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.
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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?
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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?
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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?
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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.
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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?
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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
in the depths of the city’s hidden fight scene, seven boys rise as kings of the underground. their fists speak louder than their fears, and their hearts get them into more trouble than their enemies ever could. step inside the circle if you dare, because every punch has a story, and every champion has a girl worth bleeding for. pick your fighter, keep your secrets, and whatever you do… don’t look away.
i. rookie fighter [in progress]
synopsis ⌲ mark lee is an up-and-coming boxer with a strict rule: no distractions before a fight. but when you slip past the ropes in hopes to finish an already decided match, you realize a tad too late that you're now in a ring… with him. when unwanted eyes begin to get a glimpse of the girl who is slowing him down, you step back into the ring, this time not to stop a fight, but to knowingly fight him.
ii. maze of alleys [in progress]
synopsis ⌲ you’re wandering through the city, trying to track down the speakeasy your friend swore was the best spot in town. instead, you push open the wrong door, and the sharp smell of iron and the roar of a cheering crowd hits you all at once. your eyes lock on the center of the room… and is that huang renjun? don't let his doll like face fool you! because he grew up fighting - first on the streets, then in the ring.
iii. probability and risk [in progress]
synopsis ⌲ on the rise, cocky, and the face of every white collar fighter who avoids his gaze—fight club's favorite prodigy. when you watch two men fight at the gym, you don't notice how loudly you declare that based on his patterns, the boy with the blonde hair has a 73% chance of losing the upcoming round. now lee jeno is making his way to you, demanding how the hell you're breaking down his career in numbers.
iv. please no questions [in progress]
synopsis ⌲ no celebration, no locker-room talk, no attachments. he's the underground fighter with a reputation for vanishing the second the match ends. no one knows where he goes, and he likes it that way. you're the night-shift student worker at the campus library, the only place open late enough for lee haechan to slip in unnoticed. you're not supposed to ask questions; and he’s not supposed to answer them. but one night, when he collapses between the shelves, you become the only person he physically can’t push away.
v. i'll fix it myself [in progress]
synopsis ⌲ na jaemin is an underground boxer with a reputation for physically never going down. one night you find him at a campus party, bloodied and bruised from a fight no one else knows about. he’s tried to patch himself up, but his self-stitching is messy and dangerous. hesitant at first, you carefully redo his wounds, and for the first time, he lets someone touch him gently, and you realize he’s the first patient whose blood doesn't make you flinch when you see it.
vi. guinea pig [in progress]
synopsis ⌲ the undergrounds championship fighter with a spotless record- zhong chenle is the daredevil that knows no limits. you're just someone who is never satisfied with the taste of your creations and can't seem to pinpoint what's missing. you're worlds collide—literally—when he crashes his body into you one night trying to outrun an officer. he hates people, hates fussing, hates slowing down, but something about the flour on your hands and the way you don't treat him like a criminal throws him off balance.
vii. obsession [completed]
synopsis ⌲ park jisung is the nation’s (secret) newest boxing obsession. hushed whispers, feared stares and his forgotten bloodied bandages left in the ring after every match. you're the girl living in the apartment next door because you can barely afford anything better while finishing your degree, and you can't help but notice the boy who comes home bloody and bruised every night. so what do you do? you follow him.
a/n: aaa first series (and first fic that im posting), im excited to share this considering how stoked i am with the comeback. i've listened to the entire album and tricky alone was going platinum in my room. i hope those who do end up reading this, you guys enjoy and do let me know what u think!!
im going to do my best to be uploading this on a weekly basis starting next week, so this series list will be updating as i write. if theres a title that you guys want to be tagged for specifically, lmk! enjoy! ᕦ( ◡̀﹏◡́)ᕤ
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.
if life is plastic (and therefore, nonbiodegradable), then it’s so not fantastic. honestly, who came up with that? regina george really should’ve googled about the new plastics economy.
or alternatively, pretty girls rule the world, and you find out that he’s (not) all that.
pairing :: na jaemin x reader
genre :: comedy, fluff, angst ⋮ makeover + college au
word count :: 24,618 words
warnings :: body issues, body image, weight mentions, insecurities, beauty is a social construct, [spoiler] did something bad, people being literal scum, so much gaslighting that you can start a wildfire and j*ke gyll*nh*al should take notes, “if a man talks shit then i owe him nothing”
playlist :: pretty boys (romi) ⋆ you can’t sit with us (sunmi) ⋆ i just wanna know (katherine li) ⋆ lie to girls (sabrina carpenter) ⋆ look what you made me do (taylor swift) ⋆ leftover feelings (regina song) ⋆ number one girl (rosé) + extended playlist here.
author’s note :: she’s all that is one of my most favorite rom coms ever, but i’ve always been ///: at the whole makeover idea and decided to write my own version !! the idols mentioned in this fic are just characters, and how i portray them in this fic do not reflect how i actually view them or their irl personas. as always, much love to miss lana and miss moon for being my biggest cheerleaders ᥫ᭡
↳ part of the 𝔯𝔢𝔭𝔲𝔱𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫 collaboration series.
i. hiya, barbie! hi, ken!
Na Jaemin does not know that you exist.
Good looking, charismatic, and popular — it’s his world, and you’re just living in it. Or something like that. You’re decently smart, somewhat funny, and not pretty enough to stand out, but not exactly hideous according to societal standards (source: those beauty quizzes in Seventeen magazine that you used to be obsessed with when you were thirteen and in desperate need of flirting tips). If he was the main lead, you’d probably be Extra #6, maybe Extra #2 on a good day.
By your calculations, the two of you should never cross paths, like two parallel lines. Wait, scratch that, you would probably never be aligned with anything that has to do with this guy. You saw him standing outside of the door of your shared accounting classroom during your fall semester, and he spent twenty five minutes editing his picture for Instagram and ended up late for the lecture. And he probably already spent even more time selecting the final photo to edit before you arrived to class and noticed him. Absolute idiot. Absolute handsome idiot, but idiot nonetheless. A grade A himbo with a grade C in financial accounting.
Okay, so scrap the parallel lines theory, maybe skew lines are a better way of explaining it. Yeah, that seems about right, the two of you are from completely different dimensions, never meant to interact or run parallel with each other. And once again, by this logic, your paths should never cross.
“Y/N!”
You stand corrected.
Na Jaemin does know that you exist.
You suddenly remember that there was that one small group presentation in that very same aforementioned accounting class, and you were assigned to the same group as Jaemin. Armed with this rediscovered memory, you are going to revise your earlier response and say that the correct descriptor for your relationship is perpendicular lines. That sounds right. Final answer. You’re locking it in.
Your paths should have only intersected once, the two of you should be going in different directions, and even though you’re in another class with him again for spring semester this year (since all freshmen with a business major has to take the same Gen. Ed. classes), not once have the two of you had a proper conversation with each other (He asked you to pass a note one time, but that barely counts). Jaemin should have forgotten you by now, and you should be continuing on with your side character life that you’re very much content with.
So then why on earth is he shouting your name like you’re old friends and causing what feels like every person within a one mile radius to stare at you?
He’s unknowingly giving you your main character moment, and you very quickly realize that you do not feel like the Y/N in any one of those Gojo fanfics you read religiously at three in the morning when you should really be studying or sleeping.
Instead, you feel like a bug watching its impending doom as a Doc Marten boot starts to descend at an alarming speed and you can’t even try to scuttle out of the way to avoid it. Frozen in your spot, you can only watch as your university’s it boy skids to a stop in front of you after running across the grass and flashing you his million dollar smile. “Hey, Y/N, right? We have ECON 13 together.”
Starstruck, your mind to mouth filter is completely shot, and all you manage to let out is a very uncool “Uh huh.”
He laughs a little breathlessly, and you feel like all the oxygen has been knocked out of your lungs, too. Sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck, Jaemin tilts his head to the side slightly, the sunlight catching his profile perfectly, and your breath hitches in your throat once more.
“I know this is gonna sound really, uh, forward since we barely know each other and all, but—”
You’re barely listening to him, your heart pounding in your chest and the blood rushing to your ears. It’s pretty embarrassing to see how a mere stranger with a pretty face can affect you this much. You really thought you had a much stronger willpower than this, but it’s so goddamn unfair how this boy standing in front of you has the most perfectly sculpted face you’ve ever seen. Plus, his eyelashes? Why the hell do boys always get the prettiest, thickest, and darkest lashes?
Meanwhile, you’re out here struggling to force your perpetually straight, stubby lashes into a curl that ends up lasting only a couple hours, even when you use waterproof mascara. You still end up with flat lashes and you have to feverishly scrub your eyes to remove the blasted makeup and lose a few cherished lashes in the process.
“—with me?” Jaemin finishes, and you belatedly realize that you did not catch a single word that he said, too caught up in your inner monologue and too busy ogling. However, your heart flutters in your chest when you catch the last part of his question. Not to be too presumptuous, but it sounds like he’s asking you out. Why else would anyone randomly stop you like this and talk to you for this long? You’re positively giddy at this revelation. This is your moment, the one you’ve been waiting for your whole life, like Rapunzel waiting in her tower for the one to come and save her from her horribly mundane, repetitive life.
“Oh! Um… yes?” It’s a 50/50 chance between yes or no, and you hope that’s the correct answer he’s looking for.
Jaemin’s face immediately brightens, and he turns his smile up another kilowatt, nearly blinding you. You grin back at him, squinting a little. This must be how Icarus felt when he flew towards the sun.
“Oh shit, really? You’re really agreeing to tutor me? Hyuck—you know, our class’s peer TA—said I was a hopeless cause, and I would need way more one on one lessons outside of his hours and all that if I wanted to pass. And yeah, I know I could probably bitch at him until he caves since we’re kind of friends, but he would also hold this over my head, but he said you had the highest score on last week’s practice midterm, so I thought, ‘hey, why not shoot my shot?’” He directs another smile your way, pausing for a quick breath. Your mind is racing a mile a minute, and his smile isn’t helping whatsoever as your heart decides to join in this race as well until it sinks when you finally process his words.
“Wait, Donghyuck said that about me?” you manage to get out, a little dazed, and Jaemin confirms before eagerly continuing on with his chatter, but all you can do is stupidly nod as the word “TUTOR” spins around and around in your mind in bold, italicized, underlined mocking red letters in Times New Roman font, size 12, double spaced, MLA format, the whole shebang.
Of course, he only wants a tutor. What made you think that a boy like him would look twice at a girl like you? The only other time a guy has ever expressed interest in you is to share homework answers for Calculus back in 10th grade (For the record, all of his answers were completely wrong, but Sungchan was a cute distraction. Actually, the two of you became very good friends once you very quickly got over the fact that you were firmly placed in the friendzone. He’s even dating one of your best friends now).
“Anyways, can I have your number? I can text you to match our schedules and figure out the times to meet up for the next couple of weeks before our next midterm.” You remain wide eyed, gazing at him like a deer caught in the headlights and still attempting to fully understand everything that has just happened.
Jaemin looks at you expectantly, his hand outstretched towards you with his phone tucked between his fingers. The device dangles there for an additional ten seconds that probably isn’t socially acceptable. Grab the phone, you scream at yourself silently, but your body doesn’t seem to want to cooperate. You blink slowly once. Then twice.
“Or, I can just… uh, type in your number if you tell me,” Jaemin says awkwardly, his smile wilting slightly as he shifts from one foot to the other under your unwavering gaze and slowly retracting his hand. Finally, you come to your senses as you quickly spring into action and snatch the phone from him, tapping in your digits and adding in your name and shared class before saving your contact.
“Here,” you mutter, returning his phone, and he gives you a relieved grin. You clutch onto the strap of your backpack a little tighter, cursing the way your heart skips a beat. “I should be free most weekday afternoons since I prefer to take all morning classes, but let me know when you’re free and we can work something out.”
“Awesome! Thank you so much, Y/N, you’re a life saver.” Jaemin beams at you, touching your shoulder briefly and you feel that very same place on your body erupt in flames as your face heats up in a similar manner. “I’ll text you tonight, yeah?”
You can only numbly nod, subconsciously raising your hand and waving at him, and Jaemin chuckles, flashing his pearly whites at you again, before he saunters off and blends into a group of other equally pretty and popular students, a few of whom look over at you with vague interest before turning their attention back to the boy who just joined them.
What have you gotten yourself into?
ii. you want to go for a ride?
“I’m getting sus vibes from him.”
Flicking her long dark hair over her shoulder, Lana takes a long sip of her wintermelon milk tea with honey pearls, a spitting image of that one infamous Starbucks meme of your school’s alumni, Hyungwon (His picture can still be found floating through discord chats, and you’re ninety percent sure your school used it in one of their recruitment brochures at one point). She’s sprawled out on the beanbag in the corner of your shared apartment’s living room, her HP laptop covered in sailor moon stickers balanced across her thighs (She swears HP is the best laptop brand, but you don’t trust electronics advice from anyone who can’t even use a toaster properly).
“Have you even spoken to Jaemin? How exactly are you getting sus vibes from him?” Moon jumps in, glancing over the top of her MacBook as she takes a quick break from her latest coding project regarding polynomials, matrices, and a bunch of other math terminology you rather not think about. You left all that arithmetic jargon back in high school after you got a 5 on both AP calculus exams and got to skip all required math classes for your accounting major (Sungchan wasn’t so lucky).
“He’s a fratboy finance major.” Lana rolls her eyes.
“Point taken, but weren’t you into that senior, Jaehyun? He’s one of them. You called him your soulmate,” you interject, and she splutters for a few seconds before putting her hand up in protest.
“Listen, I was going through a perpetual mental breakdown at the beginning of this semester. It doesn’t count. You try being a pharmacy major. Thank god I switched out to English. My mental state was compromised, and I wasn’t thinking straight.”
“What do you mean not thinking straight? Lana, you literally chose the straightest, most heterosexual man out there.” Moon jibes, closing her laptop now with an air of conceding defeat. You have to give her props for trying to work on some assignments, but you already knew no one was going to get any work done tonight. It’s a Thursday night anyway, which means you have until Tuesday to get all the homework assigned today done. You can always work on them on Monday night and inevitably curse yourself for not getting it done earlier when you end up pulling an all nighter and show up to your 8 a.m. international marketing tactics class with raccoon eyes.
“This is bullying, and we are on an anti-bullying campus,” Lana complains, giving the two of you the stink eye before leaning over and lightly shoving the snoozing boy sprawled across the floor next to her. “Wake up, Yang. Moon and Y/N gang up on me when you’re not awake to absorb all our gentle bullying.”
The boy in question sits upright, bleary eyes and the drying ink from his notes now decorating his cheek, a lasting reminder of the makeshift pillow for his impromptu nap. Yawning, he stretches his arms, rubbing his face and making an even bigger mess of smears. “What’d I miss?”
“We were just discussing Lana‘s tragic crush on Jaehyun last year,” you say, and she makes a strangled noise next to you. “Were you up late sewing again?”
“Yes,” Yangyang grumbles, “You would think Kaneki would be so easy to cosplay since he wears all black, but the mask is taking forever to make.”
“Can’t one of your sugar daddies buy one for you?”
“What sugar daddies? If I had one, I wouldn’t be stuck in here trying to balance equations,” he moans, crumpling up another sheet filled up with scribbles and his latest attempts at answering the second to last problem for organic chemistry.
“My bad, I thought you would have some from your cosplay account.” Moon shrugs, rummaging through her large soccer mom purse for a snack and triumphantly pulling out a box of green tea Hello Pandas. “You have like 100k followers on there.”
“My audience demographic is weebs.” Yangyang deadpans. “How many weebs do you know who are rich enough to send five thousand dollars every week to a struggling college student?”
“Wait, we’re going off topic right now. What do you know about Jaemin, Yang?” Lana cuts in, and Moon nods in agreement (You try not to look too interested, but fail miserably, no doubt).
“Jaemin Na? I’ve never talked to him personally, but there’s always stories about him and his friends. Jeno is on the baseball team and notorious for his body count. He’s the one that takes up like 30% of our university’s anonymous confessions Twitter account. This is his insta, but he’s not really active on social media.” Yangyang passes his phone around for the three of you to see Jeno’s Instagram. There’s a whopping total of fourteen posts, and every picture of him with someone of the opposite sex features a different girl. Instant red flag.
“Lia is pretty big on Tik Tok,” Yangyang continues, grabbing his phone to pull up her account to show all of you. “She’s pretty and is actually really good at singing, but she's basically trying to be the next Addison Rae. Jimin models, and she’s going by Karina nowadays. I heard she tried to trademark that name or something. She posts dancing Tik Toks. She and Yeonjun collab a lot. He walks for New York fashion week and has a Tik Tok for dancing, too. I’m like 70% sure they’re only dating to boost their views. Somi is the most popular one out of them. She’s the blonde one. She’s pretty talented and I heard she signed onto the same company as the Blackpink House. She’s even done a makeup video with Vogue recently.”
“And Jaemin has a pretty large social following. He takes decent pictures, and that’s what he insists his insta is for, but let’s be real, the majority of his followers are there for his face. You should see his TikTok. He literally just recorded himself looking at the camera and put some generic caption, and he racked up like seven hundred thousand likes,” Yangyang grumbles, pulling up his account to show you all the video in question. “Like literally, what the hell is this? I have to put in so many hours making my outfits and editing my videos and all he does is smile and paste ‘Don’t have a valentine again… hope this will change soon’ on top, and the preteens are foaming at the mouth.”
“Wow, jumpscare warning next time you show me him please.” Lana wrinkles her nose at the repeating offensive clip. Yangyang merely shoves his phone even closer to her in response, and she flips him off.
“Hey, you’re the one who asked about him. Why are you suddenly interested in him? Is this your Jaehyun 2.0 phase starting up?” Yangyang grins, and Lana flicks his forehead in retaliation.
“Shut up, when are you guys gonna let that die? Besides, it’s Y/N who’s interested, not me,” Lana retorts, and immediately, the spotlight is back on you. You cough awkwardly, feeling a bit uncomfortable with all the attention.
“Uh, he just asked if I would tutor him…”
“And you said yes?” Yangyang sounds scandalized and utterly betrayed. “Why would you willingly fraternize with the enemy like that?”
“What enemy? I didn’t even know he knew I existed until this very recent development occurred.”
“Influencers like him are instant enemies to me, and as my friend, he’s your enemy by association. I can't believe you’re helping the competition,” Yangyang sniffs.
You don’t have the guts to tell them all that the only reason you accepted his tutor proposal is because you got ahead of yourself and despite all the odds and signs, thought Jaemin was asking you out. You know your friends won’t make fun of you (too badly), but that is completely humiliating, and you will be taking that to the grave.
“It’s just tutoring, don’t be so dramatic,” you scoff, making a face at him. “He texted me yesterday, and we’re meeting up at the library later today, and I reserved a private study room for two hours.”
“Oooh, so it’s a study date?” Moon teases, and your cheeks betray you with the amount of heat now emanating off of them.
“Shut up, it’s literally just tutoring. We’re going over supply and demand curves.”
“No, back up, he texted you yesterday and you didn’t tell us about him until today?” Lana interjects, holding up her hand and putting on a faux offended expression. “What kind of friend are you? We’re supposed to tell each other every nitty gritty detail about our love lives! Like Sungchan texts Moon good morning texts at eight in the morning, and by 8:30 a.m., we’re already getting a play by play about it in the group chat!”
Moon turns pink and opens her mouth before deciding against it and quietly shuts it. Yangyang silently laughs next to Lana, his shoulders shaking (You decide that you shouldn’t tell them Jaemin actually asked you in person to tutor him three days ago or else, Lana will chew you out even more).
You protest, flailing your arms around slightly in exasperation. “There’s literally zero development in my love life! I have nothing going on in it, and I can guarantee you that he does not see me in that light whatsoever.”
“Yeah, okay, sure.” Lana looks wholly unconvinced, and your two friends look back and forth between the two of you like two kids watching their divorced parents fight. “So… Do you need help picking out an outfit for tomorrow?”
“… Yeah.”
iii. sure, ken. jump in!
“Hey, Y/N!”
Jaemin loudly whispers a little breathlessly as he drops his bag onto the table and slumps into the chair next to yours, his chest heaving slightly. Startled, you jerk up in your chair, heart skipping a beat when you realize he’s here. You were supposed to be in a private study room, but there was a group of boys already in there, and as the most non-confrontational person to walk this earth, you decided to cut your losses and take a table nearby.
“Did you wait long? I got caught up outside the library when Somi stopped me and completely forgot,” he says apologetically, pulling out his textbooks, and you shake your head, giving him a shy smile.
“No, it’s alright. I was already here anyway, and I got some extra studying done.” You gesture towards the papers and notebooks strewn across the table’s surface, covered in your notes from today’s classes. “Should we start with today’s lesson? How much did you understand in class today?”
“Maybe the first five minutes of it only.”
You pause, glancing over at him. “Professor Hwang was ten minutes late to class.”
“Exactly.” Jaemin nods, and you stifle a laugh. He grins at you. “I don’t think you realize how much of a hopeless cause I am when you agreed to tutor me.”
“We can start from the beginning then. You have four weeks until the midterm, and we can go through every lesson we’ve had so far. I’ll make up a study schedule if you give me yours. And if you continue to go to Donghyuck’s tutoring hours too, you should hopefully be able to catch up and do well on the midterm.”
Jaemin wordlessly pulls up his class schedule on his phone, and you plug them into a Google calendar that you quickly share to his email. “So, I color coded your classes in green, and my classes are in pink. Do you have any other things that we need to work around?”
He peers over at your screen, scanning the contents. “I have my weekly frat meetings on Tuesday nights and mandatory events on other nights.”
“Alright, you can put them in and we’ll figure out meeting times,” you say, pushing your laptop towards him and he starts to add in his extracurricular activities.
“Party from 8 pm to 1 am?” you read skeptically, your eyes scanning over the event he tacked in under this week’s Friday.
“Yeah, can’t miss it,” Jaemin says, typing in more events and making sure to color code them in blue. “Don’t you have things to do on Friday night too?”
“Uh, maybe grab a poke bowl from the dining hall to go and watch another Banana Fish episode,” you say awkwardly, fiddling with the small Gojo keychain you have attached to your pouch.
Jaemin stops, looking over at you. “You watch Banana Fish?”
Your cheeks grow warm. “… Yeah, why?”
His eyes light up and he asks eagerly, “Did you see the latest episode? When Golzine leaves Arthur in charge?”
The two of you continue discussing the plot as he finishes up adding in his schedule for the next four weeks, finally nudging the laptop back towards you. “Do you need to add in your stuff too?”
“Mm no, it’s fine. I already put in my classes, and I’m not in any clubs or sororities,” you answer, making sure to input Donghyuck’s tutoring hours as well before scanning over the calendar and pinpointing areas where he’s free for at least one to two hours. “Okay, should we start with meeting three times a week?”
“Huh, you memorized Hyuck’s hours?” Jaemin notes, giving you a sly smile as he moves closer to look at the schedule.
“Huh? No, don’t you always know your professors’ and TAs’ office hours?” you ask, looking up and are immediately startled after underestimating the proximity between you and the beautiful boy next to you.
“No, I’m not a nerd,” he snorts lightly, and you laugh awkwardly, trying to steer the conversation in a different direction and put a little more distance between the two of you before you go into cardiac arrest, “Right, yeah, well, anyway—”
“You were also interested when I said Hyuck mentioned you before,” Jaemin says suddenly, sitting up straight before a wide grin spreads across his face as he loudly exclaims, “You totally have a crush on him!”
“Quiet down!” You immediately shush him, the tips of your ears burning as everyone within a 40 feet radius in the library is now staring at the two of you. You’ve never received this much attention before, and you very quickly realize that you absolutely hate it. You loudly whisper-protest, stumbling over your words in a panic, “I—I don’t have a crush on him!”
“Oh, come on, your face is getting hot and you’re stuttering. You do too like him,” Jaemin laughs softly, propping his elbow onto the table and resting his chin on the palm of his hand as he gives you a once over. “I could totally make you into his type.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” You ask hotly, cheeks burning even more when you feel his eyes graze over your figure.
“Oh, it’ll be so much fun. We can go to the mall and pick out some cute clothes for you, and then swing by the hair shop. You’re definitely using the wrong conditioner and shampoo,” Jaemin continues, eying your hair for a quick second.
“Wait, wait, we’re just here for tutoring, what are you even talking about?” You ask, bewildered before grasping a stray strand of your hair between your fingers. “And what do you mean I’m using the wrong shampoo?”
“And conditioner,” Jaemin pipes up, picking up his phone to search up some better brands he would recommend. “What have you been using? 2 in 1 Head and Shoulders?”
“No,” you huff softly, your ears growing even warmer at the accusation. “I just use whatever my mom buys in bulk at Costco.”
“Okay, well, you should use this instead,” Jaemin says, showing his phone screen to you, and your eyes widen slightly when you note the price tag.
“I cannot be forking over nearly seventy dollars on shampoo and conditioner,” you say incredulously, pushing his phone back towards him and waving your hand dismissively. “And there’s no way I’m going to spend even more money on new clothes.”
“Okay, fine, I think I have some unopened bottles from sponsored deals that I can give to you,” Jaemin sighs, opening up his text messages to find his friends’ group chat. “Or my friends would have some good ones, too. Maybe we can get you some of their free clothes from sponsorships, too.”
“You guys just get free clothes?”
“Yeah,” he shrugs, glancing over at you. “On second thought, Karina and Lia aren’t the same size as you, so you won’t fit them. We can just order some basic pieces online or something for starters.”
“We—We aren’t doing this,” you loudly whisper back to him, hyper aware of the other students around you who keep glancing over at Jaemin. “Let’s just focus on making this schedule and helping you pass your midterm.”
“Oh, please, doll, it’d be fun. Just think of it as a payment for your tutoring,” Jaemin persuades you, scooting closer to you and pressing his thigh against yours lightly. Your breath hitches in your throat at the pet name and his touch. You’ve never been this close to any boy before, let alone one as attractive as Jaemin.
“You’ll look so pretty, I know the perfect outfits to make for you. And I can teach you how to get Hyuck’s attention, too,” he continues, nudging you lightly, and you’re still dazed, unable to get over the fact that he’s impossibly close to you, close enough for you to count the pretty lashes framing his even prettier eyes. You wonder what it’s like to be that beautiful, what it’s like to have people falling at your feet, what it’s like to mesmerize everyone the second you walk into a room.
Honestly, if Jaemin asked you to jump, your only response would be “how high.”
“If I agree to this, will you finally pay attention?” you sigh, and Jaemin instantly brightens up, nodding and giving you another one of those smiles that makes your stomach flip flop. Your Achilles’ heel is one very persistent boy who goes by the name of Na Jaemin, and he has hit you with a direct bullseye.
“Yes, I’ll be a model student, doll.”
You hesitate for a split second before relenting. “Okay, fine, deal.”
iv. i’m a barbie girl in the barbie world.
Jaemin is easy on the eyes, but currently proving to be very difficult for your nerves during your fourth tutoring session. Your wardrobe has increased in style and size by now, and you’re dressed in a pretty lilac top that wraps around you and accentuates your curves and hides what needs to be hidden perfectly. Your jeans may dig a little more than you’d like into your stomach, but it’s your fault that you chose to wear your photo jeans instead of your sitting jeans. Also, your hair has never looked better, all thanks to the boy seated next to you.
“No, when there is a low supply, there’s a high demand. They directly affect each other,” you try to re-explain to the boy next to you, drawing out the line graph once again. He stares down at the familiar graph before looking at the written practice problem in front of him. Professors must have an insane amount of patience, you silently think to yourself.
You sigh. “Let’s put it this way. You and Jeno want to buy the same shirt, but there’s only one left in the right size. So that’s two people who are demanding the one shirt. And the store only has one shirt in its supply. So how would you describe this situation?”
“Oh.” The look of realization flashes across Jaemin’s face as your example easily snaps the puzzle pieces into place for him. “There’s a high demand and low supply. Too many people want the shirt, but there’s not enough shirts.”
“Yes, you got it!” You cheer quietly, mindful of your location at one of the library’s tables. “Now try reading through the practice problems and draw the appropriate supply and demand graphs for each one.”
“And when I’m done with this, we can take a break, and I’ll teach you how to do makeup. My friends will help,” Jaemin says idly as he reads through the first problem again.
Your stomach lurches slightly at that, and you hesitate. “Your friends?”
“Yeah, you know, Jeno, Karina, Lia, and Yeonjun. Somi, too, but she’s been busy. I can teach you basic skincare and makeup, but the girls will have to help you with the rest,” he says casually, scrawling down his first answer and the corresponding graph.
You swallow hard, your voice croaking slightly before you hastily clear it. “Are you sure? Do you think they’ll like me?”
“Yeah, don’t worry about it, doll. You’re like a puppy, and everyone likes those,” Jaemin mumbles idly, eyebrows furrowing as he rereads the second problem.
“A puppy?” You don’t know whether to be offended or not yet.
Oh, you know, just that you’re cute and all,” Jaemin laughs lightly, starting to write down his next answer, and your heart nearly stops in your chest. You force yourself to breathe regularly again.
“Oh, I see,” you start to answer coolly, but stuttering on the last word, internally cursing your tongue at the last stumble. You try to sit calmly and relax for the rest of the tutoring session as Jaemin slowly makes his way through the practice packet, but the knot in your stomach continues to tangle even more, growing ever bigger. Maybe you should just tell Jaemin that lunch didn’t agree with you and cut this meetup short.
But that means less time spent with Jaemin. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Jaemin is nice, so his friends should be as well, you reason with yourself. There’s no need to be nervous. Even if they’re all incredibly beautiful, hot people with the most unapproachable aura you have ever encountered.
Like honestly, how is someone like Karina even real? Her face could start a modern day equivalent of the Trojan War. She is literally the face blueprint for every main female character you play in your otome games.
Turns out, Karina is even more gorgeous up close. Ridiculously close with the way she’s inches from your face as she swipes on some blush on the apples of your cheeks. You never thought you’d see the resident it girl here for you, standing in the middle of your dorm room, let alone have an actual conversation with her that extended beyond a polite hello when she stops by for Giselle. It’s already been 45 minutes, and your nerves still haven’t calmed down.
“You just need to apply a little bit here and here on both your cheeks,” she instructs you, pointing towards your cheekbones and carefully applying the rosy powder to the same areas. She pauses in the application momentarily so that you can type out a few notes into your phone covering her directions. “You can go heavier if you want the cute sunburn, Sabrina Carpenter look, but if you do too much, you’ll end up looking like my ex.”
“What?” You’re startled, glancing over at her and nearly getting blinded once again by her lethal face card. She laughs lightly, giving you a slight smile. “A clown.”
“Oh, got it,” you chuckle, albeit nervously, shooting her a quick smile. “I’ll make sure to not do that.”
“Relax, it’s easy. Just a bit of makeup here and there, and you’ll be fine. All I do is some mascara, falsies, and a good lippie when I’m lazy, and I’m out the door in ten minutes,” Lia jumps in, holding several different tubes of lip tints.
“Are you sure? That’s really it?” You ask hesitantly, glancing over the various makeup products strewn over your desk. It looks a lot more complicated than what she had just described.
“Well, maybe you might need a bit more, like concealer and foundation. And some bronzer and heavy contouring. But just stick to the skincare routine and it’ll help lessen it,” Karina sighs, dabbing some highlighter to the tip of your nose before seeing the uncertain look in your eyes, adding hastily, “But it’s so worth it, trust. You’ll look so pretty, and it comes with so many perks. Girl math is knowing you can go out with no money and just your face card.”
“Hey, you’re friends with Yangyang?” Lia pipes up, noticing the photo strip you have pinned on your corkboard, nestled between the various Mystic Messenger Seven fanart and Zorro art prints.
“Huh? Oh yeah, I am. You know him?” You answer, and she nods before leaning in and evenly applying a thin layer of periwinkle tint on your lips. “Yeah, we’re in the same German class. Do you know if he’s seeing anyone?”
Well, you definitely can’t tell her about the raging heart on he has for his best friend, but it’s not like he really is seeing anyone either. You do vaguely remember Yangyang saying Lia was pretty and talented during his quick 5 minute minute class to Jaemin and his friends, so it’s not like he hates her either.
“No, he’s not,” you answer, hoping you made the right choice, and Lia’s face visibly brightens. “Oh, really? That’s great.”
“Okay, we’re done.” Karina announces, stepping back and holding up a mirror for you. “Not bad, right?”
“Oh, wow,” you suck in a breath, nearly gasping in surprise as you peer at the glass. You almost don’t recognize yourself. The contouring lifts up your face, slimming it down, and the blush gives you a pretty pink hue that makes you look sun kissed. Your lower lashes have nearly doubled in length with the mascara, giving you a pretty babydoll look. Karina had perfectly applied a set of falsies for you, framing your eyes delicately, and the shimmery eyeshadow and soft winged eyeliner accentuates your eyes even more. Your lips are the prettiest shade of pink, tinted and glossy.
You can’t believe it is your own reflection staring back at you.
“Now put this outfit on,” Lia says with a knowing smile, placing a shopping bag in your lap. “Jaemin picked it out.”
“Oh, really? Alright,” you manage to mumble out, dazed and still admiring yourself in the hand mirror. Karina laughs softly, nudging Lia before moving towards your door. “We have to get to a sorority meeting now, but I hope you like it, doll. And make sure to practice.”
“I love it,” you say breathlessly, grazing your fingertips against the cool glass, still in disbelief. “And I definitely will practice.”
“Mm, good, text us if you need any help! And send progress pics! We want to see how it’s going,” Lia answers, waving over her shoulder before the two of them exit your dorm. Sitting there alone, you stare at your reflection for a little longer, admiring yourself. You feel so pretty.
You finally remember the paper bag on your lap, and you immediately dig into it, pulling out a flowy floral sundress. It’s beautiful, and you quickly tug off your jeans and tshirt before going to your drawers to dig around for the appropriate bra for the dress. You manage to find it, snapping on the bra around yourself from the front before twisting it until the clasp is against your back. You hastily push your arms through the straps, tugging on either side until it’s on perfectly. You suck in a quick breath, internally preparing yourself for the battle with the next piece of clothing, a.k.a. your worst enemy: spandex. You’ve familiarized yourself with the awkward jig you have to do around your dorm until you’ve wriggled into the tight elastic enough so that it sits in the correct spot and sucks in all the right places.
At last, you won the war, but you feel sweaty now, flopping back onto your bed for a quick break. You flap your hands in front of your face, thanking whoever decided to invent setting spray. You grab your deodorant spray and douse yourself in a heavy dose of it before picking up the sundress and slipping it over your head. To your great relief, it slides on perfectly, and you quickly shuffle over to the full length mirror hanging on the back of your door. You straighten out the dress and quickly pat down any strand of hair knocked askew from your latest struggles before giving a smile to the mirror.
Dare you say it? You look pretty.
You’ve never looked this pretty before.
You happily take out the dainty gold heart necklace you had carefully tucked into your top desk drawer, struggling for a few seconds before you manage to clasp it around your neck. You quickly pull the pendant towards the front before slipping on the strappy sandals you left next to your desk. You grab the cute purse you bought last week, now packed with the perfect essentials, and give yourself one last once over.
You have nowhere to go, but you decide to take a walk to the dining hall. After all, you’re dressed up so nicely, makeup done so perfectly, you can’t waste it on another night stuffing your face with hot Cheetos and rewatching the first season of Haikyuu!!. Opening your door, you step out and nearly run into someone.
“Oh, finally, you’re done, doll. I thought you died in there or some…”
His eyes widening in utter shock, his next word dies on the tip of his tongue when Jaemin sees you standing in front of him. His mouth falls open slightly before he quickly closes it to swallow harshly, his throat running dry. He’s never seen you like this before, never imagined that you’d be this pretty. He inhales sharply, stiffening slightly as his eyes rake over your figure, seeing how the dress perfectly accentuates your figure, and settles on your face.
“Jaemin? What are you doing here?” Your eyes widen slightly before your cheeks grow warm when you notice his stunned reaction.
“Um,” he croaks out, voice cracking before he quickly swallows again, silently cursing when puberty decides to make a belated appearance. “Lia texted me that you were done, so I wanted to see how it went. You look… wow.”
Your cheeks heat up even further, and you laugh a little nervously, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “R-really? It’s not too much?”
“No!” He immediately blurts out before his cheeks flush carmine. “I—I mean, you look really good. You should dress like this more often.”
You can’t stop the smile spreading across your face, and Jaemin’s heart flip flops in his chest. “Really? Thank you, I will then.”
“Of course, really. I picked the dress myself after all,” He tries to joke before hastily clearing his throat. “Do you have somewhere to be?”
“Oh, no, I don’t. I was just going to go to the dining hall and grab some food,” you answer awkwardly, shifting your purse over your shoulder slightly and tightening your fingers around its strap.
“Let me take you out for dinner.” Jaemin blurts out, a little high pitched, mentally facepalming at how he sounds. “I mean, we can go over some of the harder problems in that packet since I probably need more studying anyway, and I’ll teach you a couple more dating tricks.”
“Sure, okay, that sounds good.” You give him a wider beam, and Jaemin feels his heart beat a little faster. Maybe you don’t need that much teaching from him after all. Seems like you’re a quick learner.
v. life is plastic, it’s fantastic!
“The only thing you’re fucking is stupid.”
“Shut the hell up, Yeonjun. At least I’m not sticking my dick in crazy.”
You watch the light argument going on between Jeno and Yeonjun in amusement. You and Jaemin had just finished your ninth tutoring session two hours ago, and you think he’s getting on track to actually scoring a decent grade for the next midterm. You were initially going to head towards Lana and Moon’s dorm for your weekly anime show marathon, but Jaemin insisted that you stop by the Alpha Sigma Psi house for a small party. Giselle and Karina are both part of that house, so you figured it couldn’t hurt to make a quick appearance. Good thing you spent some time touching up your makeup before today’s tutoring session.
“Hey, doll! Join the photo,” Jaemin calls out to you, gesturing you towards the area he and the rest of his friends are standing. You see another really pretty girl—Minjeong, was it?—standing on the side, holding up a phone and preparing to take the picture.
“Oh, no, it’s okay, I can just take the photo instead,” you laugh awkwardly, extending your hand out towards Minjeong, but Jeno gently nudges you forward, “No way, you never take pics with us. Just one, come on, Y/N.”
“Yeah, join us!” Jaemin says brightly, tugging you towards him and you stumble slightly, falling forward into his chest. You quickly catch yourself, hands suddenly pressed against his chest, and the blood rushes to your face.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” you start to babble, trying to push yourself away before Jaemin quickly wraps his arm around your waist. “Nope, you’re staying here, it’s just a few pics, please, doll?”
“I—I mean, I don’t really—”
You start to say before Minjeong’s voice cuts through the air. “Okay, I’m taking it in five seconds now. So get ready and pose or be ready to live with the consequences on Insta forever.”
Everyone immediately shuffles around, and you’re squeezed even tighter against Jaemin, and you just know that he can feel your heart pounding rapidly against his chest.
“Smile, doll,” Jaemin laughs gently, squeezing your hip lightly and you inhale sharply at that, your heart rate spiking and increasing exponentially. You muster up a few shaky smiles as the flash starts to go off.
After a few more pictures, you manage to untangle yourself from the group and hurriedly go towards Minjeong. “I can take the pictures, you should join in.”
She immediately brightens up at that, giving you a kilowatt smile as she hands you the phone and slips into your original position in between Jaemin and Karina. “Oh, thanks, Y/N.”
You wait a few moments for everyone to get readjusted before you begin to snap some photos, having already mastered this from the previous hang outs you’ve joined and knowing how to take the best angles for everyone, including all the 0.5 zoom out ones. After taking some additional group and solo photos for the girls, you’re finally free of your duties. Your eyes widen when you check the time on your phone, and you hurriedly make your way over to Jaemin.
“Hey, I need to get going now. I have to get to Lana and Moon’s dorm, so I’ll see you later,” you say quickly, already beginning to brush past him as the realization sets in that it’s been over an hour when you told your friends that you would only be fifteen minutes late.
“Wait, what? Hey, hold on, doll.” Jaemin reaches out to you, but you slip past him, calling over your shoulder. “Sorry, I’m late!”
He strides over, soon matching your pace as you speed walk back to the freshman dormitories. “Can’t you slow down a little bit? It’s not like you all haven’t seen these episodes before, plus we watched a few of them together after our last tutoring session.”
“Yeah, but I’m over an hour late,” you stress, slightly frazzled now as you hurriedly type out an apology to send to the group chat.
“Just breathe, okay? You’ll be fine. They’re your friends. They should understand,” Jaemin reassures you, grabbing your hand and you freeze slightly. He notices your stop and teases lightly, “I said slow down, not stop. What’s wrong?”
“N-Nothing,” you stammer out a little too quickly, your heart thumping wildly in your chest. He’s holding your hand. Na Jaemin is hand in hand with you, fingers intertwined. You almost want to pinch yourself to see if you’re dreaming.
“Well, alright then, come on, let me walk you back,” Jaemin laughs before tugging you along. “You can help me pick out which pictures to post on Insta along the way, too, yeah?”
“Oh, sure,” you say breathlessly, your heart rate quickening to an embarrassing speed when he squeezes your hand gently, and you nesrly trip over your own feet.
“Perfect, so what about this one?” He holds up his phone to show you the picture you had taken for the group earlier, and you falter slightly. Why are you feeling a little disappointed with his choice?
Jaemin notices your hesitation and says a little softly, “I know you’re a private person. So I thought you’d prefer if I posted the group photo you took. You always take the best pictures for me, too. You know my good side the best. And it’d be weird if Hyuck saw, too, right? But did you want the other photo? I mean, if you really want it, I can..?”
“No!” You hurriedly say to reassure him, squeezing his hand lightly. “No, you’re right. I don’t want my picture out there. And um, yeah, that definitely wouldn’t be good if Hyuck saw.”
Jaemin gives you a relieved smile. “Yeah, exactly. You’re not upset, right, doll? We still have that fun pic of us and our homemade pizzas from earlier that I posted on my finsta. I didn’t know making pizzas would be that easy.”
“Of course not, don’t worry about it,” you laugh softly, continuing to walk back to the freshman dormitories, and Jaemin swings your joined hands between the two of you freely.
“Mm, I’m getting free cooking and tutoring lessons in exchange for dating tips. Two for the price of one is quite the good deal for me, right?” Jaemin teases lightly, and you let out another laugh.
“You’re right, it is. You better step up your game then.”
“Oh, just you wait, you’ll get dating tips and a boyfriend, so we’ll be even,” Jaemin chuckles softly, squeezing your hand, and the butterflies erupt in your stomach once again, and you muster up the courage to say something a little more teasing.
“Is that a guarantee?”
“Well, you have a demand, and I must supply, right?”
“…I don’t think that’s how it quite goes, Jaemin. Maybe you need a few more tutoring sessions.”
“All I hear is that you want to spend more time with me,” Jaemin laughs, giving you the prettiest smile, and your cheeks warm up even more, heart stuttering in your chest. Speechless, you let him continue on, his chattering filling the air as you listen with quiet content, your hand securely tucked in his for the remainder of the walk back.
vi. you can brush my hair.
Jaemin sits on the edge of his chair across from you at the table in the dorm common area, anxiously tapping his fingers against the flat surface. You are down to the last page of the mock exam packet, carefully going over his work with a red pen. You made minimal marks on the papers, a stark contrast to the very first practice exam he had worked on near the start of your tutoring. At that point in time, he didn’t even get to the end of the exam.
“Amazing.”
You say in awe, scanning through the last problem Jaemin had completed before tallying up his final score and calculating his results. “I can’t believe it. You got an 87.”
“No fucking way,” Jaemin is wide eyed, staring at you in disbelief, and you give him a wide smile, sliding the packet over to him, so that he can look over the exam and notes you’ve written for the problems he missed.
“Yes fucking way.”
“Holy shit, this is insane,” Jaemin breathes out, carefully reading through each page, and to his utter amazement, he understands every note and explanation you had added next to each incorrect question. He looks up at you, beaming, “I really got a B+?”
“You did,” you confirm, smiling back at him. “And who knows? It might become an A if the exam gets curved.”
“Oh my god, I owe you my life,” Jaemin chuckles, staring down at the graded exam in front of him, still in disbelief. “Seriously, doll, thank you so much.”
“Oh, of course, anytime,” you laugh sheepishly, twisting the rings adorning your fingers around nervously before averting your attention elsewhere, standing up to go towards the adjacent communal kitchen and carrying your filled tote bag with you. “A—Anyway, I brought some things to celebrate a job well done so far.”
“And how did you know I would’ve done well? What if I completely bombed that exam?” Jaemin teases you, standing up and following after you.
“I don’t know, I guess I just believed in you,” you stutter out, cheeks warming up as you set down your tote bag on the counter, unable to look him in the eyes, and he freezes, mulling over your words silently.
You believe in him? Someone who’s a hopeless cause? He honestly didn’t even believe in himself, he thinks to himself, his chest constricting uncomfortably, a foreign feeling making its entrance known to him, constricting around his heart. He inhales sharply, shoving it away with an easy going smile. “Is that so? Well, thanks, Y/N. And what are we doing now?”
“Making pancakes,” you answer, busying yourself with pulling out the ingredients from your tote bag. “You need to be well fed before the midterm. Your brain needs food. And the class is at 8 am, and neither of us are not morning people, so this is as good as it’s gonna get.”
“Pancakes?” Jaemin echoes after you, glancing at the various items strewn across the counter’s surface. “Does it really take this many ingredients? Isn’t it just the box mix and water?”
“That’s the short cut way. We’re making pancakes from scratch,” you laugh softly, taking out a mixing bowl and whisk along with the measuring cups and spoons.
“But why? It’s so much easier the other way.” Jaemin whines softly, and you chuckle lightly. “Trust me, it’s worth the effort.”
You hand the one cup measuring utensil and bowl to Jaemin and nudge him towards the flour. “Help me measure out two cups of flour.”
“Alright,” he sighs, opening the bag of flour and carefully scooping out the first cup, scraping off any excess before dumping it into the bowl before repeating the process. “What next?”
“Four tablespoons of sugar,” you answer, handing him the sugar and appropriate measuring utensil before working on measuring four teaspoons of baking powder and a quarter of a teaspoon of baking soda. You pour those to the mixing bowl as Jaemin quietly measures the sugar and adds it in as well before waiting for your next instructions. You quickly drop in half of a teaspoon of salt before pushing the bowl towards him. “Now whisk this together gently, please.”
Jaemin busies himself with combining the dry ingredients as you take out half a stick of butter from the fridge (The one labeled with your name, of course. You’re no food thief, unlike someone who’s been stealing other people’s leftover takeout). You microwave it to get four tablespoons of melted butter before making your way to Jaemin’s side.
“Okay, now make a well in the center of it,” you say, and Jaemin clumsily makes an indent in the dry mixture before looking towards you for approval.
“Perfect, now add in two teaspoons of vanilla extract and crack the egg into it there,” you instruct him, and he obediently follows your directions. You measure out one and three quarters cups of milk and add it to the well before also pouring in the melted butter.
“Do I just whisk it together now?” Jaemin asks, picking up the whisk again, and you nod.
“Yes, mix it all together. It’s fine if there’s a few lumps, but it should be smooth overall.” Your eyes trail over his face, and you stifle a small laugh. “You got a little something on your cheek.”
“What?” Jaemin looks up, pausing in his whisking and you can’t help but giggle, staring at the flour dusting his cheek. “There’s flour on your face.”
“Oh, really? Can you wipe it off for me?” Jaemin laughs softly, attempting to brush at it with his shoulder but failing to reach that high.
“Oh, s-sure,” you stammer slightly, your hand quivering slightly as you outstretch your fingers and gingerly brush your fingertips against the apple of his cheek. His sun kissed skin is warm beneath your fingertips, and your breath hitches in your throat before you gently wipe away the remaining residue. You can feel his gaze searing into your face, but you refuse to look him directly in the eyes.
“There, all done,” you murmur, hastily pulling away and taking a step back. Jaemin lets out a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding in. He clears his throat, setting down the bowl. “I think this is all done, too.”
“Oh, great, that’s great,” you say, immediately focusing on the bowl before carrying it with you towards the stove, turning it on. “Let’s set this to medium-low heat. And I’ll add some butter to the pan, so the pancake won’t stick.”
Jaemin hands you the leftover butter and pan for you to set onto the stove. You use the spatula to move around a pat of butter, coating the pan nicely. Once the stove is ready and the butter starts to sizzle slightly, you pour a quarter cup of the batter onto the pan, expertly flicking your wrist to rotate the pan and cause the batter to form a perfect circle. You pull out a small container of blueberries, sprinkling some of them on top.
“Woah.” Jaemin watches you, impressed. “Teach me how to do that.”
“This? It’s easy,” you laugh softly, checking on the pancake until its underside is golden and small bubbles start to form on the top. You quickly move the pan, flipping the pancake onto its other side. “You can try making the next one.”
“Yeah? Will you wrap your arms around me and give me the one on one experience?” Jaemin jokes lightheartedly, and you nearly choke. “I mean—I don’t think that's completely necessary.”
“Relax, doll, I’m just kidding,” he laughs softly, nudging you gently, and you let out an awkward laugh. “Oh, totally. Just a joke.”
Once the pancake is golden on both sides, you carefully slide it onto a plate Jaemin pulled out from one of the cabinets. Your heart rate finally returns to its normal state, and you manage to say calmly, “Maple syrup and whipped cream are in the fridge.”
Jaemin takes out the aforementioned toppings, generously slathering on some butter before pouring the syrup and spraying whipped cream onto the pancake. He cuts out a small piece and quickly spears it onto his fork before taking the bite, nearly moaning in delight at the first taste.
“Holy crap, this is so fucking good.”
“My secret recipe,” you say proudly as you start to pour the batter for a second pancake, evenly spreading it on the pan. “Was it worth the effort?”
“Yes.” Jaemin swallows, almost immediately going for another bite before he gazes at you, giving you a genuine smile, and your heart rate again increases to an alarming speed.
“Definitely worth it.”
vii. undress me everywhere.
You finish the midterm in forty five minutes, being the first one to turn in your completed exam. This means you finished twenty minutes before the class ends and consequently, either failed it spectucularly or knocked it out of the park. You really hope it’s the latter.
Despite being rather preoccupied with other matters a.k.a. your suddenly thriving social life, you managed to cram in some studying here and there because your mother would absolutely kill you if you lost your provost scholarship. Gifted kid burnout? Who’s that? You never heard of her before (Just kidding, you’ve had plenty of breakdowns and cry fests over calculating bond values and stock prices).
Now outside of the classroom in one of the open study alcoves, you drop your Longchamp bag on the empty chair next to you before tugging at the back of your jean skirt before carefully sitting down. You make sure to readjust your bra straps, tucking them under the ruched fabric of your white shirt. Tapping your fingers against the scratched surface of the table, you briefly admire the shimmery gold ombré manicure adorning your nails that Jaemin had chosen last week. You pull out a compact from the inner side pocket of your purse, carefully checking your makeup to ensure it is still in pristine condition before quickly swiping in another layer of your Buxom plumping lip gloss in the best shade: fir royale.
The flurry of text messages pinging across your screen quickly catches your attention, and you tuck your mirror and tube of lip gloss away before scrolling through them, letting out a quiet scoff at Karina’s latest melodramatic outburst in the clout chasers group chat:
[ 11:46 a.m. ] karebear ✨: guys, gals, and yuckjun
[ 11:46 a.m. ] choi YJ 🦊: what tf ??? why are you calling me out
[ 11:46 a.m. ] karebear ✨: shut up or else I won’t make out with you anymore
[ 11:46 a.m. ] choi YJ 🦊: 🤐
[ 11:46 a.m. ] jenaur 🤺: are you that touch starved bro
[ 11:47 a.m. ] karebear ✨: anyway as i was saying
[ 11:47 a.m. ] karebear ✨: this skank in my marketing class has been copying my outfits and posting them on her insta and she has like 10k followers now
[ 11:47 a.m. ] princess lia 👑: time to tear a bitch apart
[ 11:47 a.m. ] karebear ✨: like look at this shit
[ 11:47 a.m. ] karebear ✨: sent {10 images.jpeg}
[ 11:47 a.m. ] karebear ✨: my followers are gonna rip her apart
[ 11:47 a.m. ] karebear ✨: she’s downgrading my brand
[ 11:47 a.m. ] princess lia 👑: dw girl i’ll do a response video so my followers will see too
[ 11:48 a.m. ] princess lia 👑: she can’t get away with this
[ 11:48 a.m. ] karebear ✨: loved a message
[ 11:48 a.m. ] somi amor 💋: idk… they’re similar styles but that’s what popular rn
[ 11:48 a.m. ] karebear ✨: it’s gonna be song jia 2.0 watergate
[ 11:49 a.m. ] karebear ✨: just say you’re broke and go
[ 11:49 a.m. ] karebear ✨: if she’s gonna plagiarize me, she better do it right like bffr walmart version
[ 11:49 a.m. ] somi amor 💋: you have proof they’re fake?
[ 11:49 a.m. ] karebear ✨: i mean fake bitch fake bags right
[ 11:49 a.m. ] jenaur 🤺: idk she’s kinda hot
[ 11:49 a.m. ] karebear ✨: shut up jen be like your hairline and fall back
[ 11:49 a.m. ] jenaur 🤺: HELLO ?! back me up yeonjun
[ 11:50 a.m. ] choi YJ 🦊: um
[ 11:50 a.m. ] choi YJ 🦊: 🤐
[ 11:51 a.m. ] choi YJ 🦊: if you wanna be fucking stupid then knock yourself out
[ 11:51 a.m. ] karebear ✨: loved a message
[ 11:51 a.m. ] karebear ✨: hey my place tonight jun 🥰
[ 11:51 a.m. ] jenaur 🤺: are you gonna listen to your own advice yj
[ 11:51 a.m. ] karebear ✨: excuse me ????
[ 11:51 a.m. ] jenaur 🤺: 🤐🤐🤐
[ 11:51 a.m. ] jenaur 🤺: proverbs 26:11
“Hey, doll, what’s so funny?”
Jaemin appears next to you, and you let out a startled squeak, jumping in your seat, and he laughs, quickly placing his hands on your shoulders to steady you. You look at him wide eyed for a few seconds, his question not yet registering in your mind, and he waits patiently for your answer.
“Oh!” Your eyes light up, and he smiles at the endearing sight. “Just Karina ranting about something and Yeonjun being whipped.”
“Ah, so the usual?” He reaches for your bag, slinging it over his shoulder, and you stand up, pulling your skirt down once more to ensure you’re covered. The two of you start to make your way out of the Langley Hall.
“Yep. How was the midterm for you?”
He brightens up, opening the door for you and you thank him. “It wasn’t too bad at all! I actually understood like 90% of the questions and for the others, I was able to narrow down the answers between two choices, so 50/50 chance, fingers crossed I picked the right one.”
You beam when you hear that, and he returns the smile, eyes crinkling in the corners, and you pretend to wipe away faux tears. “I feel like a proud mom.”
“I think my mom actually will be proud,” he says, eyes scanning the cars parked on the nearby street before finding his. He grabs your hand, tugging you along. “C’mon, we gotta go celebrate that our misery is over until finals week. Plus, we gotta prep you when you talk to Hyuck.”
“Wait, what?” You abruptly stop short, and he nearly loses his grip on your hand. “When am I talking to him?”
“This Saturday. You’re coming with me to the Nu Chi party, right?”
“Since when? I don’t go to parties,” you protest, “They’re too loud and noisy, and beer is gross and—”
“You went to the Alpha Sigma one a few weeks ago though?” Jaemin interrupts, and you shake your head. “That was a small party though. This one is the party of the semester. What if I embarrassed myself in front of the entire school?”
“Parties are the prime time for meeting people and getting to know them because alcohol makes everyone friendlier and people don’t stay within their friend groups,” Jaemin interrupts. “Do you really believe that you’ll get him to like you by, I don’t know, one day, your eyes will meet across the classroom, and he’ll fall madly in love with you? This isn’t one of your fanfics, Y/N.”
“Shut up,” you grumble, letting go of his hand on purpose, and he frowns, bottom lip jutting out in a pout before reaching out for your hand again. You swiftly dodge him, and he whines, quickly snatching your hand up and lacing your and his fingers together.
“I hope this isn’t how you’ll treat him on your date. Thank god we’re doing a trial run right now.”
“A trial run?” you echo him, and he nods, flashing you that favorite smile of his that never fails to make you weak in the knees.
“Well, we have to make sure your first date goes perfectly so there will be a second, right? Practice makes perfect,” he says matter-of-factly, and you nod slowly in agreement. The logic makes sense somehow.
“Okay, so where would you pick for a first date?”
“Maybe a cute cafe? Oh, there’s that one place: Cloudy with a Chance of Boba!” You brighten up, thinking about that boba shop’s menu you spent a good half hour scrolling through on Yelp last night.
“Mm, the most popular place right now is that ramen place on the end of Maisie Street. It’d probably be best to go there,” he muses, tugging you along via your intertwined hands. You nearly stumble in your heeled sandals but swiftly catch yourself.
“O-oh, okay, so are we going there now?”
“Nah, let’s do the ice cream place next door to it. Not really feeling noodles at the moment.” He stops to look over his shoulder at you, and you run into his back, causing him to let go before quickly reaching out and grabbing your arms to steady you. “Woah, be careful.”
“Sorry.” You’re flustered, your cheeks now growing hotter than a furnace. Jaemin reaches forward, his finger carefully swiping at the smudged lip gloss on the corner of your lip. “Where’s your lip gloss? You should reapply this.”
Eyes widening, he then shifts and peers behind him, craning his neck to the side in all attempts to look at the back of his shirt. “There’s not a mark on my shirt, right?”
You quickly rub off any shimmery residue. “It’s fine, your shirt is dark blue, so you can’t see it anymore.”
“Oh, good. Wait, where’s your lip gloss?” You fish through your bag, pulling out the tube and handing it to Jaemin. He uncaps it, giving you the lower half of the gloss before gently grasping your chin with one hand. He leans forward and tilts your head towards him, his eyes focused on your lips. The butterflies in your stomach erupt in an instant. You try so hard to stand still, fidgeting with one of the rings on your finger behind your back.
Jaemin’s face is so close to yours that you can count every single long dark eyelash that frames his pretty eyes. His lips are the prettiest shade of carmine, and you wonder what it’s like to be Aphrodite’s favorite child. How lucky you are to already be basking in the attention of her favorite; imagine how much luckier he is to be her favorite.
The beautiful boy in front of you carefully applies the gloss for you, fully concentrating on coating your lips with a pretty sheen once again. When he glances up, he’s almost blown away by the way you’re looking at him.
You look stunning, pretty as a picture in VOGUE magazine. Not quite the cover page, but you’re nearly there. A swell of pride runs through his veins, like an artist admiring his latest masterpiece on show in MOMA.
“Anyway,” he clears his throat, handing back to you the lip gloss. “Let’s go. We’re almost there.”
“Alright.” You follow behind him like a lost puppy, and he reaches back to grab your hand and interlace your fingers. Your heart nearly skips a beat as your cheeks grow warmer once again, and for a split second, you wonder if he feels the same way.
“We’re here,” Jaemin announces, letting go of your hand to open the shop’s door, the bell above it jingling faintly as he gestures for you to go inside.
You enter the pretty shop, marveling the clean and simple interior with circular white tables and matching garden iron chairs surrounding each one. There’s bright greenery and plants decorating the edges of the shop, and the wall is covered in mismatched frames of paintings and pictures in various sizes and colors. The cheeky neon sign displayed near the front read, “It’s not gonna lick itself!”, and you laugh softly when you see it. The display of different colorful ice creams at the front are absolutely enticing, and you’re already struggling to decide which two flavors to pick.
You finally decide on a Vietnamese coffee and honeycomb swirl, accepting it from the cashier before you start to pull out your wallet. Before you can even pull out your card, Jaemin taps his phone against the screen, paying for both yours and his.
“Never pay on the first date,” he chides you lightly, picking up his ice cream. “Always let the guy pay for the first date.”
“Oh, but shouldn’t we at least split it?” You ask sheepishly, walking towards a table near the back that he gestures towards. He follows behind you, picking up some spoons and napkins.
“If the guy is so broke that he can’t pay $7 for your ice cream, then he shouldn’t be out dating anyway. He should be getting a job,” Jaemin retorts, tugging your chair out for you before sitting across from you and handing you a spoon and napkin. “Don’t you watch that Shera lady? Sprinkle, sprinkle and all that jazz. Maybe you can split for the future dates, but if the guy has any basic decency, he would pay for the first one.”
“Alright, I’ll keep that in mind,” you sigh, taking a hefty scoop of your ice cream and having the first bite. It’s delicious, and you make a mental note to buy a pint and bring back to your dorm to share with Giselle later.
The two of you continue to discuss various appropriate topics to broach on a first date (“Hey Jaemin, you like cheese? My favorite’s Gouda.” “… Please do not ask that.”). You quickly jot down bullet points in your Notes app, your fingers flying over the screen as Jaemin instructs you on good conversational starters and body language.
“So you just need to touch him on his upper forearm and then pull away. Stroke his ego and say he’s funny or some shit like that. At least you don’t have to force yourself to laugh with him though because Hyuck is naturally funny anyway. And he’s good at keeping up the conversation and a people person, so it won’t be awkward even for your first date,” Jaemin continues as you nod, rapidly typing what he says.
“And at the end of the date, touch his shoulder again, glance down at his lips for a brief second before making eye contact. If he’s bold enough, he’ll go for the first kiss. But then just immediately smile and say you had a great time before he can lean in. After that, he won’t stop thinking about that moment, and it’ll drive him crazy, and he’ll be texting you for a second date within the next day.”
“Mm, okay, I think I got it,” you mumble absentmindedly, engrossed in writing down the last few bullet points and Jaemin leans over to take a closer look at your phone, his eyes flitting over the screen.
“So for the last point, do I have to deny the first kiss then? Smile and walk away before he leans in and…”
You start to ask until you look up, and your breath hitches in your throat at the close proximity, your and his noses almost brushing. Jaemin is so pretty, even prettier when you can count the few freckles dotting his face, can clearly see the mesmerizing golden flecks dotting his irises, can admire the way his lips look so soft and curve into the picture perfect smile. Your heart thumps wildly, nearly falling onto the floor along with your jaw when you glance up from staring at his lips and see that he’s already looking back at you with the softest expression on his face.
“You don’t have to,” Jaemin murmurs, and your heart stutters in your chest as he moves in closer, his lashes brushing against your cheek, and suddenly, his lips are pressed against yours. They’re pink and soft and slot perfectly against yours in a way that has your heart skipping beats and stomach doing cartwheels.
Eyes widening, you freeze up, letting out a quiet squeak of surprise, before he pulls away, giving you an amused smile. The lingering warmth on your lips makes your cheeks heat up, and you have to break eye contact, stammering over your words as you gently graze your fingers over your lips in wonderment.
Jaemin laughs softly as he leans back in his chair. “We’ll have to work on this too then. You’re kissing like it’s a Park Shinhye kdrama.”
You’re still dazed, cheeks growing even warmer as you avoid his gaze, fiddling with the loose thread on the hem of your skirt. “That was my first kiss.”
Jaemin pauses at the realization, his cheeks flushing slightly before he clears his throat, giving you a half smile and a light chuckle, “Oh, really? That’s cute, doll. Well, I’ll teach you some tips, so you’ll be better at it by the time you ask Hyuck out. At least you got a decent first kiss, right? No big deal.”
“Yeah, no big deal,” you echo softly, your heart still racing at breakneck speed. You pretend to focus on the remnants of your ice cream in the bottom of your paper cup, fingers gripping around the container tightly.
Jaemin was right.
You don’t think you’ll be able to stop thinking about this moment anytime soon.
viii. come on, barbie, let’s go party!
“Are you sure you wanna do this?”
Moon asks worriedly, helping you with your makeup as you sit, perched on the edge of your bed. She uncaps your eyeliner as Lana fusses with your shirt, smoothing out any of the wrinkles. “Actually, I can’t do it. You do it, Yang. You’re an expert at this.”
“Alright, give it to me.” Yangyang comes over, grabbing the eyeliner and expertly draws on the wing above your right eye. “Years of cosplay have finally come in handy. Although, I still can’t believe you’re putting in all this effort for Jaemin.”
“I need to look pretty. He usually does my makeup for me, but he’s busy right now,” you mumble, twisting the ring around your finger anxiously. “It’s my first time going to a party. I can’t embarrass him when he’s a ten.”
“Yeah, in rupees,” Yangyang scoffs, and Lana frowns at you, stopping in her tracks. “Don't talk about yourself like that. You’re already pretty, and if anything, you should be embarrassed to be seen with that slime ball. I can’t believe he doesn’t even have the decency to pick you up. Why are you the one going to his place?”
“He has some frat meeting right now,” you answer, glancing down at your newly manicured nails. The pearl color shimmers under the light, and you can’t help but admire it even more. You wish they were a little shorter, but they really do look quite pretty.
“What meeting? We’re in the same frat. Also, hold still,” Yangyang huffs, holding your chin as he draws on the left wing over your eye. “We need them to look like twins, not cousins twice removed.”
“I don’t know, he just said there was some meeting,” you mumble, holding perfectly still until he finally finishes. “Maybe it was a one on one meeting or something, who knows?”
“I still think he’s shady,” Lana grumbles, and Moon nods as well. “Yeah, like the first kiss thing?”
“It’s no big deal,” you wave your hand dismissively, hopping off of your bed and taking a look at yourself in your mirror. “Better to get it over with, right? I mean, imagine being this old and not having your first kiss yet.”
“Is that what he said to you?” Moon huffs, affronted, and you shift in your place uncomfortably. “No, of course not. It’s just—everyone gets their first kiss when they’re like fourteen or fifteen, right?”
“That’s not the point,” Lana says indignantly, tucking your hair behind your ear carefully. “You wanted it to be special, didn’t you? It just feels like… he took something away from you.”
“He didn’t. I wanted this,” you answer loudly, ignoring the way your stomach flip flops as you try not to think back to that moment. He kissed you, he really does like you back, he might have not said it out loud, but he knows how much it means to you (Wouldn’t he?).
“Okay, as long as you’re happy,” Moon gives in, and she and Lana exchange a worried look that goes unnoticed by you. But what can they do? They can continue to try convincing you, but it will never work when it falls on deaf ears.
“I am,” you insist, avoiding your friends’ gazes and staring at yourself back in the mirror. Moon attempts to lift the mood again, offering you a tentative smile in the reflection. “This whole thing is like a whole emotional rollercoaster, and Yangyang is definitely not tall enough to ride.”
“Shut the fuck up, I’m literally almost six foot tall,” Yangyang shoots back, and you laugh, relaxing once more as you watch your friends start to bicker again.
“Listen, you can’t be delusional and short. Pick a struggle.” Moon counters, and Lana agrees, handing you your phone to tuck into your pocket. “She’s right. You carry yourself with the confidence of a much taller man.”
You smile fondly as the bickering between your friends continues. You miss them, you realize with a jolting pang of regret, you haven’t been hanging out with them as often as you used to. In fact, the majority of your weeks are spent with Jaemin and his friends.
It’s your first cold dose of reality, and you’re hit with a startling truth. You haven’t been a very good friend lately.
—
Lana drove you to the Nu Chi Theta house, and you felt like a kindergartener being dropped for her first day of school. Your face feels hot as a wave of embarrassment rushes over you as you notice the amount of glances you receive from the insanely pretty girls and boys already on the front lawn and streaming out from the front door. You quickly exit the vehicle, hurriedly waving good bye over your shoulder before making your way into the house, almost tripping over the raised walkway.
You wander around the house, searching for Jaemin and quickly sidestepping a through the couples and other students dancing around, nearly getting bowled over by someone you recognize from your school’s football team. He gives you a quick once over before offering a half apology, eyes set on another girl on the other side of the room. You take a deep breath before pushing your way into the next room, finally spotting Jaemin with his friends, minus Jeno and Somi, by the staircase and letting out a sigh of relief.
“Hey,” you say breathlessly, squeezing through two couples busily making out in the doorway and wincing slightly when you jostle both of them, causing them to give you dirty looks before resuming their activities.
“Oh, hi, Y/N!” Karina says brightly, giving you a perfect smile and reaching over to squeeze your arm gently. “We didn’t think you’d make it.”
“My first frat party? Of course, I wouldn’t miss it,” you laugh, tucking a stray strand of your hair behind your ear nervously before fiddling with the hem of your shirt. Jaemin gives you a small smile, and you return it with a slightly shaky one, your eyes flickering towards the fading pink, glossy lip mark staining the collar of his shirt. The color is much too dark to be Jaemin’s, and your stomach churns slightly.
“You look so pretty, Y/N, I love the confidence,” Lia chimes in, gently pinching the fabric of your skirt between her manicured fingers. “I love this, you’ll have to let me borrow it sometime.”
“Oh, of course! You can borrow it anytime,” you agree quickly, flashing her a slightly forced smile before glancing over at Jaemin again, unsure what to do.
“Where do you shop?” Yeonjun asks, glancing over at your outfit. “The shirt is nice, too.”
“Oh my god, yes, we have to go shopping together sometime, and you’ll have to show me all the good places,” Karina cuts in, nudging you gently before letting out a sigh, looking over at Lia. “God, I’ve been feeling so fat lately, like freshman twenty might be getting to me.”
“No, same, I’ve been extending my gym sessions and doing Pilates,” Lia huffs softly, and you remain silent, switching your weight around on each foot, glancing over at Jaemin helplessly.
“I need another drink. You coming, Y/N?” Jaemin finally speaks up before brushing past Yeonjun, and you hurriedly follow behind him, careful not to fall behind or get swept away. He quickly pushes through to the kitchen, finding a spot next to the counter covered in various bottles of cheap alcohol and stacks of red solo cups dispersed in between.
“You want one?” Jaemin asks, extending a shot of vodka he just poured out towards you, and you shake your head before he gives a wry smile. “You sure? It’ll help with the nerves. You were shaking back there.”
Your cheeks grow warm. “You noticed?”
“Everybody noticed,” he snorted, handing you the cup, and you wince slightly before holding your nose and downing it in one go. “Give me another then.”
“Atta girl,” Jaemin hands you another shot and you take that one just as quickly, making a face that causes him to smile subconsciously. As he pours himself a cup of beer, he spots Donghyuck by the pool out back, and a knot settles in his stomach uncomfortably. He almost doesn’t want to tell you, and he doesn’t know why. It’s just because he worked so hard to make you look this good, and his loudmouth friend gets to reap all the benefits, he tells himself, taking a swig of his drink, Donghyuck doesn’t know how lucky he is.
Ignoring all the stop signs and whistles going off in his head, he gestures towards Donghyuck outside, clenching the red cup in his hand a little tighter than normal. “There’s your chance. Gotta do it before the alcohol wears off.”
“Oh, um, actually, I wanted to talk to you,” you stammer out, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear again (It’s one of your habits when you’re nervous, and he thinks it might be his favorite). He pushes down the growing knot in his stomach.
“We’ll talk later, yeah? You can’t miss this,” Jaemin insists before nudging you in the direction of the pool outside despite your soft protests.
“W-wait, I jus—” you say desperately, but Jaemin merely waves you off before disappearing back into the party inside. You let out a sigh, shoulders sagging slightly. You wouldn’t want to disappoint him after all the effort he put in these past four weeks.
You’ll tell him later.
—
“Oh? Where’s your little Barbie doll, Jaemin?” Karina simpers as she lazily taps her pretty manicured nails against the half filled red solo cup in her other hand when Jaemin returns to his original spot. “Have you gotten bored of playing with her yet?”
“It’s not like that,” Jaemin answers hotly, “She’s… fun. She makes me laugh.”
“How? By looking at her?” Yeonjun snorts, chugging his own cup before crinkling it in his fist. Jaemin wants to throw up. “We thought you just did this because you’ve been having a dry spell and were bored. Where is she anyway?
“She’s talking to Hyuck right now,” Jaemin mumbles meekly, shoulders slightly hunched over as he stares into the depths of his own solo cup.
“Really? I mean, is she even his type?” Lia asks skeptically, straightening up in her spot to see if she can spot you or Donghyuck anywhere. “If anything, I thought her friend—the pretty English major one—would be his type. How is she anyone’s type?”
“Hey, he turned her from a four to a solid eight. She might even go up half a point once you introduce her to an exercise and diet plan.” Karina says offhandedly, raising her cup towards him in mock salute before taking a sip.
“Yeah, how are you going to do that? It’s not like you can even sugarcoat it for her because then she’d eat it too,” Yeonjun throws out with a smirk, and Jaemin feels sick to his stomach, the nauseating feeling growing exponentially and gnawing at him as his friend continues, “I mean she’s probably already on the seafood diet because she sees any food and just eats it. How can you even stand her, Jae? The way she just follows you around like a puppy. Isn’t it annoying?”
“God, I know, the way she basically chases after us like a lap dog is so pathetic. At least she takes good insta pics for us though, so she’s somewhat useful. But we had that one really good group photo at that last party, and she totally ruined the picture. You can’t even crop her out because she had to stand next to you, Jae,” Lia complains, rolling her eyes, and Karina laughs, taking out her phone and scrolling through her photos.
“Oh my god, I know the exact photo you’re talking about. It’s this one, right? She practically threw herself into your arms,” She flashes her screen towards the group, and Jaemin wants to shrink and crawl into a hole somewhere and die. Was it the best photo of you? No. Was it the worst? Maybe close to it. You’re standing sideways and still taking up more space in the photo than the others, and the flash photography did not do any favors for you. You stand out even worse than Will Smith in the sunflower costume meme. He cringes inwardly, noting the way your skirt had rolled up and you’re smiling a little too widely. He makes a mental note to help you practice better, more flattering poses later on.
“You know that famous baby hippo? Moo Deng? I think we found her twin from the future,” Yeonjun barks out a laugh, reaching over and zooming in on you as Karina smirks before putting away her phone. Lia giggles and glances over at Jaemin, scrutinizing his reaction before a sly expression makes an appearance on her face, saying coyly, “You have a crush on her, don’t you?”
Jaemin flushes, embarrassment coating his cheeks, and he immediately snaps, “Shut up, I might be lonely, but I’m not despera—”
“Oh, Y/N!” Lia says loudly, effectively cutting Jaemin short. “How did it go? Are you and Hyuck gonna be the new couple on campus?”
Immediately, his heart drops even further to his stomach, and Jaemin whirls around to see you standing a few feet away. Did Lia know you were there? How long were you standing there? Did you hear them? Did you hear every horrible thing they said about you?
“Oh, Donghyuck said he wasn’t interested, but he was nice about it,” you say, offering a vague smile in Jaemin’s direction, and he nearly breathes a sigh of relief as his heart starts to slow back down to its normal rate. A part of him is glad that Donghyuck rejected you, and he nearly misses what you say next, too caught up in this unfamiliar feeling.
“I think I’m going to head back to my dorm. I’m a little tired. Thank you for inviting me.”
With that, you turn away and walk off, but something still doesn’t feel right to Jaemin. It’s a split second decision but for once, he puts his heart over his mind and chases after you, ignoring the increasing whispers from his friends and their eyes searing into his back.
ix. raise your hand if you have ever been personally victimized by na jaemin.
Jaemin is right on your heels the entire time you walk back to your dorm. All he receives is stony silence from you that he fills with babbling nonsense, asking you what’s wrong to no avail. When you finally enter your dorm, you turn to him at last, and he perks up. However, the two words that come out of your mouth have him deflating faster than Yangyang’s ego when Alice called him a shitty kisser with too much saliva (“You’re supposed to make me wet down there, not up here. Honestly, dude, if I wanted to drown myself, I would’ve jumped into the ocean.”).
“We’re done.”
You decide to bite the bullet.
After freeing your feet from their pointy death contraptions, you peel off each layer of clothing one by one, unzipping the mini skirt and kicking it away before tugging at the spandex, unleashing the breath you’ve been holding in since 8 a.m. to fit into it. There’s still indents marking the dips in your waist and your thighs, a lasting reminder that stays like an embarrassing stain. You fling that abhorrent piece of elastic elsewhere, and it falls near the end of your bed, out of sight behind the pile of textbooks you haven’t touched for the past three days.
“Hold on, what are you talking about? We made so much progress. You wanted to do this,” Jaemin protests, following after you and picking up the discarded garments you threw haphazardly. He waves around the skirt like a white flag. “You wanted to be in the popular crowd, and you got it. You’re this close to dating Hyuck. Yeah, he might’ve said no now, but we’ll come up with a new plan—You can bounce back from this! Why are you quitting now?”
Removing the off-the-shoulder pink top that restricts your arm movement, you quickly slip on an oversized sweater before reaching back and unhooking the strapless bra whose underwire has been digging into your ribs for so many hours, a sigh of relief escaping between your teeth. You toss it onto your chair without another care in the world, and it lands next to the shirt in a heap.
“Because this isn’t me. This isn’t what I like.”
“Of course, it is. This is still you: just new and improved,” he insists, frantically attempting to hand you your discarded shirt and pleather skirt. You ignore them, opting to pull out and put on your favorite pair of stretched out gym shorts from middle school that you had shoved in the back of your closet to make room for all the flashy clothing Jaemin picked out for you. “We’re having fun. You’re popular and pretty now. You’re almost dating Donghyuck. You have everything that everyone wants. You’re the girl the boys want to be with, the girl all the other girls want to be.”
You shake your head, reaching for the packet of makeup wipes near your sink. “It’s not what I want.”
Jaemin scoffs, “Don’t be ridiculous. What are you talking about? This is what you asked me to do.”
You throw him a scathing glare, and he takes a step back. “God, Jaemin, for once in your life, take off the stupid rose colored heart shades, and you’ll finally see all the red flags around you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jaemin asks defensively. He thought everything was going according to plan; he’s going to pass macroeconomics, and you got to talk to Donghyuck and are this close to scoring a date with him. People notice you wherever you go, the two of you receive compliments, his friends like you, everyone likes you.
“I have to pretend to like things I hate and hate the things I like. I have to do things a certain way, act a certain way, pretend this is all effortless. I don’t know if people are being genuine or pretending like I am. I hate this—this fake version of me.” You spit the words out like fuel to a fire, and you stand there in all your blazing glory, ugly uniform shorts and all.
“My thighs keep chafing. My feet have blisters everyday from these boots. This foundation makes me break out even more, and I can’t type up my notes in class or write fast enough because of these nails, and my grades almost took a plunge. I’m basically freezing my tits off out there in a shirt I don’t like. The lashes make my eyes itch, and this skirt is so short that I have to keep pulling it down every five seconds before I end up flashing someone.”
You don’t recognize the girl in your mirror anymore. You pluck off the falsies lining your eyes, scrubbing furiously at the layers of expensive brand name makeup covering your skin. You wipe off every inch of it until your bare face stares back at you, slightly puffy, blemishes, faded acne scars and all. You feel like you can breathe a little better now.
“Did you really think it’s easy being one of us? Do you think people will notice you if you show up in sweats with Cheetos stains?” Jaemin stares at you incredulously. “This is how it is. I don’t get why you’re throwing it all away like this.”
“And yet, you were all for it when I threw away everything before.”
“Because you asked for it! You asked me to—to make you into someone Donghyuck would date!”
“You don’t get it.” You whirl around on your heels to face him instead of the mirror, and the anger and intensity laced in your voice nearly blows him away. “I like myself the way I am. I never hated myself. I may be insecure about how I look sometimes, but who isn’t? Yeah, I like wearing cherry lip gloss and mascara sometimes. It’s fun trying out new hairstyles and clothes and learning to do better makeup. I like getting dressed up for special occasions. I like doing these things on my own terms. But this? What I’m doing to myself right now? This isn’t the same. Am I supposed to keep up this charade for the rest of my life? If I do eventually go out with Donghyuck, am I gonna have to keep lying to him? To everyone? I want people to like me for me. To actually know me.”
“If this is how you feel, then why would you keep doing this?! If you hate it so much, then why?” He’s frustrated, carding his fingers through his hair as he can’t wrap his mind around the fact that you’re angry over this. You look gorgeous, so what’s the problem?
“Because I liked spending time with you!” you burst out, “I never liked Donghyuck—I liked you. I wanted it to be you. It was fun at first, I did like it at first, but I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep pretending to be someone I’m not. I can’t be friends with someone who’s ashamed of me.”
There’s a jolt in his heart when he hears your confession, but the second jolt comes quickly afterwards at your last words. Denial is the first stage of grief, and he pales at your final declaration. “What are you talking about? This whole thing is so that Dongh—”
“Oh, please. You can drop the act. This isn’t about Donghyuck anymore. This is about you being too embarrassed to be seen with someone who doesn’t fit your aesthetics.” You air quote the last word for emphasis, and his jaw tightens at that. “You’d rather drop dead than go out with a four like me, right?” You smile sardonically at him. “I may be a four on a seafood diet, but my ears work perfectly fine, Jaemin.”
You heard it all, and Jaemin feels like he is going to throw up. All he can do is scramble and grasp for the last remaining straws, protesting vehemently, “I wasn’t the one who said any of that!”
You laugh humorlessly, “Is that supposed to make it better? You’re better than them because you didn’t say it out loud? You didn’t deny it or defend me either, so what’s your point?
His mouth goes dry, and he opens and shuts it several times. Swallowing harshly, he barely manages to croak out a weak reply. “That’s— I didn’t mean—I only really thought that before I knew you.”
“And that’s just it, isn’t it? You already judged me before you even knew me based on how I look. Even now, you still judge me.” He starts to open his mouth again, but you merely shrug as if you’ve accepted this for all your life, and he closes it meekly, shifting from one foot to the other uncomfortably, unable to meet your eyes
“That’s okay. I’m used to it. That’s how it is for people like me. I know I’m not someone people fall head over heels for immediately. I’m the one who reaches out to people first. Guys don’t fall over at my feet, wanting to carry my books to class for me. The pretty girls ask me to take their Insta pictures for them. I don’t get free drinks at the bar or invited to all the parties. I’ve never been asked out by a total stranger, and no one writes their number on my cup of coffee,” you say matter-of-factly, a resigned smile on your face, and it has him curling into himself internally, his conscience slowly eating away at him.
“And you know what?” you continue, “That's life. That’s okay because I’m happy with who I am. I like who I am. If I have to give myself up to get Donghyuck or you to like me, then he’s—you—are not the one. I shouldn’t change who I am for a boy—or anyone for that matter.”
“That’s not—We were doing this for you. You wanted… you wanted this makeover. You wanted this.” He’s desperately clutching onto the end of the rope, and you’re holding the scissors to cut it off. You show him another half smile, one that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.
“It stopped being about me. It started being about what you wanted, what you liked, what you wanted me to be. I was your charity case, your little Barbie doll.”
You tilt your head to the side, studying the boy in front of you and he silently squirms under your scrutiny. “Tell me one thing, and be honest. Did you even know I existed before Donghyuck mentioned me as a tutoring option? Before you needed me for a grade booster? Would you have liked me then?”
Would you have liked me then? Your question echoes in his mind, and Jaemin freezes, dropping the clothes in his hands. You know. You know he likes you, and the embarrassment creeps up on him in the form of carmine dusting his ears and cheeks, like spilled wine on white linen.
“There are over one hundred students in the class,” he objects. “Sorry for not fighting my way through all of them to find you and have a crush on you sooner.”
Jaemin seems to not realize that he just confirmed his feelings for you aloud, and perhaps, if he had told you this a few weeks ago, you would have been ecstatic and called up Lana and Moon the second he was out of earshot. But this is now, and you’ve grown exponentially since then.
You give him a wistful smile, and as the dread piles up in the pit of his stomach, he knows this is the start of his downfall (or perhaps, he’s already been falling this entire time). He slipped from the pedestal already long ago, and it’s only a matter of time before he hits rock bottom. The higher the pedestal, the harder the fall from grace.
“I sat in front of you diagonally. You asked me to pass notes to my friend. You know, the girl who sat next to me? Alice? The one you asked out and went on a few dates with at the beginning of the semester?” You state the facts calmly, and his eyes widen at that. “It’s okay. But you must’ve remembered that we were in the same group for a presentation last semester, right?”
Jaemin stays silent, and you have your answer. It’s one you’ve known deep down in your heart all this time, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt any less. After all, someone can announce they’re going to punch you, you can even see the strike coming to your gut, but simply knowing doesn’t do anything to ease the painful aftermath.
You chuckle humorlessly, fingers uncurling and recurling into fists as your nails press moon shaped crescents into your palms before you look him straight in the eyes. “I don’t fit into your cookie cutter life or match your rose colored Instagram filters. I don’t have the perfect model figure or the perfect face. I don’t look like the girl of your dreams, and I know that it just fucking kills you inside that you fell in love with me.”
Jaemin flinches, curling in on himself when he finally meets your gaze and finally sees the absolute hell fires of fury and repugnance ablaze in your eyes. You know that he loves you, and he’s ashamed that you’re right. You’re absolutely right.
Why is he so afraid of loving you?
He loves how smart you are, how witty you are, how funny you are, how genuine you are, how you understand every obscure Haikyuu!! reference he makes, how you laugh at his jokes, how you dm him the funniest memes on Instagram, how you wear your purple scrunchie around your wrist during every exam for good luck and how you let him borrow it too. He loves how you treat him as more than just a pretty face, how you actually listen to him and make him feel like what he says matters, how you make him feel different—special—like he doesn’t have to compete with all the other Barbies and Kens out there. He’s much too vain, much too superficial, much too selfish, much too proud to admit it out loud, but he’s in love with you, and yet, he can’t bring himself to love every single part of you.
And the truth of that matter is the ugliest of all.
But there are standards that he has to uphold, why can’t you understand this? He lowered his standards for you, and you still couldn’t meet them. You have the personality already, you are this close to being the ideal girl, and well, you both have to make changes. It’s the prince and princess who live happily ever after, not the prince and the pauper, or god forbid, the ogre (No offense, Shrek). This is real life, and society has unspoken rules. He sacrificed so much for you, he put his reputation on the line, so why couldn’t you do this for him? After all, love always has some sacrifices.
Right?
But when Jaemin looks at you now, there’s everything, but love staring back at him. You look at him like he’s a repulsive piece of chewed gum stubbornly stuck to the bottom of your Steve Madden heel. It strikes a nerve and completely eats him to the core, but he pulls himself upright because nobody talks to him like that, nobody looks at him like that, certainly not someone like you. He invented you, he made you into the next Princess Mia, the next Cady Heron, the next Serena van der Woodsen, and this is how you show your gratitude?
“Oh, you’ve got to be shitting me. You act like I’m the first person to judge first based on looks. Everyone does it. Am I supposed to strike up a conversation with every girl on the off chance she’s everything I want? Do you think anyone would fall for you immediately when you looked like that? The saying is ‘love at first sight’, unless you’re one to believe in the whole ‘love is blind’ idea, which you clearly do,” Jaemin snaps, sneering as he eyes you up and down. His heart and mind are screaming, crying, begging for him to stop, but his pride dropkicks him headfirst into the hole he dug for himself, raging for him to get the upper hand again.
“How is it my fault for not knowing you’re the whole package when the wrapping doesn’t match the contents?”
The unfiltered words slip out of his mouth, and he immediately regrets it, closing his eyes, but it’s too late. He sees the instant look of devastation that appears on your face, and it hits him like a boxer’s punch to the chest. He starts to backtrack to no avail. You play stupid games, you win stupid prizes.
“I am never going to be enough for you, am I?” you whisper, your breaths stuttering in your chest as your initial sarcasm turns into quiet truths now that eat away at him. “I’m either too much or too little. There’s always going to be something you’ll want to change, something you want to fix.”
“Y/N… I… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that. It was an accident. I just—”
Jaemin can’t continue on, his voice trailing off as he doesn’t know what to say. He wants to keep apologizing, he’ll do anything it takes to take back what he just said, but the damage has already been dealt. He’s always known he’s an asshole, sure, but this is beyond anything he’s ever said or done in the past. He just secured the seat of honor in Dante's ninth circle of hell, and there’s no return ticket.
“You just what? You thought it would be okay to say anything to my face just because it’s not up to your standards?”
Jaemin’s face pales. “N-no, I—this isn’t how it's supposed to go, I just—It just slipped out, can we start over?”
A public rejection from any boy or girl would hurt infinitely less than the words Jaemin spat in your face. The things that his friends said before within earshot? You could take it because you couldn’t care less about them at the end of the day. But this? This was coming from someone you trusted, someone you care about, someone you lov—No, you don’t even want to think about that.
Jaemin never loved you. He never even liked you. The harsh reality slaps you like a cold shower in the middle of a winter night, and you want to curl up into a ball under your covers and cry until you fall asleep.
And yet, you will not let him humiliate you any longer. The spell has been broken. Cinderella is back to her rags, and her Prince Charming is nowhere to be found. She’s stuck as a toad that’ll never change. Eyes watering, you inhale sharply, laughing quietly in disbelief before you straighten up and your face hardens.
“Are you actually listening to yourself? You think we can start over? You treat people like they’re disposable, like they’re nothing, and once they don’t match with your theme of the week, you toss them even faster than the time it takes for you to choose an outfit.” Your chest is heaving, and the tears threaten to fall, but you push on, swallowing the lump in your throat. He reaches out for you, and you take a step back, shaking your head.
“You can’t hurt people and expect them to just let it go. I get it, I know I’m not the thinnest, or the nicest, or the funniest, or the smartest, or the prettiest. I know that I’m hard to love. I get it, Jaemin. I’ve always known that.”
You choke on the last sentence, swallowing hard to stifle the hiccup that bubbles up in your throat. “But that doesn’t give you the right to treat me like shit.”
Rapidly blinking back your tears, you march over to your door and throw it open with such force that the doorknob could have left a dent in the wall. You don’t want to cry, you’ve always been an angry crier, and you desperately want the tears to stop. You refuse to give him the satisfaction of seeing you cry and hearing your confession. He doesn’t deserve any of that. Jaemin doesn’t deserve your tears, and he certainly doesn’t deserve your love.
“Get out.”
Jaemin stares at you, mouth agape like a fish on land. You gesture heatedly towards the outside, choking slightly. “What are you waiting for? I said get out.”
“Y/N, I—”
“Am I a joke to you?” you quietly ask, and his eyes widen.
“No! No, Y/N, you’re not, I jus—”
A single tear manages to escape despite your best, frustrated efforts, and Jaemin instinctively reaches out for you. You swat his hand away, angrily swiping away the stray droplet with the sleeve of your sweater. His heart wrenches in his chest as his hand dangles limply by his side. You’re crying because of him. He caused that, and he feels like the biggest piece of shit in the world.
You refuse to let any more fall, glaring at him through the unshed tears and entirely disgusted with the boy standing in front of you. “Don’t touch me. I’m not crying for you. I’m crying because I’m so angry I wasted all my time on someone who never cared about me.”
That’s not true—I love you, he wants to say, but his mouth refuses to form the words because his pride won’t loosen its grip on his heart. He loves you, he’s in love with you, why can’t you see that?
You steel yourself, taking one shaky breath before looking pointedly at the door and repeating yourself, “Get out. Leave me alone.”
Numbly, he makes his way over to the door, ears ringing. You glower at him, the intensity searing and digging into the side of his face. When he stands outside of your dorm, he struggles to turn around and face you helplessly. Your eyes soften for a moment, and it shoves the dagger deeper into his chest when he recognizes that look. It’s the same look he wore when he first saw you, and the shame that emerges nearly chokes him. The mixture of pity and disappointment painted across your face revolts him entirely, and he feels like he’s going to vomit. Jaemin is utterly humiliated.
Your gaze intensifies once more when you stand up to your full height, stare unwavering and chin raised up. Gripping the doorframe tightly, you drive the final words into his heart like a stake.
“I am too good for you, Jaemin, and I will never love someone like you. I deserve better.”
And for a split second, you almost convinced yourself when you said that.
You shut the door in his face.
Jaemin calls your name through the door several times, desperation ringing clear in his tone, but it falls on deaf ears. Apologies are a fool’s best friend, and you’d be a fool yourself to believe them. Holding your breath, you wait until you hear his footsteps echo down the hallway, until the solitude greets you like an old friend. And at last, you drop the facade and let yourself cry. Back pressed against the door and head bowed, you finally let go until all the tears are gone and you’re gasping for breath, the quiet hiccups and sobs bursting forth and breaking the silence in the same way he broke your heart over and over again.
You love him.
There’s no one to blame, but yourself. In the end, it’s all your fault that you were in this mess. How can you be so stupid? You can put lipstick on a pig, but it would still be a pig. Built up insecurities will bubble up to the surface no matter how much mascara and blush you apply. The warning signs were all there in flashing technicolor, but they were all tied up with shiny ribbons and deceiving perfect smiles. They lit up your usual drab life of blacks, whites, and grays, and you were blinded by the glitz and glamor— blinded by him. It is hard to see the red flags and stop signs through the rose colored Instagram filters. You trusted him and gave him your heart when you should’ve known it’d end like this.
You got greedy and tried to steal the spotlight, and you received it, front and center. You are the joke. You are the punchline, the comedic relief, the center stage of a slapstick comedy show. This is what you get for going off script.
Because you love him.
You were supposed to continue to delude yourself into thinking that you don’t want to find love, that you enjoy being on your own, that you enjoy being single, that you are perfectly content with never experiencing romance instead of facing the cold harsh reality head on: no one sees you as desirable or dateable. And when your friends tell you that you’re not missing out on anything with dating, you were supposed to nod and agree, when secretly, you desperately wish you can experience that for yourself instead of living vicariously through your friends’ love lives or the 3 a.m. scrollings through cheesy romance fanfiction on Tumblr. You’re been fine all these years, haven’t you? You were doing so well living on your own.
But you love him.
It’ll come when you least expect it, that’s what they tell you every time, but what are you to do when you can’t help but expect it your whole life? What are you to do when you so desperately want to know what it feels like to be loved in that way? God, when is it going to be your turn? When is it your turn to daydream about someone and know that they’re daydreaming about you too? When is it your turn to have someone walk you home? When is it your turn to hold hands with someone? When is it your turn to feel the giddy butterflies and experience a good night kiss? When is it your turn to be kissed in the rain? When is it your turn to experience the romance you can only dream about?
How much longer will you have to be patient? How much longer do you have to wait, living in denial over the soul crushing reality of it all? How many more stars do you need to wish upon until you learn to accept the painstaking truth? You weren’t meant to be loved in this lifetime.
God, you love him.
It’s embarrassing when it shouldn’t be. You just want to be touched by hands that care, loved by a heart that beats for you, desired by someone who thinks you are enough. It’s the way you would give up ten years of your life in a heartbeat to experience being the prettiest girl in the room just once and have people look at you. The overwhelming shame washes over you when you never had your first kiss until now with a boy who never cared about you, never went on a date before, never had a boyfriend before, and you have to lie and say it’s by choice when it’s not. It’s not. You have so much love to give, you have so much space in your life to share, you have so much time to spend with that special someone, but the grains of the hourglass are spent waiting and longing for a stranger who will never come.
The thought of it all just makes you sick. It makes you sick that you wish so terribly that someone would just look in your direction for once. For once, you want to be looked at in that way like all the female protagonists experience in the movies. And you know your value shouldn’t be based on desire and objectification, you absolutely know it, but it still hurts when you go out with your friends and you’re the one dancing alone or sitting back and watching the purses. You’re the one standing there by yourself, while every single one of your pretty friends is being approached by someone. It still hurts so fucking bad when you try to put yourself out there, but guys have already moved past you or don’t even acknowledge your existence simply because of your face or a number on a scale. And when he came into your life and gave you one measly ounce of attention, you ran with it when you should have run away. It’s absolutely exhausting, leaving you out of breath and on the verge of throwing up, to chase after someone who never even looked at you, to chase after their attention, praying to god that they’ll one day make you feel like you are worth it, that you’ll finally feel some sort of value.
Forget ever being loved, you weren’t even wanted.
There is no such thing as happily ever after’s for the extras. Girls like you don’t get to star in love stories. Why did you ever think it would end differently?
You love him.
And he ruined you. Even worse, you let him.
You wish you never met Na Jaemin.
x. i can’t go out tonight. *fake coughs* i’m sick.
You would like to give a formal apology to Bella Swan for not understanding why she was so depressed over Edward leaving her for six months and making fun of her. In your defense, you were like nine years old when the movie came out, and you were more interested in Barbies back then (Plus, you were Team Jacob because you wanted a pet dog at the time).
You didn’t even go through a break up, but it sure as hell feels like one.
You probably would continue to wallow in your misery for weeks, clutching onto the only two men you could ever trust in your entire life: Ben and Jerry’s while watching every iconic 90s and early 2000s rom-coms on repeat if it weren’t for your best friends. But enough is enough, and you get that you shouldn’t be spending weeks crying over a boy who hasn’t even spent one second thinking about you. It’s just hard to take that first step back up again when you feel like you tripped and fell all the way down to rock bottom.
And so, you finally let your friends into your shared dorm room, and you definitely do not miss the poorly disguised look of disgust and shock when they see the giant mess on your side of the room (You’re very grateful that Giselle has been staying at her boyfriend’s place for weeks now). It’s an intervention at this point—one that you desperately need, and you know it.
“Okay, give it to me straight,” you sniffle, still wrapped up in your comforter like a giant burrito and clutching onto the ice cream carton like a lifeline. You know that your friends will just rip it off like a bandage, and you have mentally prepared yourself for it. Your voice comes out wobbly still from the tears, and you hate it. “I know I was stupid for letting a guy walk all over me like that. I know if any of you were in this situation, I’d tell you that you’re better than that and to get over him, but it’s just so hard to do it.”
“He who shall not be named is a scumbag, and I’m gonna kill him the next time I see him,” Lana states, pursing her lips together. “I hope he has a bad hair day every single day because I know he’d be screaming, crying, throwing up if he could never get a perfect selfie ever again.”
You choke back a sob, giving her a watery smile. “That would destroy him.”
“Good. Fuck him. Metaphorically, not literally. Why should you care if you are the girl of his dreams or not? Be the girl of your dreams. You’re gorgeous, smart, and funny and he’s just some guy who still doesn’t know how to use the correct ‘your’ in an Instagram caption.”
You can write down a thousand and one reasons why he was the most horrendous, most awful, most vile person to ever grace your life. But at the end of the day, why does it matter? What good would it do? You still love him, and that’s the worst pill to swallow.
“I just—I’m having a hard time believing that.”
“Y/N, if you believed that Jaemin wasn’t a shitbag for the past four weeks and all the time before that in his life, then you can believe in yourself right now for two minutes and listen to me,” Lana says firmly, clutching onto your shoulders and forcing you to look her in the eye as she continues on, “Remember the Barbie movie? He’s just Ken. Ken doesn’t have a good day unless Barbie looks at him.”
“Yeah, like channel your inner Gina Linetti. Listen to Chelsea Peretti. ‘Men used to hunt.’ What’s Jaemin doing? He’s pushing twenty and doing aegyo on camera,” Moon chimes in, and Lana nods furiously in agreement before elbowing Yangyang in his rib not-so-subtly. “Contribute to the conversation, Yang.”
“Hold on, I’m thinking,” Yangyang says, pausing in the middle of your room and placing his hands on his hips.
“Oh congrats, I didn’t know you could do that. But stop because you’re not good at it at all,” Moon says, completely ignoring the dirty look he throws at her immediately. The little exchange brings a small smile to your face and it feels nice to laugh. You’ve forgotten how to do that. You miss your friends. You’re grateful for them for not giving up on you when you already have.
“Come on, let’s go see ‘Crazy Rich Asians.’ It’ll be fun. We can watch Lana fangirl over seeing her favorite actor,” Moon encourages you, and Yangyang nods in agreement. “Yeah, she picked a better man after the Jaehyun fiasco.”
“Oh my god, let it go. I didn’t like him that much,” Lana huffs softly, grabbing one of your spare pillows and launching it square into his face in retaliation, and he lets out out a high pitched shriek that makes you giggle.
“Weren’t you gonna go see it with your best friend, Yang?” You ask, glancing over at him and he shakes his head, a slightly sour expression on his face. “Nah, she’s going with Dejun already.”
“So unfortunately, we’re stuck with him now,” Moon says solemnly as Yangyang immediately throws her a dirty look. The look on his face makes you laugh, and it makes you feel a little better and your heart a little lighter.
You shouldn’t have to beg someone to love you; the right person will never make you beg. The right person would never chip away at you, erasing different parts of you, until you fit their picture perfect mold, until there’s nothing left of you. You would never have to call your friends at 4 am, drunk and crying for their validation, praying to whatever higher being is up there for them to take you back. Your friends have never looked at the scars and freckles dotting your skin and suddenly deemed you as unlovable. Your best friend wouldn’t call you fat and point out every single one of your insecurities. You are not unlovable because you decided to eat a third taco or decided to not wear makeup today or didn’t shave your legs. You may fight with your parents and siblings, but never once have you felt unloved by them. Never once did you have to get on your knees and plead for them to love you back.
You know you are worthy of love because your friends and family make it look so easy. They have shown you what love is really like time and time again. You’ve been a shitty friend these past few months, prioritizing a boy over the ones who really matter. They’ve been so patient with you this entire time, and with an open heart, you realize that it is time you finally start properly loving them and yourself too.
You are loved.
xi. that’s so not fetch!
Jaemin slinks out of the lecture hall, noting the dirty looks your friends have sent him from the other side of the room. He’s been standing outside of the classroom before the session starts for the past few weeks in hopes of catching you, looking like a complete creep (and definitely feeling like one). But what’s he to do when you wouldn’t return any of his texts or calls? It’s humiliating, and he feels smaller than an ant under a microscope.
He pretends to leave class early, staking out in the bathroom across from the classroom. Counting down the minutes, he sees the first wave of students pouring out from the classrooms and finally spots you. His heart jumps to his throat, and his hands begin to grow clammy.
You’re back to wearing your loose jeans and basic t-shirts, your favorite purple scrunchie wrapped around your wrist and an old Jansport backpack slung over your shoulder, decorated with pins of all those familiar characters from his favorite anime. Your face is bare, aside from tinted lip balm, and you’re smiling. You’re laughing at something your friend next to you says, and with a sinking heart, Jaemin realizes that perhaps maybe you are pretty in the slightest way.
He finds himself taking one step towards you, then another, maneuvering around the other students rushing to leave. He’s getting closer and closer, if he called out your name, you would hear him. But you wouldn’t stop for him this time. He knows that.
Jaemin is getting closer, just a few more steps until he can just stretch his hand out and tap your shoulder, and his heart is pounding so hard in his chest until a pretty manicured hand grabs his upper arm lightly.
“Jaemin? What are you doing here?”
He pauses, turning around and seeing Somi staring back at him in surprise as she continues, “I thought you don’t have any classes at this time.”
“Yeah, I—” he hesitates, glancing over at your retreating figure and Somi follows his gaze, her eyes softening as she lets go of his arm.
“Oh, were you waiting for her? Sorry about that,” she apologizes, pulling away and he shakes his head, shrinking back. Maybe it was for the better that you got away. It’s probably a sign from the universe telling him to let it go.
“No, it’s okay. She doesn’t want to talk to me anyway,” Jaemin admits at last, starting to slink off, and Somi furrows her eyebrows, a puzzled expression gracing her face as she hurries slightly to catch up with him, matching his pace. He exits the building, crushing the graded economics midterm with a red 89 circled at the top in his fist and shoving it haphazardly into the side pocket of his backpack usually reserved for his water bottle.
“What are you talking about? The two of you are practically glued at the hip. She adores you,” she laughs softly, tilting her head slightly as she glances over at him. He ignores her look, continuing on his way off of campus and towards his safe haven: a small dog friendly boba shop snug in between a bookstore and a 24 hour laundromat he frequents more often than he likes to admit.
“I honestly thought you’d ask her out at some point.”
Jaemin winces at that, her light response rubbing salt into his open wounds, stitches torn and bleeding, and he spits out the next words defensively, his pride rearing its ugly head again. “No way. I never liked her like that. She’s not my type at all. Have you seen her?”
“What is wrong with you?” Somi frowns at him, stopping in her tracks, and he halts, unable to look at her and throwing out a dismissive “What?” In her direction.
“Why are you talking about her like that? I thought you liked her,” she answers, staring at him in disbelief, and he curls his fingers into fists, gripping tightly as a multitude of conflicting emotions war inside of him. He starts to walk again, barely glancing over at Somi.
“She was just my tutor. I passed my midterm, so I don’t need to be around her anymore.” He responds weakly, uncurling and recurling his fingers into fists as he desperately tries to stay calm.
It was so much easier to pretend around his other friends. Aside from Jeno, they always took his words at face value, never one to pry. And Jeno would never push him, knowing that he would eventually come to him at his own pace. But Somi? He’s forgotten about how she can be after she’s been so busy with her schedule, missing out from the majority of hang outs for her social work and events, and their class schedules never overlapped. She can spot a lie a mile away. She actually cares. In a way, she reminds him of you, and he can’t bear to meet her gaze anymore.
“She’s your friend,” Somi retorts, following him into the boba shop, briefly stopping to pet the adorable Samoyed wagging its tail near the entrance. “You spent more time with her than any of us, except maybe Jeno. And you weren’t just studying in the library. I’ve seen her on your finsta and close friend stories.”
“Okay, and now she’s not. She’s not my friend anymore,” Jaemin answers sharply, punching his order into the self service machine. “It happens. People stop being friends. So back off, Somi.”
“Jeez, what is your problem?” she snaps back, following him towards the back, settling on a pillow in one of the comfortable nooks converted into a small seating area across from him. “I caught you following Y/N, and now you say you’re not friends?”
Jaemin hesitates, fiddling with one of the decorative pillows in his lap. “We got into an argument.”
“Yeah, but friends fight. You can apologize, right?”
Jaemin is silent.
Somi stares at him, and he wants to curl into himself. It’s the very same look you gave him before you shut the door in his face, and he feels the bile in his throat already. Her voice is quiet. “Jaemin, what did you do?”
“I—,” he whispers, breaking off and clenching his fists. He is already replaying that moment in his head, seeing the look of utter devastation on your face, and he wants to run away. The ugly truth is front and center, and he is unable to ignore it any longer.
“I fucked up, okay? Is that what you wanted to hear?” Jaemin bursts out, burying his face in his hands and unable to face his friend. He closes his eyes, sucking in a deep breath. “I said some shitty things to her, some really fucked up stuff.”
“Like fucked up as in messy drunk thoughts or fucked up, fucked up?” Somi says softly, hesitantly, as if she doesn’t want to believe her friend is the worst of the worst. Jaemin’s heart sinks even lower than rock bottom as he continues to hang his head low.
“I…” Jaemin’s voice is less than a whisper as he finally confesses the horrible truth to someone for the first time. His voice cracks as he recalls every single disgusting thing and insecurity he flung back into your face.
“I said that it would be stupid for her to believe in love at first sight, that she wasn’t up to my standards, that it’s her fault, that I was ashamed of her, ashamed that I even liked her because of the way she looked.”
The silence is deafening, and Jaemin feels the same wave of humiliation wash over him as it did on that very night. Somi is speechless, and he can’t bear to look at her, one hundred percent knowing that there would be a raw look of utter disgust and horror on her face because that is the exact way he would look at himself. He sits there in silence as the guilt and shame pile up even higher; he is past the point of wallowing in self pity, already drowning and gasping for breath.
“Jaemin… she was your friend,” she murmurs, gazing at him, mouth agape as the shock finally settles in, and he flinches slightly at the past tense. “She actually cared about you. She made you happy.”
“I know,” he says softly.
“She was the best thing that ever happened to you.” Somi continues quietly.
Jaemin sucks in a sharp breath, biting his bottom lip. “I know.”
“Then why?”
Because I was stupid, he thinks silently, Because I am a coward. Because she embarrassed me. She made me feel small. She made me feel insignificant. She made me look at myself in the mirror, and for the first time in my life, I absolutely hated what I saw staring back at me.
“I don’t know,” Jaemin whispers, staring down at his lap in resignation and unable to swallow the truth.
He knows.
xii. you can’t sit with us.
You continue to avoid Jaemin in Macroeconomics, choosing to slip into class at the very last minute. You see him waiting in front of the classroom every session for the past three weeks, searching for you, but you opt to go to the professor’s office hours every time before class and end up walking with her to class as she answers your questions about the assigned readings and problems. Alice saves you a seat in the front row, and you never told her but you’re grateful when you realize she must have asked her other friends to sit around the two of you, effectively barricading Jaemin from any attempt at sitting next to you. Finals week comes and goes with the winter break following suit, and you think he has finally given up on any attempt at reaching you.
But life has an unfortunate penchant for bringing up things—or people—you wish to forget when you least expect it. It was supposed to be an ordinary Thursday four weeks into the spring semester, and you’re exiting your last class of the day, tucking your laptop into the cute tote bag you bought from the New York Strands bookstore as you walk across campus.
“Y/N.” Jaemin appears in front of you, and suddenly, all the air in your lungs seem to have been sucked out. It’s almost embarrassing how two months of self progress can be toppled over as easily as a house of cards. Your brain says to hate him, but one glance at him still has you weak in the knees. You take a deep breath, counting to three before walking around and ignoring him entirely.
“Please, can we just talk for five minutes? I’m sorry.” He desperately reaches out for you, and you can see some people starting to take note of the two of you, their gazes on your back.
“Leave me alone, Jaemin.” You continue to walk away, hiking up the strap of your bag higher over your shoulder, desperately trying to quell the stupid colony of butterflies in your stomach that have laid dormant for so long. “I don’t want to talk to you.”
“Please, just five minutes—three minutes—and I’ll leave you alone forever. Listen to me,” he says in a quiet tone. It was an order, a request, and a plea all at once.
You pause, scrutinizing him for a few moments before grabbing his arm and dragging him away from prying eyes. You stop on the secluded side of the building underneath the magnolia trees before dropping his hand. “You have two minutes. Talk.”
“I’m an idiot.”
“Good to know you’re self aware. You’re finally experiencing some character growth.”
Jaemin grimaces at your stony expression. “Okay, that was deserved. I truly am sorry, Y/N. It’s my fault, I shouldn’t have lashed out at you, and I’m an asshole who took advantage of you. You do deserve better. You deserve someone better than me. But I want to be that person. You make me a better person.”
You stay quiet, and Jaemin fidgets around. “Is that… is that okay? I know it’s selfish of me, but—”
“You’re right, that is selfish of you.”
Jaemin falls silent at that, face flushing before he speaks up meekly, “Can’t we start over? Try again?”
In that moment, you truly pity the boy in front of you. The lost expression on his face tells it all as he desperately clutches onto whatever lifeline you’re willing to toss out. But he’s causing you to drown, and you need to cut the cord and put yourself first for once. Maybe you can change him. But you can’t do this to yourself again.
You take a deep breath and pinch yourself, reminding yourself that this is the same boy who broke your heart because it wasn’t pretty enough for him. “There is no trying again. You never tried, and I’m done trying for you. Jaemin, you don’t love me. You’ve never felt that way towards me.”
“Yes, I have! I do! I really do,” he protests, and you shake your head, taking a step back. He starts to take one step forward towards you and hesitates, staying in his original spot. Your gaze is cold, and he finds himself wishing that you would look at him in the way you used to.
“You love the idea of me: the one you built up in your head,” you say, tone growing quiet. “But I’m nothing like her. To some degree, I think I might be the first genuine connection you ever made with a girl. You liked the way I felt about you and how I acted for you. I changed everything about myself for you, I would’ve followed you anywhere, I would’ve done anything for you, and you took advantage of that. You took advantage of the fact that I love you.”
You may not truly know what love is, but you know it’s something he never gave you. It stings, knowing that even after all of this, you still secretly, desperately long for the type of love you know will always be out of your reach. A part of you wants to believe him, but this time, you listen to your mind instead of your heart.
Jaemin’s head shoots up at your confession, eyes widening in belated realization, and you curl your lips inward, biting your lower lip. You love him. You love him, he now knows, and to your surprise, it didn’t hurt as much as you thought it would. Three steps forward and two steps back is still one step in the right direction.
“One day, you’re gonna find someone who’s finally enough for you—someone who’s worth making pancakes for,” you say wistfully, pausing for a minute before gathering the courage to continue.
“And you’re gonna fall in love with them. Like really love them. You’re gonna love them so much that you’ll try your hardest to be enough for them. You’re gonna try so fucking hard to be the one they want, the one they love, that you’ll do anything for them. You’ll even change yourself for better—or for worse.” You grip the strap of your tote bag even tighter, a dull pang in your heart making its appearance, and Jaemin winces, lowering his eyes as the regret and guilt pools into his stomach.
“But sometimes, it won’t be enough. It’s not going to be enough,” you continue, swallowing hard. “And it’ll never be enough for them. You’re willing to move heaven and earth for them, but they won’t notice. Or maybe they don’t even care. No matter how hard you try to love them, it won’t matter unless they want you. Unless they choose you. And it’ll hurt like hell. It’ll hurt every single time you see them, every time you hear them, every time you think of them.”
Your voice softens, shaking slightly as you take in a wavering breath before pushing forward. “And when it hurts, you’re going to think of me. You’re going to remember me because that’s when you’ll understand what it feels like. That’s when you’ll know how I felt. How it feels to not be enough. How it feels to have your heart ripped to shreds by someone you care about—someone you love.”
His heart drops, and you give him a wistful smile before it quickly disappears, and your expression schools into one of indifference. You continue to walk forward confidently, brushing past his frozen figure. You see your friends waiting for you on the other side of the lawn, and you look over your shoulder at Jaemin one last time, taking a deep breath and steeling yourself.
“And you know what? I hope to fucking god it hurts you as much as you hurt me.”
The world continues to spin, you keep moving forward, and he remains rooted in his spot, unable to look away from you. There are so many Barbies and Kens out there, so many more Na Jaemins who will come into your life and sweep you off your feet, and you’ll make them feel special and more than a pretty face, he belatedly realizes, he’s disposable and so easily replaceable, but there’s only ever going to be one you.
As he watches you walk away, Jaemin thinks he is starting to understand.
EPILOGUE.
Life likes to play cruel jokes, and the senior year gives you the most hilarious one of all in the form of your final capstone project. Last you heard about Jaemin, he had switched his major to pre med (which was ironic to you since that field would require him to care about other people, which he clearly proved to be incapable of). However, your university decided to implement a cross collaboration between the various schools, and it’s just your luck that you find yourself paired up with Jaemin. Giving him a tight smile as you take a seat across from him in the library room he reserved, you take out your laptop.
Jaemin had asked earlier if you wanted to request a new assigned partner, but you highly doubt any professor would switch up a pairing on account of one person being guilty of being the greatest asshole to ever exist (Plus, you’ll come across many guys like him in your field of work, so you might as well start building up your tolerance now).
It is the final time you will meet up with him before the big presentation, and the two of you work together in silence, only breaking it to discuss the project topic. It is neither comfortable nor uncomfortable, settled somewhere in between—kind of like a purgatory for relationships. You’ve stopped thinking about him a while ago already, but seeing someone who once was a part of your life always brings back memories, whether wanted or not.
“I met someone.”
Jaemin breaks the ice, unable to hold it back any longer. He feels like he’s going to explode if he doesn't get this off of his chest. There is a slight pause in your writing before you resume, but he knows you are listening.
“I met her after… after our…” He trails off. He doesn’t know what to call it—what the two of you had. An almost relationship. “… After us.”
You continue to write, taking note of several points to be discussed based on your slide. He puts down his pen, clasping his hands together as he fiddles with one of the rings wrapped around his fingers.
“I made her blueberry pancakes.”
You sharply inhale for a brief millisecond before you jot down another bullet point. One, two, three, four, five bullet points until you can breathe normally again. You’re twenty two years old, but you suddenly feel like you’re eighteen again. You sometimes loathed your younger self, but because of her, you learned so many things (Forgiveness is one of them).
“I don’t know what else to do, except keep making her pancakes.” Jaemin sits there idly for a few moments, entirely unaware of your inner turmoil, before he laughs derisively, “She’s in love with my best friend. She never told me, but I can just tell.”
There’s another pause from him. Staring down at his notebook, he swallows hard, the lump in his throat never fully going away. His voice cracks as he whispers out his question:
“Does it ever stop hurting?”
Your pen stops moving across the paper, dropping to the side. There’s a black scribble from where it fell. You still continue to look at the index card, focusing on the college ruled lines until they become a mosaic blur of blue, black, and white.
“Eventually.”
Your tone is impassive, and his head snaps up at your reply. You pick up the pen again. You don’t look at him, but you know he’s staring at you, an unrecognizable expression in his eyes.
Perhaps, it would have been different if you had met the present day him back then instead. Perhaps, it would’ve worked out. Maybe he would have made another girl fall in love with him, broke her heart, and come out unscathed. Or maybe he would still be the same as his past self if he hadn’t met you. It’s the butterfly effect; you don’t know what would have happened, but you don’t care. Not anymore.
By now, you have mourned him for longer than you have loved him.
“Y/N, you were never hard to love. I was bad at loving. I’m sorry for hurting you.”
And this time, you know he truly means it—that Jaemin truly understands. It is good that he has learned and tried to become a better person. You just wish it didn’t have to come at the expense of you.
Your first love teaches you what love isn’t.
The threads holding the pieces of your heart together these past three years have always been so fragile. Just one tug at the heart strings, and everything unravels so easily, like grains of sand slipping through your fingers. You’ve nearly forgotten what heartbreak feels like, the old wounds opening up for a long forgotten friend that you had prayed you would never meet again.
You discover that it hurts even more the second time around.
“I wish I fell in love with you back then.”
His tone is forlorn, a silent resolution wrapped in happenstance. You continue to write down more notes for your part of the presentation, the soft scritches of your pen against paper almost masking your quiet response, and Jaemin nearly misses it.
pairing: collegestudent!jaemin x afab!collegestudent!reader
summary: confessions heard should be acted upon, right?
w.c: 6.3k
warnings: mdni 18+, jaemin is shy, reader is loud, reader is shy and then jaemin becomes bold, unreliable narrator(?), friends to lovers, mutual pining, (i) reader needs help, praising, fluff, some angst, self doubt, love making, jaemin talks reader through it, some inaccuracies, this probably sucks im so sorry, using an idea i wrote for a different fandom years ago btw
talking to strangers has always been something that just came natural. growing up, there is not one person you couldn’t make as a friend, you loved learning about all kinds of different people and hearing their stories. your life changed when you met your best friend, mark, you’d been an exchange student in vancouver. you were transferring into grade 12 and with him being in the same grade, he was paired up with you to show you around. you noticed how mark was initially shy at first, so you did all the talking. he always listened and responded when you asked questions about the school, city, and himself. soon, you both became good friends and by the time graduation came around you both became inseparable.
but of course all good things must come to an end, mark told you he was moving to korea. you swore the earth under you shook as your vision went black and a huge lump formed in your throat. you had friends; practically everyone in the school knew your name, but no one else was like mark. ‘maybe you can apply and we can attend together,’ he added to the news, trying to be hopeful. you laughed through the tears that threatened to fall past your waterline, ‘i’ll try my hardest’
graduation came and went, and mark had left in the middle of summer. You both cried in the airport as you sent him off. you refused to let him go, clutching onto his jacket and grasping him tighter every time he tried to pull away making you both giggle despite the tears running down your faces. ‘please come visit me soon, did you apply to the exchange program?’ he asked.
you nodded, gazing up into his big, brown eyes, ‘you know you’re my best friend right? no one can ever replace you’
‘same to you, never forget that’ you nodded again and hugged him one last time before you actually let him go, mark turned one last time to give you a small smile.
‘im sorry to inform you that your application to study abroad in seoul, south korea was rejected at this time…’ you trailed off, leaning over your desk to get a better look at the email.
‘damn’ your friend eric spoke from your bed, not even looking up from his phone, ‘that sucks’
you whipped your chair around now facing him, face red with anger and frustration, ‘this is the only college i applied to over the summer! what am i going to do!?’ you cried.
he glanced up from his phone, now putting it down realizing how dire the situation was for you, ‘just wait until the next round of applications start and reapply’ he shrugged.
you sighed, shoulders dropping in defeat, ‘yeah, i guess thats the only thing left’
you rolled back over to you desk and grabbed your phone, immediately opening your messages with mark, you knew he was asleep due to the time difference, but you had to tell him now.
‘bad news mark… i got rejected from the study abroad application’
you didn’t expect a texting bubble to pop up from him, ‘just apply to study here full time, as a student’ he responded. you started to text but stopped as another one came through, ‘not as a study abroad student but as like a student student, u know?’
you thought about it, but four years in korea? you haven’t given it much thought, but then again… when have you ever had anything really planned out? you lived on spontaneous mode at all times. ‘i’ll look into it’ you replied. two weeks later, you got accepted as a full time student for the next four years, applying as soon as you stopped your conversation with mark and encouragement from eric. he even paid for the late application fee. you were finally going to be reunited with your best friend and get to experience a whole new world with him, you thought nothing could get better.
‘guys, my best friend is coming to live here’ mark looked up from his phone with a gleaming smile on his face.
his first roommate, haechan was the first to respond, ‘i thought i was your best friend?’
jaemin, his second roommate played along and frowned at the older boy, ‘yeah, i didn’t know you had other friends’
mark rolled his eyes, ‘that's not the point! i can have multiple best friends. we’ve been talking about this since we graduated from secondary school, she’s coming here to attend the same college as us’ he explained.
‘SHE!?’ haechan basically jumped from his place on the worn couch, ‘this is new’
mark gave him a weird look, ‘i swear i’ve talked about her before…’ he sat down on the couch and got out his phone again, scrolling through his camera roll to find a picture of you both.
‘i think i’d remember if you talked about any girls’ jeno, his third roommate, chimed in.
mark clicked a picture of you both from graduation night, turning his phone around, the three other boys gathered around to look. jaemin immediately grabbed his phone, ‘she’s pretty’ he whispered, jeno nodded in agreement.
haechan laughed, ‘i’ve seen this picture before! on your moms facebook, not gonna lie, i thought she was your cousin’ making the other boys laugh.
mark just sighed, ‘please, everyone, be on your best behavior when she gets here’
mark talked about his friends in korea, a lot, knowing all their names and what they looked like already. so when you met them in person for the first time, you took them by surprise at how excited you were when you pointed to each one and recited their name. haechan thought it was cute, grabbing mark by the waist and saying, ‘aww markie talks about us’ in a baby voice while the older one tried to get away.
it was easy to get along with them, some more timid than the others, and you noticed but brushed it off. growing up extroverted had its pros and cons.
pros: lots of friends and always being the life of the party and funny one of the group.
cons: you are really annoying.
you didn’t want to scare any of mark's friends off, so you didn’t push as much as you would in any other situation. you could tell when the more hesitant ones in the group tried to open up, you appreciated it more than you could say. all of you knew how important it was to mark for everyone to get along, so the more you all hung out together, the easier it was to get closer and more comfortable.
by the time the second semester rolled around, everything was falling into place, except one thing that hasn’t seemed to left your mind. jaemin. you had gotten extremely close to everyone but jaemin. he was a tough nut to crack, but you couldn’t seem to wrap your head around the younger boy. you had asked mark about it a couple of times, but all he did was shrug and say ‘he’s an introvert, takes a while for him to warm up to certain people, i’m sure you’ll get him soon’ yeah jaemin was nice to you, but you weren’t as close with him as the others were to you, he was perfect, and you wanted him to like you. right when you got close, he was just always out of reach.
he was handsome, respectful, and just someone you always wanted to be around. he was loved on campus by everyone, always having something good to say about him. when you first met him in person your heart skipped a beat, if you asked anyone you’d expect them to say the same. he was always so nice to you in group settings, but you can recall times when you’d be left alone with him, and he’d somehow have the perfect excuse to be anywhere else but with you.
at first, you didn’t take it personally because you were still new to the friend group. now it was your third year of university, and you felt like you’ve made small progress. you’d send him funny cat instagram reels, and he’d send you outfits and ask for your opinion. it slowly progressed to walking to class together, despite it being in total silence. at group parties, you’d be talking to a group of random strangers and your eyes would always find his, always sitting off to the side. your curious eyes would watch as girls would try to talk to him, he’d always rub the back of his neck as he said something to them that would make them walk away a second later. so, at least, you knew it wasn’t just you that made him shy. however, you always come back to the time when you had went over to haechan’s with mark. a party with alcohol of course, first time you went over to his apartment it was hard to noticed his collection in the giant cabinet. you had been about 5 shots in with two beers downed, wandering around the apartment talking to anyone who stopped you. you walked into the living room to find jaemin on the couch talking to renjun, before you could even think your feet made your way to them, sitting directly next to jaemin. he glanced over at you, turned back to renjun, and then finally realized it was you. the brown haired boy smiled wide and threw his arms around your neck, pulling you in tight.
‘ynnnnnn’ he cried, he definitely had had a couple of drinks. you giggled and tried to match his beaming smile. he was hot to the touch, the jacket he had arrived in long discarded, a white tank top that put his defined arms on display for everyone. but they were around you. knowing that if you weren’t influenced by the liquid luck tonight you’d be freaking out. he leaned away but kept one arm draped over you. jaemin’s other hand reached for his drink on the small table in front of you, leaning over and bringing you with him. ‘yn, how is your night going?’
‘pretty well, i’m meeting a lot of new people!’ you said with vigor.
jaemin replied with a playful smile, ‘but no one to replace us right?’
with your clouded vision and fuzzy brain you put your free hand over his chest, leaned in ‘oh jaemin, no one could ever replace you’
him and renjun laughed out loud, and jaemin held on to you tighter, pleased by your answer ‘aigoo, that’s so cute’ he whispered in your ear. your eyes went wide and your face went hot in surprise. you tried to laugh it off, your body buzzing from the alcohol and shyness from jaemin’s comment. jaemin started asking you questions about classes and suggested hidden gems in seoul he could take you to. you sat and listened, nodding along to anything he said while you both nursed your drinks together. lost in thought and of each other, not noticing that renjun had already left, in fact, no one in the room existed right now. the world seemed to move slower with jaemin, he was so attentive and receptive. you were telling him a story about your professor giving you two days to write a 10 page essay but also making sure you do five pages of reading along with a discussion board. he reacted like he was taking the class with you, gasping loudly and getting just as angry as you were. ‘that’s insane, does she not realize that you have other classes too!? that’s literally not fair’ he pouted and you giggled, happy that he ranted with you about it instead of giving you advice on how to finish all of your homework, something most people did.
you both continued talking until mark sauntered over to you, grabbing you by the shoulders, ‘yn, we gotta go home’ he slurred out, shaking your shoulders. you and jaemin glanced up at him, wincing away when you smelled the alcohol on him. ‘jisung is picking us up, he here’s now yn’ your eyes wandered to the door, the tall black haired boy stood there awkwardly staring at his feet, keys in hand obviously waiting for you both.
you nodded and jaemin gripped you closer for a moment, making your breath hitch in your throat, ‘get home safe, princess’ he whispered in your ear. he let go, you got up and made your way to jisung, with mark trailing behind.
you laid bed thinking about jaemin non-stop. tossing and turning, you could still feel him in the air, his warmth, smooth skin, and sweet scent. it encapsulated you, closing your eyes you saw his face. nose perfectly pointed, pink lips glistening and plump, a face with barely any blemishes. he was surely going to haunt your dreams.
it was a hard day at university and all you wanted to do was go back to your apartment and crawl into your bed and watch movies until you crash. during your last class, mark had texted you, saving you from the exhausting math lesson.
‘can u come over later around 5pm?’
under the table you quickly shot him a text back, ‘i guess, can i come earlier and chill on ur couch?’ if you had to go anywhere you might as well head after class and stay there. by the time your classes would end, mark would still be in his, but it wouldn’t be the first time you’d be lying on his couch alone. an hour later and still no text back from mark, surely he wouldn’t mind if you just headed to his place. so that's what you did.
once you got to his door, you got out the key he had given you when you first got to korea and unlocked his door, you put your bag into his room and then immediately made your way to his couch. settling in, you quickly close your eyes and fall into a little comfy nap. the door slammed shut, eyes slightly opening because of the loud noise, you had no clue what time it was, you figured it was mark finally coming back from class, you debated getting up and greeting him or just going back to sleep. your blood ran cold when you heard a different familiar voice that wasn’t mark’s speak. ‘i always get so nervous when i try to talk to her, like just being next to her just makes me sweat’ mark laughed.
her? you were basically wide awake now, your heart stopped. you kept your breathe steady as you could hear them rummaging around the kitchen behind you, thanking god that the couch faced opposite of the door. sinking further into the cushions in order to try and hide yourself better, you continued to listen while your heart sank, jaemin could be talking about anyone at this point.
jaemin continued, ‘the only time we ever talked for more than an hour was at that party or when we are in a group setting’
‘it’s yn we're talking about’ mark started, ‘she’s… i don’t know how to put it, easy to talk to, i don’t know how she makes you so nervous’
the other boy scoffed, ‘of course she is, she’s perfect, i just feel so awkward and i don’t want to fuck anything up and embarrass myself and then she never wants to be seen with me out in public again…’ there was a pregnant pause, ‘i just really like her mark, she’s funny, outgoing, when she walks into a room you can feel the air… shift, its lighter, warmer, everyone turns to her like sunflowers and she’s the sun’
‘okay we get it shakespeare, you’re in love with her, you can’t keep living like this, it’s all you talk about, we literally had to make another group chat without you so we could get away from ‘yn this’ ‘yn that’’ mark exasperated, air quotes and all.
‘you guys have a group chat without me?’ you could basically hear jaemin’s pout as you tried to calm down your racing heart.
‘that’s not the point right now dude! you have to tell her, and soon. once you tell her, i’ll delete the group chat’ mark stated.
‘you know i get fomo’ jaemin whined, you tried not to laugh, that was something you had said all the time when you saw your other friends talk without you.
mark groaned, ‘god you are starting to sound like her now, i gotta go get a package from the mail room, yn’s actually coming over soon if you wanna stay and see her’ you could hear mark nudge jaemin with his elbow adding on a little ‘hm? hm? c’mon’
‘i really gotta finish this paper for econ’ jaemin explained, you could hear them walk towards the door, ‘maybe another time!’ the door opened, you could hear mark laugh.
‘yeah, econ, i’m sure it’s a lengthy essay’ you started to hear jaemin defense, but it quickly was drowned out by the door shutting and the walls now blocking you from listening any longer.
you jumped up from the couch, making sure they were really both gone, ‘what the fuck’ you cried out loud to yourself, rushing to mark’s room and climbing into his bed so it looked like you had been there the entire time, just sleeping and unsuspected of what was discussed.
you closed your eyes and steadied your breathing, ignoring when you could hear the door open through mark’s closed door. he shuffled around his kitchen before he finally opened his bedroom door.
‘what the?’ he wondered out loud, walking up the bed, he pushed away the sheets, ‘yn?’ you didn’t move, he shook you and you opened up your eyes, blinking them as if you just woke up from a deep sleep, ‘have you been here the whole time?’ his eyes were wide, you could tell he was hoping you didn’t hear anything he was talking about with jaemin, getting any answer out of you without stating the fact that his friend had come over.
‘mark?’ you sounded groggy, ‘yeah, i came after my last class finished, i was asleep the whole time though, i texted you… was someone else here?’
mark laughed nervously. ‘oh i guess i didn’t get it… and no it was just me, i went to the mail room to get a package my mom had sent me, snacks from canada, you want some?’ he tried to change the subject, grabbing your arms and forcing you out of bed and into the living room, onto the couch you were just on. you sat with mark, snacking on chips and whatever his mom sent him, listening to his day, but your thoughts set on jaemin.
and ever since that afternoon you had no clue how to function, avoiding jaemin as much as you could. you found it pretty hard as he was in the same friend group, now you found yourself sitting the furthest away from him. you tried to ignore the confused look he’d give you, walking away from him like he had carried every disease in the book. your heart breaking every time he looked like a kicked puppy. one worded answers when he occasionally texted you to start a conversation that ended three texts later. you barely talked in person anymore, and you feared everyone around you could tell. judging you for how rude you were treating your dear friend jaemin. it was war with yourself, you could talk to anyone, be friends with anyone you meet, so why was facing jaemin so hard?
it was another weekend and another party at haechan’s, mark had brought you along with him saying that ‘everyone was going to be there’ and ended his argument with ‘even jaemin’ which made you shrink into yourself. once you arrived at the party, mark immediately went to go get you a drink, saying you looked super stressed out and needed something to help you calm down. you sat down on the couch in the middle of the living room, waiting for him, watching people come and go, say hi and bye and ask how you are. being disinterested in any conversation was not your forte, but tonight you felt absent, everytime the door opened you’d look up, expecting something, trying your best to push out the thoughts screaming ‘jaemin jaemin jaemin’ like a mantra.
you stared down at your phone, pretending to look preoccupied as you ignored the creaking of the door, no staring, no emotions. scrolling through instagram like it was the most interesting thing at this small party. ‘waiting for someone?’ like a deer in headlights you looked up, only to see the one and only jaemin peering down at you.
‘um, no’ too quick of an answer that was way too suspicious. you internally cursed at yourself, stupid fucking idiot. his smile just grew, more playful, a sparkle in his eyes that said he was in control.
‘and i’m the introverted one’ he giggled, and you tried to laugh it off as if avoiding him was no big deal. but sitting under his gaze felt like you were the smallest person on earth. you could capture the attention of everyone in a room, tell a story with gestures and voices that made the room erupt in laughs, you always felt like you could do anything, no fear, no second guessing, but this was different. your heart thundered underneath the shirt that felt too tight and too hot. he had you cornered, when you didn’t answer, jaemin continued, ‘what’s gotten into you lately? you barely talk to me anymore’ you could tell it was a genuine question filled with concern, but playing it off with a pout at the end. his plump lips jutting out as you panicked and tried to collect any thoughts that weren’t about his lips and how the lip gloss shined under the light that hung in the middle of the room.
you had no words, no excuses to give him that were actually believable. jeno always joked about how you were the most chronically online member of the friend group, you couldn’t even argue. being known as an incredibly social person had its downsides. like now, being interrogated as to why you had the audacity to ignore him. when you didn’t answer, mouth opening and closing as if you had thought of anything, he walked away, going towards the kitchen. you watched, his back turned towards you, broad shoulders flexing under his tshirt. it was hard not to stare.
mark eventually brought you another drink, noticed your sinking mood and brought you around the room so you could have ‘human interaction’ and ‘not be on your damn phone the whole time’ as he put it. you reluctantly agreed, following him around, laughing along to conversations you were half listening to. that was until you heard jeno and jaemin speak from behind you. Peeking behind you, he was talking with haechan and renjun. you caught on to the conversation, drowning out the sound of mark telling a story in front of you.
haechan was talking about a girl he saw earlier, talking big ‘i’m going to make a move here soon’ with renjun giving him a ‘yeah i’m sure’ in response as jeno just laughed.
your ears perked as jaemin spoke next, ‘yeah i’ve been eyeing a couple girls myself, haven’t gotten laid in a while. what about you jeno?’ you tensed… other girls? but you were sure that he liked you, he only talked about you. suddenly feeling light headed and parched, you excused yourself in order to get another drink from the kitchen. you turned around after taking a shot of soju and chasing it down with an open white claw, stopping in your tracks, surprised to see jaemin standing there. both of you alone.
you turned back around, facing the island that held various liquor and soda. you still felt jaemins presence in the room, feel him burning holes through the back of your head, he had probably followed you in here after you left. you heard him taking steps towards you, but you tried to pay no attention, standing with your back towards him trying to regulate your heartbeat and clear your mind of any thoughts of him.
‘listening in on my conversations now?’ he whispered, you could feel the heat radiating off of him and your breath hitched.
‘heard nothing of the sorts’ you responded, trying your best to stand your ground.
you felt his breath on your neck as he chuckled, ‘bull shit’ a shiver ran down your spine.
you turned around and pushed past him despite all the room you both had, ‘i need a minute’ he was on your tail in a second, but you continued through the kitchen down the hall and to a random vacant bedroom. you tried closing the door, but his large hand stopped the door midway. you tried to budge it further, but he of course was too strong and just pushed it open, he stepped in and closed the door behind him. you just stood and glared at him with your arms crossed, ‘don’t you have other girls to go and talk to?’
his eyebrows shot up, surprised that you lashed out with such a brash and jealous comment after trying so hard to ignore him. you watched his face change from surprise to pleasure, lips curling up into a mischievous smile, oddly satisfied with your reaction, ‘oh, so you were listening?’ he crossed the room to where you stood, never taking his eyes off of you. the room was small, you were small, like prey waiting to get eaten up by their natural predator.
you instinctively moved backwards, getting out of his reach, but tonight you were not on the top of the food chain, he had you wedged against him and the bed. you refused to look up at him, terrified that your walls would crash and you’d become putty in his hands. ‘wouldn’t be the first time’ you confessed, looking down at his torso that was dangerously close to yours.
‘and what do you mean by that?’ his hands went to grip your shoulders, shaking you slightly, now it was an interrogation. he seemed almost angry, but jaemin never dared to ever raise his voice at you. you finally looked up into his eyes, the view of his big brown eyes searching for any answer, any playfulness that proved you were just messing with his emotions. ‘y/n’ he got your attention back.
‘that day, you got home with mark, i was already there,’ you told, his expression unreadable as his brows furrowed, ‘i heard what you said… about me’
he lets go of you, his arms dropping to his sides, ‘so… you knew this entire time? that i had feelings for you?’ his voice minor, pulling back and not as bold as he was a couple minutes ago, ‘and your reaction was to just ignore me?’
you peeled the skin of your fingers back, nervously darting your eyes around the dimly lit room, ‘jaemin, i’m sorry. i really am… i just didn’t know how to react’ it was a stupid reason and he knew.
jaemin scoffed, his tongue running over his teeth, holding himself back from saying anything else, ‘listen, i don’t have a good track record with my relationships, i have never felt… this way’ god, you couldn’t believe you were confessing all of this right now, in front of jaemin. you had people confess to you, but you had never felt quite the same. dates here and there that would never end up with anything concrete, and it scarred you. loving someone like jaemin terrified you, because what if you never lived up to his expectations? the way he described you to mark, what if you couldn’t be that for him? ‘i do like you back jaemin, but i just, i don’t know how to love’ you said meekly.
‘yn, you love everyday’ jaemin said, now coming back closer to you, his eyes growing softer. ‘you’d do anything for anyone, even strangers, i just think… you don’t know how to accept that love back’ you shook your head, sitting down on the bed in front of him, confused as to how he read you like that, how this became a surprise therapy session for a moment. you laughed, something you tended to do in tense situations. easing the pain instead of actually feeling it.
he sat down with you, encapsulating his big hand into yours. he laughed too, ‘you are not hard to love, i promise’ he whispered, moving closer to you, ‘can i show you?’ he asked. jaemin glanced down to your lips and you could hear your heartbeat in your ears. the anticipation making your whole body vibrate as you nodded lightly. he slowly closed the gap between you both, wrapping his arms around your waist and bringing you closer to him. everything you imagined about his lips was exact, soft and dewy.
he deepened the kiss, bringing your body flush with his, you felt like you couldn’t keep up. he was fast and determined. his hands reached anywhere they could on your body. jaemin grabbed onto your thighs, rubbing his hands up and down, trying to calm you down. it felt grounding, just having him here with you, knowing that he is there for you and present. you squeezed his bicep, melting into him, shoulders relaxing into the rhythm with the way he was going. he let go, breaking away the kiss, you opened your eyes at the sudden loss of his touch. the silence in the room was replaced with light panting, he was smiling, he cheeks flushed red. your chest rose and fell with every bated breath, trying your best to keep your composure.
‘do you trust me?’ he asked in a hushed tone, staring deeply into your eyes. searching for any confirmation that you wanted him just as bad as he wanted you, all of you. ‘do you trust me to love you? i want to show you just how much’ he leaned in, kissing down your neck, tenderly grazing his hand up your back under your shirt. you closed your eyes, humming at his question, letting his touch comfort your worried mind. you always had no problem making friends, but you always kept that at a distance, never letting them get super close so you could keep up that outgoing facade at times. scared that if they ever really got to know you they could tell how boring you thought you were, see all of your flaws, they could probably see how you could come off as too trusting for others, people didn’t know you at all. but it seems like jaemin did, for a man of always few words he was always watching you, see how much of a face you put on. he wants to tell you how you could always be yourself around him, not afraid to be boring, not afraid to be silent, that you always don’t have to be the most entertaining person in the room.
you looked up at him, eyes glossy in ten different emotions, ‘i trust you jaemin’ you could see it in his eyes, the love and adoration that he felt towards you, he could see the real you, the one that was quiet and loud. he was hoping to love all of it, all he wanted to do was letting you in, and jaemin was eager to finally show you just how much he cared. with your answer he leaned into you, having you lay down on the bed and kissing down your neck to your chest. his hands wandered all throughout your body, properly exploring every inch. you hummed as he gripped your thigh, squeezing it as he reached the band of your shorts, asking for silent confirmation to go further.
you took your hands away from the back of jaemin’s neck, moving them to where his hands were resting on your shorts, you pulled them down for him and took them off. he followed your actions, tugging off the shirt over his head, and kicked off his jeans. your eyes traced over his body, the contours that made up his defined muscles and broad chest that shined with sweat under the soft lamp light. jaemin gazed down at you, a pleasing smile etched onto his face witnessing your reaction to him. moving down towards you again his mouth explored further, kissing your stomach after discarding your shirt. ‘you’re so beautiful’ he purred, you gasped as his hand reached your clit rubbing circles into the bundle of nerves. the sensation making you want to close your legs, but jaemin kept them open with his hand. ‘keep your legs open’ he teased, callused hand gripping the whole of your knee, tugging them to the side with ease as you tried to fight the feeling.
he angled his finger at your entrance, the slick that pooled between your legs made it slide in slowly with ease. it wasn’t your first time, but it had been awhile, making you tense up for a moment. jaemin noticed, ‘you’re doing so well for me, just relax’ you let out a breath, trying your best to turn off the anxious part of your brain and enjoy the moment of intimacy. your shoulders relaxed and your body dug more into the satin sheets under you. jaemin added another finger and moved his head down between your legs. he dove in like a madman, dipping his tongue into your pussy immediately. you groaned audibly, reaching down to tangle your hands in his hair, tugging hard on the brown locks. the only thing you could hear was the sloppy sounds of slurping and occasional moans coming from you or jaemin. he went back and forth, sucking on your clit or pumping three fingers inside of you, loving the sounds as his tongue dove in and out.
‘j-jaem’ you cried out, feeling a fire light up in your core. he took notice, prompting him to go faster.
‘c’mon baby, let go, cum on my fingers’ he slurred, not letting his down his pace as you cried out. grabbing onto the sheets below you, as the shockwaves began rippling through your core, vision going white as the pleasure washed over your body, mind going blank and mouth open in a silent scream. your chest rising and falling with heavy breaths as you came down from your climax. you lifted your head up and looked down at him, jaemin already looking back at you smiling, ‘do you want to keep going?’ he asked in a small voice, you couldn’t help but giggle from his cuteness and post nut haze.
‘yeah, i want to’ he smiled a pulled himself back up to you, his face now leveled with yours. jaemin cupped your cheek in his hands, closing the space in between with deep, passionate kisses. he placed his knee between your thigh, the sensation making you grind down on his thigh, desperate for any type of pleasure. jaemin discarded his boxers, grasping his dick in his hand he guided it it to your clit, his tip ghosting your entrance. he gathered the slick pooling out and rubbed it over his cock, lubbing it up. he gently pushed it in, while peppering kisses over your face and neck as you gasped at the tight feeling. ‘fuck’ you rasped, taking his biceps in your hands and squeezing. once he was buried deep inside of you he stopped and let you adjust to his size. ‘yo-you can start moving’ you whispered, the sting finally subsiding to bliss.
he pulled out and quickly pushed back in repeatedly, making you whimper out at the feeling of being completely full of jaemin. ‘fuck, you’re taking me so well’ he grunted, now trusting faster, slowly losing himself in you. leaning up on his knees, he grabbed your hips and brought you forward, hips now pounding into yours, making you continue to cry out and grasping onto the sheets again, knuckles almost turning white. jaemin started rubbing circles on your clit as he slide in and out of your gummy walls, encouraging you to cum before he does. ‘you feel so good, fuck, cum on my cock baby’ he growled. tears prickled your eyes, the overstimulation beginning to be too much, the fire in your lower belly threatening to boil over. ‘i can’t-t’ you breathed out through the moans and gasps. the tears threatened to spill as they pooled on your waterline.
‘you can baby, c’mon, let go’ as he talked you through it, you finally let the weight lift off your shoulders, feeling the band in your core snap as you came on jaemin's cock, ‘that’s it baby, keep going, make me cum’ he groaned, his hips snapping into yours, the tip of his penis kissing your cervix. he stilled inside of you, a long whine unleashing from his chest as he spilled his seed inside of you. he slowly pulled out, taking his fingers and scooping up the cum that pooled around your pussy and shoved it back inside, making you moan lowly. ‘can’t waste a drop’ he whispered next to you in bed.
he laid down next to you, grabbing your waist and pulling you close, ‘tired baby?’ he quested, his voice heavy. you just nodded, eyes too heavy to look over at him, too silent to actually respond. he hummed in confirmation, kissing the side of your forehead in affection, keeping you close, ‘time for bed, we can talk more in the morning’
‘no eavesdropping?’ you whispered out into darkness, eyes still closed.
‘depends baby’ jaemin joked, shaking you playfully, ‘is it gonna make you jealous again?’
you laid your head into his chest further in defeat as you let out a breathless laugh, ‘whatever’
he confuses you with his actions all the time, you'd like to believe is not on purpose because your heart has already convinced your brain that he is perfect for you.
pairing ! nonidol!jaemin x fem!reader.
genre ! angst, fluff, mention of alcohol, mention of drunk reader, not much to say i think, just something silly.
wc ! 3.2k
note ! a bit late but happy belated birthday to my precious na jaemin ! it’s also the first fic i post of him so i was really trying to make it perfect and this was supposed to be posted yesterday but this happened, sorry everyone, enjoy !!
some things just happen without any scientific basis as to why they have to happen, and you are fine with it, because even if you wanted a scientific explanation to how you felt like you were pulled towards him, you believe there’s not any.
you really, really, really tried to play it cool, to ignore the pounding of your heart on your chest, like it was about to burst through, the sensation of your cheeks heating up, making you feel slightly embarrassed even when no one noticed but you, and the truth is that you weren’t good at hiding the fact you wanted him.
but were you really, really, really even trying?
every time you had the sensation that he was in the same room as you, your eyes would immediately search for him, not taking longer than two minutes to find him and then, like you were drawn to him, your feet would start moving on its own, making their way towards him, a genuine, full of happiness, and really big smile adorning your lips as you fix your clothes, not even thinking, fully distracted by his smile.
you know is natural for him to be so insanely charming, he doesn’t need to do anything to get other people’s attention. and that didn’t help at all to stop the feeling growing on your chest because along with his charming self comes his sparkling eyes every time he would look at you, his warm touch every time he would pull you closer to him, and like it’s something normal to do with everyone: the flirty comments he would make all the time.
except that you are not special.
your eyes trails off, as you are getting closer to where he was, noticing his arm resting on his friend renjun’s shoulders. his characteristic and beautiful smile adorning his lips, a bit distracting honestly, you could see how your thoughts would suddenly disappear — oh, his voice, you can clearly hear him even though you are not even that close, making your brain just shut off. because he was using that tone he uses when he is trying to make someone melt. and you weren’t sure if his brown, really expressive, eyes had that spark or you were just imagining it, but the thing was that they weren’t meeting yours but hers.
that’s just how he is. with all his friends. so no, you are not special.
however, his eyes don’t take long to find yours as soon as you step closer to him, you are not able to say anything or even wave your hand to greet the other because it takes him just a second to extend his other arm and softly circling your waist, pulling you dangerously closer to him.
you didn’t notice your own hands immediately resting on top of his arm, like they belong there. you let out a barely audible giggle as you feel his breath brush your ear, “we were waiting for you, princess,” he says, pointing with his head to the others.
you open your mouth to say anything even when your brain had stopped working the second he called you princess, and you were praying no one noticed. “can you believe this dude-” he pursues his lips, pointing to haechan, “is saying that he can drink that bottle of whiskey in forty three seconds?”
-
why can’t i quit when you break my heart open?
the scene in front of you looked so domestic.
jaemin’s back was towards you, as he was stirring the vegetables in the pan, preparing a dish that will make you eat till there’s nothing left on the plate and your taste buds will fall in love with his cooking talent — his words, not yours. you had to bite your tongue so you could stop yourself from saying the words you have practiced so many times before in front of the mirror.
he would walk to you from time to time, holding a small spoon while his brows were furrowed in concentration, not even letting you move before holding it to your lips, waiting for you to taste the food. it made your heart skip a beat on your chest, as his sweet voice asked you if it was okay for you or if he should add more spices. he knew your answer, because every time you would tell him ‘it’s okay, you can add more, if you want.’
and then he goes back to cooking, you do try to keep your eyes glued to your phone screen, some park jinyoung edit playing, but your eyes follow every move he makes, how his hands were moving as if he was a professional chef, you stare a little too long and you know it. the thing was that you could play it off by saying that you wanted to watch as he was plating his creation and not because he is the only thing you want to see.
you only want to see him since the moment you first saw him and now that you realise it, you feel your heart skip a beat, again. because does he have even thought about you the same way you have about him? the answer is probably no, he sees you as a friend and nothing more. or even if he doesn’t think of you as a friend, and the image of you as something more has ever crossed his mind, he doesn’t see you as the one who holds his heart.
maybe you were assuming things, breaking your own heart, you’d like to believe that.
as you feel him shaking his hand in front of your face, you blink once, pushing those thoughts away, deep down in your mind. “you were deep inside there,” he points to your head, a curious smile taking over his lips, “what do you think, princess?”
he is pointing at the plates this time. you blink twice, trying to ignore the heat going up to your face at the sound of his voice as he says that nickname, you know he noticed, and you are grateful he doesn’t say anything about it even if his smile became a smirk — it was subtle, but you could see it.
“umm. . .” you purse your lips, shaking your head just a bit to try and ground yourself. “it doesn’t look like the tiktok video,” you make a pause, watching as his eyes go from you to the plates and a pout appears on his lips.
“tha-“
you don’t let him even finish the first word, a giggle leaves your mouth before you say: “it looks good though, let me try it.”
his smile comes back, as he puts the plate in front of you, his other hand going to the top of your head and dishevelling your hair just a little bit, “don’t play with my feelings like that.”
he doesn’t even have an idea of how many times you have wanted to say those words to him, and your heart skips a beat, again. yet, you smile again, and as you are taking your first bite, you watch him — his slightly wide eyes shining with expectation, his lips are pressed together but still smiling, and his hands are still, on top of the table, reaching for his own food at the same time as you.
patiently waiting for your reaction his eyes never leave your face, lingering a bit longer as he finds you staring back at him. your eyes locking for a moment, is not weird nor makes you blush, it feels just like a small acknowledgment of each other’s attention.
and you let your mind wander around for a mere second, imagining how you want this night to go, a new version of the two of you like you belong inside a romance comedy written in the 2000. this moment could be the start of something, shifting the dynamic between you two, filled with sweet nothings and maybe soft touches there and there. nothing too much, just a happy realisation of what it could be.
except, there was a layer of sadness in it, even when everything was in your imagination. at the end he just leaves, and the sweet nothings, touches, doesn’t change the fact that you are friends. nothing more.
that’s when you feel it, the sting in your chest, subtle, just for a second. but it is there, barely there, and even when you are putting a fake smile on your lips and nodding your head happily, you can feel your heart shattering in a million pieces as the idea of only being friends crosses your mind.
and you pray that he doesn’t notice.
-
you are perfectly wrong for me and that’s why it’s so hard for me.
you had woken up this morning and decided that today was the day.
you had spent all night wondering and you hated it. you were breaking up your own heart every single time you started to think about him, you were not okay with that. there had to be an explanation for all the smiles, eyes, touches, flirting, it can’t be just him being friendly.
well, ignoring certain aspects of the way he treats you, there are some things that could totally be friend behavior. counting his smiles is not fair, he has a pretty smile of course he's going to be smiling all day. and sometimes his flirting is clearly a joke, he says those words with that silly stupid voice he uses to annoy other people, you can not take that seriously.
still, you were tired of wondering if there was another meaning behind his actions. tired of pretending you weren’t dying inside, wanting so badly to be more than friends. tired of pretending your heart wasn’t breaking every time you see him treating someone else the same way he treats you.
there had been times where you could tell everyone else had noticed how you felt about the whole situation. for example: the glimpse of sadness that crosses your face, just for a second, before you shake it off, choosing to enjoy the moment even when you knew it was going to keep you awake till late at night. or the way your hand always trembles when you reach out to him, before he intertwines his fingers with yours as soon as they touch. or how he’s the one to ease your nerves, looking at you and flashing one of his enchanting smiles even when he’s the reason you're nervous.
expressing how you feel has never been a problem for you, ever since you were a little kid, you have always shared what’s on your mind. when watching a movie you would say whatever you are thinking, some question, some comment about the scene, some joke. when you are angry at someone, you always let them know, communicating what made you feel like that and why.
your communication skills are something that makes you proud. you are able to get those feelings out of your chest and that's exactly what you are planning to do right now.
brushing your hands off your skirt, you try to wipe off the sweat forming in them. being used to sharing how you feel doesn't mean you do not feel nervous when you are about to do something you don’t know the outcome to. there are at least four different scenarios playing in your head right now, you try to push them away, think happy things like watching your favourite show while eating a strawberry ice cream, or fluffy cows being pet, or jaemin’s smile as he is walking to you.
oh. he is in fact, wearing the biggest smile on his lips as he is walking towards you.
a part of you is grateful that the scene in front of you is real, because he looked really good just to be some figment of your imagination. the way his hair falls above his eyes perfectly, it wasn’t planned, he probably just ran his hand through it, messing with it a little. and his eyes, they had that spark, the one that makes you don’t want to look away.
as he was standing in front of you, you felt your heart fall to your stomach, your mouth go dry and your blink a couple of times, trying to focus and look normal. “heyy,” you dragged the word, waving your hand.
you see him frown, just for a second, before he smiles again. “you okay, princess?” he asks, taking a seat beside you, his hand immediately going to hold yours, giving it a little squeeze.
nodding, you smile at him, darting your eyes away from him, “yes.”
he squinted his eyes, studying your face and noticing that there is something you want to say or do, he’s not sure, still he decides to ignore it. “you wanted to play with the cats, let's go.”
with his hand on yours, he stands up, pointing to the cat cafe with a tilt of his head. you aren’t able to fight the big smile that appears on your lips, immediately standing up and letting him walk you to the place you told him to want to go to. “i read on the internet that if you don’t show you want to pet them, they will go to you.”
“umm,” you see as he nods his head before turning to look at you for a second, “so you are just going to ignore them?”
you gasp, “no, i could never do that.”
“then?”
you shake your head, “i think,” you stop walking, squeezing his hand as you do so, making him stop too, “is okay to show how much you want something. . . or someone,” you whisper the last word, trying to gather all the courage you could.
your eyes are glued to the floor, not daring to look at him as you were searching in your head the right words to say. you have practiced so many times. and now, when you have decided you are going to say it, the words are dissolving in your tongue. it is not like you want to use a metaphor about cats to finally confess your feelings right?
“is like. . . cats gravitate towards warmth, like magnets, you know?” he hums, letting you know he’s listening to whatever you were trying to say. “like you, i mean, me.” you close your eyes, shaking your head as you cringe over your own words. “that’s no- wait, forget that. . . let’s-”
he didn’t let go of your hand, and the second he sees you struggling with your words, he gives it a squeeze, trying to make you look at him but you refuse to do so. “i’m just trying to say, let’s go and pet the cats, jaemin.”
you start to walk again but at the sound of his name, he stops you, pulling your arm softly. making you stand in front of him, him bending down to be face to face, forcing you to look at him, “is that really what you were trying to say, princess?”
opening your mouth to say something, you stop yourself when you get a proper look into his eyes. they were sparkling, as always, but there was something else that you couldn’t decipher there, hidden behind that spark.
“. . . no.”
he smiles, motioning for you to keep talking.
taking a deep breath, your eyes go to your hands, your fingers are intertwined, his thumb would caress your hand from time to time and your heart screams at you that there is no way that is even a bit platonic. so you look back at him, frowning, “can you stop playing with me?”
he is taken aback when those words leave your lips, his eyes widening, his mouth slightly open as he tries to find the right thing to say. he is clearly confused by your words, so you keep talking:
”you.” pointing at him with your other hand, you let your finger on his chest, “keep calling me ‘princess’ and holding my hand, and hugging me, and god i think sometimes you even want to kiss me.”
you are speaking really fast, not waiting for him to say something. and he isn’t trying to, he is letting you get it all off your chest, like he always does.
“i think you are mean, and honestly is messed up because that’s the only bad thing i could find you. you are like. . . perfect, and that’s not okay, no one should be that perfect, jaemin.” if you actually looked at him, you could see that he wanted to laugh, but you were too busy venting all out. “you are sweet, and attentive, and cute, and handsome, and really smart and caring if we ignore how you have been playing with me- really, i just think is- you know i’m like a cat being pulled to you like you are warmth and-” there you were saying the cat thing again, “my friends were so sure we were dating and god, jaemin-. . .”
and that’s when he interrupts you, his brow furrowed and a pout on his lips, “we are dating.”
those words make you stop completely, your mouth is hung open, your eyes wide as you blink a few times, your mind is trying to remember something you must have forgotten because if you were dating jaemin, you would have known it. except that there is no memory of it, so you frown, “no, we are not.”
he lets go of your hand, deciding to hold your face as he says the next words, “we have been dating for the past few weeks, princess.”
you want to shake your head, but his hold on you stops you. “wha- jaemin, i would remember something like that!” you are shaking your arms, like a toddler does when throwing a tantrum, “you never asked me!”
“never asked you what?” he says, squeezing your cheeks, making you even more annoyed now.
you gasp, punching him in his chest, “to be your girlfriend!”
“you asked me,” you frown because there was no way that what he was implying happened — “remember mark’s birthday party? you got pretty drunk,” he looks away for a second, realising that maybe you did not remember that night, “you told me ‘jaemin you are so pretty, and perfect, you were made by the gods, and your body is-”
this time you interrupt him, hitting his hands so he would let go his hold on your face, “i did not say anything like that.”
he rolls his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest, “okay, you didn’t but you did say i’m pretty, and something like you don’t want me just as a friend, so, i was like ‘i can be your boyfriend’ and you were like ‘yay’ so. . .”
you glare at him because even though you do not remember that night, you do have some distant memory a bit like the one he just described. and maybe you are dating jaemin. “we are not dating, you have to ask me.”
those are the words you say to him before you turn around and start walking, with him quickly following behind you, his hand immediately holding yours, more firmly this me, “okay, but we are dating, i just have to ask you.”
