genre: fluff, some mentions of sex, ANGST and nostalgia lots of it, haechan-centric, slow burn
warnings: mentions of sex, excessive drinking, will talk about insomnia and depression
summary: nct’s haechan gets into a scandal after a night of drinking his ass off in hongdae, which prompts the management to put him in an indefinite hiatus. and it’s not like it’s the first time, because over the past months, haechan’s drinking problem had gone worse. hence, his parents send him back to jeju island for some healing time because his parents and managers think that maybe some time home would help. haechan laughs at the thought. if medication can’t, what can jeju island do? besides, he hasn’t been there in literal years.
author's note: this is my favorite work so far, which is why it took this long. i put my heart in here. please let me know which one is your favorite line/scene. this is also very heachan-centric, so please don't expect a lot of the reader's POV. also, may i recommend you to listen to Moon, Be There For You, Never Goodbye by NCT DREAM, Good Person by Haechan himself, and Black Clouds by NCT 127 as you read this! :) TIP ME HERE.
disclaimer: names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of my imagination or used in a fictitious manner. i do not claim to own or to have invented any copyrighted characters or concepts that i write about.
Haechan’s dream has always been the spotlight.
His Mother would tell her friends stories of how he would always tell her he’d be a star someday, a grin flashing across his small face on pictures and clips of him taking a stage as small as the podium in his first grade classroom, and would proudly brag that his first-born son made it to the world stage. She was so proud that she’d have his portfolio picture as her display image in her social media accounts. As a musician herself, she’d play NCT’s music out loud and would even go an extra mile by using their b-side songs when teaching their students at their small but proud music academy in the big city of Seoul. Haechan’s pictures are all over the small place they’d rented for their small business, two floors—the vocal lessons facilitated on the second floor and piano and guitar on the ground floor—and the humble husband and wife would proudly say the most successful student they’d ever had was Lee Donghyuck, now better known as Haechan.
Haechan allows her to take credit of it all, his success, because after all, she’d been the one to encourage her to take a chance at SM Entertainment’s infamous Saturday auditions. People tell Haechan he works hard, but nobody really works harder than his Mother. With sheer determination and a passionate heart, his mother would take little Donghyuck to every stage—no matter how small. Young and bright, he remembers being dragged from one contest to another, even when their family still lived in Jeju, and he’d win all of them for her. He’d take the spotlight just to see her happy and proud.
At times, Haechan wonders how much effort his mother had really put into his career. If he thinks about it now, it started with their entire family moving out of Jeju Island, completely uprooting their entire lives from the simple life in the island to give her dream a chance. People say that Haechan was born a star, that SM got lucky to have a child prodigy offer himself—bare and whole and real—who was willing to give up his childhood and education for a shot in the dark. His father had been reluctant about it, saying that they’d have to give up their entire life savings to merely move to Seoul—considering plane tickets and security deposits need to be sent prior to moving—and that taking a loan wouldn’t be ideal when they could barely make ends meet with four children growing up too fast. A shot in the dark, a flip of a coin, the luck of a draw. They say he was meant for this, was meant for the stage and the lights and the applause, but to Haechan, it’s not really fate. It’s just his mother doing all the work, and he’d take the spotlight for her.
Because Haechan likes the attention. He likes the good and the bad. The cheers and the applause. The painful arm slaps from Mark when he’s annoyed him enough. The head pats and hugs Taeil gives him when he’s being cute and when he lives up to his maknae image. The viral videos of him all over the internet for simply walking down the stage.
And his mother couldn’t be prouder to have a reliable son like him. She had always dreamed of the spotlight herself, but the timing was never right for her—hence Haechan living her dream, her spotlight, had been one of, if not the biggest accomplishments of her life.
The night is cold. Haechan feels dizzy when flashes of the lights coming from the small window of the bar’s building hit his face. He hates the lights, he hates being seen, and it makes him throw up when, as soon as he closes his eyes, it’s his mother that he sees.
Would his mother still be so proud when she learns that, after a long weekend of a back to back concert with NCT 127, his son would be getting a blowjob from a stranger at the back of some sleazy bar he had found online?
“Please tell me this isn’t real.”
Mark Lee is only twenty-three, but with how his forehead’s skin is wrinkling, he might as well invest in several sessions of botox shots. He’s holding his phone up to Haechan’s face, as if bringing the device closer to the younger’s eyes would deny the article that Dispatch uploaded at five in the fucking morning.
“I didn’t sleep with her,” Haechan denies, voice bored, tired. “We might have done other things, but I didn’t sleep with her.”
Mark lets out a groan of frustration, throwing his phone behind Haechan, the device landing on the carpeted floor. Haechan doesn’t even flinch even though it almost hit him.
“Haechan, what the fuck is going on, man?” Mark asks, demands to know what really is going on with his best friend, or whoever he’s speaking with now. “You know SM is going to kill you, right?”
Haechan shrugs. “What are they gonna do? Fire me?”
“You know they can!” Mark shouts, walking back and forth while Haechan remains seated on the couch, unbothered. “You’ve seen them do it! To our seniors! To the people you trained with. You think you’re big time, huh? That just because you’re essential in both units, they wouldn’t send you to some dungeon?”
Haechan laughs bitterly. He reckons being placed in a dungeon would be much better than the hell he’s living in now. “Now that,” he mocks. “Would be the ultimate dream.”
“You’re a fucking nightmare,” Mark says, pointing a finger to Haechan, enunciating each syllable so it goes through his skull.
But nothing can really make Lee Haechan budge anymore—not an expensive, hard device laterally thrown to his face, and not even his best friend (if he could still call him that) blatantly showing how disgusted he is with him—and he can’t really blame anyone. It used to he frightening to see Mark angry at something he did. Used to.
Haechan doesn’t really know what to say, so he chuckles bitterly and leans his head back so that it’s against the backrest, pondering whether it’s a good time to drink the bottle of vodka he’s been keeping under his bed.
“It’s funny because I don’t even know what having a nightmare feels like.”
Mark huffs, seemingly had given up on Haechan, then leaves the room alongside the small piece of sanity that the younger had left. Haechan bolts, sitting up real quick, but too slow because Mark is already out of the door. Haechan likes attention, and even though Mark Lee makes his head hurt, he likes the attention. Haechan likes that Mark is angry at him.
His manager calls him next, (as expected) voice angry as if he’s about to explode, and tells him his publicist is doing her very best to answer every god damn call from every magazine and news outlet. But none of those magazine and news outlets who have called had posted something to clear the situation; none of them were buying it. Haechan thinks it’s fucking ridiculous anyway. There were pictures and videos of him sneaking out with Hana or Hari, whatever her name was, and a clip of him zipping his pants up as they try to hide from the flashes of lights. Who the fuck would believe he was just out exploring with his 35-year old, happily-married-with-kids personal assistant?
And it’s too late, anyway, because what was the point of it all when his most loyal and long-time fan sites have all shut down overnight, his Instagram followers reducing down to five million in a matter of hours since Dispatch posted that article, and his best friends blatantly ignoring him with the exception of Mark confronting him, but of course, Haechan had to screw that up, too.
“They’re calling you in for a meeting,” his manager concludes with a sigh after elaborating what had been done to patch up the entire mess. “Be ready for whatever they have to say. Don’t expect me to have your back because I’m over it, Haechan. Whatever they decide to do with you, you fucking deserve it.”
The call ends. Haechan didn’t even get to talk.
He looks at the screen of his phone. There were a million of calls and text messages from his agency, half of it were from his mother, and the last thing he really wants now is to hear her voice. He scrolls through it all, chest tightening when he realizes nobody from Jaemin, Renjun and Jeno had tried to call him. Haechan knows he’s an asshole, deserving to be the receiving end of all the shouting and cussing, and he’s probably made the dumbest mistake of his entire life, but he’d live the stardom’s life long enough, he’d be okay. But a call from his best friends would have been a breather.
Haechan understands, what his manager said, that he shouldn’t really expect anyone to have his back after all that’s transpired in the last few of months.
You see, Haechan developed insomnia. He’d look the symptoms up in the internet, and it’s described as a common sleeping disorder that can make it hard for people to fall asleep, or if one’s attempt to drift off is successful, to stay asleep. Taeyong had said it’s a common disorder for idols, that their seniors from groups like EXO and SHINEE had all gone to psychologists for help, but Haechan didn’t really want to make a big deal out of it. He relied on what Naver offered him one morning when the sun’s already out and his eyes are still wide open.
Stress and anxiety were the major causes. Some resources say it could be from a poor sleeping environment such as an uncomfortable bed or bad lighting or temperature. One claims that it could also be from one’s lifestyle, like jetlag from traveling frequently, or drinking one too many caffeine-infused doses of fluids. It all could be factors why Haechan’s been getting 8-10 hours of sleep a week, and he acknowledges that he doesn’t really have the best lifestyle—and it’s not like he’s ever had the choice since NCT blew up.
So, he’d consulted Taeyong again, through a text, and all he’d gotten was a link to a study that insomnia can be caused by mental health conditions such as depression, followed by his therapist’s phone number.
Among all the causes he’d gathered, Haechan could confidently rule out depression because there’s no fucking way he’s sad. There’s barely any reason to be sad. Sure, he’d miss his siblings most of the time and he hates the feeling of seeing any of them cry whenever he had to leave, but nothing is more gratifying than the relief of seeing them happy whenever he comes home with luxurious gifts or plane tickets to Tokyo for a vacation. Haechan likes making people happy, and Mark tells him he’s always been a people pleaser. At times, he’d think his happiness depends on the happiness of the people he loves and values, and people around him are happy.
Hence, Haechan is happy.
Or at least, was happy.
Because the insomnia got worse—not that Haechan’s dealt with it enough to know whether it’s getting better or worse—but it was bad. He would come home exhausted as fuck after an entire day of dancing and singing, and he knows he’s tired because his body tells him so. Haechan would lie on bed, body drained from all energy, but his eyes would be wide open for an entire night. He’d only fall asleep when the sun’s started to seep through his curtains, a good hour before his manager would wake him for the next schedule. It was manageable, and the tour was a good excuse for the insomnia, but it followed him even on his days off, even in the beginning of the pandemic when there little to zero schedules that would have caused him anxiety or stress.
Therefore, reluctantly, he’d visited a doctor to get a prescription for some meds he could take to help him sleep. He’d lied, though, that it wasn’t that bad and that he would need it only on nights after shows, because he knew they’d only refer him to a therapist. Haechan doesn’t need a therapist. He could just talk to his mother about it, and she’d know what to say to make him feel better. To make him keep going.
It was fine until the melatonin supplements stopped working. Sometime last year, if he remembers right, when he thought he’d gone crazy because everything stopped working for him. There was a bottle of soju, half empty, from the fridge he had in the corner of the room he shared with Johnny, and he reckoned it could help. As soon as the bottle was empty, Haechan felt drowsy; he was out like the light half an hour later.
But just like the prescription from the doctor he can’t even remember the name of, drinking half a bottle worked. Johnny would give him suspicious looks when he would see Haechan stocking up soju inside their room, but he doesn’t ever say anything. Because alcohol made him sleep, until it didn’t. Until half a bottle stopped working. Until an entire bottle is no longer enough. Until Taeyong’s decided that there should be no alcohol inside anyone’s fridge, both fifth and tenth floors.
Hence, the drinking problem.
Haechan wonders what’s next. The sleeping problem, then the drinking problem. It looks like here is it, the next one: the scandal.
When Haechan was a trainee, his greatest fear was getting removed from the agency.
There was an assessment every quarter, and the CEO himself would sit down in a panel alongside other producers and choreographers to identify which of the trainees would move on to another level and which ones would have to go home. Each time they had to go through the assessment, Haechan, alongside other existing members of NCT, would spend long days inside the training room. He would fear that the CEO would ask him to rap all of a sudden because Haechan can’t rap to save his god damn life at that time. He would fear that his mother would receive a call and find out his beloved son, whom she spent so much money on just to get ballet classes, failed and would need to go home.
Today, Haechan fears none of those.
The decision to put him in an indefinite hiatus was quick to make, not that Haechan expected anything less.
The news was out the second they threw him out of the meeting room (but not before the CEO slapping him right across the face, his left cheek throbbing in pain he’s oddly happy he could feel) and his bags were packed before he could even tell his members. The dorms were empty when he arrived, and there was no time to visit Dream’s place; Haechan knew he could just call, or visit. His family lives twenty minutes away, a short ride from downtown. He’d figure it out, like he always would.
What fazes him is what he comes home to.
His father offers him a one-way ticket, says his mother is still too upset to look even at Haechan in the face, that she’s spending the night in her friend’s house. The domestic flight ticket is bound to Jeju Island, and it boards tomorrow morning.
“Your grandmother will be waiting for you,” his father says, eyes everywhere but Haechan’s. “Your mother thinks it would be the best for now. Your agency knows, of course, and they’re helping us ensure you get your privacy in Jeju-do. We just need you to stay there for a bit, Donghyuck. Might help.”
“Dad,” Haechan pleads, Dad sounding foreign to him now. He’s stopped calling him Dad years ago, right before he debuted in NCT, and had been calling him Father. He’s not sure why he’a suddenly calling him that now, perhaps it’s the sinking feeling in his stomach, but Haechan is desperate for another solution. “You can’t send me back in the island. I haven’t lived in grandmother’s house since I was twelve.”
“Don’t act like the place isn’t civilized, Donghyuck,” his father sighs. “You’ll be okay. You can take your expensive gaming laptop with you so you can entertain yourself while you’re on vacation. It’s only going to be a few months.”
“A few months?” Haechan cries. “I can’t live there anymore!”
“The agency decided not to terminate their contract with you,” his father reveals. “Apparently, you’re too talented to let go of. Your mother and I are very grateful they didn’t. All they want in return is for you to go back in six months—sober and full of life again. Your therapist suggests you go to a vacation.”
“I don’t have a therapist?”
“The doctor who prescribed you sleeping pills? You didn’t tell us you had insomnia.”
“Fuck you,” Haechan spits before he could even think about it. “Neither you nor mother thought of asking me what’s been going on. Dad, I wanted you to scold me. To punch me in the fucking gut and tell me I’ve ruined everything. I wanted mother to yell at me until my ear bleeds, so I can find the motivation to work hard and make her happy again.”
“Donghyuck, we–”
“Don’t call me that!” He yells. “The first thing that came to your mind was how grateful you are that I’m not fired from my job? I’m not some retirement plan! I’m your son!”
“Keep it down. Your siblings are–”
”Donghyuck-hyung?” Haechan turns. Gyeom stands at the end of the hallway, seemingly woken up from his slumber, and Dongmin hides behind the younger one to see what’s going on. Haechan doesn’t even see Seungyeon come out of her room. He just hears her door shut loudly, the lock clicking, and realize he fucked up big time.
He takes a look at the ticket from his father’s hand.
It’s ridiculous. If the melatonin pills he’s taking are not helping with his stupid insomnia, and drinking a bottle of soju works as equally as useless, what the fuck could work? They think a recreational vacation to fucking Jeju Island would do shit?
Fuck his parents, honestly.
Fuck his siblings for not even giving him a hug as soon as he entered their home.
Fuck his members for not checking up on him.
Fuck the entire god damn world.
He rips the ticket from his father’s hand and turns to leave, taking the same bags he’d brought in a few minutes ago. The flight is tomorrow morning, but Haechan calls a taxi to take him to the airport.
Sleeping (or at least, trying to) in the uncomfortable airport seats is a fucking pain in the ass, literally. But nothing more hurts than the look on his family’s face: the blankness in his father’s and the fright from his siblings.
Jeju fucking Island. Way to end the day.
When Haechan was younger, his grandmother would take him to the Camellia Hills on the weekends. While kids his age would be taken in Aqua Planet to see thousands of animals and plant species to ease their shoulders from studies, Haechan would be running around fields of camellia and hydrangea flowers. They would spend hours just walking around trees of over five hundred different kinds of wildflowers. His grandmother would take pictures of him and let him eat whatever he wanted at a nearby restaurant, and his siblings would always cry and complain why Nana only wanted to bring Haechan. There wasn’t a particular reason, of course, it was only because the younger ones were too difficult for their grandmother to look after on a trip to Camellia Hill. Little Donghyuckie was well-behaved albeit his bold and obnoxious nature. He would do whatever his Nana would ask him.
Haechan’s always claimed that he’s the favorite despite his grandmother repeatedly saying she doesn’t do favorites, and he knows deep in his heart that he is. He is, after all, the first grandchild, and he spent a lot of time with his Nana alone for many years while they were in Jeju.
His grandmother used to sing him to sleep at night. When his younger sister was born, Nana stayed with them in Seoul for a while to help his parents adjust to having two kids, considering Haechan’s age gap with Seungyeon is only a year. Nana made sure Haechan slept well every night, in a separate room from his parents because newborn Seungyeon who wouldn’t let anyone sleep past one in the morning. She’d sing him songs from The Beatles in broken English, and Haechan likes to think that even though both his parents were musicians, the reason why he could sing well was his Nana.
She eventually had to move back to Jeju Island as soon as the family had settled, but years later, at the age of seven, his grandfather died and Nana was left all alone to tend to their land and business, hence the Lee family packed their bags to stay at Nana’s supposedly for the summer, but ended up with the decision of staying for her.
Nana had problems sleeping when his grandfather died. Haechan used to find her awake when he’d need a glass of water or to go to the toilet at two in the morning. She’d be watching television, a nighttime talk show she used to like, or reading a book from his grandfather’s shelf. The lights in her home were always on.
So, Haechan started singing her to sleep just like how she did when he was a child.
She’d tell him, “Oh, my Donghyuckie, you have such a nice voice. Why don’t you sing more?”
Then she’d fall asleep while Haechan wondered why lovers die at different times, why one has to go first and the other is left on Earth trying to sleep well every night.
Upon his arrival in Jeju-do, his grandmother doesn’t pick him up from the airport like he’d expected, so he takes a taxi from the airport to her house. Haechan knows what their home looks like despite not visiting since his training days. They own a small hectare of land filled with tangerine trees, and his grandmother had been the sole operator of it all for many years until she had to start hiring people here and there to manage things for her when her age caught up with her. His father used to travel back and forth to see how things are here and there, but eventually stopped when Nana had found people she can rely on—which Haechan is very glad about.
He must be an asshole, or a prick, or a hypocrite to even say this but he’s been thinking about her more often than he calls. If he recalls right, the last time he’d called was three months ago, on her birthday, but it was two-minute exchange of generic how are yous and please stay healthys. She would call, of course, but Haechan would always have something as an excuse: a dance practice, a trip to Japan for a show, a photoshoot, something. Something to cover up the fact that he hasn’t been the best grandson to her in a long time.
He arrives and the first thing he notices is a hammock hanging in between the posts of her patio. A kick of nostalgia hits him because grandfather put up a hammock at the back of their home once, when Haechan was around five years old and they were visiting the couple for the summer. Her grandmother used to tell Haechan that the hammock is the best place to take his afternoon naps, hence little Donghyuck would spend most of his afternoons lying on a hammock made of strong nylon.
Shaking off the nostalgia, Haechan clears his throat. “Nana! I’m home!”
“Donghyuckie, is that you?” she calls from somewhere. Haechan walks over to the patio and drops his bags.
Nana comes out from the side of the house, her favorite pink apron on, grey hair hidden by a hair cap. “Oh, sweetheart.”
Haechan sees her age simply by the way she stands. Her back is hunched more than it was the last time he saw her during Chuseok last year. The wrinkles in the edges of her eyes and around her mouth are much more evident. The skin on her neck is loose, and so is the skin on her arms and everywhere.
For a second, Haechan feels like he’s seven again, seeing her for the first time since summer, her eyes not as happy as they were from the last time they’d been in Jeju-do, when grandfather was still alive. Haechan suddenly is taken back to when she’d hug him so, so tightly, crying to his shoulder, telling him harabeoji had left her while she was asleep. He remembers his heart dropping down to the ground when he saw her breaking down, his loving grandmother—who was always bright and happy, whom people would say he got his personality from—at her lowest. It’s the same wave of sadness Haechan feels looking at her now—looking at the years painted in her skin. Her memories blurring out the color of her eyes. Decades of hard work and labor tainted on the callouses on her fingers. Glints of loneliness spread throughout the wrinkles on her face.
Haechan has been all over the world for years now. Years of training and sleepless nights perfecting a performance had led him to where he is now. People who speak different languages love him and cheer for him even with countries and continents in between. He’s made millions happy by simply singing songs or saying hi in a fan call. And while he’s done of all of these, what had he done for his grandmother? People have been watching him grow up, who was watching Nana all this time?
Haechan chokes on his own tears. His grandmother, his Nana, opens her arms like Haechan is not the person the world hates right now. She hugs him like Haechan is not the person who had potentially ruined the group his best friend Mark had worked hard on. She holds him in her arms like Haechan is not the person who scared his siblings and cursed his own father. Nana takes him inside her home like he’s her Donghyuck again.
Haechan feels like he’s her Donghyuckie again.
Contrary to popular belief, Donghyuck doesn’t like affection as much as Haechan does.
He believes that being offered tenderness is the very proof that you’ve been ruined, and Haechan likes to think that with the life he has now, he’s not really in the position to talk about his life’s struggles. Because there are more people in the world who deserves to talk about their pain. Donghyuck doesn’t deserve as much.
Hence, the nostalgia goes away as quickly as it arrives. Haechan spends the rest of the day trying to sleep in his grandmother’s spare room and doesn’t even bother answering when his grandmother knocked on his door to invite him for lunch despite him being wide awake.
Haechan gets up at five in the afternoon, just when the sun is about to set, eyes heavy. The sky looks a lot like the color of his own skin, he notices, and he thinks about how beautiful the sky would be in Han River and recalls how him and Mark (and sometimes Doyoung) would lie on the ground, letting their skin soak in the sun slowly sinking down to its rest.
But none of that is close to happening because he’s here. In Jeju-do. Stuck like some twelve-year old sent to camp for an entire summer because his parents can’t stand him.
Haechan’s train of (bitter) thoughts is interrupted with a loud plonk from the wooden patio, which is right outside his window. He pulls his curtains slightly to peek, and he finds you on the floor on your side, groaning like a kid and massaging your back. It looks like you’d just fallen out of the hammock.
Curious, Haechan gets up and quickly slips out of his room to see you on their front porch.
“And Nana says it’s the most comfortable place to sleep on,” he hears you mumble as you get up, eyes meeting his as soon as you see him. Your eyes widen in shock, probably recognizing him, but you quickly catch yourself and look down.
“You are?” Haechan asks, towering over you.
You clear your throat. “Y/N.”
“I don’t mean your name, pumpkin,” he replies. “What do you do here?”
Haechan smirks at the way one of your eyebrows raised, clearly already infuriated at his attitude. You’re wearing a white shirt that’s too big for you underneath your denim overalls. The pair of boots sitting under the hammock is a clear sign that you’re a farmer tending to the tangerine trees on the land right beside the house, separated by a fence and his grandmother’s home garden.
“I manage your grandmother’s land,” you answer, stance defensive. “And it looks like you’re the delinquent grandson they sent away for the summer?”
Haechan chuckles, liking how you’re bark and bite, wondering how far he can push you, because the last thing he really wants is someone staying at his grandmother’s house. Too close. Too easy to see everything. You’d make millions selling him to the tabloids. He’d honestly rather hear people saying how much of an asshole he is, than have people invading his grandmother’s privacy while he’s here.
“You mean the world star, right?” he brags, licking his upper lip. “And you manage the land we own? Sounds a lot like a farmer to me.”
You stifle a laugh. You’re not at all intimidated. “Oh, pumpkin, I think the last thing you’d want to do in Jeju-do is insult a farmer for their job. The agricultural structure of Jeju Island has done more than you thrusting your hips up on the air for young, easily-manipulated teenage girls, Donghyuck.”
“So, you know my name?”
You click your tongue and turn around, proceeding to slip your boots back on. “How could I not know?”
“Because I’m a world star, right. How could you not know?”
Haechan watches you tie the laces up of your boots. You don’t give him another glance and leave, stomping your feet down the stairs to the ground until you’re out of his sight.
“Hey, you’re awake,” Nana says from inside. The door is wide open. “Where’s Y/N?”
She walks towards where Haechan stands, looking around for you. “That girl. I told her to stay for dinner. What’d you do, Donghyuck-ah?”
“Nothing,” he mumbles, annoyed at how Nana is more concerned about you leaving than ensuring his privacy. He’s a star, for god’s sake. “Why’d you let her sleep here, anyway? And have her stay for dinner? Aren’t you scared she might sell me off to some magazine for, I don’t know, one million won?”
“Why would Y/N sell you—“ his grandmother sighs. “Not everyone is out to get you, Donghyuck-ah.”
“Why does she even know my birth name?” he questions. “That’s like, too much, Nana. Don’t share things like that.”
His grandmother slaps his arm. “Ow! What’d you do that for?”
“You’re a moron!” she screeches. “That was Y/N! She waited for you to wake up all day!”
“That’s creepy!”
“Y/C/N,” Nana enunciates. Haechan remembers. “Her childhood nickname. Does it ring a bell?”
“Y/N—” he breathes out. Frozen. “—is Y/C/N?”
Haechan has always had an affinity with flowers, long before he named his fans sunflowers.
His grandparents had a larger flower garden as compared to how it is now. They’d planted tangerine trees in place of the fields of beautiful red azalea and rhododendron blossoms. On spring days, the cherry blossoms were infinite, and little Donghyuck used to spend a lot of time looking at the flowers and making necklaces out of them.
You used to (still do, perhaps) live down the street, and your parents used to help out in the farm when your grandparents needed another pair of hands to harvest the tangerines. Little Donghyuck met you when he was six.
If he recalls it right, it was the second day of summer, a hundred something days before they had to return back to Seoul. He found you lying under a cherry blossom tree, eyes closed, allowing hundreds of pink petals to drown you in their beauty. Little Donghyuck lied down beside you, upside-down but his head is right beside yours. He’s always been a curious kid, so he wanted to know why you were letting the pink petals rain on you. There was nothing special about it. Just petals falling when the wind blows a certain direction.
When he opened his eyes, you turn to look at him, your eyebrows were furrowed the way they were when Haechan found you on the floor of his patio earlier, right after you’d fallen from the hammock.
“Hey,” you had said. “You’re the kid from Nana’s house, right?”
“She’s my Nana,” he corrected, closing his eyes once again. “And yes, I’m the kid from Nana’s house. You are?”
“My mom calls me Y/C/N,” you answered. “Are you staying for the summer?”
He nodded. “Only for the summer. We’re leaving before school starts.”
“Do you like flowers?” you asked.
“We don’t have a lot of flowers in Seoul,” Little Donghyuck mumbled. “But I love flowers. Last summer, Nana took me to Camellia Hills to see the flowers bloom in May.”
“Then you should stay,” you trailed off. “If you love flowers and Seoul doesn’t offer much, then you should stay.”
“What about school?” Donghyuck had asked, opening his eyes to look at you. You’re looking at him, upside-down and all. Donghyuck’s never seen someone more beautiful. “You’re pretty.”
Your eyes widened. You immediately hide your face from him using your hands. “We’re only five. I can’t have a boyfriend at five years old.”
“Maybe when we’re older.”
Haechan doesn’t remember much from the day you met, but he got close to you during that summer in 2006, even more when his family moved back to Jeju-do in 2007. Your friendship blossomed from walking together in first grade throughout primary school until he’d graduated and eventually moved back to Seoul.
He can’t believe that he’d forgotten your name, and a part of him knows it’s because he’s always called you by your childhood nickname, but a larger part of him likes to think that it’s because he’s almost twenty-three now—it’s been almost ten years. He’s met probably thousands of people at this point, and with the lifestyle he has, he really can’t afford to remember each person he spends time with. Not even the girl he spent his entire childhood in Jeju-do with.
So, Haechan forgives himself before he could ask for yours. He reckons you’d understand. You know him, somehow. You kept in touch until Haechan got into SM in 2013 and high school and training got the best of him. He changed his number and lost contact with almost everyone in Jeju-do, even his closest friends, and you were one them.
Life as a singer means Haechan had to sacrifice a lot of things.
Most people know an idol sacrifices having a normal life—playing in the streets, trying out to be a part of the basketball team, dating at fifteen years old, prom, staying at one classmate’s house for a group project—and it includes forgetting the people you used to be close with.
One of the rules in SM when he was a trainee was to not get in touch with the people from their past. One of their managers used to tell them that their lives are divided into two parts: before training and after training; and to be successful in the industry means to forget who you were before training. They’d deleted all of his social media, which means he disconnected from the people he knew before he was Haechan. They’d deleted who he was before Haechan.
Many sacrifices, indeed. The list goes on, and at the end of it was your name.
“She never left Jeju-do?” Haechan asks, curious, as he ate the dinner Nana made for him. “Like not even for college?”
“She didn’t go to college at all,” Nana answers. “And she likes it here. Why do you make staying in Jeju-do sound like a living hell?”
Haechan shrugs. “It’s not like that, Nana. I mean, God knows what I’d do to get a normal life and go to college in Seoul and do what normal people in their early twenties do.”
Nana smiles at him. “This is probably what normal is for her. Not everyone has big dreams like you.”
“Why wouldn’t they?” Haechan asks. “Dreams are free. It doesn’t cost anything to dream. Why wouldn’t people want to have big dreams?”
“Aren’t you the lucky one to have a dream and to be able to live your dream?” Nana says. She finishes up her meal and watches Haechan eat. “How are you, Donghyuck-ah?”
Haechan stops chewing and braces himself. Nobody’s asked him how he is. He continues chewing like it’s not a question that’s been weighing him under.
“I’m okay,” he answers, mouth full of food. “They didn’t fire me. So, I guess I should be grateful. I’m okay.”
“You know that you don’t have to lie to Nana, right?” She asks, smile kind and warm.
And Haechan wants to say it all. Out loud. Maybe even cry.
But he is not about to let his grandmother carry his burdens with her. Burdens that shouldn’t even matter because he’s so lucky to have the life he has now. Burdens that are nothing compared to other people’s.
“Come on, Donghyuck-ah,” she urges. “Talk to Nana. Tell me what’s wrong, my dear.”
“Halmeoni,” he firmly says. “I said I’m okay. I’m tired. Thank you for the meal.” He bows and stands to leave.
Life has a singer means Haechan had to sacrifice a lot, indeed.
Nana leaves a box of things Haechan would need while he’s in Jeju-do before her trusted chauffeur takes her to the town’s market for some business.
Haechan finds himself wearing the same fit as you the day before: a pair of overalls, an old, non-branded shirt that looks like it’s been worn and washed 300 times. Nana left a list of chores to do, and there’s no way Haechan is doing all of those. He’s taking a walk around the fields, supervise like how the owner’s grandson should, bask on the sunlight for a bit, then go back to his room and play some games with strangers online.
You’re waiting by the patio, sitting and looking at the opposite direction so he only sees your back, when Haechan comes out, dressed up for the role but not ready for whatever today brings him.
“Took you long enough,” you grumble as he steps out of the house. You stand and turn to look at him. “Lock the door and let’s get going. You’re late on your first day.”
“Chill out, sweet cheeks,” he scoffs, reaching behind the door and locking it before slamming it shut. “You’re not the boss of me.”
You nod, chuckling. “I’m not. But your grandmother is. And she added your list to the name of workers joining us to harvest today. You will be paid by the hour.”
Haechan gasps lightly in disbelief. “I don’t need to work. We own this place.”
“Hmm,” you hum, feigning curiosity as you tap your index finger to your chin as if you’re thinking hard. “You know I manage this whole place, right? Which means I also manage its taxes and permits annually. I’ve never seen your name in any of the papers I play with every day.”
“Same fucking thing,” he mumbles, walking past you to reach the gate. Haechan finds two horses waiting for him outside. He turns, ready to ask you what kind of joke you’re pulling on him, but he finds you going around the house, perhaps to make sure everything’s locked and all. You catch up on him, eyebrows raised when he points to the horses.
“Don’t tell me you can’t ride a horse,” you ask, seemingly in disbelief that someone like him isn’t capable of riding a horse. “You can’t work in the fields just walking. You’ll tire yourself out and will waste most of your working hours just walking.”
“I—I’m really not—” Haechan falters for a second, but comes back as quickly as he goes. “It’s been years since the last time I rode a horse. I’m not certain if I can do that now.” You give him a questioning look. “Besides. I’m a celebrity if you haven’t noticed it already. What if I break a bone?”
“You’ll live.”
“What if I fall and break my face?”
“Seoul has the best plastic surgeons.”
“My legs! They were injured before. I can’t afford to get another injury!”
“You’ll be fine. You’re such a drama queen.”
“I’m a star!”
At that, you burst out into a fit of laughter, the kind that Haechan would normally join in, because what he just said is truly ridiculous. He can’t believe he said that himself. But, of course, he can’t just laugh with, basically, a stranger.
“Oh my God, Lee Donghyuck,” you say in between laughter.
Something ignites something in him, the way you just said his name.
Haechan is a name he loves, an alter-ego he adores, a character he lives. Full sun, because that’s what he wants to be. He wants to bring light to everyone looking up to him, and he wants to be remembered by the way his voice warms the entire planet. He loves hearing cheers and applause when he introduces himself as Haechan. Because Haechan is talented. Haechan is an ace, an all-rounder who can do anything an idol is expected to do, perhaps even more. Haechan is bright and positive, and he likes making people laugh and at the same time uncomfortable of the influx of skinship he offers. Haechan loves the lights and cameras on stage, and he adores the way his name is in every city he goes to.
Meanwhile, Lee Donghyuck, he’s heard in a million times. Mark still calls him Donghyuck like they never aged since 2013, even Doyoung and Jeno. His parents seldom call him Haechan, never for Nana. His fans also have been calling him Donghyuck since they learned his birth name is Donghyuck, sometimes Hyuck or Hyuckie, which he finds really endearing.
Yet no one’s ever called him his name like he’s nothing but just Lee Donghyuck. Not for a long time. Not from someone before Haechan.
Donghyuck suddenly feels like he’s twelve again, the year he left Jeju-do and had to say goodbye to all of his friends with a promise to keep in touch and to never forget. Donghyuck finds himself looking at the way you’re laughing, how you have your eyes closed, mouth agape and melodies of your amusement coming out like a song he thought he’d forgotten but know all the words to, and he finds himself thinking, maybe being Lee Donghyuck isn’t so bad.
His first day at the farm didn’t go as quick as expected and if Donghyuck could say so himself, it’s the longest fucking day in his entire life.
Evidently, he couldn’t ride a horse to save his life. He doesn’t even know why he’d told you it’s been a long time when the only time he ever rode a horse was when he was eleven for a field trip and only to take a god damn picture to make his mother smile. You and him were only a couple of horse steps or whatever away from Nana’s home and his horse was already squirming and more like threatening to throw him ten meters away, hence, you begrudgingly offered to have him ride with you. Donghyuck didn’t decline, of course, because it was either walk around the place under the hot sun or die at the hands of a stupid horse. You had let him sit behind you, skillfully and impressively holding the other horse by its rope, Donghyuck’s arms reluctantly wrapped around your waist because he didn’t want to fall, and if you were uncomfortable, you didn’t say anything about it.
You had taken him to a tour within his grandparents’ land, and Donghyuck is already twenty-three when he realized his grandparents are big time, like for real. The land isn’t as big as the others, ones that are owned by a big corporation, people who aren’t even from Jeju-do but like to play agricultural monopoly, but it’s bigger than most. Nana was too humbled when she’d told him the night before that he would need to help out in their “small” business.
The business is nowhere near small, with hundreds of tangerine trees scattered around, blooming in the famous Jeju-do delicacy, and she had forty to fifty employees working for her.
“Not really like full-time employees,” you had explained when Donghyuck verbalized his surprise with the number of people working for the farm. “Normally, it’s just me and Nana and a few other people who handle the delivery, quality assurance, and sales in the farmer’s market, which I’d need to take you to tomorrow, and also some folks from Seoul who handle the cargo shipping to the cities. But when it’s harvest season, we really would need more than ten pairs of hands to help out.”
“So, like, all year, there’s only around ten people are here,” Donghyuck confirmed, hands still on your waist as the horse came to a stop. “And on harvest season, Nana hires more people to help out. That’s really nice. Could be a good summer job for students and all.”
You hummed in agreement, patting the horse that Donghyuck learned you named as Daisy. “But normally, you’d find older people working here instead of the younger ones.”
“Oh?” Donghyuck’s curious. “That’s a little odd. I mean, isn’t the job physically tiring?”
You shrugged. “The elderly, well, they don’t really have a lot of opportunities to work here, you know, considering that Jeju-do has become more of like a tourist island than a self-sufficient, thriving agricultural place. You’ve probably heard of the water park they’d built nearby the airport and other big corporations taking over and building their stores here and there. And of course, they’d most likely hire younger people who can relate to the Korean Wave your group caused, right?”
“Keeping tabs?”
You scoffed at that. “As if! Now, get down before I ask Daisy to wiggle her ass and throw you off.”
After the supposed short tour that took an hour because, well, their land is enormous, you take him where some of the elderly people are harvesting.
“This is Donghyuck,” you’d introduced. “Nana’s grandson from Seoul. He’ll be helping us today. So, halmeoni, don’t even think about getting him off the hook because he’s Nana’s grandson. He will be paid for the day like everyone else. You wouldn’t want someone to get paid the same, only to work half of what you do, right?”
The older women laughed at the way you’d introduced him, and he feels his heart swell with the way you’re laughing with them and how they looked at him with so much tenderness. And normally, Donghyuck doesn’t like the look of tenderness, especially when directed to him, but today, it felt warm. Warmth like never before.
“You grew up so handsome, Donghyuck-ah,” one of the women said. “But I thought you’d be taller, you know. You had such long limbs when you were younger.”
Donghyuck feigned offense, clutching his chest. “Ahjumma, you should’ve stopped at the word handsome.”
“Tangerines ripen earlier than other citruses, so they can escape damage from freezes that will harm midseason varieties such as grapefruit and sweet oranges. Most varieties will be ready for picking during the winter and early spring, although the exact tangerine harvest time depends on the cultivar and region,” you explain, following the lead while Donghyuck and two other guys around yours and his age trail behind you. He apparently needs some training before he can start working.
“How do we know if they’re ready to be picked?” Joohyuk, one of the part-timers, ask.
You will know it’s about harvest time for tangerines when the fruit is a good shade of orange and begins to soften a bit. This is your chance to do a taste test,” you answer, stopping to show an abundant tangerine tree. You pick one out and show it to Donghyuck and the rest. “Cut the fruit from the tree at the stem with hand pruners. If after your taste test the fruit has reached its ideal juicy sweetness, proceed to snip other fruit from the tree with the hand pruners.”
You proceed to show them how it’s cut and hand them a piece each. Donghyuck likes that the fruit is sweet, not sour.
The ahjummas find your group and start handing baskets to Donghyuck and the guys, telling them they’d guide them all throughout.
He found himself spending the rest of the morning getting to know the people harvesting tangerines and making them laugh like it’s his job. He learned all their names one by one, their families briefly, and what they used to do before they retired. By the time it’s lunch, Donghyuck was about to say goodbye and perhaps ask you to take him back to his house, the group from the other side of the farm joined their area, all packed with bags of lunch.
They asked him to join, of course, but Donghyuck refused, in respect of their time to relax and take a break, and asked if you could take him home instead. You agreed, of course, mumbling that you would also need to go home to feed your dog.
“I’ll pick you up at 1:15,” you say as soon as Donghyuck lands on his feet. “Don’t sleep, please. The ahjummas will be expecting you. It’ll be a lot hotter, so drench your celebrity skin with twice the amount of sunscreen you’d normally use.”
“Yeah,” Donghyuck responds, itching to say thank you, but not enough to actually say it. He rubs Daisy’s neck instead. “You—I, okay.”
“O-kay,” you nod and whistle to signal Daisy to turn and walk the other way.
Nana waits for him by the patio. “How was your first day?”
“It’s not even over yet,” he sighs, slumping his butt on one of the patio’s stairs. “Nana, I can’t believe you’re making me work while I’m on vacation.”
“Your father never said anything about a vacation,” she responds, smiling as she struggles to sit beside him. Donghyuck helps her. “You’re here for some time away from work, right?”
“Yeah, a vacation,” he emphasizes.
Nana reaches to move the fringe covering a part of his eyes. “Let’s call this your healing time. But I wouldn’t call it a vacation because a vacation for you only means playing computer games until the sun rises then sleeping all day.”
“You should stop talking to Seungyeon about me,” he mumbles, looking sideways to find his grandmother looking at him lovingly. “And I don’t only play computer games. I also listen to a lot of music.”
“Try not to think about the limelight while you’re here,” she says. “The farm needs some help now. And it’s the best time for you to learn about the family business in case you don’t make it back in Seoul.” Donghyuck groans, burying his face in his hands, and Nana laughs at him. “That’s a possibility you should be considering, Donghyuck-ah.”
“Nana, you’re making me feel worse,” he whines. “You just told me not to think about the limelight, how can I not when you just said what you said!”
“I’m only joking,” she admits. “No one is ever going to take the limelight away from you, Donghyuck-ah, even if they try. You were born for the stage, and I know it’s everything you’ve ever wanted.”
Donghyuck looks up at her. “Is it bad that it’s all I want?”
Nana shakes her head and offers a kind smile. “Having a dream like yours is never bad, Donghyuck-ah. I know that eventually you’d have to leave and go back to where you really belong: the limelight. But all I’m saying is, stepping out of the light isn’t as bad as you think it is.”
“Right.”
“Tell me how it was in the farm.”
“The ladies love me,” he chuckles. “I’m quite popular even in the small villages of Jeju-do, aren’t I?”
“You sure are,” she agrees. “They’ve been asking about you for a long time. Looks like your Nana isn’t the only one who missed you.”
“How come they still remember me?” he asks before he can think about it. “I mean, I’m sorry, but I’ve forgotten about most people here. They still remember how I used to play around and sing for small events.”
It’s true. It caught him by surprise that the workers still remembered him—and not only because he’s a celebrity now, but they remember him by the small, insignificant happenstances when he was younger. Like for example, one of them mentioned how he was once was injured, his pinky finger to be exact, because he was running like a madman when his mother had given him permission to go play computer games with his cousin. He doesn’t remember that person being there, but he knows his grandmother talked about it like it was a news about a hurricane hitting Seoul at that time it happened.
It makes Donghyuck wonder how many people remember him, and how many people he’d forgotten and left behind for his dreams.
“Our world here in Jeju-do is small,” Nana explains. “People like you, who left, well, while ours remain humble and small, while we fade into the background and slowly become insignificant, yours become bigger. So, while we remember, you forget, slowly, one by one—and nobody blames you for forgetting, Donghyuck-ah.”
Oh, look. Another burden, another truth that Donghyuck has to carry for the rest of his life. Another reason not to fall asleep tonight.
There is a small, local store located down the road from his grandmother’s house. They don’t sell nearly half the number the ones local convenience stores in Seoul would, but Donghyuck likes to think it’ll do. Soju and beer taste the same anyway, regardless of where he buys it.
With the faint, beaten yellow paint from its exterior, the store has been around even before Donghyuck was born. It’s the village’s very own convenience store, after all. There weren’t any rival stores like how it would look like in Seoul where every corner of every street one would find a convenience store. From where Donghyuck stands, the store doesn’t like look like it’s changed much in a decade.
For some reason, Donghyuck remembers how much Renjun likes reading neuroscience studies for fun. He doesn’t know anyone else who would read neuroscience studies. For fun. But anyway, back to his point, there was a neuroscience study that Renjun has been blabbing about during their US tour. It was something about when someone recalls an old memory, a representation of the entire event is instantaneously reactivated in the brain that often includes the people, location, smells, music, and other trivia. Recalling old memories can have a cinematic quality. Memories often seem to play out in the mind's eye like an old Super 8 home movie or vintage Technicolor film. Neuroscientists discovered that when someone tries to remember a singular aspect of an event from his or her past—such as a recent birthday party—that a complete representation of the entire scene is reactivated in the brain like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle coming together to create a vivid recollection. The new research reveals that humans remember life events using individual threads, that are coupled together into a tapestry of associations.
Donghyuck’s never really understood what Renjun meant at that time, except now.
He stands there, a good ten-meter distance from where you’re sitting. The pavement on the sidewalk isn’t the most comfortable place to sit in, but Donghyuck thinks it might just be, with how comfortable and at peace you look: legs stretched out to the street, headphones covering your ears, a book (or a journal perhaps, Donghyuck can’t see well from here) in one of your hands while the other is twirling a pen.
The scene takes him back to ten years ago, in the exact same place where you’re sitting, and if Donghyuck thinks about it now, it seems like nothing’s really change—except he’s almost twenty-three now, and despite him standing a few meters away from you, it feels like you and him are worlds away. And from what it looks like, you still love writing as much as Donghyuck loves singing.
It was a warm evening in May 2013, a couple of weeks before school ended and summer would officially start, counting down the nights when Donghyuck would have to move back to Seoul, and it was way too hot for Donghyuck’s liking. Nana didn’t have an air-conditioning system yet; his father was working hard to get her one before they leave for Seoul because summers can be crazy hot in Jeju-do. And Donghyuck needed a popsicle so bad, otherwise, he’d probably explode.
He found you the same place where you are now. Donghyuck thought your SHINEE shirt looked cute because while girls your age liked the newly debuted EXO, you still listened to SHINEE like a religion. You were sitting with your legs sprawled on the street, right under the streetlight, a pen in one hand and your old, beaten up journal on the other. Your eyebrows were furrowed, and Donghyuck caught himself before he could start thinking about how pretty you looked like that: focused and doing what you loved.
Donghyuck decided not to disrupt your focus and opted to go straight inside the small store, spending the last of his money on yours and his favorite: lime and cherry twin popsicle—the kind that’s packaged in one, two flavors in one, lime green and cherry red colors separated in the middle between popsicle sticks. Lime for you, cherry for him. You didn’t look up when he sat beside you, but took the lime-flavored popsicle from his hand when he handed it to you after peeling off the plastic cover and breaking it into two.
“Thanks,” you mumbled, taking the ice-cold treat in your mouth. Donghyuck couldn’t help but think his cherry-flavored popsicle resembled the color of your lips.
Donghyuck nodded his thoughts away, leaning in to peak at the page you’re working on. “What are you working on?” he asked it while the popsicle rested on one side of his mouth, his left cheek protruding.
You shrugged, taking the popsicle off your mouth, showing your work to him. Donghyuck found it endearing that you write all over the pages of your journals, it was as though he could see your train of thoughts: some smudged, some erased under ink but not really because he could still read through it, some clear as day, some to never see daylight again.
“I was in Science class today,” you started.
“We’re in the same homeroom, dumbass. I was there.”
“I’m talking,” you whined. “And I doubt you were even listening. You hate Science more than anything.”
“Fair point,” he hummed. “Okay, what about Science class? Please don’t tell me you’ll start writing about Science. Because I’m so sorry. I’ll never read any of your work ever again if you decide to do that.”
You laughed, the melody of your fondness of his jokes creating its own room inside the crevices of Donghyuck’s brain. “Teacher Kim was talking about symbiosis.”
“I’m not even going to pretend I know what that means.”
“Symbiosis is a term describing any relationship or interaction between two dissimilar organisms. The specific kind of symbiosis depends on whether either or both organisms benefit from the relationship,” you continued. “Butterflies and flowers, they are the best examples of symbiosis.”
Donghyuck nodded, savoring the sweetness of his cherry-flavored treat.
“Hence I did some research and read more about butterflies and flowers, and I read something a little sad,” you trailed off. “I learned that certain flowers bloom when butterflies hatch and depends on how they match each other. Butterflies, they prefer light-colored flowers they can perch on. So, when the timing is off, the flower misses the butterfly. The butterfly, therefore, finds another flower.”
“Then what happens to the flower?” Donghyuck asked, watching as you try to catch the melting piece off your popsicle, taking it back to your mouth. Your lips looked really pretty. “If it misses all the timing?”
“Well,” you shrugged, looking up to the night sky. The stars in Jeju-do that night were much prettier than it is in Seoul. “They bloom again next year, and hope that maybe next time, the timing is better. That the butterfly arrives just in time for the flowers to bloom.
“That is a little sad,” Donghyuck acknowledged. He watched you look back down, grimacing a little as you take the popsicle off your mouth. “Wanna try mine?” he asked before he could think about it.
You looked back at him. The stars in Jeju-do turned out to be nothing compared to your eyes. “Yeah?”
Donghyuck pulled the sweet treat from his mouth just as you hand him your lime-flavored one. He took it in his mouth, and Donghyuck had never been the biggest fan of anything sour, but for some reason, the lime flavor tasted sweeter than ever. You take his cherry-flavored ones, groaning in delight as you taste the treat’s sweetness.
“Cherry has always been my favorite,” you’d confessed, and Donghyuck was surprised because you’d always gotten the lime-flavored ones. The twin pops were your thing since you met summer of 2006—it was cheap, practical for two kids, two-in-one; you’d always choose the lime ones. “God, this is good.”
“You literally always take the lime ones,” he argued. “My whole life has been a lie. I’ve always thought lime was your favorite because you always take it whenever we get this!”
You shrugged. “You never liked anything sour,” you said like it’s the easiest thing to say, like it didn’t make Donghyuck’s heart somersault. “And I can take a little bit of sourness if it means you enjoy your cherry-flavored popsicle.”
Donghyuck was only twelve. He didn’t know anything about falling in love, but that night might just be the closest thing.
“So, you drink alcohol to help you fall asleep?” you ask as if it’s the most interesting solution to insomnia. Donghyuck thinks it isn’t; he’s read somewhere online that alcohol really helps. “That’s stupid.”
Donghyuck shrugs. “It’s not really working great right now. But it helps.”
He sits beside you on the sidewalk, legs sprawled out just like yours, a can of cold beer one hand while the other holds him up, flat on the rough pavement. There’s no particular reason why Donghyuck’s talking to you now. You and him got off the wrong foot, and it’s not like you can really blame Donghyuck for seeing a (supposed) stranger sleeping at his grandmother’s patio. And you were friends. Even though it’s been years, Donghyuck reckons talking to you would do no harm. Besides, if he’s staying here for a few months, a companion would probably make it less miserable.
“And your father thinks coming to Jeju-do would help, too?” you ask.
Donghyuck chuckles. “I guess you could say that. What else have you heard about me?”
You look at him, away from the street and right into his eyes. Donghyuck wonders why he didn’t recognize you the first time he saw you. Your face looks the same from the day he bid you goodbye a decade ago—lips colored in cherry, eyes bright as the stars, cheeks soft all over.
“A lot,” you answer. “But I’ve never been one to believe in rumors anyway.”
Donghyuck licks his lips. “The rumors are true.”
“Not about the sleeping around and getting drunk, pabo,” you mutter. “That, I believe.”
“Which ones?” he asks.
“People are saying you no longer like being on stage,” you say. It’s not the first time Donghyuck’s heard it. “That you’ve been burnt out from working all these years. And that you don’t care about music anymore.”
Donghyuck snickers. “That’s true, too.” He throws his head back, chugging on the cold beer. “I’m so over it. I don’t even care what happens after this.”
“Oh, Donghyuckie,” you whisper softly, eyes still glued to his face. “What has the limelight done to you?”
Donghyuck only shrugs, finishing off the rest of the cold beer, helping himself up and taking the plastic bag full of iced cold beer from the store.
“I don’t think that’s something you should be worried about,” Donghyuck says. You keep your eyes on him, so you’re looking up from where you’re seated and Donghyuck looks down on you. “It’s getting late. Wanna go drink at Nana’s?”
“Nana would kill you if she finds alcohol inside her house,” you say.
“I’ve snuck in about twenty bottles since I arrived last week and she hasn’t noticed,” he confesses.
“You’re a fucking nightmare,” you laugh.
Donghyuck freezes for a moment, watching you stand in between giggles. Mark said the same think a couple of weeks ago, but it doesn’t sting when you say it. You say it in laughter. Like it’s okay. Like it doesn’t scare you.
“My house is down the street,” you say, helping yourself up and standing in front of him. Donghyuck remembers. “I’ll call Nana and let her know you’re with me.”
A bark startles Donghyuck for a second. You and him turn to find a golden Labrador running towards where you stand.
“Aw, my baby’s here to pick me up,” you announce with the softest voice. The lab runs, almost dashes towards you, and Donghyuck is taken aback when it tackles him—not you—knocking the plastic bag off his hands and resulting to him landing his butt back to the pavement. “Pororo!” you shriek, not in surprise but with a tone of betrayal. “I’m your mother!”
Donghyuck hears you shriek, but laughs through it because the golden lab is hogging him, licking him all over as if he’d miss him all these years. “Oh, baby, you’re so cute,” he coos, cradling the dog by its face, looking up at you as the dog licks his face. “This is yours?”
You fight back a smile, but you lose immediately because your face breaks with a grin. “What has the limelight done to you?” you ask, the same question from earlier, but a different tone—teasing, nostalgic, like years ago.
The dog sniffs him all over and you stand there watching them.
“Can’t even recognize your own dog now?” you tease, walking so you could pet the dog and have him follow you. “It’s the puppy Nana got you a month before you left Seoul. You couldn’t bring him with you, and Nana couldn’t take care of him when you left, so I adopted him, pabo.”
“Pororo?” Donghyuck finally, finally recognizes. Pororo looks like he’s nodding, like saying thank God, you remembered me! The dog goes back to tackle him. “Oh, Pororo! My baby!”
You lead the way to your house, Pororo following after you. He watches you take several steps ahead of him. He feels dizzy watching the scene in front of him. Donghyuck understands what Renjun is talking about now.
Humans remember a singular aspect of an event from his or her past that a complete representation of the entire scene is reactivated in the brain like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle coming together to create a vivid recollection. You’re the representation of his entire life in Jeju-do, a clear image before Haechan, and he’s fucking sorry he forgot about you all these years.
But that’s an apology you’d never hear from him. Instead, he watches you, taking a small step towards you, and decides he’ll allow his unsaid apology to be added on the long list of reasons why he can’t sleep at night.
Nostalgia comes in waves, they say, but why do you bring it to him like a hurricane?
Donghyuck could say that Nana is impressed with the drastic change of character in the span of six weeks.
She’s been treating him better these days; by “better”, Donghyuck means she’s been cutting off a few hours from work so he could spend more time at her home, guarding the hens and roosters that serve at her alarm clock and watering her plants from her small vegetable garden. She’s also been paying him, giving him a small envelope with cash and a small paper that resembled a payslip showing the number of hours he’d work for the week, and Donghyuck ignores the quick jump from his heart when he sees your signature at the end of it, affirming that the hours listed are accurate. Donghyuck takes the money, of course, after Nana threatened to beat him up because she’d be breaking Korea’s labor laws if he doesn’t accept it, and he keeps it all in a small box in his room, planning to show it to his members when he goes back to Seoul and brag about working like a normal civilian at the age of 23.
There is a pinch in his heart when he remembers his members. While Donghyuck has been working on (and failing to) sober up for an entire month, his members have not called nor texted him. He’d been reaching out, of course. Some of his members have been assigned solo projects and activities in the last month, and he ensures to congratulate them. All he’s gotten so far are the receipts that his messages have been read.
Donghyuck convinces himself that it’s probably SM that advised everyone not to give him a time of their day, that they probably think being away from work means disconnecting from everyone, too, that his members love him and also believe that he needs some time off from everything.
But the convincing can only do much. The convincing distracts him while he’s at work, or while he’s watering Nana’s plants, but it doesn’t do much at night. Still, after six weeks, Donghyuck is nowhere near clean.
He wakes up with a terrible headache every day (from lack of sleep or hangover, he’s not really certain), and his Nana has been oddly making hangover soup for breakfast. Donghyuck wonders whether you’d ratted him out, or his mother had caller her about it. Either way, she probably knows something’s up.
His mother had called him a few times now, Seungyeon, too, and it’s been casual. His mother’s voice always sounded like she’s walking on eggshells whenever she’d call, blurting a half-assed apology for not seeing him before he left and telling him she’d forgiven him and that she’s looking forward to seeing her in a few months. Seungyeon talks to him the most, almost every day, in short text messages and 10-minute calls on the weekends when she doesn’t have to worry about waking up early the next day. And she talks to him about the most random thing, nothing ever related to his obsession with drinking or the scandal, which makes Donghyuck feel better somehow.
Six weeks didn’t make much of a difference, not that Donghyuck was expecting any. The only thing that’s changed so far is that, he’s not as exhausted as he was in Seoul despite his shitty sleeping schedule continuously fucking up his already deteriorated mental health. He hasn’t been listening to songs for quite a while, and he’s been drinking every night. And if it means anything to him, you’ve been hanging out with him while he drinks.
In six weeks, he learns that you’re not much of a drinker. You don’t have many friends that you could really invite for a drink in a nearby pub or in a samgyeopsal restaurant. You’d mentioned that most people your age have all moved on to different places, spewing names that were once familiar to Donghyuck and telling him where they are now. Donghyuck is yet to learn why you had stayed in Jeju-do, not once stepping in Seoul, when the world off this island’s shores are much, much bigger than you think.
It’s two in the morning. You’d taken him home because he could barely keep his head up with the number of soju bottles he had downed, and he appreciates that you try to stay quiet when you put him to bed and leave, keeping the blinds closed because he’d told you once that the morning sunlight seeping through spaces between the curtains hurt his eyes. You’d left when Donghyuck’s barely awake.
His phone dings a notification. Donghyuck probably won’t remember so he reaches over, checking it and recognizing his mother’s name.
She sends him an article about the upcoming debut of NCT DoJaeJung, and Donghyuck’s seen it in the groupchat for some time now. Donghyuck isn’t even halfway down the article when she sends another one: Mark’s solo song.
She doesn’t add another message, and he sees her status change from online to offline in a split second, but she doesn’t really have to say anything else for him to understand.
Donghyuck’s dream has always been the spotlight.
Or at least, as he recognizes now, his mother’s dream for him has always been the spotlight.
Donghyuck always thought he loved making people happy and singing equally.
While people called him kind and a ray of sunshine, Mark’s always called him out for being a people-pleaser, reminding him that he doesn’t have to make sure everyone is happy with the choices he’d make, telling him he doesn’t have to feel the strong urge to please everyone. And Donghyuck never understood it until now, now that he’s wide awake and looking at his mother’s messages. She’s probably expecting a solo project for him, too, and she sends these things that make her happy, and she’s already expecting him he’d do it no matter what. Donghyuck’s mother is a good person; he’d look up at her and think to himself that when he grows up, he’d want to be as supportive as his mother, and don’t get him wrong when he says she expects him to do anything that’d make her happy. Because this is all Donghyuck’s fault, anyway.
With his desire to make her the happiest, he’s done everything he could to make her happy, even at his own expense.
The infamous Saturday audition at SM was something Donghyuck never thought about—not at the age of 13 when he had just gotten back in Seoul after five years of staying in Jeju-do. His accent has changed and he reckons he could have a good relationship with boys his age who grew up in the city. And as much as he loved performing, Donghyuck doesn’t like being criticized. He doesn’t like rejection, and he can’t bare the thought of adults telling him he couldn’t sing.
Hence, his initial answer to his mother’s proposal to visit SM Entertainment and give it a try was no. The only thing that had made him go, knees shaking and palms sweaty, was his mother’s words: “It’ll truly make me happy if you give it a try.”
She’d said it in many occasions, and Donghyuck’s given everything that’d make her happy a try. She’d never said a bad thing and even told him a few times that it’s okay if he doesn’t want to, but he does it anyway.
Donghyuck was afraid that she’d love him less if he didn’t make her happy. He was only thirteen, and his twenty-three now, and his biggest fear hasn’t changed: to be loved less because he didn’t make them happy enough.
So, Haechan blurts out the most random jokes when the cameras are on and initiates skinship with the member even if they abhor him for it and style his hair a different way, because it makes the fans happy. Haechan stays up learning the tune of the new song and recording himself in his phone for hours even after an entire day of physical activities, because it makes the producers happy. Haechan takes his friends and the younger members to dinner after a 16-hour flight from the west on the night of his birthday—his eyes barely open the entire time—because it makes them happy. Haechan plays the maknae role perfectly, even when at times he’s tired of it, because it makes the older members happy. Haechan continues to be a sunny and bright character even on days when he’s exhausted, because it makes his managers happy.
But the truth is, Donghyuck doesn’t like dyeing his hair. His hair’s gotten so unhealthy from dyeing it different colors last year.
Donghyuck feels awful sometimes, when his friends do not return his affection, but he plays it off, feigning hurt even when it actually does.
Donghyuck wants to sleep after a 16-hour flight.
Donghyuck wants to drink with his hyungs, too.
Donghyuck just wants to sing and write songs when he’s learned enough.
Donghyuck doesn’t want to be like Mark, or Doyoung, or anyone else.
Donghyuck wants Haechan to be… Donghyuck.
Donghyuck wants to be happy—in his own terms, by his own choices.
But how can he be happy when he’s always depended his happiness on the people he loves?
Donghyuck feels like a dead man walking.
You and Donghyuck are tasked to bring the harvested fruits at the farmer’s market in the early hours of Sunday.
It’s barely five in the morning, and the sun’s not even out yet, but you had forced him to sleep early the night before to make sure he’d accompany you to the market. (He didn’t sleep though; he lied awake until his phone rang and you’re calling from outside.) You’d driven the farm’s truck to get here, and Donghyuck can’t help but admire the way you hold the steering wheel with one hand.
Donghyuck helps you carry the boxes out of the truck, arranging them in front of his grandmother’s store. You had walked in while he carries the rest inside and Donghyuck hears you talk to Eunseuk, his Nana’s sales person who handles and manages their place in the public market.
“That’s awful,” Donghyuck hears you say as soon as he places the last of the boxes in a corner. “Can’t the mayor do anything about it?
Eunseuk sighs, shaking her head. “Unfortunately, it looks like the donation project Nana’s driven wasn’t enough. She barely made enough profit last quarter because she’d donated most of it to the project.”
“What is awful and what project are we talking about?” Donghyuck interrupts.
Eunseuk smiles sadly at him. “The clinic that Nana’s been proposing to the mayor for years now. The town’s mayor thinks it’s not going to be built this year.” Donghyuck’s never heard of it.
“The community has a lot of elderly people who live alone in Jeju-do,” you explain when you notice his curiosity. “Especially in here in the island, even more here in our town. Most people leave Jeju-do at the age of eighteen to find a better life in Seoul, which is ridiculous because there’s no place better than Jeju-do, and Nana thought it’d be great if she built a small clinic for the elderly nearby, that way they wouldn’t have to travel fifty kilometers to visit the nearest hospital. It’d be great if the elderly can have themselves checked for free and to have, if not all, most equipment they’d need.”
“How is that possible?” Donghyuck asks.
“Well,” Eunseuk starts. “First, we need the funds to actually build the clinic itself. Nana is halfway through the amount needed. The mayor’s children are doctors, and if he wants to keep winning the next elections, I’m sure he’d be happy to have them volunteer.”
“What about maintenance?” he asks.
“Good question,” you say. “And good thinking. I like it, you’re already thinking ahead, Donghyuck-ah. Anyway, the elderly is very much willing to do community service in exchange of the maintenance of the small clinic. And don’t worry, it’s not like Nana’s going to make them work like horses.”
“Services like crocheting products for the local market,” Eunseuk adds. “Food manufacturing—the kind that would allow them to make while sitting down, local farming, jewelry-making, and the like. Things we can sell in the market. You know how tourists are so keen on buying anything hand-made.”
“So, a clinic for the elderly built and maintained by the elderly?” Donghyuck sums up.
“Exactly!”
“How much are we looking at in terms of money?” He asks.
You chuckle. “If you’re grandmother wanted to ask money from you, she would have already. She has some kind of pride, you know.”
“Well, I’ll give it you and you tell her it’s an anonymous donation.”
“As if she’d believe that bullshit,” you answer. “Anyway, Eunseuk-eonnie, what do we do now?”
The older woman shrugs. “We’ll keep selling tangerines until we reach the goal, I guess.”
Donghyuck talks before he could think about it. “I can do something.”
You and Eunseuk look at him like you’d just seen a ghost.
“I don’t know what I can offer,” he says right away. “But I’ll… I think I can do something.”
“Donghyuck,” you say. “You can sing.”
“I am aware,” he jokes.
“No, you can sing,” you repeat. Donghyuck looks back at you. “You can sing, so I’m sure you can teach people how to sing.”
“And?” He doesn’t get it.
“It’s summer,” you answer. “Most kids are bored and are probably looking for something meaningful to do while they wait for school to start again. Teach kids how to sing and have their parents pay for it!”
Donghyuck thinks it’s a good idea. “And you can write.”
You freeze. “No.”
“Teach kids how to write and have their parents pay for it.”
“Over my dead body!”
“I will do it only if you do it.”
Eunseuk laughs, “Oh, this is good.”
“No, Donghyuck. I’m not a professional writer. I didn’t even go to college. I don’t have the credentials for it.”
“You don’t have to go college to be a writer,” he snorts. “Scott Fitzgerald didn’t even finish college.”
“Where’d you even learn that?”
“You told me when we were kids!” he answers, laughing. “Come on, Y/N. I’m sure Nana can find someone to do your job in the farm while we teach kids.”
“I don’t know, Donghyuck,” you sigh.
Eunseuk lightly slaps your arm. “Come on, young lady. Do it for the elderly.”
“Yeah, Y/N, do it for the elderly.”
The sparkle in your eyes and the smile on your lips tell Donghyuck you agree.
And so, the plan goes accordingly.
Donghyuck could say that Nana is more than delighted to learn that his delinquent and embarrassing grandson, who’s spent all this time pretending he doesn’t care, had decided to help out. You’d done the most part, of course— obtaining the permit from the mayor’s office and settling all the paperwork needed. All Donghyuck had to do was to help clean up and renovate his grandfather’s old office in the farm. Everyone else who had some free time helped because apparently, that’s what this community does. Donghyuck could probably get used to receiving help without him asking for it.
So, in more or less five days, his grandfather’s old office, which is about forty square meters, had turned into the community’s summer class headquarters. You and Donghyuck decided to call it Nana’s Music and Literature Classes. And with the help of Eunseuk and some of the workers, the word spread like news from the radio. In a week’s time, you and Donghyuck have over twenty student each. Mondays and Wednesdays were his schedule; yours were Tuesdays and Thursdays. Fridays were called Hyuckie and Y/C/N’s day—which means you and him would dedicate an entire day brainstorming and talking about your class’ progress.
The summer courses would take eight weeks to complete, and at the end of it would be a competition, in which the Mayor promised he’d give a very big reward for. Those who enrolled in Donghyuck’s classes would have a recital at the end of summer where the kids will hold a small concert for the town—tickets to be sold as part of the drive, of course—and the judges will be identified to select three winners. As for your classes, it will be a short story competition, and the winners will be announced on the night of the small concert, which Donghyuck is the best ending any summer could have.
The place is cramped, and Donghyuck’s never been more excited his entire life.
He’s gone to many places and met with many prominent people in this lifetime. But he’s decided that this is the most exhilarating day of his life.
The parents leave as soon as Donghyuck assures them that the kids will be safe and will be all set for pick up by 3 in the afternoon. You’re talking to the kids while he ensures that the room is cool enough for everybody. The room is filled with excitement that Donghyuck could feel inside him. He learned from the parents he’d met just a few minutes ago that the town doesn’t really offer things like this for children and that they’d have to send their kids to summer camp in the mainland if they wanted them to experience this, and the fact that you and him are doing this for a cause makes it even better.
Donghyuck views this like it’s not as big as the drives NCT had been doing, or the charity concerts he takes part in, or the money he donates to various causes, but to the people of the town, it’s bigger than anything they had ever known.
“Aigoo,” one of the parents cooed when she’d seen Donghyuck greet everybody outside. “Your grandparents have always been kind. They’d been the pillar of this small town for quite some time now. I’m glad you’re growing up a good man.”
You’d smiled at him when you heard that, and Donghyuck wonders if you also think he’s growing up a good man, because he thinks he grew up to be such an amazing, compassionate person.
“Hello, kids!” Donghyuck greets. Everybody says it back with the same enthusiasm, and despite having been in hundreds of shows with thousands of people in the audience, he can’t remember the last time a crowd made him feel alive.
Donghyuck hates being recognized.
When his career had just started, he thought that the greatest compliment was to be recognized. He thought that he’d measure his success with the number of people from the general public who could recognize him under a hat and with a face mask covering half his face. But in the latter years of his career, he’d learned the hard way that he hated being seen and being recognized.
There had been many happenstances in his job in which he’d just wish he was invisible for a moment. Anytime he’s in an airport, regardless it was for an event or concert overseas, or worst of it all, a vacation with his family, all Donghyuck wants is for people not to know who he is. In afternoon runs by himself, all he needs is a time alone and not girls following him and taking pictures of him. On days when he’s out with friends and family, all he hopes is peace. This comes with the job, Johnny would tell him whenever he’d get frisky and annoyed, but Donghyuck never really understood why his privacy is anyone’s business. Never really understood why he had to go through this when all he’s ever really wanted was sing.
Donghyuck hates being seen.
More than anything. Especially when he’s trying hard to hide. And he wishes he’s only talking about his physical appearance being seen. He hates that his grandmother sees through him but doesn’t say anything about it unless he opens up first. He hates that Mark, his best friend in the entire world, sees right through his walls and that all Donghyuck’s done is push him away and make him hate him even more. He hates that his father sees his pain, but doesn’t talk about it for some reason. He hates that you see him—all of him—but you don’t look at him with disgust or pity or anything of that sort.
It’s Friday, yours and his day, the second one since summer school’s started, and he’d started calling you by your childhood nickname again. You’d grimaced the first time and told him nobody’s called you that in a long time, but allowed him nonetheless.
The clock strikes six in the afternoon and the dusk had just settled in the horizon. You and him are sitting on the floor of his room, facing each other, separated by a small table, notepads scattered, ideas running a hundred miles per second.
“This is perfect,” you comment when you and him had finished planning out next week’s daily agenda. “The kids are going to love it!”
Donghyuck stays silent, eyes on you as you finally set your pen down.
“What should we have for dinner?” you ask, eyes still on the notepad. “Nana’s probably heating up some leftover galbi, but I think we should make some kimchi stew, too.”
Donghyuck hums. You look up at him. “What’s wrong?”
He shakes his head. “Nothing. I just had something in mind.”
You tilt your head. “Tell me.”
“It’s a question,” he says. “And if I say it, you’d have to answer.”
You think about it for a moment. Donghyuck almost takes it back. “Sure.”
“Really?”
You nod. “As long as you answer a question from me, too.”
Donghyuck pretends to think about it. “Can we set some rules?”
“It’s literally one question,” you snort. “Come on. Ask me.”
“No, ask me first,” he insists.
“You asked first.”
“No. Ask me first,” he repeats.
You scoff. “Fine. You have to tell me the truth, yeah?” A nod. “Ready?” Another.
Donghyuck holds his breath for a moment and you don’t say anything for about a minute, probably thinking the same as him: this is the only chance both of you are honest and open, might as well ask a question one wouldn’t answer on a normal day.
“How are you?”
He exhales the breath he’s been holding and nearly breaks down in tears when he hears the question you’d decided to ask. He’s sure you’ve heard of it all. Everything’s been all over the internet for the past two months he’d been in hiding in Jeju-do: the drinking, the nights in clubs and bars, the fights with the members, the cherry on top which is the scandal. It’d all spiraled into everything he was initially afraid of. The girl he’d met at the back of the club had sold him to reporters and had made up a story of how they’ve been in a sexual relationship for quite some time. The media had dug up stories of him being out of control in the streets when he’s shitfaced from all the soju he had and had posted tales of him asking multiple women to sleep with him whenever he’s drunk.
The agency sued everyone for making shit up, of course, but Donghyuck knows half of those are the truth. He has not been the best group member in a long time: always late in practices, grumpy and hangover during fan signs, lethargic during concerts, and fucking up performances. He’s lost himself, and he’s losing everyone in the process of it.
People ask him if he’d really had sex with someone at the back of a bar. They’d ask him why he never asked for help with his drinking problem. Comments from his Instagram would tell him to back off and just leave the group. Fans from calls and fan signs would ask him why he’d stop making covers of the songs he loved and why he hasn’t been on Bubble in a long period of time.
But nobody else had really asked him how he’s been aside from Nana, who he doesn’t have the heart to open up to.
“I—” He starts but swallows, breathing in. You wait for him. “I’m—I don’t really—I’m not sure if I can.”
You nod. “Take your time, Donghyuck.”
Donghyuck reminds himself to breathe.
How is he? How has been holding up after everything that’s happened?
He’s lost his spark. He’s lost his love for music, his passion for the stage, the sparkle in his eyes. He’s losing the people he loves. He’s losing his friends. And he’s losing a battle with himself.
He’s—
“I’m, ” he tries again. “Y/N, I’m not okay.”
It pours like rain, his tears. He shakes when he cries and his chest is tight and it’s hard to breathe, but he keeps crying because it’s the only time he ever will. He sobs in pain and holds himself when his entire body shakes from the ache of it all.
He’s grieving, weeping, like how one would in a funeral, because how does he ask for forgiveness? How does he ask forgiveness from his parents and siblings? From his members? From his fans? From the staff and the people who’d brought him to where he is? How does his ask forgiveness from little Donghyuck when all he’d wanted was for him to grow up a good man?
You let him cry, and only reach out to hand him a handkerchief when he’s done. You don’t say anything. Instead you kneel and reach over to hug him from the other side. Donghyuck accepts your tenderness.
“I don’t have anything else to ask,” you murmur against his hair. “But I do want to say that you’re loved in ways you probably have forgotten already. You’ve probably been used to love that’s loud—screaming and flamboyant and beautiful and everything anyone would want—but you’re also loved quietly. In a small, serene room. In a way you’ve forgotten.”
“Thank you,” he says, sniffling, a little embarrassed now. “I’m sorry. I probably ruined the moment.”
You chuckle, pulling away, and Donghyuck’s heart does flips when you kiss the top of his head like you always did when you were younger. He doesn’t know why he remembers all of a sudden.
“Stop apologizing,” you reply. “There’s nothing to apologize about.”
“There’s a lot,” he admits. “I didn’t recognize you the first time I saw you. We did everything when we were kids, and I didn’t recognize you.”
“And it’s okay,” you assure, holding the top of his hand that’s resting on the small table. “I didn’t expect you to recognize me right away. You were worlds away from me. We forget people and that’s okay.”
He shakes his head. “It’s not. I promised to keep in touch, and I never did. I’m sorry.”
You nod. “You’re forgiven.”
Donghyuck sighs in relief. “I doubt, but okay.”
“Trust me.” He does. “Anyway, you were going to ask me something. You’re not allowed to ask the same thing because I’d just answer that I’m tired and I want to sleep. Nothing big happens in my life.”
Donghyuck smiles again. “Ready?” A nod. “Why’d you never leave Jeju-do?”
It seems like you didn’t expect the question because your face tells Donghyuck you’re surprised by what he just asked. You lick your lip and exhale largely, looking everywhere but his eyes. Donghyuck allows you to take your time, and you’re not running away so he’s assuming you’re thinking of an answer for him.
“I don’t have a dream,” is your answer. “My parents think it’s not normal. Because even they had already left the town and moved to a bigger place off the island. People think it’s impossible that I don’t have a dream, that I must want something in life, I just haven’t discovered it yet. And I’m twenty-three, I’m still waiting for my awakening, for dreams to find me, but it hasn’t. I don’t want to do anything in life but just… survive.”
Donghyuck only listens. “In high school, when we were deciding what to take up in college and which college we’d go to, I had nothing in mind. I didn’t want a career—not an engineer, not a teacher, not a doctor, none of those. I couldn’t think of anything. Writing is something that I love doing, but I really can’t see myself pursuing it as a career. I don’t want to end up hating it. I’ve always been convinced that I wasn’t specifically good at anything apart from that. I’m okay with all subjects at school, average grades and all, but nothing ever stood out for me. I never stood out. And I was okay with it for a reason I still don’t know. I was okay with not having dreams. College was the only reason for me to leave Jeju-do. There’s nothing else, therefore I’m still here. At twenty-three, I haven’t accomplished much, and if you want me to be all out and honest,” you sigh. “It’s… it’s starting to scare me.”
“What scares you?”
“That I haven’t accomplished anything yet,” you admit. “I’m not one to, you know, force myself to people and make them remember me. I wasn’t scared of oblivion. Until… these days, I’ve been asking myself, how are people going to remember me?”
Donghyuck nods, urges you to continue.
“Are they going to remember me as someone who helps out in your Nana’s farm because I had nothing to do?” you voice out. “Are they going to remember me as someone who brings all the deliveries to the farmer’s market when the staff is unavailable? Are they going to remember be as Eunseuk’s co-worker? Are they going to remember me at all?”
“Can I tell you something?” he asks but doesn’t wait for you to answer. “I know I’m not in the position to say anything about remembering you when I couldn’t recognize you the first time we met after a decade, but I remember you by the way I see cherry blossoms.”
You tilt your head to the side. “Is that a good thing?”
“We met in a puddle of fallen cherry blossoms in summer of 2006,” he explains. “I remember you by the way you admired flowers that fall off from its stem, by the way you loved fallen and broken things equally when they were perfect and when they stood still. I may have awfully forgotten you all these years, but the way I see cherry blossoms is the exact same way you see them.”
Donghyuck continues, “You know how they say we’re a manifestation of all the people we met, right? That we’re a mosaic of everything we’ve ever learned from them. To me, I remember you as the clear image of who I was before… before everything that’s happened. I remember you as someone helping me find my way back home.”
“Donghyuck,” you trail off. “That’s the… best thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
Donghyuck smiles. “And so, what if you don’t have big dreams? Dreams are just dreams anyway. You don’t have to have one if you don’t want to. You shouldn’t have to struggle so much in order to live.”
“Do people know you’re this kind and profound?” you chuckle. “People should see this side of Lee Donghyuck.”
“Call yourself lucky you’re the only one,” he answers.
“What’s wrong with people seeing this side?”
Donghyuck shrugs. “I don’t think they’d want the boring kind. I think they like me better when I’m funny and over the top and a sucker for attention.”
“Well,” you click your tongue. “I like you either way.”
Donghyuck is barely twenty-three. And if he knows anything about falling in love, this might just be the moment he truly learns it.
You and him end up falling asleep on his bed. Donghyuck likes to think he doesn’t really remember how it happened. You’d told him you’d sleep in the hammock at his house’s patio, but he’d insisted to sleep in his room, of course. Reason? Mosquitoes, of course. Donghyuck said he’d sleep on the floor, taking an extra pillow, but you were already half asleep, moving so your body is right by the wall, safe and sound. You’d save the extra space for him to sleep beside you. Donghyuck likes to think he’d fallen asleep because he was exhausted and not because he felt safe around you.
It’s the longest sleep he’s had in a long time.
He wakes up at eight in the morning, the room already warm despite the air-conditioning system still switched on. You are no longer beside him, but he clearly hears your voice from outside.
Donghyuck gets up, going straight outside and finds everyone from the farm gathered around for breakfast outside his grandmother’s house. He’d forgotten that his Nana invited everybody for a scrumptious breakfast today, Saturday, and he wonders why neither you nor Nana herself had woken him up to help out.
Farms and harvesters pass a plate to one another. A long table is set up in the middle of Nana’s driveway space, various of dishes laid out, and Donghyuck finds you holding two pitchers of tangerine juice, walking around to fill up the workers’ cups.
It’s Eunseuk who sees Donghyuck standing by the patio watching everybody move around.
“There’s our Donghyuckie!” she announces.
Everyone looks at him and greets him a good morning. Nana shouts his name and asks him to come over and eat some breakfast. You squint when you look at him, the sun blinding your eyes, but you smile as soon as he waves hi.
Donghyuck can’t help but think being recognized is not so bad after all.
Donghyuck spends the rest of summer like a kid.
Except he goes to work at Nana’s Music and Literature Classes on Mondays and Wednesdays, goes to the farm on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and spends his Fridays with you. He learns many things over the summer, especially about the community and the town itself. He meets more people as Donghyuck, Nana’s grandson who teaches children how to sing and who helps out in the farm two days a week. They accept him as he is, and he feels like seven again, meeting new people every day until they all remember him by his name.
Among the things he’s learned, he likes learning how your lips taste the most.
It was sudden, unplanned, the kind where he didn’t know he was doing it until he’s done it. You and him were ending a Friday session at your place that time, the place where he used to hide his drinks, and he was so elated that he wasn’t going home drunk for the first time since he arrived in Jeju-do. And he was bidding you goodbye. He’d leaned it like it was the most natural thing to do and caught your lips in his. You shrieked in surprise, unable to say anything, but tipped on your toes and gave him a second kiss before turning and running inside your house.
You didn’t talk about it, and Donghyuck felt like it was not something to talk about. You had voiced out you liked him in many occasions, and Donghyuck’s been relentlessly flirting with you since the night you fell asleep in his room. The signs were never mixed and the lines were never blurred. Donghyuck’s grown much closer to you more than anyone else in the world, and he’s been falling asleep in the safety of your arms these days. It was safe to say the kisses weren’t meaningless.
The night of his class’ recital comes quickly.
Donghyuck spend the entire two days practicing with each of his students while you were busy reading all of your students’ works and giving them feedback before they submit it to the Mayor’s office. You find him getting ready in his room, dressed in the only button-down shirt he brought from Seoul and a pair of slacks. Meanwhile, it’s the first time he’s seeing you in a dress that somehow matches the colors of his outfit.
“Looking great, handsome,” you say.
Donghyuck pulls you for a kiss. “Could say the same to you, beautiful.”
“Why are you so touchy these days?” you whine but lean back to kiss him again anyway. “Ready? One of the parents called and said his kid is already in the venue. They’re excited.”
Donghyuck nods, grabbing a jacket just in case it gets cold later tonight, and leads the way out. Nana is dressed in a pretty dress Donghyuck gave her for Christmas last year. Donghyuck drives to the venue and finds himself nervous for the first time in a long time.
You’d managed to convince him to sing tonight despite his persistent refusal.
“Come on, Donghyuck,” you begged, pulling him by the end of his shirt as he harvests tangerines. “The audience will love you!”
“They paid their tickets to watch the kids of the community sing, not me,” he argued. “And besides, I haven’t sung in like, four months. Who knows? I may have forgotten to sing already.”
“Bullshit,” you said. “Your Nana would want to hear you sing live.”
“She’s already heard me sing live many times,” he replied. “She’s been to many concerts.”
You tilt you head, a habit he’s grown to really like. “But I haven’t.”
Donghyuck had wanted to kiss the pout off your lips at that time. “Watch it from Youtube.”
“You don’t get many lines!” you said.
“So, you do watch my performances in Youtube, huh?” he teased. “Only in NCT 127 I don’t get so much lines because there are more members. Try to listen to NCT Dream.”
“Donghyuck!” you bellowed in frustration as you follow him around the farm. “Please!”
He stopped and turned, a little too late for you to step back because you’re already pressed up against his chest. “Okay.”
“Really?” you asked, voice lower because your faces were just inches apart—one wrong move and you’d be kissing in the middle of tangerine trees.
He nodded, purposely moving his face closer. “Only if you start reviewing for the SAT again and start sending your drafted college applications from your laptop.”
“Who told you to sneak in and open my files!” you gasped.
“I was checking if you’ve ever watched porn in your life and I found something better: your college applications.”
“I hate you, you know?”
Donghyuck chuckled, moving even closer to intimidate you but he hoped you couldn’t his heart hammering against his chest. “I know. Now. Do we have a deal? I’ll sing at recital night and you start reviewing for the upcoming SAT and send out your college applications when it’s time.”
“I’m—I’m not sure.”
Donghyuck let you go, you almost falling back but he held your hand before you could. “Then I’m not singing.”
“But Donghyuck!” He turned to leave while you scream behind him, pleading.
Ten steps forward and he finally got what he wanted: “Okay! I’ll do it! I’ll start reviewing and will send all the drafted college applications! I’ll do it!”
Hence, the singing stunt for tonight.
The event goes as planned.
The night starts with Donghyuck’s entire class singing their own rendition of a famous traditional song that the crowd truly loved. One by one, the kids would sing, with intermission numbers in groups in between, and by the end of it, it was Donghyuck’s turn.
The minus one track is ready and Donghyuck takes a deep breath as he walks up the stage. It’s smaller than any of the stages he’s been on—perhaps the smallest—and the lights aren’t as bright than the ones he’s used to. Big stages mean big lights, and if he’s being completely honest, he doesn’t see a single face when he’s on stage. The illuminations to ensure the fans would see them are blinding, beyond what people think. While his mother thinks his eyesight has gotten worse due to the long hours of playing APEX on his days off, Donghyuck believes it’s because of the blinding lights from the stage and everywhere he goes.
However, this stage has the gentlest lights he’s ever seen. The crowd is small, about two hundred people including their students, and from here, he can see their faces clearly. He stands not too far away, not to high, and he smiles when the crowd cheers when he reaches the middle of the stage.
“Hello, I’m Donghyuck,” he says on the mic. “I’m the teacher of the talented kids we watched this evening, and I can’t be prouder with how they sang their hearts out tonight. To show my gratitude, I also prepared a song for you.”
The crowd cheers again, your voice standing out as you stand right beside the stage, your phone already up probably recording him.
“I sang this song some time last year,” he continues. “This is Good Person.”
The instrumental plays and the crowd claps before he even starts. Donghyuck breathes, closing his eyes, and sings: “What’s going on today? Your face looks like it’s been crying. Did he break your heart? You’re the most precious person in the world to me.”
He hasn’t sung in a long time, and he barely practiced this song yesterday. Donghyuck, for some time before everything went to crumbles, felt scared going on stage. He felt as though he wouldn’t do well enough to deserve the applause and cheers, and he spent a lot of time doubting his own capabilities.
Whoever he is now, Donghyuck truly worked hard for it. At first, he only knew how to sing and it was the only thing he ever loved. And then he learned how to dance, how to stand like an idol, how to answer like a celebrity, how to have his “candid” photos taken, how to be a proper artist—even when he only wants to sing.
Standing here, now, in a small crowd, singing a song he wished was his own, he wished he had written, Donghyuck feels safe.
In Jeju-do, he feels safe. Donghyuck feels like he’s found his way home. The people he’s spent all these months with brought him comfort he’s never known—like coming home after a whole day of being pestered in the real world—and he knows that he’ll never find ease and serenity the same way Jeju-do had given him. The town took him in with open arms, like he’s not some idol who ruined their career for fleeting pleasure, like he’s not some person who’d forgotten about all of them. His Nana embraced him like he was seven again, like making mistakes is normal and that forgiving is easy when you love the person. You accepted him and taught him what falling in love means as though he was deserving of love and comfort.
The song ends with his voice dragging out the last words, his eyes closed: “I can only comfort you.”
When Donghyuck opens his eyes, the lights don’t blind him and the people he knows and love clap, cheering for him. It comes to him like pouring rain. And he allows himself to drench in it—the tenderness, the warmth, the love.
Because he deserves it. He deserves the love, therefore he takes, takes, takes, until he’s full of it.
Like many times in Donghyuck’s life, the ease and serenity end as quickly as it arrives.
You’d spent the night in his home, Donghyuck for the first time learned how to make love in bed. He’s had sex before, of course, but never like how you and him connected in his bed—moans and music of pleasure hushed by each other’s mouth, his honey-colored skin’s warmth pressed against yours, his lips and tongue tasting every inch of you. He’d said he loves you, and you’d said it back as you and him take each other.
This morning he wakes up without a headache, and he’s been waking up without one for a few weeks now. He usually wakes up with the sound of roosters from his grandmother’s backyard, or the sound of you and his Nana talking over your morning coffee. But today, he wakes up with the sound of his grandmother knocking profusely, seemingly frightened by the sound of her voice calling his name.
“Donghyuck-ah,” she shouts. “Please wake up. I don’t know what to do.”
You and Donghyuck get up startled, scrambling to put some clothes on and hurrying to open the door—only to find Nana on the verge of tears. Nana never falters, she’d only shown strength but Donghyuck finds her shaking. Nana doesn’t get the chance to answer because Joohyuk barges in, sweaty and catching his breath.
“The mayor’s security team is here,” he announces. “Let’s get going.”
“Go where?” Donghyuck asks, but Joohyuk is already pulling him.
The door opens, and Donghyuck finally realizes what’s going on.
They’d found him. Men and women with cameras shout his name—he recognizes a few from the conferences he’d attended—and flashes of lights and the stuttering sound of shutters devour him. He looks around and he can’t see you and he hears his Nana cry, and Donghyuck doesn’t understand what the fuck is going on, but he feels his legs give out. Joohyuk practically carry him to the SUV waiting outside their home.
Inside the car, Donghyuck catches a glimpse of the crowd—a crowd that looks like twice the amount of the people from the recital last night. He hears them screaming his name and he sees glints of neon green and posters as they pass by. His Nana, who sits beside him, cries and says she doesn’t understand why they’d found him. The mayor had specifically ensured that the town’s residents do not say a word about his visit way before he’d arrived and she’d done her best to protect him from the lights. He doesn’t say anything and only hugs her tight.
On the other side of Nana is you. You’re staring off the window, the fields far more interesting than what just happened, and you’re biting off the nails of your fingers and your legs wouldn’t stop bouncing. And you’re silent, and Donghyuck wonders why all of a—
Donghyuck doesn’t have to ask you to know.
You’d sold him off.
“I’m sorry,” is all you had to say when you and him are left inside the mayor’s office’s lounge. Donghyuck asked everybody to leave.
You’re sitting on the couch, eyes on the floor, while Donghyuck walks back and forth, angry. “I didn’t mean to.”
He stops walking right in front of you. “What do you mean you didn’t mean to post me on your Instagram? How could you possibly accidentally do that?!”
You keep your head low. “I—I forgot that it wasn’t on private and I didn’t have that many of followers to even be bothered by it. And one of our old friends commented and asked me if it was you—”
“And you said yes?” he enunciated. “You consciously, deliberately said yes?”
You start crying at this point. “Yes, and I’m sorry!”
“That’s a little too late now, isn’t it?”
“I just—”
“You just what? You want to play the girlfriend role so fucking bad?”
“Donghyuck, please, listen—” You get up and hold him by his arms but he backs off and rips his body from yours. “I just—I wanted the world to know that you can be kind and warm and you’re nothing—”
“So, you admit you purposely posted it!” he shouts. “What a fucking—”
“Yes!” you admit, still crying. “Because I can’t live knowing the world sees you differently when you’re generous and loving and amazing!”
Donghyuck takes a deep breath, hands on his waist, head tilted up so he can focus on the ceiling instead of the image of you crying. “You have no idea how the world fucking works, do you?”
“You always loved singing,” you reason out. “And the world shouldn’t take that away from you because of one mistake. I’m so sorry for what I’ve done. I didn’t think it through, but please understand my purpose.”
“You really have no fucking idea,” he concludes, looking down at you, right in your eyes and says: “How would you have any knowledge of what goes on outside of Jeju-do, anyway? You have never left this god damn place in your entire life and you know nothing aside from stringing words beautifully to get what you want. And you think you’re fucking cool for not having a dream and staying in an island, living your small-town girl fantasy, when in fact you’ve done nothing in life and people won’t even remember you. Why would you think you can make this decision for me? You’re just some girl who didn’t even go to college!”
“That’s enough, Donghyuck!” Nana interrupts.
Donghyuck turns and finds his Nana, Joohyuk, some of the Mayor’s security staff, his manager, and his Mother standing right outside the now opened door.
He looks back at you and you’re no longer crying. Your expression is just empty, like a light bulb burnt out.
Indeed, like many times in Donghyuck’s life, the ease and serenity end as quickly as it arrives.
They take the first flight to Seoul after successfully shooing the media and fans away. Nana travels with them, his mother deciding that it’s the best for now until everything calms down.
Donghyuck finds out during the flight that yours and his old friend from middle school had reposted the video of him singing from last night and it went viral in multiple social media platforms. Overnight, people had found out his location and the media had started interviewing people in the town. Despite the mayor instructing everyone not to say a thing, some had answered questions, even submitted entries on some forums about Haechan online.
His manager talks about how their PR team sort of thinks this might just be what he needed, says something about the locals of the town had said so many good things about him. He confirms that the post originated from your Instagram account and you had deactivated at this point and that they’re in the process of contacting your old schoolmate because the agency wants to press charges for invading his grandmother’s privacy and for bothering him on an unofficial schedule.
His mother holds his hand all through, and she offers a kind smile and kisses the top of his head.
Donghyuck cries like baby, and his mother only holds him, and perhaps that’s all he truly needs.
The crowd is just as bad when his plane lands. Donghyuck can barely see and hear considering the lights and people shouting his name. They take him to a separate SUV, away from his mother and Nana to keep them off the radar, and he sits in the car beside his manager.
“Here,” his manager hands him a phone as soon as the car starts moving. Donghyuck had forgotten his phone. It’s probably still in his room back in Nana’s house. People are still screaming his name. Donghyuck stares at his manager’s phone blankly. The screen shows he’s in a call with Mark.
Donghyuck’s hand shakes when he takes it. He puts the device over his ear and doesn’t wait for Mark to say anything.
“Mark-hyung,” he cries.
And cries. And cries. And cries. Until he arrives in SM’s headquarters and the manager has to take the phone away from him. Mark tells him he’s on the way to the headquarters with Renjun and Doyoung and that the others should be on their way after their individual schedules.
They arrive and immediately their staff take care of him like a baby, and he realizes that he’s back. He’s back. Right where he’s supposed to belong.
They take him to the PR teams office, and none of them ask how he’s doing and he’s spiraling again—already starting to think how he could please the staff and make them happy, not even an entire day of landing in Seoul and he’s already thinking about other people at his own expense.
Hence, Donghyuck makes a decision he’s never considered before.
While one of the PR associates discuss how he’s ranked number one in Naver’s most searched term, Donghyuck raises his hand.
They all look at him.
And finally, Donghyuck says: “Please get me a therapist. Please get someone who can help me.”
The room is clean and if Donghyuck’s being honest, a little too perfect for a therapist’s office. A tiny part of his fucked-up brain tries to convince him that they’d probably set him up for a documentary he’s not aware of to clean his image, so he looks around and tries to check if there are any cameras setup.
“Truly a celebrity,” Dr. Yoon says, which makes Donghyuck jump a little. The doctor stands from the door way, closing it as he steps inside. “Please, feel comfortable.”
Donghyuck thinks that’s a little impossible, but he takes a seat one of the single couches.
“The first thing that celebrities do in my office is look around for cameras,” the doctor comments, sitting on a similar chair across Donghyuck. “And I assure you that no amount of money can buy my integrity as a psychologist.”
“Hello, Donghyuck,” the doctor greets; Donghyuck bows. “I had a quick glimpse of your situation from the form you filled out online. Are you feeling better today?”
“I guess,” Donghyuck shrugs. Dr. Yoon smiles.
“How about I ask questions and if you don’t want to answer, stay silent instead of lying to me?” He asks. Donghyuck sighs but nods. “And if you want to answer, answer as truthfully as you can, yes?” Donghyuck agrees. “Let’s start with simple questions.”
“Do you have any siblings?”
Dr. Yoon asks him many close-ended questions, to which Donghyuck had given him all the answers to, then proceeds to ask him what’s on his mind. The doctor’s notepad sits on the table between them, left open and blank even after asking so many questions.
Donghyuck is not really sure whether he’d done the right thing by seeking help, but he can’t keep hurting people just because he’s fucked up in the head. And he can’t keep hurting himself just because he can’t make the entire fucking world happy. He can’t keep drinking his insomnia away because he’s scared a doctor may tell him he’s fucked up in the head, which he knows already, he just doesn’t want it written in his medical records. He can’t keep fucking up his group’s image just because the alcohol doesn’t help his insomnia anymore. He can’t keep drowning himself in his sadness and the thought of disappointing so many people in his life—the people he left behind in Jeju-do, the members, his fans, the staff, his parents and siblings, his Nana, you.
If melatonin didn’t work, if the alcohol didn’t work, and if Jeju-do didn’t work, then perhaps a therapist is his best shot at getting better.
Donghyuck takes a deep breath, closes his eyes and begins.
“I keep thinking about how I can make everyone happy without sacrificing anything.”
The doctor finally picks up the pen and starts scribbling down.
Donghyuck keeps talking.
Donghyuck goes to therapy on Tuesdays and Fridays, and SM keeps his hiatus status active until Donghyuck decides to come back himself. It’s an agreement his parents, Donghyuck, and the agency settled while things are still chaotic.
The members are supportive of this, especially Mark and Taeyong. They’d send him cheerful messages every Tuesday and Friday, when they know that his session would begin. Sometimes, Jeno, Jisung, and Jaemin would pick him up and take him to a barbecue restaurant after. Donghyuck can’t remember how many times Renjun and Chenle had driven him to therapy and had waited for a couple of hours, only to take him to his favorite Chinese restaurant that serves the best hotpot. The older members have also driven him to therapy once or twice, with Jungwoo even signing up for therapy one time, and they’ve all given him love and tenderness—which Donghyuck accepted.
Donghyuck learns many things from Dr. Yoon. He learns that people pleasing isn't a mental illness, but it can be an issue that adversely affects how many people, with or without mental illness, relate to others. Most of all, people pleasers try to nourish other people without adequately nourishing themselves. Dr. Yoon called it Sociotrophy. He described it as the tendency to place an inordinate value on relationships over personal independence in response to the loss of relationships or conflict.
Those with sociotropic tendencies, wish to make other people happy, often at the sake of their own needs or values. While being warm, kind, and helpful are positive traits, they can result in strong feelings of resentment, anxiety, stress, and emotional depletion when they come at your expense.
People-pleasing, apparently, falls at the opposite end of the scale from autonomy. Autonomy places emphasis on independence whereas people-pleasers prioritize interpersonal relationships above all else. People-pleasers are often extremely empathic and attuned to others’ needs. A people-pleaser therefore tends to pursue intimate, affectionate, and confiding relationships. These people have a strong desire for external validation and avoid, or are sensitive to, situations where conflict may arise. They will go above and beyond to avoid displeasing others out of fear of diminished social acceptance.
This behavior can have detrimental effects on a person’s self-worth and self-esteem. A never-ending pursuit of approval, a desire for acceptance, and a sense of validation that arise from others happiness often result in a negative self-image. The person is likely to feel unworthy, powerless, or resentful, which may result in a lack of self-care.
The way Dr. Yoon had described it basically sums up Donghyuck as a human being.
He also learns that Sociotropic tendencies are often associated with mental health disorders such as anxiety or depression, which finally gave them Donghyuck’s diagnosis: clinical depression, also known as major depressive disorder abbreviated as MDD.
Clinical depression is a chronic condition, but it usually occurs in episodes, which can last several weeks or months. Dr. Yoon says one would likely have more than one episode in a lifetime. Donghyuck had asked him what was the difference between MDD and depression as it is.
Dr. Yoon explained that it’s normal to feel sad when you’re faced with difficult life situations, such as losing your job or a relationship. Some people may say they feel depressed during these situations. MDD is different in that it persists practically every day for at least two weeks and involves other symptoms than just sadness alone. It can be confusing because many people call clinical depression or major depressive disorder just “depression.”
Dr. Yoon also blabbered about chemicals in his brain that, well, Donghyuck really doesn’t understand much. All he knows at this point is that the treatment involves some medication and most specially psychotherapy. Apparently, studies show that the combination of these treatments is more effective than either of them alone.
Donghyuck has been investing a lot of his time in psychotherapy. His normal sessions were every Friday, thirty minutes to a maximum of an hour each. Like how his prescription doses went up, he also requested his psychotherapy sessions to be more frequent, hence Tuesdays and Fridays, minimum of one hour a session, maximum of an hour and a half.
Donghyuck likes to think that over the course of eight weeks, he’d gotten a little better. It turns out that being honest with your doctor means you’d get prescribed the right pills to take to help you fall asleep. No wonder the melatonin pills he’d taken didn’t work in the long run; he was taking the wrong ones and the wrong dosage—just like how he’d been looking for happiness in the wrong places.
From today’s session, Dr. Yoon asked him if he could talk to his mother about how he’d felt for so many years—the pressure, the urge to do whatever pleases her, the comparisons with other members, everything. Hence, Donghyuck finds himself knocking on his parents’ room.
He’s staying at their home during his hiatus. He reckons it’s the best time to speak with her as his father and the kids are out for work and school.
“Come in, Donghyuck-ah,” she says softly from the other side. He opens the door and finds his mother writing something in her journal. “You need anything, baby? Do you want to eat?”
He shakes his head and walks towards their bed, sitting on its edge. His mother puts the pen down and sits beside him. “Something wrong?”
“Eomma,” he says in the softest voice. “Can I sleep here?”
The question brings tears to his mother’s eyes. She nods and leads him to bed, Donghyuck lying on his side and his mother cradling him from behind. He looks like he’s thirteen again, the day before the audition at SM, young and anxious about what the next day would bring, and his mother seems like she’s never aged a day, still determined and only wants the best for her children.
Donghyuck can feel her crying.
“I’m sorry, Donghyuck-ah,” is all she says.
And Donghyuck knows deep in his heart that even before she’d uttered her apology, he’s already forgiven her.
Haechan comes back right before Chuseok.
NCT Dream is invited to perform at a music festival held in the Seoul Olympic Stadium alongside many other artists. When news broke that this would be Haechan’s come back stage, the ticket sites went crazy—crashing every second because everybody wanted to get tickets to see the most-awaited comeback.
Over the course of seven months of Donghyuck’s hiatus, many things have changed. He gained more fans in the latter parts of the hiatus after the world learned his life in Jeju-do. He’d gotten a new piercing in his cartilage, which the fans love, but only Donghyuck probably understands what it means. Old videos of him going on stage went viral years later, the world seeing how talented and passionate he truly is. Clips of him randomly singing without autotune circulated for quite some time, and his fondness of children and respect for the elder have been the talk of the KPop industry for the last months or so, calling him the most well-mannered idol. The scandal had not been erased from history, of course; some people still hate him for it. Some of his old fan sites did not return to support him, and if we’re talking about old Donghyuck, he’d probably be pretty bummed about it. He’d probably start compromising his privacy to give them a glimpse of his life off the stage to get them back.
But the sessions with Dr. Yoon have been working well, because Donghyuck doesn’t really care about pleasing the entire world anymore. Donghyuck thinks that as long as there’s a good number of people supporting him and loving him for who he is—as a person and as a singer—then he’d be okay. He didn’t have to make the entire planet roar his name.
The dress rehearsals are done by the time the clock hit four in the afternoon. The members argue where to go eat. Jisung announces he’s going shopping for a new pair of wired headphones because he lost his on the way to the stadium, to which Renjun says he’d go with him. The others decide to go eat with the staff, some opt to go home and rest so they’d be ready for the next day.
Donghyuck decides to go buy the book that Johnny recommended him: The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry. He’s told that the book is about a boy growing up, and that it might strike his thoughts if he’s up to reading a children’s book meant for adults.
Hence, Donghyuck finds himself going through shelves and sections of children’s book after picking up The Little Prince and wondering if Gyeom would want to read any of these.
You see, Lee Donghyuck is not much of a believer of fate. As he’d say before, his career didn’t happen by fate because it was all his mother doing all the hard work. But what are the odds of him choosing to visit this exact book store at this exact moment over elsewhere and another time?
And what are the odds of him finding you leaning against the wall in the corner of the store, hair longer than the last time, nose red and body bundled up in layers of clothes, a book in your hand as you read through it?
Donghyuck stops, stares at you, as if he’s waiting for you to look up from the book, and thinks about how much he’d missed you all this time and how much he’d regretted ending things with foul, unacceptable words? He thinks about remembering you anytime he sees tangerines and flowers around the city. He thinks about the odds of finding you again and again in this lifetime. He thinks about the flowers only blooming as soon as the butterflies have left, missing their timing, and how they bloom again next spring, hoping that this time, the timing is right.
He thinks about you in silence. He thinks about love hiding in the corners of his chest, convincing him he’ll get over it—he’ll get over you. He thinks about his dreams.
A few people pass by the space between you and him. The distance is about three meters. It’s silent for the most part.
Donghyuck is not much of a believer of fate, and you look up to prove him otherwise.
It’s only then that Donghyuck takes a really good look on you: new hairstyle, backpack slung in one arm, a student ID badge hanging right below your chest.
“Y/N!” A girl whisper-shouts from behind Donghyuck. “Have you found the book?”
You don’t tear your glance away from him, but you nod and say, “Yeah. I’ll go check it out and I’ll meet you outside.”
The other girl doesn’t notice him and proceeds to leave. You take two, three, five, seven steps, and you’re right in front of him.
“Hi, Donghyuck-ah,” you say in the softest voice as soon as you’re close enough.
Donghyuck wonders whether this is just a dream or if he’d started hallucinating you because of the medicines he’s been taking, but then he catches a whiff of your scent, and Donghyuck believes.
Donghyuck believes in fate. In forgiveness. In healing. In love. In finding one’s way back home.
END
author's note: PLEASE tell me what you think of this in the comments or reblogs. I'd also appreciate if you send me you favorite line here. Thank you so much for reading until the end!
lying on the couch, his head tilted forward to kiss you gently, without any rush. a soft kiss, then another, and another, each one drawing out a light giggle from you that made him smile against your lips. he tucked a stray lock of hair behind your ear, eyes barely leaving yours before leaning in again.
this time, the kiss lingered longer. his warm, soft lips pressed firmly to yours, his tongue teased your lips playfully, wet, hot, and a little provocative, waiting for you to part them just enough so he could slip inside. and when you did, he let out a quiet sound of approval, sliding his tongue into your mouth with a slow, sensual ease, meeting yours eagerly.
his hand reached up to your cheek, fingers brushing over your skin in an absent, tender motion, never once breaking the deepening kiss. slowly, his touch began to trail down, exploring the curve of your jaw, the line of your neck, until it slipped beneath your shirt and came to rest at your waist. hus fingers caressed the skin there gently, drawing slow, lazy circles, while his mouth stayed locked with yours, now sucking on your tongue with a hunger that sent heat spiraling through your core.
he shifted smoothly beneath you, guiding you to straddle him on the couch. both hands slid down to your ass, gripping firmly, pulling you closer, pressing you flush against him. his breath hitched slightly as your bodies met with delicious friction, and he didn’t even try to hide how much he wanted you closer. he liked to touch you, he just couldn’t keep his hands off you. one hand stayed right there, gripping your ass, giving it firm squeezes every now and then, the other hand moved up, threading into your hair, tugging gently as his kisses turned rougher, deeper, more demanding.
you pulled away to catch your breath, and he loved the sight of you panting, your lips glistening with spit and slightly swollen, the lipstick smudged messily around your mouth, and he was more than sure it was all over him too. but he could still see traces of your lipstick on your lips, which only meant one thing: he wasn’t stopping until there wasn’t a single hint of color left.
it starts with a cream puff, a hoodie that isn’t yours, and a silence that feels suspiciously like something unspoken. haechan does everything a boyfriend would do—except ask.
pairing lee haechan x fem!reader genre fluff, friends to lovers au but not really, comedy warnings one death joke, cute miscommunication word count 1.5k notes clearing out my draftsss i think i wrote this in... march? lolz happy reading! ૮ ᴖﻌᴖა
THERE ARE TWO KINDS OF SILENCES BETWEEN YOU AND HAECHAN.
the first kind is easy—almost like second nature. it slips in during walks home after class, when your bodies sway in quiet rhythm and your shoulders brush as if your bones remember each other.
that silence has a soundtrack, soft laughter, the scuff of your sneakers, the muffled hum of the shared earbud he always gives you the left side of. you never have to ask. he just hands it to you like it belongs to you more than it does to him.
the second kind of silence is this one. the kind you’re in now.
it crept in sometime between the walk from your last class and the stoplight near your dorm building. it’s not loud, but it’s sharp. you hear it in the way he talks to you—still sweet, still teasing—but you can’t unhear the question blooming underneath your ribs. you can’t ignore the ache that’s been growing roots inside you for weeks.
you’ve run out of excuses to try and keep it in.
he’s walking beside you, holding a box of cream puffs he insisted on buying, even though he didn’t have enough hands to carry everything else. he gave you his sweater to wear—again—and wordlessly balanced your books in the crook of his arm like it was the most natural thing in the world. it always is, with him. that’s the problem.
“haech—,” you stop, clearing your throating before trying again. quieter now. “haechan.”
he glances sideways, a smile already tugging at his mouth like it’s on autopilot. “yeah?”
your fingers twitch inside the sleeves of his sweater. it smells like his cologne—cedarwood and jasmine—with a faint trace of detergent. you don’t want to ask this here, not in the middle of the sidewalk, not with your heart stretched so thin. but it’s been waiting for far too long.
“what are we?”
he slows to a stop, the wind pulling at his hair. his brow furrows slightly—not in confusion, but in a sort of gentle, cautious surprise.
“...what do you mean?” he asks, tilting his head.
you lift your chin, trying to be brave. “i mean… you do all these things. you take care of me. you wait for me after class. you give me your sweaters even when you’re cold too. you tie my shoelaces for me. you—” you gesture vaguely between the two of you, heart racing. “you kiss my hands like they’re made of glass, hyuck.”
he’s quiet, eyes searching yours.
you look down. the words are slipping now, loose and frantic. “but you’ve never asked me to be your girlfriend. not even once. so i… i don’t know what this is. i don’t know if i’m just someone you’re being sweet to or if i’ve been reading too much into everything, or—”
“wait.” he steps in, gently but firmly. his voice isn’t shocked—just… surprised. “hold on. you’re not?”
your heart stutters. “not what?”
he runs a hand through his hair, laughing under his breath in a way that makes it clear that he’s just realised something ridiculous and painfully obvious at the same time. “i thought we were already dating.”
the world stills.
your lips part, but nothing comes out.
“i thought we were… together,” he says, wide-eyed and sincere in a way that makes you want to cry. “i mean... i told you i liked you. i thought that counted.”
“that was months ago!” you exclaim, stunned.
“exactly! so haven’t we been dating for months now?”
you gape at him.
“haechan,” you say slowly, like you’re trying to explain algebra to a potted plant, “you never asked.”
he blinks, his expression genuinely, hilariously baffled. “i didn’t think i needed to! i thought we were—i mean—come on.”
he shifts the cream puff box in one arm and gestures between the two of you with the other, like that alone should explain everything. a little blob of custard escapes and lands on his hoodie sleeve. he doesn’t notice.
“what do you mean, come on?” you demand, even though it’s getting harder and harder to stay upset when he’s looking at you like a golden retriever who just realised he’s been sitting on the wrong side of the door this whole time. “you never said anything! no ‘do you wanna be my girlfriend,’ no ‘hey! let’s make this official,’ no nothing! i thought we were in a romantic grey area!”
“grey area?” he repeats, scandalised. “baby, i’ve been carrying your bag, tying your shoelaces, and memorising your coffee order with alarming accuracy. i’ve given you, like, three of my best sweaters. i met your friends—who, by the way, are even louder than i am. does that scream grey area to you?!”
you’re trying to hold onto your indignation. truly, you are. but his voice is climbing in pitch and he’s gesturing with so much intensity that the cream puff box wobbles dangerously again. you eye it nervously.
“you also once gave me a banana peel and said, ‘for composting your feelings.’”
“a romantic gesture!”
“you tripped me with it after.”
“in a flirtatious way!”
you snort. and that’s it. the last of your frustration peels away like old wallpaper. it’s ridiculous. he’s ridiculous. but the thing is—he means it. every chaotic, confused, sugar-coated sentence spilling out of his mouth is the most haechan way of saying—i thought you were mine this whole time.
he exhales, running a hand through his hair like he’s trying to physically shake the dust off his brain. “i told you i liked you, like, multiple times! remember our dumpling date two months ago? the one where you tried to steal my last piece? i said, ‘you can’t steal my food unless you’re my girlfriend,’ and then you took it anyway, and i thought, ‘wow. she wants me.’ that was, like, the beginning of our love story.”
you gape at him, again. “you thought confessing was the end?”
he frowns, squinting. “isn’t that how everyone does it?”
you give him a look.
haechan scratches the back of his neck, the box of cream puffs still dangling from one arm like it’s an afterthought. “okay, maybe my dating perspective is... flawed. but i really thought it was clear! i mean, i’ve been calling you my girl in my head for months.”
“haechan,” you deadpan, “your head doesn’t count as public record.”
he lets out a dramatic sigh, and you bite the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling too wide, but it’s a lost cause. the grin’s already blooming, like something inevitable. he’s just too cute.
“you seriously thought we were dating this whole time?”
“yes!” he says, flinging his free hand out so emphatically that the box wobbles again. “i was so sure of it.”
you cross your arms—not because you’re mad or confused anymore, but because it’s fun to watch him squirm. “okay. so what would’ve happened if i started dating someone else during this time?”
he stares at you, horrified, like you just told him gravity is optional now. “i would’ve recorded me killing myself and sent it to that someone else.”
you laugh so hard and suddenly that it startles a pigeon nearby, to which haechan grins, triumphant.
“there she is,” he murmurs. “my girl.”
the words hit you sideways. soft. certain. said like they’ve always been true.
you exhale, watching the mist of your breath curl into the cold air between you.
“okay,” you say quietly. “but… i still would’ve liked if you asked.”
he nods, the weight of that finally settling into his shoulders. “yeah. you’re right. i should’ve made it clear. should’ve done the whole thing. flowers, playlist, dumb question with even dumber handwriting.”
a pause.
“can i ask now?”
you glance at him, feigning skepticism. “you’re going to ask me out officially with custard on your sleeve?”
he looks down and shrugs. “you’ve seen worse.”
you consider this. “yeah, okay.”
he shifts his grip so he’s holding everything in one arm now, freeing up his hand. it’s a little clumsy, the angle’s awkward, but he still reaches for your wrist, gently turning your hand over to press a warm kiss to your palm. the same way he always does. like it’s a promise he doesn’t know how not to keep.
then he looks up at you, gaze steady. “please be my girlfriend.”
the world doesn’t go still—not like in the movies. a dog barks in the distance. someone shouts about being locked out of their dorm. a bike bell rings.
but here, with him, it’s quiet in the good way again.
you pretend to think about it, tapping your chin.
then you reach for the box of cream puffs, pluck one out, and hold it up between you. “okay, boyfriend.”
he beams.
you each take a bite from opposite ends of the pastry at the same time, like it’s some sugar-dusted peace treaty. there’s custard on your lip and powdered sugar on his nose—and somehow, that feels exactly right.
and as he threads his fingers through yours—still sticky, still warm—you realise maybe you were never in a grey area to begin with.
just... a really weirdly drawn, very haechan-shaped heart.
jaemin. “my babygirl is mad at me?” only uses it when he knows you're mad at him. he would probably pull you to him by the waist with a smile that threatens to break his face, eyes so slightly closed that you can see the length of his eyelashes. and although the first few seconds you don't give in, surely the fact that he looks at your lips while he does it end up doing so, every single time.
chenle. “whatever you say, babygirl.” he is to please your whims, even if some go too far. you know that even when he rolls his eyes and puts on a sarcastic tone as he says it, nothing escapes his abilities to get what you want. he can pretend to look annoyed while you thank him by filling him with pecks, but the façade almost never lasts long, as does the waiting.
haechan. “you're my babygirl.” you've said it first, of course, but after babying him all the time, it takes you by surprise. well, you take it as a compliment. you've lent him your jacket because it was cold and he was too stubborn to bring his, he almost never does anything for himself because his friends do it for him and now..., now you find him tying your shoelaces and then kissing your cheek before turning his back to offer you a piggyback home. beyond a compliment, it feels strangely comforting.
jisung. “babygirl.” only when he wakes up still sleepy and find out you're not in bed with him, he calls you when he manages to get up and come for you. he blames his lethargy, although he has been saying it for a long time; and when you hear his voice, you respond, in the living room, while taking a shower, while you cook for both of you..., every time. all the time.
jeno. “my babygirl.” you'll kill him, seriously. he has no other comebacks than that. his only shield, good enough to let it go. it wins all the bickering. disassembled in seconds. not because you don't like it, you immediately bend in half and melt, and it's hard to hide it. that silly smile after, he knows it.
mark. “mmm, babygirl?” he plays it off all the time and says it's because of his frat façade he's pulling to be funny. he swears he hates it. you're pretty sure he doesn't, especially when he forgets he's acting and becomes a mess of affection, his voice sounding completely different than before when he says it against your neck.
renjun. “yes, babygirl.” sweet and mockingly, you know that sometimes you tend to ask about silly things, which he certainly knows the answer. to everything. his soft nod followed by a smile leaves on sight that he finds you tender, and if it's his duty to learn things that you'll probably ask him at some point —because he's worked hard to pretend he knows everything, for you, then so be it.
✸ ︎⠀⠀ .bf!haechan x f!reader ! ⏜💬 ℯven on his special day, haechan only wants one thing. and that is to please you . . . smut ( MDNI 18+ ) 𓂃 dom!haechan , nipple play , spit play , oral (f. rec) , unprotected sex (pls don’t do this) , fingering , teasing , cursing , pet names , dirty talk . wc 1.1k
୭౿ REBLOG FOR A HUG !
right when it hits midnight on june sixth, you crawl over on top of your boyfriend. straddling his hips, you kiss down his chest with the sweetest smile.
“happy birthday, baby,” you whisper, kissing the corner of his mouth, then trailing lower, lips brushing his neck, his collarbone. “let me take care of you tonight.”
haechan just smirks. his eyes low, one hand lazily palming your thigh. “mm, baby…it’s my birthday. don’t you think i deserve to have my way tonight?” you knew exactly what he was hinting at.
you laugh softly, dipping your head to suck lightly at his skin, tongue swiping along the spot. “but, you deserve to feel good.”
“i will, baby,” he hums before flipping you onto your back before you can stop him. his lips find yours, passionate and messy. “but you know me…”
his hand slides under your shirt (thankful you weren’t wearing a bra), thumb grazing your nipple until it hardens beneath his touch. his voice drops, all teasing gone.
“the best gift you could give me is you.”
you shiver as he mouths at your chest through your thin tank top, mouth warm and eager. “give the birthday boy what he wants. hm?” and so you did.
haechan’s mouth was and still is everywhere.
your chest, your neck, the soft underside of your boobs. he’s been sucking and licking and moaning like he’s the one being touched. which he should’ve been — it was his birthday. but he insisted on seeing you become a fucked out mess because of him. he had always been a pleaser, but you hadn’t expected it today, of all possible days.
“so fucking soft,” he murmurs, lips brushing your nipple before his tongue circles it in slow, teasing swirls. “been thinking about these all day.”
he flattens his tongue and licks up, just enough pressure to make your breath hitch, and that smug smile he gives you in return makes your stomach flip.
“so fucking pretty.” his hands cup them, thumb brushing over your nipples again. and he stars, practically drools over how they look. how they harden under his touch.
“gonna spend my birthday right here,” he whispers, and then spits, a slick dribble cascading down the curve of one breast. “fuck—look at that. so messy.”
“baby,” you whisper, hands in his hair. “please—”
he hums against you. “please what, pretty girl?”
his mouth follows the trail, licking it up slowly, sucking the nipple back into his mouth with a satisfied groan. you whimper, your thighs pressing together. of course, he notices.
“aw, baby,” he murmurs, tongue flicking. “aching for me already?”
his hand moves between your thighs before you can answer, sliding under your panties like he owns you. because right now, he definitely does.
and then he feels how wet you are. “fucking hell,” he groans. “all this for your birthday boy?”
two fingers press inside you without warning, curling instantly. his palm presses heavy against your needy clit and your head falls back, a small cry slipping out.
“hyuck—!”
“that’s it,” he coos, lips still on your chest, working you open with that slow, filthy precision. “told you i’d take care of you tonight. let me, baby. please.”
he slides down your body, breath warm over your dripping cunt, and kisses your inner thigh softly.
discarding his fingers from you, he spreads your thighs more and settles in like it’s his favorite place to be. “you’re dripping,” he whispers, breath fanning on your pussy. “you that needy for me, hm?”
your hips jerk at his words alone, and then he’s spitting again. this time, right on your clit, watching the bead of saliva roll before he licks you clean.
your moan is instant. high-pitched and desperate. “fuck—fuck, hyuck, more—” he knew he had you exactly where he wanted you.
he groans lowly. “say it again.”
“need more. need you everywhere.”
he pushes two fingers back into you in one smooth motion, curling them up just right, lips wrapping around your clit like he hadn’t eaten in weeks.
and not once did he ease up or give you time to breathe. not even when you’re trying to pull away, too sensitive, thighs clamping around his head.
“you’re not done,” he murmurs, licking up your puffy pussy. “you think i’m letting you off that easy?”
his fingers fuck into you harder. his thumb on your clit, using more pressure now, making your back arch right off the bed.
“you like when i play with you like this,” he pants. “like being my messy little thing. my messy girl. shit, baby—i’d spend hours right here.”
you come hard with his name falling off your tongue, shaking fully as he kisses the inside of your thighs sweetly. finally letting you breathe.
but not for long. he pulls you up off the bed. grabbing your waist and walks you backward toward the wall, one hand on your tit again, the other between your legs, still teasing, spreading you open even further. your body twitches at the overstimulation.
“one more,” he whispers. “just one more. i wanna fuck you.”
“hyuck—” your voice is small, body still trembling, but he’s already pressing his forehead to yours, smiling against your lips.
“stand still for me,” he says softly. “let me take care of it.”
“stand up tall for me,” he whispers again, sliding his tip through your folds. “gonna fuck you just like this.”
you clutch his shoulders, eyes fluttering. “please…”
“don’t worry, baby,” he grins. “i got you.”
his cock thick, hot, and already leaking against your slick folds. you feel the stretch before he even bottoms out, and the way his jaw clenches tells you he’s barely holding on.
“fuck—this pussy’s the best gift i’ve ever gotten.”
his hips start to move, slow at first, grinding into you deep. each thrust rocks you up the wall, your back thudding lightly against it as his hand slips between your bodies to rub at your bud again.
“fuck, you feel so good,” he groans, pinning you between the wall and him. “so wet, baby, you’re soaking me.” all you could do was moan loudly in return.
“gonna come for me like this?” he pants, sweat beginning to drip down his temple. “gonna come while i’m buried inside you like this?”
your answer is a sob. your pussy fluttering, walls pulsing around him. it’s too much. too good.
“give it to me, baby,” he groans. “wanna feel you squeeze around me. wanna fuck you through it—fill you up—“
you break with a wrecked cry, your whole body going hot and tight, seeing white as your head falls forward. and that’s all he needs. he fucks into you, cock twitching, spilling deep with a filthy moan of your name.
and when you slump into him more, limp and ruined, he just holds you. kissing your shoulder and hums against your skin.
“you did so well, angel.” he murmurs softly. then pulls back, hands on your cheeks.
“since it’s my birthday,” he whispers with a grin. “can we go again?”
tagline: you were rebuilding a bridge while he was burning it down.
synopsis — three years after divorcing jeno, you've found a careful rhythm in co-parenting your son jun. the old fights about his work schedule and emotional distance have faded into polite exchanges and shared custody arrangements. but when small moments of connection start to feel like second chances, you begin to hope that maybe you could try again. though, it all falls apart when jeno asks to introduce jun to his new girlfriend. suddenly, you're forced to confront a devastating truth: the man who claimed he "wasn't good at relationships" during your marriage has apparently learned how to love properly—he just needed someone else to do it with.
Pair: Jeno x reader
Genre: Angst, fluff, hinted exes to lovers, college au, sports au (american football)
WC: 2.5k
Synopsis: The final game of the regular season should be an easy win against a subpar team, but the team struggles, especially Jeno. His mind is not with his body on the field, and as he tries to figure out what’s happening, the walls only close in on him tighter. Amidst his sudden mental distress, all it takes is a familiar voice to pull him back.
Warnings: Detailed panic attack
Chants grow muffled and the boom of the announcer’s voice begins to ring. Colors streak around him, but he can’t discern the faces behind the masks or read the names on the jerseys. Jeno files into position every play, situates himself where he needs to be without consciously knowing where exactly he is. Muscle memory is stepping forward, calling the shots, and his body is following the cues.
the street racing scene is fast, reckless, and filled with boys who are just as dangerous as the roads they drive. whether it’s the legend who won’t let go, the past that keeps returning, the one who always leaves, or the rich boy with a death wish.
GENRES ▸ smut, fluff, angst, street racer au
WARNINGS ▸ sexual content (smut), alcohol consumption, descriptions of toxic behaviors
AUTHOR’S NOTE ▸ based off of tate mcraes' new album, 'so close to what'. i picked my favorite songs and matched them to a different member of nct dream - chenle & jisung excluded, sorry! i hope you guys look forward to it...also this just sorta turned into a street racing series, whoops.
'i think you know what this is, i think you wanna uh, no, you ain't got no mrs, oh, but you got a sports car
PAIRING ▸ street racer!jaemin x mechanic!reader
GENRES ▸ smut, fwbs, fast-paced romance
WARNINGS ▸ tbd.
SUMMARY ▸ jaemin walks into your garage like he owns the world—bleeding, grinning, and handing you another wreck to fix. he’s careless, rich, and impossible to resist; but when feelings start creeping into your no-strings arrangement, you have no choice but to cut it off...or do you?
'so i keep comin' back like a revolvin' door, say i couldn't want you less, but I just want you more'
PAIRING ▸ street racer!jeno x watcher!reader
GENRES ▸ smut, toxic romance
WARNINGS ▸ tbd.
SUMMARY ▸ jeno is a revolving door—vanishing without a word, only to show up months later like nothing happened. you swear you’re done, but when he opens the car door one last time, you have to ask yourself—are you really?
dear god, take his kiss right out of my brain, take the pleasure out of my pain,
take the way he used to say, "i love you"'
PAIRING ▸ street racer!mark x reader x boyfriend!renjun
GENRES ▸ smut, infidelity, angst, longing
WARNINGS ▸ tbd.
SUMMARY ▸ renjun is everything you should want—steady, kind, safe. but when mark reappears, dragging the past back with him, you start slipping, torn between the life you built and the one that still calls your name.
did my purple lace bra catch your attention? uh, yeah, the look in your eye made me question
PAIRING ▸ retired street racer!haechan x street racer!reader
GENRES ▸ smut, enemies to lovers
WARNINGS ▸ tbd.
SUMMARY ▸ you’re the rookie shaking up the streets. haechan’s the retired legend who won’t stay in his lane. the rivalry is instant, the tension worse. one challenge turns into another—until racing isn’t the only thing you’re losing control over.
“I just spent eight hours terrified of what condition I’d find you in, and I’m telling you that I don’t just want you. I need you. There are your three words.”
I don’t think the significance of Violet telling Xaden she “needs” him has been talked about enough.
It’s more than just a substitute for “I love you”. This is Violet metaphorically baring her throat to Xaden, exposing her weakness to him. She’s not ready to tell him that she loves him yet, but she’s telling him how important he is to her, to her very existence, beyond the fact that if he dies, she dies.
In this scene in Iron Flame when Violet has left Basgiath without leave, Xaden acts like it’s a revelation to him how much Violet cares about him (never beating the abandonment issues allegations), and she recognises this in him and responds by telling him how valuable he is to her.
“I need you.” Maybe need isn’t the right word, but there’s no other term that captures how essential he is to my existence.
I don’t think we should act like needing him is just a stepping stone to loving him. Those are two entirely different emotions to feel about someone, and in some ways needing Xaden is so much more than loving him. Violet needs Xaden and vice versa. Telling him that proves more about her love for him than those exact words ever could, and I think Xaden realises that.
“I need you more, Violet […] However much you think you need this, need me—I need you more.”
I will never be normal about these two characters.
Note: Ok ok please don't hit me! I swear I'm trying to get rid of this writer's block that came to torment me to write the requests and since there are so many videos of k-dramas and couples appearing I needed to write the ones I saw
Summary: There is only one thing to do at the end of a date
⪢ NCT Masterlist
Y/N got into the car feeling not only her cheeks but her entire face on fire. She couldn't believe she hadn't embarrassed herself in front of Jeno. A miracle.
The date had been perfect, he was extremely gentlemanly and attentive. They ate at a good restaurant, talked a lot about things they didn't know about each other until then and now he had insisted on taking her home.
She had never felt so good and comfortable with someone until then.
But deep down in her mind there was only one thing missing and the atmosphere in his car seemed very conducive to that.
He got in the driver's side and glanced at her as he put on the seatbelt, Y/N just watched him.
She couldn't understand how someone could look so irresistible with platinum hair and worse, how he was right there next to her.
Jeno had the most well-drawn face she had ever seen, his eyes so intense that she got lost on them several times and ended up not even hearing some of the things he had said during the night, and the way he spoke with a pout was too tempting.
And his shoulders... if she could sleep hugging his shoulders, she would probably never let go. Like a sloth.
There was no need to mention his hands, because she held her breath every time her eyes ended up stopping at his bulging veins and long fingers.
She was so absorbed in her thoughts that didn't notice when he turned his torso to look at her, in fact she only looked up at his face when he leaned slightly forward and entered her space with his hand still in the air.
Y/N stared into his eyes in surprise as he maintained the same intensity with which he looked all night, making her heart race so fast that in the silent car she wondered if he could hear it.
She raised her eyebrows in understanding and her eyes went down to his mouth, she was close but not close enough, waiting for his initiative while her hands itched to finally grab his shoulders like she wanted to do.
But Jeno stood still without moving his hand that was still in the air and when she looked back into his eyes she was even more confused, he had a sparkle in his eyes and a smile on the corner of his mouth. She smiled weakly and frowned, silently asking what was going on.
Jeno laughed lightly.
"The seatbelt." he said quietly without taking his eyes off her.
Y/N felt a wave of embarrassment take over her body making the smile on her face disappear instantly.
"Oh yeah." she said, embarrassed, looking away from him and wishing that some force would pull her out of the car because she was so embarrassed.
She raised her hand to pull the seatbelt, but Jeno was faster. He leaned in even more and turned his face enough to see where to pull the belt, his cheek touched hers and Y/N was paralyzed feeling the scent and the heat of his body as Jeno put the belt on for her, her hand fell to her side and the butterflies in her stomach went down to her legs that were now wobbly.
She felt Jeno look at her one last time before he moved away and started the car, Y/N tried not to breathe so deeply to show how embarrassed she was but by Jeno's light laugh she was sure he had noticed, of course.
During the route, he turned on the air conditioning to warm her up when he noticed that she had clasped her cold hands and all that tension accompanied them.
Even though she told him that she liked to take things more slowly, it was clear that she wanted to kiss him.
Who wouldn't want to spend the whole night savoring his pink lips?
Y/N sighed as he parked the car in front of the house, her ears still burning with embarrassment. She took off the seatbelt as he turned off the car.
“Thanks for the ride.” She said shyly as she ran her hand over her face, not knowing how to act around him now. “It was a cool night.”
Y/N wanted to beat herself up for choosing the word.
Cool? Really? Was that the only one her mind could find?
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jeno keep his hand on the steering wheel and nod, it was the cue she needed to make a move to get out of the car.
Jeno leaned his torso to the side again and that caught her attention.
She turned her head to look at him. He was getting closer again and once again she froze in place.
But he stopped inches from her face again and cursed.
“Shit.” he tried to pull the seatbelt to make more space for him to get even closer, but it didn’t happen.
Y/N laughed lightly when she saw that his attempt was as frustrated as hers.
“Oh fuck it.” That was what she heard from him before Jeno took off his seatbelt and advanced on her.
His hand quickly found the back of her neck and brought her face closer to his while his eager lips sought hers and when they found, she sighed in surprise.
Jeno led the kiss quickly and thirstily, it was as if he had waited longer than that night to do that, and Y/N finally managed to bring at least one hand to his shoulder.
The kiss was deep, their heads took turns from one side to the other as air was completely forgotten by both of them, their tongues met and Jeno brought his free hand to grab her waist, it seemed like that gigantic space between their bodies was suffocating him.
She wanted their torsos to touch as much as he did.
Jeno brought his hand from the back of her neck to her face and Y/N moved her hand up to his light hair where her fingers got lost in the strands.
It wasn't just the car that was hotter, their bodies too and the lack of air arrived, interrupting the kiss. But it didn't stop Jeno from resting his forehead on Y/N's who kept her eyes closed.
🔮 preview. “What if… what if I helped you out a little?” His words hang in the air, and your room feels thick with tension. You’re acutely aware of the toy still pressed between your thighs. “Look,” Hyuck says, voice softer, “I hate seeing you cry- but seeing you cry about something good might make us both feel better.”
tw/cw. recent breakup, fingering, Hyuck walks in while y/n is masturbating, masturbation, assisted masturbation, toy/dildo use, overstimulation, dacryphilia, reader has multiple orgasms, squirting, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, big dick Hyuck, pussy stretching, dirty talk, praise, talking about y/n's ex while they fuck, marking/claim kink, full/breeding kink, etc… I pet names: (hers) gorgeous, babe, good girl.
👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 7.1k
🍭 aus. friends to lovers, roommates au, recent breakup, etc…
☀️ mlist + an. When I tell you I need to be demolished by this Hyuck-
Hyuck absolutely hates seeing you like this.
He’d thought it had been hard seeing you in love with his best friend Mark Lee, but seeing you in the throws of depression after your recent breakup takes the cake for Hyuck when it comes to him having a straight up horrible time.
Obviously, you have it worse, and he’s not trying to contest that fact- he just hadn’t realized that when the thing he’d been hoping for actually came to pass- it would feel this bad.
In the dark reaches of his mind, he wonders if he’d had something to do with the separation, although, in truth, he knows that’s ridiculous. He’d been as supportive as a friend and roommate could be about you and Mark. He’d forced smiles and words of encouragement when you’d gushed through the talking phase. He’d found ways to ditch the apartment when you and Mark started to get physical, doing his best to give you privacy while getting high as a kite at Lee Jeno’s place to distract himself from the fact that you were getting railed by someone other than him. And now, he supposes, he’s doing his due diligence in making you feel better when you’re at your worst.
Hyuck’s doing the best he can to make things easy for you. He’s set up movie days, and he’s made you ramen. He’s allowed you to shuffle closer to him on the couch, even resting your head on his shoulder any time you start to tear up. He’s paused films to listen to you explain things like “When Mark and I watched this, he would always get so excited when Totoro would show up” or “Mark hated No Face.”
He wonders if doing a Ghibli marathon is the best idea, given how much you associate it with Mark, but when he’d asked you about it and you insisted you would feel better watching the films, he’d left it at that.
You’re your own person, and Hyuck’s always trusted you to make the best decisions for yourself… even when he doesn’t agree with them.
Cuddled next to you on your living room couch, Hyuck does his best just to be there for you. He ignores the boys’ group chat messages, where other friends are taking care of Mark. As far as Hyuck’s concerned, he’s team you, all the way, and he always has been.
He notices the way you start to shift next to him, pulling away from his shoulder to stretch your arms over your head.
“You good?” Hyuck asks, looking away from the movie to give you his complete and undivided attention.
“Yeah,” you sigh, frowning slightly. “Just tired.”
“Do you want to go to bed?” He studies your face, noticing all the signs of exhaustion- although, to be fair, you’ve been a sleepy wreck of a thing since your breakup two weeks ago.
“I probably should,” you concede, taking another deep breath. “Thanks for making me dinner and watching movies with me.”
“Don’t mention it,” Hyuck says, flashing you a small smile as he straightens in his seat, reaching for the remote to stop the movie.
“You’ve been so nice since… since the whole Mark thing.” He can see you swallowing back tears, and you reach up to wipe your eye with the sleeve of your hoodie.
“That’s what friends are for,” Hyuck assures you, although, his attention toward you has always far surpassed that of a friend. It’s a shame you’ve never realized that fact.
“Just… thanks,” you say again, holding open your arms for a hug that Hyuck is more than happy to give you.
He adjusts on the couch, leaning forward to scoop you into his arms. Your cheek presses to his shoulder and he breathes in the smell of your fruity body wash. He tries his best not to hug you too hard- because if he did, you might actually realize that every time you hug him, he has no true intention of ever letting you go.
“Sleep well, okay, gorgeous?” he prompts, stroking your hair and using the petname he’d given you far before you’d ever met Mark. “You really need your rest.”
“I’ll do my best,” you assure him, giving one last gentle squeeze before you pull away.
Hyuck watches you stand up, your hoodie skimming your mid thigh. He knows you’re wearing sleeping shorts under the oversized fabric, but he can’t help but swallow thickly, imagining what it would be like if you were just in panties.
He really has to get his mind out of the gutter, and Hyuck knows that- he’s been trying to, in all honesty he has- but it’s been four years of knowing you, one of living together, and he still can’t manage to keep his thoughts PG.
With one last small smile, you turn and begin to shuffle to your room.
He misses your lively movements. The first night you’d moved in together, you’d had a small dance party together, and Hyuck’s always been adamant that no one’s hips move like yours do.
He misses your joy. The way you sparkle when you’re happy. You used to smile like a kid in a candy shop anytime you watched your favourite movies or ate the ramen he’d made for you, but these days, the most you can muster is a small upquirk of the sides of your lips.
Hyuck wants to make you smile again. He’s just not sure how to do it.
He knows you need time. Time heals all wounds, or so they say. He just wishes he could fast track your recovery.
Your bedroom door shuts and the spell of watching you is broken. Hyuck takes a deep breath, looking around the messy living room. There are blankets and pillows strewn all over, take out boxes from your day inside, tissues from when you’d cried.
He’s not generally known to be the cleanest man around town, but Hyuck feels that in times like these, the least he can do is keep things tidy. He’s sure you’ll feel better to come out of your room every morning to a nice apartment, so he begins his work of collecting water cups and take away boxes.
You’ve definitely lost your spark, and Hyuck thinks maybe he has too. He’s used to playing music loudly, using it as energy at all hours of the day, but tonight, while he cleans, he keeps things quiet. His head is full, and his ears are on edge, paying attention to the sounds coming from your room.
In those first days after the breakup, he’d heard you crying a lot, and he’s sure that barging into your room to give you a hug had cheered you up. He’s hoping it won’t be necessary today.
As much as he loves hugging you, seeing you cry always makes him feel like someone is trying to tear open his chest and clench his heart. It’s an ache he doesn’t enjoy.
When you’d moved in together, he’d decided that as a girl - with monthly girl issues - you should have the bigger room with the connected bathroom, and he listens to the sound of you brushing your teeth and getting ready for bed.
You begin to hum something, and Hyuck realizes it’s the first time he’s heard you sing since your breakup.
Maybe tonight will be a good night.
Hyuck has moved all the clutter to the kitchen, and he begins to put stuff in the garbage and dishwasher while he listens to you hum. He thinks about the day you met, at uni orientation. He’d never become friends with someone so fast in his life, and when you’d discovered you had three of five classes together- well, he’s never looked back, not for one second.
He wonders how things would be different if he’d ever manned up and told you how he felt- how he feels- how his affection for you has only been growing and growing-
Hyuck finds himself heading to the fridge and taking out a beer. He hasn’t been drinking much since you and Mark broke up, hasn’t needed the mind-numbing effects of alcohol, so when he takes a large swig, he finds that it immediately takes the edge off.
He can’t be thinking about wifing you up right now- no matter how much he might wish to.
Although… as he leans against the sink and downs the can, grabbing another, he begins to wonder if offering himself up to you as a distraction really would be the worst thing in the world.
Sure, it wouldn’t be the way he’d want to start things with you- but maybe he could make you fall in love with him and forget all about Mark Lee. However, in all honesty, he’d probably be risking your friendship.
He’s played this mind game with himself too many times before, and Hyuck always finds himself at a stalemate. Frustration bubbles up inside and he looks out at the living room, determined to set himself back on the task of cleaning.
Hyuck throws the pillows onto the couch, and he even begins to fold up a blanket, and that’s when he hears a familiar sound.
You’ve never been the type to seek much affection, especially when you’re in your room, so whenever he’s caught you crying, it’s always started with a whimper.
What Hyuck’s just heard was definitely a whimper, and his whole body surges with white-hot, electric energy, his eyes darting to your door. His breath catches, and he tosses the blanket down to the ground, frozen as he waits for another sound of distress.
A small gasp can be heard under the crack of your door, and Hyuck’s body bolts into action. He’s moving so fast he stumbles a little over his own feet just as he reaches your room, and he wonders if drinking two beers was a good idea. His hand lands on your door, and he knocks aggressively.
“You okay in there, gorgeous?” he calls.
“I’m fine!” you respond, but there’s definitely an edge to your voice.
He can tell something is wrong- can tell you’re lying to him, and in a split second, Hyuck is making a decision.
“I’m coming in.”
You let out a small squeak of surprise, tearing your hand away from the toy still lodged inside of you so you can pull the blankets up around your shoulders, jaw dropping as your roommate barges into your room.
“Hyuck!”
He stands in the doorway, studying you, and you can see a look of confusion cross his face. “I thought I heard you crying.”
“I’m not crying!” you insist, core clenching around the dildo. “Get out!”
Hyuck doesn’t move. “I definitely heard a whimper,” he insists.
Your heart is practically racing in your chest, and you’re very much aware of the pleasurable feeling still thrumming from your core. Cock warming was something you enjoyed doing with Mark, and the fact that you’re cock warming a toy while Hyuck stares at you is having a wholly unexpected effect on your entire body.
“People whimper for all sorts of reasons!” you say dumbly. “Leave!”
Hyuck tilts his head to the side, assessing you again. “You never speak to me like this.”
“You usually don’t just barge in here unannounced!”
“Yes, I do,” Hyuck points out. “Why’s tonight different?”
“What do you mean-”
“Something is different,” he says, more firmly this time. His gaze dips, taking in the blanket still wrapped tightly around your form. “Wait…” you see the exact moment he realizes what you’re up to, and even from a few feet away, you see the way his pupils dilate. “Are you…”
“Hyuck-” you groan, lifting the blankets to hide your face, hoping he can’t see the shame that’s beginning to consume you.
“You are, aren’t you?”
“Are what?” you ask, deciding to play dumb.
You can hear him scoff, and you peak from under the blanket just in time to see his signature eye roll. His tongue pokes the inside of his cheek, something he does when he’s getting annoyed, and you can feel yourself dripping down your dildo.
He meets your gaze again. “I didn’t hear a vibrator, so let me guess…” You watch him swallow thickly. “The toy’s still inside of you, isn’t it?”
Curse him for knowing you so well.
Curse him for having a dirty mind.
And maybe most of all, curse yourself for being so stupidly turned on that you can’t even deny what he’s just said. All you can do is groan loudly, hiding again.
“Do you want me to leave?” he asks after a beat of silence.
“Yes!”
You hear him click his tongue. “Come on, gorgeous. We both know I can tell when you lie to me. We’ve been friends for years, you don’t have to be… ashamed about this.”
But shame is exactly what you’re feeling, and his words don’t help at all.
“Please, just leave,” you sigh, so embarrassed you think you might actually die.
“What if… what if I helped you out a little?”
His words hang in the air, and your room feels thick with tension. You’re acutely aware of the toy still pressed between your thighs.
“Look,” Hyuck says, voice softer, “I hate seeing you cry- but seeing you cry about something good might make us both feel better.”
“You’re being crazy.” You peak out at him. “We’re roommates- Mark is one of your best friends-”
“I’ve known you longer and I’m loyal to you,” Hyuck insists firmly. “And besides, stranger things have happened.”
“Yeah? Like what?” you can’t help but laugh a little, and the contraction of your stomach muscles pushes the toy slightly out of your core, making you groan at the loss.
From the look that crosses Hyuck’s face, he obviously notices your sound, and you watch his tongue dart out to wet his lips. “For one, the fact that you even dated Mark was a little crazy.”
“He’s a nice guy.”
“But nice doesn’t fill you up at night. Nice doesn’t make you cum so hard you feel it through your whole body.” Hyuck holds up a hand. “And before you try to tell me Mark was good in bed, remember that I have a room next to yours. Mark is a nice guy, but that doesn’t mean he can fuck. Not the way you deserve.”
You shift in your bed, sitting up a little to address your roommate. “Yeah? And how do I deserve to be fucked?”
“You deserve someone who’s going to worship every inch of you. Someone who’s going to make you cum over and over- make you gush so good you’re begging for it, begging to finally get dicked down so hard you can’t even walk after. Someone who makes you cry for all the right reasons.”
You stare at Hyuck.
You’re not even sure what to say.
He’s never talked like this to you, ever- at least, not in your waking hours.
You’ve had dreams about his sharp tongue, his long fingers, and his big cock- but never gave credence to your lustful fantasies. Hyuck’s always just been a friend-
“Why now?” you find yourself asking. “After all this time-”
“I’m tired of watching you hurt over something I might be able to help you fix.”
“So cock is the fix to a broken heart?”
“Gorgeous, I think we both know that what I’m offering you is more than cock.”
“Right, I’m guessing tongue and fingers-”
Hyuck gives you an unimpressed look. “Are you really going to make me say it?”
“Say what?”
“That I’m super into you? That I’ve been into you since we met? That it killed me to watch you be with Mark when I knew you should have been with me?”
“Hyuck-” you breathe, feeling even more whiplash from these words than his dirty talk.
“Look, you don’t have to say anything about that stupid feels shit, just… just let me take care of you tonight.”
“What if we regret it?” You press your thighs together, keeping the toy just inside of you while you begin to fidget with your blanket. “What if it ruins our friendship?”
“I’ve asked myself that same question for years,” Hyuck admits. “But… after looking at you now- I really don’t think that’s something we have to worry about.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because I’m about to make you cum so hard you forget about every other man in your life.”
“Promise?”
He nods. “Promise.”
“Okay.”
“Okay?” Hyuck lets out a small laugh. “So… you going to lift those covers and let me see what I’m dealing with or…?”
“God,” you groan, hiding your face in your hands. “This is so embarrassing.”
“I call you gorgeous for a reason, don’t I?” Hyuck grins. “Come on, I wanna see.”
You grab at the blankets, taking a deep breath. Then you start to move them off your body.
Your roommate watches your every movement, dipping his head to focus as you lift the fabric covering your feet, then your calves-
“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” you tell him.
“Yeah, me neither,” Hyuck admits. “I’ve been waiting so long to see you like this.”
His words make your stomach erupt in butterflies, and you feel the toy still half wedged in your core. “Should I… should I remove the dildo first?”
“No.” He shakes his head. “I wanna see that too.” His eyes meet yours. “Don’t be embarrassed. You’re so fucking hot, I’m already hard.”
He reaches a hand down to cup the front of his sweatpants, and you realize he’s not lying. You can see the impressive print of his cock pressing against the fabric, and it makes your mouth water. It also gives you the confidence to fully reveal yourself to his hungry eyes, and the moment he sees you, Hyuck lets out a deep groan.
“Shit, gorgeous,” Hyuck says, letting out a deep breath. “You’re even more perfect than I’ve imagined.”
His words make you feel shy, and you close your legs, only for Hyuck to press a knee to the bed, both hands reaching out to prompt your thighs back open.
“Don’t hide from me,” he warns, and there’s an edge to his tone. He’s still being soft with you, his touch gentle, but there’s an obvious hunger rising inside of him. “Tell me about this toy.”
“Well, I uh…” you search for your words. “It’s one of the first ones I ever bought-”
“It’s small,” Hyuck notes, which is kind of funny considering it’s Mark sized. “Can I use it on you?”
“You want to fuck me with the toy?” You blink at your long term friend and roommate.
“Gotta stretch you out to take something bigger.” Hyuck smirks devilishly, and your pussy throbs- he’s definitely bigger than Mark and the toy still half lodged inside of you. You can’t wait to find out how much bigger.
“You can-” you bite at your lip, “you can fuck me with it.”
“Good girl,” Hyuck praises you, and you can feel yourself practically dripping around the dildo now.
You hold your breath in anticipation while Hyuck gets settled on the foot of the bed. His warm palms smooth over your thighs, forcing you wider, and then his fingers grab the base of the toy. “Do you like it slow?”
“I think… to start off with?” You feel too hazy to be able to answer questions, and he hasn’t even started with you. “But… when you fuck me, can you go fast, please?”
“Of course, gorgeous. I can do anything you want,” he assures you, applying pressure to the toy so it begins to lodge deeper inside of you. You let out a small sigh and Hyuck looks up at you, grinning. “You’re so wet, babe, making this too fucking easy.”
“It’s not my fault-” you defend yourself, voice shaky.
“It’s mine, isn’t it?” His smile widens. “Talking dirty gets you going, huh, gorgeous?”
You nod, resting your head back against the pillows and closing your eyes to enjoy the feeling of him beginning to work the toy in and out of your pussy.
“Bet Mark’s dirty talk game was weak,” Hyuck says under his breath.
You don’t have it in you to agree with him, although… he’s correct. Something tells you he knows it too, because he lets out a small chuckle.
Hyuck’s using his right hand to fuck you with the toy, and his left moves from your thigh. A moment later, his thumb is rubbing gentle circles on your clit and your toes curl from the stimulation. A gentle gasp escapes you and you can practically hear Hyuck smile.
“Feels good?” he prompts.
“So good,” you nod. You need something to hold onto, so you grab at the one piece of clothing on your body, a night shirt, which you lift up your to your abdomen, giving Hyuck more room to work.
He rubs your clit harder and you let out a whine, feeling the familiar build of tension in the pit of your stomach.
“You’re so fucking pretty,” Hyuck tells you, and you can feel his breath on your pussy which makes you twitch. “God, I could watch you squirm like this all night.”
“Please-”
“Please what?”
You don’t even know. All you know is listening to the squelching sound of the toy going in and out of you while his thumb rubs your clit is driving you insane.
“I want to kiss you,” you decide, realizing Hyuck’s about to make you cum and you haven’t even really gotten a taste of him.
Hyuck stops what he’s doing immediately, manuevering up the bed so he’s on top of you, one hand pressed to the pillow while he looks down at you.
“Hi, gorgeous,” he grins.
Your hands explore his shoulders and one snakes into his hair, then you’re tugging his mouth down to your own. Hyuck’s gentle with you at first, but when you go to bite on his lower lip, he groans loudly. His tongue darts out to brush against your own, and the kiss deepens.
You’re done with your toy. You want to feel him, and you reach between your bodies to remove the dildo, pulling it out and tossing it onto the floor next to the bed.
Hyuck breaks your kiss to look at the wet toy on the ground, and he lets out a small laugh, gaze returning to your own. “Why’d you do that?”
“I want you.”
“Yeah?” His hand slips between your forms, and two digits stroke the length of your pussy, making you moan. “Want me to make you cum all over my fingers?”
You nod, grabbing at the front of his shirt, tugging his mouth back to yours while he buries himself into you knuckle deep.
He strokes your walls, and the feeling is absolutely delightful, especially when he angles his hand, palm pressing to your clit while he seeks out your gspot.
His lips are hot against your own, and they don’t muffle the sound of pleasure escaping you.
Hyuck’s a bit of a gamer, but you never really realized his fingers could feel this good-
“Shit, gorgeous,” he groans, breaking the kiss to move his mouth to your throat, where he lets out deep breaths. “You’re dripping all over my hand.”
“I’m so close-” you confess, gripping his shoulders tighter while he finger fucks you even harder, chasing your release.
“You’ll be a good girl and cum for me, right?” Hyuck prompts, which makes you mewl. “Yeah, you’ve always been such a good girl, gonna be good and cum all over my fingers-”
His words make you throb, and he applies more pressure to your clit with his palm. His lips press kisses to your neck and he finds your sweetspot, making everything feel all the more intense.
You’re on the edge, and you let out a loud gasp, clenching your eyes shut in anticipation.
“Cum for me, gorgeous. Come on, I wanna feel you.”
His words make the cord in your stomach snap, and your body is flooded with the pleasure of your release. You feel it everywhere, and it makes you cry out while holding onto him tighter. His hand continues between your thighs, fingers unrelenting, palm heavy on your clit.
Hyuck works you through your orgasm until you’re gasping and pushing at his shoulders, and then he straightens a little, motions stopping while he looks down at you. “Did you enjoy that?”
You can’t help but laugh, rolling your eyes a little. “You know I did.”
“Yeah, but you could still stroke my ego a little.”
“Stroke your ego?” You reach for his cock, gripping him through his sweats. “Like this?”
Hyuck lets out a low groan, thrusting forward to meet your hand. “As much as I’d love to watch you jack me off- tonight I’m here to make you feel better, and I’m not anywhere near being done with you yet.”
You’d never realized Hyuck had any self control, and you watch in shock as he gently moves your hand away.
“I’m going to eat you out now,” he tells you, slipping down the bed so he’s on his stomach between your legs. Hyuck spreads you open, gently kissing your inner thigh before looking up at you. “You good with this?”
“Uh huh,” you breathe, swallowing thickly as you prepare yourself for his tongue. “I’m still sensitive though.”
“I’ll go easy on you,” Hyuck promises, pressing a very soft kiss to your clit. “I can be gentle, contrary to popular belief.”
You can’t help but let out a giggle, but the sound is cut short when Hyuck unexpectedly buries his face between your thighs. His tongue presses into your hole and the feeling has your legs quaking as he adjusts them over his shoulders, trying to dive even deeper.
“Shit, Hyuck-” you whimper, grabbing at his hair.
He’s always been a bit of a liar- maybe you shouldn’t have believed him when he said he’d go easy on you. But… at the same time, the way his nose repeatedly bumps your clit has a fire building in your abdomen again, and you really aren’t even that mad about it.
You can feel Hyuck smile against you, and it’s such a turn on to know he’s enjoying himself while providing you with pleasure. Mark had always been somewhat rigid in your sexual interactions, much more serious than the grinning cheshire cat between your legs now.
Where Mark had been slow and tentative, Hyuck’s eager and passionate. He switches between lapping at your hole, sucking your clit, and pushing his tongue into you as deep as it can go, licking at your walls and working you up way faster than anyone else ever has in your entire life.
Then he begins to groan, and you realize he’s grinding against the bed-
Is eating you out really that sexy for him?
You feel another gush of wetness from the thought and your pussy throbs, warning you both that you’re close again. Hyuck responds by adjusting ever so slightly, lips wrapping around your clit while he pushes a hand to your entrance, slipping two fingers inside.
“Fuck, I’m gonna cum-” you gasp, back arching off the bed while the cord in your stomach is pulled unbelievably tight.
Hyuck’s fingers twist in and out of your hole, and he licks at your clit in the most sloppy manner- it’s enough to have you exploding, a cry of pleasure escaping you while your core clamps down on your roommate.
He groans loudly, sinfully, and the vibration against your clit has your legs shaking around his head, orgasm pulsing deep through your entire being.
You’re practically crying at this point, and you can feel tears even while you clench your eyes shut, taking everything Hyuck’s giving you while moaning like a whore- you’ve never sounded this way, and there’s something almost addicting about the noises being torn out of you.
You know he feels it too, because Hyuck is completely unrelenting. If anything, he’s even more sloppy with the way he worships your pussy, fingers crooking up expertly-
You’re literally gushing around him, and you can feel it, can feel that your bed is going to be ruined after this. But you can’t bring yourself to care. All you can do is grab at your sheets, crying to the ceiling while your best friend makes you feel pleasure so intense that you can’t even think.
He’s fulfilled his promise about making you cry for good reasons… and he hasn’t even taken his cock out yet.
You’ve never been this needy in your entire life, and when he pulls away from your core, allowing you to catch your breath, you peak out at him from under wet lashes.
“You’re literally perfect,” he tells you, voice deep. His pupils are completely blown now and he’s breathing as heavily as you are.
You watch him bring glistening fingers up to his lips, slowly sucking them clean and moaning loudly at the taste of you before he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Fuck, and you’re already crying-” Hyuck sits up, leaning over you and reaching out to brush some of your tears away. “God, you’re fucking beautiful.”
“Hyuck-” you whimper, shocked that you’re choking up.
Your body is still being flooded with emotion and sensations. Your nipples are hard under your shirt and the fabric is becoming uncomfortable, making you more sensitive-
“Going to let me take care of you now, right, gorgeous?” he asks, pinching at your chin and leaning in to kiss you softly.
“Please-” You grab at your shirt and Hyuck follows through by helping you take it off.
You’re now fully revealed to him, and your best friend sits back to appreciate you, letting out a deep breath.
“Mark’s so fucking stupid for letting you go,” Hyuck says.
His words are bitter sweet, and in your overstimulated state, you find your lower lip wobbling as you hold back a choked sob.
“Shh,” Hyuck whispers, reaching out to cup your cheek. “It’s better to be with someone who knows your worth, like I do. I’d never fucking treat you the way he did- I promise.”
The look on his face is so intense, and you know he’s telling you the truth.
Your body relaxes a little- Hyuck really is such a good guy, and what he’s doing for you helps more than he’ll probably ever know. He’s making you feel sexy again, making you feel needed and wanted and maybe even loved.
“Besides,” Hyuck clears his throat, taking off his own shirt, “I’m going to fuck you so good you’ll forget all about that asshole.”
You can’t help but laugh sadly, wiping at your own face to get rid of the last tears while you watch Hyuck move to work on his sweats.
When he pushes the waistband down, revealing his cock, you think you might actually faint.
You’ve always thought Hyuck was a pretty guy, sexy of course, but pretty too- and his cock? It’s as stupidly pretty as the rest of him.
He must be a little over seven inches, and he’s girthy too-
You can feel yourself practically drooling as you look at him, and Hyuck smirks at your reaction. “Sure you’re ready for this, gorgeous?”
“If you don’t fuck me I think I might die.”
He laughs at your words. “Then I guess I better fuck you.”
“Should we…” you bite at your lip. “Do we need condoms?”
“Babe,” Hyuck scoffs. “Babe- we’re both clean, right? And I know you’re on birth control… do you want me to wear a condom? I always kind of imagined you’d be the kind of girl who wants to be full.”
How many times has he imagined this, you wonder.
But he’s right. You want him to fill you up like no one else has.
“Come here,” you say, holding open your arms while he kicks his sweats off.
Hyuck’s hands find the pillows by your head and he slots himself between your legs, lips pressing against your own.
You thread your fingers through his soft brown hair, kissing him eagerly. You want to get lost in him, and it’s easy to do that when he begins to rut his cock against your pussy, bumping your clit and making your thighs shake around his hips.
“Just fuck me,” you groan, already feeling so unbelievably needy.
Hyuck smirks against your lips, pulling away to look down at you with mischief in his eyes. “You’re so fucking hot it’s insane.”
“Then why aren’t you inside me yet?”
He moans a little, dipping his head to look between your bodies while he reaches for the base of his cock, lining himself up with your hole. “If it hurts, I’ll stop.”
You’re about to scoff and tell him he’s not that big when he pushes his head into your entrance and a gasp leaves your lips. The stretch is very real, and you wrap your arms tighter around his shoulders, closing your eyes and focusing on getting your body to relax.
You can practically feel your pussy struggling to make room for him, and even though you’re as wet as a fucking slip and slide, it’s still a little difficult for him to push in inch after inch-
“Fuck,” you whimper, and Hyuck rewards you by burying his face in your throat, peppering your skin in kisses. The soft feeling of his lips is enough to distract you from the intrusion opening up your pussy, and soon his hips are flush against your own, making you both release groans of pleasure.
“You ready for this?” Hyuck asks.
“God, yes-”
He reaches for your hand, pressing it to the pillow and threading your fingers. Then he kisses you softly-
When he begins to rut into you, it’s anything but soft.
Hyuck’s motions are calculated and rough, the tip of his cock hitting a spot deep inside of you that has you squeezing his hand. You’d be cussing if it weren’t for his hot lips against your own, lips that have gotten increasingly demanding, his tongue stroking yours while you gasp.
It feels amazing- like, truly. You’ve never been fucked like this, and he’s only just started.
He stops kissing you, breathing heavily while he fucks you even harder. “Can I ask you a personal question?”
“You’re literally balls deep inside of me,” you nearly laugh. “You can ask me anything.”
“I’m just,” Hyuck groans, squeezing your hand. “Did you ever think about me when you were fucking Mark?”
Your pussy clenches at the question, from shock or hornyness, you’re not sure.
“I-”
“You did, didn’t you?” Hyuck grins. “Don’t think I didn’t just feel you get super fucking tight around me- God, you are dirty like me, aren’t you, gorgeous? I thought… thought that when you started dating soft boy Mark, maybe you were more vanilla, but that’s not you, is it?”
“No-”
“You like to get fucked, properly, don’t you, babe?” Hyuck continues.
“Fuck, yes-”
“And Mark didn’t know how to do that for you, did he? Mark didn’t know how to make you wet like this, didn’t know how to make you cry or scream or beg-”
You can’t bring yourself to verbally slander Mark while Hyuck’s fucking you like a wild man, so instead you just shake your head. Your confirmation makes Hyuck grin, and he fucks you even harder, the whole bed rocking while the sound of skin on skin fills the room.
“You know what? Enough about Mark. Forget him. You don’t need him anymore.” Hyuck’s mouth is hot on your neck and his words make you shiver as he moves to suck your earlobe. “You only need me. You only need me, I promise.”
Hyuck lets go of your hand and you’re about to argue with him about it when he shoves his fingers between your bodies, rubbing at your clit while he fucks you.
“Hyuck!” you whimper, writhing beneath him.
“That’s it gorgeous. I wanna ruin you for anyone else. After this, no one’s going to make you cum like I can.” He’s groaning now, voice all breathy and super sexy- “If I make you cum three times the first time I fuck you, that means you’re mine right?”
You moan loudly at the idea, grabbing his shoulders while he works you closer and closer to yet another orgasm that you have no doubt will be as mind blowing as the first two.
“Tell me you’re mine,” Hyuck says, voice gruffer now. “Fuck, gorgeous, I want you so badly- just say you’re mine.”
“I’m yours,” you gasp when he applies more pressure to your clit.
“That’s my girl,” Hyuck smiles against your neck. “You’ll let me mark you right? Let me suck some pretty bruises into your skin so every time you look in the mirror you know your roommate fucks you right-”
His tongue darts out, licking a stripe of your throat before his lips press to your sweet spot. He suctions his mouth onto you, teeth grazing your skin and causing you to cry out while you move your hands to tug on his hair.
Hyuck lets out a sinful groan when you pull gently on his soft brown strands, but he doesn’t let up. He’s entirely focused on you and your pleasure, cock continuing to rearrange your insides while his fingers abuse your nearly overstimulated clit-
“I’m so close-” you whimper, eyes closed as your body once again approaches the edge with startling speed.
“Yeah?” Hyuck moves away from your neck and you get the sense that he’s looking down at you. “Gonna cum on this cock and let me fill you up? Gonna let me breed you like the good girl you are? Make you so stupidly full that you’re fucking dripping?”
“Yes, fuck, Hyuck, please-” You’re on the verge of tears again, whole body thrumming with energy-
“Then cum for me. Let me fucking feel you.”
You twitch from his words, and then you’re falling over the edge, gasping and clawing at him while you’re overcome with ecstasy. You’re not sure if it’s because this is your third orgasm, or if it’s because his cock is balls deep inside of you, but this orgasm is the most intense of them all.
You’re reduced to a completely primal side of yourself, brain short circuiting while your body takes over. There are no thoughts, only the attempt to process all the pleasure that’s flowing through you like a river that’s broken through a dam.
The sounds escaping you are unlike anything that has ever come from your vocal cords, and Hyuck is also cumming, groaning loudly as he presses his lips to yours. His tongue is hot as it licks at your bottom lip, and his thrusts are erratic.
He takes his hand away from your clit in favour of finding yours again, fingers locking while he squeezes you. You can feel the passion radiating off of him, can feel that this won’t be a one time thing and you both know it.
Hyuck takes care of you through your orgasms until you’re both finished, and his motions begin to slow until he’s simply half laying on top of you, his kisses much more gentle as you gasp into each others mouths.
His hips are flush against your own, keeping his cum inside of you while you make out. His body is warm and it almost feels like a security blanket draped across your own. Hyuck’s fingers are still tangled with yours, and it feels nice just to be holding someone’s hand again.
“Fuck, gorgeous,” Hyuck groans, pulling away from your lips, “if we keep kissing I might have to fuck you again, and I don’t think you could take another orgasm.”
“Not tonight,” you agree, blinking up at your roommate.
It’s like you’re seeing him in a new light, and you assess the soft details of his features. He really is a beautiful man.
“And we ruined your bed,” Hyuck says with a grin. “You were squirting earlier and your sheets are too wet to sleep in, so I guess that means you’re coming to my room tonight.”
“You want me to sleep with you?” you nearly laugh.
“I’d honestly be offended if you didn’t.” He lets go of your hand, pushing himself off of you. “I didn’t get to touch your tits at all, and I’d like to have something to grab onto when we sleep.”
“God, you’re such a menace,” you giggle, pushing at his chest.
“You love it,” Hyuck insists, leaning down to press a quick kiss to your lips. “Come on, we should shower.”
“So we’re showering together now too? Weren’t you the guy who said Mark was being clingy by wanting to see me every day when we started dating?”
“It’s clingy when Mark does it,” Hyuck notes. “When I do it, it’s endearing and charming and sexy-”
“Sure it is,” you say sarcastically, shaking your head at him.
“What happened to my good girl?” Hyuck teases. “If you keep talking back, I might be tempted to ruin you in the shower.”
Now that you’re thinking about it, that doesn’t actually sound like the worst thing in the world.
“Fine, let’s go,” you concede, letting out a sigh.
There’s so much you could say about what has just taken place, but one thing you can state with confidence is that you do feel better. Hyuck had made you forget about Mark, if only for a short while before he started shit talking his friend- but, his words of slander hadn’t actually made you mad or sad or upset- they’d actually kind of had the opposite effect.
Life will go on after Mark Lee, and Hyuck’s made you realize that.
In fact, maybe your life after Mark will go on with Hyuck.
Maybe it was always meant to be this way.
You’re too tired to think about these big ideas in detail tonight, not after everything that’s just happened. Instead, you allow yourself to live in the moment, allow your roommate to take care of you the way he always has.
For now, this is more than enough.
☀️ mlist + an. thank you for reading! I'm back in my Hyuck feels again
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🔮 preview. “So perfect,” Hyuck tells you, reaching his hands up to cup your breasts. Before he can dive in, however, you press the ice pack to his face again and he winces below you. A scowl forms, and he glares into your eyes. “Maybe I don’t like it when you take care of me.”
cw/ tw. Unprotected sex, thigh riding, multiple reader orgasms, dirty talk, praise, claim kink, boob worship, big dick Hyuck, sex in on the living room couch, physical altercation between new boy and ex, overstim, holding off an orgasm, cumming together, light spanking, etc… I pet names: (hers) gorgeous, babe .
👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 3.9k I teaser wc. 220
🌙 staring. Haechan x afab!reader
bonus
“Dude,” Jeno sighs, staring at the man sitting on his couch. “You did not-”
“Except that I did,” Hyuck smirks. “You should be happy for me.”
“Is that what you’re going to say to Mark after you tell him you fucked his ex?” Renjun asks, narrowing his eyes at their naughtiest friend.
“Actually,” Hyuck sighs, leaning back against the couch, “I think we shouldn’t tell Mark, not yet at least.”
“So now you’re making us all culpable in your bullshit,” Renjun groans loudly, rolling his eyes.
Hyuck gaze shifts from the angry aries to Jaemin, who’s yet to say anything since Hyuck’s big reveal. “You’re cool with this, aren’t you?”
“I mean…” Jaemin cocks his head to the side, “you have wanted to be with her for years-”
“See, Jaemin gets it!” Hyuck grins, eyes turning to his part time gym buddy next. “And Jeno? You understand where I’m coming from, don’t you?”
“Mark is not going to be happy about this,” Jeno frowns.
“And I wasn’t happy when he started dating my roommate crush,” Hyuck states, “or when he broke up with her unexpectedly.”
“Don’t lie,” Renjun scoffs, “we all know you probably celebrated when they ended things.”
“Only a little,” Hyuck confesses, grinning again. “Okay but for real,” his expression turns serious, “guys, I think I love her.”
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# author's note ... not proofread, sorry!!!! also this is based on a tiktok i saw lmao
# setting ... non-idol!haechan, barista!yn, grumpy x sunshine
# warnings ... yns kinda a bitch lmaooo but tbh a mood, i relate ;; swearing
you knew it was an awful idea. every normal person would know. especially a person that values money.
but mark, apparently, is none of those.
standing behind the counter, arms crossed on your chest, you let out a deep sigh. your overly optimistic co-worker just shook his head.
“come on, dude! some smile won’t hurt anyone!” mark whined and looked at you like a kicked puppy.
“you sound like a typical karen right now” you grunted and noticed the first customer glancing at the flier taped to the window. their eyes widened and they rushed inside.
“see! told you it was a brill–”
“hello, how can i help you today?” you cut him off, monotonically greeting the person.
“i saw the flier, so here’s my attempt: knock knock”
you just shot a side eye to mark, who grinned.
the flier that he hung up this morning (supposedly with consent of your boss, but that you’d argue) said ‘make our barista laugh and get a free coffee! :)’
so that’s why, right now, you’re obliged to answer:
“who’s there?”
“interrupting cow” they puffed their chest out. you already felt it in your bones that it’s just a bad joke.
“interrupting c–” you tried to bounce the line back, as the joke usually goes but…
“MOO!” they mooed.
they mooed.
mark started laughing and they send him finger guns. you remained unbothered, tapping your fingers against the counter. the customer scoffed and pulled out their wallet.
“you’re a tough one, huh? i’ll just get an espresso then” they smiled and you nodded, taking the order.
“come on, dude. that was good!” mark shook his head and you went to the coffee machine, ignoring him.
you were known to be the grumpy person, quite everywhere. whether it was your class, friend group, work environment or family. but that was your attitude, and it wasn’t even all the time. you just saved your words, not caring about bullshit. besides, it was mostly towards strangers. when you opened up to mark, he later revealed that he thought something possessed you. but not everyone has to be nice to strangers and fake laugh at their terrible jokes.
mark seemed not to understand that, though, and made it his goal for today to witness that happening.
you knew he won’t succeed. it would take a really good joke or a child falling to make you smile… not to mention laughing. especially at work, when you just want to get your shit done and money earned. if you wanted to have a job that’s just for shits and giggles, you’d work in entertainment.
“oh no, not me. her. yah, y/n, come here! there’s another joke for you!”
sighing deeply, you turned on your heel.
this is going to be a horrendous day.
you were expecting the end of your shift like a small kid expects christmas. minutes were running painfully slow, hours - even slower. it felt like an extremely boring class, when you close your eyes for ten minutes but it turns out it wasn’t even a full minute.
that’s how you felt; dreadful jokes one after another. at some point you just decided to zone out, planning your tomorrow day off. your mind just fished out the orders and isolated the awful puns.
“yo, dude! hi!” mark’s voice boomed in your ear sickeningly loudly (well, maybe because he was standing right next to you).
focused on making a cappuccino (who even orders those at 7pm?), the smell of freshly grounded coffee making you wonder if you should go cafe hopping tomorrow. carefully angling the pearl white cup, you poured the milk foam from above. when the cup was ⅔ full, you lowered the pitcher with milk as close as possible and reflexively wiggled the vessel gently to create a flowery pattern. then at the end, you flattened the cup and finished the milky masterpiece with a swift move.
“it’s amazing how she does that with no emotions on her face whatsoever”
“because i’m at work, you fuck–” you wanted to growl but your eyes shot up, meeting with a new customer “oops”
the guy giggled and shook his head.
you placed the beverage on the tray, next to a warm croissant with chocolate and mark grabbed it. leaving the space to deliver the order, you stepped to the cash desk again.
“can i take your order?” your voice was cold.
maybe it wasn’t the best approach for work but you couldn’t help it. especially today.
glancing at the customer, you realized it’s one of (many) mark’s friends. his brown hair was fluffy and loosely falling on his forehead, cutely matching with the beige hoodie he had on–
stop.
“what’s up with the flier thing? even mark texted me…” he started but was cut off by the canadian himself.
“haechan, finally! how are you?” his voice was a bit panicked, rushingly coming up to you.
haechan, that’s the name. or nickname? you’re pretty sure you heard mark call him donghyuck before. maybe it’s an inside joke?
“good, actually. i wanted to grab some coffee because i’ll probably pull an all nighter today” he explained and his curious doppio colored eyes scanned you. with the corner of his lips turning upwards, he thought of something “actually, you know… i’m a student and…”
your body language spoke louder than words because he pivoted and said something else.
“whatever. but truth be told, i looked up tips on how to make a girl smile. some were really creepy, dude. ‘tickle her’ or ‘make a silly dance’? like, what kind of loser came up with those? even worse, what kind of loser would do those?” he smiled to himself. that was true - he went through quora and other wikihows. if his plan - which was mostly just yapping - didn’t work out, he planned to do a silly dance. ‘chicken dance’ was what one of the sites proposed.
“i think you forgot to mention the kind of losers who even look up such tips in the first place” you huffed and mark’s eyes widened. that’s the first reaction someone managed to pull out from you throughout today. haechan saw his friend’s face and took it as a sign. “speaking of tips, you better hurry up if you want to have a coffee. there’s other customers in the line. by the way, mark why are you still here?”
“i, uh! sorry!” your coworker yelped and rushed to the other cash desk to serve other customers.
“so?” you cocked an eyebrow and crossed your arms.
“i bet you heard an awful lot of bad jokes, huh?” he asked, poking the inside of his cheek. mark was listening, somehow managing to also listen to the last customers’ orders.
“yup”
“shit, that was my plan a” haechan sighed dramatically and looked you in the eye “please don’t make me do the dance…”
the pathetic whine wanted to make you laugh itself. but you saw the pure unwillingness to do the dance… and you would never say no to humiliating a man.
and haechan seemed to notice that too. well, he also heard stories about you from mark.
“do the dance, haechan” you nodded, fighting a smile.
he let out a sigh, eyes locking with yours. there was a glint of amusement dancing in his americano-colored irises.
slowly shifting away, he started to awkwardly do the chicken dance. eyeing mark and you, pure agony on his face. it was just like a torture for both of you, really. but you noticed he was different than others and you finally cracked it out: he didn’t want to get a free coffee. he just wanted to make you laugh.
which he did.
with a loud snort, you shook your head.
“okay, you can stop. my eyes are gonna fall out…” you laughed at, well, the mix of events. him doing the dance, the desperation in his eyes and just the overall craziness of this day.
“no way dude, no way” mark laughed maniacally, the other customers’ looks judging the three of you.
haechan nonchalantly fixed his hair, as if nothing happened. then, he leaned against the counter.
“y’know what?” you asked, poking the inside of your cheek while smiling. “sit your ass down, i’ll bring you a coffee and something else. americano, i assume?”
haechan nodded and when you turned around to prepare his beverage, mark exchanged a shocked look with his friend.
you prepared a large iced americano and a cinnamon roll. on top of that, you wrote down your number on a napkin. maybe you’ll regret it, maybe not.
upon delivering it to him, the clock striked 9pm and mark told you to go, and as an apology for putting you through the torture today he said he’ll close up.
so when haechan discovered the phone number (of a girl he’s been crushing on for a month) on a napkin, you were already gone.
“told you that a funny guy–” mark started, leaning on a broom.
“shut up, man” haechan grinned, already saving your phone number.
synopsis: to haechan, love smells like lavender. to haechan, love smells like you.
pairing: boyfriend!haechan x female!reader
genre: established relationship, fluff, suggestive
word count: 1.3k
contains: fluff, haechan is insanely in love and obsessed with reader (that's how i like him tbh), haechan is a lovesick puppy in this one
author's note: im very obsessed with this type of haechan. i need him to be mine. the body lotions mentioned in this are lush's sleepy and sabon's delicate jasmine. when i first wrote this it was for a series about senses so this is going to be about smell. im sorry if you hate lavender :( i wrote this almost a year ago and can tell you that this is my favourite short story i've posted on tumblr so far. hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it <3 not proofread.
Haechan thinks of your bedroom, the warm lighted salt lamp resting on your night table, your beauty products neatly sitting on a drawer, the sheets. The sheets that were just so silky, warm like you, engulfing him with a warm feeling, same feeling that surrounded him whenever he was with you, in your close proximity, in your bedroom, in your sheets; the warm feeling that he associated your presence with. With you and you only.
The sheets that smelt so unapologetically like you, like him after leaving your place, like his clothes do after you had worn them, like the pillow you rested your head on when you would crash at his place.
Your smell. Was it your shower gel or your body butter? He wasn’t sure. And then he remembers the few jars around your room, different in shape and size from your other beauty products, all your other skincare products.
The faint smell of lavender tickled his senses as if he could actually smell you right now, as if you were resting against his body in search of heat, like you always do. Which of the jars was containing the silky, creamy butter that had him so hopelessly thinking of you in all the romantic ways? Was it the black one, sitting on your night table, or maybe the see-through jar sitting motionlessly on your desk, the one you sometimes moved on one of your shelves, depending on where you decided to butter all of yourself up, taking care of yourself? Which one of those jars made your skin so soft to his touch? So soft and tender whenever he bit into the plush of your sides, or the small of your back in a gesture of devotion, hunger, love, desperate for you to be completely his, to let him breathe all of your scents in, to rest his head in the crook of your neck and savour everything that came with you.
Your lingering touches, your fingers through his hair, the crazy tender feeling he felt upon himself whenever he was with you, calming him, making him feel like he was safe in your embrace, in the spell you casted upon him with your sweet, purple, lavender scent.
He smelt his skin, his t-shirt, his hoodie. Even his blanket smelt like you. The white, puffy one, that gave you just the right amount of heat and comfort, the one that you loved so much. The moment he wraps himself in its embrace, he starts smelling like you again.
Your smell makes him lovesick. He thinks he could come home one day to find you, in your house. Your shared space, your living room. Your bedroom. Your house, where he wouldn’t have to hope for your smell to linger just a little bit longer in the bedroom, getting home from work hoping that his sheets would still be smelling like you. Because you are there already, it’s your house, in which you two share every single space. And every single space smells just like you. The blankets, the pillows, the clothes. The sheets, the towels.
And when he gets to greet you lovingly as he kisses you tenderly, your forehead, your nose, your cheeks, going further down, his lips massaging the soft skin of your jaw, and then the skin of your neck. He will take the smell of your perfume in, and he will still be able to smell the faint fragrance of lavender on your skin. And when he gets to gently bite into your chest, and then into your waist, he will smell your fabric softener first, and then the faint smell of lavender.
The smell of lavender that seems to have become your natural scent, as he always perceives it even after a sweaty work out session, or when you allow him to love you during exhausting evenings, restless nights, and sleepy mornings.
He wonders what his natural scent is like. Do you like it? Does he smell good? Does he smell like lavender? Like you? He loves you.
When he leaves your place, can you smell him on your sheets, on your pillows and blankets, on your towels, in the air, just the way he smells you when you’re the one leaving his place? Does it make you giddy and hopeless just the way it makes him?
He can smell you in any room of his apartment. But it never lingers for too long. You don’t live with him, but he loves how he doesn’t need to wait too long for your smell to flood his senses and intoxicate him and his apartment, because you always come back to him. Your fragrance is never really gone, and his spaces don’t even get the chance of assimilating new smells and perfumes because you come back, bringing a new and fresh wave of fragrance with you. Your fragrance.
Haechan can smell you in every place. Your fragrance lingers in the air when the two of you visit his friends, it lingers in public spaces. It lingers in the air even when you’re cooking the spiciest of dishes. He can smell you in a room full of cigarette smoke.
He loves you so dearly, he wants you to be joint at the hip. He wants you to move in, to walk around this place like you own it, just the way you own him. His heart. He wants you to paint the walls, for a fresh start. Paint your own colour on them, he would gladly accept any tint if you chose it. Paint everything you want, cover all the old smells he once sensed, paint them new with your fragrance.
He never felt so strongly for someone. He never paid attention to such things. But when it’s you it’s all about, he wants your cute, embroidered white bedsheets to hug his bed. He wants your scented candles scattered around the house. He wants your black body butter jar to sit on one of his night tables. He can already envision a space for a drawer, your drawer, with all your beauty products alighted beautifully on it. Your big mirror so you can do your skincare routine before bed, and maybe he’ll allow you to persuade him into taking care of his complexion more often. If you just lived here with him. He wants to see you buttering yourself up after showers, just as he waits for you to be done and get into bed to watch a film together, or maybe read together. He wants the domesticity. And he wants it with you.
He wants to see all the places you can put your body butter jars. His desk, his shelves, his coffee table in the living room, his bathroom. He wants to see all the bizarre places he can find them in. He wants to see your sheet face masks thrown in the small bin hidden under the sink in the bathroom; your towel touching his every day, not just a few days a week. He wants it all.
He wants to make space for you in his own space. He wants to get you a desk. He wants to see how many things you’ll set around your computer. He wants it all. With you.
He wants to be in your embrace, constantly. He doesn’t want breaks, he doesn’t want to hang out with friends or go to work. He wants to rest his head in the crook of your neck and take you all in, with your lavender scent.
romaincrisis
gamechangershow
origamiaround
yousharknotpass
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