Back To You ft. Roommate!Jaemin
A/n: Hell yeah! Jaemin has been bias wrecking me so hard lately so you guys probably know what happened next lol 😭
Genre: Roommates-to-lovers, angst, fluff, comfort, romance
Pairings: Roommate!Jaemin x Haeyi (fem oc/ named reader)
Warning: Makeout around the beginning (ikik), angsty, scared lil mfs
They’d been roommates for almost five years—long enough that their lives blurred into one quiet routine. Jaemin made her coffee in the mornings without asking. Haeyi folded his laundry when she did hers. They knew each other’s bad days by the way doors closed, by the silence that lingered too long.
Jaemin had always been affectionate. Casual touches. An arm around her shoulders when she was tired. His chin resting on her head while she cooked. It was normal. It was them.
So when he changed, she noticed immediately.
It started after she mentioned the guy at work. Just once. A throwaway comment about someone who flirted too much and smiled like he knew he was charming. Jaemin had laughed it off—too easily. Since then, his smiles didn’t reach his eyes. His touch lingered a second less. His voice stayed careful, measured.
Weird.
The breaking point came on a random evening.
Haeyi was laughing outside the building, bag slung over her shoulder, when Jaemin pulled up. He froze in the driver’s seat.
The guy from work stood too close. His hand brushed her arm. He leaned in, said something that made her smile—polite, harmless.
Jaemin’s jaw tightened.
The ride home was silent.
Inside the apartment, Jaemin moved like a stranger. Shoes off. Keys down. Tie loosened but not removed. His face was blank, unreadable.
“Jaemin?” Haeyi asked softly. “Are you okay?”
He turned slowly, eyes cold in a way she’d never seen aimed at her.
“Is he,” he asked, voice low, “better than me?”
Her breath caught.
“What—?” Her ears burned instantly. “N-No— I mean— you’re better. Obviously.”
He took a step closer.
“Then why the fuck do you keep talking to him,” he snapped, “and about him?”
Her heart started pounding. “He’s just— I don’t— Jaemin—”
He reached up, yanked his tie loose, and tossed it aside like it meant nothing. His glasses followed, clattering onto the table. He walked toward her with slow, deliberate steps.
“Who am I to you, Haeyi?”
She backed up without meaning to until the wall met her spine.
“Y-You’re my roommate,” she said weakly. “And my best friend.”
Something dark flickered in his eyes.
He shrugged off his blazer, unbuttoned his shirt as he closed the remaining distance, one hand bracing beside her head, trapping her there without touching her anywhere else.
“I’m yours,” he said, voice rough. “I’m fucking yours.”
Her breath hitched.
“You better say that I’m yours,” he continued, forehead resting against hers, “before I make you say it myself.”
She barely had time to gasp before his mouth found hers—heated, desperate, nothing like his usual gentle kisses. It was jealousy, pure and unfiltered, pouring into the way he kissed her like he’d been holding back for years.
When he finally pulled away, his forehead stayed against hers, breath uneven.
He was definitely jealous.
He cups her cheek then—slow, deliberate, like he’s afraid she might disappear if he lets go.
His thumb brushes over her skin, warm, grounding, and his other hand slides to her waist, pulling her closer until there’s no space left to misunderstand. Haeyi’s breath stutters, fingers curling into his half-unbuttoned shirt.
“Jaemin…” she whispers, unsure if it’s a warning or a plea.
He kisses her again.
This time it’s deeper—desperate in a way that feels like longing that’s been sitting in his chest for years. There’s no anger in it now, just need. Just mine, written into every press of his lips against hers. He kisses her like he’s been holding himself back, like he’s been watching from the sidelines of his own life.
Her hands come up on their own, gripping his shoulders as he leans in, forehead brushing hers between kisses, breath uneven.
“I hate the way he looks at you,” he murmurs against her lips. “Like he thinks he has a chance.”
She exhales shakily. “You always did.”
That makes him pause—just for a second.
Then his hand tightens at her waist, grounding her, anchoring himself.
“Say it,” he says quietly now, no threat in his voice anymore. Just vulnerability.
“Say I’m yours.”
Her heart feels like it might burst out of her chest. She swallows, nerves and warmth flooding her all at once.
“Y-You’re mine,” she says, barely above a whisper.
That’s all it takes.
Something in him snaps—softens—and he kisses her again, slower this time but just as intense, like he’s savoring the words, like he’s claiming the truth of them. His hand stays on her cheek, protective now instead of demanding.
When he finally pulls away, he rests his forehead against hers, breathing hard.
“…Good,” he murmurs quietly.
He was definitely jealous.
But more than that—he wanted to belong to her just as badly as he wanted her to belong to him.
They didn’t really talk about it the next morning.
Jaemin was quieter than usual, but he was everywhere at once—moving around the kitchen, making breakfast like it was muscle memory. He slid a plate toward her without a word, brushed past her to grab a mug, then paused just long enough to reach up and fix a strand of hair that had fallen into her face. It was absentminded. Intimate. Like he’d done it a thousand times before and only now realized what it meant.
He stood a little too close whenever she moved. Not touching—just there.
Haeyi barely tasted her food. Her mind kept replaying the night before. The way he’d looked at her. The way his voice had dropped when he’d told her to say he was hers. The words echoed in her chest all day, warm and terrifying all at once.
Neither of them knew how to cross the line from roommates to whatever this had become.
So they didn’t.
Not with words.
After that day, nothing was labeled—but everything shifted.
It started in the middle of the night.
She’d been half asleep when her door creaked open. Jaemin stood there, hair messy, eyes dark and unfocused, hoodie hanging off him like he hadn’t bothered fixing it.
“I can’t sleep,” he’d said quietly. After a beat, softer, “I had a nightmare.”
She’d sat up immediately.
He hesitated in the doorway, shoulders tense in a way she rarely saw. “Can I… sleep here?”
She said yes before he could finish the sentence.
He climbed into bed beside her, turning his back to her almost instantly, curling in on himself. For once, he didn’t try to play it cool.
“Can you…?” he murmured, barely audible. “Big spoon?”
Her heart had clenched.
She wrapped herself around him, her arm slipping under his shirt, palm settling against his bare torso and chest. His breathing slowed as she patted him gently, rubbed slow, soothing circles into his skin until the tension eased out of him completely.
He fell asleep like that.
After that, it became natural.
Shared showers after long, exhausting days—no rush, no heat, just standing together under the water. Sometimes they didn’t even speak. Sometimes they hugged, foreheads touching, letting the sound of the shower drown everything else out.
And the kisses.
Jaemin kissed her forehead all the time.
Before work. Before sleep. As a quiet thank you. When she handed him something. When she laughed. When he passed her in the hallway and couldn’t help himself.
They were gentle, careful kisses—like he was afraid of pushing too far, like he was trying to say I’m here without forcing her to say anything back.
It wasn’t a relationship.
But it wasn’t nothing.
And eventually, the space between those two truths started to hurt.
—
The joke shouldn’t have mattered.
It was said lightly, tossed into the air like nothing.
One of Haeyi’s coworkers had laughed and nudged her.
“Five years as roommates and you’re still not sick of each other? That’s impressive.”
Haeyi had smiled. Laughed it off easily.
“Yeah. We’re good roommates.”
Jaemin had been standing right there.
He didn’t say anything. Didn’t react. Just smiled faintly and nodded like the word didn’t sink straight into his chest. The rest of the evening, he was quieter than usual—still polite, still gentle—but distant. Like he’d taken a step back she hadn’t noticed.
Later, when they were alone, she finally asked.
“Did I do something wrong?”
He hadn’t looked at her when he answered.
“No,” he said calmly. Too calmly. “I’m just your roommate.”
The word landed harder than anything else could have.
The next day was the weekend.
Movie night—something they’d done a hundred times before. Same couch. Same blanket. Same comfort that suddenly felt unfamiliar.
Jaemin apologized first.
“For yesterday,” he said. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
She smiled, a little too quickly. “It’s fine.”
But it wasn’t.
They sat closer than usual, shoulders brushing. The movie played, forgotten. The room was quiet except for the low hum of sound and the space between them tightening.
Jaemin turned to look at her.
She was already looking at him.
They held eye contact longer than necessary. Long enough that her breath caught. Long enough that he leaned in slowly, carefully—giving her time to pull away if she wanted to.
His lips were so close she could feel his breath.
And she hesitated.
Just for a second.
Not because she didn’t want it.
But because five years of friendship flashed through her mind all at once—late nights, shared meals, laughter, comfort. The fear that one wrong move could shatter everything they’d built.
She leaned back slightly. Barely.
Jaemin noticed immediately.
He stilled.
To him, it looked like rejection.
He pulled away completely, jaw tightening, eyes clouding over as he leaned back against the couch.
“Oh,” he said quietly. “Okay.”
The room felt colder instantly.
“That’s not—” she started, panic rising. “Jaemin, I just—”
He stood up.
“I get it,” he said, voice controlled but brittle. “I shouldn’t have tried. I forgot what I am to you.”
Her chest hurt.
“What are you talking about?”
He turned back to her then, frustration finally cracking through the calm.
“I’m your roommate,” he said again. “Right?”
The silence that followed felt heavier than shouting ever could have.
“You don’t get to be mad,” Haeyi said, her voice shaking despite her effort to keep it steady. “We never said we were anything.”
Jaemin stiffened.
What he heard wasn’t the logic behind her words—it was something else entirely. You don’t matter enough to claim.
“Then what are we doing?” he asked quietly, disbelief threading through his voice. “Because I can’t keep doing this if it doesn’t mean anything.”
Her chest tightened painfully.
To her, it sounded like something crueler. You’re a problem. You’re too much.
“So I’m just supposed to pretend this is normal?” she snapped. “That you can come into my bed, hold me,-—and then act like it’s nothing?”
He let out a short, humorless laugh. “You’re the one who pulled away.”
“Because I was scared,” she shot back. “Not because I didn’t want you.”
“But you did,” he said, frustration finally slipping through. “You always do.”
The words hung between them, sharp and cutting.
Her breath hitched, eyes burning. “Maybe… maybe this was a mistake.”
Jaemin froze.
Something in his expression collapsed, like the last support giving out.
“Yeah,” he said softly, too softly. “Maybe I was stupid for thinking you felt the same.”
That was it.
He didn’t yell. Didn’t argue back. He just looked away, jaw clenched, hands curling into fists at his sides before he turned and walked down the hallway.
The bedroom door closed quietly.
The sound was deafening.
Haeyi stood there, breathing unevenly, tears finally spilling over as she stared at the door he’d disappeared behind. Her chest ached with every breath, the apartment suddenly feeling too small, too empty.
She wiped her cheeks roughly, angry at herself for crying, for hesitating, for everything.
Without looking back, she grabbed her jacket and her phone, hands shaking as she shoved her feet into her shoes.
Then she stormed out, the door slamming behind her—leaving five years of friendship and unspoken love, and everything unsaid echoing in the silence.
Jaemin slid down the door the moment it closed.
He sat there on the floor, back pressed to the wood, knees drawn up as he tried—and failed—to steady his breathing. One hand came up to cover his eyes, fingers digging into his hair like he could physically hold himself together.
He hadn’t meant to say that.
He hadn’t meant to let it get that far.
His chest felt tight, lungs burning as he dragged in uneven breaths. The apartment was painfully quiet without her—no footsteps, no soft humming, no presence on the other side of the wall. Just the echo of her words and the sound of the front door slamming shut.
Maybe this was a mistake.
He squeezed his eyes shut harder, jaw trembling.
—
Haeyi barely remembered getting there.
She wiped at her eyes as she walked, but it was useless—tears kept spilling, blurring the streetlights, soaking into her sleeves. Her chest hurt like she’d been running for miles, breaths coming out shaky and broken.
She went to the only place she knew she wouldn’t have to explain herself right away.
She knocked on the door of her cousin’s apartment, hands shaking so badly she almost missed the second knock.
There was shuffling inside. Voices. A muffled laugh cut off abruptly.
The door swung open.
“Who the fu—”
She didn’t let him finish.
Haeyi stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Haechan tightly, burying her face into his shoulder as a fresh wave of tears broke free. Her body shook as she clung to him, like if she let go she’d fall apart completely.
Haechan stiffened in surprise for half a second—then his arms came up around her instinctively, pulling her in.
“Hey,” he said immediately, tone softening. “Hey, hey… what happened?”
Her voice cracked as she tried to speak, words tumbling out between sobs.
“We fought,” she managed, gripping his hoodie like it was the only solid thing left. “We— we fought.”
Haechan’s jaw tightened as he held her closer, shooting a look over her head toward his friend inside the apartment—don’t ask written clearly in his eyes.
“Okay,” he murmured, rubbing her back slowly. “You’re here now. You’re okay.”
But even as she stood there in her cousin’s arms, crying until her chest ached, Haeyi couldn’t stop thinking about Jaemin—alone on the other side of a closed door, hurting just as badly.
And that thought hurt the most.
By the time her sobs finally slowed, her chest felt raw and exhausted.
Haeyi sat curled up on the couch, knees pulled close, eyes swollen and red as she sniffled quietly. Renjun sat beside her and gently held out a tissue. She took it with a shaky “thanks,” dabbing at her cheeks and nose.
Haechan returned from the kitchen a moment later and handed her a mug of warm green tea. “Careful,” he said softly. “It’s hot.”
She nodded, wrapping both hands around it like she needed the warmth to keep herself together.
For a while, no one pushed her to talk.
Then she broke the silence herself.
“It was my fault,” she said hoarsely.
Haechan frowned immediately. “Hey—”
“No,” she insisted, voice trembling. “It really was. I was scared and I handled it so badly.” She swallowed hard, eyes dropping to the mug in her hands. “I said things I shouldn’t have. I was mean to him.”
Renjun stayed quiet, just listening, his expression gentle but serious.
“He looked so hurt,” Haeyi continued, her voice cracking. “I can’t stop seeing his face. The way he just… shut down.” Her grip tightened around the mug. “I didn’t mean any of it. I was just afraid of ruining everything and I ended up doing exactly that.”
Her eyes burned again, tears gathering despite her trying to blink them away.
“I think it’s already too late,” she whispered. “I shouldn’t have left. I shouldn’t have said that. And now I don’t know how to fix it.”
Haechan crouched in front of her, resting his arms on his knees. “Then go back and talk to him.”
She shook her head quickly, fresh tears spilling over.
“I can’t,” she said, voice small. “I’m scared to go back.”
Renjun leaned forward slightly. “Scared of what?”
“Of seeing him,” she admitted. “Of realizing I really broke something we can’t fix. Of him looking at me like I’m just… someone who hurt him.”
Her shoulders trembled as she wiped at her eyes again.
“I love him,” she said quietly, like confessing it out loud made it heavier. “And I think that’s what scares me the most.”
The room fell silent again—heavy, but safe—as Haechan and Renjun exchanged a look.
This wasn’t just a fight.
This was something that mattered.
Haechan let out a quiet breath and stood up.
“You can stay here,” he said simply, like it wasn’t even a question. “However long you need.”
She looked up at him, eyes glassy. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah,” he replied immediately. “Renjun and I will room together for now. You take my bed—or the couch. Whatever makes you feel safer.”
Renjun nodded in agreement. “You don’t have to rush anything.”
Haeyi swallowed hard and nodded, sniffing as she wiped at her cheeks again. “Okay… thank you.”
That night, she barely slept.
The bed was unfamiliar. The apartment smelled different. Every little sound made her think of Jaemin—of his quiet presence, of the way he used to tuck the blanket around her without waking her. She stared at the ceiling until her eyes burned, phone heavy in her hand, unread messages sitting there like unanswered questions.
One night became two.
Two nights became a week.
A week became two.
She stopped checking the time before bed. Stopped reaching for her phone automatically when something funny happened. She learned the rhythm of Haechan and Renjun’s place instead—Renjun’s quiet mornings, Haechan’s late-night snacks, the low hum of a space that wasn’t hers.
And still… she didn’t feel like going back.
Every time she thought about it, her chest tightened. The memory of Jaemin sitting there, hurt written all over his face, made her stomach twist. She told herself she needed more time. That space was good. That maybe this was better for both of them.
But some nights, when the apartment was quiet and the lights were off, she hugged a pillow to her chest and wondered if Jaemin was still sleeping alone in that room—if he’d stopped waiting for her footsteps outside his door.
A few days after she left, everything else seemed to fall apart too.
Haeyi had already been fired—something she hadn’t even had the energy to process properly. It made the days blur together. She stayed mostly in bed, curled up under blankets in Haechan’s room, the space slowly starting to feel like it belonged to her. The room smelled faintly like his detergent and her shampoo now, a strange mix of comfort and safety.
She only got up when she had to—for food, for showers, or when Haechan dragged her out to sit with him and Renjun for a while. Sometimes they watched movies. Sometimes they didn’t talk at all. Most days, she just existed.
And no one pushed her.
Haechan didn’t mind. He never had. They’d been close their entire lives—closer than most cousins—because she’d grown up an only child. Every summer, she’d practically lived at his place, stealing his hoodies, sleeping in his room while he complained but never actually made her leave. This felt like that again, just heavier.
So he didn’t force her to get up. Didn’t tell her to be productive. Didn’t tell her to call Jaemin.
He just let her be.
Jaemin, on the other hand, coped the opposite way.
He worked.
Too much.
He stayed late at the office, volunteered for extra projects, filled every quiet moment with noise so he wouldn’t have to think about how empty the apartment felt without her. At night, he came home exhausted, hoping sleep would take him before the thoughts did.
It rarely worked.
He’d been worried when she hadn’t come back the first night—terrified, really—but he hadn’t gone after her. He didn’t want to make things worse. A few days later, he ran into Renjun by chance.
Renjun had told him gently that Haeyi was staying with them for a while.
“She needed somewhere safe,” he’d said.
Then, after a pause, he added, “She didn’t stop crying the first night she came.”
That sentence stayed with Jaemin.
That night, he broke.
He lay down on her bed, the side she used to sleep on still untouched, and pulled her pillow into his arms. It smelled like her—faint, familiar, devastating. He pressed his face into it and cried harder than he had in years, shoulders shaking as all the regret finally caught up to him.
He replayed every word. Every look. Every moment he could’ve chosen better.
He wanted to see her. God, he wanted to talk to her—to tell her he was sorry, to tell her he never meant to hurt her, to tell her he loved her without fear this time.
But he didn’t want to force her.
Didn’t want to corner her.
So he waited.
And carried the weight of every stupid thing he wished he could take back.
It was the weekend.
A full month had passed since the fight.
Haechan and Renjun had come by the apartment a few times already to pick up clothes and things she needed—nothing dramatic, nothing tense. Jaemin let them in every time. They talked like normal. About work. About random things. About nothing that mattered and everything that did.
Haechan didn’t glare at him.
Didn’t accuse him.
Didn’t demand answers.
Neither did Renjun.
Today was supposed to be the same.
They were about to leave when Haechan paused by the door.
“Jaemin.”
Jaemin looked up.
Haechan turned fully toward him, expression calm but serious. “It’s not your fault.”
Jaemin shook his head immediately. “It is.”
Haechan sighed quietly. “You and Haeyi are exactly the same when it comes to the self blame game. You take everything on yourselves.” He crossed his arms loosely. “It wasn’t anyone’s fault. You both panicked. There was too much tension, too much pressure, and you both reacted badly in the moment.”
Jaemin’s jaw tightened, eyes fixed on the floor.
“She loves you,” Haechan said gently. “And I know you love her just as much.”
Jaemin swallowed hard.
“You’re both torturing yourselves by staying apart like this,” Haechan continued. “End it. Just talk it out.”
“I don’t want to corner her,” Jaemin said quietly. “I don’t want to force her into anything.”
Haechan shook his head. “That’s not cornering. That’s wanting. That’s longing.” His voice softened. “And I know you both miss each other.”
He stepped closer, hand briefly squeezing Jaemin’s shoulder. “So talk. No running away this time.”
Renjun, who had been quiet until then, spoke up. “She said she was going to the convenience store near our apartment. To get snacks.”
Jaemin looked up sharply.
Renjun met his gaze, calm but encouraging. “Just so you know.”
Jaemin’s eyes glistened.
He didn’t say a word. He just grabbed his keys and was out the door before either of them could add anything else.
Haeyi was walking back slowly, plastic bags rustling softly in her hands. Her thoughts were somewhere else—always somewhere else—when her foot caught on a small rock.
“Ah—” she muttered.
One of the soda cans slipped free, rolling down the pavement. She cursed under her breath and hurried after it, reaching out—
It stopped.
Hit a shoe.
A shoe she knew.
Her heart dropped into her stomach.
A hand reached down and picked up the can.
She froze.
Slowly, she looked up.
Jaemin stood there.
He held the can loosely, staring at her like he couldn’t quite believe she was real. Like if he blinked, she might disappear.
Fear and guilt rushed through her all at once.
She turned around instinctively.
“Haeyi.”
Her name stopped her cold.
She stood there with her back to him, bags clenched in her hands, chest tight, breath shallow.
She didn’t turn around.
But she didn’t walk away either.
Jaemin gulped hard.
For a second, he just stood there, frozen—like if he moved too fast, she’d disappear again. Then he took a step forward. And another. Until he was right behind her, close enough to feel her warmth, close enough that his hands trembled when he lifted them.
He placed them gently on her shoulders.
“Haeyi…” His voice broke.
Before she could pull away, he drew her back against his chest, slow and careful, like he was giving her time to stop him. When she didn’t, his arms slid fully around her, wrapping tight around her shoulders, holding her like he’d been afraid to for an entire month.
She stiffened for half a second.
Then she melted.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, the words tumbling out rough and desperate. “I’m so, so sorry. I never should’ve let it get this bad.” His grip tightened slightly, like he was afraid she’d slip through his fingers. He bowed his head into the crook of her neck, breath uneven. “God… I miss you. I miss you so much. I’m sorry for everything.”
Her eyes burned instantly.
She reached up slowly, hands shaking as they came to rest over his arms—grounding him, grounding herself.
“I’m sorry too,” she said softly, voice cracking. “I said things that were uncalled for.” She swallowed hard, tears slipping free. “I swear… I didn’t mean any of the things I said.”
Jaemin shook his head against her neck. “I should’ve known. I should’ve listened. I shouldn’t have walked away.”
“I shouldn’t have left,” she whispered back. “I was scared… and I hurt you instead.”
They stood there like that in the middle of the pavement, holding each other as if the past month hadn’t happened, as if the space and silence hadn’t nearly broken them. Her breathing slowly matched his. His arms loosened just enough to feel safe instead of desperate.
For the first time in weeks, neither of them ran.
They just stayed.
She shook her head slowly, still pressed back against him, like she needed to make him understand—really understand.
“I swear,” she whispered again, voice breaking. “I didn’t mean any of it. Not a single word.”
Her hands came up fully now, gripping his arms as she held him tighter, anchoring herself to him. Like if she let go, all the fear would rush back in.
“I was scared,” she continued softly. “I thought if I crossed that line, I’d lose you completely. I thought… if I didn’t stop myself, everything would change and I wouldn’t get you back.” Her breath hitched. “So I said the worst things instead.”
Jaemin’s hold tightened in response, arms firm and protective around her.
“I never meant that you didn’t matter,” she whispered. “You matter more than anyone. You always have.”
He let out a shaky breath against her neck, fingers curling into her sleeves.
“I know,” he murmured, though his voice still sounded fragile. “I just—hearing it then… it hurt.”
“I know,” she said quickly. “I know it did. And I hate myself for it.” She pressed her forehead briefly against his arm before settling back into his chest again. “I swear, Jaemin. I didn’t mean it.”
They stood there wrapped around each other, her words sinking in slowly, the apology repeating not because it wasn’t heard—but because it needed to be felt.
And this time, he stayed long enough to feel it.
Jaemin nodded slowly, still holding her, like the movement itself took effort.
“I know,” he said quietly. “I know you didn’t mean it.”
He shifted just enough to rest his forehead against the side of her head, his breath finally steadying. One hand slid up her arm, thumb brushing gently, grounding.
“I believe you,” he added, firmer this time. “So don’t worry. And don’t blame yourself anymore.”
She felt him exhale, long and heavy, like he’d been carrying the weight of those words for weeks and could finally set them down.
“We were both scared,” he murmured. “We both messed up. That doesn’t make you a bad person. It doesn’t mean you hurt me on purpose.”
His arms tightened just slightly, reassuring instead of desperate now.
“I don’t want you carrying this alone,” he said. “Not anymore.”
For the first time in a month, his voice didn’t sound broken.
It sounded certain.
Her sobs came out louder then—almost ridiculous, hiccupping and messy as she clutched his jacket like it was the only thing keeping her upright.
“I thought I was gonna die,” she cried, words tumbling over each other. “They once put sugar instead of salt in the stew.”
Jaemin stiffened for half a second. “They—what?”
“We had to eat everything,” she went on, voice breaking as she sniffled hard. “Because we didn’t want to waste it—and Haechan made a lot. Like—a lot a lot.”
She buried her face into his chest, shoulders shaking, half-laughing, half-sobbing. “I swear it tasted like dessert soup. I’ve never been so betrayed in my life.”
For a moment, Jaemin just stared ahead—then a soft, broken laugh slipped out of him. The kind he hadn’t made in weeks.
“Yeah,” he murmured, tightening his arms around her. “That checks out. He once burned water.”
She let out a wet, breathless sound that might’ve been a laugh.
Jaemin pressed a gentle kiss into her hair, holding her while she cried like the world had finally tipped too far to keep everything in anymore.
“You’re safe now,” he said quietly. “No more sugar stew. I promise.”
And for the first time in a long time, even through tears and ridiculous complaints, she believed him.
—
After that night, everything slowly—quietly—went back to how it was.
And somehow… better.
Haeyi came back to the apartment she shared with Jaemin. Back to familiar walls, familiar smells, familiar comfort. Back to good food—actual food—Jaemin’s cooking fixing something in her she hadn’t realized was so broken. Back to waking up and hearing him move around in the kitchen, humming softly like nothing had ever gone wrong.
Back to him.
Happiness didn’t return all at once. It slipped in gently. In small moments. In shared smiles. In the way neither of them avoided each other anymore.
Jaemin stopped sitting across from her at meals.
At first, he’d tried—setting his plate down like usual. Then he frowned, moved it, and sat beside her instead.
“It’s too far,” he’d said simply.
She’d raised an eyebrow. “Across the table?”
“Yeah,” he replied, dead serious. “Too far.”
So beside her it stayed.
Their shoulders brushed. Knees bumped. Sometimes his thigh pressed into hers and never moved away. He’d lean over to steal food from her plate like he’d always done, but now he lingered—too close, too warm, too intentional.
Suddenly, personal space didn’t exist.
Especially not with Jaemin.
He hovered when she cooked. Wrapped an arm around her waist when she brushed her teeth. Rested his chin on her shoulder while she scrolled through her phone. Sat so close on the couch that she couldn’t tell where she ended and he began.
And this time—she didn’t pull away.
If anything, she leaned in.
It felt easy again. Natural. Like coming home after being lost for too long.
They were walking home together when it happened.
The sky was painted in soft oranges and pinks, the sun slowly dipping toward the horizon. The grocery bags rustled gently in Jaemin’s hands, and Haeyi’s fingers were laced through his like they belonged there—easy, natural, unquestioned.
They moved at an unhurried pace, steps in sync, shoulders brushing every now and then.
Jaemin glanced down at her, a small smile tugging at his lips.
Without breaking stride, he leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead.
She slowed, turning to look up at him, brows knitting together in mild confusion. “What was that for?”
He stopped walking.
Still holding her hand, he looked at her with those soft, adoring eyes—the kind that made her chest warm instantly. The city noise faded around them, the moment narrowing until it was just the two of them standing under the sunset.
“I love you,” he said simply.
She blinked at him, heart racing, the world suddenly feeling too quiet and too loud all at once.
“Say… say it again,” she whispered, like she wasn’t sure she’d heard him right.
Jaemin’s smile softened instantly.
“Haeyi,” he said gently, squeezing her hand, “I love you.”
Her eyes sparkled in the fading light, tears threatening but happy this time. She nodded, a breathless laugh slipping out as the words finally found their way out of her too.
“I love you too,” she said, voice glowing, eyes shining under the sunset.
Jaemin let out a quiet, relieved laugh and pulled her into his arms, grocery bags forgotten as he wrapped her up tight. She chuckled through the rush of emotions, burying her face into his chest as she hugged him back just as tightly.
Thats it for this one!
How was it?
I hope y'all liked it 💖
Likes and rebloggs are appreciated ⭐️ ✨️
