home - haechan x f reader
angst, fluff, exes to lovers
“so, i’m thinking to just invite all the kids from our street. from the corner of the park down to jaems’ house,” mark mentions offhandedly, signalling a few seconds too late as he turns down a one way street.
a beep follows and haechan, not well versed with the rules of the road himself, confidently flips off the culprit on his best friend’s behalf before asking, “the swing side or the field side?”
“field side, plus we didn’t really know anyone from the other side too well. well apart from y/n, but i already invited her-”
“what?” mark had a knack for this kind of thing. starting at zero and cranking it up to a boiling one hundred. “y/n? as in-as in my y/n?”
mark side eyes as best he can, eyes still pinned to the road as he questions his friend. “do we know another y/n?”
“no. but- you know what i mean.”
“yeah, man. i know,” mark’s sigh only works to thicken the air, “but my mum added her on facebook and she saw my relationship status change and liked it and- yeah.” his fingers drum anxiously against his jean clad thigh as he thinks up a way to fix this. “listen, i know i should have asked you first-”
“no, come on,” haechan defends, his head meeting the headrest with a purposeful thud. “i mean, she’s your friend too.”
“true.” as mark turns onto his street, they both silently agree to neglect that flat out lie. because mark isn’t your friend. not anymore. not since haechan ‘won’ him in the break up. much like he won all your friends. hell, you’re pretty certain your invite to mark’s wedding was more of an apology than anything. a ‘hey, i know we were friends for over fifteen years, and we lived through an infinite amount of firsts, and we made a pact to be best friends forever, but i’m getting married and i’m sorry you found out about it on facebook and that i haven’t spoken to you since you and hyuck broke up. but i’d love for you to come. rsvp.’
as they enter mark’s childhood home, and mark swims in relief of his kind of well received news, haechan wallows in his own web of lies. or more precisely, the truth. because, you see, no one except you and haechan knew the truth about your breakup. knew the ins and outs. the meaning behind those cryptic insults weeks after it ended. no one knew that puppy love, so pure and precious could warp into something so malicious it tore holes in life long friendships. no one but you two knew the truth.
“so,” haechan tries minutes later, fingers clasped around his newly opened beer. “how is she?”
“y/n?” mark smiles at his friend’s interest, though his excitement is short lived. “uh, good. we didn’t talk for long, she seemed busy.”
“right,” a question creeps up his throat, almost clawing its way out before he takes a long sip, his fingers digging into his knee. ‘did she ask about me?’
“she asked about you,” mark adds off handedly, his obliviousness irking haechan to no end. “well, she asked about everyone in general. sl i told her we’re all good.”
“yeah,” he shrugged, shutting the fridge. “said she’s excited to see us all again.”
haechan says nothing. he opts instead to wonder how true that really is. whether you had forgotten all the rotten things he’d said to you that night. whether you had something you wanted to say, something you needed to say.
it has been almost four years since you left.
it was a week before college began. hyuck had decided to stay local, aim for something in trade, maybe electrics or plumbing. he’d fallen head over heels for this small town. swore up and down his heart belonged on this street. though more accurately, wherever you were. which was always beside him. though it would no longer, once you left. you’d decided on law. always quoting something from marx, freedom fighters or hamilton - just for his sake. whether it be humanitarian law, human rights, social justice. in pig latin, french or hieroglyphics, haechan listened. he committed your every utterance to memory. whether he understood or not, haechan knew it meant something to you, and that was enough.
and yet try as he may, even as the words to this day ring deafeningly in his ears, there was one thing he couldn’t understand. or just wouldn’t. to this day haechan doesn’t know what set him off. your nonchalance, your inflection, your eyes. eyes that at first glance seemed fearful, until they gleamed as you stared directly at the sun. as he questioned you, you did what you always did under scrutiny. you ran. you left and he chased, demanding answers to reasonable questions. at least initially. haechan can’t put a time stamp on it, but the night took a turn, his confusion slowly morphing into accusation. his concern turning to pity. his love rotting to hate.
that night, haechan watched the light go out behind your eyes. though, as time passes, he thinks maybe it was never behind them. maybe it was his own light reflected in your eyes. and he was heated to incandescence by your love. and maybe, like our own star will one day come to pass, your own star burned out too.
haechan is plagued by thoughts of you leading up to the wedding. he’d never admit he always wondered how you had been. whether you ever did get into politics. he was never one to watch the news, but he sometimes looks for you in global health columns, scans for picture. he wonders how you look. did you ever get that nose piercing you wanted? or the sun on your back? what about that ass? you always turned down dessert but raided his snack cupboard at first mention. he and his mother don’t mention the matcha kit kats he refuses to throw out, though neither of them enjoy them. he even wonders what you feel like. even after all this time away, can one still feel like home?
in the same time, you’ve wondered if you can even face him again. four years is a long time to stay mad. but it’s even longer to grow. it was enough to give jaemin courage, and jeno a voice. it was even enough to get mark on one knee. so maybe it was enough to march you through that church, breaths as shallow as they can be and your head held high. as you pass old faces, you can’t help but smile, a melancholic grin stealing your lips with every person who greets you.
the first had been mark’s father. he held you in his arms like he’d thought you dead, his chest shaking with joy as laughter ripped through him. you held back a hush as he called for his wife, mark’s mother rushing across the carpeted floor before she too scooped you up. their grins only widen as they note your company, jokes made of your rsvp forgoing mention of a plus one. they’re distracted for a split second so you take the chance to flee, bumping right into jaemin. he’s stood off to the side, handsome as ever. visibly more so as skin tightens around his jaw, foot tapping as he eyes a confessional door. when his eyes land on you he gasps with his whole frame, latching onto you like you might disappear between his very fingers.
“i can’t believe it’s you.” he murmurs after what feels like minutes. he holds you at arms length, taking you all in. “a bob, huh?”
“a long bob,” you correct, smiling as his eyes glimmer in the most painful way. “come on, it’s not that bad, jaemin.”
“it’s not.” he sniffs, eyes flicking between you and your left before they settle on your plus one. “oh?” he asks playfully, brow arched in a way that done by anyone else, would piss you off terribly. “and who is this?”
scientists say it’ll be another eight billion years before the sun burns out, taking with it everything in our lowly solar system. the blast could be enough to wipe out most of the neighbouring systems. it would end the lives of trillions before mankind ever got a chance to confirm them.
you once thought in the seconds that pass, between hearing his voice speak your name, in that same sweet way, and your eyes finding his, you would give everything to bring forth dooms day. you’d beg the sun to vaporise every last inch of this place of worship, taking you with it.
after losing every friend you ever had. losing your very home and fleeing to the country. after losing the only person you couldn’t picture yourself living without. you found a reason to live.
“mommy,” that reason whispers around his thumb, his small fist wiggling to your pinky. “mommy, you said it’s rude to stare.”
“yes!” jaemin cheers, obnoxiously agreeing with a three year old he’s never met, but somehow recognises. “yes, it is..”
“haechan!” your son announces, grinning proudly as he shakes jaemin’s open hand. “but my mommy calls me channie.”
“she does?” jaemin asks, eyes catching mark as he heads your way, looking to be in search of someone. “hey, is it okay if i call you channie?”
“hm, i don’t know,” channie hums, tugging on your pinkie and thumb this time. you watch haechan’s eyes flick to the small fists that surround your digits, resolve slowly leaving him as he gazes at the boy. “mommy, can he?”
“if you don’t mind, baby,” you rush as soon as his gaze returns to you, the clogs behind his eyes whirring in real time. “it’s up to you.”
when channie finally nods, jaemin gives a big sigh of relief before asking, “well channie, do you maybe want to meet your mommy’s friend, mark? he’s getting married today, and he looks really nervous, i think making a new friend will help calm him down. what do you think?”
“i don’t know,” he hums again, eyes boring up at your waiting ones. “is he like mister mark from your stories, mommy?”
“yeah, exactly.” you marvel at the wonder in his eyes, his fists tightening around your digits as he stomps in excitement. “shall we go say hi?”
“i’ll take him.” jaemin offers, looking at you with those same kind eyes. “if that’s okay with you?” your eyes drift down again to your son’s pleading eyes. you cast your gaze to haechan for only a second and regret it when you find he’s wandered toward an empty confessional, awaiting you. you just nod, jaemin and channie both cheering. “we’ll be right over there, okay?”
“okay,” you agree as you watch them leave. channie probably nattering about his reflection in his smart shoes and jaemin still seeing sun spots. you watch them approach mark and his gaze flit between the unusual pair before jaemin points towards you. a smile creeps on mark’s face before jaemin finishes and it rounds into surprise. in these moments you see time cannot change mark, especially as he kneels down to greet the near exact miniature of his best man.
the old church is still as cold as you remember it, even in late spring. as you enter, you see haechan leant against the back wall, leaving the side by the door and the radiator for you. you map your easy escape, ignoring the clinks of the piping as the radiator whirs to life.
“it should warm up in a minute.” his sudden gesture breaks the silence in the weirdest of ways. it’s not why you’re in here. you both know that. so why would he pussyfoot around the point with small talk? pointing to the radiator behind you, he asks, “you still always cold?”
“yeah,” you answer anyway, clinging to the warming metal. “you still always hot?”
“of course,” he scoffs, smiling as your eyes roll. a silence threatens to settle again when you do the same as him, delay the inevitable.
“so,” inhaling the dusty air, you turn away from him and toward the wooden door. “mark’s getting married.”
“yeah,” he sighs, slipping onto the bench lining the walls. “they met in college. which is weird because he’s been planning this day since we were- what, eleven?”
“yeah, that’s crazy.. but jaem started at like eight though, right?” you laugh, letting yourself fall under the spell of nostalgia. “to be honest, i though he and mark’s cousin would be first.”
“really?” he asks, a quizzical look staining the barely wrinkled parts of his face. “i always thought it’d be us.” the room stills then.
“yeah, well,” you shrug, huffing as you stand. “i guess we were both wrong.”
“i guess so.” he watches you slowly pace, two steps up and down as he thinks up something to make up for four lost years. “it’s crazy how you can know someone your whole life and yet not really know them at all.”
“what is that supposed to mean?”
“it means,” eyeing you as you halt, he shrugs, “it means whatever you want it to mean.”
“you asked me in here.” you remind, pointing at his lax form as you consider enacting your mapped escape. “so if you have something you want to say, say it.”
“i-is he yours?” your scoff is drenched in hatred, so much so haechan straightens, his spine flat on the damp stone wall. “haechan, allow me to make something very clear to you: nothing of mine is yours. he is my son.”
“oh, and you just made him on your own?”
“i might as well have,” you practically growl. “i seem to recall his father wanting nothing to do with him.”
“well, i’m sure you gave him a choice-”
“don’t do that. don’t act like it’s my fault. don’t act like i walked out on us, hyuck. because i didn’t.”
“no,” he laughs, tongue stuffed in his cheek. “no, you ran out me.”
“yeah, y/n, you ran. you left me.”
“hyuck, i told you i was pregnant you didn’t want to hear it. any of it. you told me i was delusional. that we weren’t endgame. that i was insane to think we weren’t just convenient-”
“y/n, you had a scholarship. y-you wanted to change the world-”
haechan reels as you shake, his brain holding him still as his hear pumps blood to his finger tips, urging his every limb towards you. with mind over matter, he hold still, only imagining his arms wrapping around you as you begin to cry.
“i needed you, hyuck. and you weren’t there.” he refuses to picture it. months spent alone, worrying over every detail of the rest of your life as he lay in bed dreaming up a future that was so obviously far fetched his stomach turns. “so keep telling yourself whatever makes you feel better. that i ran out on you, on us.
“but just remember that when i left, i didn’t take everything with me, okay? not like you did. you got mark, and jaem, jeno, the girls. you left me nothing. no one. my son thinks my whole life is a bedtime story. because how do i tell that boy who thinks i put fucking stars in the sky, that no one loves me anymore? tell me. tell me how i tell him his fucking father left me just to clear his conscience, hm? tell me!”
“i didn’t know! i didn’t know you kept him.” haechan admits, unsure what fuels him more, his guilt or his rage. “i didn’t even know where you were. i thought you were off interning for the UN, ending wars, running for president!”
“oh, grow up! how old are you, haechan-”
“silly mommy!” missed the knock “i’m three and one quarter!”
“y/n i’m so sorry i need to warn jeno before mark kills him one sec”
“mommy, were you shouting?” haechan looks confused as channie grabs u by both cheeks, like one would a child. “the stories say never to shout, even when you’re angry, because-
“shouting means you’ve already lost.” he looks at channie in wonder before looking at u for a second. “where’d you learn that from, kid?”
“mr haechan from my bedtime stories.” “he used to be my favourite.”
“because he was my mommy’s favourite.” “she smiled the most at his bits.” “and because my name is haechan. but now my favourite is mr jaemin because uncle jaemin said he’d give me cake if i made mr jaemin my favourite.”
“did he now?” you chime in, a playful glare stealing a squeal from the boy. “and what about miss y/n.”
“she’s my favourite favourite,” “because she reminds me of my mommy.”
