smau . fashionista!reader x chaotic!keonho blackcat!reader x orangecat!keonho strangers to lovers crack angst
synopsis . you were popular on twitter for your outfits and being used as inspiration for many people, friends, and even brands. yet when a random boy follows you, getting traction for his visuals on twitter, you get intrigued. but didn't know he was a pretty chaotic dude with chaotic friends.
important — yn is portrayed as giselle in the story !!!
Zhao Yufan is deeply in love with you. There are two problems with this: A, you have no idea, and B, you probably don’t feel the same way, considering the fact you keep asking him to be your fake boyfriend for… free stuff.
best friend!james x fem!reader. 3k words. fake dating. friends to lovers. crack. fluff.
notes: fanzai (凡仔 If You Care) is just a generic cutesy nickname for yufan. Your dream ring has diamonds in it for plot reasons Sorry if it doesn’t apply to you. Theyre spiritually lab grown ok. eva says i need to put serious emphasis on the fact that this is a crackfic. please suspend your disbelief when you read this. everyone is a little insane
There is a reservation for two at luxury, Michelin-starred restaurant Bergamot for 7pm. There is only one person at the reservation for two at luxury, Michelin-starred restaurant Bergamot by 8:30pm.
It's you. And you're dressed to the nines, a wave of flowing silk straight off some magazine cover, and apathetically staring into the distance. A platter of barely touched cheese and cured meats sits in between you and your currently non-existent guest.
He should be here anytime soon. Maybe about-
“Babe, I'm so sorry,” Yufan shouts from the doorway, sickeningly handsome in a navy suit and tie, hair artfully dishevelled like he's run across half a block for you, or maybe even like another woman has pulled manicured fingers through it in a stroke of heated passion, “I forgot about tonight!”
“Oh my god, James,” you scream, throwing your silver cutlery to the side in an awful clatter, “you can't do anything. Anything! Not only did you forget our anniversary, but now you've forgotten my birthday? What kind of a boyfriend even are you?”
“I was busy with work,” Yufan wails back, “and you know that! When we started dating, I told you so many times-”
“Work?! You never said anything about work! You said I'd always come first. And now you're putting- putting- Tiffany at HR in front of me? Don't think I missed the way you looked at her. I knew I couldn't trust you, you lying piece of-”
“Miss,” the restaurant’s sacrifice for the day – this poor young waiter – stutters, interrupting you mid-rant, “could you please keep it down? Our other patrons are-”
The entire restaurant is staring openly at you now. You barrel onwards uncaringly, stomping up to a frozen Yufan and gripping his full Windsor knot furiously. “And not even a gift? Not even a bouquet? Not even a single flower? Were you just expecting me to pay for everything? I can't believe-”
“Miss,” the waiter says more desperately. “Please. Would you like to choose something on the menu? We'd be more than happy to make it for you now.”
“Now?” you spit out in a tone that suggests a great grievance with this notion. “If I have to spend one more minute in this repugnant creature’s presence, I'll-”
“Would having it to go suit you better?” interjects the waiter as a last resort, looking like he's going to burst into tears and quit the gastronomical industry.
A long, terrible beat passes.
“To go,” you repeat slowly, releasing your hold on Yufan, savouring these words of victory on your tongue. “Hm. Tell me more.”
—
Free food is the best food. Free food from rich, fancy, billionaire-owned establishments is even better.
“Nice work,” you tell Yufan, munching away on some perfectly sautéed broccolini. You've discarded your feet-killing stilettos somewhere near the front door, changed into pajamas, and stripped your full face of makeup. “Looked the part too.”
“I do look pretty good in formal,” Yufan agrees, still in his pressed suit, as he reaches over for the bread, “but you did all the work. I just showed up like an idiot.”
“I mean, that was the whole point,” you say in between bites of tarte tatin. “Fanzai, if you ever do this for real to anyone, I'm personally killing you.”
Yufan lets out a hyena-like laugh. “You won't need to worry about that.”
You two continue to enjoy your spoils of war to the background of some pirated Marvel movie, because secretly, food with Yufan is the best food of all time, and it's not even close.
—
Yufan has made many bad decisions in his life before. The first one he remembers was back when he was 8 and he accidentally lost his DS with his nearly completed play through of Pokemon Diamond. Many tears were shed. Another one was when he bit into a really spicy chili and he couldn't taste anything for the rest of the day. Many tears were also shed, mainly because he thought he’d permanently lost his sense of taste.
But by far, the worst decision he’s ever made is agreeing to fake date his best friend who he’s kind of maybe secretly in love with for… freebies. He’d shed tears, but every time you even briefly acknowledge his existence, he’s mentally giggling like he’s besotted, which he is, so he supposes it checks out. The main issue, though, is the fact that this is actively preventing him from making a proper move. Even seeing your phones next to each other on the table is distracting him. One day, he’ll do it-
Next to him, you’re downing the rest of the still water you managed to extort from the restaurant. Maybe the day is today. Okay. This is his chance!
“We should make a pact to get married by 36,” he casually (he hopes that it sounds casual, anyway) says.
“Why?” you ask slowly, which isn’t a very good sign, but then you continue. “Oh, lower tax…. you make a point… but realistically by then, you would've found your future spouse.”
There is no way you, the subject of his secret desires of parenting a dog with – he’s been thinking about rescuing a greyhound recently, because he watched a documentary about greyhound racing and got sad – just told him that. “Maybe even earlier. You never know.”
“Zhao Yufan, are you hiding secrets from me?” Yes. I like you. Wait, no, I love you. “Have you found the love of your life and not told me?” Yes. She’s talking to me right now. “As your best friend” – okay, you did not need to actively acknowledge that – “I'm deeply hurt.”
But first, he has to address this grievous violation of convention. “Zhao Yufan? Who's that?”
You huff out angrily. Yufan has to suppress very severe cuteness aggression. “Fanzai, then. I didn’t realise it was so serious.”
“Of course it’s serious,” he tells you, biting back a grin.
“Do you know what’s even more serious?” you say. “You proposing to me tomorrow. I think we’ll get a gift box or something at Cartier.”
The ring box burning a hole through his closet has probably just started a house fire. “Propose? The stakes are getting higher,” he says instead of acknowledging the fact he doesn’t need to go looking for some faux ring.
“Don't worry,” you shrug, getting up to clear away the takeaway containers. “You know it's for show, anyway.”
Because that’s all it probably is to you – a show. Yufan blinks thrice, fighting the way his eyes are burning, and silently goes to find a cloth to wipe down your table with. It doesn’t work, but you don’t notice, and that’s good enough for him.
—
You have made many bad decisions in your life before. Asking your best friend that you’re in love with to fake date you has to be up there. To be fair, though, you have no idea how to breach a conversation admitting anything, and you completely doubt he even likes you like that, so you’ll take whatever you can get. Even if it means he thinks you’re a total cheapskate. Even if it means public humiliation. On a Saturday morning. At Cartier.
Yufan’s already standing off to the side, wearing a breezy linen shirt and beige chinos. It’s deeply evocative of an emotionally unavailable expat who most definitely has a side chick but is rich enough for you to politely pretend nothing is going on – that is, exactly what you envisioned in your mind. You look down. He’s even got loafers on. God.
“Hi,” you tell him. “The plan is we go in, I ask to look at the earrings, I’ll say something like can I get it, and then you’re like of course but then stand up and monologue. Got it?”
“Got it,” Yufan says, and you pass him your rip off Louis Vuitton clutch, which coincidentally is a perfect match for his outfit, to carry. As you two approach the front door, Yufan whips his phone out and pulls up some stock market app. You nod approvingly. Appropriately detached.
“Welcome to Cartier,” a sales assistant says, hair pulled into a slick bun. “Are you looking for anything in particular today?”
“Yes,” you sweetly say. “I’m looking to get a new pair of earrings. Something that’ll turn heads, preferably.”
“Of course,” sales assistant Mia, according to her name tag, says. “What sort of metal do you prefer? White gold, yellow gold, rose gold, silver…?”
You tell her the option that looks the worst on you. Mia grimaces a bit because she most definitely knows it too, but leads you over to a display, adjacent to another couple parsing through the gaudiest jewellery arrangement. Whatever. You take a seat and boredly scan through the options.
The far right one is atrocious. It’s perfect. It’s the one.
“Pumpkinboo,” you simper to Yufan, who’s still faithfully glued to his ichimoku clouds, “can you pretty please get me these earrings?”
“Of course,” he says, before tossing his phone aside and standing up dramatically. It’s showtime. “But first… my love, my pookie bear, my sunshine gumdrop Hermes Birkin, I must tell you something. From the day I met you when you were in high school, scrubbing the floors of my fourth multi-million holiday home, I knew you were the one for me.
“Even through the ups and downs, even though you caught me sleeping with my second cousin once removed and set my 1 of 1 Bugatti on fire, your devotion and commitment to our love has truly inspired me. You’re the only woman who has consistently stood beside me. I can’t wait until you quit your job so you’re entirely financially dependent on me and spend all day in my double locked penthouse where you just act as the second pot plant in foyer 3. Will you do the great honour of marrying me?”
You gasp. Then hold your hand demurely over your mouth. Then start bursting into very fake, very overwrought tears. “Oh my god!” You accidentally poke yourself in the eye, so the tears are now actually real. “Of course I will, sugarplum honeybun sweetkins!”
Yufan gets a look in his eye that says he’s come up with something genuinely diabolical, before dramatically sweeping you into his chest. “I’m so glad you agreed, because now you’ll take the news that I burnt your passport so you can never leave better!”
Your sales assistant doesn’t even look fazed by whatever just unfolded, instead emotionlessly congratulating you and walking away – presumably for the promised free goods. This does not say positive things about their usual clientele. You’re surprised by how she hadn’t caught onto the fact that Yufan still hasn’t pulled out the ring yet, since you’re kind of just hanging out in his arms, head firmly against some thick gold chain.
“The ring,” you hiss out under your breath, and Yufan immediately fumbles for this velvet ring box. Sure. Then he opens it.
And why the hell is it literally your dream ring? No. Your Dream Ring, with capitals for emphasis. What the hell. You stifle your surprise by letting out this awful little giggle so insufferable that Yufan can’t suppress a highly judgemental side eye. He still puts the ring on. You’re ill. You’re so ill. How did he know?
It’s probably fake though. No, it’s definitely fake. If this is real- no, you can’t think of that possibility.
“Um,” this grating voice cuts in. “Excuse me?”
You and Yufan whip your heads in sync to face the speaker. It’s the couple from earlier. What does she want with you?
“You literally ruined my moment!” she screams. “I was going to get proposed to. I was going to have the romantic speech. I was going to say yes and smooch my man!”
Her man in question looks like he’s… looking at a trading portfolio. People like this genuinely, unironically exist? God. Someone give Mia a raise now.
Clearly you’ve spent too much time being shocked and staring at her, because this girl continues screaming like she’s being paid for it. “It’s all your fault! Your ugly ring’s fake anyway!”
You suppose she isn’t wrong about the fake part, but-
“Butler!” she shrilly declares. She has a butler? Are you joking? You exchange baffled looks with Yufan. “Bring out the diamond tester!”
As if on cue, this tired middle-aged guy emerges, producing a case. In it, this drill looking thing. Oh shit. You scramble up and frantically stare down Yufan, but he gives you this deliberately placid look. It’ll be fine. Yeah, well. It’ll be fine once you get yourselves kicked out for being frauds!
The butler apologetically comes over and sticks his little device into your ring. You close your eyes fatalistically. Yep. It was nice knowing everyone. It was worth being fake proposed to. At least you got to lay in Yufan’s arms for a while. Then you open your eyes, also fatalistically, because you’ve decided that you want to witness your death.
But instead of turning red, the tester lights up green. Positive for a diamond.
You stare at your ring. Then you stare at Yufan, who is deliberately avoiding eye contact. Then you stare at the butler, who has immediately made himself scarce. Then you stare at the boyfriend, who is still on his phone. Then you stare at the other girl, whose mouth is wide open in shock. Consider her your spirit animal!
As if sensing the incredibly joyous and excited mood, Mia decides now is a good time to come back, holding two Cartier branded bags. She takes in the entire situation and makes a very firm decision to kick you and Yufan out of the store. Thank you Mia. You didn’t even get a chance to say anything, but at least you got your freebies!
And at least now you have the opportunity to interrogate Yufan, cornering him off to the side of the footpath and next to this flower stand. “So why is this” – you gesture vaguely at your ring – “REAL?”
“Uh,” Yufan intelligently says. “Um. Well. Er.”
You give him a minute. “Yep. Go on. Any time now.”
“I mean. But like. What if you hate me,” Yufan continues.
Yeah, he doesn’t deserve a proper response to that. Instead, you just emotionlessly stare at him. Why would you do that?
Yufan gets the memo. “Okay. I…”
Silence.
“You…” you prompt.
“I…” he says.
“You…” you prompt. Again.
Yufan sighs as if he’s giving up. “I literally can’t tell-”
“Hey guys,” someone interrupts cheerfully, delaying Yufan from your wrath. “What's up?”
You look up. It’s Ahn Keonho, one of Yufan’s best friends, sunnily smiling and toting grocery bags in both hands. You’re about to respond, when he makes a noise that sounds uncannily like a fire alarm shrieking out for a new battery, before dropping his groceries and pointing at the ring on your finger.
“HOLY SHIT?” he screeches. “James! I never thought you'd actually do it! Congratulations!”
Now why did he say that like he was expecting it to happen? No way he actually thinks you and Yufan-
“Yep. I knew you two were dating,” Keonho excitedly carries on. “Seonghyeon owes me 50000 won now. Thanks for making it super obvious that you like each other!”
Suddenly finding his voice, Yufan yells out in horror. “DON’T LISTEN TO HIM.”
Keonho offendedly matches his volume. “WHAT DO YOU MEAN ‘DON’T LISTEN TO ME’. DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH WHINING WE HAD TO GO THROUGH. ‘GUYS SHE’S SO PRETTY TODA-’”
“SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP!!!!!!!” Yufan yelps, covering his own ears but still stalking up to Keonho, a la lion hunting gazelle.
Damn. Ignoring the half of your brain screaming “HE LIKES ME?” and the adrenaline-enhanced pounding of your heart, you slowly approach the duo, feeling a little like the waiter you were yelling at the other day. “Ladies. This is a public environment.”
Yufan immediately backs down. “I'm sorry.”
“Dibs being a groomsman, by the way,” Keonho acquiesces, but probably only because Yufan just surrendered. Goal achieved (chaos caused), he picks up his groceries again and heads off whistling, except he can't whistle, so it's more like aggressive blowing. It sounds suspiciously like Careless Whisper. Never mind, it absolutely is Careless Whisper.
“So,” you say to Yufan once Keonho has disappeared into the crowd.
“So,” he says, “I'm. Kind of maybe secretly in love with you?”
“So,” you say. “It’s your lucky day. I am too.”
“Cool,” he says, looking not very cool. “Wanna. Wanna go out?”
“I thought we just got engaged,” you say, half joking, except Yufan flicks through about fifteen different expressions of shock and joy and excitement and more shock, and okay, it's not a joke anymore.
“That works too,” he eventually says once his facial expressions have calmed down.
“Great,” you say. “Can’t wait to get married.”
“Oh, did you two just get engaged?” the florist next to you asks, who's clearly only been paying attention to the tail end of your conversation. “Congratulations!”
“Thank you,” you say as they pull together an elaborate display of flowers for you two. This is so bizarre. Getting freebies legitimately now. Who would’ve known this would’ve ever happened? Next to you, Yufan still looks like he’s processing the fact that he’s just jumped the best friends stage to the intending to be married stage. His dimples are showing from trying not to smile.
“You're both very lucky.” The florist hands you this huge bouquet, and you look to Yufan for his response.
“Yeah,” he replies this time, intertwining your fingers with his, warm and grounding. “The luckiest.”
You've made many bad decisions in your life before. Showing up to Cartier and accidentally angering a real-life kids movie villain definitely counts, but for whatever it’s worth – loving Zhao Yufan is not one of them. The free stuff is just an added bonus.
SYNOPSIS ໒꒱⋆.˚ Travelling back home, you meet your first love face to face. The same house, the same boy, but a lot has changed since the last time.
𖤓˚࿔ ────୨ৎ──── Genre :: angst (kinda), bittersweet, both in established relationships, light skinship, closure
PAIRING :: first-love!Seonghyeon x gn!reader (you got a male partner tho)
WARNINGS :: none
word count: 1.4k
#1 #epilogue
Author's note :: SECOND TIME POSTING THIS cus it was bugging the first time (dont let this flop pls) i cant apparently let go of this story so i wrote a whole epilogue 🤧 this will make more sense if you read this first. i hope you guys enjoy because i really like this 'miniseries'. also i promise there are no more romantic strings between them so everything is purely platonic skinship we dont condone cheating around here. comment any thoughts (˙𐃷˙)
“You’re home!” Cheers erupt as you walk through the doorway. You’re immediately tackled by your mom and dad, who pull you so tightly into their chest, sprinkling kisses all over your face. It’s been a while since you stepped foot in this house, the house you grew up in. From the outside, the paint coating is noticeably more weathered, the roof tiles more mossy, and the bushes much more overgrown, but on the inside, still warm and inviting as when you left.
Your parents thought that it would be a great idea to invite your aunties, uncles, cousins, extended family, and family friends over as a big homecoming celebration for you. So there you are, standing in the doorway with them wrapped around you. Silent sniffles can be heard around you as you begin to give everyone hugs and greetings.
Afraid the feast your parents have prepared for you will go cold, they quickly usher you towards the dining room, insisting you can unpack your suitcase later. You squeeze past the horde of people, admiring the old wallpaper you missed so much and chuckling at the embarrassing pre-school photos your mum still had up. However, amidst the chaos, your heart begins to beat louder than usual. Your eyes instinctively wander in search of another.
Set neatly across the table are plates loaded with your favourite dish; oh, the smell - it was all you wished for in the last few years you were gone. Flourishing lilies sit delicately at the ends of the table, causing you to gasp. They were, and still are, your favourite.
“Oh my goodness. You really didn’t have to.” You swiftly throw your arms around your parents once again before going to admire the flowers beaming at you.
“It wasn’t my idea.” Your mother whispers into your ear before signalling you to look somewhere. Lifting your head slightly, your gaze met with one very familiar to your heart and soul. Seonghyeon. He looks different. His hair is dyed a light brown. His clothes, much more put together than his usual sweats. Yet, the same eyes and smile you fell in love with. A shy smile can’t help but appear across your face before you walk over to where he is standing. Like habit, your bodies melt into a warm embrace, your forehead resting on his shoulder as he brings a hand to cradle the back of your head.
“Thank you.” You murmur as he tightens the hug.
“I want you guys to meet Jacob.” You announce as you pull away from Seonghyeon’s arms. Standing close by, Jacob gives a gentle smile before waving. Not long after, Jacob’s arms are stretched across your shoulders as you slide your arm around his waist.
“My fiancé.” You timidly declare, holding up your hand to show off a dainty gold ring decorated with a diamond. Once again, cheering breaks out in your cramped dining room as everyone congratulates you on this new milestone. As your gaze settles on Seonghyeon, he lights up with a bright smile. True happiness illuminates behind his eyes. He pulls you in for another affectionate hug before letting you go to celebrate with your lover.
As conversations dwindle to small talk, you notice a girl, a face you’ve never seen before, approach Seonghyeon, which causes his face to soften. Leaning against the wall, he places a steady hand on her waist before whispering something that leads her to look your way. You tap Jacob on the shoulder, signalling to him that you’ll be back before making your way towards the pair.
“Seoyun, meet Y/N. Y/N, this is Seoyun. She’s my girlfriend.” Seonghyeon’s eyes sparkle as he speaks her name. The girl flashes you a friendly smile as you open your arms to hug her.
“I’ve heard a lot about you, Y/N.”
“I’m sorry.” You scratch the back of your head before pulling a concerned look that causes both of them to laugh. Seoyun assures you that she has no bad blood towards you and even affirms that she is excited to finally put a face to a name.
“I’ll give you guys some space to talk.” Seoyun gives Seonghyeon’s arm a quick squeeze before entering into conversation with your aunty and mother.
You and Seonghyeon make your way out to the back porch and onto the squeaky swinging chair you both would lie at and stare at the moon together.
“You didn’t keep your promise,” Seonghyeon utters before leaning full back into the sunken cushion
“What?”
“Remember that you would still love me when you came back.”
“Shut up, Seonghyeon; you’re not innocent either.” You give his shoulder a playful smack before settling down yourself, but this time, not into his arms like before. Instead, you sit shoulder to shoulder.
Before you could say anything else, Seonghyeon bursts into laughter.
“What you laughing at?”
“Remember when we fell asleep here and somehow you ended up halfway down the steps and I was in the house in the morning?”
“Oh, my god. You unlocked a part of my brain I forgot I had.”
“And then we were itching for the next two weeks because of the mosquito bites.”
Your head tilts backwards as you also break into laughter. You slap your knee a couple of times because the imagery just makes you cackle. As the giggles subside, you two just sit in the same peaceful silence that usually took over.
“He makes you happy?”
“Yeah, very. Does she?”
“Of course.”
Then the silence begins to envelope again. For a moment, you both sit there, looking at whatever inhabited your backyard. The rose bush in your garden is fully blossomed now.
“I still love you, you know. Well, obviously not romantically, but I still have a lot of love for you.” Seonghyeon states before rambling to make sure his message doesn’t come off the wrong way.
“Yeah yeah, I know. Me too, Seonghyeon.” You turn to look at him, closely examining his facial features that have matured with time. He was no longer the teenage boy you knew. But he was still the same person you hold dearly in your heart, albeit in a different place.
“So, what have I missed?” Seonghyeon inquires. Like a fire to a fuse, this question sets you both off, allowing you to spout random stories gathered from your years apart. You reminisce about old memories shared, laugh at funny moments, celebrate each other’s accomplishments, cry about the hurdles life threw at you, and most importantly, soak in the nostalgia that underscores your conversation.
It is like nothing had changed at all. However, a part of your chest aches, not painfully or joyfully, just in a neutral manner. The person you grew up with now has grown without you. You too have changed so much as a person, but it is clear you both are so deeply ingrained in each other’s being.
After 30 minutes, you find yourself with your back propped against his shoulder, with his arm hanging over yours. The smell of his cologne, remaining the same despite the passage of time, fills your senses, making your chest warm.
“I missed this, Y/N.”
“Nostalgia is gonna kill me.”
“What a sentimental person.”
“Shut up; you were just crying with me.”
Seonghyeon scoffs quickly as he rests his head onto yours.
“GODDAMNIT! THE FOOD IS COLD.” Your mother’s voice bellows out of the kitchen. The pure distress in her tone causes you two to suddenly break into laughter. Consumed by conversation and the need to catch up, everyone had forgotten about the perfectly displayed feast on the table.
“Come on, let’s go have some food before your mum burns the house down.”
“Yep. Good idea.” Before you get up from your seated position, you feel Seonghyeon plant one last soft peck on the crown of your head. This time, it wasn't fuelled by yearning or by childish love, but a mature appreciation for the person that shaped him into what he is today.
You both make your way back inside. You reunite with Jacob, meeting your lips with his as his arm slithers around your waist. On the opposite side of the table, Seonghyeon brings Seoyun closer to his side, giving a peck to her cheek.
“Oh, my god. Get a room, you four. My appetite is actively shrinking.” Your aunty exclaims to the party as she dramatically rolls her eyes. Peals of laughter resound in the atmosphere as people settle into their seats, stomachs teeming with hunger and eyes wide in anticipation.
You and Seonghyeon lock eyes. You both crack a smile at each other, fully basking in the joy and ardour. Perhaps the ghostly presence of you two still remains, the same love still lingering in the air, but now with new clarity. Perhaps letting go was your true last act of love, to fully relax your body and let the currents of time carry you.
OMG HIII I LOVE YOUR WRITING!! can i request an imagine with any of the cortis members where the reader has been overworking herself during exam season and hasn't been taking care of herself and gets sick and hides it from him, and he notices and takes care of her with loads of fluff and hurt/comfort PLS THANK YOUUUU
Burning Out
❧ଓ Martin Edwards Park x 𝗳𝗲𝗺!reader
𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: You thought you could survive exam season on your own, but Martin has other plans when he discovers just how much you've been hiding yourself from him.
angst with fluff?
⊱ 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 ⊰
𝑯𝒊𝒊 𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒏!!! 𝑻𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒌 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒖𝒖𝒖 𝒔𝒐 𝒎𝒖𝒄𝒉𝒉𝒉!!
𝑰 𝒉𝒐𝒑𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒊𝒔 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒅!! 𝑬𝒏𝒋𝒐𝒚 ♡♥︎
The first thing Martin noticed was your texts.
Your messages you had normally sent him were all over the place in the best way possible.
Blurry pictures of things you found pretty that you swear looked better in person and extremely long voice notes that were just you complaining about one of your grumpy teachers. And yet again more pictures of coffee with the caption saying how you swear it's your last cup for the day. (It never was)
He noticed how it changed to short and not the usual silly texts:
"Studying."
"Busy."
"Sorry, I'll text later."
"I'm fine."
To him it started feeling like every conversation he had with you came to an end before it even started.
He kept trying to convince himself to not overthink your words or read too much into it. He knew how important your exam season was for you, he also knew how big of an impact it had one you.
He remembered how you had warned him a few days before your exams, "If I disappear for a bit, don't take it personally. I'll probably be drowning in notes."
He had that usual gentle grin on his expression as he said, "Then I'll come rescue you."
"Please don't. I actually need to pass."
So he respected your choice and gave you the needed space you wanted, though he kept sending you little reminder texts. Reminders like:
"Don't forget to eat."
"Get some sleep tonight, okay?"
"Drink some water."
You replied to the texts with a simple, "I will!", but sometimes you only reacted with a heart. Whether you actually listened to his sweet reminders was another story he didn't know.
During the exam season, your daily routine had become very questionable. You had coffee early in the morning as soon as you woke up, coffee in the afternoon and when you finally remembered you were hungry, you only ate instant noodles.
You barely slept. It had become optional, ranging from four to one hour. Sometimes you barely even slept more than 30 minutes.
When your first headache came, you choose to simply just ignore it. Then your throat started to itch and slight dizziness started form each time you stood.
You kept repeating to yourself that you just needed to push for a few more days and you'll be able to rest all you want after exams.
After more than one weeks apart he finally saw you again. He decided to surprise you by stopping by after one of your exams.
His smile faded almost immediately as you opened your apartment door and his eyes landed on you. He noticed how you tried your best to keep your smile high, but he could see the tiredness in your eyes as you mumbled, "...Hey."
Your sweater hung loosely off your shoulder, your hair up in the messiest bun imaginable and there was noticeable dark circles under your eyes that your light makeup couldn't hide.
You could see the concern on his expression, "You look exhausted."
You let out the smallest laugh he's ever heard from you, "I've just been studying."
"I can tell." He mumbled as he slowly reached up and brushed a few single loose strands of hair from your pretty face.
As he brushed the strands away, his fingers slightly touched your forehead, making his frown grow bigger, "...You're so warm."
"I'm okay." You immediately sighed, your voice was a little shaky as you talked.
"You've got a fever." He protested, the concern in his voice growing by the second.
"It's probably nothing." He quickly rested the back of his hand against your forehead just to make sure.
It was most definitely not nothing and he knew you were downplaying your condition, "How long have you felt like this?"
He could hear the hesitation in your voice, "...A day or two."
He sighed as he stepped inside your apartment, he looked around and noticed how your textbooks were on almost every surface.
Sticky notes plastered across the coffee table with a few empty coffee cups and energy drinks. He also saw how the curtains were still closed even though it was almost 5pm. His eyes traveled back to yours, "When did you last eat something that wasn't instant noodles?"
You blinked up at his question, slightly taken aback, "...I don't remember."
His heart ached at your answer, it hurt him more than he thought it would.
He sighed and made his way to your kitchen, hoping to find something for you to eat.
Your fridge was almost completely empty, only being filled with a half full carton of milk and some yogurt that was definitely expired.
There wasn't really anything else in there. He let out the smallest sigh before closing the fridge door, "You've really been running yourself into the ground."
"I've just been busy." You tried your best to hide the yawn that followed but failed.
"I know." His voice stayed gently, "...I know, baby, but being busy... doesn't mean you stop taking care of yourself."
You tried to clear your throat, only for it to turn into one massive coughing fit and you instinctively turned your back on him, trying to hide it from him. It didn't work and as the coughing finally stopped, you slightly started swaying on your feet, your dizziness returning with a new force.
Martin, without thinking, reached for you, steadying you on your feet before you could further lose your balance.
"I've got you." He softly whispered, the concern not leaving his tone anytime soon.
"I'm fine." You said trying to convince yourself more than trying to convince him.
"You almost fell over." He tried to reason with you, "I stood up too fast."
The look he gave you was enough evidence that he wasn't buying your excuses, not for one single second, "I think you need to rest."
"I still have another exam." You whined out in slight anger, but not at him. You didn't even know at what your were angry at.
"And you'll do better on it if you're actually functioning." Martin tried his best to convince you, desperation forming in his tone.
You let out a sigh and rubbed your eyes, "I can't afford to fall behind, Martin"
"I know." He he said as he took a few steps closer to you, "But you also can't keep pushing yourself like this."
There was something in his voice, he was so calm and patient. It started to make the wall you'd been building up crack into tiny little pieces.
"I just..." You swallowed, "I feel like if I stop now, I'm wasting time."
"Rest isn't wasted time."
Your eyes stung a little at his words, "I've worked so hard."
"I know you have." He answered almost immediately.
"What if it still isn't enough?" He heard the little choke in your voice.
He didn't rush to give you a respond, he just simply pulled you into a tight hug, his arms wrapped around your waist.
You almost instantly melted against his chest, a slight hum leaving your lips.
Martin caressed your hair softly as he murmured, "I don't expect you to be perfect," he pulled away to look at you, "And the people who care about you don't either."
Before you could stop them, your tears started flowing down your cheeks, slightly making a mess of Martin's shirt.
The stress that was caused by weeks of preparing, the sleepless nights and the pressure you've been secretly carrying on your own had finally caught up with. And the worst part is that it all came at once. Martin knew he couldn't take all your problems away, though he wished he could, so he just simply held you tightly against his chest. One of his hands slowly rubbed circles on your lower back until he noticed as your breathing finally started to settle again.
As you eventually pulled away you, you slightly sniffed and quietly laughed at yourself, "Sorry."
"What for?" He asked confused, his own laugh slipping through.
"You've barely seen me in almost two weeks." You sighed with a slight pout forming.
In response he gave you his charming, sweet smile, "I figured exam season had kidnapped you."
" I'm sorry..." You whispered out again softly.
Martin sighed, "You don't have to apologize for struggling."
You looked down at your hands, your fingers slightly picking at each other, "I should've told you I wasn't feeling well."
He softly bumped your shoulder with his, "You probably should've." He gave you another gentle smile, "But we'll work on that next time."
After a few minutes, your legs felt unsteady again and before you could protest against him, he slipped an arm around your waist, "Come on."
"I can walk." You quietly whispered, a slight giggle leaving you.
"I know." He paused at your reaction before continuing, "But humour me?"
You slightly rolled your eyes with a tiny smile forming, "...Fine."
Martin gently settled you into your bed, adjusting the blankets around you and opened the curtains just enough to let some light in. He also opened one of your windows for some fresh air before whispering, "I'll be right back."
About thirty minutes passed when you woke up to the smell of your favorite soup filling the apartment.
He must have went shopping for some of the ingredients.
You sleepily wandered into the kitchen to see Martin stirring a pot with his sleeves rolled up and quietly humming to himself.
He smiled as he saw your sleepy figure making your way towards him, "There you are!"
"I was checking if I dreamed you." You laughed a little as you hugged him from behind.
He let out a little chuckle as he felt your hands wrap around his waist, "Nope. Still here, baby."
After you had taken some of the medicine he brought you, you took a seat on the couch since of the big mess on all the other tables. But you did notice how the mess wasn't that big anymore.
Martin sat beside you with a warm bowl of soup he balanced on his hands, "Here."
"I can manage." You giggled a little, the sound brining a big smile to Martin.
"I know." He said with a fake stern tone but held out the spoon full of soup anyway, "...But you look like you could use a break."
You finally gave in with a tiny smile, "Just this once."
He grinned like a idiot, "I'll take it."
That night, your fever got worse as you woke up coughing. Your body shivering despite being covered with 2 fluffy and tick blankets.
Martin was already awake next to you before you could even have called to him.
"Hey." His voice was soft as he handed you a class of water.
He waited for you to catch your breath before swapping the now-warm cloth on your forehead for a new cool one.
"You should be asleep," you mumbled, your voice slightly raspy.
"So should you." He said with a smile tugging on his lips.
"...Fair point." You mumbled, laying back onto the bed, a smile forming on your lips, before you started slightly coughing again.
"You know," he said quietly after a while, "you scared me a little."
"I'm sorry." You avoided his eyes, feeling guilty about not asking him for help earlier.
"I don't need an apology." He reached over to you, brushing your hair back.
"I just need you to let me help before it gets this bad." He said quietly, his own voice getting slightly small.
You quickly nodded, "I'll try."
He gently smiled down at you, "That's all I'm asking, baby."
You fell asleep with your head resting on his shoulder.
He didn't move an inch, absentmindlessly he brushed your hair away from your eyes every so often as the lose strands of hair fell down. He checked your temperature now and then just to reassure himself that you're doing better.
He glanced back down at you and smiled to himself and quietly whispered, "You've done enough for today,"
"So just rest."
And for the first time in a few weeks, you actually did, even though your exams were far from over, but right now you didn't care.
˚⟡˖ ࣪ YOU'RE ALWAYS GONNA BE SOMEONE THAT I WANT ::
────୨ৎ──── Eom Seonghyeon (Oneshot)
SYNOPSIS ໒꒱⋆.˚ You're moving away from not only your hometown but also a boy you've spent the majority of your life with. What are you guys exactly? A question left unanswered as you spend one last night with him.
𖤓˚࿔ ────୨ৎ──── Genre :: angst, friends with benefits (sfw), lack of closure, lack of commitment, bittersweet
PAIRING :: childhood-bestfriend!Seonghyeon x gn!reader
author's note :: i got big writers block for hsp martin so decided to do a little side quest this is what i imagine when i listen to spring into summer. the song is genuinely so good and so heartwrenching yall dont understand. i tried to make this sentimental and sad but idk if i did so let me know ( ;´ - `;)✌️ ₊⊹⁀➴ masterlist
“What were we?”
“Cliché.”
“Seonghyeon, don’t do this right now.”
“I don’t know. I don’t know what we were, Y/N,” he answers quietly. His fingers are tightly intertwined with yours. Your head is delicately rested on his shoulder. You two are overlooking the city at your secret spot, a secluded place up in the mountains; the faint lights blur into a mosaic.
“I just know I’ll miss this,” Seonghyeon whispers before squeezing your hand a little harder. Enough for you to notice.
“Me too.”
“Promise me to text me often, okay?”
“Yes, I know. This is the 10th time you’ve said this, by the way.”
“I know. I just don’t want you to forget.”
A soft scoff escapes you. You can’t blame him for not knowing what you guys were, because you don’t have an answer either. In the grand scheme of things, Seonghyeon is your “friend with benefits”, but in your heart, you know, and maybe he does too, that you both have something deeper. Something three simple words can’t describe.
The way you look at each other. The lingering touches. The secret kisses. The countless nights spent together under the stars. All of these easily fall into the “relationship” category, but you both never made it there. Why? You never knew either.
Maybe you were scared of ruining what you guys had. Maybe he was afraid of the unknown, venturing into a state of your connection never explored before. Maybe you were both scared of losing each other.
The worst thing is, you’ll never get to know, as you’re moving to a different country, far, far away from the boy you considered home. Are the 13 years together not strong enough to keep you here? You don’t know. All you know is that tomorrow, there is a flight booked for you. A flight that will take you to a whole different world where you know no one.
“What do you think we could’ve been?” Seonghyeon breaks the silence with a not-so-simple question.
“Maybe married.” Your response elicits a small laugh from Seonghyeon, who now has his arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him to feel more of your warmth.
“Funny.” And he is right. Funny. You both know you want this. Want to finally let your hearts love the other fully with no constraint. To yell at the top of your lungs that you are exclusively each other’s. To lose sight of the other but know that you belong together.
Silence, once again, grows, enveloping both of you in its arms. It isn’t awkward; however, just peaceful. The leaves trickle as a gentle breeze brushes through them. Illuminating the sky are stars, winking as they observe the Earth.
“It’s getting late; your flight is early tomorrow.” Seongyeon begins to shift slowly, releasing his arm from you. You turn to look at him only to be greeted by his face, already staring at you. He is right; it is late, and your flight is very early tomorrow, but you don’t want to move. Your heart starts to feel heavy; your breathing shallows as tears start to well up in the corner of your eyes.
Without a second thought, Seonghyeon brings you closer and plants a soft kiss on your forehead. His lips tenderly trail down your face before reaching your lips, with your face cupped in his hands. There is no point in faking now, so you let the tears flow freely. His thumb lightly brushes them away as his eyes intensely study the features on your face. With the taste of him still lingering, you lean in again, wrapping your arms around his neck. You can feel his hands travel down to your waist as he melts into you, deepening the kiss.
It is moments like this where you both feel the bravest, like you can finally say the words that you’ve been holding onto for too long. Still, they are never said.
As you pull away, you can see that, now, Seonghyeon’s eyes are also red and glistening from fallen tears. Neither of you move. Your fingers draw light circles on the back of his neck while his hands are held firmly on your side.
“Why do you have to leave, Y/N?”
“Seonghyeon.”
“Y/N, you know that I love you, right?” Those three words, spoken so casually by him. Cliché if ever said by anyone else, but in his voice, it hits you deeper than you could’ve ever expected. A deep pit starts to form in your stomach; a sickening feeling emanates through your heart.
“You never told me that. Why are you making it so hard for me?”
“Because. I don’t want to lose you.”
“You’re not.”
“Yes. Yes, I am.” His voice is hoarse from the desperation as you watch him swallow hard. Tears threaten to fall, causing him to turn his head away before you see them.
“Come on, let’s get you home.” Before the conversation can go any further, Seonghyeon gently grabs your arms and pulls you up from the bench. You can hear, faintly, a small crack forming in his voice, a tremble you can only hear if you are listening for it.
Before getting in the car, you look back, admiring the secret place of yours for the last time. It holds many memories, memories you will hold close to your heart as comfort for the new chapter of your life. You are sure the trees and bushes will remember the laughter, the cries, the conversations, and the quiet glances you both shared. Yet, as the sun will rise tomorrow as it does every morning, the place will remain untouched, not grazed by the presence of you two.
The car is silent, with only the soft hum of Seonghyeon’s voice to whatever is playing on the radio and the wind bellowing through your window filling up the void. Halfway down the mountain, a brilliant idea pops into your head.
“One last karaoke session?” you say as you reach for your phone, connecting it to the car’s Bluetooth system.
“How can I say no?” Seonghyeon briefly takes his eyes off the road to look at you, exchanging a cheeky smile that has now stretched across his face.
So for the next 20 minutes, you queue up songs from your “yelling car ride” playlist with a healthy mix of Adele, Hozier, Bruno Mars, One Direction and Ariana Grande. You both scream at the top of your lungs, filling the car up with horrendous harmonies and high notes that would get you both booed off the stage in an instant. You completely roll the windows down and proceed to stick your upper half out, waving your hands over your head as the wind aggressively blows your hair around. With one hand on the wheel and the other gripping onto yours, Seonghyeon chuckles at the sight of you singing your heart out to the world. A sense of bittersweetness starts to manifest inside.
Pulling into your street, “Spring into Summer” by Lizzy McAlpine starts to play. This causes you to groan and shrink into your seat. This song is your weakness; the soft guitar strums just bring out feelings you try to smother.
“Eughhhhh. This song always plays at the worst times.”
“You can’t remove it from your playlist though.”
“Yeah, reminds me of you,” you say silently before tightening the hoodie around your face.
A shaky sigh escapes your lips as Seonghyeon pulls into your driveway. Turning off the car, you both sit there in silence, soaking up the last minutes you have together.
“You know, I love you too.” Your sudden confession disrupts the stillness. Your cheek is now resting against the seat, your gaze landing on Seonghyeon. The corners of his mouth pull themselves up while he tilts his head to meet your eyes.
“I hope you still do the next time we see each other.”
“I will. You?” you answer with conviction, as you know he will always occupy a space in your heart.
“I will too. Pinky promise.” Your pinkies hook together as he brings your hand to his lips, leaving a quick peck on the back of your hand.
“Don’t be late tomorrow.”
“Yes, boss. 6 AM. I’ll see you there.”
You are kind of lying to yourself when you feel like this was the last time you’d see each other because, in reality, Seonghyeon is sending you off tomorrow with your family.
“Goodnight, Seonghyeon.”
“Goodnight, Y/N.” Leaning against the side of his car, Seonghyeon pulls you in for a tight hug. The warmth of his body emanates as you are pressed against each other. With no space left in between, he continues to squeeze your body closer, as if this isn't enough contact for him. You burrow your face into the nape of his neck, taking one last smell of his cologne, sweet and not too overpowering. This feeling - it feels so right, like you were born for this sole reason.
“Get home safe.”
“Yeah yeah, got it.” He signals you to go inside the house before blowing you a kiss.
As you slam the door shut, that bittersweet feeling that was fostering instead completely transforms into intense anguish, causing you to burst into tears. Hurriedly, you make your way to your room, crashing onto the bed and dampening the cries with your pillow to prevent waking up your parents. It hurt. A lot. More than you want to admit.
Sleep hits you like a wave, engulfing your helpless body and sending you deep into the realm of REM. Maybe it was because of the exhaustion from your crying, or your body’s way of helping you escape the depression you were falling into.
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
SEONGHYEON POV:
His eyes slowly flicker. The warm sunlight casts itself onto the wall covered in random posters. The birds are singing their usual tune as a groan slithered through Seonghyeon’s teeth.
Shit.
Shit.
Shit. Shit. Fuck. Shit.
Seonghyeon pounces into an upright position while frantically searching for his phone beneath his white duvet. As the screen lights up, the time it displays causes his eyes to widen in horror.
6:00 AM. The time that he is supposed to arrive at the airport to send off Y/N. The airport is 40 minutes away, and Y/N is leaving promptly at 6:30. Shit. Amidst the severe heartache that consumed him last night, Seonghyeon must’ve forgotten to set an alarm. Shit.
In a panicked state, Seonghyeon throws on a hoodie conveniently hanging from his chair, splashes his face with water, and brushes his teeth for a time that would make a dentist disappointed. Guilt begins to gnaw at his brain, hammering in a sense of impending doom deep into the fissures of his heart. Tears flow onto his cheeks as he rushes around the house, attempting to find his keys with a fogged vision.
How can he be so stupid? The thought of you leaving, the thought of an unfinished goodbye, the thought of him failing you overtakes his senses as uncontrollable sobs pound out of his chest. He is never one to cry, but now, he can do nothing to stop it.
Revving up the car, Seonghyeon haphazardly speeds down his street, his knuckles whitened from gripping the steering wheel. Dodging in between cars and running a few red lights, Seonghyeon has somehow managed to cut down a 20-minute car ride to roughly 10. All the tickets that can be given to a driver are most likely racking up on his record, but that’s the last thing on his mind. All he can see, blurred against the foreground, is you.
Passing the threshold between the city and the airport area, cars begin to pile on the roads, lines stretching further than the eye can see. Seonghyeon, growing more impatient as the seconds tick by, has slowed to a near standing pace, his car trekking ever so slowly along the underground tunnel leading to the car park. He can physically hear his heartbeat thumping in his ears.
Goddamnit.
Glancing at his car’s clock before darting his vision back onto the road in front, Seonghyeon impulsively turns on his turn signal. Gaining a few beeps from the other cars waiting in the traffic line, he makes his way to the emergency lane. Irresponsible, he knows. But if he has to pay a hefty fine, let it be because at least he gets to see you for the last time.
Seonghyeon is now frantically making his way to the exit on his own two legs, abandoning his car in the process. His breathing is winded, with every gasp of air clawing at the insides of his throat. His mind is scrambled; he isn’t thinking straight anymore. His mouth is dry. His lungs are heaving, desperately trying to alleviate the burning in his legs. His heartbeat, irregular. His arms are pathetically flailing to keep his body from crashing onto the ground. He can’t stop. He can’t look back. All he can do is to keep going forward.
Sunlight crashes onto his body as he exits the underground passage. The entry to the airport is now in his line of vision. He weaves himself through the clouds of people huddling around. They seem unfazed by his presence, all entranced in their own conversations. Some laughing, some crying, and some in complete silence. Yet, these outside vibrations soothe themselves into a distant hum as Seonghyeon slips through the door. This place is like a maze; the simple vastness of the area is enough to instill a deep sense of dread in Seonghyeon.
6:27 AM.
He doesn’t know where you are. Maybe you are already headed into the terminal. Maybe you are waiting for him right now, right as he is standing in the middle of a current of people, helpless. His eyes are hopelessly scanning through the lines of people, trying to spot you against the backdrop of thousands of others. He attempts to move around; maybe gaining new angles will help him locate you better. Any way, anything. Seonghyeon’s shoulders recklessly shove against other people’s as he murmurs polite apologies. The abyss in his heart has now fully consumed him from the inside out; he feels like he will throw up at any moment. Nervously, his hands rub together as if fidgeting with his fingers will dampen the pain that radiates from within.
Then, as if the universe has taken pity on him, his eyes land on a figure wearing a bright red scarf. The scarf eerily similar to the one he gifted you on your birthday. His body begins to gravitate towards this mysterious person; does he know for sure that this is you? Of course not, but his mind can’t rationalise any thoughts right now, so he moves with instinct.
“Y/N!” Seonghyeon manages to squeak out your name, pushing through the lump forming in his throat.
“Y/N!” No response. No heads turned. Nothing.
“Y/N!” With nothing left to his name, Seonghyeon continues to shout your name while internally begging for this person to turn around, to answer his calls, to be you.
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
Y/N POV:
You have been waiting since 5:55 AM, luggage tightly wrapped around your fingers and your mother rubbing circles on your back. As 6:25 AM rolls around, you finally accept the sinking feeling that has been festering in your heart. He isn’t coming.
“Darling. I’m sure he’ll just give you a call later.” But that’s not what you want, what you need. You need to see him for the last time, to hear him for the last time, to feel him for the last time. To engrave the way he made you feel as his warmth seeped against your skin in your brain. To truly savour his breath for the last time. To etch the way his eyes stare into yours, the way his eyes soften every time they land on you. Your heart, it yearns so much it physically hurts.
“Okay, love you, Mom and Dad.” You share one last hug as you attempt to ground yourself in the moment. You give a weak wave before heading into the terminal, past the line of no visitors. Tears are now carving down your cheek, pooling themselves on your chin before you wipe them away with your scarf. The scarf Seonghyeon gifted you last year. It still smells like him, as he insisted on drenching it in his cologne every time you wore it.
“Y/N!” Then you hear it. Your mind is playing cruel tricks on you.
“Y/N!” Again. It happens again.
After the third time, you turn your head around to catch a glimpse of him. Seonghyeon. Standing, hair roughed up, face stained with tears, and an expression of sorrow unseen.
The moment you both make eye contact, something inside of you two breaks. A final acceptance of your separation. A final mourning of a person who is still alive. The sun, still awakening from its slumber, casts its golden rays against Seonghyeon. It veils itself so perfectly on the curves and valleys of his face.
Memories begin to rush back like an old videotape. You can hear his laughter, your laughter, his voice, your voice. The way his fingertips brushed against your cheek when tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. The rhythmic rise and fall of his chest as he sleeps with his arms wrapped around you. The habit of him fiddling with his hands when he gets nervous. The soft sunsets both witnessed by you, huddled together atop the hill, in your secret place. All these memories, all blended into a beautiful, nostalgic piece of your soul so deeply imprinted. His eyes glimmer. The corners of his mouth pull themselves up. Yours do too.
Standing there, separated by a thousand miles but united through shared memories, you bring your hand to your lips, blowing him a kiss before letting a smile bloom across your face.
“I love you. I’m sorry.” He mouths it before sending you a kiss right back.
“I love you too,” you whisper under your breath before turning away and continuing forward.
In that moment, suspended between distance and presence, you finally embrace the unknown, slipping your fingers into its cold touch, letting it carry you away, far, far away.
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
author's note pt. 2 :: i just wrote an epilogue to this so reaaaadddddddd pls
SYNOPSIS ໒꒱⋆.˚ Life is not shy of serving up hurdles your way, but your order at the uni food court being constantly butchered by a tall, blonde first year was not one you were expecting
𖤓˚࿔ ────୨ৎ──── Genre :: Fluff, crack, enemies to lovers (?), banter, martin being a chronic scroller, uni student life, martin being down bad, first year x second year, smau (kinda??)
PAIRING :: Nonidol!Martin x fem!reader
WARNINGS :: Swearing
word count: 2.9k
#1 #2 (wip) #3 (wip)
Author note: hello this one has been marinating in my drafts for so long so i just decided to release the first part. if yall dont know what a hsp (halal snack pack) pls get yourself one RIGHT NEOW cus itll change your life. I hope you enjoy pls comment its lonely around here (•̀⤙•́ ) ₊⊹⁀➴ masterlist
It’s the first day back of term 2 -- your second year, to be exact. Although you promised yourself for your New Year's resolution, after much pressure from Anna, to dress up every day to class, you enter the campus in a matching grey sweats set with your earphones dangling out of your pocket.
Every day since stepping foot onto campus, you’ve spent your mornings lining up at the uni’s kebab store, ordering the same chicken HSP. It’s convenient, close to your classes, and, of course, cheap thanks to your student discounts. This has become routine to the point that the sweet old lady at the counter is now your friend, often asking how your assignments went and letting you rant about any annoying professors.
This morning is no different: the same 30-minute train from your house, then a quick 10-minute walk from the station. The same dull pavement greets you as you take in a large breath. Here we go again.
Down the stairs, through the dappled light of the jacaranda trees, and into the stuffy food court, you retrace the same path carved by your footsteps from the countless days. However, rather than being greeted by the same warming smile, you’re faced with a stone-cold expression swept by dirty blonde hair.
“What the fuck?” you mumble before getting yourself in line.
“Hello,” the boy manages to grunt out through a face of boredom you have never seen before.
“Hi, where is Bea?”
“Retired.”
“Um. Right. Okay. Can I get a chicken HSP please? Garlic and BBQ sauce.”
“Okay.”
You have never seen him around campus before; it's not like this school is small either, but you notice. Definitely a first year, you think, definitely, the eyes never lie.
“Oh fuck,” the guy grunts out before catching himself. The sudden expression of emotion makes you perk your head up before witnessing the tall blonde with his hands clutching his head. He awkwardly turns to face you with a panicked look painted into the creases of his skin. “I burnt your fries, my bad. Gimme another 5.”
You roll your eyes in annoyance; if only the lady were here, she would be well on her way. Why are first years so annoying? You definitely weren’t this annoying, right?
“Beef HSP. Um, girl in the sweats. Beef HSP.”
“Sorry, not mine.”
“Who else then? Oh chair, your beef HSP is ready.”
“I ordered chicken.”
“Um… no?”
“Um… yes?”
“So what you want me to do?”
“I don't fucking know, do I look like I work here?” You can feel your blood pressure starting to rise. Before continuing to argue with the stranger, you glance at your watch. 4 minutes till 10, and it usually takes you 6 minutes to arrive. “You know what, forget about it, I’m already late.”
The blondie scoffs under his breath before unlocking his phone. “That’s what I thought.”
“Excuse me?” The audacity this man has is out of this world. This is why you hate first years.
“I said have a good day, ma’am,” the blondie mutters in a monotone voice while his eyes are glued to the screen.
As you make your way to class with haste, you shovel down the beef and chips lathered in garlic and chilli sauce. How can he be so dumb? The soles of your shoes shuffle against the wooden floor, and you toss the cardboard container in the trash before entering the almost silent classroom in a smooth transition. Mumbling a few quiet apologies, you drag yourself and your abnormally large tote across the chairs before plopping yourself next to Anna. You two exchange a mutual look of disappointment for being late and for the below-average HSP that made you late.
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
The universe has blessed your day before it even started. You now have time to prepare the due presentation instead of bullshitting in front of the class. A HSP seems perfectly appropriate to celebrate this momentous time.
The sun’s beams that caress your soft skin feel warmer; the breeze that ruffles through the leaves creates tunes which harmonise with the birds’ calling. As an added bonus, you’re dressed in a nicer outfit, if jeans and a Brandy tank top is considered nice, which is actively contributing to your growing confidence. You saunter onto campus, blasting the same SZA tunes in your ear, definitely at a volume that is way too loud for your own well-being.
However, this newfound joy is cut short when you stroll into the food court, where the same incompetent blondie is guarding the kebab counter once again. This time, instead of the swept locks, his hair is styled into spikes that sporadically shoot out of his scalp, which is crazy but annoyingly stylish.
“You again,” he grumbles before letting out an audible sigh. You choose to ignore it, you can’t let a man, let alone a weird first-year, ruin your day.
“CHICKEN HSP, garlic and BARBEQUE sauce please.”
“Damn bruh, why you talking like that?”
“Just making sure.”
The Apple Pay confirmation rings in your ears as you quickly move yourself to the other side of the counter, wanting to get away from this dude as much as possible. Putting your earphones back in, you lean on the wall to wait. Somehow, something is drowning out the sound of your music. Is your phone bugging?
No, no, it is not. Ripping out your headphones, you’re greeted with a whiny sound emanating from behind the counter. It’s the blondie, next bent at 90 degrees with his eyes gawking at his phone. His hands are frozen in motion while your HSP is still at no progress.
“Now I won’t let go… let go….” Recognisable music from Instagram is blasting from his device. The blondie is chuckling to himself, nodding his head occasionally while making a weird expression. Curiosity gets the better of you, making you shuffle towards the blaring sound. Videos of badly AI-generated bathrooms carousel behind the repeating audio, becoming increasingly annoying.
“Which bathroom are you shitting the best in?”
“Oh what the fuck. Why are you snooping?” The blondie steps back before shoving his phone in his pocket.
“Don’t act surprised.”
“Oh right, CHICKEN hsp, garlic and chilli. I’m kidding, garlic and BBQ.”
You roll your eyes at the blondie’s annoying comment. If he keeps going at this rate, you might roll your eyes so far backwards that you will peer into your own brain. God, why did he have to ruin the one good thing about this uni?
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
“Omg you finally made it.”
“Not even my fault, bro. The blondie is soooooo slowwwwwww.”
“Maybe to keep you around for longer.”
“Ew.”
Anna chuckles to herself before locking back into their group assignment. You promptly do the same, slaving away at the Google Slides, making the text legible because no one seems to know how to make stuff presentable anymore.
Hours have passed, or it definitely feels like it has. You let a long sigh escape you as you lean back, reaching your hands over your head, grasping for any relief for the growing pain in your neck.
2:55 pm. Shit.
“ANNA IT'S 2:55.”
“WAIT WHAT WAIT.” Anna is now furiously clacking away at her keyboard, her eyebrows furrowed as she begins to rise from her chair. You aggressively shove your laptop into your crowded tote bag while chugging the rest of your water. You’re scheduled to go first and cannot afford to miss a presentation worth 30% of your grade.
“WE NEED TO LEAVE NOW,” you screech while tugging on Anna’s arm, which is still death-gripping her laptop.
You two bust your way out of the library, across the quadrangle, and up the nearly vertical stairs. You and Anna haven’t run this fast since, never, to be honest. Anna is still typing away at her computer. You juggle two heavy bags on your wrists while balancing Anna’s beloved matcha and their phones in your hands.
As if God thinks you are his strongest soldier, a sharp pain suddenly permeates through your skull. Your vision is consumed by darkness as a cooling sensation washes over your body. The pointed pain dulls into a drumming headache that causes your face to scrunch up. You can hear a basketball dribble away as you regain your senses. Looking down, your newly purchased shirt has transformed itself into a new colourway: pink splashed with a grassy green. Great. Just the one day you have a presentation. Great.
“Oh shit.” A grating voice encroaches whilst you two are lividly scrubbing the drink off your shirt.
The blondie. His tall stature casts a shadow on your frowning face as your eyes meet with his.
“OMG. YOU’RE SO FUCKING TALL JUST TO BE SO FUCKING ASS AT BASKETBALL. YOUR BITCHASS CAN’T DO SHIT,” you bellow at the blondie’s starstruck face. The blondie, who always has something witty to say, has now been silenced.
“GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY FACE.” You can’t be around him any longer, or hands will be thrown, so, angrily, you shove his shoulder, marching forward once again. Anna follows close behind, flipping him off in the process.
“Oh, so that’s him.”
Somehow, you and Anna make it to the lecture hall just in time. Your group then proceeds to nail the presentation, somehow, despite pure adrenaline still circulating in your veins. Pressure really does make diamonds.
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
But what do you have to lose? Maybe Anna is right (for once). So, for the first time since you’ve stepped foot onto this campus, you take a left instead of a right to the Soul Origin counter.
“Hello,” says Juhoon in his characteristic monotone voice. The light brown streaks in his wavy hair glisten under the drab lighting. His eyes lay droopy on his face while his lips, perfectly rosy, curve into a warming smile. Before you can get your greeting out, a loud cough echoes throughout the empty food court. Instinctively, you swivel your head towards the noise, only to be met with the glaring eyes of the blondie. He is standing at the kebab counter, directly opposing Soul Origin, shooting daggers straight into your soul. What is this guy’s problem?
“Hi. Can I just get a chicken pesto salad with extra chicken, please?”
“Yeah, of course. Also, you’re Y/N, right?” Oh my god. He knows your name. Oh my god.
“Yeah, ha ha, how do you know that?”
“My sister is the VP of your chocolate society. She says you run it like a bootcamp.” Oh god. Juhoon thinks you're uptight.
“Oh, Juun! I didn’t know you guys were-”
Once again, a thunderous cough rings from behind. You snap your head backwards, casting a withering stare onto the blondie whose tall ass is hunched over the counter, smirking.
“Sorry, I was saying, I didn’t know you guys were siblings.”
“Yeah, I get that often, but, now you know, I guess.”
“Ha ha, I guess.” God. Where did all your communication skills go? Did Juhoon’s beauty zap it all away? You aren't complaining though. Thank you, Anna, you did your big one here.
Juhoon is efficiently working behind the counter, scooping the perfect amounts of pasta, chicken and pesto into a cardboard bowl. The red shirt he’s wearing is delightfully draped over his broad shoulders, the sleeves rolled enough that his biceps are peeking through. The muscles in his forearms are pulsating alongside his swift hand motions, a true sight for sore eyes. His lips are cutely pursed, and his eyebrows are slightly furrowed with concentration. He is even better up close, you think. Lord, have some mercy.
“Your salad, Y/N,” Juhoon says, speaking your name in a soft tone.
“Thank you.”
“No problem. See you around, Y/N.” See YOU around? You flash a shy smile in response before scurrying away to text Anna this newly developed revelation.
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
MARTIN POV:
Another day, another HSP Martin has to prepare for the chicken girl. The first-year economics student is sick and tired of whatever uni is, even though it has only been one term. The same slideshow, the same flat voice that bores Martin to death, the same stuffy lecture theatre. Every time he picked up a pen to answer a question about some stupid inflation or GDP, his heart would bang against his chest, begging for him to stop because all he wanted was to put his hands on a guitar.
You can’t make money as a musician. Think about your future. His mother used to consistently hammer these ideas into his head. But God, she just doesn’t understand. Maybe he doesn’t either because he finds himself once again, crammed into a seat way too small for his stature, forced to write a paragraph about supply and demand.
Ever since Martin picked up the part-time job to fund himself a new guitar, he’s been serving the same stubborn, moody girl the same order every day: chicken HSP with garlic and BBQ sauce. At first, Martin found you annoying, rude, mean, arrogant, and pretty. Wait. No.
They never exchanged names, but all his friends know you as the chicken girl, and they know how Martin feels about you very well. They would pay great sums of money to stop that boy from ranting on about this mysterious person like a teenage boy interacting with girls for the first time.
“Did she save you from a fire or something? Why you like this bro,” Seonghyeon questioned Martin, uninterested, scrolling on his phone.
“No, better.”
“Like what? Berate you every day.” Juhoon chimed in with a half laugh half scoff. They all thought he was crazy. Or maybe they were crazy because haven’t they seen you?
“You can’t save him. He’s right where he wants to be.” And Seonghyeon would be completely correct.
As the days went on, Martin would intentionally work slowly, burning the fries, giving the wrong sauce, and giving you the wrong meat so he could hear you talk to him, even if 10 times out of 10, they weren’t exactly nice words. And 10 times out of 10, he would try to muster up the courage to ask for your name, tell you he’s not actually this annoying and tell you he wants to become friends, but pathetically fail.
However, this habit of inaction from Martin may finally be shaken as Juhoon also takes on a part-time job at Soul Origin right across from the kebab counter. The day before, Martin had accidentally missiled a basketball at you, where the pure vitriol that left your mouth was on another level. He had really fucked up this time. Martin recognised that and had been hyping himself up the whole of last night to finally say something meaningful to you. Except, at the same time as every other morning, you took a left and headed straight for Juhoon’s spot.
What?
Then came your voice, but in a tone unheard of to Martin. It was sweet, soft and coated in sugar. Then a laugh echoed from your mouth; Juhoon made you laugh. He’s been trying for too many weeks now, and Juhoon, the notorious fuckboy, did it in one minute, a single minute.
Jealousy began to boil in his blood, his fingers rapidly tapping on the resin countertop as an attempt to calm his fired nerves. Juhoon, who knew how to play these games, leaned right into you, talking to you in his low, sultry voice, giving you lingering glances, and saying your name in a way that would make anyone’s knees weak. Between all of this nonsense, Juhoon would flash Martin a smirk, then continue doing whatever bullshit he’d done on countless other girls.
God, this annoyed the fuck out of Martin. However, this tall blonde knew nothing about flirting, so he had to resort to what he knew: being insufferable. But no matter what he did - coughing, making noise, trying to get your attention - it seemed like Juhoon’s black magic worked on you.
The moment you left the sight of both of them, Martin angrily whipped out his phone and furiously typed a message to Juhoon, who was now leaning against the back wall and laughing to himself.
FROM JUHOON’S PHONE:
Juhoon better stay away from you. From that interaction onward, Martin told himself the next time he saw you, he would finally make his move and hope for the best.
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
Two days later, you find yourself back in the brain-numbing cycle of uni. At least Juhoon’s face will make the start of your day that much sweeter. Except, he isn’t in today. Damnit. Annoying blondie it is.
“Well, someone new joined the Juhoon roster,” the blondie scoffs under his breath before looming over the cash register.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” you snap back, rolling your eyes in the process.
“I’m just looking out for you.”
“Shut up.”
“Noted.”
The silence today is sickening, so thick a knife could cleanly slice through it.
“Sooooo, your name is Y/N.”
No response.
“I’m Martin btw.”
Silence.
“I’m sorry about yesterday. How about I tell a joke to make it up to you.”
Absolute stillness.
“What day of the week do chickens hate the most?”
Nothing.
“FRY-DAY! Heh heh heh get it?.”
Why is he being so vocal today? Damn.
Sick of the blondie’s antics, you aggressively snatch your HSP and dawdle off to class, leaving his chuckle to linger in the air with no reply.
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
Why is he being so friendly all of a sudden? You didn’t know it was such a mistake not to give the blondie, or now known as Martin, a verbal confirmation that his basketball slam straight to the skull was excused. God. What an annoying first year.
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
Author note pt. 2 :: yayyyy i hope you guys enjoyed thatttt stay tuned for the next parts
Le Chatelier’s Principle states that a system at equilibrium will shift accordingly when disturbed to minimise change. Eom Seonghyeon states that actually, he's a pretty greedy guy who wants way more than what you're giving him.
notes: i cant with graphic design im soryr. obligatory academic copium fic. and ofc this is one of my better works #oh. i have serious beef with english they are not giving me enough time to write my essays!!!! SO CLOSE TO BEING FREED FROM THE DUNGEON. i was originally going to post this later but im Going Through It Rn. So. Here it is. shout out to anyone who gets me with this fic love you we can do it. also if you catch the 5sos reference... heart emoji
35. Draw the structural diagrams for chemicals A, B, C, D, and E, given in the reaction pathway below. (5 marks)
You've done a hundred questions like this before. Water and dilute sulfuric acid. Hydration of an alkene. Does not oxidise. Tertiary alcohol. Fruity smell. Ester. Then a primary alcohol and carboxylic acid. The rich get richer or Markovnikov’s Rule or whatever his name was; you don't remember nor do you want to remember. Mystery solved, you scribble down a litany of Cs and Hs and Os and move onto the next question.
36. Describe the cleaning action of soaps. (7 marks)
Textbook work, thankfully. It's just up to you to talk about your soap disassociation, non-polar hydrophobic tails embedding into grease, agitation to increase surface area of grease particles, formation of micelles, emulsification, and rinsing. Easy. Up go your ugly drawings (sorry, “diagrams”) of a micelle, then your labels, and finally, your beautiful response. What's next-
END OF PAPER
You almost shed a tear. When you look up to check how much time you have left, you've got a whole ten minutes. This is too generous.
And then you realise that from the desk directly adjacent, Eom Seonghyeon is staring at you. No way. You catch his gaze and he even has the audacity to smirk. What the hell is he doing? Trying to distract you?
To put it bluntly, Seonghyeon is this one boy in your year who has genuinely got it out for you. After every single shared exam, without fail, he's looking over from the desk in front (because of course he sits right in front of you) and asking for your ranks with this disgustingly smug little grin. He's clearly plotting your downfall, because there's no other reason for him of all people to care about how you're doing – especially considering the fact you're occupying the top positions in a fair few subjects.
Luckily for you, you're done, so you won't be pulled off track by the knowledge that he's been observing you. You viciously break eye contact, flip back to the multiple choice, and scan briefly through all your answers, which you deem clear besides from a missing chemical state in a combustion equation. Embarrassing, but you caught it, so it's less embarrassing than if you'd found out afterwards one mark poorer.
“Time’s up. Put your pens down,” curtly declares one of the invigilators, and you obligingly place your pen to the side. Not a bad exam. You know Seonghyeon’s going to try and pull you into a post-exam debrief disguised as a post-exam look-at-how-many-marks-you-lost session, but you're feeling good enough to take the bait. As soon as the papers are collected, you grab your stuff and head outside, followed closely by Seonghyeon.
“So,” he begins, smiling, “did you… did you get 7.36 for the buffer question?”
“Yeah, I think so,” you confirm. “Mass of 1475 for the polymer?”
He smiles a little wider. Yeah, he definitely got that one right. “2-methylbutan-2-ol for the IR, NMR, mass spec?”
“Mhm,” you tell him. “Third mystery substance for that bromine water test question?”
“Yeah.” He's grinning broadly at you now. You wonder if he's noticed. “Um. For the enthalpy of combustion: heat loss to surroundings?”
Ooookay. You immediately draw back, ignoring the way you two are somehow concerningly close. His smile freezes in position. He could at least try to be less obvious about the fact he's wasting your time. Standing around, asking you about trivial questions that anyone could've gotten – of course. It's Seonghyeon.
“See you.” You adjust your bag, nod politely, and head off. The next exam’s not going to study for itself, as much as you wish it would. And you refuse to be distracted by him. The fact he's a distraction in the first place doesn't really bode well for you.
You glance behind anyways because you're stupid and like making bad choices for yourself. To your embarrassment, he's watching you from the exact same position where he was before, still smiling a bit. You immediately turn back. Maybe he's stupider than you.
—
Wonky stars. The classic cool S. Random lines in all directions. You're doodling aimlessly in the margins of your notebook when your chemistry teacher comes around, handing out individual ranks on little rectangles of paper. Holding your breath, you flip it over to read the neat print on it.
Second! You're really happy with that, actually. Only a few marks lost, and all from your worded explanations, so you know where the improvement needs to go. Satisfied, you shove the paper into your pencil case.
The real meat is where Seonghyeon is, but you have a reputation to uphold, so he has to initiate or you'll have to live without knowing.
As if he's reading your thoughts, he turns around. “Hey, what did you get?”
“I’ll tell you if you tell me first,” you say, the safest option.
In lieu of an explanation, he reaches over with the folded slip of paper in his hand and passes it to you. You ignore the way your fingers briefly touch and open it.
Fuck. This is not good. He's rank 1.
“I'm second,” you tell him, mildly peeved by how you're behind him, but whatever.
He smirks at you. “Not first?”
Yeah, never mind. You angrily lean forward, shove his paper on his desk, and go back to doodling. This time, you draw Shrek with Seonghyeon's face, because it's funny, and swear yourself to a vow of silence for the rest of the lesson.
Seonghyeon tries initiating contact with you two more times. First, he tosses a neatly folded paper star over, which you suspect is made from the paper his rank is on. Second, he tries asking you for a pencil when his own is very visibly on his desk. You’re unmoved, and you doubt he's any unstoppable force either. He just wants you to break focus, and you can't give in.
—
It's a free period and you're studying away, except less studying and more dozing off is being done. Slumped over on an open textbook page, you close your mouth lest you start drooling on it. Who knew books were so comfortable?
You're just going to close your eyes for a couple seconds. Only a couple. Wow. The dark is so soothing. Maybe you'll close your eyes for a little more than a couple seconds…
You wake up with a jolt. A bunch of clothing creases are imprinted into your skin. Your neck is slightly sore. At some point, your pen has gone missing, and you find it lying on the ground under your chair.
And a Choco Pie, which was most definitely not there before, is deposited next to your calculator. There is only one culprit for this heinous deed, and you snatch it up and storm over to him, who's already watching you with amusement from a table nearby.
“We're not allowed to eat in the library,” you warily tell him. Of course he's trying to sabotage you and get you kicked out! You shouldn't have expected anything less from Eom Seonghyeon.
“Never said you have to eat it now,” he shrugs, clearly enjoying your distress.
Damn. He has a point. You don't have anything to say to that, so you shamefully trudge back to your seat, Choco Pie in hand. Fuck Seonghyeon and his reasonable explanations for the suspicious things he does.
—
Today, you find out unceremoniously that your biology class has been combined with the physics class that runs at the same time, because half their class and their teacher’s absent and it's independent learning anyway. This would be completely fine if not for the fact Eom Seonghyeon is in this physics class. At least, and you cling desperately to this beacon of hope, his best friend Ahn Keonho is in your biology class, so he'll bother him instead of you.
You pull out your notebook as the physics class shuffles in. All your stuff is on the seat next to you, because your friends are in a different class, and you thus have the privilege of hogging the entire desk.
As expected, Keonho lets out a whoop of joy, exchanging a clean dap with Seonghyeon in front of you. He's been successfully distracted. Thank you Ahn Keonho. You start skimming through today’s work about the second line of defence, which looks like it'll need effort. The amount of memorisation this subject has you doing is astoundingly tragic, but really, all subjects bar maths are kind of forcing you to do that, so you can't really say anything.
You write up the date and get to taking notes, when all of a sudden, someone clears their throat next to you. You look up. Surprise, surprise. It's Eom Seonghyeon.
“Is this spot taken?” he asks, like your items aren't already decorating it.
Your teacher looks up to observe this fiasco, leaving you with no choice. Seonghyeon, you're done for. Keonho, you're done for too.
“No,” you grit out, stiffly moving your stuff over. If he makes one singular comment about how incompetent you are or how ugly your handwriting is or anything like that, you're going to toss out any sense of decorum and shove him and his seat over onto the ground.
To your surprise, though, he just quietly pulls up a slideshow about light and starts diligently taking notes. Not a word leaves his mouth, except “Can I borrow your white out?”
You obligingly hand over your white out, and he takes it with a “Thanks”. It's weird. You don't like the way your dynamic is shifting to be something maybe even a little cordial.
The class ends with no drama. By the time you've finished packing up, everyone’s gone except Seonghyeon, who’s waiting at the doorway for you. You nod at him, he closes the door, and you go your separate paths down the hallway.
—
You're genuinely so done for. It's 8pm, the library is about to close, and you're on track for a big fat zero on this maths exam tomorrow. After this study session, you are going to go home and have the greatest cry of your life.
This genuinely incomprehensible question innocently stares back at you from your laptop display and yeah, never mind, the cry is going to come right now. Fuck De Moivre’s Theorem. Fuck roots of unity. Fuck in general.
You're just really tired. You're really, really, really tired. You pack up your stuff, tears pouring down your cheeks, hiccuping, sniffing, but whatever. Whatever! It was overdue. You know there are pathways, you know this isn't the be-all-end-all, but you just. Just can't anymore.
You storm out the library and immediately crash into a body. It's the last person you want to be slamming into – Seonghyeon, unfairly composed, wearing a grey sweater, black messenger bag slung over his shoulder. Holy shit. You look straight down and desperately try to curb your erratic breathing, immediately speeding off like you're going for an Olympic gold in walking.
Unfortunately, he easily catches up to you. “You were still studying then?”
No response. He frowns a little and stops you in place with a gentle hand. You witness in real time the realisation in his eyes when he sees the way your shoulders are trembling.
“Hey” – he kneels down so he can see you properly – “what's up?”
You stare silently off to the side and at some foliage. Nice tree. Great tree. Wonderful tree. Tears are still welling up in your eyes because they didn't get the memo. Seonghyeon rifles desperately through his bag and extends a pack of tissues to you. You can't take them, not even out of ego, but because you're frozen in place. Every single alarm in your head is ringing frantically in unison right now.
Unfazed by the awkwardness of this situation, Seonghyeon looks at your probably atrociously ugly face right now, snotty and teary and very unflattering, and just gently pulls you into his chest.
And you know what. You sob into his shoulder. You sob to the degree you've been personally robbed by academia. You sob until you genuinely have nothing left to cry out. All the while, Seonghyeon’s arms hold steady around you, heart somehow beating faster than yours. He says nothing, because there's nothing to say, and he knows better than anyone else does.
For a brief moment, you forget about all those looming deadlines and countdowns and exams. You're completely grounded by the easy measure of his breathing. When you're mildly more composed, he tenderly dries your face with a tissue, meticulously wiping your cheeks.
“What are you stressing over?” he asks quietly, like he's scared to disturb whatever balance you two have just come to in the past ten minutes.
You breathe out shakily. “Maths.”
Instead of making a snarky quip like he would’ve otherwise, he just nods understandingly. “Complex numbers are really hard.” He hesitates, then continues. “I don't mind explaining it to you. If you don't mind?”
“Can you please just walk me through this one question?” you tiredly ask, leading him over to a nearby bench.
“Of course,” he says. You pull up the question on your phone, and he obligingly peers at it.
“I can do this. I just. Can't with part d.”
Seonghyeon hums knowingly. “You need to consider how z plus its conjugate is equal to two times its real component – that is, cos theta.” He reaches out and points at the far right of your screen, leaning into your shoulder as he does so. “Here, you should use part b, with the tan squared, and sub x+1 and x-1 into z and r respectively. At the end, I think you can just plug in x=0 and you should be able to get it.”
You absorb this information slowly. “Can’t you also just equate coefficients from part c?”
He looks at the question, looks at you, looks at the question, and looks back at you with his eyes wide. “I didn't think of that. Yeah, you can. That's really smart.”
“Nah, that was all you.” You shake your head tiredly at him. Ahead, your bus pulls in, and you reluctantly stand up. “I'm sorry. That's my ride.”
“Don't be sorry,” Seonghyeon replies, following your move. “Thank you.”
“Why are you thanking me?” you ask, confused, before staring in horror at the wet patch on his shoulder. “Oh my god. I am so sorry about your sweater. Please let me wash it for you.”
Under the flickering yellow street lights, Seonghyeon tilts his head and smiles, caught in this almost ethereal glow. “You really don't need to.”
“No, I need to,” you determinedly tell him, and he takes it off with not much argument. You shove it into your bag shamefully, wave desperately, and run up to the bus before it drives away.
Right before you get on, though, you glance behind. He's watching you from the exact same position where he was before, still smiling a bit. This time, you don't immediately turn back. Instead, you yell out to him.
“Thanks, Seonghyeon! See you tomorrow!”
The door closes behind you. The bus rumbles to life, pushes forward, and disappears into the night. An icy breeze picks up around him, relentless, sapping the heat out of every patch of exposed skin, but his heart is warm, and it's more than enough for him to make his way back home with a smile on his face.
—
The next morning, you show up feeling simultaneously terrified and numb, which is a pretty good summary of your emotional state this year. There’s this strange sanctity during every exam – silence, judgement, reckoning. It’s awful. You’re almost excited for reading time to start, because then you don’t need to think about how doomed you are. Seonghyeon’s next to you again, and he looks as placid as always, which is strangely comforting.
As soon as time starts, you open your paper up and flick through the questions. Okay. You can do this. A proof by contradiction. A t-sub. A 3D vector projection. A guy throws a ball and throws another ball at it for fun. You open over to the second last question, and-
You have to hold back a gasp. It’s literally the question Seonghyeon explained to you yesterday, except the z on r is to the sixth power. If you weren’t being surveilled, you’d make frantically excited eye contact with Seonghyeon, but you can’t risk it.
Whatever. You sneak a look over, and true as anything, Seonghyeon’s watching you with a half smile. Grinning back, your fear evaporates all at once. You take a breath out, read through the last question, and everything falls into place. Reading time finishes and you immediately put pen to paper, rolling through each question without hesitation.
Before you know it, you’re done, an invigilator calls time, and everyone exits the room almost robotically.
“How was that second last question?” Seonghyeon asks, smiling at you like a shared secret.
“Pretty crazy,” you tell him giddily. “You?”
“Almost as if I’d seen it before.”
“Oh! Right,” you turn away before presenting him with his now-clean sweater. “This is yours. I’m really, really sorry about yesterday.”
Seonghyeon looks taken aback like he didn’t expect you to return it. “Don’t worry. Keep it.”
“No, really. What if you accuse me of stealing it one day and then my academic career is permanently tarnished?” you ask seriously. It’s a valid concern! And it would be a really bad scenario to be in!
“Uh.” Seonghyeon just eyes you in concern. “Why would I do that?”
Now you’re taken aback. “What do you mean? Aren’t you trying to sabotage me?”
You two both stop dead in the middle of the path, equally mystified, and vaguely resembling the Spiderman meme with just two people instead.
“I’m not trying to sabotage you,” Seonghyeon informs you slowly.
“Then why do you keep doing things like giving me snacks and talking to me?” you say, genuinely baffled.
Seonghyeon just looks worried now. “Because I like you? I thought that was obvious?”
The world stops. A crow cackles somewhere in the distance. Some distant screaming echoes across the open area. The ringing in your ears grows exponentially.
“Sorry,” you beam sunnily and a little insanely at him, “I think I’m hearing things. No way you just said you like me.”
Seonghyeon looks at you meaningfully. You think back to all the times you’ve caught him staring. And all the times he’s snatched your bag and delivered it to your next class. And all the times he's asked about how you’re going, whilst ignoring literally everyone else. The pieces fall into place. It wasn’t sabotage.
Then the bigger picture slowly emerges. You were distracted, not by his nefarious plans, because they never existed. You were distracted because- because-
“Oh,” you get out, refusing to acknowledge this awful revelation. “Oh, that makes a lot more sense.”
“Yeah,” he says, amused. “If you get first rank for this exam, we should go on a date.”
“Shouldn’t it be the other way around,” you ignore the elephant in the room. “If you get first rank, not me.”
Seonghyeon shakes his head fondly. “Nah. I have a good feeling about this.”
You noncommittally shrug. “We’ll see.”
“I'll take what I can get from you,” Seonghyeon replies, satisfied with your lack of denial, and you two head off to your next class together.
—
Results are terrifyingly cathartic. Instead of checking your rank, you exchange your paper with Seonghyeon, who's now sitting next to you in maths after bribing your former seatmate, Elisia, with her crush’s number.
“We’ll look at the same time,” you inform him anxiously.
“I knew it,” Seonghyeon smugly says, who's already read your slip. He presents the 1 written on it like a winning lottery ticket. “So. About that deal.”
“Yeah, whatever,” you tell him, unable to suppress a smile. “A promise is a promise.”
“It is,” Seonghyeon agrees, before shiftily looking at you. “Hey, you want a surprise?”
“Sure,” you shrug. How bad can it be? “What surprise-”
Seonghyeon leans over like he's going to pass your slip back. Instead, he has the intelligent idea to peck you on the lips.
“What,” you tactfully say, in unison with your maths teacher, who is standing right there and has just witnessed it live.
“Oh shit,” Seonghyeon says, contrary to the triumphant look on his face, which says he absolutely does not give a shit about the shit he's gotten you both into.
—
Detention is really boring. Like, really, really, really boring.
“This is all your fault,” you complain.
“Sure,” Seonghyeon concedes, before sneaking his hand over to yours. “But it was worth it.”
You think about this inanely silly boy you've gotten yourself entangled with. You think about the weird equilibrium you two are in. Give and take. Forward and reverse reaction. Then you think about how you're now comparing chemistry to relationships, which says a lot about your personal life.
Whatever. Seonghyeon smiles at you, all defined dimples, still somehow ethereal in the harsh ugly fluorescent school lighting, and there's only one thing you can say to him.
“Yeah,” you tell him, closing your hand around his. “Worth it.”
