astrae4

[astrae4]

WAIT FOR MY CALL, OKAY? I’VE GOT SOMETHING TO TELL YOU | Myung Jaehyun

pairings — boynextdoor’s myung jaehyun x reader

genre — romance, friends to lovers

warnings — none!

note — this one was requested by this lovely anon! Had so much fun writing this. Btw ik he went to an all boys school but that canon event is thrown away for this fic. Pretend it didn’t happen.

more works: navigation | bnd!masterlist

THE ODDS OF YOU winning a fancall was already insane. The odds of winning one with your actual longtime school crush who now happened to be an idol?

Unreal.

“Manifestation works,” your best friend declared dramatically, tossing you a banana milk like a reward. “I told you writing his name in your planner every year wasn’t embarrassing. It was a vision board.”

“It was embarrassing,” you muttered, scrolling through the official fancall instructions. “It’s still embarrassing.”

“Yeah, but now you’re living the dream, so. Eat that, middle school.”

The screen was already counting down: 4 minutes until your turn with Jaehyun. And despite rehearsing fake-casual things to say—Wow, you’re doing so well, proud of you! Also, I’ve been in love with you since your braces era?—your mind went blank.

All you could think about was Jaehyun: how he used to doodle aliens in his margins and stick googly eyes on his phone case. How you caught him practicing choreo in the reflection of the hallway windows after class, thinking no one saw. How he once lent you his jacket when you forgot yours during exam week—and you never returned it.

Not because you forgot.

Because it still smelled like his laundry detergent.

Gosh, you’re doomed.

…

When Jaehyun sees the name on the fancall list, he nearly chokes on his water.

“Bro. Jaehyun.” Woonhak nudges him. “What’s with your ears turning pink? She cute or something?”

“It’s her,” Jaehyun mutters. “The girl. From school. The one I—”

“Crushed on for a hundred years and wrote an unreleased ballad about?” Leehan supplies helpfully.

Jaehyun narrows his eyes. “I told you that in confidence.”

“Your folder was labeled ‘DO NOT OPEN: SAD GIRL SONGS.’ What did you expect me to do?”

“Both of you shut up,” Jaehyun hisses, tugging down his hoodie. “She might see this.”

Woonhak beams. “You mean she’ll definitely see this. You better confess. This is fate, dude.”

But Jaehyun’s heart is racing. He hasn’t seen you in years. What if you don’t remember him? What if you do remember, but only as the guy who once tripped over his own backpack and wiped out in front of the lunch table?

He exhales as the screen loads.

Too late to back out now.

“Hi,” you blurt the second he appears onscreen.

He looks… good. Too good. Stupidly good. Fluffy brown hair, that soft smile—and those same kind eyes from school that always made your knees feel like jelly.

And then he speaks, and you die.

“Hi,” Jaehyun says, brightening as he leans toward the camera. “I know you.”

Your brain short-circuits.

He—

He remembers you?

“You do?”

“Of course.” He smiles, the warm kind that makes the room tilt slightly. “You were in Class 2 with me, right? You always beat me in math.”

“I still suck at math,” you says before your brain can filter, “but I do remember you crying over trigonometry.”

Jaehyun lets out an actual, real laugh—the kind that makes his eyes crinkle.

“Guilty.”

It’s an instant connection. They only have 90 seconds, but they talk like it’s 9 minutes. He asks what you’re doing now. You ask about his music. He compliments your hair (!!!), and you stutters out a thank-you, and the staff literally has to count them down:

“Ten seconds left!”

Jaehyun panics.

There’s so much he wants to say, but all he gets out is:

“Wait—can I ask for your number?”

You freezes.

“I mean—” He lowers his voice to a frantic whisper. “I know it’s not allowed, and please don’t tell the company, but I’ve… I’ve wanted to talk to you for a while. I’ll call. Just wait for me, okay?”

The screen cuts out before you can respond.

You don’t sleep that night.

You screams into your pillow. Spins in circles. Stares at the ceiling. Check your phone 48 times even though it’s only been 20 minutes. Your friend nearly throws her phone into a bowl of rice to stop the madness.

And then it happens.

A call. A number you don’t recognize.

You pick up, breathless.

“Hello?”

“…It’s me.”

“Jaehyun?”

Silence, then a sheepish laugh. “Yeah. It’s weird hearing that from you. You said it just like back in school.”

“Back in school I was mostly yelling your name in the hallway because you were late for group projects.”

Jaehyun groans. “Don’t remind me.”

There’s a beat. Then he says:

“Can I… take you out sometime? On a date?”

You almost drop the phone. “Wait. Like. A real one?”

“Well, I mean,” he laughs nervously, “unless you prefer fake ones—”

“No! I mean yes. Yes, a real one sounds nice.”

In the background, you hear muffled whooping. Probably Woonhak again. Someone yells “SHE SAID YES!” before the call abruptly cuts.

Both of you text the details. A coffee shop date. Quiet, casual. Easy.

Except neither of you feel remotely calm.

The coffee shop smells like cinnamon and something warm and baked. You spot Jaehyun by the window—hat low, hoodie up—but he stands when he sees you. He looks nervous, fiddling with his sleeve.

“Hi,” he says. Again.

“Hi,” you smile. “Twice in one week. Must be my lucky era.”

They talk about everything and nothing. He tells you about trainee life. You tell him about trying to cook rice without burning it. He nearly snorts out his latte.

At one point, he says:

“I never thought I’d actually get to say this.”

She glances up. “Say what?”

He swallows.

“That I liked you. Back then.”

Your heart stumbles.

“Oh.”

Jaehyun’s gaze drops to his cup. “I was gonna tell you, but then debut stuff happened, and I thought maybe it’d just… pass. But it didn’t.”

Your voice comes out softer than expected. “It didn’t for me either.”

That gets his attention. He looks up, wide-eyed.

“You liked me?”

“I used to borrow your jacket and pretend it was an accident,” you admit, cheeks flaming. “I think I still have it.”

Jaehyun blinks. “I was looking for that jacket.”

You both laugh. It dissolves the tension.

And then Jaehyun leans in—just enough for his shoulder to brush hers. His hand, tentative, rests on the table near hers.

“I can kiss you, right?” he asks quietly. “It’s allowed now. The dating ban ended yesterday.”

Your breath catches.

“You timed this?”

Jaehyun smiles. “Maybe.”

You lean in. So does he.

The kiss is warm, tentative. Like a memory you both have been waiting to relive. His hand brushes your cheek as they part, and you’re both smiling so hard it hurts.

“So,” he says, voice low, “will you be my girlfriend?”

And because you’re a demon in disguise, you pretend to think.

“Well, I did beat you in math. Might as well keep winning.”

He laughs—full, bright, loud enough to make the barista look over.

Jaehyun’s hand finds yours under the table, fingers lacing naturally.

And just like that, the girl from school becomes his favorite love story.

TAGLIST: @ja4hyvn @flwoie @sulkygyu @xiaoderrrr @ineedaherosavemeenow @teddywonss @taerae-verse @bbangbies @uncasings

NETWORKS: @onedoornet @k-films @k-labels

© astrae4 2025 — please don't copy, translate, or plagiarize my works on all platforms!

[astrae4]

BOYNEXTDOOR WITH DIFFERENT PARTNER TROPES 🍊

pairings — boynextdoor x reader

genre — romance, slice of life, fluff, comedy

warnings — noneeeee! (wc. probs around 400-1k)

note — requested by my lovely 🍊 anon <3 hope you love it dearie (p.s. you can totally see that this was made in two different days bc halfway thru this my writing locked in..)

more works: navigation | bnd!masterlist

MYUNG JAEHYUN | with a clingier partner

impressed. did not think anyone could be as clingy as him but it all went down the drain and proved wrong when he met you. you guys are TOP TIER pda couple. there is no other way. the members are 100% grossed out. do you care? no. should you care? probably…but anyways! you’re always together, wether it be going out for midnight snacks or group hangouts. attached to the hip. even when you’re not holding each other’s hand one person is always holding the other’s belt hoop, the ends of the other’s sweater, or even intertwining legs under tables...you get what i mean. cheek to cheek is so common with jaehyun and you guys LOVEEEE it! overall you guys are toothache-tier sweet and a perfect match for the other!

PARK SUNGHO | with a habitual bone-cracking partner

he tries not to cry with how much you crack the joints of your knuckles and ankles, but with the constant pop of your bones it’s hard not to. He doesn’t know how to respond…concerned? Impressed? But one time you did it nonstop while counting to 100 ( real story btw i once popped my ankles 100 times nonstop in the car because I was bored ) and he just went 😦 because what is he supposed to respond to that? Definitely nags you LOADS though—pulling out all different kinds of articles of how bad it is for you to do so and when you don’t listen to him he begs you to stop doing it until you listen to him. Bribes you with home-cooked dinner as well to not do it for a month or whatever…and well, you aren’t gonna say no to that are you?

LEE SANGHYEOK | with a gamer partner

Sleepless nights become endless. But it’s fun; and with riwoo and you, life’s never dull. You're each other's partners in crime, each other's co-op teammate, and especially each other's rival in 1v1s. Competing with Riwoo in games is a must, for sure. it brings both your competitive spirits out and you usually add a wager to spice it up! If you're both good, enemy teams definitely hate you both. When one of you isn't in the mood to play games though, quality time is still really enjoyable— in fact, your favorite nights consist of you sitting on Riwoo's lap comfortably and napping while Riwoo grinds on LOL. Or when you play mobile games on the bed or couch and Rico puts his head on your lap to semi-cuddle with you. It's comfortable. Especially on days where both your social batteries run out and you don't want to speak anymore. One match to unwind, ya’know?

HAN DONGMIN | with a nonchalant partner

Sometimes people don’t even realize you two are dating. Taesan’s not used to that. With his members, his family—even past situationships—he’s always been the one people cling to. The one who gets showered with affection. But you’re different. You’re chill, unreadable, a textbook T in the MBTI system. And somehow, that makes him crave you even more. You don’t reach for his hand unless there’s a reason. You don’t baby him with goodnights or emojis. You’ll look at him with that neutral expression and ask, “You good?” and for some reason, that makes his heart pound. He starts being the one to reach first—with hugs, with compliments, with late-night texts that say “home yet?” like he’s trying to decode what love looks like through your eyes. It takes longer than most couples to get to pet names or “I love you’s.” But when it happens, it lands. It feels earned. Real. And yeah, emotional talks between the two of you always come with a bit of awkward silence or one of you going “this is so cringe,” but somehow… that makes it more you.? Dongmin wouldn’t trade it for anything.

KIM DONGHYUN | with a picky-eater partner

Honestly? It’s kind of hilarious how badly matched you both are when it comes to food. He’s picky, you’re picky—just in opposite ways. He doesn’t like things that are too sweet, you refuse anything that smells like vinegar. He can’t do weird textures, you can’t do anything green. Going out to eat is a minefield. Sometimes you spend longer choosing a restaurant than actually eating at it. But somehow, it works. You learn each other’s quirks fast—like how he always picks onions out of his food and you hand him your egg yolks without a word. There’s an unspoken routine to it now. People tease you both all the time, but it just makes you weirdly closer. There’s something oddly intimate about side-eyeing each other’s plates like “you’re seriously eating that?” but still sharing bites anyway. If anything, it makes your bond stronger. Neither of you feels judged. You get it. You understand. The picky solidarity is real. And when you both actually like something? Instant core memory unlocked.

KIM WOONHAK | with a dyslexic partner

Woonhak doesn’t mind reading things for you. In fact, he kind of… likes it? The first time you ask him to check a message because the words keep scrambling, he just nods, reads it casually, and hands your phone back like it’s no big deal. Because to him, it isn’t. He doesn’t see you as slow or weird or “bad at reading.” You just read differently. And if your eyes get tired or the letters bounce on a bad day, he’s already offering to help before you even say anything. The best part? He never makes you feel self-conscious about it. He’ll find creative ways to support you—voice notes instead of long texts, jokingly acting like a “human audiobook,” even quietly adjusting the subtitles so you don’t have to say it’s too fast. He’s sweet about it, but never coddling. You’re still sharp, still cool, still someone who gets his dumb references before he finishes them. And if you make a typo or skip a word? He just grins and says, “No worries. I understood you anyway.”

TAGLIST: @ja4hyvn @flwoie @sulkygyu @xiaoderrrr @ineedaherosavemeenow @teddywonss @taerae-verse @bbangbies @uncasings

NETWORKS: @onedoornet @k-films @k-labels

© astrae4 2025 — please don't copy, translate, or plagiarize my works on all platforms!

[astrae4]

WHEN YOU GIVE THEM YOUR HAND FOR NO REASON, BOYNEXTDOOR WILL…

pairings — boynextdoor x reader

genre — fluff, slice of life

warnings — none

more works: navigation | bnd!masterlist

MYUNG JAEHYUN will put his face on your palm, a teasing smile on his face as he gives you an overly sweet expression that has you cringing on the outside and feeling flustered on the inside.

“What? Isn’t this what you want?” He’d ask coyly, feigning innocence even though he knows your answer. Of course this puppy would do that, you should’ve known…

PARK SUNGHO would hold your hand hesitantly, just to make sure that’s what you want because he’s confused with the gesture when no words accompany it. When he gets the A-ok, however, he smiles, happy at his small win in guessing your wants correctly.

“Just take my hand next time, babe, no need to ask.” He’d suggest. You shrug, before leaning your weight onto his wide frame lovingly.

LEE SANGHYEOK will hand you whatever’s on his busy hand, no matter what it’d be. His phone, keychain, $7 matcha latte…heck, he’d hand you his bag thinking you needed something in it. When you give him a confused look, he’d give you a 😕? look, before taking his item back…

“Huh? Didn’t you ask for my drink?” He questions. You’d have to explain further if you wanted something else, guys…but at least you know he loves you enough to let you sip on his overpriced drink!

HAN DONGMIN will hand you his credit card. There’s not even a single hesitance as he takes his card from his wallet and hands it to you. “Babe, that’s not…” you started, trying to explain to him how you wanted to just hold hands.

Taesan, without missing a beat, responds: “I saw you eyeing that jacket just now, don’t lie.” Well, safe to say you ended the day with both your hands interlocked and shopping bags held.

KIM DONGHYUN will take your hands gently in his, before turning it palm-side up and giving it a soft peck, affectionate and gentle. Your heart flutters. The birds are singing and the flowers are dancing—

“ACK!” You let out, because Leehan decided to ruin the moment and bite your finger. He gives you a sheepish look, before running off and away from you as fast as he can.

KIM WOONHAK will take your hands in his with the enthusiasm of a sugar-rushed kindergartener, intertwining them sweetly before swinging them around as you walk to the corner store. People give you both looks, but he couldn’t care less. He’s proud to be beside you and he will show him off!

“What? Don’t tell me you’re embarrassed? HAHAHA!” He laughs like a maniac, before swinging your arms with a bigger, more dramatic swoop.

TAGLIST: @ja4hyvn @flwoie @sulkygyu @xiaoderrrr @ineedaherosavemeenow @teddywonss @taerae-verse @bbangbies @cherryblossomlovesblog

NETWORKS: @onedoornet @k-films @k-labels

© astrae4 2025 — please don't copy, translate, or plagiarize my works on all platforms!

[astrae4]

LOVE STILL NEEDS REASSURANCE | Park Sungho

pairings — boynextdoor’s sungho x reader (highschool au)

genre — fluff, comfort, romance

warnings — comparing self, jealousy, small angst (wc. 470)

note — comparison is the thief of joy, so try not to spiral into that rabbit hole <3 know that if someone does something bad to you, it speaks more about them than it does you! Be confident in yourself and in your beauty 💗 (req from this anon!)

more works: navigation | bnd!masterlist

YOU SPOT HER BEFORE HE DOES.

Glossy hair, perfect nails, a laugh that somehow manages to sound like a filtered Instagram story. She’s the kind of girl who doesn’t just exist in high school—she owns it. Every time she walks into the cafeteria, the volume lowers like someone just pressed dimmer lights on the universe.

And today, she’s walking toward your lunch table.

Specifically, toward Sungho.

You pause mid-bite, silently willing your sandwich to become a wall between you and whatever’s about to happen.

“Oh my gosh, you’re Sungho, right?” she chirps, all teeth and dimples.

He blinks, caught halfway between reaching for his drink and whatever joke he was about to make. “Uh—yeah?”

“You’re, like, so funny in class. And tall. Do you play basketball?” Her voice tilts up, flirty, and your stomach twists for no good reason. She tucks a piece of hair behind her ear and glances just briefly in your direction, like she’s scanning for competition.

You don’t say anything. Just quietly take a sip of your drink and look away, pretending to care deeply about the weird stain on your lunch tray.

Sungho laughs nervously. “I… don’t play basketball. I trip over my own feet like, twice a week.”

She giggles like it’s the most charming thing she’s ever heard, then hands him a folded piece of paper. “Well, here’s my number. Text me sometime?”

You don’t wait to see what he does. You just stand up, mumbling something about needing to get a fork—even though you’re eating a sandwich.

Later, he finds you sitting at the lockers, legs pulled up like you’re suddenly interested in becoming a turtle.

“Hey,” he says, nudging your knee gently. “You good?”

You shrug, keeping your eyes on the floor. “Didn’t know basketball girls were your type.”

Sungho stares at you. “What? No, what?”

You shrug again, but this one’s weaker. “She’s, like… the whole school’s favorite. I’m just—me.”

“Yeah. You,” he says, crouching down so he’s eye-level now. “The one who makes fun of my pencil grip. The one who memorized my bubble tea order and pretends like it’s no big deal. The one who let me copy her math homework that one time and never let me forget it.”

You crack a smile at that. Barely. But he sees it.

“I don’t care if she’s Miss Popular or whatever,” he says, softer now. “I’m not texting her. I didn’t even keep the number.”

You blink. “You didn’t?”

“Nah. I gave it to Taesan. Let him deal with it.”

You burst out laughing, and he grins, relieved.

“Besides,” he adds, leaning just a little closer, “if I wanted anyone’s number, it’d be yours.”

“You have mine.”

“Exactly.”

TAGLIST: @ja4hyvn @flwoie @sulkygyu @xiaoderrrr @ineedaherosavemeenow @teddywonss @taerae-verse @bbangbies @cherryblossomlovesblog @pluslandminun

NETWORKS: @k-films @k-labels @onedoornet

© astrae4 2025 — please don't copy, translate, or plagiarize my works on all platforms!

[astrae4]

LOVE STILL NEEDS REASSURANCE | Park Sungho

pairings — boynextdoor’s sungho x reader (highschool au)

genre — fluff, comfort, romance

warnings — comparing self, jealousy, small angst (wc. 470)

note — comparison is the thief of joy, so try not to spiral into that rabbit hole <3 know that if someone does something bad to you, it speaks more about them than it does you! Be confident in yourself and in your beauty 💗 (req from this anon!)

more works: navigation | bnd!masterlist

YOU SPOT HER BEFORE HE DOES.

Glossy hair, perfect nails, a laugh that somehow manages to sound like a filtered Instagram story. She’s the kind of girl who doesn’t just exist in high school—she owns it. Every time she walks into the cafeteria, the volume lowers like someone just pressed dimmer lights on the universe.

And today, she’s walking toward your lunch table.

Specifically, toward Sungho.

You pause mid-bite, silently willing your sandwich to become a wall between you and whatever’s about to happen.

“Oh my gosh, you’re Sungho, right?” she chirps, all teeth and dimples.

He blinks, caught halfway between reaching for his drink and whatever joke he was about to make. “Uh—yeah?”

“You’re, like, so funny in class. And tall. Do you play basketball?” Her voice tilts up, flirty, and your stomach twists for no good reason. She tucks a piece of hair behind her ear and glances just briefly in your direction, like she’s scanning for competition.

You don’t say anything. Just quietly take a sip of your drink and look away, pretending to care deeply about the weird stain on your lunch tray.

Sungho laughs nervously. “I… don’t play basketball. I trip over my own feet like, twice a week.”

She giggles like it’s the most charming thing she’s ever heard, then hands him a folded piece of paper. “Well, here’s my number. Text me sometime?”

You don’t wait to see what he does. You just stand up, mumbling something about needing to get a fork—even though you’re eating a sandwich.

Later, he finds you sitting at the lockers, legs pulled up like you’re suddenly interested in becoming a turtle.

“Hey,” he says, nudging your knee gently. “You good?”

You shrug, keeping your eyes on the floor. “Didn’t know basketball girls were your type.”

Sungho stares at you. “What? No, what?”

You shrug again, but this one’s weaker. “She’s, like… the whole school’s favorite. I’m just—me.”

“Yeah. You,” he says, crouching down so he’s eye-level now. “The one who makes fun of my pencil grip. The one who memorized my bubble tea order and pretends like it’s no big deal. The one who let me copy her math homework that one time and never let me forget it.”

You crack a smile at that. Barely. But he sees it.

“I don’t care if she’s Miss Popular or whatever,” he says, softer now. “I’m not texting her. I didn’t even keep the number.”

You blink. “You didn’t?”

“Nah. I gave it to Taesan. Let him deal with it.”

You burst out laughing, and he grins, relieved.

“Besides,” he adds, leaning just a little closer, “if I wanted anyone’s number, it’d be yours.”

“You have mine.”

“Exactly.”

TAGLIST: @ja4hyvn @flwoie @sulkygyu @xiaoderrrr @ineedaherosavemeenow @teddywonss @taerae-verse @bbangbies @cherryblossomlovesblog @pluslandminun

NETWORKS: @k-films @k-labels @onedoornet

© astrae4 2025 — please don't copy, translate, or plagiarize my works on all platforms!

[astrae4]

Can you make a fanfic with sungho x reader and Sungho gets hit on by some popular girl at school and reader starts feeling insecure and Sungho comforts her?

Hihi!! Sorry for the long wait, I had to finish up other projects first hehe~

This isn’t rlly my forte but here it is!! I hope you like it 💗

[astrae4]

LOVE STILL NEEDS REASSURANCE | Park Sungho

pairings — boynextdoor’s sungho x reader (highschool au)

genre — fluff, comfort, romance

warnings — comparing self, jealousy, small angst (wc. 470)

note — comparison is the thief of joy, so try not to spiral into that rabbit hole <3 know that if someone does something bad to you, it speaks more about them than it does you! Be confident in yourself and in your beauty 💗 (req from this anon!)

more works: navigation | bnd!masterlist

YOU SPOT HER BEFORE HE DOES.

Glossy hair, perfect nails, a laugh that somehow manages to sound like a filtered Instagram story. She’s the kind of girl who doesn’t just exist in high school—she owns it. Every time she walks into the cafeteria, the volume lowers like someone just pressed dimmer lights on the universe.

And today, she’s walking toward your lunch table.

Specifically, toward Sungho.

You pause mid-bite, silently willing your sandwich to become a wall between you and whatever’s about to happen.

“Oh my gosh, you’re Sungho, right?” she chirps, all teeth and dimples.

He blinks, caught halfway between reaching for his drink and whatever joke he was about to make. “Uh—yeah?”

“You’re, like, so funny in class. And tall. Do you play basketball?” Her voice tilts up, flirty, and your stomach twists for no good reason. She tucks a piece of hair behind her ear and glances just briefly in your direction, like she’s scanning for competition.

You don’t say anything. Just quietly take a sip of your drink and look away, pretending to care deeply about the weird stain on your lunch tray.

Sungho laughs nervously. “I… don’t play basketball. I trip over my own feet like, twice a week.”

She giggles like it’s the most charming thing she’s ever heard, then hands him a folded piece of paper. “Well, here’s my number. Text me sometime?”

You don’t wait to see what he does. You just stand up, mumbling something about needing to get a fork—even though you’re eating a sandwich.

Later, he finds you sitting at the lockers, legs pulled up like you’re suddenly interested in becoming a turtle.

“Hey,” he says, nudging your knee gently. “You good?”

You shrug, keeping your eyes on the floor. “Didn’t know basketball girls were your type.”

Sungho stares at you. “What? No, what?”

You shrug again, but this one’s weaker. “She’s, like… the whole school’s favorite. I’m just—me.”

“Yeah. You,” he says, crouching down so he’s eye-level now. “The one who makes fun of my pencil grip. The one who memorized my bubble tea order and pretends like it’s no big deal. The one who let me copy her math homework that one time and never let me forget it.”

You crack a smile at that. Barely. But he sees it.

“I don’t care if she’s Miss Popular or whatever,” he says, softer now. “I’m not texting her. I didn’t even keep the number.”

You blink. “You didn’t?”

“Nah. I gave it to Taesan. Let him deal with it.”

You burst out laughing, and he grins, relieved.

“Besides,” he adds, leaning just a little closer, “if I wanted anyone’s number, it’d be yours.”

“You have mine.”

“Exactly.”

TAGLIST: @ja4hyvn @flwoie @sulkygyu @xiaoderrrr @ineedaherosavemeenow @teddywonss @taerae-verse @bbangbies @cherryblossomlovesblog @pluslandminun

NETWORKS: @k-films @k-labels @onedoornet

© astrae4 2025 — please don't copy, translate, or plagiarize my works on all platforms!

[astrae4]

LAB PARTNER LOCKDOWN | wang yixiang

pairings — &team’s nicholas x reader (highschool au)

genre — academic rivalry, forced proximity, romance, and a tinge of angst hehe (wc. 11.2k)

synopsis — Nicholas and you have been academic enemies since year one. A departmental glitch assigns the both of you as long-term lab partners for a term-long research project with 70% of your final grade. The biggest problem? There’s only one workstation — and way too much personal space to invade.

warnings — This is not gender neutral, reader has female anatomy and etc. informal language , alcohol, slightly suggestive scenes, cursing, and they’re also lowk mean at certain points lawl…

note — I’m super proud of this one !! It was originally supposed to be max 3k words and then i got carried away…My &team addiction has been rising nonstop GRRR.. also lowkey this was supposed to be posted last week but I got SALMONELLA 😭💔 like no way bro… i lost 4kg bc of it too… PLEASE REBLOG i worked so hard on this 😇

more works: navigation | &team!masterlist

CURSE THIS SCHOOL and curse the obnoxiously outdated school app everyone’s forced to use that LITERALLY breaks down at least once per week. No way was this happening to you right now. Absolutely no. freaking. way.

You scanned your eyes at the name next to yours—saw how the name Wang Yixiang harassed your eyes in the register despite the fact that you were supposed to be in a group with Harua as decided by the drawn lots back at lecture. And one more thing… This project affects, like, 70% of your term grade.

Now, it’s not like you’ve been partnered up with a delinquent or a freeloader. You could have definitely gotten worse mishaps ( like Fuma right now who has realized that he’ll need to do his group work alone since his partner is a no-show ). In fact, many people would be incredibly happy to be working with Yixiang, or as they call him—Nicholas. I mean, why not? He ranks top 5 in chemistry and isn’t fussy about his work when with others.

But that’s the problem. There are two emphasises here that we need to acknowledge. First: he’s in the top five. Who else is in the top 5, you wonder? Yeah—you. Which, truthfully, wouldn’t be a problem since you don’t have any rivalries with the other top scorers and are actually quite friendly with them. But then, you also have to remember that Nicholas’s “isn’t fussy about his work when with others” does not apply to you.

The both of you had been in the same class since year one of high school and unfortunately for the both of you, had a homeroom teacher that supported academic rivalry through class rankings and verbal comparisons so your class would have morale to study harder. The good results? Your class average ended up to be the highest of all the other classes in that grade. The negative results, however, consisted of you two never seeing eye to eye and being incredibly competitive against each other as the two top scorers of year one’s grade.

Tensions were always high between the two of you when introduced in the academic field, and friendship outside academics diminished before it could be formed because of the pride built from the rivalry you both held.

Even when year two came and you both weren’t classmates anymore, Nicholas and you would always compare your scores to make sure the other didn’t beat one another academically.

Now, in your final and third year, you feel your stomach churn at the thought of having to spend a whole term with your arch nemesis in school—even if it’s for a grade and even if being with him is actually a good advantage to your score.

A bit dramatic? Yes—but is this very much valid? Also yes!

“Professor Lee, please reconsider—“

”[name], I’ve already told you that I put it in the register already..I’m sorry.. I know it was my mistake for not checking before inputting the names, but I can’t change it anymore.”

“But—“

”Dislike me that much, partner?” A teasing voice cuts you off midway through another complaint. That annoyingly deep voice which reminded you of the bane of your existence—

“Nicholas,” you muttered with a grumble.

“[name],” He muttered back mockingly, before turning his eyes to Prof. Lee, “Professor, as much as I dislike most of [name]’s ideas—“ ( you rolled your eyes ) “—she’s right here. Can’t you change our partners to the original? I mean, it’s not even our fault the system glitched. That old app needs to be rebooted immediately.”

Your professor sighed, rubbing his tired eyes, “Like I said with [name] just now, I can’t anymore because it’s been inputted in the system. Look, I don’t see why you both are so opposed to this as well. It’s not like you were partnered with someone inefficient. You’re both two of my best students, getting that A would be easy together.”

You and Nicholas kept silent because the both of you were awkward like that. What the teacher said was valid so there really was no counter-argument for that. Still, despite the silence your professor could see how much you two wanted to disagree.

“Look, I’m sorry for my mistake but look at it this way. You can’t be having this rivalry forever, ok? You both are going to leave highschool soon so it’s best to leave with good memories and no resenting feelings.”

You and Nicholas let out a collective, “Yes, Professor Lee.”

”Alright, you should go back to class,” Professor Lee concluded, returning back to the teacher’s lounge.

It was silent as you heard the door close. Upset, you made a beeline to Econs 3 without saying a word. You were about to turn to the corridor when a hand held your wrist. The moment you turned, that same hand dropped as if it was touching fire ( Um, rude? ).

”What,” you snapped.

”Look—I don’t like this anymore than you do but I really need the grades—“

”For your Lune Uni scholarship?” you finished his sentence, remembering his words from back then.

”Um—yeah,” he answered awkwardly with an even more awkward smile, “You too right? For &University?”

You blinked in surprise, “You remembered?”

He narrowed his eyes at you questionably, before retaliating, “You remembered too.”

You raised your brow in an I-dare-you manner, and he raised his hands in faux surrender. It then went to another awkward silence before he broke it once more.

“Look—so uh, like Prof. Lee said. Um, you know—we should, um..” said Nicholas in an attempt to form a sentence. You let out a small pfft, automatically remembering that he isn’t the best at finding his words despite the fact that he can speak 5 languages ( especially with all the times you saw him public speaking. ).

Deciding to put him out of his misery, you finished his sentence, “We should cooperate and put the rivalry to a truce?”

He scratched his head sheepishly at having you finish his sentence for him, “Yeah, truce.”

As you head to class, you think that maybe—just maybe—it won’t be too bad after all.

You take back your words. Nothing in this world was as frustrating as your partnership with Nicholas other than breaking your nails when you just got them done. Here you are, trying to pick a topic—A topic—for your project and this alone is taking you guys way more time than it should be.

So what if you want to play it safe!? It’s 70% of your grade. Nicholas, on the other hand, wants to pick a risky gamble; says that ‘since it’s a big part of our grade we can’t follow the norm.’ Like? Ugh! If it weren’t for the fact that you just did your hair last night, you’d be stress-holding it like there’s no tomorrow.

And, to top it all off, this stupid high school has the smallest workstations you’ve ever worked in. To be fair, you guys did get individual workstations so there will definitely be no one copying off one another or distracting each other, but it’s just…small. Each group was given one table full of materials, two plastic chairs, and a cupboard; all mushed in together in a 10-by-10 foot room. Still, you feel it hard to breathe in this enclosed space as your heart palpitates ( in anger of course ) in front of the boy.

“Nicholas, can’t you understand!? I need to get a safe 100!” You frustratedly said, raising your voice slightly at the man in front of you.

“A hundred isn’t going to cut it! We need to do something that can turn heads and get us a scholarship! If we can make it work—“

“And if we can’t?! Mind you, I’m better at this subject!”

“Only by 1 point. Unlike your 3 point deficit from my score in Physics,” bit back Nicholas.

You threw your hands up in irritation, and though it’s embarrassing you swear you can feel tears swelling up your eyes. ( Don’t blame a girl for having tears as her coping mechanism! ) At this point, you just wanted it over with. Usually when you’re with Nicholas you feel like you can banter with him for ages, but today has been quite harsh for you.

First, you tripped on your carpet when you woke up panicked, then your milk spills on your uniform so you had to change—which then made you miss the bus and that made you then use your savings begrudgingly for an overpriced taxi because dear Lord will you be late and miss your chance in getting the year-end attendance award.

You genuinely cannot handle this day any longer.

“Fine,” you say in defeat, your voice exasperated as your hand massages your hurting, wet eyes.

“What?” Nicholas asks, in disbelief at how easily he won this.

“I said fine,” You snapped, your eyes meeting his—a mistake. Now he can see your tearful eyes and now you’re embarrassed. He notices too, and you hate how you know he did because his body just freezes in place at the sight of your tears.

Awkwardly, he asks, “Are you sure?” but the bite in his tone is non-existent by now. Now, he’s apprehensive, like a typical blundering high school boy.

”Yes. We’re done here, right?” You speak stiffly, and though you asked a question it was more to an indefinite command as you took your bag and left without his answer.

You can hear a small ‘Yeah.’ before you closed the door, leaving the poor boy in the dark to your situation.

Goodness, you’re genuinely so embarrassed. Topping the day off with having your arch-nemesis in academics see you cry? All you want to do is bury your head in the bed and never wake up again.

…

It’s not until the next morning that you had the displeasure of meeting him again.

“Here,” a voice cuts you and Harua’s conversation.

Nicholas’s hand is in front of your table, laying down a small carton of banana milk—your favorite brand.

‘What the heck?’ Is what you almost said out loud. Because truly—what the heck. Why in the world is he placing banana milk on your table like he’s giving it to you and you’re buddy-buddies? Better yet, how did he know you like banana milk, or that you like it in this specific brand most? Wait, but it technically might not just be for you, right..?

”It’s for you, quit looking dumb,” Nicholas cuts, giving you that don’t-be-nonsensical look.

You quit staring at him, then looked at the drink like it’s a suspicious entity, then made your eyeballs go right back at him before saying in a deadpanned voice, “What for?”

Not really a question and kind of rude—but hey! Are you going to take back your words? Nope!

You’re starting to actually believe you made the right choice when Yixiang rubs the back of his neck in awkwardness. You hear Harua snort beside you like he knows something you both don’t.

( Spoiler alert: he knows all. )

“What she means—“ cuts Harua, which made both your gazes fall upon him, “—is what’s the occasion?”

You’re confused by his intermission because Harua barely puts himself in the narrative, but he gives you a look that tells you to be nice and well—if your best friend’s telling you to be nice then you’re being nice.

( You know when moms would be like—“So if your friend is jumping off a cliff will you jump also?!” when they’re mad at you and you give them the my-friend-did-it-too excuse? Yeah, you absolutely would jump the bandwagon. )

“Yeah, that’s what I mean. It’s not my birthday today,” You responded nicely.

“Oh.” He replied, but then realized his mistake.

”Oh???” Harua and you both questioned.

“No! Wait wait— it’s not that I thought it was your birthday!” Nicholas panicked, flinging his hands around, “I know your birthday isn’t for another three months, okay? It’s just—I felt bad since I made you cry yesterday and you were super duper addicted to this brand during junior year so—“

“You made her cry!?” Exclaimed Harua, standing up in offense.

“I didn’t mean to!” Cried Nicholas. ( haha you see what I did there? )

“Yo—guys, chill…” You intercepted, also beginning to stand up once the story went overboard, “I didn’t cry because of you, I just had a bad day and blew it up on you.”

It was silent for a moment as you three stood in a triangle form.

“Oh.”

Now, you’ve seen Nicholas get red a handful of times. During PE where he’d get red after running too much, when he’s with Eujoo and Maki and they’d make him laugh so much that you could hear his voice from across the room, or when he’s frustrated during debates and arguments. One thing you rarely see, however, is him getting red out of embarrassment. Call you childish? Sure—go ahead. But you were sorta loving this moment. It was a side you’ve barely seen on him before. In a way, it’s sorta…

“I’m leaving,” Nicholas declared quickly, “Meet me Wednesday in the lab so we can get started real quick. Bye.”

Harua laughed like a menace as he watched Nicholas leave, but your eyes drifted towards the banana milk—untouched on your desk. You picked it up, before opening the straw and stabbing it through the plastic and taking a sip.

Not poisoned. Nice.

“Cute…” You muttered subconsciously, only to freeze after you realized what you said.

Please, please, please—

“No way.”

Fuck.

Slowly, your gaze turned to Harua who looked like he just hit a jackpot in his mind.

“No.” You denied strongly.

“No way—“

“No!”

Harua grips your shoulders with both his arms, his mouth dropping in shock.

“You like him!”

“NO!”

“You do!” Harua shouts in desperation for you to stop denying, but you will never stop denying, even as he shakes your shoulders while saying these cursed words.

“He’s my enemy!”

“He’s only your academic rival and school ends this year!”

“I disagree—“

“You find him cute!”

“I don’t! That was for you!”

“Thank you! But do not deceive the truth!” Harua almost shouted, “Mark my words! The truth will set you free, [reader]!”

“AHHH!” you shout.

Your breath heaves, as you sit up abruptly. Sweat leaves your skin like water on melted ice, and the blanket drops down dramatically to the floor.

A nightmare. A nightmare on the former morning terrorizes you still even in your sleep as you pant harder to collect the oxygen needed to recover your absolute damnation of a night terror.

You close your eyes, your body hitting the bed in an attempt for more shuteye.

And there he is again.

Nicholas. His smirk is branded behind your eyelids like some cursed watermark. He’s leaning over your shoulder—correction, imaginary Nicholas is leaning over your shoulder—pointing smugly at a mistake you didn’t even make. His voice, obnoxiously clear: “I told you it was C, not D.”

You know it was D because yours didn’t even end up wrong. You got half a point after explaining to Mr. Min why you were right and Mr. Min did admit he made a mistake.

You open your eyes and throw your pillow at the wall. It hits the calendar.

The calendar you only bought because it had pictures of sheep and just so happens to be in Nicholas’ favorite color. Not that you knew that. Not that you cared that you knew that.

You groan, dragging your hands down your face as you give up at the thought of sleep. You sit up, then attempt to stand. But then, your pen rolls off your desk with a dramatic clatter—his pen. Okay, technically yours now, but you both reached for it at the same time during bio lab last week and you pulled rank. Since then it’s lived on your desk like a stolen trophy.

You swear the ink still smells like his cologne.

How does ink even smell like cologne? You don’t know but it just works.

“Stop it,” you mutter to the air.

“Stop what?”

Harua, ( not him again! ) your best friend, roommate, and the reason for your distress, stands at the doorway holding a bowl of cereal like the bearer of divine judgment. Why’s he even in your dorm this early in the morning? You knew that giving him your password would bite you back in the ass one day.

“Nothing,” you lie instantly, which is pointless. Harua has known you since the Jurassic era and reads your face like it’s the front page of a scandal magazine.

Harua steps inside and eyes the mess—blanket, pillow, pen on the floor. “Another dream?” he asks, tone casual, as they pick up the pen and twirl it. “Let me guess. He insulted your handwriting again and then offered to tutor you in statistics despite the fact that you’re only worse than him by a point in stats ranks.”

You scoff. “Don’t flatter him. As if I’d ever need help from him.”

“Uh-huh,” Harua says, walking slowly around your room like a detective. “So the pen isn’t his?”

“I—maybe? Who knows? Pens are universal. Pens migrate. That pen’s probably been through multiple owners. Nothing special.” You mutter ignorantly, picking up your blanket and going to the bathroom to wash your face.

“Mm. And the calendar in his favorite color is just… a coincidence.”

“Yes.”

No.

Harua leans against your bookshelf, crunching cereal obnoxiously. “You’ve said ‘he’s annoying’ at least twice a day for the past month. You know what that is?”

“Yes. It’s consistency. I am a woman of my word.”

“Ding ding ding! False—it’s obsession.”

You shoot them a death glare. “I hate him.”

Your best friend shrugs. “You know, some people hate people in a quiet way. You, though? You hate him like you’re waiting for a Jane Austen monologue. It’s theatrical.”

You throw a used sock lying on the bathroom floor at his head after you turn off the tap. It misses. You curse gravity.

Harua opens their mouth for another wisecrack—and that’s when your phone rings.

Your heart doesn’t drop. It stutters. ( Completely different, by the way. )

You glance at the screen.

Nicholas.

Why is he calling you this early? Why is he calling you at all?

You hesitate. Then answer. “It’s not Wednesday yet.”

Nicholas’s voice comes through, scratchy and smug, just the way you loathe. “Relax. I’m not calling for a casual chat. Prof. Lee added a new variable to the lab setup—wants us to tweak the data model before class.”

You want to curse Professor Lee.

“…Now?”

“In twenty minutes. Don’t be late. And bring your notes. The real ones,not those sketchy margin doodles.”

You scowl, “I don’t doodle.”

The call ends before you even finish that sentence. Rude.

You stare at the screen like it had genuinely insulted your bloodline.

“What’d he want?” Harua asks, chewing slower, eyes gleaming with unholy interest.

You stand, already yanking on a sweater. “Academic crisis. Lab. I have to go.”

“So you’re saying you’re willingly running off to meet him?”

“I’m running off to protect my GPA, thank you very much. This has nothing to do with him. This is entirely scientific. Controlled conditions. Utterly platonic. No variables of emotional interference. Clean data.”

You’re rambling and you know it, but you’re halfway out the door now.

Behind you, Harua snickers. “Sure. Totally platonic. Just don’t mix up your data with your feelings.”

You slam the door shut before he can say another word.

But not before grabbing his pen.

For accuracy, obviously.

Not sentiment.

Definitely not sentiment.

Weeks go by and assignment after assignment gets tossed left and right at you, as if that wasn’t enough, preparation for finals starts grilling you down to the core of overworking. You feel absolutely cooked by everything the past weeks, and you feel it taking a toll on you physically as well, since it seems that the soon-to-come summer’s heat wants to run by early this year.

The sweltering atmosphere highly distracts you sometimes, but what can you do when your school’s too focused on putting extra ACs only on classrooms where the teachers work?

Once again you curse this school.

( You know you shouldn’t since you don’t want to attract bad energy, but at this point cursing the school has become a second language to you. )

You wipe the sweat off your forehead as you sit in the lab room, that’s basically turned into a sauna now. The small desk fan hums pathetically in the corner, spinning weakly like it’s being kept alive by sheer willpower. Genuinely, these moments make you hate how dedicated you both are to your grades. Who else in the world would work in a room that’s nearly 40 Celcius just for chemistry?

And naturally, you’re also trapped here with him.

Nicholas leans against the edge of the lab bench, scribbling notes, his own hair sticking slightly to his forehead. He’s already ditched his outer layer, now only in a fitted black tank top, that absolutely no one asked for, but is unfortunately very present and very sore on the eyes.

You tear your eyes away. Focus. You’re here for chemistry. That’s it.

“This concentration’s off again,” Nicholas says, voice smooth but annoyingly calm despite the heat. “You measured too fast.”

“No, I didn’t,” you snap back, a little sharper than necessary. “The equipment’s just old. Like this entire school.”

Nicholas tilts his head, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Or maybe you’re just impatient.”

You inhale sharply. Breathe. No, you’re not getting baited today.

“It’s one milliliter, Nicholas. The universe won’t collapse because I moved one milliliter faster than your grandma pace.”

He chuckles under his breath and leans in closer to check the data points, and you have to physically restrain your traitor of a brain from noticing the way his shoulder muscles shift as he moves. The way his jaw clenches ever so slightly when he reads.

The heat isn’t helping.

“You always get defensive when I’m right,” he murmurs.

You scoff, glancing at him. “You always say you’re right, even when you know I am.”

“That’s because I usually am.”

“Oh, you’re unbearable.”

“And yet, here you are.” His voice lowers, teasing. “Voluntarily spending hours with me. In a room. Alone.”

You roll your eyes, leaving the conversation to end there. It’s another round of silence, although not awkward like you expected silence to be when with him. It doesn’t take long before he says something again, though.

“We still need to finalize the error margins,” he says, voice steady. “We’re not going to be able to calculate the final reaction yield until that’s sorted.”

“I know,” you mutter, already scribbling calculations. “You act like I haven’t been doing this with you for the past four weeks.”

“Well, sometimes you get sloppy when you’re tired.”

You shoot him a glare. “I’m perfectly capable, thank you.”

“I never said you weren’t.” He pauses. “You just zone out a lot lately.”

“I do not—”

You stop.

He raises an eyebrow, a tiny smirk forming, but you refuse to give him that satisfaction. You point at your notebook instead. “Focus on the data.”

“Right.” He clears his throat, scribbling again. “Did you finish that lab report for Mr. Min’s class yet?”

You wonder why he’s talking so much today. Unnecessarily too.

“Barely. I’ve rewritten the conclusion like five times because he’s impossible to please.”

“His standards are brutal,” he agrees, voice softer. “I spent two hours reformatting my graphs yesterday because he said the fonts weren’t consistent.”

You snort. “Of course you did. You live for perfect formatting.”

“Well, yeah.” He tries to grin but it wobbles a bit, and he quickly looks back down at his notes. “I mean… it looks cleaner that way.”

For a moment, neither of you speak. Just the buzzing fan and the faint scratching of pens fill the space.

The air feels heavier now—not just from the heat, but something else lingering. You shift uncomfortably, your skin feeling stickier by the second. You tug at your collar.

“Ugh,” you mutter, “how is it this hot already? It’s not even officially summer yet.”

Nicholas exhales, fanning himself with one of the worksheets. “I swear this room absorbs heat on purpose.”

“It’s probably alive,” you joke flatly. “Like some cursed creature feeding off our suffering.”

He chuckles, but it sounds breathier this time, like even laughing takes too much energy in this weather. “Honestly, I believe it.”

You glance at him—only for a second. But you catch the way his neck glistens slightly under the lab lights. The way a drop of sweat trails down the side of his jaw before he quickly wipes it with the back of his hand.

You look away fast.

What the heck! Your brain is doing that thing again where it starts noticing details it has absolutely no business noticing. You don’t know why it does that, but it genuinely needs to stop.

“It’s hard to focus when it feels like I’m being slow-roasted alive,” you mumble, half hoping to break whatever weird tension is creeping in, “I’m starting to feel bad for the ducks my dad roasted last summer.”

Nicholas laughs loudly, but responds in a voice that comes out a little softer. “Yeah. Same. My older sister would bring me to buy roasted pork during the holidays and I feel like I’d relate to the vegans now.”

You swear his gaze lingers on you a beat too long. You can feel it, burning through the side of your face. The fan clicks as it rotates again, blowing hot air your way like it’s mocking you both.

Then, out of nowhere, his hand reaches across the table to grab the pipette, fingers brushing against yours. Brief, but enough to send a spark straight to your stomach.

Neither of you acknowledge it.

Neither of you move.

You can feel your heartbeat hammering in your ears now.

“Uh,” he says, voice catching slightly, “can you… pass me the data sheet?”

You wordlessly slide it over, careful not to let your hand tremble. Why is it so quiet all of a sudden? Why does the air feel thinner? You hear him exhale again, sharper this time.

When you glance up—which was a mistake—he’s already looking at you.

Except—his gaze isn’t at your eyes anymore.

It’s lower.

Your breath stutters for a moment, chest rising a little too quickly. You freeze.

The space between you suddenly feels dangerously nonexistent, like one wrong move would snap the thread holding you both in place.

You open your mouth to say—something, anything—but nothing comes out. Nicholas looks equally frozen now, like his brain is short-circuiting alongside yours.

His lips part slightly. His eyes flick back up to meet yours.

And then—

BANG.

The door swings open with dramatic timing.

“Ah! Found you two!” Mr. Lee walks in, wheeling in a battered old fan like some twisted guardian angel. “Finally got this thing running. Should help cool you guys down.”

You nearly launch yourself backward, stumbling upright like you’ve been jolted out of a trance. “Yes—uh—thank you, Mr. Lee. Great. Amazing. Perfect timing.”

You catch a quick glance at Nicholas, who’s already looking down at his notes again, furiously scribbling like his life depends on it. His ears are flushed red.

You pretend not to notice.

( You absolutely notice! )

Mr. Lee wheels the fan into place, plugging it in with a loud click. The old machine rattles and whirs like it’s struggling to wake up from a coma, but soon enough, a weak but steady breeze starts moving through the room.

“See? Much better!” Mr. Lee smiles, completely unaware of the catastrophic moment he just interrupted. “I’ll leave you two to it. Don’t overwork yourselves.”

You force a polite nod, voice refusing to cooperate yet. “Right. Thanks.”

Nicholas mumbles something that might’ve been “thank you” too, but it comes out so quiet you’re not entirely sure if he even said it.

And then — he leaves.

The door swings shut behind him with a soft click.

Silence crashes into the room like a tidal wave.

The hum of the fan fills the empty space between you now. You stay standing for a second longer than necessary, not sure whether sitting again might physically kill you.

Finally, you force yourself to lower back into your chair.

You can feel Nicho’s presence like he’s a gravity field pulling at your skin. You refuse to look. Absolutely refuse.

Your eyes flick to your notes. They’re blurry. Probably from sweat. Hopefully from sweat.

“So,” you say after a moment, your voice coming out drier than intended.

“So,” his voice echoes, and you don’t miss how his voice cracks just a little.

You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from reacting.

“Back to the error margins?” you try, because pretending none of that just happened seems like the safest option.

“Yeah,” Nicholas says quickly. “Margins. Right.”

He flips through his notebook too fast, a few loose sheets slipping out and fluttering to the floor like traitors.

You bend down to grab the papers at the same time he does.

Of course.

Of course you do.

Your heads nearly collide, and both of you freeze mid-motion, faces inches apart again, as if the universe hasn’t already played this joke on you enough today.

Nicho’s hand hovers just above yours, fingers twitching awkwardly like he’s debating whether to move or not. His breath is shaky this time — you can hear it. Feel it.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, voice a little hoarse now. “I wasn’t— I mean—”

“It’s fine,” you cut in quickly, way too quickly.

Neither of you move immediately.

The fan groans in the background like it’s watching a slow-motion disaster.

You both pull back at the same time, eyes darting anywhere but at each other now.

The heat isn’t helping.

The fan isn’t helping.

Nothing. Is. Helping.

You hear Nicholas clear his throat again. His voice is quieter when he speaks next.

“I… I think I need to check the solution again.”

“Yeah. Go ahead.”

“Right. Cool.”

He stands up — a bit too fast — knocking his chair slightly before steadying it, pretending like that didn’t just happen.

You keep your eyes laser-focused on the paper in front of you, gripping your pen harder than necessary to stop your hand from shaking.

This is fine.

You’re fine.

Everything’s fine.

Everything sort of turned out just fine, actually.

Contrary to your beliefs, the following weeks after the incident seemed normal. You both had practically—and silently—agreed to ignore what had happened. Though you suppose it isn’t technically all that normal with the way the both of you would stiffen up in response to any ‘almost’ physical contact or the way your daily bickerings had changed in tone. Less bite, more talk.

What used to be fights on shallow scores and academic achievements have turned to playful banters like right now.

“Ugh, you like tomatoes? That’s weird,” Nicholas grunts in disgust at your food preference.

“Not as weird as your love for zucchini," You respond without missing a beat.

“Tomatoes are slimy!” He whined.

“And zucchinis aren’t?” You retorted.

“As much as I’d love to watch my show—“ Cuts Harua, “I believe me and [reader] have social studies.”

Before you could tell Harua to shut up, however, another man comes over swinging his arms over both you and Harua’s shoulders.

”What show?”

You swerved your head to the familiar voice, surprised to see Taki of all people in A Maths. Taki was someone easy to talk to; funny though a bit dense. He’s been hanging around you and Harua after you three got grouped for a project in History. However, he’s also someone who swore to never step foot in ‘Hell’s class’ ( His words, not yours! ), so you were surprised as to why he’s here in all his glory.

( Quick commercial break for Taki’s OOTD! His outfit is first welcomed with an orange and yellow striped sweater and cream pants, then meticulously accessorized with a pink hat and finally topped with his khaki boots! )

You can already imagine Nicholas’s judgmental nose.

“Taki? What are you doing here?” You asked.

Before Taki could answer, however, Nicholas voiced out, “Who’s this?”

You don’t enjoy the tone in his question at all.

Harua does, though. You can tell he does.

”Taki!” Taki replies, “From 12C. You’re Nicholas right?”

”Yeah,” replied Nicholas tightly.

It seemed as if Nicholas had a lot more to say, though Taki didn’t let him continue as he picked up the conversation left off with you.

”You know Asakura Jo? From my class—12C?” Taki asked.

“Jo?” You echoed, “Yeah, I know him. We used to be in the same class together.”

Taki then dropped a bomb—”Can you go on a date with him?”

”What?”

”Come again?”

”Yo.”

The last one came from Harua as all three of you had similar responses.

“Yeah, Jo’s never been on a date before and his mom’s been pressuring him to go to a relative’s wedding with a partner,” Taki spoke matter-of-factly, like this is the most normal thing ever.

“Ohhhh, so it isn’t because he’s interested in me?” You asked tentatively.

Taki paused, before thinking over the question, “I mean, probably? I dunno, I never asked.”

”I’m not sure..”

“C’mon [reader], it’s just one day. Help the poor boy.”

“Why does it have to be with [reader]?”

Ah, you sorta forgot Nicholas was here.

Before you could retort in offense, Harua beat you to it.

“Why, jealous?” He teased.

You gave Harua a warning look at the same time Nicholas defensively denied the accusation.

“Of course not,” He replied, giving Harua a judgemental look, “It’s because we have a project together and that’d take [reader]’s time.”

Maybe it was the tone of his annoying voice, or maybe it was the face he made when he denied it pretty harshly; but an ugly feeling bubbled in your chest. In a way, you were offended as to why the thought would disgust him that bad though you’d do the same.

You blame Nicholas for your decisions today and future you’s misfortune.

“You know what? Sure.”

”Serious?” You heard the enthusiasm in Taki’s voice before you saw it.

“What? The project—“ Nicholas started, his brows furrowing.

”I’d be gone at most for one weekend only, don’t be dramatic,” You retorted him with sass, then turned to Taki, “Text me Jo’s number?”

”Sure!��

From across you, you see Harua give you a questioning look. You signal him a small ‘later’. Harua nodded subtly, before taking this as a cue to move on from the topic.

“We should go, Social Studies starts in 5.”

“Ok,” you respond, before turning to leave with them. Of course, you don’t exit before saying a sarcastic goodbye to Nicholas, who was left with an unreadable expression as he joins his friend Maki for Physical Edu.

Do you regret your actions?

Yes.

…Would you do it again if time rewinded?

Also yes.

…

You find yourself in a random person’s wedding the next weekend, regretting all your actions albeit with a handsome escort on your arm.

You and Jo had been acquaintances for the longest time. He’s always had moving classes with you, and even shared a homeroom with you last year; however neither of you had really made an effort to be close though you both share many similarities. For one, Jo’s also ranked in the top 5, and is actually holding the number one spot for Chemistry.

Your escort is wearing a black tuxedo and a blue bowtie, looking a lot more at ease than you are ( Rightfully so since this is his family event… ). You on the other hand wore a soft blue dress to match with Jo.

There’s one word to describe this experience overall: awkward.

All you’ve done so far was smile and laugh when everybody else laughed; sticking yourself to Jo’s arm the whole night.

You know no one, and the jokes his family made about the two of you being cute together had you almost digging a hole for yourself out of embarrassment.

Thankfully, Jo seemed to sense it as he brought you to the dance floor—away from his relatives.

Still—it isn’t what the fiction stories you read when you were 13 made it out to be—that’s for sure.

You want to go home.

You make a note to yourself mentally: don’t go to a wedding for a first date.

Jo’s hand rests lightly on your back as you step away from the dance floor, heels already beginning to ache. He offers you a glass of water and a tired smile.

“You okay?” he asks, voice low and gentle.

You nod, managing a small smile in return. “My cheeks hurt from all the smiling.”

That makes him laugh—an actual laugh, not the polite chuckle he’s been giving his relatives all night. “Yeah. You were kind of frozen for the first half.”

“I was panicking,” you admit, dramatic for effect. “Your aunt asked if we were dating, and I forgot how to speak.”

Jo grins, the tension between you both finally softening. “You could’ve just said yes to mess with them.”

You snort. “And give them hope? I don’t have the heart.”

The two of you share a quiet moment, watching the party go on without you both. It’s not romantic. Not a single spark or lingering gaze or even that disney movie moment. Just two people in the same corner of chaos, making it work.

“You’re actually really easy to talk to,” you admit to him at the end of the night, genuinely surprised.

Jo shrugs, before joking. “I feel the same. I was actually sort of nervous when K broke the news to me at first. This wasn’t a bad first date.”

You give him a look. “It was a wedding.”

“Still counts.”

You laugh, and it feels real this time.

“Alright, alright. Should I say thank you for today and give you a bye bye kiss?” You teased.

Jo laughs quietly, his ears growing slightly flushed. “The ‘thank you’ is a must since this distracted you from your studies, no? Though I think I'd save the both of us from that second suggestion.”

The night ended shortly after the parting goodbyes, and Jo made sure you were in the cab safely before he left to go home with his family, waving a little too dramatically as you stepped in. You appreciated it. He had made the night easier.

All in all, you don’t completely regret coming today.

The cab ride home is blissfully silent. You bask in the silence as you recharge your social battery.

Once you’re back inside your dorm and the shoes are off, you dial Harua before your brain can convince you not to.

“Heyyyyyy, how was it? Did you two kiss during the slow dance?” Harua’s voice comes through way too loudly for 11 p.m.

You flop onto your bed. “Absolutely not. It was… fine. Jo’s nice. Actually, he’s great.”

“Oh?” comes another voice—Taki. You didn’t even realize he was on the other end of the call too.

You groan. “Taki, why are you here?”

“I live for the tea,” he says cheerfully. “So? Spill. Don’t tell me I successfully played cupid?”

“Ha! Yeah right. I mean, it wasn’t awkward after the first hour. We kind of… clicked? But not like that. There’s no spark. He’s more like…” You pause, thinking. “Like a quiet teammate. Supportive, but you know it’s not going anywhere.”

“Like a co-op partner in a romance game,” Taki offers.

“Exactly.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Then Harua, teasingly: “So, not like Nicholas then?”

You freeze. Taki gasps so dramatically it echoes.

“WAIT WHAT.”

“Harua,” you hiss.

Harua laughs. “Oops.”

“WAIT WAIT WAIT,” Taki says again. “YOU and Nicholas?! Since when?!”

You groan and bury your face into a pillow. “It’s not like that—”

“Yes it is,” Harua says, far too smug. “I’ve seen the way he talks about you.”

“There is tension,” Taki adds thoughtfully. “Now that I think about it…”

You toss the pillow aside. “Okay first of all, we’re not talking about this. Second of all, we are absolutely not talking about this.”

“Mhm,” they say in unison, completely ignoring you.

You hung up the phone quickly.

You don’t like him.

You don’t like the way he annoys you with his taunts whenever he gets a higher score. You don’t like the way your neck hurts when you speak to him because he’s too goddamn tall for no reason. You absolutely don’t enjoy how he has a habit of licking his lips 24/7 as if he never puts lip balm on. And it ticks you off especially when he’s frustrated during lab nights because the solution won’t work; resulting in him messing up his hair and uniform—tie loosening and eventually distracting you from your work.

You don’t like Wang Yixiang.

You’re convinced you never will.

“How’s your date?”

The question bombards your face before you’re even able to step foot inside the cramped lab. A question from your incredibly annoying project partner this early in the morning about your personal life? Not the best way to start the day.

Somehow, you feel satisfied at the slightly pissed tone of his voice. You don’t know why—probably because you pissed him off, actually.

Right?

Anyways.

“Why so curious?” You teased, basking in satisfaction at the sight of his furrowed brows and sharp gaze; his jaw locked in a sliver of tension you just know he’s trying to not show.

“Can I not be curious about my partner? I believe I have the right to ask a friendly question,” He retorted in that competitive tone he’d use when being challenged, his eyes narrowing down on you.

Maybe it’s the way he said partner, or perhaps it’s the look on his eyes right now—like you’re prey and he’s about to hunt you down. It sends shivers down your spine. You feel vulnerable under his meticulously calculative gaze. That, however, isn’t even the worst thing about this situation.

The worst part?

You don’t completely hate it.

“Jo’s nice, it was enjoyable.”

”Yeah?” He challenged ( as if it was a challenge ), stepping closer to you, “Sure he was, though knowing you I’d bet you wanted to run back to your bed the moment you stepped inside that place.”

You scowl at how precisely he guessed your thoughts—as if he knew you like an open book.

He doesn’t.

“Hit a nerve knowing I was right?” He taunted, now directly right in front of you; looking down at your eyes.

He doesn’t.

“You wish,” You say, low and steady, placing a hand on his chest and pushing him back just enough to reclaim a sliver of space.

He doesn’t budge. Not really.

Instead, he lets out a scoff—dry and amused in the most irritating way. “Jo must have really low standards then.”

You blink. Did he just—?

“I mean,” Nicholas continues, cocking his head slightly like he’s still deciding whether to go for the kill, “no offense, but you couldn’t even make it through first year orientation without hiding in the bathroom. And weddings are worse. High-pressure, noisy, way too many people—you don’t really handle that well.”

There it is. The line.

A beat of silence stretches between you. Your pulse ticks in your ears.

“…I didn’t realize you thought I was so incompetent,” you say quietly, voice tight.

His expression flickers, but it’s too late.

“Oh, come on,” he says, but you’re already stepping back.

“Don’t worry,” you say with a sharp smile. “Next time I go somewhere public, I’ll bring flashcards. Wouldn’t want to embarrass your standards.”

He exhales through his nose. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Isn’t it?” you snap.

And then you say something—something you shouldn’t. You don’t mean to, it just slips, like instinct.

“At least Jo’s standards don’t go with an ego, that’s why he’s able to maintain his childhood friendships.”

That hits. You see it in the way his jaw clenches, in the way his eyes dart to the side, the hurt buried beneath the irritation. For one dizzying second, you regret it.

You knew it was a sensitive topic to talk about. After all, Yuma was his closest friend for the longest time. Their friendship break off was super public during the end of second year.

But the silence that follows is worse than anything else.

No comeback. No sarcasm. Just cold, heavy nothing.

“Whatever,” you mutter, grabbing your notebook and heading to your seat.

He doesn’t stop you.

He doesn’t say a word.

And for the first time since this whole stupid partnership started, neither do you.

The both of you worked in silence the next few days.

For the first time in your high school rivalry, both your angers were silent.

It’s not like you didn’t try to awkwardly ignore it like you always do with tough situations, but the former did not budge from his pledge of silence despite the academic risks.

The only thing that meets your questions and demands is passive-aggressive silence. Somehow, that ticks you off more than it would if he said shit—even if the said shit hurted.

Fine. You think to yourself.

That’s how he wants to play this out.? Ha! You want to laugh.

You’ll show him play.

…So you go to Jo.

It’s Taki’s idea, actually—some half-serious suggestion made while he was eating lunch and scrolling his phone. “If Nicholas is gonna keep acting like a moody drama prince, just ask Jo. He’s smart and actually nice. Like, a functioning human being.”

You hadn’t thought about it seriously at first. You doubt Taki meant it seriously as well when he suggested it. But after another day of working in silence with Nicholas—where you asked a question and got nothing but the blank stare of a man spiritually throwing darts at your forehead—you decided it was worth a shot.

Which is how you ended up here, after school, in the quiet corner of the library with Jo Asakura.

He leans across the table, pencil in hand, walking you through a particularly stubborn question on your returned chemistry project report. His voice is soft, steady. The kind of voice that doesn’t make you feel stupid for asking something twice.

“So—if you think about it,” Jo says, tapping the edge of your worksheet, “hydrogen bonds aren’t as strong as covalent ones, right? But in water, they matter a lot because of how they stack. That’s what gives it the surface tension.”

You frown slightly, trying to picture it. “So it’s weak… but it’s the repetition that makes it significant?”

“Exactly!” he lights up. “On their own they’re not impressive. But together, they’re stable. Resilient.”

You nod slowly, scribbling down notes to change your model. “Weirdly poetic.”

Jo smiles. “You say that like chemistry isn’t poetic.”

That makes you huff a laugh. “Tell that to my last quiz grade.”

“Well, that was because you forgot to label the electronegativity scale,” he points out gently, “and you better be quiet about that before I tell Harua and he jumps on you because 93 isn’t a bad score.”

You groan and drop your head on the table. “Okay, traitor. I came here for help, not betrayal.”

Jo laughs. “Not betrayal, just honesty. I’m a Libra, I have to be.”

You lift your head just enough to give him a side-eye. “You’re not about to tell me you believe in astrology.”

“I’m not saying I don’t,” he says, cheeky.

You roll your eyes but the smile creeps up anyway. “You’re lucky you’re useful.”

“Wow. And I thought we were bonding.”

You are bonding! In fact, you’re having the most fun you had the entire stressful week with Jo. So much fun that you didn’t realise that the spot you sit on right now was a certain partner of yours’ favorite library spot.

…

He didn’t mean to find you.

He was walking back from his locker, totally minding his own business. Really. He just happened to pass the library. That’s it. That’s the whole story.

That was—of course, until he heard your laugh.

He should’ve kept walking. Should’ve been the bigger person. Should’ve remembered he had better things to do. He definitely does. Probably. He’s not even supposed to care about you anyways—he’s supposed to be rightfully, undeniably pissed at you.

But instead, he stopped.

And now he’s frozen outside the library’s glass doors, watching you lean across the table with Jo Asakura.

Your pen is twirling uselessly between your fingers. You haven’t written anything for a solid minute because you’re smiling. You’re smiling at Jo.

The guy who wears turtlenecks unironically and probably apologizes to the old, battered school vending machines if they were to break down before giving the dude his drink?

He didn’t even like Jo.

Jo, with his annoyingly perfect notes and calm voice and weirdly charming nerd energy. Jo, who’s explaining something about hydrogen bonds like he invented the damn periodic table. Jo, who—what the hell is he doing sitting in his seat? Scratch that—what are the two of you doing sitting in his beloved library spot?

Jo ( and you ) is sitting in his seat. Explaining his part of the project. Making you laugh.

Nicholas grips the strap of his bag hard enough to turn his knuckles white. It’s like a slap on his face—sharp and annoying.

It shouldn’t be a big deal. You’re just… talking. About chemistry. School stuff. Group project things. It’s fine. Completely fine.

Actually, it’s better this way. Yeah! It is. You know what, he doesn’t even have to talk to you anymore this way! He just needs to finish this stupid project and then graduate and hit the sails to never, ever see you again for the rest of his life!

…Except your smile’s the kind of smile you used to aim at him when you’d beat his ass up during arguments.

Except you’re laughing, and you haven’t laughed around him in over a week.

Except Jo looks so comfortable next to you, like he belongs there. Like he was always the one helping you. Like he knows you.

Nicholas scowls and shifts his weight like it’ll shake off whatever this weird ache is in his chest.

You’re just… you’re mad at him. That’s all. You needed help. You asked someone else. Jo was there. It’s not a big deal. It’s logical. He would’ve done the same. It’s useful to him, even. He doesn’t care. This is fine.

He doesn’t care.

He doesn’t—

…

Okay, what the fuck is this feeling?

His fingers curl tighter around the strap of his bag. His jaw’s locked and he’s not even sure when that happened. His stomach’s doing this twisting thing, like it’s trying to strangle him from the inside out ( Does that count as murder if your organs are the ones to kill you? ).

This is so dumb.

He’s Nicholas for god’s sake. He doesn’t get flustered. He doesn’t get jealous. He doesn’t care who you laugh with, who you sit next to, who makes you feel seen or safe or whatever.

He doesn’t care.

…

No.

No, wait—

Oh.

Oh, shit.

He cares.

He really fucking cares.

He likes you.

He likes you.

And he just realized it standing outside a library like an absolute idiot while Jo Asakura makes you laugh.

Awesome. Fantastic. Perfect.

He’s so, so screwed.

It’s around midnight—the day before your project submission date. The time is ticking and the moon runs uphill.

Technically, you’re done with the project by now. Is there such a thing as too much rechecking for a grade as big as this, however? No.

So you’re still in the lab at midnight, when all the other groups have already clocked out for bed. The fan Professor Lee provided buzzes on the corner, and your irksome partner is on the desk rereading the paperwork.

Your hands work tirelessly to check that the model is presentable for the ninth time, analyzing every aspect that could go wrong just to make sure.

The silence is unbearable, though you hate to admit. In a way, you’ve missed being able to banter with Nicholas. The silence is hurting you more than you’d thought. You’re not sure why.

This is your rival you’re talking about. Has been since the first year of high school. You don’t understand why your heart aches in the presence of his silence. You don’t know why you can’t just ignore it like you usually do.

You don’t understand anything much right now.

It’s weird. Because this is the same person whose name you’d find first when class schedules are released. This is the same person whose timetable you know like the back of your hand. The same person who enjoys strawberries more than anyone else you know. The same person who’d rather use up all his allowance on clothes than food.

When it comes to him, you’d usually understand. Know, even.

You’re about to part ways anyway since the universities you’re both aiming for are at different ends of the city. You won’t see him much—not unless you both want to arrange something anyways. For some reason, that made your chest tighten.

You look at your notebook. It’s filled with your incessant jots of notes that no one can understand but you. No one’s been able to make use of your words because your lazy handwriting is unreadable.

Harua once asked if it’s a hidden language you used to store in all your genius tips to be in the top 5. You laughed.

Words after words on plans and notes on the project filling your eyes. Small rants about Nicholas are written here and there. You neared the beginning of the notebook.

It’s a journal on your orientation day.

Same day you almost had a whole breakdown because the atmosphere overstimulated you. You remember trying to write down Economics notes to calm you down. Your inked pages are written in blue.

Fiscal Policy: Government use of taxation and spending to influence the economy. Expansionary: Higher Government spending or lower taxes → lower higher aggregate demand (AD)

You stare at the red ink.

It’s Nicho’s handwriting.

You remember him coming out of the auditorium also, water in hand. It was the first time you met him. Before the competition, before the rivalry, before you knew him.

He sat next to you on the floor. Said nothing about how panicked you seemed. Just pointed out your notes and said ‘It’s higher, not lower.’

You were too baffled to respond back then so you let him use his red inked pen to make the correction.

You shut your notebook fast and shove it in your bag like it’s sin reincarnated as an object. You ignore how the notebook gave you a weird thought. You ignore how the pen in your bag is the object of your weird thought’s pen.

You finish tightening the final bolt on the model, then take a step back with a sigh. It’s done. For real this time.

The lab is still lit with its sleepy fluorescent glow, the fan still whining in the corner like it’s as tired as you both are. The model is perfect—or as perfect as it’ll ever be. The paperwork’s double-checked, the formatting obsessively tweaked. It’s over. There’s nothing left to fix.

He closes the folder of paperwork. You wipe the last bit of glue off your hands. With a silent agreement, you begin packing up.

The building is quiet when you start leaving. Deserted hallways stretch endlessly under flickering fluorescent lights. You walk side by side, but still not speaking. Not really. There’s still a space between you, stretched taut like a thread ready to snap.

You pretend to fiddle with your bag longer than necessary, sneaking glances. Nicholas is quiet again, arms crossed as he stares out the window into the dark campus. His profile is sharp in the moonlight, expression unreadable. This time, the silence doesn’t feel cold. It feels charged.

You clear your throat. “So…”

Nothing.

You sigh, slinging your bag over your shoulder and heading for the exit. The hallway is eerily quiet at this hour—lights dimmed, lockers lined up like ghosts in the dark. You reach the parking lot gate, the chill of midnight air crawling beneath your sleeves.

The campus parking lot is practically empty. A few cars left overnight, streetlights buzzing overhead. It’s colder than you expect—it must’ve dropped five degrees while you were inside.

“Wait,” comes his voice, finally.

You freeze mid-step, turning.

Nicholas catches up in two strides. “Here,” he says, tugging his jacket off with a rough gesture and shoving it toward you.

You blink. “I’m fine—”

“It’s cold,” he says shortly, eyes flicking everywhere but your face. “Just take it.”

You open your mouth to argue but… it smells like him. Stupidly warm. A mix of laundry powder and something distinctively Nicholas—you can’t name it, but it always lingers near his desk and notebooks.

You grumble something under your breath and slip it on.

That’s when the drizzle starts. Just a soft mist brushing your cheeks.

Of course.

“Of course it rains now,” you mutter, half to yourself.

Nicholas exhales a dry laugh. “Of course.”

A pause.

“Funny how you only start talking when the weather’s dramatic,” you shoot, voice clipped. “Did the rain turn your social settings back on?”

You expect a smartass comment. What you get is silence.

Then: “I wasn’t ignoring you for fun,” he says, low. “I was—figuring things out.”

You snort, beginning to get annoyed. “Oh, please. You’ve been sulking and acting like I keyed your car ever since I asked Jo for help.”

“You could’ve asked me,” he snaps.

“You weren’t talking to me!”

“I needed space.”

“And I needed a partner!”

The rain thickens.

You’re both soaked now, but neither of you move. Water runs down your temples, along your jaw. Nicholas’ hair is sticking to his forehead.

“Why do you even care?” you ask, voice rising. “You clearly couldn’t stand being around me the past few days.”

“Because I do care!” he shouts back, eyes wild. “Goodness—do you think I’d spend this much time arguing with someone I didn’t care about?!”

That makes you go silent.

The air cracks, like the clouds above.

Nicholas breathes hard, chest rising and falling. “You asked why I shut down,” he mutters. “It’s because I didn’t know what to do with it. With you. With… this.”

You stare at him.

“This rivalry thing—it’s a joke now. I kept trying to pretend that was all it was. Just competition. Academic tension. Who gets the higher score.”

He laughs bitterly. “Turns out I can memorize a whole semester’s worth of Biology but I can’t figure out what to do when I see you smiling at Jo like that.”

Your heart lurches.

He swallows hard. “I hate that he gets it easy with you. I hate that he doesn’t get on your nerves. I hate that he doesn’t get under your skin like I do.” He steps closer. “But mostly, I hate that I can’t stop thinking about you—because that means you win.”

You look up at him—drenched, messy, eyes fierce.

And somehow still… soft.

He exhales. “You win, okay? You win. You’ve had me wrapped around your finger since the first time you corrected my chemical equation.”

You blink once. Twice.

And the realization—your realization—hits you like a train.

No more denial.

“…Nicho,” you say, voice barely above the patter of rain.

“What now?” he says, tired.

“Kiss me.”

His head jerks. “What?”

You step closer, fingers brushing the front of his shirt. “Just shut up and kiss me.”

And he does.

Like he’s been holding back for years.

His hand braces on the lamppost behind you, the other cupping your cheek with soaked fingers. The kiss is inexperienced, but it’s real—it’s honest. It tastes like rain and resentment and something soft underneath that neither of you know how to name yet.

You kiss him back like you mean it.

It’s not gentle.

It’s desperate and messy and rain-soaked. His lips crash into yours like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he doesn’t hold on tight enough. Your hands fist the lapels of his shirt, tugging him closer, melting into the heat of him despite the cold.

The rain pours harder.

You don’t care.

Neither does he.

He pulls back after a while—just slightly, breathing hard. His forehead rests against yours.

“…We’re gonna get so sick,” he mumbles.

You laugh, breathless. “Like that’s the first thing in your mind right now.”

You don’t move. You just stand there, tangled in each other, in the middle of an empty parking lot at midnight, with rain running down your spines and a hundred unspoken words finally said.

You close your eyes, still feeling his hands on your waist.

You just pray the rain doesn’t get you both sick tomorrow.

The submission of your chemistry project felt like giving up your baby. It was slightly melancholic—you were sort of attached to it at this point after months of hard work on that. Except in this case the baby was unwanted, so you’re also happy to get rid of it.

It felt like the end of an era. A very long, academically traumatic, sleep-deprived era. But it’s over. Finally.

And that weight—the suffocating, soul-crushing, caffeine-fueled stress—seemed to lift the second you hit “submit.” For the first time in weeks, maybe months, you could actually breathe.

So what do you do with that sudden emptiness?

Eat, obviously.

All-you-can-eat Korean BBQ was the only correct choice. It’s been tradition ever since middle school—just you and Harua, elbow-deep in bulgogi and regret, trying to eat your exam trauma away. But this time it’s not just the two of you.

The whole class is here, filling up the big, noisy, smoky restaurant with overlapping conversations and the clatter of tongs on hot grills. People you’ve sat next to for years. People you’ve argued with, borrowed pens from, partnered with, grown up beside.

Now that it’s over—your final year of high school—you realize something that hits you harder than the delectable grilled pork in front of you: you probably won’t ever see half of them again.

You sit with Harua and Taki, the three of you forming your usual chaos corner at the end of the long table. Taki is already two cans of soda in, dramatically fanning himself from the spice while Harua is absolutely unbothered, folding lettuce wraps with the elegance of a trained professional.

“I’m telling you,” Harua says, tossing a piece of grilled pork into his wrap, “our Economics teacher is going to miss me the most. She just doesn’t know it yet.”

“You traumatized her,” you reply flatly.

“She loved it.”

Taki, through a mouthful of kimchi, chimes in, “You’re both delusional.”

You’re laughing, genuinely. You almost forget how exhausted you were. Almost forget that under the noise and chatter, Nicho is sitting just a few seats down—close enough that you can hear his voice when he talks, far enough that you can’t look at him without being obvious.

It’s not awkward though. It’s weirdly… exciting.

Because no one knows. Not yet.

You’re keeping it secret—for now. You both agreed. It’s easier this way, and honestly? A little fun. There’s something oddly thrilling about hiding in plain sight. Passing glances, little smiles. Knowing something no one else does.

That doesn’t stop people from trying.

“So,” one of your classmates says loudly across the table, “are you and Nicholas ever gonna tell us what was actually going on between you two? You’ve been rivals since year ten, and now you’re suddenly… what? Chill?”

Your brows lift, chopsticks frozen halfway to your mouth.

Here we go.

You smile a little too nicely. “We’re graduating. Gotta let it go sometime, right?”

“Oh c’mon,” someone else teases. “Not even one last dramatic insult before the school year ends?”

You shrug, popping a bite of rice into your mouth. “No point. Besides, university is a fresh start. I can’t waste brainpower on high school grudges.”

There’s laughter. Some teasing. Then the subject shifts.

But from your peripheral vision, you see Harua narrow his eyes at you.

You avoid it. You avoid him like the plague ( you know that if anything slipped he’d be the first to catch on ), which only makes his suspicion worse.

Later, when everyone’s had enough meat to feed a small country and Taki’s complaining that he might pass out from fullness, you start planning your escape.

“I’m going to get ice cream,” you say, standing and stretching your arms.

“You literally just ate three plates of brisket,” Harua mutters.

You grin. “Still have space for dessert.”

“Want me to come?”

“Nope! You and Taki are on dish duty.” You pat Harua’s head before he can argue and gesture toward the chaotic aftermath on his end of the table—used tongs, sticky wrappers, crumpled tissues. “I believe in you.”

Harua glares, but you’re already slipping away.

The convenience store next door is cool and quiet, fluorescent lights humming above neatly lined freezers. You head straight for the ice cream section—and find Nicho already there.

He doesn’t look surprised to see you.

“Let me guess,” he says, reaching for your favorite flavor without even asking. “You suddenly got the urge for dessert after dinner with thirty people.”

“Bold of you to assume I didn’t actually want dessert.”

“You think I don’t know your tells by now?” he says, a faint smirk playing on his lips.

You take the pint from his hand, fingers brushing. “I didn’t exactly see you fighting to stop me.”

He laughs softly. “Was hoping you’d come.”

You lean against the freezer door, looking at him. Really looking.

This boy. This irritating, brilliant, emotionally repressed boy who once called you stupid in a lab report and then stood in the school’s parking lot confessing like it hurt to breathe if he didn’t.

He steps a little closer.

“I missed you today,” he says quietly, like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

“We sat at the same table.”

“Not the same,” he murmurs, eyes flicking to yours.

You exhale. “I wanted to say something, but…”

“I know.” His hand finds yours. Not tightly. Just enough. “We’ll tell them when we’re ready.”

“Until then?”

“We meet by the ice cream freezer.”

You laugh, leaning in just enough that your forehead rests against his. For a second, time stalls. There’s nothing but the soft hum of lights and the rhythm of your breaths.

“I really like you,” you whisper.

“Good,” he says, lips brushing your forehead, “Because you’re stuck with me.”

There’s not much words exchanged from thereon. His lips breathlessly on yours as his cold hands cup your face gently. A quick exchange before the need for secrecy befalls the both of you once more.

Thank goodness you’re not wearing lip gloss.

You end up buying two pints. One for the group. One for the two of you. No one questions it.

Harua gives you a look, of course. Taki is too busy dying from a food coma to notice anything. The night goes on.

And somewhere between the clinking glasses, the greasy chopsticks, and the chaos of old memories—

You realize something else.

This is the end of a chapter.

But maybe, just maybe, it’s the beginning of a better one.

Thank goodness your school never put money on upgrading that class app, no?

— THE END. —

TAGLIST: @ja4hyvn @flwoie @sulkygyu @xiaoderrrr @ineedaherosavemeenow @lonewolfjinji @teddywonss @taerae-verse @bbangbies @Ize325 @hyeinsveil @staytinyzenlexie @yudaies @slytherinshua

NETWORKS: @k-labels @lune-net @k-films

© astrae4 2025 | please don’t copy, translate, or plagiarize my works on all platforms!

[astrae4]

Im actually so nervous abt college. It’d be my first time living abroad and being alone….

[astrae4]

Get yo tickets or whtvr they say…

YOU WEREN’T SUPPOSED TO HEAR THAT… | Lee Sanghyeok | TEASER

IN WHICH you and Riwoo had been best friends since as long as you could remember—growing up in diapers together, fighting over crayons, the whole thing. Like practically every childhood friendship, the idea of something more never really crossed your mind (except for that one 6th grade phase that lasted, what—two weeks?). Except…maybe that wasn’t true for him. You find out the hard way—by accidentally overhearing Riwoo confessing his love for you. Through letters he sent. Sweet, isn’t he, your Riwoo? …Wait. Did he just say letters.? What letters!?

FEATURING boynextdoor’s riwoo x reader, non idol au

GENRE Childhood friends, Second Chances, Unspoken feelings, Misdelivered letters, Yearning, and Gentle love

WARNINGS (for the teaser only) miscommunication. WC: 1.4k; full fic est. 6-10k

NOTE Hi everyone! this is my teaser submission for the @k-films in Summer Sandways event. The full fic will be posted on August 15, and if you’d like to be tagged please do comment down below or send an ask.

MORE WORKS: navigation | bnd!masterlist

ACT ONE: THE CONFESSION YOU WEREN’T SUPPOSED TO HEAR

“CHEERS!”

The clinks of plastic cups ring out sharp and light in the muggy summer air, the fizz of soda bubbling over as they crash into each other. Someone laughs too hard. A bottle cap flies off somewhere into the grass. In the background, an old Bluetooth speaker plays an even older song from a playlist no one’s updated since last year—but no one really minds.

It feels familiar that way. Like you were all seventeen again. Like the distance between friends was still measured in class periods and not kilometers.

Your cup is cold in your hand, condensation trickling down your fingers. Next to you, Minji bursts into laughter at the sight of Jaehyun flailing dramatically with a soda-soaked jacket. A chorus of voices joins in when Woonhak tries to help out but ends up smeared with a syrupy disaster instead.

“YAH!”

“Hyung, why would you—”

“That’s what you get for caring,” Haerin cackles.

Taesan’s practically wheezing, doubled over in his lawn chair, feet kicking in the air like a cartoon. It’s ridiculous. It’s perfect.

And right across the blanket—diagonal from you, half-lit in the gold of late afternoon—is Riwoo. One leg pulled up, a wrist balanced lazily on his knee. He’s leaning back on one hand, drink in the other, watching everyone with a small, quiet smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

He’s not laughing out loud like the others. But his eyes are soft, crinkled at the edges. Like he’s content just watching it all unfold.

You meet his eyes, and he lifts his drink slightly—just for you. Not dramatic, not showy. Just that little nod. A silent hey.

He mouths something, eyes gleaming.

You squint.

Then he says it again, this time barely louder: “Cheers to surviving a week without crying over math.”

You scoff through a smile. “That was oddly specific.”

He shrugs. “Or maybe I’m just projecting.”

You roll your eyes, but he grins wider now—pleased with himself. That’s the thing about Riwoo. He says things so dryly sometimes that you’re never sure if you should be laughing or asking if he’s okay.

But that’s later stuff. For now? He’s just being Riwoo.

Your Riwoo.

The same boy who used to bring extra loose-leaf papers to school because he knew you always forgot to buy them. The same boy who still, to this day, types with two fingers because you taught him that once and he refuses to change it.

The laughter around you swells again, and someone yells about needing more ice. A few people start heading toward the convenience store across the street.

You don’t move.

Neither does Riwoo.

…

It’s just you and Riwoo left now, the others having peeled off one by one—waved away by sleepy grins and parents waiting in nearby cars. The summer air is still thick with humidity and the lingering scent of grilled food and bug spray, and the sky above has darkened into a soft bruise.

Rain threatens in the distance. Not quite falling yet, but close—you can feel it gathering, swollen in the clouds like it’s holding its breath.

Riwoo walks beside you in comfortable silence, hands stuffed deep in his jacket pockets, sneakers scuffing the gravel. The path winds through your old neighborhood, and though neither of you says it, it feels weirdly small now. Smaller than it used to be.

“D’you think the treehouse is still there?” he asks, suddenly.

You glance over. He’s not looking at you—just up ahead, squinting at the shape of someone’s backyard tree.

“Probably got torn down.”

He makes a dramatic sound of pain. “A tragedy. That was our legacy.”

You laugh. “It was one plank and a bunch of zip ties.”

“And a broken ladder,” he adds. “Let’s not forget the broken ladder.”

You laugh.

It’s easy, being like this with Riwoo. Always has been. You grew up two doors apart. He came over so often that your moms used to joke they should just combine houses—said it every summer, usually when he stole a popsicle from your freezer and your mom caught him mid-bite.

“You two should just date already,” they’d say, with their matching mom-laughs.

You used to groan and roll your eyes. He’d throw the popsicle stick at you.

Now?

You don’t really know how to react anymore.

The rain starts lightly, barely more than a mist at first. You don’t even notice until Riwoo gently shrugs off his hoodie and offers it to you.

You blink. “I’m fine—”

He doesn’t push. Just shrugs one shoulder again, hand halfway extended. “You’ll get sick,” he says lightly. “And then I’ll feel guilty. And then you’ll guilt-trip me into taking care of you. And then I will. And then I'll catch your sickness and die.”

You sigh, half-smiling, and take it. The hoodie smells like rain and something subtle, like cedar or soap. It’s way too big, but it’s warm.

He nods, satisfied, then gestures ahead. “Come on, dramatic movie-level rain isn’t going to walk us home.”

You walk in silence for a while, but it’s not awkward. Just..quiet. Even the rain seems gentle.

His elbow brushes yours. Neither of you moves away.

…

By the time you reach your porch, your heels are starting to ache. You slip them off as soon as you’re under the awning, one hand pressed to the doorframe for balance.

“Thanks for walking me.”

Riwoo nods. He’s wet now, hair clinging to his forehead, his shirt’s sleeves soaked where the rain got through. He gives you a small smile. It’s the tired kind. Not fake, not loud. Just…well—real.

“Get some rest,” he says. “Text me when your feet stop crying.”

You grin. “They’re hysterically sobbing, actually.”

He laughs under his breath. Then hesitates—like he might say something else. But instead, he just waves and steps down the stairs, rain now pattering harder against the pavement.

You step inside, pushing the door closed behind you with your heel.

But you don’t move.

You sit, slowly, on the little bench beside the entryway. Your foot stings from the blister forming under the heel strap, and you exhale—just a little—resting your head back against the wall.

Gosh, how much you love your kitten heels but hate the pain that comes with it.

Your hand makes its way to rub your sore ankle, trying to relieve it of the pain.

Through the wood of the door, the rain feels closer now.

But so does his voice.

You freeze.

At first, you think he’s on a call. But there’s no pause, no other voice. Just Riwoo’s low murmur, too soft and cracked to be a performance.

“…I miss you even when you’re right in front of me. Isn’t that dumb.?”

Your breath catches.

No answer. No one’s there but him.

“I used to write you letters, you know?,” he says, then laughs—sharp and embarrassed. “Back when I was too scared to talk. Too scared to mess it up. I thought if I just said it on paper, it wouldn’t feel real.”

Your hand slowly presses to the door, as if it could anchor you.

“You never replied, so I figured you knew. Figured you didn’t want to say anything. That it was your answer.”

A pause.

”And I’m sorry I had to make you pretend everything was normal because you didn’t want to reject me. If only I had been more reliable and kept it in..”

No. No, no, no—

“Still,” he whispers. “I… love you, [reader]. I really do.”

Your throat feels tight. Your heart is pounding so loud you’re afraid he might hear it.

And then—

Letters.

Your mind jolts backward. The ache in your heel, the jacket in your lap, all of it fades under the weight of that word.

What letters?

You didn’t get any.

You would have remembered.

Wouldn’t you?

You press your ear to the wood, pulse thudding in your neck. But it’s quiet now. Just the rain.

Your hands shake slightly, clutching the edges of his jacket. You don’t know what to think.

All you know is—you’re wide awake now.

TAGLIST: @ja4hyvn @flwoie @sulkygyu @xiaoderrrr @ineedaherosavemeenow @teddywonss @taerae-verse @bbangbies @uncasings

NETWORKS: @onedoornet @k-films @k-labels

© astrae4 2025 — please don't copy, translate, or plagiarize my works on all platforms!

[astrae4]

I’ll pray for you bbg 🤍

WHEN YOU GIVE THEM YOUR HAND FOR NO REASON, BOYNEXTDOOR WILL…

pairings — boynextdoor x reader

genre — fluff, slice of life

warnings — none

more works: navigation | bnd!masterlist

MYUNG JAEHYUN will put his face on your palm, a teasing smile on his face as he gives you an overly sweet expression that has you cringing on the outside and feeling flustered on the inside.

“What? Isn’t this what you want?” He’d ask coyly, feigning innocence even though he knows your answer. Of course this puppy would do that, you should’ve known…

PARK SUNGHO would hold your hand hesitantly, just to make sure that’s what you want because he’s confused with the gesture when no words accompany it. When he gets the A-ok, however, he smiles, happy at his small win in guessing your wants correctly.

“Just take my hand next time, babe, no need to ask.” He’d suggest. You shrug, before leaning your weight onto his wide frame lovingly.

LEE SANGHYEOK will hand you whatever’s on his busy hand, no matter what it’d be. His phone, keychain, $7 matcha latte…heck, he’d hand you his bag thinking you needed something in it. When you give him a confused look, he’d give you a 😕? look, before taking his item back…

“Huh? Didn’t you ask for my drink?” He questions. You’d have to explain further if you wanted something else, guys…but at least you know he loves you enough to let you sip on his overpriced drink!

HAN DONGMIN will hand you his credit card. There’s not even a single hesitance as he takes his card from his wallet and hands it to you. “Babe, that’s not…” you started, trying to explain to him how you wanted to just hold hands.

Taesan, without missing a beat, responds: “I saw you eyeing that jacket just now, don’t lie.” Well, safe to say you ended the day with both your hands interlocked and shopping bags held.

KIM DONGHYUN will take your hands gently in his, before turning it palm-side up and giving it a soft peck, affectionate and gentle. Your heart flutters. The birds are singing and the flowers are dancing—

“ACK!” You let out, because Leehan decided to ruin the moment and bite your finger. He gives you a sheepish look, before running off and away from you as fast as he can.

KIM WOONHAK will take your hands in his with the enthusiasm of a sugar-rushed kindergartener, intertwining them sweetly before swinging them around as you walk to the corner store. People give you both looks, but he couldn’t care less. He’s proud to be beside you and he will show him off!

“What? Don’t tell me you’re embarrassed? HAHAHA!” He laughs like a maniac, before swinging your arms with a bigger, more dramatic swoop.

TAGLIST: @ja4hyvn @flwoie @sulkygyu @xiaoderrrr @ineedaherosavemeenow @teddywonss @taerae-verse @bbangbies @cherryblossomlovesblog

NETWORKS: @onedoornet @k-films @k-labels

© astrae4 2025 — please don't copy, translate, or plagiarize my works on all platforms!

[astrae4]

WHY DO YOU DENY YOURSELF—HEAVEN? | Asakura Jo

pairings — &team’s Jo x reader (non-idol au)

genre — romance & angst

warnings — (wc. 2.3k) could be suggestive, jo’s lowkey hurting n crazy obsessed. um..could be borderline yandere

note — trust me when i say read this while listening to love drought by beyonce.

more works: navigation | &team!masterlist

I SHOULD’VE SAID NO.

I should’ve told Maki I was busy. Lied. Said I was tired. Said I had vocal lessons, or dance practice, or literally anything that kept me from walking into this house—into your house.

But the moment he sent me that text—

“Come over. Mom made too much dinner.”

—I said yes. So fast. Like I was waiting for the excuse.

And now I’m here.

Shoes lined up neatly at the door, the scent of soy and ginger and home-cooked something curling into my lungs like memory. I can hear Maki in the kitchen, clattering dishes, humming something off-key. I should go help. I should move.

But you’re sitting there.

Cross-legged on the living room floor, back to me, wearing that same hoodie you always wear when you’re home—too big, sleeves half-eaten by your hands. You’re flipping through a book, mouthing words under your breath like no one’s listening. And I know I should say something—a soft “Hi” or at least clear my throat—but I can’t.

I can’t—because the moment I see you, it’s like everything else dulls.

The lights dim.

The sounds flatten.

And all I can hear is the sound of my own heartbeat—pounding, reckless, completely untamed.

You don’t even know what you do to me.

You never have.

Not when you passed me your umbrella at the station last winter.

Not when you laughed too hard at that dumb pun I made last spring.

Not even last month, when your fingers brushed mine as you passed the soy sauce across the table and I spent the entire ride home gripping the edge of my seat to keep myself from losing my mind.

You are Maki’s sister.

You are off-limits.

You are everything.

It’s a sick kind of irony. The kind that makes my chest tight and my head foggy. The kind that makes me breathless for no reason. I want so badly to not feel this way. So so badly—to unlearn the way my eyes find you even in a room full of people. But I can’t.

And the worst part?

You smile at me.

Like you don’t know what it does. Like you don’t know how my head spirals for days just thinking about it. Like you don’t know you’ve just lit something inside me I’ve been trying to snuff out since the moment we met.

“Oh—Jo, hi!”

Your voice cracks a little when you say my name. Like you weren’t expecting me. Like maybe… maybe you’re a little flustered too.

Fuck.

Don’t read into it.

Don’t be stupid.

Don’t let hope in.

I manage a nod. Just that. Not even a full “Hi.” Because if I open my mouth, I don’t know what’s going to come out.

“You look tired,” you say, standing now, closing the gap between us. You’re closer than you should be. Always so close. And your fingers reach out like you might—like you’re thinking of brushing a loose strand of hair from my face.

I take a half-step back, holding my breath slightly. It’s subtle. You probably don’t even notice. But I feel it—like a stab.

Because all I want to do is lean in.

Press my forehead to yours and say, “Please stop looking at me like that. Please stop being so kind. Or don’t—just… tell me it’s okay to want you.”

But I can’t.

Because Maki trusts me.

Because I’m supposed to be the safe one.

Because the moment I touch you, I won’t be able to stop.

And Jo doesn’t do that. Jo knows better. Jo keeps his feelings quiet.

Jo lives with it.

So I just smile.

Soft. Controlled. Fragile.

And I say, “I’m fine. Thanks.”

But inside?

Inside, I’m screaming.

There’s laughter.

Chopsticks clicking.

Maki’s mom is asking me if I want more rice, and I nod because it’s automatic, because I’m polite, because that’s what Jo does.

But I can’t taste anything.

All I can see is you—right there across from me, smiling as you nudge Maki’s arm and call him annoying for hogging the tofu.

And suddenly I can’t breathe.

I don’t know when it started.

Maybe it was last year. Maybe last week. Maybe it was that first night I heard your laugh from the hallway and thought, That sound could ruin me.

But ever since—

Everywhere I go, I see you.

In the curls of steam rising from tea cups.

In the way certain songs just ache now.

In the backs of strangers who walk with the same sway in their step.

In the trinkets I buy for you—making sure to spray my perfume so you’d smell like me.

You’ve invaded me. All of me. Quietly. Completely.

I can’t look away from you, and I can’t let myself look at you for too long.

It’s unbearable. This stupid in-between.

This pretending like I don’t want to memorize the way you hold your chopsticks or tuck your hair behind your ear when you lean forward to laugh.

You’re not even trying.

You’re just… existing. And it’s killing me.

You reach to refill Maki’s glass. Your fingers brush mine for a second—one, two heartbeats—and my throat clenches so hard I have to force down a cough.

You don’t even notice. You’re busy asking if anyone wants more side dishes.

And I—I sit here.

Smiling.

Nodding.

Laughing when it’s expected.

Answering when I’m spoken to.

But inside, I’m falling apart.

I want you.

More than I’ve ever wanted anything.

And it’s not just attraction—it’s bone-deep, soul-deep.

It’s that I notice when you’ve had a long day before you even speak. It’s that your silence says more to me than most people’s shouting.

I want to make you tea when your throat hurts.

I want to hear you complain about Maki in that low mutter you think no one hears.

I want to be the one who knows all the versions of you—not just the ones you show to family.

But I can’t.

I won’t.

Because you’re his sister.

Because that line is drawn in permanent ink, and crossing it would mean tearing apart something that’s never been mine to begin with.

And still—I sit here.

Dinner table. Normal setting.

Everyone’s happy. Everyone is full.

Except me.

Because I’m starving.

For you.

“You want to see the garden?”

You say it so casually.

A smile, a tilt of your head, your voice threading through me like sugar through tea.

And I say yes. Of course I say yes.

Because there’s no world where I say no to you.

I follow you out into the dark, barefoot on the back step, the air humid and thick with the scent of basil and crushed leaves. The light above the door flickers once before staying steady. Your shoulder brushes mine as you pass through the little gate, and my breath catches so hard I nearly choke on it.

You’re showing me your plants.

You’re pointing at tomatoes. Laughing about a failed strawberry pot. Telling me how the rosemary always overgrows no matter what.

I nod.

I smile.

But I don’t hear a word.

Because all I can think is:

You have no idea what you’re doing to me.

You have no idea what you’ve done.

This garden—this whole night—it’s not a casual thing for me. It’s sacred.

I will remember this moment until the day I die.

The moonlight catching the curve of your cheek. The way you talk with your hands when you’re excited. The tiny fleck of soil on your wrist you don’t know is there.

And the worst part?

You trust me.

You trust me enough to bring me out here. To talk to me about your little basil sprouts and the birds that keep stealing seeds and the sun that hits your favorite flowers best at noon.

And I—I’m standing here like a man possessed.

My hands are clenched in my pockets. My nails are digging into my palms. I am one breath away from ruining everything.

Because I want to kiss you.

No. I want to devour you.

I want to press you against the wooden fence and whisper everything I’ve locked in my throat since I first saw you that summer with wet hair and a juice box in your hand.

I want to tell you how your smile makes me dizzy.

How I replay every conversation we’ve ever had in my head like a favorite song.

How I’ve written entire verses I’ll never sing because they sound too much like your name.

You don’t get it.

This isn’t a crush.

This is something biological. Primal. Like my body recognizes you before my brain does.

And every second I spend near you is a second I’m burning alive just to keep the peace.

“Jo?”

Your voice is soft.

You’ve turned to face me, one hand resting gently on the rosemary. Because I’m staring.

Because I haven’t said anything in too long.

Because I’m not okay.

And you look at me—open, unguarded—like you’d trust me with anything.

And it ruins me.

Because I’d never betray that trust.

But I already have.

Just by feeling this much.

“I—”

I try to speak. I really do.

But I feel it—the crack. The break. The shattering inside my ribs.

And I can’t take it anymore.

The way you look at me like I’m safe.

Like I haven’t been thinking about kissing you for a year straight.

Like I haven’t built entire fantasies out of your laughter just to survive the days I don’t see you.

My mouth opens. Closes.

I try to swallow it down like I always do.

But my throat’s too tight. My chest is too full. And before I know it—

The words are falling out. Quiet. Hoarse. Real.

“I’m sorry.”

You blink. “Sorry?”

My voice shakes.

I can feel it coming undone in my ribs.

“I shouldn’t—” I look down, anywhere but at you. “I shouldn’t feel this way. About you. I—I try so hard not to, I swear. But it doesn’t stop. It never stops.”

My breath hitches.

I clench my hands into fists to keep them from trembling.

And still, my eyes burn.

“Every time I see you, it gets worse.”

My voice breaks. Quiet. Like a confession in a chapel.

“I hear your voice, and my chest hurts. I remember things you said once, months ago, and I replay them like they mean more than they do. I—I can’t help it. I just…”

I laugh. Not really. Just the sound of disbelief slipping out of me.

“I want you. So much it scares me.”

The silence after that is deafening.

Not even the wind moves.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper again, softer this time. Choked. “For feeling this much. For looking at you like this. For not being able to stop.”

I lift my eyes, finally—and they sting.

I’m not crying, not really. But I’m close.

And I think you know that.

You’ve always been good at reading me, haven’t you?

You step forward.

You reach for me.

Your hand, light on my sleeve, your eyes searching mine with something that makes my knees threaten to buckle. My breath hitches—because this can’t be happening. You shouldn’t be this close. You shouldn’t look at me like that.

But you are.

And then—

You say it. Soft. Almost like it’s a secret.

“I like you too, Jo.”

Your voice wavers. “I think I’ve liked you for a while.”

The world slows.

My ears ring.

You’re right here. Inches away. And your words are honey. They melt into me. So slow. So real. And I think I forget how to stand.

But I don’t speak. Not yet.

Because you’re still talking.

Still nervously twisting the hem of your shirt, still trying to find the courage to meet my eyes.

And all I can think is:

Please. Please say more. Keep going. Let me live in this moment.

Because if I speak too soon, I’ll ruin it. If I breathe wrong, I might explode.

My heart is shaking. My hands are shaking, clenched so hard it hurts.

I’ve imagined this a thousand times and none of it prepared me for the realness of you—right here, soft and warm and mine, for a second.

You glance up finally, voice barely above a whisper.

“If… if you still want me.”

Still want you?

I almost laugh.

I’ve never stopped.

I can’t take it anymore. My voice trembles like it’s been underwater for months when I finally ask—

“Can I kiss you?”

You nod.

And that’s it.

The last thread of restraint snaps.

I move carefully at first.

One hand to your cheek.

I lean in slow, like I’ll scare you if I go too fast, like I’m afraid you’ll disappear.

Our lips meet.

Soft. Barely there.

And for one blissful, trembling second, it’s all shy wonder and stilled time.

But then—

Then something breaks.

I feel it in your exhale.

In the way you press closer.

In the way my fingers tighten against your waist like they’ve been waiting for permission to hold you properly.

And I can’t pretend anymore.

The second kiss isn’t shy.

It’s years of silence breaking all at once.

It’s months of stolen glances, of late-night dreams, of sitting across from you at dinner still starving.

I kiss you like I’m afraid I’ll never get the chance again.

Like I’ll wake up and find it was a dream.

Like if I stop now, I’ll never survive the hunger I’ve carried this long.

My hands are in your hair. Your lips part just enough to steal my breath. You gasp against me and I swear, I see stars behind my eyelids.

You pull back a little, dazed. Chest rising too fast.

And I..

I’m breathless too. I press my forehead to yours. Eyes shut, yet the only thing I could think of was your lips. I want more. I want so much more that oxygen isn’t even my main necessity anymore.

In fact, in this moment I wished oxygen wasn’t as important so I could feel your soft lips for all of eternity.

Still. I can’t scare you away. No. Not after restraining myself for so long.

I whisper gently, my thumb caressing your cheek.

“Let me kiss you again. Please.”

TAGLIST: @ja4hyvn @flwoie @sulkygyu @xiaoderrrr @ineedaherosavemeenow @teddywonss @taerae-verse @bbangbies @hyeinsveil @makixroll

NETWORKS: @lune-net @k-films @k-labels

© astrae4 2025 — please don't copy, translate, or plagiarize my works on all platforms!

[astrae4]

SHOULD I PRETEND TO DROWN SO THE HOT LIFEGUARD CAN SAVE ME? | Kim Donghyun

pairings — boynextdoor’s leehan x reader (non-idol au)

genre — romance, slice of life, comedy

warnings — (wc. 1k) swearing, lowk you down bad.. mentions of drowning also!

note — wanna eat biceps.

more works: navigation | bnd!masterlist

YOU’RE THANKFUL THAT YOU’RE using sunglasses right now, because if you weren’t the lifeguard across the pool would have caught onto your glutinous stare by now.

It has to be illegal—how good the man across of you looks right now, I mean. Girl dinner? At this point it’s a woman’s feast.

Blonde, with a red and white sleeveless uniform and a facecard so lethal it’s rendered you speechless the first time you visited the pool.

At first the pool was supposed to be a one time thing—just to stop your brother Jaehyun from nagging you about the fact that you never hang out with him.

You remember showing up to the pool with a permanent frown. Only it curved up happily when the guy that checked you in whose name tag spelled Kim Donghyun turned up in his lifeguard uniform.

Now, it’s a daily occurrence to see you at the pool—with or without the presence of your brother.

Today, however, your brother had decided to join you and your mission to finally work up the courage and approach this lifeguard.

Except he’s being a little shit about it.

Jaehyun munches on a box of chips, joining you on the daybed as he looks at you amusingly.

“You’ve been looking at him since summer started and have not made a single move.”

”Shut up, Jae.”

”At this point you might as well delusionalize your whole relationship in your head instead since reality’s never catching up.”

”Leave.”

It’s silent for a while, the sound of chips being munched louder than the background of people swimming.

Your eyes come back to the sight of his glistening bicep. It looks like a glazed donut. You want to eat that do—

“You’re not even subtle. Just go drown a little or something,” Jaehyun says, cutting your train of thoughts.

“No way. I can’t even save myself because I can’t swim, remember? I’m not going to risk my life for a man.”

”A man you’ve been eyeing this summer,” Jae mutters, sick of it. “If you don’t approach him right now, I will.”

That got your attention.

Your neck almost snaps at him.

”What—no way!” You whisper-shouted—but it’s too late.

He leaves the daybed and starts walking in the direction of your fine shyt of the month.

You try to catch up to him—to stop your downfall, but he’s clearly a lot faster.

You hear his voice before you see your glazed donut.

”Yo! You busy right now, dude?”

You want to actually jump in the pool right now and drown when you hear Donghyun speak in that sexy, deep voice of his.

“Nope. What’s up?”

”Jae—“ You try to stop him, but Jaehyun speaks to Donghyun like you don’t exist.

“My sister sucks at swimming—doesn’t know how to, actually—but she’s been wanting to try this whole summer yet keeps backing out. Can you help?”

Hahahaha…. your foot is one step into the pool to drown yourself.

“Stop it—“ You shush him, pulling Jaehyun at his arm, before looking at the snack in front of you, “Sorry to bother..”

Surprisingly, Donghyun smiles and it’s so damn cute you almost tripped yourself.

“Oh it’s no worries, I’m down to teach you how to swim.”

Your only response was “Huh?”

That’s how you find yourself in the big kids pool for once. Actually swimming. With the hot lifeguard. ( What in the fanfiction? )

“You can hold on to my arm if you want,” he says politely. Professionally. Like—you know, an angel.

Your head spirals and despite being painfully terrified your face flushes in deep red. Maybe because of your embarrassment. Maybe because of him.

“Oh, no, I’m not good at… grabbing things. I mean—swimming.” You want the ground ( or pool ) to swallow you whole.

He laughs, his eyes squinting at yours in amusement.

“Please—I insist.”

“Okay.” You don’t argue anymore.

Holding his bicep, you lowkey copped a feel. ( In your defense, he told you to! )

For the first ten minutes, he’s all business — calm instructions, steady encouragement, gentle corrections when you panic halfway across the pool.

You tell yourself to focus. On swimming. On not dying. On not embarrassing yourself in front of someone who looks like he was handcrafted by a Greek god with a lifeguard certificate.

But it gets harder when he steps closer.

When his fingers brush your shoulders, “fixing” your posture — warm against your skin, lingering a second too long.

When he scoops you up by the waist after you flail mid-float — muscles flexing, his arms wrapped around your bare stomach like it’s just another Tuesday.

You’re no expert, but…some of these corrections feel more like contact than instruction.

And every single time, he meets your wide-eyed look with the same charming smile. A little too smooth. A little too knowing.

Maybe you’re imagining things.

Or maybe Leehan knows exactly what he’s doing.

Either way, you’re dangerously close to developing a heart condition.

“You’re a fast learner,” he says as you finally cling to the edge of the pool.

You turn to him, a little breathless. “Thanks.”

He smiles again — that same warm, practiced grin, but this time, there’s something behind it.

“Guess I’ll have to make your next lesson harder.”

You blink. “Wait—there’s a next time?”

“Shouldn’t there be?” He asked innocently.

You don’t have time to respond. He’s already swimming to the ladder like it’s the most normal thing in the world, water dripping off his hair, muscles shining under the sun like a CGI character.

“By the way,” he calls over his shoulder, “You should give me your number. In case I need to schedule you in.”

Your jaw almost drops.

That man knew exactly what he was doing.

By the time you get your brain back into your head, Jaehyun jumps into the pool next to you, splashing you in the process.

You shriek in surprise, and by the time you finish wiping the water off your face your brother’s head bobbed up the surface of the pool.

“So.” He says, holding your shoulders and giving you an annoyingly teasing look, “How’d your date go?”

Usually you’d respond with ‘go away’ or something along the lines of it—but this is different.

“Oh my fuck, Jae.” You respond, eyes wide and holding his shoulder too.

That got the teasing smile off his face as his eyes went wide too, nosy and full of anticipation. “What, what—?”

”I think he just scheduled our next like..date.”

It was silent for a second—

“Oh my shit.”

TAGLIST: @ja4hyvn @flwoie @sulkygyu @xiaoderrrr @ineedaherosavemeenow @lonewolfjinji @teddywonss @taerae-verse @bbangbies @Ize325

NETWORKS: @k-labels @k-films @onedoornet

© astrae4 2025 — please don't copy, translate, or plagiarize my works on all platforms!

[astrae4]

Hi

I hope you see thisI’m not a bot and this is not a spam messageI’m a real person from Gaza trying to survivePlease don’t scroll past me I’m just asking to be heard 🙏

I’m Aboud from Gaza.Just a young man trying to keep his family alive under the worst conditions imaginable. We’ve been under siege for 650 days — with no electricity, no clean water, and barely any food. The water stations have been bombed. Flour is now so expensive we buy it by the gram, not the kilo.Two days ago, my mother fractured her arm while trying to get aid. She smiled through the pain so we wouldn’t worry — but I saw the truth in her eyes. She’s in pain. And we have nothing. No medicine. No bread. No way out.If you’re reading this, please — even the smallest donation could help us survive another day.And if you can’t give, please share this. It might reach someone who can.This is all I can do for her right now.💔

My prayers are with you 💗

[astrae4]

UNTOLD CONFESSIONS BENEATH THE STORM | Han Dongmin

pairings — boynextdoor’s taesan x reader (non idol au)

genre — exes to lovers, heavy angst, romance (wc. 998)

warnings — big angst, miscommunication, swearing, and suggestive bc they make out

note — this one’s requested from this anon! whoever u are tysm for this <3 also lowkey i’m on a writing rollll rn so expect a lot of posts from me these months HAHA

more works: navigation | bnd!masterlist

YOU DON’T KNOW WHY you’re here.

It’s embarrassing.

Still. You don’t turn back.

Your skin pricks from the cold, the uncomfortable feeling of clothes sticking to your flesh hugs your entire body like a burden, weighing you down. You’d rather take this burden than the burden swarming in your mind, however.

It consumes you—the pain swelling in your heart; the tears that rain down your face.

To be broken up with over text while you were on vacation?

Is your worth that low to not even deserve a person-to-person break up?

Your head feels heavy as you see his house’s porch, his jacket drenched and unable to provide you the comfort you felt when you were with him. Maybe it actually felt heavy because of the weight of the rain and not the overwhelming heartbreak you feel, but the tears in your peripheral vision blurs your thoughts, blending what’s rational and what’s unreal.

You step onto the familiar white plank, ringing the golden bell which echoed the songs of happy memories. Even covered by blue and misery, your mind connects the bell’s ring with the unanticipated emotion of joy.

The door opens.

Your ex-boyfriend stands in front of you; red rimmed eyes, puffed up with tears and looking like a mess as if he wasn’t the one who ended the relationship.

As if you aren’t about to get sick physically and mentally from the rain.

“[reader]—“

You cut him off, your voice raspy and ladened with anger and grief. “Why?”

Taesan freezes.

Maybe it’s the look on your face. Or the fact that your fists are clenched at your sides. Or that you’re standing there like a ghost of the girl who used to sit with him on that porch and laugh about stupid things—like whether strawberry milk or banana milk tasted more like love. But something in him cracks.

He whispers your name again, softer. Like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

“Tae, you broke up with me over text,” you continue, your throat raw and vulnerable and so, so hurt. “You didn’t even call. I was gone for two weeks and you—” your voice breaks, “you didn’t even give me the decency of telling it to my face.”

He says nothing. Just looks at you like he’s drowning too—as if it’s too late to save both of you.

You shake your head, water flicking from your hair. “If you didn’t want to be with me anymore, you could’ve just said that. But don’t pretend like you were doing it for my sake.”

That makes him look up sharply.

“I was,” he says, the words snapping out like thunder.

You stare.

He steps back, opens the door wider. “Come in. Please. Before you actually get hypothermia.”

You hesitate. The logical part of you screams to turn around. But your heart’s already halfway across the threshold.

So you walk in. Soaked socks and all.

The warmth hits you instantly, but it doesn’t sink into your skin. Not yet. He disappears down the hallway and returns with a towel, placing it gently over your shoulders without a word. You hate how you heart still flutters and how natural the gesture feels. How familiar.

You sit on the couch you’ve sat on a hundred times before, and he sits across from you like there’s an ocean between you instead of a coffee table.

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” Taesan says quietly, after a long pause. “Someone told me… things. About how I wasn’t good for you. That I was dragging you down. That you’d be better off without someone like me.”

You stiffen. “Who?”

He hesitates. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does.”

A beat.

“My cousin,” he says finally. “He said—he said I was making you soft. That you were starting to turn down things for me. That you were too bright for someone like me.”

You scoff. “So you just believed him?”

“No. I—” he exhales shakily. “I saw how hard you worked. And I thought maybe he was right. So I tried to let go before I ruined you more.”

“That wasn’t your choice to make,” you say quietly.

“I know, I’m sorry.”

Silence again. Except for the rain knocking against the windows like it’s impatient for something to happen.

“I cried the day I messaged you even when it was my fault,” he says suddenly. “And the day after. And last week. And… basically every day since.”

“Then why didn’t you text back? Why did you let your cousin get in your head?”

He looks at you, helpless. “Because I didn’t think I deserved you.”

You’re quiet. The words are bitter in your mouth, but you taste truth in them.

You look at him. Really look.

He’s still the boy you fell for. Still your favorite color in human form. Still the person who remembered how you liked your toast and tied your shoelaces when your fingers were too cold.

And you still love him. You never stopped.

You stand.

He watches you like you might walk out, his hands trembling with vulnerability that you know he usually hides away.

But instead, you take a step closer.

“Do you want to fix this?” you ask, voice barely a whisper.

His answer is instant, “Yes.”

Another step.

“Even if it’s messy?”

He nods, desperate.

“Even if I get mad sometimes?”

He stands now too, so close you could count the raindrops still clinging to his eyelashes.

“I’ll take messy,” he breathes, “Fuck—I’m so sorry. I’ll take anything, [reader]..”

You kiss him.

It’s desperate, speaking a thousand words unsaid. His hands clutch your arms, holding it so tight it slightly hurts. But he’s afraid you’d go; you feel his hands tremble. His mouth encases yours needily like he’s trying to make you forget everything but him. You kiss him back with much vigor, hand going to his face to reassure him in all the right ways.

The rain keeps pouring outside.

But here, beneath the storm, there’s something that’s finally calm.

TAGLIST: @ja4hyvn @flwoie @sulkygyu @xiaoderrrr @ineedaherosavemeenow @lonewolfjinji @teddywonss @taerae-verse @bbangbies @Ize325 @hyeinsveil

NETWORKS: @k-films @k-labels @onedoornet

© astrae4 2025 — please don't copy, translate, or plagiarize my works on all platforms!

[astrae4]

Hello, I'm Asmaa from north Gaza.

https://chuffed.org/project/129260-urgent-please-help-asma-and-shahd-to-survive-this-genocide

I come from a lifeless neighborhood with no color other than the color of blood and destruction.

I was born in 1991.

I'm a girl from a family of seven boys and six girls, and I'm the youngest.

My mother and I live in a house left to us by my father. I studied at university and graduated with a degree in basic education.

I worked in a private job.

I received a salary that covered my and my mother's expenses as much as possible.

We were happy until the war came.

The war on Gaza began on October 7, 2023.

Here, hell began for us in Gaza. I lost my job and became unemployed. My mother owns nothing, and I own nothing.

My mother was displaced to the southern Gaza Strip for 15 months. I didn't go with her. It was months of longing for my mother and siblings.

My brothers Mahmoud and Ashraf stayed behind.

We were displaced several times because I live in the Shuja'iyya neighborhood, a border area close to the army.

During the displacement on June 27, 2024, we left the house and raced along the road to escape the shells and planes. Then came the lightning strike. The shock was that death was faster than my brothers could escape...

Here, here, we lost our loved ones. I lost my brothers, the apple of my eye, Mahmoud and Ashraf. Mahmoud left no children. As for Ashraf, he left behind his sons who grieve, and my mother is in pain because they departed to God without a farewell, without a kiss on their foreheads, a farewell kiss. After a while, we returned home. The house had been severely damaged by demolition and stones that had fallen from their places, which used to shelter us and protect us. Now, nothing protects us except some worn-out tarpaulins that do not protect us from the heat of summer or the cold of winter. Our suffering is great, but with your help, we may reach a better and dignified life. I appeal to you to help me support myself, my mother, my loved ones, and my family. What you provide makes a difference in our lives as individuals.

We live in a world that has forgotten the meaning of humanity and giving. May God bless you all.

[astrae4]

Omg I miss u sm!!! I’m so glad you like it hehehe 💗💗 I’ll wait for your message 🫡 (on dc right?)

WAIT FOR MY CALL, OKAY? I’VE GOT SOMETHING TO TELL YOU | Myung Jaehyun

pairings — boynextdoor’s myung jaehyun x reader

genre — romance, friends to lovers

warnings — none!

note — this one was requested by this lovely anon! Had so much fun writing this. Btw ik he went to an all boys school but that canon event is thrown away for this fic. Pretend it didn’t happen.

more works: navigation | bnd!masterlist

THE ODDS OF YOU winning a fancall was already insane. The odds of winning one with your actual longtime school crush who now happened to be an idol?

Unreal.

“Manifestation works,” your best friend declared dramatically, tossing you a banana milk like a reward. “I told you writing his name in your planner every year wasn’t embarrassing. It was a vision board.”

“It was embarrassing,” you muttered, scrolling through the official fancall instructions. “It’s still embarrassing.”

“Yeah, but now you’re living the dream, so. Eat that, middle school.”

The screen was already counting down: 4 minutes until your turn with Jaehyun. And despite rehearsing fake-casual things to say—Wow, you’re doing so well, proud of you! Also, I’ve been in love with you since your braces era?—your mind went blank.

All you could think about was Jaehyun: how he used to doodle aliens in his margins and stick googly eyes on his phone case. How you caught him practicing choreo in the reflection of the hallway windows after class, thinking no one saw. How he once lent you his jacket when you forgot yours during exam week—and you never returned it.

Not because you forgot.

Because it still smelled like his laundry detergent.

Gosh, you’re doomed.

…

When Jaehyun sees the name on the fancall list, he nearly chokes on his water.

“Bro. Jaehyun.” Woonhak nudges him. “What’s with your ears turning pink? She cute or something?”

“It’s her,” Jaehyun mutters. “The girl. From school. The one I—”

“Crushed on for a hundred years and wrote an unreleased ballad about?” Leehan supplies helpfully.

Jaehyun narrows his eyes. “I told you that in confidence.”

“Your folder was labeled ‘DO NOT OPEN: SAD GIRL SONGS.’ What did you expect me to do?”

“Both of you shut up,” Jaehyun hisses, tugging down his hoodie. “She might see this.”

Woonhak beams. “You mean she’ll definitely see this. You better confess. This is fate, dude.”

But Jaehyun’s heart is racing. He hasn’t seen you in years. What if you don’t remember him? What if you do remember, but only as the guy who once tripped over his own backpack and wiped out in front of the lunch table?

He exhales as the screen loads.

Too late to back out now.

“Hi,” you blurt the second he appears onscreen.

He looks… good. Too good. Stupidly good. Fluffy brown hair, that soft smile—and those same kind eyes from school that always made your knees feel like jelly.

And then he speaks, and you die.

“Hi,” Jaehyun says, brightening as he leans toward the camera. “I know you.”

Your brain short-circuits.

He—

He remembers you?

“You do?”

“Of course.” He smiles, the warm kind that makes the room tilt slightly. “You were in Class 2 with me, right? You always beat me in math.”

“I still suck at math,” you says before your brain can filter, “but I do remember you crying over trigonometry.”

Jaehyun lets out an actual, real laugh—the kind that makes his eyes crinkle.

“Guilty.”

It’s an instant connection. They only have 90 seconds, but they talk like it’s 9 minutes. He asks what you’re doing now. You ask about his music. He compliments your hair (!!!), and you stutters out a thank-you, and the staff literally has to count them down:

“Ten seconds left!”

Jaehyun panics.

There’s so much he wants to say, but all he gets out is:

“Wait—can I ask for your number?”

You freezes.

“I mean—” He lowers his voice to a frantic whisper. “I know it’s not allowed, and please don’t tell the company, but I’ve… I’ve wanted to talk to you for a while. I’ll call. Just wait for me, okay?”

The screen cuts out before you can respond.

You don’t sleep that night.

You screams into your pillow. Spins in circles. Stares at the ceiling. Check your phone 48 times even though it’s only been 20 minutes. Your friend nearly throws her phone into a bowl of rice to stop the madness.

And then it happens.

A call. A number you don’t recognize.

You pick up, breathless.

“Hello?”

“…It’s me.”

“Jaehyun?”

Silence, then a sheepish laugh. “Yeah. It’s weird hearing that from you. You said it just like back in school.”

“Back in school I was mostly yelling your name in the hallway because you were late for group projects.”

Jaehyun groans. “Don’t remind me.”

There’s a beat. Then he says:

“Can I… take you out sometime? On a date?”

You almost drop the phone. “Wait. Like. A real one?”

“Well, I mean,” he laughs nervously, “unless you prefer fake ones—”

“No! I mean yes. Yes, a real one sounds nice.”

In the background, you hear muffled whooping. Probably Woonhak again. Someone yells “SHE SAID YES!” before the call abruptly cuts.

Both of you text the details. A coffee shop date. Quiet, casual. Easy.

Except neither of you feel remotely calm.

The coffee shop smells like cinnamon and something warm and baked. You spot Jaehyun by the window—hat low, hoodie up—but he stands when he sees you. He looks nervous, fiddling with his sleeve.

“Hi,” he says. Again.

“Hi,” you smile. “Twice in one week. Must be my lucky era.”

They talk about everything and nothing. He tells you about trainee life. You tell him about trying to cook rice without burning it. He nearly snorts out his latte.

At one point, he says:

“I never thought I’d actually get to say this.”

She glances up. “Say what?”

He swallows.

“That I liked you. Back then.”

Your heart stumbles.

“Oh.”

Jaehyun’s gaze drops to his cup. “I was gonna tell you, but then debut stuff happened, and I thought maybe it’d just… pass. But it didn’t.”

Your voice comes out softer than expected. “It didn’t for me either.”

That gets his attention. He looks up, wide-eyed.

“You liked me?”

“I used to borrow your jacket and pretend it was an accident,” you admit, cheeks flaming. “I think I still have it.”

Jaehyun blinks. “I was looking for that jacket.”

You both laugh. It dissolves the tension.

And then Jaehyun leans in—just enough for his shoulder to brush hers. His hand, tentative, rests on the table near hers.

“I can kiss you, right?” he asks quietly. “It’s allowed now. The dating ban ended yesterday.”

Your breath catches.

“You timed this?”

Jaehyun smiles. “Maybe.”

You lean in. So does he.

The kiss is warm, tentative. Like a memory you both have been waiting to relive. His hand brushes your cheek as they part, and you’re both smiling so hard it hurts.

“So,” he says, voice low, “will you be my girlfriend?”

And because you’re a demon in disguise, you pretend to think.

“Well, I did beat you in math. Might as well keep winning.”

He laughs—full, bright, loud enough to make the barista look over.

Jaehyun’s hand finds yours under the table, fingers lacing naturally.

And just like that, the girl from school becomes his favorite love story.

TAGLIST: @ja4hyvn @flwoie @sulkygyu @xiaoderrrr @ineedaherosavemeenow @teddywonss @taerae-verse @bbangbies @uncasings

NETWORKS: @onedoornet @k-films @k-labels

© astrae4 2025 — please don't copy, translate, or plagiarize my works on all platforms!