SUMMARY. The stages of falling in love with your roommate slash best friend, according to Jeong Jaehyun.
GENRE. roommate!au + friends to lovers!au | fluff (lots of it)
WORD COUNT. 2.4k+ words
author’s note. here’s a small, short drabble or whatever this is. hope you enjoy it!
APPRECIATION.
Jaehyun wakes up with his head pounding with immense pain. He reaches out to his bedside table for the bottle of painkillers. Surprisingly, his fingertips don’t come into contact with a small plastic bottle. Instead, his fingertips lightly graze a paper bag. He peeps one eye open, glancing towards the object which indeed turns out to be a paper bag. A takeout paper bag, to be exact.
He quirks an eyebrow, slowing sitting up. Carefully reaching out and grabbing the bag, he gets a strong whiff of samgyetang. A warm smile spreads across his lips. Opening up the bag, the first thing he sees plastered right on top of the takeout container is a post-it note.
get well soon. just text me if you need anything.
i also did your laundry, it’s all folded up in the basket right next to your bathroom. have some soup! it will help you feel better.
thank me later, i guess.
- superhero y/n
Jaehyun chuckles, pulling out the takeout containers and beginning to dive into his meal. After devouring his meal, he places the empty container back onto his bedside table, your post-it note catching his eye.
Suddenly, he feels his heart skip a beat. It’s an odd feeling. It’s a new feeling to him. Grabbing the post-it note, he reads your note over and over again, a faint smile unknowingly spread across his lips.
INFATUATION.
The first thing Jaehyun hears after stepping one foot into his shared apartment is a loud clatter. Followed by the loud clatter is a soft yelp and Jaehyun immediately rushes over to the kitchen. As he reaches the kitchen, he finds you crouched down on the floor, cleaning up flour with a dustpan.
There it is again, the faint smile that unknowingly spreads across his lips. There it is again, the light fluttering and skipping of his heartbeat. There it is again, that odd but new feeling.
His eyes scan across the kitchen, noting some specific observations. Set up on the kitchen countertop are ingredients for what seems to be for cupcakes. His eyes land back on you. You’re completely oblivious of his presence. You rub your cheek, not knowing that you’ve smudged some flour on it. Jaehyun’s heart softens at the sight. He can’t even form the right words to announce his arrival back home. What is this feeling?
After moments of pondering on what he should say, you suddenly get back up onto your two feet, dustpan filled with dirty flour, turning around and—
“Holy flipping cows—Jaehyun?! When did you get home?” You’re startled, but luckily enough, you didn’t drop the dustpan filled with flour you just cleaned up.
Infatuation. That’s the feeling that Jaehyun’s experiencing.
You quirk an eyebrow when he doesn’t seem to answer you. He stands there, eyebrows slightly raised, lips slightly parted in awe, eyes lost in a trance, and ears a very dark shade of red.
“Uh—I—uh—” He struggles to utter a single word out.
Your gaze softens and you flash him a warm smile. “Welcome back home, Jaehyun. Do you want to bake some cupcakes with me?”
“C-Cupcakes?”
“Yeah, I saw this really cool recipe that I wanted to try out—”
“Y/N—”
“And they looked so delicious that my stomach started to grumble—”
“Y/N, you have some flour—”
“And then I thought, let me make these cupcakes for Jaehyun before he gets home because I had a lot of free time—”
Jaehyun closes the gap between the two of you and he leans in to rub the flour off of your cheeks. Jaehyun’s eyes begin to trail lower down your face, landing right on your plump lips. He slowly gulps. Your mouth clamps shut at the sudden gesture. You can feel your cheeks heat up and your hands begin to grow clammy, especially when you notice where his line of sight has focused on.
“Jaehyun...”
It takes him a quick second to realize how close he is standing in front of you. He quickly pulls away, clearing his throat to ease the awkwardness.
“You had uh—You had—” He stammers. “You had—had flour... on your face... I’ll uh... I’ll—I’ll go change and come back to help you bake the cupcakes.”
“R-Right!” You exclaim, quickly turning around, your back facing him. “I’ll continue, get yourself settled first!”
Jaehyun speedwalks to his bedroom and slowly shuts the door behind him. He lets out a sigh.
What’s wrong with him?
ATTRACTION.
There’s something wrong with him.
You’re transferring wet clothes from the washing machine into the drying machine. You have your back facing him, completely oblivious that he’s standing at the doorway in a daze and his laundry basket in his arms.
Have you always been this pretty? He thought to himself. Why is he seeing you in a different light? You have your hair tied up into a ponytail, wearing an oversized university t-shirt that stops right above your knees. You have strands of hair sticking out of your updo. At one point, you’re sniffing a wet t-shirt with a satisfied smile on your face before tossing it into the drying machine.
He clears his throat, catching your attention. You look over your shoulder to greet him, flashing him a warm smile. “Are you going to do the laundry?”
He nods his head. “Are you done using the washing machine?”
You squint your eyes with suspicion. Why isn’t Jaehyun looking directly into your eyes? You shrug off the thought, moving to the side to give him some space.
Jaehyun’s bending down to grab his dirty clothes to put into the washing machine. Meanwhile, you’re taking all of your clothes out of the washing machine. When Jaehyun bends down for his clothes, you’re getting up onto your feet.
Suddenly, when you grab a shirt, it slips from your fingertips and falls onto the hardwood floors. At the same exact time, Jaehyun’s bending down to grab more clothes from his laundry basket. The both of you lightly nudge foreheads.
“Oh—”
“Sorry—”
Jaehyun’s breath hitches in his throat. Your face is inches away from his. You’re just as surprised as he is. He could feel your breath lightly fanning his reddening cheeks. Don’t look down, don’t look down, don’t look down at Y/N’s lips. He thinks to himself. His heart is beating so fast. He looks into your eyes and notices that you’re not looking back at him. Your eyes are trailing down to his lips. Jaehyun begins to panic, and out of instinct, wets his dry lips.
He’s the first one to look away, grabbing the shirt that you dropped and handing it to you. “Here’s your shirt.”
“Uh... thanks.” You scratch the back of your neck nervously, getting back up to toss it into the drying machine.
The two of you don’t utter a single word.
IMPRESSION.
“When are you going to find yourself a boyfriend, Y/N?”
You stab your mushroom with your fork, shoulders tensing up with everyone’s eyes on you. Your younger sister looks at you with a shit-eating grin and your father is busying himself by cutting himself a bite-sized piece of steak, but you know he’s curious of your answer. Your mother is looking directly at you with an eyebrow quirked. Sitting right next to you is your roommate and best friend since the seventh grade, Jaehyun, who’s taking a sip of water. Both of your eyes meet and you give him an apologetic gaze. Every time your parents are over at your apartment for dinner, it’s the same conversation of when you’ll start “mingling” or “meeting new people” or “step outside of the apartment for once”.
“Mom—”
“I think she just needs to start accepting applications.” Jaehyun cuts you off. You look at him confusedly. “I know a couple of guys who are interested in submitting their applications.”
You laugh, playfully slapping his arm. Not buying a single word coming out of his mouth. “Yeah? And who do you think will submit an application?”
Jaehyun shrugs his shoulders, shoving a forkful of steak into his mouth. “Me.”
Your younger sister chokes on her water. “You?”
“What? Why are you looking at me like that?” Jaehyun asks you. You’re not sure whether you should believe him or believe that he might just be playing mind tricks on you. “You’re quite likeable, Y/N. Girlfriend material. Who wouldn’t like you?”
“But you’re my best friend—”
“And?”
“And I’m your best friend—”
“So?”
You squint your eyes at him, folding your arms. “You’re being mysterious and secretive. I don’t like it.”
“Love you.” He sends you a wink.
Your parents watch the entire bickering session unfold, looking at each other with expressions they only seem to understand.
CONVICTION.
“Would that be all, sir?”
“Yes, thank you—” Jaehyun’s in the middle of fishing out his wallet when something catches his eye. A pastry chef comes out of the back kitchen with a tray of freshly baked strawberry danish. As the pastry chef is placing the tray onto the countertop for sale, Jaehyun stares at them for a brief moment. “Actually—”
The cashier stops packing Jaehyun’s pastries and quirks an eyebrow at him. She follows his gaze that lands on the tray of strawberry danish. “Would you like to—”
“Yes, please.” Jaehyun smiles. “Could I get two of the strawberry danish?”
“Sure. That’ll be—”
“Actually, make that three—”
“Three? Alright—”
“Sorry, make that five.” Jaehyun chuckles sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck.
The cashier giggles, packing each pastry into a separate wrap. She glances up at him and finds him funny. “You must like our strawberry danish a lot.”
“Oh, no, it’s for my best friend—” Jaehyun stops himself.
Best friend. Why did it sound weird coming out of his mouth? Why did it feel off? You and Jaehyun have been best friends for a long time, why is it now that Jaehyun feels this way? Why do you suddenly flood his thoughts? Why does he go out of his way for you?
“Sorry?”
Jaehyun snaps out of his thoughts. He laughs it off.
“It’s for my best friend. She loves your pastries, especially the strawberry danish. It’s her favourite.”
The cashier smiles. “That’s nice of you to think about her. I’m sure you made the rest of her day.”
That’s nice of you to think about her. Right. These feelings that Jaehyun experiences are different. He finds himself thinking about you more and more. The littlest things remind him of you.
You’re definitely not just a best friend to him.
He’s sure that he’s beginning to see you something more than that.
But he’s so sure that he’s had these feelings for you inside of him all along.
It was just hidden somewhere deep in his heart.
REAFFIRMATION.
“Fuck, I’m late.”
Jaehyun hops off the bus and rushes towards the stoplight. He’s late for work. He’s not even sure if he has his tie on right. He’s not even sure if his hair is gelled properly. He’s not even sure if he brought his company ID card with him. All he’s sure of is that he’s late. Super late.
The pedestrian crossing light changes to green and Jaehyun’s dashing across the street. His hair is moving with the wind in different directions and he’s beginning to sweat from all the movement. He’s pushing past people and apologizing at the same time.
Right when he reaches his workplace, he stops a couple of metres before the entrance doors to catch his breath. He bends over, catching his breath. Suddenly, he hears his name being called from a far distance.
“Jaehyun!”
He looks over his shoulder to find— “Y/N?”
You’re running over towards him with his— “Your lunch! You forgot your lunch!”
Jaehyun slowly straightens up his posture, falling into a trance as you catch up to him. You’re out of breath. Once you reach him, you hold up his lunch for him to grab which was prepared in a paper bag.
Jaehyun’s late for work.
Jaehyun forgot to bring his lunch.
Jaehyun has to travel to work for roughly an hour and a half.
You travelled an hour and a half just to give him his lunch that he had forgotten to bring. He could’ve just bought himself lunch during his lunch break. You had gone out of your way for him.
You notice that Jaehyun’s not grabbing the paper bag from you. When you look up, Jaehyun grabs the paper bag and your arm. It all happens fast. You’re being pulled close to him and he leans in to press a chaste kiss on your lips. With eyebrows raised, you both pull away, completely surprised. You stand there, frozen, unable to find the right words to say.
Jaehyun feels his cheeks heat him. He clears his throat, losing the courage to look you directly in the eye. “T-Thanks. You didn’t have to come all the way after me. Sorry for being such a burden—”
Jaehyun’s sentence stops halfway when you pull him in for another kiss. He’s taken aback that he almost drops his lunch. He pulls you in closer to deepen the kiss, his free arm wrapping around your waist.
When you pull away, you smile and reach up to fix his hair that’s been ruined by the wind. Patting his shoulders and fixing his tie, you gesture the entrance doors to his work.
“You wouldn’t want to be more late than you already are, right?” You bite your lip.
Jaehyun blinks. Still in a daze.
“R-Right.”
You smile, turning him around and slapping his butt. “Go on in. I’ll see you later.”
He hesitantly walks towards the doors. But before he walks in, he turns back around to find you still standing there. “I’ll see you later.”
“I’ll see you later—”
“I love you.”
Your breath hitches in your throat. “Jae—”
“I’m so late. I’ll see you later, Y/N—”
“I love you too.”
COMMITMENT.
“What is this?”
You look down at a sheet of paper that Jaehyun handed to you. He doesn’t utter a word and nods for you to take a look at it. You unfold the paper, scanning the contents of the paper before letting out a snort.
“Are you seriously going to laugh at me right now? I’m being serious.”
“An application? For what?”
“I’m applying to be your boyfriend. This is my submission.” Jaehyun explains.
You fold the sheet of paper and place it back down onto the dining table. “Well, I’m not taking applications right now.”
“What? Why?! You didn’t even wait for me to submit my application—”
“I already found the perfect candidate.”
“Already?!” Jaehyun panics. “Who is he—”
“He’s my roommate—”
“What’s his name—”
“Jeong Jaehyun—”
“Jeong Jaehyun? Oh—” Jaehyun breaks out into a smile that he can’t contain. “That’s... That’s me.”
pairing: hockeyplayer!mark x reader
genre: fluff, angst
warnings: some swearing
word count: 14.6k
synopsis: to most people, mark lee was the golden boy. to you, he was just the dork who tried to eat your red crayon in kindergarten. even though kindergarten was a long time ago, the two of you have never been apart. until one day you both realise that you are heading in completely opposite directions after senior year. mark however, refuses to talk about college, claiming he doesn’t want to think about his life without you in it. but ignoring it isn’t going to make it any less real.
→ part of the “game, set match” universe
i. the golden boy has a terrible memory
Mark groaned, turning in his spot to march back upstairs once more and grab the textbook that he just remembered he’d left open on his desk. Day one of senior year and he’d already had to go back to his room three times to do various things he’d forgotten. The first time he ran up it was to brush his teeth, the second time was to put his watch on, and now for this damn economics textbook. And out of all subjects it just had to be econ, Mark’s least favourite. If he could he would skip it but, as much as Mark hated econ (the subject made zero sense and his teacher had an unprovoked vendetta against Mark and seemed to take pleasure making his life hell) he needed a good grade in it, otherwise, he faced getting cut from the team.
Mark sighed, slinging his bag over his shoulder one last time, checking around to make sure that he hadn’t forgotten anything, thinking to himself that if he had to come back here a fourth time, he was giving up for the day. He paused briefly in his doorway, grabbing his door and shutting it behind him. He jumped down the stairs, taking them two at a time, and shouted a quick goodbye to his mum before heading out the front door.
And it was only once he had shut the front door that he realised he hadn’t packed his laptop. Senior year hasn’t even officially started yet, and it has already gone wrong one too many times for his brain to handle at 7am on a Monday morning. Mark audibly groaned, leaning forwards to rest his forehead against his door, a soft bang sounding from the moment his head connected with the hard wood.
“Damn, already? You know you’re meant to be like this in exam season right? Not quite on day one.”
Mark visibly perked up at the sound of your voice, a small burst of energy running through him as he turned in his spot to see you smiling up at him, eyebrows raised only slightly judgmentally.
“I’m starting the year as I mean to go on.” Mark replied, calmness already flowing through his body at the sight of you. Even though the two of you lived close to each other, you had been busy visiting family and preparing for the start of the school year, meaning that Mark hadn’t seen you in a while.
“Oh god, I hope not.” You groaned. “Cause if you’re gonna be like this every day, then I am dumping your ass on Hyuck and heading off with someone else. Can we at least try to start senior year in a good mood?”
Mark raised his eyebrow at that in thought.
“I mean... we can try but the likelihood of that positivity staying is kinda minuscule so I-” Mark’s voice trailed off as you suddenly shrugged your bag off your shoulder and began to unzip it. He watched as you reached into your bag and pulled out his MacBook, the now slightly faded watermelon sticker you had placed over the apple sign on the back a year ago staring back at him.
“I thought you’d be needing this? It was on my kitchen table.” You explained, holding it out to him as his jaw dropped. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying to remember when he left it there so he could explain it to you, but eventually settled on a quiet “thanks”.
“You’re very welcome. And today folks we have reason one thousand four hundred and twenty seven that Mark Lee would be absolutely hopeless without me.” You cupped your hands around your mouth, imitating a commentator as Mark chuckled while shoving his laptop in his backpack.
“Come on, let’s go.” He muttered, chuckling at your antics as he threw an arm over your shoulders and began to guide you on the path to school.
“I’d like to thank the years of having Mark Lee as my best friend. Without that training, I would never have been prepared for such a monumental moment where I could make that big of a difference.” You mimed wiping a tear away, your fake acceptance speech getting increasingly emotional with every word.
Mark scoffed at you, rolling his eyes as he listened to you go on about all the different occasions where you had saved his butt last minute. And to be fair to you, there were quite a lot. There was the time you burst into his room at just past two in the morning, providing him with coffee while he was at his desk writing an essay that had been due at midnight. He had told you not to worry and to go to sleep, but instead, you’d arrived armed with snacks and enough caffeine to keep a sleep-deprived army awake for the next three days and sat on his bed doing some of your own work, occasionally passing him a fizzy gummy worm while encouraging him he could finish. You had brought countless ice packs to his training sessions, holding them to various bruises that tended to litter different areas of his body. And you hadn’t missed a single game he had played in the past ten years. You claimed you were his good luck charm, and without you, he wouldn’t be able to play well, so you were obliged to show up to every one and scream as loudly as you could.
So as much as Mark liked to pretend that he would be fine by himself, he couldn’t help but smile to himself and think you were right.
He really would be hopeless without you.
ii. econ sucks... like really sucks
For a Monday in senior year of high school, Mark thought it hadn’t gone that badly. Of course, most of his teachers had started their lesson by giving the “this is the most important year and we’re not going easy on you” speech, which basically means that he could probably expect about four essays by the end of the week, but otherwise it had been alright. Mark could even say, enjoyable.
Outside of classes, he’d been able to spend the day, chatting and catching up with the friends he’d missed. He’d heard about where they’d all gone for summer break, and their plans for the year now they were back. Chenle wasn’t planning on signing up for any extracurricular clubs apart from basketball, because he didn’t need to, whereas Jisung was planning on not signing up for anything other than baseball, because he couldn’t be bothered to. Jaemin had decided to join the photography club and was attempting to convince Jeno to join as well. While Jeno seemed to be steady in his decision not to, claiming lacrosse would take up too much of his time, Mark knew that he’d give in soon enough. As tough as Jeno could act, he found it difficult to say no to people, especially Jaemin. Renjun had his plans for his fencing team, being easily the most skilled he was looked up to a lot and was working closely with the coach this year. It was clear how much that meant to the younger boy and Mark was proud of him.
And then there was Hyuck. After you, Hyuck would easily be Mark’s best friend, and unfortunately for Mark, the only other person who knew him better than he knew himself. However, the biggest difference between you and Hyuck is that, while you would use your knowledge to help him most of the time, Hyuck uses it to mess with him almost constantly. But even with the teasing nature of the younger boy, he was always supportive of Mark, especially when it came to his feelings about you.
Mark had never been good at hiding how he felt, he was too expressive. Sometimes that worked in his favour, with people like you who knew how to read him easily being able to tell when there was something on his mind that he needed to talk about. But it also worked the other way, where it was incredibly difficult for him to hide something when he needed to, or wanted to. It had taken one afternoon for Hyuck to figure out Mark’s feelings for you, starting with how Mark smiled the second you arrived, continuing with him offering you his jacket, and ending with Mark watching you right up until the second the taxi you left in disappeared from sight. He had turned back around to see a knowing look on Hyuck’s face, and just knew he was screwed.
Hyuck had been helpful though, never taking his teasing too far, and being there anytime Mark needed to talk. He had also been the one to let Mark know when the other boys had figured it out, telling them where the boundaries were when it came to jokes.
“Look at our senior!” The aforementioned boy’s name drew Mark out of his daydream to look around the cafeteria lunch table with wide eyes. “Half way through day one and he’s zoning out.”
“Thinking about a special someone?” Jaemin asked, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.
“Yeah, Mr Seo. I’ve got econ next and that man hates me.” Mark deadpanned, trying to cover how he was really thinking about you.
None of the boys bought it, the scoffs and sarcastic nods told him as much, but luckily for Mark, they dropped it.
“But you’ve got practice after school right?” Renjun asked, always the nice one to change the subject. “You guys are the first to get back into it aren’t you?”
“Yeah, we are. Ice hockey always starts first.” Mark nodded, bringing his glass of water up to his lips. “Along with lacrosse and soccer we are the only sport to have preseason training.”
Jeno and Hyuck nodded at Mark’s words, both of them understanding the process. Soccer, lacrosse and ice hockey all called their players in before term started to get them back on the field/rink in order to warm them up, ready to go straight into trials and try outs.
“How come you don’t have it, Jaemin?” Jisung asked, turning to the older boy that sat on Mark’s right hand side.
Jaemin opened his mouth to answer but just at that moment a bell rang through the cafeteria, signalling that the boys had ten minutes to clear their trays and get to their next class.
“I have no idea.” Jaemin quickly answered Jisung’s question as the group began to stand, picking up various wrappers from their lunch. They stopped off at the bins, throwing away their rubbish before stacking their trays and heading off.
When they reached the corridor the boys separated, leaving Mark to go by himself, he waved quickly before walking off to his locker. He opened it, grabbing his econ textbook, and paper before shutting his locker just in time to hear the bell go again.
“Shit.” Mark whispered to himself, taking off at a jog down the hall. He couldn’t give Mr Seo an actual reason to treat him any worse.
He burst into the classroom, relief flooding him when he didn’t see Mr Seo sitting at the desk in front. Mark let go of a breath, thinking he’d just made it. He turned to look for the empty seat that would be his only for his entire body to tense up when he spotted your worried look and Mr Seo sat at the desk in front of yours.
Well that relief didn’t last long.
“Mr Lee.” Mr Seo stood from his seat, walking slowly towards Mark who was standing at the front.
You bit your lip, internally screaming at the interaction in front of you. Mr Seo was staring Mark down as if he was a predator and Mark was a wounded deer that he would take as his prey. Mark mumbled an apology and attempted to move past, but he wasn’t allowed to.
“Enlighten me, Mr Lee, as to why, on day one you can’t be trusted to show up to my lesson on time?”
“Sorry, Mr Seo.” Mark repeated, thinking it would just be safer to apologise than try to answer his question.
Mr Seo was silent for another few seconds, as if he was waiting for Mark to crack, before finally stepping to the side and allowing Mark to pass. It felt as though the entire class let out a breath of relief when Mark sank into his seat and Mr Seo turned his attention to the board in front of him, instructing the class to copy down the notes he was going to write, and then continue from a certain page in the textbook.
Mark opened his paper, fumbling around for a pen, his heart stopping when he came to a dreadful realisation - he didn’t have one.
“Mr Lee!” Mark’s head shot up at lightning speed and Mr Seo stalked his way towards him once again. “If you are about to inform me that you aren’t properly equipped for my lesson either, you are going to find yourself in after school detention.”
“But it’s the first official practice of the season.” Mark protested, not quite able to wrap his head around the fact that he may be kept from it.
“Then you better have a pen.” Mr Seo replied, standing right in front of the boy and punctuating each word precisely.
Mark’s mouth opened and closed like a goldfish, eventually accepting his fate and preparing to be put in detention. He sighed and slowly blinked once, bringing his gaze back up to Mr Seo to say-
“Mark, is it that one on the floor?” Your voice cut through the tense silence, bringing Mark back to reality so fast he crash landed in the steadiness and tranquility you brought him.
He followed your pointing finger to a black pen that lay on the ground by his feet, he reached down and pulled it up, making sure to show Mr Seo. His teacher simply huffed, seemingly disappointed at not being able to give him detention on day one and continued with his class.
Mark flopped back into his chair, hurriedly taking down the notes before they were wiped off. Only once he had copied everything did he let himself breathe once more. He spun the pen in his fingers, watching it twist and his eyes caught a small flash of white. Eyebrows furrowing in confusion, Mark turned the pen over, spotting the white symbols again, only to notice that they weren’t symbols at all, but letters. More than that, they were initials.
They were your initials.
You’d had a stroke of genius and thrown your pen on the floor before tapping Mark to get him to pretend it was his. Mark turned around in his seat, catching your eye and mouthing a “thank you”. You simply smiled and winked back at him, before looking back to your work to carry on taking notes from the page in front of you. You dropped your head quickly, praying that Mark wouldn’t notice the major effect he had managed to have on you in such a short interaction.
To your luck though, Mark remained oblivious, swiveling back around in his chair and flipping to the right page in his textbook. He spun the pen a couple of more times, pausing in between spins to admire the two small letters with a dot in between them that claimed the small object as yours. Something as seemingly insignificant as borrowing a pen had managed to make Mark's heart beat at what felt like a thousand bpm. Not to mention how you giving it to him kept him out of detention.
Reason one thousand four hundred and twenty eight that Mark Lee would be hopeless without you.
iii. time flies when you’re stressed af
Mark all but collapsed onto the bench in the changing room, exhaustion from the day creeping up on him. Well... ‘creeping’ might not be the right word, more like crashing into him head on like a truck filled with bricks.
He’d lost track of exactly how far into the term they were. When he’d asked a teammate earlier they’d informed him that it was week 4, but to Mark it still felt as though it was week 2. The fact that they were further through than he realised but there was still so much to go made Mark feel even more tired than he already was.
It wasn’t as though he’d been expecting this year to be easy, he just hadn’t been prepared for it to be quite this hard. And on top of everything he had both his parents and most of his teachers on his back about applying for college next year.
He’d opened his emails last night to an offer for an athletic scholarship, provided he could get his grades in econ up. It was Mark’s dream school, everything he ever wanted, and yet there was one thing that had always held him back from it.
It was on the other side of the country.
Mark knew where you would apply, just like him, you’d spoken about going to this college ever since you were a kid. You’d changed your mind on what you wanted to study about five hundred times, but you’d always known the place. And that place was about two hours away from here, in the opposite direction that Mark would be going if he chose to accept before the deadline in three months.
Mark wanted to go to that school more than he had ever admitted to anyone, even himself, but the thought of leaving you behind absolutely terrified him.
Mark reached down for his water bottle, bringing it to his lips to help cool himself down. He lifted his other arm to wipe some of the sweat off his forehead, before putting his water bottle back down and peeling off his shirt. He dropped it next to him, relishing the cold air that swallowed his overheating body.
You wouldn’t assume that playing on ice makes you so hot, but every time Mark left the rink he was boiling. Some more of his teammates began to pile into the changing room, chatting and laughing after a long practice. They headed for their lockers, the showers and all began to enjoy the end of the day. But Mark didn’t feel like relaxing just yet.
---
You were waiting outside, focusing on the notes from your Maths class. Algebra you could do, trigonometry you could do, but circle theorems... no those bastards you burn in hell for all you cared. You ran your hands through your hair, sighing as the numbers refused to add up in a way that made sense.
Eventually you decided you weren’t going to get through it today, snapping your notebook shut and refusing to think about Maths for the rest of the day. You pulled your phone out of your pocket, opening your texts to see one from your mum, asking when you’d be back. You were just telling her you were about to leave when Mark appeared.
You quickly hit send, jumping up from the bench you were sitting at to head over to him. He looked tired, his shoulders were slumped slightly and he walked slower than usual, so you nudged him with your shoulder as you both began to walk home.
“Hey, you okay?” You asked, brows furrowed worriedly.
“Hmm? Oh yeah, I’m fine, just tired.” He replied. You nodded to his reply, feeling exhaustion from the year weighing you down as well.
“I officially sent off my application today!” You announced, thinking that a change in subject would take Mark’s mind off whatever it was that was weighing him down. “It’s weird, I feel as though I’ve barely spoken to you about college. But yeah, I finished all the final details today, now all that matters is my grades. What about you? Have you heard back about the scholarship yet?”
“I really don’t want to talk about college y/n.”
A beat.
Not even a second of a shocked silence between the two of you before you replied with a quiet “That’s okay.” but enough to fill Mark with an overflowing sense of guilt.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for that to sound harsh I just-” Mark began.
“No it’s fine Mark, don’t worry about it.” You brushed him off but he persisted.
“Please let me, it’s just that college is all anyone is talking about. From my parents to teachers even with the boys and I just, I’ve really liked not having that dark cloud over me when I’m with you. I’d just really appreciate it if we didn’t talk about it.” Mark explained truthfully. Well, mostly truthfully, but is it considered lying to you if he just chose to miss out some information?
You nodded at him, an understanding smile on your face. “Okay, let’s do that then. But on one condition: you keep me in the loop. Tell me if anything happens, I want to be the first person to hear about the scholarship, whether it’s good news or bad.”
“I promise.’ Mark said, his phone that held the acceptance email sitting heavier than ever in his bag.
Now that was a lie.
---
Mark swore he blinked and went to one class and suddenly another week had passed. Yet, here he was, sat in econ during week 5 out of 11 of his first term of senior year. And everyone knew the final three weeks don’t count because the penultimate two weeks are assessments and mock exams for seniors and the final week is just celebrations.
It just so happened that the six weeks left of term perfectly co-aligned with the six weeks he had to accept his scholarship offer. He’d told his mum, asking her to keep it silent while he figured out what he wanted to do. She’d encouraged him to be brave and take it, telling him that he wouldn’t be leaving everything here behind, just placing it on pause for a short while. But Mark was scared that, if he put it on pause, how could he be sure that he would be able to press play again?
The bell went, startling Mark out of his thoughts and causing him to jump and shake his head slightly. He closed his books, piling them up as he climbed out of his chair, stopping briefly to look back and make sure you were following him.
“Don’t forget, essays due this time next week.” Mr Seo barked, making Mark jump once again. He turned around to ask what essay his teacher was referring to, but decided against it, the thought of the verbal attack he would be put through simply not worth it.
Your hand pushed lightly on his shoulder, telling him silently to move and he took your hint, hurrying out of the classroom. As soon as the two of you were in the corridor he turned to you, a worried expression on his face.
“Essay?” He panicked watching as you started to laugh at him.
“I’ll send you the question later.” You told him, patting his cheek lightly as he breathed a sigh of relief.
“Reason one thousand four hundred and twenty nine.” Mark thought to himself, making a quick note on his hand before turning back to you.
“You coming to lunch?” Mark asked, watching as you shook your head.
“Can’t. I’ve got Maths clinic.” You told him, your shoulders sagging slightly at the thought of going for extra Maths help during your break.
“Oh right, circle theorems?” Mark guessed, knowing this was the biggest thing you struggled with.
“Yeah, they suck.” You pouted, and Mark had to physically refrain from squeezing those cheeks and kissing the pout off your face. His gaze dropped to the floor, hiding his reddening cheeks.
“I know they do.” He muttered, waving a quick goodbye as you went your separate ways.
Mark decided to stop off at his locker before going to lunch, wanting to dump his books rather than carrying them around for an hour. He stacked his econ textbook next to his history one, quickly making sure that he had everything he needed for the afternoon. He paused, scrunching his eyes as he tried to shake the feeling that he’d forgotten something. He checked his left hand to see if he’d written anything down, confused when his hand was empty beside the note he’d just written.
He shrugged the feeling off, reaching up to close his locker when he caught a glimpse of a piece of paper taped to the inside of the door. Mark rolled his eyes at his own memory, studying the to-do list he had taped there just that morning. There were a few things scrawled there in his messy handwriting.
1. wish jeno good luck for driving test
2. finish essay on stoicism vs epicureanism
3. get new mouthguard for game next sat
4. confess
Mark stared at the fourth thing on the list, the one that had been written and scribbled out. He reached down to the bottom of his locker, pulling out a folded piece of paper. He slowly opened it, his eyes scanning over the letter to you that he had penned out, confessing every feeling he had towards you and how none of it added up to you two just being friends.
He went to put the letter back in his locker, pausing just before dropping it and stared at it hard. Mark had never been good at taking risks, especially when he was risking something he cared about or treasured. But, within six months, Mark’s entire life would be changing, so maybe this was the time to take a leap of faith.
He placed the letter in a side pocket of his backpack and quickly shut the locker before he could change his mind. Putting the letter there was a silent command to himself, that he would tell you before the term was up. That way he could either enjoy the time he had left with you as his girlfriend, or, he could spend the time he had left making up for his mistake so he didn’t lose you completely.
Mark shook his head, as if he was trying to shake the thoughts out of them, moving quickly to the cafeteria to meet the boys. He went through the canteen quickly, grabbing a plate of food and looking for their table. They were easy to spot, their voices travelling through the already noisy space.
“Is it really that bad?” Jaemin asked Renjun, who gave him the most exasperated look Mark had ever seen.
“You don’t know this girl. She's a nightmare and a half.”
Hyuck snorted at this, apparently finding an endless amount of joy in Renjun’s troubles.
“What’s this?” Mark asked, sitting down, Renjun sighing deeply at his question.
Jaemin rolled his eyes at Renjun’s dramatics, turning to Mark to answer him.
“Renjun has a new partner in fencing, and apparently, she can be a little difficult.”
“A little?! This girl is the epitome of difficult.” Renjun snapped back, causing the rest of the table to laugh at his extreme reaction. “Ugh, can we please change the topic.”
“Sure.” Mark agreed, turning to a different boy on the table, the list that was stuck up on the inside of his locker door flashing through his head. “Jeno, good luck today by the way! What time is your driving test?”
Jeno’s head shot up to Mark, his eyes wide as he clearly wasn’t expecting the conversation to be turned to him. “At 3. I’m leaving early for it.”
“Are you missing practice?” Chenle asked, and Jeno shook his head.
“It’s cancelled today, the soccer team has priority.” He turned and shot a death glare at Hyuck, who simply smiled sweetly back and shrugged innocently. “I still don’t get why you need the lacrosse pitches when you have enough of your own...”
“Enough complaining.” Hyuck ordered, causing a couple of laughs of disbelief at his boldness. “Mark, don’t you have a game next weekend?”
“Yeah, but if I don’t pass Mr Seo’s test next Monday with at least 75, I’m not gonna be allowed to play.” He admitted, various groans and eye rolls emitting from the boys around him, the mutual hatred for Mr Seo filling the atmosphere.
“Is your girl gonna be there?” Renjun asked, and Hyuck nudged his shoulder for good measure.
Mark didn’t even need to reply, the smile that subconsciously made its way onto his face told them enough. He threw his head back, slouching in his chair as the relentless teasing began.
“Okay! Okay we get it.” Mark raised his voice, the boys still laughing at how flustered he was. “I’m in love with my best friend, we get it.” He grabbed his water, bringing it up to his lips for a sip, pausing when he took in how the table had gone completely silent. “What?”
“Love?” Jaemin asked, his eyebrows raised questioningly.
“We knew you liked her, but...” Jisung trailed off, the boys putting the pieces together. The way he would always protect you, would drop anything for you without you even asking, would always smile the second you were brought up in conversation.
It was Renjun that voiced the question that they all were thinking.
“You’re full on in love with this girl aren’t you?”
Mark sighed, fiddling with his fingers that were resting on his tray as he chewed the inside of his cheek.
“I really am.” He admitted, finally looking up at the younger boys and finding them all staring back at him, their expressions soft and supportive.
“Well, then you better tell her.” Hyuck stated matter of factly, the rest of the boys at the table nodding, the previous teasing manner completely abandoned.
“I can’t. What if I lose her? That’s a risk I’m not prepared to take.” Mark shook his head, his voice fragile. “We’ll be fine as just friends. I’d rather have her as a friend than not at all.”
“No.” Hyuck disagreed, causing Mark to look at him in confusion. “I mean, no. You don’t want that, you just think you do because that’s what you’ve convinced yourself is easier, because you’re ‘just friends’. But you’re never going to be happy with that Mark. ‘Just friends’, is never going to be enough for you. Look, deep down, you know who you are and what you want. Love is always going to require a huge leap of faith, a blind jump over a three thousand foot drop and you might end up heartbroken, but.. you may end up being the happiest person on the face of the earth.”
If the table wasn’t shocked into silence at Mark’s declaration of love, then they certainly were at Donghyuck’s speech. His words struck a chord with Mark, and he found it impossible to tear his eyes off the younger boy next to him. But it was Hyuck’s next words that shocked Mark to his core.
“You will never forgive yourself if you don’t go for this.”
iv. he shoots, he scores, he... slips over
You checked the time on your watch, a silent curse falling from your mouth when you realised you would be late if you didn’t leave. You grabbed your bag, running towards your bedroom before skidding to a stop, turning around and jogging back to your desk.
You slung your bag off your shoulder, opening it and placing all the homework that was on your desk into it. The worst thing to do would be forget that.
“Okay.” You sighed, preparing yourself to leave again.
You took the stairs two at a time, ignoring the kitchen as you’d run out of time for breakfast and grabbing the door. Only when your hand closed around the knob of your front door did your head fall back as you remembered the pencil case you’d left abandoned on your bed.
“Fuck!” You swore, the frustration getting to you.
“Y/n.” A warning shout from your mother in the next room echoed through the house.
“Sorry!” You yelled back, apologising quickly for your language before dropping your bag where it was to run back up the stairs. You entered the room once more, throwing your covers around as you tried to look for the essential object you’d forgotten. “Oh my god, I’m turning into Mark.”
“Rude.” Mark’s sudden voice made you jump as you whirled around where you stood, the boy overhearing your previous mumblings.
“Am I wrong?” You teased him.
“No...” He admitted, his gaze falling in defeat. You followed his eyes to see your pencil case stranded by his feet. A yelp of relief left you as you dove to the ground. “But that’s not the point! Can we go soon please? We have that econ test today and I really need to pass it.”
“Yeah, yeah sorry.” You said, leading Mark out of your house, stopping to shout a goodbye to your mum as you packed the final item in your bag.
You shut the front door behind you and you and Mark began the walk to school, testing each other on econ as you did.
Mark had heard yesterday that Jeno had passed his driving test, causing the younger boy to gleefully laugh at Mark for being older than him but still having to walk to school every day. But Mark didn’t really care, it gave him more time to spend with you.
Even though the two of you took the same route to school every day, somehow, every trip you took felt shorter than the last. Mark wasn’t sure if it was if you’d been getting fitter from walking everyday, or if it was just that time always seemed to pass faster when he was around you. Or maybe it was that, every time it was just the two of you, there never seemed to be enough time together. Mark wasn’t sure if there would ever be enough time, he would always be wanting to spend more time with you, to be with you for as long as he could.
Once again, the gates of the school appeared much too soon for Mark’s liking. You followed him through them, both heading to your lockers to prepare. You had Geography, while Mark had History and then you’d both meet again in period 3 for econ.
“Good luck.” You told him, patting his shoulder. Mark sent you a nervous nod and you had to stop yourself from leaning in to kiss his cheek in reassurance. Your hand lingered on his shoulder, the harsh sound of the bell pulling you out of your trance and sending you jogging down the corridor to Geography, not noticing Mark watching you every step of the way.
---
Mark spun the pen he was holding, the urge to cry over the paper sitting on his desk almost overwhelming him. You were sitting behind him, studying your own exam paper as he panicked. He spun the pen once more, wracking his brains as he looked over the short questions. He’d decided to tackle the essay question first, not wanting to run out of time for it, but now his brain was fried as he was missing a bunch of the early questions.
His hand shook slightly, leading to him grabbing it with the other one to keep it still. When doing this he turned the pen over, his fingers tracing the small letters that spelt out your initials in white. You’d allowed him to keep the pen after borrowing it in week one, and somehow it had become the only thing Mark would never forget to bring.
He took a deep breath, forcing another round of air into his lungs and looked down at the question again. He spared a look at the clock, realising he only had ten minutes left to figure these out. He studied his paper again, underlining key words in the question and taking it step by step.
Gradually he started to realise what he was being asked, coming to a conclusion for the first question and moving on to the second, then the third, then the fourth He made his way through as many as he could before the bell went, signalling the end of class as well as the end of the test.
“Pens down.” Mr Seo commanded, all of the students following his instructions.
Mr Seo then walked down in between the desks, picking up the tests one after the other. He finally reached his desk, placing them down in a pile before turning back to the class.
“You will get your results at the beginning of our lesson next week. Mark, you can come at Friday lunchtime to grab yours. You’re dismissed.”
You quickly packed up your things, noticing Mark doing the same as you both rushed out of the classroom. The two of you were supposed to have Chemistry this whole afternoon to do a practical, but the teacher was out sick, meaning you had the rest of the day off.
“Since we have the afternoon off, do you wanna grab a bite to eat?” You suggested, Mark nodding slowly at you.
You narrowed your eyes at him, noticing the way his eyes were fixated on the ground, his hands were fiddling with the edge of the pad of paper he was holding and how he was chewing his bottom lip.
“Hey.” You said softly, moving closer to him and placing a light hand on his shoulder. His eyes came up to look at you and you finally saw the nervousness in them that you had noticed in his body language. “You worked so hard for this test, I’m sure you’ve done well.”
Mark sighed, leading you to your lockers. “I hope so.”
“Look, there’s nothing more you can do about it now anyway, so, let’s go get some food and ignore all the work we have to do for tomorrow.” You grinned at the sight of Mark’s face splitting into a smile as he nodded.
---
“Why do we even argue about where we’re going to eat when we both know we’ll always end up coming here?” You asked Mark, not really expecting a reply as you reached for another fry.
Mark simply shrugged, taking a bite out of his burger. You two had done what you always seemed to do: bickered at the school gates for a solid ten minutes about what you were going to eat before once again deciding on McDonalds.
“Be honest.” You began, Mark’s eyes drifting up to yours. “How did you think that econ test went?”
Mark paused, placing his burger back down as he reached for his drink.
“Honestly, I think it went better than previous tests, I just hope it’s enough to be over 75.”
“If is it, will he bring up your predicted grade?” You asked, nibbling on your nuggets.
“I hope so.” Mark replied, his voice slightly muffled from the friend in his mouth.
“Will that help you with applications for college?” You asked casually, hoping that Mark would be happy to talk about it just slightly.
But you had no such luck. Mark shot you a warning look, taking a sip of his drink as you muttered a quiet “sorry” and sank back in your chair.
You knew Mark didn’t want to talk about college with you, but you still felt left out. This was a huge part of your final year and it felt like you and Mark were going through it separately. It felt as though it was creating a distance between the two of you, a space that you weren’t allowed to touch. And you hated it.
“Are you coming to the game on Saturday?” Mark asked, changing to topic quickly as he picked up his burger once more.
“Of course.” You said as if it was obvious. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Just checking.” Your best friend grinned at you, his expression quickly turning to disgust as he watched you dip the fry in your fingers into your vanilla milkshake. “Y/n.... no.”
“Hey! It’s delicious, you just refuse to try it.” You shot back, threatening to throw an untouched fry at him.
“And I never will!” Mark declared, actually throwing a fry at you, that, to your utmost delight, landed in your milkshake.
You threw your head back, laughter escaping you and Mark couldn’t stop himself from joining in. As much as he hated your ugly habit with how you ate your fries, he couldn’t pretend like your laugh wasn’t the most beautiful sound in the universe. Even when he was having the worst day imaginable, your laugh could still make him smile. Nobody else could change his mood to happy like you could.
Reason one thousand four hundred and thirty.
---
Mark’s hands were balled up in fists by his side as he nervously stood in front of Mr Seo’s desk. Friday had come way too fast for his liking, and here he was, about to get his results.
“Now, Mark, we had an agreement.” Mr Seo began, looking up at Mark from where he was seated. He was holding Mark’s test in his hands, studying whatever grade was written there without showing the boy what it was.
“Yes, 75 or over, otherwise I can’t play in the game tomorrow night.” Mark nodded, his hands beginning to shake slightly.
“Well, I’m sorry.” Mr Seo said and Mark sighed dejectedly and he dropped his gaze to the floor. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t done it. “I’m sorry I doubted you.”
Mark’s head shot up from it’s position just as Mr Seo turned his paper around for Mark to see the large 86 that was circled in the top right hand corner. His eyes widened in shock as Mr Seo chuckled at his reaction.
“With the recent work you’ve been handing in during class and for homework, and now these results, I’d feel comfortable moving your predicted grade up to what you need. You did well Mark. Good luck on Saturday.”
“Thank you.” Mark mumbled, grabbing the paper in his hands to make sure it was real. With that, Mr Seo stood up, leaving Mark in an empty classroom.
Mark wasn’t sure if he felt like screaming, jumping or just crying from joy. Not only could he play in the match on Saturday, but if his grade was moved up, then he definitely had a place at his dream college in the coming Autumn.
Everything was falling into place. Well... everything except you.
---
You bit your lip in anticipation, leaning forwards on your knees as you watched Mark skate skilfully around the rink. Hyuck was sitting next to you, complaining every time you stole one of his nachos, but you knew he only bought a large one so you could grab some when you wanted.
You looked up at the scoreboard for a second, seeing how it still stated that the guests were winning by two goals. The home team, your school team that Mark captains, had put up a good fight, but it seemed as though everything they tried, the other team were ready for. The three goals they had managed to get so far had taken them causing absolute chaos and having no plan or set play to get them. The bright yellow 5 that was digitally spelt out on the scoreboard stared mockingly down at the players on the ice.
The fourth and final quarter was over half way done, with only five out of the fifteen minutes left and it was not looking optimistic. The opposition seemed to always have the puck, and, since there wasn’t long of the game left, they were just passing it around the rink and trying to waste as much time of the game as they could. Mark skated towards one of them, and Hyuck leant forwards, his posture now mirroring yours. You both hissed in sync at how Mark and the other player collided, resulting in them both being sent to the penalty box.
You stood up, quickly mentioning to Hyuck how you were going to talk to Mark before climbing over various seats to reach Mark. You approached him, sitting alone and knocked on the window. His head shot up, a tired smile breaking out across his face when he saw it was you.
“Please tell me you’ve noticed something?” Mark asked and you nodded. You had a habit of analysing the game and telling Mark what you’d noticed from a different perspective to his. You may never have played the game and on skates you looked like a toddler trying to walk for the first time, but having watched Mark’s games for so long you understood what he was doing.
“You’ve only got your goals when there hasn’t been any logic behind it. The plays aren’t working, they know what you’re going to do, you can’t plan it. You just have to go with your instinct.” You told him, watching as his eyebrows furrowed and he tilted his head in confusion. “Don’t think, just play!”
Mark nodded, his eyes wide as he finally caught on and you tapped lightly on the plastic to wish him good luck and turned to head back to your seat. You collapsed back into the chair, a large sigh leaving you.
You and Hyuck watched as Mark made his way back onto the ice, his skates carrying him effortlessly across it. You could see Mark and his team falling into formation, clearly having a rehearsed play in mind that they were trying and you and Hyuck shared a look, knowing it wouldn’t work. Then Mark suddenly tilted his head, as if he heard something, and he sped up, breaking out of his place and surprising his defender.
He skated in circles, distracting and confusing the other team at his absolute randomness. It worked just long enough for a turnover to be caused and the rest of the boys on the team worked on getting the puck up the rink. You lost track of it for a few seconds but found it again when it came into Mark’s possession.
He skated towards his defender head on, not seeming to make any kind of dodges and spun himself at the last minute, whacking the puck into the back of the net.
The sidelines erupted, everyone jumping to their feet and cheering as their team scored. You saw the boys on the ice surround Mark, patting him and congratulating him, but he just tried to talk to them, instructing them on what to do. You took this time to glance at the clock, seeing how they just had one minute to even the scoreboard. By doing that they would go into sudden death, and the next goal scored would win.
The players reset, lining up in their positions as the whistle set them off. The puck immediately went to another boy from your school and you clenched your hands into fists. The puck jumped from person to person, the boys passing it fast, and it eventually came to Mark.
Mark pulled his stick back and you took a breath in.
“There’s no way he could get it in from there.” Hyuck muttered from next to you, and you knew he had a point. He was too far away, but there wasn’t enough time on the clock for him to do anything else. But if anyone could make that shot, it was Mark.
Mark swung his stick forwards, connecting with the black puck and sending it flying. It shot towards the goal, his aim perfect and it sailed past the goalie and landed in the goal. The whistle went, signalling sudden death and you and Hyuck jumped up, screaming as loud as you could.
You were both clutching onto each other, the tense atmosphere making your heart pound. You saw Mark look up to where you were and you waved at him. You couldn’t see his direct gaze due to his helmet, but he seemed to look at the two of you for a few seconds, causing the two of you to point him back to his game.
He tilted his chin, lowering himself into the right position and ready to go.
From them on, everything seemed to move in slow motion. You felt as though you could hear everyone’s heartbeats and their breathing patterns. Then the whistle blew and everything began.
The puck went back and forwards between teams, travelling from one end of the rink to the other over and over again. They’d been in sudden death for four minutes, and it didn’t look like either team was tiring or giving up at all.
You stood up, your heart in your throat as you saw Mark skating around. He came to a stop, looking back up towards your direction and you nodded at him. You thought it was too small for him to notice, but he nodded back.
Hyuck stood up next to you, the rising tension drawing him to his feet as the puck went back into your team’s possession once again. Just like before, it bounced from person to person, not allowing the other team time to tackle, until it came to Mark.
Mark was furthest ahead, and by far the fastest skater, he took the puck behind the goal, doing a circle and coming out around at a new angle. He was face to face with yet another defender, but he drew himself out, skating backwards for a few steps until he swung the puck out and shot around the defender that was marking him.
You held your breath as the puck flew towards the goal, making a satisfying noise as it hit the back of it.
There was a second of silence, and then the final buzzer went, confirming the victory and you and Hyuck lost your minds completely. Everyone on the sidelines jumped out of their seats, screaming their heads off as well.
In ten minutes, Mark had managed to completely turn the tide, giving his teammates what had seemed like an impossible win. You let out a laugh of disbelief, clapping and cheering as the players circled the rink, waving to those in the stands.
They soon headed back into the locker room, ready to change out of their kit and head home. Hyuck and you walked out of the stadium, chatting excitedly about your favourite moments in the game. He wanted to stay with you and Mark, but he could see his mum’s car, meaning he had to run.
He gave you a quick hug before jogging off, a promise to see you on Monday shouted over his shoulder.
You stood outside alone, impatiently waiting for Mark to appear. You always waited for him to change after his games, but after this one, you couldn’t wait to tell him how amazingly he’d done. He’d single handedly won the game for the school.
A silhouette appeared and you could tell from the way they walked that it was Mark. You took off at a run, only speeding up when you finally saw his undeniably attractive features and launched yourself at him once you got close enough.
Mark yelped slightly in surprise, not expecting you to jump into his arms like that, but caught you nonetheless. He dropped his bag by his side and wrapped both arms tightly around your waist as you repeated over and over how proud you were of him.
You felt him smile into your shoulder and you squeezed tighter, reiterating it once more for good measure. You pulled back, not seeing the smile on Mark’s face falter slightly as you did. But you did notice him wince.
Your face dropped, concern taking over your features and you stepped away from him entirely, your hands coming up to hold his face as you asked him what was wrong.
“Mark? Are you okay, where does it hurt?”
“It’s okay.” Mark reassured you. “Just in the second quarter someone banged into me, I guess I’m only feeling it now cause the adrenaline’s worn off.” Mark shrugged it off, trying to act like it was nothing but you didn’t believe him for a second.
You dropped your hands from his face, reaching down to pick up the bag he dropped. “Come on, let’s go home and get some ice on it.”
Mark nodded, and you slung the bag over your shoulder, a white piece of paper falling out of one of the side pockets as you did.
“Ahhh, sorry.” You muttered, reaching down to grab it, but Mark got there first, snatching the paper up before you could get close. “Whoa, okay I won’t touch it then. What even is it?” You laughed at his dramatic reaction.
“Uhhhh.” Mark mumbled, turning the paper over and over in his hands as he wrestled with the decision whether to tell you the truth about the confession in the letter and how head over heels he was for you or not.
What if he told you and everything went well and you felt the same? You could go back to his as always, put some ice on his shoulder, you’d kiss him on the forehead and tell him to be more careful next time. He’d promise to, but you both would know that you’d end up in the same position after the next game. Then he could hug you, whispering how glad he was to have you while placing kisses wherever he would reach. You’d fall asleep on him, and he would be able to hold you all night, listening to your heartbeat and confessing all night long.
But what if you didn’t feel the same? Mark would still have to walk back with you, you lived too close to go separately, and he didn’t want you walking home alone. But you wouldn’t hug him the same way you always do when you have to say goodbye, it would be an awkward wave, and saying you’ll see him on Monday, not that you’d text him later or see him in the morning. Mark would ice his shoulder alone, and sit in his empty room, the pain in his shoulder nothing in comparison to what he was feeling in his heart.
He looked back down at the letter, the single piece of paper that had the power to break his heart into a million pieces if he let it. His eyes flickered back up to yours, and he shook his head.
“Just some econ notes from Mr Seo that I finished copying up earlier. I guess I didn’t want to be reminded of them.” He scrunched the paper up into a ball as you laughed.
You began the walk home, stopping only for Mark to drop the ruined paper into a bin as you went. And he walked away, leaving his most personal feelings sitting heavily at the bottom of a trash can, along with not just the possibility of rejection, but also the possibility of you two being together.
Donghyuck was wrong, friends wasn’t what Mark dreamt of, but life without you wasn’t just not enough for him, it was impossible.
v. hey god, are you listening? it’s me, the one you forgot about
Hell had arrived... also known as exam week.
Luckily enough, it wasn’t your actual exams, only two weeks of mock exams that were a chance for you to pinpoint areas you need to work on and practice new essay techniques. So far you were halfway through them and completely exhausted. As much as you wanted to sleep for the entire weekend, you had another week of exams coming and you had to prepare for them.
So here you were, knocking on Mark’s front door armed with books, your laptop and Mark’s favourite packet of watermelon sweets. The front door opened, Mark’s mum smiling widely at you when you spotted your figure standing in front of her.
“Y/n! Come on in darling.” She opened the door for you, guiding you into the house that you knew just as well as your own. “Mark is just in his room, can I get you a glass of water?”
“That would be amazing, thank you.” You responded, taking a second to place your mountain of books down on their kitchen table and take a breath.
Mark’s mum reappeared, handing you the water which you gulped down.
“It’s getting colder out there.” She commented and you hummed in response, your nose suffering from your short walk over. “God, look at those books! You two work so hard, make sure to get enough rest.”
“We will. As soon as exams are over, Mark and I are gonna go to the playground that night.” You told her, watching as she nodded understandingly. “But after these we’re done for the term, thank god!”
“And have you heard about any colleges yet?” She asked and you shook your head.
“Not yet. I’ve sent off my application, but I’m not applying for any scholarships or programs like that so it’s unlikely I’d hear back before January.” You explained to her.
“That makes sense, apart from the scholarship offer, Mark hasn’t heard anything back either.”
Scholarship offer?
You swallowed, your mind going completely blank for a second before you realised, she must think you know about this. You simply hummed in response, not trusting yourself to speak
“We both know he wants to take it, he’s dreamt of that school for years I just, I think he’s nervous because it would require him to move to Busan. Being so far away from everything would be strange to him.” She stood up, grabbing your now empty water glass and shaking her head. “Now, don’t let me keep you. Get to your studies so you can get to sleep quicker!”
You smiled at her, loading your arms with your books and belongings and making your way up to Mark’s room. Your mind began to whirl with a million different possibilities as to why Mark hadn’t told you he’d gotten a scholarship offer. You couldn’t help but wonder, how long had he known about it? But the biggest issue that was plaguing your mind was, why didn’t he want to tell you about it?
You didn’t bother knocking when you reached his door, knowing he was expecting you and just pushing the door open instead.
He was already at his desk, hunched over so many papers you couldn’t even tell what he was working on. His head shot up when you entered, laughing at the sight of you drowning in books.
“Here, lemme help.” He mumbled, standing up and heading towards you.
“Laptop! Grab the laptop!” You yelped hurriedly, feeling the item slipping from your grasp.
Mark's quick reactions kicked in, saving your laptop from crashing onto his carpet. It was already reaching the end of it’s life and that old piece of crap had to last you until the end of the year. His fingers traced over the penguin sticker that he had stuck there years ago, covering the apple sign on the bag and his eyes drifted to his own laptop lying on his bed. When he’d got his laptop, you’d told him that you needed to be able to differentiate between the two, and so you’d deicided to choose a sticker for the other person to use to mark as theirs.
You’d gone with watermelon, because it’s Mark, and Mark had chosen a chubby cartoon baby penguin, remembering the night you two watched planet earth and you had fallen in love with the baby penguin you saw, saying that you’d decided you wanted to adopt one. Mark had searched for a penguin sticker everywhere, finally finding the last one left in a store and buying it as quickly as he could. You’d slapped it straight in the middle of your laptop, grinning up at him so wide that he’d forgotten that you had a sticker for him too. That was the moment that Mark knew he would do anything to be the cause of that smile.
You dropped your books on his bed, wincing as one of them bounced off and landed on his floor with a hard thump. You rummaged through them, a happy shout leaving you when you found what you were looking for. You threw the packet of fizzy watermelon gummies towards Mark, grinning as his face lit up at the sight of them.
Together, you organised the pile of books and notes, ordering subjects by the order the exams are in and how screwed you were for it on a scale of one to ten. You settled down, picking up your psych textbook and flipping through until you found the section on Psychosexual development.
“Okay... let’s start with the messed up stuff and get that out of the way.” You muttered, your eyes scanning the page to find things to test Mark on. “How many stages are there?”
“Five.” Mark answered, throwing a sweet to you as he chewed on his own.
“Correct. And they are?” You picked it up, biting into the gummy and listening as Mark named stage after stage.
It continued like this for a while, swapping notes and verbally testing each other on different subjects and going over the questions that you got wrong. Eventually you ran out of common topics between the two of you and you both settled down to do some individual revision.
The hours passed, both of you taking short breaks and flipping between subjects. You readjusted your position multiple times, shifting from placing having your laptop on your legs with your back against Mark’s headboard to lying down on your back, your head on Mark’s pillow and your laptop placed on your raised knees.
Sometime through the night you had pulled one of Mark’s hoodies over your frame, keeping yourself warm and also surrounding you in his scent. There was something about Mark that was just so reminiscent of the feeling of home. He brought security, comfort and love to your life and you never wanted to lose that. You didn’t know how you would go on if you ever lost him.
So when you opened your mouth to ask about the scholarship, you couldn’t. You didn’t want to upset him, if he wanted to tell you, he’d tell you. You hoped.
You tried to give up on the thought, finding it too distracting from the passage of Plato’s works that you were trying to focus on.
You found your eye lids getting heavy, the long night of constant focus and week of exams had worn you down. It was taking too much effort for you to keep them open, and you allowed yourself to give up. It barely took any time for you to fall asleep, sinking further into Mark’s mattress and drifting off to sleep.
After a short while, Mark turned around to check up on you, his face softening when he saw your passed out figure. He stood up, waking over towards you and gently lifted your laptop off your legs. He made sure to save your work, before closing it and placing it on his desk. He then cleared all your books off his bed, piling them up at the foot of it, and readjusted your legs and position so that he could pull the duvet up over you.
He crouched down next to you, lifting one hand and tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. Mark sighed, not understanding how someone could look so beautiful and not know it. His feelings grew at the sight of you, any hope he ever had of just being friends with you throwing itself out the window.
As much as he hated to admit it, Donghyuck had been right, just friends would never be enough for Mark, he would never be happy with that. But Mark wasn’t sure he was ready to risk that friendship for something more.
He leaned down, pausing to contemplate his own actions before pressing a feather light kiss to your forehead. He pulled back just in time to see the small smile spread across your face as you slept peacefully. Mark could have sworn his heart grew in size at that sight.
“Reason one thousand four hundred and thirty one.” He whispered to himself, still looking down at you.
You hadn’t done anything, but, you didn’t have to do anything. You didn’t have to take care of him, or remind him of work, or make him laugh. You didn’t need to do anything special for Mark to be in love with you. You just had to exist.
vi. i guess we’re not five years old anymore
You said nothing as Mark dragged you through the park. You didn’t have to ask where he was taking you, the route being so memorable and the fact that there was only one place around here that you two would visit nowadays. You’d finished your mock exams the day before, luckily both having your final test on a Thursday so you didn’t have to come in until the following Monday for the end of term celebrations. Instead, you’d decided to spend time together, as you always would, but from the moment you saw Mark, you didn’t need years of experience being his best friend to know there was a lot going through his mind.
The playground appeared in the distance, the top of the coloured treehouse appearing through the trees. A small but noticeable grin broke out across Mark’s previously hard face, and you relaxed at the sight of the smile.
This had always been a safe haven for you, an area where, as you climbed the ladder to the treehouse, the world disappeared from beneath your feet and you could recreate it to be anything you wanted it to be.
You felt that world disappear from underneath you once more, watching as it fell away with every step you took, until you were sat on the edge, dangling your feet over the clouds. Mark, however, had a slightly less graceful journey up.
“Argh!” Mark yelped, tripping over his own feet slightly as he struggled to fit next to you. He sat down harshly next to you, the treehouse letting out an ominous groan that had the two of you sharing a worried glance. It had never been the most reliable when you were kids so you were already surprised that it had held out so well. You let out a nervous laugh, turning your gaze back out to the view that summed up most of your childhood.
You sat next to Mark, both of you with your legs hanging over the edge and swinging gently. Mark’s hands rested on the painted wood beneath him and his fingers tapping out a rhythm. You listened to the pattern, finding the repetitive sound calming and knowing that it was probably the beat to a song that had been stuck in his head recently. Your eyes trailed up his hand, noticing the random scribbles on the back of his hand that disappeared under his team jumper.
Mark had never had a good memory. That’s why his skin was often littered with notes to himself that he would write on his hand throughout the day. Things like “buy flowers for mum” or “renjun bday on 23” or “chem paper due wed”. Anything he didn’t write down, he simply relied on you for.
Your eyes kept wandering, journeying up his arm and along his neck, making a note of the moles that sat there staring back at you. You continued looking upwards until you were looking at his eyes, finding them already watching you.
“God, I’ve missed this fort.” You mumbled, staring out over the view.
“I don’t miss how small this space is, I can’t believe we used to camp up here. Never doing that again.” And you both chuckled at his words and the memories of you both spending nights up here, telling stories and watching the night sky. “I’ve gotta say, I think I’d take us chilling in my bedroom over squished in here.”
“Well, this treehouse was everything to me. When I was up here, I was so safe, it was like, nothing could touch me.” You sighed, swinging your legs over the empty space beneath you. “I could pretend as though I didn’t hate my mum, I was doing well in school, I had friends.”
“You had me!” Mark interrupted indignantly.
“Yeah, well... you were enough.” You smiled, mumbling your words just loud enough for Mark to catch them anyway, his cheeks dusting with a shade of pink as he did.
You began to speak, closing your mouth again as you changed your mind about how to begin. However, Mark noticed your movements, looking at your with his eyebrows furrowed, silently telling you to continue.
“It’s just-” You tried again, pausing briefly to swallow your nerves. You were rarely nervous to talk to Mark about something, and anytime you were it was normally the subject you were nervous about, not who you were talking to. But, for the first time in your life, you had no idea how Mark would react. “Why didn’t you tell me about the scholarship?”
Mark visibly froze, his entire body tensing up as he swallowed harshly before asking with a slightly strained voice:
“How did you find out about that?”
“Your mum told me. But Mark... why didn’t you?” You asked, unable to stop the slight hurt from creeping into your voice. “This is all you’ve ever wanted and I don’t get why you wouldn’t tell me about it.”
“Because I didn’t want you to know!” He spat, the venom in his voice surprising you. Mark had never spoken to you like that before and you took that as a sign that you had royally screwed up.
“I’m sorry I- I shouldn’t have brought it up, I just don’t like that we’re starting to keep things from each other, especially about college you know? Cause it’s-”
“Can you stop talking about college? I don’t want to talk about it y/n, I’ve told you that.” Mark turned to you, the previous spite in his voice completely gone and frustration evident instead.
You tilted your head at him, a breath of helplessness leaving you.
“Well for the love of god Mark, will you please tell me why?” You begged, your voice rising with emotion. “This entire term you’ve not spoken to me about it once, and the one time I asked you said you didn’t want to talk about it. And I accepted that. Until it came out that you only didn’t want to talk about it with me? Why? What did I do Mark? Do you not trust me with this? Do you think I’m going to give bad advice? Why Mark? Why?” By this point you were rambling, much more emotional about the situation than when you had started talking. “I’ve applied to-”
“I know where you’re going.” Mark interrupted you again. “You’re dream school, as you’ve always planned to. And I might be moving across the country, happy now? There’s your answer.”
“What do you mean ‘might’?” You questioned him, stepping forwards as you did. “Mark, you have dreamed of going to this school since you were a kid, why would you even consider turning it down?”
“Because maybe I’m not that kid anymore. I grew up. In case you didn’t notice, we both did y/n.” Mark’s voice was starting to resemble the desperation that was in yours, the hate he felt for fighting with you was ringing out loud and clear.
“I noticed that Mark, did you?” You challenged. “Because you don’t seem to want to accept that we’re both moving on from this place in six months.”
“That’s the problem! We’re both moving on but I’m the one moving away and I-” Mark stopped himself, running his hand through his hair before his voice dropped to a mumble. “This isn’t how this was supposed to go, I- I need to get out of here.”
“Mark-” You tried to speak again, but he had already turned around and was walking away from you.
Mark climbed down from the structure, jumping down the last couple of rungs on the ladder and taking off at a fast walk. You swore under your breath, following his movements and climbing down yourself. You landed on the soft grass and began jogging in order to catch up with him.
“Mark.” You called out for him, praying that he would turn around.
But he didn’t. You sped up into a run, calling his name again but louder. He still ignored you, and now you began to panic. If you didn’t fix this, you really might lose him forever. And you wouldn’t be able to deal with that. You finally caught up with him, reaching out to grab his hand and turn him back to face you.
“Mark!” He tried to turn away one last time, his eyes focused on the ground.
You kept a tight hold onto his hand, tugging on it again as you brought your other hand to his face, trying to lift it so he wasn’t staring at the ground.
“Mark, look at me.” Your voice dropped, much quieter and softer, almost inaudible, yet Mark’s eyes still flickered up until they were focused on yours.
Only then did you see the tears that were rapidly gathering in them.
“We-” Your voice caught in your throat, forcing you to swallow before you tried again. “We can’t pretend like this isn’t happening. This year is going to end, and we’re both going to move out and attend different places when September comes and... we won’t be by each other’s side anymore. Ignoring it isn’t going to make it any less real.”
“I know.” Mark whispered, nodding sadly at you. You hadn’t seen Mark this sad since his pet dog, Marbles, died when he was 13. He had appeared at your bedroom door, hugging his pillow to his chest and asking to stay at yours because he couldn’t go to sleep when she wasn’t at the foot of his bed. The two of you had stayed up all night, stealing popcorn from your family’s cupboards and binged his favourite movies until the sun came up.
Movies and popcorn weren’t going to fix this.
“I just can’t imagine not having you in my life.” Mark admitted, his head dropping again as he finally let go of the feeling that had been caging his heart for the past few months.
His head fell into your shoulder as he stepped forwards and wrapped you up in the tightest hug that the two of you had ever shared. Mark buried his head into your shoulder, breathing heavily as he tried to stop the tears from falling. Your arms squeezed around his neck, one hand moving up to the back of his head and you bit your lip and blinked rapidly to stop yourself from crying as well.
“Me neither.” You murmured, but Mark shook his head.
“No, not in the same way. It’s not just losing my best friend, it’s losing you.” You tried to pull back, to look at him and see what was going through his head because he was starting to not make any sense.
But as Mark felt you try to step back, his grip seemed to get tighter. He couldn’t let you slip through his fingers, not again. Deep down he knew that he couldn’t ignore talking about this with you forever, but by not talking about it, he managed to savour some time with you where it was as if the future didn’t exist. He could pretend that the two of you would live across the road from each other forever, that you would always be just within an arm’s length. However, the same way you had to climb down from that tree house when you were younger, Mark now had to face reality. A reality where you wouldn’t always be an arm’s length away.
“You’ve always been here. No matter what happened, how old we were, you would always be here for me, and that mattered the most to me. I can’t play a game if you’re not there, I can’t focus if I don’t know that I’m going to see you later, I feel lost when I spend too much time without you. I’m absolutely terrified to graduate, not just because it means leaving behind everything I know and moving somewhere new, but because I have to do all of that without you, and I don’t know if I can ever settle somewhere where I don’t have you there. This place wasn’t home to me because I grew up here, or because my family or friends were here, it was because you were. Every time I’m with you, you make me feel like I’m home.”
Mark was rambling at this point, just saying anything that came into his mind, and you let him. Throughout his speech his grip on you had loosened, allowing you to step back slightly and look up at him. You were stood in his embrace as he stared deep into your eyes, making sure you heard every word that he was saying.
“I’m losing so much more than just my best friend.” Your eyes widened slightly at Mark’s words and his heart began to hammer so hard it felt as though it was going to burst out of his chest. His throat felt tight with nerves, knowing that the next words he was going to say would either completely ruin your friendship, or make the two of you happier than you had ever been. And Mark seriously hoped it was the latter.
“I’m losing the person I love.”
Your jaw dropped slightly at his words, the word “love” somehow making your heart stop beating and beat faster than it ever had before at the same time. You wanted to say it, you wanted to tell him - no, scream it out at the top of your lungs as to how in love with him you were but you couldn’t form any words. You couldn’t translate what you wanted to say from your mind to your mouth.
Instead, Mark’s hands left their previous position around your waist, coming up to gently cup your face. His left thumb gently brushed back and forwards over the skin as he took a deep breath. You still hadn’t said anything but you moved your arms from around his neck to rest on his waist, and your eyes flickered down to his lips before coming up to his again.
Mark noticed this, his own gaze doing the same before he just thought “fuck it” and leaned down. He moved slowly, giving you plenty of time to move away, but he never faltered. He used his soft grip on your face to pull you closer and shut his eyes as he pressed his lips to yours.
Your hands formed bunches as they gripped onto his shirt as you kissed him back, pulling your body closer to his. You wanted to move closer to him, but your feet felt as though they were stuck where they were, the feeling of finally kissing Mark keeping you frozen.
Mark pulled away, opening his eyes and looking down at you. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying to think of what to say. You looked up at him, your hands not moving from where they were on his chest as his stayed on your face. Neither of you said anything, neither of you moved, you both just stayed in this position for a couple of seconds as you processed what just happened.
Mark noticed your lack of response beyond a shocked look and bit the inside of his cheek. He was almost there, he just had to utter those eight letters that scared him the most. There was no turning back now.
“I love you.”
The words fell from his lips so naturally he couldn’t believe he’d never said it before. In fact, everything around you felt perfect. His hand fit perfectly in yours, your fingers always slotting together easily, his arms fit just right around your waist, allowing him to pull you in when he wanted, and when he kissed you... Mark didn’t think it was possible for something to feel as right as that had. It felt as though you had been two puzzle pieces, always side by side, but finally you were put together and it made everything feel right. Mark felt as if every part of him had been handcrafted by the gods for the sole purpose of loving you.
“I don’t need one thousand four hundred and thirty one reasons as to why I’m hopeless without you. I’ll always be hopeless without you because I can’t function without you. You put everything into motion, my head, my heart, my entire life. It all revolves around you. It’s you, y/n. It’s always been you. It’s always going to be you, no matter where we go.”
You felt as though your entire life was suddenly spurred into motion, as if someone suddenly hit the play button and the world that played in front of you was the kind that you saw in your dreams.
You stepped forwards, closing any distance between you and Mark. Your hands moved upwards to his neck and Mark’s fell down to gently land on your waist. This time, it was your turn to close the gap, leaning in and connecting your lips to his again. You focus on him, pouring all the passion and love that you felt for your best friend into the kiss, not wanting to step away or pull back for a second.
You wished this moment could last forever, a pure image of two people, hopelessly in love and finally expressing it.
You pulled away, your lungs gasping for air and wrapped your arms around his neck, hugging him tight. Mark’s grip tightened and his arms wound around your waist, pulling you as close as he possibly could.
“I love you.” You confessed, your voice quiet but your words as loud as screams. “I love you, I love you and I’ve always loved you. You’re my person, Mark.”
If it was possible, Mark held you even closer, burying his face into your neck and breathing you in. He wasn’t just holding his friend, he was holding his love, the one person who meant more to him than anyone else on the planet. And he never wanted to let you go.
You lost track of how long the two of you were there, wrapped up in the other’s embrace, whispering confessions of love and sharing kisses. You were only brought out of your trance when a raindrop landed on your cheek, making you jump slightly. Mark reached up a hand to wipe it off, the two of you looking up at the sky which was covered in dark clouds.
“We should probably go.” Mark muttered, you nodding in agreement as a loud rumble of thunder echoed around you. “Yep, we should definitely go.”
The rain began to pour as the two of you ran back to Mark’s house, hand in hand and never letting go for a second. You burst inside, both soaked to the bone and Mark wasted no time in smothering you in his clothes, watching as you allowed yourself to be claimed as his in the most domestic, yet heartfelt way.
You lay next to him on his bed, legs and arms draped over each other as you both finally allowed yourselves to rest. His hand was stroking your cheek as his other held you close. Your fingers drew random patterns on his chest as you listened to the sound of his heartbeat, the heart that he never failed to remind you how it only beats for you.
“Don’t let go.” He softly begged, kissing you on the forehead.
“Never.” You promised, watching the rain land on the window and thinking to yourself how, every time it rained you would be reminded of this day with Mark The day when everything changed.
Sleep finally took the two of you, drawing you into its dreamland, but not knowing that for once, you two couldn’t wait to leave it. Because, when reality is like a dream, you don’t need anything else.
vii. shit i mean, maybe sometimes life kind of can be like a fairytale
The lights shined down on the two of you as you danced around the gymnasium. The yellow reflected off Mark’s eyes, making it look like stars dancing and it was captivating, making it impossible to look away. He smiled down at you, a smile that you were beginning to become familiar with, and one that you hoped you’d never stop seeing.
Your senior winter formal, the final event of the term. After this, you’d be on holiday and you and Mark could spend every day together, just falling deeper and deeper in love.
Confetti decorated the floor, allowing you to drift through colours of white, pastel blue and light green. The halls were decorated in streamers and balloons, with various strings of lights hung up all over the place.
Mark held you close, as he always did. He still had trouble believing this was real, that he’d been so lucky, not just to love you, but for you to love him back.
“So maybe now you’ll finally talk to me about your plans for the future?” You teased, raising an eyebrow at him as Mark shook his head with a smile.
“I promise.” He said sincerely. Ever since that night in the rain, Mark hadn’t kept a thing from you, instead calling you for advice on colleges whenever he was getting worried. “And I’ve actually almost decided, I just need to make sure you’re okay with it. I’m going to take the scholarship.”
“Mark, that’s amazing! I’m so happy for you, you absolutely have to!” You breathed, leaning up to kiss his cheek.
He grinned at you, his smile brighter than any light you’d ever seen. “I’m glad you think so too.”
You leant forwards, resting your head on his chest as he placed a light kiss on it. He squeezed your hand gently, still swaying you in time to the slow music.
“You’re not worried about us being so far away from each other?” You asked quietly, your words slightly muffled.
“We’ll make it work. By that time we’ll have been together for 9 months. I have some Friday’s off so I’ll come down on long weekends to pick you up and we’ll go for waffles, or you can come up in your break and we’ll go out, and obviously there will be games for you to attend and scream at the top of your lungs for me.” Mark rambled, his confidence in the two of you warming your heart.
“Oh hell yeah, try and stop me. I’ll wear your jersey and give you a congratulatory kiss when you win.” You planned, already picturing the moment in your head.
“When?” Mark asked, grinning at you as you lifted your head off him to look in his eyes. “You’ve got a lot of faith in me to win.”
“I’ve known you a long time. You always win.” You smiled.
Mark didn’t reply, instead just smiling before leaning down to place a loving kiss on your forehead, feeling you move into it. He pulled away, pressing his forehead to yours and staring deep into your eyes. He lost track of time any time he was around you, drowning in the universe you held in your eyes. He looked until he couldn’t take it anymore, leaning down and connecting your lips with his.
It didn’t matter how many times Mark kissed you, he still felt that buzz of electricity that sparked after the first time. Mark hoped that buzz never went away, it was like a shock that reminded him just how much he loved you. The extent to which he loved you felt so big he couldn’t quite grasp it fully, but this always helped to remind him.
Deep down he knew a truth that he wasn’t sure he would ever tell anyone. He didn’t feel the same desperate need to win anymore. He didn’t feel as though his life would come crashing down if they were a goal down when that final whistle went. His sport still meant everything to him, it was still his favourite thing to do and is the reason he’s going to the college he chose, but Mark’s learnt that, at the end of the day, it’s who’s cheering for him in the stands that matters more.
He’ll never lose his drive or stop playing, but winning those games isn’t the best thing he could ever do. Winning you was.
And you were one thousand four hundred and thirty one times more special than any trophy he could ever lift.
✧ na jaemin x (fem.) reader, strangers to lovers, college au, next door neighbor au.
✧ genres — the usual fluff to angst to fluff. word count — 16.8k!
✧ disclaimers — profanity, mentions of food, illegal and legal (u.s.) alcohol consumption, peer pressure, parental apathy, insinuations of sex and sexual activities, quarantine depression, people not wearing masks / not social distancing, a sexist middle-aged man, violence in the form of physical and instrumental aggression, minor hospitalization. nothing sexually explicit whatsoever.
✧ author’s note — with this piece released, i can finally say that i’ve peaked. the whole five month, on and off, writing process was worth it every step of the way and i know that it shows in the quality of writing. little miss ree is back at it again! as always, fix yourself a cup of tea and get toasty in the sheets because this one might just fuck you up.
✧ 01 — WHO IS THAT GIRL I SEE? ( ~ STARING STRAIGHT BACK AT ME ~ )
you fail to understand how a second-year psychology major and a first-year business major could possibly share a class, even though the class in question is 'chinese culture i.' yet, you know it for truth when the girl who's taken the seat to your left nudges you by the elbow and decides that, "isn't he hot?" is the most fitting line to start up a friendship. it also comes to your knowledge that the only reason she'd said that was because you were quite unashamedly studying the leather-clad back of the boy seated two rows down and three seats to the right.
folding your hands together brings a decisive end to your unrequited staring contest and the girl beside you retrieves her laptop from the powder pink sleeve she had tucked under her arm. the side glance you point her way emanates in apprehension as you watch the girl set a disposable starbucks cup, large in size, beside her powering-on macbook. the napkin wrapped around the cup clings to the sweat of the ice cold caramel frappuccino (with extra whipped cream piled on top) and just like that, you decide that whoever she may be, she isn't your cup of tea. still, tolerating her is your best bet at making friends on your first day of the newest chapter of your life.
you rush to turn on your own computer as she clacks in her ridiculously long password with those ridiculously long acrylics that, evidently, she's let grow out for far too long. what you assume to be the middle finger of her right hand pokes at the enter button with resounding finality and you turn towards her as she speaks again, her tone seeped within a sigh. "man, i missed him."
that's when you learn that the girl beside you, whose name is soojin as you also learn, is a year older than you while jaemin, your next door neighbor and designated campus 'hottie,' is two years older. "he took a gap year," she explains with very distinct gesticulations that has her fake fingernails all up in your face. you don't bat an eye the whole while. if anything, you're almost accustomed to her strong demeanor and aren't nearly as surprised as you should be when she asks you to accompany her to a party later in the day. the party that'd become your first official college-status party.
it's loud and it's gross and it's everything that pop culture's made it out to be. soojin introduces you to all her girl friends that all have the same baby tees, the same lashes from the same boutique, and a month-old manicure. their skirts are small, their dresses short, which only further confirms what you'd came prepared for because there you are, in a tiny tiny dress, downing burning shots of alcohol mixtures and sticking your chest out as you toss your head back to laugh at some dumb, made-up story that your new friend, haeun, has been drunkenly prattling on about for the last twenty minutes. you fit in perfectly, and as terrible as it sounds, you've never felt more relieved in your life.
one by one, the girls get picked up and thrown over the shoulders of angry boyfriends or some gruff-looking senior that needs a quick fuck upstairs. none of them display any sort of objection and in fact, it almost seems like they were waiting for it. like the whole night, they've been rooted in their one spot on the arm of the couch, or the corner of the coffee table, eye-fucking some man across the room until he became fed up enough with his own stationary position by the drink's table and came to scoop her up for their routinely intercourse, the nicest way to put it.
and even though your unexperienced self has certainly not been eye-fucking anyone from your position on the floor, there's a certain degree of expectancy that comes with simply being around them when you feel a tap on your shoulder from behind, the same expectancy that diminishes with jaemin's sober eyes that come into view as you turn. he holds a hand out and you take it, feathers flaunting in pride when hoots and hollers arise from the select few girls that remain, none of which you personally know.
taking his hand, he yanks you towards him with a surprising amount of force that contradicts the patient smile he's sporting. such force that he's employed has you almost instinctively pushing him in retaliation when he leans and whispers, low and steady and right above your ear, "why are you on the floor? it's dirty and half your ass is out."
you object, but only verbally because you let him tug you along, "and why is that any of your business?" it takes a few minutes of inebriated steps through the throng of sweltering bodies for you to realize that he's headed for the door.
you're seated on the front steps, eyes trailing his every move as he busies with shrugging his blue-wash denim jacket from his shoulders and tossing it across your own, as he folds in the right of his shirt that's lifted from its tuck, and as he lowers himself down onto the spot beside you. only then does he give a response to the question you'd asked earlier, and even then, it's half-hearted, "because...because you're gonna get yourself into something you don't want to be in if you keep acting like that."
reiterating, "and why would that be anything of your concern?"
jaemin leans back on both his palms, eyes flickering to the street before him and then to his side. the long glance he's subjected you to sends shudders down your spine and before you can follow through with complying to your desires and slipping away from his presence, he relents, "fine. it's not my problem and maybe i shouldn't have dragged you out here to tell you stuff that you clearly don't wanna hear," and you agree with his words, but only up until then for he goes on to say, "but y/n, i don't like seeing you stoop so low for attention. and i'd hate it if you got fucked by some fly you attracted with that ass of yours, especially since it's your first day of colle—"
"and especially since the way i present myself and the way i want to live my life has absolutely nothing to do with you."
he shuts up at that, mouth closing before it attracts any flies of its own. you return the long glance you were given but replace the patronizingly patient smile with a scowl that's apparent as day in the flickering porch light. ripping your eyes from his hardened and frankly unreadable gaze, you click your tongue before stamping your heel to stand and, ignoring the slight sways your body has incorporated into its motor functions, you take your leave with no thought of how to get home; the party you'd just ditched had been hosted at some suburban house in the outskirts of the downtown district, meaning you don't even know where you are, to be exact.
your uber arrives around the time that you've completed your third lap around a nearby park, skin at the backs of both ankles bleeding and staining the sheeny nude of your new heels. the slam that you've shut the door with says much about your irritated state of mind. picking at the skin around your nails, you sneer at the thought of your hand in his, you regard his words with a heart full of contempt, and whatever considerate pointers he thought he gave with good intentions were painted with the same scowl that's yet to leave your face.
you don't bother to look in the direction of the gold '401' that gleams only a few feet away from your '402' on the wall. even the image of his front door lights a fitful of sour expressions that you're met with in the reflection. you watch the girl in the mirror slip off her heels and kick them to the side. you watch as she stares right back at you with these circles that hang from her eyes; they droop further the longer you stare. you watch as she rakes a few fingers through her disheveled hair, brushes a few fingers across where her mascara's been smudged. she's not nearly on the brink of tears but you fear that she couldn't seem any sadder, more disappointed in what she's come to see in herself.
head failing to hold its weight, she chunks through her thoughts like an algorithm chunks through probabilities. it's puzzling, what is it that has her feeling so warm in the coldest hour of night? is it the faux fur rug that splays beneath her bare bruised feet? the close walls of her studio entrance caging her breaths? the overhanging light that casts her shadow long?
straining her neck upright to catch a final glimpse of the girl in the mirror, she remembers with a part of her lips and the easing of the crease that knit her brows. she remembers the blue-wash denim jacket that hangs safe on her shoulders, keeping her warm in the coldest hour of night.
✧ 02 — GOOD MORNING, CATNIP
it's a habit garnered over time for jaemin to purchase a fair-sized bouquet of flowers once a week. he despises the romanticization of reserving flowers for a lover—though one might argue that he himself is the embodiment of romanticization—and so he gifts them to himself. he is his own lover, if you will. this week procures a simple bouquet of white gardenias girdled with bundles of baby's breath. he'd chosen it for himself, head ducking the questioning gaze of the granny at the register. with the curious amalgam of trust and compassion in hand, he pulls tight at the bow of rough twine that holds the stems and the newspaper scrappings in place. tucking the blooms under an arm, he leans into the door to his next stop of the morning, the bell tinkering as it falls shut behind him.
jaemin buys himself a stick of salted butter and a loaf of sliced focaccia bread, the one with pockets of cheddar garlic that the corner bodega sells as a wednesday special. he knows well enough that he's the first customer of the morning, he always is, but as he collects the change that's slid across the counter, head turning to the door with his body soon to follow, he's surprised to see that the second is already upon entering.
he's even more surprised to see that it's you. jaemin finds himself loitering for a bit, the coins and the stick of butter now jostling in the front pocket of his sweatshirt as his arms see to a bouquet of flowers and a loaf of bread, each to each. petulantly, he tails behind you, close enough to be distinguished as company yet more than a wingspan of distance from your heels. you're not nearly as mad at jaemin as you let on, the frustrations blew over after a night of mitigating sleep that'd soothed your drunken temper. perhaps you were only so riled up that night because of how inebriated you barely recall to have been, you don't know, you didn't think about it much, but you put on a face of impassivity if only to mess with him.
turning back around, you reach for a packaged sandwich without much mind, ears perking as the boy from beside speaks up in your silence. "i like your outfit," is what he says and you halt in your actions, eyes stilling where they had been skimming the nutrition facts with feigned interest. briefly (though it doesn't elude his attention), you glance down at the thin midi skirt you've paired with a weeks-unwashed cornflower blue hoodie, scrunching your nose at the visible tea stain at the hem. your laconic, "thank you," should have been enough to ward off whatever else he was set to throw your way but he only furthers, "apologies, i should have said 'good morning' first," to which you find yourself suppressing a chuckle to.
wary, you set the sandwich down and reach for a bottled yogurt drink in its stead, one you recognize from your hometown mart and the one you were initially here to buy upon noticing it during your first grocery run after moving. jaemin moves along the aisle as you pick up and set down various items, all of which you do not intend to purchase. coming to a half in front of the wall of alcoholic beverages at the back of the shop, you ignore the baffled look he's sure to be sporting before acquiescing to his unsaid questions with an answer that satisfies none of them, "good morning to you too."
the modern times, fruitlands canned beer catches your eye, it's the one your crazy cool aunt always brings to family gatherings and you almost reach for it before a lurking employee rounds the corner and you're reminded that at your age, the most you can do is stare. jaemin, on the other hand, has had enough of stifling his own chuckle and it emits right as you reroute to the neighboring snack aisle. he lingers back for a moment, allows himself the pleasure of smiling back when you peer in questioning over the separating shelves. that in itself is enough to forefend whatever tensions had been brewing between the two of you.
jaemin's chin is just above your shoulder, peering over as you check out. the beverage and the two bags of chips total to seven dollars and you pay with a ten whilst the boy from behind rushes to get to the exit first. but upon realizing that he lacked the hands needed to pull the door open, you willingly accept his flower arrangement with your own extra hand. (laziness had overcame and cajoled you to slip another dollar for a plastic bag to carry everything.) a light breeze picks up the second you're out the door, jaemin in tow, and pivoting halfway brings you and him face to face with a hand outstretched to return the bouquet.
he almost accepts it just as willingly as you had, an arm had already made it a third of the way, before his mouth decisively takes lead. jaemin shakes his head, hand falling back down to his side and the beginnings of a smile taking place, "keep it."
maybe it would've been more polite to attempt refusing the offer at least once, a greater show of gratitude than the minimal, "okay," that you've responded with. at this point, you've long forgotten that your allotted play on impassivity has came and went with the tides of your exchange. it's now that you leave it behind.
jaemin finds himself hastening to press the crosswalk button for the two of you every time you come to a halt at an intersection; he chalks it up to your full hands. jaemin thinks that if the sidewalk congestion were to pick up anytime soon, he would have to sidle over and sling an arm around your shoulder; he chalks it up to not wanting to lose you in such a crowd. and when jaemin sees his (and your) apartment complex coming into view not a block away, he finds himself wishing that he'd never pressed the crosswalk buttons at all, if just to spend a few more seconds listening to you blather on about your introductory accounting class (you seem to have much to say about how much you despise the professor already).
and when his front door clicks shut behind him, jaemin feels that he's only now starting to appreciate how the walls are paper thin, for not a second after he hears your own door shut, you've hit what sounds to be a set of drawers or the leg of a chair, and the strained wail you give is enough to get him smiling like a dumbfounded, though very besotted, idiot.
what little he knows of you has him strung high, held at the nape by the hands of something he knows he has no control over. unfortunate, for jaemin falls so easily, clumsily, as if he'd seen it coming and had already outstretched his arms in anticipation of hitting the cold, unforgiving ground with full force. it's unfortunate because to him, you're like catnip. and he might just play around with you until he loses interest.
✧ 03 — SWEET, DAINTY, AND READY TO STOMP ON PATRIARCHY
your eyes have been open for far too long, you're convinced of that with how your contacts seem to be dry plastered to the surface. this girl, mina, has half her weight upon you and you struggle to keep her upright as you fish for your phone with an unoccupied left hand. breaking out into open night, you find the metal and uncased back of your phone fares far colder than the streaks of wind that curl their way around your unclothed (for the most part, sheesh) legs.
the uber you've called comes in fourteen minutes and in that time, you've righted the girl upon your other side so that your right hand could handle the situation with a more practiced dexterity. mina's no longer mumbling incoherently, now that the door's shut behind you and the driver's swerved onto the crammed main road; it seems that the sudden breaks and acceleration of the nightly traffic have lulled her to sleep.
heedful of the lingering gazes that the driver, male and middle-aged, subjects you to from his angle of the rearview mirror, something inside you desperately wishes that you were the one that was asleep. you turn away, forfeiting the will to voice your unease at the brink of exhaustion.
your forehead pressed into the car window is bound to leave a nasty oil mark. you've sweated all night, toiled, labored to keep that silly smile on your face. and for every smile, smirk, wink you gave in the duration of the night, you now repent with a frown, groan, sigh through the early morning hours.
here in the backseat, you gather the fragments of what tonight has left you and looking carefully, you realize there isn't much. your body feels as heavy as it feels light and at the core of your stomach knots a rabble of dead butterflies that once flew free. when the driver comments on your appearance, a tacky pickup line in tow, you give him a nod and a mumbled thank you. there isn't anything in you that's willing to put up a fight for you've already been at odds with yourself all night long.
you drag mina all the way into her sheets though you know she won't remember enough to offer you a bare thank you, much less remember who you are. having to strangle her drunk and resistant self into bed made it so as you returned back outside the dorm, the driver had already took off despite how 'sweet and dainty' he thought you looked. slipping your heels off, you walk back to your apartment in your itty-bitty skirt, paying no mind to the whistlers and hollerers that so often preyed upon 'sweet, dainty' young girls after dark.
your phone is on silent, you've made sure of it, but that doesn't stop the incessant lighting of your screen as notification after notification surfaces. so-and-so tagged you in a post, so-and-so dm-ed you, follow request, liked your post, liked your post, added you into here and mentioned you here. you get drunk on the thought of being in the limelight, yet you're drowned in isolation the moment you sober up. and on nights like these, as frequent as they have come to be, you seek after your consolation on the rusted grail of your fire escape, adjacent of a certain someone's.
"you're still up at this hour?"
"yes."
"do you have class tomorr—today?"
"yes."
and then hesitantly… "did you have fun tonight?"
"no."
jaemin takes your monosyllables with an eyeful of surmise. he doesn't push it and hopes his solidarity is just as much present in his silence. if anything, the way you've lowered your back down onto the upper steps of your fire escape tells much of your reluctance to converse with him. that is his belief for you to contradict. "jaemin?"
"yes?"
spangled upon the cleavage you've left for any and all eyes to feast upon are a disco-balled assemblage of lights, filtered through the grated slats of the upper steps you were lain below. he thinks you look lovely this way, scintillating though shadowed, raw though clothed. jaemin keeps the thoughts to himself, holding his breath to remind him that they aren't for you to hear and only for him to think.
jaemin might faint in the tight guard of his breaths for the fabrication of your own thoughts into words comes slow, as anything might in the hour of four. the streets below hold only two or three streams of vehicles, the moon takes her time traversing from one end of the earth to the other, and as languidly as you can, you place the words in your mouth one by one.
"i'm lonely as fuck."
swallowing, you prop yourself up on your elbows to gain leverage with your combating inner voices by means of his encouraging eyes, affectionate eyes. in the split second between your last and next word, you decide that you like his eyes, or at least the way he looks at you with them. the instilled sense of belonging that comes with meeting them with your own.
"but why is it that some people only make me feel lonelier instead of...accompanied?"
jaemin lets his resumed breaths even out before venturing for an answer. he could say many things. 'because you get along with some people more than others,' or 'because not everyone can provide the presence that you need,' or 'because you just aren't associating yourself with the right people' but he finds that none of them really encapsulate the situation at hand. he barely knows you, what can he possibly say that you would take to heart any more than the first three pinterest-derived quotes that come up when you key in the same question you just asked?
so he lets the reinstated evenness of his breaths predicate the wanderings of his mind, trusting that his offerings could hold some, any worth in the haggard sighs you've been concealing all the while. he trusts that he has something, anything that he could use to comfort you, though your ailments unbeknownst and his means yet to be discovered. jaemin rides on intuition when he peers past the fog that screen between his thoughts and his vision to see that you've thrown your sights elsewhere, distractedly, indolently.
and so he starts, "look at me."
you comply.
"y/n, tell me about you."
"what?"
"tell me all about you, i wanna know everything."
"why d- what do you mean by everything?"
jaemin doesn't mean to smile. but what choice does he have when he's the object of your attention? really, it only widens as he rambles on, gesticulations in hand, "just like...you, you and your lucky number, and your least favorite food, and the color you like to see most in the sky, and— and, i don't know, which of your parents you secretly like better."
"i— uhh okay. uhm," you've since forgoed the use of your elbows, sitting up attentively as you retrace the list he'd given. "my lucky number's four," you count it off with a finger, "i hate eating anything orange," another finger, "and uhh, i think blue looks nice, just blue," a third finger, "and as for my parents," your hand drops, "i don't know." you utter the last with such sureness that contradicts the unsure nature of the words itself.
jaemin knows, but he doesn't push it, "fine by me." and your eyes make their way back to his. they're lined in a sort of understanding and some other peculiarity you've yet to get a grasp on, perhaps that's why you like them so much. he muses now, a little something that everyone always puts out there, but he'd shrug at its frequency because he genuinely wishes to know. "what's your dream then?"
and as common a question it may be, its predecessors you've answered, your remnant tipsy and worn out state, and your ever-growing fondness for the boy has your brows furrowed in thought. you've no idea how you stumbled upon this specific of an answer to his inquiry — maybe it really is a dream of yours that you've unearthed in this unprecedented moment — and you find yourself drawling out your deliberations, laying them thinly before him, "my dream is to go dinnerware shopping with the love of my life."
jaemin has the gall to laugh, or what comes in the form of a chuckle cut short by a disapproving tilt of your head on your end. he collects himself and in the place of the laugh that barely sounded, jaemin deadpans, "really." and you've never been more diligent in clapping back, "yes really! i can't believe i told you my lifelong dream and you laugh."
he doesn't know what it is with him but that's the exact sentence that sets it off for good, his peals of laughter rippling full and warm in his chest and inciting a similar aftermath in your own disposition. first, it's the curve of a betraying corner of your lips. then, perhaps the other corner felt a little lonely. finally, your smile comes in full bloom. you wish it would stop there but with your smile comes jaemin's laugh and with his laugh comes a certain helplessness that has you laughing alongside him, cut clean of whatever composure had held you back in the first place.
insanity has it so that two people, one very much deranged and the other almost in the likes, squeeze on the steps of their neighboring fire escapes, basking in either the conjoined limbs of their laughter or in the light of the promising sun. and only when the sun begins to cast a shadow across the lines of your face does insanity give way to its own neighbor, love.
nimbly, you fiddle with the hem of your skirt, in wonderment of how that smile refused to make its way off your face as long as jaemin's remained on his. you shake your head at that and leave a thought for him to supply.
"what was all that for?"
and as if it were no wonder, he simply shrugs, "to accompany you."
✧ 04 — THE ENCYCLOPEDIA OF ALL HUMAN GESTURES
soojin hands out dirty looks like it's her job to issue free coupons and it seems that on this fateful day, you're the designated recipient. to add to that, she doesn't bother to keep the hiss out of her voice when she...hisses, "why didn't you tell me you knew him?" to which you shrug, "i didn't think it mattered." her eyebrows must be in pain for how long they've stayed scrunched like that, though yours assume the same position when she takes hold of the cup in your hand, bringing it to her nose for a whiff.
the inner-workings of your mind sincerely wish that she doesn't take a sip; you'd hate for even a smidgen of her cherry red lipstick to stain where you'd be drinking from but to your relief, soojin merely places the cup back in your hand, a disdained glower taking shape as she mutters, "ugh, tea. no wonder he gave it to you." unwelcome, albeit brief, soojin exaggerates her point with a scene of fake gagging, stopping her tracks in bafflement as she watches you take a sip. "wha— why would you drink that?!"
you set it down on the table before she can slap it out of your hands (as you're sure she would). and complacently, you offer, "because it would be rude if i didn't at least make a show of drinking it." soojin nods at that — your complacency with her antics has yet to fail you — and begins to say something along the lines of a, "that's true, don't want to give him the wrong idea when he's sitting right there," when the professor barges in with ragged breaths to be reckoned with at an age like his.
the remnants of the tea have gone cold by the time class is about to come to a close, and past the time it does, there's none left. you glance up to an empty lecture hall, (soojin had ditched immediately after attendance was called), and you revert your eyes back onto your laptop screen, trying to tie up your notes with whatever last thoughts lingered. concentration turned to the max, the pattering of incessant typing masks the sound of steps that come your way and by the time you happen to notice, your laptop has been folded shut and you're in the midst of packing away your belongings.
"how was the tea?"
you almost swing your bag at him in surprise, "oh for fuck's sake jaemin! there's no need to creep up on me." sipping on the last third of his four shot espresso, he swallows whilst shooting you a bashful grin and nothing else. jaemin takes your backpack by its straps before you can even reach for it, the bashful grin waning to reveal more of a kind-eyed smile. "well..." you start, a few steps behind as he heads for the exit, "it was good, just how i like it."
neither of you ask or answer but the dialogue is written in the way he beckons you, one hand on the open door of his car and the other gesturing you inside. it's told soundlessly in the way you slip in with a smile instead of a 'thanks' and it's smeared all over the way he doesn't tell you a thing about where you're off to, if anywhere at all. 'is this a date?' you don't dare to question aloud. 'it's a date,' jaemin doesn't dare to audibly reply.
how else could you classify an outing to the local record shop with snail-shaped cinnamon rolls in hand? one second you're looking over a copy of a 1975 vintage a charlie brown christmas LP with mild interest and the next, it's in jaemin's right hand as the left hand reaches for his pocketed wallet and as his feet carry him towards the register. suddenly he's become deaf to your "no's" and your "i don't really need it's" which soon turn into "thank you's" and "i'll pay you back's." now tell me, how is this not a date?
you're humming along to some pop song the radio's blasting when jaemin pulls over alongside the curb of your shared apartment complex. while you're busying with your belongings, school bag and all, jaemin rushes over to your side of the car and tugs open the door for you, a very standard gentlemanly action on his part. you, contrarily, almost have the audacity to form a scoff, but your audacity falls forth into a deep churn of fondness when the hand of yours he's taken is brought to his lips, his eyes steady on yours. feigning disgust, you retract your hand, only to find it folded into his own not a second after.
shutting the door behind you and double checking the lock, you release the carried tension of your muscles as you slide down the yellow-painted backside, elbow hitting the door knob along the way. your bag, slung from the same elbow, hits the floor first, followed by the rest of your weight and then you're slumped with your legs splaying before you like a doll when forgotten in the shadow of adulthood. shallow breaths even themselves and you begin to collect the little fragments of your mind that sit unprocessed amidst the chest-pounding, blush-inducing, and heart-fluttering you've been subjected to ever since you'd met a certain boy named jaemin.
you hold to your heart your hardened knuckles, lined with the ghost of his lips. and when that isn't enough, you bring them up to your own. there's traces of a sort of longing that you've yet to place a name on; hand to your lips, you find that even when your mind tries to trick yourself into thinking they are his, they ring of a bitterness in the remembrance that it was once his in their place. it's then that you realize you've landed yourself upon your favorite act of adoration, your favorite in the encyclopedia of all human gestures.
the arrival of fall marks the anticipation of fall break, thanksgiving, then the 100 meter sprint to winter break, christmas. tis the season to love and to be loved, for when you'd complained to jaemin on the ride back that buying the LP was for naught since you weren't in possession of a record player in the first place, he'd shaken his head and simply tucked it under an arm, taking it back to his own place as if he hadn't actually bought it for you. tis the season for humming along to far too early christmas music blaring sleazily through the paper-thin wall that rises between you and him. tis the season to live out your inner hallmark christmas movie: suburb girl meets city boy, business major meets psychology major, unit 402 meets 401, bumps into each other at the local mart, flowers that found their way from the hand of one to the other.
so that every time he buys himself a bouquet of flowers he'll think of buying them for you, and every time you brew yourself a fresh cup of tea, you'll think of receiving a cup from him. whatever lines you seem to draw between the two of you only seem to amplify the longing that ensures you maintain eye contact for a second longer and submit to his every gesture of chivalry. he courts you as if you were a maiden from the middle ages and not, in fact, a modern woman. na jaemin is consistent, he is sturdy, sound, secure, and you want to give in to the comfort you've never sought for in anyone else. you want to build a home out of him.
✧ 05 — YOUR TURN
you don't know how, or why, it is that you always end up here. the metal is a little colder, a trace of early winter perhaps, and it sears a little different than what you're used to, a little more scarring, begging for your attention. fisting and unfisting your hands gives them no warmth; it's the kind of night where the wind drops the temperature with bitter breeze, reluctant to give into the quiet night. yeah, you're at a loss on why you would step out here at all.
perhaps the boy just across from you has a thing or two to say about it. his shirt hangs thin under a thick leather jacket, open nonetheless, and his posture leans slack on the steps, legs outstretched and nonchalant. you, on the other hand, at the precipice of shivering, take it upon yourself to start up the conversation this night, "why don't you just come over? aren't you cold?"
he shakes his head, at which question exactly you're unsure, and you take from that to perceive his disposition as quiet for the night. startled at first, you've long become accustomed to his 'mood swings' that come day by day. it'd be a sunny morning and he'd mask his temperament with curt nods and taciturn speech just like how it's now a starry night and he isn't much different.
there's a few things you've come to know about na jaemin. one: he's picky with his friends. they're either close or they're just not friends which makes it particularly hard to decipher where you fall, if not in between. two: he's rich, to an almost filthy extent. not that he boasts about it but his bmw, which you frequent, and the tiny 'gucci' emblem on his wallet say a lot on their own. you wonder why he's living in a studio apartment instead of a penthouse and you wonder why he even bothers to take the bus at times. other times, you think it's only because you take the bus. he's not exactly keen on hiding his…crush — or whatever sophisticated term college people use — on you and you're not the type to be completely oblivious to how he acts around you and also how he spea— no, flirts with you. which leads you to three: na jaemin is known to be the quintessential campus 'hottie' but also the campus 'playboy.' and though you know enough of him to agree with the former and counter the latter, you can't help but take into account what else you'd heard, albeit from haeun.
records of his past relationships are plentiful but never overlapping. he goes after girls one by one, quite devotedly at that, unfailingly running through the same four pit stops: courting, dating, fucking, nothing. what seems to be the start of a healthy, fulfilling relationship always ends up in a dwindling friends with benefits situation. you'd asked her why and haeun only shrugged, "he likes playing with girls that way. i'm guessing you're his next victim."
you'd squinted your eyes at her in a nonsensical confusion, "victim?" bitterly, haeun threw back another shot of diluted vodka. setting it down, she moved to leave with a sort of soberness you'd never seen in her eyes, not in class, not before parties, not at the twenty-four-hour mcdonald's after parties. leaning in to sail her voice across the blaring speakers up above, you caught the stilted smile she pulled before tonelessly muttering, "you think i like being drunk all the time?" she was two steps away, already out of earshot, before you could call her back to ask.
to ask her if whatever you were getting yourself into was worth it. to ask her if he'd done the same to her, gifting flowers, drinks, rides, smiles, touches, some more touches. she was gone before you could ask if it was normal to still feel this way after knowing.
but looking at him now, you think you could answer that for her.
"jaemin," as if his eyes weren't already on yours, attention trained solely on you, "tell me...tell me about you."
"me?" he has a husky voice, the kind that's only reserved to when he's tired or freshly woken up, the one a.m. kind of voice. he has the kind of voice you wish you weren't attracted to. "yes, you."
"what about me do you want to know?"
you give a moment of decisiveness until you come to this: "i want to know about your first love."
jaemin's countenance remains unfazed at this question you've popped, there's no smile, no nod of acknowledgement, nothing to tell that he may be uncomfortable in answering but his brief answer tells of much anyways. "i was in high school," is about as far as he gets before trailing off and tapering with a, "and it was a pretty bad breakup."
what you're not expecting is for him to revert back to, "what about you?" and you have the gall to look him straight in the eye and say straight to his face, "i've never been in love." he asks you, "why not?" you shrug, "just never felt loved, that's all."
with the silence that's made its appearance right after your statement, you can tell that he's just about ready to call it a night. it's right when you're thinking the thought that jaemin starts out, slow and deliberate in the forming of each word. "if i met you back in high school, maybe even middle school, everything would be so different now, don't you think?"
a tilt of your head, "how so? you didn't know me at sixteen."
he shakes his head, light in humor, but his tone is seeped in conviction, "all those years of— of you wanting to be loved and me loving too much," jaemin swallows, licks his lips, blinks languidly, "i didn't know you at sixteen, but i wish i did."
✧ 06 — SEEING TRIPLE
there's this thing you'll come to know, sooner or later in your life, that while kindergarteners are taught to tell of four seasons — spring, summer, autumn, and winter — you've come to know of a fifth called na jaemin. you live perpetually under the skies of his gazes, the winds of his voice, the rays of his smiles. but the thing is, you've no idea when the seasons even began to change.
well it began in class, a little under a month ago, that in the corner of your eye, you saw the chair angled slightly in your direction as he pulled out the seat to your left; your suspicions told you it was so he could be an inch closer. and then it was a week or so ago with his hand clasped tight in yours, swinging as he pulled you around the mall to find the pair of shoes you'd mentioned in passing a few days back. and then the calendar marks today when he'd stopped you in your tracks just outside your last class, ditching his teasing friends to accompany you home. right up to the moment the pair of you arrive back to your respective residences, the most recent of his laughters still fresh and ringing in your ears.
hand on the wall to keep you steady, you rushedly shuffle off your sneakers, subsequently sprinting across the room in fast steps, tossing your bagful of textbooks and notes onto the bed as you pass. one hand capping the new lipgloss you've just applied to your bottom lip, the far left window is swung open and to your equal parts dismay and delight, the boy you've just parted with is already there, a snarky "beat you" rolling off the tip of his tongue.
you talk to him and you know that he is listening. he tells you of a little something different he's sees on your lips and you remark, "is it that noticeable?" and all he has to say is, "not particularly, i think i just look at you too much." and then a sudden warmth floods your cheeks and then he smiles a little more and then you exchange glances after avoiding each others gazes for the past four seconds and then and then and then...
then you'll drift off to sleep later in the night, window open, with the same thoughts of the same boy plaguing whatever it was you'd studied the hour before, you don't remember what exactly. and it's then that your nightly paracosms are dreamt and dreamt and dreamt until they can no longer be contained by mere imagination but have been forced into reality. for when you awaken and his loving smile is the first thing that comes to mind, you know for certain that all you want, all you desire is more and more and more.
suddenly the words that come out of your mouth are no longer english when talking to him, and what he hears is this language that only he understands. what you knew of love languages falls short when neither of yours can be confined to simply 'physical touch' or 'acts of service' because the language you speak encompasses much more than just a mutual feeling. it becomes a mentality by which every little thing is perceived, an umwelt of sorts that only you and him are privy to.
to the left of your ears, soojin cups her hand as if she were to whisper but speaks rather loudly anyways. "i assume you guys have been fucking around." and to that you give her a sheepish smile paired with no audible answer, reluctant to flat out lie to her face. it's then that jaemin chooses to direct a glance towards you, the corner of his lip lifting when your eyes meet. soojin recaptures your attention as she muses on, "lucky you."
and indeed, lucky is how you feel when you are still the object of his attention even when you have looked away. when he comes to a stop right by your side as soon as the lecture ends, your side and no one else's, special is what he makes of you. to be the girl that jaemin chooses to spend his mornings, afternoons, and nights with is what makes you stand apart from the crowd. and of all the new faces he came back to see this year, jaemin wanted to admire yours, he wanted to hold your hand, and it's you that he reaches out to steady when the turbulent bus jostles you all around.
in a way, it's jaemin that hushes and feeds your deep-rooted thirst for attention. mitigating it yet simultaneously making you addicted to his presence, so much so that if he were to leave you alone for even a fraction of a day, you'd ache in places you've never known. and indeed, you might never know seeing as how day to day, hour to hour, minute to minute you are already so preoccupied with his eyes, and then his lips, and the heights of his cheekbones, and his long lashes. you can imagine how hard it'd be to see past it all. because na jaemin fills you so completely, silencing your needs and replacing them with himself, so that the only thing you find yourself returning to at the beginning and end of everyday is him. again, and again, and again.
✧ 07 — THE END OF THE BEGINNING
na jaemin is about as blunt as it gets. he's the type of person who says things just as he feels and thus, always has something to say. but with that being said, na jaemin is also having a inexplicably hard time replying to this one text.
in short, it reads: coming? but if jaemin were to expatiate further, he'd start by commenting on the picture accompanying the single-worded question. objectively, he doesn't mind it. you look nice in that dress, the sweetheart neckline and the thin black fabric teetering on the skimpy side. he has no problem with that, nor does he have a problem with the shot glass in your hand. what he does have a problem with is the fact that it was sent by someone you don't even know, nor is he close with. his phone screen auto locks after staring for too long and upon turning it back on, he's met with the time. —11:32 PM
jaemin's apartment is dark when he thrusts open the front door, the stopper hitting the wall behind with such force that has it shaking. whereas he was only mildly irritated before, his frustration is now strung high with how he'd forgotten his car keys in his initial rush to get out the house, as if taking the bus would be a viable option with how tight he is on time. jaemin utters a single, "fuck," because again in his rush, he'd forgotten to switch on the lights. the darkness is making it hard to distinguish what exactly he's grabbing at, seeing as he's now fumbling with the contents of the top drawer. brow knitting, regrets pile onto each other.
double checking his pockets this time, jaemin takes a second to make sure that he has his wallet and phone before shutting the car door. it's been a while since he last drove — frequenting the bus a lot more with no reason other than you — and the feeling of cold leather beneath his fingers evokes an awoken familiarity. pulling out, the same fingers part from the wheel to key in the address. at this time of year, this day of the week, this time of the day, the streets are congested to no avail. jaemin finds his eyes transfixed on the perpetually stationary car in front of him. cold leather to warm, his fingers have tapped their way into a halt as the same car pulls up a good seven feet before settling again. following in suit, jaemin wonders that if driving isn't the most efficient, perhaps running would be a better candidate against time. —11:48 PM
he gets there just fine, seated in his car, for penthouse parties are never too far if you live in the heart of the city. it's only now that he runs the length from his parked car to the lobby elevator, ignoring the stares of bewildered loiterers. between his heavy pants, jaemin registers the ding before the elevator doors open in sequence and when he hurries out, he finds himself caught in a horde of college students, all dressed to the nines and all heavily intoxicated. heart pounding, he claws his way through the cacophony of clinking glasses, loud laughter and shuffling feet, only to find that though the foyer, living room, and kitchen are all preoccupied to the max, you're nowhere to be seen.
ten. jaemin gives a tight smile to some girl from his anatomy class, prying off her fingers that had roped their way around his wrist. nine. jaemin ducks the spray of champagne from his left, brushing off any residue that might've made its way onto the shoulders of his leather jacket. eight. jaemin approaches a girl with a similar silhouette, tapping her on the shoulder and apologizing promptly when met with an unfamiliar face. seven. jaemin thinks he almost got himself laid at the hands of that woman, whoever she was, who had disregarded his apology and pulled him (a little too) close. six. jaemin can still feel her threatening stare on his back as he squirms his way between a canoodling couple, another mistake of his for now there are three pairs of eyes trailing him. five. jaemin begins to doubt his chances, thinking of maybe even accepting the poorly poured glass of champagne (one-fifth champagne, four-fifths fizz) being offered to him. four. jaemin declines, rerouting to a hall he has yet to venture down; somewhere, there's a cupid nodding frantically in encouragement. three. jaemin happens upon a set of glass doors that opens up to an outdoor terrace. it's there that he finds the precise silhouette that his mind has been obsessing over all night long. two. for the first time in his life, the cupid finds that he has no use for his bow and arrow.
"jaemin? what the fuck are you do —"
one.
your mind is lost to his touch, his smell, his eyes on yours, confecting and amalgamating in the pits of your stomach, reanimating the wings of butterflies that fell limp long ago. his touch sears the lines of your back, traces the curves of your elbows, the serrations of your chapped lips, messily nudging the rise and fall of your philtrums. one moment it's elusive, the ability to part and proclaim a mistake palpable yet untouched, for the next, it's voracious, feeding a hunger that has withstood the ensnarements of time; a kiss like water to parched lips.
and it's between those moments that jaemin feels it so upfront. his fortitude surrendering before his eyes to reveal every thread of his sentiments towards you, each delicate and negligible in itself but monumental at whole. he only parts from you when the need to breathe becomes greater than the need for your lips to be on his. and even then, the distance is barely discernible, a mere exchange of heavy breaths. jaemin kisses you again, short and sweet, before drawing back to peer into your shaded eyes. he notes with a keen shrewdness that though the scent of alcohol, a sort of wine, had lingered on your breath, your eyes bled sober. he kisses you again.
and again, and again, and again until he knows for certain that you're just as drunk as he is. the kind of drunk that couldn't amount from any kind of booze. the kind that comes from staring at someone for too long and the kind that comes from seeing that same someone take the seat you've been saving for them. it comes from hearty 'good mornings' and slurred 'goodnights' shared over the cityscape and under an upstair neighbor's fire escape. it's the kind of drunk that can't help but surface when a boy leaves his second thoughts behind as he rushes like there's no tomorrow to find this girl that now has her forehead pressed against his, and her lips brushing against his as they form a, "happy new year, jaemin," with unsaid 'i love you's' ringing in his ears. —12:02 AM
✧ 08 — THE BEGINNING OF THE END
you don't remember when the words 'coronavirus' and 'quarantine' started to become part of your everyday lingo but you can imagine that the moment they did, things were never the same.
at first, you marked his passivity as simple tediousness. he looked tired, that's all. you figured his mood swings and their fickle nature were taking their time of day to roll through. one early lecture, he'd duck your glances and the next he'd play footsies with you under the table. monday afternoon and he'd let you tag along on his routine outing to the mart, then friday night and he'd bid you farewell as soon as you'd stepped upon the fire escape.
classes moved online and it was sometime then that his mood swings lengthened until the most you could get out of him were clipped greetings and facial expressions that could never be read with a mask covering half his face and a hoodie pulled down over the other half. the way you saw it, jaemin's held you at arm's distance ever since the new year's began, far enough so he could keep to himself but within reach for whenever he needed you close.
it was eight p.m. on a tuesday night and you were drinking alone, the sun long gone but you'd forgotten or neglected to turn on the lights anyways. and in the dark and quiet resounded two knocks from the wall that separated you and your troubles. from then, it was two seconds before you were out of bed, fixing your hair, pulling a hoodie over a low-cut tank. two minutes before you were out the door and a step away from the one adjacent, slipping in as soon as access had been granted like a routine that'd been practiced days, weeks, and months over.
how unsurprised you were to see, and feel, and understand how you'd played along so willingly. in truth, jaemin never asked for much; he didn't have to when you gave your all so easily. there was no satisfaction of 'i knew it' and no anger of 'how could you do this to me.' you knew that jaemin loved you, but he loved you no more than how he'd loved everyone else. in the room, in this bed, on these sheets, there was once a haeun, a mina, and a dozen names of girls you've never met and would never know. though somehow, you know exactly how they felt in this very moment.
relinquishing your hand from his chest, you opt to lay on your back instead. jaemin doesn't stir from beside you, soft snores indicating he's out for the night. and for the night, you're left to observe the outlines of his unlit room from your spot on his bed, as you're sure you've done a number of times beforehand. you make out shadows of furniture and silhouettes of belongings, all within the same layout as your own little studio. but whether it's the doing of the blatant darkness or whatever fate your relationship with him has succumbed to in such a fleeting amount of time, his place feels unbearably cold and you feel equally as unwelcome.
you can see exactly where you stand on the progression of courting, dating, fucking, nothing. and in one thought, you reasoned with why you had to be the puppet to the puppeteer and came short of nothing more logical than what you already knew. you fell in love with jaemin, the kind of love that burned like the sun that rises day in and retires day out, perpetually. whereas his love for you was born of a match, instantaneous and short-lived. and whilst you've always been ready, eager almost, to receive the adoration he once willingly showered upon you, you and him both know that he didn't have it in him to pursue anything more than that.
you didn't need him to show you the way out.
for the first time, jaemin wakes up to an empty bed. and when he logs onto his chinese culture i class 40 minutes into the lecture, the little image of you on his screen looks as unbothered as ever. he swallows thickly, wondering how long he can keep you at arm's distance, far enough to quell his unease but within reach to satiate his greed.
there's a bad taste in his mouth and as he swallows and swallows through the day; it begins to knot in his stomach, weighing him down like pebbles and later boulders of regret, confusion, and anxiety, to say the least. his last string snaps at three in the morning when he's sure you're awake — the sound of your shower had stopped only few minutes ago — but you've yet to make your appearance at his door even after his desperate four knocks on the wall above his bed.
at some point around five or six in the morning, he's given up on trying to sleep his worries away. they're not going anywhere, not when they've rooted themselves so deeply within him, and especially not when they're grown from the seeds he'd planted oh-so long ago, only now sprouting their leaves.
if there's one thing that na jaemin has always been good at, it's loving and giving and caring with all he has, until he has nothing. and if there's one thing that na jaemin has fervently avoided for the greater part of the last four years, it's loving and giving and caring with all he has, until he has nothing. and so he loves, and gives, and cares just enough so that he can protect himself with what's left, move on, and then repeat. because once upon a time, he learned a lesson that told him that loving someone with all your might doesn't mean they love you any more or any less. na jaemin was sixteen when he thought he'd moved on, when really it was then that he began running from his past.
na jaemin was twenty when he first met you, a brief lock of eyes amidst your fumbling of keys, suitcase in the other hand. he thinks that it was perhaps that exact moment, or the exchange of smiles afterwards, that got his mind working towards a new agenda. new because even though most everything he'd experienced with you was nothing short of new on paper, every glance felt stolen and every touch felt forbidden. he loved the way you loved him, unrestrained and generous, but in hindsight he knows that that was only because you'd awoken a part of him that had forgotten what that kind of love felt like.
warm. it felt warm like the sun on his bare back. your hands were always warm and your eyes were always warm, and on days where the wind would pick up a little more than usual, he'd feel the urge to wrap you around him like a warm blanket, or hold you in the palm of his hands like a cup of warm tea.
fondly, he'd come to understand that what he saw in you was liberating, yes, but it was also reflective of the teenage boy he'd scampered away from, the one that never dared to confront his feelings and capped them the moment they proved the teensiest bit overwhelming. and in that, he first recognized the difference between you and them and them and you. it was in that, that he came across the fine line that made you the outlier in all the girls he'd ever spent a night with.
to like is skin-deep, wading in shallow waters and on the precipice of being overrun with a wave. but to love is bone-deep, interminably submerged and continually in search of each other's hands amidst the bleak and unforgiving ocean floor.
and now swept within your currents, jaemin finds himself drowning.
✧ 09 — AS HE WOULD AN ORANGE
lately, it feels as if the walls of your little home were more and more akin to the metal bars of a cage. with the world closing up, city by city, you feel yourself becoming increasingly suffocated by your own presence, sick of the same air you've been breathing, the same cereal you've been eating, the same day repeating itself over and over again. picking at the undersides of your overgrown nails, you huff a sigh and decide it's worth the risk, anything is at this point.
yet the moment you step out onto the metal grate of your fire escape, the pair of eyes that widen upon your emergence makes the hairs on your skin stand erect, wary and above all, regretful. with half your body already out the exit, you think that perhaps not even your escape plan could fall through, let alone plan B (play it cool), or plan C (flat out ignore him). and so you position yourself across him, as you've done countless times, and purse your lips in expectancy for him to start a conversation. after all, he couldn't fuck you from all the way over there (plus social distancing says it's illegal now).
the first words that leave his mouth have your eyes narrowed and guard drawn high. "you've been avoiding me, haven't you?" and though his voice almost fairs disheartened in tone, you still grimace as you reply cautiously, "yeah, yeah i have."
no matter how terribly your words milk the blood from his heart, jaemin has to hold off from excusing himself because he doubts he'd get to see you elsewhere, if not here and now. but the thick wall of tension that sits between the two of you doesn't waver, doesn't budge, and only seems to multiply a tenfold as the seconds trudge onwards. words go unsaid in this moment, and unlike before they hold no secret admiration, no pent-up desires. rather they pulsate with cues of unanswered questions and forlorn what-if's.
you look briefly up at him, eyes flickering back to your fiddling thumbs in the silence that only seems awkward from an outsider's perspective. after clearing your throat, you fix your gaze back up at him, eyes lined with a resolute determination to get over with the next uncomfortable minutes. plan B, it is, you think, some small talk will have to do.
"did you hear about the party later tonight?"
"yeah, at the meadow's huh?" and you nod, following up, "it's supposed to be the last one jangho's hosting before lockdown, or at least publicly." then it's his turn to nod.
you weren't close with jangho, by any means, but he was that one senior in your major with all the connections and all the girls. at this point, you weren't sure if it was the connections that got him the girls or the other way around. one thing was for sure though: his parties weren't something you wanted to miss.
tentatively, you give, "...i'm thinking of going with soojin and the girls."
perhaps it's that very line that threw everything amiss.
it starts with a quiet, "oh." and then a feeble protest, "i'm not sure if that's a good idea," to which you feebly counter, "well, i'll be safe about it and most of the people going probably aren't even infected." now jaemin questions with a little more bite in his tone, "and how do you know?"
uncomfortably, you shift in your spot, "i don't, i just— i don't know, it should be fine—"
"y/n, you need to take these things more seriously."
his interruption, his clipped tone, his stern eyes. something gets to you and you don't skip a beat when you blurt, "are you telling me not to go?" voice tainted in disbelief. and to even more of your disbelief, he does anything but relent. "i can't tell you to do anything but honestly, it's a really fucking dumb idea—"
your tone drops in warning, "jaemin, stop—"
"i'm not kidding, y/n. that party is literally asking to get people killed, don't just go throwing yourse—"
"—just stop. stop it, jaem. stop trying to fucking control me—"
"i'm not trying to control you, i'm jus—"
"what? looking out for me? is that what you're gonna say?"
catching your breath, you feel your frustrations boiling within you until you can't take it anymore. the slightest indication of tears begin to spill over and with it comes the rain, in broken and sharp-edged words.
"if you were really trying to look out for me, then maybe you should let me make my own decisions. i'm a fucking adu—"
"you and that 'i'm an adult' and 'i'm all independent' front that you put on all the time. be honest with yourself, please. why do you even hang out with people like them? or is it because of that— because you're lonely?"
he knows that he's struck a chord within you when you begin to choke up your sobs, hiccupping over your words, "shut up, jaemin, you...you don't know what you're talking about." and then you're gasping for air, unafraid of what he may think of you because you have never in your life, felt so powerless. to you, his mere presence is penetrating, his trained attention hollows out your insides, and though you still find yourself breathless under his stare, more than anything, you feel starkly vulnerable, unabashedly naked.
nevertheless, jaemin continues to pick apart your raw, exposed skin because in this moment, all he wants is to unearth the depths of you. he wants to peel you open, casually as he would an orange, and in the process drawing out the worst, the most vile, and the truest parts you have to offer. "is it?" he presses on.
jaemin is fueled by the idea of getting you to hate him. at any rate, that's the way it should be after he's led you on, toyed with your feelings, played pretend. but really, it's not the guilt that drives him. in the heat, he's convinced that he'll push your buttons until the very moment he's rid of you. because only then, only then does he believe he'll be absolved of his sins. only when you've forced him out of your life. just the way it should be.
"is it because you think you have to be one of them to fit in?"
and just the way it should be, your resolve snaps in two.
"okay yes. maybe i want to fit in. maybe all i want is a reputation. maybe— maybe i crave everyone's attention an- and validation. so what if that makes me a bitch? people like me, jaemin."
"y/n, people don't like you. people like when you go to parties with them and all your upperclassmen friends like that they have a freshie to corrupt when no one's looking and boys like that you let them throw themselves all over y—"
"are you saying that i'm a pushover now?!"
"yes, you're a fucking pushover. what else would you be?! all you do is say yes to everything they ask of you and let them drag you around when you know it's not worth it, and what's even worse is that you like it."
when the tears clear out of your eyes, jaemin comes to see that all that's left in them is fear. what he isn't quite sure of is whether you're more scared of him or rather yourself. now with that pang in your eyes and the hurt splayed across your face, jaemin must admit that he doesn't feel any more absolved than mere minutes ago. the floodgates open and it's only now that he's swamped in his own guilt because in the midst of everything, he'd neglected your feelings in place of his own. only he would feel relieved if he were to be cut from your life, but it would be the same as twisting a knife he'd planted in your side. only he would rest easy knowing that his past had not caught up to him, but in turn he would've carved out a past for you to run from. there is no immediate, nor eventual relief that comes from cutting you wide open.
there you sit, right across from him, gathering the littered pieces of your esteem and hoping and wishing that maybe a little later you could stitch them back together by hand, or by some drinks, or by a loud and noisy social gathering. and there you stand, one hand anchoring you to the rail and the other fumbling with the window latch, countenance steeled and voice guarded when you next speak, "well then i guess you must know i only ever wasted my time with you so i could tell everyone that we're fucking."
your last glance at him isn't wistful, nor is it solemn in any way. rather it's steeped and invigorated in spite, because in reality, not a word of the argument had arisen from his concerns of your safety, nor were you displeased at his attempts to keep you from going. all you know is that your throat is freshly hoarse from yelling lie after lie, your head is spinning from being stumped at every turn, your body is swaying from having to hold your weight upright. and to the boy at the center of all your love, your happiness, your troubles, and your world, all you had to say was, "goodnight, jaemin."
✧ 10 — YOU FUCKING BITCH! GIVE ME BACK MY HAIR!
the world came to a decisive standstill mid-march and with it passed the paling seasons of your first love. it's hard to say that you'd seen this coming. though in hindsight, you wondered why you were always late to the party.
"y/n, over here!" soojin holds up a half-empty glass of chugged beer and sets it atop the bar where you've come to sit. tucking your fake id into the left slip of your bra, you wave off her saliva-infused beer offering to call for something a little heavier. but before you could get out the first syllable of the jungle in jungle juice, a hand snakes its way around your waist, breath not far behind to breach the skin of your neck. fully sober, you're a thought away from swatting at the curious thumb of his that was currently fussing with the hem of your skirt, but you digress. you were here to have a little fun, not keep to yourself.
the night passes in flurries of drinks and boys who'd swap in and out as soon as they'd realize you weren't going home with them; it was too early in the night anyways. if you weren't held down at the bar by some frat boy, you were at the floor flitting between tables, flirting with any guy that sported a middle part and a decent jawline, and flinging yourself dramatically at their poorly timed jokes. the drinks made it so that the 'little fun' you were having became the time of your life, and the boys, boys, boys that you so loved to smother with your lips one second and trash the next were in fact, the highlight of your day. oh how low your standards had sunk.
you think that they might've plummeted even further the second you realized that the guy whose build you've been backed up into for the last two minutes actually had a name, and that his name was jangho. leaning down to mumble in your ear, his low voice comes out a bare whisper under the blasting music, "looks like you're having a lot of fun tonight, aren't you?" you turn in his grip, gaze lifting to meet his sharp features and playful smile. he's coy, you’ll give him that, but on this special night, how different could you be?
giggling and throwing your head back, the sparkle that catches in your eyes is a magnet for some lovin' and he yields with a few kisses pressed to your lips, then your jaw, and down to your neck. shutting eye, you relish in your drunken stupor of the pair of lips that felt so harsh, hurried, lustful, and different. all your senses were tuned in to this heated moment, and this moment only, no trace of past worries, lingering feelings, or hard-to-place affections. jangho parts for only a second and his eyes that fair unbelievably dark in the already dim light speak of things you already know, things you nod to, and things that have you following in tow as he leads the way out.
but before the two of you could make a break for fresh air, a hand clasps at the wrist that's not being grasped by jangho and jerks you around until you're facing them in full.
and with the same wrist, soojin yanks you right until you are face to face, nose an inch from her own. rancid breaths emit from the same mouth that utters with such vehemence that sends a series of chills down each vertebrae of your spine. "where the fuck do you think you're going?"
you knit your brows, "what does that have to do with you?" and tug twice at her knuckle-white grip until she drops your hand. jangho's released your wrist as well, the scene unfolding much more entertaining when acclimated with the growing crowd. soojin huffs, cocks her jaw and mutters just loud enough for the eavesdropping audience to hear, "you must have a thing for all the big fish, huh?"
and when all you have to offer is the thinning of your lips and an extra crease between your brows, she takes her liberties in adding on, with each word coated in a thick layer of tension, "first jaemin and then jangho, makes me wonder what the fuck you're up to." then, she brings a finger under your chin, jutting it upwards to match her eye level. her volume drops as she spits out her next words for only you to hear, "you're trying to gatekeep aren't you, fucking whore."
you know she has a fair amount of booze in her system, you know she's not particularly fond of you, you know she's been using you to get to jaemin. but then again, you're a good deal drunk as well, you've hated her since day one, and for all she knows, you're the one that's fucking jaemin and a possible jangho. so why is it that you're the one standing here, speechless, and having to soak in all her pissy, green-faced remarks? because you're younger than her? because she's the one who invited you? because her reputation would be ruined otherwise? bullshit.
slapping away her hand is a first, grabbing at her wrist comes second, and just before she could slip some snarky counter right under your nose, you beat her to it. "what about it? are you jealous?"
her free hand pulls back, forms a perfect pitcher's arc, and then comes sailing towards your right cheek. the slap procures a clear, clean-cut sound and from it is birthed a moment of silence, perhaps three or four seconds, of glaring and gaping and utter befuddlement, before all hell breaks loose.
your fist comes into contact with her nose as you wrench her wrist in the most unnatural direction it could go. her shrieks echo and bounce off the walls while all she can do is kick at your legs with her own, the stick of her stiletto scraping at the bare skin of your legs. and soon enough, you supplement her shrieks with curses and grunts of your own, manhandling her by the neck so that you could bring her into a measly chokehold. by some stroke of luck, she'd freed her wrist from your hold, the same wrist that now flies towards your face, long acrylics threatening to carve out your eyes. her other hand has taken purchase of your right ear, pulling and pulling until you swear your eardrums begin to bleed.
heavily inebriated, your drunken insults and spineless slander slur and string together as your hand grabs a fistful of her hair and pulls and pulls, just as she'd done, until you're sure her scalp has sprouted red. and seeing as how her hold on your ear and her scratchy nails on your face have yet to find their way back home, you round up as many brain cells together to formulate your ultimate one hit K.O., your last ditch effort to be rid of this skanky, two-faced excuse of a friend.
reeling your neck back as far as her grip would allow, you release your whole weight into your head, flinging it without half a thought as to how dumb this whole night had been, how annoying everyone in this room was, and how shitty your life had become. in that split second, the only thing that mattered was her red, botched-up nose: the target.
right as you strike the bullseye, fireworks eject on the backside of your eyelids, shooting stars rejoice, and when you reopen your eyes a smidgen to admire the masterpiece you've made out of her nose, your vision begins to spot black.
the last thing you recall before falling captive to the ground is the one and only, iconic phrase sums up your first, and hopefully last, full-blown and drunken cat fight. "YOU FUCKING BITCH! GIVE ME BACK MY HAIR!"
✧ 11 — IN SPITE OF EVERYTHING, THANK YOU.
you're sixteen again and your mom has hid your phone in the medicine cabinet after she found a pack of four condoms behind your laundry basket. you're sixteen and the sun is just barely rising when that boy from your calculus class finally takes his leave; you pray to god his foot doesn't catch the windowsill on his way out. you're sixteen again and your best friend forever gives you a worried look, "that's the best you could do?" and you shake your head, roll your eyes, keeping your insecurities from bubbling over as she retracts her pointed finger from that boy sitting two seats down. you duck your head before your calculus teacher catches your little chit-chatting, and when he turns back to the board, you turn back in her direction. "i told him no but he didn't listen," is what comes out of your mouth, you're lucky she's never had a knack for tracing lies.
you're sixteen when you get home later that day, your mom's got her hands on a little something she found in the trash can of your room. your mind tells you that you couldn't care less about what type of slut or street whore she saw you as but your heart cries out anyways. she still drives you to school the next day where you're met with whispers trailing down the hallways of how you'd been raped. it's then that you saw for the first time that the worried front she always put on looked a little more condescending than normal. or was it always like that?
you cried again, but not because you'd been "raped," but because you hadn't been, at all. nineteen-year-old you wants to tell you that you should be more concerned about having to set the record straight with the police, rather than the fact that that boy from your calculus class probably hates you now. what a shame that sixteen-year-old you has only ever thought of failure in being seen as less than what you advertised yourself to be.
you're nineteen when you wake up in the hospital. vision blurry, you catch sight of your mother tugging the far end of the curtain closed around your cot. vision clearing, she approaches you upon noting your consciousness. her face is drawn pleasantly, almost sneeringly so, and when she places a hand atop yours it feels anything but warm, anything but welcoming, anything but safe. it feels threatening. she gets to the point because she did not come to babysit her daughter, to accompany her, or even to make sure she was okay. you're lucky you don't take after her worst traits.
you're nineteen, right? the legal age is eighteen, you're an adult now. why am i still being notified whenever you get yourself into trouble? cross me off as your legal guardian before this happens again. everything you knew she had to say, everything she didn't have to say for you to know.
really, your mother came to give you an ultimatum. drop out and get a job at your father's business. financial support provided as long as you keep your head low. or, cut ties.
shifting your hand in hers, you give it a squeeze, "thank you for everything." your mother's eyes glint blank under the dingy light. she retracts her cold, distant hand. she retrieves her belongings from the cabinet beside your cot. she gives the incoming nurse a stiff nod. and she extracts herself from your life.
✧ 12 — IT ALL STARTS FROM HOME
unspoken, the tales of your first love are handwritten into the grated iron of those two fire escapes. how foreign it feels to lock the window on one.
suitcase tugged tight to your back, there's no need to beeline for the exit when nothing's in your way. no blue ottoman, no haphazard legs of a dresser, no faux fur rug. it troubles you how all the meager appliances you had gotten so used to in the placement of your room, your familiarity, support, has all dispelled into numbers back in your parent's bank account. how disappointing is the reality that the pillars that held you up when you let yourself fall can end up so spendable, so easily disposable.
you grimace when soojin opens the door to you, nose bandaged over. she's barely wearing anything and the rustling that comes from what you assume to be her room tells of much you wished you weren't prompted to think of. you think more of it when a man stumbles from the door down the hall with his t-shirt donned backwards and a calloused hand held up in a wave. she shows you to the couch, littered with her clothes and emptied chip bags shoved into its corners and you thank her with the smile you've always given. it's cheery and it's gracious and it's everything you wish you could feel genuinely in the moment.
the bin in the corner of the room is empty (at least there even is a bin) and it receives all the trash you had the energy to tidy up while the armchair beside the couch receives all the discarded clothing, most of which you're sure doesn't even belong to soojin. you haven't stumbled across any of her roommates and she herself had left long ago; it's a friday night and you suppose that with her and company alike, that trumps even lockdown. she'd even asked if you wanted to go with her, half-heartedly, eyes held to the floor with a flick of her fingernails. you declined but was surprised that she had enough propriety to ask such a thing in the first place. you're sure she's surprised that you had the gall to ask if you could stay at her place, rent-free, after a measly one-paragraph text for an apology.
it's ten in the night and then it's twelve and one turns to two and doubles into four but your eyes have been numbed to the ceiling and you're body can't seem to move past the draperies of seclusion you've hung about the couch claimed as yours. your little island in the sea of a messy room that isn't yours, a messy world in which you've left, a messy past that clings to you even after you've moved on.
you've always wondered what it would feel like to hit rock bottom. soul crushing, perhaps? maybe it'd feel like the end of the world, you thought. but it's now that you fully understand the roots of the idea of having nothing to lose. it's strangely quiet down here, and you move quietly through the days, stuffing tea bags into bottled waters and getting by on pre-packaged salads bought with a scanty wallet.
you dutifully attend your online lectures, and study hard for upcoming exams, while waiting for the day the school calls to let you know that your tuition is no longer being paid, please unenroll from your classes and return your textbooks. in the last two weeks, you watched your fulfilling love life succumb to your insecurities, your friends and family relinquish their support, and your livelihood be sucked from your living soul. having nothing to lose feels a little like that. it's quiet, it's undemanding, and it's eerily as unnerving.
in a week or two to come, soojin kicks you out because she isn't very nice; there's no need to elaborate on that except to say that she was hosting a party at her apartment. and that you didn't need to think twice before realizing that more than a construct of entertainment, it was simply devised to chase you out.
you're thrust upon the streets before you have any idea of where to turn to. no money to call for a cab back to the unwelcome doorstep of your parents' house, three hours outside the city center. no hotel, motel, hostel, b&b that could fit your modest budget. no friends to call up, to fall back on. no significant other, significant anything, a specific someone whose place you could crash out of the blue, without precursory notice.
what you're left with is perhaps the most eerie revelation you've ever happened upon. some cold saturday night under the light of a park bench, you're sat with your sole trace of identity and belonging — your suitcase — propped upon the ground before you. fingers fiddling with the cracked case of your phone, you swallow thickly the thought that two months ago you were content. four months ago, you were adjusting. six months ago, you were unrecognizable. now, you feel as if an imposter has since taken over your eyes, your ears, your mouth, your nose. now, you're faced with the inescapable passions of how you want to feel loved more than you've ever wanted to be alive.
perhaps— no, not even perhaps. for certain, it's that same revelation that has you digging through the suitcase. it never occurred to you that you didn't have his number, or that you didn't know any of his friends' either. hell, you don't even know what classes he takes other than the one you share. and even if you sought to stumble upon him in somewhat of a more organic setting, you'd still round about the same conclusion that the one indisputable fact you knew of his was simply his address, a knock on his door.
you give a weak smile before pulling out his blue-wash denim jacket from beneath your arm, and out with it comes the flimsy guise under which you've decided to reappear upon.
"i came to return this."
your eyes are half-lidded in a relenting haze, like you've given up, resorted, or sought refuge within the person in front of you. jaemin's eyes are half-lidded as well, though fresh from sleep and not from fatigue. his eyes, if someone could see them right now, they would think that he's looking at the most beautiful woman in the world. and they wouldn't be far from the truth for jaemin thinks just that: you are the most beautiful woman in the world.
in truth, sitting under the light of a park bench on some saturday night with nowhere to go and no one to call, you were the most surprised to note that somehow, the predicaments of your situation didn't bother you half as much as the gnawing leakage of your otherness. it felt as if the only thing more disappointing than lacking the funds to get food on the table, much less a roof over your head, was the fact that the most comfort you received in the night was a pitiful glance from a passerby.
at the tip of your tongue, you recall it like stripping wealth only to find greed, clawing past nights of passion only to stumble upon lust, or putting up with a friend who only ever saw you as competition. and though you've realized it, known it, and admitted it for however long, you've never felt it so upfront until everything you thought you had was suddenly out of reach, as if all your efforts to move on, to transcend yourself, had been fed to the gnawing butterflies in your stomach that so wished to be fondled and played with.
jaemin found you at his doorstep on some sunday morning. around 4, was it? he opened his arms wide because he knew you weren't there because you were dirt poor. he knew you weren't there because you needed a place to sleep. and he knew you weren't there because you had no one else who would support you. and true, he'd make up for all of those insufficiencies anyways but more than anything, jaemin knew that you were here because you were lonely.
so utterly and plainly lonely that one look into his eyes, one graze of his fingers along your wrist had your lips on his in such a fashion that one would have thought you were starved of his touch, parched of his lips, wilted from his love. "but you tried your best, didn't you?" and you nod into his neck, nestle into his chest, cry into his warmth. "then that's all that really matters, love."
door closed behind you, you'd come to realize through the holy hours of sunday morning that long gone was the cute guy next door turned fuck buddy. truly, na jaemin is the butter to your bread, the cup to your tea, the curtain to your window, and the breath to your heart.
✧ 13 — HOW IT ALL SHOULD HAVE STARTED
your back is against the door when the bell declares a new customer. stepping down to the last rung of the ladder after propping the last of the new lily shipments atop the shelf, the automated response is already making its way out of your mouth before you even know it. "hello, welcome to florist gump. what may i help you with today?"
busying with the fold-out ladder, you fail to take into account the identity of the incoming customer until he sounds aloud, "hi, i'd like to have something arranged for my girlfriend." back straightening, you turn towards the voice to see a kind-eyed jaemin and decide to play along, "may i ask if there is any occasion?" to which he only shakes his head and saunters close, taking the ladder from your hands and raising an eyebrow in question as to where he was to set it aside.
you point to the nook in the back of the register and follow suit as he makes his way over, wary of the security cameras for it was only a week ago where you'd been chewed out by your manager for letting an "unauthorized loiterer" into the back of the shop. not to worry, however, for jaemin returns back in authorized territory the passing moment afterwards, already engrossed in today's selection of florals and herbs alike. "then do you know if there's anything she likes in particular?"
jaemin chews down on his bottom lip, "hmm, unfortunately i don't," and then looks over at you in your pale yellow apron, hair clipped back from your face, "have any suggestions?"
a smile begins to form at the corner of your lips, not that the face mask you're wearing gives away anything, but you align yourself before browsing the shelves of the small shop yourself and stopping at the one nearest the window. with jaemin shadowing just above your shoulder — as any customer would act — you gesture towards a bundle of white daisies and accompany it with, "i'm sure she would love those."
and so those are the ones he buys, with nothing else to add to the bouquet, and while you wrap the arrangement with rough twine encircling newspaper scrappings, jaemin takes one of the boxes of chocolate near the register and passes it along your way, "and add these in too."
you look up at him, tugging the twine into a final bow, and offer a shy, thankful smile — a crease of your eyes. punching the numbers into the cash register, you receive his money, return his change, and give yet another smile (though this time it's a product of embarrassment) as he holds out both the flowers and the chocolates in your direction.
accepting them, you're a second away from telling him to drop the act when he speaks of possibly the exact opposite, "i think you're kinda cute, may i get your number?"
you fight the urge to laugh at him, that is until you realize that he's dead serious, sliding his phone across the counter, a new contact draft pulled up and everything. scoffing, you give him a pointed look matched with a disbelieving shake of your head, taking his phone in hand and thumbing in your number. it's not like he has it anyways.
in any case, what use could he have for it when you live on the left side of his bed? and in his itty-bitty four-hundred square foot studio, you're never very far out of reach. he'd be in class and you'd have a day off, arriving beside his desk just shy of the camera frame to hand him his freshly steeped black tea. and on days where his attendance was only required in the morning lectures, jaemin would stop by the shop and keep you company while you studied the origins and meanings behind a genera of flowers, sometimes doing nothing besides staring and taking up space.
he thinks that the language of flora suits you far better than any finance course could ever dare. and frankly, you think so too. you've since limited your circle of friends to your manager, a 60-year-old nifty granny and your most frequent customer, her toddler-aged grandson, the baker that makes jaemin's favorite focaccia bread at the bodega, and most recently, seo injae, your new neighbor. being the only one of your miscellaneous group of friends that's the same age as you, you think of injae as like your insider. she'll keep you in the loop on all the latest trends and for sleepovers only, you get a taste of what late night college boy-talk feels like, something you used to trade in for house parties and social minglings.
you lived your life loudly, in your own quiet way. things like sincerity that were once hard to come by are now principles with which you lead your life. your pursuits are fueled by intrinsic passions rather than the expectations of others and the way you love has stayed impeccably true. jaemin grounds you, not to the earth, but to yourself. and in doing so, he's helped you meet a version of yourself that you didn't think existed.
your mother will eventually call to ask how you've been doing, soojin will one day apologize for the scar she left on your right leg, and although you will never get the money back from your one and a half semesters of college, you think that just for now, you can rest easy knowing that the daises have found their way into a vase, proudly exhibiting an emblem of new beginnings.
✧ 14 — AND FROM THAT DAY ON, THE SEASONS NEVER CHANGED.
to say the least, baking a full-fledged cake in a tiny kitchen made up of just a sink, a stove, and a fridge with absolutely no counter space in between, is wholly and unmistakably unideal. that paired with your unorthodox method of baking — foregoing a recipe of any sort — is a recipe in itself for disaster. and when you hear the jangle of keys from just outside the door, you voice aloud the one intelligible string of words that your mind can come up with in this moment, " oh, fuck fuck fuck fuck…"
the door opens and you're forced to give your best smile, hoping it'll overshadow the mess you've made behind you. and it seems that it works, to an extent, for when jaemin nears in attempt at a hug, the entire wreckage you've kept hidden behind your back is exposed. retracting from the embrace, jaemin only chuckles as you perk up in hopes to deal with the damage, "i hope you're not too tired to help me clean."
oh, but you're almost sure that he's tired but you play your chances that a night out with his friends, for a birthday celebration of all things, gets him just drunk enough to say, "no, i'll help you with it." your signature cheeky smile makes its appearance as he sets down the plastic bag you didn't notice he was holding to get to the dirty dishes. "what'd you buy?" and he shrugs, "just a little something for you."
you look up from the contents of the bag to the time on the clock above the bed — 12:24 AM it reads — and then from the clock to your boyfriend at the sink. "well you're a speedy one aren't you? twenty-four minutes into your twenty-first year and you've already got your hands on some legal alcohol." and not only that, it's your favorite. the one your crazy cool aunt always brings to family gatherings, the modern times fruitlands canned beer.
jaemin finishes up cleaning after your mess as you busy yourself with setting the table, or rather dragging out the wide stool that you and him have been using to create your makeshift dining room on the floor of your kitchen. he settles down a little after you've finished and the two of you pop open your own cans of beer, clinking before drinking. whereas jaemin was only slightly buzzed before, this second round has him a giggly emotional fit within the first ten sips.
before you know it, he's on his back, tracing imaginary shapes into the ceiling with the tip of his index finger and you bet your ass you're right beside him, doing your best to guess whatever it is that he's currently drawing. this time, it's a beluga whale and the next, it's the mug that you frequent and every time he surprises you with something completely spontaneous and unpredictable. he's just like that when he's intoxicated; jaemin's a happy drunk.
and by the time his arm has exhausted itself and has fallen back to his side, you reach over to clasp his hand in yours, squeezing lightly. he'll be asleep within the next two minutes, maybe even less but before then, you ask him, "so what do you want for your birthday?"
jaemin steals a glance at you, in all his drunken glory, and out spills word by word, "i wanna go dinnerware shopping with the love of my life."
✧ author’s note — as none of you may know, 'blue world' was posted as a 400 follower special — a milestone that i hit over five months ago — but i digress because it is particularly special to me and most likely not to you. for the first time in awhile, i sat down and wrote a story that i wanted to tell my readers. i don't know you, i don't know what you've been through, are going through, or have yet to go through. i don't know what keeps you up at night and i can't tell you that everything is going to be okay. what i know is that quarantine has affected each and every one of us in its own unique way, and all i want is for this story to accompany you whenever you feel that your best isn't enough. 400 hundred followers is a lot to me, and only in the sense that i haven't enough fingers to count it on. every note that i've received feels like an affirmation that i'm doing well, that i'm doing okay, that i am enough and quite plainly for that, thank you. to the silent readers, to those who scream in the replies and to those who simply leave a like, thank you. the world is a little brighter, a little lovelier with you around. i'm sure of it.
☆ baby taglist — @wonciel-main (send in an ask to be added to my general!)
Tiktoker! Jaemin wiped a tear from his slightly bloodshot eyes as he faced towards the camera on his phone which was recording his every move. He sniffled as he wiped away his tears with the back of his hand, his pupils looking up to prevent more tears from streaking down his cheeks like a leaking water tap. Clearing his throat, he pulls up the courage to finally speak up considering its been five seconds since he pressed the start button on the now recording screen.
"Guys," he swallowed, his voice going hoarse, lowering an octave as he tried to remain calm. "It appears that my girlfriend-," he looked down at the floor, sniffling once again as he wiped another tear from his left eye. "It's official, I think my girlfriend doesn't love me anymore," he frowned, pressing his lips together to form a firm pout.
"Hey, I never said that!" You exclaimed defensively from across the room.
Jaemin spared a glance at you before quickly grabbing his phone and flipping the camera so that it's recording you. You were across the room, sitting with your legs crossed on your study chair as you proceeded to snack on a tub of your favorite ice cream with Jaemin's mint green hoodie snuggling your whole figure. It seemed that you were having a relaxing day until Jaemin decided to film another tiktok for the week.
"Then what exactly did you say?" Jaemin spat back, his adorable, pouty self now standing a few meters in front of you as you rolled your eyes at your petty boyfriend. You let out an annoyed groan before pointing your spoon at him, waving it in circular motions as you gave him an incredulous glare.
"I just asked you to the dishes next weekend because I have to go visit my parents, for Pete's sakes!" You exclaimed, grumbling as you took another scoop of your ice cream. "Potato tomato! You know how much I hate doing the fucking dishes," your boyfriend whined, deepening his pout as he zoomed in on your perplexed figure, trying his best not to coo at you when you pursed your lips and furrow your brows at him.
"Jaemin, it's just one time! One! Ti-"
"Oh my god, you didn't even call me Nana?! Are we divorcing right now?"
— wayv reaction to you getting upset on their behalf
p : wayv × fem!reader | g : fluff, humor, established relationship!au | w : none but it starts off with the members being distressed + I swore in like every other sentence oml
a/n : Oml it's 1:35 am as I finished this BDHDVHDDBJDHD GONNA STAY IN YANGYANG BRAINROT FOR THE REST OF THE NIGHT FUCK
requested by anon here
[★] kun
he'd insist he's okay
definitely wouldn't show that he's tired or going through a hard time
but you can see the tiredness in his expression you're not stupid ಠಗಠ
so, as its natural, you got upset seeing him like that
you'd try to make him some tea, but the way you're making it just gives it away
woman stop smacking the pots and pans (╯_╰)
he'd laugh tbh
tiredly pull you into a back hug as you pour the tea into a mug and grumble under your breath
He knew you loved him but watching you get this angry really made his lil wil heart go (｡･ω･｡)ﾉ♡
EHE it was so cute HEHEHSKDHJ
he'd convince you to cuddle with him, and in return you wouldn't be mad anymore bc then he's happy :D
a cutie tbh
husband material right there ladies and gentlemen I sense a marriage coming up
[★] ten
MY MAN
OKAY so ten
I see ten as someone who doesn't really show how tired he is either
but maybe this time, he enters the house REALLY late
LIKE REALLY REALLY late
and you're falling in and out of sleep and you hear the door so
You get up and walk out to see him barely carrying himself (｡•́︿•̀｡)
so over angry, you're more worried
you go and place an arm around him to help his balance and try to loosen the layers on him as you move him towards the bedroom
He'd keep mumbling what happened and why he's tired and that he wishes he could fall asleep oml my heart hurts writing this :(
so you hum and tuck him under the covers and go and get some hot instant soup (ﾉﾟ0ﾟ)ﾉ
soup always makes everything feel better (◡ ω ◡)
once he's safe in the bed and you give him the soup, you skip over and slide underneath the covers with him
you watch him explain everything as he sips
you encourage him to sleep and pat his forehead (so there's this thing our grandparents did, they'd keep their hands on our foreheads and pat it lightly and magically you'd start feeling sleepy so same concept here)
but as he notices, he bursts out sleepy smiling
"you're so cute omg"
probably would end up falling asleep with the soup bowl in his hands as he mutters "when I wake up, let's get married"
WHY AM I ENDING THESE WITH A MARRIAGE PROPOSAL IM SORRY
[★] winwin
OML SICHENG LOML
Okay so
I see this guy getting angry outwardly
He'd show it
and that's probably how YOU noticed too
I see him angry over sad typa dude
So when he sees you getting angry with him, he's low-key all smiles but inside
I think he'd most probably say something like "cmere, lean on my shoulder and tell me how much you'll fuck em up for making me feel this way"
let's get angry together type shit
Oml I live for this
At some point he'd even forget about the problem itself bc he's sO ABSORBED in listening to you ramble with the cutest pout on your lips
probably steal a kiss or two
so you'd be sounding like "so so so then, I'll *pause bc kith* I'll get em bc how dare they do *pause bc kith* this to you, don't they see how *pause bc kith* how hardworking you are >:(((("
AHEJWGJDB in the end he'd just pat ur head like ( ´◡‿ゝ◡`)
SO FUCJUNG CUTE AAAHAUCDJD
[★] lucas
can I just mention that I've never seen this 6ft tall bb mad
he's SO CUTE AND FLUFFY
so I guess he'll just be all :(((
when his knight in shining armor aka, u, come walking into the room humming
And see uR bb sad :(
so ur like >:OOOOO
"WHO DID THIS TO YOU? *slams hands on table* TELL ME RIGHT NOW YUKHEI"
AND YOU'RE GENUINELY MAD it's not like you're acting or some shit YOURE ABOUT TO BLOW
but he smiles so big when he sees you react like that like AWEEEEEEEEEEEE :( for :( me :((
so he just grabs you and cuddles you close to him (*´ω｀*)
"I feel much better now that you're here"
"no but I'm serious who made you upset"
"shut up lemme be sappy and dramatic first"
INSISTS you don't kill the person(s) who did this bc he doesn't wanna have to see you in jail
so you agree, ONLY FOR HIM OKAY if he said go kill, yOUD GO KILL
Protect this bb at all costs
HE JUST LOVES HOW YOURE WILLING TO DO ANYTHING FOR HIM WUWUWUUWWU he's so smol
[★] xiaojun
loves it LOVES IT LOVES IT
I mean AJAKAHSJRHFIFHFIDHEIEH
L O V E S IT
he'd watch you silently
this is after the discussion happened
like drinking water while you stir something in a stove aggressively
Like >:(((( "and you just lET THEM DEAL WITH YOU THAT WAY?"
he'd get that you're just worried for him so he'd just smile at you real bright
hug u too and kithes
"forgive 🥺 me 🥺 baby 🥺"
AND WHO ARE YOU TO BE MAD AT HIM HUH
He's melting at your reaction JAJAVSJDVDJ SAVE ME HES PRECIOUS
[★] hendery
MY BELOVED
hendery's usually very loud and poppy
affectionate
but when he's quite and not smiling u know something's up
so you're wary about it, curious and ready to look for solutions!
you squeeze next to him as he's scrolling through the rows of movies on the tv
"hey," you whisper, "What's wrong, love?"
"nothing"
oKAY NOW YOU'RE READY TO GET THIS MF WHO UPSET HIS MOOD
That's your BOYFIE OKAY >:((
Hendery usually talked to you about his issues at work but when he's completely ignoring it, you decide to give him time
quiet hendery is scary
so you'd sit next to him and watch him silently grumble and put his head in your lap angrily (≧▽≦)
"I demand you play with my hair >:("
he loves your fingers just massage all the pain away
LETS MASSAGE THE PAIN AWAY DA DA DA DA DA DA DAAAA
slowly, you'd move your hands down to the back of his neck (psst! He's ticklish!)
and RAAAAA TICKLE FIGHT!
he'd YELP!
it'll turn into something way cuter soon
hed forget all about it bc he's too busy tickling u
later when you both are too tired of laughing, you'd sit down panting next to each other and be like
"omg I forgot I was angry lmfao"
BDIAGSIDHDI
[★] yangyang
Another one of them angry >>> sad bois
he'd get quiet
but he's trying not to show his anger bc if he does, it'll bLOW
So he just angrily does his normal yangyang boi things
and you notice he's clutching things way to harder than normal
Mister sir why are your knuckles so mf white ಠಿ_ಠ
so eventually, you'd ask and end up getting yangyang spilling everything to you
How precious oml yangyang my boyfie
he'd notice you upset with him bc you're sympathetic
he'd appreciate that a lot
It's not that he'd start cuddling you or making out on the spot
But more of sitting together and just absorbing the comfy silence with each other's presence
He'd like that
In the end after a while, he'll be folding his laundry and his mind would just be "oml oml oml oml oml oml so sos SOSKSOSOSOOSOSOSO THOUGHTFUL HELP"
might or might not have to suffocate a scream bc HOW CUTE
after his laundry is folded, he'd be on his way with take out!
Late night chicken bb >:33
I guess he'd react way less outwardly
But his affection is still there, you can see my mans is showing it
Just differently
I think that's very cute
main taglist (hmu to get added) : @wonciel-main @kisshim @allegxdly @stayctday @yunntext @neotism @jungwon-luv-bot-pt3 @bluejaem @leetaeyonglover @radiorenjun @sleepylixie @oifelixcmerebrou @coffeevddict @mrkcore @imdamnconfused @reinjunn @sicluvz @hyuckefi
I'd appreciate if you'd give me a little feedback on the drabble if you read, whether it's an ask, a reply or in the tags of the rb! Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed!
author’s note: It’s here! I actually wrote most of this last summer, but only recently did I find the time to edit and get it ready to be posted. I added some parts and changed a few things, and now I like it quite a lot, so I hope you do as well! Thank you @astroboy-lele for beta-reading :) As always I would love to hear any feedback on this, and I hope that you enjoy the fic!
Thank you lovely Ana @rvse-hvvck for this additional header!
Donghyuck knows everything there is to know about those blueberries.
Without even pausing for the briefest of moments to think, to instinctively recall the information instilled in him throughout his childhood spent on the farm, he can answer any question that’s thrown at him. He can point out just the right color of berry to pick so that they’ll be ripe when you eat them later. Likewise, he can also tell you which ones are best to eat now, as you pick them, pretending not to notice when you pop one or two into your mouth and grinning when your eyes light up from the sweetness.
A day comes where he, filled with mischief as usual, places a not-so-ripe blueberry into your hand, and you, being so wrapped up in the peacefulness of the morning that surrounds you, fail to notice its red color and don’t think twice about lifting it to your lips, biting into it with your teeth. When the tart taste meets your tongue, your face contorts into an expression that elicits a raucous fit of laughter from him. You’re the first one in the fields that day. When the sun had risen on the horizon, the fleeting touch of color in the sky that dawn left behind still lingering above, he had been there, sitting on the front porch as always to greet customers.
Donghyuck knows every bug that loves to rest on the branches of the blueberry bushes. After spending so much time next to you as you scan them for the pops of vivid blues and purples that are hidden behind jade green leaves, he begins to learn that you are not fond of any bug, no matter how harmless. It’s cute, he thinks, how you inspect every berry that you drop into your basket, fearing that some small creature is lurking on it. If you do find something, he hears a small noise of both surprise and disgust before you fling the perfectly good berry away from you. It also hurts a little, knowing that it’s one less for you to take home.
When more people arrive at the farm after you, he’s forced to leave your side and get them started on their own search for the delicious fruit that’s nestled among the branches of nearly every bush. And if they ask where the best ones are, he specifically points them in the direction of the fields where you aren’t. It isn’t a lie, really, because they’ve had a good harvest everywhere this year.
...Okay, so maybe it’s a little selfish on his part, but who can blame him for wanting you to have some of the most plentiful bushes all to yourself?
Wednesdays are his favorite because it’s always the least crowded of all the mornings they’re open for business, and he can spend more time following you as you make your way down the rows, admiring the focus on your face and the way that you sometimes pause mid-reach, closing your eyes and standing still as the sun peeks through the clouds and casts its warm glow down onto the farm. A gentle sigh tumbles from your lips, darkened by the violet nectar that remains from the countless blueberries that have crossed their usually pink-tinted threshold. You resume your search after a few seconds, catching his eye and returning a smile he didn’t even know was there.
He makes the berries taste a little sweeter when he’s next to you. The purple juice that stains your fingers is a little darker. The sun feels brighter and warmer than ever, its heat shining down onto your skin.
One particular morning, after you finish picking all the blueberries you can carry, you decide to accompany Donghyuck on the porch, sitting beside each other in matching rocking chairs that first belonged to his great-grandparents, the farm’s founders. The familiar sounds of birds chirping and the low mumbling amongst customers meet your ears. You both gaze fondly at the horizon while immersed in casual chatter, all the while tending to several families as they come and go.
Whenever a car turns off of the two-lane, paved road and onto the noisy gravel path leading into a small grassy area that functions as a parking lot, Donghyuck excuses himself from the lively conversation both of you always find yourselves sharing. He stands, brushing his hands off on his faded denim overalls that are only slightly too large for his frame. His hand lifts up the baseball cap he always wears while the other runs through his hair, and your gaze falls on the back of his neck where it rests in longer strands. You always wonder why he keeps it like that since he complains about how hot it makes him feel. The humid summer air is stifling enough as it is, after all. The thought vanishes only moments after it arrives, though, and he flashes a brilliant grin at you over his shoulder as he descends the wooden stairs leading down to the patio.
Today, a happy looking family gets out of a shiny silver minivan. The mother and father with two kids, a boy and a girl, make their way toward the covered patio and Donghyuck bounds down the steps like always, grabbing 4 stacked pails in his calloused hands. You lean forward a little in the creaky old rocking chair, your weight in your toes, ears just barely picking up his conversation with them. He greets the parents warmly, shaking their hands and then he kneels down to be eye-level with the small children. The little boy seems shy as he clasps his fingers in front of him, thumbs twiddling back and forth, while his sister is clearly the opposite. She skips over to the much taller boy, saying hello.
“Do you two like blueberries?” He asks them, one arm resting on his knee and the other extending a pail out in front of him. The young girl nods enthusiastically before she takes the container from his hand and turns around, passing it to her brother as he nods, making eye contact with Donghyuck for the first time. A small smile grows on his face when he’s met with the wider one of the unfamiliar but still welcoming stranger. His sister speaks up again, “Every Friday we get to help Mom make her famous blueberry pie!”
“Is that right?”
“Yep! In the morning we always go to the supermarket and get fresh blueberries,” she explains. Her mother leans down, softly telling her that this week they’re here to pick blueberries instead, fresh from the farm they were grown on.
“Really? So that means we’re not buying them at the store anymore?”
“Well, honey, today we can pick enough blueberries to last us for a whole month’s worth of blueberry pies.”
“And besides,” Donghyuck starts, still kneeling on the ground next to her, his boot leaving an imprint in the dirt underneath it, “it’ll taste even better since you picked them yourselves, don’t you think?” The boy punctuates his question with a wink.
The young boy steps up for the first time, grin stretching even wider as he finds the courage to happily agree with the wise words. Exclaiming eagerly and in a way that only a child can, he takes his sister by the hand that’s not holding his small bucket before scurrying off, their parents close behind after grabbing pails for each other as well as a third that their daughter had forgotten in the midst of the excitement.
As Donghyuck joins you on the porch once again, you can’t help but smile as you remember how he interacts with each and every customer that passes through the weathered fence surrounding the property. When he talks to kids in particular, his eyes seem to light up, and you see just how much of a kid he still is deep down. His playfulness never fails to make an appearance whenever you spend time with him.
You’re thankful for the moo of a cow in the distance that interrupts his question of why you’re smiling like an idiot and hopefully drowns out the steady sound of your pounding heart.
The next week he tells you that the rest of his family is out of town, and he’s been left with the responsibility of running the farm all on his own. He usually does most of the work himself these days anyway since he’s getting older and more mature, although some of his jokes say otherwise. You miss the way his mom would poke her head out of the upstairs window of the main house, calling out a greeting to you both from across the property, overjoyed at the sight of her son spending time with the particular customer he’s mentioned so many times before. Whether he would share an amusing anecdote of yours with his siblings at the dinner table or point out something that reminded him of you, it was far too easy for her to figure out how he feels about you.
In an effort to spend more time with him, keep him company and just help out in general, you offer to stay at the house with him for a little while. Or at least until his family gets back from their trip, and to your delight, he agrees. You arrive in the late evening, on a day when the fields are closed, just in time to catch the setting sun as it disappears behind the trees and power lines that seem to stretch for miles in the distance. Tugging an overnight bag of belongings with you, you knock twice on the wood of his front door.
It opens swiftly and Donghyuck welcomes you inside, wearing an apron that he must have outgrown 10 years ago, at least. You snicker at the snug choice of attire and he shoves your shoulder, though not with enough force to make you stumble. He whines a little in that saccharine-sweet voice of his that makes your heart clench, but you don’t give in. Not this time.
When the farm is closed for the day, the family has a chance to pick from some of the bushes that are planted in a more secluded area, all to ensure that they also have a big enough supply of the fruit to last them for the season. So Donghyuck had woken up at the crack of dawn, although you aren’t sure why. He had made his way downstairs and out into the dewy air of the morning, gathering just enough blueberries to bake a cobbler that night when you came over, since he’d learned it was your favorite treat after hours of conversation about anything and everything. The recipe comes straight from his great-grandfather, he informs you, and it’s written on a yellowing piece of paper in handwriting that you couldn’t read even if you tried. He, however, can somehow decode the seemingly nonsensical swirls and lines on the page. You suppose it’s part of the magic of the family recipe that gets passed down with it.
Donning an apron yourself, you join him at the sink as you begin washing the berries, gently grabbing a handful at a time as you let the tap water clean them. When you both reach into the large container at the same time, your hands brush and you almost scoff at the swell of your heart that you feel inside your chest.
As you’re working together to make the batter that you will soon pour into his mother’s finest glass baking pan, Donghyuck briskly swipes his fingertip on the side of the bowl where the mixer had splattered the combined ingredients, extending it in your direction. You raise an eyebrow at the boy and said fingertip before turning your head away.
“If you really think that I would lick that off your finger, then you’re terribly mistaken.”
Coyly, the mischief-maker in question retorts back as you glance at his impishly delighted expression. “Are you sure?”
“Positive,” you state rather firmly, but matching the mirth in his eyes with a glimmer of amusement in your own. “I’ll settle for the spatula, thanks.”
“Suit yourself.” Donghyuck rolls his eyes, your answer completely expected. At least he tried.
You won’t deny that you enjoy sampling a bit of the batter of a dessert as much as anyone. But not that much.
Left with no choice, he takes himself up on his own offer and sticks his finger into his mouth with an audible ‘pop,’ exaggerating the action just to get a rise out of you, feeling the upward curl of his lips when you react ever so slightly with a silent chuckle.
You’re adding the last bit of flour to the mixture when you accidentally get some of the powdery substance on your hand in the process. Turning the automatic mixer off, you momentarily forget about your stained skin and you make the mistake of wiping your face with the back of your wrist, smearing the white stuff on your cheek. Donghyuck notices, of course, and an innocent attempt to help clean up the mess only ends with the two of you blushing like crazy.
“Let me help you,” he speaks up.
“Don’t be ridiculous, the pan’s not that heavy, and even if it was, I’m strong enough anyway—”
You’re about to pick up the glassware but his sudden strides over to you from across the large kitchen cause everything you were saying, doing, and thinking to come to a complete stop. You’ve never really had a problem with personal space before, but right now he’s leaning down and his face is so close that you’re afraid to even breathe for fear that the action might just throw you off balance and towards him. For fear that you might not push his chest away with your hands if that happens.
He’s bending his knees to match your eye level and his hand lifts from its place at his side, hovering in midair not far from where the flour still lingers on your skin. His eyes had been so focused on the stain but the shrinking proximity between you and him pulls his gaze from your cheek to your eyes, blown wide and confused because you still have no idea that there’s something on your face.
The undoubtedly palpable tension in the room almost reaches down his throat and pulls the words from his vocal chords in an effort to dispel the heavy air circulating around the both of you.
“There’s… uh… you have flour…”
Donghyuck still hasn’t broken the less than comfortable eye contact, but he’s unable to look away for reasons unknown to him. After an agonizing amount of seconds your brain switches on again, albeit slowly, and you’re able to properly process the position you’re currently in. Your own hand starts to lift and though the movement is slight, it’s enough to draw his eyes down to it and he finds the strength to complete his goal at last.
His thumb swipes across your cheek and without even thinking he pops it into his mouth once again, forgetting about the unpleasant taste of flour. The way that the boy’s face scrunches up when the bitter powder meets his tongue doesn’t eliminate the awkwardness completely, but it’s a start. You hastily make an effort to avert your gaze as you frantically wonder if he caught your face that’s surely as warm as a blazing fireplace, all because he did the unthinkable with that stupid finger of his.
You won’t let yourself dwell on how his hand is just the right size to cradle the side of your head, or how much nicer his lips look up close, or how they must taste like the blueberries that he snuck into his mouth as you made the cobbler, or how you wished he had used his lips on your cheek instead of his thumb.
How you wish he had closed the almost nonexistent distance between your flushed faces.
These thoughts do nothing to ease the steadily growing heat that’s currently taking over your skin. Your eyes land on the glass pan and you take the opportunity to grab it, acting as a sort of distraction for your mind and also as something to snap you both out of your embarrassed hazes.
You get the finished dessert into the oven with no trouble after that, and now you have a little over half an hour of time to kill before it’s ready, so Donghyuck leads you into the nicely furnished family room and plops down onto the plush couch. When you don’t immediately follow he glances up at you, sensing that you’re still hesitant after the awkward moment. He smiles softly and almost apologetically, as if he’s sending a silent signal that you’ll both move past it soon enough, an invitation to put the incident behind the two of you. And you accept it.
You take a deep breath before you sit down next to him, sinking into the cushions underneath and behind you. The material dips slightly under the weight of both your bodies and gravity itself seems to be in control as it pushes you together, shoulders bumping and the sides of your legs being pressed up against each other. Thankfully, the television roars to life with the laughter of a live audience on one of your favorite shows, and you exhale a puff of air you didn’t even know you were holding in. With every scene that lights up the large display, you curl up further and further into his side, his arm migrating across the back of the sofa and winding around your shoulder only a few centimeters at a time.
This feels like home. Donghyuck feels like home.
The buzzer of the oven interrupts when you’re halfway through another episode, prompting you to jump to your feet just as abruptly as the alarm-like noise had started blaring. Consequently his arm flops down by his side as he mentally curses the loud intrusion into what had become a comfortable atmosphere, an atmosphere that was finally surrounding you again after what felt like an eternity but had really only been an hour.
In no time, you’re returning from the kitchen, the warm blueberry contents of the cobbler oozing out onto the flowery pair of plates you had grabbed from the cupboard. Handing one to him and setting the other aside for yourself, you quickly go back around the corner to grab two tall cups of cold milk. Your second time joining him on the couch comes more easily, almost all of the earlier tension having dispersed into the room, wafting out the windows along with the delicious scent of the fruit baked into the sweet, flaky crust. In fact, you’re fairly sure that it’s strong enough for even his neighbors down the road to smell. Which reminds you: you need to package some up to deliver to them tomorrow, per Donghyuck’s suggestion.
You’re most definitely sure that he smells the aroma, of course, because it’s hard to ignore the eagerness with which he takes a large bite of the dessert. “We make better bakers that I thought we would,” the boy comments, taking a sip of milk. The white mustache that it creates above his top lip when he lifts the glass to his mouth is enough to make you giggle, and you’re unaware that this predictable reaction was his objective all along. He grins, rather satisfied.
With your stomach now full, a head-plaguing drowsiness begins to set in. It slowly fills your senses enough for you to drift off, fork nearly falling out of your hand and onto the floor before he catches it, along with your weight when you slump down against his shoulder. Donghyuck is barely able to reach one of the end tables, and he sets the dishes and silverware down next to the now empty cups. Your body unconsciously clings to his like a koala to a branch, with both hands clutching one of his arms and a leg hooked over his thighs.
He takes one look at you and wishes he could pause time, to stay here forever. It’s not every day that he meets someone who can easily match the amount of snark he possesses. Simultaneously, you also balance out the friendship you share with your compassion and sense of wonder about the world, always evident in your morning routine when you come to the fields. Donghyuck has noticed that you bring out those same qualities in him, perhaps more than anyone else ever has. And just like you’re holding him right now, he vows to hold on to you.
As much as he doesn’t want to get up and for the evening to progress, he knows he should, that it has to. So he manages to detach from the hold of your limbs, gently pushing himself up and off of the couch so he doesn’t disturb you.
Glancing at the large antique clock above the doorway that leads out into the hall, Donghyuck realizes it’s much later than he thought. He decides to turn in for the night, but on a regular day he usually finds himself still awake well past midnight, despite the need to wake up early the next morning and run the farm from the crack of dawn.
Since you’re tired and he doesn’t want to risk you waking up alone in an unfamiliar bed and place, he comes to the conclusion that he’ll join you. Only leaving your side for a moment, he puts the cobbler into the refrigerator and turns off the kitchen lights behind him as he goes. Softly padding halfway up the stairwell, Donghyuck makes sure there’s enough light for him to see where he’s going before making his way back into the living room one last time. He tucks one arm underneath both of your bent knees as tenderly as he can, and places the other behind the middle of your back, hand gently curling against your waist. He carries you with probably the most delicacy he’s shown in his entire life.
Going upstairs is generally an easy task, but doing so while carrying another person is a different story. He would never forgive himself if he were to hurt you in any way. If even your foot happened to bump the wall next to you, a burst of frustration at himself and his own carelessness would surface regardless of the impact’s intensity
Your position in his arms gives him yet another opportunity to gaze upon your peaceful expression, and he begins to think more deeply about what you are to him. Looking forward to your visits makes his work so much more enjoyable and worth it. You’re someone who truly appreciates what he and his family do for a living and you faithfully support them with your business as a customer whenever you can, which is a rare thing to find in most people that come. Most are just bored and in need of something to occupy themselves or their kids. Sometimes they don’t even pick that many berries. But you always make sure to bring your own basket, which holds just as many as if not more than the ones the farm provides, and fill it to the brim. In his eyes, you’re special.
Amidst the mostly-asleep state that you’re in, your eyes just barely open far enough to see a blurry picture of Donghyuck’s face as he carries you through the house and up into the bedroom he had suggested you share. He sets you down onto the soft mattress before pulling the covers up to your stomach, retreating into the attached bathroom to quickly change into a thin t-shirt and his favorite pair of plaid pajama pants.
The memory of that conversation floods back to you. Initially, you refused the offer, saying that he would rest better if he had more space to move around. But being the clingy person he is, he had pouted desperately as you struggled to stand your ground in the discussion. “Fine,” you had huffed, only half-frustrated with those doe eyes he always uses to get his way, and your lips had great difficulty holding back a smile.
The hum of electricity that can be heard emanating from the next room snaps you out of these thoughts, and is enough to wake you up a bit more. Your gaze scans the surroundings for a minute or two before he opens the door again, his eyes now looking as heavy as your own.
Donghyuck joins you under the blanket and shifts to lay on his side, facing you. It’s funny that you’re both able to adjust to a situation so intimate and new almost instantly. Still on your back, your head turns and you’re conscious enough to raise an eyebrow at the boy. There’s that pout again.
“Please?” He mumbles, his bottom lip jutting out in an action he’s perfected. You know exactly what he’s after: cuddles.
You don’t even try to hide the playful roll of your eyes as you scoot a little closer, but it’s not close enough for him. He gets impatient, meeting you halfway, and this time it’s him that flings a leg over yours. An endearing, small noise of contentment from him fills your ears as you take notice of his arms, now interlocked behind your neck and around your shoulders. You melt into the snug position, a hand landing on his forearm that’s laying across your chest. Turning ever so slightly to the side, your other hand winds around his middle and eventually rests just above his hip, pulling him into you even more. Donghyuck nuzzles his face into the side of your neck, a few strands of your hair tickling his skin as he sighs in complete and utter bliss.
Determined to savor the moment until the irresistible inevitability of slumber starts to overtake you once more, you fight to stay awake with all of your might. But in what you thought was only the blink of an eye, the glittering stars visible through the bay window’s sheer drapes morph into the pale golden rays of first light. There’s a soft murmur of your name along with an unintentional, almost imperceptible peck to the place where his lips meet your skin, and you’re wide awake. Not to mention a little shocked.
He’s utterly unfazed, though, slowly waking up now that the sun has gotten brighter, its beams filtering into the room and hitting his already glowing face that becomes a gorgeous honey-colored hue.
Donghyuck reluctantly withdraws his arms from your form after one last embrace, effortlessly rising from the wrinkled bed sheets and offering his hand to you when you start to do the same. A sleepy smile makes a home on his features and he reminds you of your task to deliver a portion of the dessert you made to his next-door neighbors.
That’s exactly what you do, first making yourselves presentable in the bathroom by smoothing down wild bed hair and freshening up your faces with cool water. Being around to see each other’s natural morning states is a major act of trust, and he doesn’t miss an opportunity to poke fun at you for it.
“How long does it normally take for you to do your hair every day before you come here?” His tone is dripping with feigned innocence, but the sly grin on his lips says otherwise.
“Shut up, Hyuck.”
Tupperware container in hand, your shoes step in rhythm with his as you amble along the grassy shoulder of the street together. Somehow you end up hand-in-hand by the time you reach his neighbors’ front patio.
“Donghyuck!” The elderly woman at the door greets him with a twinkling voice, her husband coming into view soon after. “Look who it is, honey,” she motions fondly to the boy who they both once knew to be much shorter and younger, but now is all grown up before their eyes. “You’re getting so tall. It seems like only yesterday you were scurrying through the blueberry fields and waving to us through the gaps in the fence.”
“Yes ma’am, it does,” he responds politely. The couple has been living there for as far back as he can remember, and quite honestly they feel as if they’ve become part of his family, too.
Her warm brown eyes light up. “Is this the customer your mother was telling me about last week? She mentioned how close you’ve become, and now I’m finally seeing it for myself. You make a lovely pair.”
“Oh—” Donghyuck startles. Not much can get him flustered, but he hadn’t exactly been anticipating for his mom to recount all the things he’s said about you to the sweetest and most innocent of elderly couples. Of course they would assume that there’s something going on.
Not that there’s anything wrong with that, with you. He wouldn’t mind at all, really. He’ll just need to have a word about a little thing called privacy with his mother later.
You see the glint of panic in his eyes and speak up. It’s not often he makes such an easy target for teasing. “Thank you,” you state graciously, the smugness in the statement only noticeable to him. “We’re very happy together.” He feels you lean into him, fingers unwrapping from his and gripping the other side of his waist. You know exactly what you’re doing, and so does he.
Almost forgetting to hand over the slices of cobbler you’d cut earlier, Donghyuck nudges you to do so, and the four of you exchange thanks and farewells before you’re on your way back to the farm.
“Happy together, huh?”
“Shut up, Hyuck.” You mumble something else afterwards that he doesn’t quite catch.
“What’s that? Didn’t hear you,” he sings, stopping in his tracks. You do the same. “Shut up and what?”
“...And kiss me.”
After many days and many nights spent wondering, you can confirm that his lips do, indeed, taste as sweet as the blueberries in those fields.
<< P: NCT Jaehyun x fm!reader | G: angst, fluff, superhero!au, domestic!au, parent!au | WC: 0.7k | W: one swear word | A/N: wrote this with half a brain cell so pls excuse me- >>
“You’re fucking kidding right??”
Jaehyun shook his head in refutation, breaking eye contact with you as he bit the inside of his cheek. He had expected this; his colleagues had warned him about receiving similar responses at home.
“You’re telling me this now?”, you bellowed and Jaehyun quickly stepped forward to squeeze your arms and shush you. It was half past twelve; your kids were asleep and the last thing he wanted was to have them wake up to a fight between the two of you.
“I couldn’t tell you before because doing so meant putting our family in danger”, Jaehyun pleaded. You leaned your hip against the kitchen counter behind you, tilting your head to stare at the roof directly above you in an effort to dry your forthcoming angry tears. Your arms were folded across your waist, pressing hard against your body to distract yourself from the ugly feeling that was rising in your stomach.
Your husband was a masked crime-fighting metahuman, and he had hid it from you for years.
“So all those long business trips? The emergency calls from work and nights spent at the office?”, Jaehyun nodded slowly in affirmation and you felt your knees buckle. He had been constantly putting himself in danger for years, and you hadn’t even known.
“Jaehyun we have kids!”, tears blurred your vision as you spoke. “What if something happened to them? What if something happens in the future?”, you screeched, your heart clenching from the thought of your children being in danger.
“What if something happens to you?”, your voice was no longer sturdy or loud, fabric under your palms bunched into fists as you squeezed your eyes shut because of how sick you felt from the mere thought of losing him. Jaehyun wrapped his arms around you and pulled you into him, rubbing your back as his shirt soaked up your tears.
“I was selfish”, he began, taking a deep breath and waiting for you to calm down before continuing. “I wanted to use my abilities to help people, but I also wanted a normal life and a family with you. I couldn’t protect you while fighting out there, so I kept you safe by keeping it a secret.”
“What about now?”, you asked, voice cracking as you spoke, opening your eyes and lifting your head off of Jaehyun. “Why are you telling me now?”
Jaehyun’s eyes glistened as he leaned closer, one hand resting on your jawline and fingertips fiddling with your earlobe. Noses grazed against each other as his eyes flickered to your lips, the heat from his breath reaching your skin.
“I can protect you and the world”, he flashed you a small, toothy grin that bloomed flowers in your chest. Your hands moved to his face, fingers tracing his cheekbones and resting on his now prominent dimples
If the years spent with Jaehyun have taught you anything, it’d be that he was much more mature than he seemed. You trusted him with your life; you knew his decisions were always backed by level-headed reasoning and that he must have carefully thought this through.
“I thought I was your world”, you raised a brow and Jaehyun let out a familiar chuckle, one that you’d been hearing for years and hoped to hear for the years to come.
“You are my world”, he declared softly and you fought your growing smile, unwilling to show Jaehyun that you had already forgiven him even though you were pretty sure he knew.
“Daddy’s back!”, you heard a squeal from the kitchen doorway before your younger son ran in tiny steps and threw himself onto Jaehyun, the latter holding him up and seating him on the kitchen counter as a hearty laugh escaped his throat.
“Mommy I’m hungry”, Jisung whined as he swayed his feet back and forth, the sound of his heels hitting the cabinet door echoing through the room.
“At least I know where the unusually large appetite comes from”, you scoffed at a beaming Jaehyun.
ps: this was based off that cute little anime that I found on Netflix and I just had to write it. I didn’t have this beta’d because it was out of a whim and I needed to get it out my system.
You grabbed your kid from her high chair and gave her a tight hug and plenty of kisses. You're about to leave once again for another workday, but you can't seem to get over leaving your child every single day.
///
"Kitty~"
You cradled Yena as you made your way into the kitchen, where your husband, Mr. Nakamoto himself, was cooking breakfast for the three of you. Seeing him so domesticated made you giggle for a bit. His tattoo-clad body contrasts your pink frilly apron. You wiped his sweaty forehead and gave him a kiss on the cheek.
Yuta has been working hard as a househusband for more than a year now. He used to be utterly hopeless in the house, something that he couldn't have learned from his past profession, but your husband still tried to keep himself busy while you work, and he stays at home with Yena.
You see, Yuta is a former head of a famous gang in Japan. When he heard that you were pregnant with his child, he had quit the lifestyle and disbanded the whole unit. It was his life, but it's a small price to pay for raising a family away from chaos. And for that, you are eternally grateful.
"Yuta, the eggs are burning."
"Shit. I fucked up."
You sighed.
"Language, please." You covered your daughter's ears and made your way back to the dining table, placing Yena right beside you as you prepared the baby food you premade for when Yuta will feed Yena throughout the day.
"I managed to save the eggs..." Yuta brought out the plate of eggs, smilingly proudly as if he's accomplished something. You took one look at the eggs, and apparently, his idea of fixing it was to throw away the burnt pieces. You are now left with irregular pieces of eggs.
"Looks yummy..." You took the eggs from him wholeheartedly. You couldn't manage to break the fragile heart of the former gangster head right in front of you. Yuta took out one of the eggs as well, munching happily like nothing ever happened to them.
Your phone started ringing before you even managed to take a bite out of your breakfast.
"Oh no. I've got to go!" You stood up from your seat and struggled to find your coat from where you'd left it earlier. You grabbed your suitcase and gave your husband and Yena a kiss goodbye.
"But… breakfast..." Yuta was disappointed to see you go, so you gave him one last kiss on the lips before saying, "Bring them to work for me later. I forgot I had a meeting at 7."
You wore your shoes quickly and headed straight to the door. Before you left, though, you shouted, "Yuta, can you go get groceries later after you brought me my lunch to work?"
Like a puppy, he replied, "Yes, dear. I love you!"
"Love you too, baby! Give Yena lots of kisses for me!" Before Yuta gets the chance to answer you, you had already slammed the door and ran off to the bus stop to get to work.
///
"Hey, kid."
When you're gone, Yuta likes to play pretend with your kid.
"You think you're tough enough for the job?"
He spoke as he dresses Yena up after a bath.
"We don't take kindly to rookies around here, kid. Are you sure you're man enough to take on the whole Kuma group?"
Yena answered with a giggle, a gesture that made Yuta's heart melt every single time. It was a habit that Yena picked up from you, and he was glad that she did.
"Alright. Suit yourself. You will be in charge of holding daddy's grocery basket while we go deliver mommy's lunch. You think you can handle that, kiddo?"
Yena started babbling some incoherent words, but Yuta took that as her daughter taking up the challenge. She's such a go-getter.
And after strapping Yena to her carrier, the two of them went on a mission to finish delivering mommy's lunch and buy groceries in one piece. A feat that Yuta wasn't expecting to achieve that day.
///
Yuta had successfully done his task for that day. At the same time, Yena fell asleep in the middle of shopping, so he had an extra time of peace to himself. That is until a group of men came running in his direction. He tried to turn around, whistling as he silently gets away from that situation. If one of them recognizes him, he's dead.
"Boss!"
Yuta resisted the urge to facepalm as he heard someone call his former name. He slightly turned around to see Shotaro, his former apprentice, right before the group disbanded. The eyes of the guys chasing Taro went dark. It seems like they have been looking for Yuta through Shotaro for a long time now. He had made sure to hide very well until someone recognized his tattoos showing his plain white shirt.
"I'm not sure who you're talking about. I'm Nakamoto Yuta, unemployed, full-time househusband."
"You're the infamous Akuma. You're him, right? The head of the 127 group?"
Yuta shook his head and flashed a friendly smile.
"I don't know who you're talking about. If you'll excuse me, you'll wake my daughter up."
Yuta tried to turn around again, but one of the goons grabbed his shirt. It caused him to move out of balance, almost waking Yena up.
His attitude started to change. There was a rumor that you should never touch the Akuma unless you wanted to die a horrible death. Now that he has Yena with him, that rule extends to her as well.
He sighs, and he motioned Shotaro to come to him. The younger guy hesitated at first, but he willingly obliged. Yuta started taking off Yena's carrier and strapped them into Taro's body.
"If something happens to her or that basket of groceries, consider yourself dead."
Yuta warned as he instructed Taro to walk away as far as possible. His fatherly instincts kick in, which the other guy didn't realize made Yuta even more dangerous.
Yuta cracked his fingers and replaced his toothy smile with something more sinister. It is what they call the smile of death.
"Now, who wants to die today?"
///
Shotaro came back to the scene, horrified at the lifeless bodies that Yuta left on the sidewalk. Yuta went back to his giddy self again when he saw that Yena was still sleeping in her carrier.
"You sleep so well. I'm glad that you also got that from your mother." His white shirt was bloody, but that didn't stop him from holding on to his daughter.
"Taro, help me carry out those groceries some will you?
///
The three of them came home a few more minutes before you get home. Yuta quickly washed himself to get rid of the bloodstains in his body. He also threw his clothes at the trash as they can't take the stains off of them in time before you get home.
Shotaro just watched as his former boss, the most ruthless killer in Osaka, wears this pink frilly apron while he makes that night's dinner.
"Would you like to join us for dinner, Taro?" The kid wanted to refuse, but Yuta was wearing that deathly smile of his again.
"U-uh sure thing, boss."
"And please, stop calling me boss. Not in front of my wife or my daughter. Just call me Yuta."
Shotaro dared not to call his former boss by his first name. However, he nodded as a sign of agreement and helped him take care of Yena and prepare that night's meal.
You went home to the fragrant smell of soup, a dish that had recently become Yuta's specialty. It was certainly better than half burnt eggs.
"Oh baby, you won't believe what happened at work today. I--" You stopped on your tracks when you were greeted by another Japanese man that isn't your husband.
"Oh, hi. Are you a friend of my husband's?" The guy nodded, smiling happily like a little kid.
Cute.
Yuta then came out from the kitchen and greeted you with a kiss. However, even if he hid his face with his long hair, you still noticed tiny cuts along with his eyes and forehead.
"What are those?" You stepped closer and tried to sweep his hair off his face. You were hoping to get a closer look.
"Ahh, haha, those were from when I was attempting to install a shelf earlier. The screw got loose and hit me in the face. Right, Taro?"
The kid looked panicked, but he nodded profusely like he actually meant it.
"Alright. What's for dinner, then?"
You knew that Yuta got in a fight again. You're not as innocent as he deems you to be. There is a reason why you were married to a former gang boss, after all. However, you saw Yena all cleaned up and well-rested. Yuta did an excellent job of taking care of her well. It didn't matter that he went back to fighting once again. It was in his nature, after all.
What matters is that every day, you will come home to him, Yena, and a bowl of freshly made soup after a day of hard work. That is all you ask for your househusband as of now.
