Discover Top Posts Tagged with #m:changbin

tutti frutti — seo changbin ·˚ ༘♡

↝ pairing: seo changbin x reader ↝ genre: tooth-rotting fluff, slice of life, college au, friends to lovers au ↝ word count: 8.8k+ ↝ warnings: alcohol consumption, swearing, felix is fed up and just wants the two of you to date already so he can pass his bio midterm, changbin thinks you must be an actual idiot for not noticing he’s in love with you, you think he might be right (but he doesn’t need to know that...) literally just 8k words of you making changbin a panicked and chaotic mess

↝ description: changbin says i love you in many ways. much to his chagrin, you never notice any of them. a love story told in five fruit puns.

Seo Changbin, your partner in crime, always walks you home after your night classes end.

Like any sane college student, you hate night classes. Absolutely despise them, in fact, especially when the one you’re currently enrolled in is something as boring and tedious as philosophy. You hate them, but—seeing your best friend afterwards somehow makes them that much more bearable.

As the reason you missed your registration time and ended up with such a late class in the first place, Changbin is obligated—by contract, one you had written up and forced him to sign one night when you were drunk out of your mind—to ensure you don’t die walking back at 10pm.

Plus, he has a class nearby that ends around the same time (because the dummy managed to sleep through his registration) and it happens to be convenient for him to walk back with you.

But—even though he’s forced to serve as your (quite short and brawny) bodyguard-slash-chaperone—it’s still nice to see him, even if it’s late at night when you’re so tired you can barely keep your eyes open.

“Hey, weirdo,” you call as you walk out of your class and towards the short, stock figure that you know is Changbin—he’s dressed in all black, with his favorite baseball cap on his head.

At the sound of your voice he turns around, his hands shoved in his pockets.

You suppose if you didn’t know him well, you would think he looks a bit intimidating like this: dark and brooding like he’s plotting the best way to kill you. (His resting bitch face doesn’t do much for him...)

But you do know him well, well enough to know that he’s the biggest teddy bear ever, and couldn’t hurt a fly even if he tried. Mostly because he’s scared of flies.

He likes to think he’s all cool and mysterious, and you take the utmost joy in reminding him that he’s really not.

Changbin breaks out into a half smile when he sees you.

“Hey dummy,” he bounces back, nudging you with his shoulder when you’re close enough. “Shall we?”

You adjust the straps of your backpack and the two of you walk out of the liberal arts building, heading in the direction of your apartment.

“Okay, so, I was thinking,” you begin.

“Always a dangerous thing,” Changbin nods knowingly without missing a beat, and you stick your tongue out at him.

“Where did coconuts originate?”

“I’m sorry, what?” Changbin pins you with a look as if he’s wondering if he misheard you.

“No, seriously, where did they come from?”

Changbin furrows his eyebrows. “...Asia?”

“Right! You exclaim, outraged. “They originated in Asia... But why do we as a society associate coconuts with the Caribbean?”

“Y/N, what the fuck?”

But you ignore him. “I mean, isn’t this coconut erasure? Asian coconuts came first, don’t they deserve recognition and validation too?”

Changbin deadpans. “They’re coconuts.”

“Don’t say that, coconuts have feelings too!”

“They’re coconuts.”

“Yeah, well, you look like a coconut, but you don’t see me saying anything,” you sniff.

He scoffs, exasperated. “You literally just did.”

You just narrow your eyes at him, let out an angry little huff, and march on ahead.

“Y/N?” Changbin calls but you ignore him, walking exactly two steps in front of him.

“Y/N, wait!”

You stick up your middle finger at him without turning around.

“Okay, I’m sorry for insulting your coconuts,” he says exasperatedly, jogging to catch up with you.

“Say the coconut erasure crisis is real,” you grunt.

“The—what?” Changbin sighs. “What even prompted this coconut thing?”

“Felix sent me a post about coconut migration and now I can’t stop thinking about the injustice!”

“Oh my god,” he groans. “Of course Felix sent you something. Is this why it took you so long to get out?”

“It did not take me a long time!” You protest.

“You came out like... Twelve minutes after your class ended.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Were you timing me?”

There’s a moment, and a blush creeps up Changbin’s neck.

“...Pfft, no. Of course not.”

“You were!” You can barely stifle your laughter at the revelation, and he’s looking more and more like a tomato as the seconds pass.

“Anyways,” Changbin clears her throat as you give up and just laugh at him.

“I didn’t know you were that close to Felix. Does he send you stuff a lot?”

“Yeah, I guess,” you nods thoughtfully. “I mean, usually after he gets out of soccer practice when he finds something funny.”

His brow furrows, and a strange expression passes over his face.

“What?” You ask. “Are you jealous? You don’t have to worry about me stealing your man. Sometimes he just likes to talk to someone, you know, with an actual sense of humor.”

“I have a sense of humor!” He disagrees. “I was just wondering if that’s why it’s been taking you so long to get out recently.”

There’s a pause.

“Oh,” you say after a moment, as if the idea had never occurred to you before. “Have I been making you wait too long?”

Changbin scowls.

“As if I would wait for you.”

You stop and turn on your heel. “You know, if I’m taking too long, you don’t have to wait for me...”

Shut up,” he rolls his eyes. “If you think you get out of walking me back after classes end, then you really are delusional.”

You punch him, but can’t stop the wide grin that stretches across your face.

“Aw, Bin! I knew you loved me!”

You ruffle his hair gleefully, and he chokes up awkwardly—not that you notice.

Strained, he points forward, his face warm as he avoids making eye contact with you.

“Um,” he stutters, looking around wildly, until he spots a light pole in the distance. “w-whoever reaches that first—!”

Following his finger and getting the idea, you don’t give him the opportunity to finish before you’re already breaking into a sprint to get a head start.

“—pays the next time we go out,” he finishes with a sigh of relief, more than a little thankful that you are (quite possibly) the most competitive person he knows. You’re already halfway there, and when you finally manage to reach the pole, you jump up and down gleefully.

He rolls his eyes as he follows you, but can’t stop the warm feeling that blossoms in his chest.

“Ha!” Your voice echoes as you holler at him. “I win! I win!”

“Yeah, yeah,” he calls out to you, breaking into a light jog to catch up to you.

Later that night, after dropping you off, Changbin trudges up two flights of stairs to his apartment, and when he opens the door he is greeted by his roommate, Chan, sprawled across the couch with his laptop in front of him.

“Hey,” Chan nods at him, “you’re back already?”

Changbin shrugs off his coat and slips his feet into his slippers before flopping down onto the sofa next to him.

“Yeah,” he sighs.

“You’re so lucky,” Chan sighs wistfully. “I wish I had an empty schedule like yours.”

Changbin grins. “Switch out of music comp and maybe you could.”

Chan groans. “Me and my 18 hours can’t talk to you right now, sorry. We have important things to do, like actual assignments.”

“Hey! I have things to do too,” Changbin retorts.

“Your communications major ass?” Chan raises an eyebrow. “Yeah. All you do is pretend you have night classes so you can walk back from campus with your best friend who you’ve had a crush on for, like, ever.”

Changbin doesn’t have anything to say to that.

Instead, he picks up the pillow he’s resting his arm on and throws it at Chan—hard, partly because he’s insufferable, but mostly because he’s right.

Seo Changbin, your faithful servant, greets you every Thursday with a smile on his face and a cup of pearl milk tea in his hand.

People say that Monday’s are the worst day of the week, but you have to disagree—Thursday’s take that position, no competition required.

With four back-to-back classes that start at the ass crack of dawn (read: 8am) and barely any time for lunch before your tutoring sessions in the library from 2 until 8pm, well, it’s understandable why you despise Thursdays.

Changbin, of course, knows this. You’ve state (complained) multiple times how you think it’s very unfair that he has no classes today, and instead only works a 10-2 shift at your university’s local boba shop.

Which is why, after a particularly long week at the start of the semester and a bit too much whining from you, he showed up at the library before your tutoring session, your favorite melon milk tea in hand.

And then, before he even realized it, you had bullied him into bringing boba to you every Thursday like clockwork (one of your finer achievements in life, if you do say so yourself.)

Today, the cup he holds is filled to the brim with a pale orange, frothy liquid, with the black tapioca pearls compressed to the bottom, and you almost moan in relief.

“I love you so much,” you breathe out, eyeing the cup in Changbin’s hand as he approaches the table you’re sat at.

“Yeah,” he responds smugly, “I know.”

Your gaze turns up to him long enough for you to say, “I was talking to the drink,” and he breaks out into a scowl.

“I don’t have to give this to you, you know,” he sniffs. “I could drink it myself.”

Your eyes widen and you pout.

“Nooo,” you drag out forlornly, grabbing his sleeve and tugging. “Please? I’m working with Felix today on genetics. Last week he asked me if Mendelian dominance has to do with BDSM. I need it.”

“He did not,” Changbin’s expression flashes with horror and you nod solemnly.

“The week before, he thought a punnett square was a type of bedsheet. i don’t know how much longer I can survive.”

Begrudgingly, he hands the drink over to you, and you light up immediately.

“Thank you!” You practically sing, punching a hole through the plastic film cover with the straw and then taking a long sip.

Changbin rolls his eyes and slides into the seat across from you.

“Okay, what flavor?” He asks, and you narrow your eyes at him.

Ever since he started bringing you drinks after his shifts on Thursday, each week a different flavor, the two of you fell into a sort of game where you try to guess what it is.

“Easy,” you say, your tone accusatory. “Like, too easy.”

“Well, I heard from someone that you were having a bad week, so—”

“Aww,” you coo, interrupting him. “Is that why you brought me mango today?”

Changbin flushes, and his hand instinctively goes up to scratch his neck, but he doesn’t deny it.

“I mean, isn’t it your favorite?”

You chew the tapioca pearl in your mouth thoughtfully.

“You know what, Bin...” you say slowly, taking another small sip.

“You’re kind of mangonificent!”

You break out into a cheesy grin, and he chokes.

“P-please,” he coughs, clearing his throat after almost hacking up a lung, “never say that again.”

You roll your eyes.

“I insult you, you get mad,” you say condescendingly with a shake of your head, “I compliment you and you still get mad. It’s like I can never win!”

He looks at you blankly. “Because you can’t.”

You kick him and he winces.

“You’re so mean,” you sulk, and Changbin scoffs.

“You’re the one who just kicked me.”

“I know,” you nod. “What a privilege for you.”

“Yeah, more like torture,” he mutters under his breath.

Smiling innocent, you dig your heel into his foot and he flinches again.

“Ouch!”

“You were saying?” You bat your eyelashes.

“Nothing...” he clears his throat, and you nod.

Satisfied, you turn back to your gargantuan biology textbook that takes up a good part of the table and take another big gulp of your drink.

It’s as you’re reviewing dihybrid crosses that you notice that Changbin has pulled out his phone, and is now making strange faces into the front camera.

“What are you doing?” You ask slowly, your pencil stopping its movements across the page.

Changbin’s attention snaps up to you and he frowns.

“Is there something on my face?”

“No...?”

“Are you sure?” His gaze narrows into slits like he doesn’t believe you, and you roll your eyes.

“I mean, aside from all the ugly...”

He glares at you, and you raise your hands in surrender.

“Okay, seriously, there’s nothing there. Why do you ask?”

“That girl over there is staring at me,” Changbin mutters, trying his best to inconspicuously motion to your left with a tilt of his head.

You follow the direction he’s gesturing in to a table in the back corner, where a small girl is sat with her laptop open, batting her eyelashes at your best friend while he panics, and you almost choke on your laughter.

“Oh my god,” you gasp, reaching up to wipe a stray tear from your eye. “Bin. She’s not staring at you because there’s something on your face.”

“Then why else would she be staring at me?” He challenges.

You deadpan. “Because you’re attractive.”

When the words register in his head, Changbin isn’t drinking anything—but he’s sure that if he had been, he definitely would have done a spit-take.

Instead he manages to stammer out a weak “w-what?!” while he tries to ignore the warm blush that begins creeping up his neck.

“I mean,” you shrug, not noticing his jaw (which has dropped to the floor) or the new reddish tint his cheeks seem to have acquired.

“Objectively, yeah, even I can admit that you’re, you know... Good looking.”

Changbin just gapes at you.

No, scratch that—he physically cannot do anything except gape at you. It’s like after the words leave your mouth, the connection between his brain and literally every other part of his body is severed and, well, he’s not quite sure he remembers how to breathe.

Is this real life? Like, actually? He can’t tell. He must be dreaming though. There’s no way you would let anything like that come out of your mouth.

After all, you literally just insulted him and called him ugly a few minutes ago—why would you do a complete 180 and... and compliment him out of nowhere?

It’s not possible (not in this world, at least) is what he thinks to himself as you begin to look at him weirdly.

Yes, a dream, Changbin tells himself as he reaches up to pinch his arm. Except—well, he definitely just felt that.

“Changbin?” You ask slowly, waving your hands in front of his face.

“Seo Changbin? Is anyone home?”

“Huh?” He starts, his leg jerking upwards and slamming into the table as he’s startled out of his reverie.

“Are you okay?” You ask him, your brow furrowed worriedly.

“I-I’m fine—oh!” You reach towards him, but before your fingers reach, Changbin jumps out of your reach, as if he’s been electrocuted.

“U-uh,” he stutters nervously, scrambling to grab his bag and sling it over his shoulder—all as he avoids eye contact with you.

“I j-just remembered, I’m, um, meeting—meeting Minho in the engineering building. Okbye!”

He rushes the end out and before you even have a chance to reply, he’s running (like, actually full on sprinting) towards the elevators.

“Hmm,” you muse to yourself, mystified as he decides the elevators are taking too long and makes a beeline towards the stairs.

Later, when Felix finally manages to make it to your table, exactly twenty minutes late, he curiously eyes your half empty cup of boba that has accumulated a ring of condensation around it in the time since Changbin brought it to you.

“Can I have some?” He says hopefully in lieu of a greeting, reaching for the cup as he slides into the seat across from you.

You narrow your eyes and snatch the cup away from him.

“No,” you say, and then because you’re a annoyed that he’s late, you take a long sip as he watches despondently, making sure to slurp loudly before setting the drink back down.

“Please?” He pouts and you shake your head.

“If you had shown up on time, maybe...” You shrug. “But you didn’t, so again, no.”

“How do you even have time to get boba every week,” he whines. “I though you had class right before this?”

“What?” You ask, before looking down at the drink in front of you. “Oh. Changbin brings me some every week after his shift.”

“Changbin... Seo Changbin?” Felix says, slowly, as if he doesn’t believe you. “Kind of short, really buff? Are we talking about the same Changbin?”

“...Yes?”

He narrows his eyes at you. “What do you give him in return?”

“Nothing,” you shrug, “why?”

“Why?” Felix cries. “Why? Because he loves boba! I tried to take a sip of his drink once and he got so mad he didn’t talk to me for a week...”

“Okay...” You trail off, not really sure what to say. “Sorry? Do you want me to apologize?”

“No,” Felix huffs angrily. Then, as an afterthought, he adds, “Changbin hyung must really like you to give up boba for you.”

“Yeah, duh,” you snort. “I’m his best friend. Now, let’s get to work. I remember you not knowing anything about Darwin, so we’ll start there. Maybe this time you’ll actually...”

You’re so busy talking biology that you miss the knowing look Felix gives you before proceeding to flip open his textbook and pretend to listen to you.

Seo Changbin, your favorite target, has a habit of referring to your mutual friends as his friends—never mind the fact that you’ve known more than half of them since you were in diapers.

You’re not sure why. Three years ago, he didn’t even know any of them—you’re the one who introduced them, after all. At first, you thought it was a great idea: your childhood best friends and your college best friend, being friends with each other?

Only now do you realize that it was, quite possibly, the worst thing you could have done. Because now—well, they get along so well they seem to forget the role you played in their friendship.

This is something you discover one Tuesday night when you and a few of your friends decide to congregate at Changbin’s apartment.

You’re not sure why you’re here. Well, okay, you know the reason—midterm season has just ended, it’s been forever since you have hung out with them, and Hyunjin has just starred in some obscure student-directed indie film that he insists you must all watch together.

Really, it just sounds like an excuse to get drunk and forget about all of your responsibilities.

You were under that impression, at least, but it seems you couldn’t have been further from the truth—because not only are your childhood friends hogging Changbin, but you’re smushed in between them as they all (much to your surprise) actually watch the movie.

To be honest, you weren’t quite sure any of them had the attention span for it. You’re a bit embarrassed to admit that out of everyone, you’re the one who can’t seem to focus. Even Jisung seems to be watching intently throughout the entire movie (although, you can’t tell whether he’s genuinely interested or he’s just fallen asleep with his eyes open.)

But the thing is—it’s not really your fault you can’t focus. The movie is just that bad. Like, seriously, you’re not sure how the film department approved the budget, because not only does the plot seem to go over your head, but whichever pretentious media student directed it decided it should be edited with absolutely no face shots.

You can’t tell who is who, you can’t tell what is going on, and the film has this weird green tint to it that hurts your eyes the longer you look at it.

Later rather than sooner, the movie finally ends, and you think you might cry because you’re so glad it’s over.

“Wait, it’s over? Like, actually?” you say slowly as Chan gets up and heads to the kitchen, and Minho ejects the disc from the DVD player. “Hyunjin, are you sure you were even in that?”

“Yeah,” he nods matter-of-factly. “I was the teacher, couldn’t you tell?”

You gape at him for a moment, your mouth opening and closing like a senile goldfish, simply because you can’t believe what he’s just said.

“You’re telling me,” you start, tone murderous as your eyes narrow into a glare, “that we just sat through a 2 and a half hour film only for you to be on screen for 7 minutes?!”

Hyunjin sniffs, offended. “Actually, it was 9 minutes, not 7. Wasn’t it good?”

You open your mouth, fully prepared to go off on him, but before you have the chance to, Changbin places a calming hand on your leg as he tells him, “yeah, it was great! I’m not really sure what was going on, but it was definitely unique.”

His touch is calm and comforting, and you hesitate for a moment—only a moment, but a moment is enough for Hyunjin and Seungmin to dive into a deep debate about the more artistic choices made throughout the film. All you’re left to do is glare at your friends as you reach up to rub your temples.

“I need a drink...” You mutter bitterly a moment later when it becomes obvious that you won’t get the opportunity to yell at Hyunjin for the pain he just put you through.

“Did someone say drink?” Chan exclaims brightly, walking out of the kitchen with a tray lined with tiny, shot-sized red solo cups in hand.

“Now that’s what I’m talking about,” you cheer, your excitement renewed as you pluck one off the tray and down it instantly.

“Wait, but that’s not—“

A chill travels through your body as you swallow, and you almost hack it up in surprise.

“What the fuck is this?” You ask, outraged as you shake the tiny cup angrily.

“—It’s apple juice.” Chan finishes with a sigh, snatching the cup from your fingers before you throw it at someone.

“Yeah, I know that now,” you scowl. “I want to know why it’s apple juice!”

“Well... I mean, we’re here to celebrate Jeongin’s birthday, but he has a midterm tomorrow morning and I’m not going to let him take it hungover, so we’re not drinking...” Chan says sheepishly.

You gape. “We’re celebrating Jeongin’s birthday?!”

Chan gives you a weird look. “Yeah, why else did you think we were here?”

“Why does nobody tell me these things?” You cry, throwing your hands up in the air.

“We did tell you,” Minho calls from where he’s curled up in an armchair across the room. “Like, multiple times.”

“Yeah,” Felix adds helpfully. “I even wrote it in your planner.”

“My planner?” You parrot back, confused as you reach for your bag to get it out.

You flip it open to today and—there it is, pencilled in under reminders in Felix’s chicken scrawl handwriting, a large exclamation point followed by the words “Jeongin’s b-day!”

With a gasp, you turn to your right where the birthday boy himself is sitting.

“Yang Jeongin, why didn’t you tell me we were celebrating today?” You exclaim with a pout. “I haven’t even chosen a gift out for you yet...”

He grins toothily at you. “It’s okay, you can just treat me to lunch next week!”

You frown at him. “Yeah, but that’s not a proper present...”

“It is to Jeongin,” Chan says wryly, and the youngest boy nods his head excitedly.

“I mean,” you begin hesitantly, “if you say so...”

Changbin scoffs at the expression of worry on your face.

“You weren’t this worried when you forgot my birthday,” he says grumpily and you wave him off.

“Yeah, but that’s you. This is Jeongin we’re talking about.”

“I’m your best friend!” He cries out and Jeongin smirks at him.

You roll your eyes.

“You might be my best friend, but he’s the apple of my eye,” you coo as you squeeze Jeongin’s cheek.

Changbin glares at him.

“I’m on to you, little twerp,” he grumbles. “Don’t think I can’t see how you’re trying to manipulate Y/N.”

You reach out and smack him, hard.

“Don’t talk to my baby like that.”

“Your baby?!”

“Yes, Changbin,” you enunciate slowly. “My baby.”

“B-But—“ He splutters, looking cluelessly at you as your eyes bear holes into his head.

He has the decency to be embarrassed when he notices the intensity of your glare, and is about to mutter out a half apology when he catches Jeongin, smirking in that self-entitled, haughty kind of way over your head.

Changbin can’t help it—almost instinctively, he narrows his eyes at the younger boy.

“Stop that!” You frown when you notice, wrapping your arms protectively around Jeongin’s head as you pull him in close. “You’re being mean.”

“Mean?” Changbin scoffs. “To him? I don’t think it’s possible to be mean to the devil himself.”

A moment passes, and you stare at him.

“Take it back.”

“No.”

You scowl, eyes pointed in daggers at him. “Now you’re the one acting like a baby...”

“Says the one who cries during movies about animals,” Changbin mutters in response, not necessarily to you but also not technically to himself.

You gasp in indignation. “That was one time, and you know how Marley and Me makes me feel!”

“So you’re just going to pretend like you didn’t tear up last night when we were watching Air Buddies?” Changbin challenges.

“At least I’m not the one who cried so hard during Zootopia that I had to pause it while you went to grab tissues!”

“Okay, but we already agreed, Zootopia is an emotional experience!” He exclaims, and the mention of the Disney movie has Jisung’s head popping up from where it was previously buried in the popcorn bowl.

“Zootopia?” He says curiously. “Are you bullying Changbin again?”

“Yes,” you reply, turning your nose up at your best friend.

“Can I help?” Jisung asks excitedly, bounding up to where you are sitting.

“No.”

He sulks. “But I have so much on him. Like, ooh, that one time that he—ouch!”

Jisung is cut short as you scoff and reach out to kick him.

“You’re not allowed to make fun of him,” you scowl. “Only I am.”

“But...” He pouts.

“Don’t test me, Han Jisung,” you tell him. “I still have those pictures of you in a tutu from last Halloween. It would be a shame if that girl you’re crushing on happened upon them... accidentally...”

You watch, satisfied, as his face pales and he trips over himself in a feeble attempt to get away from you.

“A-Actually, on second thought, y-you know, I, um, I should be going—!”

And then he’s barreling towards Minho, who is sat as far away from you as possible in the tiny living room of Chan and Changbin’s apartment.

“That’s what I thought,” you say to yourself smugly, your eyes so focused on Jisung that you miss the way Changbin flushes.

“Now,” you start, turning back to face your best friend, who seems considerably less annoyed if the dumb little grin on his face is anything to go off of.

“I believe an apology is in order?”

(Later, after almost everybody has left and Changbin has retreated back into his room, Chan is collapsed onto the couch next to Jeongin.

“You shouldn’t tease Changbin like that, you know,” he tells the younger boy. “He gets touchy when it comes to Y/N.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” Jeongin responds casually. “I barely even said anything to him tonight.”

Chan just sighs.

Still, the self-satisfied grin stays plastered to his face, up until the moment he remembers the exam he has tomorrow morning and all of his happiness vanishes in a puff of smoke.)

Seo Changbin, your best friend, makes your heart flutter.

You try to hide it, really, and on most days—you do. After so long, it’s easy for you to ignore the fact that your heart beats a little bit faster when he’s around, and your stomach twists tight in knots when he’s not. It’s easy to pretend that you don’t notice how he makes you feel like you’re floating on cloud nine with something as simple as a smile.

You’re an expert when it comes to pretending you have no feelings for Seo Changbin, and yet—right now, long after the sun has set, with your arms wrapped around his neck and your legs around his waist as he carries you, piggyback style down the dimly lit street—it’s undeniable.

And in your defense, yes, the way you flush is partly because of the amount of alcohol in your system—but mostly, it’s because of him.

Its Friday, midnight, and if you’re being honest, the night wasn’t supposed to end this way.

In fact, it had started off normal enough. You had gone out to eat with a couple of friends from your major at the closest and cheapest barbecue place you could find. The past few weeks had been stressful, with your thesis deadlines coming up, and all of you had come to the general consensus that you could use a night out to loosen up.

And the thing is, you’re not a lightweight. Really, you’re not. But one shot of soju led to another, and then another, and it’s not long before you are six shots in and (to put it simply) drunk.

At least, that’s what you’re friend Naeun tells you as she takes your phone and calls the most recent number in your address book—Changbin.

But you swear, you’re just a little tipsy! Just because you’re talking really loudly and everything seems infinitely more funny doesn’t mean you’re wasted...

“Y/N, you’re definitely wasted,” Changbin says as the two of you pass a convenience store. He’s carrying you on his back, with his arms under your legs and your purse slung across his body.

You gasp loudly, your cheek smushed against his back.

“How did you know I was thinking that? Did you just... Read my mind?!”

He scoffs. “No, you said it out loud.”

“Ohhh.”

A moment passes.

“You—you know, I can walk b-by myself!” You declare to him. “You don’t have to carry me...”

“Really?” Changbin says with a snort, and he cocks an eyebrow even though you can’t see him. “Is that why Naeun had to carry you out of the restaurant earlier?”

“She wasn’t carrying me,” you mumble stubbornly. “I was carrying her! You know...”

You lean in to whisper loudly in his ear. “I think she might have been really... drunk. She needed my help!”

“Did she?” Changbin replies, clearly amused.

You nod vigorously, although with your head pressed against his back, it’s almost as if you’re rubbing your cheek against his shirt.

“Okay, whatever you say...” He mutters, and your eyebrows furrow.

“You don’t believe me,” you accuse. “Why does it sound like—like you don’t believe me?”

“Maybe because I don’t?”

You pout angrily. “That’s really mean.”

“I never said I was nice,” he snorts, and you feel the vibration through his back and on your face.

“Yes you are...” You mumble inaudibly, turning your face so your right cheek is pressed against his back instead of the left, and he readjusts his grip on your legs to stop you from sliding off his back.

“What?” He asks distractedly as he attempts to crane his neck and check the time on his watch.

“You’re nice,” you grumble back, your tone now accusatory. “Really, really nice. It’s unfair. Why are you so nice? Are you this nice to other girls?”

“Other girls?” Changbin doesn’t mean for it to come out so condescending, but really, it’s such an absurd thought that he can’t help but scoff.

“That’s what I said,” you shoot back.

He rolls his eyes dismissively. “There are no other girls. It’s only you.”

“I don’t believe you,” you say stubbornly.

Changbin rounds the next street, almost sighing in relief when he comes to a stop in front of your apartment building.

“Y/N,” he sighs, pulling your key out of your purse and buzzing the two of you into the building. “I spend literally all my time with you. Don’t you think you would know if there were any other girls?”

A moment passes as you process his words, and in that time, Changbin makes it to the stairs and begins climbing up them—you live on the 5th floor, and the crappy elevator in your building is never in service, so (much to his chagrin) he’s gotten used to climbing the five flights of steps almost daily.

“Oh,” you respond in a small voice, and neither of you say anything until he makes it up to the fifth floor.

Changbin is desperately out of breath, and the two turns it takes to get from the stairwell to your apartment seem arduous and long. But, somehow he still manages to unlock your door and drag himself through the entryway and into your bedroom before he unceremoniously dumbs you onto your bed and flips the light switch on, flooding your room with a scathing fluorescent brightness.

Your roommate is out of town this weekend, back home to visit her parents, and it doesn’t escape his notice that this means the two of you are alone.

The sudden light burns behind your eyes and causes your head to throb for a moment, and you wince.

“Where did this whole “other girls” thing come from, anyways?” He asks, standing opposite to where you are sat on your bed with a skeptical look on his face.

It’s at that moment that you come to a few realizations as a moment of sobriety hits you. One, you’re a bit more drunk than you should be, really. Two, you sound far more unhinged and jealous than you should, because—this is your best friend.

Three... Changbin looks really good tonight, and you’re having a hard time focusing on what he’s saying instead of staring unabashedly.

“You smell like peaches,” you say to him finally instead of answering.

“What?” He says, and it doesn’t take a genius to tell that he’s more than a little annoyed. “Y/N, will you answer the question?’

“No,” you say stubbornly like a little kid, and he has half a mind to just leave your apartment right then and there.

“Y/N.” He stares.

“Changbin.” You try to match his serious tone, but coming from you, it makes you sound more like a petulant child than anything else.

“Stop messing around.”

You frown with your eyebrows furrowed, and you look so cute like that, that Changbin almost forgets that you’re acting like a little brat.

Almost.

“I like peaches, I’m trying to tell you that you smell good...” You grumble angrily, crossing your arms as you glare at him. “Why won’t you a-peach-iate me?”

“Because you never apeachiate me!” He explodes, and you are left gaping at him.

A moment passes, and Changbin feels awful almost immediately—he didn’t mean to yell at you, and you’re looking at him with those puppy dog eyes, on the verge of tears, and he kind of wishes the ground would just swallow him whole.

Much to his disappointment, it doesn’t.

“I’m sorry...” You say in a voice so small that Changbin wants to wrap you in his arms and never let you go.

Instead, he just sighs.

“No, I’m sorry for yelling at you...”

“It’s okay...” You say, your voice still small, and a moment passes.

“...I’m sleepy,” you say then, as if you’ve completely forgotten what just happened in the past five minutes—which, considering your lack of sobriety, you probably have.

And just like that, all thoughts of your previous conversation leave Changbin’s head.

“Help?” You ask, holding your arms up with a pout on your face as you look at Changbin. You look tired, with your eyelids drooping, and he doesn’t hesitate.

First, he coaxes you into drinking three tall glasses of water (he would have tried to make you drink more, but you’re stubborn enough as it is), and then he’s grabbing new clothes for you to change into before he helps you gargle some mouth wash—because frankly, he’s too afraid that you’ll choke on the toothbrush if he tries to brush your teeth for you.

He’s done this before, on the rare occasion that you get more drunk than you should, and it’s almost like clockwork. In no time at all, you’re changed into your cute little turtle pajamas and tucked into bed.

Changbin is turning off the light to your room when your head pops up from beneath the mass of blankets you’re buried under.

“Will you stay with me?” You mumble sleepily as you rub your eyes.

If he wasn’t a sucker for you before this, he sure as hell is now...

“I mean, I guess,” he grumbles as he sits down on the edge of your bed, and then lets out a surprised yelp when you don’t hesitate to pull him down to lie next to you.

Instinctively, his arms wrap around you, and you let out a hum of satisfaction as you snuggle into his chest.

“Thank you, Bin,” you murmur. “For everything.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” he mutters back, but he can’t fight the way his cheeks flush.

His mind is moving a mile a minute and his heart even faster, despite how hard he tries to calm himself. You’re just drunk, Changbin reassures himself multiple times, and he is your best friend. it’s not weird, and you don’t mean anything by it.

...Right?

He tries to focus on the steady lull of your breathing to distract himself from how close you are and how nice you smell, despite the overpowering smell of soju. He feels faint, elated, over the moon, all of the above—and all he’s doing is holding you.

As your breath evens out, Changbin finds himself counting each one, almost as if he’s counting sheep. It’s calming, and as he watches you, your eyelashes brushing against your cheekbones in your sleep, his heart feels full.

“I can’t believe I’m in love with an idiot like you,” he murmurs affectionately under his breath, almost as if it’s an afterthought, and you can’t stop the small smile that creeps onto your face.

Somewhere in your head, you know that it’s not meant for you to hear—it’s something that Changbin is saying to you, but not for you. But you’re still out of it, half asleep and a little drunk, and you cuddle closer to him as you lift up your head.

He almost falls out of bed when your eyes open slowly, and he swears in that moment, his heart stops beating.

“Y-Y/N?”

Your eyes are warm as you look at him, unblinking, almost as if you can see straight into his soul.

“...Love you too,” you mumble, and he isn’t even able to process your words.

Changbin’s ears ring as blood rushes through them, and you sleepily lean over and give him a small kiss on the underside of his chin where the scar he’s had since he was ten is. It’s in that moment that he knows, he could die right now and his life would be fulfilled. He gapes at you, not quite sure that this isn’t all a dream—

—And then your eyes drift shut as you finally fall asleep.

Seo Changbin, your—well, you’re not really sure what he is to you anymore—has been avoiding you since Friday night.

A whole four days have passed, and you haven’t seen him. Not once.

Which, yeah, okay maybe it isn’t that weird. Except you can’t remember the last time you went that long without seeing him—and that’s on top of what he said to you that night. What you said to him.

You’re never getting drunk again, you’ve decided. Because of course, the one time in a long while that you do, you end up confessing your love for your best friend. And of course, he ends up saying something you could have only dreamed of him saying and then turning right back around and ignoring you.

Four days of radio silence from your best friend-slash-guy you’re in love with? You’re half crazed as it is when it comes to Seo Changbin, and this... This is definitely not helping.

Because four days—well, four days is a long time to stew. A long time, especially when you spend those four days holed up in your apartment, like an idiot, thinking that he would come to you.

Seo Changbin, who avoids any and every problem he’s ever faced.

Which is why Tuesday afternoon finds you fed up and standing outside his apartment, with half a watermelon in hand.

You take a deep breath to brace yourself before you knock on his door.

A moment passes, then another and another, and you almost think he won’t answer.

You know that he’s home alone, because he has morning classes on Tuesdays, and before coming you texted Chan just to make sure he didn’t have any special plans today.

And then, right as you’re about to overthink it, the door swings open slightly to reveal Changbin himself, his eyes bleary and hair messy in a way that tells you he just woke up.

“Hello!” You say cheerfully, a bright smile on your face as you push past him into the apartment and head straight for his kitchen.

He’s confused, which is apparent from his furrowed brows, but he follows you, still lethargic.

“What...?”

You waste no time in grabbing a cutting board from under his sink, and before he can even process it, you’re unwrapping the half of the watermelon in your hands and practically slamming it down onto the counter.

“D’you have a knife?” You ask conversationally, and he continues to just stare as if he’s never seen you before.

“Nevermind,” you say a moment later when you locate his knife rack and grab one, turning to him.

“Woah!” It’s only when his eyes widen comically and he throws his hands up defensively that you realize you’re pointing the knife at him, as if you’re a medieval knight brandishing a sword.

“Oh, oops,” you giggle, although you don’t sound very apologetic, and you turn towards the watermelon and begin cutting the pink fruit away from the rind.

You hum lightly as you slice, as if Changbin hasn’t been ignoring you, but even as you scrape the fruit off the cutting board and into a bowl, the feeling of apprehension never leaves your veins.

After setting the board and knife into the sink, you wash your hands with his orange and ginger foaming soap—and the entire time, he watches you without saying a word.

“Right then,” you announce, drying your hands on a towel before practically shoving the bowl of watermelon into his hands. “Here you go.”

“Um,” he says awkwardly, and although he now looks more awake than a few minutes ago, he still looks just as bewildered.

“So—“ He starts.

“You’ve been ignoring me,” you state at the same time.

“—Oh,” he ends lamely, his voice falling short as his face warms.

You stare expectantly, a shrewd look on your face. “Why?”

“I-Ignoring...?” Changbin asks nervously. “I wouldn’t call it ignoring, per se...”

You raise an eyebrow. “Really? Is that why you didn’t answer my, I don’t know, seventeen text messages? Or why, perhaps, you were a no show to dinner Saturday night with Felix and I?”

“Well, you see—“ He starts, but you cut him off with a scathing glare.

“—Changbin, I even watched you run away from the library yesterday when you saw me.”

He winces. “...You notices that?”

“Yeah, I did.”

“Oh,” he repeats, this time his voice small.

A blanket of awkward silence falls over the two of you once again, and he avoids eye contact like his life depends on it.

“Is this about Friday night?” You ask finally, and like you’ve just flipped a switch, his expression of trepidation morphs into one of panic, all but confirming your suspicions.

“Friday... W-Which part? I mean, do you... Do you remember it all?” He asks nervously, his eyes laser focused on the chunks of watermelon in his hands.

The perspiration is painfully visible on his face and you hope he doesn’t pass out before you get the chance to finish your conversation.

“What do you mean?” You raise an eyebrow. “Are you talking about the part where you carried me home, or the part where you confessed your undying love for me?”

His reaction is almost funny enough for you to remember you’re mad at him for spending the last few days ignoring your existence, because the way his face turns a blooming red and he looks like he’s waiting for Zeus to strike him dead right here and now is simultaneously funny and really, really endearing.

“Psshh, undying love? I-I think you might, uh, be confused, or something—“

“Changbin,” you deadpan. “Are you forgetting the part where I reciprocated?”

“—Y-You what?”

“God, I know watermelons are one of your favorite fruits, but do you have to be so dense?” You burst. “I said, I feel the same.”

He just stands there, gaping. You’re not even sure he’s taken a breath in the last minute.

“Changbin?” You say tentatively when he starts to turn a little bit blue, waving your hand in front of his face. “Are you there?”

“You...” He says faintly, staring off into the distance.

“Yes?” You say, unsure. “Look, unless I hallucinated the whole part where you said you’re in love with me and you don’t actually have any feelings for me and I’m just an idiot... Then I don’t get what the big deal is.”

“N-No!” He starts, his eyes wide as he snaps back to reality. He’s hyperaware of everything, and his gaze is feverishly glued to you.

“I-I mean... yes?” He stutters helplessly, and you look at him weirdly.

“So you don’t have feelings for me?” You ask skeptically, now more confused than before. Changbin looks horrified, and he scrambles quickly for words that seem to fail him.

“No!” A pause. “Wait... yes...”

“I’m going to be honest,” you squint at him. “That cleared up absolutely nothing.”

“I just—“ Changbin groans. “What I’m trying to say is...”

“Yeah?” You say dryly when he hesitates too long.

“...You’re, um, one in a melon?” He offers up finally, a pained look on his face, and he’s already wincing before the sentence is all the way out of his mouth.

A moment passes, and then another, and your eyes flicker to the bowl of fruit in his hand then back to his face. The longer you stare at Changbin with an unreadable expression, the thicker the undeniable dread in his heart builds until he thinks he’s going to pass out.

“Did you just... make a fruit pun?” Your voice is deathly quiet, and your stare is piercing in the way that incites a please don’t kill me, I have a family and kids! kind of way.

Changbin cringes. Why are you so intimidating? Why is it so hard for him to use his brain and actually say what he wants to say? And why couldn’t he have fallen in love with someone nice and sweet that doesn’t make him want to shit his pants while simultaneously making his heart skip a beat?

“...Maybe?” He says tentatively.

Another moment passes, and then you shake your head.

“All the watermelon puns in the world,” you begin, your eyes narrowed, “and that’s the one you choose?”

“What?” He says, taken aback.

“I mean,” you begin to rant, your eyebrows now drawn taut like he just offended your family’s honor. “Not even a Harry Styles reference? I mean, watermelon sugar was right there!”

You pause.

“Wait, no... That song is painfully sexual. Maybe it’s a good thing you didn’t go with that one...”

“Um,” Changbin says, unsure of whether he should interrupt your tirade or not.

“But still! A world of watermelon puns, and you go with the most basic one. I can’t believe I’m in love with an idiot like you...”

“Hey!” He protests indignantly at that. “That’s my line! If anyone is an idiot between the two of us, it’s you.”

You raise an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Yeah? Is that why everything you’ve said in the past ten minutes has been the worst case of word vomit I’ve ever seen?”

“Well—“ He begins, but you interrupt.

“You literally didn’t even answer my question in the first place! I mean, first you ignore me for days, and then when I come here to confront you about why you’ve been acting like a coward and not facing me, you act all weird, and then suddenly you’re making a mess of the feelings that I definitely had figured out, and now I’m not sure if you are or are not in love with me. Which is dumb because I’m in love with you, and I most definitely did not give you permission to confuse me like this, so—mph!”

In the time that it takes you to say all of that, Changbin sets down the bowl of fruit and then grabs your hands, pulls you close to him, and then does the last thing you would have expected: he kisses you.

You’re so shocked that your first instinct is to bite him, and when you do... Well, you do it hard.

“Ow!” He exclaims, pulling back, and this time you’re the one left in stunned, awkward silence.

He reaches a hand up to where you bit his lip, already red and a little bit swollen. “Um...”

“Sorry!” You apologize quickly, panic rising up in you as you watch him.

“Not the reaction I was hoping for...” He mutters.

“Well—I mean—“ You blubber, and if you weren’t still so shocked, you would probably be able to appreciate the irony of how the roles reversed so quickly.

“—Does this mean... You feel the same?” You finish off, your voice small.

He deadpans.

“What do you think?”

“Well, I mean, maybe—“

“—Y/N,” he interrupts, looking you dead in the eye, and you cut off. “I’m going to try to kiss you again now, is that okay?”

Your lips part in an ‘o’ shape, and after a moment too long of dumbly staring at him, you nod almost imperceptibly.

“Great,” Changbin says, and then his lips are on yours again—except this time, you’re ready for it.

His lips are slightly chapped, and he tastes like the emergency strawberry chapstick you leave at his apartment in case you lose the one you always carry with you. Something warm wells up in your chest as you realize that you’re actually kissing him, and your arm rises up to grasp at the hair on his neck. Changbin’s hands cup your face, and he kisses you with so much feeling that the only thought left in your head is that if you knew he was this good at it, you would have kissed your best friend ages ago.

It’s simultaneously the longest and shortest moment of your life, and you let out a little whine when he finally pulls away from you.

“Wow,” Changbin exhales, and the dumb grin on his face makes your stomach do flips.

“Yeah,” you nod breathlessly. “I’m a really good kisser, right?”

He’s looking at you like you’ve just hung the moon and the stars in the sky for him, and you’re a little surprised when instead of disagreeing with you’re statement, he simply nods.

“Just so you know,” he begins, and your hands are still in his as he gazes into your eyes sincerely. “This means we’re dating now.”

“You’re not even going to ask me?” You sniff, and he raises an eyebrow like he’s daring you to say something more.

It’s simultaneously the hottest and most infuriating thing that you’ve ever seen him do, and you’re kind of mad that he’s able to look so good while barely moving a muscle.

“So,” you clear your throat. “Just to be clear—“

“Oh my god, Y/N, yes,” Changbin says, exasperated. “I’m in love with you, although I might have to change my mind if you keep asking.”

You beam, big and cheesy, and then toss your arms around your neck as you tackle him with a hug.

“For the record...” You murmur mischievously into his ear, “I love you too.”

“I know.”

Seo Changbin, your person, is in love with you.

And you? Well, you guess you’re in love with him too.