wc: <500
i just want to hear you call my name
(read part two here)
“If someone were to ask you if you’ve ever been in love, who would be the first person you think of?”
You blink. What the hell kind of question is that?
Sitting across from Jaemin in the circle, you don’t miss the way his eyes flit to you before landing on Mark. It’s a momentary tell—a silent reminder of Jaemin’s knowledge about your best-kept secret, the one that has your stomach dropping from the depth of this question.
A chorus of ‘ooohs’ ring around the room as Jaemin presumptuously sets the card down. He really had to pull this one, out of all the others in the deck. Some fucking luck. Your gaze falls to a loose thread on the couch beneath you, your throat going uncomfortably dry. It was a bad idea to agree to this game, an even worse idea to play it sober.
“Well?” Jaemin drawls. “Answer the question or take a shot, Markie.”
The wave of silence that passes is suffocating, even in the expanse of Jaemin’s very new and very large apartment. He didn’t tell you that Mark would be at his housewarming party tonight, but you can only assume he did that on purpose.
If he had mentioned it, you probably wouldn’t be here. Jaemin knew that.
You knew that, too.
“C’mon, Mark. It’s not like your new girlfriend is here,” Haechan calls from beside you.
Your friendship with Mark had always been a balancing act—a cautious tip-toe around your feelings until the day he went abroad.
Mark had somehow gotten taller since you saw him a few years ago. Broader, too. There was a stark difference in the way he holds himself now—no doubt the harvested fruit of becoming a successful musician. Even his hair was a perfect, stupid shade of blonde. He was worlds away from the person he used to be and oceans away from where you are now, still working some dead-end job in the same city you grew up in.
You can’t get yourself to look at him but can feel the hesitancy in his silence. You prepare for the worst.
“I’ll take a shot,” Mark declares, eventually.
There's a sound of disappointed groans then. And amongst this comes Jaemin’s teasing, cooing at him. “Aw, you’re no fun.”
When you look up, you're faced with Mark’s gaze on you, his expression unreadable. He sets his shot glass back down on the table. There’s a dull clink while a splash of vodka spills over the edge.
“Alright, fine,” he breathes before straightening in his seat.
wc: <600
i don't wanna lose ya
(read part one here)
You grip onto the fabric of Mark’s shirt while he struggles to pull you up the stairs, fingertips burning against the curve of your waist.
It’s almost embarrassing how you managed to end up like this—drunk and stumbling over your own two feet despite your promises to stay sober tonight. You want nothing more than to free yourself from his hold but it’s easier said than done when your balance flies out the window every time you try to stand on your own.
Falling back into the warmth of your old best friend, it feels like a losing game either way.
“Mark,” you huff, turning around to pad at your bag hanging off his shoulder. “My keys.”
You’re not entirely sure how he became the one to take you home tonight. As far as you know, he shouldn’t even be here. He should be packing his bags, preparing for his flight back across the ocean tomorrow morning to meet his new girlfriend at some invite-only music show. At least, that’s what you heard him tell Haechan earlier.
Instead, Mark’s reaching into the inner left pocket of your bag and taking out the keys to unlock your apartment door. He doesn’t have to ask to know where they are; you’ve always been a creature of habit.
A strange mix of guilt and pride swirls in your chest. You know he should be tending to his other commitments, the ones that don’t involve ungracefully hauling you through your doorway but here he is, setting you on your couch with a certain degree of gentleness that makes your stomach flip.
“You okay?” you hear him wonder, crouching down in front of you. “Why’d you drink so much?”
Face smushed into the familiar bunny pillow you stole from Jaemin the other day, you open your eyes to look at Mark. His expression is soft, patient. Just how he’s always been.
“I don’t know,” you murmur but he remains unconvinced.
You should’ve known he’d see through it anyway. In your current state, you know you couldn’t lie to him to save your life.
So, you take the bite. “Did you mean it?”
It takes him a second. “Mean what?”
“What you said…during the game. When it was your turn with Jaemin.”
Your words hang in the air, heavy in the silence of your living room. For a moment, all you hear is the faint hum of your refrigerator and the whizz of a car speeding down the street outside. You almost regret asking and half-consider scrapping the conversation altogether when he responds.
“Yeah,” he says. “I meant it.”
You pause. It’s a strange sort of revelation, sending a wave of warmth through your body. You consider the notion that maybe he loved you just as much as you’ve always loved him.
“So…you loved me?”
He takes a breath, swallowing before giving you a small shake of his head.
“Love,” he corrects. “I think a part of me always will.”
There’s no hint of pretense in his gaze. Just him, the nervous bite of his lip, and the tender way he continues to hold your gaze despite it all.
It makes you wonder.
“Mark?”
“Yeah?”
“Can you stay with me tonight?”
If you had chosen to be selfish back then, would he have stayed?
And even with the unpacked bag sitting in the room of his childhood home right now and his flight scheduled to leave in just a few hours, he nods, wholeheartedly.
“How’d you get this one?” Jaehyun asks, taking your hand in his.
He pulls your arm to identify a scar running across the valleys of your knuckles. It takes a few seconds to register what he’s talking about; the tiny mark already long forgotten to you. He traces over it with his thumb, rousing your eyes to open.
“I think that’s from my childhood dog,” you reply, unsure. Face pressed into the familiar softness of his sheets, you wrack your brain for more context.
“She wasn’t a fan of baths,” you tack on lamely.
“Clearly,” he teases, adjusting himself against the headboard.
His gaze flicks over to you and a small smile pulls at his lips. You can already tell he’s picturing the exact scene: your 10-year-old self standing off against a dog covered in soap bubbles. The little laugh that follows gives him away easily; it’s so cute that you almost laugh too.
“Oh. Did you know you have a mole here?” he suddenly inquires, flipping your hand over.
You blink. Lifting your head, you lean over to follow his gaze. And through the dim light of his room, he points out a spot near the base of your pinky. There’s a pause as you study the newfound marking on you.
“See?” he turns to watch your reaction, leaning in close enough to where his lips brush against your hairline, softened by the mango-flavored lip balm he keeps stealing from you.
You huff in disbelief. “Huh. I didn’t know that.”
“I figured,” he coolly presses a kiss to the side of your head and something in your chest fills with warmth. He’s always been more perceptive than he lets on.
A short, airy chuckle vibrates through him as you fall back to settle against his shoulder. When your eyes close and he laces his fingers with yours, he rests his cheek atop your head.
“I feel like you know me better than I know myself now,” you joke, stifling back a yawn. But a part of you truly means it. Noticing things about you has always come easy to him.
“Good,” he says. You can practically hear the grin in his voice.
“Good?” you parrot. “Why? Are you trying to steal my identity?”
“No,” he begins, trailing off. “It’s just…”
You look back up at him and the beginnings of a bashful smile start to appear on his sweet, dimpled face. He looks to where your hands are intertwined, steady atop his heart.
Haechan’s alarm is a blaring, obnoxious sound. It’s shrill and annoying and echoes off the walls of his bedroom, almost always waking you up before him. That’s why it’s a wonder that he’s able to sleep through it so soundly, face nuzzled blissfully into your hair as if his alarm was set to the sound of angels serenading him instead.
In retrospect, his alarm rarely does its job of waking him up. For some reason, it always has to be you.
“Haechan,” you mumble, patting lazily at the arm slung across your body. You don’t have to open your eyes to know he’s still asleep.
You pat him again. “Baby, your alarm.”
Somewhere behind you, you feel him stir, but he has yet to silence his phone. Instead, he only mutters something you can’t catch. You squint open your eyes to the faint light of sunrise seeping in through the window.
“Haechan,” you repeat, turning around in his hold. With the tip of your nose, you nudge him by the collar of his old teddy bear t-shirt. It had been your birthday gift to him some years ago but is now worn to the point where the print is beginning to fade. And despite all the shirts you’ve gotten him since then, none of them have ever been as loved as this one.
“Sorry,” he eventually replies, reaching over you to grab his phone sitting on the bedside table. Once the room settles back into silence, he resumes his original position, albeit holding you a little tighter under the sheets.
“Aren’t you supposed to be meeting with Chenle?” you ask sleepily, ducking your head beneath his chin.
You hear him stifle back a yawn. “He can wait.”
“I think we both know that he can’t,” you tease, reveling in the slow rise and fall of his chest.
Somewhere above you he snorts. “Well, he’s gonna have to. This is more important.”
He presses a kiss to your forehead and your heart swells with warmth. Even though this is how most mornings start when you two are together, you can’t help but be selfish for a little bit, indulging in his love for just a minute or two longer.
You’d never tell him but he’s right. Maybe nothing else matters when he’s by your side. But for now—
“Baby,” you start again. “You should get up.”
For now, you’d rather not be at the opposite end of Chenle’s annoyance.
Haechan takes a heavy breath before loosening his grip on you. “Fine. Hold on. Lemme just—”
He shifts back a little until you’re able to get a clear view of his face. He stares at you, with his messy hair and constellations of moles dotting his cheeks. You fight back the smile pulling at your lips. He’s just that cute.
You raise a brow. “Just what?”
“Let me look at you,” he says softly, smiling into the words.
There’s a roll of your eyes. “You look at me all the time.”
“Not like this.”
“What’s different this time?”
“Nothing,” he says before shrugging. “Everything.”
Sure, it’s a vague answer but with the way he looks at you, you’re certain you already know what he means. It’s not unlike the times when you’re out with friends and his gaze meets yours across the room—searching for the comfort of nothing other than knowing you’re there. The same rings true this morning.
Because despite his stupid alarm and the cracking print of his old t-shirt, everything is right. In this moment, it’s only you and him, and he’ll be damned if he lets Chenle get in the way of that.
“Good morning, beautiful,” he greets, running a hand along the side of your face.
You take his hand in yours, smiling over at him. “Good morning, Haechan. I love you.”
can you do something cute with johnny? like, strangers to lovers or fake dating 🤗
>> right now
wc: 908
let me hear you say it, babe
“So you’re here with…Johnny?”
The boy in front of you says his name with a hint of uncertainty, almost as if it didn’t make sense that Johnny was at this party with you.
You take a sip from your drink in hand and wince at the harsh taste of alcohol. Johnny had asked you to hold it for him before going to the bathroom, but since he’s nowhere to be found, you’re all too aware of how alone you look now. Which is exactly why you got approached in the first place.
“Mhm,” you hum, trying to make a show of clear disinterest.
The boy doesn’t seem particularly swayed by this though. “So you guys are together?”
You pause. In hindsight, you really should’ve seen this coming but for some reason, you didn’t, which brings you to a mild state of panic. Your gaze darts to the kitchen entryway where Johnny is starting to weave through the room of people.
“Um,” you shrug, managing to catch his eye across the room. He notes the new figure accompanying you and raises his eyebrows, amused at your little predicament. In a silent plea, you beg him to save you from this nightmare of an interaction.
Like the asshole he is, he doesn’t.
Instead, he joins a small group of his friends standing a few feet away—close enough to eavesdrop on your conversation for entertainment. This goes unnoticed by your “friend” though, seeing as he’s too busy awaiting your answer like a dog holding out for a tennis ball in the air.
“I can’t really say,” you answer eventually, honestly.
He awkwardly laughs. “It’s a yes or no question.”
Sure, you like Johnny. You’re pretty damn sure he likes you too—if your toothbrush in his apartment means anything—but you’ve never defined what you are. You know what he looks like when he wakes up in the morning and how it feels to fall asleep in his arms, but calling him your boyfriend feels like crossing a line that has yet to be drawn.
You know Johnny is waiting to hear your response just as much as this boy. So, with a sigh, you relent.
“Nope,” you admit. “He’s not my boyfriend.”
The boy’s face suddenly alights as he straightens up but just like that, Johnny whips around to finally cut in.
“Hey,” he sings as he slings an arm around you. Johnny meets your gaze, eyes crinkled in that way you love. “What’s with the face?”
“Where were you?” you hiss.
“Over there,” he answers coolly. You briefly consider strangling him.
“Well—”
“Hey, Johnny,” your acquaintance interjects, calling the attention of the taller beside you. Johnny’s arm has yet to leave you and you’re partially grateful. It makes you feel a bit more secure, like this.
“Hey…buddy,” Johnny starts, clearly drawing a blank on his name. “What’s up?”
“Is it true? That you guys aren’t dating?”
The boy’s gaze flicks between the two of you and you turn to Johnny, making it a point to look at him with exaggerated anticipation.
“Yeah, Johnny. Is it?” you say, just to rub it in.
Something in his expression falters but ever so smoothly, he recovers with a clearing of his throat. He takes his sweet time responding.
“Well, I mean, yeah. We’re not dating, but—”
“Then let me take you out sometime.”
The two of you freeze as the boy turns back to you. There was no way he asked you out just like that. Especially in front of Johnny too, who—despite what you’ve said—is clearly involved with you in some way or another.
You feel your jaw drop a bit and Johnny’s arm involuntarily loosen for a fraction of a second. Now what the hell are you supposed to say?
“Sorry,” you breathe out. Even though the poor guy had no chance from the start, a part of you feels a little guilty at how fast he deflates.
“Why?” he asks.
“Yeah, why?” Johnny parrots. Like a dick.
You glare at him. He knows why. He just wants to hear you say it. To hear that it’s because of him.
“I, um,” you start. “I’m interested in someone else.”
Even though it had to be painfully pried out of you, something akin to pride simmers in the middle of your chest. Saying it aloud makes you realize just how far gone you are now—to say for certain that Johnny is that someone else.
“But—”
“Oh, look! Mark’s here!” Johnny interrupts, finally deciding to put an end to everything. He waves at an unspecified person (though Mark is nowhere to be seen) before pulling you away. “If you’ll excuse us.”
With that, he whisks you out of the kitchen and into a quieter part of the house by the front door. Once you’re far from the crestfallen boy, you slap Johnny’s hand off of you.
“I hate you,” you frown, watching as a smile spills across his face.
“No, you don’t.”
“I can’t believe you made me go through all of that.”
Though, as you stand there in the middle of some random party he dragged you to on a Friday night, you figure that you can’t complain. Not when he’s looking back at you with nothing but adoration in his eyes. At the end of the day, you really do adore him too.
“Speaking of…” he starts, interlacing your fingers with his. “I’ve been meaning to ask you. Let’s make it official?”
“When we were fourteen, Haechan put a cicada in my hair and blamed it on Jaemin.”
“What?” you laugh, looking at Jeno from where you’re standing beside the stove. “So he’s always been like that?”
“To an extent,” he grins, turning away from the opened window to lean against the counter next to you. The scent of your body wash hangs around him and you wonder how long he's been using yours instead of his. “I think he’s worse now, actually.”
In the distance, a cicada chrips and you stir the boiling pot of ramen, musing. You could’ve sworn you took an egg out for Jeno earlier but you can’t seem to find it now.
“When I was fourteen, I told my crush I liked him and had a piece of broccoli stuck in my braces the whole time.”
He winces, taking a sip from his store-bought bottle of lemon tea. “Rough. What’d he say?”
“He rejected me on the spot.”
Jeno clicks his tongue. “His loss. I would’ve loved to get a confession from you like that.”
The thought makes you snort. “I dunno, I was kind of a mess at fourteen—”
“Who wasn’t?”
“You,” you say pointedly, waving your chopsticks at him. “I’ve seen the pictures.”
He snickers, folding his arms across the front of his old Nike sweatshirt. The collar is slightly damp from his still-wet hair. “That doesn't mean anything. I was weird at fourteen too.”
“You didn’t have neon green braces and a stupid haircut that you cut yourself.”
“No, but I had a bowl cut and wire glasses," he adds, with a tilt of his head. “I think that’s pretty comparable.”
“Still...” you roll your eyes. A breeze drifts in through the window and when you look over at him, your heart softens. Even in his pajamas he’s still so attractive that briefly, you think about what it would have been like to know him back then, too.
“I think I would’ve been terrified to talk to you when we were fourteen.”
“Why?” he laughs, eyes crinkling at the corners. When you don’t immediately reply, he takes your forearm to pull you into him, holding you to where all you can feel is him. Only him.
He hums. “I would’ve loved you, you know. Even with broccoli in your teeth.”
Groaning, you tuck your head beneath his chin and press your cheek to the muscle of his chest. You don’t fight him (mainly because he's warm against the night air) but make it a point to pout nonetheless.
“That’s a very bold statement you're making, babe.”
“’m serious, though,” he starts, lips brushing against your hairline before he’s pressing a kiss to the side of your head.
could I request a fluffy bf jaehyun joking around with jealous y/n hehe ❤️
>> double tap
wc: 601
what's after like?
“i didn’t know jungwoo was in spain,” you comment absentmindedly, looking over jaehyun’s shoulder as he scrolls through his feed.
he pauses, snorting slightly. “yeah, he told the group chat he was tired of us then booked the next flight out of here.”
you chuckle then, walking around the couch to fall into the space beside him. shifting to rest your head on his shoulder, you watch in silence as he opens up jungwoo’s profile and shows you his past few photos. “seems like he’s having fun though.”
you hum. “yeah, looks like it.”
jaehyun gets back to the most recent post and snickers again at his friend’s smiling face. after a second, he double taps the photo.
you blink, head lifting suddenly. “did you just—”
he meets your gaze. “did i just what?”
“did you just like his photo?”
he laughs; some short airy noise of sheer disbelief while his brows furrow. “yeah? does it matter?”
“no—” you begin, frowning. “well, i mean—you never like my photos.”
he gives you a look, and you're not sure if it’s because he’s judging you or thinking about judging you. you’re suddenly too aware of how ridiculous you sound now. yet another part of you thinks it's fair—in your past three-something years of dating, he’s maybe liked two of your posts. and that was because you made him like them yourself.
“babe,” he says, a hand falling to your thigh in reassurance. “i literally choose the photos you post.”
you let out a breath. “i know, but still.”
a few seconds pass and his lips start to curl into a grin. “c’mon, don’t be like that. tell me you wouldn't like his posts too. look at him. he’s too cute.”
you reach over to smack his leg and he laughs. tossing his phone aside, he wraps his arms around you, a dimpled smile on his face.
“i’m kidding,” he chuckles, squeezing you tight as his head dips into the space between your neck and shoulder. “sorry, i didn’t know you cared so much about a double tap when you're the one dating me.”
“i don’t,” you pout, giving him another soft slap on the back when he pinches your sides. “but are my posts not cute enough to meet your criteria? am i not cute?”
“not when you’re getting jealous over jungwoo.”
“i am not jealous of jungwoo,” you huff, attempting to wrestle him off of you. his grip doesn't lessen and you blame all the time he spends at the gym. “i’m just wondering.”
“sure,” he coos sarcastically, beaming. “but just so you know, i wouldn’t be dating you if you weren’t cute. i love you the most. way more than i do jungwoo.”
he pulls back slightly to look at you and you feel your face burn under his gaze. why you’re suddenly shy, you have no idea. when you turn away, he laughs again.
“see?” he pokes your cheek. “cute.”
flustered from the slight onslaught of attention, you exhale a long breath. “i get it. anyway—”
“anyway,” he parrots teasingly. “you’re the cutest ever and i love you.”
with that, you finally surrender to his hold, leaning your head gently against his. strands of his hair tickle your cheek and all you can think about is how much you love the scent of his conditioner. you feel him press a kiss to your temple.
“i love you too,” you reply, and oh how you mean it.
“sorry i never like your photos,” he says after a moment, reaching for your hand.
It was a bad idea to go out tonight. It was a bad idea to respond to Chenle’s text at midnight and it was a bad idea to meet him when you work early tomorrow morning.
It was even worse idea to go without a jacket.
Because now, you’re stuck trying to keep up with him while he books it towards some new restaurant down the street, your arms wrapped around your body in an attempt to stay warm. Your flimsy, old sweatshirt wasn’t any help and while you could’ve asked him to turn back, you don’t. After seeing his excitement over a plate of fried rice, you figured that a few minutes in the cold wouldn’t hurt anyway.
“How much farther?” you ask, tugging the cuffs of your sleeves over your hands.
“It’s two more streets—” he starts, pausing once he sees you. He stops completely. “Where’s your jacket? I told you we were gonna walk there.”
You shake your head. “It’s fine—”
“You’re shaking.”
“I can hold out for another ten minutes.”
“No, you can’t,” he scolds, looking down to fish something from the pockets of his sweatpants. “Here, take my heat pack. I’d give you my hoodie but I’m not wearing anything under it.”
He offers you the item and you take it, sheepishly. In the months you’ve known Chenle, you rarely get to see this side of him. You would’ve expected him to be making fun of you by now but instead, your cheeks are burning at his concern. Your gaze falls to your hands and you turn the heat pack between your palms.
“Does that help?” he asks, earnestly.
You look at him after a moment. “Chenle.”
“Yeah?”
“It’s cold.”
He blinks, reaching out to take the pack and feel its surface for himself. His brows furrow as he mumbles. “I swear it was still warm just a second ago.”
“It’s okay,” you breathe, waving it off. Bouncing on your feet to generate some heat, you gesture back down the street. “Let’s just keep walking. I’ll be okay once we’re inside somewhere.”
You start walking again, taking a few steps ahead of him before he calls your name, stopping you in your tracks. Something in the air shifts when you turn to look at him, though you can’t tell what. He stands in the same spot.
“We’ll be late—” you begin.
“Give me your hand.”
“Huh?”
Without saying anything else, he walks over to stand in front of you and holds out a hand. You don’t make a move right away, so he gently takes your wrist. His gaze meets yours with a tenderness you’ve never seen from him before and when he laces his fingers with yours, you let him.
He raises a brow. It’s an unspoken question asked before he tucks your intertwined hands into the soft pocket of his hoodie. Something in your chest alights with warmth.
He swallows. “Does that help?”
For a moment, you consider yourself lucky that he can’t hear how fast your heart is beating. You nod. “Yeah.”
The start of a smile tugs the corner of his lips and as he leads you back down the street once more, your hand nestled tight in his, you decide that maybe things aren’t so bad, after all.
