hi 👋 im Meg and this where i write stuff i mostly write for nct but i also write for my fave book and TV characters
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Globally recognized by her fans as Queen Yuna, Kim Yuna is a South Korean figure skater who is credited as one of the greatest figure skaters in history. She is the first-ever skater to complete a Career Super Grand Slam, having won all major titles (from the Olympic Games, World Championships, Grand Prix Final, and Four Continents Championships) at both the junior and senior level. Praised for her effortless grace, technique, and artistic expression, Kim established a strong reputation of dominance and consistency, setting 11 world records and becoming the first woman to score above 150 points in the free skate and 200 points in the combined total. Additionally, she has been noted to have never finished off-podium throughout her 13-year career.
Featured Program: "James Bond" from the 2010 Vancouver Olympics (SP)
one day I’ll finally write that ridiculously elaborate fanfiction that I’ve been carefully constructing in my daydreams for months and then you’ll be sorry. you’ll all be sorry.
photocopying lab activity packets is banal and boring but hendery is there to keep you company
tags: fluff, hendery×fem!reader, outgoing!hendery×reserved!reader, friends to lovers, slow burn except we've skipped to the last chapter in the tome, uni life
warnings: slight angst; teeny, tiny, blink-and-you'll-miss-it mention of politics and alpha male behavior; brief mentions of the dreaded assigned seating; a smidge of Princess Bride; a tad too esoteric discussion about pens; mentions of some wayv members; poor Hendery is pining and reader doesn't want to be obtuse but doesn't want to make assumptions either
playlist: 💖
word count: 3,048
"Stop that!" you hiss, slapping Hendery’s hand away from the radio dial he’d been fiddling with.
Hendery jerks back at once, his elbow almost sending a plastic jar of candies to the ground. You catch it in time and he laughs at the look on your face.
"Your fault." he snorts.
You raise an eyebrow. "My fault? You don’t touch other people’s radios without their permission, Hendery.” you say lightly.
He shrugs, still unabashedly grinning. "Come on, Y/n. It’s not like anyone would willingly listen to this crap."
The kindly old uncle manning the Xerox machine had gone to grab another ream of copier paper from storage and had left you and your best friend standing at the counter. It was your turn to make photocopies of tonight's assigned packet for an entire laboratory class of 25 students and your best friend had insisted on coming with you. You’d reassured him that you knew your way to the one machine in uni and could manage 25 sets of lab worksheets on your own. He came anyway, prattling on about last night's gaming session with the boys and practically skipping next to you.
People often wondered why someone as outgoing and chatty as him hung out with a stick in the mud like you. You wondered about that too, but you always answered their question with your own working hypothesis: “First year, Gen Ed. Prof had a seatplan.”
Those damned assigned seating charts could create lasting friendships or enduring enmity; everybody knew that. It made no difference to you though, as you were too shy to make friends and people thought you were too aloof to approach. It wasn't something you were seeking to remedy either- you had always kept to yourself, keeping a very small circle of friends since middle school that you still kept in contact with despite all of you going off to different universities. Oh, you could be perfectly friendly and conversational with your classmates, but that was more of an adaptation a student had to learn to survive in academia. You were reclusive enough that once the group project was over, you wouldn't be invited to hang out anymore. You should probably make more of an effort, but you were too set in your own ways. There was no reason for this class to be any different.
Except when you plopped your bag down onto your assigned seat, amid groans and complaints from some 40 freshmen at being separated from their friends, Hendery had greeted you with a bright grin and a cheery, “Hiya seatmate! Gonna be a great year, huh?”
You were so gobsmacked by such energy before 8 am that you spoke one sentence more than you usually would. "Uh, hi. Sure, that would be nice, would make the school year fly by."
"Here, this is yours, right?" He handed you your prized Pilot Gtec Pen.
You liked sitting in the front, close to the doors for a quick getaway. And when the professor had handed you the attendance sheet for day one of the semester, you'd carelessly passed your pen along with the clipboard. Once the sheet had made its way back to the prof but the pen was not back with you, you knew it was gone. Those things had a way of disappearing into another dimension if you didn't grip them tightly enough.
But here it was. "Wow, thanks. How'd you know it was mine?" You take it gratefully.
He shrugged. "The attendance sheet started with you. My Kun-ge is doing his Masters here and he only uses this brand of pens. Wouldn't bat an eyelash if you used his shampoo but would get pissy if you borrowed his pens."
"Perfectly reasonable. Tell him I recommend the Zebra Sarasa too."
"Great, thanks. I lost two of his pens last week," he grinned sheepishly. "I need to give him a peace offering."
You laughed at that.
You, making conversation with a stranger and actually having fun. The earth’s poles might as well have shifted, as history was made.
So there you both were three years later, at the Xerox counter at dusk, listening in mild horror as the seemingly harmless folk, rock, and country radio station stopped playing the nice oldies and moved on to the day’s next program: an ultra-conservative pundit doing a hate-filled monologue. You'd turned away from the little transistor radio in reflexive disgust, which is why you had completely missed Hendery leaning half his body over the counter to change radio stations. You were now half-heartedly arguing in whispers and hisses, lest the old man hear you, while your best friend was reaching for the dial again and you were telling him to mind the jar of candies his elbows were about to waste.
He won in the end. Or rather, you let Hendery win because the bellicose dude on the radio was now waxing poetic about alpha-ness and you were about to die from cringe. Your best friend whoops in triumph as the station jumps to static, then disco, then static, then stocks forecast, then static again. You concede defeat gracefully, leaning back against the far wall and watching him with a soft smile. Over the four years that you'd known him, Hendery had equal parts changed and stayed the same- his smile, his hair color, his determination to enjoy life, his pretty face. But there was something in his eyes that wasn’t there when you first met him. People changed, you knew that, but… well. Freshman year, Hendery would yell in greeting, fist bump you, then call you bro, and now he was… different. He seemed… calmer? A better listener…? More thoughtful? You couldn't quite put your finger on it and it equal parts intrigued and unnerved you that your best friend was changing right under your nose. He stopped dragging his boisterous and funny friends to your hangouts (unless prompted by you because they were your friends now too), stopped jokingly setting you up with the no-i-swear-he's-pretty-cool guys he met at the student union, he no longer waved his Tinder matches in your face, and stared at you when you spoke to him not with a goofy grin ready to make you laugh but an attentiveness and care that told you as you wish. Yes, you really didn't know what this was. And yet, not once did he make you uncomfortable; never, once he’d sworn his number one priority was your ease and comfort, but not even before he made that promise.
He walks over to you to join you against the wall, finally satisfied with whatever the radio was playing. You match each other's posture perfectly: back flat against the wall, hands clasped behind you, one foot crossed over the other at the ankle. You both crane your necks to watch the evening sky. Dusk had just settled, the sky a beautiful but melancholy watercolor of bruise-like blues and purples, interrupted here and there by the twinkle of some lone star. The rain had long cleared, clouds gently pushed away by an evening breeze. Hendery looked impossibly soft in this light, familiar and comforting as long as he didn't look into your eyes. You tugged at your cardigan, feeling both warm and cold at the same time.
“He’s taking a long time.” you say quietly.
Hendery only nods, already knowing you were actually unconcerned. You had time.
You feel rather than hear Hendery’s fingers tap out the melody of the song, and you close your eyes to avoid the temptation of staring at him while he was this close-
“What does that mean?”
You frown and straighten, thoughts interrupted. The song playing now was in your native language, which you spoke so often around Hendery that he could recognize it. Though, you were yet to teach him anything besides profanities.
“Huh, who knew this station played… anyway, um…” you paused, listening to the next few lines. “It’s a love song. The guy is confessing his feelings to the girl he loves, he tells her she’s the only one who makes him feel this way." you translated for him. "She’d wanted to wait but now, he says, something has changed… and if she does feel the same, if she’s ready, he’d like her to dance with him in the rain.”
Hendery says nothing. The long silence makes your cheeks heat up. “I know it's cheesy. And it’s cliche, this thing about slow dancing in the rain… but the way it’s sung… the lyrics… it’s tender and sweet. Sorry, I’m rambling.”
"No, it's a good song." he says. “I get it.”
“Makes one of us.” you say wryly.
Another lull in the conversation. It wasn't awkward but the air was somehow hung with things you should probably tell each other.
"You have something on your mind." you both said at the same time. You laugh.
"You first." he nodded at you.
You sigh, scuffing your shoe against the floor. Hendery patiently waits for you to gather your thoughts.
"Is it wrong to be wary of change? Like, you just feel and know that there's this something that's never going to be the same..." you say haltingly.
His gaze grows piercing for a few seconds, as if suspicious that you were on to something. Then, the expression is gone as quickly as it crossed his face. "Change always happens you know, whether we anticipate it or not."
"I know, it's just..." that brief moment just now, where Hendery looked like he was waiting for you to call him out, was best left for him to discuss. You at least respected him that much. "I always thought of college as a layover. This was always gonna be a brief stop on this journey that I'm plodding on. I know it sounds awful but that was kinda why I had no plans to make deep, meaningful connections. I was naïve enough to think that this was going to be a grab-your-degree-and-go operation. Is that rude?"
He shakes his head no. Encouraged, you go on.
"But now that I have, with our mutual friends, with student orgs I recently had the confidence to apply for, with you..."
He frowns, leaning in. "Y/n, it's one thing to be wary of change, which is perfectly natural by the way. It's another thing to be scared of losing us."
Your eyes search his face. "I'm being silly, of course. It's normal for friendships to fade and settle into just... resigned fondness after college. Right?" you say unsurely.
He crosses his arms. "I mean, people grow and change all the time. A good friend in college can become a total stranger by the time you reconnect for the 20-year reunion. But sometimes, with friendships, it's all in how you cultivate it. Some people would find the idea of talking to the same people after leaving uni loyal and sentimental, others would think it sad and pathetic. It's up to them to work that out."
You nod, surprised and not at the quiet, practical wisdom that Hendery could sometimes spring up on people. "What, them as in you and me?" you say teasingly.
"Oh no, that was a hypothetical. You're kinda stuck with me now, we're nonnegotiable," he jokes.
"Oh yes, please. I want you to stay in my life, in any capacity that works." you laugh, only to stop short as you realize exactly what you had said. You blink rapidly, cheeks pink, and throat swallowing nervously. You rack your brain frantically for something to say, grasping at straws until you finally choke out: "Your turn."
He stares at you for a long time without saying anything, gaze more intense than any other time he's looked at you. "Turn to what?"
"To tell me what's on your mind." you say as evenly as you could manage.
"Alright," his tone was too neutral. "What did you mean Y/n, when you said you didn't get that song?"
You blink, surprised at the direction this conversation was taking. "What song?"
"The last one, the one about slow dancing in the rain."
"Oh. Well, I just meant that I don't know how that feels. Someone confessing to you by asking you to dance, I mean. Or even just slow dancing in general."
He raises an eyebrow inquiringly, pulling away from the wall. “Never done it.” you explained.
He stares at you. “You’ve been to weddings. And you went to prom, I saw the pictures.”
It was such a simple and harmless assumption that you had to laugh. You make a small ta-da gesture at how you’re leaned against the wall. “Wallflower. When you blend in so well, nobody notices you to want to dance with you.”
Another pregnant pause between you two. He shoves his hands into his pockets, watching you thoughtfully as the next song plays. You tactfully avoid his gaze, focusing on the song instead.
The drums come in, the vocals double up, and Hendery walks closer to you, his frame blocking your view of the sky. You can’t read his face as his hand slowly reaches around you to gently tug one of your hands out from behind your back. The gentle motion forces you to straighten up.
"What are you doing?" you say warily.
He smiles a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. “I have noticed you, Y/n. I do see you.”
He keeps your hand in his warm grasp, walks you both closer to the radio, lets you go for a moment so he can turn up the volume, then returns to face you square on. Mind struggling to keep up with what’s happening, you let his fingers drift from your wrist to properly clasp your hand. He gently guides your other hand and places it on his shoulder and, very slowly and watching your face for any signs of discomfort, he pulls you closer.
Oh.
"Oh no, we don't have to, Hendery. I wasn't baiting you into it." you laugh lamely.
"I know, but I want to."
"Anyway, I never learned how to." you fret with a rueful smile, trying to pull away.
But he's persistent. "That's it? Is that your only objection?" Though, he keeps his grip light and loose, so you can pull away whenever you want.
Was it? Your best friend was standing closer than he'd physically ever been; two more steps and you could count his eyelashes. He had an arm around you and you were holding his hand, things good friends were bound to do, but the way it felt tonight was making you breathe shallowly. And with the way you two have been slipping up tonight and saying things left unspoken over the past four years, things could change irreversibly. You nod. Yes, that was your only objection.
“It’s all in the leading. You can trust me, Y/n.” He smiles easily.
“Of course I can.” You were as certain of that fact as you were sure of your own name. He nods.
It does feel a little silly, dancing with your best friend in a Xerox shop to the song on a scratchy, old radio. Your self-consciousness and stiffness makes the first few steps little more than an awkward shuffle… until it wasn’t anymore. Somewhere between verses, your muscles relax and obey the gentle press of his hand on the small of your back. Pulled in, you bravely close the shy distance you'd put between you two. Somewhere between choruses, your gaze is finally drawn away from your surroundings to look up into his eyes, where the stars that should've been visible in the sky tonight seemed to have migrated to. You connect the stars, and see that constellation you've been trying to figure out all this time but was a smidge too unobservant to read correctly was unmistakable in it's brightness tonight. The realization hits you as one’s head might hit the pillow after a difficult week: your best friend was in love with you.
"Hendery." you whisper.
Pressed close to each other's bodies, you feel rather than hear the inquiring hum he makes. You shake your head mentally to rid yourself of the goosebumps.
“It isn’t raining”, you comment, unable to help yourself. “He asks her to dance with him in the rain if she feels the same.”
“You’re dancing with me anyway.” he murmurs.
You nod, knowing he understands the answer written on your face. He gazes at you, taking his time reading the words you were going to tell him after class. Somewhere during the next song, you feel yourself finally letting out such an exhale that you let your guard down. You lean in to rest your head on his chest, closing your eyes and, for the first time in a while, quieten down the loud and ever-present thoughts in your head. What could there be to worry about? You were slow-dancing with Hendery.
Hendery subtly presses his lips against your hair and thanks… God? Venus? Or was it Aphrodite? The paper cranes he folded that one time the power went out? That shooting star he saw when Yangyang and Xiaojun locked him out on the fire escape? He didn’t know how this happened, who/what made this happen but he’s here- finally here. This was an accident, for sure. No one could’ve guessed you’d be seated next to each other that one day in first year, or that you were more fun than you’d let on, or that he'd like spending time with you this much, or that his friends would like you too and drag you into the group, or that it would lead to you being a presence in all the important moments of his life (basketball games, birthdays, Christmas parties, grocery runs, landlord disputes, finals week breakdowns), or that his little crush would get so alarmingly serious that instead of just being present, he'd want you to be a permanent fixture in his life, or that you’d make him (him, of all people) grow from childish and immature to caring and loyal. No, this was no accident; this was a miracle, the kind that creeps up on you.
He makes a mental note to make an anonymous call to that radio station and compliment them on their good taste. Then maybe ask them for their playlist.
