rrradduh

[rrradduh]

And so it begins… I’ve posted an update on this! 10k prologue that’s gonna be part of a short series (2-3 pts). Read it here!

I’ve also added a masterlist to my page XP

A Difficult Friendship

reader x lee heeseung | 3.1k words

Synopsis: Your and Heeseung's friendship has always revolved around ignorance and self-control. Meaning, you both ignore your feelings and control the urge to act on them. After all, you were going to marry your long-term boyfriend, and Heeseung was always dating around. What happens when Heeseung can no longer commit to the illusion?

Themes/ Elements: angst on angst, yearning, reader is deflective as hell, flashback, dialogue heavy, some spicy kissing toward the end/ cheating (whoops!), some sugar and sweetness (yay!), open ending...

a/n: This is my first post for real for real :D if you like it, maybe comment/ reblog with your fav line of dialogue idk lol, hopefully you enjoy!! y/n's s/o's name is "Nate" for whatever reason....

((I also wrote this for Mark of NCT))

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“Can you please leave my apartment?”

“Y/N stop—”

“Heeseung. I am asking you nicely. Please leave.”

“No. I’m not leaving. You always do this shit- do you know that? You always do this shit. You’re so fucking—“

“What?” You turn fully to face him. 

You’ve been walking in circles for the past ten minutes in your small apartment, Heeseung hot on your tail, struggling to get a word in between your relentless rejection. You’d made your way from the front door to the living room— where you were previously sprawled on a moderately stiff couch with a pint of ice cream and a stupid, sad movie to wallow in self-pity, like a true adult— to the kitchen. 

You were going to attempt the pile of dishes in the sink to distract yourself, but his tone. His tone stopped you in your tracks. He was raising his voice, that’s new.

A scoff leaves your lips at his lack of response. He has your full attention now. Unfortunately for him, he’s not the only one in the room with a big voice. 

“What, Heeseung?” You tilt your head to the side, waiting. He looks down, drawing a labored breath. 

“Look, I came here to talk to you. Can we just sit down and talk?” He awkwardly shoves his hands in his pockets. His eyes bounce between your face, your chest, and the floor. Your tank top wasn’t helping at all, he really did just want to talk.

“No. What were you going to say?” You lean against the counter with your arms across your chest. 

He looks to the ceiling, catching a small stain in the corner from where you flicked pasta onto the ceiling a week ago. He suppresses a smile as his eyes fall to the floor. 

A week ago…

Heeseung had come over because you were stressed about a pitch presentation you had the next day and wanted to practice in front of someone. You work in advertising and were nervous about a new client you’d been assigned, something about a new “environmentally friendly” paper towel company. 

He has no clue why you’d called him of all people. The whole reason you’re as close as you are now is that Heeseung is overwhelmingly clueless when it comes to branding and marketing his own product: his music. What started as a paid agreement became an unusual friendship, then (on his end at least) an unfortunate co-dependency. 

That night, after you were done rambling on about how “all paper towel commercials are tired and unoriginal”, you insisted on feeding him for his service. All he really did was sit on your couch and dote. It was almost embarrassing. He knew his feedback was three “wows” and four “ums” away from useful, but it seemed to give you enough confidence to calm down.

You made pasta in some sort of red sauce. It was vaguely simple and only took you 30 minutes to prepare, which made Heeseung feel like less of a burden.

At some point, he had excused himself to the restroom. When he returned, you were singing softly as you stirred the finished meal at the stove. Your hips moved absentmindedly to the low hum of a speaker on a nearby countertop. A small, almost unnoticeable, laugh escaped you at a particularly lovey-dovey lyric. 

He wanted to laugh, too, but instead, he just quietly walked closer to you. You remained in your own little world, facing the stove as he shuffled toward you. The moment was too pure for him to interrupt. He solely wanted to observe up close. 

The chorus kicked in, and your singing grew bolder. A few paces away, Heeseung took another tentative step— CREEK. 

You whipped around fast, a few pieces of spaghetti flicking from your spoon to the ceiling as you turned. You could hear the wet red sauce splash against the high ceiling over the music. 

“Why are you so damn quiet?” You said as you clutched your chest, heart still racing. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to interrupt.” Heeseung put his hands up in defense.

“No, sorry, you didn’t—Well, you kind of did, but it’s fine.” You fan a hand in the air dismissively. 

Heeseung walked closer to you. He looked at the bubbling pot of pasta and sauce, then at you. “Looking good.” His expression was way too sincere. You weren’t sure if he was talking about the pasta or you, but you pushed the feeling back. 

“Yeah?” You tease.

“Yeah.” 

“Thank you,” you share a soft smile. 

There was a long moment of silence and prolonged eye contact. The music still played, but it felt quieter. He remembers you clearing your throat, likely to ease the tension, but it just drew attention to your mouth. 

SPLAT.

The wet spaghetti drops from the ceiling and onto the floor in some corner of your kitchen. It drags your attention away, slicing the tension into small, bite-sized pieces.

Moments like this always happened between you two. 

Heeseung smiled and reached for the spoon in your hand. “Go sit, I’ll make our plates.”

“No, no. I got it.” You reached for the spoon, but he’s quicker.

“So you can throw more pasta at the ceiling?” 

“You scared me!” You protest. 

“I went to the bathroom, I didn’t evaporate into thin air. You knew I would come back.” He laughed in disbelief. 

“You literally tiptoed up to me, but I’m the weird one—“ You pushed his chest playfully.

He grabbed your hand against his chest and smiled. You stiffened slightly, but he didn’t say anything. “Seriously, go sit. I’m bored, let me do something.” 

You blinked at him and reluctantly drew your hand from the firm surface. “Fine,” you walked to your small dining table between the kitchen and the living room. “Turn up the music,” you glanced at him over your shoulder, eyes riddled with mischief. His stomach dropped.

Looking back at the memory now, he probably should’ve just left your apartment then and there. It was silly. He was in your kitchen, scavenging through cabinets like he lived there. Then he brought plates to the table and sat down to eat dinner with you like he was your boyfriend. 

He’s not your boyfriend; you already have one of those.

The thought snapped him back into the present. He sighs.

“Difficult.” He pinches between his eyebrows. “I was going to say you’re so difficult.”

You look away from him at that. Ouch. 

“But I don’t mean that. I’m just…” He looks for the words. “Drained.” His shoulders slump. 

Your tough-guy attitude fades. “Sorry…” You’re not sure what you’re apologizing for. Everything and nothing sort of. 

Silence. 

He sighs. 

Heeseung starts reluctantly. “I um… broke up with my girlfriend today.”

Your blood runs cold. More silence wraps around his words. It's suffocating, but you don’t know what to say.

“I’m sorry.”

He says nothing to that, so you try again. “Do you um—“ Your eyes travel the room, eventually landing on the young man before you. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He huffs, shaking his head. 

“Do you want something to drink?” You speak as if you’re doing so against your will. Eyes drawing close to the uselessness of your own words. You shake your head because you knew it was a stupid thing to say. You’re so brave, you wanted to say.

Heeseung just looks at you. His eyes look so tired that you can barely stand to hold eye contact. 

“Y/N,” he sighs for the umteenth time. 

“Can you not say my name like that?” You look away with a forced laugh. “It makes me feel like I can’t breathe.” You mumble the last part. The tension was too much.

“How’s Nate?” His eye contact was unwavering. 

“Can you not—“

“No, I can’t. I want to have an honest conversation with you. I’m sick of dancing around things, Y/N.” He steps toward you with a shrug. “How is your boyfriend, Nate?”

A beat.

“He’s fine.”

“When does he get home?”

You chew on your lip nervously. “His uncle’s sick, he’s visiting him for the weekend.” 

———

Your lips formed a tight line after the confession. You wish you had just said ‘soon’, so Heeseung could leave you to your previously scheduled pity party in the living room. 

You didn’t want to talk about things; there was nothing to talk about. You were a practical adult with a 10-year plan. You’d been 3 years into the plan already by the time he met you, life isn’t as fluid as he’d like to make it seem.

The plan was to graduate from college (check), land a stable job at an ad agency (check), build an investment portfolio (check), move in with Nate (check), get married to Nate (pending), get a promotion at the agency (pending), have a child (pending). This has been the plan since you were in high school. He was fucking with the prophecy. 

“I’m sorry,” Heeseung’s voice squeezes through your dense internal dialogue. 

You wave a hand in dismay. “Things happen.” 

He leisurely takes another couple of steps forward until you're about an arm's length away. He breathes deeply, like his chest is too heavy for his lungs to move freely. “Shouldn’t you be with him?”

“It’s not a big deal. We both agreed some time apart could be healthy.” 

Heeseung laughs at that. He chews his lip to suppress it, but fails to regain composure so quickly. 

“What?” You chime in, a smile manifesting on your face before you can stop it. 

A rough hand runs over his face.”It’s just a little funny thinking about it.” He looks at you with the smallest fraction of a smile still present. “I rarely ever see you two together, yet you’re discussing healthy time apart.” He makes air quotes at the last three words. 

“Distance makes the heart grow fonder.” You jokingly quote Shakespeare with a smirk. That was not the right thing to say. The air shifts, and the room feels stuffy even with the air unit blasting cool air. You were just trying to be funny. 

He doesn’t say anything, but the .001% trace of a smile is gone. With a stone-cold expression, he looks at you like he has all the time in the world. You fidget under his gaze. 

“You look pretty, you should send him a picture,” is all he says.

You tsk at him, and his eyes return to your face at the sharp sound. “You’re insane, I look a mess.” An awkward silence appears, so you rattle on. “He’s only been gone a few hours at this point anyway. Not long enough to miss me.” Your voice is meek; you feel embarrassed. 

“Shouldn’t be.” He mumbles as he walks to your couch in the living room. 

A fuzzy blanket drapes over half the couch. Your half-eaten pint of ice cream melts on the coffee table next to crumbled-up napkins, post-it notes, and a tissue box. A sweetly scented candle burns at the far edge of the table. The TV displays a freeze frame from some B-rated tearjerker film. 

Heeseung dusts some crumbs off the couch from where you were sitting and plops down. He searches under the throw pillows for the remote. Swiftly, he checks the film’s synopsis and cringes. 

You pull on your fingers anxiously. “I thought you wanted to talk…”

“I did.” 

“Then why are you—“

“This movie looks awful.” He brushes past your concern and begins scrolling through your Netflix account.

“So now we’re watching a movie?” You wearily approach the couch, quickly swiping the blanket off, and crumbs fall to the floor. You had been messier than anticipated, but that’s your prerogative. It’s not like you were expecting company. You sit and watch him.

“Every time I open my mouth to say something real, you throw a joke at me, so yeah. Let’s watch a movie. I’m fine just being near you.”

“I was already watching something…” You reach for the remote, but he raises his arm, so it’s out of your reach. 

“Oh, do you have a problem with switching your attention from one thing to the next?” He raises an eyebrow at you. 

You knew what he was doing, but you weren’t going to play his game. “I was two-thirds in, I want to see how it ends.” 

“It looks boring. The couple kissing on the cover, obviously, ’ll end up together. Movie done, problem solved.” 

“You’re acting like a child.”

“You’ve seen it before; it was already rated.” His tone is light, but his words are pointed. 

“I like that movie.” You narrow your eyes at the young man. 

“Let’s find one you’ll love.” He fixes you a stern expression, then faces the TV again, fingers clicking through film categories. 

This carries on for a moment. You sit next to him, breathing heavily, easily flustered by his antics. He selects something dark and eerie-looking. You roll your eyes and snatch the remote while he’s preoccupied.

“I don’t want to watch that.” You begin to scroll away, but he snatches the controller back.

“Why? Is it too scary for you?” His eyes are intense when he turns to you.

“No, I just don’t want to watch it.” You attempt to regain control of the remote. You fail.

“I think you’re scared.” His voice is low, like he’s talking to himself. His eyes drop to your lips briefly before working their way back up.

“Well, I’m not.” You reach for the remote again, but he draws it away from his body.

“Then let’s watch the movie.” He shoves your shoulder.

“Give me my fucking remote back.” You lurch forward again. This time, you get so close that your faces are almost touching. He doesn’t waiver, he just moves the remote closer, close enough for you to reach it. As you try to grab it, he pulls it back again, leaning his shoulders against the couch so his hand with the remote is up and behind him. Mindlessly, you reach again, finger just barely brushing Heeseung’s hand as you hover over him for better leverage. 

Your eyes travel between the remote in his hand and his face. Heeseung’s eyes stay glued to your face. His heart is racing. All he can think about is doing something stupid.

You put a hand on his shoulder to help you push off the couch a little, hoping that would allow you to reach the black plastic thing in his hand. It does not.

Both of you draw shallow breaths. You spare a dry laugh, finally meeting his eyes for longer than a second. 

“Stop doing—“

He kisses you, and it completely knocks the wind out of you. Your eyes go wide for a moment, words dying in your throat with a weak, pathetic sound. 

Nate was going to kill him. Heeseung knew that, but as he started to think about his sudden need for life insurance, you kissed him back. A sound escaped him in shock, causing you to deepen the kiss. The remote slips from Heeseung’s hand. It clanks against the hard floorboards.

A hand reached for your face, then your waist. You grab a fistful of hair, your leg swings over his lap to straddle him. He squeezes your waist tightly as a reflex, then rubs your hip over your sweatpants as an apology. 

It’s like you’re both messily fighting for dominance, self-control long forgotten. Your hand fists his shirt as he pressed you down against him. His eyes squeeze shut. 

Heeseung was getting carried away, and you could feel it. A sigh leaves your mouth and enters his. His hips accidentally jut upward, and he shivers. You apply pressure back.

“Please,” the words slip past his lips before he can stop them. 

You’re completely immersed in the moment, mouth moving to his cheek, then his ear, then his neck. “Tell me,” you propose breathily against his neck. “Whatever you want.”

“Break up with him.” It was quiet. A fleeting comment. 

You still entirely, straightening up to meet his gaze. His eyes are still closed like that’ll make you start moving against him again. Break up with him, the words ring through your skull. You press your palms to his shoulders, using them to steady yourself as you get up. 

“I shouldn’t have—“ you start, but he cuts you off. 

“I don’t know if I can keep doing this…”

“Doing what?” You smooth out your tank top, pulling it up to cover as much of your chest as possible. “Sorry, let’s just watch the movie, yeah?” You walk around the couch to retrieve the remote from the floor. 

“I don’t want to watch the movie.”

“So, you don’t want to talk, you don’t want to watch the movie, what do you want to do?” You’re raising your voice now. 

“Not this—“ He answers exasperatedly. 

“Well, I don’t know what else to do, Heeseung!” Your voice crashes through the atmosphere. 

A beat.

“I broke up with my girlfriend,” he starts, “because of you…”

You scoff. “Don’t blame your shit on me. You broke up with your girlfriend because you were unhappy—”

“Yeah, I was unhappy because she wasn't you.”

“Stop saying things like that!” 

“If you weren’t with him before I met you, and I wasn’t seeing anyone, do you think we would still be friends?” He stands and walks so you’re nearly toe to toe.

“Of course, Heeseung. You’re just saying nonsense at this point—“ You turn away from him. You resist the urge to pull your hair with frustration.

He violently shakes his head, stepping even closer. “I don’t think we would be, I think we’d be a couple. I can’t imagine a single fucking reality where we meet each other single, and I don’t at least try to hit on you—”

You cover your ears childishly. It was too much. 

“—And I know we would be together because you’re covering your ears like a fucking child who’s afraid to hear the truth.”

You sigh, and your shoulders slump. You face him, hands dropping from your head. Your lips are pressed tightly together, and your eyes burn. You sniffle.

Another silence overcomes the space, but this time it isn’t awkward or tense. It’s just honest. 

Your phone vibrates in your pocket, popping the vulnerable bubble you and Heeseung were just in. You barely slide it out of your pocket before you know who it is: Nate. The picture makes it obvious to both of you. 

Heeseung looks away, hurt flashing across his face briefly. “Tell me I’m wrong so I can move on with my life.” 

“I can’t.” 

The phone buzzes again. You don’t attempt to answer it. Suddenly, the illusion was fading.

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a/n: let me know if we're wanting more, thx for reading!

<likes, comments, & reblogs are appreciated>

[rrradduh]

Masterlist time 😺 I’m Star ⭐️ & I hope you enjoy my works and um yeah… *blows 10 million kisses and shuffles away awkwardly*

I’m into a lot of groups the masterlist is pretty eclectic. I write bgs NCT, Enhypen, and &Team so far.

About me: Drifting through my 20s. I’m an artist & generally like to be creative (that’s why I’m writing haha). Swaggy, dirt-bag, POC girly with a yearning heart. I hope my work can provoke some emotion for ya! Or even just a small laugh~ Also, I love films/movies! Always down for recs

Rules: Don’t be mean or rude. I don’t tolerate that irl, so I definitely won’t tolerate that here 🙂‍↕️ No bigotry, no racism, no homophobia, none of the bad things! I’m down for spicy antics, but I don’t currently write full on smut. I think that's it. Let's have fun together :)

In a different universe where everything is beautiful and intense Masterlist below the cut :3

Enhypen

A Difficult Friendship 3.1k - Heeseung

Your and Heeseung's friendship has always revolved around ignorance and self-control. Meaning, you both ignore your feelings and control the urge to act on them.

An Easy Beginning 10k (Prologue for A Difficult Friendship - Heeseung

On your one night out every 6 months, you meet a charismatic musician who sneaks his way into your heart under the guise of a business relationship. The problem is, you already have a boyfriend.

Two Idiots & a Video Call 2.1k - Jake

You and Jake plan a trip to visit his family in Australia. While he leaves on Wednesday, you're stuck at home until Friday. Fortunately, you're only one call away.

&Team

Landro Boy 6k- Nicholas

It was a neighborhood legend that Wang’s Washers was secretly conducting illegal business to keep the lights on. You never actually expected them to sell drugs.

NCT

A Difficult Friendship 3.1k - Mark

Your and Mark's friendship has always revolved around ignorance and self-control. Meaning, you both ignore your feelings and control the urge to act on them.

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FYI, I lead a fairly busy life (college student, internships, work, family responsibilities, and other commitments), so updates will vary.

< Thank you guys always for reading & interacting! >

Let me know if any links are ever broken/ missing

[rrradduh]

Landro Boy

Stoner/ Dealer Nicholas x f!reader | 6k words

Synopsis: It was a neighborhood legend that Wang’s Washers was secretly conducting illegal business to keep the lights on. You have a few mundane errands to run before the party you're hosting tonight. One of those errands crosses your path with a handsome laundromat employee with a secret. You never actually expected them to sell drugs.

Themes/ Elements: College au, summer au, smoking/ weed, drinking/ alcohol, illegal activity, starts in Nicho's POV, then goes to Reader's POV, family dynamics, partying, tension, arguing, minor violence, Y/N is a humanities major, cursing, open ending

A/N: Inspired by our sweet boy & his ragging RBF <3 longer than expected, but it was fun world building : ) I tried to make this accessible for non-smokers too, so I hope everyone can enjoy!

ft. Euijoo (&team), Chaewon (Le Sserafim)

———————————————————————————

The laundromat is pretty empty today. The big glass windows in the front showed an equally empty sidewalk. Most would find it odd to see such little foot traffic on a hot summer Friday, but today was too hot. It was sweltering outside and just as bad inside. 

Nicholas sat in front of a giant fan with his feet kicked up. The fan sounded like a plane landing; it was loud, old, and rickety as hell. The manufactured breeze was barely enough to slow his sweat, but it was fine as long as he was completely still. 

He was in the back room “folding clothes” per his father, the owner of the laundromat’s request. The door separating him from said father’s rear view at the front desk was open, but he knew his Dad never stayed still. He was bound to be checking some washer somewhere. He did most of it by now anyway. He’d been helping fold clothes for the business since he was 12, so it was no challenge at this point.

It was just him and his Dad scheduled to work today, making the establishment have the population of 4 total persons and 1 stray cat that keeps wandering into their open doors. Although it meant less money in his family’s pockets, Nicholas loved quiet days like this. It also made his side job a whole lot easier to operate. 

He watches as a regular of his approaches the front desk and rings the bell, not once, but four times. Nicho sighs.

“One minute!” Nicholas’s dad calls from deep in the laundromat, but Nicho quickly rushes to his feet.

“I got it!” Nicho stumbles out of the back room to the counter. “Did you have to ring the bell four times?”

Euijoo stands in front of the counter with an amused smile. “Sorry, I just know it pisses you off.” He laughs to himself. “You looked too peaceful back there.”

Nicho grumbles and puts on his customer service voice. His dad walks by to put out a bowl of water for their stray cat visitor. “How may I help you, sir?” He always perks up when his dad walks by; it is the easiest way to avoid a scolding. 

EJ looks at Nicho with a puzzled expression before looking over his shoulder to see the old man feeding cats a few feet away in front of the shop. He nods in understanding. 

Nicholas and EJ have known each other for years. They went to high school together and remained close friends. Euijoo really didn’t even need to buy from him at the laundromat, but he did it on occasion. 

“A bag of dirty clothes, please.” EJ smiles at Nicholas knowingly. He puts up two fingers, which was his way of communicating how much he wanted to buy.

Nicholas walks into the back room and looks for a brown paper bag. He then heads for his backpack and grabs a large black pouch with smaller pouches of weed in it. He grabs two, stuffs them in the paper bag, and walks back to the counter. 

“That’ll be $35.” Nicholas smiles.

EJ freezes. “I thought it was $30.”

“There’s a tax for purposefully trying to piss me off.”

EJ slides over a twenty-dollar bill and a ten-dollar bill. “I owe you five.”

“I’ll remember that.” Nicholas snatches up the money while EJ checks inside the brown bag.

“There’s a party going on tonight.” EJ leans against the counter with a mischievous smile.

Nicholas pockets the cash and nods politely at his father as he walks past the boys, back to kicking a machine in the far corner of the shop. “No beans, dude. It’s too hot for all that.” 

“There’ll be potential customers.”

Nicho makes an uninterested noise. 

“And girls. The girl who’s hosting is really cute, she goes to my university.” EJ drums his fingers on the counter as if to entice the dealer. 

“I’ll let you know.”

EJ shrugs as he stands up straight, “Well, I’m going.” He fists the brown paper bag, quickly creating new wrinkles. “Have a nice time folding clothes and watching paint dry.” 

Nicholas tosses EJ the middle finger as he walks off through the open glass doors. 

…. 

The day drags on for another few hours, and Nicholas does exactly what Euijoo said. He folds clothes and watches the beige walls in the back room, sweating from the heat. Aside from that, he packed an order for another regular client of his who said he would come in later. 

Currently, he’s packing a small wash and iron order into a paper bag. Someone dropped off a work uniform a couple of days ago, but he was only just getting to it now. He folds it and puts it in the bag, leaving to use the bathroom.

That’s when you walk in. 

It was hot. Hot as Hell, and all the fans in the laundromat just pushed hot, stale air onto your already damp skin. You were on your fourth errand of the day. Three reusable shopping bags adorn your arms and they were getting heavy.

You waddle over to the front desk. “Hello?” You look left and right. No one was there besides a couple of old ladies. You look down at the bell on the counter, and wrestle the shopping bags to press it down.

DING

Nothing.

DING DING DING

An old Taiwanese man appears, presumably out of thin air. He dusts dryer lint off his shirt.“Hi, how can I help you?”

You jump at his arrival, then check your phone in your hand. 

Chaewonie: just tell them it’s a small wash and iron order for pu :) thanks pookie

“I’m here to pick you a small wash and iron order.” You sigh. 

“What’s in it?” He asks as he walks to the back room.

“Black dress pants and a black button-up shirt.” You think. You’re pretty sure that’s what you remember seeing your roommate wear to work. 

The owner of the shop is confronted by two brown paper bags on the shelf in the back room. He reaches for one and quickly scans the inside. All he sees is a bunch of black. He wasn’t wearing his glasses since he was cleaning the dryers, and they often fog up from the heat in there. He assumes it’s right and brings it to the front.

You beamed at his return; this was your last stop of the day. “Thanks so much. I think it was already paid for, I don’t know. She’s my roommate.”

“Okay, okay.” The owner chuckles at your flustered state. ”Does she have a card on file?”

“Yes, she comes here like every other week. Check under Chaewon.” You stash the bag in one of the larger ones hanging off your arm and turn toward the door. 

His demeanor lights up at the mention of your roommate. “Oh! You know Chaewon? Yes, she’s a loyal customer. We’ll call if there are any issues. Take care!” 

You waddle through the open doors back into the suffocating heat. It was time to call an Uber. You were sure you’d collapse if you walked any further at this point. 

….

About an hour later, Nicholas hands over another order of “dirty clothes” to his anticipated customer. They weren’t friends, so this exchange was almost wordless. Nicho barely had to interrupt his social media scrolling.

The customer checks the bag and furrows his brows. “Are you fucking with me?”

Nicholas looks up from his phone, confused. “No…” 

The customer rummages through the bag and shoves it back to Nicholas. “There’s just clothes in here.” 

Nicholas grabs the bag in a hurry. He shifts around a perfectly folded pair of pants and a shirt until they’re visibly tousled. He closes his eyes in frustration. So it wasn’t just hot, he must’ve actually been in Hell. “My bad, bro.” He hides the panic in his voice.

He walks to the back room to retrieve another ounce of weed from his backpack. How the fuck did he lose an ounce of weed? If he wasn’t already sweating, he definitely would be now. He stuffs the large bag of flower into another brown lunch bag, exits the back room, and shoves it across the counter.

“Here.” Nicholas drums his fingers on the countertop anxiously as his customer inspects the bag. 

“Is this the strain that I asked for?” The guy attempts to open the bag and smell it. 

Nicholas rushes to push the pack of weed back into the unassuming brown bag. “You can’t check that in here.” He drops his voice and looks around nervously; his father is fixated on a game show playing on the TV by the washers.

The customer opens his mouth to protest again, but Nicholas loses his patience. “Look, I’m kind of in a hurry. Are you buying or not?”

The customer sighs and clutches the bag at his side. “Alright, man.” 

The remainder of the exchange is a blur. Before the guy can fully walk past the cat’s water bowl outside, Nicholas is pressing his father about the infamous missing paper bag. He has to find the weed before anyone can snitch. 

It’s 7:13 pm when you hear a knock on the door. Less of a knock, more of a pound. Thuds were ringing through your apartment foyer like a threat. 

“Stop! I’m coming.” You yell at your metal door in the distance.

You dust cheeto-dust off your hands; you were supposed to be preparing snacks for your get-together later, but temptation had its way with you. The better half of the evening had been spent cleaning and making a playlist. The night creeps on you one petty task at a time. 

Three more thuds punctuate the air as you approach the front door, and you flinch. With a gulp, you unlock the door and wearily pull it open. 

You’re met with a sweaty, notably attractive, young man in some high-quality distressed jeans. He has a helmet loosely thrown on his head and a bicycle to the left of him in your narrow apartment hallway. You live in a four-story walk-up. He rests his hands on his knees out of pure exhaustion. 

You clear your throat, subconsciously wiping any remaining cheese dust onto your sweats with a new sense of vigor. You clear your throat. “Can I um… help you?”

Nicholas pants, still catching his breath. “Hi, can you—“ He winces as he chokes on his words. “I mean, did you—“ he clutches his chest, struggling. “I’m sorry, can I have a glass of water?”

Now, you’re leaning against your kitchen sink, watching as this mysterious, oddly familiar, stranger boy chugs down his second glass of water at your two-seater dining table. His old bike leans against your wall and nearly knocked a painting down when he first positioned it that way. He goes back to pour himself another glass, officially killing the water filter jug you’d put out for him. 

“Glad the water’s good enough for you.” You fold your arms and search for his line of sight. He glances at you. 

“Thank you.” He puts his glass down and immediately starts fidgeting with one of his rings. 

The colorful chip bags in the corner catch your eye. Right, party. “Um, you’re a little early, so maybe you can come back later.” You lend a small smile.

Nicholas furrows his brows. “Early? What— Sorry, I’m here from the laundromat. Wang’s Washers.”

“Oh. Oh. But I didn’t order anything?”

“I’m actually here to pick something up—“

“But I didn’t request a pick-up.“ You stand up taller with a scrutinizing expression. 

“There was a mix-up with an order someone from this address picked up earlier today. Does Chaewon live here?” 

“Oh, so you know Chaewon?”

Nicholas opens his mouth to speak, then suddenly stops. “…No.” He narrows his eyes and then looks around. “I just said I’m here from Wang’s Washers.” He was judging you; it was evident in his stare. “So is Chaewon your roommate or something? Did she stop by the laundromat today?”

“No, I picked up her order for her.”

“You picked up the wrong order. Sorry for the inconvenience.” Nicho is curt and to the point.

“No… I don’t think so… It all seemed correct when I checked it.” You smile kind of cluelessly.

Nicho taps his fingers on his crossbody bag strap. “I don’t think it is.” He says matter-of-factly.

“It is. Thank you for coming to check and everything, though.” You smile and take a step toward the door.

Nicholas doesn’t budge. He scrunches his nose in confusion. He double-checked the order in the system before he came over here. How could— you step away to reveal a dirty ashtray on your windowsill next to a handful of small plants. Nicholas tuts and rolls his eyes.

“Sorry for the inconvenience.” You usher him toward the door, but he just smirks at you from across the room.

He reaches into his messenger bag and reveals a wrinkled brown paper bag. He clutches it triumphantly. “This is the order under Chaewon’s name. Black button-down and black slacks. She has the same order every week.”

You freeze momentarily before regaining your composure. He was onto you. You stare at the ground. 

“So you smoke?” Nicholas starts up awkwardly.

“Why would you ask that?”

He gestures to the ashtray with a bored face. 

You sigh. “Sorry, I swear I’m not an asshole. Your side hustle is none of my business, it's just, I’m throwing a party tonight and I thought—“

“So you were just gonna steal? That would indeed make you an asshole—“

“I didn’t steal. The old man gave it to me.” You gesture pointedly.

“That old man is my dad.” He rolls his eyes.

“And does your dad know you’re selling drugs out of his family business?” You cock your head at him and purse your lips. 

Nicholas tenses his jaw. He pauses to think of a reply. “Okay, okay.” He clasps his hands together thoughtfully. 

To be honest, you were a pretty casual smoker, but right now you were in the middle of what you’d call an on-season. Summertime is for letting loose. Besides, you’re hosting a party in two hours, and you have guests to entertain. Free weed seemed to land in your lap at the perfect time, and you weren’t going to let it go so easily.

You genuinely had expected to pick up Chaewon’s work uniform, which is why you didn’t check the bag before you went home.  

Once you discovered the package, you called Chaewon immediately, assuming it to be some sort of prank. After much discussion, both of you agreed to keep the weed, making the night’s festivities a late 4/20 celebration, and have Chaewon pick up her clothes later, assuming Mr. Wang was old and easily forgetful. However, you didn’t account for his son in this plan. 

“Do you just want to buy it from me?” He speaks lowly, like he's being forced to ask. 

You hesitate a moment. “How much?” 

“$250.”

Your eyes go wide momentarily. “You’re kidding?”

“Dead serious.” He deadpans. 

“That’s a lot.”

“It’s 28 grams, that’s a lot of weed.”

“Don’t I deserve a discount for the free water?”

“Sure, I’ll take off three dollars.”

“Three dollars?” Your eyes bulged.

“Yeah, one for each glass. Access to water should be a birthright.”

You glare at him. “And student discounts?”

“Look, what if you just give me a number and I give you how much that’s worth out of the bag?”

You tap your fingers on the counter behind you and hum. Not a horrible idea. “Okay.” You walk to your bedroom to retrieve the bag.

Nicholas ditches his satchel onto a dining chair and struts after you. The boy is not very subtle about his wandering eyes. He looks over every inch of your space, and the scrutiny doesn’t stop once you reach the bedroom. He chooses to wait outside the doorframe in an effort to be polite, but his eyes carelessly trace your unmade bed.

You open your closet door and reach for a shoe box on your top cabinet. This was where you kept some of your ever-valuable contraband, like your fancy pipe, extra papers, a couple of edibles, and a misplaced fireball. You tiptoe to reach it.

When you turn around, the young man is standing in the center of your room, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. You walk past him and back to the kitchen, and briskly retrieve a bowl. The glass clanks against the granite countertops. 

“What can I get with $45?”

He pushes his bracelets away from his wrist, opens the bag, and starts digging. He drops two small handfuls of the green chunks into the bowl. 

You look at him with big pleading eyes. 

He does a double-take at your sudden innocent expression. His eyes land back on the bag. With a deep breath, he takes out another medium-sized clump of green. “Here.”

You hum, satisfied. It’s a decent amount; likely more than you would get from the dispensary. “Thank you.”

“Can I use your bathroom? I don’t want to walk around with my hands smelling like weed.” 

You nod. “Yeah, it’s the room next to my bedroom.”

“Which one is your bedroom?” He flicks a spec of weed from under his nails.

“What do you mean ‘which one is my bedroom’? You were just in it.” You almost laugh.

“Should I remind you that I don’t live here?”

You sigh. “End of the hall, on the left.”

He heads down the hall, but quickly pivots back toward the kitchen. He strides back to the counter, then looks at you skeptically. He slides the big black bag of weed off the counter and into his satchel. 

You gawk at the judgy young man. “I wasn’t going to do anything!”

“I don’t trust you.” He narrows his eyes at you before making his way down the hallway.

“I trusted you, a stranger, into my home. Ever think about that?” You shout at him down the hallway. You can hear the water running in the distance. It stops.

“Thank you?” He mutters down the hallway, putting his rings back on his fingers. He stops a few feet in front of you to finish adjusting his jewelry. As soon as he’s done, he grabs his bike and makes his way to the door.

“You’re just going to leave like that?” You’re not sure what else he would do, but a handsome man was in your apartment giving you more weed than you were willing to pay for. Sure, he was a little sassy, but he was still fine-shit. Oddly familiar fine-shit.

He pauses, “I’m sorry, what else would I do?”

“You could at least tell me your name.”

“Nicholas.”

When he turns to you, your memory rushes back immediately. It hits you like a truck. “Wait— I’ve seen you before.” You snap.

“I don’t think so—“

“Yes, I have! On social media or something— You’re friends with that tall guy with the big eyes and the pretty smile.”

Nicholas sighs, it wasn’t hard to figure out who you were talking about.

You’d taken two classes with him before. He was also a humanities major, so it was easy to cross paths from time to time. You wouldn’t have thought the boy was friends with a dealer. “Edgy?” You attempt to remember the boy’s name.

“Euijoo.” He corrects, finally settling in place. 

You smile genuinely for the first time in your whole encounter. It’s soft and warm.“Yeah.” You look at him for a moment. “Did he tell you I’m throwing a party tonight?”

Nicholas nods noncommittally. “He mentioned it.”

“Are you coming?”

“No, I’ll probably be working late.” Nicho lies. 

The lie becomes extremely apparent when you see him walk through your front door with Euijoo in tow, visibly pre-gamed. You tap Chaewon’s shoulder from next to you. “Landro boy.” You point at him from your spot at the living room window. The open concept of your apartment allowed you to see visitors almost immediately upon entry. 

“Nicholas?!” Chaewon nearly chokes on her drink. “He’s kind of an asshole, tho?”

“But he’s fine.” You sip your drink while looking at him. 

“But he’s an asshole…” Chaewon weighs he hands like she’s measuring pros and cons. “He always walks around with that mean ass mug on his face.”

“Maybe that’s just his face?” You ponder.

“I’m not convinced.”

“He can’t be a total ass-hat if he’s friends with Euijoo.” You turn to the girl with a contemplative expression. You were already a few drinks deep, and logic was only vaguely present to begin with. “Right?”

“He’s a man, Y/N. I can only trust so much.” She shrugs with a shake of her head. 

“I’m gonna go say hi, y’know, like a good host would.” You put on your most nonchalant voice for your skeptical roommate.

“Mhm.” She judges.

“Just to show them where the drink station is and all that jazz.” You’re only barely convincing yourself at this point. You step into the crowd.

“Maybe grab yourself another drink too since you’re so thirsty!” Chaewon yells at you over the music, and you flinch. 

You would’ve thrown a cheeky comment back, but the walk from the living room to your foyer is quicker than anticipated. You approach the two lads as they’re in what seems like a heated conversation. It’s hushed and barely audible over the music, but you can make out Nicholas saying something about how this was a ‘stupid idea’. You tap the taller one’s shoulder, and he turns to face you with a bright grin.

“Hey, Y/N! How are you?” He beams.

“Good!” You shout over the music. “Nice to see you again. Euijoo, right?”

He nods bashfully. “You can call me EJ.”

“But Euijoo’s so pretty.” You smile at him. Again, the drinks are working. You’d flirt with anything with legs and a nice smile at this point of liquid courage. “Can I call you that instead?”

He just nods back at you, even more bashful, a faint red even creeps up his cheeks this time. 

You look at Nicholas behind his shoulder.

He leans down to your height, gesturing at the avoidant man behind him. “This is my friend Nicho.” He turns to him. “Say hi, Nicho.”

Nicholas forces an awkward smile. “Hi.”

“I actually met him earlier today,” You speak to EJ while maintaining eye contact with Nicholas. You’re sure that at this volume, he can hardly hear what you’re saying. “Through his little side hustle,” you whisper into his ear.

EJ’s eyes nearly popped out of his head in amusement. “You know Nicho sells weed?!” He shouts with a reckless laugh.

Nicholas flinches at that, his hand clasping around EJ’s loud mouth. “Can you not tell the whole neighborhood?”

Euijoo just giggles, “Sorry.” He attempts to collect himself as Nicholas removes his hand. “This is such a weird crossover episode for me right now.” He looks between the two of you and smiles. This entertains him for a while, then he lands on Nicho with a snicker and a pointed finger. “Man… every time I look at you, I feel less drunk.”

Nicho just stood there with the same bored expression. 

You clear your throat, gathering the tipsy boy’s attention. “I made rum punch. It’s on the kitchen island.” You point to the pitcher in the distance. 

At that, Euijoo softly places his hands on your shoulders, politely moves you out of the way, and speed walks to the kitchen. 

A laugh violently rips through you, nearly causing you to spill your drink onto the hardwood floors you worked so hard to clean. You slowly look up to Nicholas, who’s just looking about the room aimlessly. “Are you his designated driver or something?”

His brows furrow. “No, I just don’t drink.”

“Do you smoke?”

“Take a wild guess.” He cracks a smile for the first time tonight.

With a smirk on your face, you turn. “Follow me.” 

You walk away before she can process your words. You led him to your room for the second time today. The strong scent of weed fills your nostrils as you twist the door open. Five people hovered around your bed, passing a joint. This was always the designated smoking room whenever you and Chaewon threw a party, since you had two windows and she only had one. Both windows were wide open, but haze continued to fill the room regardless.

You usher Nicholas into the room and close the door behind him. “Don’t want the smoke getting everywhere.” 

He nods, looking at the group of fellow stoners. 

“So, do you have a joint?” You smile and sip your drink eagerly.

“I literally sold you weed earlier today.” He blinks at you.

“It’d be a lot cooler if it were yours.” You raise an eyebrow.

“Smoke your own weed.” He insists.

You point incredulously at the joint tucked neatly behind his ear. “You’re just gonna smoke that J by yourself, in my room?” Your jaw drops at his audacity. 

“Well…” His eyes wander. Maybe an excuse was hidden in one of the posters on your walls.

You deflate instantly. “Chaewon was right, you are an asshole.” You talk into your cup and attempt to walk out of the room, but he grabs your wrist.

“Okay-okay.” He pulls the joint from behind his ear while still holding your wrist.

You’re a bit stunned at first. His rings feel cold against your exposed skin, and his grip is stronger than you expected. Your eyes remain glued to his hand enveloping your wrist. 

“Do you have a lighter?” His words snap you out of your daydream. 

You reach into your bra and grab a small purple lighter. Nicholas follows your hand for a moment before he looks away at the action as if it were the most obscene gesture ever. He quickly lets go of your hand and clears his throat. 

“Calm down. The dress has no pockets.” You sass. It was no secret that the fashion industry preyed on the downfall of all dress-wearing individuals; you’re not sure why he’s so shocked. This was the best part about wearing a bra. 

He hums with understanding while looking away. His lips form a thin line as he waits for you to pass him the lighter. When you do finally finish adjusting and complete the transfer, he freezes again. It was warm in his hand. 

Noticing his hesitance, you delicately pull the joint from behind his ear and pass it to him. “Here.” You put on your sweetest voice to ease his nerves. 

“Thanks.” He takes the joint between his lips. He tosses the lighter in his hands for a second before sparking up. He takes a fat ass rip. The kind that would make anyone start coughing, but he doesn’t cough. He just inspects the joint with furrowed brows for any signs of it canoeing or burning unevenly. He blows the smoke up and away from you, quickly fanning it out of the air. 

He tries to ignore your fixed gaze on him as he takes another pull. He looks up and notices a plastic bag around the smoke detector above your door. A laugh settles in his chest. “Why didn’t you just take the batteries out?” He speaks without exhaling, then blows the smoke up away from you. 

Once again, he interrupts your daydream. “W-what?” You internally roll your eyes at your own stutter. 

He points to the bagged life-saving device on your wall. “You could’ve just taken the batteries out.”

You blink. “I uh don’t know.” You genuinely hadn’t thought of that for some reason. You spent half an hour looking for a step stool and painters tape, so you wouldn’t fuck up the paint on your walls with the low-brow solution. 

“That’s what I do when I smoke at EJ’s place. It’s easier.” He passes you the joint, not yet breaking eye contact with the smoke detector. 

“What about your place?” You take a pull, significantly smaller than Nicho’s. You were already a rum punch and two shots deep. It’d be in your best interest to start a bit slower.

“I have a balcony.” He says absentmindedly, finally making eye contact with you again. 

“Fancy.” You take a slightly larger hit. 

“I also have two roommates.” He grimaces.

“Are they messy?” You quirk a brow.

“One of them is.” He takes the joint as you pass it over. “To my standard at least.” He takes a hit right away. And another after that.

“I think I’d tolerate it if I had a balcony. ” You shrug. 

“Should we switch?” He coughs and passes to you. A fraction of a smile appears on his face.

“Oh, you’re joking now?” You take a larger puff, gaining confidence. You got him to smile at you. As you bring the joint to your lips again, you start to feel the high. 

“You haven’t noticed? I’m hilarious.” Delivered with the same emotionless expression.

You snicker. “Must be why Euijoo puts up with you.” You’d chugged the last of your rum punch, so the red solo cup could be used to collect ashes. 

The two of you fall into a comfortable quiet, passing the joint back and forth. Unknowingly, you both started watching the other group of stoners huddled by your window. They were having a passionate conversation about aliens, and listening to that garnered all of your attention. It wasn’t like you had a whole script worked out when you walked over to him, so it was a bit relieving.

“Do you believe in aliens?” You turn to him suddenly with glossy red eyes. Your face is entirely relaxed at this point, and it was getting to the point in the session where you found it hard to stand still. You fidget with the hem of your dress and the necklace on your neck intermittently. 

“That’s not really my thing.” Nicholas scrunches his nose. He was still looking at the loud group of people in the room. They were rowdy, and it put him a little on edge. He felt like he could barely hear the music over their chatter.

“Aliens aren’t your thing?” You ask sarcastically.

“No, not really.” He puffs smoke up at the others and passes it to you. Still looking at them.

You take the joint. It was about two-thirds done at this point. “What does that even mean?”

He tsks. “Like,” He looks around, unsure of what he was going to say. “I don’t think about them. I’m not interested in whether or not they exist.”

“Why not?”

“They have nothing to do with me.”

“What if they did?” You poke his side with a giggle. 

“Then… I don’t know.” He twitches awkwardly when you poke him. Finally, he turns to look at you. He smiles at you a little like you’re stupid. 

You open your mouth to tease some more when you hear glass hit the ground. The room goes quiet, finally allowing you and Nicho to hear the music beyond your bedroom door. However, you don’t ease at all. Your eyes shoot lasers and the people by your window. 

They don’t say anything. Each one of them has a distinct grimace on their face. They’d shattered the vase that adorned your nightstand. 

The dead flowers that you probably should’ve thrown away a while ago lay scattered on the floor with broken glass. One of the troublemakers even has dead flower petals in their hands. Luckily, there wasn’t much water left in the vase, so the floor was only a little wet. 

“Dude! What the fuck?” You shout at them, sobering up a little. 

A cacophony of ‘shit’ and ‘damn’ mutters through the hazy room. One of them speaks up. “My bad, I just wanted to see them up close,” someone else snickers. 

Nicholas takes the joint and ash cup from your hands while staring down the crowd. 

“Why would you touch someone else’s belongings in the first place?” You cock your head to the side. Your lips twist into a nasty expression.

“Chill, it’s not that deep.” The laughing one joins in, amusement evident in his voice. 

“Facts. Don’t throw a party and be surprised when party things happen.” Another spits, taking a pull of their umteenth spliff. 

You approach them with an accusatory finger. You aggressively poke your finger at the stranger's chest. “Clean it up, dickhead.”

“I don’t live here, I’m not cleaning shit.” The rest of them chuckle at who you assume to be their loud-mouthed leader. He takes another pull and blows the smoke in your face.

You pause out of pure shock. The audacity of these people— You must be hallucinating. You close your eyes and count to five in your head to prevent catching a felony offense for assault and battery. “Do I look like I’m joking?” You say through gritted teeth.

The boy in front of you looks you up and down. Diligently scanning your outfit from your exposed thighs to your cleavage. “You could be.” He delivers with a smirk. Some of his crew turn around to hide their laughter, others egg him on with little remorse.

“I swear—“ You squeeze your hands into fists. 

“You good, bro?” Nicholas interjects from behind you. If you thought his face looked mean before, this one was straight up evil. His eyes looked sharp enough to slice a diamond clean in half, and his jaw ticked.

The foolish posse stiffens at Nicho’s deep voice. “Huh?” The loudmouth rolls his eyes, trying his best to counter the immediate power shift in the room. All his goons were looking meekly at Nicholas.

Nicholas steps forward, past you. He places the cup on your nightstand. “I said, are you good.” Nicholas looks down at the attention-seeking delinquent. His voice is sharp and low.

“We’re good, bro. ” Another member of the clique rushes to diffuse the tension. 

“I’m not scared of your boyfriend.” Loudmouth carries on without a hitch.

“Dude, he’s who sold me the weed.” Someone in the back leans forward and whispers to the frontman. “Chill.” They insist. 

“Clean it up,” Nicholas says with no room for argument. He takes a hit and blows smoke into their faces. 

Loudmouth just stands there for a moment, sweating and looking around. 

“Can you hear me, or should I have her pause the music?” He points back at you without looking away.

“I-“ The ring leader starts again, but the words die in his throat when Nicho speaks again.

“Stop.” He passes you the joint. He sighs and licks his lips like this was some petty inconvenience. “Go clean it up.” He shoves the guy hard toward the door. 

The loudmouth stumbles, almost falling. His mouth opens and closes a few times while Nicholas glares at him. Eventually, he sucks his teeth and stomps out of the room. The room remains frozen in time until he returns with a handful of paper towels. He approaches the mess and stares at Nicholas with a deep scowl.

“Are you waiting for something?” Nicholas quirks a brow. When he doesn’t get a response, he pushes the boy to the floor and waits. 

Loudmouth sucks his teeth once more. He picks up the pieces of glass at his friends’ feet and wipes up the water. As he completes his task, he mumbles under his breath. “Man, fuck this guy. Let’s get out of here.” He pockets the sharp shards and the wet napkins, then the group disperses out of the room. 

You don’t realize you were holding your breath until they’re gone. The joint in your hands has burned down to nothing as it sat between your fingers. You stare at Nicho’s broad back as he looks out the window. The atmosphere was still tense. 

“Um… It’s out.” You say the first thing that comes to mind.

He doesn’t respond for a moment. Eventually, he turns to you with a neutral expression. “I’ll roll another one.” 

You sit on your bed, eyes glued to the boy as he travels to your closet and grabs the box from earlier.

“I’ll just give you more if you want or something.” He mumbles seemingly to himself. He gracelessly plops down on your bed and gets to work.

"More what?"

"Weed."

Oh, that's nice. "You don't have to."

He doesn't say anything. He doesn't even look at you. His thoughts are louder than your voice right now. You briefly place a hand on his knee, and he just looks at it.

“Thank you.” Your voice is more timid than you’d like.

“I’m sorry about your vase.” He grinds up a few small clumps of the flower. “I can’t stand people like that.” Again, he was mostly saying this to himself.

“Are all your customers assholes?” You playfully push him with your shoulder.

“Well, that would include you and Euijoo, so…” He rolls the weed into one of the beige papers from your box. “Yes.” He smiles at his own joke.

You laugh, and you feel the stress of the situation roll off your shoulders. 

“It’s fine because rumor has it, I’m also an asshole.” 

You look at him for a moment. Really look at him. You note the silver hoops in his slightly red ears, his smile lines, and the slope of his nose. You look at the fringe of his hair and the sharp corners of his high eyes. The way that his fingers hold the joint in his hand so delicately, with his pinkies slightly pointed out. He sits up much straighter than you, his focused face makes him look a smidge silly. You smile; nothing feels intimidating about him in this moment. “You’re not an asshole, Nicholas.” 

He snorts before sealing the joint with a slow lick of the paper. “You said I was like thirty minutes ago.”

“I was wrong. You’re not an asshole.” Easily enamored, you lean closer to look at his eyes. You wanted him to feel your earnestness. 

He turns to look at you. You were closer than he anticipated. He gulps.

The two of you sit there for a moment, really looking at each other. Just muffled music and undiagnosed feelings.

"What am I then?" He looks from your left eye to your right eye and back to your left.

Your mind runs through a dozen answers per second. "I don't know yet." You glance around his face. "But... I want to find out."

And you plan too.

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

Likes, blogs, & reshares are very appreciated <3 I hope you enjoyed!

< May or may not revisit this, lmk your thoughts >

[rrradduh]

An Easy Beginning pt 1

Musician Heeseung x Marketer f!reader | 10k-ish words

Synopsis: On your one night out every 6 months, you meet a charismatic musician who sneaks his way into your heart under the guise of a business relationship. The problem is, you already have a boyfriend.

Themes/ Elements: friendship, youth, hidden feelings, micro cheating, toxic/controlling relationship!, long-term relationship, work life (reader works in advertising), Y/N is a little mean, Heeseung's stage name is 'Evan', drinking, tension, angst, fluff (?), cursing, minor time jump, arguing, open ending, not sure if I missed anything

A/N: Wow 10k... and still cooking lol. This will probably have 2-3 parts total but I wanted to get something out for now. Thank you for enjoying A Difficult Friendship!!! Not very spicy in this part, but more to come ;)

ft. Sunghoon from Enhypen, Jungwon from Enhypen, Beomgyu from TXT, Jake from Enhypen, Sooha from Enhypen's universe lol, oc 'Nate'/ 'Nathan' as reader's bf

This is the first part of A Difficult Friendship's prologue, but it can be read as a stand-alone fic

________________________________________________

“So, how do you know Sunghoon?” 

You had to yell to be heard. The music was loud, but not too loud. What really made communication impossible was how loud everyone else was. The room was full of chatter and networking, and all it took was one person with a booming voice to throw everything off balance. Still, as far as industry mixers go, this was pretty fun. 

Your friend Sunghoon likes to host events like this every once in a while to keep things fresh. It’s nice to get out of the office and mingle from time to time.

There was a man in front of you, barely hanging onto the conversation. He seemed nice enough. According to the not-so-sticky name tag adorning his denim jacket, his name is Beomgyu, and he works in advertising like you.

“I’m sorry?” He leans down to your height with a polite smile. 

“I said, how do you know Sunghoon?” You share a polite smile back.

“Am I leaving soon? Woah, that’s kinda forward.” He laughs deeply. It’s louder than you’d expect.

You wave both hands in defense. You were failing utterly. “No- God- no, no. I have a boyfriend, absolutely not curious about that. ” You rattle on awkwardly, but he’s still laughing. “I said, HOW DO YOU KNOW SUNGHOON?” You all but spit in his face. 

He laughs even harder for a moment. “Oh! How do I know Sunghoon?” With great effort, he manages to calm his laughter. “We met at a show.” His voice is loud like the others. “I work at a bar. They do live music.”

You furrow your brows, that did not match the name tag. “But—“

He follows your gaze from his name tag back to his face. Another chaste laugh. “I work for a bar, a chain of bars. I do outreach.” He doesn’t continue until your mouth forms a small ‘O,’ and you nod in understanding. “I helped him book one of his new artists there.”

“Were they any good?” You tease. Sunghoon was a fiery manager at a mildly successful record company, but his clients aren’t always the brightest stars in the galaxy, to put it lightly. Nonetheless, he’s managed quite a few TikTok hits, so he makes good money. 

Beomgyu laughs. “Yeah, he was the shit.”

You laugh at his informal reply. Drinks were flowing, and everyone was surely loosening their ties tonight. Even you are nursing your second glass of cheap chardonnay by now.

CLINK CLINK. The sound of a spoon tapping on a glass pulls you from your thoughts. The music stops, and you can see Sunghoon atop a wobbly chair a few paces away. Tapping his mostly empty cup of whiskey. 

CLINK CLINK. The room gradually falls quiet. For the first time of the night, you can hear someone cough. 

“I hope everyone’s networking and having a good time tonight!” Sunghoon’s loud voice bounces off the walls. People briefly cheer in response. “It’s time for what you’ve all been waiting for, time to play Pentopia.” He smirks.

“What the fuck is that?” Beomgyu gawks, looking around for someone with answers. You just shush him in response.

“For those of you who don’t know, Pentopia is a game we play at every gathering. At the check-in table, there is a pack of black Bic pens. For those who choose to participate, the task is to take a pen and convince the judges to buy it from you for $100.” Sunghoon pulls a crisp hundred-dollar bill from his dress pants pocket and shows the crowd. A couple of people whistle, a few others mumble judgments or scheme ideas.

“Do we get to keep the money?” Someone shouts from the crowd.

“Yes, you get to keep the money.” Sunghoon huffs like the question bored him.

“This time the judges are me, my pal Jungwon Yang— put your hand up, Jungwon.” Sunghoon gestures to a man awkwardly waving his hand around in the center of the room.”Jungwon runs a promising start-up company, and he’s tough as nails, so this one isn’t going to be easy.” He presses. “You’ll get 25 minutes to come up with the concept, presentations start immediately after. Speak to Mary at the check-in desk to sign up.”

The music suddenly starts back up. Everyone shifts awkwardly for a moment, trying to get back into the party spirit. You, on the other hand, are excited, nearly bouncing in place. 

Beomgyu looks at you with a quirked brow. “I gather you’re familiar with Pen-topia.” He breaks down the word with a twinge of sarcasm. 

“Yes. Yes, I am. I came specifically to win it.” You say confidently. 

Beomgyu’s eyes go wide as you strut over to Mary at check-in. 

You’d been thinking about Pentopia for the past 6 months since Sunghoon’s last mixer, where a non-profit worker snatched away your hundred-dollar bill. They made a moving speech about how the pen was a representation of their morals, and they were unwilling to sell, which ultimately made it invaluable. It was brilliant, and it made half the room of drunken bastards cry. Sunghoon insisted on donating the $100, and they got to keep the pen.

You called bullshit.

That’s not what pens are about, and that sure ain’t what pens are for. 

You approach Mary with a tense smile and an open palm. 

“Y/N, hey! Taking another jab at Pentopia?” Mary nods with a sympathetic smile. Great, she remembers your failure. 

“Yup. Pen, please.” You give her a tight, not-so-polite smile.

She tsks, handing you a pen, and quickly moving on to the next participant. 

You storm off to start your mission. Your concept this year: memories. You were going to use this pen to draw a circle on as many people’s hands as possible tonight. Your pen will be the most remembered pen at this pretentious ass function. And your first canvas would be your own hand. 

You pop the cap and attempt to draw on yourself. Nothing comes out. You press harder. Still nothing. You attempt to scribble onto the back of your hand for a solid 5 of your 25 minutes, but it's useless; the pen is dead. Mary was about to get an earful.

There are 2 people in line when you approach the check-in table, but they’re invisible to you. You skip the line, excusing yourself to the handsome man in the middle of a conversation at the front of the line. 

“Excuse me, my pen doesn’t work. Can I get a new one?” You send a charming smile to Mary. 

She turns to you slowly, obviously unhappy that her conversation with the handsome stranger was cut short. “The pen doesn’t actually need to write. It’s like a metaphor, hun.” She lends a condescending smile. She mumbles on, “and you skipped the line-“

“I need my pen to be able to write. Therefore, I need a new pen.” Your eyes narrow, but the smile remains.

“Listen, hunny, the game is to sell the pen you have, so if you can’t-“

“I don’t mind trading.” The handsome stranger has a voice.

“That’s not how that—“ Mary’s quickly cut off.

“Thank you,” you quickly scan his nametag, “Evan.” According to that same tag on his shirt, he works in music. You’re surprised a musician would willingly participate in this competition. Maybe a friend dared him; it looks like his first time at one of these.

You reach out to swap pens. You’ve already wasted 5 minutes, and you needed to get your plan in motion.  “Can I write on your hand?”

“Sure…” He says skeptically, dragging out the ‘e’. He rolls up his long-sleeved shirt, revealing a nice silver bracelet. He extends his arm to you.

“Nice bracelet.” You gently grab his hand and open the pen.

“Thanks, it’s uh Tiffany.” His eyes bounce between your face and his hand.

You nod noncommittally. “I’m just gonna draw a small circle, okay?” He nods back, and you draw a circle between his thumb and his index finger to avoid writing over any veins. “Thanks. Don’t wash your hands for a while.” And with that, you’re off to find your next target. More than likely, it’ll be your new acquaintance, Beomgyu.

Heeseung stands still as a stone, looking at the circle on his hand. You were right, it was pretty small. At first, he just assumed you were going to use his hand to test if the ink worked, but turns out you're just weird. He can’t think of any other way to describe what you just did besides weird. 

He thinks and thinks and thinks. Ah! Another word comes to mind. It was interesting. You were interesting. He smiles to himself, but quickly straightens when Mary clears her throat.

“I need your email if you want to participate. You’re not on the list.” She sounds a bit bored with him now.

“Sorry- Right.” He babbles and begins to spell it out for the annoyed secretary.

-About 30 minutes later-

If there are a hundred people at this party, your pen has touched 70 of them. All consentually, of course. This is going to work, you repeat in your head as you listen to each person’s half-assed presentation.

Some participants were obviously drunk, and Sunghoon was growing a little short with patience. No matter, Jungwon continued to write notes diligently and criticise each idea to his fullest capacity. There were good ideas here and there, but nothing wowed them. You almost felt like the competition was unfair this time around.

Mary unenthusiastically calls your initials into a microphone. “Please make your way to the front.” 

With an abundance of confidence, you make your way through the room. “Good evening, judges.” You give each judge a firm handshake. 

“Get to it Y/N.” Sunghoon says flatly. His social battery is running low, and he can’t drink while judging. 

You’d known Sunghoon for quite a few years now. You met in college and were quickly bonded by your ambitions. You both wanted to be somebody. When you find someone with the same mentality, it’s hard to let them go. You’d study together and plan your class schedules together. Before he landed his job at the label, he slept on your couch for 6 months. Aside from a dish or a stray blanket, you never bothered him because you knew he would land back on his feet. And he did. 

All this to say, his attitude was no threat to you. 

“Always so charming, Hoon…”

Jungwon chuckles fondly.

“See guys, Sunghoon might seem intimidating on the outside, but I know he’s just a big softie.”

The crowd laughs. Sunghoon tenses a bit, but he lets you carry on. 

“Does anyone know how I know that?”

“Because it’s obvious!” Someone shouts from the crowd. Laughter breaks out across the room.

“Alright, alright. Settle down.” Sunghoon waves a hand in the air, and the laughter dies down.

“Go on, Y/N.” Jungwon urges, intrigued. 

“I know that because even if he acts tough right now, I see him differently in my memories.” 

You look into the crowd, locking eye contact with a few patrons, Evan being one of them. He looks at you intently with his arms folded and a hand to his chin. “Memories are what make up our reality; they’re the most precious thing we have as human beings. Without memories, nothing has value, and this pen is attached to the most memories out of any other pen in this room.”

Sunghoon hums thoughtfully. A prideful smile crept onto his face.

“Raise your hand if you remember my name.” You look about the room. 15 people lift their hands, including Mary and Sunghoon. “Aw, I’m honored.” You bring a hand to your heart and smile. The crowd laughs amusedly at your faux sentimental attitude. 

“Now, how many of you remember me writing on you with this pen?” The majority of hands go up, and you nod knowingly as you scan over the crowd. You slowly turn your attention back to the judges. “It’s official, this pen is more memorable than me.” The audience laughs again. 

“People don’t just care about things, they care about how these things interact with them, how these things make them feel.” You point at the pen in your hand. “Tomorrow morning, this pen will be the only pen that matters because beyond the small talk and the red wine, this pen touched their skin.” 

Jungown scribbles diligently with a satisfied grin.

“This isn’t just a writing utensil, this is a creator of memories, a connector of people. Spending money on any other pen would be an insignificant waste of money, judges.” You end your verbal presentation with a nonchalant shrug. 

It's quiet for a moment, but Beomgyu’s booming voice cuts through the silence with a loud, graceless cheer. Applause fills the space. Sunghoon whistles with a smirk. Jungwon looks over at Sunghoon expectantly.

“Anybody gonna try and top that?” Sunghoon raises a cocky brow at the audience. “Really? No one?” He teases with a surprised expression. 

“Give the lady her money, Sunghoon.” Jungwon nudges the latter with his shoulder. 

Sunghoon reaches into his pocket and pulls out a crisp hundred-dollar bill. He extends it to you, and the crowd applauds again. “I guess they’re buying what you’re selling,” Sunghoon speaks only for you to hear. 

“They always do.” You whisper with a cocky grin. At that, you snatch the bill out of Sunghoon’s hand and walk off to the bar. Now that that’s over, it’s time for a slightly more expensive glass of wine.

….

“Hey, money-bags, buy me a drink?” Beomgyu suddenly materializes behind you at the bar. Having shed his denim jacket with his name tag on it, you fumble to find the words to address him. 

The event was gradually coming to an end, and you were currently sitting atop a stiff barstool next to a mildly drunk Sunghoon. You’d been talking for the last half hour about everything and nothing. His head hung low as he looked into his drink. He had used up all his fun-guy energy and just wanted to enjoy a peaceful moment with an old friend (As peaceful as it can get with top 50 radio hits music playing). 

“No.” You reply cheekily. His face was a bit red, you’re sure he’s had enough already.

Sunghoon grumbles as Beomgyu sits next to you. “If this asshole is sitting down, I’m leaving.”

“As a matter of fact, someone threw up in the men’s restroom.” Beomgyu deadpans.

Sunghoon’s head shoots up. He looks past you at the suddenly serious young man.

“Fuck, man.” He grumbles. “Don’t tell me, tell the staff. I don’t want anything to do with that.”

“Chill dude, I just sat down.” Beomgyu gets comfortable, resting his arms on the countertop in front of him. You were going to sprain your neck looking between them. 

“Seriously?” Sunghoon looks at the latter encreduiously as he sips from the tiny black straw in his drink. With a sigh, Sunghoon rises to his feet, and you pat his back. He just nods and wanders off.

“Did someone actually throw up?” You turn to a cheeky Beomgyu.

“I’m a salesman, not a liar.”

You scoff. Even though you’re only barely familiar with each other, a comfortable silence falls over the two of you. Beomgyu swivels in his seat so he’s facing the main space. His elbows support him as he leans against the bar. He quirks a brow as he looks into the room, the crowd is dispersing, and he easily lands on a familiar face.

“Yo! Heeseung!” He yells over the music.  

You turn around at his sudden noise. How dare he invade your peaceful sitting area and invite a stranger? As you turn around, you lock eyes with the young musician from earlier. 

The pair exchange a casual handshake. “You leaving?” Beomgyu asks as they pull away from each other. 

Evan glances at you throughout the exchange. “Yeah. Studio session tomorrow.” 

Beomgyu hits the back of his hand to your shoulder repeatedly, and you turn your body fully to face them. “This is Sunghoon’s guy. A.K.A. The Shit.” He smirks.

Mr. The Shit just bows his head humbly at the words, a small tsk leaving his lips. “I didn’t get to introduce myself earlier. I’m Heeseung.”

You glance at his nametag and furrow your brows. “Who’s Evan then?” You meet his gaze slowly.

“Stage name.” He points at the surprisingly stable sticker on his shirt. “My real name is Heeseung.” He extends a hand to shake, and you meet him halfway.

“Y/N.” You nod. “I liked your jingle.” His presentation was a short jingle. Something about his pen being a ten. It was cute, hardly effective, but fun to watch. 

He scoffs, embarrassed. “I was just messing around.” He was still shaking your hand for some reason. “But you? Wow. I thought you were a little weird when you asked to write on me, but it was totally ingenious. Great concept.” He smiles warmly.

Beomgyu abruptly slams his hand to the bar counter, pulling you and Heeseung’s hands away from each other. “So.” He looks skeptically at Heeseung. “Are you still staying just outside the city? I was thinking we share a ride.” 

“Yeah. Whatever, man.” Heeseung reluctantly looks away from you at the loud man next to you.

“Cool, I’m gonna take a piss then grab my jacket.” He stands and extends a hand to you. “Lovely meeting you, Madam Pentopia. Let me know if you and that boyfriend are ever looking for a new date night spot. I’ll make sure you get some free drinks.” He winks.

You shake his hand with a more sincere, polite smile. “And you let me know if you ever wanna switch over to a real agency.” You raise a brow, and he feigns offense. “See you around.”

As Beomgyu walks off, he whispers something unintelligible into Heeseung’s ear. You tilt your head curiously, but Heeseung avoids your gaze. He shifts his weight awkwardly as you sip your drink. 

“Oh, is Sunghoon your boyfriend?” He suddenly finds your gaze.

You choke on your drink. “Hoon? No, no. We went to college together.”

He hums noncommittally. He looks at you like he’s expecting you to say more about this mystery boyfriend, but you take another sip. “So you work for an agency? That’s cool.”

“I mean… It’s stable, so yeah. I could complain, but I won’t.” You smile and he laughs. “How’s working with Sunghoon? How long have you been with him?”

“Hmm, maybe a year— Close to a year. It’s nice getting regular gigs. He’s really well-connected in the city.” He pauses and looks at you. You miss a hundred percent of the shots you don’t take, he thinks to himself. “Been a struggle getting traction online, though. Hard to make engagement stick. It’d be nice to have someone with more of a refined eye.” A twinkle of mischief in his eyes.

You huff in disbelief. “Listen, I admire the hustle, but I don’t do freelance. I’m busy enough with work as is—” 

“It wouldn’t be anything major, I swear. I’m not very good at the whole branding thing; it drives me crazy. But you could sell ice in a blizzard, I wouldn’t be a challenge.”

A laugh escapes you at that. “And why is that?“

“Because I’m good.” He says it like it's a fact. You blink at him, startled, and he laughs. “Look, I didn’t want to be that guy, but you kind of owe me. I traded you my pen even when the check-in lady—”

“Mary,” you interject.

“—Said no, so you wouldn’t have been able to win without me. You owe me.” He throws you an overly confident smile.

You sigh and drum your fingers against your lap. He was kind of right. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

You nod curtly. “Yes, okay. But I’m only offering help with your socials, I’m not building your brand from the ground up or whatever.” 

Heeseung opens his mouth to talk, but an exhausted Sunghoon walks over with a sigh. “Nathan’s outside. Where the fuck is your phone?” Both of you look at the obviously annoyed man before you. Sunghoon glances between the two of you, he double-takes at Heeseung. “You know you have a recording session tomorrow, right?” Sunghoon’s eyebrows crease his forehead. 

“I’m leaving now, just waiting for Beomgyu.” 

“Ew. Why?” Sunghoon visibly grimaces.

Heeseung shrugs. “He lives close to me, so we’re splitting a ride.” 

Sunghoon nods. He looks to his phone, then to you expectantly.

“My phone died.” Surely, the last thing Sunghoon needed right now was your boyfriend calling him in a frenzy that his girlfriend is ‘off the grid,’ as he calls it. “Sorry.” You squeeze his arm apologetically as you get up. Without making eye contact, you extend a palm to Heeseung. “Text me both of your names, your socials, a date, and a time. I’ll let you know if I can make it work.”

Slightly dumbfounded by your efficiency, he fumbles to retrieve his phone from his pocket. He creates a new contact and hands it to you. 

You quickly fill out all the fields. When you pass it back, he sees you’ve saved your name as “Y/N (Winner).” He smiles, amused as you walk off.

Nate kisses you as you slide into the passenger seat. You pat his thigh with a smile. 

“I called you.” He scans your face with an unreadable expression. “Several times.”

“Sorry, my phone died.” You reach into the glove compartment and pull out a charger. Promptly, you plug your phone in. 

“You couldn’t have texted me that your phone was dying earlier?”

A small sigh escapes you. “No. I was too busy winning.” You whip out the hundred-dollar bill from your pocket. 

He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Well, next time, either text me beforehand or pack a portable charger.”

“You could’ve come inside and said hi.”

“Study all day, come get you, find parking, then walk into a bar full of half-drunk media consultants and creative directors with whom I have nothing in common?” He laughs and squeezes your thigh. “Thanks, baby, but I’ll pass.” He shifts the vehicle into drive, and you begin your journey home.

“You have me in common.” You mumble. He doesn’t hear you over the hum of the radio. You look down at your phone as it powers on at 2% battery. A text appears.

Unknown: heeseung/ evan, @evan.tually01 on all platforms. how’s tomorrow at 6 pm?

….

“You know you’re kind of a jackass for picking the literal next day, right?” You meet Heeseung outside your office building in the middle of a busy sidewalk. 

He’s standing in front of a lamppost with a shy smile and hands in his pockets. “I wanted your memory of me to be sharp.” 

“Wait, who are you again?” You joke sarcastically as you walk past him.

He huffs, amused. “Where are we going?”

“To eat. I’m hungry, the meal’ll be my payment.”

You take him to a Japanese restaurant near your job and sit in the back. It has a cozy, wooden aesthetic, and the lighting is nice and warm. A perfect wind-down spot after a long work day. Heeseung pours tea into two small cups on the table and glances at the menu. He bounces a leg under the table.

“Can you stop doing that?” You look down his torso as you grab your cup of tea. “You’re shaking the table.”

He immediately grows rigid. “Sorry.” He looks around the small restaurant, then he watches as you scan your menu. “You know, you’re kind of a jackass for walking past the pizza spot and coming here. Are you familiar with the expression ‘starving artist’?”

“If you’re worried about prices, then don’t eat.” You put your teacup down with a smirk.

Heeseung’s jaw drops. He looks at you like that was the craziest thing you could’ve said, which it probably was. 

“Kidding, jeez.” You look back at the giant laminated paper in your hand. “It’s pretty affordable. I’m not that horrible.”

Luckily for him, you were being truthful. It was pretty affordable; he might be able to make rent after all. After browsing for a while, you settle on a fried noodle dish, and Heeseung gets an order of rice balls, insisting he wasn’t very hungry. For a while, you just eat in silence.

You start with a mouth full of noodles. “Your username is really clever, but you post like an amateur.” 

He stares at you with a face of confusion as you finish chewing your food. “Isn’t…” He looks around. “Isn’t that part of the point? I am an amateur.” He lends an awkward chuckle, then sips his tea.

“What I mean is, you’re a good-looking guy, but no one would know that from your Instagram. You’re wasting your potential.” 

He bites his lip, not sure whether to focus on the compliment or the criticism. She has a boyfriend, he reminds himself, so he guesses the safest option is to focus on the criticism. “What do you mean by that?”

“You’re too focused on seeming dark and mysterious. It's all acoustic covers and faceless pictures.” You scarf down another bite. “To make it worse, all the pics of your face are like from a weird tilted angle. Plus, you only post like once every three months.”

“I’m not ‘pretending to be mysterious,’ I’m just a really chill guy…”

You chuckle to yourself. “When I complimented your bracelet yesterday, you said ‘thanks, it’s Tiffany.’ A real chill guy would’ve just said thanks and kept it pushing.”

“How would you know? What, is your boyfriend a chill guy?” He teases defensively.

“No, he’s not chill at all. Which is why I know that was not a chill answer.” You continue to laugh at his expense. You clear your throat. “When's your next show?”

“This weekend.” He sighs.

You pinch your temples. “Heeseung, it’s Thursday.”

“Yes, it is… What game are we playing here?” 

At that, delicately place your chopsticks down on a napkin. You tap your leg under the table. He really was an amateur.

“Can you stop tapping your leg, it’s shaking the table—“

“Why are there no posts on your account advertising your show?”

“The company always posts an ad when I have a show. I reshare them on the day.”

A tense silence falls upon the two of you. 

“Give me your phone.” You place out your palm and he swiftly hands it over. “Can you ask the waiter over there for a to-go box?” You point to the left, his gaze follows your finger. While he turns, you snap about ten pictures of his side profile.

“There’s no one there.” A puzzled look on his face.

You hand the phone back and go back to eating. “Post one of those on your story.” You speak with a mouth full of noodles. “Now. And caption it with the time, date, and location for your show.”

He looks through his camera roll in shock. “Did you just—“

“Yes, now post it. You have a nice side profile, people will engage.”

He doesn’t buy what you’re saying, but he posts nonetheless. He types diligently. 

“Get one of your groupies to take some photos and videos of you on stage performing.”

He laughs shyly. “I don’t have groupies.”

“That was the response of someone with groupies.”

“I don’t have groupies, I have fans.” He presses smuggly.

“Fine. Get one of the fans who lurk consistently in your comments to take some photos— or ask your girlfriend, I don’t know.”

“I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“Then ask your mom.”

“You know, I thought you’d be a little nicer after getting your food.” He laughs awkwardly as he reaches for his cup of tea.

Suddenly, things take a more somber shift. You simmer, realizing that you might’ve been a bit brash. The sound of neighboring tables fills the space alongside the insistent clicking of a ceiling fan above you. 

“Have you heard any of my work?” He looks at the table as he asks. When your eyes meet his, he picks at his nails.

You just shake your head ‘no’ and he nods. He opens his phone, clicking here and there. You wait patiently as he then digs into his pockets and pulls out a pair of old, white, wired earbuds. He wipes the ear pieces off on his shirt, plugs it in, and passes you the phone under the table. His hand ghostly brushes the top of your thigh. “It’s a cover.” He starts with a thin-lipped smile. “It’s not out yet. “

For some reason, you felt nervous. You’d meant to give him a genuine listen earlier, but you were so busy at work today. Having to listen in front of him felt too personal, though.

A video of him in front of a large glass window overlooking the city plays. He was covering the song “Off My Face” by Justin Bieber. You’d heard the song in passing at a dessert shop or something, but this felt striking here. It was memorable. 

You could feel your hands claming up slightly at his expectant gaze. He tried to seem as if he wasn’t paying you any mind, but you knew better. You found yourself taking in all his little mannerisms throughout the video. Like how he closed his eyes at the chorus, or how his hand tightened around the microphone sporadically. He looks like he enjoys singing, and that alone is why he does it. 

The clicking of the ceiling fan brings you back as the video stops playing and the screen fades to black. You hurry to take the earbuds out like they’ve burned you. It’s only at this point that you notice Heeseung has started tapping his leg again. He removed his legs from underneath the table so as not to disturb you. 

You pass the phone back over the table and clear your throat. “It’s good.”

Heeseung nods, expecting more.

“You’re good.” You sip from your now lukewarm tea. “You should post things like this regularly. Like once a month.” Your voice is quieter now.

“I don’t really want to be known as the covers guy.” He attempts to decline softly.

“It could help you gain traction since you’re still pretty new.”

“I don’t know—“

“Maybe just try it out for a few months. We can meet, and I can help with the analytics.” You mumble the last part into your final bite of food. He had real talent; it would honestly be a shame for people not to see it. It’s insane to think Sunghoon isn’t pushing him more. 

“I thought you were busy.” He looks at you skeptically, his leg slowly coming to a rest.

“Well… Your success suddenly feels important to me.” 

He blinks at you a few times, visibly recalibrating at your words. “T-thank you.” He speaks as if it’s a question.

“I can make time once a month, but you have to actually make content. I’ll help you sort through what’s working.”

“Okay.” Heeseung nods adamantly. “I’d like that.” He smiles sincerely at you. 

Month 1

You stand in the middle of a large shoe store, between aisles of loafers and kitten heels, with a shoe box snugly tucked under your right arm. Heeseung looms behind you as you watch a video from his phone. It was this month’s cover video. 

The video shows him in a dimly lit studio singing to “GIRLS” by the Kid LAROI. It was drastically different from his last cover. It wasn’t romantic or touching; it was cool. He looked charismatic, lazily dancing around the small room. It looked effortless and fun. You smile fondly at the phone.

You’d had Heeseung meet you at the mall this month. It was hard to schedule time, so you invited him to go shoe shopping with you for an upcoming dinner. You’d already been chatting and searching for 30 minutes when he decided to show you the next cover he was preparing. His phone volume was competing with the department store speakers, but the video was immersive enough not to notice. 

“Sunghoon said the next song should be upbeat.” He watches the clip with folded arms and furrowed brows. 

You nod and let the video play fully. 

“The sunglasses inside were also his idea,” Heeseung grumbles under his breath. 

You snicker as the video comes to a close. “This is the one.” You shake the phone with purpose and pride. “A lot of people are going to like this; he’s pretty popular.”

“It’s different from my usual style.” He bites his nail apprehensively as you turn to face him. 

“It’s good different. I’d say lean into it.” You rest the shoe box on top of a nearby empty rack.

“I have a single coming out in a few weeks with a similar vibe, so this is kind of the test run. It’s the track I sent you last week.”

“I suggest you drop the single in two weeks maximum after this, so you can build off the buzz. Maybe put out a short visualizer for the track within the same week as the cover goes out.” You squat to get a closer look at a pair of pumps on the bottom shelf. 

Heeseung takes his phone back and starts typing down your suggestions.

“The visualizer has to be a high-quality 15-30 second video. Something with a dramatic look to juxtapose the cover video. ” You lift a pair of shoes, unimpressed, you reach for another.

“How do you know so much about music rollouts? Did you used to work with Sunghoon or something?”

“No, the music industry is a mess. I worked in social media marketing for a few years through college.” 

Heeseung hums in understanding as he takes a seat on a nearby bench. He observes as you move about the narrow dress shoe aisle with purpose. “What’re the shoes for?”

“A dinner,” you hum to yourself thoughtfully. You stand to look at a different rack.

“What kind of dinner?” He leans back on his hands. You look pretty when you’re focused. 

“With my boyfriend’s family. He’s starting his medical residency soon.”

Heeseung grows shy. “So he’s a doctor?” You speak about Nate occasionally with Heeseung. He knows enough, like his name and that he doesn’t like it when you text other guys (Heeseung found this one out the hard way). He knows you basically live together at your apartment, but Nate can’t get out of his lease yet to make it official. Honestly, Heeseung usually starts to blank out when you talk about Nate because he seems like a bit of an asshole. 

He thinks you can do better, but hearing he might be a doctor provides a decent perspective. Maybe you were one of the kind of girls who wanted a man with money and stability. He rethinks some of your past conversations to test this new theory. 

“In training. He’s in his third year of medical school.” You run a finger along a shiny pair of loafers. “

Heeseung cringes. “You’re not going with loafers, are you?”

You whip your head around to him, offended. “What’s wrong with loafers?”

“I don’t think they suit a formal dinner.”

You look him up and down. This man wore sweatpants like it was his job, and he wants to judge your sense of formal attire? “I don’t trust your fashion advice.” You deadpan. 

Heeseung sputters out a laugh. “That’s crazy!” He protests. “I’m stylish.” He says defensively.

“You look like you throw a couple of things in the air every morning and wear whatever hits your body.”

“It’s supposed to look effortless.”

“It does.” You smirk at him, and it catches him off guard. His big-eyed reaction draws a giggle from you. 

“You’re mean,” Heeseung mumbles under his breath and folds his arms.

You’re pretty sure he didn’t mean to start sulking, but it tugged at your heartstrings nonetheless. “Fine, I’m sorry.” You turn stubbornly to start looking for shoes again.

He unfolds his arms with a faint satisfaction in his eyes. Sure, you were a little mean, but he didn’t actually mind. Since he’d started music, people seemed to speak to his ego instead of him. Sure, it did wonders for his confidence at first, but everyone needs a little constructive criticism from time to time. 

You stop at a pair of black leather kitten heels. They’re classic. You’d been meaning to get a pair like this for the longest, but it always ended up at the end of your to-do list. 

“Those are nice.” Heeseung’s voice comes from behind you. He was standing, looking over your shoulder now. “Try them on.”

You look at the shoes thoughtfully. “Nate hates pointed-toe shoes—”

Heeseung resists the urge to sigh.“Do you like them?” He presses.

You turn to face him this time. “Sure, but—“ 

“Just try them on. There’s no harm in testing them out.” He pats your shoulder encouragingly. 

There was harm in trying them out. You ended up liking them so much that you couldn’t leave without them. You knew they’d look good with your cocktail dress. 

It’s Friday night, the night of Nate’s congratulatory dinner, and you sit at your vanity with weary eyes. It was always tough seeing Nate’s family. They were a lovely bunch, but the tension between Nate and his parents was always looming in the background. It’d been that way since you started dating in high school. 

His parents are the reason why Nate is pursuing a career as a doctor. That had been the expectation since he was young, so he never had much time to explore personal interests, and the resentment from it all festered over time. Things are better now that you’re all adults, but it’s still a sensitive dynamic. 

You were watching Heeseung’s “GIRLS” cover while you smoothed your hair into a bun of sorts. The video plays on your phone as it leans against the vanity mirror. He posted it earlier that day, and you insisted on tuning in to help with engagement. Definitely not just to hear him sing. 

“Is that Sunghoon’s guy?” Nathan walks past you, hands busy messing with his tie. 

“He’s good, right?” You turn to face the man behind you.

“Yeah, sure.” He finishes his tie and peers at the phone. “I bet Sunghoon’s cooking up a new TikTok hit as we speak.”

“Eh, he doesn’t seem like the type to me.” 

Nate shrugs. He checks himself out in the mirror for a moment, then his eyes slowly shift to you. “You look good, baby.” He kisses your cheek.

You perk up. “Thank you,” you reply in a sing-song voice. Swiftly rising from your seat, you grab your new box of shoes from your closet. “I bought new shoes.” You tap the box in anticipation. 

“Show me.” Nate sits on the edge of your bed with a smile.

“You have to promise not to hate them.” You open the box facing away from him and slip them on one by one. 

Nate sits on the edge of the bed quietly as you turn to face him. You cheekily plant a foot on the bedframe between his legs. He looks down and sighs, so you do too. 

“I said you can’t hate them, Nate.” You remove your foot and go back to sit on the stool at your vanity.

He just stares at the shoes. 

“Say something.”

“I don’t like them.” He says flatly.

You huff. “Say something else.” 

He stares off into the distance for a beat. You wait patiently with your arms folded. 

“Do you have the receipt?” He laughs under his breath, but he cuts himself off when he sees your visibly frustrated demeanor. “Come on, I was joking.”

“Glad you’re having fun at my expense.”

“What about your loafers? The ones with the heel?”

“Those don’t suit the outfit.”

“They’re black. Black goes with everything.” Nate shrugs.

“These are black too. What’s wrong with these?”

Nate runs a hand over his face like he’s exhausted. “I think you’d look better in something else. You should change the shoes.”

“Shouldn’t that be for me to determine?”

“You asked for my opinion.” 

You scoff as you stand. “My mistake.”

Nate sucks his teeth, abruptly pushing off the mattress. He speeds out of the room and rattles complaints from down the hallway. “Wear what you want. I’m not fighting with you over a pair of shoes.” 

You hear a loud slam as the front door shuts behind him. Things always got like this when you disagreed on something. He says he ‘needs the space to cool down’, so he’ll leave and bring the car out front. At least when you were both in high school, he couldn’t slam doors because he lived with his parents. 

Changing shoes was the easy way out. You knew this. Still, sometimes it didn’t feel worth it to argue. You approach your closet and seek out your boyfriend’s pick. You slip them on in silence, examining your feet in the full-length mirror by your bed. You snap a picture of your outfit and type out a message.

You: He didn’t like the shoes :/

As you approach the front door, your phone buzzes. Something in your chest stutters. Before you can fully recognize the feeling, you click on a new message.

Heeseung: sorry he’s so lame.

A typing bubble appears and disappears three times as you sit in the chat. A moment later.

Heeseung: but you still look really pretty

Month 2

You were meeting in a small studio space that Heeseung frequents this month. It was where he shot last month’s cover video. It was cozy with two worn leather couches and two huge TV screens being used as monitors. It looked bigger and cleaner in the video. There were a couple of crumbs and sticky knobs left on the control board. Nonetheless, Heeseung seemed extremely comfortable. 

He manspread next to you on the couch with his head leaning back. “I don’t understand what the colors I wear have to do with my music.”

“The blacks and dark colors are contradictory with your brand. They’re intimidating.” You sit with your laptop on your thighs and glasses falling down your nose bridge. He was doing decent numbers on all platforms, more than the previous month, 

“But I’m cool and edgy.”

“Your account shows more engagement on posts with bright or neutral colors. Bright colors are friendly, and neutrals are in trend. It’d be a safer tactic.”

With a twisted face, Heeseung types down your suggestions on his phone.

‘You can still wear dark colors in your day-to-day life, just try to think a little brighter when you make content.” You try to reassure him. 

Heeseung’s head tilts to the side to meet your gaze. He doesn’t say anything.

You sigh. “Or… you could post a poll for your groupies—“

“Fans.” He corrects you with a lazy grin. 

“—To vote and decide which concept they like better.” You lend a bored expression. “It could be a good way to test engagement.” 

“They’re gonna like dark colors more. We share the same soul.”

You toss a throw pillow at him. “Shut up and draft a post. You get the most views around 9 pm.” You tap your finger against the imaginary watch on your wrist. There were a few hours until then, but you wanted him to feel the pressure.

He raises his hands in surrender. Suddenly, the door to the studio swings open. Heeseung jumps in his seat, sitting at a stiff ninety-degree angle for a moment, until he meets eyes with the intruders. He leans back as a guy and a girl stand shocked in the doorway.

The young man in the doorway turns around with a hand over his eyes. “Sorry!” He quickly goes to spin around the young lady next to him, but she shrugs him off. 

“You should be. Even babies know how to knock, guys.” Heeseung sighs.

“I was going to knock, but Jake immediately went and jiggled the knob.” The girl walks in and plops down on a rolling office chair near the control table. Her male companion waddles in behind her, slowly uncovering his eyes.

“Sorry, didn’t know you had company.”

You, the company, sit rigid as a rock while this unfolds. You weren’t sure if they were co-workers or friends, and frankly, you felt like the least comfortable person in the studio. Everyone wore sweatpants or jeans, while you had on your work slacks. It didn’t take much for you to feel out of place.

Sensing your unease, Heeseung stirs up conversation. “This is Jake and Sooha. They work here.” He speaks specifically to you. 

You nod and wave awkwardly. 

“This is Y/N.” Heeseung looks at the new additions. “Don’t do anything weird.” 

Sooha lights up at the sound of your name. “Oh wow, we’ve heard about you! You’re helping him with his new monthly covers thing, right?”

“Yeah. We’re trying to boost his engagement.” You close your laptop. Seems like there won’t be much more work getting done today.

“I helped him record this month’s cover. That Lauv song, ‘I’m so tired’.“ She hums the tune briefly. “I’m an audio engineer.” She twists back and forth in her chair. Her voice is friendly in an effortless kind of way.

“What’s next month’s cover?” Jake appears next to you, sipping an apple juice box from the mini refrigerator in the corner.

“He chooses the songs. If anything, I just make suggestions; I don’t know much about music.”

“You should suggest Post Malone,” Jake smirks.

“I uh—“ You’re still figuring out how to respond when Heeseung interrupts you.

“I already said no, Jake.” His voice is stern.

“Luckily for us, our Heeseung’s pretty good at what he does. Especially when it comes to creative direction. Makes our jobs a whole lot easier.” Sooha playfully knocks her foot against Heeseung’s extended legs. A bashful look overtakes her face when he playfully kicks her back. 

You glance between them as they exchange glances that you can’t decipher. Something twists deep below the surface of your ribcage. 

“Not mine,” Jake mutters between sips. 

“I don’t respect nepo-babies.” Heeseung tuts at Jake. “His uncle manages this place, so he lets him work in reception.” Heeseung turns and speaks so only you can hear. 

“Stop saying that shit. We already discussed this.” Jake starts with a sigh. “I’m not a nepo-baby, I was just hired because of nepotism.” He loudly slurps the last of his juice.

You furrow your brows as you turn to the juice drinker. “What’s the difference?”

Heeseung lights up instantly. “That’s what I said! There is no difference!”

“Yes, there is! The term nepo-baby’s implies that I, the baby, want to pursue the same industry as the person resorting to nepotism. This is just a side gig for me. I’m not fucking Lilly Rose Depp or whatever.” 

“Leave Lilly out of this,” Sooha interjects.

“Dude, the term nepotism literally comes from the Italian word for nephew. You’re basically a poster child.” Heeseung sits up to properly dismiss Jake’s argument.

You watch the trio bounce rebutals off of each other. Typically, you’d be a little more social than this, but it was hard to keep up, and your body was still reeling from the inexplicable pang in your chest when Heeseung and Sooha were playing footsie. It was probably time for you to start heading home anyway. You vaguely follow the conversation as you pack your laptop into your purse. 

“You’re leaving?” Heeseung speaks lowly to you. His eyebrows are still tense from the debate.

You jump, surprised to be pulled into the conversation. Fortunately, no one was waiting for your reply since Sooha was consoling Jake. “Dinner won’t make itself.”

Heeseung nods thoughtfully. “Is Nate picking you up?” 

“No, he’s at the hospital until late. I’m fine, though.” You wave a hand in the air dismissively.

Heeseung gradually falls back into conversation while you gather your belongings. When you’re finally done, you stand and present the bunch with your least phony sad smile. “I have to go, but it was nice meeting you guys.” As you give the room a once-over, you notice Heeseung standing beside you.

“Are you leaving too, Hee?” Sooha speaks with a slight pout.

Heeseung stretches his hands over his head. “I’m just gonna walk her out.” 

Jake and Sooha politely bid you farewell. Jake is even sure to apologize for his ‘political debate’. Heeseung holds the door open for you as you leave. 

“Just so you know,” Heeseung starts once the door closes behind you. “We usually get work done. I don’t want you to think I’m jobless.”

You snicker, “I don’t think you’re jobless.” You pause to string together your words. “You’re just talkative when you’re comfortable.”

He can’t help the way his heart flutters at that. You were noticing things about him, he thought. He stares at you for a moment with his mouth minimally agape. “I um, guess so…”

A beat. 

“You seemed a little awkward in there.” Heeseung searches for your gaze. He waits for a response as if he had asked a question. 

“I was just trying to keep up.” To be fair, you were a bit awkward out here as well. That was just how you felt. You attempt to clear the air with humor: “Between the arguing and the flirting, I didn’t know where to step in.” You serve a slightly forced laugh.

Heeseung looks at you with furrowed brows for a moment, stiffening up his posture. His eyes glance around the hallway you’re in, and his hands shove into his back pockets. “Right…”

The silence stretches, so you decide to end it as is. “I’m gonna go. Don’t forget to post before 9 pm.” You walk backwards, maintaining eye contact with the musician. 

Heeseung makes a small sound in understanding, still trying to shrug off the odd atmosphere. “Text me when you get home.” He pats your head twice and flashes a soft smile. It’s gone in an instant as he makes his way back to the studio. 

Lately, it’s felt weird being with Heeseung when the immersion is broken. When you two meet up, it's as if you’re in a protected bubble, shielded from reality outside of his Evan persona and your snappy personality. It was jokes, statistical analysis, and brainstorming. It was a nice distraction. The bubble happened to burst a bit when meeting his industry friends. It was even more isolating seeing how carefree other people your age seemed to be. Is this what things could’ve been like if you had taken that gap year or gone out on the weekends? There isn’t much point in wondering now, anyway. 

Looking back on it, you blame yourself for the newfound tension. Things had been weird since you sent him a picture in your dinner outfit last month. That triggered a new wave of casual texting to the point where it seemed like you two could be friends. It was mostly view count updates, content strategy, and questions. However, the occasional funny story about Sunghoon, or the semi-regular outfit debate, did occur. Was it to the point where he thought walking you out of the room was necessary? Maybe you were friends? 

This occupies your thoughts the entire bus ride home. Over the walk to your doorstep, you assured yourself the request for a ‘home safe’ text was just a formality. You weren’t going to text him. 

You reminded yourself as your keys jingle in your front door. Again, when you took off your shoes. And once more, when you took a pack of chicken out of the refrigerator for dinner. When it plagued your mind one more time while chopping vegetables, you decide it doesn’t matter anymore.

You: Home safe.

You sit with your phone in one hand and the knife in the other. You hold a moment just to taste your defeat. 2 minutes later.

Heeseung: glad to hear it :)

Again. Twice over.

Heeseung: still at the studio, but i’m going to post the poll soon Heeseung: what r u eating? i’m about to order dinner You: I’m making chicken Heeseung: should i get chicken too?

He sends a gif of a dog curiously tilting its head. You snort at your phone.

You: Sure…? Lol Heeseung: i’ll get something delicious then post it at the studio Heeseung: for the fans of course You: Double posting??? Wow. Who are you? Heeseung: i’m evan 😎

You: Mhm. Did you have one of the beers from the fridge

He doesn’t reply for a moment, so you go back to the culinary task at hand. You’re mostly done by the time your phone buzzes again.

Heeseung: irrelevant 

You chuckle as you glance at the screen. You don’t open the phone again. By the time you sit down to eat, your phone buzzes again. It’s a picture from Heeseung, showing a platter of chicken tacos in front of a laptop on the control board.

Month 4 

The meeting is at your apartment this time, since you’re recovering from a small cold. You’d already taken a few days off work to get over it, so you knew the workload would be piled up once you went back. You were going to either call or cancel this month’s meeting altogether, but Heeseung insisted. He’d made substantial growth since your third meeting last month. He was hitting a minimum of 10k views these days. 

He brought soup when he came over, against your protests. Nate was still scheduled for the late shift at the hospital, so you assumed it was fine. You’d had business meetings in your apartment before. You’d made it through the majority of your debrief without a sneeze, so you guess you can return to work tomorrow. 

“I only go to this place on Thursdays. They always have a soup of the day, but Thursday’s is way better. Monday’s is garbage.” Heeseung sits in an armchair across from you, sipping from a spoon with his own container of soup in his lap.

“I’ve seen the place, but I’ve never gone in. They’re right by my favorite library.” You sniffle.

Heeseung freezes. “You go to the library?” He says it like it’s absurd.

“Everyone should support public libraries.” You point your spoon threateningly at him. “Besides, I like to read.”

“That's… interesting.” He nods thoughtfully. You both sit and eat soup quietly for a while, when Heeseung’s laughter earns your attention. 

“What?” You speak with stuffy nostrils.

“I can really picture you as a mean librarian.” He continues to laugh into his hand. Shoulders bouncing uncontrollably. “It’s so vivid in my head.”

“I actually did work for a library in college.” You say absent-mindedly, paying him little mind.

Once his giggles settle, he clears his throat. “I thought you did social media marketing or whatever.” 

You hesitate at his sharp memory. “Yeah, it was for a library.”

“So, what? You promoted books or something?”

“Kind of. I helped them promote resources and events.” You shovel a spoonful of soup into your mouth and swallow. “It wasn’t bad.”

Heeseung opens his mouth to ask another question, but you hear the door open and both of you straighten. His mouth remains open, but no sound leaves. He turns to you, fixing his shocked expression. 

You stand and close your soup. You wipe your hands on your house pants and walk to the door wordlessly. “Nate?”

Nate stands in the kitchen fixing himself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. 

You lean on the doorframe as you talk. “You’re home early?” 

“I’m on break, thought I’d come home and make myself a snack.”

You hum, unconvinced. You stare at his side profile as he diligently tends to the condiments on the countertop. That wasn’t the reason he was here; you knew that. You walk to the refrigerator to grab and pass him a bottle of water. 

He accepts the bottle of water with a curt nod. “Who’s the guy?”

There it is.

“I told you I was having a meeting about a project, didn’t I?” 

“Is he the project?” 

“He’s a musician, so I guess you could say that.” You retort. 

“He’s dressed a little casually for a work meeting, no? Looked like he was in sweatpants from what I saw on the doorbell camera.”

“Can you not be like that?”

“Like what? I’m not the one bringing random people into our shared apartment.”

While the two of you argue in the kitchen, Heeseung stands anxiously in the living room. He’s closed up both of your soup containers and put the plastic wrap back around his. He’s assuming he’ll have to leave soon. In the four months that he’s known you, he’s never seen or met Nate. He seemed like a mythical creature to him at this point—an anonymous, villainous, totalitarian entity. 

He wasn’t fond of Nate or the way that he talked to you, or the fact that he left you home alone while sick. Wasn’t he like a doctor or something? Shouldn’t he have been taking care of you? It was simple for him to imagine what it’d be like meeting Nate, but with the opportunity in front of him, he thinks he’d prefer the passive route of just leaving. 

Before he can finish packing away his laptop and soup, you re-enter the living room with a tense smile. The infamous entity behind you. Heeseung flinched when he first heard footsteps, but he simmered once he looked up. 

He was expecting some giant, buff, mean-looking guy, but Nate was just a regular dude. Sure, Nate was tall; a little taller than him, actually, but a couple of centimeters meant nothing to his ego. Yes, Heeseung thought Nate was conventionally attractive, but Heeseung also considered himself to be conventionally attractive. There wasn’t much for him to feel intimidated by besides the scowl on his face. Nate was just some dude in scrubs. 

“Heeseung, this is Nate. Nate, this is Heeseung.” You shyly gesture between the men. 

“Nathan.” He corrects pointedly from behind you. 

“Nice to meet you, Nate.” Heeseung emphasises the nickname and offers a hand to shake.

Nathan folds his arms. “I was dropping by to check on Y/N during my break.”

“Isn’t that nice?” Heeseung tucks his phony peace offering back in his pocket with a polite smile.

“Wasn’t expecting anyone else to be here.” Nate glares.

“Yes, well, we had a meeting. Y/N helps me manage my social media accounts.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“Glad we’re all up to speed.” Heesung’s lips form a thin line as he stares through Nate.

“Well, I’m happy you two got to officially meet.” You attempt to cut the tension, but they both hold firm. You turn to Nate and squeeze his arm. “Should you start making your way back to the hospital? How long is your break?”

Nate scoffs, starting to speak.

Heeseung cuts him off, “I actually think I’m going to head home. I have a show a few cities away tomorrow. Gotta finish packing.” Heeseung only looks at you while he speaks. “But I hope you enjoy the rest of your soup.” He grabs the last of his things and closes his bag. He looks around the room to double-check.

“Do you need help finding your way out, man?” Sarcasm laces Nate’s voice.

“I think I can manage.” Heeseung taunts the latter before facing you. “I’ll see you next month.” 

He leans in and hugs you. 

It’s fleeting, but it's there. You hesitantly pat his shoulder, unsure if you should embrace him back. This was your first time hugging each other.

You stand somewhat stunned in your living room, still trying to process the encounter. You felt butterflies and guilt all in one. It melted into an uneasy feeling, like a blanket of questions you couldn't answer was thrown on you.

You mirror his words in an attempt to seem normal about the situation. “See you next month...” You mumble as he walks out the door. 

-------

To be continued...

Likes, blogs, and reshares get you a virtual kiss on the cheek!

I'll try to update very soon, so stay tuned :P

[rrradduh]

You made my heart hurt in a good way. And like I agree with this depiction of ni-ki 110% lol! fake ahh nonchalant

Also the “can you stop looking at me like that?” 😏 ifykyk from A Difficult Friendship (update for that dropping later today btw~)

3:55 PM

pairing: Niki x afab reader | small town au

synopsis: Niki and you have your first argument at a cutesy frozen yogurt shop surrounded by unset boundaries, sudden unfamiliarity, and the cashier hiding in the storage room.

themes/elements: unlabeled/non monogamous relationship, mentions of underage drinking, Niki a year younger than reader, angst, homesickness, making fun of high schoolers, college, poor communication, small time jumps (bear with me), insecurity, cursing, arguing, let me know if i missed something

featuring: Maki (&team), Taki (&team), and Soul/Shota (p1harmony) included all the Rikis & my Japanese maknaes lol

word count: ~4K

a/n: i almost didn't finish this, but inspiration overcame me again. funny writing for Niki after Hyunjin; feels like i have a type lol. i wrote them so different tho :o Y/n and Niki are lowkey nuanced. shout out @rrradduh for test reading n’ inspiring some dialogue

likes, comments, and or reblogs are immensely appreciated.

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

You never fight. You’ve never fought. 

It’s your first time fighting with him. The first time he yelled at you. The first time you yelled back. The first time he couldn’t look at you… The first time there was absolutely nothing to smile about. 

You two weren't even official yet. Trapped in the perpetual cycle known as the talking stage. Supposedly safe and familiar. Its like we’ll die here. Like becoming official was never a part of the plan. Like there’s no way out or at least there wasn’t before this fight. 

This stupid ugly fight. You hate this fight. You would do anything to stop this fight. Because its uncomfortable and new and the first time he’s mentioned leaving and you don’t know if he’s talking about this annoyingly pastel frozen yogurt shop or you. 

He can’t leave yet. You haven’t even started. You're not even his girlfriend. 

——

Things just kind of happened. Before this summer you hadn’t seen each other since winter recess. You’re in college. You weren’t around. You left. Not that he mattered to you before then. 

You didn’t apply to any schools within two hours of where you’re from. Curiosity fueled you. What’s it like in a city? Who would you be friends with if you lived somewhere else? How would you feel about yourself if you didn’t live here? So you left. 

Turns out curiosity does not kill the cat. Just makes it a little meek and anxious. You went from being an introvert in an extrovert’s clothing (get it like a wolf in sheep’s clothing?) to being unbearably introverted. You hadn’t had to make new friends since second grade. Then you moved into a shitty dorm building 3 hours away from what actually felt like home. A cocoon with an open door policy and neighbors who make their headboard play patty cake with your wall. It was… different. 

You came back for winter recess.

Houses decorated with Christmas decorations. Bathrooms without stalls. Cable. You almost talked yourself into taking a gap year. It was great. 

That’s at least what you told yourself. You got bored after two weeks. 

So you went outside. Let the cold lick your face and visited your old favorite cafe, walked through barren parks. Even visited your old high school. As cringe as it was, that was were you ran into Niki. 

God. You almost shot yourself into space without a helmet when your realized you were visiting a high school with underclassmen who still actively remember you. Former student body president visiting the past like the glory days escaped you. Not very inspiring. 

Niki made fun of you. Well, you think he did. 

He was snickering and vaguely pointing with his friends like an asshole. Him and his bumbling entourage with matching names, Maki and Taki, stood down the hall from you in their coordinated oversized fits. They weren’t so uncool to girls their age, but you’re a college girl now. You have no business affirming a high schooler as anything other than awkward. Even though you’re barely better than them (if at all).

That should’ve been your first fight. Instead his tickled expression reminded you that you had no business being there. You already visited your favorite social studies teacher; you could’ve left immediately after. Instead you were looking at your reflection in a spotless trophy case like you’ve played a sport before. 

It was silly, but it was familiar. Like him.

You didn’t talk that day. 

You spoke when you ran into each other outside a liquor store a week later. Technically, you’re not legal but you had an il-legal fake ID, a car, and a hoodie that fell nicely over your eyes. The plan was to buy a bottle small enough to dispose of seamlessly and strong enough to not buy two. Simple. 

Niki, Maki, Taki, and some squeamish kid stood outside the store picking at their nails. Niki noticed you as your car door clanked shut and started nonchalantly nudging the guy who was obviously uncomfortable. 

He looked up and saw you. The poor boy’s face paled upon locking eye contact. 

Niki and Maki whispered to the boy the whole time you strolled up. Taki just kept looking around anxiously.

The boy approached and you were quick to ask, “are you okay?” You covered you mouth, spoke in a hushed tone. The situation was sketchy. It wasn’t in the cards to watch someone get peer pressured right in front of you tonight.

He looked taken aback. He nodded and gave a smile too jittery to be reassuring. Maybe he was just cold. He had on relaxed fit jeans and two hoodies like it was too un-swag to wear a jacket. It was January. 

“What’s your name?” You asked.

“Shota.”

“Okay Shota… Are you here to ask me to buy you alcohol?” 

He shook his head violently and started to speak, cutting himself off multiple times. Too many "umms” and "wells.” You weren’t oblivious. Underage people standing outside of a liquor store at a strip mall where that was the only place left open meant one thing. 

“Yes, but you don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

He looked up at you helplessly. You could almost make out someone sucking their teeth in the distance.

“Do you have money?” 

He dug into his pocket and pulled out a crumbled twenty.

Long story short you bought them a six-pack. Shota groveled at your feet. Maki called you “beautiful and kind.” Taki insisted you keep the change. Niki was the only one who threw you off with his reaction.

“You remember me?”

You nodded. Was he talking about the other day?

You did sort of remember him. From that day and before that. You knew all of their names (well except Shota). You were student body president. You remember a lot of people. A wave of embarrassment overcame you when you realized they might’ve recognized you despite your pseudo disguise. You weren’t setting the best example for post-high school life.

He nodded and looked away. 

“You used to friends with my sister.” 

He said it like he didn’t believe you actually remembered him. And you indeed did not. You forgot all about his sister. 

You were friends in like elementary school when they first moved to town. It was in your nature to gravitate towards new people. She was fun and exciting. You guys were actually pretty close. You’d been to her house a handful of times up until around high school. That was when you decided you’d work harder than anything to make sure you went to college far far away. When new people stopped showing up. When things got stale. 

“Of course I remember you,” you lied.

He searched your eyes for something. You didn’t know what. It made you squirm.

Without clearance from his posse, he reached into the pack of beers Maki was cradling and passed you one with a nod. You accepted. His eye contact wavered.

“Thank you, Niki.”

He nodded again. 

Taki eagerly elbowed him in the ribs with wide shifting eyes. Maki pushed Taki a little harder than he needed to and nudged Niki. Shota was just happy to be there. 

“Walk her to her car,” Maki grinned at Niki blankly.

“I can walk myself. Its right there” you pointed. 

“I insist” Maki said.

“Why are you insisting for him? I said its alright.”

“You’re pretty and its lat—“

“If he wants to walk me he’ll walk me.” It came out a little sharper than intended. “Stop peer pressuring. Please.”

Finally Niki made a sound. He chuckled. Nothing too serious, something small and boyish. 

You looked at him a little annoyed. In your head he was part of the problem. Did he want to walk you to your car? He was pressuring Shota earlier. You should just leave while your free beer is cold. Would it still be cold by the time you got home?

Niki snapped you out of your train of thought. He had his arm extended towards you with his phone lazily in his palm. He had a contact open with “Y/N” written as the contact name.

“Just text me when you get home.”

It was too nonchalant to be nonchalant. He wasn’t really looking at you. Kind of around you and at your eyes for seconds at a time. He could’ve been annoyed or bored, but you knew better. Things were mathing. This was an excuse to get your number. 

You nodded and entered your number. 

You didn’t need to really. Maybe you shouldn’t have. This dude had homeroom on Monday. It was just… really interesting. A balance between new and old. A good balance. 

——

Thank God this places is empty. The poor cashier fled to the back room once you sighed a little too loudly. The fight hadn’t even started then.

Now it was in full swing. You both were standing. About an arms length apart from each other. Looking directly at each other. 

“We’re not exclusive, Y/N!”

That was when he yelled. It wasn’t an angry yell as much as it was an exasperated cry for attention. And it was successful. 

You stopped in your tracks. Mouth closing before a response could recklessly escape you. He was right. Both of you knew you weren’t exclusive. And it was all your fault. 

He told you he liked you. Not very charismatically or romantically but he told you. Smack deed in the middle of mid terms week. Over FaceTime. At like two o’clock in the morning. He confessed. And you told him you should wait to see how you both felt when you got back home for the summer. That was four months ago and things have been seamless ever since.

He had a date of his choosing to prom. You went to a few parties. Both of you talked all the time. Its fun to talk to him. He makes you laugh. He makes you feel safe. All that time you were apart, he had a way of holding your hand without holding your hand. Giving you a reason to get through the semester. A reason to go home.

Now you are home and you haven’t talked about making things official or being exclusive. It just hasn’t come up yet. There was no rush. You just got back. 

Its just… you didn’t know he would actively flirt with people when he was in front of you. It started off subtle. You blamed it on him being around Maki and other teenage boys. But you’re a teenage girl and you’d be careless to let what happened today slide. 

The shop wasn’t always empty. 

——

There was a group of girls in here before. Around five crowed a table in the back by the froyo machines when you first walked in. Too giggly to be older than you. Too many purses and handbags to be too much younger than you. 

They were staring at him. Staring at Niki. Giggling about Niki. Chatting about Niki. Thinking about Niki. You weren’t amused. 

Niki ate that shit up. Peeking over his shoulder while serving hisself frozen yogurt. Stretching his arms over his head for no reason. Paying for your treat without even looking at you. Just put his phone out and tapped. One of the young ladies essentially turned into one of those moaning emojis. 

No big deal. You survived. 

Then, that same moany one walked up to you and Niki’s table. She tapped his shoulder with a twinkle in her eye and said:

“I really like your style—“

He’s wearing sweatpants.

“—I actually got the Mint chocolate too—”

Of course she likes that.

“—I’m not from this side of town, but I have a car and—“

WHY THE FUCK IS SHE GIVING HER WHOLE LIFE STORY?!

You were jealous. Its a strange, agitating feeling, but there was no denying it was there. The urge to be territorial over Niki was suddenly insistent. So you chimed in. 

“Can you please get to your question?”

She looked at you for the first time. Like a deer caught in headlights. You almost immediately regretted saying something when she gave you a sad, shy smile. Like you really messed up her momentum. Then you remembered she was flirting with your date.

“Sorry um, is this— am I— was I interrupting?”

You peeked at Niki, expecting him to say something. He just looked at you and shrugged. 

“Depends…” 

That’s all he said. He was looked between you and that girl like someone was bound to give him the answers. But to what exactly? 

You squinted at him. “On what?”

The girl cleared her throat, regaining both your attention.

“Can I speak to you— him— as in you, privately?”

Niki nodded. Reassuringly. He got out of his seat, walked with this stranger outside of the shop, and they started talking. 

The entire table of her peers went ballistic.

Then there you were, left alone by your date who you’d been talking to for several months. He actually left. Nothing like this has ever happened before. 

Outside, Niki and the girl didn’t touch or smile much. But Niki was nodding, looking down at her with his sharp eyes and quiet expression. He nodded every time she took a breathe. Like he was couching her through interacting with him.

She seemed a little anxious. Or overwhelmed. She had wavering eye contact and twiddling thumbs. Honestly, she was pretty subtle other than the fidgeting.

In a moment notice, she was digging in her purse and pulling out a notepad. She pulled out a pen, and tried passing it over. He rejected the pen and notepad and started gesturing at her. She nodded and jotted her name and number. Ripped the page off, and handed it to him. He took it, shook her hand, and walked back inside.

She gave a thumbs up to her peers and they all flocked outside with overly polite good-byes to you, Niki, and the cashier. Then, they were gone.

——

And now you’re here.

“So what?!” You spat. “We don’t have to be exclusive for you to not disrespect me to my face like that!”

“It had nothing to do with you.”

“It had everything to do with me!”

“She came up to me!”

“Yet you left with her!”

Niki lets out an astonished “wow.” This isn’t going well.

“If I left with her how can I be standing here, with you right now?”

You roll your eyes. That wasn’t the point. Why did he leave in the first place? He is staring at you like you’re stupid. Like you’re the one not make sense. Him walking out earlier with that young lady was weird. It struck a nerve. The whole situation was annoying. He was in the wrong not you.

“You asked for her number, Niki.”

“I didn’t— I took her number so she couldn’t call me.”

Its your turn to stare at him like he’s stupid.

He rolled his eyes, “If I gave her my number she’d call me literally tonight.”

“Well are you gonna call her tonight?!”

Niki titled his head at you. He almost looks offended. For a moment you both just stare at each other in disbelief. No one says anything. Just silence. 

He turns away first.

“No,” he starts. “We have plans.” There’s a pregnant pause. 

He faces you. His eyes are downturn. He looks a lot older than you recall. “Remember?”

You nod and search his eyes for any signs that he believes you. You remember. Of course your remember. He’s your date. You remember plans. You pay attention to him.

And right now you’re paying enough attention to him to notice how uncertain he looks.

“Why would you say that? Of course I remember.”

The plan was frozen yogurt, feed the ducks, and followed by a drive in movie. That’s why you’re in this senseless side of town anyway. The drive in theater is around here. You decided to come to this side of town to kill time and beat any potential rush hour traffic. This way you can arrive at the theater early and snatch a good spot. 

Each of you picked an activity. 

Niki wanted to go to a drive in for the first time and have a main character moment. You immediately agreed since you’ve never been either. It sounded awesome. You made some sandwiches, so you wouldn’t suffer egregious snack prices (you’ll probably buy snacks anyway).

You wanted to go to the lake, play swanky music, and feed the birds with a soon-to-be moldy loaf of bread. Niki didn’t really like that idea, he thought it was weird and dangerous. He did some research in the middle of the night and came back with a list of seeds to feed geese and ducks instead. 

Going to get frozen yogurt was a joint decision based on proximity and a weather report. A nearby sweet treat to keep you both cool on a hot day. This was planned in advance with thought and care. This was supposed to be a chill start to a day of choosing each other. Now it feels like he chose someone else.

“Why did you take her number?”

“I already told you.”

“... Are you going to call her?” He furrowed his brows. You bet he was thinking he already answered that too. “I mean, in general.”

“I—“ Suddenly he couldn’t look at you. “I don’t know.”

A sigh rips through you. 

“When will you know?”

“Y/n.”

“How long does it usually take you to decide between upholding my dignity and making a quick play? You know, on average.”

Apparently, that’s what it takes for him to look at you again. Not just any look, to glare. He walks up to you stopping less than an arms length apart. 

“That’s not fair.”

Your tongue prods at your cheek. Your eyebrows raise quizzically. 

“Right I came up the the whole not exclusive thing, so I can’t be petty when you follow my rules right?”

Niki rolls his eyes. He let a breathe through his nose that sounded scarily similar to that of a bull.

“So I have to just sit here an eat it, right? Even when the boy who is supposed to like me looks for his next target in front of me? When he looks at people who are younger than me. People who are nothing like me.” 

Your voice cracked. You aren’t going to cry. You’re just a little worked up. Its hard to say what came over you. 

Niki’s prom date looked nothing like you. And now that bold girl acted the complete opposite of you.

She spoke more timidly, more cutely than you. More often than not you were mannerly yet serious and direct. Very assertive. You didn’t stutter like her, or bend to accommodate him. Maybe that was your problem. 

The wave of insecurity sobered you like you didn’t already know it was the backbone of this entire argument. 

“She came to me, Y/n.”

“And you left with her!” You’re going in circles.

He steps closer. “Its not like that!” He sighs. “Do you know how long I’ve liked you?!”

“And now you’re love bombing me…”

“No— I just— What is wrong with you?”

“How long have you liked me Niki?”

He really looks at you for the first time in minutes. So sincere. Almost comforting. Like a timid hug. 

“Second time you came to my house. I was in first grade.” He looked left to right shyly and cleared his throat.

There’s a pause… You did expect him to say some absurd moment from a while ago. Just not that long ago. It didn’t feel like it mattered right now.

“Why not the first time?” 

“Y/N.”

“Please stop saying my name like that.” Like he was begging. \

It was clear he didn’t want to fight either.

It is unclear if you’re fighting anymore. The cashier still hasn’t come out from the backroom, but neither of you are yelling anymore. There’s less space for anger. Unanticipated confusion, vague upset, and inklings of pettiness are already taking up most of the room. Is this a fight? Your voices are lower now. You sound less… desperate. This is definitely still a fight.

“You’re out in college.” 

How are you supposed to respond to that?

“I’m just here,” he adds. “I’m always here.”

The power is shifting between you two. He made you feel guilty. You wanted to shrink. He keeps painting himself as the victim. 

He humiliated you. He made fun of you when you visited the school. He didn’t want to walk you to your car. He confessed to you during one of the most stressful weeks of the semester. He took a girls phone number right in front of you. 

“Just because I’m away at college doesn’t mean I’m not me. I’m not throwing myself at other people for the fun of it.” A pause, “you’re the only person I’m talking to.”

Niki’s eyes widen. He searches your face for any signs you could be lying.

“I didn’t know.”

“You didn’t ask.”

“You could’ve told me.”

“Yes, you’re right.”

“You didn’t even tell me you like me back.” 

You freeze. Your shoulders lock up uncomfortably high, but you don’t really notice. He’s right about that too.

This isn’t a fight anymore. Its a vulnerable conversation. 

“I— I do like you. You’re the only person I talk to, like I said.”

“That doesn’t mean you like me.”

“Can we please finish this conversation somewhere el—“

“Do you like me?”

“Yes!”

He doesn’t look happy like how you thought he would. In hind site you did yell, but you thought saying that would fix things. Fix the broken air between you two. The space cluttered with remnants of words that were pried out of you. 

“Why didn’t you just say that when I confessed?”

“I don’t know!”

“Did you not like me the—“

“You talk to other people Niki!” 

Silence. It crowds the room like toxic gas. Maybe that’s why you’re breathing so heavy. Short, shallow breathes with knowing eyes. You were tired of the questions.

“Maybe I should go.”

“Why?!”

“I don’t know!” He flinched at his own tone.

More silence. You hear the cashier drop something and curse under their breath.

“You wanna leave again? Left before because… A girl asked you to? Or was it because you didn’t know I like you and needed a security net when this falls through?”

He licks his teeth.

“Now what Niki? You should leave because now I like you, but you hurt me?”

The anger is back. He’s angry, although you’re not angry. Maybe you are. You’re more annoyed. Spiteful. Amused. 

“I should go.”

This is less amusing.

 He grabs his bag from the back of his chair. The chair that was abandoned early on in the scream match. The bag that was in your back seat on the drive here. 

He politely tucks the chair into the table and slings the cross body bag over his broad shoulder. He stops and looks down at you with tight lips and furrowed brows. Hands clinging to the strap of his bag. You can still see the note with the girls number in his left pocket.

He can’t leave yet. You’ve barely even started. You weren't even official yet. He's not even your boyfriend.

This stupid, god-forsaken, ugly fight. You hate this fight. Because its uncomfortable and new and semi public and repetitive and vulnerable. This is the first time he’s mentioned leaving and you don’t know if he’s talking about this annoyingly pastel frozen yogurt shop or you. There was no way out before this fight. But if he wants to leave you won’t make him stay. In this shop or in this situation. He can go.

And he does. 

Now, you stand alone. Dizzy. Disoriented. Disgruntled. Deadass?

You grab the two unfinished cups and throw them away. You tidy up what used to be your table. Leave it better than you found it. 

You grab your tote and tuck your chair just like he did.

You check the time. 3:54 PM. 

Without any sort of doubt, today didn’t go as expected. It ended early in an argument neither of you were emotionally skilled or empathetic enough to navigate. It might’ve ended.

A minute passes. Its 3:55 PM now. 

Your phone lights up with a notification.

Niki: text me when you get home

done! if you followed along with the story, thank you for your time and dedication lol. hope you guys liked it :3 let me know if you want a Niki version

[rrradduh]

Two Idiots & a Video Call

Enhypen Jake x Reader | 2.1k Drabble

Synopsis: You and Jake plan a trip to visit his family in Australia. While he leaves on Wednesday, you're stuck at home until Friday for work. Fortunately, you're only one call away. Unfortunately, your boyfriend plays too much, but two can play at that game.

Themes/ Elements: Video call, Jake is annoying (in a cute way), sleepy Jake, fluff, humor, suggestive content, HANDS, minor mention of religion (christianity), small mention of thalassophobia (fear of the ocean), assumed large time difference

a/n: This is for the hand enthusiasts (ME)! Also, everyone should be at least a little scared of the ocean.

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

9:45 pm

It was a lazy Wednesday night in your apartment. The dim lights only slightly lower than the pajama shorts on your hips. Tea was boiling in a kettle nearby, a ding slowly draws your attention to the kitchen behind the ever so comfy couch you were perched upon. 

With an intense stretch and a lonnggg sigh, you turn off the TV in your living room and head toward the sound. Your knees crack as you begin to walk, your hand settling on your lower back to soothe a dull vague pain. How long had you been sitting on that couch?

You clasp your hands together as you approach the smoking kettle. “Tea time,” you mumble to no one, trying to liven yourself up. You pour the hot liquid into a mug that was already waiting for you. On nights like this, there wasn’t much else for you to do besides talk to yourself.

Everything was calm. It was so, so quiet. Almost too quiet, you think as you sip your tea.

BUZZ BUZZ BUZZ

Your phone buzzes to life, still in the living room, keeping the couch company. You nearly sip up too much and burn your tongue. Right. It’s quiet because he’s not here.

A knowing smile creeps onto your face as you mosey over to the violently noisy device. 

An obnoxiously cute picture of Jake sits in the top left corner of your phone screen. His contact name is “Jake,” with three different hearts in three different colors next to it, because he insisted that plain old “Jake” was too insincere. When you pick up the device, your likeness is on full display; it's a video call. 

You answer while walking back to your hopefully not as hot anymore cup of tea.

“Yo!” He starts, plopping onto a bed with the biggest smile ever. He bounces on contact of the plush surface. You can’t keep from smiling. 

“Hi” Your voice sugared like candy.

He relaxes at the sound. His head falls forward onto the mattress, the phone only catches the mess of his dark hair from this angle. 

“You look tired.” You giggle.

He murmurs a full sentence, his voice muffled by a pillow.

“What?”

He repeats the action.

“I can’t understand a word you’re saying.” Your eyes narrow at him in amusement.

He starts to talk into the pillow again, but you cut him off. “Babe.” You put on your stern voice this time, smile fading quickly.

On the other end, he drops the phone, so all you see is black. You hear ruffling of fabrics for a moment, then his beautiful face returns, still smiling. He’s sat at the headboard now. It’s a small bed, no larger than a full. 

“I said I’m not tired,” a yawn erupts in his chest, “I’m just relaxed,” he talks through it.

You laugh. Why is he so silly today?

“Did you sleep on the plane?” You ask, obviously not buying his claim. 

He shakes his head no. “I was in and out. The plane smelled like ass, and some guy in my row must’ve had a fucking deviated septum with the way he was snoring.” He grumbles, thinking back to the long plane ride. “But I’m home,” he shares a small, merpy smile.

“If you’re tired, you should sleep, babe.” You smile sympathetically. 

“No, I wanna talk. I gotta adjust to the time zone.” He sounds tired and stubborn. Another yawn, slightly smaller this time. 

You sip some of your tea with a hum. “Okay… then how does it feel to be back in the great ole Oz?” You awfully attempt an Australian accent. "The Low Down welcoming you with open arms?” You make your way toward your shared bedroom, envious of his comfort and sick of standing.

“The what, babe?” He bites his lip to suppress a laugh.

Another sip. “You know, back at the good ole Down Below- shit, that’s not right…” 

He nearly spits at that, his eyes closing as he folds with laughter. Your view of his face was obscured once again. “Down Under. The term you're looking for is Down Under.”

You suck your teeth, approaching your bedroom door. “You knew what I meant.” 

For a moment, he just stares at you through the phone. His eyes practically oozing with adoration. It almost makes you shy. He wildly shakes his head like he’s knocking himself out of a trance. “No, yeah. It’s been good. Really good. Mom and Dad picked me up,” he laughed to himself for a moment, “Mom actually cried a bit. It was nice, and it’s really nice weather this time of year…”

He carries on mindlessly rambling about the ride from the airport to his neighborhood. He mentions how some of his favorite shops are closed, but an old sandwich shop he remembers was still standing, so he bought a ham and cheese toastie. He spoke about new furniture his parents had replaced the old living room set with, and the fact that his room, where he lies now, is a lot smaller than he remembers. 

You take his yapping as an opportunity to get cozy in your own bed. You leisurely sip your tea and rub your feet together under the covers. You argue with yourself on whether or not to put your hair up and commit to the bed-life for the rest of the night, but you decide to wait until after you two hang up.

“It’s really pretty here, I can’t wait for you to see it.” He speaks in a dreamy voice, like it makes him giddy just imagining you there with him.               

“I can’t wait to see it.” You smile at him softly. “I can’t wait to see you.” It was true, one peaceful night at home was nice, but you don’t know what you’ll do with another. You were unable to leave in the middle of the week because of work, but your flight is scheduled for Friday evening.

He blushes shamelessly at your words. “Are you packed yet?”

You laugh. “Yes, Jake, I was basically fully packed when you left. Remember?”

He smiles to himself. “Did you buy a swimsuit yet?”

“No, not yet. Honestly, I was thinking of just buying one when I get there.”

“Nuh uh.” He pouts cutely. “I wanna take you straight to the beach when you get here.”

“So no shower? Nothing? It’s a long flight.”

He sighs thinking about the stinky plane ride. “Okay, you can shower— with me— then we go to the beach.”

You deadpan. “Jake, this is your parents’ house we’re talking about. Have some decorum.” 

He sighs again, louder this time, and runs a hand over his face. “Fine, you can shower by yourself. Then beach.”

“What about a hot meal? I’m gonna be hungry after the flight.” You tease.

“No, we’ll just eat something on the boardwalk. I’ll get you a toastie.”

“Why can’t I eat anything before the beach…” You lend a baffled smile.

“Because I want to teach you how to swim!” He whines. Yup. This was your Jake.

You erupt with laughter, like the kind of laughter that makes your stomach hurt. Tears prickling your eyes. Jake protests from the other end of the line, spewing inaudible rebuttals. “Sorry-sorry. I just didn’t realize I signed up for swimming lessons.”

“Well, you did.” He cozies up in the bed, speaking with his eyes closed. “The moment you said yes, Jake, I want you to be my boyfriend.” He speaks in a high-pitched voice, imitating your tone. Rude, your voice isn’t even that high.

“What if I already know how to swim?” You scoff.

“Then you’ll learn again. Obviously.” His eyes are still closed, but he speaks with conviction, leaving little room for argument. 

“But—“ 

Beep.

Your lock screen appears. Did he just hang up on you? You stare at the device in disbelief, just blinking. You can’t even remember what you were going to say when the screen bursts back to life, buzzing nonstop. His contact photo appearing once again, you look back at yourself in the video display. You bite your lip, this shouldn’t be as cute as it is. You answer quickly.

When you pick up, Jake’s holding the phone extremely close to his face with a devilish grin.

“You think you’re real fucking funny, don’t you?” You sass immediately.

“The swimming thing’s not up for debate,” he rasps. 

“Do you have to teach me at the beach? Like in the ocean? What about a pool?”

“No, it has to be the beach. The water’s so clear here, seriously.” He beams and you stiffen. A smile creeps onto his face. “Why? Are you like afraid of the ocean?” He laughs, you don’t.

A beat.

“I’m not afraid… I’m just… apprehensive.” You purse your lips. 

He stiffles a laugh. “That’s a mentality issue.” 

“Fuck y-“ before you can finish the sentence, he hangs up again. You freeze. A sigh making its way past your lips, it was less amusing the second time. He calls again, and of course you still pick up.

“Stop hanging up on me.”

“No bad words, baby, this is a Christian household.” He taunts, wagging a finger in front of the camera slowly. 

He thinks he’s got you backed against the wall, but you decide to get under his skin this time. You sigh, on purpose this time. “Your hand looks nice. Can you do that again?” You lie flat on your back, fully extending your arm so the phone is above you. 

His smile drops instantaneously. He blinks.

After a moment, he flips the camera, showing you his hand. He alternates between showing the back of his hand and his palm. He’s wearing the ring you got him, and it makes your heart flutter a bit.

“And the other one?” You smile cheekily, knowing you’ve already won. 

You hear shuffling from behind the phone, and soon enough, the other hand is on full display. He oscillates the back and the front of this hand as well. 

His knuckles are a little red, per usual, the familiarity makes you smile. You hum, pleased. He flips the camera back. He lays there chewing his lip almost as if he’s awaiting further instruction.

“Those pretty hands have nothing on that pretty face.” You grin.

He clears his throat and looks away. “Uhm anyway. What time is your flight Friday?”

“7 pm.”

He nods knowingly. “Cool, so you just hate me.”

“How could I hate that face? I can’t even remember what I was talking about.” You giggle, quickly immersed by your teasing. It's easy to flirt with Jake. More than easy, it’s addictive. 

“You were talking about my hands…” 

You bite your lip seductively. “Right,” you trail off, syllables melting into thin air. You giggle again. “If I were there, where would you put them?” You use your free hand to bring a finger to your lip, poking and pouting as if in deep thought.

He draws a labored breath. “Yeah, you hate me. That’s fine-“

“I’m just asking a question,” another giggle escapes you.

He looks away from you and says nothing. He struggles to regain his composure.

You hum sweetly. “You wanna know where I would put them?” The hand by your mouth makes its way to your side, smoothing out the sheets mindlessly.

He places the phone to his side and faces the ceiling, so you just see his side profile. Still, he can’t help but glance at you as he sees your hand leave the frame. He can’t bring himself to answer because he truly doesn’t want to get a hard-on right now, but his mind wanders.

“You know where, don’t you, baby?” You smile teasingly. It was too easy.

His adam's apple bobs noticeably. He shakes his head curtly. “Where?”

You slowly bring the phone closer to your face with a sly smile, and he looks at you this time. His sanity was hanging by a thread. 

“I’d put them,” you whisper. You pause, and he turns toward you now. 

A beat.

“On these nuts.” You smile wickedly.

Jake’s eyebrows furrow, and his mouth falls open. His expression mimics a wounded puppy. 

Before he can fully process what just happened, you start, “Goodnight, baby.” Your voice sounds like pure honey, as if you didn’t just diss him like a middle schooler at lunch time.

“I-“ he attempts to form a comeback, but you briskly hang up. Poof. Gone.

Jake sits in his room, feeling like an idiot, looking at his home screen display of the two of you. A couple more blinks and he’s reorienting, slowly, but surely. 

“I should let her drown at the beach”, he says to no one in particular. Great, now he was talking to himself. Maybe he should've just taken a nap.

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<Had this idea randomly at lunch one day and I thought it was hilarious>

<likes, comments, & reblogs are appreciated!>

[rrradduh]

My talented friend just made her first post!!! I had the honor of reading first ☺️ Seriously such an immersive writing style imo, truly a good read ⭐️⭐️⭐️

11:48 PM

Pairing: Hyunjin x afab reader | college au

Synopsis: It's only been about a year or two terms, but you've been dating Hyunjin for as long as you've known him. Time flew without you noticing. Then, you agreed to go with him to Korea at the end of the semester. Times still flying, but now you notice.

Themes/ Elements: established relationship, angst, low-key poor communication skills, tension, insecurity, food/eating, family, small age gap (Hyunjin is a junior, reader is sophomore), internal dialogue, humanities majors (art, art history), let me know if I missed anything

Word Count: 2,329

a/n: this was not supposed to be hyunjin... i wanted to write sunghoon (enhypen), but the voices took over sorry guys. kind of mad everything is in auto-caps, but i'll live an learn. first time writing, please give me grace. i have a lot to say, but I'll let my writing lead the conversation.

likes, comments, and or reblogs are immensely appreciated.

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It was exactly 11:48 PM when Hyunjin knocked on your door. Well that was the time it was as you received his second call in a row. Honestly, you might’ve almost dreamed it after over two hours of failed attempts at getting in contact with him. 

You pick up immediately, putting the phone between your ear and shoulder as you half hazardously slid into your slippers. 

“You outside?”

He nods without realizing you can’t see him. He forces out a “yeah” when he realizes. You’re already at the door when he responds. He knows because he can hear the knob unlocking. 

He hangs up first, but can’t help the twitch of his lips when the door finally opens. 

“Hey” is all he gets out. 

You’re already walking back towards your room. You hadn’t looked at him long enough to see how his eyes were warm behind the exhaustion when he spoke to you.

Unfortunately, you aren’t really in the mood for pleasantries. Your body barely cooperated when you had to remove yourself from your tiny desk chair and retrieve him from your front door. You fell asleep at your desk and the ache in your neck was your reward. In all honesty, you didn’t mean to work on your assignment for that long. You just weren’t really getting anywhere with it yet. 

Last semester you thought it would be fun to take sculpture class as an elective. Hyunjin was always telling you how crafty you are and your ego must’ve skyrocketed because you were determined to take an art class. You didn’t imagine having no idea what to make when you signed up and you sure didn’t expect to have to go to office hours to develop a concept from scratch two weeks before you had to give in your final project. 

You’re an art history major not an art major after all. And you didn’t see yourself how Hyunjin saw you. He always thought you had so much going for you even when you first met about a year ago. 

You’ve been dating for exactly eleven months and three days. Four days once it strikes midnight, but you weren’t counting. Not on purpose at least. 

Time has been easy to track for both of you lately. 

For instance, he got promoted from internee to artist assistant at his job like four months ago, at the beginning of the semester. Now the semester is almost done and you’re almost a junior (god willing) and he’s just about a senior. He hasn’t gone back home in a year, which is again nearly how long you’ve been dating. So like two months ago over spring break jungle juice you decided you’d accompany him back to Korea and now your flights in three weeks which is only a week after your silly little sculpture is due. 

Its a lot of numbers, but you’re an art history major so yes you pay attention to time and patterns.

Hyunjin’s been coming straight to your place after class and work, like today, for about two weeks. Last week you waited up in the living room everyday. But it was a Monday now and you obviously couldn’t stay awake today.

Now its 11:50 PM and you and Hyunjin are in your room. 

Hyunjin leans against your doorframe. “Did you eat?”

You shake your head from all the way at the headboard of your bed.

“You hungry?”

You reposition so you’re facing him better. “Its late Jinnie, come to bed.”

“But you’re hungry?”

“I’m tired.”

He scoffs, “Can’t you just answer the question?”

“Yes, babe. I am hungry b—“

“I’ll cook for you,” he nods.

He’s already walking to the kitchen. By the time you get there he has two cabinets open, a pot, a bowl, and a pack of ramen on your counter. He must’ve been moving quick because none of those items come from the same cabinet. 

“Wheres your bowl?” You jump onto some empty counter space.

“I ate already” 

You pause. “With who?”

He gives you that look. That look he has when he’s a little bewildered and defensive. “People from work, baby.”

You respond with a hum and look away from him. 

He sighs so low its seemingly against his will.

“You could say their names. Its not like I don’t know them. I know who you work with.”

“Then why do you need me to say it?”

In your head you repeatedly asked yourself why he would need a reason. Was it a huge inconvenience to say his co-workers’ names? Its not like you haven’t met them. You’ve been dating for a year. You literally started dating after he started working at the studio, after he met them. You’ve heard their names. If anything he is being weird.

“I just thought if you’re not going to eat with me you can at least say you went out to eat with Changbin and Chris,” you mumble without turning to face him.

“I just don’t get why you asked.”

Now the pot is on the stove and he’s mixing with the pretty chopsticks he bought you and forced you to use (not that you were complaining; not knowing how to use chopsticks was pretty embarrassing). 

“It just makes me feel like I’m out of the loop when you say things like that.”

He nods with his back toward you. 

Its tense for no reason. 

In all honesty, he’s not even looking at you, but its hard to look at him. You don’t even know why, but it just is. Not because he’s unattractive or anything like that. Maybe he’s too attractive. 

His hips lean forward into the stove and his broad back faces you unabashed. Every once in a while the image of him in your plainly decorated kitchen feels off. Like there’s no way he could stay in a place like this. I mean technically neither can you since its already been decided you're going to South Korea or your parent’s house if shit hit the fan in a few weeks, but why would shit hit the fan?!

“Where did you eat?” You blurt before your thoughts escalate.

He laughs to himself, “Wouldn’t it be rude to talk about food to my beautiful, hungry girlfriend?”

He peaks over his shoulder shyly. You shrug. He turns back.

More silence.

“Give me the full experience,” you try to say confidently. 

He faces you briefly just to raise a brow that looks so untrusting and confused you can’t help but smile. You hop down from the cold counter and perch yourself next to him. “Make me feel like I was there.”

Hyunjins quick to face you entirely. 

You give him a shy derpy smile, but keep your eye contact steady like his.

The corners of his lips turn up. He looks down at you with eyes like hugs. Then, he talks so softly, you forget to breathe.

“The sky was the prettiest blue outside as we closed the studio. There was big mosaic commission we wrapped up today after sunset and the senior artist left for the evening. Changbin walks over and taps me like—“

He scans your face. His gaze drops to your shoulders draped in one of your over sized t-shirts. You look down too. And then—

TAP TAP TAP. His index finger gently taps your right shoulder.

“He says ‘there’s a new buffet a town over’ and I say ‘I’ll get my jacket.’ And you know what he says?”

You shake your head thoughtlessly.

He leans into your ear and whispers, “grab some antacids instead.” 

Just like that he’s backing away from you and chuckling while you swat at his arm repeatedly. What is wrong with him? 

“Were you immersed? Did I give you an experience?”

You roll your eyes as you walk away from him. “You didn’t even talk about the food.”

He smiles, “I had a good meal. I’m stuffed. ”

“I’m glad.”

Finally the silence is comfortable. Its a relief. You’re relieved. 

The noodles finish cooking. Hyunjin makes sure to place them in the bowl prettily with veggies on top and without broth splashes.

You causally grab the bowl before he can pass it to you and place a kiss on his cheek. 

“Thank you.”

He nods and follows you to your room soundlessly closing the door behind you both. 

You sit at your desk and begin to eat while Hyunjin rummages through the messy drawer you’ve thrown all his stuff in for some sort of pajamas. 

Things were usually quiet between the two of you. Neither of you felt the need to speak all the time, so you’d often fall in to silence with varying levels of comfort. Right now it seemed comfortable. Because it was… but when you sat down at the same table as your abandoned cellphone and sculpture your brain started thinking again. 

He hadn’t answered your texts for two hours before you fell asleep. You almost crashed out. Instead of leaning all the way into your usual separation anxiety you were busy craving your boyfriend’s eyes (or eyes that vaguely resemble his) into the makeshift clay mask that you were working on. The concept you landed on was depicting someone you love how you see them. Now that mask sits next to your phone and ramen, staring back at you. 

That’s probably why you struggled so much. You preferred sculpting when he was over. He was always giving unwarranted advice and suggestions on how to make your projects better when you had no idea what even looked nice anymore. He was confident about art and you would borrow his confidence. 

But he wasn’t there, even if he is now. 

It wasn’t a big deal he was working. He didn’t text you that he was going out to dinner with his friends, but you made it through anyway. He hasn’t really been the type to ask for permission for as long as you’ve known him. It was fine.

But the silence has become tense again. For you at least. 

You look over at him lounging in your bed. He’s already looking at you. His phone is in his hand lazily, but he’s not paying attention to it.

He clears his throat. “Good?”

You nod with a mouthful, avoiding his stare.

“My mom asked if you’d want your own room.”

You shake your head “You said your house isn’t that big anyway.”

“We could get you a hotel or something if—“

“Why would I stay at a hotel? That’s expensive.”

“It— I’m just saying,” he cuts himself off. “If my house was bigger would you want your own room?”

“I don’t know. No.”

“Why?”

There’s a beat. “I’d probably miss you too much.”

Hyunjin puts down his phone at that, looking around the room like he’s been pranked. “You didn’t even say hello when I got here.”

Now its your turn to look at him with furrowed brows. “That doesn’t mean I didn’t miss— do you want separate rooms?!” Your delivery is sharp.

“No.”

“Okay.”

You turn back to your bowl and continue eating begrudgingly.

“Its,” he starts. “Never mind.” 

You pivot towards him. “What?”

He shakes his head.

Not the back tracking. You hated the back tracking. What could he have possibly been about to say. Did he actually want separate rooms? Did you do something wrong? 

“Just say it babe.”

“You weren’t in the living room today Y/N.”

You blink a few times and take a good look at him. He’s pouting a bit, bottom lip slightly poked out and eyebrows knitted together. It was almost like he missed you too. 

Its possible. He might’ve… But there’s simply no way. You tried to reach him several times this evening, just like everyday for the past week. He was out with friends instead of you and couldn’t even bother to text back. If he thinks you have a odd way of showing you miss him, he’s no better. 

“I fell asleep at my desk. I was um, working on my sculpture all night.” 

He hums. 

“The only reason I wait in the living room is because you come here so late.”

He sits up straighter. “I don’t always come late.”

That’s true. You nod reassuringly sitting up like you’re defending him too. “Of course not, but you have been lately.”

He’s always been a really attentive listener. Right now he’s nodding and making eye contact and seemingly taking in your every last word. Yet all he say back is,

“Yeah, but not always.”

You didn’t say always to begin with. Why is he harping on that? The days he comes to you late are the days he’s working at the studio and his artsy friends offer him something better to do without the promise of a plus one. Monday, Wednesday, Friday, and occasionally Saturdays. Days he had class, weren’t a problem. Tuesday, Thursday, and Sunday are your saving grace. 

 You are a little bitter. If he asked you wouldn’t lie. At least you don’t think you would, but talking about feelings can be hard. 

“I was actually, kind of sad you weren’t here to help with my sculpture. Art is more of a you thing for sure.” You tried to say it lightheartedly, but it came out kind of rigid. 

“You don’t need me. You’re better at art than you think.” He sounded more sincere than you, you’re certain he meant it.

“You can still be there.”

“I am here.”

“But you weren’t.”

He sighs. Loudly. Loud enough for your lip to curl and your eyes to narrow. 

“We’re going to be together a lot more in a month anyway.”

“Three weeks,” you correct. You weren’t counting on purpose, but at least you thought you weren’t the only one counting. Turns out you are.

It wasn’t always like this. Your relationship with Hyunjin started off so lovestruck you immediately hopped into dating.

Sometimes you wonder, if you should’ve been friends first. 

[rrradduh]

We NEED MORE OF A DIFFICULT FRIENDSHIP PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE or else (JKJK I LOVE UR WRITING )

After 5 pleases, how can I say no :D

A Difficult Friendship will return 😈 Currently writing some prologue stuff for it (particularly for Heeseung!), but we’ll see. Hoping to post more soon!

Thank you thank you thank you for reading and enjoying 😚😚😚 this made me really happy haha

[rrradduh]

posted my 1st enha fic & nct fic at the same time on the same day… kinda conducting an experiment here 🥸

[rrradduh]

A Difficult Friendship

reader x lee heeseung | 3.1k words

Synopsis: Your and Heeseung's friendship has always revolved around ignorance and self-control. Meaning, you both ignore your feelings and control the urge to act on them. After all, you were going to marry your long-term boyfriend, and Heeseung was always dating around. What happens when Heeseung can no longer commit to the illusion?

Themes/ Elements: angst on angst, yearning, reader is deflective as hell, flashback, dialogue heavy, some spicy kissing toward the end/ cheating (whoops!), some sugar and sweetness (yay!), open ending...

a/n: This is my first post for real for real :D if you like it, maybe comment/ reblog with your fav line of dialogue idk lol, hopefully you enjoy!! y/n's s/o's name is "Nate" for whatever reason....

((I also wrote this for Mark of NCT))

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“Can you please leave my apartment?”

“Y/N stop—”

“Heeseung. I am asking you nicely. Please leave.”

“No. I’m not leaving. You always do this shit- do you know that? You always do this shit. You’re so fucking—“

“What?” You turn fully to face him. 

You’ve been walking in circles for the past ten minutes in your small apartment, Heeseung hot on your tail, struggling to get a word in between your relentless rejection. You’d made your way from the front door to the living room— where you were previously sprawled on a moderately stiff couch with a pint of ice cream and a stupid, sad movie to wallow in self-pity, like a true adult— to the kitchen. 

You were going to attempt the pile of dishes in the sink to distract yourself, but his tone. His tone stopped you in your tracks. He was raising his voice, that’s new.

A scoff leaves your lips at his lack of response. He has your full attention now. Unfortunately for him, he’s not the only one in the room with a big voice. 

“What, Heeseung?” You tilt your head to the side, waiting. He looks down, drawing a labored breath. 

“Look, I came here to talk to you. Can we just sit down and talk?” He awkwardly shoves his hands in his pockets. His eyes bounce between your face, your chest, and the floor. Your tank top wasn’t helping at all, he really did just want to talk.

“No. What were you going to say?” You lean against the counter with your arms across your chest. 

He looks to the ceiling, catching a small stain in the corner from where you flicked pasta onto the ceiling a week ago. He suppresses a smile as his eyes fall to the floor. 

A week ago…

Heeseung had come over because you were stressed about a pitch presentation you had the next day and wanted to practice in front of someone. You work in advertising and were nervous about a new client you’d been assigned, something about a new “environmentally friendly” paper towel company. 

He has no clue why you’d called him of all people. The whole reason you’re as close as you are now is that Heeseung is overwhelmingly clueless when it comes to branding and marketing his own product: his music. What started as a paid agreement became an unusual friendship, then (on his end at least) an unfortunate co-dependency. 

That night, after you were done rambling on about how “all paper towel commercials are tired and unoriginal”, you insisted on feeding him for his service. All he really did was sit on your couch and dote. It was almost embarrassing. He knew his feedback was three “wows” and four “ums” away from useful, but it seemed to give you enough confidence to calm down.

You made pasta in some sort of red sauce. It was vaguely simple and only took you 30 minutes to prepare, which made Heeseung feel like less of a burden.

At some point, he had excused himself to the restroom. When he returned, you were singing softly as you stirred the finished meal at the stove. Your hips moved absentmindedly to the low hum of a speaker on a nearby countertop. A small, almost unnoticeable, laugh escaped you at a particularly lovey-dovey lyric. 

He wanted to laugh, too, but instead, he just quietly walked closer to you. You remained in your own little world, facing the stove as he shuffled toward you. The moment was too pure for him to interrupt. He solely wanted to observe up close. 

The chorus kicked in, and your singing grew bolder. A few paces away, Heeseung took another tentative step— CREEK. 

You whipped around fast, a few pieces of spaghetti flicking from your spoon to the ceiling as you turned. You could hear the wet red sauce splash against the high ceiling over the music. 

“Why are you so damn quiet?” You said as you clutched your chest, heart still racing. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to interrupt.” Heeseung put his hands up in defense.

“No, sorry, you didn’t—Well, you kind of did, but it’s fine.” You fan a hand in the air dismissively. 

Heeseung walked closer to you. He looked at the bubbling pot of pasta and sauce, then at you. “Looking good.” His expression was way too sincere. You weren’t sure if he was talking about the pasta or you, but you pushed the feeling back. 

“Yeah?” You tease.

“Yeah.” 

“Thank you,” you share a soft smile. 

There was a long moment of silence and prolonged eye contact. The music still played, but it felt quieter. He remembers you clearing your throat, likely to ease the tension, but it just drew attention to your mouth. 

SPLAT.

The wet spaghetti drops from the ceiling and onto the floor in some corner of your kitchen. It drags your attention away, slicing the tension into small, bite-sized pieces.

Moments like this always happened between you two. 

Heeseung smiled and reached for the spoon in your hand. “Go sit, I’ll make our plates.”

“No, no. I got it.” You reached for the spoon, but he’s quicker.

“So you can throw more pasta at the ceiling?” 

“You scared me!” You protest. 

“I went to the bathroom, I didn’t evaporate into thin air. You knew I would come back.” He laughed in disbelief. 

“You literally tiptoed up to me, but I’m the weird one—“ You pushed his chest playfully.

He grabbed your hand against his chest and smiled. You stiffened slightly, but he didn’t say anything. “Seriously, go sit. I’m bored, let me do something.” 

You blinked at him and reluctantly drew your hand from the firm surface. “Fine,” you walked to your small dining table between the kitchen and the living room. “Turn up the music,” you glanced at him over your shoulder, eyes riddled with mischief. His stomach dropped.

Looking back at the memory now, he probably should’ve just left your apartment then and there. It was silly. He was in your kitchen, scavenging through cabinets like he lived there. Then he brought plates to the table and sat down to eat dinner with you like he was your boyfriend. 

He’s not your boyfriend; you already have one of those.

The thought snapped him back into the present. He sighs.

“Difficult.” He pinches between his eyebrows. “I was going to say you’re so difficult.”

You look away from him at that. Ouch. 

“But I don’t mean that. I’m just…” He looks for the words. “Drained.” His shoulders slump. 

Your tough-guy attitude fades. “Sorry…” You’re not sure what you’re apologizing for. Everything and nothing sort of. 

Silence. 

He sighs. 

Heeseung starts reluctantly. “I um… broke up with my girlfriend today.”

Your blood runs cold. More silence wraps around his words. It's suffocating, but you don’t know what to say.

“I’m sorry.”

He says nothing to that, so you try again. “Do you um—“ Your eyes travel the room, eventually landing on the young man before you. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He huffs, shaking his head. 

“Do you want something to drink?” You speak as if you’re doing so against your will. Eyes drawing close to the uselessness of your own words. You shake your head because you knew it was a stupid thing to say. You’re so brave, you wanted to say.

Heeseung just looks at you. His eyes look so tired that you can barely stand to hold eye contact. 

“Y/N,” he sighs for the umteenth time. 

“Can you not say my name like that?” You look away with a forced laugh. “It makes me feel like I can’t breathe.” You mumble the last part. The tension was too much.

“How’s Nate?” His eye contact was unwavering. 

“Can you not—“

“No, I can’t. I want to have an honest conversation with you. I’m sick of dancing around things, Y/N.” He steps toward you with a shrug. “How is your boyfriend, Nate?”

A beat.

“He’s fine.”

“When does he get home?”

You chew on your lip nervously. “His uncle’s sick, he’s visiting him for the weekend.” 

———

Your lips formed a tight line after the confession. You wish you had just said ‘soon’, so Heeseung could leave you to your previously scheduled pity party in the living room. 

You didn’t want to talk about things; there was nothing to talk about. You were a practical adult with a 10-year plan. You’d been 3 years into the plan already by the time he met you, life isn’t as fluid as he’d like to make it seem.

The plan was to graduate from college (check), land a stable job at an ad agency (check), build an investment portfolio (check), move in with Nate (check), get married to Nate (pending), get a promotion at the agency (pending), have a child (pending). This has been the plan since you were in high school. He was fucking with the prophecy. 

“I’m sorry,” Heeseung’s voice squeezes through your dense internal dialogue. 

You wave a hand in dismay. “Things happen.” 

He leisurely takes another couple of steps forward until you're about an arm's length away. He breathes deeply, like his chest is too heavy for his lungs to move freely. “Shouldn’t you be with him?”

“It’s not a big deal. We both agreed some time apart could be healthy.” 

Heeseung laughs at that. He chews his lip to suppress it, but fails to regain composure so quickly. 

“What?” You chime in, a smile manifesting on your face before you can stop it. 

A rough hand runs over his face.”It’s just a little funny thinking about it.” He looks at you with the smallest fraction of a smile still present. “I rarely ever see you two together, yet you’re discussing healthy time apart.” He makes air quotes at the last three words. 

“Distance makes the heart grow fonder.” You jokingly quote Shakespeare with a smirk. That was not the right thing to say. The air shifts, and the room feels stuffy even with the air unit blasting cool air. You were just trying to be funny. 

He doesn’t say anything, but the .001% trace of a smile is gone. With a stone-cold expression, he looks at you like he has all the time in the world. You fidget under his gaze. 

“You look pretty, you should send him a picture,” is all he says.

You tsk at him, and his eyes return to your face at the sharp sound. “You’re insane, I look a mess.” An awkward silence appears, so you rattle on. “He’s only been gone a few hours at this point anyway. Not long enough to miss me.” Your voice is meek; you feel embarrassed. 

“Shouldn’t be.” He mumbles as he walks to your couch in the living room. 

A fuzzy blanket drapes over half the couch. Your half-eaten pint of ice cream melts on the coffee table next to crumbled-up napkins, post-it notes, and a tissue box. A sweetly scented candle burns at the far edge of the table. The TV displays a freeze frame from some B-rated tearjerker film. 

Heeseung dusts some crumbs off the couch from where you were sitting and plops down. He searches under the throw pillows for the remote. Swiftly, he checks the film’s synopsis and cringes. 

You pull on your fingers anxiously. “I thought you wanted to talk…”

“I did.” 

“Then why are you—“

“This movie looks awful.” He brushes past your concern and begins scrolling through your Netflix account.

“So now we’re watching a movie?” You wearily approach the couch, quickly swiping the blanket off, and crumbs fall to the floor. You had been messier than anticipated, but that’s your prerogative. It’s not like you were expecting company. You sit and watch him.

“Every time I open my mouth to say something real, you throw a joke at me, so yeah. Let’s watch a movie. I’m fine just being near you.”

“I was already watching something…” You reach for the remote, but he raises his arm, so it’s out of your reach. 

“Oh, do you have a problem with switching your attention from one thing to the next?” He raises an eyebrow at you. 

You knew what he was doing, but you weren’t going to play his game. “I was two-thirds in, I want to see how it ends.” 

“It looks boring. The couple kissing on the cover, obviously, ’ll end up together. Movie done, problem solved.” 

“You’re acting like a child.”

“You’ve seen it before; it was already rated.” His tone is light, but his words are pointed. 

“I like that movie.” You narrow your eyes at the young man. 

“Let’s find one you’ll love.” He fixes you a stern expression, then faces the TV again, fingers clicking through film categories. 

This carries on for a moment. You sit next to him, breathing heavily, easily flustered by his antics. He selects something dark and eerie-looking. You roll your eyes and snatch the remote while he’s preoccupied.

“I don’t want to watch that.” You begin to scroll away, but he snatches the controller back.

“Why? Is it too scary for you?” His eyes are intense when he turns to you.

“No, I just don’t want to watch it.” You attempt to regain control of the remote. You fail.

“I think you’re scared.” His voice is low, like he’s talking to himself. His eyes drop to your lips briefly before working their way back up.

“Well, I’m not.” You reach for the remote again, but he draws it away from his body.

“Then let’s watch the movie.” He shoves your shoulder.

“Give me my fucking remote back.” You lurch forward again. This time, you get so close that your faces are almost touching. He doesn’t waiver, he just moves the remote closer, close enough for you to reach it. As you try to grab it, he pulls it back again, leaning his shoulders against the couch so his hand with the remote is up and behind him. Mindlessly, you reach again, finger just barely brushing Heeseung’s hand as you hover over him for better leverage. 

Your eyes travel between the remote in his hand and his face. Heeseung’s eyes stay glued to your face. His heart is racing. All he can think about is doing something stupid.

You put a hand on his shoulder to help you push off the couch a little, hoping that would allow you to reach the black plastic thing in his hand. It does not.

Both of you draw shallow breaths. You spare a dry laugh, finally meeting his eyes for longer than a second. 

“Stop doing—“

He kisses you, and it completely knocks the wind out of you. Your eyes go wide for a moment, words dying in your throat with a weak, pathetic sound. 

Nate was going to kill him. Heeseung knew that, but as he started to think about his sudden need for life insurance, you kissed him back. A sound escaped him in shock, causing you to deepen the kiss. The remote slips from Heeseung’s hand. It clanks against the hard floorboards.

A hand reached for your face, then your waist. You grab a fistful of hair, your leg swings over his lap to straddle him. He squeezes your waist tightly as a reflex, then rubs your hip over your sweatpants as an apology. 

It’s like you’re both messily fighting for dominance, self-control long forgotten. Your hand fists his shirt as he pressed you down against him. His eyes squeeze shut. 

Heeseung was getting carried away, and you could feel it. A sigh leaves your mouth and enters his. His hips accidentally jut upward, and he shivers. You apply pressure back.

“Please,” the words slip past his lips before he can stop them. 

You’re completely immersed in the moment, mouth moving to his cheek, then his ear, then his neck. “Tell me,” you propose breathily against his neck. “Whatever you want.”

“Break up with him.” It was quiet. A fleeting comment. 

You still entirely, straightening up to meet his gaze. His eyes are still closed like that’ll make you start moving against him again. Break up with him, the words ring through your skull. You press your palms to his shoulders, using them to steady yourself as you get up. 

“I shouldn’t have—“ you start, but he cuts you off. 

“I don’t know if I can keep doing this…”

“Doing what?” You smooth out your tank top, pulling it up to cover as much of your chest as possible. “Sorry, let’s just watch the movie, yeah?” You walk around the couch to retrieve the remote from the floor. 

“I don’t want to watch the movie.”

“So, you don’t want to talk, you don’t want to watch the movie, what do you want to do?” You’re raising your voice now. 

“Not this—“ He answers exasperatedly. 

“Well, I don’t know what else to do, Heeseung!” Your voice crashes through the atmosphere. 

A beat.

“I broke up with my girlfriend,” he starts, “because of you…”

You scoff. “Don’t blame your shit on me. You broke up with your girlfriend because you were unhappy—”

“Yeah, I was unhappy because she wasn't you.”

“Stop saying things like that!” 

“If you weren’t with him before I met you, and I wasn’t seeing anyone, do you think we would still be friends?” He stands and walks so you’re nearly toe to toe.

“Of course, Heeseung. You’re just saying nonsense at this point—“ You turn away from him. You resist the urge to pull your hair with frustration.

He violently shakes his head, stepping even closer. “I don’t think we would be, I think we’d be a couple. I can’t imagine a single fucking reality where we meet each other single, and I don’t at least try to hit on you—”

You cover your ears childishly. It was too much. 

“—And I know we would be together because you’re covering your ears like a fucking child who’s afraid to hear the truth.”

You sigh, and your shoulders slump. You face him, hands dropping from your head. Your lips are pressed tightly together, and your eyes burn. You sniffle.

Another silence overcomes the space, but this time it isn’t awkward or tense. It’s just honest. 

Your phone vibrates in your pocket, popping the vulnerable bubble you and Heeseung were just in. You barely slide it out of your pocket before you know who it is: Nate. The picture makes it obvious to both of you. 

Heeseung looks away, hurt flashing across his face briefly. “Tell me I’m wrong so I can move on with my life.” 

“I can’t.” 

The phone buzzes again. You don’t attempt to answer it. Suddenly, the illusion was fading.

________________________________________

a/n: let me know if we're wanting more, thx for reading!

<likes, comments, & reblogs are appreciated>

[rrradduh]

A Difficult Friendship

reader x mark lee | 3.1k words

Synopsis: Your and Mark's friendship has always revolved around ignorance and self-control. Meaning, you both ignore your feelings and control the urge to act on them. After all, you were going to marry your long-term boyfriend, and Mark was always dating around. What happens when Mark can no longer commit to the illusion?

Themes/ Elements: angst on angst, yearning, reader is deflective as hell, flashback, dialogue heavy, some spicy kissing toward the end/ cheating (whoops!), some sugar and sweetness (yay!), open ending...

a/n: This is my first post for real for real :D if you like it, maybe comment/ reblog with your fav line of dialogue idk lol, hopefully you enjoy!! y/n's s/o's name is "Nate" for whatever reason....

((I also wrote a version of this for Heeseung of enhypen))

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“Can you please leave my apartment? There's nothing to talk about.”

“Y/N stop—”

“Mark. I am asking you nicely. Please leave.”

“No. I’m not leaving. You always do this shit- do you know that? You always do this shit. You’re so fucking—“

“What?” You turn fully to face him. 

You’ve been walking in circles for the past ten minutes in your small apartment, Mark hot on your tail, struggling to get a word in between your relentless rejection. You’d made your way from the front door to the living room— where you were previously sprawled on a moderately stiff couch with a pint of ice cream and a stupid, sad movie to wallow in self-pity, like a true adult— to the kitchen. 

You were going to attempt the pile of dishes in the sink to distract yourself, but his tone. His tone stopped you in your tracks. He was raising his voice, that’s new.

A scoff leaves your lips at his lack of response. He has your full attention now. Unfortunately for him, he’s not the only one in the room with a big voice. 

“What, Mark?” You tilt your head to the side, waiting. He looks down, drawing a labored breath. 

“Look, I came here to talk to you. Can we just sit down and talk?” He awkwardly shoves his hands in his pockets. His eyes bounce between your face, your chest, and the floor. Your tank top wasn’t helping at all, he really did just want to talk.

“No. What were you going to say?” You lean against the counter with your arms across your chest. 

He looks to the ceiling, catching a small stain in the corner from where you flicked pasta onto the ceiling a week ago. He suppresses a smile as his eyes fall to the floor. 

A week ago…

Mark had come over because you were stressed about a pitch presentation you had the next day and wanted to practice in front of someone. You work in advertising and were nervous about a new client you’d been assigned, something about a new “environmentally friendly” paper towel company. 

He has no clue why you’d called him of all people. The whole reason you’re as close as you are now is that Mark is overwhelmingly clueless when it comes to branding and marketing his own product: his music. What started as a paid agreement became an unusual friendship, then (on his end at least) an unfortunate co-dependency. 

That night, after you were done rambling on about how “all paper towel commercials are tired and unoriginal”, you insisted on feeding him for his service. All he really did was sit on your couch and dote. It was almost embarrassing. He knew his feedback was three “wows” and four “ums” away from useful, but it seemed to give you enough confidence to calm down.

You made pasta in some sort of red sauce. It was vaguely simple and only took you 30 minutes to prepare, which made Mark feel like less of a burden.

At some point, he had excused himself to the restroom. When he returned, you were singing softly as you stirred the finished meal at the stove. Your hips moved absentmindedly to the low hum of a speaker on a nearby countertop. A small, almost unnoticeable, laugh escaped you at a particularly lovey-dovey lyric. 

He wanted to laugh, too, but instead, he just quietly walked closer to you. You remained in your own little world, facing the stove as he shuffled toward you. The moment was too pure for him to interrupt. He solely wanted to observe up close. 

The chorus kicked in, and your singing grew bolder. A few paces away, Mark took another tentative step— CREEK. 

You whipped around fast, a few pieces of spaghetti flicking from your spoon to the ceiling as you turned. You could hear the wet red sauce splash against the high ceiling over the music. 

“Why are you so damn quiet?” You said as you clutched your chest, heart still racing. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to interrupt.” Mark put his hands up in defense.

“No, sorry, you didn’t—Well, you kind of did, but it’s fine.” You fan a hand in the air dismissively. 

Mark walked closer to you. He looked at the bubbling pot of pasta and sauce, then at you. “Looking good.” His expression was way too sincere. You weren’t sure if he was talking about the pasta or you, but you pushed the feeling back. 

“Yeah?” You tease.

“Yeah.” 

“Thank you,” you share a soft smile. 

There was a long moment of silence and prolonged eye contact. The music still played, but it felt quieter. He remembers you clearing your throat, likely to ease the tension, but it just drew attention to your mouth. 

SPLAT.

The wet spaghetti drops from the ceiling and onto the floor in some corner of your kitchen. It drags your attention away, slicing the tension into small, bite-sized pieces.

Moments like this always happened between you two. 

Mark smiled and reached for the spoon in your hand. “Go sit, I’ll make our plates.”

“No, no. I got it.” You reached for the spoon, but he’s quicker.

“So you can throw more pasta at the ceiling?” 

“You scared me!” You protest. 

“I went to the bathroom, I didn’t evaporate into thin air. You knew I would come back.” He laughed in disbelief. 

“You literally tiptoed up to me, but I’m the weird one—“ You pushed his chest playfully.

He grabbed your hand against his chest and smiled. You stiffened slightly, but he didn’t say anything. “Seriously, go sit. I’m bored, let me do something.” 

You blinked at him and reluctantly drew your hand from the firm surface. “Fine,” you walked to your small dining table between the kitchen and the living room. “Turn up the music,” you glanced at him over your shoulder, eyes riddled with mischief. His stomach dropped.

Looking back at the memory now, he probably should’ve just left your apartment then and there. It was silly. He was in your kitchen, scavenging through cabinets like he lived there. Then he brought plates to the table and sat down to eat dinner with you like he was your boyfriend. 

He’s not your boyfriend; you already have one of those.

The thought snapped him back into the present. He sighs.

“Difficult.” He pinches between his eyebrows. “I was going to say you’re so difficult.”

You look away from him at that. Ouch. 

“But I don’t mean that. I’m just…” He looks for the words. “Drained.” His shoulders slump. 

Your tough-guy attitude fades. “Sorry…” You’re not sure what you’re apologizing for. Everything and nothing sort of. 

Silence. 

He sighs. 

Mark starts reluctantly. “I um… broke up with my girlfriend today.”

Your blood runs cold. More silence wraps around his words. It's suffocating, but you don’t know what to say.

“I’m sorry.”

He says nothing to that, so you try again. “Do you um—“ Your eyes travel the room, eventually landing on the young man before you. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He huffs, shaking his head. 

“Do you want something to drink?” You speak as if you’re doing so against your will. Eyes drawing close to the uselessness of your own words. You shake your head because you knew it was a stupid thing to say. You’re so brave, you wanted to say.

Mark just looks at you. His eyes look so tired that you can barely stand to hold eye contact. 

“Y/N,” he sighs for the umteenth time. 

“Can you not say my name like that?” You look away with a forced laugh. “It makes me feel like I can’t breathe.” You mumble the last part. The tension was too much.

“How’s Nate?” His eye contact was unwavering. 

“Can you not—“

“No, I can’t. I want to have an honest conversation with you. I’m sick of dancing around things, Y/N.” He steps toward you with a shrug. “How is your boyfriend, Nate?”

A beat.

“He’s fine.”

“When does he get home?”

You chew on your lip nervously. “His uncle’s sick, he’s visiting him for the weekend.” 

———

Your lips formed a tight line after the confession. You wish you had just said ‘soon’, so Mark could leave you to your previously scheduled pity party in the living room. 

You didn’t want to talk about things; there was nothing to talk about. You were a practical adult with a 10-year plan. You’d been 3 years into the plan already by the time he met you, life isn’t as fluid as he’d like to make it seem.

The plan was to graduate from college (check), land a stable job at an ad agency (check), build an investment portfolio (check), move in with Nate (check), get married to Nate (pending), get a promotion at the agency (pending), have a child (pending). This has been the plan since you were in high school. He was fucking with the prophecy. 

“I’m sorry,” Mark’s voice squeezes through your dense internal dialogue. 

You wave a hand in dismay. “Things happen.” 

He leisurely takes another couple of steps forward until you're about an arm's length away. He breathes deeply, like his chest is too heavy for his lungs to move freely. “Shouldn’t you be with him?”

“It’s not a big deal. We both agreed some time apart could be healthy.” 

Mark laughs at that. He chews his lip to suppress it, but fails to regain composure so quickly. 

“What?” You chime in, a smile manifesting on your face before you can stop it. 

A rough hand runs over his face.”It’s just a little funny thinking about it.” He looks at you with the smallest fraction of a smile still present. “I rarely ever see you two together, yet you’re discussing healthy time apart.” He makes air quotes at the last three words. 

“Distance makes the heart grow fonder.” You jokingly quote Shakespeare with a smirk. That was not the right thing to say. The air shifts, and the room feels stuffy even with the air unit blasting cool air. You were just trying to be funny. 

He doesn’t say anything, but the .001% trace of a smile is gone. With a stone-cold expression, he looks at you like he has all the time in the world. You fidget under his gaze. 

“You look pretty, you should send him a picture,” is all he says.

You tsk at him, and his eyes return to your face at the sharp sound. “You’re insane, I look a mess.” An awkward silence appears, so you rattle on. “He’s only been gone a few hours at this point anyway. Not long enough to miss me.” Your voice is meek; you feel embarrassed. 

“Shouldn’t be.” He mumbles as he walks to your couch in the living room. 

A fuzzy blanket drapes over half the couch. Your half-eaten pint of ice cream melts on the coffee table next to crumbled-up napkins, post-it notes, and a tissue box. A sweetly scented candle burns at the far edge of the table. The TV displays a freeze frame from some B-rated tearjerker film. 

Mark dusts some crumbs off the couch from where you were sitting and plops down. He searches under the throw pillows for the remote. Swiftly, he checks the film’s synopsis and cringes. 

You pull on your fingers anxiously. “I thought you wanted to talk…”

“I did.” 

“Then why are you—“

“This movie looks awful.” He brushes past your concern and begins scrolling through your Netflix account.

“So now we’re watching a movie?” You wearily approach the couch, quickly swiping the blanket off, and crumbs fall to the floor. You had been messier than anticipated, but that’s your prerogative. It’s not like you were expecting company. You sit and watch him.

“Every time I open my mouth to say something real, you throw a joke at me, so yeah. Let’s watch a movie. I’m fine just being near you.”

“I was already watching something…” You reach for the remote, but he raises his arm, so it’s out of your reach. 

“Oh, do you have a problem with switching your attention from one thing to the next?” He raises an eyebrow at you. 

You knew what he was doing, but you weren’t going to play his game. “I was two-thirds in, I want to see how it ends.” 

“It looks boring. The couple kissing on the cover, obviously, ’ll end up together. Movie done, problem solved.” 

“You’re acting like a child.”

“You’ve seen it before; it was already rated.” His tone is light, but his words are pointed. 

“I like that movie.” You narrow your eyes at the young man. 

“Let’s find one you’ll love.” He fixes you a stern expression, then faces the TV again, fingers clicking through film categories. 

This carries on for a moment. You sit next to him, breathing heavily, easily flustered by his antics. He selects something dark and eerie-looking. You roll your eyes and snatch the remote while he’s preoccupied.

“I don’t want to watch that.” You begin to scroll away, but he snatches the controller back.

“Why? Is it too scary for you?” His eyes are intense when he turns to you.

“No, I just don’t want to watch it.” You attempt to regain control of the remote. You fail.

“I think you’re scared.” His voice is low, like he’s talking to himself. His eyes drop to your lips briefly before working their way back up.

“Well, I’m not.” You reach for the remote again, but he draws it away from his body.

“Then let’s watch the movie.” He shoves your shoulder.

“Give me my fucking remote back.” You lurch forward again. This time, you get so close that your faces are almost touching. He doesn’t waiver, he just moves the remote closer, close enough for you to reach it. As you try to grab it, he pulls it back again, leaning his shoulders against the couch so his hand with the remote is up and behind him. Mindlessly, you reach again, finger just barely brushing Mark’s hand as you hover over him for better leverage. 

Your eyes travel between the remote in his hand and his face. Mark’s eyes stay glued to your face. His heart is racing. All he can think about is doing something stupid.

You put a hand on his shoulder to help you push off the couch a little, hoping that would allow you to reach the black plastic thing in his hand. It does not.

Both of you draw shallow breaths. You spare a dry laugh, finally meeting his eyes for longer than a second. 

“Stop doing—“

He kisses you, and it completely knocks the wind out of you. Your eyes go wide for a moment, words dying in your throat with a weak, pathetic sound. 

Nate was going to kill him. Mark knew that, but as he started to think about his sudden need for life insurance, you kissed him back. A sound escaped him in shock, causing you to deepen the kiss. The remote slips from Mark’s hand. It clanks against the hard floorboards.

A hand reached for your face, then your waist. You grab a fistful of hair, your leg swings over his lap to straddle him. He squeezes your waist tightly as a reflex, then rubs your hip over your sweatpants as an apology. 

It’s like you’re both messily fighting for dominance, self-control long forgotten. Your hand fists his shirt as he pressed you down against him. His eyes squeeze shut. 

Mark was getting carried away, and you could feel it. A sigh leaves your mouth and enters his. His hips accidentally jut upward, and he shivers. You apply pressure back.

“Please,” the words slip past his lips before he can stop them. 

You’re completely immersed in the moment, mouth moving to his cheek, then his ear, then his neck. “Tell me,” you propose breathily against his neck. “Whatever you want.”

“Break up with him.” It was quiet. A fleeting comment. 

You still entirely, straightening up to meet his gaze. His eyes are still closed like that’ll make you start moving against him again. Break up with him, the words ring through your skull. You press your palms to his shoulders, using them to steady yourself as you get up. 

“I shouldn’t have—“ you start, but he cuts you off. 

“I don’t know if I can keep doing this…”

“Doing what?” You smooth out your tank top, pulling it up to cover as much of your chest as possible. “Sorry, let’s just watch the movie, yeah?” You walk around the couch to retrieve the remote from the floor. 

“I don’t want to watch the movie.”

“So, you don’t want to talk, you don’t want to watch the movie, what do you want to do?” You’re raising your voice now. 

“Not this—“ He answers exasperatedly. 

“Well, I don’t know what else to do, Mark!” Your voice crashes through the atmosphere. 

A beat.

“I broke up with my girlfriend,” he starts, “because of you…”

You scoff. “Don’t blame your shit on me. You broke up with your girlfriend because you were unhappy—”

“Yeah, I was unhappy because she wasn't you.”

“Stop saying things like that!” 

“If you weren’t with him before I met you, and I wasn’t seeing anyone, do you think we would still be friends?” He stands and walks so you’re nearly toe to toe.

“Of course, Mark. You’re just saying nonsense at this point—“ You turn away from him. You resist the urge to pull your hair with frustration.

He violently shakes his head, stepping even closer. “I don’t think we would be, I think we’d be a couple. I can’t imagine a single fucking reality where we meet each other single, and I don’t at least try to hit on you—”

You cover your ears childishly. It was too much. 

“—And I know we would be together because you’re covering your ears like a fucking child who’s afraid to hear the truth.”

You sigh, and your shoulders slump. You face him, hands dropping from your head. Your lips are pressed tightly together, and your eyes burn. You sniffle.

Another silence overcomes the space, but this time it isn’t awkward or tense. It’s just honest. 

Your phone vibrates in your pocket, popping the vulnerable bubble you and Mark were just in. You barely slide it out of your pocket before you know who it is: Nate. The picture makes it obvious to both of you. 

Mark looks away, hurt flashing across his face briefly. “Tell me I’m wrong so I can move on with my life.” 

“I can’t.” 

The phone buzzes again. You don’t attempt to answer it. The illusion is slipping.

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a/n: let me know if we're wanting more, thx for reading guys!

<likes, comments, & reblogs are appreciated>

[rrradduh]

this is what I mean by when I say rrradduh in case the reference flies over the heads of the general public

[rrradduh]

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