warnings —explicit depictions of gore, major character death, strong mentions of blood, descriptions of zombified(?) people & environment.
wc! — 2.2k
an! ( @kflixnet ) i was definitely on the brink of tears writing this, i took a lot of inspiration from "all of us are dead", heed the warnings!
→ requested by anon.
You wanted to speak, to say anything, it didn't matter what you said, you just had to say it. Anything. No matter how hard you pleaded, not a single word made its way past your blood-stained lips.
Everything around you was loud, loud enough to burst your eardrums, but at this moment you swore it was the most blood-chilling silence you had ever heard.
Nothing made sense, and the little bit of normality you had with you, was gone now. Or, in any case, it was leaving.
Normality, in this instance, was laying in your lap as you stroked his blond bloodied hair. Normality was looking up at you, his typically soft brown eyes were bloodshot and fearful. Normality was Bang Chan.
Chan, it hurt to think of him. Especially like this, looking at him now compared to how you were used to seeing him.
Just until a few days ago, he had no clue you existed. You were a junior and he was a sophomore. Worlds apart, despite being in the same building.
When you first met him, you ran into him headfirst in the hallway, both running in opposite directions. Thinking back now, you noticed how different you had become in such a short amount of time.
Back then, you had been able to blend in, you weren't in any extracurriculars, you weren't top of your class, if anything, people knew you because of your loud friends. Your friends, you recalled them with pain, you watched them turn, one by one. First was Felix, then Seungmin and Minho, and finally Jeongin. You'd also remembered Jisung, Changbin, and of course, Hyunjin, even if you didn't know them before this whole thing started, losing them still took a toll on you.
Each of them were picked off like bugs, your originally large group dwindled until all that remained were you and Chan. You still remember the look on each of their faces, you thought you wouldn't experience a worse death than your brother's, Jeongin's, just yesterday. You watched as your former classmates, now mutilated and screaming, bit into him. To everyone else, it happened in a flash, but to you, everything was in slow motion. His scream still rang fresh in your head, your group had been cornered and you had just lost Jisung and Changbin not even 20 minutes previous when you tried to make your way up to your school roof in an attempt to find a safe place within sight of any rescuers. The small smile on your brother's face didn't match his sad eyes or the tear that was now rolling down his cheek. He used his last humane moments to hold back your former classmates as Hyunjin and Chan pulled you away from him.
Back then you had been yelling and crying to not leave him, the only thing that quieted you was when you heard Jeongin choke out a "sorry," before his head lolled to the side and you lost him to the same madness that seemed to overtake everyone around you.
Now, however, you were quiet as a mouse, staring at the man in front of you as blood pooled on your uniform. The blood wasn't yours, but you wished it was, you wished for anything but this outcome.
You pulled yourself out of your thoughts to look at him, to look at Chan, your last shred of dying hope. Just moments ago you had all the hope in the world, running up the last flight of stairs to the roof.
The two of you had spent the night in a storage closet, hiding from the horrors that had become of your school. You'd just lost Hyunjin, though not the way you would've ever hoped to;
Having run past a horde of mauled and blood-splattered students, the three of you managed to get into the small storage room, faint smiles and exhausted pants of relief were heard. You were so close to escaping, to having your lives back, or at least being able to keep the pieces that were left. Looking around, you and Chan looked at each other, you saw his tired smile, you had both gone through so much in the past 48 hours that making it into the small cramped room felt like an accomplishment. Your eyes darted to Hyunjin, who instead of looking relieved, looked beyond mortified. He held his hand to his cheek, he slowly looked up at you. Tears that pricked at his eyes threatened to fall, at first, you assumed he was grieving over your lost friends, that was until he removed his hand from his face and you saw what he was so scared about. He gingerly felt the top of the wound, the flesh was bumpy and a bright red, it wasn't a deep gash, but it was very clearly a bite. Drops of blood glittered along his cheekbones, and the surrounding skin was bruised.
He didn't look like the Hyunjin you remembered, the Hyunjin you had grown to know in the past days was determined to live, even when he lost his closest friends. You weren't exactly friends with him before this, but Felix was, in truth, Felix was friends with everyone. You remembered how fondly the freckled boy had spoken of Hyunjin, he'd mentioned his beauty as well, which you were skeptical about until you met him. Now, Felix was gone and Hyunjin's normally fair skin was marred, his beautiful demeanor expressed nothing but fear.
You called for Chan, who was still catching his breath. Everything happened in a heartbeat after that, you remembered seeing Hyunjin's panic as he stared at you, his tears finally freeing themselves. He took a step back, knocking over a broom that was propped up against the wall. Painfully remembering his words then, "I'll be fine won't I?" His voice was barely above a whisper and you could tell he already knew.
Chan grabbed a bottle of window cleaner from off a shelf behind him, holding it out like a weapon to Hyunjin, who was just centimeters away from the bottle due to the cramped atmosphere of the closet. Hyunjin gave Chan a shaky look, his hand just barely covering his face, fingertips timidly touching his cheekbone as he slowly processed what was happening.
Watching Hyunjin wipe his tears and ask you guys again if he would be fine was one of the most painful things you had endured since Jeongin's death. What had gone wrong? You were just safe, your hope had been evident in your exhausted pants and small smiles, but now that had come shattering down once more. Hyunjin stammered as Chan kept a firm grip on the small liquid-filled bottle.
Well aware that Chan was struggling with what he was doing, he couldn't make the same mistake that your group had made before.
The first day the attacks started, Seungmin had gotten bitten, it was a small bite, and it had barely pricked the skin so you decided if you kept a watch on him, everything would be fine. You thought he could withstand it, but you were wrong. Minho was watching Seungmin, he'd volunteered to keep an eye on him. Seungmin lasted two hours, it was the longest you'd seen someone stay coherent so you'd all assumed he'd gotten lucky. You were asleep when it happened, Minho and Chan were the only two awake, but you remembered the scream that woke you, the sound of tearing flesh. And the sobs that followed Minho's body hitting the cold classroom floor before convulsing in a pool of his blood. From what you recalled, Chan was the one to push Seungmin out the door, throwing Minho out soon after. Everyone looked at him, a mix of regret and pain in his eyes. You couldn't imagine how he felt, and now here he was in that same situation with you and Hyunjin.
Chan didn't take his eyes off Hyunjin, who stood rooted in place, lips quivering and tears streaming down his face.
You stepped forward just for Chan to turn toward you in a warning, you both knew Hyunjin didn't have long, but you didn't want to spend your last moments terrified of him. You had grown close to Hyunjin through all of your struggles, you ignored Chan's warning and encased Hyunjin in a hug. "I'm so sorry Jinnie."
Chan lowered the bottle he was holding and timidly joined the two of you, a sob sounding in his throat. The hug had the opposite effect you had hoped for, you felt anxious, the realization that no matter what you did, these were going to be your last moments with Hyunjin.
Recalling the way his head grew heavy and his body went limp in your arms, you and Chan already knew what you had to do.
With sad eyes, you watched as Chan picked up Hyunjin from behind, restricting his arms, you noticed the veins around Hyunjin's wound were now bulging, and his skin had turned a ghastly shade of white. You held the door open for Hyunjin and Chan, luckily the corridor was quiet now. Chan took Hyunjin to the door directly across from the storage room, carefully propping open the door to put him down gently when Hyunjin's eyes shot open, bloodshot and red he snarled in Chan's grasp, flailing around. He was making too much noise, if Chan waited any longer he would end up like Hyunjin. So instead, he flung Hyunjin across the hall and ran toward the closet where you stood, waiting expectantly by the frame.
The second Chan had sprinted inside, you slammed the door shut. More of your infected classmates had made their way outside your door, luckily there were no windows for them to see you, or worse, for you to see them.
You and Chan spent the night in that dark cramped closet, you weren't sure what about him or your situation made you open up to him, but you found yourself saying things you thought you would take to your grave, maybe it was the fact that you couldn't tell for sure if either of you would see tomorrow, but both you and Chan poured your souls out to each other.
You remembered the intense hope you had felt that morning, you had lost Hyunjin, but you were closer than you had ever been with Chan.
Not to mention you had a chance, you were so close to the school roof, it was right past the next hallway and up the last flight of stairs to the rooftop door.
What happened to that chance?
Oh, that's right, your supposed plan had failed, your hope dying beside you.
You fought tooth and nail to get to the roof, and now there you sat, your companion laying in your lap, with lidded, red-rimmed eyes staring back at you.
Tears were falling down your cheeks as you brushed your hands through his hair once more. If the two of you had been like this under any other circumstance, it would've been a tender moment, but right now, your whole world was crashing down.
You had made it to the roof with Chan, but at what cost?
"Don't leave me here," you whimpered, you hated feeling vulnerable, but right now as your last morsel of faith slowly turned into what you feared most, you couldn't help it, "don't leave me alone". You were finally able to choke through a whisper.
Chan didn't take his eyes off you, he reached his bloodied hand up to your face, his movements were slightly rigid and you could tell it took most of his remaining energy. Despite that, he still leaned his hand against your face, softly moving the hair that was covering your eyes, his fingers twitching as he did, you felt a slight flick against your forehead but you didn't mind. Right now, you were just trying to savor your last moments with him.
Chan's veins grew darker, especially around the torn flesh on his bicep, his school uniform was blood-stained and he looked as if he were in immense pain. He rasped, "leave," it was one of the last things he said to you. You understood what he meant, and you understood why he said it. This was probably your last chance to save yourself, just open the door back down to the school and haul him inside, it was simple in nature.
He gurgled out something else, you weren't able to hear him before his rasping turned to long breaths. You closed your eyes, you chose to remember Chan for the person you had talked to in that storage room, for the person who had protected and fought for you, the person who had tried his hardest to remain strong throughout the chaos.
You grabbed his hand in yours, eyes closed shut as you listened to his bones crack and felt him shift around in your hold, his knuckles twisted in your grasp. Hearing his gasps and cut off words, you tried to remember his voice, his slight accent, how he spoke with a smile when he remembered something, the way his voice sounded when he whispered. Your mind flashed to Jeongin, and Felix, to your friends, maybe you would see them again. Maybe you could laugh with them again, even if it wasn't in this lifetime.
Your hope hadn't died yet, it was too late to turn and leave, you knew that, but as you recalled all of your friends together that very first night, sitting next to Chan in that storage closet, a new hope sparked in your chest, that maybe, just maybe, you wouldn't be alone.
Eyes still shut, you spoke out to Chan one last time;
…any chance of a non-binary s/o with Felix? Just thinking about his recent talk of gender… and his hilarious reaction to being called manly. I figured it’d be a good match? Thank you. PS: I loved the ‘wearing their shirt’ piece. So cute!
hey! thank you for requesting, i actually hadn’t seen his talk about gender and fashion until you sent this ask & it was very interesting. i didn’t realize how deeply personal fashion was to felix. it was super insightful
when you talk about how you’re feeling, your body, your name, your problems, he doesn’t interrupt or joke or rush to fix it. he sits close, knees brushing yours, nodding, asking quiet follow-up questions. later, you realize he’s remembered everything. the way he corrects someone gently but firmly without looking at you for approval. the way he checks in afterward like, “was that okay? do you want me to handle it next time?”
bf! felix — who loves your wardrobe like it’s an extension of you
he’s always tugging at a sleeve, admiring a silhouette, asking where you got something. “that cut is so you,” he says, eyes bright. he doesn’t care if it’s a dress, a suit jacket, oversized knits, sharp boots. he just loves how confident you look when you feel like yourself. sometimes he buys you clothes “just because,” holding them up with a hopeful grin. sometimes you steal his.
bf! felix — who never genders his affection
pet names aren’t loaded. they’re soft and playful and chosen with care. sweetheart. sunshine. love. pretty. darling. sometimes something ridiculous that makes you laugh. he never calls you something that feels wrong, never jokes at your expense. affection is warm hands, lingering touches, forehead kisses like punctuation.
bf! felix — who spoils you in quiet, thoughtful ways
your favorite snack appears in the cabinet after a bad week. he warms your hoodie in the dryer before handing it to you. when you’re overwhelmed, he wordlessly takes things off your plate: emails answered, errands run, dinner handled. not because he thinks you can’t, but because he wants to. acts of service are hid love language.
bf! felix — who checks in on you constantly
“hey,” he’ll say, brushing his thumb over your knuckles. “how are you feeling today?” not about anything in particular. just… you. some days you shrug. some days you talk. either way, he nods, squeezes your hand, stays.
bf! felix — who mirrors your joy
when you’re excited about something. an outfit, a new haircut, a name you’re trying out, he matches your energy immediately. hypes you up like it’s his job. takes pictures you actually like. tells you how good you look without making it about gender at all. just you, radiant.
bf! felix — who is soft in his masculinity
he cries at movies. he laughs easily. he doesn’t mind being gentle, being pretty, being kind. he holds doors not because he thinks he has to, but because he wants to. he’s a gentleman in the way that matters. attentive, respectful, warm. his strength is in how safe you feel with him.
bf! felix — who creates happy, ordinary moments
shared showers where he washes your hair without comment. late-night grocery runs where you debate snacks. sitting on the floor trying on outfits while he offers earnest feedback. mornings where he wakes up smiling, like the day has already been kind to him just because you’re there.
bf! felix — who reminds you that you are loved exactly as you are
not in speeches. not in grand declarations. in the way he looks at you when you’re half-dressed and rambling. in the way he reaches for you instinctively. in the way he smiles, bright, open, sincere, every time he catches your eye, like loving you is the easiest thing he’s ever done.
do you take requests for fem!readers? if so a slow morning with minho or changbin would be so cute
nah. jk! yes, absolutely! this was so cute. i absolutely adored this request & it gave me an excuse to shout from the rooftops about how i think changbin would be such a gentle boyfriend… argh. hope you enjoy, anon
you wake before him but you don’t move. the room is gray with morning and the rain is still tapping softly at the window, steady and patient like it never left. sometime in the night the storm must have eased. now it sounds thin and distant, like a memory playing itself out.
changbin’s arm is heavy across your waist. his hand rests just below your ribs, fingers curled loose in the fabric of your shirt like he fell asleep holding on and never let go.
you shift a little and he makes a quiet sound into the pillow, “don’t,” he murmurs.
“i didn’t do anything.”
his arm tightens anyway. you feel his face press into the back of your shoulder, warm breath through the cotton.
“you were leaving.”
“i was not.”
“you were thinking about it.”
you smile into the pillow. “i need coffee.”
he groans, dragging his feet against the sheets like he’s bracing himself against gravity.
“no you don’t.”
“i do.”
“stay five minutes?”
“you always say that.”
“because it works.”
his voice is rough with sleep. you feel him shift behind you, nose brushing the back of your neck. he inhales slow like he’s making sure you’re still there.
rain taps softly against the glass.
you lace your fingers through his where it rests against your stomach. his hand is warm and a little dry, thumb rubbing absently over your knuckles like he’s not fully awake.
“storm kept waking me up,” you say, “and you kept stealing the blanket.”
“lies.”
you laugh quietly and he presses closer like the sound pulled him in. “you’re warm,” he says into your shoulder.
you glance toward the edge of the bed where the floor looks cold and distant. the idea of standing up feels impossible, changbin nudges his forehead into the back of your neck. “still raining?”
“yeah.”
“good.”
“why good.”
“means you can’t leave.”
“i can leave.”
he squeezes your hand, “won’t.”
you try to roll onto your back and he lets you after a second, blinking slow when the light hits his face. his hair is flattened on one side and sticking up on the other.
he looks at you for a long quiet moment.
“hi,” he says.
“hi.”
his eyes are soft and unfocused, mouth still heavy with sleep. he drags his hand up your arm and tucks it behind your neck, pulling you closer until your foreheads bump lightly.
“five minutes,” he says again.
you close your eyes.
“okay.”
the rain keeps falling, gentle and steady.
his thumb moves back and forth along your sleeve. slow and absent and constant. after a while he says quietly, “you smell like my soap.”
“you smell like my pillow.”
“good trade.”
you hum in agreement.
his breathing evens out again but his hand keeps moving like he refuses to fully let go of being awake with you.
you know eventually you’ll get up. the coffee machine will gurgle and the rain will probably keep going and the day will start whether you want it to or not.
but for now his arm is still around you and the room is still gray and the rain is still soft and changbin’s forehead rests against yours.
synopsis! — a cute bundle-of-questions runs into you, followed by her cute bundle-of-nerves dad. a short conversation turns into something more. he’s so busy taking care of his baby, who’s taking care of him?
wc! — 2.4k
g! — fluff, dad! chan x reader, overworked-girl!dad-chan, gn! reader, littlest bit of angst, TW: implications of postpartum-depression & separation.
an! — based on THIS ask! i didn’t know i needed to write something about dad-chris until now. i gave the baby a name just for convenience! argh now i need to read other parent-skz fics…
chris is a busy dad. constantly trying to entertain his daughter between submitting proposals for work and researching for his next project. it’s hard. today, he was meant to have a day off. a real day off of work; no midday meeting or work call to hop on. of course, that wasn’t what actually happened. all it took was one frantic call for chris to leave and go to pick up a copy of a book for his department head. apparently no one else could, so here he was, on his day off. he couldn’t get a sitter last second, so he coaxed his daughter out of the house with him with a promise of going to the park… only to drive to the library.
you’re standing in the middle of a bookstore crouched slightly, skimming the bottom shelf of new releases, when something small and sudden collides with you. arms wrap around your legs, a full body hug that startles a sound out of you before you can stop it. you look down, heart jumping. you find yourself looking at the crown of a little girl’s head. her hair smells faintly like strawberries, and she presses her cheek into your knee like this is the most natural thing in the world.
for a moment you freeze. then you laugh, soft and surprised, and say, “oh. hi there.” she looks up at you with wide eyes and a grin that is missing one of its front teeth. “you’re warm,” she announces, matter of fact. she does not let go. people around you glance over and smile. you feel your ears heat, “thank you,” you say, because it feels like the correct response.
she finally releases you and steps back, hands clasped behind her back, rocking on her heels. “excuse me, i was curious,” she says. “do you read books about work?”
you blink. “sometimes, but mostly i read books about people who are bad at talking to each other.”
she considers this very seriously. “that’s allll my daddy does. he plays with me but then he says he has to do grown up stuff. do you have grown up stuff, too?”
you smile, a little crooked. “unfortunately yes.”
she sighs deeply, like this confirms something she has suspected for a while. “that’s what he says too. he says sorry a lot. he doesn’t need to say sorry, i just get bored.” she kicks the carpet, then looks up at you again. “do you have a dad?”
you pause. “i do.”
“is he tired?”
“sometimes.”
she nods, satisfied, like this is the rule rather than the exception. “my dad is nice,” she adds quickly, protective. “he just needs more naps. i tell him that but he laughs.”
“you sound very wise,” you tell her, then you ask, “what’s your name?”
“i am very wise, thank you,” she boasts, “i’m almost seven. and my dad says i shouldn’t give my information to strangers.”
you are about to ask her where her dad is, because the weight of responsibility is starting to press in, when you hear a voice calling, tight with worry, from the other side of the aisle. “jae? cub?” footsteps approach fast, uneven, like someone who has been turning corners too quickly. the little girl turns toward the sound and beams.
“that’s him,” she says. “he’s loud.”
a man rounds the corner, eyes wide, hair sticking up at odd angles like he has been running his hands through it too many times. there are faint dark circles under his eyes. his jacket is half zipped, one sleeve pushed up. relief crashes over his face when he sees her, so visible it almost hurts to witness. he crosses the distance in two long steps and scoops her up, holding her close for a beat longer than necessary.
“hey,” he murmurs into her hair. “you can’t do that. you scared me.” then, to you, already breathless, “i’m so sorry. i turned around for two seconds and she was gone. did she bother you? did she say something strange?”
“she hugged me,” you say, because it feels important to start there. “and she told me you’re tired.”
his eyes flick to his daughter, who grins unapologetically. he exhales, something between a laugh and a surrender. “yeah,” he says. “that tracks.” he adjusts her on his hip and looks back at you properly. “i’m chris. thank you for staying with her.”
“i didn’t really have a choice,” you say lightly.
his mouth curves despite himself. “she does that.”
the girl presses her forehead against his cheek. “i was not lost,” she says. “i was talking.”
“i know,” he says, softer now. “but you still can’t do that. you stay where i can see you, okay?”
“okay,” she says, already half distracted by a display near the register.
he sets her down and she drifts a few steps away, humming to herself. chris rubs his face with one hand and lets it drop, looking faintly embarrassed. “i promise she’s usually better behaved.”
“well, i promise i didn’t mind,” you reply, then you notice one of the books tucked under his arm. it is the same one you have in your hand, dog eared at the corner.
you lift yours slightly. “good taste.”
his eyes follow the motion and he blinks, then laughs quietly. “oh, wow. yeah, i’ve been meaning to start it for about a month.”
“same,” you admit. “i keep rereading the first chapter like it’s going to change.”
“maybe that’s the trick,” he says. “if you avoid it long enough, it becomes a different book.”
you gesture vaguely to the shelves. “is this your usual haunt?”
“not really,” he says. “i said we’d go to the park, but i had an errand to run by end of day. this was the compromise.”
his little girl runs up, holding a glittery bookmark. “dad, can i get this?”
he looks at it, then at her hopeful face, then at you like he is apologizing preemptively. “yeah,” he says, “you can get it.”
she cheers quietly and skips toward the counter. he watches her go, shoulders relaxing just a fraction.
“cub,” he calls gently. “stay where i can see you.”
“i am,” she calls back.
he turns to you again. “thank you, again. for not panicking.”
“i did panic,” you say. “just on the inside.”
“i do that constantly.”
there is a small pause, then he gestures to the book in your hand. “do you know if it’s actually good?”
“i’ve heard it ruins people,” you say, “in a meaningful way.”
he considers this, “i could use that.”
you surprise yourself by saying, “hey, there’s a coffee shop across the street, if you want. i mean, if you and your daughter want a treat.”
his eyebrows lift, just a little. he looks over at his daughter, then back at you. something cautious softens in his expression, replaced by something like hope that he is trying not to lean into.
“she would like that,” he says. “i was hoping to stop by after this anyway.”
you nod, feeling the warmth spread through your chest, unhurried and bright. “then maybe we don’t put the book down just yet.”
he smiles, small and real. “maybe we don’t.”
you follow them out of the bookstore with the book still tucked under your arm, the bell over the door chiming softly behind you like punctuation you don’t quite need. the air outside is warmer, thicker, the city humming back into focus after the hush of pages and carpet. jae skips ahead, spinning once on the sidewalk before chris gently reaches out and catches the back of her jacket, steering her away from the curb with an ease that speaks of long practice. he glances at you as if to apologize, but you just smile, because it feels right. and because it tells you more about him than he probably realizes.
the cafe is just across the street, all glass windows and chalkboard signs, the inside glowing with amber light. the smell of coffee hits you as soon as you open the door, rich and grounding, layered with sugar and warm milk. it is louder than the bookstore but not in a way that overwhelms. jae immediately gravitates toward a low table near the window, pressing her palms to the glass and peering out like she is watching a show meant just for her.
chris orders for the three of you without much discussion, as if he already knows what you might like, or maybe he is just confident enough to guess. you don’t mind either way. when the drinks come, jae’s eyes light up at the sight of whipped cream and sprinkles, and she settles into her chair with a seriousness that borders on reverence. chris reaches into his bag then, a worn canvas thing slung easily over his shoulder, and pulls out a small stack of paper and a box of crayons held together with a rubber band.
“these are special, remember?” he lowers his voice conspiratorially. “they only come out when there are no books around.”
she gasps like this is a sacred rule. “because books have feelings,” she says solemnly.
“exactly,” he agrees.
she sets to work immediately, tongue poking out in concentration as she colors, red bleeding into blue, lines crisscrossing with the confidence of someone who has never been told to stay inside them. chris wraps his hands around his cup and exhales, a long breath he might have been holding all day.
“thank you,” he says, not looking at you, like the words might be fragile.
“for coffee?”
“for stopping and keeping us company” he corrects.
you shrug. “i was already stopped.”
he smiles at that, small and genuine, and then his gaze flicks to his daughter, making sure she is still happily occupied. she is, humming softly, drawing little circles around the edge of the paper.
you sip your drink and let the warmth settle into you. there is a moment of quiet where it feels like something heavier might surface, and you don’t rush it. when you speak, it is gentle, careful. “can i ask something?”
he nods. “yeah.”
“jae mentioned you a lot,” you say. “but she didn’t mention her mom.”
he stills, just a fraction. then he nods again, slower this time. “yeah,” he says. “that makes sense.” he takes another sip, sets the cup down. “i’m her mom.”
you don’t blink. you don’t ask him to explain in a way that might sound like disbelief. something in your chest loosens instead, recognition clicking into place, “okay,” you say simply.
he looks at you then, searching your face, like he is bracing for something. when he doesn’t find it, his shoulders ease. “most people don’t know what to do with that sentence,” he admits.
“i’ve seen it before.”
his mouth curves, grateful. he leans back in his chair, gaze drifting again to jae. “her mom and i,” he begins, then pauses, choosing his words with care. “we were already falling apart when we found out we were going to be parents. we thought maybe it would pull us back together. people always say that, y’know, but it didn’t.” he breathes out, slow. “it was too much for her. leaving was the best thing she could have done for herself.”
you listen without interrupting, without trying to smooth the edges of something that clearly does not want to be smoothed. “i was angry for a long time,” he continues. “sometimes i still am. my baby is my everything. she’s this bright, impossible little thing. and i can’t understand how anyone could walk away.” his fingers tighten briefly around the cup. “but i also know i didn’t feel what she felt after the delivery. i try to leave room in my heart for that. i wish her well. i really do.”
you smile at him, sad and soft. “that must have been really hard.”
he nods. “it was. it is.” then he lifts his shoulders, almost sheepish. “sorry, that was a lot of information all at once. didn’t know i was hanging on to so much.”
you look at him then, really look. at the way his posture carries both strength and fatigue, at the way his eyes flick to his daughter every few seconds without him even realizing it. you see him differently, sharper and clearer, like someone adjusted the focus. “you’re doing a good job,” you say, quietly.
his laugh is short, surprised. “i hope so.”
the conversation lightens after that, like he has set something down and can breathe easier. he starts speaking a little louder, more open, and you trade small facts back and forth, the way people do when they are circling something new. where you grew up. what you do now. how he never planned on being this kind of adult but somehow ended up here anyway.
“are you married?” he asks, casual, like he is asking about the weather.
you shake your head.
his eyebrows lift. “really?”
“really,” you say. “i’ve only been on blind dates, but i prefer to meet people naturally. when it feels right, otherwise it just feels like acting.”
he smiles, a little crooked. “maybe that means i have a shot.”
you tilt your head. “maybe.”
the color creeps up his neck, and you notice then how beautiful he is, how the tiredness doesn’t dull him. his arms are lean, his jawline clean and sure, his nose handsome, his lips are full and always smiling. it is almost unfair. you don’t say any of this to him of course, but the thought lingers, warm and electric.
before either of you can lean into it too much, jae looks up from her drawing, eyes bright. “what’s a date?” she asks.
you and chris glance at each other, then laugh, soft and uncertain. he clears his throat. “a date is,” he starts, then stops. “it’s when two people spend time together because they like each other.”
“like like?” jae asks.
“kind of,” you say. “it can be lots of kinds of liking.”
she frowns, considering this. “is it like playdates?”
you smile. “it can be.”
she nods, satisfied, and goes back to her drawing.
when it is time to leave, the light outside has shifted, the afternoon tipping toward evening. you stand near the door, reluctant. jae wraps her arms around your leg again, fierce and sudden. “when will i see you again?” she asks.
you crouch, meet her eyes. “as soon as you want.”
you stand, take chris’s phone gently from his hand, meeting his gaze with a sly smile as you punch in your number. he does not stop you. he just watches, clearly enjoying your boldness.
an! — sorry for going awol, here is a crumb to prove i’m still alive! also look how beautiful binnie is in that pic
the diner is nearly empty, washed in the kind of golden evening light that makes everything feel softer around the edges. outside, the city hums in that distant, muffled way it always does after dinner, cars passing like waves against the curb. inside, there is only the low murmur of conversation from the booth behind you, the clink of silverware, and changbin staring at his milkshake.
you notice because, well, you always notice.
“you’re glaring at it,” you say, nudging his sneaker with yours beneath the table, “what did the milkshake do to you?”
changbin blinks, then looks up at you. his fingers tighten around the glass. the whipped cream has started to melt, slowly sinking into the chocolate below, “nothing.”
you narrow your eyes, “that was suspiciously fast.”
he huffs out a laugh, ducking his head, but he doesn’t touch the straw. that, more than anything, is what tips you off. seo changbin has never once in his life shown restraint around dessert. you’ve seen him demolish an entire slice of cake in under two minutes while maintaining eye contact with you the entire time.
you lean forward over the table, elbows propped against the cool laminate, “bin.”
he grimaces.
“bin?”
“okay,” he says, pointing at you with his straw, “i need you to promise not to laugh.”
you smile immediately, “absolutely not.”
his eyes close for a second, like he’s gathering courage. when he opens them again, they’re warm and nervous all at once, that familiar softness that has always made your chest ache a little.
“i have to tell you something.”
you straighten, trying and failing to suppress a grin. “are you secretly batman?”
“worse.”
you gasp, “you’ve been skipping songs on my playlists?”
“i would never.”
his hand reaches across the table until his fingers find yours, threading together automatically. his thumb rubs over your knuckle, back and forth, back and forth, a tiny nervous habit.
“i don’t like chocolate ice cream.”
you stare at him. he stares back. then you blink once. twice.
“what?”
changbin winces like he’s bracing for impact, “i know.”
“you…” you point accusingly at the milkshake between you. “you ordered that.”
“i did.”
“you order chocolate every single time.”
“i am aware.”
you can’t help it. a laugh escapes you, bright and startled. changbin groans, dropping his forehead onto your joined hands.
“i knew it.”
“wait, wait.” you squeeze his fingers until he looks back up, “if you hate chocolate ice cream, why have you been ordering it for three years?”
his ears turn pink, and suddenly he looks very interested in the napkin dispenser, “because of you.”
that stops your laughter in its tracks.
“on our first date,” he says, words coming out in a rush, “you said chocolate was your favorite, and i panicked.”
“you panicked?”
“you were really pretty.”
“i was?”
“you still are. that’s not the point.”
you grin, “continue.”
he rolls his eyes fondly. “you were talking about how chocolate milkshakes are superior to every other flavor, and you looked so serious about it. like this was a deeply held moral conviction. and i thought, wow, i should agree immediately.”
“for romance?”
“for survival.”
you laugh again, and he squeezes your hand.
“so i told you chocolate was my favorite too. and then on our second date, you got all excited and said we should split one together because, and i quote, ‘soulmates have matching orders.’”
your jaw drops, “i said that?”
“with your whole chest.”
“i’m so funny for that.”
“it was terrifying.”
you can barely breathe from laughing now, but changbin is smiling too, though there’s still something nervous tucked into the corners of it.
“i figured i could just tell you later,” he admits. “except then you got this huge smile every time we shared one. and then it became our thing, y’know? and then suddenly it had been six months, and i couldn’t exactly sit you down over dinner and say, by the way, every milkshake we’ve ever had together has been built on lies.”
“that’s fair.”
“and then it was a year.”
“mhm.”
“and then two.”
“oh no.”
“and then i realized if i waited any longer, i’d probably have to take this secret to my grave.”
you laugh so hard you nearly knock over your water glass. changbin reaches out instinctively, steadying it before it can tip.
“so all this time,” you say, wiping at the corner of your eye, “you’ve been suffering through chocolate milkshakes for me?”
“suffering is a strong word.”
“heroically enduring?”
“exactly.”
you look down at the milkshake, then back at him. his expression is half embarrassed, half hopeful, like some tiny part of him still worries this matters.
it doesn’t. not even a little. “bin,” you say softly.
“yeah?”
you reach across the table and cup his cheek, your thumb brushing over the soft curve of it. his expression melts instantly, all mock outrage fading into something tender.
“you know i don’t care, right?”
his eyes flicker over your face, searching. “yeah?”
“yeah.” you smile. “i’d still date you even if your favorite ice cream was something horrifying. like mint chocolate chip.”
he gasps. “that’s slander.”
“see, now i’m concerned again.”
his laugh is quiet this time, fond and warm. he leans into your hand, turning just enough to kiss your palm. “i was kind of worried,” he admits. “which is ridiculous.”
“a little.”
“thanks.”
“anytime.”
you slide out of the booth before he can ask what you’re doing. he watches, confused, as you walk around to his side and squeeze in next to him, your thigh pressed against his.
“what are you doing?”
“making room for honesty.”
“that’s disgustingly cute.”
“i learned from the best.”
you steal his straw and take a sip of the milkshake. he makes a face before pushing it toward you completely. “all yours.”
“thank you for your sacrifice.”
he wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close until your head rests against him. his lips brush your temple.
“next time,” you say, “we’re getting vanilla for you.”
you tilt your head up, and he kisses you, soft and sweet and familiar, tasting faintly of whipped cream and the last remnants of a three-year lie. when you pull back, he’s smiling.
outside, the city keeps moving. inside, the milkshake melts between you, and changbin finally, finally orders what he actually wants.
it only took three years. honestly, that’s pretty good timing.
synopsis — the delivery boy assigned to your flower shop intrigues you. your days begin to circle around him. you don’t notice when you start brushing the dirt from your apron before he comes in. you only notice that he always looks at you like you’re something alive, too.
g! — gn! reader, strangers to ?, fluff
wc! — 1.4 k
an! — i hope i captured that “patience as a love language” idea. if you enjoy, leave a comment & reblog please~ 🤍
you own a small flower shop tucked between a bakery and a forgotten bookshop. it is the kind of place people find by accident, guided by scent rather than sight. on quiet mornings, the air hums with sugar from next door, the faint perfume of baked bread curling through the doorway, mingling with the sweetness of peonies and the soft tang of lemon water you use to wipe the counter. the windows fog when the weather changes. the shop feels alive. the walls breathe in color — lavender, rose, moss, honey. every corner overflows with life. the days move slowly, deliberately. the same people pass by every morning, carrying coffee cups, paper bags from the bakery next door, the faint smell of sugar in the air. your shop is a kind of secret between them all, a quiet place filled with things that wilt beautifully.
and then there’s him. seungmin.
he arrives every few days, never quite on time. always the same van, a little too loud for the narrow street. you hear it before you see him — the brakes, the quick thud of his boots on the pavement, the soft knock on the glass door before he pushes it open.
“morning,” he says, quiet but certain.
you look up, and there he is. his cheeks flushed from wind, his sleeves rolled to his elbows, the sharp smell of rain clinging to his clothes. he carries boxes wrapped in brown paper and twine, marked with faint stains from water and soil. every movement of his hands is deliberate. you think, even if he dropped a box, the flowers would somehow land unharmed.
he sets the boxes down. waits. sometimes he says something small — about the traffic, or the storm, or how the tulips came in early this season. other times, nothing. he lingers, eyes roaming the space as if he’s trying to memorize it.
and you, standing behind the counter, wonder if he sees you too.
you don’t notice when you begin waiting for him.
the days become built around the quiet rhythm of his arrival. the bell above the door sings, and something in your chest stirs. he steps inside, and the scent of the outside world follows him — wet air, iron, wind.
he begins to forget things. gloves on the counter. a pen by the register. small tokens, accidental or maybe not. you find them later and hold them for a moment too long before setting them aside.
the friendship starts in silence. you slide a glass of water toward him when his hands look raw from cold. he takes it with a nod, fingers brushing yours, barely there. sometimes he helps you move the heavier crates. once, he fixes the latch on the back door without you asking. another time, he carries an extra box inside even though it isn’t his job.
you begin brushing the dirt from your apron before he arrives. you sweep more often. you hum without meaning to. you start noticing the exact sound of his footsteps on the old wooden floor.
when he leaves, the shop feels smaller.
spring folds itself into early summer. light lingers longer in the evenings, stretching soft and golden across your counter. seungmin still comes. sometimes late, sometimes early. always careful. sometimes, he brings the wrong boxes just so he can stay long enough to apologize.
one afternoon, he leans against the doorway, holding a sandwich from the bakery. “you should eat,” he says. “it’s bad to forget.”
“who says i forget?” you answer, half smiling.
he tilts his head. “your face does. you like someone who skips lunch.”
you laugh, and the sound surprises both of you.
he smiles in return, still holding the sandwich out to you.
love builds itself quietly. it never announces its arrival. it hides in gestures, in glances that last a second too long.
you begin noticing how his hair falls into his eyes when he carries the heavier boxes, how his fingers are always nicked from work, how he looks at the flowers before he looks at you.
he starts noticing things too.
“you hum when you cut stems,” he tells you once.
you pause. “do i?”
“yeah,” he says softly. “same song every time.”
you think about it, but you can’t recall which song it might be. you wonder if he’s imagining it — or if he’s been listening close enough to know you better than you know yourself.
on one of your busier days, a customer comes in — someone who always speaks too loudly, who laughs too easily, who leans on the counter and makes you smile out of politeness more than anything else. seungmin is there, placing the last of the tulip boxes by the wall. you can feel him watching, though you pretend not to.
the customer touches your hand when paying. you laugh, embarrassed, and thank them quickly. when you turn back, seungmin is gone.
he doesn’t come for two days.
you don’t realize how much space his absence takes up until it’s quiet enough to hear the clock tick.
when he returns, his voice is softer. “sorry about last time,” he says, though he doesn’t explain why.
“there’s nothing to be sorry for,” you answer.
still, he looks at you as if there is.
he picks up one of the new bouquets you’ve arranged and studies the soft blue hydrangeas mixed between strands of ivy. “you changed the window display,” he says.
“yeah. needed something new.”
“it’s beautiful.”
his gaze doesn’t move to the window.
you start to learn each other through quiet things. the way his shoulders loosen when you smile. the way your voice softens when you say his name. you don’t say much, but somehow, the silence feels full.
love, you think, is not something you have to declare. it is the hand that steadies the crate without being asked. it is the voice that remembers to say take a break. it is the small space between you that never feels empty.
on a rainy evening, long after closing, you hear a knock on the door.
seungmin stands there, hair damp, a single flower in his hand. the streetlights spill over him, painting him in amber and shadow.
“you’re still here,” he says.
“couldn’t sleep,” you reply.
he steps inside carefully, as if the air is something fragile. he sets the flower on the counter. it’s small, pale and trembling.
“i couldn’t find where it belonged,” he says quietly, “maybe here.”
you take it from him. it feels warm, as though it’s been waiting to be held. you place it in a vase near the register.
“it belongs,” you say.
his eyes meet yours. for a moment, the world narrows to the sound of rain against the glass and the faint heartbeat in your chest.
you think of how he always stands a little too close, how his voice softens when he says your name, how every visit feels like a small confession left unfinished.
he looks at you like you are the softest thing he’s ever seen.
“you make everything look like it was meant to be,” he says, barely above a whisper.
“maybe it was,” you answer.
the air between you hums with something alive. neither of you move.
the next morning, you tuck a small bouquet into the back of his van —baby’s breath, freesia, one pale tulip, tied with a strip of silk ribbon. the note you leave reads: thank you for always coming back.
you don’t expect him to mention it.
but the next time he comes, he stands in the doorway for a long moment before speaking.
“you know i’ll keep coming back,” he says quietly.
“i know.”
he smiles then, a real, unguarded smile, and something in your chest loosens.
he stays longer that day, helping you arrange new shipments. sunlight falls across his hands as he works beside you. his sleeve brushes yours now and then, and neither of you move away.
the silence is soft, not awkward. the two of you don’t need words.
outside, the bakery hums with life, the scent of bread filling the street. inside, the shop glows with the colors of morning — honey light on petals, the gentle shine of water droplets on leaves.
when he leaves, he pauses at the door.
“see you soon,” he says.
you nod. “see you soon.”
the bell chimes as he steps into the sunlight. the scent of tulips stays behind, warm and green and impossibly sweet.
you stand there for a moment, surrounded by the hum of flowers and the whisper of his absence, what you and seungmin have doesn’t need to be named.
it grows quietly, the way things do when they are tended to with care..
synopsis! — you and your best friend have been flirting for as long as you can remember, but you’re both too scared to act when it matters. teasing, testing. when do the lines unblur? an interaction at a party leaves you dizzy with upset, and suddenly, you don’t feel like just friends anymore.
g! — friends-to-lovers, fluff, suggestive, slowburn, college!au, gn!reader, angst if you squint, so much sarcasm, TW: alcohol consumption
wc! — 4.9 k
an! — foaming at the mouth over these pictures of jeongin by the way. i just found them and they’re everything to me. got really carried away at the kiss scene but in my defense, have you seen jeongin?
your calculus class was killing you.
“who actually cares about derivatives?”
you were hunched over your notebook, pencil tapping against the margin like it might intimidate the numbers into behaving. across from you jeongin snorted into his iced coffee. the two of you had been doing this since sophomore year of high school, spreading out textbooks at whatever table you could claim and pretending it was a study date when really it was an excuse to sit too close and talk too much.
“you,” he said without looking up, nudging your foot with his under the table. “you care. you just like pretending you don’t so when you ace it you can act surprised.”
“i have never aced anything in my life,” you muttered, dragging your hand down your face. “this problem is evil. derivatives are evil. whoever invented them is evil.”
“newton,” he said immediately.
“yeah, well, newton can come down here and explain this to me himself.”
jeongin laughed, that quiet, breathy laugh that always made you feel like you’d won something. his hair fell into his eyes when he leaned over your notebook, and without thinking you reached up and pushed it back. you had done it a hundred times before. he didn’t flinch. he never did. he just looked at you for half a second too long before glancing back at the page.
“you’re overthinking it,” he said, tapping the equation with his pen. “take the derivative of the outside first. chain rule. you love the chain rule.”
“i don’t love anything about math.”
“you love being dramatic.”
you rolled your eyes but you were smiling. it was so familiar that it almost felt scripted, the rhythm of your back and forth, the way he’d slide your highlighter toward you before you asked, the way you’d steal his fries without permission. there was a comfort in it that felt like muscle memory. sometimes you wonder when it stopped being just comfort.
“you always say you’re bad at everything you do,” he continued, softer now, tracing the line of the function with his finger. “then you show everyone up. it’s annoying.”
you looked up at him. “oh, so you think i’m smart?”
“i think you’re insufferable,” he said, and then added, “but yeah, you’re smart.”
“and hot?”
he blinked. the corner of his mouth twitched. “wow. fishing much?”
“i’m just clarifying,” you said, pretending to study your notes. “you said i show everyone up. that implies the whole package.”
“i did not say that.”
“it was implied.”
“you’re delusional.”
but his ears were pink. you saw it because you’d spent years memorizing the way his face gave him away. he cleared his throat and leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms above his head so his hoodie rode up just enough to make your brain short circuit for a second. you hated that he knew what he was doing. you hated that you liked it.
“for the record,” he said casually, staring at the ceiling, “i never said you weren’t hot.”
your pencil froze mid-scratch. you tried to laugh it off, the way you always did when things edged too close to the line. “wow. that’s high praise coming from you. mr. i’m-bad-at-everything.”
“i am bad at everything.”
“you are literally top of the class.”
“accident.”
“you play three instruments.”
“barely.”
“you ran a half marathon.”
“okay, that one was peer pressure.”
you leaned forward, elbows on the table, chin in your hands. “yeah, you always say you’re bad at everything you do. then you show everyone up. it’s annoying.”
he looked at you then, really looked at you, and something in his expression shifted. less teasing, more searching. “so you think i’m smart and hot?”
you swallowed. there it was. the echo. the mirror he’d held up so effortlessly. your heart thudded in your ears and you hoped he couldn’t see it in your face. “don’t push it.”
“that wasn’t a no.”
“it wasn’t a yes either.”
he leaned forward too, forearms brushing yours. neither of you moved away. the cafe was loud around you, blenders whirring, cups clinking, someone laughing too loudly at another table, but the space between you felt small, sealed off. you could feel the warmth of his skin through the thin fabric of your sleeve.
“we’ve been friends for, what, eight years?” he said lightly, but his voice had dropped a little. “you’re legally obligated to find me at least a little attractive.”
“is that in the contract?”
“page three. fine print.”
“i didn’t read the fine print.”
“clearly.”
you nudged his knee with yours under the table and he nudged back. it was stupid, the way something so small could feel like a spark. you’d sat like this a thousand times, knees touching, shoulders bumping, sharing headphones, falling asleep on each other during movie nights. none of that had ever felt dangerous. this did. this felt like one wrong word could tip the whole balance.
“what are you scared of?” he asked suddenly.
you blinked. “what?”
“you’re doing that thing,” he said, “where you joke more when you’re thinking too hard.”
“i don’t do that.”
“you do. i’ve known you since you thought frosted tips were a personality.”
“they were in style.”
you kicked him lightly. he caught your ankle with his hand without looking, fingers wrapping around it like it was second nature. he held it there for a second longer than necessary before letting go. your stomach flipped.
“i’m not scared,” you said finally.
“liar.”
“what would i even be scared of?”
he shrugged, gaze dropping back to the notebook but not really reading it. “i don’t know. things changing?”
the word hung there. changing. you stared at the equation on the page, the slope of the curve, the way one small shift altered everything. you hated how fitting that was.
“we’re good,” you said quietly. “why mess that up?”
“who said it would mess it up?”
“it could.”
he was quiet for a moment. the cafe noise rushed back in, filling the space you’d both created. he tapped his pen against the table, slower now. “yeah,” he admitted. “it could.”
you didn’t need him to say more. you both knew what he meant without saying it. if it didn’t work. if one of you cared more. if it ended badly. you’d seen it happen to other people, friendships unraveling into awkward silences and careful distance. the thought of not having him in your life the way you did now made your chest ache in a way that had nothing to do with math.
“but,” he added, almost too casually, “it could also not.”
you looked up. he was watching you again, eyes softer than his tone. he reached over and flicked your forehead gently. “you’re thinking too much. solve the problem.”
“you’re impossible.”
“and yet you keep choosing to sit with me.”
“i don’t choose, you just show up.”
“i like showing up.”
the words landed heavy. he liked showing up. for you. to this. to long afternoons of coffee and scribbled notes and sarcastic jabs. you wondered if he realized how much that meant.
“you know,” you said slowly, “if you keep flirting with me like this, people are going to get the wrong idea.”
“what wrong idea?”
“that you’re in love with me or something.”
he didn’t laugh right away. he held your gaze, one eyebrow raised. “that would be so embarrassing for me.”
“right. devastating.”
“i’d never recover.”
“your reputation would be ruined.”
“completely.”
you both smiled but neither of you looked away. the tension stretched thin, humming. you could feel it in the way his foot brushed yours again, slower this time, less accidental. your hand was still resting near his on the table, fingers close enough that one small movement would tangle them together.
“innie,” you said before you could stop yourself. you’d been sticking to jeongin, like maybe that little bit of distance would help. but it slipped out, soft and familiar, and his expression shifted again, something unguarded flashing across his face.
“yeah?” he said.
you hesitated. this was it, you thought. this was where you could say something real. something that pushed past the jokes and the half truths. your pulse was loud in your ears. you imagined what it would feel like to reach across the table and just take his hand. to say it outright: i like you. more than this, more than friends.
but the fear was there too, coiled tight. what if he laughed? what if he didn’t? what if everything changed in a way you couldn’t undo?
“you’re still wrong about the chain rule,” you said instead.
he stared at you for a second, then burst out laughing. “you’re unbelievable.”
“i know.”
he shook his head, smiling like he wasn’t mad at all. “come here,” he said, sliding his chair closer until your knees were pressed together fully now, no space left. he took your pencil from your hand and started writing, his shoulder brushing yours as he explained the steps again, slower this time. you watched his hand move across the page, steady and confident, and felt that same familiar swell of admiration you’d been trying to pretend was normal.
“see?” he murmured. “not evil, just misunderstood.”
“are we still talking about derivatives?”
“depends. are you still fishing for compliments?”
you bumped your head lightly against his shoulder. “shut up.”
he leaned his head against yours for a second in return. it was brief. easy. like it had always been. but neither of you moved away right away. the air felt warmer.
“we’re okay,” he said quietly, almost to himself.
“yeah,” you replied.
outside, the light was starting to fade, the sky turning that soft blue that always made everything feel suspended. you packed up slowly, neither of you in a rush to leave. as you stood, he reached for your bag before you could, slinging it over his shoulder like it belonged there.
“walk you home,” he said.
“i live in the opposite direction.”
“so?”
you smiled, trying to ignore the way your heart leapt at the casual certainty of it. you fell into step beside him, shoulders brushing as you headed out into the evening, the conversation drifting back to stupid jokes and class gossip and anything but what was hovering just beneath the surface.
the air was colder than you expected when you stepped out of the cafe, the kind of cold that made everything feel sharper, like even your thoughts had edges. jeongin noticed before you did that you’d forgotten to zip your jacket. he reached over without asking, fingers brushing your collarbone for a second as he tugged it up. “you’d forget your head if it wasn’t attached,” he muttered, and you rolled your eyes but let him fuss. he always did this, small quiet acts that looked like teasing from a distance but felt like care up close.
“i’m perfectly capable of surviving a three block walk,” you said.
“debatable.”
he shifted your bag higher on his shoulder and stepped a little closer to you as you started walking. not enough to make a scene. just enough that your arms brushed every few steps. the streetlights cast everything in gold, and for a second you wondered if that was why his profile looked softer than usual or if you were just noticing more lately.
“hey,” he said after a moment, kicking a pebble off the sidewalk. “are you going to felix’s party on friday?”
you glanced at him. “felix is having a party?”
“you’re kidding.”
“i ignore half the group chat.”
“yeah, we know.”
you hummed, pretending to consider it. “i don’t know. parties are loud. worse, people are loud.”
“you’re loud.”
“that’s different. i’m selectively loud.”
he laughed under his breath. “it’s at his place. nothing crazy. just music, drinks, and a little pretense on multiple fronts.”
“so your natural habitat?”
“exactly.”
you nudged him with your shoulder. “are you going?”
“maybe,” he said casually, but he didn’t look at you when he said it. “i’ll go if you go.”
you stopped walking for half a second. he took two more steps before realizing and turning back. “what?”
“nothing,” you said quickly, catching up, “that’s codependent.”
“it’s strategic,” he corrected. “i need someone to make fun of people with.”
“you’re insufferable.”
“and yet?”
you smiled despite yourself. the night felt like it was holding its breath around you. “fine. i’ll go.”
“yeah.”
“but only if you promise not to ditch me.”
he scoffed. “i don’t ditch you.”
“you absolutely have.”
“once.”
“twice.”
“those were emergencies.”
“you saw someone you wanted to impress.”
he shot you a look. “you’re the only one i’m trying to impress.”
it slipped out so easily that for a second you weren’t sure you’d heard it right. he seemed to realize it at the same time you did because his steps faltered just slightly. “i mean,” he added, too quickly, “you’re the harshest critic.”
“wow,” you said, heart doing something inconvenient in your chest. “i didn’t realize my opinion mattered so much.”
“it doesn’t,” he said immediately, then softer, “it does.”
you walked in silence for a few seconds, the kind that wasn’t uncomfortable but wasn’t safe either. your hands brushed and this time neither of you pulled away. his fingers curled lightly around yours, testing, like he was waiting to see if you’d flinch. you didn’t. you laced your fingers together fully, trying to act like it was the most normal thing in the world.
“gentleman behavior,” you teased, even though your voice was quieter than usual.
“don’t get used to it.”
“too late.”
he squeezed your hand once before letting go as you reached your place. he handed your bag back, lingering just a second too long in your space. “friday,” he said.
“friday,” you echoed.
he walked away backwards for a few steps, pointing at you. “don’t bail.”
“don’t ditch me.”
he grinned and turned the corner, leaving you standing there with your pulse still racing.
friday came faster than you expected. you met him outside your building and he gave you a once over that was subtle enough to pass but obvious enough to make your stomach flip. “you clean up okay,” he said.
“try not to sound so surprised.”
“i’m not surprised,” he said. “i’m impressed.”
“careful.”
“what?”
“you’re flirting again.”
“am i?”
you didn’t answer. you just fell into step beside him and let the night carry you toward felix’s place.
felix’s apartment was already loud when you arrived, music thumping through the walls, laughter spilling into the hallway. jeongin knocked once before letting himself in like he owned the place. you followed, immediately hit with the smell of cheap alcohol and too many people in one space. felix whooped when he saw you, pulling you both into a chaotic hug.
drinks were pressed into your hands before you could protest. jeongin stayed close at first, shoulder brushing yours as you navigated through clusters of people. he leaned down to comment on someone’s terrible dance moves, and you laughed into your cup, the alcohol warming your chest just enough to make everything feel a little looser.
for a while it was easy. you talked to friends, played some stupid card game on the kitchen counter, bumped hips with him when the music got louder. he kept refilling your drink without asking, and you kept pretending not to notice the way his hand would rest at the small of your back when someone squeezed past.
then you saw it. not dramatic at first. just a girl from one of his classes laughing at something he said, her hand on his arm a second too long. you told yourself it was nothing. he was friendly. he was like that with everyone. you took another sip of your drink and turned back to the conversation you were in.
but when you glanced over again, she was closer. he was leaning down to hear her over the music, his face inches from hers. she said something and he laughed, head tipping back, and you felt something sharp twist in your stomach.
you stayed where you were, nodding along to someone else’s story while your eyes betrayed you every few seconds. it was stupid. you were just friends. long term best friends who held hands on sidewalks and said things they didn’t mean. that was all.
someone bumped into you and you stumbled slightly. a different guy steadied you with a quick apology. “you okay?”
“yeah,” you said, smiling politely.
jeongin looked over at the movement, eyes scanning you quickly before relaxing when he saw you were fine. then the girl said something else and his attention shifted back to her.
you finished your drink too fast.
when he finally made his way back to you, he was grinning. “you disappeared.”
“i was here the whole time.”
“liar.”
“you were busy.”
he tilted his head. “busy?”
“talking.”
“oh.”
you shrugged like it didn’t matter. “she seems nice.”
he stared at you for a second like he was trying to read something between your words. “she’s in my econ class.”
“mhm.”
“why are you making that face?”
you forced a laugh. “i’m not making a face. i’m drunk.”
“you’ve had two drinks.”
“lightweight.”
he stepped closer, lowering his voice so only you could hear. “are you jealous?”
your heart slammed against your ribs. you scoffed. “don’t flatter yourself.”
“that’s not a no.”
“innie.”
“there it is,” he said softly. “you only call me that when you’re avoiding something.”
you swallowed. the music felt too loud suddenly, the room too small. “i’m not avoiding anything.”
“then look at me and say you don’t care.”
you did. you looked right at him, at the familiar curve of his mouth, the faint flush on his cheeks from the alcohol. “i don’t care.”
he held your gaze. you didn’t look away.
“you’re a terrible liar,” he bit back.
before you could respond, someone shouted his name from across the room. he hesitated, glancing between you and the group calling him over. “i’ll be right back,” he said.
you nodded. “go.”
this time when he walked away, you felt the absence. you set your empty cup down and slipped out onto the balcony, the cold air hitting your face like a reset button. you gripped the railing and tried to steady your breathing. this was ridiculous. you weren’t dating him. you had no right to feel this possessive. and yet…
the balcony door slid open behind you. you didn’t have to turn around to know it was him. “you always run when things get intense,” he said quietly.
“i needed air.”
“you could’ve told me.”
“why?” you asked, finally turning. “so you could go back to your econ friend without worrying about me.”
he frowned. “that’s not fair.”
“i know,” you said immediately. “i know it’s not.”
the music was muffled out here, replaced by the distant hum of traffic. he stepped closer, hands in his pockets like he was holding himself back. “did it bother you?”
you hesitated. this was it again. the edge. the drop.
“yeah,” you said finally, voice barely above a whisper. “it did.”
his shoulders relaxed, like he’d been bracing for something worse. “why?”
“don’t make me spell it out.”
“i want you to.”
you laughed weakly. “you’re cruel.”
“maybe.”
you looked at him, really looked at him, and the alcohol stripped away just enough of your caution to make you honest. “because i don’t like seeing you with someone else,” you admitted. “because it makes me realize i might not be as okay with this as i pretend to be.”
he didn’t interrupt. didn’t joke. just watched you.
“i didn’t say anything in there because you’re allowed to talk to whoever you want,” you continued, words tumbling now. “and i don’t want to be that person. i don’t want to ruin what we have because i got greedy.”
“greedy?”
“yeah,” you said, throat tight. “wanting more.”
he stepped closer until there was barely any space left between you. “what if i want more too?”
your breath caught. “don’t.”
“don’t what?”
“don’t say things you don’t mean.”
he reached up, brushing a strand of hair away from your face the same way he had outside the cafe. his hand lingered this time. then, softly, “i wasn’t flirting with her. i was looking over her shoulder every five seconds to see if you were watching.”
“that’s stupid.”
“yeah,” he agreed. “it is.”
you let out a shaky laugh that turned into something else entirely. “i hate that i care this much.”
“i don’t.”
“you don’t hate it?”
“no,” he said. “i don’t hate that you care. i hate that you think it would ruin us.”
your chest felt too full. “what if it does?”
“then we deal with it,” he said. “but i’m tired of pretending this is all it is.”
you searched his face for any sign of hesitation. there wasn’t any. just that same steadiness he had when he explained math problems, like he already knew the answer and was waiting for you to catch up.
“i like you,” he said finally, the words simple and unguarded. “not in a best friend way. not in a joking around way. i like you in a way that makes me jealous too. i want to be the only one walking you home. laughing with you. holding you.”
the world felt very small and very quiet.
“you’re drunk,” you whispered.
“i’m honest.”
you stared at him for one long second before closing the distance yourself, grabbing the front of his shirt and pulling him in. you didn’t kiss him. not yet. you just pressed your forehead to his, breathing the same cold air.
“i like you too,” you admitted.
the confession hung between you and for once neither of you tried to laugh it off.
you don’t really remember saying goodbye to anyone. you remember felix yelling something unintelligible and someone wolf whistling when you and jeongin walked back inside from the balcony a little too close together. you remember your hand finding his again like it had every right to be there. you remember the way he didn’t let go.
the walk back to your place is quieter than the one from the cafe days ago. your fingers are laced tightly, swinging between you. every few steps one of you bumps into the other on purpose, like you’re both trying to burn off the nervous energy.
“so,” you say, staring straight ahead. “you like me.”
“don’t sound so shocked.”
“i am shocked. i’m very hard to like.”
he snorts. “you’re unbearable. but yeah. i like you.”
you glance at him and he’s already looking at you, cheeks still pink from the alcohol, eyes a little glassy but focused. “how long?”
“don’t make me answer that.”
“innie.”
he groans. “don’t use that tone.”
you grin. “how long?”
he exhales slowly. “a while.”
“define a while.”
“long enough that i’ve had to pretend not to care when other people flirt with you,” he mutters.
you stop walking. he takes another step before realizing and turning back, just like before. everything feels like a parallel now, except the tension isn’t hiding anymore. it’s out in the open, raw and buzzing.
“you get jealous too,” you say softly.
“obviously.”
“that’s pathetic.”
“we’re both pathetic.”
you laugh, but it breaks in the middle because he’s stepping toward you and suddenly you’re chest to chest on the sidewalk under a flickering streetlight. he brushes his thumb over your knuckles like he’s memorizing them.
“are we really doing this?” you ask.
“you dragged me into it.”
“you confessed first.”
“you started it at the cafe.”
“you flirted first.”
he leans closer, voice dropping. “are we going to keep arguing or are you going to kiss me?”
your heart slams so hard you’re sure he can feel it. “wow,” you say, breathless. “straight to the point.”
“i’ve waited long enough.”
you close the distance. your first kiss is almost clumsy, noses bumping, teeth barely grazing because you’re both half laughing into it. but then his hand slides to your jaw, steadying you, and it changes. it deepens. not rushed, not messy. but hungry. hungry in an attempt to make up for lost years.
he tastes faintly like vodka and mint gum. his other hand settles at your waist, pulling you closer until there’s no space left at all. your fingers fist into the fabric of his shirt like you need something to hold onto. the world narrows to the soft sound he makes when you tilt your head just right.
when you pull back it’s only to breathe, foreheads pressed together, both of you smiling like idiots.
“that was,” you start.
“yeah,” he says.
“you’re not bad at everything.”
he huffs out a laugh against your mouth. “shut up.”
you kiss him again before he can recover, this time slower. exploratory. his lips are softer than you expected. he kisses like he studies, focused and attentive, like he’s trying to understand you through it. your hand slides up to the back of his neck and he shivers slightly, which you absolutely notice and will never let him live down.
“cold,” he mutters defensively against you.
you don’t stop kissing until a car passes too close and you both stumble back to the reality of being on a public sidewalk. he squeezes your hand again. “let’s go,” he says, voice rougher now.
the walk to your place is faster. less talking. more glances that turn into small stolen kisses when you stop at a crosswalk. by the time you reach your door you’re both grinning like you’ve gotten away with something.
inside, the air is warmer. quieter. the door barely clicks shut before he’s kissing you again, like he’s been holding it in for the entire stairwell. you drop your keys somewhere near the entrance without looking. his hands cup your face this time, thumbs brushing over your cheeks gently.
“are we allowed to do this?” you murmur between kisses.
“it’s your place.”
“that’s not what i meant.”
he pulls back just enough to look at you. “we’ve been wanting to do this for years. i think we’re allowed.”
years. hearing him say it makes your chest ache in the best way. you tug him closer by the collar and he stumbles forward with a soft laugh that melts into another kiss. this one is slower still, less desperate and more deliberate. you trace the line of his jaw with your thumb, feeling the warmth of his skin under your touch.
with a step, he presses you gently against the wall, not rough, just enough pressure to hold you there. your hands slide under the hem of his hoodie but only to rest at his waist, grounding yourself. he studies your face like he’s trying to memorize every detail. then he kisses you again, softer this time, careful. like he’s aware of how fragile this new dynamic is. you respond the same way, slowing down, letting it stretch out. your lips brush, linger, part. his hand slides from your waist to your back, fingers splayed wide like he’s anchoring you there.
when you finally pull away it’s not because you have to. it’s because you’re both smiling too much to keep it steady. you’re a little breathless, foreheads touching again, hands still tangled in each other’s clothes.
“so,” you say, trying to regain some composure and failing miserably. “boyfriend.”
he groans softly. “don’t call me that yet.”
“why? embarrassed?”
“no. i have to ask you properly.”
“semantics.”
he laughs, the sound warm and dazed. “we’re really doing this.”
“yeah,” you say, softer now. “we are.”
there’s still a flicker of vulnerability there, a quiet what-if lingering under the surface. you see it in the way he hesitates before leaning in again, like he’s checking to make sure you’re still here. you are. you meet him halfway.
the next kiss is unhurried. lips brushing in slow, sweet presses. you feel his smile against your mouth and you can’t help smiling back. it turns into a soft mess of laughter and another quick kiss and then another, until you’re both just standing there, holding each other like you’re afraid one of you might disappear.
he rests his forehead against yours one more time. “i’m not ditching you,” he says quietly.
“you better not.”
“even at parties.”
“especially at parties.”
you brush your thumb over his cheek. “do you want to get ice cream?”
he blinks at you. “right now?”
“why not?”
he considers it for half a second before grinning. “yeah. yeah, i do.”
“gentleman behavior,” you tease.
“don’t get used to it.”
you lace your fingers with his again, tugging him toward the door. he steals one more quick kiss before you can open it, quick and bright and full of promise.
you’re both still smiling when you step back out into the night, a little drunk and finally done pretending.
songs that remind him of you, songs he knows you’ll sing along to, and a few you’ve never heard but he swears you’ll love. when the car starts rolling, he looks at you with that shy little smile like he’s been waiting all week just to press play.
bf! jisung — who brings snacks, the good kind
the ones you always end up craving mid-drive. he even hides your favorite candy in the glovebox so he can “surprise” you when you get sleepy.
bf! jisung — who remembers what you forgot
your sunglasses, your charger, the hoodie you always want when the AC gets too cold. he just quietly places them in your lap, no “i told you so.”
bf! jisung — who insists on driving
not because he doesn’t trust you, but because he says he loves watching the world move while you nap in the passenger seat. he adjusts the passenger seat so it fits you perfectly. he knows exactly how far back you like to recline, how you rest your knees against the dashboard, and he says it’s because he wants you to be comfortable before he even starts the engine. driving is his job, he wants you to simply enjoy.
bf! jisung — who kisses you at every red light
sometimes soft and quick, stealing your lips for just a moment. and sometimes long enough to make the car behind honk when the light turns green. he laughs every time.
bf! jisung — who always stops for pictures
he’ll pull over immediately, declaring “look at the sunset, we have to get out.” not because it’s planned, but because he thinks you’d look beautiful in that kind of sunlight. “stand right… there! don’t move now.” he always takes a photo, pretending it’s for the memories but really, it’s for his lock screen.
bf! jisung — who is so excited about roadside diners
he wants to try everything with you; experience all of the cliches and the niches. he’ll pull over and order pancakes at 3 p.m., pour a disgusting amount of syrup over them, and take a picture of you with whipped cream on your nose. “of course, this is necessary. why wouldn’t it be?” he’ll laugh at that photo for days.
