#donghyuck fluff

[kongjjen]

WHO IS IT ─★ lee haechan

SYNOPSIS: begging you to marry him, haechan promised you the moon, the stars hanging in the sky, and a few hundred million other things. but he never promised you the most important thing — the sun. and after all, that's all you wanted.

or, alternatively ── haechan has a plan of getting his grandmother's inheritance by marrying you, promising you that everything that was about to become his would also become yours. a lavish lifestyle, the liberty of being with other people — but you only wanted him. so what happens when haechan's plan backfires, leaving you both drowning in a sea of uncertainties?

PAIRING: husband!haechan x wife!reader

GENRE: fake marriage!au, marriage of convenience!au, f2l!au, angst, mutual pining, slowburn, smut, cheating!au

FEATURING: [brief appearances of] nct dream, aespa's karina, red velvet's yerim, riize's sungchan

WORD COUNT: 30k words

CONTAINS: fluff, angst, smut, slowburn, mutual pining, a lot of descriptive scenes (im so sorry). haechan is emotionally constipated, it takes him a billion years to realise some things. haechan is not the best husband, emotional neglect, emotional and physical avoidance. use of alcohol, cheating (mentions of, not actual scenes), smut (only between haechan and reader), oral (female receiving), unprotected sex, miscommunication, misunderstandings, rich!haechan, mentions of generational wealth and fraud, riize's sungchan (im sorry pookster), reader has a lot of insecurities and regrets.

NOW PLAYING: who is it by michael jackson

SERIES MASTERLIST: HERE!

Your high heels click on the busy pavement as you make your way through the crowd. The underground ride was hell, surrounded by tired office workers and sweaty tourists, and you just hope that the good odds were on your side and your expensive perfume was still clinging onto your skin and clothes.

When Donghyuck sent you a text earlier in the morning, asking for an urgent meetup at your favourite dinner spot in town — a very busy spot uptown that is, a very busy spot that is very difficult to get into last minute, you knew that it was a serious matter. It was always a bit difficult to get in touch with him, or get a hold of him. He was busy with work, busy with dates, busy with friends, but you knew he always had the softest spot for you, and vice versa. And how could you not, after knowing each other since elementary school? He always found the most random times to be with you — be it on a random Saturday, coming over to your place to watch High School Musical for the nth time, or on a monday at noon taking you out to have lunch together during your lunch break. Or on a thursday for a friendly dinner. Like tonight. 

You know how this is going to go. You’ll take your seats, get your orders taken, eat, chit chat about whatever’s too heavy on his mind for him to keep only to himself. “I’m a man of many secrets,” he once told you, “But somehow you know about ninety-five percent of them,” you can recall the genuine smile he showed you that night a few years ago.

“Hyuck!” You spot him playing nervously with the hem of his jacket, “I’m sorry I’m late, had to go home to change,” you give him a hug, and he keeps you close a few seconds more than he usually does.

“You smell nice,” he pats your back as he reaches for the restaurant door, “Let’s go inside, I’m starving,” 

The atmosphere inside the restaurant brings you a sense of familiarity. The red and brown decor, the dim lightning and the candles around the tables, the faint melody played in a corner by the familiar pianist who also occasionally hums the tune, his fingers touching the keys in a gentle manner. It is so familiar to you, this is your favourite restaurant after all.

“Hate these candles,” Donghyuck grumbles as he opens the menu, setting his eyes on the wine menu. You know he always gets the same three things on rotation, and he always tries to steal food off your plate because your food choices are always the best. 

“So why do we always come back?” You ask him with a smile, handing your menu back to the waiter who takes off with your orders.

“I like that guy,” he points to the pianist in the far corner of the restaurant, “He always plays some Tony Bennett tune,”

“And you like the wine,” you retort, watching as he nervously takes a sip from his glass.

“And I like the wine,” he smiles at you, but his smile doesn’t reach his eyes, which is odd — because he always lets himself go when he is around you. You know his true colours, no need to hide himself from you. 

And yet you wait. You don’t ask him what’s wrong, you don’t ask him what was so urgent to actually meet you for a second time during the week, remembering very well how he took you out for ice cream after work a few days ago. You suppose it’s all about timing, and he’ll know when it’s time to tell you what’s bothering him.

For the duration of the dinner, you see him fidgeting with his fork and knife, looking at you with a glimmer in his eyes yet looking back down to his dorado as soon as you make eye contact with him. He tries to open his mouth a few times to speak, yet he closes it as soon as he notices your head perking up waiting for him to start talking. 

You think you need to take matters into your own hands and force the words out of his mouth until you see him eyeing your brisket.

“Don’t even think about it,” you utter while cutting into the meat on your plate.

“Oh, please,” he cries, setting his knife down, “Just a tiny taste,” he pleads.

“I didn’t ask for a tiny taste of your dorado,” you shrug, chewing on the tiny piece of brisket on your fork. 

“I would have given it to you,” he whines, pointing at you accusingly.

You look at him unimpressed, yet still intrigued. He’s not being annoying about anything tonight, which is very suspicious to you. So instead of trying to get inside his head — which he’ll probably let you do later anyway, you try to make small talk, to appease the tension just a bit. “So, how was that meeting yester-”

“Will you marry me?” He says — no, asks, but in such a gentle whisper that you think your ears are deceiving you. You stop mid-chew to look at him, as if the active action of chewing would ever impair your hearing. If you heard him right, you think it’s a devious, sick joke on his behalf.

“What did you just say?” You ask incredulously, spitting the piece of meat you had been chewing on, in your napkin.

“I said,” he played with the corner of his napkin, that was now sitting on top of the table instead of his lap, “will you marry me?”

“Are you insane?” You bite back, looking at how his energy deflates even more. “Did you fall today? Did you hit your head like that one time in tenth grade?” Your questions keep on flooding the atmosphere between the two of you, and even if your voice is low in volume, he hears you perfectly.

“Listen,” he starts, and you watch as he stops himself from continuing as the waiter comes to retrieve the plates from your table. He holds a finger up in the air, silently telling you to wait, and he asks for another bottle of wine. “I know this is sudden,” he stops when you scoff, setting back into your chair, waiting for him to go on, “But this is an opportunity of a lifetime, for both of us,” he says confidently.

“How so?” He’s impressed by your apathetic tone, he thought you’d be at least a bit more enthusiastic. He’s played all the possible scenarios in his head for the past few weeks, yet these last few days have been the worst. He hasn’t slept much, hasn’t eaten much, hasn’t been able to pay attention to his regular activities and hobbies that much either. The only things on his mind were you, and as disturbing as it may sound, his grandmother.

“I would get to settle down” he points to himself before looking at your annoyed and endearing figure sitting across him at the table, “And you will have the most perfect wedding. Not to mention the fact that you can have all the money you ever dreamed of. Imagine living that lavish lifestyle, buying yourself everything you have to restrain yourself from right now. Wouldn’t that be nice?” He smiles at you like a little devil who’s ready to whisper into your ear all the advantages of his daylight delusions.

“What are you even talking about?” You are truly in disbelief, looking at him being so calm so suddenly, “How would that even be possible?”

Suddenly you are well aware of the reason of his fidgeting, and why he stayed silent for the whole night. He didn’t know how to open his mouth and tell you a bunch of crap without you throwing your plate at his head.

He shushes you, and you scoff at his stupid attempt of trying to make you come to reason. “Grandma Lee’s inheritance,” he explains calmly, playing with the table cloth. 

Your eyes are the size of saucers while looking at him feigning fake innocence. You’re sure this can be categorised as fraud in so many states and countries. The worst way this could go would be this idiot turning you in for attempted fraud and him leaving with all the inheritance he pretends he’s entitled to. 

When you say nothing, just staring at him like he’s grown a second and then a third head, he sighs exasperated, throwing his head back in a sign of annoyance.

“Y/n, you have to hear me out,” Donghyuck pleads, bringing his hands over his face out of frustration. Your eyes fall on his weird and crooked pinky, reminding you of his funny and equally weird childhood story about what had happened for it to become so crooked. So fresh in your mind, you already know it by heart.

“But wouldn’t it be considered — I don’t know…” you make a pause, biting on your nails, “Fraud?”

His eyebrows furrow and then a second later his features relax, yet still being able to hold an unimpressed look in his gaze. He glares at you judgementally, as if asking you if you're stupid. You have the same expression, your gaze holding his, silently asking him who, between the two of you, was the real idiot in this context. Is he stupid for proposing such a plan, or are you the idiot who can’t see anything but the faulty side of his master plan? You try to figure out to what extent it can be considered fraud, promising yourself you’d be looking into this matter later.

“How would this be fraud?” He whines, a few heads turning around to look at the two of you. Certainly, people's ears perked up at the mention of the word fraud, and perhaps Donghyuck’s loud whining had something to do with it too. 

You shush him, “How would it not be considered as such?” You speak through gritted teeth, trying to convey the message to keep his voice down, for his own good. 

You two are having dinner in a nice, uptown restaurant, and you really wish you didn’t have this conversation right here. You were a fool for believing Lee Donghyuck had anything else to say to you except for a stupid idea he had been letting marinate in his pretty head.

“It wouldn’t be,” he insists, “Because anywhere we go we can pass as a loving couple,” he states as matter-of-factly. “Remember that time we scammed the baristas downtown during last year’s Valentine’s Day?”

When you say nothing, only bringing your elbows to rest on the table, he goes on. “Listen, I know for a fact that this is going to be a success. I’ve made plans and took into account all possibilities, and I am my grandma’s favourite grandchild. This is going to work out, trust me” he explains with determination, and you almost believe his words. 

Except, you still have a working left brain. 

“Again,” you sigh, “How is this not a criminal act in your books?” You try to make him come to reason, but he doesn’t want to hear any of it, waving his hands around in an exasperated gesture, “And how do you even know you’re grandma Lee’s favorite? Out of ten grandchildren?” 

“I may have found her will,” he answers immediately, but it comes out more like a question holding a billion uncertainties. Your puzzled expression makes him continue, “When I visited her last year for her birthday, she made me fish for those papers in her home safe. The search for it was very bizarre, like treasure hunting or something, which you’ll realise in a second, it’s very ironic,” he takes a sip of his wine, trying his best to be as serious as possible in order to make you understand how serious he is about this. “She made me look for it in her mansion, giving me easter eggs and hints about where in the house it could be. And when I found it,” his silence lingers for a while, trying to find the best way to tell you the whole story, “This may sound very bizarre, I know, but she even had a riddle for her safe code. I solved it and there was her will, looking right at me. We looked over it together, and she made sure to divide all her assets equally between all her children and grandchildren, except the few hundred million dollars she has to her name.”

You blink once. You blink twice. You double blink for the third time and he scoffs, but quickly recomposes himself, remembering the purpose of telling this whole story, “Y/n, I’m being so serious right now, you have to believe me,” he stops briefly, his fingers drumming on the table following a rhythm only he knows, “In that testament I was the sole heir to her bank account, with that one exception,”

“You need to get married,” you remark.

“I need to get married,” he confirms, laying his hands flat on the expensive cotton tablecloth nicely adorning your dinner table for two. 

Your eyes fall on his crooked pinky once again, your gaze sliding to the finger next to it. The ring finger. You think it could be nice to have a gold band to embellish his beautiful and slender finger. Donghyuck seems to pick up what's going on in your mind, and even if you needed a bit more convincing, he knows you're going to agree to his plan.

And surely, you think, with a few hundred million dollars in your bank accounts, and a man as beautiful as Donghyuck to call your husband, there's nothing that could ever go wrong. Right?

And, before agreeing to his stupid plan, you sceptically make him paint the picture for you. 

“We tell people we’ve been dating for a bit, because we realised we are very much in love,” he explains nonchalantly as he stabs his lava cake with his tiny dessert fork. 

“I genuinely think you’re deranged. You lost the plot to your own scenario,” he looks at you all worried, a smudge of chocolate in the left corner of his mouth. His stupid big brown eyes looking into your raging ones, not understanding the accusations you’re bringing him. “How would you explain this to people? To the boys?” You set your tiramisu aside, knowing damn well he’ll make an attempt to slide the tiny dessert plate across the table and devour the sweet treat. He scoffs once again, as if you’re the one being the ridiculous one here, but he stops himself from letting any word out, letting you continue rambling on about your concerns. “Hyuck,” you start, setting your hands flat on the table, just like he did before, “I think you’re forgetting something. People know you sleep around,”

“Slept,” he retorts, raising a finger in the air as to accentuate his statement, “Haven’t slept with anyone in a while, couldn’t bring myself to, knowing I’ll soon be a married man,”

When you say nothing for the nth time this evening — out of disbelief this time, he’s sure — he goes on, “I told you I already thought of every single scenario and possibility. We’re childhood friends, it won’t be that hard for people to fall for the story of how we realised we’re made for each other. We tell them we kept it a secret for our own good, we tell them we’re madly in love with each other and that we got engaged. We get married, and I want you to think about this, Y/n, let me paint the picture for you,” he says, raising his hands in front of his figure to make a rectangle in the air, “You get to have the dream ceremony I know you’ve always dreamed of, with a big and beautiful bouquet, and the most expensive and show stopping wedding dress. Your veil will cost more than double my suit and your shoes will have rocks more expensive than my car. We then move in for a bit in my — or your apartment, until grandma Lee passes, which by the way,” he stops to raise a hand in the air, as if to assure you, “Will be pretty soon, judging by the medical report I found in her bedroom a bit back. We then buy a house bigger than Brad and Angelina’s mansion. Think of it, Y/n, we could be the new Brangelina. Wouldn’t that be nice?” He slides your tiramisu across the table and excitedly sticks his forks into it, then looks at you with a glimmer in his gaze.

His plan could have been far worse than this, you think, yet the faint reminder of the fact that the two of your are going to be in a marriage is slightly terrifying to you. You always thought you’d get married to someone you had feelings for, whom you loved, and while certainly you do love Donghyuck in a very confined way, you’re sure that it is within the bounds of a lifetime long friendship, in which the both of you have gotten to know each other almost perfectly.

He sees you getting too much into your own head, and snaps his fingers right in front of your nose, like he’s always done since you were children. “What’s bothering you?” He asks, his tone genuine.

“What about…” you bite your lip, too afraid of hearing something you don’t really want to be hearing, and you’re not sure what kind of answer you’re trying to avoid. “What about dating?” You finally ask, and he waves his hand to dismiss your worries.

“Don’t worry about it,” he goes back to the tiramisu he’s put aside when he saw your concerned scowl, “Unless our families and friends find out about our dates, we’re free to see whoever we please and like,” you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, straightening your posture.

And then you see him, grinning at you like he’s the devil, “So what’d you say?” He stands up slowly from his chair across the table, and just as slowly he reaches for something in the right pocket of his slacks while still grinning.

And before you can actually register what is about to happen, you see him sprinting to reach your side, kneeling down in front of you and opening a stupid, black suede small box that — you think once he opens it to reveal its content to you — holds the Hope Diamond. 

“Y/N,” he says your name, and you make a very big effort to tear your gaze away from the ring inside the small box he’s holding, “Will you marry me?”

And with a Tony Bennett tune in the background, with a diamond as big as your fist, and a man as handsome as Donghyuck kneeled in front of you, a man who’s promised you the world just a few minutes back, how could you ever refuse?

“Yes, yes I will”

“You’re what?” Chenle and Mark scream simultaneously, sitting in pure shock on the carpeted floors of Jaemin’s apartment. 

You glared at Donghyuck, who was standing next to you, looking all offended by his friends. He grabbed your hand and raised it to his lips, kissing it gently. His fingers interlocked with yours, “I said,” he showed your hand to his friends, “We’re getting married,” his eyes softened while looking at you. Dang it, he’s a very good actor, you thought.

“How- how did this happen?” Mark stutters, his voice cracking. Chenle reaches for your hand to look at your engagement ring, and his eyes bulk out of their orbits. 

“What the fuck, Hyuck?” He glared between you and Donghyuck, his friends, and the rock on the ring. “Did you guys see the size of this rock?”

“Yes, whatever, it’s the size of your head,” Donghyuck rolled his eyes, and you don’t have time to giggle at his joke as he pulls you gently by the arm towards the empty loveseat. You sit on it, and he pulls a chair close to your seat.

You look around at his friends. The energy in the room fluctuates and changes based on who you look at, Mark being still in shock, Chenle keeps looking at your hand, Jeno congratulates you, and Jaemin's displaying a huge grin that’s plastered on his face. The different reactions feel overwhelming to you, and you imagine how bad it will be when you break the news to your and Donghyuck’s families if his friends reacted this way.

“I knew it, you guys,” Jaemin claps his hands and shakes his shoulders in excitement, “I knew you guys were together!” He cheers, looking around the room, encouraging the others to join his happiness.

Donghyuck averts his eyes and clears his throat, fidgeting a bit in his seat. “Yeah, we were meant to be,” 

“But how long have you guys been together?” Jeno asks with caution, his eyes a bit lost as he lets you know his curiosity and concerns.

“A few months,” you reply, “but we’ve known each other for so long that we feel we’ve been together forever,” you explain, moving your hand. You smile, amused noticing Chenle’s eyes still looking at your hand, straight at your engagement ring.

“It’s been a bit,” Donghyuck says, “Right after Y/n’s birthday party,” he smiled, his hand reaching behind you to pat your back, which made you straighten your posture immediately. The sudden contact, his warm hand burning its print on your back. The nerves and stress of breaking the news of your supposed engagement to the people you care the most for makes a light shimmering coat of sweat veil your skin. You recompose yourself quickly, not expecting the sudden contact.

You look at the people around the room. Except for Chenle, who’s still looking at your hand and then at Mark who’s still shocked by the sudden news, Jaemin is the only one who beams with joy. 

“We’re very happy for you,” Jeno brings a hand to his chest, reaching forward in his seat as he tries to get closer to you and your supposed fiancé, “It’s just that it’s very sudden news,” 

“Extremely happy,” Mark comments, smiling at you and then looking at his best friend, “It’s weird that we didn’t notice,”

“Talk for yourself,” Jaemin barks back with an upset tone, which makes you burst out laughing, “I’ve been plotting and scheming for a very long time,” he shuts up as soon as Donghyuck glares at him. He smiles back at his friend, and then he winks at you with a knowing smile.

 Out of all of Donghyuck’s friends, you felt Jaemin and Chenle to be the closest to you. They were his friends from college, and you met them countless of times during the last few years and for occasional meet ups, but you definitely felt that Chenle and Jaemin were your friends too. Mark was awkward at times, but he always took care of you whenever Donghyuck left the club with some lady hanging off his arm, leaving you behind in the club with his friends. Jeno always lets you win during game nights. While Donghyuck tries everything in his power to cheat at every game and to corrupt Jaemin and Mark to join him in his cheating, sometimes even trying to bribe you to give him a property that he really needed while playing Monopoly, Jeno always lets you win, even helps you sometimes just to see Donghyuck’s cheeks lose all color when he realised he lost the games.

“Y/n?” Donghyuck touches your back once again, the sudden and unexpected  physical contact making you jump slightly — once again. You look at him and you realise you blacked out for a bit, lost deep in your own thoughts about the guys. Realising you weren’t paying attention to him, he repeats himself, “Monopoly tonight?”

You looked around the room at the guys sitting around you with hopeful looks, and you agree before your brain can register completely. You would never ever pass on the occasion of beating Donghyuck at games, or at anything in life, especially now that you’re getting married.

You look around yourself, around the street, you look around at the people passing you by on the pavement. The still cold days of march make you zip your jacket up, your cheeks rosy and your nose and ears freezing even if the sun is out and hitting all the buildings around you. You rub your hands together in a pathetic attempt to warm yourself up, trying to calm the terrible feeling you have in your guts.

“Hey,” your head snaps to the side as soon as you hear Renjun’s voice, and you hug him tightly as you take a good look at him. Bucket hat low on his forehead, covering his eyes, you wouldn’t even recognise him if you didn’t know the timbre of his voice. “Are we waiting for the girls here?” He asks looking around, and when you nod he gets closer to where you’re standing on the pavement. 

“Are you cold?” You ask, hugging his figure once again and rubbing your hands on his arms, hoping the friction will be enough for him to bear the cold a little bit longer. 

He nods, zipping his jacket up to his chin and wrapping his wool scarf around his neck trying to find some comfort. You look at him, still hugging him, and you really wish you could tell him everything that’s on your mind, everything that’s happened in your life in the past few weeks. But for the integrity of your and Donghyuck’s plan you have to keep your lips sealed. 

Apart from Donghyuck, who’s your childhood and oldest friend, Renjun is the second closest. You met him in college right before you met Yerim, and you instantly clicked with each other as soon as you complained about the mess in the kitchen at the dorms. You started as fellow complainers, you then met each other in the communal lounge downstairs while studying, and then you kept looking for each other whenever you weren’t too busy being with Donghyuck. He met Donghyuck in your kitchen while the latter was making your ramen, and Renjun complained about the mess. 

“So you’re the one who makes the mess?” He was close to bursting a vein, trying his best not to kick the unknown man out of the dorm’s kitchen.

“Oh, hi” like a deer in highlights he turned around, scared by Renjun’s tone, before taking a good look at the guy in front of him, “You must be Renjun,” he cheered, changing hands holding the spatula and extending the newly free hand to Renjun, “Y/n told me everything about you, I think her exact words were ‘to look out for that Renjun’ guy,” 

Renjun looked at him, his eyes bulking out of his orbits, “You know Y/n?” He asked incredulous, thinking that you could never be friends with such a messy person such as Donghyuck, “And by the way, she would never say that about me,”

“She’s my bestfriend,” Donghyuck answered before turning his attention back to the ramen pot sitting on the stove. “And don’t worry, the mess was already clinging to these walls way before I came by today,” And in all fairness, Donghyuck is a very clean person, a very clean man. Talk about the advantages of growing up close to a clean freak like yourself. “By the way, I’m Donghyuck, I live in the dorm just around the corner,” 

“Oh,” Renjun mumbled, setting his own pots and pans on the second stove, “I’ve heard about you,” Donghyuck’s eyes lit up as soon as he heard the words coming out of Renjun’s mouth, delighted knowing that he’s someone you go around talking to other people about.

And since that moment you three stuck together. Donghyuck’s proximity to your and Renjun’s dorm, and the fact that he actually met the guy while cooking for you in your kitchen, meant he was always with you, joint at the hip, sometimes to Renjun’s dismay, because he thought Donghyuck was one of the most annoying guys he’s met. And then from your second year in college, the three of you moved in together in a shared apartment just outside campus and, although you became a trio, you’ve always been transparent about your friendship with the guys. What you and Donghyuck had was different from your friendship with Renjun, and the two of them hung out without you as well. It’s just your dynamic, and Renjun has always agreed to this, even if Donghyuck was a little jealous and possessive of your friendliness at times. As soon as you showed Renjun a little bit more attention, Donghyuck stole you away for a whole week. But it was always fine, it was never a problem for Renjun, for reasons you’ve never spent too much time worrying about.

You’re pulled out of your own thoughts by the two girls that approach you loudly, and Renjun sighs while shivering in your arms, “Fucking finally,”

“Why didn’t you guys wait inside?” Karina asks after you’re done with hugging everyone, “Couldn’t you guys get a table? Usually it’s pretty empty at this hour in the morning,”

“Wait,” you pull Yerim’s sleeve when she tries to make her way inside the cafeteria, smiling sheepishly as they look at you confused. “I know I invited you here today, but that’s not really where we’re going,” you explain, rubbing your hands together.

“So why are we here?” Karina mumbles confused, looking at the other two.

You point at the bridal boutique just across the street from where the coffee shop is, and their eyes follow the direction you’re pointing at, their heads snapping back to look at you, so harshly that you wonder how on earth they didn’t get whiplash.

“You’re kidding…” Yerim laughs so loudly that a few people’s heads turn around, 

“Right?” Renjun’s uncertain tone makes you fidget on the spot.

Averting your gaze, you cross the street to reach the bridal shop, and your friends look at each other, still hoping for you to turn around and tell them you’re joking. 

By the time they decide to follow you inside the shop, you’re already drinking from a glass of champagne and discussing about your dream wedding gown.

“You have to be kidding me,” Renjun mumbles as soon as one of the assistants comes over with a tray of champagne flutes.

“How are we here,” Karina downs the whole flute as soon as they take a seat on the expensive white sofas waiting for you to come out wearing whatever dress you discussed with the assistant you wanted. 

“I think we skipped a few chapters,” Yerim sighs contemplatively and looks at Renjun who’s visibly shaken. Out of the three of them, Renjun’s the one that looks like he got hit by a bus. He doesn’t even understand why he’s sitting where he’s sitting right now.

“Last time I asked, she was saying she’s not seeing anyone special,” he mutters more to himself, but the two girls hear him nonetheless, “I don’t get it,”

And then you come out from the little room at the end of a narrow corridor, all three of your friends shut their mouths as you show them the best dresses that you’ve picked up while they were deciding if they needed to follow you inside, or if they should just laugh it off and walk to the nearest bar because it was a joke. It was a reality check for all three of them, and while the doubts and shock was still in the back of their minds and ready to resurface at any given moment during your dress fitting, ah’s and oh’s and sniffles filled the room while complimenting you.

“I didn’t even know you were seeing someone,” Karina spills out, having already downed three champagne flutes.

“I really don’t know how to feel about you getting married to a total stranger,” Yerim sniffles, the feeling of betrayal suffocating her. 

You sigh, looking at your reflection in the mirror while touching your silky dress, and all your curves and edges, “He’s not really a stranger,” you whisper while looking at their reflection in the big mirror.

Renjun pushes himself forward, eyes as big as the rock on your engagement ring, which you purposefully left at home so as to not receive any questions as soon as you met your friends. He takes a moment to think of all the men in your life, your exes, your situationships. “Oh, dear heavens,” he touches the bridge of his nose as he looks at your reflection in the big mirror and then straight into your eyes, and something in his gaze tells you he’s gotten a faint idea of who it might be.

“What did she say?” Karina nearly screams into Yerim’s ears, the flutes making her lose all sense of volume.

You repeat yourself, “He’s not a stranger, you know him very well,” you look at the three of them, and you can feel Renjun’s eyes burn holes in the beautiful wedding dress you have on. “It’s Hyuck,” you whisper, not sure if they heard you.

Judging by Karina’s head snapping to her right to look at the others’ reactions, and by Yerim’s gasp, you can appreciate that they did indeed hear you.

“Hyuck as in Donghyuck?” Yerim makes sure you didn’t possibly meet a new Donghyuck in the span of a few weeks, “How did this happen?”

“How? That’s your concern?” Renjun pulls her by her arm, turning her to face him, “Your main concern should be when! When did this happen?” He addresses you.

“We’ve known each other for a very long time,” you start, “We were meant to be,” you hope Donghyuck’s bullshit excuses and scenarios reach your friends’ hearts, out of love for you. You know it sounds pathetic, the whole childhood friends to lovers fiasco, but you hope they won’t need more explaining regarding this, considering your and Donghyuck’s dynamics. 

And as your biggest nightmare comes to reality, Renjun scoffs. And you recall telling Donghyuck just a few day ago that Renjun is going to be the one who needs the most convincing out of every other friend you two have. “Just stick to the answers I came up with, and he’ll buy it. If there’s anything Renjun cherishes more than his bickering with me, then that’s his friendship with you. He’ll buy it in the end, trust me.” And when you look at him bewildered, because you never thought of accepting such an explanation from him, he sighs and wraps an arm around you, walking you through the whole scenario again, “Tell him we’ve been together for a few months, I told you I love you blah blah blah. Stick to the scenario. Stick to the plan, Y/n” he cupped your face, swiftly kissing your forehead like he always does when you’re sick with worries, since the age of eight.

And so you do, you stick to the plan, to all the lines Donghyuck has instructed you to use, and while you play with your fingers all nervous and with trembling voice, you hope your friends are buying all of whatever bullshit you’re selling them.

“I knew this would happen,” Renjun claps his hands together as he looks at his two other friends sitting beside him on the small sofa, “I knew this would happen as soon as he ditched our study session at the library years ago just to spend time with you, when he found out some idiot didn’t show up to your date and you needed comforting,” this time he looks at you, straight into your soul, and you hope that he won’t be able to pick up whatever bullshit Donghyuck has fed you to convince you to agree to his plan. “You two are idiots”, he retorts.

And yes, you think so too. You couldn’t agree more. You and Donghyuck are idiots indeed, especially you. You, who’s willing to jeopardise decades of friendship just to make him happy, just to feel a bit validated by him. You still don’t want to admit the deeper reason of your agreeing, and you hope you’ll be able to ignore it and bury it deep into the back of your mind.

“But,” he sighs once again, and you’ve only heard Renjun sigh this many times when Donghyuck was insisting on having a bet and the loser would kiss the opponent if he felt like doing it, knowing damn well Donghyuck was going to purposefully bet on something that would turn out to be completely wrong and lose in Renjun’s favour just to kiss him, “I’ll admit that you’re very beautiful wearing that dress,” he points his head at your dress.

“You think so?” You beam and stand on your tippy toes, turning around to look at your own reflection in the huge mirror, using your hand to call one of the assistants over.

All three of your friends agree, and a drunk Karina even starts clapping, cheering you on. 

“I can’t imagine the amount of stress you’re under with all the wedding preparations,” Yerim hugged you as soon as you stepped foot out of the boutique.

“I’m not,” you smile bashfully at your friends, “Hyuck suggested we should get a wedding planner,” 

“Hyuck suggested,” Renjun imitates you with a mocking tone, already sick of your wedding talk after spending half a day looking for dresses for you, and bridesmaids dresses for your two friends.

“Are you going to act like this forever? I’m not even married to him yet,” you say with an incredulous laugh.

“For as long as you’re married to him,” he feigns fake innocence, and you only smile back, but your smile doesn’t reach your eyes, because you’re not sure how long that’s going to be. You never discussed this with Donghyuck, and Renjun has given you something to stay up all night mulling over. 

You really don’t know how long it’s going to last, or what the whole outcome of it will be, but you can only hope for it to last for the longest of times.

Telling your parents about your engagement was easy. They loved Donghyuck, and he’s been around you since childhood, in and out of your house like it was his own. Your mother always kept a spare place at the table because ever since he was a child, he was unpredictable. Your mom took care of him whenever he wanted to sleep over, she cooked for him whatever it was he was craving, packed him his lunchbox whenever he stayed over and the following day was a school day, his own lunchbox that he personally chose when your mom took the two of you to the store, him choosing one with Crayon Shin-chan plastered on its lid, and you decided on a MyMelody one. Your dad never understood why he was hanging around your house so often, and then Donghyuck came on your family trip to the seaside when he was eleven, and he could see the dynamic of your friendship. 

So when you broke the news to your parents, they were elated, they loved Donghyuck and couldn’t be happier to have him officially as part of the family in a few months.

Which couldn’t be said about Donghyuck’s parents. They liked you, and they trusted your family enough to allow their child to enter your home, and consequently, to spend all his free time there with you. But there was a line that should have never been crossed, and Donghyuck did when he proposed marriage to you, of all people. Donghyuck comes from a wealthy family, in which generational wealth was at the day’s order. Most, if not all relationships were transactional, but both parties were wealthy, and they both brought wealth into the marriage. Which couldn’t be said about you, because you didn’t grow up rich. You grew up in a normal family, you never lacked anything, but sure enough your parents couldn’t afford to change cars ever so often every time they pleased. And it was a problem for Donghyuck’s family. 

“Can’t they oppose to our marriage or something?” You asked Donghyuck after the two of you left his parents’ house, after Donghyuck broke the news to them while holding your ringed hand up for them to see the engagement ring, and consequently had a fight with his mother right in front of you.

Your confidence wasn’t the highest in that moment, let’s just put it this way.

“Don’t really care,” he frowned, taking your hand in his as the other was holding the steering wheel tightly, “The only approval I need is grandma Lee’s,” he mumbled stopping at the red light, “And she loves you,”

The look in his eyes sent shivers down your spine, making you swallow the lump in your throat, and you remember that feeling so well even if it’s been a few months since.

And now, looking at your feet, the point of your shoes slightly visible from under your long silky dress, you hold on tightly to your bouquet made entirely of Casablanca lilies. 

Your head tilts a bit from behind the partition keeping you safe from the eyes of all your guests, curious as ever to see you walking down the aisle. 

You spot Donghyuck’s family sitting reluctantly on the right side of the church, his side, while looking around themselves with judgement. You’re starting to believe something bad is bound to happen when no one can reach Karina, who’s also one of your bridesmaids, and you’re also starting to regret your decision of agreeing to this plan when you hear people whispering as if you’re not standing a few feet away from them, albeit hidden by a flimsy partition. 

“Where’s Karina?” You start to panic, thinking to yourself that this is a sign. This is a sign that this wedding should not happen.You made it clear in the past few months that you want your ceremony and celebratory party to be perfect, especially because Donghyuck’s family decided to attend, and even if you knew they considered you not to be the perfect bride for their son, you could at least show them a perfect ceremony. Which Karina is fumbling really badly right now.

“She said she’s on her way,” Renjun tries to calm you down, straightening the veil on your back so as to not have any creases. 

“When did she say that?” You grabbed him by the shoulders, your nails hurting his skin even through the fabric of his suit jacket, “Oh my god, Renjun if you’re lying to me-” you’re interrupted by Yerim grabbing your hands, freeing Renjun from your grasp.

“You have to calm down,” Yerim pleads, shaking you slightly. “You need to relax, you’ll walk down this aisle and you need to be your best self,” she grabbed your cheeks lightly, and she resists the urge of kissing you on the cheek because she doesn’t want to ruin your makeup. You look so beautiful right now, even if you’re panicking out of your mind.

“I’m here! I’m here!” Karina’s heels clatter on the marbled floors of the entrance, adjusting her dress which was already starting to crease as she almost started running towards you, “I’m so sorry,” she looks embarrassed, holding the little bouquet Yerim hands over to her.

You let out a sharp exhale, instructing Renjun to go ahead and start the ceremony. Yerim smiles to you and reaches behind you to grab your veil, and gently lets it lay on your front. You hear the piano playing, immediately recognising the tune being played. You remember the day you were supposed to choose the music for the wedding march, when Donghyuck grabbed you by the arm and pulled you away from the huge shelf of music in front of you.

“I know I said this was going to be your dream wedding,” Donghyuck starts, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand, “but I have a request to make,” when you nod, he continues, “Can I be the one to choose the music?”

His request took you aback, never expecting him to want to be involved in wedding preparations for a marriage that was purely transactional. To him at least. 

“Of course,” you had said, nodding and he knew you were being genuine by the look in your eyes, so big and sparkly, a clear sign of your sincerity. “This is your wedding too, Hyuck,” you smiled at him and he felt a lump in his throat as soon as he registered your words. 

He smiled back, and went for the exit of the music shop, but you stopped him by grabbing him tightly, “Just don’t pull any kind of Elvis or Hamilton crap in front of your family,” you retorted, serious as ever, to which he smirked.

“Elvis? Costello or Presley?” He joked, and you hoped he was only being annoying like he always is, and not serious. Seeing your sour face, he put his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side into a tight embrace, “Oh come on, Y/Nnnie” he whined, and you kicked him as soon as you see pairs of eyes looking at the two of you, “Don’t you want to be part of a little musical act as you walk down the aisle? Like they did in ‘The Office’?” He whispered in your ear, and you can feel the annoying smile in his tone. He kisses your cheek, holding you even tighter, and you can feel shivers down your spine. Before you can react, you feel the arm that was holding you before, loosening its hold on you. 

“I’m being serious, Hyuck,” you began, but he started sprinting past you and out of the record store. “Wait!” You screamed, trying to catch him, “I’m serious! I have rocks with your name written on them, and they’re begging to be thrown at your head!”

You heard him giggle as he picked up his pace, trying to escape your loud mouth. 

And now, hearing the tune the piano starts playing, you understand what it was that he wanted. You immediately recognise Tony Bennett’s tune playing, and you think Donghyuck bagged his favourite pianist to play at his wedding, the one who works at your favourite restaurant downtown, the grace of his fingers unmistaken.

You hear heels clattering, and you know that Donghyuck is being taken down the aisle by grandma Lee, who vehemently insisted to be the one to walk her favourite grandchild on such a great day. And you’re surprised his mother didn’t bat an eye, but you know that’s for the best.

“Go! Go!” You whisper shout to Yerim to start walking down the aisle, and she holds her bouquet tighter in front of her, taking steps one by one.

When you go closer to where the aisle begins, you quickly look around the church, noticing the familiar faces sitting around, waiting for you to make your entrance before they stand up. You see Mark, Jeno, and Jaemin standing behind Donghyuck, whilst his other friends are sitting in the second row, allowing Hyuck’s family to sit in the first. You catch a quick glimpse of Renjun standing on your side, waiting for Karina and Yerim to join him, yet you feel a knot of uncertainty setting deep into your guts and stomach, and when you see Karina taking a few steps down the aisle, you take a few steps out of instinct and grab her forearm, dragging her back to where you were waiting to make your entrance.

“Y/n?” Karina whispers surprised, eyes the size of saucers, swaying a bit trying to regain balance after you drag her after yourself. “Y/n,” she insists, “What is it, sweetie?”

You grab your veil, yet still with care because you don’t want to damage it in any kind of way, and you bring it behind you head, because you feel the need to talk to Karina face to face, not hiding behind any type of fabric.

You look at the guests behind Karina’s back, or at what you can see of them since Karina is obstructing most of your view. 

“I- I don’t think I can do this,” you whisper, skeptical, and Karina thinks she’s never seen your eyes this big in size.

“What?” Karina tilts her head, not understanding where this doubt is coming from. 

But she isn’t in your head, she can’t hear your thoughts, and most certainly she doesn’t know on what grounds this wedding is happening. Everything is an illusion, a lie, and you feel the sweat starting to cling to the skin of your neck. As months passed, you really started to believe all of Donghyuck’s delusions, and all the lies, and all the endless conversations and discussions you two had about his masterplan, which unfortunately started to make sense to you as well. It was like the blind leading the blind. 

And up to this point, seeing yourself wearing expensive accessories and an even more expensive wedding gown, seeing everyone who’s believed your lies sitting excitedly as they’re waiting for you to make your entrance, hearing the melody of the piano playing one of Donghyuck’s favourite songs of one of his favourite artists, it hits you. And it hits you hard, and you can feel your eyes swelling with tears. 

“Y/n, what’s wrong?” Karina insists as she understands that she has a panicked bride on her hands. Not only a panicked bride, but a room full of whispering guests that start to grow more and more curious as they sense something is going on with the bride. And how can we forget the groom, who’s nervously biting his bottom lip as he looks at his grandmother sitting in the first seat, on the first row on his side. 

“I can’t do this, Karina. This,” you move your hand around, pointing at the church and all the decorations, including your outfit and hers, “this is all wrong. Very wrong,” you whisper, and Karina’s impressed by your eyes not diminishing in size.

“But why, honey?” She presses, “Donghyuck loves you” she caresses your bare arm, her other hand holding the small bouquet stiffly. “And you love him too,” she’s trying really hard to calm you down, as she notices you trying to swallow what she thinks is a lump in your throat. “You do, don’t you?” She inquires when she notices that you keep looking towards a spot behind her back.

And truthfully, you do. And maybe that’s what’s scary to you. Marrying someone you love so deeply, but who’s only marrying you out of convenience. You love Donghyuck for all his flaws and faults, his annoying side, his bugging, his cold facade, but you also love him because, well, it’s him. You’ve grown up with him by your side, and you realise you made him your ideal type, influenced by his permanent presence and knowing everything about him. And how unfair is it, realising someone is marrying you as part of a fraudulent plan?

You look at Karina, nodding. “I do, I do love him so much,”

“Then what’s the problem?” Karina asks once again, seeing your eyes brimming with tears. When you don’t say anything back, Karina starts crossing her legs, fidgeting where she's standing. She looks behind herself, discreetly, as to sense the vibes filling the room. The few last rows of guests already turned around to look at the two of you, asking themselves if this ceremony is ever going to even start. “Listen, sweetie,” she reaches for you once more, grabbing you by your forearm trying to assure you, “Who cares about this ceremony, anyway?” She waves her hand around trying to convey assurance, although she’s scared shitless of what you might do and how this day could end. 

“You don’t have to do this. We can get a cab outside and go away, if that’s what you want. You don’t need to get married today, who cares?”

You gulp, looking behind her to the waves of faces and heads wondering what’s going on. You spot grandma Lee’s head, who’s throwing questioning looks at you and her nephew, although you’re sure she can’t really see you thanks to Karina’s figure standing in front of you. And then you spot him, Donghyuck, tilting his head to look at you, trying to see you even with Karina obstructing his view. And his curious eyes meet your scared ones, and you gulp once more. 

“Hyuck,” you whisper, trying to compose yourself as you break eye contacting with him, “Hyuck cares. And I do too,” you conclude, grabbing your veil fast, bringing it to cover your head and face once again. “I am getting married today,”

You use your hand to make Karina spin around, gently pushing her forward. 

“Psst, Karina” you whisper shout, using a hand to move the veil a bit from your face so your eyes meet hers once again, “Do not say a word to Yeri and Renjun. Now go! Go!” You usher her to walk in front of you.

You look at your feet once again, and you touch the expensive, silky dress clinging nicely to your waist and bust, and then at the bouquet of Casablanca lilies you’re holding tightly in your hands. And yes, while wearing your expensive Vivienne Westwood dress, and walking down the aisle to The shadow of your smile, you are going to get married to who you think is indeed, the love of your life. 

The first few months were milk and honey. Your dynamic didn’t change much, except for the fact that you were sharing a bed permanently. You’ve always shared a bed while growing up and consequently in your adult years too, yet now it’s different. You can look at him in his usual white tee and large pyjama shorts that show the tanned skin of his thighs and it dawns on you that he is your husband. Your husband. And all the times he wears his expensive watch before going to work in the morning, your eyes skip to his fingers, searching for his wedding ring out of instinct. He always wears it. You’ve never seen him taking it off in the past eight months, which can’t be said about you. You took it off every time you were cleaning around or washing the dishes.

Three months after your wedding ceremony, grandma Lee passed, and Donghyuck’s fraudulent plan came to a successful end. Donghyuck bought you a house, took you on holidays around the world, gave you anything you wanted and everything he thought you deserved. And he did all this while wearing the wedding ring. Donghyuck could see the dreamy look in your eyes, but he never looked too much into it, thinking it was all about the hundred million dollars you were now sharing between the two of you. You were still the same Y/n, and he was still the same Donghyuck, except for the fat bank accounts and the sharing of the bed.

To Donghyuck, sharing a bed wasn’t that big of a deal. He’s slept on the same surface as you multiple times before, the only thing that’s changed now was the fact that the two of you were legally bound, and he actually liked being able to say that he was married to you, and that you are his wife. People never expected him to even be in a relationship, and never expected someone as beautiful as you to get married this young, and he found it hilarious.

“I like being married to you,” he says, chewing on a piece of steak he grilled in the back garden.

You seem taken aback by his words, blinking a few times before clearing your throat, “You do?”

“Yes,” he smirks. That stupid smirk that you hate because you know he’s about to say something annoying, but love at the same time because it’s his smirk. “We’re still the same, we’re still us,” he swallows the bite, “except you’re my wife, and that isn’t so bad,” he smirks again and you have no idea where this conversation is going. He’s a bit tipsy, having already opened a second bottle of red wine, and except the two glasses you had for yourself, the remaining alcohol is in his system. “Why wait and date around to get married, when we’re right here? I have you and you have me, we’re locked in for life, baby,” 

You feel a lump in your throat, and you’re not sure if it’s because he might have just promised you eternity by his side, or the fact that he’s just admitting to be settling for you instead of trying to go after someone he might actually love.

But you agreed to this, to the life he’s promised you. When you looked into his mischievous eyes once he kneeled down in front of you, you knew what you were getting into. Putting your feelings aside, being able to call Donghyuck yours even if he wasn’t anything more than the childhood friend you grew to love in a different way than the way he claimed he loved you back. The casual ‘be careful, love you’s you two threw in at the end of phone calls or when saying goodbye after school became to you much more than what they became to Donghyuck. But the gleam of hopefulness he’s always held in his gaze as he said he believed in you, as he tried to coerce you into committing fraud, as he promised you the moon, the stars, and everything else hanging in the sky, it really made you believe that you could have it all. If this all meant having Donghyuck next to you for the next years, decades, then it was all worth it.

And your routine as a married couple becomes just that, a routine. Waking up in the morning, making breakfast, and then he leaves for work because, unlike you, he still kept a job. And then you don’t know how to make time pass faster until he comes back home, to you. You fill your time with shopping sprees and activities you’ve never thought you would be picking up —  going to the spa and playing tennis every other day. The months pass and you’re not sure how your life has become so boring. Before, you really had it all and you didn’t even realise. A job, your own apartment, your own car that Donghyuck got rid of after the two of you got married, just to gift you another one. You used to hang out with your friends multiple days a week, now it’s a miracle if you see them once every two weeks. Moving to a mansion at the outskirts of the city isolated you, and you relied on Donghyuck for all the support you needed. 

As for your relationship with him, there really isn’t much to say. Nothing has changed, except that he seems to be less annoying, or maybe it’s the fact that you’ve already become too used to him and his personality since the wedding happened. At first, you travelled together for your honeymoon, and you swear you were on the brink of divorcing him, but that annoying feeling has subsided considerably, and you have a faint idea of the reason why that is.

And then, you start to notice Donghyuck doesn’t come home for dinner time that often anymore. Hell, you could say that it’s a miracle if he comes home on time for dinner at least two days a week. Most times, he comes home too late and has to eat alone, while talking to you about his day and what his plans for the following day are. Other times, he goes straight to take a shower, telling you he’s not hungry and that he’ll take a bite of what you’ve cooked in the morning instead.

And tonight, it’s both. He promised he’d be back on time for dinner and then High School Musical marathon on your big flat screen tv. But the dinner has run cold, you’ve already taken a shower, and by the time you hear Donghyuck’s keys open the heavy front door, you’ve already played the first two films.

“Honey I’m hom-”, he’s interrupted by a gasp, and you can hear his heavy footsteps run down the hallway to the living room, “Did you really start without me?” He whines, and you almost cannot believe your ears.

“Please tell me you’re not serious right now, Hyuck,” you warn, looking at him.

Donghyuck looks at you, at your figure, at your eyes. You’re looking at him, and there’s something in your gaze that, for the first time in years, he can’t decipher. Your eyes are sleepy, almost droopy, a clear sign of your tiredness. Or maybe you’re just disappointed and tired of him.

He plops down next to you, looking at you apologetically, and the action makes you jump on your spot on the couch. “I’m an idiot,” he whispers.

“You are,” you agree, nodding your head as you return your attention to the high screen in front of your figures.

“Are you mad at me?” He tests the waters, and it only makes you want to punch his face more.

“Why would I be mad?” You scoff, bringing your legs to your chest, an action he knows you do when you try to avoid confrontation.

“You’re not looking at me, Y/n” he mumbles, and it makes you roll your eyes. He knows you too well. “I’m sorry I’m an idiot. I just lost track of time,” he tries to explain to you, but honestly you don’t care. 

You think your blood pressure has gone through the roof when your ears start ringing and your palm is itching to be smacked against his face. 

“Doing what?” You ask, and if looks could kill, Donghyuck is sure he’d be in great agony right now, just about there, on the verge of dying. It’s the first time you’ve looked at him since he plopped down next to you, and Donghyuck knows better than talking nonsense and making you even angrier, because you always smell his bullshit a mile away.

“I’m sorry,” he apologises again, trying to dodge your question, “Was with the boys out for dinner,” he pouts, “I promise we can spend as much time together as we used to once I’m done with this project at work. Kiss and make up?” He tries one of his oldest tricks on you. Ever since elementary school, every time you were upset with him he would pull this stunt on you. The upset one being kissed on the cheek in a sweet and childish attempt to make things better with a gesture of intimacy neither you nor Donghyuck liked showing to other people. Only to each other. 

And his attempt to make you at least slightly less upset with him is successful when the corners of your mouth turn upright just slightly. So he leans in, successfully invading your personal space, his head mere centimetres away from yours, and his chapped lips seem to leave a burning mark when he smacks a kiss on the plush of your left cheek. 

And that’s not the only thing that’s left burning right now, as you sense a scent you don’t really recognise. It’s so sweet it burns your nostrils, that consequently flare as a result of the nauseating fragrance that has invaded your personal space.

He retracts himself, singing along with Gabriella, but you don’t focus on the scene or what’s happening around you at the moment. You look at him, as he’s slouched on the couch, his head propped up by one of the cushions on the couch. He seems content with you dropping the topic of his late arrival and the dismissal of all your plans for the evening, and you’re left wondering if he’s aware of the fact that he smells like fucking cheap perfume. 

The smell is so strong up your nose that you’re sure there’s no amount of fresh air that can get rid of it, it’s the kind of smell you spray from a tester out of pure curiosity and it’s the worst fucking mistake you can ever do because the horrible smell will cling to your skin for the rest of the day. Too sweet and too strong.

You’re snatched out of your own thoughts when you see him turning his head to look at you, “I need to take a shower,” he announces, standing to his feet and moving towards the hall with the staircase to your shared bedroom and bathroom. “And after that I’m all yours, baby” he sings, and you’re once again left wondering, but this time all by yourself.

All mine, you repeat his words in your head a few times, but the only thing you can do right now is question if that’s really the case, or if it will ever be. 

Days pass and you seem to be unable to get the nauseatingly sweet smell of that perfume out of your senses. You perceive it at random times, while cooking, while cleaning, and you know it’s all in your head, because you washed every piece of fabric that Donghyuck could have touched a few night ago with his skin, even after showering.

You don’t know what you were expecting, but it certainly wasn’t this. Sensing another woman’s perfume on your husband’s skin made your skin crawl and your heart drop to your ass. But is it even correct to call him your husband? He’s still your best friend, and that’s all he is meant to be forever. You can’t call him your husband if it’s just the two of you, because in all honesty it doesn’t feel like a normal marriage.

Because it isn’t, you’re reminded by your own voice of conscience.

And you know that’s right. The marriage is just a cover for when your families and friends are around, you don’t get to enjoy all the privileges of being married when there’s no one around, and you realise it’s upsetting you.

What the fuck is going on with me? You end up asking yourself. Why is this situation getting to you? You knew what you were getting into, you knew who Donghyuck is and what he goes around doing, you’ve known him for all your life and even helped him get out of unpleasant situations multiple times, so why exactly is it bothering you so much? 

You’re pulled back from you own thoughts when your phone rings, and you pick it up to see who the caller is. 

“Yes,” you sigh, not really in the mood to hear his voice.

“Wow, gosh, could you be more enthusiastic of my call?” Donghyuck’s tone is full of sarcasm, and you’re seriously contemplating if you should just hang up the call.

“I’m kind of busy,” you lie, “what is it?”

“I’m getting off work early tonight, wanna have dinner with me tonight?” He asks, and you can hear the car’s engine making noise in the background. “Y/n, hello?” He raises his voice a bit, thinking there’s no signal.

“Jesus fucking Christ, stop sounding like a hyena in heat,” you retort, bothered by the high pitch of his voice. “Pick me up at eight?” 

“It’s a date!” He cheers on the other end of the line.

As much as you didn’t want to be in his proximity right now, you can’t deny the fact that you miss him, and spending time with him. You’d still rather watch a lion feasting on an antelope rather than seeing his face and hearing him talk to you about trivial stuff as if he didn’t come home smelling like another woman. But the truth is that you miss him. You miss his company, his presence, the idiotic jokes he makes and the smart comments he lets out when you watch a film or show him some new music. You miss him spending time with you, just being together most of the time, and worst of all is that you miss talking to him. You used to talk to him about everything. From family problems to boy issues, from uncertainties to future plans, and he used to be there for you, attentive as ever as if your words held the truth to all secrets and mysteries of this planet. 

And you’re hoping that tonight it can be just that. You hope he misses you and your company just as much, and that he made these plans to take you out in an attempt to close the gap that has formed in your relationship. If you feel the distance and all these upsetting feelings and thoughts, then he must feel them too, right?

But the hours pass, and like some sort of sick tradition he’s trying to establish in your relationship lately, he doesn’t show up. You’re in a dress, you smell nice, you look spectacular, waiting for him to take you out for dinner at the new amazing place he’s found. Your stomach churns realising that he probably landed in that place with someone else as his date, and that’s how he discovered it, and you grab your purse before exiting the house.

You need to go out by yourself, and clear your head of all the insecurities you realise this marriage has given you. You used to enjoy his own company, and you used to look forward to having Donghyuck around you so often. But now it only irritates you, the thought of being in his proximity makes you want to punch a wall, because you know you can’t be near him right now. He knows you too well for your own sake, and knows if something is off the moment your gaze meets his, so it’s better to avoid him if you want to save your face in this pathetic masquerade. Because that’s what you’re supposed to do, right? As long as people don’t see him going around on dates with other women, you have to go along with all of his actions. How would you explain to him that you know what he’s been doing behind your back? Because that’s what hurts you the most, his need of going behind your back instead of telling you about it all like he used to do in the past. Why did things have to change? 

Your chest feels heavy and your eyes ready to spill some tears. You make your way to your car, you need to be by yourself. Not like you haven’t been mostly by yourself in the past months, but realising why this happened makes you want to disappear into thin air. And you need to be far away, in a place where you can clear your mind, far away from Donghyuck, his smell, and you shared house — where everything reminds you of him, what could have been, and a macabre reminder of what it actually is.

Donghyuck doesn’t know how he got home the night before, too much alcohol present in his system. But he knows one thing, you weren’t there in your shared bed. Considering the taste in his mouth as soon as he wakes up, he can only imagine how bad he smells and that it would have probably woken you up the moment his head hit the pillow next to yours, knowing your sensitive nose. Because of this, he thinks you not being here last night and this morning to witness his state is a blessing. But he also knows that he misses you. He remembers being cold last night, and when he reached for you in search of heat, you weren’t there. 

Donghyuck’s head raises from his pillow, a splitting headache making him hit the pillow once again. 

You’ve never been away at night, not since this marriage happened. Suddenly, he remembers he has your location, and he can check your whereabouts on his phone.

“She’s home?” He mumbles surprised, making a huge effort not to whine in pain as soon as he stands off the bed and his head starts throbbing.

In his actual state, he doesn’t know where in this huge house to look for you, but then his head feels like being split in half when he hears the clanking of some pots and pans downstairs in the kitchen, and his nose picks up the faint smell of coffee and pancakes.

“Good morning,” he tests the waters as soon as he sets foot in the kitchen, but the bright light coming from outside the open window makes him whine in pain, and he brings his hand over his eyes in a sudden movement.

“Morning,” you reply back, flipping the two pancakes in your pan.

He takes a seat at the kitchen island, just in front of where you’re working your ingredients, and you feel his gaze following you and your movements.

“How long have you been gone last night?” He asks out of curiosity, and he sees you suddenly frowning. He loves getting to talk to you face to face, because you can never hide your emotions from him. He knows every jot and tittle of yours.

“How long have you been gone last night?” You have a sudden burst, asking him the same question, and you grip that pancake spatula so harshly your knuckles turn white.

“What?” Donghyuck straightens his back on the high chair, looking at you confused. Seeing you so upset makes him forget about his muscles pain and splitting headache. Why are you so worked up for?

And then it downs on him. Last night, the alcohol, the company, losing track of time. The plans he’s made with you. He’s been away almost every night in the past months, and he never paid too much attention to you, because he never thought it would bother you this much. You can’t even bring yourself to look at him right now, and he knows he’s fucked up. You’re never avoidant unless you are really upset, or you’re trying to avoid confrontation because you’re about to open your mouth to pour your heart out. He’s witnessed this behaviour of yours multiple times, so he knows what to expect from you.

Except this time, you don’t start a fight, you don’t get teary eyed, you don’t tell him what has been bothering you. But he already knows. He’s been away too much, and he’s bailed on you a lot lately. 

You keep your eyes on your pancakes and on the huge bowl with batter, not even once looking at him.

“I’m so, so sorry, Y/n,” he mumbles softly, and by his tone you realise he’s genuine.

“What are you sorry for?” You ask, as if it didn’t really matter to you. Except it really mattered, more than you’d like to admit. But you’ve heard him apologise to you on many occasions in the last few weeks and months, and you feel like it’s lost its meaning.

“For forgetting about you and our plans,” he answers. Ouch. Him saying it out loud hurt more than the thoughts running lapses around your head. “I’m really sorry for not being here more often,” he continues.

And he really is, because he’s gone about his life like he didn’t coerce you into getting married for his own good. He thought that the setting down part will be done, and then the huge bank account that would come with it would be an advantage. When he said nothing has to change in your dynamic, he meant it. He wants you to go out and live your life to the fullest, especially now that the both of you share millions of dollars. There’s nothing that can stop you, nor him. While you have a joint account, for which Donghyuck insisted, he also insisted you had your own bank accounts and own cards to use as you please. “No need for me to see what, when and where you spend our money,” he explained to you, and at that time you accepted the idea. The bigger, joint account was your safety net, because while you weren’t the big spender Donghyuck encouraged you to be, he liked throwing money left and right. He supposes it’s about the upbringing, and he knows that you still struggle to let yourself go on shopping sprees worth thousands of dollars a time and getting out of the house now that you quit your job. He just wishes you would let loosen up for a bit to enjoy what this marriage has brought you. Let yourself enjoy the money and the liberty of still doing everything you were used to doing before being legally bound to him.

“Y/n,” he calls your name, “Look at me,” he instructs, and you have to gather all your willpower to do as he says, because there’s nothing you want more than to tell him to fuck off.

When you look at him, he freezes in his chair. Your gaze is so full of emotion, so hurt, and he realises the tears he was expecting you to shed in your usual upset burst weren’t there because you had already shed them before, all by yourself.

He stands to his feet, and starts walking around the marble kitchen island to reach your figure. “My sweet Y/n,” he coos, pulling you in a tight hug. “Please forgive me,” your head rests in the crook of his neck, and Donghyuck’s skin tingles when he feels your breathing against his skin. 

“You’ll have to do some grovelling before I can forgive you,” you mumble against the skin of his neck, and he lets a deep laugh escape him. 

“What if I did the grovelling while having breakfast together on the terrace?” He asks, moving his head to look behind yourselves outside the window, checking the weather. “Sounds good?” He moves back to his initial position, his head resting on yours. 

You nod, holding him a little tighter. “Let’s spend tomorrow together,” he proposes, and you nod once again.

“Before you start grovelling for breakfast, you need to go shower,” you let your arms fall, getting out of his embrace, gently pushing his chest to guide him out of the kitchen, “You stink of alcohol,”

He whines offended, but he knows you’re right. Before he can get out the room he stops in his tracks. “Kiss and make up?” He pouts his lips, closing his eyes and fluttering his lashes like the drama queen he is. No conflict is ever resolved without a kiss and make up situation. You lean in, this time giving him a small peck on the lips instead of extending your cheek for him to kiss.

The action visibly takes him aback, but he doesn’t say anything, and he exits the kitchen with a grin plastered on his face.

You look at the tv, at the bottles of beer scattered around you and Donghyuck, and the Chinese takeout boxes resting on the coffee table in front of you. At his long, tanned legs as he sits on the carpet next to you, his gaze fixed on the tv playing Notting Hill.

After a painfully long time, Donghyuck made an effort to be with you. No more excuses, no more hiding, he knows he’s been away and distant for a few months now, and after the euphoria of the wedding and the first few exciting months of being married to you had worn off he basically went back to his old ways, as if the past few months have never happened and he was still an eligible bachelor ready to roam the streets of the city almost, if not every night. 

He knows he owes this to you, to the decades of friendship with you, to the love he has for you. He loves you more than he would a sister, but less than a romantic interest, if that makes sense. Maybe it’s the decades of friendship that have gotten him so attached to you, or maybe the fact that you’ve always understood and protected him the best you could. Whenever his parents fought, and he got dragged in these relentless fights between the two of them, being asked to pick a side, he flew the scene and came running to your house. You’ve always understood him, you’ve always shared everything with him, you and your parents made him realise what normality is like. A loving family, not everything being about money and power and jealousy. And that’s one of the reasons why he married you, he knows it. Apart from being the one to know him best, even more than his family and grandma Lee, you’re the one who provided him peace and tranquillity, the safety of being loved and, no matter how many times he fucked up, you were always there for him — even if you scolded him first. He can’t pinpoint the nature of all the feelings he has for you, but he knows that you bring him the kind of comfort and safety no one has ever even tried bringing him.

You feel his gaze on you, and you turn your head to throw him a questioning look. “What’s wrong?” You ask, a deep frown plastered on your pretty face.

He’s snapped out of his own thoughts, and looks at you like a deer in highlights, seemingly taken aback by the fact that he was so deep into his head that he didn’t even realise he was looking at you. He tries to conceal what he thinks was a surprised face when you bursted his bubble, and looks at you with fake annoyance. 

“Y/n,” he says your name, sporting a serious expression, “I will have to be very honest with you,”

You turn your whole body around so you can face his, and you giggle looking at his face. Judging by the scene that’s on right now on the tv, you know exactly what he’s about to say. 

“You hate Anna Scott?” You say it before he can.

“I hate Anna Scott,” he confirms, throwing his head back so it hits the seat of the couch, “how can you even like her, she’s the worst!” He whines, lazily pointing his hand towards the tv screen where Julia Roberts’s character is having a fight with Hugh Grant’s.

“Because!” You gasp, smiling sheepishly, knowing that what you’re about to say is going to annoy the hell out of him. “She’s just a girl!” You start, and Donghyuck is already rolling his eyes at you, “Standing in front of a boy!” You’re so excited to do your number, and Donghyuck doesn’t say anything but he turns his head to look the other way. “Asking him to love her!” You end your act by grabbing his black t-shirt and pulling him a bit towards you.

Donghyuck looks at you, at your hands on his chest, at your excitement, and he can’t help being surprised. He also can’t help the rosy cheeks he feels getting hotter and hotter, and the strange movements happening in the pit of his stomach. This never happened before, every time he was the one initiating any type of physical touch with you, or even when you give him as much as a hug back. But he never felt this way.

He tries to regain his composure, pushing himself up against the foot of the couch to an upright posture. He clears his throat as smoothly as he can, trying to remember what was happening before you became so excited. Ah yes, fucking Anna Scott.

“She’s just a girl,” he copies you with a whiney tone, rolling his eyes once again. “She’s an idiot, that’s what she is, Y/n. She’s despicable, so much that they should make a Despicable Me film with her as the main villain,” He argues, his smooth forehead now marked by a deep frown, his index repeatedly and forcibly poking on the carpet underneath the both of you, trying to make his point come across.

You pause the film, outraged at his hate for the character. It wasn’t the first time he hated on her, but he was never this vocal. 

“She’s not that bad, Hyuck” you retort, bringing your legs up to your chest, your body still facing his.

He smirks at you, that kind of attractive, devious smirk he makes when he’ll start a debate with you just to crush you and your opinions like a cockroach in a sewer. 

“Think about it, Y/n,” he says, his body turning towards yours, imitating the way you are sitting. “If the roles were to be reversed, would you think this way?” He asks, smirking at you, tsking in disapproval.

You look at him, weighting his words, and you’re sure your eyes are the size of saucers while looking into his smug ones. 

“She plays with that poor man’s heart, Y/n. She plays this push and pull game I really don’t know why William loves her, it’s like she likes hurting him and he’s an idiot too for sticking with her for so long,” he sighs as if he was William himself, going through that kind of pain himself.

You look at him, unimpressed. It’s ironic, really, he's mocking the ones who play with other people’s hearts.

“Thank god William learnt some self respect, right?” You whisper back, looking at his side profile, waiting for his gaze to meet yours. Except, he never looks back at you, laughing at your words with his specific deep laugh that he lets out whenever he’s taken by surprise.

For god’s sake, he can’t read the fucking room, you think.

“Yeah, that too,” he agrees after he recomposes himself, finally looking at you, his facial features relaxed with amusement. “But it’s a cute ending, I’ll give you that, baby” he responds, going back to the smugness you so love and hate at the same time.

“Thank you for today,” you tell him when the film is over, the last song playing loudly in the background, making Donghyuck start humming it. He knows it by heart, with all the times you made him watch your favourite film and the countless times you put the soundtrack on.

“No, I should be the one to thank you,” he explains, picking up the beer bottles scattered around the room and walking behind you towards the kitchen, where you’re headed with all the Chinese takeout boxes balanced in your arms. “I know I haven’t been a present friends, or we could say husband, but I really want you to know that you matter to me and things between you and I haven’t changed,” he explains, and it feels like a sharp object is piercing your chest repeatedly.

Just another reminder that things are still the same according to him. Another reminder that things between the two of you will never change the way you wanted.

Sensing his piercing gaze on your figure, you nod, not feeling like letting any words out. 

You leave the kitchen first promising to clean all the mess in the morning, but Donghyuck is close behind you, and you can still sense his gaze on your figure as you make your way in and out of the ensuite bathroom, and his eyes feel very heavy on you, like there’s something he needs to bring up and doesn’t know how, so instead he just looks at you until you’ll spare him a look.

So, you spare him a look. And he’s like a kicked puppy, sitting in the middle of the bed and you sense uncertainty in his posture. The easy going Donghyuck you know is nowhere to be found, and you feel obligated to intervene and ask him what’s going on in that head of his.

“Hyuck,” you say his name, climbing into bed, “Is everything okay?” 

“Mhm,” he hums, but you can see him still being hesitant about something.

“You sure?” You giggle, trying to ease his nerves. He’s never hid anything from you, and he’s never taken so long to open up about something either. You never had to coerce him into opening up about what’s bothering him. “Hyuck, look at me,” you say, but it comes out more as a question. 

He avoids your plea for a bit, and then he gives in and his gaze meets yours. It’s sparkling, but not with his usual smugness and joy. Instead, you’re met with an emotional look that looks like might be on the verge of tears.

“What’s wrong?” You ask, grabbing his cheeks, and you notice how they’re burning up. 

“I’m so, so sorry,” he says, avoiding your eyes once again, even if you’re holding his head still with your hands. “I've treated you so badly lately, I cannot imagine how my avoidance affected you day by day, and as I said before, I know I haven’t been here for you and truth be told, I don’t want anything to change. I dont want to lose you, and I certainly don’t want you to resent me in any kind of way. I’m so sorry, Y/n,” he pauses in order to take a breath in.

You let go of his face, speechless, not knowing if you should open up as well or if you should let him be the only one to open up right now. 

“I want you to know that no matter what, I love you. I really do, Y/n,” he grabs your face with his clammy hands, a clear sign of the nerves he’s experiencing right now, “I care about you, and nothing or no one will come between you and me, yeah?” 

His eyes are sincere, but his words sting like hell. He says he loves you, but to what extent? You know the kind of feelings you have for him, you’re aware of them and you know their nature, but is he as certain of his, as you are of yours? 

You’re so deep into your head that you fail to notice the kind of gaze Donghyuck is giving you, but when you raise your eyes to look at his face, you notice how his eyes are on your lips and immediately shift back to you eyes. 

You lick your lips out of instinct, a habit you’ve had all your life when your boyfriends and partners looked at your lips before kissing you, and you close your eyes embarrassed after doing it in front of Donghyuck. After all, he’s just… your husband.

Donghyuck’s clammy hands gently squeeze the side of your face, trying to bring your attention back to him. You open your eyes and your gaze lands instantly on his lips, knowing his face’s proportion perfectly by now, your eyes sliding immediately without you not even registering the action. Until you feel him leaning in, his eyes barely open, and there’s a force that pulls you in closer to him, and even if you wanted to pull back you know that’s not what you really want. But is it what he really wants?

You give up on trying to analyse the situation right now, and you grab his wrists as you feel him getting rid of the mere centimetres of distance between your lips. His plump lips feel sweet amidst the kiss, the way they sit perfectly on yours makes you feel elated, and you briefly remember who you’re kissing right now. You cheeks feel like they’re on fire, but the kiss is too intoxicating to come to reason with your conscience, and you feel his tongue poke tentatively for access. You grant it, and he smiles into the kiss, his tongue now dancing with yours in a sweet saccharine waltz. You don’t care about the way you’re both running out of air, the way his kiss is getting more and more desperate, and the way you can’t stop chasing his lips now that you’re feeling like you’ve opened pandora’s box. 

He detaches himself from your lips, the action making a popping sound that you’ve never found this hot until today. 

“Just promise me,” you say, taking big breaths as discretely as possible, your throat feeling incredibly dry all of a sudden. “Promise me you’ll never run away from me,” you say, caressing his cheek, and he leans into your touch like a poor animal looking for affection.

“Okay,” he promises, pulling you into his embrace, and it feels like he’s promising you the whole universe.

But you should have known better than trusting Donghyuck. Is like ever since he married you he’s done nothing but hurt and lie to you, like the decades of friendship have never happened and like the past didn’t even matter to him. The promises he’s made in the wedding vows and the ones made to you personally and privately, have no value to him, you’ve come to this conclusion the next day, when he was nowhere to be found.

He was out the door before you could wake up to make breakfast, and you wouldn’t hear from him for the entirety of the day. He would come back home late, knowing his dinner had already run cold, not like it ever mattered anyway since you know he was having dinner out, possibly with some other female companion. He would come to bed, thinking you’re sound asleep, but you felt and heard everything. The sighs, the stirring in his sleep, the occasional smell of alcohol on his breath, the way he would keep his distance from you every night. 

It went on this way for five days before you couldn’t take it anymore, so you moved your essentials out of your shared bedroom and bathroom, to one of the guest rooms. And it should have been this way since the beginning. Apparently being married has no value to the one you thought understood you the best, and what’s a signed paper in front of bodily desires? Nothing, that’s for sure.

This way you’re spared the icky perfumes he comes home having traces of on his skin and clothes, you’re spared the presence of a person that clearly doesn’t love you the way they claimed before, nor does he really care for you, you’re sure of this. Who breaks a promise to someone they supposedly say they love? You’re spared the sadness you feel when he doesn’t reach out to you all day and ultimately comes home at the crack of dawn, and the hesitation you feel when he sits tentatively on the edge of the bed before he decides to lie down next to you. And, most importantly, you’re spared the heartbreak.

The marriage is just a contract to him, you’re just some sort of friends only, treating you like a housemate who he gets the privilege of calling his wife to the outside world. No amount of money, fancy dinners, and privileges that his status brought to you once you married him is worth the pain you’re feeling being ignored by him out of all people. If it were Renjun, you’d understand. If it were one of the girls, it would be logical since you stopped hanging out that often with all your friends ever since you got married. No more meet ups in the middle of the week, no more wine parties during film nights with them. You changed when you got married, but you never thought shit would hit the fan so fast. You could understand if anyone treated you this badly, but not Donghyuck. The bond you two shared was too important, at least for you. But he doesn’t value it as much, that much is clear to you.

You move rooms, you stop making dinner, only eating small portions by yourself because, after all, everything would end up in the bin if you made dinner for him as well. You sleep alone at night, even if you’re cold as hell and you miss his body emanating heat, but you don’t think he’s even noticed your moving rooms. With the amount of alcohol he ingests before returning home late at night, you’re not even sure how he can remember where home is.

You start looking for sports courses, pottering classes, airplane tickets for vacations you’ve always wanted to go on, anything that could get you back on track and to stop you from being the wannabe perfect wife to someone who doesn’t even consider you his wife worth respecting.

Two weeks pass since you two shared the kiss, and Donghyuck’s still avoiding you like the plague. So you do him a favour and make it easier for him by hiding from him. 

One evening, you’re sitting on the couch biting on an apple and watching a documentary when your phone rings. No one ever calls you, and in a pathetic attempt of hoping that he’s the one calling, you’re reminded of how much of a fool you are when you’re met with Jaemin’s name and contact picture looking right back at you. He never calls you, only talking to you through texts, so your stomach drops when your thoughts start racing, thinking that the reason Jaemin’s calling has something to do with something bad that’s happened to Donghyuck.

“Jaemin?” You ask, falling short of breath expecting the worst news ever. You suddenly regret the cold shoulder you’ve given Donghyuck.

“Y/n, yes, hi” he answers robotically, and you feel hesitation in his voice.

“Did something happen?” You push it, trying to brace yourself for the worst possible news.

“Mmm, just wanted to ask you something,” he says but it comes out more like a question. When you prompt him to continue, you hear him breathe through his teeth hesitantly, “I wanted to see if Hyuck’s home, maybe?” You know Jaemin well enough to know that he is conflicted and embarrassed by this phone call.

“What?” You ask incredulously. “Is this the reason you called?” You bark back, knowing that Jaemin is not one of the people you need to hide from when it comes to the real you, and your vulgar mouth with all the swear words.

“I didn’t know who to call,” he says but it sounds like a question once again, his tone defensive. “Me and Mark were supposed to meet him at my apartment tonight, and he didn’t show up. We thought something had happened because he said he’d come home to grab a quick bite with you, but he never came back and it’s been two hours” he explains, and you hear Mark telling him what kind of questions to ask you, “I’m sorry Y/n, just call me if you ever need anything”.

You sigh, once again disappointed. “I’m sorry Jaemin,” you pinch the bridge of your nose, “And Mark,” you continue, knowing he’s listening as well. “I’m sorry but Donghyuck never came home, and I don’t know where he is,” you say, before bidding goodbye to the two.

What a fucking idiot, you mumble, throwing your phone on the couch. You pick up your apple but you can’t chew on it right now, not with the lump that’s formed in your throat, suffocating you.

Why is Donghyuck acting the way he is? To you, to his friends? It's like he doesn’t want to keep the cover up of this marriage intact to the eyes of outsiders.

Lost in your own thoughts you lose track of time, the first documentary ends just for another one to start. You fail to hear the car parking outside your house, but you don’t fail to notice the tingling of keys just outside your front door. Waiting for Donghyuck to enter and be as drunk as he’s made a habit of being, just for him to then skip checking the living room or any other room in the house and go directly to the upstairs bedroom, you’re incredibly irritated when you realise he’s so drunk off his ass that he can’t see where to put the keys in.

You stand to you feet, approaching the front door, and just in that moment the door opens slightly, showing a dishevelled Donghyuck totter forward in the hallway. He notices you, and he smirks at you as if you’re not ready to kick him in the throat for all the mixed feelings you’re feeling because of him. You’ve never felt more low, more pathetic, more disrespected than right now.

“Hi, baby” he rasps, and you know that the tone of his voice and the words he just spoke would have had you on cloud nine. But now you feel disgusted. 

“Where the fuck have you been? And why are you so drunk at seven in the evening?” You ask, a deep frown plastered on you features. 

He tsks, trying to stand upright, and that’s when you see it. At first you think it’s just the shadow of his shirt’s collar, but then you look more attentively, and a simple shadow can’t have red and brown and purple tones plastered all over.

A hickey? Your heart drops and you think you’re about to black out in about ten seconds because of the distress you feel right now. Another woman’s scent is something, but a mark on his body is another thing completely. You suddenly feel sick to your stomach, but he’s too drunk to bring it up, and you know it’s not really your place to hold him accountable for this. So your internal war goes on and on, and on.

So you try to play it off by chewing his head off like a good friend would do. And you hope the hurt in your eyes goes unnoticed, but you don’t think too deeply about this because he’s too drunk to remember his own name.

“Where have you been, Hyuck?” You ask softly, but he’s too drunk to sense the amicable tone you’re using, and gets defensive immediately.

“Why the fuck do you keep asking me this, Y/n?” He barks, and somehow it hurts you more than anything he’s previously done to you.

The lump in your throat sets itself once again, threatening to make you spill the dinner and the apple you had tonight. But looking at Donghyuck’s dishevelled self, smelling him, and seeing the marks on his neck completely enrages you, making you find the voice to snarl back at him.

“Don’t fucking raise your voice because I’m on the verge of punching you in the throat, Donghyuck” you snarl through gritted teeth.

“You’re so sexy when you threaten me, and you using my government name, baby,” he smirks, trying to keep his upright posture the best he can.

“Stop being an idiot,” you push his shoulder, making him lose his balance for just a second. “Jaemin called me, Donghyuck,” you push him once again, this time his back comes into touch with the wall behind him, and the mention of his friend’s name snaps Donghyuck out of whatever dizziness he was in. His eyes are the size of saucers, and he seems like he wants to say something but you cut him off immediately, “It’s okay to neglect me, but get you fucking shit together if you don’t want your other friends to burst your fucking masterplan,” you say through gritted teeth, before turning around and going up the stairs, not sparing Donghyuck another look.

In doing so, you fail to see the look on Donghyuck’s face, you fail to hear the front door closing behind him, and the engine of his car getting turned on.

You’re suffocated by the wave of emotions you feel, they’re making you drown in your own tears. Tears run down your cheeks before you can sense them even brimming in your eyes, and the sobs that follow are a raw reminder of the unhappiness you’ve felt in the last months of your life. But now you can add betrayal to the equation.

You must do something to get out of this situation, or you’re risking losing yourself for a man who doesn’t really lose sleep over how much hurt he’s causing you.

Donghyuck is not sure how he’s managed to reach Jaemin’s apartment complex safe and sound, but he stomps his way through the building like he owns it. He just might. He’ll buy the place tomorrow and he’ll kick Jaemin on the streets for the stunt he’s pulled on his wife later this evening.

The knocks on Jaemin’s door reverberate so loudly that even Donghyuck is kind of intimidated by the echo they make. 

The moment Jaemin opens the door, Donghyuck pushes through without caring about the force he uses to push at Jaemin’s chest in order to get him out of the way.

“What the fuck, man?” Jaemin asks in disbelief.

“I’m the one who’s supposed to ask you this, you moron,” Donghyuck snarls, pushing again at Jaemin chest, making him grit his teeth in annoyance knowing why his friend is paying him a visit. It must have something to do with the phone call he’s given his wife.

“Watch your fucking mouth,” he warns, waiting for the shitstorm that drunk Donghyuck is willing to start.

“What the fuck were you thinking, calling Y/n?” Donghyuck raises his voice once again, “You call my wife for what reason, exactly?” His gaze throws daggers at Jaemin’s head, but the latter doesn’t back down. “What the fuck is wrong with you, snooping about my life like you have no other business? Are you trying to ruin it for me?” 

Jaemin can take a lot of things. Can take violence, palms of hands on his chest, punches to his face. He can take a nasty mouth like Donghyuck’s, and he can take the disrespect because he knows he’ll sort it out with his friend once he’s sober. But there are a few things Jaemin can’t take, like when someone's blaming him when he did nothing wrong, and when women are being disrespected. 

So he walks towards Donghyuck, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and throwing him into the wall, keeping him glued against the hard, cold surface. 

“Your wife was home alone, sad, and upset,” Jaemin makes a threatening pause between each word, pushing Donghyuck against the wall again and again each time, “So shut the fuck up before I push you through this wall. She didn’t even know where you were, you're drunk and you have fucking hickeys on your fucking neck. So, tell me now, who’s the one ruining it for you? Me or yourself?,” Jaemin lets Donghyuck go after one last push. But doesn’t spare him another look.

A week passes since the hickey incident and you don’t see Donghyuck. You assume he’s on some sort of vacation with someone else, and you don’t even care enough to look for him on the tracking app. You don’t want to make an obsession out of this, because you guess he’s with someone else, and actually seeing his contact on some exotic country’s map on the phone app would be your final straw. 

So you try to do your own thing by packing a small trolley and calling a cab to take you to the airport. You’re not sure about the destination, but you feel like you need to do this to get out of the slums of your heart.

You buy a ticket for the first flight you set your eyes on once you reach the ticket till, and you make your way through the passenger lounges towards the gates. You already feel refreshed, and you nearly vibrate with anticipation when you think about the days that are yet to come and the alone time you’ll have to yourself, but this time in a different city. Alone and away from your supposed husband. 

You reach one of the restaurants there, and you hate to admit to yourself that Donghyuck has engulfed every aspect of your life when you realise that you’re going to drink beer and eat steak at ten in the morning just because Donghyuck has always done this type of thing, “It’s the law of the jungle here, baby” he once joked when he almost got drunk off overpriced wine in one of the airport’s restaurants way before noon.

So you gulp the resurfacing feelings back to where they belong, the bottom of your being where you hope they’ll be forgotten and unreachable for a long time, and so you reach the bar, asking for steak and beer like you’d be asking for a coffee and muffin at the local cafeteria back home. Which again, you don’t need to be worried about because airports are like casinos, especially if you have a flight with a layover in the middle.

You chew your steak and you can’t help but think about how Donghyuck would love this, and there goes your appetite. The lump in your throat returns, and your stomach churns because of all the emotions you feel all at once. You think you need to go see a doctor, because your emotional state is already affecting your physical state as well. 

“Excuse me,” you feel someone patting you slightly on the shoulder, making you flinch just a bit at the unexpected contact, “Is this seat taken?” The stranger asks again in a very polite way, which makes you turn around to look at him. 

You’re met with a tall, lean figure standing a few feet behind you, his finger still pointing at the seat next to you. You suddenly remember his question and you jump in realisation, moving your luggage on your other side of the stool you’re sitting on, making some space for him to move and sit down. “By all means,” you look at him, gesturing towards the high stool at the bar, “Please take a seat,”

He gives you a smile in return making himself comfortable before picking up the menu to look over. He’s wearing a black wool sweater, his glasses are covered in water droplets that have gone dry by now, probably from the rain outside. His black hair falls slightly on his forehead, and he has to shake his head from time to time to prevent his fringe from getting into his eyes as he tries to look for something appealing in that whole menu.

You go back to chewing your steak, and even nearly cold it’s still delicious. You try not to think too much about the steak and who might like it, or otherwise you’ll not be able to swallow the bite.

“Is the steak good?” The man on your left asks, still holding the menu in his hands. “I’m sorry,” he giggles, realising that you didn’t expect anyone to talk to you, “It’s just that I’m not really sure what to order and I’m starving, and that steak looks really nice,” he smiles at you, but you probably look like an idiot while he was only trying to be friendly.

“You should get it,” you smile back, seeing how his features relax when he hears your answer, “It’s one of the best steaks I’ve ever eaten. The ones I make are excluded,” you laugh, cutting into your steak.

His ears seem to perk up at the mention of your cooking, now intrigued by you. He introduces himself, and you grab his hand, never breaking eye contact with him. His hand is warm and big, his long fingers wrap around your palm, squeezing slightly.

“So, where are you off to?” He asks after a while, curious to know a bit more about you.

“Chicago,” you answer, playing with your bracelets.

“What a coincidence,” he sips on the last drop of beer from his glass, “So am I".

Donghyuck doesn’t see you for a whole week. After the fight at Jaemin’s, he doesn’t come back home to you, but spends the night in his car instead. Not that he couldn’t afford going to some other place, but he was still drunk and the information Jaemin gave about you really did a number on him. Jaemin could punch him, break his head against any surface of his apartment and it still wouldn’t hurt as much as finding out that you’re aware of all his actions on the side of your marriage. 

And the fact that he has some fucking hickeys on his skin, and that you surely saw them, makes him want to jump off a cliff. The remorse is eating him from inside, and he’s sure he’s about to get a hole in his chest at the amount of stress he’s been through in the last week. 

But not seeing you for a week did Donghyuck some good. He had some time to himself to be really alone, in a hotel room just outside the city, and rethink his life choices and everything he’s done lately. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt this amount of shame bubbling inside of him, never thought he’d be able to hurt you so much. He remembers your eyes from that night, when you shoved his shoulder, and it must have happened after you saw the marks on his skin. He feels like a fucking idiot, like he has shit for a brain and there’s no way he’s ever going to straighten things up with you, not after last week. And he honestly doesn’t know what was going on in his head in the past months after the wedding happened, and what made him do all of this, all of the suffering he’s brought you. 

After the wedding, after the first few months after the wedding, after grandma Lee passed, he thought that things were just going to go back to how they were before he even saw that damned testament. He could go around fucking whoever he wanted, as long as he came home each evening to be with you, have dinner together and then go to sleep. Nothing between the two of you had to change. The casual sleepovers at one of your apartments would become a recurrent sharing of the bed, but now as husband and wife even if the titles were just for show. The hugs, the embraces, the casual signs of affection that the two of you showed each other wouldn’t have to change. Except, he broke all his rules. Yes, he did go around fucking whoever he wanted, but he never got home on time. He stopped hanging out with you, stopped being there for you. And he can’t help but wonder what the fuck is wrong with him, because the amount of heartbreak he feels right now while acknowledging the pain he’s put you through is making him lose his mind. Maybe he realises this too late, but he thinks he’s done it out of fear. Fear of acknowledging his true feelings. Maybe he never thought you would ever agree to marrying him, but again, he was really hoping you would. He doesn’t understand what’s going on in his mind, but he’s sure of one thing, and that is he loves you. Scrap the “more than a sister but less than a romantic interest” bullshit he’s told himself time and time again, he’s sure he loves you in the pathetic Anna Scott and William Thacker way, the hopeless way, the romantic and desperate, yearning for your attention and just for you — kind of love.

Maybe spending one week away from you does him so good, because he decides to go back home, your shared home, to be a more present husband. He’ll work from home, he’ll do everything for you just as much as you did everything for him but he was too blind to see — or even more. He’ll take you out, he’ll take you on vacations you’ve always wanted to go on. He’ll pick up whatever couple activity you want, and even if it’s not an activity meant for couples he’d still go just for you.

He comes home after a week and a half of being away, and it’s early in the morning. He stops by the supermarket and buys all the ingredients he knows he needs to make your favourite breakfast, and buys freshly squeezed juice from the farmer’s till you love so much, by the entrance of the supermarket. He comes home, and it’s still early, and thank god you’re not down in the kitchen making something already. 

He puts some music on, but the volume isn’t too loud so as to not wake you up. He wants to surprise you with breakfast in bed. He remembers when the two of you used to eat cup ramen or whatever other thing you prepared, while sitting in bed at either one’s dormitory. He misses those times, but he realises that nothing has to change, everything can be like before, especially now that he’s gotten the cold shower of reality.

He hears the front door open and turns around confused, but before he can take a step and come towards the entry hall, you show up in the kitchen looking just as surprised as he does.

“What is going on?” Your eyes are the size of saucers, pointing at the spatula in his hand and the apron he’s wearing on top of his casual clothes. It doesn’t look like he’s slept home, otherwise he’d be in his pyjamas or suit and tie. But he’s in jeans and a fitting t-shirt. This time, your stomach doesn’t churn and your heart doesn’t drop.

“Were you not home? Sleeping?” He asks, pointing his thumb towards the staircase.

“No,” you answer but it comes out more as a question, “Were you not home? You should have noticed I haven’t been here for four days,” you retort, your tone not that friendly.

“I’m sorry, I thought you were avoiding me,” he lies. His heart drops knowing he wasn’t here to notice you were gone. “I just wanted to make you breakfast, your favourite,” he shows you the pan full of vegetables, scrambled eggs and grated cheese. You start salivating looking at the colours in the pan alone, knowing that it’s going to be delicious because Donghyuck is an excellent cook. “By the way, we have freshly squeezed orange juice in the fridge, your favourite type, no pulp,” he points his head towards the fridge.

“Jesus, we’re like the fucking Kennedys this morning,” you reply, walking towards the fridge to take the juice out. He laughs at your joke, and it’s like music to your ears. You haven’t heard this sound in a long time, and you have to think about something else as not to let your feelings resurface.

“We’re more like… Brangelina,” he jokes, and this time you’re the one laughing.

“So,” he says, sitting at the kitchen island across from where you’re sitting, so he can see you better. God, you’re so beautiful. Your eyes are sparkling and your cheeks are rosy. You’re wearing that coloured chapstick that tints your lips just the right amount, and it contours your features so perfectly his chest heaves with something close to euphoria. The euphoria of seeing you. “Where did you go these past days? Did you have fun?” He doesn’t want to know the details, because it’s a reminder of the past. The past that he doesn’t want to go back to. 

He’s a new man, a married man but he’ll take this seriously this time. A new chapter starts today.

Hearing his question, you stop mid chew. What are you supposed to tell him? Are you two sharing this kind of information now? “Yes,” you reply simply, nodding your head, “I had fun,” 

“That’s good, I’m glad” he smiles at you, and it is his most genuine smile. You know it.

“Listen, Y/n,” he starts, but swallows his words when he looks at you. He wanted to apologise, but he feels like it’s too soon and too sudden right now. He’ll do it when the perfect time comes.

“Actually, Hyuck, I’d like for you to listen first. I have something I want to tell you,” you sip on your orange juice, and Donghyuck stops mid chew, and you sense there’s something in his eyes. Fear?

“I’m thankful for you making breakfast this morning, I really am,” you smile at him, trying to bring him some reassurance, “But you don’t have to do this. You never make breakfast and you’re never around but, for some reason, you’re here now preparing my favourite meal for me. I don’t know why you’re doing this or what’s wrong,” you actually might have a faint idea, but you keep it to yourself, “But we can live separate lives. I’ll respect your choices, and we don’t have to interact with each other if that’s not what you really want,”

“What? No!” He interrupts you, frowning, “What are you talking about?”

“You keep avoiding me, you’re away all the time,” you start, but you can feel tears forming in your eyes. Damn it, that’s not how you wanted this to turn out, he doesn’t deserve any more of your tears. “So, I understand that your plan of getting your inheritance was successful, but we really don’t need to be around each other. I get it now, so I’m letting you know that I’ve moved some of my things out of our room, but not all just in case, you know, if our friends ever come by and they see us having completely separate rooms. It would look really bad for your plan,” you explain, drying your tears but smiling nonetheless. And the image breaks Donghyuck.

“You can go do your activities, by yourself, and I’ll do mine on my own” you continue, “but there’s one thing I want to ask of you. Please don’t bring anyone in our house. This is our house,” you make small pauses between requests, hoping he’ll understand what you’re implying. You’re willing to give up your happiness thinking of what could have been, for the peace of mind of coming to terms with what your life is actually like. It’s the only way you can still be with Donghyuck, and you have to make this compromise.

“What?” He snarls, a frown painted on his face.

“It’s okay,” you try to reassure him, but you need to get away from him or you’ll start crying in front of him, and that’s not what you want. So you stand to your feet, pushing the stool under the kitchen island. “You don’t have to worry about anything, okay?” You look at him, but your emotions get the better of you and your eyes are brimming with tears for what feels like the millionth time in the past few months, and he looks back at you like you just caught him committing some sort of crime, “I’ll go to my room now, I need to be alone” you point towards the staircase, “By the way, there’s some dry cleaning that needs to be picked up, can you go?” You ask, but he knows that it is not a question.

He gulps, seeing your back leaving the kitchen. “Sure,” but you’re already on your way to your room, and you don’t hear him.

The day goes by, and Donghyuck doesn’t see you around the house again. He respects your boundaries, so he doesn’t push to get you to listen to what he has to say right away, so he secludes himself in your — formerly — shared bedroom, trying to give you space just for today at least. 

The following day, he comes back home after picking the clothes held hostage for so long at the dry cleaner’s — and immediately notices the silence. The dead silence, only the clock ticking making a sound that’s too loud in Donghyuck’s ears and too heavy on his heart. He supposes you’re still locked in the guest room, hence the disgusting silence.

He’s used to finding you around the house either cooking, either singing using a broom as a mic stand as you clean around; either the loud sound of war documentaries, or you crying while watching a cheetah eating an antelope on Animal Planet, either you baby talking to the plants you were planting in some pots in the back garden. But now everything is dead, dead silent. 

He really wants to make this right. He rethinks about everything that happened in the past weeks, Jaemin knocking some sense into him, all the conclusions he’s come to, and the words you told him yesterday morning. 

First, he realised he wants to make this right. No more sleeping around, no more hiding from you, no more hurting you. It took him long enough to realise he wants to be in this marriage for real, and not just because he was promised millions of dollars if he got married, and he chose the easier way since you were the only woman who’s been around him for so long, — that he now realises he was in love with since his teenage years. It was like a cold shower taken on a scorching day, the type that makes your heart stop for one second and then back to pumping blood quickly with an uneven rhythm. 

Secondly, he promised himself, after many days of mulling thoughts in his head, that he’d be more attentive, and that he will try to make things right with you. He’d spend more time with you, as opposed to what he did until now — spending his days with women, too many to count, too many to even remember. And he’s filled with shame every time he remembers how he came home all dirtied up, their kissing marks left all over his body, his clothes stinking of their perfumes, and when he stepped through the front door you were there, waiting for him with dinner and wine, or patiently waiting for him to come home so you could spend some time together like you used to. But he was scared, and it took Jaemin’s shoving to make his brain start working. He’d never meant to hurt you, although he was trying to avoid you every day since that kiss between you two happened, because he thought it was weird. He proposed marriage to you, without any obligations, he never asked you to love him or be faithful to him, and you never asked him either. So why was it so weird? So complicated? He started avoiding you when he realised that maybe you were all he needed after all, and that thought was scary. He jumped head first into this marriage expecting the two of you to live your lives like you were used to doing, and now it seems that he might have done it because it felt right. And it had always been you, and only you. 

Going up the stairs two steps at a time, he quickly reaches the upper floor of your shared house, reaching the guest room’s door, where you’ve been sleeping since he screwed up — you made sure to let him know this just earlier.

“Y/n?” He calls your name gently, hoping for you to recognise the vulnerability in his voice. “Y/n, can we talk?” He pleads, knocking slightly on the wooden door.

 It creaks open, a puzzled Donghyuck opening it slowly as he looks a bit around the room, expecting you to be in bed or maybe doing some sort of activity you found solace in while avoiding his presence.

But you were nowhere to be found. He takes big steps towards the dressing room, noticing the lights are turned off, and then in a last attempt he tries to look for you on the room’s balcony. But you’re not there, and he’s sure there’s nowhere nearly as cozy and comfortable as this space for you to be hiding. And your shared bedroom is an excluded possibility, because that’s where he’ll be sleeping, and you didn’t want to see his face, it was for sure.

In a last, desperate attempt to find you, he moves quickly towards the bedroom, and he prays to god he’ll find you in there looking through your old clothes and trying them on like you always do every few months, calling him an idiot as soon as you see his face entering the room. But you’re not there either, and he can only sigh, sitting on the bed, thinking of what he can do to find you.

Would it be wise to call Renjun? He’s one of his best friends, but also yours? Renjun would take your side any second, and Donghyuck knows this. 

“Let’s not,” he mumbles, throwing the phone across the bed and throwing his back harshly on the hard mattress of your shared bed. He misses you. He missed feeling annoyed by your sleeping figure stretching all over him in search for heat. He misses your perfume, your scent hogging his senses as soon as his head hits your pillow. Your pillow, the one he kept close in his embrace every time you woke earlier than he did. He misses you so much, he needs to feel you randomly giving him a warm embrace.

He can remember the scent of your hair, the one sticking to your skin, and he gets up from the bed to go to your vanity desk to spray a little bit around the room, just so he can find a little bit of comfort before he thinks of where you could be.

He stops in his tracks, sensing there’s something odd going on. Looking around the room, he can’t pinpoint it, but he suddenly feels it in the pit of his stomach. 

He looks at your vanity desk, inspecting it from where he’s standing, and he looks for the bottle of your perfume that he loves. And then it hits him. It’s not there. Out of all the perfume bottles, the one you always wore — which he loves, — it’s nowhere to be seen. He jogs to the bathroom attached to your bedroom, hoping that you took it there when you were getting ready to leave, because you’ve done that before. Except, this time you didn’t place it in the bathroom. It’s as spotless as ever, as if no one has ever used it before. Your shower products are still lined nicely in the shower, your skincare products still inside the cabinets hanging on the walls. But not your toothbrush. His is sitting alone in the glass holders where they usually touch each other, as unhygienic as it sounds. 

He speeds out of the bathroom, back to your vanity, where he inspects the products laying around. Your preferred perfume is gone, a few make up products missing from the little drawer you had arranged them so nicely in. His eyes dart to the jewellery box sitting on the edge of the desk, and he picks its lid up, inspecting what’s inside. Your usual jewellery is looking right back at his stupid face, as if it was mocking him for freaking out, but he notices some of the expensive jewellery he’s gifted you ever since you two got married, are gone. A bracelet, a few rings, a necklace and a brooch are gone. And then his eyes still on two pieces of jewellery, his heart dropping to his stomach as soon as he recollects his bearings.

Your wedding band and your engagement ring sit mockingly in the corner of the box, as if you had thrown them in without even looking where they landed, without even making sure if they made it inside the box before you sealed it closed. 

The thought of you purposefully leaving your rings behind makes him want to hurl, his mind running desperate tireless laps as he tries to understand what’s going on.

And then it dawns on him. You left. 

He puts the box back down with gentle hands, and he feels like the ceiling might have collapsed on him with the amount of heaviness he feels in his chest and stomach. Did you really leave? He wants to make sure before he loses his mind, so he checks a few of your drawers and the dressing room adjacent to the bedroom. He can see a few garments missing from each section of the wardrobe, noticing how one of your suitcases is also gone. 

Not knowing what to do, he walks back to the bedroom, his hands frantically going through his hair and eyes closing tightly in an attempt to find a way to calm himself down. His eyes so forcefully shut that he starts seeing spots as soon as he opens them again. 

He reaches for his phone, trying to look for you through your shared location. “God fucking Dammit,” he exhales when he opens the app.

You went as far as turning your location services off on all your devices, which you’ve never done before, not since he taught you how to turn them on ten years ago.

He dials your number in a miserable attempt to get a hold of you, but it goes to voicemail almost immediately. “Please pick up,” He doesn’t want to give up, so he dials your number a few more times before he gives in and leaves a message on your voicemail.

“Y/n, it’s me, please pick up,” and after five minutes of hopeful waiting, that maybe you’ll reach out to him out of pity more than anything else, he tries again.

“Y/n, it’s me, Hyuck,” he can feel his voice full of uncertainty. He clears his throat, “Where are you? I came home earlier wanting to talk, but I can’t find you anywhere, please call me back,”

An hour of waiting for you to give him a small sign, he feels like he’s losing his mind going back and forth in this damned bedroom.

“Y/n, please come home. At least call me back, tell me you’re safe. Please, please Y/n, call me back” he whispers into the phone before it gets cut off.

Donghyuck feels a tight knot forming in his stomach, only the thought of you not being safe makes him despise himself. If anything happened to you while being away because of him, he would never be able to forgive himself for doing this to you.

Noticing how time flew by, he checks his phone once again, even if you sent him a dry text he’d be happy because he’d know you’re safe enough to check your phone. There aren’t many places Donghyuck knows you’d choose as a safe place trying to put some space between the two of you, but he thinks of one where you could be at right now, and he quickly runs down the stairs and snatches his car keys, so distressed that he forgets to grab his coat.

There’s only one place where you could be, and he needs to see for himself.

“What are you doing here?” Renjun opens the door slightly, but then fully opens it for his friend to step in. “Not only did you steal my best friend, the one who was supposed to marry me at thirty-five in case we didn’t find anyone to get married to, but you’re now attempting to steal my time too,” he rolls his eyes at the man standing in front of him. 

“Steal your future wife?” Donghyuck frowns for a few seconds, processing what Renjun said. “What if she was the one stealing your future husband? What, Renjun, wasn’t I good enough for you?” Donghyuck touches his chest where his heart is, tsk-ing his disapproval with fake annoyance.

“Your ways of causing me disgust are always unbelievable,” Renjun fake gags, crossing his arms.

“Thanks, I’ll take that as a compliment,” Donghyuck sends a flying kiss, and Renjun is glad that they’re not standing next to each other right now because the two of them are close enough for Renjun to know that his friend would attempt to kiss him on any spot of his face that he can reach.

Donghyuck quickly drops the banter, curiously looking around the room, trying to find any of your objects that you could have carelessly left behind when he dropped by. In his head, you’re here somewhere, hiding from him. He hopes you are, and even if you came out and kicked him out the door, he’d be grateful because that way he’d know you are in a place where you are safe and sound.

And Renjun can’t help but notice Donghyuck’s dishevelled look, the locks on his head messily pointing in different directions, and of course there was the fact that he isn’t wearing a coat. He observes the way his friend’s eyes dart back and forth between various surfaces of his living room, and the way Donghyuck’s hands reach behind his head in an unconscious motion.

“So,” Renjun begins, “What’s wrong?”

“What do you mean?” Donghyuck half laughs.

“I’m not dumb. You’re my best friends and you’re married to each other. You haven’t pestered me with stupid memes in the past days, and I’ve only heard from Y/n a couple of times,” he sees his friend’s face lighten up at the mention of your name, “So what did you do?”

“Why do you assume I’m the one in the wrong here?” 

Renjun scoffs, his friend’s almost offended tone not being that well received.

“You always do shit to hurt Y/n, so excuse me for giving her the benefit of the doubt,”

“What do you mean?” Donghyuck asks again, this time sober.

Renjun sighs, “I had to waltz around the two of you for a very long time, I lived with the two of you before,” he frowns, moving his hand between himself and Donghyuck, “I had to witness times when you hurt her feelings, maybe unknowingly, I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt, but you did nonetheless. I had to pick up pieces you stepped on carelessly, while she gave herself to you on a silver platter. No, pardon me, a golden platter. Your sleeping around, your mindless jokes about it, your little remarks that played with her heart every time you complimented her while making promises to her, and the way she believed you without any second thoughts as if you wouldn’t forget about her and the promises made to her an hour later.” Renjun inhales sharply, recognising how he’s getting worked up, but these are things he’s been dying to say to his friend, and now is the perfect time to do so. 

“Don’t act dumb, Hyuck, I was there and I saw it all happen right before my eyes. Every time you promised her the sun, you left her hanging in the air, looking for you yet you were unreachable, avoiding her. I had to mend the pieces you fucked with, every single time. That’s why I was afraid when she told us she’d be getting married to you so suddenly and out of nowhere. I was scared for her wellbeing,” Renjun gulps, crossing his arms once again.

“So, whatever you did this time, I don’t care. I won’t help you in any way. I want her to be well and happy, and if she’ll reach out to me, I’ll be there for her. But you need to get your shit sorted, before it’s too late. If it isn’t already,”

Donghyuck inhales sharply, trying to digest every piece of information he’s found out from Renjun, on which he’ll mull over later when his nerves might calm down.

“Okay,” he surrenders, “I am getting my shit together, Renjun. I have been for the past few days,”

“It’s not long enough. A few days of meditating on your shitty actions won’t erase your wrongdoings,”

“I know, and that’s why I’m working on it, I’m doing this for her,” he starts taking a few steps towards the door, when he turns back to face Renjun, “If she calls you, just tell her to call me, please. I want her to be safe,” the sad look in his eyes are a sight Renjun never thought he’d see, especially from Donghyuck.

“I’ll see you around,” and with that, he gently closes the front door behind himself.

A few days pass, and Donghyuck has made an obsession with checking if you turned your location on again. You haven’t reached out to him, and neither did Renjun. He hopes that his friend would be considerate enough to reach out to him if he ever found out anything about you, but he’s left hanging. 

He hasn’t been able to eat much, only a few bites so as not to get stomach aches from hunger. He already had stomach aches just thinking about not having a clue about your whereabouts, he didn’t want to end up on a hospital bed because he couldn’t take a fucking nibble. The bottles of liquor and alcohol the two of you had agreed on keeping on a neat bar shelf in the corner of your living room were almost empty. He’s never felt more distraught, and the liquor only helped numbing his thoughts for a short amount of time, for they all came back to his mind as soon as he woke up from his drunken naps. Donghyuck hasn’t been able to sleep much either, that’s mainly why he drained almost every bottle of hard liquor in the house. He doesn’t want to forget anything about you, but his brain is his biggest enemy these days, and the only thing that can help him out is the thought that maybe, after the alcohol numbs him real good and puts him to sleep, he’ll wake up to you standing in front of him, holding him tight and telling him you forgive him and you want things to work out. Because he can do this, he can do anything you’d ask him, he can make this work. He loves you.

He left you more voicemails and texts, and all went unanswered. By the time the alcohol’s effects wore off, his muscles were already starting to ache from the countless times he fell asleep on the big carpet downstairs, on which he chose to rest in hopes of hearing your keys opening the front door. He was like a sick puppy. Waiting for the owner of his heart to come back home, because he knows you’ll eventually come back. He hopes, at least.

He stands to his feet, taking the empty bottle outside and sitting it carefully inside the bin, as to not make too much noise. His head feels like it’s being split in half, and his muscles beg for a hot shower, which he gladly plans to take after popping two advils from the medicine cabinet in one of the bathrooms downstairs. 

After using his favourite scent out of all your shower gel bottles lined up in the shower, he wraps a towel around his waist, walking back to the bedroom to pick up his phone. Your location is still off, and he decides to leave another voicemail for you, because if there’s any possibility of you listening to these voicemails, he wants to be sure he made everything in his power to reach out to you and make you realise how serious he is about everything.

One hand on his hip, while his teeth nibble on his bottom lip, he dials your number, waiting for the call to go to voicemail. Except this time the call goes through, ringing in his ears.

“Hello?” A male voice answers, and Donghyuck has to take a quick look at the phone’s screen to make sure he didn’t dial someone else.

This is your number.

“Y/n?” He inquires, a deep frown forming on his smooth forehead.

“Oh, Y/n’s in the shower right now, can I take a message?”

Donghyuck feels his throat run dry, and sharply exhales in an attempt to calm himself before he can regret anything that might come out of his mouth. Not only is the thought of your leaving destroying him, but to hear another man answering your phone might be the last thing he does before he goes insane. 

Who the fuck is it? Who is this man? He can't help but ask himself.  Who is it? Is it a friend of mine? But he doesn’t recognise the voice.

“Hello?” The voice on the other line rings in his ears, “Are you still there?”

“And who are you?” Donghyuck rasps, his voice raw with anger.

“Erm,” Donghyuck can feel uncertainty in the man’s tone, “I’m Sungchan. Can I take a message for Y/n?”

The mention of your name out of his mouth makes Donghyuck see red before his eyes. 

“Yes, Sungchan,” Donghyuck spits out with anger, “Can you tell Y/n to call home as soon as possible? This is her husband, Donghyuck, by the way,” after which he hangs up, throwing the phone across the room, not even bothering to pick it up again.

You get out of the shower, stepping on the hotel’s slippers, feeling refreshed after getting rid of the sweat residues on your skin, when you feel a knock on the bathroom door. You open it wide, seeing a frowning Sungchan leaning on the doorframe, clearly bothered by something.

“Sungchan?” You ask, combing your fingers through your wet hair. “Is everything okay?” 

You see him giving you a conflicted look, and he bites on his lip. “Your husband called. Why didn’t you tell me that you’re married?” He asks you, and you think the sky falls suddenly. It would be easier if he wasn’t looking at you right now, but his gaze is piercing, cold, and hurt.

“What?” You ask, but not because you didn’t hear it the first time, but because you need time to think how to explain everything to him.

Yes, you omitted this detail when you hooked up with Sungchan the first time, but it’s not like he deliberately asked you, ‘are you married?’. You and him were on the same flight to Chicago. You liked the attention he gave you at the airport, and he offered to show you around if you didn’t already have an itinerary planned out. So you accepted, and between some museums, jazz bars, and nice restaurants, you found yourself in bed with him.

With him, you got rid of all the stress you accumulated in the past months, and for the first time in years you even felt loved and appreciated.

Apart from the shame and regret of not being genuine with Sungchan from the very beginning that’s eating at you, there’s also the way he’s looking at you right now. Betrayed, hurt, on the verge of tears. 

How did Donghyuck’s hurting lead you into hurting other people? You knew Sungchan likes you, because he explicitly told you so, so why did you have to pull the same card your husband played on you?

“Sungchan,” you start, but no words can make up for the damage already done, because he pushes away from the doorway, going back to look for his clothes.

“I don’t want to hear it,” his voice trembles, sliding the pair of jeans on his long legs. “I can’t believe you did this to me,” he’s mostly talking to himself, and you’re left in the corner of the room in your towel only, watching as he gathers his things from your hotel room. 

“Never look for me again,” he walks past you, towards the door, not looking at you even once, “Go back to your husband, Y/n,”

And of course, what other fucking choice do you have?

You push your trolley through the entrance hallway, leaving it at the foot of the staircase, making your way towards the living room. You enter the room, empty and messy, and you can see that Donghyuck has been spending more time at home now than he did before. His clothes are scattered on the couch, a sock is thrown carelessly behind one of the houseplants while the other is resting under the coffee table. He’s not here, but you can sense the smell of steak, and you can hear him humming something in the other room.

You enter the kitchen, that’s empty and messy, and then you hear Donghyuck’s voice ring a bit louder in your ears. You walk around the kitchen island, sliding the kitchen door open and you exit on the patio, scaring Donghyuck.

He’s grilling steak on the patio, dancing around with a huge grilling fork, getting scared when he heard the door slide shut behind you. 

“You’re home, baby,” he uses his saccharine voice, and you throw your phone on the wooden table next to the grill.

“Cut the crap,” you snarl, pulling a chair to sit, and you plop down while pointing at your phone, “I called you, you didn’t pick up,” you bite on your cheek, in a desperate attempt to keep your cool and not blow this fucking patio up.

“I didn’t pick up, nope” he makes a popping sound at the end, using a piece of cardboard to vent the meat on the grill.

“Then why all the voicemails pleading me to call you back? If you can’t fucking pick up?” You bark, but he doesn’t flinch at your tone.

“I didn’t pick up because I broke it,” he explains calmly before turning around to look at you, “I sort of got upset after a phone call. How’s your friend, by the way? Sungchan, was it?” He asks, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

“Do not fucking say his name,” you threaten, looking at him like you’re ready to jump him.

“Do not fucking look at me like that, Y/n” he threatens back, placing his hands on the wooden table. “I’m you fucking husband!” He raises his voice.

“And I’m your fucking wife!” You scream at him, while standing to your feet. Your nose is flaring with anger, and when your gaze meets his you feel the familiar suffocating lump in your throat. “In the last year, how many times did you consider yourself to be my husband?” You ask accusingly, pointing a finger in his direction. “How many times did you think you had a wife waiting for you at home, when you were with other women?” You cry out, biting on your lip in order to not let all the sobs run past your lips. “How many times, Donghyuck, did I turn a blind eye on your indiscretions? The times you came back home smelling like other women, marks on your skin, the amount of times you didn’t come home for long periods of time?”

“So you think you’re better than me if you just run away with another man?” He raises his voice at you once again, slamming a hand on the wooden table.

You’re honestly appalled at how he’s trying to turn this on you. 

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” You ask calmly, your tears not flowing anymore. “You’re trying to blame me but you don’t see the root of the problem here. So it’s okay for you to do it for months, and then when I do it once it’s suddenly a problem?” You can’t look at him any more, feeling too upset to even spare him a glance. 

You notice the alcohol bottles sitting around the bin, and you suppose they’re there because the bin is already full.

“Are you drunk?” You ask in disbelief. You swear he seemed sober when he shouted at you just a few minutes ago.

“Do I look like I’m fucking drunk right now?” He asks exasperated. “Not now anyway, but I did drink waiting for your fucking call, Y/n” he points the grilling fork in your direction, as if he’s accusing you of something. “I waited, and I waited, and I waited for you call, but you just ignored me. You come home one day telling me that you don’t care who I’m with just for you to secretly leave to get with another man. What kind of pure and innocent role are you playing, Y/n? Telling me it’s alright just so you have your peace of mind while doing the same thing I do, because you thought you laid your cards on the table and allowing me to do it would exempt you from guilt?” He accuses you with an extremely calm tone. 

“I’m sorry I hurt you, Y/n, but what was I supposed to do? You left your fucking rings at home and took off!” He shouts again, and you realise you’ve never had a fight this intense with Donghyuck, with so much shouting. You don’t even think you’ve heard Donghyuck’s shout except for the one he lets out when he’s trying to be funny. Two completely different tones.

“So what? You kept your ring on when you were fucking around?” You bite back, and he doesn’t say anything else.

You decide there’s no way you want to continue the fight. At this point you’re not sure if whatever you and Donghyuck have is worth fighting for. You turn around, not even looking at him again, and go towards the staircase to go to your room. 

“Where are you going? Y/n?” He comes after you, calling your name and trying to grab you by the arm, “I made steak!”

“You can shove it up you ass!” You retort, getting out of his grasp, going up on the stairs and leaving him like a lost puppy.

You sit on the carpet at the foot of your bed, not even bothering to turn the lights on. You know you want to be alone right now, but you know that you’d rather be alone in this huge house instead of having Donghyuck downstairs.

You feel like the love you carry for Donghyuck is consuming you, and there’s nothing you can do about it. He can be the biggest idiot in this world and you would still love him. He can be the one to have a huge screaming match with and you’d still forgive him, and love him. Your pain is amplified when you recall the fight you two just had, because everything he said earlier is true. You told him to do whatever he wants because you knew you could go find solace in Sungchan's presence, you wouldn’t be alone anymore, and you could start doing whatever Donghyuck was doing without thinking twice. Just like he did. And what pains you the most is the fact that he made it sound like you were the one who cheated on him first.

And okay, you’re technically not together. But would it be so hard for him to acknowledge you once in a while? Would it be hard for him to stop thinking with his dick and just open his eyes to see that you’re right here, everything he would ask for, you’d give him on a golden platter. But again, maybe he doesn’t feel the same way towards you, and it’s better not to know this instead of having your feelings hurt to a point of no return. 

And Sungchan. That poor soul. You feel so sorry for treating him like this, and you feel even worst for making him feel the same way Donghyuck has made you feel up to this point. Sungchan left so abruptly that you didn’t have the chance to tell him the truth. Yes, your husband called, but guess what? He’s not really your husband. It sounds pathetic. You wish you could at lest have told him the truth, about the nature of the relationship between you and Donghyuck, but you guess you had it coming — because not once did you think about bringing your marriage, albeit fake, up to Sungchan, and you had more occasions than you can count on two hands.

You feel conflicted. You feel like the best thing for you would be getting away from Donghyuck as soon as possible. He brings out the worst side of you. The jealous, possessive side, that really has no business existing. Because it’s a fake one, this marriage shouldn’t make you feel like a miserable fool. It shouldn’t affect you the way it does, you’ve only known sadness and jealousy in the past months and it’s really not fair, not when Donghyuck doesn’t care about you and your marriage as much as you do. But at the same time, even if you think it’s best to get away, you just can’t. You’re so used to being with Donghyuck that he has become a part of you, and walking away from him would feel like walking around with just one leg instead of two.

You’re sobbing into your own hands, feeling like the world just collapsed, and you don’t sense Donghyuck coming up the stairs towards your room.

“Y/n, I want to talk,” he opens the door just slightly, waiting for you to say something, but he doesn’t hear an answer, “Can we talk?” 

“Go away,” You scoff, raising your head from your hands, bringing your knees to your chest. You notice him stepping carefully inside the room, the light on the hallway brightening your room just a little. He’s carrying your suitcase, the one you left at the foot of the staircase, and he puts it behind the door, before he comes next to you and decides to sit down.

He’s so close you can smell him, even if your nose is stuffy from all the crying. His arm is touching yours, and he brings one of his legs up to imitate your position. You don’t look him in the eye, but your tears keep streaming down your face uncontrollably, and you bite your lip trying not to let the sobs escape you.

He extends one hand, touching the arm closest to him, squeezing slightly.

“Lets talk about this,” he shushes you as soon as you try to reply back, and pats your head with careful gestures, “Come here,” he instructs, and your body responds immediately, like you wouldn’t even need a brain, just Donghyuck to tell you what to do and give out commands for you to follow.

Your face falls in the crook of his neck, and the moment you face touches his skin your tears are unstoppable. He continues to shush you, to tell you to let it all out, to tell you that everything’s okay.

And while you’re in his arms, and he holds you like this, showing you that he does indeed care about you, maybe you believe his words — that everything will be okay, just this once.

“Y/n, I know you can’t talk right now, so I will do the talking, okay?” He asks, but when he doesn’t get a reply back he promptly squeezes your arms to get an answer out of you. Between all the sobs and tears damping his skin and t-shirt, you give him a thumbs up — a sign that he should go on and talk, and it makes him laugh. The beautiful crystalline laugh you love so much.

“I’m so sorry for hurting you, and I know I’ve said this a lot lately but I will keep saying this a lot in the future too. I’m also sorry for talking to you the way I did earlier, raising my voice and pointing my finger when I’m not really the one who should be speaking,” he continues to caress your back while you’re all crouched into his side, your head still glued to the side of his neck. But he doesn’t mind the dampness, he doesn’t mind the sobbing you’re letting out right next to his ear. He doesn’t mind keeping you this close.

“I’m sorry for dragging you into this mess, and then making you feel like I don’t appreciate you or like I don’t care about you. Because I do, Y/n. You’d be surprised if you could hear the things my mind is coming up with when I think about you.” He kisses the top of your head, and you feel his breath fanning over your forehead and cheeks for a little while.

“I’m sorry for ruining whatever you had with Sungchan, and I’m sorry to tell you that this last part is a lie. I’m lying Y/n, because knowing you could be happy far and away from me is making me go insane little by little. I’m an idiot for saying this when I’m the one in the wrong here,” he pauses, and you can hear him gulping.

“I need to be completely honest with you, I think I owe you this, and then if you want to walk away you can. You’re free to do whatever you want, you have your share of the money and it’s up to you whatever you decide to do,” you listen to him, holding your breath for a bit while waiting for him to go on, but your tears stopped flowing.

“The day I made breakfast for you, do you remember that?” You nod, stretching an arm across his stomach to get in a more comfortable position — and you really just wanted to hug him, “I was going to have a talk with you. The previous days, when I basically went missing, I reflected on a lot of things and I was ready to ask you if we could try to do this marriage thing for real this time, but you didn’t even let me speak,” he giggles, and once you register all his words your breath is caught in your throat.

“And then you went missing and I was so worried about you, Y/n. Never do that to me again,” he warns you, and you squeeze him tighter out of instinct. “You can do whatever you want Y/n, I mean it. You can forget I said anything about being for real in this marriage, you can decline all my apologies but I’ll forever feel sorry for putting you through this,”

You push yourself up from his body to finally look at him, and he looks at you with big sparkly eyes, touching his chest with his left hand, and you can see his ringed finger shining in the dim lights filtering through from the hallway. You love him, that’s a confirmed fact. Especially now after you got to hear everything he had to say.

“So how are you going to fix this?” You whisper, not really knowing how you should approach this whole situation.

“Do you forgive me?” He asks, his face getting a bit closer to your figure. He gets so close to you that you can smell his cologne perfectly once again. 

“I do, but” you whisper, and you can sense he’s holding his breath, “did you mean it, what you said about doing this,” you point between the two of you, “doing it for real?”

“Yes,” he answers with no hesitation, “I meant everything I said,”

“So let me ask again,” you get closer to his face, smirking as you can feel his breath fanning over your face once again, but this time you look him in the eye, “how are you going to fix this?” 

“I have a few ways,” he smirks at you, taking the bait you’ve just thrown him.

Everything happens really fast. You don’t have time to register the moment he seals his lips over yours, kissing you fervently as he gently grasps the side of your neck to bring you closer. You snicker as you feel his lips eagerly moving on top of yours, and your poor attempt at trying to gasp for air is swallowed by his relentless warm lips. 

He breaks the kiss, giving you both a chance to breathe, and he stands to his feet, dragging you with him. His lips capture yours once again, but this time he doesn’t lose any more time, his tongue sliding carefully on your bottom lip, asking for your permission. You grant it almost immediately, and he moans into the kiss as soon as his tongue waltzes with yours, his plump lips sucking on your tongue before releasing it with a pop sound, and going back to nibble on your bottom lip.

He lets your lips go once again, grabbing a strand of your hair to play with.

“I’ve wanted to be like this for a long time,” he mumbles, looking at the strand he’s holding between his fingers, “Will you let me take care of you, Y/n?” He rasps, and the look you give him is enough for him to understand your answer. “Lay down for me,” he instructs, pushing you slightly until the back of your knees touch the mattress, and you follow his orders.

He sets himself on top of you, and you wrap your legs around his waist out of instinct. His hands reach for your waistline, roaming carefully towards your hips, where he stops to squeeze tenderly. He leans forward once again, but this time he catches your lips in a sweet, short kiss, repeating the action a few times before moving his juicy lips to your jaw, nibbling on your neck as he moves his ministrations further and further down. 

You stifle a moan when his hot mouth reaches the neckline of your top that’s barely covering your breasts now that you’re laying down. Once again, Donghyuck puts his tongue to work, making the wet muscle trace the neckline, leaving wet smears across your hot skin.

His hands reach for the hem of your top, raising it higher on your torso up to your bust. His cold fingertips massage the delicate and silky skin up from your lower abdomen all the way to the underside of your breasts, where the underband of your bra is sticking uncomfortably to your skin.

“Let’s take this off, baby,” he commands, pulling on the fabric that’s covering your bra.

You comply to his orders, getting rid of the top as efficiently as possible, and you hear Donghyuck sucking his teeth, his head hanging low once again to be on the same level as your chest. He continues his actions, tracing his tongue around the cups of your bra, returning to the middle of your chest, where he presses his wet lips on the delicate spot between your tits, proceeding to lick a stripe all the way to your neck and jaw. He captures your lips in a smooth kiss, moving greedily trying to savour every little sound and breathy moans you let out. Your hands reach for his head, your fingers comb through his hair, fingertips massaging his scalp, and he can’t help but moan into your touch. The sound gets swallowed by your mouth moving confidently over his, sucking on his tongue, taking everything he’s willing to give you.

He breaks the kiss, holding a mischievous look in his gaze, instructing you to get rid of your bra and jeans while he gets up on his knees to get rid of his t-shirt. With his tanned, toned arms and abdomen on display, you reach out to get a chance to touch and trace his soft skin, but he slaps your hands away and leans forward towards your stomach, on which he places short, open mouth kisses all the way to the band of your panties. 

He kneels at the foot of the bed, dragging you by your hips towards himself, and holds your legs together before leaning in onto your clothed core. The action has you moaning, and he keeps moving his nose against the crotch of the underwear in repeated motions, his nose bumping against your clit every single time, and it sends a tingling sensation throughout your body, pleasure bubbling fast in your lower stomach.

“Hyuck,” you moan his name, not thinking you can resist his actions much longer.

He smiles hearing you moaning his name, but decides to halt his actions nonetheless. He grabs your panties and pulls them down, the cold air in the room making contact with your wet folds. He folds your wet underwear carelessly and shoves them in the front pocket of his sweats, leaning forward for his mouth to start moving slowly on your core. His plump lips suck on your clit gently, twirling his tongue around the bundle of nerves. Your pussy clenches around nothing, his relentless actions building the pressure in your muscles, and you’re approaching your release fast, your hip buck into his mouth, chasing the delicious pleasure you’re about to be rewarded with soon. 

Donghyuck can feel his dick hard and throbbing in his boxers, but he doesn’t touch himself — he'd rather wait to be touched by you. 

“That’s it, baby,” he moans with his mouth still glued to your core, his tongue licking long stripes along your entrance and clit, stopping to show extra care to the latter. And the pet name on his lips is everything you needed in order to cum. 

His dick throbs hearing the sounds you make while you cum, his name on your lips feels like a mantra, like a chant full of praise, music to his ears.

“You’re insane,” you breathe out, grabbing him by the hair to detach him from your core when he doesn’t seem to have any faint intention of stopping his laps on your clit.

“You haven’t even seen half of it yet,” he grins and smirks, his chin glistens with a mix of your arousal and release. He licks his lips, deciding to cut you some slack until you come down from your high.

You look at him, and you lick your lips seeing his grey sweats hanging low on his tanned hips, a wet patch placed in the front on his crotch, indicating his arousal.

You pull him closer to you, latching your lips with his, sucking and pulling on his bottom lip, tasting yourself off his lips as his mouth moves rhythmically against yours.

You push him slightly off you, instructing him to get on the bed. You look at his figure again. What a great day to be wearing sweats, you think. 

“Get these off for me,” you say, but it sounds more like a question. He giggles, but complies without having to be asked twice. He gets his boxers off of the way at the same time with his sweats, his dick falling heavy on his abdomen. You take a look at his cock, licking your lips unconsciously as you stare at the veins stretching along his length, precum leaking from his rosy tip. You reach for it, your palm aching to stroke him before you get a taste of him. But Donghyuck has other plans.

“Want you on my cock,” he grunts, bucking his hips up in your hand as soon as it wraps around his shaft, “Think you can ride me, baby?” He asks, and you’re more than eager to do it if it means seeing him so dishevelled underneath you, and you’re the cause. 

You nod, and he extends one hand to help you keep your balance as you bring your weight on top of his lap, waiting for him to line his shaft with your entrance. His tip enters you and you have to stop for a bit to adjust to the girth. You sink lower on top of his shaft, your pussy throbbing around it, and Donghyuck has to suck a breath through his teeth and pray to god you won’t take long to get used to his size. You’re so tight, Donghyuck is too excited to last for too long, he knows this already.

You start riding him, your juices are enough for his shaft to slide in and out of you with ease, and one of his hands reaches up to your chest to grab one of your nipples between his fingers, twisting it and putting the right amount of pressure that gets a whimper out of you. 

His mouth latches to your other nipple, sucking on it, his tongue swirls around the teat bringing a new wave of pleasure that has you arching your back and temporarily halting your rhythmic movements on top of Donghyuck’s shaft. Moaning, he sucks harsher on your nipple when he feels you stopping, so you resume your movements even if you can feel your thighs burning. A new wave of pleasure runs through your body  when you hear his moans against the frail skin of your chest, one of his hands placed on the small of your back trying to guide your movements as he can sense you’re tired. 

“Feels so fucking good,” he moans, looking up at you. You’re looking at him briefly, then you push him slightly to get him to lay down. You bring a pretty manicured hand up to his chest, steadying yourself as you keep your relentless and delicious moving of your hips against his. You mewl out a moan as your clit hits the base of his cock, and your head falls back making your hair bounce around yourself.

His body feels on fire, his heartbeat picking up its rhythm. “I think —” you hear him start, but is interrupted by one of your raw moans. “I love you,” he blurts out, and hearing those words coming out of his mouth makes the tension in your tummy burst, and the rhythm of your hips starts faltering. He grabs your arms with force and brings your upper body on top of his, your chests clashing on top of each other’s as he searches for your lips. 

He needs them like he needs air, especially after the words that slipped past his lips. He pulls you closer, one hand grabbing your waist to keep you in place as his hips start bucking up inside of you, and another hand keeping your head in the crook of his neck as you still ride your orgasm. He chases his own climax, and the relentless throbbing of your pussy around his shaft as you ride your orgasm helps him burst deep inside of you, moaning out your name as he holds your body tightly.

You stay in his embrace a little longer, until the clarity starts hitting you, replaying the last moments in your mind. You fall next to Donghyuck, your head still resting on his shoulder, a leg still stretched on his stomach as you both try regaining your bearings.

You raise your head to look at him, only to find him already looking down at you. 

“Did you really say you loved me?” You enquire, believing that’s a figment of your imagination.

“I did,” he whispers back, unmoving while keeping you close to him, his eyes big and sparkly.

“But isn’t it —“ you make a pause, trying to find the right words, “too soon? How do I know that you really mean it?”

“How do you know?” He repeats slowly, and then averts his gaze to look around the room for a few seconds. He sits up, getting off the bed, coming to your side of the bed so he can face you properly. 

“What are you doing?” You ask, looking at him quizzically, trying to understand what goes on in that mind of his. 

“Shut up, I’m about to do the most pathetic and embarrassing thing just for you,” he pouts at you, grabbing your arm and dragging you out of bed, “I need you to stand in front of me otherwise it won’t be embarrassing enough,”

“Seriously Hyuck, what the fuck is wrong with you?” You sigh, and you look at your naked silhouettes standing in front of each other like a pair of sims in the making.

“I have my flaws, and you know the already. I did a lot of shitty stuff to you, and I apologised for all. But you also have to remember…” he leaves the sentence up in the air for a bit, “That I’m also just a boy, standing in front of a girl, asking her to love him,” he finishes his monologue, waiting for your reaction.

At first, you're speechless. Then the moment sinks in, and you can’t help but let a surprised laugh escape you as you reach for him. 

You grab his face, bringing him closer to you to give him a quick peck on the lips. 

“I love you too,” you let him know, but there’s a glint in your eyes that lets him know you’re never going to let him live this moment down, and he braces himself for impact, “But please never pull an Anna Scott on me, ever again!”

AUTHOR'S NOTE: i loved writing this, i am emotionally attached to this story now T-T i love hyuck and i hope reading this was worth your time. feedback and engagement is always recommended and highly appreciated! thank you guys for signing up for the taglist and reading this piece <3 and you might have already guessed, but sungchan's instalment is related to the female oc (reader) in this, but more will come out with his teaser. if you have questions about this fic, my ask box is always open!

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[luvtak]

honeybee ✦ lhc

it’s a late night out with the boys, and all haechan wants is to take take you home…

✦ genre/tw est.relationship! disgusting levels of fluff!! haechan being the sweetest bf in the world! kisses, petnames, and talks of marriage!! reader has hair long enough to run your fingers through! unedited!!

✦ w/c 1301

✦ a/n i haven’t written for haechannie in maybe a year, but i missed him sm and im sooo excited for the comeback so here this is!! i hope you love it and it brings you the kind of quiet comfort that haechan brings in this fic <3 please remember to reblog and tell me how you feel!! xoxo

masterlist | requests now open!!

“I think he really loves you,” Mark says, his voice terribly honest, yours viciously hopeful in your response:

“You think?”

“Yeah, I mean… I’ve never seen him so quiet before.” Mark knows this could be seen as a bad thing, that Donghyuck’s usually vivacious personality being tuned to zero could be perceived as negative—like he wasn’t acting like himself—but he means that he seems more himself than ever before. The way your boyfriend looks at you, gentle and adoring, the way his energy hums with content rather than the erratic confidence it usually has… He’s fully inhabiting himself, instead of that familiar persona their job coats him in. “It’s like, he couldn’t get to sleep and now he’s finally resting.”

When you were little you thought love was shown in loud moments, when there’s nothing left to try but true loves kiss. You thought it would be like a fast paced pop song or a race car going off the tracks, but it’s not really…

“He makes me feel like that too,” you say shyly, looking across the room at where Donghyuck is laughing with Johnny. Sometimes, you feel so anxious you can’t eat or sleep, and can barely get the words out to ask for help… Yet, one look from your love and the world quiets.

You used to think love wakes things up, but really it lulls everything else to sleep. It’s just you and him, all alone in bed, serene and peaceful like a lullaby.

Your love is not found in those golden hour moments of heat and want, it’s in the blue, when the world is quiet and all you can hear is your breath.

Mark looks at you and smiles, a large goofy one that he usually only gives to Chenle or Jisung. His hand comes up to ruffle your hair and he tells you, earnest even in its humor, “I better be the best man at your wedding.”

It brings a swarm of evil insects to your tummy to think about marrying Hyuck, it would be too amazing—everything you’ve ever wanted. The nerves crawl up your spine and implant themselves in your chest cavity, the thought too brilliant to let yourself think of it calmly. Hyuck would look so beautiful, standing before you and your family and promising to love you forever… you could envision the way he would look, as pretty as a sunrise.

You turn to look at him again, watching as he moves closer to you, eyes sweeping over your figure. Every step closer to you is another deep breath, in and out… in and out…

“Whose wedding?” Hyuck asks, emerging beside you as easy as a breeze.

He’s so handsome today, bronze skin shining under the lamps, his heart shaped lips folding themselves into a large smile. Having him next to you eases the butterflies, that familiar quiet finding a home deep in your chest. If Mark notices the change in you, he doesn’t show it, he just quietly watches you both—a secret smile playing on his mouth.

“Yours obviously,” he says.

“Aish, Mark Lee, don’t get too excited.” Haechan’s eyes glint with mischief, his mouth curving into a sinister crescent moon. “You’re gonna have to wait a while, I won’t be a child bride.”

Your heart surges, it kills you to hear that surefire confidence—the way he’s talking about your future like something that isn’t in question, like it's going to happen no matter what.

Their conversation goes on for a while, going back and forth between jokes and the most disgusting displays of love two boys could show. You find yourself zoning out, falling into a deep calm of thoughts—all about him. Hyuck’s just so wonderful, so pretty in the lowlight of the bar. You can feel his hands softly flow through your hair, nipping the skin behind your ear with his fingers.

He loves you like this, soft and pliant in his hands, a flower he can put between the pages of a book and preserve forever. He wants to take you home, wrap you up in his blankets and clothes, and consume all of the soft kisses and sighs he can conjure out of you. It’s been eating at him all day, from the second you got out of your jammies and into your tight moonlit dress. He wishes he didn’t have to share you with anyone, wishes he could open his chest and move you in between his ribs.

It’s not that he doesn’t want anyone to see you together, he doesn’t want to keep you a secret—rather he wants to keep you safe; a fire is dangerous when there's too much oxygen.

“You okay, honey?” he whispers to you, drawing you in closer against his side.

You realize you’re alone, Mark back with all the boys—you can see him, giggling with Jaemin over something Renjun said. Hyuck is still smiling, but its softer now, the smile he only gives you.

“I’m okay, baby, just tired.”

“We can go home whenever you want,” He tells you, his eyes soft with affection. His hands come up to cradle your face, thumbs swiping the slopes of your cheek bones. If you were paying enough attention you’d notice the soft touches were in time with the song playing through the bar speakers… if you were paying more attention you’d see the boys looking over at you with barely concealed fondness, but as it is, you’re only looking at him.

“Okay, baby,” you say, voice soft and flushed with romance. “Take me home.”

Your words make him flush and smile wider than a full moon, how he loves knowing that home is together—he wishes he could snap his fingers and get you there faster, do without having to call a car and walk up the steps to your door. He would do anything to have you alone and warm under the covers, make any choice if it brings that moment closer.

He adores you any and every way that you come, yet the version of you now, makeup smudged and warm from one too many moscow mules, is a close favorite. You’re so special to him, a starfall that crash landed into his life, a parade of colors behind his eyes.

“I love you, honey bee.” He says, voice so quiet you can barely hear him, “You’ll let me tuck you in won’t you?” His smile is coming closer, hiding kisses in your hair and drawing secret hearts on the skin above your belt.

“I’ll let you tuck me in, Hyuckie,” You tell him, grinning as his kisses move closer to your lips—awkwardly swiping against your nose and cheeks before landing a toothful kiss onto your grin. “Just remember my goodnight kiss…”

He smiles infinitely bigger, if that's even possible, kissing you through his quiet giggles and replies,

“And your lullaby too, huh?”

You love him you love him you love him…

Quietly and loudly and everything in between, you love everything about him—in dreams and memories, in the daylight and once the stars come out… you love him so much.

You can’t wait to be in bed next to him, sharing smiles and breath, mirror images intertwined into and around each other.

“Don’t forget my bedtime story, baby.” You say, giggling as he nips your nose.

“I would never baby, I'm already writing it now,”

You can vaguely hear the boys heckling you, making kissy sounds and gagging, but the only thing that seems important is the way he’s looking at you. He loves you, you know he does, but you’ve never been so sure of it until now.

“I love you,” you tell him, and you know by the look in his eyes and the way his lips lift as they meet yours that he feels the same.

[withlovemark]

“imagine”

pairing: idol bf! haechan x reader

synopsis: you miss your boyfriend…a lot!

words: 2.8k

warnings: smut!, pillow-humping, masturbation (f), thigh riding, descriptions of sex, dirty talk, dirty mind, hyuck’s smirk, use of pet names: sweetheart, baby, pretty girl, use of the word slut, very very y/n coded

an: who else feeling absolutely crzy about hyuck lately? 👉👈

—

you’ve been a dirty girl — a perverted, naughty, horny girl.

but it’s not your fault!

blame it on hormones or ovulation or maybe the fact that your boyfriend has a career that takes him away on nights when you need him most. which is why you had to resort to this — humping your pillow at 2:00 a.m., frustratingly trying to get yourself off, imagining your boyfriend was here instead.

the clock on your nightstand glows that mocking red number as you straddle the thick body pillow wedged between your thighs, the dim lamp from across the room casting shadows over the rumpled sheets.

you’re stripped down to nothing, skin flushed and slick with a light sheen of sweat, breasts heaving with every desperate grind. the ache between your legs is unbearable.

fuck, you need him.

need his hands pinning you down, his cock stretching you wide, pounding into you until you scream.

you pressed your hips down harder, the soft fabric of the pillow rubbing against your swollen clit in a way that’s almost, but not quite, enough. a low whine escapes your lips as you rock forward, pussy parting around the seams, soaking the cotton with your arousal.

it’s pathetic, really.

how you’re reduced to this — rutting against an inanimate object like some animal in heat. but god, the friction sends sparks up your spine, making your nipples tighten into hard peaks.

you imagine haechan’s mouth on them, sucking roughly, teeth grazing just enough to sting.

“fuck, haechan,” you murmur into the empty room, your voice breathy and broken.

in your mind, he’s here — sprawled on the bed beneath you, his dark eyes locked on yours with that smug grin he wears when he knows exactly how wrecked you are. you picture his hands gripping your ass, guiding your movements as you ride him. your thighs clench around the pillow, mimicking the way you’d squeeze your hips and you grind faster, harder chasing that edge.

the pressure builds, hot and insistent, but it teases you, slipping away every time you think you’re close.

one hand snakes down to spread your folds, fingers circling your clit in tight, desperate loops while you thrust against the makeshift lover. your other hand pinches a nipple, twisting it until the pain mixes with pleasure, drawing a gasp from your throat.

you’ve tried every single action in his book of your body. and still…still…your orgasm doesn’t come.

it’s frustrating.

fantasies flood your brain — haechan flipping you onto all fours, slamming into you from behind, his balls slapping against your skin with every brutal thrust.

you’d beg for it, wouldn’t you?

“harder, hyuck, fuck me like you own me.” and he would. grunting your name, his fingers digging bruises into your hips as he fills you up, cum spilling deep inside until it drips down your thighs.

the clock tick to 2:09 now, the urge to release getting more frustrating with every minute that passes.

you hump the pillow harder and harder, the wet sounds of your pussy sliding against it filling the silence. your clit throbs under your fingertips, swollen and sensitive as you dip two fingers inside yourself, curling them to hit that spot that makes your toes curl — it barely does the job. it’s not his cock, thick and veined, pulsing as it claims you, but it’s something. you pump your fingers in rhythm with your hips, imagining his tongue lapping at your entrance instead, devouring you like he’s starved.

sweat beads on your forehead, trickling down your temple as you desperately chase release. your breaths come in short pants, hips snapping erratically now, whining as you start to lose your patience.

in your head, haechan’s whispering filthy things, “that’s it, ride my dick, you needy slut,” his voice low and sultry in your ear.

the fantasy pushes you closer, your walls fluttering around your fingers, arousal coating your hand and the pillow beneath. but still, frustration claws at you — it’s not enough. not without his weight on top of you, his scent surrounding you, his cum marking you as his.

you were so lost in your self-pleasure, hips grinding down relentlessly on the soaked pillow, that you didn’t even realize the bedroom door creaking open.

it was supposed to be a surprise — haechan had caught an earlier flight than his schedule allowed, slipping through the front door quietly in the dead of night, excited to see you. but now, as he pushes open the door to your shared bedroom, all he can see is your naked back arched in the dim light, your ass cheeks flexing and bouncing with each desperate rut against the poor, abused, pillow. your moans fill the air, soft, whiny, needy, and his cock twitches instantly in his shorts, hardening as he takes in the sight.

he pauses in the doorway, leaning against the frame, immediately turned on by the raw desperation of it all. he can’t help but cock his head to the side, watching you for a bit longer, eyes darkening with lust, a smirk curling his lips as he drinks in every roll of your hips, every whimper that escapes your mouth.

finally, he speaks, voice low and teasing, “having fun there, sweetheart?”

you freeze at the sound of his voice, heart slamming in your chest as you whip your head around, eyes wide with shock.

there he is — your boyfriend. standing in the doorway, looking every bit like all the wet dreams you’ve had for the past month.

“hyuck! what are you doing here?” you gasp, scrambling off the pillow in a frantic scramble, your thighs sticking together from the mess you’ve made. heat floods you cheeks, burning hot with embarrassment as you snatch at the sheets in an attempt to cover yourself, but it tangles around your legs instead.

he chuckles softly, that devilishly, signature smirk widening as he kicks the door shut behind him and saunters into the room, “please, don’t stop on my account,” he says, his gaze raking over your flushed, naked body without a shred of shame, lingering on your peaked nipples.

“i–uh–i—,” you’re a stammering mess now, words tumbling out incoherently as you try to look anywhere but at him — the wall, the ceiling, the damn clock that’s now at 2:18, mortification twisting in your gut even as fresh heat pools between your legs merely because of his presence.

haechan finds your flustered state utterly cute, and he can’t help but chuckle again, the sound warm, affectionate, teasing, as he closes the distance between you in a few easy strides. his fingers find your chin gently, tilting your face up so you’re forced to meet his eyes, dark, amused and already hungry.

“it’s okay, baby,” he murmurs, thumb brushing over your lower lip, “i get it…it’s frustrating being away from each other, isn’t it?”

you nod your head slowly, eyes wide and glassy, still reeling from the surprise and the way his touch sends sparks straight to your core. your belly immediately tightening at his closeness, his familiar scent making your mouth water.

“tell me, my pretty girl,” he continues, voice dropping to that husky timbre that always makes you weak, “how can i help?”

“want my cock?” he adds after a beat, his smirk widening as his free hand trailed down to palm himself through his shorts, the outline of his thickening length visible even in the low light.

you clear your throat, swallowing hard, the words sticking in your throat before you finally whisper, “no…,” barely audible, shy but laced with need, “-not yet.”

he looks at you with an amused glint in his eye, eyebrow arching as he releases your chin but doesn’t step back, “then what does my baby want?”

your cheeks flame hotter but the ache between your legs wins outs over the embarrassment, “y-your thighs,” you confess, the words rushing out in a breathy plea and it turns him on even more, his cock jumping visibly in his loose shorts, a low groan escaping his throat at the filthy admission.

without another word, haechan takes a seat on the edge of your bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. he pats his lap invitingly, then reaches for you, hands gripping your waist to help you over him, his shorts riding up as he spreads his legs slightly, exposing the delicious, meaty expanse of his thigh — thick and firm, the skin smooth and warm under your trembling fingers.

“go ahead, baby,” he says, voice rough with arousal as he settles you onto his leg, your slick pussy pressing directly against the hard muscle of his thigh. his hands slide up to your hips, holding you steady but not guiding — letting you take control, “show me everything you imagine when i’m not here.”

you bite your lip, hesitation melting away as the heat of his body seeps into yours. slowly, you start to move, rolling your hips forward so your swollen clit drags along the ridge of his thigh. the friction is immediate and intoxicating – firmer than the pillow, warmer, alive with the subtle flex of his muscle beneath you.

a moan slips out unbidden, your hands bracing on his shoulders for leverage as you grind down harder, your arousal smearing across his skin, each slide smoother, wetter, hotter.

haechan watches you intently, his breath hitching as he feels the heat of your pussy against him, “fuck, yeah, just like that pretty — ride my thigh just like that,” he mutters, one hand squeezing your ass to encourage you, “tell me everything baby, what exactly were you thinking about while you were abusing that pillow, hmm?”

there’s a wicked smirk on his lips and you know he’ll hold this moment over your head forever but you couldn’t care less. not when his other hand trails up your side, thumb flicking over your nipple, pinching it lightly to draw out a gasp from you, exactly how you imagined.

you rock faster now, the pressure building anew, your folds parting around the thick width of his leg as you chase the heat. the words spill out between pants, embarrassment mixing with the raw need pulsing through you, “i-i was imagining you here, hyuck….your hands gripping my hips, pulling me down onto your cock…fucking me so deep i could feel every inch stretching my pussy.”

your clit throbs against him, every grin sending jolts of pleasure up your spine, juices coating his thigh in a glistening trail. you lean forward, forehead pressing against his for a moment, voice breaking, “god, i missed you...every night without you, i ache for this—your skin on mine, fucking me the way only you can.”

your confessions leave him breathless and before you can continue — he pulls you closer, crashing his lips against yours in a hungry kiss. his tongue dives in, tasting your moans as it tangles with yours, wet and demanding.

you kiss him back fiercely, hips still rolling steadily, head spinning. his free hand cups the back of your neck, holding you there. the kiss only breaks when you both need air, strings of saliva connecting your lips briefly.

he shifts his leg slightly to give you more friction, the muscle tensing under your pussy, pressing right up against your entrance

“keep talking, baby. did you picture me flipping you over? fucking you from behind?” his fingers dig into your ass, spreading you wider so your pussy lips splay open against his skin, the cool air teasing your exposed hole as you slide back and forth.

“yes,” you whimper, but he silences you with his mouth again, kissing you deeply as your hips snap in a desperate rhythm. the wet slap of your soaked folds against his thigh echoes in the room, muffled slightly by the sounds of your shared breaths.

“i—i saw you bending me over the bed, your cock pounding my ass, balls slapping my clit... filling me with your cum until it leaked out,” you admit, voice cracking with emotion, tears pricking your eyes from the intensity, “—missed you so much, hyuck—your scent, your voice whispering dirty things in my ear, your body pinning me down.”

haechan's cock strains harder against the fabric, a dark spot forming from his own precum, but he doesn't touch it — focused entirely on pleasing you, on drawing out every filthy detail.

he captures your mouth in a brief, bruising kiss, tongues battling as his hand slides up to tangle in your hair, then pulls back, “missed me that bad?,” he asks teasingly, smirking, but under it all is a hint of adoration he only had reserved for you.

“say it again — tell me how much you need your boyfriend's thigh to get off because i wasn't here to fuck you raw.”

you nod frantically, grinding down with everything you have, the friction building that sweet, unbearable pressure. your breaths come in ragged gasps, body trembling as you hump faster, clit pulsing wildly, sweat slicking your skin where it presses against his chest, nipples dragging over his shirt with each roll of your hips.

“missed you, hyuck... need your thighs wrapped around me, your cock buried deep—fuck, i touched myself every night thinking of you.”

he leans in for a quick, teasing peck before murmuring against your lips, “that's my girl,” his voice rough as he flexes his thigh again.

he chuckles darkly, “so desperate, rutting that pillow like a slut in heat. imagine my tongue instead — lapping up all that wetness while you beg for more,” his hand sliding between your legs from behind, fingers teasing your entrance without penetrating, just circling the rim, collecting your slick to smear it higher up his thigh.

he steals another kiss, deep and possessive, swallowing your whimpers as his thumb presses lightly on your perineum, adding pressure that makes stars burst behind your eyelids, “soak me—make a mess on my thigh like the needy girl you are.”

his words spur you on, hips snapping in a rhythm that's frantic and desperate, the wet sounds of your pussy sliding against him filling the room alongside your shared pants. he leans in, lips brushing your ear, “you look so fucking hot like this—getting off on my thigh because you couldn't wait.”

the coil in your belly tightens unbearably, nails digging into his shoulders as you hump his thigh harder, faster. his hands roam — gripping your breasts, rolling your nipples between his fingers.

“come for me, sweetheart,” he urges, voice gravelly, “show me how bad you needed this.”

“fuck—hyuck—i’m—” you manage to cry out, the words dissolving into a moan as the orgasm crashes over you. hard. your pussy convulses, walls fluttering desperately around nothing as waves of pleasure rip through your body.

you grind down hard one last time, juices squirting out in hot spurts, soaking his thigh completely—dripping down his leg and pooling on the sheets beneath. your thighs quake around him, nails raking his shoulders as you shudder through the release. haechan's strong hands hold you in place, murmuring encouragement into a final, tender kiss that grounds you.

as the tremors fade, you collapse against his chest, panting, pussy still twitching against the slick, cum-drenched skin of his thigh. he strokes your back gently, but the hunger in his eyes hasn't dimmed. his fingers trace lazy circles along your spine while the other hand gripped your hip possessively.

he tilts your chin up with a knuckle, capturing your gaze, his lips curving into that wicked smirk you love, “you did so good for me, baby,” he murmurs, voice low and gravelly, before leaning in to brush a soft kiss against your forehead, then your temple, trailing down to your jaw. the tenderness contrasts with the hard bulge pressing insistently against your side, his cock throbbing through his shorts, begging for attention.

you shift slightly, feeling the sticky warmth between your legs, body already humming with aftershocks and fresh anticipation. he chuckles softly, the sound vibrating through his chest as he pulls you into a deeper kiss — slow and sweet.

when he breaks away, his breath fans hot over your ear, “i missed you too…so much,” he whispers, his voice softening with genuine warmth, eyes locking onto yours with that rare vulnerability, “every second away from you sucked ass.”

you giggle at his choice of words, nuzzling closer, “i’m glad you're home now…i love it when you’re here, with me.”

the moment hangs, sweet and intimate, his arms wrapping tighter around you, pulling you flush against his body as if he never wants to let go.

but after a while, the air thickens with desire again, and he grins, that playful edge returning, “now... let me take care of you and give you what you actually want…gonna flip you over, spread those legs wide, and fuck you until you're screaming my name — filling that tight pussy with my cum, just like you dreamed about,” he whispered, quickly flipping you onto your back, body hovering over yours, that devilish smirk back on his lips.

[jirsungs]

love, laundry, and lunches ☆ l.dh

pairing: nonidol!haechan x fem!reader

love, laundry, and lunches synopsis: while you're stuck at the office fulfilling your duties as a social media manager from 9 AM to 5 PM, your beloved husband, donghyuck, often finds himself torn between hiding from your three kids to make a surprise visit to see you or ensuring they are sleeping safe and sound and the house isn't caught on fire by the time you come home.

it should be pretty simple and straightforward. and it is. but for your family? it's anything but.

contents: househusband!haechan, coporate worker!reader, marriedlife!au, parents!au, fluff, suggestive, petnames for reader & their kids, established relationship, hyuck being a stressed girl and boys dad 😭😭😭😭, 7dream + 127 mentioned as uncles!

a/n: i've always wanted to do a drabble/mini series like this soooo... i started it 😅 this'll come in handy every time i lose brain power for school work and would rather write fluffy cute stories on a google doc. IMPORTANT: this series isn't meant to follow an upload schedule, as it's simply whenever inspiration hits me!

comment if you wish to tag along on the cute adventures of these parents as they navigate their personal dreams and strive to be the best parents they can be!

taglist is open and all chapters are in no order and can be read as standalones. happy reading <3

THE BEFORE!

episode one: NEVER trust dating apps

after many failed attempts to find a suitable lover, donghyuck realizes that he's stuck and, though he doesn't want to admit it, lonely. so, he's left with his last desperate option: find love the only way this modern society can. through a dating app, of course!

THE DURING!

episode one:

episode two:

episode three:

episode five: ...and marry me?

the time in donghyuck's life when he discovers even the messy, chaotic moments in life can be considered a grand marriage proposal when you're as awesome as him. or in short: the day he finally goes down on one knee.

& THE AFTER!

episode one: laundry loony

with you still at work, donghyuck brings his kids along to the laundromat after not being able to find a sitter and discovers that it would've been a lot easier if he left them at home.

episode two: "love, dada <3" notes on lunches

donghyuck may not be an early bird or the most passionate cook in the world, but the daily notes he writes on his kids' lunches make it all worth it.

episode three: "love, your amazing awesome hilarious husband who can't wait till you come home <3" notes on lunches

donghyuck's still not an early bird or passionate about cooking, but his little morning moments consisting of you, warm coffee, waking up the kids, and a kiss on his lips before you walk out the door make it all worth it.

episode four: date night gone... right?

with the majority of the (trustworthy) bros being booked and busy on date night, you and donghyuck are left with one last option, which you both may or may not regret. leave chenle and jisung alone to babysit your three kids.

episode five: like father, like son

after getting a surprise call from your oldest son's school, donghyuck realizes one thing: like father, like son.

episode six: mr. & mrs. lee

donghyuck adores you, and he never shys away from doing so, which explains why you happen to forget that there are many women who adore him, specifically at an office party for your job.

episode seven: third time's a charm!

after planning so many birthday parties, you'd assume you and donghyuck to be experts at acknowledging that your kids are growing up. wrong. because what do you mean your daughter's already one year old and tears are pouring before the cake is even sliced?

more to come. . .

© JIRSUNGS 2024-2026. ANY TRANSLATIONS/REPOSTS/PUBLISHES OF MY WORKS ON ANY PLATFORM ARE STRICTLY PROHIBITED! ALL COMMENTS, REBLOGS, LIKES, & FEEDBACK ARE GREATLY APPRECIATED! THANK YOU SO MUCH! I LOVE YOU, MWA! <3

[diorcities]

smoke 𝓡𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼

pairing: haechan, donghyuck x afab!reader. genre: an attempt of humor, smut (it happens but not the main plot). content: a lot of movie references, reader is a bit goofy, college au, coming of age, idiots to lovers, mutual pining, bestfriend!haechan, stoner!haechan, badboy!hyuck, racer!hyuck. use of condoms, drug consumption, alcohol consumption, use of vibrator, mention of virginity, haechan is a jealous womanizer, donghyuck is actually a sweetheart, high sex, oral sex, pussy drunk hae, multiple orgasms, fingering. featuring: johnny, 7dream.wc: 29k an: couldn't kill my darlings so bear w me. the world building is a bit slow but it'll catch up the pace pretty quickly!! the writing and prose is a bit different from what i'm used to. tagging: @yesohhsehun —lmk any misspelling, ty playing: alive empire of the sun ; ribs lorde ; tongue tied grouplove ; can i call you tonight? dayglow ; backburner niki ; i could be the one avicii ; why'd you only call me when you're high? arctic monkeys ; bad omens 5sos ; i wanna be yours arctic monkeys ; little freak harry styles ; heroes david bowie. description: haechan and yn have known each other since they were five years old, and have been inseparable ever since. they come as a pair and do everything together; maybe they're destined to get married and all that, maybe that's why they both suck on dates. after a series of romantic disasters, they both conclude that maybe they belong to each other, but a lot of obstacles stand in the way of finding out, and one of them is haechan's twin brother: lee donghyuck.

the apartment smelled like a cigarettes after sex song.

living across four good looking guys seems like the dream of any first-year college student from jeju island and the fanciful idea that one of them would fall in love with her, if it weren't for the fact that what you've collected from actually being the girl next door comes down to their incredible abilities to cajole girls and non-commitment treaty; it seemed that romanticism is dead for them, just like the smell that emanates as if there were a deceased animal in their dorms.

the idea of that village girl soon died too.

you dislike it, of course. they probably wouldn't get away with everything they do if they were a little less good-looking. they would have to be expected to get the odds on their favor, like lucky charms; if you rub their dicks you get three wishes…, or something like that.

so when you go to their dorms moved my desire, three pairs of heads turn toward you while watching tv when they alert your presence. “hi, yn,” they say in unison as you head to their fridge.

the truth is that between the four of them, they don't put together a functional neuron, and they're pretty okay with you assaulting their fridge every weekday…, so you guess you're okay with it.

“don't mind me. i ran out of eggs for a omelet, i promise to do groceries tomorrow…” your words die little by little when you find everything but eggs, “uh... why are there underwear in the fridge?”

a spoiled blond boy comes jogging up to you in a bathrobe that reveals more than is necessary. jisung giggles nervously as his hands rush to close the opening of the only piece of clothes he's got a friday night, taking the garment from your hands, “those would be mine.”

“why...?” you start asking before you think of better questions, such as how could they live in this pigsty? looking at the mini football table used as a pile of dirty laundry.

“well, it's cold outside, and i don't have a dryer, of course...” his eyes widens and sparkle as an idea runs through his mind, “can i use your hair dryer? pretty please.” you stare at his hands joined in prayer, and his eyes large and bright.

“sure…” he grins and mutters a victory while you keep thinking you’re hundred percent sure he can afford a washing machine with dryer. “so you've been washing this by hand?” you’re also sure he hasn’t thought of that one yet.

“no. i wash them in the shower,” he answers, obviously.

that'd explain why he's in a bathrobe.

a smug eyebrow shoots upwards and you hold back a silly smile. “with you?” you watch him nod and your grin falter, “why don't you use the tub? that way you can wash all of them at the same time.”

he squints, “i hadn't thought about that one. yn, you're a genius.”

his skin is cold and soft and his hair tickles your cheek when he hugs you fleetingly. “honey, i meant that you don't have to bathe with them…”

jisung ignores your words as he thanks you greenly before you can even think why no one has told him that til now… then you remember a couple of similar scenarios perpetrated by his roommates, and why it makes sense they didn't.

your eyes sweep the room, noticing that something is missing. there's jisung who finds himself in a bathrobe at ten o'clock at night, mark the illicit racer who nibbles on his nails and seems on the verge of an anxious collapse. and there's jaemin the part time bartender at your favorite café, reading the newspaper.

“where's haechan?” you ask, suddenly dead curious.

jisung glances at the living room as if he barely notices that the characteristic silly boy is missing. “oh, he's not here.”

“no way, sherlock,” mark mumbles under his breath, moving to another position on the couch.

jaemin gives him a sidelong glance causing mark to shrug unapologetically, before he closes the newspaper like an old soul and answers you, “tutoring a girl from our law class.”

you see, the irony is exquisite but the word conceals another implicit meaning of which you're aware.

but more important, it leads you to realize something deep and uncertain.

“d'you mean he's…?”

“if it's anything to do it, i think she's way out of his league,” jisung compensates, putting on the underwear underneath his robe. “i don't think he'll make it to third base.”

“i don't think he'll make it to first base,” mark replies.

despite their attempts to counter that he's probably quite sunk in a girl's throat right now, you still can't believe it. pronouncing it is not so easy to digest either.

“guys, don't be mean. he's got game!” given the honey-eyed boy's antics, you very much doubted it was true. only, until now, you hadn't noticed it.

“he's with ryunjin,” mark points out.

“yeah, he's not gonna make it,” you conclude.

of course haechan is a heartthrob. you always expect to find him in some empty classroom making out with someone, or walk into his room to find him smoking a joint. he tutors girls because marijuana and alcohol haven't been able to fry the last neurons in his brain so then he can get money for weed. to even think he also does it to have an excuse to go to their apartment and get laid makes you… uneasy.

of all things, it was a fact that haechan was partly hot and partly idiotic.

“are you okay?” jisung asks you, carefully.

you remove the palm from your forehead, almost lost, “so does this means…?” three pairs of eyes look at you bathed in different emotions expectantly just as you wet your lips to pronounce, “haechan's not gay?”

just as if he had been summoned by telepathy, the fourth member of a three-room apartment appears through the front door, and consequently, all of you hold your breath in expectation.

haechan sports his dark straight hair parted in half that forms two commas on his face. his olive skin highlights his features and makes him look very, very attractive. but of course, what he has of handsome he has of asshorse.

“gay? who's gay?” haechan sweeps his eyes over your frozen faces in complete confusion until he bursts into laughter and his cheeks take on a warm color. “see? i told you not to wear those silly clothes, jaemin.”

the boy allows him to pat his shoulders while he smiles smugly. he's also sporting his best cologne and has put on one of his fluffy jackets; and until recently you now know that he's done all of that to see a girl.

jaemin stares into the void until the sunny boy moves to another place of interest: the fridge. his eyes beams as if it contains stars waiting to find something in it, then everything goes out. even his smile fades away.

mark shifts in the chair and looks at haechan staring inside, “uh, where's my pot?” his hands rummage the few things in the fridge in search of it, almost incredulous.

“i threw it away.” four pairs of eyes go to jaemin, who remains oddly calm.

“you mean you flushed it away,” jisung corrects, holding up a finger.

haechan's face freezes into an indescribable grimace and then you realize the reason behind mark's chaotic behavior: he’s in drug abstention.

“what do you mean you flushed it away?” you wonder.

“down the toilet.” haechan makes a muffled sound.

even though you're close to him, you barely manage to decipher the low and strangled noise he makes next. “come again, darling?” you ask, rubbing his back.

his lips move closer to your ear as the others watch the scene. letting out a heavy sigh, you reluctantly say, “haechan says he won't speak to you anymore. that... you shouldn't have done that... that..., that was eighty dollars worth of weed, h-how dare you, huh?” you repeat out loud on the go.

“new house policy.”

“what does that even mean?”

“no parties on weekdays. no girls...”

“GIRLS?” jisung makes a mockery of fainting.

“in plural, you're good,” mark explains, biting his nails.

“and no weed.” until that last, haechan had handled the situation calmly, though you were beginning to believe that he was in denial.

“how did you manage to flush eighty dollars worth of weed down the toilet?” you say after haechan's whispering.

“he put in on a blender,” mark explains.

haechan's eyes fill with indignation. “you make smoothies in a blender! juices! cocktails!”

“chocolate milk,” jisung adds all of a sudden.

you witness the rift forming on both sides. the palpable tension mixing with the smell of illicit substances in the apartment.

it makes you want to do something, certainly. although you couldn't deny that despite wanting the "girl from the island" to vanish, you still found this somewhat excitingly hot. you could just intervene, make them reconcile, calm the waters; you...

you just wanted eggs for your omelet.

when the silence settled after heated words were exchanged between both parts —and jisung, you announce your farewell.

“wait, you're leaving?”

suddenly, everyone is aware that you are a little overdressed just to cook some omelets a friday night…, which you're not.

“nice skirt.” jisung's eyes form two crescents as they run down your legs before haechan hits him in the back of the head, causing the blond to murmur an apology with a laugh.

“got plans?” he’s the one who asks with wonder, eyes glued to you as you nod and send him a wink you’re sure he gets it.

“the ring.”

haechan chuckles shortly, stretching the right corner of his lip up in a haughty grimace. “how do you know about the ring, bumble bee?”

“chaeyoung introduced me to it,” you say proudly.

haechan's features soften when you smile. “does she know that you sleep with stuffed animals?”

“haechan!” your mouth opens in awe, watching others pretend they haven't listened. “they're not... they are collectibles!”

he clicks his tongue, rubbing the place you hit him. “you're not meant for the ring.”

“i am so meant for the ring.”

it was customary for students to gather at one point, isolated and confined from the city to carry out certain illicit activities. illegal races, drugs, and others were common in these meetings where their whereabouts were usually said minutes before they started.

“you're too sweet,” he replies in a remark, and your jaw almost hit the floor.

well, it was partially true that the meetings bordered on the deathly side, but you come from a small island where the only dangerous thing is to get hit by a bicycle; someone forgive you for wanting to taste a little adrenaline for the sake of your soothing young soul.

the others watch you argue heavily and somewhere in between, jisung scratches his head.

“i'm pretty sure they're talking in code,” jisung refers to the others, with narrowed eyes. “maybe some jewel or jeweler.”

jaemin pats his shoulder and comes in the second you and haechan stop murmuring at hearing what the blond just said. “well, fare you well. goodbye!”

you stop jaemin from pushing you to the exit to look at jisung with amusement. “wait, they haven't taken you?”

surprising? no.

the euphoria and danger of the moment blended together like a psychedelic cocktail. the guest list was a bit narrow and confidential, in case of informants. some students skipped the challenge of going while others were totally oblivious that things like that existed.

“to the ring?” jisung tries, opening his crescent eyes.

jaemin makes a gesture behind him to stop you from revealing anything else as haechan reaches out to him, in tenderly affection.

“you're still a baby.”

“i'm twenty three, though,” he chuckles. “wait, you guys knew about the ring?” he wonders, emphasizing the name funnily.

“yeah. maybe. no, not really...” the boys say one after the other.

“then, good news!” you say next, excited.

“she'll buy us groceries tomorrow,” jisung interrupts you, smiling smugly even though he has a fortune greater than yours.

haechan's eyes gleamed with emotion, hands grabbing yours as he puts the best performance in his galore “would you buy us some food?”

“of course, yeah. i meant another good news,” you correct, dancing your eyebrows to jisung. “the ring, tonight. there will be a lot of fun,” you mention, slowly, eyes darting to haechan in confidentiality; then he looks at you, totally oblivious.

“i'm not in the mood tonight, jaemin threw away my medicinal herbs.”

jaemin rolls his eyes, “yeah, me and jisung pass too.”

“do we?” the younger looks at him clueless.

you look at jaemin, dumbfounded. “what, why? sometimes no one gets shot.”

jaemin narrows his eyes and approaches you as if you were his new sworn enemy. “there will be drugs, baby.”

“okay, let's get going!” haechan shouts and you stifle a belated laugh.

he starts pushing you toward the door, suddenly changing his mind and looking strangely excited, just as mark has a surge of energy from the couch.

“can i come with you?”

“sure,” you downplay its importance. “everyone can come.”

“are your girlfriends coming?” jisung asks, very excited.

“they are,” you say, tapping his shoulder playfully. “so? i drive,” you ask the rest, watching mark's eyebrows come together.

the boy sweeps the room, counting the heads, and as far as you can see, his math doesn't add up. “we'd be too much for your car, wouldn't we?”

“don't you worry about it.” you and haechan share glances; although his seems a little hesitant.

forty-three minutes later, you find yourself on the dimly lit street of your residential complex. the sky is dark and devoid of moon and stars, while small snowflakes begin to levitate in the air. it is june and it has starts to snow in the city, where five friends warm up each other in the freezing night.

“i present to you: my ride.”

mists come from your lips in the cool night, and your cold-flushed fingers point at your parents' best gift that they lent you for college a week ago.

“is it... behind that ugly van?” jisung wonders, burying his hands in his jean jacket; cheeks tinted with a pink color due to the cold.

haechan hides his high-pitched laugh behind a fake cough and you roll your eyes. “that is my ride. say hello to gertrude,” you announce, unlocking the bodywork, “she's the best on the block. she has speakers, gps, lights, a sunroof, and... sliding doors!” you say, effusive. your eyes glance expectantly at the boys, sharing looks with each other. “okay, never mind. have fun walking to the party.”

“oh, my god! a van! dang!” they exclaim, voices layering on top of each other as they slowly approach the van.

“at least pretty girls are coming with us,” jisung mutters reluctantly as he enters the back seat.

“chaeyoung and liz?” you wonder through the rearview mirror. “of course! they're already there, my friend.”

you see the reaction to your words live when he slides nostalgicly into the seat until he rests his head on the backrest, just as you shout with crescent excitement, “seat belts on, kids.”

 ʚïɞ

as you make your way through the bodies in the vibrant gloom of fishing port outside of the city, haechan stands in the other corner of the party, shuffling a deck of cards in the company of several people around him.

his fingers are snappy, teeth catching his lower lip in concentration while he and mark exchange some words before the game begins and the bets start to come in. you're still amazed at his skill with his hands, passing the cards from one to the other while shuffles them that you don't realize when you bump into your friends.

“what?!” liz yells in your direction when she sees you approaching, too busy by the way, making out with her boyfriend.

“i didn't say anything!”

“oh.”

her fingers points behind you to the drink chaeyoung offers you when she arrives. “you made it!” they both start jumping around you in celebration.

“yeah. why wouldn't i?” you ask, slightly curious. the blonde and the brunette share a look that reveals a lot of the message. “oh, my god. why does everyone hate my van all of a sudden? it has taken us to our destination on numerous occasions.”

“i'm just saying you've been saving lately, you could just buy yourself a car.”

“but she's special to me!”

it was… moderately true. but you were hoping to spend your savings on something worthwhile. besides, what's wrong with it? it may be a prehistoric old lady, with dents, and worn paint, but it had been a gift from your parents... after they got a pickup truck recently.

preserving it meant holding onto that piece of home you were homesick for. every scratch, every sticker, every worn seat held a story of adventures. selling it felt like letting go of a part of yourself, a tether to your past that you weren't ready to let go.

“as long as it rolls,” liz tags your side playfully.

you toast clinking your beer with hers and drinking it in one gulp, almost choking with it when you spot something in the crowd, “oh, my god. there he is again.”

“mmm?” chaeyong says, looking everywhere, “who?” she watches you cover your face as your eyes travel to the figure of the boy on the other side of the party.

“jeno?” liz inquires unexpectedly, miraculously separating from her boyfriend.

“he's one of the racers.” chaeyoung stim.

“well, he won't stop staring at me, he's like obsessed,” you mention.

you and chaeyoung remove your sunglasses and peek a glance at the boy with his back turned having a pleasant conversation with a girl before he senses your eyes across the room and looks over his shoulder; he stares back at you with a mixture of emotions that don't convey anything pleasant.

“yeah... obsessed. not at all that he hates you,” chaeyoung mocks.

you chuckle, “i swear!”

“perhaps you should stop hooking up with guys and ghost them afterward,” she says nonchalantly as she stares at jeno longer, “or... maybe when you go on dates, avoid bringing up the dick of your friend like he's some sort of your impossible love.”

you're too stunned to speak, “what- i don't do that— first of all, haechan's not a dick. second of all, i have a bad memory, unfortunately. and i think you’re lying.”

“i’m not.”

you cross your arms, smugly and one hundred percent sure, “give me an example then.”

“the ghosting thing or the second? cause i can think of some. eric,” she pronounces, “shotaro, jaehyun, let's not forget about jaehyun. mingi...”

“okay, i got your point.” reluctantly, “but that doesn’t explain why he hates me.”

“you threw your beer on him the other day,” liz answers, taking a break from french kissing her boyfriend in a public space.

“but why i don’t remember?”

“you were wasted as fuck.”

“well, accidents happen…” you trail off.

“you took his after.”

oh.

“i'll go get us more beer,” chaeyoung laughs, giving liz an eye, “just for us,” she adds, looking away after seeing her and chenle tongue-kissing.

as chaeyoung leaves you alone to fetch drinks, you wander aimlessly through the crowd, surrounded by swirling lights. the bubbling beer encourages you to join the swaying of bodies, carried away by the euphoria and debauchery of the night that slip from your memories, like hazy reminiscences.

a guy makes his way towards you smiling like a charm, before your eyes register his face drain of color and disappear the way he came. “what the fuck?” you breathe, running your tongue through your teeth just to make sure you didn't have a piece of broccoli stuck between them. but it turns out that, to your relief, it had nothing to do with you and more of this lurking sensation behind your back only to find jeno making his way to you.

alcohol evaporates from your system with a snap of your fingers as you unconsciously remember the suspicion that he hates you from your friend, so you flee to the golden boy's shelter.

haechan's eyes fill with pure amusement when he sees you arrive laughing where he's with mark and jisung; very high. very exaggerated. “hae, you're so funny.”

“haven't said anything, gorgeous,” he chuckles in awe.

you laugh more, wiping away a tear. “may i?” you point to his lap and sit down simultaneously when he agrees.

his tongue pokes his cheek where stars form an uneven triangle as you wrap your arms around his neck, getting closer. “what?” you inquire nervously under his gaze.

he hums casually, denying.

he has a cigar tucked behind his ear that he proceeds to hold between his fingers. “fire,” he says in jisung's direction, where the boy very promptly hurries to take out the lighter.

your fingers grasp the cold object when mark lights his doobie and hands it to you, igniting the flame for him.

haechan takes the cigarette between his lips and comes closer to the fire, the hot light bathing his golden features. some strands of his hair burst into melted honey as he takes a deep puff before his hand lands on your bare back in an unmeditated gesture, blowing the smoke out into the starless sky when he leans back.

you take the opportunity to take a look around, hoping jeno is enjoying the show. nervousness and butterflies start to blossom in your gut when he's nowhere to be found just as haechan leans dangerously towards you and you're able to smell the essence of weed when his lips go to your ear. “you're moving too much, sweetheart.”

he moves away from you to scan you, and you can't figure out why you're out of breath so suddenly for the dimensioning. “are you drunk?” he asks suddenly.

“i can't sit on your lap like good buddies?” you ask, punching his arm slightly, but he's very unfazed.

“buddies,” he repeats, thinking out loud as his lips take another puff. “yeah, we're buddies. and you're basically chasing away my chances to hook up tonight.”

you roll your eyes, “should i get off...?”

“no need,” he cuts you off.

you've known haechan for as long as you can remember. he's been your firsts times of everything. he's your best friend. although sometimes it feels like something more*.* and feeling special is the same as feeling stupid, because for haechan, acting like this, means nothing.

he likes to exist in the middle of the lines.

he moves and everything suddenly glows around him, in his path. it's impossible not to stare at him. it's easy for him as well; he's good-looking, he's delicate and relaxed. he's open and kind. he lets everyone in, but no one stays.

you're a bad friend, aren't you? thinking of him romantically. doing it when you know now that he has never been interested in you in that way but now with the newfound knowledge of why; it's hard to act like before when you know he's surprisingly attracted to girls, and he's never flirted with you even though he does it the way he breathes.

“is he already jealous?”

your eyes shoot out at haechan, staring at you with suspicion and victory as he hits the nail on the head easily, referring to your intense attention to your surroundings in case you see jeno on your radar. “what- don't be silly.” you try to lighten the mood and downplay it, but it doesn't work much.

his fingers come close to your ear, and bring up a 100 bill that he surely won gambling, or betting, or solving tests for other people, as if saying 'i don't buy it, but good try' “are you using me, sweetheart?”

fighting against it it's not worth it; what is handsome about him is that he's also clever.

“maybe. can i borrow your attention from the girls for a sec?

an untamed emotion washes over his features, as you feel him fix underneath your weight, pelvis pressing fleetingly into you. the sudden perception of his crotch poking your dressed ass leaves you flustered and fuzzy; you must put all your willpower into thinking the distracted motion was just you imagining differently than it was.

but when your eyes fall on him, you see him blush.

he looks hauntingly beautiful under the influence of alcohol. the lights reflect off his tanned skin, and he glows. dark eyes that melt like chocolate when the light hits the metal chains around his neck, honeycomb hair messy revealing his forehead and his eyebrows, moving slightly.

“all yours.”

smiling back is unavoidable. he's magnetic. he makes time go slowly. he's effortlessly handsome and alluring, an untamed wild aura envelops his moves when he looks away and strips you of his attention, leaving you stranding in the dark because he has that effect on people.

he has that effect on you.

he clears his throat at one point catching your attention from the black-haired boy striking up a conversation with chaeyoung at the other end of the cargo box. your eyes go down to him as you feel him tense beneath you. “too heavy?” you want to know, stung by curiosity.

“you're perfect.” he lets out a light laugh when you tap him gently, rolling your eyes. “but if you want to get him jealous, you might have to do something more risky than just sit on a guy's lap.”

your eyes open slightly, apprehensive, “like, what?”

he grins, “lap dancing.”

you see him burst out laughing under the effects of the pot, enhancing his mirth when he senses your distress.

your cheeks and neck burn from the comment said so lightly, throwing you off. “you're a dick.” you hit him, huffing.

but after seconds go by, you think about it seriously, “maybe i should.”

haechan coughs the smoke out of his lungs, caught in surprise by your answer. you see him choking wildly before he returns back to normal. your attentive eyes look at him, prompted. has he been flushed by what you've said?

“come here.” you're drawn to him without a warning. breaths mingling in the narrow space when haechan pulls you close, really close and your hair cascades down, covering your faces as he pretends to kiss you.

he smells like a wild mixture of weed and booze. the scents fill your receptors and clutter up your thoughts, getting you drunk and lightheaded. his warm hand plays with your neck while he smiles and you are too dumbfounded to get out of the trance you’re in because only a few centimeters are missing from your mouths touching.

“so who's he?” he wants to know, completely forgetting that he's only inches away from your face.

“you don't know him,” you say, gulping. is it just you?

haechan scoffs, and his licorice rum breath hits your lips, “i'll decide that.”

you turn away from him under his contemplating eyes, resisting the urge to bite your lip; haechan's eyes drop when you evidently end up doing so, pondering. “uh... jeno?”

“jeno,” he repeats as if he's convincing himself that you've actually said that name. as if he's entranced by the way you wet your lips.

“d'you know him?”

he hums.

“is he...?” **words don't come to you. is he dangerous? should you be careful with him? suddenly you want to know his opinion on the subject. suddenly you wish he'd keep his hand on your back a little longer.

“single?” he pronounces, “i don't give a fuck about that information, sweetheart. i suggest you look elsewhere.” his words hit you like a bucket of cold water and you find yourself hindered by such a drastic change of attitude. “starting with all the girls he takes to bed in one night.” from so close, you wish he couldn't see your expression shifting under his words. his lips are heart-shaped but nothing sweet comes out of them. because even though he's being cruel, you don't want him to notice it. you don't want him to know that he's hurt you.

“i wonder if they're the same ones you take to bed.”

he scoffs, “do your do.”

you step back a little to get a better look at the attitude he's taken so suddenly. “what does that even mean, haechan?”

“i need more of this...” he completely ignores your rhetoric and gets up from the chair with you, still on his lap. the movement causes you to stumble before the grip on your back becomes harder, preventing you from falling.

haechan gently taps your chin, overlooking your features contracting into a hurt grimace. the mere notion of him not finding you attractive enough hit you like a truck. 'cause only until tonight you had taken his disinterestedness as something else.

“you think he won't hook up with me.” words gush out of you with venom, drawing his attention.

“i just don't think you'd dare.”

“i've got game,” you point out.

“all losers, by the way. c'mon, pretty. you're not meant to be a one-night stand.”

the comment comes out of him so easily that it doesn't seem to be loaded with the most corrosive toxin that destroys your insides. the feeling of betrayal takes your breath away, and the fact that he was the one who uttered those words hurts like hell. “it's not like you're the god of sex either.”

haechan's eyes turn to you. “you want proof of that?”

“sure!”

“want me to show you, sweetheart?”

“i'd love that!”

he shrugs. “then do. your. do. if you dare.”

“fine!”

“fine!”

“hi!” a hand grabs haechan by the shoulder and spins him around; a girl with long, honey-colored hair smiles openly with extreme excitement under both of your confused stares. she's visibly lightweight by the way she holds her beer and the words come out slow and elongated. “minyeon? from earlier?” she tries to make him remember her even though it doesn't work much.

“you must've mistaken me for someone else,” he says in a tactless manner.

she tilts her head, “haechan, right?” followed by a nervous silence.

sometimes you forget how easy it is for haechan to straight up lie in people's faces to get away with it just the same way he hooks up and forget it the next minute. “i'll leave you two to catch up,” you say, deciding not to see how he gets rid of that one.

 ʚïɞ

haechan finds himself freezing his butt off while watching the brunette stoner of his friend smoke. he starts considering keeping him company or just leaving him while he finds a girl (or a couple of them) to hook up with, if not for the fact that he doesn't want to do either. it irks him not to be able to label that annoying emotion he feels at this moment.

“could you stop that fucking noise?” mark wonders, annoyed.

“what noise?”

“the whining.”

“i am not whining, i'm just breathing.”

“every time you breathe a noise follows,” mark retorts, taking a long hit before the race. “you're so punchable right now.”

haechan wants to strangle him. he could be stoned out of his mind too, except that he is so sober that it makes him angry. it makes him aware.

his eyes travel to the spot he's been staring at all night, to find you talking animatedly with jeno; the snort comes out of him without him noticing it when you laugh and lean closer to the boy, and mark whines.

“he seriously can't be funnier than me,” haechan remarks. “she's clearly flirting with him.”

“wanna know my take on this matter?” mark's tired voice catches haechan's attention for a few seconds. “i think you're mad because you can't tell jeno not to date yn the same way you did with us.”

“did i ask your opinion? no, i didn't... —and i did not do that. i couldn't fucking care less who she's dating.”

mark rolls his eyes, “then stop staring at her.”

“i. can't.”

does he really care much who you date? certainly not, given the dating history you've had; it hasn't affected him at all to see you hanging out with guys instead of him. to see you saving them the seat next to you at the café you frequent all the time, wearing their clothes.

above all, he doesn't imagine you kissing them, or laughing louder at their jokes, or their hands on your body, on the curve of your waist, your full legs, back, arms, face, stomach...

“oh, my god! dude. you're so jealous.”

haechan peels his eyes off you with his irises flaming to look at mark. his neck burns and he can't sit still feeling his whole insides blazing. “jealous?” he huffs, “i'm just bugged.”

“explain again why, i didn't catch the first one.”

“because she's...”

“forget it, i don't care.” haechan is cut by mark, and to his anger, he finds it soothing. luckily, the boy doesn't pay attention to the breath haechan lets out because he finds himself looking quite carefully at a single point in the crowd, where the same girl from before seems out of place.

mark doesn't even hesitate to go to her, leaving haechan alone with his mind, soon becoming a mess as he tries to articulate what he feels, struggling to make sense of why it infuriates him so much that you're talking to jeno, that you're smiling, that you let him hold you by the waist, that you allow him to lead you to a quieter, more intimate place. while he grapples with the conclusion of why you don't do all these things with him.

because you're his best friend.

you're his.

a girl surprises him by clinging to his neck without warning, and in another moment he would play along, but now he's quite upset and doesn't even find her attractive. “not now, ryu,” he mutters without sparing a glance at her, too busy with you.

mind too occupied to be distracted by her, too occupied thinking of you.

through the natural flow of events, a couple of beers, and your mind full of a hazy sensation, you may have made hasty decisions.

“you're so hot,” jeno whispers against your lips, breathing heavily.

his lips are deft. kisses tasting like beer and cigarettes. he moves his mouth over yours with the utmost delicacy and fierceness; his hands holding your face as his tongue fiddles before clashing with yours.

“i knew it!”

his hands gently encircle your waist.

“should we move this somewhere else?”

he doesn't stop for you to answer. between kisses, you say, “your place?”

jeno detaches himself from you with an amused look, “i race in a bit,” he points out, with an airy laugh. his eyes scan the place: leaning your body against a metal box on the outskirts of the party, with the smell of the dock coming towards you. the sky is starless, and apart from you, there is not a soul around. and yet, he seeks. “where's your car?”

“m-my car?” you repeat, pulling away to look him in the eye. he hums, staring at your lips, and because of that, you utter, “this way.”

your van is parked far away from the vibrant pulse of the party. the journey seems eternal. it's quiet. jeno lets you lead the way as you hear his footsteps on the gravel behind you. you've exchanged words with him for the first time tonight, given the fact all your friends know him; everyone knows him; he's won a couple of times in races. he's popular and as far as you're aware, he keeps everything casual. no hard feelings. no commitment.

his kisses have left your own judgment in disarray, clouding your clarity, and now you begin to see the severity of your rushed decisions. you find yourself yearning for something you believe he might fulfill tonight; you're so needy for someone.

“this is it. this is my car.”

jeno stares at the van with wide-open eyes, and the motion makes his eyebrow piercing sparkle when he nods slowly, “nice ride.”

the pit in your stomach narrow, and just like that, with a puff, the fact that he said that makes it less scary. “right?!” oh, you seriously don't have survival instincts.

he nods, approaching you and pinning you against the car. the kisses deepen, growing more fervent and desperate with each passing breath. he lets you lead him as his hands grope the door.

“sliding doors?”

you visibly melt.

“aw.” you pepper kisses across his face while he lets you step inside.

you've kissed a bunch of guys. but jeno doesn't compare at all to haechan, nor to the tenderness in which your best friend first kissed you in the backseat of the van after regretting ditching you for the hottest girl in school. and while jeno reclines you against the seat, his touch tracing patterns along your sides, sending shivers down your spine, and fingers dancing across your skin, your mind involuntarily drifts back to the past, replaying the memory of his lips upon yours in an endless loop.

and thinking about him makes you hesitate. and you hate him for it. you hate that you can't decipher the reason behind how he treats you when no one's watching, how you steal glances at each other while the other pretends not to notice, why he looks at you longer than the rest? why do you want his lips to be kissing you and not jeno's? why do you want to replace the hands that travel under your skirt with a pair of known hands full of rings?

why, among all things, did you expect him to be your first time with a guy, 'cause then you'd know he'd be romantic, and sweet, caring, and gentle, and the way you always dreamed?

you hate him because you can't even spend 30 min without him out of your mind. it is so much devastating that even when you don't think about him, you think about him.

and it's quite unfair to jeno that you're weighing on him while he's kissing you. maybe you should focus. his hands. they travel to your thighs and your breath freezes in your throat. he's actually good with them. if you look closely, if you squint hard, it's almost romantic that you're going to lose your virginity in the same place you had your first kiss with haechan, right?

it's just that… you had dreamed of doing it in places that felt more familiar to you. your bedroom, with a good mattress, for example.

the belt digs into your lower back as his kisses escalates, and you think, well… fuck it.

the mere thought draws into your chest when jeno's kisses descend to your neck, and you think it would be easier to reject him like every other guy you met if he wasn't so delicate, if he wasn't kinder than the others.

the shrill sound of the sliding door opening without warning takes you by surprise. a squeal leaves your lips as you stare at the cut-out silhouette that appears in the night, slowly becoming less blurred and more like someone.

“there you are. the race is in 10.” the voice you know so well comments, leaning on the door and sticking his head inside the van.

basically, it's like seeing haechan, but his hair is darker and longer, and his tone of voice colder and fiery. donghyuck's eyes glint like elusive fireflies, a mysterious allure dancing in his gaze. he's calm, while haechan is relaxed. when he smiles, he seems to hold a thousand secrets he can whisper to you at midnight. he exists at night, while haechan exists in daylight, reminiscent of captivating sunlight.

“i'm busy,” jeno says, slowly.

“i don't care.” silence spreads in the air as you're frozen by the audacity he has to interrupt such a private moment without caring to apologize, the nonchalant way he projects while waiting for jeno to react.

the black-haired man catches your gaze, apologetically. “sorry, doll. duty calls.”

you stay straight in awe as jeno removes from you and step outside the van. the only light bulb pulling highlights from his messy blonde streaked hair, while your existence is totally ignored as they exchange some words before he begins to walk away as if the last few minutes hadn't passed, leaving you alone with donghyuck.

“well, thanks for that.” you say venomously, stepping out of the car and looking him in the eye to notice that he finds the situation amusing.

“what can he do in 10 minutes, sweetpea?”

besides that stupid nickname, your cheeks warm up from his comment. “what can you do in 10 minutes?”

“you’d be surprised.”

“not really…”

the words crowd and fade on your tongue when donghyuck comes close to you, and you can smell the musk of his cologne when he closes the back door of the van. his eyebrows come together and he gives you a suspicious look very similar to your best friend's, scanning your face, “are you drunk, by any chance?”

he watches you roll your eyes. “why?”

donghyuck shrugs with nonchalant air, “you're not oversharing.”

“i don't overshare.” you fold your arms. “and that's not what i meant. you literally chased my 10 minutes rendezvous away.”

“he's not right for you.”

you feel flushed until the feeling is replaced by the indignation gripping your chest, “because i'm not his type?”

donghyuck sweeps over your figure unashamedly after your statement as he hums thoughtfully. without being able to help it, your neck burns from the intensity of his gaze sparkling when he locks eyes with you, and you find that the reason you stare at him back is because he doesn't have haechan's moles. “you're everybody's type.”

there's a solitary star just above the corner of his mouth, burning under his cheek, tinged pink.

you're too stunned to react immediately when he walks away from you, unceremoniously. his hazy presence beginning to fade as he drifts away into the darkness, until the last second when he stops and looks over his shoulder. “you coming?” an invitation. donghyuck reaches into the pockets of his leather jacket to pull out a box of cigarettes and a lighter, the silvery object glows faintly, glimpsing a star engraved in it. he doesn't even offer you a cigarette when he lights one for himself, the smoke clearing into the long night, as he takes you back to the party without exchanging words. profile already showing a smug smirk because he somehow finding this amusing.

just as he found your bicycle accident annoyingly entertaining before treating you himself.

it was a terrible wound, you couldn't even look at it. and you were so scared of telling your parents that you didn't cry even though it hurt like a thousand hells. you like to think that only he knows about that scar, because only he has seen it. he was so good at keeping secrets, because he probably didn’t remember them.

night clears your head as you exhale deeply into the night.

“where are we going?”

the growing murmur of music beginning to keep you company with your footsteps on the gravel, him taking you to a different place than you came from. you stare at his impenetrable profile, “backstage.”

a little further away from the party in the cargo containers is a heavy cargo truck, where boys begin to take out fancy sport cars amid shouts and cheers. you watch minyeon happily talk to the boy who has stirred up your senses and walked away as if nothing had happened a couple of minutes ago, and all of a sudden you find yourself irritated because he's kissing her now. the same way he kissed you.

donghyuck takes your gesture of crossing your arms for something else, as he strips off his jacket and throws it tactlessly over your shoulders. “thanks...” you say, but tinged with another meaning. and he deciphers it when he answers; you’re not talking about the cold, but a second secret thing when he breathes, “any time.”

 ʚïɞ

some participants have moved the party to a sparsely populated café in the city downtown. you find yourself surrounded by papers strewn all over your table while your loaded coffee cup sits empty and not working in your system.

“what?!”

“liz! i still don't say anything!” you greet your friends.

“sorry! my ears' ringing! can't hear anything.” she sits at your table behind jisung. “moody,” she mumbles when jaemin comes like a busy bee with another round of coffee for everyone, gently bobbing his head.

“i'm sorry.” you take your head in your hands, “this test is killing me and i haven't had proper sleep.”

“yeah, tell me about it,” she huffs.

you two share knowing looks under jisung's confused stare.

for the past three nights, your roommate had gotten into the habit of sneak in guys in the night, and while that was fine within the community rules secretly agreed upon between you, chaeyoung and company were just too loud.

jisung takes interest in the impasse where liz and you look on together, “i haven't been able to sleep well since,” liz complains.

your mysterious friend's wanderings were none of your business until they messed with your study time.

you almost choke on coffee when you come up with an idea just as jaemin takes an unsupervised break at your table. “i can exchange rooms with you,” you propose to the boy, skipping the real details. “think about it, the air is breathable, it's tidy, it smells like roses, and- there is also a no drugs policy.”

liz sends you a look “there is? ah!” she exclaims rubbing her calve under the table and sending you a dangerous glare.

“please say yes. it'll only be for this week of exams.” the three of you watch jaemin ponder, 'til he moves to drink his coffee, and becomes aware of you. “beg your pardon?” the boy removes a pair of earphones with an attentive grimace.

“would you mind changing rooms with me?” you repeat, putting all your charisma into an attempt to sugarcoat the situation.

“sure, all yours!”

“now that you mention the room thing, i've always wondered why you don't just live with chenle and the rest of the bikers,” liz wonders, tapping her chin. “you get along well with them but you'd rather hang out with...” her eyes travel unexpectedly to the blond boy drinking his milkshake. “us,” she finishes.

liz's point interests you and jisung. “yeah... you're right...”

“rent's cheaper,” jaemin simply says, shrugging.

“but i pay the rent,” jisung quietly mentions, pointing at himself.

“exactly,” jaemin replies, making the boy laugh amused, and you can't help but stroke his hair because of a sudden overload of tenderness.

“do you want to hear my opinion on this matter?” liz says after a while. “i think she's fucking mark.”

the girl gives you a sassy look before leaning back from her chair and drinking her coffee, with the three of you staring at her in discredit.

 ʚïɞ

“you're sure you'll be okay?” mark asks you as he puts on his jacket.

there is no trace of jaemin, much less jisung. it's the weekend again and the apartment is in an eerie calm because haechan is not around. “i mean, partying is so overrated.”

“it is,” he agrees with a laugh, “it's halloween, though. are you sure you'll be alright not stealing kids' candies this year?”

you’ll be okay because the whole week has been halloween for you.

it’s been a while since you and haechan talked, although it seems like an eternity.

you were taking it as a clue to leave the subject in the past, but you couldn't, despite the attempts to convince yourself that everything was fine even when you haven't talk to him or meet him during breaks on campus, or on the way to the bathroom, even though he sleeps in the room next to yours. not a sign of him except when he arrives late at night trying to make the least noise although you can still hear the giggles of his companions every night.

you live in the same house and it seems as if walls go up every time you see each other. and he probably hasn't even noticed that you've stripped him of the thing you care the most.

the ghost of his cologne as he passes by you every night haunts you, and it was killing you slowly, whatever this indifference was.

to say that it didn't matter to you at all would be another one of your lies, but seeing that he didn't care at all began to get to you.

“i'll stay to study this time.”

you notice that mark is unsure about it but the boy ends up agreeing with a slight nod. “jisung says that you're allowed to read his comic books if you get bored, and you can use haechan's notes if you want. jaemin left a espresso for you if you start to feel sleepy, but, if you feel extra bored, you can grab one of my muffins. you don't mind taking them out of the oven once they're done, right?”

your eyebrows come together at that new dosis of information, “do you bake?”

you were ignorant that any of them knew how to bake. although in reality jaemin prepares the best coffees in the world, and jisung washes the clothes impeccably. maybe it was your fault to pigeonhole them into pretty boys with airheads.

he lets out a light laugh and winks at you, “sure thing.” before leaving you alone with your failed attempts to focus on accounting.

it doesn't take long for you to get bored of actually studying, and then you come up with the best idea of the night: you can have your own party at home.

all in the name of not doing the accounting homework, you end up picking up the place, drinking some cheap red wine and of course, attacking their freshly made fridge. when the muffins are ready, you've given up.

just because haechan doesn't want to see you shouldn't ruin your chance to attend the party tonight. yeah. that's right. all you have to do is make sure not to bump into him tonight and everything will be alright. besides, accounting is kind of overrated.

it is probably past midnight when fate works against you, and as you open the door, the two of you find yourselves staring at each other from across the threshold.

he looks surprised for a fleeting moment, as if you had interrupted his plans or his musings; you've probably had, imagining the times he's escorted girls to the apartment when you were friends, and how you never noticed it until you started showing closer attention to him; you missed the nights you didn’t knew, you missed the nights you didn’t mind.

it is probably past midnight, and his cheeks are flushed as if he had spent his entire life under the sunlight, a blush that has decided to reside on his skin since childhood. his gaze is honeyed, and his eyelashes frame his doe eyes. his hair is slightly disheveled, stuck to his forehead with sweat. his expression is soft, lost in a dream he can't quite decipher, as if everything feels light. what surprises you the most isn't that he's alone tonight, but how you're suddenly noticing all that just now.

his eyes blink slowly, “going somewhere?” only when he stumbles over his own words you understand that it’s the dizziness of alcohol.

you are caught off guard when he pulls out a beer from the frigde, given how intoxicated he already is. “i didn't expect you to arrive so early.” or alone.

“i didn't expect you to be here.”

since this is his apartment, he has every right to be bothered that you're here given the fact you two aren't speaking. “if you prefer, i can leave.”

wet, drowsy eyes stares at you. “i’d rather you stay.”

he wanders around the apartment, his steps clumsy. graceful, his movements still seem delicate and slender. in the middle, you turn your back to the door that remains open and inviting when you close it and decide to stay. you trail after him when he drifts toward the bathroom, keeping close by in case he needs you. the door is left ajar, the light hum softly against the tiles. his profile is outlined by the soft, hazy glow from the living room, gleaming his smooth, tanned skin that flushes when he grins. “are you going to just stand there, watching?”

you hadn’t expected this. him wasted, cheeks glowing, his lashes heavy as if carrying sleep itself. you’d only thought he’d be a little stoned, fuzzy and soft, giggling like a fool and blurting out scientific facts; this image strikes you as just as strange as your behavior when he takes off his shirt. “yes.” seeing the situation as funny goes beyond your critical thinking, but of course, in his alcohol-soaked brain, it probably makes sense. “i mean, i’m making sure you won’t fall cause the floor’s a little slippery.”

“i won’t,” he says automatically after.

“why drink so much that you can't think straight?”

“i’m trying not to think.” he mutters, but the thought drifts unfinished, as if there’s more he’ll never say. to you. his lips part like he might go on, but all he does is stare, clinging to you as though the reason were carved somewhere in your face. “you’re leaving?” he wants to know.

“yes.” you wanted to. you were to. now you’re not so sure.

his face tilts and you see the shadow of his eyelashes before your gaze moves upward and meets his brown eyes. “don’t go with him.” you had never noticed how your bodies used to come together without noticing it, until his warm breath hits your forehead. it takes you a moment, longer than it should, to put the pieces together. the drawn-out insistence, the urging of it all. only then do you understand. he's talking about jeno.

he’s a little drowsy and lightheaded, and his essence only clouds your senses. it intoxicates you. he’s so pretty, chrushingly so. you figured, you’ll never get drunk again and kiss strangers, crash at a party and wander aimlessly. “forget him tonight.” you’ll always gasp when he looks at you with this intense gaze, and he’ll keep staring at your lips.

“be with me.” dainty skin is exposed, and you find yourself embarrassed and aware of his muscles flexing when he lifts his hand and brush your lower lip. “i’m your best friend,” he pronounces, as if he’s just aware of it now.

but why does his hand brush your chin, why does he align his mouth with yours? why does he come toward you, as if he wants to kiss you?

you’re afraid you’ll never know. his lips never touch yours. instead, his hair tickles your face as he moves away from you toward the toilet, and you see him, still wrapped in a dream, as he throws up.

 ʚïɞ

there's a charm about a gemini boy. something captivating. so hard to pin down; but of course there are many things that make haechan unique, such as his evocative charisma or the fact that with him, the sun never sets. and even though you can't do anything to not feel a jumble in your stomach at the sight of him, that's not what makes an uneasy feeling settle in your chest, but the girl on his legs, kissing his neck.

he doesn't seem affected at all by your friendship, and reveals enough to realize that his confession have only been him being drunk and playing around. playing you.

his eyes meet yours amidst the sea of faces and suddenly you think of how unfair it is that he gets to do all of those things without getting attached because if it were you…, if you were on his legs, and you were inches away from his face. if you could be able to trace his moles with your finger before kissing him, there would be no return for you from that point.

and all this time you didn't have to worry about that because your safe place was being his best friend and for a long time, you had lived in denial about this side of him that had been hidden from you. sensations accompanies you when you make your way out. the floor shakes under your feet and something weird spread on your guts; you feel a little unwell.

the sedative effect on your body hesitates and helplessly your insides feel empty accompanied by nothing but the moon. and the heartstring, it's all mixed up inside of you; it turns you into an mess. up until this point, you hadn't realized how much it affected you to look at him that way. somehow, you had managed to ignore it, but now it takes space, and it grows and makes you sick of it.

the feelings are everywhere. and when the murmur of the night brings with it a beautiful boy unaware of your presence, you're doomed. he gently exhales smoke that travels moonward, velvety brown eyes lingering until they find you.

“hi,” you greet.

his eyes glow fleetingly amused, the corner of his lips pulled to the side in a half-smile identical to your best friend's. but chaotic. untamed. hasty. “mind if i join?” you shake your head watching him sit next to you on the step.

you contemplate him, smoking. in silence.

something feels wrong when you can't look at him without revoking haechan. sometimes it's unfair because everything reminds you of him. your mind always playing tricks, desperately searching for haechan in any face you meet. “i’m afraid your brother doesn’t want to be my friend anymore,” you confess, eerily.

“everybody knows that, sweetpea.” his laughter takes you by surprise, it is light and soft, like a sigh.

your countenance is moved, “why?”

“no one wants to be your friend, yn,” he quietly answers.

donghyuck abruptly turns to you when he hears you sobbing. dark orbs watching you warily until you catch the soothing, sober scent of his perfume when he reaches you to comfort you. “shhh...” his attentive eyes follow your movements, hands gently stroking your sides. “what's wrong? what is it?”

lee donghyuck is an enigma, of course. he sees any challenge as something to beat. he has secrets who has secrets. mysterious, yet alluring. even before and even now, he has never let you in, and that's probably why he's a distant star for you. a lonely, and untethered sun.

when you were younger, you overheard him say that you were a crybaby to haechan… you probably were… you probably are.

there's a word in korea: inyeon. providence. but also fate. the whole reason why you're bound to see him as an impossible love, is because you believe that your life is meant to intertwine with haechan's. but in a deeper level, maybe in another past life, the heartstring lead you to donghyuck.

he's stolen your sighs for as long as you can remember, but it's like reaching the moon with your bare hands, unattainable. because haechan was always there; in your heart, he takes all the space. and now all of that explodes in your chest and you can't keep it inside.

he’s looking at you, apprehensive and you’re out of game. “i think the wine was expired,” you cry out holding your head, and unexpectedly, he laughs in a sigh.

“are you gonna throw up?” you take a few seconds to do a checkup, “i don't think so.” because all you find is this vast void, a wandering thought that leaves you second guessing. “i…”

“yes, sweetpea?” he inquires, apprehensive.

he looks so much like him, but at the same time, if you look at him for a long time, you don't fear losing yourself in his eyes, you don't think about having his heart.

“i've never seen you and haechan in one place at the same time,” you think —for your discontent, out loud.

he hums, thoughtfully. “let's not buy that wine again, okay?”

you nod, “i should go.”

you get up from the road and watch the moment when his eyes travel fleetingly and stop at a hidden point on your leg, and your breath freezes, 'cause you think he can somehow see something you try so hard to cover but he knows exactly where it is. “d'you want me to drive you home?” he gets up and immediately hovers over you but you already made up your mind.

“i'll be fine.”

you make your way back between bodies dancing in tune to some raucous music that turns out it's your favorite song. finding yourself in a whirlwind of lights and sounds while everything feels enhanced. it makes you dizzy, especially a pair of hands landing on your bare waist, and the way they pin you against a buff chest and fingers grip your skin, controlling your body.

'cause it feels like they're holding a secret confession.

the front door is on the other side of the crowd, and every passes you light and dazzily, and all your nerves disorder when he brings his mouth close to your ear. “leaving so soon?” when was the last time you talked without the other being drunk? you wouldn't know.

haechan wears charms on his hair and some strands of his messy short hair now dyed a lighter brown. “are you still mad at me?” he asks and as something spontaneous, everything takes a back seat.

could you? could you? could you?

he blooms in light when you shake your head. “you're my best friend.” you're welcomed into his chest with his arm wrapped around you.

he feels like home. steady. he’s all honey and softness. seduction and temptation. “sorry i called you a douchebag.”

“no worr… you didn't call me douchebag.” he giggles shortly.

“yeah, i did. secretly.”

he draws you back to him. “okay, i forgive you.”

the gentle rocking of his body soothes the ache. suddenly you don't feel so bad anymore. you feel less disoriented. your mind is cluttered by the addictive scent of his cologne and the small gesture he has of combing your hair.

“yo!” haechan looks over his shoulder at a mark appearing among the people with a silly grin that can only means he's baked. if that is not sufficient judgment for a given conclusion, the side cap he sports is. “i thought you wouldn't come. oh, and thanks for taking care of the muffins the other day. jaemin would’ve kill us if we ever set the apartment on fire again.”

“yeah, about the muffins…” you'd completely forgotten about them, which is hard to do when your stomach has been rumbling all the way you're partying. “i was kinda of hungry so i may or may not have taken one,” you say, biting your thumb foolishly in a chuckle.

both of them make a lousy sound that doesn't lead to anything good. “what?” you ask looking at both boys sharing a glance.

“it may… or may not have cannabis in it.” haechan mimics your accent funnily as if that would counteract the stomach churning that overwhelms you.

a hole opens up in your stomach that makes the floor wobble under your feet. “what?”

“don't panic,” he says when your palm holds your head spinning.

“did i just use drugs?!”

“i said don't panic,” he repeats staticly with a whiny voice.

“haechan,” you shout.

“what? it wasn't mine! right, mark?” haechan defends himself by showing his palms while looking for his friend, but the dark-haired boy has vanished from his side. “mark?”

“oh, god.” you feel faint as your whole inside collapses and lengthens and narrows and spins and everything. “my parents are gonna kill me.”

“well, they aren't around, are they?” he soothes with a boyish smile that makes you feel less dizzy.

“no, they are not...” you weigh.

haechan catches you gazing at him, a soft smile playing on his lips as he traces the contours of your face with his eyes; he has blonde highlights and small charms. “how do you feel?” his voice comes soft; you'd never noticed how soft it is unlike when he talks to others.

apart from the effect of the wine, it's right that you feel lighter. more smiling. and it would also explain why you were crying a little while ago. and why you were so confused about haechan and you. shit, it was all because you were under the influence of cheap wine and drugs. and drugs!

haechan sees you weird and strangely pretty as you laugh and laugh. “so nice.” especially when you're overwhelmed by the desire to hold him close because you know it's because you're high.

you both snort with amusement, nervously chuckling as you start to blink slowly, unable to stop looking at him. “can i have more of that?”

“do i look like a dealer? no,” he states curtly, changing his mood fast. his face gets so close to yours that it's a little overwhelming, as he states, “don't even think about it. forget it, pretty. this is a one-time thing.” he folds his arms in front of his chest, reluctantly.

“what if i buy you some?”

“this is a two-time thing, and it's over,” he declares. “but swear you won't try anything else from anybody. only with me.” a dense sensation washes over you when he utters those words. akin to belonging.

haechan's drowsy eyes don't leave yours until you nod. he smiles with pleasure, thumb lightly brushing your cheek, “okay. let's get you home.”

 ʚïɞ

at least a dozen pairs of static black shiny eyes stare back at you when you're done with your work.

“i missed you guys, so much.” you say, fixing a red tie around a fluffy neck. “especially you, mr. buttons.” the brown bear seems to have a smile on his face because of the loose seams around his mouth. the clothes are a little bit faded and his shirt is missing…, and he's probably a hundred years old and ugly and threadbare, but he's still special to you.

living for a week in the apartment across the hallway could be considered a way to lose one's mind. there was no denying the fact that they were still men and that they would probably laugh at you for life at the mere hint that you slept with stuffed animals. you wanted them to still think you were hot and unreachable.

“do you also tuck them to sleep?” haechan's voice takes you by surprise and red-handed. you're not fast enough to cover the row of stuffed animals with the sheets and climb on them as if nothing had happened, because the way he leans against the door frame looks like he's been there for a while. “at least tell me you cover their eyes when you bring guys here. mr. buttons has no reason to see that his mother does naughty things with…”

“shut up!” you cover your mouth with both hands and give him a murderous look. “didn't they teach you to knock in summer camp for fools? leave!”

haechan lets out a laugh and to your distaste it's contagious. “should i take this with me, then?” his long fingers go to reach something in his back pocket that you intuit is weed. the sun-kissed boy grin pleased when you go to him and drag him inside before closing the door.

you lie on the side of the bed closer to the window and your knee softly collides with haechan's thigh. his face is bathed from the moon slipping through the curtains, and his eyes shine like wild berries. “so, good news is that my plug’s being investigated by the police, so he's not selling a lot lately.”

you watch him nod regretfully under your static gaze. “hae, isn't it supposed to be bad news?” you ask him a little confused and worried.

“oh, i thought it'd be for you because you're always doing the right thing.”

you're too stunned to speak. “i don't…-” you stop when he gives you an honest glance, “okay, what's the bad news, then?”

“mark borrowed me some of his.” you bite your lips, excited, and he just brush them with his fingers,“but,” he adds suddenly, “it's only enough for one cigarette, so we'll have to share.”

you nod, thoughtfully. it wouldn't have been so weird if you hadn't had those weird feelings from cannabis a week ago. you could say that you had acclimatized and that everything was back to normal, but that would be lying. but you and haechan have kissed before, it shouldn't be that weird; it shouldn't affect you at all now. “fine by me.”

“since it's your first time we'll smoke a joint,” he says looking at you while his hands work on it already. his eyes cast a glance at you when he feels you a little lost, “blunts are made with tobacco paper. hits harder than a joint,” he explains.

and before you can stop it, you're talking.

“i've tried tobacco before actually... hmm, my father used to have a collection of them. i stole one but i think it was expired because...” haechan's eyebrows raise with every word you say that ends up throwing you off. “what?” you stare at him, thinking he definitely sees you as a good lame girl and not interesting or alluring or pretty like the girls he likes.

“have you noticed that you yap a lot?” he says as a smile wells up on his lips.

“i don't! i was trying to make a point… with my daring adventures...”

you shut up when you see him put the cigar to his lips and light it. the opposite tip lights up red when he pushes the tinderbox away. his head pulls back and exposes his neck to blow air upwards and not towards you.

it's so mesmerizing, so hypnotic that he catches you gazing at his plump lips and his cheeks tint with a rosy color. “you'll want to leave it in your lungs for a bit before expelling it. it's like holding your breath. don't make a pause because that way you'd choke. look at it as if you are taking a deep breath and expelling the air after a few seconds,” he instructs, passing you the small joint. “yeah?”

you feel yourself nod.

your fingers take the rolled-up paper, analyzing it. it's so perfectly done, you think your friend definitely has a gift. you bring it to your lips as if holding your breath under his enraptured gaze.

his brown eyes suddenly feel intense as he studies you. “try to... mhm... just like that. good job.” he smiles proudly when he sees that you don't cough on your first puff. “we can always do it with a hookah, or edibles.” he recites, watching you take another one. “tell me if you like it,” he says while absentmindedly tucking a strand of hair behind your ear when it gets in the way. “i thought you didn't like the whole smoking thing.” you shake your head.

you don't, but he looks breathtaking tonight and you can't let him go when he belongs here. with you.

the smoke travels into your lungs and you soon find the process like a piece of cake, smiling to your insides when you finally master the tactic. “in that case, i could pass you the smoke.”

haechan comes to your aid as you begin to spit your lungs into the blanket. “yes. maybe we should try that. this is very hard for me,” you complain, passing him the cigar.

he makes it dance on his skillful fingers from shuffling cards so much, and it might have been the shadows of your dimly lit room to see a smile hidden in his mouth. “c’mere,” he says, taking an inhale of the joint. haechan lets you get close to him. hands going to hold your face while his sealed lips keep the smoke inside until you're face to face and your lips go to each other's.

you've kissed before. you remember that you kissed him before, in the back seat of your parent's van. you've touched his lips, you felt them against yours, but why does it feel like it's the first time? his mouth part open presses against yours while he passes you the smoke, and your tongue soaks in the taste of his lips. a vast sensation explodes within you, so intoxicating you're spellbound and dazed, that you find yourself breathless when he pulls away from you.

haechan looks at you, differently. the narcotic mixes with your wistful blood and turns you into a mess while his drowsy smoky eyes drifts to your lips, and you find out they're part open. your eyes feel glassy. your head buzzes. all your insides tingle. is it because of the pot or maybe because you're looking directly at him and he hasn't stop looking at you?

“did i do it wrong?” you wonder, worriedly, because what if you did it wrong, what if you blurred the lines? “shouldn't i have done that?” you ask again, watching him getting close to hold your face, as if he could sense how bad you're feeling and wanted to comfort you.

your common sense has been spoiled. and until now you hadn't noticed that there's always been something in space a wavering thought that keeps the other second-guessing. “maybe we should…” you start saying, trying to cover your disappointment by thinking for a moment that it wasn't all in your head, or in your heart, just seconds before he breathes your name like he was holding it dearly for a long time.

herbal tones and lingering boozy sweet tint explode on your tongue when he kisses you again. haechan's hands slide down to trap you to him as your fingers bury in his soft hair, leaving you with a haunting desire to feel his mouth over and over again. a sensation so wild, so vast, that takes over, deepening the kiss and sensing the trace of marijuana on his breath, getting high on it.

it takes your breath away as you separate from him, both of you breathing heavily. haechan tilts his head towards you and you see his intentions to kiss you again, but you remind him of the cigarette still burning in his fingers. you see him take a deep hit, and this time it's you who draws him to you and kisses him intensely.

haechan takes you by the chin exerting slight pressure to open your mouth before his lips wrap around yours and slowly begins to pass you the smoke. the moment feels smooth, seductive. kissing you with neat experience, awakening all your nerve endings as he bites, and teases and sucks your lips, skillfully.

the volatile feeling numb your senses due to the euphoria rushing through his lips colliding with yours over and over. deep and warm, his hands leave your face as you feel loftier and draw him closer to you, sliding his fingers until they tighten around your waist, pulling you alluringly to him so both of you get up from the bed as he holds your neck.

you grind against him, tasting the herbal tones of the weed on his breath, mouth not taking long to open when you run out of air, soon invaded by his tongue. you find yourself enraptured, giving in to him slowing from the way his mouth moves over yours. mind floating from his expert touch, trained by having done it on previous occasions with other girls. and that he'll surely do once he's done here with you.

“what?” he asks when you break the kiss without warning because your mouth tingles for him.

“i feel dizzy...”

haechan comes to you and strokes your sides, “it happens the first time. everything is enhanced.”

“seems like too much,” you confess. sensations, thoughts, the world, your feelings. there are too many to bear.

“i got you.” it was killing you, and it was better to stop thinking about it if you wanted to stay naive and ignorant of this.

you're surprised he's already looking at you when you look at him. he's sweet, and gentle. you stay still while he studies your face for discomfort, and you can't do anything to stop yourself from kissing him again; and to your surprise, he leans closer.

“yn, have you seen my new lingerie?!”

your eyes widen in terror and without thinking twice, you push haechan away from you. a high-pitched sound escapes him before falling touchlessly to the floor where the bed hides his body, right on time when liz appears in her underwear on your door.

both of you look at each other, and your heart threatens to jump out of your chest with all your emotions running high from drugs and haechan. “the sky blue lingerie with a bow on the front and laced panties?” you ask in a rush. “haven't.” she squints and you gulp hard.

“why are you so nervous?” she questions. “that's the behavior of someone who lies.” her eyes flash dangerously, “or someone who hides something.”

you freeze and your muscles stiffen as she moves into the room and past you. before you can react, she open your underwear drawer and exclaim, “aha!” taking out the damn lingerie.

the girl looks at you with discredit and victory while holding her lingerie up but you're more aware of the boy rubbing his head behind her while he looks at the scenario amusingly. and you're there, alternating your gaze and caught, vilely, ‘cause you thought she wouldn't notice.

“you thought i wouldn't notice, did you?” she clicks her tongue and walks to the door, smiling witfully before she stops suddenly. “by the way, did you hear that thump just now?”

“no.”

she weighs, “do you think it's chae again? see? i thought it had been clear not to bring boys anymore. if she sneaks boys again then it's right for you to bring guys and for me to bring chenle, but we haven't, ‘cause that'd be disrespectful.” you nod and she rolls her eyes, “there'll be a serious conversation, me and her, i swear to you that if...” liz closes the door behind her and her voice begins to fade away as she walks away from your room and allows you to breathe again.

you feel haechan's intense presence behind you but you're not able to face him after still feeling his burning kiss on your lips. your mind feels light, and you can't think properly. all your thoughts for him seem right to you but you know that they're not. because it's haechan, who likes untethered relationships, even when you feel close to him.

it takes you a few seconds to gather the strength to turn around and watch him rummaging curiously through your drawer.

“remind me not to mess with liz ever.”

your mouth opens in disbelief before shortening the distance between you by two strides. “stay away from my panties, pervert!”

 ʚïɞ

back when you were younger, it was so easy to see through the mist, through him, that you didn't have to ask. on thanksgiving, you think you’re dying.

your head spins and you're back in, missing nights like this.

a shared living room wrecked with laughter, a crowded kitchen smelling like something’s burning because mark forgot to take out the homemade pizza. the typical sneering of jaemin when someone mess up the ingredients. the dining room table with university papers forgotten because the night of study became something else.

you miss your friends. you miss them even when there's clearly something wrong with them. “oh! you've made it!” liz greets the third time you two encounter in the kitchen, cupping your face with marvel.

“liz, this is our apartment.”

“oh.”

“have you seen haechan?” after a few drinks and giving the matter a lot of thought, you decide to ask because you haven't seen him for a couple of days.

“not at all!” she says, nodding and drinking from her martini. “but i saw donghyuck a while ago. i’ll send him your regards.” thinking about haechan turning down the opportunity to do illegal things wasn't an everyday occurrence…, except during exam week, but since it’s christmas break and you hadn't seen him for three ring parties, you had started to worry.

seeing lucid dreams of him had been a recent occurrence, and having to see his brother everywhere even more so. even though you could pretend for just a second that it was him, it only made his absence feel more acute; because it didn't evoke the same feeling in you. you didn't feel a sense of belonging.

that is, until the hallucinations deceive your eyes so much that he appears there, on the roof of your apartment. on a cold night, his eyes are lost in the starless sky, and yours are lost in him. “you’ll catch a cold.”

it's freezing, and his cheeks and lips don’t take long to dye pink. his eyes are two wild berries, opaque under his disheveled hair of dark brown locs; in the cold night, he’s not wearing a jacket, as if it had been lost for a while.

“i’m actually playing hide and seek with jisung.” and there’s your heart, as thin as a promise. you were never going to fall in love with him, but life has a way of proving you wrong, and it's seeing his smile light up his face.

“how’s that going?”

“i think he forgot.”

“let’s go back inside.” he moves closer, and flickering lights bathes his features to realize that it’s not haechan. beholding him, donghyuck is handsome as hell and honey, but your heart sinks a little, because he doesn’t give you a taste of sun.

on closer inspection, his eyes have never seemed so soft to you as they do now. from the way he knows just as simple, that you’re drunk.

but it’s not alcohol, is it? it’s your heart. he takes you in his arms and it’s unfair. all you can think about is how unfair it is to look for traces of haechan in his features and find none.

the slight sway of his steps as he descends the stairs has your mind fuzzy. dowsily, your head rest on his shoulder. “thanks for finding me.”

“of course, sweetpea.” he smells of sunsets and bonfires. oud scent that disperses until you no longer sense it, because all you can perceive is a powdery fragrance hanging in the air, along with coffee and musk.

the smell of haechan, making you fuzzy.

you’re dragged back into the trenches of empty wine bottles and michael jackson vinyl records before you can object.

haechan's room displays for your eyes and every time you're trying to keep it all in. jackets and lighters on a nightstand, some candle you gave him for christmas. cozy blanket thrown over a chair and a pile of books and papers on a desk.

it’s quieter than your room, and cozier. your eyelids slowly close.

“did you mean it?” a yawn breaks in, “that no one wants to be my friend?”

you think that donghyuck gently rejecting you a while ago is no longer the reason why you don't fall in love with him.

but this time, he doesn’t.

“forget that i said it.”

“i can’t.”

is it true that his eyes contain stars, or you just want to feel warm? light, but different, it’s still just light.

you see him take a moment, perhaps you have begun to doze off; seconds that become infinite, your eyes struggle to keep looking at him.“perhaps i could’ve been your friend.”

“that would imply liking me…”

your eyes have closed completely, and lost in the mist, you can barely hear him laugh. “yes.” pieces of the puzzle reveal the truth to you when he is already gone: you would’ve love to be his friend. because you would know how sweet he would be mid morning, you would know, for example, his favorite color or whether he prefers tea or coffee or neither. what he does after class and where he goes when it's midnight.

you would know, by instance, everything you know about haechan when you don’t even try to remember. but you do anyway.

dreaming, you were only dreaming when you heard donghyuck come back, but in your dreams, he's the one at the door. he has put on a tie that lies loose around his neck. he has unkempt hair and may be over-drunk like the night you almost kissed.

it seems like he's had a lot of thanksgiving night, you wonder where he's been? where has he been all this time? “do you think he likes me?”

you don't know what's real and what's not. donghyuck stays at the door, but then haechan kneeled besides you.

you carry the weight of having been in love with your best friend your whole life, because everything sings. and you knew why. he’s alluring and everything he does carry a kind of beauty you didn’t know it was possible. and before that, because he made you laugh. he’s a know-it all, and you still like him. and before even that, because he feels like waves crashing at the shore; because he feels like home.

you figured that everyone would fall in love with him, because you did.

“who?” he smiles, and it gives you the kind of warmth you’d expect from haechan.

“your brother?”

“of course he does,” he says, and even though he's lying, you find him sweet. “…do you…?”

yes, it has take you a while to figure it out, but now it slips through the cracks of your mind, like honey… like sunbeams.

“yes.”

 ʚïɞ

it might as well be that his brain is scrambled and smoking has enhanced his attention deficit, because while mark and jisung are arguing about something he can barely understand, his gaze always ends up on the other side of the room…

but that doesn’t make any sense, because he’s been stoned before but never felt like this.

“so, did you confess your feelings to her?” haechan comes to his senses to find mark wearing a cowboy hat and jisung’s shirt all wrinkled. if he weren't stoned out of his mind, he probably would have mocked about it, but he's too busy, feeling exposed.

besides, his appearance wasn’t great either. the tie around his neck is loose, but he finds himself out of air, and slightly embarrassed with whatever ache he’s experiencing. if anyone was to be mocked for their appearance, it would probably be him, if his emotions were proportional to his looks.

he hasn't had a moment's rest since that day, and he hasn't been able to think about anything else but your big eyes following his before falling on his lips, burning for kissing you before he gathered the courage to do it. and his mind hasn't been quiet since then, and no matter how intoxicated he can get, nothing could make him stop thinking about you.

has he ever been sober enough to do anything?

running away from you wasn’t the best way to cope, but you should give him that, other way he wouldn’t have find you in his room that night. because the truth was that he probably would have confessed a secret while you were sleeping.

mark wraps his arm around jisung when he finally come to terms with his feelings, just to find out mark’s wasn’t even talking to him in the first place. “so you haven’t?” he asks jisung.

he was close.

“what if she likes someone else?” jisung complains.

he thinks, he’ll be alright.

he has pretended to be his brother before, but never quite becoming him. and spent his whole life knowing that you were in love, he just hoped it was him.

“yeah, right.”

a chuckle escapes him at the thought of you choosing someone else over him. and yet, your confession had only made his feelings worse. if it was donghyuck you wanted, he was sure he would be fine.

he has already spent his whole life touching your lips and imagining kissing them.

 ʚïɞ

you fear that you have self-sabotaged. three weeks have passed since that fateful day. two nights replaying the kiss over and over again on your mind. keeping your thoughts off it by studying hadn't worked, and through long days and sleepless nights you could no longer blame icarus anymore for flying right into the sun. not when your mind torments you with a pair of plump lips, soft mouth moving against yours, teasingly roaming. the intoxicating sensation of his tongue impregnated with marijuana.

“keep the change,” you say to the guy at the bar handing you a beer.

before you go looking for the sunny boy, you hear him shout behind your back, “hey! you're one dollar short!”

and you know it, because a: you are an accountant.

and b: inflation is a myth.

you stagger all over the party looking for haechan, a somewhat difficult task when you're a little drunk and you see the doppelganger making out with a girl on the dance floor. you can barely recognize donghyuck let alone the girl he kisses, but it seems that they are quite close because of the way the moon boy lets her run her hands all over him. and you can't help but watch.

he looks as if he wants to say something before being interrupted by needy lips, and between kisses, he finally gives in and you come to realize.

you need to be put away in a psych ward, because ever since, your only longing is to taste his lips again.

your eyes are anchored to both of them as you tell yourself that you should look for haechan, but something feels off. especially when you hear the hum of engines and your own heart, slowing down while bodies cut at high speed on a race in the distance. and it’s not the first or last time you’ll get it all wrong, when he looks apologetic, and you look like a fool, watching him being kissed.

you feel the stupid oppression in your chest when you recognize haechan, and now it's so obvious that it’s him that you feel ridiculous for thinking that he wouldn't be inside another girl's throat as soon as he could. “that motherfucker.”

while haechan's there dancing with her, you end up across the room doing the same thing with a stranger, failing so bad of keeping your eyes from going to him and his attempts of proving something you're aware of.

you fell first. and you fell harder.

the cigarette between his skinny and graceful fingers it's about to end when he smokes the last of it and finally glances at you, not being able to notice that you've been out of the game the moment he made you believed that your kiss meant something.

you're on edge, getting away from the hustle and heading to the dumpster after the race. it relieves you to find it empty, with everyone enjoying themselves at the party. because that way, there is no one to see you cry.

but he always finds you.

he arrives holding a match that he lights up as he proceeds to take the cigarette from his ear.“you owe me a blunt.”

“i'm not in the mood right now…” you start saying, wanting him to keep his distance because you know that if he gets any closer, and you can see his chocolate eyes acknowledging you, you'll probably forget what he’s been doing, starting all over again.

“you seemed pretty in the mood dancing with that douchebag,” he sneers, nonchalant.

and you know deep down it’s just a pretense. he was looking at you too, after all.

“what's your problem?” you shout at him, feeling like you don’t know him. you know him, deeply. he never mean to be cruel, but that was only because you weren’t on the other end ‘til now; you had never been the object of his rejection, because you’d never had your heart broken before. but it hurts anyway, that is your best friend, who ends up doing so.

“you’re my problem.” you fear you’ll love him forever. but you fear most that you won’t like him anymore. “ i didn't ask to be this hot, yn.”

“did you ask to be this idiotic?”

he thinks, “not that i remember, no.”

“then go back to her,” you wave at him, but he just come closer.

“god, yn, you can’t be fucking serious right now.” the notice comes as a stunner. you see him with wide eyes making a frustrated face; his eyebrows draw together and his gaze becomes ravenous, as if a hundred thoughts and emotions are coming at him faster than he can cope. “stop messing with me.”

the question seems so charged, that you’re not able to come with a quick answer, “i didn't ask you to follow me.”

“no, you didn't. you also didn't want me to leave you alone with jeno, and then you were eating his nose.”

“so it's okay if you do it but god forbid if i kiss someone.” you ask, cornered.

“because kissing doesn't mean anything to me,” he dares to excuse himself, thinking it will make you feel better, but in reality, after that night you two kissed, it doesn't.

you roll your eyes, “you're unbelievable.”

“really, me? for the past weeks i’ve been losing my mind, and it’s all your fault. ” the breathless anticipation makes your heartbeat wild. and the seconds —where everything becomes thicker, the confession still suspended in the air, causes something to shift in his gaze.

when he approaches, you're unable to move away. his eyes catch you, and you can't look anywhere else, because you want to gaze at him. “what do you wanna know huh? d'you want to know if i kissed her? i did. i kissed her to know if i could like her. and i couldn't.”

your mouth feels pasty, your limbs barely respond. haechan's eyes look at you and your stomach become a mess of bugs that don't let you think. all you want to say is why did you kiss me? why did you make it seem special? why does it seem like bugs turned into butterflies because they know first what you don't?

you look at him with pure disbelief, and he's so aggravated that you think you need to let him vent whatever it is that's troubling him “if i hit on you you reject me, and if i don’t you get mad at me.”

“how’s that my fault?!”

“because you make it impossible and i can’t do it anymore. i’m tired of the movie nights, the way you walk into my room without knocking or leave your things all over the place like you live there. waking me up to crawl into my bed at 4 am because you had a nightmare, or asking me to zip up your dress for a date with some other guy and knowing i don’t get to have a chance.”

he lets out a jagged breath, and his eyes darkened the moment you feel your lips dry. “well i didn’t know i was annoying, and i’m sorry my life has been an inconvenience to you. i guess i’m also tired of guessing WHY MY FRIEND SUDDENLY HATES BEING AROUND ME!”

“because you’ve ruined everything!”

“how did i ruin everything?! you’re the one who’s been acting weird.”

he’s perplexed, “because of you.”

“what is that supposed to mean?” you fire back.

“i don’t want to be your friend anymore.”

the words hit you like a physical force. you feel the air leave your lungs, a sharp sting behind your eyes as the friendship you’ve built your life around starts to crumble in real-time. it comes and goes in echoes. you blink. you blink again and he just stays the same; flushed, breathless…, and overwhelmingly troubled.

“is that so?” maybe you've lost yourself these last few days. but he’s right; him, looking troubled, has ruined this life of a showgirl for you. “anything else you want to pin on me?”

“actually, yes! you turned my plug in to the police, didn’t you?”

“why would i do that? you can't even go through withdrawal without crying.”

“to make me suffer more.”

“more?” distraught, he breathes heavily, and it is like watching a work of art in distress. “how am i making you suffer? you’re the one who doesn’t want to be my friend anymore…”

he is destructive, and keeps you from thinking straight. consuming, he steps closer and clouds your thoughts. “i want you.” he says, and kisses you.

his expert movements steal your breath and clutter your senses. his taste is so addictive that you find yourself opening your lips to catch his, soft and plump, welcoming you. ever since you and he kissed in your room, the only thing you had done was to be haunted by his mouth over yours. but when he looks like he’s under a spell while kissing you, and he urges you to caress him, you know you were not the only one yearning for this.

you feel his fingers around yours, guiding them to his neck where everything falls silent behind him, everything except your thoughts. everything but your emotions. you’re afraid you’ve loved him since the day you first kissed.

he grins against your lips, and you've never stopped to think about how much it affects you to see him like that. how much it turns you on. he kisses you and kisses you and kisses you, until your mouth fits his perfectly as you catch his lower lip. he lets out a whimsical sound. his hands keep you closer to his body and you lose track of everything around you, wanting to melt in this moment, in his arms.

you feel your whole being crumble and buzz with intensity. haechan tastes your lips and your mouth opens to his commands. you melt into his embrace, warm and welcome, you can almost feel it crackle.

you’re burning.

“do you smell that?” you ask, and haechan keeps kissing you as he shakes his head.

he separates from you reluctantly and shines like a blazing sun. his warm and drunken eyes blink slowly, before you take into consideration that haechan usually doesn't dazzle you like this. he isn’t usually covered in a halo that highlights his locks and turns them into honey. only in your dreams.

the cargo burst into flames, turning his hair golden for a second before it detonates in an explosion.

you sense his astonishment even without seeing him.

the blazing cargo illuminates your faces covered in horror, taking him a few seconds to react, “there was nobody inside, right?”

“nobody.”

“what about the cars?”

you think through. “i think i don't like this game anymore. shall we play another one?”

“hit and run?” he suggests, still disoriented when you grab his hand.

“sounds good.” and run away with him before someone find out you were there.

 ʚïɞ

you knew exactly what to do, but in a much more real sense you had no idea what to do.

you and haechan only had one day to think about it, and you? you had one night to stop being a virgin.

i mean…

his body press you against the wall when he guides you to his bedroom, dimly lights from the city coming through the drawn curtains. haechan fills you with soft touches, callous hands roaming your waist and back, prompting you towards him. and during all of this, he doesn’t stop kissing you. he feels cozy, adjusting the pace he moves, slow alnd calm over your lips. full, soft mouth colliding with yours when his tongue twirl just as he deepens the kiss.

“wanna smoke?”

his mesmerizing movements take you a kind of memory, and you can't wait when he lights the cigarette and inhales the smoke to bring him closer to you and smash your mouth with his.

you’re out of breath by nothing but his presence, looming over your body. he lifts your shirt and your stomach flutter violenty just as he leaves your lips to take another puff before pressing his mouth on yours again.

the smoke enters your system and rises to your already drunken head. your breaths intermingle in the middle while your whole inside burns and falls apart, and suddenly you're not able to be in your own skin, burning when he kisses you and kisses you and kisses you.

“haechan, i never had sex.” the words come out of you in a whisper, feeling your neck burn with the gravity of a thousand suns when haechan looks at you, eyes tinted with intense perplexity.

this is humiliating.

and humbling.

and so character development arch.

“say something.”

you bite your lips when it crosses your mind that you've entered a dangerous territory, but you're too intoxicated to find your way out. “you’ve never had sex.”

his voice is merely a low murmur against your lips, and while your eyes try to search for his, they stay lowered, fixed on your mouth when you pronounce. “technically, touching yourself doesn't count,” you try to mend your confession, making him see you're not completely unaware of desire and needs, yet you soon discover it wasn’t the best choice.

you dare to look at him to find his eyes like two cesspools staring at you, “you've touched yourself?”

“yes, genius. are you gonna repeat everything i say?” you roll your eyes, bugged. and perhaps timid.

your breath freezes in your throat when haechan holds your chin so you look at him straight in the eyes and get lost. he's so handsome, you're sure you could kiss him until it hurts.

“what about mingi? shotaro?” he mentions, and in each of them you shake your head. “jeno?”

“no,” you hush.

“why?”

“your brother kind of ruined the moment. anyway, it's not like i don't want to lose it, it just... things happen when i try. i'm seriously believing that i have a curse…, oh! oh, my god. remember my cousin? the one from the island? well, she's into esotericism, and once we fought because i stole her boyfriend or whatever, and she told me that i was going to pay for it, well, look, virgin at twenty-four. ”

you see his moles despite the dim light. his pupils consume his iris as he looks at you with an indescribable smirk burning his rosy lips.

your hands cover your face, escaping his gaze, “oversharing much?” you ask in a muffled sound, as you let him uncover your face.

“it’s alright, never keeping quiet has its upsides.”

“like what?”

“you always end up making a sound…”

when he leans over, your hands grab his face. your fingertips burn on his soft cheeks, keeping him close. his lips collide with yours over and over, until it turns into deep, honeyed kisses.

rising in intensity, your interior turns into melted delight.

his breath hits your face and your mouth tingles for more. “but i'm a little hurt you didn't asked me.”

you were certain that you'd end up marrying each other. he's your best friend after all…

oh, my god.

you can't believe it took you five years and a terrible first kiss with him to come to the conclusion that a couple of puffs in his apartment tonight had made him get to it.

“i… thought you were gay.” you blame the narcotics in your bloodstream, and most of all, you blame him for looking so charming and breathtaking, agitated by having kissed him so much and with swollen lips as proof of this.

“i'm not gay,” he states, frowning and grimacing funny. “hello?” his gaze falls downward, and your eyes follow them to admire the prominent bulge in his pants.

you flatter the view under haechan's prideful smug, and your cheeks… they just turn warmer.

“do you…?”

“oh, yes. about that,” he chuckles, guilty. “i hope it doesn't bother you that i've already lost it.”

“right…” you trail off at the provision of unsolicited information and he looks at you as if words are written on your face.

“oh! you meant if i had condoms on?” he goes back in track to your true intentions, reaching his back pocket, but you’re just a little curious on the side plot.

“was it our english teacher?”

“how did you know?” he asks, amazed.

“a hunch.”

that whore…

he gives you a cool look, “don’t be jealous. i’ve slept with plenty of women but i have reformed myself for you,” he declares, drawing you closer.

he can’t be fucking serious…

you consider killing him, just as someone opens the door.

“there you are.” jaemin appears in the doorway with his silhouette cut by the light of the room, forming somber shadows on his face.

“shit, you do have a curse.”

“something’s weird here.” he squints at both of you, still embraced, in the dark, and yet what catches his attention is the smell hanging in the air. “are there drugs here?”

“wha- no. never,” you assure.

“if they are… you better give them to me,” haechan mocks under jaemin's relentless gaze, so he soon drops the act. “it's a joke! now if you mind, i was teaching yn why she can't print more money to fight inflation, so…” he attempts to close the door but jaemin puts his foot on the way.

that’s when you notice. the presence of the other members, getting comfortable in the living room.

jaemin separates from you when the door rings, and when donghyuck and jeno join the impromptu meeting, you and haechan look at each other.

you're fucked.

they know.

 ʚïɞ

truth was, they didn't know.

but all you could do for now was pretend long faces in surprise when the others told that the truck had exploded, and that all the vehicles but two weren't safeguarded in the cargo truck.

“who smokes near a leak?” liz asks, with her arms crossed while she tries to lift everyone's spirits.

“right?” haechan says, bluffing.

his brother next to him gives him a look just as you tag along, “and we cannot involve the police in this. it's illegal racing, after all. what a shame, really.”

chaeyoung weighs your words, just as jisung enters the room looking a little excited in contrast to the gloomy vibe. “i got the cctv!”

in his hands he holds a videotape that he soon pretends to put on the tv. “sorry, what?” you pronounce with difficulty, shooting your eyes to haechan.

“evidence,” he chants with the most obvious tone. that little engineer demon.

the only thing that gives you some peace and keeps you from going into extreme panic and vomiting and crying, is that at least haechan will be on your side when it happens.

“yn! you're there, look!” said guy points at the screen, and makes all eyes fall on you.

“that doesn't mean anything. she doesn't even smoke,” donghyuck says, looking closely as haechan appears in the image.

you feel lowkey rare to see yourself committing a crime when everyone is also witnessing you and haechan kissing.

“wait… is that you, donghyuck?” liz squints at the screen, followed by haechan.

“it kinda looks like him, yeah.”

“haechan.” you call his name, tired of seeing him try to save his own skin.

in response, the sunny boy smiles guiltily before going to your side. “i had to try. sorry you don't have a twin sister. in another life, perhaps,” he says, scrunching his nose at you.

silence settles when the guilty already have a face… two faces. faces of not knowing what to do now that they had been discovered.

“at least we're glad nothing happened to you,” chaeyoung says, going to you and stroking your sides. “accidents happen.”

“what about the cars, doll?” jeno asks to chaeyoung, looking calmly bored.

“i'm pretty sure you'll figure,” she says, using one of her fake smiles.

you wish you could take that and take it for granted. go home and leave it in the past, but as the sentimental that you are, you can't. and haechan sees it coming way before you open your mouth.

he mouthes a clear denial just as you say, “we'll pay for the cars!”

“what— we?” he says, intoning the latter.

“i'm really sorry… i-…” well, it was easier to pretend that it was your fault when no one knew. now their good graces was suffocating, and as you share looks with everyone in the room, and come to realize what a bad person you were going to do, you have no choice but to drag someone with you, because you will continue to be one. “he made me do it!”

 ʚïɞ

“this is a bad idea.”

“you're kidding? this is the best idea ever!” he strokes your sides as if that’s gonna make you feel any better…

it does.

he leans on the van. from his rosy mouth comes steam that disperses through the street with a single bulb. his nose and cheeks have taken on a warm hue that reaches his brown eyes, gazing at the stars before prompting both of you to the threshold of the door.

“so this is the place you know?”

“yes. he's a friend of mine, i'm sure he'll accept.”

you weren’t so sure how he was gonna do that, but given haechan’s antics, he always get what he wants, so…

“no.”

the man who opens the door for you has tattoos covering the length of his arms, which he crosses over his broad chest. he’s wearing a tank top and has a cigarette behind his ear, along with another one between his lips. written on his collarbone is what is probably his name, unless... he likes the name johnny.

“what do you mean no?” haechan looks at the man and his mouth can't help but open a little in awe.

“dude, our plug's being investigated, we can't risk it.”

“that's literally why i brought her,” haechan says, obviously. “have you seen her ride? c'mon my jonh doe, the police won't bother to check an old nanny's van. no offense.”

he seems like he's going to say no, emphatically. “shit, i don't know man. i have to check with the boss.”

“please, don't bring the boss into this,” haechan pleas with a sigh.

the two men come and go on with their nonsense until you grow tired, “i'll talk to the boss myself!” your state makes both of them quiet.

while the tall boy nods, surprised, haechan looks at you with open eyes. “sweetheart, leave these matters to me.”

“i mean, what's the fuss? bring me the man!” you wave your hand to dispatch the man in search of the boss while your gaze reviews his possible appearance. if that stereotype of beauty and muscle was his lackey, you could only imagine the man behind the scenes.

haechan holds on to your arm as if you've just made the worst blunder of your life, and you probably had. you were raised by christians on an island that was too peaceful for your taste. like the kind of island where the only accidents involve bicycles, or where the worst act of vandalism is skipping school to go swimming. you were pretty surprised by the low number of teenage pregnancies while you were growing up, as if the education there was quite good once you moved to the sin city. you mean, it never occurred to you to do drugs, if you think about it. you've never considered it.

and now you’re thinking of selling it?

haechan's eagerness had begun to creep up on you when you finally heard a throat clearing. in front of you, a twink boy wore a gold chain that probably weighed down his neck. “you're… the man?”

“call me renjun. and let's talk about business.”

as events unfold, you and haechan keep an eye on johnny loading your van with a single big bag, although you're more interested in the flexing of his muscles to realize late that this is what it is about.

“it only bought us one bag? can’t imagine why people go broke for drugs,” you mutter, caughting renjun’s attention.

“that’s just a quarter of what you’ve bought. here comes the rest,” he replies without looking at you. instead, he stares at the line of guys bringing bag after bag to your van.

you see how your car is smuggled to the brim without a word on the matter, because in the end, it was your idea. “so, that will buy us two sport cars,” haechan inquires.

“define sport cars,” renjun replies, giving him a look, “herbie’s a sport car.”

you both look at each other blankly when neither seems to remember the model of the car. “the one you mentioned, is it good?”

“i don't know about cars, sweetheart. you said to give you the expensiest. all i know is that 10 grands by direct line and without commission can make 70 grands if you sell it all.” you and haechan look at each other at that statement.

“you're very good at finance.”

“i don't know about finance. i know about drugs.”

“yes, but think that you're selling sport cars by import and you must pay taxes and so on. it's the same calculation.”

renjun looks at you before turning to haechan, “good luck selling coke with heidi's grandma.” before walking back inside the house.

you're a little taken aback by his comment, and when you hit the road with 10 pounds of drugs, realization finally strikes you. “d'you think he was talking about gertrude?” haechan takes his eyes off the rearview mirror to give you an amused look.

“i sincerely doubt it, honey,” he ends up mumbling.

you had left the compound a while ago and taken the highway, but the sunny boy kept looking back every few seconds, clearly feeling persecuted. you, on the other hand, were more than thrilled. “oh, my god, relax! it's not like i'm going over the speed limit.” you roll your eyes, watching him lean back in his seat.

“5 years for consumption and possession, and 5 to 2 life sentences for sale. with a first-time offender reduction to 2 to 5 years, or 1 life sentence,” haechan recites, as if saying it out loud could somehow calm him down.

he looks a little unwell, so you stroke his knee. “we’re like bonnie and clyde,” you add, with endearment.

you hope you weren't forcing him to do this with you. you admit that most of the problems you had growing up together were caused by you, and he simply followed your lead.

“can i be clyde?” he quietly asks.

it's hard to believe that he's not the biggest bad influence among you.

maybe there were other ways to get money, like a 9 to 5 or something like that, but the truth was that extreme situations required extreme measures.

the thing about parties is that you never know where the next one will be. it could be on a duck, or in some old factory. it could also be, on the apartment next door.

after driving around in the van a couple of times, the message from the ring lights up the cell phone screen like a eureka moment. the boy’s apartment, where else can you sell drugs if not in a place where drugs are not allowed?

you squint when you enter the dark alley of your residency complex, “d’you forget your glasses?” haechan wonders before you hum a ‘no’.

“is that…?” looking closely, haechan leans on the board while you watch a blond man looking over his shoulder as he quickens his pace, “look! jisung.” you slow down the van a little until you are alongside him, but before you can roll down the window and announce yourself, the boy looks toward the vehicle.

the peculiar action makes him alert enough to open his eyes, startled.

“nah, not again,” you hear him mutter before sprinting off, seconds before he could see you or the look of surprise on your face.

you slowly turn toward haechan, both of you looking stunned. you were unaware that after lessons on personal safety, he’d heed your advice.

“they grow so fast…”

“you taught him well,” haechan assures after, looking fatherly.

 ʚïɞ

it seemed that being guilty was something one could see and feel because why are you both standing in the doorway, like two outcasts, feeling the weight of your actions finally yielding to the gravity of your crimes?

mark stops in his tracks to give you a judgmental glance while taking a sip from a full bottle of johnny walker. “whatever you're up to, keep me out of it.”

haechan comes out of his shell. shrugs his shoulders and smugly teases, “did you hear that, pretty? no weed for mark.”

to a certain extent, you find the reaction it provokes in the poor boy amusing. and even more so when you part ways with them, leaving them in the midst of an argument which, seen from afar, looks almost comical.

as you get deeper and deeper into the party, your apprehensions begin to grow. if your past self could see you right now, she would be mortified. but a part of you, the boring girl who grew up on jeju, who had her first kiss at eighteen in the backseat of gertrude with his best friend, who has not lost her virginity yet, she was honestly starting to annoy you.

how could you do this? it's not like there's a manual to sell drugs. should you just… apapproach people? which people?

“hey.”

“hi!” okay, it's as if you're putting a lot of effort into getting caught. maybe you should act more laid back. “i mean, hey.”

liz and chenle approach you as if they were joined at the waist. “have you seen jisung? i want to make sure he arrived safely.”

“why you baby him so much?” chenle asks, raising an eyebrow and sporting a smirk.

your eyes open in surprise, “i don't!” then your cheeks light up and you giggle coquettishly, “okay, i do. i can't help but feel maternal since i kinda dated his older brother,” you mention with a funny face, tapping the boy in the shoulder to lighten up the mood.

oh, yes, mingi. great hookup, the little you know about law you learned from the lessons he gave you between kisses.

unfortunately, he really liked teaching.

“you dated my older brother?”

when jisung appears behind you with his features bathed in confusion you think you're having a mini heart attack while the others react with a drawn-out “oh”.

that is, until you remember your last resort of persuasion. “jisung, how many times do we have to tell you not to listen to private conversation?”

he looks so surprised that is quite charming. “you're right sorry,” he suddenly apologizes, his cheeks flushed.

maybe you are a bit of a chatterbox, but can you be blamed? when looking for a viable alternative to improve your mood, you end up having a couple of piña coladas in the company of chaeyoung. “the placebo effect of piña coladas is crazy, don't you think? ” you ask her as she leans against the wall next to you. “it really feels like it has alcohol in it.”

“because it does.”

“no, it doesn’t, fool…” you grimace in incredulity before your gaze travels toward the dark-haired man coming in your direction, and even though you have kissed him before, you kinda feel keen. you also feel that he’s haunting you because of the car you burned the other night by accident.

“d’you think he’s still mad at me?”

“i don’t think so, no. but… hard to say, though,” chaeyoung chants. “good luck.”she says before she runs away from you.

jeno and all his male energy push you against the wall, like a negative gravitational field. and you find yourself stuttering like the first time. “look, about your car…”

“about the car…” you both interrupt each other, and when he grins amusing, you find it fanciful, but not in a playful way; more of a chilling nervousy.

you notice a bruise that you decide to look past and fear for your life.

“i was thinking, maybe you can pay me in other ways.” his chiseled features contrast with his crescent eyes when he smiles sideways.

“please don’t burn my van.”

his laughter sounds sharp like a knife, but that is until it reaches his eyes, shinning. then it sounds appealingly comfortable to you.

“i mean a date.”

“oh.”

oh.

it feels like all your teenage dreams are slowly coming true somehow, and you don't know if you like it or not. as if you can't help saying yes, and you hate yourself for it because most of your rendezvous have started and ended like this. with you, figuring out you’ll never get drunk and kiss strangers again, crash at a party and wander aimlessly. you’ll end up always, looking for a taste of sun.

forever wondering if he feels the same, if you would dare to go out with him knowing how much he hates commitment. if you could be selfish, for the last time, and have him now.

you giggle, “excuse me for a second.” before you leave jeno as if going to a commercial break, running away, or maybe just running, to him.

amidst the hustle you think seeing him everywhere, going towards him only to watch him walking away.

square back and shoulder blades move under his shirt when he runs his fingers through his chocolate-colored hair. the lights outlines his profile every time he looks back, as if he knew you would follow him wherever he went. and you’re overwhelmed by the idea that you probably would, even when he’s so far away and yet so close from you to have his laughter reaching your ears.

but he's not who you're expecting.

it amazes you how they can be the alike and yet not resemble each other at all. he, who looks back over his shoulder. he, with his smokey eyes and dangerous smile. long, dark hair styled downward with strands falling over hisforehead. sounding identical but with a different undertone. silver-colored. lunar.

“sweetpea.” normally you're the one who does all the talking for both of you, but since that night, you've been avoiding him in the same way you will avoid jaemin tonight.

you know how much of a bad influence donghyuck is. more so, he races illegally and you bet he evades taxes just like his brother gets stoned —completely unforeseen if you ask, giving the fact that haechan is a nerdy cool who deceives appearances. anyway, he was the one doing all that kind of illicit things like battery when you were teenagers; you start to think that the summer camp he went to as a kid was actually a juvenile detention.

from as far back as you can remember, you have always wanted to win his attention. but mostly, you've always been afraid of the idea of been willing to wait for him forever rather than having him just now.

and that the unconscious reason is because you are out of his league. you’re sorry for staring for too long, for finding comfort in his features even if it is fleeting. you regret always reminisce haechan every time you look at him like this.

“hyuck, your face.” because of the colored lights cascading down his features, the bruises on his cheek and lip had barely gone unnoticed, but given how close he was and looking at him more intently, they seemed freshly made. moreover, they matched jeno’s.

“it’s not that bad,” he replies, “did you get into trouble again?” the tone of his voice sounds strangely playful, because nothing escapes him, not even you.

donghyuck —who surely had worse injuries, used to treat your wounds over his. his looked painful compared to your scrapes when you wanted to ride a bike; you were 7 years old and haechan used to mocked you for not knowing how to.

he always had a way of distracting you away from his problems. maybe it was also your fault for letting it happened.

“can you keep a secret?” there was no way he’d tell you how he got into a fight, because you’ve tried before, so you decide to let it slide… mostly because you were in fact, in trouble.

your hand reaches into your pocket under his gaze, slowly beginning to show signs of delight.

“d’you have a gun?”

you see him raise his hands in defense, and when he smirks, he doesn't look like haechan at all. he just looks like donghyuck.

“no— why would i have a gun?” **

if it's not for pointing at your own head for doing ilicit stuff.

“i just assumed it… drugs are less likely since you informed on haechan’s dealer.”

your face, surely an edvard munch’s work of art. “wha—no i didn’t!”

how on earth did he find out about that?

“so you do have drugs. what if jaemin finds out? better, what if the police show up and you have a pound of narcotics on you?” he smiles when he talks, but gradually stops doing so.

“shh!—”

shame and common sense are the things you lack the most and sometimes you forget that you shouldn't show them off too much.

“sweetpea, please tell me this isn’t your way to buy the cars…”

“because it’s clever?” you ask, shrugging.

he pokes your chin with his thumb. “it’s stupid. i wonder what haechan did to convince you to do this,” he says, before seeing the reality bathing his features in realization, because he didn’t.

“well, if you put it like that…”

if you put it like that, it was stupid.

and little by little, you recall how bonnie and clyde concluded their journey.

“oh, my god. what am i going to do?”

little by little, realization hits you like a truck and now you see the consequences of your actions.

“hey, sweetpea,” donghyuck sighs heavily, and you notice the hint of mockery, causing you to stare at him the moment a tender smile blooms on his lips. “leave it to me.” his gaze disappears into the crowd and you feel like you're losing him too, just for a few seconds, almost for eternity. “meet me later.”

“where?”

“pick a place. i’ll find out.”

when you see him leave, you are left with a strange feeling that something is missing.

what were you about to do?

oh yes, confess your feelings to haechan.

 ʚïɞ

looking among the faces, among the sea of people, you find him dancing. and as so many times before and so many times since, the searching feels endless, so far away and yet so close at times. you never knew how to appreciate when you could count his eyelashes without getting nervous, because it never happened. there’s no version of you that is not in love with him. and because life is too short, and the police could arrive at any moment and arrest you, you don't want to waste any more of it. the wait, the wait seems endless.

mark is beside him, kissing his puffy cheek despite his complaints, even though he seems to like it because he blushes; his coy friend must be high as a kite because not in a million years would he ever say “i love you.” at the top of his lungs.

you must be high too, you guess, throwing yourself without a parachute, falling in his arms.

his lips, your lips, meet with magnetism. he tastes like cherry and vanilla soda. crushingly so, he makes havoc on you. and the sounds he makes only makes you a fool, full of him.

he finds himself laughing against your mouth and it taste like sunbeams. with your mouth over his, and him over you, his firm grip gives you butterflies. receptively, you end up cornered in the bathroom sink.

full, pouty lips collide against yours, so smooth yet charged. your fingers dig into his hair and haechan stifles a intimate sigh in your mouth. brushing slowly, he hums and send shivers down your spine.

“yn, why do you have drugs in your bra?”

how his hand ended up there without you noticing?

“oh, i figured that if jaemin ever catches us, he's not going to look there,” you whisper against his lips between kisses.

you hoped not, at least.

the small package falls to the floor when he removes his hands, and you both look at it before haechan breaks the kiss to pick it up. dazed by the sound of his lips separating from yours, you watch him furrow his eyebrows.

“… did they put cocaine in us?” haechan accuses, and it takes you a while to shake his dazzling effect on you, to grab the small plastic bag he hands you.

“shouldn't they?” you ask, fearful.

“well, that's a more serious issue than getting caught selling marijuana.”

“how serious?”

he makes a face that just makes you nervous, but when he looks at you all concerned, he doesn't say anything at all…, because someone comes into the bathroom.

someone like jaemin.

“why are you, suddenly, in the most unexpected places, alone, lately?”

he crosses his arms, accusingly, and that's probably what makes you squeeze the plastic bag a little too hard and end up with a burst of dust on your shirt. “shit.”

haechan's back is wide enough for you to hide behind and away from jaemin's attentive gaze, but that doesn't do much when it looks like a coke bomb has exploded on you. and even when you do your best to hide it, sensing his heavy presence behind your back makes you feel persecuted.

as far as you are concerned, the boy is a sweetheart, he even looks like a war machine of affection. that doesn't take away from the fact that he takes out half a head of the sunny boy, and that he's strong enough so that haechan can't stand up to him.

and while haechan desperately tries to stop the boy from looking at you and get him out of the bathroom, this irrational fear of jaemin only makes you do the first thing that comes to mind, the most conventional way to get rid of this kind of evidence: by inhaling it.

this is why your parents tell you ‘say no to drugs.’ by the way.

a cough assaults you non-stop as you feel your nose burning, and haechan turns around with wide, dazed eyes to see you losing your mind. “what did you do?” he murmurs, drawing you towards him to comfort you, but all you can feel is your senses moving away from your body, and your soul suspended in limbo.

a burning sensation rises from your nose to your brain, where arson explodes. you drift off for a few seconds, and everything goes dark. their voices and the conversation they’re having get distorted before everything comes back to you all at once, like an adrenaline rush.

“is she alright?” jaemin tries to look at you but haechan blocks his view.

“of course she is. she just exceeded the fun limit…”

the two of them stare at each other for what seems like an forever, seeing who will give in first in the staring contest that you want to join, because you're sure you would win; you can't even feel your eyes anymore.

“keep her out of the piñas coladas,” jaemin suggests letting the boy in front of you breathe a sigh of relief when he looks like he’ll leave you alone. but ultimately, he turns around in the doorway and haechan flinches. “nice lipstick, yn,” he says, glancing at the dark-haired man before finally leaving.

leaning against the door, haechan runs a hand through his hair before recalling one of the minor issues in his repertoire of problems. “how are you feeling? talk to me.” he seems on the verge of collapse despite the fact that it was you who inhaled a good amount of strong drug to save your skin from a reprieve, which, seeing it with new eyes, it was never that serious.

“i feel good.” a laughter assails you under his gaze, checking on you. “i could run a marathon right now, actually.”

“you've never run a marathon before.”

oh, but you could.

even though you've started sweating from the fright, you feel hyperactive as usual, your heart has probably skipped two or three beats, and you seem short of breath. you feel great. those are just the usual effects of having him so close. “i’m lowkey waiting for the drug to take effect,” you announce, hazy.

the electricity that runs through you is because he looks eternally handsome. so domestic and comforting. his soft and chiseled features looks so angelic under certain lights that you feel your heavy gaze starting to melt. it feels like staring directly at the sun. “i think they've already started…” because of the hot bathroom air, his cheeks and lips have been dyed wine, but it's your lipstick on his lips that brings you to kiss him again.

his bedroom eyes consumed by his pupils stare attentively at you. and if you think about it, he's alright.

haechan laughs, “thanks.”

when you kiss him, it seems that a thousand butterflies have hatched in your stomach and you only feel their violent fluttering. it had never felt so much as it does now. so unbearable. you're breathless when his tongue brushes your lower lip, and the flavors of cocaine dusting your mouth makes him sigh.

even though your lips are on his, moving in sync, soaking breaths and sighing, it's not enough. you can't stop the avalanche of longing that assails you. when you taste his mouth, your heart pumps love that drains through your veins, and covers your entire body. you want him with you. you want him now.

“sleep with me.”

he clings to your body and presses a kiss on your forehead, “yes.”

as your heart beats slowly and the air begins to feel thin, you find yourself waiting. from your first kiss to your first love, it has always been him. you hope he knows; every piece of your life is touched by him. he’s the meassure of all the things that has happened to you and it makes you afraid to think that you're alone in this because you weren't any of his first times.

you see his back and shoulders, his highlighted hair, his profile looking back to see if you're still there, to see if you're still following him, as if holding hands isn't enough and he needs to make sure.

you're on edge, feeling his fingers around yours as he guides you out of the party and everything falls silent behind him, everything except your thoughts. everything but your emotions.

intimate, he guides you to his room, and when the door closes, your fingers are still intertwined, even when you’re alone and there’s no people you could possibly get lost with. his hands wrap around your waist, pulling you toward him. in the dark, you are laid down on the comfortable surface of his bed.

his voice just makes you want to follow him, to the edge. “are you sure you’re not having a stroke?”

his scent lingers a little longer; it’s all over his room, along with your thoughts. you’re heavily intoxicated, and still, all you can think about is him. him. him. your mouth tingles, your mind hasn't been quiet since then. this is the greed they spoke of in the bible.

you shake your head, unable to talk, because if you do, you fear that all you can say is his name. and then he would know, and you would be lost forever.

wet and dreamy eyes, honey lips. you’re sunburned. because it looks like he already knows. you're afraid that you're just stuck being the friend who gets kissed from time to time. you're afraid of becoming the one he uses when there's no one else around.

above all, you're lowkey afraid it doesn't sound so bad.

“oh, they’re kicking now.” you grab your head with no critical thinking, and he chuckles, getting up. you see him roaming around the room, opening his closet and searching under the bed, but in the end, he doesn't seem to find the pot he's probably looking for.

“i’ll be right back.” he avoids your gaze ans you are thankful that the gloom prevents him from seeing you or your features.

“you’re leaving?” you ask —when it’s so obvious, stopping him at the door.

haechan hums, “i’ll go grab something.”

words hang on your tongue, yet your mind repeats them over and over, as if mocking you.

you think you’re losing your mind, which is fine, because you’ve sold your soul already to a gang.

time thickens and so your thoughts. and your feelings, all scattered in the room slowly come back to you.

when he gets back, you think you've given the matter a few good turns.

“now, before we start i want you to promise that you won’t print your way out of this cause—” his features are tinged with surprise when you grab him and pull him toward you. lips forming an ‘o’ before he comes toward you and presses his mouth against yours. he’s cold, fingers leaving a wake of chill when they touch your waist to pull you closer.

a low sound escapes him when you pull him close to you. it only takes a moment to pass for a star to explode and be consumed, only an instant when the same thing happens to you. your mind is cluttered by the way he reacts of you kissing him.

his hands cradle your face, and after long seconds that dissolve between breaths, the cold isn't so bad anymore. your head spins and you're back in your childhood home, chasing someone. when he kisses you more intently, he slips through your fingers. but his mouth leave a trace on your neck, and for a moment it feels as if you’ve finally achieved it.

you’re moonburned.

your fingers run through his hair, your lips collide with his mouth, and he breathes just as he guides your hands to touch him again. and you are caressing his cheeks, and pulling him closer to you, fighting the strange feeling he’ll escape away.

pressing you against the desk, he helps you lean over it. your legs wrap around his waist, your hands pull him closer to you, and he simply lets you guide him between your tighs, consuming your senses. exposed skin being caressed, his lips travel down to your neck when you freeze.

he’s touching your scar and staring at you with glassy eyes when you pulled apart, and see.

because he’s the one who’s been your first kiss all this time.

the room turns into a black hole, filled with heavy breathing, and the horrible reason why he has avoided the bed. looking at each other, with mouth bruised and swoony eyes, failing miserably at looking away once you've seen it.

“you’re not him.”

you search his face for answers and find none of the cunning you might accuse him of. no triumph, no calculation, and slowly, the truth settles in. he didn’t kiss you to deceive you. he kissed you because he believed you were kissing him.

you take in his face, all the beauty he only wears in fragments. same eyes, same mouth. he is alluring, but he’s not beautiful. without the way warmth blooms in you, the heart knows immediately who it is not.

avoiding thinking that for a split second, you wouldn’t notice if he hadn't touched your scar.

moving up and down with the rise and fall of his chest, you suddenly notice how close his body is to yours, and you feel him pressing against you. “does it matter if i’m not him?” he breathes, holding your eyes the most terrible way.

because it matters now.

it hadn’t been haechan who found you that night, he didn’t regretted it and came back to you. he didn’t find you in the car, donghyuck did, in the same way as now. and you hadn't noticed because you were crying your eyes out.

those same honey-colored eyes, only shinier, drunk, but not with wine. it only takes a moment to realize that it's because of you.

people tend to gaze at haechan as if he was the sun, because he’s all jokes and blushing cheeks, silly scientific facts and magic tricks, but with donghyuck, people tend to gaze away, maybe because they’re afraid of the feelings he elicits, perhaps for the same reason you gasp for air, because it's something that you simply can't put into words... because you don't know them.

donghyuck, whose secrets hold secrets, and for whom you spent an entire summer convincing yourself to stop crushing over, looks at you and it's as if it reveals everything.

everything you hadn't been able to see, because you were busy falling for someone else. you'd take some time to bask in the glory, but when his mouth frown and open, your senses turn off, and you find yourself kissing him again.

he lifts you up, and a second later you're pressed against him and your legs are weak. your senses block out whatever is happening up there in your head because you're a little high. kissing him back, you feel like you could enjoy his warmed hands on your waist more if it weren't for the uneasy gnawing hole opening up in your stomach.

he kisses your mouth and there you are, once again, waiting. a change in your heart, a hunch. and yet… “you’re not haechan,” you repeat.

your heart lingers, scanning empty spaces, waiting for a sound, a knock, a miracle that might split the moment open. but nothing shifts. the air stays still. the door stays closed.

unfinished, your inyeon with haechan is perhaps wanting something so badly that you end up ruining what you already have. stuck in a loop that goes back and forth, where he drags this forever.

the only thing that keeps coming back is his lips on yours, over and over again.

time is running out, you're about to lose him forever. and yet once again, all your eyes do is land on donghyuck, looking as if he wants to say something that will change your mind.

but would it have changed anything?

he grins sideways, and you start to fear what he might say without tact. that he might be mean and cruel, that he might mock you because you're pathetic and that anything haechan had done to make you feel bad in the past, he could be worse.

but the eyes always give him away. he’s never been good at being heartless. he’s never been cruel to you. not when he treated that nasty wound when you were little. nor when he's always around when the things haechan does somehow get to you. not now, when he pushes you back and his hands are still gentle. “don’t wait for him. he left a couple of minutes ago,” he confesses, caressing your cheek without sparing a glance as he walks towards the exit.

his hands reach for the doorknob, and the last second, he seems to think it better. giving you one last look, his eyes are heavy with moonlight, “you should probably go before he does something way more stupid than leaving you alone.” when he leaves, pulling the night with him, he doesn't need to explain it; he's talking about the rest of the girls.

“that was rude…” you think to yourself, but after a while, you do what he says.

getting lost at a party or the time where you had everything, you almost lost it because you were afraid to take a leap of faith…

a list of things you swore you’d never do, and yet you had done the most reckless thing of all:

falling for your best friend.

you should have known, when you wished every traffic light were red on your ride here.

so you figured, you’ll never get drunk again and kiss strangers just to get an excuse to sit on his lap and have him close, crash at a party and wander aimlessly and see there’s no trace of him.

you’ll go to your apartment, with your heart racing and wrapped in your hand, only to find him by chance there.

haechan frozes right when you open the door and you both end up looking at each other from across your small room before he dares to excuse himself. “i swear i’m not looking at your panties drawer in a pervert way again…”

there are times when calling him out gives you a boost of good health, and then, in moments like this, you really hope silence conjures up everything you feel.

quiet, his cheeks look vine-colored, and you bet he still smells powdery. he’s so beautiful, it's overbearing; it makes you want to laugh. warmed, you stare at him holding a handful of stuffed animals —your stuffed animals.

a smile blooms on your lips and everything inside you sings before it stops suddenly, “don’t lie, i saw you looking.”

you close the door gently behind you, as if throwing a stone into a lake and hoping it won't make too many ripples that disturb the water. dimly lit, your room feels different tonight. like softened, at the edges. it’s hard for you to take in what he's done. he may not have done anything at all, but you'd still feel it, that tingling sensation, the fluttering in your chest.

it’s been a while since you’ve been friends, and you fear there will be no turning back when everything he touches you turn it into love. it wasn't that his room looked cozier, it was him bringing warmth everywhere, making it feel that way.

piece by piece, you see that he’s made the bed, and by the look of things, you think he has completely misunderstood your intentions, to sleep with him. you believe, either way, that being friends, doesn't bother you at all, if it means he reserves his affection only for you. if his eyes only turn to honey when he's with you.

you figured you’ll always let him come close and play you, mix your feelings and go back to the start, if it means having him forever.

“c’mere, let’s get you ready for bed.”

he grabs your hand and his rings sends shivers down your body, “i don’t want to sleep.” big, brown eyes sparkle when they bath you and you feel yourself blushing.

his voice comes soft and restrained. it warms your whole being, it makes you fuzzy. “what do you want?” in a trance, your body moves on its own. your arms rise and you find yourself holding him close. haechan wraps his arms around your waist and you inhale his scent, overwhelming your senses. powder, vanilla, wood, him. “you.”

pouring, your body is soaked with warmth when you feel him struggling to compose. “sleep with me.”

you had spent a long time fighting against the idea of how much everything he did woke up something in you, not realizing the effect you could have on him when you whispered in his ear. when you pull away to look into his eyes, you discover the most beautiful bedroom eyes you have ever seen.

of all the times you've been left hanging, the way he looks before he kisses you is probably your favorite.

deep, slow, steamed. your mouth opens to receive him, completely carried away by the way his lips move over yours. tongue gently colliding, you’re out of breath. kissing you ardently, full with tangible emotions, like the beating of his heart against your palm. his kisses trail off to the base of your neck, and when you look up at the ceiling, you swear seeing stars coming upon you and blazing your body.

your mind burns and it only goes down further, where his hands rests. “haechan.” you swallow, feeling overwhelmed.

he hums against your neck and you get flustered, following with sighs the path he makes with his fingers to your intimacy. it fills you to the point of overflowing delight and he smiles against your skin. “mmm?” he asks in approval, and it takes you a while to gather the words, “yes.” when his fingers shove down and touch you.

the floor shakes under your feet and he holds you against him as he rocks into you, tracing circles in that delicious, aching spot.

his mouth opens and his warm breath hits your crawling skin before he runs his tongue up to your ear, picking up the sweat, “c’mon yn, let me hear you.” whispering in the most compelling way you’ve ever heard him, your mouth opens and spill enticing sounds. your ears are blessed when you pant at the switch in motion and he laughs airily. your lower belly feels heavy and barely being able to breathe or do anything but grab hold of his shirt, you try not to lose control too quickly.

“such a pretty sound, my baby.”your whole body becomes aroused and desire washes over you from head to toe, making you feel light, stirring your senses and spreading them throughout the room in moans, the moment the cold of one of his rings brushes against your bare skin on his way to push them inside before he suddenly stops.

you feel his presence slip away from you and suddenly feel empty, before you feel his soft lips kiss your cheek. “d’you want to lay down?” when he looks at you, he still remains as handsome as ever. his face is bathed in attention while he stares at you, and you feel sudden shyness at him seeing you like this.

when he brings his fingers to his mouth while keeping his eyes on you, you figured he likes you, “i do.” a complacent smirk spreads across his face as you let him guide you blindly, devouring his mouth. your thighs touch the bed and you end up sitting on the edge with him hovering over you, leaving your lips to draw a path of kisses to your cleavage.

the valley of your breasts receive the caresses he leaves on his way down, where you soon come to terms with what comes next when he stops right at your feet. “yes?” breathlessly, you lean back and you let him put your legs on each shoulder, his nimble fingers taking advantage that you’re raised a few seconds off the mattress to remove your underwear.

your skirt rises and exposes your femininity, and you swear that his eyes light up seconds before he sinks his head between your legs and you swallow a sound. receptively, you arch your back and your legs move upward, taking his hair in your hands. “fucking delicious.” he eats you hungrily, squeezing your sensitive thighs with his fingers and giving you the feeling that the entire universe is bursting in the space between your legs.

you often wonder how everyone puts up with him when he gets this smug and cocky. when he uses his tongue, you finally understand.

“haechan-agh…”

your glassy eyes lands down and take in the light bouncing off the small jewels of your own arousal, and him, nose deep in you, nibbling on that sweet spot, turning you into a whining mess. head tilted back, your eyes flutter at the sensations running through you upward, blazing your mind and numbing your body. it becomes impossible to keep you upright and stop twitching under his paced motions, so you collapse onto the bed and your sight fills with tears.

it explodes deep inside and sends a spasming ripple through your body, making you want to curl up. unable to react, you float in limbo feeling waves of pleasure wash over your intimacy, shaking of your daze when he gives you a last stroke of tongue. his hands runs down your legs from bellow. lifting them up to reach your heels, he leaves kisses on your ankles.

haechan leaves you undone, fuzzy and faded. barely giving you time to recover, you hold your breath as he comes toward you and begins to kiss you urgently.

he tastes of lust and candy, letting you catch your breath just enough to keep up with the pace at which he devours your mouth. he tastes of desperation.

the kisses escalate and you’re between pillows and stuffed animals. in the middle of the bed without knowing how you got there, you welcome him when he positions himself between your legs. “my pretty girl.” his lips feel velvety like the mattress he’s pressing you against, tongue leaving an addictive taste on yours when you open your mouth and give in.

you’re barely sober, intoxicated by the way that no part of your body is left untouched. caresses feeling almost like he’d been waiting to run his hands on you, eyes traveling before his mouth does; when he reaches the scar on your thigh, his fingers pause.

“y’know? you’re usually so open about everything, but you've never told me how you ended up with this scar. or if i've done a good job.” he kisses both of your ankles when removing them while keeping his eyes on your expressions when you nod.

unfortunately, the words get stuck in your throat because his hands start traveling up your thighs again. “nothing to say, honey?”

you shake your head, “i…—” words come out slurred and between sighs. you’re unable to hold his gaze without your eyes feeling heavy. “i would’ve liked to watch you…”

you know you look like a mess. your droopy blouse barely covers your bust and is lifted up to your waist, just like your skirt. your face must be flushed and still bearing the traces of what happened a few seconds ago, but when you see him run his finger over your lower lip before kissing you, you know he must like it.

your fingers get tangled in his shirt and he pulls away just enough for you to remove it. he falls with all his weight on top of you and a sound escapes you as you feel him settle between your legs, your naked core feeling the sturdiness on his jeans.

his mouth leaves wet kisses on your jaw and neck as his hands venture down to remove your skirt, towering over you to begin unbuckling his pants. he kneels, and you pull yourself up as he watches the straps of your blouse slipping from your shoulders.

heavy breathing, his fingers burn your exposed skin as he pulls you toward him to lick your shoulder, digging them into your bare back. you lose yourself in the kiss, brimming with passionate intensity, turned into a bundle of sounds muffled against his mouth. pulling you toward him, you both fall onto the bed, with you straddling him.

his arm wraps around your waist to lift you up to undress himself, and the blouse falls further to expose the soft skin of your breasts. you see him, open his mouth involuntarily and his tongue peeking out just a little.

his breath hits you and gives you butterflies when he cradles one in his hands and puts his warm, wet mouth against your cold skin. choked up, your legs feel weak from being touched, almost losing it when you feel him standing erect against your femininity. haechan wreaks havoc on you, and your emotions quickly spread throughout the dimly lit room. his messy brown hair falls over his closed eyes, and you thrill at him getting so much pleasure from sucking your breats. with his plump lips wrapped around your nipple, his fingers holding them squeeze you and make you moan.

you find yourself barely able to stay on top of him, wanting to lower yourself onto his erect penis and have him close to you when he suddenly changes position and leaves you underneath him. he barely moves away when he returns to licking your already sensitive breasts and your fingers dig into his hair as you gaze at the stars.

“haechan…” you’re so desperate it hurts. yours legs have turned into a liquid pain that rises to your belly, and he just won't thrust into you.

instead, he begins to leave wet kisses on your stomach, which glisten in the light like flashes of silver. his mouth makes sounds every time he leaves a trail of saliva as he moves down, and you find yourself on the verge of ecstasy when he stops at the valley of your intimate area.

haechan has placed you so that you are slightly reclined on the pillows, giving him a view of your pink, swollen pussy, covered in silky lubrication and saliva. dripping over your thighs, the mere cold air gives you chills as you watch him slowly open your legs.

“i plan you to watch.” having his mouth back sucking and working wonders was just a whim. now he uses his fingers too, and you don't think you can hold out much longer. this is nothing like anything you've experienced before on your own while imagining him; this is a thousand times better.

his tongue barely gives you a break and you can't stop sounding hoarse and tearful. furrowing your eyebrows, your misty gaze falls and you see him nodding over your pussy, up and down. he changes speed again and it driving you crazy, unable to do anything but moan and arch.

his hands crawl across your stomach to your nipples beneath your disheveled blouse, and you have no other instinct than to reach for them and feel them against you. soft and covered in rings, you stifle a cry as you writhe beneath his touch, feeling your mind begin to fade away with pleasure.

“let’s get you ready.” when he curves his finger inside, a spasm strikes you and takes your breath away.

he pulls away from you just enough to see his face; flushed and overcome with indescribable emotion, he uses his fingers to feel you. his pretty face fills your heart with affection, and even though he looks tender and delicate, you now know how vicious he can be when his shiny darkened eyes look at you.

then, his fingers finish undoing the knots that tie your blouse, and you are completely naked and exposed in front of him.

you find yourself playing with your index finger in your mouth, writhing and stretching. you are so out of it that you can only reach out with your hands until they touch the soft material of one of your stuffed animals and bring it to your chest.

haechan watches you, eyes fixed on you, following your every move to the rhythm of his heavy breathing. you consider covering yourself to escape his prying gaze, but instead you reach up to the seams of the teddy bear and pull out the small, almost empty paper wrap.

he comes down and kisses you, ardently, deeply, your senses stirr when he pulls back and wait for you to put the join between his moist lips, soaked with your arousal.

you hold your breath and blindly reach for your candle lighter resting in the nightstand. when he inhales, smoke rings blur your vision, and your mouth tingles the moment he lets you taste the marijuana from his mouth.

mesmerized and dazed, barely aware of the rush of pleasure and desire that seeing him provokes in you, you let him kiss you and pass the smoke to you until he finishes. you find yourself ecstatically intoxicated by his presence between your legs. wet to the point of climax. but you’re so high words don’t come to you, but rather reflect in your eyes and body, in your entire being, vibrating and moving to have a touch of his body, the hands that made you pant his name, his bare legs flexing when you look down and see pearls of white liquid gushing from his tip. your mouth waters instantly for a taste of him.

to the side, your tongue leaves a lick from bottom to top, and the taste explodes on your palate when you enclose your lips around the tip and move down, taking it inside. bent over you, haechan sighs and let you give him a few sucking motions. licking and stroking, you’re entranced by how it barely fits, giving it a last suction until you run out of breath and pull away, only to find him frowning hard and with his eyes closed.

flustered, he bites his lips and you become aware of the effect you have on him. a small smile flashes across his face before he starts to look for something. “does your teddy bear have…?” a small black rectangle is trapped between your fingers under his gaze. fleeting pride crosses his features before he takes it from your hands.

“tell me if it hurts.”

you feel it press on your entrance, and a current shakes your body. your eyes roll to the back of your head as he pushes into your hips slowly, his cock expanding you for him. without being able to help it, your eyes cascade down to the meeting of his pelvis against yours, and his solid length entering you. just a few more inches to go and you're already seeing stars.

your fingers grip the stuffed animal and a knot forms on your stomach. “agh… haechan~…” silky pleasure travels down your legs and up to your head, flooding everything with delicious sensations; a moan escapes your lips, then another and another until the base of his crotch hits you and you feel him slip out.

your arousal allows him to enter easily, he pumps you four times before he stops suddenly, “fuck, yn.” his closest hand holding your lower belly goes down and starts making circles on your clitoris, and a tingle runs through your body.

your body contorts when he increases speed, your pussy clenches and twitches, dazed by the full way it feels. you become drunk from the way he penetrates you with short, deep thrusts.

he stops again with a grunt and you whine loudly. “what?…”

warmth fills you when he comes to you and sink deep into your neck. your legs wrap around his waist and keep him close as he resumes the motion. “you feel amazing…” blushing, you bite your lips and melt away.

a shot of bliss washes you over, tilting your head back as you hold onto his shoulders, feeling his lips seek for yours. heavy breathing hitting your skin. eyes gazing into each other. arms wrapping around his neck, he thrust you harder and faster, before he takes the teddy bear out of the way to your breast, “let me see you,” he demands, yet his voice remains soft like honey. tits bouncing and belly tremble when he begins to rock his length with hard thrusts, girth making you close your eye shut due to the overwhelming sensation of fullness.

he lifts your pelvis and makes you arch, sensing him in new ways now that he hits your sweet spot from a different angle, decreasing the pace, the slow and sharp motion drives you to the edge the moment you were sure you were about to cum. “hae…” your voice sounds pasty and irritated; when your eyes gaze at him, he’s looking at the hot pink object falling out of mr. buttons.

oh. that. see, the vibrator was a bad joke from liz… that you ended up using it… just to give it a try. you would have liked to take it from his hands and hide it again, but from the way he’s looking at it and your stomach churns and warms, you crave for him to use it on you. almost overwhelmed and lost, you can barely hear him. “naughty girl.”

his voice has become deep and dark. you soon discover that it is due to desire. that it is because of you. he sounds crushingly beautiful.

the purring when he turns it on barely warns you how much you're going to like it, when he starts thrusting into you again with it pressed against your clitoris, you claw at the mattress and squeeze the pillow over your head. noise fills your mind and a delayed scream leaves your lips. you writhe even though he holds you tight. your legs give way and can barely stay still under the incessant trembling in your intimate area. liquid pleasure numb your muscles and sends you to a drowsy state. a sweet and silky feeling spread over your mind and you can’t hold the moans any longer. “aw, yes~ just like that, pretty girl.”

haechan fucks you hard and you find yourself physically choking back tears, suppressing as much as you can what is beginning to wreak havoc in your belly. you don't want to make any sound because you want to hear him and the way his moans are sweet music to your ears. cute and delicate. high-pitched and tearful. he whispers sweet nothings in your ears that left you dazed.

“breathe…” he chuckles in your ear and it sends goosebumps down your intimacy. “…haechan…” he closes his eyes and whimpers and suddenly you’re so awake to see him struggling and found out the reason why he stops so much it’s because he’s so close to fall over the edge and take you with him.

your eyes water and flutter when you feel pressure descend on your intimacy and numb you all over you, running out of breath. your stomach feels on fire and he just grabs your legs and lift them so they’re pressed against your chest. your whole body buzzes arches involuntarily. he’s all you can think about. his face, his grimace, the way he holds your thighs and the way his mouth keep pouring sweet sounds because you make him feel this good.

“oh, god~” he moans, seconds before he suffers one spasm and then another. an elongated cry leaves his lips when he tilts his head back and struggle to keep going, moments before you reach your high and cry his name. you grow increasingly tired as he ditch the toy and replace it for his fingers, soothing the ache that makes you squirm.

he keeps making noises when you kiss him. fingers dig into his hair and you stroke his back from top to bottom. “let me hear those pretty moans again.” you hold on tight as his fingers rub the rigid bulge of your intimacy.

he awakes every fiber of your body and receptively, a moan breaks the quiet room along with his cooing, until you grow more desperate. his big brown eyes look at you when you cup his face, visibly shaking and aroused. “am i your best friend?”

a kiss is left in his lips, long, impregnated with desire, slipping from your eyes darkened. “show me your favorite position.”

you're raised from the bed, caught in a bewitching spell of kisses and fingers tattooed on your skin. your breasts are wet from his mouth, sensitive due to constant biting and tingling for his touch. enraptured and in a pleasure-filled state of climax, you’re shuddering when you find yourself on top of him by his own doing. “haechan…” his name on your lips sound almost like a prayer for a celestial figure; an angel.

looking like an angel, he has round brown eyes filled with perverse things. tongue pressed in the valley of your breasts, you feel a sense of elation as he sinks into you again. frowning at each other for the overflowing and pleasure ecstasy, he closes his eyes and pants, “fuck, baby.” as you ride him, moving your hips back and forth, feeling with each thrust his length pushing against your walls and slipping on wet desire.

you feel the tangible, pleasurable pain in your chest, pounding and threatening to explode as your warm palms press against his chest and he falls between white pillows and bright gleams from your tears. fingers traveling to your waist and yours bury themselves in his forearms. the sounds increase as you intensify the pace, your stomach unleashes waves of warmth toward your crotch when he groans, “oh, yes, yn…” entering a state of such bliss he closes his eyes and helps you fuck him up and down.

cradled in his arms, his breath awakens every nerve in your body, stirring you and making you moan louder. you physically move with him when he changes positions and a sigh with pain leave your lips when you lose the delicious friction of his cock.

“…shhh, honey…” carried in his arms, he places you in front of pillows and stuffed animals, passing one arm across your chest. his breath hits your ear, “i’m showing you my favorites.” you arch involuntarily when he penetrates you, your body become needy and limp as he rhythmically hammers his cock in and out.

he takes you by the arms when you threaten to collapse on the bed, keeping you upright, he thrusts you and your head tilt backwards, receiving every inch of his girthy cock. “—oh~” you’re done, out of your mind. you hold onto the headboard and receive each of his thrusts and moans with ease until you melt around him again.

he reaches your clit and you whine his name stirring the words due to the overwhelming sensations he manages to bring out of you once more only with his cooing voice and fingers. he rocks you slow and hard, with guttural sounds coming out of his lips pressed against your ear.

drinking in, you end up reaching your high with your skin breaking in goosebumps as he hiss and starts laughing.

hearing his soft chuckle, he whispers, “how are you feeling? are you hurting, mmm?” he insists as he traces lines on your belly.

he places you on the bed, legs getting tangled under the sheets. you’re sore and tired, a smile blooms on your lips at the feeling of knowing the reason why. with all the weigh of your world on top of you, you take in his features, pretty, pretty. moles and delicate features, chiseled jaw and heart-shape lips. tanned and blushy. he feels heavenly, he’s made you touch the stars, yet he refers to you saying. “angel.” with his soft voice.

“i’m good…” you say, cheeks taking color. he’s dreamy, his eyes forms crescent moons due to the rush of energy spent. you would stay up all night if you could, if it weren't for his sleepy facial features. and he laughs. “what?” you ask.

“d'you want more?” he asks, boyishly. he sounds so drowsy it makes you yawn. you want him to teach you everything he knows. you want him to experiment with you and the positions he likes the most. yet your eyelids close unwillingly, and somnolent, you cup his face in your hands.

“wanna sleep with me?” you ask, noticing how his face lights up in an burst of color.

blue and red. “mmm…” he accepts, drawing you closer.

blue and red.

BLUE AND RED!

the two of you sit up in bed and shout in perfect coordination, “fuck, THE POLICE!”

[angstama]

03 ; never be | l.dh

pairing: pianist! haechan x f!reader (ft. lee jeno)

genre: angst, unrequited love, slow burn, childhood friends

warning: heartbreak!

status: completed!

synopsis — you've loved lee donghyuck since the day he enchanted you with his melancholy. from childhood days to fleeting teenage years, you followed him faithfully—drawn to his warmth, his brilliance, the way he seemed to glow wherever he went. to you, he was everything. to him, you were barely there.he never looked your way, never cared enough to notice the pieces of yourself you gave so freely. he never understood why you stayed so close, why you shadowed his every step with unwavering affection. and yet, you couldn’t stop—because you loved him just that much. but years of being invisible to the golden boy take their toll, leaving you fractured and questioning whether you ever mattered at all. and when you finally slip away, donghyuck is left behind—forced to confront the haunting truth of a love he never acknowledged until it was already gone.

author's note: hi lovelies~ behold the final chapter of never be. this chapter was truly heartbreaking for me to write🥲 that being said, we have finally come to the end of the never be series! originally i tried to expand the story to chapter four but realised it would've been better to just leave it as it already is but there could be a possibility of an epilogue depending on the demand for it :") thank you guys so much for the love and support!!! especially taking the time to read my silly little stories🥺🩵 now this little lowly author will be off focusing on sbu's finale!!!!!!!!!! see you guys there🩵

⋆˚꩜｡ m.list | previous chapter | epilogue

appreciating good music never felt so difficult until it came to wendy. you really tried to enjoy the music, but you simply couldn't. you don't realise that jeno's eyes were on you throughout the entire time the same way your watery eyes were fixed on the edge of your dress.

applause erupted, loud and alive all around you. but it felt far away, muffled, as though you were underwater.

donghyuck was clapping, too. you watched his hands move, the faint smile on his lips, the way his eyes stayed on the stage even after she had taken her bow. and for a moment, you just sat there — perfectly still — tulips wilting quietly between his knees, your heart heavy in your chest.

when the crowd began to rise, you did too, slow and detached, your fingers finding the edge of your dress as if grounding yourself in something tangible.

people around you were talking, laughing, voices overlapping in a blur of congratulations and admiration. it should have been a beautiful evening. and maybe it was, for everyone else. but definitely not for you.

you waited for donghyuck to spare you a glance, counting down the minutes when he gave you the attention you've been searching for. his expression soft, almost proud. “she’s amazing, right?” he said, his voice still full of the glow that hadn’t once been meant for you.

you looked at him for a long moment, searching for a trace of guilt, of awareness — something that said he’d noticed how small you’d felt sitting beside him. but there was nothing. just that same bright-eyed warmth he always carried when music was involved and perhaps the undeniable look of something more than admiration that got your heart tearing into pieces.

"yeah," you said quietly. "she is."

he smiled, reaching for your hand, fingers brushing over yours in an absent gesture. "come on," he says as he lightly pulled you along with him, "let’s go say hi to her,"

“actually, hyuck,” you stopped him, your voice barely above a whisper. “i’m not feeling too good. maybe i’ll wait for you at the entrance?” you couldn’t bring yourself to meet his eyes. god knows if he’d even notice — the tears you were holding back, the quiet tremor in your voice, the way disappointment had already consumed you fully on what was supposed to be your special day.

donghyuck’s brows furrowed, a faint crease forming between them. “it’s just a hi though,” he said, tone edged with impatience. and then, just like that, he dropped your hand, as if it was the easiest thing in the world to do. “it’ll be quick.”

you shook your head, stepping back, clutching your arms to yourself. “no, i’m really not feeling well, hyuck.” you bit your lips in an attempt to calm yourself down. donghyuck exhaled sharply, looking away. the sound alone felt like a door closing between you. and in that brief moment — the distance in his gaze, the frustration that flickered across his face — you realised just how far his thoughts were from you.

“fine, y/n,” he muttered, voice clipped. “i’ll meet you by the entrance.”

and then he turned, walking away — towards her, towards a world that didn’t include you — leaving you standing there in the quiet ache of what love shouldn’t have felt like yet you still want him to be the one.

you kept your head low as you made your way toward the entrance, your gaze fixed on the marble floor glinting beneath your shoes. your fingers pressed over your heart — as if holding it in place could stop it from splintering. each breath came slow, trembling, the kind you took when you were trying not to fall apart in front of strangers. strangers who, by some cruel twist, all shared the same admiration for the girl who so clearly held donghyuck’s heart.

“y/n!” xiaojun’s voice cut through the noise, warm and familiar, but you could only muster a weak wave before quickening your pace. you just needed to be out. out of the lights, out of the laughter, out of the world that felt like it was caving in.

the grand doors closed behind you, the muffled sounds of music and chatter fading into the cold night air. you sank down against the nearest wall, your knees folding under you as a shaky breath escaped your lips.

this is horrible.

everything is horrible.

the thoughts echoed like a broken recorder in your head until another voice reached you, softer this time, “hey, love.” jeno crouched in front of you, his hand landing gently on your shoulder. you looked up, eyes glassy, lips trembling under the weight of everything you’d been holding in. “jeno…” your voice cracked, small and helpless.

he didn’t say anything at first, just pulled you in — his arms wrapping around you like a shelter you didn’t realize you needed. you buried your face into his shoulder, tears spilling freely as he rubbed small, calming circles on your back.

“he’s a dick,” he muttered into your hair. a broken laugh slipped out of you, half-sob, half-giggle, your tears soaking through his shirt. “no,” you mumbled against him, pulling back just enough to look at him. “i’m stupid. for expecting something special.”

jeno shook his head, his hands still at your waist, unwilling to let you drift too far. “no,” he said quietly, eyes fierce in their softness. “he’s the one who’s stupid.”

he reached up, cupping your face in his palms, his thumbs brushing away the tears that clung stubbornly to your skin. “let me take you out, y/n.”

you blinked, dumbfounded. “what?”

“we can still save your birthday,” he said, a small hopeful grin forming despite the tension in his voice. “come on. let me take you out.” you hesitated, your heart still sore, looking back at the door in hopes that donghyuck would come out any second but he didn't.

“okay,” you whispered, nodding.

jeno smiled, relief flickering across his face as he draped his jacket over your shoulders. his hand found yours, fingers threading together easily, and before you could even process the heartache that lingered, he was already pulling you along — away from the building, away from the noise, away from everything that hurt.

away from lee donghyuck.

jeno led you through the city like he knew exactly where to take your broken heart to breathe again. the streets were slick autumn leaves, the lamps painting the pavement in soft gold. his warm hands never left yours.

he stopped in front of a small place tucked between two tall buildings — its windows glowing amber, faint laughter spilling out from inside. a sign above the door read “mēness,” in looping cursive.

“trust me?” he asked, glancing at you with a boyish grin.

you gave him a skeptical look jokingly before nodding. "of course."

the moment you stepped in, the world shifted. the hum of conversations, the smoky melody of a saxophone, the low clink of glasses — it all wrapped around you like some sort of impending excitement. the air smelled of honeyed whiskey and old wood, and for a second, it felt like stepping into another lifetime.

jeno guided you towards the bar, exchanging familiar smiles and waves. “this is my spot,” he said proudly. “i used to come here after late-night practices. they’ve got the best music and better whiskey in my opinion.”

on stage, the jazz band was setting the room alight — a sultry blend of brass and rhythm that curled through the air like invisible smoke. every note was alive, humming with energy that made your pulse quicken, the kind of sound that tugged at your feet, coaxing your shoulders to sway with the beat. it wasn’t just music — it was motion, heat, and heartbeat all at once. and you couldn't believe that lee jeno was a man of jazz. what a surprise!

“jeno!” the trumpet player — a wiry man with a voice like gravel — lit up when he saw him. “look who the cat dragged in! thought you went off to the world of rock music and forgot all about us kid.”

jeno laughed, bumping fists with him. “c’mon, mr son. you know i could never forget the blue notes.”

“oh, you flatter us.” the bassist, a woman named hana, smirked, leaning her stringbass against the wall. her gaze flicked toward you curiously. “and who’s this gorgeous lady?”

jeno turned, hand still at the small of your back. “this gorgeous lady,” he said with a grin, “is y/n.”

hana's brows lifted, teasing glint in her eyes. “your girlfriend?”

jeno chuckled, glancing down at you before looking back at them. “not just my girlfriend,” he said, a spark of pride in his tone, “but an absolute banger of a drummer.”

you blinked, almost choking at how jeno just called you his girlfriend, heat rising to your cheeks. “jeno!”

the band erupted in laughter, and mr. park shook his head, clearly amused. “a drummer, huh? well, we could use some fresh blood tonight.”

“you hear that, y/n?” jeno teased, nudging you lightly. “you’re up.”

you gawked at him. “jeno, i’ve never played jazz before!” he grinned, that godforsaken mischievous easy grin that always made it hard to say no. “then tonight’s the night you let your instincts take over. don’t think. just… feel it.”

before you could protest further, he tugged you towards the stage. the room erupted into applause when the crowd realised what was happening. the regulars cheering jeno’s name like an old friend returning home. and you wondered just how many side hustles does jeno have to be constantly doing everything and anything?

jeno slid onto the worn piano bench, fingers hovering over the keys, and shot you a reassuring look. “feel the music my love,” you swallowed hard, nodding, drumsticks trembling slightly in your hands as you took your seat behind the kit.

then — he started. a simple melody at first, gentle and lazy, spilling from his fingertips like honey. it was playful, almost flirtatious, winding through the smoky air in golden loops. you watched him, the way his shoulders swayed, the way he let the music breathe — and soon, your own rhythm began to rise to meet his.

the sticks tapped softly at first, hesitant, then stronger, bolder. your heart followed the beat. hana joined in with the stringbass, her notes deep and warm, mr. son's trumpet sang out in response and jisung's saxophone serenading the crowd.

the crowd began to clap along, soft at first, then louder, until the whole room was alive with it.

jeno looked up at you mid-phrase, his smile wide and wild, eyes sparkling like he hadn’t seen joy in ages. you couldn’t help but laugh — the kind of laugh that came from somewhere deep, something finally loosening in your chest.

he shifted the rhythm suddenly, throwing in a run of bright, tumbling chords, and you caught it perfectly — instinct, just like he said.

“see?” he called out between notes. “told you you’d be fine!”

you tossed your hair back, matching his grin. “shut up and play, lee jeno!”

the bar roared with laughter and applause. the blue notes picked up the tempo, the trumpet soaring, the bass thrumming steady beneath your drums. it wasn’t just music anymore — it was a conversation.

when the song finally ended, the sound of clapping and whistles filled the room. you and jeno were both breathless, faces flushed, your hearts racing like you’d run through a storm and come out laughing on the other side.

jeno stood and reached for you, pulling you up beside him. his arm slipped easily around your waist as he leaned close, his voice low in your ear. “you were incredible.”

you turned to look at him, your face still warm, and for a moment it felt like the whole room blurred around the two of you — the lights, the noise, everything melting into gold and laughter. “so were you,” you whispered.

and maybe it was the music still humming in your veins, or the way he was looking at you like you were the best thing that had happened all night — but for the first time that day, it felt like your birthday again.

after your impromptu set,  mēness's only seemed to glow brighter. the lights felt softer, the laughter warmer, the night stretching wide and endless before you.

the blue notes stayed on stage, cycling through an easy set of familiar jazz standards, their music weaving through the haze of conversation and clinking glasses. the crowd had mellowed into a pleasant buzz — some couples dancing lazily by the stage, others tucked away in quiet corners, bathed in golden light.

jeno guided you back to the bar, his hand finding the small of your back like it belonged there. “two old fashioneds,” he told the bartender, flashing that boyish grin that could melt anyone’s bad mood.

you laughed as you perched on the stool beside him. “since when do you drink old fashioneds?”

“since i started pretending i have refined taste,” he quipped, sliding a coaster toward you. “cheers, birthday girl.”

you clinked your glasses together, the sound small but sweet against the hum of saxophones. the first sip burned — then warmed you, the same way jeno’s laughter always did.

“you know,” you said, turning toward him, “if i’d known you could play jazz like that, i would’ve hired you for my mother's sixtieth birthday celebration party.”

jeno smirked, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. “you couldn’t afford me.”

“oh please.”

the banter came easy, laughter spilling between sips, your knees brushing every so often. the air between you hummed like a low note in a song that hadn’t quite ended.

when the next tune started — something slow, crooning, achingly romantic — hana looked down from the stage and called out, “hey, birthday girl! this one’s for you!” the crowd cheered, and you groaned, burying your face in your hands. jeno chuckles at your cuteness, sliding off his stool and holding out his hand. “come on.”

“jeno—”

“no excuses,” he said softly, his eyes dancing. “let’s give them a show.” you hesitated only a second before taking his hand. he led you towards the small open space before the stage, the dim lights catching on his grin, the faint smell of whiskey and citrus between you.

the saxophone crooned something slow and heavy, and jeno pulled you close, one hand at your waist, the other holding your fingers like they were something fragile.

"you know," he murmured, his voice low enough that only you could hear, "your got an absolutely gorgeous smile,"

you tilted your head, your smile small but real. “really?”

"yeah." he chuckled lowly, "you should smile like this more often."

and there, in that tiny jazz bar — surrounded by strangers, music, and the faint scent of vanilla and smoke — you swayed with him. his forehead brushed yours, your breaths mingling in time with the music.

but even in the haze of laughter and escapism, with the warmth of the room wrapping around you, your mind drifted back to lee donghyuck. to the way his touch felt, warm and fiery like home pressed against your skin. to the way his fingers would absentmindedly trace the curve of your ear, a habit that never failed to make you melt. you could almost feel it now, phantom and tender. and god, you wanted him — the comfort of his presence, the quiet gravity of being his, even if he never said the words out loud.

later, after another drink (and another, and another), the two of you ended up back on stage again. it wasn’t planned — nothing that night was — but when hana called for you both to jam again, you didn’t even think before grabbing the sticks.

jeno laughed as he sat back at the keys. “think you can keep up miss l/n?”

you smirked, twirling one of the sticks. “try me.”

the band erupted into something fast and bright — a blur of brass, bass, and laughter. jeno’s fingers flew, you matched every beat, and the two of you played like the world had fallen away.

by the time the last note faded, your chest hurt from laughing, your cheeks flushed from the drinks and the rush and the way jeno kept looking at you like you were something he never wanted to stop hearing.

outside, the city was still awake when you finally stumbled out together — his jacket still around your shoulders, your fingers brushing with every step.

“so,” jeno said softly, tilting his head toward you, his voice almost shy now. “birthday saved?”

you looked up at him, the glow from the streetlight catching in his hair, the faintest smile tugging at your lips.

“more than saved,” you said. “it was… perfect.”

jeno’s smile widened — small, soft, and maybe a little sad, like he was afraid to let the moment go.

the two of you decided to take a slow stroll along the han river, the night breeze soft against your skin. jeno walked barefoot on the cool pavement, your heels dangling from one hand while the other steadied you — his fingers curled gently around yours as you tried to keep your balance in his slightly oversized loafers. you looked so effortlessly endearing, cheeks flushed from laughter, hair dancing with the wind, that jeno felt his heart stumble in his chest — the kind of ache that was both sweet and terrifying all at once. he prayed that you couldn't hear his booming heartbeat with how close you were standing next to him in this silent night.

you both lay side by side on the wide patch of grass, shoulders nearly touching, eyes fixed on the sky that refused to go completely dark. jeno was the first to break the silence. “you know...” he trailed, voice low, “i don’t get it.”

you turned your head slightly, the corner of your mouth lifting. “don’t get what?”

he hesitated, searching for the right words. “why you keep loving him.”

you blinked, your breath catching. he wasn’t asking to be cruel — you could tell by the softness in his tone. he was asking because he cared.

jeno sighed, propping an arm behind his head. “he doesn’t treat you the way you deserve to be treated, y/n. half the time he forgets you, the other half he takes you for granted. and yet, you look at him like…” his voice faded, then returned quieter, “like he’s the only damn person in the room.”

you exhaled slowly, watching the faint ripples of the river as you gathered your thoughts. “because he is,” you whispered.

jeno turned to look at you.

you smiled, though it trembled at the edges. “i know he seems like he doesn't give a care about the world. he's always the loudest person in every room, but the loneliest one too. people think they know him because he’s unapologetically confident, charming and talented. but they don’t see what i see.”

you paused, tracing patterns in the air with your fingers. “they don’t see the way his hands shake after performing, or how quiet he gets when the lights go down. they don’t know he hums under his breath when he can’t sleep. or that he really hates thunderstorms because it's so loud and fucks with his "energy", but will always pretend he doesn’t.”

jeno stayed silent, eyes never leaving you.

“when it’s just the two of us,” you continued softly, “he’s different. softer. sometimes he leans his head on my shoulder and talks about things he’s never said to anyone else — his fears, his insecurities, his dreams. and in those moments, i feel like i’m the only one who really knows him.”

“i know he doesn’t see me the way i see him,” you said quietly. “and maybe that’s the stupidest thing about it.” you laughed under your breath, but there was no real humour in it. you turned to meet his gaze, your eyes glassy in the dim light. “he’s like a song i can’t get out of my head. i know every word, every beat — even the ones that hurt. and no matter how many times it plays, i still can’t bring myself to skip it.”

you went on, your voice softening. “when he’s kind, he’s really kind. when he smiles at me, it feels like i’ve just won a billion dollars. so maybe that’s why i can’t let him go. because even if he doesn’t love me the same way, he lets me see parts of him no one else does. and that… that feels like something sacred.”

jeno’s expression shifted — a mixture of pain and understanding. you went on, your voice barely above a whisper.

“he makes me feel seen too. like i’m more than just another face in the crowd. when he looks at me, even for a second, i feel like he actually sees me — not the perfect version, not this me who seems to have everything figured out, but me.”

jeno’s throat bobbed as he looked at you, something tender flickering behind his eyes. he wanted to tell you that you deserved someone who saw you that way all the time — not just in fleeting moments. but he didn’t. not tonight.

instead, he reached out and brushed his pinky against yours. it wasn’t a confession, or a promise. just quiet understanding.

you both lay there until the sky began to shift — dark blue softening into the faint blush of dawn.

and for that one moment, beneath the soft hum of the city, it didn’t matter that your heart belonged to someone who might never return it. you had the river, the stars, and the gentle weight of jeno’s hand beside yours — a small mercy for a love too big to hold.

the sky was already light by the time you got home — a soft shade of gold spilling through the cracks of the apartment blinds. your steps were quiet, careful, the kind of quiet that came after a night that didn’t quite belong to you.

you were still replaying jeno’s laughter in your head, the sound of the river, the feel of cool grass beneath your fingers. it had been a night of breathing again — one where you could forget, for just a little while, the weight of loving lee donghyuck.

but the moment you turned the doorknob, the illusion shattered.

“where the hell have you been?”

donghyuck’s voice cut through the silence, sharp and cold. he was sitting on the couch, still in the same clothes he’d worn to wendy’s concert, his hair messy like he’d been running his hands through it for hours. his phone sat on the coffee table, screen lit up with missed calls. your missed calls.

you froze in the doorway, blinking at him. “i—”

“i’ve been calling you all night.” he stood now, anger radiating off him in waves. “you disappear, you don’t answer your phone, you don’t text— what was i supposed to think, y/n?”

you swallowed hard, setting your bag down by the door. “hyuck, calm down—”

“don’t tell me to calm down,” he snapped. “i waited for you outside the hall. i turned around and you were gone. do you know how worried i was?”

his voice cracked at the end, the edge of worry buried under frustration, and somehow that made it worse.

"i'm sorry hyuck i didn't mean to worry you, my phone battery went flat." you reached for him only for him to take a step back away from you. you winced at the distance he had kept between the two of you. "hyuck please, i'm sorry i wasn't feeling good and jeno sa—"

his brows shot up, disbelief twisting into fury. “jeno? you were with jeno? all night?”

your lips parted, guilty eyes reaching his.

he laughed under his breath — bitter, outraged. “unbelievable.”

you dropped your heels by the door, shoulders tense. “i didn’t plan it, hyuck. i was upset, and he was trying to cheer me up—”

“cheer you up from what?” he cut in, voice rising. “what mess could possibly justify you going missing and shutting me out?”

you stared at him, the words clawing at your throat. “your mess, hyuck.”

his expression faltered. “what are you talking about?”

"why did you take me to see her?" you whispered, the tremor in your voice breaking through. “we could’ve gone anywhere. hell, i would’ve been happy with ramen at home — just us. but instead, you had to take me to her.”

“she’s talented,” he shot back quickly. “i thought you’d enjoy it too—”

“enjoy it?” your voice cracked, rising higher. “you thought i’d enjoy sitting in a room watching you look at the girl you once loved like she hung the damn moon? on my birthday, hyuck? you didn’t even remember that we were supposed to see arctic monkeys—”

he groaned, raking a hand through his hair. “their music isn’t even that good, y/n! wendy’s performance was— it was meaningful. her music’s real.”

“no,” you snapped, stepping closer until your chest brushed his. “it’s only real for you. not for me.”

his jaw clenched. “you’re being unfair.”

“am i? is it not unfair to drag me along just so you can stare at her like i do not exist at all? i mean wha—” you exhaled, voice cracking under the weight of it all. "what even are we at this point?" you finally asked the question.

“you can be honest,” you whispered, your voice breaking into something small, something raw. “i just… i just want to know where i stand.,”

the air between you was thick — with anger, hurt, confusion — everything that had been festering in the shadows of what the two of you refused to name.

donghyuck’s eyes darkened, his chest rising and falling unevenly. “what are we?” he echoed, almost like he didn’t understand the question.

you swallowed, your voice trembling but steady. “yeah, hyuck. what are we? because you can’t—” you broke off, trying to breathe through the ache pressing against your ribs. “you can’t kiss me, hold me, make me believe i’m yours one day, and then take me to see the girl you once loved the next. that doesn't even make any sense!”

for a moment, neither of you spoke. the morning light was pouring into the room now, pale gold painting over the sharp lines of his face, softening nothing.

“you’re—” donghyuck’s breath stuttered, his fists curling at his sides.

you watched him struggle, his chest rising and falling too fast, his gaze fixed somewhere on the floor like the answer might be written in the grain of the wood. every second of silence dragged like a knife.

and then he said it.

“you’re my… you’re my best friend.” the words left his mouth like a verdict, and for a moment, everything inside you went still. you felt it then — that sinking, weightless drop, as if your heart had fallen straight through the floorboards and landed somewhere six feet under. you shouldn’t have been surprised. part of you knew this was coming. part of you had always known. but knowing didn’t make it hurt any less.

“okay,” you whispered, nodding slowly. your voice didn’t even sound like yours. “that’s fine too.” you forced a small, trembling smile, the kind that felt like it might split you open from the inside. “really. that’s fine.”

“y/n, come on—” he started, taking a step forward.

“no, really,” you cut him off with a shaky bitter laugh, “i needed to hear that from you.”

you ran a hand through your hair, desperate to keep yourself together — as if tidying up could somehow fix the mess that had just been made of your heart. and then you excused yourself. you brushed past him, catching the faint scent of his cologne, that familiar warmth that used to feel like home. he reached out as if to stop you, but his hand hovered mid-air before falling back to his side.

you walked straight into your room and locked the door behind you. you slid down the door, your knees giving out as the first sob tore through your chest — quiet at first, then louder, rawer, until your breathing came in broken gasps.

how could something that was never yours to begin with hurt this much?

your gaze blurred through the tears until it landed on your bed — on the small, elegant box resting there, wrapped in silver paper. you crawled toward it on trembling hands. inside, nestled in satin, was a delicate necklace — a silver grand piano pendant that gleamed faintly in the morning light.

the gift he’d given you before all of this.

you clutched the box to your chest, pressing it against your heart as if it could hold you together — and finally let the sobs come, unrestrained and aching.

donghyuck awoke to the soft thud of the front door closing. he didn’t need to look at the clock to know what time it was — you always left before sunrise.

for the past seven months, that had been your routine. you’d slip out quietly while the rest of the world still slept, and come home long after dark, sometimes not at all. on nights when he stayed up waiting, he’d catch the faintest rustle from the bushes outside the apartment — the sound of you sneaking through your window rather than facing him at the front door.

it was ridiculous, really. tragic, even.

donghyuck hated it — the distance, the silence, the deliberate avoidance. he couldn’t understand why you went so far to draw that line between you. was being your best friend really that unbearable? was he?

he sighed, dragging a hand through his hair as he pushed himself out of bed. his body ached with the kind of exhaustion that came from more than just lack of sleep.

on his way to the washroom, a glint of silver caught his eye — the familiar box sitting untouched on his study desk.

the necklace.

the one he’d given you for your birthday.

donghyuck stared at it for a long moment, chest tightening. the box was exactly left the way it was before — pristine, undisturbed. the silver of the pendant inside still shone like it hadn’t seen the light of day.

you had never worn it.

his jaw clenched, something bitter bubbling beneath his ribs. he didn’t even know if it was anger, guilt, or the humiliation of realising that even his gifts weren’t wanted anymore. with a frustrated growl, he swept the box off the desk. it hit the wall with a dull thud before landing somewhere on the carpet, forgotten.

that was it.

he couldn’t do this anymore — couldn’t keep existing under the same roof, pretending not to notice how far away you had already drifted.

grabbing his keys, he stormed out the door.

he knew exactly where to find you.

your band’s studio sat in a narrow alley, always lit even at ungodly hours. he could already hear faint basslines from the outside, the muffled hum of laughter filtering through the glass.

he stepped closer and peered through the small window — and there you were.

you and jeno.

sitting close, heads tilted toward the same screen, the morning light spilling over your faces. you were smiling — soft and tired, but genuine — the kind of smile you hadn’t given him in months. jeno was saying something, a grin tugging at his lips as he passed you one of those little sandwiches he always made.

donghyuck’s stomach twisted. his tongue pressed hard against the inside of his cheek until he tasted iron. he turned on his heel and marched straight to the door, rapping his knuckles against it — once, twice, then harder.

you flinched at the sound. jeno looked up first, brows furrowing.

you stood, smoothing your clothes before opening the door — and there he was, standing under the harsh fluorescent light, his expression unreadable.

“hyuck—”

before you could finish, he grabbed your wrist, his grip tight, pulling you out into the hallway.

“hyuck, stop—”

he didn’t stop until you were far enough from the studio that jeno couldn’t hear. only then did you yank your hand back, rubbing the faint red mark blooming across your skin.

“what are you doing?” you snapped, your voice low but shaking.

donghyuck’s eyes burned into yours. “no,” he said, voice rough, almost trembling. “the real question is, what the hell are you doing?”

you blinked, taken aback. “what—”

“why are you avoiding me like I’m the damn plague?” he cut in, stepping closer, his tone sharp enough to cut through air. his words landed heavy, the frustration he’d been holding back for months finally spilling through the cracks.

you stood frozen for a moment, stunned by how raw he sounded. because for seven whole months, he hadn’t said a word.

“i’m not avoiding you,” you lied, your voice barely above a whisper.

donghyuck scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. “oh really?” he said, tilting his head, sarcasm dripping like venom. “then what do you call climbing through your window every night instead of using the damn front door like a normal person?”

his words echoed between the walls, and for a heartbeat, neither of you breathed. because he wasn’t wrong — but that didn’t make any of this easier to face.

"i just needed some space, hyuck," you said softly, exhaling as you ran a hand through your hair, the words tasting like defeat.

donghyuck blinked, his expression twisting — disbelief first, then something close to anger. “space?” he repeated, voice low, incredulous. “you decided you needed space— after years of clinging to me like i was the only person you had?”

his tone wasn’t cruel, but it stung all the same — a sharp reminder of how much your love burned for lee donghyuck. “what the fuck does that even mean? space? what’s wrong with us?” he demanded, stepping forward, eyes searching yours like he was trying to find an answer that would make sense.

you shook your head, heart pounding. “hyuck, please don’t do this,” you said, your voice trembling with exhaustion. “what we had…to me, it was obviously more than just best friends.” the words caught in your throat, bitter and heavy. “and that’s exactly why i thought we needed time apart — to draw some boundaries.”

donghyuck let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “wow,” he said, shaking his head. “thanks for letting me in on that decision, y/n.”

the bitterness in his tone burned through you, but you refused to back down this time. you couldn’t.

“why do you even care if i’m avoiding you, donghyuck?” you snapped, meeting his glare with one of your own. “you should be happy. now you’re free to pursue whoever you want without me getting in your way.” your voice broke on the last word, but you stood your ground — even as he stared at you, chest heaving, his silence saying everything he didn’t have the courage to.

donghyuck’s jaw flexed, his breath coming out ragged. he took a step closer, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his anger — or maybe it was hurt, you couldn’t tell anymore.

“is that what you think this is about?” he said, voice shaking despite how hard he was trying to sound steady. “you think i care because i want to pursue someone else?”

you stayed silent, eyes fixed on the ground. you couldn’t look at him — not when he sounded that wounded.

“god, you really don’t get it, do you?” he muttered, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “you disappear on me. you shut me out. and every night, i sit there wondering what the hell i did to be treated this way. do you hate me now?”

“i don’t hate you,” you said quickly, looking up. your voice cracked under the weight of it. “you’re the last person i could ever hate, hyuck.”

“then why does it feel like you do?” he said quietly.

“because being around you hurts,” you whispered. “i love you, hyuck.” the words slipped out like a confession you’d been holding in for far too long — soft, trembling, fragile. your voice barely carried above the air between you, but it was enough. it was enough to make donghyuck’s breath catch, his eyes widening like you’d just handed him something far too heavy to hold.

“i love you,” you said again, quieter this time, almost afraid to hear yourself say it. “and i thought—” your throat tightened, “—i thought maybe you could love me back. i thought that maybe, after everything, you already did.”

you let out a bitter laugh, blinking hard to keep your tears at bay. “but that’s on me for believing that you could ever see me as anything more.”

donghyuck shook his head, taking a step back as if your words burned. “i—” he stammered, the syllable breaking off like a snapped string. “y/n, it’s not—”

“not what?” you pressed, your voice trembling, desperate. “not what i think? not love? because it feels like it, hyuck. every time you hold me, every time you look at me like I’m something you can’t quite let go of. it feels like love. but maybe that’s just what you’re best at — making people believe in things that aren’t real.”

he flinched, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “don’t say that,” he said softly, his voice cracking. “you know i care about you.”

“care about me?” you laughed, a sharp sound breaking through the ache. “i don’t need you to care about me, donghyuck. i needed you to love me. i needed you to choose me — not out of habit, not out of guilt, but because you actually wanted to.”

the silence between you felt deafening, the kind that pressed heavy against your chest. you took a shaky breath, blinking through the blur of tears.

“i was okay with being your second choice,” you admitted quietly, your voice breaking on the words. “i would’ve stayed. i would’ve taken whatever scraps of you you could give me, hyuck, because i loved you that much. i just needed to hear that you loved me too.”

his lips parted, but nothing came out. his eyes — wide, shining, full of everything he never said — met yours.

“but you don’t,” you finished for him, your voice barely a whisper.

and that was when something in him cracked — the way his shoulders slumped, the way his face fell, like the truth finally weighed too much to fight.

“y/n…” he breathed, stepping toward you. but you stepped back before he could reach you.

“don’t,” you said, shaking your head. “please don’t make this harder.”

your hands trembled as you wiped the tears from your cheeks, forcing a faint, broken smile. “i just needed you to know,” you whispered. “so i can finally stop pretending that you ever would.”

donghyuck had truly let you go the day you confessed. from that moment on, the two of you moved around each other like ghosts — silent, detached, strangers sharing the same air. the apartment that once buzzed with laughter and late-night conversations had turned cold, filled only with the hum of the refrigerator and the sound of doors quietly closing.

sometimes, he’d bring girls over. their laughter, their soft moans, their playful squeals against the paper-thin walls — all deliberate, all meant for you to hear. each sound was a knife disguised as noise, his way of convincing himself that he could forget you. that he wanted to forget you.

you pretended not to care. but every time the headboard hit the wall, something inside you cracked a little more.

donghyuck drowned himself in music, as if the right melody could erase you from his mind. albums dropped, stages lit up, the world screamed his name. while he was being cheered on under blinding lights, you buried yourself in coursework, your band slowly rising from underground gigs to small, packed venues.

jeno offered to share an apartment with you once, and you almost said yes. almost. but you gave the same tired excuse: “just one more year left with hyuck.”

as if you still owed him that last year.

as if part of you still needed to orbit around his world, even if you’d already been burned.

you still made his coffee every morning — two sugars, just how he liked it. he never touched it.

you still brought sunflowers to his shows, often handing it through mark on your behalf.

you still cooked dinner, leaving it neatly in the fridge, only for it to go cold, untouched, and eventually thrown away.

you did it all because you wanted him to know — you were still there. even if he pretended you weren’t.

so when the offer to study in Italy came, your first thought, stupidly, heartbreakingly — was of him. maybe this was finally the universe’s way of saying, go.

“come on, y/n,” xiaojun said, popping a chip into his mouth during your band’s late-night meeting. “you’ve been talking about europe for years. you can’t just turn this down.”

you sighed, fiddling with the straw of your drink. “yeah, but what about the band? we’ve finally built some momentum. I don’t wanna mess that up.”

ten waved his hand. “please. we’ve got enough unreleased tracks to keep our name alive for at least three years. go study. we’ll be fine.”

“plus, i'm sure you and jeno are gonna bring the big labels to us while you're there,” jaehyun added with a grin.

jeno nudged your shoulder lightly, his voice soft but certain. “you’ve dreamed of this, y/n. don’t let him—” he paused, then corrected himself. “—don’t let anything hold you back.”

you smiled, small and uncertain. you already knew you’d made up your mind.

that night, you found donghyuck on the couch, legs sprawled out, the TV light flickering over his face. he looked up when you entered, just briefly, before returning his gaze to his phone.

“hey,” you said, voice barely above a whisper. “hey,” he replied, tone flat, fingers tapping against the screen like you weren’t even there.

you swallowed hard. “um, I just wanted to tell you… I got an offer to study overseas.” you rubbed the back of your neck, gaze fixed on him. “it’s a pretty big opportunity.”

“nice,” he said simply, not looking up.

you bit the inside of your cheek. you shouldn’t have expected more, but part of you still did. part of you still hoped he’d at least ask where you were going.

“anyways,” you continued, forcing your voice steady, “i’ll be moving out by the end of the month.”

his thumb froze mid-scroll. you caught the slightest hitch in his breath — but he said nothing. didn’t even look at you. you nodded to yourself, knowing that it was your cue to leave him alone. “that’s all. goodnight, donghyuck.”

and then you turned away, missing the way his eyes flickered up just as you said his name — not hyuck, not hyuckie, not the name that used to fall so easily from your lips.

just donghyuck.

and for the first time in months, it actually sounded like goodbye. and donghyuck was afraid.

present day

“i’m leaving.” your voice rose just enough to wrestle with the melody spilling from the grand piano—those familiar keys, that sound you’d memorised like a second heartbeat.

you tightened your grip on the bag in your hand when donghyuck doesn't stop. he didn’t even turn. his eyes stayed shut, lost in the groove beneath his fingertips, as if twenty years of shared childhood and youth had never existed between you.

“i said i’m leaving.” you said louder this time.

turn around.

tell me to stay.

tell me i’m wrong to walk away.

please—just look at me.

but he didn’t. he couldn’t.

because if donghyuck turned around, if he let himself see the tremble in your lips, the tears balancing at the edge of your lashes, he’d break.

he’d admit it.

he’d admit that he’d loved you all along — from the day you told him he reminded you of sunflowers.

he’d admit that every melody he wrote had your name hidden in it. that every late night he had imagined a future with you in it — making music, chasing the same dreams, maybe even raising a kid who’d hum off-key lullabies.

but donghyuck had never been good at timing.

and now, he was too late.

so he kept playing, fingers pressing down harder on the keys — the only way he knew how to keep from falling apart. the music cracked slightly, the note trembling where his hand did.

he didn’t see the way your shoulders slumped, the way your chest caved under the weight of goodbye.

you stared at him for a long moment — memorising him one last time, the curve of his back, the way his hair caught the golden light spilling through the blinds, the quiet intensity in his stillness.

then you exhaled.

“goodbye, donghyuck,” you whispered, voice barely holding together. “i love you.”

the words hung in the air, delicate and doomed, swallowed by the final chord he struck on the piano.

he didn’t look up.

so you turned, pushing your luggage down the hall toward jeno’s waiting car. the sound of the piano followed you — hauntingly beautiful, hollow, and breaking all at once — until you shut the door behind you.

and just like that, the music stopped.

for a long while, donghyuck just sat there, still, his fingers still suspended above the keys, as if the music might bring you back if he just pressed the right notes. but there was no music left to play. not when the silence felt this final.

he lowered his hands slowly, staring at the ivory beneath his fingertips. your fingerprints were still faintly there — smudged from all the nights a few years ago you’d leaned against the piano, laughing at his stubborn perfectionism. he used to hate when you touched his instruments. now, he wished you would. one more time.

donghyuck leaned back, breathing in shallowly. the scent of you still lingered — vanilla and something faintly citrus, the way it always clung to his sweaters after you borrowed them. he could almost hear your voice echoing through the apartment, soft and teasing. He could almost believe you’d walk out of your room any second now, hair messy, coffee in hand, scolding him for composing before breakfast.

but you wouldn’t.

not anymore.

his gaze shifted to the empty coffee mug on the table — the one you’d kept filling even when he stopped drinking it. the surface had gathered dust, like everything else he’d refused to face.

for the first time, he let himself whisper it into the empty room.

“i love you too.”

// the end

taglist: @neocityscreamer @awktwurtle @firydst @dongyoungknows @honeybeehorizon @loveforred @yesohhsehun @strawberrytyong @dinonuguaegi @bluedbliss @neotannies @leiakim99 @rubiiisyeon @fouldiplomatpapershark @neocrashed @ncitysblog @justineasian @notmastyle @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @nctheology @thelocaltrain @itisdonia @markleesleftpinky @ti--red @zhongias @lelecidio @taeeflwrr @seazznie @ccoristu @juniper-flour @b43ek @snflwrhaerecs4u @kangshinwoolovin @haechsauce @baekstans @txtsoobean @myun9ho @jae-n0 (please lmk if i've missed anyone out!)

[jthis-jthat]

The Art of the Reset

PAIRING: bestfriend!Haechan!, friend!fem!reader (slightly) enemies to lovers!

GENRE: fluff, comedy (I always try), smut

WORD COUNT: 14.9 k

SUMMARY:

One is a brilliant tactician with a velvet voice and a fuckboy reputation; the other is a fierce survivor with a zero-tolerance policy for bullshit. Best friends since a disastrous high school locker incident, Haechan and Y/N have perfected the art of mutual irritation. Between "bunny panty" blackmail and constant banter, they claim to be nothing more than each other’s favorite headache—but the magnetic pull of their chaotic orbit is becoming dangerously hard to ignore.

SONG RECO: INSOMNIA - Haechan

NOTE: lemme be honessst… this has been sitting on my notes for 5 years and and and I only modified some things because basically, I didn’t know that the members would all grow up like this (help). I added things here and there to make it better. But here!!! I’m half asleep rn I’m so sleepy.. I’m so tired. I worked my ass to finish this huhu

I hope you all like it!

I haven’t proof read anything. Because I’’ so sleddpy

This is a continuation of the preview.

Please enjoy ;)

ʕ⁠っ⁠•⁠ᴥ⁠•⁠ʔ⁠っ ♡ ʕ⁠っ⁠•⁠ᴥ⁠•⁠ʔ⁠っ ♡ ʕ⁠っ⁠•⁠ᴥ⁠•⁠ʔ⁠っ ♡ ʕ⁠っ⁠•⁠ᴥ⁠•⁠ʔ⁠っ ♡ ʕ⁠⁠•⁠ᴥ⁠•⁠ʔ

The party at Jaemin’s house was exactly what you’d expect from a frat-adjacent bash hosted by a guy whose parents clearly had old money and zero oversight on their resumes. The bass was vibrating the expensive crown molding, and the air smelled like a mix of high-end cologne and cheap citrus-flavored regret.

Haechan was already three nursing majors deep into a conversation about the structural integrity of the human ribcage—or something equally ridiculous that he was using to make them laugh. He looked effortless, leaning against the back of the big sofa, his tan skin glowing under the dim LED strips. He was in his element: the social chameleon, the guy who could talk his way into a vault and make the guards thank him for the intrusion.

Then, Y/N walked in.

She wasn’t trying. That was the most annoying part for everyone involved. She was wearing something that should have been casual, but on her, it looked like a provocation. She moved with that fierce, don't-mess-with-me intensity that had been forged in the fires of her past, yet she was laughing at something Jisung had said, her whole body shaking with the force of it.

"Holy—" Chenle stopped mid-sip of a drink that probably cost more than a textbook. "Is it just me, or did Y/N actually decide to become a lethal weapon tonight? She looks incredible."

"She looks like she’s going to break someone’s heart and then send them the medical bill," Renjun remarked, though even he looked slightly impressed. He nudged Haechan hard in the ribs with his elbow. "Hey genius. Your best friend is currently turning the entire living room into a group of neck-sprain victims. You seeing this?"

Haechan didn’t even look up from the girl he was currently "charming" with a story about a fake cat he supposedly owned. "I see a girl who probably spent forty minutes trying to find her keys before leaving the house," he said, his voice flat and bored. "She’s just Y/N. If she’s a lethal weapon, she’s a butter knife. Blunt and mostly used for toast."

"You’re a terrible liar," Mark muttered, adjusting his Student President persona to a concerned friend. "The guy by the speakers has been staring at her for ten minutes straight. You don't care?"

"Why would I care?" Haechan asked, finally turning his head just enough to catch a glimpse of Y/N across the room. He caught her eye for a split second—a spark of mutual, long-standing irritation passed between them—and he immediately looked away, yawning. "I have my own demographic to attend to."

Enter Na Jaemin.

If the room was a solar system, Jaemin was the sun that everyone—planets, moons, and space debris alike—wanted to crash into. He was undeniably the prettiest man on campus, a jock with the face of a Renaissance painting and the personality of a very friendly, very confused golden retriever. He had that classic dual-personality energy—on one hand, he was the most dedicated worker you’d ever meet, a guy who had literally rebuilt his own physical strength through sheer, stubborn willpower after a back injury that would have sidelined anyone else. On the other hand, sometimes he’s total weirdo… which is probably why Y/N dated him.

Jaemin navigated the crowd, moving with a grace that was only slightly undercut by the fact that he stopped to stop for a second and smack Jeno’s shoulder as he passed. He was a creature of comfort and skinship, a philanthropic soul who would give you the shirt off his back but might also try to wear your hat while he did it.

"Y/N!" Jaemin’s voice boomed over the music. He navigated to her like a heat-seeking missile and immediately draped an arm over her shoulder, pulling her into his side. "You look like you need a drink that doesn't taste like battery acid. I made a special batch of peach tea in the kitchen. No booze, just vibes."

He leaned down, his nose grazing her temple for a second—the infamous Jaemin scent-check—and smiled. It was the kind of smile that made people forget he had cheated on her two years ago. They were "friends" now, a dynamic that Y/N handled with her typical I-survived-worse resilience.

Moving to the "VIP” table (which was just a couch Chenle had claimed), the commentary began.

"Oh, look at that," Renjun said, his voice loud enough to carry over the bass. "Jaemin’s doing the arm drape. Classic. I bet they’re back together by midnight."

"They look good together," Chenle added, glancing sideways at Haechan, who was currently staring intensely at his phone. "Very aesthetic. Very power couple. I might bet five hundred that they leave together."

"I’d take that bet," Mark piped up, playing along. "The chemistry is undeniable. It’s like they never broke up."

Haechan finally snapped. He stood up, abandoning the nursing majors without a second thought, and marched over to where Y/N and Jaemin were "flirting"—which mostly consisted of Jaemin showing her a high-res photo of a stray cat he’d photographed that morning.

"You’re standing in the way of the airflow, Jaemin," Haechan said, sliding between them with the tactical precision of a riot cop. "And Y/N doesn't like peach tea. It gives her... thoughts."

Y/N arched a perfectly groomed eyebrow. "It does not give me 'thoughts,' Haechan. And since when are you the beverage police? Go back to your fan club."

"I'm protecting the public," Haechan retorted, his low voice vibrating with a sarcasm that didn't quite hide his annoyance. "If you drink that, you'll start laughing at his jokes, and once you start laughing, he’ll try to cook for you. We all remember the Great Risotto Incident of Sophomore Year. I’m saving your life."

"He’s being sweet, Haechan," Y/N said, deliberately stepping closer to Jaemin. "Unlike some people who act like they’re being paid to be a nuisance."

Jaemin, completely oblivious to the tension, just beamed at both of them. He reached out and patted Haechan’s cheek, then did the same to Y/N. "You guys are so loud. It’s cute. Like two squirrels fighting over a nut." He then leaned in and whispered something into Y/N’s ear that made her let out a genuine, unapologetic laugh.

"Come on," Jaemin said, grabbing Y/N’s hand. "I want to show you that new lens I got. It’s upstairs away from the noise. I’ve been practicing my lighting."

"Oh, for the love of—" Haechan started, but Y/N was already being led away.

As they ascended the stairs toward the bedrooms, Y/N looked back over her shoulder. She didn't blow a kiss; she didn't wink. She just gave Haechan a look that said, 'Try and stop me.'

Haechan stood at the base of the stairs, his jaw tight. He looked like he wanted to follow them, then like he wanted to set the house on fire, then finally settling on a look of profound indifference that fooled absolutely no one at the table behind him.

"So," Chenle called out, his voice dripping with malice. "About that five hundred dollars..."

"Shut up, Chenle," Haechan snapped, his eyes still glued to the spot on the landing where Y/N had vanished. "I'm just worried she'll break his camera. She's clumsy. It's a liability issue."

"Sure, Haechan," Mark smiled

"Liability. That’s definitely what it is."

⍝ʕ´•ᴥ•`ʔ⍝ ⍝ʕ´•ᴥ•`ʔ⍝ ⍝ʕ´•ᴥ•`ʔ⍝ ⍝ʕ´•ᴥ•`ʔ⍝ ⍝ʕ´•ᴥ•`ʔ⍝ ⍝ʕ´•ᴥ•`ʔ⍝

Downstairs, Haechan was putting on a clinic in Performative Indifference. He had successfully convinced a group of nursing majors that his name was "Donghyuck, the world’s only professional professional," but his eyes were darting toward the staircase every time a floorboard creaked.

"So," one of the girls said, leaning in, "do you usually spend the whole party checking the structural integrity of the second floor, or am I just that boring?"

Haechan didn’t miss a beat. He gave her that crooked, heart-thief smile that usually worked like a charm. "I'm just waiting for the exact moment the bass drops so I can manifest a pizza. It’s a specialized skill."

"He’s actually just waiting for his ego to come back down the stairs," Renjun shouted from the sofa, where he was currently holding Chenle’s hair back while the younger boy tried to invest in a houseplant by pouring expensive cider into its pot.

"Renjun, shut up and go back to being the group’s resident gargoyle," Haechan retorted, though his knuckles were white where he gripped his soda. He hadn't touched a drop of alcohol. He was a creature of logic and calculation—the kind of person who needed to be two steps ahead of everyone else, and you couldn't do that if your brain was swimming in Jaemin’s Special Peach Tea. He was a strategist by nature, someone whose mind was a labyrinth of wit and observation, yet here he was, being outmaneuvered by a guy who had literally just spent five minutes sniffing a sofa cushion because it smelled like memories.

An hour passed. Two. The nursing majors eventually realized they were competing with a ghost and migrated toward the dance floor.

"Text from the boss," Renjun announced, holding up his phone. "Y/N says she’s staying late. Tells us to head to her apartment and let ourselves in. The code is still the same."

"Still late?" Mark asked, looking genuinely concerned. "It’s 2 AM. Jaemin’s parents are literally in Switzerland. Do we think—"

"We think they’re catching up on 'cinematography,'" Chenle cackled, finally letting go of the plant. "Five hundred dollars, Haechan. Just admit she’s finally fallen for the pretty-boy jock again. He has a back injury to protect, he needs someone to carry his tripod!"

Haechan stood up so fast his chair screeched. "I’m going. Not because I care, but because Y/N’s apartment has better snacks and I refuse to pay for an Uber alone."

The scene at Y/N’s apartment three hours later was a masterpiece of college-life tragedy. Chenle was sprawled across the rug, clutching a throw pillow like it was a long-lost lover. Jisung, being the tallest, was draped over the armchair like a discarded coat, snoring in a way that sounded like a broken radiator. Mark and Renjun had managed to make it to the guest bed, leaving the living room a graveyard of exhausted bodies.

Haechan was the only one awake. He sat on the kitchen counter, illuminated by the hum of the refrigerator, staring at the front door. He felt like he was losing his mind. His brain—that sharp, tactical instrument—was currently running 4,000 simulations of what was happening at Jaemin’s, and 3,999 of them ended with him throwing a toaster into a lake.

Then, the jiggle of keys.

The door swung open, and Y/N stumbled in. She wasn't just party tired. She was "I-can-smell-the-tequila-from-here" drunk. She was swaying, her hair a wild halo of messiness, her heels dangling from one hand.

Haechan stood up, his face set in a scold that had been simmering for hours. "Oh, look who decided to grace us with—"

"Haechan-ie!" she chirped, her voice three octaves higher than usual. She lunged forward, not so much walking as falling in his direction.

He caught her, the scent of expensive perfume and cheap agave hitting him like a physical blow. He felt her heat—that fierce, radiant energy she always carried, now turned up to a fever pitch by the alcohol.

"You’re a mess," he hissed, trying to keep his voice down so he didn't wake the sleeping giants in the living room. "Where’s Jaemin? Did he drop you off like a sack of potatoes or did you walk?"

"He’s... he’s sleeping," she mumbled, her head lolling onto Haechan’s chest. "I took a taxi. I’m a responsible... adult. A sexy, responsible adult."

"You’re a liability," Haechan grumbled, but his hands were surprisingly gentle as he steered her toward her bedroom. He was annoyed, yes, but beneath that was the fierce protectiveness that had defined their friendship since the locker incident. He hated seeing her like this—vulnerable, blurred at the edges.

He pushed her bedroom door open with his foot and maneuvered her onto the bed. She groaned, rolling onto her back.

"I'm gonna puke," she announced to the ceiling.

"Don't you dare. This rug cost more than my car," Haechan said, quickly grabbing a basin from the bathroom. He returned to find her trying to peel off her top, her movements clumsy and frustrated.

"It’s stuck," she whined, looking at him with big, watery eyes. "Haechan, help. It’s tight. I can’t breathe."

Haechan froze. The tactical part of his brain—the part that knew exactly how to talk to girls—suddenly short-circuited. He was tan, he was hot, he was the guy girls whispered about, but right now, his heart was drumming against his ribs like a frantic bird.

"Fine," he muttered, closing his eyes for a second to center himself. "I'm helping. Just... stay still."

He reached out, his fingers trembling slightly as he worked the zipper of her dress. He tried to look at the wall, at the posters, at the ceiling—anywhere but the smooth, golden skin of her back. He managed to slide the fabric down her arms, his breath hitching as his knuckles grazed her shoulder blades. He was trying to be the "best friend," the "protector," the "sober one," but the proximity was lethal.

"Turn around," he commanded, his voice lower and raspier than usual.

She turned, her face inches from his. Her eyes were glazed but intense. "You’re so pretty, Haechan," she whispered, reaching up to poke his nose. "Why are you so pretty and so..mean?"

"It’s a brand," he said, trying to pull a clean t-shirt over her head.

Suddenly, she reached back, unhooking her bra through the loose fabric of her dress before he could stop her. She tossed it toward the chair with a wild girl flourish and then, before Haechan could even process the movement, she grabbed both of his hands.

With a strength fueled by intoxication, she pulled his palms directly onto her bare chest.

Haechan’s brain didn't just short-circuit; it exploded.

The contact was electric. He could feel the frantic beat of her heart beneath his palms, the soft, warm curve of her, and the sudden, overwhelming realization that she wasn't just "the girl who called out his bullshit." She was everything.

"See?" she murmured, her eyelids drooping. "Loyal. My heart... is loyal."

Haechan sat there for a full minute, his hands still hovering in the air where she had pulled them. He let out a breath he felt like he’d been holding since high school.

Haechan was paralyzed. A very real, very undeniable physical reaction was making itself known in his jeans—a betrayal of his own body. He was flustered, his face heating up to a shade of red that would have put Renjun’s temper to shame. He wanted to pull away; he wanted to never move again.

But then, her hands relaxed. Her head fell back against the pillow, her breathing evening out into the heavy, rhythmic cadence of sleep. She was out.

"You’re going to be the death of me," he whispered to the quiet room.

He didn't take advantage. He didn't linger. With a shaking hand, he finished pulling the oversized t-shirt over her, tucked her under the duvet, and placed the basin on the floor next to her. He stood up, adjusted his clothes with a wince of discomfort, and walked out of the room, closing the door softly.

He didn't go back to the kitchen. He didn't wake the guys. He collapsed onto the tiny, uncomfortable loveseat in the corner of the living room, staring at the ceiling. His body was wired, his mind was a chaotic mess of "What if" and "How dare she," but he stayed there.

Because as much as he was a notorious fuckboy, a tactical genius, and a witty Gemini, he was, above all, hers. Even if he wasn't ready to say it out loud yet.

———-

The sun was Y/N’s personal enemy. It filtered through the blinds like a laser beam specifically calibrated to melt her brain.

She groaned, her hand wandering over the duvet to find her phone, but she stopped mid-reach. Something was off. Specifically, her clothes. She was wearing an oversized t-shirt that definitely wasn’t the dress she’d worn to Jaemin’s. And—she poked her chest—she was definitely missing a structural layer of support.. She doesn’t have her bra.

Then, it hit her. Not the whole memory, but a jagged, high-definition shard of it.

Haechan’s hands. Warm. Large. Her own voice mumbling something about a “loyal heart” while she practically forced him into a physical examination of her anatomy.

Y/N sat up so fast her vision blacked out for a second. “Oh my god,” she whispered into the empty room. “I didn’t. I couldn't have.”

But she did. She remembered the look on his face—that rare, wide-eyed flicker of genuine shock that stripped away the fuckboy armor he wore so well. She remembered his tan skin looking almost flushed under her bedroom light.

She crawled out of bed, moving with the grace of a newborn giraffe, and cracked the door open.

The living room was a scene of devastation. Chenle was currently using a pizza box as a pillow. Mark was asleep sitting up, his head tilted back at an angle that looked medically impossible for a student president. Renjun was awake, staring at a wall with a cup of coffee, looking like he was contemplating the heat death of the universe.

And there was Haechan.

He was in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, scrolling through his phone. He looked infuriatingly good for someone who had slept on a two-person loveseat. His tan skin was glowing in the morning light, and he was already dressed in a fresh hoodie, looking sharp, while everyone else looked like they’d been through a blender.

Y/N took a deep breath, channeled her inner fierce protector,and stepped out.

“If anyone speaks louder than a whisper, I’m suing for emotional damages,” she announced, her voice scratchy but still carrying that signature bite.

The sound of her voice made Haechan’s thumb freeze on his screen. He didn't look up immediately. He took a slow, deliberate sip of whatever was in his mug before finally meeting her eyes.

“Look who’s alive,” he said. His voice was lower than usual—that gravelly, morning register that usually made people lean in. “I was about to check if we needed to call a priest or a hazardous waste team.”

Y/N marched into the kitchen, ignoring the way her heart was currently trying to tap-dance its way out of her ribs. She grabbed a glass and filled it with water, standing just a little too close to him. Her intuition was screaming. He was acting normal—too normal. For a guy who usually didn't let her live down the "bunny panties" incident, he was being suspiciously quiet about her midnight antics.

“Where’s Jaemin?” she asked, mostly to see if he’d twitch.

Haechan’s jaw tightened, a micro-movement only she would notice. “Probably still in his darkroom, developing photos of his own ego. He sent a text. Said thanks for the ‘help’ last night.”

He finally looked her up and down, his gaze lingering for a fraction of a second on the oversized shirt—which, she now realized, was his shirt that she’d swiped from his gym bag months ago.

“Nice outfit,” he remarked, his voice dropping to a velvety smirk. “It looks better on you than it does on me. Though, to be fair, you were a little... aggressive about the wardrobe change last night.”

Y/N’s face went from pale to nuclear red. “I was drunk. I don’t remember anything.”

“Really?” Haechan leaned in, the scent of his cologne—something woody and expensive—filling her senses. He was using that dual-natured charm, the one where he looked like he was about to tell a joke but his eyes were saying something much more intense. “Nothing at all? Not even the part where you insisted on a… physical demonstration of your loyalty?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she lied, her voice an octave too high.

From the floor, Chenle suddenly bolted upright. “Did someone say loyalty? Is that a new crypto-currency?”

“Go back to sleep, Chenle,” Renjun snapped without moving his head. “Haechan’s just being a menace. Like every other day that ends in 'y'.”

Haechan didn't pull away. He stayed in Y/N’s personal space, his eyes searching hers with a terrifyingly sharp intelligence. He was calculating her reaction, watching the way her pulse jumped in her neck. He knew she remembered. And she knew he knew.

“You’re a terrible liar, Y/N,” he whispered, so low the others couldn't hear. “But don't worry. Your secret is safe with me. Mostly because I’m still trying to figure out if I should charge you for the therapy I’m going to need.”

“You loved it,” she hissed, her unapologetic wit finally kicking back in. “Admit it. It was the highlight of your year.”

Haechan let out a short, dry laugh, but he didn't deny it. Instead, he reached out and flicked a stray hair away from her forehead. His fingers lingered for just a second too long on her skin—a touch that was far too deliberate for just best friends.

“Keep telling yourself that,” he said, sliding past her to wake up the rest of the group. “Now, move. I’m hungry, and since you tried to assault me with your ‘loyalty’ last night, you’re paying for the hangover breakfast.”

As he walked away, swatting Jisung’s dangling leg to wake him up, Y/N watched him. She saw the way he walked—confident, attractive, and entirely too aware of the power he had. She knew he was hiding something behind that witty banter, something that had kept him awake on that sofa while she slept.

The tension in the room was thick enough to cut with a knife, but as always, they masked it with chaos.

“Haechan!” Mark groaned from the chair. “Why are you so loud?”

“Because the world needs to know I’m a survivor!” Haechan shouted, throwing a cushion at Mark’s face. “Y/N tried to kill me with her bare hands last night! It was traumatic!”

Y/N rolled her eyes, grabbing a pillow to join the fray. “I should have finished the job!”

They were back to the love-hate, the banter, and the "just friends" routine. But as Y/N caught Haechan’s eye across the messy living room, she saw a flicker of that flustered boy from the bedroom—and she knew, for the first time in years, the tactical genius had finally lost his edge.

———

The group migrated to The Grease Pit, a diner whose primary purpose was serving high-sodium solutions to people who had made questionable life choices the night before.

Renjun sat at the head of the table like a judge presiding over a particularly messy divorce. Mark was nursing a black coffee as if it were holy water, while Chenle was busy trying to convince a unimpressed waitress that they needed a private booth for "confidential business negotiations." Jisung was just trying to keep his head upright, his long limbs tucked awkwardly under the small table.

“So,” Renjun began, tapping his spoon against the ceramic mug with a rhythmic, threatening clack. “Let’s review the timeline. Y/N leaves with Jaemin to ‘look at lenses.’ Haechan spends the next two hours looking like he’s about to fight the concept of photography itself. Then, Y/N shows up at the apartment at 3 AM wearing Haechan’s shirt, and Haechan looks like he’s seen a ghost—or a very tan angel.”

Haechan, who was currently dissecting a pancake with the surgical precision of a man who didn't want his hands to shake, didn't look up. He was leaning into that classic "AB" temperament—cool, rational, and completely unpredictable. To anyone else, he looked bored. To Y/N, who could smell his tactical deflection from across the table, he looked like he was vibrating on a frequency of pure stress.

“It’s a vintage shirt, Renjun. I was being a good friend and providing a textile-based service to someone who smelled like a tequila distillery,” Haechan said, his voice dropping into that smooth, effortless register that usually shut people up.

“You hate sharing clothes,” Jisung mumbled, squinting through the sunlight. “Last week you almost bit Chenle’s hand off because he touched your hoodie.”

“Chenle’s hands are covered in expensive lotions and ego; they leave stains,” Haechan shot back.

“And what about the ‘lenses’?” Chenle leaned in, his eyes bright with mischief. “Y/N, did you actually see any cameras, or was Jaemin just practicing his ‘caring nature’ on you? I hear he’s very... affectionate when he’s reflecting on his photography.”

Y/N slammed her water glass onto the table, her intuition flaring. She saw the trap. If she defended Jaemin too much, Haechan would get that weird, sharp edge to his wit. If she didn't, the guys would never let it go.

“Jaemin showed me his portfolio from his volunteer trip,” Y/N said, her voice loud and unapologetically steady. “He’s dedicated to his craft. He spent forty minutes explaining the lighting on a stray cat in a back alley. It was actually very sweet. And yes, he did the nose-smell thing. It’s part of his charm.”

“He smelled you?” Haechan’s fork scraped loudly against his plate. He finally looked up, his eyes narrowing. “For forty minutes?”

“I’m very fragrant, Haechan. Deal with it,” she retorted.

“And then?” Mark asked, trying to be the diplomatic student president but failing to hide his grin. “How did we get from Jaemin’s cat photos to you stumbling into the apartment and... well, whatever happened in your room?”

The table went silent. Even the sound of the diner’s griddle seemed to quiet down.

Y/N felt the ghost of Haechan’s hands on her skin from the night before. The memory was a hazy, terrifying blur of heat and vulnerability. She looked at Haechan, expecting him to throw her under the bus with a witty comment about her "loyalty demonstration."

Instead, Haechan did something unexpected. He leaned back, draped an arm over the back of his chair, and gave the group a slow, devastatingly attractive smirk. It was his "fuckboy" shield—the mask of the guy who didn't care about anything.

“What happened,” Haechan said, his voice dropping an octave, “is that Y/N realized she can’t handle her liquor, and I realized I’m a saint. I had to peel her off the ceiling. She tried to tell me I was pretty—which, obviously, I am—and then she fell asleep mid-sentence. It was tragic. I basically did community service.”

He was lying. He was lying through his teeth to protect her from the embarrassment of the bra incident. He was being tactical, using his reputation as a flirt to make the whole thing sound like just another "Haechan handles a girl" story.

“You’re a saint?” Renjun scoffed. “You’re a menace who happened to be in the right place at the wrong time.”

“Believe what you want,” Haechan shrugged, though Y/N noticed his foot was tapping a frantic rhythm against the leg of the table. He looked at her then—a brief, intense look that bypassed the banter and hit her right in the gut. It was a look that said, 'You owe me,' but also, 'Are you okay?'

“Anyway,” Y/N cut in, her fierce protectiveness rising to the surface to shield them both. “The only thing you guys should be worried about is the fact that Chenle is currently trying to pay for this breakfast with a rewards card for a jewelry store he doesn't own.”

“It’s a platinum card!” Chenle protested, successfully diverting the attention of the group as they began to bicker over the bill.

The tension broke, replaced by the usual chaotic noise of their friendship. But as the breakfast continued, Y/N felt a strange weight in the air. She watched Haechan—the guy who knew exactly how to woo girls, the guy who was notorious for his fleeting connections—and realized he hadn't made a single joke about her underwear all morning.

He was being quiet. Reflective.

When they finally left the diner, Haechan lingered by the door, waiting for Y/N to catch up. The rest of the guys were already heading toward Mark’s car, arguing about whose turn it was to pick the playlist.

“Hey,” Haechan said, his voice low enough that only she could hear.

“Hey,” she replied, bracing herself for a witty insult.

“The shirt,” he said, not looking at her. “You can keep it. It’s a good look for a ‘loyal’ person.”

He didn't wait for her to answer. He turned and walked toward the car, his hands shoved in his pockets, his tan skin catching the light. He looked like the same old Haechan—the witty, intelligent, slightly annoying best friend.

But Y/N stood on the sidewalk, the morning air cool against her skin, and realized that for the first time in years, her bullshit detector was silent. Because there was no bullshit in what just happened. There was just a very loud, very terrifying silence that felt a lot like something they weren't supposed to be obvious about.

——-

Three days had passed, and the air between Haechan and Y/N was vibrating like a high-tension wire in a thunderstorm.

They were in Y/N’s kitchen. Technically, Haechan was "helping" her fix a leaky faucet, mostly because he’d claimed he was a mechanical prodigy and she’d called him a useless pretty face. Now, he was sprawled on his back under the sink, his tan legs sticking out, while Y/N sat on the counter above him, eating chips and narrating his failures.

"You know, for a tactical mastermind, you've spent ten minutes swearing at a washer the size of a Cheerio," Y/N said, crunching loudly.

"The washer is a sociological metaphor for your personality, Y/N," Haechan’s voice echoed from the cabinet, muffled but still carrying that bourbon-smooth resonance. "Small, stubborn, and currently making my life a living hell."

"I'm not the one who told the nursing majors I was a 'professional professional,'" she shot back, grinning. "How’s that going, by the way? Did the one with the blonde highlights ever text you back?"

There was a loud clank of metal on metal. Haechan slid out from under the sink, his hair a mess, a smudge of grease across his cheekbone. He looked infuriatingly attractive. He sat up, resting his elbows on his knees, and looked at her with that dual-natured gaze—one part playful, one part terrifyingly sharp.

"She did," he said, his voice dropping into that low, flirtatious register he usually reserved for targets. "But I told her I was busy performing emergency surgery on a kitchen sink. She found it heroic. I found it a tragedy that I’m spending my Friday night with a girl who smells like sour cream and onion."

Y/N rolled her eyes and hopped off the counter, landing inches away from him. Her intuition—that sharp, bullshit-detecting radar—tripped. He was using the banter as a shield. He was leaning into the "fuckboy" persona because the alternative was acknowledging the fact that he was currently wearing the same shirt she’d slept in three nights ago.

"You're a liar, Lee Haechan," she said, leaning over him to grab a paper towel. "You're not busy. You’re just bored because your usual tricks aren't working."

She reached out and wiped the grease off his cheek.

The movement was too domestic. Too quiet. Haechan froze. His breath hitched—a tiny, microscopic sound that made Y/N’s heart do a violent somersault. He looked at her, and for a second, the witty, tactical genius was gone. In his place was the guy with the rare blood type—the one who was a rational alien one minute and a deeply eccentric, sensitive soul the next.

"You're still wearing my shirt under that," he noted, his voice barely a whisper.

"It's comfortable," she countered, her fierce protective wall crumbling just a little. "And it’s technically mine now. Squatter's rights."

"Is that right?" Haechan stood up slowly. He was taller than her, and in the small space of the kitchen, he felt massive. He stepped into her personal space, his chest almost brushing hers. "You take my clothes, you take my Friday night, and you assault me with 'loyalty' speeches while you're drunk. You're a very expensive friend, Y/N."

"Then stop hanging out with me," she challenged, her voice trembling just enough to be dangerous. "Go find a nice nursing major who won't make you fix her sink."

Haechan’s eyes darkened. He reached out, his hand hovering near her waist, before he took a detour and grabbed the bag of chips next to her.

"I would," he said, the witty mask sliding back into place like a visor. "But who would protect the world from your fashion choices if I wasn't around? Those bunny panties aren't going to mock themselves."

"I will actually kill you," she breathed, but she didn't move away.

"You'll try," he smirked, leaning down until his lips were inches from her ear. The heat radiating off him was making her head spin. "But we both know you'd miss me too much. I'm the only one who knows exactly how you like your coffee and which of your fierce looks is actually just you being hangry."

He pulled back, giving her a wink that was so obnoxious it almost hurt. He was acting cute—that specific, calculated aegyo that usually annoyed their friends to death. But standing this close, watching the way his eyes crinkled, Y/N realized that when he didn't try to be cute, he was actually devastating.

"Get out of my kitchen," she said, pushing his chest.

"I'm going, I'm going," he laughed, grabbing his tools. He walked toward the door, but stopped, looking back at her. "By the way, Y/N?"

"What?"

"The sink is still leaking. I didn't actually fix it. I just wanted to see if you'd keep feeding me chips if I stayed under there long enough."

"HAECHAN!"

She threw the crumpled paper towel at him, and he ducked out of the door, his laughter echoing down the hallway.

Y/N stood in the silent kitchen, the sound of the dripping faucet the only thing breaking the quiet. The unspoken things were no longer just loud; they were screaming.

And from the hallway, she heard him shout back, "I'll be back at eight for the 'loyalty' sequel! Don't wear the shirt—I want it back!"

———-

The bar was called The Velvet Underground..

A dim, wood-paneled hole-in-the-wall that smelled of expensive scotch and secrets. It was a far cry from Jaemin’s neon-soaked frat house. Here, the lighting was amber and low, casting long, flickering shadows over the leather booths.

"I'm bored," Chenle announced, swirling a drink that probably cost more than the table it sat on. "And when I'm bored, I become a menace to society. Let's play Truth or Dare. But college rules. No what's your favorite color bullshit."

Renjun leaned back, crossing his arms. "The last time we played this, Mark ended up trying to lead a protest in a chicken suit. I'm in."

Haechan sat opposite Y/N, his thumb tracing the rim of his glass. He looked devastating in the low light—the shadows accentuated the sharp line of his jaw and the honey-tan of his skin. He had that dual-natured air about him tonight; one second he was laughing at Jisung’s height, the next he was staring into the middle distance with a cold focus that made him look completely untouchable.

"Hyung.. Truth or Dare?" Chenle smirked, eyeing Haechan,his eyes gleaming with the predatory instinct of a bored billionaire.

Haechan didn't blink. "Dare. Obviously. I have no truths worth telling you people."

"Fine," Chenle’s grin widened. "I dare you and Y/N to go into that supply closet behind the bar for seven minutes. No phones. No lights. Just... mutual irritation."

The table went quiet. Mark shifted uncomfortably, his instincts screaming bad idea, while Renjun just raised an eyebrow, clearly checking his watch.

Y/N felt the air leave her lungs. Her intuition—that sharp, internal radar—was screaming that this was a trap. But she was Y/N. She didn't back down. She didn't show fear. She survived childhood trauma and habitual heartbreak; she could survive seven minutes in a closet with a guy who knew exactly how to ruin her.

"Fine," Y/N said, standing up and sliding her chair back with a loud thud. "But if he tries to do that cute voice, I’m coming out early and I’m bringing a lawsuit."

Haechan stood up, his movements fluid and predatory. "Don't flatter yourself, little miss bunny. I need the break from your shouting anyway."

——-

The closet was tiny. It smelled of floor wax, cedar, and Haechan’s woody, citrusy cologne. When the door clicked shut, the darkness was absolute.

Y/N backed up until her spine hit a shelf of industrial-sized detergent bottles. She could hear Haechan’s breathing—steady, rhythmic, and entirely too close.

"Five square feet," Haechan’s voice cut through the dark. It was lower than usual, vibrating in the small space like a cello string. "Technically speaking, this is a nightmare. I can't even move my arms without hitting you."

"Then don't move," Y/N snapped, though her heart was hammering against her ribs so hard she was sure he could hear it. "Just stand there and be a 'professional professional' for six more minutes."

"You're shaking," he noted.

"I'm cold."

"Liar."

She felt him move. The air shifted, and then he was there—a solid, warm presence looming over her. He didn't touch her, but the proximity was electric. He was using that unpredictable, eccentric energy of his; one second he was the annoying best friend, and the next, he was the guy who had held her heart in his hands three nights ago.

"You remember the bedroom, don't you?" he whispered. His voice was a weapon—sexy, low, and terrifyingly intimate. "You remember what you did with my hands."

"I was drunk, Haechan. It didn't mean anything."

"Your heart was beating exactly like it is right now," he countered. He reached out, his fingers finding her jaw in the dark. His skin was warm, his touch surprisingly steady. "Is that a lie, too? Is your heart a deflection?"

"Shut up," she breathed, her fierce exterior finally cracking.

"Make me."

It wasn't a slow build-up. It was a collision.

Haechan crashed his lips against hers with a hunger that had been simmering for years under the guise of "best friends." It wasn't cheesy; it was desperate. It was the sound of two people finally stopping the bullshit.

He tasted like whiskey and heat. His hands found her waist, pulling her flush against him until there wasn't a single millimeter of air left between them. Y/N wrapped her arms around his neck, her fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer as if she could merge with him.

He groaned into the kiss, a low, guttural sound that sent a jolt of pure electricity down her spine. His tongue swept against hers, dominant and sure, claiming her in a way that made her knees go weak. He was a notorious fuckboy, a master of fleeting connections, but this felt like an anchor. It was fierce, intense, and unapologetically wild.

Haechan’s hands slid down to her hips, lifting her slightly until she was pinned between the shelves and his body. He was hard—undeniably, painfully hard—and he didn't try to hide it. He pressed into her, his kisses moving to the sensitive skin of her neck, his teeth grazing her pulse point.

"Seven minutes isn't enough," he hissed against her skin, his breath hot. "I’m going to lose my mind."

Y/N pulled his face back to hers, her eyes searching his in the sliver of light coming from under the door. "Then lose it," she whispered. "I've been waiting for you to stop being a goddamn bitch."

The next five minutes were a blur of friction and muffled gasps. They made out with a ferocity that felt like a long-overdue storm. It was messy, it was hot, and it was the most honest they had ever been with each other.

Click.

The door swung open.

Renjun stood there, looking at his watch. "Time’s up. If you're dead, I’m not carrying the bodies."

Haechan and Y/N stepped out.

To the casual observer, they looked normal. But to their friends, who were currently staring at them like they were under a microscope, something had shifted.

Y/N’s lipstick was slightly smudged, her hair a little too voluminous. Haechan was adjusting his hoodie, his face a mask of bored indifference, but his ears were a bright, tell-tale crimson.

"So?" Chenle leaned forward, grinning. "Did you kill each other?"

"Almost," Y/N said, sliding back into her seat and immediately grabbing a handful of nuts like her life depended on it. "He tried to explain the plot of a documentary about ants. I nearly choked him."

"It’s an award-winning documentary!" Haechan shouted, his voice regaining its usual annoying pitch. He sat down, not looking at her, but his foot immediately found hers under the table, hooking around her ankle. "She has no appreciation for the natural world. It’s a tragedy."

"You two are exhausting," Mark sighed, looking relieved.

The game continued. The banter returned. To the world, they were still the love-hate best friends who would never, ever work out. But as Y/N felt the heat of Haechan’s leg against hers, she knew the silent things were no longer silent. They were a roar.

And Haechan? He just took a sip of his drink, his eyes gleaming with a new, dangerous secret.

————

The goodbyes were a chorus of lingering jokes and the sound of car doors slamming. Chenle had been poured into a car, still insisting he could buy the bar if they didn't stop playing peasant music,and Renjun had given Haechan a look that suggested he knew exactly how much of a saint Haechan wasn't.

Finally, the street was quiet, save for the hum of the city and the idling of Haechan’s car.

"Get in," Haechan said, his voice dropping into that low, resonant frequency that always felt like it was vibrating directly against Y/N’s skin. "Before you decide to walk home and get into a fight with a trash can."

"I'm a survivor, Lee. The trash can wouldn't stand a chance," Y/N shot back, but she slid into the leather passenger seat.

The interior of the car felt like a different world. The dashboard lights cast a soft, clinical glow over Haechan’s tan skin, highlighting the concentrated, tactical focus in his eyes. He didn't pull away immediately. He sat there, hands on the wheel, his knuckles white. The rational, calculating side of his temperament was clearly warring with the chaotic, eccentric energy that usually dictated his more notorious impulses.

He drove in silence for three blocks before he swerved into a dark, secluded side street near her apartment complex, killing the engine with a suddenness that made the air in the car feel twice as thick.

"The sink is still leaking," he said, his voice barely a whisper, yet loud enough to fill the space.

"I know," she replied, her heart hammering.

"And you're still wearing my shirt."

"I told you. Squatter's rights."

Haechan turned in his seat, his eyes searching hers with that uncanny, dual-natured intensity. One second he looked like the boy who used to tease her about her bunny panties; the next, he looked like a man who was done pretending. He reached out, his index finger caressing her lower lip, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw with a possessive, heavy heat.

"I’m tired of being tactical, Y/N," he murmured.

He didn't wait for her to call his bullshit. He pulled her toward him, and this time, the kiss wasn't just desperate—it was a declaration. It was deep, raw, and tasted of the whiskey they’d shared and the years they’d spent acting like they didn't want to tear each other’s clothes off.

Y/N climbed over the center console, her movements fierce and unapologetic, landing in his lap. The car was cramped, the leather groaning under them, but neither of them cared. She was magnetic, a force of nature fueled by the darkness she’d survived, and Haechan was the only one who knew how to handle that kind of intensity without breaking.

His hands were everywhere—mapping the curves of her body through the oversized hoodie, his touch large and warm against her skin. He was a master of the game, a man who knew his way around every girl on campus, but with Y/N, his usual fuckboy polish was gone, replaced by a frantic, genuine need.

"H—Haechan," she gasped, her head falling back as his lips found the sensitive hollow of her throat.

"I’ve got you," he rasped, his sexy voice vibrating against her skin.

He slid his hand beneath the hem of the hoodie, his fingers grazing the skin of her thigh, moving upward with a practiced, predatory grace. He wasn't being the cute best friend now; he was being the rational alien who knew exactly which buttons to press to make her lose her mind.

Until his hand went south.

When he found her clit, she was already slick, her body betraying the cool exterior she tried so hard to maintain. Haechan let out a low, triumphant sound—a mix of a growl and a laugh—as he slipped his fingers inside her.

Y/N arched against him, her fingers digging into his shoulders, her breath hitching in a series of sharp, vocal gasps. He was slow at first, rhythmic and deliberate, his thumb working in a way that made her vision blur at the edges. He was watching her, his eyes dark and focused, observing every shiver and every muffled moan like a scientist studying a beautiful, chaotic reaction.

"Tell me," he whispered, his breath hot against her ear as he increased the pace. "Tell me who's being tactical now."

"Shut... up," she managed, her eyes fluttering shut. "Just... don't stop."

He didn't. He used his fingers with a lethal precision, his touch firm and knowing, driving her toward a ledge she’d been hovering over for years. Every thrust of his hand was a reminder of their love-hate history—the fights, the loyalty, the shared secrets, and the undeniable magnetism that had finally snapped.

“Fuck baby.. you’re so tight”, Haechan sighs, watching her as he continues to fuck her with his fingers.

Y/N’s world narrowed down to the sensation of him—his heat, his scent, and the overwhelming friction of his fingers inside her. She felt the climax building like a tidal wave, fierce and unstoppable, until she finally broke. She cried out his name, her body shuddering in his arms as the waves of pleasure crashed through her, leaving her breathless and clinging to him like he was the only solid thing in the universe.

Haechan held her, his heart racing against her chest, his own breathing ragged. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling the scent of her, his hand slowly coming to a rest as she softened against him.

The car was silent again, save for the distant sound of a siren and their synchronized, heavy breathing. The "unspoken" things weren't just loud now; they were the only thing left.

Haechan pulled back just enough to look at her. He reached up and wiped a stray tear from her cheek—not a sad one, but the kind that comes from a release of years of tension. He looked flustered, his usual mask completely shattered, but he still managed a small, crooked smirk.

"So," he whispered, his voice still thick with desire. "Does this mean I don't have to fix the sink tomorrow?"

Y/N let out a wet, genuine laugh, her whole body shaking. She hit his chest weakly. "You're still a dick, Lee Haechan."

"Yeah," he said, pulling her back into a soft, surprisingly tender kiss. "But I'm your dick. And don't you forget it."

He didn't make it obvious. He didn't say the word "love." But as he started the car to finally drive her the last few yards to her door, his hand remained firmly on her knee, and for once, neither of them was looking for a way out.

———

The morning sun hit Y/N’s apartment with a level of disrespect that only 9:00 AM on a Saturday could manage.

Y/N was in the kitchen, aggressively attacking a bag of coffee beans, when the front door code chirped. In walked the four horsemen of her impending migraine: Mark (carrying a box of donuts like a peace offering), Renjun (looking like he was ready to fight the sun), Chenle (complaining about the thread count of the spare pillows), and Jisung (tripping over his own feet).

“Why are you all here?” Y/N asked, her voice a scratchy, loud boom. “Do you not have homes? Do you not have families who miss you?”

“We’re here to witness the aftermath,” Chenle said, hopping onto her kitchen island like it was his personal stage. “Renjun and I have a bet going on whether you and Haechan finally killed each other in that car ride home, or if you just sat in a heavy, pathetic silence.”

“It was silence,” a voice smooth as velvet and twice as dangerous rang out from the hallway.

Haechan appeared, leaning against the doorframe of the bathroom. He looked incredibly, unfairly put together. His tan skin was glowing, his hair was perfectly messy, and he was wearing a fresh shirt—though Y/N noticed it was the same brand he’d been wearing the night before. His "AB" nature was on full display: cool, detached, and playing the role of the rational observer while his eyes flickered with a hidden, electric intensity.

“She spent the whole ride complaining about the humidity,” Haechan lied, sliding into the seat next to Chenle. He reached out and snagged a donut, his fingers nimble and steady. “I almost dropped her off at a 24-hour car wash just to see if the cold water would reset her personality.”

Y/N didn't even look at him. She couldn't. If she looked at him, she’d see the guy who had been breathing her name into her neck eight hours ago. Instead, she channeled her survivorenergy.

“I was complaining about your driving, Haechan. You take corners like you’re trying to escape a crime scene,” she snapped, finally turning around with a pot of coffee.

“I’m not so sure about that.. You guys didn’t fuck or anything right? Haha”, Chenle joked, giving both of them knowing looks.

“I wouldn’t touch her even with a ten foot pole. And by the way, I take corners with precision,” Haechan denied, then suddenly shifted gears. He put on a high-pitched, pouty voice, blinking his long lashes at her. “But Y/N-nie is so mean to meeee! Why does my best friend hate me so much? I just want a tiny sip of coff-eeeee!”

“Oh my god, stop,” Renjun groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Haechan, you are literally twenty-one years old. You are not cute. You look like a golden retriever with a head injury.”

“He’s doing it again,” Jisung whispered, terrified. “The aegyo. It’s a biohazard.”

Haechan didn’t stop. He leaned toward Y/N, his lower lip jutting out in that calculated, "cute" way that usually made her want to throw a shoe at him. He’s literally making a diversion so that he could steer away his friends from grilling them about fucking.

“Pleeaaaase? Just one sip? For your favorite person in the whole wide woooorrrllld?”

Y/N felt a spike of heat that had nothing to do with the coffee. She knew what he was doing. This was his cover. He was acting like the annoying, "acting-cute-to-piss-you-off" best friend so the guys wouldn't notice the way he was actually eyeing her collarbone.

“If you don't shut your mouth, I will fill it with literal grounds,” Y/N said, pushing a mug toward him with enough force to make the liquid splash. “And stop doing that face. You look like a dehydrated raisin.”

“Ouch,” Haechan said, dropping the act instantly. He took a sip of the coffee, his sexy, low voice returning. “Your kindness is a deliberate act of defiance, isn't it? Just like we discussed.”

Mark looked between them, his intuition tingling. “You guys are being… weirder than usual. Did something happen in that closet? Besides the ant documentary?”

Haechan didn’t even flinch. He was a master of distraction. He reached out and casually ruffled Y/N’s hair—a move that was classic 'best friend' but felt like a brand on her skin.

“Nothing happened, Mark. We just realized we both hate the same things. For example, your sweater vest,” Haechan said, pointing at Mark’s chest.

“Hey! This is a classic!” Mark protested.

“It’s a cry for help,” Chenle added, and just like that, the conversation veered into a chaotic debate about Mark’s fashion choices.

Under the table, out of sight of the boys, Haechan’s foot found Y/N’s. He didn't just hook her ankle this time. He slid his foot up her calf, a slow, deliberate caress that made her breath hitch.

Y/N glared at him, but he was busy laughing at something Renjun said, looking for all the world like he didn't have a care in the universe. But as he laughed, his thumb—resting on the handle of his mug—was trembling just a fraction.

And as she kicked him under the table, hard enough to make him hiss "Ouch!" while maintaining his smirk, she realized the bullshit was finally gone. They weren't just best friends anymore; they were two people standing on the edge of a cliff, pretending they weren't about to fall.

“So,” Chenle said, looking at the two of them. “Who’s coming to the beach house next weekend? Jaemin said he’s bringing his new underwater camera.”

Haechan’s eyes snapped to Y/N’s. The "love-hate" look was back, but there was a new, dangerous layer underneath it.

“I’m in,” Haechan said, his voice dropping an octave. “I’ve been meaning to see if Y/N can actually swim, or if she just floats like a piece of drift-wood.”

“I’ll drown you,” she promised, her heart racing.

“I’d like to see you try,” he winked.

——-

The beach house was a sprawling, glass-fronted masterpiece perched on a cliffside that looked like it belonged in a luxury travel magazine. Naturally, it was Jaemin’s.

The group was currently scattered across the private cove. Jaemin, true to his eccentric nature, was waist-deep in the surf wearing a full wetsuit and a pair of high-end goggles, trying to take emotive underwater photos of a very confused crab. Renjun was sitting under a massive umbrella, looking like a Victorian widow mourning the concept of fun, while Chenle was trying to teach Jisung how to "properly" sabre a bottle of champagne with a credit card.

“He’s going to drown that crab,” Y/N muttered, squinting at Jaemin’s neon snorkel. She was lounging in a black bikini, looking radiant and fiercely attractive—a fact she remained blissfully unaware of as she focused on her annoyance.

“He’s documenting the crustacean experience, Y/N. Show some respect for the arts,” Haechan’s voice rumbled beside her.

He was stretched out on the lounge chair next to hers, his tan skin glistening with salt and sun. He looked effortless, the notorious fuckboy persona dialed down into a relaxed, predator-at-rest vibe. But Y/N could see the way his eyes tracked the movement of the waves—and the way they occasionally snagged on the curve of her hip.

“You’re just glad he’s busy so you don't have to explain why you’re still wearing my sunglasses,” she shot back, reaching over to snatch them off his face.

Haechan caught her wrist mid-air. His grip was firm, his thumb grazing the sensitive skin of her pulse point. The playful banter died in her throat. The "unspoken" things from the closet and the car weren't just loud anymore; they were a physical weight between them.

“I’m going up to the house to get a real drink,” she said, her voice a bit too sharp. “This sun is making me hallucinate that you’re actually tolerable.”

“I’ll come,” Haechan said, standing up with a fluid grace that made Mark, who was passing by with a tray of fruit, pause.

“You guys okay?” Mark asked, looking between them. “You look like you’re about to fight. Again.”

“Always, Mark,” Haechan smirked, but his eyes never left Y/N. “It’s the only way she knows how to communicate. It’s charming, really.”

——

The house was empty. The rest of the guys were staying by the water, and the silence of the high-ceilinged living room felt like a vacuum.

Y/N didn't even make it to the kitchen. She was halfway across the hallway when a hand clamped around her waist and hauled her backward. She was spun around and slammed against the cool, white wall, the air leaving her lungs in a sharp gasp.

Haechan didn't look like the "cute" best friend anymore. He looked like the mastermind who had finally cornered his target. His eyes were dark, a storm of dual-natured intensity that made her knees turn to water.

“No more jokes,” he rasped, his sexy voice vibrating against her skin. “No more 'bunny panty' bullshit. No more pretending I’m not losing my goddamn mind over you.”

He didn't wait for her to answer. He claimed her mouth with a ferocity that was almost violent, his hands gripping her thighs and hiking her up until she had to wrap her legs around his waist to stay upright. He moved her like she weighed nothing, manhandling her through the nearest door—a guest bedroom—and kicking it shut behind them.

He didn't put her on the bed gently. He threw her onto the mattress and followed her down, his body a heavy, tan-skinned weight that pinned her effortlessly.

“Haechan,” she breathed, her fierce soul meeting his intensity head-on. She wasn't scared; she was electrified. She wanted the roughness. She wanted the truth of him.

He was relentless. He stripped her with a frantic, rough energy, his hands possessing every inch of her as if he were finally claiming territory he’d been eyeing for years. When he entered her, it wasn't a slow, romantic glide; it was a hard, deep thrust that made her back arch and a jagged cry escape her lips.

“You’re mine,” he hissed into her ear, his teeth grazing her lobe. “Tell me you know it.”

“I... know,” she gasped, her fingers digging into the muscles of his back, drawing blood as he increased the pace.

He was rough, his movements powerful and unapologetic. He used his strength to move her, flipping her over, pinning her wrists above her head with one hand while the other mapped the curve of her spine. He was a notorious fuckboy for a reason—he knew exactly how to drive a woman to the edge—but with Y/N, it felt like he was trying to drive himself there, too.

The heat in the room was suffocating. Every time she tried to speak, he silenced her with a kiss that tasted like desperation and salt. He was teasing her, pausing just when she was about to break, his eyes searching hers with a cruel, beautiful intelligence.

As they reached the peak, Haechan’s grip on her wrists tightened. He leaned down, his sweat dripping onto her skin, his breathing a series of ragged, guttural hitches.

“I could,” he whispered, his voice a low, dangerous growl against her temple. “I could stay right here. I could finish inside you and make sure you never think about Jaemin or anyone else ever again. Should I, Y/N? Should I leave my mark?”

Y/N’s head thrashed against the pillow, her body a live wire of pleasure. “Haechan... please...”

He leaned in, the tension in his body screaming as he hovered on the absolute edge. He let out a low, frustrated sound, his self-control winning by a fraction of a millimeter. At the last possible second, he pulled out, his release hitting her skin in a hot, frantic rush as he collapsed against her, his heart hammering like a drum.

They lay there for a long time, the only sound the distant crash of the waves and their synchronized, desperate breathing.

Haechan finally pulled back, looking down at her. His hair was a mess, his tan skin flushed, and for the first time in their entire history, he looked completely vulnerable. He reached out and tucked a damp strand of hair behind her ear.

“You’re a nightmare, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice returning to that soft, bourbon-smooth register.

“And you’re a disaster,” she whispered back, a small, genuine smile breaking through her exhaustion.

He laughed—a real, unapologetic laugh—and kissed her forehead. He didn't say he loved her. She didn't say it back. But as he pulled the duvet over both of them, his arm draped possessively over her waist, the silence between them was finally, blissfully, honent.

——

The sun was dipping below the horizon, painting the sky in violent shades of bruised purple and gold, by the time Haechan and Y/N descended the wooden stairs back to the cove.

The air was cooling, but Y/N felt like she was still radiating heat. She had done her best to scrub the just manhandled glow off her skin, but her lips were a tell-tale swollen pink, and her legs felt like they were made of overcooked noodles. Beside her, Haechan was the picture of AB-blood-type serenity. He’d swapped his shirt for a fresh linen one, and his brain was back online, his face a mask of cool, bored indifference.

The boys were gathered around a bonfire that Chenle had probably paid a local professional to start, given how perfectly it was burning.

"Oh, look who decided to rejoin the mortal realm," Renjun said, not even looking up from the stick he was using to poke at a marshmallow. "We were about to send a search party, but then we figured you'd just gotten stuck in a loop of insulting each other's ancestors."

"The ice machine was acting up," Haechan said, his voice as smooth as the scotch in Jaemin's hand. He sat down on a driftwood log, leaning back with a casual confidence that didn't betray the fact that he’d spent the last two hours being anything but cool. "It took a while to convince it to cooperate. I had to use my charm on the kitchen appliances since Y/N's personality was scaring them."

"Two hours?" Jaemin asked, tilting his head. He was still in his wetsuit, his hair damp and messy, looking like a literal sea god. He leaned over and did his trademark move—a quick, quirky sniff of Haechan’s shoulder. He paused, his nose wrinkling. "You smell like... expensive hotel soap and a very specific brand of sea-salt spray. Which is weird, because we're at a beach, but you smell like fresh sea-salt spray."

Haechan didn't flinch, but Y/N saw the muscle in his jaw jump. "It's called hygiene, Jaemin. You should try it sometime instead of smelling like a wet otter."

"And you," Chenle pointed a glowing marshmallow at Y/N. "You look like you just ran a marathon. Your hair is doing a thing. A very... bird's nest thing."

"I took a nap," Y/N snapped, her fierce intuition kicking in to cover her tracks. She sat down as far from Haechan as possible, which was her first mistake. "The sun gave me a headache. Unlike some people, I don't have an ego to keep me upright 24/7."

"A nap?" Mark asked, looking between the two of them. His brain was clearly running the numbers. "In the same house? While Haechan was 'fixing the ice machine'?"

"He's a loud worker, Mark. It's hard to sleep when someone is narrating their own 'mechanical genius' to a refrigerator," she shot back, grabbing a drink from the cooler.

The silence that followed was heavy with suspicion. The boys weren't stupid. They had watched this love-hate tennis match for years, and the atmospheric pressure around the two of them right now was high enough to cause a weather event.

"Anyway," Jaemin said, breaking the tension by pulling out his camera. "I got the shot. The crab looked very pensive. I think it’s a Gemini. Very dual-natured. Very 'I'm going to pinch you but I also want a snack.'"

Haechan let out a dry laugh. "Sounds like someone I know."

"If you're talking about me, I'll pinch your throat," Y/N muttered, but she couldn't hide the small, private spark in her eyes when she finally caught Haechan’s gaze across the fire.

He didn't wink. He didn't make it obvious. He just held her stare for a second—a look that was dark, possessive, and entirely too knowing—before turning back to tease Jisung about his fear of seagulls.

The night went on, filled with the usual chaos—Chenle trying to buy a boat on his phone (that was questionable.. but oh well), Renjun threatening to throw the marshmallows into the ocean, and Mark trying to organize a "bonding" campfire song.

As the fire died down to embers, the group started heading back up to the house. Haechan lingered, waiting for Y/N to finish packing up her towel.

"Hey," he whispered, his sexy voice barely audible over the waves.

"What?" she asked, not looking up.

"Your 'nap' was very loud," he teased, leaning down so his lips brushed the shell of her ear. "I think the ice machine was impressed."

"Shut up, Haechan," she hissed, her heart doing that familiar, frantic dance.

"Make me," he challenged, the witty, rough man from the bedroom flickering in hiseyes for a split second before the "best friend mask settled back into place.

They walked back up the beach, three paces apart, insulting each other the whole way. To the boys watching from the balcony, they looked exactly the same as they did in high school. But as Haechan reached out to "accidentally" brush his hand against hers in the dark, they both knew the game had changed forever.

The final night at the beach house was supposed to be a "civilized" goodbye dinner, but given that Chenle had discovered a vintage wine cellar and Jisung had managed to accidentally set a decorative driftwood centerpiece on fire, "civilized" was a distant dream.

By 1 AM, the house was a graveyard of empty bottles and exhausted bodies. Mark and Jaemin were passed out on the deck chairs, and Chenle was somewhere in the kitchen trying to explain the stock market to a very sleepy Jisung.

Haechan and Y/N had vanished ten minutes ago.

They were in the laundry room—a choice by Haechan, who argued that "no one ever looks for anything productive like clean towels at 1 AM." He had Y/N hoisted up on the humming dryer, her legs wrapped tightly around his waist, the vibration of the machine adding a low-frequency hum to the friction of their bodies.

It was rough, urgent, and fueled by the frustration of having to play "just friends" all evening. Haechan’s hands were clamped onto her hips, his fingers digging into her skin with a possessive strength that left no room for doubt. He was manhandling her with a focused, dark intensity, his kisses biting and deep.

"You... were... flirting with the bartender... earlier," Haechan rasped between heavy, jagged thrusts, his voice a low growl of possessive irritation.

"He was... nice," Y/N gasped, her head hitting the wall behind her with every rhythmic movement. "Unlike... you."

"I'll show you nice," he hissed, his grip tightening as he drove into her, the rough edge of his temperament taking over. He was teasing her, his thumb pressing into her hip bone, his eyes locked onto hers with a look that said he was seconds away from breaking his own rules.

Suddenly, the heavy thud of footsteps echoed in the hallway outside.

"Haechan? Y/N?"

It was Renjun. And he sounded dangerously close.

Both of them froze. Haechan stayed buried deep inside her, his muscles locked, his forehead resting against hers as they both strained to hear through the thin door. The dryer chose that exact moment to let out a loud, high-pitched beep signaling the end of a cycle.

"I know you're in there," Renjun’s voice came from right outside the door. He sounded annoyed and suspiciously sober. "I can hear the dryer. And I know neither of you has ever done a load of laundry in your entire lives. It’s statistically impossible."

Haechan’s eyes widened, a rare flash of genuine panic crossing his face. He looked at the door, then back at Y/N, who was trying—and failing—to stifle a hysterical laugh.

"We're... looking for my favorite socks!" Haechan shouted, his voice jumping an octave into his "cute but annoying" register. "Y/N lost them! She’s a thief, Renjun! A sock thief!"

"Open the door, Haechan," Renjun said, his hand rattling the knob. "I need a towel. My drink spilled because Chenle thinks he’s a bartender."

"No!" Y/N yelled, her voice vibrating against Haechan's chest. "I’m... I’m naked! I’m changing! Haechan is just... being a pervert and won't leave!"

"I'm helping!" Haechan added, desperately trying to pull his shorts back up while Y/N scrambled to adjust her top, her face flushed a deep, tell-tale crimson.

"I’m counting to three," Renjun said, his voice dropping into that "I-will-actually-murder-you" tone he used when he was truly done with their antics. "One... two..."

Haechan scrambled to the door, leaning his back against it just as Renjun pushed. He put on his most bored, fuckboy expression, though he was breathing like he’d just run a marathon.

"Relax, gargoyle," Haechan said, cracking the door just a few inches and sticking his head out. He looked disheveled, his tan skin damp with sweat. "Y/N is having a fashion crisis. If you go in there, she’ll probably claw your eyes out. She’s very protective of her... laundry."

Renjun squinted at him, his sharp intuition scanning Haechan’s face. He looked past him at Y/N, who was now standing by the dryer, frantically folding a single damp towel with the intensity of a woman possessed.

"Why are you both sweating?" Renjun asked, his eyes narrowing. "The laundry room isn't that hot."

"It's the dryer, Renjun! Thermodynamics!" Haechan chirped, ruffling Renjun’s hair to distract him—a move that usually resulted in a fistfight.

"Don't touch me," Renjun snapped, swatting his hand away. He grabbed a towel from a basket near the door, giving them both one last, long, deeply suspicious look. "You two are the weirdest people I have ever met. If I find out you were doing something stupid like trying to see if you could fit in the washing machine, I'm leaving you both at a gas station on the way home."

Renjun turned and walked away, grumbling about Gemini energy and idiot best friends.

As soon as his footsteps faded, Haechan leaned his head against the door and let out a long, shaky breath. He turned to Y/N, who was still holding the damp towel, her shoulders shaking with silent laughter.

"That," Haechan whispered, his sexy voice returning as he stepped back toward her, "was way too close."

"You said you were a tactical genius," she teased, dropping the towel and reaching for the hem of his shirt.

"I am," he smirked, pulling her back into him, his hands finding her waist with that familiar, rough possessiveness. "Tactically speaking... he’s gone. And we still have five minutes before the dryer starts cooling down."

He didn't wait for her to reply. He lifted her back onto the machine, the unspoken things finally silenced by the only language they both truly understood.

The drive back from the beach house was a masterclass in atmospheric pressure. Mark, Renjun, Chenle, and Jisung were in the lead car, likely debating whether the beach house needed a professional exorcism after their stay. This left Haechan and Y/N alone in his car, the interior smelling like expensive leather, salt air, and the lingering, heavy scent of each other.

The silence wasn't the usual comfortable quiet of best friends. It was thick, humming with the frequency of everything that had happened in closets, bedrooms, and laundry rooms.

Haechan drove with one hand on the wheel, his tan fingers tapping a restless rhythm. He looked cool—the strategist back in his element—but his eyes were constantly flicking to the passenger seat. Y/N was staring out the window, her fierce profile silhouetted against the passing streetlights. She was wearing his oversized hoodie again, the sleeves swallowed her hands, making her look softer than her bullshit-detector personality usually allowed.

"You're being quiet," Haechan said, his voice dropping into that low, bourbon-smooth register that bypassed her brain and went straight to her pulse. "It’s unsettling. I feel like I should be checking for a pulse or a hidden weapon."

"I’m just thinking about how much I’m going to enjnoy not seeing your face for at least twelve hours," she shot back, but the bite wasn't there. It sounded like a reflex, a tired script they both knew by heart.

Haechan let out a dry, short laugh. He slowed the car as they entered the city, the neon signs of downtown reflecting off the windshield. "Twelve hours? You’ll be texting me by 2 AM because you can’t find your remote or you saw a spider that looked personally offended by your presence."

"In your dreams, Lee."

"My dreams are currently occupied by other things, Y/N. Things that involve laundry rooms and tactical errors in judgment."

Y/N finally turned to look at him. Her intuition—that uncanny ability to see through his masks—saw it then. The fuckboysmirk was gone. The acting cute sefense mechanism was offline. For a guy who was notorious for his fleeting connections, he looked... grounded. Heavy. Like he’d finally found something he couldn't just charm his way out of.

He pulled the car to a stop in front of her apartment building. Usually, this was where he’d make a joke about her bunny collection and speed off. But the engine stayed off. The silence in the car became deafening.

"We can't keep doing the bit, can we?" Y/N asked, her voice small but unapologetic.

Haechan leaned his head back against the headrest, staring at the ceiling of the car. He looked like the rational, AB-natured alien trying to calculate an equation that didn't have a solution. Then, he turned his head to look at her. His eyes were dark, intense, and for the first time, completely transparent.

"The bit is exhausted," he murmured. He reached out, his hand sliding across the center console to cup the back of her neck. His thumb traced the line of her jaw with a possessive, rough tenderness. "I'm a notorious disaster, Y/N. I’m an ass, I’m arrogant, and I’m probably going to annoy you for the rest of your life."

"Probably?" she whispered, leaning into his touch.

"Definitely." He pulled her closer, his forehead resting against hers. "But if you think I’m letting you go back to just best friends after this weekend... then you’re not as smart as I thought you were."

He didn't say the word "love." Heechan wasn’t like that. He is not going to give away the whole game just yet. But as he kissed her—a slow, deep, lingering kiss that tasted like a promise—the mask didn't just slip. It shattered.

"Go inside," he whispered against her lips, his voice raspy and full of an intensity that made her knees weak even while sitting down. "Before I decide the car is the next place we should check the thermodynamics of."

Y/N let out a genuine, radiant laugh. She climbed out of the car, pulling the hoodie tighter around her. She didn't look back until she reached the glass doors of the lobby.

Haechan was still there, watching her, his hand resting on the window ledge. He gave her a sharp, two-finger salute—the same one he’d used since high school—but the look in his eyes was entirely new.

She disappeared inside, her heart a fierce, loyal roar in her chest. And as Haechan drove away, he didn't turn on the radio. He just sat in the quiet, a witty, tan-skinned mastermind who had finally realized that the best move he ever made was losing the game entirely.

————

The big reveal didn't happen at a fancy dinner or a dramatic meeting. It happened because Haechan, despite being a genius(as he thought he was), forgot that Chenle had installed a smart-lock system on the Neo-Brew private backroom where the group gathered.

The boys were already there, surrounded by bubble tea and calculus homework. When Haechan and Y/N walked in, they weren't just walking close; they were tangled. Haechan had his arm draped heavily over Y/N’s shoulders, his fingers playing with a strand of her hair, while Y/N was absentmindedly leaning her head against his bicep.

The silence that hit them was louder than a gunshot.

Renjun stopped mid-sip, his eyes bugging out. Mark dropped his highlighter. Chenle slowly pulled out his phone, likely to check the exchange rate of "I Told You So" coins.

"So," Renjun said, his voice dangerously level. "The laundry was that productive, huh?"

Haechan didn't even flinch. He just pulled Y/N closer, his fuckboy mask officially retired and replaced by a smug, possessive grin. "Actually, the laundry was a disaster. But the partnership agreement has been finalized."

"Are you... together?" Jisung asked, looking like he was watching a glitch in the Matrix. "Like, holding hands, gross stuff, together?"

"Grosser than that, probably," Y/N added, her unapologetic wit cutting through the tension. She felt the heat in her cheeks but stood her ground. "And if any of you say 'I told you so,' I will personally ensure your social lives end today."

"I told you so!" Chenle shrieked, slamming a fist on the table. "Mark, pay up! Five hundred! I knew the laundry room was a den of sin!"

"We’re happy for you," Mark said, ever the diplomat, though he was handing Chenle a crumpled bill. "But please, for the love of the student body, keep the 'partnership agreement' out of the library."

And just like that, the air in the room changed. The static of years of "maybe" and "should we" finally cleared, leaving behind something vibrant and new. The tension that had once been a source of friction shifted into a steady, glowing warmth. It was a reset—a complete overhaul of their history that didn't just fix the cracks but filled them with gold. Their friendship hadn't ended; it had simply bloomed into something prettier, fiercer, and far more dangerous for everyone else's peace of mind.________________________________________

-End-

BONUS!

Haechan decided their first "official" date needed to be a masterpiece. He planned a night at a high-end, experiential rooftop restaurant that required a six-month waiting list. He wanted to show her he could be more than just the guy who teased her—he could be the guy who treated her.

It started failing the moment they arrived.

"I’m sorry, sir," the maitre d’ said, looking at Haechan’s perfectly tailored, tan-skin-accentuating suit. "We have a strict 'no-denim' policy."

Haechan looked down at his designer jeans that cost more than a fridge. "These are literal works of art. They’re a fashion statement."

"They’re pants with pockets, sir. Please leave."

Result: They ended up at a local carnival that looked like it hadn't passed a safety inspection since 1994.

"It’s... nostalgic?" Haechan tried, looking at a carousel horse that was missing an ear.

"It looks like a tetanus shot waiting to happen," Y/N laughed, grabbing his hand. "Come on, pretty boy. Let’s go on the Ferris wheel."

The Ferris wheel was fine until they reached the very top. Then, with a mechanical groan that sounded like a dying whale, it stopped. The lights flickered and died, leaving them suspended in the dark, swaying in the wind.

"Tactically speaking," Haechan muttered, clutching the safety bar, "this is not how I envisioned the evening ending."

"Are you... scared of heights?" Y/N asked, leaning in, her intuition picking up on the slight tremor in his hand.

"I am not scared. I am critically aware of the distance between us and the pavement," he snapped, his sexy voice jumping an octave.

"You're cute when you're terrified," she teased, sliding closer to him.

"I'm not cute! I'm—"

He was cut off by a sudden thump as the car swayed violently. Haechan didn't think; he lunged for Y/N, wrapping his arms around her like a shield. He was manhandling her again, but this time it was out of pure, frantic protectiveness.

"If we die here," Haechan whispered into her hair, his heart racing against her chest, "I just want you to know that the laundry room was my favorite part of the decade."

"We're not going to die, you idiot," she said, though she held him back just as tight.

Ten minutes later, the ride lurched back to life. When they finally touched the ground, they were both windblown, covered in sticky residue from a nearby cotton candy machine that had "exploded" during their wait, and Haechan had a giant grease stain on his suit.

They walked back to the car, sharing a single, lukewarm hot dog.

"Worst date ever?" Haechan asked, leaning against the driver's side door, looking disheveled and entirely too handsome.

"Absolute disaster," Y/N agreed, reaching up to wipe a smudge of pink sugar off his nose.

He caught her hand, kissing her palm. The best friend mask was gone, the "fuckboy" was retired, and all that was left was the witty, tan-skinned boy who had finally found the only person in the world who could handle his bullshit.

"Same time next week?" he smirked.

"Only if we go somewhere with a functioning exit," she laughed, pulling him in for a kiss that tasted like cheap sugar and a future that was finally, perfectly obvious.

©Jenoppang2

@notmastyle

[hnykiss]

she thinks i can milk .ೃ࿔ ⌂*:･

pairing celebrity!lee donghyuck x farmgirl!reader

genre fluff, slice of life, found family, humor, sexual innuendos, diva hyuck ofc, reader is like nara smith making iPhone 17 from scratch, reader is actually a farm boss i lovee her sm women power :P, i’ll update this section as i go

notes i am genuinely terrified of being back on tumblr but i missed this sm yippieeee me and haechan smaus are ride or die

taglist open!

status ongoing

barnyard bunch | saja boys

intro

one : girl bye.

two : deal

three : for the freeskis

four : jerk each other

five : ur a smurf

six : boy loves boy

seven : he was naked

eight : say it's me baby

nine : finally some good service

ten : wahhh wahhh

eleven : TO FREEDOM

twelve : so no pie?

thirteen : tbd

…

.ೃ࿔ ⌂*:･