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@kkyeoji
Welcome to kkyeoji's blog â âŽïž Ë ïœĄ â
aeri || she/her đ
‷ m.list â reqs open ! â ïœĄ đŠč ° â Ë ïœĄ â
always open to making moots ! ê(Ë”Ë á ËË”)
stay with me
pairing: lee haechan x reader
summary: after a fatal head injury, haechan wakes up from a coma with amnesia; and all he wants right now is you
genre: ANGST, slight fluff? mentions of head injury, hospital equipment etc.
w/c: 3.7k
the first thing he notices is the change in the air.
he wakes up and suddenly its all too quiet, too calm.Â
the next second he sees a nurse rushing into the room
"good morning," she says. "how are you feeling?"
he tries to answer, but his mouth hesitates like it's searching for the correct version of the world. his throat feels dry. his head feels heavy, as if someone wrapped his thoughts in cloth while he slept.
"where..." he starts, and the word turns into nothing. the nurse adjusts the blanket at his chest. "you're safe. you're in the hospital. you had a-" she checks her clipboard. "a head injury. you're awake now, so that's a good sign."
good sign.
haechan swallows. he blinks and looks around again, he doesn't remember much, but he knows that there's only one person that he wants to see right now.
"where's y/n?"
the lobby smells like disinfectant and tired coffee. you scan the signs at the end of the hall, your eyes moving faster than your brain wants to.
you find him because your body remembers where he should be.
in the time between you walking in and you seeing him, you realize something terrible, youâve been assuming heâs waiting for you the way you used to wait for each other. youâve been assuming heâs still in your routine, still in your life.
but when you reach his room, you find him at the bedside, too upright, too restless, like heâs trying to solve an emergency with panic alone.
he sees you and stands too quickly.
ây/n,â he says, like the word is oxygen.
you step closer carefully. âhaechan. hey. iâm here.â
relief flashes across his face for half a second, then confusion slides in again like a tide. his brows pinch, his gaze flickers to your hands, your face, your clothes, searching for proof.
âyou were here,â he says. not a question. like heâs arguing with his own mind. âi-i knew you. but i donât know-â
âamnesia,â you hear behind you.
the nurse.
sheâs standing in the doorway with her clipboard, not harsh, not dramatic. just tired. just competent. her voice is gentle in the way that means sheâs said the same sentence a lot and still hates it.
âhe woke up asking for you,â the nurse says. âright after the morning check. he keeps trying to remember, but his memories arenât accessible right now.â
haechanâs head turns toward her. âamnesia?â
the word lands in his face like something cold.
âyes,â the nurse says. âand heâs at risk. further brain injury if he overexerts himself trying to force memory. headaches, confusion, complications. we want him calm. stable.â
haechan looks at you like you can translate the sentence into something that makes sense.
âwhat do i do,â he asks.
you already know what the nurse means. you can feel it in the way your throat tightens and your chest tries to close around the word âmemoryâ like itâs protecting you from it.
the nurse continues, âfor now, itâs best if you play along with whatever he currently believes. donât correct him harshly. donât push him into trying to recall things that arenât there. reassure him that itâs okay.â
you swallow.
thereâs a moment where you want to argue. where you want to say he deserves the truth. where you want to demand clarity, because youâve always hated the way your life turns into unanswered questions.
but then you see his face.
not just confused.
afraid.
you think of hospital lights, of scanners and protocols, of how quickly good intentions can become harm. you think of the note heâd asked for last year, the one you still keep folded in a drawer even though you told yourself youâd throw it away. you think of how he used to say heâd choose you even if his schedule got messy.
and then you think of how this is now.
you nod once, slowly, like agreeing to something heavier than comfort. âokay,â you say to the nurse. âi understand.â
the nurse meets your eyes like she appreciates you choosing patience. âthank you. heâs already very attached to you â
attached.
like itâs a fact you can measure on a chart.
haechan doesnât ask what the nurse told you. he just looks at you harder, trying to find you in the fog.
âare you mad at me,â he asks quietly.
your heart stutters.
âno,â you say, because you canât break him with the truth too early. âiâm not mad.â
he exhales like heâs been holding his breath for hours.
âthen⊠stay,â he says. âplease.â
so you do.
you stay.
the first day is mostly practical.
you help him drink water, because his hands shake slightly when he remembers youâre supposed to be someone he loves. you help him sit up slowly. you help him answer questions from nurses with a calm voice he clings to like itâs a railing.
when he asks where he is, you tell him itâs a hospital and you are here. when he asks if youâve been waiting, you tell him you came as soon as you could. when he asks what happened, you donât tell him everything, because the nurse was clear, and because you can see how quickly he starts to spiral when he tries to push past what heâs currently able to hold.
but he doesnât just stay in the present.
he keeps making small connections, even with the amnesia.
later that first night, he points at your phone when it buzzes. âis that⊠work?â
you glance at the screen without thinking. you shouldnât have checked it, but habit is hard to kill. you turn it face down. âitâs okay. it can wait.â
âyou always did that,â he says, then pauses like the sentence surprised him. âdidnât you?â
you freeze. âalways?â
he rubs his face with the heel of his palm. âi donât know. i just- something feels familiar.â
his eyes lift to yours again. âi think i was the one who was busy.â
you give him a small smile. âyou were.â
itâs not a lie, but itâs not the full story either.
he nods, like your answer fits inside the empty spaces he canât yet see.
and when you lie back against the chair beside his bed, you realize youâre doing it too: shaping the truth so it wonât hurt him.
for now, youâre not the you in the present
youâre the you of the past
the one he remembers.
week one passes in a slow, careful rhythm.
you come in every day after whatever you can salvage from your life outside the hospital. you bring him simple food he can tolerate. you talk to him when he gets restless. you watch his eyes when he hears your voice, because he looks at you differently when heâs calm. like he trusts you more.
he thanks you constantly.
âyouâre so good to me,â heâll say, like heâs stunned youâre not angry. like he canât understand why you keep showing up.
âiâm just taking care of you,â you answer.
but there are moments where the mask cracks.
not in a dramatic way. not in the way movies do it. in tiny things.
one afternoon, heâs staring at the IV pole like itâs a prop on a stage. âwhy do i have so many appointments,â he asks.
âdoctor visits,â you say.
he frowns. âno. i mean⊠earlier. before i ended up here.â he presses his fingers to his temple. âi had- i haveâŠmemories that donât load.â
you sit up straighter, careful not to flinch. âwhat do you remember?â
he tries to say it like a puzzle. âyou and i had a routine. it feltâlike⊠like i was always behind.â
you hold your breath.
because that sounds like it could be heartbreak or it could be guilt.
and right now, either one could hurt him if itâs the wrong one.
âmaybe you were stressed,â you say softly.
his eyes narrow, and he shakes his head like he hates the answer. ânot stressed. i was prioritizing something.â
you keep your voice steady. âwork?â
he looks at you as if the word should already mean something. âyes.â
then he exhales, long and shaky. âand you didnât like it.â
your stomach twists.
you donât want to lie, but you also donât want to correct him too hard. you choose truth that wonât break him in one sentence.
âi didnât like it when you stopped showing up the way you promised.â
he goes quiet after that. the quiet isnât peaceful. itâs tense, like his brain is trying to file the information under something safe.
âthen why are you here,â he asks, and itâs not accusing. itâs terrified.
âbecause i care,â you say.
his face softens like he needed that to be real.
âokayâŠâ he whispers. âokay.â
but you notice his hands fidget. you notice how he keeps glancing at your face, waiting for the moment he realizes something doesnât add up.
and you realize, too, that you canât keep it covered forever.
amnesia doesnât last like a curtain. it flickers. it thins. it returns in fragments.
week two starts with small signs.
he wakes up one morning, blinking at the ceiling with less confusion than before. his voice is still careful, but his thoughts move more smoothly.
ây/n,â he says, and then, like heâs surprised by his own certainty, he adds, âweâve done this already.â
you sit up. âwhat do you mean?â
he pauses. âlike⊠the last time i woke up. you were there. you were tired.â
you let the silence stretch just enough for him to feel safe in it.
âyou always looked like that when you were trying to be strong for me,â he says quietly.
your mouth goes dry.
he isnât supposed to be reaching for the past yet. not fully. not this clearly.
you reach for his hand. âhaechanâŠâ
he squeezes your fingers. âiâm sorry,â he says suddenly.
you almost laugh from the pain of it. âfor what?â
he stares at the space between you like heâs reading his own thoughts on invisible paper. âfor not remembering everything sooner,â he says, voice breaking at the edges. âfor not⊠being there.â
you swallow hard. âyouâre here now.â
he shakes his head. âno. i mean before.â his brow furrows. âi chose-â he stops. âi chose something that wasnât you.â
your eyes burn. you refuse to let tears fall in front of him, because he still looks like the world could fall apart if he senses your grief.
âit wasnât because you didnât care,â you say.
he looks at you quickly, hopeful. âthen what was it.â
you canât answer fast enough to keep from hurting him.
so you answer honestly in the only way youâre allowed to right now: gently, without details that would detonate his confusion.
âyou were scared,â you say. âabout failing. about disappointing everyone. about losing control. and i understood, but i still needed you.â
his eyes flicker.
he might not remember the breakup yet, but his body remembers the feeling of wanting something and not getting it.
he sits back against the pillow, staring at the ceiling. âi told you it would get better,â he says.
you look away because your throat canât handle the sound of it. âyou did.â
âand i didnât make it better,â he whispers.
this time, his voice doesnât sound like a stranger reciting lines. it sounds like a person standing on the edge of accountability.
âhaechan,â you say, barely audible.
he turns his head toward you slowly. âdo you hate me.â
you canât pretend anymore, not when heâs getting pieces back.
but you also canât rip him open with the full history of you two in one go.
you take a breath that feels like swallowing glass. âi donât hate you.â
he nods. âokay.â
then he frowns, like the word âokayâ doesnât fit what heâs feeling. âi think you left me.â
your pulse spikes.
âi-â you begin.
he holds up a hand, not to stop you, but like he needs you to wait while his mind catches up.
âi remember the feeling,â he says. âit was⊠quiet. not angry. not dramatic. just⊠you being done.â
your eyes sting.
he looks at you with a kind of hurt that doesnât have anywhere to go yet. âyou didnât want to keep waiting.â
âi didnât want to keep hoping alone,â you say, and it comes out more honest than you intended.
his face crumples like the truth finally found a home inside him.
âiâm sorry,â he says again, and this time itâs not just comfort seeking. itâs real regret.
âiâm trying to remember,â he whispers. âi can feel it. like my head is full of locked doors and i just-â he closes his eyes hard. âi just want to know what happened so i can fix it.â
you flinch.
because the nurseâs advice echoes in your mind: donât push him into remembering too fast.
and you also remember your own heavy heart from before, when you were the one walking away because you were tired of being the understanding one.
you want to protect him.
you also want to protect you.
âhaechan,â you say carefully, âtake it slow. itâs okay if it comes back gradually.â
he opens his eyes. theyâre glassy. âis it coming back because youâre here,â he asks, âor because something broke in me.â
you donât answer right away.
the silence feels like confession.
âi think itâs both,â you admit.
he nods, like he understands too well now.
then it starts.
not all at once. never all at once.
it comes as images, sensations, tiny humiliations and tender moments that your mind tries to tuck away when youâre protecting your pride.
he remembers how you used to check your phone after rehearsals, not because you were expecting messages, because you needed to reassure yourself he hadnât forgotten you existed.
he remembers the last time you fought. not screaming, not throwing things, just the kind of fight where you keep talking calmly while your heart gets smaller.
he remembers him saying heâd make time.
and then he remembers not making time.
he remembers you standing in a doorway, your voice steady even though your eyes werenât.
he remembers the exact moment you decided not to beg for attention anymore.
your heart stops when he says the next sentence.
âi chose work over you,â he says, like heâs shocked his own mouth could say something so cruel. âand you left.â
you reach for him, but he flinches away, startled by your touch like your closeness is too loaded now.
âhaechan,â you whisper.
âno,â he says, breath shaky. âdonât.â
itâs not that he doesnât want you. itâs that he does.
too much.
the amnesia was a mercy. it let him love you without weighing the cost. it let him believe you still belonged to him.
now the past returns, and the past is a wall.
he looks at you with eyes that are trying to be gentle but are failing.
âi donât know how to fix it,â he says.
you swallow hard. âyou canât fix whatâs already been decided.â
he looks away. âdid you decide because i didnât love you.â
your throat aches. âi donât think you didnât love me.â
he turns back, desperate. âthen why.â
because the truth is complicated and ugly and human.
because you both loved each other, but love doesnât prevent schedules from swallowing promises.
because he kept choosing what was urgent, and you kept learning how to live with being delayed.
because your patience has limits even when your feelings donât.
you say it anyway, the way you always wanted him to understand the first time.
âbecause i felt like i was becoming your afterthought,â you say. âand i couldnât keep living like that.â
his face goes pale.
âi didnât mean-â he starts.
âi know,â you cut in softly. âi believe you didnât mean it.â
he closes his eyes like heâs holding back something too loud to survive in a hospital room.
when he opens them, thereâs anger thereâbut not at you. at himself. at the timeline. at the version of him that existed before he woke up.
âwhat did you do after you left,â he asks, voice cracking.
you laugh once, bitter and quiet. âi lived.â
he shakes his head like he canât stand the simplicity of it. âdid you- did you move on.â
you press your lips together.
the nurse told you to play along to protect his brain. she didnât tell you how to protect your heart from the questions he now remembers how to ask.
you answer with the truth you can bear.
âi tried,â you say.
âdid you love me less,â he asks.
you look at his hands. the way they still shake. the way they still look like they could hold you through anything. the way they also look like theyâve been empty of you for too long.
âno,â you whisper. âi just⊠had to stop loving a future that kept getting postponed.â
his eyes flood.
he doesnât wipe them away fast enough. tears slip down his face in quiet lines, like even crying is careful around pain.
âiâm sorry,â he says, and it sounds smaller than earlier apologies.
you feel something sharp twist in your chest: not anger. not even resentment.
just grief for how late he remembered.
if youâd met him at the start of this, you could have fought for him again.
but youâve already gone through the leaving.
youâve already built your life around the absence.
and now heâs coming back to you with a timeline that doesnât know how to unbreak what it already broke.
he reaches for you again.
this time, you let him take your hand.
but the weight of it is different. heavier. like holding a ghost with a pulse.
âif iâd remembered sooner,â he murmurs, âwould you still be here.â
you stare at the space between you, at the reality youâve been trying to survive.
you could lie.
you could make it easier for him.
but you canât.
âi donât know,â you say honestly. âi think i wouldâve tried to. but i think i wouldâve still eventually run out of hope.â
he swallows hard.
âso what now,â he asks.
you squeeze his fingers once, gentle. ânow you rest. you recover. you learn to live with what you canât undo.â
his eyes lift to yours.
and the angst is not in shouting or threats. itâs in the quiet understanding that you two broke up for a reason, and the reason didnât disappear just because he woke up and remembered you.
âbut i want you,â he says.
your throat tightens. âi know.â
and there it is. the cruelest part.
you still want him too.
you still love him in the way that doesnât turn off like a switch.
but love isnât enough to reverse time. love isnât a cure for schedules and distance and the slow erosion of trust.
he leans forward slightly, as if he can chase the past back into place.
âtell me you didnât stop loving me,â he whispers.
you press your forehead to his for a second, just long enough to share warmth without giving promises your heart canât keep.
âi didnât,â you say.
then you pull back before your emotions take control.
before the nurseâs instructions become irrelevant to the real damage you can already feel forming.
âbut you canât ask me to go back to being the one who waits,â you add, voice trembling. ânot after you finally remember why you hurt me.â
his shoulders sag. âso i lose you.â
you stare at him, trying not to hate the word âloseâ because it makes it sound like youâre being taken from him.
youâre not being taken.
you already left.
âyou donât get to lose me,â you say quietly. âyou have to accept that i already chose myself.â
he looks like he might collapse.
instead, he just holds your hand like heâs trying to memorize you all over againâthis time without the protection of amnesia.
âokay,â he whispers, defeated and honest. âokay.â
the week after that isnât dramatic either.
itâs just harder.
you keep showing up sometimes because youâre kind, and because the habit of caring is a muscle you didnât train out of your body. you talk to him as he regains more pieces. you sit beside him while he stares at the ceiling and remembers the sound of his own promises.
but every time he remembers something that made you leave, you feel the distance widen inside the space between your words.
and one morning, late in recovery, he asks you one last question while the sunlight hits the window like it always does in hospitalsâbright, indifferent, pretending the world is simple.
âif i apologize enough,â he says, âwill you forgive me.â
you look at him. at the person you loved. at the person who, even now, is still learning how to be present.
you think about the scheduling conflicts, about the way time kept slipping and you kept paying for it with your patience.
you think about your heavy heart and how it already knows the ending.
âforgiveness isnât the point,â you say.
his eyes search yours. âthen what is.â
you breathe out slowly, like letting go hurts even when youâre doing it gently.
âthe point,â you whisper, âis that i needed more than love. i needed effort that showed up consistently. and i didnât get that.â
he nods, because he understands now. not in a way that fixes anything. just in a way that finally hurts enough to be real.
you stand to leave after that, because if you stay too long, youâll start bargaining again.
at the doorway, haechan calls your name.
ây/n.â
you turn back.
he looks at you like he wants to keep you in his hands. like he wants to drag you into the version of the future where his amnesia never happened.
but all he has is the truth.
âiâm going to do better,â he says, voice breaking. âi swear.â
your chest aches at the familiar shape of that promise.
you almost say yes.
almost.
then you remember you already lived through almost.
you shake your head, slow and painful.
âi hope you do,â you say. âbut i canât be the proof this time.â
you leave the room with your heart in your throat, and behind you he sits alone, gripping the edge of the blanket like he can hold onto what he lost.
outside the hospital, the sky is bright.
and you walk anyway.
because even though he finally remembers you, the timing of your love has already changed.
thank you for all the support on this little account. I started this for fun, i never expected to get any recognition but im glad i found my little community here! with mark's departure i wanted to come back here to write more and express my thoughts, under no pressure to fit in a certain format or way im gonna start posting little blurbs cz i always get too lazy to finish a full ficđbut its never that serious truly. ill continue writing for mark as part of nct, though i fully support his decision and hope the best for him. i know the markfs will continue wanting more content so ill crank out what i have whilst im in my mark feels hehe
cheer up everybody !đ€
kinda wanna write for cortis, then again i havent even finished my 20 wips
URHHHHHHGHHH someone motivate me to get that damn jisung fic out alr.
look at my babie :c
current wips include...
anton angst
jisung fic based on ask
possible bnd fic but idk
haechan fic recs đ§ž
hi guys im going fucking ballistic insane balls with haechans new album coming out. so in honor of that, its time to make my haechan fic rec post. haechan writers u have my entire heart xx
i have soo many fics built up in my tumblr likes so this may take a while to fully update
dream navi | kpop navi | main navi
aww tysm for the rec đ„čđ«¶
mpreg.
hes so cutiepie :c
when the quiet breaks
pairing: jaemin x reader
in which...the softness between you and jaemin slowly turns to silence. genre: angst, falling out of love, est relationship w/c: 3.5k ish
there were nights when you couldnât remember what the beginning felt like. not the first kiss, or the first fight, or the first time he held your hand in that tiny cafe with his stupidly warm fingers. not even the first âi love you.â no, what you couldnât rememberâwhat hurt the mostâwas the first time it started to fall apart.
jaemin had always been a little too beautiful for his own good. not just in how he looked, but in the way he existed. like he was always halfway in another world. kind, but distracted. warm, but far away. you used to love that about himâhow he made you feel like the only real thing in his orbit. how he looked at you like heâd found something worth staying on earth for.
but lately, his eyes didnât hold that wonder anymore. lately, you felt like one more thing he was trying not to drop.
it started with the little things. unread texts. plans rescheduled. conversations cut short with, âsorry, practice ran late,â or âiâm just tired today.â and you understood. god, you always understood. he had a dream. a life. responsibilities you couldnât begin to carry for him. but part of you still waited. still hoped for the version of him that used to show up on your doorstep at midnight with your favorite snacks just because he missed your face.
but he hadnât missed your face in weeks.
you sat on the edge of your bed one night, phone in hand, screen lit up with a single-word reply from him: âsleeping.â
you stared at it like it might turn into something else. an apology. an explanation. anything. instead, the screen dimmed, and the silence wrapped itself around your chest like a fist.
âdo you even want this anymore?â you typed, then deleted it. typed again. deleted.
you didnât send it. not yet.
when you saw him next, it was different. colder, somehow. his arms still wrapped around you when you opened the door, his cheek still pressed against your hair, but it felt rehearsed. careful. like he was trying to remember the steps of a routine he didnât want to dance anymore.
you didnât say anything. not when he sat on your bed and scrolled through his phone. not when he barely touched the dinner you made. not even when he left without kissing you goodnight.
you curled up under the covers that night and told yourself you were just tired too.
but it got harder.
the more he slipped away, the harder you held on. you became someone you didnât recognizeâsomeone who watched his every move, who counted the seconds he took to reply, who smiled less and questioned more. it made you feel small. pathetic. but love will do that to youâmake you chase after pieces of someone who stopped giving themselves freely.
one night, you finally asked.
âare we okay?â your voice broke halfway through the question.
he looked up from his phone, startled, like he didnât expect you to speak. âwhat?â
âus,â you said, softer. âare we still⊠okay?â
jaemin blinked. and for the first time, he didnât answer right away.
that silence told you more than any words ever could.
âi donât know,â he said finally. and it was worse than if he had just said no.
you nodded slowly, trying to breathe through the sharp ache in your chest. âright.â
he reached out then, like he wanted to take your hand, but you pulled away before he could. because if he touched you, you knew youâd fall apart.
âdo you still love me?â you whispered.
he opened his mouth. paused. looked away. âi think so.â
you laughed, bitter and quiet. âyou think so.â
âi didnât mean it like thatââ
âno, jaemin. you donât think when you love someone. you just do.â
his face crumpled a little, like the guilt finally landed somewhere in his chest. but it was too late. too many cracks. too many silences. too many almosts and not-enoughs.
he stayed the night. you laid beside each other in the dark, backs turned, both pretending to sleep. and when he finally got up in the morning and kissed your forehead, you didnât open your eyes.
you didnât want to see him leave.
you stopped texting first after that. stopped asking if heâd eaten. stopped waiting for his good mornings and goodnights. part of you hoped heâd notice the difference, that heâd come running back with a thousand apologies and the boy you fell in love with in his eyes.
he didnât.
the next time he reached out, it was two weeks later.
âcan we talk?â
you met him at the park you used to go to on lazy afternoons, where he once pushed you on a swing and said you looked happiest in the air.
this time, the air was heavy. grey clouds overhead. no wind. no laughter.
jaemin was already sitting on the bench when you got there, head bowed, hands fidgeting.
he looked up when he heard your steps. and the sadness in his eyes nearly undid you.
âhey,â he said softly.
you nodded. âhey.â
you walked in silence for a bit, your shoes kicking up the fallen leaves, the weight of everything unsaid settling like fog between you.
âi havenât been fair to you,â he started. âi know that.â
you didnât reply.
âi let things get bad. i thought if i ignored it, maybe itâd get better. maybe weâd fix ourselves without having to talk about it. but⊠that was stupid.â
you glanced at him. âyeah. it was.â
he nodded, like he expected that. âiâve been scared.â
âof what?â your voice was quiet.
âof losing you.â
that made you stop walking. you turned to face him, eyes wide. âyou lost me the moment you stopped trying, jaemin.â
his jaw tightened. âi know.â
âyou let me feel alone in a relationship. do you know how fucked up that is?â
his voice cracked. âi didnât mean to. i didnât know how to balance everything.â
âyou couldâve just told me that.â
âi didnât want to disappoint you.â
you shook your head, blinking fast. âyou did anyway.â
a pause. thenââdo you still love me?â
you looked at him, really looked. at the boy you once thought youâd marry. at the boy who held your trembling hands during your panic attacks. who danced with you in the kitchen, barefoot and grinning. who kissed you like he was afraid youâd disappear.
and yet here you wereâright in front of him. already gone.
âi donât know,â you whispered. and this time, it was his turn to break.
he reached for you then, hands shaking, eyes wet. âplease. iâll do better. i swear, iâll do better.â
âwhy now?â you asked, stepping back. âwhy only when itâs too late?â
he had no answer.
you stood there in the cold, hearts laid bare, and for the first time, there was nothing left to salvage. just two people who loved each other once. and tried. and failed.
âiâll always wish we made it,â you said.
jaeminâs voice cracked. âme too.â
and that was it.
no dramatic goodbye. no final kiss. just the sound of leaves crunching under your feet as you walked away.
he didnât follow.
and you didnât look back.
chenle feeding the chenji shippers and jisung in the back like đ€ź
IM CTFUUU
I DONT KNOW WHY MY FUCKING POST BUTTON HASNT WORKED FOR DAYS AND IT FINALLY WORKS NOW omg. i missed ranting heređđ
anyways jaemin fic soon :p
can you write abt basketball player jisung?? i had the idea of chenle dragging jisung onto the campus basketball team loll
i loveee the basketballplayer!jisung agenda. basketball player jisung shall prevail.
in which...you started going to the campus basketball games for chenle, but end up staying for jisung
genre: basketballplayer!jisung x reader, fluff, mutual pining, strangers to?... w/c: 672
you started going to the campus basketball games just to support your friend chenle.
chenle â loud, energetic, impossible to miss â had joined the team this semester and begged you to come to the games. at first, you only showed up for him, sitting somewhere in the middle rows, pretending you knew what was going on. but over time, your attention kept drifting somewhere else.
number 5. point guard. jisung.
he wasnât flashy like some of the others â no showy dunks or over-the-top celebrations. but he was fast, steady, always a few moves ahead. you couldnât help but notice the way he controlled the pace, how his passes always found the right person, how calm he looked even when the game was down to the wire.
you told yourself it was just because he was close with chenle. that it made sense to notice him. but deep down, you knew that wasnât really true.
youâd sit in the same spot each week, hoodie up, phone out, occasionally glancing down at the court. but every time jisung had the ball, your eyes were locked on him. youâd learned his style by now â how he faked left when he meant right, how he checked the scoreboard with this tiny, thoughtful frown, how he ran a hand through his hair when frustrated.
what you didnât expect was that heâd noticed you, too.
it happened after a game â a close one they barely won. the crowd was still buzzing, fans streaming out of the gym. you stayed behind, waiting for chenle to come out like usual, sitting near the edge of the bleachers.
thatâs when you saw him.
jisung, standing a little ways off, sweat towel slung around his shoulders, joking with one of the guys. except⊠he wasnât really paying attention.
his eyes were on you.
you stared back, caught off guard. for a second, you werenât even sure he was looking at you â but then he smiled. just a small one. a barely-there twitch of the lips. but it was real. and it was yours.
you panicked and looked away.
the next week, you came again. same seat. same routine. chenle waved at you before warm-ups, and you gave him a thumbs-up. the game came and went. they won. and as you were getting ready to leave, someone called out.
âhey.â
you turned â and there he was. jisung. still in his jersey, hair damp, holding a water bottle and somehow looking completely composed despite the chaos around him.
âyou always sit there,â he said, like it was just a normal observation.
you blinked. âwhat?â
he nodded toward your usual spot. âthatâs where you always sit. every game. iâve seen you.â
your pulse jumped. âright. i mean, chenleâs my friend. iâm here for him.â
his lips quirked. âsure. for chenle.â
you narrowed your eyes. âwhatâs that supposed to mean?â
ânothing,â he said, but he was clearly trying not to laugh. âjust wondering if maybe you were also watching someone else.â
you crossed your arms, lips twitching. âmaybe. just a little.â
âonly a little?â he teased, stepping a bit closer. not too close â just enough to make your heart flutter.
âyouâre decent,â you said with a shrug, failing to sound casual.
âdecent?â he echoed, mock-offended. âwow. i was trying to impress someone.â
he said it so casually, but your breath caught anyway.
âiâm jisung,â he added, offering his hand, like he wasnât already a constant thought in your head.
âi know,â you said, taking it â and noticing he didnât let go right away.
he hesitated, then smiled a little softer. âmaybe next game⊠if youâre staying after, i could give you a tour. of the court. or like, wherever the players go.â
you raised a brow. âare you asking me out⊠on the court?â
âdepends,â he said. âare you saying yes off the court?â
you laughed, cheeks warming as your heart thudded a little too loudly.
âmaybe.â
and this time, he grinned â the kind of grin that made you think this might be the beginning of something.
JISUNG WITH A PERMMMMMMđ€€đ€€đ€€đ€€đ€€
this is literally so fucking funny i cant do thisđđ