shouldn’t, couldn’t, wouldn’t —
⚡︎ .ᐟ boy-next-door!haechan x reader—where they weren't supposed to kiss. or call. or catch feelings. too bad they suck at rules.
⚡︎ .ᐟ inspired by NIKI's "shouldn't, couldn't, wouldn't"—i love her so much plz give the song a listen if you haven't yet!!
⚡︎ .ᐟ suggestive content, and waayyy too many late-night feelings. (11.2k)
· · ─ ─ · · · · ─ ─ · ·
moving day was a disaster waiting to happen, and surprise—it happened. three hours of sleep, zero caffeine, and enough bad decisions packed into one tote bag to make a reality show jealous.
all you had to do was survive moving day without collapsing, crying, or accidentally making eye contact with a neighbor you'd have to avoid forever.
spoiler alert: you would fail at all three.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · · · · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
shouldn’t
moving day was already the worst.
you were sleep deprived, under caffeinated, and sweating through your tote bag. you had just barely managed to drag a heavy suitcase to your apartment door before realizing the key was on the very bottom of your bag. beneath a book, a half-eaten granola bar, and your crippling regret.
he was sitting across from your new apartment, cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by half a bag of cheetos and the loudest facetime call in the world. from what you could hear, his friend was yelling something about a suspicious rash.
he looked up just in time to catch you drop your bag, trip over it, and slam your forehead lightly into your own door.
there was a long pause.
then he muted his call and clapped.
“10 out of 10 entrance,” he said, still chewing.
you stared at him from the floor, holding your dignity in both hands like a fragile egg.
“thanks,” you deadpanned. “been rehearsing that fall for weeks.”
he grinned like this was the highlight of his day.
and to make things worse, he was hot. stupid hot. like—should not be allowed to have a face like that—hot. tousled brown hair, warm skin, golden chain resting against his collarbone. and of course, the stupid bear socks.
“you moving in?” he asked, like that wasn’t obvious from the five boxes labeled ‘sad kitchen stuff’ next to you.
“no,” you said. “i just like loitering in random hallways. adds spice to my week.”
he tilted his head. “you’re funny.”
“you’re nosey.”
“you’re in my way.”
“you’re still staring.”
you blinked. looked away so fast your neck almost cracked. he was still grinning, smug, stupid, and gorgeous.
“i’m haechan,” he offered, finally. “i live across from you. that makes us... hallway buddies.”
“gross,” you muttered. “do not say that ever again.”
he only winked. “you’ll love me in three to five business days.”
later that night, after successfully unpacking approximately one spoon and a broken desk lamp, you found a note slid under your door.
“welcome to the building. hallway buddies 4ever <3 - h”
you told yourself you rolled your eyes. you told yourself it didn’t make you smile.
you shouldn’t.
but the butterflies in your stomach said, good fucking luck with that.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
your room is still half-boxes and unfamiliar shadows while you were on the phone with seol.
“oh, by the way, my cousin jaem invited me over to this pregame he’s having at his place. want to come with?”
you reply, “i think i’m just gonna stay in tonight, honestly.”
“too late! i’m already outside.”
you blink. then hear her knock.
jaemin’s apartment is loud. that’s the first thing you notice. not just music, but the sharp, overlapping noise of too many voices in a too-small space. you barely step inside when the second thing hits you.
and the thing was slouched on the couch in a leather jacket, head tilted back, laughing at something jeno just said. then he sees you.
his whole expression shifts, like a switch flipped.
“well, well, well,” he calls out with a lazy grin. “if it isn’t my hallway buddy.”
you groan. “don’t call me that in public.”
you slide into the empty seat next to him before your brain has the chance to vote. his knee brushes yours. neither of you mention it.
across the room, jaemin tosses you a drink without looking. “new apartment treating you okay?” he asks.
“yeah,” you say, then glance at haechan. “we actually live across from each other.”
seol’s head whips around. “wait—you two live across the hall?”
you nod slowly. haechan just shrugs, taking a sip like it’s nothing. “guess we’re neighbors and now party pals.”
jaemin points between the two of you. “and this never came up before?”
“didn’t exactly come up in the elevator,” you mutter.
the night spins faster after that. drinks. music. renjun attempting to dj in the kitchen using two phones and a bowl. someone breaks out a deck of cards. there’s a group effort to freestyle over a beat that no one can agree on. laughter bounces off the walls.
you lose track of time—until you somehow end up crammed into a corner during never have i ever. haechan’s shoulder presses into yours, his voice low near your ear.
“small world,” he says. “hallway, party, now, a fun little drink game territory”
you raise your cup. “should’ve stayed home.”
he clinks his drink lightly against yours. “you’d be bored without me.”
you don’t answer.
because he might be right.
“never have i ever hooked up with a neighbor,” jeno said, smirking.
haechan looked at you.
you glared at him.
“i haven’t!” you protested.
“yet,” he said under his breath.
you blinked.
your ears got hot.
you told yourself it was the tequila.
later, in the quiet chaos of 2 a.m., you were helping him find a spare charger in jaemin’s room. mostly because you didn’t trust him not to steal one if left unsupervised.
“you’re fun,” he said suddenly, watching you from the doorway.
“i’m also emotionally unavailable and extremely good at ghosting,” you replied, digging through drawers.
“perfect,” he said, grinning. “my type.”
you stood up. too close. his eyes dropped to your mouth for half a second too long.
i should step back, you thought.
but you didn’t.
he leaned in slightly. just enough to test a theory.
you stared at him.
then laughed—too loud, too fake, too “please don’t let this be real.”
you cleared your throat.
“we should go,” you said quickly.
he hesitated. then stepped back.
“yeah,” he said softly. “we should.”
once it was time to go home, he insisted on driving back to your place. the drive back home was quiet. and once you’ve arrived at the building, none of you chose to speak. you walked, in silence, with your shoulders brushing.
you didn’t say anything when he opened the door to your building for you. you didn’t say anything when he held the elevator.
“you ever think,” he said, not looking at you “that maybe we’re just avoiding something?”
you blinked. “like what?”
his lips twitched. “something we shouldn’t do.”
you didn’t answer.
you didn’t have to.
the silence said enough.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
the texting started as a joke.
haechan had left a post-it on your door that said:
“you left your dignity in the hallway again. i’m holding it hostage. - h”
you: u have the worst handwriting in the world 😬
DNI!!: shut up >:( that’s not what u said when u saw my handwriting on ur heart
you had no response to that. not a good one anyway.
after that, the texts never really stopped.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
DNI!!: hey, u up?
you: if this is a booty call, i hope u step on a lego
DNI!!: 💔
DNI!!: u’re no fun
you: ?? i am SO much fun
DNI!!: prove it. come out
you: is this another hallway hang
DNI!!: unless u’re scared.. 😮
you opened your door exactly sixty seconds later.
he was already leaning against his, hoodie up, a box of ice cream sandwiches in one hand and the smirk. the one that said he knew he was your worst idea—and your favorite one.
“ice cream truce,” he said. “for your wounded ego.”
“from what?”
“from not kissing me that night at jaemin’s.”
you blinked. he was too close again.
“what makes you think i wanted to?”
he raised a brow. “didn’t you?”
you looked away. “just give me the ice cream.”
you sat in the hallway. backs against the wall. knees brushing again.
“so,” he said between bites, “what’s your tragic backstory?”
you laughed. “you first.”
he grinned, lazy and warm. “gemini. commitment issues. abandonment issues.”
“wow. the holy trinity.”
“and you?”
you shrugged. “recovering situationship survivor.”
he winced. “yikes.”
“you?”
“commitmentphobe with a god complex.”
you scoffed at him. “wow.. you’re actually self-aware?”
“only after 2 a.m.,” he said. “and only with you.”
you told yourself it was a joke. you told yourself the way he was looking at you didn’t make your heart do something stupid.
“haechan…” you started.
“yeah?”
“we’re not doing this.”
he paused.
“doing what?”
you glared. “this. flirting. late-night ice cream. emotional trauma swap. whatever this is.”
he nodded slowly. then smiled again. “yeah. no. definitely not. hallway buddies only.”
you both laughed.
but the silence after wasn’t light. it was heavy. like something was being buried beneath the joke.
when you got up to leave, he didn’t stop you.
because this—whatever it was—was exactly what you both knew you shouldn’t be starting.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
you had a face mask on, hair tied, a random sitcom playing, and had just settled into your comfort burrito blanket cocoon when your phone buzzed.
DNI!!: can’t sleep
DNI!!: door’s open
you stared at the screen. then stared at your reflection. you looked like someone who’d lost a bet.
you told yourself you wouldn’t don’t go.
then grabbed your hoodie and went anyway.
his lights were dimmed, just one lamp glowing in the corner. the tv was playing some terrible reality dating show—a girl was crying because her man of two days chose someone else during a “trust fall challenge.”
“wow,” you said, sitting on the edge of his couch. “art.”
“masterpiece,” he agreed. “shakespeare could never.”
you watched in silence for a bit. you felt him watching you.
“you didn’t knock,” he said softly.
“you said the door was open.”
he nodded, eyes still on you. “just saying. you used to knock.”
“you used to be less cryptic,” you muttered.
he smiled. “i’m still cryptic. you’re just getting better at reading me.”
you laughed nervously. then fell silent again.
on-screen, someone yelled, “he can’t even define the relationship!”
you scoffed. “DTR,” you said. “men fear it.”
“yeah,” haechan muttered. “i’ve always sucked at that part.”
you glanced at him. he was looking at the floor. “why?” you asked, before you could stop yourself.
he shrugged. “because... once you define it, you can’t pretend it’s not real.”
you didn’t know what to say to that. so you didn’t say anything.
the silence stretched. not awkward. just heavy.
he was sitting closer now. when had he moved?
your knees touched. neither of you pulled away.
you looked at him. he looked at you.
and in that one, too-long second—your whole body went still.
he leaned in. just enough. slowly. like he was giving you time to stop it. your heart felt like it was trying to escape your ribcage.
you knew this was the line.
you knew you shouldn’t.
and still—your hand moved on its own, resting lightly on his knee.
that’s when he froze.
“if we do this,” he said, voice low, “everything changes.”
you swallowed. “i know.”
another beat.
“so, are we—”
you exhaled sharply. stood up. paced toward the door.
“we’re not doing this. we can’t”
he stayed on the couch, silent.
you didn’t turn back.
you didn’t see the way his expression crumpled just slightly.
you didn’t see how he watched the door long after it closed.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
you were just on your way back from seol’s, high on caffeine and gossip, with a paper bag full of banana bread and a playlist queued for the walk upstairs. you didn’t expect to find him standing in front of your apartment door.
hoodie again. hands in pockets. that same boyish look that screamed, “i swear i’m trouble, but you’ll like it.”
“you forget your key?” you asked, unlocking your door.
“no,” he said. “just forgot what it felt like to be around you.”
“what?” you said, laughing awkwardly.
“that sounded better in my head,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck.
you tilted your head. “why are you here, haechan?”
he didn’t answer right away.
just looked at you like he was trying to memorize your face before doing something stupid.
“i think i’ve been trying to find excuses to see you,” he said.
you went quiet.
he stepped a little closer.
“i think i’ve been trying to forget you, too,” you whispered.
he stopped.
“and how’s that going?”
“terribly.”
he smiled—not the usual cocky, smug one. this was smaller. sadder. almost hopeful.
“can i come in?” he asked.
you didn’t trust yourself to answer with words.
so you opened the door.
and he followed.
you didn’t even turn the lights on—just tossed your bag on the counter and leaned against it, heart hammering like it knew what was coming.
haechan stood in your kitchen like he’d done it a thousand times.
“you want tea?” you asked, trying to buy yourself time. sanity.
“only if you’re making it shirtless.”
“you’re unbelievable.”
“you say that like it’s new information.”
you rolled your eyes. “you want tea or not?”
“nah,” he said softly, walking up behind you. “right now, i only want… you.”
your breath caught.
you turned around slowly. he was too close. too warm. too everything.
his hand lifted—not to grab or pull or take—just to tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear.
“if we do this,” you said, barely audible, “we can’t pretend anymore.”
he nodded. “i’m tired of pretending.”
“we said we shouldn’t.”
“we also said we wouldn’t.”
you paused. “but right now?”
“we couldn’t not.”
that was all it took.
your mouths met halfway. desperate. months of lingering glances and almost-kisses finally unraveling like thread. your hands tangled in his hoodie. his fingers dug into your waist like he’d die if he let go.
it wasn’t graceful. it wasn’t planned.
but it was real.
too real.
somewhere between the kisses and the way he whispered your name like it hurt, your brain screamed that this is a mistake.
but your body? your heart?
they didn’t care.
on your couch, beneath the dim kitchen light, you let him see the version of you you’d kept guarded. and in return, he gave you the one he never let anyone else hold.
when it was over—when your breathing slowed and the silence returned—he traced lazy circles on your bare shoulder and murmured,
“i don’t want to go back to pretending.”
you didn’t say anything.
you didn’t need to.
because you were already too far in.
and somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew.
this was the beginning of something you wouldn’t be able to walk away from.
couldn’t
“you couldn’t DTR, wouldn’t it be nice if we could stay friends?”
you woke up to the sound of the kettle whistling.
for a second, you thought you were dreaming. your place was never that quiet in the morning—usually it was just the hum of your phone alarm and the silent screaming of your soul.
but this time?
there was someone in your kitchen.
and he was humming.
you sat up slowly, hair a mess, shirt barely clinging to your shoulder. it smelled like him. which was unfair. because now you couldn’t even wear your own clothes without remembering last night.
you padded out to the kitchen, barefoot and sleepy-eyed, only to find haechan pouring hot water into two mugs.
he turned at the sound of your yawn, grinning.
“morning to you too,” he said, sliding one of the mugs across the counter. “tea. not made shirtless. sorry to disappoint.”
“wow, you made me tea?”
“i did,” he said. “don’t worry, i didn’t poison it. i only do that on the third hookup.”
you snorted, reluctantly smiling. “so this is a hookup?”
he paused.
the room felt too still.
“i mean,” he started, “unless you’d prefer we call it a… spiritual bonding ritual or something.”
you gave him a look.
“kidding,” he said quickly. “honestly? i don’t know. i just… i wanted to make you tea. that’s all.”
you sipped it. still warm. still slightly sweet.
“you’re weird,” you muttered.
he leaned against the counter, watching you.
“and you kissed me back.”
“well, you kissed me first.”
“you moaned.”
“you’re lucky i didn’t bite.”
“..you did bite.”
you choked on your tea.
he laughed.
god, why did he always laugh like that? like it came from somewhere deep in his chest. like he wasn’t scared of anything.
but you were.
scared of this. of him. of how this already felt like something you couldn’t name without ruining it.
“you’re still here,” you said quietly, setting your mug down.
he tilted his head.
“did you think i’d leave?”
you shrugged.
he didn’t say anything. just stepped forward, gently taking your hand in his.
“i meant it,” he said. “last night. i don’t wanna pretend anymore.”
you swallowed hard. “and what exactly are we doing?”
he didn’t answer right away.
instead, he pressed a kiss to the back of your hand.
then your wrist.
then your shoulder.
your breath hitched.
“i don’t know,” he whispered. “but i do know i’m not ready to stop.”
and neither were you.
so when he kissed you again—slow, soft, full of unspoken things—you kissed him back.
not because it was a good idea.
not because it would end well.
but because you couldn’t resist.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
the second time it happened was thursday.
because, of course, it had to be thursday.
thursday was supposed to be uneventful. boring. uneventful-boring-thursday. but then he showed up at your door again, hoodie down, smile up, eyes bright like he knew you were going to let him in.
you didn’t even ask why. just stepped aside and said, “you know the drill. shoes off.”
he toed them off dramatically and flopped onto your couch like he paid rent.
“you’re lucky you’re cute,” he said.
“you’re lucky i’m lonely.”
he clutched his chest. “ouch. right in the fragile male ego.”
“you have an ego?”
“only when you’re around.”
he had a way of saying things that sounded like jokes but felt like truths. you hated how easily you blushed. how fast your heartbeat got when he looked at you like that.
“i brought chips,” he said, pulling out a bag from his hoodie like it was contraband. “and the ramen you like.”
you narrowed your eyes. “are you trying to seduce me with carbs?”
“is it working?”
“...yes.”
and just like that, thursday was ruined.
or maybe, saved.
because the next thing you knew, he was in your kitchen again—badly boiling noodles and dramatically sneezing from the spice, and you were sitting on the counter, swinging your legs like a teenager with a crush.
you weren’t dating.
but you weren’t just friends.
you were something in-between, something unnamed, something filled with stupid inside jokes and unsaid feelings and late-night cravings that weren’t just about ramen.
after dinner, he sat a little too close. your knees touched. your pinkies brushed. he let his hand rest on your thigh and didn’t move it.
he kissed you again—slow, teasing, like he had all the time in the world.
you didn’t talk much that night.
you didn’t have to.
you both lay there in your bed, barely under the covers, silence pressing between you like a second body.
“do you want to sleep over?” you asked, almost too quietly.
he blinked. “i mean… yeah. if that’s okay?”
you nodded.
and he stayed.
after that, it just became a thing.
he’d show up.
sometimes with food. sometimes with excuses. sometimes with neither.
you stopped asking why.
he’d tease you when you wore his shirt around the apartment, and you’d throw a pillow at him when he called you “cutie with commitment issues.”
“takes one to know one,” you always shot back.
“i’m not one for titles, in other words, terrified. that p*ssy kept my words out the door”
you didn’t talk about what you were doing. you didn’t make rules. but there were rules.
1. no sleepovers unless it “just happened.”
2. no texting first (but replying fast enough so it didn’t look like you cared too much).
3. no kissing in public.
4. no getting caught.
and the most important one: no feelings. ever. not even a little.
but feelings were slippery.
feelings showed up when you watched him fall asleep on your couch, curled up like a cat.
feelings showed up when he brought you cough drops and orange juice the second you said, “i feel kinda off today.”
feelings showed up when he danced with you in your tiny living room to a dumb commercial jingle and said, “see? we’d win ‘so you think you can dance: emotionally unavailable edition.’”
you laughed, but your heart skipped.
because deep down, you knew:
you weren’t emotionally unavailable.
you were just emotionally terrified.
you told yourself this was fine.
you weren’t one for titles, anyway.
but one night—a random wednesday—you caught yourself staring at him for too long.
watching him fold your laundry like it was normal. like he belonged here.
and it hit you.
you’d memorized him.
his dumb jokes.
his bad habits.
the way he’d shut down when he needed you the most.
you knew him better than you were supposed to.
and worse?
you didn’t want anyone else to.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
one night, while he was getting dressed after—hoodie half on, hair messy, lips still swollen from kissing—he paused in your doorway.
“you ever think about what we’re doing?”
you blinked. “what do you mean?”
he shrugged. “i dunno. like… do you ever wish it was more?”
your chest tightened.
“haechan…”
“i’m not saying we should,” he said quickly, waving his hands. “i’m just saying… wouldn’t it be nice?”
your silence was the only answer he needed.
he left a few minutes later, same as always.
but something had shifted.
something you didn’t have the words for yet.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
you shouldn’t have gone.
you knew it the second you stepped into the apartment.
because there he was. already wearing that stupid smug smile. already making himself way too comfortable on jaemin’s beanbag like he wasn’t half the reason your knees were still sore.
“look who decided to show up,” haechan said, raising his brows.
you kept your expression neutral. “someone had to make this room attractive.”
“and that someone’s obviously me,” he shot back.
jeno raised a brow. “you two flirting or fighting?”
you both answered at the same time.
“fighting.”
“flirting.”
everyone groaned.
“we get it,” renjun muttered. “sexual tension. unresolved. like literally every drama. can we watch the movie now?”
you sat as far away from him as possible. on the floor. next to seol, who immediately gave you a look.
“you good?” she whispered.
you nodded. liar.
she leaned closer. “you sure you’re not sleeping with him?”
you blinked innocently. “who?”
“don’t ‘who’ me. that look he gave you just now? that was either i’ve seen you naked or i plan to very soon.”
“seol, shut up,” you whispered, face heating.
across the room, haechan was very obviously not watching the movie. his eyes kept flickering to you.
he stretched lazily, arm brushing jeno’s shoulder.
“this movie’s mid,” he announced.
“you were the one who suggested it,” jaemin said.
“yeah, and now i regret it.”
you were trying so hard to focus on the screen. but you could feel him watching you. every glance burned. your fingers twitched.
seol’s eyes narrowed. “girl, your ears are turning red.”
“i’m fine,” you hissed.
haechan got up a few minutes later. “bathroom,” he muttered. but the second he passed behind you, his hand ghosted over your back. quick. featherlight. like he just had to touch you.
your breath caught.
seol glanced between you two.
“…nope. they’re definitely f—”
“back in a sec!” you blurted, hopping up and heading toward the hallway like your life depended on it.
it kind of did.
he was waiting.
not in the bathroom.
but leaning against the wall in the hallway, arms crossed, like he knew you’d follow.
“you know,” he said, voice low. “we could’ve just stayed home.”
“we’re being normal,” you said, avoiding his gaze.
he stepped closer.
“this isn’t normal,” he murmured.
“we’re trying to be.”
“trying isn’t succeeding.”
you were breathing too fast.
he moved again, backing you up against the wall.
“they’re literally in the other room,” you whispered.
“you think i care?” he said, smiling like the devil himself. “you looked at me like you wanted me to care.”
your eyes fluttered shut. “this is a bad idea.”
“so was the first time. and the second. and the fifth. but you keep kissing me anyway.”
you swallowed hard.
“you said we wouldn’t do this again.”
“you said that,” he said, closing the gap between you. “i never agreed.”
and then he kissed you.
like the world didn’t exist outside that hallway.
like every “we shouldn’t” was just foreplay for “we will anyway.”
his hands were under your hoodie. your fingers were tangled in his hair. the sound of the movie barely reached you—the real noise was the one in your chest, that loud, crashing ache of god, i want you, but god, i shouldn’t
his hand brushed against your hip, a deliberate, teasing touch that sent a shiver down your spine. you bit your lip, pulse quickening as you fought the urge to press yourself against him.
the sound of laughter from the living room seemed to fade into the background, drowned out by the pounding of your heart. you knew you were playing with fire, but the risk only added to the allure. you tilted your head, meeting his gaze.
"you know," you said, voice barely above a whisper,
"we're not exactly being subtle."
he smirked, his confidence unwavering.
"who said we need to be?" his fingers traced the edge of your hoodie, his touch light but deliberate. "they’re too busy with their own drama to notice us." his words were a challenge, a dare you couldn't resist.
your resolve wavered as his hand slid up your side, his thumb grazing the sensitive skin just below your ribcage. you leaned into him, body responding to his touch with a mind of its own.
"and if they do?" you teased, voice trembling slightly.
"then they'll see what they've been missing," he replied, his tone daring.
before you could respond, he cupped your jaw, pulling you closer. his lips brushed against yours, a fleeting touch that left you breathless. the kiss was soft, almost tentative, but it ignited a fire within you that you couldn't ignore.
you wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing yourself against him as the kiss deepened. his hands moved to your waist, pulling you tighter until there was no space between you.
the hallway seemed to shrink around you, the world narrowing to just the two of you and the heat of your desire. you moaned softly into his mouth, fingers tangling in his hair as you surrendered to the moment.
his hands moved lower, sliding over your hips and down to your thighs. he lifted you effortlessly, pressing you against the wall as he kissed you with a hunger that left no doubt about his intentions.
you wrapped your legs around his waist, your heart racing as you felt the hardness of his body against yours. the thrill of being so close to getting caught only heightened the sensation, the risk adding an edge to your passion.
then jeno’s voice rang down the hallway. “bro, what’s taking you so long? are you pooping or—”
you broke the kiss, breathing like you’d just run a marathon.
“back in a sec!” he yelled, way too cheerful.
you pulled away from him, fixed your hoodie, hair a mess, face hot, and mouth swollen.
he winked at you. “so… movie?”
you glared. “i hate you.”
he grinned. “you couldn’t.”
and you didn’t deny it.
“i could take more shots or i could take you off your blouse”
the party was already a mistake.
not because it was boring—but because the second you walked in and locked eyes with him from across the room, everything else just turned into background noise.
haechan was already leaning against the kitchen counter, red cup in hand, loose black shirt and smug grin fully deployed.
you hated how he looked at you like he had a secret.
you hated it more because you were the secret.
you didn’t approach him.
you did what any self-respecting person would do.
you mingled, you laughed at renjun’s sarcastic commentary, you complimented someone’s fake fur jacket. and you ignored the way your skin buzzed under his stare.
seol noticed first.
“he hasn’t stopped staring at you,” she muttered over the music, sipping something suspiciously green.
“he’s looking at the chips behind me.”
“right. and i’m looking at the dip.”
you rolled your eyes, but when you turned around, he was gone.
haechan had disappeared.
and somehow, that made it worse.
because now you were aware of him—like heat at your back, like footsteps you couldn’t hear yet. like a ghost you definitely had unfinished business with.
you wandered down the hall, claiming you were looking for the bathroom.
you weren’t.
you knew exactly where you were going.
and there he was.
in one of the empty rooms, door cracked open just enough for you to catch a glimpse of him sitting on the desk, legs swinging, cup still in hand.
he didn’t look surprised.
he just tilted his head.
“looking for something?” he asked.
you stepped in and closed the door behind you. and locked it.
“you left without saying hi.”
“well, you seemed occupied.. pretending not to know me,” he said, voice amused.
you crossed your arms. “we said no hooking up at parties.”
“we also said no feelings,” he replied. “and yet here we are.”
“this is different.”
“is it?” he slid off the desk, walking slowly toward you. “or are we just really bad at rules?”
your breath caught when he reached you.
“don’t look at me like that,” you whispered.
“like what?”
“like you’re gonna do something reckless.”
he leaned in. “define reckless.”
you didn’t answer.
your lips already did.
the kiss was hot and desperate, all the tension from earlier spilling over. his hands were on your waist, yours fisting in his shirt like you needed to anchor yourself.
he lifted you onto the desk like you weighed nothing. like he needed you closer. like he didn’t care who walked in.
“someone could come in,” you mumbled against his mouth.
“door’s locked.”
“people are literally outside.”
he grinned. “guess we’ll be quiet, then.”
your laugh was breathless. “you are never quiet.”
“watch me,” he whispered, and kissed you again.
it was fast. messy. intense. the kind of kiss that made your knees weak and your heart angry with you. because you knew better.
but you didn’t want to do better.
you hadn’t even had a drink.
you didn’t need one.
he was already intoxicating.
“this is so bad,” you moaned,
“the worst,” he agreed. “we’re going to hell.”
“we said we’d stop.”
“we say a lot of things.”
“and what are we gonna say after this?”
he met your eyes.
and for once, he didn’t joke.
“nothing,” he said. “we don’t have to say anything. we never do.”
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
you were at his place.
again.
for “homework.”
because apparently, two people who have the self-control of soggy toast thought they could survive a full hour of proximity without pouncing on each other.
“seriously,” you said, dropping your bag on his bed. “we’re gonna study. like, for real. no distractions.”
haechan raised both hands in fake surrender. “no distractions. i swear.”
you narrowed your eyes.
“no weird comments. no staring. no—”
“sexually suggestive jokes? i would never.”
“haechan.”
he smiled, all teeth. “fine. serious face. hit me with the notes.”
ten minutes in, he was already failing.
you were mid-sentence, reading off your notes, when you noticed it.
he was staring at your lips.
you didn’t look up. “stop it.”
“stop what?” he said, all fake innocence.
“you’re doing that thing where you pretend to listen but you’re actually thinking about making out with me.”
“no i’m not,” he said. “i’m thinking about undressing you with my teeth.”
you dropped your pen. “jesus christ—“
“what?” he laughed, leaning back against the wall. “you said no weird comments, not no honest ones.”
“you’re impossible.”
“and yet, here you are.”
you glared. “this is why we can’t do normal things. like sit. and study. and exist without humping.”
“not my fault you look hot when you’re focused.”
you turned to him, exasperated. “you promised.”
“i promised nothing. you said, ‘let’s study,’ and i nodded while imagining you in nothing but a t-shirt.”
you stood. “i’m going home.”
“no, you’re not.”
“watch me.”
“you say that every time, but then—” he stood too, walking toward you like you were prey and he was seconds from pouncing—“you remember how good we are at not studying.”
“we said we wouldn’t do this again.”
he paused in front of you. close. too close.
you hated that you were already leaning in.
“we shouldn’t do this again,” you corrected.
“yet, we couldn’t not,” he whispered, brushing his fingers down your arm.
you stared at him.
this was supposed to be simple.
but now, he was looking at you like you were the only thing in the world that made sense, and your heart was doing that thing again, that stupid, fluttery, traitorous thing—
you grabbed his face and kissed him.
and he laughed into it, breath hitching, like he’d known you’d give in.
like he’d always know.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
you woke up tangled in his sheets.
his arm slung over your waist. his face buried in your neck. your phone buzzing somewhere beneath your discarded jeans with three missed calls from seol
seolace: u said “just homework”
seolace: be so serious rn
seolace: r u . still . at his place .
you threw your phone under the pillow and turned to face him.
he was awake.
“hi, baby” he mumbled, voice scratchy.
“we’re not doing this again.” you said—ignoring the tiny somersault your stomach just did
he smirked, eyes still closed. “totally.”
“i’m serious.”
“mhmm.”
you sighed, brushing a strand of hair off his face.
you both knew you were lying.
but for now?
you didn’t care.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
you were up late, preparing for midterms, when your phone suddenly buzzed next to you.
DNI!!: hey, are u up?
DNI!!: not in a ‘come over’ way
DNI!!: okay. maybe in a ‘can i come over’ way
DNI!!: but also.. i brought food
you: if it’s just fries again i’m blocking u
DNI!!: c’monnn babee it’s fries AND ice cream
DNI!!: pleeaaasseee )): u know u love me
DNI!!: fries* 😊
you opened your door three minutes later in mismatched socks and a shirt that—may or may not—have been his.
he looked at you like you were ridiculous.
you rolled your eyes, tossing him a napkin. he didn’t sit on the floor this time—instead, he plopped onto your bed like he lived there. like it was normal. like this whole setup was normal.
“you look tired,” he said through a mouthful of fries.
“midterms,” you replied.
he frowned. “are you okay?”
you nodded. “just a little burnt out.”
he reached over, brushing his thumb across your cheek like it was nothing. like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“you should rest more,” he said, soft.
you blinked.
haechan wasn’t… sweet. not like this.
he was chaotic. loud. reckless. he made fun of you for having a notes app titled ‘reasons not to text him.’
he wasn't supposed to care.
you cleared your throat. “you’re being weird.. again.”
“no i’m not.” he looks at you confused.
“you’re being like… thoughtful.”
he rolled his eyes, shoving a donut in front of your mouth. “fine. next time i’ll throw fries at your face instead.”
you smiled, biting into the donut. “thank you.”
he shrugged. “don’t mention it.”
but he stayed. longer than he usually did.
you watched a dumb movie. you argued about which side of the blanket was yours. he dozed off halfway through with his head on your shoulder, arm slung across your stomach like it belonged there.
you didn’t move.
you just stared at the ceiling, heartbeat doing laps in your chest.
this wasn’t just casual anymore.
you both knew it.
and when he stirred in the early morning light, blinking up at you with sleep in his eyes and a softness in his voice that made your throat ache—
“do you want me to go?”
you almost said no.
but you smiled instead. like always.
“probably.”
he nodded.
but he didn’t move.
“it’s not anything you said, it’s everything you didn’t”
it was raining.
not the dramatic, movie-style kind—just a steady, quiet drizzle tapping against your window as the afternoon faded into blue.
you hadn’t planned to see him.
he hadn’t planned to show up.
but at some point in the day, you’d both ended up in your bed again, sharing your last bag of popcorn and making sarcastic commentary over a romcom neither of you were really watching.
you were lying on your stomach. he was on his back beside you, fingers lazily scrolling through his phone, feet nudging yours every few minutes like a bored child.
“how is it,” he said suddenly, “that you always smell like vanilla and bad decisions?”
you kicked his leg. “how is it that you always sound like a red flag wrapped in a hoodie?”
“it’s a gift.”
you laughed, eyes fluttering shut.
he was quiet for a moment.
“i like this.”
you peeked at him. “the movie?”
“no. this,” he said, waving vaguely at the space between you. “us. being here. it’s... nice.”
you tried to play it off. “don’t get sappy on me now. i will physically throw you out.”
he smiled, soft and slow. “i mean it.”
you looked away, heart thudding in your chest in a way that was not normal. definitely not casual. it was the kind of thud that reminded you that this whole thing—whatever it was—had gotten far out of hand.
“you’ve been acting unusual lately,” you said.
“you always say that when i’m not trying to get in your pants.”
“because… it freaks me out.”
“good. fear keeps things spicy.”
you scoffed.
then, silence.
not uncomfortable. just… full.
full of things neither of you were ready to say.
finally, you broke it.
“you ever think about how we shouldn’t have started this?”
he didn’t look at you.
but he nodded.
“yeah,” he said. “all the time.”
you turned to face him.
“do you regret it?”
he glanced at you then, eyes unreadable.
“no,” he said. “but sometimes i wish it didn’t feel like this.”
“like what?”
“like… if we keep going, one of us is gonna get hurt.”
you swallowed hard.
you knew he was right.
you also knew you weren’t ready to stop.
you reached over and touched his hand—just barely, just enough—and whispered, “stay. just for a bit.”
he did.
no touching. no kissing. no jokes.
just you, him, and the rain outside.
and all the things you still weren’t saying.
“you go and shut me out, figures, you gemini”
it had been one of those nights—the kind where the weight of the world seemed to settle on your shoulders, and the only remedy was to dull the edges with a bottle and a bad rom-com.
but just as you were about to surrender to sleep, the sharp buzz of the doorbell jolted you back to reality.
you groaned, setting the glass down with a thud. who the hell would be at your door at this hour? you weren’t expecting anyone, and the only person who ever showed up unannounced was him.
and the thought alone made your stomach twist. you hesitated, debating whether to ignore it, but curiosity—or maybe something more stubborn—got the better of you. you dragged yourself to the door, flipping on the hallway light as you went.
there he stood, leaning against the frame with that infuriating smirk plastered across his face. his hair was tousled, like he’d run his hands through it a dozen times, and his shirt was half-tucked, as if he’d thrown it on in a rush.
“forgot my charger,” he said, his voice low and casual, like this was the most normal thing in the world.
you crossed your arms, narrowing your eyes. “at midnight? really?”
he shrugged, that smirk widening. “figured you’d be up. you’re always up this late.”
you wanted to slam the door in his face. but instead, you stepped aside, gesturing for him to come in.
“it’s in the living room. take it and go.”
he didn’t move. just stood there, his gaze locking onto yours, and for a moment, the air between you crackled with something unspoken.
you knew you should’ve pushed him out, should’ve kept your distance, but before you could think, you were closing the gap between you, your lips crashing against his. it was reckless, impulsive, and entirely against your better judgment. but it was also familiar—too familiar.
he didn’t hesitate, his arms wrapping around you like he’d been waiting for this moment all along.
stumbling backward toward the bedroom, the world narrowing to just the two of you. clothes were discarded, excuses and self-control unraveling like cheap thread.
you didn’t want to think about why this was happening again, why you kept letting it happen. you just wanted to feel something—anything—other than the emptiness that had been gnawing at you all night.
“i hate you,” you whispered against his mouth, your breath hot and uneven.
he chuckled, his hands sliding under your shirt, tracing the curve of your waist. “you love me,” he murmured, his tone teasing but his touch anything but.
you didn’t correct him. you didn’t say anything. instead, you let yourself get lost in him again—in the way his lips moved against yours, in the way his hands seemed to know every inch of your body.
it was the kind of kiss that made your head spin, the kind of touch that felt like it was trying to memorize you. the kind of closeness that always made you forget how much this wasn’t supposed to matter.
but then—right in the middle of it, when your heart was pounding and your skin was flushed and your mind was a blur of want—he spoke.
his voice was low, almost a whisper, but it cut through the haze like a knife.
“god, i think i’m in love with you.”
you froze. just for a second. but it was enough.
he didn’t notice. or maybe he did. but he didn’t stop. his lips kept moving against yours, his hands kept roaming, like the words hadn’t just dropped between you like a grenade with the pin pulled.
you let him kiss you again. let him touch you like nothing had happened. like the words hadn’t changed everything.
but they had.
later, when it was quiet and you were lying there in the dark, your back to his chest and his arm around your waist, you whispered, "did you mean what you said?"
he was quiet.
too quiet.
"haechan?"
he let out a soft exhale.
"no," he said. too quickly. too carefully. "i didn’t mean it."
you nodded.
but you didn’t believe him.
he didn’t believe himself either.
but neither of you said anything else.
and in the silence that followed, you both realized something terrifying.
this thing you swore wasn’t real?
it was starting to feel like the only real thing either of you had.
“you wonder why suddenly i’m comin’ off indifferent. what you don’t seem to understand is..”
the next time you saw him, it was as if nothing had happened.
you opened the door, and he was standing there in his stupid hoodie, holding a bag of chips and some sour gummies like that could fix whatever this was.
“snack delivery,” he said, way too cheerful.
you raised an eyebrow. “you don’t even like sour gummies.”
he grinned. “you do, though.”
and just like that, the air shifted.
you stepped aside and let him in.
you sat beside each other on your bed—a little farther apart than usual. the movie played. the snacks sat between you. and the silence was louder than the speakers.
“so,” he said eventually, “you seen that tiktok where—”
“haechan,” you interrupted, voice quiet.
he looked at you.
you didn’t even know what you wanted to say. only that something was caught in your throat and it was killing you not to ask.
but instead of saying “you told me you loved me” or “did you mean it” or “what are we doing,” you just said, “why are you acting this way.”
he blinked. “you’re the one who’s acting.. strange.”
“no, you are.”
“i literally brought you snacks.”
“yeah, you’re being fake nice.”
he frowned, leaning back on his hands. “you’re being fake mean.”
“and you’re being fake fine.”
and there it was.
silence again. thick. awful.
you sighed, “can we not do this?”
“do what?”
“this thing where we pretend we’re mad at each other so we don’t have to talk about last time.”
he bit the inside of his cheek.
you were right.
and you were mad. just not at him. not really.
you were mad at yourself. for letting it get this far. for letting it matter.
but what were you supposed to say? that you heard him say he loved you, and then heard him take it back? that you wanted it to be real, even though it shouldn’t be?
he reached for the bag of gummies and started eating like it would fill the silence.
you let him.
but you didn’t move closer this time.
and he didn’t either.
“it’s not always peachy, look, love ain’t that easy”
you hadn’t seen him in a week.
not because he hadn’t tried.
he had—three calls, four texts, one passive-aggressive meme, and a “u left ur hoodie btw” that you knew was just an excuse.
you didn’t reply.
you couldn’t.
because it wasn’t just about the hookup anymore. it hadn’t been for a while.
you were catching feelings, and he was pretending not to. and the truth was—you couldn’t keep pretending too.
so when he showed up again—hands in his pockets, chewing gum like this wasn’t the first time he’d stood outside your door with something to say and no idea how to say it—you almost didn’t open.
almost.
you cracked the door open.
“i don’t want to do this anymore,” you said.
no hello. no smile. just the truth.
he blinked. “okay. wow.”
you nodded, bracing yourself.
he looked away, jaw tight. “you could’ve at least answered.”
“what was i supposed to say?” your voice was low. “we were hooking up, and then you said you were in love with me—and then you acted like it didn’t matter.”
“you asked if i meant it,” he said. “what was i supposed to do?”
“you could’ve told the truth.”
he was silent.
and that said everything.
you swallowed. “you know what hurt more than hearing you didn’t mean it?”
he looked at you, eyes suddenly soft. guarded.
“what?” he said, barely above a whisper.
“you didn’t even ask how i felt.”
he opened his mouth. closed it again.
and that pause—that silence—said more than anything he could’ve.
you stepped aside. you weren’t sure why. some part of you still hoping, still stupid.
he walked in slowly, looking around like the place had changed. like you had.
you followed him into the living room. it felt smaller with him in it. heavier.
he sat on the edge of the couch but didn’t speak. just looked at you.
you crossed your arms. “don’t say it again.”
his brows knit. “say what?”
“what you said last time.”
he leaned forward, elbows on knees, hands clasped like he didn’t trust them. “why not?”
you shook your head, voice flat. “because it doesn’t change anything. because we both know this—” you gestured between the two of you, the tension, the mess. “this isn’t real.”
he was quiet for a moment. then, with more force than before, he said, “feels pretty real to me.”
you stared at him. hard. “you always make it feel real. you say things like that, and you look at me like this is everything. and i let it get to me. i let myself believe it means something.”
“maybe it does,” he said, standing. “maybe i mean it.”
you searched his face, hoping for something steady, something solid. but there was only more uncertainty. more wanting.
“then why does it still feel like i’m the only one who’ll get hurt?” you asked.
he didn’t answer.
not right away.
and maybe that was the answer.
“you couldn’t define the relationship,” you said, voice low and shaking now. “you couldn’t say what you wanted.”
he took a step forward.
you took one back.
“don’t,” you whispered.
“y/n—”
“we shouldn’t have started this,” you said. “and now i couldn’t stop even if i wanted to.”
his face softened. “then don’t stop.”
you almost laughed. almost.
but instead, you stepped back toward the door.
“you need to go,” you said, quiet but clear.
he didn’t fight you. just nodded slowly.
“fine,” he said. “but we’re not done talking about this.”
you didn’t reply. just opened the door and waited.
he paused for a second. then walked out.
you didn’t slam the door.
you just closed it gently.
finally.
then you leaned against it, your chest tight, your mind loud. you knew you’d made the right decision. you knew it was the only way to protect yourself.
but still, his words lingered in the silence like smoke.
and something in you knew that nothing would be quite the same again.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
renjun was telling some dumb story about how jaemin got kicked out of a 7/11 for trying to microwave his socks.
the group was cracking up. seol was doubled over. jeno had tears in his eyes. and haechan—haechan was laughing too, but his eyes kept flicking to you.
you didn’t laugh.
you smiled, sure. nodded. even chimed in once or twice. but your body was angled slightly away from him, arms crossed over your chest like a shield.
he noticed.
you noticed him noticing.
and seol definitely noticed both of you.
“what’s wrong with you two?” she asked suddenly, cutting through the noise like a knife.
you and haechan turned at the same time, startled. “what?”
“you’re acting weird,” she said, squinting. “like... not the funny, flirty weird. like actual weird.”
“we’re fine,” you said too quickly.
“yeah,” haechan added, forcing a laugh. “totally fine.”
the silence that followed was awkward enough to kill the entire room’s vibe.
jaemin blinked. “damn. now it’s weird for us, too.”
jeno cleared his throat. “anyone want more chips?”
you stood up. “i’ll help.”
haechan stood up too. “i got it.”
you both reached for the same bowl and your fingers brushed. it was nothing. a second. a spark. but it felt like being burned.
you flinched.
he did too.
and when your eyes met, it was like looking at a stranger wearing the face of someone you used to know too well.
“you good?” he asked quietly.
“mhm,” you lied.
he nodded like he believed you. like you were both pretending this didn’t hurt.
you took the chips and walked back to the others.
he stayed behind.
renjun watched him from the couch.
“not that deep, right?” renjun said casually, like a joke.
but it wasn’t.
and haechan didn’t answer.
because it was deep.
and it was drowning them.
“you don’t pick up when i call, unless i call you mine”
you don’t remember who called first.
it didn’t matter.
and then—quiet knocks. familiar eyes. the kind of silence that meant everything.
he stepped inside like he didn’t know what he was doing.
you let him in like you didn’t either.
no words. not at first.
you were both so tired of pretending. so tired of brushing shoulders in rooms full of people and pretending you didn’t notice how the distance hurt.
you kissed him.
and it wasn’t frantic this time.
it was careful.
like maybe, just maybe, if you kissed him gently enough, it wouldn’t break your heart.
his hands found your waist. yours tangled in his hair. the kind of kiss that tasted like forgiveness, or something dangerously close to it.
“you don’t have to say anything,” you whispered, breaking the kiss to breathe.
he shook his head slowly. “i want to.”
but he didn’t. not yet.
he touched you like it was the last time. like he wanted to remember everything. how your skin felt under his palms. how you sighed when he kissed down your jaw. how you looked at him when your guard finally dropped.
every movement was slow. like a secret unspoken. like you both knew this wasn’t just hooking up anymore, but neither of you wanted to say it out loud.
because saying it would make it real.
because if it was real, it could end.
he kissed every inch of you like he owed you an apology. like he wanted to say sorry for every moment you doubted him. for every night you stared at the ceiling, wondering what the hell you meant to him.
you looked up at him, breath catching. “haechan—”
“i meant it.”
your heart stopped.
“that night,” he said softly, pressing his forehead to yours. “when i said i was in love with you. i meant it.”
you blinked up at him, stunned. raw. silent.
“i just—” he exhaled. “i didn’t want it to be real. because if it was, then this... this thing we had? it couldn’t stay casual anymore.”
you swallowed. “and now?”
his voice cracked. “now it’s too real to ignore.”
you kissed him again. longer this time. deeper.
and when your bodies moved together, it was less about need and more about knowing.
knowing that this was never just lust.
that underneath the sneaking around, the laughs, the tension—there was always something more.
you both just tried so hard not to see it.
but now, in the dark, there was nothing to hide behind.
it wasn’t much, but it was enough. for now, it had to be.
the afternoon light spilled softly through the curtains, wrapping the room in a golden hush. you closed your eyes, breathing him in, letting the stillness wrap around you like a promise.
his heartbeat pulsed steady beneath your ear, a quiet rhythm that told you—he was here. this was real.
and yet, as the sun sank lower and shadows stretched long across the floor, a fragile ache bloomed in your chest. it felt too perfect, too fleeting.
his presence, his warmth, felt like something borrowed—something beautiful the world might decide you weren’t meant to keep. you wanted to ask him to stay. to whisper don’t go. but the words tangled behind your teeth.
so instead, you held him tighter. your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt like they could root you to him, like you could stop time if you just loved him hard enough.
and he felt it—somehow, he always did. his hand found your cheek, tender and knowing, his thumb tracing soft, grounding circles on your skin.
“baby…” he said softly, the word brushing against your heart more than your ears. he tilted your chin up just enough for your eyes to meet his.
“it’s okay,” he whispered, voice thick with something unspoken. maybe he meant this moment. maybe he meant you. maybe he meant the both of you.
you didn’t know. but with his arms around you and the world held at bay, you wanted to believe it. even just for now.
it was quiet when it ended.
your head on his chest. his hand running slowly down your back. breaths slowly syncing. hearts still racing.
and for the first time, he didn’t leave.
and for the first time, you didn’t ask him to stay.
he just did.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
the morning light came too fast.
you woke up before he did. you didn’t know what time it was. you didn’t care.
he was still beside you—breathing slow, chest rising and falling like nothing was wrong.
but something was.
something always had been.
you stared at the ceiling for a long time. longer than you meant to.
you wanted to stay like this—in the warmth of the sheets, in the comfort of his arm still lazily thrown across your waist, in the silence that hadn’t turned heavy yet.
but the second he blinked awake and looked at you… it hit you again.
this wasn’t yours.
not really.
he smiled, groggy and soft. “morning.”
you nodded. “hey.”
he leaned in to kiss you. and you let him.
but your hands didn’t reach for him the way they used to.
“you okay?” he asked, voice thick with sleep.
you hesitated. “yeah. just tired.”
you got up. slipped into your shirt. searched the floor for the rest of your clothes.
“you don’t have to rush out,” he said behind you. you paused. “i know.”
he sat up, rubbing his eyes. “did i.. say something wrong?”
you shook your head. “no. that’s the problem.” he frowned.
“you didn’t say anything,” you continued, still not facing him. “you didn’t say what this was. what we were. you didn’t ask what i wanted. or tell me what you wanted.”
“and i kept waiting,” you said softly. “for you to define it. for you to say something. anything. and you never did.”
“i didn’t know how,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper.
you finally turned around, arms crossed, heart exposed. “i know. and that’s okay. but i can’t keep doing this if we’re just gonna keep pretending it’s not something real.”
he looked at you, eyes searching. “but last night—”
“last night was real,” you said. “this morning... this is real too.”
“we’re not always peachy,” you said, echoing the words you both used to laugh at. “love isn’t that easy. but it also shouldn’t be this hard.”
he didn’t argue. instead, he nodded slowly. “i know.”
you slipped on your jacket. picked up your phone. opened the door.
you hesitated—one foot out the door, heart still inside.
and just like that—the door closed.
this time, for good.
“i drank too much tonight, to not try to call you up. i mean, that’s what our phones are for”
you didn’t mean to pour the second glass. or the third.
but it was quiet in the apartment—too quiet—and the clink of ice in the glass felt like the only sound that wouldn’t make you flinch.
you sat on the kitchen floor, back against the cabinet, knees pulled in, sipping something too strong just to feel something soft. it burned going down. not enough to hurt, just enough to remind you you were still here.
the playlist was still playing. his playlist.
you hadn’t touched it in months. maybe you thought deleting it would be too final, too much like deleting him. so it stayed, buried somewhere in your phone. and tonight, it just… started. autoplay, maybe. or fate.
you weren’t sure which hurt more. you laughed once, sharp and bitter, as the first tear slid down. you didn’t wipe it. what was the point?
because this wasn’t about missing him anymore. this was grief. not over him exactly, but over the version of you who once believed love—real, chaotic, aching love—could fix things.
you were wrong.
and he… was quiet now. no more late-night texts. no more inside jokes. no more “u up?” that really meant i miss you.
and he was wrong too.
haechan sat on the steps, a half-empty bottle dangling from his fingers, the night wind brushing over him like a ghost. he didn’t know what time it was. didn’t care.
he hadn’t called. hadn’t texted.
not because he didn’t think about it—he did. every night. especially tonight.
but because he knew you meant it this time. you were done.
and for once, he didn’t fight that. he let the silence stretch. he let it break him.
he tipped the bottle back and swallowed hard. it didn’t make the ache go away, just blurred it at the edges.
your name sat heavy on his tongue. your laugh echoed somewhere between his ears and his ribs.
he remembered the way you used to pull away after, like you were protecting yourself from wanting too much. but your eyes always lingered. you always looked back.
he closed his eyes. and quietly, like confessing something to the dark, he said, “i’m sorry.”
no one answered. but maybe somewhere, over the hum of that old playlist and the clink of your glass hitting the tile, you heard it anyway.
wouldn’t
“so,” seol said gently, handing you a mug of tea, “you wanna tell me what happened now, or do i have to sit here pretending i haven’t been waiting weeks for you to say something?”
you stared down at the steam. then, slowly, “we ended things.” she didn’t flinch. didn’t gasp. didn’t say finally like most people would’ve. just nodded.
“it wasn’t supposed to happen, you know? like… we weren’t even friends. we were just messing around. and i knew—god, i knew it wasn’t a good idea. i knew we shouldn’t.”
she hummed, sipping her tea. “but?” “but we did,” you whispered, bitterly. “because we couldn’t not.” seol reached over and squeezed your wrist gently.
“and he told me he loved me,” you said, voice barely audible now. “and he took it back. like it was something to be ashamed of.”
“i don’t think he meant to hurt me. i think he’s just scared. i think he’s used to everything being temporary. and i let that be enough for a while. i let it be enough that he stayed.” your laugh was dry. empty.
“but it wasn’t. because i kept waiting for something—anything—to make me feel like i was actually his. and he never gave me that. he never said it. and it’s not even the words i needed, it’s the fact that he didn’t try.”
she looked at you. “what would’ve made you stay?” you smiled, a little sad. “if i had his heart. that’s it. if i really had it, it wouldn’t have been this hard.” she set her tea down and pulled you into a hug. you let yourself fall into it, finally soft, finally tired, finally allowing yourself to feel the weight of it all.
“i loved him, seol,” you whispered into her shoulder. “i really did.”
“i know,” she whispered back. “and i’m proud of you for walking away anyway.” you nodded, blinking up at the ceiling like maybe it’d have answers. it didn’t. but she was right.
you walked away. and that had to count for something.
“you know i was never good at this,” haechan said, toeing the leg of the coffee table with his socked foot.
they were at jaemin’s place, eating stale pizza and drinking flat soda, because of course haechan only decided to talk about it at 1 a.m.
jaemin leaned back against the couch. “so, are you gonna tell me what happened with y/n or am i supposed to guess from your playlist getting weirdly depressing lately?”
haechan looked away, his jaw clenching. “we haven’t talked since… since that morning.” “the morning she walked out?” “yeah.”
jaemin didn’t say anything, letting the silence settle.
haechan sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “i didn’t know how to tell her i loved her. i know that sounds stupid. i mean—i’ve said it before, to other people. but with her? it was different.”
“different how?”
haechan let out a low laugh. “like if i said it and she said it back, that meant i’d have to stop running from it. like it’d be real. and that scared the shit out of me.”
“but you did love her,” jaemin said. not a question. “yeah,” haechan said, eyes somewhere far. “like, all the little things. the way she acted like she didn’t care but would always bring an extra charger for me just in case. the way she’d make fun of me for being a gemini and still sleep in my shirt.”
jaemin snorted. “you are the most gemini person i’ve ever met.”
“don’t remind me.”
“so what happened?”
haechan leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “i didn’t give her what she needed. i kept making her guess. kept dodging the questions. like, every time she asked what are we, i answered with a joke or a kiss or a let’s not ruin this.”
he shook his head, voice quieter now. “she deserved more than that. she deserved more than… more than someone who couldn’t DTR.”
jaemin’s brows furrowed. “DTR?” “define the relationship.” jaemin blinked. “oh god, you really couldn’t even say it.”
haechan laughed, almost bitterly. “i know. and now she’s gone.” he fell silent again. the tv played something neither of them were watching.
“do you miss her?” jaemin asked after a while. “every day,” haechan said without hesitation. “but it wouldn’t be fair to go back. not if i still don’t know how to be what she needs.”
“so that’s it?” “yeah.” he looked up at jaemin with a soft, crooked smile. jaemin didn’t say anything. just leaned forward and nudged him lightly with his shoulder.
“you know,” jaemin said eventually, “you might not have said the right things. but you felt them. and that counts for something.” haechan swallowed hard. “yeah. just not enough.”
and for once, he didn’t try to joke it off. he just sat with it. with the ache of losing someone who had all of him—even the parts he never figured out how to give.
“wouldn’t it be nice if we could stay friends? but we shouldn’t.”
you were out on a tuesday.
one of those forgettable ones—no rain, no heartbreak, just a coffee run like any other.
until it wasn’t.
he looked the same. maybe a little older. hair longer. hoodie too familiar.
standing in line like he hadn’t once memorized your order.
like he hadn’t once whispered stupid jokes into your neck at 3 a.m.
he didn’t see you at first. too busy scrolling. you could’ve left. you almost did.
but something in you—that soft, reckless part—waited.
and then he looked up.
three people between you. two quiet months apart. his eyes widened, just barely.
fingers froze mid-scroll. and for a second, the silence between you felt louder than it ever had when you were together.
he didn’t smile. didn’t say hi. didn’t step forward. and neither did you.
and now, he just looked at you like a memory that still stung.
you were first to look away.
and when the bell above the coffee shop door chimed behind you, you knew—
you shouldn’t. you couldn’t. and now, you wouldn’t.
──── ☀︎ ──── ☀︎ ──── ☀︎ ────
💌: if you made it all the way here, thank you sooo much for taking the time to read this fic!! 🥹 i seriously can’t believe how much love my little stories have gotten so far—i mostly just write when a random idea smacks me in the face, so seeing people actually enjoy them?? unreal 💞
i wasn’t expecting to finish this one so quickly, but.. i may or may not have been thinking a lot—maybe too much—about a past relationship lately, i guessss that’s why this poured out of me so fast 😬
this is also the longest fic i’ve written yet! honestly, shouldn’t and wouldn’t were meant to be even longer, but guess who didn’t know tumblr has a 1000 text box limit 🫠 had to chop them down a lot ): still, i really really hope you had fun reading!!
p.s. please—don’t you dare settle for someone who won’t define the relationship. you deserve so much better 😤🫶
thanks again for all the support, and feel free to come scream about fic stuff or just say hi anytime 🧸 ‘til next time !! xx
