otyhao

[otyhao]

i’m sat. will update with tags after i read !!!!!

모기 / MOGI — [c.bg].

SYNOPSIS. in which all of your life, you and beomgyu have been stuck together like glue whether you liked it or not. and as much as you want to change that, life seems to have different plans.

PAIRING. choi beomgyu x female! reader. GENRE. childhood friends to not quite friends (derogatory) to not quite friends (endearment), romance, humor, very light-barely there angst, pining idiots, college! au with flashes to high school, featuring an ensemble of 01z idols. WARNINGS. swearing, many many (fake) death threats, so much secondhand embarrassment, mentions of sex, mentions of blood and gore, the worldly problems of a teenager, mc has anger issues, gossip. WORD COUNT. 14k.

TAGLIST. @matcha-binz @bgomtori @lotties-posts @bearbeom @bbinwrld @beomies-world @baekberrie @20-cms @jenodreamer

NOTE. it is here! alternatively titled: all the reasons you don't like choi beomgyu (but maybe you do). this is just a v quick v fun read (i hope HAHHAHA). parts in past tense and within parenthesis are set in the past! hope you enjoy mosquito gyu and please let me know what you think! begging for crumbs of feedback plspls.

YOU DON’T LIKE CHOI BEOMGYU. He’s been a thorn in your side for as long as you can remember— a far too nimble mosquito for you to catch and swat away, constantly buzzing around your ears like a mild annoyance. Mild, but annoying all the same.

The problem is, you can’t get rid of him. Not when both your families have been friends before either of you were even born. Not when you’ve been half-living in his house for the better part of your life and he’s been half-living in yours. Not when you’ve always been magically assigned to the same class for twelve god damned years and somehow, you’re now even set out to go to the same university.

It’s like the world just wants to stick the both of you together.

“Hey, fuckface.”

“What do you want, dipshit?”

Unfortunately for the world, you don’t want the same thing.

“Remember when I hauled your ass to the emergency room after you broke your leg at the skatepark in 9th grade?”

Beomgyu lets out a grunt upon hearing your question at the same time as he drops down to the ground with a thunk on the playground seesaw. “Right. That happened.” It’s late at night, the streetlights are dimming, and it’s a week before high school graduation. Not the most appropriate time to be playing around the kid-sized rides tucked in the corner of your apartment complex, but things have been penting up, and there currently seems to be no better way to deal with your physical and emotional exhaustion than by being sprung up to the air, down, and back up again.

“You also said— whoa!” You glue your feet firmly to the chalky ground before dangling your legs up once more. “You also said you’d do anything I ask after saving your ass. I’m here to collect your debt.”

The next instance, you aren’t see’d or saw’d back up. Beomgyu stays grounded, looking at with an expression you can only describe as oozing of suspicion. It is weird, you have to admit, bringing up a spur of a moment promise he made three years ago, possibly under the influence of anesthetics. You’d be suspicious of yourself, too. “Alright,” he relents after a long moment of thought. Beomgyu leans forward, resting his arms over the seesaw handle and burying his chin into his sleeves. “Spit it out. What do you want? I’ll buy it for you.”

You press your lips together. “It’s not something you can buy.”

Now, that definitely doesn’t help your case. Your crypticness is causing his brows to furrow, and Beomgyu is deep in thought wondering what the hell kind of favor your fucked up head is thinking of (especially after the shrimp incident). You can save him from misery and just spit it out right then and there, but it’s not easy for you to pull out of your mouth either. Once this night is over, your throat will be littered with sores and cuts and it’ll all be self inflicted.

“Wait.” Beomgyu suddenly jolts up and sits straight, causing the seesaw to wobble a little. His ears are peeking out the mess of his hair. It’s already way past the school policy length— a privilege of a graduating student, he says. And despite the shadowed sky cloaking the playground lot, you can clearly see the tinge of red painting the thin skin. What is he thinking? you narrow your eyes at him. The blush has spread all over his neck. "You—you—you’re not trying to ask—”

“Beomgyu,” you cut him off, sparing him from an aneurysm. “We’re starting college next month, right?”

His expression tells you he’s completely missed the mark. “Yeah...?” he sounds out, confusion riddled in his tongue. You bite down yours— an early repentance before finally throwing it out in the air.

“Can you do me a favor?” you squeak out. “Can you pretend like you don’t know me?”

Quiet washes over. You preemptively wince, expecting the impending torrent of swear words from your friend, but he doesn’t say anything. He says nothing for a long while, filling the quiet with tension-filled agony before finally saying, “I don’t understand.”

You swallow down a lump in your throat.

“What are you saying?”

There are uneasy creaks on the hinges of the seesaw set, as if it’s unsure whether to go up or down. The scent of iron seeps into your palms with how tightly you’re holding the handle. “Please pretend like we aren’t friends when we enter university,” you inhale sharply. “Better yet, act like you don’t know me at all, okay? Treat me like I was a ghost and I’ll do the same with you.” 

You don’t have the guts to look Beomgyu in the eye. You train your eyes to the graveled ground and hold in your breath, listening as the creaks of the rusty hinges slowly come to a still. He’s not saying anything. He isn’t saying anything and you’re starting to grow scared.

The seesaw finally stops rocking, and you finally hear Beomgyu’s response—

“Fine.”

—all while your ass gets dropped to the ground with an even louder thunk when Beomgyu gets off the damned thing. You let out a yelp as your body gets jerked back by the sudden recoil. 

“Hey!” you yell out, stumbling to get off the seesaw in a panic because he’s starting to walk. “Choi Beomgyu— wait up!”

“What?” he snaps his head back, and you flinch. He doesn’t look great. He doesn’t look happy at all. Guilt overhauls your entire being with a single, ringing punch and your tongue is weighed down by sand and soot and it’s difficult to swallow without the threat of choking. “I thought you wanted me to pretend like I don’t know you?”

You frown. “I did, but I didn’t mean it to be—”

Words fail when he turns his back to you once again. You can’t say anything. You can’t bring it in you to justify yourself. You can’t even find the shame to call him back. So all you can do is watch as Beomgyu slowly disappears into the evening, leaving behind more things in the playground than just you.

It’s fine, you inhale sharply. You can give him some space tonight and just talk it out on the way to school tomorrow. And it’s not like you didn’t expect him to be mad at you. It just hurt a lot more than you thought it would.

“I’ll see you tomorrow!” you yell at his disappearing figure.

It stings, sure. But still. It’s something you feel like you need to do, because you don’t like Choi Beomgyu, and all the things he’s cost you.

#1: YOU DON’T LIKE HIM FOR WASTING SO MUCH OF YOUR TIME. You’re pretty sure at least three years of your lifespan has wilted away into nothingness because of how long it takes for him to answer the door. It takes two rounds of incessant knocking and a yell of his name. Even then, his mom is more likely to answer than the fucker himself.

He’s been like that ever since. Though you can’t exactly pinpoint when that ever since begins— you can’t remember how you met him because his stupid face has always been present in all of your earliest memories.

(Knock, knock, knock!

“Choi Beomgyu!”

Knock, knock, knock!

“Open the door!”

Classes ended early today, and your teachers at the academy are having a seminar so you don’t have to go there today. This was a rare opportunity in your life as a middle schooler— where every day runs from waking up, to eating, to studying, to eating, to studying again, studying some more, and wanting to quit studying. Today you had free time, and you’re going to spend it wisely.

At least that was the plan. But then Beomgyu called your landline while you were watching TV, saying that he had “something super, duper, insanely cool to show you and you’ll regret it if you don’t come over.” 

It’s probably something lame.

You hurried over to the unit right across yours.

But like usual, it took a good five minutes until you heard Beomgyu’s hurried footsteps padding louder and closer and closer. He didn’t give you an opportunity to be annoyed by him— he quickly tugged you into his home and shut the door lock with a kick, running into and out of the living room like it was a racing track, and before you knew it, you were in his room and he was all giddy and excited and it served as a sign that he was up to no good.

“You’re being suspicious,” you leered at him as he dug through his school bag, already taking the liberty to plop down on his bed. “What’s that?”

There was a proud grin on his face when he pulled it out and showed it off to you. You weren’t as impressed. In fact, you were terrified. 

Specifically because of the 18+ label on the CD container he’s holding.

“Why do you have that?!” you screeched. “Holy crap. You idiot. Are you trying to get us into trouble?!”

“We won’t get in trouble as long as you stop freaking out like a little wuss,” he reasoned, already slotting the forbidden CD into his conveniently placed laptop right at the foot of the bed.

Your houses shared an internet line, and most websites have been blocked as per both your parents’ request so it “doesn’t get in the way of your studying,” they say. You thought it was crap. Beomgyu thought  it was crap. So you’d been trying to find ways to subvert that restriction by whatever means you can get your hands on (i.e. going to PC rooms and getting dragged back home by your parents).

But that didn’t mean you were fine with watching a movie you legally weren’t allowed to watch.

This was absurd.

“Yeonjun hyung lent it to me. Hey, stop overreacting. You said you wanted to watch this and wouldn’t quit whining about it the past two weeks. I’m doing you a favor!”

“We’re not allowed to watch this! If our parents find out, they’re gonna—” You made the mistake of letting your eyes wander to the laptop screen. It’s all blood and guts and gore from the very beginning. You were taken. “Whoa. Move over.”

Beomgyu was grinning at his success. The equally bloody CD container found itself tucked underneath his bed, and before you knew it you were both hiding under the blankets, sharing a pair of earphones because there’s too much screaming and squelching from the off-brand slasher film your friend smuggled from a sketchy high schooler. Maybe that was just the right amount of screaming. You wouldn’t know. You’ve never watched anything like this before.)

To be frank, you don’t remember much about the film. You do remember nearly pissing yourself in fear and screaming along to the cries of agony whenever someone was killed on screen. Beomgyu was unfazed though— that freak. How was he not pissing himself when a severed limb flew into the frame?

But he wasn’t as calm when his brother came home early, and your constant screams of terror elicited understandable concern. (“Shut up! You’re going to get us caught,” he hissed, trying to smack his palm over your mouth but you’re already burying your face into his comforter and blindly shoving him off).

Long story short, you both got caught and got grounded for a week.

So much for having free time.

“Congrats on finishing your last exam!”

You grunt, shoving past Heeseung as you exit the classroom, a stack of scratch papers pressed to your chest. He trails behind you with an evident bounce in his step. You’d be just as excited had you not been brutally murdered by midterms week. It’s only your third month of university and you’re already ready to drop out. Why is this normalized? This is structural, systemic violence.

“Jieun and the rest are planning a night out tomorrow,” he mentions. “You coming?”

“No. I’m going to sleep for forty-eight hours and die.”

He tells you you’re no fun and you flip him off. Three months have passed and you feel like you’ve aged thirty years, but Heeseung is still fucking energetic and you’re sure it’s because the girl from computer science he’d been flirting with for the past two weeks finally agreed to go on a date with him. The stupid grin on his face as he’s typing on his phone is annoying you to no end. “What?” he asks, looking up from his phone, still all smiley and irksome. 

“You’re insufferable,” you deadpan. His expression morphs into confusion, then realization, then pity, then circles back into being incredibly annoying again. 

“If you beg, I can set you up with one of my friends.”

“Eat ass.” 

You smack the top of his head with the stack of papers. He is unfazed. “I know a few guys! C’mon! Instead of being bitter, why don’t I help you out? I don’t do this for everyone, you know. I’m only offering because you’re my friend.”

Well, the past three months haven’t been entirely bad. Your freshman batch was fairly easy to get along with— Heeseung specifically, whom you hit off with during the orientation. You’ve also been doing pretty well with all of your classes despite the back-breaking workload. And now that midterms are over, your uni has this policy to cancel classes for a whole week after every major exam (for the students’ “mental health” they say), so now you have the chance to finally fucking rest.

“Beomgyu!”

You flinch upon hearing Heeseung yell out his name. You can’t get used to it.

The space next to you becomes empty as Heeseung excuses himself for a moment to join Beomgyu and the little group he’s appeared with. You take the opportunity to shove the scratch papers you have into your bag, taking a few glimpses here and there— regretting doing that when Beomgyu happens to meet your gaze at one point, and you quickly avert your eyes to the posters on bulletin boards stuck on the hallway wall. E-Sports Fest 2023. Sign up for your respective departments now! 

“Later,” Heeseung waves them off and runs back to you. “Hey. We’re fucked. Beomgyu’s playing in like half of the games next, next week. The ICT fuckers have practically won already. This is too much of a skill gap. This isn’t fair.”

You give him a look. “Okay?”

Heeseung pouts. “At least pretend like you’re interested. Jeongin said yes, but I still have to get Chenle onboard so we can at least get second place, but he says he doesn’t wanna waste our short break so— hey, are you listening?”

No, you’re not. Because you met eyes with Choi Beomgyu once more before he left with his friends, and even if it’s been three months since you’ve last talked to him, there’s still a weird feeling in your gut every time you happen to cross paths.

It’s been easy for him to keep his promise. The both of you have different majors, and though you two share a few mutual friends, Heeseung doesn’t know shit about your history, and nobody seems to suspect anything. 

Still. You can’t completely avoid him. Not when you two are literally still neighbors. 

The both of you moved out since your campus is a two hour commute from your homes, but you also moved into the same apartment building in the city as per your parents’ request. (“Now, I’m more at ease knowing you’re still living next to her, Beomgyu,” your mother remarked the day his dad drove you both to your new building). Your mom didn’t know how not at ease you are with him still floating around you with a seeming permanence, especially after what happened in the playground that night. 

“Anyway, I have to go,” Heeseung tells you, probably off to meet the compsci girl he refuses to tell you the name and identity of. You fear she may be one of your friends. “How about you?”

“Off to have lunch with Sungchan and Minjeong,” you hum. “Have fun. Don’t come crying to me when you eventually get your heart broken.”

“You’re just bitter. Don’t worry. I’ll get you a date to save you from your misery.”

“Go to hell.”

“See you.”

The both of you part ways, and you meet up with the aforementioned two at the campus cafeteria because fast food is outside of your budget after splurging all your allowance on caffeine and energy drinks this week. Your two friends seem to have also been hard fucked by midterms. Lunch was filled with quiet complaints and you immediately took the first bus home after eating.

“You stopped by?” you speak into your phone, wedging the device between your cheek and shoulder as you punch in the code to your unit’s door. “You should’ve told me. I could’ve come home earlier.”

“It’s alright. I just left you some side dishes for the week. They’re in the fridge. Who knows what kind of junk you’re putting into your body without me on the watch.”

“I am eating perfectly well!” you exclaim, shutting your door with a click. You love your mom and her food but she’s as protective as ever. “I just got home. I’ll send photo evidence of me enjoying your kimchi, madam.”

You hear her laugh a little at the end of the line, and you hum out a smile. “I’m hanging up. You must be tired so get some rest.”

“Yeah, alright.” Upon entering the living room, you can see the familiar, reusable blue shopping bag on the open kitchen counter, its unreasonably gigantic size taking up too much of the space. You narrow your eyes and walk towards it. When you take a peek inside, there are still full containers and tupperwares. The rolled omelets look particularly good. “I thought you put them in the fridge,” you say. Without waiting for your mother’s response, you’ve already produced a pair of chopsticks and have pried a box open, stuffing a roll inside your mouth.

“Oh, those are for Beomgyu.” 

The eggs suddenly taste like sand.

“He mentioned on call last time that he was missing some of my home cooked dishes. Why haven��t you been sharing with him? Greedy child. Anyway, drop them off at his place later when he gets back. He wasn’t around when I visited earlier. Okay?”

First of all, why does your mother keep calling Choi Beomgyu behind your back? Second of all, the guilt of eating what is supposed to be Beomgyu’s food shot your appetite back down into oblivion, so you quickly close the container and stuff it back into the bag in a zip. “Okay. I’ll do that.” You throw the chopsticks into the sink. He isn’t gonna notice that one omelet is missing, right?” “Bye.”

“Come back home during your break.”

Then again. Why do you have to waste this perfectly good food on a guy like him?

The line ends. You fall to the floor with an anguished cry. “Ugh,” you groan, forehead hitting the counter body a few too many times that a bruise could form. “The bastard might snitch on me if I don’t do it. Fuck. Fine.”

You feel like a reanimated corpse when you force yourself back on your feet, a series of grunts as you begrudgingly lug the large bag of side dishes that won’t even end up in your stomach. This is fine, you exhale. You can do this. You’re gonna knock on the door, throw the bag to his face, and say goodbye without talking. This is fine. This is easy. 

But with Beomgyu, it’s never easy. The simplicity of the act ends after you’ve left your unit. What came after was the short, dreadful walk across the hallway because shit— in the past three months you’ve moved here, you have never actually gone up to his door. 

Knock, knock, knock.

No answer.

Knock, knock, knock.

Still no answer. This bastard never fucking grows.

“Choi Beomgyu!” Your light knocks quickly transition to a heavy banging. “Choi Beomgyu, open up—”

There’s a click and a creak. Your knuckles don’t land on the familiar hardwood— they land on his chest because the momentum made you keep knocking even after he’d opened the door. “Oh,” he flatly starts. A brow raised and arms crossed, he leans against the door frame and looks at you like you’re an unwelcome guest. “What do we have here?”

He’s insufferable. He’s totally insufferable.

“Who are you again?”

“Cut the crap, Beomgyu,” you grunt, absolutely not in the mood for this. You know that it’s a pretty shitty thing for you to ask him to pretend to be strangers. You really do, so you didn’t hold it against him for being mad at you at first. He’s been doing his end, sure, but you don’t remember him acting like a big fucking bitch to you in private as a part of the deal. 

You thought his anger would subside after three days. It’s been three months and at this point you’re convinced that this relationship is now irreparable, and neither of you are making the effort to resuscitate it. “You’re the one who came to my door. Why are you swearing at me?” he huffs. You grit your teeth, shoving the bag to him and his act of arrogance falters from surprise. You don’t miss how his eyes widen and how his scrunched up brows suddenly disappear under the messy bangs he’s decided to grow out.

“Here. I’ll take back the containers next week. Make sure you’ve washed them by then. Goodbye.”

That, in fact, wasn’t a good bye because you stomp back into your unit without giving him a second look. 

Dammit, dammit, dammit it all. The door is cold against your back when you retreat inside. You hate him. You really do. This would’ve been easier if your lives weren’t so irrevocably tangled— messed up in all sorts of knots and ties that even a fucking boyscout can’t tear it apart. 

You left your phone on the counter when you left and you can see it buzzing and lighting up. There’s a few messages. Hi, dear. How have you been? It’s from his mother. There is no escape to this. Absolutely none.

#2: YOU DON’T LIKE HIM FOR FORCING YOU TO SWALLOW SO MUCH OF YOUR PRIDE. Somehow, he’s always there at the lowest points of your life— moments where you wouldn’t even want any of your family to see you, but he’s there. He always is, and you’d always wish to evaporate along with the rain. 

Maybe he has a signal whenever you’re on the verge of doing something stupid. Or losing face. Or being absolutely dumped. Or all of the above at the same time. Maybe he’s there on purpose so he can have one more thing on his belt of things to hold against you.

(“I like you.”

The words squeezed out of your throat like a choke, more than anything. Maybe it was because of the fact that you sounded so pathetic that Jiwoong couldn’t even reject you properly. Maybe if he were to be frank, he was afraid that you’d end up crying.

“Um, there’s...there’s somewhere I have to be for a moment. You don’t mind waiting for a bit, right?”

But it wasn’t you that ended up in tears. It was the sky. You weren’t sure how long you’d been waiting, frozen still in an abandoned corner behind the school where your pink-stained note had asked him to come— him, your desk partner for the semester that you’d been unfortunately struck by— but it was long enough for the afternoon sky to be inked by gray clouds. Long enough for it to start pouring in on your behalf.

You sniffled. Ah, shit. This is stupid. You said you weren’t going to cry but fuck, your eyes suddenly started to sting, and you’re looking up at the clouds because gravity might help in preventing them from falling, but all it did was pool saltwater in your tearducts and now they’ve overflown, mixing into the raindrops cascading down your face.

“Until when are you going to keep standing there like an idiot?”

Instead of the gray, pouring sky, your vision is cloaked by a jarring electric blue. It was the same obnoxious color as the umbrella Beomgyu brings around. Then again— that was just his voice, too. Your cheeks started burning. That was enough to bring you back to your senses. “Did—did you see—”

“Let’s go home.”

It was one thing to be caught crying by your friend-slash-neighbor-slash-annoyance. It was another thing to be caught getting rejected by him. That was double the shame and embarrassment soiled. But Beomgyu hasn’t made a mention of it throughout your walk back to the building, much to your relief and suspicion. This man would make fun of you to the ends of high hell just for keeping a plushie to bed until you were thirteen— you weren’t sure when he started developing the emotional intelligence to stay in the comfort of silence throughout your walk home.

Of course, you didn’t expect him to hold his tongue for too long. It was an empty road, and the rain was still pouring. Beomgyu held up his umbrella above your head, and started with a low voice, “Want me to beat him up?”

Your steps lagged, faltering a little in mild surprise. “You?” An invisible force started tugging on the corners of your lips. “With your lanky ass and noodle arms? Keep dreaming, loser.”

“Hey—” You had to hold back a snort when you saw his face, an evident look of unbridled offense taking over, and he stopped in his tracks just to passionately defend himself. “You take that back. I’m strong. I’m pretty sure I can lift you up with just one arm. I can beat the shit out of Jiwoong if I wanted to.”

“Sure,” you snickered. “That is if you want to end up in the hospital. You’re all skin and bones, Beomgyu. You’re weak as hell. Remember the last time we arm wrestled? I’m pretty sure it ended up with me as the winner, and you as the— eep!”

You yelped, eyes widening. Suddenly, the ground wasn’t touching your feet anymore, you could feel the rain on your skin, and the bright, blue umbrella was now on the ground. You can see nothing but the fabric of Beomgyu’s dark and drenched uniform blazer and glimpses of the upside down pavement. Your face started to heat up. You could feel his firm grip around your waist and legs.

“That was in sixth grade, doofus. Keep up,” he snorted. 

“What the hell? Put me down!” you let out a grunt and tried to wiggle yourself free, but he’s unyielding— continuing the walk back home while carrying you like a sack of potatoes. “If you don’t put me down, I am going to bite you.”

“Nuh-uh.” The bastard gave your body a rough shake as a warning, and you screamed. “Not until you take back what you said earlier.” You balled your hands into a fist and hit his back. “Wow, you’re so ungrateful. I’m giving you a free ride home yet you decide to assault me. Your mother will be so disappointed when she hears this.”

“Your mother will shave your head if she finds out your haircut received a warning this morning.”

“Oooo—kay. Down you go. Ride over.” The moment Beomgyu settled you back on the ground, you gave him the nastiest glare you could muster. He gave you a grin. “Your hair is a mess.”

“Whose fault is it?” you sneer.

“Jiwoong’s,” he answered, matting down the top of your head with his hands. You winced when his fingers got caught between the wet, tangled strands. Beomgyu’s lips pursed as he tried to unravel them, brows furrowed in concentration. “I’m uninviting him to our game night tomorrow. He can eat shit.”

“He’s gonna talk shit if you do that,” you replied.

“Who cares.” He was finished tinkering with your hair. It was still pouring. “Done. Let’s go home.” You didn’t know if he made it better or worse.

“Okay,” you replied, feeling the top of your head. “But your umbrella ran away. Idiot.”

“Does it matter?” his lips quirked. “We’re already drenched, anyway.”)

The ice in your service water has already melted. You are going to kill a man named Lee Heeseung.

Why isn’t this motherfucker answering your calls? You let out a mental swear. It’s the second Saturday of your one-week break after midterms, and Heeseung organized a blind date for you and his friend today. The problem is, that said friend is nowhere to be seen. The customers next to your table have already changed thrice already. You’re not pathetic. You’re not gonna wait for him.

Right when you muster the willpower to get up, Heeseung finally answers your call. He’s quick to overtake your possible threats by immediately rambling, “Okay. Before you get mad—”

“You’re dead to me.”

“I’m sorry!” he screams-slash-pleads. “Eunseok canceled at the last minute because of this thing with his— nevermind. That’s not important. I’m gonna kick his ass the next time I see him, but please tell me you haven’t left the cafe yet.”

You bite your bottom lip. You want to lie. You want to tell him that you’ve already left thirty minutes ago and are now in your apartment with cozy pajamas and a cucumber face mask. “I’m around the area,” you reply. “Why?”

“Oh, good. Great.”

This is brow raising. The bell above the door entrance rings, catching your attention and you look up. “Why?”

“You’re still going on a date,” he tells you. “I promise you, your time definitely won’t be wasted—”

Heeseung’s voice disappears into the background. Entering the cafe is the person you want to see the least. He’s wearing the hooded sweater you got him for Christmas last year, and around his neck are the headphones you got him for his birthday.

“—so I called another friend. Don’t think of him as just a second option, okay?! I think he’s more your type anyway, and—”

He’s looking around. He still hasn’t noticed you. He’s standing in the middle of the shop and he pulls out his phone. 

“—and he’s headed there right— oh! He says he’s there already!”

Beomgyu has spotted you and you want to kill yourself. Your head drops down and you bite down a scream of agony and despair. “You’ve heard of Choi Beomgyu, right? From BSEMC? I’ve mentioned him a few times. Haha. Anyway. I hope you enjoy your da—”

“Heeseung told me his friend got stood up and needed a backup.” He’s now in front of you. He’s looking down at you from behind the opposite chair. “I didn’t expect that that friend would be you.”

You’re going to kill yourself after you kill Heeseung. Better yet, why not murder Beomgyu as well so you can all rot in bloody fucking hell? 

“Hello?”

“Shut up,” you grunt, trying your best to subtly hide the burning embarrassment on your face without making it obvious that your pride is now in perfectly tattered shambles. Of all people, why him? Why? For the love of god, why? “Just leave. I doubt you even want to be here. Let’s just spare each other the headache, alright?”

Beomgyu stifles a scoff. You watch as his knuckles flex while clutching the back of the chair. “I canceled a game for this.” He pulls it back and plops down on the seat like a petulant child. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Your face contorts into an unabashed grimace. You take your bag and stand up. “Okay. Then, I’m leaving.” 

“You could’ve left an hour ago.”

Pause. He looks up at you, arms crossed and confident. Your upper lip twitches. You sit back down. Heeseung has already died twice in your head.

“I guess even someone as heartless as you is desperate for a little romance,” he hums, leaning back against his seat and completely at ease— a stark contrast to your end of the table: hot and bothered for all the wrong, not very sexy reasons. You’re trying to feign calmness, but the sweat dripping down your forehead from the heat of shame is ratting you out. This is the worst. This is the absolute worst.

You’re only able to breathe again when Beomgyu gets up to order something. Maybe you should order something too because your throat is as dry as bone. He returns not long after with a tray in hand. He settles it down on the table, revealing two glasses of iced tea and a plate of matcha tiramisu.

“Quit sulking,” he says. “You’re ugly when you sulk.”

With one hand, you flip him off. With the other, you use to grab one of the forks and dig into the dessert. Beomgyu mirrors your actions (minus the middle finger part), and grimaces after a spoonful lands in his mouth. “How are you eating this?” You hover a hand over your lips, pressing down a laugh. “It tastes like grass. Are you a cow? Is that it?”

Offended, you pull the plate closer to you. “Then why did you buy matcha if you’re just gonna insult it?”

“Because you like it.” Beomgyu reaches an arm over to get another bite, gags, then continues to try again. “Your tastebuds are really fucking weird. You should get them checked. I think they’re broken.”

You settle with an eye roll before taking a sip from the iced tea. This is odd. This feels like you’ve been transported back into time prior to your three-month long cold war. Choi Beomgyu is sitting in front of you and tapping on his phone laid on the table, and you’re sitting in front of him enjoying a nice piece of dessert he bought. There’s an odd cacophony inside your stomach— like butterflies and glass shards fluttering and cracking in a single enclosed space. 

“I heard you’ll be playing for the E-Sports Fest next week,” you mention, trying to dig a deeper hole into this crack that managed to resurface. Beomgyu gives you a weird, insinuating look in response. “Shut your face. I just keep hearing your name being mentioned. Heeseung is obsessed with you, I think.”

“Why are you asking?” he snorts, passing you a napkin. “You want to cheer for me?”

“Ew. Why would I?” you reply, blindly wiping at the corner of your mouth. “We’re not even from the same department.”

Beomgyu’s eyebrows knit together, trained on the lower half of your face. “Tch. Then why even bring it up, you—”

Time stops. For some reason, Beomgyu has reached his arm over the table and is now touching your face, thumb pressed against the side of your lip with a napkin, the opposite side of where you were trying to wipe off. 

Your eyes meet. It gets warm.

“Sorry,” he coughs out, retracting his hand to wipe the green-dusted cream off his fingers. Now, you know all of Choi Beomgyu’s tells like the back of your hand— and he’s not hiding those blushing ears from anyone. You’ve caught him. You knew his son of a bitch act was gonna crumble at some point (no, you didn’t. You thought he was gonna stay mad at you forever so now your heart is racing in glee). “If you’re done, let’s go. Come pick up your mom’s containers from my place.”

“Oh,” you breathe out. “Right.”

“I washed them.”

“Congratulations.”

He sneers. “Get up. I’m leaving you.”

The one thing you regret about making the deal with Beomgyu is missing out the opportunity of taking advantage of him and the car his parents’ gifted for graduation. Seriously. Had you known he’d be driving a private vehicle to and from campus everyday, you might have never asked for that favor in the first place. Those three months worth of bus fares could’ve been spent on your daily doses of coffee instead.

“Seatbelt,” he reminds while pulling out of the driveway. You’re mildly impressed and your face isn’t hiding it, and neither is the bashful tint on the tips of his ears. “Quit staring, you weirdo.”

“You can be kind of cool after all.” You give him a thumbs up. He grunts, and now you’re on the road back to your apartment.

It’s a quiet drive— the hum of the engine filling the early evening silence. You steal a few glances here and there, sneaking a few peeks at a new side of your friend(?) that you’ve never witnessed before. Since when was he so good at driving? He’s got only one hand on the steering wheel. It’s weird, you think. You’ve known everything about him for as long as you can remember, and finding out something new for the first time in a while— and not being the first one to find out about it— is making odd twists and turns inside your gut.

When you reach the apartment building, it’s still quiet. And when you ride up the elevator all the way to your floor, walking up the space between both of your doors, silence still permeates the walls and it makes you wonder— has it ever been this quiet between you two? 

“I’ll go get the stuff. Stay here.”

You’re left behind with your messy thoughts in the hallway and before things can get even more tangled up, Beomgyu shows up again with the bright blue shopping bag you dropped off last week. “Tell the madam that her seasoned spinach is perfect as usual.” He returns the bag, a faint smile on his face.

“Go tell her that yourself,” you huff, retrieving it from him. “I’m pretty sure she calls you more often than she calls me.” The tupperwares and containers look clean. You should give him a treat for doing a good job.

“Your mother is constantly worried about her young, impressionable daughter taking her first steps of independence, but doesn’t want to be called overbearing by her only child, so she asks me about you instead.” Beomgyu’s tone is nagging. You shoot him a glare and he simply steps closer to jab a finger into your forehead. “You have no idea how hard it is to make up bullshit about what you’ve been up to. You owe me a lot, dipshit.”

You wince, smacking his hand away. “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

The corners of his mouth twitch. His eyes leer away for a moment, and he lets out a huff of air through his nose. “Why? Do I know you?”

Oh god. Here he goes again.

“Why do you keep—” You stop, squeezing your eyes and taking in a deep inhale because for a moment there, you were just about to yell again. “Okay,” you restart. You should do something about your temper. “Okay. I apologize for troubling you, and I’ll tell her to quit bothering you, so—”

It was going well. It was going so well. Only if you had missed the very subtle, very irritating roll of his eyes upon your remark. 

“—so you should quit being an absolute dickhead too, asshole!”

Then maybe you could’ve lived in happy ignorance, and all your progress today wouldn’t have to restart.

“Oh, so I’m the asshole?” he scoffs, incredulous. “You’re the one who told me to distance myself. You’re the one who asked. I’m just doing what you told me to do. Why am I in the wrong?” Your throat tightens, a familiar choke the moment you try to swallow. 

“I never asked you to stop being friends with me, Beomgyu! I just—”

Asked you to keep our friendship hidden because I’m selfish. Because I’m insecure. Because I hate you just as much as you mean the world to me. 

But you can’t tell him any of these things, can’t you?

His disappointment is clear from the look on his face. Beomgyu lets his fingers rake through his hair with a sigh. “Just go home. Thanks for the food.”

There’s something twisting inside your stomach, churning at an uncomfortable pace. It’s gnawing and grating. You’re only able to pinpoint it when Beomgyu turns back to his apartment, prompted by the resounding click of his door lock.

Ah, you realize amid the silence of the now empty hallway. It’s guilt.

#3: YOU DON’T LIKE HOW MUCH OF YOUR IDENTITY HE’S STRIPPED AWAY. You know it’s not on purpose. You know he doesn’t know. But it’s something that’s plagued you until your last few weeks of high school— the time for last chances, and final opportunities. It’s for this reason that you can’t stand him the most.

(“Hey!”

It was an unfamiliar voice that called out your name from behind you in the hallway, so you ignored it assuming that maybe they were calling someone else. It gets repeated, and you stop in front of your locker to retrieve your shoes, paying no mind to it. You’re going home alone today because Beomgyu’s out with his guy friends. “We’re having dinner together at my house later! Don’t forget!” was the last thing he yelled at you before running off. An unconscious smile crawls onto your face at the thought of it.

You felt a tap on your shoulder and heard the same voice that’d been repeating your name. You spin around, and are a little surprised to see the group standing behind you. “Hi!” 

It was Haena, one of your classmates, and she was joined with two more of the girls from your class, and one that you didn’t quite recognize. 

“Oh, sorry,” you bowed a little. “I didn’t know I was the one you were calling. I wasn’t trying to ignore you, sorry.” Your surprise stemmed from the fact that you weren’t really close with Haena or her friends. Not that you were on bad terms. You greeted each other from time to time, but your friend circle really just consisted of Choi Beomgyu, your deskmate Chaeryeong, and Ryunjin from the broadcasting club.

“It’s alright,” she smiled. “Do you…maybe have any plans today?”

You pulled out your shoes from the locker and closed it tightly. “No, not really.”

“Great! There’s a new cafe that opened near the school. Wanna join us?”

Well. This was unexpected. You didn’t have any other plans besides the joint family dinner you had with the Choi’s, so going on a cafe detour wouldn’t hurt. Beomgyu was also out with his other friends right now. Who says you couldn’t do the same? “Sure,” you replied. “I’ll join.”

It was a cute, cat-themed cafe with the only disappointment being that there were no actual cats— just the cat-shaped whipped cream on your strawberry drink, and the cat-shaped tiramisu on your plate. Cats weren’t usually green or pink, but you digress.

The girls were friendly. Conversation ranged from the universities you’ll all be attending, the classes you’re all about to finish, sprinkled with topics on shopping and clothes and the names of the rest of your classmates here and there. You’d started to zone out after a good while, stirring the contents of your half-empty drink as you stared at the glass windows, tinted orange by the sunset sky.

Haena cleared her throat. “So,” she started. You turned your attention back to your companions, and your eyes widened a little when you were met with all their eyes on you. Haena pronounced your name. “I’ve always been curious about something.”

You blinked. “About what?”

She leaned closer, a smile playing on her lips. “Are you and Beomgyu dating?”

You nearly choked on the sweet, strawberry drink. “What? No!” 

“Really?” Seohyun nudged herself closer next to you on the seat.

“Everyone thinks you’re dating him,” said Bora. “You’re always together.”

“Ah, that’s ridiculous! I’m really not dating him!” Your face has started to warm up. Gosh, what was this? What kind of situation was this? A few of them weren’t convinced, you could tell. You pressed your lips together before breathing out, “We’ve known each other since we were like toddlers. There’s no way in hell I’d be dating him. I don’t know where you're getting all these assumptions from.”

There was a glint in Haena’s eyes that you didn’t fail to notice.

“So, you don’t have any feelings for him?” This was getting weird.

“No. No, I don’t.” And even if you did, what the hell would they be interrogating you about it?

Haena visibly brightened. “Really? Then can you set me up with him?”

You were dumbfounded.

“I’m— I’m sorry?”

Things started to click. Senior high school was almost over, and your classmates whom you’ve barely even shared a conversation with for the past three years, were taking their last chance to start something with their crushes, or some shit, under the guise of half-hearted friendliness. You’ve understood now— and you’re nothing less than offended.

“Actually, I’ve liked Beomgyu for a while now,” Haena bashfully admitted. Seohyun inserted that her friend has had a crush on him since the beginning of the year. “I thought there was something going on between the two of you so I never acted on it. But I’m so happy to hear that you two are just friends!”

You shouldn’t be annoyed. But you were. You were very annoyed.

“You’ll help me right?”

Needless to say, you went home that day with your cat tiramisu in a paper box as takeout. The next morning, the three girls greeted your classroom entrance with unabashed glares. You paid no mind and headed over to your seat at the back, where an out of place box of chocolate milk was gingerly resting on the table.

You were mildly suspicious that Choi Beomgyu was the one who put that there, so you held it in your hands with caution, examining the box closer when you took a seat. 

The alleged perpetrator suddenly showed up from behind you. Your head felt heavier. Beomgyu was resting his arms on the top of your head, leaning down all of his weight onto you. “Oh wow,” he started. “Looks like someone has a secret admirer.”

You elbowed him and he let out a sharp yelp. You could see Haena giving you dirty looks from afar. “Go back to your seat,” you scolded him. “Class is starting soon.” Beomgyu listens to you well, but not after messing up your hair even further and greeting Seungmin who had just walked in.

“Are we still going after class?”

Choi Beomgyu was always surrounded by people. This was something you noticed a few months into your second year of middle school. He was like a lamp, flocked by so many buzzing insects in the night— just like right now, his face barely visible from inside the crowd at the middle of the classroom where his seat was. Even your seating assignments placed him at the center. That’s just where he’s meant to be.

“Hey, did you and Haena get into a fight?” 

You looked up to see Chaeryeong barely arriving in time before the bell, pulling her seat back and plopping down right next to you.

“Don’t mind it.” You sunk your face into your arms on the desk, elbow grazing the still unopened chocolate milk on the line dividing yours and your friend’s desk. “Hey,” you let your face peek out a little from your makeshift cocoon. “From an outsider’s perspective...do Beomgyu and I give the impression that we’re, um, dating?”

She snorted. “Haven’t your parents arranged your marriage, already?”

“This is a serious question!”

Honestly, this has never crossed your mind. Not until Haena mentioned it yesterday. It took a while for things to click inside your brain, but if this misunderstanding was really not singular, then that would really explain why you have never received any confession, any valentine’s day chocolate, or love letter, or anything for the past three years of highschool. It was all Beomgyu’s fault. He’s been unknowingly sabotaging your love life and if you end up sad and dying alone, it’s all on him.

Well, I guess it’s not completely ruined. Your cheeks pressed against your arms, looking at the milk carton on your desk. 

When you got up to your desk the next morning, there was another milk carton on your table.

“Hey.”

You looked up to see Seungmin hovering in front of your table. “What?”

“Not even a good morning? Beomgyu was right. You do have an attitude.” You rolled your eyes and stuffed the drink into your bag, and Seungmin decided to keep talking. “Anyway, where is he? You two usually arrive at the same time.”

“He slept through his alarm,” you replied. Then you furrowed your brows. “Why are you asking me? Couldn’t you just text him?”

“Well, it would be quicker to just ask you. Anyway, thanks.”

With that, he left. The bell rang, and your teacher arrived. You decide to save the drink until lunch time and when you got back to the classroom from the cafeteria, there was another snack on your table. For the next following days, you would find snacks suddenly spawning on your table. It was starting to get curious.

“Whoa. Holy crap. Someone might actually have a crush on you.”

It was now Friday, the end of the week, and you have accumulated a total of four milk boxes, three melon breads, and one pack of cookies all throughout. You and Beomgyu were staring down at the latest addition: a grape juice box and a packet of chocopie. He started muttering, “Does your admirer know that you snore when you—”

You gave him a kick. Beomgyu matched it with a harsh pull on your bag. He quickly ran away before you could retaliate, the rest of his body having already left, and his head peeking from the door to give you one last message.

“I’m going first! We have a raid in a while. What time is dinner later?”

“I’ll message you.”

“Alright,” he hummed. “See you. Text me if something comes up.”

This must be why people think you were dating. You were tired of it. When you were younger, people paid no mind to how much time and space you two were spending together— now that you’ve gotten a little older, maybe some things couldn’t be perceived as platonic forever.

But you don’t have any feelings for him, and neither does he for you. The only feeling you have for him is a penetrating sense of irritation. You mulled it over as you left the school building, clutching your bag straps as you walked. However, you paused upon seeing a familiar face standing at the edge of the entrance stairs. He looked like he was waiting for someone. 

“Oh! Um,” he suddenly exclaimed upon noticing your approaching presence. A cough stifled out from his throat, followed by a nervous smile. “Hi.”

It was Lim Jimin, one of your classmates and one of the boys that were usually rallying up every afternoon after class to the internet cafe with Beomgyu and Seungmin like a bunch of nerds. “Hey?” you greet back. “Didn’t you guys have a raid or something today? I think they already left.”

“No, I uh, I stayed behind,” he mumbled. “Can we talk for a bit?”

The chocolate milk carton he was holding had not gone unnoticed by you. Your narrowed eyes flitted over to his fidgeting fingers. His nerves were spilling right out. “Have you been the one leaving food on my desk?”

He flinched. “Yeah— well—” A smile curled on your lips. “Damn, this is a little embarrassing. Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” you hummed. “I enjoyed them. Thanks.”

There was a tinge of pink on his cheeks, a sheepish hand on the back of his neck and it looked as if he was running through a million thoughts in his head at once. “I’ve...I’ve been meaning to ask you something,” he finally started after a moment’s silence. “Can you do me a favor?”

Your heart jumped. Holy shit. This is happening, this is actually happening. 

“Y—yeah?”

Your breath hitched inside your throat. Oh my god. You might actually end your curse of lovelessness today. Oh my fucking god.

“Can you convince Beomgyu to help me get to Platinum in League?”

What?

“I—I know this sounds dumb, and it’s kinda pathetic that I had to bribe you with snacks just to get to this— but he’s been refusing to help any of us because he leaves after like three games!” Jimin exclaimed, and, upon noticing the flat look on your face, quickly gathered himself back together. “Ahem. I thought…maybe you could convince him since you’re like, his girlfriend and all.”

Your brain was a loading screen. You blinked but saw nothing but red. Beomgyu goes home after three games because you guys eat dinner at six in the evening. Jimin was giving you food as a bribe. You were not getting a confession.

All at once, the blood rose to your face,

“W-wait— is that a yes? Are you gonna ask him—”

Your shame couldn’t keep you standing there like an idiot for any longer. Every hurried step you took was a testament of your misery, and you left behind in your wake a fucking wave of turmoil and embarrassment. Fuck, your cheeks were burning. Fuck, why did Beomgyu have to entertain that idea and muddled your brain.

“Oh, you’re home?” your mother greeted the moment you kicked open your apartment door and started stomping to your room. “Where’s Beomgyu? Why didn’t you come home toge—”

“Ugh!” you groaned. “Enough about him, please!”

Did you only exist as an extension of him? As a part of him? As Choi Beomgyu’s friend, girlfriend, whatever, as the girl who’s always been around him for the past seventeen years to the point where that was all you’re known for?

You were fucking sick of it.

Your mom was scolding you for yelling at her, but you were far into your emotions to stay behind and say sorry. Your bag was left on the living room floor, and you were once again stomping out of your apartment unit, only to bump your face into Choi Beomgyu. “Whoa,” he remarked, quickly grabbing onto your shoulders. “Where are you going?”

“Out.” You shoved yourself off him.

“Someone’s cranky,” he mused, trailing behind you as you continued bulldozing down the hallway, down the stairs, out the building and on the dim and chalky path towards the playground. Beomgyu kept chattering. “What’s up? Why are you mad? Did you leave something behind in the classroom? Okay, you aren’t talking to me. That’s fine. I was gonna ask you what flowers you wanted for our graduation ceremony, but I guess I’ll just pick and choose whatever I—”

Smack!

You’ve spun around. You’ve got his face smacked in between your palms, promptly shutting him up. His eyes flew open, mouth firmly and tightly closed. “Can you stop talking for a second?” you guttered out.

Beomgyu stared at you, eyes still wide, then nodded once, still sandwiched between your palms. You bit down your bottom lip. Your ribcage was starting to squeeze in on itself. “Sorry,” you mumbled, arms falling back to your sides and you resumed your march towards the playground. 

He stayed silent for the rest of the time, following you on the see-saws and the both of you exchanged ups and downs for a few moments— quiet moments— until you were the one to break it.

“Hey, fuckface,” you called out,

“What do you want, dipshit?” he replied.

“Remember when I hauled your ass to the emergency room after you broke your leg at the skatepark in 9th grade?”)

YOUR MORNING STARTED OFF NICELY. It’s the first day back to uni after your one week break. You woke up before your alarm and had the time to make a really stir-fried rice meal for breakfast (your first breakfast in a week, mind you). Your clothes are fresh from the dryer, mascara unclumpy, and you arrive at the bus stop at the same time as your bus to campus arrives, right on the dot. 

Today is going great. That is until Heeseung shows up at the library after sending you a text that he’s on the way, and ruins everything with one, single statement.

“Did you sleep with Beomgyu the other night?”

The orange juice you’re drinking nearly dribbles out of your mouth.

“What the fuck?”

Your voice is louder than you thought. Heeseung shushes you and sits and pulls out the seat next to yours, ready to explain. “The guys from the coding club blew up the GC last night. A few of them saw you come out of his car and enter his apartment building together last Saturday. I think there were pictures.” Your mouth is agape. You’re speechless. “I didn’t tell them anything! Some of the guys were just around the neighborhood and happened to see you.”

Oh, no. Oh, no no no no no no.

“But, I guess...the blind date went well?”

God, fuck no.

Your worst nightmare has finally come crashing into reality.

“We live in the same building, get your mind out of the gutter!” you hiss, pulling him by the collar. Heeseung is very visibly terrified. You never wanted him to find out about your living situation in the first place because you know that he’d force you to hang out with them whenever he’s crashing at Beomgyu’s. You’re starting to regret hitting up a conversation with him during the orientation. These men are the banes of your existence. “Who is it? Who the fuck is spreading that stupid fucking rumor?”

“Please let go of me,” he squeaks out. You grunt, releasing the fabric of his shirt. He takes in a breath and fixes his clothes. “I’m not a snitch. Sorry.”

Heeseung is avoiding your eyes. He’s twiddling with the top button of his button up, nervously pressing together his lips. You run through the members of their “coding club” (it’s just a cover so they can play games in a cushy campus office). It doesn’t take long for you to come up with a name.

“Yang Jeongin.” Your friend’s panic tells you that you’re on the nail. 

“He only sent the photo!” he quickly exclaims. “He never said that you two were hooking up or anything! Please, spare him, please—”

So much for a perfect morning. It’s not even nine and you’re already fucking drained.

You let out a groan, massaging your temples and balancing yourself with your elbows on the study table. Heeseung is spewing out a million apologies and you’re not taking shit. “You’re not gonna go to our clubroom and destroy our computers, right?”

“Thanks for the idea.”

“You’re a demon,” he grumbles. “What’s the big deal, anyway? You yourself said you and Beomgyu didn’t fuck. But you two went home together and you haven’t complained about him yet. That means your date went really, really—”

“Can you please just quit it?!” 

That’s it. You’ve had enough. You shoot up from your seat, quickly gathering your things before you actually start throwing punches. “I’m sick and tired of hearing his name!” Heeseung gulps. He quickly scoots away to evade your haphazardly swinging bag. “Why the fuck do you all keep mentioning that piece of shit? It’s like everyone’s obsessed with him, it’s like everyone wants a chance to ride on his di—”

The words get cut off. Because when you turned around to make your leave, Choi Beomgyu was right there, behind you, and you bump into him and his blank face of terror.

“Oh.”

Yang Jeongin is also there, looking mildly scared of you.

But you’re more horrified than anyone in this hall.

Hiccup!

Your face flushes, searing hot and visibly enflamed.

“I, uh—” hiccup! “I’m about to leave anyway so you guys can—” hiccup! “—shit, fuck, fucking hell—”

You quickly swerve away, head down, but an arm swooshes over to barricade your exit path. There’s a water bottle in front of your heated face. Your line of sight follows towards the owner of the arm. Beomgyu is looking at you straight in the eye.

“Drink some water first.”

Hiccup!

Fuck, this is so embarrassing.

“Whoa. She’s so fast.”

The three boys watch your speedily retreating figure, pausing once or twice because of a hiccup, but your pace is still abnormally fast as you escape from the premises. There is no trace of you, save for the orange juice container you’d been drinking since earlier.

“There’s this tension between the two of you, you know.” Beomgyu turns his head to Heeseung who made the observation, a single eyebrow raised. “Do you two really live in the same building, or is she just making up an excuse? Seriously. Tell me how it went with you two. I was the one who set you up. I think I have the right to know.”

Beomgyu holds back a snort. He leans closer to Heeseung, a subtle smile playing on his lips. “You wanna know?”

Heeseung’s eyes sparkle. “Dude, I’m dying of curiosi—”

Smack!

“That’s none of your business.”

Beomgyu swipes the juice box from the table and promptly leaves the library despite the protests of his two friends. Out in the hallway, he doubts he could catch up to you after running away like a white collar convict, but who knows? He might get lucky— just like last Saturday.

“Hey, dude, wait up!”

An arm is hooked around his neck, and he gets pulled down with a grunt. He might be unable to catch up to you, but his friends definitely can with him. Now all his chances are gone, slipping out of his fingers like the juice container that he drops when caught between Heeseung and Jeongin shoving each other around, and it’s now completely lost upon the arrival of the people from his major.

“Hey, classes are canceled.”

“What are we having for lunch?”

“Are we having a practice run later for the festival?”

“Wait, I have to update my story— hey, look at the camera!”

They talk, but it’s all white noise. He gets carried off by static for the rest of the day. He hopes to bump into you when he gets home, but Beomgyu doesn’t even know what time you usually get home.

All the years you’ve spent mastering the perfect bitch face have finally come to fruition when you visited the programming club during lunch to make sure none of the bullshit they’re speculated escapes their clubroom doors. They all apologized— apparently Beomgyu also told them to quit their gossiping. 

However not even fear can stop an inherently stupid man. Because the next day, Minjeong suddenly tells you, “hey, I didn’t know you and Choi Beomgyu were a thing!”

Now, which rat managed to slip through the door crack?

“No, we’re not,” you scrunch your nose. “Where did you get that from?”

From a friend of a friend of a friend, she says. Sungchan asked you the same thing earlier. So did some guy from one class whom you don’t even know the name of. Your head is hurting. Crap that blind date was a stupid fucking idea. Seriously, why does no one know how to mind their own business? What is it about Choi Beomgyu that people just can’t keep his name out of their mouths? He’s not even a celebrity. He’s just a freshman with a pretty face and the social skills of an annoyingly loud butterfly.

“I’m going home,” you tell her.

“Why? I thought we were having barbecue with the rest of the guys!”

Not when you’re sure you’re gonna be barraged by another slew of questions about your dumb childhood friend. You bid Minjeong goodbye and exit the campus, hopping on the bus back to your apartment with a dead set agenda in mind. You’re going to fix this. You’r gonna bring things back to normal once and for all. So when you arrive at your floor, you don’t make a left like you usually do— you turn to your right and make three hard knocks on the sturdy door.

Knock, knock, knock.

“Choi Beomgyu.”

Knock, knock, knock.

“Beomgyu, are you ho—”

It gets opened sooner than you’re used to.

“Listen. We need to talk,” you quickly start, ignoring the surprise on his face upon seeing you, ignoring the way he almost shuts the door again right into your face. You hold back a scoff, but a sneer manages to sneak out. “Things have gotten messy since last Saturday. You should’ve kept your clubmates in check. What’s the point of acting like we’re strangers when people I don’t know keep asking me if I’m your fucking girlfriend, and Lee Heeseung keeps badgering me about what’s going on between us, and— oh my fucking god. Heeseung is right there.”

Beomgyu’s body is shielding you from the view of his living room. It’s not doing a good job because Heeseung waves at you from inside. Jeongin is there too. You can’t do this anymore. You’re cursed. You’re cursed with a plague called Choi Beomgyu and his ten million friends.

Your shaking eyes flit over back to Beomgyu. He looks panicked. Your heart is threatening to jump out of your throat and shrivel up like a pathetic dried grape.

“Fuck.”

At this point, running away feels like muscle memory to you now.

“Wait, I— hold on. I’ll be back,” you hear him say right before the door clicks and there’s another pair of pattering footsteps down the hallway right behind yours. The rhythm is familiar— a lag by one step, catching up, then slowing down as if he doesn’t want to overtake you all while you bulldoze through the hallway until you reach the flight of stairs, down three floors, and you’re met with the cold wind of the outside.

It’s only now that you realize your lungs are shaking.

“Hey—”

You smack away his attempt to settle a hand on your shoulder, but you’re far too embarrassed to look up and look him in the eye. Your face is burning. It’s been burnt so many times within the span of two weeks and it’s a miracle it hasn’t been charred. “Go away. Go back upstairs,” you sniffle. All you can see is the cement ground and the worn out slippers on his feet.

He stifles out something sort of a sigh. “No.” There’s a tug on the hem of your shirt. You wobble forward. Beomgyu holds onto your arms. You finally snap your head up and see his face. “You said we needed to talk. Let’s talk.”

It’s a little pathetic how you’re so near to breaking into tears. “I changed my mind. I don’t want to.”

“Is that really what you should be saying after completely screwing yourself over?”

“Shut up.” All the strength you had in your legs has been stripped away. Beomgyu is tugging your limp body to your complex’s gazebo with ease. “How could I have known your friends would be there?” you drawl out, allowing yourself to be dragged under its overhead roof.

He settles you down onto the stairs. “Isn’t Heeseung your friend too?”

“Not anymore.” You plop down on the wood, shoulders slacked, legs outstretched. Beomgyu is standing before you with his arms crossed. “From now on, he is nothing to me.”

There’s a frown on his face. “You should’ve called before deciding to blow up like that. I did my best. You’re the one that ruined your whole stranger agenda.”

“Fuck off, I’m still trying to cope.”

You kick out your foot like a child throwing a tantrum, and Beomgyu definitely doesn’t look impressed. He walks up, signaling you to scoot over, and squeezes right next to you on the narrow stair step of the gazebo. 

Shoulders pressed together, he leans slightly forward, elbows on his lap, and all you can see is the side of his face as you incline backwards so you don’t suffocate from the sudden tightness of air. “Am I like, too lame for you, or something,” he suddenly says. You blink once, failing to comprehend his words the first time. When he cocks his head back, you see the look in his eyes— earnest and raw.

You can’t help but crack out a snort.

“I’m— I’m sorry,” you sputter out. Your plaster your hands over your face, trying to suppress your misplaced chimes. “I just didn’t think you could make that kind of face. Wow, you can be serious too, huh?”

“You’re laughing,” he deadpans. “I’m trying to be serious here and you’re laughing.”

“I said I was sorry! Okay, let’s try again, let’s try again.” You clear your throat, sitting up straight and patting your palms on your lap, but something keeps tugging on the corners of your mouth and it’s hard to sit still. “No, you are not ‘too lame’ for me, Beomgyu. Where did that even come from?”

His expression bitters, unconvinced. “Then are you ashamed of me?”

“No.”

“Did I do anything abhorrently wrong?”

“What? No—”

“Am I not cool enough to be considered your friend?”

“Beomgyu, what are you talking about?” It was funny the first time, but now you’re just concerned. “Would I have stuck around your ass for almost twenty years if I thought any of that? Things haven’t been the best between us lately, but I still think we’re friends, Beomgyu, I—”

There’s a crack in your voice. Your face flushes. He’s looking at you so intently that you instinctively drop your head down before prying out the words that’s been lingering in your throat for months overdue.

“I…I hope we still are,” you mutter. “I really do.”

“Then why did you want to act like we’re not?” 

There it is.

“I didn’t want to keep it up for a long time!” you reason. “I just— I just wanted to keep my distance until I’ve adjusted to uni and until I’ve made a few friends of my own because for most of my life, I’ve only been known as the girl who’s always around you and nothing else.”

It takes a gnaw at your pride to be finally saying this out loud. It’s a bitter taste on your tongue— ugly and unpalatable and you’re glad that you won’t ever have to swallow it ever again. 

When you look up, you see Beomgyu make another new face you never expected from him.

“I doubt you noticed how people would only approach me because of you, but I really don’t blame you for anything. It was an unreasonable request and you had every right to be mad. I might have taken it back had we stayed around on the playground for a little longer.” You take a pause. “But then you started acting like a dick to me so I decided to be a dick to you too.”

You expect him to bite back but he doesn’t and it worries you. Shit, maybe you’ve unhauled too much. Maybe this wasn’t the right time be all vulnerable and crap but Beomgyu isn’t telling you you’re a big fucking idiot, so maybe it’s fine.

Instead, he stays quiet for a little longer, your words simmering in the air. 

“I wasn’t just angry. I was hurt,” he finally says. “Like you said, you’ve been with me for all my life and you suddenly tell me to reverse all of that. How the fuck did you expect me to act like you’re nobody when we both know that at this point I can’t live without you.”

Oh.

“Shit.”

Beomgyu’s eyes widen.

“I didn’t mean— I didn’t want to say—” He’s covering the bottom half of his face with his fist. He’s turning his head away as much as he can but you can still see enough to notice. “Fuck. I didn’t mean to say that. Forget about it.”

You lean closer. “Beomgyu, are you crying?”

“No. Fuck off.”

His right shoulder is serving as his shield as you try to dig your nose further, completely turning away from you, but you don’t miss it. You can’t miss it. “Oh my god, you’re crying.” Beomgyu leers back at you ever the slightest. There’s red tinting his eyes. You expect him to scurry off back into the building after that— but, no. Instead, pulls you by the forearm, and lets his head fall onto your shoulder, his forehead pressed firmly down. 

“Eat shit and die,” he mutters in between sniffles. After your initial surprise, you lift up the arm he isn’t grabbing onto to give him a few pats on the back, circles over his shoulder blades, and you stay like that for a while, for maybe too long because the sky is now darker than when you first went outside.

“Beomgyu,” you start.

“What do you want?” he muffles, as if he isn’t still draped over you like an oversized rag.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I was selfish and inconsiderate.”

You hear him sniffle again. Heeseung wouldn’t believe you if you tell him Choi Beomgyu is actually a big baby. “I’m sorry I didn’t realize the way other people were treating you,” he says. “I can’t help being such a cool guy that you get overshadowed, you know. So I’m not sorry for that— ow! Ow, what the heck!”

You pry him off by the hair. You’re sure a few strands got plucked off, but a realization you didn’t expect to glean from this was the fact that his stupid shaggy hair is actually really soft. “I think this is enough. We should head back.”

In spite of his complaining, Beomgyu trails behind you when you stand up and dust yourself before making your way back inside. It’s still quiet, save for the hisses and grunts and swears whenever Beomgyu would step on your shoes, whenever he’d bump into you and feign innocence, whenever he’d get on your nerves immediately after just reconciling with you. 

It’s annoying. It’s annoying and it’s better than everything that’s been these past three months.

“Are you twelve?” you shoot him a glare, ready to punch in your door code before you get the urge to punch him instead.

“Come inside,” he tells you, nosing at his side of the apartment. “Let’s watch a movie.”

You raise a brow and cross your arms. “All of a sudden?”

“Yeah.” He mimics your pose. “Got a problem with that?”

You roll your eyes, but somehow you’re now a few steps away from your front door, and are now a few steps closer to his. “I do have a problem with it. Your fucking friends are in there.”

“I’ll deal with them.”

“Wow,” you snort. “So reliable.”

Still, you follow. Beomgyu twists his door knob and you’re suddenly nervous for the possible bullshit Heeseung would barrage you about your relationship with Beomgyu, but that doesn’t happen. The moment Beomgyu cracks open the door, his voice bounces around the inside of his apartment’s walls. “Anyone who doesn’t leave after the count of five will be banned from my apartment forever. Five. Four—”

Holy crap. You’re more surprised to see it actually work because Heeseung and Jeongin who’d been laying on the floor and tinkering with their playstation controllers have suddenly catapulted from the ground. “Wait, what about her?!” Heeseung protests as he’s being shoved by Jeongin out the door.

“She’s exempted,” Beomgyu responds. “Three. Two—”

“Whatever’s going on between you two, I take credit! You better spill the beans tomorrow. I can’t stand—”

“One.” 

With that, the door is shut.

Quiet washes over. Beomgyu turns to face you. “Good?” he asks. You give him a pat on the head.

“Good.” He’s like a puppy, you think, and retract your arm before spinning around to look around his living space. “What are we watching?”

It’s your first time inside, and the first thing you notice is how freaking dark it is inside his apartment. The windows are covered by blackout curtains, the television’s blue light and the light bulb from the kitchen island being the only light sources inside. You take the liberty to plop down on the floor in front of the sofa, further welcoming yourself to turn off the game the two were playing to scroll through Netflix.

“Remember the movie we got in trouble for watching?” Beomgyu rouses. He’s in the kitchen and cracking open the cupboards. “It was in eighth grade, I think.”

“The one that our parents thought was porn?” you question. Anyone would have thought it was porn with the word Bodies and the 18+ label on the CD case. “I don’t really recall the plot.”

“Me neither. All I can remember were your pissbaby screams.” 

“I was fourteen!”

He throws you a bag of chips and settles down right next to you. “Yeah, and so was I. Gimme the remote, scaredy cat.”

This guy is a perpetual test on your patience, but you continue to let him test you anyway. Before long, the television is shrouded by the familiar graphic imagery that scared you shitless early into your teenhood, and Beomgyu’s warmth is seeping into your side. His face is outlined by the bright red douses onscreen, melting into the contours of his face. “What are you looking at?” he asks, eyes absentmindedly still on the screen, hand mechanically digging into the bag of chips resting on your lap. “Don’t tell me you’re still scared? Wow, what a baby.”

“Coming from you? Your eyes are still red, Beomgyu. Your big baby tears have stained my shirt.” You swat his hand away. A creak rips out from the speakers. “Maybe you’re the one acting all tough.” Suspenseful music builds up. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell your friends and fans that the great Choi Beomgyu is actually— eek!”

There’s a jumpscare. And Beomgyu is laughing his ass off as you unbury your face from his shoulders, ungripping the wrinkled fabric of his shirt with a sharp glare and flushed cheeks. “Not a single word from your whore mouth,” you warn. He’s grinning like crazy as he looks down at you. 

“You haven’t changed a bit.”

“Neither have you,” you sneer, trying to play off how you flinched at the sudden loud noise from the screen, but he’s probably noticed. How could he not notice every jitter from your bones when your legs are practically tangled together, when he keeps reaching out an arm over you to steal from the chip bag you keep nestled on your side away from him. 

The next moments are filled with nothing but the noise of guts ripping, limps splattering, and blood-curdling screams. 

“Can we watch something else?!”

“No way. Quit being lame and suck it up.”

Yet— in spite of the jumps and squirms and suppressed squeaks from your person— you haven’t felt this comfortable in months.

YOU DON’T LIKE CHOI BEOMGYU. You don’t like how much of your time he’s wasted. You don’t like how much of your pride he’s forced you to swallow. You don’t like how much of your identity he’s inadvertently stripped away.

You don’t like him for all those things, but here you are— dressed in his department’s colors, carrying a sign with his stupid face printed on, and waiting for the past thirty god damned minutes because he was supposed to be here ages ago for the stupid fucking E-Sports Fest that you’re not even remotely interested in.

If you don’t show up in five, I’m going home, you angrily mash on your phone. You’re risking it all here. If Heeseung sees you in this traitor outfit, he’s going to give you the silent treatment for a week. The bastard still owes you two more weeks of lunch to repent. You can’t lose the upper hand. You can’t lose your leverage.

Your phone buzzes. Had to piss. Be there in a bit, his reply says.

“I don’t need to be informed about your bladder activities, you freak,” you grumble to yourself. Your bright orange ensemble has been catching unwanted attention. That or his face on your sign. Any minute longer, you’re going to bury yourself alive.

“Excuse me.”

You feel a tap on your shoulder. You turn around and see an unfamiliar face. He’s wearing the same shirt color as you. “Are— are you friends with Choi Beomgyu?” he asks. The bastard has collected another fanboy. You feel a throb in the side of your head.

“Yes. Yes, I’m fucking friends with Choi Beomgyu. What about it? What do you want?”

“Whoa, there.” 

The said bastard swoops in and swings an arm over your shoulder and presses you to his side. “Sorry about that,” he tells the guy. Your sneer deepens. Beomgyu gives you a subtle pinch on the arm. “My friend is just grumpy because we lost a game to the engineering department earlier. Anyway, how can I help you?”

Orange number two wanted to ask for a picture with him because he was so cool in the Sudden Attack match earlier. Beomgyu excuses himself for a moment and they take a quick photo. “Tangerines are supposed to look pretty, you know,” your stupid friend announces once he gets back to you. You start making your way to the venue for his next match. It’s in a closed classroom. There’s a projector screen outside to livestream it. “Quit scowling. You’re scaring the kids.”

“That’s the plan,” you tell him. He clicks his tongue and shakes his head.

“If you keep acting like that, I might get the wrong idea,” he says. You look at him. There’s a subtle smile on his face and you don’t like it. “It’s like you only want me for yourse— ow! Joking! Joke— it was a joke! Jeez.”

“Go win, or whatever.” You shove him off seeing that you’ve arrived. It’s already pretty crowded. You’re scanning the area for a good spot to squeeze into.

“I better be hearing your cheers from inside the classroom.”

“Don’t bet on it,” you send him off with a smile. “If you lose, I’m unfriending you.”

“Not the first time you’d be doing it.”

“Fuck off. Good luck.”

He nods with a salute and an expression that mirrors yours before disappearing off into the classroom, and you’re left with two dozen bodies uncomfortably wedged in the hallway just to watch him play a game you don’t even know the god damned rules for. 

You don’t like Beomgyu. His face is something you’re sick of seeing after nearly twenty years of being stuck with him.

You don’t like him. Not even when he seems to always pick you despite having a million other options. Not even when he single-mindedly bulldozes straight into you despite having a whole army cheering for him on the sides after he’s won another game for his department, waiting for your praise and the usual swears you spit on his face with a bright smile.

“Congrats, fuckface,” you say, receiving him in your arms as he engulfs you in a tight hug. You give him a few pats on the back for good measure.

“You’re treating me to dinner, dipshit,” he grins, pulling away, but keeping a hold of your shoulders.

“Spoiled brat,” you sneer.

You don’t like him. He keeps buzzing around you like an immortal mosquito that just doesn’t die even after being swatted away tens of thousands of times. 

“Only to you,” he hums, looping an arm around your neck and starting dragging you along forward. “Let’s go. I’m hungry.”

You don’t like Choi Beomgyu. 

“Where do you wanna eat?”

You don’t. You really don’t.

모기 / MOGI. © hannie-dul-set, 2023.

[otyhao]

THIS IS SO REAL !!! LOOKING FORWARD TO THIS AAAAAAAAAA OMNOBMBOBMBOM

sucker (for you) || j.ww (teaser)

PAIRING || Wonwoo x Female Reader

GENRES ||  Best Friends To Lovers AU, College AU, Humour, Fluff

SUMMARY || First year in college was always known to be stressful with all the assignments to complete, parties to enjoy and lectures to attend. But for you, it was a whole different type of stress: the conflicting (and growing) feelings of affection towards your best friend. Falling for him isn’t an option, but neither is avoiding him. So what do you do when you are down bad for the one and only Jeon Wonwoo?

Or, in which, one drunk party sends you hurtling down a rollercoaster of love for your best friend.

SERIES MASTERLIST || teen, age

A/N || If you want to be added in the taglist, send me an ask!

“You are going to burn holes into his face.” 

Kwon Soonyoung hissed into your ears, causing you to glare at him. He raised his eyebrows, as though challenging you and you rolled your eyes.

“I’m not staring at him, I’m just…worried.” 

“Worried he’s going to end up sleeping with her?”

“Shut up, Kwon.” You muttered, eyes back onto your best friend, whom you were sure was going to regret every single action the next day. If he remembered, that is. True, the last few weeks had been extremely stressful for him, but to see the reserved Jeon Wonwoo you knew become drunk and act this wild was something new even to you, despite being his best friend for more than ten years. 

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[otyhao]

GOD DAMN IT. GOD DAMN IT ALL !

four years later

Pairing: Ten Lee x female reader

Themes: angst, ex! best friends to strangers, strangers to lovers, imagery, post college au, slight humour, slowish-burn, star crossed lovers, college reunion

Warnings: heavy ansgt, swearing, confusion, regret, food, alcohol consumption, The Fault In Our Stars, kissing, pg 15

four years one night + four years later playlist (pls i worked really hard on it okay)

Wc: 11.5k

Taglist:  @danishmiilk @channoticedmeuwu @chicksung @1-800-seo @blueprint-han @jenosslut @cupidluvstarrz @kkakkdugi @sweetlyjaem  @leetaeyonglover @kunrengui @unknown5tar @kisshim @intokook @mrkcore @coco-riki @kiri-ah @koishua​ @itsapapisongo @rr0zu​​

Summary: Four years later, a college reunion and an old best friend. Collared shirts and button ups, time separated the two of you, but have the years changed you?

Authors Note: hello! Okay so my fic, Four Years One Night, hit 400 notes! And as a thank you, I wrote this sequel. You do not have to read fyon to understand this fic, it works as a one shot as well. (however if you do read fyon ill be very happy and a lot of things will make even more sense)

Have we met before? Maybe in another time I loved you, maybe you’re the one I would run to

~

The streets were the same.

You got out of the cab, paying the driver and pulling your suitcases behind you. The first thing you notice is the way it all looks the same. You stand on the sidewalk, taking it in. 

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[otyhao]

IM IN SO MUCH PAIN

when the snow falls | j.jh

jung jaehyun x reader genre - angst first, fluff later details - childhood best friends!au, ghost!au, platonic relationship, genderneutral!reader, ft. boyfriend johnny warnings - grieving/mourning, mentions of death, lots of crying, explicit language (swearing) word count - 8.3k inspiration - A Christmas Carol synopsis - Jaehyun visits you every holiday season since his death to bring you out of your self isolation and hatred for the one season you both once loved.

a/n - this is for my first collab ever: a taste of winter collab hosted by @dearyongs​​​ & @pastelsicheng​​​ ! again, thank you for letting me participate and i hope this fic brings more warmth for everyone during the winter!! happy holidays everyone & i hope you can check out the rest of the fics in the collab as i will be, they’re written by such amazing writers! :)))

An iridescent frost covers the tall windows of the apartment and a bright white sky greets you this morning. The fallen sheets expose your bare shoulders to the bitter crisp cold air and goosebumps rise to remind you to wear a fucking sweater for once. However, the cold isn’t what bothers you this horrid day as you’re leaping out of bed to glance out at the world. It’s the first thing that you lay eyes on: it covers the streets, it’s falling from the blanket of grey sky, it’s others’ joy when it’s your trauma. What Mother Nature has brought upon this winter season, as she always does this time of the year, is snow. 

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[otyhao]

summary: you’d broken up with the love of your life in order to let him chase his dreams. you’re still in love with the man, so what happens when you finally get the chance to reconnect, years later, as changed people, you, a baker, and him, a famous dancer?

content: exes to lovers, cussing, suggestive themes and like… subtle mentions of sex, slow burn, mutual pining, they’re just kinda dumb, mentions and brief description of a panic attack, slight angst, yearning, 9k words, part of the red collab by @geminirules​

listen to this, and enjoy <3

He was a beautiful picture under the multicolor lights, bending and twirling and captivating in his silk shirt, his glittering makeup and jewelry, his mussed hair, his sly and flirtatious smirks and winks at the audience, the confidence he had, knowing that everyone in the room was wrapped around his finger, utterly captivated by the way he moved. The story he told was a flirtation with death, and it ended with the two of them hand in hand, a slow path in their descent of madness. 

And then he was back, a person rather than a performer, or a character, smiling and thanking everyone for attending his showcase, thanking his choreographer and friends for helping him in his months of prep work. And he was your ex, radiant and finally able to achieve the dreams you set him free to reach. What was that saying? ‘If you love something, let it go. If it comes back to you, its yours forever. If it doesn’t, then it was never meant to be.’

You were still waiting to see if he’d come back. It hurt to see Ten, despite you knowing it was better for him to be able to chase his dreams and have gone to school so many miles away from you, and that you’d have to grow apart, long distance wasn’t viable due to your schedules. But your heart still fluttered at the way his eyes crinkled, and the way he shone, and he was the only person in the room you looked at.

Keep reading

[otyhao]

stopped smoking, but i'm not used to it

taeyong x reader

genre: angst

themes: childhood friends, implied love triangle

words: 6.4k

warnings: major character death (happens before the story starts). heavily centers around themes of grief and mourning. alcoholism, smoking as a coping mechanism, depression, unhealthy relationships.

soundtrack: quit smoking by li ronghao

i stopped smoking, but i’m not used to it / what do i do without you? / three years and one week / only then did I learn patience / the wounds you gave me, there’s nobody to blame / i stopped smoking but picked up sorrow instead / i don’t want this either

for @lebrookestore's disquietude collab

You’ve seen Taeyong in love before. He loves with his whole heart, with more love than his heart can contain.

He could make you happy, you think. Alcohol. Cigarettes. Taeyong. You manage to stay afloat, gulping in air even as you’re buffeted by waves of grief almost a year after time stopped for Johnny, the time that marches on endlessly for you, even when you try helplessly to pull it back. Time stopped for Johnny, but it drags you along kicking and screaming, each step taking you further and further away from that one December day.

When you get to the apartment, Taeyong is already there, slowly cleaning up the scattered belongings before his parents arrive.

When he lifts his head to meet your eyes, his own are rimmed red and swollen, dark circles surrounding his damp lashes. Taeyong’s cheeks are pale and sallow and his neck arches at a tired slope. He looks terrible, but it doesn’t matter, because Johnny is dead.

Wordlessly, you join him on the living room floor in front of the heap of clothes on the couch and between the plastic garbage bags sitting on the floor. The silence that hangs between the two of you feels heavy, suffocating. It’s not the comfortable silence that you’ve grown accustomed to, the comfortable silence that the three of you have spent hours in, sitting on this very same apartment floor.

A voice in your brain tells you that it’s not the three of you anymore, it will never be the three of you again, but you push that voice back. You can’t think about it.

Your lips are numb, your hands shake, but you can’t seem to cry. The red sweater he wore to trivia night last month goes into the donation bag. The ratty old high school track team sweatshirt that you borrowed for a whole month during senior year goes into the bag destined for the dumpster. Taeyong’s slow, careful breathing is painfully loud beside you as tears continue to roll down his cheeks and drip onto his hands.

Is this what grief is? This strange numbness, the hugeness of the fact that he’s gone, like a billboard that you can’t bring yourself to look at? You and Taeyong don’t share a single word in the two hours it takes to organize his belongings, sweep and dust his apartment, and toss out anything his parents wouldn’t want to see. And when the two of you are done, you stand in Johnny’s apartment, but it’s not, really. It’s just an apartment that has all of Johnny’s stuff in it.

It’s not until later that evening do you finally cry.

The two of you are on the balcony. It’s cold outside, but it’s better than being inside, where the heaviness is almost unbearable. With trembling hands, you pull the cigarette out of the pack. It’s the same cigarette pack you had taken from Johnny’s coat pocket earlier, along with his familiar zippo lighter. Just a few nights ago, that lighter was in his hands as he cupped the flame, protecting it against the wind while he lit the end of a cigarette. You don’t remember when he picked up smoking. It was probably during college, but smoke breaks out on the balcony, out in the alley behind the bar, or up on the rooftop of his childhood home have become such a constant fixture of nights spent with Johnny, you don’t think you can imagine a time before he smoked.

Taeyong watches as you slot a cigarette between your lips with one hand and you strike up a light with the other. It takes you two tries, but eventually the flint wheel sparks and a tiny yellow flame flickers in the air. You bring it to the end of the cigarette until you see a faint red glow, then you let go of the button and the flame goes out.

You inhale. Almost immediately, your body rejects the sensation. The feeling of the smoke in your lungs almost feels like you’re drowning, your chest bursting and throat stinging as you cough, nearly retching. But, it smells like Johnny. Undeterred, you take another drag, choking again as smoke floods your lungs and tumbles out of your mouth in a coughing fit. The third time is easier, still unpleasant and alien, but you manage to keep it down before exhaling through your nose. By now, the sharp undercurrent of pain in your mind has softened to a hum, and you start to understand why Johnny did it. The long smoke breaks where he’d sit out alone, nursing a cigarette and a beer in the silence.

“You shouldn’t do that,” Taeyong says quietly, “those cigarettes are going to kill you someday.” The same thing he used to say to Johnny.

You laugh humorlessly, your throat raw and scratchy. Then, you realize that your cheeks are cold. Blinking away the blurriness at the edge of your vision, you raise a hand to roughly wipe away the tears. But your cheeks are only wetted again as more tears drop from your lashes, a traitorous admission of grief.

“Yong,” you choke through a sob, slumping against the railing of the balcony, “what are we going to do?”

“We’ll… make it through this,” he says, half a promise to you, half a promise to himself. “Things will get better.”

“What are we going to do,” you whimper, shuddering as a sob racks through your body. “What are we going to do? It’s always been the three of us,” the words come tumbling out, “it’s been the three of us forever. What are we going to do without…”

Taeyong doesn’t respond. He lowers his head, burying his face in a hand, shoulders hunching. With shaking a hand, you raise the cigarette to your lips again. It gets easier with each breath.

You don’t remember when you fell in love with Johnny. You remember being a child, running through the neighborhood under cotton candy sunsets every summer break. You remember growing up loud and abrasive, a little too competitive, a little too rough, while Johnny stayed tender, sturdy, a warm bed to fall back into. You remember the first time you got drunk, at a party at Yuta’s house while his parents were away, and you remember Johnny holding on to your hand as you stumbled back across the street to your house. You remember the three of you going to the same college, late night snack runs and long days in the library. You don’t remember when you fell in love with Johnny, but you know Taeyong must have been there.

There’s a drink in your hand and a cigarette between your fingers as the two of you sit on the rooftop of Taeyong’s childhood home. You tip the cup back, filling your mouth and throat with whiskey, hoping that maybe the alcohol can fill you up until you’re too full to hold the memories of the day. Maybe another drag of the cigarette can push out the image of the fresh dirt, of his name etched in granite, the lonely plot still waiting for his parents. You drink again, because maybe if you drink enough you can bring him back, even if it’s just in your mind.

“Remember when we were nine,” Taeyong slurs, leaning against you, “and we knocked a beehive out of the tree in his backyard, and all three of us ended up in the hospital?”

You drink again, because you wish you didn’t remember. You wish he wasn’t inextricably linked to every memory you have. He was there at your grandmother’s funeral, standing between his parents. You drink again, because the thought of being back in that church makes you sick to your stomach.

You lean forward and drop the cigarette butt into the gutter that lines the edges of the roof, where it smolders in the wet leaves before blinking out, leaving only darkness and a wisp of white smoke.

“Come on,” you say, holding on to Taeyong’s arm. He looks up at you. “Let’s go inside.” You tug him towards the open dormer window overlooking the roof, back towards the warmth of his childhood bedroom. The two of you tumble onto the carpeted flooring, cold and stiff from the night air, warm from the alcohol in your veins.

You shut the window with a snap and suddenly the room is silent, devoid of any of the rustling branches and passing cars that had previously filled the space between the two of you.

“You loved him, didn’t you?”

Taeyong sits crumpled on the floor, looking up at you as you draw the curtains.

“Of course I loved him,” you reply, but Taeyong shakes his head.

“No. You were in love with him.”

You bite your lip. You and Taeyong have known each other almost since the two of you could walk and talk. He knows you better than anybody else in the world. You sit down in front of him, in front of his wide eyes, his pink lips.

“No,” you lie, because what’s the point? There’s a lot of things you should have said, a lot of love you could have given,a confession you should have made, but all that’s in the past tense now. You lie to Taeyong because you’re scared that if you tell the truth, it’ll somehow make it all real. “Let’s have another drink,” you say, grabbing another can of beer from the cardboard box on the floor.

Time goes on, but Johnny will always be 25. Even as your birthday passes, as Taeyong’ s birthday passes, even as months pass, Johnny will always be 2 months and 18 days away from turning 26.

On the night of Taeyong’s birthday, all your friends are in the regular bar celebrating when you step outside for a smoke break. You make your way to the alley behind the bar and take your spot leaning against the wall between two dumpsters, the same place where Johnny used to take his smoke breaks. The bricks press against your back and, almost like a ritual, you imagine these exact same bricks pressing into Johnny’s back all those countless nights out, while you flip the cover off Johnny’s lighter and spark up a flame.

The night is breezeless and humid, a perfect first of July. When you exhale, the white smoke drifts upward slowly, dissipating into the air like honey dissolving into water.

“You okay?” Taeyong appears beside you. His cheeks are flushed and his eyes glitter with the excitement of the party.

You grin around the cigarette. “What are you doing out here,” you laugh, “go back inside and get drunker, Taeyong.”

“I’m already drunk,” he says, leaning against the wall next to you. You reach out and ruffle his bangs affectionately, brushing aside a few strands that had fallen into his eyes. “And, I wanted to get some fresh air.”

“It’s like walking in soup out here,” you scoff. “This humidity is insane.”

“Okay,” he laughs, “maybe I was lying about the fresh air. Maybe I just missed you.”

“Oh, Yong,” you sigh, smiling at the way he giggles at the nickname. “I’ve only been out here for, what, three minutes?”

“Three minutes is too long to be away from my best friend during my birthday party,” he complains.

“You’re too sweet,” you say fondly.

“Not too sweet. Nothing’s too sweet for you,” he slurs his words slightly, the syllables crashing into each other, “you deserve the sweetest things in life.”

Maybe at one point, you did. You think about honey brown eyes and warm hands. Taeyong’s eyes are dark and glassy as he stares at you, syrup-thick with unabashed affection and tenderness. “Are you talking about yourself, Yong,” you tease gently, “because you’re definitely the sweetest thing in my life.”

He shakes his head, smiling. “I’m not sweet,” he says simply, “I’m just drunk.”

“I meant what I said,” you respond. The cigarette has burned down to a butt now, and you drop it on the asphalt and grind your heel on the orange embers to put it out.

“Thank you.”

The two of you stand in the alley for a moment, wordless as muffled music and hubbub inside the bar leaks through the brick walls. The mixture of nicotine and alcohol in your system almost has you feeling whole again, happy. Or maybe it’s the way Taeyong looks at you, watching you like his heart is bursting at the seams.

“I’m drunk,” Taeyong repeats.

“I know.”

“And I’m in love with you.”

Your breath catches in your throat.

“Please,” Taeyong says, words loose in his mouth. His eyes are half-lidded and swollen, but painfully earnest. “I’m in love with you. I’ve loved you for years. I need you to know this, even if you don’t love me back.”

“Did…” the words trail off your lips, the unspoken question lingering.

Taeyong nods. “I told him. He knew.”

Maybe this shouldn’t have come as a surprise to you. Maybe this is why Johnny never showed interest, why he was always placid in the face of your overflowing feelings for him. The reasonable part of your mind, the part that speaks in Johnny’s ever steady voice, tells you that you can’t dwell on that anymore. There’s no point, not when the only person who could have given you the answers is now gone.

Taeyong’s fingers tangle in yours. His hands have always been so cold. You squeeze his palm into yours, as if you could somehow transfer some of your warmth to him. You’re not sure if he kisses you first, or if you kiss him first, but his lips are soft and his mouth tastes of beer, tastes like him, and you can’t bring yourself to pull away.

Taeyong was lying when he said that you deserve the sweetest things in life, because you don’t deserve him, you don’t deserve this. None of this is fair, not to him, not to you.

But Taeyong kisses you, and you kiss him back.

You’ve seen Taeyong in love before. He loves with his whole heart, with more love than his heart can contain. You feel it spill into you, too, the syrupy sweetness of his devotion.

He could make you happy, you think. Alcohol. Cigarettes. Taeyong. You manage to stay afloat, gulping in air even as you’re buffeted by waves of grief almost a year after time stopped for Johnny, the time that marches on endlessly for you, even when you try helplessly to pull it back. Time stopped for Johnny, but it drags you along kicking and screaming, each step taking you further and further away from that one December day.

In August, you start worrying that you’ll forget the color of Johnny’s eyes. Laying in bed, body tangled in Taeyong’s, you close your own and try to imagine his honeyed gaze, try to remember what each eyelash looked like. Eyes that had been with you for years, decades, suddenly begin to feel hazy and foreign.

“What are you thinking about,” Taeyong murmurs, hand pressed against your cheek tenderly, fingertips curling into your hair.

You open your eyes again to meet Taeyong’s gaze. Johnny’s eyes are like a lazy summer afternoon, but Taeyong’s eyes are like a bright winter night.

“Nothing,” you tell him, sitting up. Your skin crawls at the sudden absence of warmth, but you drag yourself out of bed and towards the kitchen.

“Do you want me to cook for you?”

“No,” you call out, “don’t get out of bed, Yong. I just need a drink.”

“It’s ten in the morning.” You hear the frown in his voice.

“It’s just a beer,” you say, opening the fridge. Crouching, you cringe as your knees crack while you peer into the bottom shelf. You’re down to your last can of beer. The cold metal stings against your hand as you slide it out and push the tab down to open it. Without thinking, you make your way to the sink and fill a pot with water before setting it on the stove and turning the heat to high. You lean against the kitchen counter, the sharp edge digging into your hip, while you take sips of your beer and wait for the water to reach a rolling boil.

When the kitchen walls are finally coated in a thin layer of moisture from the steam filling the air, you open the window and take a seat on the ledge of the windowsill, where the tiny thrifted kitchen table stacked high with a mess of letters and unwashed glasses is nestled.

“Smoking again?”

Taeyong watches up, sitting upright in the bed. You glance at him guiltily. You hadn’t realized that as soon as you took the beer out, your body had gone into autopilot, acting out the ritual without thinking.

“It’s fine,” you mumble, sliding a cigarette out of the pack and slotting it between your lips. You dig your hand into the pocket of the coat hanging off the back of a chair until your fingers close on Johnny’s lighter. “I put a pot of water on to boil, the smoke isn’t gonna stick to the walls.”

“The deposit isn’t what I’m worried about,” Taeyong responds. You ignore him while you strike the flint wheel of the zippo, cupping the flame against the cold air pouring in from the half-opened window.

You remember the first time you smoked a cigarette, standing with Taeyong on the balcony of Johnny’s apartment, still numb with grief and shock. Now, the grief has faded to a dull, thrumming pain. That first drag of the cigarette was strange and painful, and you had nearly vomited as you coughed, but now the smoke settles in your lungs comfortably. The nicotine calms the persistent hum in your head, and the beer warms your limbs.

“I love you,” Taeyong says. He stands in the kitchen, arms hanging by his sides, looking lost in your shared apartment.

“I love you too,” you tell him.

“Please don’t smoke so much,” he says, rubbing absentmindedly at his jaw. “I worry about you.”

“Don’t,” you say, flicking the ashes out the window. “I’ll be fine.”

Taeyong fills a mug with orange juice from the fridge and sits at the kitchen table, diagonally across from your perch on the windowsill. “You know there’s nothing you can say that’ll make me stop worrying about you,” he says, wrapping both hands around the mug. “It’s just what I do.”

“I know,” you sigh. “Sorry. I just miss him.”

“I miss him too,” Taeyong says softly.

“I know. You’re the only one who understands. It’s like missing a limb and wondering if the phantom pains will ever go away.” You flip the cap of Johnny’s lighter idly, on and off, on and off. “Last night I dreamt about him. About us. We were all kids again and laying on his bed, trying to figure out what to do over the summer. Remember what his room used to look like?”

“Yeah, he had all that baseball stuff,” Taeyong smiles at the memory. “And he’d save the ticket from every baseball game he went to and tape it to his wall.”

“By the time we left for college, his bookshelf had more baseball trophies than books,” you muse. “I stopped by his house yesterday to drop off some food from my mom for his mom. I told her that we moved in together and she was so happy.”

“Yeah, well we’ve practically been family since we were kids. She’s probably just glad to see you’re happy and taken care of. She’s always wanted a child like you.”

“What are you talking about? She loves you. Everybody loves you. You’re just a good boy.”

“She only loves me so much because I spent my entire childhood tagging along behind you and Johnny,” he shakes his head. “You were always closer to him than I was. I just rode your coattails.”

“Rode my coattails to what, high school glory?” You laugh as you jab the cigarette butt into the ashtray on the windowsill, letting the remaining wisps of smoke float up to the ceiling.

“Doesn’t matter anymore,” he shrugs. “Anyway. I love you.”

“Love you too,” you grin at him.

Taeyong worries at his lip with his fingertips as you reach for another cigarette, mostly out of habit at this point. His eyes are wide and his brow is tight with worry.

“I love you, Taeyong,” you sigh as you light the cigarette. “I really do. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

He doesn’t respond, continuing to watch you instead with those dark eyes of his.

You don’t remember when you fell in love with Taeyong. You remember his laugh, the way it sounded like church bells on Sunday. You remember the way he loved you, the first time he woke up beside you, and when you woke up too, he looked at you like you were the sunrise peeking over the city skyline. You remember the way he held you, the way his touch felt natural, comfortable against your skin. You remember the feeling of his hand cradling the back of your head while you brushed your lips against the hollow of his neck. You remember the late night walks home from the usual bar, drunk off alcohol and the rush of being together. At some point, you must have fallen in love with Taeyong, because you remember waking up and realizing that time was slipping past your fingertips, the minutes and seconds running right in front of your eyes.

It’s Saturday night and you’re drunk again. What else can you do? In a past life, you’d be out with Johnny and Taeyong, at the usual bar or at a new restaurant or at Johnny’s place. Now, it’s like a ritual. Perched on the fire escape, a can of beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other, you let sounds of the street below drown out your constantly running thoughts. It’s winter again, and your coat doesn’t do much to protect your hands from the biting cold, but you don’t smoke inside the apartment anymore ever since Taeyong had started fretting over you.

You drop the butt of your cigarette in the ashtray you had placed beside you. The window behind you scrapes against the old wooden frame as it slides open and Taeyong steps out onto the grates of the fire escape, but you’re too drunk to care. Your mind is filled with a haze of memories, of warm eyes and cold hands, of being a kid, running barefoot between the lawns of the houses on your street, of summer evenings, catching fireflies in your hands.

“Are you okay?”

You nod, taking another sip of beer. “Good as I’ll ever be.”

“Oh,” Taeyong sighs heavily, his shoulders slumping at the weight of his breath. “Okay. Can we talk about something?”

You furrow your brows at him, tilting your head to get a good look at his face. He watches you with his large, dark eyes, his lips drawn in a tight line. “What is it?”

“I-- I’m sorry,” he says, words stumbling out like he’s not quite sure what he wants to say. “I’m sorry about everything. I think we need to break up.”

We need to break up. We need to break up. You stare at him, unblinking, trying to let the words sink in and absorb, but they won’t.

“Yong, what are you talking about?”

He buries his face in his hands, his fingers digging into his temples. “I can’t do this to you anymore. It’s all my fault.”

You put your beer down beside you and turn to face him. “What are you doing to me? What’s your fault? Yong,” you reach out and place a gentle hand on the line of his jaw, brushing your thumb against his cheek. “Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

“You shouldn’t be the one comforting me,” he says bitterly, taking your hand in his and removing it from his cheek. He holds your hand loosely, like he’s afraid to hold on too tight. “I can’t do this to you. I feel like I’ve been taking advantage of you.”

“What are you talking about,” you shake your head, trying to make sense of his words.

“You were in love with Johnny. You denied it, but anybody could see it. Everybody could.”

You feel your breath catch in your throat.

“You were in love with him for years,” he continues, “and I wasn’t lying either when I told you that I’ve always loved you. But after Johnny died, you were so fucked up. You were a mess. And that night, when I told you I loved you… I shouldn’t have. The only reason you’re with me is because you’re an emotional wreck and I was too selfish to give up on you.”

“No,” you say, “that’s not true. You didn’t take advantage of me. I’m fine. I have a handle on my own emotions.”

“You can’t make it through the day without drinking,” he says, voice tinged with desperation. “You’re not fine. You’re coping with alcohol and cigarettes. You can’t sleep at night. You can’t be left alone with your thoughts, or you’ll spiral. You’ve stopped talking to all our other friends. You’re barely hanging on, <Y/N>. You’re not okay.”

His words punch you in the gut. He’s right, and you hate yourself for it. You lean forward, pressing the palms of your hands into your eyes, trying to will away the surging anxiety. “No,” you mumble, feeling a terrible hollow weight settling in your stomach, “no. I love you, Taeyong. I love you.”

“This isn’t love. It can’t be.”

“I love you.”

“No,” he shakes his head. “This isn’t love. I can’t love you like this.”

Taeyong shifts, but you grab on to his hand. “Please,” you whisper, “please don’t leave me.”

“You’re miserable, and it’s my fault.”

“That’s not true.” Your cheeks are cold. Are you crying? You bring your other hand to your eyes, and when you pull your fingers away, they’re wet. “I love you, Taeyong.”

“I can’t do this,” he shakes his head, pulling away. “I’m sorry. I love you, but I can’t do this to you.”

“Don’t leave me,” your voice breaks as his hand slips out of yours. “You can’t leave me.” Not again. You stay still, frozen on the fire escape as he steps back into the apartment, as once again, your world crumbles down around you.

You’re not sure how much time has passed before you slowly pull yourself to your feet, knees creaking, limbs leaden. The ground weaves between your feet as you stagger into the dark and silent apartment. Giving up all pretenses, you go directly to the kitchen cabinet where you know the liquor is.

If you drink enough, maybe you’ll forget. And maybe if you forget, it won’t be real anymore. You think about waking up in Johnny’s childhood bedroom with a hangover, laying in bed sandwiched between the passed out bodies of Johnny and Taeyong after a night of drinking.

The alcohol burns as it slides down your throat. You never realized how dependent you were on Johnny until he was gone. Your phone is full of calls gone directly to voicemail, unread texts that will never be read. Even now, sometimes when you open your phone, you tap in Johnny’s number through sheer muscle memory. It’s the one phone number you still have memorized no matter how drunk you are. How many times have you tapped that sequence of 10 numbers in, begging for a ride home after a rough night out or bored and in need of dinner plans on a weekday evening?

“Hey, you’ve reached the voicemail of Johnny Suh,” the tinny recording echoes in your head. You’re not quite sure if you’re actually hearing his voice or if you’re hallucinating. “Sorry I missed your call! Leave a voicemail, and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”

“Why did you leave me,” you hear yourself say. Pressing your face into your hands, you squeeze your eyes shut, wishing you could block out the images in your head. “Johnny, please. I can’t do this.”

Lifting your head, you open your eyes. You’re not sure if what you see is the gray light of morning peeking through the blinds, or if it’s the dim glow of twilight. “Johnny,” you mumble, mouth dry. “Can you hear me? I know you can. I know you can hear me, you bastard.”

Shards of broken glass and the surface of the ocean under moonlight shimmer the same. “I hate you. Fuck, I hate you, Johnny Suh. This is all your fault,” you sob, crumpling against the floor. “I hate you. You shouldn’t have left me. I need you. Johnny, I know you can hear me, goddamnit. I need you.”

When you were seven years old, you almost drowned in the community swimming pool. You remember the surface of the water, the way light glanced off the ripples. You remember the rays of light piercing through space as you fell, as you were pulled down by gravity. You remember how alone you were in that moment, before your mother had noticed you at the bottom of the pool, before the lifeguard had dragged you out. And you don’t think you’ll ever forget the way time stretched on endlessly in front of you, crawling at a snail’s pace as you silently sank.

“I need…”

Whiskey. Days blend into nights, and back into days, and you watch them pass by. Spent cigarette butts litter the heavy ashtray sitting on your kitchen table. Taeyong. Johnny. Afternoons remind you of his catlike smile and warm amber eyes. Midnight always reminds you of his dark, glassy eyes, opened wide in unabashed affection, glittering with stars.

You wake up in a haze of smoke and the quickly disappearing vestiges of a dream. You wake up, and it’s February 9th. It’s Johnny’s 27th birthday, but he’s still 2 months and 18 days away from turning 26, will forever be 2 months and 18 days away from turning 26.

Leaning over the sink, you stare at your warped reflection on the stainless steel basin. You’ve been mourning for 15 months, and you don’t think you’ll ever stop mourning, for everything he deserved, and for everything you deserved. For everything you used to have. For all the potentials that are now a past tense.

It would have been Johnny’s 27th birthday. It’s his birthday today.

You step back and sink to the cold tiled floor, staring up at the bottles of liquor standing on top of the fridge, passing judgement on you. You reach for a cigarette, because everything hurts a bit too much, the world is a bit too sharp.

It’s his birthday.

You remember when he turned 25 and you and Taeyong surprised him in the apartment with a cake and cheap party streamers. He had left decorations up for almost a month because they made him happy. And when he had stepped out for a cigarette break that night, you and Taeyong had joined him with paper plates laden with slices of cake. The three of you sat out on the balcony for hours, chatting into the night, basking in the glow of the city lights.

Time stopped for Johnny 2 months and 18 days before his 26th birthday, but it ticks on for everybody else, cruelly, unfeelingly, time waits for no one.

You reach for a cigarette, but your fingers close around your phone instead. Your head swimming and eyes unfocused, through your alcohol-hazed vision, you open a web browser and type in “suicide hotline”. Pressing the first number you see, with shaking hands, you lift your phone to your ear.

“I need help.”

Three years and one week after the day that Johnny died.

You’re back in town, walking the same sidewalks that are almost imprinted into your brain. Like slipping on an old pair of shoes, you find yourself standing in front of what used to be your regular bar. The worn brick face, the wooden door with chipping paint at the corners, the alley littered with empty cans and cigarette butts.

When you enter the bar, you’re almost shocked by how little everything has changed. Everything still looks the same, sounds the same, smells the same, so much so that you almost think that you could turn around and see Taeyong and Johnny trailing after you, laughing in the way that they did, noses pink from the biting cold night. But instead, you look ahead to see a familiar back perched up at the bar, a gin and tonic shedding condensation onto the cardboard coaster in front of him. Taeyong, also, looks the same as he always has.

You walk across the sticky beer-stained floors and take a seat next to Taeyong. He turns and looks at you, eyes wide and dark.

“<Y/N>,” you hear the bartender’s voice. It’s still the same one. You wonder if he still remembers Johnny’s order. You know he still remembers the year you lost to grief, nearly every night spent staring at the bottom of a glass, bargaining with god. “It’s been a while.”

You smile. “I’ll just have a glass of water.”

He stares at you for a moment, looking as if he’s seen a ghost, before he responds “of course.”

“How have you been,” Taeyong says. You wonder if you should tell him about the withdrawals, about the nightmares, about the week you spent locked in your apartment in the darkness, drowning in alcohol and grief, leading up until Johnny’s birthday.

“I’ve been good,” you say, because it’s the polite thing to say.

“Me too,” he responds, fingers tracing the bottom of his glass, collecting the moisture beaded onto the surface. “I guess you can say that I’ve been doing well. It’s been good.”

“Good,” you say.

The bartender slides a glass in front of you and you lift it to your lips, letting the cold water spread across your tongue, cooling your throat.

“So,” you say, searching your mind for the right words to say. This is Taeyong, a man you’ve known since you barely knew how to read. This is someone who has been intricately entwined in your life for almost as long as you can remember, to the point that you can hardly remember where your childhood and adolescence ends and his begins. “What have you been up to lately?”

He shrugs, gulping down the rest of the gin and tonic, silently motioning to the bartender for another. “Still working at the same place, doing the same things.” He hesitates for a moment and taps his fingers on the damp cardboard coaster, shoulders tense. “I’ve been seeing someone lately. Well, not just lately. We’ve been together for the past year.”

You smile at him, because you know you should. There’s a twinge in your heart. It’s not jealousy, just the recognition of what could have been yours, but it still hurts all the same. “I’m so happy for you,” you say, grinning. “You deserve it, Taeyong.”

“Yeah,” he laughs halfheartedly, closing his fingers around the new gin and tonic that the bartender slides in front of him. “Thanks.”

The two of you chat idly like this, about work, about life, about friends that you haven’t seen in years. Talking to Taeyong is easy, yet unsatisfying. You can’t shake the feeling that there should be something more.

But, when Taeyong’s on his fourth drink, he suddenly buries his face in his hands, exhaling in one long, shaky breath. You wait, thinking maybe he’s just drunk, when you realize his shoulders are trembling and his breath is ragged along the edges, catching in his throat.

Taeyong cries silently, barely noticeable over the din of the bar, the loud music, and noisy chattering. You sit by him, wordless and still in the face of his tears.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, voice muffled through his hands. “I’m sorry. I’m fine, I just. I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

He takes a deep, shuddering breath and wipes at his eyes with the heel of his hand. Seeing him like this, your fingers itch to wipe at his cheeks, to wrap your arms around his shoulders, to stroke his hair. You feel like you should be comforting him. After all, it’s Taeyong. Soft, tender Taeyong, who always felt too much too hard. Taeyong, who has always been Taeyong. You hold your hands in your lap, unsure of if you’re allowed to touch him.

“Sorry,” he says. “Just, seeing you. It just reminds me of those times. I’m glad to see you again,” he says earnestly, and you believe him. “I just wish I could have been better for you when you needed me. You’re so important to me, and I fucked up.”

I love you, you think. I still love you. You’d break your own heart a thousand times over just to lay in bed with him again, limbs tangled, settled comfortably in the rhythm of his breathing. Maybe once upon a time, you loved Johnny. But now, sitting in front of Taeyong, your heart bursts with all the love that you can’t give him.

“I stopped drinking,” you say quietly. “And I quit smoking too.”

Taeyong stares down at his glass, fingers anxiously smearing condensation across the wooden bar top.

“You were right, about me being a mess. I haven’t touched a cigarette in a year. It feels weird, and it never really goes away. I’m still not used to just… feeling everything. But it’s manageable. I’m doing fine now, and this time it’s the truth.”

“I’m happy for you,” Taeyong says. “I’m proud of you.”

“That night, you were right about everything except for one. I love you, Lee Taeyong. I did. And I always will.”

He bites his lip, eyes fluttering shut as tears bead on his eyelashes. “It shouldn’t have come to that.”

“I quit smoking. I didn’t do it for you, Taeyong, I did it for me. I moved out of this town for me. I poured every last drop of liquor I had down the sink for me. I’m fine. I’m doing fine, I promise.”

“It’s been so hard,” he exhales, eyes still shut tightly. “Without him. Without you. It’s so hard.”

“I know,” you murmur. “I’m sorry.”

“Can… Can you wait for me?” He looks up at you, eyes puffy and rimmed red, but the same large, dark eyes that glitter like the night sky.

Your heart swells. “For you, Taeyong, anything.”

“Wait for me,” he slurs, pushing his empty glass away from him. “Wait for me, for me to be fine too. And we can… we can try again.”

“Of course,” you say, finally laying a hand on Taeyong’s. His fingers are cold, but they fit perfectly against yours. “We have all the time in the world.”

[otyhao]

what if we stay — l.dh, l.jn

description. one summer, two boys and a rollercoaster of emotions later.

pairings. lee donghyuck x female reader x lee jeno

genre. fluff, angst, brief university!au, summer!au, friendship!au, band!au (drummer!hyuck, guitarist/bassist!jeno)

warnings. swearing, mentions of a strained relationship with parents, alcohol consumption, really mixed emotions, kissing (<3), and a pinch of pining

word count. 21.7k

playlist. #0505

notes. this is my entry for ficscafe’s fic exchange event written for @luvholicz​, i’m so sorry it’s a few days off the deadline! i finished this on sept 1st. if i only knew about your birthday, i could’ve posted it sooner! belated happy birthday bub, i hope you had a good one. also a huge shout out to husna @masterninjacow​ for beta-reading, the comments you left kept me going ilysm x

When you finally received a response from the only university you applied for—in the middle of a scorching hot day, one month into summer vacation—you braced yourself for the worst. Which was ironic considering that its arrival was by far the best thing that happened to you since graduation. 

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[otyhao]

no longer human — n.jm

description. in which you plunged face first into the horrors of a world left abandoned for three centuries in search of your only friend, na jaemin, wondering how you’d fare in a world where the species perched on top of the food chain were no longer human.

pairings. na jaemin x gender-neutral reader

genre.  angst, post-apocalyptic!au, dystopian!au, childhood friends!au, best friends!au

warnings. mentions of bullying, mentions of injuries, graphic descriptions of violence, character death(s), swearing, non-sexual nudity, mutual pining, mentions of loss of weight and gradual decline of health. reader’s discretion is heavily advised.

word count. 30k

playlist. no longer human.

notes. this is long overdue and i’m really sorry. this was just hard to tackle alongside a freaking law subject i had a million readings for. belated happy birthday, new year, and valentine’s, allex! good luck with school and your 348209382 orgs! ily :] @hannie-dul-set | taglist: @baekybaeky @jccv @taem-min @doiefy @tyongishs @rae-blogging @cavaree​

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[otyhao]

[PM 10:52] sitting in a swing next to joshua was intoxicating in the way that you were so close you can smell the scent of his shampoo. the way his eyelashes were fluttering teasingly, as if he knew the effect he had on you. you've grown together in the years you've been together, but somehow there were still butterflies in your stomach. joshua reached out and took your hand, an innocent laugh erupting from his lips. still, after all this time your feelings only grew for him.

[otyhao]

this brings me pure joy actually

not clickbait.

one new notification: chenle’s video has been uploaded on nov. 23, 2020! 

do it for the views. do it for your fans. but most importantly, do it for the gigantic, secret crush you’ve been harboring on your best friend. which boy will you complete tiktok’s “today I tried to kiss my best friend” challenge with? oh, and make sure to like, comment, and subscribe, honey bees!

↳ a best friend & social influencer series featuring nct dream x reader oneshots.

𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐋𝐄𝐄 𝐒𝐔𝐂𝐊𝐒 𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐄𝐂𝐇𝐍𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐘

tap the heart if you have a big, fat, embarrassing crush on your best friend!

users :: lee mark x tiktoker!reader channel :: tiktoker au uploaded on :: july 23, 2020 at 6:00 p.m. pst description :: it’s funny how you’re one of the most popular tiktokers on the platform and yet, your best friend can barely navigate the internet (let’s not talk about how he accidentally ordered ten boxes of shin ramyun, instead of a single 10-pack on amazon). so when he asks you about tiktok challenges, what better way to explain it than to show him one firsthand?

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𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐍𝐄𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐃𝐄 𝐌𝐄 𝐃𝐎 𝐈𝐓

hey there, feelings, it’s me, ya boi. (wheeze)

users :: huang renjun x reader channel :: buzzfeed unsolved au uploading on :: tba. description :: your company wants to boost the views for dream unsolved. by some stroke of dumb luck, your stupid cameraman a.k.a. donghyuck’s idea of doing tiktok challenges at haunted places gets approved. you and renjun have to alternate in picking a random challenge out of the bag for each video. guess which challenge renjun pulls out (donghyuck swears it isn’t rigged).

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𝐓𝐎𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐈 𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐌𝐘 𝐁𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃

you’d give up marshal and raymond for him.

users :: youtuber!lee jeno x youtuber!reader channel :: youtuber au uploading on :: tba. description :: your best friend comes over to help you set up a twitch stream for animal crossing and ends up joining in. lounging in front of the screen, the two of you visit each other’s islands and answer incoming questions from both of your fans. however, one comment in particular catches your eye. it may have to do with a certain popular challenge, and well, you were never one to back down from a challenge.

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𝐈 𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝐌𝐘 𝐁𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐎 𝐀𝐍 𝐄-𝐁𝐎𝐘 (𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐇𝐈𝐌!!!)

subscribe to see more content about two lovestruck idiots!

users :: lee donghyuck x youtuber!reader channel :: youtuber au uploaded on :: june 5, 2020 at 6:06 p.m. pst description :: after finally caving in and downloading the tiktok app, you go on a downward spiral of watching videos for four hours. from your incredibly productive use of time, you discover two very important things. one: you think donghyuck would look really hot as an e-boy. and two: there’s an interesting challenge that may or may not involve kissing and your best friend. 

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𝐃𝐎𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐅 𝐓𝐀𝐆 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐌𝐘 𝐁𝐅

hey, siri, does bf stand for best friend or boyfriend? (or both?)

users :: youtuber!na jaemin x youtuber!reader channel :: youtuber au uploaded on :: august 12, 2020 at 9:38 p.m. pst description :: your subscribers have been wanting for you to do the boyfriend tag, but there’s only one problem. you’re single as heck. so cue your fellow youtuber and best friend. and as long as he’s already here, you might as well complete the number one most requested challenge from your fans, right? but wait, how is he getting every single one of these questions correct faster than you are? the questions are literally about yourself! the “stop falling for na jaemin” challenge? yeah, it’s a complete fail.

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𝐇𝐀𝐇𝐀, 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐈𝐅 𝐖𝐄 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐃? (𝐋𝐎𝐋 𝐉𝐊… 𝐔𝐍𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒?)

fact! you’re secretly in love with your best friend, and so is he!

users :: zhong chenle x reader channel :: buzzfeed worth it au uploaded on :: november 23, 2020 at 2:22 p.m. pst description :: you and chenle are all about the gold flakes and truffles life, not that creepy, paranormal stuff renjun is always spewing conspiracy theories about. you’re looking to bring home high quality food, not a hitchhiking ghost.  now if only your cameraman, jisung, can actually do his job and record the video properly, instead of forcing you two to participate in another one of his tiktok videos.

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𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐆𝐀𝐃𝐄 𝐎𝐑 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑

dancing is not on your list of interests, but park jisung definitely is.

users :: tiktoker!park jisung x reader channel :: tiktoker au uploading on :: tba. description :: as jisung’s best friend, you happily support his dancing from the sidelines or behind the camera. you definitely did not sign up to be in front of the lens, flailing around for some dance called the renegade (the first time you heard about it, you thought jisung was referencing that all time low song). unfortunately, this is what happens when you’re absolutely whipped for your best friend.

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[otyhao]

babylon

☀︎ pairing: wooyoung x gender neutral reader

☀︎ genre: dystopian/apocalyptic au, time travel au (in a way) with some fluff in this, but there will be deep deep heart clenching angst warnings: mentions of death but no major character death, blood and some descriptive imagery that including killing and etc. 

☀︎ wc: 3527

☀︎ plot: three chances to make it right. you and Wooyoung are soulmates and you know it. so why won’t the universe let it happen and instead make you both suffer? 

☀︎ a/n: hey guys!! in honor of deja vu’s first win, i have decided to make an ateez version of one of my favorite oneshots that i’ve ever written on here which was from this past summer!! the original version is from here, in which is was for the boyz’s sunwoo!! anyways, i hope you guys like this and will stay updated for more soon <33

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[otyhao]

you…

[AM 10:59] "it's too early for this," you groaned, dragging your feet as your boyfriend hauled you behind him. maybe jaehyun was just in a hurry for some new sports thing, but all you knew was that it was saturday and you were meant to be in bed right now. "we're gonna be there in like, a minute, babe," jaehyun chuckled, his dimple popping up out of nowhere. when an entire minute of walking passed, you gasped as he stopped you in front of the hello kitty cafe you've been dying to go to. wrapping his arms around your shoulders, jaehyun chuckled at the look on your face. hand covering your mouth, you giggled as you turned to look up at him. "this has to be a dream - YOU have to be a dream." jaehyun clicked his tongue as he slowly shook his head.

"babe, with you? i be living in a dream."

[otyhao]

you…

[PM 11:34] with the bass booming from beyond the walls, you smiled up at jungwoo as he leans in to kiss you hungrily. it was never planned, these built up feelings between the two of you. yet, here you were laying underneath him - but not without a fear of anyone finding out. figuring you out simply by looking in your eyes, jungwoo smiled and muttered,

"one look at you and i won't have it any other way."

[otyhao]

AWWWEEEEE YEAHHHHHHHHH

“Make Eye Contact”

summary: Eyes are the window to the soul, they say. Sunwoo’s told his desires. 

sunwoo x gn! reader, enemies to lovers!au, highschool!au

3782 words

༻✧ genre: fluff

༻✧ warnings: swearing, underage partying n drinking (i dont condone this),  lots of banter between the two

༻✧ note: i had a lot of trouble writing this but lila, @viastro​ helped me a lot with proofreading + plot and so did my dear bestie who gave me lots of ideas for this fic. they both took part in developing the plot for this, so i would like to thank them both for having my back i love u guys sm. i think i pulled my hair while writing this.. i actually had other plans for this fic but as i was organizing my drafts i felt like this needed to be published on its own :] enjoyyy <333

i hope u have a nice day ! ⭐︎

—-

A person’s eyes tell a lot about them, it tells people what they feel, what they like and what they hate. Sunwoo’s eyes told others what he wanted.

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[otyhao]

[PM 8:02] Screaming out of frustration, you threw yourself on the floor. You couldn't believe it - your submission wouldn't post for your class. Maybe the file was too big, or maybe you were just submitting it wrong. But it was upsetting and not only had you worked all day on this, but you promised your boyfriend, Haechan, that you'd watch a movie with him after you turned in your homework. Now the plan was ruined, and you wanted to cry. Hearing your wails, Haechan rushes to your room where you lay in agony.

"I'm a loser," you sigh, a tear of anger escaping the corner of your eye. "I'm a loser and you should run far away from me because I can't do a simple thing right."

Gently taking your hand, Haechan scoffs at you in a loving way. "Overdramatic. If I wanted this, I would've stayed with Renjun."

Still, Haechan helped you with your submission with ease, making you only a little bit angrier (but fall more deeply in love with him at the same time).

Hours passed, and the ending credits of the movie you two watched had started. You had nearly forgotten about your well deserved meltdown, until Haechan turns to you and whispered softly,

"Besides, even if you were a loser, I'd still be your lover. And I don't date losers."

[otyhao]

and that one !

…

best years

☀︎ pairing: magician!hyunjae x g.n reader

☀︎ genre: magic au, angst, just a tiny bit fluff but yeah it’s sad warning: major character death & gambling actual life

☀︎ wc: 1874

☀︎ plot: you never would’ve thought that being in the hands of a magician could give you much thrill as you were immortal. the best years created between you both had been nothing but love and happiness, yet maybe you thought about a possible next life way too often than you liked.

☀︎ a/n: hi welcome to week/track 12 of the collection!! only 7 more as we’re heading towards the end of the summer hehe and i just wanted to say, i really enjoyed writing this as much as i really loved planning out the key points of it since it was inspired by a scene i watched from supernatural LOL but i hope you guys like this as much as i did!!

☀︎ #48: “Tell me you love me. It doesn’t have to be the truth. I just… I need to hear you say it.”

STORMS OF BROKEN HEARTS | TBZ MASTERLIST

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[otyhao]

NOOOOO OH MY GOD NOOOOOOOOO

[AM 12:07] You had joked that there was a luxury in knowing that your boyfriend wouldn't be able to pick up any girls with his lines. Yet here you were, unable to contain your laughter. You knew your boyfriend, Jaemin, was a comedian - you just never expected him to have such terrible pick up lines that they were somehow smooth. Jaemin grinned to himself as he watched you double over, knowing that he was the one to cause such pure bliss. As you look up at him with tears from laughing blurring your vision, Jaemin leans in to press a heartfelt kiss on yours. And as he pulled away, he leaned into your ear and whispered,

"The taste of your lips is my idea of luxury."