it's june here, an 18+ kpop stan from elsewhere in the big void of the universe. while i myself am not necessarily a writer of fanfictions, i love reading works and appreciating the effort people put in. i read everything from fluff to angst, and i do read 18+ works too, however, i will not be directly reblogging *just* smut to this account as i would prefer for it to stay safe for people of all ages. however, if i encounter a fic with spicy scenes in it, i will add a warning accordingly. mayhaps some things will change in the future regarding writing, but for now, this is a fan account of some talented idols and even more talented writers ♥
quick facts:
★ i often like works before i re-blog! when i am scrolling, sometimes i just ♥ things that catch my interest and then will go back and reblog later too
★ i read and interact with skz and svt mainly, but i'm always down to talk about other groups! although i don't know if my knowledge of kpop is huge, i've heard quite a few groups at least in passing
★ i'm always down for talks and rants over the newest fic from a writer or about kpop in general
★ i'm mainly a 3rd/4th/5th gen stan (wdym it's 5th gen right now??)
★ i know for a lot of people, k-pop and k-dramas are seen like pb&j, and while I ♥ a good drama, i actually don't know much about it lol
★ please respect boundaries, i think i tend to be quite a private person most of the time and typically prefer it to stay that way ♥
★ drink some water! take care of yourselves! and get a really big warm hug, or if you can't/don't want one, i offer you warm rays of sunshine instead!
guys everybody read this it's so good omfg had me laughing and dying this is something that would happen to me but without the cute romance or any of the good parts. just one embarrassment after another. however, this smau so cute and fun and lets me live out my delusions in peace!!
ʕ·ᴥ·ʔ Established Relationship with Theo hc ʕ·ᴥ·ʔ
Warnings ⚠️: implied fem reader, subtle mention of pregnancy but not in depth
(This honestly is inspired very slightly from a dream I had, because I'll be honest... I don't think I could work in Ava from abbot elementary. Don't ask, I have no answers 😭💀)
• Normally with couples they describe the beginning stage of a relationship, puppy love, as when the couple is just obsessed with each other. No one else existing in the world...
• To me it honestly gives the vibes that he would be more reserved and careful in the beginning, yet the longer you're together the more whipped he is.
• Like it gets to the point his natural state is being connected at the hip, a hand finding it's way on you with any excuse possible
• And while he might gush over you some in deeper conversations, it's normally either silent relaxing or he's going to try and goof around.
• Oh you're feeling a bit sore today? You don't even have to ask and he's already giving you a massage.
• the only thing is you're probably still going to be the one cooking lol, he'd help get things prepped and then go "when you make this it always tastes the best, right? :)" aka he doesn't want to cook meals 😭
• the exception is if you're sick, he'd drop whatever he was doing to make whatever you were craving even if he couldn't cook that well. Or at the very least would try to get the best takeout version haha.
• Any sense of him wanting to protect himself from getting sick gets outweighed by the fact he hates thinking about you taking care of anything sick as a dog.
• I feel like his joking personality often overshadows the fact that he's caring. Like is it super outward? No, but even if it's subtle he's always doing something to help out or lessen your burdens.
• would very gladly show off his guitar skills anytime you asked, would probably teach you a few chords as well.
• If you have small hands like me, he'd definitely laugh if you struggled reaching all the strings for certain chords. If anything he's definitely glad someone has smaller fingers than him for once.
• I could see him not really planning on wanting kids, especially since his schedule is already fairly busy, but if anything... came up so to say, I could see his vibe of it changing fairly quickly
• like instead of thinking about him having a kid, the prospect of just the thought of it being your kid together he's already thinking about names before anything is even confirmed. (If you'd want it too, I could see him being satisfied with life in either direction, just he'd be happy with yet another layer to your relationship getting added.)
• He also gives me girl dad vibes. Not like typical spoiling a princess, though he would definitely dote on them, I see him planning on teaching his daughter how to absolutely beat the shit out of anyone that could cause her problems 💀
• so many impromptu wrestling matches...
• going into the doting though, despite the fact the members always say he has the worst fashion sense out of all of them, even with the simplicity of his own outfits he's putting everything into helping choosing out cute clothes for her
• He also would definitely let her do his hair or dress him in her fun accessories. He'll pretend to be annoyed like "again? We did this just the other day..." but he wouldn't be able to hide his smile 🤭
It's not much, but I couldn't take more inspo from my dream. Simply.... It's better off not even written down. Hopefully y'all still enjoyed the short thing, I was planning on posting a demon!Theo HC but I got inspired for this first teehee. ♡
i like the vibe that's in this, the 'reserved at first but down bad later on,' i think it seems pretty realistic as a thing, and i'm obsessed with the history that goes into the depiction of the relationship here. so theo. so good. dangerous for the delusions tho let me tell yall.
synopsis : His dog instantly falls for you, stealing your attention and affection with ease. He tries to hide it, but beneath his teasing and playful complaints, he’s quietly jealous—because he wants to be the one holding you first.
genre : slice of life, fluff, domestic lifestyle, established relationship, rom com
warnings : none
author’s note : here’s a piwon fic ! im done wif all my drafts so from now on im starting from scratch 😭
word count : 3.1k
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You’d been to Jiung’s place a handful of times before, but tonight feels different.
Because tonight, you’re not just his friend.
You’re his girlfriend.
The word still makes your stomach flutter every time you think about it.
Girlfriend. His.
The train ride over is filled with the nervous excitement of it all—the quiet hum of late evening, the glow of street lamps painting the city in gold.
You texted him on the way, five minutes away, don’t let your dog tackle me at the door again, and he’d replied with a single laughing emoji, the kind that somehow carried all of his fondness inside it.
When you finally reach his apartment, you barely have time to knock before the familiar scratching at the other side of the door starts up.
A muffled bark follows, urgent and excited.
And then—bam.
The door swings open, and Jiung’s dog launches herself at you like a rocket.
You barely have time to squeak before a blur of fur and wagging tail is pressing against your legs, paws scrabbling for balance as she tries to climb straight into your arms.
“Yah—!” Jiung grabs her collar, trying to hold her back, but he’s laughing as he does it. “At least let her inside first.”
You drop to your knees, grinning as the dog licks your cheek with sloppy affection. “It’s okay! Hi, sweetheart. Did you miss me?”
Her tail thumps wildly against the floor, answering for her.
Jiung watches the two of you with his arms crossed, trying—and failing—to look unimpressed. “You realize she didn’t even greet me this excitedly, right? I raised her. I fed her.”
You glance up, laughing. “Guess she knows who the fun one is.”
His mouth falls open in mock offense. “The fun one? Excuse me, who taught her how to sit and roll over? Who buys her treats?”
The dog wags her tail harder, as if agreeing with you instead of him. You smirk, ruffling her ears. “Don’t be jealous.”
He huffs, running a hand through his hair, but there’s no hiding the way the corner of his mouth twitches upward. “I’m not jealous. Just… betrayed.”
Still laughing, you step inside with the dog glued to your side, nudging Jiung back into his own apartment like you’ve already claimed the space.
It smells like him in here—clean laundry, faint cologne, and something warm and grounding you can never quite put into words. His hoodie is draped lazily over the back of the couch, his keyboard resting near the window, and the sight makes your chest ache with something soft.
Jiung closes the door behind you, shaking his head as he watches his dog trot happily ahead to grab her favorite toy, only to abandon it seconds later so she can return to your side.
“Unbelievable,” he mutters. “She actually prefers you.”
“Don’t act like you don’t think it’s cute,” you tease, slipping off your shoes.
His eyes flick to you, and for a second, the teasing fades into something quieter. Softer. “…Yeah. It’s cute.”
The warmth in his voice makes your heart flip, though he quickly covers it with a dramatic sigh, flopping onto the couch like the world has wronged him. “Still. My own girlfriend stealing my dog’s affection? This is betrayal on two fronts.”
You join him on the couch, the dog hopping up instantly to curl into your lap like it’s her rightful place. You stroke her fur absentmindedly, smiling. “Face it, Jiung. She loves me.”
He leans his head against the back of the couch, watching the way you scratch behind his dog’s ears until she melts into a puddle of contentment. His expression softens without him realizing it, the corners of his mouth curving into the smallest smile.
“Yeah,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “She does.”
The dog shifts in your lap, sighing happily, and you look over to find Jiung’s gaze already fixed on you. The kind of look that makes your pulse skip, because even when he’s trying to play it cool, his eyes give him away.
And though he rolls them a second later, muttering something about “traitors” under his breath, you can’t shake the feeling that maybe—just maybe—it isn’t only his dog who’s a little bit in love with you.
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It doesn’t stop at that first visit.
If anything, it gets worse.
Every time you come over now, Jiung’s dog acts like she hasn’t seen you in years, even if it’s only been a few days.
She launches herself at you the second you step inside, tail wagging like a metronome on overdrive, whining if you don’t pet her fast enough.
And every single time, Jiung sulks.
“I still can’t believe it,” he mutters one Saturday afternoon as he leans against the kitchen counter, watching you kneel on the floor while his dog smothers you with affection. “She didn’t even bark when I came home earlier. Just glanced at me and went back to sleep. But when you walk in, its suddenly the happiest moment of her life.”
You laugh, scratching behind his dog’s ears until she flops onto her back with a dramatic huff. “Maybe she knows I’m special.”
Jiung narrows his eyes, reaching for a mug in the cupboard. “Special, huh? That’s one word for it.”
You grin, leaning down to press a kiss to the dog’s snout. “Jealous, boyfriend?”
He freezes, mug halfway to the counter. His ears tint pink, though his voice stays flat. “Of course not. That would be childish.”
But when you stand and walk toward him, the dog immediately trots after you, brushing past his legs to keep glued to your side. Jiung groans, tipping his head back. “You’ve actually stolen her from me. My own girlfriend, my own dog, forming some kind of alliance against me.”
You cover your mouth to stifle a laugh. “I think she just knows good company when she sees it.”
Jiung sets the mug down with a little more force than necessary, then looks at you with narrowed eyes. “Fine. If you’re going to hog her attention, then I’ll just… steal yours.”
Before you can react, he steps closer and wraps his arms around your waist, tugging you against him. His chin drops lazily onto your shoulder, his voice low near your ear. “Two can play at this game.”
Your breath catches at the sudden closeness, though you can’t help but smile. “That’s not fair. You’re playing dirty.”
“Mm. Strategy,” he murmurs, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. “If I can’t win against the dog, I’ll distract you instead.”
The dog lets out a soft whine, pawing at your leg as if to protest losing your attention. Jiung smirks in victory. “Ha. See? Even she’s jealous now.”
You laugh, leaning back into his hold just enough to tease. “Maybe she should be. You give good hugs.”
That shuts him up. For a moment, he just holds you there, his breath brushing against your temple, his heartbeat steady against your back.
And though he tries to cover it with another mutter, “Still unfair,” you can feel the way his arms tighten slightly, like he’s memorizing the shape of you in them.
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The visits start to blend together after that.
Soft evenings on his couch, lazy weekend mornings in his kitchen, the easy rhythm of being in his space.
Sometimes you cook together, bumping elbows in the narrow kitchen while Jiung insists on being the one to taste everything first.
Sometimes you do nothing at all—just sitting side by side on the couch, his dog sprawled between you, a comfortable silence wrapping around all three of you like a blanket.
But no matter what you’re doing, his dog always ends up gravitating to you.
Like tonight.
You’re curled up on the couch, flipping through a book Jiung had recommended, when his dog hops up and circles twice before plopping directly into your lap. She rests her chin on your thigh, sighing contentedly.
Jiung walks in from the bedroom with a hoodie in hand, only to stop in the doorway and groan. “Again? You were literally just napping with me.”
The dog doesn’t move.
He drops the hoodie onto the back of the couch, muttering as he sits down next to you. “This is ridiculous. She used to love me the most.”
You glance up from your book, smirking. “Guess times change.”
Jiung glares half-heartedly. “You think this is funny, don’t you?”
“A little,” you admit, scratching the dog’s head.
He sighs dramatically, then leans back with his arm stretched across the back of the couch, fingers brushing lightly against your shoulder. “I’ll forgive her betrayal. But only because you look… happy like this.”
The words slip out quieter than he probably intended, and you feel your heart squeeze.
You close your book, turning to face him fully. “You know… you don’t have to be jealous.”
His brows lift, caught off guard. “I told you, I’m not—”
“You are,” you say gently, cutting him off with a smile. “And it’s cute.”
For once, Jiung doesn’t argue. He just looks at you, the faintest pink brushing his ears, his lips pressed together like he’s fighting a smile.
And though the dog stays stubbornly nestled in your lap, you can tell—by the way Jiung’s arm lingers around you, by the softness in his gaze—that maybe he’s starting to realize he doesn’t actually mind sharing you after all.
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By the third week of visiting Jiung’s apartment, it no longer feels like “visiting.”
It feels like slipping into a place that’s quietly becoming home.
Your toothbrush sits in a cup next to his in the bathroom. A spare sweater of yours hangs lazily on the back of his chair, forgotten after a late-night movie marathon. Your favorite tea now lives in his cupboard, tucked between his coffee beans and his meticulously labeled jars of snacks.
And Jiung notices.
He notices the way your shoes slot easily next to his by the door. He notices the way his dog perks up not just when he grabs the leash, but when you do.
He notices the quiet hum you make when you’re comfortable, padding barefoot across his kitchen tiles like you belong there.
He doesn’t say it out loud—Jiung rarely does—but every detail makes his chest feel tight in the best way.
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One Sunday afternoon, you end up helping with laundry.
It’s nothing grand, you’re just folding T-shirts while Jiung sorts socks, but he keeps sneaking glances at you.
“You fold weird,” he says, smirking.
You pause mid-fold. “Weird? This is efficient.”
“It’s chaotic,” he argues, holding up one of your attempts next to his perfectly squared stack.
You gasp. “Excuse me, mine looks fine!”
His lips twitch. “Fine… if you want wrinkled shirts.”
You roll your eyes and toss a balled-up sock at him, which he dodges effortlessly, grinning like he’s already won. His dog watches from her spot on the rug, tail wagging like she’s enjoying the show.
“Traitor,” Jiung mutters when the dog abandons her toy to come curl at your feet instead. “Even in household chores, she sides with you.”
You laugh, reaching down to scratch her head. “That’s because she knows who does the real work around here.”
He scoffs, but his eyes soften when he looks at you—your hair falling over your face as you focus on folding, the way you hum quietly under your breath.
Domesticity has never looked this beautiful to him.
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Later, you cook dinner together.
Or rather, you try to, while Jiung insists on taking charge.
“You’re cutting the vegetables wrong,” he says, leaning over your shoulder.
You elbow him gently. “I’m cutting them fine.”
“Mm,” he hums skeptically, plucking a slice from the cutting board and popping it into his mouth. “Average.”
You gape. “Average? You—”
Before you can scold him, his dog trots in, sniffing the air eagerly. She noses your leg, clearly hoping for a treat.
“Don’t encourage her,” Jiung warns, setting the knife down to crouch beside her. “You just ate.”
But the moment you crouch down too, his dog abandons him in favor of nudging your hand, tail wagging furiously.
Jiung groans. “I’m telling you, she certainly loves you more than food.”
“She just appreciates me,” you say, grinning as you ruffle her fur.
He narrows his eyes at you, voice low with mock seriousness. “I should be worried. At this rate, I’ll be replaced entirely.”
You lean in close, eyes sparkling. “Don’t worry. I still like you more than your dog.”
For a second, Jiung just stares at you, caught off guard by the softness in your voice. Then, to cover it, he huffs dramatically. “Good. At least someone does.”
But later that night, when you’re eating together on the couch with his dog curled loyally against your side, Jiung finds himself staring again.
He tells himself he’s jealous—that he hates how his dog always chooses you first. But deep down, he knows the truth.
He isn’t jealous of his dog. He’s jealous of how easily she shows affection, how freely she gets to cuddle into you, how naturally she belongs against you.
And the thought lingers, quiet and insistent:
When will I let myself do the same?
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It happens on a Wednesday night.
You hadn’t planned to stay over, but Jiung had texted you between rehearsals: Come by. I’ll order takeout. And that was all it took.
By the time you arrive, the food’s already on the table, and his dog is already glued to your side, whining happily as you slip off your shoes.
Jiung shakes his head, half-exasperated, half-amused.
“Not even a hello for me,” he mutters, carrying plates to the couch. “Just straight to you.”
You grin, scratching the dog’s ears. “She knows what she wants.”
Dinner passes easily—shared laughter, clinking chopsticks, Jiung stealing bites from your plate when he thinks you’re not looking.
By the time you finish, you’re both sprawled on the couch, a movie playing softly in the background.
And, as always, his dog claims her spot first: curled right into your lap, head resting comfortably against you.
Jiung sits beside you, arms crossed, staring at the sight with narrowed eyes. You think he’s joking at first, the way his lips purse like he’s sulking.
But then he sighs, long and heavy, and mutters under his breath—quiet enough that you almost miss it.
“…I really am jealous.”
You glance at him, surprised. “Of what?”
His eyes flick from you to his dog, then back again. “Of her.”
You blink. “Your dog?”
He leans back against the couch, tilting his head toward the ceiling like it’ll help hide the pink brushing his ears. His voice is steady, but softer than usual.
“She always gets to cuddle you first. Every time. She just… climbs into your lap like it’s the most natural thing in the world.”
Your chest warms, the confession sinking deeper than he probably intended. “…Jiung.”
“I know it sounds stupid,” he says quickly, dragging a hand through his hair. “She’s just a dog. But I can’t help it. She doesn’t even hesitate, she just goes straight to you, like she knows you’re hers.”
There’s a pause. The kind of pause where you can hear your own heartbeat in your ears.
“And maybe I’m a little jealous,” Jiung admits, his gaze finally meeting yours, unguarded for once. “Because she got to cuddle you before I did.”
The words hang in the air between you—simple, unpolished, and utterly disarming.
You smile, soft and a little breathless. “You could’ve just said you wanted to.”
His brows lift slightly, as if the thought hadn’t even occurred to him. “…I could?”
“Of course.” You shift carefully, easing his dog to the side, and pat the spot on your lap. “Come here.”
Jiung hesitates, caution flickering in his eyes.
But then, slowly, he moves closer, letting his head rest carefully against your lap. His hair tickles your skin, his shoulders tense for just a moment—until your fingers find their way into his hair, brushing gently.
His breath leaves him in a sigh, quieter than a whisper. “…This feels unfair.”
“Why?” you ask softly.
“Because,” he murmurs, closing his eyes, “I think I could stay like this forever.”
Your hand stills for a second, your chest tightening at the honesty in his voice. Then you smile, resuming your gentle strokes through his hair. “Good thing forever’s a long time, then.”
His lips curve faintly, the rare, genuine kind of smile he doesn’t give away easily.
And though his dog huffs from her spot beside you, clearly unhappy with being dethroned,
The movie plays on, low and forgotten, the flickering light casting soft shadows across Jiung’s living room.
He’s still in your lap, hair slipping between your fingers as you trace gentle patterns over his scalp. His breathing has evened out, and for a moment you wonder if he’s actually fallen asleep.
Then he speaks, voice muffled but clear enough to make your heart flip.
“You know… I think she was right.”
You tilt your head. “Who?”
“My dog,” he says, cracking one eye open to look at you. “She knew before I did. About you.”
Your lips curve. “About me?”
“Mm.” He closes his eye again, sinking deeper into your touch. “That you belonged here.”
Something inside you stirs at his words—warm, steady, certain.
You don’t answer right away, because if you do, you’re pretty sure your voice will wobble. Instead, you let your hand fall to his cheek, brushing lightly against his skin.
Jiung catches your wrist, holding it there, his thumb pressing gently into your palm. He doesn’t say anything more, but he doesn’t have to. The look on his face—content, unguarded, quietly in love—says it all.
His dog chooses that moment to crawl back onto the couch, squishing herself awkwardly between the two of you until her head rests across Jiung’s chest and your thigh.
You laugh softly. “Guess she’s not letting you win completely.”
“Figures,” Jiung mutters, but his arm snakes around your waist anyway, pulling you closer until all three of you are tangled together on the couch. “Fine. I’ll share.”
It’s simple, the way it settles—the movie humming quietly in the background, the dog snoring softly, Jiung’s heartbeat steady under your ear.
But there’s a weight to it too. A kind of unspoken promise.
Jiung’s fingers tighten slightly at your side, and in a voice so soft you almost miss it, he whispers, “This feels like home.”
And in that moment, with his warmth surrounding you and his dog nestled between you, you realize it does.
LMFAO u tell em jiung !! idk how but u have perfectly encapsulated jiung in this, u just got a knack for p1h im telling u. this is so peak romcom but now i want a dog. or a jiung. LMAOO but anyways this is so warm and fuzzy and ugh
as exes to lovers! who are still in love with each other!
ᯓ★ˎˊ˗
it is impossible to expect the unexpected; as prepared as you may think you are, there is no sure fire way of anticipating what the universe might throw at you. soon after arriving at that conclusion, you decided another thing, too: there's no such thing as coincidence, either.
for instance, there's no way you could have foreseen that on the very first week of living in a new city, so far away from all you've ever known, you'd run into perhaps the most familiar thing from home—your ex boyfriend, still as kind-eyed and handsome as ever.
when you bumped into each other at the park, the air was instantly knocked from your lungs. your eyes trailed up to meet his and they widened in sync, disbelief tainting your features.
the first thought to cross your mind was: it can't be...
despite not having seen each other since the breakup that made you stop believing in love, the two of you flowed into conversation rather naturally, which is how you ended up where you are now: red-cheeked, glass of wine in hand, sitting at a restaurant with your ex of two years, jiung.
this is the fourth time in two weeks that you've consistently met up, might i add.
"i've uh, been meaning to ask you something," his face is just as red as yours, eyes drooping in his tipsy state. you wordlessly nod at his request, taking a sip and scrunching your nose as the tart liquid washes over your taste buds. your face rests on the palm of your hand, watching him attentively as he shuffles in his seat, struggling to find the right words to say.
"have you met, or- um, a-are you seeing anyone?"
oh.
not expecting that to be his question, you blink once at him, "jiung, i've been here for less than a month. no, i'm not seeing anyone."
"oh," he laughs nervously, "right," a hand comes up to scratch the back of his neck.
after another sip, you place down the empty glass and sigh. maybe if you were completely sober you would have kept the following fact to yourself: "since i moved here, i've really only been hanging out with you."
he quickly nods, "okay, good."
"huh?"
"uh," he immediately coughs as he realizes what he just said, "not good, sorry! i-i mean, it's good that we're hanging out- i mean at least i think it is, i don't know about you, i just meant that-"
"i know what you meant, jiung" you giggle. the boy in front of you lets out sigh of relief, face growing hot in embarrassment. he ends up tilting his drink all the way back to soothe the awkward moment, which you only intensify when you pipe up, asking, "have you dated anyone since we..." your eyes and voice trail off.
"no." he answers too quickly, shaking his head, "come on, i mean... how was i supposed to move on after... well, after you." it seems like his words are spewing out faster than his brain can catch up but when it finally does, he looks into your wide eyes that look anywhere but his, clearing his throat.
you're reluctant to speak, the tension in the air causing your chest to tighten. the only thing you can manage to squeak is a quiet calling of his name, with no clear intention behind it. Whether it was meant to be a warning or a plea, jiung's confession is spilled all the same.
"it's just... you meant a lot to me. you still do."
your head shakes in disbelief as you continue to avoid his eyes, "you broke up with me, remember?"
"yes, but, i- y/n, i can't be the only one who still thinks about us."
he's desperately searching for your gaze, moving around to fit into your line of sight. still, you remain stoic, busy with your thoughts.
there's no such thing as coincidence...
at your unresponsiveness, he calls your name again, softly.
your next words come out something like a grumble, although it was only half-hearted, intended to lighten the mood, to make the words seem half as heavy as they truly were.
"yes, i have feelings for you. moving on."
before the last syllable even leaves your mouth, a smile breaks out onto his face as he leans forward in his seat, muttering a quiet but ever so genuine "thank god," to himself. "can i?" he asks, arms outstretched, deprived for too long of your touch. when you nod, he wraps them his finds around yours, bringing your hand closer until his lips are kissing the top of your knuckles.
oh so like you went for the heart. i see how it is. heart-wrenching and painful and beautiful and hopeful. no notes so much anticipation for the future even tho this is a standalone (i think).
synopsis : You move in with a grumpy roommate who charges a “sunshine tax” for being too cheerful. You jokingly pay in smiles and breakfast—until it stops feeling like one.
genre : slice of life, fluff, romcom, slow burn
warnings : none
author’s note : requested by anon ! 💝 honestly im lowkey proud of what i’ve written 🤭
word count : 3.8k
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It starts with a door that refuses to open.
You’re standing in the hallway, arms full of mismatched boxes and tote bags, balancing a potted plant on one hip like it’s a newborn child.
You’ve already triple-checked the address.
Apartment 302. Third floor. Left corner.
But when you try the key, it doesn’t budge.
You twist. You pull. You jiggle the handle like a desperate raccoon.
The door stays stubbornly shut.
Then, just as you lean forward for one last attempt, it swings open — and you stumble right into a wall of flannel and sleepy confusion.
“Whoa—” a low voice says, catching the door before it hits your face. “Do you… live here now or are you breaking in?”
You blink up at him. He’s tall — unfairly tall — with black hair that looks like it hasn’t met a brush in days. His eyes are sharp, but his expression isn’t exactly mean, just… mildly bewildered.
“I—uh—hi!” you manage, shifting your plant before it topples over. “You must be Theo! I’m your new roommate.”
Theo blinks. Once. Twice. He glances at the pile of boxes behind you like he’s trying to calculate how much chaos he just inherited.
Then he sighs. “I thought you were moving in tomorrow.”
“I thought so too!” you say cheerfully. “But my lease started today, so I figured, why not get a head start?”
Theo looks at his phone like he’s verifying if today is, in fact, real. Then, muttering something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like ‘too early for this’, he steps aside and gestures you in.
“Right. Come on, then. Before your plant dies of exhaustion.”
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The apartment is small but surprisingly cozy.
An open kitchen that bleeds into a living room, a hallway leading to two bedrooms. The kind of place that could feel like home once someone with enthusiasm (you) adds fairy lights and throw pillows.
Currently, though, it looks like Theo’s personality in apartment form: quiet, neat, minimalist, and slightly allergic to color.
You take it all in with a bright grin. “This is so cute!”
Theo, standing behind you with a mug of coffee and the aura of a man forced out of bed before noon, makes a sound that might be a laugh or a scoff.
“Cute,” he repeats flatly. “That’s… one word for it.”
You spin around, smiling like you didn’t hear the sarcasm. “Where should I put my stuff?”
He nods toward the room on the right. “That one’s yours. I cleaned it yesterday.”
Your heart melts a little. “You did? That’s so sweet of you.”
Theo looks mildly alarmed, as if kindness wasn’t supposed to earn him verbal affection. “I just didn’t want to trip on your boxes.”
“Still counts,” you tease, and he hides a faint smile behind his mug.
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An hour later, you’ve successfully turned the hallway into a war zone of boxes.
You’re humming under your breath, hair messy, sleeves rolled up. Every few minutes, Theo passes by, heading to the kitchen or living room, pretending not to stare.
He’s quiet, you realize — not rude, just deliberate. Every movement is efficient, every sentence short and precise.
Like he’s careful not to take up more space than necessary.
Meanwhile, you’re the exact opposite: chatting about the view, the weather, the pigeon that almost landed on your window.
“You talk a lot,” he says finally, appearing beside your doorframe.
You glance up, unfazed. “It’s called being friendly!”
“It’s called being loud,” he mutters, taking a sip of coffee.
You gasp in mock offense. “Wow. You’re already charging me emotional rent?”
He raises a brow. “Emotional rent?”
“Yeah! For the trauma of enduring my ‘loudness.’”
Theo sets his mug down, leans against the frame, and says, with a straight face, “Fine. Sunshine tax. Payable daily.”
You pause, blinking. Then you burst out laughing. “Sunshine tax?”
“For excessive cheerfulness and morning noise pollution.”
“Wow,” you say, hand over your heart. “You’re bold, Theo. But jokes on you — I don’t have money.”
He smirks slightly. “Then I’ll accept payment in silence.”
“Impossible,” you declare. “You’ll have to settle for breakfast.”
Theo tilts his head. “You bribing me with food already?”
“Not a bribe,” you correct. “A friendly roommate offering.”
He hums like he doesn’t believe you, but when you turn away, you catch a flicker of amusement in his expression — the kind that hides behind lowered lashes and a quick exhale that almost sounds like laughter.
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The next morning, you’re up early again — humming, barefoot, flipping pancakes like a champion.
The smell of butter and sugar fills the kitchen, and you’re smiling to yourself when Theo appears, bleary-eyed and in an oversized hoodie.
He blinks at the sight of you — the apron, the bright yellow spatula, the playlist softly playing in the background.
“Morning, sunshine!” you chirp. “You want pancakes?”
Theo rubs the back of his neck, mumbles something that might be “sure,” and sits at the counter. You slide a plate in front of him, topped with three pancakes and a smiley face drawn in syrup.
When he looks at it, you grin. “Payment for the sunshine tax.”
Theo stares for a second, like he’s processing this new level of ridiculousness. Then he lets out a small, reluctant laugh.
“Didn’t realize you took it seriously.”
“I take all financial obligations seriously,” you say solemnly. “Especially the made-up ones.”
He shakes his head, but you catch it — the way his shoulders loosen, the tiny curve at the corner of his mouth as he takes his first bite.
“Not bad,” he admits quietly.
You beam. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve said to me so far!”
“I said it’s not bad, not good.”
“Same thing.”
He sighs, but there’s a ghost of a smile there, the kind that lingers longer than it should.
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By the end of the week, the sunshine tax becomes a running joke.
Every time you’re too chatty in the mornings, Theo mutters “tax increase.” Every time he forgets to answer your questions, you announce he owes you interest.
You start leaving tiny sticky notes around the apartment:
“Paid my tax today — enjoy your coffee!”
“Additional payment: one good mood.”
You even tape one to the fridge shaped like a sun.
Theo pretends to roll his eyes at all of it. But when you accidentally stay late at work one night, you come home to find your favorite mug clean and waiting on the counter — and your little sticky note from that morning moved neatly to the fridge door instead of the trash.
That’s when it hits you.
Theo doesn’t hate your sunshine.
He just doesn’t know what to do with it yet.
And maybe — just maybe — you don’t mind teaching him.
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It takes exactly two weeks for the apartment to feel alive again.
When you first moved in, it was too quiet — the kind of quiet that clung to the walls.
But now, the place hums with small life: the clatter of your mugs, faint music drifting from your room, your laughter echoing down the short hallway.
Theo would never admit it out loud, but he doesn’t hate it. Not anymore.
In fact, he’s learned something strange: mornings feel less heavy when you’re in them.
You’re in the kitchen, flipping through a recipe book, when he shuffles in half-awake, hoodie hood pulled up, hair sticking out in a way that defies gravity.
“Morning, roomie!” you chirp, pouring him coffee before he can protest. “Black, two sugars, right?”
Theo pauses mid-step. “You… remember that?”
You grin. “Of course. I pay attention.”
He takes the mug, still looking faintly suspicious. “You pay too much attention.”
“It’s part of the sunshine tax benefits package,” you say proudly. “Premium service.”
Theo sips his coffee, eyes half-lidded. “What exactly does this package include?”
“Free breakfast, emotional support, unsolicited pep talks, and occasional hugs— if you ever upgrade to the deluxe plan.”
He almost chokes on his drink. “Deluxe plan?”
You nod solemnly. “Requires approval. You don’t seem ready yet.”
He stares at you for a long moment, then sets his mug down with exaggerated calm. “I’ll stay on the basic plan, thanks.”
“Suit yourself,” you say, smiling like you know he’s bluffing.
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Later that morning, you’re both on the couch — you with your laptop, Theo with a book.
The rain outside drums softly against the windows, and the smell of the coffee you made still lingers faintly in the air.
Every so often, you glance at him. He’s focused, brows drawn, glasses sliding down his nose. (You didn’t even know he wore glasses until this morning, and frankly, it’s been difficult to recover.)
He catches you looking. “What?” he asks without looking up.
“Nothing,” you say too quickly, turning back to your screen.
“You’re staring again.”
“Am not.”
He flips a page. “You were humming.”
“I always hum.”
“Exactly.”
You purse your lips, trying to look offended, but he smirks — the smallest, most fleeting smile. It’s barely there, but it makes your stomach flutter anyway.
You sigh dramatically. “You’re so mean to me, Theo.”
“Sunshine tax went up,” he says, deadpan.
“Excuse me?!”
“Inflation.”
You throw a cushion at him. He dodges without looking up. “Unbelievable.”
“You’re too loud,” he says, but the corner of his mouth twitches again — the second smile you’ve caught today.
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Over time, your sticky notes start multiplying like ivy.
They’re on the fridge, on the bathroom mirror, on his desk.
Some are funny:
“Good morning! Be nice to me today (please).”
Some are helpful:
“Fed your plant. It was wilting — I fixed it. You’re welcome.”
And some are just tiny bits of kindness:
“Hope your day is a happy one!”
You expect Theo to ignore them. Maybe even throw them out.
But he doesn’t. He keeps them all.
You noticed one afternoon when you passed by his open door and caught sight of them, neatly stacked on the corner of his desk, right beside his pens.
He doesn’t see you looking.
He’s got his headphones on, humming faintly under his breath — a quiet, tuneless sound that makes your heart squeeze.
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That weekend, you come home soaked from the rain.
Theo’s on the couch, laptop open, wearing a sweater that looks soft enough to live in. He glances up when he hears the door.
“Umbrella broke,” you announce, holding up the snapped frame. “The sky was rude.”
Theo stares. “You walked home in that?”
“It was only drizzling!” you protest. Water drips from your hair.
“That’s not drizzling,” he says, frowning. “That’s drowning.”
You laugh, shaking your head like a wet dog. “Guess I’ll shower before I catch something.”
Theo hesitates, then stands and disappears into the kitchen. When you reemerge a few minutes later, towel in hand, you find a mug of hot chocolate waiting on the counter — steam curling gently above it.
He’s back on the couch, pretending he didn’t do it.
You bite back a smile. “You know, if this is part of my sunshine tax refund, I accept.”
He doesn’t look up. “Don’t make it weird.”
“You’re literally giving me cocoa,” you tease, leaning on the back of the couch. “That’s a friendship move.”
Theo closes his laptop with a sigh. “You name every act of decency something dramatic.”
“It’s called branding,” you say, laughing.
“Is that what this is? A brand?”
“Yep. Sunshine™. Spreading warmth and chaos since move-in day.”
Theo chuckles softly. “More chaos than warmth.”
“You like it though.”
He glances at you, and this time, he doesn’t deny it.
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You start cooking dinner together after that.
It’s a surprisingly good system: you chop, he stirs. You talk, he listens — occasionally offering a dry comment that makes you snort so hard you nearly drop your spoon.
When you burn the onions, he slides the pan off the stove without saying a word, just hands you the salt with a look that says, ‘I told you so.’
“You could’ve warned me earlier,” you complain.
“I did,” he says calmly. “You were talking about your coworker’s cat.”
“Well, it’s a very cute cat.”
Theo’s lips twitch. “I’m sure it’s thrilled to be blamed for your cooking.”
You grin at him. “You’re kinda funny, you know.”
He arches a brow. “Kinda?”
“Okay, very funny,” you amend. “But don’t get cocky about it.”
“I won’t,” he says, turning back to the pan — but there’s a small, unmistakable smile on his face, the kind that makes your chest warm.
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One night, you can’t sleep.
It’s nearly midnight when you wander out of your room, feet quiet on the floorboards. You find Theo in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, scrolling through something on his phone.
He looks up, startled. “Couldn’t sleep?”
You nod. “Too many thoughts.”
He gestures toward the kettle. “Tea?”
You blink. “You’re offering me tea now? I thought I had to pay extra for that.”
“Special offer,” he says dryly, pouring water into two mugs. “Limited time.”
You grin. “Is this the deluxe plan?”
Theo doesn’t answer — just slides your mug toward you and sits across the counter. The kitchen is bathed in the soft gold light of the stove lamp, rain tapping gently against the window again.
For a moment, you both just sit there in silence.
Then you ask, “Do you like living with me?”
Theo looks up, expression unreadable. “You want the honest answer?”
You nod, trying not to fidget.
He exhales softly. “It’s… louder than I expected. Messier, too.”
You open your mouth to apologize, but he continues before you can.
“But also warmer. Lighter. Less lonely.”
Your heart does a strange, quiet thing — a little skip, a little ache.
You smile softly. “That’s probably the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
“Don’t make it weird,” he murmurs, sipping his tea.
You laugh, the sound filling the tiny kitchen. “Too late.”
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After that night, something shifts.
It’s subtle — like the way sunlight changes color near evening, or how rain smells different before it falls.
Theo starts sitting closer on the couch. You start stealing his hoodies on cold mornings (he pretends to complain, but never takes them back). He starts texting you small things during the day:
[theo]: you left your lunch again
[theo]: grabbed you a sandwich
[theo]: also your plant is thirsty. like you after two coffees.
You tease him about that last one for days, but the truth is, every time his name lights up your phone, you smile.
And every time you laugh at something stupid, Theo does too — quietly, like he’s afraid the sound will give him away.
It’s raining again one evening when you find a note taped to the fridge — his handwriting this time.
“Sunshine tax: waived indefinitely. Consider it a permanent discount.”
You stare at it for a long moment, then burst into laughter so bright it fills the whole kitchen.
Theo appears in the doorway, hair damp from his shower, wearing that familiar soft sweater.
“Discount?” you echo, grinning at him. “Are you saying I’ve been overpaying?”
He shrugs. “Maybe I got tired of collecting.”
“So what do I owe you now?” you ask playfully.
He hesitates — then says, almost too quietly, “Just breakfast tomorrow.”
Your breath catches, just for a second. “Deal.”
And maybe you don’t notice it then — the way his lips curve faintly as he turns away — but you will later.
Because Theo, your grumpy, introverted roommate, has started smiling when you’re not looking.
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You’ve learned something about Theo.
He’s the kind of person who loves quietly. Not in grand gestures, but in the way he moves around you — how he puts your mug where you can reach it, or adjusts the couch blanket when you fall asleep watching TV.
He’s steady. Careful. A little awkward, sometimes, but never unkind.
And somehow, in the middle of your chaotic warmth, he’s become the calm you didn’t know you needed.
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It’s a Sunday morning when you wake to the smell of coffee and music.
For a second, you assume you’re dreaming — Theo doesn’t do mornings, at least not willingly.
But when you shuffle into the kitchen, bleary-eyed and in mismatched socks, there he is.
He’s wearing your yellow apron.
The one that says kiss the cook (please).
He looks up mid-sip, deadpan. “Before you say anything, it was the first one I found.”
You grin, leaning on the counter. “Oh, I wasn’t going to say anything. You wear it beautifully.”
He gives you a look — that long-suffering, ‘why did I agree to live with you’ look — but the corner of his mouth curves anyway.
“You’re lucky I made enough pancakes for two,” he mutters, flipping one with unnecessary precision.
“Wait,” you gasp dramatically, “you made breakfast? Am I hallucinating?”
“Keep talking,” he says, “and you’ll lose your portion.”
You laugh, grabbing two plates from the cupboard. “Fine, fine. But for the record, I’m proud of you.”
Theo glances at you from the stove, expression softening almost imperceptibly. “Don’t make it weird.”
“Never,” you say sweetly, already planning to make it weird later.
You eat together at the small kitchen table — sunlight spilling through the windows, dust motes swirling lazily in the golden air.
The pancakes are surprisingly good, a little crisp at the edges, and Theo watches you take each bite like he’s secretly waiting for your verdict.
“Delicious,” you declare, grinning. “You’ve been holding out on me.”
He snorts. “Right. Because I’ve secretly been a breakfast chef this whole time.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised,” you tease. “You’re full of mysteries.”
Theo rolls his eyes but doesn’t look away this time. “You think too highly of me.”
“I just think you hide the best parts of yourself,” you say quietly, without meaning to sound so sincere.
It hangs between you for a second — soft, weightless.
Theo blinks, caught off guard, and for once, doesn’t have a sarcastic retort ready.
Then, quietly: “Maybe I’m just waiting for someone who notices them.”
Your heart catches. You smile — not big or teasing this time, just gentle. “Then I guess I’m doing my job.”
Theo stares at you for a moment, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes. Then he exhales and mutters, “You talk too much.”
But it’s not sharp. It’s fond.
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Over the next week, the apartment feels like spring.
Theo hums under his breath while making coffee. You catch him leaving notes now — small, plain ones, written in neat handwriting:
“made extra pasta. its in the fridge.”
“good luck today.”
“for the sake of you and i, stop leaving your socks in the laundry room.”
Okay, so not all of them are sweet. But still.
Progress.
And somewhere in the quiet rhythm of shared mornings and late-night conversations, something starts to bloom — slow and soft, like sunlight creeping across a floor.
You find yourself watching him a little longer.
He starts smiling more often, even when you’re not looking.
One rainy evening, you both end up on the couch again.
The movie’s half-forgotten; you’re sharing a blanket, your shoulder brushing his.
The city hums faintly outside — cars splashing through puddles, thunder rumbling far away.
Theo’s hand rests close to yours on the couch.
Not touching. Just close enough that it feels like an invitation.
You glance at him. He’s watching the screen, expression calm, but his thumb taps lightly against his knee — the smallest tell that he’s nervous.
So you take a breath.
And you reach out.
Your fingers graze his. He goes still, every muscle tensing for a second. Then, slowly, carefully, he turns his hand over and laces his fingers through yours.
No words. Just warmth.
You smile at the screen, pretending to keep watching. “So… deluxe plan, huh?”
Theo lets out a small laugh — quiet, but real. “Guess I upgraded.”
Later, when the credits roll, he doesn’t move. His thumb traces lazy circles against your palm, and you rest your head on his shoulder.
“I was going to say something,” he murmurs suddenly, voice low.
“Yeah?”
“I used to hate mornings.”
You blink sleepily. “Used to?”
He nods. “They were… too loud. Too bright. Too many people acting like the world wasn’t exhausting.”
He pauses, glancing at the dark window. “Then you moved in. And now, somehow, the noise feels less like noise.”
Your chest tightens. You tilt your head up, meeting his eyes. “That’s the nicest way anyone’s ever said they like living with me.”
Theo chuckles softly. “Don’t make it weird.”
You grin. “I’ll try not to.”
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It becomes a routine — coffee and quiet mornings, shared dinners and movie nights.
The sunshine tax becomes an inside joke, then a memory, then something softer, unnamed.
But you still tease him sometimes.
One morning, you stick a new note on the fridge:
“Sunshine tax: payable in kisses. Terms non-negotiable.”
You expect him to roll his eyes or ignore it.
Instead, when you’re reaching for the milk later, he steps up behind you — close enough that his breath brushes your neck.
“I don’t usually pay in advance,” he murmurs. “But maybe I’ll make an exception.”
You barely have time to turn before he kisses you — soft, unsure, the kind of kiss that feels like a promise rather than a question.
It’s short, gentle, but it leaves you smiling so wide your cheeks ache.
He pulls back, cheeks slightly pink. “Consider that your refund.”
You laugh, tugging on his sleeve. “You’re terrible at metaphors.”
“Probably,” he admits, smiling into your next kiss.
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After that, it’s easy.
You cook together, you argue about movie choices, you fall asleep on the couch more often than in your beds.
Theo starts leaving the bedroom door open when he’s working, and you start waking up a little earlier just to see his sleepy face in the morning light.
And every time you joke about the sunshine tax, he just says, “Already paid,” before leaning down to kiss you again.
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Weeks later, you’re sitting together by the window on another rainy morning, watching the world blur behind the glass.
Your head rests on his shoulder, and his fingers are tracing absent patterns on your arm.
You hum softly. “You know… you’ve changed.”
Theo arches a brow. “For better or worse?”
“For warmer,” you say, smiling. “You’re practically glowing.”
He chuckles. “Must be your influence.”
You nudge him gently. “Guess I’m good for you, huh?”
Theo looks at you — really looks — and his voice is quiet when he says, “You are.”
And just like that, the world feels smaller, safer, softer.
Two people, one apartment, sunlight on the walls.
The rent still matters, the dishes still pile up, the city still buzzes beyond the window — but somewhere between his morning grumbles and your laughter echoing down the hall, home stopped being just a place.
hey so like i read this sooo long ago and been KINDA OBSESSED with it ever since!! it's funny and comedic in the best way, but with so much love in it that it comes out of the screen at me. 'and they were roommates!!' YES ACTUALLY. give me this. give me all of this and more. i will also take theo. jk but this is so so good!!!
Summary: how the boys would give you the royal treatment and how you'd make sure they know they're loved as much as they love you.
Warnings: mentions of food, social anxiety, and showering together (soul's part)
a/n: I love the "princess treatment" hcs, so I wanted to make one for p1h. I say royal treatment bc that just feels more gender neutral for me. Also, this is probably ooc or bad characterization, but everything here is fictional so it isn't a big deal lol.
-keeho-
{giving} drives you everywhere
When he's free, this man is so so insistent about driving you around.
He loves spending time with you, and if he has the time in his busy schedule to be with you, he's gonna take advantage of it.
Even if it means having to deal with rush hour traffic, bad city drivers, or sacrificing sleep for late night rides.
Keeho just loves to be around you, and loves to do things for you. Very much an acts of service lover. He feels good just turning on some background music and listening to you ramble as he keeps his eyes on the road.
{receiving} shoulder & back massages
Please, for the love of everything good in this world, massage his shoulders!
Keeho has so much stress and tension stored in his upper body, mostly neck and shoulders.
If you randomly start massaging those areas he will actually melt, it might hurt a bit at first bc there's so much tension there, but you both can feel the muscles loosen within seconds.
The first time you did it Keeho thought he fell in love with you all over again.
theo
{giving} fixing your clothes
Whether it's tying your shoes, pulling your shirt down if it's riding up, or untangling your accessories, he's on it.
He's pretty observant, definitely notices any outfit, malfunctions or little things before you do. It's also because he is looking at you almost 24/7.
Theo is pretty quick at fixing little issues with your outfit. Half the time you wouldn't even notice till after he's pulling his hands away. He's discreet with any malfunctions and has such a gentle touch.
It gives him an excuse to touch you as well, and he loves being able to help you with the little things.
{receiving} soft flirting
Theo isn't flustered easily, putting up a pretty indifferent face and attitude, which doesn't change much when it comes to you. Ofc he's sweet and shows he loves you, but he's not the most vocal about it
However, the moment you compliment him, he's gone. It's not always obvious, but you can tell by the raised eyebrows and twitch in his lips.
It works the same with pickup lines, specifically cheesy one liners, he will sometimes let out a little giggle if you catch him off guard.
You're never too outwards and aggressive with flirting, neither of you are like that. But soft words and teasing lines are something Theo really likes coming from you.
juing
{giving} good night & good morning texts
It doesn't matter when he goes to sleep or wakes up, this man has your schedule memorized.
Jiung will text you good night and a sweet message around the time he knows you get home from your day.
And get ready for a "good morning sweetheart" text with some encouragement while you're getting ready for your day.
He's so sincere about it too, it's not a chore for him, he genuinely wants to send you little messages to remind you he loves you.
{receiving} surprises & dates
Please please please surprise him with a date! He will have the cutest and biggest smile as soon as you tell him your plan, and it's a gift to see.
It doesn't have to be super fancy or for a special occasion, just plan a little something to do while you spend some time together and he's so happy.
Maybe it's a late night movie marathon with both of your favorite snacks, or a little picnic in the park that you threw together last second. As long as he's with you he'll love it.
It reminds him that he doesn't have to take on every single responsibility, that you care about him and wanna be with him as much as he wants to be with you.
intak
{giving} gentle touches
Intak loves to show affection through touch, pda is his shit {within reason and your boundaries ofc} but he's also so sweet about it.
Loves to hold your hand and play with your fingers, or if his arm is around your waist his thumb will be rubbing little circles on you hip.
It also serves as a good reminder that he's right there next to you, that he's got you no matter what. It's grounding to have him hand gently squeeze yours periodically.
He thinks of you as something precious, he knows you're not breakable yet he still treats you with so much care.
{receiving} sharing foods
You know the saying "the way to a man's heart is through his stomach"? This is basically that, except you don't have to be the one making the food or anything like that.
If you just share a bite of what you ordered, a snack that you so happen to have, or a sip of your fancy cafe drink, he is so grateful.
Even if it's new to him, if you like it he'll try it if you're offering. And if you're the one feeding it to him he will get so giddy and giggly.
He thinks it's so romantic to share food, and also feels like it shows how well you take care of each other. He definitely shares his food too!
soul
{giving} little gifts
He is a trinket connoisseur and collector, so he definitely has a good eye for little gifts, especially if they are for you.
It isn't always silly, a large number of his gifts to you are sentimental. But the silly ones are just as sweet. But he basically always has you on his mind and it shows.
It could be as simple as "it reminded me of you!" to "I remembered that you said you still needed this version, and I thought I'd grab it!" or "This is from where we first met, maybe we should collect things from all the important dates we've had?"
Soul is almost kinda like a crow, he will find something shiny and cute and bring it back to you as a way of showing affection.
{receiving} washing his hair
Y'all have seen that video of Soul walking through the hallway with the dramatic he turns, and how frizzy and puffy his hair is? Yeah, that's what happens a lot of the time if you aren't washing his hair.
Not only does it help the look and health of his hair, he finds it so relaxing when your hands are in his hair, gently working the products into the strands.
Whether it's you showering together or him laying in the bath with you kneeling to the side, it's a sweet experience. One you both treasure.
Also, if you just wanna play with his hair, stick it straight up when it's all soapy or make it into fun shapes, he's so down. Very laid back and cool with whatever you want, just as long as your hands are in his hair.
jongseob
{giving} ordering for you
It doesn't matter if you have anxiety about ordering/talking to strangers or not, he's ordering for you. Not because he thinks you can't, if you really wanna you can, but because he wants you to be relaxed and not have to lift a finger.
It's not even a big deal at this point, y'all will walk into a restaurant and he can rattle off your order in a heartbeat. Seobie memorized stuff pretty fast, and when it comes to you it stays firmly in his head. You're important to him, ofc he remembers everything about you.
And if you are going to a new place and are having trouble deciding what to get, just look at him. Once he knows what he wants, he's looking for stuff he thinks you'd like.
It's a show of care for him, remembering the little things and making sure his lover doesn't have to do any extra work.
{receiving} sharing clothes/accessories
Doesn't matter what size you are, if your sizes are bigger or smaller than his, you're sharing. Either clothes or accessories, or both.
It's an unwritten promise to each other, what's mine is yours. You guys haven't ever really addressed it either, just asking where something is or if you're planning to wear something the other wants that day.
It's a natural thing, and it honestly feeds into the small possessive part of you. Almost like you're staking a claim, but more in a "we belong to each other" type of way
He loves it bc it reminds him of you. Jongseob gets especially happy when your scent lingers on the soft fabric of what was originally his shirt.
Summary: You’ve spent years keeping people at arm’s length, but when an annoyingly bright idol refuses to stop seeing the light in you—even when you can’t see it yourself—you start to wonder if you’ve been protecting your heart or just hiding from it.
Pairing: Sunshine!Theo x Grumpy!Reader
Genre: Fluff, angst, very minimal suggestive content.
Word count: 18k
Authors note: ahhh, it's finally here. (let's pretend I wasn't supposed to release this on the weekend.) I've spent so many hours on this and it accidentally ended up being 18k words and lowkey my brain turned to mush BUTT I hope you all (the 3 people that will read all of it) enjoy and good luck reading my word vomit. (I lowkey only half edited it because I couldn't stare at it any longer so if there is mistakes im sorry😭 but feel free to let me know.) Also this is inspired by the lyrics to wicked games by chris isaak so thats why I titled it that <3
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—
You’d always wanted to make films.
That was the dream, the end goal. But for now, being a videographer for P1harmony would have to do. And you were grateful for the job, you really were, especially compared to what you had to deal with at your past one.
The pretentiousness, the ass-kissing networking, the people who refused to take you seriously, it all drained you faster than any late-night shoot could and even then you couldn't complain.
Your bosses were decent, your coworkers friendly, and the boys themselves were easy to work with. Plus, you'd take the brutal schedules over fetching coffees any day.
You got to travel, film, and edit content that thousands of people actually wanted to watch. It wasn’t the big screen, but you needed the experience and that was enough for now.
Of course when you first joined, FNC had been skeptical. You didn’t have much experience with the fast-paced TV-style content most idol agencies wanted. Your portfolio leaned more toward short films and visual storytelling filled with cinematic scenes. You weren’t sure they’d go for that.
But when you had proposed making more cinematic videos focused more on showing the boys in their element with minimal talking, they decided to give your idea a chance. Once they saw your early edits, they realized they’d hired someone special, especially when the fans began to notice, and the comments were full of praise.
You’d also been with the team long enough to learn everyone’s quirks and preferences.
Mina, the lead producer, refused to talk to anyone before she could have her morning coffee. No one dared to break that rule.
Jisoo from styling was a perfectionist, always anxiously fixing the boy's hair whenever a strand would go out of place, even when it was unnecessary.
And Jun, one of the newer camera operators, had a habit of humming under his breath while filming, which you found weirdly comforting even though it drove everyone else insane.
Perhaps that's why you were well liked on the team. You were very observant and good at reading people, knowing what to say and to who. You knew how to read the room and helped things run smoothly, which was always valuable in an industry as busy as this one. The way everyone functioned had become familiar and predictable.
Then there was you of course, who just preferred to get the job done.
You weren’t unfriendly. You said good morning, bowed when you passed your coworkers, even laughed politely when anyone would make a joke. But you kept a comfortable distance, there was a reason you preferred being behind the camera.
No one really minded your closed-off nature, though because you always delivered exceptional work.
The same went for the boys.
Keeho was the easiest to get along with. He was always joking, and had a talent for making sure everyone was comfortable, his leader position fit him well. You’d caught yourself quietly chuckling at his antics more than once, which he’d immediately point out just to fluster you.
Jiung was endlessly polite, always thanking you after shoots, genuinely grateful for your hard work.
Soul didn’t talk much, which was a trait the two of you had in common. You’d often find yourselves at the same table during breaks, eating in silence.
Intak was pure energy, he couldn’t stay still for longer than five seconds, but he always made the mood on set lighter.
Jongseob was surprisingly mature, especially for his age, often checking that you’d eaten on longer days. It reminded you of a little brother you never had.
Theo was... different.
He was a little too much for you at times. He was the kind of person who made it hard to stay in a bad mood because his laugh carried through a room like sunlight filtering in through blinds.
He was nice to everyone, in a genuinely real way. You could tell when people’s smiles didn’t reach their eyes, but his always did.
Still, you never knew how to act around him. There was something disarming about how easily he got through to people, his soft voice wrapped in a blanket of warmth when he spoke. It irked you because … you just weren’t built for that kind of softness.
You didn’t mind keeping to yourself. In fact, you preferred it. While the other staff chatted easily with the boys or joked around behind the cameras, you were content staying on the sidelines and doing your job quietly and efficiently. It wasn’t that you didn’t like them, they were good guys. You just… didn’t see the point in trying to befriend people you’d eventually have to move on from.
You’d been in enough environments where getting too close only made it harder when everything ended. The most you’d done is have dinner with Jiung one time after you spent the whole day filming him. He’d practically forced you into it and you appreciated it, but the whole night all you could focus on was the familiar ache in your chest whenever someone tried to get close. You went home as soon as you finished eating.
They all continued to treat you the same way they treated everyone else, not offended by your lack of reciprocation. They pretty much just let you be.
Well, except Theo. You’d caught him watching you a few times before, usually when you were behind the camera, adjusting a lens or checking lighting. He always had this curious look on his face, like he was trying to figure you out. You never gave him the chance. A simple raised brow or flat expression was usually enough to make him look away, a small smile tugging at his lips as if he found your indifference amusing. You didn’t think much of it until today.
You were traveling with them on tour, currently in New York. The morning was chilly, sunlight slipping through the tall glass windows of the hotel lobby where everyone had gathered. Mina stood at the front, tablet in hand, running through the filming schedule.
She announced they were trying a new concept, one you had actually proposed a few weeks back. Each member would explore the city alone, and the videographers would capture their personal experiences for a more intimate vlog series. You hadn’t expected them to approve it, but Mina had liked the idea right away.
Now, as she listed off the filming pairs, your name came up with Theo’s.
You simply nodded, camera strap slung over your shoulder. You could feel his gaze on you from the corner of your eye, but you didn’t look his way.
Mina finished running through the logistics, reminding everyone to check their mics, stay in touch, and have fun. “And please,” she added, half-laughing, “don’t get lost.” She gave Soul a pointed look.
Theo was the first to approach you once Mina dismissed everyone.
“Hey,” he said brightly, walking over with his hands stuffed in his pockets. “Guess we’re partners today.”
You adjusted the strap on your camera, giving him a small nod. “Looks like it.”
“Well, is there anything specific you want to do?” He asked, rocking back and forth on his feet.
You looked up at him, blinking. “You’re supposed to decide what you want to do.”
“Right, but I mean—” he tilted his head, squinting playfully. “You’re gonna be stuck with me the whole day. There’s nothing you want to see while we’re out?”
You shook your head almost instantly. “It’s not about me Theo. Where do you want to go?”
You could see him deflate a little at your answer, but he quickly brushed it off. “Honesty, I kinda just want to go with the flow and walk around, see where the day takes us.”
You nodded easily at him and handed him a camera on a mini tripod so he could film himself throughout the day. “Sounds good.”
You both said quick goodbyes to the others before heading towards the hotel doors.
Theo held it open for you, stepping aside with a small flourish. “After you.”
You gave him a brief, unimpressed look, but walked through anyway. The cool New York air hit instantly, crisp and alive, the city buzzing. Theo pulled up the hood of his jacket and fell into step beside you, hands tucked back into his pockets with a light smile on his face.
“So,” he said as you started walking down the street, “We should probably eat breakfast first. Any ideas Sunshine?”
You shot him a sharp look the moment the word left his mouth. “I asked you to stop calling me that.”
Theo only grinned wider, clearly unbothered. “Yeah, I know. But the annoyed face you make every time I do gives me joy.”
You let out a huff through your nose, opting to ignore the comment he made entirely. “There’s a good bagel place close by,” you said instead, quick to redirect. “It’s my favorite.”
That caught his attention immediately. “Wait, you’ve been to New York before?”
“Used to live here,” you said, eyes on the busy crosswalk ahead. “When I was younger. I have family that still lives here, so I visit sometimes.”
Theo’s head snapped toward you, genuine surprise flashing across his face. “Seriously? You never told me that.”
You shrugged, tightening your grip on the camera strap. “Didn’t think it matters.”
“Of course it matters,” he said, slowing his steps just a little, his voice softer now. “That’s kind of a big thing to just… not mention.”
You looked at him briefly, then away again. “I don’t really talk about myself. There’s not much to say.”
Theo tilted his head, eyes scanning your expression like he was trying to read between the lines. “Now that I think about it,” he said slowly, “you’ve been with us for a while, but we don’t actually know that much about you.”
You exhaled quietly, gaze fixed ahead. “There’s not much to know.” you repeated, this time more firmly.
That was enough for him to get the message. Theo nodded once, falling back into silence beside you. As you crossed the next street, camera swinging lightly against your hip, he glanced at you again and found himself wondering what it was that was making you act so guarded.
When you entered the bagel shop, the smell of toasted bread and roasted coffee wafted around you were hit with a feeling of nostalgia.
Theo looked around with wide eyes, hands buried in his jacket pockets. “This place is cute.” he said, tone bright as always.
You glanced at the menu above the counter. “What do you want? I’ll order.”
He blinked. “You’ll—oh, uh, okay.” He studied the list for a moment before pointing. “Egg and cheese bagel?”
You nodded, already turning toward the cashier. “One egg and cheese bagel, please.”
Theo froze for a moment, taken off guard by your naturally fluent English as you conversed with the cashier. It gave him a bit of whiplash, hearing you speak an entirely different language. It was then that he decided it would be his mission to learn more about you that day.
You finished with the cashier and moved aside to busy yourself with filming clips of Theo and some b-roll of the shop. He leaned against the wall, glancing at the people bustling outside the window. “So… did you come here a lot when you lived here?”
“Mhm.”
“Do you miss it?”
You shrugged, adjusting the lens. “Not really.”
“Why’d you leave?”
You hesitated for only a second. “Family moved to Korea.”
He nodded slowly, watching your face as you lowered the camera. Each answer was clipped and neutral, but he wasn't going to give up so easily.
Before he could try again, the cashier called your name. You grabbed the brown paper bag and led the way to a small table near the window.
Theo sat down across from you and opened it up, the smell of warm bread filling the air. He reached inside and pulled out a singular bagel.
“There’s only one..” he said, brow furrowing.
“I’m not hungry.”
Theo blinked at you. “Did you eat before we left?”
“No.”
He scoffed under his breath, tearing the bagel in half and sliding one piece across the table toward you.
“Really Theo, it’s fine.” you said, not even looking up from your lens.
“I hate eating alone.” he said easily, though the small smirk tugging at his mouth gave him away.
You looked at him for a long moment, exhaling through your nose before taking the bagel half.
He leaned back in his seat, a grin blooming across his face in victory.
You rolled your eyes and took a small bite, pretending not to notice the way his expression softened as he watched you with quiet satisfaction.
Theo took a bite of his half as he watched you eat with downcast eyes and that’s when he realized that cracking through your walls might take time, but he didn’t mind. Not one bit.
He finished eating (his stomach still growling with hunger that he ignored) and wiped his hands on a napkin, glancing toward the window. “So,” he said, his voice casual but laced with excitement, “how about Central Park next?”
You looked and nodded. “That could work. I can get some good footage there.”
“Perfect,” he said with that usual burst of energy, standing up and slinging his bag over his shoulder. “Lead the way, New Yorker.”
You rolled your eyes but did exactly that, weaving through the crowded sidewalks with ease. The city was busier than usual that day, but you moved through it with muscle memory as you sidestepped tourists without breaking pace. You occasionally walked backwards so you could film Theo, who was following close behind, his hood pulled up and his camera in hand, constantly getting distracted by random things he saw.
“That shop has a 2 for $50 deal!”
You didn’t even glance over. “Those souvenir shops overcharge Theo.”
He pouted but continued walking.
After several more blocks, you descended the steps into the subway station. Theo’s eyes darted around curiously as the rumble of trains echoed through the tunnels. You filled your MetroCard and motioned for him to follow, moving quickly.
You entered the car just before it closed and it was packed. You immediately adjusted your camera strap and glanced for space. Theo spotted a single open seat near the center.
“Sit.” he said, nodding toward it.
“I’m fine.”
He shook his head. “You’re carrying the camera. Sit.”
You sighed but obeyed, sinking into the seat. He stood in front of you, one hand gripping the metal rail above, the other with the tripod resting against his side as the train lurched forward.
You looked up at him, intending to tell him to hold onto something properly, but your words caught in your throat. The way the low subway lights hit his face, the faint grin playing on his lips, and the loose strands of hair falling into his eyes made him look unfairly attractive.
Theo caught your gaze almost immediately. His grin widened just a little and he caught the way your lips parted slightly before you changed your expression and turned toward the window.
“Something interesting over there?” he asked, voice light but teasing.
“Just checking how many stops we have left till we need to get off.” you said quickly.
“Mhm.” he hummed, clearly amused, and he swore he could see a light blush dust your cheeks.
When the train stopped at the next station, the doors slid open and a group of passengers shuffled out, pushing Theo closer toward you. He braced himself with one hand on the railing, his legs bumping lightly against yours.
You froze for a second, pretending to focus on an ad but your heartbeat betrayed you, a steady, quickened thrum.
Theo didn’t say a word, but the small, knowing smile on his face said everything. He knew you liked to pretend like nothing affected you, but he could see clearly that this was, and he was loving every second of it.
You shifted in your seat, crossing one leg over the other to create some distance. You told yourself that you were just being polite, it wasn’t about him, or how good he looked hovering above you, or the way your pulse hadn’t slowed since he first caught you staring.
Because you weren’t blind. Anyone with eyes could see that he was attractive, all the members were in their own way.
But something about Theo just bothered you.
That was the excuse you gave yourself, anyway.
The train slowed again, and the crowd thinned. Theo shifted back slightly, giving you space, though his gaze never wavered.
When you finally stood, your voice came out a touch tighter than you intended. “Our stop’s next.”
He smiled, effortlessly casual. “Lead the way, Sunshine.”
You rolled your eyes but didn’t bother to correct him, mostly because your throat felt too dry to even try.
It was warmer by the time you reached Central Park, the sounds of the city fading into the soft pounding of joggers’ feet, and the occasional bark of a dog. Theo stopped beside a stand of rental bikes, eyes lighting up like a kid at an amusement park.
“Bikes,” he said, pointing at them as if you couldn’t already see. “Can we ride them?”
“We can do whatever you want Theo.”
As you paid for two bikes, he glanced over with a trace of concern. “Are you sure you’ll be okay filming while riding? I don’t want you to get hurt.”
You gave him a dismissive look. “Don’t worry about me.”
He chuckled under his breath, watching as you adjusted your camera strap and climbed onto your bike. “Okay, but if you wipe out, you have to put it in the behind-the-scenes reel.”
“Not gonna happen.” you said, pushing off before he could get another word in.
Theo rode ahead so you could record him, arms stretched out like he was flying, the wind catching in his hair. You followed close by, catching quick shots of him turning around to flash you a grin or shout something you couldn’t quite hear over the breeze.
“Come on, slowpoke!” he called once, circling back to ride alongside you.
“I’m literally filming.” you said flatly.
“Put the camera down for a second. Let’s race!” he teased as he sped off.
You muttered under your breath about his happy energy and how annoying his loud laughter was.
At one point, you slowed near a quiet stretch of path lined with trees turning gold. Theo rode ahead a little, the sunlight catching on his face as he threw his head back and laughed.
You lifted your camera instinctively. Through the camera he looked so carefree, you felt something stir in your chest. The corner of your lip twitched just barely.
When he turned and caught you filming, he grinned and waved at the camera. He then motioned for you to catch up with him.
As you neared him he called out to you, posing dramatically. “Did you get my good side?”
“Which one?”
“Ouch.” He clutched his chest in mock offense. “That was cold.”
“It was a genuine question.” you corrected.
Theo laughed, the sound bright and effortless as the two of you came to a stop near a large patch of open grass. “Alright, alright,” he said between breaths. “You win. My ego and my legs are officially tired.”
You raised an eyebrow at him. “Aren’t you supposed to be athletic?”
“Don’t mock me. I’m delicate.”
You huffed and pointed toward a shaded area beneath a tree. “Let’s sit there. It’ll look good on camera too.”
Theo followed you over without complaint, tossing himself dramatically onto the grass as you recorded him. You knelt to frame a few shots of him leaning back, the wind ruffling his hair, sunlight dancing across his face. You recorded different parts of the park as well.
You got a few clips of him gazing off toward a couple playing with a frizz bee before he turned his head to you. “You should sit. You’ve been filming nonstop. You’ve earned a break.”
“I’m fine.” you said automatically, still adjusting your lens.
“Sit.” he said again, more firm this time.
You sighed but finally lowered yourself onto the grass a short distance away, keeping a comfortable, professional gap between you. You glanced down at your camera, already flicking through clips.
“Of course,” Theo muttered with mock exasperation. “Do you know what break means.”
You ignored him.
That is, until his hand suddenly reached out, plucking the camera right from your grasp.
“Hey—!” you started, eyes wide.
He held it just out of reach, smirking. “Enjoy the moment. Look, trees, birds, fresh air! Enjoy nature, Sunshine.”
You scowled. “I’m here to work, not to relax.”
“I don’t care.” he said simply, lounging back onto one hand and holding your camera away like a taunt.
“Theo, seriously. Give it back.” You reached for it, but he quickly shifted, laughing.
“Say please.”
You glared. “Give. It. Back.”
“Didn’t sound like ‘please.’”
You leaned in again, trying to grab it, but he kept moving it just out of reach, his laughter getting louder every time you missed. Finally, he leaned farther back, bracing on his elbow with that infuriating grin still plastered on his face and before you realized it, you were leaning over him, your hair falling slightly forward as your fingers grazed the edge of the camera.
You froze. Your eyes flicked up to his, close… too close, and for a split second neither of you moved. His smirk softened, eyes flickering over your face like he’d just realized the same thing.
Your breath caught, and you quickly pulled back, muttering, “Fine. Whatever.”
You sat down again, arms crossed tightly over your chest, refusing to look at him.
Theo chuckled softly, victorious. “See? Isn’t this nice?”
You shot him a sharp glare but he only grinned wider, leaning back on his elbows again in satisfaction.
Theo stretched out on the grass, letting the sunlight warm his body, before finally turning toward you. “So… did you use to come here often when you lived in New York?”
You shook your head, looking out at the path ahead. “Not really.”
He tilted his head, curiosity still in his voice. “And… do you prefer Korea over—”
You cut him off, voice low and serious. “Theo.”
His grin faltered, and for a fraction of a second, the usual brightness that seemed to radiate from him dimmed slightly.
You met his gaze. “Why do you keep asking about my past?”
He exhaled softly, running a hand through his hair. “I just… I want to get to know you.”
You let a small shrug escape, eyes returning to the trees. “I appreciate the sentiment, but you don’t have to pretend to care.”
That seemed to hit him harder than you expected. He blinked, mouth opening slightly, caught off guard. “I’m… not pretending.” he said quietly, the faintest edge of hurt in his tone.
“Then… why do you want to get to know me better?”
He had no answer. The silence stretched, the air suddenly thick with tension. Theo chewed the inside of his cheek, clearly searching for words.
You noticed it immediately and softened slightly, though your expression remained serious. “Really, it’s okay.”
“I… I’m sorry,” he said finally, quiet and sincere. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable with the questions. You don’t have to talk to me if you don’t want to. I didn’t mean to overstep your boundaries.”
You stayed quiet, letting him speak, watching his posture tense slightly. Then, after a moment, he stood abruptly, brushing off his hands on his pants. He forced a smile back onto his face, a little too wide and manufactured.
“Anyway,” he said, stepping toward your bikes. “we should return the bikes and go get lunch.”
You followed silently, feeling a twinge of guilt twist in your stomach. You’d shut him down quickly and dismissed his curiosity as if it were nothing, even though… maybe he was genuinely interested.
As you pedaled back toward the exit, your thoughts ran wild. Maybe he really had wanted to know you. Maybe he cared.
And then, just as quickly, the familiar walls in your mind came back up. He was just being kind, you told yourself. He didn’t actually care about you. It was just… politeness.
You tightened your grip on the handlebars, forcing your face into a neutral expression, convincing yourself that it was fine.
But a small, stubborn part of you couldn’t shake the quiet pang of regret at his forced smile.
You returned the bikes and Theo bounced slightly on his feet as he asked, “Are you craving anything.”
You shrugged. “If we’re in New York, we should probably eat pizza.”
His eyes lit up. “Pizza? Perfect. Lead the way.”
You guided him through the bustling streets toward one of the city’s iconic 99¢ pizza joints. The smell of baking dough and melted cheese hit immediately as you stepped inside.
You set up your camera as he grabbed a slice, the gooey cheese stretching almost ridiculously as he lifted it. He made exaggerated faces while taking a bite as you recorded the cheese pull.
After finishing, you wandered through the streets again, following him with your lens. Theo dragged you into a few stores, letting you film as he tried on all sorts of ridiculous things. He kept laughing at himself in the mirror and sometimes at you, clearly enjoying the chance to just be a normal person for a while.
Then you spotted a small vintage guitar shop tucked between a cafe and a record store. You pointed it and Theo’s eyes practically sparkled. “Let’s go in here.”
The bell above the door jingled as you entered, and Theo looked around in amazement. The worker noticed and said, “Go ahead, play whatever you want.”
He didn’t hesitate. He picked up a Sunburst Stratocaster first, strumming a few chords before moving on to a more worn acoustic. You stayed off to the side, camera in hand, watching as his playful energy lulled to a calmer one.
He looked so at peace while he played. You could tell just from watching him how passionate he was and how natural it felt for him. The shop’s amber lighting wrapped around him, highlighting the curve of his jaw and the soft focus in his eyes as his fingers moved effortlessly across the strings.
You adjusted the camera, zooming in slightly, trying to pretend that this was purely for work. But the truth was, you couldn’t look away. He felt different in this moment compared to the Theo he’d been the rest of the day. You felt like you were getting a real glimpse into him.
He started humming a song under his breath and you lowered the camera slightly, caught off guard by his soft vocals.
When he finished the song, his fingers stilled on the strings, and the last note lingered in the air like a held breath. He looked up and met your eyes.
You realized you’d been staring, but you didn’t look away this time.
His lips stretched into a small, almost vulnerable smile that made you blink slightly.
Then, as if it were completely natural, he returned his attention to the guitar, letting the strings sing under his fingers some more.
You swallowed hard, trying to shake the flutter in your chest. You felt ridiculous. You were supposed to be documenting his trip, not… whatever this was.
You lifted your camera again, hoping it could hide your expression.
“You sound good.” you managed to let out, voice quieter than you intended.
Theo looked up again, a spark of amusement lighting his face. “Yeah?” he asked, still strumming. “You think so?”
You shrugged, keeping your tone casual even as your heart betrayed you. “Not too shabby.”
He grinned at that, the teasing glint returning to his eyes. “High praise from you.”
You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t ignore the feeling bubbling in your stomach. “Don’t let it go to your head.”
“Too late.”
Then he looked back down at the guitar and started to play a lighter, happier tune this time. You turned around when you felt yourself smiling, and he caught sight of your reflection in a glass case, his pulse racing at the fact that he made you smile.
It hit him then, how strange it was that someone could feel like a storm one moment and like calm the next.
And as you turned back to watch his fingers glide effortlessly over the strings, you thought, maybe for the first time in a long time, that letting someone in might not be as terrifying as it used to be.
—
You left the shop with Theo grumbling over wishing he could buy the guitar.
“Well if you wanted it so bad you should have bought it.”
“But I already have one I have to carry for tour.” he said dramatically, glancing back at the storefront as if the instrument might levitate to him.
“Okay well too bad then.”
“You’re mean…” he muttered.
You continued your walk of the city, filming Theo as you go.
When you turned a corner, a crowd had gathered around a group of street dancers, and you stopped to watch.
“Whoa…” Theo muttered, eyes wide with amazement as he took in the performance.
His smile stretched from ear to ear, that kind of unfiltered happiness that made him look slightly juvenile. When one of the dancers pulled off a particularly impressive spin, Theo turned toward you, eyes bright.
“Did you see that? That was insane!”
You blinked at him, momentarily caught off guard by how animated he looked. The corners of your lips twitched, a thought sneaking in before you could stop it, cute.
You immediately shook it off. Nope. Not going there.
He tossed a few bills into the open guitar case at their feet. As you continued your walk Theo spotted a coffee shop and turned to you. “Want to grab some coffee?”
You sighed. “Whatever you want.”
He led you to the shop without a response. Theo held the door open for you, giving you a cheeky little bow when you passed.
“Such a gentleman.” you said unimpressed.
“Only for you.”
You rolled your eyes. “That was cheesy.”
“So,” he said, stepping up to the counter. “Some cheesy things are nice.”
You shook your head at his words, and went to grab a table while he ordered. You set your camera down and quietly began replacing the drained battery.
By the time you snapped the new one into place, Theo was back. He slid into the seat across from you, placing a drink in front of you with a casual grin.
You looked up at him, then down at the green liquid in confusion. “I didn’t ask for anything.”
“I know,” he said simply, already sipping from his own straw.
You blinked. “Then why—”
He just shrugged, eyes twinkling with that annoyingly smug satisfaction.
You narrowed your eyes suspiciously at the drink. “How do you even know I like matcha?”
He didn’t miss a beat. “You always drink it on shooting days.”
You hated how he said it so casually, as if it was totally normal to pay attention to something like that.
“Oh.” you said simply, the word slipping out before you could stop it.
You wrapped your hands around the cup, hesitating for a second before taking a small sip. It was exactly how you liked it, not too sweet, perfectly smooth.
Theo leaned back in his seat, watching your reaction with a small, knowing smile.
“It’s good, right?” he said, all too pleased with himself.
You took another sip, refusing to meet his eyes. “It’s fine.” you muttered, but the satisfaction in your tone betrayed you.
A few quiet seconds passed, as you sit in silence. Then under your breath, you mumbled, “Thanks.”
Theo smiled wider. “You’re welcome, Sunshine.”
You sighed deeply at the nickname, but this time, you didn’t have the energy to correct him. You just took another sip of your matcha, pretending not to notice the way he was still looking at you, like he’d just uncovered something about you no one else had.
—
When you exited the coffee shop, Theo sighed beside you, stretching his arms above his head.
“I can’t think of anything else to do,” he said, glancing at the sky that had begun to turn orange.
You slowed your steps, hesitating. There was one thing you thought of. A place you hadn’t been to in years since your last visit. You looked down at your watch. If you left now, you could just make it.
Theo noticed your expression immediately. “What’s up?”
You chewed the inside of your cheek, debating for a moment before saying, “I know a spot to watch the sunset.”
He tilted his head. “Yeah?”
“If we walk fast, we’ll make it in time.”
Before he could ask anything else, you turned sharply. “Come on. No time to explain, just follow me.”
Theo blinked, startled, but quickly fell into step behind you, laughing under his breath. “You’re very mysterious today, Sunshine.”
You ignored him, weaving through the evening crowd, your pace brisk. Every few blocks, he asked where you were going, and every time, you just shook your head. “You’ll see.”
As the sun dipped lower, you started jogging lightly. Theo laughed, his breath coming out in short bursts beside you. “You’re seriously making me run through Manhattan right now?”
“Do you want to see it or not?” you called back, holding your camera steady as you slowed just enough to capture him mid-laugh. His grin was wide and loud, pure, genuine happiness. You had to bite back a smile of your own.
You turned down a narrow alleyway and stopped in front of an old brick building. The door was padlocked, but you knelt and pulled it open just enough to slip through. Theo stared at you, eyes wide.
“You’re kidding.”
You rolled your eyes. “Relax. I’m not gonna kill you.”
“I wouldn’t put it past you.” he muttered, but followed anyway.
The stairwell was dusty and smelled faintly of old paint. You climbed quickly at first, but by the fifth flight, you were pausing to catch your breath.
“This better be worth it.” Theo huffed behind you, dramatically leaning on the railing.
“Stop whining,” you said, panting a little. “We’re almost there.”
When you finally reached the top and pushed open the heavy metal door, a rush of golden light spilled through and Theo fell completely silent.
“Holy…” he breathed, stepping forward.
From the rooftop, the city stretched endlessly in every direction, the skyline bathed in a soft amber glow. The sun was halfway gone, sinking between the skyscrapers, turning every glass surface into molten gold.
You smiled faintly, your chest tight but full. “Told you it was worth it.”
Theo turned to you, his eyes wide, a disbelieving grin on his face. “This is unbelievable.”
You lifted your camera and began shooting him immediately.
After a few minutes, you let the camera hang from your neck and stepped up to the ledge, leaning against the barrier as the city stretched beneath you. Theo joined you know, clearly full of questions.
He glanced at you. “How’d you find this place?”
You froze for a moment, that old, familiar tension flickering in your chest. But before he could take it back, you said softly, “I spent a lot of time alone as a kid. Did a lot of exploring.”
He nodded slowly, but didn’t interrupt. The fading light air brushed your skin in a pretty red hue, and he found himself memorizing the moment and how calm and open you looked, even if it was only a little.
You exhaled softly, almost to yourself. “It really never gets old. It’s perfect, isn’t it?”
“Yeah.” he said, gaze fixed on you.
He turned back to the skyline as silence settled between you again, but this time it was comfortable. The hum of the city below was distant and muted as if the world had shrunk to just this rooftop and the two of you.
After a moment, you spoke, your voice quieter now. “Hey… about earlier. At Central Park.”
Theo blinked, caught off guard. “What about it?”
You hesitated, fingers brushing against the edge of the rooftop. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you. You were just trying to be nice, and I—” You sighed, searching for the right words. “I overreacted.”
Theo’s expression softened. He leaned slightly closer, resting his forearms on the barrier beside you. “You don’t have to apologize,” he said gently. “I was being nosy.”
“You were being curious,” you corrected, glancing at him briefly. “There’s a difference.”
He smiled faintly at that. “Still. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
You shrugged, staring out at the skyline again. “You didn’t. I just… don’t really open up to people that easily.”
“I noticed,” he teased.
You rolled your eyes and shook your head as he laughed, leaning forward to rest your chin on your hands.
Theo took a deep breath beside you, then with a certainty that made you glance his way, he said quietly, “You will.”
You tilted your head, one brow raised. “I will what?”
He turned to meet your gaze, his plump lips curling into that infuriatingly smug smile of his. “Open up to me eventually.”
You blinked, caught between amusement and disbelief. “Oh yeah?”
“Mhm.” he hummed, the corners of his mouth tugging higher into a confident grin. “Im very charming. You’ll break soon enough.”
You scoffed, crossing your arms. “You’re insane.”
He threw his head back and laughed, loud and carefree, the sound echoing faintly against the nearby buildings. When he looked back at you, there was a spark in his eyes.
“You’ll see.”
He sounded so sure of himself. You shook your head, pretending to focus on the skyline again, adamant on holding back a smile.
If he noticed, and you were sure he did, he didn’t say anything. He just stood there beside you, both of you bathed in the last light of the setting sun.
—
When you both got back to the hotel, the sky was dark and lit up by the city lights.
Theo stretched his arms above his head with a groan. “Well,” he said, glancing at you with that familiar lopsided smile, “Thanks for your hard work today.”
You took the hand held camera from him and replied casually, “Just doing my job.”
He made a low sound of protest, shaking his head. “You seriously can’t just take a compliment, can you?”
You shot him a small, amused look but didn’t answer.
Inside the elevator, the two of you stood side by side. The soft hum of the mechanics filled the silence until Theo spoke again.
“I had a lot of fun today.” he said, his reflection catching yours in the mirrored walls.
You stayed silent, staring straight ahead.
After a moment, he turned so he was standing directly in front of you, brows raised. “What?” you asked flatly.
He tilted his head. “Did you have fun?”
“It was alright.”
Theo squinted, unconvinced. “Alright?”
“Yeah.”
He folded his arms, that playful stubbornness glinting in his eyes. “Be honest.”
You let out a frustrated sigh. “I am honest.”
When the elevator dinged and the doors slid open, you immediately tried to step past him but he shifted just enough to block your way.
“Theo,” you muttered warningly.
“Just answer the question!” he insisted, his grin threatening to break through.
You rolled your eyes, gave him a light shove, and managed to squeeze past. As you walked off, he called your name.
You turned, eyebrows raised.
Theo’s expression eased, the teasing fading. “Did you have fun with me?” he asked, his voice quieter now, hopeful and shy beneath the confidence.
You blinked at him, heart skipping for just a moment. The elevator doors began to slide closed, and before they shut completely, you managed a simple, “Bye, Theo.”
He stood there, staring at the metal doors long after they’d sealed shut.
When he finally made it up to his shared room, Jiung was sitting on his bed reading a book. He looked up immediately. “What took you so long?”
Theo blinked. “What do you mean?”
“The rest of us got back hours ago.” Jiung said, giving him a surprised look.
Theo paused, then shrugged nonchalantly. “Guess we lost track of time.”
He washed up and got ready for bed, the earlier events replaying in his head.
He had just climbed into bed when his phone buzzed on the nightstand. He reached for it lazily then froze when he saw your name on the screen.
A single message.
I did.
Theo smiled so hard his cheeks ached. He flopped back onto his pillow, phone pressed to his chest, and muttered into the dark, “Knew it.”
—
In your hotel room, you sat at the tiny desk, plugging in your sd card, the familiar chime echoing as your folders began populating the screen. Theo’s card sat beside yours, waiting its turn.
You leaned back in your chair, stretching your sore shoulders as progress bars filled the screen. The silence in the hotel room felt peaceful compared to the hustle and bustle of the city. As your mind drifted, you caught yourself thinking that, surprisingly, the day really hadn’t been half bad.
You turned back to your laptop just as the first few clips appeared in the preview window. You clicked on a random video and watched Theo’s grin as he strummed the guitar happily. He looked so carefree and in the privacy of your room you watched as you smiled.
Then you slid Theo’s SD card into the reader.
Folders popped up instantly and you began transferring the footage. As they loaded, one of the thumbnails caught your eye.
You leaned forward to look at it and you froze, it was you.
Curious, you double-clicked.
The video opened to shaky footage of you riding your bike through the park, your hair whipping in the wind as he followed behind, laughing softly under his breath. You could hear his voice faintly.
“Look at her go…” he mumbled, amused.
Your heart stuttered.
You scrolled down to another video. This time, you were crouched in the park, capturing b-roll of the scenery. Theo’s camera zoomed in slightly. You heard him hum quietly, almost absentmindedly, before whispering something you couldn’t make out.
One clip turned into two, then three. Each one was the same, him filming you without you realizing.
You furrowed your brows, your stomach tightening at the unexpected discovery.
You hovered over your phone for a moment, thumb ready to type out a message. But after a long pause, you set it back down and shook your head.
“Don’t overthink it.” you muttered to yourself.
You finished the transfers, organized the folders, and shut the laptop with a soft click. The room dimmed, lit only by the amber glow of the table lamp.
As you slid beneath the sheets, the quiet returned. But your mind didn’t rest. It replayed flashes of laughter, of sunlight over his hair, of that boyish grin that shouldn’t have been stuck in your head as much as it was.
The last thing you thought about before sleep took you was his voice humming softly.
—
The next day you were able to sleep in a bit before heading to the venue that they were playing at that night. You arrived with your camera slung over your shoulder and ready to shoot some BTS content.
You got to their dressing room, stepping in and bowing while greeting the staff and the boys that were present.
A chorus of hellos greeted you back, but your gaze stopped when Theo’s head lifted from where he was sitting on the couch. His face brightened instantly, that familiar grin stretching wide.
“Hey,” he called out, motioning you over with a wave.
You walked over, trying to ignore the way you could feel your cheeks warming under his gaze. You mentally cursed your body for the reaction.
“Morning.” you said, keeping your tone neutral as you fumbled with your camera.
“Morning,” he echoed, eyes bright. “How’d you sleep?”
“Fine.” you replied quickly.
He nodded, his grin lingering. “How’s the footage looking?”
“Really good,” you said honestly. “I think the video’s going to turn out great.”
He looked pleased by that, leaning back against the couch. You hesitated as you debated whether to say what was on your mind.
Finally, you did. “By the way… I noticed some of the footage you took yesterday.”
“Oh yeah,” he said casually. “Actually, can you give me the SD card when you’re done with it?”
You blinked. “Why?”
He shrugged, the corner of his mouth twitching up. “I want to save the videos.”
You tilted your head, confused. “Why?” you repeated.
This time, his grin widened, lazy, playful, and it made your stomach flip.
“Because,” he said simply, eyes locking with yours, “you looked happy in them. Pretty too.”
The room suddenly felt smaller, but you could sense Jongseob and Jiung were listening to your conversation. You blinked, caught completely off guard, and Theo just smiled.
Your cheeks heated instantly. You shifted your weight, trying to mask the way your pulse jumped at his words. “I still don’t understand why you’d want to keep them.” you mumbled, avoiding his gaze.
Theo tilted his head, like he was debating whether to tease you or give a real answer, but before he could reply, a knock sounded at the door and their manager poked his head in. “Soundcheck in five.” he called.
Theo stood, brushing off his pants. “Guess that’s my cue.”
You crossed your arms, watching him warily.
He turned just before leaving, that same faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Don’t delete them, alright?”
You scoffed, trying to play it off. “I will.”
“Don’t.” he said, voice gentle before he turned to go.
As he walked out of the room, Jiung and Jongseob exchanged looks with silent amusement. You rolled your eyes and huffed out a breath but your face still felt warm long after Theo disappeared down the hallway.
You made your way down to the venue floor with a few of the staff, camera in hand and badge swinging against your chest. The arena was mostly empty, lights half-dimmed, the sound of instruments being tuned echoing faintly through the space.
The boys were already on stage, mics in hand, testing the sound as the techs adjusted their levels. Theo’s laughter carried easily, rich and warm through the speakers, and before you realized it, your lens was pointed directly at him.
They ran through a few verses, Theo’s voice effortlessly smooth and he turned to joke with Intak between songs. The sight made something tighten and twist pleasantly in your stomach. You hated it.
You lowered the camera slightly, pretending to check your settings, but your eyes still drifted back to him and his grin and the faint sheen of sweat on his temples under the stage lights.
God, why did he have to look like that doing nothing?
You shook your head, willing the thoughts away. You were here to work. You forced your attention to the rest of the members, capturing shots of the band and stage crew, anything to keep yourself focused. But your camera always seemed to drift back to Theo.
And when he finally caught your gaze from the stage, he grinned and waved at you and you quickly turned the camera away, heat rising to your cheeks.
Annoying. That’s what he was. Completely and utterly annoying.
The rest of the day, you did your best to avoid him.
It wasn’t exactly easy and Theo seemed to appear everywhere, but you kept your distance, keeping conversations short and professional, always pretending to be too busy to talk.
By the time you got back to your hotel room that night, exhaustion had set in. You pulled your laptop onto the bed and started editing. Hours passed without you realizing and the coffee you bought to keep you awake had gone cold. The clock blinked 12:57 am when your phone buzzed beside you.
You picked it up, squinting at the screen.
Did you eat yet?
You frowned.
Why?
A few seconds later, his reply came.
You ask that too much. Just answer the question.
You rolled your eyes at the reply.
No. I’ll eat later.
He read the message immediately but didn’t respond.
You sighed and tossed your phone aside, muttering under your breath, “Why is he even texting me?” You tried to refocus on the footage again, dragging clips into the timeline.
When a knock suddenly echoed from your door a few minutes later, you froze.
You glanced at the clock, 1:04 a.m. Who would knock at your door this late?
Another knock.
Setting your laptop aside, you got up and padded over to the door, looking through the peephole.
You furrowed your brows and cracked the door open. “What are you doing here?”
Theo looked annoyingly energetic for someone who’d just performed in front of thousands of people. “What do you mean, ‘what am I doing here?’ You said you’d eat later. It’s already 1 am.”
Your eyes widened. “You came all the way here to—”
“Come on,” he interrupted, grinning. “Let’s grab something quick. I checked google and there’s a 24-hour diner a few blocks away.”
You blinked at him, confused. “Aren’t you tired from the concert?”
He shook his head. “Not really.”
You stared at him for a long moment, trying to read whatever ridiculous logic was fueling this. But part of you figured… maybe a quiet walk through the city one last time before heading to the next stop wouldn’t be so bad. You knew you wouldn’t be back in a while.
“Fine.” you said finally.
Theo’s face lit up instantly. “Good. Let’s go. You don’t need to bring anything.” He turned to leave, clearly expecting you to follow.
“Wait—I just need to change.” you said quickly.
He stopped, turning back to you with one brow raised only for his gaze to drop automatically. His eyes flicked over the oversized hoodie you were wearing, down to your long bare legs, and his mouth twitched into a smug grin.
“Yeah… you probably should put on some pants,” he said casually. “It’s pretty chilly out.”
You scowled at the insinuation that you weren’t wearing anything underneath, grabbing the hem of your hoodie and yanking it up just enough to show the pair of shorts you had on. “I have shorts on.”
That only made his grin widen. His eyes darted back down lingering a second too long and your cheeks burned at his gaze. “I’ll be back.” you muttered quickly, and before he could tease you again, you slammed the door shut.
You pulled on a pair of gray sweatpants, ran a quick hand through your hair, and opened the door again.
Theo was leaning against the wall across from your room, phone in hand, but he immediately looked up when you stepped out. His lips curved into that now too familiar smile. “Ready?”
“Yeah.”
He straightened and led the way down the quiet hall. The sound of your footsteps echoed faintly against the patterned carpet as you entered the elevator.
“Is anyone else coming?”
He shook his head. “Just me.” Then, a moment later he added, “That okay?”
You simply hummed in reply.
True to his word, the diner was only a few blocks away. The air outside was crisp, the streets nearly empty except for the occasional taxi or late-night wanderer. The neon sign of the diner flickered in warm red and white, reflecting faintly on the wet pavement from an earlier rain.
Inside, it smelled like coffee and pancakes. There were only a few other people scattered around, an old man reading a newspaper, a couple sitting close in a booth, two tired-looking students sharing fries.
You and Theo were seated by a window. The vinyl seats creaked as you sat down across from each other, menus sliding between your hands.
Theo leaned forward, brows scrunched as he focused on the English words. When the waitress came over, he asked her a couple of questions about the burger he wanted, stumbling through his phrasing with that charming determination that made him oddly endearing.
When she left, you couldn’t help but comment. “Your English is getting better.”
He chuckled, shaking his head. “Barely.”
You let the silence settle after that, both of you gazing out the window. A man walked past, hands in his pockets, followed by a couple laughing quietly as they disappeared down the street.
Eventually, your food came. The clinking of plates broke the calm as you each thanked the waitress quietly.
Theo took a bite of his burger, then leaned back. “So,” he began, “how are you liking touring so far?”
You swallowed a bite of your sandwich before answering. “I’m grateful,” you said honestly. “It’s… nice, getting to travel, especially for free. And I like how busy it keeps me.”
He nodded slowly, chewing thoughtfully. “Do you find it stressful?”
You shook your head. “No. Especially not compared to you guys.”
He tilted his head curiously.
“I mean,” you continued, “I can only imagine how much pressure it is to perform every night and meet everyone’s expectations.”
Theo’s lips curved into a small, thoughtful smile. “It’s gotten easier over the years,” he said. “But yeah. In the beginning? It was tough. Really tough. It took a while before we felt confident enough on stage to not be nervous for every performance.”
You nodded, listening quietly, your gaze flickering between his face and the reflection of city lights in the window. You could tell by the way he spoke that he really loved what he did.
“This is also our longest tour yet,” he added after a moment. “Do you ever feel homesick?”
You paused mid-bite, then slowly shook your head. “Not really.”
His brows lifted slightly. “You don’t miss your friends or family?”
You hesitated, eyes dropping to your plate. “There’s not… many people to miss.” you said quietly, then bit into your sandwich again, hoping the motion would end the conversation.
Theo’s expression softened instantly. He didn’t say anything, but his eyes lingered on you a moment longer than before, just a little bit sad.
You let out a small, awkward chuckle, hoping to shake off the heaviness that had settled over the table.
“You don’t have to look at me like that.” you said lightly, trying to sound nonchalant.
Theo blinked. “Like what?”
“Like you feel bad for me.” you clarified, giving him a half-smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.
He opened his mouth to defend himself, but before he could, you tilted your head, studying him. “Is that why you’re talking to me more than usual?”
His reaction was immediate, “No, not at all!” he said quickly, leaning forward slightly as if to make sure you believed him.
You hesitated, then asked, softer this time, “Then why?”
It reminded you of the park the day before when you’d asked the same question but with sharpness in your tone, trying to push him away. This time, though, it came out quieter, genuine, and curious.
Theo chuckled under his breath, the sound low and easy, diffusing the tension that had crept between you. “Is it that hard to believe that I just want to get to know you?” he asked, eyes glinting under the warm diner light. “And to be friends.”
His words made your chest feel oddly tight. You looked away from his gaze, focusing instead on your plate. “Well, I’m not good at having friends.” you murmured.
He shook his head immediately. “That’s not true.”
You looked up, and his expression was firm. “I get it,” he continued. “It might be harder for you to open up. That’s okay. But I just… genuinely want to be your friend. I think you’re cool, you know?” he spoke with a shrug.
That made you blink. “It’s that simple?”
He grinned, leaning back against the booth. “Yeah. It’s that simple.”
You found yourself nodding slowly, still processing his sincerity.
Theo took another bite of his burger, chewing thoughtfully before looking back at you again. “You know, I know you like to keep your distance from everyone at work.”
You frowned slightly, unsure where he was going with this. He noticed and added quickly, “I don’t mean it in a bad way. It’s just… you’re always so formal. Professional. Like there’s this invisible wall between you and everyone else.”
You picked at a fry, pretending not to care even though his words hit closer than you wanted to admit.
He leaned his elbows on the table, studying you with quiet sincerity. “But you don’t have to be like that all the time. Not with us.”
You opened your mouth to respond, but he kept going, his tone gentle. “I don’t know why you are like that,” he said honestly. “But I do know that there are a lot of people who’d also want to be friends with you. You just have to take it easy sometimes… not be so closed off.”
You felt your throat tighten a little. In your head, a dozen memories flashed, all the moments that shaped the way you were. The times when being too open had backfired. When your kindness was mistaken for weakness. When trusting people only led to disappointment.
You wanted to tell him all of that. To explain that it wasn’t just a choice.
But instead, all you managed to say was, “It’s hard.”
Theo nodded immediately, as if he understood more than you expected him to. “Yeah,” he said softly. “I know. But just try, okay?”
You looked back at him and at his small, encouraging smile. The reassurance in his eyes told you that he wasn’t asking for anything in return, just your effort, and something inside you eased just a little.
“So,” he said, raising an eyebrow as he reached for his burger again, “friends?”
Your cheeks warmed at his tone, half teasing and half earnest. “Sure.”
“Good.” he said, satisfied, and took another bite of his burger.
Back at the hotel and in the elevator, he clicked the button for only your floor. You reached out to click the button for his and he stopped you, saying he wanted to walk you to your room. You tried telling him it was unnecessary, but all he did was shoot you a look, lips twitching. “Shhh.”
You sighed but didn’t argue, too tired to. The silence in the elevator only made you more aware of how close he stood next to you, his shoulder brushing yours.
When you reached your floor, he followed right beside you until you stopped in front of your door. You turned to face him, feeling a little awkward now that you arrived and he was still standing there.
“Okay,” you said, fumbling for your keycard. “You can go now.”
Theo let out a small laugh, clearly amused by your stiff tone. His eyes sparkled as he tilted his head slightly. “You’re so awkward, it’s really cute.”
Your eyes widened. “What??”
He just grinned. “Goodnight.” he said, taking a few steps back before turning around and walking down the hall.
You stood there for a second, processing, before shaking your head. “Irritating.” you muttered under your breath.
Inside, your suitcase sat half-open on the floor, clothes spilling out in a mess of exhaustion and procrastination. You looked at it and groaned softly. “I’ll wake up early.” you told yourself, kicking off your shoes and climbing into bed.
The room went quiet except for the faint hum of the air conditioning. You lay there staring at the ceiling, and without meaning to, your mind drifted back to the sound of Theo’s voice.
So friends?
You sighed, pulling the blanket up to your chin.
Why not, you thought. You’d known been with the team for months already, and everyone else on the crew seemed so close.
It wouldn’t hurt to be more friendly with them.
Only a little, you told yourself.
—
The next few weeks of tour passed by in a similar manner. It was a blur of early mornings, flights, and busy schedules. The change in your demeanor was gradual after your conversation with Theo. You were still your same old self, focused, reserved, and brooding, but it showed in small ways.
You started hanging back more with the crew instead of immediately retreating to your hotel room. You laughed more at the jokes that were told and engaged in more meaningful conversations with them. The crew picked up on the shift especially when you began to feel more at ease. It wasn’t a huge transformation, but to everyone who had gotten used to your quiet professionalism, it was enough to make their hands tilt in question.
And with Theo… well.
He had made it his mission to linger in your space as much as possible. No matter the situation, he always seemed to end up near you, tossing comments your way that had you rolling your eyes. And every day, he pushed a little further.
During rehearsals, he’d always find a reason to stand near your camera.
“Shouldn’t you be, you know, rehearsing instead of bothering me?” you’d say without looking up from your viewfinder.
Theo would grin, leaning just enough into your shot to be a nuisance. “I’m giving you good behind the scenes footage.”
“Or ruining everything I’m recording.” you muttered dryly, trying to adjust the focus.
He backed away slightly at your sarcasm. “You always look so serious. It’s kind of intimidating.”
You glanced up at him now. “Good. Maybe you’ll leave me alone.”
He grinned. “Not a chance.”
And for some reason… you were starting to not want him to.
The following week, the “solo day in NYC” videos went live and the response to his video was… overwhelming, to say the least.
You scrolled through the comments:
“This lowkey felt like a short film.”
“Why do I feel like I am there with him.”
“You can tell the person behind the camera really understands him.”
You scrolled through them in bed that night, your stomach twisting strangely. You hadn’t meant for it to come across that way, you’d just captured him how you saw him in the moment.
Later that day while you were backstage helping the crew set up, Theo approached you. His expression was sheepish, his hands tucked into his hoodie pocket.
“So, uh,” he began, glancing at the camera in your hands, “I watched the NYC video.”
You didn’t look up. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” He hesitated, then broke into a small, sincere smile. “It turned out really good. Like… really good.”
You snorted. “It was all you, I just filmed.”
He laughed quietly, rubbing the back of his neck. “No, seriously. You have a talent. The way you filmed and edited it, seriously you’re so talented.”
His words caught you off guard. Compliments never sat easily with you, and you weren’t sure what to do with the warmth that spread in your chest.
You shrugged lightly, eyes flicking toward him. “Well, thank you.”
The first time Theo really felt like he was breaking through to you was a few days later. You were all sitting backstage in a dressing room. The others were sprawled out, half-asleep or watching videos. Theo sat across from you, fidgeting with a phone tripod.
Without warning, he pointed the camera at you.
“Say hi to the vlog,” he announced.
You looked up, deadpan. “No.”
“Come on, it’s just for me.”
“You’re so annoying.”
Theo gasped dramatically, clutching his chest. “Annoying? Me?”
You raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Yes. You.”
He turned to Keeho who was lounging on the couch scrolling through tiktok. “Keeho, do you agree? Am I annoying?”
Keeho didn’t even look up from his phone. “Absolutely.”
You giggled at that, the sound escaping before you could stop it.
Theo turned back to you instantly, catching that sweet little laugh like it was a rare melody. A smile tugged at his lips, softer than his usual teasing grin. “It’s funny,” he said, tilting his head, “the first time I hear you laugh, it’s when I’m being insulted.”
That only made you laugh harder as your shoulders shook a little. His expression was a perfect mix of disbelief and amusement, and the more bewildered he looked, the harder you laughed.
He leaned back in his chair, still smiling to himself as he watched you try to catch your breath. Through all the teasing, he felt triumphant.
It didn’t take long for the others to notice.
Theo wasn’t exactly subtle, they had all quickly noticed how much he seemed to be hanging around you.
One night they were having dinner together in one of their hotel rooms when they confronted him.
“Okay,” Keeho said suddenly, his tone playful but suspicious. “I’m just gonna say it — what’s going on between you two?”
Theo froze mid-bite. “What do you mean?”
Jiung smirked from where he sat on the floor, leaning back on his palms. “Come on. You’ve been glued to her side lately.”
“And we all noticed how she’s changed a bit these past few weeks,” Intak added, grinning.
“How so?” Theo asked, crossing his arms.
“She smiles more,” Keeho said immediately, pointing his chopsticks at him. “Like, way more. You realize how rare that used to be?”
Jiung nodded. “Yeah, and she actually talks to us a lot more, too. You got her to loosen up.”
Theo tried to hide his grin, staring down at his plate. “Maybe she’s just more comfortable with everyone now.”
“Uh-huh,” Keeho said, raising a brow. “Or maybe it’s because of you.”
Intak leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. “Be honest, hyung. Do you like her or something?”
The room went quiet. Theo’s fingers drummed lightly on the table as he thought for a moment. Then, with the same casual tone one might use to comment on the weather, he said, “Yeah.”
All three of them froze mid-chew.
“Wait— what?” Keeho blinked.
Theo shrugged, pretending not to notice their reactions. “Yeah. I do.”
Jiung’s mouth fell open slightly. “You’re serious?”
Theo gave a half-smile. “I mean… since she started working with us, she’s just been… I don’t know, interesting to me. I tried to talk to her before, but she never really gave anyone the time of day.”
Keeho chuckled, nodding. “Oh, I remember that. You’d say hi and she’d just nod and walk off.”
“Exactly,” Theo said, laughing softly. “But after that day in New York, when we hung out— I don’t know. I saw a different side of her. She’s funny, smart, and she actually talks to me now so that helps.”
Intak tilted his head. “Do you think she likes you back?”
Theo hesitated, twirling his chopsticks between his fingers. “I don’t know,” he admitted quietly. “She’s hard to read. But I’m not gonna do anything about it.”
“Why not?” Keeho asked.
“Because she just agreed to try being friends,” Theo said simply. “I’m not gonna mess that up.”
The others nodded slowly, the teasing fading into understanding.
“Fair enough,” Jiung said. “Still, it’s kinda wild seeing you like this.”
Theo only hummed, pushing rice around his plate, but his mind was elsewhere. His thoughts lingered on you and he wondered if you could ever feel the same way.
You slowly began opening up to him more, something Theo did not take for granted.
One night, you found yourself sitting alone by the hotel pool, the water reflecting the soft lights above as your thoughts wander. You were so engrossed in the sight that you didn’t notice him walking up until he was right beside you.
“Taeyang.” you said automatically, turning to greet him.
He froze mid-step, caught completely off guard by the sound of your voice using his real name. His brows lifted slightly, and he looked at you, trying to hold back a smile.
“What’s wrong?” you asked, noticing his reaction.
He chuckled softly and sat down beside you, leaning back on his hands. “You… said my name.” he said simply, eyes still on yours.
You felt your cheeks heat up immediately. “I heard someone in the crew say you like it when people call you that.” you mumbled, looking down at your hands.
He nodded, smiling lightly. “I do.”
You gave a small nod in response and quickly turned your gaze back to the shimmering water, trying to hide the blush creeping across your face.
He leaned a little closer, tilting his head. “What are you doing out here all alone?”
You shrugged lightly, your gaze still fixed on the water.
“Something on your mind?” he asked gently.
You hesitated for a moment, debating whether to give him your usual “nothing,” but there was something in his tone that made you feel brave enough to say it. You looked up at him, meeting his expectant gaze, and finally admitted, “It’s my birthday.”
His eyes widened in surprise, and for a moment he just stared at you. “I… didn’t know.” he said quietly.
You shrugged, trying to downplay it. “It’s not a big deal.” you murmured, forcing a small smile.
Theo didn’t push or say anything else, simply settling into the quiet beside you. He let you take your time, giving you space to open up at your own pace.
After a long pause, you exhaled softly, finally letting your guard down a little. “Since I was young… my parents were always busy,” you began, voice low. “And over the years… they just… stopped caring about birthdays. So I… I don’t really like to celebrate.”
Theo listened quietly, his gaze fixed on you, silent but attentive.
You continued, a bitter sort of laugh escaping you. “I… foolishly stay awake as long as I can… hoping they’ll call or remember. But they never do.”
He didn’t interrupt, just kept his eyes on you, his comforting. You could feel that he wasn’t judging, wasn’t trying to fix anything, he was just… there, letting you speak.
You hesitated for a moment, the words feeling heavy on your tongue, but the quiet patience in Theo’s gaze gave you courage. “I… I guess this is why I am the way I am,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “A lot of it comes from… neglect, I guess. From parents who were always too busy to notice me, or too wrapped up in their own lives to care.”
He nodded slowly, encouraging you to continue without a word.
“I moved around a lot as a kid,” you continued, the memories stirring a mix of frustration and sadness. “Different cities, different schools… never really settling anywhere. I never had the chance to make friends or attachments, because everything always felt temporary. So I… I learned to keep my distance, to not get close to anyone. It just… felt safer that way.”
Theo leaned slightly closer, his presence steady but not intrusive. “That sounds… really hard.” he said quietly, his tone gentle, but there was no pity in it.
You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Yeah… it made me… closed off and distant… I guess I built walls so I wouldn’t get hurt or disappointed.”
You took a deep breath, finally letting your gaze meet his. “I… I guess I’m telling you all this to say that I shouldn’t let it affect me anymore. And… you helped me realize that I don’t have to be like that. So… thank you.”
Theo blinked at you for a moment, caught off guard by the sudden softness in your voice. He shook his head lightly at your words. “You don’t have to thank me.”
You give him a small smile and turn back to the water as the two of you sit in silence, just enjoying each other's presence.
You gave him a small, teasing smirk. “Don’t get used to me being this sentimental.”
Theo raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Oh, don’t worry. I won’t.”
You glanced at the sky, the stars just starting to peek out. “We should probably get some sleep.”
He nodded slowly. “Yeah… probably.”
You pushed yourself up from the edge of the pool, brushing off your hands. “You coming?”
“I’m gonna hang here for a bit.”
You nodded and gave him a small smile. “Alright. Goodnight, then.”
You head up to your room started your usual bedtime routine, your mind still replaying the conversation by the pool. Just as you were about to set your phone down and drift off, a notification lit up the screen: Theo.
Are you awake?
You blinked, fingers hovering over the keyboard before replying: Yes.
A moment later, another message popped up: Open your door.
Confused, you got up and slowly opened your door. There he was, holding a cupcake with a single candle flickering softly. You froze, your heart catching unexpectedly.
“Can I come in?” he asked gently, his tone careful, almost afraid you would say no.
You nodded, stepping aside, still wide-eyed. He entered your room, cupcake in hand, and you followed, your curiosity warring with your shyness. He hesitated for a moment, scanning your face before a soft, reassuring smile broke across his features.
“Your birthday does matter,” he said quietly, almost reverently. “Your life is worth celebrating, and it doesn’t matter if you or anyone else doesn’t see it that way… because I do.”
You were rooted to your spot, overwhelmed by the sincerity in his voice. He cleared his throat gently and began to sing Happy Birthday, his voice low and soft. Step by step, he closed the distance between you, his gaze never leaving yours.
When he finished, he stood just in front of you, holding the cupcake with the flickering candle. “Make a wish.” he prompted, his smile bright but gentle.
You looked into his eyes for a long moment, your chest tightening, before finally glancing down at the candle. With a small breath, you blew it out. Theo’s grin widened as he set the cupcake on the table and when he turned,impulsively, you wrapped your arms around him. He stiffened slightly, caught off guard, but then slowly returned the hug, his hands sliding around your back. He held you there firm against his chest, as if trying to shield you from all the disappointments of past birthdays.
Your head rested against his chest, and you could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. After a moment, you pulled back slightly, and he noticed the glimmer of tears in your eyes.
“Hey…” he murmured softly, brushing one away with his thumb. “I didn’t want you to cry.”
You shook your head lightly, your voice trembling. “That… that’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”
Before you could stop yourself, you pulled him back into another hug. This time, there was no hesitation. He tightened his arms around you, burying his face lightly against your hair. His warmth, his presence, and the gentle weight of his body made you feel safe in a way you hadn’t allowed yourself to feel in years.
You stayed there for what felt like an eternity, letting the quiet comfort between you settle.
—
The final stretch of tour came quickly, and exhaustion was setting in for everyone, even the brief moments of downtime felt fleeting. You could feel the weight of it all settling over the group, everyone was looking forward to finishing and finally getting a little rest.
You tried to show your support for everyone as much as you could in little ways, especially with Theo who was particularly tempered by the fatigue he was trying to hide.
You quietly passed him snacks when you noticed he was skipping meals. You made sure his water bottle was always full, placing it within easy reach without making a fuss. When he paused to catch his breath or wiped sweat from his brow, you offered a quiet smile or a small nod of encouragement.
In the back of your mind you also caught on to the slightest change in your dynamic, though you kept it exactly there, in the back of your mind. You caught him looking your way constantly, and though you pretended to focus on your own work, you felt the warmth of his attention. He’d lean slightly closer when discussing anything or quietly brush his hand against yours when handing something over, just little touches here and there.
He also became bolder with his teasing, playfully nudging you or smirking whenever you did something small for him.
“You've been spoiling me recently.” he’d joke when you handed him a water bottle or passed him a snack.
You’d brush it off with your usual defense, tilting your head and saying, “Don’t get used to it,” or “I’d do this for anyone.”
He never seemed deterred. In fact, his teasing seemed to grow alongside the subtle gestures you continued to make for him, like a game neither of you fully admitted to playing.
And though you pretended to be indifferent, there were moments when his attention made it impossibly hard not to feel it deep in your stomach, a reminder that your small acts of care hadn’t gone unnoticed.
You and Theo spent more time alone than you even realized at first. Late-night talks in one of your hotel rooms, quiet morning walks, sneaking away for coffee and matcha runs.
You talked about everything and nothing. Sometimes, he’d ramble about his interests, other times you’d sit in silence.
One day when you were walking back to the hotel he said, “You know, I thought at one point you were kinda mean.”
You rolled your eyes. “Wow thanks.”
He laughed, shaking his head. “No, listen, now I know you’re actually the sweetest person, you just pretend to be all ‘I’m so mean and stoic. Grrr’.”
You looked at him in disgust. “First of all I don't sound like that. Second of all, when have I ever growled??”
He burst out laughing, delighted at your reaction. “Come on, admit it,” he teased, leaning closer. “You’re so sweet.”
You rolled your eyes. “You’re an idiot.”
Before you could react, he looped an arm around your shoulders from behind, resting his chin near your temple. “You can’t fool me,” he said with a smug smile. “I know you like hearing it.”
You squirmed in his hold, trying to shake him off. “Get off, Taeyang!”
He only laughed harder, holding on just a second longer before finally letting go. You shot him an exasperated glare, but the tiny smile tugging at your lips betrayed you.
—
It was finally their last show, and this time you watched from the crowd as the boys took the stage for the final time.
Theo caught your gaze more than once, and every time, your heart gave a small, traitorous flutter. You’d seen them perform countless times, but this one marked the end of your first tour with them and it felt bittersweet.
When the confetti began to fall during their encore, you slipped backstage before their final song ended. The sound of the crowd still rang through the air when they ran off stage, flushed and breathless, laughter and cheers filling the space. Staff members handed them flowers and a cake while everyone shouted congratulations.
You stood off to the side, smiling softly at the chaos. Then Theo’s eyes started scanning the room until they landed on you. His grin widened instantly, bright and genuine, and you couldn’t help but clap for him.
When things began to settle, he made his way toward you, sweat still glistening on his temples.
“Congrats,” you said, your smile widening. “You did it.”
“Don’t I deserve a hug then?” he asked, half-teasing, half-hopeful.
You blinked. “Is that… necessary?”
He didn’t even bother replying, just pulled you into his arms before you could protest. You squirmed at first, muttering something that was drowned out by your lips pressing against his chest, but your resistance melted fast. His arms were warm and solid around you and without realizing it, you squeezed him a little tighter.
When you finally pulled back, your face was flushed, but your tone was sincere. “Seriously, though—you guys were amazing. The whole tour, not just tonight. You should be proud.”
His teasing expression softened. “Thank you,” he said quietly, meaning every word.
Someone called his name from across the room, pulling him back to reality. You gave him a gentle nod. “Go,” you said. “Enjoy the moment. You earned it.”
He hesitated for a second, part of him didn’t want to leave, but then he smiled at you one more time before walking away, disappearing into the sea of celebration.
—
The company arranged a rooftop dinner celebration and small party for everyone at the hotel and you all changed and freshened up before heading to the roof.
When you got up there, most people had already arrived. The rooftop was buzzing with conversation, laughter, and the clinking of glasses. Fairy lights crisscrossed above the tables, and the warm evening breeze carried faint traces of music from the speakers.
You glanced around, spotting clusters of staff and members talking. You made your way to the drink table and poured yourself something cold, taking a moment to enjoy the small reprieve from the chaos of the past few weeks.
When you turned around, your eyes met Theo’s from across the space. He was standing with Soul and Intak, laughing at something they said until he noticed you. His grin faltered and you waved lightly. His gaze trailed down your body, over your dress and down to your heels, a little too noticeably, before you turned and walked toward another videographer you worked closely with. You could practically feel his eyes on you as you chatted, pretending not to notice.
When it was time for dinner, you sat with some of the staff while Theo joined his members at another table. You tried to focus on the conversation around you, but every so often, you’d catch that same heavy gaze lingering your way. You’d look up just in time to see him glance away, poorly pretending to listen to Keeho talk.
After dinner, the music picked up as people danced and sang. You stayed for a while, smiling, nodding, taking it all in, but it wasn’t really your scene. So after a few more minutes, you quietly slipped away toward the elevators.
You pressed the button and stepped inside. The doors had nearly closed when a hand darted through the gap, forcing them back open. Theo stumbled in, a little breathless, one hand braced against the wall.
You blinked at him.
He huffed, straightening up with a small pout. “Were you avoiding me?”
Your brows furrowed. “What?”
“You didn’t talk to me all night.” he said, his tone a mix of teasing and genuine offense.
A laugh slipped out of you before you could stop it. “I wasn’t avoiding you, Taeyang.”
He nodded slowly. “Why are you leaving early?”
You shrugged, pressing the button for your floor. “It’s just… not really my vibe. What about you?”
His answer came easily. “Because I’d rather be with you.”
You froze, heat creeping up your neck. You quickly covered it with a roll of your eyes and a fake yawn. “What if I don’t want to hang out? I could use some sleep.”
He leaned back against the wall with a grin that was far too pleased. “Then that’s not my problem.”
You turned away, cheeks warm despite your best effort to seem unfazed, as the elevator hummed quietly around you.
You reached your room and swiped your keycard, holding the door open for him. Theo hesitated for a second before stepping inside, the soft click of the door closing echoing through the quiet room. He slipped off his jacket, tossing it onto a nearby chair, and rolled up his sleeves. You tried not to look but your eyes still flicked to the movement, catching the veins along his forearms before you quickly turned away.
You needed air.
Crossing the room, you pushed open the balcony doors and stepped outside. The night breeze met you immediately and it cooled your burning skin. You leaned against the railing, inhaling deeply, trying to calm the flutter in your chest.
A moment later, you heard the door slide again. Theo stepped out, his hair slightly tousled from the wind. He sank onto the small couch near the railing, his elbows resting on his knees as he looked out at the view. For a few quiet moments, neither of you said anything.
You finally turned toward him, resting your arms on the railing. “How are you feeling?” you asked softly. “Now that it’s over, I mean.”
He tilted his head back, thinking. “Relieved,” he admitted, exhaling with a faint laugh. “But it’s always sad when a tour ends.”
“Yeah… I get that.”
He looked up at you, his expression softening. “What about you? How was your first tour with us?”
You smiled faintly, eyes glimmering at the memories from each city and country visited. “Incredible,” you said after a moment. “I’ll never forget it.”
He hummed in reply and you gazed up at the sky.
When you finally turned your head back, he was still watching you, the faintest curve of a smile playing on his lips. His gaze lingered on your hair, your eyes, the way the moonlight shone down over your face.
“You look beautiful.” he said quietly.
You froze, heart skipping a beat, unsure what to do with the warmth creeping up your neck. Before you could even think of how to respond, Theo’s lips twitched into a faint smile. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you all night,” he said, voice low, “just so I could tell you that.”
You tried to brush it off, mumbling something about him being tired, but he stood up from the couch and stepped closer, until he was in front of you and your back was pressed against the railing. The quiet between you thickened.
“I mean it,” he said again, firmer this time. “You’re beautiful.”
You glanced away, trying to collect yourself, but his gaze didn’t waver. He looked down with a small, shy smile before admitting, “I’ve always thought so. Since the first time I met you.”
That made your breath catch. You turned back to him, curiosity flickering in your eyes.
He looked up again, meeting your stare. “You know,” he continued, leaning in just a little, “I had a little crush on you back then, when you first started at FNC. But every time I tried to talk to you…” He chuckled softly. “You’d shut me down.”
You swallowed hard, the sound loud in the still air. “Sounds like me,” you murmured, half-embarrassed, half-amused.
Theo hummed in agreement, his smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Yeah. But you’re not the person I thought you were.” His voice lowered, quiet and sincere. “You’re kind. And gentle. And sweet. And caring…”
He trailed off, eyes falling to your lips before he spoke again, barely above a whisper. “I really want to kiss you right now.”
Your pulse thundered in your ears as he leaned in, slow enough to let you pull away if you wanted to but you didn’t move.
“Tell me to stop…” he murmured, his breath brushing against your skin.
You didn’t say a word.
So he closed the remaining space, pressing his lips softly, almost hesitantly, against yours.
He started slow and tentative, but as the kiss deepened, you found yourself melting into it. Your hands moved without thinking, clinging to the fabric of his shirt like a lifeline. He felt warm and solid beneath your fingers.
Theo pulled back just enough to let you breathe before pressing his lips to yours again, harder this time. His hand reached up to cup your cheek, his thumb tracing gentle circles on your jawline. You moaned into the kiss, feeling your body flush further with heat.
He walked you back slowly, hands coming up to massage lightly over where your back had been pressed against the railing while simultaneously fitting your body snug against his. He sat down on the couch, pulling you on top of him in the process.Your hands rested on his shoulders as you kissed, until you had to pull back for a breath. His lips transitioned to your neck, trailing kisses down your throat and you arched your back towards him, offering him more access, and he took it, his tongue dancing along your skin.
"Taeyang…" you moaned out his name, barely recognizing it as your own voice.
He smiled against your neck, kissing lightly as he mumbled, "You sound so pretty."
You pulled his lips back against yours, kissing him deeply. Your hands slid around his neck, tugging gently at his hair. He groaned into the kiss, arching against you. But suddenly, doubt began to creep into your mind. Wasn’t this happening way too fast? What if you were letting yourself get too close? You weren’t used to anyone actually caring this much, and the thought of being so vulnerable made your chest tighten.
And then the familiar whisper of self-doubt followed: Why would he even want this? He probably doesn’t really care about me, he’s just being nice.
Your lips were beginning to stutter against his, hands loosening in his hair. The warmth of the moment with him felt real, yes, but your mind kept pulling you back, reminding you of the walls you’d built and the years of being overlooked. You tried to push the thoughts away, but they lingered, stubborn and insistent.
What if he changed his mind? What if he got tired of you, just like everyone else eventually did? The fear of being left behind clawed at the edges of your mind.
And deeper still, memories of past hurt surfaced, flashes of all the times you had been disappointed, ignored, or abandoned, making your chest ache. Every instinct screamed to pull back, to protect yourself before it was too late, even as your body ached to stay close to him.
Theo’s brow furrowed as he noticed your sudden stillness, the tension in your body. “Hey… are you okay?” he asked softly, reaching out.
Something inside you snapped back into the harsh reality of your fears. You climbed off him quickly, pressing your back against the balcony railing, putting as much distance as possible between the two of you as your breaths came fast and shallow.
Theo rose immediately, concern etched across his face, taking a careful step toward you. “What happened? Did I—”
You raised your hand, shaking your head slightly. “No… you… you should leave.” you said, voice tight, trembling despite your effort to sound steady.
His confusion and hurt flashed in his eyes. “Wait… what did I do wrong?”
You felt your chest tighten, tears threatening to spill over. “Theo… please,” you whispered, your voice cracking. “Just… leave.”
He stood there, frozen for a moment, his gaze lingering on yours as if searching for some clue. Your own eyes watered, guilt twisting through you because you could see how much you were hurting him, even as you were trying to protect yourself.
Finally, Theo nodded slowly, his jaw tight, shoulders heavy with the weight of your words. Without another word, he turned and walked away, leaving you rooted to the spot.
Once the sound of his footsteps faded, you sank to the floor, your back against the railing. Your hands trembled as you brought them to your face, gasping for air, trying to calm your racing heart—but the dam broke. You cried, silent sobs wracking your body as the mixture of fear, guilt, and longing surged through you.
Even with him gone, the ache of what you wanted and what you feared twisted inside you, leaving you raw and trembling on the balcony, all alone.
You only managed to get an hour of sleep before your alarm went off. Your eyes felt heavy, head pounding from exhaustion and from everything that had happened the night before. You dressed quietly, movements robotic, forcing yourself to focus on packing up your last few things before heading downstairs to the lobby.
The group was already gathered when you arrived, the boys clustered together with their luggage. Your heart jumped when you spotted Theo among them, also visibly tired, his hair still damp from a shower. You quickly averted your gaze, mumbling a brief greeting to the staff before busying yourself with checking your bag to distract yourself.
You didn’t look at him once.
Even when you could feel his gaze flickering toward you, pleading for you to look at him, you pretended not to notice. You kept your focus on the floor, on your phone, on anything that wasn’t him. The tension between you was heavy.
At the airport, things didn’t get easier. You walked ahead of the group when you could, always finding a reason to sit far from them, to double-check your equipment, to scroll mindlessly on your phone. Thankfully, the seating arrangements for the long flight home put the boys in first class while you and the staff sat in economy. For the first time, you were grateful for the uncomfortable seats.
You spent most of the flight pretending to sleep, headphones in, trying to drown out your thoughts, but every time you closed your eyes, you saw him again. The confusion in his face. The hurt. .
When the plane finally landed, everyone looked exhausted but relieved to be back home. The group gathered near baggage claim, chatting quietly as they waited for the company cars that would take them to the building where their own cars were parked.
You stood apart from them, your hands gripping the handle of your suitcase, the weight of the last twenty-four hours pressing down on you. You couldn’t take it anymore, the proximity, the guilt, the way your heart twisted just knowing he was nearby.
So, before anyone could say anything, you turned and started walking toward the exit.
He called your name.
Your heart clenched at the sound of his voice and the desperation behind it. You froze for a split second but forced yourself to keep moving, speeding up your pace until you slipped through the automatic doors and out into the cool air.
Behind you, Theo stood still, watching you leave with a heavy expression, fist clenched tightly by his side. The only thing he could do was wonder if he’d pushed too far, or if he’d ever get the chance to fix what went wrong.
The company had given everyone a well-deserved week off after months of nonstop traveling. Normally, you would have been grateful for the break, taking the chance to catch up on sleep, to rest your body, maybe work on a side project. But instead, it only made the quiet of your apartment feel unbearable.
You tried to distract yourself with editing, with cleaning, with anything that could keep your mind busy. But your thoughts always drifted back to him. The way he laughed. The way he’d hover near your camera during rehearsals. The way he would always try so hard to make you feel wanted. You hadn’t realized how used to being around Theo you’d become until now, when his absence felt like a hollow space you couldn’t fill.
But you ruined it.
You told yourself it was for the best, that it would’ve happened eventually anyway. He would’ve gotten tired of you, of your walls, your distance, your inability to let anyone stay too close for too long. That’s just how things always went.
Still… you couldn’t help but hope. Hope that maybe, just maybe, he’d text. Or call. Or send some dumb picture like he used to. But your phone stayed silent, and the longer it did, the more reality began to set in.
By the third night, the loneliness became almost too much to manage. The quiet of your apartment pressed against your ears until you felt like you were on the verge of a breakdown. Eventually you started to wonder how you’d gotten so used to being like this, so accustomed to isolation that it had become your normal.
Without Theo, without his light, his warmth, the darkness around you felt colder and so much harder to escape.
You mentally prepared yourself as much as you could to be back in the FNC building. You had no filming schedules with the boys that day, but you knew they’d be there.
When you arrived, you headed straight to your office, keeping your head down and your earphones in as if that alone could make you invisible. You buried yourself in editing, putting together clips from the tour your eyes blurred and your shoulders ached. You didn’t even leave for lunch, too afraid of running into him in the halls.
When the building finally began to empty and the lights dimmed, you packed your things and lingered a little longer just to be sure. By the time you stepped into the quiet hallway, it was nearly dark outside. The only sound was the soft hum of the air vents and your own heartbeat in your ears.
You reached the elevator, pressing the button with a shaky hand. You waited for the elevator to reach you, and the metallic doors slid open, revealing the only person you had been avoiding.
Theo.
The second his eyes met yours, the world seemed to still. Neither of you said a word. Seconds passed, stretching painfully into what felt like hours.
Your throat tightened, and before you could think twice, you turned sharply, deciding to take the stairs instead. But before you could take a step, his hand wrapped around your wrist and he tugged you in just before the doors closed. You stumbled from the force, your chest colliding with his. The familiar scent of his cologne engulfed your senses, a scent you'd missed more than you cared to admit, and it made your heart race.
You immediately pushed yourself off him, your breath unsteady as you refused to meet his eyes. The enclosed space of the elevator didn't help, and you wondered what you did in your past life to deserve this torment.
The elevator ride down is silent and suffocating. The hum of the machinery fills the cramped space, and yet it feels deafening. Neither of you say a word, and somehow that makes it worse.
When the doors slide open, you rush out immediately, desperate for air and distance. But his footsteps echo behind you.
He says your name so softly, so quietly, and this time it stops you in your tracks. You turn around slowly, your heart pounding as you finally meet his gaze.
And that’s when you see what you’d done to him. The exhaustion in his eyes. The sadness sitting heavy on his face. The faint slouch in his posture.
His voice is gentle when he finally speaks. “Can we talk?”
Something in his tone cracks through your defenses. It’s not angry or demanding… just tired. So tired that it makes your throat tighten. You fight to keep your expression unreadable, to slip back into that calm, unbothered version of yourself that he used to know.
“There’s not much to say.” you manage.
He shakes his head slightly, eyes locked on yours. “That’s a lie.”
You open your mouth, then close it again, and just as you’re about to turn away, a loud growl erupts from your stomach.
The sound echoes embarrassingly in the quiet lobby.
Your eyes widen and your cheeks flush instantly, burning hot as you look away.
Theo blinks, and then his brows knit together. “Did you… eat today?”
You want to lie. You want to tell him yes, that you’re fine, that he doesn’t need to worry. But the truth slips out before you can stop it. You shake your head, eyes still averted.
He exhales softly, nodding once. “Let’s go eat.”
You open your mouth to protest, but nothing comes out. So instead, you just nod faintly and follow him, your steps quiet beside his as you both make your way into the street.
You’re quiet the entire way to the restaurant. Neither of you speak, afraid that one wrong word might shatter everything. When you reach the restaurant and finally sit down, the air is still heavy, the only sound coming from the soft clinking of dishes and the faint slurping of noodles between you.
You find yourself both comforted and nervous. Comforted because his presence, despite everything, still feels familiar and safe. Nervous because you don’t know what to say, how to explain the mess in your head, or whether you even should.
When the meal ends and the bill arrives, you slip your card into the pocket but Theo just looks at you for a moment before gently sliding it back across the table.
You stare at him, wanting to argue, but the look in his eyes leaves no room for it. So you just exhale, defeated, and let him handle it.
Once outside, the cool night air greets you. You stand together for a moment and he asks, “Do you live close?”
You nod. “Yeah, just a few blocks.”
“I’ll walk you.” he says simply.
“You don’t have to…” you reply immediately, already shaking your head.
He gives you that same look again and it reminds you of that night in New York when he walked you back to your hotel room even when you insisted he didn’t need to. You’d felt safe then. You feel that again now, and so once again you accept the defeat with a soft sigh.
The walk starts off quiet, footsteps echoing softly against the pavement. You can tell he wants to say something when his jaw flexes slightly and his hands fidget in his pockets. Eventually, he exhales and breaks the silence.
“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, his tone almost uncertain. “For making you uncomfortable… that night.”
You stop walking. He keeps talking before you can interrupt. “I wasn’t planning on doing that, or even confessing to you at all. I just—” he pauses, glancing down at the ground, “—I told myself I’d keep it to myself. But I couldn’t help it.”
You take a deep breath, your chest tightening as you finally look at him. “Theo… you didn’t make me uncomfortable.”
He turns toward you, brow furrowed in confusion.
“I don’t want you thinking that’s why I stopped,” you say, shaking your head firmly. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You didn’t… you didn’t hurt me. So please, stop blaming yourself.”
He studies you for a long moment, searching your expression. His voice comes out fragile this time.
“Then why did you stop?”
You open your mouth, but no words come out at first. The weight of his question lingers and you finally take a shaky breath.
“I stopped because…” you trail off, your throat tightening, “because there’s no point, Theo.”
His brows knit together, confusion flashing across his face. You force yourself to keep going, even though every word feels like it’s scraping against your chest.
“I know it won’t work out. It never has with me.” You gesture vaguely between the two of you, unable to hold his gaze for long. “Relationships, love, trust… it always gets messed up. It’s easier to just accept that than pretend.”
Your words come out harsher than you intended, as if you’re trying to convince yourself more than him. “I’m just… not the type of person made for being with someone. And that’s okay.”
For a moment, there’s only silence. You finally look up at him, expecting him to be angry, or maybe relieved. But instead, he just looks at you completely bewildered, heartbroken even. His eyes search yours, as if he can’t quite believe the things you’re saying about yourself.
When he finally speaks, his voice is low but full of emotion. “Why can’t you believe that you’re deserving of love?”
The words hit you like a punch to the guy. You inhale sharply, your composure cracking. The sincerity in his voice and the pain in his eyes is too much. You look away quickly, blinking back the sudden sting in your eyes.
“Theo—” you start, but he cuts you off immediately, his tone firm but not harsh.
“No,” he says, shaking his head. “I’m not gonna listen to you talk about yourself like that. Like you don’t deserve love. Because you do.”
You stare at him, stunned by the sudden fire in his voice. “It’s not that simple,” you say quietly, your throat tightening again. “It’s going to be too hard, Theo. You’ll get tired or I’ll ruin it. I’m not your problem to deal with.”
“Please! Please be my problem!”
Your breath catches. He steps closer, close enough that you can see the earnest desperation in his expression.
“You keep talking like you’re some burden I’d eventually want to get rid of,” he says, his voice trembling slightly. “But I don’t see you that way. I never have. I already know you push people away. I know you hold back because you’re scared people will leave and you’ll get hurt.”
You open your mouth to argue, but he doesn’t give you the chance.
“You don’t get to decide what I want,” he continues, taking another slow step forward. “And I’ve already decided. What I want is you.”
You blink hard, feeling your chest ache under the weight of his words. He exhales shakily, his tone gentler now.
“I’m not asking you to be perfect. I just want you to stop running from the idea that someone could actually stay. Because I’m not leaving, not unless you make me.”
For a moment, neither of you move. You can only stand there, heart pounding, eyes glistening, wondering how he could possibly mean every word, and terrified because a part of you believed him.
He steps closer until there’s barely an inch between you, his eyes searching yours like he’s afraid any sudden movements will scare you off. Then, gently, his hands come up to cup your cheeks. His palms are warm against your skin, thumbs brushing over the faint trace of tears that hadn’t fallen.
“Please,” he whispers, his voice thick with sincerity. “Just try—for me. And I’ll prove to you that this can work.”
For a long moment, you can’t speak. The quiet trust in his expression makes your head spin. Somehow, despite every fear, every wall, every doubt screaming in your mind… you nod. Slowly, but surely.
A breath of relief escapes him, and then he’s pulling you into his arms—so tight that he lifts you and your toes barely brush the ground. You sink into his hold, your hands clutching the back of his shirt.
He buries his face into your neck, breathing you in like he’s been starving for the comfort of you. His voice is low and rough against your ear. “You have no idea how hard this week was without you.”
Your throat tightens, guilt curling in your stomach. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, but he just shakes his head against you, his lips brushing your skin.
“Shh,” he murmurs, his hold firm and gentle all at once. “You don’t have to be sorry. You’re here now.”
When he finally sets you down, you keep your eyes on him, your heart hammering. The words come out before you can second-guess them. “I’ll try.”
The smile that spreads across his face is blinding, pure, unfiltered happiness. And the way he looks at you like you’ve just handed him the world makes heat rush to your cheeks.
He tilts his head, his grin turning playful. “If I kiss you, are you gonna push me off again?”
You roll your eyes and shove lightly at his chest, though your lips are already twitching with a smile. “You’re so annoying.”
He laughs, a soft, joyous sound that melts the last bit of tension between you and before you can say anything else, his hand finds your cheek again, and he pulls you into a sweet, lingering kiss.
He pulls away just enough to press a soft kiss to your forehead. The simple gesture sends warmth rushing to your cheeks, and before you can even recover, he grins and squeezes them gently between his fingers.
“You’re so cute.” he says with that teasing tone that never fails to fluster you.
You groan, swatting lightly at his chest. “Stop.”
But you don’t move away, and that only makes him chuckle, his laughter rumbling against you. He reaches down, effortlessly finding your hand, and interlocks his fingers with yours as the two of you start walking again. He swings your joined hands playfully, and even though you roll your eyes, there’s a small smile tugging at your lips.
When you finally reach your apartment, you hesitate, nerves bubbling in your chest before you blurt out, “Do you… want to come in?”
He smiles softly, his eyes lighting up in that familiar way. “Of course.”
You lead him inside, suddenly self-conscious as he takes in your space. “This place is so you.” he murmurs, and something about the way he says it makes your heart flutter.
He sits on the couch as you grab two bottles of water from the fridge. You hand him one before sitting beside him, careful to leave a respectable distance between you. He notices immediately, amusement flickering in his gaze before he simply closes the gap himself, draping an arm around your shoulders and tucking you against his side.
You try not to overthink it. “What do you want to do?” you ask quietly.
He exhales, the sound heavy and content all at once. “Just this.” he says, leaning his head back with a sigh. A yawn slips out, and you can’t help but smile.
“Tired?” you ask softly.
He nods, his voice low. “Yeah. It’s been… an exhausting week.”
You hum in agreement, then glance up at him nervously. “Do you want to… go to sleep?”
He meets your eyes and smiles faintly. “Yeah.”
You stand and motion toward your bedroom. “Come on.”
Your heart races as you lead him inside. You grab a change of clothes and mumble something about washing up before slipping into the bathroom. When you return, face washed and hair down, he’s already sprawled across your bed like he owns it, one arm behind his head, the other lazily resting at his side. His eyes are closed and you think he's fallen asleep.
You pull the covers back and climb in stiffly, careful not to wake him, your back facing him. The room falls quiet except for the sound of your steady breaths until you feel his arm slide around your waist.
He pulls you closer, tucking you snugly against his chest. Your body instantly softens in his hold, the tension melting away as his lips brush a soft, sleepy kiss against your shoulder.
Your mind feels at ease in his arms, any negative thoughts finally pushed out and replaced by him.
so this is like a hell of a fic. wonderful and amazing. i love theo and love the way he is depicted here, and the progression of their relationship is so believable in the absolute best way possible. love this fic to pieces, godddd omfg
Summary: When Keeho texts you that Jiung needs you after a rough day, you do your best to make him feel better and offer him comfort in an unexpected way.
Pairing: Jiung x reader
Genre: fluff, slight angst
Word count: 1.3k
Authors note: A gentle reminder that sometimes talking about it isn't the best option and simply being there for the person is. <3
—
Keeho: I think he needs you
As soon as your phone screen lit up with the message, your keys were in hand, shoes barely slipped on and you were out the door.
You had felt like Jiung was a little off that day from his earlier messages insisting he was "fine". You knew he had a tendency to keep his struggles to himself as to not feel like he's burdening others with his problems, an issue you two had been working on. Lately, he has been really good with communicating his feelings to you and you were grateful for that, but you knew there would still be times like this where he felt selfish for leaning on you too much, as if the weight of his problems would make you realize it simply wasn't worth being with him.
All you could really do was be there for him and offer your reassurances. You knocked on the door of the dorm and after a moment, Keeho opened it with a tired smile. He made room for you to enter as he gave you a quick side hug with a whispered, "Thank you for coming."
You smiled softy at him. "Did he mention anything specific that was wrong or..." you trailed off. Keeho shook his head lightly.
"You know how he can get sometimes, but he was making a lot of mistakes during practice which was fine, but we could all tell he was being hard on himself. We tried to tell him it was okay but he kind of shut down. I think he's lost in his head right now." Keeho explained.
You hummed in acknowledgment. It didn't surprise you but you felt a subtle ache deep in the back of your chest at the thought of your angel being hard on himself, especially knowing how talented he was. "He's in his room?" Keeho nodded and you thanked him as he gave you a pat on the back for support.
As you reached Jiung's room, you softly tapped your knuckles against the door and then pushed it open to enter. Your eyes locked onto Jiung lying on his back in bed, gaze stuck to the ceiling. You could immediately tell from his face that he had had a rough day. As you walked over to his bed, his eyes drifted from the ceiling to you, and he sat up as a lazy smile took over his face.
"Hey angel, what are you doing here?" He said in that soft voice you loved so much.
As you stopped in front of him he took your hand in his and gently raised it to his lips, planting a soft kiss on your knuckles as butterflies rustled in your belly.
"I just missed you. And I wanted to check on you and make sure you're okay, you sounded kinda off on the phone earlier."
You brought your hand that wasn't occupied up to his face and gently brushed your thumb across his cheek bone lovingly. He instantly leaned into your touch.
"I'm okay my love. Work is just a little more stressful now than usual but it's okay." You nodded at his response. You didn't want to push him into talking about, you wanted him to open up because he truly wanted to.
He moved over to the other side of his bed to give you room to lie next to him. As you settled into his bed, you both face each other, and he links the hands resting between you two together. Jiung didn't like skinship all that much, besides the occasional hug and cuddle, this is usually how he expressed his physical affection. You didn't mind, as your love languages centered more on quality time and acts of service, but you were the one that would usually initiate physical touch.
As he lovingly caressed your hand with his thumb, you both stared into each other's eyes, allowing the silence to wrap around you two like a thick blanket. You reached out to gently move a piece of hair that was getting caught in his eye and his lips quirked up.
"Angel, when I came in what were you thinking about."
You could see the hesitation brewing behind his eyes. He swallowed and opened his mouth but no words came out.
"It's okay, you don't have to tell me." You gently whispered.
He casted his eyes onto your intertwined hands, looking into your eyes seemingly too intimidating.
"Baby, it’s not that I don’t want to tell you," he said softly, his thumb still brushing over your hand like it grounded him. "It’s just… there’s so much going on in my head, all tangled together, and I don’t even know where to start or how to let it out." His gaze dropped for a moment before lifting back to yours, a faint vulnerability flickering there. "But when you’re here… the thoughts get quieter. And it's easier to breathe."
Your chest ached at his words. You gave his hand a reassuring squeeze, your voice gentle. "I understand," you said sincerely. "And I'll be here whenever you’re ready, in whatever way you need."
He exhaled, almost like the breath itself carried away a fraction of the weight he’d been holding, and for a moment, you just stayed there, fingers intertwined, letting the comfort between you fill the silence.
"I'm gonna go grab some water."
You nodded, watching as he slipped out of bed. You didn’t think much of it, but when he returned a minute later, there was something subtle in the way he climbed back in, slightly closer than before, his arm brushing yours as he settled beside you.
Without thinking, you reached out, fingers threading gently through his hair. "Pretty," you murmured, the word slipping out without hesitation. He let out a shy laugh, leaning ever so slightly into your touch.
Your fingertips kept stroking his hair, and you felt him shift, his arm coming to rest lightly around your waist. It was hesitant, like he wasn’t sure how close he was allowed to get. You nudged yourself closer, enough to make it more comfortable for him, but still, his body seemed to hold back.
You were slightly confused. It wasn't as if you guys have never cuddled before.
You could feel the quiet restraint, the uncertainty. It must have had to do with the thoughts stuck in his head. So you decided to close the gap yourself, gently guiding him until his head rested against your chest. One hand cradled the back of his head while his arms instinctively tightened around your waist, this time without hesitation.
He melted into you slowly, like he’d been waiting for permission to rest there all along. He took a deep breath and slowly released it, gentle nuzzling further into you.
You kept your touch steady, running your fingers through his hair while your other hand rubbed slow, soothing circles along his back. His breathing began to deepen, but you noticed the faintest tremor ripple through his body.
“I’m so tired,” he whispered, so small and fragile it almost broke you.
You lifted his head just enough to see his face, and your heart twisted at the sight—his eyes glassy, tears clinging to his lashes before spilling over. You caught them with your hands, brushing them away with the gentlest touch.
“Jiung,” you whispered, your voice tender, “my sweet boy. It’s okay, I’m here. You can rest now.”
You guided his head back down to your chest, holding him close, realizing with a pang of affection why he had been so hesitant earlier. He hadn’t known how to ask for your comfort, even when he needed it most.
You pressed a soft kiss to the top of his head, your arms wrapping around him protectively. You stayed like that, stroking his hair and holding him steady, until his breathing evened out and the weight of his body grew heavy against you, finally being able to rest in the safety of your arms.
NOOO poor jiung but i totally get it too. hope everyone has someone to lean on for comfort with as much vulnerability and support as yn and jiung in this fic. lots of love :( <3
pairing : brother’s best friend! jiung x fem! reader
synopsis : He’s always been your brother’s best friend — calm, kind, always around. But when he starts showing up a little more often, and staying a little longer, you realize that home might have quietly started to mean him.
genre : slice of life, fluff, comfort, slow burn, friends to lovers, soft
warnings : none
author’s note : requested by anon ! 🫶
word count : 4.3k
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You always know when Jiung is at your house.
The sound of the front door opening is different — softer somehow, followed by his quiet “hey, I’m here,” and your brother’s loud footsteps thudding down the hall.
Then there’s laughter, voices colliding in that easy, familiar rhythm that’s been part of your home for years.
It used to feel normal.
Comforting, even.
Now it just makes your chest ache a little.
You’re in the kitchen when Jiung appears, hair slightly tousled from the wind, his smile already tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Hey,” he says, voice warm, soft — that same tone he’s always used when talking to you.
Friendly. Effortless. Dangerous.
“Hey,” you reply, pretending to be focused on pouring juice.
He leans casually against the doorway, watching you with that small, amused expression he always seems to have. “You always hide in the kitchen when I come over,” he teases.
You shrug. “Someone has to make sure my brother doesn’t eat everything before dinner.”
He laughs — that soft, full sound that somehow makes the whole room feel lighter.
From the living room, your brother yells, “Jiung! You’re not flirting with my sister again, are you?”
Jiung shakes his head, still smiling. “Never. I’m a saint.”
You roll your eyes, but your heart beats faster anyway.
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Later that evening, they’re sprawled across the couch, controllers in hand, the screen flashing colors.
You’re curled up at the other end with a blanket, pretending to scroll on your phone while half-listening to their conversation.
Jiung’s concentration face is unfairly pretty — his brow furrowed, lips pressed together, the corner of his mouth twitching when he’s about to win.
You try not to stare.
“Guess she picked her side,” your brother says, gesturing at you when Jiung looks over. “She’s rooting for you. Traitor.”
“I’d root for whoever’s losing,” you say.
Jiung glances at you, eyes glinting. “Then I guess I’ll have to lose on purpose.”
Your brother groans. “Stop being weird, man.”
Jiung just laughs, and you bite back your own smile. Because it’s easier to pretend his words don’t mean anything — easier than wondering if maybe they do.
The next morning, you wake to the faint clinking of mugs in the kitchen.
It’s too early for your brother to be up, and when you peek through the doorway, you see Jiung instead — barefoot, in an oversized hoodie, pouring coffee like he lives there.
“Morning,” you mumble.
He turns, smiling when he sees you. “Hey. Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. Your brother’s still asleep.”
“It’s fine. You’re here early.”
He shrugs. “Couldn’t sleep. Figured I’d come over and steal your coffee.”
You raise an eyebrow. “So you came here instead of making your own?”
He grins. “Yours tastes better.”
You don’t tell him it’s because you started using the brand he once mentioned liking.
He leans against the counter, eyes still a little sleepy. “You’ve got bed hair,” he says softly, and before you can respond, he reaches forward, brushing a strand away from your face.
His touch is light — barely there — but it lingers, like static.
Your breath catches.
Then the moment breaks when your brother stumbles in, yawning loudly. “Man, why are you both awake? It’s a Sunday.”
Jiung pulls back instantly, smile shifting into something easy again. “Because we’re productive members of society.”
You roll your eyes, trying to ignore the warmth still blooming across your skin.
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Over the next few weeks, Jiung keeps showing up.
Sometimes with your brother, sometimes on his own. Sometimes with takeout, sometimes with a sheepish smile and a “hey, I was in the neighborhood.”
He helps you carry groceries when your brother’s too lazy, stays to watch movies, or talks with you on the porch when the night feels too heavy to sit through alone.
And slowly, without meaning to, he starts to feel like part of the rhythm of your days.
There’s something about Jiung that’s steady.
He never rushes you, never makes things complicated. When he listens, it’s like he’s really there — not just waiting to talk. When you laugh, his eyes soften like you’re the only thing worth looking at.
You know you shouldn’t read into it.
You know it’s dangerous, this quiet closeness that grows between the cracks of friendship and something else.
But Jiung is warmth in human form, and you’re just a little cold sometimes.
So you let yourself stay near him.
Even if it means pretending it doesn’t mean anything.
One evening, you’re both sitting outside while your brother’s out. Jiung brought pizza, and the sky is painted in slow colors — lavender and gold, fading into blue.
“You ever think about leaving this place?” he asks suddenly.
You glance at him. “Leaving?”
He nods, looking thoughtful. “Yeah. Like, just… going somewhere else. Somewhere quiet. By the sea, maybe.”
You smile faintly. “You? The city boy?”
He laughs softly. “Hey, I can adapt. I just think it’d be nice. Slower. You could breathe easier there.”
You hum in agreement, watching him take a bite of pizza. There’s something wistful in his expression, something that tugs at your chest.
“Would you go alone?” you ask quietly.
He looks at you then — really looks — and his voice comes out gentle. “I don’t think I’d want to.”
And for a moment, it feels like he’s saying something else entirely.
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Later, when you say goodbye at the door, he lingers like he doesn’t really want to leave.
“She’s gonna make me late again,” he jokes, referring to your brother, who’s already inside changing shoes. “You’d think I’d learn by now.”
“You like it too much here to leave on time,” you tease.
He laughs under his breath, the kind of sound that stays with you long after he’s gone.
When you close the door behind him, you realize your cheeks hurt from smiling too much.
And you wonder — not for the first time — if Jiung knows just how dangerous he is when he’s kind.
Your brother’s trip isn’t supposed to be a big deal — just a short work retreat that leaves the house quieter than usual. Still, he looks worried when he’s zipping up his bag.
“You’ll be fine, right? Jiung’s gonna check in on you.”
You wave him off. “I’m not twelve.”
“Yeah, but the house feels empty without me. Admit it.”
You laugh. “Sure, whatever helps you sleep on your business-class flight.”
When the car finally pulls away, the quiet lands all at once — like dust settling after years of motion. You stand in the doorway for a moment, watching the street, until you hear the faint hum of a familiar engine.
Jiung’s car.
He steps out carrying a small overnight bag and that easy smile.
“Hey. Your brother told me to make sure you don’t burn the place down.”
You raise an eyebrow. “What’s that — the emergency-stay bag?”
He shrugs, amused. “Just in case you get lonely.”
You tell him you won’t, but somehow he ends up on your couch that evening anyway.
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The first night is unremarkable in the best way.
You order takeout, eat in front of a movie you’ve both already seen. He stretches across one end of the couch, socked feet pressed lightly against your leg.
You think about moving them, then don’t.
“You’re quiet,” he says.
“I’m always quiet.”
“Not like this.” He glances at you. “You look like you’re trying to memorize the silence.”
You smile. “Maybe I am.”
He nods thoughtfully, eyes drifting back to the screen. “It’s nice, though. I never get quiet like this.”
And somehow, that feels like a confession.
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By the second morning, a rhythm has already formed.
You wake to the smell of toast and the clatter of a pan. Jiung’s in the kitchen wearing your brother’s apron, sleeves pushed up, hair a mess.
The scene shouldn’t feel intimate, but it does.
“You cook now?” you tease, grabbing a mug.
He grins. “Trying to impress the homeowner.”
“You’re failing.”
He laughs, sliding a plate toward you. “Then eat before you write a bad review.”
Breakfast turns into dishes, dishes turn into music from someone’s playlist, and before you realize it, you’re singing under your breath while drying a pan. Jiung joins in quietly, a little off-key, and it makes you laugh.
He looks pleased by the sound. “Haven’t heard you laugh like that in a while.”
You glance up. “Maybe you haven’t been around enough.”
“I’ll fix that,” he says simply.
The words are light, but they stay with you.
Afternoons are slower.
Sometimes you both work — him on his laptop, you half-reading a book. The house hums with domestic stillness: the whirr of a fan, the soft tap of keys, the occasional creak when someone moves.
It feels ordinary, and yet it anchors something in you.
At some point he looks up from the screen. “You’re staring.”
You blink. “No, I wasn’t.”
He smiles knowingly but doesn’t push. That’s what you like about Jiung — he never demands more than you can give.
He just sits there, steady, until you find the courage to meet his eyes again.
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On the third day, rain rolls in.
It starts as a whisper against the windows, then turns heavy, steady. You’re both on the porch, watching the world blur into gray.
Jiung leans on the railing. “Smells good, doesn’t it?”
“Like wet pavement,” you reply.
He nods, smiling. “Yeah. It reminds me of when we used to run around after basketball games. Everything felt endless back then.”
You watch the rain slide down his arm. “You still come over like you used to.”
“Maybe that’s why it still feels endless.”
The words settle between you, soft as the rain itself. You sip your tea, pretending not to notice how your pulse picks up.
Evenings are easy.
You cook together, argue about which show to start, fall into quiet stretches where neither of you speaks. It’s the kind of peace that sneaks up on you — unremarkable but full.
One night, you find him on the couch reading one of your books. He looks guilty when you catch him.
“You were bored?”
“Curious,” he says. “You have good taste.”
You sit down beside him. “You didn’t even get to the good part.”
“Show me,” he says, leaning closer so you can point out a passage. You’re suddenly aware of how near he is — the warmth of his arm, the quiet of his breathing.
You read a few lines aloud, and when you glance up, he’s already looking at you.
“See?” you say, trying to sound normal.
“Yeah,” he murmurs. “I see.”
You don’t move for a while after that.
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By the fifth day, it starts feeling like this is how it’s always been — morning coffee, quiet errands, shared jokes.
Jiung folds laundry like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He hums while waiting for the kettle to boil.
When he catches you watching, he just smiles, as if the sight of you in his periphery has become routine.
At night, you sit on opposite ends of the couch, feet brushing sometimes. The television glows faintly; outside, crickets hum.
You think about how temporary this is, how your brother will come home soon, and the thought makes your chest tighten.
“You okay?” Jiung asks, turning down the volume.
You nod. “Just thinking.”
“Dangerous,” he says softly, eyes still on you. “You think too much.”
“Maybe.”
He smiles a little. “It’s one of the things I like about you.”
The sentence lands so gently that it almost doesn’t register. You blink, but he’s already looking back at the screen.
The moment passes — or pretends to.
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On the last night, you stay up later than usual.
The air is cool, the lights dim. Jiung’s half-asleep on the couch, head tilted back, mouth parted. You think about waking him but don’t.
Instead, you pull a blanket over him, careful not to touch more than necessary.
“Thanks,” he mumbles, eyes still closed.
“You’re awake.”
“Half.” A small smile. “You take care of everyone, don’t you?”
“Someone has to.”
He opens his eyes then, sleepy but clear. “You don’t have to with me.”
You don’t know what to say, so you just stand there, the quiet stretching until it feels like a thread between you — fragile, glowing.
“Good night, Jiung.”
“Good night,” he whispers, and something in his tone sounds like stay.
When your brother returns the next afternoon, Jiung helps unload the car, laughing easily, like nothing’s changed. And maybe nothing has.
But as you stand at the doorway watching him, you realize the house already feels different.
There’s a warmth left behind in every room he touched — a mug on the counter, a folded blanket, a familiar shape in the silence.
And when he says goodbye that night, you almost tell him not to go.
But you don’t. You just smile, and he smiles back, both of you pretending it’s the same as before.
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After Jiung goes home, the house feels too big.
It’s not empty — your brother’s loud again, filling the rooms with the usual noise — but there’s something different about the quiet between moments.
Like the air remembers him. Like everything is still tuned to the sound of his voice.
You keep catching yourself expecting him to walk in, to drop his keys on the counter, to laugh at something your brother says.
He doesn’t.
Instead, you start seeing him in small, ordinary flashes — when your brother’s phone lights up with his name, when you pass the café near the basketball courts, when someone laughs in a way that almost sounds like him.
And every time, there’s that same soft tug in your chest.
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One afternoon, you find yourself sitting on the porch steps, sipping a cold drink, watching the sun stretch over the street.
The neighborhood hums — a car passing, a lawn mower in the distance, a kid laughing somewhere down the block.
It’s peaceful. Too peaceful.
Then your phone buzzes.
jiung: hey
jiung: your brother told me you baked today. save me some?
You smile without meaning to.
you: if you get here before he eats it all
A few minutes later, there’s a knock on the door.
“Wow,” you say, opening it. “That was fast.”
He grins. “Coincidence. I was just in the area.”
You step aside to let him in, heart doing that familiar, inconvenient thing it always does around him.
He moves easily through the kitchen, like no time has passed, like the week he stayed still lingers somewhere in the air.
“Chocolate chips?” he asks.
You nod. “Always.”
He steals one, still warm, and you swat at his hand. “You didn’t even wait for coffee.”
“I live dangerously,” he says, smiling through a mouthful of cookie.
And just like that, the space between you feels light again.
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Over the next few days, Jiung starts appearing again — not constantly, just enough.
Sometimes to drop something off for your brother, sometimes just to say hi. You tell yourself it’s nothing new, that he’s always been around, but it feels different now.
Softer. Calmer.
He’s busy — you can tell. New work, new hours, the kind of life that keeps moving faster than you want it to.
But when he’s here, it’s like the world slows down a little to make room for him.
One evening, he finds you in the backyard stringing up fairy lights.
“Need help?” he asks, voice floating through the golden hour.
“You volunteering?”
“Always.”
You hand him a few clips, and he reaches up to hook the lights along the edge of the fence. You watch the sunlight slide across his skin, the way his hair glows at the edges.
When he looks down, you look away too quickly.
“Perfect,” he says when the last bulb flickers on.
You murmur, “Yeah.”
But you’re not looking at the lights.
───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
─────────
That night, the three of you sit outside — you, Jiung, your brother — the air thick with summer warmth.
Music hums low from someone’s speaker, and fireflies blink lazily in the dark.
Jiung leans back in his chair, eyes half-closed, and you wonder if he feels it too — the strange peace that sits between all of you now.
“Remember when we used to camp in the yard?” your brother says suddenly, laughing. “You two would fight over the flashlight.”
“I never fought,” you protest.
Jiung chuckles. “You threw it at me once.”
“It slipped.”
He smiles, eyes glinting. “Sure it did.”
The conversation drifts after that, your brother growing sleepy and quiet. By the time he goes inside, only you and Jiung are left under the soft, humming lights.
You hug your knees, resting your chin on them. “It’s weird,” you say. “Everything’s the same, but it doesn’t feel like it.”
Jiung looks at you for a long time before replying. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “Some things change even when nothing really does.”
You both sit there until the air cools and the lights start to dim. When he finally stands, he hesitates like he wants to say more — but he just smiles instead.
“Good night,” he says.
“Good night, Jiung.”
───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
─────────
Days stretch into weeks.
Life returns to normal, or close enough to it. But now, when you pass him on the street, something always lingers — the memory of quiet mornings and shared laughter and the simple comfort of existing in the same space.
Sometimes he’ll text you at random:
jiung: did you ever finish that book?
you: eventually
jiung: you said that two weeks ago
or
jiung: new café opened by the park
the cookies are almost as good as yours
You save them without meaning to.
One weekend, you run into him at the grocery store.
He’s standing in front of the cereal aisle, frowning like the world depends on this decision.
“Complicated choice?” you tease.
He glances up, instantly smiling. “You caught me. I’m bad at picking.”
You point to the one he usually eats. “That one.”
He laughs. “Still remembering the details, huh?”
“Some things are hard to forget.”
He looks at you for a second too long, and suddenly the air feels warmer than it should.
You end up walking through the rest of the aisles together, tossing snacks into each other’s carts, talking about everything and nothing. When you say goodbye in the parking lot, the sun is already sinking.
“See you soon?” you ask, trying to sound casual.
“Yeah,” he says softly. “You always do.”
───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
─────────
That night, you sit on your porch again, the same place where he once talked about leaving.
The street is quiet; a single light glows from a window across the road.
You think about the week he stayed, how every morning had a heartbeat of its own — laughter, coffee, shared silence. You think about how he still smiles at you like nothing’s changed, even though everything has.
And when your phone buzzes again — just a small hey from Jiung — you type back without hesitation.
you: come by tomorrow
jiunh: what for?
you: I made cookies again
jiung: guess I’ll have to be in the area then
You put the phone down and smile.
Maybe the story isn’t changing — maybe it’s just unfolding.
Slowly, quietly, in all the spaces between ordinary days.
───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
─────────
It happens on a Sunday.
The air is warm, the light slow and golden, and you’re half-distracted, trying to fix the shelf your brother somehow managed to break before leaving for his weekend trip.
You’re standing on a stool, arms stretched up, when you hear the knock.
You already know who it is.
Jiung doesn’t wait for you to call out; he opens the door the way someone does when they’ve done it too many times to count.
“Need help?” he asks, grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.
You roll your eyes. “Do you ever not show up at the perfect moment?”
He laughs, setting his phone down on the table. “I’d say it’s a gift.”
You climb down, pretending your heart doesn’t race a little faster. “Fine. You can help. But if the shelf falls, I’m blaming you.”
“Noted.”
He takes the screwdriver from your hand, and for a while, it’s quiet. The only sounds are the small scrape of metal and the soft rhythm of his breathing beside you.
There’s something comforting about it — about how easily he fits into the room, how natural it feels to stand close enough that your shoulders almost touch.
When the shelf is finally fixed, he steps back to admire it.
“See? Perfect.”
“You sound proud.”
“I should be. That was a team effort.”
You smile. “Yeah, maybe it was.”
───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
─────────
He stays longer than he means to.
You make tea. He sits on the couch, legs tucked beneath him, still talking about the most random things — your brother’s new hobby, a movie you both hated, a song that’s been stuck in his head.
It’s easy. Familiar.
But somewhere between laughter and silence, something shifts.
You catch him watching you, the kind of look that holds a thousand unspoken things. You look back, and neither of you say anything for a moment too long.
“Jiung,” you murmur, voice quieter than you intend.
He blinks, as if waking from a thought. “Yeah?”
“Why do you always show up right when I start missing you?”
He exhales, the faintest smile playing at his lips. “Maybe it’s because I miss you too.”
You feel your heart stutter — not wildly, but softly, like it’s known this moment was coming all along.
───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
─────────
The evening fades slow.
He helps you put the tea cups away, the two of you moving around each other in that quiet rhythm that comes only with time. Every brush of his hand feels deliberate, even when it isn’t.
When he reaches for the same cup you do, your fingers graze, and you both stop.
It’s such a small thing — a tiny pause in an otherwise ordinary moment — but the air thickens with meaning.
He doesn’t pull away.
Instead, his voice drops, low and careful. “You know I’ve been trying not to say something for a while, right?”
You swallow, suddenly aware of how close he is. “Say it now.”
He searches your face, and for the first time, he doesn’t hide behind the calmness or the teasing.
“I like you,” he says simply. “I have for a long time. I just… didn’t want to make things weird with your brother. Or with you. But every time I try to step back, I end up right here again.”
There’s no grand music, no perfect backdrop — just the quiet hum of the evening and the sound of his voice, steady and real.
You whisper, “You’re not making it weird.”
He smiles, almost disbelieving. “No?”
You shake your head. “Because I like you too.”
The silence that follows isn’t awkward. It’s full. Warm. The kind of silence that only happens when everything you’ve been holding back finally settles into place.
He steps closer, slowly enough for you to stop him if you want to — but you don’t.
When he cups your cheek, his hand is gentle, thumb brushing the edge of your jaw like he’s memorizing it.
“Can I—?” he starts, but you don’t let him finish.
You nod.
And then he kisses you.
It’s soft — the kind of kiss that feels like a question and an answer at once. There’s no rush, no urgency. Just him, tasting faintly of tea and summer air, holding you like he’s afraid to break something delicate.
When you part, you stay close enough to feel his breath against your skin.
“I should’ve said it sooner,” he murmurs.
“You said it when you were supposed to.”
He laughs quietly, forehead resting against yours. “You always make things sound easy.”
“They are, when it’s you.”
───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
─────────
You end up on the couch again, the world outside fading into the kind of peaceful silence that only comes after everything’s been said.
Jiung leans against you, arm draped over the backrest, fingers brushing your shoulder in absent circles.
For a while, you just sit like that — the TV on low, the clock ticking softly, the air calm and safe.
“Does your brother know?” you ask eventually.
“Not yet,” he says. “But I’ll tell him.”
You laugh under your breath. “You make it sound like a confession.”
He looks at you, smiling. “It kind of is.”
You nudge his arm. “He’ll be fine.”
“I know,” Jiung says. Then, quieter: “I just… didn’t think I’d get this far. With you.”
You tilt your head against the cushion. “What do you mean?”
“I thought I’d just stay in your life the way I always have — close enough to care, far enough to not mess things up.” He pauses, a soft exhale. “But then you started looking at me differently. And I couldn’t unsee it.”
You glance up at him. “How was I looking at you?”
“Like I wasn’t just your brother’s best friend anymore.”
The honesty in his tone makes your chest ache in the sweetest way.
“Maybe you never were,” you say.
Later, he walks you to the door, even though he doesn’t need to. The night air is cool now, the sky deep and endless.
He lingers there, smiling that soft, sleepy smile you’ve grown too used to.
“I’ll see you tomorrow?” he asks.
“Of course.”
“Good,” he says, almost to himself. “I don’t think I could go another week pretending I don’t want to.”
You laugh, the sound quiet but genuine. “Then don’t.”
He nods, and before he leaves, he presses a quick, tender kiss to your forehead.
“Good night, you,” he says, voice full of warmth.
“Good night, Jiung.”
You watch him go, the sound of his footsteps fading down the street.
When you finally close the door, your reflection catches in the hallway mirror — soft eyes, quiet smile, the glow of something new.
And for the first time in a long while, the house doesn’t feel too big anymore.
bro jiung was the perfect fit for this. this is so well written with so much heart and love in it, i absolutely love every part of this, especially the descriptions of how the world feels when he's around, like everything just makes so much sense. hats off. please i will take anything and everything. please. continuation. u got me down begging bad. but this is also a masterpiece of a standalone.
contains: lovesick intak, reader being absolutely oblivious, p1h teasing intak, jealousy (reader), fluff, teensy bit of angst?
synopsis: piwon makes intak realise he likes you and that he’s being super obvious. what makes it hard though, is that you are and remain unaware… making things far more complicated than they need to be.
requested: yes!!
a/n: uhm… i lied i really wanted to write and this is what came from it but now i really gotta focus on my assignment unfortunately ☹️ also this might need a part two if y’all want obvi 😛
It was almost cinematic. The way Intak’s eyes sparkled as he looked at you, his head resting lazily in his hand.
He loved listening to you talk, the way your expressions shifted when you were excited, the way your smile appeared without you even realising it.
It was always like this.
To him, it was effortless.
Natural.
He didn’t even notice that his grin widened as you spoke. Didn’t notice how he searched for you in everything he did or everywhere he went. Didn’t notice that, without you, everything felt just a little off - a little quieter.
Until one day, he did.
The day his members made it very obvious.
Ever since you met Keeho and he introduced you to his memebers, hanging out with them had somehow become a new routine for you. Whenever you had the time, you’d drop by, slipping into their space like you belonged there.
And that day was just like any other.
Jiung was busy with his own things. Keeho was mid-ramble with Jongseob, Soul nodding along without really listening, and Theo sat on the couch across from you, absentmindedly strumming his guitar.
You were seated beside Intak, telling him about your day at work. And just like always, he looked at you like you personally hung the moon and the stars.
Intak’s attention was fixed on you - and only you.
He leaned in as you spoke, invested in every detail, every complaint, every dramatic pause.
“So then… I can’t believe she actually said that but, she basically-“
“Is he gonna blink, or…?” Someone muttered from across the room, just loud enough for Intak to hear.
Intak didn’t look away from you, “What?”
“Nothing,” Theo said, flatly a grin tugging at his lips while Jongseob snorted somewhere in the background.
“We were just wondering if you’re planning to propose,” Jongseob added, “or if this is still the staring phase.”
Intak straightened immediately, “What? I’m not staring.”
You looked between them, confused, “Staring at what?”
“The wall,” Keeho said smoothly. “Very interesting wall. Right, Intak?”
Intak choked, “I wasn’t- I mean-“
You frowned, glancing around the room, “Did I miss something?”
Theo strummed a lazy note, “Maybe how Mister Puppy Eyes is all up in your personal space.”
Intak scooted back instinctively and immediately realised that it made him look even more suspicious.
You laughed and Intak’s heart embarrassingly skipped a beat.
“He was just listening,” You said easily “leave him alone.”
Intak practically glowed at how quick you were to defend him.
Which, unfortunately made things worse.
“Yeah,” Jongseob nodded slowly, eyes gleaming, “listening with his whole soul”
“Intak is like this with everyone, right?” You stated more than questioned, looking around the room, “He’s just a really good listener.”
The room went quiet.
Even Jiung paused, finally looking up from whatever he’d been doing.
“…Whatever helps you sleep at night,” he said mildly.
Intak made a strangled noise that might’ve been a laugh. Or a cry for help.
You only shrugged, unfazed, already moving on.
Intak stared at you in disbelief.
Good listener.
Right.
Sure.
He leaned back into the couch, covering his face with his hands for just a second - long enough for the members to notice, long enough for Keeho to grin like he’d just won something.
They decided to let it go.
Just for a little while.
But the moment the door closed behind you, everything changed.
Keeho was the first to move, slinging an arm around Intak’s shoulders with a knowing grin. “Dude,” Jongseob laughed, “you were practically ogling her.”
Intak groaned, shoving him lightly. “I was not.”
“You absolutely were,” Soul chimed in, unapologetically cheerful. “It was cute.”
Theo snorted. “Look at you right now. You’re literally sulking.”
“I am not sulking,” Intak protested, even as his expression betrayed him. The room only erupted into louder laughter.
Jiung tilted his head, more thoughtful than teasing. “Honestly though… she really is kind of oblivious.”
For the first time, Intak stopped trying to laugh it off.
He replayed the way you’d looked at him when you spoke.
The way you smiled so easily around him.
The way it felt wrong when you left.
And suddenly, everything clicked.
Oh.
He liked you.
Not just a little.
Not in the casual, easy way he’d convinced himself it was.
A lot more than he’d ever let himself admit.
Every time you hung out now, Intak didn’t know what to do with himself. Mister Puppy Eyes was a complete and utter mess.
Now that he understood his feelings, there was no escaping them. Every glance felt loaded. Every laugh hit harder. He didn’t know where to put his hands, where to sit, how to act like nothing had changed when, for him, everything had.
Because while you were still the same - easy, warm, unaware.
Intak wasn’t.
And he had no idea what to do with that.
The plans that occurred the last few times were… interesting.
Movie night had been Keeho’s idea.
A random evening, a half-working TV, snacks scattered across the coffee table and no real plan beyond “let’s just watch something.”
But there was a plan. Because the others intended to tease Intak so bad that you would finally notice how he felt about you.
That night, you ended up on the couch between Intak and Soul, completely unaware that Intak had internally short-circuited the second you sat down.
He froze.
Because suddenly your knee was brushing his. Your shoulder was close enough that he could feel your warmth. And the movie - whatever it was - became entirely irrelevant.
During the movie, he leaned in close, whispering commentary into your ear about how terrible it was, just to hear your laugh.
His voice was low, conspiratorial, like it was a secret meant only for you. And every time you reacted, every time you smiled or laughed a little too loudly, his chest felt lighter.
At some point, a familiar snack appeared in front of you.
Intak had bought your favourite without a word, holding it out absentmindedly like it was the most natural thing in the world.
You took it with a quiet “thank you,” never questioning how he knew, never noticing the way his ears burned red the moment your fingers brushed his.
You never noticed.
You brushed it off as Intak just being Intak.
The same way you brushed off how he insisted on carrying all your shopping bags a few days later - even after you told him, twice, that you really didn’t need help.
When you mentioned you desperately needed new clothes, Intak was already on his feet. He was ready to spend hours with you in the shopping mall.
A few of the others tagged along too - Jongseob claiming he needed new jewellery.
In the mall, Jongseob, Jiung and Theo purposefully coincidentally split off to check out a few other stores.
That left you alone with Intak.
You didn’t mind. You never did.
You loved spending time with him.
And as you wandered from store to store, Intak trailed after you like a lost puppy, eyes always on you.
Your eyes scanned the racks, landing on a few pieces you thought were cute.
You pulled a dress from the hanger and held it up in front of you, turning to Intak without thinking twice.
“Takkie, what do you think about this one?” you asked, already trusting his opinion.
Intak looked at the shirt.
Then at you.
Then back at the shirt.
His brain short-circuited.
“Uh—” he started, then stopped, lips pressing together as if rebooting. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s… that’s nice.”
You tilted your head. “Just nice?”
He panicked immediately. “No- I mean- really nice. Like, really nice. You should try it on.”
The words came out far too fast.
You laughed, shaking your head. “Okay, okay,” you said, already turning toward the fitting rooms. “I’ll be right back.”
Intak nodded.
Then nodded again.
Then realized he had been nodding for way too long.
The second you disappeared behind the curtain, he let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. He ran a hand through his hair, pacing a small circle like that might help calm the ridiculous fluttering in his chest.
Why was he like this.
It was just you.
Just… you.
A moment later, the curtain shifted.
“Intak?”
He looked up.
And forgot how to breathe.
You stepped out of the fitting room, smoothing the fabric of the dress down awkwardly. “I don’t know,” you said, glancing down at yourself. “It feels kind of-“
“Huh?” His voice cracked. He cleared his throat quickly. “Sorry. I- yeah. No. That-”
He gestured vaguely in your direction, like words had fully abandoned him.
That’s when Theo appeared out of nowhere, effectively saving Intak from his own misery.
“That looks amazing!”
Intak nodded, finally managing to find his voice.
“You look beautiful.”
Your eyes softened, and for reasons you didn’t quite understand, it mattered more than you expected that he liked it.
“Thanks, guys!”
You disappeared back behind the curtain.
Intak let out a breath through his nose, shoulders finally relaxing - only to tense again when Theo smirked at him knowingly.
“Oh boy, you fumbled hard.” Theo patted Intak’s shoulder. “You got it bad.”
Intak groaned softly, lifting a hand to rub his face. “Was I that obvious?”
“Intak,” Theo said flatly, “you looked like you forgot how to breathe.”
Jongseob, who had just reappeared with a shopping bag in hand, snorted. “You’re down horrendous.”
“I am not,” Intak shot back, though his ears burned red.
Jiung hummed thoughtfully. “You carried all her bags, bought her snacks, and stared at her like she personally invented happiness.”
Theo nodded, completely serious. “You smile differently around her.”
That one did it.
Intak fell quiet, the teasing fading into something heavier in his chest.
Another hangout. Another day of Intak being absolutely miserable.
That day, out of boredom, you and Intak decided to head outside to grab snacks for the others.
The night air was cooler than expected, a welcome contrast to the warmth inside. The street quieter than the chaos you had found yourself in mere minutes ago.
You and Intak walked side by side, hands brushing once - accidentally - and neither of you mentioned it. Intak prayed you couldn’t hear how hard his heartbeat was.
Inside the store, you drifted toward the drinks while Intak stayed behind, scanning the shelves.
During your search, you spotted a bottle with the strangest flavor you could imagine.
Snail.
Who even thought of that?
You grabbed it from the fridge, already smiling to yourself as you turned back, eager to show him.
“Takkie, look a-“
The words died in your throat.
Intak stood a few steps away, arms wrapped around another girl.
Not awkward.
Not distant.
A hug that lingered just a second too long.
Your grip tightened around the cold bottle.
Oh.
Something sharp twisted in your chest, sudden and unwelcome. You told yourself it was nothing - just surprise, just bad timing - but your feet felt rooted to the floor as you watched them pull apart, her laughing softly, Intak smiling down at her like this was normal.
Like this was familiar.
Your stomach sank.
You hadn’t realized how close you’d gotten until now.
A soft call of your name pulled you from your thoughts.
You looked up to see Intak waving you over, a wide, easy smile on his face, like nothing had happened at all.
He introduced you to her.
You nodded, pasting on a polite smile. “Nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you too,” she replied warmly. “Intak talks about you a lot.”
Your smile froze - just for a fraction of a second.
Intak turned red almost instantly. “I don’t!”
“You do,” she laughed, nudging his arm.
You barely registered it.
A strange weight settled in your chest, heavy and uncomfortable. You weren’t sure when it started, or why it mattered so much - but the idea of Intak talking a lot with someone else, laughing with her like this, knowing her in ways you didn’t…
It bothered you.
And the worst part?
You weren’t sure why it bothered you at all.
You checked out together, the girl just as sweet as she had seemed - polite, helpful, easy to be around.
Once outside, the three of you parted ways.
As you waved goodbye, something unexpected washed over you.
Relief.
And then guilt, hot on its heels.
The feeling from inside the store hadn’t disappeared. It lingered, quiet but persistent, threading through your thoughts no matter how hard you tried to ignore it.
Why did you even feel like that?
Why did it hurt - just a little - to see him with someone else?
Intak noticed before you could pull yourself together.
You were quieter. Distant in a way you usually weren’t. And it gnawed at him.
He replayed the last few minutes in his head, wondering if he’d said something wrong. Done something wrong. God, what if he’d made you uncomfortable without even realising it?
“Everything okay?” he asked, voice softer than he meant it to be.
You startled, eyes widening like you’d been caught doing something you weren’t supposed to.
You nodded. Too fast.
“Yup. Yup. Allllllllll good.”
He blinked, clearly caught off guard by how quickly — and how unlike you — the response came.
“You sure?”
You nodded again, a little firmer this time, hoping he’d drop it.
“Oh-wait.”
He shifted the plastic bag in his hand, rummaging through it until he pulled something out.
The familiar neon-green bottle.
Intak held it up with a small grin, offering it to you. “I saw this and thought of you.”
You glanced down at the label. Snail flavour.
“Crazy, right?” he added, amused.
Your chest tightened.
Of course he remembered. Of course he noticed the weird little things you pointed out without thinking twice.
You took the bottle from him, fingers brushing for just a second.
“Yeah,” you said softly, forcing a smile. “Crazy.”
And for the first time that night, the feeling finally settled in your chest - unmistakable now.
It wasn’t just jealousy.
“Intak, I think I’m going to head home after we drop these off,” you murmured, trying to bury the strange swirl of feelings tightening in your chest.
“Oh.”
He blinked, surprise flickering across his face followed by something quieter. Disappointment, but he would never show.
“Don’t worry about dropping the stuff off,” he said quickly. “I’ll just walk you to your car.”
You smiled, grateful. “Thanks, Takkie.”
He smiled back.
If only you knew what that nickname did to him.
The walk back was quiet in a way that felt heavier than silence should. You were lost in your thoughts, staring ahead while Intak rambled about a weird drink he’d tried once with Theo - something weird, something awful.
You nodded along, but his words barely registered.
Your mind was elsewhere.
What was happening to you?
Intak hadn’t changed. He was still kind, attentive, endlessly patient - still him.
So why did everything feel different now?
Why did the thought of him with someone else twist something in your chest?
Why did his presence suddenly feel warmer… closer… dangerous in a way it never had before?
You glanced at him, just once.
And somehow… he looked different.
Almost unreal.
Intak’s eyes were big and bright, holding every emotion so openly it made your chest ache. His smile - soft, genuine - felt like it lit up the entire world.
No.
Your entire world.
Wow.
Did he always look like that?
Like he’d stepped straight out of a K-drama, effortlessly charming, completely unaware that he was stealing your heart one quiet moment at a time.
Wait.
What were you even thinking?
Your heart skipped, panic and clarity crashing together all at once.
Before you could untangle the mess in your head, you were back at the parking lot - standing in front of your car, keys cold in your hand.
And suddenly, leaving felt… harder than it should have.
“Well… I should get going.” You gestured awkwardly toward your car, keys fidgeting between your fingers.
Intak nodded, forcing himself to move, to respond - to do anything other than blurt out the thousand reasons he could think of for you to stay.
You looked breathtaking. You always did.
The way you tilted your head up at him, that slightly awkward smile playing on your lips, made heat rush to his cheeks and his knees feel weak. He had the overwhelming urge to tell you everything. How long he’d been holding it in, how deeply it ran, how impossible it was to ignore.
But he didn’t.
Because what if telling you meant losing you?
He didn’t think he could survive that.
So instead, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around you, the hug lingering longer than it needed to - longer than what was safe. When you pulled away and got into your car, he stayed where he was, frozen, waving until your taillights disappeared into the night.
Hopeless.
Inside the car, your thoughts spiraled.
What did all of this mean?
What was wrong with you tonight?
Nothing had happened. Nothing bad, at least. Intak had been the same as always - kind, attentive, warm. The same Intak you’d known for so long.
Your grip tightened on the steering wheel.
So why did your chest still feel tight?
Why did that hug linger in your thoughts?
Why did seeing him with someone else make your stomach twist in a way you didn’t recognise?
You shook your head, forcing the thoughts away.
You were just overhinking.
And whatever that strange feeling was - the tightness in your chest, the ache that lingered at the thought of him - you pushed it aside, convincing yourself it meant nothing.
taglist: @jiuchip @sweetasberry @jseobbie
message or comment if you want to be added to the taglist <3
intak is like the definition of down HORRENDOUSLY bad in my head, he's just got the right aura for it....WHO SAID THAT !! anyways, this was so so cute to read, gonna yearn for this for the rest of my life </3. down bad intak is #it fr
ᝰ.ᐟ reaction to you becoming best friends with their member || OT6
➻ details | sfw, fluff
𓆩⟡𓆪 requested by anon, this is such a cute idea, ty for requesting!!
𓆩⟡𓆪 When KEEHO introduces you to his members, the last person he expects you to get along with is Theo. He knows you’re personable enough to get along with all of his members but he feels most surprised by your quick bond with Theo. Namely, the habit you both have picked up to whisper conspiratorially to each other with your main target being Keeho himself. When he catches you two giggling amongst yourself and purposefully not-so-subtly pointing towards Keeho’s direction, he points a massive pout towards you. “My own girlfriend and my best friend conspiring against me,” he grouses melodramatically before you’re forced to go over and smother his pout with a kiss. He wraps his arms immediately around you, trapping you to him before you can go back to Theo. That doesn’t stop Theo from now openly shit talking him by yelling across the room to you, you laughing in the face of Keeho’s pain. It doesn't matter to him if you're laughing at him or with him, as long he sees to get you smile.
𓆩⟡𓆪 THEO had no doubts that you would immediately form a close bond with Jiung out of all his friends. One of the things that gravitated Theo towards you was your introspection and philosophical view on life. Theo wasn’t much of a talker but he could listen to you go on and on about the books and theories you’ve read up on recently. He doesn’t actually realize how similar you and Jiung are until he’s watching you two discuss meditation methods at dinner. It’s so comical how similar you two are that Keeho has to lean over and make a comment about how Theo “couldn’t get Jiung so he got the female version instead” to which Theo retorts with a “you’re just mad she’s not you.” He doesn’t mind though; if he had to go out with the female version of any of his members, it would be Jiung. (He keeps this thought to himself.)
𓆩⟡𓆪JIUNG almost expects you to get close to Jongseob and is happy to learn that his intuition was right. Jiung had bonded with you over your shared love for books; while he goes for ones he can learn from, you go for anything from any genre. Jongseob, another avid reader, takes to your side like a baby chick. You’re a listener and Jongseob loves to talk. It warms Jiung’s heart to see you both sat together behind the scenes during some of their schedules, you curled beside Jongseob while he goes on and on about the book he’s reading. You look sleepy, not that Jongseob notices, but it’s cute how hard you’re trying to keep your attention on him. Jiung has to go over to save you by sitting with you and scooping you up in his arms, Jongseob scurrying away to give you both privacy, to which you groan about Jiung “scaring away my baby,” while you’re already half asleep. “Too bad, you’re mine right now,” he says as he tucks you in his arms to let you drift off.
𓆩⟡𓆪 INTAK is coming to terms with the fact that wherever you go, Keeho isn’t too far away. After all, he’d met you through Keeho during one of their club outings. You were confident, bold, and loud in a way that wasn’t obnoxious, but commanding. He was head over heels from the moment he met you and had to grovel to Keeho to get your number. Eventually he’d lucked out when you were the one to text him first before he could convince Keeho. And then it became a regular thing for the three of you to hang out together. It took him a while to get over the feeling of being the third wheel despite him being the one holding your hand, but the feeling faded eventually and the three of you became an inseparable unit of chaos. He isn't even bothered anymore whenever Theo accuses him of being in a throuple.
𓆩⟡𓆪 When SOUL starts dating you, Keeho’s approval of it becomes something crucial, so he couldn’t be more happy when Keeho immediately took a liking to you. You’re similar to Soul in a lot of ways, oddities of your own that people find endearing. It’s no surprise to anyone when Keeho ends up adopting Soul’s girlfriend too. It’s very often that Keeho will coo whenever he sees the two of you together. He’ll even take you both out to dinners whenever there’s a chance and take cute couple pictures of you two. You share the same love language as Soul so more often than not, you end up picking out gifts to give Keeho with his consultation whenever you go on a trip together. Keeho all but melts every time he gets gifts from you or when you subconsciously start treating him like your dad like Soul has begun to do. He’s got a whole collection of gifts from both of you that he carries around, claiming they’re precious gifts from his precious children. Gets the more insane cuteness aggression over y’all <3
𓆩⟡𓆪 JONGSEOB is more than a little surprised when he walks into your apartment late one night and you’re on your PC with Minecraft open, talking with— is that Shota on call with you? He latches onto you from behind and tries to kiss your attention on him which you entertain for a quick second before you’re quickly swatting him away to get back to your ocean exploration with Soul. When he asks you how long you’ve been playing, you're not even embarrassed to admit to five hours. You continue on playing and bantering with Soul like you’ve known him for years, like this is something you've done regularly instead of this being your first time. Jongseob pouts a little about being neglected but ends up backseat gaming because he knows there’s no pulling you away when you’re really into your game. It becomes a habit from then on for the three of you to have game nights every other week where you pour in hours of gameplay into one until you get bored and move on to the next. Another inseparable trio; Keeho refers to you as the Babies™ quite often.
taglist: @jellyybelly, @jseobbie, @lycxee, @tintedsvn, @dollieholls, @missmaiamay, @mrssaturday
message me or comment to be added to my taglist!
𓆩⟡𓆪 check out my masterlist for my other works + works in progress
AWWWW this is so cute!!! i love how each dynamic is explained with so much care and reason, it's soooo convincing for each and every one HAHAHA. makes me want a stupid bf. anyways.
a local cafe hidden away from everyone, where idols frequent unbeknownst to the public, he goes when he just wants to be human, away from cameras and fans, set with a disguise he thinks can hide who he is from the barista (who is definitely not one of the reasons he keeps coming back)
pairing: idol!beomgyu x fem!reader
genre: smau, fluff, multi part series
tags: strangers to friends to lovers, mutual pining, tiny age gap (beomgyus 24 y/n is 22), fluff, angst, crack, suggestive content at some parts, cw in each chapter, mature language
status: finished <3
includes: all of txt, sunoo from enhypen, yunjin, eunchae, kazuha from le sserafim, more tba
profiles:
keemstars diva alert ‼️‼️
tubatu 💔🥀🥀
parts:
who keeps blasting radiohead?
bro sighed over text
dont even joke lads
back big with greed and gluttony
scallywaggery?
its been addressed
inch tresting
og yoongi marry me
you definitely tried???
the enemy is closer than you think
dont use something you dont understand.
baby thats polygamy
beomy/n crumbs
jakeu got you
a homoerotic platonic situationship
dont get cancer and die haha?
eieieieieiei eat it up
a bunny with a sinus infection
can the duck swim
fuck this chungus life
dont kys youre too sexy haha
yunjins salon
thats not what celibacy means
betterhelp.com
riki has friends
drywall and termites
tubatu + y/n roadtrip!
bad bad boy
named in the letter
the barista and the loverboy
epilouge
fiancé texts
an: if you want to be added to the taglist for this series lmk! im going to try doing around 3ish chapters a week? depending on motivation and school lolol
ok i don't talk about beomgyu enough and that ends now. this entire smau is soooo hilarious and has so much of everything in it, all the fluff and funnies and feels. like i'm soooo fr u gotta read it. i wanna work in a cafe and be friends with idols and fall in love now :(((. but fr there is so much to love about this!! if you love beomgyu (or even if u don't, for which i will find you), u need to read this omfg
brothers best friend jeongin! x reader fake texts!
summary: your brother doesn't approve of you dating jeongin, but he distances himself from you because he's doing the same thing.
cw: strong language, angst, comfort/fluff
a/n: guyssss it's the last part!! i can't believe this series is finished now 😩 thank you all for your love and support on this and please enjoy the final part xx
masterlist .... series masterlist
taglist: (if your tag is in pink i can't seem to tag you so please let me know if your account name is spelled right!)
cryin the way they're all reacting in every single frame of this i need a stop action frame by frame of stick figures of this entire smau happening in real time. this is so funny and so cute at the same time, props to the author omg
synopsis ⌲ park jisung is the nation’s (secret) newest boxing obsession. hushed whispers, feared stares and his forgotten bloodied bandages left in the ring after every match. you're the girl living in the apartment next door because you can barely afford anything better while finishing your degree, and you can't help but notice the boy who comes home bloody and bruised every night. so what do you do? you follow him.
word count ⌲ 16,981
author's note ⌲ hello hello! cheers to my writing debut, the first installment to the 「choose your fighter」 series! my favorite heart shaped smile, jisung is starting us off! i put a lot of heart and soul into writing jisung's installment (not bc he's my bias or anything ( ''˶°ヮ°˶ )), i really hope it's enough for you guys to get interested to the other members installments as well. everyone's backstory on how they are where they are now in the story, ties in a little to how they are in real life.
i do have to note that i know the movie 'fight club' was specifically meant for men, but in this au i'll be allowing both men and women (but i promise no women ever get depicted getting hit by a man) to participate. other than that, the only warning i really have to mention is that since it is based off fight club, there will be descriptions of blood, bruising, getting hit, throwing punches. you know the drill.
don't be afraid to ask me questions about the installment, whether its something you're confused about or simply you want to understand it even deeper than what was written.
tysm for being so patient while i was working on this!!! feedback is appreciated and happy reading! ᕦ( ◡̀﹏◡́)ᕤ
the soft hum of your desk lamp fills in on the silence of your apartment, light casting cross the scattered notebooks and open textbooks. your pen is scratching against paper, tracing over diagrams you already knew by heart.
the rest of the building is quiet in that oddly loud way. pipes ticking in the walls. the distant whir of someone's ancient fridge running, the occasional car rolling by outside. you sit back in your chair, stretching your shoulders until they pop, eyes scanning another sentence on your textbook that you're not really absorbing.
and then you heard it.
a distinct beep, sharp and familiar, followed by the heavy slam of a door next to your own.
you glance at the clock. 2 am.
right on time.
you let out a sigh, closing your books with a soft thud and packing everything away. you click your lamp off, plunging the room into darkness that only the streetlamp outside leaking through your blinds being the only source of light.
you move through the room, snaking into bed, familiar and worn in the, middle from too many late nights like this.
the routine has become so ingrained you could map it out by sound alone. you go to class, maybe grab a sad coffee or something from the vending machine around the corner. you come home, drop your bag by the bed, and slump at your desk for hours on end until you hear the faint mechanical beep of your neighbors door locking, followed by the heavy boots shuffling down the hallway until you don't hear them anymore.
for your neighbor, they're just leaving their apartment. for you, it's the signal to go to bed.
you've bumped into him in the halls on multiple occasions, in that awkward dance of two people trying to pass each other in a narrow space kind of way. but you were never able to his face, let alone a name.
always so quick to dip his head lower than it already was, adjust his cap, or turn away when people got too close.
you do however, notice the knuckles.
it's always the knuckles you see first. raw, split, and scabbed over in jagged patches. sometimes the skin were so freshly torn, angry and red. other times, they're just faded bruises that yellow at the edges. it was almost like it was a roadmap of bad decisions written across his hands.
then, about a week later, you're hearing more than just the normal door slamming shut and heavy footsteps.
it's the dull sound of him leaning against the shared wall between your apartments for a second like he's catching his breath. there was one time you heard a muffled curse, bitten off halfway like he's trying to stop himself from waking anyone else up. another time, it's what sounds like a low, pained exhale. the kind people make when they're holding back something worse.
you thought maybe he was just a delinquent obsessed with violence. a trouble maker who seeks out fights just to feel something. you know, the kind you were always warned about to avoid.
and yet, the next night, you're sitting at your desk studying like it was any night, same pattern but not... quite. you're mind constantly drifting somewhere else as your eyes read over the clock over and over again.
2:13 am.
you've been trying to listen to the familiar footsteps walking past your door, wondering where the neighbor with the bloody knuckles and 2 am door alarms is possible at.
you've strained your ears enough to the point it almost rings. the pipes still hum, the cars pass by outside, somewhere five doors down a toilet flushes.
but the hallway on your floor stays silent.
you couldn't possibly have missed it, have you? the walls in the building are so thin, you're almost confident that you could hear the neighbors on the floor below you as if they were in the same room as you.
by 2:27 am, your notes are half-finished sentences and underlines that don't really connect to anything. you're not even reading anything anymore. you're just waiting.
what if something happened?
you shake your head, annoyed at yourself. you don't even know the guy! it's stupid, you know that. he's a stranger. just a guy with bloody knuckles and a door alarm you've accidentally synced your sleep schedule to. but the absence of him feels loud in a way his presence never did.
beep.
your head snaps up towards your front door.
at first, you don't move. your mind telling you: he's okay, everything is normal. you can close your books, turn off the lamp, and go to sleep. just thirty-two minutes off from what you were used to.
but your body doesn't listen.
you cross the room quietly, heart pounding, cracking open your door just enough to see into the hallway.
and just like always, the same heavy footsteps draw closer to your door.
his shadow appears first, stretching long enough across the wall as he approaches. you watch the way his shadow moves so uneven, one step a little shorter than the other. then you see the line of his shoulders, hunched more than usual beneath a dark hoodie.
and then he's right in front of your door, in passing but it's almost like time slowed down.
the first thing you see is his hand.
his knuckles are worse.
bandages now poorly wrapped and already stained through in places. the skin around the edges is swollen, like it was angry. he lifts that hand to swipe at his face, and for a split second, the hood tilts just enough that you catch the faint outline of his jaw, the curve of his cheekbone, the glint of a split lip.
he disappears out of your sight in seconds, but the brief vulnerability you caught in his demeanor replays in your head.
tired, bruised at the edges, and startingly, disarmingly alive.
and before you could talk yourself out of it, you're already throwing on a pair of shoes and following after him.
you kept your distance after him, footsteps muffled on the damp pavement yet every sound in the night is suddenly too loud. each turn down an empty street felt like stepping deeper into something you weren't supposed to witness.
well, you were supposed to be in bed right now. yet here you are. following after your neighbor like the psycho you were.
you take another step after him before coming to a complete stop.
you shouldn't. you really shouldn't.
but you've spent endless nights seeing the wounds, and even more hearing the pain through the wall—all those moments where you pretended not to notice.
something twists in your gut, pulling you forward just before you lose sight of your blood-knuckled neighbor. you see the top of his hood disappearing down a flight of stairs, and you jog after him.
at the bottom of the stairs, sits a lone metal door framed by damp concrete walls drowned in graffiti.
it looked abandoned, no sign of life coursing through the walls. if you had come across it yourself on any other day, you would've turned around by now, but tonight you're following the whereabouts of your neighbor. there's no other way he could've gone, so ultimately you decide to make your way down the stairs and through the door.
heat was the thing that rushes out first, thick with bodies and hot breaths.
then it was the smell. sweat layered over something sharper like it was a handful of pennies left too long in your palm.
and the noise? its the way you instantly cover your ears in an attempt to regain your sense of hearing as voices slam into you from all directions. shouting, arguing, betting.
but what gets your heart pounding is when someone shouts "fresh meat!" and a pair of hands are on you before you're even ready.
"hey, get your hands off of me!" you scream, shoving unwanted hands off of you.
no one listens, of course. the frenzy of bodies continue to pass you forward, deeper into the basement of wherever you walked into.
you're basically tossed into a ring, your hands catching the fall before you could hit your head. you're looking down, damp down at the concrete flooring like it's seen a hundred men go down and none get up easy.
it doesn't take long to find where your neighbor disappeared off too, because when you look up to take in the rest of your surroundings, he's standing in front of you shirtless, chest bandaged in bandages streaked with dark splotches that hinted at old bruises and fresh strikes alike.
his head is tilted to the side, someone leaning into his ear but his eyes are on you. one brow lifts, lazy and sharp, and your pulse jumps in a way you wish it didn't.
“lost, sweetheart? or did you walk in hoping someone would finally pay attention to you? warm-up toys don’t usually last long.” his voice was so low that you almost miss it.
"excuse me?" your jaw drops, obviously taken aback at the way he was speaking to you.
but he's not even looking at you anymore—he's staring at the horde of people surrounding the makeshift ring in the middle of the room, almost basking in the attention.
the same ring that you've had the displeasure of being thrown into.
you hear the crowd buzz amongst themselves, a name from all over the room, to which you can only guess belongs to him.
"that's him? the park jisung?"
"my money is on him tonight."
"she won't even last the night against jisung."
park jisung.
you're finally able to put a face and name to the neighbor next door— the one who always comes home bloody and bruised, always quick to hide his battered face from curious glances, always wearing anything with long sleeves to cover the scarred knuckles he bore on his hands whenever he unlocked his door.
before you can even open your mouth to ask what the fuck you just walked into, hushed murmurs around you are so loud that it drowns out whatever sound bubbles in your throat. not in the sense of it being loud in volume, but in a way where it seemed like everyone was scared it might reach the wrong pair of ears.
"what the hell is she doing?"
"no shoes, no shirts. what are we even waiting for?"
"take it off already."
you gawk at the men to your right. "i am not stripping down to my bra, you psychos. i'm not a fucking stripper."
"you're right, you're not." jisung points to his left, your eyes following to land on a faded out poster clinging onto the wall, somehow still readable. "you're in fight club."
You Do Not Talk About Fight Club.
You DO NOT TALK ABOUT FIGHT CLUB.
Someone Yells Stop, Goes Limp, Taps Out, the fight is OVER.
Only Two People To A Fight.
One Fight At A Time.
No Shirts. No Shoes.
Fights Will Go On As Long As They Have To.
If This Is Your First Night At Fight Club, You Have To Fight.
these people are out of their fucking minds, you thought.
"i am not taking off my shirt." you repeat, clutching tightly onto your clothes as if that was going to make a difference.
it's so outrageous to hear and quite literally, embarrassing to strip half naked in a basement full of men running on nothing but testosterone. if you knew this was where jisung spent his nights every day, you would have never have followed him here in the first place.
“if you’re not going to follow the rules, then at least hurry up. you’re holding up men who actually came here to fight.” those in the crowd holler in agreement, and jisung is giving you a look as if to prove his point.
"i didn't even come here to fight!" you argue.
in fact, you don't even know why you're even here.
was it to check if he was okay? you already confirmed that when you heard him leaving his apartment. to see if he was a violence obsessed delinquent like you imagined? so far, that checks out too! the pattern of bruises and scars painting across his chest proving you right.
"the last rule of fight club: if this is your first night, you have to fight. i don't make the rules, sweetheart. you should've known what you were walking into when you followed me."
your eyes widen. he knew?
you open your mouth to explain yourself, but the roars that first welcomed you into the basement have twisted into boos and furious hollers.
back faced to you, he's egging on the crowd, and it was the most embarrassed, no— angriest you've felt in a long time. “hey, if she doesn’t want to take it off, i get it. not everyone’s built for being looked at.”
you're not one to really snap, not someone who lets adrenaline drag you by the throat; but every word coming out of his mouth was hitting multiple nerves. you've never felt more degraded in your life.
he wants a fight so bad? then he can choke on one.
you kicked off your shoes in one reckless motion, making your way across the ring before you're even registering the decision. your shirt is over your head and onto the floor, muscles so tight you don't even notice how cold the air is when it hits your skin.
the crowd erupts in cheers, hungry to get their fill of the newcomers' first fight against park jisung, the nation's (secret) newest boxing obsession.
you grab jisung's shoulder so roughly that he's facing you, and your first flies before he can open his mouth. the feeling of your knuckles crashing into his jaw was so satisfying that it hit deeper than the impact itself.
the hit must've had more power in it, because despite your small frame, it makes jisung stumble backwards and grab onto the ropes to catch his fall. you're about to take another swing on him, ready to shut him up for good, when he catches your wrist.
"i'm tapping out." he announces, lifting his hands in surrender. almost immediately the sound of a bell rings through the air, cutting through the crowd's murmurs and disappointed groans. you're barely even registering jisung guiding you out of the ring when you catch what he says.
"took you long enough to hit me."
you scoffed in response, yanking your wrist out of his grip but to no avail. "are you fucking kidding me? you humiliated me in front of all these people."
"that was the point, sweetheart. i was trying to get you to hit me." jisung tosses your belongings to you after he helps you slip past the ropes, "i don't hit girls."
you blink at the sudden confession, staring up at jisung as he moves to a corner of the ring, shadowboxing in preparation to fight, a new fighter already replacing where you just were. and even when you see him throw his fists hit air, you knew he wasn't one to hold back.
somewhere in the room, someone announce loudly. "ready, fight!"
you watched as jisung drove his fist forward to meet flesh over and over again. every hit so rough it stained his knuckles despite them being wrapped in bandages beforehand. it like he knew his fists were a weapon, each swing so razor sharp that it almost looked disciplined.
jisung fought without hesitation, without wasted movement, like every strike had already been decided.
his footwork was so quiet, almost elegant in a way that it was the calm before the storm before he would twist his body to snap his wrist forward.
there was something with the way he fought: fast, exact, obsessed in a rhythm beaten into him.
oddly enough, in the midst of all the brutality of your surroundings, jisung was dangerously captivating.
it's been almost a month since your first night at fight club.
with exams swallowing up what little free time you had (thankfully passing it), you quickly fell back to your routine easily enough.
go to class.
drink a sad excuse of a coffee.
come home and study.
go to bed when you hear jisung's all-too-familiar door alarm as it locks.
you crossed paths with him once, in the hall the night after your first. you were coming back with a caffeine run, and he was on his way to who knows where—fight club was your best bet considering that was his favorite place to spend his hobby.
seeing him again only reminded you of how many questions you never got answers to. the bruises, the whispers, the way he became someone else in that ring.
you'd be lying to say you hadn't thought about going back. though your first night there wasn't exactly...welcoming, to say the least.
your dignity was ripped from your grasp the second you stepped through those doors. fighters stared you down, some of the betters even spat in your direction for making them lose money for winning against jisung.
you wondered if they would make you fight again if you were to show your face down there. you don't exactly fight people.
were you even allowed to call that a fight? jisung willingly tapped out the second you landed a hit on him. it wasn't even a win. it was charity.
you sigh, looking at the mess you call notes staring right back at you. maybe you should just forget about it. whatever happened that night in that basement was a one time thing.
but then you hear it—jisung's door alarm. but it's not the usual single chirp of it locking.
three sharp beeps, a pause, then a sound of the lock misfiring before finally clicking in place.
you've lived next door long enough to know his schedule like clockwork. tonight... something was different.
you get up before you can talk yourself out of it, peeking through the peephole just in time to see him appear through the glass. he's leaning his head on the wall across your apartment door— hood up, shoulders drawn tight, jaw clenched in a way you've never seen.
jisung wasn't just heading out. he was bracing for it.
then he's off, disappearing down the hall until you couldn't hear his footsteps.
you hesitate, heart pounding. you should mind your business this time. you should definitely not do exactly what you did last time.
but you're already slipping past your confinement of your apartment to really register what you're about to do.
you tell yourself you're not following him.
you just...happen to be walking in the same direction as him.
down the same street. at the same hour you definitely shouldn't be outside alone.
the wind feels colder tonight—sharper, pushing you forward like it knew exactly where you were heading.
second night, same boy, same bad decision.
whenever jisung steps into the basement and into the ring, something in him sharpens.
the damp concrete beneath his feet, the feeling of his knuckles cracking when he comes in contact with bone after throwing a fist, and that sharp metallic tang mixing with sweat—thick enough to taste—turns the establishment almost animalistic.
jisung feels like slipping back into a craving he's been starving. it's the way his pulse kicks up, or the way his fingers flexing like they've been itching for this all day.
he calls it focus, but if anyone else were to watch the way he fights, they'd see it for what it really is. hunger.
take the hit. give it back harder. he tells himself to keep moving until someone tells him to stop.
it's not just familiarity—it's regime.
a punch lands against his jaw, snapping his head to the side. the shock blooms across his cheek, warm and spreading like paint underneath skin, but jisung doesn't flinch. if anything, he almost welcomes it.
it reminds him he's alive in a way nothing else does.
his breathing evens out, steady and practiced.
the bruise forming isn't a deterrent. the blood on his knuckles—either his opponents or his own, he's not sure—anchors him. it's proof that he's doing what he's supposed to do.
to jisung, fight club is just the one place where he knows the rules well enough to survive.
like this is the one thing he can't walk away from. a place he returns to because he knows nothing else.
he rolls his shoulders once before he moves again and when he does, it's like watching a fuse catch fire.
jisung surges forward, closing the distance against his opponent in a breath. his fist connects with the other man's ribs first, a hit that forces air out of the lungs with a choked sound.
he doesn't wait to see the reaction. he never does. his body is already following through with another strike, a hook that snaps the man's head back.
then, he hits him with a third, fourth—even a fifth blow—knuckles slicing through the space between them like they're guided by something older than thought.
when the man stumbles, jisung sees his opening in the slight dip in his opponent's stance. he steps in, finishing the sequence with a sharp blow that sends the contender collapsing onto the floor with a dull thud.
the crowd reacts before jisung does. hell, the 'referee' doesn't even count, like they knew the fight was over long before they even announced who won.
jisung stands over the fallen body, chest heaving and jaw tight. there's a steady thrum beneath his skin—one that only quiets once he's proven again and again that nobody here can take him down.
to the members of fight club, park jisung isn't just a fighter who's good, but a fighter who needs it.
your eyes watched jisung's movements as he moves across the ring, you don't even realize you've stopped breathing until the crowd surges forward, pulling you with them.
he was moving in the ring like he was made for it. sharp, fluid and eerie in the way he never seems surprised by the hits thrown at him.
he takes blows to the jaw that you're sure would've taken out anyone else, but he just exhales.
every moment was so controlled it borders on compulsiveness, earning him the nickname everyone whispers: the underground's obsession.
because you've seen people fight before. this isn't that.
and then the bell rings.
the crowd erupts around you like they just won the lottery.
you blink, realizing that his match has ended and a new pair of fighters are already making their way into the ring.
"i thought i warned you last time to not follow boys who only look for trouble." a low voice called from behind you.
startled, you turn around. jisung stands there, eyes narrowed in that same sharp-edged presence as your first night. somehow he’s calmer than he should be for someone after a fight, but more dangerous for it.
he looks exactly like your first night in the ring: broad chest bound in stained bandages, fresh bruises worn like it was some sort of badge. only now, his wrists are bare, every knuckle sporting a shiny metallic red color in all it's glory.
his build was lean—abs etched just enough to catch the light when he moved. if he noticed the intense staring battle you're having with his torso, he chooses not to mention anything.
"park jisung." he introduced himself to you, extending his hand forward.
"y/n,” you managed quietly, shaking his hand carefully so as not to hurt him. “i live next door."
he hums in acknowledgement, like he knew. "so, why'd you follow me?" he asks, sensing you weren't going to answer his statement from earlier. "surely it's not because you want another go with me, is it?"
like hell you do. "god, no."
your first night was just you being stupidly, almost psychotically reckless, you'll admit that much. you know this place was a bad idea, a very BAD idea. yet here you are again, chasing something you can't name.
jisung huffs a laugh, amused. "didn't think so. you don't hit like someone who enjoys this place."
he pauses, and you watch as his gaze drags over your face, slower than he intends. "so why come back?"
"i...don't know." you admit. "i guess i just didn't understand why someone would want to do this more then three times a week."
something in jisung's expression ticks. barely, but there. "curiosity is a dangerous thing down here." he warns, voice lower than before.
"isn't this place just a place where people throw punches for ego?"
jisung's jaw flexes. "yeah."
your eyes narrow slightly, obviously not convinced. that "yeah" didn't even sound close to agreement.
you’re close enough now to see the faint tremor in his fingers, the way his breathing hasn’t fully evened out—not from exhaustion, but from the adrenaline still rattling through him, as if he hasn’t learned how to switch it off.
he shifts his weight—rolling his shoulders like he’s trying to shrug something invisible off his back.
jisung's gaze is already being pulled away from you—to which you follow—drifting towards a man in the far corner of the room waving him over, an eager smile on his face.
you frown, eyes drifting back to jisung, confusion forming on your face.
his whole posture changes, like gravity just got heavier. jisung gives you one more look before he walks away, a quiet warning buried underneath.
"i wouldn't keep coming back if i were you," he mutters, his tone stripped down to something nakedly honest. "this place takes more than it gives."
you watch his bare, bruised back as he walks toward the older man, two others appearing and meeting jisung halfway. they greet him with claps to the shoulder as if to celebrate his win from earlier in the night.
one grabs his jaw, tilting his face left, then right, before shoving something to jisung's chest with too much enthusiasm for jisung's liking. he winces, stumbling backwards from the impact.
and despite the warnings jisung is giving you since following him down those stairs, you're too intrigued to really listen.
you quickly learn that jisung in the ring isn't the same boy you see up close. for someone that screams relentless and powerful, he's surprisingly...gentle.
you think back to the first night you ever waited for him outside.
"y/n? you shouldn't be out here alone this late." he frowns, checking the time. it was almost half past three. he thought you already left.
"i was going to, but i figured i'd get a little something to celebrate your win from earlier." you say, twirling the bag between your fingers.
you dig into the bag and pull out two yogurt flavored lollipops. "i don't know what you like but i figured everyone likes a sweet treat to celebrate."
jisung stares at you blankly.
the lack of reaction is starting to make you think that maybe you should've just went home after all.
"if you don't take the candy, i'm going to eat both." you say stubbornly, already in the process of unwrapping one so you weren't just standing there awkwardly.
to your surprise, jisung plucks the other candy from your fingers, popping the sugary treat into his mouth before he gestures that the two of you start walking.
jisung walks beside you in silence, the lollipop stick shifting from one side to the other in his mouth. he doesn't look at you, but he slows down his pace just enough for you to keep up.
maybe that's why—without really meaning to—you start to slip into the crowd to watch and make sure he's okay (much to his dismay).
"you're not very good at listening, are you?"
you freeze on the spot, because you already know that tone. it was more tired than it was angry; the kind of exhaustion that comes from fighting everything but the thing he wants to say.
when you spin around, jisung is at the top of staircase, hand on the railing like he was holding himself up. his hair was damp, a few strands stuck to his forehead, and there's a fading bruise at the corner of his mouth that wasn't there the last time you saw him.
he descends the stairs slowly, not like he was trying to corner you, but like his legs seemed heavier than usual. like he hoped you wouldn't actually come back tonight and doesn't know what to do when he realizes that's not going to happen.
his eyes flick to the door behind you, the sound of a crowd buzzing, fighters cracking their bones with every swing, the sharp bell cutting through the air. then his eyes land back to you.
you offer a small, unapologetic smile you always give when you know you've stayed away but couldn't. "i just wanted to make sure you were okay," you start, quiet. "after the last fight—"
jisung huffs a breath that isn't quite a laugh, but more like a surrender. "yeah," he murmurs, reaching the bottom step. "that's the problem."
because of course you came.
despite pushing you away with words, his actions always pull you right back in.
you stand frozen at the edge of the crowd, heart thudding as fists blur in front of you. every hit sounds too loud, too real. the crack of knuckles, each swing landing with a force that makes your stomach twist. it feels wrong, watching someone get hit like that, but your body won't move, and you can't tell if you're more afraid of looking away or looking too long.
you don't even realize you're drifting awfully close to the ring until a hand clamps onto your wrist and yanks you back.
jisung.
he's breathless, jaw tight, eyes scanning you like he's expecting to find blood.
"you can't just disappear like that." he says, voice sharper than he meant to.
when you just blink at him, startled, the tension in his shoulders collapses into something more exhausted than angry.
he sighs and steps closer, hands landing on your shoulders. "if you're going to wander around," he mutters, adjusting your stance. "at least keep your back to the wall."
his grip tightens for half a second, just long enough to give away how scared he actually was. you hear his breath leave him before he lifts his chin toward the left hallway.
"don't turn your back to that hallway. ever."
there's no heat in his voice now. just a warning shaped like fear.
other nights, you find yourself knocking on his door on impulse, like something in you already knows he'll open it.
jisung opens his door, hair flat on the side, clearly not ready to be expecting guests.
"i brought food," you blurt. "i ordered too much food and i'm not going to finish. if you want some."
he blinks at you, staring at the take out bag in your hands like it was some alien artifact. "you're...okay with sharing?" he asks, genuinely confused.
"no, jisung, i actually don't. i poisoned the food because the thought of sharing makes me homicidal." you deadpan.
there's a flicker in his eyes that you miss, before he shrugs and steps aside to let you in. "i don't know, you did punch me that one time."
the longer you're around him, the more you start to notice the things he doesn't say—little moments that give him away.
the walk back to the apartment complex from the convenience store was more of a comfortable quiet than an awkward one. streetlights, buzzing, the air cool and a half-finished snack in your hand.
nothing dangerous. nothing unusual.
that's why the noise startles you both.
a metal pipe hits the ground with a sharp clang, somewhere behind the construction fence across the street.
you jolt a little and jisung's already stepping in front of you before you could register what was happening.
his arm is in front of you automatically, blocking you, body angled like he was expecting someone to come rushing out. you hear his breath catch harshly—too sharp for a noise that came from a perfectly safe work site.
you look up at him, gentle but confused. "are you okay?"
"sorry," he mutters, pulling away when he realizes he's standing too close. "didn't mean to."
"it's okay." you say. and it is. because the street settles back into the same comfortable quiet from five minutes ago.
jisung swallows, nods once, and walks again. not beside you this time, but half a step ahead, like he's clearing the path.
and somehow, despite everything, he's clumsy in a way that feels almost endearing.
you get startled when jisung nearly trips over his own feet while the two of you are walking home. you catch his arm, and he mutters something underneath his breath before sneaking a look in your direction.
"are you okay?" you ask, a small smile creeping on your face.
the boxer looks away, suddenly realizing how close you are to him.
"yeah-yes, uh, yeah," he stutters.
a laugh escapes you, soft and warm. "you know, you fight better than you walk."
his shoulders sink. "don't remind me."
when you keep smiling at him, he looks away—the eye contact physically being too much for him. not flustered, just unsure how to keep the conversation going without sounding strange.
he walks a little straighter after that.
it becomes a pattern. him softening in small ways that don't match the boy you first met. nothing dramatic. just a quiet awareness like he keeps waiting for you to show up again.
and you do, hours later, jacket half on and grocery list in hand, jisung appears in his doorway just as you step out.
"where are you going?"
you turn, facing a messy haired jisung, with his hoodie half zipped.
"grocery store," you say. "i'm running out of food."
he hesitates, then he's fully stepping out into the hall and locking his own apartment. "i'll go with you."
and then you're off. the both of you fall into step automatically, like you've done this a hundred times instead of never.
the automatic doors sigh open as you both step into the glow of the grocery store. it's nearly midnight, aisles half empty with soft music humming above your heads.
jisung keeps close behind you, hood up, hands in the pockets of his jeans like he's afraid to take up too much space. you watch as his eyes constantly dart around—over the shelves, the signs, the people.
"do you always shop here?" he asks, after a scratch of silence.
you nod, humming. "mh-mm, it's close to campus." you spin around, walking backwards so you're looking at him, a smile on your face. "and they have good strawberries."
he nods like that's deeply important information, a feeling in his stomach that he can't decipher from what.
he watches as you walk into an aisle, plucking items off the shelf to inspect them before placing them in the cart you had grabbed earlier.
walking behind you, he keeps staring down into the cart like it's a foreign language.
"do you usually just pick anything you want?"
"that's how shopping works," you laugh. "you buy what you want."
he nods slowly, slowly processing what was happening right now.
when you reach the produce section, you hand him a container of strawberries. "check if they look okay?"
jisung stills for a moment but cups the plastic box in both hands without question.
"they look fine," he says finally, but then frowns, opening it and inspecting each one like he actually wants to get this right. "this one looks...weird. is it supposed to look like that?"
you take a peak at the strawberry jisung singled out, and laugh softly. "it's just a little dented, it's okay."
his mouth forms into an 'o', slowly placing the fruit back into the container and into the cart.
in the snack aisle, you hold up two different ramen flavors. "pick one."
he's staring at his options like they were a trick question. "for you?"
"for us," you correct. "nothing beats a good bowl of ramen when you're finished with a fist fight." you cup the side of your mouth and add quietly, "and when you're deprived from sleep of studying all night. that too."
jisung swallows and finally ends up picking the simpler one, after three full seconds of internal warfare. you pretend you don't notice how nervous he is about it.
when you guys reach the freezer section, jisung is too invested in the different types of protein and processed foods that when he blindly reaches for the cart, his hand brushing yours by accident and he snatches it back instantly.
"sorry—"
"it's okay," you say, voice soft. "you can relax, you know."
"i'm trying." he says quietly, not embarrassed, just honest.
you smile and don't say anything else. you continue on with your shopping, letting jisung in on the decision making process.
and that's how the night ends.
four plastic bags, a shared walk home and jisung looking at the world like someone just opened a door he didn't know existed.
it isn't until two months later after meeting jisung that you realize you're starting to feel something for him.
it's technically friday morning, though it still feels like thursday to you, when you and jisung walk the path back home after his match at fight club.
when the two of you walk, you don't usually say much. so when you see jisung taking a right turn instead of going straight like you normally would, you can't help but call out to him.
"earth to jisung, i don't know where you think you're going, but home is this direction."
his response is a simple "i know" as he continues to walk forward. when he stops in his tracks and looks back in your direction, you realize he's waiting for you to follow him.
you raise a brow at him but ultimately follow; where he doesn't begin walking until you're beside him.
and you're glad you do follow him, because he leads you to a park.
the park is washed in a low silver glow, the moonlight catching on the leaves. the pathways are empty, but not lonely—just peacefully still.
"this is the park i come to from time to time to practice boxing." jisung says, hair blowing messily in the faint breeze that moves through the trees.
you hear dogs barking in the distance, the lamps along the trails casting a warm halo over the pavement in soft gold circles.
jisung walks over to an open area before he gestures for you to stand in front of him. "come stand in front of me."
you don't ask questions and follow orders, and jisung softly takes your wrists and lifts them beside your face. "fists closed, arms on the side of your face like you're about to block a sneeze."
"are you really teaching me how to box right now?" you ask, not annoyed, but amused.
jisung shrugs, nudging your feet further apart to get into the perfect stance. "i won't always be there on time."
"one foot slightly ahead of the other and keep your knees loose," when he holds your chin to tilt it down, you stop breathing. "chin tucked."
jisung steps away, nodding. "good. that's your stance. stay loose."
he taps your front hand. "this one—jab. just a quick flick."
he gets into position, demonstrating. "it's the simplest punch. use your front hand and just extend your arm straight out and bring it back like i did. it's quick, light and more about speed than power."
you nod, following his actions. jisung nods in approval. "good, now the next one is called a cross. turn your hip. more."
you punch forward, and he exhales like he's biting back a remark.
"your hip," he says. then he steps behind you, one hand settling at your waist and the other on your hipbone. "you're not turning it."
he moves with you, guiding the twist of your body. his hands fall away a moment too slowly, like he forgets to let go. "there we go. power comes from here."
you spend the next twenty minutes learning some basic boxing moves: your stance, basic moves; to which some needing further instruction with how awkward you were being.
"i have no clue what i'm doing." you say, laughing.
"that's okay." jisung reassures you, being patient with you as he walks you through each step.
"now you're going to guard."
"guard?"
he nods. "not getting hit. it's the baseline of defense." he brings your hands back up to your face into position. "hands up, elbows tucked, and keep your face protected." he demonstrates again. "and keep your head slightly turned so you're never a still target."
when you try it, jisung steps closer. "not that far." he murmurs quietly.
his fingers curve lightly around the back of your neck, turning your head the way he wants it. his thumb grazes your jaw as he nudges you back to center. "just enough to miss the hit."
you tell yourself it's only the cold night air that is making you aware of the close you are, but your heart seems to know something you don't.
on mondays and wednesdays, jisung likes to hover inside your apartment while you study. he reasons that it's to make it feel less lonely for you, but you suspect it's more for him than yourself.
so when you open your door, it's no surprise to see him standing there—the culprit of the knocking, stepping aside wordlessly to let him in.
he never intrudes, letting you work without distraction. he fidgets or paces while you study, trying his best to keep himself occupied without getting in the way of your studies.
every now and then, he'll hover over your desk, watching as you scribble notes on multiple passages that you read over. he'll even pass you a pen or a different colored highlighter, as an excuse to stay closer to you.
occasionally, he'll watch you hum softly, his posture shifts, tension sliding up his shoulders the moment your eyes lift, gaze dropping to his hands as if they're suddenly fascinating.
and you stare at him, a question bubbling in your throat you've been wanting to ask since meeting him. "how did you get good at boxing?"
his eyes widen, and he shifts in his seat to lean back, not expecting the sudden change of interest.
you notice his hands clench and then relax, wiping his hands on his jeans from how clammy they were getting. "uh, it's been a hobby of mine since i was a kid." he starts, gaze skimming over the room, never settling long enough to land on you.
you tilt your head, surprised. "since you were a kid? really?" there was something about the way he said it, like he didn't want to admit it but couldn't help himself.
jisung nods, leaning forward as if to examine your notes though his eyes aren't following the words. "people around me always said i was good. like really good. i ended up learning about fight club through an... acquaintance." he pauses, rubbing the back of his neck. "it was just a hobby of mine that i stuck with, i guess."
"and fight club? when did you join?"
he shoots you a brief look. "you want a full biography? it's mostly boring."
when you nod your head for him to continue, the corner of his mouth quirks up just slightly. "do you remember the first rule of fight club?"
"that you don't talk about fight club..." you say, pouting, but you can't hide the small smile tugging on your lips.
your eyes meet, but he looks away almost immediately, jaw tightening. you turn back to your notes, fingers fidgeting with your pen.
you tuck your hair behind your ear, flipping back to the page you were on, focusing your brain into study mode.
and for the next few minutes, he lets you go back to studying.
jisung stretches in his seat, hooking a foot around the leg of the chair to ground himself. he presses his thumb to a raw spot on his knuckle, worried about distracting you but can't quite sit still.
for a moment, you wonder if he even realizes how calming it is for him to be here, quietly occupying space without interrupting.
silence stretches between you two, comfortable yet expectant, before he returns the same curiosity. "what about you? do you even like it here?"
when you don't answer right away, he softens his question. "i mean... are you happy?"
you blink, thrown off by the sudden shift.
he clears his throat, eyes darting away to look at your picture frames—friends, family, awards—fixated on none in particular.
and when you take a peek at his face, your heartbeat skips, a quiet stutter you hope doesn't show.
how strange, you think. you spent several weeks pretending he was another friend but there's something about the way he hovers near you—careful, gentle—that makes a tiny, impossible hope curl in your stomach.
"i would say so," you murmur. "why do you ask?"
jisung shrugs. "there's not much to do here, and you're all by yourself."
"i have you." you say, smiling without thinking.
the words linger longer than you expect.
for a moment, jisung goes still, almost like the sentence hits him somewhere he wasn't guarding. he doesn't comment on it, but he doesn't need to.
because after that night, something shifts.
he stays a little longer on mondays, shows up a little earlier on wednesdays, and his knocks become familiar, almost expected.
until one night, he shows up again, but the knock is different—it's harder, more uneven.
when you open the door, he isn't composed or careful. he's bruised, breathing hard, his eyes searching your face with a kind of quiet urgency.
"can i..." he says, voice cracking. "can i come in?"
you rush him inside and sit him down onto your couch. "wait here, i'll go get the first aid kit."
and when you come back, you're kneeling in front of him, eyes searching his. your hands pause just above his skin, waiting for any sign of discomfort.
his hands are still trembling, bandages soaked, eyes distant.
when he doesn't flinch away as you place your hands on top of his, you take it as your sign to start cleaning him up.
you start with unravelling the bandages around his wrists, heart hurting when you see the injuries underneath: his knuckles are torn open. you grab a warm towel, wiping away old and fresh blood.
you drag the warm cloth over his cheekbones, washing away the smear of someone else's blood. his breath catches, and you quickly apologize. "sorry," you whisper.
"it's okay," he murmurs, voice rough. "it doesn't hurt." and it doesn't, because you're being so careful with him.
the cut on his eyebrow is shallow but messy, bleeding more than it should. you clean the split and jisung stays perfectly still—not from the pain, but from how close you are.
when your gaze traces the line of his cheek, the swelling making your heart twist. "do you want to talk about it?"
jisung shakes his head and you nod, not wanting to push it.
his breathing comes in uneven pulls, gaze fixed on your hands. his shoulders are tense under your fingers, no matter how gentle you are with him.
you smother a thin layer of ointment over the open cuts, careful not to put even the slightest of pressure to make it hurt.
when your fingers brush his jaw, it's like the world stops.
his gaze drops to your mouth without meaning to, and he swallows like the air is suddenly too thick. he tries to lean back but you're quick to call his name softly. his breath hitches.
"jisung, don't move too much, i'm almost done."
"y/n..." he says, your name sounding like something he isn't sure he's supposed to want.
you look up.
and it's over. the distance, the pretending, the pretending-not-to-stare.
jisung doesn't move closer, not really. he just...leans. like his body decided before he had time to think himself out of it.
"jisung—" you start, but the words dissolve because he's already there, brushing his lips against yours so gently you almost wonder you imagined it.
when you don't pull away, he breathes out shakily and kisses you again, this time real. still soft, still careful, but with something warm and terrified behind it, like he's afraid the moment will disappear if he presses too hard.
he pulls back slightly, the loss of warmth feels immediate. his eyes stay on yours, wide and conflicted, the kind of look someone wears when they've done something instinctive and only now realized it. "i...didn't mean—" he begins, his voice coming out hoarse.
he exhales sharply. "shit..."
you sit back on your heels, heart still hammering, your fingers curling against your knees. you're so stunned that you don't move.
"...can we pretend that didn't happen? just for tonight."
you nod, even though your chest tightens. "yeah," you whisper. "for tonight."
but the way his eyes drop to your lips again—quick, involuntary, betraying him completely—tells you both the same thing:
he won't be able to pretend forever.
the next few days pass in a strange, fragile kind of normal—or your best attempt at normal.
you and jisung don't talk about the kiss. you don't look at it, breathe near it, don't let yourselves say anything that might detonate the quiet truce you made.
he still comes over mondays. still knocks twice on wednesdays. still sits in the same chair beside your desk, fidgeting with the same nervous hands.
but everything about him has changed.
every time you brush past him, he stiffens. every time he passes you a pen when you study, he snatches his hand back immediately. and every time you look at him a little too long, he looks away a little too fast.
you still come to watch his fights on tuesdays. still practice with him every other saturday. still buy him yogurt-flavored candy to celebrate every win.
and just like jisung, everything about you has changed.
when he finishes a fight and heads straight for you, your heart trips over itself. when he walks too close on the way home, you hate how much it affects you—shoulders brushing his—the heat radiating off him. and when he brushes a stray hair out of your face without thinking, your stomach flips so violently you feel stupid for pretending it doesn't.
you both pretend that the kiss never happened, but it's the only thing echoing through your head.
does he regret it? is that why he avoids your eyes on purpose or is it because he really can't meet them?
if you were to be completely honest, these past few days have been absolute hell for you. a constant ache, a constant wonder of what will happen to the two of you if you were to even breathe a word about the kiss.
the way he reacts with you now is enough to make your heart sting.
it's gotten to the point that even ordinary things feel strange now. when he hands you a water bottle, he sets it down instead of passing it to you. when he laughs, he cuts himself off too fast. when he stiffens around you, every inch of space between you feels charged. everything feels so rehearsed—like he's trying to avoid a mistake he already made.
he's a fighter, but your fingertips make him retreat.
why did he look so sure about kissing you then, but so terrified now?
that uneasy flutter hits your stomach again, heart beating too fast for comfort the more you think about your reality. was this the beginning of him closing off?
and that's exactly what ends up happening.
when the next week comes, jisung's visits on mondays are less frequent. he comes by noon and ends up leaving after an hour, not really elaborating why. you've tried offering to keep him company, but he would always decline.
wednesdays come by in a blur with unfinished homework and a room too big for your liking. you glance at the clock out of habit, waiting by the door longer to admit, listening to the soft pair of knocks that end up not coming. the silence consuming your apartment is so complete it almost feels intentional.
you think saturdays are when it hurts the most. for the past few months, your weekends have carved around the same rhythm. go to fight club, practice, the long walk home with jisung where he always walked a little closer than he meant to. you tell yourself you were fine without it, but when saturday comes, you find yourself staring at your ceiling instead of the stars you normally would see in those brown eyes you couldn't help looking into.
you try to smother the ache by focusing on school. bury yourself in assignments. highlight lines in your textbook even if you don't need to.
but your thoughts won't stay where you put them.
you've thought about going to fight club, but a single question was enough to stop you every time.
what if showing up makes it worse? that even if you came just to see if he was okay, to see if he was hurt, if he was avoiding everyone or if it was just you.
and maybe worst of all: what if he acts completely normal?
you're more afraid of that possibility than the brutality in that damn basement—of the smell of sweat and spit, the echoing roar of the crowd and the metallic taste of adrenaline that always lingered on your tongue. you'd rather face that than have him look past you.
still, that anxious energy was building in your chest, buzzing, restless, like your body hasn't stopped expecting him to show up at any moment.
so you decide that boxing might be a good way to release it.
you lace up your sneakers, throw on a jacket and grab your keys before walking to the park that feels too familiar. you'd step on the cracks in the pavement, skipping out on hopping on them like you normally would just to hear him laugh. you pass the convenience store you normally buy that stupid yogurt-flavored candy, but you don't let yourself look too long through the windows.
the air is colder than you expected, but maybe that's because you're alone.
when you reach the park, the sight hits you harder than you prepare for.
because you find the cause of all your anxiety sitting on a patch of grass, hands tangled in his hair like he's trying to hold himself together.
the park lights paint him in a dim gold, soft enough to make him look almost harmless—almost like the boy he keeps insisting he isn't.
your feet move automatically, the crunch of gravel underneath your shoes is so loud you're afraid it would scare him away.
he doesn't look up when you approach him.
he just says, voice tight, "i'm trying to not fuck things up."
"what do you mean?"
you carefully sit beside him, the fresh wet grass soaking into your jeans. the silence settles between you, as if you were letting him decide if he wants to run again.
he doesn't.
instead, he lifts his head, eyes finally meeting yours. they're dark, raw and honest in a way he's never let them be.
"you have no idea," he starts quietly. "how hard i'm trying not to think about that kiss. but every time i do, i just...get more confused. i don't know what i'm doing."
your heart picks up.
he exhales shakily. his fingers twitch against the grass, like he's fighting himself. "i'm scared," he admits. "every time i thought i was doing the right thing, i ended up wanting you more. i...i can't stop thinking about you."
his voice breaks a little, but he leans a little closer anyways.
the heat between you is immediate, familiar, terrifying.
you whisper, "jisung."
and just like that, just his name on your lips undoes whatever restraint he was clinging to. he fully turns toward you, knee brushing yours, breath warm against your cheeks.
"if this is too much," he murmurs. "tell me to leave,"
your heart starts to race, so fast that you swear you could feel it in your own fingertips. when you shake your head—barely a motion, barely anything—his shoulders loosen.
jisung leaned in slowly, like he was approaching something sacred. his hand hovered over your cheek first—not touching, just asking. when you don't pull away, he exhales and lets his fingers settle against your skin. he pauses there, eyes flickering to your mouth, giving you every chance to stop him right then and there.
when you don't, he dips his head and presses his lips to yours, gentle but unmistakably firm.
every moment after that was slower, more sure, like he was memorizing the exact shape of the moment as he created it.
your chest tightens, not from fear but from the sudden, dizzying relief of finally knowing you weren't imagining any of it.
it hits you all at once. the loneliness of the past week, the confusion, the ache of thinking you were the one who cared. now he's here, saying everything you were too afraid to hope for.
you didn't think it was possible to feel so safe and so exposed all at once.
and for the first time since that night, he doesn't pull back.
weeks slip by, each one folding into the next. you and jisung settle into a rhythm that feels almost ordinary (if ordinary can include someone who likes to fight as a hobby).
jisung's visits become more frequent again, and there's a lightness to his presence that wasn't there before. the tension that used to coil around his shoulders has softened, though not disappeared entirely.
now the two of you cook together sometimes—more you than jisung, share music over lazy afternoons, and walk through the neighborhood without feeling like you're bracing for something. you seem to notice that jisung laughs more freely now, letting his gaze linger on you longer than it used to, and you catch him watching you, quiet and unselfconscious, in moments that make your chest tighten in ways you're happy to feel.
you watch him train in the evenings with a steady focus, calloused hands and sweat-slicked hair, and yet he leaves the brutality at that damned basement when he comes home. mostly, at least.
you still notice the way he flinches at sudden noises on the street, in the small, almost imperceptible pauses before he answers your question you asked earlier, and sometimes in the distant look that crosses his eyes during quiet study sessions. it's a reminder that fight club isn't gone, just contained.
and yet, life still goes on. it softens around the edges. moments pile up, small ones, stupid ones, ones that make you think maybe this fragile calm is becoming something real.
like the evenings he reads your textbook upside-down just to see how long it takes for you to notice.
or the afternoon he tries to fix a broken faucet and somehow manages to break it even more. (you didn't even know that was possible. he stands over the sink, desperately trying to stop the water from flooding your bathroom. "how did you even—" you start, but jisung is quick to cut in. "i don't know. i followed the instructions. probably." he in fact did not follow the instructions.)
or maybe the way he steals your snack you bought on the way home, then denies it in the world's worst poker face. you think he does it just to get a reaction out of you.
or just maybe, it's the quiet, almost domestic rhythm of him staying the night, brushing your teeth at the same time, bumping elbows at the sink, both of you pretending it's not weirdly intimate.
it becomes a string of small, ordinary days. warm, unassuming, easy enough to believe in.
so when dinner goes wrong one night, like spectacularly wrong, jisung is staring at the smoking pan and you both end up laughing harder than you should.
"we should go grab take-out," you decide.
"obviously," he mutters, waving smoke away with a towel.
it feels normal, stupidly normal. almost like you could stay this way if only for one night.
you two walk along the street, the city quieter tonight that made jisung's breath feel less heavy.
your eyes light up, spotting a familiar neon sign. you tug in jisung's sleeve, urging him to quicken his steps. "this place has really good kimchi udon. delicious, cheap, and won't poison us."
he laughs, small but real. "that's reassuring."
when you two get your food, you fill the silence in-between bites with small pieces of your childhood.
you don't notice the way jisung's eyes linger on you as you talk, too caught up in the conversation of how your mother used to make you kimchi udon when you were a kid, but was too busy with work to continue making it.
he watched as your hands moved as you spoke—expressive, soft and utterly unconcerned with how ridiculous you may look to others around you.
he didn't realize for the past hour, he has never felt this way before.
it was nothing like the world he knew.
not the underground pit. not the shouting. not the tension that lived in his bones like a second heartbeat.
and for a terrifying moment, he knew he wanted this.
by eleven o'clock, you're walking next to jisung, arms linked as you guys make your way back to building, where your doors face the same hallway, turning onto a quieter street because a neighborhood cat caught your attention.
that's when they appeared. three men stumbling out of a bar doorway, loud, slurring. at first, it was nothing, but one of them bumps into you and instead of apologizing, they look up and smile too wide for your liking.
"hey sweetheart," the man said, voice sticky. "where you headed?"
you stiffen when another man steps closer. "you're cute, y'know that?"
the third laughed. "c'mon, don't be shy. join us." lifting his hand up to your face, almost carelessly, but to jisung, it's something else entirely.
and suddenly he's too close, stepping in-between you and the tipsy man, his hand shooting out in front of you like a barrier.
"back up." it wasn't loud, but was colder in the way it was said that not even the night air makes you shiver.
the first guy scoffs. "what, you her boyfriend or something?"
jisung's jaw flexes, fists curled. his stance lowered half an inch. he didn't notice he'd done it, but the men did.
"that guy's gonna swing," one muttered, already attempting to drag his friend away from a nasty blow.
and jisung almost did. every nerve in him begged for it. the impact, the adrenaline, the clarity that came. that familiar rush surged up his spine, drowning out your voice behind him.
"jisung, it's fine," you whisper, but his breathing goes shallow, and his eyes narrow.
the familiar rush of adrenaline drags him backward without permission, and suddenly the street lamps become a single buzzing overhead bulb, the sidewalk molting into that grimy slate-colored canvas that caught every drop of sweat. like he was back in that concrete hallway again, shouts he can't hear clearly.
then it was your hand on his back that snaps him back to reality. soft and slow.
"jisung," you say again, barely audible. "it's fine. they're just drunk, let's go home."
he doesn't even realize the three men have already backed up and left. but his body doesn't relax.
something settles behind his eyes. not anger, not fear—acceptance.
because even if he wanted normal, normal didn't want him back.
and that's how it ends up: two days without seeing him. two days of worry gnawing at you like a bruise you can't stop pressing.
now you're back in fight club because you've decided enough is enough—you need to see him.
and tonight, you learn very quickly who the next fight is through the chorus of murmurs rippling through the crowd:
park jisung versus fight club's favorite prodigy.
that's how jisung ends up back to the place beneath everything else.
the crowd whispers about the other fighter like he's inevitable, like park jisung is showing up just to bleed.
the lights flicker for a second, then lock steady, revealing two figures in the ring. the crowd's mumurs swell into a low roar, an animalistic buzz that prickles jisung's skin, but he barely notices.
his focus narrows, every movement in the air, every muscle becomes part of a single rhythm.
across from him, the prodigy smirks, bouncing lightly on their toes, eyes bright, fists poised. this isn't someone jisung underestimates; the club has built legends out of them, but he's not here to play games. not tonight.
keep breathing. eyes. hands. timing.
but his ribs still ache from the last fight. his right hand throbs inside the wraps. and under it all is the fear from two days ago, the shove in the street and the echo of a soft, familiar voice replaying in his head.
not now. don't think. just fight.
the bell rings.
and the prodigy lunges first.
the first hit jisung blocks. the second cracks against his jaw. jisung counters on instinct, landing a jab, but his opponent only grins.
another strike comes flying—a hook. jisung ducks, his vision pulsating at the edges.
it's fine. breathe. i've fought worse. i—
a blow to the ribs knocks the air from his lungs.
jisung gasps, stumbling back, guarding low, chest burning. everything he knows slipping from his mind. usually he reads opponents like an open book, but tonight—
focus, damn it.
a hook grazes jisung's cheek, staggering but recovers, swinging a cross with a calculated precision. he's been here before. he knows how to dictate the fight.
round after round, they trade blows. each strike from the prodigy is sharp, aimed to provoke. each counter from jisung is defensive yet punishing.
the crowd cheers, but jisung barely hears them; all he feels is every nerve alive, each breathe burning, every heartbeat hammering.
another uppercut snaps jisung's head back. he's hurting, but he's still relentless. he feints, dodges, and lands a solid jab to the prodigy's midsection. the boy grunts, but keeps pressing.
the bell for the next round feels like a reprieve. jisung leans against the ropes, chest heaving, sweat stinging his eyes.
round four: fatigue creeps into jisung's shoulders, slowing his reflexes just enough for the prodigy to land a brutal combination—a hook to the temple, a cross to the jaw, an uppercut snapping his head. he stumbles, chest heaving, one hand brushing the ground to keep him upright.
jisung starts to feel stars behind his eyes, ribs screaming. he throws a desperate flurry, but his body tremble under the strain. the prodigy wastes no time to counter, finding openings that shouldn't exist.
and finally, a sharp right connects squarely on his temple. the world tilts, and jisung falls to one knee.
the referee steps in, quick to announce the winner. the crowd is a mix of cheers, groans, murmurs, but jisung knows that throughout the fight, he left his mark despite the loss.
jisung struggles to his feet, every muscle burning and every nerve screaming.
the roar of the crowd fades into a distant echo as he steadies himself. for a heartbeat, everything is just ringing and sweat and the taste of blood.
then hands grab him.
jisung doesn't get a chance to breathe before he's being dragged out of the ring.
a hand clamping around his upper arm, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. not out of malice, just thoughtlessness. like he was something to move out of the way, not someone to apologize to.
"back up," someone grunts, and before he can react, jisung is yanked a half-step sideways. his feet scrape against the hard floor as another body shoves past, shoulder checking him without even looking.
"watch it, he's still bleeding," another one mutters, but no one slows down.
these were the days when jisung felt the smallest, not because there were other fighters here who were bigger and meaner, but because he felt like no one here bothers to see him.
another guy reaches from behind, steering him like an obstacle. "move."
it doesn't take long for a tall man step in front of him, looming over him like a wall. he doesn't punch first; he doesn't need to. instead, he inspects him, circling slowly, eyes sharp, hands twitching like he's mapping the quickest way to break him.
everyone in the crowd watches with a hunger that has nothing to do with the sport. the kind of silence that isn't respectful, but expectant. they've seen this happen before. threats aren't theatrics here; they're currency. and the man in front of jisung? he's someone whose words are followed.
the man grabs the younger fighters' jaw, fingers digging into the fresh cut on his cheek. "see these?" he murmurs, twisting just enough to make jisung wince. "all that pain, all that effort... what's it worth if you can't even win me a fight?"
the man's grip on his jaw tightens, and before jisung can even brace, a sharp backhand cracks across his cheek.
it's not rage-fueled punch. it's worse.
it's casual.
jisung barely reacts, swallowing and lowering his gaze because he knows better to make it worse.
this is world he's used to.
not with yogurt-flavored candy. not with late-night study sessions for a subject he's never taken. not a girl next door who makes him feel something he can't name.
"pathetic."
the taller man doesn't lift his hand again. instead, he jerks his thumb toward the crowd—toward someone just barely visible at the edge of the ring, eyes focused on him, face pale. you.
"you lose the next one," he hisses, voice low enough for only the boxer can hear, "and that girl over there ends up like you."
his breath stutters. for a split second, his eyes flicker toward you—quick, terrified, apologetic—before he forces them back to the older man in front of him. he nods once, and a bundled item is shoved into his hands so abruptly that his fingers curl on instinct. the weight familiar and unmistakable.
the crowd presses closer, hungry to see violence, but their noise fades into a background when jisung's eyes lands on your figure rapidly approaching him.
he doesn't hesitate. his body moves before thought does. too many eyes are on you now. his hands finds your wrist, and before you can process the look on his face, he's pulling you into the nearest dark corridor.
the first thing out of your mouth comes out panicked, almost angry. you've seen him bruised before. but never manhandled. "what the hell was their problem?"
the crowd behind you roars at something—no, someone—hitting the ground. a wet, meaty crack echoes through the room, followed by a choked sob and the scrape of shoes dragging across concrete.
jisung's hands land on your arms, as if to keep you in place while he glances over his shoulder. when a figure passes by, jisung is quick enough to shield your body with his, away from any more attention you've gathered tonight.
"not here. please."
you on the other hand, were too angry to notice his intentions. "seriously jisung, what the hell was that back there?"
"what was what?" he asks, though he already knows the answer to his own question.
you catch the shift in his expression, and you see it. his shoulders locked, panic flashing across his face.
"why were those peopl—"
your eyes flick between him and the group of men slinking into a hallway, before they settle back on jisung; eyes traveling down to the contents settled in his hands.
"why do you have a wad of cash in your hands?"
your neighbor's jaw tightens. he looks everywhere but at you, shoving the cash into his pocket as if hiding it can undo what you saw.
when he refuses to answer, you look at him—really look—and it hits you.
the bruises, the trembling, the exhaustion, the sharp edges of his posture.
they weren't from just fighting, they're the weight of everything this place demands.
from the men who grabbed him when he slowed down, from the threats whispered into his ear, from the hands that forced him back into the ring whether he can stand or not.
suddenly, the money being shoved into his chest after every fight doesn't look like a reward—it's permission. a pass to use him again next week.
you realize he's not fighting because he wants to.
he's fighting because someone decided he doesn't get a choice.
"is this..." you start, your voice barely carrying over the distant shouts. "is this what you meant that fight club took more than it gave?"
for a moment, he doesn't answer. he just lets go of your wrist, his hand lingering for a second before he finally looks at you in a way that you finally see the cost that he's been paying.
"stop coming here. please." his voice is steady, but the strain is there if you're listening.
jisung never cared what happened to him in this place.
he could have the crowd boo his name. his opponent could break his ribs. his handlers could beat him until he's half-conscious.
none of it scared him.
but he feels fear for the first time once he sees you.
one moment he's staring at the wad of cash in his hands, the threat echoing in his skull like gunfire—you lose the next one and that girl ends up like you—and the next, his gaze catches on movement at the edge of the crowd.
you.
your eyes wide. confused and hurt.
his stomach drops so fast he feels sick.
you're too close, too visible, too fragile for a place like this.
jisung doesn't decide to move, his body just..goes. his hand reaches for your wrist before he can think if that's crossing a line, but he needs you gone. hidden.
his pulse is a roar in his ears, every shadow feels like a threat. he pulls you into a nearby corridor, barely registering the words coming out of your mouth. when he feels you yank your wrist out of his grasp, he blurts out the only thing he can manage. "not here. please."
but you don't listen—of course you don't—and he doesn't blame you. "seriously jisung, what was that back there?"
his eyes snap to yours, narrowing. for a split second he hopes—no, prays—that deep down you didn't actually see what happened. that maybe you were asking about the fight, not the men who had their hands on him afterward. "what was what?" he forces out, voice tight.
but then your eyes drop to the cash he's still holding, and he feels it before he thinks: shame crawling up his throat, and underneath it, terror, because this is it. this is the moment he knows he failed to keep you out.
"why do you have a wad of cash in your hands?"
please stop. please don't get pulled into this. please don't see me like this.
he can't breathe properly. he tries to, but the air sticks, shallow and sharp.
your gaze travels all over him—his bruised cheek, his shaking hands, the open cuts on his knuckles—and he sees you putting it all together.
and then you say it.
"is this what you meant that fight club took more than it gave?" the words were so soft, but they cracked him clean in half.
because you're right.
because you were never supposed to know what it cost him.
and because he never wanted you to ever understand just how low this basement can go.
being seen like this. like property.
his jaw locks before he can stop it.
and he finally looks at you—really looks—and it almost breaks him. the worry, the anger, the fear swimming in your eyes all at once.
"stop coming here," he says, but the words scrape his throat raw on the way out. he tries to make his voice steady, but he hears it anyways—the strain, the fear pressing against each syllable.
he wishes he could tell you the truth. to have the ability to hold your hand again not because he's pulling you into a corner to hide.
but all he can manage—all he's allowed—is, "please."
the one word he only ever learned how to use when begging for mercy.
and right now, he's begging for yours.
park jisung grows busier and harder to reach, but somehow, you never stop feeling the warmth of his presence lingering at the edges of your day.
for once, you decided to listen to your neighbor and stop attending fight club. you tell yourself it gives you more time to focus on school—less stress, fewer close calls—and thankfully jisung still puts in an effort to come see you despite the unspoken ban hanging between you.
sometimes it's quiet check-ins between his errands. other times, it's the quiet comfort of the two of you sharing a couch, your head resting against his shoulder until he inevitably falls asleep sitting up. or it's the days where it's something small but thoughtful—like buying you a cup of coffee far better than the instant stuff you usually settle for, handing it to you before your first class with a soft, "don't be late."
lately, though, you've noticed he slips away at odd hours.
tonight, you hear the scrape of his chair against your floorboards and glance up from your notebook, you catch him tugging on his hoodie, hood up, the motion casual but purposeful.
"where are you going?" you ask, curious but not accusing.
he pauses long enough to lean over and press a kiss to the top of your head. "i'll be back in a bit," he murmurs. "but if you're asleep by the time i come back, i'll make sure to see you tomorrow. promise."
and then he's gone.
and despite having class early in the morning, you find yourself fighting sleep anyways—lights low, pretending to review notes, hoping to catch one more moment with him. even it it's just hearing him whisper a tired "goodnight" on his way past your door.
almost daily, around the same hour, he slips out, never telling you exactly where, only murmuring: "just clearing my head".
by morning, you cross through the living room on the way out, and you don't miss a steaming cup of coffee waiting on top of your entryway table, his jacket casually hanging on a hook beside it.
a small note rests atop the cup, written in his signature messy writing that you somehow are able to decipher:
"don't stay up too late again. see you tonight."
you can't help but smile, the warmth of him lingering in the air, even as he's nowhere to be seen.
over the course of the next few days, subtle signs begin to emerge that something is shifting. it's not in the dramatic moments you might expect, but in the quiet details that only someone paying close attention would notice.
his bruises are different now. they're cleaner, sharper, not the chaotic marks left by handlers or underground chaos. they speak of control, of calculated endurance rather than dissociation and desperation.
he seems sharper, more present. when he speaks to you, his focus is unwavering.
a neatly wrapped bandage covers his knuckles, and sometimes a water bottle in his bag instead of the usual blood-stained towel.
there's a faint, dry scent clinging to him sometimes, sharp, earthly, almost metallic, and it lingers under the familiar smell of his hoodie.
you catch a glimpse of his posture changing over the days. the way he leans into movements, balances his weight differently. you can't name it exactly, but something about him seems...more deliberate.
he keeps the mystery close to his chest, and you know better than to pry.
even in these small ways, you sense he's not spiraling anymore. his exhaustion is physical, not mental. his posture is steadier; his steps measured. and yet, the history of what he endured leaves you uneasy. you wonder if he's back in the ring, somewhere underground, somewhere you'll never know.
he enters the ring with a steadiness that feels wrong to the people watching and painfully right to the person he's becoming.
it's subtle at first. the way he rolls his shoulders, the way he adjusts his stance with small corrections: tightening his guard, grounding his weight, lifting his chin just enough to see without inviting a hit.
it's nothing dramatic or flashy, but it feels like watching a wolf that's learned not to chew its own leg off.
and the crowd hates it.
"where's the old park?"
"why isn't he swinging?"
"what's he doing?"
whispers ripple around him, irritation edging their excitement like they're watching a familiar beast behave all wrong. like he was cheating them of the spectacle they came for.
that wild reckless kid who threw himself into hits just to keep him awake.
the kind of fighter that made crowds lean forward in anticipation of blood.
jisung never used to think in the ring. he used to dive headfirst, fists flying, as if pain was a currency he could buy freedom with.
but tonight? he dodges instead.
the first blow that comes toward him, one he would've taken to the jaw without flinching, he slips under with a smoothness that startles even him. his muscles scream at him to follow it up with a reckless lunge, to chase that familiar sting of impact.
but he doesn't.
each dodge is a battle with muscle memory, a fight against the craving for pain. it's exhausting in a way nothing physical has ever been.
he counters only when he needs to. he doesn't chase openings; he waits for them.
his fists no longer fly with adrenaline, they land with intention. because he's no longer trying to tear through someone; he's trying to outthink them.
and for the first time since he was fifteen, jisung fights like someone who wants to see tomorrow.
that alone makes him unrecognizable.
he could care less if the crowd hates it, or if his handlers beat him for it. there's irritation in their eyes—something close to offense—like he's breaking an unspoken contract.
but he isn't performing for them anymore.
truth is, his ribs ache from holding back instincts he's spent years obeying.
but for jisung? he's choosing himself, even if he doesn't know where that choice leads to yet. and the more he fights this way, the more obvious it becomes that something in him is shifting.
across the ring, his opponent grows frustrated. he swings harder and angrier in an attempt to draw out the old park jisung. but jisung keeps slipping away, refusing to give him the satisfaction.
a missed punch sends wind rushing past his cheek. a blocked jab thuds harmlessly into his guard. a reckless hook is met with a simple step back.
then jisung lands one clean strike, a sharp cross to the jaw that sends his opponent stumbling and the match ends not in an explosion, but in quiet.
not the kind of win that makes money or draws attention. it's the kind that ends anticlimactically.
so by the end of the week, the new version of himself has become impossible to ignore.
at the end of one of his fights, a handler steps into jisung's path before he can wipe the sweat from his jaw, a fist into his hair, yanking him close.
"you think i don't notice when one of my fighters starts acting cute?" his breath is sour, hot against jisung's cheek. "all that dodging. all the patience. that's not you."
when the young boy doesn't answer, the man's eyes narrow. "do i need to bring in that girl to remind you how this works?"
and something in jisung snaps into focus.
his voice is low, steady. "you said if i lose the next fight, you'd drag her into this." jisung lifts his chin just enough to meet the man's eyes. "i haven't lost a single one since that night."
the handler scoffs, shoving jisung back into the concrete wall hard enough to rattle his teeth.
normally, this is where the old instincts would kick in: drop your gaze, apologize, and promise to do better. promise to bleed more next time.
but instead, his hands curl at his sides, not in defiance, but to stop from shaking. because the fear he feels now isn't the kind they trained into him. it's sharper, smaller, lodged directly under his ribs. it's fear of you being anywhere near them.
he hates that he's still a boy they molded, even while trying to climb out of shape they forced him into. but he also knows one thing with terrifying clarity: if he goes back to the way he fought before, he's dead. and if he doesn't, they'll look for new ways to break him.
either way, there's something that stubbornly whispers he might finally be fighting for something that's his.
"careful, park," he mutters, already walking away. "you're starting to forget who you belong to."
but that's the thing: jisung hasn't forgotten. he's just realizing he doesn't belong to them at all.
so over the course of the next few days, frustration among the handlers like rot in the walls.
jisung barely makes it two steps off the mat before someone grabs the back of his hoodie and yanks him sideways. his shoulder slams into the concrete wall hard enough to knock the breath from his lungs, but he doesn't fight it.
"cute performance out there," one of the handlers says, voice low and sharp. "real disciplined."
another snorts. "crowd hated it."
"you think people pay to watch you dance?" a third voice chips in.
a fist slams into the wall beside his head, close enough that the vibration rattling his teeth. "you used to give us something to sell."
jisung doesn't answer. not because he's being brave, but because his body moves before his mind can stop it.
his shoulders tighten, his chin dips a fraction, his gaze sliding away from the handler's eyes and fixes somewhere safer: concrete floor, peeling paint, anywhere that isn't a challenge.
a slow smile curls at the end of the handlers mouth, his grip tightening painfully in his hair, yanking his head back until the ceiling blurs. "there he is," he murmurs. "there's the boy we raised."
"i'm still winning," jisung says, but this time his voice shakes.
another shove sends him tumbling forward, a loud mocking laugh behind him. "you think winning is the point?" a voice sneers. "people don't come here to watch control. they come to watch you break."
jisung presses his palms flat against the wall to steady himself.
"i don't want to fight like that anymore," he says, and the words terrify him just as much as they feel right.
silence. then a sharp exhale.
"you hear that?" one handler says. "he's grown morals." a hand grips his chin, forcing his face up, meeting his eyes despite himself not wanting to.
"in case you forgot, you don't get to decide when this ends."
jisung's heart hammers, his mind flashing not to pain, but you. your apartment, your coffee cups, the way you look at him like he's not already ruined.
"basements don't forget faces," the man adds lightly. "and accidents happen when stop caring."
the handlers step back, already bored and walking away. "next match," one says over his shoulder. "remind us why we even bothered to keep you alive this long."
jisung slides down the wall until he's sitting on the floor, head tipped back, staring at the flickering light above him.
they're realizing park jisung might be more trouble than he's worth. and if he's no longer profitable...they might finally let him go.
that night, he comes home late.
not bleeding or limping, just tired in the deep, bone-heavy way that settles after holding yourself together too long.
you're half-asleep on the couch when he lets himself in, a blanket tangled around your legs, some muted show paused on the screen. the apartment smells like detergent and something warm, like leftover comfort.
jisung pauses in the doorway longer than usual.
he watches the slow rise and fall of your chest. the way one of your socks has slipped halfway off your foot. the soft, unguarded way your face looks when one is demanding anything from you.
he moves quietly, toeing off his shoes, setting his bag down without letting it thud. when he drapes the blanket back over your shoulders, your hand curls instinctively into the sleeve of his hoodie.
the contact almost knocks the breath from him.
for a second, his body reacts the way it's been trained to, muscles tight, mind bracing, waiting for the cost of touching something good. but nothing happens.
you just murmur his name, barely awake, and tug him closer like it's the most natural thing in the world.
he sits there longer than he should, letting your warmth seem into him, memorizing the room: the chipped coffee table, the faint hum of the fridge, the quiet safety of being wanted without conditions.
this, he thinks suddenly. this is what they'd ruin first.
not the ring, not the money, not the bruises.
they'd start small. missed visits, broken routines, a coffee cup left untouched before he didn't make it home. they'd poison it slowly until even being here felt dangerous.
the thought settles heavy in his chest, because if this is the thing they can use against him, then this is the thing worth fighting for.
when he finally stands, easing your hand free, he already knows what he's going to do next.
and he knows it's going to cost him something.
the next match doesn't feel different when it starts.
same basement, same flickering lights, same sour smell of sweat and metal that never quite dies. if he closes his eyes, he could pretend nothing has changed, but the handlers are watching him closely this time.
he feels it in the way their attention presses against his spine. assessing like men deciding whether a tool is worth repairing or whether it's cheaper to toss it and find another.
his opponent is aggressive, younger, loud.
all sharp elbows and reckless confidence, swinging before the bell has even finished. it's exactly the kind they think will drag the old jisung back out of him.
the bell rings, and the first punch comes fast and ugly—wide and sloppy meant to hurt more than land.
jisung steps aside just enough for the glove to cut past his shoulder, air rushing where his face used to be. a year ago, he would've let it connect, letting the crowd feel it through him.
a murmur ripples through the room, but he keeps his guard tight, feet grounded against the concrete like he's anchoring himself to the earth instead of floating above it.
every instinct in his body screams at him to answer pain with pain, to trade blows, to buy silence with blood. but just he breathes, slow in through his nose, out through his mouth.
now his opponent grows more irritated; swinging harder and louder. he tries to bait jisung, dropping his guard on purpose and throwing taunts between punches, clipping his ribs just enough to sting.
but jisung absorbs it without chasing. just enough to learn the rhythm. the hitch in his shoulder before a hook, the way his weight shifts too far forward when he commits.
then jisung moves.
a clean counter snaps the man's head back. another step, another strike. he's already gone by the time he retaliation comes, feet thudding softly against the floor.
and just like his previous fights, the crowd doesn't cheer.
near the ring. one of the handlers scoffs. "this is boring."
another clicks his tongue. "the kid's not listening."
and jisung hears them. he always does. and for the first time, he looks at them while he fights. just once, just enough for them to know this isn't an accident. that he's not choosing to listen to their recycled threats.
there's no fear on his face, but there's no challenge either.
he finishes the match the same way he's fought it—controlled, quiet and undeniable. when the bell rings, there is no roar to follow up. just an uneasy silence and a few disappointed groans.
the handlers don't rush him this time. no hands in the hair, no fists to the ribs, no barked threats delivered inches from his face.
one of them exhales slowly, irritation thick in the sound. "he's not worth it anymore," he says.
and that is the moment jisung understands he might finally be free. because to them, he's stopped being profitable.
and that's the most dangerous mercy they know how to give.
your break from classes feel like the first real breath you've had in weeks. you spend the whole afternoon cleaning your room, catching up on laundry, even making a proper meal instead of whatever you could microwave between assignments. the apartment is quiet and you're halfway through folding a pile of shirts when the door clicks open.
jisung steps in, shoulders slightly hunched, hoodie damp at the edges from outside fog. he looks tired in the way someone looks when their body is tired, not their spirit.
there's something else too, something alert behind his eyes, an energy that didn't exist a month ago.
"you're back early," you say, glancing over the pile of laundry.
he toes off his shoes, eyes flicking toward you and softening instantly. "yeah, thought i'd check in. make sure you weren't buried under homework again."
you roll your eyes. "it's break, genius."
he grins, one he reserves for you. "right. break."
he crosses the room and sinks onto the couch beside you, falling backward like gravity personally offended him. his head lands near your thigh, close but not quite touching, as if he's checking if you'll let him. you push a folded shirt aside and brush a hand through his hair.
he melts instantly.
"long day?" you ask.
he hums. "something like that." his eyes slip shut, breathing slow and even, like bearing near you is the only moment he lets himself actually rest.
you think he'll nap (he looked like he needs one), but after a few minutes he sits up again, rubbing his face and exhaling like he's trying to shake something off him.
"i should...take care of something before it gets too late," he mutters, straightening his hoodie.
you pause folding your laundry. "already? you just got here."
"i know," he says quickly, almost apologetic. he leans down and presses a warm kiss to your cheek. "i'll be back in a bit."
you frown. "you always say that."
"and i always mean it." his voice is soft, careful like every word is placed down instead of spoken.
by the time he leaves, you're staring at the door with a strange ache, half worry, half longing.
jisung slips out like he usually does, hood up, footsteps quiet on the damp pavement. he walks past the alley behind the old gym, the one where the the underground fighters linger after matches, talking, smoking.
only tonight, it's empty. quiet.
for the first time in years, the absence of the men who had always haunted him doesn't feel like freedom. it feels more like a countdown ending. the cages, the cheap lights, the cheers for blood. they're fading, losing power over him, and with that fading comes something sharper: clarity.
he realizes he doesn't want to hide anymore. not from them, and certainly not from you.
and that night, even after he returns hours later and drapes a blanket over you as you pretend to be asleep on the couch, something in his movements feel different.
like he's standing at the edge of something, and he already knows which way he's going to jump.
the following evening, you're finishing dinner when there's a knock on your door. two light taps, then one heavier one. jisung's signature pattern.
you open the door expecting the usual—hoodie, exhaustion, an attempt at a smile.
but tonight, he looks wired. not anxious or panicked. just full of something he's been holding inside for too long.
"hey," you say softly. "everything okay?"
"yeah, i—can i come in?"
you step aside, and he walks in, pacing once across your living room before stopping in front of you. his hands hover like he can't decide whether to clench them or reach for you.
"okay," he starts, voice thin, "i don't want to keep you in the dark anymore."
your eyebrows lift, confused by where this was coming from. "about...?"
he takes a breath, and when he speaks, it sounds like tearing something open.
"i want you to be at my match tomorrow."
you blink. "your match? jisung, i haven't gone to fight club since—"
"no, not that," he shakes his head quickly, a frown on his face but doesn't last long. "not underground. not that hellhole."
he meets your eyes with something raw. something hopeful and scared at the same time.
"i've been training at a real gym," he says." with an actual trainer and everything. i'm taking on my first match tomorrow." a shallow breath. "my first real match."
the words feel unreal in your eyes. "wha—you—" you blink, not sure what words should come out. "... jisung? since when?"
he runs a hand through his hair, pacing again. "two months," he admits. "almost three. i didn't want to tell you until i knew i could stick with it." his eyes lift toward yours, and there's something uncertain in them you're not used to seeing: the quiet vulnerability of someone who's never been allowed to want more.
"i didn't want you to get your hopes up," he murmurs.
when you step closer, jisung hesitates for a moment before reaching for your wrist, fingers gentle as if asking permission.
"fight club...they're phasing me out. because i'm not giving them what they want anymore." his jaw flexes, frustrating flickering across his face. "i'm not bleeding for people who don't care if i make it home."
your chest tightens. "jisung..."
he shakes his head before you can interrupt. "i know it doesn't magically fix the last ten years of my life, but i want a shot at something real; at something clean." his voice cracks just slightly, but you feel his hands squeeze yours. "i want a future i don't have to be scared to let you see."
he swallows, like the words are scraping as they come out. "i...i want this to be real."
and there it is. the truth he's been choking on.
you reach up, cupping his cheek and he leans into it with a quiet, almost boyish need. "what time is the match?" you ask softly.
"eight." he whispers.
"then i'll be there."
inside, the gym is brighter than anything you've seen him fight under. bright lights, real referees, people who paid to watch techniques instead of blood.
for the first time, you don't feel like prey the second you walk through a door.
jisung spots you almost immediately. he's across the room, hands wrapped in clean white tape, wearing a uniform that fits him. his trainer speaks quietly besides him, adjusting the elastic of his glove.
and since the night you first noticed your neighbor in the hallways of your shitty apartment complex, jisung looks alive.
when he sees you, something in him softens so fast it borders on heartbreaking. he doesn't approach—he's mid-prep—but he gives you a small nod, one that says stay there, i see you, don't look away.
"i want a clean fight."
and the match begins.
jisung's stance is different from the underground—measured but unapologetic. he uses footwork instead of instincts, precision instead of self-destruction. when he dodges, it's intentional. when he counters, it lands clean.
he's not fighting to entertain anymore. he's fighting to win, and it shows.
his opponent is larger, more experienced, but not mean or cruel. this is a sport, not a pit. and jisung rises to the level of every expectation placed on him.
in the third round, he lands a decisive combination—left hook, cross, clean foot pivot—and the referee steps in as his opponent stumbles.
the bell rings, and the match is over.
a real win. a real crowd cheering not for blood, but for him.
and jisung's eyes find yours instantly.
he doesn't stay long in the ring, making his way down and rushing to your side.
he takes your face in the palm of his hands, lifting your face to meet his lips.
when he pulls back, he leans his forehead against yours. “turns out i'm better at fighting for my life than fighting in the ring.”
you look up at him, eyes crinkling. there's something gentle that swells behind your ribs. not loud, just full—as if your body hasn't quite learned what to do with this kind of feeling.
you laugh, and you take his wrist in your hands, raising his arm in the air like you were the referee declaring the winner.
"the winner is: the nation's newest boxing obsession—park jisung."
this is such a cool and gritty story with so much heart to it. i think it was written really well, and lowkey makes me want a park jisung LOLL but I guess kinda not I can't fight. this is really cool and i love the progression and everything about it ugh
You didn’t think when he left, he’d leave so much of himself with you
⊹ genre/tw angst angst angst seriously so much angst i'm sorry, but also fluff!!! a lot of fluff! f2l, fake dating, revenge dating?, hurt/comfort, ex!hyunjin being horrible (I'm sorry), reader wears a skirt at one point and is referred to as ‘my girl’ once, jokes about pregnancy (its not serious i promise) its suggestive at times but no smut, probably a little rushed at times, mostly unedited
⊹ w/c 10, 469
⊹ a/n this has been a long time coming, originally this was a fic for jaemin from nct dream that was like 8000 words long or something and i absolutely hated it so i started back from scratch and changed mostly everything but the main idea. for a long time, i have been fascinated with the process of heartbreak and falling in love again, and in essence that is what this is--I hope you like it, don't forget to like and reblog and tell me all your thoughts!! hopefully it's not terrible lol, mwah!!
You didn’t think when he left, he’d leave so much of himself with you; Everything from the cups in the cabinet to the paint splatters on the floor. The four walls of your room storing a lifetime of memories of the boy who loved you; nighttime laughter and limbs interlaced. It’s completely foreign to not have him next to you, skin to skin, hearts synced to a song only the two of you know.
You loved him for three summers, almost from the first time you saw him–sat next to the river, with headphones on and a pen in hand–He was beautiful, a timeless photograph of affection, and you were smitten as soon as he opened his mouth.
The past 36 months were lovely and joyous, 1095 days spent foolishly glued together, yet when Hyunjin decided to end the relationship three weeks ago, you couldn’t find it in yourself to argue. He’d been so busy, graduating last year and going on to bigger and brighter things–exhibitions almost every week, assisting an artist he loved–so many wonderful things that took him away from you. When he was home he was too tired to love you, so it made sense when he ended it. So much sense that it’s kept you awake all the nights following.
Every night–at roughly when he would’ve come home to you–you find yourself waking up to the loss of his cologne. For a moment, you’re given a momentary bout of bliss, confusion clouding up your mind with questions of where’d he go, rather than if he’s coming back. The answer comes quickly, though, rupturing your heart before the rest of you knew you were awake.
Your mind is lost in the goodbye, the taste of salt on your lips and your favorite blue sweater wrapped around your arms, the way his eyes were wide with sadness. Did he kiss you then? Was it his tongue that swiped away the tears or your own? Did his hands hold you one last time, make you cry from pleasure before pain? All you seem to remember was him walking away, so fast you were afraid you wouldn’t be able to recall–but it's all you seem to be able to think about.
He broke your heart on a Tuesday, but did he kiss you then?
He was sweet with the farewell, telling you he was sorry, that he loved you but it wasn’t enough any more. There was just too much time and distance living between the two of you, but nothing really has to change… we can all still be friends.
What a sad thought, friends with the boy who held your bleeding heart in his hands.
Why should you still be friends if love wasn’t enough for him?
You know you look pathetic, his too big clothes swathing around your limp form, keeping you toasty where your bare legs hit the bathroom floor. His voice flowing from your phone's speaker in happy waves, echoing off the tile right into your ears. It’s almost like he’s next to you, almost like it’s his arms filling out the gray hoodie and wrapping around you.
Shivering, you close your eyes just for a minute, with his last voicemail reverberating through your brain, you feel content for the first time since that sunny day three weeks before.
“...I love you, sweetheart!” his voice rings, lighting up your heart with all the affection the name used to bring you. He hadn’t called you that in months, trading sweet nothings for sighs and sorry’s. How you long to feel the name pressed against your skin, interlaced with the kind of happiness only he could draw out. A love so undeniably him that anything else couldn’t come close.
Loving him was sitting in planetariums and comparing each other's portraits to statues, sharing straws and blankets, breath and hands. Loving him was every star fall, trying to catch dragonflies and yelping when they grazed your hands. It was magical and devastating, everything you ever wanted.
Hyunjin was meant for stars and lullabies, a boy meant for nighttime, but the morning is fast approaching.
Soon, your roommate will wake up and discover your tearful form, and envelope you in coos and cuddles. He’ll wrap you up in pink comforters and bring you cookies for breakfast, a day spent with rom-coms and Olivia Rodrigo on the radio, but just for a few more minutes you’ll sit with your lovers voice in your head and his scent around you, and it’ll be as close to him as you’ll ever be again.
“Okay!? I love you so much, call me sweetheart, seriously! Call me, call me, call me.”
“He never even deserved you!”
“Yeah, babe, like you’re so hot and funny and nice! What does he have going for him?”
“For real! Other than being super handsome and talented, he has nothing.”
Your friends, drunk and silly, can’t seem to stop trying to comfort you, you want to laugh, and maybe in time you’ll be able to, but here in this fresh grief with his love still palpable, you can’t seem to find it in yourself to be angry.
Sure, he broke up with you, but it didn’t seem like too bad of a reason… he was busy all the time, and his distance brought anger and disappointment. You were fighting restlessly, forgetting to say I love you before you left for class, kisses became shorter and farther in between, but at the end of the day you did love him; endlessly and reverentially, and no matter what he said or didn’t say, you can’t seem to shake the feeling that that will never change.
“You guys don’t have to shit talk Hyunjin just because he broke up with me, we were all friends.” Your voice is quieter than you meant it to be, slow from all the wine and covered in the sadness that seemed to follow you. “He was a good boyfriend…”
“No, babe, a good boyfriend does not break up with you a week before your anniversary after ghosting you for a month.” Minjeong says, her tone soothing even if her words are not.
“We’re not friends with that douche canoe, okay, we only stomached him because he was your boyfriend, and now that he’s not, I personally never want to see him again.”
“Chaeryeong! Stop, you've been his friend for literal years.”
“Nope, I can’t remember!” she sings out, giggling as her wine glass spills out red liquid all over the floor.
“He’s persona non grata now, girly, if I see him, I’m coming in swinging!”
Minjeong’s claim, however silly, does have you finally laughing. Deep, belly ache inducing laughs that fill your little apartment with more joy than it’s held in weeks. It’s true that before the official break up, you were infuriated, anger escaping your lips whenever the man was mentioned. But since the finality of that day, all you’ve felt is an insurmountable grief daring to erupt at any moment.
You loved him, you lost him, and isn’t that just so sad?
You thought you’d have him forever… daydreamt weddings and forever homes, Late night whispers of baby names and honeymoons. Everything you’ve ever planned, out the window with the first signs of conflict. Sure, maybe it would’ve ended anyway, but would it have killed him to try? How dare he take that future away from you, a happy ending too good to be true.
A betrayal that cut too deep to be anything but devastating.
But sitting here now, listening to your friends being mad and protective, you think you can see a future where you are angry again–a day in the coming weeks where everything he said is tinged with red instead of blue. And maybe after that you can be happy, really truly happy, even when the girls' laughter aren’t around to accompany you.
“Hey, we love you, okay?” Chaeryeong says, breathing heavily through her giggles. “I know it’s hard now, you loved each other so much, but don’t waste anymore of your time locked inside this apartment. You’re way too cute to not let anyone see you.”
She smiles at you, her hand wrapped around yours as a few tears stray. You don’t know if they’re happy or sad, or maybe a bit of both, all you know is you love her. You love the both of them so much that even through this inescapable loss, you smile back. They’re your favorite people on earth, and if they think you’ll be okay maybe you will be.
“I love you guys too, I’m sorry I’m so mopey… Felix keeps trying to get me to smile, but there's just so much I can take before I’m crying again.”
“Hey, hey,” Minjeong whispers, “Don’t apologize, you get to be a little storm cloud.”
“Personally, I like you stormy–makes it more fun when you snap.” Chaeryeong tells you, raising her eyebrows in an attempt to get you to laugh again.
Miraculously, it works–laughter seeping out of you and onto the wine soaked tiles. Maybe they’re right, maybe all you need is some time…
Maybe another day of watching The Princess Diaries and eating ice cream for dinner will cure you, maybe falling asleep in Hyunjin’s sweatpants will finally ease the hole he left, maybe all you have to do is leave the house tomorrow. Whatever it is, you promise them you’ll try–and as they cuddle up to you, dropping popcorn in between the couch cushions and cracking up at the same jokes you’ve heard a thousand times, somewhere inside, you feel a little bit more okay.
Unfortunately, that feeling can only last so long.
It’s thirty minutes past the witching hour when you see the photo. He’s gorgeous, devastatingly so, heartbreakingly handsome just like you remembered. Clad in denim and decked out with silver, wrapped around a girl you’ve never seen before.
Your phone light glares through the night, spotlighting your place in the living room. You know you should turn the brightness down, lower it or move from your place in between Chaeryong and Minjeong, less they wake up and threaten to kill you for interrupting their slumber, but you can’t seem to make yourself move.
His hands rest on her waist, a smile breaking through close to her own, and he looks so happy. Happier than he’d looked in months, unencumbered joy leaking off him through the camera lens. And how it breaks your heart, who cares who that girl is… how could he look so happy when you haven’t even left the house in two weeks?
“Son of a bitch!” you whisper, angry tears trying to escape. How dare he? And how dare Chris for posting it on a story he knew you could see. We can all still be friends, right? What absolute bullshit.
You find yourself laughing, laughing so hard the tears find themselve trailing down your cheeks. Howling at the unbelievability of it all, here you were defending him still, while he couldn’t wait a month to have his tongue shoved down some other girl's throat. How funny to think you love him, truly love him with every part of you, and he doesn’t respect you enough to keep his escapades a secret while you heal.
Minjeong shuffles in her sleep, waking up to the sound of your inane outburst, pretty eyes squinted in your phone light.
“What is it? Nothing is that funny at 3 AM.”
“Look at this, Min.” you giggle, shoving your phone against her nose.
“Too close!! Hold on… WHAT THE FUCK!” she yells, jolting up against the cushions and waking the other girl in the process.
“What! What is it?!” Chaeryeong moans.
“Hyunjin is a fucker that’s what.” Minjeong says. “An actual despicable little shit.”
The phone is passed around, each of you staring at the picture with a sense of pure unbridled anger. To think you trusted him, gave him your heart and felt safe that he would respect it even when he gave it back.
“I just don’t understand,” You say, your voice breaking– confusion wafting through the words and encasing you in a painful blanket of disarray.
Through your tears you hear Chaeryeong, “Listen, we have to get him back.” She’s saying, Minjeong nodding along sleepily.
Get him back? What does she mean?! How can she already be thinking of revenge when all you want to do is cry yourself to sleep.
“What do you mean get him back, I don’t understand.” The brokenness in your voice gives your friends pause, and for a moment the only thing you hear is the sound of Anne Hathaway monologuing on the TV.
The two girls, true friends even with sleep dancing at their fingertips, wrap their arms around you–holding onto you like you’d drift away if they didn’t, who knows maybe you would; You do feel minutes away from being empty, like you're a bottle slowly pouring out its contents.
Their skin is warm, and their hands carry so much comfort that you collapse against them, listening to their plan like a bedtime story that lulls you to sleep.
“You want me to do what?!” You cry.
“We talked about this last night!”
“I’m sure I would’ve remembered you saying I have to go on a date with Yang Jeongin, Minjeong!”
“It doesn’t have to be Ayen, any of his friends will do, I just thought that that’s who you were closest to…” She sighs, twirling a strand of her blonde hair around her finger. “I mean it could be Changbin for all I care, I just didn’t think he’d go for it.”
“I don’t want to date ANY of his friends, Minnie!!! Hello!” Your voice sounds shrill even to you, and as much as you're trying to keep it down for fear of the librarian coming over and yelling at you, you don’t have it in you to dampen your frustration.
Last night was a blur, anger permeating your sleep and clouding your morning. Going through the motions of classes and too many cups of coffee before your friend called you to come deliberate on the fully formed plan they dreamt up. A plan that you don’t remember agreeing to.
Sure, you remember saying making him jealous might make you feel better and make him feel worse, but nowhere did they say that Jeongin would be involved. You love the boy, as cynical and cold as he could be–he could make you laugh more than anyone else you ever met, and of course he was handsome, but he was one of Hyunjin’s best friends. As much as you’re angry with your ex-boyfriend now, were you really willing to use one of his friends to get back at him?
“Plus, I don’t think he’ll go for it, I mean Innie likes to mess with the guys every once in a while, but I think hooking up with his best friends ex is too far for him.”
You try to hide the flinch at the word ex, but Minjeong sees right through you–bringing her hands up to rub your shoulders comfortingly, before she tells you:
“It doesn’t have to be real, silly!” Minjeong laughs, “Hyunjin only has to think it's real, I mean you don’t actually have to hook up with him… Unless you want toooo.” She draws out, singing the last sentence in an annoying voice.
“Minnie!” you whisper in a faux yell.
“What?! Don’t look at me like I don’t remember the infamous truth or dare of 2024.”
“Minnie.”
“Okay, Ms. I’d makeout with Jeongin if I had to kiss any of Hyunjin’s friends.”
“Minnie!”
“Fine, Fine!” She laughs, “just talk to Ayen about it, and we’ll go from there okay? You don’t have to do anything you don’t want, but I can’t stomach thinking that Hyunjin is out there having fun at your expense and you’re just taking it.” For one moment she looks truly sad, and you’re reminded, not for the first time, that this breakup isn’t just between you and your ex, but all your friends who have to adapt to a life that looks different
Her eyes are comforting, but her mouth is all smirking revenge, and something about it urges you to listen. It can’t be worse than what Hyunjin’s already done, right? And it’s all pretend anyway, just a game of house where you and Jeongin hold hands at a party and go get slurpees after. None of it has to be real, you shouldn’t feel bad for giving the boy who hurt you a taste of his own medicine, right?
So with a heart full of guilt and stomach heavy with nerves, you find yourself asking,
“When does it start?”
On your way out of the library you found yourself cursing Minjeong and Chaeryeong and all their evil scheming that always finds its way back to you. If only you could have listened to Felix when he told you that those girls were trouble, and that the only friends you needed were him and your childhood dog, Milo.
When you left her, Minjeong reminded you to talk to Jeongin, told you where she thought he’d be and smiled at you the way she would a puppy.
God, what am I doing? You ask yourself, begging some invisible entity for help with this god forsaken plan. You like Ayen just fine, but the idea of hurting Hyunjin just because he hurt you fills you with some inescapable dread. And what if Jeongin says no? What if he’s as disgusted by you as you are of yourself? What if he turns around and tells Hyunjin?
The thoughts circle around you, haloing your form in scalding nerves until you find yourself outside of the diner Jeongin works at. You’d only ever been at night, your hand shivering within Hyunjin’s hold–so many twilights spent sitting crushed in a tiny booth, Hyunjin’s friends hollering around you and your lovers arms holding you to his heart. How different it looks in the day.
For the first time you find yourself walking through the diner doors alone, feet shuffling onto the sticky vinyl floors and searching for Yang Jeongin’s smile.
You find it behind the counter, warm and inviting as he asks a little boy what he wants. He looks different when he doesn’t know anyone is looking at him, freer than when he’s with the boys, shinier when there’s no one else’s light glaring. When he finally looks up and sees you, his smile remains, but becomes that tight look of pity you’ve become so used to–a look so out of place on his pretty face, you want it gone right away.
“Don’t look at me like, Jeongin.” You tell him, words stricter than your voice portrays.
“I’m not looking at you like anything,” he tells you, “but how are you doing?”
“Better if I had a cherry coke,” You say and without another word he begins filling up a plastic cup with ice and burgundy liquid. You can’t help but watch his hands as they work, knuckles clutching around the drink tighter than what's needed–the only indication that he could be uncomfortable with you being here. “How are you doing, Ayen?” you ask him.
“Well, not too bad,” he says, handing you the soda. “It’s not too busy today, and I don’t have any classes until tomorrow afternoon, so the day is just breezing by.”
“Easy, breezy, beautiful!” You tell him and finally that pretty smile breaks out on his face again as he lets out a loud laugh. He tells you he’ll be right back, smiling the whole way to the rest of his patrons.
Maybe it’s because you were dating Hyunjin before, and no other boy seemed to live up to the fairy tale you wrote about him, but for the first time you see Jeongin, not as Hyunjin’s friend but as a cute boy you could’ve met at a diner just like this. He’s boyishly handsome and sweet, giggling with the little kids and getting old ladies pie on the house.
Maybe your friends were onto something when they offered up Jeongin as the sacrificial lamb–sweet, ever happy Jeongin.
When he returns to you, that slightly sad smile returns to his face before he tells you:
“I’m sorry about you and Hyunjin… I didn’t know he was gonna do that.”
“What break up with me, or make out with a girl before the corpse is even cold?” Your voice is stronger than you meant it to be, and you feel bad as soon as you see Jeongin’s body tense–obviously surprised at your animosity.
“Both, I haven’t talked to him in weeks,” he tells you, much to your surprise, “We– we had a fight, and I hadn’t talked to anyone but Changbin and Seungmin…” his voice is thick with tension and his jaw is tight as he tries to tell to you what happened, a sight you’d never seen from him–much more used to the happy-go-lucky Ayen of days past. “I didn’t even know you guys broke up until he posted that picture last night.”
You’re surprised by this, of course, Jeongin and Hyunjin had always been close, but what's more surprising is how truly angry he looks… As angry as Chaeryeong and Minjeong, if not more. It’s this look that allows you to tell him,
“I just don’t know what to do, Ayen…”
“Whatever, I can do to help, I will… I promise.” Jeongin tells you, long fingers making you jump as they settle over your own. It’s this promise that brings you to tell him why you came–rushing out the plan your friends made for you, making sure to tell him over and over how it would just be a favor; just a way to get Hyunjin back for being a treacherous loser.
It’s through this rant that Jeongin finally smiles again, a devious look you’ve only ever seen settle onto his face during game night, and without preamble his hold on your hand grows stronger until he says,
“I’ll do it.”
It’s three weeks later when you finally realize that you’d have to actually go on a date with Jeongin for this to work. In theory, you knew this would happen, knew that you couldn’t let Jeongin sit around thinking about how he agreed to piss off his friend, but putting that plan in practice is scarier than you thought it would be.
And why? Why does Hyunjin get to ride around town happier than ever, posting that girl on his instagram story every day while you’re sitting at home crying for weeks.
Yet, the thought of doing anything romantic (even if it was pretend) with someone else, causes frost bitten chills to cover your skin. Even if the someone else was Yang Jeongin; sweet and funny Jeongin who always took your side when the boys started teasing you, who brought you a cherry coke everyday when you had class together freshman year. Jeongin who blushed pretty pink when he heard your answer to Changbin’s truth or dare last year, Jeongin who was your friend as much as Hyunjin’s, who would put that friendship aside to do you a favor.
You know you should call him, reprieve him from the quicksand thoughts you sure he’s buried in, but you can’t seem to latch that door to self hatred that has been held open since the night Hyunjin broke up with you.
You can’t seem to find where everything went wrong, no matter how hard you try, you can’t seem to find the moment where Hyunjin stopped loving you.
“You should stop torturing yourself you know,” You hear, and there he is standing in the doorway to your bedroom. Jeongin stands tall and handsome, leaning against the wall in a way that makes you think he has been there for a while. “You went AWOL on me, y’know, I was worried.” He’s smiling, but his words have a layer of debilitating truth that makes you a little sick. You can’t help but feel sorry for making anyone feel as bad as you do.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know where to go after that last conversation we had.”
“Well, usually when you ask someone on a date… you take them out on a date.” He smiles at you, approaching your bed the way one would approach a wounded animal–slow but sure.
When he finally lays down next to you you’re struck by his closeness, the feel of his body heat settling over your skin and the way his cheek bones slope over his face. He’s so pretty, it’s not like you never noticed it before, but seeing him up close like this–like he’s completely under your disposal, like you’re a scientist looking at him under a microscope–you can’t help but be a little breathless.
He’s so beautiful and he’s lying here with you.
“What did you want to do on our date then?” you ask him, feeling braver the longer he looks at you.
When he smiles, it’s like the sun explodes–incandescent and radiant like nothing you’ve ever seen before. He tells you he doesn’t care, first dates are silly anyway, he says, before grabbing your laptop from its place on your desk and telling you to pick a movie. It’s a little nerve wracking to be with him like this, it’s odd because it’s not something inherently romantic, nor any different from something you could’ve done with him before, but the fact that he called it a “date” makes the whole thing more anxiety-inducing than you thought possible.
This is supposed to be pretend, yet the way his arm presses against yours brings a warmth to your chest that you can’t seem to decipher. Sure, you’re a bit touched starved and the constant vulnerability you’ve felt has lent itself to a mixed bag of feelings, but the strangest thing is, nothing about his heat is confusing. It feels like the surest thing in the world to have him next to you, laughing at the stupid jokes flowing out from your computer and asking if you want to order a pizza.
This is supposed to be pretend, but it feels real–like the realest thing you’ve held in months.
“So, are you ever gonna tell me what happened with Hyune?” He finally asks you. The sun has finally eased its way into night and the blue hour has opened up the air for truth telling, you always loved this time of night… Always loved the way the soft prussian hue would fill the room, the way it could coat human skin. It’s this blue honesty that motivates you to answer him, more honest than you’ve been with anyone else, much less yourself.
“I think It was always gonna end like this… me all alone and him surrounded by friends.” You see him gearing up to protest, so quickly you add, “I know I’m not completely alone,” you tell him, “but I loved him so much, it was all I thought about for three years. And… and he’s out there living his life like I didn’t even matter.
“He broke up with me cause he was busy, like I was just something on the to-do list too insignificant to keep.” You stop to breathe, in and out, before starting again, “I hadn’t talked to him in weeks… in the beginning I called and texted, but I never got a response so I thought I’d just give him space. Felix kept asking me where he was, y’know? Like I would know, I should have known–I wanted to know, but I had no idea. Finally, he showed up out of nowhere telling me he was sorry, how he’d been so busy–I was so stupid, I was just happy he was there at all”
“You’re not stupid,” Jeongin tells you, but you’re not finished.
“He–” you whisper, “He told me that he thought we should break up… said it like there was no room for arguing. I said okay… I said okay because I wanted him to shut up about how busy he was–wanted him to stop talking about his great life that I wouldn’t be a part of anymore.”
“You’re not stupid,” He says again, stronger this time. “Hyunjin’s a fucking idiot, a selfish idiot, okay? You’re not stupid.” He brings you into his arms, holding you close enough that you can hear his heart beating wild in his chest. He smells good, like sunshine and coffee, and part of you wishes this wasn’t pretend.
You wish you could lay here like this all the time, cuddled close to him, safe in his arms, and sure of the fact that he wouldn’t let anyone hurt you.
“We’re gonna make him regret this okay, make him see what he’s missing out on.” He’s whispering to you, but it almost seems like he’s talking to himself, reassuring himself that what he’s doing is okay, “He’s an idiot, and you’re perfect–do you hear me?” he asks you, tilting your chin up to see him from your place in his hold. “We’re gonna get him back.”
“You know, when I let him in last night I didn’t think he was sleeping over,” Felix tells you, once you come back inside from walking Jeongin out.
Truthfully, you didn’t think he was going to sleep over either, yet the feeling of his arms around was so deeply comforting you’re glad he didn’t leave. You’d spent all night talking, going over your plan to make Hyunjin jealous, but that wasn’t all you’d talked about. Jeongin told you all sorts of things to make you laugh: secrets and stories, other peoples and his own.
You spent all night telling each other things you’d never told anyone else, and for once you’d woken up happy. Strangely, it wasn’t awkward disentangling yourself from him–it was almost normal, even sharing the sink to brush your teeth felt like you’d done it a million times over before.
No, it wasn’t awkward at all–that is until Felix woke up and found you together in your room.
“Listen, Felix, it’s not what you think.”
“Oh, so you’re not dating Jeongin to make Hyunjin jealous?” He asks, looking at with with a skeptical glimpse in his eye.
“Well, I guess it’s exactly what you think,” you pause, “wait, how did you guess that?”
“You’re not the only one friends with Minejeong and Chaery, sweet pea.” he tells you, stirring honey into two cups of tea.
You’re not surprised the girls blabbed, especially not to Felix–the boy has too much of an angelic face to lie too–However, they should know better than to expose you to your oldest friend. Felix, has always been your best friend, your soulmate in all definitions, and because of this he is chronically worrying over you and your wellbeing. Hyunjin had been his friend, closest to him only second to you and Chris, and the way Hyune treated you at the end was such a deep betrayal to Felix’s sense of friendship that he is grown even more annoyingly protective in the past weeks.
“You don’t have to worry about me, Lix”
“Obviously I do, I take my hands off the wheel for one minute and suddenly you’re in bed with Innie.”
“I was not IN BED with him, we just slept.”
“Yeah, okay, just don’t get pregnant. Yeah? I’m not old enough to be the dad that stepped up.”
“FELIX!” you yell, but all you hear is laughter, deep happy laughter that has been unfamiliar in your usually joyful apartment. You can’t help but feel guilty, even though it isn’t your fault. You wish everything could be normal–wish with every piece of your soul that life would go back to how it was.
You didn’t need Hyunjin to be in love with you, but you wished that your friends could go back to how they were three months ago, happy and normal and free.
You love Felix, you love Minjeong and Chaeryeong, and the thought of them being as cut up about this as you, breaks your heart.
“You know I love you, right?” You tell Felix when he’s done laughing to himself, and the way he looks at you–rolling eyes and all tells you all you need to know.
“I love you too, sweet pea…” He smiles, “but wear protection.”
The diner is busy and your friends can’t seem to shut up.
“OH MY GOD!!! He keeps looking at you!” Minjeong cries, happy as a clam in her little white sundress. The weather has finally warmed up and with it sundress season has finally arrived, a fact that Ayen seemed to be especially happy about when he saw you in one of your own.
It’s just pretend, you tell yourself, even though you can’t help but blush when Minjeong whispers, “there he goes again, ohmygoodness!”
“Minnie, it’s not like that it’s just–”
“It’s just pretend!” Chaery and Minnie sing together, mimicking the phrase you’ve told them over and over again for the past month.
That first sleepover became dinner and movie every Friday, which became study sessions on Sunday when you began falling behind, and lunch at the diner every Tuesday so he could see you before his schedule got too busy. Yet, you still hadn’t gone out–out, a problem that has wrapped itself around you like an ugly sweater, the whole reason you’re pretending to date is to make Hyunjin jealous, but you haven’t gone anywhere that he’d see you two at. Not too mention, any insta post the two you have been in together isn’t so overtly romantic that one could believe you’re together–In conclusion, the two you are pretending to date for no one but each other, so does that make it not pretend?
“It is just pretend, and you guys know that.” you tell them a bit meaner than you meant.
“Okay, okay…” Chaery says, “but you should remind him of that, cause Minnie’s right: he really has looked over here like seven times in the last thirty seconds.”
“It’s just because you guys are here,” you say, but even you sound unconvinced. “Anyway he’s probably just worried because we’re going to the party tonight, which will take this little plan of yours from 1 to 100”
“Girly I love you, but him sleeping in your bed every weekend is what took the plan to 100” Minnie sassed.
You want to admonish her, but she was right, you should never have let each other break this many boundaries. You should’ve had rules, should have watched To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before together and knew what would come of this fake dating nonsense your friends came up with. But you’ve gotten so used to him, fallen so far into friendship that the idea of him not being around physically hurts you.
You catch him looking at you again, a soft smile on his lips as he asks someone their order, when your eyes meet he winks at you, silly and sweet just like him. You laugh and smile bigger than your friends have seen you in months, and if you were paying attention you would have seen the two girls share a look so obviously judgmental it would have warranted a slap.
“Yeah, just pretend my ass.”
The night is just beginning and the party is in full force when you arrive, hand in hand with your “boyfriend,” You’d dolled yourself up for the occasion: tight shirt, miniskirt, and all that jazz, and when Jeongin picked you up he blushed so red you thought you might’ve had a fever.
The party is already wild as soon as you step foot inside, people chatting and dancing, girls who must’ve just met singing Brittany together as it rings out from the stereo. You find yourself cramped in between bodies, Jeongin’s hand being the only lifeline in the sea of humans–more than once, you feel eyes on the two you, old friends looking on in confusion as you hold the hand of the wrong guy, yet you feel more at ease here with Ayen than you ever did before.
When you finally arrive in the kitchen, unscathed except for a few wrinkles in your tiny skirt, Jeongin makes you a drink and compliments you again on your outfit. He’s called you pretty five times tonight: Once when he picked you up, two times in the car, right before you walked in, and now he’s saying it again. Each time the words emerge from his lips they sound a little braver, like he’s more sure of himself every time you say thank you.
He looks absolutely divine tonight himself–when he took his jacket off in the car, you couldn’t stop yourself from growing hotter at the sight of his arms in the tight white tee he picked for the occasion. More annoyingly he seemed to know and relish in your admiration, he seems more confident tonight, cocky in a way that wouldn’t be so attractive if it wasn’t him.
When he hands you the drink, hands tight on the plastic cup just like the first time, his empty hand immediately goes to your waist. His touch, familiar and pleasant, eases you into the corner–forcing you to be close to him in ways you’ve only been in private. A part of you feels insecure, like he’s only doing this to show off the people around you, but one look into his smiling eyes tells you he wouldn’t be doing it if he didn’t want to.
“You’re so beautiful,” He tells you again–that’s six, “So so beautiful, I can’t believe how lucky I am, even if this is all pretend… I’m so so lucky to be here with you.” It stings a little, the truth of this being pretend, but you can’t help but agree, you really are so so lucky to have each other.
His hand moves away from your waist, moving up, up, up, until it reaches your clavicle–fingers fanning out to touch your collarbones, his ring finger gently brushing over the skin. He’s not so much as looking at you as looking into you, almost like he’s trying to see into your ribcage and decide if he can fit in there too. His intensity is burning, chipping away at your composure not unlike pick into stone. His hands are so soft, fluttering against you in curiosity, like he can’t believe he gets to touch you–feel you under his force and mold you into him. Your eyes are fluttering shut, influenced by the alcohol and his hands and the way he thinks you’re beautiful.
Too comfortable for a kitchen counter, especially not your own, his movements are even more dangerous when he is reminded the two of you are not alone.
“Innie!” You hear a voice familiar and grating in your current predicament, Jeongin’s hands stop their curious journey, but he does not move away from you–if anything he draws you closer, protecting you from whomever would dare rip you away from peace.
Changbin is shining as always, happy and handsome, like he has always been, but seeing him here is not a welcome surprise. You’re still upset you never heard from him after the breakup, sure he was Hyunjin’s friend first, and he doesn’t truly owe you any loyalty, yet it still hurts after three years of friendship to be dropped by 50% of your friends.
“Oh, hey,” he says when he notices it’s you and not some random girl here with the younger boy. “It’s been awhile, I’ve missed you–both of you.” You can see him observing your position–you, encompassed by Jeongin, huddling close into his chest… Ayen rubbing his hand up and down your back. It's clear what the closeness means, and Changbin who has claimed to know exactly what's going on with Jeongin at any given time, feels a little hurt that he didn’t know this.
“So are you guys like, together?” he questions, “Does Hyunie Know?”
“I don’t know and I don’t care, Hyung” Jeongin answers, “and yeah, we’ve been together for a little while now,”
“A little while…” Changbin whispers to himself, and you almost feel bad for the mental gymnastics he must be putting himself through to explain the timeline of your so-called relationship. “And you’re happy? I mean you look happy, so you must be right?” he asks.
“Yes, we’re happy” you say, before even thinking about it. And it’s true–you are happy. Happier than you’ve been in months, here at this party with Ayen. His hands are warm on your skin and his smile is alive, and you’ve never been happier than here in this moment, sharing your body heat in a random kitchen.
“Very Happy,” Jeongin agrees, looking down at you with a big smile, and your heart bursts at his agreement. “Well, hyung if you excuse us, my girl wanted to dance.” Did you? You ask yourself, but you see his urging look and decide to go with it. You do want to dance–you would do anything to stay this close to him, even if that means going back to the cramped sea of people in the living room.
It’s hot, and you can feel him everywhere—hands on your waist, brushing against your tummy, running through your hair. You’re breathless at his touch, breathing him in as your bodies move together in time to the song. You feel so alive, sticky with sweat; skin on fire where the two of you meet.
The music is deafening, miscellaneous pop songs mashed up together to get everyone dancing. It’s devious and devilish, a dionysian madness that has infected you down to your bones. You wonder if he’ll take you upstairs, ravish you bloody and leave you wanting more more more. The way he’s looking at you–looming and predatory like a God searching for a devotee–sears your skin, scorches a brand onto the small of your back where his belt buckle digs into you.
It’s all pretend, but it doesn’t have to be, not when he’s looking at you like that.
Your friends got here an hour ago, sharing shots with you and trying not to give each other “I told you so” looks when they saw Jeongin’s hand sit lower and lower on your hips than they would deem platonic. You can remember Felix laughing at you when the third shot went all over your top instead of down your throat, and the way Minjeong triple-dogged dared you to pound down some Apple Crown even though she knows it always makes you sick. You can remember how happy they all looked, Chaeryeong’s hips swaying as she danced with you and Lix, laughing deep into her belly.
You can remember all of this, but you can’t seem to remember getting here… Can’t seem to find the moment where Jeongin’s touches went from casual to burning.
The alcohol found its way into your system quickly, warming your tummy and your heart—intoxicating you with the notion that maybe all of this could be real in the morning, as Jeongin’s hands tighten on your waist. You feel his head dipping, lips sliding over your neck, his tongue lighting fires along your skin. He feels the rumble of your moan, feels the way you draw into him and sigh—your hands, delicate and lovely clutching at his jacket.
“Let me take you home,” he’s saying, begging, pleading. He wants to be alone with you, wants to play pretend somewhere private, somewhere where it doesn’t have to be a game.
You find yourself nodding, turning around in his hold so you can look at him, still so devastating through the hysteria. His eyes meet yours, so lovely in the dark room, and slowly his hands reach up to push the hair out of your face.
“So beautiful.” He says, matter of fact.
His hands linger, settling on your jaw, before slowly, achingly so, bringing your lips to his. He doesn’t kiss you at first, just brings you close enough so he’s breathing your air—almost like he’s giving you CPR, breathing life into a dying body—until finally he is kissing you, and taking all that life back.
The feel of him, the taste of him–is too much to bear. His hands are still clutching at you, holding onto your face and your neck, fingers leaving indents on the most vulnerable parts of you.
He’s everywhere, he’s everything, he’s come alive.
He tastes like the apple crown he took with you, sweet and sour–a taste you’ve only ever associated with sickness, yet when it’s dripping from Jeongin’s Tongue all it causes is euphoria.
“Let’s go home,” He’s saying again, pushing the words against your lips, and you find yourself nodding again–kissing his jaw as he pulls away.
“We,” you begin, a little breathless, “We have to go tell Felix, or he’ll break down my door to make sure I’m still alive.”
The way Jeongin looks at you, like you’re the only thing in the room, shakes you down to your core. He’s grinning, wide and mercilessly, but his eyes hold that same mischief they carried the day he agreed to do this with you.
“Well, we can’t have that, can we?” He asks you, before taking your hand and pulling you through the sea once again.
You finally find your friend in the backyard, fairy lights glinting off his cheekbones. Felix is always handsome–impish and charming–but there’s something about his face now that sets the visage apart. Rather than the joyous expression you left him with, he looks angry… Angrier than you’ve ever seen him, (except for the time you misplaced your friendship necklace in fourth grade), he’s not yelling or bursting with volatility, but there’s something about his form that reminds you of a grenade. He’s so still, his body tense and eyes steely.
The haze of your previous euphoria clouds your mind enough to make you wonder what’s going on–the picture being so out of place, your intoxicated mind can’t seem to make sense of it. Jeongin’s hand squeezes your hand tighter, and suddenly the painting comes together–there he is, standing in front of Felix, saving all of the volatility for himself.
Hyunjin is beautiful, even now, standing tall and angry like an archangel. You knew you’d see him here, had planned on it even, but seeing him like this is so daunting. He’s beautiful and terrible, and as you watch him yell at your best friend–who is only ever good–you can’t seem to conjure up that love you always felt for him.
You can feel Jeongin holding you back, his gentle hands holding onto your intertwined fingers tighter than normal, and when you look up at him his face urges you stay with him,--to leave with him like you planned, but even he can’t stop the current from bringing you towards the Conflict.
With one last look at Jeongin, you find yourself walking away from him and towards the boy who broke your heart.
When you approach the boys you can finally hear their voices, angry and insistent. They’re being drowned out by hushed refrains of “c’mon guys!” that you think must be coming from Chris and Minho from their place behind the two boys. Hyunjin’s voice cuts through, “Can’t you just fuck off? God!” he’s groaning, and suddenly you’re rushing forward.
“What the hell is going on?” You cry, alerting the boys to your presence. The noise stops almost immediately as they look at you, shocked that you would be a witness to this outburst, as if it was something private you just stumbled into and not in the middle of a party. There are people scattered along the patio, some you know and some you don’t, but they’re all looking at you–waiting for something good to happen.
Yet, The only person you’re looking at is Hyunjin–he’s shaking with anger, but his eyes are so sad. It’s an unwelcome sight, no matter how angry you are with him, to see him so clearly devastated. He looks different up close, all the signs of anger from far away slip into sadness the closer you get to him.
When you turn to look at Felix, you can see that he’s crying–oh your emotional boys, they could never feel anything by half. “So?!” you ask again, “What the fuck is happening?”
“Just go,” Felix tells you, not unkindly.
“What? Now, she can’t talk to me?” Hyunjin throws at him, before looking at you and smiling–It’s so out of place on his angry face, a smile so heavenly it used to bring you to peace. Now, all you feel is disappointment.
“Nothings wrong, sweetheart,” he tells you, the old nickname making you flinch. “Me and Felix are just talking, you can go back with your boyfriend.” The smile is still on his face, yet the words are venomous.
The reference to Jeongin, snaps you out of reality. Of course, you knew what you were doing by coming here with him… Knew that this was the whole point, to get him back! But being here, seeing the hurt you knowingly caused, doesn’t make you feel good–just sad.
“Can you just fuck off already?” Felix asks, his words coated in a thunderous anger. “Leave her alone, it’s none of your fucking business what she’s doing,”
“More like who she’s doing,” Hyunjin says, still smiling at you like this all one big joke, but you know him–you know everything about his heart, the sound of its beat, the amount of time it pounds against his chest when he’s upset about something. It hurts you that he’s acting like this, pretending what you’re doing means nothing to him, even when it so obviously does.
“You’re pathetic, you know that?” You hear from behind you, Jeongin’s hands catching yours into his hold and subtly rubbing at your knuckles. You thought he left, hoped he wouldn’t, but thought he did… How grateful you are that he’s still here, next to you and holding your hand like nothing is different than it was twenty minutes ago.
“Oh, I’m Pathetic?!” Hyunjin cries, staring at where your and Jeongin hands meet. “I’m Pathetic?” he asks again, “You’re the one whose fucking my girlfriend, and I’m pathetic?” He laughs out, an ugly mean thing that brings tears to your eyes.
All the boys start to yell at him now, telling him to fuck off, that that was too far… But you can’t seem to find your voice. Can’t seem to be able to conjure up any sentence that would accurately portray how you feel–how angry you are, how deeply cut you are that Hyunjin would be doing this.
How could he do this to you again? How could he suck out all the air in the room every time you see him.
The noise is rushing back up, people trying to get both Felix and Hyunjin to calm down, and all the while Jeongin is shaking his head and rubbing the stress out of your palms.
You feel nothing but sadness…
“I’m not your girlfriend.” You whisper, just loud enough for the group to hear you.
“What?” Hyunjin asks.
“I’m not your girlfriend, Hyunjin… I’m not anyone’s girlfriend.” You tell him, you can hear him say your name–see him begin to protest, but before he can start, you say again “I’m not your girlfriend, and you have no right to yell at anyone, not when you’re the one who fucked everything up.”
You see him take a deep breath, try to steady himself before he says,
“C’mon, Sweetheart, don’t do this right now…”
“Me don’t do this?!” You cry, “Are you even listening to yourself?!” Your tears are falling freely now, catching onto your lips. The salty taste is ruining the sweetness of Jeongin, obstructing all the life he gave. “I can’t believe you, seriously–you should go,”
Hyunjin says your name again, pleading for you to listen to him, but you don’t want to… you can’t, all that is doing is causing you deep aches inside your soul where all your forgotten love resides.
“Leave her alone, Hyunjin.” Jeongin speaks up, his hold on you becoming more protective as the moment goes on–standing taller and taller as if to hide you from your ex’s view. “Just go home, nothing’s gonna be fixed while you’re like this.”
Hyunjin looks like he wants to argue again, but one look at his friends makes him stand down, before he walks away–Minho leading him back into the house with an apologetic look at you and a nod to Jeongin. When Chris passes you, he smiles, but it doesn’t meet his eyes, and that's what does it–that's what brings you to full on sobs, the thought of Chris being even a little disappointed in you.
“Come on, let's just go home…” Felix tells you, tear tracks still shining on his pretty face.
“I don’t want to be with you right now,” You tell him. You can hear him try to complain, try to tell you that he was defending you, but you don’t want to hear it. Everytime you look at him, all you see is Hyunjin standing there and looking at you like you were nothing. You just can’t seem to get past the frustration that Felix couldn’t just walk away, even if Hyunjin was being an asshole.
“Listen, I love you, okay? I don’t know what happened, and honestly I don’t care, I’ll talk to you in the morning, I promise… but I can’t do it anymore.” You whisper, looking anywhere but at your best friend. Lovely Felix, who only ever wants you to be happy. He’s so sad, soul crushed and bleeding, but he understands. Understands in that way he always does, so without anything more than a nod he walks away, pressing his hand to your shoulder as he passes.
The world is quiet for a moment, dark and honest like you like it, here alone with Jeongin again. All the prior heat is gone, all of intensity leaving the air as soon as everyones gone, and all that remains is Jeongin’s hand in yours and his dark eyes looking down at you.
“Let’s go get something to eat, huh?” He whispers, and before you can resist, he’s pulling you through the night.
The diner is achingly familiar in the midnight hour, walking through the doors holding a different boy's hand than all those times before. The warm air is a comfort after trekking through the cold, abandoning the car for a night time walk through the city.
Jeongin’s hand never left yours, holding you like a wounded bird. You can’t seem to wonder what he must think of you, sullen and sad–what if he doesn’t want you anymore? Now that your heart is shining on your face.
He leads you into the restaurant, smiling at his coworkers behind the counter and ordering two cherry cokes. When you go to sit down, he sits on the same side of the booth as you, corralling you into his arms once again. You’re all cried out, can’t seem find it in yourself to let anymore of the pesky tears escape, but when he brings you into him–so close you can hear his heart beating, just as wild as the first time you listened to its song–you can’t help but feel like you need to cry again.
You’re quiet for a long time, listening to each other's breath and sipping on your sugary drink. Your head isn’t cloudy anymore, your heart is no longer so sad… It’s nice, sitting here with him; having a front row seat to his life passing before you. He’s a little awkward, fidgeting with his soda straw and tapping his foot. He’s waiting for you to say something, giving you space and time to break the silence yourself.
“You don’t have to be so quiet, y’know” You tell him, your voice scratchy from crying.
“I know, I just didn’t want to scare you,” Jeongin responds, his arm moving its way up your sleeve and into your hair. “It was so loud before, I wanted to give you some quiet.”
You can’t help but swoon, can’t help but love the boy in front of you–how sweet he is, how thoughtful. For weeks now, you’ve sat here with him like this–sharing space and time, loving him as a friend before anything else–perfect and pretend.
“You don’t have to worry about me, Innie… I’m stronger than I look.”
“I’ll always worry about you.” He says, with such honesty that it takes your breath away.
Jeongin thinks you’re radiant. Has thought so, since the very first time he saw you–snuggled into his friend and laughing at some stupid joke. He’s cared for you longer than you know, longer than he should have… but seeing you here now, holding onto him like he’s the only thing you have… It breaks his heart in two. He wants you to be okay, wants to wrap you up and keep you safe until the storm passes.
Jeongin doesn’t know when this became real, if it was real on the dancefloor, when he was kissing you and his world stopped. Was it real when you were being yelled at? Or has it been real since that moment in your room? The moment when he saw your heart open up for the first time. He doesn’t know, and honestly he can’t find it in himself to care–Who gives a fuck when it started? It’s real now.
He is worried about you, that much is true… How could he not, with your makeup ruined and your lip still trembling. You’re still so beautiful, but there's something so very innocent in the way you’re looking at him, like all you want is for him to keep you safe.
“I’ve been worried about you for a long time now, honey” He tells you, the pet name sweet on his tongue and warm in your ears. “It’s why I hadn’t talked to Hyunjn even before you guys broke up–” He stops to take a deep breath, to look out into the night before he starts again, “You’ve always been so alive, and in the end… every time I saw you with him… you just looked so sad.”
You try to remember, try to think about the last time you saw him at a get together before you and Hyunjin broke up, but you can’t. Those memories hidden behind months of trying to act like nothing was wrong, like Hyunjin still loved you–like you were happier than ever.
“I don’t remember seeing you,” You say, “I’m sorry.”
“I was always seeing you, even before I was supposed to.”
Oh your darling boy, sweet like candy and so so honest. It strikes you that everything you’ve done all night has gone past pretend, that this boy in front of you might as well truly be your boyfriend. When you think this, all the dread lifts away–seeping out of your bones and washing away as his eyes smile down at you.
He knows, you think, he knows exactly what you’re thinking–it’s never been pretend, hasn’t been since the minute he stood in your doorway and held you while you slept.
“You’re everything.” he whispers, and his smile is a thousand suns.
“HE SAID WHAT?!” Minjeong yells.
The morning after the party has been a whole thing. Waking up in your bed with Jeongin smiling down at you, cuddled together in your party clothes, peaceful until Minjeong and Chaeryeong burst in to interrogate you about what happened.
You’re not sure how they got in, even less sure if you want to ask, but they're here now: cuddled up next to you and shoving Ayen out of bed with instructions to make you all coffee.
“Minnie, I already told you–Hyune was a dick face and made me and Felix cry.” You tell her.
“That fucking guy, I can’t believe you guys cried… I would’ve just slapped him.” She says, much to the chagrin of you and Chaeryeong.
“You would not have slapped him, Min.” Chaery says, rolling her eyes as Minjeong insists she would have.
You find yourself giggling to yourself, laughing at how horrible everything was, and how funny it is now. Last night was horrific, but sitting here with your girls you really see how ridiculous the whole thing was–Hyunjin called you his girlfriend! How silly is that?
“What are you laughing about, sweet pea?” Felix asks–he’s standing in your doorway, smiling but sullen. Anxiously waiting for an invitation into the room, holding some of the coffee’s Jeongin must’ve made. It hurts you to think about him sitting up all night and waiting for you to forgive him, as if you could ever stay mad at him.
“Oh nothing, just how ridiculous we all are,” you laugh. “Why are you still standing over there, come on!” Felix’s smile is incandescent, brighter than you remember it being, and he quickly bounds over to you and the girls. Giggling about how much he missed you even though its only truthfully been a couple hours.
When Jeongin finally comes back, coffee in his hand and carrying around that 1000 watt smile, you can’t help but feel like everything is right in the world; here in your bed, with all the people you love most in the world… nothing pretend about it.
The morning is alive and sweet with friendship–Felix and the girls teasing you about Jeongin, and laughing as your face heats up.You can feel him smiling at you, you can feel the heat of his stare soaking into your skin like the sunrise. It’s a tether to reality, the proof that you didn’t make anything up… You’re everything, he said, and what a lovely thing that is–to be so intrinsic to him and his life that that's the only way he can describe you.
He’s your everything too.
You find yourself smiling at the thought, closing your eyes in bliss, you can almost hear your heart beating–louder and louder as reality sets in. It’s all real: him, you, this. You can almost see the future, prophetic daydreams passing over your eyelids of what is to come–more of this, of course, but also more–more, more, more. You can see him, laughing in the sun, kissing you under the stars, singing your favorite songs. It will be perfect, lovely and real, and everything.
When your eyes open, you see Chaeryeong smiling at you–looking at you like she can see every thought buried inside your heart. She loves you, you know that, but seeing her know you can feel it too. How you love her too, even with her silly jokes and mischievous plans. Her eyes flit to where Jeongin’s hand holds yours raising her eyebrows in that familiar way, and she tells you,
idc what you’re doing now please drop it and read this PLEASE PLEASE why is this so underrated im losing my mind it deserves a thousand flowers and suns!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
now to you my dear ginger, you already know just how much i adore your writing but in case you forgot!! your way with words is just so SO beautiful i literally could highlight ever passage in here because every metaphor and description is excruciatingly poignant!!!!!!!!!!!! the description of heartbreak was so vivid and real it felt like i was going through it and then how you described them falling in love.. like it was the surest thing in the world,, the recurring comparison of innie’s smile to the sun (kill me),, how he felt SAFE to mc the way love is supposed to be HOW INNIE HAS FELT THIS WAY ALL THISSS TIME AND MC FINALLY KNOWSSSSS!!!!!! gosh i was clutching my heart so many times throughout this. and the fight scene felt like a punch to the stomach it was so well written,, u managed to make me hate hyunjin LIKE pls applaud yourself
also my two favorite passages
He’s not so much as looking at you as looking into you, almost like he’s trying to see into your ribcage and decide if he can fit in there too. His intensity is burning, chipping away at your composure not unlike pick into stone. His hands are so soft, fluttering against you in curiosity, like he can’t believe he gets to touch you–feel you under his force and mold you into him. Your eyes are fluttering shut, influenced by the alcohol and his hands and the way he thinks you’re beautiful.
ARE YOUUUUU CRAZY!!!!!!!!! this is crazy beautiful i need it engraved into a mural somewhere please
You’re everything, he said, and what a lovely thing that is–to be so intrinsic to him and his life that that's the only way he can describe you.
GOSH yk today i’ve been yearning for romance and this made me extra sad it’s just so SO SOOOOOOO. u encapsulated what this means so well like to be as grand as life for someone ME WHENNNNNN can u write my love story too
saw the title and knew it would be good!! but this was written soooo deliciously and carried out so well, I was unhealthily invested from start to finish oh my god i need 15 of them right now!! yang jeongin when i catch you yang jeongin....
