note: I'm starting to teach you guys German "Guten Morgen!"
── .✦ YEON SIEUN
you ditched to sleep in
- tries to text you during break but you’re not responding
- grows worried and immediately heads to your place to check up on you
- huffs when you open the door still in your pajamas, lazily rubbing the sleep out of your eyes and with half a yawn on your lips
- “why weren’t you responding?”, he’d ask you with his breath a little ragged, so you can assume he ran to your place
- “I stayed up too late and decided to sleep in.”, you’d shrug and he can’t believe you’re genuine
- shakes his head, checks the time on his phone and hurries to get to his cram school in time
- will hesitate to lend you his notes but then decide to do it anyway
- if this turns into a pattern, he’ll scold you
── .✦ AHN SUHO
you're first in line to buy concert tickets
- stares at your empty seat for a while until he realises why the sight is bugging him
- “did you oversleep?” (story of his life) and if you’re not responding, he’d sulk and try calling you in the break
- “still meeting up later?” -> you can’t miss out on dates with him cause he barely has any free time on his hands, so you’ll have to use every opportunity to spend time with him
- when he hears your excuse, he’s scolding you, reminding you why school is important and you should at least attend
- you better have gotten him a ticket as well
── .✦ OH BEOMSEOK
you're sick
- believes that you’re ill and already looks up what to get you
- collects all homework and brings it over to your place without being asked to do so
- adds additional notes to the stuff you did in class to make sure you can follow along
- happily eager to spend the day patching you up and won’t mind you being contagious either
── .✦ PARK HUMIN (BAKU)
you caught a cold
- already assumes that you’ve fallen ill
- tells everyone that you’re sick before he even asks you where you’re stuck
- stops by your house after practice and brings you a sixpack of his favourite “healthy” juice (the one with the most sugar)
- “it’s juice. How is that unhealthy.” -> believes that every juice is natural “why would there be sugar in it.”
- won’t stop bugging you until you let him in and he’ll baby you all day
── .✦ GO HYUNTAK (GOTAK)
you ditched to sleep in
- irritated af when the bell rings and you’re not there
- actually starts cursing under his breath when you don’t stumble into the classroom within the first ten minutes of the class starting
- texts you a bunch of mean stuff and then deletes it right after
- “why even bother showing up? Go ahead and drop out if you’re not coming anyway.”
- “from tomorrow on, I’m picking you up.” and that’s no empty threat
- will knock on your door until it threatens to fall out the hinges
── .✦ KANG WOOYOUNG
you have a shiner and don't want anyone to see until it's healed
- “wait, you weren’t there? I swear, I saw you.”
-> but he only arrived at third period, hit the gym, spent lunch with your communal boyfriend Yeongbin, went to P.E. and called it a day
- stops by your house — unsure himself what led him to that— and laughs his ass of when he sees your face
- it takes him one second for the amusement to die down “what happened here?”
- if it was an accident, you’ll never hear the end of it “do you want me to beat up your closet? It’ll never hurt you again once I’m done with it.”
- if it was a fight, he’s either going to assure that the other person will look worse or ask you to do a rematch and let him film it
── .✦ GEUM SEONGJE
you have a cold
- annoyed af
- “get your ass over here before second period or I’m telling the headmaster that you’re ditching to be in Disneyland” (fuck Disney!) and he has the pic photoshopped already
- cuts the day short and heads to the pc bang instead, scoffs when he sees you’re online
- “can’t be that sick, can you?” until he hears your voice “use the chat. I don’t wanna hear that.”
- “you better come to class tomorrow“
── .✦ NA BAEKJIN
you forgot to study for a test and decided to wait for the retake
- first assumed that you’re sick and thought of stopping by to drop off some snacks but the second he learns why you’re home, he’s clenching his jaw
- disappointed with your choices
- will call you once classes are over
- “the test was easy. The retake won’t be.”
- if you beg him, he’ll help you prepare and cross things out that were already used in the regular test
── .✦ JEON YEONGBIN
you overslept
- “why didn’t you tell me that we’re staying home today?”
- somehow has a perfect attendance
- is picking you up with his uniform still on and an iced coffee waiting in the cup holder for you
- has enough friends to spend the day with but he’s still annoyed that you’re not responding to his messages within 5 seconds of him sending them
- bored in class cause he can’t throw paper messages on you
── .✦ YEONGI
you're ill
- “traitor.”
- “liar.”
- “made me go to school while you’re ass is being lazy at home.”
-> blocks your number in between and then unblocks you to send you the next message
- won’t believe you that you’re sick at first
- acts like you’re dead, uncharacteristically mute for a day
- acts like she’s sick to then drop by at your place and hit you with her backpack
- the next day you’re attending again, she’s draping her jacket over yours to make sure you’re not catching another cold. “Don’t ever make me come here alone again.”
“Wanna have ramyeon back at my place?” - You ask them the infamous question, and how they react. By: @redkallie
it’s too cliche, i won’t say i’m in love… ♥︎ - ever wondered what kind of trope you and the weak hero cast might be in? By: @scirelistener
characters when you cry while patching them up By: @vargrblood
Weak hero class - text messages by: @rose24207
Weak Hero Class Boys With A Shy Girlfriend - Headcanons about the Weak Hero Class boys dealing with (and secretly loving) their really shy, soft-spoken girlfriend By: @pixiexdusts-world
el gato! - How the WHC boys would act around cats By: @10baku
sleepyhead reader - in which a sleepy, carefree reader often dozes off. How would your friend/boyfriend react to it? By: @carixie
weak hero characters as a crazy ex By: @ajoochip
“i think im falling for you” - the exact moment they realize they’re falling in love with you. By: @pushinpieta
let’s match! - how the whc boys would react to you asking to match halloween costumes! by: @kiminchae
love scenario - your love language with the whc boys by: @softspiderling
not answering their texts - y/n got sleepy and didn’t answer their boyfriend all day — these are their latest texts + your response by: @janetsboys
FROSTBITTEN, BY YOU! - In which a silly tease turns into an affectionate gesture. by: @neilissevered
pulling them by their belt loops ! by: @alpali
GIVING OR RECEIVING? — WHC BOYS x fem!READER - Do they prefer eating you out or getting a blowjob? By: @janetsboys (18+)
a little tease - reader who decides to wear a sexy lingerie to surprise them. By: @oyasumiaikko (18+)
going down on the boys of weak hero class 🔞 by: @sknyuz (18+)
It started out simple. Just a study session. She was helping him prep for an exam. That was all. But Ahn Suho had a way of pulling people in with his silence. He wasn’t the type to flirt or tease—he didn’t need to. He looked at you once and your stomach flipped like you'd been caught doing something wrong.
And maybe she was.
Because at some point, she stopped reading from the book. Her words slowed. She leaned forward. Their knees brushed.
And he didn’t move away.
“Suho,” she said softly, “you’re not paying attention.”
His eyes met hers. Dark. Focused.
“I am now.”
Her heart skipped.
The classroom was dead silent. Outside, the sun had dipped past the windows, casting long shadows over the floor. She shifted her weight, legs swinging slightly under the desk.
Suho didn’t blink.
“You keep looking at my mouth,” she whispered.
“You keep licking your lips.”
His voice was low. Controlled. But his fingers clenched faintly at the edge of the desk.
Something inside her snapped.
“Then stop looking,” she said, standing.
He tilted his head, challenging.
She didn’t back down.
She stepped between his legs.
“Y/N,” he said, voice hoarse. “That’s not a good idea.”
“You haven’t told me to stop.”
He didn’t.
She slid onto his lap slowly. Testing.
His hands didn’t move. Not at first. But his thighs tensed beneath her. His breath caught.
“You’re playing a dangerous game,” he muttered.
“Then play with me.”
Their mouths met in a crash of heat.
He kissed her like he’d been waiting all year for it. Rough. Controlled. Like he knew if he let go, he'd ruin her.
She didn’t care.
Her hands tangled in his hair, lips parting with a gasp when he sucked on her bottom lip. His grip finally broke—hands sliding up her waist, palms flat against her ribs. Steady. Warm.
And then she moved.
She didn’t even mean to. Just a shift of her hips, instinctive. But the friction made them both freeze.
Her thin skirt had ridden up. His uniform pants were straining. There was barely any fabric between them.
Suho swore under his breath.
“Y/N…”
She looked at him, pupils blown wide.
“You like that?” she asked, breathless.
He didn’t answer. His hand gripped her waist tight. Not pulling her away—just holding. Like he was trying to breathe through it.
She rolled her hips again.
His head tipped back.
“Fuck… don’t—”
But she was already doing it again.
Slow, lazy grinds. Back and forth. Her panties were soaked. She could feel the heat of him through his pants, and the pressure was… addictive.
She whimpered, trying to keep quiet.
His hands slid to her hips, guiding. Not stopping.
He was breathing hard now. Eyes clenched shut. Jaw locked.
“If you keep doing that, I’m gonna—”
She kissed him hard.
And kept going.
She didn’t mean to.
But the rhythm, the friction, the heat of him underneath her, how his hands gripped her tighter each time she moved—it built too fast.
Her thighs trembled. She gasped his name, forehead against his.
“Y/N…?”
Then it hit her.
A wave of heat. Her whole body tightened.
She came.
Right there.
On his lap.
Her hands flew to her mouth, muffling the sound. Her body shook, grinding once more through the aftershocks before she collapsed against him, panting.
Silence.
Then:
“Holy shit,” Suho said, voice stunned.
She hid her face in his neck.
“I didn’t mean to—”
“Don’t apologize.” His arms wrapped around her. “You have no idea how fucking hard it was not to flip the desk.”
They sat there for a moment.
Her legs still shaking. His breathing still heavy.
Then she felt something.
A hot, sticky wetness between them.
She blinked. Pulled back.
“Suho?”
He cleared his throat.
“Yeah. I came too.”
She stared at him.
“From that?”
His eyes met hers, dead serious.
“You grind on my lap and moan my name like that, what the fuck do you expect?”
warnings: semi-public (it's at the beach), unprotected piv, creampie, swearing (if that even needs a warning atp lmao)
word count: 1.1k
a/n: something short but sweet for my babies ˃ 𖥦 ˂ please enjoy!
navigation
The salt air is thick and humid, sticking to your skin as the distant sound of crashing waves and muffled laughter from the beach crowd fades behind you. You aren't interested in the water or the sun anymore; all your attention is focused on the boy pressing you firmly against the plastic wall of the cramped port-a-potty placed on the side of the beach.
Suho is usually the picture of effortless composure, but right now, his breathing is heavy, ragged against the shell of your ear. The space is suffocatingly small, smelling of chemical disinfectant and the scent of his skin—sunscreen and a hint of sweat from playing around in the sun. It only makes the situation feel more illicit, more desperate.
"You're really okay with this?" he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through your chest. His hands are sliding down your hips, gripping you with a strength that tells you exactly how much he's struggling to stay patient.
You don't answer with words. Instead, you arch your back, pressing your heat against the hard ridge of his cock through his clothes, letting out a soft moan that echoes in the small plastic enclosure. That’s all the permission he needs.
Suho groans, a sound of pure hunger, and crashes his lips onto yours. The kiss is frantic, tasting of salt and desperation. His tongue slides into your mouth, claiming you with an urgency that leaves you breathless. One of his hands leaves your hip to tangle in your hair, tilting your head back to gain better access to your throat. He sucks a bruise into the sensitive skin of your neck, his teeth grazing you just enough to make you shiver.
Your hands are everywhere—clutching at his shoulders, pulling at his hair, desperate to feel him. You reach down, your fingers fumbling with the strings of his swimming trunks. He helps you, his movements quick and impatient, shoving them down just enough to free himself.
When your palm finally closes around his cock, he lets out a sharp, choked gasp. He's rock hard, pulsing in your grip, the heat of him searing your skin. You slide your hand up and down the length of him, your thumb rubbing over the bead of pre-cum at the tip, and Suho loses it. He breaks the kiss, his forehead resting against yours, eyes hooded and dark with lust.
"Fuck, you're killing me," he pants.
He doesn't waste another second. He lifts you up, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, locking him in. The plastic wall creaks under your combined weight, the instability only adding to the adrenaline. You feel the cool air hit your thighs as he shoves your bikini aside, exposing your dripping wet pussy to the humid air.
Suho doesn't go slow. He positions the head of his cock at your entrance, rubbing it against your clit for one agonizing second before he thrusts upward.
You scream into his shoulder, the sound muffled by his skin, as he fills you completely in one deep, punishing stroke. The sensation is overwhelming—the tightness of the space, the hardness of his body, and the sheer fullness of him stretching you open. You grip his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin as your body tries to adjust to the size of him.
Suho freezes for a moment, his muscles locking as he sinks into your warmth. He lets out a long, shaky exhale, his eyes closing in sheer bliss. "You're so tight... fuck baby, you feel amazing."
Then, he starts to move.
He begins with slow, heavy grinds, rotating his hips to hit every sensitive spot inside you. Each slide out is agonizingly slow, and each thrust back in is deep and forceful, bottoming out against your cervix. The plastic walls of the port-a-potty rattle with every impact, a rhythmic thud-thud-thud that syncs with the pounding of your heart.
You're losing your mind, the friction of his cock sliding against your walls sending sparks of electricity through your nerves. You tilt your head back, your eyes fluttering shut as you ride the wave of pleasure. Suho’s movements grow more erratic, his composure completely gone. He’s no longer the sweet, goofy boy you're used to; he’s a man possessed, driven by a primal need to be inside you.
"Look at me," he commands, his voice strained.
You open your eyes to find him staring at you with an intensity that makes your toes curl. He’s watching your face, watching the way your features distort with pleasure, and it seems to drive him even harder. He picks up the pace, his thrusts becoming fast and shallow, hammering into you with a relentless rhythm.
The friction builds, the heat between your thighs becoming an inferno. You can feel the climax building in the pit of your stomach, a tight coil of tension that's about to snap. You tighten your legs around him, pulling him deeper, urging him to go faster.
"Suho... please..." you whimper, your voice breaking.
"I've got you," he grunts, his voice guttural. "Just let go."
He shifts his grip, one hand sliding under your ass to lift you higher, angling himself to hit your G-spot with every single plunge. The sensation is too much. You feel the first wave of the orgasm crash over you, your internal muscles clamping down hard on his cock in rhythmic spasms. You cry out, your body shaking as the pleasure peaks, sending ripples of heat through your entire frame.
The feeling of you squeezing him is the final straw for Suho. He lets out a low, animalistic growl, his body stiffening as he delivers one last, deepest thrust. He buries himself inside you, his hips locking against yours as he erupts. You can feel the hot, thick jets of his cum pumping into you, filling you up, the warmth of it spreading deep inside your womb.
He stays there for a long time, his chest heaving, his forehead pressed against yours. The only sound in the small space is the sound of your synchronized, ragged breathing and the distant, oblivious noise of the beach outside.
Slowly, he lets you slide down his body until your feet hit the floor. He doesn't pull away immediately, leaning in to press a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead. His eyes are soft now, the hunger replaced by a quiet, satisfied affection.
"You okay?" he whispers, his voice returning to its usual calm, though it's still husky from the exertion.
You nod, leaning your head against his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heart slowing down. As you both begin the clumsy process of fixing your clothes in the cramped space, the thrill of the risk still lingers in the air, a secret shared between the two of you in the middle of a crowded beach.
🏷 tag list: (lmk if u want to be added!) @heartshapesandcigarettes @b3kisses @oyasumiaikko @life-is-a-game-of-thrones @kaylasyx @rickfuckinggrim3s @hexzil @iverrr @christinamadsen @youngtacolady @luvchiidoll @vamp18e @minho4luv @seomisaho @xoxolollipop @hoonnri @natlvswonwoo @canthearyoul0l @butter-scout
summary: ahn suho would do anything to protect you, even if it means harming himself.
content warning: mentions of injury’s, slight swearing, blood
genre: angst, comfort
A/N: my second ahn suho fic hehe, after this i have a series🥺
You hated seeing Ahn Suho bleed, maybe because he never reacted to it, not the bruises on his jaw, not the cuts on his knuckles, not even the blood running down on his forehead like it belonged there.
“You’re bleeding again,” you say with concern, your hands on your hips as you examine his wounds, Suho barely glanced at you while he sat on the edge of your bed, lazily wiping the blood from his lip with the back of his hand.
“Dont worry, looks worse than it is.” he replies, not meeting your gaze.
“Why do you always do this?” you finally snap,
“Do what?”
“Act like getting hurt doesnt matter to you.”
That made Suho go quiet.
He looked away for a moment, jaw slightly tight like he was thinking of what to say, “…Because it doesn’t,” he mutters quietly. You stare at him for a second before letting out a scoff, “You’re unbelievable.” you say with a sharp look in your eyes, Suho finally glances up at you, bruised lip twitching slightly, “You say that everytime.” he finally says, “Because every time you show up looking like you got dragged through hell.” you reply.
You grab your medkit from under your bed and shift closer to him, almost leaning on him while putting antiseptic on cotton pads. Suho watches you quietly as you move carefully against his skin. “…This is gonna sting,” you mumble softly before pressing the cotton pads against the cut on is forehead. His eyebrows twitch suddenly at the sting, barely reacting yet you still notice it.
“…See? That hurt.”
“…Barely.”
you tch before responding, “Liar.”
Suho lets out a quiet breath that almost sounds like a laugh before tilting his head back slightly, “You worry too much.”
he says, not meeting your eyes, your hands pause for a second after hearing that, you hated hearing him say that, like caring was unreasonable.
You let out a soft sigh before grabbing another cotton pad,“You’re impossible.” Suho smiles a little at that, “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” The room falls quiet after that, the only sound being the hum of your ac while you continued patching him up.
By the next morning, Suho acted like nothing ever happened,
like he hadn’t shown up to your apartment bleeding last night. You shut your locker a little harder than usual, still annoyed from yesterday when a few voices close to you caught your attention.
“Didn’t Ahn Suho get into another fight yesterday?”
“Again?”
“I heard he actually messed someone pretty bad this time.”
“Woahh thats insanee”
You stayed quiet while listening them talk, your grip tightening slightly around the straps of your bag, none of them sounded worried, like all of this was just good drama to them.
“Honestly, I’d be terrified of dating someone like him.”
That made your eyebrows furrow.
“You’re staring” someone suddenly speaks behind you
Your head immediately turns behind you, seeing Suho
Suho stood behind you with his hands in his pockets, looking unbothered even with the faint bruise visible near his jaw.
“Did you hear that?” you mumble quietly, Suho shrugs slightly like he couldn’t care less, “People gossip too much, no need to worry,” Suho replies while yawning, your eyes go back to the faint bruise on his jaw before you sigh softly,
“…They make you sound scary,” you mumble, looking down at your shoes.
“…Am I?” he asks, the question catches you off gaurd.
“…Not to me,” you reply, voice so quiet he almost didn’t hear it, Suho softly sighs before flicking your forehead slightly,
“Stop thinking too much,” that made you glare at him,
“…Im serious.” you reply, pouting slightly, “I know.” he replies, smiling softly to tell you he’s happy you care.
The rest of the day passed quietly after that, at least— it felt quiet untill school ended. You walked out of the school gates while scrolling through your phone, barely noticing the group of boys following you untill one of them suddenly called your name in the alleyway, your steps slow immediately.
“Hey, you’re Ahn Suho’s girl, right?” the question immediately makes your stomach drop.
You slowly put your phone in your pocket, finally looking at the group properly. There were three of them, all taller than you, their uniforms messy like they’ve been waiting for you.
“…What?” you mumble quietly, one of them lets out a scoff beore stepping closer to you, “Relax, we just wanna talk.”
The grip on the straps of your bag tightens immediately ,
“i dont really have anything to say to you.” you mutter, trying to slip past them when another boy blocks your way,
“Damn, shes got attitude.” The guy comments while smirking at you, the comment makes your eyebrows furrow slightly.
“Look, tell Suho to stop sticking his nose into our business.”
your stomach turns after hearing that, this was about yesterdays fight, “…I dont know what your talking about.” you mumble, still trying to pass through. “Sure you dont.”
the tallest one reaches over suddenly and tightly grabs your wrist, your breath catches immediently. “Take your hand off me,” you say, trying to get his hand off yours, but the grip only tightens. “Relax, we’re just talking” the guy thats holdingy your wrist says, “Well I’m not.” you reply, finally managing to shove him back slightly, but that seemed to. irritate them.
“Seriously?” one of them says, before you could react, one of the guy shoves you hard enough you stumble backwards, scraping your arm against the rough brick wall, the sharp sting makes you hiss slightly. One of them curses slightly before grabbing your shoulder roughly, making you wince.
“You think you’re tough because you’re Ahn Suho’s girl?”
“I said let go—“, before you finish speaking, another shoves you hard again sending you stumbling again. This time, the side of your face scrapes. harshly against the floor, making your eyes water immediately. “Shit.” one of them mutters after noticing the angry red scratch on your cheek, for a second , everyone goes quiet.
“Forget it,” the tallest one finally says, stepping back slightly.
“Lets just go.”
“What? thats it?”
“If Suho sees this, we’re fucked.” They quickly leave.
Your breathing stays uneven after they leave, the alleyway suddenly quiet. You slowly stand up, lifting your hand towards your scratch before wincing at the sting, blood.
You slowly walk to Suho’s part time job, your whole body aching after stumbling.
The small bell above the restaurant rings softly the moment you step inside. Suho barely glances at first, lazily stocking drinks. “…You’re late,” Suho says, not glancing at you, but the moment his eyes land on your face— he freezes.
“…Who?” he asks, his jaw tightening you think it might break
“Suho—“ you start but he cuts you off, “I said who.” he asks again, his voice sharp enough to cut through the entire restaurant. Suho immediately steps closer to you, gently grabbing your chin to see the scratch properly. His touch was careful, too careful.
You had seen Suho annoyed, tired, but never like this.
You hesitate for a second beofre softly shaking your head
“It doesnt matter.” , that only makes his jaw tighten more
“It matters to me.” he shoots bcack, the words come out immediately. like he didnt have to think. Suho softly wipes the blood near your cheek with his thumb and sighs softly.
“…Come here” he gently pulls you behind the counter while reaching for the first aid kit.
While he was cleaning up your wounds, you sensed somthing in his eyes.
“Suho, dont. I’m really fine.”
“Where are they?”
“…Its fine,”
“No,” he immediately says, “Its not.”
After Suho patched your wounds, he quietly grabs his jacket from the chair beside him, which somehow scared you more.
You immediately try to stop him, tugging on his sleeve,
“…Suho.” he doesnt answer immediately, instead he softly takes your hand, “Stay here, okay?” he reassures you.
“No.” you suddenly say, Suho pauses slightly after hearing that, “…No what?” he asks, skeptical, “Dont do anything stupid, please” you plead, Suho stays quiet for a second before sighing, “…I’ll be fine, you can trust me.”. he finally sys before leaving.
You’ve been waiting for almost an hour anxiously till the small bell above the restaurant door rings again. Your head immediately lifts, you look at Suho in shock. Suho looks worse than ever, his knuckles cut, lip split, and a small cut on his forehead bleeding slightly.
“What did you do?” your voice comes out shakier than intended. Suho lazily wipes off the blood on the corner of his mouth using the back of his hand before glancing at you.
“…What I had to do.” he says like its the obvious.
You let out a sigh before inspecting his knuckles and his face, “…You’re bleeding again.” you say, brows furrowed as you lightly swipe your hand on the scratch making him hiss slightly. “Why do you keep hurting yourself for me?” you ask after a while, for a moment he was quiet, like he didnt know what to say, “Because he hurt you.” he says after a while,
And for once, you finally realize that Ahn Suho would bleed for you if he had to.
A/N: omg i finally finished this omg it highk took so long because the past week i’ve been hella stressed and exhausted huhus, i hope this is still good enough T-T
REQ. Heyyaa,i wanted to ask if you could do a Angst + fluff at the end,ahn suho fic? Possibly something to do with jealousy also where suho kinda yells at reader. The children YEARN to have more suho fics from you🥹 PEAK WRITING BTW
(WHC MLST) . ahn suho x fem!reader · angst, fluff, college!au, friends to lovers, mentions of baku, yeongi, seokdae · spirit fingers referenced, features one of my favorite poems by nikita gill
note. i’m not really good at writing angst so, sorry in advance. also i got a little carried away writing this so it’s a bit lengthy 😅
“do you not like me anymore?”
you stopped pouring another glass of alcohol, a smirk conquering your features before you rolled your eyes and carried on from where you left off.
suho narrowed his eyes at your response, nudging your foot under the table that caused you to look incredulously at him for it almost made you drop the bottle of soju while you poured him a glass as well.
“didn’t you hear what i said?” he asked.
you gazed at him. “i heard it just fine.”
“then why aren’t you saying anything?”
suho always asked you to hangout if you had the time. he’d ask you to go do mundane tasks with him, like buying groceries or delivering food and helping out his grandma. at first, it felt special to be invited to do these kinds of things with him. out of all the people he could’ve asked, he chose you.
until you realized that, maybe, suho asking you to spend time with him meant something more than him being friendly. the longing gaze, the subtle flirting, how he always calmed down with you around.
it was a complete reality twist and basically shattered all you thought you knew about your friendship. all you could think about was that he pretended to be your friend to try to get in a relationship. obviously, you knew suho wasn’t like that at all, however. but you’re constantly being mistaken as his girlfriend and he never corrects those who assume. which is why now, whenever he asks you to hangout, you sometimes come up with ways to avoid him.
“you know i like you suho, or otherwise, i wouldn’t be sitting here drinking with you on a wednesday night.”
“it was the last day i could use this coupon.” a hint of amusement on his expression.
you were already a bit drunk, having just shared a few glasses of beer and now a stronger type of alcohol with not only suho, but some friends too who already left (hence why it was only you and him who were left alone in the place); you two were only trying to finish the few meat left on the grill and then you can decide to head home too.
suho doesn’t think he’s a person who acts on instinct.
he believes he at least has some self control. he won’t go out if he knows he has work to finish, knows his limits, and has pretty good time management if you ask him. he’s someone who tries hard to get what he wants, and most of the time, being able to achieve that. he believes if he wants something that bad, then there should be no reason why he shouldn’t be able to get it. he’ll learn, he’ll adapt, he’ll make any changes needed. but now, as he sits across from you, he feels lost. nothing’s ever quite compared to this feeling, a feeling of longing for something.
something called you.
he’s not exactly sure when the thoughts of kissing or dating you began to fill his mind. at the beginning, you were just another runaway friend of yeongi, in an on-again, off-again relationship with seokdae. to be honest, the last place he thought you’d go was to college. but you’ve really pulled yourself together after the gang you were in.
the constant buzzing of your phone vibrating the table breaks him from his trip down memory lane. every time your screen lights up, you smiled, and suho can’t help but think it’s jeon seokdae again.
“what? who is it?” he tries to ask coolly, downing another shot.
“yeongi,” you quickly reply and suho almost started to relax before you added, “she’s talking about baku.”
raising an eyebrow in your direction, suho asks, “and who is baku?”
you look up at him, “someone i know from class!”
the name sounds familiar to suho. there’s probably been a few times you talked about him, a memory of a faint smile on your face when you did. it sets a weird feeling in suho’s stomach, and he realizes you look a little too excited at whatever you’re discussing with yeongi.
suho folds his arms across his chest, “does everyone and their moms know baku now?”
“he’s so funny in class and he bought me coffee once,” you hummed. “yeongi thinks he might like me.”
suho scoffs. he wonders why no one told him more about this “baku” and his apparent more-than-friendly feelings for you? if yeongi knows, then does that mean the three of you hung out before without him? how much has he missed between you and baku? suho silently takes another sip of his drink, his eyes peering over his cup as he watches you get giddy over your conversation.
he’s never been the type to get easily jealous and he tries his best not to acknowledge the feeling bubbling up in his throat. he has to bite back a remark that would probably make things worse for himself.
“hurry eating,” suho added as he chewed on the last piece of pork. “i still have to walk you back to your dorm.”
you nodded once, finishing your food with a hazy look in your eyes. and as much as he wants to think it’s from the alcohol, it’s from seeing you possibly falling for someone that isn’t him.
he realizes then and there that he shouldn’t be thinking that.
suho realizes how little time he’s been spending with you recently.
he’s been hearing more about this baku guy. you’ve told him “can’t hang out, i’m with baku right now” or “i’ll be hanging out with baku later”. you’ve been so busy with baku that suho hasn’t had the time to talk to you. no more eating or drinking together, not when baku is around.
suho doesn’t want to say he’s necessarily jealous of the relationship you two share, but can’t say it doesn’t sit right with him. suho is still your friend after all, and he doesn’t like hearing you talk so much about him. during the small chances he does get to talk to you, you always slip in one mention about baku.
what about suho? what does baku have that he doesn’t? he could totally treat you better than baku ever could. he practically does already. he can’t help but let these little thoughts enter his mind. if baku’s in the way, how is suho supposed to show you how much he likes you?
it’s one day that you’re both splayed across his couch. your legs are resting over his as his thumb smoothes across the skin of your knee when baku is brought up again. out of the corner of his eye, he can see you smile and lightly laugh at your phone. suho, being the nosy person that he typically was not, can’t help but try to reach over to see what you’re laughing at.
you’re quick to push him away, chuckling at the sight of the small pout on his face. he tries again, and you decide it’s probably better just to sit beside him instead. you begrudgingly show him your phone, and he squints his eyes so he can read your screen better.
it’s quiet for a few moments before he hums at the texts between you and baku. it’s a conversation funny enough to make you laugh. he tries not to roll his eyes at the cutesy way baku texts, him being clearly interested in you. he doesn’t want to say anything about it though, doesn’t want you to know that baku bothers him for reasons that he shouldn’t be thinking.
“he’s funny,” suho muses, trying to stop the snarky remark he wants to say.
“way funnier than you,” you tease, watching him deflate back to his side of the couch.
“there’s been times where you’ve laughed at my jokes though, like laughed laughed.”
“i was either super drunk or bored out of my mind, so those don’t count.”
suho rolls his eyes at you, deciding to ignore your words, choosing to believe that you think he’s the funniest guy ever. he’s been finding himself having little competitions with baku that only he’s apart of. baku is funny? suho is funnier. baku is cute? suho is cute too, just give him a minute.
suho tries to boil it down to the fact he’s always been competitive, but he knows it’s more than that. in his head, it doesn’t matter what baku does better than him because right now, you’re in his apartment, on his couch, deciding to spend meaningless time with him.
“what have you both been doing? i haven’t seen you at all this week.” he hates how his voice sounds, a little too clingy for his liking, but he hopes you don’t hear it.
“nothing, really. we’ve just been going out to eat or hanging out when we have the time.”
suho figures you both somehow have all the time in the world in order to be hanging out this much. he makes his voice whiny before speaking, “i miss you, please don’t leave me forever.”
you laugh at the sound of his voice, pulling your legs away from him. “you’re acting like me spending time with baku is gonna kill you.”
“what’s killing me is the fact i don’t get to see you that much anymore,” he grumbles.
he notices that you don’t respond right away, and when he goes to look at you, your eyebrows are furrowed and there’s a certain look in your eyes. did he say too much? before he can start panicking, you turn towards him, “don’t do that.”
“do what?”
“pretend like you miss me when we already spend a lot of time together. you literally called me up the other night.”
suho lets out a breath, “sorry, but you’re still my friend. i do miss you, i’m jealous that baku gets to see you so much.” although he says it jokingly, there’s definitely truth behind his words. it might not mean much to you, but the fact that baku gets to see you in a way that only suho feels like he deserves, it bothers him.
“i’m gonna tell baku you’re being mean to him,” you huff.
“tell him then,” suho slings an arm around your shoulder, “let him know that he needs to learn how to share.”
“first of all,” you slide his arm off of you, “don’t say it like that because you make it sound like i’m an object. two, i think you might need to learn how to share.”
he hums, “you were mine first.”
“i was never yours,” you grouch, “you made that clear when you rejected me.”
he can tell you’re joking, but he can feel his blood run cold at your words. he has rejected you before, not wanting to get caught in the middle of yours and seokdae’s relationship drama. but in suho’s defense, you were only trying to use him to get back at seokdae for hurting you for not wanting you to stay with him.
in the best way he can, he puts his hands together and grovels, “please, can you find it in your kind soul to forgive me?”
you scoff before grabbing your phone to take a picture of him. you’re quiet for a few moments more, suho knowing that you’re about to post the picture on your instagram story for everyone to see, including baku. he doesn’t want to stop you, equal parts of wanting to show off how you’re hanging out with him and a little bit of embarrassment.
you set your phone down, placing your hands on top of his, “you can stop. now i kinda just feel bad for you. because this.. it’s not a good look on you.”
suho doesn’t move, staring at you with a certain look in his eyes. he can tell you right here, he thinks. he’s thought about what he’d say if he were to confess to you almost too much. he’s practiced his lines before, thinking up the perfect way he’d confess. it almost feels right to do it now, clearing his throat and-
your phone buzzes, pulling your attention away from him. he grimaces when you show him the notification. what seems to be baku’s account liking your story, the story that has suho begging for your apology posted on it. you sigh dreamily, “told you he’s funny.”
“not funny when it’s baku.”
“suho!”
suho: y/nnn
suho: come help me plzzzz
the two buzzes coming from your phone was from suho, probably drunk, needing help to get home. you’d normally go drinking with him, but baku had asked you out first. and as much as you didn’t want to ditch baku so suddenly, suho was still more important. baku was understanding about you leaving. to be totally honest, it kind of bothered you a bit that he wasn’t upset.
luckily you were still sharing locations with each other so you could see that the address wasn’t too far. suho decided the two of you should have each other’s locations in case seokdae had ever returned and you dumbly decided to run back to him. he promised that he’d never let you do that.
you find suho sitting outside a tent bar, hunched over the table. you had stopped at a convenience store on the way to get him a hangover cure drink. when you tap his shoulder, and he turn towards you, you can see the growing grin on his face. it’s easy to tell that he’s drunk, the hooded eyes and lazy smile on his face proving it.
“y/n,” he dragged your name out, “you don’t know how much i missed you,”
all you could do was sigh at his drunken state.
the walk back was quiet. you wanted suho to have time to sober up but the walk was a bit slow. especially with suho dragging his feet and his weight over your shoulder wearing you down.
“if you don’t pick up the pace, i might get locked out of my dorm again and—”
“then you’ll have to sleep at my apartment. i know.” suho huffed. “just stay anyway. you know my grandmother won’t mind.”
despite that you did mind, you still found yourself staying at suho’s apartment.
you helped him to his bedroom, tripping over piles of clothes thrown everywhere and trying not to wake his grandma. suho falls backwards on his bed, pulling you down with him in fits of laughter. you giggle and place your hand over his mouth to quiet him.
“i’ll sleep on the couch, okay?” you whispered.
but suho immediately protests, “no, no, no. would i be the gentleman my grandmother raised me to be if i let you sleep on the couch?”
rolling your eyes, you pushed him back on his bed, holding him down with your hand on his chest.
“i want to sleep on the couch.” you assured him and he no longer fights you back, his movements stilling.
just as you’re about to leave, suho catches your wrist in his hand. you turn back to him. the look on his face is more serious now.
“did i ruin your night with baku?” he asks, not looking directly at you. “was he upset because i took you away from him?”
you furrowed your eyebrows, almost lost on what’s happening. before suho realizes it, it all just flows out of him.
“i don’t want you talking to someone else. i want you to talk to me, want you to spend tonight with me. not baku from your class. not seokdae who’s not even here but is still a thought in the back of your mind.” he still doesn’t look at you as he continues, “i want you to be with me. and, fuck, i just- you don’t know how much i want you to just look at me for once.”
his ears are ringing. he can’t hear if you’ve said anything, or if you kept quiet. when he does finally look up, he sees how you shift in place, sees how your eyes shift all over.
you suck in a breath, not really sure what you’re feeling. this is suho talking to you, your friend for some time.
“you’re drunk, suho. get some sleep. we’ll talk in the morning,” is all you say then leave his bedroom.
it’s twelve a.m. and you’ve been staring at your ceiling, consumed by thoughts of suho, his words reverberating in your mind like a resounding echo.
most days you could feel his gaze, he didn’t always make it obvious, but you knew he was looking, it was needy, begging for some sort of answer from you, an answer you had a hard time formulating. in your head it was clear, the night suho blurted out his feelings under the influence of alcohol, you found it funny that he would admit to it when he knew you were seeing someone. well, not officially. baku hadn’t officially asked you to be his.
for some reason, you had this strange feeling that baku knows something is going on between you and suho. and maybe that’s why he hasn’t asked you to be his girlfriend just yet. that or yeongi mentioned something to baku. the girl can’t exactly hold water.
and despite the sudden grey area in your friendship with suho, you’re certain about one thing: you really do like being around him. when you would see each other, you would act like nothing changed but his eyes always searched yours for a flicker of hope.
you just needed more time to sort out your feelings. the thing is, you’re not really sure what you’re feeling. he likes you, and at no point did you ever stop to think if you like him. of course suho’s nice, a good friend, funny, and obviously attractive. it’s possible, that deep down, you had always wondered what it would be like to be more.
a wave of frustration hits as you whine into your pillow and twisting and kicking your feet until the vibration of your phone halts your movements. it’s a text from suho asking to meet. you waste no time to slip on whatever clothes are closest to you before sneaking out.
you meet suho on the outdoor campus amphitheater. he’s stretched across the brick seating and staring up at the midnight sky. you sit on a lower space in front of him, copying his position. it’s quiet for a few moments, apart from the occasional cricket chirps. it’s not as awkward as it is tense and you don’t know what to say. suho’s eyes are darting over your shoulder, his eyebrows furrowed as he presumably tries to start the conversation.
“aish- why are we acting so serious?” he groans frustratedly.
you shrug your shoulders, back still facing him, “you started it. you have to fix it.”
he lets out an exasperated sound. “you already know how i feel or should i remind you?”
“no,” you rolled your eyes.
“then why won’t you give me an answer? it’s been days.” he questions.
the one answer you had in mind was the easiest. it’s the one where you didn’t have to face your feelings and forget about this whole thing. just go back to normal. you want to think that suho’s just being like this because someone else likes you too.
“i just want to keep seeing you as a friend for a long, long time. it’s more comfortable and easier this way.” you explained.
suho doesn’t respond right away, and you think he’s taking in your words. you’re not really sure what he’s thinking.
“i was drunk last time so let me make myself clear now,” he sighed out, mumbling into the quiet air, “i won’t be your friend.”
“ahn suho-” you finally turn around to face him.
“there’s only way you can keep seeing me for the rest of your life.” he continued.
you scoff in disbelief, anger starting to bubble inside you. “you really are unbelievable.”
“reject me? fine. but i’m not planning to keep seeing you as a friend if you start dating baku. i don’t plan on keeping you around if i start dating someone.”
“this isn’t fair! you’re not being fair! is this what our friendship means to you-”
“i was never in it for the friendship, y/n!” suho snapped, jaw clenching. you slightly flinch at his retort.
you’re not really sure how your friendship with him got to this point. you never really thought too much about how you were already so touchy with each other or how flirty everything was, it just seemed like you guys’ thing.
“have you really never once seen me as a man?”
you don’t answer right away and he doesn’t try rushing you. his look is full of all his feelings for you and you quickly turn your back facing him again, returning your focus to the empty black sky.
if the two of you date and it doesn’t work out, it will be impossible to go back to just being friends, you think. then what if you start to each other. that’d be the worst. and you never want to go through that.
“i honestly don’t know anymore,” you can hear how loud your heart is pounding in your chest, “it’s not that i dislike you. no, i do like you. but i just can’t picture it. how could we become lovers? if we dated, we’d have to… we’d need to kiss. i just can’t imagine kissing you.” you softly close your eyes, sighing tiredly. “no matter how hard i try, i can’t picture it. it doesn’t even feel real.”
the weight of your words hang in the air. your head tilts back slightly, surrendering to the moment, while suho leans closer, his presence filling your space. you can feel his breath near your lips, a gentle invitation that both thrills and unsettles you.
his lips graze yours almost teasingly, a hand coming up to tilt your chin up further before he lets the kiss deepen. that first kiss: like fire within your bones.
you open your eyes, getting the upside down view of suho. you’re left frozen in surprise when he pulls away and just walks off without saying a word.
like every part of you that came from a dead star is alive again.
“ahn suho.”
before he could walk too far, you go after him and kiss him, this time with equal passion.
By the third day of ignoring Suho, it stops feeling necessary and starts feeling stupid, which would probably be enough to make a normal person quit. Unfortunately, I am not a normal person. I am right, deeply committed to being right, and also just petty enough to keep going even when it starts hurting me more than it’s hurting him.
The worst part is that he knows that.
Not the hurting part. I would rather die than let him know that. But the rest of it—how long I can hold out once I decide I’m angry, how I can sit two inches from someone and act like they’ve been dead for years, how the more he tries to drag a reaction out of me, the more stubborn I get.
He knows. He has known since the second month we started dating, back when he stole the last fish cake from my cup at the convenience store and then looked honestly surprised when I didn’t speak to him for six hours. He had laughed then too, all crooked mouth and bright eyes, leaning his elbows on the counter while I stared right through him like he was wallpaper. He lasted maybe three hours before he started poking my shoulder and asking if I’d forgotten how to talk.
Now he lasts longer. Now he knows I always come back. He just has to wait for me to get bored with my own temper.
I hate that he knows that too.
The classroom is loud in the way classrooms always are before the teacher comes in, chairs scraping, bags dropping, somebody yelling from the back like they were born with no awareness of indoor volume. The windows are cracked open just enough for cold air to slip in, and the sky outside is dull and pale, the kind of morning that makes everything feel a little flatter than it is. Sieun is at his desk already, head bent over a book, looking like he exists in a separate dimension from the rest of us.
Suho is half-sitting on the corner of the desk beside mine, one foot on the floor, one stretched lazily into the aisle, peeling the wrapper off a lollipop with the kind of carelessness that only works because everything about him looks careless, even when it isn’t.
I know exactly when he notices me.
He doesn’t say anything at first. He just lifts his head. His eyes meet mine for a second over the noise, and something low and bright turns over under my ribs before I can stop it. It is humiliating, frankly, that after days of being mad at him, all it takes is one look and my whole body responds like it’s been waiting.
He smiles a little. Not even a full smile. Just enough to show he’s seen me seeing him.
“Finally,” he says. “You remembered what time school starts.” I set my bag down, pull out my chair, and sit without answering. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the wrapper go still in his hands.
“Wow,” he says after a beat, quieter now, almost impressed. “Still doing this?” I take out my notebook. Flip it open. Smooth the corner of the page flat with my thumb.
Suho lets out a short laugh, but there’s no real amusement in it. It catches at the edges, dry and disbelieving. “You’re really committed.”
Sieun turns a page.
That’s all. No glance up, no intervention, no visible interest. Which, from him, is basically the same thing as stepping politely aside and letting the car crash happen in peace.
Suho nudges the side of my desk lightly with his knee. “Hey.”
I reach into my bag for a pen.
“Hey.”
Nothing.
His tongue presses briefly into the inside of his cheek. I can see it when I finally make the mistake of looking up, and the second I do, he catches me. Of course he does. His eyes hold mine immediately, dark and sharp and a little too steady, and for one stupid second I forget what I’m doing. There is always that half-second with him. That dangerous, slippery half-second where all the anger in me loosens and I remember too many things at once—his hand warm at the back of my neck when he pulls me through a crowd, his shoulder against mine on the bus, the way he says my name when he’s half asleep and not trying to be annoying.
I look away first. He exhales through his nose and sits back a little. “Unbelievable.”
I nearly answer on instinct. Nearly. The sarcasm rises warm and automatic to the back of my throat—you’ve said sweeter things to me, don’t act shy now—but I bite it down so hard it almost hurts.
He sees something move in my face. His own changes at once, just a flicker, a brief alertness, like he thinks I’m about to give in.
I lower my eyes to the notebook.
His mouth flattens.
There’s a long moment where neither of us moves. Then he unwraps the lollipop the rest of the way, shoves it into his mouth, and mutters, “Fine.”
The teacher comes in. The room settles by degrees. Chairs stop scraping. Conversations break apart. A worksheet lands on my desk and I stare at it without reading a word.
I can feel him beside me for most of the period, even after he slides back to his own seat. Not looking exactly. He isn’t obvious about it. He never is. But every now and then I catch it—that strange, physical certainty of being watched. The tiny shift in the air. The way my shoulders tighten before I even turn. The second I do, he’s already looking somewhere else, jaw resting on his fist, expression blank in a way that only makes it worse.
At lunch, the three of us sit in the same place we always do, out by the side stairs where the concrete still holds a little sun if the weather is decent. It isn’t decent today. The wind keeps getting under the edge of my blazer and finding my skin. Sieun eats in silence, Suho sprawls beside him like he’s allergic to posture, one knee up, one arm hooked over it, lunch half-forgotten in his hand. He looks at me twice before saying anything. Maybe three times. Each glance lands and leaves a mark.
“You’re still not talking to me?” I take a bite of my rice roll. He watches me chew. “Right. Good talk.”
I swallow, stare ahead at the half-dead shrubs by the fence, and feel him still looking.
There are people passing down the walkway in front of us, shoes thudding down the stairs, voices rising and falling, but all of it feels far off, blurred around the shape of him at my side. He leans closer—not enough to touch, just enough that I feel the heat of him through the cold air.
“You know,” he says lightly, “if this is your plan to make me suffer, it’s working. A little dramatic, but points for effort.” I tear another piece from the roll with my teeth and refuse to look at him.
He gives a soft scoff that turns into that laugh again. Not warm. Not really. That irritated, half-disbelieving laugh he does when I’ve pushed him exactly where he doesn’t want to go and he refuses to let me see it properly. It slides under my skin every time. It shouldn’t. It should make me more annoyed. Instead it makes something inside me go tight and fluttering.
Maybe because I know that sound now.
The first time I heard it was after we started dating, when he turned up under my apartment building one evening with a bruised cheek and that stupid look on his face like nothing in the world had happened. I’d been furious, standing there in slippers and an oversized sweatshirt, arms crossed so tight they hurt, telling him he was unbelievable, impossible, insane. He had listened for maybe ten seconds before leaning in to kiss me mid-sentence.
I’d turned my head at the last second and his mouth had brushed the corner of my jaw instead. He’d laughed then too, soft and sharp at once, forehead dropping briefly to my shoulder like he didn’t know whether I was serious or not. My whole body had gone hot so fast I thought I might actually combust right there in the stairwell.
Now I keep my face blank and make the mistake of lifting my eyes just as he’s already watching me.
There it is again.
That stupid drop in my stomach. That lightheaded, breath-caught feeling, as if my body has betrayed me before my mind can catch up. He looks tired. Not generally. Just specifically tired of me. Tired of being shut out. There’s annoyance there too, resting easy in the line of his mouth, but underneath it something quieter sits and stays.
I look away first, again.
Across from us, Sieun opens his milk carton with the same expression he would probably wear if he were disarming a bomb. “Can you two do this somewhere else.”
Suho snorts. “We’re not doing anything.”
“You are,” Sieun says, and drinks his milk. I bite the inside of my cheek so hard I taste metal.
Suho turns his head to look at me. “See? Even he’s sick of you ignoring me.”
I dust imaginary crumbs off my skirt.
“Wow,” he says. “Ice cold.”
His shoulder bumps mine then, casual enough that he could pretend it wasn’t on purpose. It’s barely a touch. Still, every nerve along that side of my body wakes up at once. I don’t move away. That’s my first mistake. The second is letting my eyes flick sideways just in time to catch the tiny change in his face when he notices I stayed exactly where I was.
He angles closer, just a little, hidden by the way we’re all seated on the steps. His voice drops. “Are you at least going to tell me when you’re done being mad?”
I keep my eyes on the yard below us. There are boys kicking a flattened plastic bottle between them like it’s a ball. Somebody on the other side of the field is yelling. A teacher’s whistle cuts through the air.
Suho waits. I can feel the warmth of him now, close enough that if I shifted my hand even a little our knuckles would touch.
I say nothing.
He leans back at last. Not far. Just enough to take the heat with him. “Fine.”
The argument itself had been stupid. That’s the most infuriating part. If it had been something catastrophic, something that had been enough to justify this much silence, maybe I’d feel less ridiculous carrying it around. But it had started the way bad arguments always do—with one person already tired, the other already irritated, and a sentence that should have stayed inside somebody’s mouth.
He’d shown up late.
Again.
I’d been waiting outside the arcade for almost forty minutes with my arms folded and my messages left on read, watching the sky darken in the reflection of the glass. By the time he came jogging around the corner, hair damp at the temples, breath uneven, saying my name like that alone should smooth everything over, I was already too far gone to be reasonable.
He’d reached for my wrist. I’d pulled away.
He’d laughed once, short and disbelieving. “Seriously?”
I’d said something mean. He’d said something sharper back.
Then we were both standing there, staring at each other under the arcade sign, all our usual ease gone strange and stiff. People kept walking past us. Someone coming out of the convenience store glanced between us and then away. I remember the smell of rain on the pavement. I remember wanting him to grab me and apologize properly. I remember hating that want the second I felt it.
Instead, he’d shoved his hands into his pockets and looked off down the street like he was forcing himself to calm down.
“Fine,” he’d said at last.
Same word. Different face.
I hadn’t spoken to him properly since.
After school, Sieun waits for us by the gate while I pretend to be interested in rearranging the books in my bag. Suho comes down the steps with his hands shoved into his pockets, tie loose, hair falling into his eyes. He looks like he always does at the end of the day—slightly wrinkled, a little tired, unfairly good-looking in a way that makes me want to throw something heavy at him.
He stops in front of me. Not blocking my path exactly. Just there.
“You coming?” I zip my bag closed and step around him. Behind me, I hear him laugh under his breath.
We walk together anyway.
That’s the part that makes this all unbearable. I still go where we always go. I still sit with him and Sieun after school, still listen to the stupid back-and-forth between them, still follow them into the convenience store and stand under fluorescent lights while Suho steals things out of my hands like he thinks muscle memory might work faster than my anger.
I just don’t give him anything back. No answer, no smile, no roll of my eyes unless I forget myself. It would almost be easier if I left. If I made a clean break for a few days and disappeared. But I don’t want that either. I want to be near him. I want him to feel me being angry. I want him to have to sit in it.
Which would sound completely insane if I said it out loud.
The convenience store is overheated, the windows fogged at the corners. Sieun heads straight for the drinks. I drift toward the ramen shelves. Suho falls into step beside me. He reaches past me for a cup of noodles off the top shelf. His arm brushes mine. I go still without meaning to.
“Careful,” he says quietly. My eyes flick up before I can stop them.
He’s closer than I thought. Close enough that I can see the tiny scratch near his chin from yesterday, the one I’d noticed in class and then angrily pretended not to. His face is unreadable for a second. Then one corner of his mouth lifts, faint and tired.
“There,” he murmurs. “You do know how.” I look away so fast the shelf label blurs.
Heat climbs the back of my neck. My heart is suddenly beating hard enough to feel in my throat, which is deeply embarrassing for someone who has spent three days dedicated to the bit.
I grab the nearest cup at random and step away from him.
At the register, while Sieun counts change, Suho reaches over and taps the little plastic spoon tucked under the lid of my ramen. “You got the spicy one.”
I don’t answer.
“You can’t eat spicy.”
I slide the cup farther away from him.
He just stares at it for a second, then at me. His brows lift. “So now you’re going to punish yourself too?”
I pay and turn before my mouth can betray me.
Outside, the evening air hits cool and thin. The street is turning gold in places where the sun catches shop windows on its way down. Sieun is already walking ahead. Suho comes out beside me with a crinkling plastic bag in one hand. He keeps pace easily, not crowding me, not letting the distance get bigger either.
At the crosswalk, we stop with a handful of other students and office workers. The light is still red. Cars move past in blurred reflections. Somewhere down the block, a scooter rattles by.
Suho shifts beside me. “Give me the ramen.”
I keep my eyes ahead.
“You’ll cry.”
I hold the cup tighter.
A pause.
Then, softer, “Just give it to me.”
Something in the way he says it nearly undoes me. He sounds tired, more than anything, and annoyed, and still stubbornly gentle underneath it. The combination is worse than if he were angry. I can still feel his hand around my wrist from last week, tugging me out of the road before a motorbike clipped the curb. Can still hear him muttering insults under his breath while checking my elbow for scrapes, face set in that hard, quiet way he gets when he’s scared after the fact and won’t admit it. Can still remember the ridiculous tenderness of him blowing on a burn on my tongue because I’d eaten ramen too fast and then laughing when I smacked his arm for making fun of me.
I keep staring at the traffic light.
The signal changes. People start moving.
Suho steps forward with the crowd, then glances back when I don’t move immediately. For a second he just looks at me across the narrow strip of white paint and moving bodies, the evening light catching in his eyes.
The breath goes out of me so quickly it feels stolen.
There are moments with him that never get easier. No matter how many times they happen. His face turning toward mine in a crowd. His hand finding the small of my back without thinking. His eyes landing on me first when something funny happens, like some part of him assumes I should always see it too. Those moments don’t soften with repetition. They sharpen. My body learns them and still reacts like the first time.
Someone behind me mutters in annoyance and brushes past my shoulder before I finally step forward.
Suho waits until I’m beside him again. He doesn’t speak for the rest of the crosswalk. Doesn’t look at me either. His jaw is tight.
By the time we reach the bus stop, the wind has picked up. My hair keeps blowing into my mouth. Sieun stands a little apart from us reading something on his phone. Suho leans back against the shelter wall, head tipped up for a second as if he’s trying the patience thing manually, by force.
Then he straightens, pushes off the wall, and walks over.
Before I can react, he takes the ramen from my hand.
I turn to glare at him.
He is already peeling back the lid to check the label.
“Yeah,” he says. “Absolutely not.”
He swaps it with his own, plain one, like this is the most ordinary thing he has ever done. I stare at the cup now in my hands. Then at him.
He looks irritated. The kind of irritated that has been simmering all day and three days before it. His hair is moving in the wind. His fingers drum once against the cup he stole from me.
“What?” he says.
~~~
By the time we get to the karaoke place, the sky has already gone that bruised, dim color it gets right before night settles properly. The signs outside the building flicker in cheap pink and blue, half the letters burned out, half buzzing. Everything smells damp. Old rain in the pavement. Cigarette smoke caught in the cracks of the wall. Fried oil from the place next door. The entrance is narrow, the stairwell darker than it should be, and as soon as we step inside the air changes—warmer, heavier, thick with dust and stale alcohol and something sour underneath it.
Suho had told me not to come.
Not asked. Told.
He’d caught my wrist outside the school gates when Sieun mentioned where they were going, his fingers wrapping around the inside of it before I could pull away, and for the first time in days the irritation in his face had sharpened into something harder. “No.”
That was all. I had looked down at his hand, then at him, and said nothing.
He’d leaned closer, jaw tight. “It could get ugly.”
I’d slipped my wrist out of his grip and kept walking.
I didn’t look back, but I heard that dry little laugh behind me, the one that never sounds amused when it’s aimed at me now. I felt it all afternoon anyway.
Now he’s three steps ahead of me in the stairwell, shoulders set, head slightly turned as if he’s listening for movement on the floor above us. Sieun is quiet at his side. Beomseok is quieter still, but his quiet is the wrong kind tonight. Too thin. Too brittle. He keeps adjusting his sleeves, then his bag strap, then nothing at all. He looks pale under the flickering hall light.
Suho glances back once when we reach the landing.
His eyes land on me so suddenly I almost miss a step.
There’s no softness in it. No teasing. No tired half-smile like the ones that have been slipping out of him these past few days whenever I pretend not to hear him. Just a look, direct and brief and heavy enough that my breath catches before I can stop it. It’s ridiculous how fast my body still betrays me. We haven’t had a real conversation in days. I’ve dodged his mouth, ignored his voice, acted like his hand on the bus seat beside mine meant nothing. Still, one look and something warm and sickly sweet turns over low in my stomach.
I hate that he notices everything.
His gaze flicks down the stairwell behind me, then back to my face, like he’s checking whether he can physically drag me home without causing a scene.
I lift my brows at him. Go ahead, I think. He stares for one second more, then looks away and keeps walking.
The room they’re in is worse than the hallway—bigger, but only technically. The walls feel close anyway. Cheap black leather benches shoved along the edges. A low table sticky with rings from old bottles. A karaoke machine glowing in one corner with the volume turned down, the idle screen washing the room in shifting color. Red. Blue. Purple. Red again. The lights catch on glass and metal and the wet shine of someone’s lower lip. There are too many boys crammed into a space this small, all of them trying too hard to look comfortable.
The second we walk in, the room changes shape around Suho.
It always does.
He steps in like he belongs wherever he puts his feet, and everyone else has to adjust around that. The former bullies look at him first, then at each other, then at Beomseok. One of them tries for a smirk that doesn’t quite form all the way.
I stay near the door at first, one shoulder against the wall, arms folded. The safest place in rooms like this is usually where you can see everyone. Also the easiest place to pretend you don’t care.
Suho stands in the middle of the room with that loose, grounded posture of his that never looks tense. One hand flexes once at his side. His chin lifts toward the boy sitting closest to the table.
“Apologize.” His voice isn’t loud. That’s what makes it land. No performance. No shouting. Just flat enough to strip all the air out of the room.
Something deep in my chest gives the smallest, most humiliating little turn.
God. Not now. Not here.
I stare at the floor for a second as if that will help, but it only makes the sound of him worse—his voice low and steady under the buzzing lights, the scrape of someone shifting on the bench, the faint tinny melody still humming from the karaoke machine in the corner. I can feel him without looking. The line of his back. The stillness in his shoulders. The way he gets when he’s angry and forcing it to stay controlled.
It drags up a memory so quickly it feels physical. His hand closing over mine outside the convenience store a month ago because I’d nearly stepped into traffic while I was yelling at him. The sharp pull of my body against his chest. His mouth right by my temple when he said, very quietly, “Watch it.” My stomach had dropped embarrassingly fast.
The boy across from him lets out a short laugh he clearly doesn’t mean. “What—”
Suho cuts across him without raising his voice. “You heard me.”
The room goes still again. I look at him then.
His hair is slightly mussed from the damp outside, a few strands falling low over his forehead. His mouth is set in a straight line that makes him look older somehow. Not older exactly. Sharper. The kind of face that doesn’t ask twice unless it’s giving you a chance you don’t deserve.
He doesn’t know I’m staring. Or maybe he does. With him it’s impossible to tell. My pulse climbs anyway, quick and traitorous, and I fold my arms tighter over myself so no one can see the way my body has suddenly gone strange and light.
Across the room, one of the boys mutters something under his breath. Sieun doesn’t move, but his head tilts almost imperceptibly in that way he has when he’s taking everything in. Beomseok is standing a little behind Suho, breathing too fast through his nose, eyes fixed on the boy in front of him with a kind of blank fury that doesn’t feel stable.
Finally the bully glances at Beomseok and says it. A sorry so forced it sounds almost chewed up on the way out. Beomseok’s expression doesn’t change.
“I want to hit him,” he says. His voice is smaller than the words.
Suho turns his head slightly. “Don’t.”
Beomseok keeps staring at the boy. “Just once.”
“Nah,” one of the others says from the bench, trying for something casual and ugly at the same time. “Let him. Might be funny.”
My shoulders go cold. The room shifts before it moves. One second of everyone holding still in the wrong way. Then Beomseok steps forward and swings.
It isn’t a clean punch. More emotion than technique. His fist catches the other boy badly, enough to snap his head to the side but not enough to drop him. There’s a split second of silence after it—raw and bright and wrong.
Then the bully swings back.
The crack of it is ugly in the small room.
Beomseok stumbles, then all at once something in him gives.
He launches himself forward without any rhythm to it, arms flailing, fists landing wherever they can, not fighting so much as breaking open. It’s frantic and messy and hard to watch, precisely because it isn’t controlled. He doesn’t look angry in any clean way. He looks gone. Like the wire finally snapped.
Suho moves instantly.
He hooks an arm around Beomseok from behind and drags him back so hard the soles of his shoes scrape against the floor. “Enough.”
Beomseok keeps trying to surge forward.
Suho tightens his grip. “Stop.”
The bully is yelling now, face red, spitting curses across the room while Beom-seok twists in Suho’s hold. Si-eun steps in, grabs Beom-seok’s arm, says his name once—sharp, clipped—and between the two of them they get him moving toward the door. He fights them for half a second longer, then lets himself be pulled, chest heaving, eyes glassy and bright.
The door jerks open. The hallway light spills in.
For a moment all I can see is Suho’s hand gripping the back of Beom-seok’s jacket, veins standing out beneath the skin, the tendons in his wrist drawn tight. Then Si-eun gets Beom-seok into the hall and the angle shifts and Suho is just there in front of me again, breathing harder now, the room thrown into violent colors by the karaoke machine—red over one cheekbone, blue across his throat.
He looks furious. It feels worse than if he were shouting.
He turns to follow them—and one of the boys near the bench looks straight at me. I know the type before he opens his mouth. The lazy lean. The eyes too loose. The grin already half-filthy.
He says something about me that makes the air on my skin curdle.
For one second I don’t react at all. My body does that horrible thing where it stills before the feeling catches up—like the disgust has to travel the length of me before it lands properly. Then heat crawls up my neck, sharp and immediate.
Suho stops moving. He turns his head. I have seen him angry before. I have seen him bruised, annoyed, laughing through blood, leaning over someone he’d already dropped with that lazy, unimpressed look on his face. But this is different. Smaller. Meaner. All the looseness disappears out of him at once.
He crosses the room in two steps. The punch is so fast I only really understand it by the sound. A blunt, clean crack. The boy hits the floor before the rest of them even flinch. His chair skids sideways and slams into the bench. He doesn’t get back up.
Silence. Suho stands over him, chest rising once, twice. His fist stays clenched at his side. Then he looks up at the others.
“Anybody else?” His voice is low enough that everyone hears it. No one moves.
One of them swallows and shakes his head almost before Suho finishes the sentence. Another looks anywhere but at him. Someone near the machine mutters, “No.”
My heart is beating so hard it feels clumsy. Thudding against my ribs like it wants out. My mouth has gone dry. Heat and cold keep changing places under my skin.
He turns toward me.
And there it is again—that unbearable, breath-stealing thing his eyes do to me when they land full on mine.
The anger is still there, but not pointed at me. It lingers around him like heat off metal. Under it there’s something else now, tight and watchful, checking me over so quickly most people would miss it. My face. My posture. My hands. Whether I’m shaken. Whether I’m hurt. Whether that bastard’s words actually touched me anywhere deeper than the surface.
For a second neither of us moves.
I remember him in the alley behind school with blood drying at the corner of his mouth, grinning at me while I tried not to panic. I remember him stealing my scarf in winter just to wrap it back around my neck himself. I remember the rough pad of his thumb brushing a crumb off my lower lip so absentmindedly I almost forgot how to stand.
The room feels too small around us. He steps forward and grabs my hand. His fingers close around it firmly, warmth and callus and pressure, like he doesn’t even think about whether I’ll pull away. Like he’s decided for both of us that this is happening.
“Come on.”
I go. Of course I go.
The hallway feels colder after the room, the stairwell louder with the sound of our footsteps. Somewhere above us people are actually singing, badly, their voices muffled through the walls in a way that would almost be funny if my pulse would calm down enough to let anything be funny. Suho doesn’t let go of my hand on the first landing. Or the second. He keeps me slightly behind him without seeming to, body angled just enough that if someone came down the stairs too fast they’d hit him first.
Outside, the night hits like water.
Cool air. Wet pavement. City noise rushing back all at once. Cars passing. A scooter whining somewhere down the street. Somebody laughing near the convenience store on the corner. The neon from the karaoke sign washes his face pink, then blue, then leaves it in shadow again as we stop just beyond the entrance.
He finally lets go.
The sudden absence of his hand feels louder than the traffic.
He looks up the street first, toward where Si-eun and Beom-seok must have gone, then back at me. Up close I can see the faint flush still high in his cheekbones, the tightness around his mouth, the way he’s trying to get himself under control before he says anything he’ll regret.
I should say something.
A joke, maybe. Something sarcastic. Something like wow, romantic as always, beating people unconscious in karaoke bars. Something sharp enough to cut the strange, dizzy softness building in my chest. Something that gets me back on familiar ground.
Nothing comes out.
He notices that too.
His gaze drops briefly to my mouth, then back to my eyes. It is such a quick movement I could almost pretend I imagined it, except the memory of all the kisses I’ve dodged these past few days arrives at once—his mouth nearly brushing mine outside the bus stop, my head turning at the last second, the little angry laugh he gave into the space between us; his hand cupping the back of my neck one afternoon behind the gym, the warmth of his palm staying there long after he let go; the stupid way he smiles against my lips when he knows I’m about to lose an argument.
He inhales slowly.
“Are you okay?” His voice is different now. Lower. The edges sanded down. For a second I just look at him.
The streetlight above us flickers weakly, painting his face in a dull gold that catches on the edge of his cheekbone and the faint redness still blooming across his knuckles. His hair has fallen slightly into his eyes from the fight, damp from the mist in the air. His chest is still rising harder than usual, breath evening out little by little.
The city hums around us—cars passing, the distant rattle of a train somewhere beyond the buildings—but it all feels strangely far away, like the sound has been pushed behind glass.
I don’t answer. Instead my hand moves before my brain does. I grab the front of his shirt.
The fabric bunches in my fist, rough cotton twisting under my fingers as I yank him toward me hard enough that his balance shifts forward half a step. His eyes widen a fraction, surprised—actually surprised, which almost never happens with him—and then my other hand is already sliding up the back of his neck.
His skin is warm under my palm. My fingers tangle into the short hair there and pull. His head dips instinctively with the motion.
And then I kiss him. I crash into him like I’ve been holding my breath for days and this is the first air I’ve found. For a split second he freezes—just long enough for his body to catch up to what’s happening—and then his hands are on me.
Everywhere.
One arm wraps around my waist so fast it knocks the air out of me, dragging me flush against him. The other hand grabs my jaw, fingers sliding into my hair as he angles my face and kisses me back like he’s been waiting to do it for days.
Which he has.
His mouth is warm and firm and a little rough in the way that always makes my knees feel like they’ve suddenly stopped belonging to me. He kisses like he does everything else—decisive, hungry, like hesitation has never once occurred to him. My grip tightens in his shirt as he pulls me closer, his body solid and steady against mine, and a sound slips out of me before I can stop it.
A soft, helpless moan. He feels it. The reaction is immediate.
His fingers tighten in my hair, his other hand sliding lower along my back as if he’s trying to anchor me there. His breath catches against my mouth, a sharp inhale that trembles slightly before he kisses me deeper, slower now but somehow more intense, like he’s savoring the fact that I’m finally letting him.
God.
The world tilts slightly. My knees soften so suddenly it’s embarrassing. He feels it instantly.
His arm tightens around my waist, hauling me closer so my weight tips into him instead of the pavement. My hands slide up from his shirt to his shoulders without thinking, gripping hard. The muscle under my palms shifts as he steadies me, broad and solid, and the sensation sends a ridiculous rush of warmth through my chest.
His shoulders are strong. They always have been.
I remember leaning against them on the bus one afternoon, half asleep, the slow rise and fall of his breathing under my cheek while he pretended not to notice.
Now those same muscles move under my hands as he adjusts his grip, fingers digging lightly into the curve of my waist.
My hands slide higher. Into his hair. I grab a fistful of it and pull.
A rough sound leaves his throat. Not loud. Just a small, broken breath against my mouth that sends a sharp wave of heat straight through my chest.
His grip tightens instantly.
His other hand moves from my jaw to my neck, thumb brushing the underside of it as he tilts my head and kisses me again, deeper this time, slower but somehow more desperate. His breathing isn’t steady anymore. I can feel it against my lips—short, uneven bursts that hitch whenever I pull his hair again.
The tremor in him is subtle. Most people wouldn’t notice it. But I do. It runs through his shoulders, through the arm holding me, through the hand tangled in my hair. Not weakness. Not hesitation.
Just restraint stretched thin.
Something low in my stomach flips hard.
I press closer without thinking, fingers sliding from his hair down to his arms, gripping there instead. His sleeves are pushed up slightly from earlier, and the heat of his skin bleeds straight into my palms. The muscle under my fingers tightens when I squeeze, solid and warm, and the feeling sends a rush of dizzy warmth up my spine.
He exhales against my mouth again. A shaky breath this time. That does something to me I cannot reasonably explain.
The boy who just knocked someone unconscious without blinking is standing here trembling slightly under my hands.
For me.
My stomach drops in that dangerous, fluttering way again.
His mouth softens briefly against mine, the kiss slowing for half a second like he’s catching his breath. When I open my eyes slightly I catch his gaze already on me, dark and focused and a little wild in a way I don’t see often.
The look alone sends another wave of heat through me. I kiss him again before my brain can finish the thought.
This time he laughs softly against my mouth, breath warm, the sound rough at the edges like he can’t quite believe this is happening.
“You’re unbelievable,” he murmurs against my lips.
“Took you long enough to notice.” My voice comes out breathless.
He huffs something that might be a laugh again, shaking his head slightly, and pulls me closer until my chest is pressed fully against his.
For a second we just stand there like that. My hands still gripping his arms. His arm still locked around my waist. The neon sign from the karaoke building flickers across his face in shifting color, pink then blue then dark again.
My pulse is still racing. My lungs still feel like they haven’t quite caught up. But the silence between us isn’t empty anymore.
And when his thumb brushes lightly along the side of my neck again, slow and absentminded, a new wave of butterflies spreads through my chest so suddenly I almost laugh.
everyday things because they like you | whc characters x gn!reader one shots
pairings. Yeon Sieun. Ahn Suho. Oh Beomseok. Park Humin. Go Hyuntak. Kang Wooyoung. Geum Seongje. Na Baekjin. Baek Dongha. Do Seongmok. Jeon Yeongbin. Yeongi. Jeon Seokdae (omg new character) x reader
wc. tbe
genre./ contains. pre-dating. no warnings. FLUFF. everyone is whipped
note. back with my huzz (my laptop)
❀ YEON SIEUN
annotates your notes when you’re studying together
You were in the library together, your face almost even with the table, but Sieun wasn't commenting on it yet. The soft scribble of your pen against the paper in front of you was soothing, lulling you in like a sleep lullaby and you were getting drowsy.
“Do you want a pillow?” Ah, there it is.
You sighed, no fight left in you to bite back. “I need the letters to all have the same size.”, you mumbled, understanding Sieun’s frown hence you wouldn’t have been able to decipher that gibberish either had it not left your own mouth.
Sieun rested his eyes on your face for a few more beats before sighing and closing his own books. With a gentle tug he grabbed your note book and shuffled it over his own, calmly starting to write down some notes. “You can rewrite them later.”
❀ AHN SUHO
stands in front of your door to pick you up for a ride when he knows you can’t fall asleep
Had someone asked you if your boyfriend had a superpower, you wouldn’t waste a beat before claiming that he did. Suho had a sixth sense: he always knew when you lacked something.
One time you had forgotten your jacket on a late date night and started shivering in the cold, so he just gasped as he pulled his own windbreaker off his shoulders, revealing a thick sweater you hadn't seen on him before, and draped it over yours. “I had a feeling I should put on warm clothes.”, he joked.
When your stomach rumbled on your way home a few days later, Suho’s notification popped up in that exact moment with a casual invitation to join him for dinner.
He always knew what you needed and when you did. Like tonight.
You had tried a myriad of sleeping positions, food, TV and phone screens burning into your retinas and still, sleep failed to mantle you in.
When you had almost given up and decided to binge watch the new show everyone around you was glazing, a loud knock on your front door had you jolt.
You opened it, shivering against the cold air you had invited in, to reveal your friend. He wore a lazy grin as he handed you his extra helmet. "Trouble sleeping?"
❀ OH BEOMSEOK
asks you to punch the straw through the lid of his drink and offers you the first sip of his drink
You thought you were slick, stealing glimpses at his drink but little did you know that he was following every gaze that drifted towards his cup. Maybe you should’ve chosen a bubble tea as well, instead of an iced coffee.
The most subtle smile tugged on Beomseok’s lips as he tipped his drink towards you, the liquid immediately rushing to the inclination. “Wanna put the straw in?”, he offered you, honey-drippingly sweet. You went to decline, but he’d seen through you.
“The lid always rips when I do it.” His pout was artificial and you called it, but the gesture made your heart squeeze, so you took the straw out his grasp and started unwrapping the plastic with a bustle.
“Tell me what it tastes like?” After a pointy look from you, he added: “I forgot what I ordered.”
You kept the tug on your lips at bay as you lazily covered the printed label, that bore the ingredients, with your hand.
❀ PARK HUMIN (BAKU)
wakes you up with a call
There was absolutely no sound in your room, or at least not detectable in your position, hence the pillow over your head drowned everything out, your breath included.
The vibration of your phone was barely there, at least ignorable for now—only it kept getting louder. You groaned, blindly feeling your mattress for your phone, but the sensation of victory was short lived as you swiped your thumb over the screen to accept the call.
“Don’t start singing.”, you immediately hoarsed, earning a scoff and a cut off version of what you could only assume was the intro of eye of the tiger.
“You overslept again.”, Humin all but barked into your ear, making you wince as you moved the phone a little further away from your face. “I’m in front of your door, so open up, yeah?” You could basically hear the grin in his voice.
With a sigh, you ditched the rest of sleep and shot up to check the time. 7:54.
“Humin.”, you drawled. “Now we’ll both be late.”
❀ GO HYUNTAK (GOTAK)
lets you win in basketball 🏀 (only thing he doesn't suck at btw)
The red letters on the display were going up with every toss that made it through the hoop, consequently Gotak’s were skyrocketing while you tailed him close behind.
His eyes kept glimpsing back at you, but the triumphant smile that was plastered across his face seemed a little too droopy at the corners. He wanted you to win.
“You only have like 5 shots left.”, you pointed out. You had seven. The one with the lower score had to pay for lunch — at least that was what you had agreed on.
When you had dunked the most recent one, your friend suddenly started to see double— or whatever other pretext he had come up with to excuse his sudden loss streak.
As your highscore blinked repeatedly, the hasty rhythm biting your vision, you turned to Gotak, cocking a brow at his smug expression.
“Don‘t you do this like professionally?“, you inquired at which he just opened his mouth and closed it soon after, unable to come up with an excuse.
“Did you seriously just let me win?” Your guess must‘ve hit bullseye, but Gotak waved your accusation off with a flick of his hand.
“Name one reason why I should’ve done that.”
“Oh, you absolutely did.”, you concluded with a scoff. Gotak slid his hands into his jean pockets as he led the way out the arcade.
“I just wanted to be a gentleman.” That statement was worth your eyeroll.
“You‘re basically calling me poor.“, you shot back, making your friend groan.
“Guess who’s not getting dessert.”, he drawled, stopping short as he heard the beeping sounds emit from your phone. “Who are you calling?“
You ignored him, waiting for your other friend to pick up the call.
“Humin,", you whined. "guess who just called me fat.“
❀ KANG WOOYOUNG
eats your left-overs to soothe your conscience
The plate scurried across the table with a loud clatter, making Wooyoung’s head whirl up as he shifted his attention from his phone to you.
You sighed, at which he arched an eyebrow. “I’m full.”, you announced with a pout.
Wooyoung eyed your half eaten plate before looking back at you. “That’s like two bites. Just eat it.”
Easier said than done. “Don’t you think I would if I had the capacity?” He knew how much you hated left-overs, calling it a waste of food, so when you offered him your fork, he took it with a light groan.
“Are you aware that I have to do extra sessions to train this off?” His tone was accusing, but speaking with a full mouth failed to capture any bite in his words so you just nodded along.
“Yeah, that sucks.”
❀ GEUM SEONGJE
flanks u in video games
“Get next to me!” Your voice was booming, but the explosions spilling out the cushioned headphones made you doubt that any volume had left your mouth.
“I am next to you.” Seongje’s annoyed voice on the other hand was clear as day, hence you were on call with him.
The screen before you flickered as a grenade exploded right next to you. You barley managed to steer the remote to the side, too caught up looking for your friend’s avatar.
“No, you’re not. You’re tailing behind.”
When he had finally picked up the pace and landed next to you, you continued running, subtly glimpsing at his kill count. The gap between yours and his couldn’t have been any further.
“Where do you keep finding people to shoot? There’s no one around me.”, you wondered aloud.
The click of Seongje’s gun was loud enough for you to hear but you barely paid it any attention as you eyed your next loot.
As usual, you were oblivious to the gunmen that had caught up with you.
“Yeah, I wonder why.”, Seongje just huffed.
❀ NA BAEKJIN
let’s you pick the movie
The night was bustling with laughter and excitement as the people around you mingled together, awaiting the start of the entry to the movies.
Your eyes kept darting back to the groups, curiosity lingering in your chest. You hadn’t made any research on that film, but you had heard that people were awaiting it for a year now after an accidental leak of production scenes.
Baekjin had asked you to accompany him to the cinema tonight because he needed his mind off things and you were glad to comply, happily accepting his choice of movie. Psychological thriller. Easy to keep track of the plot.
He noticed your sway of interest. He really picked up on everything.
You hadn’t noticed Baekjin slipping back to the register to swap out the tickets, but when the screen announced room B for the movie you thought you were about to watch and you headed for it, Baekjin softly tugged on your sleeve as he stirred you into the opposite direction. “We’re not watching that one anymore.”
❀ BAEK DONGHA
gives you his jacket, knowing that your closet is filled with more of his stuff than yours
Dongha did a double take as you ascended from the stairs of your apartment complex, narrowing his eyes as he let his gaze sweep over your outfit choice.
You closed the distance to him in a swirl, showing off your new top, but his eyes were still stuck on your pants. “What?”, you asked him, a snicker escaping you at his raised brow.
He hooked a finger in the waistband of the washed out denim, ignoring your complaint as he pulled the material back to take a look at the faint tag. “These are mine.”, he concluded, eyes wide in disbelief.
You just smiled sheepishly, snapping the denim out of his hold as you flashed him your white teeth. “I know.”
The evening grew frowsy, but the vibes were too immaculate to call it a night already. So you found yourself hurled together with two of your friends, exchanging meaningless conversation that made you laugh in the ecstasy, mingling with the cold that ran through your veins while taking drags from the a cigarette you kept passing around.
Your shoulders were almost touching from the way your body tried to create a barrier from the chill and you jumped at the contact of cold polyester brushing your sensitive skin.
Dongha had draped his jacket over you, a trail of smoke following him around as he made his way back to his other group of friends.
“You know, I’m gonna keep this.”, you called over your back but to your comfort, he just dismissively shook his hand in your direction.
❀ DO SEONGMOK
puts your hair in a tie (has one around his wrist)
One thing about Seongmok that kept surprising you, no matter how often he’d proven it, was his gentleness.
You had been busy prepping food in your kitchen, when he’d rung the bell to simply announce himself before opening the front door and seating himself in one of your kitchen chairs.
He didn’t say anything (as usual), just let his gaze sweep over the arrangement of snacks you had prepared for your friends’ arrival in a few hours and grabbed a bunch, knowingly avoiding your pointy look.
After a while of cutting fruits, your hair had slipped from where you had tucked it behind your ear, crowding your vision and tickling your nose, in addition to almost dipping into your snacks.
The shift behind you was as noticeable as a man of his statue could be, shuffling behind you to gather your ends in a high ponytail. He raked his fingers around the shape of your hairline a few times to make sure he had caught each one before snapping the hair-tie around the hair three times.
He tugged on the end of the ponytail one last time, tipping your head back in the matter and you met his eyes as you faced him grinning down at you.
❀ JEON YEONGBIN
lets you copy his answers in a test
The ticking of the clock inside the classroom was starting to harmonise with the rhythm of your pen tapping against your desk—a subconscious show of the calmness that was resting in your bones.
You hadn’t bothered to glimpse down to your test in the past ten minutes, hence the questions weren’t gonna be easier to answer than they’d been the last time you checked, and the sheet wasn’t gonna be any fraction less blank either.
You had calmly given up, when a harsh kick on the back of your chair had you jolt in your seat. The polyester scraped against the floor but it wasn’t loud enough to make anyone look up.
With a breathy sigh and a violently pumping heart, you turned, meeting your friend’s annoyed expression. Yeongbin had his eyebrows raised, muttering something along a curse as he tapped his pen against his fully scribbled paper.
While you gladly copied his answers, he held guard to check for anybody noticing.
❀ YEONGI
braids your hair after you’ve showered because she likes it wavy
Her fingers were soft where they tangled between your strands of hair, a light tug here and there reminding you what task she was up to. A familiar warmth seeped from her touch and it made your entire body shudder in delight.
“I’m gonna fall asleep like this.”, you half-heartedly complained, but your eyelids were kinda growing heavy.
Yeongi scoffed. “If you keep whining, I’m never going to braid your hair again.” You muttered a little sure, subtly shaking your head. Like she’d survive that.
With a yawn you dropped your face on one of her thighs, the foot of the bed she was sitting on steady behind your back as you leaned your weight against it.
❀ JEON SEOKDAE
offers you a piggyback ride when he notices that your feet hurt
You were walking for a while now, straight pulses of pain shooting up your legs and the way your achilles heel clung to the material of your padded shoes, you could already assume the crimson mess that would await you once you had slipped out of them at home.
Seokdae seemed less troubled with the path, his breath not as laboured as yours while he stole some glances towards you. His eyebrows were knitted and his jaw was tense, clearly, he’d been thinking.
Your friend had noticed the trouble your shoes gave you and after you declined his numerous offers to take a break, he was contemplating a new approach. You jumped when he drew his shoulders together in a mock-shudder.
“What’s wrong?”, you asked at which he just shrugged. “My back feels cold.”
The statement was so ridiculous, it pulled a laugh from you. His intentions were clear and you were too tired to tease him. “I’ll warm you up.”, you relented, already throwing your arms around his neck as he lowered himself to help you climb up.
