nostalgiabearr

[nostalgiabearr]

Han Jisung's Guide to The College Experience (CH. 3)

Pt. 3 to my first ever fic :)

minsung-centric ft. side pairings wooo

7.4k Chapter (21.8k total so far)

silly chapter ft. pining & idiots being idiots

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/61759963/chapters/159241681

links to ch1/2:

ch1: https://www.tumblr.com/styrvexxual/771354434446000128/han-jisungs-guide-to-the-college-experience-ch?source=share

ch2: https://www.tumblr.com/styrvexxual/771815803308949504/han-jisungs-guide-to-the-college-experience-ch?source=share

Jisung wakes up the next morning. Thank god for that. It would have been hard to explain to his parents that he died from alcohol poisoning because he was too scared to talk to his TA sober. Speaking of Minho, Jisung thinks back to the conversation they shared last night that he has the unfortunate displeasure of remembering.

Truce?

Jisung throws a hand over his face and cringes at the thought of everything he must’ve said to Minho last night. He doesn’t even remember anything past begging Minho to hear him out, and there’s no way it got any better from there.

Keeping the hand over his face, Jisung blindly reaches around his bed for any sign of his phone so he can make sure his friends made it home okay, frowning when it’s nowhere within reach. He realizes it’s now time for the worst part of every college student’s experience with alcohol: having to sit up and face the consequences of his actions.

A quick glance around the room tells him he’s absolutely not in his dorm room, which is only mildly concerning. The room he’s woken up in seems relatively put together and there’s no signs of someone else having slept in the bed, so definitely off to a good start. The blackout curtains serve as to hinder any progress Jisung could have made in identifying the owner of the room, so he decides to start by opening them.

As Jisung tries to rack his brain for any clues as to who could have taken him home last night, he thinks it was Felix, as he remembers the boy telling him he has a single dorm, he approaches the curtains and opens them the slightest bit.

He forgets how light-sensitive hangovers make him, and almost vomits from the sheer force of the headache he gets upon trying to look outside. Jisung thinks he must’ve made a sound, or at least enough noise to warrant a check-in, hearing the sound of footsteps approaching the bedroom. He musters the strength to turn around and stand up straight enough just as he hears the door click, looking up to lock eyes with —

Minho?

“What the actual fuck?” Jisung asks, a hint of fear in his voice.

“I’ll make you some coffee.” Minho says, eyes strangely kind, “You look like you could use it.”

“Fuck off,” Jisung responds, his jab missing the distinct bite he was used to around the dancer.

Minho leads Jisung through his apartment to the kitchen, a cozy setup highlighted by the occasional tasteful cat-related utensil or accessory. If you had told Jisung a week ago that he’d be in the apartment of his sworn enemy, feeling welcomed by his kitchen decor and weird sense of hospitality, he would’ve laughed in your face. It leads him to think even harder about what he possibly could have said or done last night.

“Jisungie?” a voice rings out, “How do you take your coffee?”

Jisung’s eyes widen as he turns to face Minho, not expecting the nickname, and still not used to the kind voice he’s been using since they woke up.

“Someone doesn’t remember what happened last night,” Minho says with a small laugh, “You asked for this, Jisungie.”

Jisung feels his eyes widen impossibly further at the teasing, and his cheeks begin to burn as he suddenly recalls but a snippet of last night.

“Why don’t you have a cute nickname for me like you do everyone else?” Jisung whines, leaning more of his weight into Minho’s side.

“Are you sure you want that? I mean, until half an hour ago you hated me,” Minho responds, “And stop leaning like that, I can’t carry both of our weight when I’m like this!”

“Never hated you,” Jisung mumbles, hoping Minho conveniently missed it, “But we’re friends now. Shouldn’t you treat me like how you treat all of our friends?”

“Okay, Jisungie.” Minho giggles, clearly still slightly tipsy, “Whatever you say.”

“Oh! I guess I just forgot,” Jisung says, looking away from Minho’s piercing gaze guiltily, “Sugar.”

“What?”

“Sugar.”

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“You asked me how I take my coffee, did you not?”

“Yeah, I did. That’s not an answer.”

“Yes it is, I said sugar. Just put the goddamn sugar in my coffee.”

“Fucking whatever man, it’s too early for this shit. Enjoy your sugar bean water.” Minho says, putting the mug down in front of Jisung’s spot at the dining table.

Jisung winces at the comment, muttering a quick “Sorry,” staring into his coffee until Minho decides to speak again.

“Don’t worry, I’m not actually upset,” Minho says, cringing slightly, “Look, you want to be friends, don’t you? Well you’ve got to get used to me.”

“Oh, sorry. I guess I didn’t really think about that. You know, you didn’t have to agree. I feel kinda bad honestly.”

“Just, stop apologizing for everything,” Minho snaps, startling Jisung, “We get stuck in the infinite loop of apologizing ‘cause we’re dancing around each other. Be yourself, unapologetically, and there won’t be any problems here.”

“Okay,” Jisung whispers.

Both boys look down into their coffee, refusing to continue the conversation out of sheer embarrassment or a will to save the last shreds of their dignity. As Jisung finally moves to say something, anything, to minimize the horrific energy of this morning, the front door opens. Both boys turn and watch as someone, Jisung isn’t quite sure who, walks through the door.

“Where the hell have you been?” he hears Minho pipe up from behind him, not quite upset. However, knowing Minho, Jisung fears for what’s to come if he doesn’t like the answer.

The stranger’s eyes dart between the two of them, a smirk growing on his face, and Jisung swears he must know who this is. “Doing the same thing as you, I suppose.” he says with a shrug.

“Excuse me?”

“Oh! Guess I was wrong, my bad bro,” the stranger responds with a laugh, “Was just with Seungminnie, you know the drill.”

Seungmin? Jisung thinks. The memory of seeing his roommate pressed against the wall of a frat house hits him like a truck, and he finally remembers where he knows the boy from. Given that this is all he knows of the kid, he chooses to hold his tongue for the time being.

“Ugh. If you refrain from reminding me of the absolute betrayal that is my younger brother fucking my childhood friend, that would be great actually.”

“Well actually, I regret to inform you; but it’s like my legal obligation as your brother to be the biggest pain in the ass I could possibly be.”

“I should’ve eaten you in the womb.”

“We aren’t even twins? What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“No the fuck I don’t!”

Jisung watches their conversation with rapt attention. Having an older brother himself, he expected all sibling relationships to look somewhat similar, but he would never dream of talking back to his brother in the way he sees right now. Maybe it’s the larger age gap, his own brother off to college by the time he was in middle school, but Jisung almost feels a pang of bitterness at the exchange.

He’s only snapped out of his state of reminiscence when he hears a voice call out, “So who the hell is this then?”

“Behave, Jeongin. This is Jisung.”

“Like Seungmin’s roommate Jisung? Holy shit dude, I was wondering when I’d meet you,” Minho’s brother – Jeongin, as he now knows, extends a hand and waits for Jisung to shake it.

Jisung watches Jeongin’s face light up as he returns the handshake, and responds with, “I feel like I’m meeting a celebrity right now, with how much Seungmin talks about you, I might as well be.”

“Likewise. It’s honestly more impressive we’ve gone this long without meeting.”

Before Jisung gets the chance to respond, Jeongin turns back to Minho, and asks, “Wait, I thought you hated this dude? Seungmin’s always complaining about how you two just couldn’t get along. The fuck is he doing in our apartment?”

“I never said I hated him? I just said he said something snarky and it pissed me off.”

Jisung flinches at the comment, realizing he’s not entirely sure if he ever apologized to Minho about that, at least sober.

“Wow. I guess you guys made up then, right? Doesn’t seem to me like you hate each other,” Jeongin adds, fixing Minho with a pointed look that Jisung could only hope to understand.

“Yeah, all good here,” Jisung responds, hoping the fake smile he gives reaches his eyes.

“See,” Minho says with an eyeroll, “Now leave us alone, and stop scaring our guest!”

Jisung watches as Jeongin rolls his eyes in return and sticks out his tongue, shouting a, “Whatever, bye losers,” and escaping into his room.

With Jeongin gone to relieve the tension, both boys immediately look anywhere other than each other, choosing to focus on the bottoms of their now empty coffee cups. Jisung wishes he knew what to say, and despite what Minho has told him, he still feels like he’s treading on thin ice with the other.

“So now that you don’t hate me,” Jisung starts out of nowhere, observing as Minho’s face contorts into confusion, “You’ll totally help me learn to dance, right?”

Minho pauses for a bit, before responding, “Yeah, whatever. Probably best that I teach you before people start saying I give all my work to Lixie ‘cause I’m lazy.”

“Yippee! So when do we start?”

“Did you just fucking say ‘yippee’? I take back what I’ve said, all of it,” Minho responds, amusement seeping through the discontent nature of the words, “How does next Saturday work for you?”

“Fine. How about Noon? I’d rather not wake up early if I don’t have to.”

“Whatever works for you Jisungie. I’ll probably be in the studio for a while anyways,” Minho says with a smile, front teeth endearingly poking out from his top lip.

“Sounds good! Could I get your number?” Jisung responds, a blush threatening to creep onto his cheeks before backtracking with, “For dance practices of course. Don’t look at me like that!”

“Anything for you Jisungie,” Minho says, smile never faltering, “I’ll text you a reminder the day before with where to meet.”

“I’ll be waiting! I really should get going now though. I fear I might’ve overstayed my welcome.”

“I told you, stop apologizing for yourself. It really wasn’t that big of a deal anyway. Jeongin obviously didn’t even stay over so I just took his room.”

“Okay, well thanks anyway,” Jisung adds, putting his shoes on and moving to grab the handle of the front door.

“Anytime Jisungie,” Minho starts, mouth curling to form a smirk, “Get home safely. Can’t have anything happening to you before Saturday.”

“I’m so going to regret this, aren’t I?”

“Absolutely.”

------------------------------

“What the fuck was that Jisung?” a voice calls from across the studio.

Two weeks of personal dance training from The Lee Minho is something the average college student would kill for, but Jisung just thinks it’s ruining their barely blossoming friendship. It has been a huge help in class, but he can’t help but feel patronized when it’s just the two of them. “What are you even talking about? I did the same moves you did, right?”

“I mean, on the most basic level, you’re doing the moves. Doesn’t mean your technique is anywhere near correct,” Minho responds, crossing his arms.

“But it’s hard,” Jisung whines, pouting up at Minho from his place on the floor, “Too much to think about.”

“Yeah, well as long as you still have muscles in your feet just like everyone else on the planet, you should be able to point your fucking feet.”

Well not all of us can be geniuses like you Jisung wants to respond. He instead decides on, “I have them! They just don’t move very far.”

“No shit sherlock,” Minho says while crouching to join Jisung on the floor, “Look, just come here. It’ll help, I swear.”

Jisung watches as Minho crawls towards him and settles himself in front of his legs. In any other scenario, Jisung might have found the action attractive, but all he can focus on is how dumb Minho looks crawling in his baggy t-shirt and pants across the studio. How his stupid baggy t-shirt reveals a hint of a defined collarbone that Jisung can’t help but imagine gnawing on like a dog with a bone.

Okay, maybe a little hot, but there’s no shame in thinking that about your conventionally attractive friend(?) crawling toward you and sitting between your legs. It’s completely objective, right?

Minho’s voice snaps Jisung out of his thoughts, asking, “The fuck are you doing? I’ve been waving my hand in front of your face for like thirty seconds now, we don’t have the room all day Jisungie.”

“Sorry, just tired I think. What are you doing?”

“Just put your legs in front of me and give me your feet, trust me.”

“Excuse me?” Jisung exclaims, eyebrows flying up in shock.

“I’m gonna stretch your feet. It’s literally the most normal thing a dancer can do, and way easier if someone else does it for you,” Minho responds, a hint of a blush highlighting his cheeks, “What do you take me for anyways? It’s not like I’m excited to touch your feet you nasty.”

“You sure about that? All you dancers are freaks with how foot obsessed you are.”

“Stop saying that, just give me your feet so we can get this over with."

Jisung watches as Minho takes his right foot into his hands, placing it on the ground and forcing it into a pointed position. Minho then takes the heel of his hand and rubs it across the top of Jisung’s ankle and foot, progressively picking up the pace as the muscles begin to warm up and relax. As he’s doing this, he uses his other hand to slowly push down on Jisung’s foot, the flex of his arms distracting Jisung from the pain. Jisung finds himself so entranced by the motion that he doesn’t even fully comprehend Minho letting go of his foot and reaching toward the other one.

“You good? I’m trying to be gentle ‘cause I know this is probably a lot for you.”

This snaps Jisung’s focus back to Minho’s face, pushing him to respond with, “Yeah. I don’t know what you’re doing but I don’t feel a thing.”

“Good. You need to learn how to properly stretch if you ever want to pass this class. I’d rather not be liable for any injuries you acquire this semester.”

“But why would I do that when I have you?” Jisung smiles.

“Because I don’t have time to spend in class helping you stretch. Or worrying if you stretched enough.”

“Aww, you care about me. I knew it!”

“Shut up,” Minho retorts. It seems like this might be his favorite thing to say, Jisung thinks. “I just can’t let you fall behind or get hurt, I’ll never get to TA again. Now get up, we still have things to work on.

“You can say you care about me. I’m an incredibly likeable person.” Jisung says in an attempt to stall. The longer he can provoke Minho, the less he’ll have to dance, or at least he thinks.

Unfortunately for Jisung, Minho doesn’t seem to take the bait, pointing to the side of the room in an attempt to start up their practice once more. He guides Jisung through an increasingly difficult set of across the floor exercises, some of which don’t even look familiar to Jisung.

Or maybe that’s just because the movement looks so different on Minho. The way he seems to listen to the music so wholeheartedly that it seems like his body is the one making it. Or the way he moves with such ease across the floor, not even making a sound when he drops to the floor or jumps at a speed Jisung can’t even comprehend.

It’s a blessing Minho calls it quits after that exercise, probably noting Jisung’s lack of energy and motivation. Cooldown stretches have become Jisung’s new favorite part of his time with Minho. The boy seems to know exactly what stretches he needs, no matter how different their private classes look week-to-week. It’s at this moment that Jisung finally gets it, just how important dance is to Minho and the sheer amount of pride in his work.

Before he can get too emotion or god forbid, feel excessive emotions involving Minho, he decides to provoke the older.

“Did I do good?” Jisung asks, batting his eyelashes at Minho as the other moves to pack up.

“You did better than last week,” Minho responds, seemingly immune to Jisung’s efforts to draw compliments out of the older.

“Yeah, but was it good?”

“For a beginner? Yeah. But that’s as much as you’re getting.”

“I’ll take it!” Jisung smiles, satisfied with the comment, “You want to grab lunch? We’re just gonna see each other at Changbin’s in like two hours. Not like either of us can get anything done in that time.”

“Speak for yourself. I was planning on staying in the studio before driving over, need some time to myself before I’m stuck with you for the foreseeable future.”

“Oh! I’m sorry. You have fun with that,” Jisung responds, eyes widening in equal parts shock and embarrassment.

“Im just kidding Jisungie. Lunch sounds great,” Minho says, smile lighting up his features. He almost looks approachable now, softer if you will.

“That’s what I thought. Burgers good with you?” Jisung visibly relaxes after Minho’s follow-up. He really needs to remember that they don’t hate each other anymore.

“I think that’s exactly what we deserve after today.”

“That’s exactly what I was thinking.”

Minho leads Jisung to a diner slightly off campus. He’s never personally attended it, but he recognizes it as a spot famous among the student body for being able to cure the worst of hangovers from the sheer amount of greasy food. Minho turns to Jisung, opening the door and gesturing for him to enter.

The hostess at the front of the restaurant lets them know that they’re free to seat themselves, having come in during a bit of a lull in their typically busy day. They receive menus and waters, and take a few minutes to read the menu before remembering what they came for and prompt ordering their burgers and fries.

“You know,” Minho starts once they get their food, “I never actually hated you. I think I just hated that you hated me. I’m not used to people having trouble getting along with me.”

“Aww, someone not used to getting what they want?” Jisung jokes, hoping he didn’t hit a weak spot with that one, “It’s funny, you know. I don’t think I hated you either. I was just jealous and upset that I wasn’t instantly good at something and someone better than me was in the room. I know this wasn’t the intention, but it felt almost like a taunt.”

“I’m sorry, I really am just there to help. I didn’t even think about that.”

“Well you shouldn’t have to, it’s not your job.”

“Yeah, well it is my job to make sure that everyone is feeling comfortable in the class, and that includes combatting any insecurities that come up. I promise I’ll be easier on you, that couldn’t have felt nice.”

“Hey! Where did I ever say that?” Jisung shouts, blushing when he realizes they’ve drawn the attention of other patrons. He lowers his voice before continuing, “I like that you’re harder on me, it makes me feel like you see me as an equal and not some nuisance.”

“I’m glad to hear that, but you really shouldn’t have said anything. It’s only going to get worse from here,” Minho responds with a smirk.

“Oh god.”

Their waiter comes back to the table, clearing his throat and snapping them out of conversation, before placing the check in between them and telling them to take their time. Minho immediately grabs the check before Jisung can realize what happened, eliciting a pout and some protest from the younger. Minho insists on paying since he’ll be the cause of Jisung’s sore body tomorrow, and Jisung finds himself too focused on trying not to blush at the implications of what he could have been saying to fight him on it.

The pair take their time finishing their meals and preparing to head over to Changbin’s place, wondering what their friends will think of them showing up together. It’s the first time all eight of them will be in the same place at the same time, at least sober, and none of them really know what happened the past few weeks. Jisung’s insecurities take over and he feels the need to voice this thought to Minho.

“It’s not that big of a deal Jisungie. They’ll be their annoying selves whatever we do; it’s like the one constant variable of their companionship,” Minho jokes, obviously trying to cheer Jisung up.

“If you say so,” Jisung responds, “You do know them better than me after all.”

“Exactly! If only you listened to me this easily about literally anything else.”

“Whatever. So how do we get to Changbin’s again from here?”

The pair pull up to Changbin’s apartment around a half an hour later, and Minho complains that it would have been so much faster if he drove them. Changbin himself is the one to answer the door, giving the pair a strange look but not questioning them, which Jisung is eternally grateful for. He lets the pair in, the three of them making their way to the living room where everyone else seems to have already engrossed themselves in conversation, too focused to even notice the pair’s arrival, save for a few greetings and entrances into conversation.

The hangout itself has been relatively easy so far, the couples too absorbed in each other to notice the elephant in the room. With everyone involved in conversation, it’s pretty easy for Jisung to get lulled into a false sense of security, thinking he’s reached a safe zone.

“So I take it you guys are friends now? I mean, its a miracle we can get you in the same room without any snide remarks. You guys even showed up together!” Seungmin says out of nowhere, directing his gaze to where Minho and Jisung are sat next to each other on the couch. So much for not drawing attention to that.

“Yeah, he’s kinda got a point. You guys could barely talk to each other when Jisung stayed over a few weeks ago.” Jeongin adds, lifting his head up from Seungmin’s lap to take a peek at the pair.

“I mean, by definition I guess –” Minho starts.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Jisung says, a strained smile painting his face. “Never seen this guy before in my life.”

“But, we had a bonding moment, I cradled you in my arms!” Minho says with a pout.

“Nope, don’t remember, didn’t happen,” Jisung responds, barely able to stifle his giggles.

So what they got drunk together one night and binge watched Voltron, sue them. It’s getting taken off Netflix soon for fucks sake, and peak media such as that deserves to be treated with absolute reverence!

They didn’t get past the first season, but can you really blame them?

Their little inside joke sends them into a fit of laughter, releasing any tension the topic of conversation left them with, while the rest of the group is forced to watch the pair live in their own bubble, something completely unfathomable a mere three weeks ago.

Jisung can feel the stares of his friends burning holes into his back, and he almost feels the need to comment on it so they’ll leave him alone; but he finds that pretending they don’t exist just so he can spend a little longer focusing on Minho is a lot more enjoyable.

“Are we sure ‘friends’ is right? Ever since that night a few weeks ago they’ve been like this,” Changbin teases, “Sometimes they feel even closer than some of the couples here.”

What?

This has also been a bit of a ‘thing’ lately. Something Jisung likes to refer to as ‘The mortifying ordeal of realizing your friend group and your sworn enemies friend group are so similar you guys merge an create one friend group but you and your sworn enemy are the only ones in the group not fucking someone else in the group so everyone wants you to date’.

It’s a little long, but he thinks it’ll catch on one day, especially if Minho ever hears it. As much as they tease Jisung about the older boy, he really is happy they were able to make amends, especially because they share the same friends and it would have been horribly embarrassing to have these group hangouts if they were still fighting.

But right now, seeing all of his friends face him with teasing grins, he almost wishes it was two weeks ago. Jisung sighs internally as he watches his so-called friends turn to face Changbin in silent agreement. Well, all except one.

“You good? I can fight them if you want,” he hears Minho ask, “Trust me, I’d win.”

“It’s fine, I’ll get used to it. No need to ruin your pretty face to defend my honor,” Jisung teases in response, watching as Minho narrows his eyes in lieu of a comeback.

“I’m not joking Jisungie. A lot of these people were my friends before yours, I’ll put them in their place.”

“I’m sure; and don’t worry about me, I’m perfectly capable of defending myself.”

“See!” Hyunjin shouts accusingly, bringing the two out of conversation, “They’re doing it again! It’s like we aren’t even here.”

“Doing what exactly?” Minho snaps, “Stop embarrassing Jisungie, you’re just jealous that he doesn’t want to talk to you.”

“Don’t start shit Minho,” Jisung laughs, “It’s really not that big of a deal.”

It is, but nobody needs to know that, especially not Minho.

Jisung decides to tune the rest of their bickering out, falling against the couch with a sigh. Their taunts at him and Minho really wouldn’t get to Jisung if he didn’t see just the slightest bit of truth in them. He wasn’t having these thoughts about Minho before their friends planted the seed in his head. Sure, his new friend is objectively incredibly attractive, all perfect angles with the slightest softness to his features to give the illusion that he belongs on this earth instead of up in the stars. That doesn’t mean that Jisung would, or should, ever consider dating him. He hated the guy until a few weeks ago for fucks sake, that’s got to count for something.

Before he fully begins to spiral, he hears Chan say, “Felix and I have a reservation tonight, so we should get going pretty soon.”

“Well I was planning on taking Seungminnie over here out tonight, so I have no objections to this.” Jeongin responds.

“You were?” Seungmin questions, cringing when Jeongin plants an overexaggetated kiss to his cheek.

“Oh well, guess we have to do something now Hyunjin,” Changbin states, letting out a laugh when he sees Hyunjin roll his eyes at the comment, “Can’t let all of them out-couple us when we were the OGs.”

Young love, how sweet, Jisung finds himself thinking. They can all go fuck themselves for thinking he would ever be like that with Minho, or vice versa. And don’t think he’s forgotten about Changbin’s comment! How could he think they act worse than the actual couples when they’re the most disgustingly, tooth-rottingly sweet couples he’s ever had the displeasure of interacting with.

Jisung thinks Minho agrees with him, at least to some degree, as he turns his head to find the other boy already looking at him with a displeased expression on his face. Oh well, at least their status as the only single members of their friend group gives them the distinct privilege of being able to laugh over how disgustingly in love they are.

As all of their friends begin to pile out the door, off to their respective dates, Jisung feels someone grab his wrist. He turns to face Minho, who asks, “You want to do something? I’d feel bad leaving you all alone when even your roommate is off on a date.”

“So is yours,” Jisung retorts, “What would we even do?”

“Does it really matter? I just feel guilty leaving you to your own devices after how sickening that display was earlier.”

“We’ve spent basically the whole day together, aren’t you sick of me by now?”

“That’s pretty rich coming from the person who decided to pretend to not know me just now.”

“You know that was just a joke,” Jisung whines, “I’m serious, don’t feel obligated to keep hanging out with me just ‘cause all our friends left to go suck face and go on cute dates.”

“It’s not an obligation Jisungie,” Minho says, voice stern, “If I didn’t want to be here, I wouldn’t. Think a little higher of yourself, for me?”

“Yeah yeah, whatever you say Minho. Where would we go anyways?” Jisung desperately tries to deflect. The last thing he needs is Minho thinking he’s pathetic or something.

“Crepes?”

“Fast response, sure you didn’t have this planned?” Jisung asks with a smirk.

“Shut up. There’s a place I’ve been wanting to try down the block, and no one wants to go with me ‘cause they’re all too busy having a boyfriend or something,” Minho responds, looking anywhere but Jisung.

“Fine by me. Lead the way, my knight in shining armor.”

“Seriously, has no one ever told you when to shut up?” Minho says, statement completely losing its bite as he grabs Jisung’s wrist once again, this time to lead him to their destination.

The crepe store Minho was talking about isn’t actually that far from campus, and Jisung wonders how he managed to go so long without finding it himself. The storefront itself is decorated minimally, yet tastefully, and Jisung wishes he had half the eye for aesthetics that the owners of the place possess.

They walk into the store, and Jisung notes that the decor is just as beautiful as he would have guessed from the exterior. He isn’t quite sure why he’s so focused on the decor, but anything to keep him from thinking of Minho is beneficial in his brain. The menu on the wall is articulately written, white chalk on a blackboard, calling out to him.

“So what do you think you want?” Minho asks, observing the menu in a similar manner.

“I don’t know. But I do know I’m absolutely not getting the one with raisins in it. Whoever decided that deserves life in prison.”

Minho lets out a short laugh at Jisung’s comment, and he feels a strange sense of pride over his ability to elicit a response like that. “Agreed. You want to just pick two different ones and we’ll split them?”

“Sounds good, but you pick. I’m a horrible decision maker.”

“I can tell. You are the same person who ended up in a dance class by chance.” Minho jokes, laughing once more at Jisung’s pout in response to the comment.

They reach the front of the line, where Minho proceeds to order two different crepes for them, one with chocolate and strawberries, the other with lemon and blueberries. He then insists on paying just like earlier, and Jisung thinks this might be the reason he offered the idea of sharing their order in the first place.

The two receive a number and a pointed look from the cashier as Jisung tries to fight Minho on paying once again, insisting he can pay him back for half of them. The two of them set off to find somewhere to sit, suddenly realizing how crowded the shop is.

The two of them finally find somewhere to sit, and wait for their food in relative silence. However, there’s something that’s been on Jisung’s mind for a while, and he wonders if Minho has ever thought about it to the same extent.

“Why do you think our friends keep pushing for us to get together? Do they take pity on us or something?”

“What, Jisungie? Don’t think I'm boyfriend material?” Minho taunts, a feline smirk growing on his face.

“That’s not what I’m saying and you know it, so shut up,” Jisung retorts, suddenly flustered, “I just don’t get what they’re pushing for, given our history and all.”

“We went over this earlier, it’s not like we actually hated each other or anything. I’m sure they just realized that faster than us.”

“I mean, you could be right. That doesn’t change the fact that it looks like they’re just trying to set us up because we’re the only single people in our friend group.”

“I guess,” Minho responds, pausing to take a bite of one of the crepes that Jisung didn’t even realize had arrived during their conversation, “If that’s how you choose to see it, then I won’t stop you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Whatever you want it to,” Minho says, clearly trying to end the conversation.

The boys take the lull in conversation to finish their crepes, hoping to get out of the restaurant now packed full of sleep-deprived college students looking for a nighttime snack. They make small talk over the empty plates, asking each other questions Jisungs barely even gets to ask his closest friends. It makes Jisung realize how much he takes the people in his life for granted, and he makes a reminder to catch up with all of his friends individually soon. However, Jisung can’t help but think about what Minho had just said to him. Is he so crazy for thinking his friends are only setting them up out of convenience? It’s a little absurd to assume there’s any world the two of them get together under normal circumstances.

“It’s getting late,” Minho says out of nowhere, looking at the time on his phone, “I’ll walk you back to your dorm.”

“Yeah, I have homework that probably should have been done yesterday. I should be getting back soon,” Jisung jokes.

He doesn’t actually have that much homework, or at least any he cares about; but he needs to get away from Minho before he does something drastic.

The boys begin their walk back, with Jisung leading Minho this time. For someone who claimed he’d walk Jisung back, it seems that he’s more content following the former around like a lost puppy until he reaches his dorm. Jisung doesn’t dare comment on this; however, as he fears sending Minho away right now will send him away forever. He wants to stay in this moment for as long as he can, reveling in the way he’s been able to completely change the course of their relationship with a singular drunken conversation.

They reach Jisung’s dorm far faster than the boy would’ve liked. He feels obligated to keep Minho around, to hear his voice one more time before he wakes up from this dream. “We’ve learned a lot about each other today. If you ask me, I think we’ve got this whole friendship thing down perfectly,” Jisung exclaims, turning to face Minho.

“If you say so Jisungie,” Minho responds, “But just remember, you’ve got to reach a few more levels of friendship before you learn anything legitimate, like my tragic backstory.”

“You’re such an idiot. No way I was so scared of you a few weeks ago.”

“Oh? Is little Jisungie scared of his big bad senior?”

“Oh my god, shut up!”

Minho’s face has been getting closer for a while now, Jisung passively recalls. It’s been happening so slowly he didn't even process it until he could feel the other’s soft breaths on his own face, smelling of the fruit from the crepes they shared just now. Jisung freezes, unsure of what to do in this scenario. Surely he’s not doing what Jisung is thinking of?

No way he would ever even try.

Jisung pulls away first before it can go any further, past the point of return if you will, refusing to believe the past minute was anything but a dream. He gives Minho a sheepish smile, hoping the boy is too tired to process the tension growing between them.

“I should probably get going,” he vaguely hears from Minho, a sleepy whisper, “It’s getting late, make sure to sleep well Jisungie.”

Sleep well? After that? Jisung doesn’t think Minho is even aware of what just almost happened, smiling at Jisung without a care in the world before waving at him one last time and turning his back as he walks back to his apartment.

Does he even know he just turned Jisung’s world upside down? Does he think this is funny or something?

Jisung opens his phone the second the door to his apartment shuts, feeling his pulse threaten to jump out of his throat with anxiety.

“Felix?” Jisung asks, “I could really use some help right now.”

----------------------------

Felix is the bestest friend to ever friend, Jisung is absolutely sure of that. The poor boy shooed Chan out of his apartment, ditching his maybe-boyfriend to help Jisung with his boyfriend. Jisung makes a mental note to ask Felix about that when he gets the chance, maybe when he gets so fed up with talking about Minho that he needs to deflect.

Jisung reaches the door of Felix’s dorm room, and doesn’t even have to knock before the door flies open and Felix pulls him inside the dorm. It’s honestly scary how well the boy predicted his arrival, Jisung figures he must have shared his location with him at some point, there’s simply no other explanation.

“Is this an ice cream kind of conversation, or wine?” he hears Felix call out from the tiny kitchenette of the dorm.

“Wine, please. I already had dessert,” Jisung responds. He’ll need the alcohol if he wants any chance at actually being able to talk to Felix about something as trivial as this.

Jisung watches as Felix walks over to the couch, a wine bottle and two regular drinking glasses in hand. He guesses the boy doesn’t get the opportunity to do this that often if the choice of glasses is anything to go by.

“So what’s got you so worked up?” Felix asks as he uncorks the wine and pours two concerningly full glasses.

Jisung snatches the glass from Felix and takes a few large sips before answering, “What do you think it is? It’s always fucking Minho, man. I can’t ever escape this.”

“What did he do this time? I thought you were getting along after the party.”

“It’s not that,” Jisung starts, lowering his voice to a whisper before saying, “I think he tried to kiss me earlier.”

“He did what?” Felix asks, “Tell me everything!”

Jisung does just that. For the next half an hour, he explains to poor Felix in great detail his entire day out with Minho, from the moment he woke up to the moment he made it to the other boy’s doorstep. He especially takes the time to mention their conversation at lunch, with Minho finally admitting he never harbored any true resentment toward him, and their shared moment outside of Jisung’s dorm.

“Why am I not even surprised at this point?”

“What is that supposed to mean? We literally hated each other before this, why would he actively try to kiss me. I’m sure he was just tired.”

“Tired my ass,” Felix retorts, “He just wanted to kiss you, and I can’t even blame him. You have the cutest little pout, anyone would fall for it.”

“Thanks? Anyway, that doesn’t apply to Minho, so it's irrelevant. Do you forget how we started?”

“And do you forget what you just told me? He said it himself, he never really hated you and you never hated him.” Jisung watches as Felix moves from leaning against the back of the couch to placing his wine glass, if you can even call it that, on the end table and leaning forward to place his elbows on his knees. Jisung thinks he looks like a therapist, and he doesn’t find himself enjoying it.

“That still doesn’t mean he wanted to kiss me! You’re deluded just like the rest of our friend group. Just because you pity our status as single people doesn’t mean you can push out heads together like barbie dolls until we kiss.”

“Don’t you think you deserve to be happy? I’m not saying that you can’t be happy if you aren’t in a relationship, but why deny yourself of something you know would bring you happiness?”

Jisung decides that Felix is no longer the ‘bestest friend to ever friend’. A real friend of Jisung’s would know that he hates to confront his inner dialogue in that way, to dig up the most vulnerable parts of himself and lay them bare for all to see. Jisung then decides to be a little more lenient, they did meet less than a month ago after all.

“How do you know being with Minho would bring me happiness? I don’t even know how I feel about him, or how he feels about me!” Jisung feels obligated to go on the defensive. He wishes Felix had something stronger than wine at his dorm so he didn’t have to remember this conversation tomorrow.

“Jisung, I’m going to tell you something, and you can’t sit there and deny it. I’m giving you a completely objective point of view, I promise.” Felix begs, clearly exasperated by Jisung’s antics and regretting leaving his boyfriend for this. Shit, Jisung still needs to ask him about that.

“Okay? You better not be lying,” Jisung starts, “I’m not in the mood for more bullshit tonight.”

Felix rolls his eyes before responding, “Look, when we say that you and Minho enter your own world and forget the rest of us, we really mean it. I’ve never seen two people get along the way you do, barring the first week or so obviously. I mean, did you see how he defended you earlier? Adorable.”

“You don’t have to just say shit to make me feel better. That doesn’t mean he wants to date me.”

“But why are you so hung up on that? What about this is me saying stuff to make you feel better? This wouldn’t be me hyping you up if you didn’t want anything to happen.” Felix interjects, still sitting in his weird-ass therapist stance.

There’s a bit of truth to that, and Jisung really doesn’t find himself appreciating that. His pulse is back in his throat, and it feels a lot like that feeling you get right before you throw up. He needs to leave, needs to go back to his apartment and sort his shit out.

Or just wallow in self-pity. Jisung likes that idea better.

“I’m leaving,” he says.

“Fine. But don’t be surprised when I get my ‘I told you so’ moment very soon,” Felix taunts as Jisung starts putting his shoes back on. Why did he even bother taking them off in the first place?

“Whatever. Don’t get wine drunk and vomit everywhere; and use protection with Channie,” Jisung says in substitute of a farewell, already walking out the door.

It’s not until halfway through the walk back to his dorm that Jisung never asked Felix if he was actually dating Chan. Oh well, he sees the other boy on Monday for their one class together, and he’s the one more likely to give a straight answer at this point.

Jisung finally reaches his dorm, and closes the door behind him to realize he’s home alone. If that’s the case, he feels for Minho, who must be stuck with Thing 1 and Thing 2 at his apartment for the foreseeable future. At the thought of Minho, his conversation with Felix comes rushing back in waves, causing Jisung to pale at a certain realization.

He cared so much about whether what Minho felt toward him was anything past completely platonic, appropriate for their timeline friendship. But why would he care so much about what Minho felt if he didn’t feel anything for the other boy?

Fuck.

[nostalgiabearr]

chapter two of bestie’s work! go support😁😁

Han Jisung's Guide to The College Experience (CH. 2)

Pt. 2 to my first ever fic :)

minsung-centric ft. side pairings wooo

7.1k Chapter (14.5k total so far)

This ch. specifically contains alcohol use and mentions of other drugs so be aware!

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/61759963/chapters/158494408

link to ch1: https://www.tumblr.com/styrvexxual/771354434446000128/han-jisungs-guide-to-the-college-experience-ch?source=share

Thursday morning finds Jisung regretting every decision he’s ever made that’s led him to this exact moment in time. So basically, it's an average day. His little temper tantrum, as Kim Seungmin would probably refer to it as, has left him with a bit of a migraine and a lot of sleep deprivation. He may only be two weeks into the semester, but he can already feel himself slipping into a certain autopilot mode he fears will be his new normal, which just means going to the bare minimum amount of lectures and taking precise notes with the intent of copy-pasting them into his assignments later. He kind of has this down to a science by now as general education requirements have not been the kindest to him.

Jisung decides, in spite of his below-average physical condition, that going to class could do him some good. He needs something to take his mind off of Minho, and it’s not like he’s held at gunpoint to pay attention to his lectures. Okay, so it’s basically just taking a walk to rot away on his laptop somewhere that isn’t his bedroom, but at least he looks like a model student while doing it. Chan would be so proud of him! He wouldn’t, but what he doesn’t know can’t hurt him.

Thursday evening, however, is when the consequences of Jisung’s fucked up schedule really start to rear their ugly heads. Having an 8 pm class into an 8 am the next day seriously can’t be healthy. Exhaustion settles deep in his body; and as he escapes the clutches of his late-night lecture, he briefly recalls opening his phone to make a call, but nothing afterward.

Jisung wakes up Friday morning feeling far better than he did the morning after his certified crash-out moment over Minho. He also wakes up in someone else’s house. A quick roll over to his other side and the least graceful fall of his life aid him in identifying his sleeping surface of choice as Changbin’s coffee table.

How in the everloving fuck did he get here?

He must have voiced this thought out loud, seeing as Changbin took it upon himself to respond with a simple, “You tell me, kid. I came back from class last night and you were passed out on my coffee table. Didn’t know if you actually needed something, but you were pretty knocked out so I didn’t want to bother you.”

Changbin then adds, “You do also have a discussion in a half-hour, so if I were you I’d spend a little less time acting confused and a little more time walking to class.”

Jisung once again toys with the idea of giving up on his career and living off of Changbin’s trust fund, but that would require marrying Changbin. He’s already been on Hyunjin’s bad side once, and he doesn’t plan on returning any time soon. Oh well, no time to dwell on that, Jisung has a discussion to get to. Fuck Friday classes.

“I did have to talk to you, by the way. But I allegedly, according to anonymous sources, have a class to attend and will instead be back to bother you in the near future.” Jisung responds, already making his way toward the door.

As he makes his grand escape, Jisung hears a faint voice that sounds suspiciously like his friend. Something about ‘making this short’ and ‘Hyunjin absolutely doesn’t need to get caught up in this’. Jisung realizes Changbin must be on the phone with someone, he sure does work quickly.

Class, as per usual, is wildly uneventful. Two weeks into the semester and Jisung finds he can’t even remember what class of his has a discussion. Look, beating his high score in 2048 is far more important than learning about dead people who wrote books when they weren’t so dead. Or is this discussion for his genetics lecture? No matter, any class that has an 8 am discussion is a class that has no bearing on Jisung.

Upon his return to Changbin’s place, albeit a little later than anticipated, Jisung decides to make both his presence and problems loud and clear. “So basically I just can’t fucking stand my TA,” he announces to the room, seating himself at the dining table.

“And pray tell, how this is my problem?” he hears from the couch. Oh good, Changbin is actually home.

“It’ll be your problem when I murder him in cold blood, and you’re the only person around to carry out the role of an expert witness. I need you around so I have someone to bribe into committing perjury so I can escape jail time.”

“Well, it’s great to hear you’re as dramatic as ever.” Thanks, Changbin. How kind of you. “Also why would I take a bribe from you, I’m not the one that wants to live off their friend’s money?”

“Because you love me, or at least I thought so. Look, that’s really not the point here.”

“Whatever man, just get back to your TA dramafest. I thought I had better things to do than listen to this but I fear I don’t, so today’s your lucky day.”

“Look, I made this friend in my dance class, and I was asking him about the TA. I said a few things about him that he apparently overheard, and he completely blew up at me!”

“How mature Jisung, I’m so proud of you for branching out and meeting people,” Changbin replies, his tone falling flat. If only he had meant what he said.

Jisung hears something akin to giggling and wonders how thin the walls in Changbin’s apartment complex are. His face screws up as the light sound of a slap and frantic shushing follows. Seriously? It’s 3 pm for fucks sake, way too early to be behaving like freaks in Jisung’s humble opinion.

“Could you stop dunking on me for like five seconds? I do actually need help here, my grades are at stake here man.”

“Dude you are in way too deep with this whole thing. It’s just some guy, I really don’t get why you care so much. Usually, when you don’t get along with people it tends to roll off your back,” The implications of Changbin’s inquisitive tone are not something Jisung wants to get into right now, but it definitely pisses him off.

“I care because he’s a massive dick! So what I was whispering about him, all I did was compliment him. If anything, he should be thanking me!”

“Honestly the more you tell me the more I begin to see the other guy’s side of this.”

“At least I’m not a lunatic who thinks my classmates are out to get me despite my inherent ability to get along with every single person on earth. Or someone sensitive enough to believe a person complimenting you behind your back equates to petty gossip.”

Exasperation seeps through Jisung’s bloodstream over having to plead his case to his best friend. Who knew that a vent session, or two at this point, would leave him even more riled up than when he began? Maybe he shouldn’t have made friends with people who actually care about him, he needs more yes men in his life.

“Are you done yet? It’s date night and I’m sick and tired of hearing your thinly veiled pining.” A third voice interjects, and Jisung pales as he sees a mop of hair rise up from behind the couch.

“Suck my dick Hwang. Has he been here the whole time?” Jisung asks, turning to face both Changbin and the consequences of his actions.

Changbin’s conversation over the phone earlier makes a lot more sense now that it’s been contextualized for Jisung. He now also realizes that Changbin was talking to him this morning and feels only slightly remorseful given how much his friend has pissed him off today.

“Yeah? I told you this morning before your class he was coming over later. Do you ever listen to me?” Changbin retorts; and yeah, Jisung did kind of deserve that one. “Look, my frat is throwing tomorrow night. I know you think Greek life is a bunch of bullshit, but I swear I know a guy who can help. He’s on exec and a dance major so he literally knows everyone, I’m sure he can help with your mystery man problem.”

“You clearly already know how I feel about this idea, so why bother asking? Also, if Hyunjin is here, why can’t he just tell me what to do?”

“First of all, you never gave me a name. Second, you told me to suck your dick and I am so grossed out by the thought of the thought of it that I am now withholding my assistance.” He hears Hyunjin pipe up from his new place on the couch where Jisung could actually see him. If only that were the case an hour ago.

“Dude just trust me, I want to help you. It’s just unfortunate that in order for you to be helped, you’ve got to do some networking.” Jisung wants to explain to Changbin that networking is a bullshit word for taking a concoction of substances and yelling at frat guys over mediocre music, but he’s starting to get a little desperate here.

Jisung decides to choose his next words carefully so as to not offend Changbin in the process of cursing his entire frat and their future bloodlines. He then decides that Changbin can go fuck himself, and instead says, “Whatever dude, just don’t let him get too coked out before I can talk to him or whatever it is you guys do at these parties.”

“Hey, I don’t do coke, and he doesn’t do coke, so no problem there.”

“Yeah, and I’m gonna pass all my classes this semester.” Jisung backtracks when he realizes Changbin is, in fact, serious, “I’ll be there, but you better make this worth my time.”

“You can count on me,” Changbin responds; right arm at the ready in a mock salute.

He hears Hyunjin giggle from across the room before adding, “Don’t worry Sungie, I’ll make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid!”

Jisung really needs to make new friends.

------------------------------------------------

Jisung spends what could and should have been a beautiful Saturday morning out on the town burning a hole into his phone with his gaze. He also spends his morning realizing how stupid he must look, staring at Felix’s newly saved phone number as if it holds all the secrets of the universe. Well, he knows how to dance and talk to Lee Minho, so Jisung supposes that’s basically the same thing.

“Seriously dude, what’s got you this worked up on a weekend? And please don’t tell me it's Minho, even if it is. I’m not getting involved in whatever that is.” Jisung hears from behind him. Great, he forgot that Seungmin would be here, no classes on a Saturday, and all that. Good to know he did, in fact, look stupid given that it was enough for Seungmin to bring it up.

“I mean, it's technically not about Minho?” Jisung responds, “Just someone whose number I got to help me learn to dance since he flat out refuses to help even if it's his job.”

“Oh? I’m surprised you were able to convince someone to be your friend after what you told me about your little class incident on Wednesday”

“Shut up man, I told you what happened with Minho is a misunderstanding. Look, Changbin told me he’d be able to help with it if I went to a party with him tonight, so it’s all good. But right now, I really do need to learn how to dance.”

“I still fail to see why you’re sitting here sweating over sending a text. I doubt you want to impress him that badly or anything.” Seungmin gives Jisung approximately half a second to try and come up with a response before saying, “Holy shit! You totally have a crush on him. And here I was thinking you had the hots for my childhood best friend.”

“Nobody has a crush on anybody! I just don’t seem to have the best track record with dance majors, and he’s the only one I’ve ever willingly tried to befriend.”

Seungmin doesn’t quite seem to buy it, but it’s enough to get him to drop the topic, instead saying, “I didn’t realize that many dance majors were stuck with the likes of you in some beginners class. What’s his name? I told you I know a few dance majors.”

“Felix? He’s in our year so I wouldn’t put it past you to somehow know him too.”

Seungmin seems to think for a second before responding, “Of course I know him, he’s like Minho’s adopted child. I don’t think I’ve seen one of them without the other since Felix started here. Kinda like how Chan and Changbin are with you honestly.”

“Seriously? Guess that explains why Minho wasn’t upset with him after Wednesday. Anyways, he promised he’d help me out with the class but I just don’t know what to say.”

“Wow, I’m actually starting to feel a little bad about this. Give me a minute and I’ll help you, but I don’t think you need it, Lixie’s completely harmless.”

Jisung only finds it in him to try and respond to that after Seungmin already turned away from him, typing something on his phone and setting it down next to him on his desk. As he gets back to whatever essay he had been working on, Jisung sees his own phone light up with a text from Felix, asking if he had time for a quick phone call.

He clicks the call button on the top of the screen, and it takes Felix exactly two rings to pick up the phone, answering with a, “Hi Jisung! Seungminnie told me you were bad at texting, so I figured you’d prefer a phone call,”

“Well I wouldn’t go that far,” Jisung responds with a frown, “I just really need help with dance and I didn’t know how to ask for it.”

“You’re so silly Jisung, of course I’ll help you, I’d never go back on a promise like that. Do you have time today? I don’t want to pressure you; but if you want, I could meet you in the dance building in like an hour.”

“Yeah, that works. Want me to bring you anything? I feel bad making you do this kind of work for free.”

“Just yourself is all! Plus, I’m taking a course for my major that teaches us how to teach dance, so really you’re just helping me finish my homework.”

“You sure? I mean it is the weekend, you could be having fun but instead, you’re being forced to teach some stranger how to dance for a class you aren’t even technically in.”

“Trust me, if I didn’t want to I wouldn’t have offered. I’ll see you in an hour Jisung,” Felix says, a smile evident in his voice. After quick goodbyes and a completely unwanted interruption from Kim Seungmin, Jisung hangs up the phone and makes his way over to his wardrobe to get ready for his dance lesson.

The dance building isn’t somewhere Jisung enjoys making the journey to on a normal day, but having to make the trek across campus on a Saturday before lunch is even worse. He suddenly feels bad for forcing Felix to make his way over here as well, no matter how much the other insists he doesn’t mind. As he walks in, he hears the distinct noise of classical music playing through the speakers of one of the rooms. There aren’t any classes on weekends, so Jisung is left wondering who could possibly be spending their morning in the most secluded part of campus. With the ambiance created by the mystery student, Jisung has to admit the dance building is actually quite gorgeous. Surrounded by trees with most of the walls being massive windows, it’s definitely one of the more relaxing places on campus. Before he can fall too deep into thought, he’s interrupted by Felix coming up behind him to greet him.

“How long have you been here?” Jisung asks, noticing Felix is already dressed and slightly exerted.

“I got here right when you called. Minho needed help with some choreography so I came in to walk through it with him. Told you it wasn’t an inconvenience for me to come out here,” Felix responds with a grin. How he can be friends with the likes of Minho and Seungmin, Jisung doesn’t understand.

“Minho’s the only other one here? I hope I didn’t make my presence too known coming in. I can truly never be too careful around him.”

“Don’t worry, I only even came out here cause you never texted me. I didn’t even tell him you’d be here, so it’s not like you’ll have to talk to him.”

“It’s not really the talking part I’m worried about, I already really fucked that part up. I’d rather he never actually watch me dance if he doesn’t have to, can’t give him another reason to hate me.” Jisung says with a sad smile, following Felix down the hall into the studio they booked for the next two hours.

As Felix sets up his phone with the speakers, Jisung sets his stuff down and tries to run through some of the stretches they typically do in class. He finds that it’s a lot easier to settle into some of the positions without a teacher and thirty other students breathing down your neck all the time. As he falls into the rhythm of the yoga-like warmup, he realizes why people like Minho love dance so much. For all of that pent-up anger and hatred inside of him, dance must be pretty cathartic. It’s like when Jisung goes to the gym to let his stress from classes out except a little more graceful but just as sweaty. As Jisung finishes his stretches, Felix turns to him to announce that he’ll be going over what they do in classes so as to not confuse Jisung too much by bringing new moves into the mix.

Felix leads both of them through the warm-up exercises they did last class since Jisung was made aware that he’ll have to memorize them for his midterm. They make it to the flat-back sequence when Jisung asks if they can pause for a second.

“Are you okay?” he hears Felix ask, “If I’m going too fast you can tell me, I promise I don’t want to overwork you.”

“Nah not at all dude. It’s just, I don’t get it. This is supposed to be a beginner's class but this really doesn’t feel easy. How the fuck do people like you and Minho do this, or anything harder for that matter, with such ease?”

“Don’t worry about all that. I’ve been watching you and you’re doing everything correctly on a basic level, the flexibility and form take time, just let your body get used to it,” Felix states, before adding, “You know, Minho would be happy to hear you say that one day. It would mean a lot to him to know you’ve inadvertently gained respect for him through dance.”

“I’m sure it would,” Jisung responds, sarcasm evident in his voice, “Just like I’m sure it brings him great joy to see me struggle so badly while refusing help.”

“It really would, Jisung,” Felix interrupts, “Now back to work, we don’t have all day in here and I will make you a real dancer by the end of this semester even if it’s the last thing I do!”

Dancers really do take their work seriously, Jisung thinks. He lets himself be led through a few more center exercises, smiling when Felix praises him for a job well done and frowning as he tries to replicate Felix’s verbal critiques or demonstrations in his own body. How dancers can bend their bodies at will to recreate the various phrases and ideas a teacher throws out Jisung will never understand. But then again, it’s not like Felix will ever understand how to layer vocals and sounds into something beautiful, so he supposes everyone just has their own niche when it comes to art.

Felix proceeds to lead Jisung through the exercises across the floor that they learning on Wednesday, and he wonders if it’s possible to get PTSD from doing a dance move. Not necessarily because of the exercise itself, or maybe that too, but mostly just because all it reminds him of is his horrible first interaction with Minho. Jisung still doesn’t understand that stupid not-quite-walking exercise, and remembers how upset he was by the practiced ease with which Minho demonstrated. He tries not to let his frustrations show too much on his face. Felix is practically a stranger still, and Jisung really doesn’t want to scare him off by crashing out over the simplest possible combination of the day.

They get through a few more exercises before Jisung’s exhaustion gets the better of him, and he can barely stand up without the help of the ballet barres at the back of the room. Who knew dance was such a killer cardio workout? Not Jisung, that’s for sure. Felix seems to take note of this, turning the music down and making his way over to Jisung, who has stationed himself in the back left corner of the room.

“I think we might be done for the day, right?” he asks with a laugh.

“No shit Sherlock,” Jisung replies, keeping his tone light.

“Did you at least have fun?”

“You could say that. It’s a lot less stressful without a teacher and her nightmare T.A. breathing down your back.”

“I'm glad to hear it. Now get up, we still have to do a cooldown, or your muscles will all tense up.”

Felix ends their session by leading Jisung through a set of stretches similar to the ones he did on his own at the beginning of their lesson. Unfortunately, he comes to the realization that Felix is right, and he should really do this more often, especially after his normal workouts. It isn’t until Jisung starts packing up his stuff while Felix messes with the sound system that he speaks again.

“I feel bad for making you do this for me, I mean we barely even know each other. Are you sure there’s nothing I can do?”

“Seriously Jisungie, you’re too kind. Don’t sweat it, I had fun.”

“I’m going out tonight with some of my friends, you want to come with? Seungmin will be there, so it’s not like you won’t know anyone.” Jisung offers. Seriously, this kid is just too kind, and he feels like he’s taking advantage of it by not bringing anything to the table in return.

“As long as you’re all okay with it, I’d love to! Just let me text Minho real quick, he mentioned taking me out to a party tonight but I think he also said he might be too busy for that.”

Jisung gives Felix some time and space to figure out his plans, turning around and packing up his stuff in the hopes that he’ll get the chance to shower before they have to start pregaming. They definitely went a bit over their allotted time, and Jisung has some homework to catch up on.

He finds Felix once again as they both make their respective ways out of the dance studio. Jisung doesn’t fail to notice that Felix absolutely did not come from the same direction that he did, and wonders if he went to talk to Minho in person about his plans for tonight. He decides to keep this thought to himself, and leaves Felix with the address of his dorm and a promise to buzz him in that evening.

------------------------------------------------

Jisung reunites with Felix a few hours later, letting him and the bottle of vodka he brought with him into his dorm room. Pregaming with Jisung’s friends is fun until it absolutely isn’t as they all try to consume as much alcohol as possible before having to walk over to the actual party. However, Jisung realizes tonight is definitely going to be a lot more fun than normal when he sees the face Chan makes after Felix enters the dorm room. If only he had his phone on him, that would have made the perfect photo for an ugly birthday Instagram story.

“Seungminnie!” Felix shouts, snapping Jisung out of his thoughts, “Why didn’t you introduce me to Jisung earlier, that’s literally twin bro.”

“Well, ideally the two of you would never meet, making my life infinitely easier and quieter. How the fuck was I supposed to know that Jisung over here was going to take a dance class.” Seungmin responds with a hint of a smile in his voice that Jisung didn’t even think could be possible.

“‘I for one, am incredibly happy this happened. I’m Chan, I’ve heard a lot about you from my friends, though I don’t think we’ve had the opportunity to acquaint ourselves quite yet.” Chan says, extending a hand out to Felix with a blinding grin on his face.

Felix matches the handshake and smile, and Jisung immediately begins planning their wedding in his head. From what he can tell of the two, they definitely both love the sun, seeing as they're the humanized form of it. A summer wedding really would suit them, or maybe a winter wedding to contrast the warmth they give off. They’d also both look amazing in white, so a winter wedding it is. Jisung is promptly reminded that the rest of the group isn’t privy to the imaginary reception occurring in his head when he catches Felix looking at him expectantly. “Sorry, could you repeat that? I’m a little tired after our training session from earlier,” he says, hoping the group takes pity on him.

“Oh! Sorry Sungie, I was just asking how you and Chan met since you’re a few years apart and all that.”

Jisung knows exactly why Felix is asking this question, yet he holds his tongue with a reminder to have a more private conversation with the boy later about just what to do with the elder. He instead says, “We met in a music class last year. He took pity on my poor little malnourished first-year self, and he’s been my surrogate father ever since!”

Felix looks to Chan next, prompting a response out of him. “I mean yeah, that’s pretty much how it went, except the father part. I’m not that old Jisung.”

This statement elicits a giggle out of Felix, although it’s really not that funny. Seungmin seems to have picked up on it as well, albeit he isn’t as happy about it as Jisung is, interrupting with a, “Can we start drinking now? I know it’s common courtesy to be fashionably late to these things, but we’ll miss the whole thing at this rate.”

As they break into their drinks, shots for everyone with the exception of Jisung, who’s been nursing the same white claw for the past few minutes, they ask each other a few random questions to pass the time and break the ice with the newest member to their little group. Unfortunately for Jisung, it’s not long before Chan decides to ask something relevant, saying, “A little birdy told me you’re only going tonight so you can gather intel on a certain TA. And by little birdy, I mean a big buff birdy. It was Changbin. But is he seriously telling the truth?”

Jisung chooses to ignore Chan’s strange phrasing, chalking it up to being his first time drinking in a while, “Yep! I’m sick and tired of him hating me when all everyone else does is sing his praises. I need to know how to get on his good side.”

“I’m sure that’s exactly what you’ll be able to do tonight Sungie! Go get ‘em.” Felix exclaims, bursting into laughter alongside Seungmin while Chan gives the three of them a concerned look. Jisung gives a slight frown to this, not having signed up to take care of his clearly already inebriated friends.

Surely that’s why they’re laughing, right? Jisung doesn’t think he’s ever seen Seungmin laugh before tonight, and he’s also almost never seen him drunk, with the sole exception of one night in their first year he’s been sworn to secrecy over. “I bet by the end of tonight, I’ll know how to have Minho wrapped around all ten of my fingers!” Jisung exclaims, suddenly a lot more excited about otherwise mundane social endeavors.

Jisung needs to learn to stop making bets with himself he can’t win before he does something drastic.

When they finally find themselves outside of the frat house, Jisung wishes he wasn’t so much of a lightweight and was able to take a few shots of whatever Felix brought with him to pregame. Making his way into the house and past the obnoxious ‘bouncer’ who demanded to see their invites at least three times each while letting every girl who walked by in, he beelines to the kitchen, immediately sniffing out the free alcohol. Chan, being the ever-present voice of reason that he is, is understandably worried when Jisung approaches the poor frat guy stuck on drink duty and demands two shots of their strongest liquor for him and his friends. What fatherhood, and whatever he is to Felix after tonight, does to a man.

After a few more shots with Felix and Seungmin, Jisung grabs his designated vodka redbull he’ll carry around for the rest of the night to pretend he’s still drinking, and deems himself ready to brave the storm that is frat men and their horrific attempts at conversation. Speaking of, Jisung spots Changbin waving out of the corner of his eye as he slowly dislodges himself from his spot against Hyunjin on the couch. Jisung takes one more shot for good measure as Changbin walks over, not quite ready to follow up on their deal.

“Jisung!” he hears from across the room, “Thank god you’re finally here. I’ve got someone I want you to meet. He’s been pretty busy, but he agreed to take some time to talk to you.” Changbin says before stage-whispering, “Between you and me, I think he's just looking for something to distract him from his own petty drama.”

He watches Changbin wave somebody over from behind him, but as the figure makes its way over, Jisung’s heart quite literally drops out of his ass, “Minho! So good to see you bro, this is my friend Jisung I was telling you about. He needs a little help and I promised him I would–”

“Don’t worry Binnie, I can assure you we’ve already been acquainted,” Minho interjects, already spinning on his heel to make his way to the dance floor.

So much for helping.

It’s only then that Changbin seems to be able to put two and two together and finally realize what’s going on. “No way your bitchy dance TA is Minho dude! I’ve never seen the guy that pissed in his life.”

“That seems to be common with the people who know him. Meanwhile, I’ve never seen him that civilized, especially around me.”

“I don’t know what you did to hurt him so bad, but I really have never seen him like that before. I really would recommend apologizing. If not for him, then for the rest of us, you know all of those mutual friends you guys seem to have.”

“I’ll try my best, but you saw how he was earlier. I’ll be lucky to even be in his line of sight without him walking away in disgust,” Jisung finishes with, already walking away.

In an effort to escape Changbin’s pestering, Jisung proceeds to his designated spot against the wall across from the dance floor, letting his friend get lost in the crowd until he finds someone else to talk to. From this spot, he can see the entire room, and it really puts into perspective just how many people a frat can fit into a dingy house. Jisung scans the crowd, looking for someone to let pull him into the sea of students for a dance until he forgets about why he even came here in the first place. Unluckily for him, the only person he’s able to find is the one person he’s actively avoiding.

He spots Minho deep in the crowd of flailing college students, pressed up against who he can assume to be a friend given how close they are. Jisung feels the blood drain from his body as he’s forced to watch Minho’s little friend get even closer to ask him something, pressing a sloppy kiss to the side of his neck on the way. He swears he hears a faint whisper of a song in the background over the ringing in his ears, something about smoke and jealousy to an upbeat tune. Total godawful white frat boy music if you ask Jisung; and no he’s not saying that because the lyrics are hitting just a bit too close to home right now, why would you say that?

He just hates that everyone clearly got some handbook thrown into their laps on how to get along with Lee Minho. With how popular he is, Jisung wouldn’t be surprised to find a university course on the topic, something stupid like LMH101. Maybe that’s the course he should’ve randomly signed up for last spring instead of his clusterfuck of a dance class.

Felix takes this opportunity to slide behind him, whispering, “You good bro?” and waving his hand in front of Jisung’s face in the hopes that it snaps him out of whatever Minho-induced trance he’s sucked into.

Maybe Minho’s just a vampire with weird mind-control powers. Jisung’s slightly less than sober mind decides this is a totally more legitimate and plausible thought than the idea that Minho might just be a good person who makes friends easily. Jisung then realizes it’s been a while since Felix tried to get his attention, and throws out a quick, “All good bro,” in his general direction.

“You sure, you’ve kinda just been staring out at the dance floor for a while,” Felix replies, taking a second to find exactly what Jisung is looking at with such intent and disdain, before adding, “Don’t worry about him, he’s being an absolute dick tonight. If you want to talk to him that bad though, I can go grab him for you.”

Jisung gives some thought to Felix’s offer before replying, “Thanks Lix, but I really don’t think that’s a good idea. I’ll just look like a pussy if I can’t even start a conversation with him on my own.”

“If you say so Sungie, I’m just worried about you two. You guys are such nice people on your own, and you basically share a friend group, so I really just don’t get why you don’t get along.”

“Don’t let yourself fret about it too much Lix, but have fun while you’re here. If you do want something to worry about, I would worry about the way Chan’s been looking at you like he wants to eat you since he saw you at my dorm.” Felix’s eyes sparkle at that, a smile growing on his face, and it makes Jisung proud. Even if he just met Felix this week, he would absolutely without question kill someone to keep that smile on his face.

Felix bids him goodbye and goodnight, assuming the best, and stalks off presumably to wherever Chan went off to when they all got here. Jisung takes a look back at the dance floor, noticing a distinct lack of Minho, and realizes this is his optimal chance to strike.

He looks for Seungmin, his ever-present voice of reason, for a shred of advice on how to get in a real conversation with Minho before the night ends. Unfortunately for him, he finds his roommate pressed against the wall by a boy he now recalls as the person who was standing next to Minho when Changbin tried to ‘introduce’ him to Jisung. Good for him, Jisung thinks. At least one of them is having fun tonight. He spots a figure out of the corner of his eye, throwing an exasperated look toward the pair, which Jisung could totally get behind. He’s glad his roommate is having fun, but they definitely should have taken this to a bedroom by now. As the figure rips the pair apart to do what Jisung can only assume is chastise them, send them home, or both, he realizes the figure is actually Minho, and his body reacts before his brain can catch up.

Jisung grabs Minho and drags him out the patio door into the empty backyard, save for a few loitering stoners, and promptly curses his tipsy brain for the lack of common sense. Despite everything, he’s never found himself alone with Minho and doesn’t quite know how to start the conversation. Minho stares at him for a few seconds in shock before trying to flee, and Jisung realizes he desperately needs to say something. He figures he can’t humiliate himself any further, and settles on a, “I didn’t know you knew my friends.”

“Wouldn’t have begged for their help so much then I assume? Wouldn’t have even become friends with them in the first place if you knew they associated themselves with someone arrogant and overreactive?” Minho has clearly had a lot more to drink than Jisung, speaking at a volume high enough for Jisung to flinch. “I sure hope you don't forget I heard you with Felix. I can’t help but feel relieved I missed part of it. Who knows what you said about me.”

“That’s not what I’m saying! If you would just listen to me instead of running away you’d know I didn’t even say that in the first place.” Jisung sighs before adding, “If you didn’t hear the full conversation, you have no right to be upset with me.”

“Why the fuck would I want to hear the full conversation? You were being an asshole about me being in a dance class, your dance class to be specific, and I don’t take kindly to people disrespecting my work.”

“See, this is why you should have been there! If you even bothered to ask Felix afterwards he would have told you it has nothing to do with dance. If anything, I’m grateful to have someone in there who actually knows what they’re doing.”

“I see,” Minho responds, letting up a bit, and Jisung thinks this might be enough to placate him, chalking this argument up to a bruised ego, but realizes he thought wrong when Minho decides to add, “I know, it’s about the girls, isn’t it? Honestly, I should have realized it from the beginning. The only reason guys enroll in dance classes to begin with is to pick up girls, and you’re mad I’m all they can focus on.”

Jisung doesn’t quite remember when or how the distance between them closed, Minho’s mocking smirk suddenly far too close for comfort. He can’t focus like this, with Minho looking like he wants to pick him apart bone by bone and put him back together again just for fun. He watches Minho’s face fall the slightest bit, only noticeable due to their proximity, presumably confused as to why he’s gone silent all of a sudden. Jisung steps back, finally able to breathe and slightly dizzy from what he hopes is the alcohol, before continuing the conversation.

“I don’t even like girls, are you fucking crazy?” he shouts in response, ignoring the eyes that found their way to the two after that comment, “I signed up for the class on accident for fucks sake.”

He watches Minho as his eyes flash with something indescribable just for a second before he's able to school his expression back into something a little more pleasant, saying, “Then why do you care what I think of you? Any normal person would turn around with their tail between their legs and run back to people that actually give a shit about them.”

“I want to know why you’re so against the idea of making amends. We have all the same friends anyways, it’s not like we’ll never see each other again.”

“Embarrassing yourself in front of me, and not to mention the entire rest of the class, should have been enough of a clue that it wouldn’t work. I’m truly not the one in the wrong here, and making amends only works when both parties want it”

“I just wanted to hear from you what pissed you off so bad. Maybe even an apology for jumping to conclusions, but I’m not even asking for that much anymore.”

“I still don’t think I’m the one who should be apologizing here. You talked about me behind my back, quite horribly mind you, and wonder why I won’t talk to you.”

“Fine, if an apology is what it takes to get an answer out of you, I’ll give you one. I still don’t know what I did to make you so upset, but at least I’m trying here. You were right, I shouldn’t have gone behind your back, it made me look like an absolute dick and it made you upset. I really am sorry.”

“Look I’m happy to hear that from you, but I have things to do. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to find Changbin and let him know I’m leaving for tonight.”

Jisung stops him before he gets the chance to slip away again, “You know, most people apologize when they’ve done something wrong, right? Relationships are a two-way street and we’ll never get anywhere if I’m apologizing on both of our behalf.”

The look Jisung gives after would have caused any lesser man to crumble. He knows how to use his features to get what he wants, round eyes shining with the illusion of unshed tears paired with a soft pout. The true epitome of pity. Unfortunately for him, it feels like this has the exact opposite effect on Minho, up until the moment he finally breaks.

“I guess, ugh, I guess I could have responded better.” Minho relents, clearly not used to being the one in the wrong, “It wasn’t right of me to treat you like that, especially in a class setting. I’ll be better about it, promise.”

Jisung beams, and hopes that the faint smile that’s made its way onto Minho's face isn’t just him seeing things as a result of a secondhand high he’s gotten from being out here for so long.

“I’m glad to hear it. Truce?”

“Truce.”

Unfortunately for Jisung, this will be the last thing he remembers of that night.

[nostalgiabearr]

☆°. — aphrodite ; hhj

genre: smut, fluff

pairing: hyunjin x afab!reader

wc: 4.4k

warnings/ content: established relationship, hyunjin is very needy and obsessive, body worship (feet stuff..... hear me out y'all), oral (f receiving), SLIGHT foot job HEAR ME OUT Y'ALL, also not edited because i'm lazy

author's note: okay. you all need to hear me out because i didn't know this fic woul dabble into unknown territory but trust me it's NOT a feet kink kinda fic it's a body worship fic!!!! don't let the mention of feet stop you from this fic pls i swear it makes sense with hyunjin ( @astraystayyh can confirm i converted her). also this fic is inspired by so many different things i can't name them all, but one of them is this song.

Your body registered the deep grunt before your brain properly did; you tensed, the hairs on your skin standing straight, your core tingling with delight. You gave the man in your bed a curious look, one eyebrow raised; and you almost sighed out in response. Hyunjin was in nothing but boxers, your blanket – long smelling of him, or a mixture of you and him, or sex and him – lazily draped over his lean body, not necessarily to cover him but just because it was there. And it was barely covering him, in the first place; revealing his entire upper body and one leg which he couldn’t hold still, digging it into your mattress, or stretching. His shaved head was buried in your pillows – also holding his scent, reminding you of the times you pulled it close to your body and breathed it in whenever he couldn’t stay overnight – and he looked tortured, somehow. Laying on his side but writhing, half of his face hidden in the pillowcase before he sighed out hopelessly, and threw himself on his back. His body tensed with the movement, abdomen clenching and revealing muscle, shoulders protruding, the skin there stretching thinly, and it gave you the godliest sight. And then he looked at you. Finally. Deep eyes locking with yours, reading you, pleading you, begging you for something yet unspoken. But you could tell he was; his telltale puppy eyes, his blown out pupils, his quivering lip. His scrunched, full brows. Not only could you look at him forever, you also knew he wanted something. Something from you.  

You cocked your head, stopped in your work – assignments you needed to complete, deadlines you had to meet, and Hyunjin had complained about it plenty when you had left the bed to sit at your desk. His hand had not let go of you until the very last moment, tracing your curves while you had stood up and put on a shirt of his, having been thrown to the floor mindlessly last night, or earlier that day, you weren’t quite sure. Time was hardly ever separable with him, minutes becoming hours becoming days, and nights, and you never knew when one ended and the other began. Hyunjin’s fingers had caressed your body up until the very point you’d been unreachable to him, and you had felt his touch linger on your skin, hot and scorching, when you sat before your laptop. You had also heard his moans and grunts of protest, but you had done your best to tease at him; despite everything in your body screaming to just slide back into his arms, warm and long and inviting, steady. 

And your body was screaming now, too. He looked so adoring, so comfortable. He looked so desperate looking at you, chest heaving with his breathing, as if to tempt you on purpose, as if to navigate your attention towards it. To the smooth skin of his body, his prominent collarbones scattered with love bites, his hardened nipples. It wasn’t cold in the room. 

You caught his face again. If he’d noticed you staring he didn’t let you know, and you broke under his gaze, eventually. 

“What’s up babe.” The tone of you voice didn’t ask a question, and you chuckled when he groaned again and let his hand drag over his face. Utterly tortured. So dramatic. You rolled your eyes with a smile even though he couldn’t see, too busy being tragic. He huffed out, looked at you again. 

Suddenly shy; you thought you caught him blush. 

“This song makes me so horny.”, he muffled into the pillow, turning in your bed again, stomach now hidden, exposing his back instead. He had barely spoken the words when you started laughing, brightly. You registered the song playing on your speakers, one on your joined playlist, the deep bass and sensual melody filling the room, the echoes and lazy voices setting a nice mood if combined with the vanilla scented candles you had lit, the dim lights you had turned on. The sunset you had opened the blinds for. You laughed because it was absurd. Because Hyunjin looking so pained, so desperate and tense because of a song was amusing; but it made sense. 

Of course he would get horny over a song. Of course he would remember how you had stood between his legs just hours prior while he sat on the closed toilet seat, only a towel wrapped around his waist while this very song was playing from your phone. Of course he would remember how you had dried your hair right in front of him, chest inches away from his face, how he had tried to continue the oh so innocent conversation you had started, adamant to look into your eyes, to look up, to not let himself get distracted, how he had grown weak and started kissing your breasts, instead, eventually. As if he’d been bound to. With the song setting the mood hours prior too, how he had started letting his fingers dance upon your outer thighs before finding your core, asking for permission with big, dark eyes. It made sense that he would remember how you had sighed his name when the tongue of his had found your nipple, when his free hand started softly caressing your sides, your waist, your hips, cupping your chest, licking you, kissing you, fingering you so softly only minutes after you’d had made love in the shower. And in bed before that. And on the couch in your living room before that. 

Of course Hyunjin would remember how the song had played every time your lips clashed together, when his hands found your mounds, intertwined with your fingers, when your scent, your taste met his mouth; he was your hopeless romantic, after all, always caught on the mundane, fixated on the very nihil and it always meant the world to him. A song. Of course a song would mean the world to him; if only it reminded him of you. 

But still you laughed. Teased him. Because sometimes you liked to, and sometimes you just couldn’t let him distract you, as much as you would want him to. You watched his writhing figure, but couldn’t for too long; the muscles in his back spasmed with every bass in the song, and his arms tensed when he let them disappear beneath the pillow, hugging it. Something about it was sinful, suggestive. You imagined your own body there, between his arms, in place of the pillow, how his face would lay on your stomach, how his hot breath would fan over your skin, how good he would make you- 

“Don’t laugh at me.”, he whined. He hadn’t seen you stare. Thankfully. He would have been the one teasing long already, and you converted your eyes back to your laptop. Deep breaths. Taking deep. Deep. Breaths. 

“It is kinda funny, you have to admit.”, you breathed, huffing amusement past your nose. If you weren’t looking at him, teasing was far easier. And then he groaned again, deep, a little raspy, and it reminded you that, no, it was never easier with him. Your ears were as much slave to his eros as your eyes were, his voice as tantalising as his body was. He tsked, and you heard him ruffle again. “It’s not… fuck…”, he sighed, and a magnet pulled your eyes towards him. His own ones were buried in his elbow, as though hiding his face from you would make him less embarrassed, or less horny, or gave you less a reason to laugh at him. His brows scrunched, and he hummed before his body moved. Before his hips rolled a little into the mattress, into your mattress; at least that’s what you think they were doing. You couldn’t tell for sure under the thick blanket, but you knew him enough to guess. You knew the patterns of his muscles enough to recognize it, and you almost copied him, almost rubbed yourself against nothing, onto thin air. Another hum, and he moved to turn around again. 

“I’m so hard.” This time he said it with a self-deprecating laugh himself, hiding his face in his hand, and you wanted to lick it, each of his fingers, reminded of how he had pushed two of them past your lips under the shower. How he had looked at you while doing so. How he had fucked your mouth with them, slowly, making you gag on digits so long with eyes so hooded and dark that you had come moments later. You were sure the chair beneath you was wet now. Your panties sure as hell were. 

He looked up at you from beneath his lashes. Fuck. Hyunjin turned to his side, to face you, to be closer to you; his face contorted in pain or pleasure then, you couldn’t decipher, but it had the same effect on you anyways. One arm of his reached out, falling over the edge of the mattress. Calling you silently. Tempting you. 

“Please, babe. Come back to bed.”

You considered it. Your work wasn’t even half-way done and it was calling you, your laptop screaming your name loudly, but Hyunjin was screaming it louder. With his eyes, with his body. With his fingers that reached you, fanning over your shivering leg. Lulling you, intoxicating you. 

You considered it, but you only smiled at your lover. “I have to finish this, love.” You weren’t lying. But you wanted him at the very edge. Not normally the one to behave the way you did this moment, but you enjoyed it. You enjoyed the whine which tore through Hyunjin’s throat, frustrated and dissatisfied. As if you were all the salvation in the world. As if you were the only one capable of releasing him from the depths of hell. 

“Please. It hurts.” 

His words were but a whisper, pout written over his features, lips so plump and pink and you thought you heard him downright pant. Maybe he was at the very edge already, had been for longer you initially believed. 

You chuckled, feigning coyness, pretended to understand whatever the hell you had written on your Word Document when you looked at it again. The words were a blur, the meaning more so; you only felt Hyunjin’s fingers on your leg, pleading. 

“I have to finish this, babe. You can… relieve yourself. Can’t you?” Giving him a bashful look over the shoulder, and it was Hyunjin’s turn to laugh now. A deep laugh, not so much amused as surprised. He turned to lay on his back again; when you glinted over at his body, you believed to see the faint outline of his erection when the blanket betrayed him. He let his palm smooth over his body, over his stomach down to his abdomen, looking sultry while doing so, his body tensing due to his very own ministrations. He knew you were looking at him; and you really, really shouldn’t have. Because there was no way you would finish your work now.

“Oh yeah? You would like that, wouldn’t you? If I touched myself?”

As if to emphasize his words he let his hand wander further down, palming himself over his boxers. You could only half see, the blanket covering him mostly, but you saw enough. You saw his veiny hands on his sex, alluring, calling you when he gave himself a squeeze which tickled a moan out of him. You hummed in response; neither affirmative nor negative, and you heard Hyunjin turn around in your sheets again when you discarded your eyes from him completely. Felt his fingers on your calf again. Felt his hand – warm, slightly sweaty, trembling – close around your ankle then, suddenly, catching you off guard. He turned you around in your working chair and pulled you closer by your leg, and you giggled when you faced him, his face by your feet you rested on the edge of the bed, hand still enclosing your ankle. 

Something deep, something in the pit of your stomach fluttered when you watched Hyunjin look up at you. When you noticed how his touch felt on your skin. How it ignited you. How it weakened you. A gasp turned to a breathless chuckle when Hyunjin’s lips connected to the foot he yet held in his palm. One kiss atop it and his hand slid slightly upwards, up your calf, up where he knew you were sensitive. Always along the inner side, with fingers delicate, with touches featherlight because he knew you liked the way it tickled. He caressed your foot with his lips, giving it wet kisses. Along every inch and he loved the way you tensed beneath his touch. He loved to watch your brows furrow when he gave your toe a kitten lick before kissing it, lavishing, bathing in the feeling of you. In the intimacy you provided. In the fact that you allowed him to love you like this, so openly, so desperately. 

So obsessively. Hyunjin would say that a lot; that he was obsessed with you. Obsessed with everything about you. In between kisses he would whisper it into your ear, or mumble it into your neck before biting down at the skin there, or sighing it into your pussy when he couldn’t seem to disconnect from it for hours. You would hear it so often, and yet you never grew used to it. Initially, you failed to understand just how obsessed your lover was with you; because the first time he had kissed your foot – his hard erection had been deep inside you and one leg of yours had lay atop his shoulder so he could reach even deeper, and he had pecked it, mindlessly, as though a bodily instinct, a biological reaction – you had flinched, drew back your leg in surprise. He had apologized, you had reassured him. Had confronted him later, though; because you had been perplexed. 

“No.”, he had said, “it’s not a… fetish. I just love you. I don’t know.”, upon your question why he hadn’t told you sooner if this was something he liked. 

“I like that, though.”, he had breathed when you had looked embarrassed, that part of your surprise had been the sheer fact that you hadn’t prepared for it. That your feet had been calloused, wearing long weeks of work. Your nails had been cut carelessly, they hadn’t been painted. “I would have, like, gotten a pedicure, if you told me you were into that.” Hyunjin had shook his head, almost frantically. “I love the way they are right now. They’re… natural. They show how hard you work. That you, like… walk on this earth. I don’t know. It’s stupid.”

Not a fetish, you had realized then; adoration. He carried a deep adoration for your body. For every part of it. And ever since then you had understood his obsession a little better. 

So you let him kiss your feet now. Because he did so eagerly. Humming against your skin, lost in you as if kissing you, tickling you, licking and lapping you up was bringing him pleasure beyond human comprehension. And you could only watch, mesmerized. Baffled. That a man so beautiful loved you. That a man so perfect obsessed over you. That he now looked up at you, deer eyes beneath deep lashes, and he was breathless, panting. 

“Let me taste your pussy, please.” 

You hissed at his voice, at his hot breath against your ankle, at his brows which formed a line from how much he was frowning in frustration. You hissed from the implication of his words; no, not the implication. He wasn’t implying anything; he was downright begging. Shamelessly. Openly. For something so vulnerable, something which was so intimately, so carnally a part of you. He was begging for the most carnal part, and he was doing it so helplessly. So prettily. You thought he had never looked more beautiful than this. Than when he was loving you.

You nodded with heaving chest, spread your legs on the chair, shuffled forward a little; Hyunjin didn’t even bother with your underwear. He pulled your panties to the side, quickly, as though you were granting him a wish he would have never expected to come true, jaw hanging slack with anticipation, eyes blown out a deep black. He lapped you up. He didn’t wait for another word, didn’t waste another second. You gasped when you felt his mouth on your soaked warmth, now even warmer, now that he was breathing against you. Breathing deeply, breathing hotly. Whispering a low, throaty “Fuuck.” right into your pussy which muffled most of his noises, which absorbed all of them and made it her own. Which fluttered when he licked at your clit, mouth open so widely as though he couldn’t get enough of you. As though he would never taste you enough, never stuff himself enough with you, never be close enough to you. Mouth open so widely as though he wanted to inhale you whole, not only your sex, your clit, your wetness. You. To make you part of him, to make you connected to him through some sort of outer force.

It was when he kissed up and down your lips that you lost your heart a little. It was then when you noticed he was lost in his own pleasure. That he was kissing you because he wanted to kiss you. Not because he knew you liked it. Not solely. That he was making out with your pussy, mouth latching onto your labia, wandering up to the hood over your clit and down the puffy skin again to kiss near your slit because he was losing himself in you. Because he wasn’t even looking at you. Hyunjin’s eyes were closed, shut so tight the skin between his brows was wrinkled, his jaw trembling. His breath shaking against you. His deep grunts resonating somewhere deep inside your core. Depths only he ever reached. Only he was capable to.

When you moaned his name, called it out desperately and let it materialize in the room, letting it take space in the relative silence, he finally looked at you. Finally granted you his entire attention. Finally blessed you with the sight of him; eyes bloodshot, hooded, almost sleepy. Almost as if he had awoken from a trance. Hyunjin hummed in response, knowingly. Breathed you in deeper, licked a heavy stripe from your slit up. That was for you now. Now he was pushing your buttons, pushing them so knowingly, so aware it made you dizzy. He knew you, he chased your high with you.

His hand – big, warm, steady – pushed against your inner thigh, gently but you complied. You spread your legs further, granted Hyunjin more space. More space to make you feel good, more space to show love. He sucked at your clit, watching as you threw your head back. Smiling to no one but himself because he had expected it. Your legs twitched, your muscles spasming against your will, but you let them. Your right leg resting on the mattress lazily and Hyunjin played with it. Letting his fingers slide up and down your calf, always on the inner side, until he tickled at the underside of your knee, until you whined out and he knew to wander down with his fingers again. He caressed your ankle then. Scratching your skin with his nails, a little, slightly. Not enough to hurt, only to elicit wanted reaction; a hiss, a breath caught in your throat.

You hadn’t paid attention, so you didn’t know when exactly your foot touched Hyunjin’s erection, accidentally. You must have spread your legs just a little further – it was never enough, the pleasure he granted you intoxicating and you chased it with every nerve in your body, with everything you had in you – and you had only heard the heart-ripping moan from the man. So loud it scared you at first, before you understood, before you looked down at him, at his erection, at him again. Down his body, down his toned chest and tensed abdomen and at his erection again; you were able to see the wet patch on his boxers. The desperation in his eyes when you locked them again. He had put his own pleasure to the side for your own; and if he hadn’t lied to you about the pain, then he had been hurting for quite a while. Looking at you to just ease him off the pain. Any way you wanted to, any way possible, he didn’t care. As long as you eased him off it, as long as you freed him from the torment.

It was awkward, but you tried to get past his waistband with your toe. It must have tickled more than it did anything else because you caught Hyunjin’s skin shiver, the toned lines on his stomach protruding suddenly as the muscles there tightened. But he understood. Without breaking his lips off you, without even looking away from you – hungry eyes still following your every move, every expression in your face – he freed himself quickly with one hand, and your mouth filled with water you could barely keep behind your lips. You moaned out, too; simply at the sight of him, because he had shoved away his boxers so carelessly, because he was showing himself to you so readily, for you to take him with all you had. Even if it was pathetic. Even if he seemed desperate. Even if his precum was dripping down in thick beads onto your mattress, looking like a pearl necklace was adorning him. Hyunjin rolled his hips into nothing, searching for your touch when he saw the look in your eyes. The hunger there. When he saw how you bit your lip, how you cursed out.

“You’re not hard babe; you’re basically cumming.”

And Hyunjin hummed into your pussy, eyes closing, making him see stars, more even when you touched him. Delicate foot on his tip, and you didn’t even need to move; the man started chasing his high momentarily. He was so eager, grinding against the little contact of skin you granted him, but it was enough. And you knew he wouldn’t last long. His fingers dug into your thigh, his other feeling you up, feeling you everywhere, reaching to cup your breast above your shirt, higher up then when the lack of your skin disturbed him, when he found home on your neck, closed his palm around it softly.

You let your hand slide across his short hair, nails on his scalp at his touches. There wasn’t much to pull on anymore; Hyunjin had admitted that he missed the feeling, that the only downside to his new hairstyle was the fact you couldn’t tug at it anymore. He had admitted that he missed the pressure, the sting of pain. He had mumbled it into your neck while he’d been deep inside you, the very first day after he’d shaved it, after you’d confessed how good he looked. You had pulled him closer back then, had arched your back to connect your chest with his; Hyunjin had whined when your nails had dug into the sensitive skin of his scalp, and had kissed you feverishly after.

And he was now whining without control, too. Whining at the sting of pain, whining because he was so, so close, rolling and rolling himself against you, quick and quicker and with a body so tense, so shivering, so trembling. He was whining because he couldn’t get enough of your taste, of your scent, because as much as he wanted to, he couldn’t keep his eyes open. Because he felt so, so good. But he wanted to watch you. He wanted to see your mouth while it breathed his name, while it fell slack before a scream ripped through it. Wanted to see how you threw your head back, how your body convulsed against him, back arching, thighs closing, your free hand finding the one he had on your throat. Because you needed something to hold on to. Because he knew you were so, so close. He felt you shake, your legs quiver, he heard his name out of your mouth a couple notes higher, a little breathier, a little more carnal. He loved it when you said his name like that. He loved how it sounded in your mouth, sensual, pleading. Sweet.

And he came. Without much warning, but with spasms, because he just couldn’t take it anymore. Not with how mindlessly your foot lay on his now softening cock, with how hard you were groping at him; not just his head, everywhere. How much closer you seemed to need him. He couldn’t help it with how you smelled, sweeter now that you were close and wetter, oh so wet, drowning his chin in your essence, and he didn’t bother to clean himself up. He let himself be wet; let his own release stick to his abdomen, let it trickle down to his hips, let his chin be wet with you, wettened it even more by pushing himself deeper into you, nose wet too now, lips long soaked, mouth so full of you he grunted deeply, lapped you up, sucked your clit; and he felt you cumming, too.

And he finally looked up at you, needed to see you. And the sight was heavenly, wishing he could look at you forever. When you were like this. When you moved like this. When you felt this good; felt this good because of him. Because of his mouth which drank you up, cleaned you, inhaled you. Your eyes in the back of your head, your face contracting, your jaw tightening so hard that it shivered, that your lips quivered with it. You were flush, your hair all over you; knowing you, Hyunjin was sure you wouldn’t like the sight of yourself, wouldn’t understand why he grew hard again simply watching you. Why his breath caught in his throat when you looked at him, lashes damp, lip spit-laced, and whispering your name because it was “Too much.”. Just because Hyunjin could never stop when he started. Because he never got enough of your taste, long after you finished. Because he always drove you over the edge a second, a third time, only until his jaw pained him, when his lips went numb. When his heart filled with you so much he swore he couldn’t take it; and yet swore greedily, swore selfishly, that it would never be enough. 

@es-kay-zee @jeyelleohe @angelwonie @ppiri-bahng @cherrrywon @svintsandghosts @llunapastell @sensitiveandhungry @junebug032 @noellllslut @unexceptional-h @like-a-diamondinthesky @katsukis1wife

[nostalgiabearr]

NEPTUNE.

Hyunjin x reader. (s,a)

Synopsis: In a distant future where an app can predict your death, a retired dancer and an ambitious swimmer cross path by chance. With their final day looming, they choose to share it together, finding unexpected connection in the fleeting hours they have left. (19,6k words)

Author's note: With this fic, I hope that you get to realize that no matter how small your achievement is, it matters. You are matter. Happy new year, everyone! ❣

In the distant future, death isn’t a mystery. It’s an appointment.

It started with a breakthrough—an algorithm said to be so precise it could predict the exact day someone would die. Governments called it progress, a tool to manage the chaos of an overburdened planet. They named it Mortem. What they didn’t expect was how quickly the app would seep into the fabric of life.

People stopped planning for the long term. Relationships became fleeting, careers lost their permanence, and calendars filled with expiration dates. Death notifications became part of the noise—just another alert blinking alongside weather updates and dinner reservations.

But Mortem wasn’t perfect. It couldn’t tell you the when—only the day. That meant hours, minutes, or fleeting seconds could separate you from the end. For some, it was a mercy. For others, a torment.

Tonight, the city pulses with quiet tension, as it always does. Neon lights flicker against a backdrop of endless skyscrapers, their glass walls reflecting a future built on progress and control. Somewhere, phones buzz softly, notifying their owners of an unchangeable truth: Tomorrow is your last day.

For those who receive the message, there are choices to make. Will they cling to the comforts of routine, pretending the day ahead is like any other? Or will they seek something different—a chance to hold onto life for just a little longer?

Two strangers will soon find themselves asking that same question. Their lives have never crossed before, but by the time tomorrow ends, they will have shared something no one else can understand.

-

5:00 a.m.

The alarm pierces the early morning silence, jolting Hwang Hyunjin awake. With practiced ease, he silences it, sitting on the edge of his bed as he stretches his long arms. His back arches slightly, muscles awakening as he bends forward to gather his thoughts.

The world outside is still cloaked in darkness, but Hyunjin is already lacing up his running shoes. A quick double knot secures them before he presses play on his playlist, music flooding his ears and sharpening his focus.

The crisp, cool morning air greets him as he steps outside. It stings against his skin, but he welcomes it, inhaling deeply as he begins to run. His strides are steady, powerful, each one cutting against the wind. His long, dark hair bounces with the rhythm of his movement, dampened slightly by the early morning mist.

After completing his route, Hyunjin stops by his favorite bakery, where the warm aroma of freshly baked bread envelops him. He orders his usual: a selection of warm pastries and a steaming cup of coffee to go. Back at his apartment, he settles by the window, the city stirring to life beyond the glass. He takes slow bites of his breakfast, sipping his coffee as the first golden rays of sunlight paint the skyline.

It’s moments like this, quiet and unassuming, that he treasures most. They remind him of the beauty in simplicity, grounding him before the demands of the day.

By ten o’clock, Hyunjin arrives at the training center, his focus razor-sharp. He begins with a grueling gym session, pushing his limits to strengthen his arms and back. The burn in his muscles is a familiar companion, one he embraces with resolve. Sweat drips down his chin as he finishes his final set, his determination unwavering.

But this is only the beginning.

Hyunjin steps into the aquatic center, the sharp scent of chlorine filling his lungs. In the locker room, he changes into a sleek pair of swimming briefs.

"How are you feeling, my man?" A friendly pat on his back pulls him from his thoughts.

"Excellent," he replies confidently, catching his reflection in the mirror as he adjusts his swim cap. His friend's grin widens, sensing the energy radiating off him.

"What's your current record?"

"For the 100 or the 200 medley?" Hyunjin asks, slipping the last strands of his hair beneath the cap."You know which one I'm asking."

"47.12." A proud smile curves his lips.

"Bet you can take it to 46 today," his friend challenges, tossing his shoes into his locker.

The words hang in the air, lighting a spark in Hyunjin. He doesn’t need the push—he’s already determined—but the encouragement fuels his fire.

Hyunjin steps onto the pool deck, his reflection shimmering on the surface of the water. Memories of his younger self flicker in his mind, the boy who first discovered the joy of being in the water. Back then, it felt like another world—quiet, weightless, serene.

That love hasn’t faded.

He dips a hand into the pool, splashing the cold water onto the back of his neck. It’s a small ritual, an anchor before the dive. His goggles are snug against his face, a protective barrier between him and the world above.

Hyunjin climbs onto the starting block, his heart steady, his goal clear. He holds the current record in the 100-meter freestyle, but today isn’t about records or accolades. It’s about pushing himself to the edge, chasing a version of himself he’s yet to meet.

The whistle shrieks, and Hyunjin dives.

The water welcomes him, enveloping him in its familiar embrace. Each stroke propels him forward, every kick slicing through the resistance. His body moves in perfect harmony, years of training reducing the act to instinct.

To Hyunjin, the sky isn’t the limit—it’s just the beginning. And soon, he knows, he won’t just swim among the clouds. He’ll soar beyond them.

-

8:02 a.m.

The studio is quiet, save for the soft creak of polished wood beneath your bare feet. Sunlight streams through the high windows, casting long beams across the mirrored walls. You breathe in the familiar scent of resin and faintly worn leather, grounding yourself in this sacred space.

This is how you always start your mornings: alone, warming up in the quiet before the day begins. It’s a small luxury, one you’ve come to cherish in a world that feels anything but certain.

You stand in the center of the room, your reflection poised and still. Slowly, you move through the routine, arms lifting, legs extending, muscles lengthening with every step. The rhythm flows from memory—an old habit, a comfort that never falters.

Then, it happens.

A sharp ping breaks through the silence, echoing off the walls.

You freeze mid-pirouette, your balance wavering. Across the room, your phone sits on the bench, its screen lit up with a single notification. For a moment, you don’t move. It’s not unusual for your phone to chime—messages from parents, reminders for classes—but something about the sound feels heavier this time.

You exhale, lowering your arms. Whatever it is can wait. You’ve always finished what you started, and today will be no different.

You push forward, completing the warm-up with careful precision. The movements are second nature, your body carrying you through muscle memory. But there’s a weight in the air now, and with each step, your focus frays a little more.

Finally, you stop.

The studio falls silent again as you walk toward the bench. Your pulse quickens when you see the notification’s source: Mortem.

You stare at it, your breath catching in your chest. The app sits there, waiting, the message unread. Tomorrow is your last day. Is that what it will say? Or will it be another date, far off in the future?

For a moment, you consider turning away. Dancing has always been your escape, your solace. Maybe one more routine will help you clear your mind.

You step back toward the center of the studio, muscles coiled and ready to begin again. But something stops you. A voice, faint but insistent, whispers at the edge of your thoughts: Face it.

Your hands tremble as you pick up the phone. You swipe the screen, heart pounding in your ears, and open the notification.

Your eyes lock onto the date, and for a moment, everything freezes. Confusion flickers in your chest, followed by the sharp pang of disbelief. You’d told yourself you were ready for this, that the day would come eventually, but seeing it spelled out so plainly shakes you.

And then, as quickly as it came, the chaos fades. You take a deep breath, grounding yourself as you’ve done countless times before. The truth is undeniable, and no amount of fear will change it.

You’ve made your peace with death. You always knew it would come soon. And now, soon is here.

-

3:22 p.m.

Dahlias.

Your mother’s favorite flowers. They stand out vividly against the muted tones of the hospital’s inpatient ward, clutched close to your chest as you make your way to her room.

It started with an ache—sharp and unrelenting—but she didn’t see a doctor until the nausea and loss of appetite became impossible to ignore. Six months ago, the diagnosis came: stage 3 pancreatic cancer. The doctor gave her six months to a year to live, and with every agonizing moment, you’ve come to understand why she wishes the end would hurry along.

But the notification she hopes for never arrives.

“Honey, I haven’t gotten my notification yet,” she mutters the moment you step into her room. Her voice is flat, a mix of irritation and resignation, as her eyes glance at the flowers in your hands.

She’s always irritable after chemo, so you don’t let her tone sting. Instead, you walk to the sink, filling a vase with water.

After the nurse checks her IV and blood pressure, you’re left alone with her. The silence isn’t new, but it feels heavier today.

“They said six months. Why am I still here?” she groans, struggling to adjust her pillow.

You hurry to help, carefully setting the vase of dahlias on the bedside table. They brighten the room immediately.

“They’re beautiful,” she finally says, softening just a little.

“I’m glad you like them,” you reply with a faint smile.

Your mother has always lived with vivacity. She wasn’t one for small dreams; she lived a thousand of them. In her teens, she wanted to be a singer. By her twenties, fashion called her, leading to an internship at a fabric shop. There, she befriended a chef who inspired her to pursue culinary arts. It was during that chapter of her life that she met a classical musician—your father.

And you.

Her dreams shifted then, morphing into family and love, and for years, she poured herself into creating a home filled with warmth. When your father passed, she found a new dream: becoming a florist. She turned it into a thriving business.

Until six months ago.

“Are you eating well?” she asks suddenly, her concern for you breaking through her fatigue.

You nod. “Yes.”

“What did you eat this morning?”

It’s a routine question, part of her new reality where food tastes like nothing. Asking you lets her imagine the flavors she misses.

“I had cranberry ciabatta from the bakery across the street,” you lie gently.

She hums contentedly, closing her eyes. “They make the perfect ciabatta.”

“Mom,” you say softly, taking her frail hand in yours.

“Yes, my darling?”

“What would you cook for your last dinner?” You smile to hold back the lump in your throat.

Her face lights up, pleased by the question. She’s always loved sharing her stories, and now they’re all she has left to give.

“For an appetizer, I’d make eggplant croquettes,” she says with a teasing grin.

“Mom, not the eggplant,” you protest, wrinkling your nose.

Her laugh is weak but genuine. “Okay, okay. How about scampi bruschetta?”

“Now that’s more like it,” you say with exaggerated approval.

She closes her eyes, envisioning her creation. “With thyme and lemon. I’d toast the ciabatta for five minutes—just enough for a crunch—and sear the shrimp with olive oil and a pinch of salt. Then sauté spring onions with thyme, lemon zest, and honey. Acacia honey.”

As she speaks, her voice gains strength, her enthusiasm igniting memories of her former self. Between recipes, she slips in anecdotes, turning her imagined last meal into a tapestry of her life.

You hang on every word because you know these stories matter. They are her, distilled into moments you’ll carry forever.

And yet, the cruel irony doesn’t escape you.

You were supposed to be the one holding her hand at the end, not the other way around. The thought pierces through your heart as you sit there, smiling at her stories. She has spent six months longing for death, only for it to come for you first.

She deserves to rest, to find peace after everything she’s endured. You would have done anything to give her that. But the universe is merciless. It has flipped the natural order, leaving her with the unbearable task of outliving her child.

The injustice of it sits heavy in your chest, threatening to choke you. How is it fair that the one who wants to die must keep fighting, while you—her child—are robbed of the chance to live?

By the time she moves to selecting drinks, her eyelids grow heavy.

“You’re sleepy, Mom,” you whisper, smoothing the duvet around her.

She nods, offering a tired smile. “I’m just a little tired these days.”

You watch her closely, memorizing every line of her face, every glimmer in her weary eyes. “You look beautiful today.”

Her smile deepens, faint but radiant. “I know.”

“You’ve always been beautiful,” you add, unable to stop yourself.

She chuckles weakly. “I look good with cancer, huh?”

You laugh softly, brushing a strand of hair from her face, committing her image to memory.

As you stand to leave, her hand clasps yours, pulling it to her chest. For a moment, it rests there, and just when you think she’s asleep, she lifts her other hand to pat your head.

“You’re a superstar,” she whispers. “I adore you so much.”

Those were her bedtime words to you as a child, and now they hit deeper, wrapping around your heart with bittersweet comfort.

In her eyes, you will always be her child, no matter how much of the world you’ve seen or what you’ve become.

As she drifts to sleep, you kiss the back of her hand, releasing it gently. You take one last look at her before leaving the room.

This isn’t goodbye. It’s not the last mother-daughter moment, either, because in life and in death, she will always be your mother.

For you, death isn’t the opposite of life. It’s simply a part of it.

-

6:16 p.m.

“46.92!”

The words ring out in the humid air of the locker room as Hyunjin’s friend pats his back enthusiastically. They’re both standing under the shower, letting the day’s fatigue wash away.

“I see a gold medal in your near future,” his friend adds, grinning.

Hyunjin can’t stop the smile that creeps onto his face. The thought of victory is intoxicating, the image of standing atop the podium almost tangible. He can taste it—sweet, like honey.

“Beers? What do you think?” another teammate calls out as Hyunjin turns off his shower head.

For a moment, he’s tempted. He deserves it, doesn’t he? Breaking his personal record, getting closer to his dream—surely, a small celebration wouldn’t hurt.

But discipline pulls him back. His body is his temple, and the bread he allowed himself this morning was already a rare indulgence.

“Not tonight,” Hyunjin says, his tone polite but firm.

“Next time, then,” his friend replies easily, shrugging it off as he heads for the lockers.

The others filter out, their laughter and chatter fading down the hallway until silence envelops the space. Hyunjin is alone now, drying his damp hair with a towel. He moves methodically, packing his bag, folding his towel, tucking everything neatly into place.

When he pulls out his phone, a cluster of notifications greets him. Most are messages from his teammates—congratulations, plans for the weekend, harmless banter. He skims through them absentmindedly until one notification stops him cold.

It stands out like a blot of ink on an otherwise pristine page.

Mortem: Tomorrow is your last day.

For a moment, Hyunjin forgets to breathe. The locker room feels impossibly quiet, the white noise of the air conditioning fading into nothingness.

He reads the notification again, hoping—no, praying—that he’s misunderstood. But the words remain the same.

Hyunjin’s legs feel unsteady as he forces himself to move, his bag slipping from his shoulder as he stumbles toward the pool. He steps onto the edge, the scent of chlorine sharp in the air. The water is eerily still, reflecting the overhead lights in perfect symmetry.

He looks down at his reflection, and what he sees isn’t the confident, ambitious swimmer who broke his record earlier today.

It’s someone hollow. A boy with dreams just out of reach, crushed under the weight of a cruel truth.

His fists clench at his sides as anger rises in his chest, hot and unrelenting.

“FUCK YOU!” he screams, his voice tearing through the silence, reverberating across the chamber.

The sound ricochets off the walls, rippling across the surface of the water. His reflection distorts, breaking apart into fragments before settling again, unfamiliar and unkind.

They say death comes at the right time. A gentle visitor, arriving only when it’s supposed to.

But that’s a lie.

It doesn’t care about dreams or sacrifices. It doesn’t care that Hyunjin has spent years of his life in pursuit of one thing, pushing his body and mind to their limits.

It doesn’t care that he’s so close.

And now, when victory is within his grasp, it will take everything away.

He closes his eyes, chest heaving as he fights to steady his breathing. The rage doesn’t subside—it sits in his chest, a molten core of grief and frustration.

Hyunjin knows there’s nothing he can do to stop what’s coming. But for tonight, he lets himself curse the unfairness of it all, his voice echoing into the void until there’s nothing left but silence.

For Hyunjin, death is a thief.

-

7:22 p.m.

Alcohol is never your first choice. You’re not a fan of the bitter aftertaste or the burn as it slides down your throat. But tonight, you need something to dull the ache.

Your phone lies face-up on the bar, the notification glaring at you like a cruel joke. It’s accompanied by offers—a funeral service arrangement, a hotline for counseling.

You stare at the screen, unsure how to even begin processing it all. Sadness feels too small a word for the heap of emotions weighing you down. Beneath the sorrow lies a sliver of joy at the thought of not having to endure another day. And beneath that, a fragile sense of relief that it will soon be over.

How do you explain that to anyone? How do you untangle that mess of feelings, let alone share them with a therapist?

The bartender doesn’t ask. He doesn’t need to. Your sadness is written all over your face.

An hour passes, your drink long since gone, and you finally decide to leave. The bartender approaches, not with the check but with a bottle in hand.

“Here,” he says, taking your empty glass away.

You blink at him, confused. “I’m ready to pay—”

“I’m not taking your money,” he interrupts, pouring liquid from three different bottles into a pair of shot glasses with precise movements.

It clicks belatedly in your mind—some unspoken gesture, one you wouldn’t have recognized if you didn’t spend most of your nights at home.

“May I ask what this is?” you say, eyeing the amber liquid as he slides the shot glass toward you.

“The Three Wise Men,” he says with a faint smile.

“And who are they?”

“Johnnie Walker, Jim Beam, and Jack Daniels,” he explains, gesturing to the bottles on the counter.

“Ah...” A small laugh escapes you. “Very wise indeed.”

He lifts his shot glass, holding it up in a silent toast. “Ready?”

You hesitate, your hand wrapping around the glass. “Any tips for this?”

“Don’t think. Just swallow.”

You nod, mirroring his stance.

“To the three wise men,” he says.

“To the three wise men,” you repeat, exhaling before tipping the shot back. The liquid burns all the way down, leaving a warmth in its wake.

“Whoo...” the bartender exhales, slamming his glass upside down on the counter.

You mimic him, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “That was…” You pause, laughing nervously. “…something.”

He chuckles, leaning on the counter as his gaze sweeps the bar. “They say you’re either living to die or dying to live.”

The room feels quieter for a moment as his words settle.

He sighs, his voice softening. “But you know what? I only pity the living.”

The statement strikes you in a way you can’t quite articulate. You don’t want to die, not really. But the thought of living, with all its weight, feels far worse.

“Another round?” he offers, holding up one of the bottles.

You shake your head. “No, thank you. I haven’t eaten dinner, so I don’t think that’s… wise.”

“See? You learned from these men,” he teases, capping the bottle with a grin.

You pull out your wallet, sliding a card toward him. “At least let me pay—”

He steps back, hands raised in mock surrender. “Use the money to buy yourself a nice dinner, okay?”

There’s no arguing with him, so you reluctantly tuck your card away. “Thank you,” you say softly, your voice heavier with gratitude than the words can carry.

He nods, his smile kind. “Hey, I needed that shot too.”

You rise from the stool, glancing back as you sling your bag over your shoulder. “Have a great night.”

The bartender is busy with another order, but a few steps later, his voice calls out to you.

“See you on the other side,” he says, raising a hand in farewell.

For a moment, you pause, then nod, offering a faint wave before stepping out into the night.

-

7:45 p.m.

There's nowhere to go.

You’ve been walking aimlessly since leaving the bar, letting your feet lead the way. Your hands are stuffed into your jacket pockets as you stop at a crosswalk, waiting for the light to turn green. The thought of returning to your apartment, where silence lingers like an unwelcome guest, feels unbearable.

You could visit your mother again, but the idea of seeing her only to leave her forever—it's too much to handle.

There are so many things you want to do, yet none of them feel right.

The light finally turns green, and you step off the curb. But before you can take another step, something grabs your shoulders and pulls you back. A motorcycle speeds past, narrowly missing you.

Your mind goes blank. Instead of your life flashing before your eyes, everything shuts down for a moment.

"Come on!" a voice urges. A hand takes yours, pulling you across the street just as the light turns red again.

You don’t realize what just happened until you’re safely on the other side. Someone has just saved you. If they hadn’t stopped you, that motorcycle might have dragged your body halfway down the street.

You turn to look at your savior and freeze. He’s beautiful—stunning, even—and for a moment, you’re speechless.

"Are you okay?" he asks, his voice gentle but tinged with concern.

His words snap you out of your daze, and you hurriedly compose yourself. "Yeah, I’m sorry, I was—"

"No, no, it’s not your fault. That motorcycle ran the light," he interrupts, shaking his head.

Why are you apologizing? You should be thanking him. But when you look at him, the words catch in your throat, so you glance away. "Thank you… for, uh, earlier," you manage to say.

He smiles, and his eyes curve along with it, warm and genuine. But then his next words take you by surprise.

"Your death isn’t today, right? I’m pretty sure it said tomorrow."

You freeze again, alarm bells ringing in your head. How does he know that? You take a step back, suddenly wary.

Realizing he’s scared you, he raises his hands in a gesture of surrender. "I’m sorry—I should’ve explained first."

He lowers his hands and exhales before continuing, "I was in the bar earlier. I accidentally saw the notification on your phone when I was getting my drink. And then I followed you..." He grimaces. "Wait, that makes me sound like a creep."

He stops rambling and pulls his phone from his jacket pocket, tapping the screen until it lights up. He turns it toward you, revealing a notification identical to yours.

His death is tomorrow, too.

"I guess we’re doomed, huh?" he says with a shrug, his tone oddly lighthearted.

You’re at a loss for words, staring at the screen and then at him. How is it possible that someone like him—this beautiful, radiant man—is doomed?

He puts his phone away and looks at you earnestly. "I know this is sudden, and random, and... probably really weird. But do you want to have dinner with me?"

It is sudden, random, and undeniably strange. But as you look at him—this stranger who saved your life—one thought crosses your mind: What’s the worst that could happen?

You’re going to be dead in a matter of hours anyway.

"Okay," you say.

-

08:10 p.m.

The two of you decide to walk to dinner, hands tucked into your jacket pockets, his adjusting his beanie every few steps. He finally breaks the silence as you pass the second block from where you met.

"I'm Hyunjin, by the way," he says.

You glance at him and give your name in return. When you expect the exchange to end, he extends his hand, and you shake it, feeling the chill of his skin against yours. His long fingers, adorned with rings, seem oddly delicate.

"Nice to meet you," he says with a small smile, pulling his hand back to adjust his beanie again.

“So... when did you get your notification?” he asks after a beat.

“This morning,” you reply, freeing your hands from your pockets now that the silence has been broken. “You?”

He tilts his head back slightly, lips pressing into a thin line. “Two hours ago.”

A strange feeling of unease stirs inside you, but he doesn’t let the conversation falter. “How do you feel about all this?”

“All this?” you echo.

He nods, waiting for your response. You search for the words, trying to name the whirlwind of emotions you’ve carried since the moment you opened that notification.

“I feel... alright, I guess.”

Hyunjin stops mid-step, turning to look at you with incredulity. “Alright?”

You shrug, unsure how to elaborate.

“You’re not angry? At all?” His tone sharpens, his brow furrowing in disbelief.

Angry? That hadn’t crossed your mind. There’s an odd peace in accepting what you can’t control, a clarity you never expected. You shake your head. “No.”

His eyes darken, and he mutters, “Well, I am.” He starts walking again, this time faster, his strides growing wide and purposeful.

“I’m livid,” he says through gritted teeth. “If death had a face, I’d punch it.”

You pick up your pace to match his, almost jogging, until he notices and abruptly halts.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his frustration dissolving into concern.

You nod, panting slightly.

He chuckles softly, his eyes crinkling into crescent moons. “Sorry, I tend to walk fast when I’m angry.”

The two of you fall into a slower, more deliberate pace, hands swinging at your sides. You want to ask what exactly makes him so angry, but before you can, he stops again.

“We’re here,” he announces, holding the door open for you.

You step inside and immediately feel out of place. The restaurant is elegant, full of people dressed to the nines. Self-consciousness creeps up your spine, and you spin around to look at him—only to bump into his chest.

“Sorry,” you mumble, looking down.

Hyunjin steadies you with a firm grip on your shoulders. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” you say quietly, stepping back to stand behind him.

“Table for two, please,” he tells the hostess.

She leads you to a table by a large window overlooking the city, the full moon casting a gentle glow over the skyline. As she places menus in front of you, Hyunjin mutters a polite thank-you, his attention already elsewhere.

You glance at him as he removes his jacket, folding it neatly over the back of his chair. He seems unbothered by the setting, completely at ease. He flips open the menu, his eyes scanning the options.

“Any ideas on what to have?” he asks, glancing up at you.

You fumble to open your menu, pretending to read it while avoiding his gaze. Finally, you lean forward and whisper, “Don’t you think we’re underdressed?”

He gasps dramatically, as if your words remind him of something crucial. Tugging off his beanie, his dark hair tumbles down, slightly damp and shiny, framing his small face. He ruffles it quickly, then shrugs.

“Steak? Pizza? Pasta?” he suggests, ignoring your question entirely.

You hesitate. When he offered to take you to dinner, you’d imagined a casual spot, maybe a pizza joint or noodle bar. Not this. And while you’re trying not to think about money, the menu’s prices make your stomach turn.

“I think we should go somewhere else,” you say quietly, your eyes darting over the options.

“Why?”

“It’s... too expensive.”

Hyunjin laughs, low and amused. “Do you think I can’t afford it?”

You shake your head frantically. “No, no, that’s not what I meant—”

“I’m kidding,” he interrupts with a grin. Leaning forward, he drops his voice to a whisper. “Honestly? I can probably only afford a plate of pasta and garlic bread.”

Your eyes widen, but his sly smile makes it clear he’s joking again.

“Good thing we’ve got the pity card,” he says, leaning back with a nonchalant shrug.

You freeze, reminded of the pity card. It’s a small perk that comes with the notification—a free pass to almost anything, covered by taxes. A gesture from the system to say, “Sorry you’re dying soon—here’s a little something.”

But the thought of using it makes your skin crawl.

“No,” you say, shaking your head firmly. “Not the pity card.”

“Why not?”

You struggle to explain. “It just... feels wrong. I don’t want their pity.”

Hyunjin raises a brow. “Who cares? We’ll be dead in a few hours.”

Before you can respond, a waiter approaches to pour water and set down a plate of bread. Hyunjin thanks them softly, then turns back to you.

“It’s not like we’re taking their pity with us to the grave,” he says, lifting his glass. “So, what do you say?”

You glance at the clock on the wall. Four hours left. Soon, none of this—money, pity, pride—will matter.

“We only die once, right?” you say, lifting your glass awkwardly.

Hyunjin laughs, his grin lighting up his face. “We only die once,” he echoes, clinking his glass against yours.

-

8:20 p.m.

You're not much of a conversationalist, so Hyunjin takes it upon himself to break the silence, his curiosity about you driving him forward. He has a myriad of questions on his mind but decides to start simple.

"May I ask what you do?"

His question makes you look up at him, and after a moment's hesitation, you place your hands under the table and answer with a sheepish smile, "I'm a ballet instructor."

The pieces click into place for him—the flowy skirt, black tights, and your hair tied neatly into a bun.

"So, you're a ballerina," Hyunjin remarks, nodding thoughtfully.

"I was," you correct him softly.

He tilts his head, his brows furrowing slightly. "Was?"

"I'm retired," you say briefly, offering another shy smile.

Hyunjin blinks in confusion. Retired? You seem far too young for that. "May I ask why?"

You adjust the cutlery in front of you, your hand steady despite the weight of your words. "I got into an accident a couple of years ago. I badly injured my leg, and the doctor insisted I stop dancing if I wanted to keep walking..." Your voice trails off, and your lips curve into a sad smile as you avert your gaze.

The weight of your story hits him. He can empathize with the sense of loss; after all, his situation is eerily similar. You had to give up your passion because of an accident, while he faces an abrupt end because of the ticking clock. Both of you are here, grappling with the unfairness of it all on what could be your final hours.

"It's like that saying," you continue, "‘Those who can, do. Those who can't, teach.’ So that’s what I’m doing now." You tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear and flash him a reassuring smile, but Hyunjin isn’t convinced. He recognizes the facade; he’s worn it himself.

"And you're not mad about it?" he asks, fully aware he might be treading into private territory.

"I was, for a long time. But eventually, I realized there’s no point in drowning myself in anger."

This time, your smile is different—genuine, even serene. It’s as if you’ve made peace with the cruelty of life, embracing it with quiet strength. Hyunjin admires it, though he knows how hard it must’ve been for you to reach that place.

He takes a breath and shifts the conversation, sensing the need to lighten the mood. "So, you’re teaching at a dance company?"

"A dance academy," you correct him with a nod. "I teach girls between the ages of seven and sixteen."

He can picture it easily—you, guiding a room full of eager young dancers, patient and warm. You probably make their favorite teacher list without even trying.

"And what about you?" you ask, lifting your glass of water for a sip.

"I'm an athlete," he replies.

"Ah..." you murmur, intrigued. "What sport?"

"Take a guess," he says with a playful grin, leaning back in his seat.

Your laughter fills the air, and you give him a once-over, your eyes narrowing as you search for clues. After a moment of deliberation, you venture, "You’re tall and lean so... basketball?."

Hyunjin chuckles, pleased with the compliment but shakes his head. "Nope."

You purse your lips in thought. "Soccer?"

"I like soccer," he admits, leaning forward, "but that’s not it."

You groan in mock defeat, covering your face with your hands. "I’m terrible at this!"

Hyunjin laughs, finding your reaction endearing. "I’m a swimmer," he reveals.

Your eyes widen in surprise. "That’s amazing!"

"I was scouted for the national team," he says, a hint of pride in his voice. "I was supposed to compete this summer."

The realization of his words hits him mid-sentence, and the excitement drains from his face. Summer is two months away—a future he knows he won’t see.

"That’s incredible," you say gently, your empathetic smile offering comfort.

Just then, the waiter arrives with the menus, saving the atmosphere from slipping into melancholy.

"Would you like to order some wine?" the waiter asks, presenting a list.

You scan the menu and suggest, "I think I’ll have white wine."

Hyunjin glances over the options, muttering to himself, "Vanilla and peach... sounds nice."

"Viognier, sir?" the waiter recommends.

Hyunjin looks to you for approval, and your small nod seals the deal. "We’ll have that," he says.

The wine arrives alongside your meals, and the two of you fall into a rhythm of eating, sipping, and conversing between bites.

"How long have you been swimming?" you ask.

"Since I was eight," he replies, pausing to take a sip of wine.

"Wow. I didn’t even realize I wanted to be a ballerina until I was twelve," you admit.

He’s struck by how much more at ease you seem now, whether it’s the wine or simply warming up to him. "What did you want to be before that?"

"A lot of things. An astronaut, a doctor, a ventriloquist..." You pause, your cheeks flushing with a laugh. "A vampire slayer."

Hyunjin bursts into laughter, shaking his head in disbelief. "You really wanted to be everything."

"My mom broke my heart when she said I couldn’t be a vampire slayer," you say, your expression deadly serious.

"Honestly? I’d be sad too," he jokes, grinning.

You lean in, lowering your voice as if sharing a secret. "Then she told me this: ‘It’s okay if you can’t achieve your dream. You can always go back to sleep and live a new dream.’"

Your laughter carries across the table, and Hyunjin smiles faintly, though the sentiment hits too close to home. Finding a new dream is one thing—but having the time to chase it is another entirely.

You finish your meal and dab your lips with a napkin. "The academy I teach at isn’t far from here, just a few blocks away. I actually have to stop by to grab a few things."

You glance at him, your expression soft. "Do you want to come with me?"

The invitation catches him off guard, but the warmth behind it makes it impossible to refuse.

"I’d love to," Hyunjin answers, smiling. For a fleeting moment, he feels less alone in facing the inevitable—because now, at least, he has a friend.

-

09:15 p.m.

"We'd like to pay with this," Hyunjin slides his phone across the table to the waiter.

The waiter studies the screen for a moment. You can see the subtle shift in his expression as realization dawns—Hyunjin's pity card, stark proof of his limited time, is what he offers as payment. The waiter looks back at both of you, his eyes softening, probably assuming this is some kind of farewell dinner.

He forces a smile and says, "We'll process it right away."

Hyunjin raises his eyebrows at you, a small grin tugging at his lips as if to say, Here it comes.

Sure enough, the waiter, taking a step away, turns back around and says solemnly, "We're very sorry."

Both of you burst into quiet laughter, your shared amusement breaking the gravity of the moment.

"That's one!" you tease, raising your coffee cup as if to toast.

When the waiter returns with Hyunjin's phone and the bill, his demeanor is still tinged with melancholy. As Hyunjin signs, the waiter fidgets slightly, clearly wrestling with unspoken words. In the end, all he offers is another subdued, "I'm very sorry."

You glance at Hyunjin with a smirk. "Two," you whisper under your breath.

The waiter departs, but not before the lady at the till calls after you as you're leaving. "Thank you, and we're very sorry."

The moment the door closes behind you, you and Hyunjin burst into unrestrained laughter.

"A hat trick!" he says, shaking his head, his hands tucked into his jacket pockets.

As you stroll to the academy, you find yourselves critiquing the meal like professional food critics, though the details blur in your slightly tipsy haze. The wine stands out—delicious enough that you’d kept asking for refills. Thankfully, the cool evening air helps clear your head by the time you reach the academy.

You unlock the studio door, the faint scent of wood polish and faint traces of rosin welcoming you. The dim overhead lights flicker on, casting a warm glow over the polished floor and mirrored walls. Hyunjin steps inside, his eyes widening as he takes in the space.

"This is where you work?" he asks, his voice tinged with awe.

You nod. "My second home."

Hyunjin walks around the room, his footsteps echoing softly against the floor. He pauses by the ballet barre, running his fingers lightly over the smooth wood. "This place is beautiful," he murmurs.

You smile, setting your bag down. "It has its charm, doesn't it?"

His gaze falls on the wall of framed photos—groups of smiling children in costumes, candid shots of performances. "Are these your students?"

"Yes," you say, walking up beside him. "They’re the reason I still love what I do."

Hyunjin glances at you, his expression soft. "I can see why they'd love you as a teacher."

The compliment catches you off guard, and your cheeks warm. Quickly, you motion to the barre. "Want to try something?"

He raises an eyebrow, intrigued. "Are you offering to teach me ballet?"

"Why not?" you say, grinning. "You’re an athlete. It’ll be fun."

-

10:25 p.m.

You stand in front of him, arms crossed, as Hyunjin tentatively grips the barre. His tall frame looks comically out of place in the elegant studio.

"Okay," you begin, stepping closer. "We’ll start with something simple—a plié."

Hyunjin looks at you skeptically. "A what?"

You laugh softly. "It’s just bending your knees. Easy."

Demonstrating, you lower yourself gracefully, your knees bending outward as your back stays straight. Hyunjin watches, nodding, and attempts to mimic you.

His execution is… not as graceful.

"No, no," you say, laughing, stepping behind him to adjust his posture. "Straighten your back. And don’t forget to keep your heels on the ground."

You place your hands lightly on his shoulders to guide him. The moment your hands touch him, he stiffens, looking up at your reflection in the mirror.

"Relax," you say softly, your gaze meeting his.

He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and finally eases into the position. You step around to face him, studying his form critically.

"Not bad," you tease. "But your turnout needs work."

"What’s that?" he asks, genuinely curious.

You tap his knee gently. "It’s the angle of your legs. Let me show you."

You crouch slightly, your hands brushing his calf as you adjust his stance. He watches you intently, his dark eyes following your every move. When you glance up, you find him staring.

"Something wrong?" you ask, standing upright.

He blinks and shakes his head. "No, it’s just… you’re really good at this."

You chuckle, stepping back. "It’s my job."

Encouraged by your patient coaching, Hyunjin tries another plié. It’s still a little stiff, but he manages to get through it without wobbling.

"See? You’re getting the hang of it," you say, clapping lightly.

"Don’t lie," he says, laughing.

"Okay, you’re still stiff," you admit with a grin, "but that’s expected. Ballet is all about control and precision."

Hyunjin straightens up, rolling his shoulders. "It’s harder than it looks."

"Now you understand why ballerinas are tough," you say, playfully nudging him.

He laughs, the sound light and carefree. "Okay, what’s next?"

You hesitate, considering. "Maybe a pirouette?"

"A what?"

You demonstrate the spin, moving with effortless grace. Hyunjin stares, wide-eyed.

"Yeah, no," he says, laughing nervously. "I’ll break something."

You step closer, placing a reassuring hand on his arm. "I’ll guide you. Trust me."

As you position him for the spin, your hand lingers on his waist. The closeness brings an unexpected tension between you, and for a moment, neither of you moves.

"You ready?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Hyunjin nods, his eyes locked on yours.

"Okay. One… two… three."

He spins—clumsily, of course—but the two of you dissolve into laughter as he nearly stumbles into you. You catch his arm to steady him, the laughter fading as you find yourselves standing mere inches apart.

"Not bad for your first time," you say softly, your hand still on his arm.

Hyunjin smiles, his gaze lingering on you. "Only because I had a good teacher."

-

10:55 p.m.

The quiet of the studio wraps around you like a soft blanket, interrupted only by the faint hum of the overhead lights. Hyunjin leans against the barre, watching you adjust your pointe shoes with practiced precision. The thought has been circling his mind since you both left the restaurant, but now, in this space that seems so deeply a part of you, he can’t hold back his curiosity.

“So…” he begins cautiously, his voice light but uncertain, “how did it happen?”

You pause, looking up at him with a flicker of confusion.

“I mean, your accident,” he clarifies quickly, his expression apologetic, as though he’s afraid he’s overstepped. “If it’s okay to ask.”

A faint smile touches your lips, and you straighten, leaning against the mirror. “Two years ago,” you say softly, the words feeling fragile yet certain, as if the memory lives just on the edge of your voice.

Hyunjin stays quiet, giving you space to continue.

“I was preparing for an audition—Swan Lake,” you say, your eyes shimmering with a mix of pride and pain. “I’d been working on my fouettés for weeks, trying to perfect all thirty-two of them. It was… everything to me.”

He can see it in your expression, the longing for something lost yet deeply cherished.

“The morning of the audition, I was rushing to catch the bus,” you continue, your hand gesturing lightly as though retracing steps from that day. “I was almost out the door when I realized I’d forgotten my shoes—the ones I believed would bring me luck. So, I ran back to get them.”

Your voice falters, and Hyunjin feels a pang of dread, already sensing what comes next.

“When I stepped out of my apartment building, a car came out of nowhere.”

You take a deep breath, your fingers brushing over the edge of the barre. “It wasn’t even going that fast, but the way I fell… My leg took the worst of it. Surgery, physical therapy… the usual.”

Hyunjin swallows hard, unsure what to say. “Do you… regret going back for the shoes?”

A soft, almost bitter laugh escapes you. “Every day.”

The silence that follows feels heavy and fragile, a moment suspended between reflection and grief.

“Can you dance at all now?” Hyunjin asks gently, his voice barely above a whisper, unsure if he wants to hear your answer.

You surprise him by smiling. “Why don’t I show you?”

Standing in the center of the studio, a quiet determination settles over you. The space transforms as you raise your arms, your posture suddenly regal, every movement deliberate and graceful.

“This is the introduction to Black Swan, Act III,” you say, your voice steady. “It’s what I’d prepared for the audition.”

Hyunjin nods, unable to take his eyes off you as you begin to move. You are mesmerizing, every gesture steeped in a passion he can feel even in the silence of the room. But as you transition into the fouettés, he notices the strain in your expression. Your balance falters, your leg wobbles, and before he can call out, you tumble to the floor.

“Are you okay?” Hyunjin rushes to your side, dropping to his knees as you prop yourself up on your elbows.

Instead of answering, you let out a loud, breathless laugh that echoes through the studio. You collapse back onto the polished floor, holding your stomach as the laughter spills out, unstoppable.

Hyunjin blinks, confused at first, but the sound of your laughter pulls him in. A small smile tugs at his lips. “You’re unbelievable,” he mutters, lying down beside you.

The quiet returns, the two of you staring up at the ceiling.

After a moment, you speak, your voice softer now, almost wistful. “Sometimes, I like to think there’s another me out there, one who made it to the audition, who got to live that dream.”

Hyunjin turns his head to look at you. Your expression is calm, tinged with longing but also a quiet acceptance.

“And you know what?” you continue, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’m happy for her and that’s enough for me.”

Hyunjin doesn’t know what to say, so he simply stays beside you, sharing the silence. There’s something achingly beautiful about your acceptance, the way you’ve found peace in the life you have now.

In that moment, he realizes how much strength it takes to smile at what could have been and quietly say, That’s enough.

-

11:13 p.m.

The studio falls into a comfortable silence, the kind that feels like a warm embrace. After a while, you sit up, brushing your hands over the smooth wood of the floor, and glance at Hyunjin lying beside you. He looks peaceful, almost lost in thought, but you can’t help the smile tugging at your lips as an idea forms.

“I showed you my dancing,” you say, breaking the quiet. “Now I want to see you swim.”

Hyunjin’s head turns toward you, his brows lifting slightly in surprise. “You want to see me swim?” he asks, his voice soft yet curious.

You nod, leaning back on your palms. “It’s only fair. I want to see you doing what you do best.”

For a moment, he studies you, as if trying to gauge whether you’re serious. Then, a small chuckle escapes him, and he pushes himself up to sit beside you. “Alright,” he says, a playful smile spreading across his face. “If you really want to.”

He rises to his feet effortlessly and extends a hand to you, his fingers warm and steady as they wrap around yours. With a strong tug, he pulls you up, but the motion catches you off guard, and your body stumbles forward, colliding with his.

Your breath hitches as you find yourself pressed against him, your hands instinctively landing on his chest for balance. Hyunjin’s hands settle on your waist, steadying you, and for a moment, the world feels still again—but this time, it’s charged with something unspoken.

You glance up at him, and your heart skips a beat when you notice his gaze lingering on your lips. The air feels heavier, your pulse quickening under his touch. His expression is unreadable, his eyes soft yet intense, as if caught in a moment of indecision.

Flustered, you look away quickly, stepping back to put some distance between you. “I should, um, clean out my locker first,” you say, your voice slightly rushed. “Then we can go.”

Hyunjin blinks, the spell broken, and his lips curve into a small, understanding smile. “Alright,” he replies simply, his tone easy and light, as though nothing happened.

You turn toward the studio door, your cheeks warm as you try to steady your racing thoughts. Behind you, Hyunjin’s footsteps follow quietly, his presence a steady comfort in the stillness of the room.

-

11:49 p.m.

As the taxi pulls up in front of the aquatic center, Hyunjin is the first to step out. The cool night air brushes against his skin as he circles around to your side, offering his hand to help you out of the back seat. You take it with a quiet "thank you," and he smiles softly in response, his fingers lingering for a moment before he lets go.

Inside, the center is quiet, the fluorescent lights casting a pale glow over the sleek, tiled interior. Hyunjin leads the way, his footsteps echoing lightly in the stillness, but after a few steps, he notices you’re no longer beside him.

He turns around, his brows knitting together in concern. “What’s wrong?” he asks.

You hold up your phone, its screen glowing in the dim light, and his eyes fall to the numbers displayed there. It’s past midnight. The date has turned, and the realization hits him like a weight in his chest—this is it. The day has come.

“It’s today,” you say quietly, your voice steady but tinged with sadness.

Hyunjin studies your face, searching for any sign of fear. “Are you scared?” he asks softly.

You don’t answer right away, your lips curving into a sad smile instead. Then, with a steadying breath, you meet his gaze and say, “Promise me something.”

His heart tightens at your tone. “What is it?”

“If my time comes first,” you begin, your voice cracking slightly, “I want you to move on. Keep going. Finish your day, okay?”

Hyunjin’s chest tightens, his head shaking before you can even finish the thought. “No,” he says firmly, stepping closer to you. “I can’t do that. Not unless you promise me the same thing.”

You hesitate, your eyes glistening under the soft glow of the lights. After a moment, you nod, your voice a whisper. “Okay. We’ll both keep going.”

He takes your hand in his, his grip firm but comforting. “We’ll do it together,” he says, his voice steady and resolute.

You smile at him then, soft and bittersweet, and he feels his heart ache at how brave you are in this moment.

Hyunjin squeezes your hand gently and tilts his head. “So,” he says, a small smile playing on his lips, “do you still want to see me swim, or is there something else you’d rather do?”

You shake your head, a quiet laugh escaping you. “I still want to see you swim,” you insist, your determination making his heart feel lighter.

He chuckles softly, releasing your hand and motioning toward the pool. “Alright then,” he says. “Let’s make this count.”

With that, he turns and walks with you into the aquatic center, the weight of the clock pressing on both of you, but your shared promise holding it at bay for just a little longer.

-

12:07 a.m.

The sharp, unmistakable scent of chlorine stings your nose as you step inside the aquatic center. The lights overhead cast shimmering reflections across the vast, still water, and you pause, taking it all in. The pool is immense, almost intimidating in its size, with the kind of quiet that feels both peaceful and eerie.

You walk to the edge, peering over cautiously. The water glimmers below, deceptively inviting, but as your gaze shifts downward, the sheer depth of the pool sends a chill through you.

“Can you swim?” Hyunjin’s voice cuts through the stillness, pulling your focus to him.

You shake your head, your lips pressing into a tight line. “No,” you admit softly. “I almost drowned once when I was ten. I’ve been afraid of swimming ever since.”

Hyunjin studies you for a moment, his expression thoughtful. Then, with a small smile, he says, “It’s not too late to learn, you know.”

You hesitate, your arms wrapping around yourself. The idea alone sends your pulse racing, the memory of water filling your lungs still too vivid in your mind. “It’s… not that easy,” you mumble, avoiding his gaze.

Hyunjin steps closer, holding out his hand to you. His voice is gentle but insistent. “Come with me. I can teach you how to swim… without the water.”

You glance at his outstretched hand, uncertainty swirling inside you. But the way he looks at you, so patient and reassuring, nudges you forward. Slowly, you nod.

“Alright,” you say, placing your hand in his.

He leads you to a smaller pool, its drained interior revealing its tiled floor. Hyunjin climbs down the ladder first, but the rungs don’t reach all the way to the bottom, and you watch as he drops the last few feet with an easy, practiced grace.

“It’s not so bad,” he calls up to you, extending his arms. “Come on. I’ll guide you down.”

You grip the ladder, your knuckles whitening as you lower yourself carefully. Hyunjin watches you closely, his gaze steady and encouraging. But as you near the bottom, your foot slips on the slick metal.

Your heart lurches as you lose your grip, your body tilting backward into the empty pool.

“Hyunjin!” you cry out, the name leaving your lips instinctively as panic seizes you.

For a split second, the world tilts and blurs, your breath catching in your throat. The feeling of falling stretches out endlessly, your chest tightening with dread. Is this it? Is this the moment everything ends?

The silence in the pool amplifies the rush of your heartbeat, drowning out everything else.

-

12:15 a.m.

It all happens so fast that Hyunjin doesn’t fully register the moment until you’re lying at the bottom of the drained pool, unmoving. A jolt of fear grips him as he rushes to your side, kneeling beside you.

“Hey,” he calls softly, his voice trembling. His hand hovers over your shoulder, unsure whether to shake you or give you space. Your eyes remain closed, and there’s no reaction. For a second, his breath hitches.

Then, just as his chest tightens with panic, you let out a low whine, your hand reaching for the back of your head. Relief crashes over him so strongly that he nearly laughs out loud.

“You scared me!” he exclaims, leaning closer as he gently brushes his fingers against the back of your head to check for any injury. “Does it hurt here?”

You wince but then immediately chuckle, brushing him off. “That would’ve been such an anticlimactic death,” you joke, trying to sit up.

Hyunjin lets out a shaky laugh, torn between exasperation and amusement. “I don’t think I’d recover from that,” he mutters, helping you up. To make sure you’re okay, he holds up three fingers with a mock-serious expression. “Alright, genius. How many fingers am I holding up?”

Rolling your eyes, you swat his hand away, a grin tugging at your lips. “I’m fine, Hyunjin.”

“You sure?” He narrows his eyes, clearly still worried.

“Yes, I’m sure,” you reply, waving him off. “Now, are you going to teach me how to swim or not?”

He laughs and takes a step back, gesturing for you to follow him to the center of the empty pool. “Alright, since you’re so eager. Do you have a swimming style in mind?”

“Uh… backstroke?”

“Backstroke, huh? Fancy choice.” He teases, listing a few others—freestyle, breaststroke, butterfly—all with a playful grin. Shrugging off his hoodie and tossing it to the side, he positions himself in front of you, standing tall and confident.

“Okay,” he says, holding his arms out in front of him. “Rest your back on my arms. I’ll guide you.”

You hesitate, your brows knitting together. “I don’t know, I might be too heavy—”

“Seriously?” He rolls his eyes and interrupts you. “I’m an athlete. I’m strong enough to hold you. Just trust me.”

Still unsure, you eventually take a deep breath and lean back, letting your weight settle onto his arms. His grip is steady, firm, and reassuring.

“See? No problem,” he says, his voice soft now, coaxing you to relax. “Alright, keep your body straight, like you’re floating on water. Flap your arms back and kick your feet forward, just like this.”

You follow his guidance, mimicking the movements, and he begins to move backward, gently carrying you along. It feels so real that for a moment, you let yourself believe you’re actually swimming.

But then your focus drifts as you glance at him—his sharp features illuminated under the pool’s dim lights, the concentration in his expression, the way he looks at you like you’re the only person in the world.

He catches your gaze and quirks a brow. “What?”

Flustered, you quickly look away, and your hand smacks against the tiled wall at the end of the pool. Startled, you sit up.

“Whoa, swimmer!” Hyunjin teases, his laughter echoing in the empty pool. “If this was real, your head would’ve hit the wall instead of your hand.”

You can’t help but laugh with him, the moment so lighthearted and surreal that it temporarily pushes the looming reality of the day out of your mind.

Hyunjin chuckles as your laughter fades, his hand brushing back his damp hair. The glimmer in his eyes is playful, but there’s an undercurrent of something softer, almost protective, as he watches you sit up fully, still smiling from his teasing.

"Alright," he says, crossing his arms. "You’re not bad for someone who’s never been in the water."

You roll your eyes but can’t help grinning. “Thanks to my amazing teacher, right?”

He bows theatrically. “Obviously. Natural talent helps too, but I’ll let you take some credit.”

You shake your head, standing up as you stretch your arms. “Well,” you say with mock seriousness, “now that I’ve impressed you with my not-so-real swimming skills, it’s your turn to show me what you’ve got.”

Hyunjin straightens, his grin widening. “Oh, you want to see me swim for real?”

“Of course,” you reply, stepping aside and gesturing toward the other end of the pool. “How else am I supposed to judge if you’re actually any good?”

He smirks at your challenge, the competitive spark in his eyes lighting up. “Alright, I’ll show you,” he says confidently, already pulling his hoodie back on. “But don’t blink—you might miss how fast I am.”

You laugh, following him as he leads the way out of the drained pool, anticipation bubbling in the air between you.

-

12:55 a.m.

The aquatic center feels almost otherworldly in its stillness, the faint scent of chlorine hanging in the air. When Hyunjin finally reappears, dressed in nothing but his swimming trunks, towel, and goggles in hand, it takes you by surprise. His tall, lean frame seems even more striking now, the hoodie he'd worn earlier having hidden the breadth of his shoulders and the defined lines of his physique.

You catch yourself staring, and before you can stop it, an awkward giggle slips out. Hyunjin tilts his head, confused but amused. "What?" he asks.

Shyly, you admit, "Nothing, I just— I was starting to get creeped out being here all alone when you went to change."

He chuckles softly, walking to the edge of the pool. He crouches to scoop water into his hand, splashing it onto the back of his neck before straightening up.

"I need to warm up first," he says casually. You nod, stepping back to give him space.

Hyunjin drops to the ground and starts doing push-ups, his muscles flexing with each movement. You’re mesmerized despite yourself, your gaze tracing the way his body moves with fluid strength. Feeling the heat creep up your face, you force yourself to look away just as he finishes, bouncing lightly on his feet to shake out his wrists and arms.

"Don’t blink," he says, smirking as he heads toward the pool. "I swim so fast, you might miss it."

Rolling your eyes playfully, you respond with a teasing, "I’ll try to keep up."

Hyunjin dives in, his body cutting through the water with ease. The rhythmic splashing fills the air, and you can’t help but admire him. Watching him move with such precision and grace, he looks almost otherworldly—like a god emerging from the sea as he surfaces and climbs out of the pool.

The sight of water beading on his skin makes you avert your gaze, your heart racing. Grabbing the towel he'd left behind, you hand it to him without meeting his eyes.

"What did you think?" he asks, running the towel over his hair.

"Eh, it was alright," you tease with a grin.

Hyunjin raises an eyebrow at your playful jab but chuckles, grabbing a stopwatch from his things. "Alright, critic. Let’s make it official. Time me this time."

"I don’t know if I’ll get it right," you protest, but he waves your concerns off.

"It doesn’t have to be perfect," he reassures you, securing his swimming cap and goggles. Once he’s ready, he asks, "You ready?"

You move closer to the pool’s edge, holding up the stopwatch. "Ready when you are."

Hyunjin steps onto the starting block, his form taut and focused. You start the countdown, your voice echoing slightly in the vast space. "Three... two... one!"

At the sound of "one," he dives in, and the water comes alive with his movement. Squatting down, you watch intently as he powers through the length of the pool and then back again, his speed almost unbelievable. The closer he gets to the edge, the tighter your grip on the stopwatch becomes.

When his hand finally slaps the wall, you hit the button, exhaling in relief.

Hyunjin surfaces, wiping his face. "What’s the time?"

You glance at the stopwatch, still catching your breath. "Forty-six point six-five," you announce, your voice tinged with excitement.

For a moment, Hyunjin looks puzzled, then his expression lights up. Dropping his towel, he strides over and lifts you effortlessly by the waist, spinning you around.

"Wait—did you break your record?" you ask, half-laughing and half-stunned.

He nods, grinning, but the elation fades quickly. As he sets you back down, his smile dims, his joy giving way to something more subdued.

"Hyunjin, what’s wrong?" you ask, concerned.

He shakes his head, forcing a small smile. "It’s nothing," he murmurs. Without another word, he excuses himself to wash up, leaving you alone with the faint ripples in the pool and a lingering sense that something deeper is on his mind.

-

01:08 a.m.

The hot shower does little to clear Hyunjin’s mind, the cloud of thoughts stubbornly lingering as he dries off and dresses. He sighs, running a towel halfheartedly through his damp hair before giving up and heading out.

The sound of his footsteps echoes softly as he exits the changing room, and he sees you standing by the bulletin board, seemingly engrossed in its contents. At the sound of his approach, you turn, your face lighting up with a soft smile. Hyunjin feels something warm unfurl in his chest—a comfort he hadn’t expected.

“You didn’t dry your hair properly,” you tease gently, pointing to the still-dripping strands clinging to his neck.

He rubs the back of his head sheepishly, and you tilt yours thoughtfully. “How about some hot drinks after this?”

Hyunjin arches a brow, a teasing grin spreading across his face. “Hot drinks, huh? I’ve got just the thing.”

The short walk to his apartment is quiet but companionable, and when Hyunjin opens the door, he apologizes for the small, bare setup. His apartment is modest and practical—one room with everything visible at a glance—but he doesn’t seem embarrassed, just matter-of-fact.

He heads straight for the kitchen, pulling out a bottle of whiskey from a cabinet. “This is what I mean by hot drinks,” he says, smirking as he pours two glasses.

You both take a sip, and the burn of the alcohol draws simultaneous gasps. Laughing, Hyunjin suggests snacks to enjoy the drinks with and disappears back into the kitchen.

While he’s gone, your attention is drawn to a shelf lined with photos, medals, and trophies. You step closer, taking in the collection of memories. There’s Hyunjin on a podium, his face glowing with pride as he holds up a medal; Hyunjin mid-dive, captured in perfect form; Hyunjin smiling so brightly that the photo seems to radiate his joy.

When he returns, balancing a plate of snacks, he pauses beside you, his gaze falling on the same shelf. For a moment, there’s silence, just the two of you standing there, and then Hyunjin lets out a soft sigh.

Hyunjin sets everything down on the small table, but his eyes linger on the shelf filled with memorabilia. The once-vivid memories of his accomplishments now feel distant, like faded photographs of a life that no longer feels like his own.

He steps closer, his gaze tracing over the medals hanging neatly on hooks, the trophies gleaming faintly under the dim light, and the framed photos of him on various winner's podiums. He can almost hear the echo of applause, the feel of a medal being draped around his neck, the weight of victory sitting proud on his shoulders.

But the applause has long since faded, and what hangs over him now is a heavier truth: it will all become nothing.

Hyunjin swallows hard, the realization pressing against his chest like a stone. Every record he broke, every trophy he held high—soon, none of it will matter. No one will remember him or the things he did. The glory, the pride, the recognition—it will all vanish as if it never existed.

He lets out a shaky breath, his voice barely above a whisper. “All of this... it’s meaningless now. Everything I’ve done—it’s nothing. Soon, it’ll all be forgotten.”

The weight of his words fills the room, thick and suffocating. His shoulders slump as he drops his gaze, unable to meet your eyes. For a moment, he feels like the water he’s so accustomed to—a surface rippling with movement, but underneath, a deep void pulling him down.

You stand beside him, quietly taking in his anguish. Finally, you turn to him, your voice steady, a soft but unyielding anchor against the tide of his despair. “I disagree with you, Hyunjin.”

Hyunjin looks at you, surprised by your tone.

“This is... your whole life and it shows that you achieved a lot of great, wonderful things. You can see how far you've become, your triumphs and failures, everything that makes you who you are now,” you say, your eyes locking with his. “And just because the whole world doesn't know how great you are this doesn't mean it's nothing. This is not nothing, this is everything.”

He watches you intently, your words weaving through the storm of his thoughts like threads of light. For a moment, he feels the weight on his chest lift, just enough for him to draw a deeper breath.

It's true that his dream is to make a mark in the world, he wants to be remembered by the world but as he looks at you, Hyunjin realizes that it only takes one person to know what he capable of. He doesn't need the whole world to know that he's great, he only needs one that fully acknowledges him as one.

-

01:22 a.m.

Hyunjin's words linger in the air, heavy with vulnerability, and for the first time since meeting him, you realize just how deeply he craves to make a mark on this world. It isn’t just about the trophies on his shelf or the accolades he’s earned—it’s about the story he wants to leave behind, the proof that he existed, that he mattered.

You see it in the way his fingers hover over the medals, in the wistful look in his eyes as they trace the photos on the shelf. For all his confidence and charisma, there’s a quiet fear beneath it all—a fear of being forgotten, of fading into obscurity when his time is up.

“Hyunjin…” you say softly, stepping closer to him. He doesn’t look at you right away, his gaze fixed on a photo of him on a podium, his smile bright but distant, like a memory that no longer feels real.

You hesitate for a moment, unsure of what to say. But then, the words spill out. “You are something and you're a fool for thinking otherwise.”

That catches his attention. He turns to look at you, his expression unreadable, and for a second, you worry you’ve said too much. But then his lips part, as if he’s about to say something, and he stops himself.

Instead, he just looks at you. Really looks at you. And in his eyes, you see something shift—a softening, a quiet acknowledgment of your words sinking in.

You feel your pulse quicken, the air between you charged with something unspoken. “And I know that we'll go into oblivion soon,” you continue, your voice steady but quiet, “but I'm still here and I know, I know how remarkable you are.”

Hyunjin’s gaze doesn’t waver, and for the first time, you see him without the walls he’s so carefully built around himself. He takes a step closer, his hand reaching out as if to steady himself—or maybe you.

“I don’t know if I can believe that yet,” he murmurs, his voice so soft it’s almost a whisper. “But… thank you.”

The way he’s looking at you now feels different—like he’s searching for something, something only you can give him. And as the silence stretches between you, you feel the weight of it shift into something warmer, something that pulls you closer to him without either of you realizing it.

When Hyunjin leans in, it isn’t sudden. It’s slow, deliberate, as if he’s giving you every chance to step back. But you don’t. You hold your ground, your breath catching as his face inches closer to yours.

And when his lips finally meet yours, it’s soft, almost hesitant, like he’s asking a question he’s too afraid to voice aloud. But as you kiss him back, the answer becomes clear. For this moment, at least, he isn’t alone.

Hyunjin pulls back slightly, his forehead resting against yours, his breath warm and uneven against your skin. His eyes flutter open, and for a moment, you both stay there, caught in the stillness of the moment. His gaze searches yours, hesitant but vulnerable, like he’s waiting for something—validation, reassurance, or maybe just the courage to believe in himself.

Before he can say anything, you lean in again, capturing his lips with yours. This kiss is different, deeper, more intentional. You pour everything you want him to know into it—all the words he needs to hear, the things you can’t quite say aloud.

You are something. You are remarkable. You are a wonder, both in the water and outside of it.

Hyunjin responds immediately, his hands sliding to your waist, holding you like you’re the anchor he didn’t realize he needed. You can feel the way his lips tremble slightly against yours, the way his touch tightens just enough to keep you close but not trap you.

Through the kisses, you try to tell him everything you feel. That his achievements aren’t meaningless. That his existence isn’t something that will fade into nothingness. That even in the face of the inevitable, he has already left a mark—on you, on the world, on everyone lucky enough to know him.

His hands move to cradle your face, his thumbs brushing against your cheeks as if grounding himself in this moment, in you. His lips press harder against yours, the kiss turning fervent, desperate, as though he’s trying to absorb every ounce of comfort and affirmation you’re giving him.

You can feel the tension in his body begin to melt away, replaced by something softer, something more vulnerable. The world outside fades, leaving only the two of you in this small, quiet space.

When you finally pull back, it’s not far—just enough to catch your breath. Hyunjin’s eyes remain closed for a moment, his expression unreadable, but when they open, they’re shining with something you can’t quite name. Gratitude, maybe. Hope.

“You’re…” he begins, his voice barely above a whisper. But he doesn’t finish. Instead, he leans in again, his lips finding yours once more, and this time, it feels like a promise.

The two of you melt into each other, the kisses growing slower but no less intense. You lose track of time, caught in the warmth and closeness, as if the weight of the world has lifted, if only for a little while. For this moment, at least, you’re both enough—just as you are.

-

01:52 a.m.

Hyunjin's forehead still resting against yours, his breath warm against your lips. His fingers trail softly down your arms, and his gaze locks onto yours with an intensity that makes your heart race. There’s no hesitation now, no doubt in the way he looks at you, like he’s trying to memorize every detail, every curve, every moment.

Without a word, he cups your face, his touch both gentle and steady, as if grounding himself in you. His thumbs trace slow circles over your cheeks, and you feel your breath hitch as his lips find yours again, softer this time, yet filled with a quiet yearning.

The world around you feels muted, distant, as he leads you toward the bed. The dim light casts soft shadows, and the room seems to shrink until it holds only the two of you.

“You're breathtaking,” Hyunjin murmurs with a low, sultry voice.

"Wait, wait. I'm..." you protest in breathless sighs, your hips arching, lifting off the bed.

He rushes a kiss on your open mouth, his lips graze yours as he says, "Let go. I've got you."

Your abdomen flexes under his arm as you clench around his fingers so hard it nearly pushes him out of you. His cock has never been so jealous than when you begin to come. Your eyes grow big, and your mouth drops open on a silent scream, and your wall clutches around his long, dainty fingers harder with each pulse.

Unreal. Hyunjin says in his head as he looks at you with a pair of big, lustful eyes.

"Look how gorgeous you are, coming on my fingers." He coos, his eyes traveling down your naked body that feels small in his arms. You moan louder in response and he knows he hits his mark.

Eventually, looking is not enough for him so he uses his free hand to touch you. "Look at your eyes, your mouth, your breasts. This soft, soft skin..."

Hyunjin softly smiles at your beauty as you fall apart around him. "So beautiful..."

You're still climaxing and you need this more than he realized. Which means you haven't had it in a while, at least not this good.

"Hyunjin!" You shriek, almost in a panic.

He presses his plush lips to your ear, his breath hot and tickling. "You look perfect like this."

Low moans are spilling out of you, still coming and struggling to breathe through it. Hyunjin curls his fingers and taps you right in the spot in a quick rhythm, and your eyes roll back a little.

"Good girl, keep coming for me. You're doing so well. That's it, be my greedy girl."

When you collapse onto the bed, he ushers you onto his lap, then cradles your spent body in his arms. As soon as he pulls his fingers out, your thighs press together.

"Don't close your legs." Hyunjin rests a hand on your inner thigh, wanting to see every spasm as he tastes your lips. "You're done hiding from me."

You lie side by side, and Hyunjin hesitates for a moment, his hand brushing a strand of hair from your face. His gaze searches yours, as if silently asking for permission, for reassurance. You respond with a small nod, your fingers reaching to trace the curve of his jaw.

When he leans in again, it’s slow, deliberate. His lips move with yours in a rhythm that feels like a conversation, one that needs no words. His hand finds yours, fingers interlacing as he presses you closer, as if trying to erase the space between you.

“At least, we don't have to worry about condoms,” Hyunjin makes a funny remark as he settles himself between you.

A chuckle escapes your mouth in response, your head falls back onto the pillow. “That’s one way to see it!”

Hyunjin lowers his mouth on you, his trail of kisses begin from your ribcage, he goes lower and sideways, placing kisses on your abdomen that tenses as his lips get closer to where you want him the most. He flashes you a sly smile before placing the gentlest of kiss on your clit. As if that isn't enough to make you wet, he lands a few licks between your folds and drags his tongue upward only to swirls it around your clit and finishes it with another kiss on your clit, briefly sucking at it before letting go.

“I'm going in, yeah?”

You nod in consent, opening your legs wider for him and trying not to stare too much as Hyunjin will only stare back at you, and you'll likely crumble under his intense gaze.

“Oh...” you bite back a gasp the second you feel him entering you, just the tip but you can already feel that his size is above average.

Hyunjin props his hands on each side of you, deciding to hover above you as he pushes the rest of his length by motioning his hips. In this proximity, you can see the way his pupils gradually dilated and his eyelids fluttering the more of him being inside you. Overwhelmed, Hyunjin throws his head back and pushes the rest of his cock until he's fully sheathed in your warm, velvety walls.

“Argh...” his moan raw and broken as if something wounded him.

The world feels suspended, reduced to just the two of you and the quiet rhythm of your breaths. His bare skin glows in the dim of the light, the contours of his body sculpted with an almost otherworldly beauty.

As he thrusts into you at a slow, steady pace, you reach up, your fingers tracing the elegant lines of his collarbone, the smooth expanse of his chest. Every touch feels like discovering him for the first time, each detail making your heart ache with something too profound to name.

“You’re staring,” Hyunjin murmurs, his voice soft, almost teasing, though a faint blush colors his cheeks.

“Can you blame me?” you whisper, your voice filled with awe as your fingers trail over the curve of his shoulder. “You’re so beautiful, Hyunjin.”

His lips twitch into a small, shy smile, but his eyes stay locked on yours, filled with an intensity that makes your breath catch. “You make me feel like I’m more than I am,” he says quietly, the vulnerability in his voice wrapping around you.

You shake your head, your hand sliding to the slope of his waist, marveling at how perfectly he fits into the moment, into you. “No,” you whisper. “You’re exactly as you are. And that’s perfect.”

He lowers himself slightly, his long hair brushing against your skin as his lips hover near yours. Your hands continue their exploration, tracing the ridges of his ribs, the softness of his hips, and the strength of his arms as they're now propped in each side of your head.

“You’re not real,” you murmur, your fingertips brushing along his jaw, marveling at how soft yet strong he feels. “You can’t be.”

Hyunjin laughs softly, the sound vibrating through both of you. “I’m real,” he assures you, lowering his lips to brush against yours in a kiss that feels as light as air. “But if I’m not,” he whispers against your mouth, “then I’m glad I get to exist in this moment with you.”

Your hand finds his face, cupping his cheek as you pull him down into a deeper kiss, your body pressing against his as if to anchor him to the earth, to you. And in this moment, as you touch and hold and feel him, you believe in the magic of him, in the impossibility made real, and in the fleeting beauty of this shared, perfect moment.

The rest of the night unfolds in whispers and warmth, every touch and movement filled with quiet intimacy. There’s no rush, no urgency, just the two of you discovering and rediscovering each other, as if this fleeting moment is all that matters.

Eventually, the room falls into a soft silence, broken only by the sound of your breathing. Hyunjin’s arm wraps around you, pulling you into the curve of his body. His hand rests lightly against your waist, his thumb drawing lazy patterns on your skin.

In the stillness, he presses a lingering kiss to the crown of your head. “You’re remarkable too,” he murmurs, his voice low and laced with sincerity.

A small smile tugs at your lips, and you nestle closer to him, your fingers brushing against his. For the first time, the weight of the day seems to lift, leaving only this shared moment, this connection, that feels infinite despite the inevitable.

-

02:59 a.m.

The early dawn filters softly through the curtains, casting a bluish glow over the room as you lay next to Hyunjin, your head resting on his arm while his other hand lazily traces small patterns along your back. His warmth surrounds you, and for a moment, the world feels still and quiet.

With a curious smile, you tilt your head to look up at him. “Hyunjin?” you call softly, your voice breaking the comfortable silence.

Hyunjin turns his head to the side and softly gazes into your eyes. “Yeah?”

“What would your perfect day look like?”

Hyunjin grins, a playful gleam in his eyes. “This,” he says, gesturing to the two of you tangled together under the covers. “Right here, right now. Best way to be found dead.”

You laugh and gently swat at his chest, shaking your head. “Stop saying things like that,” you scold, though the smile on your face betrays your amusement. “I want a serious answer.”

Hyunjin hums thoughtfully, his gaze drifting toward the ceiling as he considers. “Okay,” he finally says. “I’d start the day early, maybe before sunrise. I’d drive to this lake I used to visit when I was younger. It’s peaceful, surrounded by trees, and the water’s always so calm in the morning.” His voice softens as he speaks, a hint of nostalgia coloring his words. “It must be beautiful this time of year.”

You shift slightly, propping yourself up on your elbow to get a better look at him. “Is it far?”

“Not too far,” Hyunjin replies, turning his head to meet your gaze. “About two hours by car.”

A spark of determination lights up in your eyes, and you sit up, pulling the blanket with you. “Then let’s go,” you declare, your voice filled with excitement. “Let’s create a perfect day. It’s the last chance we have, so why not make it count?”

Hyunjin looks up at you, his expression softening as his lips curve into a tender smile. For a moment, he says nothing, just gazes at you like you’ve just handed him the world.

“No, let’s just stay here. It's perfect like this,” Hyunjin says with a sly grin.

You gently slap his chest and whine, hoping to put some senses into him.

Slowly, he sits up, leaning closer until his lips brush against yours in a kiss so gentle it feels like a promise. When he pulls back, his face lingers close to yours, his breath warm against your skin. “Okay. Let’s do it,” he murmurs, his voice low but steady. “Let’s go.”

-

03:25 a.m.

Hyunjin is scribbling something on a piece of paper when you return, holding two bags of snacks and drinks from the convenience store. The way his brow furrows slightly in concentration catches your attention, and you pause for a moment, noticing he's using your red hairtie to tie his hair into a low ponytail and engrossed on writing something on a piece of paper.

You step closer and knock on the windshield, grinning as his head snaps up, startled. His wide eyes make you laugh, the sound light and teasing as you shake your head. He rolls his eyes in mock annoyance but leans over to push the car door open for you.

“Need help with those?” he asks, already reaching for the bags in your hands.

“Thanks,” you say, handing them over as he places them neatly in the backseat.

“Did you get everything?” he asks, glancing at the bags.

You nod. “Yep, all set.” Then, reaching into your pocket, you pull out something small and hold it up. “Oh, and this,” you add with a smile.

Hyunjin tilts his head, curious. “What’s that?”

“For you,” you say, showing him the little star-shaped pin in your hand. “Your reward for breaking your time record today.”

His expression shifts, his gaze softening as he looks at the pin. A smile spreads slowly across his face, and for a moment, he doesn’t say anything.

Without waiting, you lean in and carefully attach the pin to the lapel of his jacket. “There,” you say, stepping back slightly to admire your work. “Congratulations, Hyunjin.”

He looks down at the pin, his smile widening, and when his gaze lifts to meet yours, there’s a playful glint in his eyes. “You're not going to kiss me?” he asks, his voice teasing yet warm.

You let out a soft laugh and lean in, brushing a quick kiss against his lips. But before you can fully pull away, Hyunjin’s hand comes up to the back of your neck, and he pulls you in for another kiss—deeper, slower.

You giggle against his lips, your laughter muffled between you, and he smiles into the kiss before finally pulling back. The warmth in his gaze lingers, leaving you breathless and smiling.

“Alright,” he says, settling back into his seat and starting the car. “Shall we?”

You buckle your seatbelt, excitement bubbling up as you nod. “Ready when you are.”

Hyunjin glances at you, his own excitement mirrored in his expression. “Alright, here we go,” he says, pulling out of the parking lot, the perfect day waiting just ahead.

-

04:11 a.m.

The hum of the car fills the air as you and Hyunjin drive down the winding road, the sun rising higher with each passing mile. You’re both relaxed, trading stories and laughing as a small mountain of snack wrappers begins to pile up between you. Hyunjin occasionally glances your way, his smile soft but constant, as if the moment itself feels too perfect to break.

Reaching into the bag beside you, you pull out a can of soda and hand it to him. “Here,” you say, passing it over without thinking.

Hyunjin takes it with one hand, his other still loosely gripping the steering wheel. As he shifts his attention to crack the tab open, the can slips from his fingers. The drink spills across the front of his t-shirt in an instant, cold liquid spreading like a stain across the fabric.

“Ah, shit!” Hyunjin exclaims, pulling the car slightly to the side as you grab a handful of tissues.

“Hold still,” you say, leaning over to help dab at the spill.

Hyunjin laughs, the sound tinged with embarrassment as he attempts to help, both of your hands awkwardly brushing against each other. “You’re worse at this than me,” he teases.

“Hey, it’s your fault for spilling in the first place!” you counter, trying to keep your tone light as you both focus on cleaning up the mess.

But then it happens—Hyunjin’s attention strays too long from the road, and neither of you notice the dog suddenly darting into the street.

“Hyunjin!” you scream, your voice sharp with panic as your hand instinctively shoots out to grab his arm.

His eyes snap forward, and his body reacts instantly. The tires screech against the asphalt as he slams on the brakes, the force jerking both of you against your seatbelts. The world feels as though it’s spinning for a second, the weight of the abrupt stop pressing hard against your chest.

The car comes to a halt just inches away from the small, trembling dog, its wide eyes staring at you through the windshield.

Your heart is racing, your breaths shallow and shaky as you sit frozen, staring out at the still figure on the road. Hyunjin grips the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles white as he exhales a shaky breath.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice low and thick with concern.

You nod numbly, your voice catching in your throat as you try to answer. “Y-yeah. Are you?”

He glances at you, his expression softening when he sees your trembling hands. “I’m fine,” he assures you, though his voice is quieter now, more careful.

The two of you sit in silence for a long moment, the sound of your racing hearts almost audible in the stillness. Then, Hyunjin glances at the dog, who scampers away unscathed, disappearing into the brush.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, his voice cracking slightly as he turns to face you fully.

You shake your head quickly, trying to reassure him. “It’s okay. It’s not your fault,” you say, though the adrenaline coursing through your veins makes your words waver.

Hyunjin’s hand hesitates for a moment before it finds yours, his fingers squeezing gently. “We’re okay,” he whispers, almost as if convincing himself.

You nod again, letting out a shaky laugh. “Yeah, we are.”

As the car slowly starts moving again, the tension lingers, but there’s a quiet understanding between you—a shared moment that feels heavier than words, as if both of you silently acknowledge how fragile this perfect day could have been.

-

05:22 a.m.

The car ride is quiet now, the earlier tension still lingering in the air. Neither of you speak for a while, each lost in your thoughts as the road stretches ahead. The sun begins to crest over the horizon, its warm light spilling across the landscape, painting the morning in hues of gold and soft pink.

You reach for the window switch and roll it down, letting the cool morning breeze rush into the car. It sweeps through your hair, refreshing and light, and you close your eyes for a moment, letting the sensation calm your nerves.

When you glance over at Hyunjin, he’s already looking at you, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. You can’t help but smile back, warmth blooming in your chest despite the chill of the breeze.

“Look at the sky,” you say softly, nodding toward the view. “It’s beautiful.”

Hyunjin tears his gaze from you, his eyes following your gesture. The sky is breathtaking, streaked with the first slivers of sunlight that break through the faint morning mist.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, his voice low and reflective. “It is.”

His hand leaves the steering wheel, searching for yours. When he finds it, he laces his fingers with yours and rests them gently on his lap. His touch is warm and grounding, a silent reassurance that everything is okay now.

Hyunjin keeps his eyes on the horizon, the soft glow of the sun reflecting in his gaze. “It’s beautiful,” he repeats, but this time, his voice is heavier, almost wistful, as if he’s savoring the moment in a way he never has before.

You tighten your hold on his hand, the simple gesture conveying what words can’t. Together, you sit in the quiet, watching the morning unfold, the world outside feeling peaceful and endless as the car moves forward.

-

05:40 a.m.

The car comes to a halt, and you step out into the crisp morning air. Hyunjin joins you, stretching his arms over his head with a satisfied sigh. You glance around, the scent of pine and damp earth filling your lungs as you take in the scenery.

After a short walk, the lake comes into view, and you gasp, unable to contain your amazement. The water is perfectly still, a mirror reflecting the sky and the towering trees surrounding it. The faint golden light of the morning casts everything in a dreamy glow. The trees, just beginning to turn with the season, stand like silent sentinels guarding this little piece of paradise.

“Wow,” you whisper, your voice barely audible over the soft rustling of leaves.

Hyunjin looks at you, his smile growing at your reaction. He reaches for your hand and takes it, his fingers warm and steady against yours. “Come on,” he says, leading you toward the water’s edge.

The two of you stop just where the land kisses the lake. You peer down at the water, its surface so calm it feels like stepping into a painting.

“It must be freezing,” you say, giving Hyunjin a wary glance.

He narrows his eyes playfully. “That’s what makes it perfect for a morning swim.”

You shake your head firmly, taking a step back. “No way.”

Hyunjin laughs, undeterred. “Trust me. Once you’re in, it’s not that bad.”

You laugh nervously, shaking your head again. “Hyunjin, I still can’t swim, remember?”

His expression softens, and he takes both of your hands in his. “And I told you— No worries, I’ll hold you.” His tone is earnest, his dark eyes unwavering.

Despite your protests, he’s relentless, coaxing you closer to the edge until you’re standing there, shivering slightly in your underwear. You grip his hand tightly, trying one last time to dissuade him.

“Hyunjin, I’m serious—”

Before you can finish, he sweeps you off your feet, his arms locking around your waist. You let out a startled squeal, clinging to him instinctively.

“Hyunjin, don’t you dare—”

But it’s too late. He steps into the water, pulling you with him. The cold shocks your body the second you make contact, and you scream, the sound piercing through the stillness of the lake.

Hyunjin doesn’t stop until the two of you are submerged waist-deep. You’re clinging to him for dear life, your arms wrapped tightly around his neck, your legs curling up to avoid the icy water.

“See? It’s not as bad as you think,” he says, his voice light with amusement as he looks down at you.

Your teeth are chattering, and you tighten your hold on him. “You’re right,” you say through gritted teeth. “It’s worse than I thought it would be.”

Hyunjin throws his head back and laughs, his warm breath misting in the cool air. The sound is infectious, and soon you’re laughing too, your voices echoing across the serene lake.

He then adjusts your arms around his shoulders and gives you an encouraging look. “Hold on tight,” he says, his voice warm with reassurance. You do as he says, gripping him as he begins to move through the water with ease.

The cold from earlier feels less harsh now, your body gradually adapting to the temperature. As Hyunjin swims farther from the shore, you cling to him, feeling the strength in his movements as he effortlessly cuts through the water.

“Not so bad now, huh?” he teases, glancing over his shoulder.

You roll your eyes but can’t help a small smile. “I’m still debating.”

When he slows down, you notice just how far you’ve come from the shore. The lake stretches around you, a perfect circle of serenity framed by towering trees. Hyunjin turns to face you, still holding you securely as you float together.

“Relax,” he says, his voice softer now. His hands guide you gently, helping you stay afloat. You take a deep breath and allow yourself to loosen your grip, trusting him.

The stillness of the moment washes over you as you look around. The world seems to fade away, leaving only the two of you suspended in the calm water under the open sky. The reflection of the trees and clouds ripples gently with every movement.

“Still as bad as you think?” Hyunjin asks, a playful glint in his eyes.

You shrug, pretending to be unimpressed. “It’s... alright, I guess.”

Hyunjin bursts out laughing, his joy infectious as it echoes across the lake. He leans in slightly, his arms finding their way around your waist. Before you can react, he pulls you down with him, both of you plunging beneath the surface.

The cold water shocks you as it rushes over your head, and you instinctively hold your breath. A moment later, you break the surface, gasping for air.

“Hyunjin!” you sputter, wiping water from your face. “What was that for?”

He’s already laughing, his wet hair plastered to his forehead. “You should’ve seen your face!”

You glare at him, about to launch into a scolding, but he interrupts by cupping your face in his hands and pulling you into a kiss.

Your protest dies on your lips, muffled by his. You try to hold on to your indignation, muttering complaints against his mouth, but his kiss is too warm, too insistent. Eventually, you give in, melting against him as his laughter hums through the connection.

When you finally pull away, Hyunjin grins at you, water dripping from his face. “Still want to complain?”

You shake your head, a smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. “You’re lucky I can’t swim away from you right now.”

“Exactly,” he says, leaning his forehead against yours. “That’s why I had to bring you out here.”

The water is cold, but in this moment, surrounded by the beauty of the lake and the warmth of Hyunjin’s arms, you’ve never felt more alive.

-

06:21 a.m.

The sun climbs higher into the sky, warming your skin as you sit on the smooth rocks by the shore, your clothes drying slowly in the gentle breeze. Hyunjin’s jacket is draped over your shoulders, a welcome layer against the cool air still lingering from your swim. You glance at him and murmur your thanks, to which he responds with a small, warm smile.

Opening a can of soda, you take a sip, the drink now lukewarm but refreshing nonetheless. You tilt your head toward Hyunjin. “So, what’s next on your perfect day itinerary?”

Hyunjin sets his can down and grins, his eyes lighting up with boyish excitement. “There’s this diner I used to go to. It’s not too far from here. They make the best waffles.”

“Waffles, huh?” you ask, raising a brow, though his enthusiasm already has you smiling.

“They’re amazing,” he insists, his hands gesturing animatedly. “Crispy on the outside, fluffy on the inside, with this maple syrup that’s just—” He sighs in exaggerated bliss, making you laugh.

“Alright, alright,” you say, holding up your hands. “I’m sold. Waffles it is.”

Hyunjin chuckles and shifts closer, his hand reaching up to brush a damp strand of hair from your face. His touch is gentle, his fingers lingering for a moment before he tucks the strand behind your ear. Without a word, he leans in, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that’s soft and slow, like the morning sun warming your skin.

When he pulls back, his smile is tender, and it makes your heart ache. “I'm glad I met you.”

“Me too,” you say back while placing your hand on his and hold it tightly.

The sunlight hits right on Hyunjin’s eyes, making them shine as he stares at you. You know you've only known him for barely a day but Hyunjin knows things most people doesn't know about you. He knows your prefers your flowers to be red than blue, he knows your dreams you never say out loud but you secretly wish to come true and that makes you feel significant to him as he is significant to you. You believe that is how Hyunjin going to make a mark on you.

“I’m going to take one more lap around the lake before we go,” he says, his voice quiet yet certain.

You nod, but before he can move, you catch his wrist, pulling him back toward you. This time, it’s you who closes the distance, pressing a kiss to his lips. It lingers, a silent plea that feels like it’s carrying the weight of everything you can’t say aloud. You wish for more time—just one more day, one more perfect morning.

Hyunjin seems to sense it, his fingers brushing softly against your cheek as he gazes at you, a bittersweet smile tugging at his lips. He leans in to press a featherlight kiss to your lips before pulling away completely.

“Don’t worry,” he says with a wink, his voice lighter now. “I won’t take too long.”

As you watch him dive back into the water, the sunlight catching on the ripples he leaves behind, you feel a fleeting, impossible sense of forever. For this moment, at least, Hyunjin makes you believe that forever is within grasp.

-

06:51 a.m.

The warmth of the morning sun wraps around you, its gentle rays brushing against your damp skin. The sky is alive with soft hues of gold and blue, a masterpiece unfolding before your eyes. Overhead, a flock of birds glides effortlessly, their formation cutting gracefully through the stillness. For the first time in what feels like forever, you allow yourself to marvel at it all—the simplicity, the beauty, the life you’ve taken for granted.

But the moment fractures.

You glance toward the lake, expecting to find Hyunjin slicing through the water, to hear the rhythmic splashes that have become so familiar. Instead, there is only silence. The lake mirrors the sky, undisturbed, serene, and empty.

A flicker of unease takes root in your chest. You scan the shoreline, your gaze darting to every shadow, every ripple. The stillness feels wrong now.

“Hyunjin?” you call out, your voice tentative, breaking the quiet.

No answer.

You step closer to the edge, the cool rocks pressing into your bare feet, your heart beginning to pound against your ribcage. “Hyunjin,” you try again, louder this time, but the name hangs in the air unanswered.

The warmth of the morning sun seems to mock you now, its gentle rays brushing against your damp skin as the sky stretches overhead, a canvas of soft gold and endless blue. The flock of birds that once felt like a sign of life now drifts aimlessly, their formation a cruel reminder of how fragile everything truly is.

You glance toward the lake, expecting to find him slicing through the water, his laughter echoing in the stillness. Instead, there is only silence. The lake reflects the sky perfectly, undisturbed, as if it had swallowed him whole and left no trace.

Your chest tightens. “Hyunjin?” you call out, your voice soft at first, hesitant to break the quiet.

No answer.

You step closer to the edge, the rocks digging into your bare feet as your pulse quickens. “Hyunjin,” you try again, louder this time, your voice trembling. But the name dissipates into the air, unanswered.

A flicker of unease blooms into full-blown panic. You scan the water frantically, your eyes darting across every ripple, every shadow. “This isn’t funny!” you yell, your voice rising with desperation. “If you’re hiding, just stop it and come out!”

Still nothing.

Fear grips you like a vice, and before you can stop yourself, you wade into the water. The cold seeps through your skin, biting and relentless, but you don’t care. You splash forward, the ripples spreading around you, as though trying to reach him through sheer force of will.

“Hyunjin!” you scream, your voice cracking under the weight of your fear. “Answer me!”

The water clings to you, dragging you down as if conspiring with your helplessness. You tread forward a little more, but you can’t go far. Your feet leave the ground, and you freeze, paralyzed by the sudden depth. You try to push forward, but your body resists—muscles locking up with the knowledge that you can’t swim.

Frustration and panic mix into a volatile cocktail in your chest. You slap the water with your hands, gasping for breath, tears streaming as you scream his name again.

“I can’t do this! Hyunjin!” you cry out, the words breaking apart into sobs. The lake offers no comfort, its silence an unbearable void. You flail for a moment, trying to search the surface, but every movement feels futile.

You cling to the thought of him, to his smile, his laughter, the warmth he carried with him like a shield against the world. But now, that warmth feels so far away, unreachable in the depths of the water.

“Hyunjin!” you cry again, weaker this time, the weight of your helplessness pressing down on you. You force yourself back toward the shore, stumbling onto the rocks as you collapse to your knees, breathless and shaking. “Please, don't— don't leave me...”

The water stills behind you, its surface reflecting the endless morning sky. You look out at it, broken and trembling, your heart refusing to accept what your mind is beginning to believe. It can’t be over. Not like this.

“Hyunjin...”

-

08:01 a.m.

The rocks beneath you feel sharp, unforgiving, but you barely notice. You sit there, knees pulled tight to your chest, your damp clothes clinging to your skin as you watch the rescue team comb through the lake. Every moment stretches painfully, the weight of silence crushing you with each passing second.

Your fingers dig into your arms as if grounding yourself can keep you from unraveling completely. Then, a shout echoes from the water. You see them—a group of rescuers—working together to pull a body from the depths.

Your breath catches in your throat.

They move with careful precision, carrying the body to shore in a black bag. You feel your body trembling uncontrollably as they approach. One of them steps forward, their expression solemn, as they lower the bag in front of you.

"Is this him?" they ask, their voice heavy with the weight of what they know must be unbearable.

You freeze, staring at the zipper of the bag, your entire being screaming to look and yet refusing at the same time. You can’t do it. You can’t see him like that.

But then your eyes catch something—a flash of red against the black. It’s your hair tie, wrapped around his wrist. You had given it to him, smiling at how absurdly adorable he’d looked wearing it. And now, it’s the confirmation you never wanted.

Your breath hitches as tears flood your vision. "It’s him," you whisper, the words breaking apart as they leave your lips.

Slowly, you reach out, your trembling hand finding his through the body bag.

With shaking fingers, you reach at the lapel of his jacket you're wearing and take off the star-shaped pin, the one you had given him just hours ago. It glints faintly in the sunlight, a small reminder of the joy he carried with him. Carefully, you place it in his palm and fold his fingers around it.

"Keep it," you say softly, tears dripping onto the bag. "It’s yours."

It’s cold—his hand is so cold it sends a shiver through you. But you hold it tight, pressing his lifeless hand to your lips. "Wait for me," you murmur, your voice cracking as the tears spill over. "I’ll see you soon, Hyunjin."

You step back as they zip the bag closed, sealing him away from you forever. The sound cuts through the air like a blade, leaving you raw and hollow.

The ambulance arrives, and they load his body inside. You stand there, watching, your hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket. As the vehicle pulls away, your fingers brush against something—a folded piece of paper.

Curious and aching, you pull it out and unfold it with trembling hands. It’s his handwriting, messy but unmistakably his. A list of things he wanted to do today.

Swim in the lake.

Watch the sunrise.

Have waffles for breakfast.

Visit the art gallery.

Hot cocoa at the park.

The last line reads, Buy roses for...

Your lips tremble as you remember the promise you’d made to each other—the promise to keep moving forward, no matter who went first. The memory feels like a cruel joke now, but as you stare at his words, something inside you hardens.

You swallow the lump in your throat, your voice barely above a whisper as you say to the empty air, "I’m keeping my promise, Hyunjin."

The ambulance disappears down the road, and you stand there, the morning sun casting long shadows around you. Still, you refuse to believe that Hyunjin’s gone. He is not, he just goes to sleep to live a new dream.

-

09:14 a.m.

You sit in the corner booth of the diner, the same one Hyunjin had gushed about just hours ago. The waffles arrive, golden and drenched in syrup, the butter melting into small pools on the plate. You take a bite, the sweetness coating your tongue, but it tastes hollow. Your chest tightens as you remember how Hyunjin’s eyes had sparkled when he described them to you, as though they were a treasure worth crossing the world for.

Now, it feels like swallowing shards of glass.

The drive back to the city is quiet, the hum of the engine filling the void Hyunjin once occupied. His note sits folded on the passenger seat, a reminder of the day you’re piecing together without him. You glance at it at every stoplight, as if his handwriting might come alive and guide you forward.

Your next stop is the art gallery. You find his favorite painting almost instinctively, a swirling masterpiece of color and emotion. Sitting on the bench before it, you let your mind wander. You picture Hyunjin here, standing with his hands clasped behind his back, his head tilted slightly as he studied the strokes.

"Do you see how the colors bleed into each other?" he would say. "It’s chaotic but still… perfect."

The memory slices through you, and you blink away the tears that threaten to spill.

From the gallery, you walk to a nearby café, the warmth of the cup of hot cocoa in your hands doing little to soothe the chill in your heart. You sit on a bench overlooking the river, the city split in two by its calm flow. The world moves on around you—people walking their dogs, children laughing in the distance—but you’re trapped in stillness.

You think of Hyunjin, of how he was alive and laughing mere hours ago. You think of his voice, his touch, the way he could make the ordinary feel extraordinary.

And now he’s gone.

For the first time, anger stirs beneath your grief. It rises like a storm, raw and uncontrollable. You clench the cup tightly, your knuckles whitening. How could death be so cruel? How could it take someone so vibrant and leave you tethered to feelings that have nowhere to go?

Death is so unfair. It takes the person, but not the love.

-

04:02 p.m.

The world has grown quiet around you, the buzz of the city dimmed to a distant hum as you sit alone on a park bench overlooking the river. The sun dips low in the sky, painting the water with hues of gold and amber. You clutch Hyunjin's jacket tighter around your shoulders, the scent of him still lingering faintly, a bittersweet reminder of everything you've lost—and everything you're about to gain.

The list he left behind is tucked into your pocket, crumpled and worn from your grip throughout the day. You pull it out, scanning the list. There’s only one thing left, unfinished: “Buys roses for…”

He hadn’t finished the sentence. You remember startling him as he jotted it down, and now the incomplete thought feels like a cruel echo. But you know what to do.

You find the nearest florist and step inside, the smell of flowers overwhelming you. "Roses," you tell the florist, your voice quiet but firm. "A bouquet of red roses."

They hand you the bouquet, the petals deep and vibrant, reminiscent of Hyunjin’s flushed cheeks and his soft lips. You trace a fingertip over the delicate blooms before asking for a card.

Sitting at a small table in the corner of the shop, you stare at the blank card. The weight of all you want to say crushes you, an endless stream of emotions that can’t possibly fit onto a single piece of paper.

Still, you write:

For what it’s worth, you showed me that there is such a thing as a perfect day. You made a mark on me, Hyunjin.

Your hand shakes as you finish the words. You close your eyes, taking a deep breath to steady yourself, willing the tears to stay at bay. When you’re ready, you fold the card and slip it into the bouquet.

You stand at the corner of the street, clutching the bouquet of roses close to your chest as you wait for the light to turn. The city hums around you, alive and indifferent, the world moving on as it always does. But your mind drifts elsewhere, carried away by memories.

This was the place you met Hyunjin for the first time. You can almost see him standing there, smiling like the world belonged to him. It feels like a lifetime ago, yet so vivid it could have been yesterday. You replay the moment in your mind, the way he held himself with an effortless grace, the way his eyes met yours and lingered, as if he'd been waiting for you his entire life.

The light changes, and the crowd around you begins to move. Lost in your thoughts, you follow them, stepping onto the street.

A distant sound reaches your ears—a horn blaring, tires screeching—but it feels far away, as if it belongs to another world. By the time you register the rushing car, it’s too late. There’s no time to scream, no time to run.

This is it.

-

06:11 p.m.

The world comes back to you in fragments: the cool roughness of asphalt beneath your body, the distant murmur of voices, the sharp tang of blood in the air. Your vision swims, but when it clears, the twilight sky is the first thing you see.

It’s beautiful, painted in hues of lavender and gold, with the faintest blush of pink at the edges. The sight feels distant yet oddly comforting, like a gentle reminder of where you are—and where you’re going.

Your body is heavy, the pain a dull throb that seems to ebb and flow, fading as the seconds stretch on. You’re dimly aware of the rose petals scattered around you, spinning lazily in the air with every gust of wind. They look like they’re floating, as if gravity itself has softened its grip.

You close your eyes briefly and feel something shift inside you—a strange sense of clarity. This is it. You know it, feel it in your very bones. This is your ending.

But there’s no fear. Instead, a deep, resounding calm washes over you, carrying with it the promise of reunion. Hyunjin’s face fills your mind, vivid and bright, his laughter echoing in your ears, his touch still lingering on your skin.

You force your eyes open again, taking in the petals that now rest lightly against your arm, the faint scent of roses mingling with the cool evening air. A soft smile tugs at your lips, even as your breaths come slower, shallower.

Death is not an end, you think. It’s a reunion. It’s a promise kept. It’s my happy ending.

Somewhere in the distance, you hear sirens, but they feel like they belong to another world entirely. You’re beyond that now. Your heart slows, the pain dulls, and in its place is an overwhelming sense of peace.

The light in the sky begins to blur, stars flickering faintly above as if welcoming you home. You can almost feel him, his hand in yours, his voice calling your name like a melody you’ve always known.

Tears slip down your cheeks, but they’re not from sorrow. They’re from relief, from the quiet joy of knowing you’ll see him again, touch him again, love him again.

As the world fades, you exhale one last time, your voice barely a whisper in the wind. “I’m coming, Hyunjin.”

And then there’s nothing but light.

-

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[nostalgiabearr]

”something you want to apologize for this year”

🦊: our golden kiwi is too handsome, we’re sorry!

[nostalgiabearr]

𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞 ; 𝐛𝐜

[fem!reader. virginity kink. innocence kink. (no age play) reader’s not a virgin, though. role play kinda? dirty talk. mention of female masturbation. clit play. spit. super brief handjob. pussy job. just the tip. unprotected sex (don’t). pulling out method (also don’t). they’re in love. even though i didn’t specify it they’re in an established relationship.]

wc: 1,5k

a/n: i don’t really like this one :/. not edited as per usual, yay.

18+ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭. 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭. 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐝𝐧𝐢.

🪷

There’s a game you and Chan like to play.

It starts when you look at him with those eyes you know drive him crazy, and chills run down his spine. The pink cotton pyjamas should’ve been a hint, but the look you give him is the confirmation he needed.

“Wait,” you wrap your fingers around his wrist, stopping him as he’s about to slip his hand inside your pyjamas. “I’ve never… I’ve never done this before.”

Chan’s breath gets caught in his throat, eyes fluttering shut as he swallows the lump in his throat.

When he looks at you, your lower lip is caught between your teeth, eyes wide open and innocent. He loves you so fucking much.

“Yeah?” He hums, looking at where his hand has stopped, where his fingers are brushing the soft cotton pyjama bottoms. “No one has touched you here before?”

You shake your head, cheeks red and puffy.

“Can I?”

You nod.

Chan’s hand slips inside your pyjamas, his fingers brushing delicately the front of your panties as he traces the outline of your pussy with delicacy and reverence, until his fingers bump on your sensitive clit, making you jump. He smiles sweetly at you.

“What was that, love?” He asks, feigning surprise. “Was that your little clit? Do you touch yourself here, sweetheart?”

You shake your head. “No…”

His eyebrows raise, but it’s all an act. An act that makes him throb inside his pants, a single drop of clear liquid emerging from his cockhead.

“You don’t touch yourself, love?”

“Not often,” you mumble.

“Ah, I see,” Chan nods. “And when you do… how do you touch yourself?”

You blush, hide your face behind your hands. He gently takes grabs your wrist and pulls your hands away, uncovering your face. Then, he leans in and kisses the tip of your nose.

“Don’t get shy on me, sweetheart. You can trust me, yeah?”

You nod.

“Now tell me how you touch yourself, sweet girl.”

“I have a pillow,” you mumble, feeling small, “sometimes I… put it between my legs and…” you trail off, suddenly shy.

“And you hump it until you cum, don’t you, sweet girl?”

“Mh-hm,” you nod, feigning embarrassment.

Chan bites down on his lip.

“You’re gonna let me touch your little clit, aren’t you? Let me make you feel good?”

He asks the question whilst rubbing said clit over the cotton of your panties, and you nearly melt under his touch, forgetting the point of it all.

“Yes.”

Chan groans, knobby fingers gently pulling your panties aside, finally able to directly touch your soft lips, then up, up right where there’s your clit. You squirm, instinctively trying to close your legs, but Chan’s stronger, and he stops you.

“Hey. You said you trust me, right?”

“I trust you.”

He pulls his hand out of your pyjama bottoms, hooks his fingers in the hem and drags them down your legs, exposing you completely to his devoted eyes.

“So pretty…” he whispers in adoration, eyes never leaving the centre of your thighs as he bites his lip. “So soft… I love that no one else has touched you here. Only me.”

“Only you,” you whisper back.

He nearly melts right then, right there. The fact that it’s the truth makes it even hotter.

Chan comes to kneel between your legs, the outline of his erection clearly visible even though he’s wearing his usual grey sweats. It looks big and thick and heavy and it is, you know it well.

You try your best to suppress a guttural moan when he spits onto your pussy, saliva landing mostly on your clit. He’s so sexy and attractive, and he’s cute and shy and a sweetheart out of the bedroom, too, always making sure you’re alright and comfortable.

“Does this feel good?” He asks, fingers drawing gentle and delicate shapes on your clit, smearing his spit all over.

It feels terribly good, but mostly because of how he’s acting— all dominant and stuff while you’re putty in his hands, ready and willing to do whatever it is he wants to do to you.

“Feels so good, Channie.”

Chan groans at the name, eyes fluttering shut as his cock throbs once more.

“The things you do to me, sweetheart…” he murmurs, looking at you through his eyelashes. “Wanna see how much I find you beautiful?”

You nod, intrigued, and with his free hand, Chan manages to pull his sweats and boxer down past the curve of his ass, cock slapping against his skin, hard and ready.

Your eyes widen in shock when you see it, your cheeks turning even redder.

“Channie…” you gasp. “It looks… big…”

Chan grins.

“Have you ever touched one before, sweetheart?” You shake your head, eyes meeting his. “Do you want to?”

He takes your hand in his, looks for any sign of discomfort in your eyes, but there’s none. Chan brings your hand closer to where his hard cock stands, throbbing and leaking precum already, patiently waiting for your touch. He wants you to make the first move.

You tentatively touch it, wrapping your fingers around the thick base.

“A bit tighter, love. Don’t be scared to hurt me,” he instructs, eyes never leaving yours.

“Like this?” You pout, Chan nearly comes.

“That’s perfect. You’re perfect. My sweetheart,” he sighs, content, when you squeeze him. “Can you move your hand, sweet girl? Up and down, slowly— squeeze the tip, baby.”

He touches you and you touch him. It’s slow, heartfelt, sensual. Looking into each other’s eyes — telling each other everything and nothing at the same time. But you know he loves you just as much as you love him.

“Do you want me to make you feel better, love?”

You pretend to not know what he’s talking about, looking at him with wide, curious eyes. “I do, but… how?”

Chan stops touching your clit, you immediately miss the feeling of his fingers on you. He motions for you to stop touching him, and you do.

“Like this,” he presses his body on yours, cock safely nested between your pussy lips, tip resting on your clit.

Then he starts to move, taking your breath away, his cock sliding perfectly up and down your pussy lips — filthy, wet sounds filling the room. You squirm underneath him, and Chan’s eyes widen.

“Careful, baby,” he bites his lip as he continues to move slowly, excruciatingly slow. “I might just slip inside you.”

You moan, fingers digging in Chan’s biceps as you feel yourself throbbing at the delicious feeling of him pressed on you and his filthy words combined.

“I might slip inside and fill you up, sweetheart, careful,” he groans, grinding against you.

“Channie— Channie. Feels so good.”

It’s not an act. It truly feels amazing.

“Can I put the tip inside, sweetheart? Just the tip,” he groans — the spit on your pussy mixing perfectly with your own arousal and Chan’s as well.

Oh God, you’re about to pass out.

You nod, quickly, furiously fast.

“Yes, Channie— please put it inside. I’ll be good to you, I promise.”

“Sweetheart, you… you’re driving me crazy,” he kisses your neck, gropes your tits, toying with your nipple. “Just the tip, yeah? Just the tip.”

He takes his sweet time aligning his tip to your entrance, and then you feel him applying the tiniest bit of pressure.

“I’m putting it in. Is that alright, sweetheart?”

You nod, dig your fingernails into his shoulder when he presses inside of just a couple of inches. Just the tip, like he said. Chan pulls out, then he pushes back in, then out again, fucking just the tip inside of you.

“Oh. Channie— it’s big. It feels so big inside of me, Channie.”

Chan feels a shiver run down his spine. He throbs inside of you, precum ending everywhere inside and outside of you — he’s so turned on it’s unreal.

“Does it hurt, sweetheart?” Chan asks.

“N-No. No, it doesn’t hurt, Channie. It feels so good. You feel so good inside of me,” you whine, let out a desperate cry when his fingers rub your clit quickly. “You’re the first who’s ever been inside of me, Channie.”

It means he’s close, that he wants you to cum as well because he’s about to.

“You’re so fucking perfect, sweetheart. So good for me, every fucking time,” curse words leaving his lips as he feels closer and closer, fucking the tip of his cock inside of you desperately. “You’re gonna cum for me, aren’t you, my perfect girl?”

“Yeah. ‘M gonna c-cum f’you, Channie. For you.”

You cum with a loud whine, muffled by Chan’s arm as you bite down on his bicep as you release around him. He groans as well, pulling out of you swiftly, jerking himself off as he kneels between your legs. Then, with a grunt, he releases on your tummy — hot, white fluid all over your sweaty skin.

Then, Chan’s body collapses next to yours, completely spent, and he takes you into his arms.

“I love you so fucking much,” he sighs, pressing a sweet kiss to your temple. “You know that, right?”

You look at him, a stupid smile on your face after he’s just finished fucking you silly. “I know. I love you, too.”

🪷

-> 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬. 𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐚 𝐡𝐮𝐠𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐚��𝐝 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐧!

[nostalgiabearr]

🥮… ( drabble ) ̨ new do ! ୨୧ 一 황현진 ՞

⸃ ⸰ ⌁ hyunjin showing you his new haircut ヾ

boyfriend!hyunjin・ reader ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ g ・ smut ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ cw ・ ‎ wc ・ ‎0.6k ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎| ‎ ‎click to library

request. buzzcut hyune drabble? 🤤

「 ୨୧ authors note 」 i hope you like it <3 !!!

standing in your kitchen; washing the dishes while you waited for hyunjin to get back from whatever he was doing — so unaware of what was to walk through your front door.

hyunjin walked through the front door; smiling at the sight in front of him, you were dancing around to his solo song in one of his shirts; he was in love. running his fingers through his newly buzzed hair like muscle memory. “baby.”

he sat his bag down; taking his shoes off before making his way into the kitchen. “baby.” he said in sing songy voice; shaking his head because you were so deaf sometimes. he finally came up behind you, wrapping his arms around you. “oh my god!” you jumped in shock. “you didn’t hear me?” he placed his chin on your shoulder. “no the music was too loud.” you reached over to turn the volume down.

“where did you go so suddenly?” you turned around to face your man, your jaw dropping. “you like?” he smiled. “i sent you off with long black hair.” you brought me your hands to his head. “you don’t like it?”

like it? you fucking loved it. “no i love it, it’s just new.” you said, rubbing his head, he sighed feeling your fingers on his scalp. “i don’t have anything to tug at anymore, but i definitely can get used to this.” you giggled as he kissed your neck, pulling away looking at you with lust in his eyes. “here i am wanting to show you my new hair and you’re thinking naughty.” his hands traveling down to your waist , lifting you onto the counter. “hyune what are you doing?”

“what does it look like princess?” he pushed the shirt up to your waist; kissing the inside of your thighs. “gonna eat your pretty little pussy.” you moaned out as he kissed your cunt through your panties. “hyunjin.” he chuckled, pulling them to the side. “such a pretty pussy; so tasty.” before you say anything your words were caught in your throat by him licking a fat stripe up your slip. “oh-oh fuck.”

he began to devour you like it was his last meal, licking and sucking your folds; his hands tight around your thighs. “hyune.” you moaned , your hands flying to his head like muscle memory. “fuck that feels so good.” pushing his head further in between your legs. “fuck keep going , m’ gonna cum.” your head was thrown back against the cabinet; nails digging into his head — which probably hurt like a bitch , but knowing your boyfriend he was getting a kick out of it. “h-hyune.”

he replaced his lips with one of his long fingers; curling it inside you; a lazy smirk stained his lips, that were covered in you. “you gonna cum baby?” you nodded profusely. “fu-fuck yes , please let me cum , please.” you sobbed out. “fuck look at you begging for so prettily.” he chuckled; your man was already fine , but this new haircut just made him extra fine — and you didn’t even know that was possible. “cum for me , cream my fingers.” his voice was so seductive and that was all you needed , before your legs were wrapping around his forearm and you were cumming , shaking in his hold. “that’s it , make a mess on my fingers.”

he used his thumb to rub little circles on your clit to further the orgasm. “so pretty baby.” he pulled his fingers from outside of you, bringing them to his plump lips. “you taste so fucking good princess.” he never forgot to give you a loving kiss on your forehead. “see i know you would find away to hold on to my head , although it kinda hurts.” you giggled. “you wouldn’t be hard as rock right now if you didn’t like it.” you could feel him , pressed against you. he nodded agreeing, grinding against you , you moaned out. “you’re right about that princess.”

“i want you to keep gripping my head while my cock is breeding your pretty pussy.”

©️LUVYENI

[nostalgiabearr]

go support my bestie’s first work!!

Han Jisung's Guide to The College Experience (CH. 1)

My child, my first ever fic, right here on Tumblr

minsung-centric (ft. a few side ships ;) )

7.3k words

Nothing 18+ here -> not sure what's happening later

college au, not quite enemies to lovers but like kinda, me projecting my hatred for college on skz

also posted on ao3 here :) https://archiveofourown.org/works/61759963/chapters/157886353

-

An empty stage, save for a single microphone conveniently placed center stage. Enter stage left, one Han Jisung. “College fucking sucks,” he says into the mic.

The result is a resounding agreement, applause echoing through the room. People have even started throwing flowers towards the stage (and various other items that shall remain unnamed). The aforementioned Han Jisung has never felt more seen and accomplished, this shall go down as the greatest moment in his otherwise bland, unimportant life. That is until he hears a faint booing from somewhere in the third row.

Kim Motherfucking Seungmin

Or at least, this is how it would’ve played out in said Han Jisung’s head if this situation happened. In hindsight, he realizes that might be the wrong person to play the role of his daydream arch nemesis given that Kim Seungmin usually cannot be bothered to give two shits about most things, and definitely wouldn’t attend a speech given by Jisung even if just to be a general disturbance. Changbin on the other hand, the man who lives to give Jisung the younger brother treatment and constant humiliation? Now that might be just a slight bit more realistic.

Take right now for example. Fall registration, the worst part of the year for any underclassman who wants a sliver of a chance at classes that will prove themselves useful for their degree. Chan and Changbin, two upperclassmen who have taken it upon themselves to ‘adopt’ Jisung in a sense after he was able to squeeze himself into an actually useful lower-division music production class the other two had also enrolled in last semester, filled their schedules hours ago and were able to find classes that might one day provide them with their degrees. The rest of the day proceeds as follows:

The three rented a studio space for the day to begin recording for their last final project of the year knowing that they would each have to halt the process for their brief window of an enrollment period. Going into their senior and junior year respectively, in addition to their overachiever tendencies providing them extra course credits, Chan and Changbin had prime enrollment times earlier in the morning while Jisung had to wait until the late afternoon before he could even think of opening his laptop and checking his schedule.

After hours of anxious leg shaking and tense recording sessions, Jisung found himself in front of his laptop, refreshing the page as soon as it loaded until the buttons lit up that let him enroll in his courses. As soon as his enrollment window opened, a scream that could be heard across campus regardless of the soundproof recording booth was let out.

“Waitlist? Fucking bullshit is what it is.” Jisung muttered as he found himself able to enroll in only one of the five classes he had planned on for the next semester. Tens of thousands in yearly tuition payments and he can’t even get a fucking degree? Absurd.

Luckily his friends had taught him how to make backup schedules because surely there’s no way everything he wanted to take was full, it’s not like there are that many people on this campus. Right?

Wrong. After a grand total of six separate schedules and 16 courses Jisung was even considering taking (including those horrific STEM classes the school wanted him to take to graduate thank you very much) only two other classes had spots, neither of which fell under his major. At this rate, he wasn’t even going to be allowed to come back to campus with how barren his schedule looked.

“Chat, I fear we might be cooked here,” Jisung said to no one in particular. Well, actually that’s a lie, as there are two other people in the room with Jisung, and he would very much so like them to bestow upon him their worldly advice.

“Jisung, as funny as I might find this, which mind you is incredibly hilarious, you do need to find another class to fill your schedule,” Changbin responded. As objectively right as he is, Jisung hopes all of his classes get canceled so he can feel a fraction of the stress he’s currently under.

“Have you considered sorting by classes with available spots? You might as well just take what you can get before you’re stuck with waitlists longer than the class size.” Chan adds. He’s never wronged Jisung before and he’s already under enough stress, so he can have a slightly better fate. Maybe only a class or two was canceled, or a waitlist he’ll never get off of.

In all honesty, Jisung wouldn't wish his fate upon anyone, not even Kim Seungmin. Now that he’s been brought up within the confines of Jisung’s mind palace, he wonders how enrollment went for his roommate. Probably significantly better considering he took six classes a semester his first year and the classes for his major have 200 spots compared to Jisung’s 25 spot music classes. Jisung briefly considers swapping his major to computer science, as studying classics like Seungmin is quite frankly too pretentious for him, but quickly remembers how poorly that would go for him as he had to drop his course on the subject last fall before he failed it. Surely he should’ve gotten some good karma from the computer science major he got off the comically large waitlist. Wait, that's not the point here, enrollment closes in five minutes and Jisung still doesn’t have a fourth class.

“That’s it, I’m sorting by classes with available spots and just clicking on one. As long as it doesn’t stop me to tell me my schedule conflicts it literally cannot be worse.” Jisung announces to the room. It’s not like a university campus has classes so useless this backfires on him.

“You sure about that one? I mean you could at least try to find something that fulfills a graduation requirement. I'm sure something still has space.” Jisung hears Chan ask in the background. He pays no mind to this warning and instead clicks on a random class that pops up with available spots.

“There’s no way you seriously just signed yourself up for a two-hour 8 am every Monday and Wednesday. I don’t even care what that class is, you’ve just screwed yourself beyond belief here kid.” Changbin says, cut off only by his laughter. Jisung doesn’t really find this situation humorous, but to each their own he supposes.

With that, the enrollment window closes and all Jisung is left with is 4 class codes and the worst schedule of his college years. How can someone end up with an 8 am every day of the week but also an 8 pm? Jisung closes the tab his schedule is on, refusing to believe this is something that actually happened to him. Before doing so, he noticed a class code under one of his 8 am classes that wasn’t on his schedule before, CDM101, clearly the class he signed up for randomly. Surely it can’t be that hard, it’s an introductory course, and the only classes he can think of that start with C are communications and chemistry, and anything under the latter is definitely full already.

The topic of registration is nothing but a stray thought in the back of Jisung’s mind, batted away like a cat toy. He’s enrolled in four classes, he won’t be kicked out of school, and at least something there will be going towards his degree. As the three begin to see the light at the end of the tunnel on their final project, they quickly wrap up their recording and agree to finish editing on their own and grab dinner instead as they have very little left. Three burnt-out college students versus a single final project for their music production class, who will win? Let the records state that although it was a concerningly close fight, the students did in fact win, and they all walked away with an A on their transcript.

As the three boys leave the restaurant, significantly more optimistic than they were walking into the studio (save for one Han Jisung), a lull in the conversation occurs and Chan just can’t seem to help himself because he immediately turns to Jisung and asks, “Are you sure you’ll be okay in your classes? You can always just talk to an advisor, that’s literally what they’re paid to do. We both know you don’t do well with mornings and I don’t want to see your grades slip just because you didn’t want to get up to go to class.”

Chan truly is nothing if not a worrying mother at heart. Jisung would find it endearing if it wasn’t contributing to his already soured mood over his classes. Yes his schedule sucks, and yes he will be immediately calling his parents once he gets back to his dorm to cry about it, but nobody needs to know that, especially his friends.

“While I appreciate the concern, it was truly never that deep, I’ll be fine,” Jisung responds, before fully turning to Chan to add on, “and everyone knows advisors are actually paid to be a pain in your ass and make sure you enroll in even less than if you just did it yourself.”

Yes, Jisung might be a little frustrated with his schedule, but he’s dealt with worse classes. Like that computer science class, but at least he could drop that one. So he signed up for a communications class, big fucking deal. He’ll just show up to the first lecture, find out if attendance is mandatory, and never show up again if it’s not. Communications classes are easy, he knows how to talk to people, and surely that’s what he signed up for, right?

Right?

——————------------------------

Wrong.

Again, seriously? Jisung wonders how many times he’ll be wrong before he gets something right because it’s apparently more than two. Well, it’s a lot more than two given his track record but that’s not important right now. What’s important is that Jisung needs to find his classes, starting with his Monday 8 am communications class. He left his dorm around 7:30 this morning, as he was positive this was all the time he needed to reach the mystery class, and right he was. Gold star for Jisung everybody! He should throw a party, maybe even invite his new communications professor.

Now Jisung knows some friends of friends who have taken a communications class or two for an easy A, so he knows the building this class is in is definitely not the communications building. He’s almost positive that the building in question is on the other side of campus, not two buildings away from the music building over by where the art classes are held. He also knows that classes tend to stick within the building of their department as to avoid confusion. So the question remains: What the fuck did Jisung sign up for last spring?

A dance class. A fucking contemporary dance class. It couldn’t have just been a communications class, a history of dance class, or even any other style of dance. It just had to be something that requires a genuine understanding of movement and a body with the capacity to do things no human should be able to do. It should be, in theory, or at least according to the syllabus and Han Jisung’s limited knowledge of the dance department, an easy A just like it would’ve been if he actually signed up for a communications class. However, there’s one bright, shining error in his brilliant plan to get an A.

Mandatory Attendance.

“Showing up is half the battle my ass,” Jisung mutters as he reviews the syllabus the professor had been handing out at the door. He hopes she didn’t hear him as that could possibly win for the worst first impression of Jisung’s college career.

Yes the final for this class is a paper, and yes he has maybe three homework assignments the entire quarter; but seriously, how hard is it to make a syllabus where attendance isn’t 50% of your final grade? At least in other mandatory attendance classes, the portion of your grade that attendance counts for tends to be insignificant enough that you could still get an A while missing a good portion of lectures so long as you did well on the exams. Jisung begins weighing the possibility of dropping out of college entirely and living off of Changbin’s trust fund when the door closes, signifying what is usually the beginning of class, but who fucking knows at this point, this is uncharted territory here.

“Welcome to beginning contemporary dance, I’ll be your professor for this semester.” A voice cuts through Jisung’s pessimistic stream of consciousness, “As stated in the syllabus, you will have a teaching assistant who will be attending class alongside you. Unfortunately, he couldn’t attend class today due to a conflict in scheduling within the department, but know that you have much to learn from him”

The professor continues to drone on about how despite the class being made for beginners, she expects effort and attention from all students regardless of their dance background, or lack thereof (definitely a pointed comment thank you very much); and then a few other things regarding the attendance policies and grading structure. Jisung, however, is paying shit attention to this little speech and hasn’t been since the professor mentioned a teaching assistant. He? Now don’t get it twisted, Jisung is in no position to be prejudiced. In fact, it’ll be great to have some boy doing spins around him for two hours at a time. Jisung’s never been able to focus too well in class without something to look at, so surely this will motivate him to show up at 8 am twice a week for the next 18 weeks. On second thought, it probably won’t, but it doesn’t hurt to hope.

Jisung’s thoughts are once again interrupted by the professor, this time addressing him directly. “Sorry, could you repeat that?” He asks, trying (and failing) to make himself not look like the biggest idiot on the planet.

“We’re doing introductions. Just tell the class your name, year, major, and a fun fact. Nothing too difficult, that comes later of course.” the professor tells him, adding a seemingly ominous wink to the end of her sentence.

Well, that’s easy, the same shit you do in every class, surely this sentiment will remain similar for the remainder of the semester. Jisung thinks for a second before responding with, “Hi everyone, I’m Jisung, I’m a second-year music major, and I’ve never danced before nor wanted to in my entire life.”

“Thank you for participating Jisung, and I sincerely hope this class can change your views on dance.” With the passive-aggressive comment from his professor out of the way, Jisung resumes his stream of consciousness. Today’s class seems to be largely focused on getting to know each other, which he does so on autopilot, listening but never taking in the words of his peers.

For once, the universe decided to work in Jisung’s favor, and class got out early, meaning he had an extra hour to spend before his 8 pm lecture that night that he didn’t really need but still liked having regardless. He found himself at the campus coffee shop he frequented his freshman year in the hopes of finishing those pesky homework assignments he was supposed to do before classes started. Say what you want, but summer homework is egregious and should be banned regardless of the subject. At long last, it was 8 pm, and time for a class that Jisung actually gave a fuck about, his sole music-related class; which turned out to be a history class? Look, registration was rough, and if he needs it to graduate, then by god Jisung is going to get that snoozefest done.

Luckily the class is one he shares with his friends, so really it could have been worse. You know, like the rest of his schedule. Once he reached the classroom, he noticed Chan and Changbin waving him over, having saved him a seat. Jisung knew what they wanted to hear, and briefly yet seriously contemplated running the other direction and taking the inevitable hit to his grade that ditching class would leave him with. Despite all this, he moves to sit between his friends, anticipating the immediate badgering and questioning, but not quite moving to deflect. Look, he just needs to complain, like seriously who makes an 8 am mandatory — attendance being half your grade at that? He pauses for a second and proceeds to voice this thought to his peers.

“You mean to tell me you’ve somehow found an introductory communications class at 8 am that lasts two hours, mind you, that’s completely mandatory and worth half your grade just to show up?” Changbin explains, looking a little too enthused by Jisung’s suffering.

“Nah dude, that’s the worst part, it’s not even a communications class,” Jisung responds. “It’s a fucking dance class. I have to participate and shit, can’t even slack off in the corner of a lecture hall.”

“You know, most people go to class to learn,” Chan adds. “It only makes sense that would be applied to more practical classes.” Curse him and his realistic worldview, and sue Jisung for using lectures to online shop and play 2048, it’s not like they aren’t recorded and uploaded anyway.

Upon giving his two cents, which are somehow worth more than most people’s despite still being two cents, Chan looks away to pay attention to the lecture. Jisung can’t help but thank him in his head. Not because he’s no longer grilling him, but because he knows Changbin won’t let up and neither of them will take a single note tonight.

“So what do you even do in that class? With your two left feet, I can’t foresee anything about this going well.” Changbin leans over to whisper.

“Bro, why are you acting like I know? All I remember from whatever that class was is that some dude is gonna come in and TA for us.” Jisung thinks for a second and adds, “I’ll probably just make friends with him and hope he can save my grade.”

“Your TAs a guy?”

“Yeah dude, didn’t realize you of all people would take offense to that. Isn’t your boyfriend literally a dance major?”

“Not where I was going with that dumbass. Was just gonna say I know a guy who’s TAing a dance class this semester.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me?”

“Says the one who didn’t even know he was in a dance class until this morning.”

“Whatever dude, so what should I know about this mysterious TA guy? The prof kept hyping him up and shit, no way he’s that good?”

“I'm not telling you shit with that attitude,” Changbin says, finishing their gossip session before it could start. “Pay attention, according to what I just heard you need to if you want to pass any of your classes this semester.”

With that, Jisung turned back to the professor at the front of the room. Paying attention in a class where all of the lecture videos get sent to him is pointless, Jisung thinks as he opens 2048 on his computer, a game already in progress.

Tuesday went by in a blur, two general education classes Jisung will be doing the bare minimum for because no hiring manager in the history of ever is going to give a single shit that someone working in music production got a C- in their genetics class they were forced to take sophomore year. It was once Wednesday hit the semester began to immediately worsen, which Jisung didn’t even think was possible. Look, the 8 am classes every day are really starting to get to him, especially when paired with a class twelve hours later.

So he overslept and missed his dance class, no biggie, surely there’s a policy that says he can miss a few classes right? Every class has those, it’s like a fail-safe for when overworked college students inevitably find themselves too sick (or lazy, as seen here) so Jisung will be fine.

Or not. Seriously, one excused absence for an entire semester? That’s a little absurd, even for a dance class. Oh well, he’ll just have to go to all of the classes in the future if he wants a good grade. Better hope he doesn’t find himself catching every disease ever like all college kids do in the fall.

Thursday followed as per the Tuesday schedule, and Friday was empty save for a morning discussion class Jisung would rather dunk his socks in cereal and suck the milk out of than attend despite participation being a significant enough portion of his grade. Aside from the utter failure that has been trying to attend his dance class, Jisung was sure he could turn the semester around and make it into something bearable. Make lemons out of lemonade or whatever old people say when they don’t want you to believe it’s okay to be frustrated.

——————------------------------

Surely after the disaster that was trying to get to all of his classes last week, Jisung could bring himself to attend his 8ams, and attend his 8ams he did. Walking into the dance building at 7:55 am (see Changbin, not that hard) Jisung noticed a boy about his age approaching him. He takes a moment to think back to last week, trying to recall a face, name, or anything to help him remember this boy who clearly knows him. His strikingly blonde hair and round features allowed him to stand out amongst the crowd, and surely Jisung would remember meeting someone as unique as him. He comes up with nothing, and takes the last few seconds to pray that they don’t actually know each other and he isn’t about to severely offend someone.

“Where were you on Wednesday?” the boy asks, “It kinda sucks being the only guy in this class, well except for the TA I guess.”

“I’m really sorry but, do we know each other?” Jisung responds with the only thing he’s thinking at this moment. “I don’t mean to offend you, I just do not remember a thing from the first class and I feel like I’d remember meeting you.”

“Well not yet I suppose, but that’s what this is for. Lee Felix, a second-year dance major.” The boy, Felix as he now knows, reaches his hand out, presumably for a handshake.

“Han Jisung, second-year music major. If you don’t mind me asking, why are you in a class for beginners if this is what your degree is in?” Jisung worries he’s pried a bit too much for a first-time conversation, but he really doesn’t understand why someone who loves dance enough to major in it is in a class with the likes of him.

“Don’t worry, people already questioned me about it last week, I’ll give you the run down since you weren’t there. I’m auditing the class, which means I kinda just show up when I feel like it and don’t worry about a grade.”

“Dude I wish that was me. I signed up for this class by chance after I was under the credit limit.”

“Seriously? I hate to break it to you, but you’re really in for something different if you signed up by accident. I mean, just wait until you meet the TA, he’s really gonna have it out for you if he ever hears that.”

“The TA? Don’t worry man I have that covered. All I gotta do is play nice and make friends, and he’ll help me get an A, right?”

“Wrong.” The second Jisung hears this from Felix, all he can do is put a little tally next to the chart on his brain whiteboard next to ‘wrongs’. The ‘rights’ side is regrettably empty save for when he made it to class on time (does that count?). “Don’t think I’m trying to scare you or anything, he’s not a bad guy, it’s just… he can be a little more on the serious side when it comes to dance. I mean I’m sure you get it, being in the arts and all that.”

“Whatever man, just wait. I’ve got this in the bag already.” Jisung says as they enter the studio together. Out of the corner of his eye, he spots something, or someone that is, that definitely wasn’t there last week. He likes to think he’d remember seeing someone like him. He also believes he’d remember every single girl in that class (which mind you, is everyone with the exception of Jisung and Felix) shamelessly staring the same guy down as if he was the last croissant at that trendy bakery down the street from Chan’s apartment. It makes something akin to jealousy shoot down Jisung’s spine and into his fingertips. Look, it’s not what you think it is, he doesn’t even like girls like that, but he sincerely doubts Mr. Twinkle Toes over there does either, he’s in a dance class for fucks sake. It’s just the whole attention thing; Jisung loves being the person in the room that people feel compelled to approach (except for when he really doesn’t), and this guy is hogging his spotlight. Jisung does the only thing he thinks can help him in this situation, and turns to Felix to ask, “Who in the everloving fuck is that?”

“Who?” He distantly hears Felix’s response over the sound of blood in his ears as he makes eye contact with the mystery man. Jisung really just thinks it’s unfair, how can someone have such an objectively perfect face, and maybe now he understands why all 20-something girls just can’t seem to look away from their classmate. His stare is piercing, almost as if he’s one of those mind readers Jisung worries about when his thoughts get a little inappropriate for the situation, and now all he can think about is if that’s exactly what’s happening right now.

Regrettably, before he can really unpack what any of that is supposed to mean, the professor walks in, and any fraction of the boy’s attention that Jisung held is immediately lost to what he thinks is a motivational speech to open the class.

“Alright everybody, today’s class will be focused on Horton Technique” the professor starts, “As a lot of you are not dancers, we will begin the class with a bit of a lecture on the history of the form. Contemporary dance is deeply rooted in the evolution of modern dance forms, so it is important we begin with these foundational techniques”

As the professor drones on about the history of modern dance, a voice in the back of Jisung’s mind reminds him that although there are no exams, the homework assignments are probably based on what she’s saying right now. He proceeds to throw that out the window and instead stares at Mr. Twinkle Toes from his place across the room. Look don’t judge the nickname, it's not like Jisung knows his real name and honestly, the nickname is kinda funny and definitely going to stick around for way too long whether or not they ever even exchange greetings.

What he finds, however, is not a sight he had been expecting. TT, as Jisung will now be taking to calling the boy in his head since Mr. Twinkle Toes is long and pretentious and must be saved exclusively for peak comedic timing, is already looking right back at him. Seriously, what is this dude's deal with Jisung? All he wanted when he signed up for a random class was some inner peace and an easy A, and now he’s not sure he’s got either of those. Unfortunately, just like every other time, Jisung has attempted to get any form of information on his mystery man, his professor has decided to stop lecturing and move on to actual dancing, causing both of their gazes to break.

This professor is really starting to get on Jisung’s nerves, can’t she see he’s on a mission here? Clearly more important than whatever the fuck Horton Technique is.

“To begin our warmup series, we will be learning a flat-back combination. This exercise engages your muscles and prepares the body for more rigorous movement” Jisung is vaguely aware of the teacher as she guides the class through the combination, focusing on keeping his head down and refusing to attract negative attention.

The teacher repeats the combination twice through movement, once verbally, and declares this enough before moving to turn on the music. Jisung can’t help but notice that Mr, Twinkle Toes seems to have taken to standing front and center of the studio. Teacher’s pet much? It’s not like he could possibly be good enough to warrant standing there in the first place. Jisung may not be a dancer, but he and Seungmin did drunkenly watch reruns of Dance Moms one night after finals, so he knows that front and center is reserved for special people who can actually dance.

Mystery Boy, as it turns out, is in fact one of those special people who can actually dance, and Jisung finds himself entranced by the way he effortlessly completes the exercise Jisung couldn’t even remember with the repetition and explanations. He suddenly finds himself grateful he’s placed himself directly behind Mystery Boy, and no it’s not because he has a good view of his ass you pervert, he’s wearing sweats anyways. Jisung learns that standing behind him does actually provide him with some knowledge as he simply repeats the movements he sees in front of him, albeit a little sloppier.

As the exercise draws to a close, and the professor moves to command the attention of the class, Jisung realizes something he had been previously ignorant of.

The music

Well, if you can even call it that. Jisung doesn’t understand how Mr. Twinkle Toes up in the front can do the exercises so flawlessly when the sound of nails on a chalkboard would be more audibly appealing than this monstrosity contained in his professor’s iPad. To each their own, he supposes, as he proceeds to figure out how to get his brain to tune out the music for the remainder of the class.

The professor leads them through a few more simple warm-up exercises in the center before announcing that they’ll be moving to the corner to try a few exercises across the floor. Jisung finds himself grateful for this, as if he ever has to do a Lateral T exercise again he might just do something drastic enough to change the trajectory of his professor’s life. He finds himself towards the end of the line the class has formed, alongside Felix, and notices that Mystery Boy has taken up a position at the end of the line. Given his assertiveness at the front of the room, and unfortunately, his ability to dance better than Jisung previously assumed, it seemed like he would be the kind of person to rush to be first in line.

Not that Jisung is complaining, this just means that he doesn’t have to embarrass himself by going after someone who actually knows what they’re doing.

The teacher then leads them through Jisung’s new least favorite exercise. The worst part? It’s not even supposed to be that hard. It’s basically a glorified walking pattern across the length of the studio, something about familiarizing yourself with the ground or whatever, and Jisung just doesn’t get it. He proceeds to share this with Felix, who goes over it with him while they wait in line, and he could kiss Felix for how he saved him from being a walking (literally) embarrassment.

Unfortunately for him, his Mystery Boy is soon after him, and he’s forced to watch the most graceful walking of his entire life. He didn’t even know walking could be so graceful before taking this class. You learn something new every day it seems. Jisung is infuriated by the boy and his strange affinity for walking, and he decides that Felix needs to hear this.

“Who the fuck does he think he is? It's enough to be that obnoxiously talented and objectively attractive, but to know it like he does too?“ Jisung whispers to Felix a little louder than expected. Before he can check if anyone heard him, he feels someone’s breath on the back of his neck, far too close for comfort.

“It’s rude to talk about people behind their backs. I guess I was wrong to assume your parents would have raised you better than that?” He hears from behind him, whispered directly in his ear.

Jisung finds himself unable to move, or speak for that matter. In a true life or death scenario (not that this isn’t), his instincts would immediately choose freeze over the much more useful fight or flight, which should worry Jisung, but he’s a little preoccupied. He says what is apparently the only thing he can think of when faced with strangers recently, which ends up being an incredibly eloquent, “Who the fuck are you?”

“Lee Minho, it’d do you well to remember that. Your TA as well, although in hindsight that part might be a bit more important” he gets in response.

“Oh! I’m so sorry, I swear whatever you heard, I really didn’t mean it to be rude. I’m just struggling with the class and dealing with it in an even worse manner. But since you’re my TA, you can help me, right?” Jisung adds that last part alongside some serious puppy-dog eyes as a last-ditch attempt to make Minho believe that Jisung really is just in awe of him and not a jerk.

“Yeah, fat chance after that display. You have a far better chance of getting help from Lixie over here, it’s not like he doesn’t know the same things I do.” So that didn’t work.

“There’s really no need to get snappy Minho, I swear he didn’t mean it like that.” Felix decides to add in at that moment, and thank god Jisung has someone to come to his aid like this,” He really is just curious, he missed class last Wednesday anyways.”

“Yeah, whatever, just don’t let me catch you talking like that again. I’m not a bitch but I will take it up with the professor if you want to choose to act like a child in a college course.” Minho finishes with that, brushing past Jisung before he can even utter another apology.

The rest of class continues somewhat normally, Jisung keeps his head down and mouth shut to avoid inadvertently offending another classmate or worse, his professor. Minho seems to preen even more given that the professor is making it more and more aware that he is the TA, and incredibly talented at that. She couldn’t have done that an hour ago before Jisung was given the perfect opportunity to humiliate himself? This class keeps getting worse.

At long last, class is released, and Jisung is free to hide in his dorm for the rest of eternity out of shame. He almost makes it out of the dance building unscathed, but not before he runs into Felix waiting for a more advanced dance class after the one he shares with Jisung, who offers apologies on behalf of Minho as well as a chance for him to help Jisung better understand the class and his phone number.

Jisung really doesn’t have it in his heart to tell Felix he’s seriously considering dropping this class over how horrifically he’s embarrassed himself. He also doesn’t have it in himself to drop the class when he checks the app on his phone as he begins his walk, so he might as well accept the help where he can. He texts Felix, asking if they can meet outside of class, and heads off towards his dorm.

——————------------------------

Jisung left class that morning more confused than he’d ever been in his entire life. He likes to think of himself as a people person, even though he is one of those people who spends his solo walks and that awkward period of laying down before you fall asleep thinking of every conversation that’s ever gone wrong in his entire life. Honestly, this truly is one for the books, how was he supposed to know Mr. Twinkle Toes was his TA, and how the fuck was he supposed to know that Felix wasn’t playing about him actually giving a fuck about dance. Now Jisung gets it, he’s an artist too, it sucks to have your work devalued or seen as lesser, especially as a student. But it’s not like he even said anything rude to Minho, in fact, he was incredibly complimentary of him, so he really doesn’t understand what upset the other boy so much.

Jisung’s self-deprecating depression spiral over his stupid dance TA, who doesn’t even matter anyway like who even cares, comes to an end when he reaches his dorm and slams the front door a little harder than normal, startling his roommate. Kim Seungmin may be a little shit who makes (lovingly) snide comments towards Jisung whenever he finds the opportunity to do so, but there’s a reason Jisung chose to room with him again despite totally having a way out of doing so. Okay so he didn’t, but that doesn’t change the fact that he really does love Seungmin and appreciates his ability to stay put together when Jisung absolutely cannot.

“The fuck happened to you? I haven’t seen you this upset since spring registration.” Jisung hears Seungmin ask. Although he really isn’t in the mood to ‘talk this out’, he has to admit that Seungmin might have something interesting to provide.

“It’s just my TA for that stupid dance class, not like it’s important or anything.” Jisung responds, “He’s just so… infuriating.”

“Oh? How so?”

“We were going through class like what I assume is normal, and I went to say something about him to my friend in the class and I guess he overheard and flipped the fuck out over it.”

“Well, what did you say? If you’re talking shit about someone and they hear it’s not like they’re going to be particularly excited about that, you idiot.”

“No, I swear nothing like that! I was just upset that he was so talented and objectively attractive AND confident on top of all of that. I didn’t even know he was my TA for fucks sake” Jisung proceeds to flop across their shared couch for dramatic effect, surely Seungmin will take pity on him.

“Wait, what’s his name? I know a few dancers myself you know.” He did not, oh well. Curse Seungmin and his ability to be impartial about situations.

“I think he said it was like Lee Minho? Something like that, not much to go off, unfortunately.”

“Do you have a picture of him?”

“No what the fuck why do you need one?” Jisung feels weirdly called out by this as he does, in fact, have a photo of him. Sue him for being able to find the socials of the boy in question, not like it was that hard.

“I’ll tell you if you show me a picture of him”

“Fine.” Jisung relents, handing over his phone, opened to Minho’s Instagram account.

“Oh! I do know him, didn’t think this is who you’d be talking about though. You sure this is the right guy?”

“Absolutely. How the fuck do you know him, you literally study old books for fun and he’s a dancer”

“We grew up together dipshit, and don’t shit talk about my major. It's not like yours is anything useful either.”

He really got Jisung there. On the Minho thing, a music degree is perfectly useful, thank you very much. Unless he ever decides he wants to do something that isn’t specifically music production, but that’s a thought for another time. Back to the whole Minho Problem. That’s right, it’s become a Problem, with capitals and everything. Could Jisung tell you why he cares so much? Not at all, but that’s why he needs to get to the bottom of this.

“You know, I really didn’t expect that to be who you were talking about. As much as he was a pain in my ass growing up, being older and all that, he wasn’t outright rude” Seungmin adds, “I mean he’s kinda got the closest thing you can have to a reputation on a college campus, dude gets along with everyone.”

“You’re joking. Well clearly nobody’s taken a dance class with him before. Or even heard that he dances.”

“You do realize most of those people in your class are there for the sole purpose of taking class with him, right? The dance department shows are only as popular as they are because of him. I heard they even got more people auditioning this past week because he’s in the shows.”

Now that he mentions it, that does make a lot of sense. Jisung was wondering how it was possible for one person to attract that much attention, but if they already knew who Minho was, of course, they would be looking for him. It also makes sense as to why he might not remember Felix from the first day of classes as it sounds like auditions for the dance department’s production were why Minho couldn’t make class. Seungmin’s next statement snaps him out of his train of thought.

“You know I feel like I should be a bit more hung up on the fact that you’ve been calling my childhood friend ‘objectively attractive’ whatever the fuck that means, but I really can’t bring myself to sit with that right now.” Leave it to Seungmin to find something even less helpful to interject with.

Jisung really needs to reconsider who he seeks advice from, maybe he should talk to Felix more. He really should’ve lied about what he said about Minho, but seriously how was he supposed to know Seungmin was all buddy-buddy with him?

“Whatever man, I’m going to bed. I’ll just like avoid him for the rest of the semester or something, doesn’t affect me.” Jisung says to Seungmin, hoping it’s enough to keep his roommate from prying. “Alright? I assumed you caring enough to rant to me about it meant you’d do something about it, but that’s not on me to inspire that in you.” he hears Seungmin snark in response. So what he knew Minho or something, people change from when they’re kids.

Despite going into that conversation seeking the truth, or at least validation that Minho is totally, ultimately in the wrong here, Jisung can’t feel anything but regret for how their conversation went down this morning. Now it’s not like all of a sudden Jisung thinks what he said was wrong, he just wishes he might’ve said something different so that he wasn’t the most hated classmate of his TA. He just wants a good grade in his dance class, that’s all.

As he tosses and turns in an attempt to get some sleep before his 8 am that night, he can’t help but wonder why he cares so much about what Minho thinks of him.

Just a bit later, while far along the way to the land of dreams, Jisung blinks awake with a genius idea. You see, late at night, right when you’re about to fall asleep is the greatest time to come up with a plan. Well, not quite a plan, just a name:

Seo Changbin.

[nostalgiabearr]

help that’s so funny. please drop it!!

i’m so sorry but i just thought about buzzcut hyunjin eating you out and reaching for his hair bc you’re used to it being there and instead accidentally slapping his head lmfaoo

[nostalgiabearr]

BANG CHAN — railway

[nostalgiabearr]

• bf!hyunjin x f!reader | m.list

| let's just say you get 'very excited' after see your boyfriend's new haircut

warning | fingering, oral(f receiving), p in v, unprotected sex

word count | 1k

enjoy reading！

❝ Is a haircut really enough to get you this high? ❞

oh.

This was exactly your reaction when you saw the message from your boyfriend saying 'I got a buzzcut.'

Everything definitely suited him but this move was unexpected and caught you completely off guard. He had long hair since you knew him and now even imagining him like this made butterflies fly in your stomach. And the fact that he was going to be back home in a few hours made it hard for you to stay still.

As a result of your waiting, you were startled by the sound of a door, Hyunjin left his extra belongings in a corner and let out a tired breath. "Baby?" when you heard his call, your steps started to pull towards him. But the difference you saw made you stop in your tracks, you looked at your boyfriend you weren't used to for a while, when Hyunjin noticed your look, his tired face disappeared and he approached you with a smile. "Surprise?" his arms wrapped tightly around your waist and without waiting, he pulled you to him and buried his face in your neck, mumbled "mm..i missed you.."

You grabbed his shoulders and pushed him lightly so you had a chance to look at his face better. He was...the hottest man you'd ever seen in the world and he belongs to you. Hyunjin looked at your unresponsive face, started examining your face in the same way as if he was trying to figure out if you liked it or not "So...do you like it?" instead of talking, you preferred to give him an answer by kissing him, and Hyunjin accepted it with pleasure, grabbed your hips and pulled you hard to him. After a long kiss, you whispered the moment you pulled back "I don't think I can put into words how sexy you look right now."

He chuckled briefly at your frankness, tilted his head slightly to the side and spoke teasingly "Really? Maybe you can show me that, baby." you grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him into another kiss. Hyunjin, noticing how eager and impatient you were, laughed between kisses and picked you up without waiting, walking towards the room without parting your lips.

He pulled back as soon as your back reached the soft bed and helped you take off your clothes before throwing his own clothes in a corner. Even though he was impatient like you, he wanted to take it slow. Spread your legs and get between them without breaking eye contact "Is a haircut really enough to get you this high?" his fingers went to your pussy, you let out a moan as he caressed your clit with slow movements "N-no. You're enough to get me high. N-not your hair." he grinned, the compliment he received made his cock twitch completely "ah..how sweet." he mumbled and after that sentence he leaned down and sucked your clit while inserting two fingers inside you, you let out a loud moan, instead of starting his movements slowly he started to fully exploit your pussy.

You whined wanting more, your hand went to his head, you moved your hips with the new feeling you felt instead of his long hair and pressed him against you. Hyunjin responded to every one of your movements, his tongue moving rapidly on your clit while his fingers curled inside you and made you pour all your juices onto his fingers with a fast pace "Hyun- f-fuck.. I'm close..I- oh fuck." your head went back in pleasure, his tongue and fingers were already skilled, but the feelings that were triggered inside you the moment you saw him would make you cum even faster. Hyunjin didn't slow down, he buried his head between your legs and continued until you cum. And when you reach your peak, he didn't stop until all your cum was wrapped around his fingers, he sucked your clit one last time and tried to catch his breath "Good job baby..oh shit look at this mess.." he said under his breath while looking at the cum flowing from your pussy.

He gave you a while to catch your breath, filled this space with many kisses but he couldn't hold it anymore, his cock was aching in pain and he needed you. He pulled back while his face was buried in your neck and rubbed his dick against your pussy. Hyunjin whimpered as soon as the tip entered, slowly pushed more into you, feeling all your walls, he let out a loud moan and buried his face in your neck again "You feel so..g-good, god you're going to make me go crazy.." his hips moved without hesitation, he was hitting with slow but hard movements, each of his breaths tickling your neck.

Hyunjin was putting his whole cock inside you, he wanted you to feel every inch of him. His arms wrapped around you, your legs wrapped around his waist and the occasional kisses on your neck, your bodies were completely one. "Faster.. please Hyun..I can't take it-" he didn't wait for you to finish your sentence, his hips started moving in fast movements, he lifted his head and held one of your hands, pinning it to the bed, your eyes locked as a few drops of sweat ran down his forehead.

The room was filled with just the moans of pleasure between the two of you, your wetness mixed together "I'm close, baby. It won't...take long for me to come." Hyunjin spoke breathlessly, pumping his cock hard inside you, begging to cum. His rapid breaths turned into a tearful moan, close to cumming, as you prepared yourself for a second orgasm. A few strokes later, your second orgasm hit you, Hyunjin came right after you and came out of you, his cum spilling onto your belly. Hyunjin threw himself directly next to you and tried to catch his breath. "Fuck...I should've cut my hair earlier." you laughed at his mumbled sentence and moved closer to him. He immediately took you under his arms. "Like I said, you're perfect in every way, it's not just about your hair." he grinned, lowering his head towards you. "Thank you, baby. I expected you to like it, this reaction was even more than I expected. But I'm definitely not complaining."

[nostalgiabearr]

i’m so sorry but i just thought about buzzcut hyunjin eating you out and reaching for his hair bc you’re used to it being there and instead accidentally slapping his head lmfaoo

[nostalgiabearr]

HYUNJIN :: 241225 ENDING FAIRY @ SBS GAYO DAEJEON

[nostalgiabearr]

[nostalgiabearr]

RED YEOSANG😵‍💫😵‍💫

[nostalgiabearr]

buzz cut hyunjin… save me buzz cut hyunjin🙏🧎🏻‍♀️

i want to do terrible things to this man lawd

[nostalgiabearr]

𝐇𝐢𝐠𝐡 𝐨𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮.

Stoner!chan x fem!reader

Description: Your boyfriend, Chan, somehow always knew how to calm your nerves. Whether it was smoking your brains out or fucking your brains out, thats for him to decide. (It’s both)

Warnings!: *Deep breath* Weed, smoking, drug use (dont do drugs chat), female anatomy + female terms used for reader, fingering (f), p in v penetration, cursing, stomach bulge, porn with little plot.

Authors Note: This is one of the first fics I’ve ever published!! 😭 I hope you guys enjoy, expect more from me now that I remember how to write again:3

word count: 2,788!!

In normal peoples past times they would usually be doing ‘normal people’ things. Drawing, painting, reading, and whatever else. But you weren’t normal and in your free time you just loved to get high with your boyfriend, Chan.

He was the one who introduced you to it, saying that the first couple of hits will burn, but eventually, it won’t hurt as bad. They did indeed burn, and they ended with small coughing fits and chants from you that were all lies. “I’m never doing that again.” Yet, here you sit, on Chan’s bed, with a lighter up to a freshly packed bowl.

The room was dimly lit, led lights wrapped around the room in a hazy blue color, just as hazy as your mind. You don’t remember why you came here, but you dont regret it what-so-ever. Smoke billowed out of Chan’s mouth as he exhaled, looking over at you with a lazy smile as he noticed your high starting to glass over your eyes.

“You feelin’ good, baby?” He questioned in a rough tone, low and sultry. You looked up from the bong before you hit it, grinning softly at the question.

“Better than what I was when I got here.” You spoke softly, picking up the bong and lighting the bowl. The bubbles in the water sloshing around with the harsh hit you took, smoke hitting your lungs like fire. Yet, you didn’t care to push it out like you normally did, you kept it held in your lungs longer, exhaling only at the last minute, the smoke already disolved mostly.

After you both had figured that you guys were high enough, Chan put aside the bong on his bedside table along with the grinder and lighter.

He turned his gaze back to you, drooped eyelids grazing his eyes. You couldn’t help but shy away from his gaze, god he was hot.

The black tank-top that he wore was skintight and stuck to his skin, his muscular features on full view. Grey sweatpants outlining every part of him that you wanted, his body was phenomenal. He knew what he was doing when he wore this outfit, he always did. That little shit.

“What?” He giggled, gripping onto your chin to get you to look at him. Your eyes could only focus on one thing: his plush lips that pursed every time you would get close to him like this.

His hand let go of your chin and slowly traced his fingers along your jaw, tracing them all the way to grip the back of your neck. He was practically so close you could feel every inch of his body heat mingling with yours as his breath did the same.

The next moment was soft, your noses accidentally touching, and when he leaned forward to press his lips against yours, his coordination was off from the hazy feeling in his mind. A small giggle fell from his lips before he fully connected your lips together. His touch was soft and delicate, like you could break at any moment. His fingertips pressed into the back of your neck, unintentionally, as he grabbed onto one of your thighs with his free hand, sitting up slightly and pulling your body onto his lap.

His hand fell from your neck and wrapped around your waist, holding onto it with both hands now. He worked his way into you, coaxing his tongue into your mouth, a small groan falling from his lips when he finally got a taste of you. Your hands wrapped around his neck and pulled him closer, eager to taste more of him.

He pulled away after a good moment or two, his pupils dilated and blown out as he huffed out a breath. Your hands traced over his shoulders, gripping onto them. You looked into his deep brown eyes that were almost black from the lighting in the room.

“You feel what you do to me, baby?” He gruffly said, pulling you further against his lap and pushing his hard on against your clothed heat, making a small whimper arise from you. He smiled at that, pecking your lips again as his lips trailed down to your jaw, leaving soft and open mouthed kisses all the way down to where your hoodie covered your chest.

“Can I take this off, baby girl?” He rose his hands up your waist, running them under the fabric and gently rubbing.

“Please…” You murmured in a whiny tone.

His hands slid down and gripped onto the soft fabric, lifting it up to expose your body to him. He pulled your arms out of the hoodie sleeves and pulled it over your head, the hoodie falling to the ground as Chan pushed it off the bed. His hands went back to your waist and rubbed at your silky skin, chuckling under his breath.

“Didn’t wear anything underneath your hoodie just for me, hm?” His teasing voice was evident as he pressed soft kisses along your skin once again, pulling you closer by your hips. His lips could finally press against your chest now that your hoodie was gone; kisses soft, just like the whimpers that fell from your lips.

Your top was bare, only leaving you in the black biker shorts that hugged your curves just right. Chan’s hands wandered all along your body. Eventually his thumbs rubbed up against your hardened nipples, eliciting a sharp gasp from you and a moan to follow. He guided his lips to where one of his thumbs rested, moving it out of the way to replace it with his mouth. His tongue pressed against the hard bud, causing you to arch your back slightly. You rubbed against his dick that was straining against his boxers. He sucked on the soft skin of your chest, kneading your other breast with his free hand, keeping eye contact with you as he did so.

He lowered his hands in a soft motion, his fingers treading lightly against the soft skin of your stomach and across your hips. He broke his mouth away from your chest, looking into your eyes with a glassy look in his. Your senses heightened with every movement he made. It only made this ten times harder. His movements were slow and steady, agonizingly slow. His grip on your hips tightened, taking you in his arms and rolling you onto your back with him on top of you.

Chan looped his thumbs on the waistband of your shorts and with no warning tugged them down your thighs, causing a gasp to escape from you. The cold air hit your bare legs, shorts long forgotten along with your hoodie that lay on the floor.

His hands were quick to come back up to your hips, running his slender fingers along your warmed skin, making his way down to your underwear.

“Can I touch you, baby?” Chan asked, his voice rough with need. His eyes looked up at you with such a soft look even though he was about to ruin you to the fullest extent.

You nodded, it’s all you could do, barely able to talk from how flustered he’s made you so far. He smiled softly at you, his eyes grazing your body along with his hands.

“Such a good girl…” His middle finger slipped past the small amount of fabric that covered you, the pad of his finger gently running along your wet clit and making your legs slightly shake. Chan chuckled at the way you bucked your hips against his hand, slowly slipping his finger into you. His finger worked inside of you, curling it and hitting right into the sweetest spot, making you whine in pleasure.

“God baby you’re soaking…” Chan groaned, eliciting another sharp and high-pitched moan to slip past your lips.

“C..Channie… more.. please…” You pleaded, rocking your hips against his hand and looking at him with the softest eyes, trying so hard to get what you wanted. It indeed work, how could Chan say no to those eyes? His fingers looped onto the sides of your underwear, tugging them down and throwing them onto the ground with the pile of clothes that laid there already.

He leaned forward, connecting your lips together and gently pushing another finger onto you. You whimpered against his lips, your hips buckling at the pure pleasure. You didnt know if it was because you were high, but you were abnormally horny, and your senses were so heightened you felt every single fucking move Chan made.

He started at a slow pace first, his fingers sliding in and out of your tight pussy, but something changed quickly. His fingers started to speed up, curling deeper and deeper until he had you so close to falling apart on his fingers you were practically screaming out in pleasure. His free arm held your hips down and in place, keeping you from moving not even a single inch, curse him for being so strong…

You felt your orgasm approaching, the tight knot in your lower stomach tightening even more as he curled his fingers against your sweet spot.

“Gonna… cum…” You whimpered, throwing your head back against the pillows and clenching around his fingers. He was looking up at you from between your legs, his fingers working faster, trying to get you to the point of release so he can have his way with you. He always did, always made you cum on his fingers before doing anything else with you, and god did you hate it sometimes. Right now was one of those times.

The pressure built higher and higher, your hips grinding down against his fingers. You whimpered in pleasure, only fueling him to slide his fingers in and out faster, bringing you to your orgasm. You let go with a high-pitched moan, your head thrown back leaving your neck completely shown. Chan’s lips rested against the soft skin as he slowly helped you calm down your shaking body. Orgasms always were 10x more powerful under the influence, but god did it feel so good.

“You’re so pretty baby…” Chan whispered, pressing another kiss against your neck.

His fingers slowly slipping out of you and reaching over to the side table without you noticing, sure to not knock over the long forgotten bong as he grabbed a condom from the drawer and softly closed it again. He looked down at you, a soft look in his eyes.

You didn’t know when it happened, you were so spaced out it was crazy, but chan had pulled his pants and boxers off and was now sitting in between your legs, sliding on the condom. Your breath was caught in your throat at the size of him, it always shocked you how he didn’t practically rip you in half. He caught your staring and brushed it off with a small chuckle, leaning forward and putting his forearms on the bed, his hands cradling your waist gently (as if he wasn’t about to pound into you).

He rubbed the tip of his dick against your pussy, a small whimper falling from your lips that sounded like a melody to him. He hummed softly, looking up at you.

“Are you ready, sweetheart?” He whispered gently, a thumb running over the curve of your waist. All you could muster up was a small and whiney ‘yes please..’ and that was all Chan needed. He aligned himself against you, his hands finding your hips and his knees resting against the soft plush of the bed.

He slowly pulled your hips closer, the tip of his dick enveloped by your soft pussy. He couldn’t get enough of it, no matter how many times he fucked you, or how many times he was inside of you.

His eyes sparkled with a glint of neediness, a small whine leaving your lips again at the way he was looking at you. He moved his grip to your waist, his thumbs digging into the soft skin of your stomach as he pushed himself inside of you. He hissed softly at the sudden skin to skin contact, his hands ran along your waist to calm your slightly shaky body, bottoming out inside of you. He looked down at you, immediately regretting it, god he could fucking nut just from looking at your pleading, glassy eyes…

“Baby… dont look at me like that…” He said, breathing heavy.

“Why not…” You softly looked at him again, eyelashes batting at him.

‘Fucking brat…’ He thought, smirking softly at how persistent you were to make him go insane because of you. His placed his hands back on your waist, digging his fingers into your back and pulling out, leaving you to whine.

“Stop whining.” He said gruffly, pushing himself back inside of you with a grind of his hips. You softly moaned, the feeling of his dick curving right into the sweet spot he always seemed to hit. You gripped onto his shoulders, thighs already starting to shake from the feeling of one orgasm already on your body.

Chan slowly started to pull in and out of you, softly at first, speeding up at your request just to hear your soft moans of his name like you were praying upon him…

“M..More…” Your hips lifted off of the bed, Chan was holding your hips against his as he pushed himself deeper into you.

“Greedy little thing, aren’t you?” He grunted, yet he still fulfilled what you asked. He started rutting his hips against yours faster, harder, and hitting right into every spot that he fucking loved. He groaned at the way your walls fluttered around him, gripping your hips harder and throwing his head back at how good you felt against him. His hips only drilled into you faster the longer he was inside of you, he couldnt help that you made him go fucking crazy while he was so deep inside of you.

You were panting, whimpering, and moaning so much you practically couldn’t hear anything else. Chan wasn’t any better, gripping your hips and softly grunting at every push of his cock inside of you. He suddenly took one of his hands off of your hips, not that you could feel much, but you did feel what he did next.

Chan pushed his hand against your lower stomach, groaning before speaking up. “Yeah… you feel me baby? I’m in your fucking stomach, aren’t I, sweet girl?”

That one phrase made you break, the knot in your lower stomach being released. The high pitched moan that escaped you would had been embarrassing if you really cared, but your head was in the clouds from the weed and the orgasm that was washing over you. Your pussy clenched around him, your thighs quivering and wrapping around his hips as you tried to get as close as possible to him. He continued to grind against you, settling overtop of you and pushing some hair out of your face as he watched you fall apart. A groan left his lips as the feeling of you cumming around him, a tightened knot settling in the lower part of his body that made his hips pound into you faster.

“Such a good girl cumming for me like that.” He hummed softly, grunting at the sound of his dick sliding in and out of you. His pace quickening with neediness, he whimpered softly as his orgasm slowly took over his senses. He couldnt hold back any longer.

His hips halted, desperately holding you close as the warm liquid poured out of him with a groan. He was sat up on his knees, holding you still by your hips and cursing under his breath from how good he felt. Nothing could compare to a stoned orgasm.

As you both slowly came down from your highs, his body rolled off of you and laid down next to you. He panted, head turning to look at you in a haze, not surprised to catch your gaze.

“God I love you…” He murmured, bringing one of his hands over to cradle your cheek, rubbing his thumb over it and pressing a sweet and quick kiss to your lips. He smiled, still out of breath as he pulled you to lay your head on his still clothed chest. Your body quivered softly against him, making him chuckle softly and press a kiss to your forehead.

“We’ll clean up in a minute… just want to lay with you for a little longer..” He said, nuzzling his nose into your hair. You smiled against his chest, fully relaxing in his hold.

All that mattered at that moment was Chan and you, like the whole world was closed off and you two were the only ones.