a pussy and an asshole so he’s on his way 2 ur place now [y/n]: WHAT THE FUCK [jimin]: i’m going 2 pretend u said thank u [jimin]: don’t forget ab our dinner date tmrw [jimin]: have fun <3 

It was crazy how the bell rang almost immediately after you read the last text. You wondered if the timing was planned and that Jimin had told Jeno to wait till she gave him the go-ahead. 

You trudged to the front door and took a deep breath before opening it.

“Hey,” Jeno mumbled with a small smile. His hair was ruffled, as if he had run his hands through it several times. “Can I come in?” 

Biting the inside of your cheek, you nodded and moved out of the way to make space for him to step inside. He shoved his hands inside the pockets of his jeans and stood awkwardly. 

“You can sit,” you said, feeling the corners of your lips curl up in amusement. 

He sighed and wove his fingers through his strands again. “Not before I apologise for my behaviour. I was completely out of line that day,” he said. “I shouldn’t have said those things. I didn’t mean them.” 

“So you don’t think I’m unattractive?” 

You meant to tease him, but the next thing you knew, he was standing toe-to-toe with you, a desperate and guilt-ridden expression adorning his face. “God, no. You’re the most beautiful person I have ever seen. I only said that because… because I knew it would hurt you.” 

Jeno was standing too close to you. You could barely breathe, much less think. But that didn’t stop you from asking, “Why would you want to hurt me?” 

He didn’t answer for what felt like an entire minute. He only kept staring at you, an internal battle raging inside him. Then, he let loose a breath of frustration and moved away. He refused to look at you, and your patience kept slipping with each moment that passed. 

Right when you thought it would snap, Jeno spoke up, “It hurt me when you said you and I would only ever be friends. I know how stupid it sounds, but it really did. For years, I’d been pining after you and hoping that maybe we could be something more in the future. I felt like an idiot when I realised wouldn’t ever view me in that light. 

“You got so defensive when Chenle said all our friends were suspicious of us being in a secret relationship. I couldn’t help but wonder if you felt disgusted at the idea of us being together. I got angry at myself for being naive and said those horrible things without even realising.” 

You didn’t know what to say. This was the second time you’d been rendered speechless in the past thirty minutes. It was one revelation after the other; you were having a hard time keeping up.

“You—you like me?” you stuttered. 

Jeno laughed humourlessly and looked you dead in the eyes. “I love you, Y/N.” 

“No.” 

“Yes.” 

You took a step back. “No, no, no, no—”

“Yes,” he pressed. “I’m sorry that I do. I know this changes everything, but I couldn’t keep it in anymore. I just—”

“Why would you go out with Jimin if you… if you love me?” you whispered. 

“Partly to see your reaction and partly in an attempt to get over you,” he admitted. “It didn’t work. I just—I just couldn’t stop thinking about you the entire time I was with her. I felt so guilty for saying such terrible things because I couldn’t deal with my emotions and come to terms with reality. I’m really sorry, Y/N.” 

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “I’m sorry too.”

“You don’t have to apologise for not loving me back—”

“That’s not what I’m apologising for,” you interrupted and walked towards him until your abdomens were touching. “I’m apologising for not seeing it sooner. I’m apologising for encouraging Jimin to ask you out even though it killed me. I’m apologising for denying my feelings time and time again. I’m apologising for saying we would only ever be friends. The last thing I want is for our relationship to be platonic.” 

Jeno was barely breathing. “What are you saying?” 

“I’m saying I love you too, Lee Jeno,” you mumbled and stood on your toes, cupping cheeks with your palms. “I’m saying I want you to kiss me.” 

The words didn’t register immediately, but his lips were on yours the moment they did. 

Jeno’s arm snaked around your waist, and he pulled you closer. His hand grabbed your neck from behind, and he tilted his neck to the side, deepening the kiss. 

Your breath hitched in your throat. All you could feel was him. Your nerve-endings were short-circuiting, and pure adrenaline was coursing through your veins. You didn’t think you’d ever been as satisfied and euphoric as you were right now.

Jeno’s lips slotted with yours perfectly. You smiled to yourself upon realising he tasted like chocolates. Your best friend always ate a piece before any event he deemed to be very important. He claimed they gave him good luck. 

Letting go of one of his cheeks, you grabbed the round collar of his shirt and pressed your mouth harder against his. The nights you’d spent wondering how kissing him would feel and then hating yourself immediately for having such thoughts amounted to this. 

You didn’t want to hold back. 

But you had to ask him a question. It didn’t matter how stupid or ridiculous it was; you wanted to know the answer. So, you broke the kiss and inquired with your body still tangled with his, “Why the hell did you agree to watch a rom-com with Jimin?” 

“Really?” he asked exasperatedly. “You wanna talk Jimin while we’re making out?” 

“I wanna know why you watched a rom-com with her when I’ve been begging you to watch one with me for so long,” you corrected. 

Jeno was silent for a moment, as if contemplating whether or not to tell you. You raised an eyebrow. “Well,” he started, blowing out a breath. “She told me you set her up with me, and it pissed me off even more. I knew she’d tell you all about our date, so I suggested we watch a rom-com. I knew you’d be riled up once you realised.” 

You snorted. Who knew? You weren’t actually being a self-centred narcissist when you suspected the same. “You’re an idiot. I was already riled up you were going out with her.” 

“Oh, yeah?” he teased. “Why’d you encourage her in the first place then?”

“Honestly, at first, I thought I could use you to further my friendship with her,” you admitted. Jeno scoffed in disbelief. “Yeah, I know. That was kinda shitty of me. But when I realised I was falling for you, I pushed her to pursue you in an attempt to convince myself I was not into you. That obviously backfired and did the very opposite. I was horribly miserable. I wanted to shoot myself everytime I heard her gush about you.” 

He smirked. “She gushed about me?” 

“Oh, get over yourself.” You shoved his shoulder playfully. “How’d you end up here after your date? Jimin texted me that you were coming.”

“Tough, but I’ll try.” He laughed. “She was probably able to tell how disinterested I was. After the date when I dropped her home and hugged her instead of kissing her, she just confronted me and asked if I was in love with you. Then told me to not bother answering because it was obvious. She said she didn’t want to get in the middle of us and threatened to kick my ass if I didn’t come here to make amends immediately.” 

You grinned. “Oh, the things I would have done to witness that scene.” 

“It was scary.” Jeno frowned. “She hit my shoulder really hard when I said I was in love with you and called me an idiot for going out with her. I think she was angry at herself too for being oblivious to our situationship. It was one of the weirdest dates I’ve ever been on.” 

“Jimin actually said she had a great time with you. She told me it was nice.”

“Really?” he asked, sounding surprised. 

You placed a chaste kiss on Jeno’s mouth. “Hmm, I wonder how good the best date you’ve ever been on would be then.” 

He chased your lips and kissed you back deeply. Caressing your cheekbone with stars twinkling in his eyes, Jeno said, “I guess we’ll know when I take you out.”

“No way, are you officially asking me out on a date, Lee Jeno?” you asked, and let out a fake gasp. 

“Damn right I am,” he declared. “I don’t want the amusement park trip with our friends to be our first day out as a couple. Do you wanna grab some food tomorrow afternoon? We can go to the trampoline park before that.” 

You smiled softly. “That sounds wonderful. But,” you added. “No more flirting with restaurant staff for free food, or I’ll go ballistic on you.” 

Jeno laughed, and you thought it was the most beuatiful sound you had ever heard. His chest rumbled with the force of it, his eyes creasing to look like small crescent moons. Slipping his hand into yours, he squeezed once. 

“Wouldn’t even dream of it.” 

ANOTHER AUTHOR’S NOTE | THANK U FOR READING TILL THE END WHAT ??? loads of hugs and kisses :’)) also i know i said this before but posting after a rlly long time has lowkey made me anxious LOLL i think i could have done better with the fic esp the end bc it’s a little rushed. honestly speaking i am ready to move on to my next wip and i don’t wanna spend more time rewriting this one :(( i still love this piece though and i would definitely love to hear your thoughts amigos!! stay healthy and hydrated <33

thank you to sara for coming in clutch and helping me out with the plot when i was stuck + giving me her honest opinion! thank you to dori too for reading parts of this fic and giving me her opinion as well! i love you both :D

TAGLIST | @notbeforelong​ @w3bqrl​ @rikiflowers​ @mochisnlix​ @allorysayshi​ @hiqhkey​ @angel-hyuckie​​ @j4kesworld​ @timetoten​ @vantxx95​ @sweetjaemss​​ @ahnneyong​ @jennaissantes @sunshine-skz​ @baekhyunstruly​ @ja4hyvn​ @ily-cuz-i​​ @kdyism​ @keemburley @n0hyuck @luvenshiti @donutswithjaminthemiddle @mosviqu @deobitiful @jeonnyread @pjofics @venusprada @matchahyuck @tbzussy @babyksworld @bockhyun @rbf-aceu @ablackbtsstan @tamakofever @naemakkuri @sadgirlroo @fariylixie0915 @pradagukkie @babyjenono @hibernatinghamster @jaemnationnn @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @carelessshootanonymous @nctzennikki09

[jenoyeahh]

this is like such a cliché troupe and premise... BUT I GOBBLE IT UP EVERY SINGLE TIME YEAH. god i just love it when it's obvious to everyone but them. at the first scene idk why but i had the idea that jeno didn't get free food from Lia but actually bought the muffin and bread but asked for separate bills because he knows yn wants it. also I would not know what to do with myself if theres shirtless jeno planking in front of me, probably faint from overheating. also lol at jeno cropping jaemin out from the gym selfie, you go promote yourself King! thank you for writing and sharing :D

[writemekpop]

Bite Me | Lee Jeno

Summary: When the hot new exchange student took interest in your best friend, you knew something was up. You just didn’t expect him to be a murderer...

Genre: Suggestive, dark themes

Word Count: 2k

“Don’t look now. There’s the guy that’s about to break your heart.” 

Your best friend Karina’s whispers joined the swarm following the new boy down the hallway. 

Lee Jeno. Exchange student, origin unknown. Was he expelled from his last school for murder? Maybe. Was he gorgeous? Definitely.  

As he left swim team tryouts, all eyes were on him. Well, on his tall, muscular body, that is. 

Water dripped in sparkling rivulets down the miracle of his chest. Oh, and his face – it was inhumanly perfect. 

Not that anyone noticed. They weren’t looking at his face. 

Impossibly, he seemed to be walking towards you. You were nobody, one of the witch bitches as you and Karina called yourselves – or, the weirdos who said they could do magic, as everyone else knew you. 

Jeno shook his fringe carelessly out of his heartbreaking brown eyes, and said, “Looks like we’re partners."

You didn’t understand what he meant, but nodded anyway, a little drool leaving your mouth. 

Karina giggled and said, “I know, right?”

And then you realized. Jeno’s locker was next to hers. He had not been talking to you. You blushed. 

You shouldn’t have been surprised. Karina was known to be pretty but not very popular, but you… you didn’t exist. She was the only one who could talk to spirits, anyway. You were just the dumb human helper. 

“Well, you better give me a tour of the town,” Jeno murmured. His tall body casually arched over hers, and his eyes smoldered into hers. Karina was slowly melting into a puddle. 

“But… it’s the middle of the school day-“ she stuttered. 

“Even better,” he whispered. “A little ditching never hurt anyone.”  

As Jeno and Karina walked past you, arms linked, you felt a slow grinding in your stomach. 

You knew that feeling. It was your gut talking to you. Something was off about Lee Jeno. 

---

That day was only the start of Jeno’s obsession with Karina. 

Suddenly, they were everywhere together. There wasn’t a day he wasn’t calling her ‘Kiki’ and twirling one of her raven-black locks in his fingers. 

Then there was what happened at lunchtime. 

Jeno was sitting right in the centre of the cafeteria, surrounded by all the popular kids. 

Karina was walking towards your usual table (by the toilets) when he put out one beckoning finger – to sit with him. 

The room exploded with jealous voices.

“That witch girl?” 

“Are they like, a thing?” 

You sat frozen. This was what Karina had always wanted – to be one of the cool girls, the centre of attention. So why weren’t you happier for her? Why did this feel like some sick joke? 

---

That night, Karina was sitting in your bedroom, opposite you, on the little round table you used for seances. Flickering candlelight illuminated your faces. 

“Is anyone with us?” you whispered. You nudged Karina with your toe. “You say it!” 

And then… you noticed a blue light ruining the atmosphere. 

“Are you on your phone?” you whisper-shrieked in disbelief. 

Karina sighed. “Ghosts aren’t real, Y/n. Maybe we should stop calling ourselves the witch bitches. We’re not… kids anymore.”  

A dagger of hurt stabbed in your chest, but you told yourself not to worry. This was some freaky Jeno mind control. That was the only explanation. 

---

“Coming, babe?” Karina asked at the end of the school day, a few days later. 

“In a sec, Kiki,” Jeno said, winking. 

You were still confused about what Jeno was waiting for… until his face was inches from yours. Jeno slammed his hand against the locker behind you, and the whole thing rattled. 

You looked up, and saw a man you did not recognize. 

Jeno’s face was twisted in ice-cold fury. Only now, you saw his chiseled muscles for what they were: a weapon.  

“Stay away from us,” Jeno said, his velvet murmur edged like a sword. “Or there’ll be trouble.” 

You shuddered, nodding quickly. When he was gone, you sank to the ground, chest tight. 

Lee Jeno was not the man everybody thought he was. Especially Karina. 

You looked up… and saw something that made the blood dry up in your veins. 

In the locker where Jeno’s hand had been… the metal was crushed into a handprint, as if it was no thicker than butter. You scrambled to your feet, tracing the outline of the shape with your finger. 

Vaguely, something occurred to you. You realized that over the past few weeks, you had been subconsciously joining the dots in your mind. 

You knew where you had to go. 

As you ran into the village centre, rain was pouring down and the sky above you growled with thunder. Your wet hair slapped your cheeks. You did not notice. 

The bell tinkled as you shoved open the door to your favourite occult bookshop and tearoom. This was practically a second home to you – but you weren’t here for fun. 

Soon, you were sitting on the worn floorboards at the back of the shop, a sea of spellbooks and ghost hunting guides lying open around you. As you desperately flipped through pages, you scratched notes down on the back of a receipt. 

Super strength… 

The handprint in the metal burned into your mind’s eye. 

Inhuman speed… 

The way the hallway disappeared, and Jeno was by your side almost instantly. 

Mysterious disappearances…

Karina’s tear-blotched face when she said, No one’s seen Jeno in three days. 

An unexplained tan…

Whenever he came back after disappearing, Jeno’s skin was darker, his cheeks the colour of ripe cherries. No one could tan that fast. 

Each note you made, you circled one word at the bottom of the receipt. Each black circle layered upon the last, forming an inky ring like a black hole. 

There was only one word that could explain all of this. 

Vampire. 

The pen fell from your stiff hand. 

Lee Jeno was a vampire. A vampire who, for whatever reason, had chosen your best friend as his next target. You wracked your brain. It was Friday. What was it Karina had said she was doing today, back when you were still talking? 

My parents are out, so I invited Jeno over to my house on Friday. 

This was the first time they would be alone. 

You scrabbled in the pile of books for your phone. 

8:21 PM 

You had to go. It didn’t matter if Karina hated you now, it didn’t matter how dangerous Jeno was. You had to warn her to get out of there. 

You grabbed your coat, yelled an apology to the shop owner and started sprinting to Karina’s house. 

It could already be too late. 

Hunched in the bushes in front of Karina’s house, you pulled out your phone. Maybe they were still in there, Jeno laying on his charm, his bait. All she had to do was make some excuse, walk quietly out of there. 

You rang Karina. Straight to answerphone. 

You swore under your breath. When the message tone sounded, you whispered the whole story under my breath. 

“Karina, you have to get out of there. Now. I know you don’t believe me, but remember when…” 

And you laid it all out: the disappearances, the handprint, the way his skin darkened from drinking human blood. 

And then the only phrase that mattered. “Jeno is… a vampire.”

In a way, you deserved what happened next. 

A deep, amused voice said, “What did you call me?”

You spun to see Jeno standing over you. His smirk, as beautiful as it was terrifying, towered over you in the dark. 

Your first reaction was not one of fear. You were relieved. Because if Jeno was here, he wasn’t with Karina. 

Unless she was already dead. 

You eyed Jeno’s laid-back, easy demeanor, so different from his fury in the locker room this afternoon. It was the look of a man who had all his plans in order. 

You felt sick again. 

“I gotta give it to you, I didn’t think you’d get this close,” Jeno said, conversationally, as if you were sitting in his living room instead of lying on your back in the pouring rain. He crouched down, and you sucked in an involuntary breath. “Since the 80’s, I barely have to hide anymore. Most people don’t believe in magic.” 

“W-what was I right about?” you breathed. You didn’t know why you were doing this. Survival instinct, maybe. Every second he was talking was another second he wasn’t killing you. 

“The speed, the strength… all right. You just forgot an important one.” He tapped his ear with a smirk. “Perfect hearing.” 

Terror gave you a strange clarity. Everything was painfully sharp. You no longer saw hedges, driveway, cars.  You saw exits and escapes. As you spoke, your eyes were anxiously scanning the space around Jeno. Could you make a run for it? Throw a rock in his face and hope for the best? 

Jeno lifted your wrist in his hand and closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. His tongue flashed over his plump pink lips. “Not as delicious as your friend, but you’ll do.” He tilted his head to the side, flashing me a dimpled smile. “It’s almost a shame I have to kill you. You were so… special.” 

Defeat sunk into your bones like cold water. Jeno was stronger, smarter, faster than you in every way. 

This was the end. 

You of your parents, and how you’d been too awkward to say I love you the last few years. 

You thought of Karina, and your chest almost exploded with regret. She was a sister to you, she had been ever since you were five years old, making ‘potions’ with rainwater and leaves in the back garden. 

You were an idiot to let your friendship go. And now, you would never have a chance to make it up to her. 

Suddenly, there was a terrible squelch and Jeno’s face twisted into a mask of confusion. Then, he crumpled to the ground, right in front of your feet. 

How was this possible?

Then you looked up, and saw Karina’s victorious face glowing in the moonlight. 

Well, her eyes were victorious – you couldn’t see her mouth, as it was covered in duct tape. Her wrists were red and lined. Her long black hair flowed free in the night wind. In Jeno’s back, she had plunged what looked like a sharpened stick. 

You jumped to your feet, and hugged her tight. It was an overwhelming relief to have your best friend in your arms again. You were giddy. You weren’t dead!

When you finally let her free, Karina’s face was streaming with tears. “You were right. I should have believed you. When I was- tied up in there, I remembered all that vampire stuff we used to talk about.” You looked down at the stick in Jeno’s back. Your heart swelled. “The vampire killing stake! The one we made when we were ten!” 

Karina nodded, smiling through her tears. “I got your message. You put your life in danger… just to save me.” Her voice broke, and she pulled me into a hug again. “I am so sorry for saying you were jealous, I-“ 

You cut her off. “Don’t worry about it. I’m just happy we’re friends again.”

Karina shook her head, clutching me tighter. “We were always friends, you idiot.”

You laughed, tears coming into my own eyes. 

Together, you dragged Jeno’s body into a nearby skip. As you were walking back, pinkie fingers linked together, Karina sighed. “This might sound weird, but I’m kinda glad Jeno was a vampire. That explains all the disappearing... I was worried he was just a fuckboy.” 

You stared at her in disbelief. “Of course, he was a fuckboy, Karina! He was both!”

You laughed together, both your bodies weak, but supporting each other. 

“He was hot, though,” you said, nodding sadly.

“Damn hot.” 

“What a goddamned waste.” 

—

MAIN MASTERLIST

Let us know what you thought in the comments or on anon! 💋

[jenoyeahh]

kinda reminds me of Jennifer's body, i dont know why but i love that movie, and i love karina and jeno so hehe thank you for writing and sharing ;>

[yeonghosins-deactivated20240421]

CHANGE | II : SET YOU ON THE GLASS (N.JM)

GENRE | angst, fluff, band au PAIRING | na jaemin x reader, nct dream x reader WARNINGS | ANGSTY!, drug use, a mishap occurs under the influence WORD COUNT | 4.2k PREVIEW | what if he fought for your relationship that night? what if you did, too? would things be any different? or would you still, inevitably find yourselves in this situation, where you’re cooking your estranged ex-lover pancakes as he walks out of your one-bedroom apartment after a drug-induced spiral? DISCLAIMER | this work is purely fictional. it may mention real idols, but is not meant to exist as a true account of their behaviors, conversations, and character traits. situations, conversations, and character traits featured in this story and any adjacent works are entirely fictitious. PLAYLIST | heart to heart by mac demarco | high by 5 seconds of summer | watching him fade away by mac demarco | free love – dream edit by HONNE SERIES MASTERLIST | INTRO | I | II | III | IV | EPILOGUE

THEN – HIGH SCHOOL, SENIOR YEAR

“do you really think we’d be better off as friends?” jaemin asks, fiddling with his thumbs as he sits at the foot of your childhood bedroom. it’s late at night, and after weeks of signs and unsure thoughts, the two of you finally agreed to meet up to finally have a proper talk.

you laugh, running your hands gently through his hair. “that’s always how it was meant to be, i think,” you say mirthfully. 

“you’re right,” he sighs, moving to lie on his back across the width of your bed and resting his hand atop his stomach. he can’t really think of anything right now except for you. you lie next to him, the two of you staring up at the ceiling as music quietly flows from your mp3 player. “i’m sorry if i was a bad boyfriend.”

“it’s got nothing to do with that, jaem,” you chuckle softly, taking your hand in his. “it’s just––i just don’t think we’re as good a match as a couple than we were as best friends.”

he brings your hand up to his lips, gently pressing your knuckles against them, a gesture he’d habitually picked up over the last eight months of your relationship. his heart sinks a little at the thought of having to unlearn it after the night ends. “right again. and i’d rather end our high school experience being your friend instead of, like, your sad, scornful ex.”

“or worse, excommunicated from the friend group,” you grin. “what’s gonna happen to that whole ‘mom & dad’ situation they had us on?”

jaemin laughs, and you turn your head to face him. “i don’t think renjun’s gonna take the divorce lightly.”

“coparenting is a thing,” you say, shifting onto your side and holding his hand in the crook of your neck. “we’ll make it work.”

jaemin turns to mirror your position. “donghyuck’s gonna cry more than me, i think.”

“then we’d better make sure that we pack tissues when we tell them tomorrow.”

“jeno’s not gonna give a shit.”

“jeno never really has,” you sigh. “we’ll be okay. they’ll be even better. it’s not like they dated us for eight months, anyway.”

“oh, please, they might as well have,” jaemin laughs again. they could never give the two of you a single second alone. “i mean, i guess that’s why this ended.”

you scrunch your lips up thoughtfully. “yeah, kind of.”

“i think you’re the first girl i’ve ever cared about this much,” he says under his breath after a few seconds of silence, carrying his gaze over your features thoughtfully. he’s telling the truth when he says it; hoping the sincerity of his voice translates properly in your ears. if this is the last night the two of you are spending together, he’d better get everything he needs to say out now before it bottles and blows up in his face.

“i should hope so,” you joke, “girls you lose your virginity to shouldn’t really be ones you couldn’t give a shit about.”

“hey, i took yours, too,” he contests playfully, raising his brows and squeezing your hand ever-so-slightly.

“yeah, why do you think so?” you raise. “it’s cause i wanted you to.”

he laughs, and the sound settles as he gazes at you, his mind drifting off again into a love-filled stupor.

“hey, don’t double back on me now,” you say, breaking him from his silence. “especially after i spent the whole day trying to articulate what i was gonna say to you in a way that wasn’t gonna send you into a breakdown.”

“i’m not! i’m not,” jaemin laughs. he’s never been a good liar. “it’s just our last night together. i wanna remember you while i’m in love with you.”

“i’m not dying jaem,” you say. “i think i’m stuck with you for life, actually.”

he nods, and the room falls into a comfortable silence. he’s looking into your eyes again, telling you everything you need to know without saying a word.

“i love you,” jaemin whispers. “always have, and always will.”

“same here,” you send him a small half smile, leaning forward to press a gentle kiss to his forehead. “to the moon and back, jaem.”

the two of you lay there until the morning comes, chattering on to ease the inevitable pain that breaking up with him would bring you both once he leaves. but then he hears the faucet turn on and your father’s voice from down the hall –– and suddenly he’s scurrying out just as fast as he entered, giving you one final kiss goodbye as he climbs down your window and runs as quickly as he can down the street. 

he calls you up as soon as he’s kicking the shoes off of his feet in his foyer.

NOW – THE LATE NIGHT PHONE CALL

the phone in your hand has been silent for a few seconds now. you stare off distantly at your wall, lost in thoughts as jaemin’s voice rings back in your ears, his quiet, desperate plea ingrained in your memory.

you can almost see him, the long eyelashes on his heavy lids fighting to flutter open as he reached for the phone number on his dresser, his hands barely missing the open bottle of pills as he shifted to lean against the linoleum surface to dial the digits on the hotel telephone.

you grit your teeth and shake your leg anxiously at the thought of what he might’ve been up to in the few hours you and renjun were gone, more so what could have been happening all these years that could’ve led you to get that phone call in the first place.

you weigh the options presented to you –– it was either you get back into your car to drive back to the hotel to find out what was going on with jaemin, or you wait until the morning to drive over in the guise of continuing with the assignment to speak to him. both options involve the possibility of running into donghyuck again, which, despite your inner impulsions to let out even more of the anger you’ve built up against him over the years, is not something you would prefer doing twice in an already tiring day.

your thumb hovers over your phone screen, and you present a third option to yourself: redialing.

holding your phone up to your ear, the line rings. and it rings, again. and it rings, only halfway through, before the call picks up. you’re playing a chancy game, calling the band’s hotel room and leaving whoever answers up to the forces above, but you exhale in relief when you’re greeted with the same voice from before.

“who’s this?” the voice calls.

“it’s me,” you respond. “jaemin, it’s y/n. you just called me.”

“oh. i did, didn’t i?”

“yeah, you did.”

“‘m sorry, my mind’s all jumbled up. i just took a couple pills, n’ one thing led to another, y’know?” he huffs, sniffling. “jun-ie came home right after. he’s used to stuff like this. he left a piece of tissue with your number n’ your name on it on our side table and i guess i just dialed it.”

you furrow your brows. “how many did you take, jaem? the pills?”

there’s a couple seconds of silence on the other side of the line. “jus’ a couple. enough to put me to sleep. i think i might’ve taken a bit more, though. can’t tell. can’t remember. maybe it was a bit more. i’m dizzier than usual.”

something twists in your stomach. you can’t even bear to ask what he’d meant by help earlier, your focus switching to his current state. he can barely speak properly, and something in your gut wills you to get up. 

“do you need me to come over?” you ask. 

“i don’t know. isn’t it a bit sudden for me to be asking your help n’ everything?” he asks, keeping his voice quiet. “i mean, you should probably hate me right now. i don’t text or call anymore. you don’t need to d–drop everything for me, jus’ cause i took a few pills.”

he’s looping around all his arguments. just from the sound of his voice, you know he’s not exactly right.“then why did you call me?”

silence again. it extends over to a good couple of seconds before you hear his voice again.

“c-can’t be alone.”

you’re on the porch of your apartment complex in minutes.

“i–i know it might be too soon,” he’d said over the phone. “but c-could i spend a night in your place? d-don’t have anyone else to ask about this. n-normally i wouldn’t, but i just––i can’t stay here.”

you called a cab the second he asked, honestly. there was nothing keeping you from doing otherwise. the cab arrives in front of your apartment, thankfully, and out he walks, barely in a straight line. he’s got nothing except the clothes on his back, the same ones he’d been wearing earlier. his movements are sluggish, like he’s moments away from tripping over himself, and a gut-wrenching chill passes over your body to see him like this. he’s broken into a cold sweat, his lips pale and eyes dark as he salutes you with a weak smile.

“jaemin,” you sigh. you know it better not to prod any further for now, so you take his arm and throw it over your shoulder, paying the cab driver and taking the elevator up. 

“you can’t fall asleep until you’re sobered up,” you tell him as you lie him down on your mattress. “so talk, and i’ll get you some water.”

he hums with a nod. “in a bit,” he says, closing his eyes. the room still spins. “car ride made me dizzy.”

“do you need me to stay around you to keep you up?” you ask, moving to sit next to him against your headboard and handing him a glass. “drink.”

“mhm,” he hums, taking a sip. “i’m sorry.”

“don’t be, i don’t really sleep much, anyway.” you shrug. “i’ll give you a moment before you start explaining all this shit to me, though.”

jaemin musters up the effort to laugh. “i can explain now, if you want,” he sighs, taking another gulp from his glass before setting it down on your side table.

“go ahead.”

“where do i start? the whole band thing or the drug th––“

“the drug thing. i think that takes precedence.”

he rubs his eyes. “been going on a while, i guess. couldn’t cope with the stress of the new lifestyle––always moving, never in one place, working, working, working.” his body seems to lag as he speaks, moving slower than the speed at which the words leave his mouth.

“i can’t even lie to you about it, you’ll see right through me,” he says with a laugh, though he swallows thickly. he throws his head back with a scrunch of his eyes as the lights dance in his vision and the room still spins. he takes a deep breath and settles in his position. “they started giving me… things, some to bring me up before shows and some to help me sleep at night.”

“who’s ‘they’?” you ask, facing him.

he does the same, reading into your eyes. “the company.” he faces forward as soon as he says it.

he sees your face twist as you speak. “the company?”

“mhm. didn’t like that i was kind of underperforming. probably thought i was gonna back out of the whole thing––which i probably was, but i can’t even remember anymore. at first the drugs were just for the tour life, and then…” he trails off, ducking his head and fiddling with his thumbs. a habit he hasn’t been able to break.

“and then?”

“donghyuck n’ jeno,” he sighs. “them.” he gestures vaguely to the air in front of him.

he looks at you, and finds you looking back with concern. it’s enough to egg him on to continue. “it got to their heads. then it started getting bad. we were all fighting more frequently, and jun and i kept trying to hold things down and i––i, i felt like everything was falling apart and to numb everything out i just started taking pills, and pills, and pills, and––“

he takes a deep breath and tries his best to look you in the eyes. “i couldn’t do it anymore. i felt so alone––a small town kid in a city too big for him. this was never what i wanted. hell, i wanted to be a neurosurgeon, or something like that. when donghyuck and jeno started changing, and it was just renjun and i left, i felt so empty. and they knew i was struggling, they did––but one day, donghyuck makes a joke and jeno fucking laughed––and suddenly i felt like i didn’t recognize the people i grew up with and when things got worse, and worse, and worse, i just… gave up. couldn’t take it anymore.

another silence. jaemin feels tears well up in his eyes but he can’t bring himself to acknowledge them. “didn’t do anything stupid, but i just stopped caring. got tired. it hasn’t really been the same since.” the room still spins. “and today––today you came back. and i felt a way i haven’t felt in a––in a really long time, and hyuck and jeno just had to fuck everything up. when you left, then renjun, i was left alone with ‘em and nights like those never really end well. so i went into my room, and…”

he wipes at his eyes, gesturing vaguely again in the air, but before he can turn to you to thank you for listening, he feels your arms wrap around him. he’s still for a few moments, but when he feels your tears fall on his shirt he’s compelled to embrace you tightly, feeling your warmth against him again. he doesn’t let go until you do, and he watches you sit up to face him.

“you used to do this for me when i’d come to your house drunk,” he says softly after a long lull in an attempt to ease the mood and make conversation. though he’s mostly sobered up, he still can’t risk falling asleep for the next hour or so. “you’d scold me for coming in through your window, lie me down, give me water, kiss me on the forehead and let me sleep in for the night.” 

“that was in high school,” you laugh, sniffling. “can’t believe you remember that.”

“i don’t think i ever forgot,” he’s still fiddling with his thumbs.

he doesn’t speak for a moment, his slow eyes tracing over your features. he smiles softly to himself.

“what?” you ask, moving to wipe a tear from your cheek before his calloused hand comes up to wipe it for you. your lashes flutter and any words you were about to speak are stolen from you.

he looks at you again––at all the familiar things he’d left behind all those years ago––and can’t seem to stop smiling. you still tie your hair up the same way. you still furrow your brows the way you used to when something concerned you. you still take care of him when he can’t do it himself.

“you’re the same as the day i left you,” he says, barely a whisper. you pout unconsciously, holding back tears as the words leave his mouth. 

“stop it.”

“the same,” he insists. “and just as beautiful.”

for the first time that night he looks at you and sees you clear as day.

“the room stopped spinning,” he remarks softly.

“what?”

“nothing.”

“okay.”

a silence falls over the room.

he doesn’t know why he does what he does next. it might be the ache in his heart that’s persisted for years, it might be the emptiness he feels in his life, or it might be the fact that the person he failed to fall out of love with back when his life was everything but what it turned into is sat directly in front of him with teary eyes just like his––but he collects his strength to lean forward and kiss you.

he kisses you, right then and there, and a part of you, the far-pushed-back part of you that fell in love with the boy the man in front of you once was years ago finds itself kissing back, and settles in the familiar place atop his lap.

oh, and how it feels to do that again.

warmth fills him from the inside, a kind of warmth he hasn’t felt in too long––a kind of warmth that couldn’t be replaced by money, or tour groupies that couldn’t tell him from his band’s drummer, or the drugs the label’d been endlessly supplying him with. your warmth, the kind he last felt when he was eighteen. the kind he’d yearned for the second he kissed you goodbye and climbed out of your window.

but then he feels his heart sink, right down to the ground, as you pull away, and the warmth is gone. 

he chases it, for just a second as he jerks ever-so-slightly forward, but you stop him with a cupped hand to his cheek and your forehead against his. 

“jaemin,” you whisper. “i… you know we can’t.”

“please,” he whimpers softly. “i––i need you.”

“no, you don’t,” you say, pulling away to look at him. you run your hands through his hair gently, staring at his features––how he looks up at you with big, glistening eyes set between sallow eyelids, with eager pale lips on lusterless skin, and how, despite the face being of someone so familiar, you know deep inside you’ve just kissed an entirely different man. someone fading, wasting away in front of you––someone who’d likely have turned into dust if you hadn’t called a cab for him earlier tonight. “jaemin, you need help.”

“i know,” he sighs out, lying flat atop your mattress. he rests the back of his hand against his forehead. “i’m so sorry.”

“it’s okay,” you respond gently, mirroring his movements and lying next to him. “we can just stay like this for a while.”

he nods, swallowing thickly. “this––this might sound weird, but could––“

before he gets to finish his sentence, you cozy up next to him and wrap an arm over his abdomen, settling your head in the space between his arm. “yeah.”

“t–thanks.”

to his surprise, you pluck free hand from his side and hold it, letting your thumb dance over his knuckles, poking at his nylon–calloused fingertips and easing a laugh from his chest. he takes your fingers and fits them between his, and your heart pumps a little faster at the knowledge of what he’d do next––he brings the back of your hand towards his lips and presses it against them, kissing your soft skin. he sets your hand back down, though he doesn’t let go. 

“to the moon and back,” he says, hesitant to let the words out, hoping they’d get the message across.

it takes you a few seconds to work it out, it comes to you eventually with a small, wistful smile as you shift to kiss him gently on the forehead. “to the moon and back.”

jaemin feels as though he’s found himself in a familiar position; but this time no faucet turns on, and your father isn’t making his way down the hall. the room is quiet, you’re in his arms, and he’s sober. he falls asleep that way, covered in your warmth.

jaemin’s still knocked out when you wake up the next day.

you brush your teeth, wash your face, and change out of the clothes you were wearing the whole day prior only to see him still lightly snoring.

a little part of your heart that you had saved for him jumpstarts a little at the thought of playing housewife for the morning. it’s only the least you could do for him, you justify, as you make your way into the kitchen to make breakfast. 

there was always a part of you that wondered if you hadn’t broken up with jaemin, if you’d stayed together. you’d have probably been the couple that got married straight out of college and started a family once you were able to. your lonesome apartment could’ve been a nice small house in the suburbs, where the sun streams in through the windows just right and the air is clean and the soil is good. you could’ve been a stay-at-home mom, or someone who worked from home while he went about being a pediatrician, or a lawyer, or any of the jobs he’d proposed to you while you were together. he could have avoided this whole ordeal, he could have been safe from the clutches of his record label if only he’d stayed with you.

what if he fought for your relationship that night? what if you did, too? would things be any different? or would you still, inevitably find yourselves in this situation, where you’re cooking your estranged ex-lover pancakes as he walks out of your one-bedroom apartment after a drug-induced spiral?

“good morning,” he hums, breaking you from your stupor. he’s more present than he was last night. 

“morning,” you reply. “you can’t have coffee right now, so i made you a smoothie.”

“thanks,” he says, picking the glass you set out for him and setting it on the counter next to you. 

“how’re you feeling?” you ask, flipping a pancake on a plate and passing it to him, muttering, “butter’s here and syrup’s in the fridge,” absentmindedly as an afterword.

“better,” he responds groggily. “i’ll be out of your hair once i eat and wash up.”

“no worries,” you say, taking your own plate and setting it down in front of his. the two of you eat in silence for the better half of a few minutes.

jaemin looks down at his food. “thanks, again. i can’t say it enough.”

you tilt your head to get a better look at his eyes, sending him an assuring smile. “don’t worry about it, really. weirdly enough, i got some closure out of this. and i hope you did too.”

“how do you mean?” he asks, mouth half full of food.

you smile, almost lovingly at the sight in front of you. his messy hair, his full cheeks and the rosy tint that graces them, all of him eating breakfast on your kitchen counter after waking up in your bed. it could’ve been what you were met with every morning, but life works differently that way. 

“you were in love with a memory, a dream,” you sigh, setting your dish in the sink before walking over to stand next to him, shifting a few strands of his hair away from his face before pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. “and i was, in a way, too.”

“tell renjun,” you say as you stand in front of your car, jaemin facing you before he enters the hotel building. “i’m keeping the assignment. but i’m taking it in a different direction––one that might help you.”

“i will,” he nods. “thank you. for everything.”

you open your mouth to speak, shutting it before moving closer to speak at a lower volume. “you have to promise me,” you start, looking him dead in the eyes. “once i release the article, you’ll terminate your contract and you’ll get real help.”

jaemin inhales sharply, not breaking eye contact before nodding. “i promise.”

“okay,” you say, embracing him. “take care of yourself. i’ll come check in later or tomorrow if work allows.”

jaemin nods as he pulls back. he struggles to find the proper words to say goodbye, so he settles with the words swimming at the tip of his tongue.

“i love you,” he says, his tone sincere. “always have and always will.”

you give him a small half smile before responding, “i love you too.”

he smiles the widest you’d seen in the last eighteen-or-so hours and departs, but not without returning the favor you’d given him last night and pressing a chaste kiss to the top of your head. he walks in with a wave, and you let the last few hours sink in before moving to get in your car. 

that is, until a voice calls out for your name.

you spin on your heels, and make eye contact with a figure exiting the hotel, mere seconds after jaemin enters.

“jeno,” you say calmly as he walks towards you.

“hey, gorgeous,” he smiles, awfully cheery for the series of events he and his step-brother had set off in less than a day. “caught you just in time. i was gonna have to ask my manager to call you to get my one-on-one moment alone with you, but here you are, practically at my doorstep.”

“what do you want, jen?”

“some coffee, preferably,” he sighs nonchalantly. “it’s fucking early.”

you clench your jaw, eyeing him suspiciously, again weighing the options of driving away or joining him. 

ruling over all rational thought, you make your decision.

“fine. lead the way.”

AUTHOR'S NOTE | second chapter complete! i'm so, so sorry for the angst in this chapter, but i hope you enjoyed nonetheless. likes and rbs are greatly appreciated! lmk what you think! next chapter is jeno's~ TAGLIST | @snflwrhaerecs4u @niinjo @anniebyanto @lunaryoongie @wonyofanclub

[jenoyeahh]

they were a couple? not expecting it but damn it was sad. the what ifs, the longing for what could have been if they stayed together. the company really fucked up giving drugs to a kid just so tgey can milk them more. i cant imagine what jaemin was feeling when jeno and donghyuck making fun of him too :( surprised with the quick update of the second part though but nevertheless thank you for writing and sharing :))