GENRE: heavy angst, unrequited love, the tiniest bit of fluff cause jaemin is a sweetie, childhood friends!au
WARNINGS: none but be prepared for heartbreak ig
WORD COUNT: 578
AUTHOR'S NOTE: for the longest time this used to be my favourite piece of writing from my old blog so im bringing it back !!! enjoy
"I'll promise you this - if we are both single by the time we are 25, I'll date you."
Jaemin feels as if he is physically here, but his mind is elsewhere - floating, drifting, further away from where he is right now; the words of your promise replacing all the other thoughts echoing through his head. The burning tension caught in his throat intensifies when he watches the tender smile adorning Renjun's face stretch from one side to the other, dipping his entire visage in unadulterated affection as he gently takes your hand in his, kissing the back of your hand fondly.
The world around Jaemin stands eerily still for a fleeting moment. Everything seems to move in slow-motion when he catches a glimpse of the flowery smile painting your features when Renjun leans in to whisper something in your ear; the same goddamn smile he had fallen in love with when you were both on the edge of turning thirteen.
Jaemin is suddenly hit with the spitting image of thirteen year old you, the creases of your forehead deepening with concern and anger at his heartbroken state, curling your pinky around his own, promising to date him when you're older because silly Kim Jisoo from the year above didn't realise she just lost the best thing she's ever had.
He remembers how it felt, to feel a fondness so violently gentle in nature that he cannot remember a time when his heart didn't pick up its pace at the sight of you.
Back then, he passed off his budding feelings for you as a side-effect of his teenage debauchery, just a phase he would overcome with time. That promise was silly - he told himself - a harmless pact that was only created to make him feel better.
But ever since then, Jaemin began noticing every little thing about you. He began noticing how you always poke your tongue out when you're too focused on a task; he began noticing how that one baby hair near your ear always curls more than the rest of your hair; he began noticing how you always snort when you laugh a little too hard. Jaemin noticed all of it and more.
The promise made him realise that there has always something about you, something about your warmth that made Jaemin feel like you could pull the planets together just with the force of your smile alone.
Even now, at 25, Jaemin still feels it - that familiar fondness in his chest tingling the tips of his toes when he sees you, and he suddenly feels thirteen again, falling for the first time.
He realises then, at that very moment, the reason why he has never dared to look at anybody else. The reason why he has waited for so long, hoping to finally meet you in the middle; the reason why his mind only pictures your lopsided smile beaming at him when someone asks him if he's ever fallen in love.
"So, what do you say?"
Renjun's question and waving hand snaps him out of nostalgic reverie, painfully reminding Jaemin that he's supposed to be answering a question.
Jaemin swallows thickly when he notices the silver ring adorning your left-hand, his tongue suddenly feeling much too heavy for him to form even the simplest of sentences.
He wants so badly to say no, but all that comes out of his mouth is: "Of course I'll come to your wedding!”
Synopsis: Two years ago, it started with a pack of gummies in the rain. Tonight, it ends in a dark practice room with a world tour standing between us.
He’s taking my picture to Paris and London; I’m staying behind in the basement. Some goodbyes aren't a choice—they’re the price of the dream.
Genre: heavy angst, bittersweet, hurt/no comfort
Warnings: Brief mentions of exhaustion, heartbreak, industry pressure.
Word count: 920
Song inspiration: Love You Goodbye -- One Direction
◦◦◦◦ 📷 ◦◦◦◦
The practice room smelled of endless dancing and tiredness—a scent you had come to associate with him over the last two years.
Jaemin showed up at 2:00 AM wearing a grey knitted sweater with a hood, a black jacket, and a black mask. He looked like a star even when he was trying to hide—too stylish compared to you in your worn-out shoes and grey tracksuit. Both of you looked exhausted, but Jaemin had a flicker of excitement behind his eyes for the upcoming world tour. You only felt the weight of the upcoming debut evaluations; the uncertainty of your future felt like a ghost haunting the room.
He handed you an iced Americano with a soft smile. As you took it, your mind flashed back to the first time he’d ever bought you something. Two years ago, you were a crying mess outside a 24-hour convenience store after a failed evaluation. He had sat on a plastic stool next to you, pushed a pack of gummies your way, and said, “The trainers are meaner when it rains. Eat. It’s hard to debut on an empty stomach.”
He had been your "safe zone" ever since. But tonight, the safety was expiring.
When you sat on the couch, he followed. He looked at you with those long lashes and weary eyes. You couldn’t look back—not when you knew that in a few hours, you wouldn’t be able to feel his presence for seven months. He caressed your cheek, turning your face to his. He kissed your forehead, leaning his weight against you as if to save the kiss from flying away.
“Y/N-ah, tell me to stay,” he whispered, reaching for your hands. “Just once. Tell me to forget the flight and stay here.”
You hold him tightly, fighting back tears. You know he doesn’t mean it; he loves his members and the stage too much. You remember how hard he worked to get where he is. You could never ask him to throw away his dream.
“Don’t ever say that to me,” you murmur, softly hitting his hand. “You need to go out there and meet your fans.”
“But you are my number one fan,” he says, looking down.
“That doesn’t matter, Jaemin. Now, come.”
You stand and put some quiet lo-fi on your phone. As you reach out your hand, Jaemin pulls out his camera. The flash flickers once, capturing you in your messy tracksuit, hand extended. He waits for the Polaroid to develop.
“I want to remember the girl who worked this hard,” he says softly, leaving the photo on the couch. “Not just the girl the world will see if you debut.”
He pulls you into a hug, and you dance slowly. He begins to hum a melody—something raw and bittersweet, a song about a goodbye that isn't really a choice. You bury your face in his chest, smelling his cologne—expensive, luxurious, and uniquely him. Your fingertips grip the thick, scratchy fabric of his sweater. You look into the practice room mirror and see the tragedy of it: a masterpiece of a man, the face of a generation, holding a girl who might not even have a career in a month.
Your worlds had started on two plastic stools in the rain, but in the reflection of the mirror, they were finally drifting apart.
“If this is how we end, at least let it be like this,” Jaemin says after a final, desperate kiss. “Not a phone call. Not a rumor. Just us.”
***
At 4:30 AM, the dream ended. He didn't say "I love you" because it felt too much like a promise he couldn't keep across time zones. Instead, he said, “Drink your water. Don’t overwork your ankle. I saw you limping. See you when I see you.”
The door clicks shut. The sound snaps the bubble. For a few hours, you were just two people; now, you are once again a trainee alone in a cold, fluorescent room.
･ : * 🌑 * : ･
A week later, you are sitting on that same floor, utterly drained. You open Instagram and see the official NCT Dream account. There’s Jaemin at the airport, wearing that same grey sweater. He’s smiling his perfect, practiced "Idol" smile, but his hand is gripping his passport tightly. Tucked inside the leather cover is the white frame of your Polaroid. He’s taking the "trainee" you to Japan, London, and Paris, while the real you stays behind in the basement.
You look in the mirror again. You’re alone this time. You hug yourself, and for a split second, your skin feels that familiar scratchy itch of his sweater. But as you rub your arms, the sensation fades. The phantom heat of him is evaporating.
You go to your locker and find the note he slipped in: “You were the best part of being a trainee. Don’t let this place break you.” — Na Jaemin.
The signature is the final blow. Na Jaemin. Not "Jaemin of NCT." Just the boy who sat with you in the rain two years ago.
Suddenly, the door swings open. "Y/N? It’s time for your evaluation. The judges are ready."
You stand up, wiping your eyes and smoothing out your tracksuit. You look at the locker one last time, then turn toward the bright, cold lights of the hallway. You have to go out there and pretend your heart isn't seven thousand miles away. The show must go on, even if the only person you ever wanted to debut for is already gone.
warnings: suggestive (non-explicit), hints of fear of abandonment and trust issues, warring with emotions, angst…
note: this took A WHILE! hi loveys! this is number three of my “... and we're still dreaming (the last seven) series” under my nct dream collection. initially, i planned for jaemin’s edition to be a fake dating trope. but i kept getting stuck while running and it just wasn’t flowing for me. i really liked how i portrayed jaemin in ‘nct dream realising it’s not so casual anymore’ and decided i was going to go with that for this piece! so, here we have situationship! jaemin. this story is slow, intentionally so. i think everything and nothing happens in a connection so undefined yet so intense and real and i tried to reflect that here. either ways, i hope you like this piece! sending lots of love <3
The room was still dim when Jaemin woke, washed in the faint grey light that slipped through the thin gap between the curtains. His eyes blinked open to the familiar blur of his bedroom ceiling and for a moment he lay still. Breathing in slowly, letting the quiet settle around him. His bare shoulder brushed the cool pillowcase, but everything else felt warm. Familiar.
Then he turned his head and saw you.
You were faced toward him, curled slightly, like your body had chosen him in your sleep. Your hair was mussed in a way that made his chest tighten, falling over your cheek and brushing your parted lips. The sheets were tangled loosely around your legs, pulled there because he had tugged you closer hours ago when you were both breathless and flushed and still recovering from the intensity of the night.
You slept over. Again.
He let his head sink back into the pillow, exhaling quietly through his nose. He should have felt guilty for letting you stay, or panic, at the very least.
But a part of him already knew he was the one who had convinced you to stay without saying it out loud. He was always the one who kept you longer, pulling you back into the bed with some stupid joke or a lazy kiss that he pretended meant nothing.
This was meant to be uncomplicated, a casual arrangement. Something light, convenient, easy to leave behind once morning came.
Yet Jaemin could not stop looking.
His gaze drifted down the curve of your waist, the soft rise and fall of your breathing. You looked peaceful. Too peaceful. He knew he didn’t deserve to see you like this.
Still, he watched.
He propped himself up slowly, leaning on his elbow so he wouldn’t disturb your slumber. Your skin glowed faintly in the muted morning light and the sight alone stole his breath. He let his eyes trace the slope of your shoulder, the gentle curve of your jaw, lashes resting against your cheek. Every detail felt almost too intimate to study. Yet they pulled him in anyway.
He thought of the way you had looked a few hours earlier when his teasing had melted into something rougher, something needy. You had gripped at his back without thinking, your fingers curling against muscle as if you needed to anchor yourself. Your breath had hitched in his ear. You had whispered a sound he could still feel beneath his ribs.
He swallowed.
He loved flustering you. That part was true. He loved teasing you just enough to get your cheeks warm, loved watching you try to pretend you were unaffected. It was a game he played too well.
But mornings like this stripped away every bit of bravado he owned.
His calloused hand hovered just above your arm. He didn’t touch you at first. Only traced the air above your skin, remembering how you had felt beneath his palms, how your heartbeat had picked up when he pressed you closer.
You shifted slightly in your sleep, a soft sound escaping your throat. Jaemin froze, breath caught, afraid you would wake and find him like this. Afraid you would realise just how long he had been watching you.
When you stilled again, he let out a quiet breath he had not realised he was holding.
His gaze dropped to your shoulder, drawn to the faint mark he had left there last night. He reached out and traced the outline of it with the gentlest touch, thumb gliding just barely across your skin. He probably shouldn’t have done that. He knew it even when he had pressed his mouth there, but the temptation had been too much and you had tilted your head back for him, making it impossible to care about consequences.
Now, in the quiet morning, he cared far too much.
The sight made his cheeks warm, though he masked it with a tiny smile. A smug one, the kind he would never admit had an undertone of tenderness.
“Cute,” he whispered, voice barely audible. Letting the fondness in his chest swell dangerously.
Then you made another quiet sound in your sleep. Soft, barely audible, but enough to make his heart lift and fall at the same time. He was suddenly very aware that if you woke now, you would find him staring at you like he had memorised the shape of your sleep.
And still, his fingers hovered near your hair. He wanted to brush the strand away from your cheek. It irritated him, that tiny curl resting there on your pretty face.
But touching your hair felt like crossing a line he already pretended did not exist.
He hesitated. Then let his hand fall back to the bed instead. It was better to look like he had been casually existing here, not like he had been admiring every millimetre of you.
Then you breathed out deeply, shifting onto your back, and your eyes blinked open groggily. You stared at the ceiling first. Then your gaze slid sideways and met his.
For a moment, nothing moved.
Jaemin flashed a small, lazy smile, as if he had been awake for all of three seconds and not studying you for half a morning.
“Morning,” he said, voice warm with the remnants of sleep.
Your lips parted, hazy confusion giving way to realisation. “Morning.”
You pulled the sheet up a little higher, an unconscious gesture he pretended he did not find cute. You avoided his eyes very quickly after that.
“Did I… fall asleep?” you asked, almost to yourself.
“You did,” he said easily. He shifted onto his back, stretching an arm above his head in a casual, unbothered way. “You knocked out pretty fast actually. I guess someone tired you out.”
You glared at him weakly through your hair, falling on the sides of your face. “Don’t be so full of yourself.”
“I’m just pointing out facts.”
You looked away before he could see the heat rising in your face. Jaemin closed his eyes for a brief moment, trying not to enjoy the sight more than he should.
You sat up slowly, rubbing your face with both hands, trying to wake yourself up properly. As you did, the sheet slipped a little, and Jaemin instinctively reached over, tugging it up to cover your shoulder before you noticed.
His hand brushed your shoulder as he did. The contact lingered just a second too long. You froze. And Jaemin felt it.
You shifted away subtly, creating distance again. Not rude, just careful. You’re always so careful once morning comes. You cleared your throat. “I should get going.”
Jaemin let his arm drop, expression smoothing into something practiced and easy.
“You’re always running away from me,” he teased lightly. “Is it that bad waking up with me?”
You slipped into your jeans you found hanging off the foot of his bed. “It’s not that. I just… don’t want to make this weird.”
He smiled to hide the sting that settled in his chest. “Why would it be weird? I’m a great morning companion.”
You gave him a look. “You talk too much.”
“Some people call that charm.”
“No one calls it that.”
He laughed under his breath, running a hand through his hair. It covered the fact that he was watching you a little too closely. You glance over the floor, trying not to look flustered as you look for your top. Wondering where it got tossed to last night.
Jaemin picked it up. “Here.”
He held it out. You reached for it and your fingers brushed his.
You pulled away first. “Thanks.”
“No problem.” Jaemin sat up fully, leaning his shoulder against the headboard. He tried to look relaxed. Like this was nothing. “You’re really not going to stay for breakfast? I make amazing toast.”
You slipped your shirt on. “It’s alright. I need to head back to my dorm first.”
“Right. Morning lecture.” His tone was light, but something tighter coiled beneath it.
You grabbed your bag from where you left it on his study desk, hesitated, then said quietly, “Last night was… fun.”
Jaemin smiled, a real one, soft around the edges. “I know.”
You rolled your eyes, but your smile tugged despite yourself. You opened the door, pausing for a moment as if you wanted to say something else. Instead, you only grin again, faintly.
“See you,” you said.
Jaemin leaned his head back against his headboard. “Yeah, you will.”
He waited until the door clicked shut. Then he let out a slow breath and ran both hands over his face.
Last night had been intense. Playful and consuming. It was everything it should be. Bodies tangled, lips flushed, teasing that slid too easily into something hungry.
But this morning was worse because it felt almost tender.
That is, until you woke up.
And he had to force out the version of himself who knew how to keep things light. The one who always joked that this was just fun. The one who told you both that neither of you owed anything to the other.
He could handle you in his arms while you were breathless and laughing. He could handle your fingers in his hair while you tugged him closer without thinking. He could handle the nights.
He let his hand fall back to the mattress and exhaled again. He should stop letting you sleep over, and he should stop falling asleep at yours the next time you two meet to fool around again.
That rule was made for a reason. He should have slipped out of bed quietly, or find some excuse to get you to leave, pretending nothing existed in the fragile space between dawn and certainty.
Instead, he always lingered. Stayed and watched you breathe. He stayed and let himself feel everything he shouldn’t feel. He stayed because he could not bring himself to move away from you.
But mornings like this were the ones that might break him. And he had no idea how to handle it.
The school library was never truly silent. Even with the tall shelves and thick carpets swallowing most of the noise, there was a constant undercurrent of movement. Pages turning, pens tapping, chairs scraping faintly across the padded floor. The soft hum of the old air-conditioners that never quite reached the back tables.
You had claimed your usual seat by the window on the second floor, tucked away behind the tall plants the librarians insisted made the space more calming. Your laptop was open, though your eyes were tired, half-reading the same paragraph for the fourth time. A half-finished iced latte sat beside you, already watered down.
You were deep in your reading when a familiar voice broke the quiet.
“You’re slouching again.”
You looked up to see Jaemin sliding into the chair across from you. You blinked at him, confused, then glanced at the clock on your laptop. “Do you not have class right now?”
“Finished early.” He shrugged as if it was no big deal. “Thought you would be here, came to keep you company.”
He dropped his bag onto the floor, leaning back in the chair with the kind of lazy ease that made you want to narrow your eyes at him. But you didn’t, because that would expose how he had an effect on you. Instead, you sat up straighter, pretending you had not been startled out of your thoughts.
“You told me you’d stop drinking that,” he added, nodding toward your pathetic iced coffee.
“It tastes fine.”
“It looks like sadness in a cup, it’s why you’re so moody all the time.”
“It’s just caffeine. That’s all I need.”
He reached over and took the cup before you could stop him. He held it up, examining the watery mess inside. His lips curled. “This is a crime.”
You snatched it back quietly. “Quit judging me.”
Jaemin dragged a spare chair closer with the toe of his sneaker, turning it so he could rest his arms along the back. His gaze drifted over your laptop screen. “You revise too much.”
“And you revise too little.”
“That’s because I have you,” he said with an easy grin. “You’re basically my lecture notes in human form.”
You scoffed, typing something just to look busy. “Then you’re doomed, cause I’m struggling with this module.”
“Maybe.” He leaned forward slightly, voice dropping without losing its casual tone. “But at least we’re doomed together, right?”
Your fingers paused on the keyboard for a beat. Just long enough for him to notice. You pushed on quickly, clicking a random tab to avoid acknowledging the shift that swept through your chest.
It had begun here, in this very library, months ago. You had been tutoring him in one of your modules last semester, sitting just like this, faces close across a small table. He kept making unnecessary commentary as you explained the material, poking fun at your handwriting or the way you bit your lip when you concentrated. You snapped at him once, stressed and irritated. He snapped back.
Then he kissed you. Right here, behind this same plant. In a moment that was far too spontaneous and charged to be a mistake.
You had laughed it off nervously, pretending it was in the heat of the moment. He pretended to agree. Yet the two of you set rules so quickly it felt like self defence. No sleeping over, no public affection and no expectations. Completely casual, because you were far too heartbroken and Jaemin didn’t believe connection requires commitment.
But these rules meant very little now.
Jaemin reached into his bag again and placed something on the table. A warm pastry wrapped in paper.
You frowned. “What’s that?”
“You forgot lunch again, right?” He said, casually tearing the paper open. “I told you I would start carrying emergency snacks.”
You stared at him. “You never said that.”
He waved a hand dismissively. “Well, I thought it.”
You shook your head, though the corner of your mouth tugged up. “You know you don’t have to do this.”
“I know,” he said, and tried to sound indifferent. “But you’re unbearable when you’re hungry.”
You nudged his foot under the table. He grinned, kicking your foot back gently. The teasing felt familiar, but there was a thinness to it today, like both of you were trying too hard to pretend nothing had changed since the first time.
You tore off a small piece of pastry and set the rest back on the paper. Jaemin watched the movement, watched your hands, watched the way your shoulders relaxed just slightly as you ate. He was too attentive, and you pretended not to feel it.
“You’re really quiet,” he said after a moment.
“I’m trying to study.”
“You always talk to me while you study.”
“No, you talk to me while I study.”
“Same thing.”
You shot him a look across the table.
He smirked. “Oop, there she is.”
The warmth in his eyes lingered too long. You felt it immediately, the way your chest tightened, the instinctive step back inside yourself. Vulnerability was not something you allowed easily. Not after everything you had been trying to heal from. You could match his energy when things were playful, when everything felt temporary and safely distant. But the moment he softened, the moment he became gentle, something in you flinched before you could help it.
You looked back at your laptop. “I should finish this reading.”
He leaned back again, covering the brief sting behind an easy nod. “Go on then. I’ll just nap here.”
“That’s distracting.”
“I’m giving you moral support,” he said with a hushed laugh. “There’s a difference.”
But he lowered his voice after that and never ended up sleeping. Only whispering when he commented on something funny happening at another table. Simply waiting for you to get done.
You pretended to read. He pretended to scroll through his phone. Both of you were painfully aware of everything unsaid.
You packed up first.
“I’m heading back,” you said, tone light, as if leaving was not a quiet act of self preservation.
Jaemin stood almost immediately. “I’ll walk you.”
“You really don’t have to.”
“I know. Still going with you, my dorm building’s in the same direction anyway. Don’t be stubborn.”
You walked side by side through the long aisle between shelves, sunlight catching dust in soft gold streaks. His hand brushed yours once. Light and barely there.
You didn’t look at him and he didn’t quite pull back. Both of you pretended the moment didn’t make your heart beat faster.
As you pushed open the glass doors and stepped back into the evening air, neither of you admitted that the mornings after were beginning to ruin you, even when you tried to slip back into normalcy.
Even when you two sat in a quiet library, like always, pretending everything was still simple.
It’s Thursday. The kind of Thursday that felt longer than the entire week combined.
You had spent the day buried in readings you barely absorbed, dealing with a group project that made you want to evaporate, and surviving a tutorial where the lecturer called on you for answers you did not have. By the time evening rolled around, your head was pounding hard enough to make your eyesight blur.
Jaemin texted you just as you were walking back to your dorm room.
[6:39pm] jaem: Are you alive?
You stared at the message, then typed back:
[6:40pm] yn: Barely.
Another bubble appeared almost instantly.
[6:40pm] jaem: Studying in the common room. Come keep me company, pretty please?
You almost refused. You should have, you’re so tired and wound up from the long day, but the thought of sitting alone with your frustration felt almost unbearable. Knowing you’ll just overthink yourself to death about little things that would not matter once the semester was over.
Plus, Jaemin always knew exactly when to reach out and how to distract you as if he were somehow tuned to your breaking points.
So you went, your feet already walking in the opposite direction of your dorm room.
The campus common room was nearly empty, save for one flickering lamp in the corner and the low buzz of vending machines. Jaemin was hunched over a stack of notes, hoodie pulled over his hair, legs stretched across two chairs like he owned the place.
When he looked up and saw you, his whole face brightened. His smile unfolded slowly, delicate at the edges, with that fleeting curve that always made his eyes soften as though he had been caught off guard by you. The shift was quick and subtle, softening before he smoothed it away with lazy ease.
"There you are. Look at you, a walking corpse," he said lightly.
You dropped into the seat beside him. "Shut up, I had a long day."
"You always say that."
"Because it's always true. Thursdays are the worst."
He nudged your knee with his. "Want to complain about it?"
"No."
"Liar."
You tried not to smile. He knew you too well.
For a while, you sat with your head resting back against the sofa while he pretended to study, though you caught him watching you from the corner of his eye more often than he looked at his notes.
Eventually he shut his book.
"Come on," he said, voice low. "You look like you're one inconvenience away from crying. Let me distract you."
"With what?"
Jaemin shrugged in that casual way that always made your guard rise a little too quickly. "Anything that gets your head out of whatever hell it’s been in today."
You should have said no, told him you need to head back to your dorm to rest. Should have walked away before instinct and weakness tangled together again.
But exhaustion weakens your resolve. And Jaemin, with his warm eyes and careless charm, made it difficult for you to ever say no.
You ended up in his room.
It was supposed to be harmless, it always starts harmless. Sitting on opposite ends of his bed while he queued a playlist, arguing about which songs he had terrible taste in. You teased him when he got too defensive. He nudged you when you made faces, pretending to hate the music he chose.
Little moments when you ranted and he slipped in stupid comments that you found annoyingly comforting. Small touches that were easier to ignore than confront, blurring the boundaries you both pretended not to notice. Familiar patterns neither of you could bring yourselves to break.
Then your knees brushed, and his hand found your thigh, resting there with infuriating familiarity.
You looked at him. And that was it.
The kiss was a pull, slow at first, then deep with all the tension the two of you refused to acknowledge. Your fingers curled into the front of his hoodie, gripping it like you needed the feel of him to stay steady, tugging him in until your breath mingled with his. He answered with a quiet exhale against your lips, his hands sweeping along your waist and up your back in a slow, deliberate path that made your pulse stutter.
He held you with a certainty that felt far too familiar, as if he already knew exactly where you would soften under his touch, exactly how close to pull you. Every shift of his fingers, every press of warmth between you, wrapped around your ribs with a familiarity that felt dangerous to admit. It was frightening how natural it was. Like it was inevitable.
But this was not meant to happen. Not like this.
Not so soon after you had sworn, silently and separately, to keep whatever this was uncomplicated. It was supposed to be an easy cycle, something light you could slip in and out of without thinking. Yet falling into each other again only deepened the loop you were stuck in, feeding an unspoken something both of you were equally unwilling to face.
But his mouth was warm, his breath uneven against your skin, and every thought you had about boundaries dissolved the second he murmured your name against your neck.
Later, when the room was quiet except for your shallow breaths, with the faint music still playing from his speaker, you found yourself lying half on your stomach, sheets tangled around your legs. Your hair was a mess against the pillow, chest still rising unsteadily.
You felt him shift beside you.
Normally, after moments like this, Jaemin stayed light-hearted. Carefree, teasing you about stealing the blanket, asking if you wanted water, pretending your tangled limbs were inconvenient rather than intimate.
But tonight he went still.
You felt his gaze before you saw it and he spoke before he could stop himself.
"You look pretty."
The words fell quietly into the space between you. Soft, honest. Dangerous.
Your entire body tensed.
He must have felt it, because he cleared his throat a second later, trying to backtrack with a lazy tone that was not quite convincing.
"I mean, you know," he added. "Pretty comfortable… you look pretty comfortable. It was just... I was checking if you were breathing."
You let out a laugh that sounded more like a breath slipping between your teeth. "Great. Nothing more attractive than someone checking if I'm alive after sex."
"Just making sure," he replied lightly, but his eyes did not match his tone.
You rolled onto your side, putting some distance between you and the tenderness he had accidentally revealed. "I should head back soon."
It was abrupt, but necessary. You felt the old instinct rising again, the reflex to pull away the moment anything felt too close.
Jaemin sat up a little, leaning back against his headboard. His face remained neutral, relaxed even, but you knew him enough to catch the subtle shift beneath it.
"Already?"
You nodded quickly, gathering your clothes. "I need to finish an assignment. It’s due tomorrow."
“I’ll walk you."
"You don't need to. It’s late."
"Exactly."
You paused, shirt still half-buttoned.
He said it so simply. As if it were the most natural thing in the world for him to care.
And maybe it was.
Maybe that was the problem.
You finished dressing. He pulled on his hoodie, hair messy from your hands. He did not try to fix it. He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants, following you out of the room without another word.
The hallway was dim, lit by a row of quiet overhead lamps that hummed slightly. You walked side by side, neither of you saying much. His arm brushed yours once. You stepped slightly to the right without thinking.
He noticed. Of course he did.
When you reached the exit of your dorm building, you pulled the door halfway open and turned back to him.
"Thanks for walking me back," you said, keeping your voice even.
"Any time."
You nodded. "Sleep well."
"You too."
It should have ended there. That was usually the point where you parted ways, pretending everything was still casual, still controlled.
But something made you look at him again. For half a second, barely a moment.
He was watching you. Quiet but unreadable. Something heavy flickered behind his eyes, then he masked it away with a small smile.
"Get inside before you freeze," he said, voice soft.
You swallowed. "Goodnight, Jaem."
"Goodnight."
You slipped inside and let the door shut gently behind you.
You leaned your back against the wall, closing your eyes. Your heartbeat was still unsettled. Not because of the intimacy, but because of the moment after.
His words, the softness he let slip. The softness you ran so quickly from.
And somewhere along the streets of campus, Jaemin walked back alone, hands shoved deeper into his pockets, trying not to replay the way you froze when he told the truth without meaning to.
Trying not to let the sting settle.
Trying not to hope for something he was never meant to want.
The subway car smelled faintly of damp jackets, faint perfume, and the lingering pulse of the night out. The lights flickered occasionally, casting long, thin shadows across the seats.
You and Jaemin had slipped away from the club and your friends, citing exhaustion, though the night had been far too fun to leave willingly. The music still throbbed faintly in your chest, your heads light, your limbs pleasantly heavy from too many drinks.
He had insisted on taking you back to your dorm, or at least back to campus. After all, it’s past midnight. You had protested at first, wobbling slightly on your heels, but his easy grin and teasing tone had won. “Come on, someone’s got to make sure you don’t fall flat on your face on the way home,” he had said, nudging you forward.
Now, on the train, you slumped into the seat next to him, your bag spilling slightly into his space. The warmth of his jacket seeped into you. The laughter of the night still lingered on your lips as he muttered something under his breath, a joke too stupid to fully register. You let out a soft giggle, and before you knew it, your eyelids were heavy.
Your head tilted slowly, inching toward his shoulder, and finally rested there. A muffled, sleepy sound escaped you, and he felt a small tug in his chest, part irritation, part tenderness. He adjusted slightly, careful not to disturb you, letting you lean fully against him.
Your hair brushed the side of his face, warm and faintly scented, and the weight of you against him felt impossibly natural. He wanted to pull away, to respect the invisible boundaries you both pretended existed, but he couldn’t. Not when you fit so easily against him, your steady breathing a quiet anchor.
“You’re… warm,” you murmured, voice thick with exhaustion and maybe a little alcohol.
“Don’t get used to it,” he replied lightly, though his chest tightened. “What am I? Your human pillow?”
You shifted slightly, falling deeper in your sleep, pressing closer to him without thinking. He felt the rise and fall of your breath against him, small twitches of your fingers brushing his sleeve. He froze, conscious of the delicate, intimate rhythm between you, and told himself it was just the alcohol, just the exhaustion, just a moment.
He told himself it was nothing, yet every second made it harder to maintain the casual distance he had promised himself he would keep.
Minutes passed in quiet, punctuated only by the occasional lurch of the train and your soft murmurs. You nuzzled slightly closer and he held his breath, afraid a twitch too strong might wake you, afraid the contact would reveal more than he intended. He felt an almost dangerous pull in his chest, but he stayed still, letting you rest, though that mix of yearning and restraint in his chest had become harder to mask lately.
Finally, you stirred fully, blinking against the harsh fluorescent glow of the train lights. You were a station away from campus, like your body knew it was time to wake up.
Realisation hit, and you pulled away, cheeks flushed.
“I… I must have dozed off,” you said, voice quick and embarrassed.
“You did,” he said softly, forcing his tone casual. “I didn’t mind though.”
You stiffened, blinking at him, then coughed awkwardly. “Yeah. Thanks,” you repeated, voice brittle.
The train lurched again, and your shoulder brushed his. You flinched slightly, tugging yourself back, while he let out a small, quiet laugh under his breath. He adjusted to give you space, pretending it was casual, but inside, every brush of warmth felt like a violation and a comfort at the same time.
By the time the train screeched to your stop, your cheeks were still pink, your pulse loud in your ears. You grabbed your bag and stepped off, avoiding his gaze.
“Thanks for coming back with me. I know you were planning to stay till the club closed,” you said lightly, trying to sound normal, though the warmth of the moment lingered.
“No problem,” he replied evenly, hiding the ache pressing in his chest. “I could barely keep up with the guys tonight anyway.”
You gave a brief nod and turned toward your dorm building. Jaemin watched you go for a moment, feeling the quiet sting of attachment he could no longer deny. Alone in the empty platform, the casual mask he wore slipped further. Every laugh, every brush of skin, every unguarded moment reminded him that the arrangement was no longer simple.
You keep walking, feeling the echo of his warmth lingering against your temple. Your chest flutters in a way you cannot ignore, and you force yourself to focus on the dorm steps ahead. Why does being near him feel so familiar and dangerous all at once? You have always prided yourself on being careful, on not letting anyone in after that mess of a breakup. Yet tonight, even leaning against him for a few minutes has been enough to blur that line.
He watched you disappear into the distance, hands sliding into his pockets. His facade of casual detachment felt thinner than ever. That small weight against him, the soft warmth of your inebriated sleep, had left him strangely hollow. He was increasingly aware of how much he wanted to let the rules slip, how dangerous it was to feel this attached, and how impossible it might be to ever go back to the distance he had once maintained.
Somewhere between the fading lights of the station and the hum of the train tracks, both of you realised the cycle had shifted again. The casual arrangement was no longer enough. The undercurrent of something more was here, growing, waiting to be acknowledged.
Chenle’s house was already buzzing by the time you and your friends arrived. It felt like half the cohort was here. Music drifted through every doorway, lights flickered across familiar and unfamiliar faces, and the air carried that soft, warm haze that only came from too many people squeezed into too small a space. Bottles were passed around. Someone laughed too loudly in the kitchen. Someone else tripped over a stack of shoes by the door.
You were tipsy enough to feel loose and warm, even a little brave. Jaemin was beside you, just as pleasantly unsteady, his eyes softened at the edges. He had been like that all night, even before the drinks. Almost a little too comfortable standing close to you.
It shouldn’t have mattered. You told yourself it never did. It’s a party, everyone’s shoulder to shoulder. Don’t make this a big deal.
But the room felt smaller whenever he leaned in.
At some point, Jisung tugged the two of you into a loose circle of friends who were dancing in the middle of the living room. The bass thudded through the floor, the kind of beat that made your steps melt into the crowd’s rhythm. Tipsiness softened your shoulders, your smile, your guard.
You were laughing at something Renjun shouted over the music when you felt a hand settle at the side of your waist. Barely there, but just enough to make your breath shift.
You glanced behind you. Jaemin gave you a small smile, hair falling slightly into his eyes. His fingers stayed where they were, steady but gentle, as if he thought you might tell him to move. Maybe you would have, if the alcohol had not warmed your limbs, if the room had not felt so chaotic, if being near him had not felt so dangerously easy.
He leaned closer, voice lowered so only you could hear.
"Someone’s having fun tonight."
You rolled your eyes playfully. "Sue me."
Jaemin laughs, amused. His hand flexed slightly at your waist, a subtle reminder of how close the two of you were. Close in a way friends shouldn’t be. Close in a way neither of you ever addressed out loud.
Someone nudged Jaemin from behind, pushing him a little closer into you. His chest brushed your back for a second too long. His breath touched your cheek. You felt heat stir through your skin like a spark.
You stepped forward, creating some space before anyone noticed.
"Careful," you murmured.
He laughed softly, though there was something quieter beneath it. "Relax… we’re fine."
"Jaem, we’re not exactly alone."
The coloured lights swept over him in quick flashes, casting shifting shadows across his features. For a heartbeat, his smile wavered, a fleeting trace of something heavier hiding beneath the effortless charm. Most people would have missed it entirely, lost in the blur of movement and music, but you saw it. Caught it in the strobing glow. And for a moment, you wished you hadn’t.
He dropped his hand from your waist, letting it fall naturally to his side, as if you had never guided him away at all.
And you pretended not to notice.
The night spun on. People came and went from the dance circle. Someone shoved a cup into your hand and you took a small sip, feeling the last of the alcohol settle warm behind your ribs.
A guy from one of your elective modules recognised you in passing, you think his name’s San or something. He leaned in to greet you over the music, cheerful and harmless, a casual introduction that lasted no more than a few seconds.
But Jaemin’s eyes flicked over the interaction. Just a brief glance, tight around the edges, before he looked away as if it meant nothing at all.
You tried not to react and Jaemin tried harder.
When the guy left, Renjun pulled Jaemin toward the kitchen. Jaemin went, but not before giving you a look, brief and unreadable.
You stayed behind with Jisung until the room grew hotter and your feet ached and your head felt pleasantly heavy. The night slipped by in strobe-lit fragments. Music thumped through the floor, laughter cut sharp and loud over the bass, and cups mixed with too-sweet drinks, a heady combination that promised a lingering headache by morning.
You eventually lose track of Jaemin in the crowd.
Maybe five songs later, Jaemin found you again, his hand brushing your shoulder lightly when he appeared at your side.
"You good?" he asked, his voice softer now.
You nodded, although your pulse jumped at the way he studied you. Tipsy Jaemin was always more transparent, more open. Or maybe he was just too tired to hide the way he looked at you.
You swallowed. "Fresh air?"
He nodded. "Good idea."
You followed him through Chenle’s crowded hallway, weaving past coats and discarded cups. At some point he reached for your hand to guide you, a quick instinct, fingers brushing against yours. Just enough to keep you close. Just enough to make your stomach tighten.
The air outside was cooler than you expected, crisp against your flushed skin after the heat of the party. The music faded into a dull throb behind the closed door, replaced by the steady hum of night insects and the quiet of the pavement.
You breathed in slowly. Like a reset, a little too sharp for how light your head still felt.
Jaemin stepped out after you. The backdoor clicked shut, cutting off the last chorus of whatever song was playing, and the silence settled between you almost immediately. He stopped beside you, but not too close, hands shoved into his pockets, his shoulders drawn slightly inwards.
His earlier cheerfulness, the tipsy affection he had slipped into so easily inside, had faded into something more contained. You felt the shift before he even spoke.
"You’re not nauseous, are you?" he asked. His voice was calm, but not relaxed.
You nodded. "No, just needed some air."
He gave a soft sound of agreement. His gaze drifted out over the dimly lit path ahead, avoiding yours.
For a moment, neither of you said anything.
You could still feel the warmth of his palm on your waist from earlier, the subtle way he had guided you through the crowd, the way his laughter had brushed against your neck when he leaned in to say something over the music. And the way you kept shifting away, gently, reminding him with just a look that you were not alone.
A faint wince crossed his face, barely there, but visible enough.
"I got a bit carried away in there," he said, almost careful. "Sorry if that was... too much."
"It’s fine."
He let out a soft breath, something between relief and frustration. "If it is, why did you keep moving away?"
You hesitated. "We’re with friends."
Jaemin nodded once, as if he understood and did not at the same time. His jaw tightened for a brief second before he eased it again.
His voice lowered. "Just forgot for a moment."
The honesty in that unsettled you more than the touches had.
You shifted your weight, glancing at him. "We’re both tipsy."
"Still knew what I was doing." His reply came fast, then he paused, softening it. "...mostly."
You let out a small laugh, but it faded quickly. The quiet stretched again, filling with all the things you had both been ignoring for weeks.
He looked down at the ground, nudging a small pebble with the tip of his shoe. It was a strangely boyish gesture, out of place on someone who usually carried himself with such easy confidence.
"Didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable," he said.
"Jaemin, you didn’t."
He looked up at you then, searching your face. Something in his expression flickered, vulnerable and fleeting.
"You sure?"
He swallowed. "Right."
The question felt heavier than it should have. You nodded, but the answer felt small in your throat.
"Yeah. I just... it’s easier if no one knew."
That single word held far too much.
A gust of wind swept past, carrying the faint scent of beer and sweat from the house behind you. Your hair shifted, brushing your cheek. Jaemin’s fingers twitched at his side as if he had almost reached out on instinct before stopping himself.
"I forgot how close we were," he murmured, eyes lowering again. "Inside the crowd, with the music and everything." He gave a faint, humourless smile. "It’s easy to forget."
You felt your chest tighten. "Yeah."
"Yeah." His voice cracked on the edges of the word, just slightly.
Silence settled again, heavy with everything unsaid.
You watched him quietly. He wasn’t angry, or sulking. He simply looked… restrained. Like someone pulling himself back into place after slipping too far forward.
He cleared his throat.
"I shouldn’t have let it get like that."
"Jaemin, it’s–"
He cut in gently. "No, I know. We agreed, right? Lowkey. That’s how it’s supposed to be."
But the way he said it made your stomach twist.
Not defensive nor cold. But there was a sting in him that no words could hide, faint but persistent beneath his calm exterior. He took one slow step away from you, not far, just enough that the air between you grew cooler.
"We should head back," he said, keeping his voice neutral.
You nodded, though your heart sank. "Yeah, probably."
He started walking first, hands still in his pockets, head lowered slightly. You followed a few steps behind until he slowed enough for you to fall in beside him.
The space between you felt larger than it had all night.
Neither of you touched, and neither of you tried to. Still, the space between you felt alive, charged with everything neither dared to say.
And you knew, without needing him to say it, that he was retreating for the same reason you stayed careful:
Because wanting more was becoming too obvious. Because pretending this was simple was getting harder. The night had pulled you too close, and now both of you were scrambling to put walls back up before anything more could slip through.
He glanced at you once as you walked, fleeting and unreadable.
Then he looked away again.
And even with the cool night air filling your lungs, it suddenly felt too difficult to breathe.
You had not expected the text to spark quite so quickly between you again, especially after how awkwardly things ended at Chenle’s party.
It was late enough that the floors of your dorm building had gone quiet. The kind of quiet that made the walls feel thinner and the shadows beside your desk look as if they were leaning in to listen. You were sitting cross-legged on your bed with an open laptop you had not touched in twenty minutes when your phone buzzed.
[11:22pm] jaem: Still awake?
You stared at the screen for a few seconds, already aware of the skip in your pulse. You typed back.
[11:23pm] yn: Maybe. Why?
Another reply came almost right away.
[11:23pm] jaem: I’m bored. Can you fix that?
Your lips curved. There it was, that familiar tug. Light and playful and easy in a way both of you had missed without saying so.
[11:24pm] yn: How do you want me to?
The three dots blinked. Paused, then blinked again.
[11:24pm] jaem: I’m outside.
You almost laughed out of reflex, because of course he was. Of course Na Jaemin had walked all the way to your dorm without checking first if you actually wanted him there. He always pretended it was spontaneous, but you knew better. He thought far more than he let on.
You pushed yourself off the bed, put your laptop away and smoothed your shirt without thinking, padding across the room. You opened the door slowly, head peeking out first.
He stood there in a black hoodie, fringe brushing his brows. His eyes were bright even in the low corridor light. His smile tilted, almost smirking.
"Miss me?"
You scoffed, moving back to let him through. "You think too highly of yourself."
"Someone has to,”he murmured as he passed you. The brush of his shoulder against yours was subtle but alive with intention.
You shut the door softly behind you. He was already looking around your room in that quiet, familiar way of his, as if he was checking if anything had changed since the last time he was here. He tossed his phone onto your desk, then moved toward your bed without being invited.
"This is sudden," you said lightly.
"I… got bored from studying," he replied quietly, settling onto the duvet, eyes flickering to yours for a heartbeat too long.
You rolled your eyes even though your chest felt warm. "You could have given me a heads up."
"I guess I just wanted to see you," he murmured, almost vulnerable, before shifting to pat the space beside him.
"Sit," he said, voice softer.
You lowered yourself onto the bed, leaving a narrow gap between you. The air seemed to hum, thick with everything unsaid since the party. Tonight carried the pretense of ease, the illusion of normality, yet the tension coiled tightly just beneath the surface.
“How was your week?” he asked lightly, as if he was really just here for small talk. You both knew better.
“Barely survived,” you said, rolling your shoulders.
“Me too,” he whispered.
There was a beat of silence. A beat you felt in your chest rather than heard.
Then he leaned in. Slow, as if giving you time to stop him. His fingers brushed your jaw, light at first, then more certain as you tilted your head slightly to meet his touch. When his lips met yours, the gentleness of the kiss belied the intensity in his eyes, the quiet admission that he had been holding back far longer than he intended.
Your breath caught. His hand slid behind your neck, fingers tangling in your hair to guide you closer. Everything unfolded with an ease that felt almost instinctive. The way you shifted onto his lap. The way his fingers traced the line of your waist through your thin shirt. How your hands pressed against his shoulders, steadying yourself, grounding yourself in the heat that was beginning to build between you.
And then it deepened.
There was none of the usual rush. Just a slow, steady pull that drew a soft sigh from your lips. His mouth moved with a tenderness that made your heartbeat slip. His fingertips skimmed beneath the hem of your shirt, brushing bare skin with a touch that felt too careful for a man who pretended not to feel anything beyond lust.
Your breath fluttered.
He lifted your top over your head in one smooth motion. His eyes travelled over you with no smirk, no flirty comment. Only quiet, careful attention. The kind that made you feel as though he was memorising you. The kind that made your stomach turn with nerves and want.
"Come here," he whispered.
And everything after blurred into breath and warmth and the soft weight of his hands moving along your spine. The closeness of it all made the room feel smaller, almost breathless. Just the heat of skin against skin, the faint tremble of his fingers at your hip, the way your breaths tangled as you moved together with an unspoken familiarity that was too natural for two people who were meant to be casual.
Your leg brushed against his, a subtle collision that sent a ripple of awareness through your body. He rested his forehead lightly against your shoulder for a heartbeat, almost as if to steady himself, and you leaned in, pressing a soft kiss beneath his ear. A shiver passed through him at the contact, and it struck you that every brush of skin, every fleeting touch, carried more than just desire. There was something fragile here, a quiet vulnerability that had been waiting in the space between you all along.
He paused suddenly, as if he needed to see your face, and his thumb swept across your cheekbone with careful reverence. You held his gaze, heart hammering, and your dorm room seemed to shrink further, leaving nothing but the two of you suspended in the quiet hum of your breaths. When his lips met yours again, it was slower this time, measured, like he was memorising the feel of you and etching it into himself.
It was overwhelming. Too intimate and revealing, the quiet intensity of it all pressing against the walls you had carefully built around the word ‘casual’.
Still, you let your body follow, moving with him as if by instinct. Your hands stayed entwined, your chest rising with his, yet somewhere in the back of your mind, a shadow of awareness stirred. Beneath the pull of it all, a silent edge of thought lingered, nudging you back just slightly. And even as your body stayed close, your thoughts measured the space, careful not to lose yourself entirely.
The moment the tension broke between you, your breath came out uneven. You lay on your back, your chest rose and fell too quickly, your pulse loud in your ears. He lay beside you, breathing heavy, the warmth of him still pressed against your side.
The room was dim, only the faint glow from the fairy lights in your room painting your shapes in soft relief against the wall. In that quiet closeness, it was impossible not to feel how much the pretense of ‘casual’ had already shifted, how deep the unspoken thread between you had become.
Jaemin reached across the small space between you and brushed a strand of hair away from your forehead. His fingers lingered, tracing down the side of your temple. The warmth of his hand contrasted sharply with the cool sheets beneath you, and for a moment, you simply let yourself breathe in the closeness.
"You okay?" he asked quietly.
His voice was rough around the edges.
"Yeah… I’m fine." You closed your eyes for a moment, letting the words shield what you weren’t ready to share.
He lingered and you felt him watching you.
"You sure? You went quiet at the end."
Your eyes opened, meeting his gaze. It was too gentle, a little too concerned. Something dangerous pressed up against your ribs. You swallowed, the pulse of your heartbeat louder than usual.
"Just… a lot on my mind," you said, but the words faltered, tugged by a hint of truth you almost dared to voice. "I’m just tired."
He nodded slowly, reading the layers beneath the surface. His fingers twitched slightly against the sheet, an almost imperceptible motion that betrayed his restlessness. "Okay," he murmured. "You don’t have to say more if you don’t want to."
You felt the weight of his understanding, but it pressed against your chest like a reminder of how much you had almost revealed. "It’s complicated," you whispered, letting your shoulder press into the pillow. "Things… before all of this… I’m still trying to move on."
He stayed still, letting the words settle, the space between you quiet but charged. His jaw tightened slightly as he processed the hint of your past, the invisible line you drew without needing to speak it aloud. He wanted to ask more, to pull you closer and hear it all, but he could see the invisible shutter in your eyes, the subtle guard that had gone up the moment you began.
"I get it," he said finally, voice low, careful. "You don’t owe me anything. I just… I’m here." His fingers brushed your hand briefly, a fleeting touch that was more reassurance than a claim.
You let out a soft breath, trying to release the tight coil of feeling in your chest. "It’s easier this way," you said, almost to yourself. "If we just stick to what we agreed on."
His eyes softened, and you could sense the tension in him, a quiet frustration that he didn’t voice. He wanted more than this, wanted to be more than a shadow in your nights but he held himself back. The restraint was a weight pressing into his chest, heavier than any closeness of the past hour.
The room fell silent, save for the shallow rhythm of your breaths. You felt the pull of sleep, the heavy, comforting exhaustion in your limbs. He stayed close, careful to respect the space you had reclaimed in your mind even as your bodies remained tangled.
Hours passed in gentle quiet. Your eyelids grew heavier, the tension in your chest softening as unconscious surrender to sleep overtook you. Jaemin shifted slightly, careful not to disturb you, hands resting loosely at his sides. He watched the rise and fall of your chest for a long moment, memorising the curve of your shoulder, the gentle flutter of your lashes, the faintest exhale that trembled against the night.
When the pale light of morning began to filter through the blinds, you stirred. Your eyes opened, chest rising unevenly, only to find the space beside you empty. The sheets carried the faint warmth of where he laid, the imprint of his presence lingering like a ghost on your sheets. No note, no text or whispered goodbye.
Outside, Jaemin moved silently down the streets of campus, hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie, careful not to disturb the quiet of the morning. Every step was measured, a reflection of the restraint he had held through the night.
He had wanted more. Wishing more was said, for more closeness, more of the quiet intimacy you had shared. But he knew the risk of pressing, the danger of hoping against the wall you had put up and insisted stays up.
His chest tightened at the memory of your guarded eyes, the shadow of hesitation in your voice, and he allowed himself a small, quiet exhale. He had left before you could wake, before the casual, safe pretense could unravel in the morning light again. Not out of anger, not because he wished to leave you, but because the ache of wanting more while knowing it could not be claimed was too sharp to linger in your presence.
Back in the room, you pressed your face into the pillow, curling your fingers into the sheets. The quiet ache of his absence, of all that had been left unspoken, pressed against your ribs. His departure was quiet, but the weight of it lingered. A quiet reminder that your nights together had grown heavier than you had anticipated and even when the sun rose, it would not wash it away.
It’s been a few days since that morning when Jaemin left without saying much, leaving you with the strange mix of relief and longing you can’t quite reconcile. Since then, you and Jaemin have kept your distance, careful, polite, but not the same as before. Today, though, you found yourself gathered at your usual café after class with some friends. The air is warm with chatter and light teasing.
You tuck a strand of hair behind your ear and try to focus on the conversation about some ridiculous student society prank Jisung was yapping about, laughing when everyone else laughs. You keep your distance from Jaemin, careful to maintain the boundaries you’ve silently agreed on. You tell yourself it’s for the best.
“Also, a miracle happened yesterday,” Renjun starts, grinning mischievously. “I saw Na Jaemin in the library, actually studying. With that girl from third-year, the one in his seminar group for ethics class.”
You freeze mid-sip, the warmth of your coffee suddenly sharp against your throat. You try to smooth over the hesitation with a soft laugh, but it feels brittle even to your own ears.
“Him? Willing in the library?” you echo, keeping your voice light, as if confirming some trivial fact.
“Yeah,” Renjun continues, oblivious to the tension he’s accidentally ignited. “The two of them were practically glued together.”
Jaemin raises an eyebrow at the comment, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Oh, that? It’s just some stupid presentation we had to do,” he says lightly, as if the mention of someone else warrants no more than a shrug. His casual tone should be comforting, but you feel a pang you can’t explain.
After that, you watch him laugh at something Jisung says, the easy, effortless way he leans into the conversation. Part of you wants to look away, to stop yourself from feeling the unexpected ache of jealousy curling through your chest. You hate that it even exists, that a simple mention of someone else studying with him can set you off like this.
But no one else notices. Jaemin certainly doesn’t. He probably thinks you’re just being distant after that complicated night a few days ago. He glances at you briefly, expression unreadable, and then returns to the conversation, entirely unaware of the turmoil quietly churning inside you.
You take a small sip of your coffee to steady yourself, pressing the warmth to your lips as if it could anchor your racing thoughts. You feel an almost dizzying mix of emotions. Irritation at yourself for feeling this way, a faint sting of longing for the intimacy you tried so hard to dismiss, and a quiet shame that you’re allowing yourself to be affected at all.
The group erupts in another round of light teasing, their laughter filling the small space and drawing your attention elsewhere. You trace the rim of your coffee cup with a fingertip, watching the steam spiral upward, fragile and twisting, and try to anchor yourself in it.
But Jaemin’s glance finds you more than once, quick and subtle, and it twists something inside you you thought you had in control. Your stomach tightens in a way that makes you want to ask him why he had chosen to work with her, why he can be so light, so utterly himself in front of everyone, as if that night didn’t affect him like it was affecting you. You bite back the words, forcing a calm smile, because some things are too dangerous to name, and the ache of caring too much has already settled too deep.
You tried to keep your expression neutral, laughing at jokes you barely hear, nodding politely when someone addresses you. All the while, a quiet storm rages beneath the surface, tangled and unyielding.
Jaemin continues to chat with Renjun and Jisung, oblivious to the inner conflict he has inadvertently triggered. He assumes your slight withdrawal is your way of managing your feelings, a careful dance to maintain the casual arrangement you insisted strongly upon a few nights ago. He doesn’t see the way your fingers press too tightly around the cup, the tiny bite of your lip when the mention of the library project drifts past, or the brief, sharp flutter in your chest that you refuse to name.
As the group packs up to leave, you follow quietly, your mind replaying the moment again and again. You chide yourself for letting something so small affect you. You insisted on casual, on distance. Yet there is a part of you that wants to confront the sting, wants to demand clarity.
But you don’t. You know you had no place to.
After the café, Jaemin insists on walking you back to your dorm, just as he always does. His voice is light when he says it, but there is a quiet determination underneath, like a small thread of thoughtfulness woven into his casual grin. You nod, keeping your response minimal, pretending the insistence does not stir something in your chest, a warmth you refuse to name.
The air is cool against your skin, carrying a faint scent of damp leaves and the subtle hum of the city settling into evening. Silence drifts between you, not uncomfortable yet taut, a quiet tension that neither of you acknowledges. His presence beside you is constant, familiar but heavier now, laden with the unspoken.
The streets seem emptier than usual, streetlights casting pools of golden light across the pavement. Shadows stretch long and thin, and the ordinary surroundings feel charged, almost as if the world itself has narrowed to just the two of you.
When you reach your dorm building, he slows, falling slightly beside you and then easing closer without a word. It is instinctive, subtle, the kind of closeness that once would have been reassuring but now presses with an intensity you cannot ignore.
He leans closer as if drawn forward by a thought you cannot see, lips inching nearer, eyes soft, searching. The proximity makes your heart hammer painfully in your chest. You force yourself to step back, just enough for him to notice, a fraction of space restored but heavy with unspoken meaning.
His brow quirks, confusion flickering across his features. “What?” His voice is low, casual, but carries the weight of the question his lips do not form.
“Nothing,” you reply, sharper than intended, the word clipped and brittle, catching slightly in the cool evening air. You feel the tension coil in the space between you, thick and sticky, making your chest feel too tight, your breath too short.
He tilts his head, reading the shift in your posture, sensing something but not fully understanding.
“Did I do something?” he asks, stepping closer again now that you are alone, unconsciously bridging the gap as if proximity could erase the awkwardness or the distance that has grown since that complicated night a few days ago.
Your stomach twists, a combination of longing and irritation you can’t quite comprehend.
“No,” you murmur, voice barely audible, but it carries more weight than you intend.
You want to tell him everything. The sting of even imagining him with someone else, the way your chest still tightens when he leans in to kiss you. The confusion of emotions you promised yourself would stay dormant, but the words lodge in your throat.
He notices the hesitation, the fraction of doubt in your eyes, and for a heartbeat, his expression softens.
“Are you sure? You can tell me,” he says quietly, a careful invitation, but there is no pressure, only the steady warmth of his presence and the gentleness of his tone.
You shake your head slightly, lips pressed together. “It’s nothing,” you insist again, though the lie tastes bitter on your tongue, and you know he senses it.
The silence stretches between you, full of everything unsaid. His hand brushes a loose strand of your hair back from your face, a simple, familiar gesture, and it makes your chest squeeze painfully. You feel yourself teetering on the edge, caught between the desire to let him in and the instinct to protect yourself.
He leans forward just a fraction, careful yet yearning, his eyes silently asking for permission. He wants to know if he has overstepped, if he has made you uncomfortable somehow. But you step back, firm and deliberate, a quiet refusal that stings more than words could. The movement fractures the fragile intimacy, leaving the space between you charged with tension.
You draw in a slow breath, trying to steady the racing of your heart. “I should go,” you murmur, almost to yourself, and turn toward the door of your dorm building. Your bag feels heavier on your shoulder, weighted with the emotions you have shoved down for too long.
Jaemin just watches you, lips parting as if to say something, then closing again. His expression is unreadable, soft with concern but tinged with confusion.
You don’t look back, even though part of you aches to see his face, to read his thoughts, to break through the tension you cannot name. The door clicks shut behind you, the sound startlingly final. The warmth of his presence is gone, leaving only the echo of it, the memory of proximity, and the ache of unspoken words.
Back in your room, you sink onto the edge of your bed, bag slipping from your shoulder with a soft thud. The room is quiet, but your mind refuses the same courtesy. Every detail from the walk back from the café presses against your thoughts: the brush of his shoulder, the soft tilt of his head, the subtle heat radiating from him when he leaned closer to kiss you. Everything lingers longer than it should, embedding itself in the spaces between your ribs.
You chastise yourself, running a hand through your hair. It’s just Jaemin. Just casual. You knew the rules going in. You reminded him and reminded yourself. Distance, boundaries, no attachments. No expectations. Yet, as you press your palms to your eyes, the familiar mantra begins to falter. Your chest tightens at the memory of his proximity, at the faint warmth left in the space where he had leaned in.
The rational part of you insists that it is nothing, that it should be nothing. You’re still a mess, tangled in the aftermath of a bad breakup you swore you could contain. He remains blissfully unaware, unconcerned, here only for the easy comfort and fleeting closeness of what you agreed to.
A casual arrangement. Exactly what you asked for, exactly what you wanted. Just something to soothe the loneliness you don’t know how to stop carrying.
And yet, beneath all that reason, something sharper stirs. A sting of longing, sudden and unwelcomed, the startling realisation that perhaps your heart is far less indifferent than you convinced yourself it would be.
You replay the small details obsessively, the ones you had been trying to ignore: the way his lips curved when he tilted his head, the light in his eyes that seemed to search for something, anything, in yours. Every time he smiled, even lightly, it felt like a tug at the very edge of your resolve. And the thought that he had no idea how much this affected you is almost worse than if he had.
You draw a slow, deliberate breath, trying to chase away the fluttering unease. Yet the echo of his presence lingers, stubborn and insistent, a reminder that sometimes the heart refuses to obey the mind.
Your gaze drifts to the window, where the campus lights stretch in quiet constellations.
You imagine him walking back to his own dorm, maybe replaying the same moments in his head, or maybe he’s not thinking about you at all. The unfairness of it twists in your stomach, a bitter knot of longing and frustration.
And somewhere beneath the carefully constructed walls of logic and restraint, you sense a shift. Stirring, quiet but relentless. What you have told yourself for so long, that it is only casual. Feels suddenly fragile and insufficient. There’s a tug, a pull, a tiny but undeniable recognition that the stakes have quietly, irrevocably changed.
You have been ignoring Jaemin for days.
Not out of spite and not with any deliberate cruelty, but because replying felt like too much. Every message from him read like a demand for vulnerability you did not know how to offer. Responding felt less like casual conversation and more like an invitation to step into something raw and unguarded, and you were not ready to accept it.
You read every text he sent, your silence clearly told him something was off. Every short message phrased casually, as if he were pretending things were fine. You could almost see the tightness beneath them, an impatience he tried to hide.
You stared at his words, thumb hovering, heart racing, and each time you ended up putting your phone down. Silence was safer than honesty. And distance feels easier than admitting how much you wanted him close.
But this distance, like everything else between you, has consequences.
He finds you on a quiet walkway behind the student centre, where bicycles are chained to a railing and a few students sit scattered near benches, absorbed in their own worlds.
It’s evening, the light already dimming into the hazy blue of dusk. The air feels cold in a crisp way, sharp enough to wake your skin but not enough to make you shiver outright.
You see him before he calls your name. Even from far away, there’s something relentless in the way he walks. His shoulders stiff, steps measured, his jaw clenched.
You think about turning away, slipping inside the building and pretending you never saw him. But you freeze instead, your body betraying you.
He stops a few paces away, just close enough that you can see the tension in his face.
“Why are you ignoring me?”
His voice is low, controlled, but it feels thin, stretched tight over something volatile.
You look down at the ground, suddenly very aware of the scuffed concrete, the faint scrape of gravel beneath your shoes.
“I’ve been busy,” you say, voice flat, too rehearsed.
Jaemin breathes out, not quite a sigh, not quite a laugh. Something weary, almost incredulous.
“Busy,” he repeats, and the word sounds absurd in his mouth, too fragile to explain away four days of silence. “You could’ve said something, anything.”
You stare past him, at a bike someone abandoned against the rail. “I needed space.”
He nods, just once, sharp and brittle. “Fine. You need space. I can accept that.” His voice lifts slightly with frustration. “But disappearing without a word is not space. You know I hate being left in the dark like that.”
Your heart lurches, but irritation burns through it, a defensive spark igniting in your chest.
“Why do you care so much?” you ask, whisper-soft but cutting.
Jaemin freezes, his expression faltering for a moment, and something in his posture slackens, as if the fight drains before he even begins.
“You know why,” he says, almost under his breath.
You swallow, hard. Of course you know, you feel it every time he looks at you. Every time he stays close without demanding anything. Every time he softens because you’re fragile in ways you refuse to name.
But admitting that would unravel everything.
So instead, you say, cold and practised, “I don’t owe you anything, Jaemin.”
His eyes flash, not with anger. With hurt so sharp it might as well be.
You continued. “I didn’t ask for you to wait around. Or to text me constantly, I didn’t need you to walk me home or worry about whether I replied. We’re not in a relationship. I don’t have to be accountable to you.”
The words come out too smoothly, as if you have been sharpening them in your head for days, carving them into something lethal before you ever spoke them.
And for a moment, he just stares at you, stunned. As if he’s trying to understand whether you meant to wound him or whether you truly think so little of what’s between you.
Something inside him cracks, silent but unmistakable.
“You’re unbelievable,” he says lowly, voice shaking slightly.
You raise your chin, defensive. “Why? Because I’m sticking to what we agreed on?”
Jaemin steps forward, close enough that you feel his presence radiating off him, not touching you but overwhelming all the same.
“You keep acting like you don’t feel anything. Like none of this matters to you. But every time we’re together in bed, you look at me like you’re terrified I’ll disappear.”
Your body goes still. Your heart storms against your ribs.
“I don’t,” you say, though your voice betrays you with a faint tremor. “I just want to keep my life simple.”
He laughs, bitter and quiet. “Ignoring me and running away all the time is definitely making things simple.”
You open your mouth, but he cuts you off, the restraint finally snapping.
“I’ve been patient. I’ve let you take the lead because I respected every boundary you set. I waited while you sorted your head out. I gave you the benefit of doubt every time you pushed me away.” His voice lifts, sharper now, edged with heat. “But I’m not a placeholder for your loneliness, YN.”
The force of it catches you. You flinch.
“I didn’t say you were,” you whisper.
“You don’t have to say it,” he snaps. “You treat me like someone who’s safe because I don’t ask for much, because I let you hide. Because I’ll play the role you need without complaining.”
“I never asked you to,” you repeat, as if denial could shield you.
The silence between you sharpens, thick and cutting.
A pair of students walks past, laughing softly, unaware of the storm mere feet away. You and Jaemin both freeze until the footsteps fade, the illusion of privacy restored.
When you speak, your voice is quieter, but colder.
“I told you from the beginning I can’t give you anything emotional. You knew that, you agreed.”
“I agreed,” he says, voice unsteady with anger that burns beneath grief, “because I thought you would eventually let me in. Even a little. Just gradually. I thought if I stayed patient, you would trust me.” He swallows hard. “Turns out… I’m just naïve.”
You don’t know what to say. Every word you want to offer feels like a betrayal of the person you promised to be.
“I can’t,” you whisper.
His eyes soften, just slightly, and it makes everything worse. “Why? Because of him?”
Your lungs seize. The mention of your past slices through you with precise cruelty, as if he has reached with both hands and torn open something delicate inside you.
“Don’t talk about shit you know nothing about,” you say, voice shaking.
Jaemin nods slowly, jaw clenched, eyes dark.
“That’s exactly it. Your past still owns you. He still sits in the space between us, even when he’s gone.”
“He does not,” you protest, though the denial rings hollow even to your own ears.
“He does,” Jaemin repeats, quieter now, steady, too honest to soften for your comfort. “And I’m tired of pretending that I don’t see it.”
Tears prick hot behind your eyes, furious and frightened.
“You think I want this?” you ask, voice fraying. “You think I enjoy feeling like this? Having that stupid breakup hang over my head? I’m just trying not to fall apart.”
Jaemin takes a step closer, face tight with something difficult.
“That’s not what I’m saying. I’m not asking for much, YN. Just enough to tell me I’m not the only one who feels something.”
You want to tell him he’s not. That you do feel something. Maybe even too much. So much it scares you.
But fear locks the words in your throat. So instead, you repeat the only truth you think will keep you safe.
“I’m sorry, I can’t–”
He looks at you for a long moment, eyes shining with a hurt that feels too raw to witness.
“Then why am I here? What am I to you?” he asks softly.
You don’t answer. It’s simple, almost laughably so, yet it carries a weight that feels impossible to shoulder. The truth, spoken aloud, would tip the balance of everything. It would change the shape of what you are, what he is, what this could become. And you knew you weren’t ready for that.
You turn away slightly, wiping at your eyes with the back of your hand.
“Maybe we should stop.”
The silence that follows feels like a blow. Devastating.
Jaemin breathes out, a fractured sound. “Is that really what you want?”
You swallow, staring at the ground. “Maybe it’s easier.”
“For who?” he asks. “You or me?”
You have no response.
He laughs, low and bitter, but his voice breaks in the middle, so quietly you almost miss it.
“You keep saying we’re casual. That I shouldn’t expect anything from you. But you always expected me to stay after pushing me away. You want me close enough to comfort you, but not close enough to matter. You want to be touched, but not seen.”
“Stop,” you say weakly.
“It’s true,” he says, almost desperate now. “You make me feel like I’m asking too much just by caring.”
You finally look at him, eyes wet and furious.
“And what do you want me to say? That I’ll magically become someone capable of giving you what you want? I can’t. I cannot just switch it on because you’re tired of waiting.”
“I’m just tired of being punished for wanting you,” he says.
The words stop you cold.
You stare at him, breath caught, heart pounding loud enough to drown the rest of the world.
A long silence stretches between you, suffocating. You want to puke.
He loosens, stepping back slowly, as if letting go of something heavy.
“I don’t know what else to do,” he admits, voice small now, stripped of anger. “I want you. I want us. But I’m starting to think you would rather destroy any chance of this than risk feeling anything real.”
Your stomach twists, because he’s right. And you hated that he was.
“I need time,” you say quietly.
He shakes his head. “Time’s not the issue.”
Then, very softly, he murmurs, “I don’t know how to keep doing this if I’m the only one fighting for it.”
You inhale sharply, but no words come.
Eventually, he nods, almost to himself. “Maybe you’re right. We need to take a break, from all of it.”
Your heart drops, heavy and aching.
He looks at you with tired eyes that once held such warmth.
“If you can’t meet me halfway, even with fear, then I need distance before this ruins us both.”
Your throat tightens painfully, you wanted so badly to reach for him. For all the ways you tried to pretend this was casual, for all the hiding and self preservation, you never truly wanted him to slip away. The urge pulses through you, fierce and desperate, but your body betrays you. You remain still, hands curled into fists at your sides, rooted to the spot by fear you cannot name.
He turns to leave, slow and reluctant, as if abandoning something valuable.
Just before he walks away, he says, not angry but unbearably sad, “I was never asking for everything. I never needed labels. Just… thought we had something real.”
He disappears into the dimming light, and you’re left standing with the silence you chose.
In the quiet, you realise that guarding yourself so fiercely has brought you no peace. Even now, it feels nothing like safety. It feels like loss. A quiet, suffocating loss that settles beneath your ribs, heavy and relentless, echoing with the truth you could not speak.
That somewhere along the line, without permission or plan, it stopped being casual for you too. And now you have to live with the wreckage of what you tried so desperately to avoid.
You return to your dorm in the quiet, the kind of quiet that presses against your ribs and makes each breath feel like work. The campus is winding down, but the world inside your head is unbearably loud. You slip into your room, close the door with too much care, like noise might cause something else to break.
You don’t cry immediately. You sit and just… stared. You try to recall the logic that led you here. The neatly constructed story you told yourself, where staying detached meant survival, where distance meant control.
Tonight, that story feels flimsy, thin as tissue, unable to withstand the weight of even a single moment of truth.
You replay his voice. Just the sound of his voice in your head. The way it dipped low when he realised you were pulling away. The way it cracked just slightly when he stopped trying to convince you.
The ache doesn’t come all at once. It creeps, slowly tightening in your chest. A sting behind your eyes. You press the heels of your palms against your lids, as if you could will the sensation away.
You tell yourself you chose safety. You tell yourself you just needed space. That you did the reasonable, sensible thing.
None of it feels like comfort.
It feels like abandonment. Of him but also of yourself.
You curl into bed, small and tense, and the room feels larger than usual, as if every corner is echoing with the absence of someone you refused to let stay.
His footsteps walking away play on loop in your memory, absurdly louder than the argument itself. You wonder if he’ll text, or if you should. The thought alone terrifies you.
You’re not sure if you’re grieving him, or grieving the version of yourself you were supposed to grow into, if you ever allowed softness again.
**
Jaemin walks fast. His shoulders tight, eyes low. He doesn’t realise he’s half running until he slows, breath uneven and heavy, his mind swelling with the messy aftermath of everything he could not say.
Anger sits hot in his chest, but it’s not righteous anger. Not the kind that demands victory. But the kind that burns because it comes from care, and because care feels useless right now.
He hated that he snapped. That you froze. He hates that he still cares, deeply and relentlessly, with no guarantee you’ll ever meet him in it.
He pauses by the river along campus, hands in pockets, staring at the lights shifting in the water. He thinks of calling a friend, telling someone, anyone. But the thought of hearing himself talk about it feels humiliating.
He goes back to his room instead.
Drops his bag. Stands in the dark because turning on the light feels too much like admitting he is alone. Then he pulls out his phone.
Let’s talk when you’re ready?Delete.
I didn’t mean to snap at you.
Delete.
He sits on his bed with his thumb hovering over the screen, empty conversation bubbles taunting him with the silence he never wanted. His chest feels tight, as if something essential is being compressed into something unrecognisable.
Walking away would be easier. Cleaner, it was the smart thing to do.
He considers it, briefly. The thought alone feels like being punched.
He presses the phone to his forehead, eyes closed, breathing shallow. And he doesn’t send anything, tossing his phone onto the bed.
He doesn’t sleep for a long time.
**
Hours pass. The world outside your window moves on. You remain still, lying in the same position, the same cautious breath, as if movement might make everything real.
You tell yourself you’re fine, you survived worse than this. He isn’t the first to leave.
But when the realisation strikes, it’s sharp, precise and decisive.
It wasn’t safety that you chose, it was fear.
You clutch your pillow to your chest, desperate for something to hold, something to bridge the hollow space beneath your ribs.
Jaemin never asked for perfect or permanent, only for something real. Something honest. And you turned away, because being seen felt more dangerous than being alone.
You try to pretend you will not miss him…
You already do.
**
Jaemin lies awake, staring at the ceiling, headphones in with no music playing. He’s exhausted, but his mind keeps replaying every detail.
The moment you flinched, the way your voice turned strained. The helplessness when he realised nothing he said would make you stay.
He considers messaging again, softer this time.
He hates that vulnerability feels like begging. He hates that he would do it anyway, if he believed you would listen.
You matter a lot to me.
Delete.
He whispers into the dark, voice barely audible.
“You could have asked me to stay.”
There is no answer, he was alone in here. Just him and the hum of the night.
**
Sometime after 3am, you both lie awake, unaware that the other is doing the same. The night presses close, thick with the things neither of you said, the things you were afraid to offer, the tenderness you both wanted to claim but could not risk.
You touch your phone, just once, not to send anything, just to feel its weight in your hand, the possibility it represents.
Across campus, Jaemin does the same.
Two hands, reaching for something they cannot name. Two hearts, held hostage by the same silence.
Neither of you sends a message. Neither of you could sleep.
And the night grows longer.
It’s been a few days and you send the message on a whim, your thumb hovering over the send button for longer than it should.
[5:34pm] yn: Can we meet?
You almost talk yourself out of it, convinced your pride will do better left unsaid, your walls untested. But a small, unreasoned part of you knows this is the right thing to do. The weight of days spent ignoring him has pressed too firmly against your chest. You need to get your words out. Closure, or something like it.
Almost immediately, your phone buzzes.
[5:34pm] jaem: Where?
Simple and direct, almost like he had been waiting. Just a question, measured but insistent. Your stomach tightens as you type back,
[5:35pm] yn: By the courtyard near the library.
**
When you arrive, he’s already there, leaning lightly against the edge of the low stone wall, hands tucked into his jacket pockets. The evening’s quiet wraps the campus in a soft haze, traces of sunlight painting the sky. He notices you and his posture stiffens just slightly, a silent bracing against whatever is about to come.
You slow your steps, the distance between you feeling simultaneously too short and too long. Every instinct screams at you to turn away, to retreat into the safety of your room, to pretend none of it ever happened. But you stop, just shy of him, a breath between the two of you that feels both infinite and painfully insufficient.
You take a steadying breath, thumb brushing your phone in your pocket before letting it fall to your side. “Hey,” you say, voice low but deliberate.
“Hey,” he replies, cautious, measured, like he’s bracing for impact. There’s a faint tension in the set of his jaw.
You step closer, a few hesitant paces. “I… I wanted to talk… about the other day,” you start, words coming slowly, weighed with care. “About how I… shut down, just– everything. I didn’t mean to–”
“You don’t have to explain,” he interrupts softly, though his eyes track yours like he wants to understand anyway. “I get that you needed space.”
You shake your head slightly. “No, I need to. I… I’ve been avoiding you because I was scared. Scared of where this was going, scared of messing this up. But I know… I can’t keep pretending like nothing happened.”
He nods slowly, taking it in, his expression softening but still careful. “I get it,” he says again, voice low, almost like a mantra. “And I hated that we left it off like that,” he confesses. “I snapped and I shouldn’t have.”
“You had every reason,” you say quietly. “I pushed you away.”
He nods slowly, expression unreadable for a moment, then softening. “I just want you to know I’m here… that I’m not going anywhere unless you tell me to.”
You swallow, the tightness in your chest easing just a little. “I know,” you whisper, voice catching, betraying the relief you didn’t want him to see. “It’s just… I need to take things slow. I don’t want to rush into something I’m not ready for.”
He studies you for a moment, silent, eyes tracing the line of your jaw, the tilt of your shoulders, as if memorising the careful distance you keep. Then he tilts his head, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
“Slow is fine. Just… don’t shut me out next time. I know it doesn’t always seem like it but I’m pretty patient,” he says softly, the words letting him exhale as if the weight he has been carrying for days can finally ease, even slightly.
You shake your head, a soft chuckle escaping before it catches in your throat. Your gaze drifts upward, drawn by the fading light.
For a brief second, the tight knot in your chest loosens, allowing something gentler to settle in its place. The sky is a canvas of muted pastels, pale lavender melting into burnt orange, streaks of rose and gold bleeding across the horizon. Wisps of clouds catch the last glimmers of sunlight, glowing like embers suspended in the air.
“The sun’s setting,” you murmur, quieter now, almost to yourself. “It’s pretty.”
He follows your gaze, letting his shoulders loosen, the rigidity of tension easing as he takes in the sky with you. “Yeah,” he replies softly, voice carrying a warmth that feels like an unspoken invitation, not a demand. “It is.”
The sun dips lower, painting the sky in deepening hues of coral and violet. Long shadows stretch across the courtyard, and the faint glow reflects off scattered windows, lending the world a quiet, almost fragile beauty. The air carries the soft rustle of leaves, a distant hum of laughter, and the subtle scent of cooling grass.
You both watch in silence, letting the colours of the sky seep in, each streak of gold and lavender a small, unspoken promise that repair is possible. Nothing is fixed tonight and nothing needs to be. The calm stretches between you, delicate but real, like the slow settling of a storm.
And for now, that is enough.
The campus feels quieter than usual, a lull between classes, though the air hums with the subtle energy of students moving between buildings.
You spot Jaemin, hands tucked casually into the pockets of his jacket, the brim of his cap shadowing his eyes. He sees you at the same moment, a small smile tugging at his lips. There is no tension in that smile, not the old tightness of anticipation or fear. It is tentative, patient, and something in you loosens.
“Hey,” you say softly, walking toward him.
“Hey,” he replies, a casual inflection in his tone, but you can feel the weight beneath it, the quiet relief of seeing you. He tilts his head, eyes tracking you like he’s memorising your expression, noting the little things: the way your hair falls across your cheek, the soft lift of your brow when you smile.
You pass a coffee cup to him, and he takes it with a nod, fingers brushing briefly against yours. Then, you walk together toward the courtyard steps. The air is crisp, carrying the faint smell of cooling grass and the distant scent of pastries from the cafe. You fall into an easy rhythm, shoulders brushing, but no hands touch, no need for proximity beyond the quiet comfort of shared presence.
**
The weeks have passed in a series of small, deliberate moments. You notice them now, the ways they’ve woven into the fabric of your days together.
You study for finals together in the library, textbooks spread wide, and he sits beside you, elbow occasionally grazing your arm as he reaches for his pen. You flinch slightly, and he shrugs with an easy grin, letting the contact linger no longer than necessary. It’s careful, deliberate, the kind of respect that makes space for trust to grow.
Some evenings you end up back at the courtyard, where the sunsets have become a quiet ritual.
The sky is a tapestry of coral, lavender, and gold, clouds catching the last light like drifting embers. You sit on the low stone wall, careful to leave space between you, shoulders just shy of touching. The air is filled with the distant chatter of students leaving campus, a soft hum of life continuing beyond your small bubble.
“You’ve been quiet today,” he says, eyes on the horizon rather than on you.
“I’ve just… been thinking,” you answer, your voice softer than usual. “About… us, about everything.”
He nods slowly, no judgment in his expression. “It’s fine, no rush.” His tone carries that familiar patience, steady and grounding, the same warmth that has kept you tethered even when you wanted to pull away.
You glance at him, noticing the way his jaw relaxes when he thinks you’re not looking, the gentle curve of his smile when he catches your gaze. “I’m glad we decided to take it slow,” you admit. “Even if it’s… complicated.”
“Complicated’s okay,” he says softly, eyes still on the sky. “I mean, it’s real, right? That’s just where we are.”
The sky deepens into shades of violet and indigo. The courtyard is quieter now, a few leaves spiral lazily in the breeze, catching the last glimmers of sunlight. You sit together, side by side but careful, letting the presence of one another settle into something steady.
No hands reach out and no lips meet. But the moments accumulate, small smiles, fleeting touches, shared laughter and glances that linger just a heartbeat too long. Each one is a thread, binding you together in ways that’s yet to be named.
And as the sky darkens into twilight, the quiet between you is no longer heavy or tentative. It hums with the possibility of something enduring, something that can exist on its own terms.
The two of you remain there, side by side, watching the night slowly gather over campus. And without saying it aloud, you both know: this is where you start, fragile and slow, but wholly yours to shape.
It’s pretty late when you arrive, later than either of you had planned, the kind of hour that feels muffled, as if the world has retreated and left only the faint hiss of distant traffic and the weak glow of windows lit across campus. His room is warm when you step inside, humid from the heater that has been on all afternoon, and the scent of laundry detergent hangs in the air.
Jaemin sits on the floor with his back against the side of his bed, legs sprawled, textbooks fallen open around him in defeated angles. He looks up when you shut the door behind you. His smile is small, tired but genuine.
“You survived,” he murmurs.
“I’m not sure I would call it surviving, the paper fried my brain.”
He laughs quietly, rubbing at his neck. He looks exhausted in a way you recognise, not just from lack of sleep but from long days spent thinking too much about the future, about outcomes of this semester, about things neither of you can control.
He watches you kick your shoes aside and sit on the edge of his bed, hands braced on the mattress behind you. There is a stillness in the room that feels fragile, like someone breathed too loud earlier and frightened everything into silence.
“Are you done revising Chapter 7?” you ask.
He gives a slow shake of his head. “I tried. I stared at the same page for half an hour.” His voice softens. “Was waiting for you, if I’m honest.”
You swallow around something that comfortably aches. He says it simply, not in a way that demands anything from you, but it still settles heavily in your chest. You pat the spot beside you. He stands, joints popping, and sits with a relieved sigh, letting his shoulder fall just slightly against yours in a way that feels uncalculated. You sense his hesitation. It rests in the way he holds himself, attentive to every inch of space you share, careful not to make assumptions about where he is permitted to exist.
“How was your day?” he asks.
You consider lying, softening the truth, offering ease, but you have learned that the two of you are better when you just speak plainly.
“Tiring. After the paper, I kept thinking about us. About how it all still frightens me sometimes.”
He stays still. No sigh of disappointment, no attempt to fix it with false reassurance. Only a subtle shift of his hand, his fingers brushing against the back of yours, barely pressure at all.
“It still frightens me too,” he says. “I try not to let that convince me anything’s wrong though. Sometimes, being a bit scared just means you care.”
The words settle between you, not as final answers, but as something lived in, something imperfect and ordinary. You turn your face toward him. His eyes meet yours with that same steady patience you have come to recognise, the kind that chooses to stay rather than retreat.
“Can we just not think tonight?” you whisper.
“We can do that.”
He lies back first, body sinking into the mattress with a deep release of breath, as if he has been resisting gravity all day. You follow, stretching out beside him, both of you on top of the covers. His room is dim, illuminated only by the small lamp on his desk, its light turning the edges of everything soft and blurred. The sound of the heater clicks in gentle, uneven rhythms. You can feel the warmth of his body, not overpowering, but consistent, like a steady current flowing through the space between you.
For a long time, you simply breathe. Your shoulders almost touch. Your hands rest near each other, palms open. Neither of you tries to define anything, and yet you sense something shifting in the muted quiet. A wordless permission, a silent invitation.
You reach across the distance between you, sliding your hand into his. His fingers tighten around yours in a firm, grounded clasp, nothing timid in the way he holds you now. His grip is warm and sure, steady enough to quiet the low tremor that has lived beneath your skin for months.
His thumb traces your knuckles, thoughtful, like he’s memorising each ridge and curve. It sends a slow heat up your arm. You exhale, realising how rare it is to allow touch without defence or explanation.
You shift closer, enough that your knee brushes his hip. His breath hitches, not sharply, but with a tenderness that feels like a confession. He pulls you into his chest, slow and careful, giving you every chance to retreat. You do not.
You settle into him, face tucked beneath his jaw, one hand splayed on his shirt. He wraps his arm around your waist, not tight, but present, a slow gathering of limbs that feels strangely natural, as if your bodies were always meant to fit this way but had spent too long pretending otherwise.
You feel the rise and fall of his breathing beneath your cheek. His heart beats steady, its rhythm unbothered by your closeness.
Outside, wind rushes along the pavement, rattling leaves against the window, a reminder that the world still exists. Inside, the room is sealed in quiet warmth, the kind that comes after long months of uncertainty.
He tilts his head, lips brushing your temple, a fleeting contact, softer than air. You close your eyes, not from fear but from the startling intimacy of being touched in a way that is not frantic or hungry, but reverent. He shifts slightly and you lift your face just enough to meet his gaze.
There is no rush in him. No urgency, only a patient hunger that waits for the smallest sign from you. You lean forward, closing the space with a slow, searching kiss.
His breath releases in a warm sigh against your mouth. The kiss is tentative, delicate. His lips moving with a careful curiosity, as if he’s learning a language he once forgot. His hand cups the back of your head, palm broad and steady, guiding without pressure. Your mouth parts slightly, inviting him closer. He deepens the kiss by a fraction, letting it unfold not as a performance but as a moment of simple truth, drawn out and lingering, filled with all the words neither of you knows how to say yet.
When you pull back, foreheads touching, he lets out a low laugh, the kind that has weight, the kind that comes from somewhere deep.
“You have no idea how much I missed kissing you,” he murmurs.
“Is that so?” you tease, nudging him slightly. “I was starting to think you’d forget the feeling.”
“Not a chance,” he says with a soft grin, brushing a strand of hair from your face.
The room settles into a thick quiet again, but it is a different kind of quiet now. Not the silence of caution but of comfort. His thumb strokes your waist in easy, repeating lines, slow enough to lull you. Your body grows heavy, mind unspooling, sinking into that borderland between waking and sleep. You do not fight it. Not tonight.
He lies on his back and you mould into him, your leg sliding over his with unconscious ease. He pulls the blanket over both of you. At some point you realise your breathing has synced with his, breath for breath, a calm rhythm that feels like belonging. Sleep arrives without conscious intention, as softly as the touch of his mouth on your hair, a quiet descent into warmth.
You doze before you know it, slipping past thought into something weightless.
-
Later, in the hush of early morning, he wakes first.
The lamp has been switched off. Pale grey light seeps through the curtains, diffused by cloud and rain.
The world outside feels distant, like somewhere people hurry and make decisions and name things. But his room is still. His bed, rumpled and warm. You lie curled against him, your hand resting loosely over his chest, your breath a soft, rhythmic pulse against his throat. Your hair is tangled, mouth slightly parted, completely unaware of yourself for once.
He watches you, the way he did the first night he ever let himself feel anything at all. Except this time he’s allowed to touch you. His arm lies across your back, hand stroking idle shapes along your spine, fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt. There is no fear in the way he holds you now, no cautious calculation, no suppressed ache.
He lowers his head and presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth, feather light. It's more breath than contact, not to wake you but simply to honour the moment. You stir, a faint murmur caught in your throat, then settle again, body softening against his.
He breathes in, slow and steady, and you breathe with him, asleep but unresisting, limbs looped with his in a quiet tangle that feels earned.
The world will ask questions later and friends will speculate. Life will insist on names and definitions and futures. You know this. Jaemin knows this.
For now there is only the hush of morning, the whisper of rain against the window, and the gentle truth of your body resting against his without fear.
He watches you sleep, and the room holds it all, the slow weeks, the careful steps, the long history of almosts. Only this time he doesn’t pull away, doesn’t hide his hands. He does not pretend his heart is not involved.
He keeps you close, warm beneath the blanket, his fingers brushing lightly through your hair, each motion slow and thoughtful, as if imprinting you into memory.
Outside, morning brightens. But here, you remain in the soft calm of sleep, breath against his chest, wrapped in the steady pulse of his arms.
This is where the story shifts.
Not defined or named, yet quietly secure. A beginning guided by choice rather than fear, a gentle affirmation that being chosen and choosing in return can be tender, that intimacy can exist without expectation, and that longing can be welcomed without hesitation.
In this shared stillness, you both simply exist, letting the quiet courage of being together speak for itself.
jaemin takes your love for granted. that's what all your friends say. he knew that before his own friends started to lecture him about what it means for him to give you a forever love.
if jaemin takes a moment to count the minutes, hours, days, weeks he spends capturing the magic moments of somebody else's wedding instead of living by your side, a voice that sounds an awful lot like renjun's creeps into his mind to remind hjm that you deserve the world. most of the time, jaemin can dismiss that internal nagging voice with one quick roll of his eyes. he knows what you deserve. most of the time, jaemin doesn't doubt that he can give it to you.
but on days like today when you are separated by an ocean, when you decline all of his facetime requests because you're busy, when you only give a "haha" reaction to his latest text proposing a wedding date, jaemin's mind is tied in knots. his worst thoughts aren't narrated by renjun. instead, they're narrated by jaemin's college freshman self, the of himself who has known what it's like to lose your love.
you and jaemin been in love your whole lives. somehow, he has managed to wreck it only once, when he sabotaged everything with his fear of losing you to jaehyun. it wasn't an entirely irrational fear, jaemin still sometimes insists to jeno. in the few months that you weren't dating jaemin, you were dating jaehyun. and even when you came back to jaemin, it's not like your bridge to jaehyun was completely burned. now, jaehyun owns the arts center where you teach piano lessons. now, when jaemin reaches for a reason why you won't set a date for your wedding, the smallest darkest corner of his mind wonders if you're holding out for someone better, someone older, someone more stable, someone more present, someone like jaehyun.
"you're an idiot," giselle replies instantly whenever jaemin floats that idea in their text thread. but that's her response to everything jaemin says, so it's hard to take it to heart.
after jaemin loads all of his gear into his rental car, he sits behind the wheel. he has time before his gig starts, so he scrolls through his countless pictures of the two of you. maybe he could send one to remind you that you belong with him!
there's a picture of you as children. he's hanging upside down out of your treehouse and you holding him by the ankles; he could send that and write about how you still keep him grounded.
there's a bunch of pictures of the two of you from your first formal high school dance. you're both polished and perfect in the before pictures, but jaemin has always been partial to the after pictures because he thinks your lipstick looks even better all over his cheeks and neck and collar. he could send those and write that he can't wait to be home so you can kiss him again like you did after that dance. or he could write that as beautiful as you looked wearing your favorite color that night, you'll look even more beautiful wearing white on your wedding dress.
or maybe jaemin should pick something more recent. quickly, he scrolls past the college pictures. he still hates the reminders of your time apart. the last time he was home, he helped you bake treats for the art center's fundraiser. he made sure to take a bunch of pictures of you two in your matching pink polka dotted aprons. in all of the pictures, jaemin is smiling for the cameras but you--suddenly, jaemin realizes that you were smiling for him. his heart flutters, and his mouth goes dry, and he forgets whatever he might have written about wanting to lick chocolate off your lips next time you're in the kitchen together.
in your text thread, he begins to type: i think i've made myself homesick looking at pictures of us. whenever i'm gone on these jobs abroad, i tell myself that i'm doing what's best for us. i'm making money to support us. but i think if you told me you'd be happier if i worked closer to home, i'd never get on a plane again. i think if you told me we could set our wedding date when i get home, i'd find some way to get home yesterday. if any part of you thinks i take your love for granted, i'd try anything to show you that all my favorite moments of life are the ones when you loved me.
while jaemin is still texting, before he can press send, he receives a new message from you.
y/n: i bet you're getting ready for your gig now, so i've officially missed every chance to see your handsome face today 😔 if you're driving, that's definitely NOT an invitation to facetime me while you're on the road!! i'm home for the night, and i thought i should let you know that i hateeee how quiet is is when you're not here. maybe i don't tell you as much as i used to, jaem, but i will ALWAYS love you. i know that bc i literally have always loved you lol. i'm pretty sure i have pictures of us in diapers and in love.
memorizing your text after a reading it just once, jaemin facetimes you.
you answer with a smile. your smile quickly fades as you ask, "are you in the car?"
"i'm not driving!" jaemin clarifies quickly. "i'm about to go to work, but i just--" he comes within an inch of joking that he wanted to make sure you got to see his handsome face. but the sight of you makes something in his chest ache, so joking doesn't feel right. he asks, "what are the chances you'll marry me the second my flight lands tomorrow?"
jaemin is serious. he knows you must know that, but you laugh anyway. that smallest, darkest corner of his mind wants to pin this as proof that you're not ready to marry him or you'll never be ready to marry him. he tries to brush that off with a laugh.
"i doubt the airport is on the list of renjun-approved locations," you say matter-of-factly. then, you whisper, "but what renjun doesn't know won't hurt him."
while your smile makes jaemin's heart do cartwheels, the two of you trade daydreams about eloping at the airport tomorrow afternoon. mark will officiate because, surely, he has the authority to do that. jeno has to be there; he's the best man, after all. you figure your friends will riot if only your maid of honor, winter, is there. and even more than bemoaning an airport wedding, renjun would detest an airport wedding he wasn't invited to. and jisung would deny it, but he would cry it you got married without inviting him. so, within five minutes, your intimate airport elopement has evolved into a full-blown wedding ceremony!
all the while, jaemin knows that you deserve the real deal. jaemin knows that you deserve more than nostalgia and daydreams. and he has to believe that he's the one who can give that to you.
the longest goodbye synopsis: after four beautiful years of jaemin's relationship with you, you found yourself feeling trapped by the end, resulting in you calling it quits. and now, one year later, for the first time ever since your breakup, you're in front of him again at an idol awards after-party, except with a new man on your arm. a spot that once belonged to him.
word count: 3.6k words
genre/warnings: ex-lovers, idol!NCT Dream, reader's moved on while jaemin's a yearner, reader's new bf is NOT an idol btw!!, angst, there's an argument in the beginning, miscommunication from both jaemin and reader, BUT there's closure at the end! yippee!, explicit language, alcohol consumption, partying, crack (unfortunately, the dreamies make this lighthearted), fluff because i forgot this was supposed to stay sad and angsty but didn't have the heart to remove the cute 7dream scenes, 7dream being 7dream, unrealistic interactions with kpop idols (mentally they have fun like this)
a/n: can you tell i had fun with this 😭😭? pls ignore that i left 7dream with their bttf hair colors in the one year later, i was lazy 💔 this small playlist is completely optional to listen to when reading this, but they helped me a lot when writing! 1) role model & laufey's the longest goodbye, the title, and the whole reason why this idea sprouted in the first place! 2) usher's yeah! 3) mike posner & big sean's cooler than me 4) r5's pass me by 5) r5's let's not be alone tonight (ONLY for the fun parts) as always, i appreciate all love and feedback! happy reading!
“What, so that’s it? You’re not even going to try?” Jaemin hears you scoff; he sees tears begin to form in your narrowed eyes, but he knows you won't find a good enough reason to care.
Jaemin's jaw tightens, and his arms stretch straight out as he carries his weight on the marble kitchen counter. The silence and tapping of his pointy finger are the only sounds heard throughout his apartment, and they’re only adding to your growing anger. He can sense it.
“Y/N, you’re the one who feels trapped in this relationship. I’m not going to hold you back if this doesn’t make you happy anymore.” Jaemin tries to remain calm and collected, but he can feel himself slowly losing composure. “Maybe us breaking up right now is a good thing. I mean, for Christ’s sake, I’m about to go on tour. I’m doing what’s best for you, for us—”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” You ask in disbelief. Your blood’s boiling by the minute, and the fact that he continues to open his mouth doesn’t help your case at all.
Jaemin removes his arms from the counter to cross them instead, one of his defense mechanisms. He watches your eyes glance down at his biceps—just for a split second—and despite your heated conversation, it ignites a light in him that you’re still trying to slip in a moment to ogle him during a time like this.
However, he is genuinely confused about why you are upset, especially since he believes that his actions are justified. You wanted this; you’re the one who suggested breaking up, and when he agrees, you’re now taking it back?
Jaemin lets out a loud, exasperated sigh, a clear indication that he’s grown tired of this. You’ve always hated hearing that sigh. “Y/N, what do you want me to do? Fight for you? This relationship? How can I fight for it when I know you’re right?”
The next thing he hears is you mumble, “God, you don’t get it at all,” before you move away from your place in the living room to meet him in the kitchen, where he’s standing. Jaemin notices how you look up at him with shared irritation and exhaustion; the only difference is that you’re teary-eyed. You’re still trying to look tough in front of him, even though he knows you want to break down at this very moment.
You feel like a ticking time bomb, waiting to explode at any moment. You mentally count down in your head.
Three.
Two.
“What don’t I get? You just opened up that you feel trapped dating me. If I continue to fight for this relationship, it will only cause you more pain. I care about you, Y/N.” For the first time during this argument, he feels tears building up, but he chokes them back down. “Fuck, and because I care about you, I think I should let you go. Isn’t that what you want?”
One.
“No! That’s not what I fucking want! I thought if I opened up to you about this, then maybe we could work it out. We’ve been together for four years, Jaemin; do you know how shocking and heartbreaking it is to hear the only person you’ve ever loved give up on you that easily?” You ramble on, one of your many habits. Jaemin's memorized them all.
Taken aback by your (very reasonable) lash out, Jaemin chooses to stay quiet. He can’t help but scan your features; you were seriously the prettiest girl he’s ever seen. But before he knows it, you’re already slipping out of his hands. You stand at the door with your hand on the handle, your other arm occupied with your jacket hanging from it.
“I had hope for us, Jaem. I really—” You sniffle as you try to wipe your tears away with your hand. “I really did. But clearly, you don’t, and that says enough for me.”
“Y/N, wait—”
And instead of being met with your figure still there, he’s met with a slam of his front door.
With you gone, Jaemin returns to leaning against the kitchen counter, except with his head in his hands. “Shit…”
“So, let me get this straight. She tells you that she feels trapped in your relationship, she suggests breaking up, and when your dumbass chooses not to run after her, she leaves. Did I get it right?”
“Yes, Haechan, thank you for making me relive the whole night again.” Jaemin huffs from his spot on the couch, his body sprawled out as he cuddles with a throw pillow.
Due to NCT Dream’s recent comebacks, BTTF and Chiller, finally released to the public, it meant an even more packed schedule. The said schedule included double the stage promotions, fansigns, photoshoots, dance practices uploaded to YouTube, and new TikToks and Instagram posts coming in from left and right, even squeezing in award shows. It was a lot to handle, which is why Jaemin didn't and still doesn't blame you for leaving. His life is hectic enough, and the possible free time he could provide for you is thin. But his pride wouldn't let him admit that, of course.
As of right now, the boys were sitting around in the dressing room, preparing for another stage promotion, when Jaemin finally opened up to the group about his current relationship status with you—if he could even call it that anymore.
“Clearly, this is your first relationship—” Chenle starts.
“And it is.” Jaemin interrupts, deadpan.
The black-haired male rolls his eyes before he continues, “Which is why I understand she’s upset. Yes, she should’ve communicated it better, but she told you straight out, bro. It was really dumb on your part to drop her entirely without hearing her out.”
Renjun preaches, “Exactly!” from his makeup chair, to which Jaemin only groans.
Four years. Four long years of endless laughter, shared memories, and anniversaries that were celebrated in the most elegant and divine restaurants in town. Four years of happiness that soon rotted sourly by the end of it.
Na Jaemin has always been a romantic at heart. No one could ever doubt that. But he was a romantic who did everything wholeheartedly, even overdid things that he shouldn't have, like always showering you with branded bags and jewelry, or never forgetting to be over the top on dates since the moment he asked you out, or sticking to a diet that had him suffering in moments where he didn't love himself enough, or even overdoing his love for his job as an idol, so much so that it started to suffocate you.
Everything made you realize that months before you called it quits, he slowly stopped seeing you as a top priority and more as "one of his things."
But he never knew that. And when he found out, it was already too late.
He doesn’t know what goes on in your head anymore. At some point, he did. And that's what pulls at his heart the most: the fact that he used to be able to read you like the palm of his hand; he knew when you were upset, stressed, exhausted, or hopelessly in love. He was an expert in learning you. An emphasis on was.
Now, he’s here. At an idol awards after party. Standing in a crowded room full of other K-pop idols and groups as they converse with one another. It’s loud with chatter, bumping music, and soft clinks of wine glasses exchanged between people. It’s been exactly one year since your breakup. Even though you’re not in the same vicinity as him now, he knows that you’re here somewhere. You’ve been—you were—his girlfriend for years. It’s impossible for you not to be invited when you’ve become mutuals with his friends, and even made some of your own who were in the same profession as him. Someone must’ve invited you or at least told you about this event.
Wait.
Why am I thinking about her?
He has no reason to care or wonder where you are right now. He can’t feel that way anymore—he shouldn’t—he has no right to. You’re not his, nor is he yours. To love, to kiss, to connect with, to—
“Hey, Jaem, you alright, man?” Jeno asks with a nudge to his arm, his voice laced with concern.
Jaemin, not in the mood to explain his current displeasure, puts on a small smile. “Yeah, all good.” Before Jeno can ask for his surety, he changes the subject. “Where are the others? Are they still mingling and dancing?”
Jeno exhales before nodding over in the direction of the dance floor. “Well, Haechan, Mark, and Renjun are over there.”
His eyes follow Jeno's to see the said members to be right where he said they’d be. Haechan's shouting along to the lyrics to the current song that's playing, Bruno Mars’ 24K Magic, Mark's getting down and feeling the groove of the music with his (weird, but very Mark) dance moves, and Renjun's not too far from them, singing and dancing along with a tall glass of fancy wine secured in his right hand. Jaemin smiles at the scene; it's not often that the group gets to go all out and party like this with the schedules that they're given. It was nice.
Jaemin's about to ask his silver-haired group mate about the younger members’ whereabouts when Jeno beats him to it, “And there's Jisung and Chenle.”
He looks over the latter's shoulder and sees Chenle surrounded by K-pop idols from other groups as they chant, “Chug! Chug! Chug!” while Jisung's panicking right beside him, his face having “Manager's going to beat our asses” written all over it. (Jisung chugs moments after, with such ease that it catches the idols off guard. Obviously not aware of his game.)
Jeno and Jaemin chuckle at their youngest members, and while the former thought that was the end of it, Jeno opens up a new topic.
“Don't feel like dancing around tonight, huh? I'm shocked. You and Haechan are usually the first and last people on that dance floor.”
Jaemin stays quiet. He's glad his dark blue bangs cover his eyes, or else he'd have to find a way to prevent Jeno from seeing how deadbeat he feels right now. He carefully swirls the martini glass in his hand to avoid any spills. But unfortunately, to his dismay, Jeno continues.
“You shouldn't be stopping yourself from having fun, man. It's been a year; you should view tonight as an opportunity to let loose and enjoy it.”
“Jeno, I said I'm good,” Jaemin says sharply. So sharp that Jeno gets the memo with a simple nod before walking off to join the others on the dance floor.
The thing is, Jaemin knows that Jeno's only trying to help—all of them are. And he's aware that it's been a year since you broke up with him, since he's seen you, so why is he feeling so low tonight?
He should be doing the activities Jeno talked about—dancing, socializing, following his life motto of living every day to the fullest—but he just can't.
As if Jaemin manifested you, Mark and Haechan see you walk onto the dance floor when a new song begins to blast, with a man they don’t recognize follow right behind you. Luckily, they’re nowhere near your line of vision; people easily hide them away from you. I guess she branched out to dating normal guys after breaking up with Jaemin, Mark thinks.
And by normal, he means guys with lives not like theirs.
They're stuck on debating whether they should alert Jaemin or not, sucking in their breaths and switching between looking at you and your boyfriend, then back to Jaemin. But as they’re about to give up, two light bulbs pop up over their heads and sudden gasps leave their mouths. Almost comically, they suggest in unison, “Let's make Renjun do it!”
Scurrying away from their spot in the crowd, they try their best not to make themselves noticeable (which fails miserably because some partygoers side-eye the duo as they pass by.)
They reach Renjun, slightly panting, who’s sitting comfortably at one of the away tables with the rest of the Dream members.
“Guys, you won’t—” Haechan puffs out, “Believe who we just saw.”
“Yeah, this is crazy,” Mark says, still trying to catch his breath.
Chenle exclaims, impatiently, “Spit it out!”
The two members recite everything they saw leading up to this moment, which ends up being a mistake because after they’re finished, all six of them suck in their breaths, making a chorus of obnoxious sounds and repeatedly looking back and forth at both parties like absolute idiots.
“Do you think he’s gonna come over here?” Jisung whispers while the others continue to watch back and forth intently, clear panic shown in their features.
As if Jaemin heard him, they see him start to look around for them. As a result, Jisung gets a smack to the back of his head from Chenle, which the younger winces at right after. In a hurried panic that the blue-haired male could start walking over to them at any minute, the six guys rush a quick game of rock-paper-scissors. They usually resort to this in the most serious and unserious situations.
“Rock, paper, scissors!” They yell over each other. Thank God the music is still bumping so loud that no one bats an eye at their shenanigans.
“Oh, God, why me! Why!”
The next thing you know, Jisung is internally screaming and looks distraught as the rest of the group giggle and tease him about his loss. After losing, Mark and Haechan push Jisung in Jaemin’s direction. To any unknowing eyes, the duo looks like parents dragging their child into something they don’t want to do. (Which they kind of were.)
Finally, Jisung walks over to the table where his older group mate has comforted himself for the majority of the night. He musters up some courage, fearful of the possible outcomes, but Jaemin just sends him a small smile before looking down at his drink again.
The same drink he’s left untouched for a while now.
The younger rests his elbow on the table, trying to appear nonchalant, like he wasn’t dragged into this moments prior. “I don’t know if you still want to talk to her or not, but Y/N’s here.”
Jaemin pauses. The swirling of his drink stops. He feels like the whole world has.
Jisung becomes uneasy. “You’ve, uh, always talked about wanting closure with her. Maybe tonight is the night you finally get that.”
He’s about to continue when Jaemin curtly nods, not saying anything else but a “thanks, Jisung,” before getting lost in the crowd to find you.
Jisung’s left alone like a deer caught in headlights but lets out a small “phew”, then runs off to tell the guys everything.
After a few minutes, Jaemin catches a glimpse of you amidst the crowd. He squeezes through, throwing around polite excuse me"s as he passes by. And just like that, you’re in front of him again.
And you’re looking better than ever. Dressed in a short, dark red dress that fits and accentuates your body perfectly. You’re wearing that pretty smile that he’s missed so much—the one that has the power to make others happy when seeing it—except he’s not the reason why you’re smiling.
His smile drops when he sees the culprit behind your happiness. A man. A tall, brody guy, dressed in the classic suit and tie. But before he can stop himself, he’s walking up and tapping you on the shoulder.
You turn around, and it feels like your world has stopped, just like his. “Hey.”
“Hi.”
Your boyfriend, Jun, being the saint he is, senses your growing discomfort and takes it as a sign to cut in. “Hey, man. I’m Jun, Y/N’s boyfriend.”
Jun wraps his right arm around your waist, keeping you close—almost possessively, but for the most part, he seems oblivious to the reason behind the tension—Jaemin takes note of that. Jun offers his left hand for Jaemin to shake, which he does.
“Jaemin.”
“It’s an honor to meet you. I'm a huge fan of your music. You're incredibly talented.”
“Thank you; that means a lot.” Jaemin gives a small smile; it’s a small one, but genuine. But as nice as your boyfriend was, and Jaemin's bitter when he admits that, he really couldn't give two shits about him right now. “Anyway, I know this is sudden, but can I talk to Y/N for a second?”
Taken aback by Jaemin’s request, Jun stutters, “Y-Yeah, of course.” Before you leave, you reassure him that you’ll be back soon.
Jaemin takes you to a random table away from the crowd and unwanted ears. He motions for you to sit down, and you do.
When passing you to sit down as well, he tries his best to ignore how you're wearing your favorite perfume, that slowly became his too.
He sits opposite you, and you sit in silence for a couple of moments. The sounds of the party are background noise at this point.
Jaemin breaks the ice first, “You didn't tell him?”
He doesn't elaborate, and you don't ask him to. You knew what he was talking about; he knew that you did.
“What's there to tell? I'm happy, and there's no need to bring up past relationships.”
It was obvious your words struck a nerve in the blue-haired man sitting across from you. He scoffs, not fully convinced, but decides not to push it. “Right. Well, if you’re happy, then I’m happy.”
“Hm. Thank you.” You both avoid eye contact. “I see the guys haven’t changed.” You look over your shoulder, leading Jaemin to do the same. It’s quiet between you two as you watch the rest of the Dream members on the dance floor, who are currently hyping up Jisung and Mark dancing to Usher’s Yeah!
Jaemin only chuckles in response, mainly because he doesn’t know what else to say, but he supposes his group mates are funny. It’s weird. He thought he was prepared for this moment, for you to be in front of him again and to finally tell you everything that was on his mind. But now that you are, his mind is completely blank.
You face him again, your hand moving to play with the charm of your necklace to ease your nerves. Another habit Jaemin memorized.
You open your mouth to say something, but Jaemin goes first.
“I’m sorry.” When you don’t respond, he continues, “I’m sorry I didn’t fight hard enough for us—for you—I thought I was doing the right thing by letting you go. I didn’t want to give up on you so quickly like I did, but I was scared. I was only thinking about myself throughout that whole argument but didn’t realize it until you were already at my door. I should’ve listened to you instead of immediately giving up, and I’m sorry.”
He’s surprised you haven’t said anything yet—no insult, no prepared remark, no interruption. He views it as a good thing and keeps pouring out his feelings, the feelings he’s held in for so long.
“I’m not saying this to make you feel bad or come back to me, nothing like that. I just thought we both deserved closure since we were part of each other’s lives for so long, you know? I was surprised to see that you’ve already moved on, but I think I needed it.”
Now it’s your turn to speak up: “I’m sorry too.” Jaemin looks at you, surprised. The moment where you both finally apologize to each other has finally come, and it’s not a dream this time.
“When I suggested breaking up, I shouldn’t have expected you to read my mind. It was selfish and childish of me. You were just as hurt as I was, and we said some stupid things that night. But I couldn’t keep up with it anymore. The truth is, your life, Jaemin,” You feel like you’re going to break down again, and him staying quiet and actually listening to you makes it harder. “I know you love what you do, and I love that you’re passionate about it. It was one of the many things that made it so easy to fall in love with you. But slowly, it became suffocating for me. I couldn’t be seen with you in public places; I had to pretend to be a staff member every time I joined you on tour. We were dating, but we had to act like we weren’t. It was tiring.”
Jaemin nods, fully taking in your words. “I realized that I didn’t love you anymore, Jaemin. But that night, I was hoping you could change my mind.”
Oh.
He wasn’t expecting that.
“But despite that, I still want to thank you for blessing me with four incredible years. You will and always will be the reason why I believe in true love, because that’s what dating you felt like. And I’m wishing you and the guys nothing but happiness.”
“Thank you. You too. And again, I’m so incredibly sorry, Y/N.”
You smile, and this is the first time since your breakup that Jaemin sees tears forming in your eyes. “Please don’t torture yourself over me, or this, not again. Try to forgive yourself, for me?”
In response to your quivered words, Jaemin gives you a tight-lipped smile. “I’ll try my best.”
“Good.”
Jaemin returns you to Jun shortly after, giving a curt, “Take care of her,” and bless the poor man’s heart, your boyfriend was left confused at his words. Leaving you alone, Jaemin goes back to the guys, who have now moved to the open bar, awaiting the alcoholic beverages they ordered.
They welcome him with drunken excitement and smiles, and Jaemin laughs in delight. Mark, who’s sobered up the most, puts an arm around his neck, and Jaemin’s glad most of the guys are too wasted to hear the former ask, “So, how’d it go? All good?”
Jaemin takes one last look at the dance floor. He finds you smiling. And it only makes him smile. No more sadness. No heartache. No lies behind his eyes. Just the relief in his chest telling him that he can finally let you go.
𝜗𝜚 welcome to the dream fraternity! seven dreamy boys, seven absolutely cheesy love stories where you’re the main character! warning: you might hate yourself during the process…but what’s love without a little chaos?
contains 18+ content
I. STUPID CUPID
pairing: fuckboy! na jaemin x secret identity! reader
synopsis -> mr. cupid — anonymous radio host. running the #1 most popular radio show on campus. famous for his thoughtful advice and classified as a true hopeless romantic. na jaemin — photography major, the sweet fuck-boy. described to be affectionate and gentle…but don’t fall for his tactics! once he’s done with you, he’s gone with the wind. your best friend unfortunately happened to be on the receiving end of this. what happens when you find out that the anonymous radio host is none other than na jaemin himself? sweet revenge.
𝜗𝜚
II. FLYING KISS
pairing: childhood best friend! lee jeno x nerd! reader
synopsis -> you and lee jeno go way back, as in diapers and all that. before he was known as the chill fuckboy, he was an all time nerd! just like you! tired of being a loser who can’t even get the guy you wanted, you badly needed tips and a makeover. who’s better to ask for help than your childhood best friend, who has proven that a nerd can be sexy?
𝜗𝜚
III. SORRY, HEART
pairing: friends with benefits! mark lee x tutor! reader
synopsis -> sex helps him focus. focus he needs for your tutoring sessions. it was a win-win for mark lee when you proposed to add a stress-relief session to the schedule. the favorite fuckboy and the girl who doesn’t believe in love equals the ultimate friends with benefits set-up. it’s the perfect dream team! but uh oh…it seems like mark has been shot by cupid’s arrow. will mark survive all of your attempts at pushing him away?
𝜗𝜚
IV. IRREPLACEABLE
pairing: enemy! lee haechan x ex bff! reader
synopsis -> lee haechan, theatre major, absolutely hated your guts. you felt the same exact way. the only girl in this whole university that hasn’t fallen for the most popular fuckboy’s charms. which is why it sucks that you have both landed the main roles in the theater’s upcoming play, romeo and juliet. what was that saying about love and hate being a thin line?
𝜗𝜚
V. MY FIRST AND LAST
pairing: bff! zhong chenle x fake gf! reader
synopsis -> zhong chenle, the lowkey fuckboy, captain of the basketball team, doesn’t believe in romance. flowers? chocolates? handwritten letters? ew. too cheesy. but he can’t seem to shake this crazy girl off of him so he goes to you, his best friend, cheerleading captain, for help. will you be his fake girlfriend? sure. the catch? it has to be believable so for the first time in his life he buys the flowers and the chocolate and writes the handwritten letters.
𝜗𝜚
VI. BREATHING
pairing: fuckboy! jisung x convenient gf! reader
synopsis -> park jisung has sworn off love after being cheated on. he’s been doing a really great job breaking hearts and not looking back. the boys are worried that they’ve taken fuckboy101 too seriously and have now created the ultimate fuckboy. this conversation was heard by your group of friends who never backs away from a challenge. and so the bets are on: get the ultimate fuckboy to fall in love with you and you’ll get $125 from each friend. deal?
𝜗𝜚
VII. I HATE FRUITS
pairing: fake bf! renjun x best friend’s gf! reader
synopsis -> huang renjun, the fuckboy by association, couldn’t care less about romantic relationships. he’s perfectly fine with being single — prefers it, actually. when he accidentally drops a box on your head and you wake up with temporary amnesia, he’s forced to finally take care of a person other than his own self. what’s worse? you think he’s your boyfriend.
authors note: this is a work of fiction only and should not be taken seriously. the way the dream boys are portrayed in these stories are obviously not a representation of who they are in real life. thank you and have fun reading!
⏦ﾟ♡︎ likes, reblogs and comments are not required but is very appreciated ⏦ﾟ♡︎
if you enjoyed this series and would like to show extra love and support, my ko-fi is open <3
na jaemin x fem!reader
꒰ summary ꒱ they say the opposite of love is indifference.
꒰ a/n ꒱ merry christmas, loves!!! i'm late but it's fine, it's the thought that counts!! unfortunately, haechan wasn't under my tree this year (i don even have a tree). ANYWAYS, this little fic is just a test, but i hope u like it <3
꒰ cw ꒱ guys, i think this is a little angst 😓.
The moment your eyes fluttered open, your hand instinctively reached out to the other side of the bed, only to find it cold and empty. The sheets were still ruffled, a faint trace of warmth lingering where Jaemin had slept. But he wasn’t there.
You stared at the unoccupied space, a familiar ache settling deep in your chest. You couldn’t remember exactly when this started, but it had now become a routine. Falling asleep without hearing a soft good night and waking up to an empty bed.
It hadn’t always been this way. Cold mornings used to be one of the warmest, brightest moments of your day. You’d wake up to strong arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer, while soft, loving kisses were scattered across your face like gentle whispers of affection.
Now, those moments felt like fragments of a distant memory, slipping further away with each passing day.
You sat up in bed, mustering all the courage you could to face the day. It took longer than you cared to admit to drag yourself into the bathroom and brush your teeth. As you stood there, your mind ran through all the possible conversations you could have with him, rehearsing lines, convincing yourself that today would be different.
Walking into the kitchen, you followed the faint scent of coffee, hoping to find him there. The house was silent. He was already gone. The only sign of him was a single mug sitting on the table, filled with hot chocolate. It hadn’t been long since he left, steam still curled gently from the surface.
Picking up the mug, you wrapped your hands around it, letting its warmth seep into your fingers. You took a sip, the familiar sweetness easing some of the heaviness in your chest. He didn’t have to wake up early, didn’t have to leave like this, he didn't have to leave without saying a word, but knowing he took a moment to make this for you… it made the loneliness feel just a little more bearable.
It might sound silly, but little gestures like this had started to mean the world to you ever since Jaemin began acting this way. You didn’t know if it was something you had done or said, but it felt… off.
It had been a while since you first noticed the shift, and you still couldn’t understand what was happening—to him, to you, to both of you.
It all started with something simple, like the first time he didn’t wait for you to have dinner together. It was fine, sometimes things like that happen. Then came a few small arguments, like how he seemed more interested in his phone than talking to you, even about something as simple as his or your day.
After that, it escalated to him coming home late without clear explanations. Then there were the moments he turned his face away when you tried to kiss him, pretending he was just looking at something else. Slowly, he was staying up late, going to bed only after you had already fallen asleep, or he’d fall asleep on the couch while watching TV, only to leave early the next morning without even saying good morning. It was as if he was deliberately avoiding you.
You tried to talk to him about it once, asking if something was wrong, but he simply said everything was fine. And for a while, you believed him. He went back to being his usual self. Almost.
He still stayed up late, and the hugs and cuddles were gone, but at least he was sleeping next to you every night. He no longer turned his face away when you tried to kiss him, though he didn’t close his eyes anymore, his gaze always seemed to drift toward something he found more interesting. He woke up earlier than he needed to and left in a hurry, but at least he still made you your favorite hot chocolate, because he knows you don't like coffee.
You sighed as you stared at your phone screen, the messaging app open to your conversation with him. You had sent a simple "good morning" and thanked him for the drink, ending it with a heart emoji. Anxiously, you waited for his reply, only to be met with a curt "dw."
Your shoulders slumped. It was fine. He was probably busy, you shouldn’t be bothering him.
Today was your day off, and it couldn’t have come at a better time. You had been looking forward to this moment since all of this began. Tonight, you’d try to mend whatever was wrong. A nice dinner with all his favorite dishes and a bottle of good wine while watching his favorite movies could be start.
You spent the whole morning overthinking what to wear. A fancy dress? No, that would be too much for a dinner at home. Maybe something casual and comfy instead. Should you put on makeup? Yes, but something simple would be best. What about your hair? Maybe just a quick touch-up would do the trick.
In the afternoon, you focused on preparing the dinner, losing track of time. You barely noticed how soon he would be home. A quick change into your outfit was just enough for you to hear the front door open, and you rushed to welcome him.
“Hi, love,” you greeted him with a smile, pressing a kiss to his cheek.
"Hey, you're home early," he said casually, removing his shoes and barely glancing at you.
It's fine, you told yourself. He just got home, and he’s probably tired. Don’t let this discourage you.
"Yes, I didn’t have work today," you said, helping him with his jacket. "That’s why I made a special dinner for us," your voice carrying a hint of excitement as you reached for his hand and intertwined your fingers.
“Mmh, is there any special occasion?” he asked, raising an eyebrow as you led him to the dining room. “It smells good.”
A smile spread across your face at the compliment, warmth filling your chest in a way that made everything feel a little better.
"Not really, I just felt like doing something nice," you shrugged, sitting down across from him. The effort you'd put into the meal was evident from how carefully you'd set the table, but he didn’t seem to notice. Or if he did, he didn’t say anything. “I hope you like it.”
“I will, thank you,” he said, barely looking up from his plate as he took a bite.
The knot in your stomach tightened. The familiar, uncomfortable silence settled between you, the clinking of cutlery the only sound. It felt like you were strangers, maybe even less than that. You had hoped tonight would be different.
“So,” you said, trying to break the silence. “How was your day?”
“The same as usual,” he replied with a shrug, his eyes still fixed on his food. His tone suggested that talking to you felt like a chore. “What about you?”
You hesitated for a moment, trying to gauge his mood, but decided to answer anyway, even if it felt forced.
“It was good,” you said, keeping your voice light. “As I said, I had the day off, so I spent it getting everything ready for tonight.”
He nodded absentmindedly, a small hum coming from him. The lack of enthusiasm stung more than you expected, but you tried not to let it show.
“So, what’s been keeping you so busy lately?” you asked, attempting to steer the conversation in a way that might make him open up.
He looked up briefly, his eyes flicking to you before returning to his plate. “Work,” he answered flatly. “It’s been a lot.”
You nodded, unsure how to respond. The air between you felt heavy, like there was something unspoken, but neither of you was willing to address it.
And the conversation—if you could even call it that—ended there. Your only consolation was the subtle expressions of satisfaction he made as he ate your food.
It’s okay, you told yourself. Maybe the movie would lift his mood a bit more.
“Oh, Jaemin, wait,” you called out when you saw him about to leave the kitchen, likely heading to the bedroom after doing the dishes. He looked at you, head slightly tilted, waiting for what you had to say. “I was thinking… maybe we could watch a movie together? Only if you want to, of course.”
You tried to hide the expectant look in your eyes, but Jaemin could tell. He’d known you long enough to notice the small details. He paused for a moment before responding.
“Okay, that’s fine,” he said, his voice lacking enthusiasm, but not displeased either. He just… didn’t care.
But you couldn’t stop your heart from swelling with happiness as you both sat down beside each other on the couch, glasses of wine in hand, watching the scenes on the screen. You honestly didn’t like the movie, but it was your lover’s favorite, so you learned to enjoy it because it always made him happy.
The dinner might not have gone as you had hoped, but he was still willing to spend some time with you.
You chuckled lightly at one of the movie scenes, one Jaemin always found funny—more than you—and it never failed to make him laugh. Or, at least, it never used to.
You turned your head, curious as to why he was silent. Your heart broke a little more when you saw him, face lit by the glow of his phone screen, scrolling absentmindedly. He wasn’t really there with you. Not truly.
You swallowed the lump in your throat, feeling the weight of the moment press down on your chest. The soft clink of his wine glass against the coffee table seemed to echo in the otherwise quiet room, and suddenly, you felt very alone, even though he was right next to you.
You pressed the pause button on the remote to stop the movie.
“Jaemin,” you called softly, trying to keep your voice steady.
“Hm?” he responded, not looking up from his phone.
“Can you please look at me?”
He did as you asked and looked up at you, a slight expression of confusion on his face. “What is it?” Even his voice sounded distant.
You bit your lower lip, unable to hold back any longer. This growing feeling inside you, eating you up, had to be addressed. You needed to understand.
“What’s happening?” you finally breathed out.
“What do you mean?” He lowered his phone to give you his full attention.
“You know what I mean,” you replied, feeling your heart tighten. “All of this… what is happening to us? Did I do something wrong? Did I upset you? Did I make you mad?”
His eyes scanned the room, almost as if he were searching for something to say. “No, you didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Then what’s going on?” You could feel your frustration rising at his lack of clarity.
He gave you a confused look, brows furrowed. “There’s really nothing wrong? I don’t know what you want me to say.”
“I just… I don’t understand,” you continued, your voice shaking slightly. “It feels like you’re pulling away from me. Like, every day, I’m losing you a little more,” the words felt heavy as they left your mouth. “I’ve been trying to reach out, to make things right, but it’s like you’re not even trying. You don’t even seem to care anymore.” You paused, your chest tightening as your eyes burned. “Don’t you see what’s happening?”
Jaemin’s gaze dropped for a moment, his expression unreadable. “It’s not like everything is wrong. We’re fine,” the lack of urgency in his tone stung your heart. “You’re not losing me. I’m still here, aren’t I? I’m here, you’re here. What more is there?”
“No, Jaemin, I don’t want to be… just here. I don’t know when I stopped being enough for you, but I can’t keep pretending that everything is fine.”
He sighed softly, the silence that followed hanging heavy in the air as you felt the warmth of your tears tracing down your cheeks. Jaemin moved closer on the couch, his movements slow and almost mechanical, before pulling you into a hug. You foolishly responded, burying your face in his neck, trying to find comfort in the familiar, despite the ache in your chest.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, his hand gently rubbing your back in slow circles, as though it could make the tears stop. "We're going to fix this, okay?"
Was there still love to fix, or was it just a fear of letting go? You loved him too much to face the truth.
You tried so hard to make things work, but in the process, he had already checked out, not out of malice, but simply because he didn’t feel the need to put any more effort in.
