a/n: this was requested by a lovely anon who’s been feeling down. a mood, my friend. i hope this short and sweet little blurb helps you out. sorry it can’t be longer, i’ve got a lot on my plate already this semester. however, hopefully soon, i will be able to finish and post a long-standing ziu project! much love~ also sorry for the lame title fsksksksk
Anytime you’d heard horror stories about annoying neighbors in the past, you’d merely rolled your eyes and laughed. Honestly, how bad could it possibly be? And if it was that bad, why not do something about it?
Oh, how naive you were.
For the first few months in your new apartment, things were great. But maybe that was because you moved in over summer break, before other college students had returned to school. You should’ve known you’d have some rowdy neighbors due to your proximity to your university, but, well—
Nobody told you the walls were this thin.
You don’t know who the guy next door is, but you can venture a guess about a few things: he’s loud, he likes to sing, and he’s probably never thought about wall thickness before in his life.
To be fair, you didn’t really mind his singing. The guy actually had some pretty good pipes, and some mornings it was nice to drink your coffee and listen to him belt OST’s on the other side of the wall. But, another thing about this guy: his sleep schedule was fucked.
Now, listen. College is just like that — sleep is for the weak! But the semester hadn’t even started yet and you were already losing some precious time, so you were more pissed than you probably would have been at any other time of year.
It’s almost 2a.m., one week to the day before the start of classes, and your neighbor has been singing along to an entire soundtrack. His voice just doesn’t seem to give out, despite the fact that you’ve uttered a prayer for just that to happen after nights of this occurring.
So. Despite being generally non-confrontational, your sleep-addled brain decides the best thing to do is stomp over to his door with a blanket wrapped around your shoulders and give him a piece of your mind.
You’ve made a few assumptions about the guy next door, and when he pauses his music and answers it you’re met with a stumbling block you hadn’t accounted for:
He’s hot.
He’s tall, with a killer jawline and voluminous hair, and you become suddenly aware of the fact that you literally just rolled out of bed to come here.
“Um,” you start, licking your lips nervously as all fire you’d had on your way here dies out in an instant. “I’m your neighbor. I know this is kinda awkward, but, uh, could you not be so loud? I— I can’t sleep.”
Hot neighbor’s dark eyes remain fixed on you in a permanent state of confusion as you stumble to form sentences, and by the time you finish and find yourself staring awkwardly back at him, you wish the ground would just swallow you whole. If his stature didn’t make you feel small, his unwavering gaze surely does.
You definitely expect him to get pissed, tell you off, maybe threaten to report you to the landlord or something — but instead, he simply shrugs.
“Sure,” he says, crossing his arms and leaning on the doorframe. “Sorry, I didn’t realize I was being that loud.”
“You aren’t!” You say, too quickly. You can feel your face heating up as you add, “The walls are just really thin here.” At that, he laughs, and you’re completely caught off guard by the change in his demeanor, your posture stiffening.
“You don’t have to lie,” he says. “My friends are always telling me to shut up, it’s fine. I’ll try to pay more attention.” This time, when his eyes meet yours, they have a playful twinkle to them. As you find yourself giggling and smiling back at him, clutching your blanket tighter around your shoulders, you wonder how you could ever be intimidated by someone like him. Now that you’ve met him, he just seems like an over-excited puppy.
“I’m Ziu, by the way,” he says, extending his hand. You shift your grip on your blanket to shake his hand, grinning,
“Y/N. Sorry I didn’t come welcome you sooner, prepping for the next semester is killing me.”
“Don’t remind me!” He groans, retracting his hand. “I barely know how to get to campus, let alone some of my classrooms.” The expression on his face, an exaggerated pout, causes you to laugh once again — and then, all too quickly, you find yourself yawning. Ziu’s expression softens, and he pushes off his doorway,
“It’s late, you should get some rest. I’ll watch my volume from now on.”
“Thanks,” you reply. You find yourself turning to look over your shoulder before you’ve even gotten two steps away, calling out Ziu’s name to get his attention. He pokes his head back out his door, eyebrows raised.
“Want me to give you a campus tour tomorrow?” His expression visibly brightens, breaking into a broad smile before he nods excitedly.
“I’d love that.” The two of you maintain eye contact for a moment that feels stretched long like taffy, until he finally breaks the silence again.
“Goodnight, Y/N.”
“Goodnight, Ziu.”
With that, the two of you slip back into your respective apartments, unable to keep the smiles off your faces. Maybe having thin walls isn’t such a bad thing.
lou x reader (fluff, college!au, tiny tiny bit of angst)
a/n: this was requested and got way out of hand. thanks to @dearbeommie for keeping me sane. uwu.
You’re not a bad student. On the contrary, you’ve always done very well in your classes — unless it comes to learning new languages.
You’ve tried it all. Journals, YouTube tutorials, hardcore studying. You just can’t seem to grasp a new language well enough to actually speak it to anyone, and that’s what’s starting to become an issue. Enough of an issue that you’re now sitting awkwardly across from your Korean professor in their office, with her regarding you with just enough pity to make you squirm. You don’t want her to pity you, you want her to like you and be impressed by you, because she’s one of your coolest professors on campus.
“So, Y/N,” she starts, and you attempt to straighten your posture as you look up to meet her gaze. “Have you ever considered a tutor?” Your throat suddenly feels dry. Tutoring? Tutors might be helpful, but that means money you can’t really afford to spend—
“We have a Korean student who’s studying here for the semester. I’m his advisor for that time, and he’s also working with me as an assistant as part of a work award with his university. I think he’d be a good resource for you.”
There’s a pause, and your professor leans back in her seat and chuckles,
“It’s free, since he works through the school. Would you like his email address?” You feel some of the tension leave your body, like helium from a week-old balloon.
“Yes, please,” you respond, smiling.
That evening, before you settle heavily into studying, you send an email to the address you’d been given with a little explanation and your usual schedule.
You have a response by the time your head hits the pillow: Saturday, 11am, in the library. You’re oddly nervous.
Two days later, on Saturday, you realize why you’re so nervous: first, you have no idea what this guy looks like; second, you’re about to embarrass yourself in front of someone your age. You glance around the library, looking for anyone sitting alone with a familiar textbook—
“Y/N L/N?” A deep voice says from behind you, sending a slight shiver down your spine. You turn, nose almost brushing against the chest of this person; hastily, you tilt your chin up and clear your throat.
“Kim Hosung?” The boy’s lip twitches into a smile for a moment, and you can’t help but find him both extremely attractive and horribly intimidating — lucky for you, the slight roundness of his cheeks and somewhat large ears help to soften his features, although you’re still extremely nervous when he opens his mouth to speak.
“Just call me Lou,” he replies, not unkindly, “Should we find a place to sit?” You nod curtly, following him to a booth. Despite the length of his stride, he seems to be conscientious of your own walking pace. You take a moment to catch your breath and take him in while he’s unable to see your face.
First and foremost, he’s tall — tall and slender, except for his broad shoulders, with a slightly long but round face. His ears, like you noticed before, are a little big but covered partly by his dark, fluffily styled hair, but now you also notice the small black studs in them.
To put it simply, he’s gorgeous and cute somehow, which is totally unfair. You suddenly wish you’d put more effort into your appearance. Lou chooses a booth in the back corner, and you take a seat across from him and immediately start digging all your materials out of your backpack.
“So, Y/N,” Lou says, and you hate how much you like the sound of your name in his voice. “What is it you need help with, exactly?” You sigh, resting your chin in your palm and looking at him pitifully.
“Everything,” you reply, and Lou chuckles and raises an eyebrow. “I can read Hangul pretty well, but I’m terrible when it comes to speaking or constructing more complex sentences. I just get choked up and forget everything.” You pick up and pen and fiddle with it, avoiding his gaze.
“That would explain why Professor Lee mentioned your comprehension being good,” he muses, and you nod.
“I just want to be able to communicate without looking like an idiot.” You glance up at him through your lashes and find him smiling at you, one side of his mouth lifted higher than the other.
“Well, Y/N,” he starts, and you look up. Lou is full-on smiling now, “You’ve come to the right person.” You return his smile, albeit more shyly, as he begins to take out his own study materials.
You have a feeling this might just work.
Lou is an incredible tutor.
Not only is his Korean understandably good, but his English is impeccable. You’ve been tempted on more than one occasion to ask about it, but after only a couple study sessions you aren’t sure you qualify as anything more than an acquaintance he smiles at in passing. It startles you how your curiosity keeps growing the longer you know him — every time you have a session, you clam up about anything but your class and assignments.
One day, after Professor Lee had handed back your first ‘A’ assignment in her class, you drop by the cafe before your study session and make the decision to order two iced americanos. You have no clue how Lou likes his coffee, so you stuff a couple sugar packets in your backpack and make your way to the library.
One advantage to Lou: he’s tall and extremely easy to spot in a crowd, even sitting down. There’s a smile growing on your face as you approach him, and with his earbuds in he noticed the coffee you slide into his line of sight before he notices you.
Lou smiles crookedly, an eyebrow raised, and you take a sip of your coffee.
“What?” You ask, feigning innocence. He chuckles.
“What’s this for?” You can feel yourself beaming.
“Just think of it as a token of my gratitude,” you reply, shrugging and fiddling with your straw. “I got an A on Lee’s assignment.”
“Ah,” he says, leaning back. He crosses his arms and seems almost smug, “So that’s why you’re in a good mood.”
“I’m always in a good mood!” You huff, although you know that’s most definitely not true — really, you just like being playful around Lou. It almost makes it feel like you’re friends, and you definitely wouldn’t be opposed to that. Or more.
“Sure,” he chuckles, and you roll your eyes. Lou starts to take out his materials, and you falter for a moment as you do the same. Maybe it’s because you’re in a good mood, or maybe you’re riding the high of this banger you two have, but you’re just itching to ask him—
“Hey, Lou,” you start. “Can I ask you something?” He glances up, looking confused, but nods at you.
“How'd you get so good at English?” You ask, and then, immediately, begin backpedaling. You cover your face with your hands. “Sorry, that sounds kind of offensive, doesn’t it? I just — your grammar might be even better than mine and I know English is a hard language— that doesn’t sound any better— just, just forget—“
You’re interrupted by Lou’s good-natured chuckling once again, and peek out from between your fingers to assess the situation.
“I’ll take the compliment,” he says. “My family and I lived in Atlanta when I was little, if that helps clear it up.”
“Oh,” is all you can manage to say, still embarrassed by your question and subsequent overreaction. Lou just smirks at you and takes a sip of his americano before getting down to business.
“So, looks like you’ll be working with chapter 5 this week...”
You let your eyes linger on him for a moment too long before flipping to the correct page in your book. You decide you’re going to make Lou your friend by the end of this semester.
Making Lou your friend is actually not as hard as you thought it would be, especially considering he’s as relaxed as he is. He’s also easy to spot on campus, so all it takes on your part is to walk a little faster across the quad between classes and soon you’re seeing him on almost a daily basis. Although you don’t have classes together, your path converges more with Lou’s, your schedules beginning to sync. He’ll sometimes wait around for you when he knows you two can walk together, and the two of you take turns paying for coffee when you go to the cafe together.
The only downside to making Lou your friend is that he becomes significantly more charming once you get past his somewhat aloof, intimidating exterior. Not that he had ever seemed particularly cold to you, more that he just seemed unapproachably cool for someone like you.
Which isn’t true. He’s a dork, in probably the purest possible sense. He just happens to be a handsome dork.
The next week at tutoring, you can feel yourself getting nervous. It’s the last session you have before your midterm, which is going to seriously affect your grade; Lou knows this, and he doesn’t seem the least bit concerned, meanwhile you can’t stop chewing on you straw just to have something to do. Your distress must be extremely palpable however, because Lou sighs and pokes your forehead so that your face moves away from your straw. He keeps the pad of his index finger pressed gently against your skin as his dark eyes meet yours.
“Alright, Y/N, you’re clearly having trouble focusing,” he starts, and you blush. “So I’m going to strike a deal with you. If you get above a B- on this midterm, I’ll take you out for Korean barbecue, okay?”
Well, you think, who are you to say no to free Korean barbecue with your very attractive tutor-turned-friend? You find yourself grinning at his offer.
“Deal!” You chirp, and Lou chuckles as he lets his hand fall away from your face.
“Time to get studying then, Y/N.”
And, well, who are you to say no to that, either?
You waltz into your next study session with Lou feeling as though you’re walking on air. He smiles at the bright look on your face, gazing up at you expectantly as you approach the table where he’s seated.
“Guess who got an A,” you sing, plopping leaning over the table. Lou laughs and, surprisingly, stands up.
“Well done.” You give him a questioning look as he slips his backpack on his back, and for the first time you realize he’s had no study materials out all this time.
“What?” He asks, laughing. “It’s time to eat.” You cock your head to the side as you slowly follow him out.
“But... but what about our session?” You ask, and he turns back to look at you with an almost devilish smile.
“Consider today a real-world test, Y/N. You’re gonna order our food.” You pout and let out a huff, which leads him to ruffle your hair as you pass by him through the doorway.
“Fine.”
The two of you spend the bus ride in relative silence, except for when you nervously ask Lou questions about ordering food and proper etiquette. He answers all your questions good-naturedly, patting your shoulder to reassure you you’ll be fine. He leaves his arm around you, but you hardly even notice because you’re too busy rehearsing the basics of how to order food politely. It feels like grade school all over again, like you’re rereading your assigned passage before your turn comes up so you don’t stutter.
When you get off the bus, it’s colder than you thought it would be. The sun has already begun setting and you hadn’t expected an outing tonight, though you feel a little foolish for not thinking of it. You’re interrupted in the midst of scolding yourself by Lou tapping your shoulder, and when you turn you nearly get hit in the face with the hoodie he’s been wearing over an unbuttoned flannel and a t-shirt.
“Thanks,” you murmur, feeling a little embarrassed as you let him help you into his hoodie. He chuckles at the way the sleeves fall past your fingers, and you swing your arms back and forth slightly to showcase it even more, joining him in laughing. Eventually, Lou takes the initiative to head to the restaurant, and the nervousness you had all but forgotten comes back with a vengeance as the establishment comes into sight. Probably sensing your nerves, Lou greets the hostess for both of you; you hear him say his own name, and once you’re both seated you look curiously at him.
“Did you make a reservation?” You swear you see the tips of his ears turn red, even as he shrugs nonchalantly.
“I knew you’d do well. Besides, once I mentioned barbecue I decided I had to get some either way.” As always, he acts cool, but you feel yourself grinning at his little act of kindness. You have no doubt he would have brought you regardless of how you did, but it’s nice to know he had faith in you.
After a few minutes of perusing the menu, you test your pronunciation on Lou.
“Bul-go-gi,” he says, slowly, and you repeat it after him in the same manner. “Bulgogi.”
“Bulgogi,” you say, confidently. He smiles at your improved pronunciation.
“And tteok-bokki,” he continues, slowly once again. You repeat carefully, and then take a slow breath in and out to prepare for the waitress coming over. Evidently, you do well enough ordering that the waitress doesn’t look confused or disgusted by your pronunciation, and so you take a much-needed sip of water with a smile on your face. You’re interrupted by Lou’s gentle laughter, and you fix him with a glare.
“What?” You ask, barely pulling away from your drink. His eyes seem to sparkle when he looks at you and shrugs.
“You’re cute when you’re nervous,” he says, like he’s talking about the weather, and you feel your heart skip a beat in your chest. How can he say that so casually?
“Thanks,” you mutter, taking another sip of your water in an attempt to cool yourself down.
Dinner passes without a hitch after that, except for the few times Lou steals food from your plate and it becomes something of a competition as to who can more stealthily snag a bite.
By the time the two of you leave, hours have passed and you feel fit to burst — and you just might, if Lou keeps telling you stories about the guys he lives with back in South Korea. On the bus, he shows you one video of his roommate, Ayno, walking on all fours in a crowded airport with slides on his hands. You attempt to stifle your laughter in the sleeves of Lou’s oversized sweater, but end up snorting instead. You bury your face in his shoulder as you continue to laugh, attempting to hide your embarrassment.
The bus hits a bump in the road, and Lou’s arm slips around you so you don’t bounce off the seat. You’re too busy laughing to really notice.
Lou walks you back to your dorm’s entrance, where you turn and flash him a playful grin.
“So, how’d I do on my test?” You ask, and Lou laughs, his hands shoved deep in his pockets.
“Good.” You bite down on your lower lip, but can’t keep yourself from beaming.
“Thanks, Lou,” you say, looking up at him earnestly. The stars frame him beautifully, and you wonder if he even has a bad angle with the way you have to look up at him. “For everything. The tutoring, the food... all of it. I’m glad Lee sent me to you.” You nudge him playfully with your elbow as you say it, and he lets out a laugh that sounds more breathy than usual.
“You’re welcome, Y/N.”
The way he smiles down at you makes you feel flustered, and so you look down at the ground for a moment before wishing him a goodnight. Lou steps away as you reach into your bag for your ID, but he calls to you just as you get the door open. You turn to find him smiling broadly at you, just a little ways down the sidewalk.
“Goodnight!” You feel a goofy grin break across your face and can’t help but laugh.
“Goodnight, Lou!” You call back, and with one last beaming grin and wave he turns away and starts walking back to his dorm.
It isn’t until you get inside and go to hide your burning cheeks that you realize you’re still wearing his hoodie. And you couldn’t be happier.
Monday rolls around, and you’re shocked to find Lou outside your dorm before your first class, a coffee carrier with two americanos in one hand and his phone in the other. He has his earbuds in, and you hear him rapping under his breath as you approach. The sound of his voice, the perfect rhythm, brings a smile to your face as you quietly make your way towards him. You tap him on the shoulder, biting your lip. He looks up, his eyes widening before his expression becomes a grin.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hey,” you reply, giving him a cheeky grin. “I didn’t know you could rap.” He laughs and promptly puts his earbuds away, passing you a coffee.
“Just a hobby,” he replies, tossing the coffee carrier away. “Ready for your quiz today?” You raise an eyebrow.
“How do you know about my quiz?”
“Professor Lee keeps me up to date,” he says.
“Oh.” You feel slightly embarrassed by that, but shrug it off as you take a sip of your coffee. “Well, I feel as ready as I’ll ever be.” Lou laughs at your response tossing an arm around your shoulders as the both of you approach the building your Korean class is held in. He tugs you towards him, pulling you into a gentle hug by the doors.
“Don’t worry,” he murmurs, his low voice rumbling close to your ear. “You’ll do well. You have me as your tutor, after all.” You scoff and push him away, reaching up to mess up his hair.
“So humble,” you say waving him off. Before he strays too far, you raise your voice, “Thanks for the coffee!” He gives you a thumbs up in response before disappearing into the crowd of students heading to class, and you can’t help but smile as you clutch the coffee a little closer to your chest.
You refuse to say it, but you know that the espresso isn’t the reason your heart is pounding as you enter the building.
When you receive yet another ‘A’ on your Korean assignment, you feel like you’re walking on air. And it’s with that confidence boost that you find yourself suggesting to Lou that the two of you go ‘study’ at a bubble tea shop a short bus ride from campus. Lou, for as serious as he seemed when you first met him, has absolutely no problem with your idea and follows you gladly to the bus stop.
The bus ride itself is filled with relatively mindless chatter from the both of you, but neither of you seem to mind. Your eyes keep drifting out the window, to the clear blue sky and the sunlight winking through the trees.
“I can’t believe it’s almost summer,” you remark, and Lou hums in agreement.
“Yeah. The semester’s almost over.” You turn back to him.
“Are you excited to go back to Korea?” His expression clouds for a moment, but soon he’s back to his normal, half-smiling self. He lets out a short laugh and shrugs his shoulders.
“Excited is one word for it.” You think back to what he’s told you about his group of friends and their overly-dramatic send-off for him, and snicker, nudging him with your elbow.
“Come on, this is our stop.” You think nothing of it as you grab his wrist to get him out of his seat, and you miss the redness of his ears when you do so.
Once inside the shop, the two of you bicker about the superior bubble tea flavor and you rush to pay before he can. As you wait for your drinks, your phone lights up on the table with a new message from one of your group chats.
party Saturday night @ Kina’s house. plus ones encouraged ;)
When Lou returns to the table, two cups in his hands, you glance up at him thoughtfully.
“Hey, Lou,” you start, and he raises an eyebrow as he takes a sip of his drink. “What do you say to going to a party with me on Saturday?” He leans back in his seat with a smile.
“I’m in.” Your heart stutters in your chest for a beat, but you push the thought of it away, returning his grin as you sip on your own drink.
You’re starting to think inviting Lou along was a bad idea, because it’s been over an hour and you’re still nursing your first drink. Every spare second you’ve had, you’ve been swarmed by people wanting to be introduced to the tall boy at your side. While he doesn’t seem to notice all the attempts to flirt with him, all the obvious heart eyes people are flashing in his direction, you definitely do, and you’re getting more annoyed by the minute. As the most recent group of people wanders away, their eyes lingering on Lou, you can’t help but sigh.
“I think you’re the most popular guy here now,” you joke, taking a long sip of your drink. Lou laughs at that and casually slings an arm around your shoulders.
“Jealous?” He teases, and you shrug him off with a roll of your eyes. You open your mouth to make some witty retort, but are interrupted by someone calling out both of your names.
“Come play Truth or Dare with us!” Kina exclaims, waving you over. You glance at Lou to gauge his reaction, but he only shrugs with that mysterious half-grin on his face, tugging you towards the living room. Kina has pushed most of the furniture to the edges of the room, and the circle of players sitting on the floor expands slightly to make room for you and Lou to sit down. You watch as Kina chugs down half a bottle of beer before setting the bottle down in the center of the circle and giving it a spin.
The game is, for the most part, uneventful. Kina dares a guy to take his shirt off, said guy obliges (quite happily, you might note, which seems counterintuitive for the game) and then gets one of his buddies to reveal their most embarrassing drunken escapade. Said story actually gets you to set your own drink aside, suddenly not in the mood for alcohol any longer. The spin lands on a girl you think you had some class with freshman year, and after she completes her dare (do a keg stand, which she nails and is actually pretty impressive and terrifying) the bottle suddenly lands on Lou. There’s a glimmer in the girl’s eyes as she stares him down, and you realize that she’s one of many people you introduced Lou to tonight.
“Truth or dare,” she asks, smirking. You feel as though your stomach is twisting into knots, and you don’t know why. Lou, cool as ever, quickly responds:
“Dare.” Her grin stretches wider and you feel extremely uncomfortable, wondering if this night is going to have to end with you apologizing to Lou for ruining his semester abroad because of some weird, drunk girl.
“Okay, Lou,” she says, almost purring, “I dare you to kiss the most attractive person in this room. Right now.” You glance at him for a moment before looking back around the circle. Most people seem to be eagerly awaiting his next move, but the tightness you felt in your stomach has now spread to your chest. You’re curious yourself, to be honest, but you also can’t help but feel uncomfortable on his behalf. While you’re sitting, debating whether you should stop this game for the sake of the boy beside you or just let it run its course, Lou has already made his decision. You hear his jeans scuff against the carpet and you turn your head to face him, brows furrowed in concern.
And yet, Lou doesn’t look even a fraction as upset as you had worried he would be, although he does look nervous. You open your mouth to ask him if he’s sure he’s okay with this, but then you realize something truly startling.
Lou isn’t standing up, not even trying to. Instead, he’s turned his body to face yours and is slowly leaning closer. You tense up, confused, your heart skidding to a stop for a moment as his dark eyes lock with yours. With a strange rush of blood to your head you realize he’s being completely serious as he closes the distance between the two of you—
He presses a kiss to your forehead, then leans back and resumes his former position, reaching out to spin the bottle. You can feel your face burning, and can’t hear anything but your runaway heartbeat in your ears. You swallow thickly, unable to take your eyes off him, and yet all he offers you after he gives someone a very simple dare is a glance and another enigmatic smile, placing his hand over yours as the game continues to unfold.
The rest of the night passes in a bit of a blur, but you’re suddenly very aware of Lou’s hands on you; his arm around your shoulders, the back of his hand brushing your own, even just his broad chest behind your back. It’s more like you’re hyper-aware of him and the fact that he’s taking every possible opportunity to touch you, even if it’s just for a moment. By the time you’re about to leave the party, the house feels far too hot and crowded, and you think you’ve got your cardio in for the month; the second your feet hit the pavement, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. Lou lets out a gentle laugh from beside you and, unbidden, drapes his hoodie across your shoulders. You glance up at him, biting the inside of your cheek as you regard him; under the yellow streetlights his skin and hair look unbelievably soft, and his eyes seem to sparkle just for you.
“Thanks,” you murmur, unable to raise your voice above a whisper. He doesn’t say a word in response, but the back of his hand brushes yours again and you feel your heart rate spike once more. You come to a halt in the middle of the quiet sidewalk, and Lou stops just a few steps ahead of you, looking back curiously. You pull his jacket tighter around you even though you don’t feel cold and clear your throat, which suddenly feels inexplicably dry.
“About earlier,” you start, lamely. “Did you mean it?” Lou blinks at you, his expression unreadable.
“Why do you ask?” You feel your face heating up again even as you shrug, attempting to be nonchalant.
“Well, I mean— it was a forehead kiss— and you didn’t really know anyone else, so I wasn’t sure…” At some point during your poorly constructed sentence, your gaze had drifted down to the pavement in some attempt to hide your embarrassment. You hear Lou move, and suddenly you can see his shoes almost toe-to-toe with yours. Your breath catches when he gently tilts your chin up to look at him, his eyes bright and mirthful.
“I wasn’t just going to kiss you without permission in a room full of people,” he says, a grin playing at the corners of his mouth. “Why? Did you want me to?” Although his tone is playful, you see that same earnestness in his gaze that you had during the game, and it feels as though the world falls still. Without meaning to, your gaze flicks down to his lips for a moment, and you have a sudden, strange burst of confidence when you look back into his eyes.
“I wouldn’t be opposed,” you reply. Lou laughs at that and then leans in, closing the gap between the two of you once more and pressing his lips to yours.
And the world starts to turn again.
Lou doesn’t really ask you to be his girlfriend because he doesn’t have to; the two of you just kind of slip into a romantic relationship, which really just means adding more physical contact to your usual conversations and maybe some heart emojis here and there. Being Lou’s girlfriend means constantly getting treated to coffee and being given the best hugs — means being allowed to listen to songs off is mixtape before they get officially posted — means getting to play with his hair when he takes a nap with his head on your lap, or you watch a drama together in what Lou claims is an attempt to better your Korean.
It means your heart fluttering at even the smallest gestures, and it means feeling heartbroken when Professor Lee reminds all of you that your final is in one week.
You haven’t really talked to Lou about his going back to Korea since you asked him about it on the bus that day, and it’s partly because you don’t know what you want him to do about it. On the one hand, you’ve never been in a long distance relationship that’s that long distance, but on the other you’ve never had a relationship that feels as seamless and right as the one you have with Lou. You keep telling yourself you both need to focus on finals, that you can’t put the pressure on him right now, but you know the truth of the matter is that you’re too scared to face the reality of the situation just then.
Your tutoring sessions have moved out of the library and into Lou’s dorm room, because his roommate is almost never around. According to Lou, he spends most of his time with his girlfriend in her apartment, so Lou has only seen him a few times. It’s reading day for your school, and you’ve decided to take over Lou’s room as he helps you prep for your Korean final the next day.
“When’s your last final again?” He asks, nonchalantly, shuffling your index cards.
“Thursday,” you reply, without thinking for a moment of what this conversation could turn into, too focused on the task at hand.
“I leave Wednesday,” Lou says, and you feel your heart sink into your stomach, weighing you down. “I’m taking an Uber from the school at 2. We should have lunch together.” Your throat feels inexplicably dry, but you manage to nod your head. Lou smiles at you, then hold up the first flashcard. You try not to think about it.
If someone were to ask you which superpower you wish you had, it would be to freeze time, because you really don’t want Lou to leave. You close your eyes, leaning your head against his shoulder. A light breeze passes over both of you as you sit on the bench waiting for his Uber, and Lou gently runs his fingers through your hair.
He doesn’t seem upset, but you think maybe it’s for your sake. You didn’t expect to feel so emotional about all of this, considering you haven’t even been together that long, but the bond you have with Lou feels inexplicably strong. He had told you at lunch he wanted to continue this if you did, and you burst into tears in the middle of taking a bite of your pizza — needless to say, it’s been a long day.
“Hey,” he says, softly. You open your eyes to look up at him. “Don’t be too sad, okay? I promise we won’t be apart for long.” You don’t know how he can promise that, but you’re left with no choice but to trust him as his Uber pulls up to the curb.
The driver is blessedly patient with the both of you as you cry into Lou’s arms for the last time, apologizing for all your blubbering while he presses a soothing kiss to your forehead. Eventually, you calm down enough to kiss him properly, then press your forehead to his.
“Lou?” You prod, gently. He hums. “I love you.” For the first time, you think you hear his voice crack,
“I love you, too.”
As the Uber pulls away, you receive an AirDrop request to an unlisted YouTube video on Lou’s channel. The title of the track makes you cry even more.
사랑해.
After listening to Lou’s unreleased song for you for days on end, you make a decision. You would call it rash if it hadn’t taken you so long to translate the message to send over Facebook, but it certainly feels crazy fast approaching when you buy your plane tickets after receiving a one-word response from Mrs. Kim: “드디어!”
You fall asleep on the plane listening to Lou’s voice through your earbuds, and wake up more excited than ever to land. Mrs.Kim has been active on Facebook since you woke up, and has been excitedly messaging you updates about Lou. You can’t help but laugh when she tells you he’s been moping about having to go pick up her mystery friend from the airport — apparently your boyfriend thinks he’s being treated more like a pack mule than a son. After some light banter, she tells you where they’ll be waiting for you as your plane begins its initial descent.
Deplaning takes forever and the airport is a nightmare to navigate but it’s all so worth it when you see the look on your boyfriend’s face when he spots you.
“Y/N?” Lou asks, shocked, as you make your way towards him. You feel yourself tearing up, but in the best possible way.
“Surprise!” You reply, trying to keep your voice from cracking. Lou pulls you into his arms, and he laughs gently as he holds you close; you swear you hear a tremble in it and wonder if he’s feeling as emotional as you are. His heart seems to be beating just as fast, anyways.
“How? My mom told me we were picking up her friend…”
“Well, you taught me enough Korean that I managed to get an A in class and send a passable message to your mom on Facebook…” You pull back to look into his eyes, your arms still looped around his neck. “So, here I am! All yours for a month.” Lou smiles and his eyes turn to crescents. He shakes his head in disbelief before leaning down to press a kiss against your lips, chuckling softly when he pulls away to press his forehead to yours.
“What?” You ask, running a thumb along his cheekbone. He gently shakes his head.
“I didn’t think I’d get to see you again for at least a year… I’ve been thinking about you nonstop, and now here you are.” You open your mouth to reply, but a sudden call of your name interrupts you. You peer around Lou to see his mother approaching, a wide smile split across her face and a carrier of iced coffees in her hands. She shoves said drinks into Lou’s hands in order to greet you, her Korean spoken so fast you can barely understand it all — but her eyes and the smile on her face tell you enough. She holds both your hands in hers, and shoots a wink at her son that makes his ears turn red, and warmth explodes in your chest as you all leave the airport.
You can feel somewhere deep inside, this is going to be the best two weeks of your life.
a/n: a little while back i got a request for a fluffy baron fic. while this isn’t quite fluff to the end, i hope you still like it! title (and concept) taken from this song by mitski.
You’ve lived forever in the shadow of one particular spring.
Standing on the edge of adulthood, just toeing past the line of adolescence — it was one of the warmest springs on record for your entire life. Everything blossomed overnight, and as a community you shed your coats to bask in the sunshine.
You remember it like it was yesterday, maybe because it lingers behind your eyelids when you sleep, the way the cherry blossoms started to bloom too early and all the businesses had to scramble to prepare for the tourists to come. Your town wasn’t big, but the trees were, and so the crowds always came to see them.
It was early in their bloom when you met Chunghyeop. He was thin, lanky but not entirely inelegant for a teenage boy, and you thought he fit right in amidst the trees in his brown sweater with his dyed hair. You’d thought only idols could get away with pink hair tints, but it seemed you were wrong — Chunghyeop, at least, could pull off the faint hue of his hair.
He went to your school, but you only knew him because he was in the same class as your cousin Wooyoung, both a year above you. You had a tendency to be rather shy around your cousin’s friends, or around anyone for that matter, but Chunghyeop never seemed to mind. He stuck out in your mind as being one of the rare few who didn’t tease you for the quietness of your speech, or the fidgeting of your hands.
You had considered, that day, walking by without a word. Blending into the background wasn’t hard, and his gaze was on the trees, so you could surely slip by—
The wind blew in your direction, and as you moved your hair from your eyes your gaze met Chunghyeop’s.
“Y/N!” He chirped, beckoning you towards him. Unable to think of a reason to say no beyond the pounding of your heart, you simply squeezed the phone in your hand more tightly as you approached.
“Chunghyeop-ssi,” you said, bowing your head as you approached. He laughed gently, but you couldn’t even fathom him meaning it in an unkind way.
“No need to be so formal, Y/N,” he replied, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. Up close, the pinkness of his hair only seemed to suit him further, making him appear like some spirit of springtime incarnate.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” He continued, looking back up into the barely-blossoming limbs of the tree. You nodded mutely. The breeze picked up again, and you watched, awestruck, as he lifted his hand to catch a falling blossom. You could only wish to possess such coordination, you thought, pouting, but your thoughts were interrupted by the return of Chunghyeop’s attention.
Even if you had wanted to move, you don’t believe you could have as his hand slowly reached towards your face. Delicately, skin barely brushing yours, he tucked the blossom in his hand behind your ear.
Neither of you said a word as he retracted his hand; he simply held your gaze before smiling, looking a bit proud of himself.
“Have a good weekend, Y/N.” You wondered why you liked the sound of your name so much more when he said it.
“You, too.” For a moment you allowed yourself to watch him walk away before turning on your heel and heading in the opposite direction.
You walked the rest of the way home, and immediately went up to your room. Carefully taking the blossom out of your hair, you pulled a book off your shelf which you didn’t anticipate opening any time soon and slipped the pale flower between the pages, closing it slowly before slipping it back into place. When you saw the pinkness of your cheeks reflected back at you in the mirror you chocked it up to the warmth of the weather.
The blossoms died, eventually, but the heat persisted. You accompanied Wooyoung to the parks on the weekend, usually listening to music or reading while he played various games with his friends. It was more your style to simply lie beneath the shady branches of the trees — you were never very coordinated with sports, and Wooyoung’s friends liked to horse around too much for you.
The cherry blossom in your book was nearly forgotten, just like the rest of the town’s, and on that particular Sunday you found yourself lying beneath a tall tree, one too tall for the local kids to climb. You had one earbud in, letting your eyes slip closed to the combination of music and laughter.
You opened your eyes when a new song began, shocked to find someone walking into your circle of shade.
“Hey,” Chunghyeop said softly, sitting down beside you. You smiled. He plucked your other earbud up off the grass, sending a questioning look your way; you nodded.
You closed your eyes again as he lay down on the grass beside you, trying (in vain) to calm your heart. Eventually, you cracked open your eyes and stole a glance at him. His hair was less noticeably pink now, faded to a pleasant shade of blond.
You startled back to reality when the song changed again, averting your gaze up into the tree branches. Chunghyeop’s breathing was even beside you, and you almost wondered if he had somehow fallen asleep in such a short span of time. You could feel the warmth of his shoulder next to yours, the heat between your arms almost prickling. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t stop thinking about him — not when he was so close to you.
Eventually, you opted to close your eyes again, to see if you could trick yourself into relaxing. The little sunlight filtering between the leaves was pleasant, and the laughter throughout the park made you think of the impending summer.
“Baron!” You heard some of the boys call, shouting until he finally let out a sigh. Chunghyeop reluctantly opened his eyes and sat up.
“Yah— stop yelling, I’m coming.” He removed the earbud, dropping it into your hand when you reached for it. “Thanks, Y/N.” You watched him jog into the field, the boys greetings him warmly. Once he had become absorbed in his game, you looked back to the side, finding the blades of grass still bent down to the earth where he had been lying on them. You could make out the shape of his figure and, after checking that nobody was looking, gently nudged your hand over top of where his had been resting. The grass was still warm to the touch; you closed your eyes once more, feeling your heart clench slightly in your chest.
Near exam season was the next time you spent any time alone with Chunghyeop. Wooyoung was meant to meet him at a local cafe, but his mother had taken his phone away. When you dropped by to return a book to your aunt that your mother had borrowed, you were met by an anxious looking Wooyoung.
“You’ve gotta go tell him I can’t make it,” he said, and you felt your heart skip a beat.
“What?” You sputtered. “Wh—why can’t you just give me his number, and I’ll text him?” Your cousin sighed, rolling his eyes, still clinging to your sleeve like a petulant child.
“Because I can’t remember it. Who memorized phone numbers these days?” You opened your mouth to protest, but suddenly Wooyoung was grabbing your hand, slapping a few bills into it.
“Look, I’m paying! Just go and tell him I’m stuck studying and buy yourself a drink, okay?” Seeing the desperation in your cousin’s eyes, you couldn’t bring yourself to say no — so you simply nodded.
“Okay. Study hard.” With that, Wooyoung sighed miserably and began the trek back to his room as you slipped your shoes back on and exited the house.
Luckily, you knew the cafe that Wooyoung was supposed to be going to, so it wasn’t really any trouble for you to get there. The walk wasn’t even that far, a good halfway point between your neighborhood and Chunghyeop’s. You nervously played with the money in your pocket as you approached the establishment, taking one last deep breath before entering the cafe.
Chunghyeop had re-tinted his hair, this time to a gingery red. You really couldn’t believe it suited him.
Although he looked confused when he saw you, he still waved you over, smiling kindly.
“Y/N,” he greeted.
“Chunghyeop-oppa,” you replied, bowing your head. “Wooyoung is grounded right now, but he gave me money to pay.” You pulled the folded bills out of your pocket and smiles cheekily at Chunghyeop, who laughed in response.
“Well, let’s not let his money go to waste then. What do you like? I’ll order.” He gently took the money from you, fingers brushing against yours, motioning for you to sit. You did so, hoping the lighting was dim enough he couldn’t see you blushing at the contact.
“Hm,” you hummed, tapping a finger against your chin in thought. “I’ll have a caramel milk tea.” Chunghyeop’s already bright grin broadened.
“We both have a sweet tooth. I’ll be right back.” You watched him walk up to the counter, multiple pairs of eyes in the cafe flitting up to follow his movements. Even before dyeing his hair he had attracted stares, but you imagined that he must have gotten even more now than usual. Despite that, he didn’t seem to notice, stepping off to the side to wait for your orders. When your eyes met his, you raised a hand in a half-hearted wave, which was met by an exaggerated wink on his part. Chunghyeop dissolved into laughter at his own antics, and you merely shook your head, turning your attention back to your phone.
Even though it made your heart flutter, you knew better than to let it get to your head. Chunghyeop was charming and playful, and you were barely an acquaintance — the likelihood of him being serious was very low. Besides, he’d soon be going off to university, so he hardly had the time to be in a relationship.
You halted your own train of thought there, just in time for him to return with your drinks. He passed off the change to you, which you promptly stuck into your pocket, reminding yourself to drop by Wooyoung’s and give it to him on your way back home.
“So, what should we do?” Chunghyeop asked, taking a sip of his drink.
“Oh, um,” you glanced down at the table for a moment. “Well, what were you and Wooyoung going to do?” He shrugged, leaning back in his seat.
“Just walk around, I think. We don’t really make plans.” You nodded thoughtfully, looking down at your cup. The cherry blossoms were dead, but the town was overcome by lush greenery, and the sky was a clear blue.
“The weather is nice. We could take a walk.”
“Alright,” Chunghyeop said, and you heard him push back his seat. “Let’s take a walk!”
So the two of you did just that.
“Do you like spring, Y/N?” He asked as the two of you headed towards the park.
“Yeah, but I wouldn’t say it’s my favorite.”
“Then what is?”
You pressed your lips together in thought, taking a sip of your drink as though it would help you reach your conclusion more easily. You’d been asked such questions before of course, but being around Chunghyeop beneath the sunshine seemed to be making it hard to think.
“I like the winter,” you said. He gently nudged you with his elbow to prompt for your reasoning, and you smiled devilishly at him,
“I don’t have to deal with Wooyoung as much in the winter. We both just stay inside.” Chunghyeop joined you in laughing at your cousin’s expense, strolling down the tree-lined streets.
“I’d say that’s a pretty good reason,” he said, sighing after the laughter. “Spring is my favorite.”
The two of you reached the curb, and upon stopping his gaze became fixed on you. He cocked his head off to one side. With him regarding you so attentively, you suddenly found it hard to look away, feeling caught.
“It suits you,” he said. You furrowed your brows.
“What does?” Chunghyeop grinned broadly, smile outshining the sun as the walk sign turned on.
“Spring,” he replied, before turning and heading across the street. It took you a moment to come to your senses, but eventually you convinced yourself to scurry along behind him, half-jogging just to catch up to the red-haired boy on the other side of the road.
Chunghyeop’s hair is faded when you see him last.
The day was young, the sun pouring generously over him. You stood at the end of the drive, watching him and Wooyoung put the last of his bags into the trunk. His parents were going to drive him to university in only a matter of minutes, and you couldn’t keep yourself from committing every possible angle of him to memory, unable to rid yourself of the feeling that this would be the last time you’d ever see him.
“Well,” Chunghyeop said to Wooyoung, shutting the trunk of the car. His parents sat themselves in the front seats, leaving only the three of you in the driveway. You hung back nonetheless, watching as your cousin clapped a hand onto his best friend’s shoulder.
“See you around,” he said. Chunghyeop let out a laugh before pulling Wooyoung into a hug.
“We'll hang out in Seoul,” he replied, though you could barely hear it. Wooyoung wouldn’t meet your eyes when he came down the end of the driveway, but you could tell nonetheless he was close to crying. He nodded in the direction of both your houses.
“I’ll, uh— I’ll wait over there.” You nodded, not quite feeling capable of speaking as suddenly Chunghyeop’s attention was turned to you. The sunlight was still golden, bouncing off his strawberry blond hair, imbuing him with all the energy of the past spring at once. It somehow felt as though you were looking at someone too elegant, too beautiful to be only human.
He walked down the driveway to where you stood unmoving, and he stopped in front of you, smiling fondly with his mouth closed. Slowly, he reached out for you with one hand just like he had those months ago when the cherry blossoms were just barely in bloom—
His open palm came to rest on the top of your head, and he gently ruffled your hair, though he promptly smoothed it down for you after.
“You’re a good kid, Y/N,” he said, gently, smiling fully now. “You’re gonna do great things. I hope you’ll remember me when you do.” His tone was joking, and you were surprised you managed to laugh when standing so close to him.
“Of course,” you said, too softly. But if Chunghyeop noticed your starry-eyed gaze he didn’t say a thing about it. With nothing more to say, he took his hand off your head and walked back to the car, waving once more over his shoulder before closing the door behind him. He continued waving out the window until he was beyond both your sight and Wooyoung’s.
The two of you walked back to your houses in silence. You knew it was only a matter of days until you said goodbye to your cousin too, but you didn’t want to think of it. Despite feeling hollowed out, your every step felt heavy.
When you finally got home, you pulled out the book on your shelf, flipping through the pages till you made it to the faded blossom stuck between the pages. It was flat now, almost white and transparent, more delicate now than it had ever been.
No matter how many times you shut the pages of that book on the blossom, you couldn’t seem to do the same to the memories of that spring; the strawberry blond that lingered like a flash behind your eyelids; and the ache.
a/n: this was requested by @randomkpopfiction, thank you for your support and for being so patient with me!! i hope you like this~ also here’s the song i’m referencing with the title the lyrics felt right for this song
The first time you were taught what a soulmate mark was, you were eight years old. You barely had more than a passing interest in boys, but somehow the tales the teachers wove for you about finding your soulmate still made your heart flutter.
The sensation quickly vanished upon your next encounter with your male best friend, who was more annoying than anything at that age. But that disgust couldn’t last long in the face of fate, and soon you were pre-adolescent and fantasizing about falling in love on your eighteenth birthday with the perfect boy and living happily ever after.
You’ve known Baron longer than you’ve known about soulmates.
The two of you had gone to daycare together, and become fast friends; your play dates only increased in frequency as you entered school, until eventually play dates were ‘uncool’ and you were simply studying together. Baron would walk to and from school with you every day, and the two of you would regale stories from your separate classes. Sometimes he would hold your hand, always seeking affection from you, and you really thought nothing of it.
Not until you were sixteen.
Baron was older than you by a handful of months, so rather he was on the edge of seventeen and you were still thoroughly sixteen, when you realized that maybe your feelings for Baron weren’t entirely friendly. The chubby-cheeked boy of your youth had grown into a slender teenager seemingly overnight, and you had to admit he looked particularly princely at one of your classmates’ birthday party.
Your classmate came from a wealthy family, and had somehow fallen in love with the American show “My Super Sweet Sixteen,” and had begged her parents to allow her to throw one. She was an exceptional student and extremely kind, so they granted her wish — everyone attended in the most formal wear they could scrap together, and attended the birthday ball in style.
You and Baron had gone with a group of friends, and when the first slow song of the night came on you felt yourself hanging back. Your friends all paired up, smiling bashfully, and you simply shrunk into yourself, sipping on punch from the refreshment table.
You convinced yourself you were fine being alone on the balcony, but you were certainly thrilled when your MIA best friend appeared with a gentle,
“Boo!”
“Don’t do that!” You snapped, though you couldn’t help but smile as you playfully punched him. “I could’ve spilled my drink!”
“Sorry, sorry,” he said, though he didn’t look sorry at all. You hardly had time to mind, however, since he was suddenly holding out his hand towards you with a more serious glint in his eye.
“Dance with me?”
To say you were shocked was an understatement. Baron was handsome, and he was popular — most people probably wanted to dance with him on a night like tonight.
And yet he chose you.
To your surprise, he didn’t lead you back into the main room; he simply pulled you closer to him and began to sway with the melody right out under the stars. With his gaze on you, intent and fond, you somehow felt as though this night was about you and not your classmate.
Baron spun you, sending you into a short fit of giggles which lasted until he pulled you flush against him and fixed you with a serious look you’d never seen before. You felt your heart begin to hammer as Baron slowly leaned in toward you, before it skipped a beat entirely as his lips pressed against yours.
Your first kiss was short-lived, gentle but a bit awkward, and yet it left you both with beaming grins and bright red cheeks.
That night, however, when you lay in bed, you felt a little crack split through your heart. You and Baron… you both had soulmates out there, somewhere, waiting for you. And if you took this chance with Baron, you risked hurting the both of you and your future soulmates — and losing your best friend.
You didn’t sleep well that night.
Two days later, on Monday afternoon, Baron was sitting across from you on your bedroom floor doing homework. Your heart was racing while you were around him, but the guilt lingering in the back of your mind made you feel sick.
“Hey, Y/N?” He asked. You pretended to be working very hard on your math homework as you replied.
“Yes?”
“Would you… go on a date with me this weekend?”
You nearly snapped the pencil you had in your hand. Baron was positively beaming, his eyes glittering, and you felt your heart split in two because you felt, truly and deeply, that any answer you gave him would hurt him badly.
You promptly burst into tears, and Baron held you until you calmed down. It never came up again.
Your eighteenth birthday is looming on the horizon, a mere two days away, and as you lay staring at your ceiling you’re shocked at how scared you feel. Excitement, of course, you expected — but you feel legitimately frightened by the prospect of receiving your soulmark. And you know why, but you aren’t exactly ready to admit it fully to yourself.
In the years after your first kiss, Baron had always let you know in small ways that he was available and willing should you change your mind. Even after getting his soulmark three months ago — an assortment of black lines which resembled almost a flower, but maybe almost a fish, on the inside of his right wrist — he had continued to flirt gently with you; to seek your affection as he always had.
Your friends like to tease that the two of you were meant to be and would definitely turn out to be soulmates (you aren’t entirely convinced Ayno and Ziu don’t have a bet running on it) and it’s precisely that certainty which makes you so anxious.
If Baron isn’t your soulmate, you know it will break his heart (and yours); despite pushing aside your feelings for years, you still love Baron dearly in every sense of the word, although you’ve never told anyone that.
As if sensing that you were getting too in your own head, your phone pings with a message. Baron’s name pops up on screen and you can’t help but smile at his text, which offers you ice cream and a walk around the local park if you come downstairs within the next ten minutes.
You’re down in less than five.
“So,” he says, as the two of you venture down the street. “One or two scoops today?” You sigh.
“Two, please.” Baron laughs and casually slings an arm around your shoulders as you walk. You allow yourself to lean into him, wondering if this might be one of the last instances where you can be this casually affectionate with him.
“Whatever you want,” he says, and you bite into your lip.
You wonder if it’s wrong to want to be with Baron, regardless of everything; if it’s wrong to wonder if fate had somehow cheated you out of something amazing.
You push it out of your mind as the two of you enter the ice cream shop, and do your best not to think too hard about it — but your heart sinks every time you catch a glimpse of the little tattoo on his wrist, wondering just what your birthday would bring.
Your birthday party was initially intended to be a surprise party, and you know this because Ziu is particularly bad at being quiet about anything, especially when he’s excited. Despite knowing, you do your best to act surprised because you know Baron and St. Van will be sad if they find out you know, and a sad Baron is hard enough for you to handle without poor, sweet Geumhyuk moping about too. So, you try not to dress up too much (but you know they’ll be taking pictures, and you want to look good), and try your best to ignore the sounds you can hear through your front door.
These boys. You love them, but subtlety just… isn’t their thing. You’re already smiling before you’ve even turned the doorknob, anticipating what lies beyond.
Shortly put, it’s a mess. When you open the door, multiple party poppers go off and the only distinct voice you hear is Ziu’s, yelling directly into your left ear. You laugh and teasingly admonish him as Lou sticks a very large, sparkling crown on your head. It’s pandemonium, all glittering and loud, but you can’t keep the smile off your face as your best friend appears to guide you through the festivities of the evening. For the first time that day, you aren’t counting down the minutes until your birthday officially happens, and your soulmark will appear.
Ayno convinces everyone to participate in a dance battle for your personal enjoyment — you, actually, are allowed to sit back on the comfiest seat in the house, eat as many snacks as you want (courtesy of Geumhyuk, bless his heart), and choose all the songs. The winner of the competition gets to give you their gift first, and Baron, unsurprisingly, is exceptionally eager at this prospect. In the end, it boils down to just him and Ayno, yourself and all the other guests watching with bated breath. Just as the song ends, a timer goes off on someone’s phone — you turn your attention to the sudden flash of movement that is Geumhyuk slipping into the kitchen, and catch a glimpse of the clock on the wall.
Your soulmark is going to appear in less than five minutes. You don’t really register who wins, too busy counting the seconds, until Baron places his hand on your shoulder. When you turn to look at him, you find a small box extended towards you, and realize he must have won the dance competition. It takes most of your willpower to smile and accept the gift, anxiety starting to gnaw at you once more.
Inside the box is a necklace with a delicate silver chain with a pendant made of a pale pink stone in a perfect disc shape. Baron doesn’t say a word as he plucks it out of the box, and you move your hair aside to allow him to clasp it on you; his fingers brush against the nape of your neck and you suppress a shiver, feeling that same guilt squeeze your chest as you gently brush your own fingers along the pendant resting above your heart.
What’s going to happen, if you and Baron aren’t soulmates?
As if he senses your worries, he hands you a little card you hadn’t seen at the bottom of the box that appears to be from the jewelry store. Pink Calcite, it reads, enhances the heart’s way of knowing — the wordless awareness that we mean when we say, “I knew it in my heart.” You turn the card over to find that Baron has simply written “영원히” and drawn a little heart beside his name. With your heart in your throat, you turn to look at him, only to find his attention directed at the clock. Suddenly, someone dims the lights, and Geumhyuk shoulders his way out of the kitchen holding your birthday cake. This is it, you think. All other thoughts leave your mind, and you can’t pin down quite how you feel.
Unable to think of a single other way to cope, you look to Baron for reassurance. He smiles at you, just like he always does, and reaches out to take your hand; you only just notice that his soulmark is covered today.
The candles flicker gently before your eyes, and you hear Baron’s gentle voice singing right beside you as you stare into the flames. The seconds tick down, and you close your eyes, wishing for just one thing as you blow out the candles.
Geumhyuk is serving the cake and your mark is very, very slowly making its appearance. Or, really, it’s not that slow — it took Ace’s mark almost four hours to develop fully, and yours is already starting to pick up pigment in some places, so it shouldn’t be so bad. It wouldn’t, if you could just stop thinking about how Baron has been tense ever since you blew out those candles and how quickly he let go of your hand to go help cut the cake. You fiddle nervously with the pendant he gave you, picking at your cake while everyone else gets theirs served, and hope this won’t take long.
You open gifts, and everything feels painfully slow. Just like at every birthday party you’ve ever had, Baron is the one who sits beside you on the floor and collects all the wrapping paper scraps so you don’t have to later — only this time he’s more quiet, and you can tell he’s just as nervous as you.
What you don’t realize is how intently he watches your wrist every time you peel back paper, or show off a gift, or pass him the trash. You don’t see how his eyes trace the shape of your tattoo every spare second he has, and how each passing moment seems to be enlivening him.
It doesn’t occur to you at all until everyone has left except you and Baron, and you’re cleaning up. The boys had the wonderful forethought to get paper and plastic dishes and utensils, and Baron is washing the cake cutter while you pick up cups from around the living area.
You accidentally glimpse your wrist and drop the entire stack in your hands, juice and soda spilling across the hardwood at your feet as you stare in shock at your fully formed mark. Baron’s doesn’t even dry his hands before he’s rushing out of the kitchen to make sure you’re okay, taking you gently by the shoulders to maneuver you away from the spill.
“What’s wrong?” He asks, understandably off-put, and you can’t even find it in yourself to speak — you simply hold your wrist out towards him, revealing your full mark.
Baron’s breath seems to leave his body, and everything falls silent and still until he slowly reaches up to trace his fingers along the lines of your mark. Then, in a sudden flurry of movement, he shoves the sleeve of his sweater up his arm and turns to stand beside you so he can reveal his as well, holding them side by side as though he can’t believe it.
They’re identical.
You turn to look at him, unable to think of a single word to say, and Baron’s eyes sparkle with unshed tears as he pulls you into his arms.
“I knew,” he says, though you aren’t sure if he’s speaking to himself or to you. “I always knew.” Just like that, you begin to cry, winding your arms tightly around him.
“I’m sorry,” you sob, and Baron is quick to pull back and look at you in concern, his hands not leaving you for a moment.
“Why are you apologizing?” He asks, and although his tone is light, teasing you for crying, you can see the anxiety in his eyes. It feels like sixteen all over again and you can’t help but sob harder.
“You were a-always so sure and I— I kept it f-from happening,” you lament. “All this t-time I’ve made you m-miserable and—”
Baron presses his lips to yours, effectively shutting you up, before kissing away the tear stains on your cheeks before pressing his forehead to yours.
“Don’t apologize for something like that, silly,” he says, nuzzling your nose with his when you gently sniffle. “We have the rest of our lives to look forward to.”
You look into the eyes you’ve known almost your whole life, curved into a smile broader and brighter than any you think you’ve ever seen, and you wonder why you ever worried in the first place. After all, if Baron is by your side, what could go wrong?
(You realize later, and you can’t help but smile: reality truly lived up to all your youthful fantasies.)
a/n: i don’t go to the gym, so sorry if this isn’t accurate. also if you haven’t seen ace’s muscles,,,,,ur missing out
The gym had, surprisingly, become your happy place in college.
You had never really been into any kind of sporty activities prior to your higher education, but there was something cathartic about just going and running off all your pent up frustrations. You’d found pretty early on in your college career that running around campus just didn’t cut it; you couldn’t get in the zone enough, because all the things you wanted to get out of your head were right in front of you. That paper you couldn’t seem to think up a convincing thesis for? The class it was for was in that building just to your left. That annoying guy in your philosophy class? On his skateboard and not looking where he was going, which was right in front of you.
So, you found yourself at the gym.
It was never necessarily empty when you went, but it wasn’t overly crowded either. You usually got to use the same treadmill in the far corner for as long as you wanted, or whatever equipment you felt like trying out, and sometimes you saw a familiar face milling around. You’d become so accustomed to using the gym that by your second semester you had purposely blocked out time in your schedule just to go work out every day.
And second semester was when you met Ace.
You never really took note of the people around you in the gym. You tended to be pretty quiet, and you liked to get out of your head when you were working out, the volume up on your music and your eyes trained dead ahead outside the window. Most other people seemed to be the same, occasionally waving or saying hello, but not much more. You liked it that way.
Ace was different. He worked at the gym, usually at one of the desks, so it was his job to be welcoming and inviting. You hadn’t actually seen him working out until second semester, however —and you were a little shocked to find him just as enthusiastic in greeting you even while lifting weights. You were even more surprised at how you mirrored his enthusiasm as the semester progressed.
Two weeks into the new semester, you forgot your earbuds. It wasn’t anything you hadn’t done before in your time at college, but it made you dread your workout a bit, nonetheless; it was much harder to zone out when you could hear all the clanking and chatter around you.
Ironically, the frustration at yourself made you want to run it off even more, and so you felt you had no choice but to grin and bear it, just for the day.
The gym is emptier than usual when you arrive, which is a relief. You glance around and find Ace doing sit-ups — he pauses when he sees you, sitting up with his elbows on his knees, a big grin on his face.
“Hey, Y/N.”
“Hey,” you reply, walking towards the water fountain to refill your bottle. “How’s the workout going?” It shocks you, sometimes, that you’re comfortable enough to be playful with Ace despite barely knowing him. You imagine it must just be in his nature to be sociable.
“Better, now that my gym buddy’s here,” he responds cheekily. You snort and turn to find Ace leaning on the wall beside you, his black hair falling messily into his eyes, a far cry from his usually neat style.
“Your hair’s getting all in your face,” you chide, suddenly feeling a bit like your mother as you snap one of the elastics off your wrist and hand it to him. Ace chuckles as he accepts it, his dimples on full display.
“Thanks,” he says, “I’ll get it back to you tomorrow. I know I have some… somewhere.” You can’t help but laugh as he says this, and when he ties his bangs up into a tiny ponytail above his forehead. It’s cute; makes him look like a pineapple, or one of those dogs you sometimes see with fashionable women in movies. You suddenly feel flustered, so you shrug and start walking towards your treadmill.
“No worries, I have plenty of those,” you respond, mostly just to get out of the situation. Ace calls out another thank you before going back to his routine, and you do your best to outrun the thought of you finding Ace cute.
It doesn’t work.
Ace does return your elastic the next day. Or, he sort of does, just not as a full loop. You’ve never seen him more bashful than he is as he places the limp elastic string in your palm, all the while explaining that his friend was playing with it the night before and broke it on accident. It’s all so cute that you can’t help but laugh in the middle of his apology, which leaves Ace extremely confused.
“Like I said, I have plenty,” you tell him, shrugging it off. You shove the broken elastic into your pocket to throw away later before slipping another one off your wrist to give to him.
“Here. It’s no fun working out with your hair all in your face.” Ace takes the elastic from you gently, as if it’s some great gift, and when he looks back into your eyes and smiles you almost swear he’s glowing from the inside out. Suddenly, it’s your turn to feel bashful, and you wish you had your own hair down simply to hide your burning ears from his sharp gaze.
“Have a good workout,” you chirp, before dodging around him to head to the stationary bikes along the wall. If Ace finds the exchange awkward, he doesn’t say anything about it, and you hate that your heart skips a beat when you see that this time, he’s tied his hair up into a tiny little bun.
The next day, Ace regretfully informs you that he lost your hairband somewhere in his dorm last night. It’s not a big deal, you still have a huge pack of them in your room, and he looks so apologetic you can’t even imagine not forgiving him.
“Don’t worry about it,” you say, and, without thinking, reach out to rest a reassuring hand on his shoulder. He stiffens slightly (which gives you a preview of his biceps and holy shit) and you quickly draw your hand away to pull another elastic off your wrist.
“Anyways, here,” you say, more or less shoving it into his line of sight. “Try not to lose this one, yeah?” Unlike you, Ace rebounds quickly from any awkwardness he may have felt, flashing you a winning smile that causes butterflies to swarm in your stomach.
“I’ll do my best,” he says, giving you a mock salute that makes you chuckle. You offer him one in return with a smile you’re sure isn’t half as charming as his own before excusing yourself to your treadmill. You wish you could just run yourself right out the window when he winks at you through the mirrors on the wall.
“Why don’t you ever lift weights?” He asks as you’re leaving. It catches you off guard, since the two of you usually don’t talk at the end of a workout; Ace is usually still in the middle of his own routine or down the hall working his desk shift. Today, however, Ace falls into step beside you as you leave the gym. You shift your bag on your shoulder and try to think of a reply that doesn’t make you sound like a total wimp.
“I guess I’m just scared of, like, hurting myself? I’m pretty clumsy.” Ace laughs at that, holding the door open for you.
“You just need to know your limits,” he says, and you shrug, wondering if he’ll just drop the subject; after all, the point at which the two of you should be branching off in different directions is coming up. Instead of just bidding you goodbye, Ace comes to a halt where he should be taking a turn, and turns to you.
“How about I spot you tomorrow? Think of it as payback for the hair-ties.” He says, and you want to tell him it’s really no big deal — and yet, you’re kind of curious. And it might be nice, you think, to learn how to lift weights and tone your arms a little. You bite the inside of you cheek, only looking up from your shoes when you notice Ace’s shadow coming closer. His eyes are dark but soft, a gentle smile playing on his lips.
“I promise you won’t get hurt.” You press your lips together in a thin line before letting out a soft laugh,
“Okay, sure. Why not?” Ace beams.
“Great!” He says, “I’ll see you tomorrow, then. Have a good night, Y/N!” With that, he turns around and goes down the corridor, disappearing around the corner. Once he’s out of sight, you slap your palm against your forehead, sighing. What is it about him that makes you so stupid? At this rate you’re going to drop a weight on your foot and won’t be able to go to the gym at all.
The next day Ace bounds up to you the second you walk through the gym doors, a huge grin lighting up his face. It makes you more than a little nervous, because you’re already pretty sure you’re gonna have sweaty palms and drop the weights, or end up staring at his arms or something. Maybe both.
“Hey! Ready for today?” He chirps, and you chuckle at his enthusiasm.
“As I’ll ever be.” Ace follows you as you go to fill your water bottle up, nudging you with his elbow gently.
“It’ll be fine. And if something does happen — which it won’t! — I’ll take full responsibility.” You simply roll your eyes as you twist the cap back onto your bottle.
“Whatever you say, Ace. Just lead the way, let’s get this over with.” Ace laughs and slings an arm across your shoulders, and you swear you can’t feel your knees as you’re walking. You watch as he begins setting things up got you, humming to himself, and wipe your palms against your thighs. Suddenly you realize he still has the elastic you gave him the day before around his wrist, and a smile breaks across your face.
“Hey, you didn’t lose it,” you say, nodding towards it. Ace glances at you through the mirror along the wall and laughs, but you can’t help but feel that it sounds forced. Before you can ask if everything is alright, he’s looked away again,
“Ah, yeah. Told you I’d keep it safe.” He stands up and turns to face you, a grin plastered to his face. “I figured we’d start with some stretches, then just go with the lowest weights in the room. Just in case.” You nod, feeling nervous all over again, but you nod and move to stand beside him.
You follow all his instructions as far as stretching goes, doing your best to mimic his posture and listening to his tips as far as weightlifting goes. Once stretching is done, he passes you a set of hand weights. Ace stands beside you, lifting his own (much larger) weights to demonstrate what you should be doing, and you do your best to mimic him; you can’t help but laugh when you glimpse yourself in the reflection. He looks back at you, confused, and you meet his gaze.
“I feel like an old woman following a workout DVD.” You’re glad when Ace laughs, because it disperses what little tension seemed to be lingering between the two of you.
“Well, I can assure you you don’t look like an old lady.” You roll your eyes, but you can feel a blush creeping along your cheeks and do your best to ignore it, focusing on the rhythm of lifting the weights. You just can’t tell if Ace is flirting with you on purpose or not, because part of it seems so natural for him it’s just hard to say.
You really do your best to just let yourself fall back into the routine, but you can’t help but get distracted by the sight of Ace’s biceps in your peripheral vision (did he have to wear a sleeveless shirt? Really?). At best, you just hope you aren’t being too obvious when it happens. In an effort to get yourself back on track, you spare a glance at the clock, only to realize it’s close to the time you have to leave; it’s group project season, after all, and you’re group-mates could only meet in the middle of your gym session, apparently. As much as you want to stay, you know you need to go now if you want to shower and eat dinner before meeting with them, and so you turn to Ace and clear your throat.
“I should get going soon, I have a meeting.” You think you might imagine the look of disappointment that flashes across his face, since it’s soon replaced by his usual carefree smile.
“Oh, sure. Let me show you where the weights go.”
To your surprise, Ace leaves the gym with you again, even though you’re pretty sure he wasn't even done with his own reps yet. The two of you reach the same branching off point as the day before, and he comes to a halt once again. You turn to face him, smiling,
“Thanks for teaching me to lift weights. I’ll be buff in no time.” Ace manages a little laugh, and you notice as he’s looking down at his feet that he tied his hair up at some point.
“No problem,” he says, eyes flitting up to meet yours for a moment. You clear your throat lightly and tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.
“Alright, well, I’ll see you tomorrow—” Before you can leave, however, Ace pulls at your wrist, holding you in place. You turn back around, your hand slipping into his, but he refuses to look in your eyes. You feel the sudden, overwhelming need to lighten the mood, so you force a smile on your face.
“Do you need another hairtie? You could rock some pigtails.”
“No,” he says, very quickly. You almost worry that you’ve offended him with how sharp his tone is, and you attempt to lean down and look in his eyes.
“Ace,” you start, and he stiffens a bit. “Is something wrong?”
“No, I… I just have something I need to tell you.” He looks up just long enough to see you nod, then takes a deep breath, giving your hand a gentle squeeze as if he’s trying to steel his nerves. You can’t help but get nervous at his behavior — you’ve literally never seen him look so upset.
“I didn’t actually lose your other hair-tie.” You furrow your brows, wondering why on earth something as simple as that would make him act so nervous.
“Okay?” You laugh, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze of your own just so he’ll look up at you again. “I’m not made or anything, it’s just a hair-tie.” Ace lets out a soft laugh and shakes his head,
“Ahh, I know, it’s not that, it’s… it’s just that I’ve had my own hair-ties this whole time, I just never used them.” You wonder how that’s supposed to clear any of this up, because you just feel more confused, but before you can ask Ace is hurriedly continuing his explanation.
“I only used yours because I wanted an excuse to talk to you. You’re always wearing your headphones, so that one day you didn’t I just decided to go for it. I know it was kind of stupid, but I feel bad about lying to you and taking your stuff just because I was being a chicken.” He’s too busy avoiding your gaze to notice the smile on your face, and maybe it’s for the best because you’re both flustered by and insanely endeared to him at that moment.
“Well,” you say, drawing the word out. Ace looks up at you, brows furrowed, and you can’t help the cheeky grin on your face. “I guess you’ll just have to make it up to me.” You almost feel bad about how genuinely startled he seems, and you can’t help but laugh when he suddenly starts stuttering about buying you more hair-ties to replace the ones he took. You let him babble on for a little bit, finding him extremely cute in that moment, but you soon decide you should put an end to his nerves.
“Ace,” you interrupt, and he startles like a deer in headlights. You squeeze his hand again and lean in closer, watching as he starts to turn red, “This is the part where you ask me on a date.” Ace lets out a laugh, a huge, heart-stopping smile on his face despite the blush on his cheeks.
“In that case, how does chicken sound? This Saturday?”
“That sounds perfect,” you reply, then slip your hand out of his only to hold it out in front of him. Even when he looks disappointed it’s attractive, you note, and you can’t help but giggle at the sight.
“Give me your phone,” you explain, and he turns a little red again as he fishes it out of his pocket and navigates to the new contact screen before passing it off to you. You put your number in for him before passing it back.
“See you tomorrow?” You ask, playfully. When Ace meets your gaze there’s a twinkle in his eyes, a soft smile on his face. His hair is still up in the pineapple ponytail, and you feel your heart flutter.
“Yeah,” he replies, breathlessly. “See you tomorrow.”
With that, the two of you head your separate ways, but you aren’t even out of the building before you feel your phone buzz in your pocket with an incoming text. You bite down on your lip, unable to keep the smile off of your face.
You really do love the gym, and now you have an extra-cute reason to love it even more.
baron x reader (ft. st.van x reader!bff, fluff, non-idol!au, double date!au)
a/n: full disclosure i wrote this because my best friend and i saw some tag yourself based on your birth month thing on twitter about which vav member you’d go to a fair with and we’re both april babies and got ‘baron AND st.van’, so this happened. i don’t know where that tweet is now, sadly, but if anyone sees it lmk :)
Every year, the fair comes to town.
It’s not really anything special anymore, hasn’t been since you were a thirteen year old allowed to go with your friends unchaperoned for the first time. Now, you just see over-priced food and slightly unstable-looking rides.
For some reason, none of this stops you from agreeing to a double date at the fair on its final Friday open. You’d like to say it has something to do with nostalgia, or a simple love of cotton candy, but, really, you think Baron’s just a little too charming (and you’re worried your friend might go into cardiac arrest if she has to go on rides alone with Geumhyuk the whole time).
And that’s how a Friday in late August finds you and your best friend answering the door to find Baron (whose hair looks as fluffy as cotton candy and makes you melt in a similar fashion to the sweet) and Geumhyuk (showing off his tattoos in a way you’re sure is more for your friend’s benefit than his own) smiling at you. If you hadn’t been nervous before, then you definitely are when Baron holds out his hand expectantly. Just what the hell have you gotten yourself into?
You don’t really know Baron that well, to be honest; the two of you just seem to be third- and fourth-wheeling on a cute date for the two people who are actually on a course to dating, if they ever stop being so nervous around each other. Despite this, Baron is extremely sweet to you, acting as if you were really a date he was trying to impress.
You’re starting to understand why literally everyone has a crush on him.
Geumhyuk is quick to buy everyone snacks, repeatedly asking you and your friend if you have everything you need. It flusters your friend, but it makes you laugh watching him attempt to baby the three of you. He implores you to call him ‘St. Van,’ since Baron does, and you attempt to even though it feels kind of weird. You can’t help but notice that Baron seems to be pouting the whole time the St. Van’s attention is turned to you (which isn’t all that long, really). You barely have time to dwell on it before he’s leading you towards a game booth to try and win you a prize.
It’s almost painful watching him play such an obviously rigged game, but you have to admit you’re impressed at how he manages to charm the booth’s elderly manager into giving him a prize anyways. He gently rest his palm on the small of your back and guides you to pick a prize, and you feel the tips of your ears heating up as he looks over your shoulder at the collection of small trinkets available.
You choose a small, fluffy cat keychain with angel wings, and Baron beams at you as you do. The manager winks conspiratorially at you as Baron gently leads you away from the booth towards the strong man game where Van and your friend are still waiting in line.
“I can’t believe you managed to convince that lady to give you a prize,” you laugh, and Baron shrugs, pulling off a piece of cotton candy and holding it towards you. When you hesitate, he simply nudges it closer to your lips until you finally open your mouth. The playful, satisfied smile on his face is so charming it makes you want to melt like the spun sugar on your tongue, and you have to remind yourself again that you barely know Baron and that this outing isn’t even about you and your love life.
“What can I say, I’m just that irresistible.” He pretends flip hair out of his eyes, and you press your lips together to keep from laughing too loudly.
“Whatever you say.” You direct your attention towards where St. Van is now at the front of the line, holding the hammer in his hands and carefully studying the game. St. Van has always been big and somewhat intimidating, but you can’t say you’ve ever been afraid of him — until you see him swing that hammer down and hear the bell ring.
Baron laughs at the slightly shell-shocked expression on your face, while you can’t seem to marry the big smile and slight blush on St. Van’s face as he tells your friend to pick out a giant prize with the one who could probably break you in half like a toothpick. You huff as you realize this means you can’t really threaten him with any sort of physical fight if he hurts your friend’s feelings. Seems you’ll have to resort to blackmail.
Baron immediately begins ribbing St. Van as your friend struggles to get a hold on the giant, round pink cat plush in her arms. You laugh and squish one of its ears down to look at her face,
“What are you gonna do if he wins you another prize?” You ask, and she immediately turns red.
“He already offered to carry this one for me.” You giggle as she appears to get even more flustered as she glances at him.
“Baron charmed the old lady at the game stall for this one,” you say, gently flicking the keychain you have hooked around your belt loop. She smiles down at it.
“Cute,” she coos. She looks back up at you, and the look in her eyes tells you she’s about to say something teasing before she’s interrupted by St. Van gently taking the plush from her arms and tucking it under one of his, that same big smile on his face.
“So, where to next?” You ask as the four of you walk away from the booth, and Baron is quick to grin at you.
“They have some rides over that way.”
“Are there teacup rides?” You ask, and St. Van furrows his brows.
“I think so.” You grin.
“Then we’re going there.”
You (with the help of St. Van and his somewhat outrageous biceps) turn the teacups at the fastest speed possible. A few times you knock into Baron’s shoulder, but you’re both too busy laughing to care, all squished into the teacup together. Sometimes you catch St. Van looking over at your best friend, who’s squeezing the plush to her chest as if that will keep her stable, in a way that makes your heart melt. Maybe you won’t have to resort to blackmail, even.
As you all step off the ride, bumping into each other, your group makes the executive decision to go on the carousel and then hop in line for the ferris wheel so you can get on once the sun has started setting. With night falling, the fairground has become more packed, and Baron takes a gentle hold of your hand.
“So I don’t lose you,” he says, winking over his shoulder as he pulls you along. The two of you fall behind the actual couple, content to let them chat amongst themselves. You find yourself unable to keep the fond smile off your face.
“They make a good pair,” you muse, and Baron hums in agreement from beside you. Baron gently swings your link hands back and forth as you walk along, and you’d nearly forgotten about it until your friend and St. Van turn back to both of you to suggest a pit stop before heading to the Ferris wheel. Your friend’s eyes immediately lock onto Baron’s hand holding yours, raising an eyebrow, and if it weren’t rude you would’ve snatched your hand away. She flashes you one last knowing grin before turning her attention back to her date, leaving you flustered and clammed up for the rest of the walk to the bathrooms.
You and St. Van are left outside, sitting at a picnic table nearby. There’s a good view of the Ferris wheel where you are, and it gets you thinking a bit — it’s pretty romantic for an almost-couple and two strangers to go on on a double date.
St. Van is looking down at his phone when you glance over,
“Hey.” He looks up. “Can I ask you something?”
“Yeah, is something wrong? Are you feeling okay?” He asks, and you quickly nod, though you find it endearing that he seems so concerned over someone he barely knows. Baron hadn’t been kidding when he had jokingly called him a dad on the way here.
“I’m fine, I was just wondering... why did you decide to make this a double date?” His brows furrow, and you look down at the little cat keychain against your thigh and start playing with it, suddenly embarrassed by your own sudden outburst. “I mean, it must be awkward for you, since Baron and I are just hanging around. He and I barely know each other and—”
“It wasn’t my idea.” You whip your head back to look at him, and he looks genuinely confused.
“What?”
“Baron wanted this to be a double date. I was going to ask Y/F/N on a date anyways.” His cheeks turn a little pink as he says it, and before you can question him more he suddenly stands up with a grin on his face, signaling your friend’s arrival at the table. Following shortly behind is Baron, who immediately shoots you a winning smile.
“To the Ferris wheel?” Van asks, and you all agree. You stand up from the picnic table and find Baron is holding his hand out to you. St. Van’s words ring through your head again, and you feel your heart skip a beat before you ultimately decide to take it.
The two of you lapse into silence, but it isn’t as comfortable as before and only because you can’t stop thinking — or, well, overthinking. Why would Baron ask St. Van to go on a double date? Did he ask for you specifically, or leave it up to Y/F/N? They’re all questions you want to ask, but aren’t confident enough to ask outright as you all approach the Ferris wheel.
Surprisingly, the line isn’t very long, nor is the area surrounding the wheel as crowded as you’d expected it to be. Even despite that, Baron keeps your hand in his, occasionally tracing little patterns with his thumb on the back of your hand.
“Do you like Ferris wheels?” You ask, and then curse yourself for being so abrupt. Baron doesn’t seem to mind though, because he’s still grinning that beautiful grin when you turn to him, and nods.
“I haven’t been on one in a while. I think it should be fun.” You turn to look back at the wheel and laugh a little,
“I’ve never been on one before. I’m a little nervous.” Baron squeezes your hand, gently, and steps closer to you. When you look back at him, his face feels much, much closer, and there’s a glimmer in his eyes you can’t quite pin down the meaning of.
“Don’t be nervous,” he says, and his smile is so gentle it makes your knees weak. “I’ll be right beside you. You’ll be fine.” You feel your heart do a little flip again, getting a bit too lost in his eyes—
Out of the corner of your eye you see the line moving forward, and you take a step towards the Ferris wheel, hastily mumbling as much to Baron and looking down to hide the blush on your cheeks. After a few moments of silence, Baron starts tracing patterns on your hand again, and you start to count your breaths to try and calm your heart rate.
The Ferris wheel controller splits the double date up, stating that it’s only two people per cart. As you watch your friend and St. Van getting lifted up so you and Baron can enter your cart, you can’t help but smile at the way both of them seem to be glowing just from being near each other. You know your friend isn’t a huge fan of Ferris wheels, but you have a feeling she’s going to be alright this time.
And then you wonder, once again, just why you’re also here.
Baron let’s you go in first and pick your bench, and you choose the one with your back to your friend so you won’t be tempted to pull faces or try to snoop. However, the lack of distraction just makes you more nervous for the whole situation, and you cross your arms over your chest in an attempt to make yourself smaller and safer.
“Nervous?” Baron asks, leaning towards you. You nod, and he reaches out to brush a piece of hair behind your ear.
“It’s gonna be fun,” he says. “You’ll see.” You feel inclined to trust him with that angelic smile, but it doesn’t quite still the hammering in your heart when he also squeezes your hand before leaning back into his own seat.
You know Baron isn’t a stranger to skinship — you’ve seen him hug St. Van and his other friends on the few occasions you’ve been around them — but you can’t seem to reconcile what he’s doing with anything other than flirting. Despite that, you can’t figure out why Baron, a pretty well-known heart throb, would be flirting with you.
The Ferris wheel starts its ascent, and as the cart sways slightly you feel yourself tense up. Baron looks at you with furrowed brows.
“Are you okay?” You nod, but you don’t think it’s very convincing. Gentle as ever, Baron lets out a little laugh and leans forward.
“Why don’t we talk about something to get your mind off of it? What if we ask each other questions?” You find yourself nodding again before you can really think about it; to your benefit, Baron starts.
“Favorite color?”
“Yellow.” The wind picks up a bit, and you curl further into yourself. “Do you have like... a hidden talent?”
“I like to sing,” he says, and you smile.
“I’m sure you sound great.” Like an angel, you think, but don’t dare say it because of how cliche it is.
“Thanks.” He starts to say something else, but a gust of wind causes the cart to rock and you let out an embarrassing noise of shock. Baron reaches out for your hand,
“Hey, look at me, it’s okay. You’re okay.” His hand is warm and reassuring, and his gaze is kind, and you aren’t sure if it’s the adrenaline or not that causes you to suddenly blurt out the question that’s been on your mind since your talk with St. Van:
“Was the double date your idea?” He looks startled, but not necessarily in a bad way, and lets out a laugh,
“I thought it was my turn to ask a question.” The joke falls flat for you, unfortunately, considering how nervous you are, and Baron quickly sobers himself up, readjusting his grip on your hand. You don’t think you’ve seen him look so serious the whole night as he does now, gazing at you with earnest eyes. You can see some of the lights from below reflected in them. Your heart is pounding so hard you can hear the blood rushing in your ears.
“Yeah, it was,” he says. “I really wanted to get to know you, but I want sure how. So I had St. Van turn his date into a double date.”
“Why?” You blurt.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, everyone likes you— you could probably go on a date with anyone, so why me?” Not only does your statement seem to surprise him, but it also seems to suddenly make him bashful, his cheeks turning the faintest shade of pink that you can barely make out in the dusk. He clears his throat and begins to nervously play with your fingers; surprisingly, you don’t mind.
“When St. Van first told us about Y/F/N, you were with her, and I’d seen you around campus before and always thought you were really cute, I just wasn’t sure how to get to know you. So when Van said he was planning to take Y/F/N out this weekend, I asked if he wouldn’t mind setting us up.”
You have a feeling Y/F/N is going to laugh when she hears about this little scheme; you put the thought on hold, however, because Baron is looking at you with a measure of intensity and resolve that feels unfamiliar to you.
“I like you, Y/N. I want to try taking you out for real, not just third- and fourth-wheeling together.” You crack a smile, and Baron seems to let go of tension you hadn’t even noticed he’d been holding.
“I’d like that,” you say, and you one hundred percent mean it. He beams at you, his smile outshining all the lights below and the moon above, as the Ferris wheel slowly begins to lower you to the ground.
Your friend gives you a very meaningful look once the boys have dropped you back off at her house, though it’s hard to take her seriously when she’s holding the massive pink plush cat in her arms and struggled to get through the doorway with it.
“What?” You eventually ask, pointedly, and she grins.
“You and Baron were holding hands the whole night,” she says, “and I saw you give him your number.” As if on cue, your phone buzzes in your pocket, and her grin only stretches wider as she makes her way towards you.
“And I saw you drooling over St. Van’s tattoos, don’t even start.” You try to keep your demeanor cool, but you find yourself blushing anyways as you move into the kitchen to get yourself a glass of water. Your friend follows, awkwardly maneuvering herself and the large plush through the door just to continue grinning knowingly at you. You flick water in her face from the sink.
“Shut up,” you mutter sullenly, taking a sip of your water and looking towards the ground.
“I didn’t say anything.” You refuse to look up until she starts to move away, laughing. “You should probably answer that text.” She shoots you a wink as she leaves and you do your best to keep scowling at her until she’s disappeared from view.
You do, in fact, check your phone right after that (not because she told you to), and can’t keep the smile off of your face when you read your newest message from Baron:
prompt: “i thought the cookies were for the whole dorm but it turns out you needed them for class so now i’m helping you make more”
You are going to kill someone.
You really, really are — you’re certain of it, because who ever ate your cooking final is going to have to pay the price. That is, if you can manage to stop staring at the empty cooling rack long enough to actually find said person — then they’re really in for it.
Thankfully, the answer comes to you in the form of a group of boys laughing their way into the kitchen. You turn on them immediately, fixing your gaze on the one in the front. It’s clear to you that this is the guilty party, because you can see the loud one in the back holding half of one of your damned perfect cookies—
You almost cry, but the anger welling up in you is red-hot and overpowering, and you find yourself glaring at the man in front again.
“Did you do this?” You hiss, indicating the two empty cooling racks. The group falls silent, the one nearest to you now wearing a look of shock, which would be cute in any other circumstances, you think, except you’re caught between screaming and crying and you kind of just want to beat them all up—
“What?” He asks, obviously confused and concerned by the distressed, somewhat manic girl in front of him.
“Did you eat my final project?!” You snap, but your voice breaks at the end of the sentence, and your breath enters your lungs shakily, “My final cooking project, which was two-dozen cookies to share with my whole fucking class tomorrow, that I spent hours on because they were such a hard recipe— did you eat those?”
The group of boys exchange looks, their gazes eventually landing on the one you’ve been addressing the whole time. Your hands are trembling, and you clench the sleeves of your sweater in your fists to hide it, closing your eyes for a moment.
“I’m sorry.” You squeeze your eyes shut tighter, willing the tears to go back to wherever they came from. You don’t really want to cry in front of a group of attractive boys that live in your hall, especially when you’re supposed to be scaring them off.
“Is your final tomorrow?” You open your eyes to find that the man with the rounded cheeks has stepped closer to you, eyes narrowed in sympathy. If you open your mouth, you’re sure you’ll cry, so you simply nod and sniff slightly.
“What time?” He asks.
“It’s at ten,” you croak, and you choke down a sob, turning your gaze downward. You were just coming downstairs to box them up and then go to sleep in your room so you could actually get some rest, but the universe, it seems, has other plans for you.
“I can work with that.” Your head snaps back up to find the man smiling at you, eyes curving up to match.
“What?”
“I’m a pretty good cook,” he says, pushing the sleeves of his own sweater up past his elbows. “I took a cooking class last semester, too— and you can definitely pass with that recipe.”
“But— you don’t—” His friends all look equally as shocked as you to see him moving to preheat the oven, but he merely smiles his friendly smile at you once more, calmly explaining,
“We ruined your final, so I’m going to help you fix it. I promise.” You sink your teeth into your lower lip, but you find yourself nodding. After all, what else can you do?
The man takes over the dry ingredients while you tackle the wet, standing on your own in the corner and attempting to whisk your eggs as perfectly as you had last time. He’s surprising good and seems determined to do everything perfectly, despite not even knowing your name, and you almost feel guilty for snapping at him. Almost, because it was definitely still his fault.
It isn’t until you’ve settled the cookie dough onto the tray that he speaks,
“I’m Geumhyuk.” You glance up at him, pretending to be engrossed with measuring out the ingredients for your icing. “My friends call me St.Van.”
“Y/N,” you reply, still not looking at him. You don’t care if you come across as cold; you’re tired and stressed out, and you’re supposed to be mad at him and his friends. You shouldn’t care what his name is or what his friends call him, and yet you can’t help but to think the nickname suits him.
“I’m sorry about your project,” he says, then, and you actually do look up at him. He looks entirely sincere, though it may be helped by the gentle features of his face, you think. “We thought they were for the whole hall. I forgot the cooking final was take-home this semester.”
Then, suddenly, he smiles at you, and there’s something playful in his gaze when it meets yours,
“You did a great job, though. You’ll pass.” At that, you can’t help but grin, feeling the knot of anxiety that had settled in your chest soften just slightly.
“Thanks,” you reply. You’re starting to feel better about all of this.
Halfway through the baking process, you realize St.Van has started humming. You can hear it when you pause your icing mixer, and you furrow your brows. The tune is familiar to you, but you can’t place from where, until—
“Oh my god,” you say, and St. Van abruptly stops, moving towards you.
“What’s wrong?”
“You’re that Geumhyuk.”
“Uh—?”
“My roommate is in choir,” you clarify, shaking your head. “Sorry, it’s just— you were humming one of the songs for your next concert, and my roommate has been practicing that forever.” St.Van laughs, and it’s a nice sound, you think, extremely good-natured and contagious.
“I didn’t think you’d hear me over the mixer.” You shrug and pick said mixer up again, looking back at the bowl.
“It was nice,” you say. The mixer whirs to life before you can say anything more incriminating than that.
After a few moments, St.Van starts to hum again, louder. You can’t help but smile.
Once the frosting is mixed and in the fridge, the cookies still baking, St.Van drags two chairs from the lounge into the tiny kitchen for you to sit on. They aren’t much by way of comfort, but you think you could fall asleep standing at this point.
Which might be why the next thing you remember is someone shaking your shoulder and gently calling your name, opening your eyes to find St.Van’s bright eyes very, very close to your own. If he’s off-put by your shock, he doesn’t show it, merely grinning at you,
“The cookies are cool enough to ice, and I already put the frosting in a bag for you.” For a moment, you do nothing but stare at him, both in gratitude and shock, before you come to your senses and notice he’s still looking at you.
“You’re an angel,” you tell him, and you aren’t sure you’ve ever meant it more. The bashful smile that lights up his face and rounds out his cheeks only confirms this fact. It’s a Herculean effort to keep yourself from staring, but you force yourself up out of your chair, thanking him again, to ice your cookies. They look a little nicer, actually, than your first batch, and St.Van even helps you pack them up (“So nobody takes them this time,” he jokes, and when you actually laugh he starts beaming).
“Let me know how it goes,” he says, good-naturedly, as you shuffle off into the elevator and he takes the chairs back to the lounge.
“Thank you so much, again,” you reply, and he shakes his head.
“Don’t worry about it.”
Two days later, you find yourself at your roommate’s final concert for choir, seated in the second row beside her aunt and uncle that live nearby. You fidget nervously in your seat, tugging at the skirt of your dress. Your roommate hadn’t been able to tell you much about Geumhyuk, after all, except that he has a solo near the end of the concert, and she had somehow managed to convince you to tell him about the ‘A’ you received on your cooking final. In retrospect, it had seemed like a great idea; you would just flounce right up to him and congratulate him on a job well done, thanking him profusely for his help before.
However, when you see his name printed on the program, and you’re sat back down after intermission, it’s hard to think that any of this was a good idea. Your roommate has already performed, and St.Van is performing soon. You try to get a grip on your emotions, but it just translates into you nearly destroying the piece of paper in your lap, twisting it beneath your fingers.
St.Van walks out onto the stage, and he smiles into the audience, wearing a simple tuxedo and somehow seeming to emanate light. You’d thought he was cute in the shitty, yellow lighting in your dorm’s kitchen, but now he looks absolutely stunning, and you’re not sure how you’re possibly going to approach him.
It only gets worse when he starts to sing.
You had called him an angel for helping you with your final, and, wow, had you ever been right. His eyes shine as he looks out into the audience, singing his heart out and yet making it look as simple as breathing. Even though you can’t be sure, you think his eyes land on your for a moment, his smile widening, and you feel as though you’re melting into a puddle right in your seat.
By this point, you’ve decided you’re just going to stand by your roommate after the show and ignore everyone else until you get to leave.
Of course, this is easier said than done. Your roommate keeps giving you looks, mouthing questions at you like, “Why the hell are you still here?” You pretend not to understand her, and eventually you decide just to stop looking at her and hover off to her side, prepared to wait out the rest of the event in seclusion. You scroll through your phone idly, and of course everything goes to hell when you let your guard down.
“Hey.” You want to die, but instead you end up jumping a bit before looking up at St.Van.
“Hi,” you say, too fast, but now you’re nervous and you can’t stop because he looks really, really good with his hair swept up like that, “You did amazing, by the way. I didn’t know you could sing like that.”
“Thanks. I didn’t expect to see you here.” It’s hard to focus when he’s smiling at you from this close range, so you hurriedly gesture to your roommate, laughing awkwardly,
“I had to come see her perform.” He looks at you, almost expectantly, and you cave much more easily than you had expected yourself to, biting the inside of your cheek and glancing down at your hands. “I wanted to thank you, too. I aced my cooking final.”
You only look up when you hear St.Van’s laugh, and he nudges your elbow with his own,
“I told you so.” You playfully push him away, mostly for the sake of your own heart, and look up to find his sparkling eyes trained on you.
“What do you think about going out to celebrate? My treat.” You swallow thickly, your heart shooting straight into your throat and making it hard to breathe.
“Me?” You ask, dumbly, and he chuckles and reaches out for your hand, taking it gently in his own, almost cautiously.
“Only if you want.” You bite down on your lip, feeling your smile stretch wide across your face as you lace your fingers with his.
a/n: a lovely anon requested this reaction, and i finally got it done! hope you enjoy~ it’s a little long, so i’ll put it below the cut
St. Van
You and Geumhyuk have a tradition. Once every month, you come to the dorms and one of the two of you cooks a meal. Sometimes the rest of the boys hang around, but more often than not they leave you be for the majority of the night, knowing that you don’t get to spend a lot of time with your best friend.
This month it’s Geumhyuk’s turn, and to your surprise he’s denied your offers of help in the kitchen, all but barring you from entering. All the boys are gone, too, not even hiding in their rooms like they usually do — the only other person around is Cash, and so you spend your time waiting with her. However, a dog can only substitute for human companionship for so long, so as you scratch behind her ears you can’t help but turn your gaze back towards the kitchen.
“Are you sure you don’t want any help, Geumhyuk-ah?” He leans back so that he can see you through the doorway, shooting you a huge grin.
“I’m sure. You just relax, alright? It’ll only be a few more minutes.” You let out a sigh you hope he doesn’t hear, giving Cash a look; as if pitying you, she sloppily kisses your hand.
The thing is, you really look forward to spending as much time as possible with Geumhyuk. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, you’ve heard, and separation from your best friend has made you grow really fond of him. Far beyond the friendly levels of fond. You’ve had a crush on Geumhyuk for ages, and although you’re sure he’s just trying to be polite because you’ve been busy at work trying to get a promotion, it still stings when he denies your help and presence in the kitchen.
You continue drowning your sorrows by petting Cash lovingly, holding back your impatient sighs all the while.
“All done!” He calls, finally, and you get up from your seat on the couch to join him at the dining table.
“Oh, wow,” you laugh, sitting down across from him. “You know I haven’t actually been promoted yet, right?” He laughs at your teasing tone, gazing at you warmly as your eyes tract over all of your favorite foods on the table. He can’t help but feel his heartbeat accelerate as you lift your gaze to his, a big grin split across your face. A moment ago he’d felt rather exhausted after spending so much time worrying over and preparing this meal, but seeing you so happy reinvigorates him — and reminds him just why he’s gone through all this trouble.
“I know,” he replies, chuckling. “I was hoping maybe we could celebrate something else, actually.” He takes a deep breath, but he can’t help but smile nervously as he meets your curious gaze.
“Y/N, I like you.”
BaRon
It’s supposed to be a night like any other, just you and Chunghyeop getting dinner together like you do pretty frequently. You hadn’t thought much of it when he asked you if you were free, or even when he’d told you that where he was taking you was a surprise — just dress nicely, he’d said. It wasn’t anything new with him, really; he had a certain taste for nice places and enjoyed going out on the town with you, claiming it was much more relaxing than going with his members.
You’d done as he instructed, gleefully donning a recently purchased outfit and taking extra care with your hair, trying to avoid any flyaways or strays. Chunghyeop also enjoyed taking photos when the two of you were out, and you were not about to be completely outshone by him, even if he was an idol!
When you hear the buzzer to your apartment go off, you shoved your shoes on as usual and called out that you’d be right there as you grab your wallet and keys, following the same routine as always. Even you running a few minutes behind is nothing new for the two of you, so everything seems to be running a familiar course—
Opening the door, you’re not met immediately by Chunghyeop’s smiling face but a bouquet of red roses held directly under your nose. The surprise on your face causes your companion to laugh and lower them slightly so he can get a better look at you. Your gaze rakes over his well-dressed figure as you gingerly take the bouquet in your arms, still completely floored by this turn of events. Chunghyeop, for his part, just offers you a soft but confident smile,
“What would you say to calling tonight our first date, Y/N?”
Ace
Ace has been waiting for the spring weather to finally come around ever since winter started.
He has this plan, but it will only work if the weather is nice — so he’s been waiting and waiting and waiting with rapidly decreasing patience for the snow to melt and the flowers to bloom on the ground.
And, finally, they do. So he puts his plan in motion; he sends you a message asking you to meet him in the park for a picnic, and he lets out a sigh of relief when you agree. He dodges your questions by saying it’s a surprise, and gathers up the food he’d asked Van to help him prepare and his guitar, tugging on a mask and a hat before making his way outside. The park is about halfway between the dorms and your place, making it a perfect place to meet. The sun is shining, there are just enough people milling around the grassy area, and Ace can’t think of a more perfect set-up.
Or, well. Once you show up, he won’t be able to, that is. While he waits, he sets his guitar in his lap and takes his time tuning it, trying to calm his nerves. It’s not every day you confess to the person of your dreams, after all, and he wants to get this just right.
As he’s placing the guitar back in its case, you come rushing up to him.
“Sorry!” You say, dropping to the ground with a huff. He can’t help but laugh at your windswept appearance, immediately offering you a drink as you try to catch your breath, “One of the intersections was totally jammed today for some reason. I hope you weren’t waiting long.” Ace laughs and shakes his head.
“Not at all,” he says. “But even if I was, you’re worth the wait.” You playfully nudge him as he says this, and he can’t help but hope the color rising on your cheeks isn’t just from your impromptu jog. He breaks into a smile as you lean back on your hands, basking in the gentle sunshine and pleasant breeze. Ace takes a deep breath, reaching for his guitar case.
“So, I wrote you a song…”
Ayno
You’re no stranger to receiving demos from Ayno. As his best friend and an aspiring producer, you’ve been receiving material from him for years. Usually, what you get is an extremely short, rough cut early on in the process, and then you get to see and hear the final product at the same time as everyone else.
So one could say you are a stranger to receiving a full, 3-minute MP3 file from Ayno, with no specific requests for feedback, just a simple message: listen carefully, okay? Well, who are you to deny him that? You take a break from your current project and download the file, leaning back in your desk chair as you hit play.
Over the years you’ve listened to a myriad of tracks by Ayno, some released and others not. You have a good feel for his style, always have, and yet you find yourself very surprised by this track — though maybe that’s just because the lyrics seem to hit so close to home. You fan at the blush rising on your cheeks as you listen to the pining yet hopeful lyrics about falling in love with your best friend, feeling your heart beat fast and hard against you ribcage. Of all the things you might have expected to receive from Ayno, a song that could be construed as a confession of feelings towards you wasn’t even a possibility in your mind.
After the song ends, you pull up your messages to Ayno, biting down on the inside of your cheek as you agonize over sending your response for a few seconds that feel like hours before finally just pressing send:
i listened… my answer is yes.
Jacob
Jacob has never been the best with verbalizing his feelings. He’s a little bit shy, even more so when it comes to anything in Korean — so the same goes with confessing to you.
He spends days thinking of the right words to say, and yet every time he has the chance to pour out his feelings he just chokes up, unable to say a single word about them. He’s pretty sure he stands a good chance with you, but he can’t help but be worried he’ll mess it all up in the end; and this is not the kind of situation he’s willing to go to Van for help with.
And so, after even further agonizing over it all, he comes to a conclusion he probably should've considered sooner: writing his feelings down in a note.
He takes his sweet time with it, buying nice stationery to write it on and printing every word carefully and cleanly so that it’s as clear as it can be. After all, he’s doing this to avoid any confusion on your part at all, so it needs to be perfect. He writes it before one of your pre-planned movie nights, planning to give it to you in person while you’re at the dorms —
And he chickens out again. The whole time that you’re seated beside him on the couch, grabbing at his arm or hiding behind his shoulder during scary scenes, all he can think of is the note burning a hole in his pocket, waiting to be handed over. Every time he feels you press yourself closer to his side, he thinks now is the time, do it! But he just can’t. He curses his own shyness, wondering why it hasn’t evaporated after knowing you for so long and spending so much time in the public eye.
After the movie, you excuse yourself to the bathroom. Jacob’s eyes follow you until you disappear down the hall, and as he sighs and looks back, he can’t help but notice your bag propped up against the corner of the couch. He glances from it back to the hallway before reaching into his pocket and pulling out the letter, biting down on his lip indecisively before shoving it down into your bag.
When you plop back down into the seat beside him, picking up the remote to look for another movie, he can’t help but hope that it’s dim enough you won’t notice the blush high on is cheeks.
Lou
Ever since you got an apartment close to VAV’s dorm, Hosung has become a regular visitor. You really don’t have a problem with it, since you enjoy his company and you know that living with six other men around your age is probably pretty hectic — hell, you’ve barely been able to live with one person around your age and not gone crazy from the lack of personal space sometimes. It doesn’t seem too significant to you that he spends so much time at your place, assuming he just needs a break from all the noise and craziness at the dorms.
Little do you know, there’s a bit more to it than that. The thing is, if Lou just wanted to escape the craziness he could just go find a quiet place and hang out by himself. His real reason for visiting your apartment do often is because it’s yours and he wants to spend time with you, something he’s shocked you haven’t caught onto yet.
Which is what brings you both to the current situation.
The two of you are seated on your couch, Hosung scrolling through his Instagram feed and you desperately looking for something good to watch on Netflix and coming up short. You let out an aggravated sigh and tilt your head back, staring up at the ceiling.
“I’m bored,” you complain, and Hosung chuckles.
“Well, what do you want to do?” He asks, turning his gaze from his phone to you. You pout at him, drawing your knees up to your chest.
“I don’t know,” you whine. Hosung surveys you for a moment, his eyes narrowed as he smiles, until he finally shrugs and looks back down at his phone.
“We could always go out somewhere. Just the two of us.” His strange wording causes you to sit back up again, looking at him strangely as he avoids your gaze and attempts to refresh Instagram. Nothing new comes up.
“We do that all the time, though? Why did you say that so weirdly,” you laugh, and he shrugs noncommittally, the tips of his ears turning red.
“I don’t know, I just — it could be like a date this time. Or something.
“Or something?” You question, poking his arm teasingly until he looks back up at you. When he finally does, you break into a big grin.
“Kidding, I’d love to,” you say, watching as his eyes widen slightly in surprise as you hop up from your seat and offer him your hand to help him up. “But since you asked, you’re paying!”
Ziu
Heejun has always, always been the teasing type. Honestly, sometimes you wonder if he knows when to shut up.
“Y/N-ah, are you asking me out?” He says, feigning shock. You let out a huff and pout up at him.
“Do you want to go or not, Heejun?” You ask, crossing your arms over your chest impatiently. Nonetheless, you hope he doesn’t notice the blush creeping up your cheeks. Regardless of how annoying he can sometimes be, over the years you’ve found yourself catching feelings for the loud boy, and it makes your heart rate spike to hear him so casually ask you about dating.
“Aw, is our Y/N-ie embarrassed?” He teases, stopping down slightly to get a better look at your face. You do your best to glare at him when he pokes at your cheek, swatting his hand away but still feeling your skin burning where he’d touched you. You hurriedly press your hands to your cheeks, hoping to cool them off with the autumn chill that still lingers on the pads of your fingers. As he smiles his stupid, handsome smile at you, you let out an annoyed groan.
“Yah, Heejun, give me an answer or I’ll just go without you!” You snap, and he lets out a laugh before leaning in even closer to you so that your noses brush.
“Okay, okay, I’ll give you an answer on one condition,” he says, and you roll your eyes but nod anyways, wanting more than anything to get out of this embarrassing situation with your crush. Your face continues to feel warm as his dark eyes gaze into yours, unwavering and more serious than before, making your heart skip a beat in your chest at the sudden tension between you,
