✸request: reader is uigyeom's neighboor and she likes him and she's always showing up at his door and bringing him food as a excuse to see him or following him and Yoon-gi around when she sees them coming back from school (they aren't from the same one) or hanging out, like she doesn't even hide the fact she likes him and is the very opposite of him, while he's quiet and grumpy (canon lol), she's very chatty and happy. He's kind of obvlious and just think she's annoyingly friendly and Yoon-gi teases him for this.
✸synopsis: you, a relentlessly cheerful neighbor, makes it impossible for ui-gyeom to ignore you, showing up with food, conversation, and an affection you don’t bother hiding. while he writes you off as annoyingly friendly, everyone else — especially yoon-gi — can see you’ve already woven yourself into his quiet life.
✸an: lower case intended, no use of y/n, fem!reader / i didn’t know season two was cancelled; worst news ever!!!
[now playing: dimple — bts]
m.list
─────
the knock comes just as the sun starts to sink, light bleeding through the narrow hallway windows and washing the peeling paint in soft orange. you stand outside ui-gyeom’s door with a warm plastic container balanced in your hands, heat pressing faintly into your palms. you’ve knocked twice already — light, familiar.
knock. knock knock.
the door opens just enough for you to see him — hoodie half-zipped, sleeves pushed up, headphones hanging loose around his neck. his hair is a mess, like he’s been running his hands through it all afternoon, and his eyes look tired in a way you’ve come to recognize. not irritated. just worn out.
of course, it’s you. his gaze drops immediately to the container in your hands.
“hi,” you greet brightly, like this isn’t an interruption at all. “i was hoping you’d be home. my mom made too much again.”
you lift the container as evidence, steam fogging the lid, the smell of something warm and familiar slipping out into the hallway. you don’t hesitate, don’t fidget. you never do. showing up like this feels natural — easy.
ui-gyeom exhales slowly through his nose. he doesn’t step back yet. he just looks at you, expression flat, unreadable.
“she always makes too much,” he counters with a sigh.
you grin in response. “right? i keep telling her we’re not feeding an entire neighborhood.” then, like the thought just occurred to you, “oh — and i tried a new recipe yesterday, but i messed up the portions, so i figured i’d bring some over too.”
you’re still talking when he opens the door wider, stepping aside with a small, resigned tilt of his head. it’s not an invitation exactly — but it’s close enough. you slip past him without comment, like you’ve done a dozen times before.
his apartment greets you with the familiar scent of laundry detergent and old paper. you move easily through the space, setting the container down on the counter like it belongs there. you glance around, noticing the quiet hum of the fridge filling the room, the lack of his parents.
then you speak softer, more observant than before, “you look tired. did you eat yet?”
“i was about to,” he says, a little too quickly, shifting aside to give you room.
you don’t argue. you never do.
he leans back against the counter, arms crossing loosely as he watches you open cabinets you already know by heart, grab a pair of chopsticks, hum something under your breath. you talk as you move — about your day, about something funny you saw on the way over, about absolutely nothing at all. his apartment feels different with your voice in it. warmer. busier. not bad — just unavoidable.
“you don’t have to keep bringing food,” he says after a moment, blunt but not unkind. “i’m fine.”
you look at him, completely unbothered.
“i know,” you say softly. “i just want to.”
that’s it. no explanation. no defense. like wanting is reason enough.
ui-gyeom clicks his tongue under his breath and turns his head away, jaw tight, like it annoys him how easily the words come to you. he grabs the chopsticks a little harder than necessary and starts eating, shoulders dropping just a fraction as he does. you notice. you don’t comment.
you never do. you keep talking while he eats — about nothing, about everything — your voice slipping neatly into the pauses he leaves behind without ever calling attention to them. when he answers, it’s brief. single words. short phrases. enough to prove he’s listening.
it works. somehow, it always does.
when he’s done, you wonder into his room. his room isn’t big, but you make it feel smaller just by being in it — by existing so comfortably within its edges. you sit cross-legged on the floor near his bed, back straight, attention drifting everywhere at once. your eyes trace the shelves lined with worn paperbacks, the scattered notebooks stacked unevenly, the jacket thrown over the chair like he meant to grab it later and forgot.
“you’re really neat for someone who pretends not to care,” you say, leaning forward to tap the edge of his desk with your knuckle. “but you hide it well. it’s kind of cute.”
“it’s just clean,” ui-gyeom mutters, eyes fixed somewhere past you. he’s perched on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, phone hanging loose in his hand like he forgot it was there.
you smile, undeterred. “mm. sure.”
you don’t challenge him. you never do. you just nod, accepting, and launch into a story about your day like his answer was all the permission you needed. your voice flows easily, rising and falling, threading through the room until the quiet has nowhere left to hide.
ui-gyeom listens despite himself. he always does. you’re weird, he thinks. too comfortable. too familiar. you talk like you’ve known him longer than you have, like his silences are invitations instead of walls.
you’re loud. not in volume, but in presence. in the way you move through his space without asking. in the way you say what you think without softening it. and somehow, you’re unavoidable.
“i like being here,” you say suddenly, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. you glance around his room again, then back at him. “it’s calm. you’re calm.”
“i’m not,” he replies automatically.
you laugh, light and genuine. “you are to me.”
he scoffs quietly, brushing it off. friendly. that’s all it is. you’re just like this with everyone. open. warm. unaware of how close you sit, how your knee almost touches his, how your compliments land and linger in the air longer than they should.
“you’re nice when you’re not pretending to be grumpy,” you add, smiling up at him.
“i am grumpy.”
“see?” you gasp, pointing a finger towards him. “cute.”
he clicks his tongue, annoyed, turning his head away to hide it. you don’t notice — or maybe you do, and just choose not to make a thing of it. you keep talking, filling the space between words and thoughts, until his room feels less like a place he hides in and more like somewhere you’ve quietly claimed.
ui-gyeom tells himself you’re just friendly. he doesn’t notice how easily he stops wishing you’d leave.
─────
It’s a chilly day, the kind that leaves the sky pale and stretched thin, clouds hanging low like they’re undecided about rain. school lets out in a slow spill of noise and movement, but ui-gyeom and yoon-gi walk a little apart from it, heading down a quieter street that cuts toward home.
yoon-gi is talking — something about a teacher who wouldn’t stop rambling, hands moving as he complains. ui-gyeom listens with half an ear, responding when expected, hoodie pulled up against the breeze.
“and then he says —” yoon-gi stops short. ui-gyeom doesn’t. not until yoon-gi’s elbow bumps into his side.
“what?” he murmurs, looking over with mild interest.
yoon-gi nods ahead. “you’re popular.”
ui-gyeom follows his gaze — and there you are. you’re coming from the opposite direction at first, walking fast, eyes scanning the street like you’re looking for something. then you spot them. your face lights up instantly, arm lifting high as you wave like you’ve been waiting all day for this exact moment.
“yah!” you call out, already veering onto their side of the sidewalk. “what a coincidence!”
ui-gyeom slows despite himself. you fall into step beside him so easily it’s like you’d planned it, stride matching his without effort. there’s no hesitation, no awkward pause — just your presence sliding neatly into the space next to him.
“i was just heading home,” you continue, breathless but smiling. “my school was exhausting today. we had this surprise quiz, and i swear the teacher hates us.”
“different school,” ui-gyeom says, out of habit.
“i know,” you reply immediately. “still exhausting.”
you laugh at your own comment and keep going, talking about your day, about a classmate who fell asleep during lunch, about how you’re pretty sure you forgot an assignment somewhere between classrooms. your voice fills the air between the three of you, bright and unbothered by the fact that ui-gyeom only hums in response.
yoon-gi, walking just a step behind now, watches the whole thing unfold with open interest. the timing. the way you don’t even look at him when you slip into place next to ui-gyeom. the way you angle your body slightly toward ui-gyeom as you talk, like the rest of the world, is optional.
yoon-gi’s mouth twitches.
“so,” he cuts in smoothly, “you live around here too?”
you glance back at him like you’ve just noticed he exists. “oh — yeah! i’m ui-gyeom’s neighbor.”
ui-gyeom winces. “you don’t have to say it like that.”
“why not?” you ask, genuinely curious. “it’s the truth.”
yoon-gi grins, eyes flicking between the two of you. “must be convenient. running into each other all the time.”
you nod eagerly. “all the time. it’s nice.”
ui-gyeom opens his mouth, then closes it again, settling for a quiet, “it’s just on the way.”
you don’t argue. you just keep walking beside him, still talking, still smiling, like this was always where you were meant to be. behind you, yoon-gi shakes his head slowly, amusement clear on his face.
oh, he thinks. this is going to be fun.
the convenience store lights buzz overhead, too bright against the dim evening, and yoon-gi lingers by the drinks like he’s got nowhere else to be. you’re a few steps ahead of them, scanning the shelves with intent, mumbling to yourself about which snack is better.
“so,” yoon-gi says casually, popping open the fridge door and peering inside, “you two close?”
ui-gyeom stiffens. barely. just enough that yoon-gi catches it immediately.
“what?” ui-gyeom retorts. “no.”
you turn around, already smiling. “yeah! we’re close.”
ui-gyeom’s head snaps toward you. “we are?”
you nod like it’s obvious. “i mean, i come over all the time. i bring him food. we hang out.”
yoon-gi hums thoughtfully. “you bring him food every day?”
“almost,” you admit, cheerful and unapologetic. “i like him.”
the words land cleanly. light. unburdened. ui-gyeom freezes. not dramatically. he just stops moving, hand hovering halfway to the shelf like his body forgot what it was doing. for a split second, his brain goes blank — and then he does what he always does.
he ignores it.
“you’re taking too long,” he mutters, reaching past you to grab a drink. “let’s go.”
you don’t look offended. you don’t look embarrassed. you just laugh softly and turn back to the shelves, humming again, like you didn’t just say something that should’ve changed the temperature of the room.
yoon-gi slowly closes the fridge door and stares at ui-gyeom. side-eye. long. unforgiving.
outside, the air is cooler. the sky has gone dark-blue, streetlights flickering on one by one. you walk ahead of them, kicking at nothing on the sidewalk, talking about a movie you want to see. your voice carries back easily.
yoon-gi leans in close, lowering his voice. “she’s into you.”
ui-gyeom doesn’t even look at him. “no, she’s not.”
“she literally said it.”
“she’s just friendly.”
yoon-gi snorts. “that friendly?”
“she’s like that with everyone.”
yoon-gi laughs, sharp and knowing, shaking his head. “right. sure.”
ui-gyeom adjusts his grip on the bag, jaw tight. he tells himself it’s nothing. you say things like that without meaning them. you’re open. warm. loud in ways he doesn’t understand. ahead of them, you glance back, smiling when you catch ui-gyeom’s eye, slowing your steps just enough to stay close.
yoon-gi watches it all, grin widening. oh, this is bad, he thinks.
and it’s only just getting started.
the night doesn’t really end after the convenience store — it just stretches. you don’t say goodbye. you never do. you simply drift with them, like it’s already decided.
at the park, you drop onto the bench beside ui-gyeom without asking, close enough that your shoulders almost touch. the metal is cool beneath you, the air carrying the distant sound of traffic and someone’s laughter somewhere far off. yoon-gi sits on the other end, watching the space you close without comment.
you open a bag of snacks and hold it out toward ui-gyeom first.
“here,” you say. “you like these.”
he pauses. “i never said that.”
“you don’t have to,” you reply easily. he takes one anyway. you smile like you expected it.
you ask him questions while he eats — small ones, casual ones. what music he’s been listening to lately. whether he’s tired because of school or because he stayed up too late again. he answers with shrugs, with single words, sometimes just a hum.
you don’t mind. you never do.
at the street stall, steam rises thick into the night, warm and fragrant. you split a skewer with him, fingers brushing briefly as you pass it over. you don’t react. neither does he. but yoon-gi sees the way your eyes flick to ui-gyeom first before you take a bite, the way you match his pace without thinking when they start walking again.
“you always eat the ends first,” you say suddenly.
ui-gyeom frowns. “what?”
“the spicy part,” you explain. “you leave the middle for last.”
he opens his mouth, then closes it. “…you’ve been watching?”
you shrug, smiling. “just noticed.”
yoon-gi looks away before he laughs.
you keep doing it — remembering things he’s forgotten he’s told you, adjusting your stride when he slows, handing him napkins before he realizes he needs one. you angle your body toward him when you sit. you lean in when he speaks, even when it’s barely above a murmur.
ui-gyeom doesn’t register it as anything more than you being you. he doesn’t notice that you don’t do this with yoon-gi. doesn’t notice that your attention always returns to him. doesn’t notice the way your gaze lingers when he isn’t looking.
yoon-gi notices all of it. he watches the way you offer food to ui-gyeom before yourself. the way you wait for his reaction before deciding if something’s good. the way you light up when he responds — even if it’s just a nod.
yoon-gi exhales slowly, shaking his head to himself.
this isn’t subtle, he thinks.
ui-gyeom walks ahead, hands in his pockets, unaware. you follow half a step behind, still talking, still smiling, like staying is the most natural choice you could make. yoon-gi trails them both, already certain of one thing. this isn’t friendliness. it’s patience.
─────
it happens later, when you finally peel off toward your apartment unit, your bag bouncing lightly against your side as you wave once over your shoulder before disappearing down the street. the streetlights cast long, thin shadows across the cracked sidewalk, the air cool and carrying the faint smell of grilled street food from a stall farther down. the night feels quieter the second you’re gone — too open, like something’s been pulled out of it, leaving the hum of distant traffic and a lonely drip from a leaky gutter to fill the silence.
ui-gyeom doesn’t comment on it. he just keeps walking, hands buried deep in his hoodie pockets, eyes fixed on the dim pavement ahead. yoon-gi, of course, notices.
“she follows you everywhere,” he says flatly, voice carrying easily in the quiet street. he gestures vaguely toward where you just disappeared. “everywhere.”
ui-gyeom scoffs, shaking his head, the sound sharp against the quiet. “she doesn’t.”
“she does,” yoon-gi replies, tone lazy but pointed, like he’s testing how much ui-gyeom can ignore. “and she literally said she likes you.”
ui-gyeom’s jaw tightens. he swallows, almost reflexively, before snapping, quicker than he means to. “that doesn’t mean anything. she’s just being nice.”
“nice?” yoon-gi repeats, eyes narrowing as he side-steps a puddle, watching ui-gyeom’s uneven stride. “that friendly?”
“she’s like that with everyone,” ui-gyeom insists, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets as if trying to dig the words down into the pavement behind him. his shoulders rise, tense, jaw set. “she talks a lot. she’s friendly. that’s all.”
yoon-gi hums, unconvinced, letting the silence stretch between them, the crunch of gravel under their shoes the only sound for a few steps. behind the hum of a distant car engine and the faint rustle of leaves stirred by the wind, the quiet feels almost heavy.
and then it hits ui-gyeom — not all at once, but in fragments. the way he slowed his steps without realizing it. the way his eyes flicked instinctively to the space beside him, expecting it to be filled. the way her voice, light and bright, had threaded through the evening air, easing into every corner of his day.
she is always there. at his door, with her hands full of warm food. at the convenience store, talking, laughing, nudging him into picking the right snack. on the sidewalk home, keeping pace beside him like she belongs.
the thought settles uncomfortably in his chest. a dull weight that refuses to leave. he expects her now.
and that irritates him more than anything else. more than the constant chatter. more than her easy, sunlit smile. more than the way she slips into his space like it’s her own, like it has always been. he bites the inside of his cheek, trying to shove the realization down.
“annoying,” he mutters under his breath, voice low, a little rough against the quiet night.
yoon-gi hears it anyway. the corners of his lips twitch, then curl into a low, knowing laugh.
“sure,” he says, leaning back slightly, as if ui-gyeom’s discomfort is just entertainment. “if you say so.”
ui-gyeom doesn’t respond. he keeps walking, eyes forward, jaw tight, chest feeling hollow in the space she just left. the street stretches before him, empty except for the dim pools of light and the occasional rustle of leaves.
he tries not to think about it. tries not to feel the weight of the space beside him — so quietly full of her presence — and how empty it feels without her. the pause in the night keeps whispering her name.
─────
the apartment is quiet, darker than usual, only the faint glow of the streetlights slipping through the blinds. ui-gyeom sits at the edge of the couch, hoodie pulled up, hands wrapped around a mug that’s long since gone cold. the music he left playing has died out, leaving just the hum of the fridge and the occasional creak of the building settling.
knock. it’s soft, deliberate. almost hesitant. knock knock.
he freezes, mid-sip, the warmth of the mug clutched too tightly. he knows exactly who it is. he exhales, slow, controlled, and drags himself to the door. he opens it — slower than usual this time, like he’s bracing himself for something, or maybe bracing for nothing at all.
and there you are. smiling like the night belongs to you. small, harmless, perfectly ordinary — a drink in one hand, a tiny dessert in the other. the kind of thing that should feel casual, but doesn’t. the kind of thing that lands in the pit of his chest like a small weight he didn’t know he was carrying.
“i thought of you,” you say, holding it out toward him. your tone is soft, almost shy, but the smile doesn’t falter.
he hesitates, the words catching somewhere between irritation and something else he doesn’t recognize. he blinks, staring down at the tiny package in your hands, at the quiet certainty in your eyes, at the way you’re just… here. again.
and then he steps aside. lets you in. no complaint. no grumble. just the faintest pause, a deep inhale, and the door swinging closed behind you.
you place the drink on the counter, setting the dessert next to it, and for a moment, neither of you says anything. you hum lightly, the sound filling the small room. he watches, still rigid in his hoodie, shoulders tense, fingers drumming the edge of the counter.
he’s confused. about why his chest feels a little warmer than it should. about why he notices the faint smell of the dessert before he even picks it up. about why the space beside him suddenly feels… less empty.
you’re certain. of your smile. of your presence. of the simple act of being here.
the quiet settles around him, thick and soft, like a new kind of calm he hasn’t felt before. and somewhere beneath the irritation, beneath the “annoying” and the habitual resistance, a small, quiet shift begins — something unnamed, something fragile, but something unmistakably there.
he exhales slowly, not with annoyance this time, but something lighter. something like… possibility. and when he finally looks up at you, really looks, there’s a softness in his eyes he doesn’t even try to hide. a small, almost imperceptible smile edges his lips. not ironic. not defensive. just… real.
“you’re impossible,” he says quietly, but there’s no bite in it. only the barest hint of warmth. you grin, because you know. because you’ve always known.
and at that moment, the apartment feels brighter, smaller, safer — like this is where you both belong. it’s a beginning.
and for the first time, he lets himself think maybe he’s been waiting for it all along.
(MISC. MLST) . kim euigyeom x fem!reader · fluff, crush, angled notebooks, blushing ears, frozen hand brushes, scribbling your name
euigyeom is the type of guy who’s scary smart but completely useless when you smile at him. like he can explain quantum mechanics without blinking but the second you tuck your hair behind your ear he forgets how to breathe.
he pretends he “doesn’t get crushes” but he’s literally the worst liar alive. the boy turns pink—actual pink— every time you talk to him. his ears, his cheeks, even his neck.
he carries two pencils in his bag at all times. one for himself. one “just in case you ever need one.” (you asked him once).
euigyeom has a very specific tone of voice reserved only for you — softer, slower, like he’s scared you’ll break if he speaks too loud.
when you sit next to him in class, he doesn’t look at you. oh no. he stares straight ahead like a soldier at attention because if he turns even a little, he knows the sight of you will make him combust.
but he always angles his notebook so you can see his notes better. and he’ll whisper explanations to you even when you didn’t ask, because he wants to be helpful, wants you to think he’s useful.
euigyeom is a serial glancer. he looks at you like fifty-six times a period. if you look back, he panics and pretends he was checking the clock. (the clock is behind him).
he once lent you his hoodie and almost passed out when he saw you wearing it. he went home that day and just… lied face-down on his bed kicking his feet, hugging a pillow.
euigyeom studies with you, but he gets nothing done. how is he supposed to memorize formulas when you’re sitting on his bed, so close to him, lip gloss a little smudged, wearing shorts? he literally has to look at the ceiling to stop his brain from short-circuiting.
whenever you ask him something like “gyeom, can you help me with this?” his brain immediately goes YES YES ANYTHING YES but out loud he just nods like a shy little golden retriever.
you once touched his hand while reaching for a book and he froze so hard he blue-screened. he didn’t move for a whole ten seconds.
he writes your name in the margins of his notebook without realizing it. when he notices, he slams it shut like it’s a classified government document.
euigyeom gets nervous around you but he also gets brave in the stupidest ways — like offering to carry things that are clearly too heavy for him, or walking you home even though he lives in the opposite direction.
he tries so hard to act cool. he’s not. he’s adorable. and he’s the only person who doesn’t know it.
