Jigsaw Pieces
Summary: The two of you were made to fit together
Pairing: Chanyeol x Reader (female)
Genre: fluff, tiny bit of angst
Rating: PG
Warnings: minor mention of alcohol use
Word Count: 2.8K
This really isn’t your scene.
You adore your friends, how they make sure to invite you to things, even if they know you’ll more than likely turn down the offer. Which is probably why they just said it would be asleep over tonight and failed to mention the major rager they had planned.
It’s not that you’re straight edge or anything like that. In all honesty, it’s just that you’re too shy, too socially awkward, find your personality too quiet in the midst of the Olympian sized ones in the other room.
So instead, you snuck away, curled up on the twin side top bunk of your friends’ younger sisters’ room. It’s quiet, or well, as quiet as it could be with the music phasing through the walls like a ghost. You know that your friend has chosen to play Primary in an attempt to lull you out of your hiding hold, but you cannot bring yourself out of the safety you’ve found in the covers.
You know the majority of everyone outside of this room, see them on campus and in class. They call you a part of their group, make sure to include you in everything they can, to purposely ask you things so you never feel excluded. Especially Chanyeol.
He asks you questions the most, wide eyes always on your face as you spoke, like he was memorizing your entire being. Maybe it was because it took him an entire semester to learn your name.
The day he finally said your name without having to ask first was the day you realized you were undeniably in love with him. It was the day you realized that somewhere between asking you questions and bringing your hands to his mouth to warm them when you complained of being cold, between they way he would pull your earbuds out of your ears to replace them with his own anytime he wanted to share a song with you and the way his face lights up when he sees you, that you know you’ve fallen for him.
You know he’s out there, can hear the bass of his laughter over the bass of the music, perhaps because your ears are attuned to it. You can almost see him, black snapback with some vape company he doesn’t even know on it, ears sticking out, smile the brightest thing in the room. You know he’s making rounds, secret handshakes being exchanged, hugs distributed, inside jokes shared. It makes you sigh in disappointment for yourself.
You know that if you were to join the party, they would welcome you fondly, would pull you into hugs of your own, know someone would pull you along with them so you were never alone, know they would go out of their way to keep you included.
Because they understand.
They understand your anxiety, your social uneasiness. They take it in stride and work hard to make sure you knew you were wanted, to make sure you knew you were their friend.
And you couldn’t even join the party.
You sigh again, burying yourself in the covers, trying to make yourself less of a mouse.
You don’t know how long you stay like this, trying to will a dandelion into a tree, but when you hear the door open you freeze.
“C’mon kid. Let’s get you in bed.”
“Yeol, I may have overdone it.”
“You think so?” Chanyeols voice is teasing as he helps Sehun into the bed below you. “But lucky for you, I’m partied out, so I’m on Hunnie duty.”
There’s no response from Sehun and you know from the soft snores below you that he’s passed out. You can hear Chanyeol sigh, a soft sound before you hear movement, what sounds like jeans against carpet. You’re careful to stay silent as you peak over the guard rail to find him stretched out on the floor, elbow over his eyes.
You know from experience that the carpet is uncomfortable and the floor unforgiving. You close your eyes and muster up every ounce of courage you’ve been channeling all night.
“There’s room up here, if you don’t want to sleep on the floor?”
“Y/N? I didn’t know you were here.”
“Ah, yeah. I didn’t know there was going to be a party. I was just told it was a sleep over. I probably wouldn’t have come if I had known.”
“You could have stayed with me out there, you know I wouldn’t leave you alone.”
“I know, but you know how I am. Can’t make a soloist out of a background singer.”
“You sound like Professor Harris.”
“Ah yeah, I got it from her. It’s what she told me.”
“Wait, I thought you were an English major?” It’s at this that he moves his arm, leaning on the elbow instead, looking up at you.
“Oh, I am. But I was a music major first semester.”
“Why did you switch?”
“Because of that.”
The conversation falls silent at this. The music has stopped in the living room and you aren’t sure if it’s because the party has ended or if everyone has passed out. You’re chewing your bottom lip, trying to figure out what else to say when Chanyeols face appears beside you.
“It doesn’t look like there’s a lot of room up here.”
“Oh, uh, here.” You scoot to the other side of the bed, showing him the space left. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to, I just didn’t want you to sleep on the floor. It’s up to you.”
“Why do you always do that?”
“Do what?”
“Make yourself small.” He tilts his head at you and you know your face is red. You shrug, unable to form words. It’s the first time someone has ever asked you that and you aren’t sure how to say you were taught to be neither seen nor heard.
“Let me empty my pockets.” He moves back and you can hear his wallet and keys against the dresser. “Is it going to bother you if I take my jeans off?”
“Not if it won’t bother you that mine are.” He grins and looks at you, something you don’t recognize painting his features. “That was funny.”
“Thanks. I channeled my inner you.” You can’t help but giggle as Chanyeol climbs the ladder. He’s’ only on the second rung and his head is already touching the ceiling. “How the hell did you get up here?”
“There wasn’t anyone else up here when I was trying.” Chanyeol huffs, and ducks as he climbs one more rung before slinging his leg over the guard rail and rolling into the bed beside you. You cover your mouth to keep from laughing any louder when Sehun moves below you. You think you’ve woken him until his snores resume.
“So, I’m up here. What should we do?” He’s on side, head propped up on his elbow as he looks at you.
“I really only called you up here so I could sacrifice you to the moon.”
“Sorry, the moon and I aren’t on the best of terms right now, but I’ll accept Satan.”
You hum to yourself in fake deliberation. “You’re too pretty to go to Satan.”
“Did you just call me pretty?”
“I did.”
“I’m flattered.”
“So how did you know about professor Harris?”
“I had her for a music elective.”
“Aren’t you a business major?” You shift in the bed, turning on your side as well to face him.
“Yeah, it was required.” He shrugs.
“What kind of business?”
“Jongin and I have had a dream to open a record studio since we were freshmen in high school. I want to produce, but I don’t really need to go to school for something I’m already good at.”
“I didn’t know you wanted to produce.”
“That’s because I’m always asking you questions about yourself. Speaking of, why an English major?”
“I want to write. I’ve been told I have a way with words.”
Chanyeol grins and you know what’s going to come out of his mouth before he even says it. “You don’t talk much though.”
“I do too. I’m just not great with crowds.”
“You don’t seem to have a problem talking to me.”
“It’s cause you’re pretty.” You grin and bat your eyelashes.
“Lucky me then.”
It’s easy to talk to you like this Chanyeol finds. Outside of crowds, you transform into another person, one who’s all smiles, words and unhindered thoughts and Chanyeol finds himself getting lost in them easily. His eyes are on your lips as you speak, enthralled by the way they form syllables, hypnotized by the spell they unknowingly cast upon him.
It’s addicting, listening to you talk like this. Chanyeol can see the notes of your voice as they touch his ears, the soft scales climbing and falling down the lines on the music staff and he finds himself composing a song of it.
He grins at the realization, that it’s you. You’re addicting.
“Yeol? Are you okay?”
“What song is on your mind right now?”
“Nineteen by Tegan and Sara.” It says more than you know. It tells him things words cannot say, tells him things about you that you cannot bring yourself to vocalize. He can feel his heartbeat quicken and he chews on his inner cheek as he tries to subdue it, as he tries to figure out if you know that he has a playlist with your name on it, that song appearing twice. He wonders if you listen to it the same way he does, your face painted over the lyrics, senses drowned in you although you are no where near.
“What about you?”
“Are You Gonna Be My Girl.”
It’s the question that’s been on his mind for a while now. He wonders if you know that he asks you everything he can think of because your voice calls to him like a siren song, wonders if you know that he waits for you to say you’re cold so he can glue himself to your side because the coconut smell of your shampoo is intoxicating, wonders if you know that he always shows you new songs because your face interprets the lyrics along with your mind and it’s the closest thing he can get to reading your mind.
He wonders if you know that he pretended not to know your name for an entire semester because he was falling in love with the way that you said it.
You’re sure your heart is going to beat out of your chest. You know he’s naming a song, but the way the words fall from his lips turns the atmosphere in the room into a fragile thing and you’re terrified to open your mouth, too terrified to break the bubble the two of you have created for yourself.
Instead, you turn away from him, rolling over to face the wall, arm tucked under your shared pillow, eyes blinking back tears that threaten to fall as you realize you’re reading too much into his answer, the way you always do. Because truthfully, why would he ask you that?
He is Helios, his smile the sun. He is a warmth you do not think you deserve yet find yourself a glutton for. He is all laughs and words, wide smiles and crescent eyes. You find yourself wondering if he knows of the gravitational pull he has on everyone around him, or if he is simply floating through space, unaware of the beauty that is his entire being.
If this were a movie, you’d admit to your friends that you are not his type, middle too round, thighs too large and existence too small to be his because your friends would not be his friends. But this isn’t a movie, and your friends are mutual, and there is not a day that goes by that you do not see him, the small voice in the back of your head bringing you down as you try to stand in the light that he casts.
He shifts next to you and you prepare yourself for the loss of his warmth as you assume he is leaving, and instead freeze as the pillow moves, his right arm curled around yours, fingers tracing small patterns on the back of your hand. His left drapes over your waist and you stop breathing as goosebumps raise along the soft flesh of your stomach at someone else’s touch.
Chanyeol can feel you freeze under his touch but he doesn’t stop, left hand traveling north as it searches for your own, fingers finding purchase in your wrist as he pulls it from under your chin, tangling his fingers with yours. He can feel your pulse in the tips as he lets your joined hands rest on your hip. He is unapologetic as he scoots closer to you, shifting to nuzzle his nose at the nape of your neck, one leg tucked between yours and he wonders if you can feel the way his heart races too.
He knows your mind, knows your fight or flight response is kicked into over drive as your pulse pounds from every inch of your body. It doesn’t take long for yours to sync, hearts beating as one as the atmosphere turns heavy with words neither of you dare to say. So instead he does the only thing he knows to do without ruining the conversation your bodies are having for you; he hums.
It takes a moment for your pulse to die enough in your ears for you to realize that he’s humming your answer, humming the song on your mind right now. The vibration against the back of your neck lulls you into a relaxed state, letting your body fall into his, trying not to think about how well you fit into him. Part of you says to turn over, to face him and address the thoughts running through your head, though the other half of you says not to move or you’ll ruin everything.
His grip on your fingers tightens as he feels you relax against him, pressing his body closer to yours until you are no longer sure where he starts and you end. His voice is muffled against your skin, warm like the rest of him, “do you want me to move?”.
You shake your head, throat dry as you respond with a dry “no”.
“I’ve wanted to do this for a long time..”
“Give me a heart attack?” He chuckles behind you, laughing with his whole body and you feel the final shards of fear melt from your skin with the sound.
“No, to touch you without you pulling away from me.” Your heart is in your throat at his answer, mind racing as you try to interpret what he could mean.
“Why…why would you want to do that?”
He’s silent for a moment and you can hear him swallow, his hand suddenly clammy in yours. You try to think of another time you’ve seen him this nervous, but nothing comes to mind and you wonder what you’ve done.
“Because I’m in love with you, Y/N, is it really that hard to notice?”
“You can’t be in love with me Chanyeol. You didn’t even know my name for an entire semester of our friendship.”
“Yes I did. I’ve known your name since the first time Kyungsoo introduced us. I just liked hearing you say it and the way you smiled at me when I asked for it again.” His thumb rubs circles into your skin at his confession.
“Why would you be in love with me?” Your voice is small and he hates it, hates the way you’ve returned behind your wall, hidden back in your shell.
“It’s simple, why wouldn’t I?”
He doesn’t say anything else, and soon you can feel his breaths deepen against the back of your neck and you know he’s fallen asleep. Something in you tells you to let it go, to wonder what he could mean tomorrow when the world is back to normal.
So for now, you listen and tighten your grip on his fingers as you let yourself fall asleep, body pressed and wrapped up in the boy you love and the last thought that passes through your mind is that for once, you’re glad no one told you a party was going on.
