i’m val! my pronouns are she/her. i write just for fun— and mostly for haechan 🧸
i’d love to hear your ideas, so feel free to send in requests anytime :) so far, i’ve only written for hyuck, but i’m open to trying something new if there are other members you’d like me to write for! but please do understand that writing is something i only get to do in between a busy schedule, so it might take some time for me to post. that said, i’ll do my best to stay active whenever i can .ᐟ
masterlist ˊˎ-
made for each other ‹ 4.3k wc
— although the grownups in your life constantly encourage you to enjoy your youth since you won't get the chance to do it again, there are some aspects of it that are unpleasant. the continual change in your body, the pressure from those around you, and the abandonment of friends.. it's pathetic how you still care about the guy that left you without saying anything.
never just friends ‹ 5.3k wc
— an interview. two chairs. one camera. and all the words they never said. they both want to fix it. neither knows how. but if there was ever a moment to try again, it’s now, before the caps are tossed, before the goodbyes, before they go their separate ways for goodbecause sometimes, endings are just new beginnings waiting to happen.
where pretend becomes real ‹ 5.9k wc
— a variety show marriage. a fake spouse. and cameras in your face every day.
shouldn't, couldn't, wouldn't ‹ 11.2k wc
— all you had to do was survive moving day without collapsing, crying, or accidentally making eye contact with a neighbor you'd have to avoid forever. spoiler alert: you would fail at all three.
i was actually hoping that after they met after two months they would get a happy ending but i lwk also understand why they didn’t.
BTW i loved it, it was so beautiful and i’m definitely rereading it soon😭
i definitely considered giving it a different ending!! but since i based the fic on the song, i realized it made more sense for it to end that way 🥲 plus, someone requested an angst fic, so i was reallyyy trying to give off that kind of vibe... iykwim :D
agaaainn, thank you so much for giving love to the fic 😭🫶 out of all i've written, it is definitely my fav so far, and i am beyond grateful that you loved it
Heyyyy I'm the one who asked for the second part of your latest goddamn good hyuck fic and yeeesss I'm hoping for the second part and a happy ending cuz i think hyuck and y/n actually deserve it☹️🩵 thank you sooo much for your time!🫶🏻
no worries 🫶 i'll try my best 2 come up with something gooood
I need a second part of the recent haechan fic. NOW. GOD I LOVE IT SO MUCH.
thank youu aaaa i am superrr glad you loved ittt !! i loved writing the fic and i was so surprised with how quick it took me to finish it
but not gonna lie, i was really debating whether or not to give them a happy ending 🥀 like i genuinely can’t accept that they won’t end up together after everything. (i've got serious attachment issues)
if i do make a part two, do you want it to have a happy ending or…? 🥶🥶
⚡︎ .ᐟ boy-next-door!haechan x reader—where they weren't supposed to kiss. or call. or catch feelings. too bad they suck at rules.
⚡︎ .ᐟ inspired by NIKI's "shouldn't, couldn't, wouldn't"—i love her so much plz give the song a listen if you haven't yet!!
⚡︎ .ᐟ suggestive content, and waayyy too many late-night feelings. (11.2k)
· · ─ ─ · · · · ─ ─ · ·
moving day was a disaster waiting to happen, and surprise—it happened. three hours of sleep, zero caffeine, and enough bad decisions packed into one tote bag to make a reality show jealous.
all you had to do was survive moving day without collapsing, crying, or accidentally making eye contact with a neighbor you'd have to avoid forever.
spoiler alert: you would fail at all three.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · · · · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
shouldn’t
moving day was already the worst.
you were sleep deprived, under caffeinated, and sweating through your tote bag. you had just barely managed to drag a heavy suitcase to your apartment door before realizing the key was on the very bottom of your bag. beneath a book, a half-eaten granola bar, and your crippling regret.
he was sitting across from your new apartment, cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by half a bag of cheetos and the loudest facetime call in the world. from what you could hear, his friend was yelling something about a suspicious rash.
he looked up just in time to catch you drop your bag, trip over it, and slam your forehead lightly into your own door.
there was a long pause.
then he muted his call and clapped.
“10 out of 10 entrance,” he said, still chewing.
you stared at him from the floor, holding your dignity in both hands like a fragile egg.
“thanks,” you deadpanned. “been rehearsing that fall for weeks.”
he grinned like this was the highlight of his day.
and to make things worse, he was hot. stupid hot. like—should not be allowed to have a face like that—hot. tousled brown hair, warm skin, golden chain resting against his collarbone. and of course, the stupid bear socks.
“you moving in?” he asked, like that wasn’t obvious from the five boxes labeled ‘sad kitchen stuff’ next to you.
“no,” you said. “i just like loitering in random hallways. adds spice to my week.”
he tilted his head. “you’re funny.”
“you’re nosey.”
“you’re in my way.”
“you’re still staring.”
you blinked. looked away so fast your neck almost cracked. he was still grinning, smug, stupid, and gorgeous.
“i’m haechan,” he offered, finally. “i live across from you. that makes us... hallway buddies.”
“gross,” you muttered. “do not say that ever again.”
he only winked. “you’ll love me in three to five business days.”
later that night, after successfully unpacking approximately one spoon and a broken desk lamp, you found a note slid under your door.
“welcome to the building. hallway buddies 4ever <3 - h”
you told yourself you rolled your eyes. you told yourself it didn’t make you smile.
you shouldn’t.
but the butterflies in your stomach said, good fucking luck with that.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
your room is still half-boxes and unfamiliar shadows while you were on the phone with seol.
“oh, by the way, my cousin jaem invited me over to this pregame he’s having at his place. want to come with?”
you reply, “i think i’m just gonna stay in tonight, honestly.”
“too late! i’m already outside.”
you blink. then hear her knock.
jaemin’s apartment is loud. that’s the first thing you notice. not just music, but the sharp, overlapping noise of too many voices in a too-small space. you barely step inside when the second thing hits you.
and the thing was slouched on the couch in a leather jacket, head tilted back, laughing at something jeno just said. then he sees you.
his whole expression shifts, like a switch flipped.
“well, well, well,” he calls out with a lazy grin. “if it isn’t my hallway buddy.”
you groan. “don’t call me that in public.”
you slide into the empty seat next to him before your brain has the chance to vote. his knee brushes yours. neither of you mention it.
across the room, jaemin tosses you a drink without looking. “new apartment treating you okay?” he asks.
“yeah,” you say, then glance at haechan. “we actually live across from each other.”
seol’s head whips around. “wait—you two live across the hall?”
you nod slowly. haechan just shrugs, taking a sip like it’s nothing. “guess we’re neighbors and now party pals.”
jaemin points between the two of you. “and this never came up before?”
“didn’t exactly come up in the elevator,” you mutter.
the night spins faster after that. drinks. music. renjun attempting to dj in the kitchen using two phones and a bowl. someone breaks out a deck of cards. there’s a group effort to freestyle over a beat that no one can agree on. laughter bounces off the walls.
you lose track of time—until you somehow end up crammed into a corner during never have i ever. haechan’s shoulder presses into yours, his voice low near your ear.
“small world,” he says. “hallway, party, now, a fun little drink game territory”
you raise your cup. “should’ve stayed home.”
he clinks his drink lightly against yours. “you’d be bored without me.”
you don’t answer.
because he might be right.
“never have i ever hooked up with a neighbor,” jeno said, smirking.
haechan looked at you.
you glared at him.
“i haven’t!” you protested.
“yet,” he said under his breath.
you blinked.
your ears got hot.
you told yourself it was the tequila.
later, in the quiet chaos of 2 a.m., you were helping him find a spare charger in jaemin’s room. mostly because you didn’t trust him not to steal one if left unsupervised.
“you’re fun,” he said suddenly, watching you from the doorway.
“i’m also emotionally unavailable and extremely good at ghosting,” you replied, digging through drawers.
“perfect,” he said, grinning. “my type.”
you stood up. too close. his eyes dropped to your mouth for half a second too long.
i should step back, you thought.
but you didn’t.
he leaned in slightly. just enough to test a theory.
you stared at him.
then laughed—too loud, too fake, too “please don’t let this be real.”
you cleared your throat.
“we should go,” you said quickly.
he hesitated. then stepped back.
“yeah,” he said softly. “we should.”
once it was time to go home, he insisted on driving back to your place. the drive back home was quiet. and once you’ve arrived at the building, none of you chose to speak. you walked, in silence, with your shoulders brushing.
you didn’t say anything when he opened the door to your building for you. you didn’t say anything when he held the elevator.
“you ever think,” he said, not looking at you “that maybe we’re just avoiding something?”
you blinked. “like what?”
his lips twitched. “something we shouldn’t do.”
you didn’t answer.
you didn’t have to.
the silence said enough.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
the texting started as a joke.
haechan had left a post-it on your door that said:
“you left your dignity in the hallway again. i’m holding it hostage. - h”
you: u have the worst handwriting in the world 😬
DNI!!: shut up >:( that’s not what u said when u saw my handwriting on ur heart
you had no response to that. not a good one anyway.
after that, the texts never really stopped.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
DNI!!: hey, u up?
you: if this is a booty call, i hope u step on a lego
DNI!!: 💔
DNI!!: u’re no fun
you: ?? i am SO much fun
DNI!!: prove it. come out
you: is this another hallway hang
DNI!!: unless u’re scared.. 😮
you opened your door exactly sixty seconds later.
he was already leaning against his, hoodie up, a box of ice cream sandwiches in one hand and the smirk. the one that said he knew he was your worst idea—and your favorite one.
“ice cream truce,” he said. “for your wounded ego.”
“from what?”
“from not kissing me that night at jaemin’s.”
you blinked. he was too close again.
“what makes you think i wanted to?”
he raised a brow. “didn’t you?”
you looked away. “just give me the ice cream.”
you sat in the hallway. backs against the wall. knees brushing again.
“so,” he said between bites, “what’s your tragic backstory?”
you laughed. “you first.”
he grinned, lazy and warm. “gemini. commitment issues. abandonment issues.”
“wow. the holy trinity.”
“and you?”
you shrugged. “recovering situationship survivor.”
he winced. “yikes.”
“you?”
“commitmentphobe with a god complex.”
you scoffed at him. “wow.. you’re actually self-aware?”
“only after 2 a.m.,” he said. “and only with you.”
you told yourself it was a joke. you told yourself the way he was looking at you didn’t make your heart do something stupid.
“haechan…” you started.
“yeah?”
“we’re not doing this.”
he paused.
“doing what?”
you glared. “this. flirting. late-night ice cream. emotional trauma swap. whatever this is.”
he nodded slowly. then smiled again. “yeah. no. definitely not. hallway buddies only.”
you both laughed.
but the silence after wasn’t light. it was heavy. like something was being buried beneath the joke.
when you got up to leave, he didn’t stop you.
because this—whatever it was—was exactly what you both knew you shouldn’t be starting.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
you had a face mask on, hair tied, a random sitcom playing, and had just settled into your comfort burrito blanket cocoon when your phone buzzed.
DNI!!: can’t sleep
DNI!!: door’s open
you stared at the screen. then stared at your reflection. you looked like someone who’d lost a bet.
you told yourself you wouldn’t don’t go.
then grabbed your hoodie and went anyway.
his lights were dimmed, just one lamp glowing in the corner. the tv was playing some terrible reality dating show—a girl was crying because her man of two days chose someone else during a “trust fall challenge.”
“wow,” you said, sitting on the edge of his couch. “art.”
“masterpiece,” he agreed. “shakespeare could never.”
you watched in silence for a bit. you felt him watching you.
“you didn’t knock,” he said softly.
“you said the door was open.”
he nodded, eyes still on you. “just saying. you used to knock.”
“you used to be less cryptic,” you muttered.
he smiled. “i’m still cryptic. you’re just getting better at reading me.”
you laughed nervously. then fell silent again.
on-screen, someone yelled, “he can’t even define the relationship!”
you scoffed. “DTR,” you said. “men fear it.”
“yeah,” haechan muttered. “i’ve always sucked at that part.”
you glanced at him. he was looking at the floor. “why?” you asked, before you could stop yourself.
he shrugged. “because... once you define it, you can’t pretend it’s not real.”
you didn’t know what to say to that. so you didn’t say anything.
the silence stretched. not awkward. just heavy.
he was sitting closer now. when had he moved?
your knees touched. neither of you pulled away.
you looked at him. he looked at you.
and in that one, too-long second—your whole body went still.
he leaned in. just enough. slowly. like he was giving you time to stop it. your heart felt like it was trying to escape your ribcage.
you knew this was the line.
you knew you shouldn’t.
and still—your hand moved on its own, resting lightly on his knee.
that’s when he froze.
“if we do this,” he said, voice low, “everything changes.”
you swallowed. “i know.”
another beat.
“so, are we—”
you exhaled sharply. stood up. paced toward the door.
“we’re not doing this. we can’t”
he stayed on the couch, silent.
you didn’t turn back.
you didn’t see the way his expression crumpled just slightly.
you didn’t see how he watched the door long after it closed.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
you were just on your way back from seol’s, high on caffeine and gossip, with a paper bag full of banana bread and a playlist queued for the walk upstairs. you didn’t expect to find him standing in front of your apartment door.
hoodie again. hands in pockets. that same boyish look that screamed, “i swear i’m trouble, but you’ll like it.”
“you forget your key?” you asked, unlocking your door.
“no,” he said. “just forgot what it felt like to be around you.”
“what?” you said, laughing awkwardly.
“that sounded better in my head,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck.
you tilted your head. “why are you here, haechan?”
he didn’t answer right away.
just looked at you like he was trying to memorize your face before doing something stupid.
“i think i’ve been trying to find excuses to see you,” he said.
you went quiet.
he stepped a little closer.
“i think i’ve been trying to forget you, too,” you whispered.
he stopped.
“and how’s that going?”
“terribly.”
he smiled—not the usual cocky, smug one. this was smaller. sadder. almost hopeful.
“can i come in?” he asked.
you didn’t trust yourself to answer with words.
so you opened the door.
and he followed.
you didn’t even turn the lights on—just tossed your bag on the counter and leaned against it, heart hammering like it knew what was coming.
haechan stood in your kitchen like he’d done it a thousand times.
“you want tea?” you asked, trying to buy yourself time. sanity.
“only if you’re making it shirtless.”
“you’re unbelievable.”
“you say that like it’s new information.”
you rolled your eyes. “you want tea or not?”
“nah,” he said softly, walking up behind you. “right now, i only want… you.”
your breath caught.
you turned around slowly. he was too close. too warm. too everything.
his hand lifted—not to grab or pull or take—just to tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear.
“if we do this,” you said, barely audible, “we can’t pretend anymore.”
he nodded. “i’m tired of pretending.”
“we said we shouldn’t.”
“we also said we wouldn’t.”
you paused. “but right now?”
“we couldn’t not.”
that was all it took.
your mouths met halfway. desperate. months of lingering glances and almost-kisses finally unraveling like thread. your hands tangled in his hoodie. his fingers dug into your waist like he’d die if he let go.
it wasn’t graceful. it wasn’t planned.
but it was real.
too real.
somewhere between the kisses and the way he whispered your name like it hurt, your brain screamed that this is a mistake.
but your body? your heart?
they didn’t care.
on your couch, beneath the dim kitchen light, you let him see the version of you you’d kept guarded. and in return, he gave you the one he never let anyone else hold.
when it was over—when your breathing slowed and the silence returned—he traced lazy circles on your bare shoulder and murmured,
“i don’t want to go back to pretending.”
you didn’t say anything.
you didn’t need to.
because you were already too far in.
and somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew.
this was the beginning of something you wouldn’t be able to walk away from.
couldn’t
“you couldn’t DTR, wouldn’t it be nice if we could stay friends?”
you woke up to the sound of the kettle whistling.
for a second, you thought you were dreaming. your place was never that quiet in the morning—usually it was just the hum of your phone alarm and the silent screaming of your soul.
but this time?
there was someone in your kitchen.
and he was humming.
you sat up slowly, hair a mess, shirt barely clinging to your shoulder. it smelled like him. which was unfair. because now you couldn’t even wear your own clothes without remembering last night.
you padded out to the kitchen, barefoot and sleepy-eyed, only to find haechan pouring hot water into two mugs.
he turned at the sound of your yawn, grinning.
“morning to you too,” he said, sliding one of the mugs across the counter. “tea. not made shirtless. sorry to disappoint.”
“wow, you made me tea?”
“i did,” he said. “don’t worry, i didn’t poison it. i only do that on the third hookup.”
you snorted, reluctantly smiling. “so this is a hookup?”
he paused.
the room felt too still.
“i mean,” he started, “unless you’d prefer we call it a… spiritual bonding ritual or something.”
you gave him a look.
“kidding,” he said quickly. “honestly? i don’t know. i just… i wanted to make you tea. that’s all.”
you sipped it. still warm. still slightly sweet.
“you’re weird,” you muttered.
he leaned against the counter, watching you.
“and you kissed me back.”
“well, you kissed me first.”
“you moaned.”
“you’re lucky i didn’t bite.”
“..you did bite.”
you choked on your tea.
he laughed.
god, why did he always laugh like that? like it came from somewhere deep in his chest. like he wasn’t scared of anything.
but you were.
scared of this. of him. of how this already felt like something you couldn’t name without ruining it.
“you’re still here,” you said quietly, setting your mug down.
he tilted his head.
“did you think i’d leave?”
you shrugged.
he didn’t say anything. just stepped forward, gently taking your hand in his.
“i meant it,” he said. “last night. i don’t wanna pretend anymore.”
you swallowed hard. “and what exactly are we doing?”
he didn’t answer right away.
instead, he pressed a kiss to the back of your hand.
then your wrist.
then your shoulder.
your breath hitched.
“i don’t know,” he whispered. “but i do know i’m not ready to stop.”
and neither were you.
so when he kissed you again—slow, soft, full of unspoken things—you kissed him back.
not because it was a good idea.
not because it would end well.
but because you couldn’t resist.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
the second time it happened was thursday.
because, of course, it had to be thursday.
thursday was supposed to be uneventful. boring. uneventful-boring-thursday. but then he showed up at your door again, hoodie down, smile up, eyes bright like he knew you were going to let him in.
you didn’t even ask why. just stepped aside and said, “you know the drill. shoes off.”
he toed them off dramatically and flopped onto your couch like he paid rent.
“you’re lucky you’re cute,” he said.
“you’re lucky i’m lonely.”
he clutched his chest. “ouch. right in the fragile male ego.”
“you have an ego?”
“only when you’re around.”
he had a way of saying things that sounded like jokes but felt like truths. you hated how easily you blushed. how fast your heartbeat got when he looked at you like that.
“i brought chips,” he said, pulling out a bag from his hoodie like it was contraband. “and the ramen you like.”
you narrowed your eyes. “are you trying to seduce me with carbs?”
“is it working?”
“...yes.”
and just like that, thursday was ruined.
or maybe, saved.
because the next thing you knew, he was in your kitchen again—badly boiling noodles and dramatically sneezing from the spice, and you were sitting on the counter, swinging your legs like a teenager with a crush.
you weren’t dating.
but you weren’t just friends.
you were something in-between, something unnamed, something filled with stupid inside jokes and unsaid feelings and late-night cravings that weren’t just about ramen.
after dinner, he sat a little too close. your knees touched. your pinkies brushed. he let his hand rest on your thigh and didn’t move it.
he kissed you again—slow, teasing, like he had all the time in the world.
you didn’t talk much that night.
you didn’t have to.
you both lay there in your bed, barely under the covers, silence pressing between you like a second body.
“do you want to sleep over?” you asked, almost too quietly.
he blinked. “i mean… yeah. if that’s okay?”
you nodded.
and he stayed.
after that, it just became a thing.
he’d show up.
sometimes with food. sometimes with excuses. sometimes with neither.
you stopped asking why.
he’d tease you when you wore his shirt around the apartment, and you’d throw a pillow at him when he called you “cutie with commitment issues.”
“takes one to know one,” you always shot back.
“i’m not one for titles, in other words, terrified. that p*ssy kept my words out the door”
you didn’t talk about what you were doing. you didn’t make rules. but there were rules.
1. no sleepovers unless it “just happened.”
2. no texting first (but replying fast enough so it didn’t look like you cared too much).
3. no kissing in public.
4. no getting caught.
and the most important one: no feelings. ever. not even a little.
but feelings were slippery.
feelings showed up when you watched him fall asleep on your couch, curled up like a cat.
feelings showed up when he brought you cough drops and orange juice the second you said, “i feel kinda off today.”
feelings showed up when he danced with you in your tiny living room to a dumb commercial jingle and said, “see? we’d win ‘so you think you can dance: emotionally unavailable edition.’”
you laughed, but your heart skipped.
because deep down, you knew:
you weren’t emotionally unavailable.
you were just emotionally terrified.
you told yourself this was fine.
you weren’t one for titles, anyway.
but one night—a random wednesday—you caught yourself staring at him for too long.
watching him fold your laundry like it was normal. like he belonged here.
and it hit you.
you’d memorized him.
his dumb jokes.
his bad habits.
the way he’d shut down when he needed you the most.
you knew him better than you were supposed to.
and worse?
you didn’t want anyone else to.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
one night, while he was getting dressed after—hoodie half on, hair messy, lips still swollen from kissing—he paused in your doorway.
“you ever think about what we’re doing?”
you blinked. “what do you mean?”
he shrugged. “i dunno. like… do you ever wish it was more?”
your chest tightened.
“haechan…”
“i’m not saying we should,” he said quickly, waving his hands. “i’m just saying… wouldn’t it be nice?”
your silence was the only answer he needed.
he left a few minutes later, same as always.
but something had shifted.
something you didn’t have the words for yet.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
you shouldn’t have gone.
you knew it the second you stepped into the apartment.
because there he was. already wearing that stupid smug smile. already making himself way too comfortable on jaemin’s beanbag like he wasn’t half the reason your knees were still sore.
“look who decided to show up,” haechan said, raising his brows.
you kept your expression neutral. “someone had to make this room attractive.”
“and that someone’s obviously me,” he shot back.
jeno raised a brow. “you two flirting or fighting?”
you both answered at the same time.
“fighting.”
“flirting.”
everyone groaned.
“we get it,” renjun muttered. “sexual tension. unresolved. like literally every drama. can we watch the movie now?”
you sat as far away from him as possible. on the floor. next to seol, who immediately gave you a look.
“you good?” she whispered.
you nodded. liar.
she leaned closer. “you sure you’re not sleeping with him?”
you blinked innocently. “who?”
“don’t ‘who’ me. that look he gave you just now? that was either i’ve seen you naked or i plan to very soon.”
“seol, shut up,” you whispered, face heating.
across the room, haechan was very obviously not watching the movie. his eyes kept flickering to you.
he stretched lazily, arm brushing jeno’s shoulder.
“this movie’s mid,” he announced.
“you were the one who suggested it,” jaemin said.
“yeah, and now i regret it.”
you were trying so hard to focus on the screen. but you could feel him watching you. every glance burned. your fingers twitched.
seol’s eyes narrowed. “girl, your ears are turning red.”
“i’m fine,” you hissed.
haechan got up a few minutes later. “bathroom,” he muttered. but the second he passed behind you, his hand ghosted over your back. quick. featherlight. like he just had to touch you.
your breath caught.
seol glanced between you two.
“…nope. they’re definitely f—”
“back in a sec!” you blurted, hopping up and heading toward the hallway like your life depended on it.
it kind of did.
he was waiting.
not in the bathroom.
but leaning against the wall in the hallway, arms crossed, like he knew you’d follow.
“you know,” he said, voice low. “we could’ve just stayed home.”
“we’re being normal,” you said, avoiding his gaze.
he stepped closer.
“this isn’t normal,” he murmured.
“we’re trying to be.”
“trying isn’t succeeding.”
you were breathing too fast.
he moved again, backing you up against the wall.
“they’re literally in the other room,” you whispered.
“you think i care?” he said, smiling like the devil himself. “you looked at me like you wanted me to care.”
your eyes fluttered shut. “this is a bad idea.”
“so was the first time. and the second. and the fifth. but you keep kissing me anyway.”
you swallowed hard.
“you said we wouldn’t do this again.”
“you said that,” he said, closing the gap between you. “i never agreed.”
and then he kissed you.
like the world didn’t exist outside that hallway.
like every “we shouldn’t” was just foreplay for “we will anyway.”
his hands were under your hoodie. your fingers were tangled in his hair. the sound of the movie barely reached you—the real noise was the one in your chest, that loud, crashing ache of god, i want you, but god, i shouldn’t
his hand brushed against your hip, a deliberate, teasing touch that sent a shiver down your spine. you bit your lip, pulse quickening as you fought the urge to press yourself against him.
the sound of laughter from the living room seemed to fade into the background, drowned out by the pounding of your heart. you knew you were playing with fire, but the risk only added to the allure. you tilted your head, meeting his gaze.
"you know," you said, voice barely above a whisper,
"we're not exactly being subtle."
he smirked, his confidence unwavering.
"who said we need to be?" his fingers traced the edge of your hoodie, his touch light but deliberate. "they’re too busy with their own drama to notice us." his words were a challenge, a dare you couldn't resist.
your resolve wavered as his hand slid up your side, his thumb grazing the sensitive skin just below your ribcage. you leaned into him, body responding to his touch with a mind of its own.
"and if they do?" you teased, voice trembling slightly.
"then they'll see what they've been missing," he replied, his tone daring.
before you could respond, he cupped your jaw, pulling you closer. his lips brushed against yours, a fleeting touch that left you breathless. the kiss was soft, almost tentative, but it ignited a fire within you that you couldn't ignore.
you wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing yourself against him as the kiss deepened. his hands moved to your waist, pulling you tighter until there was no space between you.
the hallway seemed to shrink around you, the world narrowing to just the two of you and the heat of your desire. you moaned softly into his mouth, fingers tangling in his hair as you surrendered to the moment.
his hands moved lower, sliding over your hips and down to your thighs. he lifted you effortlessly, pressing you against the wall as he kissed you with a hunger that left no doubt about his intentions.
you wrapped your legs around his waist, your heart racing as you felt the hardness of his body against yours. the thrill of being so close to getting caught only heightened the sensation, the risk adding an edge to your passion.
then jeno’s voice rang down the hallway. “bro, what’s taking you so long? are you pooping or—”
you broke the kiss, breathing like you’d just run a marathon.
“back in a sec!” he yelled, way too cheerful.
you pulled away from him, fixed your hoodie, hair a mess, face hot, and mouth swollen.
he winked at you. “so… movie?”
you glared. “i hate you.”
he grinned. “you couldn’t.”
and you didn’t deny it.
“i could take more shots or i could take you off your blouse”
the party was already a mistake.
not because it was boring—but because the second you walked in and locked eyes with him from across the room, everything else just turned into background noise.
haechan was already leaning against the kitchen counter, red cup in hand, loose black shirt and smug grin fully deployed.
you hated how he looked at you like he had a secret.
you hated it more because you were the secret.
you didn’t approach him.
you did what any self-respecting person would do.
you mingled, you laughed at renjun’s sarcastic commentary, you complimented someone’s fake fur jacket. and you ignored the way your skin buzzed under his stare.
seol noticed first.
“he hasn’t stopped staring at you,” she muttered over the music, sipping something suspiciously green.
“he’s looking at the chips behind me.”
“right. and i’m looking at the dip.”
you rolled your eyes, but when you turned around, he was gone.
haechan had disappeared.
and somehow, that made it worse.
because now you were aware of him—like heat at your back, like footsteps you couldn’t hear yet. like a ghost you definitely had unfinished business with.
you wandered down the hall, claiming you were looking for the bathroom.
you weren’t.
you knew exactly where you were going.
and there he was.
in one of the empty rooms, door cracked open just enough for you to catch a glimpse of him sitting on the desk, legs swinging, cup still in hand.
he didn’t look surprised.
he just tilted his head.
“looking for something?” he asked.
you stepped in and closed the door behind you. and locked it.
“you left without saying hi.”
“well, you seemed occupied.. pretending not to know me,” he said, voice amused.
you crossed your arms. “we said no hooking up at parties.”
“we also said no feelings,” he replied. “and yet here we are.”
“this is different.”
“is it?” he slid off the desk, walking slowly toward you. “or are we just really bad at rules?”
your breath caught when he reached you.
“don’t look at me like that,” you whispered.
“like what?”
“like you’re gonna do something reckless.”
he leaned in. “define reckless.”
you didn’t answer.
your lips already did.
the kiss was hot and desperate, all the tension from earlier spilling over. his hands were on your waist, yours fisting in his shirt like you needed to anchor yourself.
he lifted you onto the desk like you weighed nothing. like he needed you closer. like he didn’t care who walked in.
“someone could come in,” you mumbled against his mouth.
“door’s locked.”
“people are literally outside.”
he grinned. “guess we’ll be quiet, then.”
your laugh was breathless. “you are never quiet.”
“watch me,” he whispered, and kissed you again.
it was fast. messy. intense. the kind of kiss that made your knees weak and your heart angry with you. because you knew better.
but you didn’t want to do better.
you hadn’t even had a drink.
you didn’t need one.
he was already intoxicating.
“this is so bad,” you moaned,
“the worst,” he agreed. “we’re going to hell.”
“we said we’d stop.”
“we say a lot of things.”
“and what are we gonna say after this?”
he met your eyes.
and for once, he didn’t joke.
“nothing,” he said. “we don’t have to say anything. we never do.”
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
you were at his place.
again.
for “homework.”
because apparently, two people who have the self-control of soggy toast thought they could survive a full hour of proximity without pouncing on each other.
“seriously,” you said, dropping your bag on his bed. “we’re gonna study. like, for real. no distractions.”
haechan raised both hands in fake surrender. “no distractions. i swear.”
you narrowed your eyes.
“no weird comments. no staring. no—”
“sexually suggestive jokes? i would never.”
“haechan.”
he smiled, all teeth. “fine. serious face. hit me with the notes.”
ten minutes in, he was already failing.
you were mid-sentence, reading off your notes, when you noticed it.
he was staring at your lips.
you didn’t look up. “stop it.”
“stop what?” he said, all fake innocence.
“you’re doing that thing where you pretend to listen but you’re actually thinking about making out with me.”
“no i’m not,” he said. “i’m thinking about undressing you with my teeth.”
you dropped your pen. “jesus christ—“
“what?” he laughed, leaning back against the wall. “you said no weird comments, not no honest ones.”
“you’re impossible.”
“and yet, here you are.”
you glared. “this is why we can’t do normal things. like sit. and study. and exist without humping.”
“not my fault you look hot when you’re focused.”
you turned to him, exasperated. “you promised.”
“i promised nothing. you said, ‘let’s study,’ and i nodded while imagining you in nothing but a t-shirt.”
you stood. “i’m going home.”
“no, you’re not.”
“watch me.”
“you say that every time, but then—” he stood too, walking toward you like you were prey and he was seconds from pouncing—“you remember how good we are at not studying.”
“we said we wouldn’t do this again.”
he paused in front of you. close. too close.
you hated that you were already leaning in.
“we shouldn’t do this again,” you corrected.
“yet, we couldn’t not,” he whispered, brushing his fingers down your arm.
you stared at him.
this was supposed to be simple.
but now, he was looking at you like you were the only thing in the world that made sense, and your heart was doing that thing again, that stupid, fluttery, traitorous thing—
you grabbed his face and kissed him.
and he laughed into it, breath hitching, like he’d known you’d give in.
like he’d always know.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
you woke up tangled in his sheets.
his arm slung over your waist. his face buried in your neck. your phone buzzing somewhere beneath your discarded jeans with three missed calls from seol
seolace: u said “just homework”
seolace: be so serious rn
seolace: r u . still . at his place .
you threw your phone under the pillow and turned to face him.
he was awake.
“hi, baby” he mumbled, voice scratchy.
“we’re not doing this again.” you said—ignoring the tiny somersault your stomach just did
he smirked, eyes still closed. “totally.”
“i’m serious.”
“mhmm.”
you sighed, brushing a strand of hair off his face.
you both knew you were lying.
but for now?
you didn’t care.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
you were up late, preparing for midterms, when your phone suddenly buzzed next to you.
DNI!!: hey, are u up?
DNI!!: not in a ‘come over’ way
DNI!!: okay. maybe in a ‘can i come over’ way
DNI!!: but also.. i brought food
you: if it’s just fries again i’m blocking u
DNI!!: c’monnn babee it’s fries AND ice cream
DNI!!: pleeaaasseee )): u know u love me
DNI!!: fries* 😊
you opened your door three minutes later in mismatched socks and a shirt that—may or may not—have been his.
he looked at you like you were ridiculous.
you rolled your eyes, tossing him a napkin. he didn’t sit on the floor this time—instead, he plopped onto your bed like he lived there. like it was normal. like this whole setup was normal.
“you look tired,” he said through a mouthful of fries.
“midterms,” you replied.
he frowned. “are you okay?”
you nodded. “just a little burnt out.”
he reached over, brushing his thumb across your cheek like it was nothing. like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“you should rest more,” he said, soft.
you blinked.
haechan wasn’t… sweet. not like this.
he was chaotic. loud. reckless. he made fun of you for having a notes app titled ‘reasons not to text him.’
he wasn't supposed to care.
you cleared your throat. “you’re being weird.. again.”
“no i’m not.” he looks at you confused.
“you’re being like… thoughtful.”
he rolled his eyes, shoving a donut in front of your mouth. “fine. next time i’ll throw fries at your face instead.”
you smiled, biting into the donut. “thank you.”
he shrugged. “don’t mention it.”
but he stayed. longer than he usually did.
you watched a dumb movie. you argued about which side of the blanket was yours. he dozed off halfway through with his head on your shoulder, arm slung across your stomach like it belonged there.
you didn’t move.
you just stared at the ceiling, heartbeat doing laps in your chest.
this wasn’t just casual anymore.
you both knew it.
and when he stirred in the early morning light, blinking up at you with sleep in his eyes and a softness in his voice that made your throat ache—
“do you want me to go?”
you almost said no.
but you smiled instead. like always.
“probably.”
he nodded.
but he didn’t move.
“it’s not anything you said, it’s everything you didn’t”
it was raining.
not the dramatic, movie-style kind—just a steady, quiet drizzle tapping against your window as the afternoon faded into blue.
you hadn’t planned to see him.
he hadn’t planned to show up.
but at some point in the day, you’d both ended up in your bed again, sharing your last bag of popcorn and making sarcastic commentary over a romcom neither of you were really watching.
you were lying on your stomach. he was on his back beside you, fingers lazily scrolling through his phone, feet nudging yours every few minutes like a bored child.
“how is it,” he said suddenly, “that you always smell like vanilla and bad decisions?”
you kicked his leg. “how is it that you always sound like a red flag wrapped in a hoodie?”
“it’s a gift.”
you laughed, eyes fluttering shut.
he was quiet for a moment.
“i like this.”
you peeked at him. “the movie?”
“no. this,” he said, waving vaguely at the space between you. “us. being here. it’s... nice.”
you tried to play it off. “don’t get sappy on me now. i will physically throw you out.”
he smiled, soft and slow. “i mean it.”
you looked away, heart thudding in your chest in a way that was not normal. definitely not casual. it was the kind of thud that reminded you that this whole thing—whatever it was—had gotten far out of hand.
“you’ve been acting unusual lately,” you said.
“you always say that when i’m not trying to get in your pants.”
“because… it freaks me out.”
“good. fear keeps things spicy.”
you scoffed.
then, silence.
not uncomfortable. just… full.
full of things neither of you were ready to say.
finally, you broke it.
“you ever think about how we shouldn’t have started this?”
he didn’t look at you.
but he nodded.
“yeah,” he said. “all the time.”
you turned to face him.
“do you regret it?”
he glanced at you then, eyes unreadable.
“no,” he said. “but sometimes i wish it didn’t feel like this.”
“like what?”
“like… if we keep going, one of us is gonna get hurt.”
you swallowed hard.
you knew he was right.
you also knew you weren’t ready to stop.
you reached over and touched his hand—just barely, just enough—and whispered, “stay. just for a bit.”
he did.
no touching. no kissing. no jokes.
just you, him, and the rain outside.
and all the things you still weren’t saying.
“you go and shut me out, figures, you gemini”
it had been one of those nights—the kind where the weight of the world seemed to settle on your shoulders, and the only remedy was to dull the edges with a bottle and a bad rom-com.
but just as you were about to surrender to sleep, the sharp buzz of the doorbell jolted you back to reality.
you groaned, setting the glass down with a thud. who the hell would be at your door at this hour? you weren’t expecting anyone, and the only person who ever showed up unannounced was him.
and the thought alone made your stomach twist. you hesitated, debating whether to ignore it, but curiosity—or maybe something more stubborn—got the better of you. you dragged yourself to the door, flipping on the hallway light as you went.
there he stood, leaning against the frame with that infuriating smirk plastered across his face. his hair was tousled, like he’d run his hands through it a dozen times, and his shirt was half-tucked, as if he’d thrown it on in a rush.
“forgot my charger,” he said, his voice low and casual, like this was the most normal thing in the world.
you crossed your arms, narrowing your eyes. “at midnight? really?”
he shrugged, that smirk widening. “figured you’d be up. you’re always up this late.”
you wanted to slam the door in his face. but instead, you stepped aside, gesturing for him to come in.
“it’s in the living room. take it and go.”
he didn’t move. just stood there, his gaze locking onto yours, and for a moment, the air between you crackled with something unspoken.
you knew you should’ve pushed him out, should’ve kept your distance, but before you could think, you were closing the gap between you, your lips crashing against his. it was reckless, impulsive, and entirely against your better judgment. but it was also familiar—too familiar.
he didn’t hesitate, his arms wrapping around you like he’d been waiting for this moment all along.
stumbling backward toward the bedroom, the world narrowing to just the two of you. clothes were discarded, excuses and self-control unraveling like cheap thread.
you didn’t want to think about why this was happening again, why you kept letting it happen. you just wanted to feel something—anything—other than the emptiness that had been gnawing at you all night.
“i hate you,” you whispered against his mouth, your breath hot and uneven.
he chuckled, his hands sliding under your shirt, tracing the curve of your waist. “you love me,” he murmured, his tone teasing but his touch anything but.
you didn’t correct him. you didn’t say anything. instead, you let yourself get lost in him again—in the way his lips moved against yours, in the way his hands seemed to know every inch of your body.
it was the kind of kiss that made your head spin, the kind of touch that felt like it was trying to memorize you. the kind of closeness that always made you forget how much this wasn’t supposed to matter.
but then—right in the middle of it, when your heart was pounding and your skin was flushed and your mind was a blur of want—he spoke.
his voice was low, almost a whisper, but it cut through the haze like a knife.
“god, i think i’m in love with you.”
you froze. just for a second. but it was enough.
he didn’t notice. or maybe he did. but he didn’t stop. his lips kept moving against yours, his hands kept roaming, like the words hadn’t just dropped between you like a grenade with the pin pulled.
you let him kiss you again. let him touch you like nothing had happened. like the words hadn’t changed everything.
but they had.
later, when it was quiet and you were lying there in the dark, your back to his chest and his arm around your waist, you whispered, "did you mean what you said?"
he was quiet.
too quiet.
"haechan?"
he let out a soft exhale.
"no," he said. too quickly. too carefully. "i didn’t mean it."
you nodded.
but you didn’t believe him.
he didn’t believe himself either.
but neither of you said anything else.
and in the silence that followed, you both realized something terrifying.
this thing you swore wasn’t real?
it was starting to feel like the only real thing either of you had.
“you wonder why suddenly i’m comin’ off indifferent. what you don’t seem to understand is..”
the next time you saw him, it was as if nothing had happened.
you opened the door, and he was standing there in his stupid hoodie, holding a bag of chips and some sour gummies like that could fix whatever this was.
“snack delivery,” he said, way too cheerful.
you raised an eyebrow. “you don’t even like sour gummies.”
he grinned. “you do, though.”
and just like that, the air shifted.
you stepped aside and let him in.
you sat beside each other on your bed—a little farther apart than usual. the movie played. the snacks sat between you. and the silence was louder than the speakers.
“so,” he said eventually, “you seen that tiktok where—”
“haechan,” you interrupted, voice quiet.
he looked at you.
you didn’t even know what you wanted to say. only that something was caught in your throat and it was killing you not to ask.
but instead of saying “you told me you loved me” or “did you mean it” or “what are we doing,” you just said, “why are you acting this way.”
he blinked. “you’re the one who’s acting.. strange.”
“no, you are.”
“i literally brought you snacks.”
“yeah, you’re being fake nice.”
he frowned, leaning back on his hands. “you’re being fake mean.”
“and you’re being fake fine.”
and there it was.
silence again. thick. awful.
you sighed, “can we not do this?”
“do what?”
“this thing where we pretend we’re mad at each other so we don’t have to talk about last time.”
he bit the inside of his cheek.
you were right.
and you were mad. just not at him. not really.
you were mad at yourself. for letting it get this far. for letting it matter.
but what were you supposed to say? that you heard him say he loved you, and then heard him take it back? that you wanted it to be real, even though it shouldn’t be?
he reached for the bag of gummies and started eating like it would fill the silence.
you let him.
but you didn’t move closer this time.
and he didn’t either.
“it’s not always peachy, look, love ain’t that easy”
you hadn’t seen him in a week.
not because he hadn’t tried.
he had—three calls, four texts, one passive-aggressive meme, and a “u left ur hoodie btw” that you knew was just an excuse.
you didn’t reply.
you couldn’t.
because it wasn’t just about the hookup anymore. it hadn’t been for a while.
you were catching feelings, and he was pretending not to. and the truth was—you couldn’t keep pretending too.
so when he showed up again—hands in his pockets, chewing gum like this wasn’t the first time he’d stood outside your door with something to say and no idea how to say it—you almost didn’t open.
almost.
you cracked the door open.
“i don’t want to do this anymore,” you said.
no hello. no smile. just the truth.
he blinked. “okay. wow.”
you nodded, bracing yourself.
he looked away, jaw tight. “you could’ve at least answered.”
“what was i supposed to say?” your voice was low. “we were hooking up, and then you said you were in love with me—and then you acted like it didn’t matter.”
“you asked if i meant it,” he said. “what was i supposed to do?”
“you could’ve told the truth.”
he was silent.
and that said everything.
you swallowed. “you know what hurt more than hearing you didn’t mean it?”
he looked at you, eyes suddenly soft. guarded.
“what?” he said, barely above a whisper.
“you didn’t even ask how i felt.”
he opened his mouth. closed it again.
and that pause—that silence—said more than anything he could’ve.
you stepped aside. you weren’t sure why. some part of you still hoping, still stupid.
he walked in slowly, looking around like the place had changed. like you had.
you followed him into the living room. it felt smaller with him in it. heavier.
he sat on the edge of the couch but didn’t speak. just looked at you.
you crossed your arms. “don’t say it again.”
his brows knit. “say what?”
“what you said last time.”
he leaned forward, elbows on knees, hands clasped like he didn’t trust them. “why not?”
you shook your head, voice flat. “because it doesn’t change anything. because we both know this—” you gestured between the two of you, the tension, the mess. “this isn’t real.”
he was quiet for a moment. then, with more force than before, he said, “feels pretty real to me.”
you stared at him. hard. “you always make it feel real. you say things like that, and you look at me like this is everything. and i let it get to me. i let myself believe it means something.”
“maybe it does,” he said, standing. “maybe i mean it.”
you searched his face, hoping for something steady, something solid. but there was only more uncertainty. more wanting.
“then why does it still feel like i’m the only one who’ll get hurt?” you asked.
he didn’t answer.
not right away.
and maybe that was the answer.
“you couldn’t define the relationship,” you said, voice low and shaking now. “you couldn’t say what you wanted.”
he took a step forward.
you took one back.
“don’t,” you whispered.
“y/n—”
“we shouldn’t have started this,” you said. “and now i couldn’t stop even if i wanted to.”
his face softened. “then don’t stop.”
you almost laughed. almost.
but instead, you stepped back toward the door.
“you need to go,” you said, quiet but clear.
he didn’t fight you. just nodded slowly.
“fine,” he said. “but we’re not done talking about this.”
you didn’t reply. just opened the door and waited.
he paused for a second. then walked out.
you didn’t slam the door.
you just closed it gently.
finally.
then you leaned against it, your chest tight, your mind loud. you knew you’d made the right decision. you knew it was the only way to protect yourself.
but still, his words lingered in the silence like smoke.
and something in you knew that nothing would be quite the same again.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
renjun was telling some dumb story about how jaemin got kicked out of a 7/11 for trying to microwave his socks.
the group was cracking up. seol was doubled over. jeno had tears in his eyes. and haechan—haechan was laughing too, but his eyes kept flicking to you.
you didn’t laugh.
you smiled, sure. nodded. even chimed in once or twice. but your body was angled slightly away from him, arms crossed over your chest like a shield.
he noticed.
you noticed him noticing.
and seol definitely noticed both of you.
“what’s wrong with you two?” she asked suddenly, cutting through the noise like a knife.
you and haechan turned at the same time, startled. “what?”
“you’re acting weird,” she said, squinting. “like... not the funny, flirty weird. like actual weird.”
“we’re fine,” you said too quickly.
“yeah,” haechan added, forcing a laugh. “totally fine.”
the silence that followed was awkward enough to kill the entire room’s vibe.
jaemin blinked. “damn. now it’s weird for us, too.”
jeno cleared his throat. “anyone want more chips?”
you stood up. “i’ll help.”
haechan stood up too. “i got it.”
you both reached for the same bowl and your fingers brushed. it was nothing. a second. a spark. but it felt like being burned.
you flinched.
he did too.
and when your eyes met, it was like looking at a stranger wearing the face of someone you used to know too well.
“you good?” he asked quietly.
“mhm,” you lied.
he nodded like he believed you. like you were both pretending this didn’t hurt.
you took the chips and walked back to the others.
he stayed behind.
renjun watched him from the couch.
“not that deep, right?” renjun said casually, like a joke.
but it wasn’t.
and haechan didn’t answer.
because it was deep.
and it was drowning them.
“you don’t pick up when i call, unless i call you mine”
you don’t remember who called first.
it didn’t matter.
and then—quiet knocks. familiar eyes. the kind of silence that meant everything.
he stepped inside like he didn’t know what he was doing.
you let him in like you didn’t either.
no words. not at first.
you were both so tired of pretending. so tired of brushing shoulders in rooms full of people and pretending you didn’t notice how the distance hurt.
you kissed him.
and it wasn’t frantic this time.
it was careful.
like maybe, just maybe, if you kissed him gently enough, it wouldn’t break your heart.
his hands found your waist. yours tangled in his hair. the kind of kiss that tasted like forgiveness, or something dangerously close to it.
“you don’t have to say anything,” you whispered, breaking the kiss to breathe.
he shook his head slowly. “i want to.”
but he didn’t. not yet.
he touched you like it was the last time. like he wanted to remember everything. how your skin felt under his palms. how you sighed when he kissed down your jaw. how you looked at him when your guard finally dropped.
every movement was slow. like a secret unspoken. like you both knew this wasn’t just hooking up anymore, but neither of you wanted to say it out loud.
because saying it would make it real.
because if it was real, it could end.
he kissed every inch of you like he owed you an apology. like he wanted to say sorry for every moment you doubted him. for every night you stared at the ceiling, wondering what the hell you meant to him.
you looked up at him, breath catching. “haechan—”
“i meant it.”
your heart stopped.
“that night,” he said softly, pressing his forehead to yours. “when i said i was in love with you. i meant it.”
you blinked up at him, stunned. raw. silent.
“i just—” he exhaled. “i didn’t want it to be real. because if it was, then this... this thing we had? it couldn’t stay casual anymore.”
you swallowed. “and now?”
his voice cracked. “now it’s too real to ignore.”
you kissed him again. longer this time. deeper.
and when your bodies moved together, it was less about need and more about knowing.
knowing that this was never just lust.
that underneath the sneaking around, the laughs, the tension—there was always something more.
you both just tried so hard not to see it.
but now, in the dark, there was nothing to hide behind.
it wasn’t much, but it was enough. for now, it had to be.
the afternoon light spilled softly through the curtains, wrapping the room in a golden hush. you closed your eyes, breathing him in, letting the stillness wrap around you like a promise.
his heartbeat pulsed steady beneath your ear, a quiet rhythm that told you—he was here. this was real.
and yet, as the sun sank lower and shadows stretched long across the floor, a fragile ache bloomed in your chest. it felt too perfect, too fleeting.
his presence, his warmth, felt like something borrowed—something beautiful the world might decide you weren’t meant to keep. you wanted to ask him to stay. to whisper don’t go. but the words tangled behind your teeth.
so instead, you held him tighter. your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt like they could root you to him, like you could stop time if you just loved him hard enough.
and he felt it—somehow, he always did. his hand found your cheek, tender and knowing, his thumb tracing soft, grounding circles on your skin.
“baby…” he said softly, the word brushing against your heart more than your ears. he tilted your chin up just enough for your eyes to meet his.
“it’s okay,” he whispered, voice thick with something unspoken. maybe he meant this moment. maybe he meant you. maybe he meant the both of you.
you didn’t know. but with his arms around you and the world held at bay, you wanted to believe it. even just for now.
it was quiet when it ended.
your head on his chest. his hand running slowly down your back. breaths slowly syncing. hearts still racing.
and for the first time, he didn’t leave.
and for the first time, you didn’t ask him to stay.
he just did.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
the morning light came too fast.
you woke up before he did. you didn’t know what time it was. you didn’t care.
he was still beside you—breathing slow, chest rising and falling like nothing was wrong.
but something was.
something always had been.
you stared at the ceiling for a long time. longer than you meant to.
you wanted to stay like this—in the warmth of the sheets, in the comfort of his arm still lazily thrown across your waist, in the silence that hadn’t turned heavy yet.
but the second he blinked awake and looked at you… it hit you again.
this wasn’t yours.
not really.
he smiled, groggy and soft. “morning.”
you nodded. “hey.”
he leaned in to kiss you. and you let him.
but your hands didn’t reach for him the way they used to.
“you okay?” he asked, voice thick with sleep.
you hesitated. “yeah. just tired.”
you got up. slipped into your shirt. searched the floor for the rest of your clothes.
“you don’t have to rush out,” he said behind you. you paused. “i know.”
he sat up, rubbing his eyes. “did i.. say something wrong?”
you shook your head. “no. that’s the problem.” he frowned.
“you didn’t say anything,” you continued, still not facing him. “you didn’t say what this was. what we were. you didn’t ask what i wanted. or tell me what you wanted.”
“and i kept waiting,” you said softly. “for you to define it. for you to say something. anything. and you never did.”
“i didn’t know how,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper.
you finally turned around, arms crossed, heart exposed. “i know. and that’s okay. but i can’t keep doing this if we’re just gonna keep pretending it’s not something real.”
he looked at you, eyes searching. “but last night—”
“last night was real,” you said. “this morning... this is real too.”
“we’re not always peachy,” you said, echoing the words you both used to laugh at. “love isn’t that easy. but it also shouldn’t be this hard.”
he didn’t argue. instead, he nodded slowly. “i know.”
you slipped on your jacket. picked up your phone. opened the door.
you hesitated—one foot out the door, heart still inside.
and just like that—the door closed.
this time, for good.
“i drank too much tonight, to not try to call you up. i mean, that’s what our phones are for”
you didn’t mean to pour the second glass. or the third.
but it was quiet in the apartment—too quiet—and the clink of ice in the glass felt like the only sound that wouldn’t make you flinch.
you sat on the kitchen floor, back against the cabinet, knees pulled in, sipping something too strong just to feel something soft. it burned going down. not enough to hurt, just enough to remind you you were still here.
the playlist was still playing. his playlist.
you hadn’t touched it in months. maybe you thought deleting it would be too final, too much like deleting him. so it stayed, buried somewhere in your phone. and tonight, it just… started. autoplay, maybe. or fate.
you weren’t sure which hurt more. you laughed once, sharp and bitter, as the first tear slid down. you didn’t wipe it. what was the point?
because this wasn’t about missing him anymore. this was grief. not over him exactly, but over the version of you who once believed love—real, chaotic, aching love—could fix things.
you were wrong.
and he… was quiet now. no more late-night texts. no more inside jokes. no more “u up?” that really meant i miss you.
and he was wrong too.
haechan sat on the steps, a half-empty bottle dangling from his fingers, the night wind brushing over him like a ghost. he didn’t know what time it was. didn’t care.
he hadn’t called. hadn’t texted.
not because he didn’t think about it—he did. every night. especially tonight.
but because he knew you meant it this time. you were done.
and for once, he didn’t fight that. he let the silence stretch. he let it break him.
he tipped the bottle back and swallowed hard. it didn’t make the ache go away, just blurred it at the edges.
your name sat heavy on his tongue. your laugh echoed somewhere between his ears and his ribs.
he remembered the way you used to pull away after, like you were protecting yourself from wanting too much. but your eyes always lingered. you always looked back.
he closed his eyes. and quietly, like confessing something to the dark, he said, “i’m sorry.”
no one answered. but maybe somewhere, over the hum of that old playlist and the clink of your glass hitting the tile, you heard it anyway.
wouldn’t
“so,” seol said gently, handing you a mug of tea, “you wanna tell me what happened now, or do i have to sit here pretending i haven’t been waiting weeks for you to say something?”
you stared down at the steam. then, slowly, “we ended things.” she didn’t flinch. didn’t gasp. didn’t say finally like most people would’ve. just nodded.
“it wasn’t supposed to happen, you know? like… we weren’t even friends. we were just messing around. and i knew—god, i knew it wasn’t a good idea. i knew we shouldn’t.”
she hummed, sipping her tea. “but?” “but we did,” you whispered, bitterly. “because we couldn’t not.” seol reached over and squeezed your wrist gently.
“and he told me he loved me,” you said, voice barely audible now. “and he took it back. like it was something to be ashamed of.”
“i don’t think he meant to hurt me. i think he’s just scared. i think he’s used to everything being temporary. and i let that be enough for a while. i let it be enough that he stayed.” your laugh was dry. empty.
“but it wasn’t. because i kept waiting for something—anything—to make me feel like i was actually his. and he never gave me that. he never said it. and it’s not even the words i needed, it’s the fact that he didn’t try.”
she looked at you. “what would’ve made you stay?” you smiled, a little sad. “if i had his heart. that’s it. if i really had it, it wouldn’t have been this hard.” she set her tea down and pulled you into a hug. you let yourself fall into it, finally soft, finally tired, finally allowing yourself to feel the weight of it all.
“i loved him, seol,” you whispered into her shoulder. “i really did.”
“i know,” she whispered back. “and i’m proud of you for walking away anyway.” you nodded, blinking up at the ceiling like maybe it’d have answers. it didn’t. but she was right.
you walked away. and that had to count for something.
“you know i was never good at this,” haechan said, toeing the leg of the coffee table with his socked foot.
they were at jaemin’s place, eating stale pizza and drinking flat soda, because of course haechan only decided to talk about it at 1 a.m.
jaemin leaned back against the couch. “so, are you gonna tell me what happened with y/n or am i supposed to guess from your playlist getting weirdly depressing lately?”
haechan looked away, his jaw clenching. “we haven’t talked since… since that morning.” “the morning she walked out?” “yeah.”
jaemin didn’t say anything, letting the silence settle.
haechan sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “i didn’t know how to tell her i loved her. i know that sounds stupid. i mean—i’ve said it before, to other people. but with her? it was different.”
“different how?”
haechan let out a low laugh. “like if i said it and she said it back, that meant i’d have to stop running from it. like it’d be real. and that scared the shit out of me.”
“but you did love her,” jaemin said. not a question. “yeah,” haechan said, eyes somewhere far. “like, all the little things. the way she acted like she didn’t care but would always bring an extra charger for me just in case. the way she’d make fun of me for being a gemini and still sleep in my shirt.”
jaemin snorted. “you are the most gemini person i’ve ever met.”
“don’t remind me.”
“so what happened?”
haechan leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “i didn’t give her what she needed. i kept making her guess. kept dodging the questions. like, every time she asked what are we, i answered with a joke or a kiss or a let’s not ruin this.”
he shook his head, voice quieter now. “she deserved more than that. she deserved more than… more than someone who couldn’t DTR.”
jaemin’s brows furrowed. “DTR?” “define the relationship.” jaemin blinked. “oh god, you really couldn’t even say it.”
haechan laughed, almost bitterly. “i know. and now she’s gone.” he fell silent again. the tv played something neither of them were watching.
“do you miss her?” jaemin asked after a while. “every day,” haechan said without hesitation. “but it wouldn’t be fair to go back. not if i still don’t know how to be what she needs.”
“so that’s it?” “yeah.” he looked up at jaemin with a soft, crooked smile. jaemin didn’t say anything. just leaned forward and nudged him lightly with his shoulder.
“you know,” jaemin said eventually, “you might not have said the right things. but you felt them. and that counts for something.” haechan swallowed hard. “yeah. just not enough.”
and for once, he didn’t try to joke it off. he just sat with it. with the ache of losing someone who had all of him—even the parts he never figured out how to give.
“wouldn’t it be nice if we could stay friends? but we shouldn’t.”
you were out on a tuesday.
one of those forgettable ones—no rain, no heartbreak, just a coffee run like any other.
until it wasn’t.
he looked the same. maybe a little older. hair longer. hoodie too familiar.
standing in line like he hadn’t once memorized your order.
like he hadn’t once whispered stupid jokes into your neck at 3 a.m.
he didn’t see you at first. too busy scrolling. you could’ve left. you almost did.
but something in you—that soft, reckless part—waited.
and then he looked up.
three people between you. two quiet months apart. his eyes widened, just barely.
fingers froze mid-scroll. and for a second, the silence between you felt louder than it ever had when you were together.
he didn’t smile. didn’t say hi. didn’t step forward. and neither did you.
and now, he just looked at you like a memory that still stung.
you were first to look away.
and when the bell above the coffee shop door chimed behind you, you knew—
you shouldn’t. you couldn’t. and now, you wouldn’t.
──── ☀︎ ──── ☀︎ ──── ☀︎ ────
💌: if you made it all the way here, thank you sooo much for taking the time to read this fic!! 🥹 i seriously can’t believe how much love my little stories have gotten so far—i mostly just write when a random idea smacks me in the face, so seeing people actually enjoy them?? unreal 💞
i wasn’t expecting to finish this one so quickly, but.. i may or may not have been thinking a lot—maybe too much—about a past relationship lately, i guessss that’s why this poured out of me so fast 😬
this is also the longest fic i’ve written yet! honestly, shouldn’t and wouldn’t were meant to be even longer, but guess who didn’t know tumblr has a 1000 text box limit 🫠 had to chop them down a lot ): still, i really really hope you had fun reading!!
p.s. please—don’t you dare settle for someone who won’t define the relationship. you deserve so much better 😤🫶
thanks again for all the support, and feel free to come scream about fic stuff or just say hi anytime 🧸 ‘til next time !! xx
ᯓ friends to lovers, hyuck & reader are both graduating, and both pining ☻ 5.3k wc!
ᯓ this one is inspired by one of your requests! but as someone who just graduated, it also draws a bit from my own daydreams, of having a high school or college sweetheart to walk across the graduation stage with :p
──── ☀︎
an interview. two chairs. one camera. and all the words they never said.
they both want to fix it. neither knows how
but if there was ever a moment to try again, it’s now—before the caps are tossed, before the goodbyes, before they go their separate ways for good
because sometimes, endings are just new beginnings waiting to happen
──── ☀︎ ────
the first snowfall of the semester comes early, blanketing the campus in white, like the sky is trying to cover up everything you’ve tried not to feel
you’re late. again.
the lecture hall door creaks open, and thirty pairs of eyes glance your way, but only one glance really lands
haechan.
you hesitate, just for a second. it’s not because you’re surprised to see him, of course he’s here. he always was. it’s the way he looks at you, like he’s trying not to feel something either. and just like that, ten months of silence feels like it never ended, like it’s still hanging in the air between you, thick and unfinished
the only empty seat is next to him. of course it is.
you make your way down the row, slow and quiet, and slide into the chair beside him. your hands grip your pen too tightly, like maybe it’ll hold you together
“wow,” he says under his breath, not even looking at you. “out of all the seats in the universe.” you don’t skip a beat. “trust me, i’m just as thrilled”
the professor starts talking. you try to focus, to pretend you can’t feel the weight of his presence next to you, but then your arms brush. just for a second. and neither of you move
it shouldn’t feel like anything. but it does. ten months ago, he was your best friend. now, he’s the guy you don’t talk to, or even look at
outside, the snow keeps falling. soft, steady, like the sky knows something you don’t. and for the first time in a long time, you let the thought drift in, uninvited but welcome– maybe this isn’t really the end.
*flashback* it’s nearly 2 a.m., and the campus is asleep, except for you and haechan. you’re both lying in the middle of the quad on a cheap picnic blanket he stole from his roommate. the sky is clear, a velvet canvas dusted with stars, and the cold grass presses through the blanket, prickling your back. but you don’t care. not when you’re laughing like this
“i’m serious,” he says between gasps, “if i ever become famous, i want my wikipedia page to say i invented ramen grilled cheese. that was a cultural reset” you snort. “you nearly set the kitchen on fire.” “greatness requires sacrifice”
you turn your head toward him, grinning in the dark. his eyes are already on you, soft and bright beneath the moonlight. this is what it used to be like– easy. effortless.
you’d tell him anything. he’d listen like it mattered. and he’d always, always find a way to make you laugh, even on your worst days.
“remember when we were fifteen,” you say, “and you swore we’d drop out of college to become youtubers?”
he groans. “okay, first of all, you said we’d be a duo. you were gonna do baking, and i’d handle commentary.” you nudge him with your elbow. “and you were going to get us cancelled in week one.” “that was part of the brand”
you both laugh again, the kind that starts small and builds into something uncontrollable. it fills the quiet night, echoing between empty buildings and forgotten dreams. and somewhere between the laughter and the silence that follows, you realize how much you love him
not in a dramatic, fall-to-your-knees kind of way. just in the way your heart settles when he’s beside you. in the way the world feels less sharp. in the way you want to pause this moment and keep it in your pocket forever.
but you don’t say it. you never do
instead, you breathe in the night and whisper, “let’s not grow up too fast.” and he, still watching the sky, replies, “not if we can help it” *end of flashback*
you don't even remember how you got roped into it. one second, your friend from the media club was rambling about their "senior spotlight series" something about legacy, friendship, full-circle moments, and the next, you're sitting on the cold steps of the old library waiting for him
because apparently, when people think of iconic friendships on campus, they still think of you and him. the best friends. the duo. they don’t know the story stopped a while ago. quietly. like a door that never fully closed
he arrives five minutes late, with that same careless swagger he’s always had, like nothing touches him, not even time. he meets your eyes for a second before looking away
“didn’t think you’d actually show,” he says, voice light, but not teasing. you shrug. “didn’t think you would either”
the media team gives you a quick rundown. photos first, then a short filmed interview. “just a few questions about your friendship,” the girl says cheerily. “how you met, favorite memories, what you’ve learned from each other. that kind of thing”
you want to laugh. or maybe scream.
instead, you sit beside him on the stone bench, pretending your skin isn’t on fire just from being near him again. the camera clicks. once. twice. and then the girl says, “okay, now look at each other”
you hesitate. he does too
but you turn. and for the first time in what feels like forever, your eyes meet– and stay.
and there it is. the weight of the silence. the things you never said. the laughter that used to be effortless. the memory of a night under the stars when you almost told him you loved him– and didn’t. “perfect,” the photographer says, completely unaware. you look away first
a few minutes later, you're sitting in front of a camera. someone asks, “what made your friendship so special?” you blink. haechan stays quiet
and all you can think is: do we even get to call it a friendship anymore?
the lights in the small studio hum quietly, the camera lens trained on you like it’s trying to see straight through your chest
the interviewer smiles, warm and expectant. “so, what made your friendship so special?”
you glance sideways at haechan. his jaw is tight, but his eyes hold a flicker of something, maybe nostalgia, maybe regret
you breathe out. “it was easy,” you say finally. “like… no matter how bad the day was, or how messy everything got, we somehow made each other feel like it was okay to just be ourselves”
the camera keeps rolling, the red recording light blinking like a heartbeat and haechan shifts in his seat, and when he speaks, his voice is softer than you remember. “we knew all the worst parts, and we didn’t run”
you want to say that’s what makes it different now, that you both ran, or maybe froze. but you swallow the words
“did you have a favorite memory together?” the interviewer asks. your mind flashes back, the quiet quad nights, the laughter spilling over like a tide
“the night we stayed up until two in the morning, just talking,” you say, voice catching a little. “we didn’t have a plan. we weren’t worried about anything except being there. it felt like time didn’t exist”
his eyes find yours, and for a moment, it’s like the space between you isn’t so vast
“yeah,” he says, “like the world was smaller with just us in it”
the interviewer smiles, clearly moved. the camera clicks off
you both sit in the sudden stillness, the kind that stretches between people who used to be so close it hurt
neither of you says it– but both of you know it’s true. maybe this is the first step to finding your way back
the interviewer steps away, giving you both space, but the air still feels tight, like a held breath neither of you knows how to release
you shift in your seat, fingers twitching. then, almost without thinking, you glance down at the stack of papers in your lap, the notes from the interview questions
one slips and flutters to the floor. before you can reach for it, haechan’s hand is already there, picking it up. his fingers brush yours for a second as he hands it back, and it feels electric. you both freeze.
then, without looking up, he murmurs, “can’t believe you still remember that night”
your heart twists, and you nod slowly. “how could i forget?” he laughs. soft, genuine, and unexpected “guess some memories don’t fade,” he says
you want to say something. anything. but the words catch in your throat. instead, you smile. just a little. and for the first time since this whole mess began, it feels like maybe, just maybe, you’re not so far apart after all
*flashback* you never imagined that something as small as a grade could break you
it was the week of midterms. you and haechan– both top of your class, the golden duo of the liberal arts department, had always pushed each other to be better. friendly rivalry, or so you told yourself
but that week, it wasn’t friendly
the final paper was due on a friday. you stayed up all night, pouring everything into it, hoping your research would outshine his. you saw it as a challenge, and maybe a way to prove who was better
when the grades came back monday, he had a perfect score. a hundred. you had ninety-seven
you felt the sting more than you expected.
later that day, you bumped into him in the library. you tried to joke it off, something like, “congrats on beating me.” he smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “you almost had it. next time”
you nodded, but inside, the competitiveness twisted into something bitter. that evening, you found out he’d told your classmates you weren’t serious enough about your future, that you cared more about winning than learning.
you confronted him the next day, heart thudding in your chest. “why would you say that? you know it’s not true.” he looked away, frustration lining his face. “maybe you do care more about being the best than about us”
the words cut deeper than you expected. “you’re making this into something it’s not,” you snapped. he shook his head. “maybe it’s exactly what it is.”
the argument spiraled– voices raised, accusations flung, pride blocking every bridge back. by the end, you weren’t sure why you were fighting anymore– just that you couldn’t stop
that night, you didn’t text him. he didn’t text you.
and that was how it began. *end of flashback*
you meet ryumi and yuki at your favorite campus café, the cozy warmth a stark contrast to the cold tension you’re carrying
ryumi orders a chai latte; yuki grabs a black coffee. you’re just trying to focus on the steam curling up from your own cup
“so,” ryumi says, leaning forward with that gleam in her eyes, “what’s really going on with you and haechan? sitting next to him in class? that must’ve been... something”
you take a slow breath, staring down at your cup. “it was weird. like, we used to finish each other’s sentences, and now we barely talk. it’s like there’s this wall between us that neither of us knows how to climb”
yuki frowns, “do you want to fix it? i mean, you guys were inseparable. it’s hard to imagine it all just... ended” you shrug, voice soft. “i don’t know. i want to. i guess i just don’t know where to start. we both got hurt, and maybe we’re scared of getting hurt again”
ryumi reaches out and squeezes your hand. “sometimes the hardest part is just saying it out loud. maybe you need to talk to him. like, really talk” you glance up, meeting their encouraging eyes. “yeah. i think you’re right”
yuki grins. “we’re here for you.” you smile, feeling a flicker of hope light up inside. maybe this winter isn’t about endings after all
──── ☀︎
the camera’s red light blinks steadily as you and haechan sit side by side again, the earlier awkwardness softened into something quieter, something more real
the interviewer smiles gently. “you’ve already shared some memories about your friendship. but i’m curious, what’s something you’ve learned from each other that you didn’t expect?”
you glance at haechan, and this time, his eyes meet yours without hesitation.
“i learned that vulnerability isn’t weakness,” you say slowly. “haechan taught me that it’s okay to show the parts of yourself you think might scare others away. he’s not just this confident guy everyone sees, he’s brave enough to be himself, even when it’s hard”
haechan clears his throat and then nods. “and from y/n, i learned patience. she has always been steady, even when i was reckless or stubborn. she showed me that sometimes, the best way to handle things isn’t to charge ahead, but to wait and listen”
the interviewer leans forward, intrigued. “is there a moment that stands out, something that changed how you saw each other?”
you swallow the lump in your throat, “there was a time when everything between us was breaking apart,” you say. “but even then, he never stopped caring. he was the first one to reach out, even when i pushed him away. that made me realize how much he truly meant to me”
his smile is soft, almost shy. “yeah… i guess sometimes you have to lose something to understand how much it matters”
the room feels warm despite the chill outside, and for a fleeting moment, you both sit with the unspoken hope that maybe, just maybe, this story isn’t over
the interviewer finally shuts off the camera, and the sudden silence feels heavy, but not in a bad way. more like the kind of quiet that settles after something important has been said
you breathe out, feeling the tension in your chest loosen just a little. looking over at haechan, you catch the faintest flicker of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips
“didn’t expect that to go so... deep,” you say, half-teasing but mostly amazed. he shrugs, eyes still fixed on the floor for a second before meeting yours
“yeah. feels weird, but good. like peeling back a layer you didn’t know was there,” he says, and you nod, cheeks warming. “i guess sometimes it takes a camera and a stupid interview to say what’s been stuck inside”
haechan’s gaze lingers on you a moment longer, his voice low. “maybe it’s not so stupid after all”
you want to say something, something that might change everything, but the words get caught in your throat. instead, you just sit there, side by side, the space between you feeling less like a canyon and more like a bridge
outside, the winter sun filters through the window, promising something new. and for once, you both believe it just might be true
──── ☀︎
haechan flopped onto his dorm bed, rubbing the back of his neck as yangyang tossed him a bottle of water
“man, you’ve been stuck in your room all day,” yangyang teased, plopping down on the floor. “you need to get out, clear your head”
him and his friends were scattered around the room, lounging in various states of exhaustion from midterms
jeno nudged renjun. “there’s a party tonight at dery’s place. might be good to blow off some steam”
jaemin grinned. “yeah, come on, haechan. you’ve been avoiding everyone since that interview with y/n”
haechan stiffened a little, the memory of the interview still fresh. “i’m not avoiding. just… thinking”
yangyang raised an eyebrow. “thinking or overthinking? you were practically glowing after you guys finished. that was new”
“yeah,” jeno chimed in, “it was like you finally said some of the stuff you never could before. been rough, huh?”
haechan sighed, glancing out the window. “yeah, it’s complicated. we haven’t been ‘us’ for a while. but maybe… maybe that interview was a start”
renjun nodded thoughtfully. “sounds like you two have some unfinished business. party might be good for a break, but don’t lose sight of that”
jaemin smirked. “or you could end up at the party, thinking about her the whole time.” haechan chuckled softly. “yeah, probably”
yangyang stood up and stretched. “well, party or no party, you gotta do what feels right. but a night out could be just the distraction you need.” haechan nodded slowly. “maybe you’re right. i could use some fresh air”
jeno tossed him a set of keys. “then what are you waiting for? let’s go.” as the group headed out, haechan took a deep breath, feeling the mix of nerves and something like hope swirling inside. tonight wasn’t about fixing everything–it was just the next step
the bass thumped through the crowded dorm common room, a chaotic swirl of laughter, music, and chatter filling every corner. haechan weaved through the crowd, a drink in hand, trying to focus on the easy conversations around him, but his mind kept drifting back to you, being lead to the point for him to convince himself that he’s hallucinating as he laid eyes on you. he hadn’t expected to see you. especially tonight
and yet, there you were, near the snack table, laughing with a group of friends. his breath hitched for a second as your eyes caught his across the room
for a heartbeat, everything froze– the noise, the people, the flashing lights– all faded into the background
you looked surprised, then smiled, a small, genuine curve of your lips that made something inside him unclench
haechan swallowed the lump in his throat and made his way over, each step feeling like a mile. “hey,” he said, voice quieter than he’d intended. you looked up, startled but pleased
“haechan. didn’t expect to see you here”
he shrugged, trying to keep it casual. “yangyang dragged me out. figured i needed to get some fresh air… or whatever this is.”
you laughed softly, the sound warm and familiar. “yeah, i needed the same”
there was a pause, neither of you quite sure what to say next. finally, you broke the silence. “so… how did the interview go? i saw some clips online” he smiled, a little sheepishly. “honestly? it was harder than I thought. talking about us, about what we lost”
you nodded, eyes searching his
“but maybe it’s a start.” he met your gaze steadily. “yeah. maybe it is.”
the music throbbed louder, but this moment, this unexpected meeting, felt like the quiet in the storm. and for the first time in a long time, haechan thought maybe things could really change
for a few minutes, the conversation flows easily, memories, jokes, small smiles. then, like a shadow slipping through the light, the topic shifts
“so,” you say, voice careful, “do you still think about… what happened? why we fell apart?”
haechan’s smile falters. his eyes darken just a little. “all the time”
you look away, heart tightening. “it was such a stupid fight. over grades, of all things.” he laughs, but it’s bitter. “yeah, who knew academic competition could wreck everything?”
the music pulses around you, but all you feel is the fragile thread between you– stretched, but not broken. and somewhere beneath the tension, hope flickers
the tension lingers, thick but no longer suffocating. instead, it feels like a wall just starting to crack. haechan exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair like he’s trying to shake off the weight of months. “i don’t want to keep pretending none of this happened. or that it didn’t hurt.”
you meet his gaze, “me neither. maybe… we owe it to ourselves to try again. to actually talk, not just compete or hide behind silence.” he smiles, small but real, the kind that reaches his eyes. “yeah. maybe this time, we don’t let pride get in the way.”
the music shifts to a slower song, and the crowd moves around you both, but all you feel is the space shrinking between you.
“want to get out of here?” you ask quietly.
“definitely ,” he says, offering his hand.
as you take it, a surge of something hopeful blooms inside– a fragile, beautiful chance to rewrite your story. and maybe this time, you’ll finally get it right
──── ☀︎
you’re curled up on the worn-out couch in your favorite campus coffee shop, the smell of fresh espresso and cinnamon swirling around you
your friends are gathered close, their eyes warm and expectant. “so,” yuki says, grinning, “spill. how’s the whole ‘reconnecting with haechan’ thing going?” you bite your lip, fiddling with the sleeve of your sweater. “it’s… complicated”
they exchange knowing looks. “come on, you can tell us” you take a deep breath, heart pounding. “the truth is… i never really stopped liking him. not just as a friend. maybe it was there all along, but i was too scared to admit it”
ryumi reaches over and squeezes your hand. “girl, we’ve been waiting for you to say that forever. it’s so obvious to everyone but you.”
yuki chimes in, “you guys were perfect together. you owe it to yourself to fix this before we graduate. what if you never get the chance again?”
you glance down, feeling both hopeful and terrified. “yeah, but what if it’s too late? what if we’re too far gone?” they shake their heads firmly. “no way. you’re not giving up on something that means this much. not now”
their faith feels like a lifeline, and suddenly, you’re ready. “okay,” you say, voice steady, “i’m going to try. for real this time”
your friends cheer, clinking their coffee cups together. “to fixing what’s broken,” they toast.
and for the first time in a long time, you believe it just might be possible
later that night, your room is bathed in the soft glow of a desk lamp. outside, the campus is still, the world muted beneath a blanket of stars
you sit on your bed, your heart feels heavy, tangled with memories and “what ifs.”
what if you had been braver? what if you hadn’t let pride get in the way? what if you told him how you really felt back then?
a sigh escapes you. but somewhere beneath the regret, there’s a flicker of something new– a fragile hope that maybe this time, things can be different
you stare at your phone, thumb hovering over the message app. your heart is pounding like a drum in your chest, but you know this is the moment. no more hiding, no more silence.
seconds feel like hours. then, a reply: "yeah. i’d like that.”
taking a deep breath, you type: “hey, can we talk? i think there’s a lot we need to clear up.” you hit send before you can change your mind
relief floods you, warm and sudden. the night air is crisp and quiet when you arrive at the quad. the familiar stretch of grass, the faint glow of distant street lamps– everything feels the same, yet charged with possibility
moments later, haechan appears, his expression unreadable but softened by the low light. you both stand there for a beat, the weight of months hanging between you
“i’ve been thinking about that night a lot,” you say, voice barely above a whisper. “about how easy it was... before everything went wrong.”
he nods slowly. “me too.”
you take a step closer, the cold grass crunching softly beneath your shoes. “maybe we can find that again.” haechan meets your eyes, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “yeah. maybe this time, we won’t let it slip away.”
and in that quiet moment, under the stars where it all began, you feel the first real hope of something new
after that night in the quad, things didn’t suddenly get perfect. but somehow, once you broke the silence, every day felt more at ease—little by little.
most afternoons, that’s where you ended up— the quad, the place where everything used to feel effortless. you’d bring some snacks, maybe a playlist on his phone, and just hang out
one day at the library, you studied side by side, textbooks open, but honestly, you barely focused. you’d throw playful jabs back and forth about who’d get the better grade on the next paper. when you got stuck on a tough question, he reached over to help, and your hands brushed for just a second. and that little touch felt like a spark
nights became your thing again. you’d walk the quiet campus paths under the stars, talking about things you’d never said out loud before. your hands bumped, lingered, and no one pulled away
the silence wasn’t awkward anymore. it felt like something waiting to happen. and for a second, it felt like you were just kids again, no past hurts, no tension, just the two of you
it wasn’t instant or perfect, but day by day, you were finding your way back. and honestly? it felt better than you could have ever imagined
──── ☀︎
“graduation’s coming fast.”
“too fast,” he agreed. there was a pause before he added, “i think about walking across that stage and not having you beside me. and i don’t want that. not again.”
your heart thudded, slow and loud in your chest. “i don’t either. we’ve come too far to go separate ways again.” he looked at you–really looked– and something in his gaze felt like an anchor, grounding you both to this moment. “what we have… it’s not just something we stumbled back into, is it?”
you shook your head. “no. we chose this. we’re choosing it every day.” he reached out then, his fingers brushing yours, and this time you didn’t hesitate. you tangled your hand in his, holding tight
“i want to walk with you,” he said softly. “not just at graduation, but after. wherever we’re going, wherever life takes us.”
and under that star-scattered sky, you squeezed his hand and smiled. “then don’t let go.”
──── ☀︎
graduation week arrives in a blur of last papers, goodbye hugs, and the kind of bittersweet laughter that seems to echo longer than usual. there’s a countdown hanging in the air, not just to walking the stage, but to the end of this chapter, of this version of your lives. you feel it in every corner of campus. but when you’re with haechan, somehow, it still feels like home
he waits for you after class with your favorite drink in hand, like clockwork. walks you back to your dorm. teases you about crying at rehearsal. everything you used to do, but different now. warmer. closer.
that night, the sky is clouded over, the quad quiet but not cold. you’re sitting on the blanket again, this time under a string of fairy lights your friends strung up for some end-of-semester picnic. most of the crowd has cleared out, leaving just you two. a little music hums from someone’s portable speaker a few feet away, distant and slow
he’s lying beside you, arms tucked behind his head, his voice low. “do you remember our first night out here? not the ramen-grilled-cheese night. before that.” you nod. “we had no idea what we were doing. you told me you wanted to be a novelist.”
“and you told me i’d probably write your acknowledgments because i talk too much.”
he laughs softly, eyes shifting toward you. “i think i just liked the idea of doing something worth remembering… if it meant you'd be there.” the quiet stretches between you, and this time it’s not soft, it’s full
he sits up slightly, propping himself on an elbow, face suddenly closer than it’s been in weeks. your breath catches
he doesn’t say anything at first, just watches you in the kind of silence that feels like something tipping. the kind that always comes before a first kiss
“i think I’ve been falling for you since the second time we sat here,” he says finally, voice barely audible. “but i didn’t say it, because i thought i already lost you once.”
you blink, heart pounding.
your hand finds his cheek, and he leans into it so naturally, like he’s done it a thousand times in dreams. and then, slowly, without any of the usual drama or panic, he kisses you
it’s soft at first, like a question. his lips move against yours carefully, like he’s still afraid you’ll vanish. but you kiss him like you never will again. like this is your answer to every quiet moment you never spoke through. every almost.
when you part, foreheads pressed together, he exhales against your skin. “we’re really doing this.” you smile. “yeah. we are.”
that night, he walks you home, fingers laced with yours the whole way. you don’t say goodbye at the door, not really. just a kiss goodnight, a promise, and the quiet comfort of knowing this time… neither of you is walking away
──── ☀︎
the ceremony is over, but your head’s still spinning. there are too many hugs, too many camera flashes, too many people crying while confetti falls from nowhere
someone’s blasting a graduation playlist from the speaker. a champagne cork flies past your shoulder. and yet, through it all, you only see him
haechan, laughing in a sea of caps and gowns, eyes scanning until they land on you. and then he’s moving toward you, weaving through friends and faculty like the only place he wants to be is next to you
and when he reaches you, neither of you says anything at first. you just smile, tired and teary-eyed and overwhelmed in the best way.
“hey,” he says, breathless. “you did it.”
“you too,” you reply, voice thick with emotion. “we did it.”
he lifts his hand slowly, hesitates, then brushes your tassel back from your cheek, his fingers lingering. “can i steal you?” he asks.
you nod. he takes your hand without asking this time, and the two of you slip away from the noise, around the back of the old library, and across the campus you’ve memorized together, to the quad
it’s quieter here. golden. the sunlight’s softer now, dappled through the trees. the grass is warm under your feet, and the stage feels far behind you. you sit down, still in your gown, heels kicked off, hearts thudding
“so…” he starts, playing with the corner of his sleeve, “we graduated.”
“we did.”
“and we kissed.”
you laugh. “yeah. that too.”
there’s a beat of silence, and then he looks at you– really looks at you– and you feel it in your chest, how serious this is. how long it’s been building
“y/n..” he finally breaks the silence,
“i’ve loved you for years,” and this time, there’s no hesitation. “even when we stopped talking. even when i hated myself for messing it up. i never stopped”
you don’t answer right away, not because you’re unsure, but because your throat is tight and your heart is full and you’ve waited so long to say this
“i loved you when we were fifteen and thought youtube fame was our calling,” you finally whisper. “i loved you when I didn’t know how to show it. and i love you now.”
he leans forward, forehead resting against yours, eyes closed like he’s soaking up the weight of your words. “so what does that make us now?” you smile, brushing your thumb across his cheek.
“whatever we want to be. we’ve got time now.”
he kisses you again– soft and certain, like there’s no turning back. and when he pulls away, he’s still smiling. “okay. then let’s start with this: i’m yours.” you take his hand again, lacing your fingers through his. “and i’m yours.”
around you, the sun keeps setting. the quad begins to empty. and as the last chapter closes behind you, a new one begins, quieter, sweeter, and filled with everything you never had the words for before
and as the world shifts around you, futures unfolding, time pulling you forward, his hand stays in yours, steady, warm, familiar.
no more pretending.
no more almosts.
just you and him, in the place where it all began, hearts speaking the truth your mouths had once been too afraid to say
because some love stories never needed to start with a kiss to be real. some love stories were written long before the first chapter
and this one? it was never a friendship gone wrong. it was always a love that took the long way home.
because the truth is— you were never just friends.
lee donghyuck x reader — a variety show marriage. a fake spouse. cameras in your face every day. (5.9k)
• in celebration of our fullsun’s birthday!! this story is inspired by the show we got married, though please note that it may contain some inaccuracies, as it’s not strictly based on the show’s actual format or segments
· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·
you almost didn’t sign the contract.
the offer had come out of nowhere. an email from your manager, phrased with cautious excitement. 'we got married' was being rebooted after years off air. you’d be one of the main couples, if you agreed.
the truth was, your agency thought it would be good exposure. and part of you, deep down, was curious. about what it would feel like. to pretend to fall in love. about whether pretending might start to feel real.
· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·
you reread the email several times before closing your laptop and calling your best friend. “do i look like i have time to fake a marriage right now?” “you’ve literally been single for two years,” she said flatly. “yeah, but at least that’s authentic.”
· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·
donghyuck said yes because he thought it’d be funny. the managers barely got the words out. “they want you for we got married” he started laughing before they finished. “you’re joking. that’s the show where idols act in love for strangers, right?”
but later that night, lying in bed, he scrolled through old clips of the show. something about the way those couples looked at each other in the last episodes stuck with him.
he could fake chemistry. easy. he’d been doing that for stages and fan signs since he was fifteen.
· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·
the camera lens captured everything.
your nervous fidgeting, the way your eyes darted around the unfamiliar set, the tiny puff of breath you let out when the PD said, “action.”
you weren’t a stranger to the industry, but this was different. this wasn’t acting. this was you, paired with someone you’d never met, pretending to be newlyweds on national television.
and then he walked in.
lee donghyuck. better known to most as haechan—nct’s infamous sunshine with a mischievous streak and a smile that could disarm even the toughest senior idol.
you have seen clips of him before: teasing his members and turning charm into a weapon. and now, he stood in front of you, grinning like he already knew all your secrets.
“oh?” he said, head tilting slightly. “they really blessed me with a pretty wife.” you blinked. “they told me my husband would be cute, but i didn’t expect him to flirt five seconds in.”
he laughed, hand coming up to hide his mouth. “gotta give the fans what they want. don’t worry, i’m not always like this.”
“…actually, i am”
· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·
the first few shoots were awkward, as expected.
you learned quickly that haechan had no shame in front of the camera. he was a professional flirt, tossing out compliments and jokes with effortless precision. every time you thought you had the upper hand, he’d flip the script.
"you’re not wearing your ring," he pointed out during episode two, eyes flicking to your bare finger as the two of you sat across from each other in a café.
"i forgot," you said, deadpan. "i left it next to the dignity i lost when they made us do couple yoga yesterday." he cracked up, but you caught the flicker of something behind his smile. maybe he hadn’t expected you to match his energy.
after that, it became a rhythm. witty back-and-forths. glances that lingered a second too long. moments that should’ve been harmless, like sharing an umbrella, decorating your "married" apartment, brushing flour off his cheek during a baking segment, but somehow weren’t.
you told yourself it was the cameras. the setting. the editing. they were supposed to make it look romantic.
still, you couldn’t help but notice the way haechan’s teasing softened when the staff weren’t around. how he started remembering the smallest things about you. how, during the fourth shoot, when your heel broke and you stumbled slightly, he caught you with an ease that felt too natural.
he blinked down at you. you blinked up at him.
then someone yelled "cut" and the moment disappeared like smoke.
· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·
it was around episode six when things started to shift.
you were filming a camping trip. just the two of you, a tent, a rented suv, and several production crew members pretending not to exist.
after the marshmallow roasting and scripted couple games, you found yourselves sitting by the fire, wrapped in matching blankets. it was one of those rare lulls where neither of you felt like performing.
"are you always like this?" you asked. he glanced at you. "like what?"
“like you’re constantly trying to win some imaginary flirting competition."
haechan smirked. "would it kill you to admit i’m charming?" "i think the entire population already knows that," you said flatly.
his smile widened. "so you do think i’m charming." you groaned, pulling the blanket over your face. "regret. immediate regret."
but he didn’t tease you further.
instead, he sat in quiet beside you. the fire crackled. you could hear distant rustling, maybe a staff member adjusting the camera angle, but the world felt oddly still.
you peeked out from under the blanket. haechan was watching the flames, his expression unusually unreadable.
"you know," he said after a moment, voice low, "i thought this would be easier."
you turned to him. "what do you mean?"
he didn’t look at you. "i thought i’d be better at pretending."
you didn’t answer. you weren’t sure you could.
because the truth was, you were struggling too.
not because you didn’t like him.
but because maybe you did.
· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·
the next few shoots blurred together.
the couple trip to busan. the matching outfits. the accidental hand-holding that neither of you pulled away from. the unscripted glances. the too-long hugs. the inside jokes that the cameras didn’t catch.
you still called it acting. he still called it fan service.
but the way his hand always found the small of your back? the way you leaned into his shoulder when you were tired between takes?
that wasn’t in the script.
neither was the night he texted you after filming, a message that simply said:
"are you okay? you seemed quiet today."
you stared at it for too long before replying:
"yeah. just tired. thanks."
he didn’t say anything else.
but the next shoot, he brought you your favorite coffee order without asking.
you didn’t thank him. he didn’t mention it. the moment passed quietly, like all the others.
· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·
it happened on an off day. no cameras. no script. just the two of you, killing time between schedules.
your manager had dropped you off early at the company building. haechan’s studio was just a floor above, and somehow you ended up in the practice room together. music played low from the speakers, nothing specific, just some playlist on shuffle. you were stretched out on the wooden floor with a water bottle pressed to your cheek, eyes closed.
"you know you’re allowed to sit on the couch," haechan said, voice light.
"i’m cooling off," you mumbled. "this floor has healing properties. don’t question them."
he laughed, sitting cross-legged beside you, watching as the sunlight through the window caught the edge of your hair.
for a while, neither of you said anything. it was easy, being quiet with you. easier than it should’ve been.
he leaned back on his hands, eyes tracing the outline of your face.
you were still in your casual clothes, makeup faded from earlier, a faint sheen of sweat on your skin from dance practice. there was nothing particularly special about the moment.
you opened one eye, looking at him sideways.
"what?"
"nothing," he said, too quickly.
you sat up a little. not fully, just enough to look at him properly.
"do i have something on my face?"
"no," he said again, quieter this time. "you just... look different when you’re not acting."
you blinked. "we’re not acting most of the time."
"aren’t we?" he asked. and then smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. "sometimes i forget what’s real."
you watched him carefully, the air going still between you.
"i don’t think it matters anymore," you said eventually, voice soft. "real or fake. you’re still here."
he looked at you like you’d said something too big. like he hadn’t expected you to cut through him so cleanly.
you turned away after a second, brushing your hair out of your face. he didn’t move.
and that’s when it hit him.
not with fireworks. not with a romantic soundtrack or some grand emotional monologue. just a quiet, breathless awareness that settled into his chest like gravity.
he liked you.
he thought about you even when he didn’t have to. texted you jokes late at night, rehearsed conversations he wanted to have with you while waiting in traffic. his mood shifted depending on whether you smiled at him that day. he’d started looking forward to filming, not because of the exposure or the paycheck, but because it meant he got to stand next to you for a few hours and pretend you were his.
and it wasn’t pretend anymore.
haechan looked down at his hands. his palms were a little sweaty.
he was in trouble.
he stayed quiet after that, afraid that if he opened his mouth, the truth might spill out too fast.
you didn’t notice the way he looked at you after that.
but he did. and he didn’t stop.
· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·
he didn’t flirt as much anymore.
at least, not in the same way.
it was subtle, the way things shifted. haechan still joked, still teased, but his words started landing softer. less edge, more care. the things he used to say to get a reaction out of you—calling you pretty just to see you roll your eyes, leaning too close just to fluster you— were all starting to feel real.
you didn’t notice.
or maybe you did, but refused to mind it.
when you got a sore throat from overworking and showed up to set with a raspy voice, he handed you a warm honey drink without a word. you assumed a staff member gave it to him.
when you forgot your phone charger during an overnight shoot and muttered about your battery dying, he offered you his without hesitation.
"don’t you need it?"
"i can live without my phone for one night," he said, smiling.
when your hands were cold in the middle of winter filming, he tucked one of them into his coat pocket with his.
you laughed. "you’re just doing this for the cameras." "yeah," he said. but he wasn’t looking at the cameras.
you brushed it off. he was haechan. playful, dramatic, full of unnecessary skinship. you’d seen him flirt with microphones, charm auntie fans, do aegyo on command like it was second nature.
so when he started waiting for you after your other schedules, just to walk you out, when he started sending you good morning texts before call time, and good night ones after wrap, when he got weirdly quiet whenever someone on set joked about you two being a real couple, you didn’t think too hard about it.
because thinking too hard would mean acknowledging that it felt different now. that he felt different now.
you told yourself it was still fake. that he was just that good at his job.
you didn’t notice the way his gaze lingered on you when you weren’t looking.
didn’t catch how he started memorizing your moods, your habits, your silences. how he stopped filling every silence with jokes and started letting you be.
you stayed blissfully, stubbornly unaware.
and haechan let you.
because even though he wanted you to see it—even though his feelings were starting to rise up like a tide, impossible to hold back—he was still scared.
scared that if he said it out loud, the spell would break. scared that you didn’t feel it too. scared that you’d laugh, like it was just another punchline.
so instead, he kept showing you in all the quiet ways.
and you, heart fluttering in ways you still refused to name, kept calling it coincidence.
· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·
episode thirteen.
you weren’t nervous, exactly. but you did reapply your lip tint twice in the van on the way over.
the producers had teased a surprise guest for today’s shoot, and variety shows loved nothing more than forced love triangles. you braced for awkward. but you didn’t brace for him.
cha sungwoo.
tall. handsome. charming in that effortless, trained-for-this way. you’d filmed a drama together almost two years ago, and for a brief moment, fans thought the on-screen chemistry might have spilled off-camera. it hadn’t. but the rumors stuck anyway.
"look who it is," sungwoo said as you stepped onto set, voice warm. "didn’t think i’d get to see you again on a fake honeymoon."
you smiled automatically. "long time no see."
beside you, haechan shifted his weight.
he didn’t say anything at first. just watched. his expression was unreadable, but his silence was louder than anything.
finally, he spoke.
"should i be worried?" he asked, light tone cutting sharp beneath the surface. "or is this just good tv?"
"depends," sungwoo said, amused. "are you the jealous type?"
haechan smiled. not the usual, teasing kind—the one that reached his eyes. this one was smaller. flatter.
"only when i have a reason to be."
you laughed, trying to brush it off, but your fingers tightened slightly around the sleeve of your jacket.
· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·
the shoot moved on. it was supposed to be funny and competitive—three of you cooking dinner together like a sitcom setup.
you were chopping vegetables when sungwoo leaned in behind you, his hands brushing yours.
"still bad with a knife?" he said, voice low near your ear.
you didn’t even flinch. "i’ve improved."
but behind you, haechan dropped the spatula he was holding.
you turned. "you okay?"
he bent to pick it up, muttering, "yeah. slipped."
but when he stood again, his eyes didn’t meet yours.
they were still on sungwoo.
· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·
later, the three of you sat at the low table, eating what barely passed as a meal. the cameras were still rolling, but things had turned quiet.
sungwoo was telling a story—something about a late-night shoot and a prank. you were laughing, loose and warm in a way you hadn’t noticed before.
and haechan was watching you.
his chopsticks hung in mid-air. his shoulders tense. his jaw set like he was biting back words.
you looked at him. "what?"
he blinked. "nothing."
you tilted your head. "you’re acting weird."
"just tired."
"you sure?"
he didn’t answer right away. then he leaned in, low voice meant only for you.
"you act like none of this matters," he said quietly.
you stared at him. "what?"
"this." he gestured, vague. "the show. the pretending. him."
you searched his face, unsure if this was part of the bit or something else entirely.
"we’re just filming, haechan."
his eyes didn’t leave yours.
"maybe you are."
the words hung there. suspended between you, fragile and real.
you opened your mouth to respond—but the PD clapped, announcing a break, and the spell broke with it.
haechan stood up without another word and walked off set.
you sat there, blinking, unsure why your chest felt so tight.
· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·
you didn’t call haechan after the shoot.
you almost did. twice.
once, when you got home and dropped your bag on the floor like something was missing.
once more, in the middle of the night, when you were staring at your ceiling and couldn’t stop replaying the way he looked at you before he walked off set.
you didn’t call. you couldn’t.
so instead, you called her. your best friend. the one who knew the before version of you, before the show, before the cameras, before him.
"hey, everything alright?" chiya asked, her voice quiet over the line. soft with sleep but already worried.
"can i come over?"
"always."
· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·
her apartment was warm. messy in the way homes should be. you sat on the floor wrapped in an old hoodie you’d left there months ago, your fingers curled around a mug of tea neither of you remembered making.
you told her everything. not just about today, but about all of it.
the way filming used to feel like a joke, like a role you could slip into and out of without thinking.
how that changed.
how he changed.
how you changed.
"today… he looked at me like he didn’t recognize me," you said. "like he was hurt, and trying really hard not to be."
she didn’t speak, letting the silence hold space for you.
"and when sungwoo showed up, it felt like the air shifted. like i’d stepped into a room i didn’t belong in anymore."
"because of haechan?" she asked gently.
you nodded.
"he didn’t say much. just… one thing."
"what’d he say?"
you swallowed.
"he said, ‘you act like none of this matters.’"
the words still echoed in your head. they’d been soft, almost careful. like he wasn’t trying to pick a fight. like he was asking you to see him.
"and i didn’t know what to say. because i didn’t know how to tell him that i think it does matter. more than it should. more than i want it to."
your voice shook.
"and i’m scared. i’m scared that maybe this isn’t just acting anymore. not for me."
your best friend moved closer, resting her chin on your shoulder like she used to when you were both teenagers, crying over things that felt too big for your hearts to hold.
"have you ever been in love before?" she asked quietly.
"not like this."
you weren’t even sure it was love. but it was something. something that blossomed slowly, and then all at once, when you weren’t looking.
"he makes me feel like i’m being seen. not the version of me that the cameras want. just... me. and when he looks at me, sometimes i feel like he’s about to say something he doesn’t know how to say."
"and what do you want him to say?"
you paused. the answer hurt to admit.
"that i’m not just magining it."
your friend reached over, squeezing your hand.
"you’re not," she said. "i don’t even need to meet him to know. you’re not the kind of person who gets confused about this stuff. you’d never fall for someone unless it was real. and it sounds like you already have."
your eyes stung.
"i didn’t mean to."
"you never do."
she pulled you into a hug, and for the first time since you wrapped that scene, you let the weight of it press down on you. not the confusion. not the fear. just the feeling.
· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·
episode fourteen
you weren’t sure how to act around him now.
you told yourself you’d just play it cool. do what you always did: slip into character, smile when you were supposed to, laugh when the producers gave you a cue, go home.
but when you saw haechan waiting on set, leaning against the kitchen counter in the little “home” you’d built together over the past months, sleeves pushed up, hair still damp from styling, something inside you stilled.
he looked up when you walked in.
and then he smiled.
small. real. tired, maybe. but his eyes softened the way they always did when he looked at you.
"hey," he said, voice gentle.
"hey," you replied, and the word felt different in your mouth. too small for how much you’d missed him in just a few days.
he opened his mouth like he was going to say more, but the PD clapped loudly and called for standby.
you both moved into position like professionals.
but you couldn’t stop glancing at him.
and he didn’t look away when you did.
· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·
the day’s concept was domestic bliss.
folding laundry. grocery shopping. making dinner together. things that looked boring on paper but, somehow, felt like the most intimate parts of the fake marriage.
just pretend it’s real, the writer joked before you started rolling.
you wanted to say, it’s getting harder to pretend it’s not.
you were standing beside haechan at the sink, rinsing vegetables, when your fingers brushed under the running water. you flinched slightly.
he didn’t.
his hand stayed against yours just for a second too long.
your heart skipped, and you hated how noticeable it felt. how loud it became in your own chest.
"you okay?" he asked, voice low.
you nodded too quickly. "just cold water."
he didn’t call you out on it. but his eyes didn’t leave yours for a long time.
· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·
after filming, you stayed behind for a bit. the cameras were off, the crew busy packing up equipment. haechan was still in the kitchen, stacking plates to be returned to props.
you didn’t know why you lingered. only that you didn’t want to leave yet.
he looked up, sensing you there.
"you didn’t call," he said quietly.
you froze. "what?"
"after the last shoot. i thought maybe you would. or… maybe i hoped you would."
you opened your mouth. closed it again.
"i didn’t know what to say," you said eventually.
he nodded, like he understood. like he’d expected that.
then, after a long pause
"you don’t have to say anything," he murmured. "but i need you to know… i wasn’t acting. not with that."
you met his eyes. for once, there was no smirk. no sarcasm. nothing playful to hide behind.
just him.
just the truth.
your breath caught in your throat.
but before you could speak, a crew member popped their head in.
"you guys done? we need to lock up soon."
haechan glanced away. the moment passed like a held breath.
he nodded slowly. "yeah. we’re done."
but as you walked out of that little house, your fingers still tingling from the brush of his, you knew something had shifted for good.
you weren’t just playing pretend anymore.
· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·
it was the last shoot before the final week.
the set felt more quiet than usual, like the whole crew was holding their breath. maybe because everyone knew this was the last stretch—the end of the show, the end of pretending.
you and haechan moved through the day’s scenes with practiced ease, but the easy rhythm from before was gone. now, everything between you felt heavy, like invisible strings tugging tighter with every look and every touch.
you were sitting on the couch, pretending to scroll through your phone, but you weren’t really looking at the screen. your eyes kept flicking to haechan, who was sitting beside you, hands folded awkwardly on his lap.
he glanced at you once, then quickly looked away, face unreadable.
the silence between you stretched longer than usual, thick and uncomfortable.
finally, you broke it, voice barely above a whisper.
“are you okay?”
he didn’t answer right away. then, without meeting your eyes, he said, “i’m fine.”
you didn’t believe him.
he shifted in his seat, fingers twitching like he wanted to say more but couldn’t.
the director called “cut,” and the crew buzzed quietly as they reset the next scene, but you and haechan stayed still, caught in a space where neither wanted to cross the line first.
he looked over, voice low, almost rough.
“this… all of this. it’s harder than i thought.”
you swallowed, heart racing.
“yeah.”
“i don’t want it to end,” he said, eyes finally locking with yours.
you felt your breath hitch. everything inside you was screaming to reach out, to tell him you felt the same, but the words stuck.
“me neither,” you whispered.
he gave a small, sad smile.
“what do we do now?”
you looked down, fingers fiddling with the hem of your shirt.
“i don’t know.”
but maybe that was okay.
maybe the not knowing was the start of something real.
the cameras might have been off for the moment, but the space between you was alive with everything you couldn’t say—and everything you both desperately wanted to feel.
· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·
the last day of filming felt like the end of something you weren’t ready to lose.
the set was buzzing with energy, but for you and haechan, it was heavy. heavier than before. the playful teasing, the easy smiles—they were all there, but beneath them was a current you could no longer ignore.
during a break, you found yourselves alone in the quiet corner of the studio. the noise of crew and cameras faded, and suddenly the space between you felt too small.
haechan looked at you. his usual grin gone, replaced by something softer, vulnerable.
“i’ve been a coward,” he said, voice low, almost breaking.
you blinked, heart pounding.
“me too,” you whispered back.
he took a slow breath, stepping closer, hands trembling slightly at his sides.
“i was supposed to be the one who didn’t fall,” he said, “but it’s me. it’s always been me.”
you swallowed hard, the weight of his words sinking in.
“why didn’t you say anything?” you asked, voice barely audible.
“because i was scared,” he admitted. “scared you wouldn’t feel the same. scared it was just me.”
your eyes stung. “it’s not just you.”
the silence stretched, thick and full of everything you hadn’t said before.
finally, he reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “can i.. hold you?”
your breath hitched, but you nodded.
as he pulled you close, the world outside the studio ceased to exist.
for the first time, pretending wasn’t enough. this was real.
and somehow, it left you feeling both lucky and appalled.
· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·
the studio emptied quickly, the usual noise fading until you and haechan were left alone. the silence between you felt thick, heavy with everything neither of you had dared to say.
he led you to the rooftop garden, the soft glow of string lights wrapping around the space like a secret only the two of you shared.
you sat close, shoulders brushing, every tiny movement sending sparks you could feel deep under your skin.
his fingers found yours, slow and deliberate, thumb tracing lazy circles on your palm. the warmth of his touch spread, setting fire to nerves you didn’t know you had.
he tilted his head, eyes dark and searching. “you feel it too, right?”
your breath hitched, heart pounding. “i do.”
his hand slid from your palm, fingers grazing your wrist, then up your arm, light as a whisper.
“this,” he murmured, voice low and rough, “this isn’t just for show.”
you swallowed hard, the heat in your chest rising. his gaze dropped to your lips, then back to your eyes, daring you to say no.
instead, you leaned in, letting your breath mingle, the space between you crackling with anticipation.
when he finally closed the gap, his kiss was slow, teasing—like he was savoring every second.
his hand cupped your neck, thumb stroking softly, sending shivers down your spine.
you curled into him, the world narrowing to the press of skin on skin, the heat of his breath, the ache building in your chest.
he pulled back just enough to murmur against your lips, “i’ve wanted this for so long.”
your voice barely a whisper, “me too.”
the night wrapped around you, every touch, every glance loaded with a promise neither of you was ready to say out loud.
but both of you knew.
this was only the beginning.
· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·
soft light filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the room.
you stirred slowly, the weight of haechan’s arm draped over your waist anchoring you in place.
for a moment, everything was still, the world outside paused, and there was just this—the steady rise and fall of his chest against your back, the quiet rhythm of breath and heartbeat.
you turned your head slightly, catching his profile in the morning light. his eyes were closed, lashes resting softly against his cheeks, peaceful and completely unguarded.
a gentle smile tugged at your lips.
careful not to wake him, you traced lazy circles on his arm, memorizing the feeling of skin beneath your fingertips.
he shifted slightly, murmuring something unintelligible, but didn’t open his eyes.
you let yourself soak in the quiet intimacy, the kind of closeness you hadn’t dared imagine before.
finally, haechan blinked open his eyes, meeting yours with a soft, sleepy smile.
“good morning,” he whispered, voice rough but warm.
“good morning,” you replied, heart fluttering.
he tightened his arm around you just a little, as if afraid you might disappear.
“last night was… real,” he said, voice low, full of something like awe.
you nodded, feeling the same weight of it.
“yeah,” you said softly. “it was.”
for a moment, neither of you spoke, just held onto the fragile newness of what had started between you.
and in the quiet of that morning, everything felt possible.
· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·
the studio was buzzing again, crew rushing, cameras rolling, but for you and haechan, the world felt different.
you caught each other’s eyes across the set more times than you could count, every look loaded with a secret neither dared say out loud.
during a break, haechan slipped beside you, voice low enough that only you could hear.
“you okay?” he asked, thumb brushing lightly over your hand.
you nodded, heart pounding. “yeah. just… tired.”
he gave a small, knowing smile. “me too.”
the silence between you felt full, like an unspoken understanding.
filming felt harder now. not because the scenes were difficult, but because the line between acting and feeling was thinner than ever.
when the director called cut, you both lingered, reluctant to step back into the roles you’d played for so long.
haechan caught your gaze, eyes searching.
“we need to talk,” he said quietly.
your breath hitched.
“about us,” he added, voice softer now.
you nodded, the weight of it settling in your chest.
“after this is over,” you whispered.
“of course,” he agreed.
the cameras might have been rolling again soon, but in that moment, the world outside could wait.
because finally, you were ready to stop pretending.
· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·
the days after filming ended felt like a strange in-between.
you and haechan were no longer pretending, but everything else still felt like uncharted territory.
text messages came more often now, sometimes just a good morning or a gif that made you laugh, other times long, quiet conversations about fears and hopes.
you met up after practice one evening, somewhere quiet—a small café off the main streets where no one knew your names.
he was a little awkward, fumbling with his words like he was nervous all over again.
“i’m not great at this,” he admitted, stirring his coffee.
“neither am i,” you said, smiling softly.
he reached across the table, taking your hand. “guess we’re both beginners.”
some days were easier than others. sometimes, a glance or a touch spoke louder than any words.
other times, the weight of schedules, the constant eyes watching, made it hard to find space just for the two of you.
but slowly, you learned to navigate the new rhythm—stealing moments between rehearsals, quiet calls in the middle of the night, little jokes shared just between you.
there were missteps, too—missed calls, misunderstandings, moments where the fear of losing what you had made you both pull away.
but every time, you found your way back.
because beneath it all was something real, something neither of you wanted to let go.
and as the days turned into weeks, you realized that maybe, just maybe, this was more than just a story.
it was your story.
· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·
it started with a headline.
nothing scandalous, but enough to stir the internet—a fan account posted a blurry photo of you and haechan leaving a café, the caption dripping with speculation.
“are they dating for real?” “fake marriage turned real?” “what does this mean for their agencies?”
the messages flooded your phone—some from friends, some from fans, some from strangers.
you stared at the screen, heart pounding.
haechan was beside you, phone in hand, face tight.
“they’re going to spin this into a mess,” he muttered.
you nodded, biting your lip.
it was the first time your private feelings had become public territory, and neither of you knew how to navigate it.
that evening, you met at haechan’s dorm, wanting to face it together.
“what do we do?” you asked, voice trembling.
he took your hands in his, eyes steady and fierce.
“we don’t let rumors define us,” he said. “we keep being honest. with each other, and when we’re ready, with everyone else.”
you swallowed the lump in your throat, feeling the weight of the moment.
“i’m scared,” you admitted. “of losing what we have.”
he pulled you close, forehead resting against yours.
“me too,” he said. “but whatever happens, i’m not walking away.”
in that quiet room, surrounded by the noise of the world outside, you found a promise that felt stronger than any headline.
you weren’t just partners on a show anymore.
you were something real.
and you would face whatever came next—together.
· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·
the room was tense as you and haechan sat across from your agencies. the conversation was careful, cautious, filled with questions you’d both anticipated but dreaded.
“are you sure this isn’t just for publicity?” one manager asked.
“this is real,” haechan said quietly, eyes locked on yours. “we want to take this seriously.”
your own manager nodded slowly, “then we’ll support you. but you need to be prepared for everything.”
the words hung heavy in the air, a mix of relief and new pressure settling over you.
once the meetings ended, you didn’t speak much on the way back. the city lights blurred past the windows, your hands finally finding each other’s in the quiet.
as soon as you stepped inside haechan’s apartment, the tension broke.
he pulled you close, fingers threading through your hair, lips pressing soft and sure against yours.
“no matter what they say,” he murmured between kisses, “this is ours.”
you traced his jawline, heart pounding in your chest.
“ours,” you echoed.
the night wrapped around you, a sanctuary from the world.
in the quiet between heartbeats, you’ve found a place—a fragile world where pretend becomes real.
ᯓ friends to lovers, hyuck & reader are both graduating, and both pining ☻ 5.3k wc!
ᯓ this one is inspired by one of your requests! but as someone who just graduated, it also draws a bit from my own daydreams, of having a high school or college sweetheart to walk across the graduation stage with :p
──── ☀︎
an interview. two chairs. one camera. and all the words they never said.
they both want to fix it. neither knows how
but if there was ever a moment to try again, it’s now—before the caps are tossed, before the goodbyes, before they go their separate ways for good
because sometimes, endings are just new beginnings waiting to happen
──── ☀︎ ────
the first snowfall of the semester comes early, blanketing the campus in white, like the sky is trying to cover up everything you’ve tried not to feel
you’re late. again.
the lecture hall door creaks open, and thirty pairs of eyes glance your way, but only one glance really lands
haechan.
you hesitate, just for a second. it’s not because you’re surprised to see him, of course he’s here. he always was. it’s the way he looks at you, like he’s trying not to feel something either. and just like that, ten months of silence feels like it never ended, like it’s still hanging in the air between you, thick and unfinished
the only empty seat is next to him. of course it is.
you make your way down the row, slow and quiet, and slide into the chair beside him. your hands grip your pen too tightly, like maybe it’ll hold you together
“wow,” he says under his breath, not even looking at you. “out of all the seats in the universe.” you don’t skip a beat. “trust me, i’m just as thrilled”
the professor starts talking. you try to focus, to pretend you can’t feel the weight of his presence next to you, but then your arms brush. just for a second. and neither of you move
it shouldn’t feel like anything. but it does. ten months ago, he was your best friend. now, he’s the guy you don’t talk to, or even look at
outside, the snow keeps falling. soft, steady, like the sky knows something you don’t. and for the first time in a long time, you let the thought drift in, uninvited but welcome– maybe this isn’t really the end.
*flashback* it’s nearly 2 a.m., and the campus is asleep, except for you and haechan. you’re both lying in the middle of the quad on a cheap picnic blanket he stole from his roommate. the sky is clear, a velvet canvas dusted with stars, and the cold grass presses through the blanket, prickling your back. but you don’t care. not when you’re laughing like this
“i’m serious,” he says between gasps, “if i ever become famous, i want my wikipedia page to say i invented ramen grilled cheese. that was a cultural reset” you snort. “you nearly set the kitchen on fire.” “greatness requires sacrifice”
you turn your head toward him, grinning in the dark. his eyes are already on you, soft and bright beneath the moonlight. this is what it used to be like– easy. effortless.
you’d tell him anything. he’d listen like it mattered. and he’d always, always find a way to make you laugh, even on your worst days.
“remember when we were fifteen,” you say, “and you swore we’d drop out of college to become youtubers?”
he groans. “okay, first of all, you said we’d be a duo. you were gonna do baking, and i’d handle commentary.” you nudge him with your elbow. “and you were going to get us cancelled in week one.” “that was part of the brand”
you both laugh again, the kind that starts small and builds into something uncontrollable. it fills the quiet night, echoing between empty buildings and forgotten dreams. and somewhere between the laughter and the silence that follows, you realize how much you love him
not in a dramatic, fall-to-your-knees kind of way. just in the way your heart settles when he’s beside you. in the way the world feels less sharp. in the way you want to pause this moment and keep it in your pocket forever.
but you don’t say it. you never do
instead, you breathe in the night and whisper, “let’s not grow up too fast.” and he, still watching the sky, replies, “not if we can help it” *end of flashback*
you don't even remember how you got roped into it. one second, your friend from the media club was rambling about their "senior spotlight series" something about legacy, friendship, full-circle moments, and the next, you're sitting on the cold steps of the old library waiting for him
because apparently, when people think of iconic friendships on campus, they still think of you and him. the best friends. the duo. they don’t know the story stopped a while ago. quietly. like a door that never fully closed
he arrives five minutes late, with that same careless swagger he’s always had, like nothing touches him, not even time. he meets your eyes for a second before looking away
“didn’t think you’d actually show,” he says, voice light, but not teasing. you shrug. “didn’t think you would either”
the media team gives you a quick rundown. photos first, then a short filmed interview. “just a few questions about your friendship,” the girl says cheerily. “how you met, favorite memories, what you’ve learned from each other. that kind of thing”
you want to laugh. or maybe scream.
instead, you sit beside him on the stone bench, pretending your skin isn’t on fire just from being near him again. the camera clicks. once. twice. and then the girl says, “okay, now look at each other”
you hesitate. he does too
but you turn. and for the first time in what feels like forever, your eyes meet– and stay.
and there it is. the weight of the silence. the things you never said. the laughter that used to be effortless. the memory of a night under the stars when you almost told him you loved him– and didn’t. “perfect,” the photographer says, completely unaware. you look away first
a few minutes later, you're sitting in front of a camera. someone asks, “what made your friendship so special?” you blink. haechan stays quiet
and all you can think is: do we even get to call it a friendship anymore?
the lights in the small studio hum quietly, the camera lens trained on you like it’s trying to see straight through your chest
the interviewer smiles, warm and expectant. “so, what made your friendship so special?”
you glance sideways at haechan. his jaw is tight, but his eyes hold a flicker of something, maybe nostalgia, maybe regret
you breathe out. “it was easy,” you say finally. “like… no matter how bad the day was, or how messy everything got, we somehow made each other feel like it was okay to just be ourselves”
the camera keeps rolling, the red recording light blinking like a heartbeat and haechan shifts in his seat, and when he speaks, his voice is softer than you remember. “we knew all the worst parts, and we didn’t run”
you want to say that’s what makes it different now, that you both ran, or maybe froze. but you swallow the words
“did you have a favorite memory together?” the interviewer asks. your mind flashes back, the quiet quad nights, the laughter spilling over like a tide
“the night we stayed up until two in the morning, just talking,” you say, voice catching a little. “we didn’t have a plan. we weren’t worried about anything except being there. it felt like time didn’t exist”
his eyes find yours, and for a moment, it’s like the space between you isn’t so vast
“yeah,” he says, “like the world was smaller with just us in it”
the interviewer smiles, clearly moved. the camera clicks off
you both sit in the sudden stillness, the kind that stretches between people who used to be so close it hurt
neither of you says it– but both of you know it’s true. maybe this is the first step to finding your way back
the interviewer steps away, giving you both space, but the air still feels tight, like a held breath neither of you knows how to release
you shift in your seat, fingers twitching. then, almost without thinking, you glance down at the stack of papers in your lap, the notes from the interview questions
one slips and flutters to the floor. before you can reach for it, haechan’s hand is already there, picking it up. his fingers brush yours for a second as he hands it back, and it feels electric. you both freeze.
then, without looking up, he murmurs, “can’t believe you still remember that night”
your heart twists, and you nod slowly. “how could i forget?” he laughs. soft, genuine, and unexpected “guess some memories don’t fade,” he says
you want to say something. anything. but the words catch in your throat. instead, you smile. just a little. and for the first time since this whole mess began, it feels like maybe, just maybe, you’re not so far apart after all
*flashback* you never imagined that something as small as a grade could break you
it was the week of midterms. you and haechan– both top of your class, the golden duo of the liberal arts department, had always pushed each other to be better. friendly rivalry, or so you told yourself
but that week, it wasn’t friendly
the final paper was due on a friday. you stayed up all night, pouring everything into it, hoping your research would outshine his. you saw it as a challenge, and maybe a way to prove who was better
when the grades came back monday, he had a perfect score. a hundred. you had ninety-seven
you felt the sting more than you expected.
later that day, you bumped into him in the library. you tried to joke it off, something like, “congrats on beating me.” he smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “you almost had it. next time”
you nodded, but inside, the competitiveness twisted into something bitter. that evening, you found out he’d told your classmates you weren’t serious enough about your future, that you cared more about winning than learning.
you confronted him the next day, heart thudding in your chest. “why would you say that? you know it’s not true.” he looked away, frustration lining his face. “maybe you do care more about being the best than about us”
the words cut deeper than you expected. “you’re making this into something it’s not,” you snapped. he shook his head. “maybe it’s exactly what it is.”
the argument spiraled– voices raised, accusations flung, pride blocking every bridge back. by the end, you weren’t sure why you were fighting anymore– just that you couldn’t stop
that night, you didn’t text him. he didn’t text you.
and that was how it began. *end of flashback*
you meet ryumi and yuki at your favorite campus café, the cozy warmth a stark contrast to the cold tension you’re carrying
ryumi orders a chai latte; yuki grabs a black coffee. you’re just trying to focus on the steam curling up from your own cup
“so,” ryumi says, leaning forward with that gleam in her eyes, “what’s really going on with you and haechan? sitting next to him in class? that must’ve been... something”
you take a slow breath, staring down at your cup. “it was weird. like, we used to finish each other’s sentences, and now we barely talk. it’s like there’s this wall between us that neither of us knows how to climb”
yuki frowns, “do you want to fix it? i mean, you guys were inseparable. it’s hard to imagine it all just... ended” you shrug, voice soft. “i don’t know. i want to. i guess i just don’t know where to start. we both got hurt, and maybe we’re scared of getting hurt again”
ryumi reaches out and squeezes your hand. “sometimes the hardest part is just saying it out loud. maybe you need to talk to him. like, really talk” you glance up, meeting their encouraging eyes. “yeah. i think you’re right”
yuki grins. “we’re here for you.” you smile, feeling a flicker of hope light up inside. maybe this winter isn’t about endings after all
──── ☀︎
the camera’s red light blinks steadily as you and haechan sit side by side again, the earlier awkwardness softened into something quieter, something more real
the interviewer smiles gently. “you’ve already shared some memories about your friendship. but i’m curious, what’s something you’ve learned from each other that you didn’t expect?”
you glance at haechan, and this time, his eyes meet yours without hesitation.
“i learned that vulnerability isn’t weakness,” you say slowly. “haechan taught me that it’s okay to show the parts of yourself you think might scare others away. he’s not just this confident guy everyone sees, he’s brave enough to be himself, even when it’s hard”
haechan clears his throat and then nods. “and from y/n, i learned patience. she has always been steady, even when i was reckless or stubborn. she showed me that sometimes, the best way to handle things isn’t to charge ahead, but to wait and listen”
the interviewer leans forward, intrigued. “is there a moment that stands out, something that changed how you saw each other?”
you swallow the lump in your throat, “there was a time when everything between us was breaking apart,” you say. “but even then, he never stopped caring. he was the first one to reach out, even when i pushed him away. that made me realize how much he truly meant to me”
his smile is soft, almost shy. “yeah… i guess sometimes you have to lose something to understand how much it matters”
the room feels warm despite the chill outside, and for a fleeting moment, you both sit with the unspoken hope that maybe, just maybe, this story isn’t over
the interviewer finally shuts off the camera, and the sudden silence feels heavy, but not in a bad way. more like the kind of quiet that settles after something important has been said
you breathe out, feeling the tension in your chest loosen just a little. looking over at haechan, you catch the faintest flicker of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips
“didn’t expect that to go so... deep,” you say, half-teasing but mostly amazed. he shrugs, eyes still fixed on the floor for a second before meeting yours
“yeah. feels weird, but good. like peeling back a layer you didn’t know was there,” he says, and you nod, cheeks warming. “i guess sometimes it takes a camera and a stupid interview to say what’s been stuck inside”
haechan’s gaze lingers on you a moment longer, his voice low. “maybe it’s not so stupid after all”
you want to say something, something that might change everything, but the words get caught in your throat. instead, you just sit there, side by side, the space between you feeling less like a canyon and more like a bridge
outside, the winter sun filters through the window, promising something new. and for once, you both believe it just might be true
──── ☀︎
haechan flopped onto his dorm bed, rubbing the back of his neck as yangyang tossed him a bottle of water
“man, you’ve been stuck in your room all day,” yangyang teased, plopping down on the floor. “you need to get out, clear your head”
him and his friends were scattered around the room, lounging in various states of exhaustion from midterms
jeno nudged renjun. “there’s a party tonight at dery’s place. might be good to blow off some steam”
jaemin grinned. “yeah, come on, haechan. you’ve been avoiding everyone since that interview with y/n”
haechan stiffened a little, the memory of the interview still fresh. “i’m not avoiding. just… thinking”
yangyang raised an eyebrow. “thinking or overthinking? you were practically glowing after you guys finished. that was new”
“yeah,” jeno chimed in, “it was like you finally said some of the stuff you never could before. been rough, huh?”
haechan sighed, glancing out the window. “yeah, it’s complicated. we haven’t been ‘us’ for a while. but maybe… maybe that interview was a start”
renjun nodded thoughtfully. “sounds like you two have some unfinished business. party might be good for a break, but don’t lose sight of that”
jaemin smirked. “or you could end up at the party, thinking about her the whole time.” haechan chuckled softly. “yeah, probably”
yangyang stood up and stretched. “well, party or no party, you gotta do what feels right. but a night out could be just the distraction you need.” haechan nodded slowly. “maybe you’re right. i could use some fresh air”
jeno tossed him a set of keys. “then what are you waiting for? let’s go.” as the group headed out, haechan took a deep breath, feeling the mix of nerves and something like hope swirling inside. tonight wasn’t about fixing everything–it was just the next step
the bass thumped through the crowded dorm common room, a chaotic swirl of laughter, music, and chatter filling every corner. haechan weaved through the crowd, a drink in hand, trying to focus on the easy conversations around him, but his mind kept drifting back to you, being lead to the point for him to convince himself that he’s hallucinating as he laid eyes on you. he hadn’t expected to see you. especially tonight
and yet, there you were, near the snack table, laughing with a group of friends. his breath hitched for a second as your eyes caught his across the room
for a heartbeat, everything froze– the noise, the people, the flashing lights– all faded into the background
you looked surprised, then smiled, a small, genuine curve of your lips that made something inside him unclench
haechan swallowed the lump in his throat and made his way over, each step feeling like a mile. “hey,” he said, voice quieter than he’d intended. you looked up, startled but pleased
“haechan. didn’t expect to see you here”
he shrugged, trying to keep it casual. “yangyang dragged me out. figured i needed to get some fresh air… or whatever this is.”
you laughed softly, the sound warm and familiar. “yeah, i needed the same”
there was a pause, neither of you quite sure what to say next. finally, you broke the silence. “so… how did the interview go? i saw some clips online” he smiled, a little sheepishly. “honestly? it was harder than I thought. talking about us, about what we lost”
you nodded, eyes searching his
“but maybe it’s a start.” he met your gaze steadily. “yeah. maybe it is.”
the music throbbed louder, but this moment, this unexpected meeting, felt like the quiet in the storm. and for the first time in a long time, haechan thought maybe things could really change
for a few minutes, the conversation flows easily, memories, jokes, small smiles. then, like a shadow slipping through the light, the topic shifts
“so,” you say, voice careful, “do you still think about… what happened? why we fell apart?”
haechan’s smile falters. his eyes darken just a little. “all the time”
you look away, heart tightening. “it was such a stupid fight. over grades, of all things.” he laughs, but it’s bitter. “yeah, who knew academic competition could wreck everything?”
the music pulses around you, but all you feel is the fragile thread between you– stretched, but not broken. and somewhere beneath the tension, hope flickers
the tension lingers, thick but no longer suffocating. instead, it feels like a wall just starting to crack. haechan exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair like he’s trying to shake off the weight of months. “i don’t want to keep pretending none of this happened. or that it didn’t hurt.”
you meet his gaze, “me neither. maybe… we owe it to ourselves to try again. to actually talk, not just compete or hide behind silence.” he smiles, small but real, the kind that reaches his eyes. “yeah. maybe this time, we don’t let pride get in the way.”
the music shifts to a slower song, and the crowd moves around you both, but all you feel is the space shrinking between you.
“want to get out of here?” you ask quietly.
“definitely ,” he says, offering his hand.
as you take it, a surge of something hopeful blooms inside– a fragile, beautiful chance to rewrite your story. and maybe this time, you’ll finally get it right
──── ☀︎
you’re curled up on the worn-out couch in your favorite campus coffee shop, the smell of fresh espresso and cinnamon swirling around you
your friends are gathered close, their eyes warm and expectant. “so,” yuki says, grinning, “spill. how’s the whole ‘reconnecting with haechan’ thing going?” you bite your lip, fiddling with the sleeve of your sweater. “it’s… complicated”
they exchange knowing looks. “come on, you can tell us” you take a deep breath, heart pounding. “the truth is… i never really stopped liking him. not just as a friend. maybe it was there all along, but i was too scared to admit it”
ryumi reaches over and squeezes your hand. “girl, we’ve been waiting for you to say that forever. it’s so obvious to everyone but you.”
yuki chimes in, “you guys were perfect together. you owe it to yourself to fix this before we graduate. what if you never get the chance again?”
you glance down, feeling both hopeful and terrified. “yeah, but what if it’s too late? what if we’re too far gone?” they shake their heads firmly. “no way. you’re not giving up on something that means this much. not now”
their faith feels like a lifeline, and suddenly, you’re ready. “okay,” you say, voice steady, “i’m going to try. for real this time”
your friends cheer, clinking their coffee cups together. “to fixing what’s broken,” they toast.
and for the first time in a long time, you believe it just might be possible
later that night, your room is bathed in the soft glow of a desk lamp. outside, the campus is still, the world muted beneath a blanket of stars
you sit on your bed, your heart feels heavy, tangled with memories and “what ifs.”
what if you had been braver? what if you hadn’t let pride get in the way? what if you told him how you really felt back then?
a sigh escapes you. but somewhere beneath the regret, there’s a flicker of something new– a fragile hope that maybe this time, things can be different
you stare at your phone, thumb hovering over the message app. your heart is pounding like a drum in your chest, but you know this is the moment. no more hiding, no more silence.
seconds feel like hours. then, a reply: "yeah. i’d like that.”
taking a deep breath, you type: “hey, can we talk? i think there’s a lot we need to clear up.” you hit send before you can change your mind
relief floods you, warm and sudden. the night air is crisp and quiet when you arrive at the quad. the familiar stretch of grass, the faint glow of distant street lamps– everything feels the same, yet charged with possibility
moments later, haechan appears, his expression unreadable but softened by the low light. you both stand there for a beat, the weight of months hanging between you
“i’ve been thinking about that night a lot,” you say, voice barely above a whisper. “about how easy it was... before everything went wrong.”
he nods slowly. “me too.”
you take a step closer, the cold grass crunching softly beneath your shoes. “maybe we can find that again.” haechan meets your eyes, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “yeah. maybe this time, we won’t let it slip away.”
and in that quiet moment, under the stars where it all began, you feel the first real hope of something new
after that night in the quad, things didn’t suddenly get perfect. but somehow, once you broke the silence, every day felt more at ease—little by little.
most afternoons, that’s where you ended up— the quad, the place where everything used to feel effortless. you’d bring some snacks, maybe a playlist on his phone, and just hang out
one day at the library, you studied side by side, textbooks open, but honestly, you barely focused. you’d throw playful jabs back and forth about who’d get the better grade on the next paper. when you got stuck on a tough question, he reached over to help, and your hands brushed for just a second. and that little touch felt like a spark
nights became your thing again. you’d walk the quiet campus paths under the stars, talking about things you’d never said out loud before. your hands bumped, lingered, and no one pulled away
the silence wasn’t awkward anymore. it felt like something waiting to happen. and for a second, it felt like you were just kids again, no past hurts, no tension, just the two of you
it wasn’t instant or perfect, but day by day, you were finding your way back. and honestly? it felt better than you could have ever imagined
──── ☀︎
“graduation’s coming fast.”
“too fast,” he agreed. there was a pause before he added, “i think about walking across that stage and not having you beside me. and i don’t want that. not again.”
your heart thudded, slow and loud in your chest. “i don’t either. we’ve come too far to go separate ways again.” he looked at you–really looked– and something in his gaze felt like an anchor, grounding you both to this moment. “what we have… it’s not just something we stumbled back into, is it?”
you shook your head. “no. we chose this. we’re choosing it every day.” he reached out then, his fingers brushing yours, and this time you didn’t hesitate. you tangled your hand in his, holding tight
“i want to walk with you,” he said softly. “not just at graduation, but after. wherever we’re going, wherever life takes us.”
and under that star-scattered sky, you squeezed his hand and smiled. “then don’t let go.”
──── ☀︎
graduation week arrives in a blur of last papers, goodbye hugs, and the kind of bittersweet laughter that seems to echo longer than usual. there’s a countdown hanging in the air, not just to walking the stage, but to the end of this chapter, of this version of your lives. you feel it in every corner of campus. but when you’re with haechan, somehow, it still feels like home
he waits for you after class with your favorite drink in hand, like clockwork. walks you back to your dorm. teases you about crying at rehearsal. everything you used to do, but different now. warmer. closer.
that night, the sky is clouded over, the quad quiet but not cold. you’re sitting on the blanket again, this time under a string of fairy lights your friends strung up for some end-of-semester picnic. most of the crowd has cleared out, leaving just you two. a little music hums from someone’s portable speaker a few feet away, distant and slow
he’s lying beside you, arms tucked behind his head, his voice low. “do you remember our first night out here? not the ramen-grilled-cheese night. before that.” you nod. “we had no idea what we were doing. you told me you wanted to be a novelist.”
“and you told me i’d probably write your acknowledgments because i talk too much.”
he laughs softly, eyes shifting toward you. “i think i just liked the idea of doing something worth remembering… if it meant you'd be there.” the quiet stretches between you, and this time it’s not soft, it’s full
he sits up slightly, propping himself on an elbow, face suddenly closer than it’s been in weeks. your breath catches
he doesn’t say anything at first, just watches you in the kind of silence that feels like something tipping. the kind that always comes before a first kiss
“i think I’ve been falling for you since the second time we sat here,” he says finally, voice barely audible. “but i didn’t say it, because i thought i already lost you once.”
you blink, heart pounding.
your hand finds his cheek, and he leans into it so naturally, like he’s done it a thousand times in dreams. and then, slowly, without any of the usual drama or panic, he kisses you
it’s soft at first, like a question. his lips move against yours carefully, like he’s still afraid you’ll vanish. but you kiss him like you never will again. like this is your answer to every quiet moment you never spoke through. every almost.
when you part, foreheads pressed together, he exhales against your skin. “we’re really doing this.” you smile. “yeah. we are.”
that night, he walks you home, fingers laced with yours the whole way. you don’t say goodbye at the door, not really. just a kiss goodnight, a promise, and the quiet comfort of knowing this time… neither of you is walking away
──── ☀︎
the ceremony is over, but your head’s still spinning. there are too many hugs, too many camera flashes, too many people crying while confetti falls from nowhere
someone’s blasting a graduation playlist from the speaker. a champagne cork flies past your shoulder. and yet, through it all, you only see him
haechan, laughing in a sea of caps and gowns, eyes scanning until they land on you. and then he’s moving toward you, weaving through friends and faculty like the only place he wants to be is next to you
and when he reaches you, neither of you says anything at first. you just smile, tired and teary-eyed and overwhelmed in the best way.
“hey,” he says, breathless. “you did it.”
“you too,” you reply, voice thick with emotion. “we did it.”
he lifts his hand slowly, hesitates, then brushes your tassel back from your cheek, his fingers lingering. “can i steal you?” he asks.
you nod. he takes your hand without asking this time, and the two of you slip away from the noise, around the back of the old library, and across the campus you’ve memorized together, to the quad
it’s quieter here. golden. the sunlight’s softer now, dappled through the trees. the grass is warm under your feet, and the stage feels far behind you. you sit down, still in your gown, heels kicked off, hearts thudding
“so…” he starts, playing with the corner of his sleeve, “we graduated.”
“we did.”
“and we kissed.”
you laugh. “yeah. that too.”
there’s a beat of silence, and then he looks at you– really looks at you– and you feel it in your chest, how serious this is. how long it’s been building
“y/n..” he finally breaks the silence,
“i’ve loved you for years,” and this time, there’s no hesitation. “even when we stopped talking. even when i hated myself for messing it up. i never stopped”
you don’t answer right away, not because you’re unsure, but because your throat is tight and your heart is full and you’ve waited so long to say this
“i loved you when we were fifteen and thought youtube fame was our calling,” you finally whisper. “i loved you when I didn’t know how to show it. and i love you now.”
he leans forward, forehead resting against yours, eyes closed like he’s soaking up the weight of your words. “so what does that make us now?” you smile, brushing your thumb across his cheek.
“whatever we want to be. we’ve got time now.”
he kisses you again– soft and certain, like there’s no turning back. and when he pulls away, he’s still smiling. “okay. then let’s start with this: i’m yours.” you take his hand again, lacing your fingers through his. “and i’m yours.”
around you, the sun keeps setting. the quad begins to empty. and as the last chapter closes behind you, a new one begins, quieter, sweeter, and filled with everything you never had the words for before
and as the world shifts around you, futures unfolding, time pulling you forward, his hand stays in yours, steady, warm, familiar.
no more pretending.
no more almosts.
just you and him, in the place where it all began, hearts speaking the truth your mouths had once been too afraid to say
because some love stories never needed to start with a kiss to be real. some love stories were written long before the first chapter
and this one? it was never a friendship gone wrong. it was always a love that took the long way home.
because the truth is— you were never just friends.
lee donghyuck x reader — a variety show marriage. a fake spouse. cameras in your face every day. (5.9k)
• in celebration of our fullsun’s birthday!! this story is inspired by the show we got married, though please note that it may contain some inaccuracies, as it’s not strictly based on the show’s actual format or segments
· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·
you almost didn’t sign the contract.
the offer had come out of nowhere. an email from your manager, phrased with cautious excitement. 'we got married' was being rebooted after years off air. you’d be one of the main couples, if you agreed.
· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·
you reread the email several times before closing your laptop and calling your best friend. “do i look like i have time to fake a marriage right now?” “you’ve literally been single for two years,” she said flatly. “yeah, but at least that’s authentic.”
the truth was, your agency thought it would be good exposure. and part of you, deep down, was curious. about what it would feel like. to pretend to fall in love. about whether pretending might start to feel real.
· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·
donghyuck said yes because he thought it’d be funny. the managers barely got the words out. “they want you for we got married” he started laughing before they finished. “you’re joking. that’s the show where idols act in love for strangers, right?”
but later that night, lying in bed, he scrolled through old clips of the show. something about the way those couples looked at each other in the last episodes stuck with him.
he could fake chemistry. easy. he’d been doing that for stages and fan signs since he was fifteen.
· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·
the camera lens captured everything.
your nervous fidgeting, the way your eyes darted around the unfamiliar set, the tiny puff of breath you let out when the PD said, “action.”
you weren’t a stranger to the industry, but this was different. this wasn’t acting. this was you, paired with someone you’d never met, pretending to be newlyweds on national television.
and then he walked in.
lee donghyuck. better known to most as haechan—nct’s infamous sunshine with a mischievous streak and a smile that could disarm even the toughest senior idol.
you have seen clips of him before: teasing his members and turning charm into a weapon. and now, he stood in front of you, grinning like he already knew all your secrets.
“oh?” he said, head tilting slightly. “they really blessed me with a pretty wife.” you blinked. “they told me my husband would be cute, but i didn’t expect him to flirt five seconds in.”
he laughed, hand coming up to hide his mouth. “gotta give the fans what they want. don’t worry, i’m not always like this.”
“…actually, i am”
· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·
the first few shoots were awkward, as expected.
you learned quickly that haechan had no shame in front of the camera. he was a professional flirt, tossing out compliments and jokes with effortless precision. every time you thought you had the upper hand, he’d flip the script.
"you’re not wearing your ring," he pointed out during episode two, eyes flicking to your bare finger as the two of you sat across from each other in a café.
"i forgot," you said, deadpan. "i left it next to the dignity i lost when they made us do couple yoga yesterday." he cracked up, but you caught the flicker of something behind his smile. maybe he hadn’t expected you to match his energy.
after that, it became a rhythm. witty back-and-forths. glances that lingered a second too long. moments that should’ve been harmless, like sharing an umbrella, decorating your "married" apartment, brushing flour off his cheek during a baking segment, but somehow weren’t.
you told yourself it was the cameras. the setting. the editing. they were supposed to make it look romantic.
still, you couldn’t help but notice the way haechan’s teasing softened when the staff weren’t around. how he started remembering the smallest things about you. how, during the fourth shoot, when your heel broke and you stumbled slightly, he caught you with an ease that felt too natural.
he blinked down at you. you blinked up at him.
then someone yelled "cut" and the moment disappeared like smoke.
· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·
it was around episode six when things started to shift.
you were filming a camping trip. just the two of you, a tent, a rented suv, and several production crew members pretending not to exist.
after the marshmallow roasting and scripted couple games, you found yourselves sitting by the fire, wrapped in matching blankets. it was one of those rare lulls where neither of you felt like performing.
"are you always like this?" you asked. he glanced at you. "like what?"
“like you’re constantly trying to win some imaginary flirting competition."
haechan smirked. "would it kill you to admit i’m charming?" "i think the entire population already knows that," you said flatly.
his smile widened. "so you do think i’m charming." you groaned, pulling the blanket over your face. "regret. immediate regret."
but he didn’t tease you further.
instead, he sat in quiet beside you. the fire crackled. you could hear distant rustling, maybe a staff member adjusting the camera angle, but the world felt oddly still.
you peeked out from under the blanket. haechan was watching the flames, his expression unusually unreadable.
"you know," he said after a moment, voice low, "i thought this would be easier."
you turned to him. "what do you mean?"
he didn’t look at you. "i thought i’d be better at pretending."
you didn’t answer. you weren’t sure you could.
because the truth was, you were struggling too.
not because you didn’t like him.
but because maybe you did.
· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·
the next few shoots blurred together.
the couple trip to busan. the matching outfits. the accidental hand-holding that neither of you pulled away from. the unscripted glances. the too-long hugs. the inside jokes that the cameras didn’t catch.
you still called it acting. he still called it fan service.
but the way his hand always found the small of your back? the way you leaned into his shoulder when you were tired between takes?
that wasn’t in the script.
neither was the night he texted you after filming, a message that simply said:
"are you okay? you seemed quiet today."
you stared at it for too long before replying:
"yeah. just tired. thanks."
he didn’t say anything else.
but the next shoot, he brought you your favorite coffee order without asking.
you didn’t thank him. he didn’t mention it. the moment passed quietly, like all the others.
· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·
it happened on an off day. no cameras. no script. just the two of you, killing time between schedules.
your manager had dropped you off early at the company building. haechan’s studio was just a floor above, and somehow you ended up in the practice room together. music played low from the speakers, nothing specific, just some playlist on shuffle. you were stretched out on the wooden floor with a water bottle pressed to your cheek, eyes closed.
"you know you’re allowed to sit on the couch," haechan said, voice light.
"i’m cooling off," you mumbled. "this floor has healing properties. don’t question them."
he laughed, sitting cross-legged beside you, watching as the sunlight through the window caught the edge of your hair.
for a while, neither of you said anything. it was easy, being quiet with you. easier than it should’ve been.
he leaned back on his hands, eyes tracing the outline of your face.
you were still in your casual clothes, makeup faded from earlier, a faint sheen of sweat on your skin from dance practice. there was nothing particularly special about the moment.
you opened one eye, looking at him sideways.
"what?"
"nothing," he said, too quickly.
you sat up a little. not fully, just enough to look at him properly.
"do i have something on my face?"
"no," he said again, quieter this time. "you just... look different when you’re not acting."
you blinked. "we’re not acting most of the time."
"aren’t we?" he asked. and then smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. "sometimes i forget what’s real."
you watched him carefully, the air going still between you.
"i don’t think it matters anymore," you said eventually, voice soft. "real or fake. you’re still here."
he looked at you like you’d said something too big. like he hadn’t expected you to cut through him so cleanly.
you turned away after a second, brushing your hair out of your face. he didn’t move.
and that’s when it hit him.
not with fireworks. not with a romantic soundtrack or some grand emotional monologue. just a quiet, breathless awareness that settled into his chest like gravity.
he liked you.
he thought about you even when he didn’t have to. texted you jokes late at night, rehearsed conversations he wanted to have with you while waiting in traffic. his mood shifted depending on whether you smiled at him that day. he’d started looking forward to filming, not because of the exposure or the paycheck, but because it meant he got to stand next to you for a few hours and pretend you were his.
and it wasn’t pretend anymore.
haechan looked down at his hands. his palms were a little sweaty.
he was in trouble.
he stayed quiet after that, afraid that if he opened his mouth, the truth might spill out too fast.
you didn’t notice the way he looked at you after that.
but he did. and he didn’t stop.
· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·
he didn’t flirt as much anymore.
at least, not in the same way.
it was subtle, the way things shifted. haechan still joked, still teased, but his words started landing softer. less edge, more care. the things he used to say to get a reaction out of you—calling you pretty just to see you roll your eyes, leaning too close just to fluster you— were all starting to feel real.
you didn’t notice.
or maybe you did, but refused to mind it.
when you got a sore throat from overworking and showed up to set with a raspy voice, he handed you a warm honey drink without a word. you assumed a staff member gave it to him.
when you forgot your phone charger during an overnight shoot and muttered about your battery dying, he offered you his without hesitation.
"don’t you need it?"
"i can live without my phone for one night," he said, smiling.
when your hands were cold in the middle of winter filming, he tucked one of them into his coat pocket with his.
you laughed. "you’re just doing this for the cameras." "yeah," he said. but he wasn’t looking at the cameras.
you brushed it off. he was haechan. playful, dramatic, full of unnecessary skinship. you’d seen him flirt with microphones, charm auntie fans, do aegyo on command like it was second nature.
so when he started waiting for you after your other schedules, just to walk you out, when he started sending you good morning texts before call time, and good night ones after wrap, when he got weirdly quiet whenever someone on set joked about you two being a real couple, you didn’t think too hard about it.
because thinking too hard would mean acknowledging that it felt different now. that he felt different now.
you told yourself it was still fake. that he was just that good at his job.
you didn’t notice the way his gaze lingered on you when you weren’t looking.
didn’t catch how he started memorizing your moods, your habits, your silences. how he stopped filling every silence with jokes and started letting you be.
you stayed blissfully, stubbornly unaware.
and haechan let you.
because even though he wanted you to see it—even though his feelings were starting to rise up like a tide, impossible to hold back—he was still scared.
scared that if he said it out loud, the spell would break. scared that you didn’t feel it too. scared that you’d laugh, like it was just another punchline.
so instead, he kept showing you in all the quiet ways.
and you, heart fluttering in ways you still refused to name, kept calling it coincidence.
· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·
episode thirteen.
you weren’t nervous, exactly. but you did reapply your lip tint twice in the van on the way over.
the producers had teased a surprise guest for today’s shoot, and variety shows loved nothing more than forced love triangles. you braced for awkward. but you didn’t brace for him.
cha sungwoo.
tall. handsome. charming in that effortless, trained-for-this way. you’d filmed a drama together almost two years ago, and for a brief moment, fans thought the on-screen chemistry might have spilled off-camera. it hadn’t. but the rumors stuck anyway.
"look who it is," sungwoo said as you stepped onto set, voice warm. "didn’t think i’d get to see you again on a fake honeymoon."
you smiled automatically. "long time no see."
beside you, haechan shifted his weight.
he didn’t say anything at first. just watched. his expression was unreadable, but his silence was louder than anything.
finally, he spoke.
"should i be worried?" he asked, light tone cutting sharp beneath the surface. "or is this just good tv?"
"depends," sungwoo said, amused. "are you the jealous type?"
haechan smiled. not the usual, teasing kind—the one that reached his eyes. this one was smaller. flatter.
"only when i have a reason to be."
you laughed, trying to brush it off, but your fingers tightened slightly around the sleeve of your jacket.
· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·
the shoot moved on. it was supposed to be funny and competitive—three of you cooking dinner together like a sitcom setup.
you were chopping vegetables when sungwoo leaned in behind you, his hands brushing yours.
"still bad with a knife?" he said, voice low near your ear.
you didn’t even flinch. "i’ve improved."
but behind you, haechan dropped the spatula he was holding.
you turned. "you okay?"
he bent to pick it up, muttering, "yeah. slipped."
but when he stood again, his eyes didn’t meet yours.
they were still on sungwoo.
· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·
later, the three of you sat at the low table, eating what barely passed as a meal. the cameras were still rolling, but things had turned quiet.
sungwoo was telling a story—something about a late-night shoot and a prank. you were laughing, loose and warm in a way you hadn’t noticed before.
and haechan was watching you.
his chopsticks hung in mid-air. his shoulders tense. his jaw set like he was biting back words.
you looked at him. "what?"
he blinked. "nothing."
you tilted your head. "you’re acting weird."
"just tired."
"you sure?"
he didn’t answer right away. then he leaned in, low voice meant only for you.
"you act like none of this matters," he said quietly.
you stared at him. "what?"
"this." he gestured, vague. "the show. the pretending. him."
you searched his face, unsure if this was part of the bit or something else entirely.
"we’re just filming, haechan."
his eyes didn’t leave yours.
"maybe you are."
the words hung there. suspended between you, fragile and real.
you opened your mouth to respond—but the PD clapped, announcing a break, and the spell broke with it.
haechan stood up without another word and walked off set.
you sat there, blinking, unsure why your chest felt so tight.
· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·
you didn’t call haechan after the shoot.
you almost did. twice.
once, when you got home and dropped your bag on the floor like something was missing.
once more, in the middle of the night, when you were staring at your ceiling and couldn’t stop replaying the way he looked at you before he walked off set.
you didn’t call. you couldn’t.
so instead, you called her. your best friend. the one who knew the before version of you, before the show, before the cameras, before him.
"hey, everything alright?" chiya asked, her voice quiet over the line. soft with sleep but already worried.
"can i come over?"
"always."
· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·
her apartment was warm. messy in the way homes should be. you sat on the floor wrapped in an old hoodie you’d left there months ago, your fingers curled around a mug of tea neither of you remembered making.
you told her everything. not just about today, but about all of it.
the way filming used to feel like a joke, like a role you could slip into and out of without thinking.
how that changed.
how he changed.
how you changed.
"today… he looked at me like he didn’t recognize me," you said. "like he was hurt, and trying really hard not to be."
she didn’t speak, letting the silence hold space for you.
"and when sungwoo showed up, it felt like the air shifted. like i’d stepped into a room i didn’t belong in anymore."
"because of haechan?" she asked gently.
you nodded.
"he didn’t say much. just… one thing."
"what’d he say?"
you swallowed.
"he said, ‘you act like none of this matters.’"
the words still echoed in your head. they’d been soft, almost careful. like he wasn’t trying to pick a fight. like he was asking you to see him.
"and i didn’t know what to say. because i didn’t know how to tell him that i think it does matter. more than it should. more than i want it to."
your voice shook.
"and i’m scared. i’m scared that maybe this isn’t just acting anymore. not for me."
your best friend moved closer, resting her chin on your shoulder like she used to when you were both teenagers, crying over things that felt too big for your hearts to hold.
"have you ever been in love before?" she asked quietly.
"not like this."
you weren’t even sure it was love. but it was something. something that blossomed slowly, and then all at once, when you weren’t looking.
"he makes me feel like i’m being seen. not the version of me that the cameras want. just... me. and when he looks at me, sometimes i feel like he’s about to say something he doesn’t know how to say."
"and what do you want him to say?"
you paused. the answer hurt to admit.
"that i’m not just imagining it."
your friend reached over, squeezing your hand.
"you’re not," she said. "i don’t even need to meet him to know. you’re not the kind of person who gets confused about this stuff. you’d never fall for someone unless it was real. and it sounds like you already have."
your eyes stung.
"i didn’t mean to."
"you never do."
she pulled you into a hug, and for the first time since you wrapped that scene, you let the weight of it press down on you. not the confusion. not the fear. just the feeling.
· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·
episode fourteen
you weren’t sure how to act around him now.
you told yourself you’d just play it cool. do what you always did: slip into character, smile when you were supposed to, laugh when the producers gave you a cue, go home.
but when you saw haechan waiting on set, leaning against the kitchen counter in the little “home” you’d built together over the past months, sleeves pushed up, hair still damp from styling, something inside you stilled.
he looked up when you walked in.
and then he smiled.
small. real. tired, maybe. but his eyes softened the way they always did when he looked at you.
"hey," he said, voice gentle.
"hey," you replied, and the word felt different in your mouth. too small for how much you’d missed him in just a few days.
he opened his mouth like he was going to say more, but the PD clapped loudly and called for standby.
you both moved into position like professionals.
but you couldn’t stop glancing at him.
and he didn’t look away when you did.
· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·
the day’s concept was domestic bliss.
folding laundry. grocery shopping. making dinner together. things that looked boring on paper but, somehow, felt like the most intimate parts of the fake marriage.
just pretend it’s real, the writer joked before you started rolling.
you wanted to say, it’s getting harder to pretend it’s not.
you were standing beside haechan at the sink, rinsing vegetables, when your fingers brushed under the running water. you flinched slightly.
he didn’t.
his hand stayed against yours just for a second too long.
your heart skipped, and you hated how noticeable it felt. how loud it became in your own chest.
"you okay?" he asked, voice low.
you nodded too quickly. "just cold water."
he didn’t call you out on it. but his eyes didn’t leave yours for a long time.
· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·
after filming, you stayed behind for a bit. the cameras were off, the crew busy packing up equipment. haechan was still in the kitchen, stacking plates to be returned to props.
you didn’t know why you lingered. only that you didn’t want to leave yet.
he looked up, sensing you there.
"you didn’t call," he said quietly.
you froze. "what?"
"after the last shoot. i thought maybe you would. or… maybe i hoped you would."
you opened your mouth. closed it again.
"i didn’t know what to say," you said eventually.
he nodded, like he understood. like he’d expected that.
then, after a long pause
"you don’t have to say anything," he murmured. "but i need you to know… i wasn’t acting. not with that."
you met his eyes. for once, there was no smirk. no sarcasm. nothing playful to hide behind.
just him.
just the truth.
your breath caught in your throat.
but before you could speak, a crew member popped their head in.
"you guys done? we need to lock up soon."
haechan glanced away. the moment passed like a held breath.
he nodded slowly. "yeah. we’re done."
but as you walked out of that little house, your fingers still tingling from the brush of his, you knew something had shifted for good.
you weren’t just playing pretend anymore.
· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·
it was the last shoot before the final week.
the set felt more quiet than usual, like the whole crew was holding their breath. maybe because everyone knew this was the last stretch—the end of the show, the end of pretending.
you and haechan moved through the day’s scenes with practiced ease, but the easy rhythm from before was gone. now, everything between you felt heavy, like invisible strings tugging tighter with every look and every touch.
you were sitting on the couch, pretending to scroll through your phone, but you weren’t really looking at the screen. your eyes kept flicking to haechan, who was sitting beside you, hands folded awkwardly on his lap.
he glanced at you once, then quickly looked away, face unreadable.
the silence between you stretched longer than usual, thick and uncomfortable.
finally, you broke it, voice barely above a whisper.
“are you okay?”
he didn’t answer right away. then, without meeting your eyes, he said, “i’m fine.”
you didn’t believe him.
he shifted in his seat, fingers twitching like he wanted to say more but couldn’t.
the director called “cut,” and the crew buzzed quietly as they reset the next scene, but you and haechan stayed still, caught in a space where neither wanted to cross the line first.
he looked over, voice low, almost rough.
“this… all of this. it’s harder than i thought.”
you swallowed, heart racing.
“yeah.”
“i don’t want it to end,” he said, eyes finally locking with yours.
you felt your breath hitch. everything inside you was screaming to reach out, to tell him you felt the same, but the words stuck.
“me neither,” you whispered.
he gave a small, sad smile.
“what do we do now?”
you looked down, fingers fiddling with the hem of your shirt.
“i don’t know.”
but maybe that was okay.
maybe the not knowing was the start of something real.
the cameras might have been off for the moment, but the space between you was alive with everything you couldn’t say—and everything you both desperately wanted to feel.
· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·
the last day of filming felt like the end of something you weren’t ready to lose.
the set was buzzing with energy, but for you and haechan, it was heavy. heavier than before. the playful teasing, the easy smiles—they were all there, but beneath them was a current you could no longer ignore.
during a break, you found yourselves alone in the quiet corner of the studio. the noise of crew and cameras faded, and suddenly the space between you felt too small.
haechan looked at you. his usual grin gone, replaced by something softer, vulnerable.
“i’ve been a coward,” he said, voice low, almost breaking.
you blinked, heart pounding.
“me too,” you whispered back.
he took a slow breath, stepping closer, hands trembling slightly at his sides.
“i was supposed to be the one who didn’t fall,” he said, “but it’s me. it’s always been me.”
you swallowed hard, the weight of his words sinking in.
“why didn’t you say anything?” you asked, voice barely audible.
“because i was scared,” he admitted. “scared you wouldn’t feel the same. scared it was just me.”
your eyes stung. “it’s not just you.”
the silence stretched, thick and full of everything you hadn’t said before.
finally, he reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “can i.. hold you?”
your breath hitched, but you nodded.
as he pulled you close, the world outside the studio ceased to exist.
for the first time, pretending wasn’t enough. this was real.
and somehow, it left you feeling both lucky and appalled.
· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·
the studio emptied quickly, the usual noise fading until you and haechan were left alone. the silence between you felt thick, heavy with everything neither of you had dared to say.
he led you to the rooftop garden, the soft glow of string lights wrapping around the space like a secret only the two of you shared.
you sat close, shoulders brushing, every tiny movement sending sparks you could feel deep under your skin.
his fingers found yours, slow and deliberate, thumb tracing lazy circles on your palm. the warmth of his touch spread, setting fire to nerves you didn’t know you had.
he tilted his head, eyes dark and searching. “you feel it too, right?”
your breath hitched, heart pounding. “i do.”
his hand slid from your palm, fingers grazing your wrist, then up your arm, light as a whisper.
“this,” he murmured, voice low and rough, “this isn’t just for show.”
you swallowed hard, the heat in your chest rising. his gaze dropped to your lips, then back to your eyes, daring you to say no.
instead, you leaned in, letting your breath mingle, the space between you crackling with anticipation.
when he finally closed the gap, his kiss was slow, teasing—like he was savoring every second.
his hand cupped your neck, thumb stroking softly, sending shivers down your spine.
you curled into him, the world narrowing to the press of skin on skin, the heat of his breath, the ache building in your chest.
he pulled back just enough to murmur against your lips, “i’ve wanted this for so long.”
your voice barely a whisper, “me too.”
the night wrapped around you, every touch, every glance loaded with a promise neither of you was ready to say out loud.
but both of you knew.
this was only the beginning.
· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·
soft light filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the room.
you stirred slowly, the weight of haechan’s arm draped over your waist anchoring you in place.
for a moment, everything was still, the world outside paused, and there was just this—the steady rise and fall of his chest against your back, the quiet rhythm of breath and heartbeat.
you turned your head slightly, catching his profile in the morning light. his eyes were closed, lashes resting softly against his cheeks, peaceful and completely unguarded.
a gentle smile tugged at your lips.
careful not to wake him, you traced lazy circles on his arm, memorizing the feeling of skin beneath your fingertips.
he shifted slightly, murmuring something unintelligible, but didn’t open his eyes.
you let yourself soak in the quiet intimacy, the kind of closeness you hadn’t dared imagine before.
finally, haechan blinked open his eyes, meeting yours with a soft, sleepy smile.
“good morning,” he whispered, voice rough but warm.
“good morning,” you replied, heart fluttering.
he tightened his arm around you just a little, as if afraid you might disappear.
“last night was… real,” he said, voice low, full of something like awe.
you nodded, feeling the same weight of it.
“yeah,” you said softly. “it was.”
for a moment, neither of you spoke, just held onto the fragile newness of what had started between you.
and in the quiet of that morning, everything felt possible.
· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·
the studio was buzzing again, crew rushing, cameras rolling, but for you and haechan, the world felt different.
you caught each other’s eyes across the set more times than you could count, every look loaded with a secret neither dared say out loud.
during a break, haechan slipped beside you, voice low enough that only you could hear.
“you okay?” he asked, thumb brushing lightly over your hand.
you nodded, heart pounding. “yeah. just… tired.”
he gave a small, knowing smile. “me too.”
the silence between you felt full, like an unspoken understanding.
filming felt harder now. not because the scenes were difficult, but because the line between acting and feeling was thinner than ever.
when the director called cut, you both lingered, reluctant to step back into the roles you’d played for so long.
haechan caught your gaze, eyes searching.
“we need to talk,” he said quietly.
your breath hitched.
“about us,” he added, voice softer now.
you nodded, the weight of it settling in your chest.
“after this is over,” you whispered.
“of course,” he agreed.
the cameras might have been rolling again soon, but in that moment, the world outside could wait.
because finally, you were ready to stop pretending.
· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·
the days after filming ended felt like a strange in-between.
you and haechan were no longer pretending, but everything else still felt like uncharted territory.
text messages came more often now, sometimes just a good morning or a meme that made you laugh, other times long, quiet conversations about fears and hopes.
you met up after practice one evening, somewhere quiet—a small café off the main streets where no one knew your names.
he was a little awkward, fumbling with his words like he was nervous all over again.
“i’m not great at this,” he admitted, stirring his coffee.
“neither am i,” you said, smiling softly.
he reached across the table, taking your hand. “guess we’re both beginners.”
some days were easier than others. sometimes, a glance or a touch spoke louder than any words.
other times, the weight of schedules, the constant eyes watching, made it hard to find space just for the two of you.
but slowly, you learned to navigate the new rhythm—stealing moments between rehearsals, quiet calls in the middle of the night, little jokes shared just between you.
there were missteps, too—missed calls, misunderstandings, moments where the fear of losing what you had made you both pull away.
but every time, you found your way back.
because beneath it all was something real, something neither of you wanted to let go.
and as the days turned into weeks, you realized that maybe, just maybe, this was more than just a story.
it was your story.
· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·
it started with a headline.
nothing scandalous, but enough to stir the internet—a fan account posted a blurry photo of you and haechan leaving a café, the caption dripping with speculation.
are they dating for real?
fake marriage turned real?
what does this mean for their agencies?
the messages flooded your phone—some from friends, some from fans, some from strangers.
you stared at the screen, heart pounding.
haechan was beside you, phone in hand, face tight.
“they’re going to spin this into a mess,” he muttered.
you nodded, biting your lip.
it was the first time your private feelings had become public territory, and neither of you knew how to navigate it.
that evening, you met at haechan’s dorm, wanting to face it together.
“what do we do?” you asked, voice trembling.
he took your hands in his, eyes steady and fierce.
“we don’t let rumors define us,” he said. “we keep being honest. with each other, and when we’re ready, with everyone else.”
you swallowed the lump in your throat, feeling the weight of the moment.
“i’m scared,” you admitted. “of losing what we have.”
he pulled you close, forehead resting against yours.
“me too,” he said. “but whatever happens, i’m not walking away.”
in that quiet room, surrounded by the noise of the world outside, you found a promise that felt stronger than any headline.
you weren’t just partners on a show anymore.
you were something real.
and you would face whatever came next—together.
· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·
the room was tense as you and haechan sat across from your agencies. the conversation was careful, cautious, filled with questions you’d both anticipated but dreaded.
“are you sure this isn’t just for publicity?” one manager asked.
“this is real,” haechan said quietly, eyes locked on yours. “we want to take this seriously.”
your own manager nodded slowly, “then we’ll support you. but you need to be prepared for everything.”
the words hung heavy in the air, a mix of relief and new pressure settling over you.
once the meetings ended, you didn’t speak much on the way back. the city lights blurred past the windows, your hands finally finding each other’s in the quiet.
as soon as you stepped inside haechan’s apartment, the tension broke.
he pulled you close, fingers threading through your hair, lips pressing soft and sure against yours.
“no matter what they say,” he murmured between kisses, “this is ours.”
you traced his jawline, heart pounding in your chest.
“ours,” you echoed.
the night wrapped around you, a sanctuary from the world.
in the quiet between heartbeats, you’ve found a place—a fragile world where pretend becomes real.
ᯓ friends to lovers, hyuck & reader are both graduating, and both pining ☻ 5.3k wc!
ᯓ this one is inspired by one of your requests! but as someone who just graduated, it also draws a bit from my own daydreams, of having a high school or college sweetheart to walk across the graduation stage with :p
──── ☀︎
an interview. two chairs. one camera. and all the words they never said.
they both want to fix it. neither knows how
but if there was ever a moment to try again, it’s now—before the caps are tossed, before the goodbyes, before they go their separate ways for good
because sometimes, endings are just new beginnings waiting to happen
──── ☀︎ ────
the first snowfall of the semester comes early, blanketing the campus in white, like the sky is trying to cover up everything you’ve tried not to feel
you’re late. again.
the lecture hall door creaks open, and thirty pairs of eyes glance your way, but only one glance really lands
haechan.
you hesitate, just for a second. it’s not because you’re surprised to see him, of course he’s here. he always was. it’s the way he looks at you, like he’s trying not to feel something either. and just like that, ten months of silence feels like it never ended, like it’s still hanging in the air between you, thick and unfinished
the only empty seat is next to him. of course it is.
you make your way down the row, slow and quiet, and slide into the chair beside him. your hands grip your pen too tightly, like maybe it’ll hold you together
“wow,” he says under his breath, not even looking at you. “out of all the seats in the universe.” you don’t skip a beat. “trust me, i’m just as thrilled”
the professor starts talking. you try to focus, to pretend you can’t feel the weight of his presence next to you, but then your arms brush. just for a second. and neither of you move
it shouldn’t feel like anything. but it does. ten months ago, he was your best friend. now, he’s the guy you don’t talk to, or even look at
outside, the snow keeps falling. soft, steady, like the sky knows something you don’t. and for the first time in a long time, you let the thought drift in, uninvited but welcome– maybe this isn’t really the end.
*flashback* it’s nearly 2 a.m., and the campus is asleep, except for you and haechan. you’re both lying in the middle of the quad on a cheap picnic blanket he stole from his roommate. the sky is clear, a velvet canvas dusted with stars, and the cold grass presses through the blanket, prickling your back. but you don’t care. not when you’re laughing like this
“i’m serious,” he says between gasps, “if i ever become famous, i want my wikipedia page to say i invented ramen grilled cheese. that was a cultural reset” you snort. “you nearly set the kitchen on fire.” “greatness requires sacrifice”
you turn your head toward him, grinning in the dark. his eyes are already on you, soft and bright beneath the moonlight. this is what it used to be like– easy. effortless.
you’d tell him anything. he’d listen like it mattered. and he’d always, always find a way to make you laugh, even on your worst days.
“remember when we were fifteen,” you say, “and you swore we’d drop out of college to become youtubers?”
he groans. “okay, first of all, you said we’d be a duo. you were gonna do baking, and i’d handle commentary.” you nudge him with your elbow. “and you were going to get us cancelled in week one.” “that was part of the brand”
you both laugh again, the kind that starts small and builds into something uncontrollable. it fills the quiet night, echoing between empty buildings and forgotten dreams. and somewhere between the laughter and the silence that follows, you realize how much you love him
not in a dramatic, fall-to-your-knees kind of way. just in the way your heart settles when he’s beside you. in the way the world feels less sharp. in the way you want to pause this moment and keep it in your pocket forever.
but you don’t say it. you never do
instead, you breathe in the night and whisper, “let’s not grow up too fast.” and he, still watching the sky, replies, “not if we can help it” *end of flashback*
you don't even remember how you got roped into it. one second, your friend from the media club was rambling about their "senior spotlight series" something about legacy, friendship, full-circle moments, and the next, you're sitting on the cold steps of the old library waiting for him
because apparently, when people think of iconic friendships on campus, they still think of you and him. the best friends. the duo. they don’t know the story stopped a while ago. quietly. like a door that never fully closed
he arrives five minutes late, with that same careless swagger he’s always had, like nothing touches him, not even time. he meets your eyes for a second before looking away
“didn’t think you’d actually show,” he says, voice light, but not teasing. you shrug. “didn’t think you would either”
the media team gives you a quick rundown. photos first, then a short filmed interview. “just a few questions about your friendship,” the girl says cheerily. “how you met, favorite memories, what you’ve learned from each other. that kind of thing”
you want to laugh. or maybe scream.
instead, you sit beside him on the stone bench, pretending your skin isn’t on fire just from being near him again. the camera clicks. once. twice. and then the girl says, “okay, now look at each other”
you hesitate. he does too
but you turn. and for the first time in what feels like forever, your eyes meet– and stay.
and there it is. the weight of the silence. the things you never said. the laughter that used to be effortless. the memory of a night under the stars when you almost told him you loved him– and didn’t. “perfect,” the photographer says, completely unaware. you look away first
a few minutes later, you're sitting in front of a camera. someone asks, “what made your friendship so special?” you blink. haechan stays quiet
and all you can think is: do we even get to call it a friendship anymore?
the lights in the small studio hum quietly, the camera lens trained on you like it’s trying to see straight through your chest
the interviewer smiles, warm and expectant. “so, what made your friendship so special?”
you glance sideways at haechan. his jaw is tight, but his eyes hold a flicker of something, maybe nostalgia, maybe regret
you breathe out. “it was easy,” you say finally. “like… no matter how bad the day was, or how messy everything got, we somehow made each other feel like it was okay to just be ourselves”
the camera keeps rolling, the red recording light blinking like a heartbeat and haechan shifts in his seat, and when he speaks, his voice is softer than you remember. “we knew all the worst parts, and we didn’t run”
you want to say that’s what makes it different now, that you both ran, or maybe froze. but you swallow the words
“did you have a favorite memory together?” the interviewer asks. your mind flashes back, the quiet quad nights, the laughter spilling over like a tide
“the night we stayed up until two in the morning, just talking,” you say, voice catching a little. “we didn’t have a plan. we weren’t worried about anything except being there. it felt like time didn’t exist”
his eyes find yours, and for a moment, it’s like the space between you isn’t so vast
“yeah,” he says, “like the world was smaller with just us in it”
the interviewer smiles, clearly moved. the camera clicks off
you both sit in the sudden stillness, the kind that stretches between people who used to be so close it hurt
neither of you says it– but both of you know it’s true. maybe this is the first step to finding your way back
the interviewer steps away, giving you both space, but the air still feels tight, like a held breath neither of you knows how to release
you shift in your seat, fingers twitching. then, almost without thinking, you glance down at the stack of papers in your lap, the notes from the interview questions
one slips and flutters to the floor. before you can reach for it, haechan’s hand is already there, picking it up. his fingers brush yours for a second as he hands it back, and it feels electric. you both freeze.
then, without looking up, he murmurs, “can’t believe you still remember that night”
your heart twists, and you nod slowly. “how could i forget?” he laughs. soft, genuine, and unexpected “guess some memories don’t fade,” he says
you want to say something. anything. but the words catch in your throat. instead, you smile. just a little. and for the first time since this whole mess began, it feels like maybe, just maybe, you’re not so far apart after all
*flashback* you never imagined that something as small as a grade could break you
it was the week of midterms. you and haechan– both top of your class, the golden duo of the liberal arts department, had always pushed each other to be better. friendly rivalry, or so you told yourself
but that week, it wasn’t friendly
the final paper was due on a friday. you stayed up all night, pouring everything into it, hoping your research would outshine his. you saw it as a challenge, and maybe a way to prove who was better
when the grades came back monday, he had a perfect score. a hundred. you had ninety-seven
you felt the sting more than you expected.
later that day, you bumped into him in the library. you tried to joke it off, something like, “congrats on beating me.” he smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “you almost had it. next time”
you nodded, but inside, the competitiveness twisted into something bitter. that evening, you found out he’d told your classmates you weren’t serious enough about your future, that you cared more about winning than learning.
you confronted him the next day, heart thudding in your chest. “why would you say that? you know it’s not true.” he looked away, frustration lining his face. “maybe you do care more about being the best than about us”
the words cut deeper than you expected. “you’re making this into something it’s not,” you snapped. he shook his head. “maybe it’s exactly what it is.”
the argument spiraled– voices raised, accusations flung, pride blocking every bridge back. by the end, you weren’t sure why you were fighting anymore– just that you couldn’t stop
that night, you didn’t text him. he didn’t text you.
and that was how it began. *end of flashback*
you meet ryumi and yuki at your favorite campus café, the cozy warmth a stark contrast to the cold tension you’re carrying
ryumi orders a chai latte; yuki grabs a black coffee. you’re just trying to focus on the steam curling up from your own cup
“so,” ryumi says, leaning forward with that gleam in her eyes, “what’s really going on with you and haechan? sitting next to him in class? that must’ve been... something”
you take a slow breath, staring down at your cup. “it was weird. like, we used to finish each other’s sentences, and now we barely talk. it’s like there’s this wall between us that neither of us knows how to climb”
yuki frowns, “do you want to fix it? i mean, you guys were inseparable. it’s hard to imagine it all just... ended” you shrug, voice soft. “i don’t know. i want to. i guess i just don’t know where to start. we both got hurt, and maybe we’re scared of getting hurt again”
ryumi reaches out and squeezes your hand. “sometimes the hardest part is just saying it out loud. maybe you need to talk to him. like, really talk” you glance up, meeting their encouraging eyes. “yeah. i think you’re right”
yuki grins. “we’re here for you.” you smile, feeling a flicker of hope light up inside. maybe this winter isn’t about endings after all
──── ☀︎
the camera’s red light blinks steadily as you and haechan sit side by side again, the earlier awkwardness softened into something quieter, something more real
the interviewer smiles gently. “you’ve already shared some memories about your friendship. but i’m curious, what’s something you’ve learned from each other that you didn’t expect?”
you glance at haechan, and this time, his eyes meet yours without hesitation.
“i learned that vulnerability isn’t weakness,” you say slowly. “haechan taught me that it’s okay to show the parts of yourself you think might scare others away. he’s not just this confident guy everyone sees, he’s brave enough to be himself, even when it’s hard”
haechan clears his throat and then nods. “and from y/n, i learned patience. she has always been steady, even when i was reckless or stubborn. she showed me that sometimes, the best way to handle things isn’t to charge ahead, but to wait and listen”
the interviewer leans forward, intrigued. “is there a moment that stands out, something that changed how you saw each other?”
you swallow the lump in your throat, “there was a time when everything between us was breaking apart,” you say. “but even then, he never stopped caring. he was the first one to reach out, even when i pushed him away. that made me realize how much he truly meant to me”
his smile is soft, almost shy. “yeah… i guess sometimes you have to lose something to understand how much it matters”
the room feels warm despite the chill outside, and for a fleeting moment, you both sit with the unspoken hope that maybe, just maybe, this story isn’t over
the interviewer finally shuts off the camera, and the sudden silence feels heavy, but not in a bad way. more like the kind of quiet that settles after something important has been said
you breathe out, feeling the tension in your chest loosen just a little. looking over at haechan, you catch the faintest flicker of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips
“didn’t expect that to go so... deep,” you say, half-teasing but mostly amazed. he shrugs, eyes still fixed on the floor for a second before meeting yours
“yeah. feels weird, but good. like peeling back a layer you didn’t know was there,” he says, and you nod, cheeks warming. “i guess sometimes it takes a camera and a stupid interview to say what’s been stuck inside”
haechan’s gaze lingers on you a moment longer, his voice low. “maybe it’s not so stupid after all”
you want to say something, something that might change everything, but the words get caught in your throat. instead, you just sit there, side by side, the space between you feeling less like a canyon and more like a bridge
outside, the winter sun filters through the window, promising something new. and for once, you both believe it just might be true
──── ☀︎
haechan flopped onto his dorm bed, rubbing the back of his neck as yangyang tossed him a bottle of water
“man, you’ve been stuck in your room all day,” yangyang teased, plopping down on the floor. “you need to get out, clear your head”
him and his friends were scattered around the room, lounging in various states of exhaustion from midterms
jeno nudged renjun. “there’s a party tonight at dery’s place. might be good to blow off some steam”
jaemin grinned. “yeah, come on, haechan. you’ve been avoiding everyone since that interview with y/n”
haechan stiffened a little, the memory of the interview still fresh. “i’m not avoiding. just… thinking”
yangyang raised an eyebrow. “thinking or overthinking? you were practically glowing after you guys finished. that was new”
“yeah,” jeno chimed in, “it was like you finally said some of the stuff you never could before. been rough, huh?”
haechan sighed, glancing out the window. “yeah, it’s complicated. we haven’t been ‘us’ for a while. but maybe… maybe that interview was a start”
renjun nodded thoughtfully. “sounds like you two have some unfinished business. party might be good for a break, but don’t lose sight of that”
jaemin smirked. “or you could end up at the party, thinking about her the whole time.” haechan chuckled softly. “yeah, probably”
yangyang stood up and stretched. “well, party or no party, you gotta do what feels right. but a night out could be just the distraction you need.” haechan nodded slowly. “maybe you’re right. i could use some fresh air”
jeno tossed him a set of keys. “then what are you waiting for? let’s go.” as the group headed out, haechan took a deep breath, feeling the mix of nerves and something like hope swirling inside. tonight wasn’t about fixing everything–it was just the next step
the bass thumped through the crowded dorm common room, a chaotic swirl of laughter, music, and chatter filling every corner. haechan weaved through the crowd, a drink in hand, trying to focus on the easy conversations around him, but his mind kept drifting back to you, being lead to the point for him to convince himself that he’s hallucinating as he laid eyes on you. he hadn’t expected to see you. especially tonight
and yet, there you were, near the snack table, laughing with a group of friends. his breath hitched for a second as your eyes caught his across the room
for a heartbeat, everything froze– the noise, the people, the flashing lights– all faded into the background
you looked surprised, then smiled, a small, genuine curve of your lips that made something inside him unclench
haechan swallowed the lump in his throat and made his way over, each step feeling like a mile. “hey,” he said, voice quieter than he’d intended. you looked up, startled but pleased
“haechan. didn’t expect to see you here”
he shrugged, trying to keep it casual. “yangyang dragged me out. figured i needed to get some fresh air… or whatever this is.”
you laughed softly, the sound warm and familiar. “yeah, i needed the same”
there was a pause, neither of you quite sure what to say next. finally, you broke the silence. “so… how did the interview go? i saw some clips online” he smiled, a little sheepishly. “honestly? it was harder than I thought. talking about us, about what we lost”
you nodded, eyes searching his
“but maybe it’s a start.” he met your gaze steadily. “yeah. maybe it is.”
the music throbbed louder, but this moment, this unexpected meeting, felt like the quiet in the storm. and for the first time in a long time, haechan thought maybe things could really change
for a few minutes, the conversation flows easily, memories, jokes, small smiles. then, like a shadow slipping through the light, the topic shifts
“so,” you say, voice careful, “do you still think about… what happened? why we fell apart?”
haechan’s smile falters. his eyes darken just a little. “all the time”
you look away, heart tightening. “it was such a stupid fight. over grades, of all things.” he laughs, but it’s bitter. “yeah, who knew academic competition could wreck everything?”
the music pulses around you, but all you feel is the fragile thread between you– stretched, but not broken. and somewhere beneath the tension, hope flickers
the tension lingers, thick but no longer suffocating. instead, it feels like a wall just starting to crack. haechan exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair like he’s trying to shake off the weight of months. “i don’t want to keep pretending none of this happened. or that it didn’t hurt.”
you meet his gaze, “me neither. maybe… we owe it to ourselves to try again. to actually talk, not just compete or hide behind silence.” he smiles, small but real, the kind that reaches his eyes. “yeah. maybe this time, we don’t let pride get in the way.”
the music shifts to a slower song, and the crowd moves around you both, but all you feel is the space shrinking between you.
“want to get out of here?” you ask quietly.
“definitely ,” he says, offering his hand.
as you take it, a surge of something hopeful blooms inside– a fragile, beautiful chance to rewrite your story. and maybe this time, you’ll finally get it right
──── ☀︎
you’re curled up on the worn-out couch in your favorite campus coffee shop, the smell of fresh espresso and cinnamon swirling around you
your friends are gathered close, their eyes warm and expectant. “so,” yuki says, grinning, “spill. how’s the whole ‘reconnecting with haechan’ thing going?” you bite your lip, fiddling with the sleeve of your sweater. “it’s… complicated”
they exchange knowing looks. “come on, you can tell us” you take a deep breath, heart pounding. “the truth is… i never really stopped liking him. not just as a friend. maybe it was there all along, but i was too scared to admit it”
ryumi reaches over and squeezes your hand. “girl, we’ve been waiting for you to say that forever. it’s so obvious to everyone but you.”
yuki chimes in, “you guys were perfect together. you owe it to yourself to fix this before we graduate. what if you never get the chance again?”
you glance down, feeling both hopeful and terrified. “yeah, but what if it’s too late? what if we’re too far gone?” they shake their heads firmly. “no way. you’re not giving up on something that means this much. not now”
their faith feels like a lifeline, and suddenly, you’re ready. “okay,” you say, voice steady, “i’m going to try. for real this time”
your friends cheer, clinking their coffee cups together. “to fixing what’s broken,” they toast.
and for the first time in a long time, you believe it just might be possible
later that night, your room is bathed in the soft glow of a desk lamp. outside, the campus is still, the world muted beneath a blanket of stars
you sit on your bed, your heart feels heavy, tangled with memories and “what ifs.”
what if you had been braver? what if you hadn’t let pride get in the way? what if you told him how you really felt back then?
a sigh escapes you. but somewhere beneath the regret, there’s a flicker of something new– a fragile hope that maybe this time, things can be different
you stare at your phone, thumb hovering over the message app. your heart is pounding like a drum in your chest, but you know this is the moment. no more hiding, no more silence.
seconds feel like hours. then, a reply: "yeah. i’d like that.”
taking a deep breath, you type: “hey, can we talk? i think there’s a lot we need to clear up.” you hit send before you can change your mind
relief floods you, warm and sudden. the night air is crisp and quiet when you arrive at the quad. the familiar stretch of grass, the faint glow of distant street lamps– everything feels the same, yet charged with possibility
moments later, haechan appears, his expression unreadable but softened by the low light. you both stand there for a beat, the weight of months hanging between you
“i’ve been thinking about that night a lot,” you say, voice barely above a whisper. “about how easy it was... before everything went wrong.”
he nods slowly. “me too.”
you take a step closer, the cold grass crunching softly beneath your shoes. “maybe we can find that again.” haechan meets your eyes, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “yeah. maybe this time, we won’t let it slip away.”
and in that quiet moment, under the stars where it all began, you feel the first real hope of something new
after that night in the quad, things didn’t suddenly get perfect. but somehow, once you broke the silence, every day felt more at ease—little by little.
most afternoons, that’s where you ended up— the quad, the place where everything used to feel effortless. you’d bring some snacks, maybe a playlist on his phone, and just hang out
one day at the library, you studied side by side, textbooks open, but honestly, you barely focused. you’d throw playful jabs back and forth about who’d get the better grade on the next paper. when you got stuck on a tough question, he reached over to help, and your hands brushed for just a second. and that little touch felt like a spark
nights became your thing again. you’d walk the quiet campus paths under the stars, talking about things you’d never said out loud before. your hands bumped, lingered, and no one pulled away
the silence wasn’t awkward anymore. it felt like something waiting to happen. and for a second, it felt like you were just kids again, no past hurts, no tension, just the two of you
it wasn’t instant or perfect, but day by day, you were finding your way back. and honestly? it felt better than you could have ever imagined
──── ☀︎
“graduation’s coming fast.”
“too fast,” he agreed. there was a pause before he added, “i think about walking across that stage and not having you beside me. and i don’t want that. not again.”
your heart thudded, slow and loud in your chest. “i don’t either. we’ve come too far to go separate ways again.” he looked at you–really looked– and something in his gaze felt like an anchor, grounding you both to this moment. “what we have… it’s not just something we stumbled back into, is it?”
you shook your head. “no. we chose this. we’re choosing it every day.” he reached out then, his fingers brushing yours, and this time you didn’t hesitate. you tangled your hand in his, holding tight
“i want to walk with you,” he said softly. “not just at graduation, but after. wherever we’re going, wherever life takes us.”
and under that star-scattered sky, you squeezed his hand and smiled. “then don’t let go.”
──── ☀︎
graduation week arrives in a blur of last papers, goodbye hugs, and the kind of bittersweet laughter that seems to echo longer than usual. there’s a countdown hanging in the air, not just to walking the stage, but to the end of this chapter, of this version of your lives. you feel it in every corner of campus. but when you’re with haechan, somehow, it still feels like home
he waits for you after class with your favorite drink in hand, like clockwork. walks you back to your dorm. teases you about crying at rehearsal. everything you used to do, but different now. warmer. closer.
that night, the sky is clouded over, the quad quiet but not cold. you’re sitting on the blanket again, this time under a string of fairy lights your friends strung up for some end-of-semester picnic. most of the crowd has cleared out, leaving just you two. a little music hums from someone’s portable speaker a few feet away, distant and slow
he’s lying beside you, arms tucked behind his head, his voice low. “do you remember our first night out here? not the ramen-grilled-cheese night. before that.” you nod. “we had no idea what we were doing. you told me you wanted to be a novelist.”
“and you told me i’d probably write your acknowledgments because i talk too much.”
he laughs softly, eyes shifting toward you. “i think i just liked the idea of doing something worth remembering… if it meant you'd be there.” the quiet stretches between you, and this time it’s not soft, it’s full
he sits up slightly, propping himself on an elbow, face suddenly closer than it’s been in weeks. your breath catches
he doesn’t say anything at first, just watches you in the kind of silence that feels like something tipping. the kind that always comes before a first kiss
“i think I’ve been falling for you since the second time we sat here,” he says finally, voice barely audible. “but i didn’t say it, because i thought i already lost you once.”
you blink, heart pounding.
your hand finds his cheek, and he leans into it so naturally, like he’s done it a thousand times in dreams. and then, slowly, without any of the usual drama or panic, he kisses you
it’s soft at first, like a question. his lips move against yours carefully, like he’s still afraid you’ll vanish. but you kiss him like you never will again. like this is your answer to every quiet moment you never spoke through. every almost.
when you part, foreheads pressed together, he exhales against your skin. “we’re really doing this.” you smile. “yeah. we are.”
that night, he walks you home, fingers laced with yours the whole way. you don’t say goodbye at the door, not really. just a kiss goodnight, a promise, and the quiet comfort of knowing this time… neither of you is walking away
──── ☀︎
the ceremony is over, but your head’s still spinning. there are too many hugs, too many camera flashes, too many people crying while confetti falls from nowhere
someone’s blasting a graduation playlist from the speaker. a champagne cork flies past your shoulder. and yet, through it all, you only see him
haechan, laughing in a sea of caps and gowns, eyes scanning until they land on you. and then he’s moving toward you, weaving through friends and faculty like the only place he wants to be is next to you
and when he reaches you, neither of you says anything at first. you just smile, tired and teary-eyed and overwhelmed in the best way.
“hey,” he says, breathless. “you did it.”
“you too,” you reply, voice thick with emotion. “we did it.”
he lifts his hand slowly, hesitates, then brushes your tassel back from your cheek, his fingers lingering. “can i steal you?” he asks.
you nod. he takes your hand without asking this time, and the two of you slip away from the noise, around the back of the old library, and across the campus you’ve memorized together, to the quad
it’s quieter here. golden. the sunlight’s softer now, dappled through the trees. the grass is warm under your feet, and the stage feels far behind you. you sit down, still in your gown, heels kicked off, hearts thudding
“so…” he starts, playing with the corner of his sleeve, “we graduated.”
“we did.”
“and we kissed.”
you laugh. “yeah. that too.”
there’s a beat of silence, and then he looks at you– really looks at you– and you feel it in your chest, how serious this is. how long it’s been building
“y/n..” he finally breaks the silence,
“i’ve loved you for years,” and this time, there’s no hesitation. “even when we stopped talking. even when i hated myself for messing it up. i never stopped”
you don’t answer right away, not because you’re unsure, but because your throat is tight and your heart is full and you’ve waited so long to say this
“i loved you when we were fifteen and thought youtube fame was our calling,” you finally whisper. “i loved you when I didn’t know how to show it. and i love you now.”
he leans forward, forehead resting against yours, eyes closed like he’s soaking up the weight of your words. “so what does that make us now?” you smile, brushing your thumb across his cheek.
“whatever we want to be. we’ve got time now.”
he kisses you again– soft and certain, like there’s no turning back. and when he pulls away, he’s still smiling. “okay. then let’s start with this: i’m yours.” you take his hand again, lacing your fingers through his. “and i’m yours.”
around you, the sun keeps setting. the quad begins to empty. and as the last chapter closes behind you, a new one begins, quieter, sweeter, and filled with everything you never had the words for before
and as the world shifts around you, futures unfolding, time pulling you forward, his hand stays in yours, steady, warm, familiar.
no more pretending.
no more almosts.
just you and him, in the place where it all began, hearts speaking the truth your mouths had once been too afraid to say
because some love stories never needed to start with a kiss to be real. some love stories were written long before the first chapter
and this one? it was never a friendship gone wrong. it was always a love that took the long way home.
because the truth is— you were never just friends.
first of all CONGRATS ON 3K!! 💗😫 I've loved your Pepe work and I'm so checking out your other works 😭💗
saw the 3k celly and I couldn't resist myself 👉👈
how do we feel about a small Pepe blurb with the touch starved prompt: "one just casually sitting down on the other's lap and they start internally freaking the hell out" ??
furthermore,, could it be the reader being the one that is touch starved and Pepe just casually grabs em and sits them on his lap and is the reader the one freaking out?? 🤭
🍈 – send me a driver and a prompt from this list of hugging prompts, these touch starved prompts, or these kiss prompts, and i will write a short blurb for you!!
author's note: thank you so much!! and im glad you like them aaa 🥺 i loved this idea !!!! but lol i thought a blurb was 500 words, not 100-200. still doesnt explain why this is 1.2k. 😶 i had time over on my flight so this (and the paul "blurb" ive got scheduled for later) was the result. hope u enjoy :)
3k celly !!
(college!)pepe marti x reader
there are a lot of fun ways to spend a free saturday evening.
but being squeezed into a room with a bunch of drunk students, with music so loud you can barely think? not one of them.
you had been about to refuse your friend's suggestion to tag along, as you always do, before she had uttered the magic words. pepe will be there.
you were already planning outfits in your mind when the words left her mouth, suddenly feeling like no piece of clothing you own is enough to impress him. how could any piece of clothing ever be good enough for someone like him?
disappointment, though no surprise, fills you when your friend leaves you the second you enter the apartment of some guy in her physics class, to search for that other guy she's been crushing on for weeks now. so, here you are, in the living room belonging to some student you don't know, being pushed around by students you also don't know, with some song that you've never heard blasting from the speakers.
thankfully, even in a crowded apartment like this one, it isn't hard to find pepe. the sound of his sweet, intoxicating laughter can be heard from miles away.
he's sitting on a couch in the corner of the room, red solo cup in one hand and phone in the other. he's showing something on his phone to his best friend christian who's sitting next to him, his giggles sending a wave of relief through your body.
pepe's eyes light up when they meet yours, a sliver of surprise in his smile as you make your way over to him. he says your name like it's what he was made to do, like no other words have ever fallen from his lips. "i almost didn't believe your friend when she told me you'd join her tonight," he tells you. "i'm surprised."
"i'm full of surprises," you answer, tilting your head to the side slightly.
"of course you are. like that dress, very surprising." that statement isn't very surprising in itself; your friend, ever the fashionista, noticed your stress over your choice of outfit for the night instantly, lending you one of her favorite dresses with the words you'll look adorable, he won't be able to stay away. but the fact that pepe has noticed you enough to at least in some way collect an idea of the types of clothes you would and wouldn't wear is surprising to send a shiver down your spine. "you look great."
you can't control the redness that threatens to spread across your cheeks at that, but your gaze shifts to the ground to at least lessen some of your flusteredness. pepe doesn't miss the gentle smile that makes its way onto your lips, though. christian understands this as his cue to leave, jumping out of his seat and bolting away in just a second. pepe taps the now free spot on the couch, and you slip down next to him without another thought.
"did you get to the kitchen already?" he asks, gaze burning into the side of your face as you pretend like fixing the hem of your dress is something you actually need to do and not just a way to occupy yourself. "or do you want me to go get you something to drink?"
you shake your head, eyes flickering over to him again. "i'm alright for now, but thank you."
he nods over his cup, bringing it up to his lips to take a sip. the action has the muscles of his arm contracting and… has he always been this muscular, or is it just the light of the apartment? either way, he makes it look so casual – he probably doesn't know he's the object of your current mental assessment – as if the feeling of his jeans against your bare knee isn't distracting enough. "i'm glad you came," he says after he's lowered the cup. "the party was bound to be boring without you."
there it is again; that relief you felt earlier. a sliver of a confirmation that this thing that's been going on between you two these last few weeks isn't just one-sided. unless he's just toying with you, as you've heard certain men like to do, which doesn't exactly help soothe your worries.
but pepe isn't like that, you have to remind yourself. that's one of the reasons you fell for him in the first place; he's gentle in a way you can't credit a lot of men to being, like a mild breeze instead of a full-blown storm.
someone turns the music up even more, something you would've assumed was impossible a minute ago, as if to say you're thinking too much. fewer thoughts, please.
you take a deep breath, eyes meeting his. "i'm glad you're here, too."
"what?"
you let out a short laugh at the way his face contorts as he tries to hear what you're saying over the loud music. "i said," you start, voice growing louder. "i'm glad you're here, too."
pepe nods, though you're not sure if he actually understood or if he's just faking it, before saying something you have no chance of catching. you raise your eyebrows, tilting your head slightly and jokingly bringing a hand up to the back of your ear to hear him better. you did not expect him to lean forward, nor the warm huff of air that meets your ear when he speaks into it. "it's a little too loud, isn't it?"
you nod when he leans back to look at you, the corners of your lips tugging upward at the sight of his own smile. you shrug, trying to figure out a way to solve the issue; you came here to talk to him, not to just sit next to him all quietly because you can't hear each other. you gaze around the apartment, only to find a pair of speakers placed in about every corner of it, which brings back that disappointing feeling from when your friend left you just minutes ago.
but pepe has other plans. before you can interject, his hands find your hips and lift you up to straddle his thighs sideways. it's a swift motion, and he makes it seem like you weigh about five grams, leaving you pretty completely speechless. "i figured we'd hear each other better like this," he says, one hand reaching over to grab his cup again from where he must've placed it on a table nearby just moments ago, while his other hand stays planted on your hip. when you don't say anything, his eyes rake over your face, a hint of guilt in his expression. "sorry, is this okay?"
you take a deep breath, pushing the butterflies in your stomach away for just a moment and gathering the courage to nod. "yeah," you say, trying to sound as convincing as possible. "i just… wasn't expecting that."
the chuckle he lets out vibrates through your body, too. "well, get used to it." that damn smile of his appears again, the one you just can't stop yourself from mimicking. "i like having you close."
as his hand slips past your hip and around your waist, you allow yourself to lean into him a little, impressed by the way you find yourself enjoying your new seat very much.
impressed by the way it feels like this seat was made just for you.
