FRI(END)S — ꒰ 양정인 ꒱
── ✧ ˚. 𝓹airing ˒˓ yang jeongin x f!reader ˒˓ childhood friends to lovers 𝓰enre/𝓽ags. fluff, angst (not a lot, i hope..?), some profanity, kissing, i believe that’s it.. 𝔀ords. 3.8k
[ 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆. ] — hello peeps, i’m back from the dead w a new fic that i’ve been working on for a while but i’m glad i finally finished it :D this is for my sweetheart @jeonginslittledoll, i hope you like it bestie <3
𝓼ong 𝓲nspo. fri(end)s by v
Jeongin doesn’t remember a time in his life when you weren’t there. Dating all the way back to kindergarten, you were in all his drawings— your pigtails lopsided and stick limbs holding his hand. He remembers how he’d always draw the sun in the corner and you’d insist on adding glitter stars even when it was supposed to be daytime. You shared your crayons with him without hesitation, even your special sparkly ones, which at five years old was basically the pinnacle of loyalty.
You were there the first time he cried over a scraped knee, when he wanted to show you this cool trick and ended up falling off his scooter. He tried not to let it show, but you saw anyway, gasping so dramatically he cried harder, until you kissed his knee and told him you had ‘magical healing powers’. He never once questioned it.
In third grade, he failed his math test for the first time. His hands were far too shaky to hand the paper to his mom, so he showed it to you first. You sat beside him on the swings, bumping shoulders, and told him you’d help him study, even if you both sucked at fractions.
When sixth grade rolled around, you were there to console him when a girl told him that she “just wanted to be friends.” He didn’t even like her that much, not really. But he still looked for you after class and said nothing when you handed him your last fruit roll-up and gave him a little nudge, a signal that meant “I’m here for you.” You didn’t bother with the clichés or telling him there were plenty of other fish in the sea. You just stayed. That in itself was enough for him.
He never got over how easy it was with you. How stupidly, infuriatingly safe he felt around you. Like all the worst parts of him didn’t matter because you already saw them and accepted him exactly for the way he was— choosing to remain by his side.
You knew him when his voice cracked, when he had braces, when he tried hair gel for the first time and looked like he’d dunked himself headfirst in a bucket of oil. You gave him a beanie and said, “we’re pretending this never happened.” He wore it every day for two months straight.
You were his first crush, too. Of course you were. He was eleven, you had the most god awful haircut, a gap in your front teeth, and you laughed so hard at his stupid Pokémon impressions that chocolate milk came shooting out of your nose.
He swore that day that he’d marry you.
And even though he was just a kid who barely understood the concept of love yet, some part of him must’ve already known— because every person he’s tried to love since then were miles behind you.
You were his first sleepover. The first person who saw him cry when his goldfish died. The only one who remembered the day his great grandfather passed and left a cupcake on his porch even though you had just came back from out of town.
He fell in love somewhere between then and now. Quietly. Foolishly. Permanently.
Maybe it was sophomore year of high school, when you made a Spotify playlist just for him called “for when your brain won’t shut up”, and every single song felt like a lifeline. Maybe it was that summer you got into a shouting match with a guy who tried to cut in front of Jeongin at the movies, even though the guy was like twice your stature. Or maybe it was during junior year of college, when he saw you at 2 am— bare-faced, exhausted, curled up in his hoodie on the couch, nodding off mid-sentence and realized there was no one else he’d rather listen to ramble about life and cereal brands until the end of time.
But you never knew a thing.
Because what kind of selfish asshole would risk twenty plus years of friendship just to say, I wanna kiss you so bad it hurts?
What kind of friend looks at the one constant in his life, the only person who’s witnessed all his bad days, all his awkward phases, all his heartbreaks, and confess that he wants something more?
So he kept it all in. Repressed every emotion until it was buried so deep underground that there’s no way you could possibly detect his true infatuation for you. Through the birthdays, family gatherings, and movie marathons, the way you’d unconsciously rest your head in the crevice of his shoulder during long car rides. Every sleepy voice note you’d sent to him when you couldn’t fall asleep, every text that ended with a heart or a “love you!” that he knew was platonic… but still made his chest tighten.
He learned to smile while watching you fall in and out of love with other people. Learned to perfect the role of the supportive best friend you’d never lose— at the expense of being the boy you’d never choose. Because that’s the thing about loving someone who’s always been there.
You’re too afraid of what might happen if they’re suddenly not.
+
“You think this looks okay?” You ask, finally stepping out after rummaging through half your wardrobe.
Jeongin glances up from the TikToks he was watching on his phone, sitting comfortably on your bed. He hears the faint rustle of fabric swishing around before he sees you, feet shifting nervously against the hardwood floor. You’re in a white babydoll dress, thin straps, low-cut neckline, the soft flowy hem brushing your thighs— for a second, he forgot how breathing works.
You’re so pretty, it kills him, only causing him more stress and inner turmoil from staring at you for so long. He wants to thank your parents for creating such a masterpiece. If this were a cartoon, his eyes would’ve been filled with nothing but hearts and practically jumping out from his sockets.
You strike a awkward pose. “Is it too much..?”
“No,” he croaks, throat instantly going dry. “You- you look great.”
You look like everything he’s ever wanted and never got to have.
He sees the way you pause, smoothing down any wrinkles on the garment, then scrunch up your nose like you’re not convinced. You do a little half-spin toward the mirror and Jeongin props himself up on his elbows, watching as you inspect yourself with furrowed brows.
You beam anyway. “I’m a kinda nervous. Feels like it’s been forever since I’ve gone out on an actual date.”
Jeongin forces a stiff smile, straightening his posture, elbows now resting on his knees, hoping that his voice doesn’t give out on him. “You’ll be fine. Jake seems… like a decent guy.”
His voice dips ever so slightly on the word decent, but you don’t catch it. Of course you don’t.
You don’t notice how carefully he avoids eye contact. How he keeps wringing the hem of your throw pillow like it might save him from saying something reckless. You don’t see the way he keeps shifting on your bed like the mattress is made of nails.
You move towards the mirror of your vanity and start dabbing lip gloss on, tongue between your teeth like you always do when you’re concentrated. “You think he’ll like this lip color?”
Jeongin’s heart almost shatters. “Yeah,” he whispers. “He’s gonna love it.”
But he hates it. He hates all of this. Hates the way you hum a little tune to yourself while curling your lashes, the way your perfume already smells like a goodbye, and the way your phone lights up with Jake’s name and not his.
You suddenly groan, tossing the lip gloss onto your vanity that’s cluttered with a bunch of other products and dig through your makeup bag like it just insulted you.
“I have no idea what I’m doing,” you laugh dryly, half out of fear and half out of excitement. “This one’s too pink, the other one makes me look like I’ve been kissed by a ghost, and I swear this eyeliner’s plotting violence against me—”
“You don’t need any of that,” Jeongin says quickly, before he can stop himself.
You blink, turning to him, lip gloss wand frozen midair. “What?”
He swallows. “I mean… you look fine. More than fine. You’re pretty without any of it.”
The room stills with a bitter silence and Jeongin panics.
“I-I’m just saying,” he stammers, scratching the back of his neck and glancing everywhere but at you, “if this guy can’t accept you for who you are, like, as is— then he’s not the one for you.”
You stare at him for a beat too long, then your gaze softens at his words, “…Jeongin.” Your lips tug upward, just barely.
He swears the way you say his name will be the death of him.
You look down at your feet, suddenly shy, your hand fluttering over your mouth as if the compliment just fully hit you. A rush of heat spreading across your cheeks.
“Thanks,” you mumble, eyes flicking up. “That was.. really sweet.”
Jeongin shrugs, trying not to combust. “Just being honest.”
You face to the mirror again, a little quieter now, a little more smiley and upbeat. Still touching up your mascara, still blissfully unaware that he’s sitting there on your bed, watching the love of his life get all dolled up to go fall for someone else.
Yet he stays, because there’s nothing else he can do.
Even when it hurts like hell.
+
The night feels like an itch under his skin.
Jeongin doesn’t go home, telling himself that he’s just “killing time” by driving around aimlessly like he always does when his thoughts get too loud. But somehow, he ends up parked outside the diner down the block from where your date is happening, pretending like he’s just “in the area” as if it’s some kind of coincidence.
The cars still running, headlights dimmed. He fumbles with the radio, trying to drown the silence with anything that doesn’t sound like his internal monologue going back and forth. But every damn station seems to be playing some kind of love song, sappy ballads or cheesy pop lyrics about holding hands and finding “the one”.
He switches the station again. Then again. And again.
No luck.
“You are the best thing… that’s ever been mine…”
He groans and smacks the power button. Back to silence, which is even worse, somehow.
His fingers twitch around his phone as he mindlessly scrolls through different apps, reading the same unfunny tweets, the same recycled memes, and the same dumb messages from the groupchat. Staring blankly at the screen until everything fades into nothingness.
Ultimately, he gives up. Tossing his phone into the passenger seat with a defeated sigh.
He’s now people watching through the windshield. Spotting a happy couple that’s walking as if nothing else exists around them, the girl’s giggling like some lovestruck teenager and clinging to her boyfriend’s arm like she’s been permanently glued to him. Another pair drinking a milkshake inside the restaurant booth next to the window, sharing a straw as they interlock hands. Some other guy pulls his girlfriend in by the waist outside the door and kisses her like it’s the easiest thing in the world.
Jeongin exhales hard through his nose, balling his hands into a fist like he’s going to punch the air.
It’s like the universe was straight up mocking him at this point.
This is what it’s supposed to look like, right? The hand holding, the lingering glances, the closeness, the quiet knowing.
And he has that, with you. Just not in the way that counts.
Not in the way that lets him pull you close and kiss you in public. Not in the way that lets him say, God, I wish it were me instead of him.
There’s a constant ache in chest that settles behind his ribs, dull and relentless.
It’s stupid. He knows it’s stupid. You’re allowed to go on dates. You have free will to go like other people and fall in love without asking for his permission, but that doesn’t stop the nausea that keeps rising in the back of his throat like bile.
The sick pit in his stomach just won’t dissipate.
He even picks his phone back up and hovers his thumb over your name in his contacts. Just to... check in. See how it’s going, or maybe make up some fake excuse. ‘Hey, did you leave your charger in my car again?’ Anything to hear your voice, to make sure you’re safe. To remind you that he is the one who knows your favorite coffee order and your allergies and the way you always double tie your shoelaces out of habit.
But he doesn’t hit call. He just stares blankly at the phone screen like it might explode in his hands.
And then it does.
His phone lights up with a new notification from you. Heart leaping out of his chest as he picks up on the first ring.
“Hey,” he says, trying not to sound too eager.
Your voice is small, sounding mildly upset. “Can you come get me?”
Jeongin’s already starting the car. “Of course. You okay?”
There was a long pause, but you reply soft-spokenly, “Yeah. Just… not what I thought it’d be.”
Your voice cracks a little on the word thought, and something in him twists hard.
“Stay there,” he reassures, “I’ll be there in five.”
Another pause follows suit. Then you respond with a quiet, “okay.”
He hangs up, his grip on the steering wheel grew tighter, trying his best to ignore the heat that’s crawling up the back of his neck.
He should be relieved. Over the moon even. But mostly, he’s terrified of the outcome of this. Because tonight, for some reason, he feels as though something’s going to break— and he’s not sure if it’ll be his heart, or the silence between you. Maybe both.
+
Not even ten minutes later, you’re climbing into his car, arms crossed, face unreadable.
Your perfume comes floating in with you, faint but familiar, like vanilla orchid and late nights— and Jeongin swears it knocks the air right out of his lungs.
You don’t say anything at first. Just buckle your seatbelt with stiff hands, staring out the windshield like it personally wronged you. Your eyeliner’s slightly smudged, your earrings are missing, and your cheeks are flushed, but not from laughter, he can tell. From frustration. From disappointment.
He doesn’t pry with questions. Just hands you the bottle of water he always keeps in his cupholder, label half-peeled from your constant fidgeting over the years.
You take it with a ‘thank you’ so low he barely catches it.
He watches as you untwist the cap and sip in slow silence. The streetlights flickering across your face in a rhythm that feels far too fragile.
It pains him to see you like this.
“He talked about himself the whole time,” you mutter eventually, still choosing not to look at him. “Didn’t ask me anything.”
Jeongin watches the way your fingers pick at the label on the bottle, thumbs moving in distracted little circles. You always do that when you’re thinking too hard. He wonders if you even realize.
He wants to tell you that any guy who doesn’t ask about your favorite Studio Ghibli film within the first five minutes doesn’t deserve a second of your time. That if someone can sit across from you and not feel a magnetic pull toward your laugh, your weird stories, the way you ramble when you’re nervous— then they’ve never had a heart worth trusting in the first place.
Instead, he replies, “that sucks.”
Because it’s the safest thing to say when his own heart is gnawing at the inside of his ribs.
“He also said we should hang out again,” you add, letting out a bitter laugh that sounds more tired than amused. “Said he ‘vibes with my energy.’ Whatever the hell that means.”
Jeongin’s grip on the steering wheel is so tight he could almost break it in half, knuckles whitening, clenching his teeth.
He’s quite a second too long before forcing out, “Do you want to?”
You finally turn your head towards him. “No,” you admit, looking at him. Really looking.
That almost undoes him.
Your eyes are searching, soft, but laced with something deeper. Something older. Something that knows him too well.
“He’s not you.”
He blinks rapidly, caught off guard. “Huh?”
You shrug. “I mean, I don’t know. I just kept thinking how easy everything is with you. Like… he didn’t laugh at my weird stories. He didn’t know how I take my coffee or why I hate pickles or that I cry during Pixar trailers. It felt like I was performing. But with you, I don’t have to.”
Jeongin swallows hard, throat going dry, his mind racing ten miles per minute.
You said it so casually. Like it’s obvious. Like it’s not unraveling every thread he’s spent years pulling taut just to keep himself together around you.
“You shouldn’t settle for someone who makes you feel like you’re not enough,” he tries to remind you of your worth, how there’s no need for you to deal with these sorry, weak excuses of men when he can be all you need and more.
“I’m not,” you say, voice gentler now. “That’s why I’m sitting here. With you.”
Something in his chest snaps upon hearing that. It’s so abrupt even he’s shocked by it. Like something he’s been desperately trying to hold back finally breaks free.
“I can’t do this anymore.”
You freeze, raising an eyebrow of confusion. “What?”
He turns to fully face you now, deciding that now was the time to change everything, everything he’s been suppressing for as long he could remember.
“I can’t keep pretending that I don’t love you.”
The car goes eerily quiet. Even the night outside seems to be at a standstill.
“I’ve been in love with you y/n, since we were kids,” he continues, the words come tumbling out— raw, scared, unstoppable. “Since you wore that coat that was a hideous shade of purple every winter and made me dance with you in your living room at midnight. I’ve loved you through it all. I can’t stress enough how much you mean to me. You’re all I think about, I can’t even look at other girls the way I look at you, there’s no comparison. It’s either you or nothing, I really don’t care about anyone else.”
You blink several times to register all of what he’s saying, but none of this still seems real to you. Even after he’s confessed everything, poured his whole heart out while looking at you with a straight face and candor of his actions— it’s still not clicking for you.
He can’t believe he just admitted to all of this out loud but truthfully, it’s like a weights been lifted off his shoulders, finally freeing himself of this mental prison he’s locked hisself in for so many years. If you say no he’ll ultimately have to accept it, though he won’t let you go just yet.
“Jeongin..” your voice trails off, too lost in thought to even conjure up a proper response.
He cuts in before you get the chance to react, “You don’t have to say anything. I know this’ll probably ruin everything and you might not want to remain friends, I- I get it. I just couldn’t watch you walk away again and wonder if maybe I should’ve said something. I had to say it. Just once.”
Your silence is a living thing, stretching thinly between you and trembling, full of everything neither of you said your whole lifetime. The car feels too small, too intimate, too heavy with history.
And then, you reach for him.
With no hesitation, a set of lips are pressed onto his. Eyes wide open from shock, but soon melts into you, deepening the kiss with a fiery passion that could only be ignited from years worth of pining.
He’s only ever kissed you in his daydreams but the real thing? It doesn’t compare one bit. It felt surreal kissing you, touching you, holding you this closely.
Your lips sync together in motion, connecting as one. His hands cupped your face perfectly; so soft, so warm, and inviting. Your fingers were now tangled in his hair and he tilts his head to capture more of you. The sweet taste of you was exactly as he imagined, he couldn’t believe he went this long without kissing those pretty lips of yours.
Dopamine floods his senses like static electricity, it was all too much for him yet he couldn’t stop himself. He was intoxicated by you. It was probably that favorite cherry chapstick you always wore, he knows that was your go-to flavor of choice. He wanted to savor you in this moment for as long as he could.
You left each other breathless by the time you pulled away. His lips red and puffy from all the pressure.
“I hope that clears up my response,” you express finally, “I know you said I may not want to remain friends after telling me this, but that’s okay. I don’t want to be just friends, I’ve always wanted something more with you too.”
His eyes lit up. It felt like he could finally breathe again. He poked your arm, lightly touching you to make sure this wasn’t another lucid dream he could’ve been having.
He was going to ask you to pinch him but he’ll save himself the embarrassment for later.
“I feel so secure when I’m with you, it’s like nothing else matters when I’m around you. I know how certain I am of my feelings for you. We don’t have to date right now.. we can take our time if you want. I just feel so truly blessed to have someone like you in my life.” Jeongin does his best to articulate his words but he never feels like it’s enough to convey.
There wasn’t a million words in the world that could ever describe the feelings he has for you but he was adamant on showing them.
“I love you Jeongin.”
His heart almost stopped once he heard that. This felt way better than a dream, the reality was far more sentimental. He wasn’t expecting the night to turn into a sappy love confession between you two but here you both are. Sitting in his car through the late hours, looking with nothing but admiration for one another.
“I love you y/n. Always have and always will, I’ll continue to love you in every way possible. I’ll never let you go from this day forward.”
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