crispy-chan

[crispy-chan]

I haven’t read any fics in ages but I just stumbled upon this on my dashboard. And oh my god it was so cute 🥺🥺🥺 I mean your writing style is absolutely superb (I have known that for years atp) but the was you manage to create this cozy, magical-realism esque world every single time is really impressive. I’ve been getting more and more into p1h in the past months but I can honestly only recognize keeho and soul (I think) yet despite the fact that I don’t really know much about them, you managed to create these fleshed out and multidimensional characters ❤️🥺

ALIEN OUTREACH PROGRAM | KIM JONGSEOB. HAKU SHOTA.

genre | fluff / found family au, slice of life au 

synopsis | when a planet exploded, the government sent two of its surviving residents to live with you .  

word count | 11.5k+

warning | mention of violence / unwanted sexual advances (brief; side character)

note | wrote most of this early 2024 and stopped. decided to rush finish it.

The government sent you two aliens from the alien outreach program you were referred to join by a close friend. 

The program was recently created when a nameless planet that was initially suspected to be on its way to collide with the Earth ended up exploding instead. The news of the explosion was broadcast worldwide, but the fact that the surviving residents of the planet landed on Earth as a result of the explosion was kept secret to avoid social panic, hence why the outreach program operated on a 'referral only’ basis. 

Each applicant underwent a relatively easy screening process and three rounds of interviews before they were notified through an encrypted text message that they’d been cleared to foster.

You underwent the same process, and in retrospect, you figured the interviews were held for the faculty to access all aspects of your life, beginning from your social circle to the depths of your mental state.

At the end of your onboarding process, you were told that you would be fostering a pair of aliens—a pair of brothers, they suspected. Either way, you were told they were bonded. 

You hadn’t minded the responsibility. If anything, you figured the monthly financial compensation could significantly help your appalling rent situation. The cog in the wheel was that they were initially tested to be high-risk-level aliens.

The only reason you could think was behind that outrageous decision was not their trust in your ability to monitor them but rather their disinterest in your livelihood as a struggling new graduate.

You could always leave it to the government to treat poor people like guinea pigs. But, the more you looked at it, Soul and Jongseob didn't seem as dangerous as their profiles stated. 

Soul and Jongseob—they didn't come with those names, which hadn’t been a problem during the first few weeks of their stay when the three of you spent most of your time getting acquainted with each other. 

You weren’t sure how shaken up they were about their home being destroyed, so besides being cautious of their undisclosed alien abilities, you walked on eggshells around them in consideration for their emotional state. 

The two were docile, for the most part, and quiet. When they weren’t whispering among themselves, they were communicating telepathically. Figuratively or literally, you were uncertain. You only knew they were difficult to read without human features. You never knew what they wanted or how they felt about anything outside of observable behaviors, such as their obsession with the television, their likeness for sweets, and their unwillingness to shower. 

The program coordinator hasn't given them the green light to go out and explore Earth on their own yet, so before you could figure out how to ideally talk them up in the mandatory monthly progress reports, they've got no choice but to stay home and discover entertainment through unconventional means. 

It was the furniture at first. Charred spots on the couch left behind by the apartment’s last tenant, the hinges of the balcony curtain rod torn off, and the worst of it all: shattered pieces of a set of utensils that your deceased mom gave you as a congratulatory gift for moving out, thus taking a big step into adulthood.

That was the first time they’d seen you sob, your body curled up on the floor and your palm stained with blood slit out by the broken glass. They had been unfamiliar with human emotions at that point in their stay. Still, taking a frame out of television shows, they could understand, at the very least, that what you showed was sorrow and heartbreak.

They didn't understand the concept of a mother. After all, they were born through natural phenomena, such as the trickling of water or the imploding of ancient rocks. Your response to their playful mistake was illogical. However, still, it made them fidget and waver wildly to watch tears roll callously into your mouth.

People call it empathy, they thought. Empathy, or love—the inability to see another in pain, the desire to never hurt another. Most humans have it for everyone, but more strongly for those they prioritize. 

A few days later, a plate clumsily glued together by gray-colored blobs that looked suspiciously like alien skin greeted you on your nightstand. You never said anything about it, but you put it in your mother’s shrine in the apartment.

Little did you know that sometimes, in an attempt to model your actions, Jongseob and Soul would put pieces of candy next to the plate for her.

After the furniture, they tuned down their drive for curiosity. They played with less significant things, such as your freshly cleaned laundry.

At last, it came down to electronics—the television, the radio, and sometimes your laptop and gaming console. Jongseob geared more toward the console and television, and Soul liked anything that made funny noises. 

As they got comfortable around the apartment and started clashing with your lifestyle, it gradually became more annoying to address them with words like 'hey!' and ‘you!' when you needed to scold them about something they've done, so you decided individual names were necessary. 

Mercifully abandoning a random name generator online, you told the two aliens to choose how they wanted to be addressed. 

Soul had been very excited about picking a name for himself. His outrageous choices reflected his enthusiasm, ranging from food ingredients to fictional character names to literal home appliances.

You've had to—patiently and gently—explain to him for a month the reason why you wouldn't call him Megamind or the literal stove was because they weren't real names (and you didn't want to). 

Eventually, you two made a compromise. The initial choice was to have everyone call him by the famous RPG he never played—Dark Souls. He settled on being called Soul.

Jongseob was more direct but still indecisive. He mixed a few celebrity names he heard on TV into different pairs. He handed you a written list—surprisingly!—of names for you to choose.

You didn’t want the responsibility of selecting something as important as a name, so you told him you could put out a pointer finger, and whichever name you ended up pointing at after he moved the paper around would be his name. 

After hearing how mundane Jongseob's name sounded, Soul came to you one night and asked that you help him think of a name of a similar caliber. He had requested that you keep this between you both, as he didn't go to Jongseob about it out of embarrassment that his other half would accuse him of being a copycat. 

You attempted to deter Soul from such outrageous thoughts. Jongseob was the last person to make unnecessary accusations, after all. But Soul was determined to keep this a secret between you two, so you agreed.

It was proven difficult for him to make up something normal, as he tossed and turned for several nights only to end up knocking on your bedroom door, asking for a second opinion.

You had stayed up with him for a few nights, often laying half-asleep on the couch while he remained silent on the opposite end with pursed lips and intense eyes.

One particular night, though, you decided to turn on the television to keep yourself awake, and the channel was airing a rerun of an old, beloved cartoon.

“Oh gosh, I haven’t watched this in so long,” you exclaimed under your breath as you leaned back, the controller rolling off your thigh. “This was my childhood afterschool show.”

“Woah,” he scooted closer to you, “that’s cool.”

"It is," you muttered, wholly focused on the screen. When a particular ice-powered character appeared, you let out a soft swoon. "Ah, look at him! He's still as cool as ever."

“Who's that?” he whispered. 

“His name is Shota. He was my favorite character in the show,” you said, heaving a sigh as rather embarrassing memories flooded before your eyes. “I loved him so much.”

Soul turned to you. The lights flickered in your eyes, not telling him much of what was happening in the episode but enough to let him know that you were paying a lot of attention whenever the character was present.

He noticed now that you've leaned your head on his shoulder, and your eyelids were lowering by the second. The previous attention you spent on the TV screen was replaced quickly by sleepiness under the comfort of Soul's presence. 

“You did?”

"Yeah?" you hummed, his sudden question confusing your own emotions for a second. "I mean, yeah. He is really cool and–okay, technically, everyone in animation is good-looking, but he was my type."

"Oh." His voice trailed off into deep thought, but it didn't take him too long to perk up again and say, "I want to be called Shota."

You raised your brows and sat up, leaning back to watch him with amusement. “You like the name, huh?”

“No.” He shook his head. “You like Shota.”

There it was, then. Soul gained a new name that night—Shota. 

Being able to call them by name gave them a sense of identity, and you had a drastic development in your connection with them. You thought you’d always received them without judgment, and you did.

Still, once it registered in your normalcy that they’ve got a name, it was as if their existence became more tangible. However, as important as that, the first milestone of your relationship was when they finally took a human form.

Before realizing they could shapeshift, they’ve been stuck in their alien form, which you thought was similar to how movies and video games have always portrayed outer-space species.

You wouldn’t have minded if they stayed in that form until it was time for them to be recalled to the facility they came from, but it seemed they were the ones who got curious about the human body.

You’ve noticed for a while how they would shift parts of their figure according to what they see, sometimes after people on the TV and other times after you.

What you thought would be a slow process turned out to be done and over between you leaving the apartment in the early morning and returning from work in the late afternoon.

Surprisingly, seeing two poorly shaped human boys loitering around in your apartment instead of the usual irregularly shaped creatures was less bewildering than seeing your old sketchbooks scattered everywhere on the floor.

Those were your fallen dreams, a career not pursued in exchange for securing a stable future, which wasn’t all that stable now that you're going through it. 

You knew they were bored at home. Still, it was a surprise to see that they'd found the boxes of old things dusted away at the back of your closet—what were they doing rummaging through your clothes, anyway? You’ve got to have a strict talk about boundaries after this.

At least their attention was away from the fabrics in your closet as they pulled out your sketchbooks and decided to change themselves according to the most appealing visual. However, since your old character sketches were amateur and poorly drawn, their shifted bodies looked sloppy and humorously eerie. 

Soul wasn't entirely sure what was wrong about it, especially since you couldn’t stop laughing when you saw them, and Jongseob taught him that laughing meant joy.

When you picked up one of the books to flip through them, your smile dimmed, and your eyes focused in a way he had never seen before. Jongseob later told him it may be bitterness, but not the angered kind because your eyes were soft. 

Soul didn’t quite understand the distinction; your eyes were almost always soft.

That night was the first time in a long time you picked up a pen and drew something again so you could help them polish their appearances. Through that experience, you learned two things: your drawing skills have massively deteriorated, and aliens were indistinguishable from humans once they took a hyperspecific form, to a point where they bleed the same color. 

Both settled on having blond hair, one frizzier than the other. Looking from far away would force you to mistake them as twins, but this was leagues better than communicating with two gooey creatures without solid features or forms.

You stared at the pencil sketches on the pages and back up at them, finding it uncanny how accurate their shapeshifting abilities were. Then you turned to them with furrowed brows.

“Both your hair is a little long,” you muttered.

Tapping the pencil at your chin, you thought about making modifications to what you’ve drawn for them, but when you told yourself to flip the pencil around for the eraser, your hand was unwilling to move.

You have sat on the floor for hours, drawing and erasing, making changes and corrections that suit their liking and help them look natural. You weren’t sure if they got tired from using their powers, but you certainly became exhausted from gripping a pen for so long. You’ve been too used to typing on a keyboard.

“Wait here,” you said, putting the papers and pen on the side.

You returned with a few trinkets in your hand, which you dropped on the floor after you knelt down across from them. 

Scooting in front of Jongseob first, you hummed with disregard to his skeptical gaze as you played with the hair clips in your hand by smushing them together. 

When you reached a hand out to push his bangs back, he caught a glimpse of the darkened slit still healing on your palm. He ignored it. You pushed at the tips of his locks ghostly with your nails before pressing a palm to his forehead and swiping his bangs up, exposing his forehead.

The boy closed his eyes at the sudden impact, and when the chilly afternoon air hit his skin, he widened his eyes and pursed his lips into a grimace. 

Before they took a solid shape, your touch would go through their gooey form and feel indistinguishable from any objects that would poke through them.

This was the first time he’d felt the touch of your hand, and he thought it was as gentle as Soul must have thought your eyes were. Unlike Soul, though, he would never admit that he inwardly shivered in contentment when your palm subconsciously dragged over his head into a stroke. 

“This should keep the hair out of your eyes,” you said after clipping his bangs to each side of his face. You leaned back to take a better look at him and nodded in approval despite him looking as if he just snapped out of a trance. “You look great.”

“You drew me well,” he said. “Thank you.”

"You're so formal, Jongseob," you mused, placing your hand against his cheek before pinching it playfully. "But being polite is good. You are most welcome."

Your injured palm touched his skin, the calloused surface dragging a regrettable line over his conscience. He hoped it would heal faster; it was a marker of his mistake, a symbol of your pain.

But, still, you used the same hand to tread over him with kind steps, so most importantly, it was all a sign of your forgiveness. He turned his head away from your pinch, but he didn't let himself swat you away for embarrassing him.

You laughed at his reaction. The sound took root inside him and made a permanent space. 

“Now, Soul!” you exclaimed once you pulled away.

The boy remained still when you stood up and got behind him. After bouncing the hair tie against your wrist, you sat on the couch, and then you laid your hands over his head and carefully brushed his hair with your fingers.

You gathered just enough to fill your curled fist, your nails gingerly dragged over the side of his head to separate parts of his bangs, and then you tied it into a short ponytail. 

Once you were done, you attempted to stand up to move across him for a review of your handiwork, but Soul suddenly leaned back against your legs, the back of his head hitting your knees when he faced up to look at you.

His hair brushed against your skin like a choppy broom, and then you forgot about the sensation as you met his eyes with a raised brow. 

The corner of his lips quivered, and his eyes were round and wide with expectancy. When he realized you let him lay on your knees, his lips pursed into a grin, his knees pulling themselves closer to his chest as his shoulders shrunk with a barely audible laugh.

“What did you do to my hair?” he asked curiously. 

“I tied it into a ponytail,” you replied as you angled your torso to look at his face straight, “so they’re not in your face all the time.” 

He closed his eyes when you fixed his bangs with your fingertips. Once they were perfectly angled to each side of his temple, you ran your palm flatly down the side of his face, soothing his new hairstyle with a taste of approval.

Soul pressed his lips into a grin; his eyes opened but were barely visible, hidden behind crescent shapes. You bit back a smile; you just now noticed how his features turned out so dainty like a flower learning how to bloom in Spring. 

"Hey, look at you," you said in an airy whisper. "How pretty you are.”

He laughed, his voice a weirdly pitched wave released into the air, almost like he was yodeling. Jongseob huffed in disbelief at the unexpected sound; questions, and brotherly mockery trailing out of his mouth, one worse than the last. You turned to bicker with him about saying nicer things, and Soul couldn't sense anything other than your warm hands left sitting by his jaw. 

He watched you from your knees. Your chin moved with every word you said, your nails gently scratched his skin between sentences, your legs frozen on the spot to avoid discomforting him.

It was human nature. Everything.

The way your skin flopped, the way you subconsciously reached to touch, the way you put him first. Those traits were possessed by most human beings, but Soul reckoned he admired them more when they were yours. 

What was that called? Jongseob taught him so many things; he was always smarter. But Soul couldn't properly receive too much information at once, not at the pace Jongseob could retain them. Was this joy? No. His fingers were itching for you, which was not a criterion for joy. 

You looked down at him when you felt his hands grab your shoulders. "What's up, Soul?" 

He made unclear noises as he flipped his body over, his chest pressing against your knees. He got on his feet into a crouch and leaned up, his arms circling around your neck into a hug.

You fell back against the couch and froze to register what he did. Before you could figure out he tackled you in a hug, your arms had already gone around his shoulders to press him against you. 

“Hey,” you whispered. “What’s going on?”

Soul bit the inside of his cheek when he realized you allowed it. He could feel you so much more properly now, and he responded to the revelation by holding you tighter and burying his chin in his overlapped forearms.

His eyes squeezed to relish in—what was this feeling, again? Joy? He wasn't exactly smiling, though. The way his brows were pulled into a swirly furrow, and his lips were downturned would show that he was sad. But he wasn't. He was happy and tackled you because he wanted to hug you. 

"I really like you."

You blinked, your lips gradually pulling into a downward smile. "Where did you learn that from?"

"Hmm." His voice was muffled. He didn't want you to know he learned it from you. 

The two got the authorization to leave the apartment after you wrote in the monthly report that they've changed shapes and, more frequently than before, began to express their feelings.

However, they rarely took advantage of the newfound freedom, and you understood why. 

They have yet to learn how to get around the area using public transportation. If the metro lines were less complicated than what was currently set in place, they may have an easier time navigating it.

Alas, the metro system remained both a local and a tourist's nightmare. However, even if they knew how to take the bus or the train, they've yet to learn where to go because they've never been outside. 

And, last but not least, they didn't have the money to make going out enjoyable.

You have taken them out to different places after determining all the necessary expenses, such as the increased bills and grocery items. You would use whatever was left over from the program funds to take them to weekend hangouts. 

There was the outlet where you bought them new clothes and their designated utensil set because they apparently needed their own.

There was the arcade, where you had sworn they used alien means to get all the prizes they did, but you also wouldn't put it past Jongseob to be weirdly good at gauging the space of a claw machine.

Oh, and a science museum, which you didn't think Jongseob was too interested in, but he hadn't complained because Soul was having the time of his life at the exhibitions. 

You let them try alcohol by the river at night once. Turned out their bodies automatically eliminated all the intoxicating substances, so they were only tasting the bitterness without getting drunk.

That could be a blessing or a curse; without intoxication, you weren't sure what alcohol is good for.

You ended up dousing yourself with all leftover bottles of beer and entirely blanked out that night. You couldn't remember what happened, so the two made sure they told you the following day about how you were sobbing and throwing up. You cried for your mother, and you told them they were the closest people you've got. 

You had woken up with the two on your bed. Jongseob slept with a box of tissue near his hand, always prepared to jolt awake to catch your puke and wipe your mouth of snot. Soul was curled up next to you with puffy and swollen eyes.

Apparently, he wept alongside you because he thought you were in too much pain to even move from the floor, and he didn't know how to help. He had cried so much that he tired himself to sleep, but he kept close to you to make sure your heart was constantly beating.

You haven't drunk much since, knowing how much they hated your drunken state. If you were getting drunk, it was out of obligation, like when you were invited to a business meeting.

You remembered that night well. It was the night you discovered why Jongseob and Soul were considered high-risk. 

It wasn't uncommon for interns or someone of a lower rank in the company to be taken advantage of during business meetings.

When a topic could be adequately discussed and solved by presenting a supervisor with ample knowledge, yet the department chose to bring an extra, much younger employer as a companion, it was almost always a perverted decision.

You were no stranger to the problem. You have seen your colleagues be invited to join business meetings like those before, but this was the first time you were called to be in one. 

The social hierarchy and the risk of unemployment made it impossible for you to turn down shots pushed your way by the department head from the negotiating company, who your supervisor was trying to rope into a grand business deal.

After a few drinks, you have entirely given up on expecting decency from anyone at the table. At least your supervisor was having a great time. Your words slurring through your unstable body jolts made the negotiation easier, and you unknowingly helped your company seal a deal when you clumsily agreed to have the department head drive you home. 

He remarked about your tense knuckles on the drive home, acknowledging your skepticism but not challenging it. You watched the road like a hawk, or as much as you could, with your vision slightly blurred anyway because you wanted to ensure he wouldn't drive you elsewhere. He didn't.

After what felt like years, you arrived at the apartment building and inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. 

"Thank you for driving me home," you said with a curt bow after you gathered your things from the floor. 

"You're welcome," he mused, watching you clumsily loop your forearm over the straps of your bag. He leaned over the passenger seat then, whiffs of alcohol unmistakable in the air. "Hey, I should walk you upstairs. I wanna make sure you get back safely."

"That's not necessary," you said after a low, thoughtful hum. You didn't look at him when you spoke, partly because you were having difficulty focusing on anything other than the acidic taste at the back of your mouth.

"I… I have someone at home. He's going to–um… he's going meet me by the elevator. He'll walk me up."

"Oh? I didn't know you had a boyfriend."

"I don't–" you squeezed your eyes tightly and shook yourself awake–"I mean, yes. I do have a boyfriend. He's coming down to get me.”

The man stared at you silently for an uncomfortable, calculative second. Your head was heavy from his stare, mixed in with the alcohol trying to take over.

You unconsciously licked the corner of your lips when you tried to find something to fill the unease, only to realize that the only way to feel better was to leave his car. You reached for the door handle behind you blindly. Unfortunately, the search for it has given him the time to press the master lock button on his side of the door. 

“I should get going," you said after heaving a defeated sigh.

"You don't actually have a boyfriend, do you?" he muttered.

You didn't know how to answer. You didn't, but it was true that there were people at home waiting for your return, both harboring the potential to be mistaken as your boyfriend if seen by an unassuming person.

You were forbidden from coming clean about Soul and Jongseob's identity, but what other reason could there be for you to have two boys sitting in your apartment? You three were orphans, and they're your brothers! Or were you just letting two friends crash at yours? You weren't thinking fast enough to pull a story out of thin air.

"Look, I don't know what made you so scared. I'm not going to ask to go inside your apartment. Trust me. I'm just going to walk you upstairs and make sure you get inside."

"No." You shook your head. Even in mild drunkenness, you could sense that the man had no good intentions. "I can do that myself. Thank you."

You pressed the lock button and pulled the door handle. You hastily flung the car door open, finding it difficult to push it all the way.

Turning around, fully prepared to dash out the second your feet touched the floor, an impending doom dropped on your head when you heard a haphazard opening of a car door behind you.

You clutched your bag to your chest and slid off the passenger seat, borderline hopping out of the car. Your ankle bent, but you recovered reasonably quickly. The next step in your emergency plan was to run for it; you've got your keycard attached to your worker's badge. All you needed to do was open the door and slam it shut behind you. 

Spinning away from the car door blocking your path, as you hastily pushed it all the way open, you were immediately met with a playful scream and a pair of hands gripping your shoulders. You inhaled sharply and accidentally swallowed the knot of air. 

"You didn't have to make things so difficult,” he said as he shoved you back onto the passenger seat. "Why did you have to go and force me to act so violently? All you had to do was let me walk you home.” 

Gurgle of saliva rushed up your throat to drown out your cries for help. The back of your mouth soured with an acidic taste that smelt of the beer you were forced to drink; if only they could burn human skin, you would have spat them out.

The knot of air you just swallowed squeezed through your chest with difficulty, almost as if it wanted to make a home for itself in the middle of your body. It made you choked up. Breathing with your chest became a stagnant process. 

There was no security at your building, and you figured the other residents would ignore any noise, given this was no high-class estate and the walls were thin.

Screaming would only make the man angrier and possibly more excited. Instead of your voice, you should use your legs instead. There may not be any final blows, but at least there's a chance to delay what felt like the inevitable. 

You kicked your feet blindly, feeling them land on solid ground several times, but not enough to release yourself from his grasp. Eventually, he groaned out loud and dug his nails into your arm, bringing your torso up quickly just to slam you down.

Your back hit the center console, the bottom of your neck scratched past the gear stick, and your head hit a solid surface.

Zaps of painful numbness ran through your body; a consistent ringing traveled to your ears, but you couldn't express it. Tears dripped from your eyes when you started to desperately claw at the hand undoing your belt, but you still couldn't say anything.

You only stared at the lights above you. They were blinding, like the eyes of a God. He was observing your struggle to be free of being violated. 

The sound of a zipper reverberated in your head. You've never noticed how loud they were and wondered if you would always hear it after tonight.

Fingers hooked themselves at the waist of your pants, and the next second they were gone. A pained groan traveled through the air with a gentle swoosh of wind. You needed to find out which one came first.

Jongseob hasn't used his powers for a while and has been diligent about controlling them in emergencies where they were prone to slip through his grasp. It had been challenging to learn to live in a world where his powers were destructive only because of how delicate everything else was, but he have managed well so far.

Still, his body was not used to its sudden usage, evidently shown in the way his fingers twitched uncontrollably after he pulled the man off you. A sneer found its way to his lips; how sickening to think that his undoing could be at the hands of a predator.

Rushing over to the car door, he leaned over your body to carefully pull you up. You instinctively flinched at his touch and then calmed down the next second when you realized he was not aggressive.

He reached a hand behind your head, fingers moving about to look for any apparent injuries. When he concluded that there was none, he turned his attention to you. 

“Hey,” he said. “It’s me. Jongseob."

You forced your stomach to stop shivering in more oxygen and turned your eyes to stare at his familiar face. Jongseob, with his blond hair curly as ever, stared back at you with soft concern.

You calmed down; it was an instinct learned from caring for them (or your apartment) when they first arrived to live with you. 

Reaching up to grasp his wrist, you stopped his hand and hoarsely asked, "Why are you down here?"

"I heard your tears fall," he said, his fingers leaning out to wipe the tears from your cheek despite your soft protest. 

"From all the way up?" 

"The air shifts when that happens. I'm sensitive to you–" he looked away sheepishly and quickly shrugged–"these things. I'm sensitive to these things in general."

Jongseob was vigilant. His home planet blew up, and he has a brother much clumsier than himself. His vigilance and maturity were set in place for both of them, especially as they were thrown into an unfamiliar place.

You understood. You’ve never spoken about it in great detail, only ever making small spaces to praise him for his emotional intelligence. 

There had been an irk in his intuition before he rushed downstairs. The television sounded of static, the uncomfortable stick of your couch, his inability to progress in the game he was playing—everything gradually added to the unknown irritation he felt beneath his skin until, finally, a shatter of glass.

It was a hallucination, but when he turned toward the kitchen, he realized the air was painted the same color as the first time you broke down in front of him. 

Something was wrong. He knew he would figure it out because he was sensitive to you. The sound of your emotions has long taken root and bloomed in Jongseob's consciousness, a garden of his own making, and now he could pinpoint you from a mere drop in the air.

You couldn't find flaws in his response. There never was any; the caliber of aliens remained unknown to you the past months. But he's here, and you felt safer than ever, so you let your guard down and breathed out a whimper when speaking his name.

It rolled off your tongue like a snowboarder outrunning an avalanche—suffocating, afraid, and desperate. Incoherent explanations followed after, an attempt to clear your name, to prove to someone that you didn’t cause this.

Jongseob's heart squirmed in discomfort at the sight.

He looked at his hand, fingers that learned dexterity, connected to his hands and arms that could do many things. He could press buttons on a gaming console, use chopsticks for food, and hold multiple recycle bags for groceries.

He remembered the day they changed into human beings, how the first thing Soul did after growing himself a pair of arms and a body that could feel was to hug you both.

You offered to hug him that night after Soul pulled away. He had refused it, and you joked about how he was too cool for a little hug. Perhaps he thought so subconsciously, but he always knew he wasn't big on physical affection. Its notion gave him goosebumps. The unapologetic, unconcealed display of affection freaked him out. 

He liked to be subtle and unnoticed, like tending to the garden in his mind where the most delicate and beautiful things bloomed in your stead, like keeping you constant in his mind, like remembering that there's love there. 

"Come here," he whispered, extending his arms to your back and bringing you to him. "It's okay. I believe you.”

You thought he smelled like jasmine or whatever petal scent there was. Jongseob shivered ticklishly when you buried your nose in his shoulder to sniff it. He didn't put together that no matter how much he hid it, the garden seeps out because the truth cannot be concealed nor omitted.

He wished he could hug you for the first time under better circumstances, but you and he knew he wouldn't have agreed to it if it wasn't an emergency. It was brief but much needed.

When you voluntarily removed yourself, he glanced down at your pants to find that your belt was undone, your button was gone from its spot, and your underwear peeked from the zipper forced open. His jaw locked, and his eyes hallowed out.

It checked out with your rambles. Everything you said makes sense. 

A sudden feeling penetrated his insides after the conclusion was made. He found it hard to breathe at the terrifying presence of a particular, bloodthirsty desperation. He suppressed an exhausted exhale and ignored the thirst for harm. 

“Let’s go home,” he muttered as he slowly helped you to your feet. “Let’s get cleaned up.”

You listened to him, pushing yourself off the passenger's seat while he reached to the floor for your thrown bag. He wore it on one shoulder, fixing the strap before reaching for your hand.

After slamming the car door shut, he brought you with him over the front of the car. His footsteps were quiet, borderline silent, leaving only your shoes' clumsy scratches on the floor. You only felt faint traces of heat from the car's headlights as he covered most of it by standing on your side. 

You arched your neck up to look at his downturned lips, his hair covering his eyes even though you've repeatedly told him to keep them out. You would scold him again when you had time, knowing he'd wear the same indifference on his face.

It felt like nagging a child sometimes; you've heard adult men generally tend to behave the same way. 

“I was using the hair clips you got me. I took them off to come down here,” Jongseob said, not sparing you a glance. “You could have gotten me normal ones.” 

“The Powerpuff Girls are cute,” you said. “You’re exactly like Blossom.”

“Please don’t speak nonsense.” 

He squeezed your hand, making you chuckle. When you bumped your head to your side, you hit his shoulder. He didn't used to be so tall, and he didn't used to be so big. You suddenly felt small beside him, in a way that rained disaster, in an unexpectedly romantic way, and you were thinking about him as if he were human again.

"Shit, no way. You do have a boyfriend, then?”

Jongseob turned around, stepping forward to keep you behind him on the way. You peeked over his arm, a distasteful sneer twitching on your face.

You both faced the man just now getting on his feet. Jongseob inwardly hummed, acknowledging that his throw had likely done a number on the man's body. He hadn't meant to react so harshly, but he also didn't care that it ended up hurting someone a great deal.

“He looks a bit young, intern.” 

“I’m twenty.”

"Good grief, he can't even drink yet!" The man laughed like he was choking on the air. "Does he know what he's doing?"

Jongseob rolled his eyes.

He knew this type of person: the kind who’s all bark and no bite. At least in front of nonchalance, they have no bite in them. Their only perk was that they knew how to pick their battles.

The man clearly noticed early on that he was not superior in physical strength. Therefore, choosing a fistfight would be a solution out of his league. That left him with one thing: trash talk. A lot of it, from your taste in men to his made-up flaws. 

It was fine, though. Jongseob was a sensible person, and violence is never sensible. 

"Hey, you could have tried me out if he hadn't come here. I would have changed your stubborn mind."

Violence is almost never sensible. 

“Wait here," he muttered monotonously as he turned to you. He brought your hands up to your cheek and pressed his palm over them so you looked at him. “It'll look scary, but I promise nothing will happen to you."

“What?” you breathed out, your eyes trailing after his back. “Jongseob?”

It took a moment, but it was all you could see once you noticed it.

The green from the leaves, the brown from the tree trunks, the orange and white of apartment and street lights, the silver of the man’s car, the gray of concrete walls, the burgundy of the brick floor, the pink and yellow of flowers, the black of tires, the blue of the sky, the light of the stars and moon, the white of the man’s shirt, the milk of his skin—the colors were being drained from everything, making it look like a frame out of a film noir.

Your hands trembled as your eyes pinned themselves at the approaching sky. It couldn’t be the alcohol forcing an illusion before your eyes as you felt yourself remarkably awake and clear-minded from the adrenaline. The sky was approaching! It felt closer. You couldn’t be mistaken. After all, it wasn’t everything you got to see a colorless world, and you’ve barely recovered from panic. 

Lowering your head, you turned to the trees surrounding the apartment buildings and furrowed your brows. The leaves were falling one by one gradually, and scrapes of tree trunks were being peeled off its body. The tires of cars were deflating, the flowers were lowering, and the sound of once-stable structures cracking became more audible. Everything was falling apart; everything was dying. 

Everything but you, your bag, and your clothes. Nothing happened to you, just as Jongseob promised you. 

“Jongseob–“ 

You were abruptly cut off by the sound of a horrible coughing fit that bordered on a choke. Eyes widened, and your feet quickly brought you to stand behind the alien. He stared silently at the man who left nail marks on your shoulders, who was currently doubled over on the floor, heaving for oxygen.

The colors were drained from him entirely, and his skin began to melt from his head. Clumps and clumps of fat liquid dripped down his eyes in a honey-like texture and then down his mouth, filling it up to stop him from gasping for air.

A buzzing noise sounded from his completely enclosed body, like a train screeching to an emergency stop. No air went in or left his body. He was a box sealed shut and thrown in fire to be melted into its original form—a clump of cells. He was going to die.

Jongseob was going to kill him. As much as you felt the action was justified, a bigger picture was already painted that you must carefully analyze before prioritizing your vengeance. 

It would be easier to explain the death of one man rather than the death of a plot of land. The desiccating of your surroundings cannot be explained by anything other than the doing of a supernatural. In this case, it would be Jongseob, and the program coordinator would jump through no hurdles to figure that out. 

Suppose it got out that he killed someone. In that case, separation becomes inevitable, and you’ve gotten so used to having those two around that you couldn’t fathom living in a soundless apartment ever again.

The consequences of killing the man outweigh the disappointment of not. 

“Hey–no. Jongseob, no. Stop it. Stop it now,” you demanded as you rushed to stand before you. You grabbed his hand and pushed it down, squeezing it with all the strength you could muster. “You will not kill anyone tonight.” 

He peered down at you, no light flooding his eyes despite recognizing your face. “He was disrespectful to you.”

“He was, and that’s terrible,” you admitted. “But there are other ways to handle this. If everyone killed each other for being horrible, we’d not have the world we do today.”

He blinked, seemingly thinking through the points you presented. But then he shrugged. “I’m not everyone, am I?” 

“You–“ 

You poked your tongue to the inside of your cheek, not surprised by his defiance but very much annoyed. Between him and Soul, he was always the one who talked back more.

For a time, you chalked it up to him being innocently curious about the human world, but after a while, you realized he was just bratty. If you kept that personality trait in every monthly report, you were sure he would have been called back for a mental evaluation or something along those lines.

But being a tattle-tale was not necessary. You knew how to snap him out of it.

“I said–“ your words flew through gritted teeth, and you shot a hand up to pinch his ear so you could pull him to your face level–“we are not killing anyone tonight!”

He stumbled at the harsh yank, redness flaring up at the spot you were squeezing. His hand let go of the tension building up through using his power, immediately returning the colors back to their original place.

Helpless whines sounded from his mouth as he bent his waist to accommodate your halfhearted corporal punishment. Still, he did not attempt to push you away.

“Okay! Okay! Calm down!” he yelled.

“Calm down?”

“No–I mean, yes! Yes, calm down, but not like that!” he exclaimed. “Stop pulling my ear!” 

You squeezed your eyes in contemplation before letting go. Your short bicker gave the release of Jongseob’s power enough time to gather itself on the fallen man’s face and patch him together. He stood up and tripped on air but caught himself before his face could kiss the ground and bolted for his car.

Jongseob reflectively grabbed your arm and stepped closer to you, staring as the car engine started and the man drove away without another word.

His chest heaved up through a large inhale. He noticed the way his arm had been trembling since you forced him to stop using his power. He wasn’t afraid, only unfamiliar with something he used to hold so dear to himself.

His power has always been offensive, but not to the degree it showed on Earth. It wasn’t used to kill his peers, and it definitely was not used to pull the cosmos to him.  

That discrepancy shook him as much as when he thoughtlessly maxed out his strength after not using it for so long. The muscle strain reminded him of how careless he was and caught him off guard.

He didn't like it. He was supposed to be good at controlling his given ability. He was supposed to be good at controlling his actions. He was supposed to be sensible.

“Are you okay?

He slowly turned to you. Your face came into view under the flicking street light like the moon inched closer to Earth when he pulled it down to protect you. He couldn't tell if his eyes or heart saw you more because they both jolted in your presence.

Curling his fingers around the strap of your bag, he stepped forward to close the unnecessary gap between you both. He tried to peek over his frizzy bangs to no avail, so he ducked and lightly swayed his head to move them out of the way. He tilted his head lower to your level and looked through his lashes, his brows raised.

“Are you?” he asked.

You closed your parted lips and averted your eyes. The invisible outline of the man’s car remained vivid when you glanced at the empty spot. Once you turned back to Jongseob, knowing what he could do to people and how willing he was to do it, the illusion released its tight grasp on you.

You didn’t forget—you couldn’t forget, that even in such an ordinary world, even if all you’d ever do in life was work and play, even when it came to the least threatening harm, Jongseob would never have you anywhere near it.

“You saved me,” you said. “Thank you.”

“But are you okay?” 

You smiled as you reached up to rub his ear softly between your fingers. “I’m sorry for pinching your ear.”

“[Name],” he started, but when you began to frantically squeeze his earlobe, he groaned and pulled your hand away. “Okay! Okay! I won’t ask anymore!” 

He brushed his hands on his shirt when you finally let him go, a permanent scoff hanging on his cutely puckered lips. Rolling his eyes when he saw your smile, he huffed a sigh before adding, "When we go back, and Soul asks you about the marks on your shoulders, tell him something happened at work. I don't want him to freak out." 

Soul and his power were interlinked. They come hand in hand, particularly his own greatly conveniences Soul's. While he absorbs colors, Soul absorbs monochrome.

Once Jongseob finishes sucking up all the colors around him, he leaves behind a grayscale perfect for Soul to use. That's how they're linked with each other, like two halves of a whole. 

The one difference was that Soul had a problem being in control when his power was utilized, while Jongseob knew what he was doing. When Jongseob hurts someone, it is always because he wants to, and he could be easily stopped with persuasion. Soul was different.

Given that nature is that he turns into something that isn't himself, he would also not think and act like himself. Jongseob didn't want anything more to happen tonight.

“Oh,” you nodded, “I was going to lie anyway.”

“Thank you,” he muttered, then a beat later, almost inaudibly, “for everything, actually.”

He wanted to say everything he did was for you, to let you know that he will continue to do everything for you. But, despite all his talent in thought articulation, he was too timid and shy to express sentiment, so he kept his mouth shut.

Crossing his arms, he recalled the moment he noticed you in the passenger seat, with trembling limbs and an unopened mouth. He fixed his jaw and hid his hands from the colorful world, as he felt rather afraid of the truth—the existence of his devotion to you and the responsibility it spawns.

That kind of devotion causes a strain on both parties and cannot be undone. That kind of devotion, in his willingness to drag a carcass to your feet, is a self-inflicted curse. That kind of devotion, a synonym for love, an antonym of honor, is a burden. Jongseob trapped it behind his lips and prayed to God that he relearned how to restrain it in his hands by a mere cross of his arms.

Pray to God—he licked his lower lip as the lines of your face redraw themselves in his replaying memory—look at them and pray. 

You taught them to get groceries when you were away at work. 

They always did well with helping out around the house; you never knew or asked whether any alien abilities were included.

Jongseob was excellent at ensuring every surface was wiped clean. Soul always knew where everything was after he put them somewhere.

Grocery shopping was included among household responsibilities. Besides the constant sneaking of junk food, they ensured they got everything you requested. 

They have frequented the market so much that the elders who ran most stores could recognize their faces and orders. After giving it a few more weeks, Jongseob and Soul were, unfortunately and hilariously, roped into the pile of gossip that never ceases to circulate the shops. 

Apparently, they both live with you! But which one of them is your boyfriend? 

"What's a boyfriend?" Soul asked in response to the question. 

The shopping bag in his hand crinkled when he squeezed the handle. His round eyes followed the fruit stand owner as she moved around to get him what he needed: apples, oranges, bananas, and whatnot.

As she brushed past Soul to get to the box of apples, she spared him a glance and rolled her eyes, mistaking his genuine ignorance as him dodging the question. She picked up a few apples, examining each one with ease before reaching an empty hand out to Soul, beckoning for his shopping bag. 

"You know what a boyfriend is,” she said. “Why are you acting coy? Are you the boyfriend?” 

Soul pursed his lips together into a helpless frown. He didn't know what 'coy' meant either.

The grandma dumped the apples she chose in the bag and briefly looked up as she prepared to march toward the oranges. When she noticed the clueless expression on Soul's face, she paused with squinted eyes, and then an enthusiastic gasp jumped out of her mouth. 

"Oh my! The other blond boy is the boyfriend, then? But you're in love with them?" she assumed, her fingers waving and pointing accusingly at Soul. "Or is it Jongseob you're in love with? I always thought you two were brothers, but I guess I was wrong!"

"We're very close, so we're basically brothers," he clarified. "But we don't have–um. Our mom and dad don't exist."

She looked away from the box of orange, one of them still ripe in her hand. “For how long?” 

“Since we’re born.”

"Oh, poor dear." She walked away from the box of oranges to give Soul a pat on the shoulder. She stopped at the front of the display and began sifting through the boxes and randomly grabbing more than he had asked for. "Dead parents and a failed romance. Living with the couple, no less!"

Soul has not a lick of an idea what she was talking about. He would repeat his question about what a boyfriend was, but the old lady's eager rambles made it impossible for him to fit his voice in the air, so he focused on listening.

Beginning with her stories about her old romance and her detailed recollection of her past loves, he realized she, surprisingly, has a lot of wisdom to offer. 

Here was what Soul gathered from the nosy grandma about a boyfriend: a boyfriend is and does many things.

A boyfriend waits for you to get off school or work, wants to spend a lot of time with you, never keeps secrets from you, thinks about you all the time, hangs out with you when he has free time, takes care of you when you are sick, loves to hug and touch you, never yells at you, and puts you above himself.

Usually, he lets Jongseob do the listening and summarizing, so he was very proud of himself when he independently came to this grand conclusion: "[Name], I am your boyfriend."

"Oh my god–" Jongseob looked away from the TV at Soul, who randomly announced the statement by the kitchen door as you cut up some apples. He slapped a hand to his forehead. "Soul, I already told you we're not their boyfriend!"

After pushing all the apple slices onto a plate, you dropped the knife in the sink. Swiftly opening a drawer to pick out a small plastic tube, you slammed it shut with a swing of your hips and turned around to lean against the cabinet.

You shook the tube, the toothpicks inside making a sandy noise with each shake, and you looked out the kitchen door behind Soul's shoulder at Jongseob, who still had his head in his hands. But the peek of his snaggletooth told you he was failing to suppress a smile. 

"Who told you that, Soul?” you asked. 

"The grandma at the fruit stall told me about her old boyfriends," Soul answered. 

“Really? All of a sudden?” you mused. “What started that conversation?”

Soul followed you out of the kitchen after you stuck three toothpicks on three random apple slices and slammed the tube on the countertop. He blindly turned the lights off and closed the door on the way, hurrying up to sit on the floor by your feet as you placed the plate of apples on the coffee table.

Jongseob scooted closer to the edge of the couch and reached over for a slice, popping it in his mouth and starting to answer before he finished chewing.

"They were asking which of us is your boyfriend at the market today," Jongseob said. 

“Which one? Not even if one of you were?” you snorted. 

“They’re very determined that one of us is dating you.”

“Oh, I know what dating means!” Soul perked up. “I learned it in a drama.”

You looked down in disbelief and nudged him with your feet. “You learned dating but not what boyfriend means?”

Jongseob let out a giggle. He slid off his seat and brought his knees to his chest to fit in the space between the couch and the table. You brought your legs up when he moved closer to the middle to be next to Soul.

Out of habitual playfulness, you reached down to do a series of aggressive actions, from ruffling his hair to squeezing his cheeks. Jongseob protested, leaning away from your attacking hands as his arms flew up to swat you away like a fly.

“You never do this to Soul!” he exclaimed. 

“Well, yeah,” you responded mindlessly as you let him go. “He’s nice. He just lets me.” 

Soul grinned from ear to ear when you touched his face. Your touch was soft, like it always was, shifting from his jaw to his cheeks to his hair. He never got enough of the sensation of human touch, no matter how trivial.

Looping an arm around an old man at a crosswalk, picking up a kindergartener after they tripped from running around, Jongseob’s hands going through his hair to tie a ponytail for him, your fingers dabbing gently on his face with skincare products—it’s warm, fleetingly so, and human, which lasts.

Jongseob feigned a puking noise after watching you mess around with Soul’s facial features for a few seconds. He got up from the floor and headed to the kitchen to find a drink.

You ignored his distaste, drowning Soul with your immediate attention. He grinned at you, his side bang falling to the back of his ears. What a sight of sore eyes, with his eyes so round and wide, his smile so genuine and willing. He looked at you like you were the only person he wanted to see and spoke like it was his first time using his voice. You cooed to yourself, to the void: look how pretty he is!

“Hello,” you whispered with your palms on his face, gently pushing his cheeks together to bring him to you, “Shota.”

“Hello,” he returned in a volume that mirrored yours, “I bought the fruit myself today.”

“Yeah, I know,” you beamed.

“[Name],” he reached up for your face to urge you close so nobody else would hear, “am I really not your boyfriend?”

You laughed from your throat, but the noise huffed out through your nose rather than your pursed lips. Shota squinted his eyes at the warm air and frowned. You kept laughing at the topic, both you and Jongseob, but he was hung up about it.

The old lady at the fruit store mentioned a list of criteria for being a boyfriend, and he believed he checked off everything on the list!

He spends his entire day waiting for you to come home from work, and after you do, he’d spend the rest of the day with you. Jongseob does the same, but Shota has never kept any secrets from you, mainly because he’s got none, but that still counts toward a check off the box!

He cared for you when you got drunk, even though Jongseob did most of the cleaning and handled your personal hygiene. However, Shota lets you hug him, so he has the upper hand that round!

“It’s complicated,” you said. “You’ve watched dramas, right? Have you noticed that although two characters love each other, they’re not considered together?” 

“No,” he shook his head, “they’re together to me.”

“Well–“ you rolled your eyes up–“yeah, okay. I suppose that’s fair.”

Looking back down at him, you rubbed his cheeks with your thumb and shook your head in disagreement. “It’s still more complicated than you think.”

Shota’s bottom lip couldn’t help but jut out when he gradually pulled the corner of his lips into an upsetting frown.

The idea plagued his mind since he was first introduced to it at the market, and too much time and effort was put into giddying himself over this. The disappointment of his fantasy—you agreeing that he is your boyfriend—falling off was immeasurable.

“What are you two whispering about?” Jongseob interrupted once he returned. He looked between you and Soul, and then he frowned. “Are you still on the boyfriend thing?”

“Yeah,” Soul dragged out with a brief wave of his hand. “You won’t let me be your boyfriend because we’re supposed to be like brothers, and now [Name] won’t let me be their boyfriend because it’s too complicated!”

“You told him it’s too complicated?” Jongseob questioned, putting his elbow on the edge of the couch when he turned around to raise a brow at you. 

Your eye twitched at his judgemental tone, and you almost lunged to tackle him to the floor. “It is complicated!”

Jongseob pulled a face.

One of the things that inconvenienced his technical way of processing information was relationship problems, particularly the fact that everyone around him loved to create issues that shouldn’t be there.

He understood that certain situations reveal emotions that could be difficult to ignore, but he didn’t see a reason for ignorance when one could face them straightforwardly.

People tip-toe across the winded roads too much for the sake of empathy despite it not being due, and then responses like ‘it’s too complicated’ spawn when it’s fundamentally incorrect to say so.

“How?” he questioned. “Do you like Soul?”

“I like the both of you,” you said.

“I know.” He nodded. “But do you like him?” 

 You smirked awkwardly. “No.”

“Then it’s not complicated,” Jongseob said with a clap. He turned to Soul, whose eyes had been darting between you two during your brief conversation, and he shrugged. “You can’t be [Name]’s boyfriend because they’re not in love with you. That’s it.”

“Woah! Why did you suddenly switch the wording?” 

“Why not? It doesn’t make a difference,” he said. “Are you in love with Soul?”

“No.”

“I’m in love with you, though.”

You shook your head and patted Soul’s shoulder. “No, you’re not.”

“Ahm, we don’t–haha, we don’t know about that,” Jongseob mused between forced chuckles as he nodded at the floor.

His eyes widened briefly as a calculated thought about Soul’s untainted feelings for you flickered through his mind. When he looked up and saw your deadpan, he pulled his lips into a thin line, stretching it into an ugly smile that made his upcoming words sound flat and borderline incoherent.

“Do you remember what happened a few months ago because of the evaluation?”

It was a month after Jongseob saved you at the bottom of the apartment estate. You had decided to omit that detail from the monthly report; you told yourself it wasn’t necessary because it wasn’t an extraordinary development about Jongseob but rather an incident that happened to you.

However, deep down, you knew you kept it a secret because you were afraid the program coordinator would find issues with what happened and separate you two.

A few weeks after you turned in the monthly evaluation, a detailed post about a freak accident where a boy who choked a man through telekinesis was posted on one of the most popular social media forums.

Nobody believed in the post; most comments redirected the author to a sub-forum where people post fantasy stories they’ve written, but it was how your program coordinator found out what happened. Within five days of that post, you received an email about a temporary separation.

They gave you a week to pack their things and prepare them for leaving your care.

Jongseob hadn’t said anything when you sat them down to tell them that they would be relocated to another home indefinitely. You didn’t think Soul really understood what happened until the time of departure. Either that, or he hadn’t felt the effect of separation until the moment it was happening, as it took multiple staff members to successfully release his grip from your arm. 

But what you hadn’t shown them were the scars on your forearm, all of them scratched into a bloody storm by the unassuming Shota, who, in a state of panic, had unknowingly sucked up the monochromes around him and begun the initial phase of transformation. 

His sharp, blade-like nails dug into your forearm through your sweater, forcefully grounding himself by your side when he was asked to get inside the van. But you didn’t say anything other than words of reassurance. With a hand on the side of his head, all you had told him was that you’d see him again soon.

His nails dragged several lines down your skin when he was pulled off of you. You didn’t react to it, only pressing a palm to the wounds and shoving the pain to the back of your head.

If you let it be known that he hurt you, there’s no way they’d be allowed back in your house. You thought he knew, though. You believed Shota knew what he did because he stopped struggling and went to sit next to Jongseob in the van after making eye contact with you.

You three weren’t kept apart for too long, surprisingly. The worst they did was give you a slap on the wrist and a warning to not hide information from them again. 

“It’s a normal reaction to being taken from his home,” you said. “I think he missed the normalcy more than he missed me.”

“You’re wrong.” Jongseob crawled over to Soul and beckoned for his attention with a finger snap. “Do you remember when we left home for a few weeks? Why did you throw a tantrum when they came to get us?”

“Huh?” Soul faintly puckered his lips in thought. Once recognition hit, he opened his mouth in realization and nodded. “Ah! That time! I–“ he tilted his head with soft inhales–“did I throw a tantrum?”

“You did,” Jongseob reached up to grab your arm and gestured to the scars, “there’s literally proof.”

“I didn’t do that on purpose,” Soul argued. “I was distraught, I didn’t want to leave [Name].”

“Case in point. See?” Jongseob dropped your arm on the couch with a triumphant shrug. “I told you.”

“That doesn’t prove anything,” you said. “Families do that with each other, too.”

“Is that what we are?” Jongseob asked, raising his brows. “We’re a family now?”

“Not legally. I would have to adopt you two,” you said. “But then you would be my son, which is weird.” 

“We could be your brothers.”

“I want to be your boyfriend,” Soul chimed in. When you chuckled through a tight-lipped frown, he sighed. “Okay, brother is fine.”

“Good,” Jongseob hummed dismissively before returning his attention to you. “Is there a way for us to legally become siblings, though?” 

It wasn’t something you thought about. The significant details of the outreach program were not known to its participants. They let you know before you signed the contract that it was a program to help assimilate aliens to the human world, and you didn’t doubt that to be the case.

However, calculating the money the government was spending on the participants just for them to foster aliens—it didn’t make sense.

The foster system for human children was severely underfunded, yet the one for space creatures wasn’t. If you had to guess, it was because there’s a catch to alien assimilation, especially when they’re bonded with a person from Earth. 

At the end of the day, you’ve no idea if Jongseob and Soul would be allowed to stay with you for a long time. 

“I don’t think we can,” you replied, leaning forward and rolling your eyes. “But who knows? Maybe they’re secretly writing a new constitution for alien residents on Earth, but we definitely won’t legally become a family anytime soon. It’s okay, though. We can do it in theory!”

“What does that even mean?” Jongseob snickered. “In theory?” 

“I’ll show you at some point,” you said sheepishly. “I just have to give someone a heads-up first.”

The mausoleum was quiet. You didn’t think you’d ever seen it crowded before. 

Carefully putting the flower into the compartment, your eyes brushed past your mother’s picture, and you relaxed. 

“Hey, Mom. It’s been a while.”

You didn’t make a habit of visiting frequently, so whenever you did, you’ve got a lot of say. Your busy work life, social life, and almost nonexistent love life. The good and the bad. The embarrassing and the ugly. The fact that there were few people around made it easier to ramble to a picture, and sometimes, you wondered if the ones in her neighbor compartments were listening too. 

You didn’t speak in detail about the alien outreach program you joined, partly because it was still confidential to the general public, but you told her about the ‘twins.’ 

“I’ll bring them over when I get the chance,” you said. “I’ll see you later then.”

Reaching out for the compartment door, you prepared to close it when you suddenly jumped in realization. 

“I almost forgot,” you laughed. “This is for you.”

Letting go of the door handle, you reached for your bag and pulled something out. You waved it about and gently blew on it before stacking it neatly next to the flower you bought. 

It was a polaroid of you three.

[crispy-chan]

Lmfao yall pray for us it’s really Armageddon out here 🤡🤡

[crispy-chan]

If you try really hard you can hear me screaming akajajsjsjjskaka

Lowkey the most fun song of the set!! Everyone was feeling themselves 🎉

[crispy-chan]

"I Like It"

[crispy-chan]

Gaaaahhh so much has happened lol

I have been mia for so long 😭 but I mean life was crazy ngl, went to a summer course in Harvard, turned 18, had a first alone trip (with my friend) to London and saw stray kids live… damn

But seeing stray kids live has somewhat yeeted me back into their fandom and I really really wanna write again 😔 hopefully one day…

Anyway feel free to pop up and say hi 🫶✨

[crispy-chan]

gege when i catch you gege

ig! silentsnow777

[crispy-chan]

• Fatherhood •

What kind of dads are the JJK men ?

CW/TW: GN! Reader, Mentions of crappy parenting, BREIF mention of pregnancy in Geto's, (Lmk if I should add anything else!)

Characters: Gojo, Geto, Nanami, Sukuna, Toji x Reader

AN: Almost cried writing this the baby fever is going HARD rn dude. Headcanons !

• Gojo •

Menace of a father, but in the good way! Gojo spends his years raising his kids as if he's their best friend, truly and genuinely treats his kids as equals and in a sweet way, allows his children to have complete trust in him. Because Gojo is quite childish himself, he loves playing with his kids, making a fool of himself, and indulging with them.

Has a bit of a bad side to this though, his lack of traditional discipline or making himself the 'adult' in the situation leads the kids to both be very spoiled and not really ever listen to him.

"Sweetheart, darling, my perfect angel, can you please go to bed?? pretty please! Help your old man here, please??"

"Nuh uh!" And with that bout of defiance, he's back to running up to you, like HE'S the child, begging for your help. Because it seems you're the only one who can get the kids in line, and you do.

Plays pranks and teases the hell out of his kids as they get older, always in a loving way of course, but nonetheless loves getting them flustered over his stupidity. Type of dad to do dumbass dances in the middle of a Walmart to embarrass his kids.

• Geto •

Geto is optimum of what it means to be a gentle parent. Cannot, for the life of him, bring it in himself to yell at his kids. He's so soft-spoken, never so much as raising his voice against his children. Geto has children who respond to his voice alone, because it's so lulling, he's familiarized them with it and made them feel safe with it.

Doesn't mean he can't discipline them, of course he can, and he does so extremely gracefully. Whenever you're on your last straw with the kids, fighting the urge to start scolding them and yell, he steps in, smoothly taking over and the kids instantly listen to him.

"We're your parents, honey, c'mon that's not very nice to say, is it? They carried you for 9 months you know. Say sorry." Like magic the kids shut up and come over to you apologizing while Geto stands back, calmly having fixed the situation with ease.

With everything Geto does, has done, experienced etc, he can sometimes feel conflicted. Geto knows what he is capable of, and what he has done, he's extremely self-aware even if he justifies it, and he can struggle to balance the weight of all of it while also remaining a dutiful father.

Despite it, he does wonders keeping it separate from what his children have to see or experience, teaches them respect and kindness and hopes they hold true to it.

• Nanami •

Not a single man on this list fathers as hard as Nanami fathers. He's built for it like no other. Nanami treats fatherhood with his all, he puts his all into it and makes damn certain he does right by it. Stern when necessary, sweet when needed, provides for his kids and refuses to miss any important milestone of theirs.

Nanami is a calm man but the second work starts piling potentially making him miss his kids school play or something he's arguing with his supervisors and ready to throw hands.

He keeps the drawings his kids make on his desk, alongside a photo of you and your kids. Literally just stares at it while working smiling, unable to wait till he's home with the kids. They are his pride and joy genuinely.

No matter how over-worked Nanami may be though, when he comes home you are basically on vacation. Insists you rest and he takes over literally everything involving the kids.

"Darling, darling no, I got this covered. You take rest. You know I love spending time with my kids." He says with an earnest smile, both kids in his beefy arms just dangling around and playing with their father. He's definitely exhausted from work, but that never stops him.

• Sukuna •

The King of the Curses, as cruel and terrifying as he is, taking pleasure in all sorts of sickness and treating love as pointless, legitimately likes his kid.

He doesn't care about fatherhood, or the responsibilities that being a parent entails, but it's nice having a mini version of himself around. That he likes. An extension of himself and you, it's nice to have around he doesn't mind it. He may act aloof about it, not outwardly showing affection like hugs or kisses, but he clearly enjoys it.

He gets a massive ego trip when his kids cause chaos and disturbances. Points at them laughing with his belly "See that? That's mine."

Sukuna never minces his words though, and his kids have to get used to his bluntness. Again, he doesn't care for the concept of 'parenting', and will in their face call the kid some extreme insults and weak and they have to learn to take it.

On the flip side, Sukuna also never minces his praise, and Sukuna has an abundance to give his kids. Every accomplishment or show of strength that they show he'll let them know he's proud. A good ol' fashioned fatherly slap to their shoulder while he praises them.

He treasures his children, and even if he doesn't put much effort into parenting them, you taking over most of it, he's definitely a present figure in their lives.

• Toji •

Went to get milk, hasn't been seen since.

[crispy-chan]

OH MY GOSH THANK YOUUU AKSJSJSJS

this is really so sweet aksjsjsj!!! I just remembered a few days ago that maze of memories is more than 3 years old aksjsjsj. I lowkey dread ever reading through it again because I was a tiny dweeb when I wrote it 🤡🤡🤡 but damn it’s so sentimental to me akajks 💕

Thanks for enjoying the series and for letting me know 🫶 (also not reading the epilogue is honestly pretty valid lmfao I lowkey barely remember what I wrote in there 👹👹)

Maze of Memories | ch.10

➳ pairing: career!bang chan x f.reader

➳ genre: hunger games au, action, angst, fluff if you squint

➳ warnings: violence, language, mutual pinning lol, very slightly suggestive ig (they just kiss a lot), grieving, angst, gas, knives, blood, slight mentions of trauma, shitty writing :’)

➳ summary: you’re the unlucky reaped female tribute from district 9 with no fighting skills whatsoever. all you want is to enjoy your last few days of life before perishing in the arena, but you somehow manage to catch the eye of the volunteer from district 2…

➳ word count: 10.2k

➳ a/n: mhm, this should explain last chapters cliffhanger :^)

➳ disclaimer: this story is pure fiction!! I do not condone these acts of violence, nor do the characters portrayed in this fictional story. there is lots of violence here, you have been warned.

PS: listen to maze of memories by skz <3. if you want to be added to the taglist, send an ask or comment.

⇦ previous | next ⇨ | masterlist | series mlist

The moment the world slipped from your parted lips, the boy had pressed himself closer to you, eliminating any sort of distance put between you. One of his arms circled your waist, palm pressing against your back to steady you as his other hand cupped your jaw. His eyes were dazed, almost as if he was drunk, when he leaned down and finally pressed his lips to yours.

You gasped as the searing kiss stole your breath away. Your eyes, which were before blown wide open, now closed, lids fluttering. Your arms found themselves wrapping around his neck, pulling him closer if that was even possible. 

Keep reading

[crispy-chan]

this is like four days late BUT HAPPY BIRTHDAY

Tysm 💕💕💕 now worries ✨🫶

[crispy-chan]

Okay so I know that I’ve been terribly mia for the past months (more like years 💀) but I just wanted to pop in and announce that I have turned 18 today 😭��

it’s so crazy, especially since I’ve had this account since I was 14 lol (and that’s when I started writing)

[crispy-chan]

A helpful guide to some common birds here in the western US

[crispy-chan]

omg thank you TT you flatter me <33 this is so sad bcs my last fic was over a year and a half ago but I shall attempt to produce something lol <3 tysm

A Song of Ice and Fire

❝ they say the crimson king is as ruthless as the freezing winters of your land…❞

𓏲 PAIRING. prince!minho x princess!reader (ft. guard!jisung x reader)

𓏲 GENRE. fluff, angst; royalty!au, fire-bender!minho & ice-bender!reader, historical drama, action, romance, love triangle/forbidden romance, arranged marriage!au, subzero!au

𓏲 WORD COUNT. 35k

𓏲 WARNINGS. language, mild violence, minho is a jerk at first, cliche asf, mildly suggestive, a brief allusion to assault (but it’s stopped before anything happens), blood, injuries and tending to them (i am not a doctor), food, mentions of war and famines, poison, mentions of death, reader gets carried around and has hair that can be put in a ponytail, petnames, includes the rest of skz as various people (TV-14)

𓏲 SUMMARY. when you agreed to marry the prince of the crimson clan in order to sign a peace treaty, it feels like your entire life is crumbling down in front of your eyes. forced to move to another kingdom, you’re afraid of being shackled in a loveless marriage. minho’s reputation precedes him, and the stories you’ve heard aren’t exactly great. yet the seemingly perfect kingdom has many secrets, along with a dark history that goes beyond anything you would’ve imagined…

𓏲 A/N.  ot related to GoT at all!! just liked the title lol. inspired by the webtoon subZero. this is just a flaming pile of garbage lmfao - i started this fic back in july but i only got like 1k before i gave up. then, i recently picked this story back up since i didn’t want to give up on it. a lot of effort went into this, but i recognize that this story isn’t perfect. i came to a realization of how much i despise my writing style while i was writing this :<. i’m a tad bit afraid that only like two people will read lol but oh well, we shall see :) on a lighter note, i really hope you enjoy and please don’t forget to lmk your thoughts as i’ll literally jump with joy :> side note: the reader comes from the azure clan but the royal guard is caled the cerulean guard.

𓏲 SPECIAL THANKS TO. @luvseos for beta reading the prologue-ish part, tysm!! (also, i’m so so sorry i am not able to tag you so i assume you deactivated :( ) @hyuukais and @kurosism for going over the first part of the fic! thank you guys a lot and i really appreciate all of your nice comments and suggestions <3 big thanks to @sw1mmingfoolz for reading through the first part! thank you for all your sweet comments :> and @celestialgyu​ for going through the entirety of this. I was nearly gonna start crying in the dms tysm <3 @seung-scrittore oh my god leo you are a savior for going through this entire monster!! thank you! i can’t stress it enough how grateful i am <33 i really appreciate it :< also sorry for having to correct shitty typos and my malfunctioning grammar lmfao @chaninfused furat thank you for listening to my rambles as i was losing it on main lol. it was really nice and helpful talking to you, especially as your (self proclaimed) no 1 stan lol. also shout out to your arab prince! minho cause i’m still on the agenda and i can’t deny i thought of him while writing this. go read danse macabre  for some quality prince!minho (and great plot) @choihaiyun for the amazing banner idea/creation <3

MASTERLIST

The night was coated in inky darkness, thunder rumbling outside your window.

It was a cold winter night, heavy snow coating your entire kingdom like a blanket. Loud arguments echoed through the room, various voices from both sides unable to reach an agreement.

You weren’t surprised—it was a tough decision to make on your part, or rather, on your uncle’s part. The men from the Crimson clan appeared in your kingdom a few days ago with an unexpected offer: a peace treaty. After many years of war, your entire kingdom was in ruins and it came to no one’s surprise that your uncle jumped at the opportunity to finally end the conflict that had been going on for over a century.

That was, however, before he had heard the details of said treaty, and after finding out what the last requirement was, he was about to turn it down at lightning speed.

That’s when you suddenly stood up, dusting the imaginary specks of dust from your finest gown—the one you were ordered to wear tonight.

“Enough!” you shouted over the loud voices in the room.

Everyone, both your people and the people of the Crimson clan, immediately turned their heads towards you in surprise, not expecting such an outburst from the crown princess. You’d been silent the entire meeting, choosing to keep quiet and let them talk, but you’d had enough. Everybody was speaking over you, arguing over your future like it was some sort of commodity; nobody even bothered to ask you what you wanted.

Taking a deep breath, you finally whispered, “I agree to the marriage.”

Keep reading

[crispy-chan]

aksajsakjs i'm glad you enjoyed <33 thank you for letting me know :)

happier ៚ h.js

❝ I like to think of happiness as a visiting friend. It doesn't have to be something big or grandiose but it comes out of the blue when you need it the most. ❞

៚ PAIRING. han jisung x gn!reader

៚ GENRE. fluff, angst; college!au, s2l, f2l, (hurt) comfort, romance, drama

៚ WARNINGS. language, food, discussions of mental health and allusions to anxiety and/or depression, crying, misunderstandings (not between the main pairing), (PG-13)

៚ WORD COUNT. 20k

៚ SUMMARY. after volunteering to become a subject for jisung's psychology final, you assume your monotonous life will simply go on. but suddenly, there's a lot more drama in your life and you feel yourself plummeting. but there's hope - especially when jisung vows to change that, taking you on fun 'dates' in order to restore your faith in happiness and show you why life is truly worth living.

៚ A/N. asksjskjs i am back from the dead with this shorter fic for my beloved ji . this piece is a bit more personal to me so i hope i did it justice <3 tysm @dini-chu for the lovely banner :3 and thank you @r1oboxv for beta reading the beginning of the fic (you can tell that the quality of the first two parts is way better than the rest lol), you're like a professional editor lmao; @intotheneozone and @celestialgyu for going over the rest <3 nala your comments were really helpful and so funny at times gaaah :')) and the ficscafe ensemble for helping me out with specific parts i felt stuck on, tysm guys T.T

MASTERLIST

“Are you happy?”

You muster what you believe to be the perfect poker face as you slowly shake your head, staring right into the camera lens and pursing your lips.

“No.”

It was very subtle, your voice cracking by the ‘o’, and you pray that Jisung doesn't pick up on your crumbling facade. Unbeknownst to you, his inquisitive eyes catch the way your lips waver despite your best efforts to appear calm and collected. He doesn't push you though, instead, he scribbles something down in his notebook, looks back up, and gives you the warmest of smiles.

It almost makes your heart skip a beat, the way he looks at you: as if you're an old friend, as if you're someone he actually cares about deeply. Perhaps it affected you more than it should, considering how cold and unkind people have been to you in the past. And his smile is infectious—it almost makes you want to smile too, but you stick to being casual and nonchalant. After all, you're nothing but a ‘subject’ for his psychology final.

Jisung looks as if he's waiting for you to elaborate but you don't. You can't speak, you can't think properly after blatantly saying 'no' a little too honestly. He notices you staring blankly at the small, red light bleeping in one-second intervals, your lips gradually turning down and pursing themselves, the lower lip beginning to quiver.

‘Oh shit. Are you gonna cry?’ Jisung mentally slaps himself for hesitating for a split second, hurriedly standing up and in the process nearly knocking over the stool he was sitting on.

The clumsy action unconsciously makes you chuckle, but you cover it up with a cough just in case he'd feel embarrassed. His ears flush red and you almost apologize for it but he beats you to it

“Let's take a break,” he quips, hastily pressing the pause button before rubbing the back of his neck that surely matches the color of his ears now. “It feels like a pretty loaded question, we can get back to it later,” he adds, reaching for his keys.

“Wanna grab some boba? I know just the place.” 

one. (a week ago)

Friday comes and you can't believe how crowded the lecture hall is, especially for an afternoon class. Immediately, you spot Yuna tucked in the corner as she flashes you a bright smile, waving you over to the empty spot beside her. You barely manage to squeeze yourself through the seats, ignoring the pointed looks you receive when accidentally bumping into somebody.

It comes to you as no surprise that the lecture is rather boring. This must be the catch when you attend classes solely for the extra credit. It seems like you're not the only one. Once the clock finally strikes two, the bell rings, and everyone is out of their seats, hurrying to exit the hall.

The departure is chaotic, survival of the fittest if you will, freshmen running haphazardly in hopes of making it to the cafeteria before the hordes of seniors in the neighboring class, and sophomores just trying to get to their next lecture hall without snapping at said freshmen. 

Amidst the pandemonium, you see a hooded figure running from one end of the room to the other, clutching to his chest what seems to be a clipboard. He jumps from student to student, pleading with them—for what, that you don't hear—just a tad bit too enthusiastically. 

It almost comes off as desperate. 

“Hey,” you gently nudge Yuna in the shoulder, eyeing the boy with a raised brow. “What's his deal? Is he like trying to get someone to sign up for a petition or what?”

“Oh, you mean Jisung?” she points towards his hooded figure that's now making its way near your row. “I think I heard someone say that he's still looking for a volunteer for his psych final,” she picks at her perfectly manicured nail, clearly not interested to be one. “Something to do with happiness and wellbeing, apparently.”

You cock your head in surprise, stopping yourself from admitting out loud how intrigued you actually were. Instead, you mumble, “Poor thing though, seems like no one's willing to do it.”

As if on cue, Jisung finishes up in the row next to yours, making his way toward you with a determined smile and causing the both of you to halt your steps.

“Hi,” he greets you, raising his hand for you to wait. “I'm Jisung,” he proceeds to offer his hand for Yuna to shake. To his dismay, she stays frozen in her spot, looking back and forth between his hand and his face. 

“Oh, hi,” she replies flatly, giving him her faux commercial-model smile. She doesn't shake his hand though, but Jisung manages to play it off smoothly by ruffling his hand through his hair.

“I was wondering if one you would be interested in—”

“Sorry,” Yuna cuts him off with a fake laugh, one that you know means ‘I'm bolting the hell outta here’. Yet for some reason, you find yourself looking at Jisung, heart twisting inside your chest.

“Running late for class,” she mumbles, making her way around Jisung. “I hope you find someone through.”

“I'll see you later, Y/N,” she bids you goodbye, this time with a genuine smile. You raise your hand and wave back. You and Jisung were now the only ones left in the lecture hall.

He turns to you, his lips upturned too little to be considered a smile, almost like a pout. Your heart twists inside your chest—something about the defeated gleam in his eyes made you want to wipe it away and replace it with a smile. You clutch your book to your chest, wracking your brain to say something, but Jisung sighs to fill the growing silence, shoving his clipboard back in his backpack.

He slings it over his shoulder, ramming his hands into his pockets. “I guess today isn't my lucky day,” he says to no one in particular but his eyes gloss over to you, locking gazes. 

‘Say something, Y/N,’ your brain shouts at you.

“Did you forget your lucky charm or something?” you say stupidly, mentally slapping yourself as soon as the words slip past your lips. Why would you even— out of all the things you could've said—

Luckily, it garners a small laugh from Jisung. There was no trace of mockery in your tone, and the genuine (and blunt) way you said it makes him lighten up a bit.

“Guess I gotta find one of those,” he grins but it doesn't reach his eyes. Somber, he starts walking away and before you even register it—

“Wait,” you blurt out, causing him to stop in his tracks. His head snaps back and he looks at you questioningly, a small glimmer of hope in his eyes.

“I… I didn't say anything yet.”

His face lights up brighter than a Christmas tree.

“Well… what were you gonna say,” you ask, urging him to backtrack to his initial conversation with Yuna. Frantically, he zips down his backpack and pulls the clipboard back out, a bunch of papers spilling on the floor in the process.

“Oh shit, sorry, just a moment,” he scrambles to pick them up and shove them in his bag as you drop down to help him. “I was gonna ask if you were interested to become a subject of sorts for my project,” he spoke animatedly, flipping through the pages on his clipboard. He lets out a curse when he rips the page in two before being able to even show you anything.

“Oh, crap.”

His clumsiness makes you soften and you stifle a chuckle. “It's okay,” you reassure him, both of you getting up on your feet. “You can tell me more about this project of yours somewhere else,” you offer with a smile. The hall didn't seem like the greatest place to discuss anything other than assignment deadlines with your professor so perhaps a change of setting would be better. “We can see if today is your lucky day, after all,” you add playfully, lips curving upwards.

He struggles to keep in his excitement, breaking out into a large grin. “It's a deal!” Hesitating, he reaches for your hand, and instead of taking it, he settles for lightly grabbing your wrist, heading towards the exit. “We can go over the details in this place I know! They serve the best boba on campus—” he adds, rambling on about all the delicious drinks they offer—as if you guys were old friends. You listen to him with a smile, and and a thought crosses your mind—how do you feel so comfortable around him so quickly?

two.

The place turns out to be just right around the corner, apparently your college's boba hotspot. And how you end up not knowing about it until just now is lost on you, but you figure it's because you often drink coffee or tea. 

It's packed with people. Fridays are the days when there's almost always good deals, as you've heard from Jisung. Both of you are among the crowd, standing in line, and you scan your eyes around, mostly seeing couples, teenagers, college students, and the occasional touring family. “Rush hour,” he whispers to you at some point while waiting.

"Hi! What can I get for you today?" The girl behind the counter chirps. Jisung immediately launches his descriptive order, and begins offering choices for you himself. He's getting something along the lines of a Taiwanese Brown Sugar Bubble Tea, and although you aren't entirely new to this thing, you think it's probably best to follow what he's get to make it easier for you.

"And that'll be $6! Cash or card?"

"Wait, $6? We're paying together, and we bought two—"

"Yes it's still $6, I mean, you guys are—oh. OH, I assumed you guys were a couple. We have a Couples Promo where if you order the same drink you can get the other one for free when you buy it together...." The girl explains, lowkey urging you both to go for the deal instead.

She stage whispers, "You guys can still get it even if you're not dating! College fees are no joke!" She dramatizes with a smile.

Jisung tries to cover up the assumption by awkwardly laughing and over-explaining, so you step in, faking a serious tone. "Alright, lady. Yes! We are definitely a couple and we even got the same drink, now give us the damn promo."

She could not have smiled more proudly, typing into the cash register. You mirror her expression. Jisung pays for it immediately. When your drinks are called out, you laugh at the tacky, half-heart couple cup covers they're served in. 

Despite the swarm of people, you manage to score a booth by the window corner. Both of you settle into your cushioned chairs, Jisung sighing contently for the fifth time as he takes a sip of his brown sugar bubble tea. 

You grin watching him happily lap up the pearly bubbles, holding in a coo as he slurps them with an oddly concentrated frown, not to mention the way his cheeks bunch up every time he has more than three in his mouth.

“What?” he asks with rosy cheeks, mouth still full as he cowers under your gaze. You give him a closed-eyed smile.

“Nothing. You just… you look kinda like a squirrel, you know? It's cute…”

It takes you a moment to register what you had just said, your hand shooting up to cover your mouth. “S-Sorry, I d-didn't mean—”

“—it's okay,” Jisung splutters, his face colored like a tomato. “I get that a lot.”

But before the suffocating silence can engulf you as a whole, Jisung pulls his clipboard from his backpack, dropping it on the table. From the corner of your eye, you catch the word ‘happiness’ written in bold at the top of the page.

“Okay so as you might've already heard, I'm a psychology major. And yes, I know most people wouldn't peg me as one but it is what it is.”

Your quirk a brow, “Why wouldn't I? You seem like a kind and compassionate guy, I'm sure you'll do great in the field.”

Upon hearing your words, Jisung flushes, not used to hearing such praise and support. “You really think so? People usually think I'm too rowdy and chaotic to help anyone out.”

You can nearly hear the pain in his words from having been chastised and scolded by many about his major choice. The way he grips onto the edge of the table has his knuckles turning white and in the spur of the moment, you place your hand over his.

“Don't listen to what they have to say. You're the only one that can decide for yourself.”

He looks at you from under his lashes, a genuine smile painted across his lips. “Thank you. It's reassuring to hear it from someone else.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean.”

He runs his hand through his hair. “And, uh, sorry. I didn't mean to dump all of this on you.”

“Don't sweat it,” you wave it off. “But I must say, I'm really curious what's your project about.”

“Oh yeah,” he cocks his head. “I nearly forgot why we even came here…”

The rest of the afternoon passes by rather quickly. Jisung made for great company with his witty jokes and silly laugh. Before you even realize it, the sun is almost gone and the cafe is now nearly empty, save for a few couples scattered throughout.

“Oh shoot, I didn't realize it was so late,” Jisung apologizes sheepishly, biting his lower lip. 

“It's okay, I didn't notice either.”

As the two of you begin to gather your things, Jisung looks up at you expectantly with puppy eyes. “So did you decide yet?”

“Hmm,” you pretend to ponder, a faux contemplative expression painted on your face. “I don't know yet…”

A quiet ‘oh’ leaves Jisung's lips but he tries to mask it with a splutter. “I mean, y-you can take your time, you know? No need to tell me now…”

You almost feel bad for doing this. He's so naive it's practically endearing. Deciding to put him out of his misery, you reach your hand to pat his shoulder.

“I'm kidding. I'll gladly take part in your project.”

The way Jisung's eyes light up merely confirms that you made the right decision. He's bouncing on the balls of his feet as he grabs your hand in his, vigorously shaking it.

“Thank you so so much. I promise I'll make it worth your time!”

“Okay. Honestly, though, you had me at the free boba for a month.”

His deep chuckle reverberates through the room. “I hope you're aware though that my funds aren't unlimited.”

“Don't worry, I won't drain your bank account too much.”

Jisung holds the door for you as you walk out, the chilly evening air immediately nipping at your skin. “You know, I'm also agreeing 'cause you seem like a great guy and I wouldn't mind your company.” 

You cross your arms, looking up at the sky as you walk. “You're probably also one of the few people who can stand talking to me for more than ten minutes,” you add as an afterthought, not noticing how Jisung's pleased smile morphs into a sorrowful look.

When the cool wind picks up, you unconsciously shiver, pulling your thin shirt closer to your body in hopes of preserving some body heat.

“Are you cold?” Jisung asks with a frown, scanning you from head to toe. You try to deny it with a firm shake of your head but you aren't fooling him.

“You have goosebumps all over,” he deadpans after placing his large palm over your arm. His hand is so freakishly warm, you notice, and for some reason, you feel your heart leap out of your chest. 

“Here you go,” he quickly takes his bomber off before gently placing it over your shoulders. The warm material hangs off your frame and envelops you like a weighted blanket. Despite wanting to refuse and return the piece of clothing to him, you can't bring yourself to let go of it. Not when it cocoons you with so much warmth. 

Inhaling, you pick up on the musky scent of cedar and sandalwood and it nearly makes you dizzy. 

How does he smell so good?

As the two of you walk side by side, hands bumping and fingers gently grazing against each other, you feel somewhat at peace.

It's weird, you realize, considering you just signed the deal with the devil. You basically agreed to put all your emotions and insecurities on blast to nearly a complete stranger. You still aren't sure what compelled you to say yes in the first place, although deep down, you suppose it was his electric smile and gentle voice.

It all comes to a halting stop when the weight of your words comes crashing down on you. You would have to open up about all your troubles, which wouldn't be so bad if it hadn't been for the fact that you never talked about that with anyone.

Turning to the side to face him, the words slip out of your mouth before you even realize what you're saying, “Are you sure you want me for your project? I-I'm not exactly the happiest person and I don't want you to feel like you need to deal with my troubles.”

Jisung's eyes go wide for a split second before he manages to recompose himself, giving you a reassuring smile. “Don't worry about it. Unless you of course don't mind…”

You swallow the pit forming in your throat as the two of you finally arrive in front of your apartment. 

“I guess it's time to part ways. I had a great time today, not only because you agreed to help me, you know?” Jisung shuffles in his spot, putting his hands in his pockets. “Good night.”

“Wait! Jisung,” you suddenly blurt, remembering that you're still wearing his bomber. “What about your jacket?”

“Ahh, about that,” he smiles bashfully, shooting you a wink. “You can keep it. It looks better on you anyways…”

You nearly stumble back, holding the jacket close to your chest as your heart erratically thumps inside of you like a drum in the hands of a five year old. 

What is this? What's this unexplainable feeling of warmth spreading through you?

How does he manage to elicit such strong reactions from you with just a few words?

As you're falling asleep, you find yourself curling into the covers, your mind wandering back to Jisung and his sparkling eyes.

three. (present)

The air around you is thick enough to cut with a knife.

After your botched attempt to remain nonchalant about your, well, for the lack of a better word, pitiful answer, Jisung scrambles to save you from the initial awkwardness. 

“I'm sorry, Y/N,” he sighs for the third time, running his hand through his hair. “I shouldn't have started with that question.”

“It's okay,” you stammer, trying to hold in the tears that are beginning to brim in the corners of your eyes.

‘Stupid, Y/N, stupid!’ you curse in your head, feeling mortified for nearly falling apart at the first question. Now he's going to think you're pathetic. You try to hide your sniffles with a pesky cough but just like before, nothing gets past Jisung's inquisitive eyes.

You learned that the hard way.

As you feel yourself getting smaller and smaller under his gaze, you aren't able to hold in the single tear that trickles down your cheek.

“A-Are you, uh, are you okay?” Jisung cringes at his question immediately after it leaves his parted lips. Of course you weren't okay, for God's sake. You were crying.

“Y-Yeah. I-I'm sorry. Do you have a napkin?”

He hurries to grab a pack from the shelf and hands you one. “I'll go grab the boba. Do you want to come with me or would you rather wait here?”

After blowing your nose as gracefully as possible, you crumple the tissue into a ball and shove it in your pocket.

“Can I come with you?”

“Oh, sure,” Jisung grins, hand resting on the doorknob. “They say a boba a day keeps the doctor away…”

You had to stifle the giggle threatening to leave your mouth at his corny joke, gently hitting him on the shoulder. “If you want diabetes, maybe.”

Upon seeing you laugh, Jisung feels his chest tighten. You were so pretty when you smiled and it made him want to be the cause of your happiness. Pocketing his wallet, he points towards the door, a grin breaking out.

“First one there gets extra tapioca.”

“Hey!” you whine. “That's unfair, you had a headstart!”

four. 

The fall wind ruffles through your hair as you gaze into the distance, the cup of the delicious sweet drink secure in your hands.

Jisung unceremoniously plops himself to your left, munching on the chewy tapioca.

“The weather’s nice today, don’t you think?”

You feel your lips curl into a smile at his segway into conversation. But he’s right, the sun is shining and the sky is nearly spotless, save for a handful of clouds marking the infinite sea of blue.

“Yeah, I'll miss this in the winter.”

The two of you stay quiet for a bit, slurping your bubble tea as you watch the ducks swim across the pond.

After a while , Jisung carefully breaks the silence with a question. “Are you sure you still want to continue? I wouldn't fault you if you decided that it's too much…”

Placing your drink on the grass, you keep your eyes trained ahead of you as you ask, “Can I be honest?” When he nods, you continue, “I've always struggled with staying happy. Things that work for others just didn't seem to work for me. And I don't know,” you let out a sigh, “I just feel lost, unsure of what to do. It feels like I'm the only one struggling to keep myself above the surface while others are happily swimming, soaking in the Sun. I feel like there's just something wrong with me….”

Jisung pokes his tongue against his cheek. “Can I be honest too?”

For the first time since you sat down, you look at him, peering from under your lashes. “Sure.”

“I used to be exactly the same back in high school. It was a pretty dark time for me and I didn't have many friends but I had one that managed to pull me out of this slump and show me why life's worth living.”

You hum, his words echoing in your head like a broken record. It was hard to imagine Jisung as anything but a cheerful guy. But just like you, it seems like depression loomed over him like a nasty raincloud, except he had managed to open an umbrella and protect himself from the chilling rain.

“What's your definition of happiness, then?”

 The question hangs in the air for a while and you can see Jisung quietly pondering before he finally answers. “I like to think of happiness as a visiting friend. It doesn't have to be something big or grandiose but it comes out of the blue when you need it the most.”

“That's actually really sweet.” You can't help but smile at his poetic answer. It seems so on brand for Jisung, and yet you find yourself believing his words.

He runs his hand through his hair before looking back at you, this time, a newfound conviction in his voice as he spoke, “I want to help you, Y/N. I want to be your visiting friend and I want to show you everything that makes me happy. I want you to know that you aren't in this alone. And who knows, perhaps it'll help you appreciate the little things in life. Only if you'd like though…”

Your eyes widen as you keep your gaze trained on the grass in front of you. Everything around you goes silent as you soak in Jisung's words. The certainty in his voice somehow manages to reassure you while simultaneously causing your heart to do backflips in your chest. You struggle to blink away the tears forming at the corners of your eyes.

“I could tailor my assignment a little—make it more like a diary entry type of thing. Every time I'd take you somewhere nice, you can tell me,honestly,your thoughts. What do you think?”

“Won't that affect your assignment, though?”

“Don't worry about it,” he turns around to look ahead, allowing the wind to ruffle his chocolate hair. “My prof. told me I can change up my project as long as it involves ‘happiness’. He gave me the creative freedom to stick with my gut and do what I think would work best”

“Oh, that's great! You don't see professors being so accommodating that often.”

“Yeah,” Jisung's lips curl upwards as he lets his head loll back. “The Art of Psychology is my favorite class this semester.”

The conversation slowly dies out and you're left with a comfortable silence. In the distance, you can hear children screaming and dogs barking yet somehow, you feel oddly at peace.

“You wanna head back?”

“Sure,” you nod, pushing yourself off the ground.

five.

Jisung rings your doorbell at exactly nine o'clock as you scramble to touch up your hair, glancing in the mirror to make sure you look presentable.

Ryujin raises her brow in amusement as she watches you scramble out the door. She swirls her spoon in the pint of ice cream she’s holding, giving you a once-over. “Where's the rush? Wait, are you going on a date?!”

The heat rises to your cheeks at her assumption and you promptly shake your head, cowering under her knowing gaze. “N-No, of course not!”

She scoffs in response. “Bullshit. This is the first time I've seen you put any effort into your appearance so it must be important.”

As if to emphasize her point, she jabs her spoon in your direction, giving you another once over. “Though I think you should change that shirt. It looks unflattering on you.”

You feel any semblance of confidence you had wither into dust as you nervously glance back down on your outfit. You know Ryujin means well but her blunt delivery always makes you want to shrivel up into a ball and disappear.

While you know that you don't have her impeccable fashion taste, it feels like a low-blow to say that you never put any effort into looking presentable. You do, even if it isn't up to her standards. And her casually commenting on your shirt—again, she means well but it doesn't really help you.

You are now left feeling insecure about your outfit choice, even considering changing into something new but another ring of the doorbell causes you to nearly jump in your skin.

“You should go, loverboy is getting impatient.”

And with that, you're out the door.

When you walk out, you're greeted by a way-too-excited-for-nine-am Jisung. He's wearing ripped jeans and a tucked-in t-shirt, topped off with his signature bomber jacket that's at least two sizes too big on him.

Yet, somehow, he manages to pull it off. Not only that—you find yourself looking at him for a second too long. He looks good. The boyfriend kind of good that makes you feel like you actually want to date him. 

Pulling your jacket closer to your body, your insecurities begin to slowly eat away at your insides. Maybe you should've dressed up a bit? Perhaps Ryujin was right…

“Are you ready to go?” Jisung's cheerful voice halts your train of thought. “I prepared some sandwiches, lemonade, and strawberry cheesecake!” He twirls the basket he brought and you hear the telltale sound of a lot of good food.

His exuberance is almost infectious and you find yourself in high spirits in no time.

“Really? You did all of that by yourself?”

“Oh, well,” he drops the small wicker basket on the pavement, taking a few steps towards you. You nearly step back in surprise, heat rising to your cheeks as he comes face to face with you.

“W-What are you—”

He thumbs away a speck of dirt from your cheek. “You had a lil' something there, darling.”

You nearly splutter at both his words and actions, heart racing inside of your chest. Cautiously raising your head, you dare to peek up at him.

“Well, I made everything alone… except for the cheesecake. Uh, Felix had to help me with that one,” he says, shooting you a lopsided grin.

“Oh well,” you giggle. “I take it that you're not particularly skilled in the kitchen.”

“H-Hey,” he stammers as he tries to defend his baking skills, blush coating his cheeks. “I am. It's just that the cream cheese wouldn't hold its shape…”

“Yeah yeah, sure you are.”

After Jisung's incessant whines die down, another peaceful tranquility sets in the air. It's almost magical how no words need to be exchanged between you two for you to feel relaxed.

When you arrive at the park, he immediately gets to work, walking from one end to the other to gauge the ‘vibe’ as he calls it.

“I swear! I need to see if I vibe with the area before I sit down,” he explains like it's the most normal thing in the world. You can't help but roll your eyes at his antics but follow him nonetheless, sighing in relief when he finally chooses a spot.

He insists that he must set everything up on his own, like a true gentleman and you watch with a sparkle in your eyes as he smooths down the creases of the blanket. 

“I think I can hear the blanket purr from how hard you're petting it,” you chuckle, grabbing one end of the blanket to straighten it out. 

“H-Hey, I'm supposed to prepare everything,” he pouts, hurriedly grabbing the basket and placing it in the middle. He pulls out three neatly wrapped boxes and two plates.

“Do you want to start with the sandwiches?”

“Sure.”

After both of you help yourselves to the sandwiches and cheesecake, you fall back down on the blanket, patting your stomach. You have since taken off your jacket as the sun rays peeked through the branches, illuminating you with a soft glow.

“By the way,” Jisung suddenly speaks up from next to you, “I really like your shirt. It looks good on you.”

Warmth pools your belly at his compliment. You suppress the grin that's threatening to peek through as you turn around, now laying face to face with Jisung.

“Thanks. You don't look that bad yourself.”

Unnoticed by you, he flushes at your words, eyes sparkling as he takes you in. With your eyes closed and your mouth curled into a smile, you look happy.

And as stupid as it sounds, you being happy makes Jisung happy too. He wants to be the cause of your happiness, the reason you smile. He wants to be around to hear your sweet laughter spill from your throat. 

His hand reaches out to gently grab the petal that landed on your hair.

“Do you want to play UNO?”

Your eyes widen. “You have it with you?”

“Sure thing. Gotta warn you though, I was three times champion back in high school.”

“It's on!”

six.

You're sitting in front of the camera once again, except this time, you're a lot more relaxed. Your shoulders slump as you watch Jisung carefully arrange the camera, tongue poking out between his lips as his brows furrow.

Finally, once he gets the right angle, a sigh escapes his parted lips and he looks up at you. “Are you ready?”

When you nod, he hits the ‘record’ button, shuffling back into his seat.

“Okay, could you tell me what you did today?” he reads the question from his notepad, looking back up at you. You give him the are-you-serious look, not understanding why you needed to answer but you do nonetheless, masking the silence with an awkward cough.

“So, you took me on a picnic. It was actually really fun—I haven't relaxed like that in a while.”

Jisung'd mouth twitches as he holds in a smirk. “Okay, and what would you say was the most exciting part of the day?”

“Hmm,” you grow silent as you ponder. “I'd say just laying down in the grass and talking. I guess it sounds kinda lame,” you nibble on your lower lip, breaking eye contact, “but it felt really nice.”

“Do you think you could elaborate? Maybe a specific moment?”

“Ah,” the heat rises to your cheeks as you feel the wave of embarrassment wash over you. “I-I'm not really sure but…”

“...but?” Jisung's curious eyes prompt you to continue. “Probably just turning around and seeing someone's face right next to me.”

You blow out a puff of air. “I guess it's still kinda surreal to have a person want to spend time with me. At least I think…” you mumble as an afterthought, not noticing the flash of hurt on Jisung's face.

He recomposes himself rather quickly and reads out the last question.

“If you were to rate today's activity on a happiness scale, how much would you say?”

“You mean how happy it made me?”

“Yeah.”

“Well,” your hands play with the hems of your sleeves. “I'd say a solid seven and a half. I had a lot of fun.”

Pressing the button to stop the recording, Jisung beams. “Thanks! That's everything for today.”

seven.

“Hey,” you turn your head to follow the familiar voice, eyes settling on Jisung's figure, his go-to bomber jacket for once replaced with a black hoodie.

“Oh, hey. How are you?” you greet him, a smile already forming at the corner of your lips like it always does when you talk to Jisung. Since your majors were light years apart, it was rare to see him in the same building.

“Good, thanks for asking. I almost fell asleep during my lecture though.”

You fail to stifle a burst of laughter at the face he pulls. There was just something so undeniably him about falling asleep in class. “Was it psychology?”

“Oh, God, no!” he shakes his head vigorously. “I love that class. It was Calc intro, most boring lecture I've ever had.”

A frown takes over your face. “Wait, you're taking Calc? I thought you were a psychology major…”

“Oh, I am,” he responds and you follow the outline of his lips as they form a perfect heart shape. “But I had to choose an elective that had nothing to do with my major. I thought I had signed up for music composition but they told me there was a mixup.”

“Ah, I see.”

An awkward silence hangs in the air, Jisung pulling you into his chest as a large group of students walks out of the lecture hall next to you, saving you from potentially being trampled by the hoard.

“Thanks,” you mumble in a quiet voice, hiding your embarrassment. It doesn't help that you're pressed up against him, your nose picking up on his now familiar scent.

Once you step away, Jisung rubs the back of his neck, his face flushing. “Are you free now? I figured I'd take you out for another fun activity.”

You mentally run through your schedule, grinning when you realize that this was your last class. “Yeah, I'd love to go. Do you have a specific place in mind?”

He beams. “I do. But it's a secret. Meet me at the gate in five?”

Clutching onto the straps of your backpack, you nod. “Sure, I'll be there.”

As the two of you part ways—not without Jisung affectionately patting your head before running off to the east wing—you don't notice Ryujin glaring at you from the other side of the hall.

She's crouching behind the vending machine in order to stay out of sight as fumes come out of her ears. Yuna, who's standing behind her begins to regret even pointing towards the two of you in the first place.

When she spotted you while walking out of class, she was surprised to see you happily chatting away, excitedly nudging Ryujin with a proud smile.

“Look! Y/N's actually talking to a guy.”

When said guy turned around though, her friend's smile fell, quickly being replaced with a scowl. 

“When did those two get so close?”

Yuna could hear the venom dripping from her tone as she glares a hole into your back. She quietly curses, only now realizing the consequences that would soon unfold. As your roommate, you and Ryujin spent quite a lot of time together, whether by choice or not, and this would likely put a strain on your relationship.

Despite knowing full well that you didn't do anything wrong, the small voice in her head can't help but question your actions. Didn't you know about Ryujin's crush on Jisung? If so, are you doing this on purpose? 

With a sigh, she pats Ryujin on the shoulder, walking off to lecture hall 12. She doesn't have the time to deal with this. At least not now…

eight.

You were never really good at games.

This observation you made as a kid is something you cling onto to this day. As Jisung drags you inside the local arcade, determined for you to have a great time, a deep frown etches itself across your face.

Equipped with a bag full of coins he obtained at the front desk, Jisung smiles like a little kid, and you could've sworn you saw sparkles in his eyes.

“Ta-da! This is my favorite hangout spot. I used to come here all the time with my friends during middle school and high school,” he explains, the words rolling off his tongue in excitement. “It still looks the same as it did all those years ago…”

His tone takes on a more sorrowful, almost nostalgic timbre as he scans the place with glossy eyes. “I have so many memories attached to this place.”

“Well,” you take a step closer to him, placing your hand on his shoulder. “How about you make some new memories?”

The smile returns to his face and his eyes sparkle in excitement. “I'd like that very much.”

For the following two hours, Jisung kicks your ass in various arcade games. It's almost unbelievable how many times you've lost—no one should be allowed to be so terrible at air hockey—but for some reason, you are. 

Unfortunately, you aren't blessed with a short reaction time and fast reflexes. But Jisung doesn't seem to mind one bit. In fact, he seems to relish in your inexperience, taking on the job of guiding you through various games, almost as if he was some wise troll living under a bridge, ready to give you precious tips.

“Look, you have to have a proper stance,” he reminds you for the n-th time, standing behind you and caging you with his arms as he helps you hold the toy machine gun properly. 

“I'm trying, cut me some slack!”

You try to hide the heat rushing to your cheeks as you indulge in the feeling of his strong arms wrapping around you and his toned chest pressing against your back. He wasn't kidding about going to the gym, was he?

“I know, sorry,” he chuckles, and the sound goes straight to your tummy. You can feel the vibrations through the thin layers of clothing separating the two of you.

Once he steps back, you position yourself in front of the screen as you try to mimic his movements, shooting at all the zombies that appeared when he pressed ‘start’.

“Would you look at that,” he grins, reading the number on display after one of the undead creatures bit your leg and your avatar dies. “Not bad, that's double your score from the last game.”

You pout, “But I still suck. Look at you, you broke the record,” you point towards his screen which is now filled with confetti as Jisung just scored the highest amount of points. 

“Well,” he puffs up his chest, a small smirk playing on his lips. “I've had a lot of practice so it's no wonder I'm pretty good.”

Then, with a gentle tone, he adds, “So don't worry about it. You'll do better next time!”

‘Next time’... his words echo in your head. Was it just something that unconsciously slipped past his lips out of habit or does he really plan to take you here another time?

After the zombie game, you're dragged to the basketball hoops where Jisung proves himself to be extraordinary at those too. His motions are fluid yet fast and you can see the muscles in his arms flexing as throws the ball into the hoop over and over again, never missing. 

“Look! I got thirty in a row,” he yells with excitement, causing you to roll your eyes at his childish antics. But you can't deny that his joy was infectious and somewhat adorable. Your smile only lasts so long before you hear a loud groan of pain.

Turning around, you spot Jisung on the floor, holding a hand to his cheek.

“A-Are you okay?” the words spill from your lips faster than your brain can comprehend them. Although you saw what happened, it still worries you that Jisung keeps covering his face, almost as if hiding from you.

Did it hurt that bad?

In reality, Jisung is just embarrassed that the basketball hit him square in the face in the split second he turned around to face you. All he wanted to do was impress you but instead, he wound up looking like a fool.

His face burns in humiliation as he slowly stands up, hand still covering the left half of his face. You carefully walk up to him, nothing but concern etched in your features, as you gently peel his hand away, releasing a puff of air as you watch his cheek tint a purplish-blue.

“If we don't ice it, it'll bruise,” you poke the inside of your cheek with your tongue as you asses the situation. “Have a seat, I'll go ask them for an ice pack.”

With shame coursing through his him, Jisung obliges, plopping himself into the plastic chair. A minute or two passes before you return, running with the ice pack secure in your hand. And maybe it was the adrenaline pumping in his veins but he's never seen someone look as breathtaking as you did at that moment, hair mused and panting like you just ran a marathon.

He's about to stand up and take the ice pack from you but you gently push him back into his seat, your palm reaching to cup his face.

“Does it still hurt?” you ask in a tone so tender it has him dizzy. When he shakes his head, you tilt his chin upwards, quietly examining the small bruise, running your thumb over it with a sigh. “You need to be more careful.”

He winces when you suddenly press the cold packet to his face, a hiss leaving his parted lips. 

“Here, hold this for a bit longer, I'll go grab you some water.”

“Thanks.”

After a while, Jisung manages to convince you that he's okay, insisting that you shouldn't cut your night short because of a measly bruise. The two of you play a couple more games (he kicks you ass in every one of them) before moving on to the last activity—the dance machine.

Although not as popular as it used to be, Jisung still adores DDR. It was always one of his favorite games and the corners of his lips twitch when he notices you staring at the thing like it was some futuristic spacecraft.

“Are you sure you want me to get on this death machine?” there are traces of disbelief evident in your tone and Jisung finds it wholly amusing.

“It's not a death machine, it's a dance machine,” he corrects. “Come on, it's a lot of fun. I promise,” he pouts, grabbing your hand. Unable to resist his pleas, you carefully step into the box, feeling a little bit queasy. 

“Are you sure this is stable?”

Jisung rolls his eyes, “Yes. Now, c'mon, scaredy cat. I'm challenging you to a dance off!”

The first couple of rounds go exactly how you expected them to go. You outright lose every single time, falling prey to the usual case of jelly-legs and Jisung seems to particularly enjoy watching you wobble around like a drunk lunatic.

But after a while, you begin to get a hang of it. You don't stumble around as much and you aren't as tired after every dance. Jisung notices your slow but steady progress and a smile blossoms across his face.

Your determination to succeed is endearing.

He isn't sure what prompted him to do so, but during the last dance, when you both were neck and neck, he allowed himself to fumble, stepping on the wrong square as a result. The expression on your face is priceless, pure unfiltered joy as you revel in the close victory.

And he knows that if he had the choice to see you happy like this, he'd do it all over again.

nine.

It slowly becomes routine for you to take a seat on the wooden stool and gaze into the camera as Jisung asks you questions. And to your surprise, it also grows into something you look forward to. 

You no longer feel like you're being picked apart by his curious gaze, instead, you find traces of understanding behind Jisung's sparkly eyes.

“So, Y/N,” he begins the recording with his signature cough to draw your attention away from the posters of famous musicians plastered along his walls. “How do you feel about today's date?”

Despite Jisung having referred to your outings as ‘dates’ multiple times now, it still makes your heart flutter like a middle schooler's. You turn your head to face him as you respond.

“I had a lot of fun today! Arcades were never really my thing and it was the first time I've actually been to one,” you recount with a smile, “But despite that, I had a great time.”

Jisung grins behind the camera, unable to hold in his excitement. “Was there a particular moment that made you feel content or happy?”

You ponder for a bit, biting your lower lips before you answer. “Hmm, I guess the last game, you know, the dancing machine.”

Jisung nods in understanding, scribbling something down in his notebook. “Do you like dancing?”

“Not particularly, but it was the only game I won. Even if you let me win, it still made me happy,” you answer truthfully. Jisung opens his mouth to protest but you quickly cut in. “It's okay, Ji. You don't need to pretend. It was really sweet, you know?”

He flushes when you catch him in his lie, mumbling something under his nose with a pout.

“Was there a moment that made you unhappy or where you felt uneasy?”

You take a moment to think about his question, recalling all the events that occurred today. “Not necessarily, but there was a moment where I felt really worried.”

Jisung watches you intently, breath caught in his throat, hanging onto every word you say as he clutches his notepad in his right hand.

“I got really worried about you when you got hit. I'm glad it didn't bruise too much.”

After a few more questions, Jisung wraps up the interview. When he bends down to pick up the tangled cables, you can't help but glance at him. You are currently respecting the tight fit of his jeans as well as his shoulders that’re on display in the loose tank top he's wearing.

Thankfully, you manage to divert your gaze before he catches you shamelessly checking him out, busying yourself with glancing out the window.

“It's pretty late now, do you wanna head back?”

You nod. “Yeah, I'll probably go now. Thank you for today.”

Jisung waves you off with a grin. “Hope you didn't think you'd get rid of me so soon. I'm walking you home.”

“Oh,” is all you manage to say, secretly relieved that he offered. You didn't like walking alone in the dark, especially in areas you weren't too acquainted with. You watch Jisung pull on his jacket and grab his keys. He leads you out the door, locking it behind him as the two of you walk into the empty, pitch-black street.

As you're crossing the street, Jisung suddenly speaks up. “You know, I didn't let you win.”

You glance back at him, your fingers gently brushing against each other in the process. His rosy cheeks are a dead giveaway and you reply with a grin, “Yeah sure you didn't.”

Once the two of you arrive in front of your block, an uncomfortable silence settles in the air. Neither of you wants to leave.

Sighing, you turn around to face him, the glimmering streetlamps illuminating his face and casting a gentle glow on his features.

“Thank you for today, Jisung. I had lots of fun.”

The boy runs a hand through his hair, looking away shyly as if contemplating something. Then, his arms move forward as he pulls you into an awkward albeit warm hug, nestling his head in the crook of your neck.

“I'm glad you enjoyed yourself. I had fun too.”

You pray Jisung can't hear your heart beating and allow yourself to relax into his arms. Fuck, he smells so nice too.

When you part, both of you slightly flustered, Jisung pipes, “So, erm, see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah. See you tomorrow,” you respond, voice trailing off as you force yourself to conceal the disappointment rolling through you in waves.

As you're walking up the staircase to your apartment, the build-up of the day’s emotions hits you full force, causing you to nearly stumble. It's not sad, on the contrary, you feel happy.

Like actually happy, something you didn't think was possible. Even after parting with Jisung, the feeling of peace and content lingered. You were beginning to understand what Jisung meant by happiness being a visiting friend that unexpectedly popped up when you needed it most.

He brought out the best of you, gently coaxing you out of your shell and allowing you to shine brightly—something nobody has ever done. He knew exactly what to say, how to make you smile, and how to have you forget all the stress that would always weigh down on you.

But the demons of your past still lingered somewhere in the back of your mind, telling you that nothing good was meant to last. You tried to shake off the feeling of unease that washed over you as you unlocked your front door.

Something didn't feel right.

As you stepped inside your shared apartment, you piqued your ears. Usually, Ryujin would be yapping away on the phone with one of her friends but you didn't hear anything.

Now that you think about it, it was oddly quiet.

“Ryujin, are you here?” your voice echoed through the room but you didn't hear an answer. Odd.

When you walk into the living room, you finally notice your roommate sitting on the couch with a bag of chips nestled in her lap. She's scrolling through her phone but she doesn't have any headphones on, you note.

“Oh, hey Ryujin,” you greet her nervously. The air in the room feels thick enough to cut with a knife.

“How was your day?” you ask in hopes of stirring up a conversation, cursing your more than lacking small-talk skills. She doesn't respond which kind of worries you. Ryujin is unbelievably chatty and it's very uncharacteristic for her to be quiet.

As you open the fridge to look for take-out, you frown when you see none. 

“Uhm, Ryujin?” you carefully call her name. “You didn't get any take-out? You always get us food on Thursdays?”

It was true, Ryujin always ordered in on Thursdays and you did on Fridays, it was something you established at the beginning of your co-living.

“I did, I just ate it all,” she suddenly replies, an icy edge to her tone.

So she can speak.

“Ooh, um, o-okay, it's no problem,” you laugh it off awkwardly. “Maybe just a heads up next time…”

You retreat back into your room with some hummus and pita bread, not wanting to spend more time in the living room. Ryujin was clearly in a bad mood and you didn't really know how to deal with her sourness. You've never seen her pissed off like this and it makes you wonder what did you do to deserve this kind of treatment.

You plop on your bed, exhausted from everything that happened today. It takes you a few hours of tossing and turning before you finally manage to fall asleep, limbs curled between your sheets and frown etched onto your face.

ten.

The following day starts in the worst way possible. First of all, you slept through your alarm, meaning you had to rush through your routine in order to not be too late. Not to mention that your plans for getting you and Ryujin some coffee to make up are out the window.

You end up being late anyways. 

The professor gives you a curt nod as you briskly walk into the room, feeling everyone's eyes on you. The heat rises to your cheeks as you awkwardly look up, searching for a spot to sit. You catch Ryujin's gaze but if her icy glare isn't enough to deter you, the fact that she places her backpack on the empty spot beside her definitely is.

You nervously bite your lip, scanning the room for an empty seat. Finally, you notice the spot all the way to the right. It's a bit far too away from the board for your taste but you don't really have much of a choice, do you?

During the lecture, you're unable to concentrate on a single word your professor says, your mind running at a hundred miles per minute. You steal a few glances at Ryujin, feeling the unease swirl in your insides into a cocktail of doubt.

Were you really that dense? Did you do something to anger her?

After class, Ryujin rushes out the door before you even manage to pack up, trampling any of your hopes to talk it out.

You spend the rest of your afternoon strolling through campus like a ghost. Your evening class was canceled due to a special lecture that would be held in the auditorium.

Apparently, the school's prized alumni was going to be one of the speakers and the entire student body would be there. Safe to say, you weren't necessarily looking forward to it. Large crowds weren't really your thing.

eleven.

The lecture ends up being a complete sham and you regret staying on campus for the entire afternoon just to hear the principal yap about the university's achievements. An uncomfortable ick accompanies you the entire time, likely from Ryujin staring a hole into your back but you shrug it off.

Once the lecture ends, you sling your bag across your shoulder and prepare to return. From the other side of the auditorium, Jisung spots you, a grin breaking out on his face.

You don't notice him though. You don't even notice the group of guys walking in the opposite directions until you accidentally bump into one of them, the drink in his hand spilling on your shirt and the floor.

“What the fuck?!” the guy grumbles, glaring at his now half-empty cup.

“O-Oh, sorry,” you mumble, grimacing at the splotch forming on your shirt. This was definitely going to stain. “I-I didn't mean to—”

“Next time watch where the fuck you're going,” he scoffs, despite the fact that his soda was now splattered on your shirt, not his. 

As he walks off with his friends, it takes everything in you to hold in the scream of frustration. Why was he so rude? It's not like you did it on purpose, not to mention he was just as much at fault as you were.

“Fuck,” you curse under your breath, blinking away the tears forming in the corners of your eyes. This is too much for you to handle in one day.

As you look up, your eyes met with Jisung's. His usual smile is gone having witnessed what just happened. Instead, he's looking at you with pity.

Oh God, you're so embarrassed.

Just as he begins walking towards you, you turn around and head in the other direction, not wanting to face him. Not like this.

You manage to get to the small park in front of your campus before he finally catches up with you, grabbing your shoulder.

“W-Wait, Y/N,” he pants, “are you okay?”

You try to shake off his hand, looking away. You didn't want him to see you like this knowing full well that you were mere seconds away from a breakdown.

“Please, just go, Jisung.”

His heart cracks when he hears the misery in your tone. Like you're just fed up with everything. Your eyes are red and he can see the tears forming in them like you're holding them in. “I-I don't want you to see me like this.”

“Like what?”

“Looking pathetic,” you sniffle. “I don't want you to see me cry.”

“It's not pathetic to cry, you know?”

For the first time, you risk looking up at him, lips trembling. When you see the concern etched over his face, the worry in his eyes, you can't hold it in anymore.

You let the dam break as you burst into tears. “W-Why, why do I feel so pathetic then, Ji?” you ask, wiping away your tears with the back of your hand. You begin to shake as sobs wrack through your body.

“W-Why do I feel so small? Why does it hurt s-so damn much?”

“Oh, Y/N,” Jisung is damn close to tears himself as he drops his bag on the ground, gently pulling you into a hug. He gently coaxes you to sit down with him on the grass, never breaking off the hug as he rubs soothing circles onto your back with his thumb.

And it's truly a different experience to have someone comfort you when you're at your lowest instead of muffling your sounds as you cry yourself to sleep. Jisung stays with you as you wail, all the suppressed sadness and frustration bursting inside of you. It was long overdue, you realize, and it makes you appreciate the fact that you aren't alone.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks gently after some time has passed. 

“You're gonna think I'm being unreasonable,” you sniffle, hiding in the crook of his neck.

A chuckle escapes his lips. “C'mon, Y/N, you know that's not true. I'd never think less of you for experiencing pain and sadness.”

“I just… everything that happened, it was too much for me to—,” you gulp, willing yourself to squeeze the words out. “It was too much for me to handle.”

“Was it school or family related?”

“Not really,” you reply. “I had an argument with my roommate. She just stopped talking to me yesterday and she's obviously pissed. I'm just upset because—”

“—you're upset cause you have no idea why she's acting like that, right?”

You look up at him in surprise, shocked that he guessed correctly. “Y-Yeah. It makes me really uncomfortable when people are angry with me and don't tell me why.” 

Perhaps it's the people-pleaser in you that brings out this side of you. The one that despises when people don't like you. The crippling desire for everyone to love you. You always knew it would become a burden one day.

“Trust me, I know that feeling,” Jisung sighs, running a hand through his hair. “The desire to be loved and wanted by everyone… yeah.”

You rest your head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat as you hand absentmindedly plays with the grass, tugging and twisting it. Your tears have since dried out, leaving a thin, shiny film on your cheeks.

“You know, I used to be like this—and honestly, still kinda am—when I felt like I wasn't loved.”

Jisung lets the words hang in the air before turning around to face you. The melancholic look in his eyes is replaced with one of conviction as he gently tilts your chin upwards. “I just hope that you know you are loved. People around you care for you, even if you can't see it. You're never a burden, Y/N, ever.”

Your eyes begin to water at his words, hands crumpling into the sleeves of his jacket as you try to ground yourself. Jisung had managed to hit all your vulnerable spots with his reassurance and it makes you feel… understood. It gives you hope, in a weird way, that someone so cheerful and happy knows the heartwrenching pain that comes with the feelings of being a burden. 

It gives you hope that you can get better. That one day, after weeks, months, perhaps years of working on yourself, you can come to love living again. You can be happy and enjoy life without the little voice in your head that follows you around and tells you that nothing good ever lasts.

“Jisung, I-I,” the words die in your throat as you swallow hard. There literally on the tip of your tongue yet you're unable to squeeze them out.

“I-I… thank you,” you finally croak, burying your head in the crook of his neck. You're crying, again, but it's different this time. With every sob that leaves your parted lips, every tear that trickles down your cheek and every tremble of your body, you feel all the bottled-up pain and suffering lift from your soul.

The wails of misery become sobs of relief, and it feels like a massive weight has been lifted off your shoulders.

It takes at least half an hour for your breathing to return to normal. You think it's impossible to cry any more, like you have no more tears left. Somewhere along the way, Jisung beginns sniffling too and soon, both your sobs turned into small giggles. 

“I… I don't think I've cried this much in my life,” you mumble under your breath, causing him to chuckle. 

“Did it help you get it all out? Are you feeling any better?”

“Yeah. Um, I think I really needed this. Oh- and, sorry you had to listen to all of… all of my troubles,” you add, suddenly a bit embarrassed when you notice how much your tears soaked through the material of his shirt.

“It's okay, I'm glad I was able to help.”

After a beat of silence, he suddenly chimes, “I have an idea. There's a convenience store near here that's open 24/7. We can go get some ice cream and swing on the swings. It's a really nice place, I go there often when I want to clear my head.”

You frown, “Are you sure you don't mind though? It's getting pretty late…”

“Not at all. C'mon, I'm sure you'll love it!”

twelve.

Jisung carefully hands you the unwrapped melona ice cream before taking a seat on the neighboring swing.

You thank him with a smile, pulling your knees closer together as you gently begin to sway back and forth. The breezy wind ruffles your hair, a refreshing chill passing through your body.

“A penny for your thoughts?” you shift your attention to Jisung who is currently nibbling on his ice cream as he peers at you with a concerned but curious gaze. Cute.

“Um… any tips for making up with someone when you don't know what you did in the first place?”

“Ah,” Jisung nods in understanding, “it's about your roommate, isn't it? Is it the one with short hair? The one that kept glaring at you during the lecture?”

There's an air of confusion in his tone, his brows furrowing as if he's trying his hardest to conjure up a picture in his head. Then, his eyes flash. “I think her name was Rina, or no, Ryuna…”

“Ryujin,” you correct him, taking another bite of your ice cream. “Yeah, dark blue hair, that's her.”

“So what happened?”

You take a deep breath, allowing all the memories from the previous night to run through your mind, wincing. “Honestly, it wasn't even that big of a deal I guess and I may have overreacted,” you whisper, looking ahead with glossy eyes. “It just made me really upset—she just completely ignored me when I got home and gave me the cold shoulder. We have this deal where she gets us take-out on Thursdays and I get it on Fridays but she made a point to emphasize that she got some for herself but not for me.”

You exhale through your nose as the wind picks up, snuggling into Jisung's bomber. “I know this sounds ridiculous, and honestly, that's exactly how I feel right now… but this isn't like Ryujin. We may not see eye to eye on most things, but eating take-out while binging whatever new trash netflix put out—it was our special thing.”

Jisung stays silent for a moment, twirling the wooden stick in his hands before looking at you. “You don't sound ridiculous at all, it definitely seems like she's upset about something. Did you try talking to her?”

You shake your head solemnly. “I tried—I was hoping to get her coffee on our way to class but I slept through my alarm so I only saw her after I stormed into class ten minutes late. There were barely any seats left but she put her backpack on the empty spot next to her so I got the memo.”

The bitterness in your tone is clear as day and Jisung instantly picks up on the way you clench your hands into fists. “I get that she didn't want to talk to me, it makes me sad but I get it. What I don't get is why she did that despite knowing how much I hate being thrust into the spotlight.”

You turn around to face Jisung, your eyes welling up with tears. “I felt so pathetic standing at the front of the class with my hair all over the place, as everyone stared at me. I just wanted to curl myself into a tiny ball and disappear. The professor never bothered to learn my name, but I'm sure she'll now remember me as the student who stormed in late.”

From his position on the swing next to yours, Jisung awkwardly moves his hand to pat you on the back in an attempt to comfort you. You hastily wipe the tears that began to gather in the corners of your eyes with the sleeve of his bomber.

“And then that stupid asshole in the hallway spilled his soda all over me! God, I wanted to punch him,” you groan, causing Jisung to chuckle.

“Hey, so I know it probably doesn't mean much but for all it's worth, I really think you should cut yourself some slack. You clearly had a hard day and you shouldn't fault yourself for feeling what you feel, okay?”

Your hands drop to your lap as you nervously tug at the sleeves of his jacket. “Thank you, Ji. For everything… it means a lot.”

He pats your head in response, jumping off the swing and landing on his feet. “And regarding your roommate, I think you should give her some space, maybe a day or two and then try to talk to her. She can't ignore you forever, you know?”

“Yeah, I hope you're right.”

Out of all the unusual things that have happened to you in the past two days though, running around the playground at 2 AM definitely takes the cake.

The relatively quiet area is filled with laughter as you and Jisung play tag, race to the top of the climbers, and compete in building the tallest sandcastles in pitch darkness. Eventually, both of you are so out of breath that you decide to lie down on the grass and listen to the hum of the streetlights.

“I think this is the most I've run since gym class back in high school,” Jisung laughs, the sound light and airy. You heave out a breath before nodding.

“Same here. Last time I've been so out of breath was during my high school's relay race.”

Jisung lets out a puff of air. “Time flies doesn’t it? Feels like yesterday when I was filling out my college apps.”

You nod in silent agreement, picking at the grass with nimble fingers. You watch Jisung turn his back towards you, shuffling. You can see the muscles flexing in his back, indicating that his hands are moving.

“Whatcha doing?” you try to peek over his shoulder but he stops you with a whine. 

“Wait, I'm almost done.”

Jisung's ‘almost done’ turns out to be ten minutes later when he turns around with a grin, holding what seems to be a flower crown. You squint your eyes, making sure you aren't seeing things but it seems to be one indeed. Cute.

Jisung springs up, excitement rolling off of him as he proudly presents you with his creation. “Do you like it?”

Your lips curl into a smile as you slowly sit up, gently taking the flower crown from his hands. “It's beautiful,” you mumble, looking at it in awe. He even added some bellflowers to make it stand out more and it causes a wave of warmth to wash over you.

You hold in your breath when Jisung takes the flower crown from your hands, carefully placing it atop your head. 

“Y-You… you look really pretty,” he marvels, the words rolling off his tongue before he even realizes what he's saying. But it's true—you're shining under the moonlight like the prettiest flower and Jisung has to hold in the urge to cup your face and press kisses all over it.

Luckily, he has half a mind not to do so, instead settling on pulling out his phone. “Can I take a picture? I want to have something I can look back at in the future.”

Heat rushes to your cheeks the rawness in his voice. You nod, shyly looking into the camera as he snaps a few pictures of you. Hopefully, it's dark enough and he'll only be able to make out your features in the photo.

“Oh, damn,” he murmurs, glancing at his watch, furrowing his brows. “It's three in the morning.”

You mirror his expression, scrambling to get up on your feet. “Shit, the buses aren't running anymore.”

As your mind fills with worry, dreading how you'll get back home, Jisung nervously rubs the back of his neck. “Um, my place isn't far and you can stay over if you'd like. I can take the couch and… yeah,” he trails off sheepishly.

He watches you expectantly as you go over all your options in your head. In the end, you come to the conclusion that you don't really have a choice. It's either accept Jisung's generous offer or walk home in the middle of the night for forty-five minutes.

“That would make things a lot easier, thank you.”

Jisung nearly sighs in relief, grinning from ear to ear. He grabs your hand with his, fingers interlocking as he begins running home, laughter bubbling from his throat.

“Hey!” you cry, barely keeping up with his strides, “not so fast!”

thirteen.

When you arrive at Jisung's place, a cold gust of wind greets you, making its way under your jacket.

“Ah, shit,” Jisung curses, rubbing his temples. “I'm sorry, I completely forgot—the heating pipes burst in our building on Wednesday.”

You wave him off. “It's okay, I'm sure we'll manage.”

“I'll bring you some extra blankets,” he reassures, helping you slip out of his bomber and hanging it in the closet. “The bathroom is down the hall to the left.”

You end up washing your face with his cleanser and brushing your teeth with a spare toothbrush you found under his sink. Once you emerge, you find Jisung standing by the door, a blush coating his cheeks.

“Um, I wasn't really sure what to give you but I found these,” he hands you an oversized t-shirt. “Y-You don't have to wear it, I just figured you could use something clean since your shirt's all sticky…”

“Oh, thank you,” you look away shyly but accept the item nonetheless. Jisung directs you towards his bedroom and you notice the crisp clean sheets and the heap of blankets thrown on top. 

“I hope that's enough, I couldn't find any other ones,” he apologizes, pointing towards the mountain of covers. 

You hold in a snort, faking a sad tone. “Hmm, I'm not sure that'll do.”

“Oh,” Jisung looks away with a frown, “I-I'll try to look for some more in the cupboard…”

“It's okay, Jisung, I'm joking,” you can no longer keep a straight face, giggling at how cluelessly he looks at you. “I think I'll be nice and toasty.”

He lets out a sigh of relief. “Okay, so I'll let you change now, uh, call me if you need something.”

With that, he closes the door behind him, leaving you alone in the room. You take a moment to look around, taking in his bedroom. Despite having been in his place multiple times, you've never stepped foot in here.

It looks exactly the way you'd expected it to; monochromatic palette with pops of color here and there, posters of famous rappers plastered onto the walls and a queen-sized bed in the middle. Everything in here screams Jisung—especially the small pile of laundry in the corner of his room.

As you're changing, your exhaustion starts catching up with you, and you feel the weariness setting in your limbs. You hit the pillows with a tired groan, snuggling into the duvet. 

“Can I come in?” you hear Jisung knocking on the door just as you're struggling to slide under the pile of blankets. “Yeah, come in.”

His head peeks through the door as he enters, unable to hold in his laughter as he watches you wrestle the sheets. “You want some help with that?”

You nod, embarrassed that he caught you brawling with the sheets like a toddler. “Um, y-yeah.”

It's only then that you notice the small tray in his hands. He walks up to the bed, clearing his night table before placing a glass of warm milk and some cookies on the surface. 

He turns around to face you, running a hand through his hair as he holds in a groan. Seeing you like this—tucked under a stash of blankets on his bed… yeah, it messed with his mind in more ways than one.

His hands carefully reach out to grip the blankets, making sure they're all straightened out before pulling them over your chest and tucking them around your shoulders.

“There you go,” he smiles, hoping that you couldn't see the blush blossoming on his cheeks. “All set. I brought you some warm milk and a snack in case you have trouble falling asleep. You can call me if you need anything.”

Your heart clenches at the sweet gesture and you feel warmth pooling in your belly. From the corner of your eye, you catch sight of the couch in the living room. To your horror, you notice it's empty. There's not a single blanket.

Before you register it, your hand shoots from under the covers, grabbing Jisung's wrist. “W-Wait!”

He looks at you, visibly confused; is everything okay? He could see how tired you were, barely keeping your eyes open. “Is everything okay?”

You nervously bite your lip before mumbling, “Where are your blankets?”

Even in your sleepy haze, he can make out the clear concern in your voice and it tugs at his heartstrings. “Oh,” he chuckles, not knowing what to answer, “um, I'll be okay without them, I have my hoodie, see.”

He points to the ridiculously oversized black hoodie hanging over his frame and you let out a scoff. “Bullshit! You'll be cold.”

Your blunt delivery makes him smile, not used to seeing such a grumpy side of you. And it's adorable, especially, when you're all snuggled up in his bed with droopy eyes, pouting at him like he just snatched your favorite plushie. 

That goddamn fucking pout.

Inhaling, he tries to bury those thoughts back into the dark corner of his mind. “It's okay, I'm sure I'll be fine.”

Suddenly, he feels your fingers wrap around his wrist once again.

“Stay. Please…”

Your voice is barely above a whisper—he almost believes he just imagined it but your hand on his is proof that it isn't just all in his head. You really were holding on to him, asking him to stay. It makes his heart do backflips inside his chest.

He glances back at you, an odd gleam in his eyes as he bites his lip. “Are you sure you don't mind?”

When you nod vigorously, shuffling to the side to free some space for him, Jisung catches himself sighing in relief. You're right, his hoodie and the single throw blanket on his couch wouldn't keep him warm through the night. The idea of sleeping on his bed with a heap of blankets definitely seems like a better option.

Especially next to you.

You lazily pat the space next to you, stifling a yawn. “Come on, it's really cozy.”

“If you insist,” he replies as if he wasn't elated about the fact that you asked him to stay. “Just a warning, I'm a blanket hogger. You may wake up without a blanket in the middle of the night.”

The next thing you say makes him blush like a tomato. 

“Well, I guess I'll just have to stay really close to you.”

Jisung swears that he never had such a severe case of butterflies in his stomach.

And that night, he sleeps the best he's ever had in the past few months, your steady heartbeat lulling him to sleep in no time. Especially when you curled yourself into his chest, hands clutching onto his shirt.

That night, Jisung feels like he truly isn't alone anymore.

fourteen.

You swallow the lump forming in your throat as you slide your key into the keyhole, unlocking the door. You feel like it's a deja vu, almost like Thursday evening all over again. You hate to admit it but you're worried.

What if Ryujin is still angry with you? What if she won't hear you out?

You bury those thoughts into the back of your mind, focusing on the task in front of you. You ended up sleeping over at Jisung's and he was kind enough to prepare you some pancakes earlier today so at least you weren't going into this on an empty stomach. 

When you step inside, the aroma of noodles and soy sauce immediately hits your nose. You take off your shoes and place them by the door, paddling inside. 

“Did you get take-out?”

The words roll off your tongue automatically before you even register it. You peek inside of the kitchen to find Ryujin staring at you with wide eyes.

“Y/N! Where were you?”

She drops the bag in her hand on the floor in favor of pulling you into a bone-crushing hug. “R-Ryujin,” you gasp, barely able to breathe. This isn't like her—overdramatic displays of affection were only reserved for her closest friends.

There's a mixture of anger and frustration in her tone, but you can clearly see the worry pooling in her eyes. “Why didn't you answer your phone?”

Once she finally releases you, you dig into your bag and pull out your phone, tapping on the screen to show her. “My battery died.”

“Why didn't you come home last night? I was so worried when you didn't show up…”

“Well, you made it pretty clear that you didn't want to talk to me, don't you think?” You don't mean for it to sound so bitter but fuck it, you meant every word of it. You were hurt. “You ignored me all day and I still don't know why. Did I do something wrong?”

Ryujin sighs, running a hand through her blue hair. “I know it's really childish but it hurt me. It hurt me to see you with him, laughing like you were longtime friends after I had spent so much time pinning over him.”

You frown, grabbing a chair from your dining table. “With whom? Jisung?”

“Yeah,” she nods, casting her gaze on the ground. “I know you have every right to talk to him… I just… I don't know,” she pokes her tongue against her cheek, releasing a puff of air. “I felt betrayed, I guess… I was jealous that you were suddenly so close with the guy I've had a crush on for ages.”

Simultaneously, your eyes widen and your jaw drops as you stare at Ryujin like she just told you she won the lottery.

“You what?!” you exclaim, your voice rising. “Jisung is the guy you've been going on and on about?”

Ryujin clicks her tongue. “You don't need to pretend like you don't know, you know.”

“No, no, wait!” you splutter, waving your hands frantically in the air. “You never told me it was him. It was always just a ‘mysterious guy with a guitar’,” you make air quotes with your fingers. “Hell, I didn't even know Jisung played the guitar.”

Something akin to regret flashes in Ryujin's eyes as she whispers, shocked, “So you had no idea?”

You reach your hand across the table to grab hers, vigorously shaking your head. “I swear. You never told me his name. I just assumed it was one of the seniors in the music department.”

“Oh fuck! I'm so sorry, Y/N,” she croaks, interlacing her fingers with yours. “I-I thought you knew. And even if you did, it would be none of my business either but still…” she trails off solemnly, suddenly realizing how horribly she behaved. “And I acted like such a bitch towards you…”

You can hear the regret in her tone. She's clearly shaken up, but that doesn't take away from the fact that she hurt you. She acted hostile towards you out of jealousy, causing you to have a mental breakdown in the middle of the night. Nonetheless, you feel your heart clench as you watch her sniffle, blinking away the tears forming in the corners of her eyes. 

Swallowing hard, you reach out to pat her shoulder. “It's okay, you don't have to cry. I can tell you feel bad and honestly, I'm just happy we cleared up the misunderstanding.”

“Thanks. I honestly feel like crap for how I've treated you. I guess I just deluded myself into thinking that what I did was justified. Jealousy really does a number on you, you know,” she chuckles bitterly, looking away.

An awkward silence hangs in the air. Ryujin fumbles with her hands in her lap, biting her lip before she gathers enough courage to ask, “Y-You were with him last night, weren't you?”

You look away in embarrassment and it's all the proof she needs to know that her assumption was right. “I… I was in a pretty rough spot after our argument and he comforted me. By the time I was ready to head back, it was really late so he suggested I just stay over at his place…”

She stays quiet for a bit, inhaling as she looks up. “I'm sorry, Y/N. I really am. I'm sorry I wasn't there to comfort you—I'm sorry to be the cause of your pain in the first place.”

Your lips curl into a small smile. “It's okay. I won't hold it against you.”

She rests her arms on the sides of the chair to push herself up, walking up to the counter. “You must be hungry,” she muses, pulling out two plates from the cupboard and setting them along with the noodles on the table.

“Thanks,” you murmur, opening the box and unceremoniously dumping it's contents on your plate. The two of you eat in silence until Ryujin speaks up again. This time, you nearly choke of your food.

“Does he make you happy?”

It takes you a moment to process her words and as you're making sense of her question, her eyes are fixed on your, gauging your reaction. “I want to know your honest answer.”

You swallow the noodles in your mouth before opening your mouth, closing it again as no words come out. You're speechless.

“I-I… Y-Yeah. He makes me really happy,” you admit, looking away. “Thinking about him just makes me want to smile and I finally feel like I'm…” you cringe at the word you're about to say.

“I finally feel understood—like he knows exactly how I feel…”

Ryujin hums, “Then I think you should go for it.”

You splutter, eyes widening as you part your mouth in shock. “What do you mean?”

“I meant exactly what I said, dumbass,” she rolls here eyes.” You should ask him out.”

To say you're confused would be an understatement. How is it that Ryujin, who just minutes ago admitted that she gave you the cold shoulder out of jealousy, is now suggesting that you date said man she was jealous over?

“I-I don't understand,” you blink, making sure you weren't seeing things. Is this some wild dream? Were you gonna wake up any second and find out this has all taken place in dreamland?

“Oh please, even my jealous ass could see how he looks at you.” If there's any bitterness in her tone, she manages to conceal it. “All that sappy shit—like you're his moon and stars or whatever. The point I'm trying to make is that he obviously cares about you.”

“Still, I-I can't do that to you, Ryujin…”

She gazes intently into your eyes, clasping her hands around yours. “I can't allow that, Y/N. I can't allow you to waste a perfect chance like this because of my stupid crush. I always knew nothing would come out of it anyways, you know,” she sighs, looking away. “I'll get over it, okay. It'll take me some time but I promise I'll get over it. And in the meantime, go get em', tiger!”

Before you realize it, tears are already forming at the corners of your eyes. You try your best to blink them away but you're unable to do so. Instead, they begin streaming down your face in steady waterfalls.

“Thank you, Ryujin,” you manage to squeeze out through the curtain of tears. “I really appreciate it.”

Your roommate looks close to tearing up herself. “Nothing to thank me for,” she mumbles, standing up to envelop you in a bone crushing hug. “I'm sorry for how I treated you, I really am.”

You stand there for another few minutes, hugging and crying before she takes a step back. She reaches to pat your shoulder, the corners of her mouth twisting into a sad smile.

“You deserve to be happy. Please never forget that.”

fifteen.

Jisung groans, his biceps flexing as he slowly raises the barbell above his head. He feels his arms begin to shake as he lifts the weight up for the last rep, only making it about half way before he drops it with a grunt. Luckily, Changbin is spotting him today and he manages to catch it before it can do any harm.

“Good job, Jisung,” he smiles, genuinely impressed at his friend's progress. “You must be practicing—you've gotten a lot better.”

“Thanks, man,” Jisung grins, wiping off the sweat from his forehead with a towel. 

Suddenly, his phone pings and he reaches down to grab it from his backpack. He swipes down his notifications until he finds a text from you. You sent him a meme, granted, it was really old and you probably stole it from the r/dankmemes subreddit but it makes him chuckle nonetheless. 

“Who's that?” Changbin's voice suddenly sounds in his ear and it nearly makes him drop his phone. “That person on your wallpaper,” he leans over his shoulder to get a better view of his screen.

Jisung flushes, quickly shutting off his phone. “It's no one.”

“Bullshit, I just saw someone there!”

The heat rises to his cheeks as he squirms under Changbin's gaze, stuffing his phone in his pocket. After all, he did just catch him red-handed. It was sometime last week that Jisung set his wallpaper as a photo of you that he took while you were wearing his flower crown.

“Oh shit,” Changbin suddenly murmurs to himself, eyes flashing in realization. “It's your project volunteer, Y/N, was it? I thought you said you're just friends…”

“We are,” Jisung responds flatly, looking away when Changbin's eyes bore into his head.

“Are you sure about that?”

“Shut up,” Jisung glares at his friend, grabbing his bag and slinging it over his shoulder. Great, now he has another thing to tease him for.

Just as he's walking out of the gym, the tips of his ears flush when he hears Changbin yell, “I'm so going to tell Chan about this!”

sixteen.

You feel an inexplicable wave of warmth wash over you as Jisung grabs your hand, leading you through the crowded street. While walking in front of you, he takes the brunt of the mass of people walking in your direction as you trail behind him.

“We're here,” he declares proudly once you arrive in front of the quaint little café in one of the busier districts. “They have the best milkshakes in the city!”

As you step inside, a warm gust of wind greets you. You look around, taking in the nicely decorated place; it had high ceilings, gold accents sprinkled in the sea of white and brown, and at least two dozens of plants scattered throughout the café.

“Hey, Hyunjin,” Jisung greets the tall guy behind the counter, bumping fists. After greeting his friend, Hyunjin lets his gaze drop to you, giving you a once over.

“And who's this gorgeous doll you brought with you?”

You flush at his words, the heat rising to your cheeks as you look away in embarrassment.

“Hyunjin!” Jisung grumbles, slapping his friend on the shoulder. “Stop flirting with every person that walks in here. I'm gonna tell Minho you're disturbing the customers if you don't stop.”

Jisung's threat of calling his manager seems to rush Hyunjin back into reality as he turns pale as a ghost. He masks his humiliation with a loud cough, bowing deeply before he murmurs, “My dearets apologies for hitting on you, valued customer.”

A giggle slips past your lips as you watch him cast his gaze down like a wet puppy, finding the sudden change of character very endearing. “It's okay. Though I must say I'm flattered,” you grin, flipping through the menu.

You end up settling on a vanilla milkshake while Jisung goes for a strawberry one with an ‘extra portion of love’ as Hyunjin calls it. The so-called ‘extra portion of love’ turns out to be some colorful sprinkles on the top. Lame.

“Ahh, this really hit the spot,” Jisung sighs dreamily once the two of you walk out into the evening air, rubbing his tummy like a pregnant woman. 

“No kidding. I'm surprised they aren't any bigger with such great drinks.”

You walk around town for a bit, chatting and enjoying the lively atmosphere and before you even realize it, it's dark. Conversing with Jisung for hours is slowly becoming your favorite past time, you realize. It just feels like the two of you have so much to talk about and there's never a dull moment.

“I have an idea, come with me,” Jisung suddenly pipes, grabbing your hand in his. 

“What is it?”

“It's a secret,” he winks, causing your heart to nearly leap out of your chest. 

You arrive at a gorgeous park with tall, luscious trees fringing the small pathway that lead into the depths of the greenery. The sky is pitch black, towering over you in all its glory.

“I sometimes come here at night to look at the sky,” Jisung comments, plopping down on the grass. “C'mon,” he pats the spot next to him, motioning for you to sit down.

The both of you lay down, Jisung sneaking his hand around your neck to pull you into his side. Inhaling, you pick up on the faint scent of his cologne which causes your head to spin. The light wind ruffles his hair, causing a few strands to tickle your forehead.

“What is it?” Jisung asks when he hears you giggle, unable to stop the corners of his mouth from twitching.

“Nothing,” you look away, the heat rising to your cheeks from his intent gaze. “It's just that your hair is so… fluffy.”

This time, it's Jisung's turn to become flustered. He nearly wants to eat his fist—you're so damn cute. When shifts his focus back onto the sea of darkness above him, a sigh escapes his parted lips. 

Pressed into his side, you watch his chest rise and fall, admiring the subtle curve of his lips. The stars above you glow in the dusk, illuminating his face with a gentle shimmer.

“The sky's so pretty,” you breathe out, marveling at the beauty. It was rare for you to be able to see the stars in the city with all the smog and fumes.

“Not as pretty as you though,” Jisung simpers, chuckling when you hit his shoulder.

“You're cheesier than a fondue pot, do you know that?” you scoff, hoping to disguise your embarrassment with a mask of indifference. “Who even says stuff like that nowadays, seriously?”

Jisung smirks, immediately seeing through your facade. “Then why is your heart beating so fast?”

Your breath hitches in your throat as you look away. You don't have an answer to that. Worried that he has gone too far, Jisung nervously nibbles on his lower lip, wanting to smack himself in the face.

Why does he always do this when he's around you? It's almost as if all his sanity just decides to leave whenever he's with you. Luckily, after a few minutes pass, he feels you relax back into his hold.

He looks back up at the sky before raising the hand that's wrapped around you and excitedly pointing at one of the constellations above you.

“Look, there's the Big Dipper. And there's Aquarius and Polaris,” he announces proudly as his pointer finger moves along the many constellations in the sky.

“Um, Jisung,” you giggle, “I hate to break it to you but that's not their names.”

It's not like you're particularly well versed in astrology but even you know enough to disprove his claims.

“Y/N,” he whines, his lips forming a small pout. “Couldn't you have at least pretended to agree? It's called fake stargazing; I pretend to know all the constellations in the sky and you act impressed with my deep knowledge of the stars.”

“Okay, weirdo,” you chuckle. “Go on, now's your chance to impress me.”

seventeen.

After you fake stargazing escapades, Jisung takes you on a midnight drive. He drives outside of the city, going down the small roads on the outskirts of town. It's almost magical, in a sense—blasting music through the speakers and shouting the lyrics of your favorite songs. 

As the night progresses, the chilly air begins to send shivers down your spine. “Are you cold?” Jisung asks, keeping his gaze on the road ahead of him.

You rub your shoulders, murmuring, “Yeah.”

“Take this,” his right hand reaches behind into the backseat and pulls out his bomber. You accept the piece of clothing with a quiet ‘thanks’ and you slide the jacket on, immediately feeling enveloped by warmth.

The heat rises to your cheeks when you suddenly feel a light pressure on your inner thigh. You glance at Jisung but his eyes are trained ahead of him, left hand securely on the wheel while his right hand begins to gently rub the spot, causing butterflies to erupt in your stomach.

When you look away, Jisung allows his lips to curl into a coy smile.

eighteen.

It's past midnight. You should be long asleep by now but you're way too busy scrolling through your camera roll to even think about that. 

A few months have passed since Jisung ambushed you and Yuna after your shared lecture, begging for you to be his project volunteer. While you have no idea what came over you and why you even agreed in the first place, you were now so glad you did.

The wave of emotions washes over you like the ocean tide on a stormy night. Unexpected and fierce yet there's a softer element to it. You feel your heart swell as you swipe through the photos of the two of you, all of your shared memories trickling back to you.

Whether it was a picture of him throwing darts at the theme park or slurping ramen at a nearby convenience store at three in the morning—all of these photos became your treasured remembrances of the time you spent together.

There's one particular video you stumble across that makes you break out into a grin. You were downtown, strolling through the streets when you suddenly saw someone busking. Jisung immediately grabbed your hand and dragged you towards the performer, not wanting to miss it.

The guy looked to be around your age, perhaps a year or two younger. His voice was amazing, you and everyone else around you knew that. The fire in his eyes and the way his knuckles turned white from gripping in the microphone as he sang the song made his performance stand out amongst all the other buskers in the area.

He was singing ‘Dusk till Dawn’ and from the corner of your eye, you could see Jisung mouthing along to the lyrics while clapping his hands. And it seems like the guy noticed too.

Pressing pause on the song, he pulled out an extra mic from his backpack, handing it to Jisung. 

Jisung stared at it for a few seconds before it sunk in, finally breaking into a grin and taking the microphone from his hand. He joined him at the front of the stage as the performer resumed the song, this time with Jisung singing along.

You nearly teared up watching them harmonize, both of their voices perfectly blending together. As the crowd cheered them up, you pulled out your phone, pressing the record button on your camera just like everyone around you.

Towards the end of the song, as he sang the final notes, his eyes found yours in the crowd, holding eye contact until the end. You could feel your heart thumping in your chest along with the heavy bass drumming in the air and it was electrifying. 

“But you'll never be alone I'll be with you from dusk 'til dawn I'll be with you from dusk 'til dawn Baby, I am right here”

You felt like someone stole the air from your lungs as you gasped when they finished, everyone around you bursting into applause. But you were frozen to your spot, unable to move a single muscle.

That was the day. That was the day you truly knew you had fallen for Han Jisung.

nineteen.

Today was the last day of Jisung's project.

You were sad that your time together was coming to an end, secretly wishing for it to go on for longer. How could you not? You had so much fun after all—there was never a dull moment with Jisung around—he made sure of that.

Despite that, you feel the doubts begin to creep into your head, questions like ‘Will he even talk to me after this is over’ or ‘What if he just endured talking to me for his project’ popping up. Your gloomy train of thought is interrupted by a sudden ping of your phone.

Jisung [6:23]: i'm here :3

You [6:24]: k, be there in a sec ^^

You take a moment to breathe in, smoothing down the creases of your pretty blouse. You bought it a few days ago, deciding to spoil yourself when Jisung told you to wear something fancy for your last ‘date’.

Swallowing, you grab your bag, re-touching your hair in the mirror before closing the door to your room.

“Good luck, Y/N,” Ryujin shouts from behind the couch, giving you a thumbs up. “You look great!”

Your lips curve into a smile as you wave, “Thanks, Ryujin. Bye.”

When you step out, you find Jisung in front of your house leaning against his car. The sight makes the heat rise to your cheeks—he surely cleaned up nice.

His form-fitting black jeans do a great job of defining his thighs and the crisp tucked-in button-down accentuates his snatched waist. It should be illegal for him to look so good.

“Hey there, darlin',” he grins, pocketing his phone as he pulls you in for a hug. His strong arms wrapped around you make you feel dizzy and you try to focus on the familiar scent of his cologne to ground yourself.

“H-Hi.”

“So,” he clasps his hands together in excitement, “are you ready to go?”

“Yeah,” you whisper breathlessly, clutching your bag. Jisung walks up to the passenger side, opening the door for you which causes your heart to do somersaults in your chest. “Thanks.”

Once inside, he starts the engine, backing out of the parking spot with his elbow against the headrest as he looks behind to make sure there aren't any cars. For some reason, you find that incredibly attractive.

During the ride, both of you stay quiet for the most part, only exchanging greetings and switching up the radio stations. Jisung keeps his eyes trained on the road, pretty ring-clad fingers strumming against the driver's wheel.

“Aren't you at least a little bit curious about where we're going?” he suddenly asks without looking away. Fiddling with the sleeves of your blouse, you mumble, “I am. I just figured you wanted to keep it a surprise.”

“Fair enough,” he cocks his head, taking another turn. A few minutes pass before you arrive. Jisung pulls up to a local movie theater, turning around and placing his hand on your thigh. “We're here.”

He helps you out of the passenger's seat, locking the car as the two of you walk inside. Immediately, you're greeted with a cold gust of wind that makes the hairs on the nape of your neck stand. You walk up to the counter and Jisung pulls out his phone to show the lady behind the counter your reservation.

“Perfect,” she smiles after punching the number into her computer. “To the left, hall number 7.”

Jisung thinks he prepared for this moment enough—he did spend over an hour planning today's date, after all. Yet it seems like there was one thing he didn't account for. An unforeseen variable, if you may. One that's making the color creep to his cheeks.

This isn't a normal movie theater, is it?

The answer is no. It most definitely is not. 

“Oh, well,” you pause, looking away in embarrassment. “This is new.”

Jisung looks over to you, nervously rubbing his hands against the material of his jeans. “Um… at least it looks comfortable,” he cringes at his words, pursing his lips.

You nearly snort, smoothing down your blouse as you look back at him. “You're right, I didn't even think of that. C'mon,” you tug on his hand and plop on the fuzzy cushion, sighing as you begin to sink into the soft material. “It's really comfy.”

And that's how Jisung found himself in a couple's movie theater, sharing a small couch with you. He can barely focus on the movie, his eyes drifting to the side of your face, watching as your eyelashes flutter against your cheek every time you blink in excitement or surprise. 

Hell, why should he even watch the B-list drama when he has a first-row ticket for his own view? The way you react to every scene, lips morphing into soft smiles when you're thrilled or forming into a cute pout when a surprise is revealed—it's all art to him. The purest form of entertainment.

When the movie ends though, he finds himself in hot water. Firstly, he doesn't want to remove his arm from around your shoulder yet, not when you're pressed up to him like that, causing the butterflies in his stomach to flutter. But the next problem he didn't realize would arise…

“So… how did you like the movie?”

Shit. He doesn't remember anything. Jisung was too busy looking at you to even pretend that he's paid any attention to the events unfolding on screen. His heart begins to race as he struggles to come up with a proper answer.

“Y-Yeah, I loved the scenery.”

You giggle as you nuzzle your head into his side, “Right? I loved the pan at the beach towards the end. The view was so pretty!”

He shudders, hands drifting to your waist as he inhales deeply. “I-It was. So so pretty…”

Once the credits roll, you exit the room, walking back towards the car. It's already dark outside, a handful of stars scattered across the dark depths of the sky like tiny crystals.

“So, what're we doing next?” you pipe from beside Jisung, looking at him with a curious gleam in your eyes. “Let me guess, you're taking me to a fancy candlelit dinner, aren't you?”

You're clearly joking—Jisung can tell from the teasing edge to your voice and the way you wiggle your eyebrows. Little do you know, that's actually exactly what he had planned for today.

“Holy, shit,” you whisper once the two of you walk through the main entrance of the restaurant, clutching onto his arm. “That's exactly what you're doing!”

He can't hide the pride bubbling up within him at your reaction. You're looking around in awe, admiring the crystal chandelier hanging in the foyer. A waiter walks up to you, leading you to your reserved table and handing you the menus.

“Wow, Jisung—this place is gorgeous,” you splutter, heat rising to your cheeks as Jisung pulls out the chair for you like a true gentleman and male lead in a cheesy drama. “I almost feel unworthy, are you sure it's okay for people like us to come here?” you whisper playfully, looking around and taking in all the expensive decorations.

Jisung leans over the table to grab your hand, “Don't worry, a friend of mine works here and he assured me we'll be fine. As long as we don't do anything stupid.”

You begin scanning the menu, raising your eyebrow at the obnoxiously high prices. I mean, who'd pay so much for pasta? You were pretty sure you could get a week's worth of groceries for that much.

Nevertheless, Jisung invited you here so you aren't going to say that out loud. You glance back at him, watching his brows furrow as he goes through all the main courses, heart-shaped lips pursing when he lands on something he likes.

Filled with laughter and happiness, your shared dinner comes to an end. Despite the smaller portions, you feel like your stomach is satisfied. Except, there's one little thing missing…

“Would you like some dessert?” the waiter suddenly appears in front of you, handing you the dessert menu. Your mouth waters at the sight—there are so many to choose from, but there's one that particularly stands out. And by the looks of it, Jisung notices it too.

“Mango cheesecake,” he murmurs before catching your gaze, smiling when he notices the way the corners of your lips turn curl up.

“I was thinking the same thing.”

“Oh, if I may,” the waitress interjects, pointing at the menu. “The mango cheesecake is really filling. We usually suggest couples split it.”

Your lips part in surprise at the fact that she calls you a couple, looking at Jisung nervously. You're surprised to find him in a similar state of distress, his cheeks painted with a soft blush.

“O-Okay, we'll split it then,” he splutters, swallowing hard, but he makes no attempt to correct her. That fact alone makes your heartbeat quicken. Although to be fair, you can see where she's coming from. If you were a random onlooker, you would've assumed that two young people eating at a fancy restaurant and sharing dessert were in fact on a date.

Once the cake arrives, you and Jisung take turns eating spoonfuls of the delicious treat. The way his eyes sparkle makes you giggle. The dessert is gone in a blink of an eye, both you and Jisung sighing blissfully as the last bits of the creamy cheese melt on your tongue.

There's a certain tension in the air, and you struggle to wrap your head around it. Moments like these aren't exactly unusual between the two of you, having spent a lot of time together, but ever since you walked out of the restaurant, something feels… different.

Perhaps it's because of Jisung's firm tone when he insisted on covering the bill—his voice held so much conviction you didn't even bother arguing with him. You've kept quiet for the past few minutes, clutching onto the straps of your bag as you walk side by side, occasionally brushing the tips of your fingers against his.

Finally, when the silence becomes unbearable, you murmur. “Thank you for today, Jisung. I had a great time.”

His lips curve into a smile and his shoulders visibly relax, muscles no longer taut like a piano string.

“You're welcome. I'm glad you enjoyed yourself.”

You take a moment to admire his side profile, your gaze dipping down to take in all of his features under the moonlight. His lashes curl gently against his cheeks and you watch him exhale, heart-shaped lips parting. 

When did his jaw become prominent?

When he turns to face you, you snap your head away, heat rising to your cheeks. You mentally curse yourself for allowing him to catch you staring, digging your nails into the palm of your hand.

“Y/N,” he suddenly says, causing you to halt in your tracks. He's looking at you with a fond smile, digging his hands into his pockets.

“So… I know that we became friends under—” he pauses, wrinkling his nose, “—let's just say unusual circumstances, but I really cherish what we have.”

You have half a mind to not break his gaze, a gentle smile decorating your lips. “I guess out first meeting was kind of peculiar. You did, after all, accidentally empty your backpack while talking to me,” your words take on a teasing tone.

“Yeah,” he chuckles softly. “Can't argue with that.”

You purse your lips, ignoring the way your heart rattles against your chest. Why do you feel like you know where this is heading?

“Um, so I guess I wanted to say that despite the fact that I'm terrified of messing up our friendship, I can't keep silent for any longer.”

He gazes at you, uncertainty hanging in the air as you allow his words to sink in.

It suddenly feels like you're underwater, all of your senses dulled. The tranquility abruptly becomes insufferable and you realize that Jisung is waiting for you. He's waiting for you to give him a reason, a sign to continue.

Humming, you extend your palm to his face, gently brushing the pad of your thumb along his cheek. And it's exactly the cue he needs to go on.

“Being with you is the favorite part of my day. Whenever you're around, I just want to smile and be the cause of your happiness,” he breathes out, leaning in closer to you. “And project be damned, I fucking fell for you. I love you, Y/N, I really do.”

There's a new urgency to his voice, almost like a plea, and when you look into his eyes, you see longing. It's a mix of affectionate and hungry like he's been waiting for ages, eyes clouded.

You press yourself closer to him, eliminating any space between you. One of your hands gently brushes against his neck, while the other moves to his waist, finger looping through his belt loop and pulling him impossibly closer. Your lips are a hair's width away from his as you murmur.

“I love you too, Jisung.”

And that's when Jisung decides that even the smallest distance between you is unacceptable. His arms slide around your waist and he pulls you into his chest, sealing your lips with his.

Kissing Jisung feels familiar. It feels right—like it's the only thing you were put on earth to do. You thread your hand through his hair, gently tugging on the locks and you're rewarded with a quiet groan.

The street lamps cast a gentle glow on you; illuminating both your faces. Jisung grabs at your hip, thumb gently kneading the soft flesh over the fabric of your blouse as your lips continue to dance against each other.

His teeth graze your bottom lip causing you to sigh into the kiss, the electrifying sensation of his tongue against yours making you feel dizzy. You snake your hand up his shoulder, greedily cupping his arm and feeling the taut muscles flex under your fingertips. It sends a shiver down your spine.

After what feels like ages, the two of you part, locking eyes.

“You're a great kisser,” you whisper breathlessly, still recovering from the sensation of his lips against yours.

Jisung chuckles in response. “You're not too bad yourself.”

A peaceful silence settles around you as you slide your hand in his, enjoying the warmth that washes over you. That night, Jisung walks you home and gives you a goodnight kiss, causing butterflies to erupt in your stomach.

When you enter the apartment, Ryujin gives you a knowing look once she notices the lovestruck expression on your face and your mused hair.

“I assume the date went well?” she wriggles her brows at you, popping another skittle in her mouth. You nod wordlessly, heat rising to your cheeks.

“Y-Yeah, it did.”

She springs off the couch to give you a hug, leading you into your bedroom. “C'mon, give me all the juicy details and don't leave out anything, you hear me,” she threatens playfully, plopping onto your bed.

twenty.

You're standing in front of Jisung's psychology professor's office, nervously clutching his hand. A few days prior, the next day after the fancy dinner and moonlit confession in the middle of the street, you and Jisung had completed the last recording of your journey.

Over the course of time, Jisung had taught you many things. He's helped you become a better version of yourself—one that didn't give up easily but knew when to press pause when needed. You no longer depended on other people for your own happiness, nor did you crave their approval like you used to.

You were by no means all the way there yet, but you felt better. Jisung had suggested you try seeing your school's therapist, reminding you that there's nothing wrong with seeking help when you need it. 

“Go on.” Smiling, you gently nudge him on the shoulder. “He's in there.”

“Thank's for everything, baby,” he kisses you on the cheek before knocking on the door.

“Come in!” his professor rumbles and you flash him a thumbs up.

As you watch him disappear inside the room, a sudden wave of peace washes over you.

You feel like bit by bit, the life you once considered broken was mending back together, like a seamless puzzle. Like a light shined into the darkness, Jisung came into your life and slowly managed to turn it for the better.

A huge weight lifts off your shoulders as the obvious realization seeps into your bones, leaving you content.

You were happier.

You were truly happy.

bonus.

“Shh,” Jeongin shushes the group as they all settle on the bed with Chan in the middle, laptop perched on his lap.

“Jisung is so going to kill you,” Seungmin remarks but the erratic tap of his hand against his thigh gives him away. He's clearly just as curious and impatient as everyone else.

Hyunjin flashes him a grin, “Not if he doesn't know about it.”

“Who's to say we won't tell him though,” Minho chimes, grinning evilly. “I bet you 20 bucks he'll know by the end of the week.”

“Shut up, guys!” Felix cuts in, nudging Chan in the shoulder. “C'mon, play it.”

After inserting the hard drive, Chan clicks onto the folder labled ‘psych final’, holding in his breath as he scrolled through all the files.

“Look! Over there,” Changbin points to one of them called ‘Y/N made me delete :(’.

After pressing play, he relaxes into the pillow, everyone hunching over his shoulder to watch the video. They immediately recognize the setting—it's a clip shot in his living room.

You're sitting on a barstool, an old sheet hung behind you to serve as a backdrop of sorts. In true Jisung fashion, it's very improvisational. You nervously push the hair out of your face as you look behind the camera—presumably at Jisung—and ask. “What am I supposed to say? Do you seriously believe your professor cares that we're dating now?”

Jisung laughs, adjusting the camera before walking towards you, hugging you from behind. “Professor Choi! I just wanted to thank you for giving me so much freedom with the execution of my project. I hope you enjoy it and give me an A+,” he adds, grinning when you look up at him incredulously.

“Seriously?” you whisper, raising a brow. “You're asking for a good grade?”

“Of course,” he replies coyly, leaning down to nuzzle his nose against your cheek. “I fell in love during this project—this is a historical moment of my life and I also may desperately need that A if I want to continue next semester,” he adds as an afterthought, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck.

“You're kidding, right?” you crinkle your nose, looking back at the camera. Jisung laughs, leaning down to press a sloppy kiss to your cheek. “What the hell, Jisung? What are you doing?” you shriek, trying to pull away.

He laughs hysterically, chasing after your lips. “C'mon, baby, gimme a kiss.”

“No,” you wave your hand in front of you frantically, causing him to miss and kiss your ear instead. “You're gonna cut that out, aren't you?” 

“Only if you kiss me,” he sing songs, smirking at your expression.

“Okay, you dork,” you suddenly sound more serious as you stand up, gently pushing him against the bookshelves. “You wanted a kiss, you get one.”

Jisung squeaks in surprise as you mold your lips to his, the palms of your hands digging into his chest. It only takes him a few seconds to relax into the liplock, his hands caressing your sides.

All of a sudden, the white sheet hanging behind you falls on top of both of you, effectively trapping you together.

“Oh, fuck—” Jisung curses, struggling to steady himself with the sheet covering you.

“Jisung, watch out!” you squeak, tripping on the material and stumbling into his chest. Unprepared, he fumbles, knees giving out under your weight as he falls flat on his ass with you landing on his lap.

Silence. And then you begin laughing hysterically, Jisung joining you soon after. Giggles spill from your lips and your chests heave up and down, out of breath due to the sheet on top of you limiting your air supply. After a minute or two, you finally manage to wrestle yourselves out from under the sheets. Jisung presses a chaste kiss to your lips before jogging up to the camera and stopping the recording.

The room is silent for a bit before Minho suddenly exclaims. “Holy shit, he's so whipped.”

The others nod in agreement, Jeongin and Seungmin snickering at the cheesy scene that seems like it was taken straight out of a rom-com. 

The door suddenly slams open, all seven heads turning around to see who just burst in.

“Who's whipped?”

a/n: tysm if you've come so far!! i'm a bit nervous since this is a lot more personal than usually lol but i'm actually proud of how this turned out. if you enjoyed, please consider reblogging and letting me know <3 it truly means the world to me :3

[crispy-chan]

Y’all I’ve been inactive for fucking ages but GUESS WHO SNAGGED SKZ BST HYDE PARK TICKETS 😭😭😭😭😭

[crispy-chan]

Ace of Diamond "Best Nine Characters poll" vote result.

I know I should do my works but I don’t have a motivation right now so…

This poll was carried out since July 30th untill August 23th of the last year with the 1,869 votes.

This isn’t really the top-nine Favorited Characters poll. This poll is the readers’ best character for every positions’ poll. So the chosen characters are whom readers though they’re great at his position.

Source from here.

Maybe contains spoiler.

Edit : I typed Ryou-san’s name wrong. Sorry, I terribly sorry. Ryou-san please don’t mad at me. ;_;

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[crispy-chan]

After 171 episodes of waiting 😭😭😭😭

[crispy-chan]

My last two hours of summer vacation 😭😭